The Dark Remains

by Mark Anthony

  These words were like a slap. However, before Grace could speak, Melia clapped her hands.

  “Oh, Ralena! I had thought I would never see you again. Then, that day we came to Calavere last winter, and I saw you standing there—I thought my heart would shatter with joy.”

  Falken’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “What? You mean, all this time, you knew Grace was Ralena?”

  Melia smiled sweetly. “Of course, dear.”

  The bard’s face turned a fascinating and completely unnatural shade of purple. “And you never thought it important to share this little fact with me?”

  Melia rolled her eyes. “Well, I didn’t think it would take you so long to figure it out. I recognized her at once—even if she did see fit to keep her necklace hidden. Only a child as lovely as Ralena could grow into a woman as beautiful as Grace. Besides, I imagine no one on any world has eyes quite like hers. They haven’t changed a bit, dear.”

  Falken looked ready to explode, but before the bard could speak Durge stepped forward. His lined face was sober as always, but there was a light in his brown eyes Grace had never glimpsed before. It was certainly pride. It might also have been joy.

  “I knew it,” he said softly. “You are indeed a queen. Of men, if not of fairies.” Then, to her astonishment, Durge knelt on the floor before her and bowed his head.

  As if that were not enough, a moment later Falken followed suit, then Beltan, then all of the others. Travis knelt, grinning, and Lirith and Aryn with eyes sparkling. Even Melia, and Sareth and Vani. They all knelt on the floor before Grace.

  This was horrible. Didn’t they understand? She couldn’t possibly be royalty, let alone a queen.

  But you are a queen, Grace. Much as you’d like to deny it, you can’t, so you’d better get used to it. Besides, you’re the ruler of a kingdom that hasn’t existed for centuries. It’s not as if there’s anything to be queen of. So what is there to worry about?

  Plenty. Falken’s blue eyes were brighter than she had ever seen them. It was clear the bard thought she was going to restore Malachor—the very kingdom all the legends said he had helped to bring down. She looked at Vani and Sareth. Why did everyone around here think she had a natural talent for resurrecting dead civilizations?

  She wiped her tears from her cheeks, then reached down and gripped Durge’s thick shoulders, pulling him upward.

  “Rise, Durge, please. All of you. Do you know how stupid you all look?”

  Travis was still grinning as he stood. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

  She glared at him. He was going to pay for that one, and by the way his grin turned into a grimace he knew it.

  Sareth moved forward. “This is an amazing story you have told us Falken, Melindora. But may I remind you …”

  Melia waved his words aside. “Yes, Sareth. We have hardly forgotten. Come, everyone. I imagine my requests to the emperor have been seen to. It is time we paid Ephesian our respects and said farewell.”

  Grace followed the others from the hall, forcing her legs to function. She could feel the others gazing at her with a mixture of awe and respect. Even Travis. It was utterly dreadful. Then, thankfully, Aryn was there. The young woman gripped Grace’s hand in her own good one.

  “So King Boreas was right all along, Grace. You really are royalty. Only you’re not a duchess, but a queen.”

  Queen. That was what Marji had called her. Why was Grace always the last to know?

  “In fact,” Aryn went on, “as Queen of Lost Malachor, I imagine you’d even outrank Boreas.”

  To her surprise, Grace found herself laughing, and the act was steadying, healing. “I don’t think I’m going to be the one who tells Boreas that.”

  Aryn joined in her laughter. “Well, don’t look at me!”

  They were still laughing when they reached the dais and Ephesian’s throne. The emperor’s myopic eyes lit up when Melia told him of their discovery and of Grace’s royal nature.

  “We shall have a celebration!” Ephesian said after roaring with mirth. He turned his attention to Grace. “We’re cousins of a sort, Your Majesty. I am descended from Elsara’s eldest son, and you from her second. Thus I decree that all of Tarras will honor you. We’ll have nine days of feasting and music and dancing. What’s more, you and I can ride together in a parade on a golden barge, and while the people watch I’ll give you some advice on how to run an empire.”

  Grace had absolutely no idea what to say to that, so she simply murmured, Thank you, Your Magnificence.

  Now Ephesian regarded Melia. “I must thank you, Melindora. This is quite possibly the most interesting day I’ve ever had.”

  “And nor is it quite over yet, Your Magnificence,” Melia said. “So let’s not celebrate prematurely.”

  Ephesian called forth one of his soldiers, who reported that the Etherion had been made ready as Melia commanded. After this, the companions bade their farewells to the emperor—with both Lirith and Grace promising to visit soon—then departed, marching across the vast throne room and leaving the emperor alone. The gilded doors of the palace swung shut behind them with a boom that reverberated through Grace’s body.

  The vibration grew in force. A roaring filled the air, and the tiled surface of the courtyard rose and fell violently under Grace’s feet. She cried out as she and the others tumbled against one another. It wasn’t the vibration of the doors closing, Grace finally realized. The ground was shaking.

  “What’s happening?” Falken shouted above the roar.

  However, even as the bard spoke, the trembling of the ground ceased, and an eerie silence fell over the palace, punctuated by the distant barking of dogs.

  Grace struggled to regain her feet, letting go of Sareth, whom she had clutched to keep from falling. A webwork of fine cracks covered the tiled courtyard. She was certain the cracks had not been there moments before.

  “That felt like an earthquake,” Travis said.

  “I do not like this,” Sareth said, gazing at Vani. “The cavern of the demon lies beneath the city. This trembling cannot bode well.”

  Vani opened her mouth to answer, but a moan of pain interrupted her. Nearby, Melia staggered, her face ashen.

  Falken rushed to her. “Melia, are you hurt?”

  She shook her head.

  “What is it?”

  At last Melia managed to croak a single word. “Misar …”

  Grace knew enough of what had been happening in Tarras to understand. Another god was dead, consumed by the demon.

  76.

  Travis craned his neck, gazing up at the blue dome high above. It was hard to believe it wasn’t the sky he was looking at. Birds dived and darted, then soared toward white clouds. It was only after staring for a minute that the illusion finally became apparent. The clouds never moved, painted in place. Melia had led them to a large balcony at the level of the sixth tier. Except for the birds, they had the place to themselves.

  Grace stood a little apart from the rest of them, gazing at the white floor of the Etherion far below. Travis couldn’t help but grin. The first time he had met her, in the great hall of Calavere, he had assumed she was from Eldh. And even later, when he knew she had come from Denver, he had always felt like she belonged here in a way he never would.

  It turns out you were right, Travis. She does belong on Eldh. And if Falken’s right, then I suppose a good chunk of Eldh belongs to her.

  Only why was there such a look of sadness on her face? Shouldn’t she have been happy to know the truth about her parents? But maybe he knew the reason. Melia and Falken had sent her to Earth to protect her, only she had ended up at the Beckett-Strange Home for Children. And there she had found anything but safety. Travis knew; he had seen the shadow, her shadow.

  Yet now she was back on Eldh, back where she belonged. Brother Cy had seen to that.

  Travis reached into the pocket of his loose-fitting Mournish pants and pulled out the half-coin the strange preacher had given him, and which had twice transported
him back to Earth. Grace had the other half of the silver coin, but not long after their return to Denver, Travis had placed the halves together to study the symbols on both sides.

  With the coin complete, he had finally recognized one of the two symbols: a circle with a dot inside. It was the rune Eldh, the symbol of this world. Travis hadn’t recognized the rune on the other side of the coin—a triangle with a line above it. In a way it had reminded him of the rune of ice, but he guessed it had another meaning.

  They’re just like two sides of the same coin, aren’t they, Travis? Sister Mirrim told you that—when one world burned, so did the other.

  The rune on the opposite side of the coin could only be the rune for Earth.

  All right, that was one mystery solved, but it begged another—who was Brother Cy? And how could the preacher send Travis and Grace back and forth between the worlds with what amounted to a wave of his hand when other people, Duratek and the Scirathi included, were scrambling for magic blood and ancient artifacts to do the same thing?

  Travis wasn’t sure. But the magic of the morndari seemed to allow passage across the void between the worlds. And clearly the Imsari did as well—that was how Jack Graystone had come to Earth. And once Jack was there, Sinfathisar had functioned like a beacon, drawing Grace to Castle City. Along with the Pale King’s servants and the runelord Mindroth.

  So was Brother Cy related to one of these powers? Travis wasn’t certain. But in a way the half-coins were similar to the gate artifact. Although they required no blood.

  Travis sighed. There was no way to answer his questions now. But if he ever had the chance to talk to Brother Cy again, he was determined to get some answers. He slipped the coin carefully back into his pocket.

  “All right, Melia,” Falken said, hands on hips. “We’re here. And there must be three entire companies of Tarrasian soldiers surrounding the Etherion. Now what?”

  Melia’s visage was still pale. However, her expression was resolute, and ire sparked in her eyes. “Sareth has told us that if Travis is to go beneath the city, we must provide a distraction for the Scirathi so they do not accost him. And distracting the sorcerers is exactly what I plan to do.”

  “And how exactly are you going to accomplish that?”

  “You shall see.”

  Before the bard could ask more questions, the lady spread her arms, shut her eyes, and tilted her head back. “Mandu, my dearest brother, are you here?”

  Melia’s words dissipated on the hazy air, and silence filled the Etherion. He began to think Melia’s question had been uttered in vain—

  —when a voice spoke. The voice came from all directions and nowhere at once: deep and thrumming with power, yet strangely hesitant, as if the one who spoke was rusty at the craft of using words.

  “I am … here … dear sister.”

  A queer calm came over Travis. He knew he had to go beneath the city, had to find a way to bind the demon with Sinfathisar so that it could not complete its escape. All the same, peace filled him.

  Aryn sighed, her blue eyes glowing. “Mandu.”

  “Who is Mandu?” Travis quietly asked the baroness.

  “The Everdying God.” It seemed Aryn wished to say more, but then she simply sighed again.

  Melia stepped forward. “Oh, Mandu, it is so good to see you once more. It has been so terribly long.”

  “And you … dear sister.”

  The air rippled like water, and before Melia stood an old man clad in a shining white robe.

  “I am … keeping watch over them. As you have asked … dear sister.”

  Travis let out a soft breath. The old man was beautiful. His wrinkled skin was as thin as tissue, yet luminous, as if light shone beneath it. Wispy white hair floated around his head, and his gold eyes were filled with gentle wisdom. The old god’s form flickered, growing alternately translucent and opaque.

  “I am glad, Mandu,” Melia said. “They have need of a shepherd since they have lost theirs. And I fear there are now more lost lambs to join them.”

  “Yes … dear Misar has completed his circle. But do not fear … dear Melindora. I will watch Misar’s flock as well. I am nearly ready … to complete another circle myself. Yet I will stay … for a while at least. I have grown perhaps … too distant in my progression. To stay for a time will be good for me.”

  Melia was beaming now. “Oh, Mandu, I am glad to hear it. We shall all be better for your presence, especially in these dark times. Were you able to do what I described?”

  “I have. Even now does the flock of Geb … speak the rumors as you directed.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “I will go now … and rest. I fear I am not used to being so … present.”

  “Of course, dear brother,” Melia said softly. “When all is done, I shall speak to you again.”

  The brilliant aura around the old man flared, so bright Travis was forced to turn away. When he turned back, the old man was gone, and Melia was already walking toward them.

  Lirith regarded her. “I thought you said Mandu tended to remain apart from the affairs of the other gods.”

  “Usually he does, dear. But recent events have made Mandu feel that perhaps he has become a bit too distant. He has agreed to help those who have lost their gods. At least until new gods arise to take the place of Ondo and Geb, and Sif and Misar.”

  Beltan scratched his thinning blond hair. “Excuse me, Melia, but that doesn’t make sense. The gods have been around for ages. How can new ones suddenly appear to take the place of the ones who have been murdered?”

  “Even I don’t know, dear,” Melia said. “That’s why the cults are called mysteries.”

  “Tira,” Grace said softly. “She became a goddess. We watched her rise into the sky. Will some of those who lost their god follow her?”

  Melia seemed to think of this. “In time, perhaps. Even though she is a goddess now, it seems to me Tira is yet a child. It might be a long while before we really begin to understand what her purposes are.”

  “What was Mandu talking about?” Falken said. “He mentioned something about the flock of Geb speaking rumors.”

  Melia smoothed her blue-black hair. “Yes, Mandu has spoken to the beggars and thieves of Tarras. Even now they are spreading rumors throughout the city.”

  “Rumors of what, my lady?” Durge asked.

  “Rumors that tell of a relic of the ancient south. A relic that is even now being held by the emperor in the Etherion.”

  Sareth’s eyes went wide. “The scarab! You’re trying to convince the Scirathi that the emperor has somehow gained the scarab and is guarding it in the Etherion. That’s why you asked for all the soldiers.”

  Melia smiled. “And do you think it will work, Sareth?”

  The Mournish man rubbed his bearded chin, then a grin cut across his face. “The lust the Scirathi hold for the scarab knows no bounds. They will not be able to resist discovering for themselves if the rumors are true. They will come.”

  Travis gathered his will. “And that will give me the time I need to go beneath the city and …”

  And what? He didn’t really know, so he said nothing more.

  It was time. If Melia’s plan worked, the Scirathi could begin showing up at the Etherion any moment. Vani took the obsidian artifact from a pouch and set it down in the center of the large balcony. The prism was still askew.

  Sareth handed candles and a small sack of herbs to Vani. They were going to work the purification spell. Two minutes, maybe three—that was all Travis had before he went below the city. When Sareth faced the demon, he had lost his best friend as well as his leg. What would Travis lose? Everything, perhaps.

  His gaze wandered across the balcony, to a tall, rangy figure. Beltan. The blond knight gazed out over the vast-ness of the Etherion, big hands gripping the stone railing. The knight looked whole and strong. All the same, something seemed to hang over him, dimming his light, and once again Travis wondered what Duratek had done to him.

 
; They were trying to make me into a killer, Beltan had said. I guess they didn’t know I already was one.

  Did those words have something to do with the crime Beltan had talked about last night? But whatever the Necromancer said he had done, it had to be a lie. Beltan was good, kind, and brave, not someone who had the power to destroy. Not like Travis.

  I’m the monster, Beltan. Not you. I’m the one who’s supposed to destroy Eldh. That’s what the dragon Sfithrisir said. And Grace said the Witches believe it, too.

  Travis started to move toward Beltan—

  —then hesitated as a soft voice spoke behind him.

  “You can see it, can’t you? His shadow.”

  Travis turned to stare at Grace. “What?”

  She wasn’t looking at him; her eyes were on the big knight. “I first saw it on the journey to Spardis, and then again when I bound our threads together. He has a shadow just like I do. Just like we all do.”

  He gave her a questioning look, and she met his gaze.

  “This morning, on our way into the city, I used the Touch to look at your thread, Travis. Yours and the threads of the others. Even Melia and Falken. It’s not just me and Beltan. Some are greater, some lesser. But we all carry shadows with us.”

  Travis understood. They all had their ghosts that haunted them. He sighed. I love you, Alice.

  For a moment he was almost there again, in the silent farmhouse in Illinois where his sister had died. Then his vision cleared, and he saw Grace gazing at him.

  “Do you love him?” Grace said.

  The question was flat, a doctor asking him if he had noticed any discomfort in his chest while she took his pulse.

  “Yes,” Travis said, surprised at the certainty in his voice. “I’ve never really known anything in my life, Grace. Half of the time I can’t even tell left from right. But I love Beltan. That’s the one thing I do know.”

  Grace’s eyes pierced him. “Then why aren’t you with him now?”

  Travis opened his mouth, but no words came out. Now, just as on the previous night, something was holding him back. But what?