by Leigh, J.
As suddenly as it had begun, it was gone. He was back in the real world, coughing and sputtering on the ground.
“Jathen! All you all right?”
Holding his spinning head with shaking hands, Jathen tried to explain what he’d experienced. “I… I saw them… all those people screaming and running, but the city… it was whole… but then…” He blinked up at the Clansman, at a loss for further words.
Mikkal’s eyes widened. “You actually saw the moment of the continent’s rising?”
“No, it wasn’t a flood. It was fire.” Jathen quivered, the sense of the heat and char still fresh in his mind. “All this awful, awful fire.” He could almost smell the smoke, and he patted his arms to be certain the flesh was still there.
“That still could have been the past, then. They say Prothidian destroyed the Old World only to have the Children raise the continent for us to live on. Perhaps you finally saw the method of that fateful destruction.”
“But how? I’m not a Talent.”
“You are a Precognitive. It is enough.”
Jathen was both awed and terrified. “I didn’t know the bastard Ability could reverse like that.”
“It’s rare, usually more in keeping with empathic Abilities than precognition, but it does happen. Your little friend Neek could do it as well, if I recall correctly.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I think I want to stay here a moment,” Jathen said, shifting Ass’shiri’s crossbow off his back and placing it beside him. “I don’t really want to touch anything else around here.”
“Well, considering your face is greener than it was on the ship, I’ll make the allowance,” Mikkal said. “Keep the crossbow up and your back to the wall. I won’t be long.”
When Mikkal returned with some kindling, Jathen helped him build a fire and set up camp. By the time dusk had come to tint the snow a vivid red, they were enjoying a modest meal of two snow hares the Clansman had ensnared.
As full night fell, Mikkal told him, “I’ll keep watch. If the snow gets too bad, we’ll have to seek a better shelter, so best you get in at least a little rest before then.”
Hysterical screams filled Jathen’s dreams and a roar seemed to permeate everything. He saw through a dozen eyes at once as fire fell to the earth, and clouds of black smoke rose like monolithic pillars of darkness into the sky. Again, he felt that tearing sensation of death, of his body being sundered and the soul ripping away. Millions of people had felt that all at once, and it was staggering, crippling. Just when Jathen thought he would be driven mad, he sat bolt upright in his bedroll, gasping for air.
A black form stood in the middle of the fire ring. Jathen jumped to his feet, but the dark shape was gone before he reached the crossbow. Jathen tried to call for Mikkal, but invisible hands constricted his throat.
“Deaths and betrayals come in threes,” a familiar voice whispered. “Watch out.”
Jathen awoke again and sat up in his bedroll. “What the hell?” He saw no fire, no screaming people, no pillars of endless smoke, and no figure.
And no Mikkal.
Okay, a dream, but born of precognition, Near-Siders, or just paranoia? Cautiously, Jathen rose from the moderate warmth of his bedroll and picked up the crossbow and Hatori’s sword. Instinct told him to call out, but the memory of the dark form in his dream kept his silence as he crept around the perimeter, seeking Mikkal. A low humming was coming from just beyond the trees, where he could see some smaller standing stones, so he headed that way.
Mikkal had dug a hole about six heads deep and five in diameter, and he was standing in the middle of it, his back to Jathen. He finished doing something, and an angry buzzing noise filled the night. An amber glow lit up the hole, and Mikkal laughed. Containing joy and something sharply erratic, the sound sliced straight through Jathen’s soul, making him clench his hands tighter around the crossbow.
“Mikkal?”
The Gray spun around, his laughter cut short. “Oh, Jathen.” He sounded nonchalant, if slightly surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be up.”
“I didn’t think I’d be left alone at the fire.” Jathen found the lack of emotion in Mikkal’s voice and expression terrifying, and his skin prickled. “What…what are you doing, Mikkal?”
“What I came up here to do, actually,” Mikkal replied, sounding unsettlingly chipper.
“I thought we came up here to get half an Artifact out of me.” Jathen blinked a few times at the lit-up hole in the ground. “What… what is all this?”
“Don’t you see, Jathen?” Mikkal radiated the air of a child having stumbled upon a hidden stash of candy. “They won’t need you. They won’t need the Artifact inside you once this has been uncovered.” He gestured at the ground beneath his feet. “The true prize is here! Right here!”
Jathen looked down into the hole. “The thing Sister really wants? Is that what you mean? It’s down there?”
“Yes!”
“Then why are you so excited?” Jathen shook his head. “I thought it was something horrible, something your group would kill to hide, not dig up.”
“Jathen, don’t you see? We have it. The search is over!”
Though Jathen could grasp what Mikkal was hinting at, there was something about his excitement that seemed off. “All right.” Jathen pointed at the glowing object. “But what is that?”
“Oh yes, this. I’m sorry, Jathen. I didn’t want to burden you, but this is something I took from Sister after our second fight in Fauve. I think we can use it for good now.” He took a step to the side.
Jathen saw the same buzzing object Mikkal had tucked into his coat several days earlier. The thing floated about eye level with Mikkal and glowed brightly. The metal disk at its core was clearly man-made, but the rings rotating around the device made Jathen gape in alarm. Slightly tawny, they looked to be made of some kind of flawed quartz, but Jathen knew better. It was the same as the crystal in the Artifact star.
“Mikkal!” Jathen suddenly felt every atom of the cold around him. “Are you telling me that thing caused the earthquakes?”
Mikkal’s eyes quivered slightly before he responded. “I’m sorry I lied, but it is our other Artifact half, yes.”
“This is why you haven’t been worried about Sister. You’ve known she was powerless without this… whatever it is.”
“Not powerless. She’s had this for a long time, Jathen, since the Kidwellith quake. That quake was a result of her attempt to use one half of the Artifact to find the true prize. But you were right. The Artifact doesn’t work correctly without the other half.” He pointed at Jathen’s chest. “Without you, it can seek but not find, not uncover.”
“So Sister tried to create a makeshift second half out of a charm device and made that?” Jathen bobbed his head at the floating disk and rings.
Mikkal nodded. “Yes. But when she used it in Kidwellith, she realized it was far too strong.”
Anger sparked inside him. “If you knew she had it then, then why did you make me think Hatori caused Kidwellith?”
“The same reason Nosalia could not speak on what I destroyed in the amber mine.” Mikkal sneered at him. “Because men with notions of what is right and wrong sit behind closed doors and decide the fate of millions on a whim. I had no choice but to let you believe what you must, so we might have a chance to find this thing.” He smiled, holding out his hand. “But now that we have, now that we are here first, Jathen, we can use what Sister’s made to uncover the truth. I know it.”
The fear and anger finally caused Jathen to snap. “What the hell is wrong with you? How can you possibly be thinking about using her Red-crazy madness? That thing killed people!”
“You don’t understand, Jathen. Little Sister’s only failing was her faith to a Way of madness—not her desire to create with pure and simple
human ingenuity! It’s brilliance, sheer brilliance to accomplish solely with the mind what previously could only be done by relying on the Children’s shrouded, irreproducible magic.” He looked at the false Artifact again, speaking so calmly, so logically, it was hard to fault. “The same people who collect these Artifacts, they would have destroyed this and what’s hidden below! They destroy anything having to do with the past created by Prothidian, and anything new we can contrive that breaks their self-righteous set of hidden rules.”
Mikkal shook his head, a burning anger in his eyes. “Haven’t you ever questioned why, in nearly nine thousand years, we have only gone so far with what can be created by non-Talents? Why there aren’t bridges over every river, why peasants still rely on wax candles, why electricity does not reach every single home, or why trains do not cover the whole of the continent?”
He must have seen a quiver of doubt in Jathen’s eyes because he seized on it, his voice growing more feverous. “I know you have! This group, it meant well, but it’s outdated. Remember how they did nothing to stop De’contes? They could have swayed Tar’citadel to send aid after the Kidwellith quake, but even though it was their fault with their agent going rogue, they did nothing! They have all this power meant to control our lives, but only when they decide what is good and evil for the world. We can use this now, to find what Sister has really been searching for all this time. And we will give it not to the Red but to the people of our world to do with as they would dictate—a true choice of free will and not some false illusion of it.”
Jathen’s breath crystallized in the air for a few huffs as he gathered the courage to ask the question he was afraid to hear the answer to. “And what is it you mean to give to the world, Mikkal?”
Mikkal’s caramel eyes held an unnerving light. “The place that safely cradled the most brilliant man who ever lived, when the continent was raised and the world flooded. The place that still has within its belly the birthplace of everything we have come to associate with our entire existence on this single floating rock.” He smiled, truly smiled for the first time since Jathen had known him, and the glint of sharp teeth sent a shiver down Jathen’s spine. “Prothidian Altar’s laboratory.”
He’s insane. Mikkal is completely, utterly insane. A dread so complete he could practically touch it came over him. And I’m stuck up here with him. Jathen then realized that, like Ishane, Mikkal couldn’t read his mind. Because if he could, he would have reacted to my thoughts by now.
Endeavoring not to sound horrified, Jathen said, “Mikkal, I understand your fervor. I really do. But you said it yourself—Sister’s device was too strong. You saw its devastation in Kidwellith and Fauve. We’ll get ourselves killed if we use something like that up here! All the mountains, the snow, it will all come down on our heads! Not to mention the town below us.”
“Not necessarily,” Mikkal said, taking a step closer to Jathen and the lip of the hole. “You have the other half, and there is something else, something you don’t know about yourself.”
“I’m a non-traditional Talent?” Jathen asked. He wondered if he could shoot the Artifact device—or perhaps even Mikkal. I’ve got the high ground, but he’s fast. Even with the cold and less Feeding, he’s going to be so fast.
“Yes! You are such a smart boy, Jathen. I thought you suspected, what with the questions you’ve been asking.” He grinned as he took another step closer. “I promise we can do this without harming anyone. I just need your help.”
Bringing up the crossbow, Jathen shook his head. “I’m not going to help you uncover that thing.”
“Not willingly, it seems.” Moving with Clan quickness, Mikkal leapt from the hole and grabbed the end of the crossbow.
Jathen struggled for a moment then let go. Jathen reached behind his back and pulled out Hatori’s sword, already unsheathed from the cane shell.
Jathen flung the weapon with all his might—not at Mikkal, but at the modified Artifact. It’s a little-known fact that steel can pass through weak points in lesser wards and disrupt the magic. Mikkal cried out as it flew past, reaching to stop the blade, but the cold and not Feeding made him too slow.
When the blade collided with the center of the device, the metal disk shattered.
Chapter 40
Jathen’s chest exploded.
There was no blood or tearing of tissue, but searing pain ripped through him as the star half of the Artifact burst from his body. At the same time, the ring half ejected from the charm device, the force knocking Mikkal and Jathen flat on their backs.
An angry, high-pitched buzz resonated through every inch of Jathen. It was never meant to be used like this. The Artifact had been suffering, but now it was free, free to do as it pleased. I might be dying, but at least I stopped Mikkal.
A blast of hot air surged across Jathen’s body, and then the tone changed, evolving into a soft hum of satisfaction. Bathed in amber brilliance, the star and rings circled a few times then merged. The scene reminded Jathen of Alodie’s demonstration with the candles back in Ca’june, explaining twin flames. Love washed over him, replacing the pain with easy and cool tenderness. Twin-flames, he recognized, sitting up watching the rings spin around the star. Two hearts as one.
The newly formed Grand Artifact pulsated a calming thrum and floated down to hover before him. Jathen was struck with the odd notion that it thought of him as its home. Reaching up, he closed his hands around the divine hearts. The brilliant light blinded him, yet he still saw. His bastard Ability swelled, sending image after image across his mind, but the tide of time was reversed, so instead of the future, Jathen saw the past—the Artifact’s past.
Warm sand cradled the rings. A young girl’s hands lifted the Artifact half from the safety of the earth’s embrace. The same girl, older, tortured the rings by marrying the pair to a false twin of metal and magic. Sister appeared and followed the twisted farce into the Tazu Nation. He saw Sister using the Artifact, and he felt its horrendous pain before the world began to shake. Sister fell into the new Nai’dol River, and the device was once more buried in the mud.
A pair of gloved hands scooped it out of the earth, and time spun.
Mikkal exchanged coins with a Tazu thief, who later lay shattered on the street beneath Charmed Wind. Mikkal chatted away with Dumas, who then appeared in tears, with Mikkal bent over him, pulling out his fingernails one by one. Mikkal stalked Jathen’s party across the plains of Zo’den then ransacked their xeyme while men attacked their camp with red-tipped arrows. Mikkal cast upstream when the rains began to fall, causing the flood that had swept Jathen and Ass’shiri from the safety of their group.
Jathen gasped when he saw Mikkal confronting Ishane at the amber mine. She fled and set a fire to cover her tracks. Mikkal stood outside Nosalia’s house, watching Jathen and Ass’shiri. He fought Sister in Fauve, tearing up the streets. Mikkal, angry and defeated, hid inside the amber mine. Finally, Mikkal had fueled the device with Ability to make the world erupt into heaving chaos.
When the visions stopped, Jathen glared at Mikkal with a smoldering hatred. “You!” He was almost overcome with rage, betrayal, and despair. “It was always you!”
The Gray shook his head. “Not everything. Sister was on my heels, and I knew Chann wouldn’t cooperate with a Gray.” Stoically, he stood his ground as the glow from the Artifact faded, and they were left with only the night air between them. “I may have acted harshly out of fear and anger, but Sister was the one who set the fire at the charm shop. And she used her false Artifact in Kidwellith.”
“You killed thousands of people—Ca’june, the whole coast, under water! Dumas, Hatori, and Jeph! All for what? Some ruddy madman’s playroom?” Jathen stared at him, agog that such a level of immorality could exist. “What else have you lied about?”
A begrudging grin ticked at the edges of Mikkal’s lips. “I wasn’t entirely truthful about
the teleportation. It would not have been wise to teleport while an Artifact was in you, but that wasn’t the reason I refused. I couldn’t teleport you.”
“Couldn’t?”
“You’re a non-traditional Talent. I can explain it if you like.” He extended his hand. “You want answers, don’t you, Jathen? Want to know who you are, what your place is? I can give you that.”
“If I give you the Artifact?” Jathen barked a laugh and got to his feet. “Ishane already tried to sell me the Red and failed. I don’t care a rot for your deranged solutions to questions only I can answer, Mikkal!”
“But I am not Red. And you don’t know what you are, Jathen. You don’t have any idea just how special you are!”
“Don’t you know special is for Avatars and Aspects?” Jathen let out a small chuckle as he thought of the Drannic who had told him something similar. He added, “Or strange persons you’ve never met called things like the Interpreter.” He wondered briefly if there had ever been a Drannic up there to find. “I’m not special. I’m just different.”
Mikkal’s eyes filled with trepidation. “How do you know the Interpreter? Who told you that term?”
“A Drannic on Pilgrims’ Road, long before I met up with you. He told me he was waiting for the Interpreter to come.”
Mikkal’s face turned white. “The Interpreter was on Pilgrims’ Road before me?” Eyes wide, he began to glance about as if a horror would manifest out of the very air.
“What’s wrong, Mikkal?” Jathen had no idea what the Gray was so afraid of, but he took the opportunity to mock him. He had little pity for the man. “Did you just realize there’s a bigger fish in the water than you?”
Mikkal stepped forward and thrust out his hand. “Give it to me!”