Her bed is the only piece of furniture that does not embrace the disorder. Well-made and austere, the bed exists as a small piece of order amongst a storm of chaos.
“Lay down,” she commands.
“But Seer, we’ve just met,” I shoot back. “How forward of you.”
The Seer ignores my comment and lowers herself onto a nearby cushion, crossing her legs and straightening her back.
“I’ll be fine on my feet,” I say, feeling strangely awkward as the woman closes her eyes.
“Sit, you arrogant fool,” Ulia’s voice growls in my mind. “If you lose control and fall, you’ll break the trance.”
“It’s the worst when bitches like her are right,” I mutter sullenly as I sit down on the Seer’s bed. It’s remarkably comfortable. Whatever woven reeds they use to cushion the Seer are both soft and well-worn.
“It’s the worst when assholes like you are the hope of the world,” Jynn puts in drily.
Ulia seems mollified, but I can sense Jynn’s laughter behind the words. As much as she wants to hate me, Jynn likes me more than she cares to admit.
“That is one point we can all agree on,” I send back. “Now, how do we even do this?”
“I know how you’re going to feel about this,” Jynn begins. “But you’re going to have to let us take control. We don’t have time to explain the how and why behind everything we’re doing. Your strength and power are necessary when we get there, but let us do the heavy lifting to start.”
“Fine,” I say. “But I’m pulling out at the first sign you’re trying anything funny.”
“No,” Asimir says quietly. He hasn’t been quite so friendly since I called them all manipulative pricks. I have no idea why. “We’ve agreed to your demands. Until you have fulfilled your end of the bargain, you will follow every order you are given to the letter. As much as it may pain you to admit, this is not your story. This is the story of the world, and you are merely one tiny soul among a vast multitude of souls.”
“I’m not very good at following orders.”
“Time is running out,” Jynn declares. “Bastian, close your eyes and shut up. Remember exactly what we need them to do, what we need them to achieve, what we need them to choose. We go. Now.”
Without warning, an invisible force seizes my mind and thrusts it out into the void. Before I can begin to feel the edges of my panic, I lose all sense of time, of movement, of self. My physical body is forgotten, discarded, useless.
Darkness and silver light, flashes of sea and sun and cities, vast distances devoured instantly, sounds heard for decades, hate and love and unending pain. For an eternity and no time at all, I drift, my focus flitting from one moment to the next in arbitrary fits and starts, dark eyes here, sunlight lancing through clouds there, everything and nothing experienced in an instant.
I open my eyes. My body is unrecognizable, lithe, lean, fit, all dark skin and slender deadliness. My skin prickles as a cool breeze from the swinging doors kisses my skin, the laughter of a big man ahead of me bringing warmth and joy, the longing eyes of the man at my side burning against my exposed skin.
I open my eyes. My fist is sure and certain, my muscles powerful, twisted chords of iron. I need to hide my strength, to appear small, frail, insignificant. I hunch, the tailored uniform still feeling somehow loose, and raise my fist to knock on the polished wood door.
I open my eyes. The sheer silk sheathes my body, its delicate softness delicious as I slide one leg over another. The man seated across from me in the carriage smiles that small, personal smile he reserves for me. I ignore the spread of warmth and the kernel of anger in my belly both.
It’s too much. What am I? Who am I? Where am I? I fragment, the parts of me that make up Bastian shredding before the weight of three personalities so foreign and strange, so different from one another, each living a separate life in the same moment as I live mine, the same moment stretched to bursting by the awareness of all of us…
“Breathe, Bastian,” Jynn speaks in my mind, her voice gentle as I’ve never heard it. That high voice has only ever been spoken in command, in sarcasm, in scorn, never gentle, never understanding. For a moment, the difference threatens to destroy me further, but I hold on to the sound of her voice. “Let us help you. You are not alone. We are here. Calm, now. One at a time. Kettle needs us first.”
We dive back into the eyes of the woman in the silk strips of the People. We walk down a corridor, the back of a guardsman ahead, murmured voices… Distantly, I feel the sorrow of the Seer, some distant tragedy that lurks with this woman Kettle, her past, her childhood, a thin, gangly girl, her face serious despite her youth, the childlike wonder robbed from her eyes far too young, her skin, too pale to be normal, standing out sharply against a black tunic, the sign of her pride and acceptance…
With an effort, I pull myself out of the Seer’s memories, her melancholy separate and yet a part of each of us as we trail along a new corridor, an emerald dress covering our attire, seeking something, something old, something Gordyn wants. Even as we walk, I feel pulled back down the corridor, awareness of Kettle fading as we come back to the man and the guard talking.
“She needs us now. If she goes into the museum alone, she’ll be caught, and all is lost. Aurelion needs to be there,” Jynn says, directing us towards the man in ostentatious Khalintari attire. Asimir and I suppress twin measures of disgust as we witness this pale man in a caricature of our culture.
“I’ll take the guard,” Jynn says, her presence deviating from our collective so abruptly I’m stunned. She’s there one moment, her thoughts flickering under the surface of our presence, and the next we’re one fewer, her presence gone as if she never existed.
“Bastian, you must be subtle,” Ulia says, her voice serious and strange. “He can’t know what happens here.”
I dive into Aurelion’s thoughts, his mind both simple and breathtakingly complex.
My muscles are powerful, disciplined, my control perfect, which is the only way I can resist the urge to glance over my shoulder as I hear Kettle’s footsteps in the hall behind. The guard’s eyes go vacant for a moment, and I reach out and pat his shoulder. I—Bastian—struggle to maintain my own independent thoughts as I merge with another foreign mind.
“What did you ask?” he mutters in a distracted tone.
“I asked where you’re normally stationed in the house,” Aurelion—we—repeat.
“The museum,” he says dully. The personality of the man has changed somehow in the last few seconds, his jovial cursing and good-natured complaining gone as if he’s been kicked by a mule. “They station me at the second door, you know, the one to the expensive pieces.”
“Second door?” we ask with concern. I heighten our sense of concern. Kettle needs us.
“Yeah,” the man answers, his voice still dull. “You have to have a key. That part of the museum is closed off tonight. Too many strangers about.”
“Do you have the key?”
“Of course. Hey, shouldn’t we check on your Islander?” the guard says, setting off down the hall without warning. Aurelion jogs to keep up.
“No, surely not, I told you she takes a while,” we say, following along.
I take the moment to urge him to consider the possibility. The opening. The grateful look that will ignite Kettle’s eyes as she realizes how we’ve saved her. All we need is a good cover. Perhaps a guardsman’s uniform, one that seems strangely the right size to fit, a man who already possesses the key… We leave Aurelion just as he hustles the guard into the empty bathroom, darting straight back to Kettle. Jynn rejoins us before we dive into her mind.
We are in the museum proper, wealthy fools laughing and drawing the attention of the men stationed in the room. Statues are placed tastefully so each can be viewed separately. We lay eyes on a statue of marble depicting a young man with a strong jaw and high cheekbones, his eyes cast heroically to the horizon. I feel Jynn subtly exerting some will so that Kettle turns to look at the plaq
ue beneath. “Jendo, the Mind Razor.”
“What?” Jynn’s voice is acid. “How could they possibly have gotten this so wrong? Didn’t this artist know anything about history?”
Kettle’s mind reacts to the anger, her body bristling at the affront even though she has no reason to be angry.
“Jynn, please. You will ruin everything,” Asimir says.
They have a minor battle of wills, their minds twisting and writhing against one another. Jynn backs off, but I get the impression that she came to her senses more than Asimir was able to contain her.
“I’m not even female?” I hear her snarl to herself, but she keeps her emotions contained this time. “Idiots.”
Kettle doesn’t notice as another guard approaches, having seen her interest in the door leading deeper into the museum. Aurelion hustles up just before the man opens his mouth to question her, and the man returns to his post as Aurelion loudly proclaims that her invitation is in order. We enter into the dim room, the artifacts and ancient works quiet as they rest on their shelves and tables.
It isn’t here. A stranger’s voice, disembodied just like ours.
How would you know? Kettle snaps into her mind, almost as if she’s addressing us.
Gordyn wants something old. Something like me, but from long before. Something more powerful.
“Her boots?” I ask the group. “Are they Ensouled?”
“Yes,” Jynn says shortly. “And we don’t like him.”
“Why?”
“Later.”
Who were you? Eo? The Shaper of Thought? How do you know what Gordyn wants? Kettles asks.
He wore me for years, Tecarim responds. He has desired the Ensouled all that time. From what I’ve taken from your thoughts, the common knowledge of our existence no longer exists, but Gordyn knows. We are his obsession. The amulet you seek is beyond your understanding. His, too, if we are to be honest.
How do you know it’s not here? Kettle asks again, continuing to scan the room.
We can feel each other, talk to each other if we’re close. Nothing Ensouled exists in this room.
Aurelion turns to leave, and the door handle twists. We tackle Aurelion onto the ground, landing on him quietly behind a display. We look up, and we begin to feel something, a recognition…
“Distract her, now,” Jynn cuts in urgently. “She can’t recognize him yet!”
Kettle’s mind is too tight, her focus narrowing too close for us to easily break in. Aurelion, however, is far more distracted, a beautiful woman lying on top of him, her body pressed tightly to his own. His hand becomes mine, and we reach up to slide it along the silk of her skin. She stiffens, turning back to look at us with wide eyes. Her full lips quiver as her eyes meet ours. Our lips join, our hands exploring her body, our breaths coming in gasps.
“That’s enough, Bastian,” Jynn’s voice echoes wryly in my brain. “The danger has passed.”
Reluctantly, I let my mind separate again from Aurelion’s, his hands losing confidence, his lips no longer so eager, his breath growing hitched with confusion. Their kiss breaks apart.
“Where’s Asimir?” I ask, suddenly realizing his absence. “And Ulia?”
“Holding off the man sent to find the guard in the privy,” Jynn answers. “Quickly now. Asimir has let them through to find the guard. Ulia is with the princess.”
We jump to Jace’s eyes. We walk slowly down the hallway, our steps quiet, but the sound of conversation ahead brings us up short.
“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.
“Through the doors,” Jynn whispers in Jace’s mind.
We comply, darting into the banquet hall just before the guards can round the corner.
“Now comes the hard part,” Jynn whispers to me.
We’re suddenly alone, just Jynn and I. Distantly, I can feel the others, their subtle alterations to the scene a quiet melody of manipulation. Ulia rides with the princess at the high table, and I inwardly frown as I catch hints of her surface thoughts. She’s enjoying the show with the princess, watching the acrobats and comedy with a melancholy nostalgia.
“Shouldn’t she be...?”
“Her part is yet to come,” Jynn answers. She sounds strangely somber. “We have to keep Jace alive in the next few minutes.”
The man juggling acrobats on stage suddenly comes to a halt, catching the three women and pointing squarely at us.
“Thief! There is a thief in the hall! Stop! Thief!”
We all freeze in surprise. In the pandemonium, I struggle to maintain my grip on Jace’s mind. His actions are lightning quick, his reactions born far more of instinct than any rational thought, and the speed of his decisions is too much for us to keep up with. Jynn falls off with me as we float free.
“The canvas. We have to expose the painting!” Jynn says desperately.
Already, I can feel the malicious intent of several men gathering crossbows at the far end of the hall. Jace is up and running on the tables, his feet finding balance despite the chaos and cutlery. He leaps off the table into a waiting group of guards. Jynn dives into them in a whirlwind of emotion and false reaction, distracting their gaze, spasming their fingers, cutting through their intentions. In the chaos, I pick out the one man with a chance to genuinely grab onto Jace. I exert all my will, feeling my soul drain away at the sudden expenditure of strength, and the guard’s hand falls on the cloth instead of Jace’s back. Jace rips away from the group, and I let go of the guard’s mind as he throws the cloth down in frustration.
“No! I can’t stop him!” Jynn shouts into the aether.
I spin in the darkness that makes up this half sight, searching for the source of her anguish, jumping along the bright sparks of light that are the minds of the guests, settling on a guard. Competent, focused, his crossbow levels between Jace’s fleeing shoulder blades. I claw at the edges of his concentration, but his focused will is too tight, too complete, my own power too frail after the efforts I’ve made so far.
“Take of me,” Eligio says, his foreign voice warm next to my own. “And remember.”
I reach out and seize the energy Eligio offers, the flaming torrent of his soul burning through my consciousness as I slam all the power I can into the guard’s mind.
- a cityscape of angular buildings, each like the blade of a knife cutting into the sky -
- the setting sun silhouetting the form of a woman staring off at sea, her arms wrapped around herself and her green eyes filled with sorrow to match my own as she turns -
- the ring, that familiar ring from the Seer’s finger, balanced on the palm of my hand, my skin dark, the sound of screams and terror in the distance -
I crack through the guard’s focus, spasming his muscles just as the crossbow releases. The bolt flies wide by inches, crashing and through the back of an expensive wooden chair. I tear out of his mind quickly, Eligio already gone, no doubt on to some other task in this symphony of uncontrolled chaos. Jace sprints through the doors leading back towards the kitchens. For the moment, Jynn and I are adrift. The frantic thoughts of the mob chasing the young thief fades second by second.
“It’s
not over yet,” Jynn mutters. She sounds tired, faint, her voice losing the vibrant energy to which I’ve grown accustomed. We dart over to Kettle, over by the doors to the banquet hall. I’m vaguely familiar with her thought patterns, so I slide into her thoughts easier this time. “She can’t leave yet. She needs to see the Duchess. Her necklace, the ruby…”
I manage to convince her to stop, to continue looking. No one is going to be worried about a little Islander performer, we have time, we can continue the search. Kettle’s eyes scan the mob surging past her position near the doors... I allow her eyes to roam, filling her with a quiet certainty that the flicker of red on the Duchess’ neck is indeed what she’s searching for.
Is that it? Kettle asks the Ensouled in her boots.
Perhaps. We are too far for me to know, he answers.
I thought that urge to stay came from you.
Urge? What urge? Wait, Kettle, close—
“Ugh,” Jynn’s voice is quiet, exhausted. I can feel as she wrestles her will down into the Ensouled below, burning an extraordinary amount of her energy to take over his mind, however briefly, sending him down into dormancy and erasing the memory of our presence. “They can’t know. It has to be…”
Her voice fades. I can still feel her, clinging to my energy, and I let her, too tired to care.
Ulia’s voice, quiet and whispering in the ear of the princess, echoes through my thoughts.
“How dare she? Stealing from the nobility in their own home. But talk to her, don’t turn her in just yet.”
For the moment, I’m without direction. Jynn is quiet and trying to recover, but the others are all scattered to the various rooms and minds in the estate. The conversation between Kettle and the princess sparks mild interest, but I allow myself mostly to drift.
“You don’t like Duchess Paloran anyway, the Islander could be right…” Ulia’s voice continues to breathe into the back of the princess’ mind, her power so much more subtle than the rest of us, her urgings coming almost from the person’s own mind.
The Crux of Eternity: Eternal Dream, Book 1 (The Eternal Dream Saga) Page 53
