Gernant began, “Shifters move and manipulate matter - what your people call sources.” He opened a slim wooden cabinet above him and withdrew a short knife. “This dagger, for example, is made of a carved stone handle and a metal blade. A shifter could take apart the sources and form a metal handle with a stone blade, or two smaller weapons. For a shifter, sources are like tiny building blocks, but they cannot be grown or created. If there is no metal for a blade, neither is there metal for a handle. And shifters cannot affect things that do not have matter, like a flame or the breeze which fans it.”
“I know this, yes,” Resh agreed, trying not to sound impatient. He’d learned as much from Nik.
“And you have some understanding of Sulit magic as well?”
Resh nodded, but Gernant began again, regardless. “Witches can affect fire or air, and they do have something of their Sulit Mother’s ability to create - they can grow living material, like the vines that gave you so much trouble in our recent attack. Anything that is a natural element - earth, air, fire, water - can be affected by a witch who has an affinity for that element. Only the oldest and most powerful can control more than one.”
“Witches have other spells, too, though,” Resh said. “And other abilities, like prophecy.”
“True, and those are less understood and therefore less accurate to replicate. Alchemists can sometimes call a prophecy from the future as well, but it requires so much power for so little result that it’s rarely done.”
“How is alchemy different from Sulit spellcasting or Weshen shifting?” Resh asked. The little he’d seen seemed to have similar results, and he’d assumed alchemy would elevate his abilities to a witch or another Weshen, evening their odds. Gernant seemed to imply alchemists had further options.
“Not everyone can cast spells. Only those with some Sulit blood can do more than the simplest of spells. And only those with Weshen blood can ever hope to become shifters. Alchemy can be learned by anyone willing to do the work.” Gernant steepled his fingers, and Resh resisted asking the question again. “Alchemists work with the elements too, but also with the in-between. The space between the sources and the space surrounding the elements themselves, including the flow of time. This space is called the ether, and it is as alive as you or I. It can be grown like a vine, but so must it also be fed. And this, my ambitious young Weshen, is where my own secrets lie.”
“In feeding this ether? Or in what you feed it?” Resh guessed. Gernant’s grin was his answer.
“Ether can be fed many things, such as a certain combination of sources. A little like following a spell or a recipe. But...” Gernant dug the dagger into the wood of the desk, leaning forward to stare at Resh intently. “I know your pretty Queen wants none of Mara’s traditions to remain. But this one is simply too powerful to discard. I don’t need a prophecy to foretell that we’re going to need as much power as possible in the coming battles.”
Resh nodded, hoping the man would spill the secret soon.
“If you feed the ether not just any sources, but the sources of magic itself, you can build anything your mind can dream.” The room was silent as Gernant waited for Resh to process this.
“The sources of magic...” Resh narrowed his eyes. He knew of Gernant’s reputation, and the extension was an easy answer. “You mean the blood of Weshen people. You feed the ether their blood, which feeds it their magic.”
Gernant nodded, his dark-pool eyes intent on Resh, watching for his reaction. Resh was proud that he showed nearly nothing. His vision was coated with hot anger edged with a healthy bit of fear, and still, he managed to shrug a single shoulder. This was much worse than he’d anticipated. Gernant was way beyond experimenting.
“How much blood?” he asked, knowing full well they had begun a new conversation. No longer were they speaking of basic alchemy. Gernant had expanded into what was undoubtedly Umbren blood magic.
Gernant didn’t even blink. “As much as it takes.”
Chapter 24
NIK SAT ALONE BENEATH the moon, his toes touching the water’s edge. A handful of rocks and driftwood sat at his side. Eyes closed, he willed their sources into fantastical shapes and delicate flowers.
He meant to leave Lorenya and her children with a bit more beauty than sadness.
He meant to leave them tonight, before his fear of being alone trumped his fear of being with them.
The sculpture done, Nik opened his eyes. Two stone figures entwined in the sand before him, nearly waist high, neither male nor female, similar but not twinned. Flowers of the thinnest wood shavings shone white in the moonlight, garlanding the figures, their loops forming a complex heart locking the forms together.
Nik hoped his message would be a clear reminder to the Weshen women.
They were meant to love. Love each other and love their children, and one day, love their men. The magic was always stronger and easier to find when love lived.
Rising, Nik pushed the sculpture far enough from the water that it would stay dry until someone found it. He picked up the bag he’d packed earlier while Lorenya had been tending her garden. A few changes of clothes, the handful of knives he’d brought from the city, and a bit of food kept it light. He could live on little.
Nik approached the docks, where a dozen boats still bobbed in the coming tide. He untied one and settled on the worn bench, pushing away from the dock with the single oar. He wondered if he’d be able to sail east easily enough and land in some cove farther along the NeverCross Mountains, somewhere between Weshen City and Umbren.
He’d keep his body and his magic busy until he felt Sy come home again. He was desperately certain he could sense Sy’s presence if it were only close enough. And if Sy was dead, Nik thought he would stay in the mountains forever.
He knew he was a contradiction of his own beliefs.
Love had rarely touched his life and never for long, yet he was one of the strongest shifters alive. For some reason, the Mirror Magi had gifted him with the very power that had destroyed him, again and again, as darkness sought him out for its own purposes.
Nik would no longer let his power destroy anyone else.
The night stretched long, and Nik hoped his navigation was true. He was no longer afraid of the water at night, or if he admitted his thoughts, he was more afraid of opening his friends to the horrors of his mind.
As the sun rose, he faced it directly, and his heart settled with the knowledge that he was nowhere near Weshen City, or Weshen Isle, or anywhere that held people to care for.
Instead, the great mass of purple and gray mountains stretched before and above him, silent and still. A soft smile spread across his face as he relaxed into the idea of being truly alone, without danger to or from anyone.
The sun rose higher and passed over his head before the coast loomed close enough to begin scouting for a landing spot. Nik let the boat drift as he rested and ate. It was warm on the water, and he was tempted to let the boat choose its own mooring. But as he swung gently south, the darkened lands of Umbren rose in the distance.
Somewhere before him was the fabled Umbren city of Husush.
He knew it was there the way he knew spirits sometimes walked the earth - in the corners of his mind and the base of his spine, where fear lived.
The tales of Umbren and Husush were few because no one who had ventured there had ever returned. Some had made it as far as the shore and been blessed enough to wrench themselves from the currents’ grips, and all he’d met spoke of the darkness and the shadows. Perhaps once Umbren had held men, but Nik didn’t think it did now. He believed it was empty of human life, filled instead with desolation and dead things.
And so, he didn’t let the boat drift past the next inlet. Steering his boat carefully between the sharp rocks, Nik finally heard the scrape of shore beneath him. He jumped into the knee-deep water and hauled the boat onto the narrow strip of land. There was barely enough room to moor it before the mountains shot straight into the afternoon air. Nik tilted his head
back, unable to see the peaks from here. They were so high misty clouds obscured their limits.
Strapping the bag securely to his back, Nik wrapped his hands in leather gloves, roped his waist with a lead line, and sheathed a couple of daggers and hooks to his belt. After a final glance at the MagiSea behind him, he turned and reached above his head, grasping a ledge.
Hauling his body off the rocky beach, Nik began to ascend the bare, silent mountain.
THE BEACH OF WESHEN Isle was too quiet. Lorenya knew what had happened, even before she saw the beautiful sculpture. The house had been muted with night, the pallet where Nik slept cold.
She had expected as much, but the knowledge of his need to flee their protection haunted her.
Nik surely thought he was a danger to her family, and at a glance, it was the truth. But he’d never been taught that some dangers were worth the risk.
The women needed his guidance, and he needed their love.
Lorenya ran her fingers over the smooth, white surface of the entwined bodies on the sculpture. As the morning breeze picked up, a handful of leaves blew toward her along the beach. It was too early in the fall for leaves to have dropped, and Lorenya watched them idly.
One was much larger and paler than the others, and it tumbled along the beach with much more purpose, wrapping itself around the base of the sculpture like an embrace.
She bent to brush it away, but her fingers sparked at its touch. Crouching to look at it, she realized it wasn’t a leaf at all, but a scrap of parchment.
A note.
Peeling it from the white sand, she began to read, her eyes filling with tears as her heart broke over this missed opportunity.
Sy was alive. Coren was alive.
And the Restless King of Riata was dead.
“Matron Behrenna,” Lorenya cried, her excitement spilling over as she broke into a run. Yelling for her neighbors, she scrambled through the small village, heading straight for their leader’s house.
Within minutes, nearly everyone had gathered.
“Nik has left,” Lorenya began, holding her hand up against the barrage of cries and questions. “But we have a letter from Sy and Coren. The Restless King is dead!”
She had to stop for many minutes while the women cried their questions and prayers of thanks. Behrenna stared at her with wide eyes, and Lorenya offered her the paper. The older woman read the message, her lips forming the words silently. Once she’d finished, she blinked up at Lorenya, then dropped her gaze and read the entire letter again.
“We must ready the city,” she whispered.
Lorenya’s heart stuttered. Survivors! Coren was sending people to fill their city once more. Weshen lived, and it was all because of the three young people General Ashemon had been too afraid to listen to.
The tide had indeed turned, and Lorenya was filled with pride at the thought of her people’s ship cresting the sparkling MagiSea and sailing into their future with full hearts again.
They had lost much, but they would survive.
Weshen would flourish again, and she and her children would be among the first to see it.
Oh, how she wished Nik had waited just a few more hours. But they would find him. She vowed it to herself and the Mirror Magi as she listened to Behrenna explain their next steps.
Nik would return, and Sy would return, and Coren. Everyone they had lost would be honored by the rebuilding of Weshen City.
SY HADN’T BEEN WITHOUT pain since the battle with the witches. The hours of constant shifting and using his Grizzlin form had drained his energy, the witches had shredded his skin with thorns and vines, and Graeme’s seven brothers hadn’t let him get a minute’s rest through the nights.
The fact that it was his evening to trail Jyesh was the icing on the proverbial cake. Of course, he could have easily switched with Resh. But he was determined to see this through.
“Are you my designated babysitter?” Jyesh asked. “First Son to First Son, I really don’t need your help to wipe my-”
“Regardless, here I am,” Sy broke in. “You know your reputation proceeds you. If you were more famous than infamous, I bet you’d be followed around by pretty young things instead of a grumpy Paladin and a pair of Riatan guards.”
Jyesh scoffed. “What would you know about pretty young things?”
Sy rolled his eyes and cracked a book he’d borrowed from the palace library.
Jyesh peered over his shoulder, wrinkling his nose. “History,” he said in mock excitement.
“I’m still hunting for information on Graeme’s brothers and this Magi-forsaken curse,” Sy admitted. Jyesh tilted his head, studying him.
Sy felt a flicker of flame zip down his spine, and he prayed the brothers would leave him alone a bit longer. He clenched his teeth against the sensation, and it died away. He flipped a page, trying to ignore the way Jyesh still stared at him.
“Have you asked Gernant?” Jyesh asked, just as Sy had settled into the silence.
“Asked him what?”
“If alchemy can help.”
Sy shook his head. “I don’t even know what sort of magic made the curse yet.”
“Umbren, if I had to guess,” Jyesh offered.
Sy nodded. He’d assumed as much, but so far, he’d found nothing. Not in StarsHelm history books, not in Graeme’s personal journals kept in a special section of the library, and not even in the odd spellbook Coren had found. It was as if the curse itself didn’t exist, except Sy knew all too well that it did.
“Your spellmaster?” Jyesh said, breaking abruptly into Sy’s thoughts again. He was doing it on purpose, Sy knew. Just to be aggravating.
“Giddon? He doesn’t know much. Just the story of how the brothers died each year, one by one. And their spirits came back to haunt Graeme after he took the throne.” Even Ferula, the odd spirit Coren had found, hadn’t known the origins or cures for the curse, only that Graeme had struck a deal he wasn’t truly aware of.
“When I find the SoulShifter power, I will help you,” Jyesh declared, his voice regal.
Sy held in a snort. “What makes you think you’ll find it?” It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation.
“I am stronger than Coren. And you.”
Sy didn’t think so. And none of them were as strong as Nik, but he wasn’t about to tell that to Jyesh. “Why don’t you have a creature shift, then?”
Jyesh’s eyes simmered as he glared at Sy. “I’m hunting the perfect creature. I don’t want just any smelly, flein-bitten thing.”
Sy made a show of scratching his scalp and bent to read another page of Riatan conquest. The cursed flame returned, scorching up his spine too quickly for him to tamp down the reaction. A growl pressed beyond his lips as sweat beaded along his upper lip.
Whispers began to flit in and out of his ears, and Sy knew worse was coming. Without another warning, his entire body convulsed, and he slid to the floor, his muscles twitching in agony. His legs curled beneath him, and his arms wrapped his ribs, fingernails digging through his thin shirt hard enough to draw blood.
A roar ripped from his mouth, and it seemed to appease the spirits that had gathered to Jyesh’s left.
“Can you see them?” Sy panted, pointing. Jyesh scanned the area, shaking his head.
“What do they want? Just to torture? Torture nearly always has a purpose.” Jyesh scratched his chin, observing Sy as he bucked beneath another bout of muscle cramps.
The spirits whispered and surrounded Jyesh, who was none the wiser. One of the glowing, hollow-eyed faces zoomed closer to Sy, then back to Jyesh, as though asking Sy to finish the conversation. Even the pain stopped.
“They want blood,” Sy admitted, wiping sweat from his brow and stretching out his legs.
“Whose blood? How much? Why don’t you just give it to them?” Jyesh peppered Sy with impossible questions, and the orange-gold glow of the spirits shimmered in what Sy had come to identify as laughter.
“Innocent blood. Enough to kill.
And I’m not like that,” Sy panted. He was surprised Jyesh hadn’t ferreted this information out already. It seemed like something he’d love to taunt Sy with.
“How innocent?” Jyesh asked instead.
Sy shrugged, hauling himself back into the chair.
“A child? Or just a normal, mostly good person?”
“I never asked because I’m not doing it.”
“Maybe you should. Your hands are not clean anyway, Paladin,” Jyesh said, stalking from the room just as the spirits surrounded Sy again, searing his flesh with golden flames. Sy let out a scream, and guards came running.
“Jyesh,” he ground out, and one cut away after the First Son of Riata, taking up Sy’s duties once again. The other bent to place a leather piece between Sy’s teeth and a cool rag on his forehead.
They had learned over the last several days that nothing could calm the torture until it was spent. The only thing Sy could do about it was bear it and mend his body after. At least he had that ability over Graeme.
Sy bit into the leather and growled, closing his eyes against the leering, glowing heads before him. He’d never kill a child. But if a criminal would do? He was ashamed to say his brain had entertained the idea.
His endurance was already wearing thin. His time was running out, too, before they left for Sulit. Killing the Brujok here hadn’t sated the brothers’ bloodlust, and Sy feared what might happen if the curse found him on the battlefield.
Coren needed him to help her find and fight Mara, but as the brothers began to shower him in pain, he worried he wouldn’t be enough.
Chapter 25
COREN WAS RESTLESS, as though her body was waiting for something to happen.
She yearned to be alone with her thoughts, how she was once able to run the plains of Weshen Isle for hours without interruption. But everywhere she turned, a solicitous noble or an eager servant or even a worried friend was there, needing something from her.
Dream of Darkness and Dominion Page 24
