And she did not trust any of it.
“Arrow?” Kester was nearby, crease between his brows. “Are you with us?”
“Yes.”
She walked into the temple by his side, feeling vulnerable with the magic inside her just out of reach, and resisted the urge to draw her sword.
~
Past the outer row of columns there was a large space, open to the elements on either side, covered, high above, by the roof. Arrow tilted her head back, risking her footing, but could not make out any detail of the roof. It was oddly shadowed, despite the bright sunshine flooding in through the open sides of the space. At the other side of the space was a second row of columns, these ones with tapestries hung between all but the middle two, the tapestries rippling slightly in the breeze, forming a fabric wall to the inner temple. The space between the middle two columns was shadowed, like the ceiling overhead. It was possible it was natural. Perhaps.
The scale of the building was impressive, the Erith ahead of her appearing small as they passed through the columns, the ceiling many storeys above their heads.
The tapestries, brightly coloured, longer than any Arrow had seen before, swayed gently in the breeze. Arrow craned her head to look as they moved forward. The symbols picked out against the colours were unfamiliar. They looked abstract. She was quite certain they were not. The Erith were fond of decoration, yet it all had meaning, a not-so-secret language that every Erith understood. She glanced around the few faces that she could see and noticed a few frowns. The others did not appear to know the symbols, either.
The itch between her shoulder blades was growing with each step. She had been in a few places of worship in the human world, not just Sanctuary, and they all carried a sense of calm and peace within their structures. This place was the closest thing the Erith had to a place of worship and it did not feel calm at all. Everything around them seemed designed to impress and intimidate. It felt more like a fortress than a temple.
There was no more time to look as they passed through the second row of columns, arriving at an inner chamber formed by more columns, light cut off by more tapestries hung between the columns, the chamber dark after the brightness of the day, shadows making it impossible to read the symbols from inside.
There was a simple stone table in the centre of the room, lit by the single line of light that came from the open door. Waist high, it displayed what looked like a small tree, a bowl of water and a flame burning. Arrow’s eyes drifted over the objects, trying to see into the shadows, looking back to the table as the sword stirred again.
The Erith did not have religion in the same way that humans understood it. Nonetheless, there were things that were sacred, or near-sacred, to the Erith. The rituals of death. Reverence for the heartland. Protection of their borders. They were in the temple that served the heartland. The closest to worship the Erith got to. And, staring at a table that bore symbols of the heartland, Arrow’s spirit sword, made to fight surjusi, stirred.
Something was very wrong.
She was not the only one uneasy. There were amber sparks in many of the warriors’ eyes. And Zachary was holding himself too still.
“Is this all of us?”
She was not sure where the question had come from, but it was a good one. Three cadre of warriors, war mages, the six, and a handful of others. An odd assortment for choosing a new monarch. There were none of the Taellan, apart from Kester, and he was more warrior now. There was no one from the Palace. No courtiers. No scholars.
The ripple of unease spread around the group.
“The lady has graced us with extraordinary gifts,” the Gardener said, either ignoring the question and the unease or not hearing it. He kept walking, past the stone table, to a point a few paces beyond it before he turned. “Behold, her wonders.” He indicated the table and the objects.
The group moved forward. Partly out of habit from following him. Partly out of curiosity. Arrow went with them, even as the sword stirred again.
The Gardener made a simple gesture with one hand. A command of some kind.
The light died in the room as a hidden tapestry unfolded from the ceiling, blocking the entranceway. As the light fell, there was a rustling noise overhead and dozens of small objects fell, striking heads and shoulders before smashing on to the floor. At first, Arrow could make no sense of them, her wards flaring in automatic response, silver bright among the other amber wards, a cry of alarm from the warriors and orders issued by the cadre leaders. More objects fell to the stone floor, breaking open. Pottery. Small jars used by mages and healers. The jars broke into pieces, releasing their contents. Dozens of them. More still falling. As the jars broke, a pungent gas rose, spreading through the group, seeping past the wards.
“Trap!”
Arrow was not sure who shouted first. Every warrior was on alert, moving out of the smoke. Or trying to.
Too late.
They were all too late.
Whatever had been released was fast-acting. Powerful. It crept through their wards. One breath was enough, and they had all taken far more than that.
Arrow glanced up at the Gardener, finding he had covered his nose and mouth with a cloth, eyes bright and intense over the plain fabric. Trap, indeed. And the heartland’s servant, who held traces of surjusi, was part of it.
The smoke was in her lungs, lethargy seeping through her body. Her knees gave out and she landed on the floor. The last thing she saw clearly before her eyes closed was one of the broken pottery vials, a trace of liquid underneath it.
The last thing she heard was a faintly familiar voice.
“I know you said this was necessary. I do not like it.”
“You do not have to.” That was the Gardener. “Just do your duty.”
CHAPTER 12
There was a foul taste in her mouth. Like she had eaten mouldy socks. Almost as bad as the after taste of Orlis’ potions. She could not draw breath. Throat sore and raw. It felt like her lungs were full, clogged with liquid.
And she had no wards around her.
She came fully awake in a choking panic, doubling over in a coughing fit even as she frantically scrabbled to set her wards up again.
There was no magic. She coughed again, unable to catch her breath, lungs seizing, wheezing sound in her throat.
No magic.
Not one trace of it.
No silver well inside her.
No trace of magic in the air around her.
No familiar feel of the sword spells at her back.
In fact, she did not have the sword. She pulled back her sleeve. Her kri-syang was gone. And her messenger bag.
She checked her pockets. Empty. Not even the end of a piece of chalk.
Her mind spiralled through the list again.
No silver inside her.
No wards around her.
Not one trace of magic against her skin.
She could not sense anything beyond her own body.
No supplies. No sword. No kri-syang.
No power and no defences.
Worse, in some ways, than arriving in the surjusi realm. At least she had been able to defend herself there.
And she did not know where she was.
The world made no sense to her eyes. Sharp-edged shadows and flaring patches of light. A cacophony of noise. Warm air against her skin.
She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes. It did not really help.
A furious rustling sound nearby got her to her feet, wobbling, balance uncertain.
She turned to face the sound. There was a furred head with a long snout, large eyes, and curved ears. It was the strangest looking creature she had ever seen. It stared back at her for a moment, blinked once, then turned and disappeared.
Into a large-leafed shrub. The odd pattern of light gradually began to make sense.
Still unsteady on her feet, she turned slowly around, taking in everything she could see. She was among giant trees, some of them with straight, smooth trunks risi
ng high into the air above, topped with thick canopies of leaves. Others were less elegant, branches and leaves trailing around and tangled with each other, shrubs nestling in between the trees.
There was barely any space of her feet on the ground between the shrubs and trees and variety of plants and moss and tangled roots.
Her chest tightened again, pulse racing.
She had never been here before.
But she knew what this was. The Academy required its students to learn the descriptions of different environments.
Jungle.
She was in a jungle. Somewhere. It could be the human world. It could be the Erith heartland. Without her magic, she had no way of telling.
Alone. No magic. No supplies. Not even water.
And a taste in her mouth that made her cough again as soon as she thought of it.
Water. She needed to find water. Clear her mouth. Soothe her throat.
A simple enough plan. Less easy to execute.
She looked about again, unable to see far in any direction, and only then remembered to use her ears.
The noise of the place was overwhelming at first. Birds and animals calling to each other. Rustling underfoot. The creak of trees. Wind through leaves. And a soft, bubbling sound that reminded her of the water feature in the Taellaneth. Clear, plain water running over rocks.
She walked in a small circle, trying to work out where the water sounds were coming from. There. Or there. No.
Trying to expand her circle was difficult, fighting her way through the tangled undergrowth, tripping on one of the roots.
She fell, once, onto her front, feet tangled in roots, and lay for a moment trying to catch her breath.
Opening her eyes, she saw a small, fragile-looking plant with a series of white flowers. She stared at it for a long moment, mind turning through the various plants and herbs she had studied in the Academy, sitting in the Potions Master’s classroom, listening to Hustrai’s gentle voice as he spoke about the properties of each plant, drilling the information into them so thoroughly Arrow had been sure she would be able to identify plants by touch, let alone sight or smell.
This one was rare. Sysianai. Very useful in potions and medicine. Found only in the Erith heartland, which at least told her where she was. Every part of the plant could be used, from the flowers to the roots. It could be useful.
She gathered herself, getting her feet out from the tree roots with some difficulty, and knelt by the plant, carefully scraping the soil away from around it until she was able to, gently and slowly, lift it out of the ground. Only when it was out of the ground did she realise that she had nothing to carry it in. Sighing, she put the plant, so carefully gathered, into a pocket and hoped it would not be too badly crushed.
And now she was covered in dirt as well as having a foul taste in her mouth. But the water sounds seemed clearer.
By some miracle she did not fall again on her way to the water source, which turned out to be a narrow stream winding between trees, bouncing over moss-covered rocks. It tasted glorious, chasing away the taste in her mouth, cleaning her hands, carrying a slight chill.
There were other plants tucked along the water’s edge. Another sysianai. A trio of dark-leaved, purple-flowered thirium. And a clutch of slender-stalked morias. All useful. All gathered and tucked into her pockets.
The stream was too narrow and the trees too high to give her a good view of the surrounding area, even when she stood, very carefully, in the middle of the stream, footing uncertain on the moss-covered rocks.
She stepped back onto solid ground with a sigh. She was in a jungle area of the Erith heartland. With no resources. And no magic.
She remembered the foul taste, and the clay jars that had been thrown onto the floor in the temple. Some kind of potion. Some kind of potion that had sent everyone to sleep. And taken away her magic. She turned that thought over once more. It seemed to fit.
Master Hustrai’s voice travelled through her mind again, the echo painful for a moment. He had been kind. A rare quality among the Erith. She had liked him. And she had a too-vivid memory of his lifeless body, blood spattered freely around the wreck of his classroom.
He was trying to tell her something now. Something about a potion that could send people to sleep. And another potion that could remove someone’s magic. Too much of either was harmful. She did not think that the Gardener had cared about doing harm.
But Hustrai was not done. There was more. The potion to remove magic had a counter-agent. The Erith would not tolerate anything less, magic at the core of their very beings. A counter-agent. Something that could be brewed. Without magic. And required a dauntingly long list of ingredients. Including sysianai, thirium and morias. Useful, indeed.
But now she had a mental list of requirements, and a purpose. If she could brew the counter-agent and get her magic back, that would be something. It seemed an impossible task. She could not think of anything else to try.
She drew a breath. Her lungs were settling. Her throat was calmer after the drink. Her eyes were functional, and the rest of her seemed to be fine. Apart from the lack of magic.
The lack could be fixed.
At least two of the other ingredients preferred larger bodies of water. She stared at the small stream and wondered if it led to something bigger along the way, or if there might be a pool at some point. It made sense to stay near water, too, as at least she would not go thirsty.
With a purpose in mind, she set off along the stream’s edge, following the flow of water.
~
There was no time for thinking or speculation as she walked. No time to think about what happened to the others. To Kester. To wonder where she was.
Every step required concentration and focus to avoid sliding into the stream or falling again. And she was keeping watch for any other useful plants, gathering more morias as she went.
All of which should have kept her fully occupied. Yet she found herself stopping from time to time, worrying, wondering if the others had been left nearby the spot where she had woken up. If she had just walked away from them. If Kester had been nearby, if only she had looked.
It was foolish. She told herself that, tone stern. She knew it was true. The others were all far more capable than she was of surviving in the jungle. They might be looking for her. Perhaps she should have stayed where she was. Or they might not be here at all. Perhaps she was the only one who had been taken from the temple. Perhaps others were still there.
Speculation was useless, but her mind would not settle. Would not stay still and focus.
Movement and the sound of a branch snapping nearby snapped her out of her spiralling thoughts. She had become used to the sounds of the jungle around her. This was different. Something else was here. Something that, like her, did not belong.
She stayed still, in the shadows of one of the larger trees, and kept her eyes on the spot where she thought she had seen movement and heard the snap.
On the other side of the stream, a figure moved out of the jungle, brightly coloured clothes a contrast to the jungle. An Erith. A woman.
Arrow was about to move forward, to call a greeting, when she realised it was Seivella. Not the companion she would have chosen. She might even have preferred to find Serran.
Her fingers clenched into fists and she stayed where she was, stomach tight. She did not want to draw Seivella’s attention. In fact, she wanted to walk away, go back into the jungle and keep moving ahead. The strength of that wish surprised her.
The Academy’s deputy stumbled to her knees at the stream, much as Arrow had earlier, and rinsed her mouth, spat, then drank greedily.
Arrow hesitated again before she moved forward. She might not like the woman, but Seivella was the only other person she had seen. Two people working together should be better than one. Should be.
“Good day,” Arrow said, when she was close enough.
Seivella shrieked, head jerking up. She slipped, and slid into the water. She scrambled
to her feet, eyes wide and startled, looking around frantically before she spotted Arrow.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
“No, mistress. I was trying not to startle you.”
Seivella glared. She was still in the stream, liberally splashed with water, the hem of her dress becoming more soaked the longer she stood there.
“Come.” Arrow offered a hand, not surprised when Seivella ignored the offer and made her own way out of the stream onto the same side as Arrow was standing.
“Where are the others?” the lady demanded.
“I do not know. I have not been awake long. You are the first person I have seen.”
Seivella had nothing to say for a moment, folding her arms around her middle. There was no amber in her eyes, Arrow realised. So, she did not have her magic, either.
“I was following the stream,” Arrow said after a moment. “I believe we were-”
“Poisoned, yes. Obviously.” There was a familiar bite to the lady’s voice. A Teaching Mistress’ disappointment in a student’s failure.
Arrow straightened a fraction, spine stiffening. She had not been a student for a long time.
“You may come with me if you wish,” she said, and started walking again.
The way here was a little easier than before, the stream’s edge a little flatter, and she had gone some distance before she heard the lady behind her, swearing under her breath as the dress she was wearing, its lengths soaked in cold water, caught on the shrubs and roots.
“Do you have any other plan? Apart from following this stream?” Seivella asked. She sounded out of breath. And angry.
Arrow did not pause, carefully navigating around a tree root before she answered.
“I am gathering ingredients for a counter-agent.”
“That is a good idea.” The lady could not have sounded more surprised if Arrow had suddenly produced a horse and carriage.
Arrow shook her head slightly, and kept going. There were no new plants around, although she did stop to pick another sysianai. Even if she did not need them all, she had a notion that Orlis might find them useful. When they found him again. She would not let herself think of it any other way. They would find the others.
Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set Page 125
