Syphon's Song

by Anise Rae

  Selene looked Bronte up and down, disapproving of her attire with a silent sneer. Bronte still wore her dress and boots. They weren’t warm enough, but she wasn’t going to complain in front of Selene.

  Helen came to her rescue. She carried a coat and held it open. It was long, lined, and warm. Bronte slipped it on, colder than she’d realized.

  “Thank you.” She noted the gleam in Helen’s eye. Not maternal pride exactly. More like a queen sending her army into battle and anticipating victory. She supposed a Rallis always expected to win, though what prize was there here?

  Bronte searched for pockets to warm her fingers, but her hands slipped right down the front of the coat. No pockets. She used her sleeves as an impromptu muff.

  “That was a beautiful song, darling. Sad though.” Helen’s breath puffed a cloud of condensation with each word. “Button up that jacket.”

  “It sounded like a funeral song. Appropriate for the occasion.” Selene stared straight ahead, her gaze pointed beyond the white trees shining in the dark.

  “That was not my intention at all.” Bronte bristled to think someone would connect her new song to her grandfather—a man she’d hardly known and who had never done anything to help her. But considering Selene had saved her life and been injured in the process, Bronte decided not to take offense.

  “His ashes would tremble to know that you dare hold yourself in such high regard.” Phyllis’s injuries had not damaged her nastiness. “Why would you possibly think you would have the honor of gracing him with music?”

  Bronte was grateful Vincent wasn’t here to witness this. She ignored her mother and focused on Selene. “Are you ready?”

  Helen took up the battle for her. “Contrary to your point, Lady Casteel, you are the one who will miss the honor of hearing such music. You are blind to the gifts bestowed on your family, and you are no longer entitled to them. You’d be wise to curb your tongue since Bronte is helping to retrieve your medallion. She could just as easily hand it over to Edmund or me, or hold it for Vincent. Or she could put it around her neck and take the seat herself.”

  “Impossible!” Phyllis made to stand, but Bronte’s father stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. His consoling pat had Bronte wanting to roll her eyes. Her father seemed meek compared to Phyllis, but Bronte didn’t trust it.

  “Let me be clear,” Helen continued. “We tolerate your presence on our land only so you can remove the body corrupting the Rallis mark. The High Council asked us to permit your attendance. Know that the next time I see you, I will wipe your vibes clean of this Earth.” The promise rang with power, multiplied by gyre’s influence.

  Apparently, Vincent got his warrior powers from his mother. Bronte wished she had some for herself.

  “Let’s begin before this night passes into dawn.” Selene took charge.

  Three men stepped out of the shadows, armed and fierce, with heavy glares for Selene. She ignored them.

  “Miss Casteel, how long can you channel the power of the gyre?”

  “I don’t know, Miss Glender.” The chances for a sisterly relationship appeared slim. “I’ve yet to discover a limit on how long I can be in here.”

  “If you lose control of the power when we’re in there, it would be detrimental to my well-being.”

  “I don’t anticipate it being a problem. If that changes, I’ll let you know.” Bronte’s retort bounced off Selene’s snooty demeanor.

  “Yes, do so. As soon as possible.” Selene turned to her men. “Stay prepared and keep your wires on.” Selene tapped her ear. “I expect you to be standing ready when I exit the gyre. If you are not, the Council will be notified.”

  They stood with their arms crossed. Their sneers made it clear they would run right over Selene or leave her behind if they were allowed. They held no respect, much less affection, for the necromancer.

  She turned to Bronte. “Instruct me on how you will make the gyre’s power level appropriate for me. You were in it a moment ago, but the energy was still too much to cross.”

  Bronte took a breath. “When I did this before, I held Vincent’s hand. And somehow it worked.” All she received for her explanation was a glare. She tried again. “I think I channel enough power in my immediate vicinity to keep it away from anyone who’s touching me.” It sounded possible.

  Selene extended her hand, a regal gesture. Bronte chafed but she took it and stepped backward toward the gyre. Selene didn’t move. Their arms stretched between them. Bronte waited. Her sister slowly lifted a foot and placed it over what must have felt like a barrier to the gyre, a test for safety. Bronte took another step in.

  Selene nodded, satisfied. “Let’s go.” Another step and the two walked through the circles of moonlit stones. Their joined hands formed a bridge between them as they went around the rocks.

  Bronte bit back her questions until they were far enough in that no one would hear. “How did the High Council end up raising you?”

  “How did you become so callous you could ignore the state of the Casteel people?”

  Bitterness flung so hard and fast Bronte wanted to duck. “I didn’t ignore them. I was kicked out. I survived on my own.”

  “Bullshit. You were plopped down in a private school.”

  “Look, I know nothing about the Casteels’ problems. Even if I did, I couldn’t have changed anything. I lived as a Non. I kept my head down to save my life. I stayed away from anything to do with mages in case one of them recognized what I am.”

  Selene huffed. “And now that you’re through hiding, are you going to work for the good of the Casteel mages and Nons? Or are you too scared? The Casteel Territory’s power is out of control. Their mages suffer.” Her sour laugh echoed around the gyre. “Goddess, it all makes perfect sense now. The Casteels’ salvation was handed to them in the form of a syphon who could regulate the land’s power. And she ran away from home.”

  “Kicked out, envoy. And everything was fine when I left.” Bronte looked away with a heart turned heavy and hard. Their dark walk was a perfect setting to share secrets and confidences. No one could get to them. It would have been just the place for two little girls with dozens of giddy secrets to tell each other. Selene’s presence was a mirror of what might have been.

  “Of course it was all fine. You were doing your job. You syphoned away the excess vibes. Then you abandoned your post, and it all went to hell for the people who live in Casteel’s territory.”

  “If that’s what happened, I didn’t know. I couldn’t sense it at all. The only vibes I can sense are Vincent’s and this gyre. Leaving Casteel was no more my fault than it was yours. Why don’t you go take up the cause of the Casteel people and better their land?”

  They made it to the center where the tall, leaning stones formed the partial covering into the cave. This was as far as she’d ever been. Selene planted her feet. “I’m indentured to the High Council for one more month.”

  “Indentured? I thought only Non-mages could be indentured.”

  She shook her head like Bronte was an imbecile. “After that, I will have paid them in full for raising me. My service to them started when I was fifteen. It ends at the close of my thirtieth year.”

  What kind of childhood had the Council had offered Selene? It went a long way to explaining her personality.

  “What will you do when you’re done?” She couldn’t help asking, though it was none of her business.

  “What are you going to do now, syphon?” Selene countered. “Anything worthwhile?”

  “What do you think I should do? Go back to Casteel Territory? Would that please you?”

  Selene’s pale skin glowed under the light of the waxing moon. “If you’re looking to please people, you’re bound to fail.” Her tone turned absent. She looked away as if she couldn’t hold Bronte’s gaze. “The Council has two necromancer apprentices other than myself. They are two and four years old. They also have a siren, a dispirit, an oracle and three statics. But they are all of age, serving out their a
pprenticeships. Those two necromancers are practically babies. They have no true home within the Council. No mother. They will never find acceptance when they’re freed. They have no hope for happiness. No one likes the dark side, after all. No one.”

  Selene’s flowery mouth squeezed tight. The night’s shadows washed over her and seemed to coax the darkness of her death power to bleed through her skin with a frightening glow. Bronte erased the thoughts as quickly as they came. She was falling prey to the prejudices that ran through mage society. She’d thought herself above that. “So what are you going to do? Take the kids?”

  “Take them where?” Selene sounded as if she’d thought on the subject for quite a while and had yet to think of a suitable solution.

  Bronte lifted her face to the moon, no longer full, but its white and gray glowed in the sky. “You could move back to Casteel and live with Mom and Dad. You seem to intimidate them. I’m sure you could use that to your advantage. Blackmail them. Tell them you’ll expose them as coldhearted, horrible parents if they don’t hide the kids.” Bronte paused, her words snagging at threads in her memory. Was that what Selene had been trying to do at the hearing? Had she been saying that she would expose their parents’ secret necromancer daughter if they didn’t sign Bronte over to Casteel?

  Selene raised an eyebrow. “A bit weak, sister.”

  Bronte shrugged. “I thought it was just a myth that the High Council took children.”

  Selene gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Of course they take children! Any child that will do them good. Any they want! And the good Mayflower families conveniently look away and let the Council have their head in most anything so long as it doesn’t bother them.

  “And you are the worst offender of all, did you know that? Poor, helpless little syphon. Doesn’t even rank on anyone’s scale of power until the badass colonel rubs up against you, or you step your delicate little toe into his gyre. Beautiful, independent Bronte Casteel thrown to the winds by her family, just keeps her head down, doesn’t look around to see how anyone else might live who’s right there in the winds with her.”

  “Selene, your bitterness is getting old. I’m sorry I didn’t rescue you. But I didn’t know you existed. Get over it.” Bronte glared at her until Selene finally looked away.

  A far away holler reached her ears and faded quickly, as if the sound was too exhausted to linger after traveling through the thick magic of the gyre. It was Gregor, she thought. “Everything alright, Bronte?”

  Bronte waved her hand. “Oh yes,” she said too softly for him to hear. “We’re just fine, fast friends out here.” She turned to Selene. “Let’s finish this and get out of here.”

  * * * *

  “It’s going to be dark down there. Do you have your flashlight?”

  Selene squinted at her. “Mages don’t need flashlights.”

  “This mage does.”

  Selene circled her finger in the air. Instantly the entire gyre glowed with the power of a white sun. Bronte’s ears burst with the pressure as a scorching pain burned her eyes. Reflexes forced them closed, but even the speed of a blink was too slow to protect her vision. The light seared through her eyelids. She buried her face in the crook of her elbow as the pained protests of those who stood watching them drifted over. Selene’s hand jerked away from Bronte’s for the briefest moment. The light flared uncontrollably, penetrating the minuscule cracks in Bronte’s makeshift barriers.

  “Hellhounds!” The swear sounded as if it were yanked out of the woman and stuffed back down at the same time. Selene groped at Bronte’s arm until she found her hand again. The light extinguished. “Damn it to the stars but that hurt. I can’t see a shitty sacred thing.”

  It was no comfort to hear that Selene couldn’t see either.

  “Maybe a flashlight would be safer than mage light.” Her words were muffled beneath her arm. “I think the gyre makes it harder to control your sixth sense.”

  “I do not have a blessed flashlight! How about we use yours?” Selene’s sarcastic lash was woven with embarrassment over her lack of control.

  Bronte stayed silent.

  “What?” Selene continued, “Don’t you have one handy in your pocket?”

  “You’re the one with all the pockets!”

  Bronte moved her arm from her eyes but kept them closed. The inside of her eyelids flamed red. She slowly lifted them, but the view didn’t change. The world was on fire. “It wouldn’t do me any good at the moment anyway.”

  “Your vision will come back.” Selene’s voice was clipped. “Nothing’s dead on your eyes. I can tell from here. You smell nothing like rot, not even the smallest nerve.”

  “How reassuring. Thank you.” Even as she spoke, her peripheral vision slowly returned. The red bleeding across her line of sight collapsed in and left the edges of her vision clear. “How about you? Are you rotting anywhere?”

  “No more than usual. I can’t believe I did that in front of everyone. The Council guards aren’t going to forget it.” Selene’s head drooped. “I suck at mage light. It’s at the opposite end of the spectrum from death energy.”

  “Don’t feel bad. Vincent was hesitant to even try his mage power in here.”

  Selene’s head shot up. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that before we came in here?”

  “Because I didn’t think of it before!” She waited for the insults, but they didn’t come. “We still need a light. Should we go ask if anyone brought one?” Besides, it was a good excuse to put off the inevitable dead body search.

  “No!” Selene’s protest shot through the air. “We are not going back there without accomplishing our mission. We return only when we have something to show for all this.” Selene had a dot of a light going before she finished. Bronte’s ears whispered a protest at the spell, but the pressure was manageable.

  The light hovered above Selene’s fingers like a baby bird undergoing a growth spurt so rapid its feathers burst from its body. Sparks drifted down to the ground and disappeared into the dirt. When the light spell steadied, it was no bigger than the tip of Selene’s pert little nose. The utter blackness of the cave would devour that meager beam. They’d probably trip over the body.

  “Let’s go.” Selene’s words sounded defensive, as if she’d heard Bronte’s thoughts. The necromancer led the way, their arms stretching between them before Bronte moved her feet. The light went first. It moved between the two tall rocks in the middle of the gyre and then down into the opening in the ground. It lit the cave walls with a golden glow. Selene descended like she stepped down a spiral staircase, most of her body still above the ground as she turned once, and then Bronte was pulled down with her onto the descending ramp.

  Instantly the power of the gyre changed. Its energy deepened as if somewhere down here the heart of the goddess beat. Life pulsed from it. She was in the presence of the sacred. She opened her mouth to tell Selene.

  “It’s not far. I can smell it.” Selene’s glee sizzled through the cave.

  Bronte closed her mouth with a snap. Selene was unlikely to appreciate sacredness at the moment. Instead, her sister murmured about the decay rates of mage bodies, a forensic mage on the case.

  “Do you track down bodies in caves often?”

  “Not in caves, no.”

  Bronte decided she didn’t want to know where Selene worked. The woman probably traveled all over since it was unlikely that bodies showed up in the Council House frequently. Or maybe they did. Considering they took babies, Bronte was quite uninformed about how they worked.

  They walked down the twirling cave in single file, the passage so tight in places Bronte’s shoulders brushed both sides of the cave at the same time. They descended farther. The circumference of the tight circles loosened wider and wider. The energy spiraled up to meet her. She could have closed her eyes to luxuriate in the feeling.

  Except she risked tripping over a dead body.

  Reaching out a hand, she let her fingers run along the wall as they walked by. It w
as grooved with a thousand tiny channels as if water had rushed by them in individual currents the width of a thread. But it wasn’t water that had marked them. It was the goddess’s energy.

  “I wonder who brought him down here,” Bronte whispered.

  “You could have done it.”

  “I didn’t!” Surely she wasn’t about to come under suspicion for this. General Wilen would have questioned her about it.

  “You’re right. You’re too wimpy. It would have taken someone brave. Bold. Willing to take on a fight for the good of others. Someone courageous enough to take the Casteels’ power and hand it to their enemies in hopes that this family could help.”

  Bronte stumbled to a halt. “Really? Is that how you describe Double-Wide? Bold and brave?”

  Selene halted and spun around. “What?”

  “Double-Wide. They took the body.”

  “No, they…” Selene shook her head with a squint of her brow. She closed her eyes and slumped against the wall of the cave. “Blasted hells.” She dropped her head with the whispered curse. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “What doesn’t matter?”

  Selene opened her eyes. “Nothing that concerns you.” A sneer accompanied the snide comment.

  “You know, I’m tired of your attitude.” She took the lead and yanked Selene down the gyre, circling through the cave with a fury.

  Selene halted after a half-dozen turns. “We’re close. Let me take the lead. I want to see the body before you trip over it.” She slid past her and led them for a single loop down the cave before she stopped. She cocked her head, focused on something in front of her. The body.

  Bronte froze, keeping her eyes on Selene’s shoulders, but avoiding visual contact with the body didn’t work. Her sister crouched down and pulled Bronte with her, giving her a glimpse of dark shoes and suit pants at the other end. Selene leaned over his head, blocking her view.