The Knife in the Dark

by D. W. Hawkins

  Come.

  Bethany took the woman’s hand, and let her float down the hallway at her side. She was surprised that touching her didn’t burn her skin, but she felt nothing. Bethany had her eyes closed, looking through the sight of her magical senses. Though the hallway was dark to her eyes, in her Kai the ghostly woman burned as bright as the sun.

  The alien crooning surrounded her, wrapped her in a warm embrace. The fiega sent more images, but they were so jumbled that Bethany couldn’t make sense of them. She tried to fight them off, but they grew more insistent, slamming into the walls of her consciousness with greater and greater frequency.

  “Would you just be quiet?” Bethany asked, her voice echoing through the dark.

  Surprisingly, it did. The song dwindled to a silvery thread of music that tickled her senses like an errant breeze. Bethany sighed in relief.

  Thank you.

  A feeling of warmth came back to her in reply. Come.

  Eyes closed, Bethany continued down the tunnel, hand-in-hand with the woman of fire. At times she felt as if she wasn’t walking at all, but floating along above the stone of the tunnel floor, her toes dragging a bit in the dust. At other times the landscape around them would change with the alien song, and the hallway would become a battlefield. Bodies struggled around her, men killing and hacking at each other in storms of blood and flame—none of it ever touched her, or the ghostly woman. They whispered through the scene like wraiths.

  The distant hum of magic—the one she had been feeling all this time—grew closer as she made her way down the corridor. The woman led her ever onward, toward the center of its beating heart. Bethany got the impression that she was walking along a curve, maybe around a circle, but she couldn’t be sure.

  Come.

  “Child?”

  The voice startled Bethany from her trance. At first she thought the woman standing before her was the woman of fire, but no—the ghostly woman was gone. The song of the armlet had retreated. This woman was cold, blond, and regal. She crouched in the puddle of light created by her own Kai, willowy beauty wrapped in a blue silk dress. She was as beautiful as a frozen statue.

  “Child,” she said again. “Child, can you hear me? Are you well?”

  “I—,” Bethany opened her mouth to speak, but the words froze in her throat. What if this woman was with the man she had seen before? What if she was here to hurt her, or capture her?

  “It’s alright, child,” the woman said. She crouched and beckoned Bethany over. “Come here, dear, into the light. Wherever did you come from?”

  Bethany realized she was standing in the dark. She could feel the woman’s magic flitting about the edges of her own, trying to get a sense of her. On instinct, Bethany reached out to her the way she did to the armlet.

  The woman gasped as their Kais brushed each other. For the barest second, Bethany got a sense of the woman—cold, logical, but kind. Then, her magic retreated from Bethany’s Kai.

  “You must be Dormael’s child—Bethany, isn’t it?” the woman asked. “I’ve heard of you, little one. They were right about your strength. You’ve a very powerful gift, my dear. Has anyone told you that? Come here, child. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “I’ve been lost,” Bethany said, finding her voice as she stepped forward. “Someone tried to grab me, tried to hurt me. I ran away.”

  “Someone tried to hurt you?” the woman asked, looking her in the eyes as she came forward. “Someone in the Conclave tried to hurt you? Where are they now, child?”

  “Up there,” Bethany whispered, pointing to the ceiling. “I left them up there.”

  The woman’s eyes looked past her, into the darkness from which Bethany had come. She placed a pair of delicate hands on Bethany’s shoulders, and looked into her eyes.

  “You’re alright now,” the woman said. “You’ve stumbled on the Crux, little one. My name is Lacelle—I’m the Deacon of Philosophers. Do you know what that means?”

  Bethany shook her head.

  “No matter,” Lacelle sighed. “No one will hurt you while you’re here with me.”

  “They won’t?” Bethany asked. She wasn’t so sure.

  “They wouldn’t dare,” Lacelle promised, squeezing her shoulder. “Now, come along. I suppose you can help carry books while you’re here.”

  “Lacelle,” called a voice from another room. Bethany realized that an opening lay just beyond the Deacon of Philosophers, shifting light spilling onto the stones from the doorway. “Bring the girl in here, if you would. I believe she has been…summoned.” The last word came out with a healthy dose of incredulity.

  Lacelle gave her a strange look, like a merchant weighing her take.

  “Very well, Honored One,” she called. Then, she winked at Bethany. “Come along, dear. You’re about to see something that most wizards don’t get to see during the course of their lives.”

  Bethany felt a small excited flame kindle to life in her chest, though it was a mute thing. It had been hidden secrets that had motivated her to come down into these dismal tunnels in the first place, and part of her felt like laughing at having found one. The memory of the man she had left in the corridors above, though, killed any enthusiasm that tried to wriggle to life.

  Lacelle led her through a circular opening in the wall of the tunnel, and into a room the likes of which Bethany had never seen. It was vast and round, like a perfect bubble made of stone. The topmost part of the ceiling was so high that she felt sure it must go at least four levels up, though she couldn’t be sure. Lacelle led her out onto a narrow walkway, which widened into a circular platform some distance from the door. The room extended just as far beneath the platform as it did above. Bethany turned her head around and peered over the edge, trying to see if there was a column holding it all up, but she couldn’t find one.

  Runes were scrawled in concentric lines around the walls of the vast globe, all resonating with charged magic. It hummed in Bethany’s senses like a note so low it could only vibrate the bones. There were designs and geometrical swirls worked over the surface of the stone as well, all humming with their own veins of power. She stumbled after the willowy, blond Lacelle, trying not to go slack-jawed in awe at what she saw.

  In certain places, for reasons that Bethany couldn’t discern, gems hung on delicate chains of silver from the ceiling. These, too, resonated with magic. Posts made of different metals rose in intervals along the platform, which hummed with subtle musical notes to her ears, as well as magical ones to her Kai.

  Lacelle led her onto a central platform, also circular. A table sat there, with two chairs pulled up to it. Another chair sat off to the side, facing the center of the platform. An old man stood by the chair, waiting with a pleasant smile on his face. Bethany, though, only had eyes for what hung in mid-air at the center of the platform, in what Bethany thought might be the exact center of the globe itself—the armlet.

  It turned in the air, revolving around swirling currents of magic. Flame misted away from the ruby set into the sinuous bands of silver, disappearing into the air like mist in the sunlight. Bethany could feel its song, humming in contented tones as it greeted her magic. She resisted the urge to reach out for it once again.

  “You may leave the girl with me, Lacelle,” the old man said. “Send word that the Initiates are to stay out of the Rat Holes until we can look into this matter of someone attacking young Bethany, here.”

  Bethany didn’t know how the old man had heard her—she had told the blond woman in barely a whisper, and that had been in the hallway outside. She peered at the old man, and realized that she recognized him. He had long, silver and white hair, and a beard that was even longer. It was wrapped in silver wire, an intricate web of thin, shining strands. Bright blue eyes regarded her with genuine warmth.

  It was the Mekai—the leader of the whole Conclave!

  Bethany’s mouth went dry.

  “Of course, Honored One,” Lacelle replied. “Should I send for one of Victus’s thugs to i
nvestigate?”

  “Lacelle,” the Mekai sighed, shaking his head. “Would you rather do it yourself?”

  The blond woman tightened her lips, but didn’t reply.

  “Very well,” the Mekai said. “Send for one of Victus’s thugs, then. And don’t speak so ill of them, Lacelle. You forget that all of them grew up right here under my tutelage. I feel very attached to them, you understand. Some of them were your own classmates, upon a day. Try not to be so persnickety.”

  “Persnickety?” the woman scoffed, but it looked feigned to Bethany. “I’m not being persnickety, Honored One.”

  “I could use more colorful words,” the Mekai said, “but our company would undoubtedly repeat them, and you’re not going to have me blamed for corrupting the language of such a pretty young girl.” He crouched, spry for his old age, and smiled at Bethany. “In the meantime, Bethany and I are going to talk. I’ll tell you a story, dear. How does that sound?”

  Bethany smiled.

  “I like stories,” she said. “My favorite is about Leyton Likinian, Pirate-King of the Seas.”

  Lacelle gasped, but the Mekai just chuckled.

  “Where did you hear those stories, child? The ones about Leyton?” the Mekai asked.

  “An old man used to tell them, back when…,” she trailed off. She suddenly didn’t want to say. “A long time ago,” she finished. “I heard them a long time ago.”

  “I’ve a few words for the propriety of old men,” Lacelle said. “Teaching a little girl stories like that—and look at you, Honored One. Laughing about it.”

  “Let the girl have her stories, Lacelle,” the Mekai said. He shooed her away with a gesture. “Go now, see to your duties. Bethany will be fine here with me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had such pleasant company anyway.” He winked at Bethany. “My usual companions are always so persnickety.”

  Bethany giggled. She couldn’t help it.

  Lacelle sniffed and walked back into the hallway, leaving Bethany alone with the Mekai. She wasn’t sure if she should apologize for exploring the tunnels looking for treasure. Dormael hadn’t told her that she was forbidden, exactly, so it wasn’t as if she had broken a rule. Not really.

  She decided to keep quiet. If the Mekai brought it up, she could apologize. Until he did, though, she wasn’t in trouble. Better not to borrow trouble from the gods—she’d heard that somewhere before.

  The Mekai turned and walked back toward the furniture on the platform. As he walked, his Kai brushed against hers in a light greeting. Bethany was amazed at the feel of his Kai. While it wasn’t as vast as her own, it was sharper in some way, more potent. It acted on its own. Even as Bethany followed the Mekai to the table, his magic slid her out a chair, and adjusted the old man’s robe as he sat in his own seat, and it all happened without his direction.

  She could barely make a magical light.

  “What do you know of history, dear girl?” the Mekai asked, adjusting a small pair of spectacles on his nose. She’d seen a pair of those on a traveling merchant once. She had almost stolen them, but who would pay for such a thing?

  “Not much,” Bethany shrugged. “I know my letters, though, and the Hunter’s Tongue. I know the epics of the gods—at least, I know some of them.”

  A book floated through the air and into the Mekai’s hand, pages flipping as it floated by. He adjusted his glasses and peered down at the text, finding something with his finger as the book settled into his hand. He winked at her over the rim of the book.

  “Soon enough you’ll receive all manner of education. You do mean to train here, do you not?”

  “I think so,” Bethany shrugged. “Don’t I have to?”

  “Don’t you want to?”

  “Maybe,” Bethany said. “I don’t know. I want Dormael and D’Jenn to teach me. I want to stay with them.” The thought of leaving them scared her.

  The Mekai lowered the book from his face, and regarded her with a serious look.

  “You certainly don’t have to stay here,” the Mekai said, shrugging his shoulders. “Once we’re satisfied you can go out into the world and not kill anyone with your magic, you can leave if you wish. No one is keeping you here, little one. It’s your choice—surely Dormael explained it to you.”

  “He did,” Bethany sighed. “But I know that’s what he wants—for me to come to the Conclave. I could tell.”

  “I’m sure he does,” the Mekai said. “Why don’t you?”

  “It’s not that I don’t,” Bethany sighed. “It’s just—I don’t want him to leave me here. He’s going to have to leave. I know that. He goes, and I’ll be here, alone again.”

  “Child,” the Mekai said, taking a deep breath. “You understand that your father lives here. The Conclave is his home. He only leaves to go on special trips, on Conclave business. He wants you to train here, yes—but he wants you here because this is his home. He wants it to be your home, too. Do you see?”

  Bethany hadn’t thought of it that way.

  “He’ll still have to leave, though,” she said. “I’ll still be alone.”

  The Mekai smiled.

  “Yes, he will have to leave from time to time, child, but this is the place he comes back to. When you join a class, Bethany, you’ll have a whole new family. Your classmates will become closer than friends—and you’ll still have Dormael and D’Jenn. Doubtless the rest of the Warlocks will adopt you, too. They’re a tight-knit group.”

  “I guess so,” she said.

  “Still unconvinced? Let me try something else,” he said. He closed the book, and stood from his chair as the Kai floated the tome back to the table. He threw his hand out to indicate the globe around them. “This place, Bethany, is called the Convergence Chamber. Most people who know of it, though, call it the Crux.”

  “The Crux?” Bethany repeated, rising to follow the old man closer to the center of the platform.

  “Indeed. Would you like to know what it does?”

  She nodded.

  The Mekai smiled. “The Crux is used to focus magic. There are techniques one can learn with magic, dear girl, secrets that go beyond something so mundane as to summon a flame with which to light a candle, or float a book across the room. Magic can do wonderful things. Would you like to see?” He held out a hand to her, one eyebrow raised in question.

  Bethany nodded again, and took the Mekai’s hand.

  “Now—let’s talk again about history, young lady.”

  The room around them faded away like mist, and was replaced with something new. A map appeared on the floor, mountains rising above the ground, and oceans surging with storms. She had never seen anything like it, and didn’t know what to think.

  “This,” the Mekai said, pointing to a city in the shadow of a low mountain range, “is where we are—the city of Ishamael. Do you know anything of its founding?”

  “No,” Bethany said. “Everyone’s heard of it, though. The City of Magic.”

  “And what do people say about us, then?” the Mekai asked.

  “To stay away,” Bethany replied. “Lots of people tell evil stories about it. None of it’s true, though—obviously.”

  “Obviously, indeed,” the Mekai laughed. “Let me tell you, then, about the City of Magic.”

  The land below them dissolved, blowing away like so much dust. The room around them became a battlefield, with men fighting and dying in tightly packed lines, eyeballs over shields, stabbing spears, and arrows falling like rain. Bethany resisted the urge to squeal and duck, taking her cues from the Mekai, who stood with stoic poise.

  “Once,” he said, “the Sevenlands didn’t exist, child. In the years before the founding of Ishamael, our people were separate tribes, separate city-states, separate kingdoms. Each had its own system of governance, you see, and each its own values. The only thing we all shared was a language, and the desire to kill each other over things like crops and blood-debts.” The Mekai held his hands out, indicating the struggling men all dying around them. “There were
a lot of blood-debts.”

  The Mekai waved his hand, then, and the scene changed once again. Now they stood in a village under attack. People ran screaming in all directions, being cut down by men with conical helmets and straight, stabbing swords. The swordsmen were all over the village, destroying everything in sight, and dragging people away.

  “Then came the hordes from the east,” the Mekai said. “Our oldest stories talk about them—great, tall men, blond and black-headed, fearsome as they were merciless. They invaded from the north, streaming down into the Sevenlands from the Gathan Mountains. They killed, destroyed, and enslaved everything they came across. They were like locusts, eating all in that lay in their path. Our people, fractured as they were, could not band together to face this threat. Every year, the men from the north took more ground from our people, and every year, our people grew more desperate as they watched their lands be taken, their kin enslaved.”

  “What happened?” Bethany asked.

  “A leader appeared,” the Mekai said. “His name was Ishamael.”

  “Like the city,” Bethany said.

  “Just so,” the Mekai nodded. “Ishamael was a Teptian, and had been fighting the horde for years with the help of his friend, the wizard Indalvian—the man who founded the Conclave.”

  “Did Indalvian burn the hordes from the east?” Bethany asked. “Did he burn them all with magic, and turn the skies against them?” The song of the armlet shifted, turning over like a slumbering person in the midst of the dream. The Mekai noticed, but said nothing.

  “Not exactly,” the Mekai said. “Ishamael and Indalvian united the tribes, and together, the horde from the east was forced back to the north, and across the Sea of Moving Ice. When the war was over, this city was founded, and named for the leader who saved us. That was when the Sevenlands was born, and that was when the Conclave was built. The first stones that make up the chamber around us were laid in those years. This is the first thing they made, Bethany—the Crux. The entire Conclave was built around it.”

  “But why?” Bethany asked, now immersed in the Mekai’s story. “Why did they build this first?”