Shards of Time

by Lynn Flewelling

  “That’s very kind of you.” As much as he instinctively liked the woman, there was no guarantee that she didn’t have something to do with the man’s condition. “But I wouldn’t want to endanger you or your neighbors, and I need a very controlled space. I’d like to have him moved to Mirror Moon as soon as possible.”

  “Mirror Moon? Why there of all places?”

  “The barons are familiar with the ceremony, and I’ll need their help. And it’s away from the town, in case anything evil is released.”

  “It would be best to move him now, then. He’ll sleep for some time. I can come with you.”

  To help, or to control the outcome? wondered Thero. “That won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t want to expose you to such danger.”

  “The barons must be very good friends, if they are willing to be placed in such a position,” Kordira noted.

  “As I said, they are familiar with the process.”

  “Doubtless you’ll need more of the sleeping draughts. I’ll prepare some for you to take.”

  The warder directed Micum to a local carter who would be willing to transport their patient, and Thero went with Kordira for the draughts.

  “Would you mind me watching you prepare them, in case I should have to do it myself?” he asked as they entered her treatment room.

  “Not at all.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t entirely trust me.”

  “That’s not why—”

  She waved his apology aside. “If I were in your position, I wouldn’t trust me, either.” She took a large green glass jug down from a shelf and poured a small cup for each of them. She took a sip of hers. “See, just brandy. Go ahead.”

  Thero sipped his and smiled. “It’s very good. Is it local?”

  “I distill it myself from wild grapes. I’ll be happy to give you a cask if you like it.” She went to another shelf for a clay jar covered with a leather cap. “This is a powder of sticky rush. It grows in the marshes at the foot of Mount Erali. The islanders have used it for millennia. I’d give you a taste of it, too, but then we’d need a cart to take you home.”

  “So you find many of the simples you need on Kouros?”

  “Oh, yes. This island is blessed with riches of many sorts beyond gold and silver.”

  “What about magic? I’ve heard no mention of wizards here.”

  “I’m told the locals have some sort of tradition, but they’re very secretive about it. The roots of it are said to predate the Hierophantic migration.” She paused. “This island is steeped with a force beyond my comprehension. Stay here long enough and you’ll begin to feel it. It gets into your dreams. And Thero, there are ghosts, whether you believe in them or not. In fact, Kouros is very likely to change your mind on the subject, if you brought any doubts with you, as I did.”

  “You’ve seen spirits?”

  “Many times.”

  “Any dangerous ones?”

  “Not that I’ve encountered, but people do disappear now and then, and it’s not all getting lost and falling down holes. I’ve seen things, traveling the roads beyond Deep Harbor: people in strange clothing who are there one moment and not the next, even a flock of ghostly sheep one night, and a little boy shepherding them.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No, I’m not. I heard the sheep and looked across a field. I thought it odd for a shepherd to be out at night without a fire, but then they just disappeared.”

  Thero could tell she was not speaking in jest. “As I understand it, not much is known about the original inhabitants.”

  She chuckled. “Look around you. They’re still here, mixed in with everyone else who came along to claim this place.”

  She stirred two heaping spoonfuls of the brown powder into each container, then corked them securely and put them in a bag for him. “And I think something for your poor head, if you’ll allow me.”

  “I’d be most grateful.”

  She took another jar down and poured an amber liquid into a smaller cup. “Tincture of willow, mixed with honey.”

  Thero sniffed it. “More of your brandy?”

  “It’s an excellent base for many of my medicines, especially for macerating botanicals.”

  He downed the sweet concoction and felt warmth spread in his belly. “Thank you, Kordira. It’s much appreciated.”

  “Good luck to you. I hope you can help Sedge where I couldn’t.”

  Returning to the madhouse, Thero found Micum waiting for him with a cart outside. Sedge was wrapped in blankets in the bed of it. Thero climbed up beside Micum on the front bench and placed the bag of Kordira’s medicine carefully between his feet to keep the jars upright.

  “How’s the head?” asked Micum as they set off.

  “I’m feeling a little better.”

  “Good. I bet you’ve got your work cut out for you tonight.”

  “I suspect you’re right.”

  THEY arrived at Mirror Moon just before sunset. Seregil came out to meet them in the courtyard.

  “You brought him here?” he asked in surprise, looking over the side of the cart.

  “It’s the safest place,” Thero replied, climbing down and lifting out the bag of medicine. “Away from prying eyes.”

  “I see. What are you going to do to him?”

  “A cleansing. I’ll need your help, and someplace outside the house to work.”

  “There’s an empty cottage up in the pastures.”

  “That should do. We’ll need Alec, and the right materials. I wrote out a list on the way here.”

  Seregil took the scrap of parchment and read it over. “I doubt greyleaf grows out here.”

  “A few large sprigs of rosemary will do, or anything else aromatic.” Thero paused, then spoke softly so only Seregil and Micum could hear. “He’s the only living person who might know what really happened to the governor and his lover. It’s my hope that I can clear his mind enough that he can tell us something useful. Would you have someone go for my things? I don’t know how long this will take.”

  It took some time for the servants to gather everything necessary, but what Thero needed was finally packed in the cart as the stars were coming out overhead. Seregil and Alec climbed in with Captain Sedge, Micum flapped the reins over the horse’s rump, and they set off up the slope from the house.

  The cottage was a small, one-room stone building with half a roof on it. Starlight shone through the exposed rafters, casting barred light across the floorboards. It was no proper casting room, but it would have to do.

  Thero checked to make certain Sedge was still soundly asleep, then helped the others carry in the lanterns, a small table, and the baskets of branches and the other items.

  When everything was set up to his liking, he took a final look around, making certain everything was in place. On the narrow side table stood a pitcher of water and a basin, Nysander’s ancient ivory knife, his own silver dagger and wand, a small dish of ink and a fine brush, a thick wax candle, and three piles of short branches: birch, pine, and rosemary. The pitcher and bowl should have been silver according to tradition, and the rosemary greyleaf, but Nysander had taught him that it was the magic and a wizard’s skill that made a ritual work, not the accoutrements, and Thero hoped it was true; his master had been the most powerful wizard he’d ever known, but could be very lackadaisical about details.

  They laid Sedge on a blanket in the middle of the floor and removed his soiled clothing. He was emaciated and covered in bruises.

  Thero picked up several of the short pine branches and stripped all but the needles at the tip away, making a crude sort of brush for the spargefaction. Then, taking a lump of blue chalk from his coat pocket, he drew a complex, double circle of holding on the rough floor—one large enough to easily encompass the table and his friends.

  “There, I believe we are ready to begin,” he said. “Don’t speak until we’re done, and don’t under any circumstances cross out of the circle unless I tell you to. That’s crucial.”

>   “Understood,” Micum replied.

  “Very well.” Thero snapped his fingers and the candle flared to life. He filled the basin with water, held both hands palm down over it, and spoke the words of purification of water. At once the water began to glow and released a sweet scent that had always reminded him of lilacs. Taking up the ink and brush, he painted blue symbols on Sedge’s forehead and palms, over his heart, and on the bottoms of his feet; hopefully these would protect the man as the evil magic was drawn from his body. Whispering the second purification spell, Thero dipped the needle end of the pine branch in the water and sprinkled the man from head to toe. The water beaded in glowing droplets across his skin, and Thero continued until Sedge’s body was well covered. Using a birch switch next, he struck him all over, hard enough to raise slight welts. At the twenty-first blow, the droplets lost their light and disappeared.

  Chanting the spell of dissipation, Thero broke the switch over his knee and was gratified to see foul brown smoke spiral up thickly from the splintered ends. It swirled around the confines of the magic circle with a fearsome stink, stinging their eyes and making the others cough. Thero purified his crystal wand by passing it through the candle flame and the water, then drew the glowing sigil of summoning in the air above Sedge. The symbol twisted and coiled in the proper patterns and disappeared with a loud pop as it was supposed to. The foul smoke disappeared with it.

  So far, so good, he thought with relief. He nodded to the others and they arranged themselves around the table, one on each side.

  Thero began the fast, rhythmic summoning chant as he repeated the spargefaction ritual. This time the water droplets sizzled across Sedge’s bare skin then disappeared, leaving tiny points of red light like embers in their place. He waited expectantly for them to assume a form—with Seregil it had been spiders—but instead they went dead, turning to grey ash. Sedge stirred, letting out a deep, pained groan. Only then did Thero realize that he’d left the bag of Kordira’s medicine in a corner of the room outside the circle.

  Restrain him, Thero signed to the others, and they held the man still.

  Thero traced another intricate series of patterns on the air, trying the summoning-out spell again, but with the same result. Something was wrong. If this was a curse, then the ritual should be working. Either it was something else, or he wasn’t performing it correctly. The latter hardly seemed possible; Nysander had drilled him in the steps, and Thero had an infallible memory.

  Sedge stirred again, the whites of his eyes showing under the edge of his eyelids.

  He was running out of time. If not a curse, then what?

  A terrible possibility came to mind. Grabbing his knife, he cut the circle. “All of you, get out! Don’t speak. Go!”

  They left the circle and watched uneasily as he deftly joined the lines again. This ceremony he knew only from his studies. He’d never even witnessed an actual exorcism, but Sedge was the only living person who might know what had actually happened the night of Toneus’s murder, so he had to risk it.

  Taking up the ink and brush, he painted warding symbols on his own forehead, over his heart, and on the palms of both hands. Kneeling beside Sedge, he wove a seeking spell on the air. It spread lazily over the man’s body for an instant, then streamed swiftly into Sedge’s mouth and nose as if he’d suddenly sucked in a great breath. He convulsed violently for an instant, then sat up and gave Thero a sly, baleful look, eyes rolled up in his head, leaving only the bloodshot whites showing. “Aka nor reh?” he growled in the same thick, eerie voice he’d spoken with in the madhouse.

  Thero blinked in surprise. The words meant “Who summons me?” in early Konic.

  “Aka tu mani?” Who are you?

  Sedge let out a horrid laugh. “Urazia reh tu ali?” Want me to show you?

  “Ra nor tu. Ali tua!” I summon you. Show yourself!

  Sedge shuddered, then fell back on the blankets with a choked snarl, a plume of thick grey vapor pouring from his mouth. Formless, it swirled and buffeted around Thero, confined within the wards of the protective circle. The painted symbols on Thero’s skin grew hot and felt like they were crawling across his skin; whatever the spirit was, it was trying to invade his body as it had the captain’s. The warding symbols Thero had placed on Sedge would not let the creature back in, either. Formless though it was, Thero could hear it hissing and spitting in anger, and suddenly something cut across his forearm, opening the thick wool fabric of his coat like a razor whip and leaving a welt on the exposed skin. Other blows came in rapid succession across his shoulder, across his knee, his cheek, as the entity attacked from every direction at once like a storm of lashes. It couldn’t draw blood, thanks to his protective magic, but the pain was real and serious. Protecting his eyes with one arm, he reached in his pocket for anything he could use. He had nothing but the lump of chalk. This he held up, shouting “Avah! Aravah! Arasaaavah tula reso!” Bind, twice bind, thrice bind this being.

  A storm of sharp blows covered his hands and neck. “Avah! Aravah! Arasaaavah tula reso!” He clung to the chalk, hoping desperately that it would not shatter, and chanted the third and fateful binding. “Avah! Aravah! Arasaaavah tula reso!”

  A roar like thunder threw him against the table, but still he held the chalk. The grey vapor constricted around him, burning like fire, then it was gone. The chalk was so hot now it was raising blisters on his fingertips. He tried to pull himself up one-handed by the edge of the table, but it overturned on him. The basin and ewer smashed to bits and water sloshed across the floor, sinking into the cracks between the floorboards and running along them like channels. If the protective circle was washed away and the binding didn’t hold, the others would be killed.

  Thero scrabbled through the broken crockery and scattered branches until he found the paintbrush. The ink had upended, too, but he dabbed at the spill and was able to get enough to inscribe the final holding sigil on the chalk. The ink hissed and sank in but the mark remained clear. The intense heat disappeared, leaving the chalk cool and inert.

  Thero placed it carefully back in his pocket, then found his knife and cut the circle. He tried to stand, but collapsed instead at Alec’s feet.

  “Stay down,” Alec advised, supporting him with one arm.

  “People keep telling me that,” Thero replied with a shaky laugh.

  Seregil examined Thero’s blistered hand and tattered state with concern. “What in Bilairy’s name just happened? Something practically flayed you.”

  “I was caught by surprise,” Thero admitted. “It wasn’t a curse. It was a possession.”

  “By what?” asked Micum. “One of those dra’gorgos things?”

  “I’m not certain that’s even possible.” Thero took out the chalk with his unburned hand and checked the sigil to make sure it hadn’t gotten smudged. “Whatever it was, I managed to contain it. I must find somewhere safe and dry to store it until I can get it back to the Orëska vaults.” He looked around. “Kordira’s medicine. Pour one of them out and dry the inside thoroughly.”

  Alec opened the bag and took out one of the brass containers. He pried loose the wax seal and dumped the potion out the door. Using the tail of his shirt, he wiped out the inside.

  “It must be perfectly dry,” Thero said.

  “Here, let me.” Seregil took the container, made a band of his handkerchief to hold it, and held it upside down over one of the lanterns to dry any remaining moisture.

  “There, that should do it,” he said, setting it on the floor next to the wizard. Thero placed the chalk inside, seated the lid back into place, and ran his finger around the seam, murmuring the spell of sealing, which smoothed the remaining wax into a perfect gleaming ring securing the lid. “That will have to do until I can get to my equipment,” he said, more relieved than he let on.

  “What if it doesn’t hold?” asked Alec.

  Thero stifled a groan of pain as he rose to his feet. “It would be considerably worse than what you saw just now.”

  �
��Something like that could have killed the governor and his companion, then taken over Sedge,” said Micum.

  “That seems likely.” Sedge still lay sprawled on the floor among the wreckage. “I hope he’ll be able to tell us more.”

  Micum felt Sedge’s pulse and placed a hand over the man’s heart. “I think he’s just asleep.”

  “We may have already accomplished what the queen sent us for,” said Alec.

  “I wouldn’t start repacking your trunk just yet.” Thero ran his unburned hand over his face. “The thing spoke old Konic, Seregil.”

  “So I heard. That raises some interesting questions. Toneus’s renovations of the palace might have disturbed something important.”

  “Yes.”

  “Those wounds need attention, Thero,” said Alec. “Especially your fingers.”

  “A cold bath and some salve should suffice. It’s Sedge we need to concern ourselves with now.”

  He shook the guard gently by the shoulder, and the captain’s eyes fluttered open. He looked up, then grabbed Thero’s forearm in a painful grip. “Who are you?” he demanded in his own voice.

  “You don’t remember me?”

  “Never seen you before in my life.” He sat up and pushed Thero aside, then stared at the painted designs on his hands and naked body. “What’s going on here? Who in Sakor’s name are you people? And where in Bilairy’s name are my clothes?”

  Seregil fetched the blanket and gave it to him. “My tattered friend here is the wizard who just cured your possession. You’ve been a gibbering madman for weeks.”

  Sedge shook his head slowly. “Last thing I remember is hearing screams from the governor’s—” He looked around. “Where am I? What happened to Governor Toneus?”

  “You remember nothing?” asked Seregil. “Think, man!”

  “Give him time,” cautioned Thero. “Captain Sedge, we brought you here to Mirror Moon to heal you. You were possessed by some sort of spirit.”

  “Is it safe to take him back to the house now?” asked Alec.

  Thero nodded and together they got the dazed man into the cart. Leaving the cottage as it was, Thero gathered his tools and they headed back.