Spellslinger: The fantasy novel that keeps you guessing on every page

by Sebastien de Castell

  I lay in my bed for hours at a time, holding my arms out in front of me, willing the tattooed metallic inks of the six bands to break apart, for the sigils to spark, igniting the symbols of the spells that I should be able to cast by now. It wasn’t fair. My whole life I’d done everything a Jan’Tep initiate was supposed to do. I’d memorised the perfect pronunciation of every spell, mastered every somatic form. I could hold the image of a spell in my mind with perfect clarity even in the middle of a raging thunderstorm. None of it mattered. The bands wouldn’t spark.

  At one point I became so consumed with frustration and resentment that, even though I knew it wouldn’t work, I scratched at the bands with my fingernails, breaking the skin until I bled. But no amount of scraping or cutting would bring them to life. Only magic. Only strength. Only the things I didn’t have.

  I bit into my blanket, fearing my mother or father – or, worse, Shalla – might hear me crying. I raged silently against the whole world, only to later try to force myself into accepting the fate laid out before me, imagining my life as a Sha’Tep clerk or servant. By evening I came to the conclusion that neither petulance nor subservience suited my temperament.

  I needed to do something about my situation. A liar, my father had called me. A cheat. A trickster. Well, if that’s what I was, then I was going to lie, cheat and trick my way to a mage’s power, because there was no way in any hell I was going to stay like this. We had plenty of stories among my people of the Mahdek tribes who stole magic from the gods or spirits, who drank deadly concoctions and performed secret rituals that led them to discover powerful spells. Of course, being thieves, the Mahdek weren’t exactly considered the heroes of those stories. Fine then, I thought, I’ll be the first.

  A knock at the door brought me back down to earth.

  ‘Come in,’ I said, not wanting to see other people but determined not to let it show.

  There were no lights in my room so it took a moment for the shadows coming through the door to resolve themselves first into hands, then a tray, and finally Abydos. Uncle Abydos, I reminded myself.

  ‘You haven’t eaten all day,’ he said quietly.

  I was a little surprised at his coming to me with food. My father had a strict policy that meals were to be eaten as a family, and if either Shalla or I ever chose to sulk in our rooms then we could go without. Last night I’d been ill, so it was an excusable lapse. But tonight? ‘Does my father know that you’re bringing me supper?’

  Abydos came and set the tray down on the small desk in the corner of my room and sat at the chair that was already too small for me and made him look like a giant. He lifted the red-clay cover from the tray, revealing a plate laden with some kind of roasted lamb dish that smelled wonderful. ‘The family has already been served, Master Kellen. This is my supper and I’m entitled to eat it where I please.’

  ‘You want to eat in my room?’

  ‘Do you mind?’

  I got up from the bed, my clothes from the day before feeling rough and stiff against my skin, and joined him at the desk. When I looked at the tray I noticed he’d put together a rather large portion for one man. I noticed something else as well. ‘You seem to have two sets of cutlery on your tray.’

  ‘Hmm?’ He looked down at the extra pair of utensils in mock surprise. ‘Why, I do indeed. How odd.’ Then he looked at the plate of lamb. ‘I also seem to have taken more food than I can eat. I don’t suppose you might …?’

  I picked up a knife and fork and grinned, more for Abydos than out of any real sense of pleasure I felt, but even fake happiness was better than sitting alone in my room staring at a blackened glow-glass ball.

  At first we ate in silence. I’d never spent much time with Abydos. He’d always struck me as a rather simple person – utterly unlike my father. But now, as I watched him eat with a kind of methodical patience, I could see similarities emerge. They were close in age, Abydos being a year or so younger, and shared the same colouring and powerful build. But my uncle didn’t exude that sense of power, of command, that my father did. He was, I suppose, what a Daroman farmer or a Berabesq soldier might seem like. Unimposing. Unremarkable. Ordinary. And yet, did I see him that way simply because he had no magic?

  ‘Did you always know you were Sha’Tep?’ I asked, dimly aware of how rude the question was but suddenly desperate to know the answer.

  My uncle took it with remarkable grace. ‘I suppose I did,’ he said, his eyes gazing somewhere far away. ‘I could do a little magic, as a child. Most of us can, close to the oasis, but my ability faded as I approached my naming year.’

  Which was exactly what was happening to me! A sudden panic began to rise up from somewhere deep inside me, as though my very soul were screaming for help. This isn’t right! I was born to be a mage like Mother and Father and Shalla, not some useless Sha’Tep like … Abydos was looking down at me. His eyes were gentle … patient. Shame drowned out my terror and rage, and my breathing slowed, but the underlying desperation remained. ‘When your magic began to fail … did you … did you ever try to fight it?’

  Abydos held out his forearms, the coloured bands long faded but still visible. ‘I used to sit and stare at these things for hours, trying to will them away, praying for the spirits of our ancestors to ignite them for me.’ He ran a fingernail down the length of one forearm. ‘I even tried …’ Abydos shook his head. ‘I sometimes had foolish thoughts as a boy.’ He went back to eating his food.

  ‘Tell me,’ I said. A subtle change in my uncle’s expression made me realise I’d sounded as if I were giving him an order. ‘I mean, I’ve read … I’ve heard other initiates talk about ways of breaking the bands with copper sulphides and …’

  Abydos smiled, swallowing a mouthful of lamb and then setting his knife and fork down on the tray. ‘Ah, yes, the tales of potions concocted from the banding metals we mine deep beneath the oasis. Do you envision formulating exotic potions fuelled by the spells of three young mages working in concert, nobly sacrificing a portion of their own magics … Kellen, can you imagine in your wildest dreams that your fellow initiates would ever do such a thing?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t …?’ The question died on my lips. I already knew the answer. Magic was the most prized possession of my people. Who would ever want to give up a piece of that power? And yet, that was precisely the strategy I’d been contemplating. Panahsi had so much potential that I hoped he might be willing to give up a little for me. My sister – if she felt guilty enough and if I stoked her ego sufficiently. But, Shalla, you’re so powerful … you’ve got more magic than our whole clan combined, don’t you? It was a far-fetched plan, but, as I’d learned from Ferius last night when she’d taught me an odd game called Poker, sometimes you have to play the cards you’re dealt.

  ‘Don’t,’ Abydos said, shaking me from my thoughts. ‘I’ve seen that look on the face of many a young initiate, but for every legend of a mage finding their power through dark magics, there are a hundred very real stories of those whose lives were shattered in the attempt. There is a cost to pay for seeking greater power than the spirits of our ancestors would willingly grant.’

  Unbidden, something my father said the night before came back to me.

  ‘Is that what happened to my grandmother?’ I asked. ‘Did she really have the shadowblack?’

  The question would have shocked anyone, and I think it did give Abydos a jolt, but he hesitated only for a second before answering. ‘She had an illness,’ he said, almost absently. He brought the index finger of his right hand up to his face and traced a pattern on his cheek. ‘Black, swirling markings that grew over time and, as they grew, so too did the darkness inside her.’

  ‘I don’t understand. What darkness? What do you mean?’

  Abydos leaned back against his chair and I saw deepening lines on his forehead, his eyebrows rising at the centre. ‘It just seemed to take her over. An … ugliness inside her, changing her. She became someone utterly different from the woman I’d known as a child. In the
end, it fell to your father to stop her.’

  My father’s words rang out in my head. It is my right and my responsibility both to protect this family and to protect the clan from another rogue mage. But he’d said something else too – about Shalla. I will bind her forever if I must.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I said, my voice rising. ‘Mother is a healer! Why didn’t she—’

  ‘There is no cure. If it’s true, what the masters say, that the shadowblack is a curse cast upon us by the Mahdek in the final days before they fell to our spells, then I doubt any magic of ours can remove the disease. We can only cut out the infection before it spreads.’ He placed a hand on my shoulder – an unusual gesture for him. ‘Do not dwell on the past; the present has more than enough perils of its own.’

  I thought about last night and Ra’meth with his sons. Could they have killed Father if Ferius hadn’t interfered? I looked up at Abydos. ‘Is our family in danger from Ra’meth?’

  He turned back to the food. ‘Not if your father becomes clan prince.’

  ‘But will he? The House of Ra has a lot of supporters. What if …?’

  Abydos had been in the process of raising a forkful of lamb to his mouth. He stopped and gave me a raised eyebrow. ‘Have you ever known your father to fail at anything?’

  He had a point. On the other hand, I doubted Abydos knew anything about Jan’Tep politics. Before I could think of a polite way to make that point, the door to the room opened again. It was Shalla.

  I should have known she would come. Almost a whole day had passed, and no doubt she expected me to be over any misguided anger I might feel towards her. ‘Look, Kellen, I know you’re cross with me, but I …’ It was only then that she seemed to take any notice of our uncle sitting at my desk. ‘What are you doing here, Abydos?’

  ‘Get out, Shalla,’ I said.

  Abydos gave me a stern look. Normally I would have found the idea of being reprimanded by a Sha’Tep preposterous, but in a few weeks’ time chances were very good that I’d be reporting to him every morning to receive my duties for the day. He squeezed my shoulder and gave me a sympathetic smile. There was real warmth there, maybe more than I was used to seeing from my parents.

  ‘I was just leaving, Mistress Shalla,’ Abydos said. He rose and was about to reach for the tray still half full of food when he turned to me. ‘Forgive me, Master Kellen, but I have some pressing duties. Would you mind terribly if I left my supper tray here for a little while longer?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, but simply stood and walked to the door.

  ‘Thank you, Ab … Thank you, Uncle,’ I said.

  He turned back and gave me a smile underneath sad eyes.

  ‘“Uncle”?’ Shalla asked dubiously, depositing herself on the chair Abydos had just vacated.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I …’ She hesitated for a good long while. ‘I just wanted to see if you were all right.’

  Why do people ask questions like that? I see your arm has fallen off, are you all right? Oh, hello there. I understand your entire family burned in a fire. Are you all right? My magic was fading and in a matter of weeks I would find myself consigned to the Sha’Tep. From that moment forward Shalla would view me with no more respect than she did our uncle. So the correct answer was, No, I’m not all right. I’ll never be all right, and it’s your fault, Shalla.

  Had it been five years ago, when we were little children, I would have picked up the tray and dumped its contents on my sister’s head. Had it been yesterday, I would have yelled at her, shouting until the roof came off for the way she’d helped to destroy my life. But it was today, and I could no longer afford to be that person. I needed to be someone who thought about the future.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be preparing for your own tests?’ I asked, hoping to change the subject.

  She opened up the palm of her hand and revealed a gold disc. ‘My duel was this morning. I almost refused when that old fool Osia’phest told me I had to fight Enyeris. She’s the weakest student among all those taking the trials.’

  Not the weakest any more, I thought bitterly. When I caught Shalla looking at me as if I was some kind of invalid I said, ‘I’m fine. Thanks for asking.’

  Her mouth opened but no words came out. I let her hang that way for a few seconds, hoping a bug might fly in through the window and land in her mouth. At last she said, ‘You’re fine?’

  I nodded and patted the left side of my chest. ‘Heart’s beating just how it should.’ I had no idea if that was true of course. It might have been ticking backwards for all I knew. I stood up and opened my wardrobe and began searching for a clean shirt. ‘Really, Shalla, I’m doing great, but I’ve got some important errands, so if you don’t mind …?’

  ‘Your magic is fading, Kellen. Soon it’ll be completely gone. And you’re saying you’re fine?’

  I didn’t respond. She was trying to pick a fight with me. In Shalla’s world, a fight was a chance to prove how smart she was; a test of wills to be quickly won – after which she would magnanimously declare that the conflict and anger could now be forgotten. Shalla was my sister and one of the three people I loved best in the world, but I didn’t want to ‘fight and forget’. Despite how much I was soon going to need my sister’s help, at that moment I couldn’t stand even to look at her.

  I exchanged my dust-covered shirt from the day before for a dark grey linen one from the wardrobe that suited both the evening sky and my mood.

  ‘And what “errands” do you have tonight?’ she asked, idly picking at my food. ‘Is this because Mouse Girl came around asking about you?’

  ‘“Mouse Girl”?’

  ‘The dull one from your class. The one with the pointy face. Nephi … Neph …’

  ‘Nephenia?’ I asked. ‘She doesn’t have a pointy face. She’s the most –’ The smug look on Shalla’s face stopped me from saying any more. The last thing I wanted was to give her one more thing to hold over me. I looked away and my eyes settled on the deck of cards sitting on the edge of the little table next to my bed. I walked over and retrieved the deck, feeling the cards slide smoothly into my palm. I resisted the urge to fan the cards out and start flipping them in the air. ‘I have to go. Father said I was to return these to Ferius Parfax right away.’

  Shalla stopped playing with my food and turned to me, her expression suddenly very serious. ‘No, he said to send a servant. You should stay away from that woman, Kellen. People are saying she’s a spy for the Daroman king, come to interfere in the election of the next clan prince.’

  ‘It’s going to be Father,’ I said reflexively.

  ‘Of course it’s going to be Father. So why is this Ferius woman here? What does she want?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I replied, tucking the deck into the pocket of my shirt. ‘I’ll be sure to ask her when I see her.’

  I turned to open the door, only to have it open in front of me. Our father stood in the doorway, his tall frame lit by the lanterns in the hallway behind him, casting a shadow over me. He held out his right hand and there, across his palm, was a rolled piece of parchment sealed with black wax. An edict, I realised, suddenly terrified. Ra’meth has got the council to issue an edict against me. ‘You’ve been summoned,’ he said.

  I couldn’t tell from his voice how much of what he felt was concern for me and how much was anger over whatever infamy I’d brought down on our house. ‘You have to open it, Kellen,’ he said. ‘There is a guard from the palace waiting outside.’

  I reached out and took the scroll, hands shaking. It felt heavier than it should, and when I opened it something fell out onto the floor. I looked down and saw the light reflecting off a small gold disc, just like the one Shalla had received for winning her duel. ‘I don’t understand,’ I said, reaching down to pick it up.

  Shalla took the disc from me and held it up to examine it next to her own. They were identical. ‘What does the summons say?’ she asked.

  I began to unroll the scroll and only then noticed the
symbol pressed into the black wax: a star rising above waves in the water. ‘That’s the sign of the clan prince,’ I said, turning to my father. ‘But … he’s dead. How could …?’

  My father’s eyes narrowed, examining the seal as if he might find some flaw in its design. ‘The prince is dead, but there is one other who may still use his symbol.’

  ‘The dowager magus,’ Shalla breathed. ‘But she hasn’t held court in …’

  Neither of us knew the answer. The dead clan prince’s wife hadn’t left the palace since long before either of us was born. To us, she was little more than the stern, cold features carved onto the face of the statue outside the palace gates bearing her name. I opened up the scroll and found written on its surface a single sentence. ‘I have questions for you.’

  I glanced up at my father, the scroll in my right hand and the gold disc in my left. ‘What do I do?’

  The uncertainty in his eyes settled on a look of concern for me. ‘You have no choice. She is the dowager. There will be a price for refusing her.’

  9

  The Dowager

  I had never been through the palace gates before. Inside was a huge expanse, lit by nothing but the stars overhead, walled in by stone colonnades that rose twenty feet from the swept sandy ground. In the centre stood the palace itself, a large single-storey building with seven walls that sloped inwards, making the heptagonal roof smaller than the foundations. I could still see the seven pale lights rising up from the roof and shining towards the stars, a reminder that the clan prince was dead, and that these were dangerous times.