A Sea of Broken Glass

by Sonya M Black

  “You’re lucky it didn’t fry you to a crisp,” Aeron muttered to Michel.

  “That was reckless.” Ris’s face was pale and her mouth twisted with worry.

  “I apologize,” Michel reached over and squeezed her hand, “for worrying you.”

  She sniffed and looked away, but squeezed his hand back.

  He wasn’t completely forgiven, but at least she seemed to understand.

  Aeron’s eyes narrowed as he watched. “Now that you’ve fixed Michel, you should head back, imp. I’ll make sure the idiot doesn’t do anything stupid.”

  “Hey,” Michel protested.

  “Be nice, fox-face.” Ris stood and brushed the dust from her knees. “Master Whitlock, would you show me where your healing supplies are kept?” She took Bevin by the arm and led him outside.

  Aeron sat next to Michel. “Did you learn anything?”

  Michel repeated the broken conversation he’d had with Bran. “They won’t be meeting up with us anytime soon.”

  “Sounds like they ran into trouble.” Aeron grimaced. “Demon’s balls, nothing is going as it should.”

  Michel gave a wry chuckle. “When does it ever?”

  “You’re the one in the most trouble. Does that happen every time your magic touches hers?”

  Michel leaned his head against the counter and closed his eyes. “Yes. How do you handle it?”

  “I don’t have that kind of reaction to her.”

  Michel picked at a hole in the knee of his trousers. “I’ve known Ris for less than two weeks. I’m not in love with her, and yet….”

  “You can’t stop thinking about her, and your magic reacts to hers.” Aeron grinned. “You’re good at hiding it, but I recognize the signs.”

  “What am I going to do?” Michel buried his head in his hands.

  “Try talking to her about it to start with.”

  “And tell her what? I’ve only known you for a little more than a week, but I’m addicted to your magic, and I can’t stop thinking about you?”

  Aeron chortled. “She’d slap you if you put it like that. Ris hasn’t had many friends. Bran drove most of them away with a single look, and the ones he didn’t run off, she kept at arm’s length for fear of what she is.”

  “I can’t blame her. Not after what happened with Tolbert.” Michel closed his eyes. “The magic of opposites. I’ve never had to deal with it before.”

  “I’m not entirely sure that’s all that’s going on.” Aeron scrubbed a hand over his face. “Think about it. She can use all forms of magic. So, technically, she would have magic opposite of my own. But, I’ve never had that reaction to her.”

  “Her earth magic isn’t unlocked.” Michel blew out a breath. “Maybe if it was, you would also have this happen.”

  “Maybe” Aeron shrugged. “Just be careful. The last thing I need is the two of you dying because you got lost in each other’s magic.”

  Michel’s hands curled into fists. Aeron was right. “Why do you think the seerstones aren’t working?”

  “I don’t know.” Aeron’s forehead knotted up. “I tried contacting Bran when I was scouting around, but couldn’t get through. It stopped working as soon as I met up with you two.”

  “Something is actively blocking us. That would take a lot of power.”

  “Yep. We’re cut off from everyone.” Aeron scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Makes me think this was planned far in advance.”

  “The question is who planned it?”

  Aeron grimaced. “It was the Voice of the Lady that called me away and rescinded the order that Llyr gave for additional support for Bran.”

  “The Voice doesn’t have the authority to counter a direct order from a Lord of Light.”

  “He does now.” Aeron traced a finger along a crack in the floorboards. “The Council of Light granted it. The Voice said the threat wasn’t as bad as Bran made it out to be. That Bran was just being paranoid.”

  “Bran has never exaggerated a threat.”

  “Llyr had the same thought, so he sent Cre to help Bran deal with the demons. When they returned to Greendale…”

  “Tolbert had Ris.” Michel shook his head. “So, the Council is in the Voice’s pocket. He has to be working with the Darkness.”

  “Maybe.”

  “It’s been a year or so since I was back at the Bastion,” Michel said. “The miners here requested aid from the Bastion and were denied.”

  “The Voice doesn’t have much tolerance for the common people. Not that it will matter much for us. This trip into the Bonelands is a fool’s errand.”

  “Ris is right to try this,” Michel replied.

  “That’s the bond talking.” Aeron gave him a hard poke in the shoulder. “We won’t make it to the Heart, and you know it.”

  Michel raised an eyebrow. “You sound like Bran.”

  “I do not.” A muscle in Aeron’s jaw twitched. “Fine, maybe I do. Why do you think Ris is right?”

  “We’ve been in a holding pattern for centuries with no one gaining the upper hand. Then Ris appears, and the Darkness decides to make a move. Why now? She’s the last of the Lady’s bloodline. The last person who can wield the power of the Heart. If Ris can heal it—”

  “If.” Aeron gave Michel a withering look. “You’re hanging all of this on a big if.”

  “Then let me rephrase it. When Ris heals the Heart, we’ll have the advantage again.”

  “You actually think she can do it.”

  Michel held Aeron’s gaze. “I do. I have faith in her and in the Lady.”

  Aeron was quiet for several minutes. “It’s been so long since I believed in anything.”

  Michel squeezed Aeron’s shoulder. “That’s all you need. The desire to have faith. The rest will come in time.”

  “Yes, oh wise one.” Aeron grinned. “What are you going to do about the bond?”

  Michel stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, you better figure it out before both of you get hurt, or worse.” Aeron stood and left.

  Michel closed his eyes, his thoughts wandering over everything that had happened in the last couple of weeks.

  What was he going to do? He’d been a lone wolf for too long. He wished he could shift into his otter form. Things were always clearer when he was in the water.

  It had been centuries since he’d had a relationship with a woman. The women he’d bonded with were long since dead, and they had never been lovers. Sisters. Mothers. Friends. But never lovers. He’d walled himself off to keep from being hurt after each of them died.

  Then, along came Ris. She systematically broke down every barrier he’d placed around his heart. Her magic cocooned him. He wanted more. Craved it. But, it wasn’t his magic that wanted more. It was him. He desired her.

  Aeron was right. Fighting it would make Michel miserable, pushing Ris too fast would only drive her away. She’d been through too much. If there was something more between them, if anything other than friendship was to develop, it would have to be on her terms.

  He had no defense against Ris. He hadn’t felt this vulnerable, this uncertain since he discovered the Darkness held the Lady in thrall.

  It was time to let someone in. To tear down the walls around his heart. He would be content with what he had at this moment. It was more than he’d had in a very long time, and he refused to let it go.

  18

  She is here! My daughter wields the holy fire, and with it, she can purge the taint from the Heart and release me from my bonds. I transferred my power to her. A minuscule amount. Enough to see if she is a suitable vessel. But, something is wrong. My beloved daughter has become a twisted and foul creature. Everything withers in her sight. How can I stop this, trapped as I am? I cannot free myself without a vessel, yet the seeds of Darkness are in every bit of my creation.

  ~Excerpt from “The Lady and the Darkness” as translated by Sir Gwilam Cavanaugh


  I wiped the sweat from my forehead as the last of the tainted miners fell into a deep sleep. I’d spent all day and half the night healing the survivors of Bedford Mines. I’d gone past exhaustion and into intense alertness. My body knew it needed rest, but with the hum of energy that coursed through me, it was the last thing I could do. I slipped outside to let the chilly air soothe me.

  “How are you feeling?” A shadow stirred, and Michel emerged from the darkness.

  “Tired, but I can’t sleep.” I stared up at the sky. A purple band studded with stars stretched across the dark expanse. A reminder of how infinite the cosmos was and how small I was in comparison.

  Michel crossed his arms and leaned against the building, his shoulder touching mine. “I’m worried about staying here too long.”

  “We should be able to leave by tomorrow.” I resisted the urge to move closer. I glanced sideways at him, overly aware of the tension that stirred between us. It had always been there, lurking beneath the surface, but the last few days had drawn it up.

  “You should get some sleep,” he said. “You’ve been working nonstop.”

  I looked back at the sky and shrugged.

  “Mistress LaRoche!” Master Whitlock rushed toward us, his breath labored. “Come quick.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “It’s Crawford. He’s puking up black goo.”

  “What!? That’s not possible.” Blackened vomit was one of the first signs of a person turning into a ghoul. Everyone I’d released to return to their homes had been clean of any corruption.

  Master Whitlock led us to the far side of the town. The lantern he held up created a tiny pool of light that pushed back the weighted night. The eerie silence of Bedford Mines crept over my skin making it pebble with unease.

  He stopped in front of one of the houses—more of a hut cobbled together with stones—and twitched impatiently. “Crawford’s in there.”

  I opened the slatted wooden door, afraid of what I would find, but knowing what to expect. The squeal of hinges felt loud in the heavy silence. Michel’s quiet presence helped to keep me calm as the extent of the damage was revealed.

  The one-room house was in shambles. The bed overturned. The table and chairs smashed. Ceramic dishes shattered and clothing scattered around. Pools of black, oily fluid lay in front of the fireplace and near the door. Crawford was curled in a ball in the center of the mess, his short brown hair damp with sweat.

  I knelt next to him and placed a hand on his forehead. His skin was waxy and grey, and I carefully pushed back an eyelid to reveal a red ring surrounding the iris. A check of his nails revealed the telltale band of black at the base of the nail bed.

  “This progression is too fast,” I muttered. “It’s like he ingested…” My words trailed off as a dawning sense of horror took over.

  “He ingested the taint?” Michel asked.

  I nodded. “But how?”

  A search of the house turned up nothing obvious. The type of infection Crawford had was rare. It usually only happened to paladins in the heat of battle, a bit of blood swallowed by accident. But the progression in Crawford indicated a larger quantity. How would a man ingest that much without being aware of it?

  I scanned the room. Food? No, it was ready made. Tins of beef and beans. Bottles of whiskey and…

  “Where’s the water?” I asked.

  Master Whitlock pointed to an overturned bucket near a pool of vomit. I knelt next to it and held the bucket to my face. The faint scent of rot assailed me.

  “Is there a well?” A sense of dread threaded through me. The mining settlement wasn’t wealthy enough to have indoor plumbing for the workers, not large enough to warrant a well for each home. Chances were high they had a water source.

  Master Whitlock nodded. “Next to the dry goods store.”

  “Check on everyone and dump any water they have. Don’t drink anything until we have a chance to check it for taint.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was going to be another long night. “Gather everyone back in the mess hall. I’ll have to make sure they haven’t been re-infected.”

  “What about Crawford?” Master Whitlock asked.

  “I’ll take care of him.”

  Master Whitlock nodded solemnly and left. Hopefully to fulfill my orders.

  Aeron joined us, his jaw tight with worry. “What’s going on, imp?”

  “I think the well might be tainted,” I said as I rubbed my temple. “The water we’ve been drinking, where did it come from?”

  “There’re barrels of it in the mess hall supply,” Michel answered. “Likely drawn before the attack. It’s not tainted. I would have noticed that right away.”

  “And Master Whitlock?” I asked. “He doesn’t seem to be affected.”

  “He’s been using water from the mess hall too,” Aeron replied. “I’ll check out the well. Don’t overdo it, imp.”

  I tried to draw on my magic, but the strands of music refused to come together. As wired as my body was, my magic was drained.

  “I’m going to need your help,” I said to Michel. “I’m pretty spent.”

  He didn’t say anything as he offered me his hand. The rough calluses on his index finger and thumb brushed against my palm. I ignored the sense of euphoria that threatened to sweep me away as his violins joined with my trumpets. On the upbeat, I wrapped the strains of music together, guiding the tempo, stretching the notes out until the song devoured the corruption in Crawford.

  Michel helped me to my feet when I finished, and we returned to the mess hall. With Michel’s help, I healed everyone that had been re-infected with the taint. Exhaustion weighed down my bones and my mind reeled from the toll of using so much magic in such a short amount of time.

  “You were right,” Aeron returned, a grim look on his face. “One of the ghouls ended up down in the well. We got it out, but—”

  “It will stay fouled unless we cleanse it,” I replied.

  “We’d have never known ‘cause most of us have lost our sense of smell.” Master Whitlock rubbed his nose. “Comes with working around so many chemicals.”

  “We’ll need to take care of the well before we leave.” I brushed my hair from my face. I was sticky from sweat and tired to the bone. I needed a bath and sleep.

  Aeron gave me a fond smile. “Can it wait until morning?”

  I shrugged. “Better now than later.”

  “Just be careful, imp. You don’t want to overdo it.”

  “I know,” I murmured, “but, the longer we stay, the more danger we put these people in.”

  Michel once again helped me to my feet. My legs wobbled, but I still had work to do before I could rest. He stayed by my side, supporting me as we followed Whitlock to the well. Michel had to be nearly as tired as I was.

  “It’s strange,” I said. “We haven’t been attacked in days.”

  His jaw tightened. “It makes me wonder what’s waiting for us.”

  “Do you think the demons know where we’re headed?”

  “Maybe.” Michel pursed his lips. “Probably.”

  Dawn crept along the horizon in shades of pink and purple. Another day. How much time had passed since this whole ordeal had started? Peace and quiet felt like a vague and distant memory that had happened so long ago I wasn’t sure it had ever been real.

  Where was my father? Had he made it to safety? What about the people of Greendale? Had they been punished by the Bastion for my escape? Light, so much had happened in the last few weeks. I felt like a piece of flotsam caught in the current being pulled toward a waterfall with no way to escape.

  It had felt amazing to use my magic for its intended purpose. To heal instead of kill. To save a life instead of destroying one. My hands curled at my sides. I wouldn’t give in to the Darkness and its temptations. I would learn control.

  Master Whitlock stopped next to an old-fashioned well, with its bucket and pulley system, his jaw tight as he wat
ched us approach.

  “Can you fix this?” he asked.

  I shared a look with Michel. “We’ll try. I can’t guarantee anything.”

  Master Whitlock looked like he wanted to say something, but nodded instead.

  “You’ll need to stand back,” I told him. He walked far enough away that he wouldn’t get hurt, but close enough to still see us work. He wasn’t a trusting man. Not that I blamed him. Men like him had a hard lot in life, made harder by the Bastion and its restrictions on magic use. The men and women of Bedford Mines might have had a different story to tell if the Bastion had a healer stationed there along with a small contingent of paladins.

  I closed my eyes, preparing for the task at hand. Cleanse the taint from the water in the well while drawing fresh water up from deep beneath the earth. Michel gave my hand a squeeze, signaling his readiness to start.

  Aeron took my other hand. “I’ll take care of the ward.”

  My magic hummed below the surface of my consciousness. As tired as I was, my connection with Michel buzzed, demanding attention. It purred as it wound its way through my every thought. His magic meshed seamlessly, effortlessly with mine.

  Our breaths matched. Our heartbeats synced.

  Intoxication filled my senses.

  This was dangerous. I could lose my sense of self.

  Michel pulled his magic back a hair, his breathing as ragged as my own. Space. We both needed space. I followed Michel’s example and withdrew a bit. The overwhelming urge to wrap Michel’s magic around myself lessened and my thoughts became clearer.

  Water coiled around my mind, buoyant and exuberant, like a puppy wanting to play. The notes were middle ranged, violins and harps, cascading like a waterfall and rushing like a river over rapids.

  Fire was so different. It wound lazy, flickers of flame through the song. Brassy, mellow notes that slid from one to the next with ease. A soulful melody that jumped from lively to smooth between one heartbeat and the next.

  Both would be needed to cleanse the well. To destroy the corruption and draw up untainted water to replace what was burned away.