The Border

by A. H. Lee

  “The king will do nothing,” said the boy. “Bandits are coming over the mountains from the dying lands, from the places where the rain has stopped falling. They pay off the garrisons. The soldiers aren’t here for us. They are here to make sure Mistala does not invade. They are not here to defend goatherds and beet farmers.”

  “So you will defend them,” said Sairis thoughtfully.

  “Will I?” The boy cocked a sharp eye at Sairis. “The hill people won’t thank me, not once they realize what I am. I always thought they’d burn me in the end. This...” He started to laugh—a high, hysterical sound. “The irony!”

  So this is the first iteration, thought Sairis. This is the piece he put into the sword to release the demon. It’s quite a piece. This ghost understands he’s a memory. He’s complete enough to have a sense of what happened to him.

  Sairis glanced up to see Candice watching them carefully. What on earth was she talking to him about for all that time?

  “Hastafel,” began Sairis.

  “Phillip,” said the boy.

  “Phillip, there’s something—” Sairis stopped. He stared past the shepherd boy and Candice to the sheer face of the boulder, where his own reflection had joined the other two. Then he started to laugh. Obsidian... “Volcanic glass.”

  Phillip turned to the boulder. “Dragon glass, they always said in my village—a bauble left by the wyrm that sleeps now in the far southern caves. They say she was wounded by the sword trapped in the glass, that she must sleep for a hundred years to heal herself. They say that when she wakes, the sword will wake too, and a hero will pull it from the boulder to fight her again.”

  Phillip’s brow furrowed. “Lies, I think. No one else can hear the wolf inside. Wolves were never good for shepherds.” He started to pace up and down.

  Sairis watched Phillip’s reflection. The sword in the stone...the stone in the sword...

  Candice spoke at last. “Sairis, I’m ready to leave.”

  “We have to return via the route we entered,” said Sairis slowly. “That’s a drawback of summoning circles.” He was still watching the boy’s reflection. “I still don’t understand what the lust demon has to do with any of this. If Hastafel summoned him, then he’s under Hastafel’s control and subject to his commands. How can he be helping us to overthrow his master?”

  No one answered, and that was telling. Sairis looked between Candice and Phillip. They know something. He realized in the next instant that they were staring past him, at the obsidian boulder.

  Sairis whirled to look. Somewhere deep within the boulder, a light began to glow. It did not seem to become brighter so much as nearer. Sairis stepped closer, fascinated. A glance at the boulder’s aura showed that complex magic had been used upon the mirrored surface. Sairis wished he’d noticed it earlier. What could Phillip do from inside here? He’s been scrying with it for sure. What else could he do? A fragment of the ghost of a sorcerer...

  “I can see things the sword sees sometimes,” murmured Phillip. “I think you two should go.”

  The image in black glass came into focus: a campfire, the silhouette of a man with a drawn sword, starlight catching on his pale hair. Something leapt at him out of the darkness.

  Oh, no.

  Candice turned and ran. It was the right thing to do. We have to get all the way back to the top of the tower...

  Sairis laid a hand against the dark sheen of the boulder. There isn’t time.

  Chapter 30. Good Demon

  Everything happened very fast. Marsden shouted, and there was an explosion of light. Roland turned to see Caseous picking himself up from the dirt a few feet away. Marsden had a ball of fire in his hand, but he was moving as though through thick mud, struggling to speak. His hair and skin were crawling with wards.

  Beyond Caseous, the men around the fire were writhing, their bodies twisting in impossible angles as their limbs elongated, teeth erupted from their mouths, jaws unhinged, bones snapped, and hair grew in the blink of an eye.

  For one heartbeat, Roland thought Marsden had done something awful to them. And then one of them howled.

  The demon leopard made a horrible caterwauling noise, somewhere between a snarl and a feline scream. The wolves launched themselves at him.

  Roland tried to draw his sword, but Alistair was already on him, and they were too damned close to the salt circle. Roland flipped them over sideways, sacrificing precious leverage to keep Alistair from breaking the salt ring.

  Alistair came up on top, his eyes reflecting red in the firelight. Something was wrong with his mouth. He appeared to have a second row of teeth dropping down behind the first, much sharper. He spoke around them with difficulty, his voice a crooning lisp. “I’ll send you back to your sister with a new thirst, prince. Then we’ll see if the Malconwys learn sympathy.”

  The snarling of the wolves and the leopard drowned out whatever he said next. Roland punched the vampire in the face as hard as he could and followed this up with a knee to the kidneys. Alistair’s hands came up reflexively to his face, and he rolled away from Roland’s knee.

  Roland bounced up, ripping his sword from its sheath. He caught sight of Caseous on the ground, probably dead. Marsden had stepped inside the salt circle without breaking it and appeared to be attempting to wake Sairis and Candice with magic.

  The werewolves and Mal were going round and round the fire in a snarling, screaming mass. Blood and fur flew. Can they kill a demon? Roland had no idea. Werewolves were inhumanly strong. There were four of them and only one of Mal.

  There was no time to worry about the demon, though, because Alistair was at him again. Roland quickly realized that the vampire didn’t need a sword to be deadly. He was preternaturally fast. Roland kept cleaving the air and missing. They danced around each other, lunging, grappling briefly before Roland could push them apart again. His heart hammered in his throat each time the vampire’s fingers dug into his skin. He felt something trickle down his face and wasn’t sure whether it was blood or sweat. I am going to die. We’re all going to die. Or worse.

  “You seem very concerned about this circle, Prince,” spat Alistair. “What happens if I break it?”

  He made a lunge, and Roland had to hit him bodily to knock him aside. They landed in the illusory River. Alistair’s elbow connected with the side of Roland’s head, and the world went white.

  Roland was on his stomach in the dirt. He couldn’t get his breath. He tried to lever himself up, but Alistair was straddling his back. Roland stared numbly at his own reflection in the illusory River, at Alistair’s pale face leaning over his shoulder to lick the side of his neck. “Do give the queen my regards,” he hissed.

  Roland was looking at his own terrified reflection.

  And then he was looking at Sairis.

  The necromancer had both hands flat against his side of the reflection, a look of fierce concentration on his face.

  The River rose.

  Suddenly the ghost of the Styx was all around him, more like sand than water. Come away, come away...

  Roland felt himself swallowed up, sinking. The world inverted. He was in the River beneath a twilight sky, surrounded by a vast, brooding forest. He felt as though he knew the place, though he’d never been here before. He’d known it in his bones from birth.

  Other people were whisking past him—shooting joyfully downstream. “Free!” he thought he heard one say. “I’m finally free!”

  Yes! thought Roland. Free! He felt a sense of anticipation, as though some glorious secret waited just out of sight around the bend in the River.

  He was standing. Why was he standing? Why did he have legs? So useless here...

  “Roland.”

  He looked up and saw someone on the bank. He was the most interesting thing Roland had ever seen—made of light, made of every color. The colors pulsed and flared, mesmerizing. He smelled like strawberries and honey. Roland thought he would taste delicious.

  “Roland, come here.”

  Rol
and found that he very much wanted to do what the voice said, but at the same time, he wanted to follow the River. The pull of indecision was painful. The voice spoke again, “Roland Malconwy, come here.”

  The words seemed to wrap around him, to hook in his gut somehow. He forgot about the River. He stumbled towards the bank, anxious to do whatever the voice said.

  Something bumped past him in the silky waters of the Styx—some confused creature like himself, not quite flesh, not quite spirit. It was a girl, drifting with the current as though stunned. The shining one spoke again, “Candice!”

  She twitched, looked at him, but no more.

  “Candice Norres, come here!”

  She actually pushed away from the mesmerizing voice, obstinance written in every line of her body. “No.” The girl’s form dissolved and she vanished beneath the surface.

  Roland had reached the bank now. He hesitated on the edge of the water, but the shining one scooped him up. Roland had done what had been asked and he felt an immediate need for some new mission, some purpose.

  He started to struggle.

  “Go back to your body,” whispered the voice that rang like bells.

  The twilight wood began to fade. Roland caught one last glimpse of the River as something huge and spotted broke the surface of the water and then dove. It came up with a wriggling silver shape, like a fish.

  * * * *

  Sairis sat up in the ruins of his circle, shivering and nauseated from the outpouring of magic. He was going to pass out. No. Can’t yet. “Roland?”

  He forced his eyes to focus in the shifting light. The air reeked of smoke and the nauseating odor of burning flesh.

  “Sairis?” Marsden’s voice.

  Sairis realized he was looking at the remains of their campfire—torn apart and scattered among the dry woods. The underbrush had readily caught flame. Marsden had created a firebreak with magic, and he was working hard to keep the flames from spreading. Sairis guessed that the bodies of their attackers were somewhere in the blaze.

  Sairis coughed. “Where’s Roland?”

  “You tell me!” snapped Marsden over the crackle.

  Sairis’s eyes fell to the ground beside him. Roland lay there on his back, tangled blond curls pooling around his head, blue eyes wide open, mouth slack in an expression of surprise. Fear hit Sairis so hard that his vision swam dark around the edges, but he forced himself to reach out and place a hand on Roland’s chest. He was still warm. Of course he was. He’d been alive a moment ago, standing over Sairis’s body, defending him from a monster.

  Sairis waited for his chest to lift, to feel a heartbeat.

  He waited.

  Sairis resisted the urge to plunge back into the River, to go looking for him. I don’t have enough magic. And if he ran from me...then he wanted to go.

  It was hard to predict who really wanted to go and who would fight to stay. Sometimes people you’d never guess were unhappy got one look at the River and nothing in the world would tear them from the current.

  I need to check his aura. That would be the definitive test. Just do it. Sairis rallied himself. His magic was so low. He didn’t want to look.

  Marsden was suddenly crouching beside him. “Sairis, he’s fine.”

  Sairis looked up, too far gone to hide his distress.

  “I mean, he’s alive,” continued Marsden. “I don’t know if he’s fine, but he’s... I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you didn’t have enough magic to check. I’ve shut his eyes twice, but he just keeps opening them. I assumed he was...with you. He’ll wake up in a moment. He’s fine, kid.”

  Sairis was too weak to pull away when Marsden put both arms around him, too weak to stifle the sobs. “He’s alright,” repeated Marsden. He rocked Sairis back and forth like a child, and Sairis couldn’t bring himself to fight. “You didn’t kill him. You saved him from a vampire. You did what you had to do. Roland is alright.”

  Sairis finally managed to speak. “S-sorry, Marsden. Did I...did I drag you across?”

  “No. I’m pretty good at not crossing the River.” He hesitated. “My friends call me Andrew. If you meant what you said earlier.”

  Sairis sniffled. “I think I should probably call you Professor.”

  “I think we’re past that.”

  Sairis pulled away suddenly. “Candice!”

  Marsden sighed. “She’s...not fine. And I think the demon was swept away.”

  Sairis turned to see Candice still lying beneath the sword. Unlike Roland, her eyes were closed, her face empty and still. She looked like a girl asleep and at peace.

  “I tried,” whispered Sairis. “I called her, but she wouldn’t come. To get them back when they’re halfway between like that, they have to want to come. They have to want to stay more than they want to go.”

  “Sair?”

  Roland was sitting up. Sairis crawled forward and threw his arms around him. “I thought I’d killed you.”

  Roland was staring around with an expression of wonder. He put his arms around Sairis, still staring. “I...I was somewhere else.”

  “You certainly were,” said Marsden in a tired voice.

  “It was...” Roland’s voice trailed off and he stiffened.

  Sairis raised his head. Roland was looking at Candice. A fog had risen from the ground around her. As they watched, it started to ripple, at first like heat, then like the eddies in a pool.

  Next moment, the leopard erupted from the ground. He looked wet and appeared to be shaking water from his whiskers. But instead of moisture, sand flew in every direction. He was gripping something in his mouth—something that flashed and wriggled like a silver fish. He dropped it on top of Candice, where it seemed to melt over her ashen skin.

  The earth settled as though it had never moved, and everything went still. The leopard stared intently at the silent girl.

  Then Candice drew a breath that was half scream and sat up. “Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods...” She looked around wildly, turned over, vomited, backed up on her hands and knees, and ended clutching the leopard around the neck. She was breathing as though she’d run a race. The gray-blue of her skin flushed pink as her body struggled to catch up.

  “I was dead. Oh gods, I was dead.”

  “You were,” agreed Mal placidly.

  “You came after me.”

  “I did.”

  “You are such a very good demon.”

  “I’m not, though. I’m terribly naughty.”

  Candice screwed her eyes shut, panting and stroking his fur. “Good demon.”

  Mal looked over her head at the others with a smug expression. “I don’t know about good. But I’m pretty useful sometimes.”

  Chapter 31. Mosshaven

  Roland announced that they would sleep for three hours. He was determined to be on the road again by first light. They were entirely out of food, as well as forage for the horses, and time was running out for any chance of a rendezvous with Daphne’s army.

  Sairis forced himself not to think about how dreadful he would feel after only three hours of sleep. He felt dreadful enough as it was. I am certainly not cut out to be a soldier.

  As they threw down pallets inside Marsden’s now comfortably secure illusion, Sairis outlined what he’d seen in the sword—both the mechanism of the tower and his conclusions about how Hastafel had been using it. “Hastafel has splintered himself again and again. I’m sure he thinks he’s cutting away the weak parts, but really he’s removing everything that Wrath can’t use. The wolf is honing him into its perfect vessel. The first iteration is the most complete—the boy he was when his village burned. But ghosts who are that self-aware can be dangerous. Hastafel learned to shave off smaller pieces. The ghosts who came later don’t understand what they are.”

  Marsden shook his head. “Well, he’s stretched too thin. It’s unfortunate we can’t just wait for him to burn himself out.”

  “I’m afraid we’ll all be dead by then,” said Roland dryly.

  “And he’ll be
completely possessed by a demon,” added Sairis. “Which will not be better.”

  Candice was keeping very quiet. She’d taken the blanket Marsden offered her and curled up beside the embers of the fire with the leopard at her feet. Sairis wanted to ask her again about the nature of Mal’s summoning. He was also very curious about what the young Hastafel had told her. However, he decided it could keep until morning. They both needed a few hours of precious sleep.

  Sairis crawled into the blankets beside Roland, both of them still fully dressed in case of more trouble. Sairis let himself be folded in strong arms and listened to the thump, thump, thump of Roland’s heart. Just as Sairis was drifting off to sleep, he heard Roland murmur, “I saw you...the way ghosts see you.”

  Sairis blinked heavy eyelids. “Was I extremely terrifying?”

  Roland’s fingers wandered into his hair. “You were the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

  Oh.

  Sairis wished he were more awake. He wished there was enough light to see Roland’s face. He didn’t sound like he was telling a joke.

  “Well, you were terrifying,” muttered Sairis, “because I couldn’t tell whether you were going to come to me for a moment. What’s your middle name, anyway? Is it a secret?”

  Roland laughed. “Bertram. It’s not a secret. Unfortunately.”

  Sairis was almost asleep again when Roland said, “If Hastafel made the sword into a focus by putting a memory into it...what did you put into your glasses?”

  Sairis came fully awake. He lay there in the dark, hoping Roland had drifted off, but then Roland’s thumb made a gentle circle on Sairis’s cheek, waiting for an answer.

  Sairis leaned up and whispered in his ear, “My name. Now please go to sleep.”

  * * * *

  Roland woke to birdsong. He sat up, feeling confused and sluggish. The air was bitterly cold, but bright shafts of sunlight dappled the forest floor around him. His whole being urged him to burrow back into the warm blankets where Sairis was still breathing softly. Sleep, until...