On Wings of Bone and Glass

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  I opened our meeting. “We now have new problems.”

  “I’ll say.” Radburn rested his back against the wall. “Let me guess. You want us to solve them for you.”

  I grinned. “Only partially, I promise.”

  “For the benefit of those of us who spent all night carousing and therefore have fewer faculties to apply to the analysis of the situation as it stands,” Eyre said, “perhaps you might explain, my student.”

  “If I’m correct, the demon’s arrival raised the dead.... everywhere.” I glanced at Rose, who nodded jerkily. “I hope the knights of the Church were able to attend the matter, but there will be places they failed. That is the first matter. The second is that Marne’s death released the magic back to the continent. If humanity has not yet awakened to its abilities, it will soon, with or without me to lead them to the talent. The third is that most of the elves remain in exile on the Archipelago, with a captive human and genet population. They may have become aware that there is a king again, but they will not have met or sworn to him.”

  “So not much to do,” Ivy murmured.

  “I must go,” Rose said. “The rise of talent in the populace... we were positioned specifically to meet that need, along with the defense of the human nations. I need to be back in Evertrue yesterday.”

  “I imagine the First Minister of Troth will want an explanation, yes,” I said. “Can you give it to him?”

  “I can,” she said. “Though....”

  “Though the more people brought to bear on that situation, the better?” I looked at Kemses. “I most dislike detaching you, my vassal, but I am perfectly certain of Sadar’s allegiances. Erevar is already a bastion of equality among species—they won’t need you to return to convince them of it.”

  “It irks me not to guard your side,” Kemses said. “But I suspect you to be correct. I will do more good for you here, and the king must return with you if you are to have any hope of quelling the nascent rebellion among the remaining families of Serala.”

  “Do you really think they’ll try?” Radburn asked.

  “I think they have grown accustomed to fencing for power,” Kemses said. “So it is wise not to assume they will act otherwise.”

  “I can go to the capital,” Guy said. “And Chester had probably better as well. No, don’t argue, Chester. Your family used to be aristocracy and is still respected, and your parents own half the trade in northern Troth and most of it elsewhere. My uncle, God help me, is still in Parliament and will be delighted to have me appear on his doorstep with a request that will embroil me in politics, as he’s always hoped. We need to throw our weight behind all this. Or, more accurately—“ He grinned. “—convince our families to throw theirs behind it.”

  Chester looked away, grimacing.

  “He’s right,” I said. When Chester met my eyes, I added in the Gift, “I need you more there. So we’ll have a future.”

  “And who will guard you now?” Chester asked in kind. “Last has died. Kemses goes with me from your side.”

  “The drake?” Kemses offered.

  “I meant to send him with you, to bring you to the capital faster.”

  “And then we send him back,” Chester said.

  “It’s a long ride,” I said. “He can do more good with you.”

  “What on God’s earth are you rattling on about?” Radburn said, irritated.

  Chester’s eyes were narrowed. “Morgan means to go off alone, as usual.”

  “I do not!” I said. “Amhric—”

  “Needs your protection, and can’t kill anyone or anything,” Chester said, acerbic, and from him such a tone was notable.

  I rallied. “Ivy will go with me, and the genets if they will volunteer.”

  “And me,” Tchanu said unexpectedly. Silence. She lifted her brows. “You do not distrust me, I hope. I vow that where I have pledged myself, I stay pledged. And I assure you, I am a competent enough guard.”

  I glanced at Amhric, who nodded. So I inclined my head and said, “E Nudain, thank you. We accept.”

  “And us?” Carrington asked. “Where do you need us?”

  “Back on campus, I imagine,” Eyre said. “The university is no small force in the political landscape. And there are... repercussions... to be managed.”

  “Repercussions like?” Radburn asked.

  “Like my having killed two tenured professors for attempted murder of a foreign national?” Chester said. “God, that will be fun.”

  “I’m afraid not very,” Eyre said. “And deciding how we present their actions will need some thought.”

  “What a debacle,” Carrington muttered.

  “Are we clear then on our tasks?” I said. “I will lend you the drake so you might come to the capital faster—”

  “Yes, about that,” Chester said. “I assume you mean to make Vigil the new elven capital?”

  I tried not to wince at the thought of living here, where so much blood had been spilled. My hesitation must have been obvious, and yet everyone respected it... except Kelu, who surprised me by saying, “She would have said it deserves a chance to be reborn.”

  I sighed and glanced at Kemses. “Will you put some of us to work on renovation, then? It will be harder for anyone to argue a claim when the city looks more like a city and less like a ruin.”

  “At once,” Kemses replied.

  “Then,” Chester said firmly, “I propose we move the Door here.”

  “Just like that!” I exclaimed.

  “Just like that,” he said. At my skeptical look, he laughed. “Locke, the athenaeum might have been disastrously thin on books explicating the proper banishment of demons, but on the matter of magical theory? We have an embarrassment of texts.”

  “I have it on excellent authority that the creation of a Door, much less its movement, requires extraordinary power—”

  “That would be why you’re the prince now, eh?” Guy said.

  “I doubt it will be so easy,” I said with a sigh.

  Oddly, though, it was. Armed with Chester’s books, we boarded the drake the following day and flew into a breathlessly clear autumn sky: myself, Kemses, Chester, and Eyre. It seemed impossible that so beautiful a day could have dawned after weeks of fear and worry, but it had... and bracing myself against the wind I looked past the drake’s extended head toward a glorious horizon hazed in lavender and gold and knew at last that it was time to let go of the future I’d thought I’d live—short, cruel, and miserable—and believe in the future before me, that needed me so badly.

  “Tremendous!” Eyre said in my ear. “After one grows accustomed to it!”

  I smiled agreement and said nothing.

  The Gate, which we reached several days later, was a surprisingly small affair: an oval that shimmered like a pond into which someone dropped continuous pebbles. Through it I could barely spy the palms of the Archipelago, and found it incredible that no one had troubled themselves to pass through it.

  We conferred over how best to work; Chester was stronger than Eyre, but Eyre had a firmer grasp on the theory, and Kemses, of course, had seen such Doors before... there were several joining the islands of the Archipelago, one of which I’d been shuttled through while unconscious that very first day. Between the four of us, we contrived our final plan. But in the end it was I who did the work... because a Door could only be moved by its creators... or by me. Born of elven magic, it could be compelled like every other elven power, and had to be, for only Sedetnet could have handled it otherwise. Touching it with my will I sensed his essence lingering in it, like a taste in the back of my mouth: a remembered kiss.

  “All good?” Chester asked.

  “So far,” I said.

  “I told you.”

  I snorted. “Poor manners to say so, though.”

  He laughed.

  Though it was several tries before I succeeded, and with much tutelage both helpful and not, I shut the Door without destroying it, unyoked it from its mooring, and boarded the dr
ake. From there, I rode between Kemses and Chester, borrowing power from one or the other while Eyre guided us back. Maintaining the existence of the Door felt a great deal like studying for an examination: the same concentration and focus in anticipation of letting everything tumble out at a later time. I might have smiled, now and then, at the comparison. But we had decided for safety’s sake that though I could have used the royal gift to compel it into someone else’s possession, I alone should handle it, for then no one else could shut it; while I trusted Eyre and Kemses and Chester with my life (and had!), they had preferred it so. Anyone, Kemses had said, could be forced if tortured. Best to leave as few hands on it as possible.

  It was a bleak pragmatism, but perhaps inevitable given all that we had recently undergone. So I acquiesced, and for the entirety of the ride home, was consumed with the weight of the magics I held pliant to my hand—literally, for the Door came with us in the form of a bubble as delicate as anything made of soap, held quivering between my cupped hands.

  We planted the Door at the furthest edge of Vigil’s courtyard, near the bridge. Already the city presented a different face, for unlike the humans who’d rushed the rebuilding of the walls, the elves felt no pressure to sacrifice aesthetics for speed. Also unlike their human companions, they had lifetimes of experience in the use of magic; if most of those old enough to remember plentiful power had died, the rest of them had the habit of its use thanks to the energies they’d harvested with demon claws. They had begun first with the cleaning, and the grisly mud that had once so distressed me was gone as if scoured, and I was grateful. Not only were the buildings rising again, but the city’s walls had been torn down so they could be properly erected, each stone repaired before being levered into place. Here and there I saw the beginnings of paint as well, creams and sandy whites that reminded me strongly of the beaches of the Archipelago. Would they achieve some fusion of the styles, to reflect on their exile, and remind them of what they’d gone through? Would they be stronger for it, or more bitter?

  Was I stronger for my suffering, or was I more bitter?

  The work of fixing the Door cost me more than I’d anticipated, a mental fatigue very like the ones I’d been subject to following the completion of a difficult test. Perhaps my companions understood, for they left me to my solitude. All save one, who was awaiting me on the path she must have known I would take to the drake’s side. A canny woman, Mary Carrington, to know that when I needed rest I would seek its shelter. And a cautious one, for she emerged from the shadow of one of the great tumbled buildings wearing her diffidence.

  “Doctor,” I said. “I’m afraid you find me not at my best.”

  “I know,” she said. “I won’t keep you long.”

  I thought of how Amhric would have conducted this interview. Patience, I heard him whisper in my ear, with gentleness and humor and love. So I said, “What can I do for you, then?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, in a rush. As if her tongue was unaccustomed to the words, and it probably was. Admission of wrongdoing amid colleagues who were already seeking excuses to find her unequal to remaining in their hallowed ranks? Oh no. Apologies would be very foreign to Carrington’s mouth. “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” she continued when I didn’t immediately respond. “What I did was unforgiveable.”

  I smiled, suddenly, lowering my head.

  “Oh God,” she said, touching her brow with her fingers. “I’ve done it wrong.”

  “Doctor.” I caught her wrist and took her hand in both of mine. “What exactly did you do that was unforgiveable?”

  She stared at me as if I’d grown horns. “I raddled you with knives,” she said dryly.

  “And I didn’t die,” I said. “In your... forty-odd years, I’m guessing—”

  “Fifty-odd,” she said, “But thank you for the compliment.”

  “In your fifty-odd years,” I continued, “had you ever had a similar experience?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Of course not.”

  “And so when your colleagues told you such things were demon-spawned, and all your studies up until then corroborated their narrative....”

  She scowled. “You’re trying to forgive me.”

  Despite myself, I found the situation humorous. “Did you intend to make the apology for some purpose other than the hopes of forgiveness?”

  “I came to admit that I was wrong,” she said. “And to tell you that, because... because it was wrong.” She made a cutting motion with her free hand. “Because in that room you told me you preferred the truth, and so do I.”

  “I do,” I said. “But I will not judge you for acting on a false premise. You did as you thought necessary to combat what you perceived to be evil and unnatural. You would not, I think, stab me with a dozen swords again?”

  She barked a reluctant laugh. “No. As you well know.”

  And I did. I thought of the spectacles, long gone, and what they’d revealed about Mary Carrington’s heart. I’d been right about her. And I found I no longer missed their guidance. “Doctor Carrington, I am exhausted and want nothing more than an hour of peace. So if I say to you that I accept your apology, will you do me the very great favor of not arguing with me about whether you deserve it, or besiege me with promises to live up to my regard, and other such things?”

  Her smile was impish then. “Consider them all said, Prince Locke.”

  “Morgan,” I reminded her. “Your beloved’s student.” When she froze, I lifted a finger.

  She smiled, lopsided. “All right. I won’t belabor that point either. And I hear and accept the lecture on not letting things slip through my fingers twice. Morgan.”

  “Excellent. We are in accord.” I let her hand drop. “Until later, Doctor.”

  I found I was smiling on my way to the drake.

  I did indeed have some time for my solitude, which I spent in the forearms of the drake. There I conferred with it in that way without words that we had always understood. I commended the Evertrue party to its care and begged it to return through the Door to find me only when they no longer had need. “Because,” I said, resting a hand on its nose, “humanity has never seen anything like you, and seeing you and that you stand allied with our friends, they will believe we are all we say.”

  Or at least, I hoped. Perhaps it was skeptical as well, for it huffed, its nostrils flaring. I closed my eyes and bent into the hot wind it blew over me. “At least they will not dare attack you.”

  That, it seemed to find believable, and this tacit communion was so restful that I seated myself in the curl of its forearms and let myself find some peace against its breast. I was still there when Kelu interrupted my nap by thrusting a canteen streaked in dried blood at me.

  “Dare I ask?”

  “I need it refilled.”

  Perplexed, I relieved her of it and unscrewed the top. The odor that wafted from it made my nose wrinkle. “You’ve been drinking this? Where did it come from?”

  “From you,” she said. “Remember? You gave it to me after Ivy dropped that glop of blood she combed out of your hair into it and I’ve been holding onto it since. I thought you’d probably be busy bleeding or dying somewhere, so if I wanted to maintain my sanity I needed to take steps.”

  Bemused, I said, “It worked.”

  “Of course it did,” she said. “Though it’s pretty disgusting to drink old blood out of a bottle. It’s still better than having to hang on you for every drop.”

  “You know I’d never begrudge it to you.”

  Her ears flipped back. “Yes, yes, I know. The noble martyr. Tell me, are you done feeling anxious about becoming Sedetnet the Second?”

  “I beg your pardon!”

  “I’m sure you do.” She sat on the drake’s arm next to me, resting her elbows on her knees. “I’m guessing the answer is ‘no’, then. You don’t want my advice, but I’m going to give it to you anyway.”

  “All right,” I answered, mouth twitching.

  “You’re never going
to be another Sedetnet. You’re too soft.”

  “One might argue that Sedetnet became what he did because of his softness,” I said. “He was soft enough to fall in love, but too soft to bear the sacrifices love demanded of him.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “But Sedetnet loved one person. You love too many. It’s why you’re hiding here with the drake, hoping that people will leave you alone for a while. If you lose Amhric, you won’t go crazy. You’d be too busy feeling guilty about what going crazy would do to all the other people you care about.”

  I stared at her, torn between laughter and distress. “God, but am I so easy to read!”

  “You’re good at feeling guilty,” she said. “I don’t understand that. The loving too many people, that I get. You probably didn’t let yourself love anyone for so long that you’re overdoing it now. But guilt? You had a hard enough childhood. It’s not like you don’t have reasons to hate other, luckier people.”

  “But I was lucky.” I rested a hand on the drake’s jaw as it bent its head to check on me. “My parents were well off enough that I never wanted for anything. I was able to attend the university, which is a luxury. I was never hungry. I was never beaten.”

  “You lived in fear and pain,” Kelu said. “I have reason to know that makes a person bitter.” She inhaled through her nose, inflating her ribcage; the fur on it bristled as it expanded. When she sighed out, gusty, she said, “So, going back to free the genets, are you.”

  “And the humans, yes,” I said. “Incidentally also to make it clear that the elves once again have an effectual government.”

  “And if they disagree they can do it at the point of your staff?”

  I snorted. “They won’t get that far.”

  She chuckled, ears sagging. “At least you’ve grown a few teeth.”

  “As you noted, I have people whose safety and well-being matters to me.” I lifted a brow. “You are one of them, you know. Will you come?”

  “With you, to the Archipelago?” She shrugged, picked at the fur on her knee. “Where else would I go? I’m not about to tag after the people going to the capital.”