The Light of Life

by Edward W. Robertson

  The remainder he froze in place, using the shadows to lock their muscles down tight. The Blighted bound nine-tenths of them in ropes, then took the last tenth for themselves. The villagers screamed, but that was to be expected.

  Once this was done, and the Blighted were sated (or at least as sated as the Blighted could get), blood drying on their cheeks and chests, they picked up the lich's share and loaded the prisoners into their undecorated canoes.

  The Blighted shoved off, bearing their cargo toward the White Lich. For a fleeting moment, Dante felt pity for the terror the humans must have been feeling.

  Yet then he remembered the glory that awaited them.

  15

  Seated in the grass across from Ara, Blays' mouth fell open. "You said we only had one thing left to do. In what world does traveling to the capital, sneaking into the city, and then busting into the palace count as one thing?"

  Ara rolled her eyes. "Don't argue semantics with me. It's all part of the same task."

  "And after we infiltrate the city, which is occupied by the enemy, and find a way into the Bastion, which is heavily occupied by the enemy, we do what, exactly? Steal something?"

  "Assuming it's still there."

  "Assuming it's still there?" Blays hopped to his feet, waving his arms around like he was juggling objects that were very wide and very invisible. "Call me entitled, but you could have told us about the massive complication before I got my hopes up!"

  "You got your own hopes up."

  "Then why didn't you stop me?"

  "Do you know why you outlanders are so insufferable? Because you can't even take responsibility for your own feelings."

  "In that case, I suppose it isn't my fault that I currently feel like you're being a giant bitch."

  He expected to be slapped, cursed at, booted in the testicles, or all of the above while also being being put into a chokehold which she might even be able to pull off, given her build, but then she went and laughed in surprise.

  "Maybe I'm wrong about you, hari. Mind you, I doubt that I'm wrong. But I'm now at least open to the idea that you could live in our country without disgracing yourself and your ancestors."

  "If I ever reach the day when my crimes get me banned from all other nations, I might take you up on that."

  "You two are as farcical as the task before us," Gladdic said. "What must we retrieve from Aris Osis?"

  "Your sense of humor," Ara said. "Once you've got that in hand, you should also look for the Aba Quen."

  "The Aba Quen? I was told that was a myth."

  "Which is a damn good way to get you to think it's just a silly story that you'd be a giant idiot to believe, isn't it?"

  "But it's said that the Aba Quen can be used to steal a man's very soul." Gladdic's mouth formed an O. "It can?"

  Blays folded his arms. "If you're expecting me to fetch this thing for you, it might be useful for you to give me any idea what it is."

  "The Aba Quen is an ancient and priceless carving. It is a small ivory statue of a lizard wrapped around a skeletal forearm."

  Ara made a huffing noise. "Not just a lizard. The Laughing Gecko. He's said to creep through your windows at night while you're sleeping and steal your baby's soul."

  "I apologize, Bel Ara. My knowledge of the legends of Tanarian reptiles is poor at best."

  "Why exactly do we need this?" Blays said. "Because you can never have enough statues of baby-killing geckos?"

  Ara motioned to Gladdic. "Remnants are new to you, but you have experience with the nethereal ones, don't you? Can you steal one from another person?"

  Gladdic shook his head. "I have access to my own. But I cannot take one from a living person, nor even manipulate it."

  "Same thing's true about the remnants. Excepting the Eiden Rane, obviously. A properly trained Knight of Odo Sein knows how to restore a stolen remnant, but that doesn't mean they can. That requires the use of the Aba Quen."

  Gladdic rubbed the white stubble on his chin. "How might a statue allow one to manipulate another person's inner ether?"

  "How would I know how you warlocks defile people's souls? All I know is that we used to have it and that's what it did for us. During the rebellion, the Monsoon stole it and took it to the Bastion. One of our knights got word to us as he was leaving for Bressel. From what he saw, they weren't even using it. They were just keeping it there because they could tell it was important."

  "If it has such a power, why not deploy it against their enemies? Even the threat of its use could cause the Monsoon's remaining enemies to do whatever the Monsoon demanded of them."

  "The rebels are too stupid to know what it does. We didn't exactly run around telling everyone about its awesome power. It's from a much older time, too. Some of us think the Eiden Rane made it himself, back when he was learning how to absorb remnants into himself. Others think he found it, and used it to teach himself the process."

  "Perhaps that is one reason the Monsoon has recruited sorcerers to its side. They might have recognized the importance of the Aba Quen, if not its function, and endeavored to study it."

  Blays stuck his tongue out from the corner of his mouth. "How long ago was it taken to the Bastion? Weeks? Months? How can you be sure it's still there?"

  Ara shrugged. "I'm not."

  "That's not very comforting."

  "But it's true, which means I don't give a shit if it makes you uncomfortable."

  "If anything, you should be getting snippy with yourself. You knew the almighty lizard was at the Bastion all this time, but you couldn't be arsed to do anything to get it back?"

  "Do you see an army at our beck and call? I know this is the sort of unimportant triviality that's easy to forget, but do you remember when I told you we couldn't leave the Silent Spires or we'd die?" She'd been blustering, but she now retracted on herself. "We didn't see the point of risking an assault. Not with the emperor gone and the Eiden Rane on the rampage. Even though they've agreed to let me train you, most of the other bels don't believe you'll be able to stop the lich."

  "Do you?"

  She gestured out at the wasteland. "Who cares what I think? Go try to get the Aba Quen. If you pull that off, try to restore Dante. If you do that, go and see if you can stop the lich. Why should my opinion of what you might be able to do impact your ability to actually do it?"

  "Well, when you put it like that it all sounds so simple."

  Ara gave him a long and skeptical look, then laughed, breaking into a smile. "I can't believe I just told you all of this like it was nothing. It makes me feel so dirty."

  "In that case, you're welcome."

  Gladdic, like Dante, didn't seem to be able to travel further than the nearest privy without carrying writing supplies with him. He had Ara sketch the Aba Quen for them, which indeed looked like a lizard with a blunt head and round toes wrapped around a skeletal forearm.

  After their night of rest in the Spires, Blays and Gladdic were perfectly healthy enough to journey back across the Hell-Painted Hills. Ara ordered up a team of lan haba, which assembled at the eastern fringe of the trees.

  Blays swung into the saddle. He was more than used to the smell of large furry animals, but after so long in a place where there were no mammals larger than a cat—and these tended to be tree-hopping carnivores that would gladly eat your face while you were still wearing it, meaning it was best to keep a certain distance—the scent of the oversized goats was almost dizzying.

  Bel Ara was there to see them off, sweating lightly in the heat of the day. "Find him, will you? Bring him back."

  Blays took up the reins. "I thought you didn't believe in us."

  "He's our only chance, isn't he?"

  "Having him with us gives us our best chance. But the rest of us know a few tricks of our own. Even if we can't turn Dante, we'll make the lich very annoyed at us before we're dead—and if luck likes us on the day we take our swords against him, we may even kill him."

  She didn't look convinced, but he wouldn't say t
hat she looked doubtful, either. They rode out into the maniacal hills. Blays carried a certain bravado along with him. He'd found that the mere act of saying words out loud could make you believe them. They made your feet lighter beneath you, too. Repeated often enough, and they had the power to make that belief in yourself permanent. It was almost like a form of magic, and though it was more subtle than the nether, it was just as real.

  That day, however, the enchantment faded before they'd made their first mile.

  ~

  Bek rode with them, as laconic as ever. Bit risky, bringing him with them to Dara Bode, but after they had the Aba Quen, they'd need his abilities to bring to bear against Dante. Assuming, of course, that they were able to find the Aba Quen, which Blays wasn't fully confident about. If it had been moved, the number of non-Bastion places it might be hiding in included the entire rest of the swamps.

  He watched Gladdic from the corner of his eye. Then again, even if it was gone, sorcerers had a way of finding things that wanted to stay hidden.

  They arrived at the swamp just under a day after leaving the Spires. Naran emerged from the trees to greet them. He looked in fine shape, and after their ride, he was cleaner than they were, too.

  Blays hopped down from the boat. "Volo?"

  Naran gave a small shake of his head. "There's been no change."

  "I'm not liking that."

  "I doubt that she is, either."

  That made things downright uncomfortable, so Blays launched into an explanation of what they'd learned in the Spires regarding their upcoming voyage to Dara Bode.

  "As before, her condition will only slow you down," Naran said. "But I won't abandon her. I'll stay with her at the Spires, if they will allow it."

  Their guides exchanged a look, then nodded.

  "You're sure of that?" Blays turned back to the Hills. "I don't know how long we'll be gone. Stay there too long, and you might get trapped there."

  "If you fail, it will likely be safest in the Spires. Until the end comes at last for them, too."

  They made parting arrangements. As Naran helped Volo into a saddle, Blays, Gladdic, and Bek loaded themselves into the canoe. Blays and Naran waved to each other, then went their separate ways.

  Blays dabbed the paddle in the water. "Which way is Dara Bode again?"

  Gladdic and Bek pointed in two different directions. Blays split the difference, paddling at a pace that was more brisk than sustainable. When he got tired, they flipped the canoe about so Bek was in front, allowing him to take over duties.

  Blays mopped his brow against the shoulder of his jabat. "Gladdic, how well did you get to know the layout of the Bastion while you were there? Or were you too busy torturing Naran to pay attention to that?"

  Gladdic snorted. "I know it reasonably well. The most difficult portion will be crossing the moat unseen, but if you and Dante were able to do so, I don't see why we would be unable."

  "Leaving the minor matter of finding a hand-sized figurine in the middle of a palace-sized palace."

  "It will not be as challenging as you fear. For they will be afraid of having the Aba Quen stolen back from them, and when people are afraid, that is when they become most predictable."

  "How so? That's when they're most likely to punch you in the face. Or call your mother names that would make your lanky old mother blush. Or offer to do vile things to or for you."

  "Yet you know they will react in these ways, and will not be surprised when they live down to your expectation. In this case, their fear will cause them to keep the Aba Quen in those places they consider most secure: the peak of the Blue Tower, or more likely, in the Lower Vault. It will be little issue for us to penetrate these places without being seen—and even if we are, to dispense with those who have seen us."

  Bek was a fellow fighting man in fair shape, but he was more than a decade older and his arms wore out sooner than Blays' had. Blays replaced him as head paddler and soon found himself wishing he hadn't. The part of the swamp nearest the Hell-Painted Hills was different from other parts in a way Blays couldn't fully put his finger on, but which certainly involved a thickening of the shrubbery and a tightening of the waterways.

  Unlike Volo, who seemed to have a sixth sense for which routes would remain open, Blays more than once found himself faced with an impassible wall of growth. The first time, the blockage was thin enough for Gladdic to use the nether to gouge a hole through to the other side, but the next time they hit an obstruction, Blays had to swing about, backtrack, and find a new path. The third time he came up against a crush of branches, he swore and smacked at the water with his paddle.

  "Do you continue to lead us down dead ends on purpose?" Gladdic muttered.

  "I'm just looking for the best one. It's the perfect spot to dump your body in."

  "Have you not noticed that the dead ends are commonly presaged by the presence of dulia?"

  "What-ya?"

  Gladdic pointed to a vine wreathed through the brambles and dotted with small purple flowers. "They entwine themselves in the low, thick shrubs that most commonly crowd themselves between the trees. Avoid entering the paths where they grow, and you will avoid these stoppages. Why do you keep ignoring the signs?"

  Blays paddled them back toward the entrance. "How do you expect me to have known about them in the first place? Half the time we've been here, I've been busy paddling. The other half, I've been busy paddling for my life."

  "Then consider yourself educated."

  "Next time I'm messing up, why don't you consider educating me before I've made the same mistake twenty times in a row?"

  "Because I don't know what I relish more: telling you that you are wrong, or watching you be wrong."

  Between Blays and Bek switching off at the paddle, Gladdic wiping away their weariness with the nether, and the longer daylight hours, they had a plan to reach Dara Bode in as little as four days. However, no one had yet come up with a form of sorcery to eliminate the need for sleep—and, honestly, Blays probably would have strangled them if they did—and so as night neared, they turned the boat into an island, hid it within the grass, and made camp behind a screen of trees.

  They still had some vegetables and pies from the Spires, but in dire need of fresh meat, Blays baited a hook with bits of potato and dropped a line in the water. In almost no time at all, he'd caught six fish, their silver scales speckled with iridescent pink spots. He cleaned them and tossed the guts into the water, which were immediately tended to by a boiling cloud of ziki oko, who were in turn dispersed by an influx of the orange catfish that preyed on them.

  Finished, Blays brought his catch back to the center of the island.

  Gladdic frowned. "What do you intend to cook them with?"

  "I was considering using an invention I've heard stories about in our travels. I think it's called 'fire.'"

  "We are presently in enemy territory in the midst of an effort to rob them of what could be the most valuable object in their entire possession. We can't light a fire!"

  "Yes we can, because I want one. So if you don't want anybody to see it, you'd better drop a shadowsphere on it."

  Gladdic lowered his brows. Before the priest could argue, Blays went off to gather kindling, which lay in great abundance about the island. He returned to find that Bek had dug a small fire pit in his absence. Blays arranged his materials, then snapped his fingers and lit it with a spark of nether.

  Gladdic watched this unfold in disapproving silence. Muttering to himself, he dropped a wad of shadows over the fire. There was still plenty of smoke, but most of it was broken up by the trees. Besides, they were already in the very last of the twilight, and the smoke wouldn't be visible for long.

  Cooking the fish over a fire he couldn't see was an interesting experience, but Blays could have done so by the smell of the crisping skin alone. Bek and Gladdic stayed close, gazing at the nether-shrouded fire with expressions that were entirely dog-like.

  Once the meat was white and the skin was brown, Bla
ys served it up on a bed of the oversized, teardrop-shaped leaves that grew on the banks. Using their bare hands, they tore into the meat with a ferocity that ought to have qualified them as honorary Blighted.

  Afterward, Gladdic considered the remains of his meal, which consisted of little more than a skeleton and a few scraps of undercooked skin. "I have given it much thought. And I have decided this was, in fact, worth the risk."

  Blays picked at his teeth with a needle-thin bone. "As I always say, the best offense against black times is stuffing yourself silly."

  This was met by grunts of approval. Blays enjoyed the smell of the wood smoke for another minute, then kicked dirt over the blacked-out fire. Gladdic dispelled the shadowsphere.

  Bek laughed softly. "After a lifetime training to destroy it, it's very strange to sit in the presence of sorcery. Even stranger to appreciate it."

  "Personally, I'd rather stick to swords," Blays said. "But with all these cheaters running around, you have to fight them at their own game."

  "And not only do you know magic, but now you're learning to use the Odo Sein."

  "Not terribly well, as evidenced by your presence. Not to suggest it isn't anything but pleasant and enlightening."

  "You foreigners waste so many words on politeness it's a wonder you have any left to get anything done."

  "Yet in my land I'm considered rude. There's no justice anywhere, sir knight."

  Bek smiled, then grew serious. Or at least as serious as a man can be when his face is covered in fish grease. "Stranger than any of this is the idea that two hari are learning the Odo Sein. Even hearing it from the bels themselves, I can't believe it. Would you show me what you can do?"

  Blays and Gladdic exchanged first a look, then mutual shrugs. They seated themselves. Blays closed his eyes and lobbed himself into the practice that, with his typical callous disregard for all that was fun in life, Dante had dubbed "Forest."

  After a couple of minutes of silence, Bek cursed and laughed. "Black streams! Even when I see it, I still can't believe it!"

  Blays opened his eyes. In the dark of the night, golden flecks danced about in their curious patterns, neither fully orderly nor completely chaotic. "A miracle, right? Yet as miraculous as our powers may be, we haven't yet been able to, you know, do anything with them. What we can do is about as useful as having a painting of a steak."