Spellwright (43 page)

Apparently, the Starhaven wizards thought Nicodemus was the Storm Petrel destroyer. Shannon thought he could convince the Starfall wizards otherwise. Nicodemus, overjoyed to recover his teacher, had agreed.

As they trekked back to the Chthonic ruins, the boy had told Shannon of everything that had happened since they were separated. Deirdre had argued that before setting out for Starfall, they should first go to Gray’s Crossing to seek her goddess’s protection.

Her thinking was simple: Nicodemus’s keloid would allow Fellwroth to track them. As a result, they would never reach Starfall Keep alive unless they removed the curse from Nicodemus’s scar. Deirdre had no doubt that Boann could do exactly that. Therefore, they had to go to Gray’s Crossing. However, despite the logic of this reasoning, neither man had heeded her advice.

But now things had changed.

After returning to the Chthonic ruins, they had found Simple John roasting skinned rabbits over a fire. The moment Shannon had touched food to his lips, he had keeled over to vomit out nothing—just as he was doing now.

Deirdre turned to John. “How is it that you can talk now when before you only knew three phrases?”

The big man looked down at his hands. “It was Typhon’s curse. The demon tied sentences around parts of my mind that use language, restricted them to the three phrases.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t—” Her apology was cut short by Shannon’s renewed retching. “Nicodemus,” she asked, grateful for the excuse to change subjects, “what’s wrong with Shannon?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” the grand wizard panted while sitting up. “It’s only a consequence of having a censoring spell peeled off my head too quickly.”

“No,” Nicodemus said without taking his eyes from the old man. “It’s the nonsensical words coming out of his mouth that’s the problem.”

The old wizard narrowed his blind eyes. His tone became ironic. “So witty with your double meaning.”

Deirdre coughed. “I don’t understand.”

“His story doesn’t make sense,” Nicodemus answered with irritation. “No censoring spell placed on his head could make his stomach fill with Magnus bywords.”

Shannon closed his eyes. Deirdre could see how frail he was. The old man sighed. “I shouldn’t have come. I agonized over it for hours, backtracked again and again to make sure the monster wasn’t following me. I hoped the monster had lied about Language Prime and the infecting curse. It wasn’t a lie.”

The old man shook his head. “In the end, I sought you out, Nicodemus, because I feared you might try to rescue me. I only wanted to send you away from that creature; I never guessed the logorrhea would set in so quickly.”

Nicodemus touched the wizard’s shoulder. “Tell me what happened,” he said firmly. “I deserve the truth.”

The old man reached out with his knobby hand. Nicodemus took it with his own. “Nicodemus, it seems as if you’ve aged fifty years since last evening.”

“Magister,” John said, “we all have.”

“Perhaps you’re right, John,” Shannon said. “Very well, Nicodemus, I will tell you. But promise to run with me to Starfall Keep. We cannot go back. We cannot submit to that monster.”

When Nicodemus agreed, Shannon explained how Fellwroth—not in a golem, but in a living body—had pulled him from his cell, and how the monster had used the Emerald of Arahest to infect him with a Language Prime curse called logorrhea, which made him vomit words.

“Magister!” Nicodemus said when the wizard finished. “You made me promise something I didn’t understand. No, we will not run to Starfall. That would take until spring; you’d die before we got there.”

The old man sat up straighter. “Perhaps Fellwroth was lying when he told you that all human prophecies are false. It is still possible that you are the Halcyon; that possibility forbids you from forfeiting your life for mine. Besides, we dare not trust Fellwroth. If we submit, the monster is likely to kill me anyway.”

Nicodemus shook his head. “I won’t watch you die.”

“Selfishness,” the wizard huffed. “Surrender and you empower the demons. Your duty is to confound the Disjunction. And if that means watching me contend with the canker growing in my stomach you—”

An idea bloomed in Deirdre’s mind. “This magical canker, is it like the mundane cankers that clerics remove from elderly bodies?”

All faces turned toward her. Shannon spoke. “Clerics are spellwrights that study medicine. We wizards wouldn’t know.”

A giddy warmth spread across Deirdre’s face. “Boann found a canker once on my back. She said they happen often to avatars because we live so long. She said deities routinely cut such growths off their avatars.”

Shannon scowled. “But what ails me is not one growth. I can see the runes coming from the cursed muscles around my stomach. The canker is laced all around the organ. Boann could cut my guts into bloody rags and there’d still be more curse to cut out.”

Deirdre was shaking her head. “But she is a goddess! You can’t—”

Nicodemus interrupted. “Are you sure Boann would heal Magister?”

“If you accept her protection, she would do anything.”

Shannon objected. “She can’t help me, Nicodemus. Look at the runes appearing in my gut; you can see how diffuse the canker is. Gray’s Crossing is far too dangerous; we can’t risk the life of a possible Halcyon for that of an old man.”

“We can, Magister, and if it comes to that we will.” Nicodemus stood up. “First, I need to research something here in these ruins. I might yet learn something about Language Prime. But if I can’t find a way to remove your curse, we will go to Gray’s Crossing.”

The old man scowled again. “Don’t be foolish. You have no right to risk yourself for me.”

“Magister, I do,” Nicodemus retorted. “I’m a cacographer, not a child.” He turned toward the ruins.

“Los damn it,” Shannon grumbled, and struggled to his feet. “Nicodemus, where are you going?”

The boy didn’t look back. “Into the Bestiary.”

CHAPTER
Thirty-nine

Nicodemus frowned at Tulki’s spell. It read, “The
last eugrapher was furious after engaging the Bestiary. His words became angry and illogical. He claimed the Bestiary’s knowledge was a curse to him.
”

When Nicodemus looked up from this note, he found the ghost fidgeting with his long white ponytail.

They were standing outside a dome-shaped ruin overgrown by vines that bristled with leathery brown leaves. Elsewhere the expanse of half-collapsed walls stretched out into the dark.

Behind Nicodemus stood his confused companions. “What’s the ghost writing now?” Shannon asked.

Because they lacked fluency in the Chthonic languages, neither Shannon nor John nor Deirdre could see the Wrixlan text.

“The ghost is trying to change my mind,” Nicodemus replied, still staring at Tulki. “He’s afraid the book will upset me and I won’t return to replenish their spectral texts.”

“Tell him,” John announced haltingly, “you keep your word.”

Nicodemus nodded. “The ghost can hear you.”

Tulki stopped fidgeting to cast a reply: “
But there might be danger. It was traumatic when the Index engaged you, true? The Bestiary is a more powerful tome.
”

“How did the ghost respond?” Shannon asked.

Tulki studied the old wizard and gave Nicodemus two more sentences: “Tell
the older one about the danger. He will help you see.
”

Nicodemus sniffed in annoyance. “He’s exaggerating the danger the tome might pose, to discourage me.”

Tulki’s eyes widened. “
!
” he flicked at Nicodemus before adding, “
I am not!
”

Nicodemus raised a single, incredulous eyebrow.

Tulki threw his hands up in exasperation. “
I forgot how infuriating young male humans can be. Very well, Nicodemus Weal, I have no evidence of great danger. I am only concerned for your well-being.
”

The cold wind slipped down into the ruins and stirred Nicodemus’s longhair. “And concerned for your own well-being,” he said, pulling a black lock away from his eyes.

The ghost folded his arms. “The
last eugrapher was also this adamant. Are you sure you are not his descendant?
”

“Now what’s happening?” Deirdre asked.

“He’s telling me about the last cacographer who came through here about three hundred years ago.”

“Good,” Shannon said. “Learn as much about that as you can.”

Tulki studied Shannon and then cast a sentence: “
Something is wrong with the elder’s belly?
”

Nicodemus changed the subject. “Tell me more about the previous eugrapher.”

The ghost scratched his chin as he forged an answer. “The
boy was curious and insistent. He looked like you and was thrilled to discover he did not misspell in our languages. A whole autumn and winter he stayed, sleeping through day and studying at night. He became pale and beautifully tattooed. He wrote wonderful constructs, like yours.
”

Nicodemus nodded. “But then he learned about the Bestiary?”

The ghost’s shoulders rose and fell in a noiseless sigh. “
And then there was nothing that would please him but to engage it. The reading didn’t take more than a moment. He touched the pages and then fell to the ground. We asked what had happened and he began to laugh. ‘Gibberish!’ he said. ‘She showed me that I’m the error. She showed me what cacography truly is.
’”

“What did he mean by that?” Nicodemus said, his heart beginning to kick.

Tulki shrugged. “
We asked him, but the boy only shouted at us. He said that the book had cursed him with the knowledge of what cacography truly was and what the Chthonic people truly were. ‘Gibberish!’ he kept yelling. ‘It’s all gibberish!’ We tried to reason with him but he wouldn’t speak. He left the next evening and never returned.
”

Nicodemus swallowed when he finished reading. “What’s this about what cacography truly is? What did he learn?”

“What’s the ghost writing now?” Shannon asked.

“Magister,” Nicodemus snapped. “I’m trying to read.”

The old linguist mumbled an apology.

“Go on,” Nicodemus insisted. “What did the other boy learn about cacography?”

Again the ghost shrugged. “He
didn’t say.
”

Nicodemus pressed his cold right hand to his mouth and took a steadying breath. “Do you remember his name?”

The ghost seemed to ponder this. “I
believe
…” he cast before pausing. “
I believe his name was James Berr.
”

“Los in hell,” Nicodemus swore under his breath. James Berr—the very incarnation of malignant cacography!

Tulki’s amber eyes studied Nicodemus. “He
did look much like you—black hair, olive skin, green eyes. Was James Berr indeed one of your ancestors?
”

“No!”

The ghost jumped. “
Forgive me. Have I offended?
”

Nicodemus ignored the ghost’s questions. “Did he tell you why he left Starhaven?”

The ghost shook his head. “
I’ve told you everything.
”

“Nicodemus, why are you upset?” Deirdre asked.

Ignoring her, Nicodemus kept his eyes on Tulki. “But what did the Bestiary teach him about cacography? What did he mean, ‘It’s all gibberish’?”

Again, the ghost shook its head. “This is
upsetting you already. Nothing good will come of engaging the Bestiary.
”

Nicodemus shut his eyes and took a long, quavering breath.

“Nicodemus, tell us what’s the matter.” Shannon said.

Nicodemus answered without opening his eyes. “The ghost says reading the Bestiary might be dangerous. How dangerous, he doesn’t know. I was hiding this from you. I tell you now only because Los himself couldn’t stop me from reading the book.”

All three of his friends exploded into questions.

Nicodemus went on. “The last human to read the Bestiary was a cacographer like me. He learned the Chthonic languages like me. He even looked like me. And by reading this tome, he discovered something about the nature of cacography.”

Nicodemus turned to face his friends. The dappled moonlight revealed three worried figures.

“I’m terrified,” he said bluntly. “I have much in common with this ancient cacographer. I must know who he truly was and what he discovered in the Bestiary.”

“But why?” Deirdre asked.

“Because I might be just like him.”

Shannon spoke. “And who was this other boy?”

“James Berr.”

Both Shannon and John flinched. A confused Deirdre looked from one to the other. No one spoke for a moment. Then Shannon said, “Nicodemus, if there is even a slight danger, you mustn’t—”

“No, Magister,” John interrupted. “He must.”

Tulki led Nicodemus to the vine-covered dome. The thick brown leaves barely swayed in the cold wind. To Nicodemus’s shock, he saw that they were not leaves at all, but thick medallions of leather.

A curtain of the strange foliage parted to reveal a miniature doorway. “
I appeal to you again,
” Tulki wrote, stepping through. “
Reconsider.
”

Nicodemus ducked through the doorway into a small, dark space. “I cannot,” he said.

A rectangle of dull amber light glowed in the darkness. As Nicodemus approached, the light grew to reveal that he was standing not in a room, but in a bower of leathery vines. The thick stems and leaves had wound themselves into a tentlike roof around the crumbling building.

The floor was uneven and rough. On closer inspection, Nicodemus realized that it was made of thousands of roots. All of them ran to the room’s center and then grew into something resembling a tree stump—“resembling” because after rising two feet into the air, it grew into a massive codex. Its brown leather cover was textured like ash bark. A braid of branches grew from each face to form a clasp. The diffuse amber light was coming from the many pages.

The sound of shuffling feet filled the bower as Shannon, John, and Deirdre entered behind him.

Tulki handed Nicodemus a note: “
Move slowly.
”