The Obsidian Tower

by Melissa Caruso

  I had to stop her. I could try to close the Door, to seal her in there and wait for my grandmother to return, but I had no idea what lay within. It might be a weapon Lamiel could use, a power she could claim, a sleeping nightmare creature she could awaken; I couldn’t leave her in there alone with whatever the Door was meant to keep sensible people away from.

  Red light glared in my eyes as the door swung wider. The last thing I wanted to do in all the world was to step across that threshold, but precious seconds were slipping past. I couldn’t let fear stop me, no matter how frantically it clawed at my chest, tearing the breath to ribbons in my lungs. I was a guardian, and the Warden of Gloamingard. I had a duty to protect everyone in this castle from whatever horrors she might unleash.

  I plunged through after Lamiel into the Black Tower.

  The chamber soared impossibly high above me. The entire lower half of the tower must be hollow, forming this one room. The ceiling would have vanished into darkness if it weren’t for the trails of artifice sigils that blazed red all the way up the walls, meeting in a great circular seal of astonishing complexity far, far above. The inky black walls absorbed the scarlet glow, leaving the place somehow both impossibly dim and awash with crimson light.

  At the center of the chamber stood a dark rectangle of an obelisk. More glowing runes encircled it, forming another artifice ward on the glossy black floor. The stone itself reflected no light, as if someone had cut a hole in the world looking out to a starless sky.

  Before it, hands on hips, stood Lamiel.

  Guard the tower, ward the stone. This was it. Whatever that obelisk was, this was what my bloodline existed to protect. A great tide of certainty swelled up in me: I couldn’t let her touch it.

  I moved toward her, but it was like pushing my way through deep snow. Palpable horror radiated from that flat black stone, which loomed twice Lamiel’s height. I had the unnerving sense that it was alive, and hungry, and watching me.

  That it knew me.

  “Get away from that thing!” I shouted, my voice raw with fear and anger.

  Lamiel’s eyes fixed on the obelisk with reverence. “So much power,” she whispered. “To think you’ve been hiding this all these years.”

  She lifted a hand toward it. Sparks flew from her fingertips when they reached the edge of the circle inscribed on the floor, and she snatched them back.

  “Another seal.” Her fingers twitched as if they yearned to touch the black stone. “And there’s one more on the artifact itself. What were they so eager to lock away, I wonder?”

  Now that I’d forced my way closer, without the backlighting blinding me to details, I could see she was right. Precisely carved symbols and a perfect circle seal marked the center of the obelisk, laid down over a deep groove that bisected it top to bottom. Despite the unnatural warmth baking my skin, a chill shivered up my spine. There were potent magical seals all around this thing, and still it let off this much heat, this much raw power, radiating around and through me with sickening, crushing strength.

  My resolve hardened like forming crystal. Lamiel had less caution than a dog trying to snatch meat off the table before its master came home. I couldn’t let concerns about her safety hold me back anymore.

  I raced across the room and threw myself between her and the rune-marked circle, spreading my arms wide. Turning my back on that stone felt no safer than if it were a ravening battle chimera—and Lamiel was far too close, with not even two feet separating our chests.

  “Leave or die,” I growled.

  To my horror, the scalding waves of power coming off that rock resonated in my voice, a deep bass rumble in my belly. It flowed through me as if I were nothing, not even a leaf in a stream, carrying my words with it like some paltry wisp of smoke dissipating into the air.

  Lamiel stepped back, eyes widening. Then she glanced down at my feet, and her lips curled in a satisfied smile. “You can cross this barrier too, I see. Perfect.”

  I couldn’t help it. I looked down.

  The heel of my right boot crossed the glowing circle that protected the obelisk, obscuring one of the runes. Red light poured up around my foot, and my leg tingled with the touch of magic, but I hadn’t even noticed it in the overwhelming press of energy coming from the stone.

  “Pox,” I breathed.

  In my moment of distraction, Lamiel struck.

  She lunged at me, seizing both my arms above the elbow. Her fingers dug iron-hard through my thin shirtsleeves, her mage mark shining with determination. She shoved me through the now flickering ward—and plunged through the barrier with me.

  “No!” I tried to catch my balance as I staggered backward, desperate to pull away from her. “Don’t touch me, you’ll—”

  She’d hit me with too much force. My heels skidded out from under me.

  The moment slowed, terrible and clear, each detail burned into my senses.

  Lamiel’s face as her eyes widened with the first sense that something was wrong. The warm rush of magic in my arms, where her fingers clutched at me. The giddy swoop of falling, and the soaring panic of knowing what was behind me, waiting, hungry and awful as death itself.

  My fingers tangled in Lamiel’s hair as I grabbed desperately for balance; life magic surged into me through my reaching hand. But it was too late. I’d passed the tipping point, and I was going down.

  Searing hot stone slammed against my head and shoulders as I toppled into the obelisk. Pain flashed through my skull, and the breath whooshed out of my lungs.

  A blinding light erupted all around me.

  Horrible crawling pain ripped through my body, as if worms of lightning danced through my veins. The whole vast chamber vibrated with an unheard sound, and the heat of a furnace seared the air. Sheer panic shrieked along my nerves. No, no, good Graces no—not this, not this—

  White radiance blazed from the stone at my back, stripping every shadow from Lamiel’s face as her mouth shaped a silent scream. It hollowed her cheeks even as her eyes went dull and glassy.

  I shoved her off me, desperate; a thrill of magic coursed up my gloved fingertips. She tumbled to the floor, loose and limp, the pale threads of her hair spreading around her.

  Ash and ruin. She looked dead. Please don’t let her be dead.

  Power still blasted through me; I would shatter into pieces any moment from the force of it. I wrenched myself away from the stone with a cry.

  It was impossibly difficult, the obelisk pulling at me like iron draws a magnet; the line down the center shone blindingly bright, as if the rock might crack open from the magic unleashed within it. With all the frenzied force of terror fueling me, I broke free, stumbling over Lamiel’s body.

  The dazzling white brilliance began, ever so slowly, to fade.

  Everything hurt. My whole body shook uncontrollably, and tears leaked from my eyes. A wild uneven strength coursed through me, and I didn’t know if it was Lamiel’s life energy or sheer panic or both.

  Blood of the Eldest, I’d made a mess of this. I was stunned, numb, waiting for the full horror to hit. The Door open, Lamiel probably dead—this was a nightmare. No, my nightmares were never this bad.

  I dropped to my knees beside Lamiel, unsure what to do. Curse it, she had the mage mark; if she’d anchored herself against my magic before touching me, like bracing for a tug-of-war, she’d be fine—but she hadn’t believed me about not being a Skinwitch, hadn’t listened to my warnings, and I’d yanked her life from her like rope from slack hands. Now she lay utterly still. She didn’t seem to be breathing.

  If she wasn’t dead yet, my touch could kill her. But I couldn’t leave her here, with light still pouring from that cursed stone and dread building in the air like the sky’s own wrath.

  “I’d get out of that circle if I were you.”

  Whisper stood in the doorway, his tail a dark bristling cloud, his yellow eyes fever-bright. Strain roughened his usually silk-smooth voice.

  “Is she—” My throat was dry to crackling with fea
r. “Did I—”

  “Dead,” Whisper said. “A clean kill, though you might have done it sooner and prevented this madness. Now get out of there!”

  No. Ashes, no. I couldn’t have killed her. He was only a chimera; he had to be wrong.

  I grabbed fistfuls of Lamiel’s vestcoat, trying not to touch her, and hauled her out of the circle along the shining black floor. Something about the heft of her told me I was dragging a thing, not a person.

  He was right. She was gone.

  “I didn’t mean to.” My entire chest seemed to seize up, as if something was trying to fight its way out from inside me and I had to stop it. “Whisper, I swear, it was an accident.”

  “That’s the least of our worries,” he hissed, glaring at the obelisk that still shone with a terrible, eye-searing brilliance. “Let’s get out of here—bring the carcass, to be safe—and seal the Door.”

  I dragged a sleeve across my eyes, nodded grimly, and picked up Lamiel’s booted ankles, ignoring the throbbing of my wounded arm. I tried to wipe my mind blank as I hauled her across the floor, her long hair trailing behind her, stained red as blood by the light of the wards. But I couldn’t stop thinking, no matter how much I wanted to.

  Whatever else I had let loose here, I’d unleashed war.

  I hauled Lamiel’s empty husk out into the dusty stone alcove and turned to face the lurid glow pouring from the open Door to the Black Tower, my breath coming high and fast. Whisper, who’d skittered through to safety ahead of me, backed away down the corridor with his tail puffed and his eyes glowing.

  I scrabbled at the heavy stone Door, searching desperately for any kind of handle or purchase. At my touch, it began to move under my fingers, grinding slowly shut. The line down the center of the great black obelisk still blazed with terrible light; even at a glance, it stabbed into my mind like a diamond blade. I could only pray to the Graces that whatever I’d triggered would fade without doing any harm.

  The Door clunked into place. The runes flared one last time and went out, plunging everything into darkness.

  My breathing scraped harshly in the shadows, and my pulse surged loud and reckless in my ears. I groped for a wall and found rough, gritty stone.

  Solid. Real. I could almost persuade myself this had all been a nightmare—the Door opening, the red chamber, the obelisk, Lamiel’s life pouring into me. That only this rock was real, and the comforting darkness that protected my eyes from any more awful sights, and the rest was some mad hallucination.

  But my eyes slowly started pulling details out of the shadows, adjusting to the dim light: the faint red aurora that marked the outline of the massive Door, the lingering gleam that remained in Lamiel’s expended luminary. Whisper pacing with restless agitation, and Lamiel’s sprawled form twisted in empty discomfort on the hard stone floor.

  And approaching down the corridor, the burning orange circles of my grandmother’s mage mark, glowing in the dark like a cat’s eyes.

  “Ryxander.” Her voice fell on me like a mountain. “What have you done?”

  I clutched my bleeding arm against my chest, words collapsing to dust in my mouth. “I’m sorry,” I managed, my voice a breathless rasp. “I couldn’t stop her.”

  My grandmother seized my shoulders with both hands, her face blazing with intensity even in the darkness. “Are you all right? Ryx, look at me.”

  “I’m fine, but Lamiel—”

  She gave me a sharp shake. “Look at me.”

  I was looking at her, as much as I was looking at anything, but the red lines of the Black Tower wards still burned into my vision. I swallowed and forced myself to focus on my grandmother’s face and truly meet her eyes despite the jittery pounding of my heart and the nerve-scalding energy still pouring into my limbs.

  My grandmother’s gaze roved across my face, scanning it as if she could read words there.

  “You’re safe,” she breathed at last, and her hands dropped from my shoulders.

  “The Door.” I tried to pull the chaos of my thoughts into order. That was the most important thing—even more important than the Shrike Lord’s betrothed dead at my feet. I had no idea what that surge of energy meant, or what danger it might pose to everyone in the castle. “Lamiel used my blood to get into the Black Tower, and she… I tried to get in her way, but she wouldn’t listen, and she knocked me into the stone.” My throat burned, cracking my voice.

  “Seasons have mercy.” My grandmother’s blazing eyes flicked past me, then down to settle on Whisper. “Is this your doing?”

  “Hardly.” Acid infused the chimera’s tone. “If I’d wanted to open the Door, I wouldn’t have involved some visiting human fool.”

  “How long was it open?” she demanded, something disturbingly like fear in her voice.

  I had never, not even once, known my grandmother to be afraid.

  “Only briefly,” Whisper said, his fur still bristling along his spine. “But that may have been enough.”

  She turned from me to face the closed Door, the shadows on her jaw flexing in the dim light. “I have to deal with this now. It can’t wait.”

  “Let me help you.” The words burst out of me on a hot surge of guilt. “This is my fault. And Gloamingard is my responsibility.”

  “No,” she said harshly. “You can’t go near that thing again. I’ll handle it.”

  “Wait.” I grabbed the edge of her feathery mantle in desperation. “At least tell me what’s going on. I killed someone tonight, and I want to know why.”

  She closed her eyes. The dim red light seeping around the Door played across her lids.

  Without warning, she spun and clasped me in a fierce, bony hug.

  “Listen to me, Ryx,” she whispered, low and close to my ear. My skin prickled as my flawed magic strove to draw her life into me, but the Lady of Owls was more than powerful enough to resist that pull. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m going to go in there and find out what we’re facing. Most likely the danger is past, the only casualty is Lamiel, and the Shrike Lord’s wrath is the worst we’ll have to deal with.” She held me out at arm’s length, her eyes grave. “In case it isn’t, I need you to do something. To help protect Gloamingard and all of Morgrain.”

  “Anything,” I said, trembling with the need to undo whatever unspoken damage I’d done.

  My grandmother drew in a long breath. “Go get the Rookery.”

  “What?” I stared at her, stunned. They might be experts at dealing with magical accidents, but bringing outsiders into this went against the Gloaming Lore.

  Whisper seemed to share my skepticism. “Are you sure?”

  My grandmother ignored him, keeping her eyes locked on mine. “They took the southern road toward the Serene Empire. They’re camped at a traveler’s shelter a few hours from here; you can catch up to them tonight if you hurry. Tell them we have a magical emergency and I’m requesting immediate assistance.”

  My stomach dropped even further. “What magical emergency? Ashes, tell me, what did I do?”

  A shadow lay within my grandmother’s eyes. “Hopefully nothing,” she said. “Just in case, I’m sending messenger birds to the rest of the family, warning them to stay away from Gloamingard. And I want you to go after the Rookery and bring them back here.”

  “Then send the Rookery a bird, too,” I urged her. “I can’t leave Gloamingard now. I’m the Warden. If that artifact poses a danger to the people in the castle, I have to help neutralize it or get them out. Not to mention that the Raverran envoy arrives tomorrow morning, seasons have mercy, and I need to be here.”

  “The best way you can help protect your people is to get the Rookery as quickly as possible,” my grandmother said grimly. “A bird could be misunderstood, intercepted, or ignored. I need them here immediately—no delays, detours, or refusals. I trust you to accomplish that.”

  She wanted me gone. The knowledge cut deeper and more unexpected than the slash in my arm. I had no doubt everything she said was true, but I was no
fool; I could think of half a dozen trustworthy staff I could send in my place. For whatever reason—to keep me from making things worse, or for my own safety—she wanted me out of Gloamingard.

  But she was the Witch Lord, and an emergency was no time to argue. I nodded reluctantly. “All right. I’ll do it.”

  “Good.” She paused, as if a thought struck her. “One more thing—don’t tell anyone what really happened to Lamiel. So far as anyone else is concerned, she tampered with things she shouldn’t have and the wards killed her. Do you understand?”

  “But what about—”

  “Tell no one. I’m going to have enough trouble placating the Shrike Lord as it is. Our chances of keeping this between Alevar and Morgrain are much better if he can’t call in allies with a cry of murder.”

  “It wasn’t murder!” The protest tore from me before I could stop it. “She grabbed me. After attacking me with a knife, no less.”

  “I know. But if it comes out that your magic killed her, they’ll cry Skinwitch, and we’ll have Nine Hells of a time convincing anyone otherwise.” She planted one swift, forceful kiss on the top of my head; it left a spot of warmth on my scalp. “Go now, and move quickly. Speed is crucial. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” The words bunched in my throat.

  “Go. Run.” My grandmother faced the black Door, her expression grim. “I’ve got my own work to do.”

  Her power began unfolding invisibly around her, swelling vast as a mountain’s shadow at sunset. I didn’t stay to find out if the pressure of it fully unleashed would crush the breath from my lungs. She’d given me a task, and by all Nine Graces, I’d do it.

  I ran through Gloamingard’s twisting halls and out into the wild night.

  My feet ached from the pebbly road, and the chill of the early autumn night had worked its way through my vestcoat. The bandage I’d improvised for my wounded arm had stopped the bleeding but didn’t keep it from throbbing with sharp insistence. I forced myself to keep going at as brisk a pace as I could manage, pushing pain and weariness down deep inside with the fear and the guilt and everything else I couldn’t afford to give in to right now. Until I knew everyone in Gloamingard was safe from whatever I’d unleashed in the Black Tower, there could be no rest.