In the quiet of her own mind, she admitted that she was not ready to leave Lix yet. Not ready for the Erith heartland. She needed her full power for that. Even with a full cadre around her, she wanted her own wards and her own defences.
And, for now, she was not ready to go back to the cottage, with a cadre of warriors around her.
She hesitated before leaving the Collegia buildings, and listened to the slight tug inside that drew her towards Sanctuary. The squat grey building had become familiar and, despite the number of people who came in and out of the building, it was always peaceful inside.
“This is a beautiful place,” Kallish commented as they stepped through the gate.
“You have been here before?”
“The Preceptor wanted a report about the stones,” Kallish told her, keeping pace with her the short distance to the building’s entrance.
Typical Erith, keeping track of something that might be useful. The thought had less sting than normal. Sanctuary was blissfully calm, no matter how disturbed her sleep had been or how angry she was.
Early afternoon in summer, the inside of the building was cool and quiet, with only a few other people around. They exchanged polite nods of acknowledgement, not speaking, and somehow not surprised to see a cadre of Erith warriors in this place of peace. Sanctuary absorbed the warriors along with everyone else, unchanging and serene.
Arrow made her way to a bench not far from the centre of the space. The centre was dominated by one of the stones. The waist-high sculpture glowed in the afternoon light pouring in from the windows, the spells in it dormant, formed of pure, Erith magic. The sculptor had been part-Erith, a son of the Erith’s most famous mage, and also Arrow’s uncle. Oliver Anderson had lived his life as a human, hiding his Erith heritage. Arrow could understand why. Many Erith were unforgiving of what they saw as impurity. Arwmverishan. And Serran vo Liathius had been as poor a father as he was a grandfather.
She was about to ask Kallish about the report she had made on the stones when she realised that the warrior had left her alone.
“Good afternoon to you.”
She was smiling before she turned. Brother Edward was one of the oldest humans she had ever met. And one of the kindest.
“Brother Edward.”
“You have been here often,” he commented, settling nearby, and turning to face her. Kind, not stupid.
“Yes.”
She faced the sculpture, not wanting to think about the things that drove her here, to the peace of Sanctuary, rather than out into the city, exploring.
“And wearing your human face,” he added. Definitely not stupid. The one piece of magic she had worked, in defiance of Orlis’ edict. It had brought the drummers back in force. It was necessary. She did not want to walk around the city with her new face.
The Erith’s heartland had healed her after the surjusi lord had tried to break through into the world. Arrow had sent the lord back to his domain, tearing herself in pieces to do so. She had accepted the heartland’s healing, and been changed by it, her appearance now more Erith than human.
Day to day in Lix, she adopted her old face. The one that could pass for human. Her human face. It no longer quite fit her, and she was not quite sure what that meant. And did not want to think about it too much.
“Trouble sleeping?” he asked.
She looked across, eyes narrowing, silver dawning in them. That had been far too accurate a guess.
“Child,” he said, voice gentle, “people come here for many reasons. All are welcome. And all may stay as long as they need to. But when someone comes most days, and with shadows under her eyes, even with a glamour, it is not because she is happy.”
Arrow turned back to the sculpture, blinking rapidly. Stupid eyes. She had not realised that her lack of rest was visible through her glamour.
He did not say anything else for a while, still and relaxed beside her.
“I have nightmares,” she admitted, the words torn out of her.
“I’m not surprised.” Another voice, one she had not expected to hear.
Zachary Farraway, the shifkin Prime, had arrived and settled near Brother Edward. She had not heard him arrive, which was normal. But she had also not sensed his presence and cursed her absent power, and the warriors that had not alerted her. He had his power tightly coiled inside him, and yet she would still normally have felt him arrive. Lack of sleep was making her careless, and that was dangerous.
The two men did not say anything more, and Arrow felt her shoulders relax a little.
She leant forward, arms on the back of the bench in front of her, and stared at the bright surface of the sculpture, trying not to think about the nightmares.
She opened her eyes to realise that she had fallen into a light doze.
She was still in Sanctuary, and Zachary and Edward will still nearby.
“I am sorry,” she said, straightening, heat in her face.
“Valerian,” Edward told her, handing across a small paper envelope. A human herb, Arrow knew. “It helps with sleeping.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was hoarse. She tucked the envelope into a pocket. Erith remedies had not helped much. Perhaps a human one would.
“There’s something we wanted you to look at,” Zachary told her. “If you have time.” He had, naturally, spotted the warriors.
“Tomorrow only,” she answered, making it a promise in her own mind. One more day in the human world. And then back to the heartland.
“That’s fine. I’ll pick you up first thing.”
It was only after he left that she realised she had not asked what it was she was to look at, and where.
CHAPTER 7
By the next morning, Arrow’s headache had gone. Perhaps it was the valerian, or perhaps her body had decided that she needed some proper rest at last. She had managed a decent stretch of unbroken sleep, waking with a clear mind and a healthy appetite. Her power was settled inside her, ready and waiting to be used, wards rising smoothly to her will.
She thanked Kallish and her cadre and released them. The warriors seemed reluctant to go, promising to return if there was need. Arrow received replacement emergency beacons separately from Kallish, Xeveran and Undurat.
Waiting for the Prime, she indulged in some housekeeping spells, delighted to have her magic back, and had to laugh at the changes the past few months had brought. Not that long ago, she had been forbidden from using her magic for anything apart from Taellan business, the oath-spells in her blood forcing her to compliance. Simple housekeeping spells that most Erith took for granted, such as the one currently cleaning the floor for her, had been denied her. And, despite having the qualification of war mage, she had never had any White Guard to watch over her while she was working magic and vulnerable.
Now, she had a handful of White Guard emergency beacons in her bag. The beacons were closely guarded, not given out freely. It was a core part of the warriors’ code that they would always respond when one was activated. They were rarely given to non-warriors. And she now had several.
The housekeeping spells done, the cottage was saturated with her magic again, familiarity soothing. Arrow wondered if this was what it was like to have a home. To come into a space knowing it was hers, where the fabric of the building resonated in her senses.
The familiar shape of a sleek, black vehicle pulling up outside distracted her even as the building’s wards shifted, alerting her to a visitor. She assumed her human glamour, got her coat, and went outside to meet the Prime.
“You look better,” he said by way of greeting.
“I am, thank you.” Not fully recovered. But a lot better.
“Ready to work?”
“Of course. Where are we going?”
To her surprise, he was alone, driving himself. She settled into the front passenger seat and waited whilst he took a few turns in the narrower streets around the cottage. They went past Sanctuary and her brows lifted.
“We are going to the muster house?”
“Indeed. I don’t want to tell you too much. I want your own impressions.”
Her brows lifted again, interest spiking. The Prime generally had good reasons for his actions. There was no point in speculating about what it was he needed from her.
That did not stop her mind turning over the possibilities on the rest of the short drive to the muster house. It could not be an injury, otherwise Zachary would have requested Orlis. The Prime had enough sway with the Erith to make that happen, and Orlis would help anyone in need. It was unlikely to be a summoning spell at the muster house as no rogue magician would have got past the ‘kin.
Before she had time to conjure more ideas, they had arrived.
The building was a two-storey brick building, familiar to her from her time living in Lix, although she thought the last time she had been here was with Tamara, when Tamara had been carrying a human thief across her shoulder.
As soon as she stepped across the threshold and onto the polished wooden floor, the sword woke up.
“There is something with surjusi trace nearby.”
“We thought so,” Zachary said. “No one is happy about it. This way.”
He led her through the building itself and out to the large garden at the back. The sword grew more uneasy the further they walked, until they were at the door of what looked like a large garage.
“There does not seem to be any physical danger,” he told her, before he opened the door.
Physical danger or not, her wards flared to life the moment the door opened and she stepped through. The silver blinded her for a moment until she drew in her wards and her eyes adjusted to the dim interior.
It had been a garage, or workspace at some point, concrete floor scuffed with use, the once-white plaster walls marked and nick from years of use.
It was now being used for some kind of display. The ‘kin had set up a series of long, plain tables on which they had placed a variety of objects that made no sense to Arrow’s eyes. A lot of the objects seemed charred. Her nose, sense of smell far inferior to the ‘kin, picked up a trace of burning and what seemed like the aftermath of gunfire.
“These are from the residence that blew up,” she concluded, stepping forward. The sword was alive at her back, sensing the presence of its enemy.
“Yes.” Zachary had stayed by the door, letting her explore. As she moved around the room, following the prompting of the sword, she realised there were four other ‘kin inside, all tense. Con and Will. Rose and Paul. She was surprised for a moment to see Paul back on his feet, in full combat gear. And then not surprised. Shifkin were hard to kill. And Orlis was a master healer, even without the official title.
The sword led her to what looked like a charred metal box about halfway around her tour of the room. She pulled a pair of gloves out of her bag, not willing to touch the thing with bare skin, checked her wards, and tried to pick the object up. It was much heavier than she had imagined possible, barely moving despite her effort. The box was about as long as her arm, stretched out, and about half as high and wide. She should have been able to lift it without difficulty. Interested, she opened her second sight and took an involuntary step back, every part of her recoiling.
“Is it dangerous?” Zachary asked. He was closer to her. How close she was not sure, still in second sight.
“I am not sure. It is revolting,” she told him. “Urjusi.”
“Unclean magic.”
“Yes.” Her skin was crawling under her clothes. “Was this covered in leather? Or what looked like leather?”
“The cover had mostly burned away. But that’s what it looked like. Not leather, then.”
“No.” Her stomach clenched. “It is a mage’s safe box. But not a clean one.” The muster house had her own safe box in their keeping. “I did not know that human magicians used them.” Safe boxes were usually protected by complex, powerful spells beyond the reach of most human magicians. And were usually left uncovered.
“Skin,” Zachary said, voice flat. They had come across remnants from a rogue magician before.
“Yes.”
“Can you identify the magician?”
“In time.” She came back the first world and looked around, seeing the other objects. “This is the object with surjusi traces. Nothing else.”
“We need to open it,” Zachary told her.
“Not here. We need somewhere outside where an explosion can be contained.”
“That thing’s a bomb?” Rose asked, tense.
“Most mages set their safe boxes to explode if the wrong person tries to open them,” Arrow told the ‘kin. She tried picking the thing up again. Too heavy for her to manage comfortably. “Is there a … wheelbarrow? Is that the right word?”
“We can carry it,” Con said. He was there with Will, both of them wearing gloves. “Where do you want it?” This last directed to Zachary.
“Out the back of the garden. Onto the open ground. And tell everyone else to stay away.” That last was directed to Paul, who ducked his head and left, heading back to the muster house.
In short order they had the box outside, settled on a small wooden box Rose brought from the garage. Paul came back and gave Zachary a nod.
“Back twenty paces,” Arrow told them. The Prime lifted a brow but complied, waving his people back as well. No one argued.
Left alone with the box, Arrow knelt on the ground beside it, sliding back into the second world, working past her instinctive revulsion and nausea to examine the spells on the box. Whoever this mage was, he had gone to a lot of trouble to hide whatever was inside. In a human residence that appeared to be owned by the former Mayor of Lix, a former close confidante of the Magister.
There was no keyhole or lock apparent in first or second sight. The box itself was a simple container, the top of it being the lid. Sealed with spells that crawled in second sight, the blood of an unwilling sacrifice bound into the runes. Crude runes that could be Erith or human. Not shifkin. The magician, whoever they were, had rudimentary skill and ruthless determination.
Even in second sight, her mind calmed to work, Arrow shivered lightly. Another ruthless magician willing to use blood magic.
A moment more and her lip curled.
“This is the Magister’s work.”
There were gasps from the ‘kin.
“It took you a while to recognise it,” Zachary pointed out.
“This is not recent.” Her skin was crawling again. “He has lived longer than most people know. This, I think, is perhaps fifty years old.”
“And bound with human skin?”
“Yes.”
“The Magister had a favourite student go missing about forty-five years ago,” Zachary said, voice grim.
“Was she fair skinned?” Arrow asked past the tightness in her throat.
“She was. And never found.”
Arrow began to have a very bad feeling about what was in the box.
Knowing it was the Magister’s work, it did not take long to find the key and unlock the spells that held the box shut. She lifted the lid, still in second sight.
A tight knot of dark swelled out of the box, the familiar bottomless black of a surjusi.
Arrow was on her feet, sword in hand, before her mind caught up with her movements, the sword making one, clean, arc, the banishment spell she had bound into its length flaring, the surjusi trace scattering to nothing.
She came back to the first world as the sword quieted, the threat over, to find all the ‘kin on alert, weapons raised, apparently pointing at her although she knew they were aiming at the box.
Unable to help herself, she looked into the box. Her mouth dried and she swallowed, hard.
“Is it safe?” Zachary asked.
“As it will ever be.” She sheathed the sword at the third attempt, her hands shaking, and forced herself to stay where she was as the ‘kin came forward.
She saw her own revulsion reflected on their faces as they looked into the box. A skull. Finger bones. Othe
r bones she did not recognise.
“The surjusi trace is gone?”
“Yes.”
“Why keep bones?” Rose asked, lip curling in disgust.
Arrow turned away, staggered a few paces, and threw up.
She spent a moment breathing steadily, trying to find the freshness in the air, before she turned back to the ‘kin. None of them seemed to find her reaction weak.
“There is a theory that if you use the parts of someone you love, it adds power to your magic,” Arrow told them, voice hoarse. “And keeping the … items together like this, bound with power, keeps their potency.”
“I hate magicians,” Con said with calm dispassion.
“He should be dead,” Rose said, eyes bright as she looked at the Prime. “I don’t care if his mind’s gone. He knew what he was doing when he did this.”
“Yes,” Zachary agreed. He was holding himself too still, his power coiled around him too carefully. He flicked a glance up to Arrow, his eyes brilliant green. “The student was eighteen.”
“A child,” Arrow said, voice cracking. “Young is supposed to be …” She could not finish, turning away, stomach heaving again.
“Can we destroy this now?” Paul asked.
“We should check the contents,” Arrow said and forced herself back to the box. “Is there a cloth I can lay the bones on?”
“A moment,” Con said, and went back into the garage, movements jerky, a sharp contrast to the normal fluid grace of the ‘kin.
The rest of them stood in silence, trying not to look at the group of bones in the box. Eighteen years old. Fair skinned. Arrow could imagine, all too easily, how a young, impressionable student would be flattered by the attention of the Magister. He might be mindless now, but he had used a variety of spells to enhance his charisma and influence his listeners. Rose was right. He should be dead.
Con came back with a plain white sheet and laid it on the ground. He also had spare gloves for everyone.
Arrow picked up the skull first, knowing that would be hardest, looking into the blank, empty sockets. She turned it over in her hands. It seemed too light and fragile to have held a life, and a mind sharp enough to merit a place at the Collegia.
Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set Page 120
