Dire Sparks (Song of the Aura, Book Five) (12 page)

“
My belief…” she smiled, almost ruefully. “That comes from somewhere else. Somewhere… higher.”

Gramling stood up, slowly, bending slightly to keep from hitting his head on the cave ceiling. What came next was so unexpected, she had no strength to resist. He pulled her up in his embrace, wrapping his arms around her so tightly it hurt. Her toes lifted off the floor as he pressed his cheek to hers, stroking her hair. Her whole body tingled, throbbing. Waves of conflicting emotion assaulted her. She was happy, she was angry, she hated him, she loved him, she wanted to pull away, she couldn’t make herself…

But he let her go, placing her gently back down on the cave floor. The gems sparkled, mirroring his eyes.

“
Gramling… I…” she felt tears building in her eyes. Her heart pounded, and she feared speaking. She would tell him she never wanted to see him again… or she would ask him to be her lover. What frightened her most was… she did not know which she wanted more.

But he took the decision away from her.

“
When I brought you here, I had a different purpose in mind,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “But you showed me what I could never see, and explained what I could never accept. I wanted to. I know I did. But my life… it hasn’t been easy. It… Oh, Aura… Elia. I…” She trembled involuntarily, waiting for him to finish. “I… can’t take this from you. What I wanted. You’ve given me all I need, already.”
What?

“
What… what do you mean?” she asked, barely daring to guess.

“
You’ve given me hope,” he said, smiling, and stepped away. He
stepped away
. “At first,” he continued, “I fought because of fear. I feared my Master. Then, when I discovered my brother… I fought for hate. I
hated
him. Still do. But watching you… I’ve lost that. Now… I fight for hope.”

“
Hope?”

“
I haven’t felt it, Elia… ever. Until now. You’re not for me. But you’ve given me hope… and that’s enough.”

She took his hands, trying to still the shaking in her own. The heat of the moment was gone. Now she felt only pity, for the boy who had lived his whole life under the sway of shadow and blood. She had so many things she wanted to say… but she kept silent, listening to Gramling in increasing awe.

~

He told her everything… or almost everything. He told her of the rebellion he’d orchestrated, and of the test she and the other Acolytes would be undergoing. He told her that he planned to stop the Golden One with the Midnight Dagger, and he told her that they would have dozens of expert Pit Striders to aid them.

“
Together,” he told her, “We’ll have a chance to end this. And if we fail, we’ll at least have hurt him bad enough… maybe the others across the sea can finish it.”

He told her everything, and she believed it all. What he didn’t say, what he had told no one… was that the Dagger would not be enough. Nothing would. Sheolus was too powerful.

He was going to betray them. And they would fall.

But not me. Not Elia.

Gramling would betray them all. But he had not lied, telling Elia that he now hoped. He
did
hope. She would hate him for it, but his plans would not go astray.

The rebellion would fail. But he would never serve the Golden One again.

And neither would she.

Elia did not sleep much that night, and the following day Gramling took her to an empty war-room and worked her ceaselessly towards mastering flame. Except for a short rest and tasteless meal in the middle of the day, he was constantly teaching her a new use for fire, or a new form to shape it in.

She learned how better to combine Fire with Sea; no mean feat, considering that the two elements were practically opposites. She learned methods of blurring light and shadow, methods that did not give her the sense of wrongness most did. Gramling explained that they were more or less “gray” techniques, used by both Pit and Spirit.

When the day was finally done, she felt too exhausted to go on. In response to her worries- how could she face the Golden One in this state?- Gramling simply Pit Healed her, a process that hurt almost as much as it helped. She stopped complaining, especially when he allowed her to make use of special facilities in the Sepulcher to wash, bathe, and dress in a new set of Acolyte clothing.

Then night came, and he escorted her all the way to her chamber. The other Acolytes had gone to sleep long before, in anticipation of the coming tests the next day. At her door, he stopped her.

“
Listen,” he said, brushing a hand through his sandy hair nervously. “Anything can happen tomorrow. I can’t… prepare you for everything. This is all in a rush. The Golden One’s off balance, and rushing the Institution is only going to hurt him in the long run. But in the short, we…
you
are vulnerable. Don’t do
anything
against the Golden One until I’ve stabbed him with the Dagger. You’ll be the most exhausted, if you even make it out alive. So just… I mean…” he seemed too unsettled. She smiled, motioning him quiet.

“
I’ll be careful.”

“
Careful. Yes… that’s it. Be careful, Elia. Please.”

Then he was gone. She smiled after him, trying to feel confident, despite the storm of icy fear inside her. When he had vanished completely in the shadows of the hall, she entered her room and prepared for bed.

This time, she was too exhausted from the day’s efforts. Sleep came immediately.

~

Elia was woken from dreamless slumber by a horrible pressing sensation that seemed to suffocate her entire body at once. She jolted awake immediately trying in vain to move from her bed. Then something in the room caught her eye.

Three tall, black-wrapped Kinn stood near her bed, arms at their sides. Gaping, pointed hoods obscuring their faces. In the shadows, their enveloping robes gave the illusion that they had no arms, only ridiculously long torsos and empty heads. The heavy black cloth was held in place on their left shoulders by gold brooches that shimmered in the darkness. A circle with spikes, and a star in the center.

Morgens. The most experienced Pit Striders the Golden Nation could offer. Gramling had told her of them. It was time for the test. But now? Before morning had even dawned? He hadn’t spoken of that… perhaps he hadn’t known. She lay awake, staring at them. The pressure had not moved, but she knew better than to struggle now.

At her wide-eyed acceptance, the centermost Morgen nodded, barely perceptible in the dark. The gold brooches glittered as one, and suddenly her invisible bonds were lifted. She knew what to do, from Gramling’s instruction: she clung to the rituals she would have to perform, desperate to keep her focus away from the coming conflict. Today meant life or death… but she would not face that until it came. As steadily as she could, she pushed the blanket aside and sat up in bed, swinging her legs over the side.

The left Morgen stepped forward, robes undulating as it raised its arms, a pile of folded clothes in its grip. She took it, nodding her obedience. This was what she would wear during the testing. Placing it on the blanket beside her, she gazed at the right Morgen. It nodded, and as the left Morgen stepped back, it came forward. With a slight flourish, it handed her a straight black knife, sheathed, dangling from a thin black strap. Her only weapon.

She nodded again, took the knife, and laid it atop the pile of clothes. The right Morgen stepped away, and the center Morgen came forward. It reached out, touching her chin with one black-fingered hand. The touch was surprisingly normal. She had expected the cold of a corpse, or something equally unnatural.

Then the Morgen’s nail bit into her chin, drawing a crimson line up the right side of her face so fast she didn’t have time to scream at the pain. Instead, she gasped, back and neck arching for a moment before she pulled herself back under control. It would not do to show weakness… especially now.

“
It… has begun,”
said the center Morgen, stepping back. Then all three turned in a single motion, and filed out of her room. The door shut behind them on its own accord. Elia breathed deeply and evenly, trying to blot out the shock of the wound on her face. Gramling’s words echoed in her head, like a ghostly narrator.
One to clothe, one to defend, one to mark
. So that was what it all was.

They’ll wait outside,
he’d continued.
Prepare, then meet them. Look humble. And don’t take longer than two minutes. Acolytes have been failed for it… and failure means death.

The cut on her face burned, but it didn’t seem to be bleeding very much.
Two minutes.
Taking her chances, she uttered a quick prayer. Then she turned to the things on her bed.

Silently undressing, she proceeded to clad herself in the testing gear. A short skirt of thick, protective netting, with long black strands underneath, metal studs dotting the fabric. A tight black shirt that wrapped some sort of protective mesh. Black wrappings for her upper legs and lower arms. High black boots with spikes. Wrappings for her hands. The knife over it all… and her hair tied back with the last black wrap.

It feels cold.

Ignoring the fear, pressing it down… it lent her speed. The face wound still burned. She wiped away a trickle of blood, then wiped her hand on the blanket. She wouldn’t need it after today, one way or another. She got up and went to the door with time to spare.

Outside, the three Morgens formed a triangle around her. As they led her down the hallway, she noticed in an offhand way that all the other doors were ajar. So she was the last Acolyte to be tested, then. It took most of the ensuing walk, through passages and up stairways, down ramps and across halls, for her to realize just what that meant.

Everyone else she had met, Tressa included, was either a full Pit Strider… or dead. And Tressa had been at a disadvantage anyway.
Enough…
she would have more than her own share of trouble in just a moment.

Finally the Morgens escorted her out of a long, arched passage, and up a wide flight of stairs lit on either edge with several iron tripod braziers. The stairs ended abruptly in a high iron wall, with scores of large, curling runes burned into the metal. She recognized all three symbols of Striding, Sea, Stone, and Sky, as well as two she did not recognize, a star and a skull that she assumed to represent Spirit and Pit. In the center of the wall was a circular door of some ebony substance that looked like glass.

The Morgen ahead of her peeled off, circling around her back. All three stood in a line, halting several yards from the door. She continued on alone until she stood before the polished surface of the door, never looking back for instruction. The ritual helped her concentrate, as she called to mind Gramling’s words.

The tests are different every time, but similar in some ways. The first is Shadow. Always Shadow. The second is Flame. The third is Blood. The fourth is Dream.

I can say no more.

She stared at her reflection in the murky depths of the crystalline door. The face she saw staring back was pale. Gaunt. The spiraling wound from the Morgen’s nail curled across her cheek, looping under her eye like a fearsome tattoo. There was dark paint lining her lower eyelids, and her lips looked black. When had that happened? She didn’t remember doing it to herself. It matched her black hair… in all, she looked like some ghoulish princess. Not the image she preferred… but in a way, she looked coldly beautiful.

“
And it is so,”
spoke the Morgens behind her, the harsh melody of their voices shocking her back into the moment.
“Dark to dark, light to light. You will choose your way.”

That didn’t sound like the right ritual… did it? Choosing wasn’t part of this.

Six hands raised in unison, and six voices cried out guttural curses.

The glassy surface of the door rippled, shook, and oozed away, creating a hole that grew steadily larger, until it was nearly as long across as she was tall.

“
Enter,”
hissed the Morgens.

Following Gramling’s instructions, she bowed before the darkness beyond the opening, once, then twice. Then she stepped through, gingerly avoiding the liquid glass. The wavy lengths of black cloth blew in the breeze as she moved.