The Turquoise Tower (Revenant Wyrd Book 6)

by Travis Simmons

  Astanel didn’t speak, only went about stoking the fireplace for her, and lighting the lamps with a turn of a knob on the wall instead of with his own wyrd. The golden room brightened and seemed to chase away some of Mag’s dark thoughts.

  “What happened today?” Astanel asked, sitting in a large red chair near the curtained balcony doors.

  Mag sighed. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “They’re saying you attacked them,” Astanel told her, casting his eyes down to where his fingers fidgeted in his lap. “I thought you were different.”

  “Don’t you even think about challenging my change of heart,” Mag warned him.

  “Or you’ll what? Use your darklight on me?” Astanel asked. “You were my hope that I could shake the alarist grip on my wyrd.” He whispered the last, not wanting anyone to hear what he had to say.

  “It wasn’t my doing,” Mag said. “We were moving the debris, and suddenly the rubble shot out everywhere. It was like the darklight slipped into the weaving without my knowing it. No one sensed it before it attacked.”

  “I’ve never had that happen,” Astanel said. Mag wasn’t sure if he was being helpful, or if he was still accusing her.

  “Neither have I,” she told him.

  Astanel was silent for a while before he spoke again. “What caused it then?”

  Mag thought of the shadow she had seen in the streets below. She didn’t want to think it, but because of all of the legends she’d heard, and the feeling she had gotten from some alarists in her past, she wondered if what she’d seen was an extension of Arael. But golden eyes? It wasn’t beyond his power to weave illusions. She’d never actually met Arael, but she couldn’t help wonder if she had seen a shadow of his power that night.

  “I think it’s the Beast,” she told Astanel.

  “But why you?” he asked. “And will this happen to me as well?”

  “There’s no way I could know that,” Mag said, spreading her hands wide. “And I don’t know why it’s happening to me. Maybe because I’ve escaped his grasp before, and he’s calling me home?”

  “That’s not home. Home is with the Goddess,” Astanel said fervently, leaning forward.

  Mag itched her head and turned away. “I have to believe that.” But at the mention of the Goddess, something cancerous twisted deep inside of her.

  “There’s no reason you can think of that he would choose you?”

  “There are many reasons,” Mag said. “I saw him in the Orb of Aldaras; it’s not hard to imagine that he saw me as well. Plus, I’m on this side. Did you know that we’re going to Lytoria?”

  “What’s that have to do with anything?”

  Mag ignored the question. “We’re going to Lytoria because the Council of Guardians think that’s where our final stand will be.”

  “Okay?”

  “It’s possible that he’s trying to use me on the inside, working against the group.”

  “Then why would he have done that with the wreckage today?”

  “Who knows the mind of Chaos?”

  “That sounds like a weak excuse.” Astanel sighed. “Alright, it’s all we have to go with now.”

  “No, not us. Me. You aren’t part of this.” Mag turned back to Astanel. She kneeled on the floor before him and took his hands into hers. “You have to promise me you won’t let anyone know what you are.”

  “Sara and Annbell know.”

  “Yes, but they trust me, and they know that you can change. They have faith that you are willing to change.” Mag studied his silvery blue eyes, looking for confirmation that she was right and he was willing to change. “Don’t touch your wyrd, not until we’re in Lytoria. Then, at the height of battle, come to me. It’s then you will use your darklight to get these trappings off me, and then we attack.”

  Sara stared out at the moon, rising high above the peaks and domes of the buildings in the Ivory City. It made her homesick; she missed watching the moon from the serenity of her own keep, far from people and high in the mountains where she was surrounded by nothing but nature. Here there was too much noise, too many people. But here she was, gathered with the other Guardians in Aladestra’s personal conference room, trying to determine the fate of a woman she trusted and loved more than she did the people in this very room.

  “The point is, she’s a danger,” Azra Akeed said.

  “To call her a danger is to bring into question my ability to govern,” Sara spoke quietly from the window. Her words cut through the room like a well-tempered blade. She turned back to the purple room, lit with soft lamplight. It was a large room, affording a lot of space to relax, but the Guardians were all gathered around the green marble table in the center of the room.

  “No one is doing that,” Aladestra said, placing her hand on Azra’s arm to calm the other Guardian.

  They were split. Rowan and Azra wanted Mag dead, while Sara and Pyang knew Mag and believed she wasn’t a danger. They both wanted her to live. Aladestra, as usual, was the mediator.

  “So where do we stand?” Pyang asked.

  “She attacked the capital city,” Rowan argued for the umpteenth time.

  “No, you know as well as I do that there was no alarist wyrd in that weaving,” Sara said, refusing to sit. She felt standing gave her some kind of advantage, even if that wasn’t true.

  “I didn’t feel it either, not until it was too late.” Pyang nodded agreement.

  “And unless she is skilled enough to hide her working from five Realm Guardians, I doubt it was intentional.” Sara leaned against the back of her chair.

  “How did you even come to have her in your council?” Aladestra asked.

  “She was an alarist, back when Arael was in power before. We had captured her and were trying her. She was one of the few who expressed interest in devoting herself back to the Goddess. We gave her that chance,” Sara said simply. “She’s never made me question her faith. She’s defended me even when it would benefit an alarist not to. It was she who found I was being poisoned not too long ago, and it was she who dealt with the threat. She successfully ran our campaign against the chaos dwarves.”

  “And she’s never used her darklight power?” Rowan asked.

  “Only once that I know of,” Sara said. “When we were fighting the chaos dwarves an alarist came through the courtyard and was attacking the keep with his darklight. We were all trapped. The only way we defeated him was through Mag’s connection to her alarist power. Maybe that one working after so long opened up some kind of channel she’s having a hard time closing.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to close it,” Rowan speculated. “Maybe all of her good deeds were a way to gain your trust so she can deceive us in the end.”

  Sara wanted to argue, but she couldn’t. She’d often heard Mag refer to the darklight power as being addictive, like a drug. Could it be that she was slipping back into that addiction?

  “Biding her time, waiting for the opportune time to strike.” Azra nodded in agreement.

  “Oh, come on,” Aladestra said, slapping her hands on the marbled table top. “I know I’m supposed to be impartial in these things and come to a fair conclusion, but even I have to say that summation is absurd, Azra. You are always looking in the shadows, waiting for some new horror to jump out at you. By chance you were lucky in guessing about your shadow in the west, but this is ridiculous.

  “If Mag was waiting for the opportune time, why would she have used such a minor incident as clearing up wreckage to attack? What did she gain? She’s locked away in her room, shackled and bewyrded against using her powers. What did that gain for Arael?” Aladestra leaned forward, fire in her eyes, and her grip firm on Azra’s wrist.

  Azra didn’t say anything, only chewed on her tongue. Sara let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. All Azra was doing was fueling the fire for Rowan, and she spoke nonsense. Everyone was silent.

  “Now, where do we stand?” Aladestra asked. “All in favor of execution, raise your hands.�
�

  Sara held her breath, but clasped her hands before her. She hoped that Pyang still sided with her.

  Azra raised her free hand, but kept her eyes averted, not meeting anyone’s stare. It had to be hard hearing honestly what the other Guardians thought of her, and in some way Sara’s heart went out to her.

  Rowan seemed to consider it for a moment, weighing what had just been said. She wasn’t exempt from thinking Azra was a little befuddled sometimes, but when she heard the term alarist, Rowan was likely to kill first, ask questions later. She raised her hand.

  Pyang looked around the room, and shook his head. “It’s a shame that we aren’t more trusting. I understand the need for safety, but Mag is a friend of mine, and has proven herself dedicated to the Goddess. I can only assume what happened today was a mistake. I will not vote for her death.”

  “Alright, so we’re split,” Aladestra said. She wouldn’t cast a vote. Aladestra had been elected by the other Guardians as the judge in this case. Rowan and Azra no doubt voted for her thinking her anger at having her city attacked would bring her in their favor. Pyang and Sara knew better and had elected Aladestra because they knew she was the one out of all of them with the clearest of heads. “Mag will remain imprisoned. I’m not certain she can be trusted, but she’s proven that she’s a great asset, and so I would hate to kill her for something that might be nothing more than a mistake.”

  Azra didn’t wait for Aladestra to finish speaking before she stormed out of the room in a flurry of green silk.

  “I trust your ruling,” Rowan said, bowing her head. “And while I don’t agree with it, I’m sure you’ve weighed all our concerns and came to a favorable conclusion.”

  “This is only temporary,” Aladestra told them all. “I will put together more evidence and decide later if we should release her or end her life. If only we had a verax-acis.” She shook her head.

  Sara was happy they didn’t have any of the mind pillagers in the city. She didn’t agree with the form of torture they used just to extract a measly bit of intelligence.

  Yes, Rowan and Azra would like nothing more than to have one of those pasty-faced freaks rummaging around in Mag’s head.

  Grace stood against the wall of the sterile infirmary, gazing at her dearest of friends through a haze of tears. The light reflecting off the whitewashed walls and the muted green hangings created webs of light across her vision. She didn’t bother to wipe her face as the first of the tears began to fall.

  Surgery had already been done on Rosalee, removing the tangle of bone and muscle that had become of her leg when the large roof crashed down on them. It was only a matter of luck that Rosalee hadn’t been taken from Grace completely.

  Grace’s eyes roamed over her friend’s ruined leg. It was wrapped in bandages, bloody where the stump was. Grace tried to think of what Rosalee had looked like with both legs, walking around just the day before; now she wouldn’t walk without a wooden leg ever again.

  Grace closed her eyes against the wash of tears. At least she’s alive, she thought. Rosalee was a spirited woman, likely this wouldn’t even faze her. She’d probably brush it off as just another sign post on the roadmap of her life.

  Why did you have to go out there? she thought to her friends, prone on cots side by side. Why did you have to go see the city?

  But she knew she was being selfish. If she hadn’t been needed in the meeting she likely would have been right beside them, trapped under all the rubble until the Guardians and their crew were able to rescue her.

  If only I’d gotten here sooner, Grace thought, and then scowled. That was absurd. What would she have done? But there was something inside of her, something that had taken residence in her core since her meeting with the Goddess under the twisted oak tree in the field of flowers. She wasn’t completely convinced that she couldn’t have healed Rosalee in some fashion.

  “Moonchild,” that’s what the Goddess had called her. What did it even mean? Grace rolled her eyes. She wasn’t even completely convinced that she believed the dream. It was just a dream, and she’d never had any kind of prophetic ability in the past. But even still, the name called to some distant recess of her mind, speaking to a lifetime before, and many after.

  “Grace?” Dalah said, coming to on the cot next to Rosalee. “We have to warn the Guardians.”

  “What?” Grace dashed away the tears on her withered cheeks, and went to her plump friend’s side.

  “Were you crying? For me?” Dalah asked, a smile playing across her parched lips. Her face was still streaked with dirt; they hadn’t bothered to wash her up after the accident.

  “Don’t be daft,” Grace snorted. “These lamps are damned smoky.”

  Still Dalah smiled.

  “What do we have to warn the Guardians about?” Grace asked as Dalah’s eyes threatened sleep once more.

  “The fallen, she said we wouldn’t make it to Lytoria in time. What did she mean?”

  But Grace didn’t stick around to explain. Her mind was already on the council room as her legs swiftly carried her out of the infirmary.

  “A verax-acis?” The color drained from Joya’s face even as the words passed her lips. Absentmindedly she touched her mouth, as if she could still feel the ghost of the spasms her face had endured after her last encounter with a verax-acis. “Do you think it’s Beckindal?”

  “Who knows?” Jovian asked. “It could be, but many others escaped from the Ivory City, right?”

  “They are fierce hunters,” Maeven said, taking a seat beside the fire and carving chunks off the roasting rabbits. Cianna handed him plates and he began dishing out equal portions for everyone. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Beckindal.”

  “It made me see things.” Angelica sunk onto the ground beside Joya. “I saw Amber, but it was a nightmare version of her. She was dead, rotting.” She swallowed hard.

  “And how do we know this print you saw of the black shuck wasn’t a conjuring of the verax-acis?” Shelara asked from where she now leaned against the far wall.

  “We don’t,” Jovian told her. “But there are signs that come with the influence of a verax-acis. Mostly dizziness. I don’t remember being dizzy when I saw the print.”

  “It would be best if we were cautious either way. With any luck it’s just the verax-acis playing tricks on us. But we had better prepare for the possibility that we are being stalked by the verax-acis and the black shuck.”

  “And there could be several of them,” Cianna said, handing a plate to Jovian. “Just because the black shuck went away when Arael did, and it was his favorite shape to shift into, doesn’t mean they aren’t pack animals. They travel in groups normally.”

  Maeven nodded his agreement.

  “So how do we protect ourselves from the verax-acis?” Caldamron asked.

  “I don’t know that there is a way,” Maeven said.

  “They are powerful.” Angelica accepted a plate of meat from Cianna.

  “Normally they focus on one person. Last time it was Jovian,” Maeven said. “But there was a point when it was attacking all of us in the Temple of Badock.”

  “I’m sure that’s not normal. I’m sure it takes a lot of power from them to do something like that, right?” Russel asked.

  “Most likely,” Maeven said. “But what’s strange is, if it is Beckindal, why didn’t he attack Jovian? Why did he attack Angelica instead?”

  “Who knows?” Jovian said between mouthfuls of his rabbit.

  “Well, at least we have warning,” Cianna said. “Is there anything you can think of that helped last time?”

  “Grace had us focus on something, all of our minds focusing on a rivet in a table, so he couldn’t get in.” Joya’s mind was distant, like she was looking into the past, trying to divine what to do.

  “Maybe if we use wyrd to keep his power at bay?” Maeven suggested. “We didn’t have access to wyrd last time. Maybe we can do that?”

  “It’s worth a shot,” Cianna said. “But I have
a better idea.”

  “What’s that?” Caldamron asked.

  “If he works through mind control, then I can confuse him by insuring we have plenty of minds around us.”

  “Ah, your necromancy,” Maeven said nodding in approval. “That could work. With some shielding maybe we can escape him for a time, or set up a trap for him.”

  “This is so much wyrd,” Joya said. She hadn’t really touched her pile of meat. “We’re certainly going to attract unwanted attention.”

  “Then we’ll be ready,” Angelica said. “We can’t do nothing, and I’m kind of done with being pushed around. I’ve wanted to strike out at those fallen sentries since we’ve seen them.”

  “But attacking one will likely bring many more,” Caldamron reasoned.

  “Well, either way, we have to do something,” Jovian said. “This seems like our best course of action. If we go out there unprepared, the verax-acis could just feed off our minds and we could be lost in the snow.”

  “Or we could get eaten by the black shuck and never even know it,” Maeven said with a nod.

  Cianna finished her plate of meat and set it aside. “Alright, I’m ready.”

  “Now?” Joya asked, putting down her half eaten plate.

  “Who knows when they will attack? Better to be ready for them and sleep easily,” Cianna said.

  “Sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be sleeping well until this is all over,” Angelica said.

  A thrill went through Jovian’s stomach. When this is all over, he mused. What did that even mean? When they killed Arael? For some reason he didn’t think it was going to be that easy. He felt a hand of doom descending on them. They were ill-prepared for this venture. What did they really know about Arael, anyway?

  But there was a tingle in his mind, like a memory. He had vast stores of information at his disposal, both through his angel side and through his mother’s memories. Grace had always said when they fully came to terms with the fact that they were angels they would be much more powerful.

  “Besides,” Cianna said. “We don’t have to work this together. I can do my part of it and then everyone else can ward themselves.”