Shadow War

by Deborah Chester

  If only there was something to distract her. But there came no cheering from the silent ranks of the cavalry and foot soldiers lined up at attention. They did not move. They did not salute. They did not shout her name. All she could hear was the ominous beating of the drums and the rapid thump of her own heartbeat. It was alarming, this great silence.

  Then, with a slight bump, her litter stopped and was lowered to the ground. She heard stamping and the thud of fists against armored chests in salute.

  Hastily Elandra secured her veil just as the curtains of the litter parted.

  A very stern officer wearing armor polished to a blinding sheen reached in and took her hand to assist her out. Still holding her hand in a ceremonial clasp, he led her up a crimson strip of carpet laid over the steps of the small temple. A man in the black mask of an executioner followed them with an axe.

  On either side of the crimson carpet stood an unmoving line of veiled women robed in black. Each woman held a burning candle in her hands. Seeing this, Elandra shivered.

  Once before she had entered the Penestrican stronghold between rows of women holding candles. That time, she had been attacked by a Maelite witch and blinded. It had been weeks before she regained her sight, and then she had been told her true destiny.

  With a sinking feeling, Elandra could not help wondering if yet more surprises awaited her inside this small, shabby temple.

  It was the ancient Penestrican temple, a place closed and deconsecrated centuries before during the purge. The Vindicants had wanted it torn down, but Kostimon refused because Fauvina’s remains were buried there.

  At the top of the steps, Elandra’s escort halted before the small, plain altar fashioned of stone. A wreath of flowers lay on it, along with a clod of earth and a simple clay vessel of water. The sisters began to chant, and with deep bows both the officer and the executioner backed away, moving down the steps with care.

  Elandra was left alone.

  She stood facing the altar, gripping her cloak to her throat with both hands to conceal their trembling.

  The chanting grew louder. It was an elemental, primitive sound that sent shivers up her spine.

  Beyond the altar hung a curtain the color of the sky. It was drawn open by an unseen hand.

  Dry-mouthed, Elandra walked around the altar and ducked beneath the fold of curtain. She passed into the gloom beyond.

  She found herself in a tiny room, very dark after the daylight outside. Candles burned in numerous niches around the walls. The air was dry, musty, and cold, overlaid with incense.

  Before her a hole yawned in the floor. Steps of crumbling stone led down into a shadowy unknown. Removing her veil, Elandra pushed back the fur-lined hood of her cloak and gathered up her long skirts. Slowly and cautiously she descended the steps, her hem dragging behind her with a soft rustle.

  Candles burned at the foot of the steps. Thus, she descended into light, blinking as the illumination grew stronger.

  At the bottom of the steps, she found herself in a circular chamber lined with stone. The tamped earthen floor was decorated with a five-sided star drawn with red sand. The serpent box stood in the center of the star, its lid firmly closed.

  The chamber was very warm, although she saw no fires burning. Only the candle flames, flickering steadily, reflected in the somber eyes of the sisterhood gathered around her.

  Elandra swallowed, but her mouth remained dry. The silence was daunting, and she lacked instructions in how to proceed. Yet the time she had spent with the Penestricans had taught her to exhibit patience and calm in the face of uncertainty. She tried to do so now, waiting without speaking or moving, gazing back at this group of impassive women with an assurance she did not feel.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the women parted before her to reveal a doorway. Elandra walked toward it.

  When she stepped through, she found herself in total darkness. Startled, she turned around, but it was as though a door had been closed behind her. She had heard nothing, but she could not retreat. Nor could she go forward. When she turned about again, she bumped into a wall. She was enclosed in a tiny cylindrical prison that was barely big enough for her to turn around in, nothing more.

  The darkness was the most frightening aspect. She tried to stay calm and not panic. She did not want to be blind again. It was cruel of them to do this to her, knowing what had happened to her in the past. They could have at least given her a candle to hold for illumination and comfort.

  But already she guessed that comfort was hardly a factor in what was about to befall her.

  The floor moved beneath her. To her surprise, she realized she was being lowered yet deeper into the bowels of the earth. By what means she did not understand, but when she stretched out her hands to the walls she could feel them scraping against her gloves as she went down.

  Then her progress stopped with an abruptness that made her stagger. Without warning, she was flooded with light.

  Dazzled by it, she shielded her eyes with her hands and came stumbling out into a sand pit.

  It was very hot, so hot her clothes were suddenly stifling her. The sand burned through the thin soles of her slippers, making it difficult to stand still.

  She hurried across the sand to the other side, and went up three shallow steps to a stone landing.

  This chamber lay in a natural cavern of rough walls and a ceiling hung with strange formations of translucent stone. On the far side a niche had been carved high in the wall for the goddess.

  “Elandra,” said a woman’s voice.

  Elandra turned and saw Anas walking toward her.

  The deputy had not changed in the past year. Slim and straight, her long hair hanging unbound down her back, she approached Elandra with her hands outstretched in welcome.

  They clasped hands quickly, then stood apart.

  “The Magria is well?” Elandra asked.

  “She is well,” Anas replied.

  “And you?”

  A remote glimmer of a smile touched Anas’s lips for a moment. “I also am well.”

  “My sister?”

  Anas shook her head. “Bixia left us. She was ... unwilling to accept our training.”

  Old guilt rose in Elandra. She knew she was not to blame, yet she still felt responsible for having ruined Bixia’s hopes. Her half-sister had been raised from the cradle to think herself betrothed to the emperor, yet destiny had decreed that Elandra should marry him instead.

  “Where has she gone? Back to Gialta?”

  “No. We do not know.”

  Elandra bit her lip. “She cannot wander the countryside. What will befall her? Someone must inform my father—”

  “Lord Albain knows,” Anas said coldly.

  “But—”

  “Our purpose today is not to discuss your sister, but you.”

  “She needs help,” Elandra said stubbornly.

  “If she has gone to the Maelites, we cannot help her.”

  The rebuke was as harsh as a slap. Elandra frowned and fell silent, while inside she wanted to cry out denials. Bixia couldn’t be foolish enough to go into that darkness. To follow Mael was an unthinkable blasphemy against all that was of the light and good. Yet Aunt Hecati had been a Maelite witch, skilled enough to conceal her evilness from all the safeguards in the Albain palace for years. It made sense that Bixia would return to the woman who had raised her. Still, Elandra hated to think it.

  “Come,” Anas said, with that sharpness still in her voice. “Put your mind on the future, not on the past. There is much to do.”

  She turned and went back the way she had come. Elandra followed her in silence.

  Anas took her through a short passageway into another chamber. A small, round dais stood in the center. Elandra was told to stand on it.

  As soon as she complied, Anas left her. Five women entered the chamber and began to undress Elandra, beginning with her gloves and fur-lined cloak.

  The paper Miles had given her fell from her right glove and drifted
to the floor.

  One of the women paused and picked it up.

  “Forgive me,” Elandra said, embarrassed. “I forgot that was there. Put it back in my glove, please, and I’ll—”

  But the woman holding the paper suddenly hissed as though in pain and dropped it. The candles lighting the room guttered, and several went out.

  Looking alarmed, the sisters backed up rapidly. “Anas!” one cried.

  The deputy came running into the chamber just as the paper on the floor burst into flames.

  Yet it was no ordinary fire, for the flames were a sickly green and emitted a strange odor.

  Inhaling made Elandra feel dizzy and faint.

  “Protect her!” Anas commanded.

  Two of the women ran to Elandra and pulled her off the dais away from the weird fire. She wanted to cooperate, but her legs felt spongy and strange. She stumbled and fell to her knees. She felt horrible, so sick she thought she might vomit.

  Anas grabbed a candle from its wall niche and hurled it at the green fire. Golden flames burst against green. For an instant both blazed high; then the golden flames were gone and only the unearthly fire remained, larger than ever. Ugly green smoke spewed from it, filling the chamber.

  Coughing, Elandra tried to get to her feet. She must not breathe this. None of them must breathe this. Across the room she thought she saw fear in Anas’s face. All the sisters were shouting. More came, some of them carrying staffs that glowed with a nimbus of yellow light. These women struck at the green flames with the staffs, but the fire seemed to grow stronger from everything used to fight it.

  “Silence!” commanded a voice above the commotion. “Trust in the mother. Do not feed evil with your fears.”

  The Magria appeared in their midst, naked and grim. Her gray tresses hung unbound down her back, and the terrible mutilation scars looked old and white on her skin. She was carrying a basin of dirt, and her face looked as bleak as death.

  The fire blazed very high as she approached it, belching the evil, poisonous smoke more than ever.

  Coughing and gasping, the sisters backed away. One of them fainted. Elandra herself lay flat on the ground, pressing her face to it in an effort to breathe air as yet untainted.

  Undaunted, the Magria dumped the basin of dirt on the fire, shouting an ancient word that jolted through Elandra although she did not understand its meaning.

  The fire died, and the green smoke vanished except for a few lingering wisps.

  For a moment there was only the sound of coughing and retching. The Magria glared at all of them, especially Anas.

  “Bring the serpents,” she commanded. “Let them finish cleaning this chamber. Search for any other traps that may await us. Use earth, not fire in this place. None of you are novices, to fall for such obvious tricks!” Her glare raked all of them. “You and you, bring the girl to me as soon as she is able. Anas, I will speak to you now.”

  She turned and strode out. Anas, wearing an unreadable expression, hurried after her. The others exchanged glances of shame and embarrassment. Most faded away until only the two assigned to care for Elandra remained with her.

  “Can you breathe better now?” One of them asked. She had a soft, kindly face. “Are you able to stand?”

  Still nauseated, Elandra shook her head. Her eyes were streaming, and her throat burned from the smoke she had swallowed. She wanted to crawl into a corner and die.

  Probably that was what someone had wanted her to do.

  Her near escape had shaken her badly. Here among the Penestricans she had always felt safe.

  They brought her water, which she didn’t want, but it made her feel much better and soothed her upset stomach. After a few minutes she could sit up. By the time the snakes were brought in, she was able to stand unsteadily.

  Flanking her on either side, the two sisters supported her from the chamber and took her to a room fitted with a chair, a table, and a cot. A scroll-box stood opened on the floor beside a small chest of cedar wood.

  The Magria sat there with a fearsome expression. Anas stood near her, looking tense and unhappy.

  They brought a stool for Elandra, who sat down feeling as though she was made of glass.

  “This will be explained,” the Magria said in a voice like iron. She turned her formidable gaze on Elandra. “You said the paper was yours. You brought it here deliberately concealed in your glove.”

  Elandra stared at her in surprise. Was she being accused? Indignation replaced her astonishment. “How can you—”

  “Silence!”

  Elandra cut off her sentence abruptly.

  The Magria leaned forward. “You said it was yours. You told the sister to replace it in your glove.”

  There was menace in this room, combined with considerable anger. Elandra fought back her sense of injustice and struggled to present what she knew in a matter-of-fact voice. If she let herself get too emotional, they would truly think her guilty.

  “I thought the paper was the oath I must learn for tomorrow,” she said in a quiet, controlled voice. Her hands were shaking in her lap. She curled them into fists. “It was given me as I set out. I was supposed to study it in my litter, but I didn’t bother.”

  As she spoke, a horrified corner of her mind was refusing to believe her tutor Miles could have done such a thing. She had always liked him, trusted him. Why should he want to harm her?

  “Who gave you this paper?” the Magria asked.

  “A man named Miles Milgard. He is my political tutor.”

  “You trust this man?”

  Elandra’s eyes filled with tears. She fought to hold them back. “Yes. I—I thought I did. Was I meant to die?”

  “Yes. The smoke could have killed you. Had you been closer to it, you would be gravely ill now. Had you handled it in your litter, you would be dead.”

  Elandra felt icy cold. She shivered, hugging herself. “Why would he do this to me? I cannot believe he would turn against me.”

  “The Vindicants have many ways of turning people. How well do you know him?”

  Elandra frowned, struggling to concentrate. She must be objective, she told herself. She must put aside her memories of this man, must put aside her emotions. “I have spent an hour with him daily for nearly a year,” she replied slowly. “I have found him patient, a good teacher, always kind, and considerate. He is from good family, if undistinguished. He has spent his life earning a living from teaching.”

  “Perhaps he did not know,” Anas said slowly. “Perhaps he was used as a tool.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps.” The Magria brought her fist down on the arm of her chair. “This was a serious attack. Whoever lay behind it is desperate enough to risk using magic openly. Now, girl. It would seem you have more resourceful enemies than we thought.”

  Elandra stared at her. “Who else?”

  “Don’t be a fool! Anyone with a stake at getting the throne for themselves. The prince. The Vindicants. The Maelites. The Madruns. Choose one or several. There could be more.” She scowled. “You were to marry and bear children. You were not intended to be at the center of a political storm.”

  “It was Kostimon’s decision,” Elandra said defensively. “He told me he consulted with you and—”

  “Hah! A lie!” the Magria said with a fierceness that silenced Elandra. “He would rather cut off his right hand than consult with me on anything.” She shook her head. “The visions did not show your sovereignty. None of them showed this. Has he learned to confound not only the augurs, but me?”

  “Excellency,” Anas began, but was gestured to be silent.

  “It is foolish to disregard Kostimon. He has more resources than we,” the Magria said as though to herself. “He did this for a purpose. Perhaps he has more than one strategy in mind.”

  “His time must be drawing near,” Elandra said. “The ruby throne has broken.”

  She did not know why she blurted out what the emperor had decreed must be kept secret. It seemed to come of its own accord. Besi
des, she trusted these women more than she trusted anyone else. She needed their help.

  Neither Anas nor the Magria seemed surprised.

  “It’s a terrible omen,” Elandra said.

  They nodded without concern.

  “He was furious and a little frightened,” Elandra continued. She looked at them in growing puzzlement. “I do not think he will crown me as more than a consort now.”

  That got their attention.

  A cool, unreadable smile appeared on Anas’s face. “What brings you to that conclusion? Did you have something to do with the throne breaking?”

  Upset, Elandra started to deny it; then her sentence died in her throat. She looked at them in suspicion. “No,” she said, “but you did. Yes! You did, didn’t you? How—”

  “Hush,” the Magria said quietly. “The breaking of the throne was foretold at least a century ago. It can hardly be a surprise to him now.”

  “I don’t understand,” Elandra said.

  “You are not meant to,” Anas told her coldly.

  Elandra’s temper flared. She stood up, facing them both. “If I am to be empress, then I cannot be ignored and I will not be toyed with. I am not your puppet, Anas, to be manipulated as you please. You did not foresee me as having any true power, but if the throne comes to me by the will of Kostimon, then you must deal with me as you have dealt with him. With respect.”

  Anas stared at her with widened eyes.

  The Magria smiled. “Well spoken, girl. You are growing up a little.”

  Angered by this patronizing remark, Elandra turned on her, but the Magria raised her hand.

  “Careful,” she said in soft warning. “Your rebuke was well delivered, but do not go too far. There is much to sort through, and in the meantime you have not begun your purification. If you feel recovered, I suggest you commence.”

  Elandra frowned. “We are to continue, as though nothing happened? Is the emperor not to be informed? There must be an investigation.”

  “I prefer my own investigation,” the Magria said. “And, no, I do not think the emperor should be informed. Not yet.”