Dark Immolation

by Christopher Husberg

  Winter scoffed. “You really think that?” The Kali she had known would never have been so subservient.

  “You don’t understand what it’s been like,” Kali said, her voice suddenly soft, almost… almost weak. Winter had never seen Kali show vulnerability. “My pride, my vanity, even my obsessions over duty and orders and whatever else in Oblivion I cared about… none of that matters any more. It’s all silly, compared to my desire to get out of this wretched place. Long ago all I wanted to do was spend time in the Void. Now, I would do anything to get out and never come back. And if you can help me do that, I am at your service.”

  Winter stood there, her feet planted in the Void, considering. Really, her decision came down to one question: was she willing to learn acumency or wasn’t she? It seemed the same dilemma she had faced on the outskirts of Cineste, what seemed like years ago, when Kali had first told her she was a telenic. And, in that moment, the answer had been obvious. Of course Winter needed to learn all she could, to become as powerful as she could, to protect her friends. To protect and help those she loved.

  And look where that had gotten her.

  But, now, she was somewhere different. She was in a different place, and whether she liked to admit it or not, Kali was right. She was a different person. There was no one left to protect. But the idea of power, of becoming an acumen like Kali, drew Winter. And there was something Galce had said, something that she had not been able to get out of her mind.

  You must take life as it comes, my dear. The only order is chaos. The only way to live is to let yourself go.

  “All right,” Winter said. If the Sfaera was giving her this opportunity, why not take it?

  Kali smiled. “Wonderful.”

  * * *

  What seemed like hours later—Winter couldn’t be sure, she was not clear on how time passed in the Void—things were not going as well as she might have hoped. Kali’s experience with acumency seemed to be nothing like Winter’s.

  “Surely you’ve sensed your tendra,” Kali said, shaking her head.

  “No,” she said flatly. It wasn’t the first time Kali had asked the question. “I haven’t.”

  Kali looked at Winter, her eyebrows knit together. “Are you sure?”

  “I think I’d know if I used tendra of any kind. Telenic, acumenic, whatever. But I haven’t.”

  “But you’ve accessed acumency?”

  Winter shrugged. She had certainly experienced some strange things, moving from mind to mind, things she suspected were acumency, but she had no way of proving it. And the fact that Kali thought acumency required the use of tendra made Winter doubt what she’d been doing this whole time.

  “I’ve never experienced what you’re talking about. These tendra don’t make any sense to me.”

  Winter stopped when she saw Kali grinning. “What in Oblivion are you smiling for?”

  Kali began moving off into the dark. “Follow me,” she said over her shoulder.

  Winter had no choice but to follow Kali’s rippling footsteps. As Kali moved away, she became more faint, less tangible. But, as Winter followed and moved closer to her once more, Kali’s form solidified.

  Kali approached a cluster of lights glowing in the darkness.

  “Can you recognize what these are?” Kali asked.

  Winter looked at each of the lights, and shrugged. “People, I guess.” Kali had told Winter that each of the lights in the Void represented a person on the Sfaera; as many people as lived in the world there were lights in the Sfaera, and then some.

  Winter had asked about the “and then some” part, but Kali had been reluctant to talk about it.

  “Yes, but who are they? You’re in the Void, Winter, you have the power to see these people, who they are, even what they are doing at this very moment.”

  “Kali, I don’t know how.”

  “Watch me, then.”

  Tendrils of smoke seeped from Kali, reaching out of her. But they weren’t smoke, Winter knew that the moment she saw them; they were something very different, because these tendrils were light. They gave off their own glow in the darkness, pulsing slightly as they extended out from Kali’s skull. The tendrils were different colors, one pink, another yellow, another bright blue, and another a dark red. They reached out and connected with the small cluster of lights before Kali—four of them. Winter knew this image would be burned into her mind. Kali, standing amidst blackness, light rippling from her feet, wearing a shifting dress that flowed in the darkness around her, not as if by a breeze but rather as if she were underwater, and Kali’s hair moving in the same way, flowing all around her face and shoulders.

  “This is a family,” Kali said quietly. “A mother and father, merchants. Two sons, one barely old enough to walk, the other not much further along. They are dining together, and the younger of the sons does not like what he is eating. The father looks on him with affection, the mother with annoyance, but an undercurrent of love. Rather picturesque.”

  Kali turned to face Winter, the brightly colored tendra still stretching, flowing from her mind into the lights around her. “Would you care to observe with me?”

  “How… how do I do it?” Winter asked. Seeing Kali there, so majestically surrounded by light, Winter realized that she wanted that ability.

  “You already have a knowledge of tendra as a telenic,” Kali said. “These tendra should be similar. Telenics often think of their tendra as extensions of their body. Think of these tendra as extensions of your mind, Winter. As you see me doing now.”

  Winter nodded, and tried to release mental tendra the way she would release telenic tendra from her body. “Nothing’s happening,” she said.

  And then, another tendron snaked outward from Kali’s mind, floating lazily, meandering through the darkness, towards Winter.

  Winter took a step back, and noticed Kali’s figure fade ever so slightly. “What are you doing?” Winter asked. She did not trust this woman. Did she need to remind herself of that?

  “I’m only trying to help,” Kali said. “If you let me connect with you I might be able to see what blocks you.”

  “I don’t think so,” Winter said, shaking her head.

  The tendron hung in the darkness before Winter, waving back and forth lazily. Winter could almost sense the thing’s desire to get inside her head, and instinctively took another step back.

  “I’ll leave before I let you do that to me.”

  Kali and Winter held one another’s gaze for a few moments. Then, quickly, the tendron receded back into Kali’s head. “Very well,” she said. “I don’t want to pressure you. As I said before, I’m only trying to help.”

  “And help yourself while you’re at it,” Winter said, looking at Kali through narrowed eyes. “Don’t forget that part.”

  “Goddess, if you’d just let me teach you I think you’d realize that—”

  “I’m letting you help me,” Winter said. The desire to learn was there—she felt almost as giddy as she had when she was first learning telesis from Nash. That compulsive desire to learn more about whatever power lay dormant within her. “Just on my terms.”

  36

  Harmoth estate

  Knot stood on the training grounds, watching as Eward ran the trainees through another exercise. The young man was a fast learner; Knot had taught him and the other first recruits a few exercises, but Eward had already learned them well enough that he could direct the trainees without Knot’s help. The trainees—currently numbering almost forty—had been split into teams and were currently making their way through an obstacle course of sorts, including a portion at the end where a team had to draw and fire dummy arrows at another advancing team.

  “They seem to be doing well,” Cinzia said, watching the recruits from Knot’s side.

  “Still green, all of them,” Knot said.

  “Surely they are better than nothing.”

  Knot grunted in response. Truthfully, he was pleased with their progress. They were eager, he’d give them
that, and determined, too, and he couldn’t ask much more of them.

  Cinzia lowered her voice. “I never expected Eward to take so easily to this sort of thing. He seems a natural at giving orders.”

  “It’s one thing to give orders on a training ground,” Knot said, “and another to give them on a battlefield.”

  “Good thing we’re not planning on taking them into battle, then. Guard duty should be all they need to worry about.”

  Knot wasn’t so sure about that. The growing animosity from Tinska—from the Kamite order—worried him. If they attacked again, he wasn’t sure how well their little force would fare.

  “It’s time we started putting more of them on guard duty,” Knot said. “And we need to assign bodyguards to you and the other disciples, as well as Jane.”

  Cinzia cocked her head. “Is that really necessary? Jane needs the most protection out of all of us, surely.”

  “She does, but that don’t mean we shouldn’t protect you too. Two bodyguards to each disciple will be enough for now.” They currently had four accompanying Jane wherever she went.

  “Disciple Cinzia!”

  Knot turned to see the young girl Cinzia had recruited to help with the census, Arven, approaching, waving her hand in the air.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been thinking,” Arven said, and then stopped.

  Knot and Cinzia stared at her, waiting for her to continue. The girl was an odd one. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it, but her mind didn’t seem to be quite all there. Course, that was something he could relate to.

  “What have you been thinking about, Arven?” Cinzia asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about—well, I’ve been thinking about—” Arven glanced at the guard recruits. “Is there going to be a battle?” she asked.

  Knot exchanged a glance with Cinzia. Then he shook his head. “No, miss. No battles here. Just training some folk to guard the Prophetess.”

  So you’re calling her that now, too? Knot was surprised by how easily the word left his mouth.

  “Now tell us what you’ve been thinking, Arven, we both have other duties.” Cinzia’s tone was firm but her smile was warm; it seemed she’d figured out the best way to deal with the girl.

  “Of course, Disciple Cinzia, of course. I’ve been thinking—would it be helpful to invite everyone into the house, just once?”

  “That is an interesting idea, Arven, but I don’t think everyone would fit.”

  “Not all at once, of course not all at once. But in groups, we could do… we could have formal meetings for the Odenites, invite them in a few at a time, to get to know you and the Prophetess and…” Arven glanced at Knot. “And everyone else.”

  Knot raised an eyebrow.

  “Arven, that’s an interesting idea, but…” Cinzia paused. “Perhaps I will bring it up with Jane.”

  “As you wish, Disciple Cinzia,” Arven said with a smile. She was about to leave when she spun back around on one heel to face them once more.

  “I almost forgot!” she said. “Your parents wanted both of you to go to the drawing room. They’re with your guests.”

  “My guests?” Cinzia asked.

  Arven shook her head, then pointed at Knot. “No,” she said. “His guests.”

  The Nazaniin. They had already arrived. Rune hadn’t been lying—he really had sent a cotir from Tinska.

  “Knot?” Cinzia asked, turning to look at him. “What is going on?”

  Knot swore under his breath, ignoring the looks that both Cinzia and Arven gave him.

  “In the drawing room?” Knot asked.

  Arven nodded. She seemed about to say something, but Knot did not wait to hear it.

  * * *

  All eyes turned to Knot as he barged into the drawing room, jaw set.

  Astrid sat with her legs curled beneath her on one of the large overstuffed chairs. Jane, Elessa, and Ocrestia were there, along with Ehram, Pascia, and Ronn. None of them concerned Knot, however. His gaze fixed on the three people standing under the huge marble mantelpiece at the opposite end of the room, goblets in hand.

  “Get out,” Knot whispered, walking towards the group. One of them, a tall older man with gray hair, held his hand out to shake Knot’s. Knot deliberately pushed past, until he was standing with his nose only inches from—and slightly below—him.

  “Lathe Tallon, I presume?” The man dropped his hand. The other two with him—a woman, only a few years Knot’s junior with brown hair and brown eyes, and another man, quite young, perhaps not even older than Eward—turned to look at Knot.

  “I told them it wasn’t a good idea to come in,” Astrid said. “Said you wouldn’t be happy about it. They didn’t believe me.”

  “You should have believed her,” Knot said, glaring at the man, who he’d decided was the one in charge. “Get out. I won’t say it again.”

  The man placed his goblet down on a nearby table, raising his hands. “We don’t mean to intrude. I had hoped you would be more accommodating, but if this is how it is going to be, I won’t argue. This is your home, after all.” The man paused, looking around the room. “Or… is it your home? Now that I think about it, doesn’t this house belong to the Oden family, who have so graciously offered us their hospitality?” He picked up the goblet once more, and took a sip.

  Ehram stepped forward. “Sir, we did not know Knot would receive you this way. Had we known, we might not have been so eager to… to welcome you.”

  “Told them, too,” Astrid muttered. “Didn’t believe me, either.”

  The man bowed his head toward Ronn. “If our gracious host asks us to leave, we will of course oblige. But where we are does not change the fact that we have business with Lathe, or Knot, or whatever you call him.”

  “Meet me outside,” Knot said. “You shouldn’t be in this house.”

  Knot turned to leave the room, but was stopped by Pascia. “I’m so sorry, Knot, these people said they were your friends—”

  Knot placed a hand on Pascia’s shoulder. “This is not your fault,” he said. “I should have warned you.”

  Knot made for the door. He looked over his shoulder at the cotir. “Coming?” he asked.

  Knot led them out behind the house, where there were fewer wandering Odenites that might overhear. As he walked out under the gray sky, he became keenly aware that this was the last location where he had experienced an episode; he had become Lathe here, only a few weeks earlier. He had not experienced any episodes since, but he was sure another would come, sooner or later. Meeting with the Nazaniin could help him avoid that.

  “You’re a cautious one,” the man said, once they were outside.

  “Course I am,” Knot said. “As I’m sure you would be, in my place.” He eyed each of them. He inclined his head towards the tall man. “You’re Cymbre?”

  The man smiled, but shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  Knot frowned. “Rune said I’d be met by a cotir led by Cymbre. Who are you?”

  The man chuckled. “I am not Cymbre, but my companion, here, is.” The tall man smiled at the brown-haired woman, who was inspecting Knot with bland eyes.

  Is this how people feel when I look at them? Knot wondered. The woman’s eyes did not bore into him; that was completely the wrong word. Her eyes were expressionless slabs of brown, and Knot felt almost as if they were pressing him backwards, up against a hard wall, crushing him against it.

  Cymbre said nothing. Knot’s frown deepened. If this was the woman in charge, it did not seem she was very keen on communicating.

  “Who are you, then?” Knot asked wearily, looking back at the tall man.

  “My name is Jendry,” he said. He extended his hand, but thought better of it—perhaps remembering Knot’s earlier reaction—and quickly retracted it.

  “And who’s this?” Knot cocked his head towards the young man.

  “Wyle,” the kid said. “I’m the—”

  “He’s new,” Jendry said.

  “At
least he speaks,” Knot said, looking at Cymbre.

  “Aye, he does at that. A bit too much, if you ask me. Now, let’s get down to business. First off, what do I call you?”

  “Knot.”

  The man nodded. “Figured as much. Lathe is truly no more?”

  Knot shrugged. “I can’t say. I just know who I am, and it ain’t Lathe.”

  “Is Lathe dead, then?” Wyle asked.

  Jendry shot Wyle an irritated glance, but Knot didn’t mind. “Might as well be,” Knot said. Unless he decides to make another appearance.

  “Why do you want to know more about Lathe, anyway? What do you care, if he’s dead to you and all?” Jendry asked.

  “He’s still part of me,” Knot said. “I need to understand who I am.” Before I lose myself.

  “But he’s still in there somewhere, isn’t he?” Cymbre asked. Her voice was low and raspy.

  Knot frowned. “I take it you’re the acumen, then?”

  Cymbre did not respond, but continued looking at Knot with her dull, flat eyes.

  “Actually,” Jendry said, “she’s the telenic.”

  “And you’re the acumen?” Knot asked.

  Jendry laughed. He looked at Cymbre. “If Lathe’s in there, he’s buried deep. He would’ve had us pegged the moment he saw us. This one thinks I’m a bloody acumen.”

  Knot couldn’t help raising his eyebrows just a bit. “You’re the voyant?” He glanced at Wyle. “And he’s the acumen?”

  “Now you’re getting it,” Jendry said with a grin.

  “Lathe’s in there,” Cymbre said. “But he is buried deep.”

  Knot frowned at the woman. She didn’t seem to be talking to him. Fine by Knot. He looked at Jendry. “If she isn’t an acumen, what in Oblivion is she talking about?”

  Jendry sighed. “Our Cymbre thinks she knows people. Thinks she can see into them a bit better than others.”

  “She’s right,” Wyle said with a shrug.

  “She is at that. Doesn’t claim it to be any kind of power, just good at reading people.” Jendry nodded at Knot. “You wanted information on Lathe,” he said. “We have it.”

  “Rune said you want to know more about what happened to me in Roden,” Knot said slowly.