The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge (33 page)

King Auric stared at the group. He shook his head. “Perhaps introductions are the best place to start. Was it Damir?”

Damir nodded. King Auric looked at Balin. “You are Balin Leo de Cor.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Balin bowed his head slightly, the name a strange sound to his ears. It had been many years since he had been called his birth name.

Balin didn’t like being in the castle, surrounded by so many guards, who no doubt had a warrant for the Shadowwalker’s arrest.

“I’m afraid I do not know who you are. The letter did not address additional companions,” King Auric said to Zephyr.

“Captain Zephyr Skywae, Your Majesty.” Zephyr offered a rakish smile that crinkled his eyes. Israel and Ramiro bowed their heads in introduction and murmured their names quickly. King Auric’s gaze hovered on Israel, who had chosen to leave his shirt open at the collar, revealing his own twining cerulean vine.

“You are an Anima Stella as well,” King Auric said to Israel. King Auric shook his head and turned his solemn stare to Councillor Phyrrus, who had remained silent throughout the exchange.

“So it has begun,” Councillor Phyrrus said.

His voice cracked with every other syllable. It was a tired voice, filled with the knowledge of agony and peace. He settled his heavy gaze on Damir, pinned him to his chair like a needle. Damir broke his stare.

“Would someone care to explain what’s going on? What did my brother’s letter say?” Balin finally asked. The cryptic note that floated in the air was fraying the last of his nerves.

Ramiro stroked an elegant finger along his narrow jaw. “War. They speak of war, of what has been predestined.”

Balin glanced to Ramiro, who once more settled into his chair, into the silence. King Auric lifted his goblet and took a sip. He set the goblet down and said, “Emperor Folken explained what Damir was, of the importance he could represent.”

“Important? Me?” Damir looked up, startled.

King Auric gave a weathered smile. “Yes. Tell me, do you truly wish to face General Gaius? It will not be an easy battle. He is a man that has never lost, a man of remarkable power.”

Damir didn’t answer. King Auric nodded knowingly and gestured to the maps. “We are at war. King Vasilis has begun a fool’s errand. He seeks to collect the Animas Stellas like a commodity. For what, I have yet to figure out, but as history has proven, a man who acts with darkness in his heart is a harbinger of destruction.

“I have tried diplomacy, to speak with King Vasilis and sway his mind. Yet it is like the fae have touched him. He speaks with riddles, and his eyes burn black as coal. He is not the man I once knew, and he seeks something that is beyond mortality. I cannot allow that, especially if it threatens my family.”

“Your family?” Israel raised an eyebrow in question.

The door to the war room swung open just then, and a young boy stood in the doorway, panting heavily. Untamed eyes the color of sunlit forests glared with accusation. The boy let out a heavy sigh, stumbled into the room, and slumped into a free chair. He was dressed similarly to the king in a pair of white pants and a double-breasted matching jacket, the golden buttons embossed with the royal insignia of a wolf head. The high collar of the jacket was trimmed in amaranthine, and gold-fringed shoulder pads topped the boy’s narrow shoulders. A sword swung from a black leather belt at his slim hips.

He was pretty, with a slight jaw and a set of full rosy lips. Long lashes dusted over creamy cheeks as he lowered his eyes and composed himself. His closely cropped hair was the same color as the king’s, a cinnamon brown that caught the light and reflected shades of copper and red.

“So it’s true; there are strangers from Terrasolis,” the boy said. His voice was high and feminine.

King Auric pulled a face that melted into an amused smile. “This is my daughter, Princess Wilhelmina.”

“Elma,” she corrected and straightened her short hair. It was cut so it fell just over the tops of her ears, easily brushed aside and out of her face. Her viridian eyes hovered over Ramiro, and a light flush tinted her milky cheeks. She defiantly tipped her pointed chin up.

Councillor Phyrrus spoke up. “Princess Elma is an Anima Stella as well and coveted by King Vasilis. He sought her hand in marriage, but when King Auric refused the proposal, King Vasilis’s rampage began.”

Elma stiffened visibly and scowled at the table. “Why are they here? Why has Emperor Folken finally decided to aid us?”

“You have asked Emperor Folken for aid already?” Ramiro inquired, his gaze settled on Elma.

“We’ve asked a dozen times, and each time, Emperor Folken has said he has done all he could. But what is that? Nothing.” Elma’s scowl deepened.

“He has done more than you know,” Balin said. Damir reached beneath the table and laid his hand on Balin’s knee. He gave an encouraging squeeze.

Elma scoffed.

“Daughter, enough,” King Auric said. Elma tightened her lips and shot a mutinous glare in her father’s direction but fell silent.

King Auric pinched the bridge of his nose. “King Vasilis wishes to take Elma from me.”

“I could stop him if you’d only let me fight,” Elma insisted. The words were tired, desperate, as if it was a battle they had shared many times before.

King Auric shook his head, ignored his daughter’s wishes, and turned to Damir. “We need your help. King Vasilis already has the aid of an Anima Stella, an Album Mage by the name of Persondra Bhaskar.”

An Album Mage was capable of not only powerful curative magic but also had the ability to project protective shields. Balin knew the military enlisted both Album Mages and their counterparts, Nigrum Mages, but he didn’t like the idea of possibly facing one. Album Mages weren’t nearly as powerful as a Nigrum Mage, but they were still strong.
And it doesn’t fare well for us that Persondra is also an Anima Stella.

Balin glanced concernedly at Damir, whose eyes had grown wide. Damir gripped the table, shifting maps and crunching delicate paper.”Another? Do you…do you know what we are?”

King Auric looked over at Councillor Phyrrus, who said on a wobbly note, “I may be able to answer that.”

“Perhaps we should break. It is late; you are travel weary. I’ll have rooms prepared and food sent up. Tomorrow, we can discuss in more detail,” King Auric said.

In more detail?

Balin clenched his jaw. It seemed that the war he had not chosen would still find its way to him. But if it involved Damir, than he would not run from it. Not this time.

Damir nodded and licked his lower lip. “You can tell me?”

“I can show you.” Councillor Phyrrus rose and settled his weight of his staff as he hefted his body from the chair. Israel reached up to help steady him. Councillor Phyrrus mumbled a thank-you and said, “Follow me.”

COUNCILLOR PHYRRUS LED them to a circular chamber in the west wing of Crystalis Castle. Its domed roof opened up to the sky. Sunlight warmed the marble floors. A mural wrapped the perimeter of the room, broken by alcoves carved into the walls, where unlit candles rested in ornate holders.

“Tell me, what do you see?” Councillor Phyrrus asked as he came to a stop in the dead center of the room. He leaned heavily on his staff.

Damir turned in a full circle and embraced the entirety of the mural. At the northern end was an altar filled with prayer candles, hundreds of small wax stubs. Over the alter was the image of a great tree with intricate roots that stabbed into the ground and a trunk so thick it looked as if it could fill an entire continent. Fleshy pearl fruit hung from the branches of the tree. At first glimpse, it looked like small white birds flew around the branches, but upon closer inspection, he saw that they were angels. Behind the tree was a moonless night sky filled with stars set in random patterns.

Continuing around the room were more night scenes, all depicting saints of the past. Damir recognized Saint Cyril, who stood with a large broadsword in his hand and a mangled wolf-beast at his feet. Beside him was Saint Taevon, black skin gleaming beneath the blue light of the Staff of Metatron.

Every painting felt as if it were about to start moving, the details meticulous. Damir could see the sweat on Saint Cyril’s brow and see the tears in the wolf-beast’s eyes.

“Paintings,” Balin stated disinterestedly.

“Look beyond it. What do you see?” Councillor Phyrrus probed. He hobbled to the set of double oak doors.

“Legends and Scriptures. I see history,” Damir said and turned to face Councillor Phyrrus. “Why are you showing us this?”

Councillor Phyrrus pulled a lever beside the door, and the opened dome began to close. Darkness slid across the room, a momentary eclipse before becoming pitch-black. He pulled another lever, and light grew, speckles of golden dust formed thousands of stars.

“Fuck me sideways,” Zephyr commented to Damir’s right.

Damir reached up for one of the stars, his hands cupped together. His fingers glided through the light. It was warm as the sun. “It’s sunlight.”

“Holes were carved into the walls where stars were painted. A lever opens it up,” Elma explained.

“These are all the constellations,” Councillor Phyrrus said and made his way toward them. Damir stepped to the side to give him room, his shoulder brushing Balin’s. Damir slid his hand into Balin’s, and their fingers tangled.

Councillor Phyrrus let out a wheeze and began to speak in a crackly timbre. “We are all connected with Dwerynef. From its branches, the fruit of existence was born.”

Damir looked to the northern mural depicting the artist’s vision of the ancient tree. No one knew what it looked like, but many had speculated about its grandeur.

“Lar created life. He created Dwerynef, from which we came. He created the oceans and mountains. He created man, and he created the stars. For as long as man has existed, Zoria has stood at a precarious balance between darkness and light.” Councillor Phyrrus drew in a breath. It was dry and shook with the dust of his bones. “One cannot exist without the other. Darkness and light, they are always intertwined. From the light comes the shadows, and from that darkness there is light. It is this harmony that has kept the world turning for so long.

“When the world has swayed too far into the shadows, man has always found a way to pull Zoria back into the light. Lar gave man aether and knowledge, so that we might keep the world leveled between the two planes. But sometimes these nefarious forces are too great for man alone. So Lar created the Animas Stellas, the Souls of the Stars.”

One of the lights blazed brighter, rippled in the darkness. It shimmered, burned until it hurt, and then under Councillor Phyrrus’s guiding hand, the luminescent star fell away. “When a child is born on the night a star falls from the sky, an Anima Stella is created. They are born not with a mortal’s heart, but with a star’s. An Anima Stella embodies the power of summoning. They may call upon a Scion, a sky spirit.”

Damir squeezed Balin’s hand. He aptly listened to Councillor Phyrrus’s words. The ancient man turned to the mural of Saint Cyril.

“The first recorded Animas Stellas were at the end of the Thousand Year War, five hundred years ago. They were: Saint Cyril of Orion, the Hunter; Saint Taevon of Ursa Major, the Great Bear; and Saint Ceda of Pegasus, the Winged Horse. They fought the demon Marchosias and ushered Zoria into a time of solace. Every time Zoria has faced despair, the Animas Stellas have been called upon. They are the champions of our world.”

Damir gazed up, mesmerized, at the collection of constellations. His eyes traveled over the patterns and settled on a cluster of sunlight that was reminiscent of a dragon. He pointed up to it and asked, “Which one is that?”

Councillor Phyrrus lifted his heavy gaze to the stars. “Draco, the Dragon. On his wings, he carries the universe. The mightiest beast the Child-God has ever created”—his eyes met Damir’s—”and perhaps he is yours to summon?”

Damir swallowed thickly and nodded. His vision blurred at the memories of scales and fire, the weight of a galaxy braced on his back. Balin reached up and steadied him.

“And you, my boy? Who calls to you?” Councillor Phyrrus turned to Israel.

Israel turned around the room, his eyes wide with wonder, and pointed to the constellation of an elegant swan.

“Cygnus, the Swan. In his wings hang the sun and moon. The light that flows from them is so bright that when spread, the wings could light Zoria for thousands of years.”

Zephyr smiled, his eyes crinkling. He shifted closer to Israel until their arms brushed against each other.

Councillor Phyrrus returned to the lever and turned off the stars. He opened the roof, allowed warmth to spill in again. Damir hadn’t realized how cold he’d been until he felt the sun on his skin. Councillor Phyrrus turned to them, gestured to the princess, and said, “And our Princess Wilhelmina is Lyra the Harp. Her melody is the song of the angels, more enchanting than the siren’s lullaby.”

Elma grumbled under her breath, her cheeks rosy. “It’s Elma.”

“Both are lovely names, Princess,” Ramiro said and offered her a rakish smile that made her face light up to her roots.

“There is another out there, one more Anima Stella,” Councillor Phyrrus said. “But that is for you to discuss with King Auric.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

A New Path

Elina stood at the edge of the cliff. At her feet the grass swayed, caught on a breeze Damir could not feel. He watched as her buttercream dress tangled around her legs and lifted to the side. The pale green ribbon that bound her silvery-blonde hair came undone and blew away. As the plaits in her hair began to unravel, Elina turned around. She pulled the spindly strands away from her face.

A smile softened her lips. She pointed toward the infinitely blue sky and laughed. It was a tinkling sound that reflected in her green eyes. Damir started to climb the hill, tried to reach her, but no matter how high he climbed, he couldn’t reach the top of the cliff.

Elina cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted, “Dammy! Dammy, hurry! Hurry, Brother!”

“I’m coming!” Damir called and pushed harder. The muscles in his legs burned as he pumped them in an attempt to race up the cliff side.