The Obsidian Tower

by Melissa Caruso

  I needed a distraction. Something to pull their attention away from me long enough to make it to cover. I lifted my head, scanning the moonlight-scattered space between the columnar shadows of the trees.

  A speck of ghostly green light drifted between the branches, then vanished.

  I blinked, wondering if I’d imagined it. But it reappeared for a moment, along with another. And another. Green-gold sparks floating in the air, like stars come down to dance in the halls of the forest.

  Autumn was the wrong time of year for fireflies.

  “Oh Hells,” I breathed, as my heart kicked into a gallop.

  More and more appeared, filling the dappled air with tiny lights. The soldiers peered into the forest, some with wary gazes, others full of wonder. Part of me wanted to warn them, but I kept my lips clamped shut, frantically working my wrists against their chains.

  “They’re so beautiful,” one man sighed.

  “They could be dangerous,” a woman snapped. “Be ready for…”

  She swayed in her saddle and fell with a heavy thud to the road.

  In the same moment, the soldiers riding in the wagon with me suddenly slumped over, pistols clattering from their hands. The rest of the guards fell one by one, reaching for their weapons; one sprawled over the neck of his horse, and another landed with a loose-limbed crunch that left me wincing.

  Voreth cursed and reached for the bone staff slung across his back, but he slumped in the saddle before his fingers touched it. His horse swerved to stay under him. The other horses clattered to a confused halt, tails swishing nervously, ears flicking right and left; the wagon rumbled to a stop.

  I braced for a sting, but none came.

  A shadow dropped from a tree limb above, landing in the wagon bed in a graceful crouch. The wagon creaked and rocked under the impact. My heart seemed to miss two beats, then leaped into a sprint trying to catch up.

  Beneath a familiar pale crest of hair, two burning orange circles lifted to gaze at me.

  “Hello, Ryx.”

  I swallowed. “Hello, Grandmother.”

  “Shall I kill all these people, do you think, for daring to put my grandchild in chains?” She tipped her head, considering. “Or shall I kill half of them, and make it look as if their comrades did it to them? That could be fun.”

  Hells have mercy. We’d already gone from hello to murder. I tried to delicately shift the subject. “Are you rescuing me?”

  “Perhaps.” Her eyes narrowed. “What will you do if I let you go?”

  Run back to Gloamingard, warn them about the demon, and help destroy the gate. I couldn’t tell her that. Our bond was too deep for me to lie to her, though; she’d know immediately if I did.

  “I’d finish what I started,” I said carefully.

  My grandmother laughed. “Destroying the seal? Do you truly wish to unleash all nine of us? I personally find Carnage and Despair to be tedious, and would rather leave them in the Hells.”

  I stared at her warily, not sure what she meant.

  Or had I somehow accidentally drained the seal alone, and left the gate intact? That might explain what had happened in the Black Tower. But the seal on the stone was clearly marked, and I hadn’t touched it. If its precisely inscribed circle didn’t delineate the binding enchantment’s boundary, what did?

  Ash and ruin. Hope drained out of me like wet sand from a ripped bag.

  “The whole obelisk is the seal, isn’t it?” I whispered. “It’s not a gate at all. We were wrong.”

  My grandmother’s teeth flashed in a too-wide grin. “What mortal would be mad enough to construct a gate to the Nine Hells? There was never a gate. There was a tear, a hole. The obelisk held it shut.”

  I surged halfway to my feet, forgetting my chains; they yanked me to my knees. “I’ve got to tell the Rookery. If they destroy it—”

  “Then the passage to the Nine Hells will be thrown wide, as it was in the Dark Days.” Her mouth curved in a secret smile, her lids drooping until her eyes became burning orange slits. “That could be amusing. We didn’t know what we were doing the first time, blundering across the physical world like children learning to walk. We could accomplish so much more now.”

  It was as if the ground fell away beneath me, leaving me balanced on a knife’s edge above a dizzying abyss. It was easy enough to think My grandmother is a demon or We could unleash the Dark Days upon Eruvia once more. They were statements too big and terrible to understand, like a storm raging outside a closed window while you sat comfortably by the fire, shivering at what you saw through the glass.

  But the ancient mad gleam in her eyes was no distant storm, no fable of long ago. I was talking to one of the Nine Demons right now. And what I said to her might determine how many of the others we had to face. Every word I uttered could tip the balance between my grandmother and the demon, and save or doom thousands of lives.

  “You still want to protect Morgrain,” I said, holding her gaze. “I know you do, Grandmother.”

  “Of course. And protect it I shall, such that all the world trembles to see.” She lifted a sly finger. “But peace is boring, Ryx. Chaos is better. I’ve been keeping mostly quiet because you haven’t needed my help making things wonderfully messy. Until now.” She sighed. “Now that you’ve gotten the humans to agree and work together, I suppose I’ll have to stir things up again.”

  That didn’t sound good. Hells, every turn this conversation took stumbled into some new danger I could unleash on Eruvia by inspiring the Demon of Discord’s destructive whims.

  I licked my lips, considering my next question. This would be easier if I weren’t chained up in the back of a wagon, surrounded by unconscious enemies, with a splitting headache. “Do you know which demon came through the gate today?”

  She cocked her head. “Do you know how many demons came through the gate today?”

  A chill struck me like spilled ice water. “No.”

  “Neither do I. Though I expect we’ll both find out.” She extended a hand toward me, her expression turning sober. “Come with me, Ryx. We’ll find out together. We’re both creatures of chaos, you and I; we were never meant for peace.”

  “Come with you where?” I asked neutrally.

  “To Gloamingard. To take what is ours.” She looked up at the moon, seeming to revel in the touch of its silver light. “Or perhaps we’ll go to Alevar, and see if we can pit Exalted Severin against his brother. With a bit of help, we could make it an even match, and then the Shrike Lord will have his hands too full with an attempted coup to bother us.” She spread her arms wide, as if to embrace all the possibilities. “Or to the Serene City! We could crash all the best parties. No one would dare stop us. You could dance your partners to death in a fine silver gown, while lovely music played. Or we could call the Witch Lords to Conclave, and kill them all, and let their heirs descend into war.”

  My throat went dry as old bone. “Those options, ah, may not be as appealing as you think.”

  “Why not?” My grandmother laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You owe them nothing, Ryx. Not Vikal, not the Rookery, not the diplomats back at the castle, not the people of Morgrain. They’ve scorned you, used you, made the warding sign against you. They gave you up without protest to go to a terrible death. Forget them, and come be what you were meant to be.”

  “A monster.” My mouth twisted bitterly. “A murderer. A curse.”

  “Exactly. We’ll be monsters together. Like always.” She gave my shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Why do you think I understood you so much better than your own parents did? A Witch Lord is a monster, too.”

  “And if I say no?” I gathered my courage as best I could, with both hands bound behind my back and my heart rattling in pieces in my chest. “If I say I’d rather seal the gate, keep the peace, and protect my people—what then?”

  Shutters seemed to close in her face. “Then you’re a sentimental fool.”

  “I’ve always been a fool,” I said softly.

&nbs
p; She sighed. “Ah, Ryx. Don’t choose this. It’ll hurt so much more if you do.”

  “I can’t abandon my duty,” I insisted. “Or my friends.”

  Her hand dropped from my shoulder. She rose in a single, fluid motion. “You’ll change your mind soon enough,” she said. “You’ll have to, when he’s killing you.”

  A hollowness opened behind my breastbone. “You’re not going to just leave me here, are you?”

  “Of course not!” She laughed, but I didn’t dare feel relief. Not with that gleam in her eyes. “No, no. If you won’t come with me, I want you pushed to the edge, Ryx. I want you shattered and broken, so all your lovely jagged shards can help me cut the world into new shapes.”

  She leaned down and patted my head with tender care. “And if I just leave you here, you’ll escape,” she whispered. “You always were resourceful. I have to do more than that.”

  Panic leaped in my chest. “Wait—”

  “Good night, Ryx. And good luck.”

  A green spark flickered in the corner of my vision; something stung my temple. Consciousness jerked out from beneath me like a conjurer’s tablecloth.

  I woke to burning thirst and a world gone dead around me.

  All I could feel was the boards of the wagon beneath my cheek, the chill dawn air harsh across the parched dryness of my lips. I had no sense of trees around me or grass beneath me, no sense of birds in the pearl-hued sky or the thousand small creatures sleeping in the earth. I might as well be floating in an empty void, or buried in a stone tomb.

  I was no longer in Morgrain.

  Despair crushed down on me, driving the breath from my chest, a sharp pain jabbing my ribs.

  Except the pain was real, physical, and the wagon had stopped. What the—

  “Hit her again,” someone said.

  A sharp blow struck my side. I rolled away from it as far as the chains let me, and up to a crouch to face the soldiers peering at me from the far end of the wagon bed. One of them pulled back a musket he’d clearly just used to jab me awake; fear strained his face. More guards glared at me, their fingers flicking out from their chests in the warding sign. Voreth leaned against his bone staff outside the wagon, regarding me with calculating eyes.

  My pulse lurched into a sprint. This was bad. If I was in Alevar, my chance to escape had vanished. Instead of the land aiding me, it would hinder me. My captors no longer had to treat me with any kind of gentleness to keep from drawing my grandmother’s attention and ire. Even my killing touch wouldn’t get me far when every living thing was turned against me; if a wolf perished as it tore out my throat, or a tree branch withered as it pierced my heart, I’d be just as dead.

  Being in Alevar meant that more than a day had passed since we’d left Gloamingard. Anything could have happened there. Kessa could be dead; the demon could have taken a new host and murdered everyone in the castle; the gate could be thrown open wide. It was Gloamingard’s great moment of crisis, and its Warden had spent it unconscious in a wagon bed, of no use to anyone.

  And no one had come after me. The knowledge stabbed between my ribs far more sharply than the throbbing pain of my new bruises. It wouldn’t have been hard to overtake the wagon. Everyone had left me to die.

  The best possibility was that no one cared about me. Any other alternative meant that the situation at Gloamingard was bad enough to keep anyone from following.

  I liked to think Ashe would have already found me and killed me if Kessa were dead.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting back hot tears. I didn’t want to look at angry, frightened soldiers right now, or Voreth’s hateful face. I didn’t have time to care about what they were going to do to me. I needed to get back home and tell the Rookery what I’d learned from my grandmother about the obelisk, curse it. Whether they still counted me a friend or not.

  The hard muzzle of the musket shoved my chest, rocking me back on my heels.

  “I require your full attention, Exalted Ryxander,” said Voreth. “You will be coming into the presence of the Shrike Lord soon, and you need to understand how to behave.”

  “I don’t give a dead rat how you think I should behave,” I croaked. “I’ve got—”

  Before I could finish, the musket drove into my stomach, forcing the air from my lungs. I curled over, gasping. One of the soldiers laughed nervously.

  “You will show him respect and bow before him,” Voreth said, his voice calm and even.

  “Listen to me,” I rasped, as soon as I had enough breath. “That doesn’t matter right now. The gate—”

  This time, the musket cracked across my jaw. I tumbled back against the wagon boards, all words knocked from my mind in a blinding flash of pain.

  “Voreth! What are you doing? Stop this at once!”

  My head snapped up, hope rising in me like a leaping flame. Severin.

  He rode up to the wagon along the forest road, his horse snorting a greeting to its comrades. His usually sleek fall of dark hair hung loose and tangled, as if he’d ridden hard to get here. His black-and-gold coat was buttoned wrong.

  He gave me one quick, anguished glance as he approached, and then averted his eyes. Graces, I couldn’t play this game right now. Was that guilt over not coming sooner? Revulsion at the monster who’d murdered Kessa? Fear of telling me what horrible things had been happening at Gloamingard? I wanted to shake answers out of him.

  Voreth bowed to him. “Exalted Atheling. After some difficulty on the road, I thought it important to make sure our captive understood that she is in Alevar now, and can expect no more gentleness.”

  Severin did not so much as glance in my direction. He dismounted, tossing his reins to a startled soldier, and strode over to Voreth, glaring. “You have no right. Her pain belongs to my brother. Every blow you strike, you are stealing from your lord.”

  A muscle in Voreth’s cheek jumped, and his eyes widened. He bowed again, more deeply this time. “I thought, Exalted Atheling, that surely—”

  “No,” Severin interrupted him. “You clearly didn’t think at all. If the captive is weakened from your care, she won’t last as long. My brother wants a slow death. Have you even fed her?”

  Voreth winced. “No, Exalted Atheling.”

  “See to it. If my brother is robbed of his due vengeance for Exalted Lamiel’s death, I will make certain he knows who is at fault.”

  Voreth began snapping orders at his soldiers, and they scrambled out of the wagon and hurried to get me food and water. Under cover of the activity, Severin came and leaned against the wagon, meeting my eyes at last.

  “Are you well?” he asked neutrally, with a glance over his shoulder at Voreth, who wasn’t far.

  “Did you come from Gloamingard?” I demanded, straining against my chains. “Is everyone all right? Is Kessa—”

  “She’s alive,” he said quickly. “Not well, but alive.”

  Something rigid and brittle gave way inside me. I slumped, fighting back a great swelling cry that wanted to burst up out of my chest. Alive. I hadn’t killed her. Thank the Graces.

  “She was still unconscious when I left,” he said, fast and low so Voreth wouldn’t hear. “I’m sorry I didn’t come after you sooner. Everyone was distracted by the situation with Kessa, and by the time I realized what had happened, Voreth had a long lead on me.”

  “We have to hurry,” I said, my voice coming out breathy and trembling. I cleared my raw throat. “Another demon came through the gate—that’s what attacked Kessa. And the gate is—”

  Severin hissed. “Another demon! Seasons spare us.” He glanced back over his shoulder toward Voreth, who approached now with soldiers carrying bread and water. Severin straightened, his expression hardening. “And you will find that begging for mercy does no good with my brother, Exalted Ryxander, but if you behave honorably you may earn enough of his respect to merit a swifter death.”

  A chunk of bread and a water flask thunked into the wagon in front of me. I stared at them, then looked up at Voreth. I was t
empted to ignore him and keep blurting out my urgent secrets to Severin, but that would make it too clear that I saw him as an ally.

  “You do realize I can’t pick those up, right?” I rattled my chains at Voreth.

  He turned away.

  “Too weak a mage to survive contact with her, Voreth?” Severin taunted.

  Voreth’s lip curled. “If you’re so concerned with her health—on your brother’s behalf, of course—you can feed her.”

  “Or you could unchain me,” I suggested.

  Voreth walked away. Severin sighed, then leaped up into the wagon with nimble grace and pulled the stopper from the water flask.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, offering it to me.

  “That doesn’t matter now. We have to get back to Gloamingard and tell the Rookery not to—”

  “We can’t go back to Gloamingard.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes again. “I can’t free you.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. Those four brutally simple words crushed the hope from me like a massive stone dropped on my chest. First my grandmother, now Severin. At least she had the excuse of being a demon.

  “Let me go, Severin.” Maybe, somehow, I’d misunderstood. “I need to get back to the castle and stop the Rookery from making a terrible mistake.”

  “I can’t.” The words were a bare ragged whisper, as if his throat were as dry as mine.

  “You mean won’t,” I said, beyond the point of gentleness. “You’re an atheling, for blood’s sake. You outrank him.”

  “I’m not a good person, Ryx.” He still held out the water flask, with a touch of desperation. “My brother never gave me that luxury. I’ve known every day of my life that he’ll kill me the moment he thinks I’ll defy him. If I let you go, if I do anything to protect you, he’ll execute me in your place.”