Phoenix in Shadow - eARC

by Ryk E. Spoor

  “Do we look like Unity Guards?” Tobimar asked quietly.

  “No...no, you do not. There is something strange indeed about you. I know not the workmanship on your armor, Phoenix, nor the pattern of your clothing, young man.”

  Kyri shook her head, trying to make sense of this. His voice is tense, exhausted...near the edge of a breakdown. Yet he does not speak as a madman. At the same time, there was a witness to him actually abducting a child.

  “That,” Hiriista said, “is because you see before you far travelers indeed: Phoenix and her friend Tobimar hail from beyond the great mountains, through the Pass of Night; Lady Shae herself has looked into them and seen their truth.”

  Truth. That’s it! I’ve never tried it...but I know it can be done. She concentrated, let the power she had been gathering flow into her. Myrionar, give me your eyes and ears. Let me see what truly is, not what others desire I see, nor what my own beliefs would like to see. Let me hear the truth, and be deaf to falsehoods.

  She sagged as though a massive weight had landed on her; the power she had gathered before was suddenly all needed merely to support her as she was forced to reach out, grasp the distant power, yank it towards her, an effort like dragging granite boulders. Myrionar, I had never realized...the POWER needed for the truth-sight. Only the mighty prayer and miracle she had called forth on the night of her defeat of Thornfalcon, when she shattered a mystic Gateway and evaporated an almost uncounted host of foes, had demanded more focus and power from both her and Myrionar. And it was harder here, even harder than it had been in Rivendream Pass, harder even than her sensing for hidden evil in Sha Murnitenzei, for truth-telling meant discerning the secrets hidden in another soul without injury—in short, seeing into that strange place beyond the living realm where the real and the possible intersected and tracing those threads, rather than seeking to break the target’s will. That suppressing power is stronger, much stronger here. And it is darker here, not even merely less good. This is a dangerous place.

  Zogen Josan had recovered from the expected surprise. “This is truth? Do you swear it, Hiriista? Swear by the Light that these are no Unity Guards nor any of their servants, but new-come heroes from beyond the Pass?”

  Hiriista’s voice was puzzled, but at the same time Kyri heard relief in it—relief that his old acquaintance seemed willing to talk, might be able to be reached. “I swear it, in the name of the Light in the Darkness, the Seven Lights and the One Light, by my Oath and by my Family.”

  “Then...then I believe you. I have to believe someone can be trusted. But...but I think it is too late, far too late.”

  “Maybe not, Zogen Josan,” Kyri said, the power finally come into her. She saw the world now as though it was both brighter and darker than before, flickering with strange fire, whispering hints of words. “But I must ask you. Did you kill any of the children that have disappeared?”

  “No!” The voice was emphatic. “I have killed no children! I would never do anything like that!”

  The first part was true; she could hear the truth in it, the rightness in the statement like the beauty of a pitch perfect note. But the second part sounded a hair off, the glow was dimmed, grayish. Why would he say he has killed none of them, yet be less sure of what he would do? Does he doubt himself?

  “But you were seen taking a child today.”

  “To protect them!” Zogen said emphatically. He had come forward, and she could now see him, a tall black-haired man with a haggard, drawn face that must normally be quite handsome. “Though I fear there is nothing I can do to save them.”

  And the truth, twice more. She knew she could not keep this power up much longer.

  “What are you afraid of, Zogen Josan?” she asked finally. “What makes you fear to trust your comrades, your Reflect...and yourself?”

  The former Color’s breath caught; the gasp was audible from where they stood. There was a long, long pause. Then, finally, he spoke, in a voice so low she could barely hear it.

  “Sometimes I would look in the mirror and not know, exactly, where I had gotten the bruises I saw. And then I would forget them, and not wonder. And other times, I would remember doing something, yet the memory did not always ring true, as though I had seen it, but was as though I had stood outside myself, watching.”

  Ice trailed down her spine, for she recalled the Watchland’s own words: “...for many of the last few days I have felt almost outside myself, watching what I have been doing...” And the Truth of Zogen’s words was undeniable.

  “And,” he continued, “and sometimes I have seen my friends, and for a moment...wondered about them. Wondered if they were as they seemed. And as I thought of these things, I was more and more sure that many of my deeds were just shadows of truth, and I have had nightmares of other things. Places of terror I have never seen in waking, things that hide behind faces I trust, but are not what they seem. And I know now that one of them is here.”

  The Sight was gone now, but she was sure that he was telling the truth as he knew it. “How do you know, Zogen?”

  “I knew there was something wrong, even before Tirleren vanished, so I started watching the children in the woods. Watching, making sure they were safe, I thought...but I didn’t understand, not then. Only after he disappeared did I guess...but I could not be sure, for I found him too late.”

  “Found him?” she repeated, even as she felt something small scuttle up her armor.

  “Yes. In the wood, near the town. But I still didn’t know...”

  “Five children,” Poplock’s voice said softly in her ear. “Tied up downstairs and secured in cages. But something’s funny about a couple of them, I think. Didn’t dare poke around long—there were all kinds of weird crystals and things that might have been wards and such.”

  “What didn’t you know? Zogen, why did you take the children?”

  “I found out what was trying to take them. All of them were being brought to him.”

  She suddenly connected little pieces of Cirnala’s story and with a sinking feeling in her gut knew what Zogen was going to say...and who it was coming just now up behind her, emerging from the forest...

  “They were being brought to the Reflect,” Zogen said, and his breath suddenly caught.

  Kyri looked back.

  Reflect Jenten stood there, the entire mob just behind him.

  Chapter 27

  Tobimar tensed, and began to bring up the High Center. If things go bad, we will need all my skill. I don’t know exactly what Kyri was doing there, but I could tell she just pushed herself a long ways.

  Poplock scuttled up his leg, even as Reflect Jenten spoke. “You imply that I—”

  Kyri stepped between the house and the Reflect. “Both of you, pause a moment, before accusations and fear drive you to actions that will end in tragedy. Please—let me see if I can untangle this, for I think the truth is more strange than any of us know.”

  As Kyri continued, Poplock relayed his information about the children. Locked up and restrained? What possible reason could this man have for such actions?

  The crowd murmured, and there was a dark tone to their words. A faint sound from the cabin, perhaps inaudible to any save Tobimar as his senses extended, told him that the ex-Color had drawn a large blade. Then he saw the Reflect’s eyes narrow, but the man left his hand on the hilt of his weapon, and did not draw it, as he studied the three figures before him.

  “As you will, Phoenix,” he said finally. “But bring your light to this swiftly, for I have no patience for those who would accuse me of atrocity, and none of us have any for those who harm children.”

  “I thank you, Reflect, and I understand,” Kyri said. Her voice was respectful and cautious, the tone of someone walking on eggshells. This isn’t like Evanwyl, where everyone had known her since she was a child, would give her any benefit of the doubt, and she knows it. “First, while I wish to be clear that I do not suspect you, I think you should realize that even in the scant evidence the three of us ha
ve heard, there is some just reason to wonder. May I present those points to you, understanding that I mean only to point out the potential for such a perception?”

  The Reflect’s eyebrows rose. “Truly? You think you have heard evidence that could be taken against me? Very well, speak.”

  Kyri stood taller, and her demeanor was now more of a judge reviewing evidence and measuring the accused. “For the initial disappearance none could give evidence as to exactly when or where it occurred. But of the other four, what can we say? If I believe the testimony I have heard, there is this: the last one to have claimed to have seen Demmi alive was you, Reflect Jenten, who said that you had seen her go into the woods alone; Hamule was said to have disappeared between her home and your home, Reflect; the fourth child, whose name I have not yet been told—”

  “Minnu,” Cirnala said, looking thoughtful.

  “—Minnu, then, disappeared from within your house; I do not know if there is a connection to you with the last child, Abiti—”

  Now a few of the crowd were looking at the Reflect, and Jenten’s own face was less confident and sure. “Yes,” said the woman with the huge axe. “Nimelly—the one who told us that Zogen had taken Abiti—is Jenten’s Head of House.”

  Now pale, Jenten glared at Kyri, and Tobimar’s grip tightened on his swords, even as the Skysand prince started to see the entirety of the pattern. “You said you would not accuse me, yet your words seem woven to do precisely that!”

  “Hold, sir,” Tobimar raised one hand. “She simply wished to show that it would be easy for someone looking at the pattern to come to the conclusion that you were to blame. But there is more to it—much more to it—than that. Especially in the first few instances, the children were off with others—who specifically denied being there, later. Yes?”

  Jenten and the crowd shifted, realizing that Kyri had meant her words and that there was no immediate accusation of their leader. “Yes,” Cirnala said.

  “And is it possible that Jenten was with the children during those times? Or is it not the case that Reflect Jenten has far too many responsibilities to be able to be absent from view so often?”

  Startlingly, Zogen replied from within his cabin. “That...that is exactly the case. The Reflect would have been often busy, with many people around him, on the days that the children were playing in the woods.”

  “Yessss,” Hiriista said, nodding. “And consider: at least three of our victims spoke of meeting someone else, several times. A different ‘someone else,’ for each child, over a period of time. Even the other disappearances did not happen instantly, but over a period of time.” He looked sharply at Cirnala. “Tell me, the depthshade that was killed—had it taken any adult creatures—aged, crippled, otherwise easy prey?”

  The others blinked at this sudden shift of questioning, but Cirnala simply looked up and away, thinking.

  The connection was suddenly clear to Tobimar, and he felt Poplock’s grip on his shoulder tighten. Kyri’s expression became marble-cold.

  “No,” Cirnala said finally. “No, Magewright; only young animals.”

  “And each separated by at least a week of time.”

  “Yes,” the Reflect said, understanding coming into his voice. “Are you saying what I believe you are, Magewright?”

  “That this is a continuation of the same problem? Yes, I think so. Creatures such as the depthshade are like many other such creatures; they wait in ambush and take the unwary, the unprotected, the alone. They do not choose only one sort of creature, it matters not to them. And while sithigorn chicks are often numerous enough in a brood that they are likely to be caught alone, both forest antelope and your usual herd animals keep the young and mothers to the center of a herd. The opportunities to take such young prey are very limited unless...unless you had the ability to convince your prey that you were not a predator.”

  “But it was the depthshade!” burst out another man, tall and gaunt. “We set the watches, caught it as the little calf came down to the water.” Then he paused. “Came down to the water...alone. Without its mother, without any others of the herd.”

  Exactly. “Then what we are dealing with,” Tobimar said with growing conviction, that feeling of rightness that his Tor training provided emphasizing his words, “is a creature that targets the young, that can trick others into perceiving them as one of their own kind, that requires some level of time and preparation of the victim—at least by preference—and that uses other creatures as its agents. The depthshade was such an agent or, in truth, a victim, as is whoever the thing is using now.”

  “But why just the young?” the Reflect asked. “And how is it that this thing was using the depthshade?”

  “What happened to the depthshade’s corpse?” Kyri asked, cutting short a desperate poking of Tobimar’s neck by Poplock. I guess she’s asking the question the Toad wanted asked.

  “Brought to my home to be prepared for mounting as a trophy for the village,” the Reflect said, “Immediately after the kill.”

  “And was there anything unusual about the corpse when it was being prepared?”

  The Reflect shrugged, then looked into the crowd. “Nostag, you were preparing it for display.”

  The tall, dark, broad-shouldered man nodded emphatically. “Indeed I was, sir, once the immediate prep had been done by your household. There was one oddity. Rear of the skull, remember?”

  “Ahh, yes. We thought it had been injured there not long before, explaining why it decided to stay here and try for easy prey.” He looked back to their party. “There were three small holes at the base of the skull, and some a bit lower down on the spine.”

  Exactly. “We are dealing with something like an itrichel, as my people call them—I’ve heard them called mindworms and brain-riders, too,” Kyri said, echoing Tobimar’s own realization. “But this one’s worse, with abilities I’ve never heard of. I can’t imagine why—”

  “Enneisolaten,” Hiriista said bluntly. “The great lake is not named ‘Sounding of Shadows’ for no reason; there is great beauty about its shores, and nearby, but it seems great darkness lurks somewhere in its depths. Abominations sometimes crawl from below, and indeed they are often versions of other monsters made worse. Finding a way to cleanse the shadows from the lake is one of Lady Shae’s great quests.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Kyri said. “Not now, anyway. The important thing is that someone in your household, Reflect, ended up the next host of the itrichel. I don’t think it can be you—it would most likely be one of those involved in the handling of the depthshade immediately after it was captured and killed. But if what I’ve heard of these monsters is right, we know why it went after young animals and children.”

  “Incubators,” Hiriista said, the last s trailing off in a hiss. “It uses the young’s strength and growing spirit to provide the perfect environment to grow its brood.”

  “By the Light,” Cirnala said, and the faces around showed their horror. “That means that the children—”

  “You have it!” Zogen shouted, and the door swung open. “They’ve been sick, all of them, but they’ve been getting violent—”

  “You have the children and you never told us?!” the Reflect’s hand went to his sword-hilt.

  “I didn’t know if I could trust anyone!” Zogen snapped back.

  “Come on!” Kyri said, striding towards Zogen. “Enough time for recriminations later! We have to help those children now, before it’s too late!”

  Hiriista and Tobimar followed, but Hiriista’s tense walk and muttered words gave Tobimar a cold feeling. “For some, it has been many weeks. If the brain-rider has had so long to grow and be established...”

  “I will not let children die,” Kyri’s voice was cold iron. “If they still live now, then I say that Myrionar will forbid them from dying. It would be unjust for us to have solved the riddle and still fail to save them.”

  Beneath Zogen Josan’s cabin was a surprisingly large basement, hewn by impressive effort f
rom the rock and earth and well furnished. The furnishings, however, had been hastily rearranged, and five cages were set along the far wall. They were well-made cages, and cushioned, not rudely fashioned or uncomfortable, but Tobimar could see they were strong and secured on the outside by locked steel clips.

  Kyri glanced grimly at the children restrained within them, and suddenly went pale. “Ur-Urelle?”

  The far right cage had a young Artan boy in it...but at the same time, Tobimar felt a...pressure that had no physical source, a push inside his head that came up hard against the discipline of High Center. But though there was a momentary blurring, a hint of other features, he saw only the young boy. At the same time, Kyri’s expression showed that she saw someone she recognized. Which was of course impossible.

  “Unless your ‘Urelle’ is an Artan child, she’s not there,” Tobimar said quietly.

  Kyri shook her head, then glared at the end cage. “So. The last evidence we needed.”

  “That’s new,” Zogan said. “Tirleren was the worst off, but projecting a different seeming? No.”

  “If it can do that, it is nearing maturity,” Hiriista said bluntly. “I am afraid the host is...unsalvageable.” His voice was cold, filled with anger and helplessness.

  “We are not separate,” Tirleren said. “We are one, now. If I leave him, he will die.” The smile that suddenly appeared was more a rictus, something aping the expression but not quite familiar with how it was done. “Of course I will leave soon anyway.”

  “Soon,” agreed a little human girl in the third cage. That must be the second victim, Demmi.

  A third child, a Child of Odin, looked vaguely puzzled, as though there was some thought or idea that was just coming to him, while the other two were horrified. “No, no, I don’t want to have something in my head!” the little boy—Minnu?—said tremulously.

  “Don’t worry,” Kyri said, taking off her helm and putting it down. “I’ll take care of it. It’s going to be all right. Even for you, Tirleren.”

  For an instant, Tirleren’s face showed a flash of horror and hope, and then went back to cold watchfulness. “Separate us and he dies. I will not.”