by Clay Held
“Apprentice, second year,” Luke said, holding out his hand first. “Visiting with my mentor.”
“Visiting?” Her eyes narrowed. “Which order?”
“Delta,” Luke added, always smiling. “Up from the bayou.”
“Hello,” Simon said. “I’m a visitor, too.”
“Don’t mind him, Strawberry. He’s just a guest,” Luke stepped in front of Simon. “He doesn’t belong here.”
“I’m the son of Tom Warner,” Simon added, irritated.
“Oh,” the girl said, her eyes focusing on him for the first time. They were lakes of emerald flecked with purple and gold. “That explains the interest in bloodlines.” She looked at Luke. “What do you need, exactly?”
“Oh, well,” Luke said, “I’m just helping my friend out here. Helping him find out where he comes from, if he has any lands. Things like that, you know.”
“Friend?” Simon asked, insulted. “You tried to steal my backpack earlier.”
“Misunderstanding,” Luke said, more to the girl than Simon. “I thought it was mine.”
“Sure, sure,” she said absently. Her eyes started to float around aimlessly. She tilted her head all the way to one side. “My sister called for me. Was it to help you?”
The pile of silver pieces on the counter chirped and clicked, then fell apart spectacularly. An instant later the older sister appeared in front of the counter. “There you are! Where in the Moat have you been?”
“I was cataloging the new Vaudevire donation, Jo.” She yawned. “Right where I said I would be.”
“Penelope Jane Nettle,” Jo snapped. “Don’t you fluster more fairies than you can catch. These two need help. Can I trust you to handle that?”
“Yes, Jo.”
“Yes, Jo, what?”
“Yes, Jo, Queen of Books.”
Jo’s eyes brightened. “And?”
“Books and Smarts.” Penny stood straight. “Queen of Smarts.”
“Thank you,” Jo said, satisfied. She put on her glasses and resumed with her copper and brass pieces. “Take them to Bloodlines.”
“Follow me,” Penny said. She moved quietly down the hallway, her hands tracing along the walls lightly as they walked. The floor beneath them suddenly went from hardwood flooring to lush, red carpet, and the walls went from wood paneling to eggshell paint and plaster. The Archive was just as cobbled together as the main house.
“Which bloodline are you looking for? The mother’s line, or the father’s?”
Simon wasn’t sure what to say. “Warner, I guess.”
“Oh we have lots on them,” she said. “All the way back to the first colonies, I think. It’s been a while since I’ve catalogued the Warner line, but I believe everything should be up to date, up to and including the trial--”
The doors to the Archives slammed open, the echo careening down every hall. “SIMON!” Nathan boomed through the still air. “SIMON! Where in the Moat are you!”
Simon froze. Nathan continued to shout for him, prowling around the circulation desk, leaning over the counter. “Hello?” he shouted. “Hello? SIMON!”
Simon slowly turned around. “I’m here,” he called out, just a little louder than normal, but not quite a shout.
Nathan fixed his eyes on Simon, and the muscles in his throat tightened. “Simon,” he said, his voice calmer than Simon expected “What have I said about wandering? You see another fairy zip all the way down here? Thought you would follow it again? How well did that work for you last time?”
“I brought him,” Luke said suddenly. “I saw you two, and sir, you looked exceptionally tired, and, well, I had heard you talking, and figured since this was where you were heading next, that I would be able to render my assistance--”
“Quiet.” Nathan stared at Luke, his eyes sweeping over him more carefully than before. “Simon, you need to stay with me. We stick together, not you two, got it?”
“I thought this was where we were coming,” Simon finally said, irritated. “I thought we’d just meet up. I wanted to look up my parents.”
“That so?” Nathan closed the gap between them. “Ever occur to you to ask me? That you might go missing too if you wandered off with someone you just met? ”
Frustration exploded within Simon. “I’ve just met you!” he shouted. Instantly, Jo’s watchful eyes were on him, and she glared fiercely, but Simon didn’t care. Somewhere, at this moment, Sam was being held prisoner, and for all he could tell, there was not a single answer to be found anywhere, not here in the Archives, not here in Silverwood, not anywhere. The frustration choked him, and he stood there, stuck to the floor, his eyes starting to burn.
Nathan stood silent, his mouth hanging slightly open. “I...” he started. “Yes, I guess. I guess we did.” He shook his head. “That’s still not good enough reason to run off. You need to stay where I can see you. Keep an eye on you. Understand?”
“It’s not like anyone can get him here,” Luke volunteered. “Unwelcomes can’t enter the estate.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong,” Nathan said curtly. “Ours is a member of the Freemancers. He can enter whenever he wants. Same as me, same as her,” Nathan pointed at Penny, who was sitting on the floor by a nearby table, petting a black kitten and humming to herself. Nathan stared down Luke. “Same as you too, right?”
Luke did not immediately answer.
“What?” Simon broke the silence. “How? He’s...he’s...!”
“I don’t make the rules,” Nathan said. “He pays his dues, his official record is clean, he’s welcome. As long as he’s in good standing with the Records Room, he can come and go as he pleases. So please, Simon, stay with me. Got it?”
“I didn’t know that,” Simon finally said. His stomach was sour with anger. “I thought it would be all right. I thought here was safe. I just wanted to learn about my parents.”
Nathan put his hands on Simon’s shoulders. “Soon,” he said. “I can’t lose you, too. Not now. Your room’s a safe place, the only truly safe place, so I need you to stay there, or with me, when we’re about the grounds.” He eyed Penny. “Tell me, miss, are you one of Peter Nettle’s daughters?”
“That’s my father,” Penny said, standing.
“Could you please go find him for us?” Nathan asked. “He is expecting us.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Penny said. “He’s been busy with the new Vaudevire collection.”
“My many thanks,” Nathan said. He turned on Luke, his tone instantly changing from gentle to stern. “Your necklace--Delta Order, I think? Who in Madam Mamzelle’s Court is your master? Full title, order and verse. Show the one who trains and feeds you the respect he, she, or it deserves.”
Luke’s smile faltered. “I think I should help the young lady,” he said. “It would be rude to leave her unescorted.”
“That so,” Nathan said. “Perhaps just your name and mantle, I think.” Nathan squared his shoulders, addressing Luke just as he had addressed Simon that morning with the staff. His entire demeanor shifted in a heartbeat. “I speak as a mentor. By our rites I request you answer me.”
Luke looked uncertain, then finally spoke. “Luke Briar.”
“Middle name?”
“Ain’t got one.”
“That so?”
“Just Luke Briar. Born to a fox and bird, raised along the river.”
Nathan settled down, his demeanor returning to normal after one last, long stare at Luke. “We really should keep our manners, shouldn’t we?”
“Yes, mentor.”
“You best escort the lady then.”
Luke agreed with a fierce nod and hurried to catch up to Penny, who had not waited for him and was already halfway back to the circulation desk.
“I’m sorry,” Simon said flatly when Luke and Penny were out of sight. “I didn’t think it would be a problem.
Nathan waved the apology aside without another word. “What were you really looking for, Simon?”
“I told yo
u. Information on bloodlines,” Simon said. “I thought there might be information on my mom and dad.”
Another pained look from Nathan. “I hate to say it, but probably not,” Nathan said. “At least, nothing out here, nothing out in the open. Not anymore.”
“Why not?” Simon asked. “What’s the deal with my parents anyway?” After another fierce glance from Jo he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Luke called my dad the Walking Shadow. That he was rotten. I thought you said they were good.”
Nathan scratched his eyebrow with his thumb, and took a deep breath, followed by another. “Simon, this really isn’t the best time--”
“Something tells me it never will be.”
Nathan started to object, then took another run at his eyebrow. He looked Simon dead in the eye and took a final deep breath. “Well, this is the thing, Simon. They were good. That much is true. They were good, until...”
“Until what?” Simon hissed, his voice rising.
Nathan looked away. “Until you.”
CHAPTER NINE
THE MESSAGE
“Nathan!” A tall man with a wild mane of rusty brown hair approached them. “Nathan, Nathan, Nathan. So good to see you again!” A scraggly brown beard framed out the bottom of his thin face. He grabbed Nathan in a fierce hug. “My friend!”
“Peter,” Nathan said after being released. “Thank you for seeing us like this.”
“Oh, nonsense, nonsense!” said Mr. Nettle. “You must be Simon, am I right? Of course I am! Come on, come on back with me. Come!” He motioned for them to follow, then he all but sprinted into the office behind the counter. Simon still wanted to ask Nathan just what he had meant about his parents, but besides one quick look, Nathan made no immediate effort to further explain his remark as they followed Mr. Nettle. Jo made no effort to stop either of them, but she watched Simon with great interest as they stepped behind the counter into her territory, then into her father’s office at the very heart of the library.
Mr. Nettle’s office was much like the rest of the Archives, occupied with huge piles of books, some which reached to the ceiling, some which even seemed to be holding the ceiling up in places. “Come in, sit down, sit down!” Mr. Nettle cleared two small chairs, sweeping a pile of papers up into his arm and displacing a small black kitten in the process. Only once they were seated did Mr. Nettle stop humming around the office, closing a second door off to the side and finally settling down on the corner of an ancient-looking desk covered with huge stacks of paper and what Simon assumed to be bottles of ink, and behind his desk a great fireplace burned brightly, a dance of flames and shadows all around him. Mr. Nettle folded his fingers in front of him while the black kitten jumped up onto an empty spot of desk and sniffed around, settling on a spot on the corner to start another nap. “Now then, Nathan, what can I do for you?”
“I need to find Nicodemus,” Nathan said bluntly.
“I see,” Mr. Nettle said slowly, leaning back in his chair. “I think you might find that the old Archmancer has not exactly been in the mood for company, not since Sterling began his term, you see.”
“Not too unusual, I guess,” Nathan said. “I heard it was a close tally.”
Nettle’s face grew dark at the memory. “Closer than a cat’s whisker,” he said, petting the kitten. “All anyone knows with any certainty is that after the Electing Board concluded, Sterling was the new Archmancer, and Nicodemus was out.”
Nathan leaned forward. “Then what?”
“Then? The same thing that always happens when new leadership takes over. Changes. Sterling had new ideas, not all good, and I’ll tell you, not all of them have gone over with everyone.” Mr. Nettle turned towards the fire, his glasses flickering from the light. “With Limnic completely out of the picture, there’s no one to challenge Sterling. He had the option to remain as Archmancer-in-Standing, but he declined even that. Then, he was just gone, off to devil-knows-where.”
Nathan leaned back. “It seems like he’s needed more than ever.”
Mr. Nettle kept his back to them. “I don’t think guild affairs are why you’ve come home.”
Nathan glanced at Simon. “Last night Fellis Boeman showed up at Sam Thatch’s hiding place.
“So I’ve heard.”
“He set fire to the home, broke the warding spells, and abducted Sam.”
Mr. Nettle turned back around slowly. He sat quietly while Nathan recounted the rest of the details, from their journey on The Idlewild, to their meeting in the Timeless Room. The entire time Mr. Nettle sat quietly, his eyes occasionally flicking over to Simon, but mostly his gaze stay focused on the enormous stacks of papers in front of him. “You hope that Limnic would be able to help?” he finally asked when Nathan was finished. “What makes you believe he’d involve himself?”
Nathan drew his grimoire from the pocket of his coat. “When Nicodemus--Archmancer Limnic--inscribed my grimoire, he added something small at the bottom. A note really. It read ‘good luck.’ I didn’t think anything about it at the time, but from time to time the message has changed. It’s been his way of keeping an eye on me, I guess.” He thumbed to the inscription page. “Recently it changed again, this time to something dire.”
“A warning?” Mr. Nettle asked.
“Not just any warning,” Nathan said. “A portent. An omen of things to come.”
“What did it say?” Simon asked.
Nathan gave Simon a long, sad look, then handed the grimoire to Simon “I don’t think you’d understand, but all the same, I grant you the privilege.” Nathan spoke to the book. “Reveal the secret of the dedication page.”
Simon opened the book to the front, where the same handwritten words were:
NATHAN ALAN TAMERLANE
BORN IN A SUMMER STORM, RAISED IN THE RAIN
JOURNEYMAN - PROBATION
DIVISION NO. 713
THE GREAT HALL OF THE FREE AND ACCEPTED MANCERS OF NOVA MUNDUS
REESTABLISHED 1680.
SIGNED, NICODEMUS LIMNIC, ARCHMANCER
He looked at Nathan. “Your standing has changed from good to probation.”
“What? Let me see.” Nathan took the book back and glanced at the front page. “That happens from time to time. Don’t worry about it. Do you see what it says below?”
A new message faded in below the inscription, the same handwriting, the same ink, but it seemed to have been written in a great hurry:
DARROW WALKS
“I don’t understand,” Simon said. “Who is Darrow?”
Mr. Nettle sat up straight in his chair. “Silas Darrow? The devil’s own dogs, Nathan! Just what is this about?”
Nathan stared out the window. “Just what it says. The Dreamer has awakened. Darrow walks.”
“What does that even mean?” Simon asked. “Who is this guy?”
“Silas Abraham Darrow,” Mr. Nettle said. “Born beyond the Moated Veil, raised again to rule.” He took a deep breath. “One who has walked in Thule.”
“A warlock on the less-than-nice side,” Nathan said. “Wrote the book on half the known necromantic rituals. All but invented exomancy. One of few who have walked in the necrotic city of Thule. He carries a full mantle for that--birth, life, and death.”
“Not without a great personal cost,” Nettle said. “Few who walk in the streets of Thule ever return, let alone complete.”
Simon looked between the two. The mood in the room had definitely changed. “What happened to him?”
“Necromancy is a theurgical rite,” Mr. Nettle said. “It works in deals. Divine trades. You don’t get if you don’t give, and the power of Thule comes with great and terrible costs. Since that time he has slept off and on, periodically caught in the dreams between this life and the next. They say in the twilight between worlds you hear the whisper of the Originals, the Timeworn beings of Old, and in that place you may learn their darkest secrets. If he has truly awakened from his slumber again, he is more dangerous than before.”
Simon tried to follow.
“What does he want?”
Nettle took a deep breath. “Darrow does not see the world as we do, Simon. He sees a world that wishes to destroy us, a world that has hunted us for millennia. While we choose to live in quiet harmony, Darrow believes the only way to protect our people and our way of life is to strike first. He wants to go to war with those not of the Folk.”
“He sees us as victims who need to retaliate,” Nathan added. “For years he’s been trying to gather forces strong enough to confront the outside world. Every time he awakens, he is stronger than before, and we have done our best to stop him, at great cost every time.”
“Where does Boeman factor into this?” Simon asked.
“Boeman is his most trusted lieutenant, “Nettle said. “He is Darrow’s boogeyman. Just him we can deal with, but if his master has awakened, the situation is more grave than we thought.”
“So Boeman is his apprentice, then?”
“An Acolyte,” Mr. Nettle said. “Head of the inner circle. They have given us a great many troubles over the years. Broken men. Banshees. Voodoo priests, even some of the remaining Edisonites have fallen under Darrow’s spell. They named themselves in honor of the Timeworn--they are called the Old Dominion, among many more names, and I curse every last one of them.”
“Then why isn’t Boeman banned from here?” Simon stood. “Why can he come on the grounds at all?”
“Boeman swims in murky waters, have no doubt,” Nettle said. “But good luck getting any one of them out into the daylight. Even if you do, only the Archmancer has the authority to forever banish someone from the estate.” Mr. Nettle leaned back in his chair. “Good luck getting Sterling to take action that divisive. Limnic would have, but not Sterling.”
“Why not?” Simon asked.
“Sterling sees division within our brotherhood,” Mr. Nettle said. “He fears dissolution, the shattering of our bonds, each of the seven orders a body unto itself. He fears there are those who would openly align themselves with Darrow, given the right provocation.”