The Godstone

by Violette Malan

  “Tea, please, Konne.” Metenari took the seat across from me. “My dear Fenra, please, tell me how I can help you.”

  “I am so embarrassed,” I said. “I thought I was helping a poor villager safeguard his rights, and his inheritance, and I was tricked . . .” I rested my forehead on my right hand and shook my head.

  “You thought his rights were going to be abused? That the Courts were going to ride roughshod over him?”

  I sneaked a peak at him from behind my hand. “Something like that, yes.”

  “Why don’t you begin at the beginning?”

  Exactly what I wanted to hear.

  * * *

  • • •

  Sometime later another youngster came into the room with a fresh pot of tea, clean cups, and new napkins and tidied the table before carrying away the used things. I had managed to answer all of Metenari’s questions, and I hoped I had answers to the ones I was waiting for.

  “One thing, Fenra. How were you able to return from this ‘New Zone’?” His smile didn’t fool me. His eyes were hard as diamonds.

  I hoped my own smile looked more real. “That was where Dom Karamisk saved us. He knew of a place where legend spoke of a stranger appearing from nowhere, and took us there. As it happened, the gate had been left prepared, ready to open, not unlike the one in the vault. It was tricky, but all I had to do was activate it.”

  Metenari nodded and smiled in satisfaction. “I surmised it had to be something of the kind,” he said. “I knew you would never have been able to create a gate yourself, without the forran in hand.”

  “And perhaps not even then.” I hoped my own expression was as humble as his had been satisfied.

  “And so this Karamisk fellow was only helping you? He had no other interest?”

  I shrugged and wrinkled my nose a little. “He’s an adventurer, and you know what they are like.” I selected a chocolate biscuit from the plate. “Always looking for a new way to die.” I shuddered and bit into the biscuit, savoring the crumbly texture. “He has only stayed with Arlyn now so that I could get away and warn you.”

  “You couldn’t control a mundane?”

  This was the tricky part. Metenari still thought Arlyn was an ordinary mundane. I had to be careful not to give him away. “I made a vow,” I said, shrugging as if a little embarrassed. “When I made the village my base, they made me swear I would never practice on them without their free will and consent. You know how superstitious the outer Modes can be.” This appeal to his superior knowledge sat well with him, as I had known it would.

  “Oh, Fenra, you should have known better. This is precisely why we’ve instituted review by the Court Council, to prevent this kind of carelessness.”

  I lowered my eyes. I knew he would see it as submission, but I was really hiding my reaction to his words. When did the council start “reviewing” practitioners?

  He leaned back into his chair, saucer in right hand, cup in left, and stopped with the cup lifted halfway to his lips.

  “Getting back to the Godstone for a moment,” he said. “Did he ever mention . . . that is, does this Arlyn know where in the vault it is? I mean,” he added when I looked at him with my most stupid face, “was the precise location part of the knowledge passed down to him?”

  * * *

  Arlyn

  “It’s time,” I said, getting to my feet. Twice I’d tried to get Elva to talk to me while we waited, but he refused. Stubborn. “Lend me one of your pistols.” I lowered my hand only when Elva didn’t move.

  He looked at me with one eyebrow raised. “I’m not going to arm you,” he said finally. “I’m not here to protect you. I’m here to make sure that you do as you’ve promised. That this isn’t some scheme to use the Godstone after all, or to get your own power back from it. One finger flick out of line and I shoot you. And these,” Elva pulled a pistol out of his left-hand holster, “will kill you for certain. These are revolvers. Six bullets. Six chances to make sure you’re dead.”

  Now I could see it up close, his “revolver” only superficially resembled the pistols I’d seen being used in the City. Where the shot would normally be placed, the powder charged, was a cylinder. I reached out to touch the gun with the tips of my left fingers, but Elva moved it away. Not that touching it would have told me anything.

  He studied me for a moment longer, his dark eyes unreadable, until he finally reversed the pistol again, and slid it back into its holster. “Let’s go.”

  I wanted to say something, though I didn’t know what. Elva believed what he believed. Bringing it up again wouldn’t help. Nothing would change.

  I expected him to slow as we approached the gate to the tower block, but he strode right up to the archway as if he had important business and didn’t expect to be denied. Sure enough, the alcove to the right of the entrance was empty. Fenra had done her part. Now it was our turn.

  “This is what the man gets for using apprentices instead of guards,” Elva muttered under his breath.

  “What do you mean?”

  “There should be two guards here, and another inside,” he said, as we started up the main staircase. “Post guards only at the perimeters, and anyone who manages to get past them is home free.”

  “I remember you explaining that to me once before,” I said.

  When he didn’t bother to respond, a hot spot of anger in my chest flared up and I swallowed it down. Fenra was right, I didn’t have time for this. The corners of my mouth trembled as I clenched my teeth.

  The door to my workroom was closed. I had barely brushed it with the tips of my fingers when it was yanked open from within. The young man staring at us wore an apprentice’s gray jacket but no black skullcap. His light brown hair was brushed back off his face, tied at the nape with a blue ribbon. He was a little taller than me, blue eyes made brighter by tanned skin.

  “We are to wait here for Practitioner Metenari.”

  For the first time, as if I was listening with the apprentice’s ears, I noticed a change in Elva’s accent. I’d heard that tone before, though, the confidence of someone in authority, who was too polite to prove it. So I wasn’t surprised when the boy unconsciously moved back half a step, giving us room to enter. Elva walked immediately into the space.

  “Dom, I don’t think—”

  As he passed the boy, Elva’s right elbow shot out, striking him on the side of the head. As the boy fell, eyes rolling up, Elva caught him and cradled him in his left arm, the fingers of his right hand at the boy’s throat.

  A movement, and a blond boy watched us from the opening of my vault. I could see the whites of his eyes.

  “Help me. Quickly,” Elva said to him. “He’s fainted.”

  “I can’t. If I leave the doorway, it will close.”

  “You.” Elva turned to me. “Don’t just stand there, take over so the apprentice can help me.”

  I dashed forward and took the blond boy’s place. I wasn’t sure what Elva was going to do, but then I hadn’t known he was going to knock the first boy out. The blond helped Elva lower the first boy to the floor and knelt beside him. Elva drew the pistol out of his left-hand holster. I opened my mouth to stop him. The sound of the shot would be bound to bring others. But Elva only reached over and knocked the boy behind the ear with the barrel of the gun.

  “Bring one over here,” I said.

  Without speaking, Elva dragged the smaller of two boys by his collar, careful not to knock him against anything as he pulled him around the furniture. I resisted telling him to hurry. Once he had the boy lying on his side in the opening, Elva straightened, looked around the room for the first time.

  “Not much changed,” was all he said.

  “Come on,” I said.

  Elva drew his second gun. He tapped the unconscious boy with the pointed toe of his boot. “He makes a fine doorstop,” he said. “But fro
m here I can watch both rooms, and act if necessary.”

  I knew what he meant by act. I drew in a lungful of air, but finally I said nothing. Just turned back to my vault.

  Everything looked the same. Everything was the same. Except me. I wasn’t Xandra Albainil anymore. None of the items stored in this room were mine, not in the way old Medlyn Tierell’s things were his. And nothing would change that for me now. I’d never be that person again. I took in another deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “These boys won’t sleep forever,” came Elva’s voice from the door.

  Flash of irritation. Even more so because he was right. What if this didn’t work? What should I do? I took another step, stopped. My body felt heavy. I wished I could just turn around, go home. I wished Fenra were with me. I hoped she was all right.

  I gave myself a mental shake. Four more slow steps took me to the cabinet that held the Godstone. It looked like an ordinary piece of pine furniture, tall, shallow, made beautiful by its simplicity and its perfect proportions. My cousin made it for me. The real Arlyn.

  I ran my hands over the surface. Cool. Smooth. The lock looked like a simple brass thumb latch. In a way, that’s all it was. No forran simple or complex could open it. Like Medlyn Tierell’s locket, it took something special to trigger it. I licked the tips of my fingers and thumb, reached out. I pulled my hand back without touching the latch.

  Would the Godstone know me again? I’d left it dormant, so I should be able to carry it out. Should. But I thought I’d have Fenra with me, able to act, if anything got out of hand. I hadn’t really thought past this point. All I’d thought about was making sure no one else got the stone.

  “Xandra.”

  Something in Elva’s voice made me peer around the edge of the cabinet, get a better view of the door. He stood braced against the wall, as if keeping himself upright by will alone. That would have been alarming enough in itself, but his arms hung down at his sides, as if the guns were suddenly too heavy to hold. He licked his lips and swallowed. His lips said “Xandra,” but he made no sound.

  I took a step toward him and caught hold of the side of the cabinet with one hand. My legs felt thick and heavy. I took two more steps. This time I couldn’t lift a hand to steady myself and I fell against a chest of drawers and slid to the floor.

  I hoped no one heard what Elva had called me.

  * * *

  Fenra

  Metenari believed my story—at least to the extent of bringing Elvanyn straight to me when he and Arlyn were caught in the vault. We were taken to another building, and shown into a pretty sitting room, obviously part of Santaron’s actual suite of rooms. Arched windows looked out into a balcony screened with thin, intricately carved panels of wood that kept the place shaded against the worst of the sun—and obscured any view of the outside.

  “All he had to do was stay away,” Elvanyn said, and not for the first time. He stood at one of the windows, but he was looking at me.

  “I am not so sure,” I said. I sat in a green-velvet-covered wingback chair, a little low for me, but otherwise comfortable. “Once a practitioner like Metenari learned the Godstone existed, he would never stop trying to find it. Could Arlyn take that chance?”

  “But . . . Arlyn,” he said the name with difficulty, “hasn’t changed. He still thinks he knows better than anyone else.”

  “He and Metenari have that in common, then.”

  Elva leaned his shoulders against the window frame, crossing his arms and looking at the floor with a stiff face. “If he’d stayed away, you’d have been safe in your village—”

  “And you would still be High Sheriff of the Dundalk Territory.”

  At this he looked up, pushing his fingers through his curly hair. His dark eyes stood out against the pallor of his skin. He looked a little strange until I realized his guns and his sword had been taken away. Until now I had never seen him unarmed. Not even in his sleep.

  “I’d have stayed in Dundalk forever, if it kept this world—if it kept you safe from the Godstone.”

  Irony, I thought, that’s exactly what Arlyn said he was willing to do. What, in fact, he thought he had done, exiled Elva forever. I pulled my knee up and rested my chin on it. I had heard all of this already. “Tell me, how is it you understand the Modes?”

  Elva sat down at the end of the sofa nearest me, a small half smile on his lips. “Xandra told me about them. How no one but practitioners can see them.”

  “Why would he do such a thing?” I had always felt it would be cruel to tell people about things they could not see for themselves.

  “He kept nothing from me, in those days. At least, that’s what I used to think. Since then, I’ve had plenty of time to reconsider. Eventually I realized he’d also been conducting an experiment, seeing if he could make me aware of the Modes.”

  “Whatever for? Did he think he could make you into a practitioner?”

  “Could be. He never actually said. It isn’t something any normal person would want, no offense.”

  I was not sure whether I was offended or not. For me, being discovered as a practitioner had been a salvation. I had never wondered whether other people might see it differently. Of course, I had wondered if everyone who could see the Modes revealed themselves. “But the Godstone,” I began.

  “When he was sure I wouldn’t ever see the Modes . . . well, he got interested in other things. First he discovered what he called the New Zone—and a few others, he said, though I never saw them—and there he found something unexpected.”

  “No Modes.”

  “Exactly. No matter how far you travel, in whatever direction you take, you are always in the same Mode.”

  I rubbed at my eyes and lowered both feet to the floor. This was too much. When was the last time I slept? “Perhaps there are Modes and not even we can see them.”

  “Stop. Take a deep breath. Here.” He fetched a pitcher of water from the sideboard and poured me a glass. Slices of lemon made the water tart and somehow more refreshing. I handed him back the empty glass.

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  Arlyn

  I didn’t know where we were. Could have been a private sitting room in any gentleman’s club. Had that look of impersonal comfort. Everything matched everything else, but nothing, not wing-backed chairs, not small tables with beautifully carved legs, not richly colored carpets, not even ornaments, seemed to be anyone’s personal choice. Eyes shut, I leaned my head against the high back of my chair. Couldn’t hear anything, windows and doors closed. Could smell flowers in the vase on the table next to me. Fenra could have told me what they were.

  “You do understand, Arlyn, that you wouldn’t be able to do anything with the artifact even if you had been able to find it.”

  Stopped being Dom Albainil while I was unconscious, I guess. Could think of half a dozen responses, but none worth making. Too much trouble to lift my head, open my eyes. How had I become so low so quickly . . .

  “Arlyn.”

  Idiot tapped me on the knee. I slapped his hand away, energized by sudden anger. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “Why do you think it’s locked away? This isn’t some experiment in a lab, you clown, it’s dangerous. It could destroy the world.”

  Now my eyes were open I could see his face change color. Red didn’t suit him.

  “I assure you, my knowledge of the Godstone is far more extensive than yours, no matter what lore has been passed down in your family. Come, tell me which cabinet the artifact is in, you’ll save me a good deal of time. Then you can go home to your village.”

  Knew I should tell him the truth. But the thought of having to convince him—there was just too much. Didn’t know where to begin. Wouldn’t believe me anyway. And really, if he destroyed the world, was it such a bad thing? Wouldn’t it be better if everything just stopped? Elva could stop
hating me, Fenra could stop leveling me, following me around, helping me. She could lay all of that down, she could rest forever, if this clown destroyed the world.

  “Where’s Fenra?” Couldn’t ask about Elva. He’d want to know why I cared, wasn’t going to tell him.

  “Practitioner Lowens is resting. You led her on quite a chase, you know. If you had only told her the truth about the artifact in the first place, all this ado could have been avoided.”

  Ado? What kind of practitioner said “ado”?

  Now he looked at me with his head to one side. “Arlyn, are you well? Was Practitioner Lowens helping you in her capacity as a healer? Here.” He held out his hands as if it never occurred to him I would refuse. “Let me check you,” he continued. “I don’t specialize in healing, but Fenra’s only a third-class practitioner. I may be able to do more for you.”

  Easier to go along. Put my hands in his, gripped them. Warmer than Fenra’s, smoother. Soft where hers had callus and muscle. Felt nothing, no leveling, not that I expected any. Didn’t know if I was disappointed. He grunted, flexed his hands to free mine.

  “Strange,” he said. Now his head was tilted to the other side. “There’s an emptiness in you. Is that why you wanted the artifact?”

  “Why do you want it? Why did you want it badly enough to forge a testament?” Again, anger gave me energy.

  “I’m going to finish what Xandra Albainil didn’t have power or courage enough to finish.” Metenari sat up straight. I swear he pushed out his chest. “I’m going to repair the world.”

  Would have been funny, any other time. Let my forehead fall into my palm, hand propped on the padded arm of the chair. How comfortable this chair would be, if this was another day, another place. Saw everything that was coming, every step. Couldn’t see a way to stop him. Wasn’t sure I wanted to. Fenra would understand. Elva—well no, he wouldn’t. Didn’t the first time, wouldn’t this time either. Wish I was a soldier. Then we wouldn’t be here now, would we?