A Shard of Sea and Bone (Death of the Multiverse Book 1)

by L. J. Engelmeier

  “Murdered?” Naliah muttered dumbly.

  At his side, Svahta was death-still. When he looked over, he blanched. Her crystalline eyes were normally unflinching, under control no matter the situation—whether she was facing down hollowsouls or holding tins of water to the mouths of fly-infested children. It was one of the things Naliah admired about her. But now her eyes were blown wide. Her jaw was trembling. Naliah didn’t know much of her past, but he’d pieced some of it together from what she slurred on about when she was drunk. He knew something had happened to her after she’d been initiated into the Order—something to do with a cellar and a fire.

  “They were each found in different Realms,” Councilman Lallen continued when he found a gap in the bedlam, and the murmurs died back down to silence. Naliah could feel the tension in the room thicken. “They were each found in the same manner as well. Defiled. Their— Their eyes and— Their eyes and their hearts missing.”

  “Missing?” piped up a Guardian.

  “Perhaps that is the wrong word,” admitted the Councilman, and for the first time, he seemed at a loss for what to say. His shoulders sagged, and he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Their eyes were not found with their bodies, but their hearts— And it seems— It seems that they— The Guardians— I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry.”

  When Councilman Lallen turned away and took a shuddering breath, Naliah was struck with a sudden pang of sympathy. Oh, he remembered. Guardian Leorias was his grandson. His murdered daughter’s only child.

  “What the Councilman means to express is that, based on what we observed ourselves at the three scenes,” picked up Councilwoman Illianthe’s velveteen voice as the woman stepped forward, placing an impersonal hand on Councilman Lallen’s shoulder, “it seems apparent that Maluviahl, Orrhen, and Leorias are responsible for ripping out their own organs.”

  Almost morbidly, when the hall went silent this time, Naliah could hear hundreds of quickened, pounding heartbeats, and just for a second, the image of the three Guardians holding their own beating hearts sprung into his mind. He wondered which had happened first: their vision blacking out or their hearts growing still in their blood-slick palms. He felt terrible for even forming the thought.

  “Were they forced?” called out the Guardian who was sitting to Naliah’s left—a dark-skinned man with a hooked nose, his silks as pure white as his headdress. His name was something like Soon or Song. The Guardian of Seasons, if Naliah remembered correctly. They’d only met once, years ago on a Class III assignment. “Were there any signs of magic? Was the scene staged?”

  “Our investigations have been inconclusive on those points thus far,” Councilwoman Illianthe said. “We know little of how these crimes were perpetrated; however, we did utilize spellcasting to attempt to trace your comrades’ sou—”

  “That is not a matter for the Order to concern themselves with, Vayala,” Councilman Veiyel cut in from the edge of the eleven-pointed star. His pale hair was tucked behind his ears, emphasizing the sharpness of his cheekbones, as white as snow and as cold as ice. He looked more like a weapon than a man.

  “That is a point upon which we will have to disagree,” Councilwoman Illianthe said. “For now, Guardian Seung, to answer your question: no, we found no remnants of coercive magic.”

  “We found nothing to lead us to a suspect at all,” Councilman Veiyel slipped in. “Almost as though there weren’t one.”

  Councilwoman Illianthe speared him with a sharp glare. “And yet we have every evidence to suggest there was.”

  Something unspoken passed between the two of them.

  “Has anyone else gone missing?” another Guardian from somewhere above asked, interrupting, and Naliah’s stomach dropped. Now, with a fresh reminder, his worry over Artysaedra returned full force.

  “Oh, yes. It’s quite the unfortunate incident,” said Councilman Lo-en—a fat bull of a man with an embroidered blindfold tied tight over his eyes. An iridescent black tattoo branched across the left side of his face, a scar at the corner of his mouth. He stood at the edge of the star and gave a full-bodied, sprawling yawn. Naliah waited for him to continue, digging his nails into the edge of the bench. He could feel the wood splintering.

  It isn’t Sae. I know it isn’t—

  “Marette Huan,” Councilman Lo-en said, rubbing at his mouth and swaying. “Our lovely Guardian of Nightmares, vanished like a noon shadow. We spoke to her attendants this morning. She left to answer a prayer in her city yesterday. About what, her attendants are not privy. She took the scroll with her, and she never returned.” In the resulting silence, Councilman Lo-en chuckled. His blindfold crinkled with his smile. “Oh, the looks on your faces. And that isn’t even what should worry you.”

  Naliah shared another flummoxed glance with Svahta, whose eyes were calm now. He reached over and laced his fingers with her free hand, and when he did, he could feel her newfound steadiness. He gave her hand a squeeze, and she squeezed back.

  What could be worse than someone murdering three of their comrades?

  When Councilwoman Illianthe stepped forward to speak again, Naliah wondered if he was imagining the tension grow down on the arena floor. The other Councilmen seemed to crowd in closer to her, their eyes hawkish. “We have called you here to do more than inform you of the fall of your comrades, I’m afraid,” Councilwoman Illianthe said. “Our tracking spell led us to their bodies, yes; however, upon our arrival, it became apparent we had another problem on our hands. It is the matter of your comrades’ souls that concerns us.” She looked up at the section of the crowd in front of her. “I performed the ritual myself more than once to be certain; therefore, I can say without a shadow of doubt that I was unable to locate your comrades’ souls, not with their bodies nor anywhere within the Realms in which they were found, so it is likely they’ve been stolen.”

  “Stolen?” someone parroted above Naliah. “How?”

  The question went unanswered.

  Naliah’s mind was racing. None of what the Councilwoman was saying made any sense. None of it was possible. Souls fell under the jurisdiction of the Guardians of Light, Spirit, and Darkness—the Trinity. From what Naliah had been taught by Artysaedra, souls were tied to their bodies until they were ferried by the Trinity into the Three Afterlives and were subsequently cared for by them in those Realms. The Trinity were the only beings in the multiverse with power over the soul: to see them, to coerce them to do their bidding, to touch them, to move them away from their bodies, to resurrect them. How could souls have been stolen?

  And why was the Council investigating this all on their own? Naliah understood that the Guardian of Light had been missing for thousands of years and that Princessa Athirae was only a child, but as the reigning Guardian of Darkness, Artysaedra should have been in charge of any matter that had to do with souls, or she should have at least been consulted about it. Yet she was nowhere to be found.

  Where was Artysaedra?

  I’m going to find you the second I leave this hall, Sae. And so help me if I find out you slept in or you were fighting down at the docks, I am going to shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll taste leather for the next decade.

  “This worries us,” Councilwoman Illianthe said. “The murder of our Guardians is not an issue to be taken lightly, but now, we believe something more malevolent may be at work. Because the Guardians’ souls cannot be found, their Guardianship cannot be removed nor bestowed upon anyone else. We believe their attacker knows this. This is a deliberate attempt to diminish the numbers of this Order. We have an enemy, one who is determined to see us fall and one who has the means to ensure it.”

  No, Naliah thought. No bastard’s going to hurt my friends.

  He jerked his hand from Svahta’s and stood from the bench before she could stop him. He felt her tug at the back of his silk asa to pull him down, but he clutched the polished mahogany railing that lined his balcony. “What do you want us to do?” he asked the Council. “How can we help you?”

>   “These matters are beyond your scope, boy,” spat Councilman Veiyel, but he was quickly silenced by a wave of Councilman Lallen’s wide hand.

  “Your dedication to your service is admirable, Guardian Staatvelter, but we urge you to do nothing more than remain vigilant,” Councilman Lallen said. “Do not seek out this enemy. In fact, we expressly forbid it. We ourselves will investigate this matter. We urge you all to continue your days as normal and speak no word to any other what you have heard here today. Do not concern yourselves with what we have told you. Ward your shrines if you feel it necessary. Answer your prayers. Do not let this enemy interrupt your care of the Infinity. It is what they want, and we will not let them have it. Is that understood?”

  Sure, Naliah thought. But if that bastard comes after me or my friends, I’ll kill them. I’m not going to sit around and let people die.

  Begrudgingly, Naliah nodded, and he heard hundreds of others murmur their consent. “Should we contact you if we notice anything suspicious?” Naliah asked. “Or if anything comes after us?”

  “No,” Councilman Lallen said to Naliah’s surprise. “We will be out of contact. For how long, we do not know. Keep up communications with your su-lanh instead. Watch over one another. Stay safe. That is all we wanted you to know. You may dismiss yourselves and return to your shrines at your discretion.”

  After that, the meeting slowly disbanded. Several Guardians stayed behind to speak to one another, but most reconjured away, blinking out of existence like lights. Naliah followed Svahta and Nori-Rin down the staircases to the arena, the women walking with barely an inch of space between them.

  Often, he found himself wondering if Nori-Rin and Svahta had become friends before or after they’d been assigned as su-lanh. He and Artysaedra had hated each other when they’d first met in Anderton—after she’d been sent to help settle the Anavenese Riots. Despite their constant butting of heads during those days, Artysaedra had still recommended Naliah for Guardianship, and he’d been accepted into their ranks. The second he’d been initiated into the Order, however, Artysaedra had deliberately avoided him, skipping missions he’d been assigned to, walking out on his every attempt to start a conversation with her. The others had talked about her behind her back to Naliah, about how the Council had never assigned her a su-lanah because she was too volatile, too focused on her own bloodlust to watch a comrade’s back during battle, about how she was friendless, isolated, and how she liked it that way. When a year later the two of them had been assigned to each other as official partners, Naliah had lamented over it; petty squabbling had taken over most of their first year as su-lanh.

  But it had gotten better. It had taken time, but now, things were different between them. Now, he would sacrifice his life for hers without hesitation, and he wagered the same could be said for her.

  Still, he didn’t get to see her as often as he wanted, perhaps a few times a month if things were peaceful in their Realms. He had a shrine that was a full-time commitment, and it took precedence over everything because it had to. If either of them were ever to prioritize one another over their care of the Infinity, the Council would strip them of their Guardianship before they could so much as apologize. A su-lanah was a courtesy of the Council, a strategic advantage, a reason to keep fighting; it wasn’t meant to be a chink in the shackles of their duty. Throughout the examples of history, sentiment buttressed armies as often it felled them. It was important to the Council that the Order never allowed the latter.

  The Council had given all of them a thin line to walk, but they all walked it, blindfolded, a sword in one hand and their humanity held in the other.

  “It’s nothing to worry about,” Nori-Rin was singsonging when Naliah tuned into the ongoing conversation. He hit the arena floor after the women, Nori-Rin’s bare feet padding across the granite. The chains woven into her wild black hair and through the piercings in her eyebrows jangled. She gave a bright smile to Svahta. “I’ll shik anyone who goes after you, tiki, but be careful, yeah? Don’t answer any suspicious prayers while I’m gone. Or letters. Or weird notes in general, really. Not that they would sound suspicious. Probably a bit of the opposite, I’d think. That’s the point, isn’t it? Bit of an obvious winderginder otherwise—oh! Speaking of weird notes, did I tell you someone sent me three goats and a marriage proposal in the post the other week?”

  “Got my letter an’ didn’t tell me, dollface?” Svahta said. She pressed her hand over her heart with a pout. “Leavin’ a poor gal hangin’ like ‘at. You should be ashamed.”

  “I’m more concerned where you got the goats, tiki.”

  “Ain’t none a’ your business, far as I see.”

  “And why you signed your name as ‘Pao-Ji.’”

  “That the bastard I gotta kill, huh?”

  “Aw.” Nori-Rin smiled wide. She leaned down several feet to plant a loud kiss on Svahta’s forehead. It made Svahta colour behind her freckles. “You know you’re the only one for me, tiki.”

  Naliah was so distracted watching them he didn’t notice that Councilwoman Illianthe had approached him until the woman placed her gauntleted hand on his bicep. He blinked up at her in surprise.

  “Is there something I can do for you, Ihjeni’a?” he asked her, trying not to fumble the Su’net.

  The Councilwoman’s smile was as warm as her dark olive skin, and for the hundredth time, Naliah was struck by how much the Councilwoman looked like her granddaughter Artysaedra. They both had the same deep-set black eyes and raven-black hair. Both of their jaws were strong and almost wrong paired with the gentle slope of their noses. They were abnormally tall, imposing, powerful, and though Naliah knew the Councilwoman was several millions of years old, she still looked young enough to be Artysaedra’s sister, only the faintest of lines visible at the corners of her eyes.

  Today, she looked tired.

  “May I speak with you outside, Naliah?” she asked.

  Naliah glanced over at Svahta and Nori-Rin, who were too caught up exchanging goodbyes to notice him. “Of course, Ihjeni’a,” he agreed, staggered. Councilwoman Illianthe had only spoken with him personally during a handful of occasions. The Council didn’t often deal with Guardians individually, not outside of a ravened missive anyway. What she might want with him now, Naliah had no idea.

  Either I’m in trouble, I’m being given an assignment, or, Naliah thought with sudden hope, or she’ll tell me where Sae is.

  “You’re nearly family to me, child,” she said. “Kin to my kin. You may call me by my name if you so desire.”

  “Councilwoman Illianthe then,” he offered. He couldn’t call her Vayala to her face. It felt blasphemous, to reduce something eminent to a given name.

  Without another word, she guided him across the arena toward the towering mahogany doors that led deeper into the Council’s palace. The beads in her hair clanked off her metal cuirass the entire way. When they were halfway down the cavernous vaulted hall outside the arena doors, the corridor awash with sharp beams of light and shadow, the arena completely out of sight, Councilwoman Illianthe turned to him, and all the warmth sapped out of her face. She grabbed his arm.

  Before he could protest, she was shoving him backward into an alcove. His back hit a column hard. Around them, a spellcasted ward visibly snapped into place, the barrier distorting the air before settling, making them unseen, unheard. He stared at it, baffled.

  “Swear to me you will do everything I command,” Councilwoman Illianthe said, and Naliah floundered.

  “I— What?”

  “Now.”

  “I—”

  “Now.”

  “Of course,” Naliah said, panicked. He looked up at Councilwoman Illianthe, whose body caged his into the alcove. She was glowering down at him, all fury in her battledress, draconic horns held high. An image of them skewering his ribs shot through his mind. He couldn’t help but cower. “Of course, Ihjeni’a. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  Councilwoman Illianthe grabbed his hand then, and
he felt something slide into it. When he closed his fist, he could tell it was a small scroll. It crinkled in his grasp. He stared at Councilwoman Illianthe, failing to comprehend what she wanted from him.

  “Do not read this in the company of anyone else, Naliah Staatvelter,” she said, “not even in front of my brethren. Read it, and then destroy it.”

  “What—”

  When footsteps sounded in the hall, Councilwoman Illianthe jerked away from him, despite the fact they were hidden by her spellcasting. And right before she vanished, right before the air in front of Naliah was empty and the warding was gone, he saw something he didn’t think he wasn’t supposed to. He saw her eyes. He saw them, and they were wide with fear.

  Naliah stood there, reeling, and when Svahta wandered down the hall, perking up at the sight of him, he tightened his fist around the scroll. He stuffed it in his pocket.

  Part Two

  In These Ruins, Reborn

  SMOKE & FLAME

  _______________________________

  Unknown means only unclaimed.

  Motto of Clan Muiraighaille, translated from the country dialect of Woon

  THE GUARDIAN REALM OF SWAMPS

  THE VILLAGE OF BÓTTANNAUGH, BORDERLAND BETWEEN THE GREAT PRAIRIE

  AND THE FOREST OF BEALEN, THE SOUTHERN RASPLANDS

  In one fluid motion, Svahta hefted the black walnut stock of Tavin’s old rifle to her shoulder and blasted a hole through the target at the end of the dirt road.

  My comrades were killed. She took a second shot. Someone ripped out their eyes and their hearts. She pulled the trigger again, blasting another hole in the burlap dummy. Its head flopped to the side. Made it look like they did it to themselves. Lured. Murdered. Souls stolen. She fired again and again. Lured. Murdered. Souls stolen.

  Mind reeling single-minded with the litany, she set the rifle down, picked up a double-barrelled shotgun from the wooden weapons rack next to her, and pulled the trigger twice, blowing the dummy’s torso to shreds with buckshot. Then she selected a six-shot revolver and fired, then a flintlock pistol, then a longbow and nocked its arrow. All blows found their marks with ease. Unsatisfied, she stalked down the road. Tucked into her tunic’s sashes was a set of throwing knifes; strapped to her back was a jagged broadsword; and hanging from her waist was an axe, its haft reaching past her knee and clacking against it as she walked. In turn, she used each weapon on the dummy, unrelenting, a whirl of loose cornsilk hair and whetted blades.