Death Weavers (4 page)

“Tell me how I can be of service, young renegade,” Sando said, bowing his head slightly. “What information do you seek?”

“Can you tell me about Nazeem?”

Stillness settled over Sando. “You name a dangerous object of curiosity. Surely, there are brighter matters to investigate. How about directions to a stream that appears to flow uphill? I could hum a forgotten melody, popular in bygone years, which you could now revive? I know several rumors about lost treasure.”

“I'm interested in Nazeem.”

Sando sighed. “What would you have me tell you?”

Cole wasn't sure how much to divulge. Sando seemed willing to help, but could he be trusted? Cole decided to ask about something that had bothered him when talking to the rude old guy by the bench.

“How can Nazeem be in the echolands but not dead?”

“Many in the echolands are not dead,” Sando said. “I am not dead.”

“I'm new to Necronum.”

“An echo mirrors the physical body, not the spirit,” Sando explained. “The echo is not the essence. It is not the lifespark. Like the physical body, an echo is a container for a lifespark. Unlike a physical body, an echo can continue to function without the lifespark. A dead echo can walk and talk without a lifespark.”

“So you can be a live echo or a dead echo,” Cole said.

Sando gave a nod. “With a dead echo, the essence or lifespark has moved on, leaving the functional shell behind. These dead echoes can move and talk, but they lack a will and have no new ideas. Over time they degenerate into madness. A regular echo like me still has his essence. Though my mortal body has perished, in the echolands I am alive. There are also bright echoes. They form when death weavers temporarily leave their physical bodies behind and cross to the echolands.”

“Nazeem is a bright echo?” Cole asked.

“Doubtful,” Sando said. “He has been here too long. Any physical body he once possessed should be long gone. He was a being of great power imprisoned long ago for the safety of the entire world. Another topic might be of greater interest. I could divulge the location of a huge abandoned tree house. . . .”

“Nazeem must be a bright echo,” Cole said. “How else would he break free and return to the five kingdoms to lead the shapecrafters?”

Sando leaned toward Cole and lowered his voice. “Where did you hear that?”

Cole appreciated that Sando took him seriously. But he worried about revealing too much. “Just rumors.”

Sando studied him closely. “Few know of shapecraft. Fewer still know Nazeem believes he can escape confinement in the near future. Where have you learned such rumors?”

“I don't know how much to tell you,” Cole said frankly.

Sando fixed him with a searching gaze. “I would like to help you, young sir. But some of what I know could be hazardous. I do not wish to endanger you. How can I gauge how much to share without understanding what you already know?”

“You don't work for Nazeem?” Cole asked.

“Like many echoes, I trade in information,” Sando said. “My affiliations and loyalties vary. Had you wanted harmless knowledge, I would have been as free with it as you were with your silver. Nazeem is another matter. We all must speak of him with caution. Are you a shapecrafter?”

Cole blinked. “No.”

Sando narrowed his gaze. “I can perceive your shaping power. It writhes like a dozen tangled serpents trying to devour one another. It is maimed. I have observed shapecrafters who tampered with their abilities to achieve unique results.”

“My power is a mess,” Cole admitted. “Shapecraft was involved. But it was an attack. I can't use my power anymore.” He remembered the time in Junction when contact with the Founding Stone had temporarily reawakened his abilities, but he didn't want to get that specific with Sando.

The beggar winced. “Ruthless and foul. Who had the power to do such a thing?”

“She was called Morgassa,” Cole said.

Sando's eyes widened. “You faced Morgassa? And lived?”

“You believe me?” Cole asked.

“I can plainly see that you believe it,” Sando said. “I suppose you could be insane or deluded. I had an aunt who held long conversations with her flowers.”

“I helped defeat Morgassa,” Cole said. “She damaged my shaping power.”

“To have challenged Morgassa and lived, you must know the Pemberton girls,” Sando said with awe. “You are helping them, I take it?”

“Trying,” Cole said.

“I have discovered a young celebrity,” Sando said. “You must have some connection to Honor. You're aware that she came here not long ago?”

Cole decided he might as well come clean. “I'm looking for Destiny and Honor.”

“Honor is kept, not found,” Sando said with a sly grin. “And need we search for destiny? It tends to find us whether we like it or not.”

“I'm talking about the princesses,” Cole clarified patiently.

“You want to help the Pemberton girls?” Sando asked.

“Yeah,” Cole said.

“How did you become involved?”

“Long story.”

“You were not born in the Outskirts,” Sando said. “You came from Outside.”

“You can tell?”

“Experience.”

“I hope to get home someday.”

Sando hooted with laughter. “No small tasks for you, young sir.”

Cole felt his cheeks warm up. “It won't be easy.”

Sando pointed at him. “That puts it mildly. You interest me. You are no ordinary boy. Tell me your name.”

“Cole.”

“You must sleep lightly these days,” Sando said. “A knife under your pillow, and a rope by the window. I discern that Stafford Pemberton is not your friend. Nor is Owandell or Nazeem. Who do you serve?”

“The princesses,” Cole said. “I got involved with them directly.”

“I see now why you desire knowledge of Nazeem,” Sando said. “A shadowy subject. His precise origin remains unknown. We're aware that in mortality he was a shaper of extraordinary power. From his place of confinement in the Fallen Temple, he has reached out to humans and taught them shapecraft and has recruited many echoes as well. For an imprisoned being, he wields considerable influence in the echolands and across the five kingdoms. Like you, he intently wishes to find Destiny Pemberton, and her sister Honor as well. He is also searching for a young man who fits your description. Are you aware?”

Cole's mouth was dry. “Yeah,” he managed, sick dread coiling in his gut.

Sando held up a hand. “Do not be alarmed, giver of silver. I trade in information but am happy to guard your secret. Others may not extend the same courtesy. You cannot hide for long. Not in Necronum, where so many echoes prowl. They will notice your deformed shaping power.”

“How can I avoid Nazeem?” Cole asked.

“The real question is how to avoid the mortals and echoes who serve him,” Sando said. “Nazeem is trapped in the Fallen Temple. You are beyond his physical reach.”

“Unless he gets free,” Cole said. “Can he come back from the echolands?”

Sando's eyes flashed with interest. “How? It would defy nature. But Nazeem seems convinced he has found a way, and so do his followers. Who am I to name anything impossible? The whispers suggest he expects freedom in the near future. But what does that mean to a being who has been imprisoned for so long? Is the near future later this century? Or next week?”

“From what I heard, it sounded closer to next week,” Cole said.

“This could be,” Sando said. “I know little more about Nazeem. I suspect you have more intimate knowledge of him than I do.”

“Is the Fallen Temple far from here?” Cole asked.

“Very far,” Sando said. “If you desire a long and prosperous life, may I suggest you keep it that way? In fact, you might consider departing Necronum. I understand Zeropolis has many conveniences.”

Cole shook his head. “I can't. There are things I have to do here.”

Sando considered him intently. “What information do you most desire?”

“You can probably guess,” Cole said. “Do you know where I can find the princesses? Destiny or Honor?”

“Of course this would be your priority,” Sando said, rubbing his hands. “I cannot tell you the present location of either sister. But I do know a place where Destiny has been. You could acquire her trail there. There would be risk involved.”

“Everything is a risk these days,” Cole said. “Lots of people are after me. The sooner I find the princesses, the less time they'll have to catch me.”

Squinting intently, Sando lowered his voice to a whisper. “This is one of my most guarded nuggets of information. I survive by trading knowledge. Would you grant me a favor in exchange for the knowledge you seek?”

Cole fell silent. Hunter had warned him to be very careful bargaining with echoes and to make no binding oaths. What might Sando want? Had everything until now been a setup?

Sando smiled, wrinkles gathering at the corners of his mouth and eyes. “Do not fear a trade! I have not yet spoken my terms. They are very lenient.”

“What's the deal?” Cole asked warily.

“I could not keep your silver,” Sando said. “Instead, favor me with a different offering. Maintain the silver ringer in your custody, on my behalf, until you give it to the person I designate. While you retain the ringer, I will serve you as best I can from the echolands.”

“How will I know who gets the ringer?” Cole asked.

“I'll bind the ringer to both of us,” Sando said. “That way, while you retain the ringer, I'll be able to reach your mind.”

“I was warned to avoid binding oaths,” Cole said uneasily.

Sando waved his hands. “I don't mean a binding oath. Avoiding those is a good policy. Under a bound oath, you would owe me a particular service, with a punishment attached should you fail. This is not my proposal. Not all bindings involve punishments. Some can simply help echoes and mortals find and trust one another. I would bind the ringer to us so I can help you avoid losing it by accident, and so I can tell you who I want to have it.”

“Isn't that a lot of trouble just to give somebody a ringer?” Cole asked.

“Donating the ringer will bring me joy,” Sando said. “But my motives go beyond generosity. Echoes spend our existence resisting the call of the Other.”

“The other what?”

“Just the Other, young sir. The unnamed realms beyond the echolands. They summon us. At first the invitation is easy to resist. But the pull increases over time. I have withstood the call for many long decades. Interaction with the material world helps us resist. Some echoes collaborate with mortals to resolve matters of personal concern. For others, it is a question of survival. In short, having a ringer to give in Necronum will help keep my echo alive.”

That seemed like a fair reason to Cole, but he had just met Sando and didn't want to be reckless. “How do I know you're not tricking me?”

“Young sir, what have I to gain from deceit?” Sando asked with a chiding smile. “The binding depends on the quality of my information. If my tip fails to lead you to Destiny's trail, the binding will unravel, as if it never happened. I'm trading a platinum for a copper. Your task is easy, but this knowledge will be most difficult to uncover elsewhere.”

“What if you lead Nazeem's people to me?” Cole said.

“As a token of good faith, and to give you maximum assurance of my worthy intentions, I will pledge to serve you and only you until I instruct you to deliver the ringer.”

“You can't break that pledge?”

“Absolutely not,” Sando said. “I'll bind it. But in return you will need to keep our arrangement secret.”

“Wait a minute,” Cole said. “That seems weird. I want to check with my friends before I make any deals.”

Sando shook his head. “This bargain is not with a group. That gets hazy. This offer is for you and only you, good now or never. The secrecy protects me. Some unscrupulous death weavers use their power to bind and command echoes. You are no death weaver. If you can't talk about me to anyone, no death weavers will interfere with our bargain. Just like you, I deserve to protect myself.”

“Will you give me a minute to think?”

“Be my guest, young sir. No need to rush.”

Cole folded his arms. Mira and his friends had come here to find information that might lead them to Destiny, and this was a chance to get it. What if one of the others had already learned what Sando would tell him? Or worse, what if somebody else already had a better lead?

Then again, what if the others had learned nothing? Delivering a ringer didn't sound too bad, especially since Sando pledged to serve only him until it happened. The echo seemed knowledgeable and friendly. Who knew when his help might come in handy?

Hunter had warned not to make binding oaths and to be careful about striking bargains. This wasn't a binding oath, and the bargain seemed innocent. Even if one of the others discovered a better lead, Sando's requirement was simple, and the echo could prove useful in other ways.

“All right,” Cole said. “How do we make it official?”

“Very good, young sir,” Sando said, his head bobbing. “We will make quite a team—I'm sure of it. You still have the ringer you tried to give me?”

Cole hadn't returned it to his pocket yet. He held it up.

“Set it down and tell me that it belongs to me,” Sando said.

Cole placed the small silver hoop on the dirt in front of Sando. “This ringer is now yours.”

Leaning forward, the beggar waved his hands over the silver ringer, fingers fluttering. “If you take up the ringer again, Cole, you will hold it on my behalf. You will keep the ringer until I designate a recipient. In return, I will tell you about a place Destiny Pemberton visited where you can pick up her trail, though doing so is your task, not mine. You will keep our arrangement secret, including my identity, and I pledge to serve you and only you until I ask you to deliver the ringer. While the ringer is in your possession, it will be bound to you, and to me, so as not to go missing before the conclusion of our arrangement.”