Uniting the Heavens

by Emily English

  “Superstition,” Vir said.

  Aren shrugged. “It’s the way of the Fighter. No Master will teach unless it’s just so. After the first time, the rule no longer applies because you’ll know what it feels like to achieve that balance.”

  “Very well. I’ll have my Messenger send word, and then…”

  Gryf’s head shot up as a robed figured burst into the room. He immediately jumped to his feet, the broadsword in both hands, moving with fluidity as he rushed across the kasan floor. The movement caused Dane to perk up, and he took up the blade he hadn’t yet put away. Dane pulled a knife from the sheath at his hip and tossed it to Aren, who caught it by the handle. Without thinking, Aren grabbed Vir by the arm and put himself between Vir and his brothers, who were approaching the edge of the kasan’s arena.

  The robed figured pointed a staff in Vir’s direction and let loose a rain of radiant red light. The explosion of magic hit Gryf’s broadsword and the brunt of the force was deflected. Gryf winced as long, thin flakes of a glasslike substance bit the skin on his arms and the side of his face. Blood trickled from the wounds, but he kept a tight hold on his weapon.

  The figure struck the floor with the bottom of a staff, and rivers of dancing light traveled across the floor and into the staff, coalescing at its blunt, gnarled tip. Muttered words crept out from the mage’s dark hood, and the magic began to transform, ready to be unleashed again.

  Aren held Vir back, shielding him completely. Vir resisted once, and Aren addressed him in a low, authoritative tone. “You are the last of Tiede’s bloodline. Still yourself.”

  Vir obeyed.

  The magic traveled in a stream of red again, and this time Gryf angled his blade to deflect a majority of the fragments. “Now!” he grunted, and Dane rushed the figure.

  Dane brought his sword up to bring it down on the mage’s head. The mage brought up his staff, blocking the attack, but Gryf was a heartbeat behind his brother and swept the feet out from under the mage. The figure landed on his back with a hard thud and a small cry, hands still locked tight around the wooden staff.

  The hood fell back, revealing the face of a young man who couldn’t have turned from boyhood more than a year ago. His face was contorted in pain, but he tried to roll onto his side and engage the staff again. Gryf crushed his wrist with the heel of his foot, causing the boy to shriek, and the staff clattered to the floor.

  Aren and Vir then walked over to where his brothers stood looking down at the mage. “Horin?” Aren said, recognizing the garden-lemon-water-boy.

  “You know this traitor?” Vir asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Ran into him and another named Dekney on my way here.”

  Vir signaled for someone to pick up the boy, and Gryf handed the broadsword to Dane before grabbing the young mage by the front of his white shirt and lifting him to his feet. Aren pulled the robe off to make sure he had no hidden weapons, then took the length of cord Dane offered and secured Horin’s hands behind his back.

  Vir stood in front of Horin, his eyes burning with anger. “Do you act alone or did someone send you?” The boy didn’t speak; instead, he responded with a malicious glare of his own, and the marks on his shoulders began to glow. Vir’s fist connected with Horin’s face, and blood began to flow out of the boy’s nose, the glow dimming. “Who sent you?” Vir demanded, his voice rising. A moment of silence passed and Vir punched Horin in the stomach. Horin began to cough, and tears streamed from his eyes and watered down the blood that flowed from his nose.

  “Vir!” a woman cried out as she ran into the kasan with a half-dozen Guards and a Hunter. “Gods, Vir! Are you hurt?”

  Two of the Guard stepped behind Horin, but they didn’t pull him away from Gryf’s hold. The remaining four Guards blocked the doorway, two facing in and two facing out, waiting in silence for Vir’s command.

  Aren watched as Geyle rushed up to her husband and looked over his angry face, relief washing over her features. Her attention then moved to Aren, and she gasped as if he had caught her by surprise. Her cheeks reddened and she turned to look at the other men in the room.

  “How did you know?” Vir asked her, his voice hushed.

  “I felt magic being summoned. Thank the gods you’re not hurt; I was so worried.”

  He studied her for a moment, then said, “Tell the House doctor to ready the infirmary. Master Gryf needs medical attention.”

  “Vir!” They all turned to see Lady Illithe peering into the room. “Gods, what happened? Your Hunters are all over the House.”

  Vir indicated Horin with a nod. “Everything is fine, Aunt Valine, but if you could have Doctor Pember help our doctors with the wounded, I’d be grateful. I can give you the details afterwards. Is Gran Kente all right?”

  “Yes, he’s fine.” Valine seemed to study Gryf and Dane, then her eyes fell on Aren. “He’s just worried about you, of course.” Aren dropped his gaze under her scrutiny.

  “Please let him know all is well,” Vir said, and Valine inclined her head before leaving. Geyle lingered for a second, then hurried out of the room. When she was gone, Vir gave a slight nod, and one of the Guard followed her. “Two of you,” Vir addressed the remaining Guards as he rubbed his knuckles, “take him to the dungeons. The other three, find the servant called Dekney and arrest him. Someone get this room cleaned up.” Gryf handed the boy over, and the Guards went to work, leaving the four men as they were before the attack. A Hunter remained by the door, waiting for Vir. “I’m in your debt,” Vir said, addressing them all but looking at Gryf.

  “It is our obligation and our honor,” Gryf said, bowing and bringing his fist to his heart.

  “So it is for every citizen of Tiede, yet none have to act on it.” Vir opened and closed the hand he had used to punch Horin. “Get to the infirmary. We’re fortunate to have the renowned Doctor Pember from Illithe, who specializes in magic-related medicine.” Gryf nodded. “Apprentice,” Vir said, turning to Aren. “Find Elder and meet me in my study in an hour. You may as well have the Doctor look at that cut too.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  When Vir left, Gryf pulled on his boots and said, “I’ll be in the infirmary; my skin burns like the mists of Aum. Try to stay out of trouble; that goes double for you, Aren.”

  “What’s going on with Lady Tiede?” Dane asked as Gryf left the kasan. He put the longsword into its proper place in the rack. “I saw the way she looked at you, not to mention the message we got yesterday about you not being able to come home because the Lady required your presence.”

  “It’s nothing. She’s just lonely.”

  There was a space of silence as they gathered their things, then Dane said, “Lord Vir is better than I thought with the blade.”

  “He trains once a week.”

  “You’re still the better fighter, and he shouldn’t have managed to cut you. Where was your head?”

  Aren looked down at his bandaged forearm, his mind overcome with conflicting thoughts and emotions. He recalled the note that had been buzzing in the back of his head no matter how much he tried to ignore it. “I got a weird note; something about how somebody saved my life but that I needed to stay away from ‘her’. It was written in Ancient, but I know it wasn’t Elder.”

  Dane joined him at the kasan’s entrance, where they pulled on their shoes. “It doesn’t matter who it was from or what it’s about. If Lady Geyle falls for you, she’ll be your undoing.”

  TWO

  Aren squeezed his bandaged forearm. Doctor Pember had said it looked worse than it really was, then passed him over to the House doctor, who cleaned and dressed the wound. Doctor Pember had trickier wounds to tend to, such as the ones covering Gryf’s arms and the left side of his face. Rieka had heard news of the attack from her father and rushed to the House, worried about Dane and his brothers. The Doctor said her timing was excellent and asked her to assist him in his work. She was relieved to see that Dane had managed to walk out of the kasan unscathed and was sitting at Gryf’s sid
e, providing moral support.

  The shards of magic that peppered Gryf had to be extracted one by one. When each shard was removed, the wound released a horrifying stream of blood. Doctor Pember checked the flow by applying pressure, then Rieka used a minty salve to seal the wound. There were numerous shards, but the Doctor did the work without complaint, pointing out bits of medical interest to Rieka.

  Aren frowned. “Should he be in this much pain?” Sweat dripped out of Gryf’s every pore as he clenched his teeth throughout the procedure. “We’ve pulled thorns out of our feet before, and we’ve never made faces like that.”

  “We’re extracting magic poison,” Doctor Pember said. “The intent was to kill Lord Vir, not make him feel uncomfortable.”

  “Doctor,” Rieka said, “have you ever let a wound of this nature bleed out?”

  Doctor Pember raised an eyebrow, considering. After a moment he nodded, then said, “I think I understand, but let me hear your theory.”

  She pointed at the mess of towels and blood around Gryf. “Each time we pull out a fragment, the wound bleeds so much that our reaction is to staunch it immediately. What’s odd is that even though many of these shards haven’t hit any arteries, the amount of blood is significant. What if the body is trying to purge itself of the toxin?”

  Doctor Pember nodded again and used the back of his wrist to push his glasses up on his long nose. “No one’s considered it because the amount of blood loss is substantial. We would need a transfusion ready.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to try it?” Dane asked. “She’s not even an apprentice yet.”

  “She’s my apprentice now. Her theory is intelligent and worth trying, especially with a strong, healthy specimen such as the Fighter.” Looking over the remaining shards in Gryf’s arm, Doctor Pember said, “Master Fighter, are you willing to try this procedure?”

  Gryf looked at his brothers, who made subtle signs of no. “If Lord Vir trusts you, I’m game.”

  “Are either of you willing to donate blood? You both look healthy enough to spare a few pints,” Doctor Pember said.

  “That’s a ridiculous question,” Dane said. “We’ll both do it.”

  Rieka shook her head. “Just you, Dane. As much as Aren is your brother, we know for sure that you and Gryf share the same blood type.”

  “Aren’s the same,” Dane mumbled. “Just no one’s bothered to check.”

  “Isn’t Lord Vir waiting on you, Aren?” Rieka exchanged a look with them that said she would beat them within an inch of their lives if they interrupted the Doctor’s work again.

  “Do you need me for anything, Gryf?” Aren asked.

  “Need you to arm yourself. Something wasn’t right about that attack. They’ll try again.”

  Aren nodded, then left the infirmary, reminding himself to check on Selina after meeting with Vir. She was the one who had said the mages were coming, and he guessed that that was what Vir wanted to talk about.

  He was walking past the parlor when he spotted Geyle at the bar mixing a drink. He paused to watch as she poured out two fingers of Cloud, two more of the clear Ryme, and a splash of Frost. Then, she reached into her skirts and pulled out a small glass vial shaped like a teardrop. Damn, Aren cursed to himself. Never thought I’d see that again. Two iridescent, pearl-like drops fell into the drink, plunging through the layers of alcohol. She took a glass cocktail stirrer to it, then held it up to the light for inspection. That was when she caught Aren in the parlor doorway, staring at her with curiosity and disappointment.

  “I don’t drink much,” she said. “I forget Tiede’s toast.”

  “Tse frie,” he said, his voice catching in his throat.

  She put the stick into a glass of water and smiled. “Tse frie,” she said, raising the drink. She took a sip. “Perfect.” Her eyes watched him, fixed on his face as she moved towards him.

  Aren snapped out of his daze, then bent from the waist. “Apologies, my Lady; I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  She stood before him, glass in hand, and touched his shoulder to indicate he should straighten up. “Don’t you think that you and I are beyond formalities?”

  “That could never be possible.”

  She waved a hand at him. “You are ever the gentleman and the hero. I owe you my gratitude for saving Vir’s life. But what about you? What happened to your arm?” She ran her small fingers over the bandage and he flinched.

  “A sparring accident,” he said, taking a small step back. He was beginning to think Dane had a point about not allowing the Lady to get too close. He was sure that she was harmless, though. Over the years, she had become lonely and homesick, perhaps even bored. Her husband was always busy, so she found solace and companionship in the young man whom she believed the gods had sent to keep her company. He had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and again the message from Rose flitted through his head.

  The blood of Tiede and Illithe run through you, and so Illithe has made its peace with Tiede. Yet, you and Geyle are independent entities joined by ceremony and fragile promises.

  “I have salves from Rose I can apply to your wound,” she said, touching his arm again. “All natural and very potent. We have the best herbalists—”

  “Aren!”

  Little feet pounded towards them from the hallway. They turned towards the girl’s panicked voice, and Selina threw herself at Aren’s legs and held on tight.

  “Selina!” Aren laughed, trying to maintain his balance. “What’s gotten into you? Lady Geyle was talking.” He turned to Geyle. “I apologize. I haven’t yet taught her all the formalities of the House, and…”

  Geyle raised a hand. “Hush. I’ll not hear another word of your formalities.” She left them by the parlor entrance, carrying her strange drink away with her.

  “Selina, you can’t behave like that in the House,” he said, getting down on one knee to look her in the eye. “Where’s the Priestess Minor?”

  “Probably looking for me,” Selina sulked, “but I heard about the mage and the fight, and I was worried that you were hurt!” She sighed. “And the Wood is getting louder…”

  Aren tried not to stare at the glass on Vir’s desk, but he couldn’t help it. The clear liquid was swirled through with the telltale Cloud, wisps of the opalescent liquor floating through the drink like vapor on a cold day. Vir cleared his throat and brought the drink to his lips, taking a healthy swallow. Aren half expected him to fall over dead.

  “The Guard have captured Dekney,” Vir said, interrupting Aren’s thoughts.

  “Has he said anything?” Elder asked. He sat in the large leather chair in front of Vir’s desk, walking staff in hand.

  Aren stood next to the chair, feeling out of place in his sparring clothes, which were covered in sweat and masonry dust and blood stains. He began to wonder if he smelled.

  “He claims to be innocent,” Vir said.

  “If my Apprentice hadn’t spotted him walking with the one called Horin, I would be inclined to believe him. Freno Dekney comes from a simple family, and his father and grandfather have served the House. They’ve always been loyal to Tiede. This Horin, however, isn’t familiar to me at all. He might have tricked his way into the House.”

  “It’s still possible that Dekney’s innocent.” Vir shrugged, took another drink. “But I’m not taking any chances. Let him sweat in the dungeon with the night wraiths for a while. He’ll break as others have before him. No one even needs to lay a finger on him.” Aren thought about the wraith stories and the wandering ancestors of Tiede then shivered as a chill gripped him. “There’s also the issue of the staff,” Vir said, reaching over to the weapon standing against the wall next to him.

  Aren’s eyes widened. “That’s the one I brought in.”

  “I thought I’d seen it before.” Vir passed it to Elder. “How did Horin get it?”

  “I left it in the Library,” Aren said. “I didn’t think anyone would be interested in it—especially not in the House.”

&
nbsp; “Now we know better,” Elder grunted, studying the marks on the staff. “This is no language I know of.”

  “I think they’re arcane symbols,” Aren said. “I stumbled upon the topic about a year ago, and I’ve been meaning to do additional research.”

  “Copy the symbols,” Vir said, “then have it destroyed.”

  They were silent, and Aren was mesmerized by Vir’s drink and the swirling eddies floating within it. He debated saying something about the way Geyle prepared it. She was a magic wielder; could she have cast a spell on him to keep him silent? He had seen her weave spells without a staff.

  “Are you thirsty, Apprentice?” Vir asked, raising an eyebrow at Aren, who was still staring at the drink.

  “No, my Lord. I was just thinking that regardless of Freno Dekney’s guilt or innocence”—he felt the words roll off his tongue—“it wouldn’t hurt to do a House search. Mages need a staff to summon magic.”

  “You’re suggesting that if a person has a staff in their possession, it means they’re guilty?” Elder asked, knocking the bottom of his staff loud against the floor a few times to make a point.

  “No, but it makes them worth checking. Are you marked, Elder? I just realized I don’t know that about you.”

  “And you never will, boy!” Elder exclaimed, sweeping the staff around so fast that Aren caught it just as it was about to make contact with his groin. Vir brought his drink to his lips to hide his smirk.

  “Just curious, Elder.” Aren did his best to keep from smiling.

  “Have the Guard do a sweep of the House,” Vir said. “I’d rather err on the side of caution. We need to do what we can before even considering detaining the marked as Rose has.”

  Before he could stop himself, Aren heard himself say, “It’s fortunate Lady Geyle isn’t in Rose. They’d probably lock her up too.” He opened his mouth to explain, “She’s made no secret of her marks; it’s the only reason I mention it.” Aren thought about explaining himself further but bit his tongue.