The Mage Heir

by Kathryn Sommerlot

  “How’s your arm?” Yudai asked, and without waiting for an answer, reached over for Tatsu’s hand. His fingers were warm when they wrapped around Tatsu’s, and it was an accomplishment that Tatsu could loosely squeeze back, the most control he’d had over the arm since the scorpions’ stings.

  Yudai said nothing more but kept his hand around Tatsu’s in perhaps the kindest sort of quiet acknowledgment of Tatsu’s fear he could have given.

  “If something attacks us, I’ll be useless to stop it without my bow arm,” Tatsu said.

  “Well,” Yudai replied and smiled again, “then I suppose you’ll just have to hit me again and give me another black eye so I can save us both.”

  “Promise?”

  Yudai’s fingers tightened around his own. “I promise.”

  By midday, two days later, the basin to their left was narrowing enough so that Tatsu could see across the ravine to the other side, and he took that to mean they were getting close to their destination.

  Tatsu quickened his pace to draw even with Jotin at the front of their group, finally asking the question he should have voiced days earlier. “What do Joesarians believe about the basin?”

  “There is a reason the mages live here,” Jotin said, picking around a bit of loose rock that skittered down the side of the cliff as they passed. “The basin is the resting place of Ilaka, the god of the afterlife and the keeper of souls.”

  “Then Ral was correct with what she said. The dead are within the depths.”

  “Physically, no,” Jotin said. “The Joesarian death rites are performed so that the souls may cross through to the afterlife stripped of their sins. The Dar-Itusk Basin is merely the gateway, where Ilaka can grant them safe passage to the beyond.”

  In the Rist-walker camp, the rites being prepared before they left were largely removing the organs and anointing the bodies with preservative oils, and Tatsu had assumed that pyres were the next step.

  “Why would anyone construct their settlement on the side of a holy place?” Tatsu asked.

  Jotin laughed. “You Chaydese and your ideas of holiness—land is meant to be used, whatever its significance may be. Living off the side of the basin does not diminish its importance in other aspects.”

  When Tatsu didn’t answer, Jotin continued, “Our beliefs state there are gods all around us. We could not possibly avoid all spaces for fear of disrupting them. They exist on a different plane that we cannot touch. Our actions do not impede theirs.”

  “I’d never thought of it like that,” Tatsu admitted.

  “Are you not spiritual?”

  “I never really believed in much,” Tatsu said. “Chayd doesn’t really keep to the old ways anymore.”

  Jotin was silent for a moment. “I find the ‘old ways’ to be comforting in the end, and perhaps that is the entire point.”

  “If you don’t believe the dead are really down there, then what do you think is making those noises?”

  “There are some mysteries that I cannot answer,” Jotin said. “Perhaps we will never know.”

  When Tatsu didn’t answer, Jotin’s mouth curved into a smirking smile. “Or perhaps it is merely the wind whistling through the rock, eroded by time and water.”

  It was the second time that Tatsu had been overcome with the heat of feeling foolish in less than a day, and he huffed out a frustrated grunt while trying to ignore Jotin’s soft laughter.

  “I apologize,” Jotin said after a few moments. “It has been a long time since I had someone I could tease—I have not seen my sister in over a year.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Studying alchemy in Moswar,” Jotin replied. “And once she has completed her apprenticeship, she will join the Cabaj-walkers in my place when I begin my time on the High Council.”

  “Are you close?”

  Jotin’s smile softened into something very fond. “Yes. She is a clever, witty conversationalist, and we grew up pushing each other to be better.”

  “Then I’m glad to hear it,” Tatsu said.

  “Do you have siblings?”

  Tatsu thought of Zakio’s blood splattered across the white snow and, forcing his tone into what he hoped was close to neutral, said, “No, I don’t,” to end the conversation.

  The Myvar Ruins sat perched on the edge of the Dar-Itusk Basin, where the crevice’s narrow corner met the dusty, sand-strewn ground of the desert and the crumbling rock walls stood out starkly gray against the beige. The structure itself loomed over the rocks and cast long shadows across the dirt. It was an impressive building adorned with several tall towers and an open archway at the entrance, and the sight of it was both a relief and a jolt of nervous energy to his core. The ruins reminded him too much of Aughwor Prison and the cold loneliness within. He looked back at Alesh and swore he could see the ghost of the same remembrance across her features.

  “That’s our destination?” Alesh asked, sounding dubious.

  “They may not be expecting us,” Jotin said, “so we should proceed with great care.”

  Tatsu rather thought that their greatest care was making their way across the rocky terrain to where the ruins sat—many of the boulders towered over them, and around them were smaller rocks that made movement difficult. There were several times that they had to slow down to a crawl and pull themselves with grappling hands over the obstructions, and even though they were at the far edge of the basin and the sloping bottom could finally be seen, illuminated with the sunlight, Tatsu still feared tumbling down into it. It took a long time to get to the stone archway that marked the entrance to the relic.

  He kept a sharp eye on Ral’s progress, but she didn’t seem to have much trouble climbing over the stones.

  “They wouldn’t have sent a messenger?” Leil asked as they paused beneath the archway to take in the rest of the looming building. The windows were dotted with flickering candles, and the pathway that led inside was so worn and broken in parts that it mirrored the jagged approach.

  “They may have,” Jotin said. “But whether or not the messenger arrived or got here before us, I cannot say.”

  “What happens if they think we’re enemies?” Tatsu asked.

  Jotin’s eyes narrowed. “We should all pray they do not make that mistake.”

  It wasn’t reassuring, particularly since they’d been sent to the ruins on purpose with a task, but Tatsu swallowed the remainder of his apprehension down. He looked first at Yudai, who had squared his shoulders again and donned the stony expression of a royal heir, and then at Alesh, who shrugged helplessly.

  “Let’s go,” she said. “We might as well get it over with.”

  They walked into the wide, airy entrance hall.

  The ceiling above them was lined with wooden beams running parallel to each other and covered with vines that hung down and moved with the breeze. The high walls were bare save for small square indents carved into the stone itself, each containing a small candle set in brass. Yet despite the stark lack of decor and the absence of color, the ruins felt warm—comfortable, even, the sort of feeling that Tatsu hadn’t encountered since he’d left his cottage in the woods. As their boots sent echoes reverberating through the chamber, Tatsu made a full circle staring up at the ceiling and the stillness above them with the fingers on his good hand involuntarily splayed out at his side.

  It felt familiar; the ruins felt like home.

  None of them dared to move or breathe until a door at the end of the chamber opened, and the sweet smell of floral incense drifted towards them. Locked between the impassive stone walls and the high roof above their heads, the scent filled Tatsu’s head and sent a haze around his thoughts. His muscles relaxed, slouching downward as all the remaining fight left his body. He feared, somewhat foggily, that he might collapse onto the floor in a boneless heap.

  It was hard to focus on anything. There was a warning in the back of his mind, but it felt too far away to reach. He couldn’t quite grasp the sensation that was buzzing behind his thoughts. He bre
athed in another deep lungful of the incense and it warmed like an ember through his chest until all his blood was alive with it. Memories rose unbidden of his father’s cooking wafting through their small house and the sounds of the night insects chirping in the darkness, and Tatsu’s temples ached. He was tired, so tired and weary from the journey that he could barely contain his desire to submit to the sweet siren’s call of sleep, surrounded by comfort and peace.

  “Tatsu,” Yudai’s voice sounded to his right, but that, too, was murky. In Tatsu’s mind, Yudai was there with his father in the cabin, laughing over a rabbit stew that smelled so good it made Tatsu’s mouth water. He wondered if he should do or say something. He was vaguely aware of reaching for Yudai’s fingers, which was followed by another soft laugh, the kind of gentle, easy emotion he’d rarely seen Yudai express.

  Spring, and the smell of flowers, and Tatsu gave in; he went down on his knees, pressed against stone tiles that were a moment later the wet, rich soil of the forest. Then he fell to his stomach, and the warmth of fingers held in his hand was the only clue he had that there was anyone else still with him. He was aware of flowers, the sound of the breeze rolling through the leaves, and Yudai’s little sigh of contentment that threatened to lull Tatsu’s eyes closed completely.

  Home.

  He took one last deep breath and felt nothing more.

  “Rise,” a voice commanded, cutting through the feeling of the woods that had wrapped itself around Tatsu’s very being. With that simple word, everything was gone.

  The sudden absence of the sensations was a burst of cold air against his face, the sting of winter’s chill after sitting too long by the fire. Tatsu gasped like a man drowning and fighting for life. The flowers and stew and forest breeze disappeared, until the stones beneath his body and the cool stillness above his head were the only things that remained.

  Yudai’s fingers slipped away as he struggled to his feet.

  “What was that?” Yudai asked, brittle and furious, and it took Tatsu much longer to climb back into a standing position. “What did you do to us?”

  There was a man standing near the middle of the entrance hall holding his palm out, flames leaping out from his grasp as the sickly-sweet incense smell faded away. “A compound designed to soothe into complacency. I apologize for the tactics, but we had to be sure that you meant us no harm.”

  “Effective,” Jotin mumbled. “I thought I was dozing in the desert beneath the stars.”

  “The desert?” Alesh’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “It was the mountains and a warm afternoon with no one else around.”

  Tatsu looked to Yudai, who pointedly ignored him, and said nothing. Speaking of the feeling of comfort and home felt like giving the memory of it away.

  “A technique designed to spare bloodshed,” the newcomer said. He was dressed in a long gray robe that looked like Leil’s but seemed to be made of something far lighter, with a wide hood and even wider sleeves. “I am Hysus, high priest of Joesar.”

  “We came seeking aid,” Jotin said, stepping forward. “Tiran in Moswar sent us to ask for your help. Yudai—”

  “Ah, yes,” Hysus interrupted and focused his sharp eyes on Yudai. “The crown prince of Runon is finally at our doorstep.”

  “You knew I was coming?” Yudai asked.

  “Then there was a messenger,” Leil said.

  Hysus shook his head. “I merely guessed that you would one day arrive. The waste in Runon’s wake was too great an effect to ignore, and the implications far too dangerous. Knowing that you would be unable to stay within the borders of that which bound you, it was only a matter of time before the breath of the gods brought you here.”

  He stepped forward, gliding towards them as the flames in his hand dissipated abruptly with a snap of wind. “It is an honor to greet you, Your Highness. And I welcome you to the Myvar Ruins.”

  Fourteen

  Hysus led them into a smaller chamber connected to the entrance hall where the air was cleaner, and the last vestiges of the incense-induced images cleared from Tatsu’s mind. It was disorienting to be bereft of the sensations when they had been so all-encompassing, but his focus shifted despite himself as they made their way to the narrow room where several other mages wearing similar robes were waiting.

  “If you knew I’d be coming, then you know what’s happened to me,” Yudai said.

  “I do not know specifics,” Hysus replied, “only the aftermath that ravaged the land.”

  “Then what do you think you can do to help?”

  Hysus gestured at the mages gathered quietly around him with hoods pooling down their backs and their faces tinted with orange from the candlelight. “We shall see what we can find in your blood, and from there, we will discover what we can do.”

  One of the female mages was put in charge of performing a blood drawing very similar to what Tiran had already done, and Yudai’s jaw remained tightly clenched even after she’d finished. Hysus’ test—whatever it entailed, as all Tatsu could feel was the faint buzz of magical energy being used—took much less time than Tiran’s had, and when it was complete, the man sat down in a rickety-looking wooden chair and stroked his graying, closely trimmed beard.

  “Well?” Yudai asked when his patience seemed to wear out.

  “Had all the effects of the poisons been intended, I would be impressed,” Hysus said, “but I do not believe they were. There are too many things at work that were activated by a toxin outside the original formula to be purposeful.”

  “Explain,” Yudai demanded.

  Hysus spread his hands to either side. “Where to start?”

  “My blood,” Yudai decided after a moment’s hesitation. “Start with my blood—the alchemist said that it was corrupted by the poison, and that my magic was fighting it.”

  “One of the unintended consequences of the toxins,” Hysus said. “The effect is permanent. You will retain the corruption for as long as you live, as it has fundamentally changed the very base of your blood. It no longer feels the same as untainted blood, and my magic cannot penetrate the damage. A particularly cruel consequence: it would undoubtedly cause the death of any offspring you might produce.”

  Yudai deflated, the breath leaving his lungs in a sputter. “What?”

  “Your family line will end with you.”

  In the stunned silence that followed, Leil turned her face down to the ground and Alesh pressed a hand to her lips. Tatsu watched Yudai, his own gut twisting, as Yudai grappled to regain control over his expression. It took only a few seconds, faster than Tatsu would have thought possible.

  “And the siphon?” Yudai continued, and his voice wavered ever so slightly.

  “Yes,” Hysus said, sighing. “That is the main concern, and fortunately, the one that I believe we can do something about.”

  He stood, pushing his long sleeves to his elbows, although the slippery fabric almost immediately fluttered back down.

  “The magic used to activate the siphon is untouchable, for it has been coded with the mage’s blood who designed it. But the siphon itself was developed through starving your body until the magic responded in kind, like a feral animal lashing out. We may be able to reverse that by simulating a similar experience to ‘trick’ the siphon into retreating back down.”

  “Which means the siphon would be gone?” Yudai’s forehead creased.

  Hysus smiled a slow, wide grin that crinkled across his brown skin. “It means that you will have control over the siphon as you do your natural abilities and will be able to turn it on and off whenever you please.”

  “How?” Yudai asked. He leaned forward, fingers trembling with so much anticipation that Tatsu could see the tremors. “What do you need to do?”

  “It is not going to be easy,” Hysus said. “I will need to think on the best method to replicate the grueling conditions that initially triggered the drain. From there, my adept mages and I will manipulate the siphon’s energy back into your body until it is enough to overload t
he drain and push it into dormancy.”

  “That’s it?” Alesh asked.

  Without looking away from Yudai, Hysus added, “The siphon was created through torture, and to reverse it, we must do the same. Your body may not survive. It will be… excruciatingly painful as your already damaged core struggles to accept the onslaught of what we will force upon you.”

  “He might die?” Alesh repeated and recoiled, eyes wide. “And that’s the only option?”

  “But it would stop the siphon,” Leil said.

  “We didn’t come here to let him die,” Alesh snapped.

  Yudai’s eyes flitted over to meet Tatsu’s. “We didn’t come here to walk away without a solution either,” he said, voice low.

  It felt like the world was spinning around him, and Tatsu couldn’t quite catch up. He took a deep breath in hopes of steadying himself, but it did nothing to help. Staring at Yudai, all he could think of was the possibility of watching his death, and even the imagined picture of it was too much to bear. He couldn’t find his footing as the stones slipped out from beneath him.

  Around him, the voices muted into a low roar, individual words indecipherable.

  “—Tatsu?”

  He started, whipping his head around to find both Alesh and Leil watching him expectantly. “I’m sorry?”

  “Well, what do you think we should do?” Alesh asked, clearly frustrated.

  “We?” Tatsu echoed.

  “Should we go through with this or not?”

  Tatsu looked back at Yudai’s rigid shoulders, his posture a hardened piece of armor. “I don’t think we have any say in the matter at all. It’s Yudai’s body and Yudai’s magic. It’s Yudai’s choice.”

  “But we came all this way to fix things,” Leil said. “If left the way it is, the siphon’s only going to get worse, with no possible—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Tatsu interrupted. Yudai’s face was carved from stone, but his eyes were shining with gratitude. “It’s not our decision.”