Magience: second edition

by Cari Silverwood

  At the end of the grassland the carriage stopped outside another wall – this one double a man’s height and dressed in the same smooth white stone as the palace itself. Brilliant green vines with crimson tubular flowers interweaved along and partway down the sides of the wall.

  “We walk from here.” Ellinca jumped at these words from Thollemew Smythe. He yawned and stretched his arms, then unlocked the door and gestured for her to lead.

  Being on solid ground again made her bottom and legs feel like jelly. She gazed around, noting that the company of Immolators stayed, although the carriage was quickly driven away with the horsemen escorting it. With growing alarm she realized something was missing. Gangar had alighted with her but the pack was in the carriage, and Mogg was inside it.

  “Can you stop them,” she pleaded to Smythe, pointing after the carriage. “I’ve left something on there.”

  “The carriage? No.” His tone was final, unyielding. He frowned slightly. “Come.”

  She stayed where she was. Could she get it later? She’d have to try. Mogg was good at hiding. “Um. You said Dost was here.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are they treating him well?”

  “No.” He headed through the gates.

  “Oh.”

  Another black mark to tick on her slate of worries.

  Despite all that had happened and the uncertainty of her future, losing Mogg made her feel even worse. He didn’t exactly do anything, but he somehow liked her, and she had liked him back. Everything, everyone, had gone away except for him and Gangar. She sighed.

  The press of the marching Immolators forced her to trudge after Smythe down the graystone roadway. On either side of them passacandras leaned their boughs inward, lush with buds and sapphire flowers – their pollen sending out a mist of sweet perfume. Beautiful, but sadness had settled on her like a shawl.

  “He...” Thollemew Smythe nodded toward Gangar. “...will not be allowed near the Imperator. Don’t – if you value him as much as you appear to – don’t allow anyone to put him in the zoo.”

  “The zoo?”

  Of course. Ellinca tilted her head back. The zoo here was famous.

  A massive dome stretched across most of the middle area of the palace. While the palace itself was only three stories high, the opalescent dome that was the zoo’s roof rose another story higher, like a tumble-polished jewel set in a ring of stone.

  It was rumored that the Imperator had, at one time or another, every species in the world in his zoo. There were places for herbivores and areas cordoned off for predators – and all of it, from grottos and waterfalls and rapids to orchards and “ancient” ruins – all of it planned by master horticulturalists and landscape artists in the best possible taste. Or so they said.

  Absentmindedly she reached down, trailing a hand along Gangar’s back to feel fur that had not been there before. A smooth gray strip of it ran along his back from neck to mid-body, so cunningly patterned that to the unobservant it might appear to be scales. She smiled bemusedly. Mogg had not left after all. A breeze cooled her hand.

  Her smile faded. She stopped dead, for where the ramparts and stone of the palace met the sky there was now a nimbus of watery gray, and if she concentrated really hard, she saw ghosts. They sat up there, sprawling across the masonry as if it were their home, as if they waited for something to happen, or someone to arrive. Sounds about her muffled, vision narrowed, until she saw only them and everything else became a distant and blurry border.

  And they saw her.

  Bludvoiks. These were the ghosts of bludvoiks.

  “Ellinca? Ellinca!” People were yelling. No, it was only Thollemew Smythe. He stood before her, yelling louder and louder.

  “Stop!” She put out her hands.

  “What is it?”

  “Can’t you see them?”

  He looked about in bewilderment. “What?”

  “No, it doesn’t matter. Forget it.” They were fading. Had it been Gangar’s doing? She shook her head as if that could clear it and gave the tuskdog a suspicious glance. He panted back at her, all innocent laughter on his big ugly face.

  “Come,” said Thollemew Smythe. “Enough of your delays.”

  “Sir.” A guard stopped them. “Do you have any gheist weapons? You must surrender them.”

  “Ah, of course.” He fumbled and came up with a small pistol with tiny blue and yellow daisies encrusting its surface. “Here. She has nothing.”

  Ellinca must have looked mystified, and she was, for a long sword still swung from Smythe’s right side.

  He cleared his throat. “Uster, ah, the Imperator, does not allow any gheist weaponry in his presence. Even on his guards. Sensible, you know, they’re so irreversibly fatal.”

  They went up a wide flight of stairs and into the palace. The grandiose design that would dwarf all but a giant, the sculptures and other artwork – the elegance of it swept past her in an overwhelming display. It was a while before she noticed the lack of servants. There were only Immolators and the soldiers of the Imperator’s Guard. Then she saw the dirt and disorder – rugs crumpled, plants wilting and unpruned, spider webs in corners.

  A final pair of doors swung open before them. They walked slowly into the audience chamber of Uster the Fourth, Imperator of the Burgla’le Empire. Long colorful banners hung down from the distant ceiling. Sparrows wheeled above, flying between the banners or chirping from hidden perches. Bird droppings had spattered the glossy marble floor.

  Kneeling, chained together in a line before the throne, were Grakkurds – a woman and two young boys. Beads were woven into the woman’s auburn hair, fitting close to the scalp just like they had on the auratrist, Marla. Her tunic dress was red, as Marla’s had been. Another auratrist. The children were dressed richly in clothing with fine embroidery inserts, though stains and rips spoke of a hard journey.

  The Imperator sat on his black-and-gold warsuit throne, eyes half-closed, chin propped on fist, elbow on knee. With the helmet of the warsuit suspended on a glass shelf above his head, it was though a giant warrior cradled him, the warrior’s eyes dark and inscrutable pits.

  As they filed in the Imperator studied them. He watched Thollemew Smythe advance to kneel and bow his head then glanced from person to person until his eyes came to rest upon Ellinca. Emotions touched his face – hope, determination, and, fleetingly, desperation and hunger – here was a drowning man prepared to drag her under to survive. Why? Fear returned to her.

  She stayed put, dread churning her stomach, until ushered forward to kneel beside Thollemew Smythe.

  “And so...” the auratrist said in mangled La’le, “why are we being brought here? We have no power for talking with you. Jazminn and Brice are royal children, but only the Council has that power. Please, give...”

  “Stop.” The Imperator held up a hand. He called over a guard. “The children should not be here. Take them away to be cared for.” The children wailed and clutched futilely at the woman.

  The Imperator waited stone-faced until they had gone before again addressing the woman. “Your tribe’s petty arrangements mean nothing to me. Sergarra Frist, I have brought you here to pass judgment on you. The day after your diplomatic mission left here, my daughter showed signs of your curse.” He paused. “I will purge you and your like from this planet. Perhaps then your people can be assimilated into my realm. Tomorrow you will be executed. That is my judgment.” He gestured to the guards.

  “Will you not hear me? I ask to be heard! This is unlawful! None of us have cursed your daughter! Such a thing is not possible!”

  “Did you know that your assassins had arrived? The first one is dead. The second one will die with you. I think that negates any appeal of yours to be heard. Besides, when a state of war exists there is no law. Take her away.”

  The woman said no more. She straightened her back and smoothed the folds of her dress. As she was led away there was silence except for the clinking of chains.

  The chasm of mor
ality between Dost and his father bewildered Ellinca. They were so very different.

  Slowly, the room cleared of people until there was only herself, Thollemew Smythe and Immolators off to the left and right. The sounds of footsteps and of people coughing and talking in soft voices died away.

  Ellinca shifted on her knees, pained by the grains of dirt on the floor, tempted to get up but sure it would be a bad idea.

  She looked up. This close the Imperator was, she supposed, good-looking. Yet his face was marked by sharp lines. There was no give in this man. His dark hair was clipped short, his clothes of expensive cut and material but again, like the palace itself, neglected.

  He beckoned. They both rose and went to the edge of the steps.

  “They tell me there is discontent, Thollemew. What have you seen?”

  “In Carstelan? Discontent, sire, yes. I think they are being stirred from within. Employed agitators, but you know this, sire.”

  “Stirred, yes, but we don’t know when they come to the boil.”

  “Soon. Or so Frope indicated. Very soon, else he would not have boasted to me.”

  “Ah. Then we must hurry...slowly. So this is the girl, Thollemew Smythe?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  It was a very large room, made larger by its emptiness and the way everyone seemed to be looking down at her, even the sparrows. Up above they began a frenzied, airborne conversation with each other sending flitting shadows across the floor and walls as they flew beneath the chandeliered lights.

  Gangar came up and squatted on his haunches alongside her.

  She stared defiantly back at the Imperator. Perhaps she should have looked at her feet.

  Scum it, if she was to be executed, she’d look at him all she wanted to.

  “She is somewhat...impertinent, sire.”

  “I see that.”

  She had always been good at staring contests – at being the last to blink. The Imperator was good too, but just as she thought she would win he half-rose to his feet and she thought he would come down the steps to her. That startled her and she blinked. But he sat again and instead beckoned her up.

  If anyone could ever be said to look haunted, it was the Imperator. Tired and haunted. Perhaps he too could see the ghosts of the animals clustering outside the palace. Or perhaps he just couldn’t bear having his palace so dirty.

  “Ellinca, welcome. You know, you remind me of my daughter.”

  She nodded. Her tongue seemed stuck to her mouth. “Thank you...sire.” Once another had said something like that – Dost.

  “You are no doubt wondering why you are here. There is a unique problem.” He paused, tapping his chin for a few seconds. “This world that we all inhabit is made up of many levels. Many levels of society, of people. The gods are above us all, but I am blessed to be closer to them than most.

  “As Imperator I am often called upon to make hard decisions. I am a man of necessity. Needs drive me. The need to keep my people safe, for instance. You must understand how entwined my destiny is with the destiny of my empire.”

  She nodded – it seemed to be expected of her.

  “Good. I have been told of an ability of yours. Your unique ability can solve my unique problem. I cannot make you do what is needed.” He began to drum his fingers on the arm of the throne. He smiled narrowly. “But I am sure you will do the right thing.”

  Her mind whirled. She had only one unique ability. He wanted her to use it in some way. Sweat rose on her brow.

  “I...my ability drains my life force. It is killing me.”

  “Oh?” This time he did rise. “Come. It is best if you see for yourself.”

  Chapter 25

  Creatures of the Zoo

  They went deeper into the palace, the Immolators, Thollemew Smythe and Gangar trailing behind while Ellinca walked beside the Imperator. It was an honor she could have done without. Before long they reached a curved white wall at the end of a corridor where a guard in the household uniform stood to attention.

  “Open it,” commanded the Imperator.

  The guard checked a small window in the metal door, pulled back two heavy bars that slotted across the door, and pushed it open. A thick humid smell of rotting leaves seeped out.

  There was another short corridor and another locked door. She hoped it was to keep the animals in. Animals she could handle.

  “We will go in alone,” the Imperator said. Thollemew Smythe nodded, holding on tightly to Gangar’s neck. To Ellinca’s disappointment, the tuskdog looked happy to stay where he was.

  The two doors were in the base of the dome and beyond this next door was the zoo. A lawn was here at the inner wall of the dome and for about four yards inward, but past that was a flamboyant garden – manicured hedges and elegant paths that went winding ’round and ’round topiary trees and shrubs as if in search of hiding places. In some clearings stood gazebos, in others ironwork chairs and tables or fountains and low stone benches. This was a place made for delightful picnics, laughter, ball games and hide-and-seek.

  But for a zoo it was remarkably lacking in noises, any noises – animal or human, apart from the distant cries of birds. Here too, as in the palace hallways, were signs that there were no servants to do the necessary cleaning up – from the many stray-growing twigs and leaves on the hedges and the crunchy piles of dry leaves on the over-long lawn.

  Beyond the tree tops and a line of high stonework she saw glimpses of other gardens with different themes where there was wilder foliage with rampant vines and luscious, bright flowers and, from the muted roar, she guessed there was a waterfall. Parrots screamed, erupting into the air in an explosion of wings and color. They circled up high, still screeching before flying on to another part of the garden.

  From the midst of the odors of vegetation came another fleeting smell. Barely there but unmistakable, it was the smell of death and decaying flesh.

  “Where...”

  “Are the animals? Gone. It was too dangerous without the keepers.” The Imperator’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He looked about in a vague way, eyes dull, as if he saw things that were no longer there. Lost in the past.

  This, in a man known for his coldness and willingness to do whatever he thought necessary? She had just seen him condemn a woman to death without blinking.

  He drew a long thin knife from an ornate scabbard at his waist, turning it over and over in his hands. She stepped back. What was that for? Whatever was in here...surely they needed a bigger weapon than that?

  He caught her watching and stopped. “Ah. Habit I am afraid. One can never be too careful. Yes. If I can’t trust you...” He shrugged and sheathed the knife.

  “Me?” Her voice squeaked.

  “Well. Never mind. Things have changed greatly these last few months. Before we go on, remember this – you are here for your healing skills only, say no more than is absolutely essential to the task...to anyone. Let us go.”

  “Wait!”

  “If you were a servant of mine, that would have gotten you flogged. This time I forgive your ignorance.” He frowned. “What is your question?”

  She almost backed away at that, but instead squared her shoulders. “Your son, Dost.” She paused. “I believe he is here.”

  “And.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the knife. “I just know he would not try to kill you... You must know what he is, what he has been? Has he been treated properly?”

  “Don’t concern yourself with this. The assassination was not of his doing. I had him secured. He is safe and so are we.”

  “Secured? But he is your son!”

  She could see his teeth between his lips.

  “I allowed my sons to choose their interests and occupations – some chose the war. Of them all, Dost was the only one who chose frivolity! His downfall is his own doing.” His voice softened. “Even so, I loved him – but that thing down there...it is not him! Restrain him? Yes, I have, because it is needed. Though I do not think I can bear to kill hi
m twice. Now cease your questioning. Come!”

  He then turned on his heel and set out briskly upon a path that slithered deeper into the garden. She ran a little to catch up. A thorn-laden bougainvillea branch caught at her arm. She ripped free, tripped on a root, stumbled and finally, though out of breath, was only a yard behind him. It would not be wise to lose her way. Not here. This was worse than the wilds. There was something here, something that sent chill waves prickling across her skin.

  Still moving, she sucked the blood off her arm, head up and alert as she did so, listening for anything at all untoward.

  As they traveled farther toward the center the sound of the waterfall grew until she saw a fat geyser that sprang from an enormous vertical spear of rock to then cascade frothily down the cliffs on all sides. Around this the gardens were arranged like the segments of an orange.

  No longer just untidy, the trees and shrubs they passed looked as though they had been savagely attacked. Leaves, twigs and large branches were strewn everywhere. Tree trunks had chunks missing or were snapped off while others leaned over sideways. The earth itself was scraped and scored into great ruts and piles as if by the claws of a giant.

  The Imperator slowed. Ahead, seated demurely on a wide blue picnic rug, was a young woman Ellinca’s age, or close to it.

  Her black hair was bound into a glossy bun with loose finger-width tresses winding down each side of her white face. Her dress was navy with undulating lines of silver embroidery down the front and along the hem. The skirt spread out around her like waves frozen in time.

  She looked at Ellinca with large unguarded eyes, blue, like Dost’s. This was a friend. Though tired, very afraid, and hungry, Ellinca felt an immediate sense of familiarity and kinship, as if each soul were the mirror of the other.

  She knelt and settled onto the picnic rug with her legs curled to one side.

  Whatever she had gone through to get to this point in her life, this woman had gone through similar trials. Why or how she knew this she had no idea. Perhaps I am going mad. She looked again at the woman. Or perhaps it was the red flush ’round her eyes and the tear tracks on her face, and the pink crescent marks on her forearms where she had cut her own nails through skin and drawn blood.