The Sleeping Life (Eferum Book 2)

by Andrea K Höst

  She wondered whether the Ten also had nightmares about Solace's return. Endlessly, without waking. The idea made it feel like pure cowardice to postpone any longer, so she dressed and Illidian carried her through the drowsing shadows of late afternoon to where the Ten slept. Only Darian Faille joined them, falling silently into step with her son as they walked up the gentle slope to the Ten's resting place. It was a beautiful afternoon, with southern light picking out points of colour on the hillside. Rennyn felt none of the reluctance she had experienced on their previous visit, merely an acceptance that this task belonged to her, as much as any magical puzzle.

  But she could not help but remember the conversation she had had with Darian after her first visit to the Ten. Children. Kellian leadership. An endless reel of complications that brought her back to the possibility that the Symbolic casting that maintained the Kellian could unravel. She would certainly be glad to no longer be able to command them inadvertently, but she knew very well that it was not a solution Illidian—that any of the Kellian—would choose.

  Autumn had come to the fan-shaped cave. Vivid leaves and berries, arranged in wreaths and garlands, decorated the walls and the stone coffins. Did the Kellian bring flowers in spring, and layer symbols of renewal on this place that spoke so strongly of death? Or had this been done in preparation for Rennyn's visit, so that the original Kellian constructs would wake to a celebration of colour?

  With an effort of will, Rennyn focused on the nine still-living constructs. When Solace's control had been withdrawn, they had learned to protect each other, had found a friend and guide, and then discovered joy in creation. Had lived long lives, and now...

  Imbuing into her voice all the command she tried to avoid around the Kellian, Rennyn said: "Wake up."

  There was no immediate response, no alteration to the steady hush of sleepers' breath. Rennyn did not allow herself to hope this continued, for a non-response would only make matters more complicated. A minute shift in Illidian's stance warned her of change, and her ear more than her eye detected a series of tiny movements among the sleepers. Then larger alterations: a hand raised to a face, a turn, a lifted head.

  "I give you welcome," Darian Faille said, and her voice seemed firmer than usual, deep with added emotion. "I am glad."

  Two of the sleepers sat up, and both moved their hands in response. Rennyn had only begun to learn Kellian hand-speaking, and could not follow.

  "Thank you, child of Faille's line," Illidian murmured, translating. "I give you thanks, Darian." Then, the one third from the left—Seya—rose, and Illidian added: "You have brought us a child of the Queen."

  "This is Rennyn, eldest child of Tiandel's line," Darian said. "In her lies the ability to command all descended from the Ten."

  "We saw this one when the Queen returned," Seya responded. Her gaze had shifted to Rennyn, and her hands moved swiftly. "You asked if the Queen could separate herself from us. And yet your intention was the Queen's death."

  "Yes," Rennyn agreed, as more of the shadowy, attenuated women sat up. "I—in truth, I was not very eager to kill her. I was hoping she would answer differently, that she would show some sign of remorse."

  "And what is it that you ask of us now?"

  Rennyn realised her heart was beating faster. Was she imagining a palpable sense of threat? Before her were nine women who had been created to protect Solace Montjuste-Surclere, who had been used and abandoned, and who were far from likely to accept a replacement for Solace. Who had just been told that Rennyn could command their children.

  "Tiandel exiled you from Tyrland," she said carefully. "Abandoned you. I came to apologise for that, and to revoke that exile. You are free to..." She hesitated, then repeated definitively. "You are free. Come and go as you please. Live and...live and die as you wish. I will aid you and yours if you ask that of me, but the line of Montjuste-Surclere claims only kinship with you, not ownership."

  Nine pairs of grey eyes studied her, occasionally catching a flicker of torchlight. Nine heads turned as the Kellian forebears looked at each other. Rennyn took a long breath, and realised that her jumping pulse marked more than nerves. A steady flow of power was being drawn from her. In waking the Kellian constructs she had begun to actively feed the Symbolic casting that sustained them.

  Two days ago, this would have killed me.

  "We give you thanks, Rennyn of Tiandel's line," Illidian translated, when Seya's hands moved again. "And we give you welcome. To our home. To our family."

  They rose then, from their coffins, and walked down to greet the children of their children. They admired the changes to their settlement, met the youngest of their grandchildren, and shared silent words and gentle embraces.

  Then, one by one, they returned to the cave decked in crimson and gold, and died.

  EPILOGUE

  In the throne room of the Emperor of Kole, Fallon DeVries lay in one of four inter-connected Sigillic circles, contemplating his phlegm-clogged chest, his aching bones, and the awful grey weariness that had him longing for sleep, and yet somehow made it impossible to rest.

  "Nearly there, Fallon," Duchess Surclere said, looking down at him. "Try to stay awake."

  He nodded, and she moved on, reviewing the immensely complex Sigillic one last time. Her feet had healed to the point where she could wear shoes again, but Fallon noticed a faint hesitation whenever her weight came down on her right foot. At least the Duchess had avoided a truly serious cold, with only a mild cough lingering.

  Spotting something she wanted to change, she pointed it out to Sukata, who had been taking turns with Kendall to do the writing-out. Fallon watched the Kellian girl covertly, trying to spot any sign of change in the centuries-old Symbolic casting that made her so different. There had been no sign so far, but Duchess Surclere had not been able to rule out a slow unravelling.

  "Has anyone ever sat on you?"

  Fallon winced, but didn't do more than glance at his Samarin-sister standing before the throne. One thing travelling with the disguised Emperor had taught them was that Yscaren Corusar was inclined to be amused rather than annoyed by impertinence.

  ~I have set it about that touching me involves instant, ugly death,~ replied the Emperor's directionless, unemotional voice.

  "But your armour isn't at all cobwebby."

  ~A very, very long-handled duster.~

  "Really?" Auri asked. "No, I don't believe...really?"

  ~The energy running through the armour appears to prevent dust from settling,~ the Emperor said. ~Which is fortunate because grime is not something I planned for.~

  "Can I—"

  "It's time, Aurienne," Duchess Surclere said, firmly.

  Auri immediately ran across to the larger central circle, hopped neatly over the sigils, and lay down.

  "How are you feeling?" she asked Fallon.

  "The same," he said, and coughed. "Except horrified by the things you say."

  "He likes it," Auri insisted. "The Dawnbringer knows it must be boring as spit to sit there all day and night doing Court business." She sighed luxuriantly. "I'm going to miss being him, though, especially being so strong and hearing conversations in the next room. I don't see why—"

  "Because this is complicated enough without fancy touches," Duchess Surclere said, as she bent to place the sphere they'd thought was Auri's focus into the little circle that just intersected with her larger one. "Now, I want you both to look only at the ceiling, and to start counting together. That won't contribute to the transfer, but I am hoping it will limit the impact of your thoughts and feelings on the casting."

  Because, despite the involvement of two mages of enormous power and knowledge, there was a more than slight chance that everything would go wrong. The Duchess had to create a body for Auri, give it enough power to last for a reasonable lifespan, transfer Auri into it and—most complicated of all—untangle Auri's existence from Fallon's.

  "One," Auri said eagerly, and Fallon joined her in at 'two', staring at the ceiling and tryin
g not to think of all the things that could go wrong. There would be no going back, no second chances, from this casting.

  "Three," he said, trying to ignore the inflow as the Duchess began to power the Sigillic. "Four."

  At long last it would be over, whatever the result. And, though it had not been as straightforward as they had hoped, he had actually succeeded in what he'd set out to do. Won the Duchess' attention, gained her assistance. He hadn't rushed ahead or done any wild casting, but he'd still found a way through.

  And he'd witnessed such interesting magic! He had even met a fragment of one of the Elder Mages. Him! Slow-and-steady DeVries!

  "Ten," he murmured, the ceiling wavering. Someone had put a brick on his chest.

  Then his face hurt. A lot of him hurt, as if he'd gone through a wine-press, but the face was freshest, stinging.

  "Fallon! Fallon, rot you, wake up! Don't do this now!"

  He stared up at his own face, red-eyed and furious. Did he feel so raw because his face had been peeled off and put on someone else?

  "Prop him up," said Lieutenant Meniar's voice.

  It became a little easier to breathe. If only the person who'd stolen his face would stop shaking him...

  "Auri?"

  "Yes!"

  He'd known that was how Auri would look, but it was so disconcerting. Even the voice was his own. He blinked and blinked again as Auri flung her arms around him and squeezed.

  "Your heart stopped beating. I'm so glad!"

  "That we were able to start it again, I presume," Duchess Surclere said. She was sitting by Fallon's feet, looking tired and relieved. "I'm glad too," she said, smiling at him.

  "Let him go for a little while," Lieutenant Meniar said, and gave Fallon a businesslike examination before casting a divination to confirm there was no major damage to his heart.

  Duchess Surclere cast her own divinations, then said: "It looks like the separation worked. I can't find any sign of the energy draw, at least."

  Fallon let out a long breath. Finally! He thanked the Duchess, and then gazed up at his sister, who was studying her new body critically while she waited.

  They had needed a 'template' for Auri's permanent body. The Emperor had said he could find a volunteer from his Court and Kendall had even—very reluctantly—said they could use her, but Auri had been firm on wanting to still be a DeVries, to be properly related to their father. So Fallon's twin had become...Fallon's twin.

  "Hey!" Fallon shot to his feet, and then swayed as the room turned dramatically around him. He clutched Auri's shoulder and stared...up into her eyes. "Why is she taller than me!?" He started to totter, but Sukata caught him before he fell, and scooped him effortlessly into her arms.

  ~Three years of energy draw is likely to have limited physical growth,~ the Emperor said.

  Auri looked guilty, but failed to stifle a giggle. "Maybe you'll catch up."

  "I could strangle you Auri."

  "What a waste that would be." Auri turned about, trying to look all over herself. "People will think I'm your older brother!"

  "Great," Fallon sighed. "Just great."

  "A cousin," Duchess Surclere said. "This is far too complicated to be publicly known."

  "So long as I can explain to father, I don't care about anyone else," Auri assured her.

  "You have a month or so to decide whether you want to go through the physical changes we discussed," Lieutenant Meniar said. "It will take all of winter to complete a full shift. Altering only your face is quicker, of course, but still best done over several weeks."

  "I'll have to pick a name!" Auri said, and turned toward the Emperor. "Can I call myself Rhael? If I decide to stay a boy?"

  ~Be my guest.~

  Auri strode abruptly toward him, and Fallon felt Sukata twitch, but his sister stopped well short of the throne, and then bowed deeply.

  "Thank you," she said, in a very subdued voice for Auri. "I'll have years to thank Fallon, and he's my brother so he had to help me. You chose to just because."

  ~Primarily because very upset mages are unlikely to succeed with complicated Symbolic castings. But it was my pleasure.~

  Captain Faille crossed to where a tall, warm-skinned young man lay forgotten in the central circle. Duchess Surclere followed him as he gently raised the unmoving figure and carried him through the door that led to the room behind the throne. No-one else had been permitted back there, and Fallon was tremendously curious, but not even mildly tempted to try to follow—even if he'd been on his own two feet.

  Tired, he let his head drop to Sukata's shoulder, and closed his eyes. He couldn't exactly say he felt better physically, but the idea of sleeping without dreaming—or at least dreaming of something other than Auri—filled him with such vast and incalculable pleasure that all the dragging weariness meant nothing.

  He'd won his race.

  oOo

  The Pest wasn't doing it on purpose. In fact, Kendall was fairly certain he'd gone to sleep. But did he have to nuzzle into Sukata's neck like that?

  Trying not to show her impatience, Kendall kept her mouth buttoned when Rennyn finally came back only to stand blah-blah-blah-ing with the Imperial Statue about working together again. Kendall hated this throne room, so full of little magics designed to tie its Emperor in place. She couldn't look at that thing on the throne without remembering how much Smug-Samarin had seemed to enjoy eating, and riding, and everything that didn't involve sitting in the same room for centuries.

  Kendall found she'd moved so close to Sukata that she was almost pressed into her friend's side, and had to curl her hands into fists because she couldn't slip one into Sukata's. She knew Sukata hated the throne room too.

  They had kissed each other five times now. They hadn't talked about that. Kendall hadn't wanted to talk. It felt like words would make fences, box her up and confuse everything. More than it already was. She edged a little closer to Sukata.

  Auri bounced up, but sobered as she checked over her brother. "He'll start getting better now," she said, almost to herself. "Poor Fal. He's had to put up with so much. I wouldn't want to dream of me all night every night, and I'm me!"

  "Do you feel…" Kendall started, hesitated, and then pushed on: "Do you think you'll stay like that?"

  "I don't know. I never thought I wanted to be a boy, but I liked being Dezart Samarin, except sometimes I'd look down and I wasn't me, and that was like falling down a pit I'd forgotten was there. I was never as much interested in dresses and poetry and the things my mother cared about, but I quite liked myself generally. I never thought I'd come back as anything but me." A darting smile turned her copy-Fallon's face impish. "Though some boy-parts are fun, let me tell you."

  "Spare us," Kendall said hastily.

  "At the same time, I'm not half so interested in kissing girls as you," Auri said, laughed, and then took a quick step back with her hands held up to signal truce, even though Kendall hadn't moved at all. "I'm just so glad to be able to eat and sleep and talk to people and pick things up and…everything. I think I'll start caring more about what I look like later."

  Rennyn had finally made enough plans to return to discuss 'other matters', and managed to get around to goodbye, and even sketched a curtsey before heading for the door. Sukata nodded, quite grandly, and Auri waved. Kendall, not quite sure how polite she wanted to be, hesitated, then gave the horrible prison of a throne the briefest of nods before quickening her step to catch the back of the group.

  ~A moment.~

  The big double doors closed in her face. Kendall gaped at them, then turned and glared at the statue-Emperor.

  "What now?"

  ~You still haven't answered my question, Kendall.~

  The horrible, hollow voice was even worse when there was no-one else in the room. Talking walls, and a not-a-corpse on a throne, and magic to chain it all together.

  "I don't give a rat's ass about your stupid questions," Kendall told him, extra clear.

  ~But I do. I must. I have seen enough of
the Kellian now to know they could be an enormous asset to the Empire. At the least they would be useful allies, ones who could open up Semarrak to us. And yet, should they truly become part of the Empire, how much of Kole will end in thrall to them, blindingly loyal?~

  "Would that even be such a bad thing? All the Kellian ever seem to want to do is protect people."

  "When the Montjuste-Surcleres—especially Helecho Montjuste-Surclere—can inherit command of them? Most certainly.~

  "I'm going to fix that."

  Kendall hadn't meant to tell him—to tell anyone—that. Definitely not so soon, when she'd barely decided it was her goal. The long pause told her she'd surprised Smug-Ass as well.

  ~Are you indeed?~

  Well, now that she'd said it, there was no point backing down.

  "See, I kept not wanting to be the sort of mage that goes around treating people like toys. Or one who ends up like you or that Nameen woman or even Rennyn: so powerful that you seem to think you're obliged to do awful things to yourself, because you're the only ones who can. But Rennyn asked me if there wasn't anything I wanted to do with magic, that no-one else could."

  ~You believe you will surpass your teacher?~

  Kendall shrugged. "Who knows? Probably not. But then, it's a bit like how Rennyn had Lieutenant Meniar cast the spell that got all your mages out of the ivy. Rennyn is hung up on the fact that she can tell the Kellian what to do, and that makes her the wrong person to try to fix being able to command them. She ties herself up in knots about feeling responsible for them but not having the right to interfere, and that stops her thinking about it properly."

  ~You do not fear chaining yourself to a statue?~

  "I'm not silly enough to ever come up with that as a solution," Kendall said. "Besides, Sukata is..." She shrugged and eyed him without favour. A piece of furniture. An old man chained to a chair. "I might even think of a way to fix you."

  ~Mine is a political problem. There is no fixing politics with magic.~