by C. L. Wilson
She stared at the black wall and filled her mind with dull, lifeless thoughts of drudgery and subservience.
«What are you up to, umagi?»
The question surprised her. Usually, when the High Mage’s mind scoured hers, his will felt like a thousand prying fingers, poking, prodding, ransacking her mind. This time, however, he felt much weaker. Perhaps Lord Death had been more successful than she’d thought.
As quickly as the thought bloomed, she buried it. «I was sent to collect a corpse, my lord.»
«Something happened, umagi. Show me.» The press of that icy black mind grew heavier, more insistent. Weaker or not, the Mage was still a powerful force, and she could not resist his will.
She turned slowly, keeping her eyes lowered, and let her gaze drift up the red-hair’s body until it came to rest on the faint rise and fall of the woman’s bloody chest, where the gaping wound from the executioner’s blade was already beginning to close.
«I was sent to collect this woman’s body,» Melliandra repeated, «but she isn’t dead, Master Maur.»
Eld ~ Boura Fell
“Enough.” Vadim Maur gave the healer kneeling at his feet a shove and pushed himself to his feet. Tremors shuddered through his frame. Lord Death’s scorching had nearly killed him, and the magic he’d expended to save his own skin had almost finished the job.
A large, loyal brute of an umagi stood like an obedient dog beside the chair the High Mage had just vacated. “Lord Death’s mate is alive. Take this healer to her now.” The words came out garbled. His lips had burned away in Lord Death’s fire.
The brute bowed and grabbed the healer’s arm in one meaty paw.
When they were gone, he turned to the other four umagi in the room, slaves of his since birth, nurtured carefully. Devoid of magic, of course, but utterly, irrevocably his. Standing docilely beside them was a powerfully gifted twenty-year-old novice Mage, one of several Vadim had bred and groomed to be his vessel in the event his plans to incarnate into a Tairen Soul did not come to fruition.
Vadim held out his hands. Hunks of rotting flesh had fallen or burned away, revealing glimpses of the ivory bone beneath. The umagi gathered around him and began wrapping perfumed linen around his putrefying flesh. He observed their efforts with detachment.
He could no longer put off the inevitable. Not even his great will could keep life pumping in this ruined body much longer. The end of this incarnation was upon him.
Word would have already raced through the corridors of the Mage halls. Primages with their eyes on the dark throne of Eld would be plotting to steal his chosen vessel and force him to incarnate into some worthless umagi devoid of magic so they could plumb his mind for all his vast stores of knowledge and leave him to die in a decaying mortal shell.
But Vadim didn’t intend such an ignominious end to his glorious life.
“It is time,” he said. He reached for the fresh purple velvet robe his umagi had brought to him. “You, ready the incarnation room. You two, take the vessel to be cleansed and prepared. And you”—he turned to the last umagi—“you know what to do.”
The four umagi and the vessel departed. Three of them headed down to the well-guarded, heavily warded incarnation room Vadim Maur had prepared in the bowels of Boura Fell. The fourth umagi set out for the laundry with the High Mage’s soiled robe. When they were out of earshot of Vadim Maur’s chambers, all four umagi were stopped, their hoods yanked back to verify their identities. Ten chimes later, the purple-shrouded figure of the High Mage exited the chamber as well, turning down a different tunnel. As Vadim had anticipated, dark figures darted out, clinging to the shadows as they followed.
They waited until their quarry had entered the incarnation chamber to spring. But when they yanked back the purple hood shrouding the High Mage’s face, it was not the rotting visage of Vadim Maur they found, but the face of his umagi servant.
Deep in the bowels of the earth beneath the forests of Eld, Vadim Maur stepped from the Well of Souls into the doorless chamber he had carved out of solid sel’dor ore several weeks ago, when it had become clear to him that his incarnation could no longer be avoided. He tossed the unused chemar he’d carried with him on the floor and, with a grunt of disgust, shed the scratchy woolen folds of the umagi robe he’d donned after his first transport through the Well from his chambers to the laundry. There, he’d exchanged places with the umagi carrying his soiled robe, and used a second chemar to bring himself here, to his true incarnation chamber.
The room was lit only by a dim illumination weave. Fingers of light fell upon the ashen face of the barely conscious man bound to the sel’dor table. Vadim’s most trusted umagi stood beside the table, cutting away the remains of the bound man’s once-elegant Celierian garb. He cleansed the man’s body with herbal soap, then anointed it with fragrant oil.
Vadim’s examined his vessel. There wasn’t a single mark on the man’s youthful, well-tended body. His torture—though agonizing enough to drive its victim quite mad—had been achieved completely through the use of Spirit weaves and Azrahn, destroying the mind, but leaving the body—and all its powers—completely intact.
“I expected such great things from you, Nour. Your bloodlines were impeccable, your gifts exceptional. But you didn’t have the wit to use your talents to their best advantage. You’ve been a terrible disappointment to me.” He leaned over the Primage’s limp body and gripped his jaw with one bandaged hand. Bloody drool from his lipless mouth dropped onto Nour’s cheek. “At last, I’ve found the perfect use for you.”
Elvia ~ Navahele
Strangely compelling music woke Ellysetta from sleep, a melody she’d never heard before yet somehow recognized.
She sat up and turned her head to gaze down upon Rain sleeping beside her. He lay tangled in the silken sheets, his limbs shining silver in the dimly lit confines of their bower. Love swelled in her heart, but she was aware of it in an oddly detached way, as if the emotion belonged to someone else.
The music in her mind grew louder, more insistent. She rose from the bed. The sheets slid from her body without a sound. She reached for an Elvish robe draped across the back of a chair and pulled it on as her feet moved soundlessly across the cool wooden floor.
The door to the small bower opened, and she passed through, stepping into the chill enchantment of the autumn night. The air was redolent with the aromas of night-blooming flowers, crisp fall dew, the earthy scents of the forest, and the unmistakable tang of magic.
Her bare feet skimmed down the steps that circled the Sentinel trunk. Around her the world was silent except for the sound of the song. The melody called to her, beckoned her, and she followed it with a strange, detached sense of purpose, a surety devoid of doubt or fear or even curiosity. Some part of her knew exactly where she was going and why.
The song led her through the heart of Navahele, past the moon-silvered stillness of its ponds, across the latticed bridges formed from blossoming vines and woven Sentinel roots. All around her the great trees of Navahele seemed to bend towards her as she passed. She made her way with swift but unhurried steps and passed through the opening in Grandfather Sentinel’s smooth, arching golden trunk to the soaring hollow of Galad Hawksheart’s throne room within.
The throne room was empty, the guards absent from their posts. The door at the back of the throne swung open as she approached, and she descended down the long, circling stair into the deep, glowing blue heart of Grandfather Sentinel.
Galad Hawksheart stood beside the mirror pool, waiting for her.
The notes of the melody that had drawn her here faded, still audible but muted, playing softly in the background, the only sound in the silence until she spoke.
“Is this a dream?” Her voice flowed out like ripples on a pond, each word echoing as if multiple Ellysettas had asked the question.
Lord Galad’s green eyes glowed in the dim chamber, mesmerizing and full of secrets. “The lucid dream of a Seer, Ellysetta Erimea, but it is nothing to fear. You d
rank elethea and took your rest in the boughs of a Sentinel. Your Elvish blood awakens.”
“I’m not afraid.” And strangely, she wasn’t. She was utterly at peace—even the Rage of her tairen lay still and silent. “Did you summon me?”
“I did not. If anything, you summoned me. You still have questions in need of answers?”
“Yes.” She had not known the questions were there until he mentioned them, but once he did, they rose like bubbles of air floating to the surface of a pond. With them came the rebirth of emotion. “My Fey parents…” she began.
“—would not want you to sacrifice yourself to save them,” Hawksheart interrupted. “You have considered using your connection to your father to find them.” The Elf leaned forward, his green eyes burning into hers. “You must not do this. The High Mage will be waiting, and all will be lost.”
“You’re telling me there’s nothing I can do to save them?”
“On the contrary, you are the only one who can. But what price will you pay to do so? How many people will you condemn to death to set them free? Because if you rush to their aid now, many will die. Many times many.”
“So I must leave them there to suffer?” The very thought of standing by and doing nothing while her family suffered went against everything she believed. She’d never met Shan and Elfeya v’En Celay, but it didn’t matter. She’d felt their torment. She’d shared her father’s mind…part of his soul.
“Unless you would plunge the world into the abyss, bayas. Your fierce defense of those you love is one of your greatest strengths, child, but the High Mage will use those feelings against you. You must think with your head, not your heart. Just as I have done all these thousand years.”
She’d felt Lord Galad’s torment over that decision. He’d shared it with her on purpose, she now realized—not so she would feel sympathy for him, but so she would understand his choice and realize why she must make the same one. Just as Rain had done, even though she’d railed at him and pushed him into vowing he would rescue her parents once their location was known.
Hawksheart moved closer. “But this is not the real reason you came to me to night, alone. This question you could have asked in the presence of others.”
She stepped back, retreating from his approach. His gaze held hers captive, the relentless power of his Elvish eyes piercing her barriers and delving deep into the secrets she held within. “Your truemate’s madness begins. The incompletion of your bond begins to unravel his mind, and you wish to know how much time he has before the madness consumes him.”
Her body trembled, but his power dragged the answer from her lips. “Yes.” She told herself she had not broken her vow to Rain by confirming the question. Hawksheart had already Seen in her mind.
“Too much Shadow lies upon him,” Hawksheart replied. “Though he offers you hope, he already knows the end will come quickly.”
Her mouth went dry. She met Hawksheart’s piercing gaze and this time asked directly, all pretense gone, “How quickly?” When he hesitated, her brows drew together. “You already owe a debt to my family so great you will never be able to repay it—you can give me this much, at least.”
Lord Galad’s jaw clenched at her accusation, but after a moment, he nodded. “Very well. For the love I bear your mother, I will answer.” The Elf king closed his eyes and held a hand over the mirror pool. A spout of shining blue water arose to bathe his palm. His fingers tapped against the water. “A month. No more than that. The war will accelerate your shei’tan’s decline.”
She bit back a muted cry as a rush of desperate denial filled her. So little time.
“Can I not heal his soul to give him more time?” Even though Rain had already given her an answer, she thought perhaps Hawksheart might know something her shei’tan did not.
Hawksheart shook his head. “There is only one way for you to heal what ails him now. You must complete your bond, or Rain will die before the last day of Seledos. No matter what else happens, that much is certain.”
She drew a breath. The muted cry of denial grew louder. “Yet still you will not tell me how to do it?”
“The key already exists within you, Ellysetta. When the time comes, you will either do what you must or you will let your mate die. The choice will be yours.”
She gave a humorless laugh. “Choice? Since when have I had that?” It seemed to Ellie that most of her life, she’d been swept along by the powerful currents of forces greater than she.
A knowing light shone from Lord Galad’s green eyes. “You think because you face situations not of your making that you exercise no choice? That you are helpless? To the contrary, child. Your whole life has been full of choices. Hiding from a hard truth is a choice. Surrender—even to the inevitable—is a choice. Even in death there is choice. You may have no control over the time or manner of your death, but you can choose how you face it.”
“Is death how my Song ends?”
He smiled, and his eyes were filled with a mix of sadness, understanding, and unexpected affection. “All living things die, Ellysetta. Even Elves and Fey…though we usually take longer to do it than most. But the Light that exists within us”—he laid his hand over her heart—“that spark of divine power we call our souls—the only way for that to truly perish is for us to surrender our Light to the Dark. So even if this body you now inhabit does not survive your Song, so long as you hold fast to the Light, the soul that is Ellysetta Erimea will live on. Let that bring you what comfort it may.”
“But if I die, then Rain dies….” Her own death she could accept, but not Rain’s. Never Rain’s. “Please, you’ve got to tell me—”
“Anio.” Hawksheart held up a hand for silence. “I have already said more than I should. I vowed to hold my silence…but you are so very like her.” His lips compressed and he turned away. “Go now, cousin. Sleep without dreams. I will speak with you on the morrow.”
She took a half step towards him; but he clapped his hands, and her vision dissolved in a shower of gold and green sparks. Consciousness faded, and she knew no more.
The Faering Mists
Lillis and Eiliss had reached the valley floor. The trail led through a dense copse of towering evergreens and into a clearing where a small village nestled amidst the trees. Shining Fey, tall, slender, and beautiful, turned with serene calm to watch Eiliss and Lillis emerge from the woods.
“Lillis!” One figure, much smaller than the rest, came pelting out of a nearby building and raced across the clearing. “Lillis! You’re here!”
“Lorelle!” With a shout of delight, Lillis raced to meet her twin. The girls met in the center of the clearing and twirled in each other’s arms, hugging and laughing.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Lillis exclaimed. “I was afraid something terrible had happened to you.”
“And me you,” Lorelle agreed. “Lady Eiliss found me and Papa and brought us here.”
“Papa?” Lillis grabbed Lorelle’s hands tightly. “Where is he?”
Lorelle pointed to the building she’d come from. “In there. Wait! Lillis, there’s something else you should—”
But Lillis was already racing across the ground into the building Lorelle had indicated. “Papa! Papa! I’m here!” She smelled the familiar, beloved scent of pipe smoke long before she saw her father and followed the aroma through the airy rooms towards a private courtyard at the center of the house. “It’s Lillis, Papa! I’m here! I’m all right! Lady Eiliss found me just like she found you and Lorelle!”
Lillis burst into the courtyard. Her father was standing beside a pretty fountain near a copse of small, flowering trees. “Papa!” She raced towards him, only to stop, frozen in her tracks, when he turned to face her.
Only then did she realize what Lorelle had been trying to tell her.
Papa wasn’t alone. He was with someone else, a person he’d been standing so near, Lillis hadn’t seen her until Papa turned.
Lillis felt her body shake. Tears filled her eyes, blurrin
g her vision and spilling down her cheeks. She took one shaky step, then another and another. Then she was running.
She crossed the small courtyard in a flash and threw herself into the waiting arms of the woman standing beside Sol Baristani. And when the familiar arms, so strong, so loving, closed around her, and the familiar scent of rosewater filled her nose, Lillis sobbed brokenly.
“Mama. Oh, Mama, I’ve missed you so much.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I am born a thousand times
When I see you,
I live a thousand lives
When I am with you,
And I die a thousand deaths
When you leave.
Born, Live, Die, a courtship poem from
Adrial vel Arquinas to his truemate
Elvia ~ Navahele
Ellysetta woke to the ethereal beauty of Elvish dawn song rising through the trees and the joy of Rain’s warm body wrapped around hers. For a moment, she lay there, hugging the arm draped over her. She ran her fingers lightly over his and carried his hand to her lips. Such strength, such power, and yet ultimately so fragile.
The memory of Hawksheart’s dire prediction of Rain’s fate made her eyes close in grief. She had only one month to bind her soul to Rain’s or lose him to the bond madness. Just the thought of it made panic tighten her chest and robbed her lungs of breath.
She couldn’t lose him. Not to bond madness. Not to war. Not to the High Mage.
«Shei’tani?» A sleepy thread of Spirit brushed across her senses. Rain’s fingers flexed against her lips. The body that had been relaxed against her in sleep now shifted and his arms tightened around her. «Arast sha de?» What is it?
She turned towards him. His eyes were still closed. He was still half-asleep, and it was only her distress that had roused him. She stroked his brow. «Neitha, shei’tan. It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.» She accompanied the reassurance with a light weave of compulsion and peace.