“How the fuck did he pull off such a stunt?”
Nolo shook his head and bit back on his knee jerk reply. But the unsaid word filled the stunned silence between them. Gregori threw his head back and laughed.
“Magic,” Jerlo shook his head. Annoyance sharpened his tone.
Giving the balcony his back, Nolo strode toward his boss. “But the Kid can't fly.”
“Nothing is impossible when magic’s involved.” A giant stone eagle dwarfed the commander. Leaving his cryptic statement to hang there, Jerlo headed for the arcade.
His parting words haunted Nolo. After one last glance at the Kid racing across the meadow, Nolo followed. He knew where the stupid kid headed—back to the site where a dozen or so people had lost their lives.
“I told him to drop it,” Nolo muttered as his longer strides brought him even with his boss. He had to turn sideways to pass between two statues and a cart full of linens.
“I know. The Kid has selective hearing. When I catch him, he'll have to deal with the consequences of his actions.” And Jerlo’s tone made it clear those consequences would be unpleasant.
“You won't whip him.”
Jerlo shook his head. “I’m not a monster, and a whip is a poor teacher. No, I’ve thought of a better punishment.”
“Updating your wall map?”
Jerlo’s lips twitched, and the man almost smiled at the mention of his pride and joy. The commander's map was the most accurate map of Shayari in existence. To prevent its theft, Jerlo kept it under lock and key.
Nolo relaxed. Updating Jerlo’s map would keep Sarn busy and out of trouble. It would also frustrate the hell out of the Kid. “How did the inspection go? Have you heard anything yet?”
“No, but I don't expect to since the Kid’s still breathing.”
Nolo nodded, but doubt niggled at him. Why indenture a mage if his Lordship intended to hide him away? The Kid was languishing for want of occupation. Lord Joranth must have plans for Sarn, but what did those plans entail?
They walked in silence past white and gray liveried servants polishing the marble statues. Wielding mops, they swabbed the miles of flooring making them shine. And the sharp odor of their cleansers made Nolo sneeze as he slipped and squeaked on the wet tiles. With luck, the damn things would dry before the rest of the mountain's denizens rose.
Each lumir inlaid eye seemed to target them, but it was only his imagination. Guilt played with his perceptions and made the statues appear to watch them. Ahead loomed the grand staircase. An army of teenagers swarmed the marble affair spiraling between floors. They attacked its twenty-foot wide steps with rags. Statues bearing silver staves guarded them while they cleaned. And those helmed heads turned in Nolo's peripheral vision. When he glanced back, the statues faced forward again.
Nolo shook his head and fixed his eyes on the middle distance. He had to find Sarn before worry chewed up his insides.
Chapter 30
Halting just outside the last circle of menhirs, Sarn stared at an impassible wall of trees. They stood trunk to trunk leaving no gaps for an enterprising Ranger to squeeze through.
Undaunted, he confronted the nearest tree. “You have to let me in.”
After a long moment, the oak tree crawled aside and branches gestured for Sarn to enter. Would they allow the Rangers to follow?
Sarn looked up at the tree towering five hundred feet over his head for the answer, but it gave none. Leaning against the Shayarin oak, he glanced at the meadow and checked his pursuers’ progress. Damn, they had reached the north exit and were now hurrying down the trail to the meadow.
Pushing off the tree, Sarn took a step and pain stabbed his ankle. No more running, he’d have to settle for a fast hobble. Perhaps taking a flying leap off a balcony had been a dumb idea.
A branch shoved Sarn, and he stumbled forward biting his lip to keep from crying out. Her power rolled by him in a sparkling mass, and he turned. A solid wall of trunks greeted him thanks to the Queen of All Trees’ intervention. She would slow his masters down perhaps long enough for him to fix things.
“Thank you,” he said into a passing breeze. With luck, it would carry his gratitude to her.
Sarn hopped forward on his good foot into darkness thick enough to cut. Since he’d used a lot of magic for his last stunt, it was at a low ebb now, reducing his eyes' emerald glow. Oh, they still put out more than enough lumens to light his path, but not much beyond it. And there was something or someone hiding in the undergrowth, watching him.
The skin between his shoulder blades itched as if an arrow was trained on his back, but he didn’t stop or turn. The feeling of unease seeped into his gut nauseating him, and that narrowed down the list of possible spies to three beings. No rat icon on his map crossed Rat Woman off the list. More than likely it was the snake woman since he’d encountered her out here earlier. So, he’d best be on his guard.
Sarn pulled on his familiar green magic to extend his senses, but it was slow to respond. Meanwhile, the white magic flowed through his veins but did nothing to help him. Maybe the green magic would replenish while he limped.
No such luck. By a mile in, the level of green magic at his disposal had not changed. But the stabbing pain in his ankle had increased, forcing Sarn to stop. The sprain was worse than he’d thought.
What lead he’d had was gone now, swallowed up by his slow hobbling. Jerlo and Nolo had just crossed the first circle of menhirs.
How long could the Queen of All Trees keep them out? Not long, judging by how battered she had looked earlier. And it was his fault. If only he’d figured out what was going on sooner.
A branch fell at his feet. Sarn picked it up and was surprised to find it was the perfect height and shape for a crutch. Without any padding, it would chafe, but it would take his weight off his bad ankle and speed up the hike. Emerald magic flowed from the earth into the wood lighting up the bark's whirls. Then it sank into his hand as he limped onward, restoring the magic he’d spent.
“Thank you.” More than a crutch, they'd given him a conduit and a much-needed recharge. Through the crutch, his sixth sense shot out in all directions identifying every rock and root within twenty feet of him. And there, peeking over a boulder fifteen feet away was an unnatural figure mashed together from snakes. So, it was her spying. What was her part in this?
Sarn’s theory felt less solid as his luminous eyes lit the trees around him, making their bark glow. Somehow, they had escaped the infection sweeping through the forest. Under his scrutiny, they stood straight, like an honor guard should. Their leaves twinkled forming rival constellations.
How could one child’s murder affect so much? Was he still missing something?
Nausea curdled Sarn’s stomach, and he fought the urge to vomit. Something bad was happening, and he had to stop it. Alert for trouble, Sarn slipped between two listing trees. Their gray, flaking bark repelled him and killed the naïve hope that had sent him out here.
A familiar mask symbol popped up on his map and Sarn stared at it in confusion. What the hell was Shade doing here?
Breaking cover, Sarn crashed into a wall of intense cold air fogging the clearing. Where was Shade?
Before he could recheck his map, a white noise turned it into a wavy mess, and he banished it. Sarn swallowed bile, and his senses screamed one word in a painful litany: unnatural.
An icy hand seized him, and Sarn met the dead boy's fearful eyes. Then he wrenched his gaze away from the question which had plagued him for years. Death muted all specters, but survivor’s guilt gave it voice.
Why me and not you?
“Because they haven’t found me yet.”
But ‘they’ would. It was only a matter of time. Sarn couldn’t hide from the Seekers and their informants forever.
A black chain clamped around the Ghost Boy’s ankle and jerked the transparent child from his grasp. It dragged the silently screaming ghost toward a ripple in the air.
“No!” Sarn hobbled after it. No way was he losing the ghost he’d come to save.
The other side of the clearing shivered like a reflection as the ghost plunged through it. Sarn followed a moment later shattering the illusion. In front of him, a heart the size of a bear pulsated. It shortened the Ghost Boy’s tether until the scared specter fell in line with the twelve others shambling around that foul organ.
“What the hell is that?”
Not something he could fix by himself. But he had to try because no one else would. All his heroes were dead and dusted. But the syncopated beat of that foul organ crescendoed. Sarn reeled until his heart quit trying to match the arrhythmic tattoo of the foul working.
“It’s something I didn’t want you to see.”
Between one slow blink and the next, Shade appeared holding a fading black veil in gloved hands. So that was how the construct had been hidden, behind a simple illusion. A better mage would have noticed that, but Sarn let the bitter thought go. He was doing the best he could despite being untrained.
Sarn staggered into a half-dead tree and leaned against it unable to find his equilibrium. Some of his magic seeped into the tree to fight the infection, and in response, a thick root rose to provide a foot rest.
"Shade—What are you doing here?"
"Soft speech I crave, give me kind words."
"No more poetry, tell me who did this and how."
"Don't you want to know why?" Shade’s shapeless gray robes billowed in the breeze.
Sarn leaned his head against the tree and closed his eyes as more pieces fell into place. Extra Rangers had patrolled the night of the murders. Now he knew why
“You tipped off the Rangers about the drugs.”
“Yes, so they’d keep you away.”
“Yeah well, that didn’t happen.” Sarn felt like laughing, but he bottled it up. When this was all over, he’d sit in the sun and laugh with his son.
“Sorrow seen can never be unseen. I’m sorry you saw that.” Shade shifted from foot to foot then turned to regard that vile heart.
Sarn rubbed his arms. The cold stung his skin and numbed his muscles despite the magic rushing around to warm him. “You met the smugglers and got the drugs. Seven men waited below the rock cut on the north side. You were supposed to drop the goods to them.”
Shade nodded. “Brilliant you are, not just of eye, but of mind too.”
Sarn willed his stomach to settle, but his gorge rose in time to the heart’s pulsations. He cast his mind back to the night in question. There was one more odd coincidence. If the scenario had played out right, the seven men would have followed the river back to their den. He’d also run into Zaduke’s people on its shore soon after encountering the first group. Had they been on hand to steal the drugs from the seven or escort them? Zaduke—the name ignited a powerful anger, and Sarn hurled at it Shade.
“You’re working for Zaduke? I made a deal with him to keep you alive. How could you?” Sarn pushed off the tree he’d leaned against, fists clenched and ready to punch his ex-friend. But his ankle buckled and he stumbled, landing on his knees. Shade rushed to his side but backed off when Sarn shoved his ex-friend’s hands away.
“Not Zaduke, never him, I know what you sacrificed for me.”
At last, his ex-friend had dropped the poetry.
“Then what did you do? Who are you working for?”
“Myself,” Shade crossed one ankle behind the other and gave Sarn a courtly bow.
“What did you do?”
Shade held out a gloved hand. Dark eyes pleaded with him to accept help. Sarn relented and grasped the hand offered but his magic shocked Shade into letting go. Eyes wide, Shade backed away.
Unnatural, shrieked the magic, but it offered no explanation, as usual.
Sarn reached for his walking stick, and it flew to his hand. Digging its point into the earth, he rose and swayed. The events of the night were finally catching up to him. He staggered to a boulder and sat down.
“You played both sides against each other.” Sarn thought back to the conversation he’d had several nights ago with one of Zaduke’s men. Whose territory had the man claimed it was? “You pitted Zaduke against Rade.”
Shade nodded and peeked under the glove to check for damage. “Your magic burned me.”
Feeling eyes on him, Sarn searched for them. Thirteen ghosts—one child, one teen, five women and six men—watched him with blank eyes. He shuddered.
The whole ugly thing had stared him in the face for three days, and he'd ignored it because magic objected to drugs. They were mutually exclusive. So how had this vile thing come to pass? The ghost boy pointed at Shade.
But how had Shade done this? His ex-friend must have had magical help but from who? Sarn rubbed his temples. He was still missing the most important piece of this puzzle.
“Does Zaduke or Rade have a mage in their employ?” Even as Sarn asked the question, he knew the answer was no. If either had a mage, he’d have heard about it. Rumors were the lifeblood of the Indentured.
Shade approached but stopped an arm’s length away, head shaking in negation.
Then how had this tragedy come to pass? Sarn’s gaze bounced to the ghosts and the heart then back to Shade in confusion. Someone had created the organ and the chains binding the ghosts. None of it had occurred naturally.
“But you were there.” Sarn let the statement hang suspended on an awful truth. “What happened?”
“I wanted to be beautiful, so you'd love me.”
“What does love have to do with this?” Sarn stared at his ex-friend dumbfounded.
“It has everything to do with it.” Having nothing left to lose, Shade doffed cowl and veil revealing a face melted by fire and hardened by self-loathing. It was not an ugly face, just one scarred by a hard life. “I wanted you to love me the way I love you.”
“You love drugs and the high they give you. You don't love me. This isn’t love. It's selfishness.” Sarn gestured to the ghosts tethered by black chains. Anger surged against his control eroding it.
Turning the veil in gloved hands, Shade’s lips twisted into a pained line. “Everything I’ve done is for you. I found you when they took you away. I stayed with you when the pain was worst. I told you about your son. And when she treated you like trash I convinced you to leave her. I did all this because I love you.”
Sarn shook his head, remembering the stiff way his ex-friend had held his son the other night. At no time had Shade ever talked to Ran or acknowledged the boy. How had he missed such an obvious sign? Because Shade often disappeared for months at a time.
“I know what love is."
Shade gave Sarn a skeptical look.
"My son taught me how to love. What your actions show is not love. Love doesn't abandon my son. Love doesn't participate in abuse, and it doesn't lie.”
“I've never lied to you.”
“You promised after I intervened with Zaduke you’d quit doing drugs but you didn't. I offered to help you.”
“I tried, but I needed the drugs to—” Shade’s face softened and flowed reforming into a demonic mask. Horns pushed up through Shade’s scarred pate.
Eam’meye erator, insisted a bodiless voice and Sarn finally understood.
“To keep me down—” Shade’s voice had dropped into the same register as thunder. Talons tore through Shade’s gloved hands as the creature possessing his ex-friend ripped free.
Dropping the meat puppet Shade had become to one side, the creature faced Sarn. It grinned a mouthful of jagged yellow teeth. As the thing locked gazes with Sarn, his magic uncoiled. Time slowed to a crawl freezing him as he stared into the black chasm of the creature’s eyes. Magic flicked outwards in entwining emerald ribbons tying them together. The air around Sarn thickened until it walled him in place.
Memories blossomed in the pits of those hellish eyes, and they swarmed over Sarn, overtaking his sight. Candles were arranged to form a thirteen-point
ed star enclosed by a circle. He blinked at the thirteen hooded and robed figures ringing him. All in black, they swayed as they chanted in a guttural language full of fricatives and growls.
A jewel flashed in the light of one hundred and sixty-nine candles. The crystal crowned a dagger protruding from his—no Shade’s—chest. This was Shade’s memory he was reliving.
Shade stood in the middle of the candles, and blood stained his ex-friend’s white robe.
A shiny black claw ripped through reality's fabric. Through the tear, a horned demon fell on Shade, and his ex-friend welcomed the creature in. Chanting changed from syncopated nonsense to polyphonic wailing as the thing merged with Shade.
Angered by the pain of the knife wound, Shade's passenger expelled the blade and threw it at the chanters. The knife hit the leader in the heart, shattering the working.
Power without form or direction hung in the air, charging it. Sensing the danger, the creature wearing Shade’s body kicked the candles and scattered them to break the pattern. But it was too little too late. Black clouds hugged the ceiling, readying for a deadly strike.
My Angel, we must save him, Shade shrieked, and the creature paused its rampage. Its interest was piqued.
Explain.
I’ll show you. Shade made a bid for control and won, then slammed their combined body into a brick wall until it collapsed. Reaching inside, Shade pulled a skinny, long-legged youth out. When Miren scrambled out afterward, Sarn knew whose unconscious body his ex-friend cradled. The trio fled the cave as lightning struck down one of the remaining chanters leaving a pile of ash behind.
Sarn broke the gaze lock and sagged, exhausted by the revelation. But a gaze-lock was a two-way conduit functioning on a logic all its own. What had the thing those black-robed loons brought into this world seen in his eyes?
The creature crouched down in front of Sarn. “Don’t make this difficult. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve come to like you.”
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