by James Derry
“He’s right,” Sygne said. “Let’s think this through.”
“There’s no time!”
“Listen to her,” Jamal advised the demigod. “Sygne will come up with an idea to fix this.”
“No!” Pawn shook his head. “I have to help them now!”
“Remember what you said. Sygne is an extraordinary woman.” Jamal darted a glance to her. “I agree with you. Let’s give her a chance to think.”
Nyfinein was looking more fearsome than ever. She had gathered a ring of flame around her, and it rose in pillars that spun, creating a screen. As the Pawns blasted light from their swords, the pillars of flame absorbed most of the salvos. The witch was using this defensive tactic to buy herself some time. She was working her way through a spell, summoning some pitch black demon that descended from the night on leathery wings. It clamped down on one of the brothers and swept him up into the air. He writhed and bucked and struggled, but it was futile. The winged demon disappeared into the gloom with the demigod still in locked in its talons. Another Pawn had been removed from the proverbial game-board. Five Pawns left.
Sygne touched her forehead. “Let’s think. What are Nyfinein’s weaknesses? Over-confidence?”
Jamal scoffed. “I wouldn’t say she’s over-confident.”
“The legends only mention one weakness,” Pawn said. “An ‘invisible color of sunlight.’”
Jamal glanced to the east. “It’s five hours before dawn.”
“Invisible color. Invisible color,” Sygne said. There was something there. “Is it some kind of riddle?”
Pawn suggested, “A color can only exist if we can see it.”
“I don’t know—”
“The color of sunlight is yellow,” Jamal said. “Right? What if we stabbed the witch with something yellow?”
Pawn added, “We could do it with our eyes closed? That would make it invisible?”
Sygne leafed through her pocketbook and rolled free a heavy wedge of crystal from a leather pouch. Her prism. She held it up so that it glinted in the green firelight. “Every color that exists—it exists in this prism.”
Jamal grinned. “Except brown.”
“What are you talking about?” Pawn was confused.
“It’s a joke between us,” Jamal said. “Oh! Wait!” He snatched the prism and aimed its broader end at the witch. “Invisible color!” he shouted like a war cry. Nothing happened. Well, something did happen; Nyfinein cast a spell that turned a section of the floor into a substance as soft as quicksand. Two Pawns sank up to their chests, and Nyfinein turned the floor hard again before they could clamber out. Two more alpha-protagonists stymied by a non-lethal attack.
“We need a source of light,” Sygne snatched the prism back from Jamal. “Very strong light. We shine it through the prism and see what happens. Maybe one of the hues of the spectrum will have an effect.”
“Endbringer!” Pawn exclaimed. Before Jamal could stop him, Pawn leaped over the low wall, presumedly to take back his sword that had been staked into the center of the observation deck. He didn’t get ten feet before he ran face-first into his own face—one of his identical brothers.
This other Pawn growled at him. His eyes were glowing purple.
“He’s possessed!” The third remaining Pawn tackled his violet-eyed brother. “Another spell…”
They both dropped their swords, which slid to a rest against the parapet—right in front of Sygne and Jamal.
Nyfinein’s laugh had a metallic edge to it. Finally Sygne realized what had happened to the third Firstspawn relic, the Dweller’s quill. The front of her mother’s dark robe was shiny with some sort of fluid. Nyfinein had stabbed the quill into her chest, just to the left of her breastbone, and there was blood gushing from every side of the spike.
“Do you see?” Sygne asked Jamal.
Jamal set his jaw. “Magic. Her lifeblood must be feeding the spell. And the spell is sustaining her.”
Sygne’s eyes darted back and forth, between the bloody witch and the life-or-death struggle of the demigod brothers. If Nyfinein had seen Sygne and Jamal, she made no show of it. Perhaps she thought they weren’t worth bothering with. The witch strolled casually toward the center of the observation deck, where the other Firstspawn relics waited for her. With each step she took, the air seemed to grow more sluggish. The stars trembled on their perches, as if at any moment they might tumble down.
The two good Pawns were having a horrendous time trying to restrain their possessed brother. They couldn’t spare a moment to take on the witch. The violet-eyed Pawn managed to head-butt one of his brothers, who crumpled to the floor. The other Pawn had wrapped his arms around his shoulders, but the possessed Pawn was taking slow steps toward Sygne, his eyes aglow with a malevolent light.
Nyfinein reached the hub of her arcane circle and stood behind her Endbringer sword. She raised her arms, exultant, and began to chant to the sky.
Jamal nudged Sygne’s arm. She turned to see that he was holding two Endbringer swords, one in each hand. Their blades were already glowing.
He nodded grimly. “Let’s light this witch up.”
Sygne swallowed. There was no time for hesitation. Nyfinein was her mother, but she was about to effectively end the world.
Jamal held up his two swords, tips nearly converging. Sygne had him turn; the light would have to travel at an angle through the prism if it was going to hit Nyfinein. Behind them, the two Pawns were scuffling their feet and struggling mightily. Sygne was sure that the mind-controlled Pawn would snap her neck in a second—if he could reach her. She raised her wedge of crystal.
“Do it.”
Light streamed from the Endbringers, and the prism seemed to nearly explode from the brightness flooding through it. Sygne had her face turned away, watching for where the mystical light would be refracted. It was a lucky thing too, otherwise she might have been momentarily blinded. A rainbow beam extended from the prism and struck the ground with a vividness that seemed like a tangible thing. Sygne almost thought she heard a sound, like an axe blade biting into wood.
The colors were splayed out in a line that ran across the floor, a few feet from the hem of Nyfinein’s gown. Sygne’s aim had been too low. She tilted the prism upward and twisted it, aiming to put the center of the spectrum directly over her mother’s heart. Maybe Jamal was right about the color of the sun’s light, and yellow would prove to be Nyfinein’s greatest weakness.
The band of rainbow light glided up the witch’s gown. Over her knees, flashing across blood-soaked fabric. Nyfinein stopped chanting, watching the colors rise until they had settled into a band running across her chest. Her arms were still raised, and the red end of the spectrum touched her right armpit. The yellow center of the spectrum was locked dead-center on her sternum. The Dweller’s quill was bathed in green light. Violet light touched Nyfinein’s left side. None of it seemed to be having a physical effect.
“Try shining the light in her eyes,” Jamal suggested.
Sygne angled the prism higher.
And Nyfinein screamed.
The sound split the night. Everything—the misty air, the wide cosmos arrayed above them—seemed to stop and sharpen from the shock of it.
The rainbow passed over Nyfinein’s shoulders, and her left arm suddenly burst into flame. Out beyond the violet edge of the spectrum, some invisible, incendiary force had struck the witch hard—and instantly. She dropped to her knees, and her arm dropped as well—right out of her cindered sleeve and onto the plank floor. The pale limb bent at the elbow, curling up and withering like a mollusk left out in the sun. The witch moaned and gnashed her teeth. Her eyes flashed pure hatred as they fixed on Sygne.
“You!” Her own daughter had burned off her arm, dealt her a grave injury.
And yet, in actuality, Sygne had meant to do far worse.
Nyfinein’s expression was so livid, so venomous, that Sygne felt certain that Nyfinein’s potency had been
drained. If the witch had any magic power left in her, Sygne would have dropped dead on the spot. Moaning and cursing, Nyfinein scrambled to her feet and fled toward the ladder that led to the lower reaches of the tower. No tricks of levitation. No shadows or illusions to mask her escape.
Already, the flesh of Nyfinein’s severed arm was beginning to crack and peel away, revealing gray ash underneath. Within moments, it had been rendered into a ‘V’-shaped mound of colorless dust.
“What happened?” Jamal asked.
“I don’t know,” Sygne blinked at the prism in her hand. The mystic light of the sovereigns’ swords had left it feeling heavy with eery warmth. “Maybe there are colors at the end of the spectrum that we can’t see.”
“‘The invisible color in sunlight.’”
Sygne nodded, “Some ultra color, next to violet. Powerful enough to cause the witch harm.”
“Is it over?” The pantless Pawn was dusting his hands against his naked thighs. His possessed brother lay on the floor, apparently settled into a deep slumber.
“It looks like it.” Jamal handed one Endbringer to Pawn. He inclined his head warily to the prism. “Can you put that away? Before that ultraviolet light burns the rest of us?”
Sygne pressed the crystal to her chest. “I think I should hold onto it.” A pain was welling up in her throat. “In case… She…”
Finally, both Jamal and Pawn seemed to grasp the immensity of what Sygne had just done. Jamal’s face fell, and he rushed to Sygne before the Demigod King could. He wrapped her up in a big, warm hug. “You did what you had to do. She was a horrible woman. Don’t even think of her as your mother. She would have killed you. She tried to kill you. She would have killed everybody.”
“I know. I know,” Sygne wiped her eyes. “I don’t know why I feel like this… I hurt her. But I had to.”
20 – Best Intentions
“You did the exact right thing,” Pawn said. He was checking on his two closest brothers, who were both unconscious. “You’re a hero.”
Sygne grimaced at the demigod’s approval. “And you’re a liar.” Her voice was unsteady, cracking along the edges. “Don’t you think I deserved to know you had identical brothers? We were in a relationship.”
“I’m sorry, Sygne.”
“I mean, just who was I in a relationship with? Was it just one of you?”
King Pawn started, “You need to understand that—”
“You know what?” She glanced to Jamal then back to Pawn. “I don’t want to know right now. Let’s focus on the wounded.”
After a quick scan of the observation deck, Sygne confirmed that the octuplets who had been laid low by Nyfinein’s magic were now sleeping peacefully on the floor of the observation deck. No residue of webbing or ice. No more quicksand floors. She wondered what had happened to the Pawn who had been carried off by a winged demon. Knowing Pawn’s heroic lucky streak, he was probably dozing in a soft treetop somewhere.
The Demigod King shook one of his brothers, but he could not rouse him. “The last vestiges of a spell,” he reported. “I’m sure they’ll wake by daybreak. I…” he swallowed hard and stood. “I trust that both of you will help me keep our secret? It’s been a boon to me to have seven other brothers, all of us working surreptitiously to make our kingdom great.”
“Are you making it great?” Sygne asked.
Pawn shrugged. “You mean about the eugenics, don’t you? Maybe you’re right, we should end that endeavor. I will talk with my brothers, try to get them to see things from my new perspective.” He patted the hilt of Endbringer. “Our swords help with that.” He shook his head beseechingly at Sygne. “But you do understand we only had the best of intentions?”
“I know you did. But I’m beginning to wonder if even the best intentions—”
“Sygne!” Jamal shouted. He had walked close to the spot where Nyfinein’s arm had decayed to dust. Now he scuttled backward. “You need to see this!”
Sygne exchanged worried looks with Pawn, and they both hurried over. The stolen Endbringer sword was still stuck like a stake into the wood decking. Its pommel was glowing turquoise—the same color she’d seen in the Dweller’s cave. She was surprised to see that the Dweller’s quill—the one that had been buried in Nyfinein’s chest—was now stuck in that glowing chitinous mineral. Apparently it had been propelled outward by the violent reaction that had destroyed Nyfinein’s arm. A sickening splash of blood glistened over the quill and the sword.
The blood seemed to be moving. Sygne squinted and saw it was not the blood itself, but flecks of black powder moving on its crimson surface.
She whispered, “That’s residue from the Lurker in the Void.”
“What?” Pawn asked.
“Don’t say it!” Jamal warned. He was now standing several paces behind them.
The little charred bits of coral dust lifted away from the bloody sword and swarmed in the air like hungry flies over a fresh kill. Behind them, they dragged little comet tails of blue energy. The black motes flew around and between each other, weaving their blue tracers into patterns and sigils of light that hung like a skein of glowing threads in the air.
“It’s the spell,” Pawn said softly. “The Threefold Key.”
“But… Nyfinein didn’t finish the spell.”
Pawn nodded to the stain of red on the sword and quill. “Perhaps that last offering of lifeblood was enough to complete the magic.”
“What do we do?” Jamal asked.
Pawn reached for the skein of blue light. He nearly touched it, but Sygne nudged his hand away. He blinked at her, then cocked his head to take in the light from a different angle. “It’s so… clean. Can you feel it?”
“I…” Sygne didn’t know what to say. She would have taken a step backward, except she was wary to cede ground to Pawn. She couldn’t allow him to be closer to the power than she was.
Pawn continued, “It’s so… clear. And right there.”
“Don’t touch it,” Sygne said.
“We have to do something,” Jamal said.
“You can feel it?” Pawn asked Jamal—without turning to look at him. “It’s like… pure… power.”
“Pure power,” Jamal repeated.
Pawn cocked his head to the other side. “It is a key. A key to change the world. All we have to do is—”
“We’re not doing anything,” Sygne said.
“We have to do some-thing,” Jamal said again. His voice was low and urgent. Sygne didn’t look at him, but she thought she knew what he meant. Who knew when the other octuplets would wake up? What if Nyfinein returned? What if Jamal’s religion had been right all along, and there were gods watching? Even the most passive of gods would leap at the chance to take control of the Threefold Key. It was an existential threat. And a world-shattering opportunity.
The Threefold Key just floated there. Shining like a beacon on top of the tower. Waiting for someone to take its power.
“Come on, Sygne.” Pawn’s voice was mostly filled with wonder, but a heaviness was creeping in. Frustration. Desire. “Think of what we could do… I want you to help me use this. Since the first day I met you, you’ve talked about changing the world.”
“Not like this,” she said.
“Through magic, you mean? No. I remember you would tell me, ‘A person with access to power has a duty to use that power to make the world better. You were always agnostic about the means, Sygne. Political power. Military might. Wisdom. Science, technology. Magic is just another means, like all the others.”
“But we don’t know what the consequences could be…”
Pawn balled his fists. “We could end poverty. Famine. Disease. You can’t turn that down, Sygne! This is our chance to do everything we ever talked about. To be ultimate heroes.”
“I don’t—”
“I know it’s scary, but we have to be brave. This is a once-in-a-universe opportunity!”
Sygne set her jaw. She
stared long and levelly into Pawn’s gray eyes. “No. I’m not going to do this.”
“You won’t do it? You won’t end suffering? Slavery? War?” Pawn called over his shoulder. “How about you, Jamal? Are you brave enough to save the world?”
Jamal said, “I’ve got your back, King Pawn.”
Sygne gasped, “Jamal…”
“You see? Finally someone will listen to reason,” Pawn said. “Now don’t worry, Sygne. Why don’t you step back and let the men—”
Jamal struck Pawn hard across the back of his head with the pommel of his borrowed sword. The Demigod King was tough, but his endurance and his reflexes had been sapped by the night’s adventure. And Nyfinein had already proved that he was highly susceptible to a non-lethal attack.
Sygne blinked. “Jamal! I thought—”
Jamal exhaled heavily. Worry showed on his face, cast into sharp contrast by bright turquoise light. “I warned him,” he said. “I said I had his back.”
“I thought you meant…” Sygne said. “I don’t think you used that phrase properly… Oh never mind.” She gave him a quick hug. “You see what I see, don’t you? We can’t use this key.”
Jamal shook his head, but Sygne’s words rushed in a torrent. “At one point, I thought maybe we could use it for good. But now… It’s just too powerful. It’s too risky.”
Softly, Jamal said, “We have to use it, Sygne. Somehow, we do… If we don’t, someone else will.”
“You mean…”
“I think it will stay here until someone uses it. That someone should be you. I trust you to handle the Key, more than any other person in Embhra.” He warily eyed the sky. “More than any other god in the heavens.” He shrugged. “Could you…use the power to end magic? I know that’s been your dream. I mean, maybe you don’t kill all the…gods,” he whispered this word, “and witches and furies and sorcerers and whatever else. But you level out their powers. Make them just as weak as the rest of us?”
“I can’t do that,” she said. “You know how spells work. I’ve read the stories too. A person is bestowed with a sudden, fantastic blessing, but they don’t consider all of the unintended consequences. Or they make a wish and they don’t get the words just right. What would happen to this world if I deleted all magic? We don’t even really know what magic is. Is imagination magic? Is inspiration magic? Dreams?”