01 - The Compass Rose

by Gail Dayton

  He nodded once, refusing to look at her.

  “I’m sorry, Stone. I truly am sorry for your loss.” Especially since she was the one who’d caused it.

  Stone remained silent another moment, then seemed to give himself a mental shake. “He was a warrior. We knew it would happen sooner or later to one of us.” He looked at her and hefted their clasped hands. “What now?”

  But the way he had died wasn’t a warrior’s death. “You shouldn’t be afraid to talk about him. He was your friend and you loved him. Remembering honors his memory.”

  This time Stone managed to twist his hand free. “Don’t tell me how to mourn my brodir,” he snarled. “You keep me bound close with witchery and flaunt my status with pretty jewelry that’s nothing more than dressed-up shackles. You crawl inside my mind and make me want you so I can think of nothing but the pleasure we have together. You own my food, my clothing—There is nothing I have, not even myself, that you do not possess, except this. It is mine and mine alone and I will not share it. Do you understand me? I will not share.”

  He stood in the center of the courtyard, magnificent in his anger, his eyes wild, nostrils flaring, mouth set. Kallista saluted him with her fist over her heart and bowed. When she rose, she saw Torchay beyond Stone’s shoulder, hesitating in the open doorway, and she sent him away with a look.

  “My apologies,” she said, “for intruding.” She considered saying more, that she’d forgotten he was Tibran, forgotten his status, but decided he wouldn’t appreciate it at this moment.

  He nodded once, brusquely, accepting her apology.

  “Do you wish to be finished for today?” She had learned virtually nothing so far this morning, but if Stone could not face more…

  He shook his head. “No. I can take it, if you can.” The sly grin on his face startled her. He could smile again already? “Just warn me before you set any more lightning off.” Stone held his hand out to her, the challenge in his eyes this time.

  Kallista had to smile. “Torchay does not forgive so easily.”

  “Torchay cares more. You were partners first.” He grinned again, wickedness in it. “Besides, who says I have forgiven?”

  She laughed outright at that. She was still smiling when she gathered her concentration and slid her hand into his.

  The magic was there and awake, but calmer. More willing to listen and—perhaps—obey. When nothing untoward happened for a moment or two, Stone began to relax and the magic calmed more.

  “Good,” Kallista murmured. “That’s good.”

  “What is?” His tension ratcheted up again, the magic with it.

  “No, relax. Can you feel it?”

  “I feel your hand in mine.”

  “That’s all?” She lifted her free hand, wanting to take both his hands but afraid of what might result if the circle closed.

  “I…don’t know. It’s not like the other times, when you ran the magic through me.”

  “That was the magic on its own, running through both of us.” Kallista’s mouth twisted. “I had no control over it. It was controlling me. Controlling us. That’s why we’re here now, to learn to do something a bit more useful with it, and I hope, how to make it behave.”

  Stone gave her another of his mischievous grins. “I wouldn’t object if you let it run through me every now and again.”

  Kallista shook her head, smiling in spite of herself. “You are a wicked man.” She flexed her free hand, trying to decide on a next step. “It does feel good, doesn’t it?”

  “My one compensation.” But he still smiled as he said it.

  “Let me try something. Tell me what you can sense.” Kallista called a thread of magic from him.

  It shot out so quickly she almost didn’t catch it. She raised her right hand, willing the sparks to dance, but the magic felt skittish, hard to shape. She let it slide back into Stone, her fingers tingling again. She rubbed them against each other. “What did you feel?”

  “Did you do something?”

  “Very little.” She pulled her left hand free of his. “I want to try something else.”

  Kallista strode a few paces from him, motioning him back when he would have moved with her. She stopped at the farthest point she could get from him, opened herself and called the lightning.

  A tiny spark crackled blue from her fingertip. She set it dancing from one finger to the next, laughing out loud when it obeyed. She called a spark to her other hand and bade them pirouette in unison. She brought her hands toward each other in front of her and the sparks leaped the gap, crackling as they joined forces, stretching bright and blue between her ten fingers.

  She gathered the lightning into one hand, compressing it into a compact spark, then threw it to the other hand. Back and forth she tossed it, from hand to hand, letting it build in power until it was a blazing, spitting ball larger than her head. Finally she caught and held it, feeling her unbound hair stand out straight from her head with its force. Then bit by bit, she let it bleed safely away into the ground below her feet until all that remained was a single, tiny spark on the tip of her right forefinger. With a flip of her hand, she extinguished it and let the satisfaction fill her up.

  The sound of hands clapping brought her attention back to Stone. “I stand in awe,” he said, walking toward her, still applauding. “If you can do all that, why do you need me?”

  “That’s what we must discover.” Kallista sought words to explain what she had just learned. “The magic you carry—I can’t do with it what I just did. It—if I must, I can force it into lightning, but I could never—”

  “Make it dance?”

  “Yes, exactly.” She reached for his hand, asking silent permission with her eyes before she touched. Stone gave it by taking her hand in his. “This magic of yours is shaped for something else.”

  He grinned and raised a salacious eyebrow.

  Kallista felt the blush burn. “I doubt that is its only purpose,” she scolded. Or tried to. Stone seemed impervious to scolding.

  “What other things can you do with magic?”

  She blew out a breath. “Once I would have said nothing, but now…”

  Stone raised the other eyebrow, inquiring.

  “Now, I am afraid of what I might do.”

  “That’s probably a good thing.” He tightened his grip on her hand, their palms beginning to sweat where they touched. “At least you’ll proceed with care.”

  Could she call that dark scythe again? Dark veil, Belandra had called it. Kallista could see Torchay and Aisse dimly through the window, reflected in the mirrors on the far side of the room. Torchay had survived the magic the first time she’d called it, but had Aisse? Or had she simply been out of range?

  Kallista was beginning to like the little Tibran, beyond the pity she’d originally felt. And she was ilias now. Kallista didn’t want to risk hurting any of them. She would wait for another time, when she and Stone were alone, to risk calling the dark magic.

  What else could she do? She could see things far off, things that hadn’t yet happened. She could talk to Belandra a thousand years dead. Could she talk to other ghosts?

  She pulled another small thread of magic from Stone. He gasped.

  “I felt that. Like your hand inside me.” He stroked the back of her hand down his cheek. “A touch no more than that. What did you do?”

  “I drew out a bit of magic. I’m going to—” Did she want him to know she talked to ghosts? Would it disturb him more than the magic alone already did? “Try something,” she ended.

  “What?” His breath came a bit quicker and his grip tightened.

  She had better tell him. Not knowing made him nervous. Knowing might make him more so, but he wouldn’t like being kept in ignorance. She understood that much about the man. “To call a ghost,” she said. “I can talk to one ghost. I thought I’d see whether I could call others.”

  “What earthly use could that be?”

  “I don’t know. I won’t until I try. Be still.”<
br />
  Stone went absolutely motionless.

  The magic seemed a bit easier to shape this time, though it jumped about like quicksilver, leaking through her control before she could grasp it all. Finally she caught hold of what she could and sent it questing for ghosts.

  For a long moment nothing happened. Or nothing she could see. Then a flickering of pale mist blocked the sun’s light. Kallista shivered at a sudden chill. A man rushed through the solid stone wall, stark fear in his face. “My children,” he said. “Have you seen my children? Four of them. They went climbing today, but they should be back—”

  Kallista’s entire body went cold. The Searching Father had been a story told for years, how he wandered Arikon in search of his missing children after he fell to his death trying to reach them where they were trapped on the cliffs below the city.

  More mist floated through the courtyard, some thick enough for faces to appear, or arms, hands grasping. Screams shivered in the air, cries for mercy, for aid, for justice. Just how many ghosts had she raised?

  “Here now!” A plump prelate bustled into the courtyard. “What do you think you’re doing? I’ve only just got him settled and here you go stirring him up again!”

  “I’m sorry—stirring who? Who are you?”

  “Per Ostra, of course. Who did you think I meant? He’s only been bashing everything in the palace for the last two hundred years.”

  Kallista frowned. “Who? I am sorry, Mother Per, but I—”

  “I’m not Per, you idiot. I’m Domnia Varyl. I’ve been trying to lay the man for—”

  “Grandmother.” Kallista bowed low, trying to hide her shock. Domnia Varyl was the many-times-great-grandmother who’d founded the Varyl line some twelve generations back.

  “Grand—” The ghost stopped in her tirade to peer at Kallista. “I don’t know you.”

  “No, Grandmother. I am Kallista Varyl, daughter of Irysta Varyl who is the daughter of Sinda Varyl, the daughter of—” She recited her grandmothers as she had learned them in childhood, the blood of her line, ending with “—Domnia Varyl who ruled the Mother Temple in Arikon.”

  “Oh my.” The ghost fluttered her hands. “Has it been so long? My child—” She beamed at Kallista in a way that might have been maternal.

  “My ilias, Stone.” She presented him and he bowed, without taking his eyes off Domnia.

  “Ah, newlyweds. How nice. Congratulations.”

  Kallista thought to ask how she knew, but a violent crash sounded as all the windows surrounding the courtyard exploded into a glitter of shards. Kallista snatched magic from Stone and threw it outward in a frantic attempt to catch the glass before it impaled either of them. The magic eluded perfect control, flaring and sliding in all directions, but it stopped the biggest shards, grinding them into a sharp dust that rained down on them.

  “Are you all right?” Kallista shouted, dragging Stone with her as she ran toward the now-windowless room where Torchay and Aisse had been working.

  “Are you?” Torchay caught her in a hug, then shoved her back to arm’s length to inspect her for damage. He brushed at the glass dust coating her face and scraped off a layer of skin.

  “Careful, it’s glass.” She pulled out of reach, spitting out more glass.

  “What happened?” Torchay pulled Aisse from behind him into the circle. “You’ve never done that with windows before.”

  “That was Per Ostra,” Domnia the ghost announced. “You raised him, now you have to lay him again.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “How do I do that?” Kallista demanded.

  Torchay took a step backward. “Belandra? But Hopeday hasn’t passed again.”

  “Not Belandra. My twelve-times-great-grandmother.” Kallista introduced her iliasti to her grandmother’s ghost, even if they couldn’t see her.

  “If you don’t know how to lay him, what are you doing raising him?” Domnia demanded. “Don’t you know better than to be mucking about with magic you don’t understand?”

  “I’m trying to learn,” Kallista retorted.

  “Without a teacher? You’re more a fool than I thought.”

  “Who is there to teach me? There’s not been a godstruck naitan in a thousand years. She can only answer six questions at a time. I scarcely learn anything and she’s gone.”

  “The godmarked are a myth.” Domnia’s mouth turned down in semitransparent scorn.

  Stone gave a short bark of laughter. “Is this a myth?” He lifted his flyaway hair and bowed his neck. “Is the magic I carry inside me a myth?”

  When he straightened, Torchay leaned close and muttered, “You can see her?”

  “You can’t?” Stone’s glance showed his increasing unease.

  Kallista squeezed his hand, hoping he would find it reassuring. “Just tell me how to lay this ghost, the one who broke the windows. I’ll deal with the rest of them later.”

  “The trick isn’t so much laying him as it is finding him,” Domnia said. “He’s wicked fast and he’s angry. Give me a weeping ghost anytime over one who feels his grief as anger. Per Ostra’s lover was killed in battle during the pacification of the northern coast. He was brought to Arikon to be married di pentivas because he was a handsome man. The night of the wedding, he killed his ilias and himself, and he’s been taking out his anger on Arikon’s palace ever since.”

  “Until you laid him to rest,” Kallista said.

  “Well, yes, I suppose.” Domnia’s satisfaction was short-lived. “Until you woke him again.” She folded her arms across her ample chest. “I suppose I’ll have to wait here for months while you find him.”

  Stone shivered as Kallista scooped a bit of magic from him. “Did you feel it when I blocked the glass?” she asked.

  “Yes. What are you doing now?”

  “Hunting a ghost.” She tacked a name onto the summons, fighting to keep hold of the slippery magic, and sent it out, willing it to return with the missing Per Ostra. It spun out into the distance, connected to her by a thin filament she struggled to maintain. Distantly, she felt it strike, sweeping the raging ghost back toward her.

  “All right,” she said, her attention focused on the poorly controlled magic. “I’ve found him. He’s on his way back here.”

  “How—” Domnia shook her head. “Never mind that. You’ve done it. To lay him, you must soothe his anger. He must want to sleep. Remind him that his lover waits. They will be reunited in the arms of the One. A little push in that direction won’t hurt.”

  The ghost of Per Ostra was little more than pulsing, formless rage when she reeled it in. Kallista pulled more magic from Stone to control it, but thought she might be having more trouble controlling the magic than the ghost. They both had their own ideas about what they wished to do.

  Eventually the ghost took on shape as the anger faded, becoming more like the man it once was, and Kallista was able to use persuasion. By the time he dissolved completely away, she was bathed in sweat, her muscles quivering with exhaustion, and she sagged against a hard male body. Torchay’s, she discovered when she looked. Stone didn’t appear in too much better shape than she was.

  “We are finished for today,” Torchay said firmly, encircling her waist with an arm. He took Stone’s arm to provide support and after a second’s hesitation, Aisse let Stone drape his other arm across her shoulders. They made a disreputable-looking crew as they trudged back through two palaces to their suite.

  Lieutenant Suteny came out of his office chamber as they approached, and Kallista dragged the others to a halt.

  “Lieutenant.” She summoned enough energy to return his salute. “You might see that someone is sent to sweep up glass from our practice yard. But don’t bother having the windows replaced just yet. In case.”

  He inclined his head and saluted again, suspiciously blank-faced. “Naitan.”

  She was too tired to worry about the lieutenant now. Kallista let Torchay propel her on into the suite.

  “Baths.” Aisse turned back at the
door. “Send servant for baths.”

  Over the next several weeks, Kallista struggled to master Stone’s magic. It defied her control, slipping through the tiniest cracks to go racketing around inside her until she thought she would either scream, or take Stone up against the courtyard wall like some bitch in heat. The paving wasn’t safe. Shattered glass still lay all over the flagstones.

  Joh assured her that he had given the message to have it cleared, but it had obviously got lost somewhere in channels. Just as well. The glass gave Kallista something to practice her magic on.

  Torchay would leave Aisse with her exercises and come through the window to toss glass at Kallista for her to deflect. Sometimes she could stop and hold it in midair for brief moments. Sometimes she could only bat it away. Sometimes the best she could do was shatter it into mostly harmless bits. But she’d never been able to do any sort of defensive magic before.

  She was better at defending Stone than herself—she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because he held the magic. Or perhaps simply because he was her ilias and that was what one did. Kallista had small cuts all over her right hand and arm from the bits that got through. Stone got one on his shoulder the first day, and none thereafter.

  Ghosts kept appearing and following Kallista through the palace complex, asking her questions she didn’t know the answers to. Mostly she ignored them, since no one else seemed able to see or hear them. A few she managed to soothe and lay to rest. Her however-many-times-great-grandmother wasn’t one of them.

  Domnia always appeared at the least convenient moments. Save for that, Kallista didn’t mind her presence so much. Domnia knew a great deal about ghosts and visions and didn’t mind imparting her knowledge to her descendant. The fact that Domnia had been a West naitan had been suppressed by some family archivist in the last several generations. No one wanted to admit having West magic in the bloodline.

  Domnia was herself horrified to hear that the West magic academy had been shuttered for almost fifty years because no child had been born with West magic in much longer than that. She spent a great deal of time pacing the palace halls muttering about imbalance and sacrilege.