Mythborn (22 page)

“Mercy…” the man begged, sobbing.

“Tell me,” she continued, kneeling and grasping his chin then slowly forcing the man to look at Krayten with his one good eye, “did this man steal?”

The man blubbered, spittle falling from his mouth in a long, elastic drool, then he nodded. “Yes, he stole! Please let my family go.”

Family? Krayten had a sinking feeling. If the man’s family were being held he’d say anything to save them.

“Take him away, he has fulfilled his duty.” The grand inquisitor turned to the others and said, “And you will too if you wish your One Father’s mercy.”

That was all it took. All the men fell over themselves to accuse him. The betrayal was bitter and unending, continuing even as they were dragged out of the tent to whatever fate they had been promised.

The grand inquisitor looked back at Krayten, her lips pursed in thought. Then she moved closer to him and said, “With all this, Arch-captain, you have still given the crown years of good service. Therefore, I give you one last way to redeem yourself.”

Krayten had collapsed in upon himself when the men turned, and he was unprepared for her words. He looked up, his jaw grinding from the damage of the beating but working nonetheless as he said, “I will prove myself in any way you ask.”

“Remove the collar and only you will go to the gallows. Fail, and your family will join your punishment.” The grand inquisitor bowed once and he could feel his hands being unshackled enough to reach his neck and the Galadine torc he knew so well.

Sudden hope flared. The torc! He’d never had any filth of magic in his blood. He knew that. Removing it would at least save his family and perhaps with that small victory he could manage to convince the grand inquisitor for a life of imprisonment. Perhaps this one thing would be a chink in the armor of evidence and help him unravel the other lies being said about him.

He pulled himself to his knees and reached up, a small smile twisting itself through his broken jaw despite the pain. He knew the release like his own hand and in a moment he’d be free.

Just as his hands reached the collar he felt two small taps on his wrists. From those taps a deadness spread, numbing his hands and fingers. What just happened?

He screamed, then began desperately clawing at the torc, but his fingers did not obey. Instead they flopped helplessly, unable to apply any pressure to the release mechanism. This can’t be happening, was his only thought, this can’t be. He managed to get a finger stuck under the top of the collar and pulled until he heard a pop. Although there was no pain he knew he’d dislocated his finger.

He fell forward, sobbing. “I know I can! Give me a chance!”

“I did.” It was the only words the grand inquisitor said before nodding to her men, who closed in, picking up the arch-captain and dragging him out into the open under skies that were swollen and gray. There they threw him down as if merely touching him was an affront to their dignity.

His family was there and ran forward to hug him, crying piteously. They were quickly grabbed and dragged away to join the men who now swung from gibbets, jerking as they slowly choked to death. The hangman had not done the customary job of letting the fall break the neck. Instead he’d attached the noose and pulled them up, tying the ropes off. For these men, these proven thieves in the eyes of the crown, death was slow and painful.

Once each had stopped kicking, they had been speared through the heart and throat then bled like pigs before being cut down and dragged away. The grand inquisitor did not waste a moment, but had Krayten kneel and watch as his family suffered the same fate as his conspirators.

The arch-captain could watch no more and barely felt it as he too was dragged to the gibbet and the noose was dropped over his neck. He felt the biting rope as three men dragged his body up. A rushing sound, like waves hitting the beach, roared in his ears. He was not quite dead when he felt the stab, ice-cold, of a spear into his heart and another into his neck.

Then, he felt nothing at all.

* * * * *

Silbane waited patiently in Kisan’s empty quarters. The initiate had been gone, disappearing again for a few days, as she was wont to do since coming to the Isle some ten years ago. When the brown robed girl came into the room he coughed and dropped the illusion that had hid him from view, satisfied by her whirl and wide-eyed stare that his presence had been undetected. It was no small feat given the precociousness of his star pupil.

When she saw who it was, she cocked her head and said, “Sleeping here again?”

“You’ve never said no…”

She sighed then said, “Sorry… What do you want?”

“Reports have come that there has been a culling within the Magehunter ranks.”

The young woman shrugged, then walked past the chair Silbane reclined upon and unslung her travel pack. “Anything specific?”

Silbane raised an eyebrow at that. “Actually, yes. Jarl Krayten was accused of thievery and magecraft and executed along with his family. Strangely, so were all the men who raided your village near Sunhold.”

“Really?” she asked innocently. “Seems like whatever justice there is in the world finally caught up to them.”

“Don’t bandy words with me,” Silbane said. “You and I both know what happened, and our training is not a license for you to carry out personal vendettas.”

“You’re defending a man who hunted and killed our kind.”

Kisan was infuriating but Silbane felt the need to try to give her balance in life. Her all-encompassing anger at the Magehunters was understood, but that path led down a road filled with nothing but regret.

“No, but having his family implicated and killed was—”

“Unfair? Tell that to my mother!” Kisan exclaimed, throwing her pack down and looking at that moment as though she’d fight Silbane if necessary.

The master stood, shaking his head. “Who set you on this path?”

Kisan didn’t answer him, merely staring at him with barely concealed fury behind her eyes. Then she looked down, breathed in once and said, “You did, now get out.”

“If you—”

“If you don’t like my actions, expel me,
Master
. I’ll leave happily and continue my work. Otherwise, get out.” She said the last part a bit more softly, as if her anger had bled itself out.

“Silbane.”

The voice came from the door, and when Silbane turned, Themun stood there. The archmage motioned for him to follow. He took one last look at his apprentice and companion, unable to get through to her, then followed Themun out the door.

They exited Kisan’s quarters, then Themun turned to him and said, “I gave her Jarl’s name some years ago.”

Silbane stopped, shocked. He searched the lore father’s face, then finally asked, “Why would you do that?”

Themun sighed. “She would have found out and done something reckless. Instead, she did what she would have but under control and supervision. It was the only thing distracting her from her training here. She was constantly looking outward, dreaming of revenge. I gave her the name and do not regret it.”

“She planned this for
years
…” he replied, realizing this was no sudden crime of passion or happenstance. “Is that what you want?” Silbane asked. “Assassins?”

“Then complete her training. Keep her from the dark path. She may surprise you yet.”

Silbane shook his head, his gaze going back to the door behind which was someone he loved. Even from here he heard her soft sobs.

Dark path? How could he keep her from it? These deaths wouldn’t be enough. Her thirst for vengeance would grow and whatever beauty that might have flourished in the garden that was her soul would be consumed by her desire to raze the ground with Magehunter blood.

He looked at Themun and said, “You don’t realize what you’ve done. Only death will follow. Whatever she becomes will rest on your shoulders.”

Themun sighed, his eyes searching his friend’s face. Then the Lore Father simply said, “Then I will complete her training.”

Expectations

Grief gives life to a missing child.

It sleeps near, enters thoughts,

reminds of laughter, sings songs,

And fills memories more achingly real

than any true child could.

-
          
Duncan Illrys, Remembrances

K
isan awoke to the acrid stench of sunbeam and the face of Silbane, staring at her in quiet contemplation mixed with concern. When he noticed, his eyes crinkled into a smile.

“Enough rest?”

She ignored that, her hand coming to her head, trying to massage the drumming ache that pounded at every heartbeat. She felt rather than saw Silbane push a small waterskin into her hands and automatically took a swallow. When the bitter taste of sunbeam hit, she looked up in surprise. “Where did you get this?”

Silbane sat back, regarding her with a scrutiny she did not welcome. Maybe he still thought of those days when they experimented together about the meanings of life and training. Then he answered, “Believe it or not, we found it.”

She looked to where he pointed and laying some feet away was a small pack, evidently discarded. The thought caused her to quickly scan the surroundings, taking inventory of who else was around. Seeing no one, she wondered who had made it out of their last battle. If only she and Silbane survived she could believe it, but hoped for a better outcome.

Silbane seemed to understand and said, “Ash made it out.”

The younger master locked eyes with her mentor. Only Ash?
Heartbeats past as she sought the courage to ask the one question most important to her: “Is she dead?”

It came out flat, something she couldn’t allow emotion to seep into. Like water before a freeze, emotions would crack her foundation. She had to remain impervious to be useful. Piter had taught her that.

“We don’t know,” Silbane replied softly.

The breath Kisan didn’t know she’d been holding washed out of her. She had been prepared for “yes,” even steeled against it. How insidious was fate to offer up the one thing that would pierce her so easily: hope.

“Tempest blasted a hole in the ground and we fell, but I did not see Yetteje.”

Kisan nodded automatically, the last thing in her memory extending herself to cover the firstmark, “Fell? How did we get here?”

Silbane stood and held out a hand, “Come, let me show you.”

She took it and rose unsteadily to her feet. Kisan hated showing any weakness, despite their many years together, or perhaps precisely because of it. Thankfully, as soon as she’d regained her balance Silbane let her hand go. They stood on a small landing, an area surrounded by trees. She looked back, her mind cataloging the supine pieces of dirt she’d been laid into. The mound was twice as tall as her but clearly had been built by her friends.

Silbane made his way around the mound and Kisan followed. When she turned the bend the sight that greeted her was truly unimaginable. Her eyes scanned the vista from horizon to horizon, drinking in the vast beauty of this otherworld.

“So many,” she said, looking up.

Silbane nodded. “Each, it seems, is the home of one of our ‘gods.’ ”

Kisan’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know this?”

“Tempest,” he replied simply. “The blade was weakened after the fight and has only now begun to speak again.”

She took a deep breath, feeling the Way infuse her with strength and vitality. Amazing how quickly she was recovering. Still, one thing puzzled her and she asked, “Strange to find a pack with the exact supplies you need…”

“Very,” Silbane agreed. “So much so that I wonder if my desire for the very thing did not somehow conjure it up.”

“I think Tempest said something to that effect earlier.” Kisan looked back out at the hundreds of floating islands. Her confusion at how they actually got here becoming clearer now that she saw how this world was structured. The hole Tempest made must have gone through what was a floating island and when they fell Silbane must have flown them here.

She was certain that had she been conscious, she would have done the same. Her ability to fly was something both remarkable and awe-inspiring. Now she understood how Temairex felt when the direhawk hunted. She looked back at the other master and asked, “Where’s Ash?”

“Reconnoitering.” Silbane paused, still looking out across the vast open sky. “When we are strong enough we can follow the currents of the Way there,” he said, pointing to a large island not too far off. It floated above them, and judging by its size at this distance it was enormous.

Kisan took another swallow of sunbeam, the bitter black brew sharpening her focus and clearing away the last vestiges of post-combat fugue. “What do you make of our other forms?”

She watched as the elder master bent his head in concentration, and while Kisan prided herself on being the quicker thinker, Silbane had a way of seeing things not linearly connected. Together, she mused, they were a formidable team. Yet the ever-present specter of her orders from the lore father concerning Arek darkened her mood.

“Clearly your true name is Artymis,” he replied.

“And Anhur confirmed yours as Azrael,” she said back, without mentioning that in the vision shared by Silbane, Valarius had also claimed that as his true name.

“Yes. It seems our true names belong to other beings, those from our pantheon we thought of as gods, but who in fact exist here.”

“But how could they know me as Artymis, yet not recognize you until you changed?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe Artymis is more popular,” Kisan said with a smile.

Silbane looked serious when he replied, “She is… in our world. Azrael has seldom been mentioned in our pantheon of gods for a very, very long time.”

This gave Kisan pause. The implication was clear. If their faith did create these beings, who in turn bonded with certain individuals through Ascension, it hinted at a much bigger backdrop upon which events were playing out. It was structure that spanned centuries on Edyn. She felt small and insignificant.

“I think Duncan was trying to help us in his own way.”

Kisan started out of her reverie at that. “Madness.”

Silbane tapped his head. “I see more and more of what he was and what he became. I cannot hold onto it, for it spans a lifetime longer than ours combined, but some things are becoming clearer.”

“Such as?”

Just then Ash came round the bend. He looked at the two, then out over the horizon spread before them. “This island doesn’t seem to go much farther than a thousand paces in any direction. I didn’t walk it, however, for fear of whatever may have given even this small stretch life.”

“Silbane says we need to get there.” He looked pointedly at the large island that was Lilyth’s. “I’m not enthusiastic about flying again, but even less so of being set upon by more mistfrights and giants and whatever else this blasted world creates. We have to save Niall and Yetteje. What’s our plan?”

Silbane motioned for them to follow him back down to the clearing where they had more room. When they had assembled he asked Kisan, “Can you still change?”

Kisan nodded and called upon the Way. She towered above them in an instant, grown to the height of three men. Her black armor glistened with the sheen of ebonite. She could feel the damage to her left wing and extended it. The featherblades were melted through in a semi-circle, and the armor around her left ribcage was also similarly scorched, but it was clear the featherblades had taken the brunt of the strike. When she bent the wing in, the two holes lined up perfectly, soliciting a small whistle from Ash.

“You’re lucky.”

Kisan looked down at the firstmark and replied, “Not as much as you.”

Ash laughed, then nodded, the point taken. “Thank you.” He gave her a small bow.

“No matter, Firstmark.” Kisan could feel an itch on her armor and the damaged featherblades and looked closer. What she saw astounded her. Each blade was slowly repairing, growing back. The process was slow but steady. She extended the wing to Silbane saying, “They’re healing. Should be ready soon.”

The elder master nodded as if nothing surprised him, and then said, “Change back, but be prepared. Holding this form weakens us greatly upon the shift.”

Kisan let go of her form and felt herself back in her normal body. Then a wave of lethargy and pain slammed into her. “Gods!” She felt like throwing up, and didn’t remember having fallen to her knees. “It’s worse… than mindspeaking,” she gasped.

Silbane said, “Yes, and I don’t know when I’ve exceeded my reserves. Ask yourself, what happens if we stay in our forms too long?”

Kisan thought she knew, based on the memories Lore Father Giridian had shared. “We die, like Themun did.”

Strength began to flow back into her limbs, a sign that everything here concerning the Way was somehow strengthened, magnified. She noticed something else, an itch on the outside edge of her left arm and her ribs on the same side. She didn’t notice it before, but it was clear her healing continued.

She turned to Silbane, feeling the vitality of the land soaking into her as she rose. “I can feel my blades and armor healing. You will too, once you know what to look for.”

Silbane’s eyes narrowed as he inspected her. “I see it happening.”

“I bet you do.” She knew he was looking at her with his dragonsight, and though any scrutiny always felt invasive, in this instant it was somehow encouraging.

Something caught Silbane’s eye and he spun, looking into the clearing just as a black, humanoid shape shimmered into existence. It coalesced out of nothing, as if made from the very air itself, but growing in solidity.

“Arek?” he said, moving forward to face the indistinct cloud. “Is that you?”

The cloud solidified into the form of a boy familiar to them both. He stepped forward and said, “Master, I welcome you.”

“No!” Silbane fell back, staggering as if stunned. His body blocked Kisan’s view so she shifted to where she could see, and stopped in horror. Disassociation hit, as if another person stood behind her eyes watching the dark figure move past Silbane.

Ash put himself in the way but Kisan held out a hand. A moan sounded, a small note of grief as she fell to her knees in front of the shade—the boy she knew so well, the apprentice who’d never had a chance. Tears blurred her vision and she shook her head to try to clear it, but the specter would not go.

“I’ve missed you,” said the shade of Piter, smiling.

* * * * *

Silbane watched as the shade of Piter glided past him, horrified and stunned. The Way flowed into this boy the same way it had with Arek. Well, not
exactly
the same, he realized, but enough to create the false belief that this had been his own apprentice. The Way was being absorbed by this boy but in a less vigorous fashion. There was no denying that Piter was something akin to Arek, whatever that was.

“We have so much to discuss,” said the shade of Piter to the kneeling Kisan, who looked unable to respond.

Silbane moved back to her side slowly. “Piter, how did you come to be here?”

Piter turned to Silbane, then bowed and said, “There are only two ways to get here, , and I have the dubious honor of achieving both.”

Just then Kisan leapt up and squeezed Piter in a surprise hug. “I have missed you.” A sob wracked her body and to Silbane it seemed she likely had held away the grief of Piter’s passing until now, but something didn’t add up. Piter had
died
. They saw the body so this creature, whatever it may look or sound like, could not be their dead apprentice, could it?

Piter, caught unawares, looked as surprised as anyone. It was almost as if he’d expected something else to happen when Kisan touched him. Then, he slowly returned the hug, closing his eyes and resting his head on her shoulder.

Silbane flicked a glance to Ash who stood silently watching, confusion clearly painting his face. When the firstmark’s gaze went to Silbane, the master nodded and held up a hand for patience. Ash acknowledged him and took a step back, though he never left his long fighting knife out of his grasp.

Kisan stroked the back of Piter’s head, then the master took a deep breath and shifted to hold Piter at arm’s length, inspecting him from head to toe. Her eyes seemed to drink in the details. “We know you and Arek fought, but what happened?”

Piter nodded, his expression a mixture of fear and relief, like a child lost at the Spring Festival who finally finds his parents again. “Arek was mad at me for winning the afternoon bout with Jesyn. I guess he wanted revenge and cornered me at dinner with Tomas.”

Kisan shot a look at Silbane, who watched carefully, saying nothing. “And you defended yourself?”

Piter nodded. “Not well against two. Arek called upon something I couldn’t withstand, something not allowed for initiates. It shattered me. I fell, trying my best to contain his mistake so that none of our students were hurt. I woke again near Arek at the infirmary.”

“Arek said you had been sent by Lilyth,” Silbane said. He was careful not to sound accusatory, needing to get as much information as possible.