Spirits of Light and Shadow (The Gods of Talmor)

by India Drummond

  Soon, their efforts would mean nothing and Korbin would discover the truth. Still, although his intentions had been good, he had involved himself with a witch. This was where Graiphen’s sympathies ended.

  A shadow moved across his thoughts, and he let it float away rather than dwell on the unpleasantness as he once would have.

  “Bal qardone.” A voice interrupted Graiphen’s reverie, calling him by a title he wasn’t sure would ever feel familiar. Elder brother.

  “Yes?” he replied without turning to see who it was. He recognized the voice of the priest who had escorted Korbin into the worship hall earlier that morning.

  “The others are ready for you.”

  Graiphen nodded. He didn’t mind keeping the priests waiting. One of the most important tools in a politician’s arsenal was to be able to evaluate the relative power of every player in any situation.

  These priests were but tools, and interestingly, they seemed to understand and even relish their position as such. They had fashioned themselves into tools of their goddess. Every moment of their day was dedicated to making themselves better, more efficient, more worthy tools. Graiphen appreciated that in the same way he might appreciate any devoted servant. He only wished those of his household were as loyal to him as these priests were to their goddess.

  He would not, however, keep Braetin waiting. The shadow goddess demanded respect, and his relationship with her was only newly forged. She had given him freedom from the vile witchcraft that had plagued his mind for many months and which had nearly driven him to insanity. Now he felt clear, focused, and eager.

  The priests told him that all the Spirit of Shadow wanted in return was for Graiphen to facilitate a return to the old ways. The legislator might have scoffed had he not seen evidence of her power. She paid handsomely, and she paid up front. He could have walked away, but why would he? This was true power, not the silly, scheming games of old men played in dusty libraries, trying to use technicalities to entrap one another, their most effective weapon being gossip and scandal. Soon, none of that would matter.

  “Very well.” Graiphen cast a glare, and the two acolytes helping him change his robes hurried to finish their task. After removing the red garb in which he’d performed his meditations, they wrapped him in pure white, a color only worn during sacrifice ceremonies. When the last strand of his woven white belt was fastened about his waist, he signaled for his caller to lead the way.

  “Of course,” the priest began as they navigated the temple’s catacomb-like underbelly, “I will not be allowed to enter with you. You may take as much time as you need, provided you complete the sacrifice by morning.”

  “It won’t take that long.”

  “Perhaps, but there is no need to rush. Remember those qualities that will most please our mistress. Consider this an act of worship, not merely a task to be completed.” He paused. “You will have no difficulty, I assume.”

  A question lingered in the statement. “I understand what is required,” Graiphen said.

  “Good. I will be among those observing from above. You will not see us.”

  Graiphen didn’t care who would be watching, and he wasn’t certain if their presence was meant to comfort or to ensure he performed the rite correctly. Some of the priests were nervous of how quickly he attained a position of power and were loath to trust him with temple secrets. Those voices were few and had been quickly quashed by others who understood the opportunity he afforded them.

  If the Spirit of Shadow delivered what these priests had promised, he was more than happy to usher in the societal changes they desired. If She did not, Graiphen would simply slip back into his old life, his former persona. The thought brought him little pleasure, but he believed the possibility of their failure to be remote. For the first time in his life, Graiphen had faith.

  They stopped on the lowest level in front of the sacrifice chamber. “This is where I leave you,” the priest said.

  Graiphen fought impatience. “Very well.” He swung open the large door, stepped inside, and heaved it closed behind him.

  He hadn’t been told who he would find inside, but he had worried it might be his son. He felt deep relief when he saw the figure chained upright in the center of the room was a middle-aged woman.

  He recognized her as a servant who scrubbed floors at his manor. In all the time she’d been a part of his household, however, he’d never noticed her comely figure. But now, seeing her naked and bound, arms and legs splayed, he felt a spark of arousal.

  “Dul!” she said when he approached. “Thank the Spirits you’re here. Those fanatics kidnapped me only this morning, and I thought none would know where to look for me.” Her eyes were wild and bright.

  “When the priests brought you here, what did they say was the reason you had been chosen?”

  “Please, Dul, take me down and cover me. I can’t bear for you to see me like this. I’m begging you.”

  “Answer me.”

  His tone shocked her into obedience.

  “That was the crazy thing. They said I was disloyal to you, that I brought witches into your house.” Struggling to meet his eye, she said, “Never in my life would I betray the Ulbrich name.”

  “I’ll have the truth.” As his brother priest had told him, Graiphen had all day and all night to finish the job. “Someone came to you. Someone asked you to place an item in the house, or perhaps to remove something.”

  “I’d never steal from you,” she said, mustering as much dignity as she could with her heavy breasts exposed and swaying, the flesh of her pubis exposed to view.

  “So you placed something in the house.”

  She looked startled, shaken, as she realized he wasn’t moving to release her from her bonds. With a hard jerk, she made a futile attempt to wrest herself from the clanking chains. She turned her attention to him again. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  A clever cover. She didn’t answer the accusation directly, just stated her belief that what she had done wasn’t wrong. Graiphen allowed himself a smile. He’d barely noticed the woman before today. He felt a strange wistful sadness, thinking her life as a servant had been wasted. He’d seen high-born women who couldn’t lie so well.

  He strode forward. Closing his fist, he struck her squarely across the jaw. It was a good first hit, a solid one. A fine mist of blood sprayed from her mouth and landed across his white robes. He would not be finished until the vestments were crimson. When told he’d be allowed no tool except his bare hands, he’d thought it wasteful, but as he saw the fear in her eyes, he understood. The mistress demanded pain and terror in a sacrifice, and Graiphen would supply it.

  “No!” she screamed just before he hit her a second time. “Dul, please!”

  Her effort to persuade him of her innocence was wasted. After less than an hour, she had confessed all. Sadly, she didn’t know who was behind the plot to infect him with foreign magic, but she gave him the name of the person who persuaded her to help.

  This man had wormed his way in to the heaving cow’s bed with little difficulty. The stupid woman had believed his request that she place odd items around the manor to be a test of loyalty, a dangerous lark. She claimed she had no idea they were unholy. Whether she was lying about her motivation or not, Graiphen would know before the day finished. In truth, he didn’t care. He stopped hitting her in the head only because he didn’t want her to lose consciousness. She needed to be capable of fear.

  He needed more blood to stain his robes crimson. Letting her breathe for a moment, he pondered how to cut the flesh. He could break her arm and use the bone, but she might pass out. He would rather not risk it, but that remained an option. Sometime before, he’d heard the clink of a tooth hitting the stone floor. It would be small but might prove useful.

  The effort he’d expended beating her had caused him to sweat. He felt a compulsion to remove his clothes as well. In her agony, the woman had become a work of art, driving him to frenzy with the beauty of her pain. Still, he
had to keep the robes on. This had been explained to him. He could do anything he wanted, take as much or as little time as he needed. He could even allow her to live, although that outcome seemed unlikely if he was to dye his robes with her blood.

  He touched her breast and she flinched, causing him to tighten with pleasure. Her hands were calloused from hard work, her back slightly bent, her knees had clearly seen much use as she scraped and cleaned in her daily work. But she had also soft, delicate places.

  He ran his hand down her body to the cream of her tender belly, supple as any high-born woman’s. Graiphen went to his knees.

  Through swollen eyes she stared at him. “What are you doing?” she wailed. “Dul, no. What are you doing?” She thrashed at her chains.

  He wondered if this would be her last great effort. His face close to her body, he smelled her blood and her fear. Using the only cutting weapon he had, he lunged forward and bit through her buttery flesh. The tang of blood filled his mouth and her screams filled his ears.

  Pressure built in the room and the stone floor shook. The mistress was coming.

  ∞

  Korbin kept his face down and his pace steady, taking care when he approached the large houses of the North Circle. After today, he wouldn’t come here again until his name was cleared. He couldn’t allow Eliam to continue to endanger himself. A senator couldn’t explain away harboring a criminal.

  Before Korbin arrived at the manor, he saw Saqine standing near the turn to Eliam’s manor. He subtly beckoned Korbin. When he approached, Saqine greeted him as though the two were friends. At least he hadn’t called him Dul this time.

  “Hail,” he said, then lowered his voice. “I have instructions where you should meet my master.”

  “But what of Senne—”

  Saqine cut him off. “Your lady-friend is safe.”

  “Did something happen?”

  “My master didn’t tell me. He only said to give you this message.”

  “Very well.” There was no point blaming Saqine for Korbin’s worries.

  With the merest of bows, the servant said, “The Twining Rose.”

  Korbin blinked. This was a brothel in the center of the city, an establishment frequented by merchants and those of the upper class. Still, once the initial shock wore off, Korbin realized this wasn’t a terrible location for a secret meeting. They were known to be discreet.

  “A bit early in the day for such a place, isn’t it?” Korbin replied lightly.

  Saqine shrugged. “I couldn’t comment on the habits of those above my station.”

  Korbin could almost hear the implied honorific Dul at the end of the sentence. He nodded his thanks before turning to go.

  A half-hour later, he stood in a side alley off one of the city’s busier streets, outside The Twining Rose’s main entrance. He was relieved to be away from the growing throng. On one hand, the crowd gave him cover, but on the other, it was only a matter of time before someone recognized him.

  Any time someone met his eye, he feared the spark of recognition, so he avoided looking directly at anyone. It also seemed there were more of the city watch on the streets and in larger groups that he’d encountered before. He considered whether he was only noticing them now in his paranoia.

  When he entered the brothel, he found it deserted. A shiver of fear crept up his spine, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d been betrayed.

  “Dow?” a woman’s voice called from across the wide reception room.

  “Yes,” he said after a moment of surprise. Of course Eliam wouldn’t have given Korbin’s true name.

  “This way,” she said and turned to climb some curving stairs.

  He followed her into an upstairs corridor, surprised she looked like any high-born Talmoran woman. He would have expected a woman in this establishment to dress more provocatively, but then, perhaps she was not a prostitute.

  When they arrived at one of the doors, she turned and nodded, a look of amusement on her face as though she’d read his thoughts. He felt the urge to apologize, but she didn’t give him the chance. “A good morning to you,” she said and left him.

  With a glance at the heavy wooden door, Korbin knocked.

  “Come in,” Eliam called.

  Korbin was relieved to hear his friend’s voice. He felt a wave of shame that he’d considered Eliam or one of his servants might betray him. He pushed the door open.

  Eliam sat alone at a large, round luncheon table, having toasted bread and tea.

  “Where is Octavia?” Korbin asked, closing the door behind him.

  Eliam signaled to an interior door. “In the bed chamber. I asked her if we might speak alone.”

  “Interesting choice of location,” Korbin said, taking a seat across from Eliam.

  With a shrug, Eliam drank the last of his tea. “This isn’t the first meeting I’ve held here. The proprietor told me once only half the transactions that go on in this place involve the expected activities for such an establishment.”

  Korbin wondered how far the proprietor could be trusted, but he imagined Vol’s wealthy and powerful paid well for their secrets to remain undisclosed.

  “I hope you understand why I didn’t think it wise for you to return to the house.” A frown of worry etched across Eliam’s brow.

  “Of course. I understand the risks you’re taking.”

  “How did it go with your father?” Eliam’s tone betrayed that he didn’t expect it had gone well.

  Korbin sighed, flicking an invisible crumb off the tablecloth. “I saw him, but he wouldn’t speak with me.”

  “What? Not at all?”

  With a shake of his head, Korbin explained what he’d seen and the priest’s instructions. “It was strange. My father’s never been a religious man. I can’t help but think that curse will have lasting effects. Octavia did her best, but perhaps we were too late to save him from the worst of it.”

  “Maybe he needs time. It’s possible these priests can help him. Still, I find it odd that he’s going to appear in Centennial Square tomorrow. They didn’t say why?”

  “No, only that he would be there at midday.”

  “I can’t think why there and at that particular time. Perhaps he intends to make an announcement. I’ll see what I can find out. Are you really going to risk going? It won’t be safe.”

  “I’ll think about it. It’s not too difficult to blend into a crowd. With this weather, I can cover my hair and part of my face without looking out of place.”

  “Be careful,” Eliam said. “There were two arrests this morning.”

  “Who?” Korbin glanced up sharply.

  Eliam pushed his plate away. “People believed to be Kilovian practitioners.”

  Korbin frowned. “I doubt they were. The real practitioners left the city days ago.” It was nearly true. Only the one called Rhikar, Octavia’s mentor, and Octavia herself still remained within the city walls, if Rhikar was to be believed. And perhaps the dark conduit. Korbin only half-hoped one of those arrested was the one who had attacked him the previous night.

  “Who told you that?” Eliam asked.

  A flicker of distrust crossed Korbin’s mind. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Eliam, but more that he didn’t want to betray any of Octavia’s people to the authorities. Eliam had loyalty to Korbin, but he was standing by and letting practitioners be rounded up for no reason other than they were of the same race and religion as Octavia and presumably the dark conduit.

  “I’ve been asking around,” Korbin said.

  The vague answer seemed to satisfy Eliam, because he didn’t press. “You and Octavia can stay here today and tonight. I’ve paid for privacy and meals. That should at least get you through to when you need to meet with your father.” He paused. “If things shouldn’t go well tomorrow, I’ve come up with a possible solution. I have a cousin who lives by the sea in Arcciosca. He owns a fishing business. He does quite well. I’ve written to request that he take you on. It would mean working out at sea, but I
know you. You’d pick up the necessary skills quickly and taking the job would get you away from all this. You could leave tomorrow afternoon. He’ll be expecting you.” He handed Korbin a sealed letter. “Here’s your introduction.”

  “What about Octavia?” Korbin asked.

  Eliam’s expression darkened as he frowned. “I can’t help her.” Lowering his voice, he said, “You know what she is, and she can’t stop being that. If anyone ever found out that I sheltered a Kilovian conduit after everything that’s happened here…”

  “Right.” Korbin sat back in the chair. “Of course not.” His words indicated agreement, but he felt anything but agreeable. He couldn’t abandon Octavia. He put the letter in his pocket. “Thank you.”

  “Will you go?” Eliam pressed.

  “It depends what happens at Centennial Square tomorrow. I haven’t given up hope my father will clear our names.”

  “Korbin, you have to prepare yourself for the worst. Your father proved how much loyalty he has to you a few years ago when he cast you out. What kind of man does that to his only son?”

  “You know my father,” Korbin said and tried to chuckle, but his humor fell flat.

  “It’s time to consider that we may never know who attacked Graiphen and that we may not be able to restore things to the way they were before. At moments like this, currents move quickly in political circles. The atmosphere in Vol is changing fast, and not for the better. It may be prudent for us to do what we must to save our own skins.”

  Korbin wasn’t certain if the message was that he should abandon Octavia, or that Eliam was about to abandon them both. “I’m not ready to give up.”

  With a nod and a sigh, Eliam stood. “I’m both impressed and dismayed at your optimism. We both know what kind of man your father is, what kind of men the upper ranks of the Council is comprised of.”