by Jack Massa
“What is happening?” Karrol called from amidships. “We are moving.”
“The myro!” Glyssa exclaimed. “They have come to help us.”
Head toward the land. She heard the instruction in her mind. The dark is weakest there.
Which way is that? she replied. We cannot tell.
This way! This way! They called from off the prow.
“Brinda,” Glyssa shouted. “Steer to port.”
We could do better, the myro said, but it hurts our brows.
Glyssa had a thought and leaped down to the main deck. “Ropes,” she called. “Throw out lines so they can pull us.”
Lonn and Draven had just come out on deck. After a quick explanation, they joined Eben and Karrol in securing lines and flinging them overboard. The lines grew taut as the myro seized them in their teeth, and then the boat surged forward as if running before with a stiff wind.
The Iruks hooted and laughed with glee, Eben jumping up and down, Lonn lifting Glyssa off her feet.
Wilhaven continued to play and sing. Scores of myro flapped and splashed around the Phoenix Queen as it streamed over the water. After less than an hour, the darkness began to disperse. Ribbons of light appeared in the sky. The air freshened, taking on a clean, salty smell. The sea began to gleam, and daylight shone on the horizon ahead.
When the wind rose up and the last of the darkness had faded, Wilhaven at last put down his harp. The Iruks retrieved their lines, and Lonn, standing at the helm, shouted orders to raise the sail. Leaning over the prow, Glyssa silently gave thanks to the myro.
They rolled their bodies in the bright sea and chortled in answer.
We are happy to help you, air priestess.
We honor you and the air singer.
Farewell. Farewell.
As the dolphin people swam away, Glyssa turned to find Amlina, her face serene and bright with wonder. The witch placed both hands over her heart and bent forward at the waist.
“I bow to you with respect, Glyssa, mage of the Iruk people. This day, your magic has saved us.”
* O *
Beryl stretched and yawned, her fingertips touching the smooth pearly shell of the headboard. The enormous bed, fashioned of white marble and pink scallop shell, nearly filled the crescent-shaped room, one of several that adjoined the central chamber of her tower.
Long ago, lovers had shared the bed with her, sometimes two or three at once. But when she grew tired or displeased with these consorts, she had them killed, and soon all potential lovers grew too terrified to be pleasing. Later, the Archimage had fashioned drogs, made-creatures, to act as her sexual partners. Drogs had the advantage of tirelessness, and could be shaped into any form she desired. But over the years, these too grew boring. As Beryl extended her lifespan indefinitely, she had gradually lost the appetite for carnal pleasures.
Witchery provided all the stimulation she wanted.
Seeing her awake, the treeman crawled up and nestled against her shoulder. Beryl smiled and caressed the smooth head. Without Grellabo, she sometimes thought, she might actually feel lonely.
“Good morning, my darling,” she cooed. “How are you today?”
The creature hissed fretfully, issuing sounds that she could interpret as words. “I am worried, mistress. I fear what is to come.”
“Ah, naughty Grellabo. Have you been peeking into my mind again?”
“Yes, mistress. I have seen that the despicable Amlina has escaped your dark sending.”
Beryl’s mouth turned down. “She has indeed. She and her friends are proving most difficult adversaries. But do not fear. That trap was only the first. It was meant to delay her, and in that it was successful.” She petted the furry back. “Now she is running very short of time, and still has many days to sail.”
“Will you use the Cloak to send winds against her craft?”
“No, my dear. Because of her Mirror, winds called by magic would rebound against my intention, would likely speed her progress. But no matter, even if the natural winds are favorable, even if Amlina and her henchmen reach Tallyba before their protection expires, I will trap them. Then they will be ours to play with.”
“But mistress, I am still worried. What if Amlina reaches you before her ensorcellment fades?”
“I think that extremely improbable. And yet, I have learned from my previous overconfidence. I will be prepared. Should she reach the tower before her Mirror vanishes, a Gate of Spaceless Passage will be ready, to take us both to safety. Does that ease your concerns, my sweet?”
“Yes, mistress. I was foolish to think you might not be prepared.”
“Think of it no more, my precious. Think instead how much fun we will have tormenting Amlina and her followers.” Beryl sighed, letting her head sink into the pillow. “Such pleasure. Such delicious, prolonged enjoyment …”
Twenty-Seven
“Have you talked with Amlina about this?” Brinda asked. “Or Wilhaven?”
“Not yet,” Glyssa said. “If the klarn does not agree, there would be no point.”
The Iruks sat knee-to-knee in a circle, in the dry space between the mast and the rear deck. The boat was sailing close-hauled, westerly wind driving a long tack south, away from the coast. The mast leaned hard to starboard, and the sail bowed against the pale blue sky. When they needed to change course, the mates would jump up and haul on the lines. They dared not heave to and delay sailing, even for the little while it would take to hold a klarn meeting. By Amlina’s reckoning, the Mirror Against All Mishap would last only another seven days.
Wilhaven had the tiller, standing within earshot. But they spoke in Iruk, so he would not understand. Glyssa had called the meeting to make an unusual proposal. She wanted to add Amlina and Wilhaven to the klarn.
“Well, I have no objection,” Karrol said, surprising Glyssa with her ready agreement. “We have sailed with them both for months, and we’re going into battle together. It seems only reasonable.”
“It is not so simple,” Eben said. “They are not Iruk. Will they even understand what it means to be klarn?”
“Certainly Amlina will,” Draven answered. “Remember when we sat with her in the circle, when we were searching for Glyssa in Kadavel? We shared our minds with her then. And Wilhaven has observed us together. He will understand.”
“I am unsurprised that you like the idea, Draven,” Eben said. “You have wanted Amlina in the klarn for a long time. But here is another question: Will Amlina acknowledge Lonn as leader? Or will we have to elect Amlina to lead us?”
The mates pondered this, and then Brinda spoke. “I think Eben raises valid questions. Will Amlina defer to Lonn in a battle? If not, is she fit to lead us? We have to know who will be in charge when the fighting starts.”
“I don’t see that as a problem,” Lonn said. “If the klarn voted to keep me as leader, I would follow Amlina’s word, as we always have. Remember, we once vowed to obey her commands, unless they were plainly harmful to the klarn. That rule has worked till now, and I’d see no reason to change it. But I want to hear more from Glyssa. Why do you bring this up now? You seem to feel it’s important.”
Glyssa gnawed her lip, all eyes fixed on her. “Yes, that is fair. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Perhaps it is partly my training with Amlina. I have come to love her, like a sister. But more than that, I feel a division in myself—in all of us—between our old lives as hunters, and what we have become since leaving the Polar Sea, all the changes that have come to us. My heart tells me we must not be divided within ourselves, when we face what lies ahead. I hope that bringing Amlina and Wilhaven into the klarn will ease that strain, help us all be stronger.”
Glancing around, she sensed the klarn-soul stirring in her mates.
“I think you speak with wisdom,” Brinda uttered softly.
Eben lifted a shoulder. “I still have reservations. But I will go along.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Lonn reached out his hand, palm down. The others placed
their hands over his in a pile. “We will offer Amlina and Wilhaven membership in the klarn,” Lonn said.
“Agreed,” each of them replied.
Lonn gave the order to bring the yard about, then went and relieved Wilhaven at the helm. When the boat was streaming on its new course, he and Eben and Glyssa spoke to the bard.
“Are you ready to reveal your secrets?” Wilhaven asked. “I could tell by your faces it is something momentous.”
“And not to be taken lightly,” Eben said.
“We have voted to invite you and Amlina to join our klarn,” Lonn announced. “If you accept, we will have a ceremony, disband the klarn, and re-form it with you and Amlina as our mates.”
The humor fled from the bard’s expression, leaving it startled—and reverent. “Sure, and that would be one of the great honors of my life.”
“You need to be clear on what it means,” Eben said. “We each give a part of ourselves to the klarn, and it becomes part of us. That, and we swear an oath: for as long as the hunt lasts, to live for each other and die for each other if need be—valuing our mates’ lives more highly than our own.”
“Aye, you only convince me further of how noble is the honor.” Wilhaven spoke in sober tones. “I have learned a deep respect for you all, as shipmates and comrades-in-arms. But more than that, I owe a debt to Lady Glyssa. When I wallowed in self-pity, it was she who reminded me of my duty as a bard, and so gave me back to myself.”
He ended by bowing to Glyssa, touching one knee to the deck. She laughed and embraced him.
“Dear Wilhaven, we shall be most honored to have you as a mate.”
“That leaves Amlina,” Lonn remarked.
“Yes,” Glyssa said. “Let me go and speak with her.”
In a jubilant mood, she ran forward and rapped on the hatch to the witch’s cabin. “It’s Glyssa. I have something to ask you.”
* O *
The brass spinner twirled in one direction, then the other. The erratic movement reflected Amlina’s mind, swerving back and forth as she considered the Iruks’ offer.
At first glance, the idea was outlandish. All of her training decreed that a witch did not mingle her psyche with others—except in formal rituals or carefully controlled circumstances. Certainly, a witch of Larthang did not risk her powers by joining her soul with barbarians.
But if Amlina had always strictly adhered to her training, she would never have left Larthang in the first place, would never have dared to invoke blood magic, to raise the Mirror Against All Mishap. She would never have allowed herself to fall in love with Draven, and would certainly not have followed him onto the Star Road. But that risk, taken for love, had made her stronger—she was sure of it. And when she looked at the prospect of joining the klarn, her deepsight seemed to indicate that this too would give her strength, would add a new well of energy to her resources.
Still … the cautious, rational side of her mind insisted that it was madness, a dangerous, unnecessary step at this most critical time, when she must focus all her attention on preparing to face Beryl in Tallyba.
Frustrated, Amlina uncurled her legs. She crept to the shelf behind her bunk and pulled down the talking book. Setting it on the floor, she opened the cover.
“Buroof: I Amlina call you.”
In the shadowy compartment, the pages glimmered. “I hear you.”
“What knowledge do you have of the Iruk culture—specifically their hunting bands, known as klarns?”
“Only what I’ve gathered from interacting with your primitive friends. Almost nothing is recorded of them. One obscure source asserts that their race migrated to the South Pole in prehistoric times from the Western continent, that racially they derive from the same root stock as the peoples of Zindu and southern Larthang. That unsupported notion constitutes the sum of my knowledge.”
Amlina frowned. “What about … any records of Larthangan-trained mages participating in foreign spiritual communities, specifically ones that involved derivation of a group soul?”
“Well, there are many such examples, but—Oh! I think I see where this is leading. But surely, you cannot be that foolish.”
Amlina laughed grimly. “By now you ought to have learned not to underestimate how foolish I can be.”
“Yes. Point taken. So you plan to join their savage hunting band? Will you dress in fur trousers and carry a spear?”
“Never mind the ridicule. About the historic examples—“
“None are relevant. All extant records relate to cults and temples in civilized lands. In all of history, if any mages of Larthang have sought to blend their souls with savages, they have not troubled to document the folly. Once again, Amlina, you are contemplating unexplored realms of lunacy.”
“Very well then,” she said and closed the book.
She ought to have known that speaking with Buroof would not be helpful. Wincing with indecision, she glanced at the spinner.
The brass arms moved, first one way, then the other.
* O *
Zenodia placed the wicker cage on the smooth dark wood of the altar. Inside, the gray finch fluttered in agitation, as if sensing what was to come.
“Daughter,” Mawu the high priestess said, “I ask you again to reconsider. Let me summon the oracle instead.”
Zenodia tightened her jaw. “The oracle is too vague. I need plain answers now, to clarify my visions.”
Just over a month had passed since she witnessed the murder of Toulluthan and was appointed to take his place. That day had changed everything for Zenodia. Driven by horror and cold hatred of the queen, she had quickly consolidated her power in the temple hierarchy, dismissing assistants who might question her authority, appointing submissive acolytes in their places. Already possessing a masterful knowledge of temple accounts, she had begun siphoning off money. Some of it she dispatched secretly to a mountain village, where her family lived in impoverished exile. The rest she accumulated, building a private treasury to fund her activities. Her new position on the council gave her access to all parts of the temple compound. Zenodia had researched ancient archives, reading dusty scrolls, educating herself in forgotten arts of divination. In the tombs below the temple, she had practiced necromancy, summoning the ghosts of priests and sorcerers from long ago. In disguise, she had visited a squalid, crime-ridden neighborhood, purchased forbidden drugs to expand her visions.
All of these efforts were focused on her goal, to understand the tyrant’s powers, to find some way to defeat her.
In these endeavors, Zenodia had been reckless. It was only a matter of time, she knew, till her improprieties drew notice, till some informer brought them to the attention of the temple council or the queen. Zenodia didn’t care. Visions told her that a single, real opportunity was coming—perhaps the only chance in her lifetime to overthrow the tyrant. She was more than willing to risk everything on one daring gamble.
She drew a knife and turned a drugged, feverish gaze on Mawu. “The ritual is not improper. My studies inform me that sacrifices exactly like this were done in the Temple of Tysanni in ancient times.”
“True,” the white-haired priestess answered, thin-lipped. “But we have not offered blood to the Moon for centuries, and never in this shrine.”
The knife wavered in her hand. “If you are squeamish, I can do the ritual in my own apartments. I just thought it might go better here.”
“No, child,” Mawu bowed her head. “If you are determined, it is better done here. If things go badly, I might be able to protect you.”
“Thank you, High Priestess.”
Zenodia set the knife down beside the cage. She prepared a brazier, laying out charcoal and dried herbs from jars stored in a cabinet behind the altar. She sprinkled in tinctures from two vials she carried in her robe. After lighting candles, she touched fire to the brazier.
With the high priestess watching somberly, Zenodia raised her arms high.
“By the power of Tysanni, the silver moon, I summon Ol-Thum-Nyarr
, the Spirit of Foxes. By smoke and blood, I call you here that you may aid me.”
Zenodia had never before attempted to raise a Nature Spirit of such magnitude. But she desperately needed elucidation of her disparate, confusing visions. She poured another vial onto the brazier. Flame sizzled and flared, gushing gray smoke. Zenodia reached into the cage and groped until capturing the frantic bird. She pulled it from the cage and picked up the knife.
“Ol-Thum-Nyarr, Spirit of Foxes. By smoke and blood, I command your presence.”
As the high priestess watched grimacing, Zenodia set the struggling finch down on the altar. She sliced off its head with a quick motion, then tossed both body and head into the fire. The tiny carcass sizzled, and the smoke grew thicker.
As Zenodia called the invocation a third time, a vaporous face appeared in the smoke—canine snout, pointed ears, feral, gleaming eyes.
“What do you wish of me?”
“Ol-Thum-Nyarr, I seek verification and explanation of visions I have seen.”
“And what have you seen, priestess?”
“That the tyrant queen can be defeated, that one is coming to Tallyba who might kill her.”
The eyes stared for ten beats of Zenodia’s racing heart. “Yes, I see this also. But the matter is far from decided. Vast powers have been brought to bear—much greater than you might hope to wield. The scales totter and may dip either way.”
“How can I influence the outcome?”
“Difficult … But there might be a way. I see darkness descending on the tyrant’s enemies. It is just possible your sight may pierce it … But even that looks to be too little, or to come too late.”
Zenodia grunted as though seized by pain. She needed clearer information. From her pocket she drew a tiny sphere, like a smoky pearl.
“What about this? It is a bead of levitation such as the Archimage uses. I have had it fashioned at great expense. One of my visions told me it would be needed, but I do not know why. I do not even know if it will work. Perhaps I can use it to sneak into her tower, to learn some secret or steal some weapon …?”
