by Boyce, S. M.
So many of her mother’s passions—hiking, games, food—came from Agneon. Kara wondered if her mother ever realized that.
Kara glanced up the stairs to the empty hallway above. If the first floor had been happy, the second had to house Agneon’s dark memories. She took a deep breath and stood.
Bring it on.
CHAPTER SIX
AGNEON
Kara didn’t know what she expected to find on the second floor of her grandfather’s cottage. Bedrooms, perhaps, and a closet or two. Maybe an office. But not blood. She hadn’t expected to find that. Streaks of blood stained the white walls, dark red and a little crusty. It had been allowed to dry before the house had been sealed.
She swallowed hard.
The stairs led to the center of a hallway. Three doors lined the hall to her right, with just two to her left. The streaks came from the last door to her right and carried halfway down the stairs, where they disappeared.
Kara figured she wasn’t quite ready for whatever lay in that room.
Instead, she turned left and opened the last door in the hall. A desk filled a corner, with bookshelves along the near wall. A lonely window on the far wall let in light. Shadows danced along the wall like waves as the waterfall crossed in and out of the low sunlight streaming in through the ring in the dome above. A leather chair sat against the wall nearest to the door. She narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip on the door handle. This was the room from the memory attached to the letter Stone had given her. This had to be Agneon’s study.
She crossed to the desk but didn’t touch anything. A few quills crowded a corner, each laid perfectly next to the others. An ink jar stood by them, its lid closed. A neat stack of blank paper sat on the surface near the wall.
Kara turned toward the bookcases. She glanced over every shelf, taking in the various items set in front of the books. A green orb the size of a marble rested in a wire holder. Yellow smoke sizzled inside the orb, snapping at its edges like bolts of lightning. A gold nugget sat on another shelf, and letter opener on yet another.
A rusty old nail lay beside the letter opener. Kara furrowed her eyebrows and leaned closer. What an odd thing to leave on a bookshelf.
She touched it, knowing in her gut that it held a memory. When the gold dust jumped into the air from under her finger, she smiled. Maybe she was getting the hang of this after all.
The memory pulled her from the office and into a forest. Agneon sat on a branch, hammering planks of wood to its limbs. He had already fashioned a crude box between the tree’s limbs in what Kara assumed was a tree house. A ladder leaned against the far side of the tree.
Agneon straddled the branch and held a nail against a board. He aimed the hammer and drove it toward the nail, only to smash his thumb instead of the iron spike. He cursed and chucked the hammer into the woods. It crashed through the foliage at least fifty feet away. A string of curses poured from his mouth, some of which Kara didn’t even understand.
The isen stuck his injured thumb in his mouth and threw a left hook at the board he was trying to nail into the tree. It splintered into a dozen pieces. Shards flew in every direction. Cracks spiraled down the other boards he had already nailed into the tree. Something snapped. The tree house groaned. Agneon grabbed a branch, but not in time. The house collapsed in on itself. Nails and planks rained to the ground. Agneon landed on his shoulder with a thud.
He pushed himself to his feet. His scowl deepened. Wrinkles bore into his forehead, turning his glare sour. His cheeks reddened.
Kara shivered. His anger had apparently dipped into cold hatred. She didn’t recognize him as the man holding his daughter in the porch rocking chair anymore. This was the look of a murderer—one who would kill anything that moved. There seemed to be a fine line between his two personas.
A spark jumped along the tree’s trunk. Kara flinched, half-believing she imagined it until an orange flame burst from one of the boards. More fire sprang from the planks littering the ground. A green glow skittered over Agneon’s skin. It pulsed, growing dim and brighter with a steady beat. The isen gritted his teeth. His eyes narrowed.
Nails levitated, shaking. They shivered and inched free of the planks. The green light on Agneon’s skin grew. It cast murky shadows on the grass around Kara’s feet. She squinted, trying to keep an eye on the scene as the light grew, but she finally squeeze her eyes shut. She raised her arm to cover her face and heard one last curse from her grandfather.
A pulse of energy blew past her—no, through her. She was a ghost in this memory. Trees toppled. Fire crackled on timber. The green light faded, and Kara lowered her arm.
Roots of fallen trees stuck out of the ground, some easily taller than her. Flames tore across the forest’s canopy, eating away at any tree still standing. Only a charred trunk and piles of ashes remained of the tree Agneon had once used for the tree house.
Her grandfather stood in the middle of the clearing, the earth beneath his feet smoking. He stared at the burnt tree, his eyes out of focus. His shoulders relaxed, and he let out a quiet breath. He rubbed his neck and shook his head, but never once took his eyes off the smoldering remnants of the tree.
“I only wanted to do something nice for her,” he said under his breath.
The dark office returned in a rush. Kara collapsed into the chair by the door. Annoyance churned in her gut as she gripped the armrest. He burned down a forest because he hit his thumb with a hammer. That wasn’t a temper. That was just childish.
She shut her eyes and forced herself to take a deep breath. She couldn’t be a hypocrite. After all, she did burn her own desk to bits in much the same fashion. She was all too familiar with Agneon’s frustration. His anger bubbled out of control, as did hers.
Sunlight caught on something yellow, blinding her for a moment. A table sat beside the chair, and on it lay a dagger in a brilliant blue sheath. She leaned closer. A golden hilt protruded from the sheath, its end curving to a rounded point. Carvings wove across the metal in tight circles, giving off the appearance of tiny hills and valleys.
This was the first weapon to surface in the house. She reached for it, curious as to what kind of memory it held, when she noticed what had actually glimmered: a small golden medallion the size of a quarter. It rested beside the dagger, its chain hanging off the edge of the table. The image of a man covered the medallion’s face, a halo around his head. The words Saint Nicholas stretched along the top-most curve of the metal.
Kara picked up the medallion without another thought. Gold dust spiraled from beneath her fingers, and curiosity ate at her. What memory could a relic from the human world hold?
Blood.
Before the dust engulfed her completely, the memory began to play out. Blood sprayed into the air without a source. Kara gagged, but the world blurred with blues and greens and yellows. Rot and rust stung her nose. She stepped back, trying to get her bearings, and the world snapped into focus.
Agneon spun a sword in his hand. Fury stained every inch of his face, distorting it into a grimace of hatred. He glared at something just past Kara.
She swiveled. A Kirelm soldier rushed toward her, his white wings outstretched. Sweat dripped down his silver skin. He let loose a battle cry and sailed through her body on his way to Agneon. Her grandfather just smirked and shoved his blade clean through the Kirelm’s gut. The yakona retched, and Agneon flung him off to the side.
Soldier after soldier ran toward him. Each man swung weapons in a slow arc. Everything moved in slow motion, and each swing of Agneon’s sword found a vital organ. Kara flinched with every blow. After minutes of nothing but death and blood, she nearly screamed with the desire to escape this memory.
Green light pulsed on Agneon’s skin, just as it had in the memory with the tree house. The glow hovered over his body, illuminating his victims’ corpses with a growing radiance. It bubbled and grew, until finally Kara had to shield her eyes.
Men screamed. Horses followed suit. Metal clanged. Something roared. Th
e patter of skin smacking against the earth over and over rolled through the clearing. Smoke wafted by, choking Kara as she tried to clear it from her lungs. She shuddered, but she couldn’t escape until the memory ended. She had to wait it out.
The light faded, but she hesitated. Without a doubt, she did not want to see the aftermath of whatever attack Agneon just used. But when the memory didn’t fade, she peeked over her arm.
A sea of dead bodies filled the clearing. Corpses littered the ground. Pools of silver blood soaked the grass. Some survivors moaned, but dread shot through Kara’s gut. She doubted they would live.
She turned back to her grandfather, hatred boiling her blood. Instead of a gloating victor or the smug smile of satisfaction, she found him on his knees. His eyebrows twisted upward as he stared at the dissolving soldiers around him. The anger in his face faded. It was as if he had been possessed before and could only now understand what he had done.
He frowned and twisted his head to the left. Kara followed his gaze. Niccoli stood on the edge of the field a hundred feet away. The ancient isen crossed his arms and grinned.
Agneon sighed, stood, and sheathed his sword. He reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out the medallion—the one Kara had touched—and kissed it.
“I’m sorry, Miriam,” he whispered.
Kara’s throat tightened. The office returned once more, its cold gray a relief from the endless death she just witnessed. She leaned forward in the chair and hugged her knees. Deep breaths filled her lungs, but spots lined her vision. If she didn’t settle her breathing, she would vomit. What a disgusting vision. She rubbed her face as her heart rate settled. There had been so much blood. She eyed the dagger. If a medallion housed a memory filled with so much death, what kind of memory would an actual weapon hold?
She swallowed hard and hesitated, but she’d come this far. Judging by the memories from the first floor, Agneon’s life contained as much good as it did evil. This was her curse, now, and she had to learn to control it. With a deep breath, she reached for the dagger. If it meant she could learn to control her power, she would force herself to see every memory in this house.
More glitter sprang forward and spiraled around her, painting a completely new world in shades of brown and green. A wooden bar counter appeared before her, and a stool sprang upward to give her a seat. Oak barrels the size of horses rose from the floor behind the bar. Other stools blipped into view up and down the room. People filled them. Chatter rippled through the room as framed paintings popped into the memory along the walls.
Agneon walked behind her and sat in the seat to her right. A brunette in a tight green dress smiled at him, and he grinned in return. His eyes never left her face, though her shirt hung low enough to entice the imagination. Kara couldn’t quite figure if this woman was human or Hillsidian.
“What can I get you, honey?” she asked.
“Whatever’s good,” he answered.
She nodded and walked toward one of the oak barrels behind the bar.
“Nice place, isn’t it?” Agneon asked.
He turned toward Kara. Panic snaked through her chest. He couldn’t possibly see her. After being ignored in every memory thus far, she couldn’t possibly be able to interact with him. She didn’t want to, not after watching him murder all those soldiers.
“I guess,” someone said from beside her.
She sighed with relief and spun to see her neighbor. His salt-and-pepper beard gave her a start. Of all people—Stone sat next to her, wrapped in a brown cloak as he nursed a silver mug.
Kara swiveled on her barstool and examined the men and women filling the pub’s tables. Swords covered most surfaces. Half of the men had a scar of some sort across his face, but almost everyone wore a dark green tunic. Some laughed and pointed at each other. Others frowned and inched their fingers toward their belts, likely in search of weapons Kara couldn’t see. This had to be an Ourean bar. The bartender stopped by and set Agneon’s drink in front of him. She winked and walked off.
Agneon nodded to Stone. “What are you having, stranger? I’ll have to try it next.”
Kara furrowed an eyebrow. Stranger? Unless this was Agneon’s poor attempt at humor, it had to be the memory of how he and Stone met.
Stone sighed. “I haven’t smelled one of our kind in a while, boy, but we’re hard to mistake. I know what you are, and I have a pretty good idea of why you’re here. You might as well get to the point.”
Agneon grinned and sipped his drink. “Works for me.”
He reached into his shirt and set a familiar dagger on the counter. Its bright blue sheath and the brilliant gold of its hilt contrasted with the earthy undertones of the bar.
“I’m here to kill you,” her grandfather said.
“You’re not doing a very good job of it,” Stone answered.
Agneon shrugged. “I don’t really want to kill you. From what I’ve heard, you deserve nothing but respect. I mean, who escapes his master? How does someone like us even achieve such a thing? But Niccoli...well, he holds grudges.”
Stone nodded. “That he does.”
Agneon frowned, and his grip on the beer tightened. “How did you do it? Escape, I mean.”
“And why should I tell you?”
“What have you got to lose?”
“I fail to see what I have to gain from it, either.”
Agneon leaned over his drink. “There’s nothing for you to gain. I just don’t want to kill anymore. I despise what I’ve become. I want a way out, but I can’t kill myself. I have a family. There’s no way out for me unless you tell me what to do.”
Stone didn’t look up. He swirled his mug.
Agneon sighed. “I should kill you and get it over with.”
“I doubt you would get very far.”
“You don’t know what I can do, old man.”
“Of course I do. I know who you are. I’ve heard the rumors. Many know your name, even if they don’t survive a run-in with you. I’m surprised they let you in here.”
“Me, too. I think everyone’s too drunk to recognize me.”
“Yet they could any minute. Do you have a death wish?”
Agneon hesitated. “I don’t know.”
Stone grinned. “I hear a yes.”
“My wife is pregnant. I can’t leave her.”
The elder isen sighed. “Ours is not the best life for a family. I had an adopted son, once. I outlived him.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“It’s quite all right. We still talk sometimes.”
Agneon glanced over to Stone, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Kara laughed. Her mentor must have visited the Grimoire in the centuries before she found it. She doubted the Vagabond ever appeared for him, but Stone probably talked to the chained book anyway.
“You’re a little odd, aren’t you?” Agneon finally asked.
Stone grinned. “You speak your mind. I can admire that.”
“Do you admire me enough to tell me how you escaped Niccoli?”
“I stole a drenowith’s soul.”
Agneon flinched, as if surprised asking a direct question had worked. “Wait, what?”
“That’s how I broke my tie to Niccoli. I stole a drenowith’s soul. He can’t control you if you’re stronger than him.”
“And how did you steal a muse’s soul?”
“The trick is to make it trust you.”
“Well, ain’t it that easy,” Agneon said with a snort.
Stone shrugged. “You asked. I answered.”
Agneon downed the last of his beer and scooted the mug closer to the bartender. “I still have to kill you, you know. An order’s an order.”
“It is.”
“I’ll do it next time.”
Stone nodded and stood. “I can live with that agreement. But boy, watch out for your child. What we are is inherited, as is your—well, gift. If your kid has power even remotely like yours, Niccoli will want your child same as he wants you. He will want your chi
ldren more than he wants anyone else, and he’ll turn everything you love into leverage if he has to.”
The smile faded from Agneon’s face. “I know, old man.”
The warm glow of the bar snapped away. The dark office returned. She leaned back in her chair and shook her head, a grin stuck to the corners of her mouth. Relief sent a rush of adrenaline straight down to her toes—at least it hadn’t been a violent memory. She sighed.
Three memories down, and a whole second story to go.
After going through the memories in the office, Kara didn’t even bother keeping track of time. At some point, the gray sunlight faded. Stone came in and handed her a lit candle in a lantern before returning to his place on the porch, all without saying a word.
Kara explored nearly every room—all except the one with the trail of dried blood coming from it. As a child, her mother slept beside Agneon’s office, her bedroom complete with white wicker furniture and stuffed animals. The chamber next to Ellen’s was Miriam’s personal space, filled with books and sewing materials. The room between that and the blood-soaked door was an armory.
The second story contained much darker memories than Kara prepared for. She witnessed Miriam cross-stitching while Agneon lay in her lap, confessing his recent murders. The woman had grimaced, but remained silent. Kara also pressed herself against the wall in yet another memory, when Agneon screamed at the top of his lungs in his armory, his anger boiling over after a recent battle. He’d killed families. Mothers. Children—even one who looked remarkably like Ellen. He’d come home and sent the girls on a picnic only minutes before he hurled an axe into the armory wall.
Memory after memory sprang forth from the various objects upstairs, each more hateful than the last. It seemed like they got worse as Kara moved toward the blood-stained door. She wondered if the blood had been left on purpose, to steer her toward the office first. But now, Kara stood before the last door, her lantern’s candlelight casting flickers on the paneled wood. Part of her didn’t trust herself with a candle after her episode in her own study, but it wasn’t as if she had a flashlight. She could probably make one of those explode, too.
