Cephrael's Hand: A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book One

by McPhail, Melissa

  She held up a hand to quiet him. “I know.” Pushing up from her desk, she walked to the sideboard and poured mint-infused water into a goblet. Draining the glass, she poured another. “Now then,” she said, feeling a bit more like herself, “tell me of your recent quest for our oath-brother.”

  Raine followed her outside onto a long, porticoed balcony overlooking the azure ocean beyond. The morning air chilled her skin, but the sun felt warm on her face. The ‘city at the center of the universe’ had a perennially temperate climate. As they seated themselves at an alabaster-topped table, Raine began, “The quest for Björn led me ultimately to Calgaryn. I confess, until I arrived there, I was quite befuddled by the chase. I’ll spare you those details, but it made no sense to me that the Fifth Vestal would allow his presence to appear on the currents unwittingly.”

  “Certainly not. I told you as much when you set off after him.”

  “In which presumption you were quite justified,” Raine admitted with a humble smile, “but I had to follow his trail, nonetheless.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “He knew I would.”

  “No doubt he was counting on it.”

  They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, each recognizing the other’s understanding of their oath-brother’s nature, acknowledging their own tragic predictability in his machinations.

  “So.” Alshiba smiled.

  Raine glanced out to sea. “I’ve no idea how he discovered it, but what I found at Calgaryn…”

  “What did you find?”

  With unerring prescience for her needs, Alshiba’s steward entered with a breakfast tray for two. Raine gazed out to sea while the man silently set out the meal, and Alshiba observed the Truthreader in turn, her gaze following the clean line of his brow, his pointed nose, his lovely lips. He was a handsome man in his own right. Why couldn’t she have fallen for the Fourth Vestal instead of the Fifth? No doubt Raine would have treated her better.

  The Truthreader turned his crystalline gaze on her as the steward bowed and left them. “I sense our dear brother in your thoughts. Another nightmare?”

  She rolled her eyes and grunted. “When I find the luxury of sleep, he dominates my dreams.”

  “Foretellings?” Raine asked hopefully.

  She shook her head. “Hauntings.”

  “Ah…” He poured her a cup of tea from the service set before them while offering idly, “There is a prince in Calgaryn, the youngest val Lorian heir. In the midst of an attempted assassination in a vie for the Eagle Throne, the prince was abducted by a Shade, later stabbed by a Geishaiwyn assassin while still the Shade’s captive, and finally rescued by a zanthyr.”

  She arched a brow at him. “Is this some new bard’s tale?”

  He gave a sardonic chuckle. “Not yet.”

  Alshiba furrowed brows curiously. “What interest could Björn have in a northern prince? Truly—he sent a Shade to capture him?”

  “I asked myself the same question, and then I saw the boy’s personal seal.”

  She shook her head, uncomprehending.

  “His seal mimics the Pattern of Life, Alshiba—or at least his personalized imprint of it. The boy has Returned. But what is truly exciting is that he’s recently Awakened.”

  She sat back in her chair. “That’s impossible. The youngest val Lorian heir has to be nearing twenty.”

  “He’s ten and eight, but apparently he’s been drawing the pattern for years. Long enough to make a signet of it.”

  “What makes you think he’s Awakened?”

  “It’s the cause of my delay. I needed to study the currents from a nodepoint downstream of Dannym, so I asked your Espial to first take me to Tregarion. I found two things in my study of the currents there. First, that the prince became present on the currents many days ago, while he would’ve been in the Shade’s custody, and second…” he paused to level her a telling look, “that Björn is in the Cairs.”

  Alshiba reached for her tea, considering. “Tell me first of the prince. Is there any chance you misread—” then she realized just who she was questioning, for Raine’s ability at reading the currents was unmatched—and shook her head. “Never mind,” she said, setting the tea absently back in its saucer. “Just tell me what you found of him.”

  “The working was short and closely centered—so likely aimed at one person. There was only the faintest trace of it left. The working would’ve likely been intrinsic to him, something recalled from his prior lifetime, lest he’d never have been able to work it so soon upon Awakening.”

  Alshiba pressed fingers to her lips. “If it’s true, Raine…if Björn knows how to trigger an Awakening in later life…”

  He held her gaze. “I know. It could mean the revival of our race.”

  She pushed the backs of her fingers against her face to cool her cheeks as her heart raced, knowing well the import of this revelation. So much knowledge was lost to them when Björn betrayed them—he alone knew the Sobra I’ternin as if he’d written it himself. The most skilled Patternists in all of Illume Belliel had yet to decipher even half of the sacred book.

  “Do you think it was an accident that the prince Awakened?” It seemed a ridiculous question, but she had to explore every avenue no matter how she wanted to jump at the hope.

  Raine knew her mind, but he humored her. “He just happened to Awaken while in the care of one of Björn’s Shades? I think that’s too coincidental, even for a skeptic like me.”

  Oh, please, please, let it be true!

  But there was something else to consider. “Could it mean…is it possible the Balance is turning, Raine?”

  The Fourth Vestal sighed heavily and shook his head. “I don’t think so, dear sister, as much as I wish it were true.”

  She took up her tea again, sipping pensively. “So Björn is in the Cairs. Doing what?”

  Raine shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “How did you find him?”

  “He worked the fourth—a broad illusion.”

  “Careless,” she said, frowning as she set down her cup. Her eyes flew back to Raine’s. “The Fifth Vestal is never careless.”

  “Indeed not,” Raine agreed.

  “Burn the man.” Alshiba pressed fingertips to forehead and closed her eyes. “What are you doing in Alorin, Björn? What game drives you now?” After a moment of silence, she looked up between her fingers at Raine. “Do you have any idea how agonizing it is to have the Sight and yet find it so useless against one’s enemy? It’s worse than not having it at all! I don’t understand how he manages to hide from the Sight—it’s like he’s hiding from the eye of the Maker Himself!”

  Raine just gazed at her, knowing the cycle of her moods, expecting more.

  Alshiba sank forehead into hands. “Sometimes,” she whispered, “sometimes I feel so inept here. All the politicking, the insidious whispering.” She lifted eyes to meet his, already ashamed of her next confession. “The horror of it is, Raine…I find myself wishing that Björn was here—even after so many long years…even after his betrayal. He handled the position so effortlessly. I spend days trying to discover a plot that, in the same amount of time, Björn would have entirely unraveled such that it fell to pieces long before it affected Alorin.”

  “He was bred for this game, Alshiba,” Raine reminded her gently, “birthed into the Prime House of Agasan, for the sake of the Creator. Is there any family more conniving?” Shaking his head, he turned and gazed out at the azure swells of Illume Belliel’s great ocean, sipping his tea in silence.

  She watched him brooding and knew that whatever news he avoided discussing, it was only to spare her pain. She’d never known a man so compassionate as Raine d’Lacourte. He was considerate to a fault. “Are you ready to tell me what you found in Calgaryn?”

  He glanced at her briefly, but his gaze was troubled. “You won’t like it.”

  “I gathered that much already.”

  He looked back to her, and his gaze beca
me intensely troubled. “I saw evidence at Calgaryn that would indicate…” he shook his head, lips pursed. “I daren’t even speak it, lest my fears prove correct.”

  She reached lean fingers to touch his hand, gaining his eye. “We made the mistake of hiding our eyes to the truth once before, brother, and look what resulted.” Refusing to believe Björn had betrayed them had ended in the slaughtering of the Mages and the deaths of thousands during the cataclysmic loss of Cair Tiern’aval. With those images as fresh in mind as the day of their making, Alshiba continued, “We must learn from our mistakes, Raine. Hiding from the truth only shames us.” When the Vestal merely gazed unhappily at her, she pressed, “What did you find in Calgaryn?”

  He exhaled a slow breath. “Someone twisted a path into Alorin, perverting the very pattern of the realm. The body I found on the scene had been devoured by deyjiin. Above the dead man, the rock of the cavern roof had dissolved, but it’s the node that troubles me most.”

  “The node at Calgaryn,” she clarified.

  “Yes, but it’s a node no longer.” He held her gaze as he spoke the terrible truth. “Now it has become a weld.”

  Alshiba caught her breath. “Who…?” she whispered. “Would—would even Dagmar have that ability?”

  “Him and him alone. Unless…”

  She nodded with understanding. These were bitter facts indeed, for only two choices remained to them: either to believe that Björn himself had become twisted by the deadly forces of T’khendar, as ravaged now by madness as Malachai, or that mythical creatures had appeared in their realm. She wasn’t sure which choice was worse, but she was certain which one was more likely.

  Oh, Björn, what have you done?

  She looked back to Raine feeling threadbare. For all her sermonizing, there were still truths which she wouldn’t admit even to herself. “We have to find him, Raine.”

  Raine barked a cynical laugh. He flung a hand toward the sea. “You might as well say we have to stop the sun from rising, Alshiba.”

  She gave him a long look, wishing she had the wherewithal to argue the matter with him. When will you stop acting the fool? she scolded herself. Björn never loved you, yet you remain true to him. When will you believe yourself as capable as he believed you? When will you stand up to him and declare that you can outwit him, that no man shall ever again have the better of you?

  But she knew that day was not this one.

  Alshiba stood and walked to the railing, resting her hands on the smooth baluster as she gazed out over the blue-green sea. It was easy to forget her home in Alorin after so many years in the pristine cityworld. Illume Belliel was a carefully cultivated utopia that felt false in all the important ways.

  She hated feeling so disconnected from Alorin; she hated how long it had been since she’d laid hands on a man to heal him. And she hated Björn—for his freedom, for his utter unwillingness to conform to any man’s rules but his own. Most of all, she hated him for his ability to so completely sever himself emotionally from everything he held dear.

  Mustering her resolve, she turned to Raine. “I do not envy you your task, my brother, but you must find him and discover the truth. If he is behind these crimes, he must atone for them.”

  “Seven hells, Alshiba,” Raine growled. “I haven’t even discovered how he’s traveling between the realms! The Ways to T’khendar are so twisted, I can’t believe even Dagmar could navigate them. So how in Tiern’aval is Björn traveling back and forth?”

  She shook her head.

  Obviously frustrated, Raine took pains to gather his composure. “You’re right, of course,” he admitted after a moment, lifting his sincere gaze back to meet hers. “We are shamed by our own fear if we believe ourselves already defeated. Knowing the power of our enemy only gives us an advantage.”

  Alshiba smiled her relief, infinitely grateful for Raine’s strength of character.

  “I will do everything within my power to track him down,” he promised then. “He’s in the Cairs, that much I know.”

  “It’s a start,” she agreed.

  The Fourth Vestal smiled crookedly. “You remember Björn’s favorite saying?”

  “How could I forget?” she answered dryly, quoting then, “The only way to discover the limits of the possible is to go beyond them into the impossible.” She frowned at him, understanding his implication in broaching the subject. “Perhaps it is an impossible task I’ve given you, but who else will stand up to him if not us?”

  Raine gave her a wan smile. “Yes,” he agreed. “Who else?” He stood then and bowed low from the waist, a polished, elegant gesture. Straightening, he pressed fingers to his lips.“I bid you adieu, sister. I go now to begin my traverse into the impossible.”

  “Epiphany’s blessing on your quest,” she replied as she watched him go, praying he would somehow achieve the unachievable. What she did not say was, For without Her Graces, we don’t stand a chance.

  Twenty-five

  ‘Wherein doth honor best reside: in generosity, self-sacrifice, or in the strength of one’s own conviction?’

  – Istalar, a Basi holy man

  Trell’s fourth day on the road to Sakkalaah dawned cold and damp, a sure sign that they neared the Cry. He was up with the first paling in the eastern sky, opening his eyes even before first light, a long-ingrained habit. He roused Kamil, and together they rode out to the edge of the ridge where the earth fell away into the canyon lands. Banded rock rose in irregular patterns, a labyrinth of passes and valleys and ravines that dead-ended unexpectedly; and throughout, the Cry wound like a twisting snake in and out of view, its waters churning charcoal in the early light. It was the northern rim of the Haden Gorge, and the beginning of their trouble.

  From their high vantage, Trell and Kamil mapped their intended route. The trail followed the Cry most of the way to Sakkalaah, but Trell had a bad feeling about it, and he wanted to keep to the higher passes whenever possible. Kamil and Sayid had traveled that part of the Gorge several times, and Kamil pointed out several ravines—little more than shadows near the horizon—where bandits were known to attack.

  That was the trouble with bandits, however; they were never where you expected them to be.

  The company breakfasted on dried dates and figs, nut cakes, olives, small white onions and hard goat’s cheese. It was desert fare, but the ladies didn’t complain. Trell was grateful for that, and for the way the women helped to set up camp each night and break it down each morning.

  Even with the women’s help, however, the day was fully upon them before the company started the long descent into the canyon, once again with Kamil and Sayid in the lead. They made the Cry by mid-morning, and Kamil turned them ever west, following downstream.

  Trell was uniquely aware of both sisters as they rode, but especially of Fhionna. The willowy Wildling had captured his attention, and Trell found his gaze straying her way more often than he would’ve liked. All three women had abandoned the burkhas they’d donned for the Bashir’Khazaaz, and that day they wore layered silk desert gowns the color of flax, earth and sky. While the diminutive Lily was lovely with her dark hair wound in a twisting braid, she was too young to appeal to Trell. The sisters however, had taken root in his consciousness, and he had difficulty getting them out of his thoughts.

  That day Fhionna wore her honey-brown hair unbound beneath a woven circlet of seed pearls, while Aishlinn’s blond tresses were braided loosely and tied through with ribbons the color of fire. These differences in styling were subtle reminders of the variance in their ages, though Trell was hard-pressed to place even Fhionna’s above his own. He was not so foolish as to hazard a guess, however. Even were Fhionna not a Wildling and likely older than he thought, he’d never yet met a woman that took pleasure in revealing her true age.

  There was little talk, for the gorge made a channel for the wind, which gusted erratically, whipping the churning charcoal waters into icy spray and stealing away voices to be heard miles downwind. Dark clouds blew overhead,
threatening more rain. The weather seemed as inhospitable as the river, which was the deepest on the continent and at most times the widest. The Cry could not be crossed without ferry or bridge, for its hunger was insatiable, and its waters were swift to claim any who strayed too deeply.

  Trell was watching the churning water and thinking about Graeme when anxious whispering from the women caught his attention. He turned over his shoulder and peered at them as they rode. “Care to share your thoughts, ladies?”

  They all looked to him at once, like a nest of startled birds.

  “We must tell him,” Lily insisted.

  Her urgent plea notwithstanding, it was the obstinate looks the other two wore that made Trell uneasy. He whistled to Kamil, who was closest to him, and signaled the need to stop. While Kamil flagged down Sayid, Trell reined in Gendaia and pulled around next to the women. “Tell me what?”

  Fhionna’s expression became grave as she turned her gaze to Trell. “We should not go any further down this trail, Trell of the Tides. It isn’t safe.”

  Trell eyed her with growing suspicion. “How do you know this?”

  The sisters exchanged a look, and Aishlinn shook her head emphatically no, her gaze angry.

  Trell looked to each of them, but they’d become strangely mute. “Very well,” he decided, spinning Gendaia in a tight circle. He dismounted and handed off his reins to Kamil. “We stay here until someone starts talking.”

  “But—” Lily protested.

  He turned her an inquiring look.

  She pressed her lips together and stared stubbornly at him.

  As the others collected, Trell made a routine inspection of their packs and horses and ignored the women completely, especially the distractingly beautiful Fhionna. He’d completed his inspection and was crouched over a dirt map conferring with the Khurds when she approached.