The Godstone

by Violette Malan

  I tucked the locket away. It felt warm. “Cisterns, you were saying.”

  “If they haven’t been found and filled in. If Elva hasn’t arranged for guards to be waiting for us there.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “If that was the intention, why did he not simply keep me? Why did he allow me to return to you?”

  “Because, with no disrespect intended, it’s me they want, not you. There’s something I have that Metenari needs. More of my blood, or something I could tell him—something.”

  “Perhaps the forrans you are so certain the Godstone does not know.” I hooked my arm through his and we set off again, taking care to stroll along casually, in case the White Court guards were watching. “Suppose he could not have you? Suppose you were in the other dimension? Or dead? Then whatever he needs from you would be unavailable.”

  “Setting aside the fact that I’m the only one who knows anything about the Godstone—and that includes Metenari . . .” Arlyn’s voice faded away and his steps slowed. “If what Elva suggests about it is true . . .” This time it was Arlyn who stopped in his tracks. “Metenari wants me for what I know, just as he always has. He has the Godstone, but he doesn’t know how it works.” He looked at me from the corner of his eye. “And the Godstone wants much the same thing, if for a different reason.”

  “The Godstone wants? Are you saying it’s alive? Sentient?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t remember.”

  From the look on his face, he remembered perfectly well. Hoping I was wrong, I tugged him into motion. “Again, if you were not here—”

  “From what you’ve said, Metenari’s as stubborn as a bulldog. He won’t stop looking, and that’s supposing the Godstone would let him. We’re talking about a man who was able to learn about the Godstone in the first place and find it.”

  “Research has always been Metenari’s strong point,” I admitted. “His power level is nothing unusual for a first-class practitioner, but he worked hard, and his knowledge of forrans and historical facts is extensive. Even Medlyn praised him for that once.” I touched the locket through the silk of my shirt and cravat.

  “So even without me, with the Godstone pushing him, he’ll eventually find out what he needs to do on his own—if he doesn’t destroy the world first. But as long as he’s looking for me, we have a hold on him.”

  “And Xandra’s—your tower . . .”

  Arlyn looked away, brows drawn down. “It’s risky, but if we get him there, we may be able to neutralize him. Them.” Arlyn pressed his lips together in a parody of a smile. “I’ve got an idea.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The noise level at the Autumn Rose didn’t change at all when we came through the doors. From the description Arlyn had given me as we strolled through the streets, it was clear the place had come up in the world. For the most part the clientele were smaller merchants, traders, and clerks. A few seated close to the door glanced up from their meals, but did not give us a second look.

  “How can I help you, Doms?” The host looked to be a man old enough to be my father, stout, with a thick shock of graying hair just starting to recede.

  “My brother left my horse here,” I said, hoping that Elva had managed it.

  Without any change of expression whatsoever, the host waved for us to follow him through the dining room and out a pair of doors at the far end, which turned out to lead into the kitchens. Rather than taking us past the ovens and cooks, however, he indicated a narrow corridor that ran off to the right.

  “If you’d excuse me,” he said. “I got work to see to. You’ll find a courtyard at the end of this passage, you can’t miss it. Good day.” With a nod, he turned and went back the way we had come.

  “Huh,” Arlyn said as soon as we were alone. “Elva must have paid him to mind his own business.”

  The courtyard was one of the largest I had ever seen inside the City, fully as wide as the building itself, and deep enough for several outbuildings. A snort from behind a wheelbarrow upended over some half-filled sacks of flour led me to Terith. He knocked my hat off nuzzling my ears, and rolled his eyes at Arlyn.

  “He doesn’t like me.”

  “He has always been a sensible beast. Now, where is this escape route?”

  Arlyn led me around a large lemon tree, branches heavy with fruit, a chicken run, and a small raised bed full of herbs. I helped him move two crates and an empty birdcage, revealing a section of wall neatly bricked in.

  I ran my hands over the rough surface. From the feel of the mortar, this wasn’t recent work. “No way out after all.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” He laid his hands on the bricks, almost as though he were looking for a secret trigger that would open the wall if he pressed on it. “Remember how you asked the grass and plants to move out of our way in the New Zone?”

  I thought I could see where he was going, but—“Those were living things,” I pointed out.

  “And this,” he tapped the wall, “is bricks and mortar, all natural ingredients. How do you know you can’t ask them to move?”

  I had never done such a thing before, but really, what choice did I have? I had to at least try. I rubbed my hands together, and when they felt warm enough I pressed my palms to the bricks. At first I felt nothing but residual heat, and then I found I could distinguish brick from mortar without moving my hands. Crushed stone, clay, sand . . . all living, though not in the manner of trees, and all seemed to be asking for something. I could smell the place the sand had come from, a beach in the Fourth Mode, and feel the sunshine on the mountainside where the stone had been quarried and crushed.

  “Go home, then,” I whispered, and Arlyn caught me as the wall I’d been leaning on disappeared.

  * * *

  I can’t tell how much time has passed. The buildings all look the same—so, not long enough to affect brick and stone—but lots of other things have changed. The clothing is the least of it. Gaslight. When I was here oil lamps were still experimental.

  So why does Elvanyn Karamisk look so familiar? Maybe I knew his grandfather? Or great-grandfather? So he comes from another dimension. I’ve been there, so it’s still not impossible.

  Once I convince Xandra to give me the forrans, there won’t be a repeat of what happened last time. Xandra was a coward when all is said and done. “Unacceptable casualties,” is what he kept saying. He just didn’t want to play the odds. And the lives of any left would be so much improved, surely it was worth it.

  Xandra was trying to make everything change at once. I’ve been thinking, maybe it would be better to change one Mode at a time.

  Now’s my chance to find out. Once I find Xandra.

  Ten

  ELVA COUNTED SLOWLY to sixty before reviving Rontin. As soon as she showed signs of coming around, he went out into the corridor and came back in, as if he had just arrived. With luck, she wouldn’t associate him with the blow to the head. Her eyes fluttered and she twisted away from him, pulling a dagger before he could stop her.

  “Rontin! Watch it! It’s me, it’s Elva.” He backed off, holding his hands open at shoulder height so she could see they were empty. “Captain sent me to watch with you.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “How can I know? I just got here, and you—”

  “Never mind that now. Go after them—maybe they haven’t gotten far.”

  “Which way?” Elva stood in the doorway, looking first to the left, then the right. If he were really who he said he was, he wouldn’t know the best way to go.

  Rontin beckoned him back and used his arm to haul herself to her feet. “Probably doesn’t matter. Probably long gone by now. Ssssss.” She touched the top of her head with careful fingers. “What did they hit me with?”

  “Let me see.” He parted the hair and revealed a red swelling, already forming, roughly the size of his gun
barrel. Or a walking stick, or just about any other blunt object. “Didn’t break the skin,” he said. “Did you see anything? Was it them?”

  “Who else would it be?” she said. “Thing is, we don’t know whether they’re still in the Court, or they went back where they came from.”

  “The captain will want a report. It might be worth my waiting to see if they come back. Are you well enough to go alone?” She was looking a bit green, but she wasn’t vomiting. Likely no concussion, then.

  “I don’t think so.” It cost her a lot to say that. She touched the top of her head and winced.

  “Here. Lean on me. Is there any way to lock the place from the outside?”

  Rontin started to shake her head and hissed again, shoulders hunched against the pain. “No. Can’t be locked by mundanes—certainly not against practitioners.”

  She was leaning heavily on him by the time they got back to the guard barracks, to be met with exclamations and cursing. Another guard led Rontin away to the practitioner on duty for emergencies, but at his captain’s signal, Elva stayed behind.

  “Markin, Tova, double time to Otwyn’s office, stay alert, don’t get separated.” The captain turned back to Elva.

  “Report.”

  Elva drew himself up and squared his shoulders. “I went directly from here to Practitioner Otwyn’s office. I saw no one of interest in the grounds on the way. The halls and corridors near the office were empty. I found Rontin face down on the floor just inside the door. It’s pretty clear she was struck from behind. Her hand was on her pistol grip, so she must have tried to defend herself when she realized she was going down. I have no way to know how long Rontin was unconscious before I arrived. She might have been attacked just as she got there.”

  “Which means they might have arrived as much as an hour ago, which puts us more than an hour behind them.” Captain sat down on the edge of the table. “Yet no one else has reported a sighting.”

  “We wondered if they might have gone back when they found someone waiting for them. If so, it’s possible they’ll return to that room. Rontin wasn’t fit to report back on her own, so I’m afraid we left the place unguarded.”

  “Not optimum, but understandable.”

  “Should I go back, Captain? Are two guards enough?” Elva said.

  The captain shook his head, frowning over his crossed arms. “It’s a long shot at best. It’s far more likely that they escaped, and I’ve rearranged the patrols to take that into account.”

  “Where do you want me, sir?” With luck he’d be able to lead a few more people astray.

  “It’s not where I want you, I’m afraid. Practitioner Metenari wants to see you. Now.”

  Against the tight feeling in his stomach, Elva reminded himself that this was what he wanted. He couldn’t convince Metenari to look for Fenra and Arlyn in the Third Mode unless he had contact with the man.

  The practitioner was alone when Elva reached his sitting room, and he entered with caution. If he was right, and Metenari’s prissy, know-it-all persona was being overlaid with someone harder and more arrogant, someone like Xandra . . .

  “I know you,” the practitioner said, eerily echoing Elva’s thoughts.

  A cold worm crawled through Elva’s guts. “Of course you do, sir. We’ve met several times.”

  “No. You’re Elvanyn Karamisk, or his great-grandson. Why did you say you were from another dimension?”

  Elva went cold all over, his ears buzzed, and the world receded. Only two living people knew who he really was, where he really came from, and neither Fenra nor Arlyn would have told Metenari. He steadied himself, shifting his feet slightly farther apart. This had to be the Godstone. Having a few of Xandra’s mannerisms wasn’t so incredible—he was the first person it knew—but it seemed mannerisms weren’t all it had.

  The practitioner folded his hands together, index fingers extended, and tapped his lips.

  The shock somehow cleared Elva’s head. Xandra had left more than his power behind with the Godstone. Enough of himself to eventually recognize Elva. What should he say now? Whoever or whatever this was, Elva still needed its trust, needed it to be willing to follow his advice. Decision made, he took a deep breath.

  “I’m not Elvanyn Karamisk’s great-grandson,” he said. “I’m Elvanyn Karamisk.”

  A puzzled frown replaced the practitioner’s smile. “However did you manage that? The real Elvanyn Karamisk must be dust five times over.”

  “I’ve been living in the other dimension—the New Zone,” he added in case the Godstone knew about it. “Either time moves differently there, or people from here don’t age the same.”

  “Interesting. So all that nonsense about only being here for the sake of Fenra Lowens was just . . . nonsense?”

  Elva opened his mouth to agree, but closed it again. A reasonable question for either Metenari or Xandra. What should he say? Whom should he answer? When he’d told Metenari he was only here to look after Fenra, he’d been playing a role, trying to mislead the man. Now Elva wasn’t so sure himself. Of course he wanted to stop the Godstone, to save the world. But primarily he wanted to save the damsel in distress. Somehow, Fenra had become as important to him as anyone else. Or more.

  What should he tell this . . . person who might be Xandra?

  “It isn’t all nonsense,” he said finally. “Of course I wanted to come home. I’ve been waiting for a chance for . . . I don’t even know how long. When Fenra and Arlyn told me Xandra Albainil was dead, I didn’t believe them; I thought they might be acting for him. I needed to come back and see for myself.” Elva ran his hands through his hair. Even if what he feared was true—maybe even especially—his best bet now was to pretend he thought the being he spoke to was still Metenari.

  “And I do care about Fenra.” Again he thought the truth, or most of it, would be his best bet. “I don’t want her to come to harm. She’s innocent in this. And she is in danger from him, just as I said.” Elva hesitated. “He intends to use her power, that much I’m sure of.”

  “But Fenra Lowens is no more than a third-class practitioner, second at the most. She wouldn’t have the strength to perform the forrans needed to manipulate the Godstone.” A shadow of Metenari’s smile floated over its mouth. Smug was the closest Elva could come to identifying it before the expression disappeared completely.

  “With respect, Practitioner, this Albainil character may not know that.” Elva wasn’t sure how he knew, but something told him that Fenra was no more a third-class practitioner than the Godstone was a rosebush.

  “Surely she would have told him herself as soon as she realized his intent?”

  “I’m sure she did, but why would he believe her? And remember, she’s already succeeded in some of the forrans he’s given her. Maybe the ones this man knows are designed not to require much power.”

  “That is a very good point.” Its voice softened and its eyes unfocused, as if it looked inward, thinking of something else entirely.

  “Practitioner?” Elva waited until he was sure he had the thing’s attention again. “I believe I know where they’ve gone. Xandra Albainil, when he was my friend, had a retreat, a tower, in the mountains of the Third Mode. So much other information was passed down in the family, maybe he left the knowledge of this place too?”

  “And you know where it is?” A slight smile touched its lips.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And he won’t know that you know?” The smile broadened. “This Arlyn?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So if we don’t find them here in the White Court, we could look there?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking, yes, sir.”

  “We will give the guard one day, and if the fugitives don’t appear, we’ll look into your suggestion.”

  This was the best he could hope for. “Yes, Practitioner.”

  “Dismi
ssed.”

  * * *

  Arlyn

  “I’d forgotten about the steps,” I said. “The walkways are big enough for horses, but with these steps . . .” I shook my head.

  “Horses can manage steps,” Fenra told me. “It’s cows that can’t.”

  “Good thing he’s not a cow, then.”

  Her horse managed the fourteen steps just as Fenra said he would. Swear he looked at me sideways when he reached the bottom, his eyes partly shut as if he was laughing at me for doubting him. At the bottom the narrow steps widened into a limestone tunnel, worn smooth in spots from untold numbers of hands and feet. You could hear the sound of water, and smell it, so some of the cisterns remained intact. After we’d walked for maybe an hour, the walls became blocks of limestone interspersed with patches of rock, shored up here and there with beams. Reached a wider space, a vaulted ceiling, made from tiny bricks. Floor ended abruptly on the right, falling away into the darkness that had once held water for the entire City.

  “These would have been full of water, when the system was in use,” I said.

  “I know what a cistern is, thank you.”

  Swear the horse snickered.

  “There’s plenty of room here,” Fenra said. “You’d better ride.”

  “I can walk.”

  “No, you cannot. Remember, I am not just any practitioner, I am the practitioner who has been leveling you all these years.”

  Knew that tone. In no shape to argue with her anyway. Truth was I probably couldn’t walk very far on my own.

  “It doesn’t like me.”

  “Perhaps because you keep calling him ‘it.’ ” The horse snuffled at the nape of her neck. “Terith, do not let him fall off.”

  I had to be content with that.

  Tunnel started to slope downward and veer to the right. Cisterns had been built where it was easiest, partly dug out, partly natural fissure, so they weren’t the shortest route out of the City. The new cisterns, cleaner, easier to maintain, had been built by City Engineers from practitioners’ designs when sewage systems came into wider use. These old cisterns had long been forgotten.