Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set

by Vanessa Nelson

  The third building was quite different.

  Arrow found the building itself fascinating. It was a place of worship, one of the oldest large structures in the city, and a little distance from the high-status area. Set back from the road surrounded by a narrow boundary of leafy green, they stepped from the pavement into the fresh scent of growing. Mint. Rosemary. A few other common plants that Arrow recognised, and the faintest trace of a citrus tang that was a plant more commonly found in the Erith lands.

  The building itself had been constructed from hard, unyielding, blocks of grey stone that did not appear to have weathered at all in the two hundred years that the building had existed. From the outside it did not look like much, an austere, blocky structure with some large windows of stained glass.

  The inside was a revelation. Somehow the human architect had created a space of serenity and peace within its walls, the sounds and irritations of the city around them vanishing as they stepped through the heavy wooden doors, leaving them surrounded with the fresh scent of green and the trace of vanilla from the lit candles dotted about the space.

  The inside was one large space, broken by the pillars that supported the roof, lit candles held in wrought iron holders on each of the pillars, ensuring that the vanilla scent spread through the building.

  “This is beautiful,” Arrow said, her voice hushed, not wanting to break the serene atmosphere.

  “The brethren will be delighted to hear you think so,” Zachary told her, voice also quiet. She did not think that shifkin had religion in the same way as humans, but ‘kin were connected to the land in ways that humans never would be. He would be more aware of the change in atmosphere than she was. Glancing across, she saw that the edge had gone, his power coiled back, contained. He had not been pleased that the previous places had been cleansed.

  “No one has done any cleaning here,” she told him, anticipating the question.

  “I beg pardon, young lady, but we most assuredly have.” The speaker was a slender human male, with dark skin, wearing his black hair in a series of braids that fell nearly to his waist. He was wearing plain clothing, a long-sleeved top in plain cream and wide-legged trousers in the same fabric. The clothing triggered a memory for Arrow, of seeing a group of people similarly dressed on one of the human’s celebratory days. Some kind of priest, she guessed.

  “Brother Edward,” Zachary greeted the newcomer with a smile. They were friends, Arrow realised, seeing the two exchanging handclasps, relaxed in each other’s company. As they talked, exchanging small bits of news, she realised that the human was far older than she had first thought. The black hair was likely dyed, as there were deep lines from a long life etched into his face.

  There were some humans who, for reasons unknown to both human science and magic, seemed to live longer than others. Many of them had been studied by science and magic, sometimes against their will. Arrow could understand why a long-lived human would wish to hide their age. It would not work among the Erith, or shifkin, whose senses would pick up the depth and weight of the person’s presence. But among humans, even those trained in magic, a little dye worked wonders.

  “This is Arrow,” Zachary introduced her. “Arrow, Brother Edward is one of the caretakers here, and a leader of the order the runs this place.”

  “I am pleased to meet you.” Arrow fought a brief impulse to bow and instead took the hand offered to her. The human was used to hard work, the skin of his hands callused, his grip firm.

  “Welcome to Sanctuary.” The way he said the word made it a proper name and Arrow shaped the word in her mind. It fit. There was a sense of peace here. “All are welcome.” It sounded like a ritual greeting.

  “Thank you.”

  “You don’t think much of our housekeeping?” the human asked. The skin around his eyes crinkled, lips twitching. Arrow bit back a smile of her own.

  “The space is clearly loved and well cared for,” she answered, voice serious.

  “We are looking into the sites of the break-ins,” Zachary said. “The ones where the wards had been tampered with.”

  The humour vanished from Edward’s face, something like grief replacing it.

  “A terrible business. It took all of us a whole day to put the wards back up. No,” Edward shook his head, clearly seeing a question in Arrow’s face, “I am not a magic user myself. A little sensitive, perhaps, from being here so long. But others among our group are. We all have different skills. Those of us who could not work with the spells kept those who could supplied with food and drink.”

  “But there is more,” Arrow prompted. A violation of the space was bad enough. The grief that had crossed his face suggested something worse.

  “She is perceptive,” Edward commented to Zachary.

  “That she is. And she is right.”

  “Come.” The human turned and walked further into the space until he reached what Arrow guessed to be the centre of the building. There was a six-sided shape etched into the stone floor, inlaid with what looked like gold. The design was not one that Arrow had seen before and she crouched to get a better look at the lines of it. Liquid gold had been poured into grooves etched into the hard stone floor, the craftsmanship of a standard the Erith would find worthy. Fine lines of gold radiated from the outer design to a point in the centre.

  “What was in the middle?” she asked. The space was empty, a plain stone circle where something had once stood. Something had been there long enough, and had been adjusted often enough, to leave faint marks on the stone. Since the building’s construction, she would guess. She opened her second sight and saw the faintest trace of something in the second world. The object had sat here long enough to leave its own echo.

  “The heart of Sanctuary,” Edward told her. “Our main founder was a magic user. Oliver Anderson. Powerful among humans. He created a sculpture of alabaster. An abstract, with his magic poured into it.”

  “It is beautiful,” Zachary added quietly, crouching across the other side of the circle. His face was shadowed again, reflecting a part of Edward’s grief. He glanced up, caught Arrow’s eyes. “A twist of pale stone about waist height and this wide.” He measured with his hands.

  “Heavy,” Arrow commented, abstracted, then glanced up at Edward. “I am sorry.”

  “As are we. It feels like the soul has been ripped from the building.”

  “I would not say so. It is the most peaceful building I have encountered so far in the human world,” Arrow told him, coming to her feet. “There is residue from the statue here,” she told Zachary.

  “Enough to track it?” His eyes glinted.

  “Perhaps.” She opened her second sight again and grimaced. “Perhaps not. There are so many traces in here.”

  “Ah. You meant magical cleansing,” Edward said. “No, we do not perform such rituals here. This is Sanctuary. We welcome all, and our space is the collective impressions of everyone who has walked through it.”

  “Which gives it its own magic, but makes it almost impossible to follow any individual,” Arrow told them. “But perhaps we can follow it elsewhere. Could you show us where the intruders entered the property?”

  ~

  The intruders had chosen a similar entry point as they had used at the workspace, Arrow realised. The building occupied a large block of land, sitting in its own space between crowded plots of modest-sized residences, the sides of the block overlooked by the human houses. The back had a far more extensive garden area, full of medicinal herbs and edible plants. It was also accessed by a quieter road that, late at night, would be clear of observers.

  There was an old iron gate set into the high stone wall at the back, the gate creaking on its hinges as Brother Edward opened it.

  “We believe this is how they got in.”

  “No one heard that gate?” Zachary asked, eyebrows lifting.

  “There was a street party,” Edward told them, shaking his head slightly. “Lots of music and noise.”

  “Bold,” Arrow comment
ed, crouching in the shadows of the gate, opening her second sight.

  “What do you mean?” Edward sounded genuinely curious, a smooth mix of earthen tones in the second world. Very much older than he appeared, she confirmed. In second sight, Brother Edward was human through and through, and perhaps half the age of the building.

  “A lot of people about,” Zachary answered. “It’s actually harder than you think to blend into a crowd when you’re a stranger.”

  The sword at Arrow’s back stirred and she tensed, drawing Zachary’s full attention. She put a hand up to the hilt, sending her senses out. The mass of spellwork under her hand, formed in the shape of a sword, was twisting restlessly.

  “What’s up?”

  “The sword is reacting to something.” She drew the blade, silver flaring along its length, edges brilliant with her power. It was not fully lit.

  “The demon-hunting sword?” Zachary was tense as well.

  Brother Edward’s eyes were huge in his face as he looked between one and the other.

  “What is wrong?”

  “Whoever was here used something unclean as part of their access,” Arrow told him. She rose and started walking in a spiral, tight to begin with, moving out from the spot, most of her attention on her sword. It settled the further away from the gate she moved. “Just at the gate.”

  “A surjusi? Here?” Zachary was still wary.

  “No.” Arrow was quite sure. “The trace is not strong enough. But something unclean.”

  “Another rogue?” His face was tight, doubtless remembering the last rogue magician, melded with surjusi, that had left a trail of bodies behind him.

  “Doubtful. He had a forceful presence, and there is nothing like that here.” Arrow looked at her sword for a long moment. It was dormant again, whatever it had reacted to too faint now to follow. She put it away and went back to the gate, crouching in its shadows again. If there was no surjusi trace, there might be something else to follow.

  There were far fewer traces here than there had been inside the building. Even so, it was a well-used entrance and it took Arrow some time, patiently sifting through the individual traces, until she found something. Not much. The faintest echo of something familiar.

  “The same one that was in the workspace was here,” she told Zachary, coming back to the first world.

  He did not ask her if she was sure, simply nodded, face grim.

  “There’s more to this,” Edward said, lines of his face creasing in concern as he looked between them. “Not just a prank or simple theft.”

  “Whoever took the sculpture first disabled your wards, then made their way through the gardens in the dark, picked up a heavy piece of stone, and left. All without raising the alarm. And somehow disabling the wards.” Arrow was frowning.

  “What is it?”

  “There is no trace of foreign spellwork,” she answered absently, slipping back into the second world.

  “What does that mean?”

  She came back to the first world to find Zachary frowning in his turn, hesitating. Whether to tell his friend or not, she realised.

  “I think,” she said slowly, “that the less we speculate, the better it will be.” They had already been careless, talking of unclean magic where anyone could hear.

  Zachary’s hesitation cleared. He tilted his head, sending her a hard, assessing glance. Wondering if she knew more, perhaps. She shrugged slightly, a human gesture that translated well. She was not hiding anything.

  “Yes,” he agreed. He turned back to Edward who was watching them both with sharp eyes. “Thank you for your time.” He paused a moment, gathering the right words. “We will keep an eye out for the sculpture and return it if we can. And I will leave a watch here for a while.” Arrow had not seen the shifkin observers that Zachary had posted to watch each site. That did not mean much. The ‘kin could blend in even in a city.

  “Blessings to you both.” Edward’s face was solemn. Clever enough to know he was not being told everything. And wise enough not to want to know. Arrow looked back at the building. Sanctuary. She thought it was in good hands.

  “No trace of foreign spellwork means no one used a spell here. Perhaps they came prepared. We need to see the other sites,” Arrow told Zachary as they went back to his vehicle. “It is possible there is a trace, and it is too small to see at one place.” And she wanted to see if the surjusi trace was present at the other sites as well.

  “So, put the pieces together and you might find more? Good. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 4

  They faced their first opposition at the next site, the fourth. Another high-status residence, further away from the Collegia. The owner was a human whose face looked faintly familiar to Arrow, and was clearly known by the Prime. The two exchanged barbed words as the human stopped them from entering the property, projecting a great deal of fury. Arrow stayed silent, observing the conversation for a while until the human ran out of logical arguments to prevent Zachary’s access, even faced with a court order, and framed an insult about the Prime’s heritage. It seemed to amuse the Prime.

  “What have you lost?” Arrow asked, keeping her eyes on the human. Some kind of local politician, she remembered now. She recognised her from the news programmes.

  “What do you mean?” The woman gathered herself, wrapping her arms around herself, tipping her weight back on her heels.

  “You are grieving,” Arrow said bluntly. “And not because your home was violated. Something is missing. What is it?”

  The woman stared back at Arrow for a long moment before the defiance and anger crumbled, lips trembling. She stepped back silently, waving them inside, closing the door behind them before leading the way along a corridor with thick, cream carpeting and plain, white walls until they reached an anonymous dark wood door. She paused before the door, drawing a breath in, squaring her shoulders, and then opened the door, standing aside to let them see.

  Arrow’s first thought was that they had somehow gone back to the Sanctuary. The floor and walls looked the same, the same grey stone, the same scent of vanilla. This place was much smaller, though. Enough room for perhaps a dozen people to stand comfortably.

  “Your meditation room,” Zachary said, his voice soft. “Did you have a focal point?”

  “Yes.” The woman’s voice cracked on the one word. Zachary waited, a patient predator, for her to gather herself. “An alabaster sculpture by the Sanctuary’s founder.”

  Arrow and Zachary exchanged glances over the empty space in the middle of the room.

  “Did it have any unusual properties?” Arrow asked.

  “Do you have a photograph?” Zachary followed.

  “Well. Unusual. It was magical. I mean, the sculptor was using magic when he crafted it. And, yes, there are photographs. I’ll get some.”

  She turned and went back into the house.

  “This is a private residence,” Arrow said. “And the lady does not seem someone who would just invite strangers in to this place.”

  “No,” Zachary agreed.

  Someone had known the sculpture was here, that meant. Arrow’s heart skipped. Finally, some connection between the crimes. Something similar. A thread to follow.

  “I’ll make enquiries,” he said, doubtless thinking along similar lines, pulling a mobile phone from a pocket. He stepped out of the room to make his call, leaving Arrow alone in the space.

  Arrow slid into the second world, tracing the occupants of the room. There were a few strong traces. The lady and her family, she guessed. And two, much fainter, traces. One becoming familiar. The intruder from the workspace. Who had also been at the Sanctuary, committing theft in a place of worship. The Erith did not have religion in the same way as humans, but there were spaces they considered sacred and inviolate. A place of meditation and peace was one.

  When she came back into the first world, Zachary and the woman were talking outside, Zachary holding sheets of what Arrow assumed were photographs.

  Zachary pa
ssed one of the photographs across when Arrow joined them. It was a black and white depiction of a pale stone pillar carved with fluid lines so that it resembled a smooth twist of stone. The apparently careless lines of the sculpture were deceptive, Arrow knew. It took a great deal of effort and craftsmanship to create such things.

  “It is beautiful,” she said.

  “Thank you. It has been in the family for generations.”

  “Are there many such sculptures?” Arrow asked, partly genuinely curious, partly wondering just how many more break-ins there would be.

  “Not really. Apart from Oliver Anderson there were, I think, five other founders of the order. He was the main one, and made a sculpture for each of them. And perhaps a few others. But some people don’t use them. Keep them on display.” Her nose wrinkled and Arrow suddenly thought much more highly of the woman, her evident distaste at the open display of a private object. “None of us have wanted to go into the room much since …”

  “I am sorry,” Arrow said sincerely. It was not the same as losing a loved one. Far from it. But it was something the family had treasured.

  And five other founders of the order. She remembered the six-sided shape in the Sanctuary, with the centre point. If there had been a stone for each side and one in the middle, that would be seven. She opened her mouth to share her thought with Zachary, closed it again, and made a note to tell him later when they did not have an audience.

  “I don’t understand how they got in. We have the wards renewed regularly.”

  “We don’t know either,” Zachary confessed, “but we’re working on it.”

  “I believe you. A lot more than that toad the Collegia sent around. Wanted me to keep it quiet. As if. Someone violated my home.”

  The shrill sound of Zachary’s phone cut off whatever he might have said. He took a few steps away to answer and Arrow asked the woman if she would show them where the intruders had gained access.

  Thankfully, the place had not been cleansed so Arrow could examine the scene in second sight. Her sword pulsed again. She left it in its scabbard this time, not wanting to alarm the woman, and walked a spiral out from the point of entry. The trace of whatever it was faded only a few steps from the entry point. Too faint to be an actual surjusi, or even a melded being, Arrow was sure. But something. Something unclean had been used in bringing down the wards.