The Emperor's Mirror

by Emily Holloway

  “Maybe I can take you with me when I go,” Tallis said.

  “You can’t,” Brannon said.

  “But I want to,” Tallis persisted.

  “You can’t,” Brannon repeated. “Elder says I’m not to leave.”

  “Then I’ll have to visit,” Tallis said, and Brannon sulked. He put an arm around the boy and hugged him close for a minute.

  “Life isn’t fair,” Brannon said.

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Why do you believe in those dumb gods?” Brannon asked. “They give me things but then take them away again so fast.”

  “I don’t know why I believe in them; I just do. There are some things I believe and I leave it at that.”

  Brannon sighed and wormed out of Tallis’ comforting embrace. “Why d’you want to find the chest so bad? It’s just a job.”

  “Because it belongs here,” Tallis said.

  Another few moments of silence passed.

  “You know what happened that was funny today?” Tallis asked. “I asked the Elder if it would be all right to get up early tomorrow so I could attend morning services.”

  “And he said no,” Brannon said with a nod. “He doesn’t want you to see the temple.”

  “Or what’s hidden there.”

  Brannon nodded. “They say the temple is very sacred. That you can talk to the gods there. But they’ve never answered me.” He stood up abruptly and said, “You want to see it?”

  Tallis nodded.

  “C’mon, then,” Brannon said. He turned and headed for the corner with the secret passageway, and Tallis followed, unsure of exactly what was going on.

  “Why did you change your mind?”

  Brannon looked at him for a long moment, a complex, adult look that seared right through him. Then he turned away. “Because it doesn’t matter. The gods aren’t there and it’s not sacred. Why should I care what Elder Edrich wants? He doesn’t care what I want.”

  “That’s it,” Tallis decided. “I’m bringing you with me when I leave.”

  “You can’t,” Brannon said. “This is where I belong. Where I’m supposed to be.”

  “How do you know that?”

  A long pause.

  “Come to the temple with me,” Brannon said. “Then I think you might understand.”

  “All right.”

  They went through the tunnels in silence. Brannon led him through what seemed like an endless winding route, often sliding through passageways or around corners that Tallis hadn’t even noticed. It got colder as they went along, and they seemed to be steadily sloping downwards. Tallis had noticed that the monastery was partially built into a hill, and he wondered suddenly how much of the building was actually underground. After nearly ten minutes of steady walking, they came upon a small wooden door that Brannon pushed open and slid through, into the temple.

  It was one of the grandest that Tallis had seen, and in his short life he had seen many. It was very old but quite clean and well kept; there was not a hint of dust or cobweb to be seen, even along the arching pillars of the roof supports. It was the largest room Tallis had seen in the monastery, with an altar at the far end of the room where incense was still burning in the carved stone holder at its base. Threadbare kneeling mats of dark purple were set in rows, ready for the morning services. Torches were placed at regular intervals along the wall, and most were burning with a bright, magical flame, but somehow the room still seemed dark; the flickering light only deepened the shadows. The windows were not boarded, so he could see the glass and the dirt pressed against it on the other side. Tallis wondered why an underground temple would have windows, and it only reinforced the suffocating feeling of the room. It felt cold and dank, as if he were in a cave. Tallis felt as if he, along with the temple, had been buried alive.

  The magic of the place hung heavily in the air, tangible, an almost liquid sensation that made it difficult to move. Brannon walked through it easily, as if he didn’t notice; Tallis presumed he was accustomed to the feeling. Upon the altar at the front were two sandalwood chests, and an obvious place for a third, placed along a runner that was the same dark purple as the mats, though less worn, with silver edging. There was something about the magic in the atmosphere that nagged at Tallis, something out of place, something that didn’t belong.

  Brannon walked halfway down the aisle between the mats and then stopped and turned back to Tallis, framed by torchlight from the altar. “I told Brother Kendrick once that the gods didn’t listen when I spoke, so he told me to try singing. He taught me a hymn. Would you like to hear it?”

  Tallis nodded, with a somehow instinctual knowledge that he was about to see something wonderful. “Yes. Please.”

  The boy turned back to the altar and began to sing, his hands clasped behind his back. His voice was high-pitched, a clear treble that had not yet broken. It echoed in the silent temple, absorbed by the wood and reflected by the stone. He sang in the old language of the gods, which had not been spoken since the time of the Emperor, which few now but the monks and priests still knew. He sang for the glory of the gods and for the love of the Emperor, and his voice echoed in the stillness and seemed to go on forever.

  Tallis lost himself in the power of that young voice, the resonance of the words whose meaning he felt even though he did not know, the strength of belief that flowed throughout his entire body. When the song ended, the torchlight flickered as the sound faded away. Tallis realized he was on his knees, staring in rapt attention.

  “That was beautiful,” he finally said.

  Brannon turned to him. “But they never answer.”

  “I can hear them in your voice,” Tallis said.

  “My voice?” Brannon sounded disgusted. “A fat lot of good that does me.”

  “No,” Tallis said. “I imagine it doesn’t really help you at all.”

  The silence sat between them for a long time. Tallis stayed on his knees and wondered in a blur of confused joy where the monks had found this boy, and if they knew who and what they possessed. He suspected they did not – how could they when Tallis wasn’t even sure himself? All he knew was that Brannon was the most amazing person he had ever met, that his voice tugged at heartstrings he didn’t know he had, at memories he had long ago left buried.

  He felt a sudden surge of anger at the monks for keeping something so beautiful locked away instead of sharing him with the world.

  “Do you understand now?” Brannon asked, his voice very old and faraway. “Why I belong here?”

  “No,” Tallis said. “No, I don’t understand that at all.”

  “You saw me sing,” Brannon said, now uncertain.

  “Yes,” Tallis said. “I would bet my life that you have strong magic and a real gift. But what good does that do you while you’re here alone?”

  Brannon turned away and pointed to the chests on the altar. “Didn’t you come here to see that?”

  “Partly,” Tallis said. “But I also came here to see where you live, and to see the temple.”

  “Elder won’t let you leave with me.”

  “He may not get a choice.”

  “I’m theirs.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  Silence. Then: “Yes.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Tallis said, shaking his head. “I think that they were just keeping you safe for a while.”

  Brannon shook his head impatiently. “Fine, whatever, just look at the stupid chests. That’s why I brought you here.”

  Feeling inexplicably depressed and chastised, Tallis went up to the altar. He knelt and bowed down in a quick prayer to the gods, apologizing for trespassing onto their sacred ground before stepping onto the platform. Brannon sat down on the platform’s edge and indulged in a good sulk.

  The chests looked exactly how the Elder had described them; they were the right size, made of sandalwood with gold edging. Tallis’ hand hovered above one of them, hesitant to touch it. “We can’t open these?”

  “One’s
empty,” Brannon said, his voice terse and angry. “I can open that one, but not the other two.”

  Tallis touched the chest on the end, but it wouldn’t budge. He opened the second easily enough. There was a bed of purple velvet, and the imprint of a sword and scabbard. “A sword belongs here,” he said. “The sword . . . gods . . . the sword . . .”

  “Yes,” Brannon said simply.

  The last piece of the puzzle fell into place, and Tallis suddenly understood a great deal about the Elder’s insistence on secrecy. This monastery was home to the Imperial Regalia, the three most magical and sacred artifacts left by the Emperor and his line.

  The sword he had carried to defend himself.

  The pendant he had worn, imbued with protection spells.

  The mirror he had used to communicate directly with the gods.

  “Gods,” Tallis repeated. His hand rubbed over the empty spot where the last chest should have been. His mind felt thick and slow. The Imperial Regalia was thought to have been lost centuries before. They were the sacred of sacred, the most absolute.

  After a few moments, his brain kicked back into gear. “I wonder which was stolen,” he mused. “The Mirror or the Pendant.”

  “The Mirror,” Brannon said, still not looking up.

  Tallis wondered briefly how Brannon knew that, but his mind was busy puzzling over Brannon’s answer. If someone was going to steal one of the artifacts, the one that would make the most sense would be the Sword, which was said to be imbued with spells that would make the bearer more powerful, stronger, faster. Thieves would find that tempting, although there was no guarantee that the magic would work with someone who was not of the Imperial line. It was a much better bet to steal that, or the Pendant, which contained a number of protection spells that could make the wearer damn near indestructible, than the Mirror.

  “Why would someone steal it?” Tallis asked rhetorically. “They can’t use it. No one can use it except the Emperor.”

  “I guess he thinks he can,” Brannon said with a shrug.

  Tallis’ hand lingered reverently over the place where the Sword should be. Another mystery – where was the Sword? Maybe that item truly was lost, and the monks simply kept a place of honor for it in the hope that they would someday recover it. “I pray he’s wrong,” he said soberly.

  “They can be opened, you know,” Brannon said. “The chests.”

  “By who?”

  “The high priests can. There’s this long ceremony that goes with it. They do it once a year. But that’s how I know what was in them, and which is which.”

  “That’s interesting,” Tallis mused. “I wonder if it was one of them who stole it.”

  “No. He wasn’t a priest.”

  “All right,” Tallis said. He wondered for a moment if he should try to press the issue, but Brannon was looking a little tense, so he tried a joke first. “You know, I’m usually better at solving things. I just want that to be clear.”

  “I believe you,” Brannon said solemnly.

  “You do not,” Tallis said, smiling at him.

  “Can you track it, now that you’ve seen the other two?”

  “I can. At least, I can try.”

  Brannon nodded a little.

  “Would you know the person who stole it?” Tallis asked cautiously. “If you saw him again?”

  “I didn’t see him,” Brannon said, staring steadfastly at the altar. He pointed to a little nook that was behind the altar, more of a niche in the stone than anything else. Tallis hadn’t noticed it at first. “I was hiding.”

  “It looks like a good hiding spot,” Tallis said. “And you may not have seen him, but you felt his magic.”

  Brannon looked at his hands and shuddered. “Yes.”

  “Are you all right?” Tallis asked, frowning.

  “Yeah. I just don’t like to think about it. I’ve been having nightmares.”

  “This is your home,” Tallis said, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. He could sense from the way Brannon’s gaze was fixed on the floor that these were no ordinary bad dreams. “It would bother me if I’d been in the same position.”

  “I hid. I wanted to stop him, but . . . I could feel how strong he was. I knew I couldn’t do anything.” Brannon’s small fists clenched. “I was . . . so angry.”

  Something clicked in Tallis’ head, and he realized what had been bothering him about the magic of the temple. There was a dark aura to it, a burning, smothered rage that had seeped into the stones of the walls. Brannon’s anger. “I know,” he said slowly, puzzling over what this might mean. “I can still feel it in the air.”

  “Him?” Brannon asked, confused.

  “No,” Tallis said. “You. Your magic, your . . . anger. It’s sort of a crackle at the edge of my senses.”

  “I don’t feel that,” Brannon said.

  “That’s because it’s yours.”

  “I guess.” Brannon did not seem interested in pursuing this topic.

  “You did the right thing,” Tallis told him. “I’ll get the chest back. I promise.”

  “All right.” Brannon stood and slumped over towards the nook. “Wanna see?”

  Tallis was not quite sure what about the niche would be interesting, but since Brannon had offered, he nodded and stood. There was a piece of cloth draped across the opening that Brannon shoved aside, and Tallis realized a bit belatedly that the nook was his bedroom.

  It was small, only about half the size of the guest room that Tallis was using. There was a mattress that was only barely bigger than Brannon in one corner, with an old blanket. There were a few books and a lantern that glowed feebly against the oppressive dark of the stone overhead. A small, rickety chair and desk completed the furniture. There was some old rice paper and an ink well on the desk, and some robes were neatly folded in one corner. It was a little chillier than the temple, which put it quite a few degrees below what would be comfortable.

  “It’s cozy,” Tallis finally said, trying his best to contain his sense of outrage at the monks housing any boy at all in such quarters, let alone one as special as Brannon.

  “Yeah. Cozy.” Brannon’s voice was flat, emotionless.

  Tallis glanced at the books: religious texts, every single one. “You need another blanket and something that’s more fun to read than what you have.”

  “I don’t read here anyway,” Brannon said. “I just keep them here. The light’s not good enough to read. I don’t use the desk; I do all my homework on the altar.”

  The thought of a twelve-year-old boy doing math or reading on the sacred altar was fairly entertaining, and it broke through the worst of Tallis’ anger. He smiled and said, “You should ask them if you could read outside sometimes.”

  “I can’t go outside,” Brannon said, exaggerating every word. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  Tallis took a stab in the dark. “Are they worried about protecting you? I would protect you.”

  “I don’t know . . . I guess so. Elder just says I’m never to go outside.”

  Tallis couldn’t help but wonder what frightened the Elder more – that someone might steal Brannon away, or that the boy would run away on his own. He responded to Brannon’s statement by sticking his tongue out.

  Brannon frowned, and said in a lofty, regal voice, “That’s immature, and irrelevant to the conversation.”

  Tallis stopped dead, his breath stolen away by something in Brannon’s voice, some familiarity. Then, after a moment to recover, he very deliberately stuck his tongue out again. He was rewarded by a giggle.

  “If you wanted to go outside for a little while, I could protect you,” Tallis said.

  “Really?” Brannon asked at length, trying to not let his voice betray how eager he was.

  “Really,” Tallis assured him. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Brannon hesitated. “Well . . .”

  “We’ll stay right by the monastery,” Tallis promised him.

  “Maybe j
ust for a minute,” Brannon said, caving in. Tallis gave him a pleased smile. “It’s this way to get out,” the boy said, gesturing to another tunnel. “If you’re done here?”

  Tallis nodded. He gave the temple one last glance over his shoulder as he left. It felt nice, like something in him was being welcomed home, but he knew he would rather spend time with Brannon. This set of tunnels was rather short, and Brannon stopped at a small door. He looked at it and took a deep breath. “That goes outside.”

  “Can we leave it open a little behind us?”

  “It closes automatically, but we could wedge something in it.”

  “All right.” Tallis glanced around, looking for a rock, then gave up and took off his shoe, using it to prop the door open. He took Brannon by the hand and opened the door, gently leading him outside. Brannon let out a sharp gasp as the chilly night wind hit him, but then relaxed a little, despite his obvious nerves. There was plenty of moonlight and starlight, and the monastery was hardly visible. They had come out on the opposite side of the hill, confirming his conclusion that the temple had been buried within it.

  “It’s cold,” Brannon said, shivering, looking up at the stars in something like awe.

  “Come here,” Tallis said, settling by the edge of the door. “Sit down.”

  Brannon shook his head. “I want to be out here. Outside.”

  Tallis shrugged off his heavy outer tunic. “Here, then, put this on.”

  “Won’t you be cold?”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  Brannon accepted the tunic and pulled it on; although it came just past Tallis’ waist, it reached nearly to the boy’s ankles. He nestled down into the warmth. “I haven’t been outside in so long,” he mused. “Not since Elder Petrus left.”

  “I’ll bring you out again tomorrow,” Tallis promised him. He filed away the other Elder’s name for later. He had pushed Brannon for enough information for one day. “The fresh air is good for you.”

  “I wish I could go outside during the day.”

  “I wish you could, too. I’d ask, but I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  “Don’t ask!” Brannon’s eyes were wide as he contemplated that thought. “Do you have any idea what Elder Edrich would do if he knew that I’d been outside?”