Silverkin, page 14
Had Xenon and the other Wolfsmen left yet? Would they have bothered looking for him? He wanted to scream with frustration. Go back to Xenon? No doubt the Wolfsman would search him for magic and he’d find the stones. But what other choice did he have?
Thealos rounded the corner, sprinting into the night as it fell over Sol. He had made another mess for himself. What other choices did he have? If this creature of Forbidden magic would outrun Crimson Wolfsmen, what chance did he stand outdistancing it to Castun, let alone all the way to Landmoor?
A prickle of awareness went down the back of his spine, and the sensation made him stop. He released his hold on the magic and soon heard his own ragged breathing. Smells from the gutters choked him with their filth. But it was not Forbidden magic. That had a different smell entirely.
Jaerod emerged from the shadows.
“This way.”
* * *
Jaerod took Thealos into the ruins of Sol, to alleys so dark and slanting that the only light came from the winking stars. It was an old part of the city, so decayed and ramshackle that not even street people slept there for lack of scraps. A crumbling watchtower blocked the way ahead, its top stones lying in heaps around the broken shops and deserted buildings. The Sleepwalker entered through a soot-scorched door. The air was heavy with dust.
“Over here,” Jaerod said, motioning for Thealos. He took him to a back room on the ground floor of the dilapidated tower. The floor stones were arranged like tile, intersecting at odd angles. Jaerod strode to the center of the room where several points met.
Thealos stared curiously and then recognized the pattern on the floor. An octagon with a cross. The same symbol that marked Jaerod’s medallion.
“Kneel here,” Jaerod said and demonstrated by dropping to one knee at the intersection of tiles. He planted his hand on the ground and crossed his other arm in front of him. He looked up at Thealos. “Do the same.”
He did. The posture was awkward and peculiar, as if it were a token of devotion. Jaerod bowed his head but said nothing.
Silvan magic rushed up from the floor stones, churning alive and seething with power. It was the same feeling he had experienced in the tunnels of Landmoor, right before the Foretelling had started. The rush of Silvan magic left him breathless and confused, as if it were water filling a basin and that he’d drown in it. He wanted to run away, but the magic locked him in the pose until it completely overwhelmed him.
Then as if a plug had been unstoppered, the magic drained out of his body. He looked up and opened his eyes, not remembering when he had shut them.
They were in a different place.
It was a chamber with facets carved into eight stone walls holding blue stones that shone in the darkness leaving no shadows on the floor. It was a room similar to the one in the deepest reaches of Landmoor, except there were four alcoves leading to other chambers instead of two. A dome curved overhead.
Jaerod stood and stared at Thealos, who also rose.
“I am sorry for your family, Thealos. I’m sorry for you. It is always a heavy burden when we lose those we love.”
Thealos stared at the man as his throat caught with pain bloomed in his chest. “Did you know…” He struggled to swallow. “Did you know it was going to happen?”
The Sleepwalker’s gray eyes said that he did.
Anger. A blast of fiery anger. “Why didn’t you warn me?”
Jaerod squeezed his shoulder. Thealos wanted to shove the arm away, even though the Sleepwalker had just saved him. “I intervene when I can, Thealos. When I must. If I abuse the knowledge I have, I would not be what I am.”
“What sort of man are you! What sort of friend?”
Jaerod squeezed even more. “I am one of the few who are left. I am a Ravinir.”
“My sister, Jaerod.” Tears stung Thealos’ eyes. “It killed my little sister. It killed my brothers. I’m alone…I don’t have anyone...”
Jaerod lifted his chin. “I understand better than you think I do. It was hard for me to leave you that night on the palace grounds, knowing what would happen to you. It is a hard thing to do something like that. But you must understand, Thealos. I did not create the Vocus that destroyed your family. The Vocus that hunts you. It was created by a Sorian. Do you know why?”
Thealos looked at Jaerod helplessly. “How could I know that?”
“Your grief is real, Thealos. I do not mean to belittle it. But I will not always be here to do your thinking for you. Why did the Sorian send the Vocus to kill you?”
“Because I’m an heir of Quicksilver. They don’t want me to enter the warding again and take the Silverkin. They are safe so long as its powers are trapped in there.”
“But how do they know that you do not have it?”
Thealos closed his mouth. The statement struck him as absurd. “The warding fails once it is taken.”
“How would they know that? It isn’t in the records. Only you know that. Why did they create the Vocus to kill you?”
“Because they think I already have it.” By the Three gods!
“You made it inside the warding. You are an heir of Quicksilver. They know these things for certain now.”
“They wanted me to use it. If they have the records, then they know if I use it too much, it will kill me.”
“Surely you would use it to defend your family,” Jaerod finished. He turned around and sighed. “It was your actions in Landmoor that caused the Vocus. The death of your family is a consequence of that. I don’t say this to hurt you. If you had known, you would have acted differently.” He turned back. “Although I may know the consequences, it does not give me the right to intervene in them. All Ravinir are told, by the Mages of Safehome, when and where to intervene. Life is a series of consequences. Those consequences teach us.”
Jaerod turned back to him. “The Rules of Forbiddance are the same. If you tame a cooking fire properly, you are less likely to burn your home down and kill your loved ones. If you abhor ale, you are less likely to become drunk and kill a man for his purse. Consequences. You must understand something, Thealos. You and I, we struggle against things in this world that people do not even know of. We fight against kingdoms created not by kings, but by the creatures in the shadows that puppet them. These creatures…I do not even call them men or women any longer…have ruled this world since the Shae first came here. What is at stake here is more than the life of your family. Hundreds…no, thousands upon thousands of families are the stakes here. This is your chance to help them all. We are so few…left to do so much. Will you be part of us, Thealos? I’m offering to show you the way to becoming a Ravinir too. I have been given permission to do so.”
Thealos let the silence thicken between them. Before the death of his parents, he would have bartered his future life to become a Sleepwalker. But he was finally starting to comprehend that the price it would require could be beyond his willingness to pay.
“Chancellor Abtalion told me that the Mages of Safehome are renegades. Kilshae. Is that true?”
A quirk of a smile lit Jaerod’s face. “That bothers you? You, who fled Avisahn to avoid choosing a calling?”
“You’re evading. Is it true?”
“Thealos, we can argue shades of meaning until the end of the world. I am not going to refute every little crumb that Abtalion fed you. I don’t have time. What I’m offering you is the chance to find out for yourself. Is Safehome a renegade city of powerful magic? Or is it the city that first brought the Shae to this world and will take them away again? If you accept the path that I’m offering you, then you will have the chance to decide that for yourself. How would Abtalion know our motives? He does not even comprehend that he’s encouraging Avisahn to send an army of Shae against two Sorian. Without the Silverkin Crystal, they will fail. An army twice its size couldn’t do it. Remember the hosts of Sol-don-Orai? They were all destroyed by a single Sorian’s wrath. I’ve already told you we don’t worship the Three. Because there is a Power above them that you’ve been taught not to know about or accept.”
Thealos chewed on his lip. “Why didn’t you offer this before? Were you commanded to wait until now, at this time?”
“What do you think?”
“That means you can’t tell me. Ban it! Before you left me in Avisahn, you told me that you were a Ravinir. It’s a strange word, considering its double meaning. To break is to be broken. You are a breaker…a breaker of Firekin, I’m supposing. Yet it means you are also broken. Something like this has happened to you.”
Jaerod’s eyes narrowed and his answer was slightly more than a whisper. “Or will happen to me yet. There is another nuance to the term. To be broken can also mean…?”
“To be teachable. To have the barriers to learning broken down.” Thealos smirked. “It’s a word we used a lot to describe the humans as not being. They never learned because we were such poor teachers.”
Jaerod raised his eyebrow. “Are you ready to learn the Oath magic, Thealos?”
“If I’m not, will you send me back to the Vocus?”
“You’re going back anyway. You might live a little longer with some new tricks.”
He had known his answer from the day he met Jaerod. The hunger to be a Sleepwalker had never waned.
“What must I do? What must I do to be like you?”
“Don’t limit yourself, Thealos. Perhaps someday you’ll be greater.”
It was not long before he learned how that was possible.
Chapter XV
Thealos walked through the deep Shoreland mists, lost in his thoughts. The fog had settled in along the lowland plains, creeping through the reed grass growing along the soft marshy banks of the valley streams and basins. He was grateful that the shroud had blanketed the land, for it gave him time to wrestle against his swirling thoughts.
The Oath magic.
Even hours later, thinking about what had happened struck him with confusion. How could he describe it, even to himself? Part of the lives of countless others seeped into him, a flicker of thought here, an emotion there. As if all the Sleepwalkers since time began had poured their essences into a well that he could now drink from. Yet somehow he was part of that give and take. Part of him drained away, though he was replenished by the thoughts of others. Jaerod had called it the wellspring and said it would take time to master his thoughts, to keep part of him separate from the accumulation of lives. The magic of the Crimson Wolfsmen was after the order…but a lesser order. They could only tap into the wellspring when one of their brothers died. But Thealos was part of it.
The warnings were rife in his mind. The Oaths. He had made five in all, one for each of the stones in the pouch that Lucyanna had given him. But Jaerod had said there were four more—Nine Oaths in all. If he proved trustworthy of the five, he would earn the right to learn the others later. Only a true Ravinir had made them all. Yet they were secret—secret since the Shae had come to the world to save it. They were the origins of the Rules of Forbiddance. The promises made for keeping them gave him access to the wellspring of souls. The consequences of breaking them…he shuddered at the thought.
Memories swarmed through his mind, dashing through the hallways of his thoughts. Jaerod had tried to explain that they would come, but Thealos was unprepared for how much they distracted him. Most of the images were of a fighting art that had existed since the dawn of time—called the Way of Ice and Shadows. The Crimson Wolfsmen training involved only half of it—the Way of Ice. They had lost the Way of Shadows. A true Ravinir knew both, which is what gave them such advantages against their enemies. Fighting with weapons or without. Swords or staves or wicked-bladed daggers—each had a ritual of steps to follow, a technique that had been passed on for thousands of years. Thealos had access to them all. It would take a lifetime, even for a Shae, to master them. But the knowledge was his now. He could tap into that experience, the dead memories of his brothers. But the warnings were clear not to abuse it. Never to abuse it.
Or there would be consequences. Terrible consequences.
Jaerod had said he would be tempted to break the Oaths, that all Sleepwalkers were. Those who had failed to uphold the Oath magic were slowly shut off from the wellspring until the doors closed to them forever. When that happened, most had gone mad and taken their lives, contrary to the Oath of Life. Thealos hoped that it would never happen to him.
He looked down at his hand, cupping the stones. A grim smile quirked on his mouth. Lucyanna had gotten them from a Sleepwalker, though she did not know it. She and others could invoke the power of the stones to feign a Sleepwalker’s powers. But Jaerod had explained that as well. They were training stones. Once Thealos had engraved the five Oaths deep in his heart, he would no longer need them. He understood the runes marking each one and what they meant. It could take months or years to fully accept all the ramifications of the Oath magic. But it was heartening that he would not need to rely on their power forever.
A whirlwind of thoughts tumbled through his consciousness, shattering his concentration again. A Sleepwalker killing a Vocus. He closed his eyes, trying to snatch the image before it fled. The thoughts quavered before holding firm. Before the destruction of Ravin-Dranath, the Ravinir were the protectors of the Shae royal family. Those who practiced Forbidden magic had begun to assassinate the ruling line. They were twisted Shae—called the Kinshae. A full Ravinir could stand against a Vocus—a creature of darkness, the lives of men and women sewn together and distorted horribly. In a way, the creatures were of the wellspring. But it was a Forbidden way. Thealos knew the one hunting him would be following. He deliberately kept one of the stones in the pouch so that it would not stanch his sense of smell as it had in Sol. Other Shae would be able to sense the magic he was using. But it was a risk he had to take. Being caught off guard by a Vocus…
The memory tugged away and was gone, disappearing into the storm of memories. He would need to take time to practice. Every day of his life. The memories of the wellspring were his to tap into, but he could only cling to those he studied and mastered. The Oath magic was a teacher of the Way of Ice and Shadows, but only so long as he remained a pupil. A learner.
So many nuances to the term Ravinir.
So many secrets he would never be able to share. Not even with Laisha. Not with anyone until he had earned the right to be a teacher like Jaerod had. To wear the medallion and carry the sword.
Thealos glanced up as the sun fought against the pall of mist. When the fog cleared, he would be able to determine how far inland he had strayed. He and Jaerod had reached the Shadows Wood together before his friend had left to return to Safehome. Thealos would not be allowed to go there until he had made all nine of the Oaths. It was supposed to be a crowning moment, when the Mages entrusted a Ravinir with a weapon and a shield. Some Ravinir had to wait before being granted the honor. There were some Ravinir who forsook their calling after it had happened. The consequences…Thealos bit his lip and tried not to think about the Oath of Silence.
He expected to reach Castun before sundown. Through Jaerod’s knowledge of the Oath magic, they had traveled together out of Sol as they had through Avisahn to Silverborne Palace. The Sleepwalkers called it ‘walking the Crossroads.’ The experience had still made Thealos retch, but not as much the second time. He hoped by the third time he would be able to keep his stomach under control. Walking the Crossroads alone took great concentration and skill. Taking another along was difficult indeed and limited the distance considerably. Maintaining that kind of concentration for long was debilitating. Through the memories of the wellspring, Thealos had an idea how it was done. But he did not have the self-confidence yet to try it himself. A Ravinir endowed with all Nine Oaths could walk the Crossroads over a deep moat and through the walls of a keep. But most Sleepwalkers could not start out doing that.
Thealos was plodding over a low hill when the smell of Forbidden magic wafted up through the grass. He stopped in his tracks and loosened the sword at his waist from its scabbard and felt the blade’s magic for the first time. Silvan magic, though not as strong as that of a Wolfsman blade, spoke to his Shae senses. Warders had charmed it to feed the bearer with strength. The pulse of it throbbed up his arm. But the Oath magic was stronger, more penetrating, a constant whorl of thoughts in his mind. Memories darted in and out of his awareness, memories of fighting and death. He calmed himself, not ready to invoke them yet. The smell came on him in waves, a stench of wilt and decay and all things vile. Yet it came from in front of him, not behind. The Vocus should have been gaining on him from behind, not in front. Or had the mist completely turned him around? Clutching the stones in his left hand, he invoked the magic to keep him from the sight and hearing of others. Cautiously, he started down the slope.
The churn of mud and trampled grass showed him that horses had stormed down the hill—many of them. Thealos followed the tale told by the hash-marks and strewn clumps of sod and came upon the scene of the horrible stench.
The mist retreated as he advanced and he saw the broken pikes and split pennants first. Huge mounds of dead horseflesh ghosted in and out of sight as he walked through the muck. The smell was overpowering and he covered his mouth with his fist, squeezing the stones and debating whether he should draw the missing one that banished smell—even the smell of magic.
He stepped around the broken shell of a suit of armor and wondered why it had been left on the field. The breastplate had corroded in the center and the metal looked as if it had been left to rust for a year. There was another full suit of armor near a dead horse. And another. But where were the bodies?
Thealos knelt near one and noticed that the buckles were still fastened tight. The smell nearly choked him. Was the armor all blackened? Soot covered everything but the grass was untouched. He reached down to touch it, but something in his heart warned him not to. Memories came again, this time from his own past—from the warding beneath Landmoor. Memories of his Foretelling when he had seen the Empire of Sol-don-Orai fall.
