“Yes, they were. Thank you.” Sarn ground the toe of his boot into the churned-up earth. “Why won’t you tell me what’s happening? I’ve figured out some of it, but I know there’s more at stake.”
Could she speak? Had he imagined her speaking to him a month ago? No, he hadn’t. So then, she didn’t want him involved in this. Well, it was too late for that. “I can’t stand by and do nothing.” Sarn clenched his fists. “I’m not built that way.”
“Me either.” Ran struck a defiant pose with one chubby fist planted on his outthrust hip.
Jerlo would know what to do. The commander needed to know something had cut a swath of destruction through the forest. From where Sarn stood, he could feel it. The land was drained of magic. And the magic inside him wrapped itself tighter around his heart.
Get away from here. Flee, his magic urged, but Sarn ignored it and regarded his silent Queen.
“I’ll find a way to stop this. You can’t stop me from trying.”
“Yes, she can,” J.C. said as he topped the rise and ambled down to them. He nodded to the Queen of All Trees, who stiffened when she saw him.
Gone was the twisted crown and the blood, but the gouges in his scalp remained and he walked hunched over from the weight of his cross. Sarn extended a hand to take some of its weight, but a branch captured his wrist and J.C. shook his head.
“Thank you for the offer, but this is my burden to bear. You have your own and she has hers.”
Sarn opened his mouth but no sound emerged as cold slid down his captured arm. Light curled around him and his frozen son and everything went white. Not again.
J.C. met the eyeless gaze of the most massive tree he’d ever seen. The Queen of All Trees swelled up to her full thousand-foot height still holding the curse breaker and his son cradled in her arms. Of course, both had been rendered momentarily insensible, so they could talk.
“Lady of the Green Wood, I mean neither you nor yours any harm. I didn’t know the curse breaker belonged to you.”
She hadn’t marked him in any way. The old powers were long gone. Why did she linger still? What was happening in Shayari?
J.C. waited but she made no reply, so he went on. “Put him down. He and I struck a bargain. He’s to take me into the mountain. After that, he can go his own way. I won’t—” he broke off as a black beam cracked the sky and whipped the clouds into a vortex that tore at her crown.
She ducked down and curled her trunk around her precious charges to protect them as her height halved, then halved again and again, until she stood no taller than fifty-feet above the ground. She lay the curse breaker and his son down on a blanket of shimmering leaves.
The beam faded, but the clouds continued to churn, and the wind tore at his garments.
“What is that?”
Might there be a greater evil than the Adversary afoot? But how could there be? What was more dangerous than the devil himself? J.C. staggered as the devil did something to make the cross become heavier again. Blood bloomed on his palms as his sacred wounds reopened. He looked from them to her.
“Pray you never find out, Son of Man. Take the Child of Magic and his son and go. Keep them inside the mountain and pray its defenses hold. I’m entrusting my hopes and dreams for the future to you.”
“I don’t understand what’s happening, but that’s the joy of not being omniscient.” J.C. sighed, but he knew she understood. He could tell by the tilt of her crown—was that a sylvan nod?
Her branches flashed in a complex pattern. Part of her white aura peeled off and wove around Sarn and his son. J.C. stepped into its heart to hitch a ride on her transport spell, grateful he didn’t need to cast one himself. Because he wasn’t certain he could. Maintaining the balance which kept the world spinning took all his concentration.
After things with the Adversary are settled, if there’s another tragedy unfolding like the one under Mount Eredren, I’ll find this graceful queen and help her put a stop to it whether she wants my help or not. After all, he too had free will.
He opened his mouth to say as much, but her light enfolded them, and the world disappeared into a white tongue of soul-cleansing flame.
Ghosts and Golems
Avenge me, said the wind, echoing her dead sister’s plea.
The ghosts of those the Wild Hunt had slain ringed Aralore, and their cold hands tugged her robes. Orange blurs moved passed her—they were her acolytes, of course, but where were they going?
The Wild Hunt roamed the deep forest. By now they’d already lured this year's crop of lovers far from the centers of habitation where they could fatten them up for the winter hunt.
“Come, sinner, to your dark Father fly. At my side, thy time is nigh.”
Don’t listen to him. Avenge us.
Get out of my head! Aralore opened the box, and a black beam cleaved the heaven’s blue vault then it fanned out, dropping her acolytes to the ground. Gray shapes sped toward the black gem gorging itself on energy. One such ghost bore her face—it was Ayoma—and her sister was spiraling into the black lumir crystal.
“No!” Aralore reached for the mirrored lid and froze when it cracked lengthwise, marring the mirrored finish.
Ayoma’s face was frozen in a rictus of horror as she extended both her translucent hands to Aralore, but she couldn’t catch hold of her sister. Their hands passed right through each other when Aralore stepped into that expanding cone of darkness. Then she was falling, and the black lumir crystal was draining her too. With shaking hands, she reached up and knocked the box down.
It landed on its side on the ground facing Mount Eredren, and its black beam shot toward that eyesore. Mount Eredren was too far away for it to reach that benighted place, but not for long.
Aralore blinked. With the black lumir crystal exposed to the air, she no longer felt any urge to go back to Mount Eredren. The voices were gone, and so too were the ghosts.
“Ayoma? Sis?”
No answer, no cold hand touched her arm—her sister was gone, but a giant black bird circled the mountain’s peak. This is your fault, she thought as she slid the cracked lid over the opening, cutting the black beam in half then in half again. But it resisted. The lid struck something hard—the crystal had expanded. Its top poked out of the box, and the lid was caught on it!
I can't close the box. Aralore stared at it as her acolytes helped each other up.
“What just happened? There was an insistent voice inside my mind, and it wasn’t our Lord’s.” Velor rubbed the bridge of his aquiline nose.
“Did it tempt you to go down into the pit?” Somnya massaged her temples.
“If you heard it too then it wasn’t a hallucination.” Velor gripped his hilt and pivoted seeking the speaker.
“I heard it too,” Aralore said. “It cut out when I opened the box. Not even the devil is immune to this gem.”
She smiled down at it but took care to keep the mirrored lid angled so it reflected those nullifying black rays away from her and her people. How much longer would that flimsy protection hold?
Aralore examined the box and frowned at a hairline fracture along one side. It sucked at her finger, numbing it as she slid her thumb along the crack—not good, but not all bad either since she intended to use the stone.
“I take it that thing is the reason for the voice.” Velor shaded his eyes and pointed at a creature flying around Mount Eredren’s peak.
Aralore nodded. “That’s my guess.”
Velor gave the box, and the gem peeking out of it, a calculating glance. “We need a cart or some way of rolling this to our destination or—I’ve got an idea,” he said as he picked up the branches he’d cut off the formerly enchanted tree they’d interrogated. “Who brought a rope?”
“I did.” One of the newer acolytes pulled a coil of it out of his rucksack. What was his name—Harl? Hellion? Holkson? “Begging your pardon, Preceptor, but shouldn’t we head back? The Prelate should arrive soon.”
“He’s right, and there’s that un
natural thing we should destroy.” Somnya gestured to Mount Eredren, but her gaze fell on the half-closed box. “Can we move it?”
Velor uncoiled the rope. “If we lash together some branches, we can make a crude litter and position the box, so its rays are deflected away from us. Preceptor?”
Aralore nodded. “Do it. We need to destroy the Wild Hunt, but that creature is the more immediate danger. I won’t let one holy quest get in the way of another, and Harl is right. The Prelate should arrive soon. We must be there to greet him.”
“Give me an hour and we can be on our way—less if I can get a few helpers.” Velor threaded the rope under a branch. Somnya moved to help him, but Aralore remained where she sat, still searching the sky and everything below it for her sister’s shade.
Why didn’t Ayoma pass on? Why didn’t she go to you, Lord? I pray for her soul every night. Why didn’t you take her into your care?
Silence reigned as unspoken questions caromed around her mind, and for the first time since joining the Seekers, cracks developed in her faith.
When her light faded, they faced the outer circle of standing stones. No, not again, Sarn regarded Mount Eredren’s bent cone. Her snow cap sparkled in the westering sun as if nothing untoward had happened. Sarn shook off his unease. It was lack of sleep putting strange thoughts into his head.
He whirled and stared at a line of trees standing trunk-to-trunk leaving no space between them, but they were still enchanted. Magic coursed through their veins, still vibrant, still untouched by the black lumir crystal’s kiss.
“Why won’t you let me help?”
They didn’t bat a single branch at his question. J.C. laid a warm hand on his shoulder.
“Some entities are too proud to ask for aid. I’m not saying that’s the case here. There’s too much I don’t know about your Queen, but it’s possible. Don’t take it to heart. She means well. That much I can tell.”
Sarn nodded. A chill wind rustled his cloak. Was that a challenge?
“You can’t keep me out.” Sarn advanced on her leafy attendants and their branches wove together creating a woody barrier. Still, Sarn kept going until he slammed into an invisible wall.
No, not again! Sarn punched the transparent barrier. He threw all his frustration into that blow and green flames jetted out of his knuckles. But the barrier shoved him hard in the chest, and he backpedaled narrowly missing his son.
“Papa?” Ran packed all his confusion into that one-word question.
Sarn shook his head. Shame at losing control in front of his son made his face flush, and he hung his head. Why won’t you let me help?
Because I’m untutored and I have no fricking idea what I’m doing. Sarn scrubbed both hands over his face hating the truth of that statement.
Ran tugged his pant leg to gain his attention and an answer to the question depressing Sarn: what now? But the answer was obvious. If she wouldn’t accept his help, then he’d find someone whose help she couldn’t refuse. There was only one man no one refused. But first, he had a bargain to keep.
Sarn nodded to J.C. “Come on, I’ll help you cross, assuming I can still cross.”
He caught his son’s hand and headed for the mountain at the fastest pace Ran could manage. In three strides, he was face to face with the outer ring of menhirs again.
“How do I get you across?”
“Take my hand and let’s find out.” J.C. extended his hand.
After a moment’s hesitation, Sarn took it and Ran laid his other hand on the pile, with a smile for them both. At least someone was enjoying the debacle this afternoon had become.
Steeling himself, Sarn stepped into the gap between those eerie stones and hit another invisible wall. It coruscated as he pressed against it, forcing it to bend then finally part. A tingling sensation started at his toes and spread along the length and breadth of him, warming him as it moved. Then hot hands slapped his chest, balling themselves in his tunic and pulled.
Sarn stumbled through the first ring of menhirs and crashed into a being made of fire. He stared into emerald eyes that were the luminous twin of his own.
“Son of stone and bones, what is thy command,” said a voice like the grumbling of thunder.
Ran huddled against his leg, his eyes wide in shock. His lips moved, no doubt shaping questions the expectant silence swallowed.
“Let us pass.”
“Us? The Divine One is with you? You wish to grant him entrance?”
Sarn stared at the fiery man-shape. Thank Fate its flames were illusory. Divine One? “You mean J.C.?”
“Yes.”
The thing snapped its glowing fingers. It was awfully accommodating. Might it be in the mood to answer a few questions? It couldn’t hurt to ask while they were stuck here in between.
“What are you?”
“A magical construct called a ‘golem.’ I was created to keep the riffraff out.”
“Did the Litherians create you?”
They were a race of stone mages who built the stronghold inside Mount Eredren. So, they could have created the golem.
“No, I predate them, but they repurposed me.”
“Mages can do that? How did they repurpose you?”
“I’m not privy to the ‘how’ just the ‘why.’ But yes, I’m proof it’s possible.” The golem spread his hands.
J.C. squeezed Sarn’s hand, reminding him of his bargain and he nodded. It was just his luck to finally find a talkative magical creature when he had no time to indulge his curiosity.
“Let us pass—all three of us.”
“Done, but there’s a price.” The golem held up a slender finger.
“What price?”
“My freedom. I’m not needed anymore. By taking the Divine One across, you accept responsibility for the mountain and its people.”
“I don’t understand. How does my taking J.C. across free you?” Sarn wanted to rub the bridge of his nose where the beginnings of another headache poked and prodded him, but both hands were busy holding his son’s and J.C.’s hands.
“The conditions of my—repurposing—are met. I was programmed to watch and wait for a son of their blood to subdue a power.” The Golem nodded as the words ‘a son of their blood’ echoed in Sarn’s head and rang true.
Sarn just stared at the Golem with the question he was too stunned to ask on his lips.
The golem nodded. “You’re descended from their line—the Litherians. As the golem talked, he circled Sarn and his companions. Your mother was of their blood. Their power passed from her to you.
Sarn glanced at his son. A new hope buoyed him up and he smiled. “If the Litherians’ power only passes from mother to child—then my son won’t inherit my power.”
Ran could grow up to lead a normal life. Oh, how Sarn wanted that. A life free of ridicule and hiding where his son could do anything he put his brilliant little mind to without worrying about Seekers or magic-haters coming after him.
Ran, of course, had heard the entire conversation and his scowl proclaimed how much he disliked the direction it'd taken. “No, Papa, that can't be true. I'm just like you only more talkative. Everyone says so.”
That was true. Sarn’s hopes shattered on the emerald eyes scowling up at him. Any eye color but brown signified magic in the blood, and Ran’s eyes were just like his without the glow.
The golem shrugged. “Eye color and magic used to flow together from parent to child until your ancestors sought more power. They did something before my making which broke that association, and that something interfered with their magic. Certain conditions must now be met for it to breed true. But those emerald eyes are still part of their racial identity.”
“So, you're saying my son might inherit my power, but there’s a chance he might not?”
The golem nodded.
‘Maybe’ was better than ‘definitely.’ It fired Sarn’s hopes again.
“I want to go. I don’t like this place.” Ran shivered and drew a little closer to Sarn.
/>
His son was right, and he did have a bargain to keep, so Sarn nodded. “Do we just cross? Or do you need to do something, so they’ll let us?” Sarn waved to the shadows beyond the light streaking between those standing stones.
“Just go as you came, one step, two, three steps and you’re through. They’re keyed to you now, the stones, they’ll do as you bid them.”
Sarn took a cautious step forward then stopped, gripped by a new worry. “What will they do?”
But the golem didn’t answer. It shoved Sarn and he stumbled through the inner ring of menhirs onto the meadow, trailing his son and J.C.
Sarn spun and regarded those stones but they were quiescent now. No hint of their magical cordon or their golem-keeper remained. He let go of J.C. and struck a hand through the space between those stones and relaxed when he felt magic caress his skin. The protections were still there.
Sarn faced J.C. “Why did that thing call you ‘Divine One.’ I thought you said you were from Heaven-on-Neverthrall.”
He’d heard good things about Heaven-on-Neverthrall from people who’d passed through that village. It had a nice inn and a good school—if the rumor was accurate. It was the kind of place where people kept to themselves. He could find work there and Ran, an education when his Indenture was up.
“Good name,” Ran said and Sarn nodded because Heaven-on-Neverthrall sounded like paradise. Though with an enormous freshwater lake right outside his future door, he’d better learn to love fish.
Sarn rubbed his chest with the heel of his hand as a pain stabbed his heart. He’d told Beku, Ran’s mother, about that place. They'd planned to travel there together—the three of them—and make a fresh start, but that was before things broke down beyond repair between them. She was gone now and that was for the best. But he’d gotten way off track and J.C. hadn’t answered his question.
“Well?”
“It’s complicated,” J.C. finally said. “If you’ll travel with me for a little longer, I think the answer will reveal itself.” J.C. extended his hand again.
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