Of the Abyss

by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

  “Thank you; I now have the faith of a fellow prisoner. What are you in here for this time, anyway?” Hansa asked. “Must be terrible, for you to get stuck in a cell with a man who is accused of slaughtering his friends.”

  “Just be quiet and listen to me.”

  “Like you said, I don’t get a trial,” he said. “Even if he was just some foreign witch—­not that that would be appreciated, but at least it’s better than a mancer—­it won’t matter, because he’ll never speak to—­”

  “Shut your self-­indulgent mouth, you idiot!” Rose interrupted. “For your information, I’m in here for collecting and studying every text I’ve ever been able to find on mancers and Others—­and on the spawn.”

  Was she making any kind of sense? It was hard to tell, past the spinning sensation left by the crumbling of Hansa’s entire world. “The what?”

  “It takes a fool of a sorcerer to tear the veil and invite one of the Others into this realm,” Rose explained. “It takes an incredible amount of power to control them, and Abyssi especially can be vicious if the summoner loses control. But as difficult and dangerous as it is, some mancers do it anyway. And some of them go further. Very, very rarely, the Others breed on this plane with mancers or other humans who run afoul of them. And that is how you get spawn.”

  She certainly sounded like a mancer. No wonder she was lucky enough to get thrown in a cell with someone accused of consorting with creatures of the Abyss. “Lucky me,” he said, sarcastically. “I have a champion crossbreed.”

  “Shut up,” Rose snapped. “The spawn walk in human form, but they are incredibly powerful. Whereas an Abyssi or Numini needs to bond to a mancer in order to remain on the mortal plane, the spawn have their own mortal blood to tie them here. However, the Other power continues to seek a bond, so they are susceptible to—­”

  Hansa waved a hand, cutting her off. “I believe that you’re trying to be helpful, but keep in mind that, despite the accusation, I am the one of us who has never studied sorcery. I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  Rose drew a deep breath. “The spawn granted you a boon. The first boon has to be willingly given, but after that, a link is formed. If he gave you his name—­and you’re lucky you asked him, since otherwise he most certainly wouldn’t have—­then you can summon him, and he will be forced to grant another boon you demand. Spawn are incredibly powerful. Call him now, and he could make these charges disappear.”

  “You’re actually suggesting that I should summon a half-­demon creature in order to clear myself of practicing sorcery?” Hansa asked, incredulous. “That’s insane. No. I just need to think clearly. Stop panicking. Mancers don’t get trials, but they can have counsel. That’s all I need.”

  They hadn’t branded him while he was unconscious, or bound him physically, which meant someone out there believed he was innocent. He had been a soldier since he was eighteen; he had joined the 126 when he was twenty-­three, had been promoted to lieutenant when he was twenty-­five, and had spent a year in that position.

  In the entirety of his life, the only time he had been in trouble was when Jenkins’s poor timing and often off-­color sense of humor had convinced some new soldier that they had some kind of disturbing sexual relationship. Officially, both Hansa and Jenkins had been suspected of illicit behavior and perversion, but in reality, their superiors had gone through the required motions without any belief that an investigation was warranted. Jenkins was chastised and warned to watch his words in the future, and it had ended there.

  No one who knew Hansa could believe this nonsense about sorcery. He could ask to speak to one of the Sisters of Napthol, and tell them what the spawn had said about healing him only to keep him from becoming dangerous. The Sisters studied the Others; they probably knew about the spawn, and would be able to understand and explain why one of them would have helped him without his delving into black magic.

  He had joined the 126 because he believed in the laws and the system that enforced them. He had to trust them now.

  CHAPTER 9

  Maybe I should move in, Cadmia thought, as she entered the Quinacridone Compound for the third time in two days.

  She remembered the young guard who had come to fetch her to speak to Baryte, which meant she was simultaneously one of the strongest witnesses in his defense, and against him.

  Hansa had arrested Baryte, and therefore had been closest when the bone knife that later showed up in the Numenmancer’s home had disappeared. He had also been closest when Baryte had died, obviously destroyed by Abyssi even with the brand on his skin that should have blocked the Other’s power.

  Hansa had for some reason been on point when they made the Numenmancer’s arrest, though witnesses who stayed behind said that before they left the compound, Captain Feldgrau had said Hansa should not be spoken to in case the mancer was watching him.

  No one could ask Captain Feldgrau, because Hansa Viridian was the only survivor of the group that had gone to arrest Dioxazine.

  On the other hand, Hansa had crossed the threshold of the Cobalt Hall, which supposedly no mancer could do. That was a strong point in his favor, but not a definitive one; no one understood how the Cobalt Hall protected itself, so it wasn’t impossible that a mancer could find a way to bypass the magical defense, just as many of them learned to hide from guards with the sight. It was also possible that Hansa was a sympathizer, working with the mancers somehow but not one himself.

  Finally, he might have been framed. Cadmia had spoken to several of his surviving peers; they loved him, and were horrified by his supposed betrayal, and terrified by the idea that a man in line for captainship in the 126 could have been a sorcerer all this time. What better way to unbalance that illustrious group, than turning them against each other?

  “The black Abyssi,” as Baryte had called it, had injured him enough that he was caught, had instructed him to throw away the knife, and had probably killed him.

  If one of the Abyssi had gained the ability to plot directly against the 126, Kavet had far more frightening problems than one turncoat soldier.

  She heard the shouting as she approached the cells—­a woman’s voice, raised high. “You bastard!” she shrieked. “How long have you known? How long have you and Xaz been playing with me? With Jenkins?”

  “Ruby!”

  Cadmia hurried her steps toward the sound of a scuffle, and found two guards watching a petite woman rail at the occupant of the visitation cell in front of her. One of the guards had a bloody lip, but had obviously decided he would rather stand back than manhandle the distressed woman.

  “I saw it with my own eyes!” she shouted. “I saw wounds down your back that should have killed you. I was still covered in your blood when the healer arrived, but you weren’t any more. I forgot at first what I had seen, but I couldn’t understand where the blood came from so I asked one of the guards with the sight to tell me and—­it killed eleven ­people, Hansa! It killed Jenkins! How could you—­”

  “Ma’am!” Another guard had rushed into the room, and shot a cold look at the two who seemed reluctant to touch her as he stepped forward, cutting between her and the bars.

  Hansa’s voice came from within. “Ruby, I swear to you, I—­”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” she whispered. “Take me out of here,” she pleaded, of the last guard who had come in.

  She leaned on him, and seemed oblivious to Cadmia’s presence as they exited together.

  “I’m sorry,” one of the guards said, to Hansa. “When she asked to come in, she didn’t seem . . . I didn’t think she—­”

  “Soldiers are not permitted to speak with prisoners suspected of sorcery,” Hansa interrupted, his voice cold and bitter. “Such prisoners are also not allowed personal visitors. Maybe for all our sakes you should consider enforcing those rules.”

  “Yes, sir,” the soldier replied. As he saw Cadmia
, he added, “Do you still want counsel from the Napthol?”

  “Is she here?” He came forward to the bars, and then backed away and sat at the table at the far end of the room without being told. “Please, send her in.”

  Still an officer, even in here, Cadmia thought. Even with such a pile of evidence against him, the other soldiers were unwilling to completely turn against him. If he was a mancer, they were all in trouble.

  “The prisoner has a right to privacy,” she told the two guards after they locked her into the cell with Hansa. They obligingly moved down the hall, far enough that they would hear her only if she shouted.

  She sat across from Hansa, who looked as pale and drawn as any man she had ever faced in such a position. Was he responsible for the deaths of nearly a dozen men, or was he an innocent victim? How many times had Cadmia sat at a table like this one and wondered that?

  “You asked for me?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I’m innocent,” he said. “I might be a coward for running away, but I’m not a mancer.”

  “What happened?”

  “I took point because we knew she would come to the door for me,” Hansa explained, his voice calm and even, as if he had given these words much thought and knew perfectly well that this was the one chance he had to defend himself. “I think they must have been wrong about what kind of mancer she was. Jenkins had mixed the poison for a Numenmancer, but it didn’t work. She stabbed Bole with that damn bone knife, and summoned what had to be an Abyssi.”

  “What did it look like?” Cadmia asked. Hansa Viridian did not have the sight, and the Other powers were invisible to anyone without it.

  He paled, his skin going ashen gray at the memory. “I couldn’t see it until it took a swipe at me, and then . . .” He trailed off, his gaze distant, lost in traumatic memory. “There was so much blood, and I didn’t know what to do but run away. I tried to help one of the others, but I think the creature got him, too. Then it hit me.”

  “And you survived.”

  “The mancer must have called it back.”

  He must not have known that the evidence at Dioxazine’s house made it very clear that she worked with the Numen powers. An altar hidden in the closet had been covered with white silk embroidered with gold and silver thread. Small silver vessels holding honey and what was probably rainwater had also been found. Those were not the tools of an Abyssumancer.

  “You say the Abyssi hurt you before it disappeared?” she asked, returning to that point.

  “Yes,” Hansa said, tightly. “I know that’s why I look so guilty.” That’s the least of it, Cadmia thought, but she let him continue. “I thought I was dying. There was someone there, and I think maybe whatever let me see the Abyssi let me realize he was different, too. He was looking at the bodies, and then he came up to me and told Ruby to leave. She just walked away. The man said that, if I survived, the taint from the Abyssi might make me dangerous, so he healed me. I guess he expected exactly what happened, that I would be arrested, and so assumed I would never be able to track him down later.” He drew a deep breath, and added, “Rose, the woman who was in the cell with me when I woke up, says he was probably one of the . . . the spawn?” He said the last word as if he was not entirely certain of its meaning, but repeating something he had heard. “She says they are powerful enough to do that.”

  The spawn had been vaguely referenced in Cadmia’s study, but never in detail. Most members of the Order of the Napthol believed they were a myth, something of a cautionary tale for mancers.

  “Can you describe this man?”

  “He had blue eyes,” Hansa answered. “That’s all I really remember. They seemed to glow. Have you ever heard of the spawn? Do you believe me?”

  “Hansa . . .” She sighed. “Guards have searched Dioxazine’s home, and the tools they found make it clear she is a Numenmancer. How could she get an Abyssumancer’s blade, or for that matter, summon an Abyssi?”

  “You are more qualified to answer that than I am.” Hansa’s expression closed off, becoming more withdrawn. “Surely there is some possible explanation?” She shook her head. “Sister, please. I’m not a sorcerer!”

  He seemed so sincere, so desperate, but there was no rational explanation for events that did not involve his having power. He said the spawn healed him to keep him from becoming dangerous, but if that were the case, why hadn’t it let Hansa die, or helped him along, to eliminate the threat in the simplest way?

  “I will meditate on your words,” she said, rising to go.

  “Sister . . .” He trailed off, looking defeated. “This is impossible.”

  All she could offer was one last assurance. “They will brand you before they execute you. If you are innocent as you say, you can at least have the comfort of knowing your name will be cleared at that time.”

  “Small comfort,” he replied. “Have you seen what the brand does to a man without power? I have.”

  She had never seen it, but she had heard of the case a few years before where a sorcerer woke and managed to turn the brand around on the guard who held it. One of the other guards who had been there had come to the Cobalt Hall afterward for counseling. His description of the event had been graphic.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She was, really. Hansa seemed like a good man. Then again, so many of them did, once it was too late for it to make any difference.

  After she made her report to the remaining captains and left the Quinacridone Compound, though, she stared at the Cobalt Hall and couldn’t stomach returning to it. She went in only long enough to exchange her official violet robes for simpler dress, and walked down to the docks.

  Unsurprisingly, she found Cinnabar first, leaning back against the outside wall of the King’s Ransom. He had his arms crossed and was shaking his head to a sailor who was obviously trying to buy his time.

  Normally, Cadmia would have walked by without bothering him, but Cinnabar noticed her and waved, extracting himself from his would-­be-­client with a smile.

  Cadmia kept her face as politely blank as she could as Cinnabar hurried toward her, but he must have read something in her expression, because he took a look at her and laughed. “What have they done to you up there, Caddy?” he asked dramatically. “Such a scowl over a perfectly legitimate business transaction.”

  “Odd,” she remarked, “it looked like an utterly illegal business transaction to me.”

  “Not if we go back to his ship,” Cinnabar answered. “Tamari ships adhere to Tamari laws.”

  “You wouldn’t—­”

  “I didn’t, obviously,” he pointed out, his tone softening in response to her alarm. “I’m not stupid enough to put myself on a Tamari ship. They turn slaver as often as the sun sets, and they know Kavet officials would never object to one less child of A’hknet. Speaking of, Rose is in jail again.”

  “I know,” Cadmia sighed. Rose had traveled the opposite path as Cadmia had, becoming a full Sister of the Napthol before giving up that life and turning to A’hknet. She had refused to cease her studies, but she was well enough respected from her time in the Cobalt Hall that the Quin tended to arrest her, keep her a few days, fine her, and then release her. Hansa had mentioned her, but Cadmia’s focus had been on Hansa himself. “I’ll check on her the next time I am up there.” And talk to her about giving ideas for excuses to suspected mancers.

  “In the meantime, what brings you down here disguised as a lowly monger?” Cinnabar asked, with a gesture toward her casual clothes.

  Maybe the same thing that drives Rose to the Quin jails time and again, Cadmia thought. “I decided you were right—­it’s been too long since I visited.”

  Followers of the Quinacridone and the Napthol were not supposed to question much. They certainly were not supposed to hear enough evidence to convince anyone of guilt, and then look at a condemned prisoner and be gut-­certain that he was inn
ocent.

  She couldn’t start doubting her mind and logic and everything she knew now.

  CHAPTER 10

  After the guards took him back to his own cell from the meeting room where he had spoken to Cadmia, Hansa found himself for a long time unable to form words or do anything but stare at the cell door. The soldiers outside had moved a greater distance away, and had not tried to talk to him since his return.

  Rose spoke his name at least twice before he turned toward her.

  “She doesn’t believe me.” That much had been clear before Cadmia left. “They say the mancer we went to arrest was a Numenmancer. She couldn’t have summoned an Abyssi, so they think I must have done it.” Rose did not say, I told you so, but the words were visible on her face. “You know about these things!” he pleaded. “There must be some kind of explanation. I’m not a sorcerer.”

  “Then you’ll die an innocent man,” Rose said. “At least you’ll have the comfort of knowing that the Numen takes those who died righ­teously.”

  He shook his head, remembering the look Ruby had given him before she left. She also thought he was guilty. How would she feel when they told her he had died screaming, innocent, under the brand?

  He tried to squash the instant of satisfaction he felt as he pictured those who had condemned him when they realized they had been wrong, so wrong.

  “I don’t think I’m a righ­teous man,” he admitted. His parents, his friends, and Ruby would all be devastated when they realized what had happened. How could he even for a moment have felt . . .

  “There may still be time to ask the spawn for help,” Rose said, softly, with a glance toward the guards who were standing well away down the hall. They didn’t want to be near him.

  “Why would he be mad enough to come here so I could ask him anything?” Hansa asked. Was he really contemplating dealing with a demon, practicing black magic, in order to convince everyone he was innocent of dealing with demons and practicing black magic?