A Plague of Shadows (10 page)

A nimbus of light came toward them from the sea of stars beyond Eget Row. Abagail wouldn’t have even known it was a being if she hadn’t heard it speak. But as it approached the light began to solidify into the lithe figure of a tall man. He was dressed from the waist down in flowing white fabric, cinched tight with a leather belt inscribed with runes. To his side was slung a horn used to trumpet some kind of call into the void. His hair was so blond it was almost white.

“Who are you?” Abagail asked. “And why did you call me harbinger?”

“I am Heimdall, keeper of Eget Row.” He told her, his feet finally landing on the flagstone bridge. Where his bare feet touched the stones came to life, singing a symphony of color. “It is the sound of the stars,” he told Leona, who was looking entranced at his feet.

“The stars sing?” Leona asked.

“All heavenly bodies make music, if only you are able to hear them.” He turned his attention away from Leona and to Rorick. “You can put that hammer down,” Heimdall told him. “I will not harm you.”

“What is a harbinger,” Rorick said, relaxing his grip on the hammer, but not putting it away just yet.

Abagail frowned and stepped up beside him. She straightened her tunic and fixed her hazel gaze on Heimdall.

“It doesn’t sound good, that’s for sure,” Leona said. “But if you’re one, I’m sure you’ll be good,” she added quickly, casting a glance up at her sister.

“Thanks,” Abagail said in a dry tone.

“I thought you’d know, but it makes no difference, you don’t need to know you are a harbinger to be one,” Heimdall said with a shrug. As he moved his skin glittered in the light from above, as if his skin were kissed with frost.

“But what
is
a harbinger?” Abagail asked, her impatience bleeding through to her voice.

“They are a powerful people,” Heimdall told her. “They preserve, or tip the tide of good or evil. They are often hunted by the shadow plague, sought out for their ability to hold sway over the power of darkness or light in the Nine Worlds.”

Abagail looked down at the shadow on her palm. Had it spread? She rubbed at the veins of malcontent which cut a swath over her hand. She was probably just imagining it.

“So, how is it cured?” Rorick asked.

“It’s not, it’s controlled, or it’s beaten.” Heimdall looked to the left, as if he heard something coming from the bridge that way.

“But how can the plague be beaten and not cured?” Leona wondered.

“The plague will always be inside a harbinger, but once it’s controlled, you will be able to contain it, and it won’t spread any further.”

“Well, that’s easy, we are going to our aunt now to help teach Abbie to control it!” Leona sounded relieved, though Abagail hadn’t noticed before that she’d been overly worried.

“It’s not that simple, one doesn’t just teach another how to control it. Certainly your aunt might be able to show you what methods worked best for her, and that support will be a tremendous help, but you will have your own, internal war going on that you must face and beat,” Heimdall told them.

“Like what?” Abagail asked.

“Harbingers, once taken by the plague, are often conflicted, haunted, imbued with wyrd that other harbingers don’t possess,” Heimdall told her.

“Sorcery,” Abagail hissed, remembering the way she’d slain the darkling by the mirror that night.

“Why do you sound so against sorcery?” Heimdall wondered. He turned to the left and started walking. The rest of them fell in line with him. The bridge was wide enough that they could all walk abreast. Their boots thumped against the cobbles as they went, the noise drowning out as it reached the vacuum of space just beyond Eget Row.

“It’s evil, only the Gods can create miracles,” Leona told him as if she didn’t believe it.

“That’s certainly news to me,” he said. “Who told you such things?”

“The Light Guard,” Rorick said.

“And they are?” Heimdall wondered.

“I thought all the Nine Worlds would have the Light Guard,” Leona said more to herself than anyone else.

“They are those that uphold the ruling of the Light, the All Father, on O,” Abagail said.

“Ah, yes, there are those type all over the Nine Worlds. What humans think the Gods want, and what the Gods can do are typically much different than the truth. But to think only the Gods can create wyrdings, that’s absurd,” Heimdall said.

“You can’t really blame them,” Rorick said. “We’ve only seen darklings create
wyrdings
as you call it.”

“Darklings and those people that channel wyrd who are put to death because the Light Guard
thinks
they are darkling,” Leona said.

Gosh, it’s just like father is here with us,
Abagail mused.

“So, anyone who can create
miracles
that isn’t holy is put to death because they are thought to be a darkling?” Heimdall asked.

“Pretty much,” Abagail said, surprising herself. She’d never really believed what her father told them. She agreed with the Light Guard more than her father, that was, until she caught the shadow plague.

“Well, that’s certainly not true, though I can understand in a world that doesn’t see much wyrd how such a concept could take hold.”

“So how can this shadow be controlled?” Abagail wondered. “How can I beat it?”

“That I don’t know,” Heimdall shrugged.

“So harbingers are the only ones who can catch the plague?” Rorick asked. Was it just Abagail’s imagination, or did he sound relieved at that notion. Her eyebrows creased together.

“No, certainly not, but they are the ones with the greatest chance of beating it and using it for good,” Heimdall said.

“So we are all going to catch it from Abbie?” Rorick asked.

“Have you tried wearing a glove?” Heimdall asked. He winked at her and made a clucking noise in his mouth. Abagail smiled. “That’s all it takes.”

“But I was wearing protective gear when I caught it,” Abagail said.

“Didn’t you say the bee turned to dust and drifted away?” Rorick wondered.

“Yea,” she said, still a little sore at how he’d sounded worried he’d catch her plague. Which was stupid, all of them should be worried they would catch it from her.

“There you go, you probably breathed it in,” Rorick said. Heimdall didn’t argue, so Abagail took that to mean he was right.

“What happens if they fail?” Leona asked.

“Obviously, they become darklings!” Abagail said.

“Not true, completely. Just as there are Harbingers of Light, who hold the balance of the light in check, there are also Harbingers of Darkness.”

“And the more of one there is, the more that power holds sway?” Abagail asked.

“That’s correct,” Heimdall said.

“Do we need to ask which one there are more of right now?” Rorick wondered.

“Harbingers of Darkness,” Leona said, nodding as if she already knew she was right. It was a good guess, what with them being swamped with darklings, but Abagail was certain Skuld had
told
her.

“Yes, very powerful harbingers of darkness,” Heimdall said. “What brought you to Eget Row anyway?”

“We are going to see my Aunt in Agaranth,” Abagail said, wondering if she had a glove for her hand.

“Ahh, yes, one of the places where the shadow is drowning out the light,” Heimdall said.

“There are harbingers of light there?” Leona asked, excitement once more tinging her voice.

“Certainly, and harbingers of darkness,” Heimdall told her, his clothes making a whisking noise as he walked.

“Only harbingers can control the plague?” Abagail wondered.

“If a normal human can control it, I haven’t heard of it yet,” Heimdall answered.

“Why do you ask?” Rorick wondered.

“Aunt Mattelyn, Father said she could control the shadow plague. Do you think that means she’s a harbinger also?” Abagail wondered, though she didn’t think anyone present would be able to answer her question.

“If she’s controlling the shadow, that’s likely,” Heimdall said.

“Our aunt is a harbinger of light!” Leona said cheerfully. Abagail didn’t have the heart to point out that they didn’t
know
this aunt, and they didn’t
know
if she was actually a harbinger of light at all. Heimdall did say that harbingers of darkness could control the wyrd as well.

They continued some time in silence. Abagail looked off to her right, watching the stars wink in and out of existence, a shooting star passed the bridge ahead of them and she couldn’t help the thrill of excitement that bubbled up inside of her, just like the exclamation of joy it elicited from Leona.

It made Abagail wonder exactly where they were. Could this really be the inky void of the sky? Was Eget Row really the colorful lights that lit up the sky in winter, like the Light Guard said it was? She watched the cobbles beneath her feet as they shimmered. Her gaze slid over to where Heimdall’s feet were illuminating the bridge beneath him. The color wafting up through the darkness around his bare feet certainly looked like what she might see in the night sky.

To her right the bridge opened up to another path. Abagail’s pace slowed, and she looked down the branch. It was just as wide as the bridge they were currently on, and she wondered if they were able to go down there. She didn’t get the sense of malcontent from there, but she did feel a peaceful calm wash over her. The smell of flowers carried to her from that direction, and just in the range of sight Abagail thought she could see a blue luminescence.

Luna fluttered before her face, distracting her.

“That’s not the way we go,” Heimdall said. “That world, Saracin, has its own struggle with darkness, but it’s not in the form of darklings. It’s a world of wyrd, and the darklings tend to steer clear of it.”

“Why do they steer clear of it?” Rorick wondered. “Aren’t they looking to corrupt all of the Nine Worlds?”

“They are,” Heimdall said. “But darkness is waging its own war on the light in that world. The darklings find their efforts are better spent elsewhere.”

Abagail broke her gaze from the path that led to Saracin, and followed Heimdall and the others along the bridge further.

Before long, Luna was landing at the top of a stone archway twice as high as Abagail was tall. It was an ancient arch, pitted and cracked from age. It radiated a kind of power that seemed much older than the mirror in her father’s study.

Around the base of the archway icy mist gathered, whispering out from the darkness beyond like a ghostly hand, welcoming them to enter the embrace of the portal, and the world beyond.

“This is Agaranth?” Leona asked. She took a deep breath, as if she was hardening herself. Abagail knew the feeling. She was anxious to meet her aunt as well, but there was no telling what lay beyond the portal. She assumed a room like her father’s, but was that true? Would the portal from Eget Row lead directly to her Aunt’s house?

“It is. Agaranth, a world of frost giants” Heimdall said. “Does your aunt have a portal?”

Abagail shrugged. “Father did, so I assume she does as well.”

Heimdall nodded. He held out his delicate hand, and called “Mattelyn Bauer.”

Abagail didn’t have time to wonder how he knew their last name because the arch bloomed with a thick, cold fog. From between the stone pillars billowed a chill wind. Before she could think, Rorick had already stepped through, and fast on his heels was Leona, her eyes closed, her will hardened.

“Good luck, harbinger,” Heimdall nodded to Abagail and stepped backwards. He dissolved into the white nimbus once more, and floated away through the darkness.

With a deep breath, Abagail stepped into the milky fog.

The coldness of space burned in her lungs. Abagail felt as though her body was freezing, every inch of her exposed skin, kissed by frost just as Heimdall’s had been. It stole the breath from her lungs and reminded her of cold winter’s nights when they would huddle around the fire in the living room to keep warm.

As soon as it had come, the coldness left her breathless and standing facing a small room, not unlike her father’s study. It was angular, made up of corners and nooks here and there, and barely large enough to fit herself, Rorick, and Leona inside. Luna was perched on the ceiling, her luminescent wings treading the air languidly.

The room was paneled in oak wood, light and airy. To her right stood the only window in the room, and it looked out to a sunny winter’s day. Banks of snow were heaped up outside like pillows. A cold wind drifted the snow from one bank to another. In spite of the warm room, the sight of all the snow made Abagail shiver.

Rorick and Leona were standing facing her, their mouths agape, their eyes wide. She didn’t get a chance to ask them what they were looking at that surprised them so much.

A delicate hand wrapped around her mouth, muffling Abagail’s shout of surprise. She struggled against the strong arm wrapped around her waist, and tried to pull her arms free of her captor.

“Quiet, harbinger,” a feminine voice oozed like honey into her ear.

The voice infused Abagail with a sense of calm, and she stopped fighting against the embrace. It was likely she wouldn’t have been able to break free anyway. The hand clamped over her mouth was cool, and smelled of juniper.