Eidolon

by Grace Draven

  “Wait.” Ildiko’s eyes were huge in her face. “What about the wound made by the sword? There’s no body to come back, only a corpse emptied of blood.” Her features went even paler as she spoke the words.

  “The eidolon is infused with both magic and life. It can heal the body to which it’s tethered.”

  Brishen dropped his head into his hands. An odd memory came to him, one from childhood, when his beloved nurse Peret entertained him on a makeshift swing. He remembered the soaring feeling, both exhilarating and terrifying, certain one moment he’d be flung into open sky to crash to the ground, sure the next he’d sprout wings and fly. That’s what this conversation had been thus far. Sheer terror interspersed with moments of euphoria only to be cast down again into despondency. It was exhausting.

  He raised his head and folded his hands under his chin. “Again, that all sounds straightforward and simple. Except it will require far more magic than I possess. Than even you possess.”

  “More than any single Kai possesses,” she agreed.

  “Then we’re at an impasse.”

  “No, we’re not.” The Elsod said no more after that, only did her best to burn holes into Brishen with a gimlet stare as if trying to force him to read her thoughts.

  Her earlier words echoed in his mind. “Now I will tell you how you might rob your people…”

  He surged out of the chair. “No! There must be another way.”

  She shook her head. “There’s no other way. You must if the spell is to succeed.

  Ildiko and Anhuset gaped at them with confused expressions before Ildiko asked “What is the way? How do you make the spell work?”

  “By stripping every Kai with even a spark of magic of their birthright,” he snapped. “Am I right, Elsod?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Were we as strong in our sorcery as our ancestors, such a ritual might only require the strength of a large convocation. Now, for the spell to work, we will have to bleed the magic out of the Kai except for the young who haven’t yet come into their power.”

  Anhuset recoiled as if Brishen had thrown something at her. Her eyes burned bright, and her lips curled back, exposing her sharp teeth in a snarl, as if to warn him off. Sickened, he turned away from her.

  He dropped his gaze to the floor. “We will lose the ability to harvest any mortem lights.” His throat closed at the knowledge, and he had to clear it twice before he could speak once more. “At least three generations of Kai memory will be lost forever. My dear, treacherous mother,” he breathed. “What have you done?”

  Except for Anhuset’s clipped breaths and the thunder of his own heartbeat in his ears, the room fell silent, its occupants awaiting his decision. He scrubbed his hands over his face before seeking out Ildiko. “I’ll need to call a sejm—a council. Most of my ministers and vicegerents are here already. They’ll support you while you act as my regent during my absence.

  She hugged herself, fingers digging into her arms. The muscles in her jaw flexed as she clenched her teeth but remained quiet. Her answer to his announcement was a quick nod and wide, frightened eyes that threatened to roll in panic.

  “Anhuset,” he continued. “You’ll guard her while I’m gone.”

  His cousin slapped her hands on her hips and thrust out her chin. She looked ready to leap the space between them and pummel him. “Stop! Did you miss the part of the Elsod’s explanation where you’ll be run through with your own sword?”

  “I would prefer my favorite axe.” No one laughed at his feeble joke, including him.

  “You can’t do this,” Anhuset practically snarled at him.

  “Then offer me another solution because if we don’t turn back the horde, this kingdom, this world, will be scoured clean of life,” he snapped back.

  “And if you fail?”

  “I will have already failed if I sit here and do nothing.”

  Anhuset turned to the Elsod. “I’ll do it. I’m battle-tested and have led armies. I doubt troops of dead soldiers are any more troublesome than troops of live ones, and I’m eager to rip apart a few galla along the way.” She smacked her breastbone with a fist. “This is my duty. I consider it an honor to shoulder this task for my king.”

  His order for her to stand down hung on his lips, but the Elsod spoke ahead of him, admiration in her voice. “You are a credit to your position and your king, sha-Anhuset, but it must be Brishen.”

  “Why?” Anhuset and Ildiko asked in chorus and glanced at each other.

  The Elsod ignored them, her gaze steady on Brishen. “You know the rumors about your mother. The whispers about her beauty, ageless and unchanging though she should have been even more wrinkled and bent than I am.”

  He shrugged. “She was always a vain creature. When she wasn’t planning death and world domination at her mirror, she was manipulating magic to hide her age.”

  She crooked a gnarled finger at him. “Come closer. The woman who bore you is much older than you think.” Brishen knelt at her feet and closed his eyes as the rough pad of her finger traveled up his forehead, the tip of her claw grazing his scalp. “Behold,” she said.

  Images flooded his mind, superimposed over his surroundings. Instead of a room inside Saggara, he looked upon a moonlit village. Humble houses lined a main avenue that was nothing more than a grassless path trenched by wagon wheels and horses’ hooves. A young girl played a game of ball with other Kai children of similar age. Not only did she play, she manipulated the game, slyly tripping a runner, distracting a kicker, tipping the ball. All maneuvers that ensured the team on which she played won.

  Brishen recognized her. Secmis. The promise of extraordinary beauty already defined her features, along with a cunning no amount of beauty would ever mask.

  The image changed, replaced by others that showed his mother as she aged into the spectacular, vicious queen he knew. She danced at grandiose balls in Saggara’s great hall, hosted by a monarch Brishen didn’t know but who seemed vaguely familiar. He startled when he finally recognized the king on the throne. Mendulis, who ruled Bast-Haradis five generations earlier. His statue stood among those of other Kai kings and queens in the palace’s throne room.

  He jerked away from the Elsod’s touch, and the images vanished.

  “What did you show him?” Ildiko asked her as Brishen gained his feet.

  “Memories of those who knew Secmis when she was a bead-maker’s daughter raised in a holt not far from Saggara.”

  “When Saggara was nothing more than a patch of ground on an open plain,” Brishen added. “I knew her to be older than my father, a few decades at most. That was common conjecture she never denied.”

  “She was born before your grandfather’s grandfather.” A hint of admiration flickered in the memory warden’s faded eyes. “Intelligence, beauty and consuming ambition, combined with strong sorcery, and the woman with humble beginnings rose to become queen of the Kai kingdom.”

  Anhuset, in her typical fashion, kicked the pedestal out from under that admiration. “So she was unnaturally old and foul and probably bathed in the blood of innocents to stay alive. Tell us something we didn’t already know, like what does that have to do with Brishen being the only one who can become this Wraith King?”

  The Elsod laughed outright. “A Wraith King isn’t only a general leading the dead. He will be the vessel that contains and controls the power which makes him wraith. That much magic concentrated in one spot requires the strength of a sorcerer with more magery than you possess, sha-Anhuset.”

  Brishen finished the explanation for her. “If the Elsod is right, then the magic I inherited from Secmis is from five generations earlier. At least. Thanks to her, I’m the only living Kai strong enough to withstand and manipulate the force of that much power.

  “And only for a short time,” the Elsod warned. She slumped in her chair. “There’s more.”

  “Of course there is,” Brishen said flatly. It had started badly; it turned worse and hinted at becoming ruinous. Then again, he had jus
t agreed to die in order to become a ghost, raise the dead, and fight demons. Never again would he complain about herding cattle as a living Kai, especially when he was about to herd galla as a dead one. A bubble of gallows laughter hung in his throat, threatening to choke him.

  Ildiko spoke up, her voice soft. “Enough for now, Elsod. You and your masods have traveled far. We may reconvene after you’ve rested. I’ll have my chamber prepared for your use.”

  The old woman rose from her chair, shrugging off her masods’ help. “That isn’t necessary, Your Majesty.”

  “It is my privilege. I’ll simply share with my husband.”

  Brishen edged closer and murmured close to Ildiko’s ear. “You steal the blankets.”

  A small smile cracked her grim mask. “And you always tuck your cold feet under my legs,” she countered.

  He caressed her back with one hand. Leave it to his wife to lift his mood.

  Anhuset poured herself a goblet full of wine, only to stare into the liquid, scowling. “Gods, I need a real drink. Not this weak swill.”

  Ildiko bowed to the Elsod. “I’ll find Mesumenes or Sinhue, have the chamber prepared for your needs and a repast sent up unless you’d rather eat in the hall.” She then bowed to Brishen. “By your leave, Sire.”

  In no time, she had a small army of servants, commanded by Mesumenes, who surrounded the kapu kezets and guided them out of the chamber. Ildiko joined the entourage, her features solemn as she nodded to Brishen before closing the door behind her.

  As soon as she left, Brishen searched out a dusty bottle from a nearby cabinet, opened the cork and splashed drams of clear liquid into a pair of goblets. Anhuset abandoned the wine she held but hadn’t yet drunk. “Here,” he said, offering up the new goblet. “We both need it.”

  They tossed back the libation at the same time, gasping and sputtering afterwards. Anhuset shook like a wet dog. “That’s more like it,” she wheezed in a thin voice. She smacked the goblet down on the table surface and glared at him. “I can’t believe you’re even considering this crazed plan, much less agreeing to it.” The wheeze was gone, her voice once more sharp and disapproving.

  What choice did he have? “As I said, offer me another solution, and I’ll gladly put this one aside.”

  “Let me do it.”

  “You heard the Elsod. This is my burden. Were Harkuf still alive, it would be his. As Secmis’s son, he also inherited her power.” He tried not to think poorly of the dead, but his brother had been a weak-willed sort, and Brishen suspected this task might have yet fallen to himself even if Harkuf had lived. “Either way, it can’t be yours. Besides, I need you here to watch over Ildiko while I’m off herding galla into their pen. I’m a pathetic drover, and galla make the worst kind of cattle.” He’d take a hoofprint on his leg any day over this.

  Anhuset snapped her teeth at him. “Stop joking. None of this is funny. You can’t make the hercegesé your regent, Brishen. The Kai will accept her as your consort but not as their ruler. They want a Khaskem on the throne, but not one who comes by the name through marriage and isn’t even Kai. Besides, they may turn on you, not because of your wife, but for the worst act of thievery ever committed in the history of the Kai people.”

  “Then keep your tongue behind your teeth about it,” he snapped back. “I’m still trying to reconcile how stripping my people of their heritage is somehow the brave and honorable thing to do. All I need is for word to get out about that little detail of the Elsod’s plan, and I’ll find an axe planted in my skull before I’m given the chance to save us.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger and closed her eyes. “This is a disaster.”

  He’d lost count of the times he’d said or thought the same thing ever since the Haradis messenger arrived half dead from exhaustion at Saggara’s gates. “Promise me you’ll keep your eyes open and your ears sharp, and if things turn sour in Saggara in my absence, you’ll take Ildiko safely to Gaur.”

  Anhuset nodded. I promise, but you already knew that.” She glanced at the door. “I have to leave. I’m to meet Mertok at Lakeside to coordinate the increase of patrols around the lake and at the dye houses. If we’re to host all of Haradis and half the countryside over the next week, I don’t want slippery thieves with quick fingers and an eye for opportunity to make off with barrels of amaranthine.”

  Ah, his fierce cousin. Militant, overly protective, devoted not only to him but to the well-being of all Saggara. The stigma of illegitimacy prevented her from rising in station to inherit from him or even to act as his regent, and she’d balk at both ideas even were they possible. Still, she’d make a fine queen in her own right.

  He held out his arm, and she grasped it firmly with her hand, their forearms pressed together. “It’s an honor to serve with you, sha-Anhuset. My trust in you is absolute.”

  Her eyes narrowed to sulfuric slits. “If that was some kind of botched up final goodbye, I will knock your teeth down your throat.”

  He laughed. “When you see Ildiko, tell her to meet me in my chamber. Our chamber for now.”

  Anhuset bowed. “Your Majesty.” She pivoted and strode out the door, slamming it behind her hard enough to make the goblets rattle on the table. One splashed drops of Dragon Fire onto the surface where they smoked on the wood.

  Brishen lost his grin. Your Majesty. Your Majesty. He never imagined the title might become his, and he hated it. Not an address of authority or power, but a malediction laid upon him every time someone uttered it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kirgipa, the infant queen and their protectors made good time after separating from the main body of Kai fleeing Haradis and traveling during the day. The roar of the river now overrode the gibbering shrieks and wails of the galla that had clotted the opposite shore. Only a few had paralleled them as they put greater and greater distance between themselves and the others.

  The weather was a questionable blessing. It was cold, with the damp seeping into their clothes and the scent of snow in the air, but the sky domed gray above them. Sunlight filtered through heavy clouds in feeble beams. At least daylight hadn’t bludgeoned them into near blindness, and for the most part they journeyed without shielding their eyes.

  Kirgipa’s gaze surveyed the suspiciously empty opposite shore. “Are they gone?” She kept her voice low. Even with the river’s boisterous voice drowning out anything less than a shout, she didn’t dare risk drawing the galla back to them. Necos shook his head and quickly pointed out the futility of her precaution.

  “See? There.” He gestured to a spot across the water, where the forest hugged the shoreline, leaving a strip of rocky shore no wider than a hair ribbon in spots. Within the evergreens’ thick darkness, lurked a deeper black. It coiled, sinuous and serpentine, around tree trunks, draping into the higher branches. Pinpoints of red winked in and out of shadows thicker than cold ink.

  She shivered, as much from the knowledge the galla still stalked them as from the cold. “How long do you think they’ll follow us?”

  Necos had taken the queen from her, and the child nestled in the makeshift sling hung across his chest, amusing herself with a pinecone he’d gathered nearby. He patted the baby’s bottom with one hand, as much at ease with child-minding as he was with fighting. His gaze scanned the opposite shore before settling on Kirgipa. “They’ll follow us for as long as it takes them to figure out how to reach us and eat us.”

  Beside him, Dendarah hissed. “Don’t soften the blow, lad. It isn’t as if we’re scared enough.”

  He bristled. “Well it’s true.”

  “We know it’s true. No need to pummel us with the knowledge.” She edged closer to the water to peer down the river’s path one way, then the other. The writhing blackness raised a hungry whine on the other side. She ignored it. “We should have spotted a boat or ferry by now. I’ve never seen the Absu this quiet.”

  Kirgipa hadn’t noticed the lack, but now that Dendarah pointed it out, the river seemed eerily em
pty of traffic. “Word must have reached Saggara and the outlying dales. The herceges probably ordered a halt of all sailing on the river.”

  “Maybe.” The palace guard didn’t sound convinced.

  They traveled along the shore, wading into the shallows when the land sheered sharply upward and became too difficult to climb. Kirgipa paused in one spot, her skirts eddying around her in the freezing water. The Absu was a clear river, with a sandy bed free of silt. Fish were easy to see and catch in the translucent water, and they’d supplemented their travel rations with a daily meal of trout.

  Now the fish swam hidden beneath waters that ran dark and red past her legs in bright crimson waves. She gasped, stumbling back from the liquid streams swirling around her. “Blood. Gods, is that blood?”

  Necos scooped up a palm of water. He sniffed before letting it spill through his fingers in pink droplets. He showed the two women his hand, stained pink. “Not blood. Amaranthine.”

  She blew out a relieved breath, one cut short by Dendarah’s reply. “Dye in the water. A shipwreck maybe?”

  He shrugged, his shoulders tense as he echoed Dendarah’s earlier actions, staring long downstream and upstream as if to catch sight of a boat. “Maybe.” He crooked a finger at Kirgipa. “Keep walking, girl. The quicker we’re back on land, the quicker we’ll warm up.”

  They stayed silent, wading through water that flowed pink, red and magenta, until they reached a half-moon shaped oxbow. Kirgipa slogged out of the water, grateful to once more reach dry land. She gestured for Necos to hand her the baby now fretting and squirming in the sling.

  “She’s wet,” he warned.

  “Aren’t we all?”

  He grinned at her quip, and for a moment she forgot their peril and her exhaustion, the memory of her mother’s death and worry over her sister’s safety. She liked this fierce, resolute soldier. A dull sound interrupted her musings. She opened her mouth to question its source and was stopped when Dendarah put her finger to her lips. “Shh.”

  The baby’s fretful snuffles and the river’s ceaseless rumble didn’t give them complete silence, but they still managed to hear the rhythmic thumping noise, as if someone beat a plank of wood with a cudgel.