A Mirror Against All Mishap

by Jack Massa

  Feeling his warmth and solidity, Amlina sighed. “I am so glad.”

  Draven held her at arm’s length. “But you also feel stronger today.”

  “Yes. The dark immersion did its work. I am imbued with power.” She gripped his shoulders. “You have so often lent your strength to me. I want to share some of this power with you now.”

  “Oh, there is no need.”

  “Yes,” she insisted. “It will help you heal. Now I want you to relax and look into my eyes.”

  Draven shrugged, but obeyed. Amlina held both hands near his neck and envisioned cool, healing light penetrating the bandage, weaving new layers of muscle and skin. When she took her hands away, his body glowed faintly with witchlight. He stared into her eyes with a knowing grin.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I was just remembering the Star Road.”

  She lowered her eyes, warmth rising in her cheeks. “What do you remember?”

  “I was traveling to join the Great Mother, but you found me and called me back. Because you love me.”

  Amlina hugged him, resting her head on his chest. “It is true. And I’ve never loved anyone else.”

  Draven kissed the top of her head. “Will we have time then, to be lovers?”

  “I hope so. I hope when all this is over, we will find a place where we are safe.”

  Draven sighed with contentment. “That is good enough for me.”

  * O *

  Amlina spent the daylight hours in her chamber, seated cross-legged on the floor. Using the top of her trunk as a work bench, she labored with her trinketing tools. Trinketing, the art of fashioning objects permeated with magic, had always been her favorite art. These few worn tools she had carried with her always, from the Academy in Larthang, to the Tathian lands and Far Nyssan, and on her long, dangerous wanderings since fleeing Beryl’s court. With a bone-handled jeweler’s saw, she removed a hand mirror from its frame and meticulously cut it into eight small squares—one for herself and each of her companions. With pliers and shears, she bent bezels of silver around each piece, and connected them to silver chains. Then she murmured incantations over each necklace so that, when the Mirror Against All Mishap was forged, its power would flow into each and protect the wearer.

  As she finished this task, an inspiration came. Searching through the trunk, she found a tiny glass vial with a stopper—a vessel used to store oils or potions. She emptied the contents and scraped the dust and jagged fragments of the cut mirror into the vial. Deliberately, she pricked her fingertip and added seven drops of her blood. The Mirror would last only so long as the eidolon had existed in the world—60 days. Before sealing the vial, she spoke her intention: that after the Mirror had vanished from the world, its protection could be re-summoned by breaking this vial—summoned for the length of seven heartbeats by her seven drops of blood.

  None of the Nyssanian sources mentioned the possibility of extending the Mirror’s power by such a device. But, according to Larthangan lore, any magic could be sealed in a trinket and summoned at a later time. Amlina saw no harm in trying.

  Next she opened the talking book and rehearsed all the phases of the grand ensorcellment, whispering the verses and incantations in Old Nyssanian, imagining the flow of powers. As she worked, words and images appeared and vanished on the pages of the book—Nagaree characters and runes, pictures of the three moons, the fearsome dragon face of the Devourer.

  Shadows were lengthening in the plaza when Amlina emerged from the storeroom. She nodded to the Iruks who eyed her solemnly, then asked Wilhaven to come into her chamber. The bard looked surprised, but followed without a word.

  Amlina had rolled up her bedding and packed away all of her magical objects except for the book. Faint light slanted through the doorway. “I am going to raise the queen’s body now for the last time,” she told Wilhaven. “I thought you should be present.”

  The bard nodded, brow furrowed, the corners of his mouth pulled back. Amlina sensed his dismay now that the hour had come—perhaps an instinctive aversion to the blood magic, perhaps simple grief at parting with the queen he adored.

  Amlina set the bowl of water on the floor and spoke the words to raise the eidolon. Light shivered into being, expanding into a foggy column that slowly lifted the head. Meghild’s eyes came open. She glanced at Amlina, then Wilhaven, and recognition dawned on her features.

  “So. It is time.”

  “Yes, my queen,” Amlina answered.

  Emotions rippled over Meghild’s face—pain, fear, anger. She looked down at the open book, which showed a jagged image of the Devourer.

  “I had thought … I thought I would be ready. But now I do not feel ready.” Her eyes showed grief and sadness. “It is strange. All the times I went into battle, I went gladly. I knew I might die, but I went with fury, without fear … But that was different. This time, the end is certain.” Hands appeared at the end of her eidolon arms. Meghild stared down at the fingers. “Now I want to cling to life, even this false reflection of life.”

  The bard turned to Amlina, whispered in remorse. “Is there no other way?”

  Amlina swallowed. She had always known the queen might balk at the decisive moment. If Meghild did not go to her death willingly, all would be for naught. The Mirror could not be forged.

  “No one can force you, my queen,” Amlina said quietly. “It must be your decision.”

  Meghild's stare was suspicious, calculating. “If I do not go with you, Amlina, how long will I live?”

  “I truly do not know. You might survive in that form for a thousand years, or it might dissolve tonight when the moons align. I also don’t know what would happen to me, to all of us, if the powers I have set in motion do not flow to their intended end.”

  Meghild peered into the witch’s eyes, her expression changing again—wariness, regret. Finally, the queen lowered her gaze, leaned over and closed the book.

  “Make my song, Wilhaven, and sing it in all the halls of Gwales, so I will be remembered. And do not omit this scene. Let it be known that in her final hour, Meghild bespoke her fear, and yet walked bravely to her end.”

  * O *

  In the crimson light of sunset, Amlina moved across the plaza, the ghostly figure of Meghild floating at her side. Behind them marched Wilhaven and the Iruks, carrying swords and unlit torches, wearing their Mirror talismans.

  Glyssa walked in the center of the line, warily scanning the collapsed buildings at the edges of the square, searching for any sign of movement.

  She was not afraid. Perhaps, as the witch suggested, the time in trance had balanced and restored her, just as it had Amlina. But Glyssa thought it was more than that. She knew now it was Beryl the Archimage who had opened the wound in her heart, insinuated herself into Glyssa’s soul, nearly enslaved her. Aided by Belach, Glyssa had seen through the deception, turned and struck at her enemy. Now the wound seemed to be healing again, the fear fled away. Glyssa marched once more as an Iruk warrior, with the calm of a stalking hunter, the bravery of the klarn pulsing in her blood.

  As they reached the pyramid, howls of rage echoed in the gloom. Across the square, Glyssa spied ghost dogs scuttling from the shadows. But they did not approach. As Amlina had predicted, they seemed to regard the pyramid with awe and terror.

  Glyssa climbed the steep steps, her short legs straining with the effort. The pyramid was enormous, the summit far away. As they ascended in the fading light, the warrens and squares of the ruined city came into sight, then the roads and distant hills beyond. The view was as staggering as the mountains Glyssa had seen when flying with the torms, but beautiful only in its desolation. By the time they reached the top, a few stars glinted in the darkening sky. Rog, the red moon, rode at the zenith, a faint half-circle. Grizna, which would be full tonight, had not yet risen.

  * O *

  The summit was a platform, six paces square. Amlina had arranged her companions one level down, equidistant from each other, to form a seven-pointed figure. L
ight from their torches wavered and danced in the gloom. Far below in the square, the kul shira could faintly be heard moaning and barking.

  As night fell, the spectacular view of the ruined city faded away. Grizna appeared, a pale disk peering over the flat rim of the plateau. At the culmination of the rite, it would hang directly overhead, with Rog and the lost moon Tysanni each sixty degrees away, forming the alignment known as the Baleful Trine.

  Amlina waited until the large moon had cleared the horizon, then looked up at the eidolon. “Are you ready, my queen?”

  Meghild’s fierce visage shifted in shadow. “Aye. I am ready.”

  Amlina drew the dagger from her belt and held aloft the Mirror talisman. Heaving a deep breath, she began to chant. She carried no book, but repeated over and over, in loud and commanding tones, the Nyssanian verses she had memorized.

  The moons align in triple light

  Above Valgool the sacred place

  I call your spirit in the night

  Nargassa Hulgar, Eater of Souls.

  From the caves beyond this world

  From the spheres beyond the moons

  I raise your power on this night

  Nargassa Hulgar, Devourer.

  Even from the first, power tingled up and down her arms. Amlina trembled and continued the chant. Her awareness focused on the power, circling in her body, swirling into the sky, making the stars and moons vibrate like bells.

  * O *

  Glyssa heard the unending chant, but from her angle could not see the witch. In her hand the Mirror talisman seemed to hum and throb. From time to time she glanced at her mates, Lonn at one corner, Draven at the other. What she could see of their faces looked solemn and wary in the shuddering torch light. In the plaza below, the ghost dogs howled ceaselessly.

  Hours passed. Amlina continued the same incantation, over and over and over. Glyssa wondered that the witch’s voice could stay so strong and steady.

  Grizna climbed higher. It was nearing the top of the sky when a wind arose, blowing hard around the pyramid. Looking up, Glyssa saw pin pricks of light, flashing and blinking. Draven and Lonn watched also, their mouths gaping.

  The lights grew more numerous, flickering sparks of orange and red. They seemed to form an enormous mouth with many rows of gleaming teeth. Above the mouth, eyes appeared, glaring fragments torn from the round moon.

  “When I said it might be an interesting voyage,” Lonn grumbled. “I was not expecting this.”

  Above them, the chanting stopped.

  * O *

  Amlina held the talisman and dagger before the burning eyes of the Devourer.

  “Nargassa Hulgar, Beast of Valgool. I am the one who summoned you. By the magic of the three moons in baleful alignment, by the magic of blood and death, I command that your power bend to my will.”

  The eyes widened, the starry jaws fell open, and the Devourer roared with primal rage. The sound vibrated Amlina’s bones. A voice of menace boomed inside her skull.

  “What are you? What are you to summon me?”

  She shouted the answer. “I am one who knows your name. I am one who knows the laws. I am one who offers blood and death. By these offerings, I compel you.”

  “You are no priestess. You are a stranger here.”

  “I am a witch of Larthang, but I know your name and the laws. I have summoned you, I offer blood, and so I command you!”

  The terrible roar sounded again. Amlina stood firm, her garments fluttering in the wind. Now was the moment of testing. Had all her workings correctly aligned the forces? Would her will be strong enough? The roar continued, shaking the stone below her feet, rattling her knees. Pain erupted at the center of her skull. Against her will, she closed her eyes. She seemed to be falling.

  But then the shaking stopped, the monstrous rage subsided. Amlina opened her eyes to find herself still standing. The voice in her head was subdued.

  “What is your will of me, foreign witch?”

  Gasping, she answered. “As in the ancient days of Valgool, by the rites of blood magic, I invoke the Mirror that is proof against all harm.”

  “The Mirror Against All Mishap? That construct has a confined span, and requires a sacrifice commensurate to the intent. What is your intent, witch?”

  “The same that I offer.” Amlina pointed the knife at the eidolon. “The death of a queen in exchange for the death of a queen.”

  “But does the sacrifice offer herself willingly?”

  Amlina glanced at Meghild’s face. “Now is the moment, my queen.”

  Staring at the Devourer, Meghild hissed with defiance. “I be Meghild, Queen of Tribe Demardunn. To aid this witch in her purpose, I offer my death willingly to your jaws. The death of a queen in exchange for the death of a queen.”

  The Devourer’s defiant roar sounded again, reverberating in the night. But then the voice grumbled in defeat. “So. The moons are aligned and the blood is offered. Call then my power, witch. I cannot refuse.”

  Amlina thrust up her arms, grasping the talisman and knife. “By blood and death and sacrifice, in the triple light of the moons, I summon your power into this world, all protection for myself and my comrades, to achieve our intent, the death of a queen for the death of a queen. So must it be!”

  As she screamed the last words, the eidolon’s light flickered out. Meghild’s head flew into the air and vanished into the glittering mouth. The Devourer exploded in a blinding flash that rolled down over the pyramid.

  Below, the earth rumbled and the city shook.

  * O *

  Glyssa saw the Devourer expand into a burst of light. Next moment the whole world was convulsing. She stumbled, dropping her torch, bracing herself against the shuddering stone.

  The quake lasted a dozen or more gasping breaths. When it ended, the pyramid was still again. The sky was empty except for stars and the two visible moons. The night hung deathly quiet.

  Glyssa stooped to pick up her torch. She touched the Mirror talisman suspended over her heart. It no longer throbbed with power. At the corners of the pyramid, Draven and Lonn stared at her, uncertain.

  Amlina descended the steps. She walked unsteadily, looking frail and weary.

  “Are you all right?” Glyssa asked.

  The witch nodded. “It is done. Let us leave this place.”

  Lonn and Draven motioned to the others, who came around the corners and drew near.

  “It’s over?” Glyssa asked the witch. “I don’t feel any different.”

  “I know,” Amlina said quietly. “I hope Meghild’s sacrifice was not in vain.”

  Cautiously, they made their way down the steep stairs. Below them, the plaza lay dark and quiet. But as they neared the bottom, Glyssa saw the ghost dogs, throngs of them skulking near the base of the pyramid, red eyes glaring, mouths slavering.

  Glyssa and Amlina stopped on the bottom step, the others clustered behind them with blades and torches held high.

  “We’ll have to fight our way through,” Lonn muttered.

  “No,” the witch held up her hand. “Wait here.”

  Before anyone could react, Amlina darted onto the pavement, into the crowd of ghost dogs.

  “No!” Draven shouted.

  The creatures flung themselves at the witch, howling and snapping. But in the instant before the first of them touched her, a tingling noise erupted in the air and space itself tore open. Glyssa stared at a writhing tumult of bodies, flailing limbs, spraying blood.

  The ghost dogs were attacking each other. It lasted only seconds. Then the creatures were howling in fear, snarling, skulking away into the dark. Six of them lay on the pavement, either writhing with death wounds or already dead.

  Amlina stood in the center of the carnage, perfectly still and unharmed.

  Part Three

  To Tallyba the Terrible

  Twenty-Four

  The catacombs of Tallyba stretched underground beneath the various warrens of the city. The oldest and deepest were under the citadel, w
here hundreds of generations of priests and nobles lay entombed. Below the temple precincts, a maze of crumbling stairs and curving tunnels gave access to the most ancient crypts. Beryl threaded her way through the maze alone, walking erect and fearless. She had no need of lamp or torch, as a gem set on her turban cast an eerie red light that pulsed with her heartbeat. Rats and roaches skittered away on her approach. The stale, dusty air smelled of myrrh and corruption.

  Seven days had passed since her wounding by the barbarian’s sword. The blade must have been imbued with magic. It had taken Beryl this long to regain her full vitality—even after consuming the blood of four sacrifices. In her weakened state, Beryl had lacked the energy to weave designs that might have prevented the forging of the Mirror. Instead, she had devoted her efforts to learning what she could about the protective ensorcellment. She had found nothing about it in her library, and only scant mention in the temple archives. Now the quest had led her to the catacombs.

  She entered a circular chamber lined by vaults. Stone faces of ancient priests stared down from carved ossuaries. Beryl strode to the exact center of the floor. From her robe she removed a silver vial and an ebony wand topped by a fist-sized ruby. After tracing arcane symbols in the air, she pointed the ruby at the wall, emptied the oil on the stones, and cried out an invocation.

  “Hep-satt Lozari, Priestess of Rog, I raise your shadow from the shadows. Let this oil loosen your tongue. Let this light compel your speech. I, Beryl Quan de Lang, Supreme Ruler of Nyssan, command you.”

  From red light and crimson shadows, a figure like smoke slowly condensed. It drew near, a tall woman in clerical robes, with a wizened and glowering visage. She spoke in an archaic dialect from before the Age of the World’s Madness.

  “You are not of Nyssan. Who are you to disturb my long rest?”

  “One with the power to compel you.” Beryl gave the wand a slight twist.

  The ancient ghost stiffened. “Agh! You have called me before. I remember—Usurper!”

  Beryl twisted the wand harder, making the ghost hiss in pain.