by Susan Faw
Mordecai looked from one to the other then sighed. He rubbed the side of his nose, sighed again, opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and shut it. Shrugging, he pulled the kite down from the air and tucked it under his arm.
Magic truly is in the eye of the beholder, he thought.
“What is it you wished to speak to me about, Cayden? I trust you found something of interest in your studies?”
Cayden glanced around, noting that they were alone except for the two Kingsmen guarding the pathway to where they stood.
“Yes. I need to know everything you know about the godlings.”
“So, you have found the passages. Good. Your education begins in earnest, now. But first, we must return to the library as there are scrolls there that need to be consulted.” With a swish of grey robes, he strode away, retracing the path out of the gardens.
On exiting the gardens, Mordecai picked up his pace and crossed the bailey, marching right past the library entrance. Instead, he opened the door that led to the staircase of the right tower.
“Mordecai, where are you going?” Cayden huffed, lengthening his stride. Ziona shadowed their progress.
“There is a particular book we need to retrieve from my rooms. A very rare book, one few eyes have viewed. It is a book of history and a book of magic, but it is much more than that. Yes indeed. It has remained hidden within this castle, concealed under a multitude of enchantments, for over a century. Alcina tried to pry its whereabouts out of me; however, such tactics were doomed to failure. Only one person could retrieve that book, and that person is you, Cayden.”
They entered the spiral staircase and curved up to the fourth landing, then approached the wizard’s chambers. Mordecai passed his hand over the door handle, and it swung open before them. He held up his hand to the Kingsmen, denying them entrance. They took up posts on either side of the door.
Set in a bartizan that overhung the castle wall, Mordecai’s apartment consisted of a large circular room, interspersed with narrow casement windows, tall enough to stand in. The room faced east, and early morning sunshine spilled through, striping the hooked rugs that covered the stone floor. Tables were pushed up against the wall on the north side of the room, and on the south side a staircase curved up to a sleeping loft built above the tables. A squashy, overstuffed chair was set beside the cold fireplace.
Cayden shivered and not from the lack of a fire. The room was a reflection of the royal apartments on the west side of the castle. He refused to take rooms in the bartizans even though they were his if he wished. Mordecai had relayed the story surrounding his and Avery’s birth and the murders of his parents and grandparents. He had taken him to the room where his mother had died. Even though Cayden had spoken to Gwen’s spirit at the Well of Souls under the castle, he found himself dwelling on her and mulling over what it would have been like to have grown up with her in this castle, as prince rather than as a pauper.
It wasn’t that he was unhappy about his childhood home in Sanctuary-by-the-Sea. It was more that he felt a huge gap in his understanding of the peoples of this world. His mother, Gwen, had been a Primordial princess who had been betrothed to his father, a prince of Cathair, at the time of her death. Their intended marriage and the children they would beget were meant to forge a bridge between their peoples. With his royal parent’s deaths, the Primordial nation had plunged into a twenty-year-long civil war while Cathair languished under the queen’s reign. His mother’s desperate bid to preserve her children’s lives had been successful but at the cost of her own life, a desperate attempt to head off unrest and a war that now spilled over the borders, setting Cathairian against Primordial.
So Cayden avoided the west towers. He did not want the constant reminder of his dead parents. It was bad enough to feel the ghost of their presence in the darkened halls, as the servants whispered to each other that he was the spitting image of his father.
“Cayden, what do you feel? Can you sense the presence of the books?” Mordecai’s voice brought him back to the present.
Cayden looked around the curved room, eyes sliding over tapestries and the ragged edges of very old books, extending his senses. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“No, I do not sense anything. How about you, Ziona? Do you sense anything?”
Ziona wandered through the room, eyes unfocused. “There is something here,” she murmured.
Cayden frowned, crossing his arms, impatience stamped into his features. “What do we do now, Mordecai? If I am the one that is supposed to find this book, I must know the key. What could I possibly know that no one else does?” Cayden wandered around the room and paused by the window, which looked out over the gardens they had recently vacated. He could see the apple tree in the midst, and his thoughts wandered to the tree spirits. I wonder if I could get them to appear if I carved a flute from a tree they lived in. His flutes were great at making animals and creatures appear.
Wait, I wonder if one of my flutes would make the books appear? Cayden spun around and ran for the door.
“I just had a thought. I’ll be right back!” He dashed out the door and down the hall to his apartment. Ziona poked her head out the door to observe the Kingsmen guards bolting after their young king, yelling at him to wait up. Cayden didn’t even look back.
Grinning, Ziona returned to the room and seated herself in the chair by the fire to wait for his return.
Five minutes later, Cayden rushed back into the room, his satchel of flutes clutched in his hands. His winded and disgruntled personal guards took up their posts again by the doorway, and Mordecai closed the door.
Cayden upended the satchel over the table and out rolled all the flutes he had with him in Cathair. He sorted them through them then selected a knobbly branch that was mixed in with the finished flutes.
The wood was a gift from the ancient oak tree that hugged the pasture back in Sanctuary-by-the-Sea. While he’d sat on the rocks carving and watching over the sheep, the tree had whispered to him. He had completed the snake flute that day, but several other pieces of the rare wood he had tucked inside the bag to be carved another time.
Cayden picked up the branch and turned it over in his hands, wondering if this was the answer. Could it be as simple as carving the tool I need?
“Cayden, come sit here on the rug.” Mordecai gestured to the thick rug centered on the floor. Ziona scooted back her chair to give him room.
Cayden picked up his carving tools and sat himself squarely in the center of the rug, sitting cross-legged on the starburst-patterned center.
“Relax your mind, Cayden.” The wizard brought out his focusing crystal and clasped it between his palms over Cayden’s head. Cayden stared at the branch in his hands. Suddenly, the scene shimmered in his view, the tower fading to be replaced by the field where the ancient oak tree sat. No longer was he sitting on a rug, but on the sun-kissed rocks, his favorite spot for carving. He took a deep breath, breathing in the familiar salty tang of sea air warmed by bright sunshine.
He looked over at the old oak tree, and there it stood, just as he remembered.
“Did you really try to speak to me last time I was here?” he asked the oak. It shook its branches as though laughing at the question.
Cayden smiled. Picking up his favorite awl, he began to hollow the branch. It was tough going, the wooden core hard as iron. It resisted any widening as he burrowed so that in the end the center was the narrowest of openings. Cayden frowned at the branch and peered down the hole, barely able to see through to the other end. With that small of an opening, what sound could possibly escape it?
As he turned it over in his hands the branch began to vibrate violently. Surprised, Cayden dropped it. It smashed against the rock, breaking in two precise halves. He picked them up and checked them over for further fractures but couldn’t locate any. The wise old oak tree chuckled…and chuckled some more.
“What secrets are you hiding from me, Elder Oak?” Cayden laughed and began hollowin
g out the fingering on both of the tiny flutes.
Immersed in the moment, Cayden quite forgot about the others, completely at ease in the illusion.
Or was it an illusion?
Ziona walked around Cayden, watching Cayden’s lips move. Obviously, by his reactions, he was deep in conversation with someone only he saw. She saw him pick up the stick and begin forming the flute only to have it snap in two. Instead of becoming angry, he laughs? She paused in front of him, the final polish of the flutes underway, just as she had observed all those months ago. How far they had come, she mused, and how far they had to go. The future was so uncertain, even for the Lord of the Mists. As she watched, Cayden put down his polishing kit, checked for flaws in his flutes by running his fingers down them one last time, and then raised the first to his lips. He blew on the flute, fingers flitting over the holes. Ziona detected no sound from it.
Cayden frowned and picked up the other flute and put it to his lips. Nothing happened. He stood up and walked toward the staircase and paused before it. His lips moved, but once again Ziona could not hear anything. Hands on hips, he confronted the staircase.
Cayden spoke to the tree. “I can hear the giggling in your branches, Elder Oak. Who is hiding from my presence?” Elder Oak shook with laughter. It wheezed and sneezed and out popped a couple of tree sprites, giggling and holding over their heads like a serving tray a pair of dusty leather-bound books. The sprites, rather than handing Cayden the books, ran around him and over to Ziona. The minute they touched her skirt, the vision faded and they disappeared with a pop. The books dropped to the carpet at Ziona’s feet, just as Cayden swung away from the tree.
“Oh!” Ziona picked up a book from the stack on the floor. “Where did these come from?”
“The tree sprites fetched them from the Elder Oak,” said Cayden. Ziona raised an eyebrow at this and peered around the room as if expecting to find the sprites hiding in the shadows of the room.
Mordecai chuckled as he fetched the remaining three books and carried them over to the table.
“Come on, let’s have a peek inside. Tree sprites indeed!” His eyes twinkled as he flipped open the cover of the first tome.
Chapter 9
Elder One
MAREA TREMBLINGSPIRIT ROSE from the vine-covered dais, gathered her leaf-green robes about her body, and descended with quick, light steps to the audience chamber floor to greet the weary priest.
“Has she returned from the temple yet?” she demanded before he had a chance to rise from his deep bow, arms spread wide to the side and hands open. The light of the firefly globe dangling from the ceiling on a sturdy woven reed chain danced across his bald pate, encircled by a fringe of wispy white hair.
“No, Most High.” Eldrid spoke with a small voice as he straightened. “She has not. The temple is still ablaze with light and colour. The rainbow wards continue to encompass it, barring entry to all. We cannot pass through the bands. The rainbow emits pulses of red in warning when we approach, and all who have attempted to penetrate it have received severe burns. We cannot pass.”
Marea’s mouth twisted, her thin lips displaying yellowing teeth that clacked together in fury. How dare that young strumpet enter my temple without my presence? The temple of the High Priestess is sacred ground. No one is to enter my temple. No one.
“What of her traveling companion?” she snarled.
“He has identified himself as her father. We have secured him in the Grass Roots holding cell in Faylea. He is still resisting our questioning,” he shrugged, “but it will not be long now before he gives in. If he doesn’t, we have other methods of getting the information we need.”
“And Sharisha? Where is she? She was to report to me immediately on her return.”
The priest opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment the round chamber door swung open and Sharisha strode through, back straight and legs stiff. Seeing who was in the room, her chin raised haughtily. She had changed her clothing back to more traditional Primordial garb. A multi-hued tunic of greens, browns, and purples was belted with woven, purple-dyed hemp. Tan leggings were tucked into soft brown leather boots, which laced up the back to mid-thigh. Flung across her back was a quiver, and she carried an unstrung bow in her hand. Her long hair was tied back by a ribbon adorned with rainbow-hued sequins made from freshwater clam shells.
She strode toward them. Upon reaching the High Priestess, Sharisha gave a deep bow similar to Eldrid’s.
“Most High,” she murmured on rising.
Marea slowly walked around Sharisha, examining her. “You took your time in reporting to me!” she growled, her anger drawing deep furrows between her narrowed eyes.
Sharisha was not cowed. “Your specific instructions were to return to you immediately, should I have news to share. As your priests had already relayed the news of Avery’s entrance into the temple, any ‘news’ I might have imparted had already been provided to you, Elder One.”
If anything, the furrows deepened on Marea’s pinched face. “That was only one of my conditions. You have been gone a very long time. You have much to tell me,” she snarled, and Eldrid winced at the menace in her tone. Sharisha merely raised one eyebrow and stood tall, refusing to quail or show weakness while waiting for Marea to meet her eyes.
“She is the one we seek,” Sharisha said simply, but the words halted Marea’s steps. She swung around, her black eyes fastened on Sharisha’s, demanding an answer to the question burning in their depths.
“Avery has the gift. She has the ability to read souls. She will be an invaluable weapon.” Sharisha smiled for the first time, and Marea’s lips thinned even more and curled back into a travesty of a smile.
“Finally, we have captured a Spirit Shield.” Triumph rang in Marea’s voice as she marched back up to her throne and sat down in the curving branches. “To chain and harness such a one is to have ultimate power. Be sure to collar her when she descends from the temple, and bring her to me. She is destined to serve the Spirit Clans forevermore.” She smiled a dark smile, and Sharisha smiled back.
Marea reached under her chair and pulled out a package wrapped in soft deerskin that jingled in her hands. Sharisha mounted the steps and knelt once more, accepting the parcel reverently. She carefully folded back the skins and with a flip of the final corner, a delicate silver collar was revealed, made of fragile, slender links, looping and twisting together into a shimmering rope which caught the light of the fireflies and cast rainbows at the walls. On a smooth bale hung a pendant of polished silver, embedded with a blue stone. The stone flashed and then faded. It could not be looked at directly, seeming to be only partially in this world. Sharisha was careful to not touch any portion of the necklace and thereby interfere with its magic. She gently refolded the cloth and tucked it into the pocket of her shirt.
“It will be done, Most High.” Sharisha bowed once more in acceptance of the command.
“Take Eldrid with you. Perhaps he can assist you with penetrating the rainbow.” Marea frowned at the puzzle created by this strange event. No rainbow had ever formed around the temple before, not even when she entered it to be raised to Highest. “Eldrid,” she commanded in dismissal, “send in the general. I believe he is to be found by the barracks.”
“Yes, Elder One.” Eldrid bowed low and left the room.
As the door closed behind him, Marea spoke quickly to Sharisha. “Now, before the general arrives, tell me everything that has transpired since you left Faylea. Where is Ziona?”
Sharisha spoke of their wanderings in the human kingdom, the discovery of the twins, the parting of the children by the legion’s forces, and her decision to accompany Avery back to Faylea while Ziona went after the boy called Cayden.
“This is a puzzling turn of events.” Marea absently ran her fingers over the woven roots forming the arm of her throne. “I never expected to find two children with the gift. What was your impression of this young man? Is he another Spirit Shield? Have their powers been diluted?”
Silence greeted her statement, and then Marea’s face hardened. “It does not change our plans. We must have a Spirit Shield to champion our fight. The Flesh Clans will come after her, but she is our linchpin. The boy may become a problem, especially if the Flesh Clans learn of his existence.” She drummed her fingers on the arm of the throne, a hollow, high-pitched drumming sound accompanying her actions. “I may have to send you after him, in time. We will question Avery closely about him once she is under our control.”
Sharisha had risen to her feet as Marea strode toward her. “What of the Flesh Clans? You do know of their plan to recall the goddess Artio back to this world?” Sharisha asked.
Marea nodded. “There have been rumours that the flesh clans have rediscovered an ancient magic of the gods that will bind spirit to animal flesh. It is something that is banned, the knowledge locked away centuries ago. If the rumours are true, then someone has stolen this knowledge and is attempting to resurrect a god. With the return of Artio, there will be two powerful pawns at play in this war. We need Avery to balance Artio’s power. She will prove once and for all that the Spirit ways are true, and that Flesh sacrifice is not the only path to appease the gods.”
“I had better catch up with Eldrid.” Sharisha checked that the collar was secure in the pocket of her tunic and then hitched her bow over her right shoulder. “What would you have me do with her father, the man in the cells?”
