“If you were residents here,” Braylen continued, “I could easily smooth this whole thing over with that man.”
“I know.” Father stood with a sigh and escorted Braylen out of the room. “I’ll discuss it with Tara. Until then, we appreciate your hospitality.” He shut the door as soon as Braylen left and sighed. “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, Algie.”
“I want to help you, Father.” If he helped enough, maybe it would cleanse his soul. “I don’t want to sit around and do nothing while you’re working all the time. Besides, you’ve been gone for weeks.”
Father smiled at him. “I wouldn’t mind working with you either, Algie. But that particular project…” He shook his head. “It’s not a good idea for you to get involved with it.”
“Why not? What is it?”
Father shook his head again. “It’s not important. Let’s get you to bed so you can rest. In the morning, you and I can come up with something else to do while we’re stuck here.”
His tone told Algernon not to argue.
Algernon nodded and took help to stand. “Yes, Father.” He shuffled down the hall in his blankets.
The room had a bed, a desk with a single candle in a brass tray, and a chest. Nothing covered the smooth stone of the walls, ceiling, or floor. Father checked the chest for him and discovered three sets of plain woolen clothing. Something about them made him frown, but he said nothing and wished Algernon a good night on his way out.
Blood danced through Algernon’s dreams. He chased it, fled from it, and painted with it.
When he woke, he coughed and gagged on thick ooze with a flavor far too close to blood. It covered his skin and stung his eyes. He sat up and wiped slime from his face with both hands, gasping for breath.
The sludge covered the blanket. It covered everything he touched, even the wall.
Despite sleeping, he needed to rest.
His nightmare had tapped into his power.
With this understanding, he cut off the construct. The congealed blood dissipated, though the taste remained on his tongue.
Algernon had lost control from a dream. He knew he lacked finesse, but he’d never suffered this kind of leakage before.
Of course, he’d never killed anyone before either.
The Creator had elected to punish him. He had no other explanation. She objected to his depraved acts, even if he’d committed them to save his grandmother’s life.
He lay on his bed again, staring into the darkness.
Confessing his sins to Satiuz Braylen might help. The man seemed friendly and had said he wanted Algernon to learn more. He’d taught Father how to follow the Order of Spilled Blood properly. He could also teach Algernon.
Fighting the weariness clinging to him, he rose and lit the candle on the desk. No trace of the blood remained in the room, at least. Nothing betrayed his shame.
He dressed in the woolen clothes from the chest. They’d included fur-lined slippers with leather soles but not boots.
Not that he needed boots to stay indoors.
In the hallway, he saw no one yet heard a gentle hum of conversation. The tang of lemon in the air led him to a meal of fruit with bread and directions to find Satiuz Braylen.
The satiuz had an office on the upper floor of the sanctuary. His door, wooden like all the others he’d seen on the grounds, opened as Algernon turned a corner to find it.
Miru stepped out with a smug smile, tucking a pouch clinking with coin into his pocket.
Algernon hoped the satiuz charged Miru a great deal to stay here. He also hoped his family had to pay nothing or very little for the same hospitality.
Beyond Miru, Algernon saw plush fur, bright sunshine through large windows, and a great deal of white in Braylen’s office.
“Ah, Algernon,” Miru said with that same awful, smug smile he’d worn on their arrival. “We haven’t really met.” He offered his hand to shake.
Within the sanctuary, Miru could do him no harm. Algernon still had no interest in niceties with the man. “The people you sent after us are dead,” he said.
Miru shrugged and withdrew his hand. “Are they? Such a waste of talent. Still, then I don’t have to pay them.”
Such brazen disregard for the lives of his own people shocked Algernon. He knew those would-be kidnappers had worked for money and killed without remorse yet hadn’t expected the same attitude from their employer. Perhaps he should have.
“Satiuz Braylen, may I speak with you, please?” Algernon asked. He had no clever retort or other statement for Miru.
“Hello!” Braylen looked up from a folder in his hand. His sturdy shape filled a white cushioned armchair beside a small stone table. “Algie, wasn’t it? Come in, have a seat.” He closed his folder and set it aside as he flicked his hand to dismiss Miru.
A bolder, more worthy and less ruffled Algernon might have corrected his name. Instead, he moved swiftly to take the chair Braylen suggested, the one across his small table.
Miru shut the door, leaving them alone.
Breylen beamed at Algernon. “I’m glad you came to see me.”
Maybe he already knew. As the head of this sanctuary, Braylen could have noticed something wrong with Algernon or felt his nightmare mishap. The exchange with Miru might have added certainty to his suppositions.
“You are?” Algernon gulped, not sure what else to say.
“Of course!” Braylen reached across the table and patted Algernon’s shoulder. “The Creator brought you to us. There’s no other explanation for your presence but that you’re meant to be here. And, in fact, you could help me a great deal.”
The man made him feel small and young, sitting in the shadow of competence and confidence.
“I can?” Algernon had no idea how he, a grave, unworthy sinner, could help someone as accomplished as Braylen.
Braylen chuckled. “I remember feeling like I had nothing to offer but inexperience and failure.”
Algernon doubted Braylen had ever done anything as terrible as he had. He opened his mouth to try to talk about his horrible acts, certain Braylen needed to know. His stained soul would taint anything.
But nothing came out of his mouth.
He groped for the words and failed.
“I have something that may help,” Bralyen continued. “I mentioned it when you arrived. Your father is working on a very important project for us. He’s somewhat reticent, though. The work is difficult and draining, and he’s not convinced it’ll bear the fruit I expect.”
Braylen picked up a simple wooden cup and sipped, letting a thick, deep silence unfurl between them.
Frowning at the floor, Algernon waited. The moment for him to confess had passed. He had nothing else to offer.
“It’s a shame you don’t have your father’s healing knack, but it is, after all, even rarer in men than women. Even so, there is a way you can help with this project. You can ease your father’s load in this.”
Algernon raised his head and blinked at what sounded like an opportunity for atonement. “I want to help him. What can I do?”
“The sanctuary was sited here for a reason. That reason is beneath us. There’s a network of catacombs under the grounds. A long time ago, those catacombs were used for housing the cursed dead, those who were exiled for one reason or another from a sacred burial to nourish the trees and fields.
“I’ve been meaning to get one of our few mages down there to see if any of the bones are useful to the research we’re pursuing here. They’re terribly busy, though. As am I. It would help a great deal if you could run down there and survey the catacombs for magical signatures. And if you find any, bring one or more back for study.”
The task sounded simple and it would help his father. Algernon nodded. “Yes, sir. I can do that.”
“Excellent.” Braylen stood and walked with ground-devouring strides across his office to a bookshelf. “You’ll need the key. Whatever you find, bring it to me.” He retrieved a six-inch key from a ho
ok and held it out for Algernon. “The sooner you get this done, the easier all this is on your father.”
“Yes, sir.” Algernon sprang to his feet and took the key. “I’ll go right away.” He dashed out of the office and rushed through the sanctuary to find the catacombs.
Two flights below the ground floor, the air cooled enough to feel chilled and it smelled of dry, cold dirt. He discovered a rough, pitted iron gate at the bottom of the narrow stairs someone had directed him to. The vertical bars left gaps only a few inches wide. Beyond it, a passage became hewn rock extending into darkness.
Peering through the gate, Algernon wondered why they kept it locked.
He used the key and pushed open the gate. The hinges squealed loud enough to hurt his ears.
Algernon used his magic to create a globe of soft light over his palm.
Other uses of his power always seemed to go wrong, but he’d learned to command this one thing without fail.
Taking slow, careful steps, he pressed past the gate and left it open.
Iron beams supported an open doorway at the end of the short passage. Beyond it, gray dirt covered the ground. The path turned right and left with carvings on the wall in front of him.
To either side, the walls boasted three rows of empty niches from floor to ceiling, each big enough to hold a single person. Algernon paused at the carvings and held the light to examine them.
The carvings reminded him of his native tongue, Cascaini, but he only recognized the simple words. Later, he’d see if someone had already transcribed and translated the text. Not that he needed to read it.
Satiuz Braylen had asked him to fetch a magic bone, not study the catacomb.
He picked left for no particular reason and followed the corridor, careful to touch nothing but the floor. Six niches down, he turned the first corner and discovered niches in the center block as well as the outer wall.
The chamber wound him through a repeating U-shape. Several turns into the catacomb, he discovered his first remains.
Unlike the fresh bodies he’d left inside his now-destroyed home, these had reduced to skeletons.
No, he would not think about those dead people. He had these dead people to worry about.
The bones lay bare with no cloth or ornament. Wispy piles of hair surrounded some skulls. He noticed several skulls lay at a strange angle, suggesting beheading either before or after death. Silvery spider webs fluttered as he passed with no sign of their owners.
Algernon suspected all the bugs had come and gone long ago.
Satiuz Braylen had, of course, sent him to collect a bone, not to gawk at skeletons.
He paused to gather his wits and focus his will. Whenever he spun magic without taking this time, it flew out of his control.
With a careful, considered flex of his power, he shifted his perception.
The globe of light hovering over his palm suddenly smelled of apples. When he invoked this sense, his magic always carried that scent. His mother’s stank of brimstone and his father’s had a soothing sandalwood aroma.
Grandma Katona’s magic smelled like her favorite mint tea.
Closing his eyes, he blocked out the smell of his magic and sniffed the air. Nothing yet.
He opened his eyes and headed deeper.
As far as he could tell with a casual glance, every skeleton he passed had all the bones in place. He had no idea how to tell anything about them. Other than varying heights, they all looked the same to him.
Turning yet another corner, he noticed a hint of sweetness in the air. As he closed the distance, the sweetness grew cloying and damp, like someone with a sugar-coated mouth breathed down his neck.
He grimaced and kept moving.
Old, dry things crackled like crumpling paper.
Algernon froze at the sound. Had it come from behind him?
No, of course not. He hadn’t passed anyone or anything alive. Noise in a place like this would echo from every surface.
Not that he should hear anything in a basement full of old bones.
Maybe his passage had disturbed a delicate arrangement.
Eager to finish his task and escape the expansive tomb, Algernon hurried to find the source of the stench.
In the distance, something moaned. A slip of wind might have reached the chamber.
Another smell slithered under the sickly sweetness. This one reminded him of smoke from a fireplace.
Watching everywhere at once, Algernon stopped where the first scent led him. The middle niche and its skeleton seemed the same as all the others. Its skull lay on its side, facing away from the body.
He stuck his hand into the niche over the bones and ran it over the skeleton.
The smoke scent grew in strength as if it approached him.
Wood creaked.
Algernon hadn’t seen any wood in the catacombs.
A breeze ruffled his hair and clothes.
Something clicked nearby.
When his fingers twitched over a floating rib lying across the spine vertebrae, Algernon snatched it and ran. He let go of his power, cutting off the scents.
His shoes kicked up dust. He coughed and didn’t stop.
When he reached the gate again, he dashed through and slammed it shut. The iron clanged with finality. All the other noises stopped.
Panting to catch his breath, he snuffed the light and stared into the darkness of the catacombs. He swiped his sleeve over his mouth and nose, wiping away dust and dirt.
He wanted to believe he’d imagined the errant noises. The smoke smell had come from another source of magic. On this side of the gate, that seemed reasonable. If one bone had magic, others could too.
In truth, he’d expected to find multiple sources of magic.
Another time, armed with some kind of makeshift weapon to bolster his courage, he might return to find them.
As soon as he caught his breath, he climbed the stairs to return to Braylen’s office. Two flights up, his fear seemed silly. Nothing lived in the catacombs. He hadn’t even seen any bugs or fungus.
Not even the most grotesque magics could affect corpses as anything other than objects.
When he reached Braylen’s office, the door stood open. Algernon knocked to announce himself.
Braylen remained his chair. He looked up with a friendly smile.
Before the satiuz could speak, Algernon held up the rib. “I found one.”
“Excellent.” Braylen stood and swept across the room. “This will help your father a great deal. Only one, though? I expected you could find more.”
Algernon gulped in the face of Braylen’s disappointment. He wanted to sound brave and capable. Instead, he wrung his hands and stammered. “I, er, it’s...ah…”
Braylen laughed, further withering Algernon’s resolve. “That old crypt is dark and cold,’ Braylen said. “There’s nothing in it that can hurt you, though. Just a bunch of skeletons.”
Not sure what to say, Algernon nodded with his gaze stuck to the floor. “I’ll go look again.”
Braylen waved to dismiss him. “Don’t push yourself too hard, Algie. Get something to eat first. Do something to settle your mind. Always face your fears as prepared as possible.”
“Yes, sir.” Algernon turned to leave then stopped. “Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Before, I came because—” He paused and glanced at Braylen’s face.
The man paid more attention to the bone in his hand than Algernon. He turned it in his fingers to scrutinize every square inch.
“Mmhmm?” Braylen said without opening his mouth.
“I had a nightmare.” The words seemed small and stupid. Algernon huddled on himself. His cheeks burned.
“Very good,” Braylen mumbled, no longer paying any attention to Algernon.
Algernon shuffled out of the room and shut the door. The stupid noises in the catacombs had unnerved him enough to blurt idiocy. Braylen had no time for this.
Head down, he hurried to his room. There, he sat
on the bed and tried to stop thinking.
He’d helped, at least. Hopefully. Maybe the bone he’d taken did nothing.
He cradled his head in his hands. Nothing he did turned out well.
Except killing people. He’d done a good job at that.
“I’m a monster,” he whispered to the empty room.
For a while, he sat and replayed those deaths in his head. One quick, clean slash had almost decapitated a man. The second had taken more effort. She’d seen him, but in the end, he’d walked away and she hadn’t.
The third, he hadn’t seen. The man might’ve died in the small explosion or he might’ve survived until the house collapsed.
As for the fourth, he’d left her on the floor, injured and in need of care to survive.
And, of course, the house’s destruction was his doing.
His door opened. “Algie?” Father poked his head inside the room. “Can I—” He saw Algernon and furrowed his brow. “Are you all right?”
Algernon sat up and rubbed his face. “No.”
“What’s wrong?” Father stepped inside the room and shut the door. He sat beside his son on the bed and draped an arm over his shoulders.
Telling his father about his terrible acts squeezed Algernon’s heart. He wanted to curl into a ball and hide. “I just want to go home.”
Father’s shoulders relaxed. “Ah. Yes. That. Would you like to tell me how exactly your grandmother’s house wound up falling into the ocean? She was sparse about the details.”
He’d phrased it as a question but Algernon knew his father wanted a real answer.
“I lost control of my magic.”
This answer felt honest, if grossly incomplete.
“There were people trying to kill us,” he added to complete the vague picture.
Father squeezed Algernon’s shoulders. “I’m sorry that happened to you and I’m glad you and your grandmother survived. It’ll probably bother you for a while. But I need to talk to you about Satiuz Braylen’s project. I know he asked you to help, and I also know you’re inclined to want to help people. Which means I’m fairly certain this came from you.”
He produced a rib bone.
Algernon nodded. “I found it in the catacombs under the sanctuary.”
Wayward Magic Page 71
