I was a Master of Voices, he answers my unspoken question. Yes, with the right time and training, you can call upon my power, command the sound and vibrations of this world. Your mind, its loneliness, its particular workings coincide with shadow. Tones require… a different sort of thought.
Did you work with Gordyn? Did you teach him these things?
No. He did not possess the correct frame of mind, the trust needed to Shape. Otherwise Kraft would never have been given an Ensouled of Light.
If we stay together… perhaps we can learn more about each other, I offer. Even though you tried to steal my body.
Perhaps, he answers drily. Since I was selfish in life, I’m having to learn another way to operate in this life after death.
The Falling Edge is its usual lavish self, the beautiful facade opening out onto the depths of the Abyss still as breathtaking as before. Aurelion links his arm with mine as soon as we enter, leading us through the expansive courtyard and under the gaudy chandelier. I squeeze his arm, and his eyes twinkle. I’m excited to see Corna again, healthy and whole after the weeks she’s had to heal from her ordeal. At least she damn well better be healed. Creator help Gordyn if a hair has been harmed on her head.
The winding staircase lasts forever and passes in the blink of an eye, my eagerness warping time in strange ways. The door swings wide, and Corna is in my arms before I can blink, her happy laugh vibrating through my body, her tears of joy and relief bathing the skin of my neck. I squeeze her back, and she doesn’t pull away, in pain or for any other reason.
“It is so good to see you, chela,” I whisper into her neck, ignoring the prick of tears in my own eyes.
“Likewise, little girl,” she says as she pulls back and jumps into Timo’s arms, revealing Gordyn sitting at the head of his table, smiling indulgently.
“As you can see, I’ve kept up my end of the bargain,” he calls. “And yours?”
I reach back and pull out the necklace, the bright red ruby set in the amulet flashing in the light from the lanterns. I make to toss it to him, but he holds up a hand to halt me.
“Mr. Kraft, if you would be so kind,” he says, nodding at Aurelion. Aurelion takes the amulet from me gently, his eyes briefly unfocusing, then he nods in confirmation. “That will be all, Mr. Kraft.”
“Sir?” he asks, sounding confused. The startled expression on his face matches his tone.
“Take the amulet and return it to my office in the bank,” Gordyn commands. “I have some further business with the lady Kettle here, but I do not wish to risk the amulet being out in the open any longer.”
“But—”
“That will be all, Mr. Kraft,” he says in the exact same voice, but he sounds suddenly dangerous. His expression doesn’t change, but the wolf rises in his eyes once again. Aurelion shuts his mouth and turns to go. Our eyes meet, briefly, and warning and fear are plainly written in his copper eyes. The door closes with a quiet thud.
“What is this?” I demand as soon as the door closes. Gordyn holds up a finger, quieting me until the sound of Aurelion’s footsteps fades away.
“A fair proposition for one of your talents,” he says, gesturing towards the seat opposite him.
“Our business is done,” I say, turning to the door.
“Won’t you at least hear me out?”
“No,” I answer, turning the handle.
“If that door opens, you and all your friends will die.”
I freeze. Corna gasps behind me. Fear tries to find purchase in my heart, but I push it aside. I’ll be damned to the Eternal’s prison if I give up Corna again. Gordyn’s chair scrapes as he stands. his soft footfalls move to the opposite side of the room and pull a chord. The sound of the distant bell is inaudible. I turn back to him slowly, calling my shadow to the surface.
“Do you think Aurelion is enough to contain me again?”
“Mr. Kraft is far too honorable a man for moments like this,” Gordyn says amicably. “If he were present, he would perhaps precipitate an unfortunate series of events. As is, he is far too valuable an employee to waste on a useless gesture. Know, Kettle, that I never intended for this to fall out as it has. I am a man of honor. But some forces are beyond my control.”
“What are you talking about?”
My answer comes in the form of vibrations. The heavy footfalls of something massive, or many people walking in unison, shake the structure slightly with each reverberation. The steps stop just outside the door, and the three of us back away as the handle turns. The form of a veritable giant stands silhouetted against the distant darkness of the Abyss. He has to duck to enter the doorway, and even then his head comes close to ringing on the threshold. He dwarfs Timo, both in height and girth, but every inch of him ripples with muscle. His face is beautiful at first glance, but the beauty only an artist would imagine. There is nothing natural in his features. He studies us in silence for a moment, his eyes piercing over the simple vest and trousers he wears.
“Which one is the Shaper?” he rumbles in a pleasant baritone.
“The Islander in the middle. The other two are the leverage,” Gordyn answers from behind.
“Piss on that and piss on you, Gordyn,” Timo growls. “We held up our end of the deal.”
“That you did,” he responds mildly. “After you broke into my personal vault and stole from me. Did you really think I would, how do they say, forgive and forget?”
“We’re walking out of here, big bastard or no,” Timo snarls. “He’s large, but you told little Krafty to go. Big mistake.”
“Do you know who I am?” the titanic man asks from the doorway.
“Do I care? Get out of the way before we cut you down.”
“Timo, wait,” I say, something tickling at the back of my mind. As if this giant is familiar, somehow. As if I’ve seen him, at least at a distance. As if I should know who he is.
“Bah,” Timo says. “I’ll move him if you won’t.”
“Timo, no,” I cry, sudden fear rising in my chest as the pieces click into place. “Don’t—”
But Timo has already stepped forward. He cocks back his fist, the fist which has always loomed so large but is now oh-so-small in the face of this giant, and delivers a towering haymaker. The punch connects on the man’s strong jaw; the man makes no move to dodge. It’s a blow I’ve seen send men into unconsciousness instantly, the kind of blow that can kill a lesser man. The giant accepts it. Casually. His face turns less than an inch. He continues to stare down into Timo’s eyes, his gaze turning hungry. Timo steps back, shocked, his hand dangling at his side.
“I do not need two leashes for one dog,” the giant rumbles.
The room lights up red, light the color of arterial blood bathing the room. The edge of a sinuous symbol of Shaping glows crimson from underneath the man’s clothes. The bright scarlet power of the Master of Beasts.
The Shaper raises a hand and holds it over Timo’s chest. Timo lurches, his hand clutching at the fabric of his shirt. He groans, some pain beyond imagining lancing through him. He throws several punches, powerful haymakers that the giant swats away as if fending off an annoying insect. Timo falls to his knees, gasping, trembling. His shirt, clean and white, bulges once, twice, then bursts open.
His heart hits the giant’s palm with a wet smack.
The fight leaves Timo instantly. His face turns towards me like a child seeking answers, forlorn and lost. The giant places his other hand on Timo’s shoulder and gives him a gentle shove. My brother’s body flops backwards, his head hitting the floor, his eyes lifeless. His heart is tiny in the huge man’s giant fingers.
Corna screams.
I stand, stunned, my mind in such shock I can’t move. The giant—the Lord General Kranos—steps carefully over Timo’s body, dropping his still-warm heart in my hands. I catch it reflexively. It moves, slightly, as if still trying to beat. The Lord General walks over and sits at the head of the table, Gordyn making no move to protest. The silence is broken only by Corna’s pi
tiful sobs.
“You work for me now,” he says into the stillness.
Chapter 18
Jace
The Final Day of Spring
In the year 5222, Council Reckoning
It’s one of the most hideous things I’ve ever seen. If it wasn't for the fact that I received a detailed description of its location and surroundings from Torlas, I wouldn’t look at it a second time, save to wince. The 'master' Caldero has taken shapes and colors, those that an infant might draw in their first explorations of a straight edge, and stuck them together to create a meaningless mash of... yeah, shapes and colors. Having gone to the trouble of being here, standing in a hostile noble's house, ready to steal the painting for Juliet, I kind of figured I’d take a moment to savor this moment. Instead, my head slowly lowers in defeat.
There’s nothing for it. I stride up and lift the frame swiftly from the wall, throwing a dark cloth over the painting before I can convince myself to forget the scheme and leave it. Looping small woven cords around the painting creates an easy set of shoulder straps, and I swing the thing on my back as I turn to go.
Getting to the painting has been easy as breathing. Torlas had already been shown Caldero's painting in a previous visit to Paloran's manor, so he was able to let me know exactly where to go. On Torlas’ recommendation, it was beyond simple to hire on as one of the staff.
Hopefully, the Duke won’t get it into his head to show his Caldero any time soon, at least not until I’ve made my escape. I walk back out the ornate entrance, ignoring the various sculptures and other works of art in my haste to be gone. A rustle near the entrance sends me diving to the floor behind a statue. The sound continues, almost as if silk slides against silk, whisper light and breathy like a breeze. I creep around, slipping quietly from statue to statue. The sound grows louder, then a gasp accompanies a male grunt. I risk a peek. the entwined limbs of two no doubt powerful nobles thrash about on the ground. Her dress wraps up around her thighs; their lips are locked together.
Blushing in spite of myself, I slip past them quickly and make it back to the main museum. Engaging my mental map of the palace from my explorations as the cook's helper, I take a winding, laborious route to the nearest exit so that I can avoid the majority of the guests in the main halls. The guards look at me curiously, but make no move to stop me as I walk with the clear confidence of someone on a mission for my master. A servant can get away with murder on a night of this kind of drunken debauchery. Turning a corner, I duck back. Two alert and belligerent-looking guards stand at the servant's entrance to the kitchens. Their words drift back to me, and my stomach drops. An unconscious guard was found in the privy, his clothes stolen. They’re interrogating a line of servants as they try to pass through.
As I hurry back along the side hallway, I hear murmurs ahead of me and around a bend.
“Hey, what’s this?” a gruff voice asks.
“This? It is a steak knife. I am returning it to the kitchen to get another for Lord Sinole,” a haughty, high-pitched voice answers.
“That looks a bit sharp for a steak knife. And, come to think of it, we finished the steak almost an hour ago,” the man says suspiciously. Suddenly, the second man gives a squeal.
“What is the meaning of this?” he gasps. “I have worked here a dozen times. Lord Paloran himself would vouch for my—”
The heavy sound of a meaty fist striking flesh echoes down the corridor, and the servant moans and sags to the floor in a rustle of cloth.
“Take him away. If he's innocent, fine. We can't take any chances,” the first man's raspy voice scrapes. “The Duke's property is paramount. Keep questioning the servants, report on any suspicious activity.”
“Aye, sir,” chorus several men and women.
Boots immediately tramp down the hall towards me. There are doors back down the hall that lead deeper into the servant quarters, but the guards are right around the corner. I take the only option that isn’t an entirely guaranteed discovery: I silently slide into the great hall where Paloran hosts his guests.
I'm not entirely sure what I expected, but when I turn around, I’m surprised to see a circus set up in the great hall of the Duke's estate. A man stands, holding up three contortionists each balanced atop one another's intricately twisted frames. One woman floats above the crowd, no wires or support in evidence. The nobles sit at various tables around the hall, enthralled by the performance.
The sight fills my heart with the sudden innervation of fear.
The Family.
What are the odds? Timo and Kettle working a job the same night I attempt my first bit of genuine thievery in years. The Creator is somewhere laughing his ass off.
I slink along the back wall, hyper-conscious of the fact that I have a giant black object strapped to my back in servant's livery. I pray for the invisibility of servants to hold true. The guards are no doubt on alert because the thieves are there, not because I am, but that fact gives me no satisfaction and leaves my job just as difficult.
The audience gasps as Timo begins to juggle the contortionists. I stop moving and stare at the performance. Timo has always been a heavy hitter and powerful, but the level of strength is shocking. Somehow, he has the three women twirling through the air as gracefully as swans, spinning and flipping and landing in his large hands to be thrown up into the air again, costumes a brilliant blur of sparkling greens and blues in the lamplight. The display is remarkable, his face showing not a hint of the massive strain that has to be weighing on his arms. I shake myself, realizing that I’m staring with the rest of them. It’s the perfect time to make my escape, and I’m wasting it. I head towards one of the front windows, ready to slip it open and get out into the night to safety.
Moving at that instant, however, is a mistake. Timo's performance is such that no one in the entire room moves. They all stare, enraptured, including Torlas at the head table next to a florid man with gray mustachios that has to be Paloran. My movement is slow and sure, and none of the guests notice it. Timo, however, looking out over the crowd and grinning like a fool in his pride, locks onto me across the dim room.
I freeze, but it’s too late. Through the haze of smoke and perfume in the room, across the dim light and past dozens of flowers in full bloom, despite juggling live human beings, Timo's eyes find mine. Recognition flickers across his face, replaced soon by shock. Then, however, he smiles, and the smile chills my gut to the bone.
He catches all three contortionists on a single arm, smooth as silk as if he practices every day, points at me, and shouts.
“Thief! There is a thief in the hall! Stop! Thief!”
The guests were so enthralled by Timo's performance that every single eye was on him, and his sudden proclamation causes every head to spin around and lock on me: cowering against the wall and carrying a black-wrapped rectangle on my back that couldn't be more obvious against my white and red servant's livery. I freeze. The whole room joins me.
Silence.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Uproar.
The reaction, when it comes, is like a physical blow; the nobles all scrambling, the women screaming, the men climbing over tables to get at me or to defend their own valuables, the guards trying not to push over the most powerful people in the kingdom even as they hurry to my position.
Through the chaos, Torlas stands slowly and looks over at me, his unhurried movements a calm eye in the whirlwind. He’s shocked and shrugs helplessly. I do what comes naturally to me in situations like these. I grin. The princess rises next to him, another person I never wished to see again. And she, too, recognizes me across the room. Our eyes meet, and her brow furrows, eyes narrowing. Her arm begins to glow green over the elegant silver dress she wears. I turn to run as I realize she’s Shaping something at me.
The guards, probably wisely in a conventional sense, are dividing between closing on my position and making for the nearest doorways to block off my escape. Along with the guards come a small horde
of angry, ornamentally-armed nobles, red in the face and shouting. They run into one another, hindering the guards and stumbling over chairs as they come.
There isn’t a hope of reaching the far end; men and women in Paloran’s livery are already pouring through the doors. Instead, I need to improvise. Shooting directly forward into the surprised crowd, I punch a noble in the face, leap onto a table, and sprint across the long surface as men and women try to grab me and pull me down. The painting flops on my back, slowing me like a sail, but I duck my head and drive harder, soon outpacing the majority of my pursuers as they turn and stumble over one another to get back at me. I stay ready for whatever earthy end the princess has planned for me, but it never comes.
Several of Paloran's guards, dressed all in red and white, anticipate my path and move to cut me off. Not breaking stride, I dive directly towards the man in front of me, planting both feet right into his surprised face. He drops like a corpse, and I’m up instantly, darting towards the gap in their line. Someone tugs at my back, but I rip myself away and keep running. Glancing back, I see the frame of the painting instead of the black cloth and an angry guard left holding the fabric.
I weave through the tables, now empty on this side of the room as people are either after me or fleeing the scene, throwing tables and chairs around in an attempt to hinder the pursuit. Angry voices and pounding feet beat the music of that little dance, and it’s cacophony. A crossbow bolt slams into a chair next to me, and I duck as another flies close overhead. Out of the crowd, a sudden, horrified scream cuts through the noise.
“He has the Caldero! The Caldero! Creator's blessed name, stop shooting at him!”
I risk a glance back during the tirade. Paloran's wife, practically fainting with fear, screams the words.
“Don't harm that painting, on your life!” the Duke himself shouts, knocking aside a crossbow that discharges into a nearby chair, ruining the rich wood. “That piece is worth more than all your lives put together. Stop his escape, but do not let the Caldero come to harm.”
I turn and dart through the open doors at the end of the hall, taking advantage of the momentary respite as the couple dictates to the crowd and their guards. I make for the nearest door, but four men and women settle the locking bar in place. I recognize them for thieves, wincing inwardly as the wooden beam drops down, far too heavy for me alone to move. The Family is actively helping my pursuers. Damn Timo to the Eternal's forgotten tomb.
The Crux of Eternity: Eternal Dream, Book 1 (The Eternal Dream Saga) Page 47
