All The Turns of Light (Paths of Shadow Book 2)

by Frank Tuttle

  She stood.

  Donchen rejoined her. Before he could speak, the flying machine rocked, hummed, and rose abruptly from the gangway, hanging in the air level with Meralda’s face.

  “I tell you I am not the Unmaker. Go home,” Meralda said. Her eyes blazed, filling the loading bay with a ruddy red glow. “Captain. The ramp. Lower it. Now.”

  The Captain barked orders. The ramp began to lower, its winches and lines popping and rattling in the sudden wind.

  The black craft turned. The stubby limbs covering its body began to whip about. Deep within its bulk, a whining noise sounded, and grew loud.

  “I said go,” Meralda shouted. The disc whined, and Meralda reached out and patted its oily bulk. A boneless limb stroked her hand, clumsy but gentle.

  At the rear of the disc, half a dozen wormlike protuberances began to wag.

  Meralda reached into her pocket, found a scrap of paper, and threw it out into the dark.

  “Fetch,” she said.

  The disc flung itself toward the storm, vanishing in the darkness and the sheets of twisting rain. Meralda motioned, and the ramp began to close.

  The King and the Captain and a small crowd of officers and others stood at the far end of the loading ramp, whispering with each other.

  “What was it?” asked the King, breaking away from the crowd. “Some new Vonat sending?”

  “It was Vonat,” replied Meralda, moving to meet him. “I suspect they act as the hounds of the black airship. Alone, it was harmless.”

  The King frowned. “So you just let it go.”

  “I just let it go,” agreed Meralda. “There was no point in keeping it here.”

  “That’s a decision I’d have preferred to make, Mage,” said the King. “In the future, pray do me the courtesy of deferring to the Crown now and then, won’t you?”

  The King’s image multiplied. Only for an instant, but as she’d seen so many Donchens a moment ago, she now saw a line of repeated Yvins.

  Mad Meralda. That’s what he’ll be calling me one day soon. Meralda the Mad, old red-eyes, the Witch of Tirlin, lonely in her Tower, lonely all her days.

  She couldn’t find words. She marched from the loading bay, alone, and didn’t notice until she reached the Jenny that her tears fell solid and dry from her face, glittering like diamonds on the Intrepid’s polished deck.

  * * *

  Donchen heard the hammering from within the Jenny’s hull, and bade Mug to halt.

  “I still think we should both go,” whispered Mug.

  “Better one at a time,” said Donchen. “We don’t want her to feel she’s being ambushed.”

  The hammering stopped. There was a stirring from within the flying launch, and after a moment Meralda’s head popped over the Jenny’s rail.

  “I’m not deaf,” she said. “Both of you. Come aboard.”

  Mug’s coils buzzed, and Donchen followed, clambering easily up the Jenny’s ladder.

  Meralda’s eyes glowed. Her nose was smudged with grease, and her hair bun was coming apart, leaving her face obscured by unruly bangs. She met Donchen and Mug on the Jenny’s deck, a wrench in her hand.

  “Before either of you say anything,” she said, “please. Let me apologize. I didn’t even thank you for bringing me back from wherever I was. Apparently my manners are vanishing even more rapidly than my sanity.”

  “Nonsense,” said Donchen.

  “Donchen did most of the work,” added Mug. “Although my own contributions were brave and, might I say, bordering on the heroic.”

  “What are you working on?” asked Donchen.

  Meralda shrugged. “I’m removing the Jenny’s coil regulators,” she said. “In case we need speed.”

  Donchen nodded, but a brief frown crossed his face. “The flying machines don’t seem to be a threat,” he said. “And the black death appears to have been destroyed.”

  “The black death was transformed, but not destroyed,” Meralda said. “The flying machines seem to serve as nothing more than eyes and ears for the real threat, which is the impossibly tall giant. And me, of course. I’m at least as dangerous, if not by intent.”

  “Now see here—” began Mug.

  A brief rain of slide rules fell to the deck.

  “I’m getting worse,” Meralda said. “Even now, I’m struggling to speak. It would be so much easier to simply put the thoughts in your heads. Make you agree with me. I could do that, you know, and the worst part is this–you’d never know I’d done it.”

  “But you have not,” said Donchen. “Because of who you are.”

  “And if I stop being who I am?” asked Meralda. “I’ve nearly done so once already. How many times will I resist? One more? Two more?”

  “As many times as you must,” said Donchen. “You are stronger than you think.”

  “Not stronger, my love.” Meralda’s eyes flared. “Smaller. Weaker. Why should I bother with this,” she said, holding up the wrench, “when I could simply will the coil regulators to vanish?”

  “You mentioned something about the universe unraveling,” Mug said. “Is that still a concern?”

  Meralda took a step forward. “For a moment, in the loading bay, I didn’t care,” she said. “It didn’t seem to matter to me that the universe might vanish in a puff of smoke. What kind of monster does that make me, Mug? Even Otrinvion the Black never said such a thing.”

  Mug sighed. “We came because Donchen has an idea. An idea that might help you cope with, well, whatever is happening.”

  Meralda looked to Donchen.

  “Your power seems to rise in proportion to your level of concern over it,” said Donchen. “You are of course familiar with feedback loops.”

  “I am a Mage,” Meralda said.

  “Quite. Consider, then, how one might mitigate these wild swings in intensity by negating the feedback process altogether.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said.

  “No,” replied Donchen. “I most certainly do not. But I will not stand idly by and let the woman I love wallow, an arm’s length away. I am no Mage, Meralda. But neither am I entirely unskilled in the arcane traditions of my people.”

  He pulled the golden ring from his finger. “I have modified this. I have no idea if it will work, or how long it may function, or how effective it shall be. But I offer it to you in spite of my misgivings, in the hope it will help.”

  Mug buzzed down and nudged Donchen with his cage.

  “On your knees, you donkey,” he said. “That’s a ring you’re offering her.”

  Donchen fell to one knee, smiling crookedly.

  “That ring has been in his family for ten generations,” Mug said. “Hint, bloody hint.”

  Meralda dropped her wrench and moved to stand before Donchen.

  She could barely see him through his aura. Could barely see the ring he offered, though she could see its intricate haze of Hang magic.

  “I love you,” said Donchen. “That will never change.”

  Time slowed. Meralda saw Mug hovering there, heard him speak, watched Donchen’s expression change from excitement to apprehension to worry.

  I’m losing her, she heard him think. I’m losing her.

  The ring shimmered. She looked upon its magic and smiled, and looked away before the patterns drew her Sight too deeply into the realm of the primal, the infinitesimal absolute. It was a simple thing, the ring. But heartfelt.

  Heartfelt, Meralda thought. How ironic, since I feel so little now.

  “Are you going to take it or not?” she heard Mug shout.

  “I am,” she said, forming the words carefully. She held up her hand, and allowed Donchen to slip the ring gently upon her finger. The band shrank to fit her, and it was warm, and just for an instant Meralda wanted to jump and hug and cry.

  But the instant passed quickly, and she was her new self once again.

  “Thank you,” she said. “How does it work?”

  “Every word spoken in reference to it robs it of
power,” said Donchen. He rose. “I suspect you could surmise its workings with the least glance,” he added. “I would ask that you refrain from that, if you please. Hang magic works best when it is not being directly observed by one versed in the arts.”

  Meralda forced a smile. “I will treasure it always.”

  “This is what’s called an awkward silence,” Mug said, a moment later. “Donchen, will you accompany me to the aft observation salon? I want to introduce you to Beastie, now that you’re you.” Mug trained all his blue eyes on Meralda. “Would you like to come, Mistress? There’ll be plenty of time for banging on things and getting oil on your nose later.”

  “I can’t leave the coils exposed,” Meralda said. Which is true, she thought, but it’s also a lie. The truth is I don’t want to go with them, because I can hear their thoughts so plainly now. Donchen is so worried. Mug is so angry. Worried about me, and angry with me, and I don’t have a word of assurance for either of them.

  “Well, we’ll toddle along then,” Mug said.

  “I’ll be along in a moment,” said Donchen.

  “Hint taken,” Mug said, who buzzed swiftly away.

  “Donchen—” began Meralda, her eyes burning suddenly brighter.

  Donchen shook his head. “No. I don’t know what you’re going through, Meralda, but I didn’t stay behind to pry, or spout platitudes. I have a question–did you see the black death fall?”

  Relieved, Meralda shook her head. “I saw it engulfed in the thermal output of a dozen weaponized air masses,” she said. “I did not see it emerge from the explosion. Neither, though, did I see any wreckage fall. Why?”

  “Our Vonat friend claims a mythical figure he called the Gaunt is said to appear anytime Vona is in danger. He described this Gaunt as a male figure, thin and aged, of immense stature.”

  “Twenty thousand feet tall?” Meralda laughed. “What bone structure could possibly support the weight of such a being? How would it move? Breathe? Nourish itself? No. It must be an illusion, of some sort. I’m sure it masks something awful, but the giant itself cannot possibly be real.”

  “Kurbus asserts this Gaunt is quite real,” said Donchen.

  “Of all the dangers hereabouts,” Meralda said, “I believe we may safely discount the sudden appearance of four-mile-tall protectors of Vona.”

  “Let us hope so,” said Donchen. He lifted his right hand. “May I?”

  “May you what?” asked Meralda, puzzled.

  Donchen smiled and touched Meralda’s cheek with his fingertips, slowly moving his hand down her face, watching her eyes intently.

  “I will not lose you without a fight,” he said.

  Meralda searched for words. She knew instantly which words would comfort Donchen. She knew how they should be spoken, how her face should be composed, how she should step in close to him, let him hold her, let him feel her close to him while she spoke.

  “I will not lose you,” repeated Donchen. Then he turned and walked quickly away.

  Meralda nearly called after him. She felt a faint stirring deep in her heart, heard an inner voice scream in fury, demanding that she call him back, that she tell him she loved him, that she do anything but stand there and stare, her face blank, her mouth set in something neither a scowl nor a smile.

  Before Meralda could move, Donchen vanished down the passageway.

  A rain of rings fell, bouncing and rolling, covering the deck with gold and glittering jewels. Meralda closed her eyes and more fell, and more, until she feared she’d gathered every ring in the world in a heap at her feet.

  When she opened her eyes, they were gone, save the plain gold band on her finger.

  With the light from her eyes to guide her, she picked up her wrench and descended below decks, where the Jenny’s exposed flying coils waited.

  * * *

  Much later, as the Intrepid pitched and rolled in the grip of rising winds, Meralda fell asleep beside the Jenny’s starboard coil housing. Soon, she began to dream.

  For a time, it seemed Meralda wandered, walking inside the clouds as easily as she’d once walked the Park. Her feet treaded lightly on the swirling, boiling vapors, and the wind howled and roared but always from a distance, and its fiercest blows were hardly sufficient to do more than muss her hair.

  She repelled lightning with stern looks, and sent chunks of hail veering well away from her. The biting cold only touched her for an instant, quickly replaced with warm spring air that smelled of apples and lavender.

  Meralda walked. Her eyes glowed, yes, but this no longer seemed remarkable to her. The world still shone, revealed in ways she could only have dreamed of a month before, but even the marvels and subtle engines of creation were becoming commonplace to her now.

  She felt the unmagic swell within her. She felt it take root, swell, make ready to burst forth and blossom like the first bold flower of spring.

  The fears provoked by the unmagic remained, though they were becoming muted. Faded, washed out, irrelevant. I feared this unmagic, Meralda decided, because before, I was insufficient to wield it. But now...

  Behold, I am a new creature. The voice and tone in her head seemed foreign, unfamiliar.

  I am becoming Mad Meralda. I walk the clouds, eyes blazing. The voice in my thoughts is not my own.

  A flying machine darted past, bent on its own strange errand. Meralda watched it for a moment, then let it become lost in the clouds.

  I wonder if those things existed, before I came here? Could even this storm be mine, some subtle leaving of the unmagic?

  And what of this Gaunt? Have the crew been seeing my dreams? Are my imaginings emerging from the tiny places between atoms, to trouble the world of the living?

  I would see this Gaunt, decided Meralda. Test it, and know if it is mine, or some device of Vonat sorcery.

  The old fears, of rending the universe asunder, whispered and pleaded, but were ignored. What of it, thought the stern new voice Meralda heard in place of her own. If this reality should fail, I shall stretch forth my will, and make for me another.

  The clouds gathered before Meralda, darkening, massing, rushing together as though called.

  Meralda felt the crows emerge from the dark on either side of her.

  Mage, what have ye done? asked one.

  Quit this place, said the other. Even the Master could not have prevailed here.

  “I am not your Master,” Meralda said. “I am become greater than he. I shall prevail.”

  She’s gone mad, said a stave.

  Mayhap, said the other. Let us stay and see.

  “Silence,” Meralda said. “It comes.”

  The gathered storm clouds boiled. Lightning flashed, crawling through the clouds, wrapping them around, leaping here, arcing there, filling the sky with light and sound.

  It stepped out of the clouds.

  Twenty thousand feet tall. Old and drawn, bald and thin-skinned, its eyes the black of moonless midnights, its mouth open, its thin chest swelling as it took in storm winds to expel as a scream.

  The Gaunt saw Meralda, raised its bone-thin arms, and brought its gnarled fists down solid upon her.

  Where the winds and the rain and the lightning had given Meralda wide berth, the Gaunt’s blow landed, sent her tumbling and plummeting, spinning as she fell, clutching at clouds but failing to take hold. The Gaunt followed her as she fell, leaning down over her. Its black eyes widened. The first shrill notes of a scream louder than thunder began to issue from its toothless, wizened jaw.

  Meralda screamed. She heard herself cry out, and was briefly shocked by the act. Why am I afraid? All I need do is stop falling.

  And she did. She found solid footing on empty air, silenced the howling wind and pushed away the driving rain, and met the Gaunt’s dark eyes with a glare.

  “Trouble me no more,” she said, raising her own voice until it was equal to the thunder. “Begone, foul shade.”

  For a moment, she thought she had won.

  The Gaunt vanished. One m
oment, it was leaning over her, glaring, still screaming, its fists clenched in impotent fury.

  Then it was gone. Clouds rushed into the space the Gaunt had occupied and the storm went about its business, as before.

  “I told you I would prevail,” Meralda said. She turned, sensing a presence.

  The Gaunt, her size now, stood behind her. When Meralda turned, it plunged its right hand into her chest, and she felt it clutch her beating heart tight between its icy fingers.

  The Gaunt squeezed, stopping Meralda’s heart.

  Pain arced through her. She could not find breath to scream before her world went dark—but in that instant she fell into Shadow, Otrinvion’s dark vortex whirled to life inside her, and the Gaunt howled and snatched back his bony hand as though burned.

  Meralda took in a great ragged breath and fell into her chair, her favorite chair, the one behind her desk in the Royal Laboratory.

  Her chest ached as though she’d been pummeled with a sledgehammer. She gasped and gagged, fell from the chair, and knelt on the Laboratory’s worn stone floor until she could breathe without coughing.

  It was a long time before she took her hand from her breast. She expected to see blood, was relieved to see nothing. Still, every beat of her heart hurt, as though it struggled just to keep going.

  From all about the Laboratory, furtive sounds emerged, and Meralda saw movement in the dark. She struggled back into her chair as the more mobile residents of the Laboratory’s shelves crept out and gathered at Meralda’s feet.

  Seen with her new Sight, each was a marvel, shot through with magic and power. Opp’s Rotary Timekeeper was surrounded by a sphere of soft blue light which turned in small, brief movements that coincided with the machine’s faint clicking. Mingle’s Walking Servitor extruded long magical feelers from its midsection, which gently probed and felt for obstructions in the walking engine’s path. Even the tiny eight-legged bodies of Kalot’s Industrious Arthropods radiated subtle magic as they scurried from corner to corner, tearing down cobwebs and piling trash on their wide flat backs.

  The various magical implements jostled and bumped, gathering about her, as if eager to see Meralda safe.