Prism Cloud

by Jeff Wheeler

  Jevin nodded. “I don’t know about magnetism, or the Mysteries, but yes, that is how it works. And in the same manner, you can take those emotions, whichever ones you choose, and make them stick to someone else.”

  Cettie nodded in assent. “Yes! This makes perfect sense. It is about repelling and attracting. There must be laws that govern it, of course. Too much distance, and I’ll bet the force loses its potency.”

  Jevin stood as well. “A kystrel works best at close range,” he said, nodding. “It is worn near the heart, the seat of the emotions. But its power is directed by the mind.”

  “Yes, of course,” Cettie agreed. Her desire to wear one raged inside her. She was trembling now, not with fear, but with anticipation.

  “Don’t you see, Cettie?” Jevin said confidently. “You cannot deny part of who you are. Balance is essential in all things. I’m glad we had this chance to talk, but you shouldn’t rely on others to inflict their beliefs on you. Even me. Experience is the most important tool you have.”

  A question struck Cettie’s mind, so she asked it. “Why is it that the hetaera are all female?”

  “I don’t know,” Jevin answered with a shrug. “It has always been so. Years ago there was a group . . . the Dochte Mandar . . . who used kystrels to gain power. But it took five men to achieve what one woman could. You are powerful, Cettie, in ways you do not yet understand. More powerful than the other girls studying here. That is why here, at this school, you are treated as nobility. We are all here to serve you. Yes, you might get shoved off a roof.” He chuckled. “But to break is to be broken. That is an adage from long ago. I wish . . .” His voice trailed off in a sigh. “I wish you’d come to us when you were younger.”

  He gave her an apologetic smile, as if it were somehow his fault, and then left her. A few moments later, as she stood in the shadows of the trees, she heard the soft notes of his hautboie playing a new and melodic tune. Part of her admired Jevin’s wisdom. And his words had made her feel important, respected even.

  The urge for a kystrel dwindled inside her. The logical part of her wanted one to study—she wished to learn what it could do, what it was capable of—but another part of her warned all was not as it seemed. This idyllic garden was still full of deadly poison. And her interest in the ways of the hetaera made her feel guilty. The look in Caulton’s eyes when she’d shown him the kystrel was unmistakable. He’d been shocked, fearful, and urgent. That part of the Mysteries’ power was not to be explored. But why should it not be studied? Why were women more powerful in it?

  Could this power be her rightful inheritance?

  It gave her much to ponder.

  Cettie was unable to fall asleep that night, and tossed and turned on her comfortable bed. That shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. The moon was obnoxiously bright and came in through the slats in the window shutters. She had remained awake long after the compound had fallen silent, as if part of her, unconsciously, understood it was coming back.

  Cettie felt the prickle of awareness go down her back as she sensed the Myriad One in the hall. Her ghost. Just as Jevin had warned her, her own thoughts had compelled it. The last time she had confronted this apparition was after taking the Maston Test. The Mysteries had led her outside the boundaries of the abbey to an ancient oak tree with enormous branches that hung so low they brushed the ground. There she had learned its true name and used a maston spell to banish it. Something had happened to her during that experience, something that had awakened powers in her that she had not previously known she possessed. That day, she’d become a harbinger.

  Because she was a harbinger, she’d learned Fitzroy was about to die. Why the Medium had chosen to kill such a good man, she didn’t understand. She doubted she ever would. Resentment and bitterness always followed that thought. Yet those feelings did not erase the persistent notion that it was her fault. She was the one who’d brought his murderer to him. Had that been the goal of the Knowing? Why else would it have sent her the vision, if not to set off this exact progression of events? If it had left her alone, her father would be safe.

  Had the Knowing done this to her as some sort of test? The thought filled her with horror, but there was no way to be sure. Either way, she could not help but feel the blame should be shared. That she alone should not bear it all.

  Cettie squeezed her eyes shut, but only for a moment. She wouldn’t wait for the Myriad One to accost her. Cettie tossed off the blankets and rose from the bed. Where was the maston chain? She had flung it into the corner, hadn’t she? At least she would have some protection against it, even if she no longer believed as she once did.

  Crossing the small room, she knelt in the corner, searching in the dark for the medallion. Groping yielded nothing. She couldn’t see through the shadows, and there wasn’t time to light a candle.

  She felt the presence of the Myriad One at the door.

  Frustrated, she rose and folded her arms over her breasts, determined to stand her ground.

  Doors or walls made no difference to such a being. As she stood there, preparing to face the wretched being, a prickle of gooseflesh went up her arms. Her heart began pounding faster despite herself. Within moments, she was a child once more, assailed by the same fears, the same dread. She’d thought she was beyond this . . . she’d thought she was finally safe.

  Was she to be tormented by this creature all her life?

  At last, little one.

  Its voice hissed in her mind as it passed through the door and into view. Oh, she remembered it well. She trembled, but squeezed her hands into fists and braced herself.

  What do you want? Cettie demanded. She knew it could hear her thoughts. Then she sensed more of them coming. Not just the tall one, but several others. At least six more.

  Why so many? The thought of facing one such being was daunting enough, but there were so many now. Cettie flinched and stepped back, only to strike the wall. She felt helpless, a tiny bird trapped in a cage. Weakness descended on her, ruining the feelings of strength and power she had experienced earlier.

  What do you want? she demanded again, trying to summon her will.

  You are helpless. You are vulnerable. You knew I would come.

  Cettie’s breathing came faster and faster. “Get out,” she said aloud. Then in her mind she said, Banirexpiare. It was the word of power that had banished this particular creature before.

  A sinking feeling wrenched in her gut. Nothing happened.

  By what authority do you command me? the tall one sneered. You have forsaken your oaths. You are and will be a vessel. For all of us. For our queen. It is what you were born to be.

  “I will not,” Cettie whispered, shaking her head.

  You have no choice. Not anymore.

  She felt them converge, joining together as one. Then she felt them ooze into her body. If only she had a kystrel. If only she had the power to repel them. Dizziness washed over her. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, just a listlessness, a sensation of floating.

  And with that feeling came memories that weren’t her own. Wars that had been fought in ages past. Champions and heroes, villains and thieves. Worlds collided in her mind, and she felt herself black out from the overwhelming legions of thoughts. It was like being submerged in viscous oil.

  When Cettie awoke, she was lying on hard cobblestones outside, cold and shivering in the dawn light.

  And she had no memory of the rest of the night.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  BETRAYAL

  The clear notes of a hautboie began playing in the courtyard, which Cettie could see as she struggled to lift her head. Glancing at her arms, she realized she was wearing a dress she’d never worn before, one from the gallery of dresses. Worry and dread filled her insides. Why couldn’t she remember what had happened? Something slithered over her legs, and she realized in horror that she was by the postern door in the wall.

  A snake was moving across her body. She crawled away, biting back a scream, and the weight of it
plopped off her. As soon as she was calm enough to move, she got to her feet and walked swiftly back to the poisoner garden. She held herself, shivering, and looked back at the wall. The Leering above the doorway was dark.

  As she walked, she examined the dress. It was dark blue or violet—the color was difficult to judge in the early light. Colorful ribbons festooned the arms, and a lacy ruff topped the bodice. The boots on her legs felt sturdy and comfortable. She noticed a ring on the littlest finger of her left hand and gazed at it in disbelief. A silver band with a dark sapphire stone. It fit snugly. The disorientation was jarring.

  A few images from the night before fluttered through her mind. They were not memories. At least . . . not hers.

  Her hair was damp with dew. As she reached the garden, she saw Jevin sitting on the stone bench, playing his instrument. She walked past him, saying nothing, and returned to her room and changed into another dress, one that felt more like her. It took a moment for her to wrench the ring from her finger. She felt she had made an awful mistake the night before, but there was nothing to be done about it. Back in her room, she searched for the maston chain. If she wore it, would it even protect her anymore? She searched the entire room, over and over, until the gong sounded for breakfast. The medallion was gone.

  She was grateful the morning meal was eaten in silence. The other girls looked cheerful and eager for the day; she felt as if the sky overhead was full of clouds. An oppressive weight had firmly settled on her. Guilt clashed with anger and despair. As she ate, her mind went to Adam, and she realized with crushing disappointment that he would never want to marry her now. She had broken her maston oaths. She’d succumbed to the Myriad Ones. Just thinking of him caused a stabbing pain in her heart and made the buttered bread and dried fruit inedible.

  During combat training, she fought like a woman gone mad. No part of her held back now, and she felt no qualm about injuring the master—even accidentally. She saw the change in his eyes as he defended himself against her attack. Her energy and passion had impressed him. She managed to claw his cheek with her nails and felt a thrill of victory when she saw the blood dripping from her fingers. And then he kicked her in the stomach so hard she couldn’t move and had to be dragged to the healing room.

  After that training, the girls were brought to the outer courtyard. Archery butts had been arranged, and the students were given bows of various sizes and quivers full of arrows. The instructor was new, a somewhat short man with grizzled hair and beard, very trim and fit. Even though he spoke a language that—by their confused looks—none of them seemed to understand, he demonstrated the proper technique of fitting an arrow to the string, holding up the stock, bringing the fletching back, and releasing it. The girls all struggled, some of them even dropping their arrows while raising the bows.

  The kishion watched them from afar, waiting, no doubt, for her to act. After regarding the other girls for a while, she gripped her stock, loaded an arrow, and sent it thudding into the dead center of the target.

  The instructor nodded in approval and gestured for the other girls to look at her. Cettie drew another shaft, raised it, and sent it through the inner rings as well. Gasps of surprise came from the other girls, and the thrill of victory helped thaw the icy wedge in her heart. She glanced at the kishion and saw him nod in approval. That unspoken praise had a sour bite to it.

  That night, after the sun set and the compound was quiet, the Myriad Ones came for her again. The only warning was the prickling of gooseflesh on her arms. Then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she felt the oily, sickening feeling of them taking over. It was a violation that she detested. But there was no way to stop it. She could not summon power from the Mysteries on her own anymore. A wall separated her from it.

  It was a wall too high to climb.

  Dawn found her again at the wall of the compound, wearing the same violet gown and boots. The same ring on her finger. It also brought the same melody from the hautboie. Cettie’s despair thickened into a clinging, foul sludge. She scrambled to her feet, feeling exhausted. As she approached the garden, she stared at the various poisonous plants and experienced the compelling urge to break off one of the little purple leaves and put it on her tongue.

  The melody abruptly ended.

  “Cettie?” Jevin called from the shadows.

  She had intended to go back to her room, but she stopped midstep, shivering with chill and disappointment in herself. Turning, she approached him, her head down.

  “I told you that you cannot leave the grounds,” he said in an admonishing tone.

  “I know that,” she answered.

  “Why do you keep trying, then? The Leerings won’t obey you until you have the hetaera’s mark.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m not trying to.”

  Silence. She opened her eyes again and watched him set down the hautboie.

  “The last two nights you have tried to leave,” Jevin said softly. “I’ve seen you.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Cettie said in despair, turning on him. “They’re . . . inside me now. The ghosts I told you about. Only it’s not just one anymore. There are seven or eight of them. I can’t even think when they take over. I can’t remember what I did last night. I can’t stop them. And I can’t stop myself.” Tears blurred her sight. “I wish I were dead.”

  Jevin rose from the bench. “That is not what usually happens,” he said, his mouth turning down. “I’ve not seen anyone react this way before. Are you hurt?”

  “No,” Cettie said, shaking her head. “I cannot make them go.”

  “You have an exceptional sensitivity to these things,” he said. “Truly, it’s remarkable. Can I explain what is happening? Or what I think is happening?”

  Cettie had always felt unusual. Different. Why should this place be any different? The feeling of utter loneliness was overpowering. “Yes,” she whispered huskily.

  “These beings . . . these ghosts . . . seek to claim your body to use as their own. Each had a life once. They want to experience it again, using you as a vessel. Even with all its imperfections and ailments, they want to remember living. These beings are very dangerous. They will use you to their own ends.”

  “You encouraged me to accept them,” Cettie said, glaring at him. “To face my fear.”

  “I did. But I had no idea you’d be this sensitive to their influence. How could I have known? We’ve learned, over the centuries, that their fits of debauchery are capable of ruining their hosts. Some even go mad. What use is a hetaera who goes insane? None,” he said, shaking his head and coming closer. “No use at all. In the past, a hetaera would train with a kystrel and then go to a certain Leering in your old world. There she would brand the hetaera symbol to her shoulder, which would permanently bind a ghost to her body. In a sense, she would give up her identity to become a vessel for a stronger being.” Jevin frowned. “Now it is different. The order has found a way to use kystrels to control the ghosts. Now you keep your thoughts, your identity, but you can harness their memories, their skills. If your ghost could once play a hautboie,” he explained, “then you gain that ability. Usually, the bonding has always been one to one. One ghost per person. But you are so powerful, Cettie, that you can contain seven?” He chuffed. “I’ve never heard of the like before.”

  “What are you saying? That I’m a monster?”

  “By the Fountain, of course not! You . . . you are special. You have powers that no hetaera in a generation has ever had.”

  Cettie felt her heart flutter at his words. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the feeling of ambition they’d unleashed inside her. “They want me to free Ereshkigal. Their queen.”

  Jevin stared at her. “They told you this?”

  “Yes.”

  He gave her a strange look.

  “What is it?” she demanded.

  He was frowning, deep in thought. “That is where Lady Corinne has gone. She’s discovered the location of the Leering that has bound Ereshkigal. She’
s on her way there right now.”

  Cettie felt a strong sense of certainty. “She won’t succeed.”

  “I can’t say whether she will or not. It’s been a great secret. One she had to commit murder to learn. I tell you, Cettie, truthfully, that these demons will haunt you and take possession of you every night for the rest of your life unless you bind them to your will. Only with a kystrel can you do this. They cannot pass the Leerings guarding this compound inside your body until you have the mark on your shoulder, but they have tried. They want to use you. You must use them.”

  The kystrel would protect her as the chain once had. She was certain of it. She knew she couldn’t endure the rest of her life living under the Myriad Ones’ thrall, imprisoned at the poisoner school. What if Jevin was wrong, though? What if accepting the kystrel did more harm than good?

  “It’s your choice,” he said with a sigh. “No one can make you wear one. It has to be done willingly. But don’t consider hurting yourself to be rid of them. To do so would only increase their power over you. I implore you to join us instead. Become one of us. Not as a slave. But as a partner in all that we have. My faith was like yours. Simple. Devoted. I believed in the Fountain and thought it blessed the righteous and harmed the wicked.” He smiled sadly and shook his head. “I, too, was disappointed. I was betrayed. But now I have renewed hope. I see the good this order endeavors to do and how it will liberate the poor and the downtrodden from the intrigues of the wealthy and the arrogant. Cettie, this order is the only thing that can save you.”

  She listened to him, her mind taxed with fatigue. “I will think on it,” she promised.

  “That is all I ask,” Jevin answered, bowing his head to her.

  She returned to her room, not bothering to change out of the gown this time. She knelt by the bedstead and offered up a silent prayer. But she didn’t believe it would be heard or answered. It was more a declaration of her intent.