The Arclight Saga
Page 37
Kyra’s voice was cold. “Vexis?”
“Locked up with Magister Ross.”
“You’ll be joining her soon.” Kyra looked to the warders. “Seize him.”
Taro put palms toward them. “Wait, wait, wait. Please.”
“Whatever good you think you’ve done, you were a conspirator in the murder of my father. You should’ve left when you had the chance.”
“Tell me,” a voice called from a distance. “How can you charge someone for the murder of a man who is still alive?” The Sun King strolled on the stone walkway toward them.
Kyra melted when she saw him. For a moment, she couldn’t even form words, and she settled on running toward him, almost tackling him to the ground. He swept her up and hugged her tight.
“Vexis said you were dead.”
She let him go and tried to regain her composure, but the tears in her eyes gave away just how overwhelmed she was.
“Vexis said many things. She kept me alive to watch the downfall of my kingdom.” The Sun King waved Taro to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “But she didn’t count on the extraordinary bravery of Mr. Taro.”
The Sun King peeked over Kyra’s shoulder at the small army she’d brought with her. He laughed out loud when he saw it. “Kyra, you’re truly my daughter, through and through.” He kissed her on the forehead.
Ven’s father approached the Sun King. “Your Majesty, permission to secure the tower?”
“Please do,” the Sun King said.
_____
The searches for Nima seemed unending, and the Sun King was quick to offer resources toward finding her; but after months of searching, Taro began to accept that even if she was alive, Halric could’ve sent her anywhere in the world.
As the months passed, the city only grew more beautiful. The Arclight scoured the city of the Corruption and cold. Farmers returned to their land, fishers to the lakes surrounding the city, and life slowly returned to normal in the eternally daytime countryside.
Word of Vexis’ duplicity spread (Leorin was especially helpful in this regard) but many viewed her as a hero, regardless. Still, the hostility to the Magisterium was a dim memory. People had jobs to perform, crops to till, and lives to lead.
It didn’t take long for life in the Magisterium to return to normal. The artificers had been promised extra work credits and two nobles an hour, if they assisted in tower repairs.
Magister Briego became imperator without much fanfare, and Kyra took his place as head of Artificing. Briego didn’t see it as a promotion, but rather as an annoyance that kept him away from his tinkering. Kyra, meanwhile, became the youngest magister in history.
She and Taro hadn’t spoken since that day in the courtyard. Taro ran through what he wanted to say a thousand times in his mind. He imagined every possible outcome. Did she hate him? Did she forgive him? Was that even possible? When he finally got up the nerve to visit her in the Artificium, she barely looked up from her desk. She had a screwdriver out and was tightening a bolt on what looked like one of the constructs from the Arclight hallway.
“What are you working on?” Taro said.
Kyra looked away pointedly.
“Kyra, I...” His voice trailed off.
“You what?” Kyra said.
“I know I can never take back what happened.”
Kyra placed the part down. “Taro, remember what I said when I kicked you off the Eventide?”
“You said you didn’t love me.” The memory stung.
“I was lying. I love you more than I ever thought I could.”
Taro’s heart soared for a moment before crashing down.
“And I hate myself for it,” Kyra added. “I hate looking at you. I hate seeing you. My father might consider the matter closed, might even consider you a hero, but I know the truth.” Kyra went back to fiddling with the construct.
Taro left without another word. In retrospect, it was foolish to think that she would forgive him. Despite all reason, he did little things to see her. He volunteered for tower repairs in the same sections she was in; but every time he saw her, it only made things worse.
Of all the terrible things that had happened, Taro took comfort in the fact that he hadn’t lost Ven and Suri as friends. He told them everything, from beginning to end, expecting them to treat him as Kyra did. After some hard words, all of which Taro rightfully deserved, they forgave him.
Chapter Forty-six
The Edges of Arkos
When Taro heard footsteps in the nearby grass, he didn’t think much of it. These days, the Magisterium courtyard was full of artificers studying and the ash tree he leaned against was a popular spot. When he heard the Sun King’s voice, he almost dropped his textbook.
“May I sit?” the Sun King said.
“Your Majesty. Of course.”
The Sun King looked rather out of place, sitting cross-legged. Somehow, he’d managed to slip away from his bodyguards, though Taro got the impression that this was quite a common occurrence.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” the Sun King said. “Your family should be arriving within the hour.”
Taro folded the page of his textbook and set it aside. “I figured this is one place they won’t be able to find me.”
“You don’t want to see them?”
“I do. More than anything. But explaining to them what happened to Nima is...well, it’s not going to be easy.”
The Sun King pressed his back against the tree and fished something from his pocket. “That’s what brings me here. I wanted to deliver this news personally.”
The Sun King brought out a piece of paper that Taro instantly recognized as one of Mr. Mathan’s two-way parchment. “We recovered this from what was left of Victor Mathan.”
“Why didn’t you show it to me sooner?”
“It was blank when they found it. Yesterday, however, a single line of writing appeared on it.”
Taro unfolded the parchment. Scrawled across it, in Nima’s unmistakable handwriting, were two words: Help me.
In that instant, Taro knew only two things: that she was out there somewhere, and that he was going to find her.
BOOK 2: THE STARS THAT FORM US
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Epilogue
Prologue
One Year Earlier
Nima’s heart thumped in her chest, but she wasn’t sure if it was out of fear or anticipation.
“I can’t believe Father agreed to this,” a man’s voice called from somewhere in the dark room. As she was flat on her back, Nima couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from or who it belonged to.
<
br /> Dr. Halric, however, she could see; he was checking her restraints with his withered hands. Nima breathed heavily, and sweat trickled down her forehead, as he cranked a lever beside her and the flat wooden table she laid on tilted upward.
“Ah, Inquisitor Praxis. Just in time to enjoy the show.” Halric removed a crooked inscriber from his white coat and began to draw long, curved magistry runes along Nima’s neck and arms. There was some pain, and a few beads of blood, but Nima did her best not to flinch.
Now that she was right side up, more of the room came into focus. It appeared to be an alchemical laboratory of some sort. The desks along the wall were piled high with dusty books, colored vials, and bizarre surgical equipment; but in the dark, it was difficult to tell much more than that.
In the center of the room was a raised stone dais about as high as Halric’s hunched shoulders. On top of the dais sat a fist-sized chunk of translucent black crystal that glowed with its own inner light. But something was emanating from it besides just light. Something Nima could feel in her stomach, like a great weight crushing her. And as she stared into the crystal, something odd happened…it stared back.
“Why her?” Praxis said, breaking Nima’s attention. His voice dripped with highborn piousness, and he spoke as if he were inspecting a new horse rather than talking about a person. “A rather ordinary girl, isn’t she?”
Halric shook his head. “She’s the perfect candidate. Her templar’s been infused with the power of the Arclight. It’s easier when I don’t have to start with a blank slate.” Halric finished off the flourishes on the last few runes, then looked Nima in the eye. “The power I promised you is yours for the taking, if you’re strong enough to accept it.”
Nima’s fear briefly boiled to the surface. “Is this going to hurt?”
Halric’s face wrinkled into a frown. “Tremendously.” He moved around her with calm deliberateness, checking her restraints once more.
“How long will it take?” Nima asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling.
“Hours. Days. Maybe weeks. It depends on what’s going on in here.” He touched his crooked finger to her forehead. “If your mind’s not up to the challenge, it will break you. This is your last chance to back out. I could return you to Ashwick in a fortnight, if you desire.”
Nima steeled herself. “I can do this.”
Praxis sounded impressed. “Maybe I was wrong about her.”
Dr. Halric nodded appreciatively, then looked across the room to Praxis. “You’ll need to guide her through these first few months,” he said. “Teach her how to use her gift.”
“I thought we were going back to Endra together,” Nima said nervously. “To help Taro.” She added the last bit almost as a question.
“And we will, in time. But there’s been a slight complication that requires my attention.”
Nima’s anxiety increased a proportionate amount, but she continued to act strong. “I’m ready,” she said, tears swelling in her eyes.
Halric stepped toward the black crystal and touched his hand to it. When he did, dark flames crept out and slithered toward Nima.
She began to struggle against the encroaching darkness, but Halric motioned for her not to pull on her restraints. “Don’t be afraid, little one. This is your moment.”
“We’re all moving. Every one of us, every minute of every day. I feel it in the gears clinking miles underfoot. I smell it in the artificial air over the plains of Celosa. I can see it in the waxing and waning moons that spin around Arkos.
The magisters call me a madman for this belief. Perhaps that’s fair. But therein is my first truth: if you fear being called mad, you’ll never discover anything new.”
-The Forty Truths of Ishal Valharis
Chapter One
A Different Kind of Magic
It was the nicest prison cell Taro had ever seen. If it weren’t for the barred windows and guards posted at the door, he might’ve thought it was a luxury suite. Gilded tapestries hung from the walls, and a bright rug covered most of the polished ashwood floor. The rest of the room was filled with finery; in the corner was a black court piano, and opposite that was a four-post bed pushed against the wall.
The “cell” was exceptionally dark, and the only real light came from the flames of a kettle burner beside the bed, and sunlight peeking in from the edges of the silk curtains.
Magister Ross’ voice was different than Taro remembered it. It was much more hoarse, and unsettlingly pleasant considering the circumstances.
“A magnificent prison, isn’t it?” Ross spoke in nearly a whisper. She was laying on the bed with her back propped up on three feather pillows.
The nearby kettle hissed and steamed, and Ross tried to pour herself a cup of ginger tea. Despite her hands being in better shape than the last time he’d seen her, they were still weak and trembling.
“Your hands—” Taro began, but he quickly choked on his words.
Ross was struggling with the burner knob; it strained her just to turn it two clicks to the left. Finally, she got it to move, and the red-hot burner went dark.
“Surprised?” Ross said, slowly clenching her mangled fist in front of her.
“I thought the Arclight would fix your hands,” Taro said.
“The Arclight did repair much of the surface damage. But deep tissue damage can take months or years, and somehow I don’t think I’ll be around long enough for that to happen.” Ross found herself unable to lift the full teapot high enough to pour it.
Taro moved closer but stopped mid-step.
Ross seemed amused by his trepidation, and a thin smile crossed her lips. “You don’t need to worry, Mr. Taro. I wouldn’t hurt you, even if I could.”
Still wary, but not having much time to talk, Taro took the kettle and poured the tea for her. That done, he pulled two soft-backed chairs from the corner of the room; the first he turned toward the bed so Ross could use it as a table, and the second he sat on.
“I’m surprised to see you,” Ross said. She took a sip of tea, grimaced, then added a few drops of honey. “They told me I wasn’t allowed visitors.”
“The Sun King gave me special permission to speak with you.”
Ross straightened her back. “I’ll do my best to make sure your visit isn’t wasted. I don’t expect I’ll get many more before my execution.”
“There’s no guarantee you’ll be executed.”
Ross scoffed, causing a bit of tea to splash over the side of her cup. “Come now, Mr. Taro. You’re a smart boy. No, the few friends I have left aren’t going to intercede on my behalf.” Her eyes became momentarily distant. When the moment passed, she cleared her throat. “Enough about me. What can I help you with?”
Taro pulled a folded piece of parchment from the front pocket of his blue artificer’s uniform. It was covered in his scribbling; the only words that weren’t his were the words ‘help me’ in his sister’s handwriting.
Ross pointed to a set of half-moon spectacles on a mantelpiece and Taro retrieved them.
Holding her spectacles an inch from her eyes, Ross examined the paper intently, running her fingers along the edges, scratching at the ink, and squinting at the tiny markings on the outer edges. “My, my, two-way parchment. How did you come by this?”
“It belonged to one of Vexis’ companions, Victor Mathan.”
Ross peered up from her spectacles. “And why would I know anything about it?”
“It was your job to know about bits of rare magic,” Taro said. He looked at her for a long moment, and added, “Imperator.”
Ross smirked. “Your logic’s a bit thin; but as it so happens, I do know a bit about this. But the knowledge comes with a price.”
“I can’t change the Sun King’s mind about—” Taro began.
“No, no, no,” Ross said, waving one hand dismissively. “I wouldn’t lower myself to begging for my life. However, one thing that isn’t beneath me—” She opened a drawer and pulled out a long box. “—is a game
of hilto. You know how to play, I presume?”
Inside the box were hilto pieces and a triangular board. She began to set the pieces up on her side and ushered Taro to do the same.
Taro did as she asked and set his pieces on the board: moon pieces on the outside, sun pieces on the inside.
“That’s an interesting setup,” Ross said, just setting her last moon piece.
“Pipes taught it to me my first month at the Magisterium.”
“Piper Crissom? Good lad, smart. I heard what happened to him.” Ross seemed to swallow a few of her words, paused, and continued speaking. “At least he was spared seeing what became of his father. I suspect Dennith’s cell isn’t as lavish as mine.”
Taro motioned toward Ross’ corner of the board. “You first.”
Ross pushed one of her pieces forward three spaces. “It’s Helian.”
“What is?”
“The two-way paper. It’s Helian magic, pre-Shahl, unless I missed my guess,” she said casually. “I haven’t seen one since I was a recruit.”
“I didn’t know there was such a thing as ‘Helian magic’,” Taro said, moving his first piece.
“It’s a holdover from a bygone age. These days most Helians see the use of magic as an affront to the Old Gods. Shortly after the Shahl came to power, he outlawed its use to all but his most loyal Inquisitors and a handful of farseers.” She slid the paper back to Taro. “Most items like this were burned long ago.”
Taro had heard of the Shahl before, mostly in passing, and never in any positive context.
“The Shahl is the leader of Helia, isn’t he?” Taro asked.
“Essentially. He was a powerful member of the Church of the Mast, and somehow deposed the Helian emperor years ago. I’ve met him more than once, unfortunately. He’s vile, brutal, and over a hundred years old. What’s worse is that he’s a hypocrite.”
Taro stared at the board for a long moment. He’d been quickly trapped in a corner and was doing his best to open an escape route. “How so?”