by Jack Massa
After a pause, the fox spirit said: “No. Such an attempt will bring your death. If the bead has a use, I cannot see it. Too many threads are still unwoven.”
“Is there nothing more you can tell me?”
“Nothing more. And now the blood is consumed, and so I am free.” The floating face disappeared.
Zenodia screamed and pounded on the altar in fury. “Why can my guidance never be clear?”
Mawu stared in stricken silence, her wrinkled face wet with tears.
* O *
In the quiet night, the Phoenix Queen floated on a calm sea, a shifting plain of witchlight. The sky was black and rich with stars. Rog, the small moon, rose full-faced in the east, while a waxing Grizna dwindled in the west.
Just five days remained till the Mirror would expire.
Yet Amlina had agreed to lowering sail and letting the craft drift for the time it would take for the Iruks to prepare and hold their ritual. She stood now on the foredeck with Wilhaven, waiting. Each of them held one of the Iruks’ short spears. Behind the mast, the Iruks were gathered in a circle. One by one they had set down their spears, and now were pouring libations—releasing the klarn-spirit so it could be reborn.
Why had she finally decided to accept their offer? Amlina still wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was speaking with Glyssa, realizing how important it was to her that all of them be joined together, how necessary for the mending of Glyssa’s soul. Amlina had promised to do all she could to help Glyssa heal, and Glyssa had saved them all more than once on this voyage.
No, it wasn’t only for Glyssa’s sake. In her heart, Amlina wanted this too. She loved Draven, of course. But in the end, she had realized that she felt a bond of love for all of them—all the brave companions who had followed her on this mad and dangerous venture. Now at last the journey was nearing its end. Win or lose, triumph or death, she wanted them to face it as one.
Down on the main deck, the Iruks picked up their spears. Lonn beckoned. “Amlina, Wilhaven, come forward.”
As they approached, the circle opened. Draven grinned and squeezed her hand. Lonn lifted the bowl of water. He spoke in Tathian.
“Now is the time for hunting. We come together to re-form our klarn. The oaths of six of us still abide. But you, Amlina of Larthang, and you, Wilhaven of Gwales, will you now take up your spears and join us with all your heart and courage?”
“Aye, so I will” Wilhaven answered gravely.
“Yes,” Amlina affirmed.
“And do you now swear on your soul, and on the souls of your ancestors, to sail with us, to be as one hunter, one warrior, to cherish our lives above even your own, to stand with your mates, protecting them with all your strength and skill, binding their wounds before your own, sharing with them your last food and sip of water?”
“I do swear,” they both said.
“And do you take this oath freely and with a true and open heart?”
“Yes,” they said.
Smiling, Lonn offered the bowl to Amlina. “Then drink and give an equal drink to the klarn, and so become our mate.”
She took a sip and poured a bit out on the deck. With her witch’s sight, she saw the klarn-soul rise up from the spilled water, a tenuous, misty thing, seeping into her body.
Hands trembling, she passed the bowl to Wilhaven. He drank and poured and passed it on. As the bowl went from hand to hand, Amlina felt the klarn-soul growing in power, a clear and living presence. It frightened her at first, so alien and wild. But as she accepted it into herself, it become a source of comfort—a being composed of the friends she loved, their passions and strength, their spirits and courage.
Now it was part of her too.
When the bowl was empty, the Iruks picked up their spears. They tapped them in unison on the deck and chanted. Amlina and Wilhaven joined them, intoning in the Iruk tongue, the words they had been taught:
Through wind and sharp wave
Through ice and blood
We hold to the klarn
We are fearless
Many hands, one heart
Many eyes, one soul
Many spears, one hunter
We hold to the klarn
We are fearless
Lonn closed the ritual by knocking his spear haft hard on the deck three times. The Iruks whooped and hooted and embraced their new mates.
“The klarn is remade,” Lonn announced. “Now let us go and kill our enemy.”
Twenty-Eight
Black clouds floated over Tallyba, interspersed with shafts of sunlight. The city was vast, sprawling along a marshy shore, rising gradually in piles of stone and brick, mounting at last to the distant citadel and its highest point, the Bone Tower. A hot breeze blew off the land, carrying a dank and swampy smell.
Amlina stood at the prow, one hand resting on the carved wing of the phoenix figurehead, the other gripping an Iruk spear. She was dressed in her witch’s robes, dagger and trinkets hidden inside, the Mirror talisman on a chain around her neck.
The lifespan of the Mirror ended tonight.
For the past five days the winds had slowed the cranock, blowing steady and strong from the west. Kizier and the other bostulls had worked hard to shift the wind off the prow. Still, they had been forced to mostly sail close-hauled, the hours dragging on Amlina’s nerves. She had done her best to make use of the time: weaving protections, renewing the magic imbued in her companions’ weapons, forging new designs and trinkets that might or might not be of use.
Would all her preparations be enough? Would there be enough time?
A hand settled on her shoulder, making her jump.
“Steady,” Draven laughed gently.
He and Glyssa had approached without Amlina hearing. They were dressed for battle: leathers, wool cloaks, swords and daggers at their belts. Each wore a Mirror talisman and carried a quiver of spears.
They both grinned at her. Remarkable how the Iruks seemed actually to relish danger. And yet, when she touched on the klarn-soul with her mind, she too felt a strange thrill of excitement.
How she had changed since fleeing from Tallyba. And now at last she had returned. Would it be her end, or a new beginning?
“Odd to see so large a harbor empty of ships,” Draven muttered, scanning the distant wharfs.
Only barges and small craft were tied there, or rode at anchor in the shallows. Foreign traders had learned long ago to avoid Tallyba the Terrible, docking instead at port cities to the north or south. Amlina thought of the unfortunate Captain Troneck and his crew. Forced to land here by a gale, they had been captured and condemned to be sacrificed in the Temple of the Sun—until Amlina rescued them in her desperate flight from the city.
“Seems odder that no one’s trying to stop us,” Glyssa said. “Letting us sail straight into the harbor—it feels eerie.”
The witch nodded slightly. “Beryl is toying with us, I think.”
But halfway across the harbor, Eben sang out from the lookout. “Ships astern! Galleys!”
Amlina spotted them: a squadron of six, rounding the stone jetty that formed the southern arm of the port. Small warships of the type Beryl used to patrol her coasts, they came on hard under oars.
“Cutting off our escape?” Draven asked.
Amlina nodded again. “Toying with us, as I said.” She cupped her hands and called to the helm. “Bring us about, Lonn. Head for the closest point on the shore.”
Under Lonn’s orders the Phoenix Queen changed course, pointing toward the northernmost quays, away from the course of the galleys. The patrol ships pursued at speed.
When the leading galleys drew within range, they launched missiles from arbalests mounted in their bows. Bolts with flaming tips arced across the gray sky. The first two fell harmless in the Phoenix Queen’s wake. The third and fourth headed straight for the cranock.
Before they could strike, a weird singing noise rippled over the water. The air wavered and warped, and next instant the bolts were flying back the way they had come. They
struck the decks of two galleys and set them burning.
The Mirror Against All Mishap was still in force.
But the galley captains had their orders from the Archimage, and they dared not relent. Crossbowmen stationed on the decks fired clouds of arrows. Many splashed about the cranock’s hull. Others turned in the singing air and flew back at the warships.
Along the rails, the Iruks hooted and cheered. Beryl’s ships charged on without pausing.
When the cranock had sailed within a few dozen yards of shore, the foremost galley closed, aiming to ram them. Once more the air rippled with silvery waves. This time the twanging song of the Mirror merged with the screech and groan of cracking timbers. As the air churned the galley buckled, breaking apart. The Phoenix Queen coasted on toward the quay.
The Iruks lowered sail, and Lonn brought the helm about. The hull glided into the shallows. Karrol and Wilhaven handled long poles, maneuvering the boat till the port outrigger scraped the submerged steps of the quay. Then Amlina and her party went over the side, splashing through knee-high water, rushing up the stone steps. Pausing just long enough to secure bow and stern lines, they headed down the wharf.
The waterfront was deserted, with none of the normal traffic of workers and boatmen. A fortified wall separated the quays from the city. The witch and her party ran for the nearest gate.
The gate stood open, but just as they approached it, creatures rushed out—squat warriors with scaly green skin and bronze armor. They carried long, three-pronged spears.
“Are they men or—?” Lonn called.
“Drogs,” Amlina answered. “The Mirror should protect us. But be ready.”
The eight companions huddled close, leveling their spears. Growling and slavering, the wave of drogs charged—only to be flung back in a whirling tumult of shrieking noise, twisting bodies, and splattering green blood. Amlina and her friends waded forward, shielded by an impermeable bubble, while around them the chaos raged.
They reached the gate unscathed. Behind them, a score of drogs writhed on the ground in death throes. Their artificial flesh bubbled and hissed, melting into gray slime.
* O *
Across the city, beyond the citadel wall, Zenodia lay on her back, clutching damp sheets. She stared at the ceiling, her head splitting. For two days and nights she had lain here, sick with agitation, obsessed with drug-engendered visions. The promised events were imminent—she knew it. Yet she still had no direction, no idea what they were or what she could do …
Consistently, her thoughts led her back to the prophecy of the oracle. “The queen would thrive for a thousand years, unless three prevailed.” One of those three was the “student who returned.” Amlina, the Archimage’s renegade apprentice: it had to be her.
Amlina was in the city. Was that a fragment of dream? A dubious wish? Or a truth perceived by occult channels? So hard to tell with all the sorcery she’d dabbled in, all the opium and saenna weed …
She had to find out.
Zenodia sat up. Her brain swam with dizziness, and she clutched her throbbing skull. With a grim, spiteful effort, she crawled from the bed and groped for her clothing.
* O *
“How can the streets be so empty?” Karrol demanded. “Is the city dead?”
“Not dead, enslaved,” the witch answered. “If Beryl decreed that all people stay off the streets, no one would dare disobey.”
“Sure, and why would she order such a thing?” Wilhaven asked.
Amlina strode on deliberately. “To make it easier to focus on us.”
They were crossing a district near the waterfront, of narrow streets and twisting lanes. Amlina sought the most direct route to the citadel, navigating by sighting the Bone Tower whenever they reached an intersection or open square.
But after some time, a faint dread simmered at the edge of her mind. The tower was not getting closer.
“Well and it might be my aging eyes,” Wilhaven said. “But it seems the day grows dimmer.”
“No, you are right.” Glyssa answered with a shiver. “It feels like that darkness we were lost in before, at the Cape of Moloc.”
Amlina halted, casting her gaze over the sky. “It is the same. The galleys and the drogs were just feints, designed to lure us in. This is the real trap.”
Even as she spoke, smoky tendrils appeared over the rooftops. The companions stood still in the middle of the road.
“This trap worked before,” Lonn observed.
“And this time there are no dolphin people to rescue us.” Glyssa turned a worried face to the witch.
“That is exactly why I expected this,” Amlina said, “and prepared counter-measures. Let us hope and believe they will prove effective.”
From a pocket in her robe she produced a small white candle. After much meditation, study, and discussions with Buroof, Amlina had arrived at a strategy. No effect in the Deepmind was absolute. Beryl’s summoning of darkness had undermined the Mirror by draining power from its vicinity. But the ensorcellment itself would likely be vulnerable to overloading—by forces sent back along the mental conduit to strike at its source, the mind of the Archimage. The theory seemed sound. Whether Amlina’s candles would work in practice was another matter.
“I need a flame to light this,” she said.
The bard and the Iruks looked at each other, shrugging. No one had thought to bring flints and fibers.
They knocked on doors and shuttered windows. No one answered. In the end, Lonn and Karrol kicked down the door of a chandler shop and acquired a burning lamp with a glass globe. The witch apologized to the terrified shopkeeper and left a gold coin on the counter.
Back in the street, the air had chilled. Banks of grimy mist drifted over the pavement. Amlina lit the candle and raised it in the direction of the citadel.
“We must all focus our thoughts,” she said. “Visualize our arriving safely at the Bone Tower.”
She marched up the street with determined steps, her companions trailing behind. Amlina could feel the power of her design in the fluttering of the candle flame, streaming out in all directions, holding the malevolent darkness at bay. But she could also feel Beryl’s mind on the far side of the barrier, pushing back with tremendous power.
The darkness thickened. Still, it hovered gray and tenuous, not black and impenetrable. Overhead, Amlina could still see daylight, still track the movement of the sun.
They had landed in the morning; it was now past noon.
The ground rose. The streets grew wider, bordered by larger, more prosperous buildings. The Bone Tower, looming in the gray haze, seemed to inch closer. The magic candle burned low, and Amlina lit another—hoping the six she had fashioned would be enough.
* O *
Night descended on Tallyba. Grizna hovered in the east and Rog, nearly full, climbed over the horizon. At midnight, with both moons past zenith, the Mirror Against All Mishap would die.
All day they had trekked through the empty streets, the chilling gloom. Always they seemed to be making progress, yet whenever the Bone Tower appeared, it hovered still far in the distance, tauntingly out of reach.
They stopped to rest at the edge of a plaza. Wearily, Amlina sat down on a low wall, the others squatting on the ground or leaning on spears. The stub burned low in the witch’s hand. She took out the last of her candles.
“We’re not going to make it in time, are we?” Glyssa asked.
The witch turned to her, startled.
“I’m sorry. I know you told us to focus on the belief that we would. But now I think we must face the truth.”
Carefully, Amlina touched flame to the unlit candle. “You are right.” She looked at the faces of her friends, her klarn—shadowy and grave in the shuddering light. “At the least, we must decide what we shall do if we don’t arrive before the Mirror expires.”
The seven warriors looked around at one another.
“What choice do we have?” Lonn asked with a shrug.
Amlina let the question
hang unanswered.
“We still have our weapons,” Draven said. “And you still have magic of your own, don’t you, Amlina?”
She nodded, lips clenched. She had made other preparations. She had her dagger, imbued with a poisonous force designed to paralyze Beryl’s nerves; a glass bead that, broken, would emit a blinding light; and the vial containing seven drops of Amlina’s blood—which might or might not summon back the power of the Mirror for the span of seven heartbeats.
But she would not lie to herself, nor to her companions. “Yes, we can fight her. But make no mistake, without the Mirror, to defeat the Archimage in her own stronghold … The odds will be long. Very long.”
“We faced Beryl before,” Eben said. “It would be unseemly to hide from her now.”
“We are Iruks,” Karrol said stubbornly. “We don’t run from our enemies.”
“Sure, and if we did run,” Wilhaven said, “‘what a sorry climax that would make to Meghild’s song. No, I say we must go on.”
All of them were nodding. Their courage almost brought the witch to tears. She gathered herself and rose to her feet.
“Then let us go and make the best song of it that we can.”
They marched quietly across the plaza, through darkness disturbed only by the witch’s candle and the faint pink light of Grizna. They entered a warren of brick-walled enclosures: trading establishments and warehouses. The streets here were wide and straight, and it should have been simple to stay on course. But, after traversing several blocks, Amlina caught sight of the tower again—and realized they had unaccountably been moving in a sideways direction. She halted, hissing in frustration.
Off to the left, she spotted a light. After a moment, she realized it was a single figure carrying a lantern, moving toward them.
“What do you think?” Lonn asked her.
Amlina glanced at her candle, a third of it already consumed. She turned up her other hand with a fatalistic gesture. “Let’s find out who it is.”
They set off toward the approaching figure. Soon Amlina could see it was a woman in the robes of a temple official. A few yards from them the priestess stopped, lifting her lamp, squinting in the gloom.