The Daemon Prism: A Novel of the Collegia Magica

by Carol Berg

  “Found my Will wandering the streets yesternight,” snapped John Deune. “Crazed like this, wanting to talk to the smith. They had him jailed till all the guards ran off last night to search for whatever madman escaped from the palace. You best fix Will’s head, else I’ll lead soldiers here.”

  I was almost as agitated as John. Not from fright, however. His elder son’s report about the cage in the navel of the world had taken me straight to Portier. “I’ll hear what he has to say.”

  “But he won’t say it to you, no more than he will to me. He’ll only speak to the smith.”

  The wild-eyed boy, his blotchy face the image of his brother, held the doorposts as if to keep himself from flying into the beyond. “Where is he, Da?”

  “Andero’s not here,” I said. “You can tell me. Maybe I can help.”

  The boy jerked as if I’d slapped him. “Don’t let her witch me, Da. I’m already ruint.”

  “The mage came after him a second time,” said John, accusing. “The very morning after the first. Tell them, Will.”

  The boy sniffed and moaned. “He clamped his hand over my mouth and shoved me into the wall. He says, ‘Look at me, Will,’ and his eyes burnt just like a daemon’s would. I was hot all over, like I was burning, too. Then it felt like he burnt a hole in my head and stuffed nettles inside.”

  “Then what? What did he say?”

  “Swore at me and run off. There was a ruckus in the kitchen and Captain Hosten was yelling about the daemon mage. A guard grabbed me and I fought him crazy. That’s when they popped me in the nick.” His hand beat the doorpost. “Gotta see the smith, Da. Gonna burst if I don’t.”

  Was this a compulsion? Dante had told me he could do such if the subject was weak-minded. He’d tried it on Portier when they first met, only to realize Portier was anything but weak-minded. I waved my hand where Andero would see, summoning him.

  “You were right to come, Will. They couldn’t know how you had to come.”

  “What do you mean?” asked John Deune. “What’s the blackguard done to my boy?”

  “I think he’s laid an enchantment on him—a compulsion to speak to Andero. Once he’s delivered himself of whatever he carries, he should be fine.” I wasn’t exactly sure of that.

  “If the sorcerer has harmed my boy, I’ll kill the murdering daemon. I don’t care what powers he has or who he consorts with.”

  “Da…” Will’s chewed fingers gripped his hair as if he might pull

  it out.

  “I think Dante’s put Will under a compulsion to speak to you,” I said when Andero came around from the stair. “The boy’s about crazy with it.”

  “So I heard. Daemons, I’ve never been stared at so. What should I do?”

  “I don’t know. Ask him questions. Command him.”

  “Have you aught to tell me, Will?”

  “Alone!” Will spoke through gritted teeth.

  Andero glanced at me. “There’s none here who cannot hear. Say what you’ve got to say.”

  Will relaxed a bit and began to speak, his eyes never leaving Andero. The hairs on my neck rose, and a chill that had nothing to do with weather swept through the stinking alley. It was the voice of Will Deune that spoke to us, but the words…

  Andero, my brother. My time is short and I am desperate to get the knowledge I now possess to those who can use it. I’ve no time to explain all that’s happened to me here. I have failed my friends. Failed my calling. Failed in seeing. But if I can, through you, enable someone else to finish what I cannot, perhaps, in some small part, I shall stand redeemed for the evils I have wrought.

  Jacard, my onetime adept, the Regent of Mancibar, has secured one of the three Maldivean Seeing Stones. Though no enchantress, the woman of the dreams holds the other two. But neither Jacard nor Xanthe yet understands the Stones, nor did I until this night.

  The three together comprise an object indescribable save in the language of myth. They are fragments of the aether—the very essence of the universe. They form a conduit through which this same essence, divine or naturally marvelous as it may be, is channeled into the living world. Think of a water conduit made of ice. It is the very stuff of magic. Unfortunately, this conduit is hopelessly corrupt.

  Of paramount importance: The three Stones must be destroyed before they can be wielded as one. Jacard must not use them. Anne must not. I most certainly must not. The thought of their destruction is as painful to me as would be the destruction of the sun or moon, and I cannot deny that it will damage the world irretrievably. But if we do not act, the very souls that allow us to live as humans, to yearn, to strive, to create, and to care for each other, lie in peril.

  I have never been a believer in anything of the divine. But our friend Portier and another, whom I have met this night, have convinced me that my prideful ignorance of what lies beyond this world we see has brought us near disaster. Lurking in the three Stones, inseparable from their crystal structure, haunting the visions and dreams that have plagued me across half the world, is one Dimios—yes, he who is named the Souleater. And yes, he feeds on the souls of the dead. The creation of Ixtador during the Blood Wars, an aberration that prevents souls from passing from this life to whatever awaits us in the next, has provided him a feast, and thereby grown his might. Now he hungers for the souls of the living.

  My rending of the Veil at Mont Voilline set Dimios free to inhabit this conduit of magic, and on the day the Stones are joined and used, he can walk free in the living world. The reign of horror Dimios plans will make the Blood Wars look like acolyte’s practice, and there will be no sorcerer, mage, king, or tetrarch who can oppose him.

  And so we come to my own part. Though we have only just met as men, you know me as well as any. My history. My murderous temper. My disdain for all men, and my arrogance of intellect and skill. My pursuit of magic has ever drawn me to tread the boundaries of reason. Castelivre demonstrated how near I am to corruption. Indeed, Dimios has long reserved a place for me at his side, and several who walk in harmony with the unexplainable, from that old shepherd who reads the stars to my blessed friend Portier, have tried to tell me…to warn me…that my life’s journey leads me there. I can shape the power of the aether as no human has in generations, and Dimios is determined that I will do so in his service. He will use the skills and power I have so valued to implement the ruin he plans. I cannot, will not, allow this.

  Though I cannot resign myself to her danger, Anne must come. She will not shrink from whatever must be done. And she is stronger than all of us.

  Dimios’s first assault on this world is through Jacard. The fool raises his uncle Kajetan from the dead to teach him the secrets of the Seeing Stones, and he plans to use them and our friend Portier to endow himself with immortal life, as well as incomparable magic. In this rite Portier will be ripped asunder, his immortal being enslaved. Jacard does not know that Kajetan has linked a spell to his stone, Tychemus, that will transfer the uncle’s soul into the victim’s body instead of the nephew’s. But Dimios intends to upend both uncle and nephew, using the rite to give himself a physical presence in the living world. If this fails, he will find another way—or force me to make one for him.

  Xanthe is the cipher. As long as she holds to her purpose, we will have time to act. She is not the easy mark that Jacard believes, but never mistake her motives. She was imprisoned for seven centuries and desires to make up for it with power. If that means letting Jacard use the Stones, she’ll let him. And once Jacard and his dead uncle have the three Stones in their control, there will be no stopping them. The Souleater will walk free in the living world.

  As to what must be done. I have altered Kajetan’s spell so that it will not work as he plans. I pray it is enough to foil Jacard’s rite. I’ve also done what I can to help you or Anne find Portier. His rescue is imperative, not just for his own sake and to foil Jacard’s rite, but because he and Anne must discover what to do about Ixtador and the Seeing Stones.

  The Stones are d
ifficult. It is impossible to take them by stealth or purposeful murder, overt or covert. They are enspelled to prevent it. But remind Anne that the compulsive working of a spell structure acts on thought, desire, and emotion. If a person can discipline himself to strip away these things, it is as if he becomes transparent to the spell. Such a one could steal the Stones without falling prey to their protections. Dangerous, yes, but possible. Anne has the skill and discipline to do it. I would take on any consequence to keep this task from falling to her, but I’ve run out of time.

  As to how the Stones may be destroyed, I’ve no idea. They are of the aether, thus it must surely require enchantment. A human wizard named Tyregious split the original into three. So I’m thinking it will require nothing Anne cannot learn if she remembers our lessons and gives all of herself to the task.

  Earlier this night, so that I might gain Dimios’s forbearance long enough to do these few things, I took the place ordained since my birth in Grymouth Caves, binding myself to Dimios as his Chosen, his Hand in the Living World. But I’ll not serve him for long. It is imperative that neither my new master nor Jacard nor Xanthe find out what I know, or what I’ve done these few hours. And I will not risk compromising Anne, the one weapon we have that might oppose him. So I’ve worked a small enchantment to ensure I cannot divulge my secrets. Dimios will have his instrument, but, I hope, a most ineffective one. I swear that I will fight him for as long as I can. But you must not count on my help.

  I thank you for my life, my brother, and cannot find it in me to regret any circumstance that brought us together. Now, before I can even repay my debt, I have laid this new burden on you. And I am not done even yet, for I ask one more boon. Tell Anne exactly this: I know her. I see her, no matter if I am blind or lost or halfway across the world. And everything I see, I treasure. She is, and will always be, my only light.

  No torturer could have contrived a more bitter torment than Dante’s message. To hear the words I’d yearned for in such dreadful context near burst my heart with grief and guilt.

  “A double life,” I said. “Gods save us. All of this—the subservience, tormenting Portier, burning houses, teaching this Xanthe—Dante was playing agente confide again. Now he’s tried it yet a third time with a daemon.…”

  I did not question what we heard. I had felt the agony of his yielding. And I’d seen the consequence of his determination. “He did what he said. He didn’t recognize my voice. His own name was strange to him, and he said he could not recall how to work magic, though enchantment leaked from his hands.”

  “The Kadr well…’Tis sure that’s the magic he’s used.” Andero’s quiet horror set spider feet pricking my flesh. “He described the poison spell exactly as you say. Said it left no person at all and that trying to repair the damage would only make it worse. Curse these jewels and all sorcery.” Andero’s sinewed arms and clenched fists could have twisted a man’s head off.

  John Deune saw it, too. He grabbed a giggling, grinning Will and bustled him away, mumbling oaths to set Jacard on us if Will had gone loony.

  “He told me. Blessed Heaven, he tried to tell me.” Portier leaned on the doorpost, arms wrapped about his chest. “Think on the life you made me lead and you will understand what I do. On so many wretched nights, I imagined I heard him calling my name, swearing to come for me. When I saw him, I bled hope. But they had given me some potion.…I could scarce speak, much less think, and then he waved that iron around.…I was so confused and so afraid for him, afraid he wouldn’t hear what I’d learned…I blurted out that he was the Daemon but didn’t explain what that meant.”

  “He heard your warning,” I said. “Stars of night, he’s told me to destroy the Stones, to destroy magic itself.”

  “It wasn’t meant as a warning,” said Portier, “but a plea. How many in a generation have his gifts? Even you, Anne. How many can walk the boundaries between worlds? I found a scroll in Abidaijar, a very early version of the myth of the Beginnings, telling of the Defender and the Daemon. Whatever its underlying truth, I believe Dante to be the living embodiment of it. He was born with the strength and talent to champion the souls of the dead at the Gates of Heaven. Only the Daemon…only Dante…can fight this battle.”

  “But he has fought the hardest battle already!” The newcomer’s voice brought me to my feet.

  Four men approached from the roof stair. A shrill whistle brought two others to block the open end of the alley. Leading the four was Beltan de Ferrau.

  “Why do you despair? Prophecy is not a sculptor’s chisel. Did you not hear this marvel just unfolded?”

  Beside the tetrarch, sword sheathed, not a prisoner, not reluctant, and not at all surprised, walked Ilario de Sylvae. Shock robbed me of sensible words. “Ilario?”

  Rhea would not meet my gaze, but Ilario did, as sober as I’d ever seen him. “It’s time for us to talk with one another,” he said. “Time to stop working at cross-purposes. A most courageous young woman has gambled her life to force us to it, and a most courageous mage has just confirmed that she was right.”

  I backed away toward Portier, fondling my knife through the slit in my pocket. But my eyes did not leave Ilario. “You’ve been working with this tetrarch all along? A man who chained and beat you when you were half dead, who wants to burn Dante?”

  “No.” His denial was firm. “Though our several meetings in the hospice led me to a less harsh view of his motives than yours, it’s only since that night in Kadr when you felt Dante’s change. That’s when Rhea told me she’d left telltales for the tetrarch. She gave me reason enough to keep her secret until we knew more.”

  I was wholly at sea. Faithful Ilario…“She’s a betrayer! She gave Portier to Jacard!”

  Portier held on to the doorpost, but his eyes were closed and his brow creased as if only by concentrating furiously could he remain standing.

  Ilario stepped away from the tetrarch and Rhea but kept his distance from me. His wariness but twisted the knife of his treachery.

  “I’ll confess, I named myself the world’s greatest idiot for a few hours last night,” he said. “But I heard her out after you were asleep. Ani, you love Dante so fiercely. Our friendship—yours and mine—is forged in the deepest of fires, but would you have listened to Ilario de Sylvae, longtime fool, if I’d told you I believed Dante irredeemable? If I’d told you that I’d sworn to myself to see him dead if what Ferrau feared proved true? You cannot conceive of the destruction Dante wreaked on that night in Jarasco—in an age when other sorcerers can scarce get candles lit.”

  “But you were wrong. All of you were wrong.” In one wrenching message, Dante had proved himself, and destroyed himself, and laid the world’s safety in my lap. I wanted to bury myself in my chevalier’s embrace and have him tell me that he would shield me from what lay ahead. Now he had betrayed us, too. How could I trust any of them?

  “We must get out of this alley.” The tetrarch’s quiet urgency snapped the overstretched moment. “Damoselle Anne, Sonjeur de Duplais, and you, sirrah, whom I’ve not met, please come with us. One of our resident scholars has abandoned his house to me. Though not large, it will be more comfortable than this place and more secure, if anywhere in the living world could be named secure just now.”

  “Do we have a choice?” I asked, bitterness tainting my every thought.

  “Always,” said Ilario. “If you choose to walk away, so be it. I will defend that choice with my every bone and sinew, and I will remain at your side to do whatever you ask of me. But I beg you listen first. No one here doubts what we just heard. And time is of the essence.”

  “Portier?” I said, crumbling.

  “I’ll listen,” he said softly. “But we must be quick. Feel the world, Ani.”

  Above us the charcoal sky bulged and shifted. Perhaps it was just a storm, the onset of the rainy season. But inside me the aether boiled with wails of malevolent hunger. I’d thought my shivers were shock and emotion, but the brisk breeze cutting through my thin clothing an
d into my heart was keen with ice. Dante had destroyed himself because he believed I could do what was needed. I would not betray his trust.

  I turned to de Ferrau. “Show us where to go.”

  Portier

  CHAPTER 36

  “We’re here to listen, Tetrarch de Ferrau. So speak.” Anne refused to take one of the floor cushions scattered about the absent scholar’s small library.

  Ilario and I had once speculated that it was Anne’s small stature that kept her on her feet whenever the talk got important. But I’d come to think it was the steel in her spine. Who’d have thought the reticent, shattered girl I interviewed at Montclaire so long ago would come to hold the fragile world in her hands a second time?

  And Dante had set her in the eye of the hurricane—sacrificing not only his mind and his life, but his heart. He’d ever sworn to me he didn’t have a heart. The worst was that he’d done it believing he had failed us. If only I could have gotten out a few more words that night in the pit. If we needed any evidence of our desperate state, it lay in Dante’s choices. The Souleater lived.…