"Remarkable," Gladdic said. "It has hardly been five minutes since our supper, yet you still frame everything in terms of food."
"I'd put it in terms of drink, except I don't want to think about how long it's been since I've had one." Blays flicked his fish bone at the mix of dirt and ash. "Then again, if we'd like to resume our efforts at not being so terrible, we've got a tried-and-true Knight of Odo Sein right in front of us, don't we?"
Bek beetled his brow. "What are you asking?"
"When you access the stream, what do you do? Any hot tips for us?"
The knight looked at him like Blays had asked him to regurgitate his fish and feed it to Blays like a baby bird. "It's no wonder you can't figure out how to use the stream. You're as dumb as a log-worm!"
"Assuming that a log-worm is pretty dumb, I'm inclined to agree with you. Now would you mind explaining why you think my head is a vessel of night soil?"
Gladdic sighed. "It is because you asked him to explain precisely how one uses the skill. Such a question defies the core virtue of the Odo Sein."
"At least one of you gets it," Bek said. "Was Bel Ara drunk when she took you on?"
"No," Blays said levelly. "She, along with the rest of your council, was convinced to teach us by someone who showed her how he could preserve Tanar Atain in two ways: in the present, by killing the White Lich. And in the future, by recording your country's past. All while standing to gain nothing for himself."
The knight darted a glance at Blays' hands, which weren't far from the hilts of his swords. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're ready to take an apology from me—or to take a piece of my hide with your steel. But you're in our lands now. We have no idea what trifles you foreigners consider an insult, nor how much groveling it takes to make an apology for them."
"Go on, then, and hack at each other." Gladdic's words were pure scorn. "Then as long as we're betraying everything we came here to do, I shall run off to swear fealty to the White Lich."
The corner of Blays' mouth twitched. He wasn't sure if it was a smile. He hoisted his hands over his head and stretched. "I suppose if Bel Ara couldn't pound it through our thick heads, you're not likely to do any better, kind knight. For me, trying to get the stream to move is like trying to suck an apple through a reed." He swung his head toward Gladdic. "Hold on. Suppose there's a way to make a bigger reed?"
"If this is a metaphor, it is as cloudy as a syphilitic's urine."
"You have no idea how glad I am that I've already eaten. But follow me on this. Even for a skilled nethermancer, trying to get the shadows to do what you want without bribing them with blood is a lot harder than when you splash some of the red stuff around first. By using blood, you're making the reed bigger."
"The reed through which you are attempting to suck the apple."
"That's right."
"Which is a thing that has never been attempted by anyone."
"But you still understand what I'm getting at, so quit pretending you don't. Blood makes it easier to access the nether. Is there anything similar for ether?"
"You are incapable of using the ether. What does it matter?"
"Because I'm trying to figure out if this is something that exists with all the powers. Including the stream."
"Yes," Gladdic said slowly. "There is."
"Well, what is it?"
"A closely guarded secret. But you will next explain that knowing this secret will help you to determine a possible analogue for the stream, and although I would respond by insisting it would not, you wouldn't believe me until you could judge for yourself."
"That sounds pretty much how it would go. Except my side of things would involve passing more judgments about your mother."
"It involves the breaking of something delicate," Gladdic said. "A glass figurine or a shell are two favorites. Anything that is beautiful or the product of long labor works best, for the ether is agitated by the chaos of such an object being destroyed. It arrives eager to restore the damage, and then to correct further disorder around it."
Blays leaned back, swatting at something on his arm. "Nether's the stuff of the cycle of life. Of birth, creation, and death. Blood fuels it. Ether's the stuff of order and preservation, and gets riled up when you mess with that. Bit contradictory, isn't it? One's for it, one's against it. So if there's anything like this with the stream, it could be either something that promotes thought and reason, or exactly the opposite."
"Blood magic and totems," Bek said. "It's a wonder the people of your mad lands aren't sacrificing each other from sunup to sundown."
"The products of blood magic and totems were what saved your life in Aris Osis," Gladdic said. "And if the gods will it, it will be blood magic and totems that allow us to destroy the Eiden Rane and save your damned country. You were brought up to believe these powers are evil, yet even when evidence otherwise stands before you like a mountain, you still deny that it's true."
Bek's face flushed a rather incredible shade of scarlet. "These are desperate times. Everything's out the window."
"Indeed."
If Gladdic had pressed the obvious hypocrisy, Bek might have gone on the defensive. Instead, the old priest said nothing, letting the silence stretch to the breaking point.
"Damn you," Bek murmured. He had his head tipped back and was staring into nothing, making it unclear who exactly he was damning. He met Gladdic's eyes. "I shouldn't tell you this. Even if I believe it's true—and there's nothing I've ever seen to say otherwise—if I tell you what I know, it'll discourage you from finding out and proving me wrong."
"Which would be a loss for the Odo Sein. As you currently believe there is no such 'reed' to make the stream flow more freely."
Bek made the barest nod. "That'd be a reasonable conclusion."
Blays exhaled raggedly. "Gods, I hate having to think this much. Why can't I be right about everything on the first try?" He looked up. "Gladdic, those shells you're talking about breaking—they aren't shaden, are they?"
"Shaden's association with the nether renders them distasteful to the priests," Gladdic said. "Not to mention they are somewhat large. Any reasonably complex shell would do, although some argue that the most effective shells are prettier or bear more sophisticated patterns that make their destruction more offensive to the ether." He had been pacing as he spoke, lecturing. "Why do you ask?"
"When I learned to use the nether at Pocket Cove, we used shells, too. Not to generate more nether, but to make it easier to take the step from being able to touch the shadows to being able to actually use the stupid stuff. That's what idiots like me have to do, anyway. I think they typically take on a higher caliber of student."
"I have only heard rumors of Pocket Cove, and each one intrigues me more. I would like to hear more about them, along with their methods of training."
"Not tonight," Blays decided. "But maybe another time. What I'm interested in right now is whether there's anything similar to help students access the ether. Or the stream."
Bek swore under his breath. "That's too good of a piece of deduction to let go by."
"You're saying such a thing exists?"
"I'll say that if it did exist, I don't see any way you could reason your way toward determining what you're looking for."
"Me neither. So why not tell us? Other than your kooky religious beliefs that sound perfectly enlightened in most circumstances but are currently trying to kill us?"
"What need do you even have for it? Aren't I here to wield the Odo Sein for you?"
"That's the plan," Blays said. "But in my experience, plans have a habit of going to shit even when they're not being opposed by a malevolent demigod. In the event that something happens to you—wait, let me rephrase that in Tanarian terms. In the event the lich chops your head from your neck and uses your skull as his porridge bowl, it would be nice if one of us had also learned to use the Odo Sein. Because I'm not sure waving your dismembered remains at the lich will do the trick."
"I can't tell you what
it is." Bek gazed at his hands. "But I'll watch for one of them on the way to Dara Bode, and if I see one, I'll get it for you. Don't ask me for more than that."
"No worries on that front." Blays rolled himself into his lightweight travel blanket. "As tight-lipped as your order is, I could ask you which way the sun rises all night and I still wouldn't know until dawn."
~
Of all the reasons Blays hated the White Lich, his third-highest reason—and making a serious charge at second place—was that he hadn't been able to sleep past noon for several weeks.
As usual, they got up way too damned early and resumed the tedious job of propelling themselves through the swamp. Check that: the awful swamp. They'd run out of Volo's bug-repelling paste while returning to the Hell-Painted Hills, and while Bek had provided them with a second method (chewing up a particular bitter-tasting leaf and rubbing it around your skin), it wasn't half as effective. While Blays was paddling, he wished he wasn't so that he'd be able to scratch his bites. When he wasn't paddling, he wished he was so he'd have something to distract him from the itchiness.
Once upon a time, there had been incidental boat traffic everywhere but the fringes and deepest reaches of the swamp. These days, the waterways were all but empty. Later that morning, when Gladdic warned them of an approaching vessel, Blays pulled them behind a patch of thorns. He wasn't surprised in the slightest when the boat that advanced into view was a Monsoon war canoe. Gladdic held the nether in hand, but the boat passed without noticing them.
At noon, they stopped for a quick break to stretch their legs and deflate their bladders.
"Dante is moving eastward," Gladdic announced to Blays, holding his hand to the side of his head. "If he holds course, his path should take him just north of Dara Bode. He could easily deviate to the capital. Do you think his path is coincidence?"
"It has to be. There's no possible way he'd know where we were going."
"Unless he's left his eyes upon us."
That was a troublesome thought. It turned out to be the pernicious variety that sounded ridiculous at first but wormed its way deeper and deeper into your mind the more you thought about it. Blays spent an uncomfortable chunk of the afternoon dwelling on that possibility before moving on to a more generalized malaise. What if he hadn't gotten so drunk that night? So angry? If he'd been there, Dante wouldn't have gone out on patrol alone. And while it was possible that, had they gone out together, they both would have been taken, Blays didn't think that's how it would have turned out.
Now, their only hope lay in finding some foolish lizard statue, tracking Dante down, unleashing the statue's power on him, and praying that it worked on lesser liches the same way it did on the Blighted. Oh right, and also they needed to survive the encounter with Dante long enough to use the Aba Quen in the first place, which Blays had more than a few doubts they'd be able to do.
If Dante had been with them on a similar mission, he wouldn't have felt half as worried. As he'd said before, like alchemists of chaos, the pair of them had a way of transmuting disorder into opportunity.
For obvious reasons, however, Dante was not there. His role was currently being filled by Gladdic. And Blays was still a long way from sure about Gladdic. Granted, the old man had abandoned the immediate fight against the lich to pursue this line of action, which was a point in his favor, but there were still about nine thousand other strikes against him. Like the Plagued Islands. And the campaign against the Collen Basin. And Volo, who was looking more and more like she'd be dazed forever—although that act had maybe saved Bek's life, who was vital to the current process of saving Dante's life, and without Dante, Blays pegged their chances of stopping the White Lich at somewhere between "laughable" and "fuck-all."
It was all very confusing. The kind of confusion that could only be distilled with a long night in the company of brown liquor, which Blays didn't have any of. What he had instead was the deepening conviction that they should have walked away from this a long time ago. Like as soon as they'd rescued Naran. Everything after that had been a rage-blinded quest for revenge. Against someone who had, quite unbeknownst to them, been working to fight the thing they were now all trying to stop.
Still, if you could pinpoint a single mistake to blame for their current straits, it had to be the decision to go after Gladdic rather than taking Naran from the Blue Tower and walking away. But after everything that Gladdic had done, how could they not have tried to bring him to justice? That angle of things was Gladdic's fault, wasn't it?
None of it made any sense. He was starting to fear that it never would.
Bek held up his right arm. "Stop."
Blays backbeat, then dragged the paddle in the water. "What've you got?"
"That inlet over there. You should take it."
The inlet was a barely-visible gap in the trees. Bek didn't appear ready to volunteer anything as to why Blays should take it rather than the quite clear path ahead, but knowing that asking would be fruitless, Blays brought them through it, ducking under a pair of outstretched branches guarding the entry.
After forty feet of tight travel, the way opened into a wide and roughly circular pool of water. This was hemmed in on the sides by dense growth and overhead by the canopy. The water was studded by small islands sporting short trees. It felt still even by the sluggish standards of the swamp.
Bek surveyed the area expressionlessly, then pointed to an island a third of the way across the clearing. "That one. Circle it. Slowly."
Blays brought them up to the island. It looked like any of the hundreds of other micro-islands they'd recently passed, if a little mossier than most. Bek kept his eyes locked on the shores.
Blays made a complete circuit, then brought them to a stop. "What are we supposed to be looking for?"
"You don't look," Bek said. "I look. You paddle."
He directed them to a second island. Blays circled it slowly.
Halfway around, Bek grabbed him by the upper arm and whispered, "Stop! Don't scare it!"
Blays dragged his paddle. He followed Bek's line of sight to the shore. "Scare what? The moss?"
"The crab. See it there?"
"No, but I'll trust that you do, because the alternative is that the last Knight of Odo Sein and our only hope of victory just went completely insane."
"There's a bearded crab right there. That's the object that will get you closer to learning the Odo Sein. Bring me in nice and slow."
Blays hesitated, then reminded himself that he'd been involved in any number of far stranger things over the years. Stealthily as he could, he brought them in toward the island, still utterly failing to spot the crab.
A long portion of the bank slid away from the island. The front portion of the slide launched into the air, hurling toward the canoe. Blays grabbed Gladdic by the jabat and yanked him into the bottom of the boat. The swamp dragon's head soared over them, teeth clapping shut in the empty space.
With a shout, Bek drew his Odo Sein blade, nether zipping down the dark steel. The canoe rocked madly. Ether blasted from Gladdic's hand into the swamp dragon's long neck, but the enormous lizards were nearly as hardened against sorcery as the kappers of the Wodun Mountains, and its scales dispersed the light like glowing milkweed seeds.
The dragon swung about in the frothy water, lifting its head. If it came down on the canoe, it'd smash the boat into a million small pieces. Even if the three of them weren't hurt or stunned by the attack, Blays doubted more than one of them would make it to shore without being eaten.
"Lie down!" He got to his feet, drawing one sword.
Gladdic had already complied. Bek crouched, blade held up for the incoming strike. He was still standing higher than Blays would have liked, but there was nothing for it. Blays slipped into the shadows. He dashed forward, his feet oozing into the surface of the water like it was thick mud, and launched himself at the dragon.
He took a passing whack at the beast's throat as he went by, but even with the nethereal weapon, trying to cut thr
ough the dragon's skin was like trying to chew through tanned leather. It didn't even seem to notice him. That being the exact opposite of his goals, he exited the shadows mid-jump, landing on the dragon's back and stomping down as hard as he could.
The dragon's back was half-coated in living grass, moss, snails, and what appeared to be small chunks of rock embedded among the scales, which were the color and texture of dirt. Blays drew his second sword and dropped his right knee, stabbing both weapons downward. One hit the scales and slid off. The other lodged momentarily, gouging a fraction of an inch into the chitin before stopping.
Blays yanked the weapon free and laid about himself in wild abandon, slashing and jabbing at the dragon as he worked his way toward the base of its neck. This delivered exactly zero appreciable damage to the monster.
But while hurting the monster would have been nice, Blays was more than satisfied by the result: the swamp dragon abandoned its intentions to belly flop onto the canoe and focused on him instead. The beast curled its head around, angling for a bite, but Blays simply circled around the back of its neck, giving it two more whacks for good measure. The lizard snapped its head around to the other side, trying to catch him from the rear. He merely danced to the spot it had just vacated, leaving the animal snapping in vain, unable to stretch far enough across its own back to reach him.
He jabbed at its neck with everything he had. It snapped at him in vain twice more, then exhaled hard, its back contracting, and dived beneath the surface.
Blays jumped into the air and into the netherworld. The water lit up with bright silver bubbles. The swamp dragon was a terribly long mass, bright black under the dull shade of the water.
As Blays began to descend, blindingly white ether poured from Gladdic's hand and spread across the surface of the swamp. With a series of hollow cracks, the water froze solid.
The Light of Life Page 41