by Cassia Meare
The Tuaa hesitated only for a second before saying, "A little more. Come."
She led Elinor through a labyrinth of bookshelves to another room — this one small and empty, except for a table and chair. "Wait here."
Taking the only chair there, Elinor noticed that the place was bare and that it lacked a window. The small circle directly above her threw just enough light on the table, where a smooth clay tablet lay. Soon the Tuaa entered with a golden sphere in her hand. Its surface was uneven, made up of raised and sunken metal pieces that fit together like a puzzle. She set it down before the tablet.
"The grimoire is in here," Mar said.
"Where?"
Mar pushed down on the sphere and it clicked. The pieces separated, like the wings of an insect opening — a head lifting, legs stretching out and claws digging into the table. A blue light emerged from it.
"You can ask it questions," Mar said.
"Questions that would be in the grimoire?"
"Yes. It won't know answers beyond that," Mar explained. "Or it won't tell. Do you want to try?"
"Shall I speak into it?" Elinor asked.
"Just speak. It will hear you."
Elinor leaned forward, nevertheless, and asked, "Which are the hekas in the Knowledge?"
For a moment, it seemed like nothing would happen. Then a blue glow appeared, faint at first, but intensifying. It left from a point inside the open sphere and projected writing onto the tablet. The writing of Otherwhere, which Elinor could read like English.
Might, Protection, Time, Likeness, Binding, Change, Crossing, it said.
It stopped a moment and then projected: The Key.
Another second and the symbols appeared next to each heka.
"It's very cunning!" Elinor exclaimed.
The Tuaa smiled, not without preoccupation in her eyes.
Elinor hesitated but said, "Ty told me … there is a dark grimoire."
"It’s a myth," Mar said, her brow marred by a groove as deep as it would go into skin so smooth. She gave a slight shake of the head. "Or rather—"
"Worse than forbidden?"
"In your world," Mar said pensively, "you might call the grimoire the arcana — in which case, the dark grimoire would be the profana. That which is not to be touched or used." She studied her own feet before continuing, "It is said some of her disciples gathered this profane knowledge in Deep Realm. That she dictated it to them. But no one I know has ever seen such a book. It might be just a rumor, like so many others about that place."
Without saying anything else, she left, closing the door.
The small device sat there, waiting for a question. Elinor asked in a whisper, "What is the order of the hekas?"
The light immediately died, and the pieces closed forbiddingly into a sphere again.
"All right. Open." The sphere didn't move. She hissed at it. "Open, you rogue!"
It did not. She had upset it, but she reached out and pushed it down like the Tuaa had done. It clicked open again, as it had at first.
Well, she would have to keep trying to see what she could know and what would shut it down.
Elinor thought about it and asked, "What is a spell to find someone?"
The light appeared after a second and projected a text onto the tablet. Through an object of the person's and the words Nu mol predo: Take me to this. That was how Nemours had found her at the women's meeting. The priest would have protected himself against that — although Elinor would have tried, had she an object of his.
She needed to ask the right question. To get to the priest she would need a roundabout way, as he would have made sure that his trace was erased or confounded.
Roundabout: through someone else who knew. And that person wouldn't be Lamia. The only person who might know was Ahn. The Princess of the Night was connected to Lotho Sils, whether she admitted it or not.
Elinor's heart started hammering. She was connected to Ahn, or she had been during the unbinding. Ergo, she was connected to Lotho Sils.
"Connecting with another mind through a spell," she said slowly. She had learned from the google how to pose questions.
The light shone and intensified, but then the glow diminished. She had not phrased it well.
"Connection by doing a spell together," she said.
The light intensified and the writing began to appear on the tablet. Elinor read:
If two participate in a spell and it is not properly terminated, or if a person intrudes in the spell of another without termination, a connection may remain between both minds. This may be increased through the will of one or both. It may be terminated by one or both, although the longer the connection exists, the more danger of Abuse.
There were instructions on how to terminate such a connection. But Elinor instead wanted to use it; increase it.
This was what Ty had meant when he worried that Likeness might be too much for her. If she used that connection, could she not open her mind to Ahn?
"Using a mind connection to scry on another," she nevertheless said.
This time the sphere shut down even more quickly and decisively. Of course, entering a mind to scry would be considered Abuse. The grimoire did not like that. It was Lotho who must have created the duplicate of Delian and scried through him for the sisters.
She suspected Lotho knew quite a bit about the profana. The dark arts. How was she to fight him?
Elinor pushed down on the sphere and it opened again. "Protecting yourself against mind Abuse or scrying."
It did like that question. The tablet filled with writing, detailing how to break a suspected invasion or unlawful connection.
All right, so she had stolen Ahn's voice at the unbinding, and if she could retrace that, use it, and terminate it … But to retrace a Binding? No. It could harm Nemours, perhaps. Make him vulnerable to Ahn through her.
Elinor gasped, sitting up. Nemours. A memory flashed through her head: of sitting on the floor in the house when she had heard he was to be married. The sadness she had felt, like a deep well that would never fill with her tears.
It had been Ahn. It had been Abuse.
Of course, why hadn't she realized it before? She had not been brought up to sob and shed so many tears over a man, not even a Nemours. Not even all alone in her bedroom. That sorrow, that feeling that nothing would ever have meaning again.
Of course it had been Ahn!
She could retrace that Abuse.
Ahn was in her mind already, so why should she fear the connection? She should use it to her advantage.
Perhaps Ahn feared Nemours and what he would do if she hurt Elinor. If so, she must act quickly, before she lost that fear.
"Is there a choice, anyway?" she asked aloud.
The light of the sphere died.
"I wasn't asking you, goose." Elinor took a deep breath. "I was asking myself."
She wished she could ask Nemours, but he would tell her not to do anything dangerous to her. Delian would hate it, especially now — still, no guts, no glory.
"Retracing a shared memory," she said.
Yes! The blue light started to write. It obviously did not consider that as Abuse; perhaps the grimoire thought it a happy dwelling on something by both parties, as when people looked at photographs in 2025, or when, at her time, they sat around the fire and spoke of the past? Elinor eagerly read what the blue light wrote.
She further asked the sphere how to terminate the shared memory; she already knew how to terminate the Binding spell to cut the connection between her and Ahn, which had been there and dormant since she had unbound Nemours.
Well, she thought as she left the library, didn't terrible things at times become helpful? She had betrayed Nemours, but by freeing him from her own spell she might now have access to Ahn. A philosophy to mull over some other day.
Her escort of two men was waiting when she exited the library, and they followed her as she galloped back to High Hall. Once there, she moved along the passage to find the rooms Ahn had oc
cupied right before she had fled Nemours' wrath. It was at the opposite end of the long corridor from his quarters.
Ahn's belongings were still there, and it wasn't difficult for Elinor to get what she needed: something made of metal, something made of cloth and a looking glass.
The storeroom Elinor had visited before provided the other ingredients needed for the spell. Crushed ghostflower for remembrance. Weeping weed for regret and black river root for forgetfulness. On Earth she would have had to use rosemary, rue and poppy, but she suspected the flowers and weeds here would be much stronger. Nevertheless, it was a madcap mixture of spells, one following the other, and Elinor could only hope her concoction would not end up in disaster.
Running on light feet through the halls to her own room, Elinor thought of Lotho Sils reaching High Hall through her. He would cause complete havoc, perhaps even unseen. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it. Did she dare?
Afternoon was falling, and its strong colors — orange, dark purple and pale green — were dramatic. The colors of the end of the world. Perhaps they really should prepare drinks with umbrellas to watch it, in case all failed.
"We won't fail," she said stubbornly.
Her hand shot up almost of its own volition to make the sign of the cross three times. Everything was confusing now, but that gesture did make her feel better, and protected. She felt protected even against her own hubris.
Pushing up the sleeves of her dress, she dragged a brass brazier to the center of the room. She lit a fire and placed the ingredients carefully on the table next to her. A letter opener made of gold, a shawl, the looking glass, the flowers and weeds.
The metal would act as a conduit, and she must use it to prick her finger and draw blood. She must let the drop of blood fall on the looking glass. "Tutmoh kalke pozhylea, pozhylea." Remember with me, remember."Moh vey na." Let me see it again.
She gently laid the looking glass into the fire. Instead of turning black and cracking, it brightened and sharpened when she threw the ghostflower on it. The mirror did not show anything in the room; instead, it showed Elinor sitting on the floor and sobbing as in a film.
A shared memory between her and Ahn, although Elinor had not known it then.
Now the next part of the several spells. She must enter Ahn's mind and see what was there. A retracing of Ahn's own Abuse.
The weeping weed was for repentance and would create a weakness in Ahn's emotion. Throwing it into the fire, she said, "Pozhylea vadna stohol." Remember what you did. "Pozhylea kerey tudye." Remember and regret it.
And the dangerous part. "Pozhylea Lotho Sils, pozhylea." Remember Lotho Sils, remember. "Ya ay kiril." Think of him.
It was a question of two seconds, but she saw him; or at least it must be the priest. The mirror showed him standing before great doors with symbols. Doors that seemed made of bronze.
The man and the doors were gone, suddenly replaced, as if a channel on television had been switched, by a monster's face, peering closely at her. A monster with tiny oblique eyes and vertical nostrils cut into a scarred face.
Elinor jumped back with a cry. She had stayed too long! She sliced the black river root in half, her hands trembling, and threw it on the fire, saying, "Tyetve. Ma skal nodraq!" Forget. Terminate this spell.
The mirror blackened and cracked.
Keep going, you're not done yet, she told herself, even as she tried to regain her breath. She took hold of the shawl: cloth would stifle and end the connection between her and Ahn. She threw the shawl on top of the mirror, where it smothered the flames and then gave them new, brief life.
"Moh truda, moh truda. Pre pratye yet gritsya. Ma skal nodraq ve samm Elinor pre Ahn." Mark me, mark me. I never agreed. Terminate the spell linking Elinor and Ahn.
"Vals nodraq, vals nodraq," she muttered, just in case. Close or stop everything.
As if a great wind had suddenly blown inside, the fire died. No smoke rose from the cloth or glass, and only the hot metal remained, covered by ashes.
Elinor stood for a moment in silence, hackles rising at the memory of that ancient face staring right at her. Elinor had thought Ahn might intervene, despite the weeping weed or perhaps because of it. And she didn't know whether the river root would be enough to make Ahn forget and leave no trace of Elinor's invasion.
But Elinor hadn't counted on that … face. What if it had stayed in the room? Or with her?
"Duma ve tsessonya moh," she whispered. If something is here, show me.
Nothing. It had seen her, but wasn't there. And Ahn?
"Duma ve vadna ye moh." If something is within me, show me.
Nothing.
Just in case, she renewed the protection spell. Elinor couldn't be sure that she would find everything. The spells in the grimoire, even combined in a chain and using retracing as she had done, were not foolproof against more skilled magicians. Lotho had, perhaps, realized he had been scried. Or Ahn might have felt Elinor's invasion, or might yet feel it.
There might be hell to pay, but at the moment Elinor ran out into the hall again, and all the way to Nemours' rooms. The door was open.
"I've seen him," she panted.
"The priest?" Nemours asked, looking up from a letter. Probably a report. "A spell?"
She nodded. "I scried him."
Realization dawned on Nemours' face. "Through Ahn?"
Again she nodded, moving slowly toward him.
He scowled. "Don't put yourself in danger, Elinor."
"Magic..." She raised her shoulders. One never knew, and Nemours understood that. "Still, I saw him, but I don't know the place."
She described the golden doors. He shook his head, his eyes lost.
"That's bad. Very bad."
"Why?" she asked. "What is that place?"
"That's the House of Mages, beyond Witchsweep. A place that has been abandoned for a long time." Nemours looked at her, and there was something like apprehension in his eyes. "I have to stop him now."
28
The good thing about Witchsweep was that it had no shield. In fact, no protection could be placed on it without awakening the wrath of Sigrit of Inön.
The greatest of all sorceresses had been Mother's star pupil — even before Ahn, since Aya had wanted most magic to be in the hands of the Tuii and Tuaa and not of her children. And Sigrit had been an eager, talented pupil.
It was one of her many mysteries: Why had she retired here instead of trying to conquer the world?
But then, she had known she couldn't fight Mother's children and live. She had chosen to be queen of a bit of the world instead of defeated and dead.
Only one Tuii had ever challenged Sigrit: Vidar Ve Ames. A priest who had forsaken his vows, as Sigrit had, and disregarded Aya's prohibition to dwell in magic.
He had come to Witchsweep and founded the House of Mages — he had even lured some acolytes to follow him. And they had all been destroyed by Sigrit.
Vidar had become a cautionary tale for would-be wizards and would-be witches. It was not just Aya they should respect, but Sigrit. Although it was said Sigrit herself had been punished for her ambition before Aya disappeared.
Lotho had been around a long time, and as Ahn's protégé perhaps he had forgotten to fear Sigrit. She had, after all, allowed the white guards to retire nearby, in Jade Forest. She gave haven to all sorts of creatures. Perhaps she had lost her bite.
No one wished to go there. Except, it seemed, an upstart priest.
Nemours knew the House of Mages. He could visualize it and get there through Crossing. He found himself in the woods around it, which meant that Lotho had placed a protection spell on the place.
Bold of him, considering the Lady of Inön might not like it.
Nemours wouldn't get lost, even if the woods were full of danger and deception. In the dark, he could make out a thing here and there. Small things with the bodies of animals and the faces of people, or vice-versa.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep ...
&n
bsp; His ears pricked at the laughter. It was a giggle, really — a sound he had once loved above all others.
The giggle of pure happiness; the giggle of a child.
And she didn't take long to appear, running out into the path he was following. Just running, her little body so compact, her red hair flying.
"Catch me!" she cried, looking back.
That face, so innocent. So full of joy.
No matter how much you prepared yourself for sorrow, it still devastated. The magic in the place knew that he wanted to return to a time when Sefira was happy. To see her like that again.
But I have promises to keep ...
"Catch me, catch me," she cried.
He longed to catch her, throw her in the air, and catch her again. She would put her forehead against his and they would rub noses. How simple it had been, to make her happy. He would never forget the feeling of her hands on his face, in his hair.
Pure love.
Had slicing her with a sword been pure hate?
Nemours let her run and laugh to punish himself. He had cut her almost in half — and Ahn hadn't yet put her back together. He walked behind the child and wanted to howl with pain.
I have promises to keep ...
He had sworn so many times she would be safe.
She veered into a different path, and he didn't follow. When he found a fountain, he stopped to drink, and saw her reflection next to his. A little girl crouching, elbows on her knees as she cupped her chin with two hands. Yes, she had often done that, watching him do something, asking questions.
"What are you doing?" the ghost of Sefira asked.
"Begone, demon, or I will kill you."
Little Sefira opened her mouth, showing three rows of pointed teeth as her eyes turned red, and hissed at him. Gaining wings, she flew to a tree in a flash. She looked like a demon now — a white one, stark against the darkness. Sitting on a branch, it let a long black tongue roll out of its mouth and flop to the ground. A gesture of disdain.
"Piss off," Nemours mumbled.
The tongue tried to dab at his face as he stood, but he knocked it aside with the back of his hand; the creature whined but didn't go after him.
