Chapter 24

“I don’t wanna read no more today,” Harri complained, distracted by a group of chattering girls who were filing through the hallway. “I already know all the letters.”

Katrin had taken the children to a sitting room so they wouldn’t be cooped up in the same spot all day, but she was starting to think she’d made a mistake. There was too much activity in the busy chapter house.

“You might know the letters, but do you know the sounds they make?” she asked.

“Harri, look!” Ditte exclaimed, bringing her primer over to her brother and pointing to a word. “C ... a ... t. Cat!”

Harri scowled but tried to smile at her. He didn’t like that his little sister was learning faster than him.

“I’ll help you go over it again,” Katrin told him.

Just then, Mother Yewen came into the sitting room, accompanied by Nallee. Katrin stood to greet them.

“How’s the teaching coming along?” Yewen asked. “Nallee told me what you were doing.”

“We’re ... getting through it,” Katrin said.

“Good. How do you feel about taking on a few more students?”

“What?”

“I’ve been talking to the families in the shelters,” Nallee said in a rush. “The younger children don’t have anything to do all day long, and most of them can’t read. We need something to keep them busy and distracted, but the Sisters who still live here are already busy teaching our own girls, or helping with the refugees in other ways. So, I thought, since you’d already started with these two...” She trailed off when she saw Katrin’s expression.

“I don’t think I’m the right person for that,” Katrin said. “I haven’t done much reading in Western before. I grew up speaking Eastern.” She’d looked far enough ahead in the primer to realize she’d need to do some studying of her own to stay ahead of Harri and Ditte.

“You can recruit some of the older students to help,” Yewen said. “They’ve all gone through it themselves, so that should make it easier. Most of the girls can get by in both languages, which is good—the refugees speak a mix.”

Nallee gave Katrin a weak grin and a shrug. “That’s just how it is around here,” she said. “If you stay too long, you get put to work.”

Yewen waited expectantly, her eyes unrelenting. She ruled her small domain with an iron fist, and it was clear she expected agreement.

It seemed inevitable, so Katrin gave in. “If you want me to, I’ll try. At least until my friends get back.”

“Excellent,” Yewen said with a smile. “And perhaps you could also sing for the people in the shelters, to keep their spirits up. The children aren’t the only ones without enough to do, and Treya mentioned you were a bard.”

Katrin nodded. She didn’t have a problem with that one—though it would have been nice if she’d come up with the idea on her own. Ever since their time in Cordaea, where none of the locals could understand her songs, she’d been uncertain about her future. She liked music, but was that enough? Playing in taverns wasn’t particularly fulfilling, but what else could she do? Don a suit of armor and a sword like Ariadne? The idea seemed laughable.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

They were interrupted then when one of the students rushed in and handed a folded note to Mother Yewen, whispering something in her ear.

“Thank you, Mera,” Yewen said to the girl. “You may return to your duties.”

The old woman unfolded the note. As she read through it, her expression grew grim. To Katrin, she said, “Your friend, the one who can go back and forth, will she be here today?”

“Yes. Why?”

“A message came in by pigeon for the knights. They’ve been ordered to return to Larso.” Yewen handed the note over. To keep the size and weight down, pigeon messages weren’t sealed by wax the way a letter would be.

Katrin stared at the scrap of paper, her insides going cold. The orders came from a Knight Commander Sir Noris, requesting that the squad of knights return to Larso by way of the northern pass.

Corec was depending on those knights. He’d hoped to train the weapon crews well enough that they could operate on their own, but in private, he’d admitted to Katrin that the crews worked better with the knights to serve as spotters. Right up until they day the expedition had left, he’d worried the knights would be called away.

And now they had been. They’d just left town three days earlier. If Leena delivered the message, the knights would turn around and leave—most of them, at least.

There was a fire burning in the sitting room’s hearth, warding off the winter’s chill. Katrin dropped the note into the flames.

She watched it burn, then turned back to Mother Yewen. “Unfortunately, the message was lost before it could be delivered.”

The old woman gave her a solemn nod. “Communication can be difficult in these troubled times,” she said. “It’s a shame you didn’t come to us sooner. You would have made an excellent concubine.”

Katrin figured that was meant as a compliment.

Melithar slipped through the streets late at night, taking care not to attract attention. He was well outside the city center, with its palaces, towers, and mansions all illuminated by the mage lights lining the streets. Here, in this quiet residential neighborhood, the only light came from the stars in the sky, and from the flickering of oil lamps through the windows of those who were still awake at this hour.

One of those windows, belonging to a small cottage, drew his attention. It had to be the place he was looking for. He went up the cobbled walk and rapped his knuckles against the door.

The door opened, and he found himself face-to-face with a seaborn man, of all things. He was dressed as a sailor, with just a loose tunic that left his arms bare despite the winter chill in the air. There was a cutlass hanging from his sword belt.

“Come in,” the fellow said, standing aside to allow him through. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Melithar entered and looked around. The cottage appeared to be a home rather than a place of business, but what was a seaborn man doing in this part of Terevas?

“I was told I could find a...” Melithar hesitated. What had he been told? His memory was hazy. Be at this place, at this time, for ... what? “I was told I could find a wardbreaker here,” he finished, part of the memory returning.

“Don’t worry,” the seaborn man said with a small smile. “You’re in the right place. Come. She’ll see you now.”

“You’re not the wardbreaker?” Melithar asked, blinking rapidly to try to clear his head. Who was it who’d told him to come here? Why couldn’t he remember?

“I’m not the person you came to see,” the man replied. “She’s through here.” He held aside a silk curtain hanging at a doorway, and led Melithar into a study.

There was a woman there looking out into the night through a window. She was elven, but didn’t have the mottled brown hair or the slight greenish tinge to her skin of the dorvasta. With her inky black hair, she wasn’t nilvasta either. She turned to face him.

“You’re yanvasta,” he said with sudden realization.

She tilted her head to the side and gave a slight nod. “That is how we are called,” she said.

The not-elves. A puzzling word to describe an obviously elven people, though this woman was only the fourth yanvasta Melithar had ever seen. They rarely left their island home.

“You’re the wardbreaker?” he asked.

“You’re not here to find a wardbreaker, Ambassador Melithar.”

Melithar frowned. He’d been told there was a wizard here who specialized in breaking wards. Or had he? The details of the conversation were slipping from his mind again.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Why am I...? How did I get here?”

“Have no fear,” the woman said. “You’re not in any danger from me or mine.”

The seaborn man stood blocking the curtained entryway, his muscular arms crossed in front of him. A shadow detached itself from a dark corner of the room and moved to stand near the yanvasta woman. Melithar blinked again and the shadow became a figure in a black robe, the cowl pulled up to hide the wearer’s face.

“What’s happening?” Melithar said. “Why can’t I...?” Why couldn’t he what?

“My name is Shayliel,” the woman said. “Though I’m afraid you’ll forget that detail after you leave.”

“Forget? I’m here for...” What was it again? “A wardbreaker. I’m here to find someone who can break wards.”

“It’s too much, Zora,” Shayliel said to the robed figure. “I have questions for him.”

Some of the pressure on Melithar’s mind relaxed.

“What are you doing to me?” he said. “Why can’t I remember how I got here?” And why wasn’t he trying to get away?

“My presence in Terevas might draw attention from certain parties,” Shayliel said. “Given the sensitive nature of your task, I felt it best to retain some secrecy. It wouldn’t do to lose the book because of a lack of caution.”

“The book!” Melithar said, patting the satchel at his side to reassure himself it was still there. “Why did you bring me here?”

“You’re looking for someone to help you destroy it.”

Melithar blinked. “You already know?”

“You and I had this conversation earlier today, though I imagine you don’t remember much of it. I asked you to retrieve the book from its hiding place and meet me here.”

“You can destroy it?”

“I can, but I won’t. I had you bring it to me so I can study it.”

“But it’s dark magic!” he protested. “It’s dangerous!”

“Dark magic is ... not what you believe it to be,” Shayliel said. “You’ve heard the scary tales for children, and the excuses the Church of Pallisur uses to burn elder witches at the stake. That sort of dark magic doesn’t exist.”

“You don’t understand!” Melithar said. “The book is evil. It changes people. It...” He trailed off. He wasn’t sure how to describe it. He wasn’t even certain it was the cause of the changes he’d seen in Revana and Vilisa.

“I know very well what the book is,” Shayliel said. “It’s been calling to me ever since you took it outside the palace wards to hide it. That’s why I came to Terevas. But the thing you call dark magic isn’t really evil, at least not in the way you think. It corrupts the minds and bodies of those who attempt to use it—not intentionally, but because it’s ... not meant for us.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure I can give a good explanation, but I’ll try. What you think of as dark magic is like a mirror of the magics we know, but there’s something just slightly off about it. Unfortunately, that little bit of wrongness can build up in the minds of anyone attempting to use it, because the people of this world aren’t its intended wielders. We’re not capable of handling it safely.”

Melithar couldn’t keep himself from asking the obvious. “If we’re not capable, then who is?”

“That’s a question to which I’m still seeking an answer.”

“Then how do you know any of this?”

Shayliel lifted a necklace over her head and laid it on the table. It held a tiny silver skull pendant with ruby eyes. “Dark magic,” she said. “A divine healing spell, if you manage to use it correctly. Something else if you don’t.” She unlatched a golden chain from her wrist and set it next to the necklace. “Dark magic,” she repeated. “This one, I believe, is derived from elder magic. They’re always calling to me, and there’s always a battle of wills to avoid the corruption. You’re right. It does change you, unless you know what you’re doing. Unless you’re strong enough to resist. Once, when I was much younger, I had to spend three years alone on a tiny island, trying to scrub it from my mind.”

Melithar swallowed. “You’re a dark mage.”

“No, I’m a wizard. I have yet to meet a dark mage, if there is such a thing.” She gestured to the jewelry. “I don’t even know if these were created by dark mages, or if they were the unfortunate results of enchantment spells gone awry. This is the first time I’ve seen it in a spell book—it suggests there was some sort of guiding hand behind it. That’s why I need to study it.”

Melithar stared at her. Could he really leave the book in the hands of someone who intended to keep it, and possibly even use it? Even if she understood the risks, it was still dangerous.

It would get it away from Vilisa, though, and that was his priority.

Plus, he doubted he’d be allowed to take it with him when he left. Something was still affecting his mind. He was standing calmly, holding a polite conversation, when in other similar situations, he would have fought or fled. He shot a glare at the figure in black. Whatever she—if Zora was a feminine name—was doing to him, it was subtle enough that he couldn’t tell the difference between her spell and his own thoughts. As soon as he returned to the Glass Palace, he intended to head straight to the wizardry archive to look for mind-warding spells.

With a sigh, he lifted the spell book out of his satchel and dropped it on a nearby table.

“Thank you,” Shayliel said. “What can you tell me about it? Where did it come from?”

“When I was young, Revana’s father, King Alarin, decided to build a real road leading to the seaborn enclave that his mother had allowed to settle on the western peninsula. This was well before Revana opened up our borders for outside trade, and with our isolation, prior rulers hadn’t seen any need for a seaport. Alarin felt differently, though, and the enclave was the closest port to the city. It was faster and cheaper than building a new one somewhere down south.”

“Yes, I remember all that,” Shayliel said. “It certainly made it easier to visit Terevas, but how is the book involved?”

She remembered? She didn’t look any older than Vilisa.

“There are some ruins along the border with the enclave,” Melithar said. “They don’t seem to be nilvasta in origin, and they’ve been around longer than the enclave so the seaborn didn’t build them. Revana and I learned about them while the road was being built, so we and another friend decided to explore.”

Revana had been so different back then, carefree and full of life, though even then she’d had an acerbic, judgemental wit. Melithar—or Vilar, as he’d still gone by back then—hadn’t minded sharing her with Jorel. Jorel was acceptable to her father, which allowed Revana’s relationship with Vilar to slip by unnoticed.

Melithar brought his mind back to the present. “Some of the ruins were more remote than others. One of those was a tower that I don’t think anyone had mapped yet, but someone had found it before us, perhaps no more than a few years earlier. The book was there, along with a bit of clothing and a bedroll he’d left behind. I think it was a man—the clothes looked like something a human male might wear.”

“This was, what, two hundred ten years ago? Two hundred twenty?” Shayliel asked.

“Closer to two hundred twenty.”

The seaborn man leaned forward intently. “Daceus?” he said.

“This could be where he came when we lost track of him,” Shayliel replied.

“Who is Daceus?” Melithar asked.

“The sort of man you’re concerned about, though I don’t believe he was a real dark mage,” the yanvasta woman replied. “Just someone who allowed himself to be corrupted.” She picked up the necklace by its skull pendant and rolled it absently between her fingers. “No matter. He’s dead now. If it was Daceus, he was no wizard. Even with the rather unique nature of dark magic, perhaps he realized he couldn’t use the book if he couldn’t read it, so he left it behind to throw me off his trail. But then Revana found it and took it inside the Glass Palace’s wards before I returned to Aravor, so I never learned of it.”

The robed woman gestured to the west.

Shayliel peered toward her as if listening, then shook her head. “No, we’re close enough to the enclave that I’d be able to feel if there were any other artifacts. I don’t see any need to search further. We’ve got what we came here for.”

“If this is all true, why doesn’t anyone know about it?” Melithar asked her. “Why is dark magic just a rumor, a story?”

“We tend to only see what’s around us,” Shayliel said. “The world is a big place, and there’s alway something bad happening somewhere—demons, dragons, dark magic, pirates, scourlings, tyrannical kings. There’s a long list.”

“Scourlings?”

She shook her head. “It’s not important. What matters is that, yes, there will always be dangers out there that you don’t know about, but there are also people who stand against those dangers.” She gave a hint of a smile. “Wardens, you might call us, though that’s another detail you’ll forget after you leave. Zora, could you—”

“Wait!” Melithar exclaimed. There was something he needed to know before they fogged up his mind again. “The queen is sick. Can you help her?”

Shayliel gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. Once the wasting has progressed this far, there’s nothing that can be done.”