by Kesia Lupo
She nodded.
‘Now, imagine a white light … push your power towards it.’
Lena frowned in concentration at an imaginary glowing dot hovering in front of her nose. Soon she was focusing so intently, she really was starting to see a light pulsing in front of her eyes – the sort of light you get imprinted on your eyelids in sudden darkness, a shadow of the sun. An illusion?
‘Good, Lena. Try to keep it steady. Focus. Feel the energy shift inside you as you push towards it with … with your mind.’
Lena tried, feeling ridiculous. She shut her eyes, imagined part of herself edging nearer to the imaginary light, felt a coldness pressing against her face. The air smelt damp and heavy. Her heart fluttered. A cool tingling started at the tip of her nose, which she wrinkled in surprise.
‘Gods,’ she heard Emris say, followed by a loud thump as he stood, book sliding to the floor.
‘What?’ she said, opening her eyes. Before her, a little wisp of vapour floated in the air, no larger than the palm of her hand but definitely … definitely there. ‘What the …’ She scrambled out of the chair.
I made that happen. But it’s certainly not a light.
The atmosphere in the room had cooled. The First Huntsman peered into the wisp, his eyes narrowed.
‘This power has an unusual character.’ He met Emris’s eyes for a second, but the scarred huntsman shrugged, apparently speechless. The First Huntsman blew the vapour, and with a little shiver it disappeared. ‘Well, if I was to call that a colour, I’d say it was grey.’ He stood. ‘Let’s call it inconclusive – but for now we’ll keep you in the temple of Faul. I must consult with the Council.’ He met Lena’s eyes, and his expression hardened. ‘I’ve a feeling the Council will need to test her, Emris,’ he said, speaking about her as if she weren’t stood in front of him, staring up in confusion. Something about the way he said it, the emphasis on ‘test’ … Lena looked between the two men.
‘What do you mean, test me?’
‘I’ll explain later, Lena,’ said Emris. And he turned to his superior. ‘We’ll attempt the Binding right away, sir.’
‘Report back to me this evening.’ He returned to his desk and, shooting Lena a final suspicious glance, sat down. ‘Dismissed.’
Emris touched her elbow gently. ‘Come along then,’ he said, and drew her out of the room.
‘What in the thousand crypts was that?’ she said, as they descended the staircase, footsteps ringing loud in the silence.
‘I’ve never seen a mage-light quite like it before. And by the expression on his face, neither had the First Huntsman.’ Emris smiled, but the warmth never reached his eyes. ‘He’s a man who doesn’t like to be surprised … and you’re a bit of a puzzle, Lena.’
‘What’s a mage-light supposed to look like anyway?’ she asked.
‘Look.’ Emris stopped on the steps and opened his palm, face up. Lena gasped as a little light appeared in its centre. She stumbled backwards slightly, her heart racing as she clutched the bannister. ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘Just look.’ The light in his palm was ghostly, like the moon shining through mist, but it was definitely a light. Not a cloud. He closed his palm and the light disappeared. ‘Come on.’
He turned away. Lena shivered, wondering if she would ever grow so accustomed to magic. Emris had summoned the glowing globe so casually, it was like he thought nothing of it.
As she followed him further downstairs, she thought back to the sensation she’d felt in the First Huntsman’s office, summoning the vapour. When the serpent had nearly killed her, hadn’t she felt the same? The tingling, the coldness. ‘What’s going to happen to me?’ she asked quietly. ‘What did he mean about another test?’
Emris stopped at the bottom of the staircase. A grand hallway – polished wooden floor, paintings of old men and women in gilt frames – yawned emptily in front of them. The huntsman sighed, turned to face Lena and grasped her by the shoulders. ‘Listen. I can tell you what’s going through the First Huntsman’s mind – he’s wondering whether Chaos is starting to affect your power … to infect it. But somehow I know he’s mistaken. Everyone’s magic has a different character.’ He smiled. ‘Just because we haven’t seen it before, doesn’t mean it’s wrong …’
‘But …?’ Lena could sense the word, although he hadn’t spoken it.
Emris shook his head. ‘But nothing. There are those who will probably say otherwise, that’s all. And yes, the Holy Council will likely want to test you to make absolutely certain – but it’s standard stuff. We can practise. Come on. I’ll run you through the Binding and then we’ll find some lunch in the refectory.’
She wanted to ask about the test, sensing he wasn’t telling her the whole story, but followed as he continued to walk across the hall, the wooden floor softly creaking under his steps. Besides, another question felt more urgent. ‘What’s the Binding, again?’
‘A little exercise every mage has to go through – mostly at the age of twelve or thirteen. Nothing you can’t handle.’
Is it true then? Am I really a mage? She frowned. I made something happen, something impossible, just by force of will. So … I must be. Her whole body shivered in response to the thought. She’d always been told magic was wicked. Now, it seemed, she really was carrying it inside her. Did that mean she was wicked too?
Or maybe she’d been wrong her whole life. The thought pained her, but maybe … maybe Vigo had been wrong. Emris didn’t seem evil. Even the First Huntsman hadn’t been unkind. As Emris led her down the long hall, she let the notion sit with her, swirling in her mind like ink in water. Maybe Vigo was wrong. Maybe magic wasn’t evil.
But she couldn’t accept it, not quite.
I’m so sorry, Vigo. I’m letting you down.
‘Here.’ They had reached a small pointed doorway at the end of the hall. Emris rested his hand on the handle. ‘From here on, the temple’s going to look a lot more … um … templey.’ His scars twisted as he smiled.
As the door swung open, Lena’s breath caught in her throat. They stepped from the humble doorway on to the stone floor of the tallest room she’d ever seen – it was like someone had hollowed out one of the towers in Duke’s Forest. Narrow windows punctuated the thick walls – and far above, the ceiling was silver glass, gentle light filtering down through the pointed arches like clouded sunlight through leaves. The pillars holding up the impossible ceiling were carved into the likeness of trees and twined with pale carvings of ivy and flowers. The air was cool and full of an indefinable strangeness – a little like the strangeness in the crypts of Duke’s Forest, but a hundred times more wonderful. Lena’s skin tingled. Inside, she felt uneasy – dizzy, even.
This place is spun from shades of light, she thought. She’d lived her whole life in darkness, and now … this was almost too much.
In the centre of the space, a four-tiered fountain trickled musically. On the highest, shallowest pedestal stood the archer, just like the one on the mantelpiece in the map room but ten times the size and hewn of grey-veined marble. His bow was drawn tight and aimed at some invisible target, his hair blowing in a non-existent wind, brow caught in a frown of concentration.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Lena under her breath, as Emris shut the door at her back, drawing a curtain across the archway to hide the entrance from view. A few other people stood or knelt before the fountain – some dressed in grey, others in ordinary clothes. A murmur filled the air, mingling with the trickle of water.
‘Yes, it is.’ He seemed pleased by her reaction. The huntsman led her across the flagstones towards the fountain. His scars, normally paler and puckered, appeared smooth in the soft light. ‘So, the Binding – it’s about finding and controlling the magic within yourself. As you know, losing control completely will cause Chaos to take over, and that’s dangerous for everyone. This is an exercise you’ll only need to perform once. Afterwards, as long as you remain with the temples, you’ll be able to exert basic control over your powers – and you should
n’t be a danger to anyone, not even yourself.’
They reached the fountain. Its edges were broad and smooth, worn by the touch of countless people. The water was clear and very deep for a fountain – deep enough to swallow a standing man at least.
‘Here, sit down beside me.’
Emris sat cross-legged on the fountain ledge, and Lena took a spot at his side, their knees nearly touching. The thick soles of her boots pressed into her thighs. She watched as an older man standing opposite dropped a coin into the water and bowed his head.
‘It’s simple, really.’ Emris spoke softly, his voice nearly swallowed in the cavernous air. ‘Your magic is like a living being somewhere inside you. What you need to do is bind it to your will, much the same as you’d slip a collar on a dog or a bridle on a horse. And you do that with a little help from a god.’ He glanced up at the statue on the fountain.
If she did this thing, did that mean she was abandoning the Ancestors for good? Yes.
She stared into the water, finally allowing the truth to envelop her. The Ancestors reviled magic. She had magic – she believed that now, even if she couldn’t quite accept it. If anything, she could safely assume that they’d abandoned her. Lena remembered her hallucination, the angry dead who’d surrounded her in the forest. She couldn’t go back. And this … Well, it seemed like this was the only way forward.
Vigo’s memory pushed itself into her mind, but although sadness tugged at her throat, it couldn’t persuade her now. This was all beyond his imagining. She had created mist out of thin air. What did Vigo know about that?
‘Lena?’ Emris said. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘What should I do?’
‘All you do is look into the water and pray for Faul to show you your magic. Gradually, you’ll fall into a kind of dream. I can’t tell you what happens exactly – it’s different for everyone. You’ll have to find your own way through.’
‘Is that it?’ Somehow, she felt, there must be more to it. ‘What do you mean, “find your own way through”?’
‘I can’t say. I’ve heard about other people’s visions – some have had to literally find a path through a maze, others dreamed of a hunt, or even of a tricky riddle. But it’s not difficult – I’ve never known anybody to fail. And afterwards you should feel very different, calmer, more in control – especially as a Rogue. I certainly did. You probably don’t realise how much subconscious effort you’re exerting to keep your powers in line.’
Lena felt a rush of warmth for Emris. He had been like her once – but he had found his way. And now he was showing her how to follow.
‘Now, breathe deep and slow – and take your time.’
Lena stared into the water. Muted grey light shimmered on its surface, reflections of worshippers passing like shadows in the background. On the floor of the fountain, a pattern of eye-shaped tiles in all shades of green and brown conjured a forest floor. She squinted, thinking she’d spotted a glint of blue-green, a flash in the corner of her eye. Focus, she told herself, and returned to her contemplation of the water’s surface, its soft movement soothing and calm. The temple around her faded as she listened to the sigh of her own breath.
Faul, please show me my magic, she thought dutifully.
And suddenly her stomach flipped as she tipped forward, plunging into blackness …
Distantly, she felt the cool fountain water swallow her body. But instead of sinking to the tiled floor, she kept falling, and found herself on her hands and knees in cold, cloying mud. She raised her eyes, her heart convulsing. All around her the air was damp, a huge grey cloud wheeling like a carousel. A low rumble rent the air.
The storm cloud.
She felt sick. She scrambled to her feet, wiping her hands on her old habit, the one she’d left in her room that morning, clutching it tight around her body. This is impossible.
The forest was thick with noxious clouds, the trees diseased and deformed, trunks shifting in and out of vision. The taste of decay filled her mouth and she pressed a hand over her lips, suppressing a retch. Damp wind whipped through her hair. A fork of greenish lightning flashed to her right, and immediately the air smelt of fire and decay.
She was panting, her heartbeat wild, as if she’d been running fast. Not here. Please. Not here. Horror filled her, right from the bottom of her soul. She was back where she’d started, the howls of hungry dogs echoing in her ears.
The bodies of the cloaked explorers lay in the clearing. The girl with the splayed red hair. The man sleeping his eternal rest by the black ghost of the fire. The body propped up against the tree, as if in waiting, keeping his longest watch. I have to run. Lena started to stumble backwards, a strange fizzing sensation building in the hollow beneath her lungs.
Too late. The body leaning against the tree shifted, as she’d known it would somewhere deep down. The man’s chest lifted, rattling with years-old breath.
The fizzing sensation spread up through her nerves, along her shoulders, down her arms. Lena heard the creak of the dead man’s bones, the thump of a rotten heart, impossibly loud, like a war drum, but crackling and distorted. She felt warm, like a flame burning in the cool damp of the forest.
And that’s when she realised … she was making it happen. She lifted her hands, and around her fingers sparks flew. The magic was sparking towards the dead man, hissing in the air. All about her the storm quickened, a cold wind tugging at her habit. She gasped, stumbled backwards.
The man’s head tilted upwards and Lena felt her legs surrender, her knees sinking into the forest mulch.
She stared at her hands. ‘Stop it, just stop it!’ She closed her hands into fists, but the sensation didn’t stop – and she understood suddenly that the magic was not her servant: she belonged to the magic. The dead man’s face was shrouded in a thick black scarf, the hood fallen over the forehead as he rose to his feet. And now his eyes were glowing in the semi-darkness like a pair of flickering beacons. Narrowing at the sight of her face.
She felt suffocated. She felt like she couldn’t breathe.
The eyes narrowed again. Was the dead man … smiling?
Why am I here?
Distantly, she remembered Emris’s voice. The Binding.
Is this just a test, set by a cruel god?
She tried to breathe but the air was wet and close. She choked, grasping her throat. Maybe this was normal. Maybe she was OK. Maybe this was all part of the process. Was it?
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe.
Her hands crackled with magic as the dead man walked closer. And closer. And closer. She had to stop this before he reached her. She gasped for precious air and prayed with all her might, no longer caring to whom she prayed, only that her pleas be answered.
Help me. Faul. Anyone. Please!
She pressed her palms together tightly, trying to smother the power fizzing around her fingers. As she gasped in another tiny breath, the dead man nearly upon her, she noticed another figure standing in the side of her vision. A tall man carrying a bow notched with a single arrow, his face hidden by a low grey hood.
‘Please!’ she mouthed, the dead man’s hands reaching for her neck.
The hunter loosed his arrow. Lena felt iron pierce through the centre of her palms, pressed together in prayer. A hot white heat ran through her blood in a rush, a river bursting its banks – then dark and coldness claimed her.
TEN
Falling
In the early hours of the morning, Constance climbed down the steps of a deserted butcher’s shop in the lower town, heading out on to the road. She breathed deep behind her brass grille, turning the wheel on the mask to bring the physical world into focus again. She’d searched the furthest reaches of the crypts – the rat-infested warren of humble passages filled with the bodies of the poor. Space was at a premium in the lower town’s tombs, and a number of families could not afford the full services of the morticians. The result had been … unpleasant. Constance was longing f
or a bath. She started to climb the steep path up to the castle, her boots sliding occasionally on the damp cobblestones speckled with moss. Somewhere in the tangle of streets she heard a man shout in anger, a woman sobbing. She quickened her pace. A better person might have helped, she reflected.
I am not such a person. She had made her peace with that long ago.
In fact, she was almost so relieved to be on her way back to her rooms that she didn’t care that she had found nothing. Almost.
Another network of caves filled with the dead – and only the dead. No magic but the spell itself. No beating heart of a storm cloud close to maturity. She suspected it had hidden itself somewhere it thought it would never be found. But she’d hoped, for once, for a little luck. She’d now searched the crypts under the castle and the upper town and the lower town. She could search the crypts forever – they were vast and many-levelled, and impossibly complex – but something was telling her that if the spell’s heart was still down there, she’d have found it already. She had to change her approach.
But how? Her spirits sank at her own lack of inspiration. What if I never find it? a small, bitter voice inside her mind whispered.
Then all of this has been for nothing, said a stronger voice. Your betrayal. Your deceit. Your theft. The sacrifice of the life you built. You must find it.
As she approached the upper town, her and Winton’s conversation with Captain Trudan played over in her mind, mixed up with fears and misgivings – the Justice, his barbaric and disappearing men, the men he had squirrelled away somewhere, perhaps plotting on his behalf. The unrest in the lower town was a threat in itself. What was she to do about that? Was there anything she could do – or should she follow her instincts and focus on finding the spell’s heart, even to the neglect of everything else?
Now in the upper town, Constance stopped for a second, listening for noises in the gloom: nothing, except the low grumble of the eternal storm. Even so, she felt half-certain somebody was following her as she continued up the slope.