Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set

by Vanessa Nelson

  “You did not tell us.” Willan was crouching in front of her. The others were still gathered around Serran, trying to make a plan. Or so she thought. They were all talking at once.

  She lifted a brow at the mage, not sure what he meant for a moment. The weight of death had lifted but she still felt sick, concentration fragmenting.

  “That you were Serran’s granddaughter.”

  “Oh. That.” She pushed herself to her feet, one hand against the wall, hissing at the drag of stone against the open wound. She could still feel the faintest trace of surjusi power, stomach twisting again. “I am also Seggerat’s granddaughter. It hardly matters.”

  “It matters a great deal,” Serran contradicted, voice flat, reminding her of Seggerat. A comparison neither of them would like, she was quiet sure.

  “Old man, I am my own person. No one has a claim on me. Not you, not anyone else. The Erith exiled me. Seggerat declared me an abomination. You left me.” Her voice was hard as the stone around them. Not bitter. She was beyond that, she thought. The hurt and fury had cooled, too.

  “You-” Serran’s face was flushed. She wondered how often people stood up to the old man. She waved a hand, cutting through his words and he silenced. Shock, mostly.

  “I do not have time to debate with you. I need to find Kester. And the humans.” She wanted to lie down and sleep, body battered, stomach still twisting with unease.

  “Ridiculous. We do not have time to chase down humans.”

  “I suggest you make time,” Arrow answered, with a snap. She ignored his next words, dismissing them as unimportant, instead turned her hand over, the fingers still straight, and eyed the wound. The bleeding had slowed.

  CHAPTER 18

  “Congratulations.”

  She looked up, breath catching in her throat, to find Saul a few paces away. The others were nowhere to be seen. She clenched her wounded hand into a fist.

  “You again. What have you done with the others?”

  “So unimportant. But you. You are extraordinary.” He was practically dancing from foot to foot in glee, the careful posing from before vanished.

  “What do you mean?”

  Before she could react, he reached out and grabbed her wrist, hard enough to leave even more bruises, and tugged her hand towards him, using his other hand to force her fingers open. He was far stronger than a human should be, the skin he was wearing a veneer that was fading, the planes of his face more angled than they had been before, the blue of his eyes deeper.

  “This. You found a way to tap into the power here.” He showed too many white teeth in a smile. “I knew you could. A shadow-walker. The first to come here.”

  Tap into the power. Arrow remembered drawing the power through her, holding the surjusi still while she killed them, protecting the six and Serran. Surjusi power. It had done her bidding, as power did. But she had used demon magic. And slaughtered surjusi whilst they could not move. No wonder she felt sick.

  “It is the tragedy of this place that the surjusi cannot use the realm’s power. They need Erith power to live.”

  Arrow pulled her hand away, twisting her wrist as she did so. Bruises were forming under her skin. She would have risked another broken bone to be free of him.

  Surjusi magic. She had used surjusi magic.

  “It felt good, yes?” Saul’s voice was still full of glee. “Pulling that power through you. All that possibility. No need to bow and scrape to the Erith any more. You can reign here. Make your enemies pay.”

  Yes. The power was there. Now she knew what to look for, and with the wound still open on her hand, she could feel the power in this realm. It was as vast as anything her world had to offer. A deeper well than Farraway Mountain. As great, perhaps, as the Erith heartland. Taelleisis.

  Enough power she would never want for anything.

  It was tempting.

  The sword at her back pulsed, once, breaking her concentration.

  She shook her head, coming out of a trance or dream.

  Saul was still speaking. The language was not one that she knew. It grated on her ears. The words carried power. Surjusi power.

  Her body chilled. He was wearing a human suit, but nothing about him was human. The lines of his face were changing before her eyes, losing humanity, fading to something closer to Erith. Except not. The Erith were beautiful. Every one of them. Whatever combination of skin, eye and hair colour they possessed, every Erith was breath-taking to look at. Saul was not. The lines of his face were subtly different, enough to jar her out of the last of the trance.

  He was working a spell on her, she realised, calling to the part of her that wanted to take the power around her and use it to crush the Erith. The ruthless part that had held surjusi still so they were easier to kill a short while ago. The part that railed against everything that had been done to her and wanted revenge. To eliminate everyone who had caused her hurt. To rend Eshan limb from limb. To punish Gesser for the broken fingers that would never lie flat.

  The world was spinning around her even though her feet were planted hip-width apart, the stone underneath solid and real. She could feel the trail of surjusi crawling through her body, the power she had called through her when sending out the hold spell. Insidious. Just there. Inside her. And all around. She had only to look for it.

  Her stomach heaved and she turned away, throwing up again, the points of pain across her body waking up again as Saul’s hold on her loosened.

  “How disappointing.”

  Saul’s voice had changed. The undertone was familiar.

  “We have met before,” she said, voice hoarse. She turned back to him and was not surprised to see that his eyes were now hollow points of emptiness. Nothing between the lids apart from endless dark.

  “You have met pieces of us.” The lips moved, the sound nothing a human throat could make, grinding the bones of her ears together. She touched one ear, fingers coming away sticky with blood. “Only little pieces. And now we have you-”

  She did not wait for him to finish. Panic rose, choked her throat, and her fingers scrabbled for something to defend her. The sword. Its hilt was in her hand before she knew what she was doing, bright edge slashing forward.

  Saul cleaved in two in a curving line across his torso, blackness bleeding out.

  His lips were moving again.

  She did not wait to hear more.

  She turned her battered body around. She ran.

  ~

  She ran as if simply by running she could escape. As though her steps would inevitably take her towards a door that would open out into the world. She did not care where. She would happily face the outlawed lands between Hallveran and Lix rather than Saul.

  Stairs appeared in her path. They had not been there before. She skidded to a halt, ungainly in her headlong run, and had to grab the corner of the wall to stay upright. Stairs. Plain stone, the same colour as the walls. She looked at them as though they were a lethal trap.

  Now she had stopped, she realised how sore she was. The fall down the stairs earlier had hurt. Fractured bones. Bruising. And more bruises at her wrist where Saul had had hold of her.

  She pulled her sleeve back and saw black imprints of his fingers on her skin. Not bruise colours, but soot black. She wriggled her fingers and found no impairment. Her perfect fingers.

  As she had stopped, she pushed some power through her body, healing the worst of the damage. Her wrist ached as the fracture knitted together, bruises fading slightly so she could concentrate.

  A soft sound nearby drew her attention. Foolish to be distracted.

  There was harsh breathing coming from somewhere up the stairs. Her eyes narrowed. A trap. For certain. And yet, breathing meant either Erith or human. Assuming no shifkin had come here. So, she went up the stairs as quietly as she could, not relaxing when she sensed the trace of Erith wards.

  She found Kester sitting against the wall opposite the top of the stairs, knees up in front of him, arms resting on his knees, starin
g into the mid-distance with an unfocused expression on his face she had never seen before. At least, she thought it was Kester. She did not know exactly how much power Saul had here, whether he could create illusions this real.

  “Kester?”

  The sword at her back pulsed. Not a full warning. Uneasy. Sensing something she could not. At least, not yet.

  She took another few steps forward until she was a few strides away.

  “Kester?”

  “Arrow.” His voice was odd. Slurred, soft, not himself. He tilted his head, gaze still unfocused, not looking at her. “I was looking for you. Looked everywhere.”

  “I am sorry.” She held an explanation behind her teeth, still wary of a trap.

  He would not look up and Arrow could not see his eyes. She crouched down, trying to catch his gaze and he turned his head again, avoiding her.

  “Found me.” The slow speech was sending alarms through her. He sounded drugged.

  “We should move. Find the others.”

  “Move. Yes.” He shifted position, back straight against the wall. “You are Arrow. I am …”

  “Who are you?” A chill crept over her body. The slurred speech. The lack of eye contact. And they were in the demon’s realm. Kester had been out of sight for hours, perhaps longer.

  His head tilted, expression slack for a moment, before he turned to face her, the sharp angles of his Erith heritage cast with something else.

  “Little girl.” The voice was nothing that should come out of an Erith throat. Not as powerful as the voice Saul had used. Double-layered, deep enough to vibrate through her skull. She felt unsteady for a moment. A surjusi had him.

  “And who are you?”

  “Kester. We told you.”

  “No. You are not Kester.”

  The sword at her back pulsed again. Not fully lit. Ready to be used.

  “Kester is here. Little girl. Foolish. Do you think he really likes you?” The voice was shaded with a tone she knew well. Taunting. She had heard that tone a lot from fellow students at the Academy. Arwmverishan. Abomination. The unwanted, unNamed offspring. Runt. And more. Like the jeering litany from Gesser vo Regresan when he had broken her fingers just to see what would happen, confident that no action would be taken against him.

  Nausea rose again. Saul’s voice, mixed with power, coaxing her towards revenge against those who had hurt her. It had echoed inside her, created a longing that had not fully died, twined around the surjusi power that still slid through her. She swallowed, hard, and set the temptation aside.

  She ignored the taunt. What was in front of her was far more important. The surjusi was wearing Kester’s body, talking through his throat, but none of the mannerisms or words were Kester’s.

  As Saul had been wearing a human body, and not quite making it do what he wanted. Even here, where he ruled.

  She looked down at her unbroken fingers again and her breath caught. Nothing was what it seemed. They were clinging to what they thought should be the case. What should be real. What was real in their world. And this was not their world. The rules were not the same.

  “Kester.” She pitched her tone to urgency, ignored the bottomless pit of his eyes. Surjusi eyes. Kester was in there somewhere. “Do you remember when we first came here?” There was a flicker in the dark. A trace of brightness so fleeting she may have imagined it. “There was no body. No up. No down. Nothing. We were just ourselves without form.”

  “What are you doing?” The tone was sharp now, the mocking vanished, familiar lines of Kester’s face tightening as the surjusi grew suspicious.

  “We had to make our bodies.” Arrow held up her hand, with the perfect fingers. “The normal rules of our world do not apply here. We can make ourselves differently in this place. I did. I have always wanted to have my fingers back.” The confession spilled out of her. One of a long list of wants. And when she had been making her body, pulling the bits of herself together, it had come true.

  “Stop.” The surjusi lunged forward, one hand reaching for her throat. She sprang to her feet and took a few paces back. Kester’s body moved again. It looked like it was trying to stand up but the legs did not quite go in the right direction and it was trying to stand with arms heavy by its side and head tilted forward. The creature was not fully in control of Kester’s body, still adapting to its environment.

  “Kester. Remember what it was like when we came here. No body. No hands. No feet. No arms. No legs. Remember that.” Arrow kept talking, sliding the sword out its scabbard. “No weight. No breath. Just you.” Her voice caught. “Just a mind without a body. Remember that. And move to your left.”

  The body that was not Kester stilled, head jerking up. The pitch of surjusi possession flickered again, familiar Erith amber visible for a moment, before the body simply dissolved and the surjusi rose in its place. Massive and twisted, lipless mouth open in a roar of unsound that lifted Arrow’s hair in a great, static cloud. It surged forward, limbless form moving faster than seemed possible.

  Arrow was ready. The sword knew what was needed. She moved, feet stepping in an assured pattern, arm and torso following, a bright slice of light through the dark. Another roar, this one fury and defeat, and the form vanished into a thick cloud of dust. A few motes of Erith magic rose. Dull and nearly lifeless. The creature had not fed for some time. Or perhaps it had used its reserves of energy in taking possession of a living Erith, a far greater prize than the scraps of magic now floating in the air.

  The grey weight of death blurred the edges of her sight. There had been too much death. The surjusi power inside her sang in delight. She wanted to be sick again.

  A soft thud nearby drew her attention, sword up and ready. But it was Kester, in solid form again, body slumping against the wall. He slid down, boneless, until he was sitting and then tipped his head up. Familiar dark eyes shot with amber met hers.

  “Nice trick,” he said. His voice was hoarse as though he had been shouting. She knelt in front of him, pulling the flask out of her bag, shaking it. She thought Serran had finished it, but there was a little bit left.

  “There is not much left.” She offered him the cold peppermint tea. He took a mouthful and handed the flask back, holding out a hand. She put her whole right hand into it.

  “Thank you.” He looked at her hand for a moment, the straight, unblemished fingers. “You worked it all out from your hand?”

  She felt heat rise in her face. He sounded incredulous.

  “I did not notice them for a long while. Then I realised that we made ourselves when we came through. From the memory of what we were immediately before. I made myself in one piece.”

  “So, when we get back, your fingers will be as before?” His thumb traced a path across the backs of those fingers, sending a fine thrill through her.

  “I do not know.” She glanced aside, aware of the silence around them. “Are you alright? Can you move?”

  “Slowly.” He grimaced, letting go her hand and bracing himself against the wall to struggle to his feet. His face was hollows and angles, drawn. “It was awful. I could see and hear everything but I could not move or act.”

  “I know how that feels.” She rose as well, for once more fluid in her movement than he was, and stowed the flask.

  “How?” His brows drew together in a frown and his gaze sharpened. “You are alright?”

  “I carried the oath spells for years,” Arrow reminded him. She did not think that any of the Taellan had fully understood what those oath spells meant. Eshan had. Eshan had perfectly understood that she could not fight back.

  “Arrow,” Kester began, voice changed to something softer that sent a curl of warmth through her, chasing away the nausea. He was standing close, familiar scent teasing her. He touched her cheek. “I did not think.”

  “Well, we have something in common now.” She tried for a light tone, and saw his lips twitch, bare moments after his body had been overrun with surjusi. He might wear a gentleman’s clothes, but she always
thought of him as a warrior. Erith warriors were trained to stand against the dark, just as war mages were, and endured their own Trials.

  “We also both like chocolate,” he added, catching her by surprise. A laugh escaped before she could check it.

  “True.”

  There was a short pause, and Arrow wondered if Kester was also trying to think of something else they had in common. The taunt the surjusi had spoken played through her mind. Do you think he really likes you? She did not understand what drew him to her. Why he chose to spend time with her, awkward and exiled, rather than any of the many Erith ladies who would be delighted to keep him company. Ladies who Juinis would definitely approve, all of them with impeccable bloodlines, soft voices and fine wardrobes.

  She shook her head slightly. She was who she needed to be. None of the appropriate ladies could have stood against surjusi. The surjusi had tapped into an existing worry. Found a weakness and exploited it, in the way of its kind. No time to worry about that now.

  “Are the others safe?”

  “I do not know. We were separated again. Saul.” Her throat closed on the name. “The six were with Serran.”

  “So, you found Serran.” There was a hesitation in his voice.

  “Yes.” She tried to keep her tone calm and neutral.

  “I wanted to be with you when you found him,” Kester told her, taking her hand again, fingers warm. She stilled, looking up at him, surprised. “He is not an easy person,” Kester offered, fingers tightening a moment, “even with those he cares for. He can be charming when he wishes.”

  “He did not wish.” Arrow blew out a breath, returning the clasp of his hand before gently freeing herself. She did not want to talk about her grandfather. “We should try and find them. And the humans. Dorian and Juniper. They are probably somewhere here, too,” she said, bitterness coating her voice, “brought here by Saul.”

  “Saul is the not-human person?” Kester prompted.

  “He is lord here.” Her stomach twisted again. The lord of this place, who had been delighted to find a shadow-walker in his realm. A shadow-walker who could use demon magic. She wanted to be sick again, except she knew there was nothing in her stomach. She did not even have a stomach. “That is why we are not hungry or thirsty or properly tired,” she realised aloud. “We are just memories here. Just spirit.”