Shan shivered and flattened his pointed ears against his scalp. Shannon, Shannon, Shannon, he hated being called Shannon. He'd always hated the hissing resonance of his full name and anyone worth associating with knew to call him Shan. “Gods-damned caves. Caves collapse. Caves starve. Caves enslave. Caves bear creatures that eat you alive. Some of those creatures are us. Lost and lost, no end in sight, no sky above or grass below. Only darkness, only shadows, and the light is a voyeuristic lie. Timeless, timelost, no sun to mark the days or moon to embrace the nights. You knew. You knew what would be done to me. You know I now fear the underground. You brought me here regardless, to be tortured while being tortured. You and your unnatural calm. Something in you is broken, even beyond what's broken in me. Dragons didn't give you that. Dragons feel and anger. You feel nothing. You are empty, hollow, a cruel facsimile of an elf. Is that what you're trying to turn me into? Are you trying to mold me into a reflection of you?”
A hand touched the back of Shan's head as Nylian crouched before him. Shan angled his head just enough to glimpse a golden wing held out to avoid the ramp floor. He wanted to snip those wings, to render them as withered and useless as Lumin's.
Nylian stroked Shan's head several times before resting his hand on Shan's nape. “Do you truly believe I feel nothing? I feel everything. I feel anger, but also joy and sorrow and everything in between. Grief is especially prominent since the death of my son, and despair over what I needed to do to the Fae. I feel rage and vengeance . . . and love. That last one is most precious to me. I am not hollow, and any cruelty you have convinced yourself to see in me is necessity and not spite.”
Shan drew a croaking breath as he shook his head. “You are unspeakably cruel and your demeanor is a lie. I know what you're doing to me. I know what you did to your daughter. You had Lyliana killed because her lover was a human. More than one of your children told me about her and I believe them before I believe you.”
Nylian sighed. He stood, but leaned forward to keep his hand on Shan's neck. “They believe the lie their mother told them. I wouldn't cause harm to one of my children. My Lyliana died in childbirth, and the half-blood child along with her. Her lover was a scout in the Moonlight Regiment. He was killed by the arrow of a Fae spy months before she died. Lyssandra created a lie so she would have reason to leave me, and to persuade our other children against taking non-elven lovers. I did not kill my daughter, Shannon.”
“You lie so easily that you don't know your own truth anymore.” Shan shoved Nylian's hand away, then stood and stared him in the eyes. His hands still trembled and his blood was still ice, but his knees no longer threatened collapse. “I see you. I see the shadows you so desperately hide beneath your wings. I don't know your truth any more than you do, and I don't understand why you haven't killed me yet. You should. I'd enjoy the peace and you'd enjoy the silence. I know that patience of yours isn't infinite.”
“A Spellkeeper's insolence is to be expected. I cannot fault you for it, nor punish you for a tongue you cannot yet control. This process would have been much easier for you if Ranalae had prepared you appropriately and not abused you as she did.” Nylian caught Shan's wrist and tugged him to the end of the ramp. Shan didn't fight it. He didn't have the strength to prevent himself from falling on his face if he struggled.
The curved ramp opened into a well-lit, oblong cavern. The sparkling black stone floor was smooth and cool beneath Shan's bare feet. At the opposite end of the oval, beneath a series of carved support arches, slept a massive blue dragon. The taloned fingers of the dragon's right hand dipped into a shimmering pond, which was fed by a fanned slide waterfall. Mist rose around the dragon's sinewy forearm, but dissipated before reaching her shoulder. The lavender crests on her triangular head were a surprising contrast to the cobalt blue scaling on the rest of her body. She had no wings that Shan could see, and her long tail terminated in a truncate fin.
Shan stared at the serpentine dragon while Nylian pulled him toward an upholstered chaise by the water's edge. He continued to stare after he was dropped into the chair and his pant leg was rolled back to fully reveal his left foot. He flinched but did not look away as a fruit-scented alcohol was poured over his exposed foot. Lumin nipped at his thumb before curling into a ball on a pillow next to the chaise. Shan swallowed a small measure of his panic and asked, “Is that a water dragon?”
“She is, and if you remain quiet for a moment I will tell you about her.” Nylian didn't look up as he ground several dark substances together in an agate mortar. A faint silver vapor swirled around the pestle as he infused magic into the paste. “Her name is Keersa. She was my first dragon, bound to me on the day I was born. The Moonlight Guardian gave my mother a hatching egg and told her it was a blue oasis dragon. Believing it was auspicious for us to be born the same day, she tucked it into my bassinet. The Guardian was deceptive and the dragon that hatched was a deepwater dragon. Water dragons do not extend life, they drown it. My life expectancy was less than thirty years bound solely to Keersa, but because I was a newborn and she is a water dragon, killing Keersa to break the bind would have also killed me.
“The Guardian insisted that it was an accident, that she had misidentified the egg. My mother chose for her exile rather than execution, and her family returned to their forest elf heritage. My mother never forgave the Guardian, but I did, in a way. I married her granddaughter, Lyssandra, who became the Moonlight Guardian herself following the deaths of her mother and grandmother. My daughter Kembriana will be the next Guardian, and her firstborn daughter after her.
“My mother worked tirelessly to save my life once the Guardian was exiled. It took a toll on her, especially since she was soon pregnant again and birthed my sister Nyra two weeks before my first birthday. Mother was a warlock and first tried life-extending and bind-breaking spells within her own magic realm. When that failed, and due to her efforts my lifespan was further reduced, she sought the aid of practitioners from other disciplines. The witches could hasten my death or bring me comfort, but they could not absolve the deepwater curse. Mages were as useless as always. There were no longer any competent lightbinders to be found in Bacra, which was a shame because a skilled lightbinder might have helped me. Desperate to save her second son, Mother summoned an orcan shaman when I was thirteen months old. The shaman couldn't help me herself, but she gave Mother an idea. Over the next two years, she bound me to four more dragons, each from a breed previously known to have extended the life of a dragonbound. She didn't know yet if it was enough to counter the deepwater curse, so we waited. I grew normally and reached maturity, but then something strange happened. If left solely to the original bind, I would have begun aging rapidly by age twenty and died soon thereafter. Instead, my rate of aging slowed. And then I unexpectedly outlived my older brother and became my mother's heir. I am ninety-two now, but I appear younger than some of my children. If I were a normal unbound elf, I would have another fifty or sixty years left in my life. Because of what my mother did to me, I may live hundreds of years longer than that. Because of what Moonlight Guardian Lorra Zephyrain did to me, I have taken on the water dragon trait of perpetual calm. It has served this kingdom well for many years, and I have come to see it as not a curse but a Light-granted blessing. I was grateful that the Guardian lived long enough for me to personally thank her for it.”
Shan wasn't sure if Nylian's story was the truth, but it was plausible. High Queen Kyriana Lightborn was known to be overprotective of her sons, especially Nylian, and Shan had read about the exile of the Zephyrain family from Anthora.
The substance in the mortar was as much silver vapor as black paste now. It was different than Shan expected. “Ranalae inked me with a combination of spellbook bindings, Varaku blood, and dragon bone char. This smells different. What is it?”
Nylian glanced down at Lumin, then over at Keersa. “Tears of a solar dragon. Albumin from a fertilized deepwater dragon egg. Dried hedolar blood from the beast your Fae friend blew up in Parandor. Basalt f
rom an underwater volcano. The ink for each spell I tattoo on you is made from a different combination of materials. Each letter and symbol has magic infused into it. Ranalae was a warlock, so she could mark you with the early spells, but finishing a Spellkeeper needs to be left to a lightbinder.”
“So you're turning me into one of your magical objects?”
“You are to be an empowered living spellbook. That is your purpose, the purpose of all Spellkeepers.”
The first needle jabs penetrated Shan's foot. He felt little of it, a welcome relief as he recalled the searing agony of Ranalae's mutilating hand. Each dot and line began silver, then darkened to black.
“Empowered? Am I to be your henchman or are you making me into something ridiculous and useless, like a . . . like a pendant that seduces woodland rodents?” Shan stared at Lumin's side and tried to match his breaths with the dragon's. It wasn't working. In spite of the spell and the slow abatement of the panic, Shan's breathing was faster and shallower than it should have been. It rendered his voice pinched and strident.
Nylian dipped the needle in the ink paste and returned it to Shan's foot. “You are not a Fae trinket. I am using my magic to amplify the resonance of your own considerable ability. Your mind is fighting it, but your body accepts it without struggle. Spellkeepers are identified by their innate magical abilities and natural resilience. They can work advanced magic from young ages without instruction.”
Shan buzzed his lips and watched the mist rise from the base of the waterfall. His foot didn't hurt if he avoided looking at it. His stomach would knot and churn if he dared watch the path of the needle. “How many of us are there?”
“Yes, we will have this discussion now.” Nylian glanced up at Shan before returning to his work. “There are four. Two are incomplete and I have not been able to locate them. I am not the only one seeking them. They were created before you. The fourth Spellkeeper is ancient and has been frozen in time for many centuries. Her location is lost to the same time that took her.”
“All warlocks?” Shan asked. He let his arm drop off the side of the chaise and rested his paralyzed fingers on Lumin's neck.
“You are the only living warlock Spellkeeper. The ancient Spellkeeper is suspected to be a lightbinder witch. The two others I cannot find are a mage and a witch, but I do not know their specific disciplines. I also do not know who marked them, but I know they exist and are alive because the heartstones beneath this chamber illuminated upon their creation. One has been lit for ages, and three more ignited over the past six years. There are seven heartstones, and they have never been illuminated at the same time. I do not know what would happen if they were all lit.”
“Please don't do this to three more people just so you can watch your pretty lights illuminate the apocalypse.”
“I cannot identify Spellkeepers. I can only complete what has already been started.” Nylian cleared his throat and nodded toward Shan. “Is Marita's spell holding?”
“I don't feel a gods-damned thing.” Shan closed his eyes and allowed the music of the waterfall to ease his racing heart.
“You are usually screaming at me by this point and I am forced to restrain you. This is easier. She will work this spell on you every time now. It won't be much longer. I will take you six more times, less frequently now.”
Was there an end to this? Was it that close? “What happens then?”
Nylian shook out his hands, then returned needle to flesh to begin a new row of runes. “You will be completed. There has not been a completed Spellkeeper within my lifetime, so I am not certain how it will affect you.”
“Great. I'm your sarding experiment.” Shan sighed and forced his heavy eyelids open. A faint tingle spread throughout his body. He was relaxed now, too relaxed. He could sleep, but he didn't want to. There was no knowing what Nylian would do to him if he was unaware. “What else will you tell me? Who are the other Spellkeepers? What are they? Are they elves or halflings or what?”
“Half-elves,” Nylian said. His nose twitched and he pushed a stray strand of hair away from his mouth. “All Spellkeepers are half-elves. Pure-blooded elves are too fragile for the amount of modification a Spellkeeper must endure. Humans, orcs, and Fae are strong of body but their lives are short, and their primitive minds instruct them to fight when they feel threatened. Smaller races live longer but they do not have enough skin to contain the full order of spells. Half-elves alone possess the right blend of physical and mental resilience, intelligence, and magical aptitude. Half-humans and half-orcs are preferred. There was once a half-dwarf Spellkeeper, but it took an incredibly delicate hand to complete her inscriptions.”
Shan sighed again and tried to swallow his growing fatigue. “So, who chooses these Spellkeepers? Is it you?”
Nylian looked up and smiled, revealing slightly-pointed teeth. “No, Shannon. I am only the lightbinder scribe. I do not choose Spellkeepers any more than you choose to be one. You will sleep soon, and you will wake in your new quarters, but you will not forget our conversation this time. When you return to your wife, you will resume conceiving an heir for yourself. It is important that this happens quickly so the child is born or is at least close to birth before your ritual is complete.”
“Well, shit. You're not going finish this by castrating me, are you?” Shan lifted his arm from Lumin and squirmed in the chaise.
Nylian gripped his toes tightly. “No. You will not lose your fertility or any treasured pieces of your anatomy. It is important because the Spellkeeper's child becomes his or her bind to the world. Without that blood bind, the Spellkeeper cannot retain a hold on reality and will fall completely into magical madness.”
“Well, that's just great. You're not going to allow me to decide a damned thing about my own life, are you?”
“Not yet. Your children will be free to choose their own paths. They do not need to be near you all the time. They only need to be born and survive. Marita was informed this morning of why this is so important, and she agreed to try again once the midwife says she is able. I'm afraid I was hasty when I began the process of completing you. I thought the child you lost would be your anchor.”
“I don't want this. I don't want any of this, and neither does she.” Shan closed his eyes and winced as a small measure of the numbness in his foot subsided. The tingling in his head was returning, and he knew his subdued headache would surface soon.
“She loves you enough to want to protect your mind from itself.” Nylian pressed harder against Shan's foot, revealing a deep and searing pain. Magic pain. This was Nylian's infusion beginning to take hold. “You will sleep now, until her spell fully wears off. I'm afraid you will experience some pain following that, but you will not remember it. This particular ritual will be over when you open your eyes again.”
“You're such a lying asshole,” Shan murmured as his body grew heavy and his awareness darkened.
A warm hand touched Shan's forehead. “I know. I'm sorry this had to be you. I was never given a choice, either.”
6
Hael
Elan rubbed his cheeks, spreading black muck across his already-filthy silver skin. He yawned, sneezed, then yawned again. “Five left while we slept. Don't know who yet. Min counted. Now she's trying to find out who. Maybe they got eaten. Maybe Itrek ate them.”
Hael regarded the sleeping Varaku with skepticism. He was becoming more difficult to rouse with each sleep. Hael suspected the lack of fresh meat from creatures larger than salamander was hurting his body. Hive Varaku did eat Uldru sometimes, but they preferred the animals the Uldru farmed but were not allowed to eat themselves. Grotto birds and muckpigs made up the majority of the Varaku diet, but they also ate defective Faralo abominations and any egrutes the scouts found nesting in the tunnels. Sometimes they even ate other Varaku. They were indiscriminate feeders while they forced the undernourished Uldru to survive off fungi and whatever small creatures they could catch with their bare hands or clay bowls.
“He didn't eat them. He
can barely move now, even when I threaten him with pain.” Hael looked past Elan into the green dim of the cave. The others peeled luminescent yellow mushrooms off the walls or chewed mouthfuls of glowworms that they'd collected before the previous sleep. Hael was too sensitive to the tranquilizing effect of the glowworms to eat any before beginning travel. She dug her fingernails into the ground at her sides. The cavern floor was not stone here, but instead something soft and organic-smelling. Insects scurried in and out of tiny burrows. Hael plucked a centipede from the ground near her foot and popped it in her mouth.
Elan sighed as he searched the ground for an insect of his own. “His parents ate our parents. In front of us. Made us watch. He's weak and hungry. He'll eat us when he has the chance.”
“He's weak and hungry, exactly. That means he hasn't eaten anyone yet. I don't think he will. He's too scared. Maybe too sad.”
Elan smirked and shook his head. “Varaku don't get sad.”
Hael caught a beetle and held it between her fingertips. Its white carapace shimmered in the glow of Elans' light orb. “Itrek does. He cries when he thinks no one is looking. He's the last of his hive, last of his family. They bond with their families and they mourn them. He's young, too, not even mature enough to seek a mate. Dral said he was born the same fungus season I was. She was a kitchen and midwifery slave for his family.”
“She died. All the old ones did.”
“She fell when the bridge collapsed on the second travel cycle. Old or young, all on it died. Don't hold that against Dral. She was kin through our father and I liked her.”
“I have trouble remembering Dad sometimes. And Mom. It hasn't been many cycles, but I'm forgetting.” Elan squinted at the sleeping Varaku. He bared his teeth, then glanced back toward Hael. “I remember her singing to us and holding us. You look like her. Small and golden like she was. Your eyes are like Dad's. Silver. He tried to teach us the little magics. You never figured it out.”
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