Blood and Shadow (The Mage's Gift Book 1)

by Robin Lythgoe

“I don’t know.” The answer was pained. “One of our own horses dragged his—dragged him into town. The cooper’s son brought him here.”

  “Dragged?” he echoed, envisioning a bloody trail, a gory mess.

  “In a sack,” came the reluctant response. “Please, Sherakai, if you value my experience and learning at all, heed me now. Go to your mother with the news and comfort her as best you can. Make the arrangements for the funeral if you wish, but let me deal with his body.”

  “I should—be sure it is him.” Wasn’t it his duty, his responsibility? The buzzing increased.

  “I have known him for most of his life, and as sure as I’m standing here, Sherakai, it is Fazare.”

  He swallowed half a dozen times, trying to dismiss the strangling lump in his throat. “I don’t want it to be him.”

  “I know, and I fervently wish it were not.” Nayuri murmured, reaching across the table to clasp the younger man’s arm.

  Sherakai’s glance jerked back to him. Agony and sympathy suffused the man. He'd loved him, too. Sherakai clamped his jaw tight to keep it from trembling. The sound of women’s voices from the corridor interrupted the jagged silence. Time in which to think, to act, evaporated. Hand shaking, he made a fist and pressed it to his mouth before giving a convulsive nod. “I will—I can’t—” He looked helplessly around the room and tried again. “Thank you, C-captain.”

  Nayuri simply gave Sherakai’s arm a small squeeze before loosing it. “I will take care of him,” he promised. “Then I will return to help you.”

  As Nayuri left, Sherakai tried to focus on the things that needed doing. Word must go to his father and Elinasha in Kelamara. For the love of all the Saints, who would treat Fazare’s body so abominably? He must speak to the priest. Who hated House Tanoshi enough to kill for vengeance? Was it vengeance? Jealousy? Suchedai Ginsaka would appoint men to tend to the grave. Perhaps he would procure the shroud as well, or did that duty belong to someone else?

  As the women stepped into the room, he dug his nails into his palms. He could not weep. Not now.

  Tameko returned to Tanoshi Keep on a day as sweet as anyone could wish for with autumn on the doorstep. Birds flitted about, singing merrily as sunlight flashed on quick wings. A flush of bright red St. Neman’s balm spread out from the curtain wall like a carpet. Here and there it filled in nooks and crannies inside the walls too. The heady scent of the flowers wafted through the air as if determined to banish the melancholy hanging over the keep like a fog.

  Sherakai waited on the lower step, curbing a childish desire to run to his father. He was too old to leap into his arms the way he had as a child, too tired by far, and too heavy with grief. A few soldiers called out greetings. Stable hands hurried to take the horses and welcome the jansu home. Captain Nayuri stood behind Sherakai. He probably had his hands clasped, shoulders straight, and features ordered the way he always did. Sherakai had seen him crack just once, when Fazare’s body had arrived. Had he lost his cool self-control the night Tasan was delivered?

  Tameko caught sight of his youngest son and held his gaze as he swung stiffly down from the saddle. He murmured responses to those who came forward, but did not look away. He held one hand out as he limped close, beckoning Sherakai into motion. Dark circles beneath his eyes and new lines around his mouth changed the map of his features.

  “Papa…” Sherakai’s voice and his composure deserted him. The pair met in a hard embrace. Sherakai buried his face in his father’s broad shoulder, trying to stem hot tears.

  Tameko squeezed him, then rocked a little from side to side. “My son, my son. By all the gods, I am glad to see you.”

  “I’m sorry, Papa, so sorry.” Voice muffled against leather and wool, he wanted nothing so much as to stay in that strong embrace.

  “Sorry for what?” He pushed his son back, hands on the youth’s shoulders. “I worried when I heard about the storm, but it looks like you weathered it well. Better than your letter showed. A man might’ve thought the entire district was washed away.”

  Sherakai shook his head, wiped betraying tears from his face, and struggled to pull himself together. “‘Zar—I sent a letter not three days ago. Did you not get it?”

  “No.” Heavy brows drew down in a wary frown. “What about Fazare? Have you news?”

  “He’s—he’s dead, Papa.” His voice sounded peculiar, even to his own ears. “We buried him that morning. I wanted to wait for you, but the priest—” Emotion shook him.

  “Dead? How? What did the priest say?” He looked around at the slowly growing collection of somber Tanoshans. “Nayuri?”

  As the captain descended the low stairs, he lifted his voice to address the small crowd. “You all have work to do.”

  “Where is Imarasu?” Tameko asked as if just realizing her absence.

  Nayuri waited until the three of them were alone. “Your lady took to her bed after the funeral.”

  “She left Sherakai on his own?”

  “She needed to rest,” Sherakai put in. Tameko hushed him with a hand on his shoulder.

  Nayuri inclined his head but reserved judgement. “It is a grievous blow. Words cannot express my sorrow for your loss, my lord, my friend. If you—” He caught himself, then went on. “The priest thought Fazare had been gone from this life too long already. As much as it pained me, I—we—agreed.”

  “How long?” The lack of emotion hollowed the jansu’s voice.

  “Four or five days.” Softly, so softly, as if reducing the volume of his own voice could cushion the painful news.

  Tameko sucked in a breath and turned away.

  Custom decreed that a body be buried within three days of death, lest the spirit become lost and out of reach of the All Father’s raven guides. Sherakai didn’t think a loving Father would allow one of his children to simply get lost. Hadn’t his own father tried to move earth and the heavens to find his lost sons? Surely the Creator had more power and better resources. He’d said as much before they buried Fazare. To his surprise Nayuri had agreed with him, but done nothing to stay the rites. I wish with all my heart that your father could be here to bury his son, Sherakai, he’d said. Your brother’s body will not keep. I am sorry to speak so plainly of it. Apart from that, people find comfort in custom. Your people, your family, you—It would be better for all if you allow this time for saying goodbye.

  Tameko said nothing for a very long time. He did not appear to notice the approach of a pair of younger lords who’d accompanied him on his journey. Nayuri motioned them away. At last Tameko sighed and lifted his head. “I would like the two of you to join me for a prayer at Fazare’s grave, but first I must see my wife.”

  The significance of such an intimate request did not escape Sherakai, but dread cast a shadow upon the honor. Putting his brothers into the unforgiving earth had added a new element to his nightmares. The graveyard was the last place he wanted to visit.

  “My lord. It would be my pleasure.” Nayuri bowed and stepped aside to allow Tameko to pass.

  “Yes, Papa,” Sherakai echoed, wishing he had even a fraction of the captain’s confidence.

  Tameko gave Nayuri’s shoulder a squeeze, sighed again, then turned to his youngest son. One hand around the back of the youth’s neck, it looked for a moment as though he might speak. Instead, he shook his head and tugged Sherakai close for a brief embrace. Then he made his way inside with broad shoulders stooped.

  “They are not there, you know. In the graves.”

  “How do you know?” Sherakai whispered, not looking at Nayuri, but at the carved double doors.

  “There is a light in each of us. Some call it a divine spark. When our bodies can no longer serve us that light—that essence—leaves its shell. You have seen dead animals before, and you have seen how death leaves them different. Changed. They are missing that essential light.”

  Sherakai gave a fractional nod of his head. The game they hunted or the animals they had to put down seemed so heavy and thick. Bare, and without the colo
r their auras had once given them.

  “No matter how long any of us live, man or animal, these bodies are only temporary housing. I am in no hurry to find out, but I wonder what if feels like to be released from the weight of this frame, the weight of existence as we know it. Perhaps it is like flying.”

  The notion caught Sherakai by surprise. “Do you think so?”

  He shrugged and offered a small, rare smile. “I would rather hope for something incredible than face the inevitable with fear and despair. It makes the waiting easier.” He looked both ways, then started off across the yard and the rebuilding of the tower roof.

  For the first time in weeks Sherakai felt the constriction around his heart ease. They could fly?

  Chapter 24

  The lock’s mechanism clicked and gave the tiniest of hisses, but the ancient door refused to open. A single step brought Sherakai’s back against the opposite wall. Lower lip between his teeth, he frowned at the thing. Archaic engraved motifs disguised buttons, knobs, and levers on a panel which had to be a good six inches thick. Thirteen of these doors peppered the hidden passageways: twelve for each of the minor gods and one to represent the All Father. Each bore the name of a single deity disguised within intricate carvings. It had taken him a long time to recognize the symbols, and most of a winter spent in the keep library to discover what they meant. An appetite for books and curious tales had proved an advantage when it came to wheedling information out of the librarian, but only patient experimentation had helped him figure out how to open the doors. Since discovering them, he’d puzzled out all but this and one other. In spite of the belief he’d be able to open the only secret door leading out of the keep, a little practice on this one wouldn’t hurt.

  He examined the panel again, running fingertips over the bumps and valleys. This was the first one he’d found after Imitoru showed him the hidden passages nearly four years ago. To this day, it stubbornly refused to yield, no matter what he tried.

  “As if a door could decide such things,” he muttered to himself. Caution prevented him from venting frustration with a good, solid kick. There was no need to announce his presence to anyone who happened to be sitting in the sanctuary on the other side.

  “Come on, then, open.” The first pattern had made something give, so he pressed and poked and prodded. Over and over he tried, effort raising perspiration and cramping his neck as well as his fingers.

  May I be excused for an hour, sir? he’d asked his father after finishing up in the stables.

  Only an hour? Tameko leaned back in his chair behind the desk and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. The Saints only knew how long he’d been there. He might not have much farm business to catch up on, but there was the turmoil left by King Muro’s death and the details of hunting down his sons’ killer. He’d yet to tell Sherakai what either involved. Take the day. You deserve it. What do you have in mind to do?

  He wanted to ride. I haven’t figured out all the secret doors.

  Tameko’s brows had tented. I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. What if you don’t like what’s behind them?

  I suspect you and I will have a very long conversation and I will learn another valuable lesson.

  Stars, the world does not know what they are up against. Will you stay within the keep walls and above the storage levels?

  He did not know what his father meant and chose not to pursue it. As the door he had in mind met the constraints, it was easy to agree. Yes, sir.

  That had been this morning. As the hours passed, the well in his lamp emptied. When his belly growled for the third or fourth time, he surrendered. This was getting him nowhere. If he tried it from the other side, he risked the priest discovering him. Even if the man knew of the passage, Sherakai didn’t want him to know he knew.

  Stupid door.

  He shook his fist at it and stuck his tongue out in a fit of childish petulance that immediately made him feel silly, even though no one had seen it. He’d give anything to have Toru beside him, laughing and pulling a face of his own. Collecting the lamp, Sherakai started down the passageway.

  This stretch of the narrow corridor offered three peepholes along its length, each at the perfect height for someone as slight as Sherakai, and each covered by a rotating disk on the interior side of the wall. When the sound of voices reached his ears, he slowed even further, and shuttered the lamp. He turned sideways to keep from making noise if he brushed against the walls. A sliver of light pierced the gloom ahead, revealing the peephole into his father’s office. One of the mysterious doors lay just beyond, disguised on the office side as a beautifully carved and delicately painted panel depicting the All Father raising the Lesser Gods to their hearths.

  He recognized his father’s voice. The other, a man’s, was annoyingly quiet.

  “You misunderstand,” the second voice murmured in a discreet attempt to soothe. Sherakai held his breath to hear better. “In spite of everything, your daughter has not produced an heir. You gave a barren woman in marriage.”

  “It was a risk you took when you married her.”

  He imagined the angry jump of muscle in his father’s jaw. His own fists clenched. Lord Chiro! What right had he to speak that way about Mimeru?

  “She is not some cow to be tested for fertility before breeding.”

  “Of course not. You know that I love her as she is, Tameko, but a man must have an heir or all he has built, all he strives for, is for naught.”

  “And I suppose you have a solution for this dilemma?”

  Sherakai held his breath. Brides for the nobility carried a heavy price. Even he realized that Bairith might have a worthy case. Tanoshi could ill afford such a legal dispute, particularly after the damage the storm had caused.

  “I could sue, of course. Instead, I am asking again to foster your son, to be his teacher and perhaps my heir as well. Surely you see the benefit in this, especially now.”

  The announcement hung in the air, alight with intangible promises. Sherakai leaned forward to know it more closely. His forehead brushed the wall and he jerked back with a wince. The following silence scraped across his nerves.

  Tameko’s chair creaked as he shifted. “I have already lost two sons. A third is probably dead, and you persist in asking me to give you my last remaining heir.”

  “There is no reason he cannot inherit from both of us, is there?”

  Sherakai pictured Bairith’s expansive wave and itched to peek through the peephole. If he got caught—What was the worst that could happen? He put his eye to the space and ever-so-carefully eased the little disk aside.

  Tameko leaned both elbows on the desk, hands clasped and resting on the polished wood. Craggy features aloof, he studied his son-in-law. “I already spoke to the chancellor of the College of Magic, and their proctor as well. I’m sure you know Hato Omuri was here.”

  Bairith, lounging in the seat across from Tameko, nodded and frowned. “I suspected he was not here to witness the wedding. Still, the boy’s not theirs yet. Consider this: If you give him to me instead, he will be one pupil instead of one among many. Unlike the college, I can give him undivided attention and instruction. I can protect him at the Gates. No enemy has ever breached those walls. Your daughter will be pleased for the company, and perhaps his presence will comfort her. With Mimeru to watch over him, you’ve no need to worry. Better still, he’ll be close enough for visits. His mother will appreciate that.” He smiled easily, hopefully.

  Her husband’s return had given Imarasu strength and she’d returned to her daily activities about the keep. Still, she was not fully recovered. She promised she’d be fine. Papa said to give her time…

  Tameko grunted and bounced his hands on the desktop once. “And how do you think the capital would receive this plan to further tie together two such powerful houses?”

  “Truth to tell, I hadn’t thought things out so far,” Bairith confessed, coming to his feet. One hand on his elegantly clad hip, he paced three steps one way, then three the other. He tappe
d his fingers against his mouth as he moved. “Perhaps this isn’t the wisest course, but we should delay broaching the subject to the Council until you and I have worked out the details to our own satisfaction. The Council has enough on their plates.”

  Tameko leaned back in his chair, one arm still on the desk, but said nothing.

  Sherakai let the disk slide closed and pressed his forehead against the wall. His father’s fondness for the is’fidri board took on a whole new meaning, and Bairith played a razor-edged game.

  There came a rustle of fabric and the weight of hesitation. “My dear friend, my honored father, please forgive me.” The plea came on the gentlest of breaths. “I have genuine concerns for the future of my own estate, but I do not mean to hound you. You have faced such sore trials that I hesitated to bring this to you, except I feared—”

  In his hiding place, Sherakai caught his breath against a bleak sense of helplessness.

  “I feared the college would rob us both of the opportunity not only to teach Sherakai, but to keep him safe and near. Tell me you will give it further thought, for Sherakai's sake as well as Mimeru's. And more... for Imarasu’s peace of mind.”

  The chair scraped as Tameko stood. “I will consider your suggestion,” he allowed.

  Sherakai came up straight, eyes wide and a protest silent on his lips.

  “You humble me. I've been desperate for a way to help protect Tanoshi's interests since the unfortunate circumstances at the wedding. Words cannot express how important it is to me and to Mimeru to protect Sherakai.”

  Spinning thoughts made Sherakai deaf to the exchange of parting pleasantries and the opening and closing of the study door. He had to admit that he liked the idea of being closer to home, and of spending time with Mimeru. But there was more to the problem than that. If he stayed he wouldn’t get the training he needed. He would become a danger to everyone. If he left, would his father be able to manage without his help? Without any of his sons?

  The door beside him swung open.