Authors: Blake Charlton
Deirdre listened with her head resting against the wall. When he finished, she spoke in a flat, exhausted voice. “If they do exist, the Alliance of Divine Heretics is well named. The belief that there is no savior—noHalcyon for the wizards, no Peregrine for the druids, no Cynosure for the hierophants—is perilously heretical. It denies all prophecies, and the high deities use those prophecies to justify their rule over their kingdoms. The heretical gods would need to remain hidden and wage their war against the Disjunction in secret.”
She closed her eyes. “I can’t say if any of this is true or not; nor can I say if Boann is a party to this Alliance.” She paused. “Though her sending me here to rescue you makes it seem probable.”
“But you’re her avatar; shouldn’t you know her intentions?”
Deirdre produced a quavering sigh. “I am indeed Boann’s avatar. Her only one. But…a year ago, I lost her love.”
Nicodemus hugged his knees to his chest and said nothing.
She took a long breath. “The savage Lornish Kingdom occupies my native Highlands. But there are many among us who fight to restore our home-lands to the civil forests of Dral. Nearly forty years ago, I became Boann’s avatar in this struggle.”
She was breathing faster now, her cheeks flushing. “I was married when she called. I had two sons I loved dearly. But when the goddess commanded me to go, I left without hesitation. Years later, my husband died with nothing but hatred for me. But you must understand how perfect Boann’s love is.”
The woman’s face had grown tense. Her eyes shone with a light that Nicodemus had once mistaken for simple excitement.
She took the greatsword from her back and set it on the ground. “From time to time, Dralish druids sneak into the Highlands to fight for our inde-pendence. Kyran came to me two years ago. His nephew was a famous Highland brigand who ceaselessly attacked the Lornish. The Highlanders called him the White Fox. The Lowlanders had worse names for him and marked his wife and sons for death. So Kyran came across the border to smuggle his nephew’s family into Dral. My goddess, hating Lornish rule, was more than happy to help.”
Deirdre looked at the steps again. “But the Paladin of Garwyn attacked during our crossing into Dral. I managed to save Kyran and his nephew, but not the rest of the family. The paladin slaughtered them.”
She shook her head. “I took Kyran and the Fox back to one of my clan’s secret holdings. I managed to sneak the brigand back into Dral, but Kyran was too badly wounded. He stayed with us for a year. Boann knew but…” She swallowed. “Boann had forbidden me to take a lover, and…”
Nicodemus made a soft sound.
“She discovered my infidelity. Some part of me must have known she would. She withdrew much of her soul from me. For an agonizing season,I was mortal again. And though Kyran and I ceased to be lovers, Boann stayed away. He and I dedicated ourselves to winning her forgiveness.”
Nicodemus touched her knee. “But he didn’t love Boann; he loved you.”
She laughed humorlessly. “Was it so obvious? Yes, he dedicated himself to helping me recover Boann’s affection even though it meant helping me forget my love for him. It was a selfless, stupid thing to do. In a way, I was unfaithful to him as well. I tried to explain that the love he and I shared was flawed, human.”
The avatar wiped her eyes with a sleeve. “How we used to argue. Tortured circles, around and around. He claimed that he—unlike Boann—would never punish me or withhold his love. The poor fool. Likely, he was right. It was frightening how wildly he loved me. But…he couldn’t understand that perfect love does exist.”
Nicodemus withdrew his hand as he remembered Kyran’s death. The man’s eyes had burned with agony. Nicodemus had thought the pain was born of the stomach wound. Now he saw what had truly tortured the druid. “Don’t be like me, boy,” Kyran had growled. “Be anything; be wild, be saintly, be wicked. Love all or love none, but don’t be like me.”
Deirdre was still talking. “After Kyran and I prayed and fasted, Boann called me back to her ark and invested nearly all of her soul into me. But it has never again been like it once was. Now she no longer trusts me. Now when our wills diverge she…sends me into seizures and takes control of my body.”
The woman wiped her eyes again. “I should be grateful. Back in Starhaven, Fellwroth’s golem trapped me. The monster would have killed me if Boann hadn’t controlled my body through a seizure. And I am grateful…but sometimes I don’t know who I am. Sometimes I feel as if my heart is not my own, as if I am only a vessel for the desires of others.”
Nicodemus leaned toward her. “And you believe that if you bring me to Boann’s ark, she will trust you again?”
The lines around Deirdre’s eyes smoothed. “Yes.”
In her gaze Nicodemus saw a desire so strong that it had become emptiness. She had lost part of herself. She was disabled in love. Just as he would be incomplete until he regained his ability to spell, she would be incomplete until she regained her perfect love.
“And so Kyran and I came to Starhaven to atone,” she said. “Last spring, Boann ordered us to join the druidic delegation that was passing through the Highlands. We brought many of Boann’s devotees and her ark. The other druids, the ones we couldn’t go to when fleeing Starhaven, are the true diplomats who came with concerns about the Silent Blight.They do not trust us; they tolerated us only because they could not refuse a goddess’s request.”
The woman’s fingers clenched into fists. “We must go to Boann as soon as possible.”
Nicodemus frowned. “But I have questions for the Chthonics. I might learn something more of Language Prime. Besides, Fellwroth must be watching Gray’s Crossing. We have to wait—”
“No!” Deirdre’s sharp retort made Simple John stir in his sleep.
“No,” she continued in a lowered voice. “If you don’t come, Boann may send me into another seizure. She may force me to do things I don’t want to.” She was looking at him now with eyes wide with fear.
Nicodemus felt his hands go cold. “You haven’t abducted me yet, Deirdre. You could have easily done so. Your goddess must know it would be foolish. Fellwroth would find us.”
Deirdre pressed a trembling hand to her chin. “Before I met Kyran, I was sure of everything. ‘Deirdre wry-smile’ they called me. You must have seen it sometime. I used to wear that smile like armor. My love for Boann was so true that I found mortals—with their dithering uncertainties—somehow amusing. But now the half-smile runs off my face like water.”
“You wore that smile when I met you.”
“I have embraced every sacrifice Boann required,” she continued, “leaving my husband, my sons, the society of other mortals. I did not miss them so long as I basked in her love. But now…now that Kyran has died because I…”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “And such horrible dreams I have—dreams of standing on a riverbank and being stabbed somehow by a wolf with a man’s head and glowing red eyes.”
Nicodemus’s head bobbed back. “In a Highland river?”
She nodded.
Nicodemus spoke excitedly. “Fellwroth killed Typhon in a Highland river, cut the demon into fragments with some kind of disspelling wand. I saw it happen when the golem touched me. And on the road, Fellwroth said Typhon was trying to infect a minor deity. Perhaps it was your goddess.”
Deirdre looked at him. “Then that must be how my goddess knew of you. She is the sovereign of Highland rivers; she must have seen Fellwroth betray his master. Somehow she must have extracted knowledge of you from the dead demon. That must be why she sends the visions to me. She has invested so much of her soul in me that she cannot express herself outside of her ark. She has no direct way of communicating with me, except by controlling”—she looked down at her lap—“this body.”
Again Nicodemus thought about how she had been disabled by love. He thought about John who, out of love, had sought to protect Nicodemus and who now suffered unimaginably because he had loved Devin. He thought also about what Deirdre had done to Kyran and what Kyran had done to himself.
Gently, he placed a hand on Deirdre’s shoulder. “What you did, you did out of love.”
She laughed cruelly. “Don’t be a romantic fool. There’s no force more savage. My love for Boann destroyed my love for Kyran, then destroyed the man himself.”
“He chose his path.”
Again, the hard laugh. “In that, then, he and I were alike; we loved too well. We all love too well.” She closed her eyes. “Will you read me Kyran’s last message now?”
He looked down at the dim green sentence in his left hand. It was so simple that even his cacographic mind had not misspelled the translation: “
I loved you always; I love you still.
”
He read it aloud.
Deirdre bent forward, her chin on her chest. Again she wore the half-smile, but it no longer held wry amusement. It pulled her face down into a gruesome mask. She shook silently.
When Nicodemus squeezed her hand, she pulled him into an embrace.
H
OURS LATER
N
ICODEMUS
woke to find the sunbeam gone from the steps. Only the fading light of dusk came down the stairs.
They were—all three of them—sleeping against the far wall. The Index lay beside Nicodemus, and John was looking at him with frightened eyes.
“Nico,” the big man whispered, “you know it was what Typhon made me do?”
When Nicodemus said that he did, the big man closed his eyes and let out a long breath.
“Are you all right, John?”
The other man pressed his lips together and shook his head. “No,” he said as tears came to his eyes. Nicodemus reached out and took his hand. John said nothing.
In the silence, Nicodemus could hear the wind whistling through the trees. Somewhere far away, a rook called.
John studied him with wet brown eyes. “Are you all right, Nico?”
Nicodemus didn’t look away when his own tears came. “No,” he said. “No.”
Outside Shannon’s cell, a man cried out as if dying.
The old wizard tried to hurry out of his bed but the Magnus chains wrapped around his wrists jerked him back.
He was still spellbound.
Worse, the censoring text locked around his mind kept him from seeing magical language and made the resulting blackness seem to spin. He was truly blind now.
The cry came again. Moving more slowly, Shannon put his legs over the side of the bed and arranged his robes. He would face the end with dignity.
A thud sounded from the direction of the door. He did not flinch. The thud came again, accompanied by the crack of breaking Magnus sentences.
Shannon straightened his dreadlocks, smoothed his beard. Another thud and the door gave way with a metallic squeal.
Silence, then the clicking of leather boot heels on stone.
“Rash of you to come in your true body,” Shannon said as calmly as he could. “The sentinels will know of your existence after you kill me.”
“Kill you?” Fellwroth asked with amusement. Something stirred the air beside Shannon. “Nothing so simple, Magister. Come.”
Suddenly Shannon was on his feet, hands stretched out before him as Fellwroth pulled him along by his chains.
“I’m no use to you,” Shannon called. “The boy’s gone. You’ll never find out who he is now that—”
“Nicodemus Weal is in the forest south of here,” Fellwroth rasped. “Yes, I know his name. And, yes, I could flush him out of hiding. But at best that would start a time-consuming chase; at worst, it would kill the whelp.” They were hurrying down a long hallway. “You will carry a message to him.”
They turned and suddenly Shannon was stumbling up stairs. “I don’t know how to find him,” the old wizard said, fighting the dizziness caused by the censoring text.
“Magister, you’re a miserable liar,” Fellwroth rasped. “I’m going to release you, and you’re going to carry my message to the boy.”
Shannon shook his head. “Even if I could find him, I would never do so.” The stairs ended and again Shannon was walking down a hallway.
Fellwroth snorted. “You insult my understanding of human motivation. I know you’d never go to him if I tracked you. I will not follow. Double back five times over. Romp around in the forests all night looking for a subtextual tracker. You’ll find nothing. When you’re satisfied, take my message to the boy.”
Cold wind blew across Shannon’s face. They had left the hallway and were walking in the open air.
“The end game begins,” Fellwroth croaked. “It doesn’t matter that the sentinels know of me. We play on a field outside of Starhaven now. Should the wizards catch Nicodemus and bring him back here, I would have no trouble pulling him from their prisons. In fact, that’s my message to the boy: you and he are to return to Starhaven and place yourselves in the sentinels’ custody. I will use a sand golem to retrieve both of you the instant the black-robes have you.”
“What makes you think we would do such a thing?”
Fellwroth’s footsteps began to produce wooden thuds. Shannon frowned. Could they be walking across the drawbridge?
“You can’t feel it yet, Magister,” Fellwroth hissed, “but I have laced the muscles around your stomach with a Language Prime curse named canker. It forces the muscles to forge dangerous amounts of text. But I’ve edited this version to slow its progress. I call it logorrhea. It won’t kill you in an hour or even a day. It will grow stronger and stronger until it bursts your stomach. If fortunate, you’ll succumb to fever. If unlucky, you will digest your own entrails.”
Shannon could hear the wind rushing through the trees. Somehow they were on the dirt road outside Starhaven. What had happened to the guards?
“I will die screaming before I see Nicodemus submit to you,” Shannon growled.
“Tell the boy that only the Emerald of Arahest can cure the canker growing in your gut.”
“I’ll tell him to run as fast as he can.”
Fellwroth grunted. “If the boy runs, I will find him or he will die.” The monster pulled him hard to the right.
Shannon’s boots left the dirt road and began to swish though knee-high grass.