A Sea of Broken Glass

by Sonya M Black

  I would never allow myself to be a prisoner again. I would die before I let her have me.

  Ruin’s eyes widened, and she tried to pull away, but I held tight and turned to living flame.

  Burning. Incandescent. A conflagration that would devour us both.

  Oily, black corruption seeped from Ruin’s pores, coating her skin and turning to ash.

  My hands reddened and blistered as heat poured from me and into Ruin. I was a desert, parched and barren. Soon I would crack, crumble, and blow away in the wind. Pain speared my insides, a warning that I was pulling too much magic. Death would soon claim me. I ignored it and kept burning.

  Tears streaked through the oily corruption on Ruin’s face. Her skin blistered and peeled, blackened and smoked. “Please,” she begged. “End it.”

  Magic consumed me, and through me, it devoured Ruin. Her grey eyes filled with flames and her gaping mouth spewed smoke.

  An eternity of moments passed during which agony coursed through my veins. I dropped to the rocky beach as Ruin collapsed, crumbling to ash that the breeze lifted and carried away. In her place, a column of blue light coalesced into the shape of a woman.

  It was Ruin, no longer alive, but a spirit filled with Light instead of Darkness.

  Michel opened his eyes and blinked. “How are you here?” he rasped. He stretched one hand toward the woman before he once again fell unconscious.

  “Thank you.” The woman touched me, and cool relief spread over my skin, healing the damage I’d done. I recognized her face, so similar to my own. Of course she looked familiar. Like me, she was a descendant of the Lady.

  I dropped to my knees, unable to hold myself upright. My body shook from the strain of releasing so much magic in such an uncontrolled fashion. I should have died from it. I would have if this stranger hadn’t healed me.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Aris. Oldest of the Lady’s daughters and one of her vessels.” She brushed her fingers through my hair. “Bran d’Idris was my husband.”

  I reeled with the revelation that my Shield had been married and that I had killed his wife. How was I going to tell him? Light, he’d hate me for what I’d done.

  Something inside me unraveled with each touch of her hand. Each stroke against my hair turned an invisible key until an unknown lock sprang open. I gasped as a flood of new magic filled a part of me that I hadn’t known existed. I was no longer just fire. I was water and ice. It buried itself in my core and twined with my healer’s fire until I wasn’t sure where one ended and the other began.

  “You must find the Heart of Creation before the Darkness does,” Aris murmured.

  “I don’t understand.” Blips and flashes of faces and places I didn’t recognize played in my mind. Knowledge that wasn’t my own drifted into me. An intense longing burned in my chest followed by sorrow so sharp I thought it would cut my soul to shreds.

  “You will.” Cool energy continued to pour into me from Aris, leaving behind memories as well as the unfamiliar magic. A crystal the size of my fist lingered in my thoughts. It burned with Light and filled me with a longing that took my breath away. It highlighted pieces of my magic that were still sealed away behind more invisible locks.

  “What is happening to me?” The words came out in a whisper.

  “You carry the seeds of all magic.” Aris leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “It is the burden all vessels bear. I unsealed a piece of it. You must find others who can unseal the rest. Use it wisely.”

  Tell Bran I’m sorry. Her voice echoed in my head as she faded from view. I never meant for this to happen. Tell him… tell him that I loved him.

  Tears crawled down my face. Tremors wracked my body. Aris might have healed the physical damage, but my mind trembled from Ruin’s attack and the onslaught of new memories and magic.

  But, I still had work to do. Michel lay unconscious, and I needed to heal him quickly before I lost my battle with exhaustion. I found a place on the beach, close to the cliff and high above the water line. It wasn’t much in the way of shelter, but it was better than nothing. I built a small fire with chunks of driftwood, my hands shaking with both the cold and the effort. My body felt disconnected, light and heavy at the same time. I was pushing my limits and would pay for it later.

  Michel moaned when I urged him to his feet, and we half-tottered, half-crawled to the place I’d chosen as a camp. He mumbled something incoherent as I removed his greatcoat and spread it in front of the fire. He laid down and closed his eyes, too far gone to be of any help.

  I dug through the satchel, looking for anything that might be of use. The bottles and jars were intact, but the bandages were soaked. I pulled out a bottle of fever reducer and dribbled some into Michel’s mouth. It would make my job a little easier.

  No more time to waste. Warmth filled me and built from the notes that echoed in my mind as I wove music to destroy the poison slowly spreading through Michel. A cascade of harps and violins mixed with the brassy notes of my healing magic and made me hesitate. Water coiled around my fire, waiting to be used.

  My hand hovered over Michel’s wound. Could I do this? I’d never used water magic. Swords used it to protect and fight. I didn’t know the first thing about how to control it. How to stop it. Didn’t know how to mold it to my fire.

  Michel shuddered. His eyes opened for a moment, fever-bright and hazed with pain, then closed again. I had to do this. The braided bond of blue and orange magic stretched between us. It wound its way through the older bonds I had with Bran and Aeron. Could I use them to help me?

  Paladins and healers often worked together, supplementing each other’s magic. Maybe I could use the bonds to help me.

  I drew my healer’s fire through the bond. Michel’s magic meshed seamlessly with mine. Our breath matched. Our heartbeats synced.

  Moonlit nights. Sandy, warm beaches. Honey wine and chocolate.

  Intoxication flooded my senses.

  His magic sang to me. Seductive and sweet. It flooded the bond between us, wrapped its arms around me, and filled all of my empty places.

  I hesitated. It was dangerous to let myself get lost in our magic like this. It could kill us both if I gave in to the temptation.

  Michel moaned. Light, if I didn’t heal him, he would turn into the very thing he’d sworn to fight.

  Quickly, before I lost all sense of reality, I wrapped the smooth trumpet notes of my fire and the mellow violins of water around the poison, and guided it out of the wound. Foul, black blood bubbled from Michel’s punctures and filled the air with the smell of rotten meat. I gagged and choked at the stench, nearly losing my hold on the tenuous threads of the song.

  The poison resisted, preferring to remain in its host, a vicious parasite that latched itself onto healthy flesh. I refused to let it take Michel, stubbornly untangling the barbed nastiness. Every bit had to be removed.

  Michel cried out, and clean, red blood poured from the wounds. I threw the toxic mass into the campfire and wove more magic, knitting his flesh together. He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes wide and alert.

  “Good,” I said, and then the magic bled the last of my strength away. I collapsed in a heap on top of him as exhaustion pulled me into its dark embrace.

  07

  Michel woke to the roar of waves and the scent of brine filling the air. Memory returned, sluggish and hazy. Demons. The beach. Fire in his veins. Aris, made from blue light. Magic, soothing and sweet, as it washed away the poison.

  A weight pressed against his chest. He lifted his head to find Ris collapsed on top of him.

  It hadn’t been a dream. Carefully, Michel wrapped his arms around her and rolled to his side. She settled next to him without opening her eyes. He brushed a ragged strand of honey colored hair from her face, marveling at how peaceful she looked.

  “Ris?” Michel gently shook her.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Hey, wake up.” He
touched her forehead. A high fever raged beneath his fingers. The fight with the demons and healing him had taken a toll on her. He half-remembered Aris leaning over her. He rubbed his head. Had Ris really faced down Ruin?

  Light, what had he missed while he was unconscious?

  Ris was in danger, but not from demons. She must have pushed the limits of her magic, strained it to the point of burnout.

  Michel scanned the beach, looking for anything familiar. Dark clouds boiled on the horizon and wind gusted, pulling at his clothes and chilling his skin. Ris needed a healer, but they were north of where they needed to be. With no shelter in sight, and a storm on the way, they couldn’t afford to linger, but, Ris was in no shape to travel.

  He should let Bran know what had happened. If Bran was close enough, he could help get Ris to safety.

  Michel pulled out the small crystal orb that hung on a chain around his neck. Blue flames pulsed in its depths. He closed his eyes, called up a tiny flicker of his magic, and pushed it into the seerstone. The vast darkness of the Between stretched out before him, the layer beneath the world of the living and the Void. Stars littered the landscape, flaring then dimming to almost nothing.

  He reached out, his thoughts focused on the Lord of Ravens, but instead of reaching Bran, he slammed into an invisible wall.

  What in the Void was that?

  He pushed against the glass-like bubble, his mind straining to break through the barrier. The violins of his magic screeched from the effort, but it was no use. Shattering the barrier would take more magic than he currently had access to. Contacting anyone was out of the question.

  Someone was blocking him, but who and why? It was a puzzle for another time. Worry for Ris drove Michel into action. He would have to get her to safety on his own. Staying near the ocean might keep the demons away, but it wouldn’t provide a healer for Ris or shelter from the storm.

  Michel stood and stretched. He searched for his weapons and found one of his revolvers tucked into Ris’s greatcoat. The rapier stood upright at the water’s edge, blade pushed deep into the sand. He yanked it out, wiped it down, and sheathed it.

  Light, he hoped he wouldn’t have to fight off any more demons. The thought left him cold.

  After putting his damp greatcoat back on, he grabbed Ris’s battered satchel and swung it across his body before stooping to sit her upright. She tilted bonelessly to the side, a rag doll with a raging fever. Michel heaved her over his shoulder before standing.

  He followed the cliff face south, slipping and shifting on the treacherous rocky shore. The shifting rocks threatened to trip him with every other step.

  Ris was a dead weight. He ignored the lingering traces of fatigue and kept moving. Every step forward was a step closer to getting her help.

  Just who was Ris? Bran hadn’t given Michel much in the way of information. The last of the Lady’s vessels, which mean she was the last of the Lady’s bloodline. That meant she had the potential to use more than just the fire magic of a healer. Chances were high that Bran had sealed away her water, air, and earth magic to make it harder for the Darkness to find her. It hadn’t worked. The Darkness had found her anyway.

  His brief conversation with Ris on the train had done little to enlighten him. She was guarded. Understandably so. There was strength in her. She’d withstood Tolbert’s ministrations and had been willing to fight him with nothing more than a half-made shiv. She’d faced down the demons with courage, and, if his memories weren’t playing tricks, she had gone toe-to-toe with Ruin. No one had been able to destroy one of the tainted vessels.

  Michel swallowed a curse as he stumbled over a half-buried piece of driftwood. He shifted Ris back into position and continued onward.

  Easton couldn’t be far. Godwin’s Gauntlet was an hour by train. On foot, it would take most of a day.

  Ris fever raged like an inferno. The irony that she was a healer wasn’t lost on him. Healers rarely got sick and were able to mend all but the most grievous of wounds.

  Wind pounded into him, nearly knocking him over. He glanced toward the ocean. A sheet of rain blotted out the horizon, marching ever closer. Waves crested in tall, white caps before they slammed into the waiting beach. Beautiful and untamed, with hidden depths that could snare the unwary.

  The good thing about the approaching storm was that the salt in the rain meant demons wouldn’t be able to track them. But, the storm brought its own dangers.

  Michel gritted his teeth and pressed on, praying they’d make it before exhaustion took him. Exposure was a real threat, especially for Ris. Unconscious and with a fever, being soaked to the skin from the storm could kill her.

  Hours passed as he marched forward. He didn’t dare pause or take a break. He doubted his ability to continue if he stopped for a rest. Fatigue blurred his vision and made his steps heavy.

  The cliff face disappeared, and the forest grew up to the ocean’s edge. Trees climbed high overhead, blocking some rain, but not all. The crack of branches snapping in the high winds had Michel watching the trees as often as he watched his feet. The rain came and went, came and went. He didn’t even get the chance to dry out from one deluge before another started.

  Everything ached. He worried for Ris. She hadn’t stirred once through the miserable trek. The only way he knew she still survived was the heat that continued to pour from her. He resisted the urge to stop and check on her.

  Although he’d heard the sounds of the town for a while, Michel’s tired brain failed to comprehend its meaning. Shock coursed through him when he stumbled from the edge of the woods and into Easton. He stared as dawning realization that they’d arrived pierced the fog that coated his mind.

  Row upon row of docks stretched in front of him with an astounding assortment of vessels moored in their berths. Michel blinked a few times to assure himself it was real and not an illusion conjured by his fatigued mind. Massive steamships with their full sails and paddle wheels attached to their sides docked alongside the smaller steamboats that ran up and down the rivers. Tiny fishing boats bobbed alongside the behemoths and brought to mind grubby children playing by their parent’s feet. He stared in wonder as relief washed over him. They’d made it.

  Bells from the buoys in the harbor clanged a constant beat, broken only by a fog horn’s distant bellow. Sailors called to dockmen, back and forth in their sing-song way, giving orders as they loaded and unloaded ships. After hours filled only with the sound of wind, rain, and waves, the cacophony overwhelmed him.

  Michel needed to find a healer. He knew one if she still lived in Easton.

  If she would forgive him for the loss of her husband.

  He gathered the last of his flagging strength and set off toward the center of the city. The rotting scent of seaweed and fish guts, tar, and brine filled the air. Coal smoke and unwashed bodies added to the potent mix. Lamplighters darted along the wharf, touching their firesticks to the lamps high above their head. Light bloomed in a wave along the waterfront as the boys darted in and out of the chaos.

  Time blurred and hazed as he stumbled down the streets. He turned left at the market, and right at the butcher. The half-remembered directions took sluggish shape in his brain. A few concerned townsfolk asked if he needed help, but their questions barely registered. His focus had narrowed on his need to get Ris to Emmy.

  Michel stumbled to a stop in front of a weathered building, its blue paint chipped and faded. The sign over the door proclaimed it the office of Emmaline Hollin, Master Healer. He blinked for a moment, unsure if he had truly arrived. Relief eased the coiled fear in his chest.

  He’d done it.

  Michel opened the door, and a bell above his head jangled.

  “Just a moment. I’ll be out in a jiff,” a woman’s voice called from behind a heavy velvet curtain.

  A counter ran the length of the room and shelves covered the walls floor to ceiling. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the rafters and filled the room with the scent of r
osemary and lavender. A row of chairs lined the wall across from the counter. The shop hadn’t changed in thirty years.

  Michel eased Ris from his back and lay her gently on the chairs.

  “Oh goodness, what is …?”

  Michel turned toward his old friend. Emmy pressed a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. She took a step forward, her mouth opened as if she wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words. He hesitated. He hadn’t seen her since Oliver died. Too many painful memories kept him away.

  “What are you waiting for, you big idiot?” Emmy asked. “Come give me a proper greeting.” Tears sparkled in her cornflower blue eyes. Her black hair held streaks of silver. Fine lines edged her eyes and mouth. Time had written itself on her face.

  Michel hugged her, confused by her reaction. Why was she so welcoming to him? It didn’t matter. There were more important things to attend to. “Ris,” he muttered unable to frame his words into anything coherent. “Fever.”

  Emmy’s eyes widened as she spotted Ris. “What happened?”

  “Burnout.” Michel pushed Ris’s sodden hair from her face.

  “What in the Void were you doing dragging her through a storm then?” Emmy bustled into action. “Well, now, let’s get her settled and then you need rest as much as she does.”

  With the last of his strength, Michel helped carry Ris upstairs to a guest room. She didn’t stir when he laid her on the bed or when he helped Emmy remove her soaked outer clothes and boots.

  “Get out of your wet things,” Emmy commanded him. “You’ll find some dry clothes in the chest in the next room. Then to bed with you. Don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of her.”

  Michel resisted, needing to be sure that Ris was safe and well, but no longer had the ability to form words.

  Emmy pushed him out the door. “Go on. A Sword is no good if he can’t even keep his eyes open.”