Shadow and Thorn

by Kenley Davidson

  “Do you have a back door?” Alexei asked, not willing to risk adding to his scars by setting foot in the room.

  “Yes.” The man turned around and led him through a dingy kitchen to a sagging door in the rear of the building.

  “Then I’ll bid you farewell,” Alexei said, “and better fortune until perhaps we meet again.”

  He set off into the night, but was brought up short by a shout from behind him.

  The man was standing behind the tavern, hastily untying his apron. He picked up a leather satchel off the ground, wrapped a scarf around his neck, clapped a hat on his head and ran after Alexei as quickly as his rotund form would allow.

  “I don’t care who you are,” he said. “You’re going somewhere other than here. My name is Gulver. That’s all really. My family was never big enough for a house, and I’m the last of them anyway, so I’m coming with you. I’m done scrubbing blood off the floor and I want to see Athven Nar.”

  “What makes you think I’m going to Athven Nar?”

  “Aren’t you?” Gulver asked innocently. “Even crazy seers aren’t always wrong, and neither am I. Someday one of those men, or women, in there is going to take exception to my face and it’ll be my blood on the floor and no one to care. I’d rather have an adventure, even if I don’t live to see the end of it.”

  Alexei closed his eyes and counted to five. When he opened them the man was still there.

  “Tell me, Gulver… what is your gift?”

  Gulver beamed, his mustache bristling with pride. “Why, I’m a healer. Haven’t had much chance to practice in twenty years, not since the burnings started, but I used to be known through three towns for my touch with injuries of the mind. Good with fevers and infections too!”

  “Of course you are.”

  Malichai was never going to let him live this down.

  Gulver may have seemed dour on first acquaintance, but once he arrived at the camp, there was simply no standing in the way of his evident relief at being amongst fellow Erathi. He greeted Silvay and Wilder like long-lost family and cast periodic dark looks at Porfiry after the Betrayer’s presence was explained. Despite an initial expression of nervous alarm at meeting Malichai, the healer soon relaxed enough to swap tales with the Andari, whether of cooking for large numbers of people or dealing with the vagaries of the intoxicated.

  Malichai, for his part, gracefully refrained from saying anything to Alexei, if one discounted the wink and guffaw that burst out of him upon learning the newcomer’s identity.

  And Alexei was grateful enough for Malichai’s skill set that he probably wouldn’t have complained in any case. They were now a party of six, counting Porfiry, and Malichai was still the only one of them with any reasonable grasp of weapons or tactics. Four times, they’d been accosted on the road, and four times, they’d all come off without a single scratch. Such luck couldn’t be expected to last forever, Alexei knew, no matter how skilled Malichai was. Eventually, they would run into someone with more to lose. Someone like treasure hunters who might see them as interlopers.

  If their luck—and the weather—held, he hoped to reach Athven inside of the next three days. There would be plenty of surprises then, and there was one thing he wanted to get out of the way first. He was going to have to talk to his cousin.

  Porfiry sat on the edge of camp, hands and feet bound as they usually were when he was not on a horse. His wrists rested on his knees, and his head was bent over them, his mouth moving silently as he rocked back and forth.

  “You’re going to have to talk to me eventually,” Alexei told him, crouching close by and striving to sound neutral.

  Porfiry continued to mutter.

  “You know I can’t kill you, no matter how much I would like to. You are technically my blood, and the only family I have left, other than my brother, who will never leave Andar.” Alexei looked at his cousin and swallowed the bile that always rose at the sight of his face. He had dreamed of his revenge for so many years, but revenge would have to wait. “We share memories, you and I, and even if we remember those times differently, I have to believe that there is some part of you that regrets what happened. A part that is as devastated as I when you see what’s become of our homeland. Our people.”

  Porfiry looked up from his knees and laughed. “Poor fool. You don’t understand. You can’t. You couldn’t even see it with two eyes, and now you only have one.”

  Alexei swallowed the impulse to grab his cousin and shake him till he screamed. “Then why don’t you tell me? If I am so blind, tell me what happened. Tell me how this could have been different.”

  Porfiry’s head swiveled strangely on his scrawny neck. He licked his lips and blinked into the firelight. “You’ve made me no promises. Given me no reason to trust. I won’t give up my revenge for nothing.”

  “What revenge?” Alexei’s hands curled into fists with the effort of holding back his anger. He longed to snarl and spit and twist that chicken neck between his fingers until it snapped. His memories of Porfiry were so deeply stained with blood and smoke and betrayal that it hurt, deep in his bones, to pretend he could forgive. He never could. Never would. But for the Rose, for Wilder and Silvay and Gulver, he would pretend.

  “Nothing for free, Cousin.” Porfiry leered at him, as though daring Alexei to react. “Not a word. The leeches have had their pint of me and they are not my masters anymore.”

  “You’re going to have to be less cryptic, Cousin,” Alexei said, his lips a thin, taut line. “I have no idea who the leeches are or why you might want revenge. Our people did nothing to you. You lived your life in a palace, with everything given freely. What could possibly have given you the desire to destroy everything you had ever known?”

  “Poor, perfect Alexei!” Porfiry snarled, his amusement vanished. “Of course you wouldn’t know. You never had to work. Your precious masters never pushed you beyond endurance to wring every last drop of talent from your pathetic hide.”

  “You think I didn’t work for my gift?” Alexei barked, enraged by the accusation. “I worked. I tried. And sometimes I failed. My hands are still scarred from the hours in the workshops, learning to craft every possible material. I burned myself with backlash more times than I could count, trying to learn more and more complex enchantments. Don’t tell me I never had to work for what I learned.”

  “Poor, poor Trevelyan. See how hard his life is. See how he immolates himself for his people. Let us all bow down before his selfless sacrifice.”

  “Don’t pretend this is about me,” Alexei said softly. He reminded himself that Porfiry had always had a talent for provocation and swallowed his anger, though with difficulty. “We were never adversaries, you and I.”

  “The great Alexei never even noticed me. How would he know who my adversaries were?”

  “Perhaps you had enemies, Porfiry, but I was not one of them.”

  “A man like you has no need for enemies,” Porfiry spat. “But we all have to find our strength somewhere.”

  Alexei picked up a rock and rubbed it between his fingers while he took deep, calming breaths and considered what he might say next. How could he convince his perfidious cousin to give him the information he needed? What could he possibly offer a man who cared so little for life and decency that he would betray his home and his people?

  “What do you want?” he asked at last.

  “I already have what I want,” Porfiry whispered. “I have the look on their faces when they realized what I’d done. When they finally grasped that despite all of their power, all of their pride, they could do nothing to stop what was coming. They said I was weak. That I was useless. But by the end they knew they were wrong.”

  And there it was—the why that Alexei had spent so much effort convincing himself he didn’t want to know. He couldn’t tell whether it made him feel better or worse to find out that his cousin had betrayed them all not for money, or for power, but to prove something to his doubters. To show them that he didn’t need great magic
to be strong. The end was the same, and Alexei could not possibly despise the man more than he already did.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, whatever you’re planning, you’ll never find it without me.” Porfiry’s eyes glittered as they bored into Alexei’s. “You could turn Athven Nar into a heap of stone and sort through it piece by piece and still never find it.”

  “What makes you think I’ll need to?” Alexei asked softly. “Did you never think that Athven herself might take a hand in her own salvation? When Beatra was alive, she spoke of Athven like a friend. It is very possible that she is still aware and already knows where it is, and all she is waiting for is someone to tell.”

  Porfiry’s face grew still. He swallowed.

  “And if that is the case,” Alexei went on, “I truly will not need you. And though I cannot shed Nar blood, there are those who would not hesitate. King Hollin was not pleased to be forced to give you up and I believe there is a charge of treason awaiting you should I task Malichai with returning you to the tender care of Andar.”

  He stood and brushed off his hands. “Think on it. Decide how you want this to end. I will find it, and I will restore it. Whether you choose to be a part of that is up to you.”

  Whether Porfiry believed him was really going to be the question. Because as confident as he’d tried to sound, Alexei doubted that Athven could do as he suggested. If she could, she would have done so before the invaders reached her walls. And if she was somehow still aware after all this time unbonded and alone… Alexei would have had no excuse for staying away so long. He could have returned at any time, instead of waiting, telling himself that the Rose was lost and Athven could not help them.

  Despite his guilt, he hoped he was wrong. He hoped there was enough left of Athven to aid them in their search. If it was true that the treasure hunters had not yet gained entry, that was a good sign. Perhaps, if she had survived Beatra’s death, she had found a way to lie dormant. But if that was so, she might not even be aware enough to let him in. They could be stuck waiting until Athven fell deeply enough into hibernation to lower her guard.

  But whether Athven was alive or dead, awake or in hibernation, he still needed Porfiry. His cousin had probably not been exaggerating when he said they could tear the castle down and never find the Rose. They could search, but their hope would be slim indeed without guidance. Porfiry was simply going to have to tell him where to find it.

  And if he refused? If he made demands? What was Alexei willing to do in exchange for the information? How far was he willing to pervert justice to restore the shield, expiate his guilt and give his people hope? Could he let Porfiry walk away, unpunished and unrepentant?

  And did he even have the right to make such a decision?

  The next three days were painful ones for Alexei. Each passing hour brought them closer to a truth he wasn’t sure he wanted to learn, and his anxiety mounted. What if he was too late? What if Athven was gone, someone else had stolen the Rose and there was no hope at all for them to succeed?

  In addition to anxiety, every passing moment brought with it another memory. As they pushed deeper into the heart of Erath, Alexei began to recognize the land and could feel how much it had changed.

  On that first day, they forded the Dralten River. The bridge had been destroyed, but the river still ran shallow and clear over a bed of rose-colored stone. No one knew why so many of the stones had tumbled down from the mountains so perfectly smooth and round, but the Dralten had long been the source of Erathi hearthstones, and nearly every dwelling had boasted several of the glowing spheres during the cold winter months.

  The following day saw them pass by the foot of Bone Cairn, a towering heap of rocks so long and smooth and oddly shaped that generations of Erathi children had decided it was the final resting place of a giant. Alexei and his cousin Yala had once climbed all the way to the top to find out if there was a skull and found only the deeply carven marks left by generations of other adventurous souls, no doubt wondering the same thing.

  Their path even lingered for some distance on the eaves of Vrendel Wood, the only sanctuary in the known world for wyvern, indrik, and artenu, rare and magical creatures that Alexei hoped had somehow found a way to survive. Sightings had been relatively uncommon, even for Erathi who knew how to look for them, so it was probable they had avoided notice. If they hadn’t, Gulver would likely have heard wild tales of hunters being carried off by winged reptiles, stalked by vengeful horned equines, or even devoured by giant bears made of smoke and fire.

  But nowhere—not in the rivers, the plains or the woods—could Alexei feel the connection that used to run deep in his bones, the hum of the land’s own magic in harmony with his. There were no golden threads lurking just outside of conscious thought, linking person to person, joining the present with the past. The music of that dance, the intricate tapestry of relationship between the land and her people, was silent, and the echoing emptiness of it left a hollow ache in Alexei’s chest.

  How could this be Erath? How could this dead and desolate place be his beloved homeland? The only proof that he was home coiled deep in his chest—he still had his magic, and it still drew strength from the land. His power had grown as they traveled, till he felt nearly as strong as he ever had, but with that power came a sense of terrible isolation. In Andar, he had isolated himself by choice. Now he had to feel and be reminded of just how alone he really was.

  It was almost worse when he realized he was beginning to sense the others in his party, just in tenuous snatches of unheard sound, unseen color—the tiniest whispers into a silence that had once been a symphony. Silvay was a narrow ribbon of blue, a mellow tone that made everything around it sound more full and vibrant. Gulver was a deep river of earthen brown, shot with veins of gold, a clear chime that punctuated each moment like a shaft of sunlight. Wilder was pure silver, easy to miss, like a single note being played in a crowd, but filling in the spaces with a brilliant sweetness of purpose.

  But three could never fill the space left by thousands of missing voices.

  By night, around the fire, Silvay spun stories of the past to a rapt audience. Gulver looked wistful, Wilder fascinated, and Malichai frankly disbelieving as she recalled the former days of Erath, when gifts were valued and the people flourished.

  “Here’s what I don’t understand,” Malichai said one night, at a lull in the conversation. “If you lot could do all these things—control wood, water and stone, enchant your fields and your homes, bid animals obey and call the weather to heel—why did you never leave your land? Why in so many centuries did no one know of this? And how was there no one of you who thought to turn his skills to conquer others?”

  Silvay laughed. “We are no saints, Malichai. There have been plenty of us, over the centuries, who wished to turn our thoughts to war, or to expansion, or simply to taking advantage of his or her fellows.” She tilted her head briefly in Porfiry’s direction. “But here’s the plain truth of it—our land binds us together. We take the best part of our strength from the land, and from our bonds with each other. When we leave Erath, or when we choose to use our strength against it, we become little more than mundane folks, unable to feel or use the full measure of the gift we once had.”

  A rasping voice echoed out of the darkness behind her. “Or we wait. And we plan. And we find a way to use the poison of our ancestors to throw down their pious ideals and make something different for ourselves.” Porfiry’s bitterness seemed a stark note of discord in the harmony of their little group.

  “What did he do?” whispered Wilder. “Why is he like this? I can barely see him at all and it’s so… unhappy. I don’t like to look.”

  Silvay glanced at Alexei, and he nodded. The boy, and Malichai as well, had a right to know the story.

  “Near thirty years ago,” she began, “we were a peaceful and prosperous land. And a good part of our peace and prosperity was due to the work of a man named Nar, who lived, oh, many hundreds of years past. He was one of the great
est enchanters Erath has ever known, and his deepest fear was that one day, Erath would be destroyed by those who wanted what we had but did not bear the gift that would let them see why we had it.

  “We were a part of our land, and it was a part of us, and to preserve that, Nar poured his life into a great enchantment, a talisman so complex and powerful that no enchanter since has been able to fully grasp how it was made. The Rose of Erath is a piece of baryte crystal, as large as a man’s head, and it holds within it the song of our magic. The whole symphony of Erathi love for our homeland resonates through its petals, and it was placed deep within the heart of Athven Nar herself. As thorns protect a rose, so Athven protected the talisman, which in turn protected our people. It drew on each and every living thing within our borders to create a shield, a barrier of magic that denied entry to anyone with duplicity and malice towards our people in their heart.”

  She paused to drink and sighed a little as she swallowed. “As you can imagine, this sort of intent is ever difficult to discern. And the enchantment was not guided by a human hand, so it judged for itself, and as a result, nearly everyone was kept out. Word of our land and our magic was rarely ever heard outside our borders, and those who carried it were either too young or considered too inebriated to be believed. Until one day, when a man of Erath acted in hatred and stole the Rose, removing it from the heart of Athven Nar and breaking the enchantment that kept us safe from discovery.”

  “And then the soldiers came,” Wilder said in a small voice.

  “Yes,” Silvay answered simply. “When the barrier fell, we learned that an army waited just outside. They both coveted and despised our magic, and it did not take long for them to exploit our vulnerability. Our people were overrun by those who dealt in weapons and war, and all who survived were enslaved in hatred and prejudice.”

  “But you’re going to fix it.” Wilder fastened his eyes on Alexei. “I’ve seen the crown in your aura—that’s why we’re here. That’s why he’s here.” He gestured to Porfiry. “To find the Rose and make it so we’re safe again.”