The black prism l-1

by Brent Weeks

  She hadn't seen this kind of burn since the war. During the war, the armies had clashed a number of times in areas where the bodies couldn't be buried and where there wasn't enough natural fuel for funeral pyres. Corpses had to be disposed of to avoid losing even more soldiers to disease, so red drafters would spray a corpse with a quick stream of red jelly. A quick coating, even if drafted carelessly, could be lit quickly. Problem solved. It wasn't cremation, though. If bodies were burned singly, rather than in piles, the bones remained. If the drafter weren't thorough, certain body parts wouldn't be reduced entirely to bone. Rib cages and skulls ended up full of smoking meat-good enough for exigencies of war when you had to dispose of your opponents' corpses to avoid spreading disease, but never good enough for one's own countrymen.

  King Garadul hadn't fought in that war, but he was aping the worst practices of it-on his own people.

  As she suspected, that pointing hand led Karris to more bodies. At first they were spread widely, then one every thirty paces, one every twenty paces, one every ten. All were headless. Then bodies lined the sides of the main road now in a solid row, past smoking, crumbled homes and shops. The nicely maintained cobblestones here had cracked from the heat. There were tracks across the cobbles. At first she couldn't tell what they were, but as she got closer it became obvious: they were drag marks, streaks of dried blood perhaps a day old from the decapitated bodies being dragged from the square.

  She paused amid the smoke and gore before she rounded the corner that would take her to the town square. She drew the short sword, but didn't put on her spectacles. If there was a trap, it would be here, but there was enough red and heat for her to fight magically if necessary. Even if she wasn't planning on a straight infiltration, there was no need to announce that she was a drafter if she didn't have to. When the moment came, she'd announce it with fire.

  Karris rounded the corner.

  Dear Orholam.

  They hadn't melted the heads. They'd preserved them with a blue-and-yellow luxin glaze and stacked them in the middle of the town square. Eyes staring, faces mangled, blood cascading from the top to the bottom like a champagne pyramid at the Luxlords' Ball. Karris had half expected something like this from all the decapitated bodies, but expecting it wasn't the same as seeing it. Her stomach heaved. She turned and clamped her jaw shut, blinking rapidly, as if her eyelids could scrape the horrors off her eyes. She studied the rest of the square to give her stomach time to settle.

  If Gavin had seen this, he would have killed King Garadul. Pitiless as the sea, righteous as Orholam, he would have hunted down every one of these monsters. Whatever he had done during the war and before-whatever he had done to her-since the False Prism's War, Gavin had traveled the Seven Satrapies meting out justice. He'd sunk Ilytian pirate fleets twice, killed the bandit king of the Blue-Eyed Demons, made peace when war had broken out again between Ruthgar and the Blood Forest, and brought the Butcher of Ru to justice. Other than the Tyreans, the people loved him. And he would have wreaked a mighty vengeance here, even for Tyreans. He wouldn't have stood for this.

  Most of the buildings were piles of rubble, smoking in the predawn gray. Here and there a single wall stood, scorched and blackened and separated from its fallen fellows. The alcaldesa's residence, if such it was-it was the grandest building she'd seen here, with steps leading directly onto the square-was a total loss. The soldiers had flattened it; there wasn't one rock left sitting on another.

  But the square itself was immaculate. Any burnt wreckage had either been pushed into the streets leading here or shoveled directly into the river, whose channel bounded the square to the west. King Garadul had wanted nothing to distract a visitor from his grisly trophy. Steeling herself, Karris looked back to the pyramid of human heads. All the drag marks, all the bloody streaks led here. The bodies-Karris hoped they'd all already been bodies by the time they came here-had all been decapitated here so that the pyramid would be as bloody as possible. This was a spectacle. King Garadul wanted everything to lead to this horror.

  The pyramid was taller than Karris. The heads at the top, crowning the pyramid, were children: round-cheeked little boys and little girls with their hair in ribbons and bows.

  Karris didn't throw up. There was something about this that simply left her cold. By their ages and her own, those children could have been hers. She found herself counting the heads. There were forty-five at the base, and the pyramid was as wide as it was tall, built with mathematical precision. The children's heads were smaller, and there was no way to tell if the pyramid was solid or if these heads had been stacked around the outside of a smaller pyramid made of something else. Karris's fingers moved as she mentally moved the beads of an abacus, shuttling them left and right.

  If the pyramid was solid heads, there were somewhere in the neighborhood of a thousand heads here.

  Cold tingles shot over her skin, the precursor to vomiting. She looked away. You're a spy, Karris. You have to find out everything important. Taking long, deep breaths, she examined the bottom corner of the pyramid, then looked edge-on at one face of the shape. It was made of multiple layers of different colors of luxin. King Garadul wanted this to last for years. Someone could attack the pyramid with a sledgehammer, and they might be able to crack it, but not break it open. There would be no burying these heads or removing this hideous monument.

  The skill evident here meant King Garadul had access to a number-perhaps a large number-of fairly talented and skilled drafters. Bad news. Karris had heard Gavin express his belief that King Garadul was starting a pseudo-Chromeria to train his own drafters away from the Chromeria's oversight. This was pretty strong evidence that Gavin was right.

  "Bastard," Karris said. She wasn't sure whether she meant Garadul or Gavin. How stupid was that? She was staring at a pile of heads and she was as angry at Gavin as she was at the monster who'd done this? Because he'd slept with some strumpet during the war?

  Insanely, even after the great fire that had ruined everything in her life and killed her brothers, Karris had been more than half tempted to go over to Dazen's side during that time. If only to hear his side of what had happened. Maybe Gavin had known.

  Or maybe it was the guilt of his illicit liaison that had caused Gavin to break their betrothal right after the war.

  So he was unfaithful. Welcome to the common fate of women who love great men. For all you know, it was only one night of weakness on the eve of the last battle, some beauty throwing herself at him, and he didn't say no, just once.

  Right. But for all I know, every night was a night of weakness.

  It was years ago, Karris. Years! How has Gavin acted in all the years since the war?

  Aside from breaking our betrothal and leaving me with nothing?

  How has he acted toward you in the last fifteen years?

  Decently. Damn him. Aside from lying and secrets. What had he said? "I don't expect you to understand or even believe me, but what's in that note, I swear it isn't true." Something about that niggled at her. Why would he compound the lie?

  The wind shifted and blew smoke across the open square. Karris coughed, her eyes burning. But just as she finished coughing, she thought she heard a crack.

  Another crack, and then, just a block away, a chimney came crashing down into the torched remains of a house. The dawn was red-a trick of the smoke and spectrums, not a heavenly mirror to all the blood spilled here.

  Karris began searching the town, looking for survivors and surveying the damage. Do what's right, do what's in front of you. The town hadn't burned easily. The buildings were stone, albeit with wooden supports, and the trees were green, either from manual watering-the river ran right through town-or from their roots reaching deep enough. But every single building in the town center had burned down completely. That meant red drafters.

  They must have walked through all the buildings, spraying red luxin on every wooden beam.

  Karris searched for two hours, climbing over rubble in the streets, somet
imes having to go around whole blocks. She wrapped a wet cloth around her face, but still got lightheaded, coughing frequently. She found nothing other than more corpses and a few mournful dogs. All the livestock had been taken. The town church had been the site of a small battle. A luxiat's body lay decapitated like the rest, outside the doors of the church. Karris could imagine him denouncing the soldiers outside, trying to protect those of his flock who'd sought sanctuary within the walls. Inside, she found pruning shears, an ax, and knives, and a pair of cleavers, and one broken sword, and decapitated bodies. And dried, burned blood everywhere. The beams here were seared but hadn't caught fire. Either clumsy drafting, or religious fear, or the fact that the ironwood beams, imported from the deserts of southern Atash, were so old and dense.

  The pews, however, and the bodies had burned. Karris was in a daze, whether from inhaling smoke or just becoming inured to the tableau of death and suffering. In the back corner of the church behind the stairs, she found a young family, the father with his arms wrapped around the mother, who was sheltering a child. The soldiers hadn't found these. They'd died in each other's arms from the smoke. Karris checked each of them carefully, feeling for the faint tremor of life at each neck. Father, dead. The mother, a girl not yet out of her teens, dead. Karris took the swaddled babe in her arms last, a boy. She prayed under her breath. But Orholam turned a deaf ear; there was no life in his tiny breast.

  Karris staggered. She had to get out of here. She put the dead babe down on the nearest table, only to see it was the altar. She careened up the main aisle of the church, past smoldering pews on her left and right, images of another time, another sacrificed babe, joining the horrors before her eyes.

  She was almost out when the floor collapsed.

  Chapter 25

  "You need to make some choices, Kip," Gavin said.

  From all he could tell, Kip had only been unconscious for seconds or minutes. It was still dark, the stars burning coldly overhead, the fire not yet scorching his clothes despite its nearness to where he'd fallen. The strangling red luxin mask was gone, though there remained a light coating of dust, gritty and sharp on his skin.

  "I'll kill you!" Kip said. He couldn't trust anyone. Everyone was a liar. Everyone was just out for himself. Fear rose, and that made the anger flare as it sometimes did, hot and fierce and uncontrollable. He sat up, eyes locked on the Prism's face. The man looked at him coolly, unapologetic, merely curious about what Kip would do, ignoring his words. Kip wondered if he could conjure giant green spikes from the fire to impale the man.

  Smart, Kip. In the middle of Orholam only knows where, you'd kill your guide? For what? For not tolerating your peevishness?

  Not betrayal, Kip, a lesson. Kip shivered. He'd really thought Gavin was going to kill him. And that was the point. He had given Gavin no choice but to show that he couldn't be handled, not by a child. He was not only older than Kip, he was smarter, and harder, and more experienced, and he demanded respect.

  And that was… appropriate.

  But that didn't stop Kip's shivering. If only for a few seconds, he'd really thought he was dying-and there had been nothing he could do about it. But this was the one man who could show him how to never be powerless again. This was the man who could teach him how to avenge his mother and Rekton. And Kip was going to sit in silence and stubbornness?

  With as much dignity as he could muster, Kip retook his seat on the log. His knees trembled, but he was able to sit without disgracing himself further. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking away. He cleared his throat so he wouldn't squeak. "What choices?" he asked.

  He could tell Gavin was a little surprised and pleased that Kip didn't fight, but the man left it alone. "You're my natural son, Kip. That has consequences. For you." Kip was watching Gavin's face closely. He said the words "my natural son" without a grimace, without even his eyes tightening. Kip wondered if he'd rehearsed to be able to say that so blithely. Kip had seen something of what claiming his own patrimony had cost Gavin, and still the man claimed him without so much as a grimace at Kip's grimace-worthy existence. It had to be an act-who could be pleased about learning that he'd fathered a bastard?-but it was an act for Kip's sake.

  Gavin was a better man than Kip would have expected. "Being known as my bastard has costs," Gavin continued. "You haven't been raised in privilege, but people who resent those raised in privilege will resent you. You haven't been educated, but those who have been will look down on you if you know less than they do. If I acknowledge you, you'll attract the wrong sort of friends. Those who hate and resent me can't often take it out on me, Kip, I'm too powerful, too dangerous. But they will take it out on you. It isn't fair, but that's how it is. You'll be under constant scrutiny, and both your successes and failures will have repercussions you can't even guess at now. My father may choose not to recognize you. Others will seek to prove you're a fraud. Others will attempt to use you against me. And still others will want to befriend you only in the hope that it will help them gain some favor with me. False friendship is a poison I'd like to protect you from."

  Too late for that. Kip thought of Ram: Ram who was always in charge, who always liked smearing Kip's face in his own inferiority and claiming it was friendly teasing. Ram, whom Isa had loved. Ram, dead, lying with an arrow in his back. "So what are my options?" Kip asked. "I am what I am."

  Gavin rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You could go as just another student for the time being. Then, whenever you like, I'll publicly acknowledge you. You'll have time to gain your bearings, to learn who your real friends are."

  "By lying to them?"

  "Sometimes lies are most necessary with our friends," Gavin snapped. He paused. "Look, I just wanted to give you the option-"

  "No, I'm sorry. I'm not-I'm not mad at you. My mother… Do you remember what she was like? I mean, before me?" Kip asked.

  Gavin's mouth worked. He wet his lips. Then shook his head. "I don't remember her, Kip. At all."

  So, not exactly a love affair. Kip's emptiness doubled. There was no family to belong to. "You're the Prism; I guess a lot of women want to be with you," Kip said.

  "It was war, Kip. When you expect to die, you don't think about the effects your actions might have on others ten years on. When you've seen friends die all around you, there's something about making love that makes you feel alive. There was far too much wine and spirits and no one who would rein in a young hothead who had the misfortune to be the Prism. But it's not an excuse. I'm sorry, Kip. I'm sorry for what my thoughtlessness has cost you."

  So my mother had one night with you, and she pinned her hopes on that. Kip had no doubt she'd elbowed and schemed her way past a dozen other women who would have gladly shared the Prism's bed. And she'd filled years with bitterness for that?

  Kip forced a laugh, his heart breaking. For all the times he'd dreamed about who his father might be, he'd never dared to dream that he might be the Prism himself. But in his dreams, his father had been called away by some emergency. He'd left them because he had to. But he'd loved Kip's mother and Kip. Missed them. Wanted to come back, and would any day. Gavin was a good man, but he didn't care about Lina. Or Kip. He would take care of Kip because he was dutiful. A good person. But there was no love. No family to belong to. Kip was alone, outside, staring through barred windows at what he would never have.

  It was like being given a gift that was wildly exotic when you wanted something perfectly common. Still, what kind of an ingrate was he? Complaining? Feeling sorry for himself-because the Prism was his father?

  "I'm sorry," Kip said. He stared at his fingernails, still torn from his luxin use. "This isn't right. My mother had… some problems. I guess she wanted to trap you by showing up with me." Kip couldn't maintain eye contact. He was so ashamed. How could you be so stupid, mother? So mean? "You don't deserve this. You saved my life, and I've been… awful." Kip blinked, but he couldn't fully stop the tears. "You can leave me wherever-well, preferably not on a deserted island."

  Gavin sm
irked, then got serious. "Kip, your mother and I did what we did. I appreciate you trying to shield me from the consequences of my actions, but you are not trapping me into anything. People can talk. I don't care. Understand?" He expelled a breath. "Regardless, the only damage I care about has already been done."

  For a second, Kip didn't understand. The damage was already done? No one even knew Kip was alive.

  Except Karris. That was what Gavin meant. Kip had caused a rift with the only person in the world Gavin cared about. What had been intended to make Kip feel better hit him instead where he was weakest. His mother had made him feel guilty for simply existing for as long as he could remember. He'd ruined her life by being born. He'd ruined her life by having too many demands. He'd made people look down on her. He'd held her back from all the things she could have done. Mentally, he could try to shrug off her words. She didn't mean it. She loved Kip, even if she had never said the words. She didn't know how she was hurting him.

  But Gavin was a good man. He didn't deserve this.

  "Kip. Kip." Gavin waited until Kip looked up at him. "I will not abandon you."

  Visions of a locked cupboard, screaming-screaming-and no one answering. "Is there anything to eat?" Kip asked, blinking. "I feel like I haven't eaten in a week." He poked his chest. He could feel ribs sticking out.

  Gavin pulled a rope of sausages out of his pack, cut one off-only one?-and tossed it to Kip. "Tomorrow, you start at the Chromeria."

  "Oomowwow?" Kip asked, mouth full.

  "I'm going to share a secret with you," Gavin said. "I can travel faster than anyone suspects."

  "You can disappear and reappear somewhere else? I knew it!" Kip said.

  "Um, no. But I can make a boat that goes really fast."