The Armor of Light

by Karen E. Hoover

  She shifted back to her human form to better pursue him, the crystal giving way to gray granite that was harder for her to move through. She got caught up on one particularly dark vein of stone, and in a flash, he was gone. Ember looked all around, twisting this way and that, but the shadow weaver had disappeared and she had no idea where to find him.

  She stood still, trying to sense what she couldn’t see with her eyes, but the man was just as elusive to her magic as he was to her eyes and ears.

  “Oh,” she mumbled, “This is so very, very wrong. They are going to kill me.” Visions of Mahal, Ezeker, Aldarin, her mother, and DeMunth flashed through her head. She was going to be in so much trouble, and what was she supposed to say? Mahal made me do it?

  Like they would believe that.

  With nothing else to do and definitely not willing to go back to the mage academy yet, Ember swam through the stone and back toward the crystal sphere, the birthplace of the keystones. It wasn’t hard to find. It was the only thing glowing in this dark place. A strange thought passed through her head. Most people talked about feeling the weight of the mountain on them when they were in caves or underground, but she had felt nothing but safe since she had entered the caverns. Why was it that she felt so safe underground?

  She had no answers, and the point was moot anyway. What did it matter? It was just one more quirky thing about her, but one that made no difference.

  She passed through the magestone and into the crystal sphere to find that Mahal had brought in a table and set it with supper for the both of them. It seemed a strange thing to do, considering she had just battled with a shadow weaver and lost him, and Mahal was supposed to be speaking with his brothers. She hadn’t done anything right, and here Mahal was feeding her?

  She stood there, unable to find any words as she stared at the Guardian. He stared right back at her, unsmiling, unmoving, then suddenly he grinned, reminding her of Tiva. He waved an arm expansively, gesturing toward the chair he pulled out for her. “Come, come. Sit and eat. You need your strength.”

  Ember’s stomach rumbled long and deep at the sight and smell of the food, her mouth salivating. But how could she accept his generosity when she had just failed? Didn’t he realize what had happened?

  “Sir,” she began, but he waved her to silence.

  “Mahal is fine. Or Master, if you so desire, though I prefer the familiar form.” He sat in the chair opposite the seat he had pulled out for her.

  “Master Mahal,” Ember started, then stopped, her mouth suddenly unable to form the words that echoed through her heart. Tears sprang to her eyes as she took a step forward. “Mahal, I have failed you. I am so sorry, Master. The Shadow Weaver was strong—too strong. He pulled the magestone right from the walls, powdered into pure energy. He got away. I lost him. I am so, so sorry,” she said, biting off the last with a sob.

  Mahal was instantly at her side, his arms around her. “Shhh, child, it is not your fault. I had not realized how powerful the dark ones had become, had not even known they were upon Rasann until they attacked you. I was wrong to have left you alone with him. I should be apologizing, not you.” He held her tight and rubbed her back in a soothing motion. Normally she would have felt smothered, but Mahal’s arms were strangely comforting.

  “But it’s not just that,” she said, pulling back a bit. “Aldarin and DeMunth saw me leaving with him. They know I took the prisoner, and now he’s loose. They’ll have to tell Ezeker, and I am going to get into trouble. This is big, Master. They are going to be really, really angry with me.” Ember was near tears again, thinking about the reaction she would get when she saw them again. They would probably throw her in prison now too.

  Mahal chuckled. “And who was it who asked you to take the prisoner?”

  “You,” Ember said, slightly reluctant.

  “And who was it who left you alone to battle him when you needed help the most?”

  She was even more reluctant to answer this time. Her voice came out as a croak. “You, Master.”

  “Then whose fault is it he escaped?” Mahal asked.

  “Mine,” Ember answered, her chin jutting stubbornly.

  Mahal took her chin and lifted it so she would meet his eyes. “No, my child. It was my error, not yours. I will accept responsibility. No harm will come to you. Now, leave this for the moment. Magic takes energy, and you need to restock. Come and eat. We will talk.” He took her by the forearm and led her to the table that was laden with all kinds of delicacies. Even with the delay, the food was still hot, steam rising from the chicken and mashed potatoes and greens—and there were scones with butter and honey, melt-in-your mouth warm as if straight from the oven. Ember loved scones. At the same time, moisture collected on the chilled fruit and beaded on the outside of their glasses of cider.

  Ember didn’t resist any longer. She sat down, scooted her chair forward, and set to eating. The taste was exquisite, better than anything she’d ever had before, and she ate until she could eat no more, and when she sat back in her chair, the table disappeared.

  Ember would have jumped at the table vanishing before her if she had more energy, but she was exhausted and stuffed to the point of stupor. Mahal stood and his chair disappeared, so Ember did the same, trying not to groan. Now that she was fed and her strength was returning, her thoughts returned to the shadow weaver. What was he exactly? And how had he pulled power from the magestone? It bothered her so much, she eventually voiced her questions.

  Mahal was quiet for a moment, then he waved his hand. Floating balls appeared in the air and grew until they were so large, Ember could see clouds moving across an ocean of the deepest blue. “This is your home, Ember. Rasann as we intended her, the way she was created in the beginning. Pure and pristine, full of abundant life and a place of peace and rest.” Mahal gestured, and Ember felt as if she were zooming across the landscape, seeing the vast fields of grass, the lakes and rivers, and diving beneath the ocean depths.

  “Let me give you a bit of the history of this world. I know your uncle has taught you about white magic and how it was divided into colors to hold Rasann together until she could be healed, but what he did not tell you, and could not have known, is that white magic is not the only magic the universe holds. There is a much darker magic out there, a destructive magic, and it is that which the shadow weavers use.”

  Ember shivered as a wave of darkness covered the illusion of Rasann.

  “This battle between light and dark has been found on all the worlds the Ones created. I’d thought we had avoided it here, but I see now it is most likely that which corrupted my brother in the beginning, and not the lust for power I’d thought had changed him.” Mahal’s face was drawn, his mouth drooping in obvious sorrow. He waved his hand again and brought up the image of a man—tall, with dark eyes, and hair the color of the silvery moon and dimples when he smiled. He looked much like Mahal, but Mahal was sunshine and light to this man’s darkness and night.

  “This is my twin as I once knew him,” Mahal said, confirming Ember’s suspicions. “Before the dark changed him and he lost his way. Once he was known as Sthadal. You might know him better as S’Kotos.” As Mahal spoke, the man changed. Not in appearance, but in demeanor, as if all the light were sucked from him. His expressive eyes became flat and his ready smile transformed into a cruel smirk. “I wish I knew how he found the darkness. I wish I’d known then and had removed it from him, rather than let it nearly destroy this jewel of Rasann we created together.”

  As Ember watched, the world shook and trembled, the oceans rising and the land exploding upward into mountains and volcanoes. At last, the shaking stopped, and bands of color began to encircle the globe, alternating streaks north and south, then east and west that squeezed the world back into shape like a hand molding a ball. This was the net of magic that encircled Rasann, the net that was beginning to unravel. As she watched, Ember saw bits of it deteriorate and be woven together again with magic, then other spots deteriorate, until it unrave
led faster than it could be patched. She understood her mission.

  What she didn’t understand was how to do it. Mahal was teaching her to trust her instincts and let the magic flow through her, but she was only one person, and a young one at that. How was she supposed to heal a world?

  The illusion disappeared with a wave of The Guardian’s hand, and in its place was a bed centered neatly in the middle of the room. Mahal lowered his arm, and the glowing crystal dimmed.

  “But that is enough for today. You, my child, need to sleep.”

  “But—”

  Mahal shook his head. “No, Ember Shandae. Tomorrow is another day. Your head is full and your heart aches, and tomorrow I must ask you to do some things that will be difficult for you. Sleep now, my child. We shall visit more in the morning.”

  Ember didn’t want to argue with him, couldn’t, with the yawns that now cracked her jaw and sent her tumbling into bed and almost instantly into dreams. Only one thought crossed her mind before she gave in to the soft mattress and warm blankets. What task could Mahal have for her that could be harder than today?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The fourth time Kayla played her wedding song for Brant, the flute began to fade, and Brant along with it. The sun had set by this time, so it was dark but for the glow of the flute and the embers of the fire that still burned. When she finished the song, Brant’s spirit spoke in that echoing voice that sounded as if it came from one of the domed cathedrals in Darthmoor.

  “Kayla, I can’t stay much longer. The flute powers me, and you have used much of its reserves tonight in your battle with Jihong. So listen now, while I have the time, my sweet.” Kayla hadn’t noticed until now that he hovered a few inches above the ground. “I never expected the chance to tell you anything beyond death, my love, but the flute has claimed me as its own. I am now its tool, its weapon. I wish more than anything that we could have stayed together in life, but the Guardians must have other plans for us. We’ll be together as long as you have possession of the flute” He walked across the fire without harm, and that’s when she knew this was real. He was a ghost, there but not there, and the tears started anew.

  “Why couldn’t I save you?” She buried her face in her hands and wept. “Why would the flute save me and not you?”

  “Kayla, it’s not your fault,” his spirit said. A breath of touch whispered along her arms, making her shiver. “You protected me. You battled for me, and if you had not, Jihong would have killed us both. You know that. The flute used so much of its power, there was none left to heal me. That, and—” he paused. Kayla looked up and met his ghostly eyes.

  “And what?” she asked. She was desperate to know.

  “I hesitate to tell you,” he said.

  She was walking the line of sanity after this night. “Why, Brant? Is it so hard to tell me I killed you? That it’s my fault you are dead?” She stormed away from the fire and walked to the pool beneath the waterfall, trying to hide the tears that would not stop.

  But hiding from Brant was like hiding from a hound. He came to her shortly after she calmed and spoke, though she kept her back to him.

  “You did not kill me,” he said. “Jihong did. But—” and here he paused again before continuing, sounding reluctant. “Your emotion. I know what the flute felt, love. I am now a part of it. You rejoiced in Jihong’s pain and destruction. You used dark magic to subdue him, and that conflict between your true nature and the dark battled the magic within the flute. It is but a tool, feeding off the emotion of its user, but you were . . .” He searched for the right word. “Conflicted,” he said. “It used much more of its power, and that is why it chose to take me into itself rather than let me die. I am basically an interpreter now, so that it understands you and knows how to properly work for you, its player. I am also to be your protector and guardian, and believe me, I take that very seriously.”

  Kayla listened and grew more horrified the longer he spoke. She kept her back to him, tortured by knowing he spoke the truth.

  And her feelings had drained the flute more quickly than it would have otherwise. If she had not given in to her darker emotions, Brant may still be alive. The flute could have saved him.

  Without turning to face him, she spoke. “So it is my fault. I killed you, whether I meant to or not.”

  Brant didn’t answer, which was unlike him. She chuckled bitterly. He was changing already. He was now a creature of truth, and not compassion. The realization sat like a stone in her heart.

  The silence stretched between them for much too long. It was Brant who finally broke it.

  “I know this is a topic you do not wish to discuss, love, but it is necessary. Will you hear me?” he asked.

  She nodded without turning.

  “It’s about my body,” he said, clearing his throat.

  Kayla tensed.

  Brant rushed on. “You cannot take my body back to Dragonmeer, though that is where it should rightfully be. Too many in Dragonmeer blame you for C’Tan’s attack and, unsurprisingly, my mother is one of them. If you took me home, she would do everything in her power to have you destroyed.”

  Kayla hung her head. She blamed herself for the destruction of Dragonmeer. Her carelessness had brought C’Tan down upon them and, as a result, the attack upon its people. She turned and faced Brant, tears still running down her face.

  “Then what am I to do? I cannot leave you there to . . . to . . .” she couldn’t even say the word, but visions of animals left by the side of the roadways filled her mind.

  “To rot,” he finished for her. “I know I told you to get word to my family, and I would still like you to do so—but not in person. It may seem impersonal, but send word of my death by messenger or letter and tell them how to find me. Do you understand?” She nodded and he grinned his usual grin, which was just one more knife in her heart. “I have an idea. This meadow,” he gestured around him, “Is secluded and beautiful. It’s also the last place where I have wonderful, happy memories with the person I love most in this world. You. I want my body to stay here, but not in this ground. I do not want to be hidden away.”

  Puzzled, she asked, “Then what?”

  “Ice,” he said, a full-fledged smile speading across his face. “I want you to create an ice casket for me here. One that will not melt, like the wall you created in the waterways.” He saw her question before she asked it. “Yes, I know about that. The flute has shown me many things. Create an icy bier and casket for me and lay me upon it, then freeze me inside so I will always look the same. It will be a place my mother can come to mourn and see me, alive or not. Please, Kayla. Do this for me?”

  Kayla thought. An ice casket. Like glass, but one that would freeze him forever. She didn’t know how.

  But the flute did, and she knew it would guide her in this creation, especially if it was for Brant. She nodded slowly. “I’m assuming the flute needs to recharge?”

  He nodded.

  “Then I shall do so at first light. There are preparations to be made before I can seal you, anyway. I can’t have your mother looking upon you forever with blood and sweat and grime coating you. I need to prepare your . . .” She gulped. “Your body,” she almost whispered.

  Brant looked as if that had not even occurred to him. It probably hadn’t, being the type of man he was. “I am sorry,” was all he said. He was nearly transparent now. He blew her a kiss and disappeared into the flute.

  Kayla burst into sobs that felt as if she were being ripped inside out. It hurt so much, she didn’t know how she would ever bear the pain. But crying accomplished nothing. She couldn’t stop the tears, but she could get to work.

  Moving back to the fireside, she stoked it and added more wood to the embers that barely burned until the flames leaped high enough to illuminate Brant’s body. Rolling him back and forth, she got his shirt up over the top of his head until he was bare-chested, then rummaged through his leather bag. Thankfully she had thought to pack an extra set of clothes for him, and thou
gh they were nothing fancy, at least they were clean.

  Trying not to blush, she pulled off his boots and then his pants, extremely grateful he had underclothing. She had been told that not all men wore them.

  With her fiancé’s body laid out in his underwear, she tore the blankets into large pieces. Several of them she ripped into smaller squares and took them to the pond, then returned with them dripping with clean water. Very gently, she wiped the blood and venom from Brant’s torso, then used a dry rag to wipe away the water. She took another wet rag and cleaned his face and neck, and another for his hands and legs and feet. She cleaned every bare inch of him, even turning him over to clean his back.

  The entire time, she cried. She knew it was silly to clean the parts of him that would be covered with clothing, but she could not bear to encase him otherwise.

  Once he was as clean as she could get him, she pulled out the leather pants she’d brought and somehow pulled them up his legs and over his hips, though she was drenched with sweat by the time she finished.

  The shirt was much easier. She tucked it down inside his breaches, then buttoned it up. She wished she had a cape for him. He would look so much more handsome with a cape.

  She pulled his boots on, then polished them as best she could. She combed his hair back, styling it just the way he always had. His lips were starting to turn blue already. Her heart ached to be reminded once again that he was truly dead. Gone. She couldn’t take the blue of his lips. It hurt too much. She could at least create the illusion of life. She found the berries they had planned to eat with dinner and crushed one, dabbing it gently on his lips. She didn’t want him too red, but she couldn’t let him be blue. Between the berries and a wet rag to wipe off the excess, she got the color just right.