Chapter 19
The Weaver’s Web
There are the wars fought above ground, and worse ones, fought far below. -Laeko
--
Alaina watched the burnt boy pulling against the ropes which bound him to the tree. She felt the same Connection Spell she’d felt towards the boy's twin.
The Weaver had foreseen this. ‘Free the burnt boy,’ Finder had told her. But, how could she? Her father would have her executed for such a treasonous act, but not before exacting excruciating torture. How did she know she could trust the word of the Weaver, anyway?
She’d felt a bond towards Finder, and she hosted the Grandmaster of Magic-finding, Zaburn. This boy’s twin hosted Jijari. He must also host a Grandmaster.
"He hosts my enemy,” Nadra said, “Kolram son of Halbreth. You heard him casting the Beast Tongue spell on the horse.”
“Your enemy?"
"My enemy, my beloved. My betrothed that spurned me,” Nadra replied. “Kolram was mine and was stolen from me. The marriage had been arranged by the Court of Flames. Kolram defied the edict and instead wed the Guardian witch.”
A memory surfaced in Alaina’s mind of Nadra standing before Kolram and Solita’s house. The house was built in the Adonian style, blending with the huge trees all around. Nadra sent a curl of flame from her lips, encircling the house.
Alaina gasped. “You set their house on fire? You're insane."
"Fire will wreak its vengeance, something a weak frog-skin like yourself can’t understand."
Alaina bristled at the derogatory term for Mantus. She hated hosting Nadra, but had no idea how to get her out. Alaina had asked her father how Nadra came to reside in her, Gar forbade her from inquiring about it. “You talk about it one more time, and I’ll have your tongue cut out." Her loving father.
The noise of drunken debauchery carried through the night. Over by the bonfire, the silhouette of her father had his arms wrapped around two Sky Raider wenches. He leaned towards one and she let out a yelp of pain. Gar burst into laughter. Her father was disgusting.
"Of course he disgusts you- he’s a barbarian,” Nadra said. “All your people are."
Alaina wished she could prove Nadra wrong, but looking at her father, she knew that would be a hard argument to win. The man was shameless. She turned away.
Seeking solitude, Alaina moved behind a thicket. She petted Red Paw, who rubbed up against her. Alaina ran her hand over the beast’s furry back, scratching between her folded wings. The skywolf licked her cheek.
Finder's words kept passing through her mind: 'Free the burnt boy. Remember the four thousand bones. Save Laeko.' What did it all mean?
A Sky Raider couple's voices carried across the night air. Alaina drew closer to listen in when she heard them mention her name.
"How is his daughter a frog-skin?” the woman asked.
“Her mum was a Mantu,” a man replied. “Tough warrior, she was. Died in the birthing. The whelp killed her own mother, which makes her cursed.”
Alaina sighed. It wasn’t the first time Alaina had heard this, but the words stung anyway.
“You hear something?” the woman asked.
“Let’s get out of here,” the man said, and he and the woman scampered off.
"You know, Kolram might have information for us,” Nadra said. “How we got into this mess. I know you are as eager to be free of me, as I of you.”
Alaina stared at the boy tied to the elm. He was thin as a rail, burn-mark on his forehead quivering, tears streaking his dirty cheeks.
And he might just be her only hope.
--
Mavik's whisper was a frozen cloud lit by firelight. "On Three Moons' Night, we best not be here.”
The other slaves were gathered around the main bonfire. Mavik had started a second, smaller fire, so he and Emerelda could talk alone. The campfire's glow illuminated her vine tattooed jaw. She leaned against him, straw-like hair tickling his neck. “And your vision be showin’ me opening up a doorway? In this anvil?”
Mavik nodded. “You were touching it with the energy snakes and a door opened in it.”
The new slave, Laeko, approached them. Her hair was gray, and her skin wrinkled, but there was something vibrant about her silver eyes. “May I sit?"
Mavik supposed there wasn't much more to say about the escape at the moment, and he was curious about Laeko. He patted, the log beside him, scooting even closer to Emerelda to make room. “Please. May I ask, why you were imprisoned?”
“You may,” Laeko answered, “And you have. Gar had a statue made of himself sculpted and erected in the Hall of the Ancients and had the statues of the Weaver and the Wolf Woman thrown out off the side of the Nest.” Mavik had seen the remains of the smashed statues when he’d been collecting firewood. “I denounced his foolishness. That was the excuse I used to get placed here, but the truth is, I need to be here. Crucial junctures are approaching.”
“You're a Splasher?”
“I don't use anything as insubstantial as water for my prophecies. I’m a descendant of the Weaver,” Laeko said. “We use threads to see the future."
“Strand Prophets, friends of devils and demons, cursed be their darkness,” Jijari said.
Laeko pulled out a piece of fabric. A thousand images were woven into it, but her wrinkled finger pointed to a single green circle surrounded by darkness. “This Three Moons Night.” Then her finger moved back to a second image, a crossroad of light. “This is a day before, a juncture.” Then her fingers moved to a third image, prison bars under a brown bird’s nest. Her finger moved again, pointing to a red-haired boy and a blonde girl approaching a giant black Anvil.
“Same thing you be seein’ Mav,” Emerelda said.
“If these Strand Prophets say the same thing you do, Jijari, how can they be devils?” Mavik asked.
“This troubles me,” Jijari said.
Laeko nodded. "The Source is the Source no matter whether tapped by strands of the fluidity of water. The night of the Three Moons is in two nights. You'd best be on your way before tomorrow.”
“Can you see how we be gettin’ out of the camp?” Emerelda asked.
“Kava root,” Laeko said.
"Kava root?" Mavik repeated. “Is this another riddle?”
"It's the sort of riddle you slip into someone's drink." Laeko shuffled over to a bush and pointed. "Dig up that Kava bush and get me the root, eh? We'll grind it and make a nice sleeping draught. Sometimes guards drift off, eh?"
Emerelda nodded. "I should have thought of that. Our druid used to be using that sometimes."
"Thank you, mistress. Do you want to come with us?" Mavik asked.
Laeko chuckled. "What did you see in the water? Did you see yourselves carrying an old lady while running towards the Anvil?"
Mavik blushed. "Well, no.”
"My path lies elsewhere. Don't you worry about old Laeko, eh? The Weaver’s webs will catch me." Laeko tapped the side of her nose, a superstition to ward off bad luck. "Be careful, young ones. Dark things live and die in the Fist. There are the wars fought above ground, and worse ones fought far below."
--
Verica jumped as the Dracon slammed his fist against the top of his desk. The mounted animal masks on the walls vibrated. They seemed to be staring straight through Verica's shadow-form, as if to say, "We can see you."
This was her third attempt at spying. The last one had been a dismal failure. There had been long discussions with Fire-whispers about the coming Choosing. But, as the saying went, the third try brings either gold or death. She was hoping it would be the former.
"In my experience, boring can often be preferable to exciting," Lukor said.
"Aye, you're the King of Boring, Lukor.”
“Thank you… I think.”
The Dracon slammed his fist into his desk. "Gar snatches the Beast Tongue right from my hands, and now the burglar expects the robbed to pay.”
“Won’t we?” Crow
asked.
The Dracon stood and began to pace the room, the pleated fringe of his long red robe sweeping past Verica's feet. “We have no choice. It galls, but in the long run, it will not matter. Gar will get his just reward come Three Moons' Night.”
Crow adjusted his beak. “Well about that, Your Majesty. Gar wants reassurance that he won’t end up like the other magi in your sacrifice."
"Double curses. What type of reassurance?"
"The Daughter Draconi must be in his custody before the ceremony. He demands we send her right away."
“You were right,” Verica thought, her stomach churning with worry. “Boring is good. Things are proving a little too interesting.”
The Dracon spun on his heels, narrowly missing a collision with Verica. "The Skymaster knows Jazlyn will have to be cut for Asgaroth to be released."
"He does, but cut is not killed, Sire. Jazlyn will be a hostage to insure Dakarth's good behavior as well as your own. After all, the host of Dakarth's father and your daughter."
The Dracon smiled, lifting up one of his figurines of a young girl. "He thinks I’ll not sacrifice Jazlyn, but I’ll do what’s necessary. The nation needs leadership and strength. It is a leader's job to make sacrifices for the good of the many."
“Hypocrite,” Verica thought. “Sacrifice yourself, not your daughter. That would do the many much more good.”
"Still,” Crow said, “I think you will have to do without the Skymaster's Beast Tongue abilities. Besides Gar commanding a small army, there is the fact that Dakarth will not take kindly to Asgaroth's host being slain."
"True. True. Well, I must not be too greedy. I suppose a hundred magi's powers will have to do. After Three Moons' Night, I will have more power than anyone can handle, even Gar. Then we shall see who is laughing.” The Dracon interlaced his fingers. “We continue as planned. Tonight round up the rest of the magi."
"You still want to include the Draconess and Dade?”
"We’ve been over this. You tell me it is a risk, and I tell you it would be more dangerous to leave them a force unchecked. You arguing it a third time won't change my mind. The evidence is ready to be planted?"
"It’s been arranged. It will be uncovered that the Draconess and the Dade have been planning a mutiny." Crow paused for a moment. "I'm sure it wasn't necessary, Your Majesty, but I hope you'll forgive me that I kept evidence that it's a fraud, in case you’re thinking of adding me to the sacrifice. Should anything sudden happen to me, incriminating information would come to light."
The Dracon looked annoyed, a vein throbbing in his forehead. His knuckles turned white, vibrating against the desktop. He looked about to shout, then his expression changed, and he let out a laugh. "Well played Crow. Your cunning is second only to my own. So be it. Let it begin!"
"Very well. I shall alert the Fire Guard to begin the round up."
Crow opened the doorway, giving orders to Oz Strongfist and the Flickers. If Strongfist was puzzled that Crow was ordering the arrest of the Draconess, he betrayed no signs of it.
Verica swallowed. She had to get to Jazlyn before they did. She looked down at her feet. Her shadow form was weakening and the tips of her shoes emerged from fading shadow. She had to get past Crow and the Dracon, before her wraith-form dissipated. Crow stood between her and the doorway.
The Dracon froze mid-stride. He was staring at Verica’s shoes, which had rematerialized. He stared in puzzlement, but then his expression changed, his eyes widening. Verica seized hold of a corner of a mid-sized cabinet and pulled. It didn't budge. She let all her weight into it and… a rain of knick-knacks, manuscripts, and musical instruments echoed off the cold stone. A Tulkarian string harp hissed in atonal protest.
"By the Gods Above!" shouted Crow.
The Dracon was pointing at Verica, looking shocked. "Berik's…daugh-"
"Berik? Does Your Majesty require a healer?"
“The half wraith…” the Dracon gasped.
Crow moved to help the Dracon and the guards rushed in. There was a gap now. Verica rushed through the open doorway - and tripped. She skidded across the stone floor, feeling her skin burn.
Strongfist's great stride took the Dragon Knight straight over her, but one Flicker still stood in the doorway, his legs spread. Verica scurried ungracefully through the gap between the guard’s greaves, and shot out, racing like the winter wind.
She could see her own boots and bits of her breeches: the knees and cuffs. Her fingernails were visible as well. It was strange watching her disembodied fingernails floating through the air. She tried to stay calm as she dashed through oncoming Flickers and Fire-Whisperers, who were hurrying to investigate yells from the Dracon's quarters.
She sprinted around a corner and collided with a Mantu servant whose tray dropped, dishes clattering against the stone floor. Verica continued her mad dash.
“You’re not going to make it,” Lukor said.
Verica's entire lower body was clearly visible now. As she turned another corner, she spied a place to hide. She ducked into a supply room. The rest of her body reappeared. An alarm horn blew in the distance and male voices shouted, “We have been breached!”
It wouldn't be long before someone searched the closet. She decided to risk the corridors. She left the supply room by a rear door, walking at a brisk pace, her body fully visible now. Two Flickers approached. Her forehead felt slick and her shoulders tightened. She shouted at them, “You’re needed at the Dracon’s!” They nodded and rushed straight past her.
“Well done,” Lukor said.
Verica’s stomach twisted. The Dracon had identified her. He knew about her wraith symbiont. She was in as much trouble as Jazlyn. They were going to be taking the Draconess, Dade, Jazlyn, and who knew how many others into custody. She couldn’t help the Draconess or Dade. She had to warn Jazlyn, and the two of them had to get as far from the Red Palace as possible. Maybe Verica could find her father at the Healer's Conclave. No, that would be the first place they would look for her.
A heavy sadness settled over Verica, as she realized she might never see her father again. He hadn't been the best father, but he was the only one she had. She would miss him, as well as their servants, like the cook, Ec, and her delicious lemon biscuits. There was no turning back now. She and Jazlyn were fugitives from the law.
Soul Hosts Page 19
