The Book of Shadow, page 12
part #1 of The Curse of the Unnamed Series
“Good,” Misk said. “The girl and I shall consult what is the best way to proceed while the rest of you finish packing the wagon. Here, Ilkari, take Llyris’ pack for her.”
Before she protested, the old man slid the single strap from her shoulder and held her sack dangling from his hand for the squire. She’d barely seen him move and, now she thought about it, his walk to meet her had seemed far less labored than when they’d met the night before. While one might have said he lacked a spring in his step, he certainly appeared more spry and cheery.
Once Ilkari accepted the backpack and started toward the wagon to store it and his own, Viden Misk tugged Llyris by the elbow, pulling her away. She let him lead, glancing over her shoulder to see the others return to their tasks. All except the young woman stalking the crowd’s edge and the clergyman and his protégée. Before returning her attention to the old man, she watched the cleric take a skin from under his robe, press it to his lips, and tilt his chin skyward. He took a long pull of the liquid it contained, wobbling a bit as he did.
“Is he drunk?” she asked as Misk brought them to a halt.
“Brother Emeryn Aryzath? I think it likely.”
He faced her, leaning against his staff to bring himself closer to her, as though he might tell her a secret. She tensed, stared into his eyes as his expression hardened, then licked her lips and waited for him to speak again.
“This will not be an easy trip, Llyris Fildarae. Are you up to it?”
His question caught her off guard, and she wondered if she was or not. No matter; she hesitated to admit her trepidation to him or anyone else. They already didn’t approve of her because of what she did; telling them of her fear would make things worse. With no other option, she nodded despite the nervous tingling racing along her spine.
“I am.”
Misk’s head moved up and down slowly, as unconvincing in his acceptance of her answer as the quiver in her words made her offering of it. His brows dipped, forming a vee at the middle of his forehead as his eyes narrowed to slits. The surrounding air grew heavy and a bead of sweat formed at Llyris’ temple.
“If you think you can’t do it, I may know another way.”
Without realizing he’d moved, she found the old man’s hands gripping her shoulders. The staff, lacking the support of his grip, stood straight for a second as though it needed time to realize its freedom before toppling to the grass with a dull thump. Llyris tracked it with her eyes, then returned her gaze to the man in front of her. His stare burned into her and she wondered if she should fear what she discerned in his expression, or be encouraged by the possibility she might not have to go on this odd crusade.
“What other way?” she said without thinking.
His grip on her shoulders tightened enough to be uncomfortable, but not so much as to cause her pain. She fought against the urge to squirm away from him and felt suddenly desperate to get her hand into her pocket to seek Flayre’s touch. How he held her prevented her from doing so.
“I could go instead,” he said, his voice a low whisper, a near growl at the base of his throat.
Her vision blurred, smearing his features. When it righted itself, he appeared a younger man, his dark beard trimmed short and shot through with streaks of silver. His intense gaze glowed the red of embers at the bottom of a brazier.
“How?” she said, not knowing what she meant to ask. “What?”
Energy flowed through her, tightening the muscles in her limbs. The pressure threatened to force her to her knees. Viden Misk’s lips moved—she saw this, but no sound came from his mouth. A dull grunt of effort escaped her own throat.
“No,” the man said. His features relaxed into his own again, face slack with exhaustion.
The weight on her alleviated, and breathing became manageable. The tension in her limbs eased, and the world returned to normalcy. His hands remained on her shoulders, softened to a touch rather than a grip. His back arched, and he sagged, returning him to the demeanor she was accustomed to from the night before and the other times she’d seen him.
“What happened?” she asked, despite her concern for herself.
“Nothing. Do not worry yourself, child. You are safe now.”
With an effort, he raised his head and peered past her as she shivered at his choice of words. Safe now. With his grip looser, she manipulated her hand to dip her fingers into her pocket and brush the tips against Flayre’s hide. The Unnamed felt warm—warmer than usual.
“It looks like the others are ready. How many can you travel at a time?”
She drew a deep breath and released it, clearing a fog from her mind she hadn’t realized had come along with the pressure on her body. Her eyelids slid closed, and she pictured the people and equipment waiting for them to journey to…wherever they were going. She wrapped her fingers around the cylinder in her pocket, doing everything she’d learned to transmit what she knew. A moment later, she opened her eyes and peered into the patient but tired face of Viden Misk.
“Three,” she said. “And the horses, wagon, and driver as one group.”
“Seems right.” He nodded, then straightened and released his hold on her shoulders, grimacing as his spine unbent from the position it had held for the last several minutes. He glanced at the walking stick lying on the ground, then at her. “Would you be so kind?”
She took her hand from her pocket and bent at the waist, plucking the staff from the grass and holding it out to him. When he reached to take it from her, his fingers wrapped around hers, and another jolt of energy coursed through her. This one brought with it images she didn’t recognize, places and things she knew nothing of. An instant later, he pulled the piece of wood away from her and began the trek across the lawn to where the others waited beside the laden wagon. She stood for a minute, staring after him, slack-jawed. Had he just transferred his thoughts to her?
Neurogenesis, she thought. He’s a magik.
It wasn’t possible, but how else did pictures appear in her head? She watched him labor toward the small crowd for a few seconds before shaking herself from her confusion. Surely she must have imagined it. Somehow, Flayre communicated with her, not the old man. A true magik—a full Unnamed—couldn’t possibly live amongst humans without detection.
Could they?
The group needed a few minutes to organize the order of transport for the expedition’s members. They agreed—they being the baron’s champion and the merchant’s man, Cirril Feron—it was most important to get wagon and supplies done early, though not first or they’d lack protection. After a debate tinged with a touch of heat, they decided on Rein and Jai traveling with Cirril to start things out.
“So I can keep an eye on them,” he said to his companions. When he saw Llyris eavesdropping, he scowled at her until she diverted her gaze.
She pulled Flayre from her pocket and held her close to her mouth.
“It’s time,” she whispered.
She extended her arm, palm flattened, and the creature already stood upright, the curls of gray flame beginning on the end. Llyris had never seen her come to life with such speed, as though eager to begin the task at hand. The smoky tendrils swirled around for a few seconds, and she closed her eyes. For the first time since leaving the guildhall, she lacked the ability to picture their destination, for she did not know where they intended to go. She needed to trust that whatever Viden Misk did when he placed Flayre in the silver box with the other Unnamed gave her everything necessary to transport them.
The ground trembled minutely under her feet and Llyris opened her eyes again. Ahead of her, the air shimmered and glistened, like sunlight reflected on water. The other members of the party and their entourage stepped back, as though worried about falling in. Or being drawn in against their will. No matter how many times she explained to people how it worked—they must step over the threshold of their own volition—fear remained the dominant reaction. Fear, and then some level of acrimony.
Through the watery air, she saw a garden and the perimeter wall of the estate beyond. After a few seconds, they smudged like an artist drawing their thumb across a pastel landscape, then things grew opaque. The flowers, the green hedges, the stone partition all turned white. At the center of this void, a dot appeared, growing larger until it stopped, its size no bigger than a coin.
Llyris waited, expecting the disk to expand further, but it didn’t. She glanced at Flayre to ensure nothing had gone awry with the small creature; the gray tendrils whirled and coiled around the purple cylinder’s end, like any other time. Everything working as it should.
But she’d never seen a destination which appeared so distant.
She dared a glimpse away, eyes falling across the crowd gathered nearby. They all peered into the tunnel, some relieved they didn’t have to enter, others dreading the eventuality of stepping over the threshold. Viden Misk alone looked elsewhere, and he stared at Llyris. As if understanding the question she held in her mind—is this right?—he nodded.
“Okay,” he said, redirecting his attention and taking a step forward, leaning on his staff as he did. “Our brave knights will go first, as agreed.”
They stepped to the edge of the path and stopped.
“It’s so far.” Jai’s tone registered a note or two above its normal higher-than-average range.
“You’re not afraid, are you, Sir Aryn?” Feron said.
“Don’t be daft, Cirril,” Rein replied, speaking the man’s name in a manner making it sound like an insult. “He is merely concerned you might not have the strength to walk so far.”
The merchant’s man scowled and the two of them glared at each other until the baron’s champion reached to his waist and yanked his weapon free. Cirril did the same.
“We don’t know what may lie on the other side,” Rein said, a smirk canting his lips. “Best we’re ready for anything.”
Feron’s sneer deepened. Instead of replying, he moved toward the knight. Rein raised his sword to defend himself, but the merchant’s man stepped between him and Jai, pushing past and striding across the threshold into Flayre’s tunnel without taking the time to ask about its safety. Llyris didn’t stop him; she had no reason to—the passage held as stable as it would ever be.
“It’s safe?” Jai asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Go ahead.”
Rein went first, his constant companion following right behind him. Llyris remained as rigid as possible, arm straight out in front of her to support the small creature creating the path on which they walked. Four minutes passed, the silhouettes of the three men shrinking with distance as they traversed the white tunnel. Not long after, she wished they’d go faster as the muscles in her shoulder fatigued.
Carpera and his attendants shuffled restlessly as they, too, watched them disappear.
“Have they arrived yet?” the merchant asked.
“Not quite,” Viden Misk answered on her behalf.
She sensed Carpera’s attention on her and dared a glance toward him. Indeed, he stared at her, watching the tremble in her arm from holding it straight.
“What if she lets the tunnel close on them? Or it collapses before they arrive?”
“She won’t.” Misk moved past her, settling in beside the merchant. Whether he intended to calm the man or distract him from Llyris, she couldn’t tell, but she appreciated its accomplishment of the latter. “She knows what she is doing, and what is at stake. She’ll hold the passage as long as she needs to. And the Unnamed will sense them pass from it to the other side. There is no guess work involved. They tread upon her essence.”
The merchant made a sound in his throat, suggesting he found no satisfaction with the explanation, but resigned himself to having no other option. Another minute passed before the men disappeared from sight, and thirty seconds later, the white passageway swirled like dirty water siphoning down the drain and the tunnel vanished. The wisps of smoke curled around the purple cylinder sucked into the end, and Flayre fell over onto Llyris’ palm. Her legs wobbled, knees threatening to give way, and she might have toppled to the grass but for a supporting hand on her arm. She turned, expecting to find Viden Misk rescuing her from the embarrassment of her exhaustion; instead, she discovered the young woman who’d been lurking at the outskirts of the gathering aiding her.
“Thank you,” Llyris said as she regained control of her balance. She offered a grateful smile. Her helper nodded in response, then walked away without a word.
“The wagon is next,” Caedric Carpera proclaimed. He waved his arm, directing Ilkari to pull the two horses and their payload forward toward the handler. She inhaled a heavy sigh, shoulders rising and falling with it, then glanced at Flayre lying in her palm.
The Unnamed appeared no different than usual, but Llyris realized traveling siphoned much of her energy, as it did her own. Still, a job remained incomplete. She set her stance, reached for the purple cylinder with her other hand, intending to place the creature up on end, when Misk spoke.
“The girl must rest first,” he said. “If she is to travel such a large group successfully, her Unnamed needs to recover.”
“Can’t she force the jick to get it done?” the merchant asked.
She gritted her teeth against Carpera’s use of the slur. Knowing he’d use it in front of her and everyone else, he may as well have called her a name. She wanted desperately to call him out for it, but bit down on her desired response.
“It is a long path she must create,” Llyris said instead. “It requires a lot of energy for both of us.”
The merchant’s face contorted, and he grumbled under his breath before speaking aloud. “How much time do you need?”
She shrugged, rolled Flayre back and forth on her palm to see if the creature might offer any vague input. She didn’t.
“As long as it takes,” Viden Misk said, gazing at the merchant.
Carpera glared at the old man, then directed his attention to Llyris, making a show of casting his eyes upon the Unnamed, and curling his lip in disgust as he did. His gaze slipped away from them and across the others gathered around.
“This will take the entire day,” he complained.
“We’ve never sent so many before,” Misk said.
The merchant shook his head. “She’ll have to do better. The cleric and his student must go along with the wagon.”
“Caedric.” The old man stepped toward him. “If you want to ensure—”
“Do not presume to tell me what I want,” Carpera snapped. “This wench traveled horses and men at once to arrive at my estate; she can transport more than two at a time. I’m the one paying for this expedition, and it will be done how I say.”
“Caedric, I thin—” Misk began again; this time, Llyris interrupted.
“It’s okay, Master Misk. I can do better.” She glanced at Flayre lying on her palm. “We can perform better. Give me a few minutes to help her regain her energy.”
Viden Misk fixed her with a concerned expression, then crossed the few steps separating them. He stopped in front of her, leaned on his staff.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes. I can do this.”
She returned her attention to Flayre, closed her fingers around the small creature.
I hope.
Half an hour later, Llyris and Flayre opened the pathway for Ilkari driving the horses and wain, and the cleric and his pupil, whom they called Tesfira. This time, the tiny creature whose power they used to travel from one place to another experienced no trouble maintaining the passage. The rest seemed to have invigorated her beyond expectation.
When the wagon reached the far end, the wide white pathway shrank to the size of a pinhole, then disappeared without sound or fanfare. As soon as it did, Flayre toppled on Llyris’ palm. Her knees buckled at the same instant, as though the purple cylinder pressed on her with immense weight. Her buttocks hit the ground with a painful thump, but she closed her fingers around the creature, preventing her from rolling from her grasp. A second later, Viden Misk appeared at her side.
“Are you all right?” he asked, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Yes,” she said, glancing sideways toward Caedric Carpera.
She wasn’t sure she was, but the glare contorting the merchant’s face made her hesitate in admitting otherwise. He must have noticed her hesitancy, because he squeezed his grip, bringing her attention to him and sending a tingle along her arm.
“Take whatever time you require,” the old man said, increasing the volume of his words to make sure their employer heard. “Saving Master Carpera’s son is too important to rush.”
She chanced another peek over her shoulder, saw the merchant divert his sour expression to Viden Misk before turning away to confer with the men standing closest behind him. Having his judging eyes focused elsewhere gave Llyris a small sense of relief.
“What’s wrong with his son?” She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought to ask before. Of course, it wasn’t her place, so she waited for him to chastise her.
“He is ill,” he said simply.
“And the tome we seek will cure him?”
The elderly man inhaled a deep breath through his nose, then let it out, the force of it stirring the hairs of his mustache. Seeing the whiskers flutter might have been amusing to some, but it reminded Llyris of her father—what little she remembered of him before he sold her to the guild—and any memory of him caused her discomfort. She shivered at the thought, and he squeezed her shoulder, as if knowing she required comforting.
“The tome will tell us what to do,” he said, finally answering her query.
She raised an eyebrow at his response, parted her lips to ask a follow-up question, but he cut her short by standing. He leaned on his staff to do so, the tip sinking into the ground. A groan of effort escaped his throat as he straightened, drawing his hand away from her. The tingle she’d sensed along her arm disappeared along with it, leaving her with a chill in its place. She shivered despite the sheen of sweat left on her brow by the exertion of traveling the wagon.
