Blood of Mystery

by Mark Anthony

  That’s not true, Travis. You’ve done good with your power. You sealed the Rune Gate.

  And he had set people on fire.

  He pulled his hand away. If there had been no other choice, maybe he would consider using the Stone. However, he still had the scarab. All they had to do was get the gate back from the Scirathi. And the idea of facing the sorcerer was far less terrifying than the idea of acting like a runelord. Because the moment he believed he really did have control over his power was the moment he was lost.

  Before Travis could explain this to her, Lirith let out a gasp. She stood, body rigid, eyes wide.

  “Sareth!” she cried out.

  Durge rose from his chair. “What is it, my lady?”

  “Something’s happened,” she said, breathless. “Something’s wrong.”

  Durge frowned. “No, my lady, I’m certain he is well. Sheriff Tanner was keeping watch at the jail last night, and young Wilson was going to stay to help. I imagine Sareth was safer last night than we were.”

  “No, you’re wrong,” Lirith said, her voice anguished.

  By the way she stared into space, Travis knew she had seen something the rest of them couldn’t—something with the Sight. “What is it?”

  Lirith was already moving. “I have to go to the jail.”

  Travis knew there wouldn’t be any stopping her. “Durge, don’t let her out of sight. Jack, you stay here with Maudie. Don’t leave the Bluebell, do you understand?”

  Maybe Travis had better control of his power than he thought, because Jack only nodded, gripping his teacup. Lirith and Durge were already out the door, and Travis grabbed his hat and dashed after them.

  The sun had just crested Signal Ridge, and Travis started sweating instantly. He caught up to Lirith and Durge, and they ran down the dirt street without speaking. When they reached the jail, nothing looked out of the ordinary; the street was quiet. Durge led the way, pounding up the steps, and together they burst through the door.

  Sheriff Tanner slumped in the desk chair, arms dangling, his face pressed against the desktop in a pool of yellow bile. He wasn’t moving.

  “Sareth!” Lirith cried, flinging herself forward. The door to the jail stood ajar, and she threw it wide. Travis didn’t need to look beyond to know that Sareth’s cell was empty. A moan escaped Lirith, and she fell to her knees.

  Durge was already next to Tanner, two fingers pressed to the sheriff’s throat. “He’s alive, but his heart beats weakly.”

  Travis forced his legs to carry him forward. What was wrong with Tanner? Next to his hand was a half-drunk cup of coffee. Durge leaned the sheriff back; Tanner’s head lolled to one side.

  “Lirith,” Durge said. “You must see to Tanner.”

  The witch rocked back and forth, hands clenched over her stomach, weeping.

  Something caught Travis’s eye. The door to the back shed was open. He moved to it, stepped inside. There wasn’t much to see. Just the small stove on which Tanner and the deputies brewed coffee in a tin pot. Both stove and pot were cold. Then Travis caught a glint of light.

  He knelt. On the floor were two small glass bottles. One still had a small amount of syrupy residue in the bottom. He picked up the bottles, and as he stood he saw that the front door of the stove was ajar. Inside were wadded up pieces of paper. Most were burned, but a few were only charred around the edges. Travis pulled one of the papers out. He set the bottles on the stove, then unwadded the paper, spreading it flat. It was a pen-and-ink illustration, depicting a man in a black hat shooting a man with a star pinned to his chest.

  Travis’s sweat turned to a clammy chill. He grabbed the bottles and paper and returned to the main room. Lirith seemed to have recovered her composure, although her face was ashen. She was examining Tanner as Durge watched. Lirith lifted one of his eyelids; his eye was dilated wide. She picked up the coffee cup and sniffed it, then looked up.

  “This coffee is thick with tincture of poppy,” she said. “Far more than a usual dose.”

  Durge glowered at her. “What are you saying?”

  “I think...I think Sir Tanner did this to himself.”

  “No,” Travis said before Durge could protest. “It was done to him.” He set the laudanum bottles on the desk, along with the piece of paper. He had recognized the picture at once; it was from the dime novel he had seen Deputy Wilson reading.

  “Treachery!” the knight hissed, clenching a fist.

  “Look,” Lirith said, leaning over Tanner. “There’s something in his pocket.”

  The witch pulled out a small piece of paper and unfolded it. She scanned it with darting eyes, then a sigh escaped her. “Oh, Sareth. Forgive me for not coming sooner.”

  The slip of paper fell from her fingers to the desk. Travis glanced at it, wishing for the first time in his life that he wouldn’t be able to read something, that his dyslexia would prevent him. Only it didn’t, and he could. The neatly written letters all fell into place.

  Bring the gold spider to the Bar L Ranch at sundown on Friday if you want to see the gypsy alive.

  53.

  Travis and Durge carried Tanner back to the Bluebell, using a board as a makeshift stretcher, and Lirith covered Tanner’s unconscious form with a blanket to keep him out of view. At first Travis was afraid it would be too far to bear the load. However, the sheriff hardly seemed to weigh anything—a fact that caused Travis far more worry than relief—and he and Durge were able to jog most of the way.

  Telling Maudie what had happened was a far greater burden. She didn’t gasp or cry out. Instead, her face went as white as the fresh handkerchief clutched in her hand, and she sank to the sofa in the parlor, staring with blank eyes.

  “I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to see him like that, lying on a stretcher. Not Bart.” A hard fit of coughing took her, and Liza held her shoulders and rubbed her back while Travis and Durge started to carry Tanner upstairs.

  “No, not up there!” Maudie managed to call between spasms. “You put him on my bed.”

  They laid Tanner in Maudie’s room while Lirith ran upstairs. The witch returned moments later with a bag of compounds she had bought at the apothecary. She turned Tanner on his side, tilted his head back, and cleared his mouth and throat with her fingers. After that his breathing sounded easier, although it was still shallow and rapid. Lirith unfolded a scrap of paper and measured powder into a cup, then filled the cup with warm water.

  “Help me,” she said, cradling an arm beneath Tanner’s head.

  Durge helped her sit the sheriff up, and the witch slowly poured the liquid into his mouth.

  “What is it?” Travis said.

  “The apothecary called it foxglove, but I know this herb as heartwort.”

  “What does it do?”

  Lirith kept tilting the cup. “I believe Sir Tanner vomited much of the laudanum. That is well, for if he did not I fear he would already be dead. All the same, too much of it has entered his blood. The poppy has quickened the rhythm of his heart. If it goes any faster, his heart will give out. This simple will make his heart beat more slowly and strongly.”

  “That sounds good,” Travis said, daring to hope.

  “It would be. Except I don’t know how much of the laudanum is flowing in his veins. If the dosage is too small, it won’t be enough to help him.”

  Durge cleared his throat. “And if it’s too large?”

  “His heart will slow so much it will stop beating.”

  Lirith set down the empty cup; she had gotten most of the liquid into the sheriff. Durge helped her lay him back down.

  “Now what?” Travis said.

  She looked up. “Now we wait.”

  Travis bit his lip. Why was it, in all his studies of rune magic, he had never learned the rune for healing? But maybe there wasn’t one. And maybe that’s why Eldh needed witches as well as runelords—to heal the world after the wizards broke it apart.

  What about Sinfathisar, Travis? You know the Stone has the power to choose b
etween states. Life or death, light or dark. That’s its magic. It made the demon just a rock. And it turned the feydrim back into fairies.

  But what would it do to a man? As far as Travis knew, the runelords were the only human beings who had ever learned to touch the Great Stones and live to tell the tale.

  They left the bedroom and returned to the parlor.

  Maudie didn’t look up. “How is he?”

  Lirith sighed. “We’ll know by sundown.”

  “Well, there’s no use sitting here then, not when there’s work to do.” Maudie leaned on her cane and rose. “Come on, Liza. I’ll help you get dinner started.”

  Travis felt his stomach twist into a knot. Sundown—that would be Tanner’s reckoning hour. And in two more days, it would be Sareth’s. Only why was the sorcerer making them wait three days? Why not make them bring the scarab today?

  “He’s scheming something, that’s why,” Jack said, popping into the parlor from the hallway.

  Travis nearly jumped out of his boots. “Can you read my mind?”

  “It’s not my fault you think so loudly,” Jack said in a huffy tone. There was something tucked under his arm. “If you ask me, you have an unwelcome propensity for being maudlin.”

  “So what is the sorcerer planning?”

  Jack scowled. “I’m connected to you, Travis, not him. I haven’t the foggiest notion what he’s up to. However, one thing’s certain—he fears you.”

  “Fears me?” Travis said, incredulous.

  “As well he should. You’re a runelord, after all. If you weren’t, most likely he would have stolen the scarab long ago. The Scirathi is afraid of confronting you directly, so he’s planning this exchange for the scarab quite carefully.”

  Jack’s words made sense. But what was the sorcerer intending to do? Travis would have given anything to know. If they could prepare, they might have a chance of rescuing Sareth. Because there was one thing Travis did know: Sareth’s only value to the Scirathi was as a bargaining chip. Once the sorcerer had the scarab, Sareth would die.

  Jack sat on the sofa, took the object that had been tucked under his arm, and unfolded it. It was a copy of the Castle City Clarion.

  Travis eyed the paper. “Where did you get that?”

  “From a boy passing by on the street.” Jack’s voice grew testy. “And you needn’t worry—I didn’t disobey your rather rude command and leave the boardinghouse. He came to the front porch, and I leaned over the rail. So I don’t believe that counts as a violation. I thought I’d catch up on the news.” He flipped through the pages. “Only there doesn’t seem to be a single story about London in this wretched publication.”

  Travis hardly heard Jack’s words. He could only stare at the headline boldly printed on the front page:

  MURDERER BREAKS FREE FROM JAIL

  In two steps, Travis crossed the room and snatched the paper from Jack’s hands.

  “Gods, man, have you no manners at all?” Jack exclaimed, but Travis wasn’t listening. The paper bore that day’s date. Travis scanned the story beneath the headline as Lirith and Durge moved close, reading over his shoulder. Travis only made out a few fragments before his vision began to swim.

  ... a cold-blooded killer...to be considered armed and dangerous...and no man will be blamed for shooting on sight, as it would be a matter of self-defense...

  Travis tossed down the paper. “Jack, when did you buy this?”

  “Not long after you all left in such a rush,” Jack said. “Why do you ask?”

  Travis looked at Durge and Lirith. “These newspapers must have been printed hours ago. That means they already knew what had happened at the jail. It’s got to be Mortimer Hale— he’s the publisher of the paper. He has to be behind the Crusade. And in league with the sorcerer.”

  Durge hesitated, then placed a hand on Lirith’s shoulder. “We’ll get Sareth back, my lady.”

  She raised her chin, and her voice was as hard as the expression in her eyes. “Yes. We will.”

  But how? A thought occurred to Travis. “Durge, do you know where the Bar L Ranch is? And if it’s owned by Mortimer Hale?”

  The knight crossed his arms. “I cannot say on either account. But I can find out.”

  Travis nodded; there was nothing more to do just then. Lirith headed to the back bedroom to keep watch over Tanner, and Jack went upstairs, saying there was something he wanted to get for Travis.

  “It’s going to be a trap, you know,” Durge said once he and Travis were alone. “There is no telling how many men the sorcerer will have waiting for us at this ranch—Gentry, Ellis, Hale, and Wilson at the least.”

  Travis swallowed. “It’s not men I’m most worried about.”

  By his grim look, Durge caught Travis’s meaning. Had the sorcerer had time to work more experiments like those he had on Calvin Murray?

  “I must go to the sheriff’s office now,” Durge said, starting for the door.

  Travis grabbed his arm, stopping him. “You don’t have to do this, Durge. You’re not the sheriff of this town.”

  “I am until Tanner awakens,” Durge started to pull away, then paused. “I will be careful, Goodman Travis.”

  Travis couldn’t find words. He squeezed Durge’s arm, then let the knight go.

  Jack reappeared a minute later. In his hands was a leather-bound journal. He held it out.

  “What is it?” Travis said.

  “It’s the book I mentioned. The one I’ve been working on. It’s a slight volume, really, something I undertook for my own amusement. There’s a bit of history here and there, but mostly it’s about magic. I thought you might find it inspiring.” Jack gave him an eager grin. “You know, as you get ready to do battle with the sorcerer.”

  Travis pressed his lips in a tight line in an effort to keep from vomiting, only Jack must have mistaken the expression for a smile. He pressed the book into Travis’s hands.

  “Do take good care of it, Travis. It’s the only copy I’ve got.”

  Jack headed upstairs to rest. Travis checked in on Lirith, but she was bent over Tanner, her fingers on his wrist, and didn’t even notice him. Maudie and Liza were busy in the kitchen, and Travis knew he would only be in their way, so he went to the dining room. Not sure what else to do, he opened Jack’s book and began to read.

  He wasn’t certain what language the book was written in, but he had the sense that it was both ancient and formal. However, with the help of the coin fragment in his pocket— along with a stray pencil, which he laid across the page to help focus his eyes on each line—he was able to wade through the flowing script.

  The book was fascinating. And horrifying. There were passages about the first War of the Stones and the history of Malachor, but it was the tales of the Runelords that claimed Travis’s attention. Last night, when Jack told them about the rune of time, Travis had thought binding such a thing—let alone breaking it—must have ranked as one of the greatest feats of the Runelords. Now he knew that wasn’t so.

  According to the book, the Ironfang Mountains—the peaks that bordered Imbrifale to the south—had once been little more than a line of hills. However, after Ulther defeated the Pale King, a hundred runelords spoke the rune Fal as one, and the mountains soared toward the sky, becoming an impenetrable wall, transforming Imbrifale into a prison.

  But that was only one of the wonders wrought by the runelords. They raised castles simply by speaking the rune Sar, then bound the rune of stone so that the fortresses were far stronger than any wrought by human hands. They caught the light of the stars and bound it into the stones of Malachor’s highest tower, so that it shone like a beacon in the night. And they worked magics upon themselves, so that even the shortest-lived among them endured long into his second century.

  “Can I do those things?” Travis whispered.

  It seemed a chorus of voices whispered in his mind. Yes, we can...

  Travis continued reading about all of the wonders wrought by the runelords. He turned another page—
—and excitement drained from him, leaving the cavity of his chest hollow. The words on the page burned his eyes.

  It is well known to the Runelords that gods, dragons, and witches of the Sight have all foretold his coming. The one named Runebreaker will shatter the rune Eldh, which was the First Rune spoken by the Worldsmith, who bound it in the Dawning Stone at the very beginning of the world. And so the First Rune shall also be the Last Rune, for when it breaks, the world shall end, and in that instant all things will cease to be.

  None of it mattered. The wonders, the beautiful things created by the rune magic. Nothing mattered if in the end he was doomed to destroy it all.

  Was there no escaping it? Even here, in Castle City, he couldn’t avoid reminders of what it was his destiny to do. Vani and Sareth’s al-Mama had said he was one of the Fateless, but how could that be right? Wasn’t it fate that was driving everything? He clutched the pencil and stabbed it at the open book, as if to strike out the words. Instead he scribbled furiously in the margin next to the passage. Then he flung down the pencil and shut the book.

  He pushed away from the table and rose. It was hot in there; he couldn’t breathe. He needed to get out. Travis started to turn away, hesitated, then grabbed the book and shoved it into his back pocket. He headed out the front door, down the steps, then strode down Grant Street as fast as his legs would carry him.

  You shouldn’t be doing this. There’s no telling whom you might run into—Gentry, Ellis, maybe even Hale himself. The sorcerer probably has them all keeping watch on you.

  Only they wouldn’t attack, would they? The Scirathi was laying a trap for him at the Bar L Ranch, and he was far too smart to let any of his minions jeopardize that by striking too soon. Feeling bold, even reckless, Travis turned two corners, then strode down the dusty swath of Elk Street.

  The main avenue was largely deserted. It seemed everyone in town knew something was coming, something terrible, and they were lying low until the storm blew over. The usually bustling shops were empty, and many of the storefronts— mostly saloons—were boarded up. The Crusade for Purity had done its work well. They had stamped out the sin in this town. And just about every spark of life along with it.