Dropping back to ground level, the Adversary stood behind Dirk and tilted the conman’s head back. He listened once more, fixing the chime’s location in his mind then pressed his face into the rear wall of Dirk’s skull. He blinked a few times to bring the slice of sky visible between two giant branches into focus and almost crowed with glee.
There flew and angel-girl, arm extended, gripping something—a hand maybe? What have we here?
She melted into a spinning ball of white light and it limned a man-shaped negative space—the doubly-gifted mage. Before her light winked out, a shadow peeled off his back and grabbed ahold of the mage. They fell together, the invisible mageling and the shadow twining around him or her.
The Adversary let go of Dirk, and the conman slumped to the ground. They don’t make mortals like they used to. The Adversary shook his head. A quick probe proved Dirk hadn’t suffered any lasting harm. Good, because I have plans for him.
He needed the conman to invite him into a mountain whose protections were woven to keep the Fallen and their infernal counterparts out. After that, Dirk was expendable.
The Adversary glided to where his shadow had gift-wrapped the invisible mage, but he or she was sinking into the ground.
No, The Adversary squatted in the leaf mold and made a grab for his vanishing prize. His bones vibrated in sequence seeking the harmonic frequency of this mage—earth magic, not unusual for a Shayarin since the pole for that power was nearby. The earth sucked him or her down into its embrace before the Adversary could check for a second gift. Damn it.
Switching tactics, he seized the mage’s hand and drove his nail through it. Sinner, I mark thee. For sinner you are. Blood welled from the wound as the Adversary traced his sign on the mage’s palm. Skin to skin, we’re kin in sin. Come, sinner, we’re one in the fall.
The spell disappeared with the invisible mage as the ground swallowed his or her hand. It was a black splinter lodged in the unknown mage's soul, but his taint would take root and spread. White light surrounded the Adversary and burned his shadow helper. He held a hand up to shield his eyes as his doppelganger slunk away.
“Hello, Queenie. It looks like you’ve got something I want. Care to trade?” His lips quirked into a smile, crooked and sharp, like a sickle, as he gestured to Dirk.
Evidently, she didn’t want to trade because she processed away as silently as she’d appeared. No matter, she’d fall eventually, but not before he took her prize away from her and turned that mage to the dark side.
The Adversary unfroze Dirk with a touch and helped the man to his feet. “Come, your friends are waiting.”
Dirk blinked at him and seemed on the verge of asking something, but then he thought better of it. “Right, we should go.”
The conman glanced around seeking a path back to Mount Eredren. There wasn’t one. The Queen of All Trees wasn’t in a giving mood.
“It’s this way.” The Adversary reinstated his favorite transportation spell. The forest blurred around them as Dirk stepped forward and landed a half mile from where he was a moment ago.
The Queen of All Trees watched until the Adversary was a dark smudge on her forest miles from her present location. The leaves beside her churned as the ground expelled a young man—or rather his soul since he’d gone walking about without his body. That wasn’t part of the usual curse breaker’s toolset, but he was the son of two curses, so perhaps their crossing had given him extra gifts.
She hoped so as she pulled back the cloak of invisibility to reveal his pale face. What will I do with you? You’ve seen too much. She brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes.
The last shard of her hopes and dreams for the future of Shayari—the country not the Queen still striding toward her doom—hung on a leather thong around his neck. So long as it stayed there, it would hide him from even the Adversary’s sight. She touched that white jewel with her root. It was a piece of Shayari’s once proud past—her golden age of heroes—but even it couldn’t protect him from the Adversary forever.
Nor does it need to. Because this Child of Magic might not survive the awakening of his second gift on his twenty-first birthday five months hence. Her root stroked the glowing jewel.
Stay away from black lumir. Go back to the mountain and—what? Avoid the Adversary? The veil did more than hide him from infernal eyes, it also hid the Fallen from his sight and his magic.
“Papa, come back! I need you.” Ran shouted and his teary voice sent a jolt of fear through her.
The Queen of All Trees gazed across the intervening miles, but the ancient spells woven into the menhirs blurred her sight. She couldn’t see the child calling for his Papa.
Sarn couldn’t stay out-of-body for much longer without doing irreparable harm to himself nor could he return blind to the Adversary’s machinations. But if he didn’t, his son might die.
What is the son of a loophole?
Not even she knew. The question had haunted her, since she’d discovered he had a son, one month ago.
And that boy was pulling on the tie binding them, dragging his father a man-length in the fallen leaves. If Sarn didn’t go back, she’d never find out the answer to her question. Forget all this. Stay away from the Adversary.
After placing those injunctions so they were top of mind, she broke the bond holding him here. Free at last, Sarn snapped backward to Mount Eredren before the current could catch him. Nothing could stop his flight this time because his body was still in his cave, and his magic was an overstretched band slingshotting his unconscious soul back to it and the child calling for him.
The Queen of All Trees watched until he’d sped past the menhirs. After that, she prayed the veil held and the Adversary didn’t sense him or find him. Moans recalled her to thousands of downed trees. Some had ceased writhing in pain. One solitary tree moved between them trying to help—the one Shayari had tinkered with.
Torn between staying and going, she stood there on the brow of a hill, watching that altered tree for any sign of trouble. She was a silver flame against the darkness left in the black lumir crystal’s wake. Its foul, nullifying current tore at her crown, sending a stream of silver particles chasing after the Queen of Shayari. She halved her height and halved it again, but it was no use. Her aura extended for a hundred and forty-four miles, putting her radiance well within reach of the black lumir crystal. And already, she was beginning to dim.
You’re Not the Boss of Me
Sarn woke to a stinging slap and a smarting face. He’d just had the strangest dream about his sister, but it faded as he threw an arm out to stop the next blow. “What was that for?”
“That’s for scaring me, you dolt.” Moirraina glared at him through her stringy hair.
She’d let herself go, but so had he. They were a matched pair, both the worse for wear except they weren’t a pair. Her tone and her air of authority grated on his nerves, and she had no right to boss him around.
“I’ve known you for almost seven years, and I’ve never seen you laid so low before. What the hell have you been doing to yourself?” Moirraina poked Sarn in the chest until he swatted her hand away.
“Nothing I want to talk about.”
“With me specifically or the world in general?”
Both, so Sarn ignored her question. He sat up and rubbed his aching head. Bear’s button eyes caught his. Where is my son?
Before he could stop it, his map mushroomed out of his skull and nearly split it open with pain. Black spots swam in and out of his vision. Thank Fate, he was still seated, or he would have collapsed from the force of his map spawning. It had a lot to show him despite the pain pounding on his skull. Sarn could only take in the most important detail of all—the location of his beloved son.
A red X blinked in the forest, but only his son mattered right now as Sarn stuffed his map back inside his head. Ran’s white star glowed a hundred-feet away in the Foundlings’ cave.
Oh, thank Fate, Sarn pushed to his knees and almost face-planted.
&nb
sp; “Where do you think you’re going? And where’s our morning ration? It’s past lunchtime, and you didn’t bring any food yet. Need I remind you your son is an adorable handful. If we’re watching him, then we’re not doing other things like fetching food.” Moirraina crossed her arms under her dirt-smeared bosom, which was spilling out of her too-tight corset.
“I’ll get something later.”
Sarn crawled over debris—he needed to clean his cave at some point—and levered himself up with help from the nearest wall. Thank Fate for all the nooks and crannies nature had provided. They made excellent handholds.
For a moment, the cave spun around Sarn. When it stilled, Moirraina thrust out her hand.
“Help me up.”
Sarn rolled his eyes and clasped her hand. The instant he did, she pulled with all her might, but he leaned back using his greater weight to lever her up. Everything was fine until his shoulder struck a wall. But it didn’t deform. Sarn didn’t bounce harmlessly off it. Instead, pain shot down his arm, momentarily numbing it.
Sarn let go of Moirraina’s hand. She flopped back onto her bottom as Mount Eredren roared and the pain in his head spiked. Sarn pressed a hand to his brow and winced.
“Papa!” Ran shouted, but his panicked call was muffled by distance and two doors—one of which Sarn threw open as he barreled into the hall.
Ran sounded scared. If those Fates-damned Foundlings harmed a hair on his son’s head—
“I'm coming, son.”
“Wait, Sarn, you need to rest. You can’t do that with a four-year-old hanging off you.” Moirraina’s bare feet slapped the floor as she gave chase.
“You have no idea what I need.” Sarn shot around the bend. The green glow of his eyes lit the Foundlings’ door as he reached for the handle.
“Ha, ha, very funny, but I’m not the one passing out all over the place.”
Moirraina’s comment stopped Sarn cold.
“What did you say?”
“That’s how Bevik and I found you—passed out on the floor with your kid crying his little eyes out. If you won’t take proper care of yourself, then at least move back in with us so we can look after your brat. His mother was a mother to us all. She’d hate to see what you’ve done to yourself, and what you’re putting that poor kid through.”
Moirraina’s diamond-hard exterior cracked just a little, but it was enough to let the girl he’d had snowball fights with peer out. And she was scared for him. But that softening only lasted a moment, then her eyes turned steely and her manner chilled as she brushed past him. The girl he’d once kissed vanished inside that prickly shell.
“Why do I bother? You never listen to anyone who cares about you. We’re not Beku. We didn’t leave you. You left us.” She flung open the Foundlings’ door, leaving her last words hanging like the slap they were, and boy did they sting.
Is Moirraina right? Staggered by the implication, Sarn leaned into the wall. Am I killing myself?
Before Dirk could take another step, the Adversary squeezed his shoulder, pausing the conman just as his right foot lifted.
Darkness flowed out of the Adversary as part of his shadow peeled off. Its features rippled into a two-dimensional grayscale impression of a man known until a few hours ago as Ragnes. The fool was a friend of Dirk’s before he gave his heart to the Adversary. The creature regarded Dirk, but no recognition passed over his mask-like face.
“What is thy command?” asked the dead-eyed wraith.
“There’s a twice-gifted mage on the loose. Find that mage. Bring him or her to me and there’ll be a reward waiting.”
With luck, said mage was around here somewhere waiting for a pickup. If not, well, that’s what minions were for.
“What reward?” Ragnes’ eyes glittered. They were a pair of black jewels set in a skeletal face.
The Adversary held out a hand and, on his palm, an image flowered.
Ragnes stared at a strapping man of late thirties hammering at the rocks around him. Each time the pick rose a little slower, and the man strained to lift it. He was pale and sweat had matted his dark hair into a skull cap. Blood soaked the bottom of one of his trouser legs, and a crimson trail led away from that spot into the encroaching darkness. A man-sized eye peered through the nearby rocks.
“Recognize him? He’s your friend—what’s his name? Ah, yes, Cris.”
Ragnes started at the name. Good, so he remembered some of his former life. Not all wraiths did especially after such a violent demise. Very good indeed. When the Adversary smiled, it was all serrated teeth.
“Do this one thing for me and I’ll help him, The Adversary waved to the frozen Dirk, free your friend. Have we an accord?”
Ragnes nodded. “What is that thing?” He pointed a shaking finger at the eye.
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” The Adversary closed his fist, banishing the image. “You have your instructions. Go carry them out. By the looks of things, your friend hasn’t long to live, not of if even a fraction of that blood is his.”
It was, of course. That’s why the Ægeldar was hanging around. It thought it could take Cris’ soul. The poor deluded thing, it had no idea the soul it was eyeing was already bought and paid for and just waiting for his buyer to collect it—all in good time of course. There was no need to rush that reclamation and still so much to do. The Adversary rubbed his skeletal hands together in undisguised glee.
“How do I find this mage?” Ragnes asked, spoiling a well-deserved gloat.
“That’s your problem. Do whatever you must just find that mage and bring him or her to me. Now off with you.” The Adversary made shooing gestures, and Ragnes vanished into a puff of smoke. A breath of wind scooped up his dark essence and flung it at Mount Eredren.
The Adversary straightened his black robe and with a touch, unfroze Dirk and reactivated the seven leagues’ boot spell. The conman set his right foot down and they jumped a half mile toward Mount Eredren.
It was much slower than the Adversary would have preferred to travel, but if he went any faster, he risked breaking the man. Since he still needed the fool, Dirk must arrive in one piece. Mortals were such fragile creatures.
“Papa, are you okay now?” Ran rushed out before the door closed.
Sarn pushed Moirraina’s accusations out of mind for now. His son’s well-being was more important.
“Why were you calling for me? Are you okay?” Sarn slid down the wall and caught his son in a fierce embrace then checked the boy over. Ran looked okay though his eyes were red-rimmed from crying.
Do you see the tears standing in his eyes? You put them there with your recklessness, Beku said. Ran’s mother’s presence filled the dark tunnel. But she couldn’t be there.
Sarn tensed. If he turned, would he see her standing there shaking her head at him?
No, I’m being silly. Beku left, and she isn't coming back. This is just another hallucination. But just to be safe, Sarn pulled Ran in close, so his beloved son couldn’t see anything but the shoulder he pressed his face into. Ran relaxed into his embrace, needing the reassurance his touch offered.
Ran is my son, now. You gave up all claims on him when you disappeared three and a half months ago. Leave us in peace, Sarn thought, picturing Beku as he’d last seen her—with accusations in her eyes. She'd always wanted more than he could give. He squeezed his son and tried to ignore the insults she hurled at him.
Beku’s presence vanished, and the tightness in Sarn’s chest eased. He could breathe again.
She was just another figment of your magic-addled mind. Pull yourself together. Ran needs you sane. You can fall apart later.
Why did the voice of reason sound an awful lot like Jerlo? I’m going mad if there’s a miniature Jerlo squatting inside my mind. Sarn shook his head and refocused on the outside world.
Beku was still gone, but her scorn lingered like a bad smell. Well, he’d earned it today by scaring his sweet son. Though that raised an important question—what was I just doing?
“He was worried about you,” Saveen said from the doorway, startling Sarn. He hadn’t realized they had an audience. The tall lump of a boy looked at Sarn as if he were a hero who’d walked out of a mythic tale rather than a dirty cave.
“Why were you worried about me?”
Ran just shook his head and held tight to Sarn. Is Moirraina telling the truth? Did I black out? If so, mucking about with magic probably caused it. Unfortunately, it’d happened before. He might never remember what he was doing when his consciousness cut out. If only—but there was no one who could teach him because magic was illegal. Somehow, I must learn for my son’s sake. Sarn tightened his embrace and winced when a sharp pain pierced his palm.
He glanced at it but saw nothing amiss. Likely it was a splinter he’d picked up somewhere. It would work itself out eventually or his magic would reject it. So Sarn looked to Saveen who’d been quiet while he ruminated.
“Why was he with the Foundlings?”
Saveen shrugged. “Moirraina brought him and said he must stay here.”
“Did she say why?”
Saveen shook his head. “No, but it made Ran very sad. I looked after him like I promised. I tried to cheer him up, but he didn’t want to play. He just wanted to see you, but I kept him here like you said.” Saveen nodded. His eyes were bright with hero worship, but there was something not quite right about them. They were too round, and his pupils were dark slits, like a snake’s eyes.
Sarn glanced away. He was seeing things that weren’t there. Damn magic, it was playing tricks on his eyes again, this time with a friend. Saveen was just a sweet-natured boy—preteen—whatever who was perhaps a little slower on the uptake than everyone else. But other than that, he was a normal boy.
“Thank you, Saveen for taking such good care of my son. You have a good heart.”
The rest of the Foundlings might treat Saveen like he was a retard, but with strict instructions, he made a great babysitter. And he was a good friend for Ran.
Falls Page 6
