Sebastian e-1

by Anne Bishop

  Teaser swayed gently as he studied his shoes. “My feet are way down there. How’d they do that?”

  “It’s a mystery.” The barest push had Teaser flopping on the bed. Sebastian took off the shoes, rolled Teaser closer to the center of the bed, and tossed a blanket over him.

  Then he went back to his own room.

  He made excuses for not touching Lynnea. He needed a bath. He was tired. By the time she came out of the bathroom, he pretended to be asleep.

  I’m doing this for her. I know what’s inside me now. Really know. I can’t let the stain of it dim her life.

  When she cuddled up against his back, he didn’t turn to let her rest her head on his shoulder. And when her dreams invited him in, he stayed away—and had never felt so lonely.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A light breeze softened the summer heat, and the combination of wind chimes, stirring leaves, and water trickling into the koi pond made a kind of music no human-made instrument could match.

  Glorianna sat on the stone bench and watched the flashes of gold as the koi went about life in their own small world, fearful of nothing but the occasional heron that might decide to go fishing in the pond.

  A feeling of change brushed her skin, whispered in the air. Turning her head toward the wooden bridge that arched over a “stream” of decorative stones, she watched the man who suddenly appeared a step beyond the bridge.

  Seeing her, he smiled and raised a hand in greeting.

  Returning the smile, she shifted on the bench to make room for him. “Good morning, Honorable Yoshani.”

  “Good morning, Glorianna Dark and Wise.” He sat on the bench, put a glazed, covered jar between them, and continued to smile. “I woke this morning and had a feeling that if I came to this part of Sanctuary before the sun rose too high, I would find you here. So I heeded my feeling, and here you are.”

  “And here I am.”

  “Where is your brother?”

  “Gone to visit our mother. Or, more to the point, trying to decide how he feels about our mother’s lover moving into the family home.”

  “Ah. The lover is a fortunate man to have earned your mother’s regard.”

  “I don’t think Lee has your wisdom.”

  “He is her son. I am not. It is easier for me to have wisdom,” Yoshani said, grinning.

  Glorianna laughed. “There is truth in what you say.” She looked at the dark eyes she thought of as wells that went all the way down to the great pool of wisdom that lay at the heart of the world. “But you didn’t come to this part of Sanctuary to share that wisdom.”

  “I came to give you this.” He handed her a smooth white stone that lay warm in the palm of her hand. “And to show you this.” He picked up the jar.

  “What is it?”

  “It is a jar of sorrows,” Yoshani replied softly. “Every season, in my part of the world, those who serve the Light go out into the villages with these jars and a large bag of white stones—enough stones for every man, woman, and child. In the morning each person in the village takes a stone and carries it with them. Throughout the day each finds quiet moments to hold the stone and whisper the things that weigh on the heart. Small hurts, large regrets. The stones hear the sorrows and absorb them. Before the sun sets, everyone drops the stones into the jar, and the jar’s keeper pours clean water over the stones and closes the lid. The next morning, as the sun is rising, the villagers bring jugs and buckets of water with them and follow the keeper to the spot they have chosen as ‘sorrow’s ground.’ The keeper opens the jar and pours out the water, which has turned black. The jar is refilled with water again and again until it finally pours out clean. That’s when the people know the sorrows have been cleansed, and they return to their lives with lighter hearts.”

  “Is there something in the jar that turns the water black?” Glorianna asked, rubbing the white stone in her hand.

  “Only sorrows,” Yoshani said, smiling. “That is the magic those who serve the Light in my homeland can give to our people. The people in your part of the world have a saying: Travel lightly. It does not mean the burden a man can carry on his back, but the burdens he carries in here.” He tapped his chest. “Is that not so?”

  “That is so.”

  “Your heart does not travel lightly these days. So I offer you the magic of my people: a stone…and the jar of sorrows.”

  Glorianna looked at the white stone, warm and smooth in her hand. What would it be like to let go of the weight of memories, to still the echoes of hurt that remained inside her from the day she’d realized the Instructors and wizards had tried to wall her inside her garden? How would it feel to whisper her secret fear—that loneliness might one day darken her heart so much she could no longer touch the Light? Wouldn’t life be easier if she let stone be the vessel for those feelings, if she let those feelings be washed away?

  She closed her eyes and listened to the resonance of Light and Dark that lived inside her and made her another kind of vessel.

  With a sigh of regret, she handed the stone back to Yoshani.

  “Why will you not accept this gift, Glorianna Dark and Wise?” Yoshani asked. “Why do you hold on to your sorrows?”

  His hand was open. It would be so easy to take the stone back.

  Glorianna gently closed his fingers over the stone, hiding it from sight. “Because, Honorable Yoshani, I think I’ll need them.”

  After finishing what he considered a meager breakfast, Koltak pushed back his chair, picked up his saddlebags, and headed toward the door. The barman, the only other person in the tavern’s main room, was pretending to clean the bar with a rag instead of clearing away the dirty dishes left by the other travelers.

  Probably trying to avoid talking to me. The thought was surprisingly bitter, since, back home, he would have felt insulted if a mere innkeeper or tavern owner attempted conversation with him.

  “You’ll be going then?” the barman asked, keeping his eyes on the rag he rubbed over the bar’s wood.

  “I am,” Koltak replied coldly, reaching the door.

  “Your horse is saddled. Stable is around back.” The man hesitated. “Which way are you headed?”

  Why do you want to know? But he turned back to face the man. After all, this was a strange place, and a day’s ride had taken him a long way from home. “Back over the bridge.”

  The hand holding the rag stuttered to a halt. After a moment, the barman picked up the rhythm of his polishing. “Well now, most folks have no trouble crossing that bridge, and the road will take you all the way to Kendall, which is a fair-sized town on the coast. But there’s some wild country between here and there, and it’s said that if a man’s heart isn’t in the right place, he can cross paths with one of the waterhorses that live in that part of the land.”

  Koltak took a step toward the bar. “Waterhorses?”

  The barman nodded. “Beautiful black horses. They’ll come right up to you, as tame as some spoiled darling of a pet. But they’re demons, the waterhorses are, and if you give in to the urge to take a ride on one of them…Well, you’ll get a sweet ride, so I’ve heard. They run like the wind and move so smooth you think you’re skating over ice. But as soon as you get on one of them, it’s got you caught in its magic, and you can’t get off. So they run as they please, with you helpless to do anything but go with them. And then, when they come to one of the small lakes or ponds that are all over the land there, they’ll run straight into it, run right down to the bottom. Doesn’t bother the waterhorse any, so they stay down on the bottom while the person who was foolish enough to take a ride struggles and flails…and drowns.”

  The barman shook his head. “Some say they release the magic then and let the body float to the surface to be found by any who come looking for him. And some say the waterhorses take those drowned men back to the edge of the lake and feed on the flesh.”

  Koltak felt a surge of excitement. Waterhorses! A demon landscape. He’d seen those black horses but hadn’t recogniz
ed them as demons. That didn’t mean this particular dark landscape was connected to the Den, but Sebastian had come to Wizard City and slipped away again, so it seemed likely that any dark landscape that had a bridge connecting it to Wizard City would also have some connection to the dark landscapes that were closer to home.

  “Thank you for the information,” Koltak said, now eager to be on his way. If the Guardians and Guides were watching over his journey, he might be on his way back to Wizard City by this evening.

  As Koltak opened the door, the barman said, “Travel lightly.”

  Anger flared hot, turning excitement to ash. He turned and stared at the barman. “What did you say?” Had this all been some bold scheme to play a trick on a wizard? Had they understood what he was all along and pretended ignorance?

  Looking uncomfortable, the barman shrugged. “It’s sorry I am if it offends you, but it’s just a saying. Traveler’s Blessing, we call it. Been said around these parts for as long as anyone can remember, but I doubt there’s a soul living—or dead back five generations, come to that—who can tell you what it means.”

  No, they hadn’t pretended ignorance, Koltak decided as the anger trickled away. They were ignorant. Perhaps when the threat to Ephemera was ended, he would recommend to the Wizards’ Council that a more substantial bridge be made to connect this landscape with Wizard City. The people here deserved to be educated about their world—and he would be happy to oversee their education.

  He left the tavern, found his horse waiting in the stable yard behind the building, and rode away, retracing his path from the previous day.

  He saw the bridge and focused his mind on what he needed to find on the other side: taverns, gambling houses, whores of both sexes.

  Certain he would find what he sought, he banged his heels against the horse’s sides and sent the animal clattering over the bridge…and several lengths down the road before he managed to rein it in.

  There had been no road in the dark landscape he’d wandered through the day before. So this must be the road to Kendall, a town on the coast where, no doubt, he’d find the kinds of places that catered to men who spent their lives on the sea—taverns, gambling houses, and brothels.

  But he wouldn’t find the Den of Iniquity by following this road. He wouldn’t find Sebastian.

  So he turned the horse and went over the bridge and up the road a little ways toward Dunberry. Then he returned to the bridge, which was his only way to find his ungrateful whelp of a son who would finally, finally, finally do something right for his father. He crossed the bridge…and found the road to Kendall.

  And found the road on his next attempt. And the one after that.

  Travel lightly.

  Either the Guardians of the Light had abandoned him or the Dark Guides were playing with him. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the things that made up the Den, he couldn’t reach the landscape where the waterhorses dwelled. Even if the people here were ignorant of the ways of their world, Ephemera worked the same way. The land would look the same, the landmarks wouldn’t change, but there were layers of landscapes here. Perhaps there were only two accessible from this bridge, but he couldn’t get to the one he wanted. He couldn’t cross over to the dark landscape.

  Koltak closed his eyes. There was no eagerness left, no anger left. All he wanted right now was to find Sebastian, to talk to Sebastian.

  Sebastian. Sebastian. Sebastian.

  Prodding the horse, he crossed the bridge…and into a countryside unmarred by any road.

  Relief shuddered through him. He had crossed over into this dark landscape from Wizard City. He was sure of it. But did it connect to the Den? Only one way to find out.

  Sebastian. Sebastian. Sebastian.

  With no reason to choose one direction over another, Koltak turned the horse and rode south.

  Sebastian began another circuit around the Den’s main street. He’d been on the move since dropping Lynnea off at Philo’s, and the trolling without pleasure, combined with an unsatisfying night and fitful sleep, had left him on edge, itchy. On top of that was the sense that he was a jagged puzzle, just like the landscapes, except there wasn’t the equivalent of a Landscaper to shift the pieces until they resonated in harmony with one another.

  Seeing the undiluted power of the incubus had sickened him. Realizing that the wizard power that had lain dormant in him was now trying to find some way to fit—or dominate—the rest of him made him feel vulnerable.

  Who was he when he talked to Philo, gave orders to Teaser, craved the feel of Lynnea’s body brushing against his? Was he a human making plans with other humans to defend the Den, a wizard giving orders because no one would dare disobey him, or an incubus who craved whatever warmth he could get from a woman who had been an innocent before she’d stumbled into the Den?

  Who was Sebastian? Why didn’t he know anymore? Wasn’t he a little old for this kind of soul-searching?

  He did know one thing with absolute certainty: If the other newcomers who had come to the Den were pureblood incubi and succubi like the one he’d killed, he would die before he let any of them near Lynnea.

  He would kill before he let any of them near Lynnea.

  Which was why he’d spent the past few hours on the street, hunting. He’d recognize the feel of them. He was sure of that. But if they kept that power contained, they could hide behind any face, maybe even cross over to a daylight landscape where no one would recognize the danger until it was much, much too late.

  As he passed Mr. Finch’s shop, which was locked tight, Mr. Finch and Wayne, the boy he’d taken in as an apprentice, paused in their reorganization of the shop to wave at him—just as they’d done each time he’d passed by. He wasn’t sure if they were doing that to assure him they were who he thought they were or if they were paying attention to how long it took him to make a full circuit so they could raise an alarm if he didn’t appear within a reasonable time.

  Daylight! Was he going to spend the rest of his life walking the streets, watching for trouble, protecting the people and making sure the Den remained as it should be?

  And what did it say about him that he found the prospect of such a life appealing?

  At the end of the street, where the cobblestones changed abruptly to the dirt lane that led to his cottage, he paused for a moment, then started back down the street. He’d take a break when he reached Philo’s, have a cup of koffee and a plate of whatever was being served, talk to Teaser, flirt with Lynnea. Especially flirt with Lynnea.

  And do what? he thought unhappily. Stir up the juices, the wants and needs, and then pretend to be asleep again tonight so he didn’t have to wonder if he was taking more from her than he should?

  But he wanted to flirt with her, make love to her, hold her. Just hold her. Was it the incubus or the man who wanted those things? Did knowing what was inside him really make him any different from the person he’d been a few weeks ago?

  He lengthened his stride, moving down the street with no other thought than to spend a few minutes with Lynnea. She was safe there. Teaser had volunteered to keep an eye on her—and all of them knew the offer had been made, in part, because Teaser was still shaken up over seeing a pureblood incubus wearing his face. So Teaser was watching over Lynnea—and Philo was watching Teaser.

  As he approached, he saw Teaser step up to the edge of the courtyard. The incubus raised a hand in greeting and almost had his usual cocky smile.

  “Was told to keep watch for you,” Teaser said, his blue eyes twinkling. “There’s a lady here who thinks you should rest your feet and have a bite to eat.”

  “The lady is right,” Sebastian replied, looking past Teaser to watch Lynnea come into the courtyard to serve a table of four bull demons.

  Teaser looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Guess she didn’t have a chance to tell you about that. The Sebastian Special is a treat, as far as the bull demons are concerned. And since they paid for the meal with a jar of ripe olives swimming in oil, I thought Phil
o was going to weep with gratitude.”

  Olives? You couldn’t even buy them on the black market most of the time. And how many times had he heard Philo grumble that a particular dish just didn’t have quite the right flavor because he couldn’t get his hands on any olive oil? What had the man concocted that the bull demons liked so much?

  “Sebastian Special?” That part finally sank in.

  Teaser grinned. “Vegetable omelet. Apparently Lynnea told the first bull demon who got one that it was a special dish she made only for you. Therefore, the Sebastian Special. But the bull demon liked it, and now he’s gone and told all his friends, so—”

  “We’re never going to get another omelet, are we?” Sebastian said, suddenly feeling wistful about eggs he’d never know. “If the bull demons are willing to pay for them with olives, Philo won’t give up a single egg to the rest of us.”

  “Well, you might still get some, since Lynnea’s the one who makes the omelets. As for the rest of us, I’m hoping your farmer friend can add eggs to the supplies he’s already promised to bring to the Den.”

  Sebastian grinned. “I wonder if William Farmer has ever tasted olives. This might end up as a very good deal for us.”

  That was the moment when Lynnea, having delivered her tray of omelets and toast, turned and saw him—and everything about her lit up with pleasure.

  The warmth of her feelings flowed through him, and he dropped his guard, just a little, to fully embrace those feelings.

  That was when a different kind of feeling flooded through him. This had claws that tried to pull him under, drown him in sensation. He felt the power of the incubus unfurl inside him, but it was primitive, furious, viciously hungry.

  Lynnea froze and stared at him. Teaser made some inarticulate sound and took a step back.

  “Protect Lynnea,” he whispered to Teaser. Then he turned to face the street.

  All four of them were moving toward him. All of them hammered at his emotions, at his wants and needs, trying to find a way in that would leave him seduced by their power, vulnerable to whatever they intended to do to him.