Eolyn (39 page)

Only when the King and his bride retired from the feast did Eolyn notice the dull ache behind her eyes. When another cup of wine only intensified the pain, she decided to say good night to her friends.

Dawn was but a few hours away as she returned to her quarters, alone and exhausted.

Eolyn had not spoken with Akmael since her arrival, but she had noticed his hand behind every detail of her stay. She had been assigned a well-furnished apartment on the southern flank of the castle, with a clear view toward the province of Moehn. The servants left no need unattended. Her room was always supplied with fresh fruit and drink.

She poured herself a cup of water now, and dressed it with herbs to subdue her headache. Holding the mug steady between her fingers, she recited the first spell Ghemena had taught her.

Ehekaht, naeom tzefur. Ehukae.

Steam rose off the water. For a moment, Eolyn felt the spirit of her beloved mentor pass through the room.

Laughter and song rose from the streets below. Eolyn drifted to the window to view the city. Inhaling the soothing aroma of her herbal infusion, she watched people dance beneath the distant torches, like bright coals on a dying fire. Last night’s frost had dissipated, and the air blew warm against her cheeks.

The essence of the room shifted, and Eolyn felt a presence behind her. She set her tea on the window sill, fingers trembling, and kept her eyes on the rooftops below.

“Why have you come?” she asked.

“To see you once more,” Akmael replied. “Why did you not request an audience with me during these days?”

“Because I knew better.” She turned to face him, her emotions a churning cauldron of sadness and relief, annoyance and desire. “Your bride is waiting, my Lord King.”

“The Queen sleeps under a spell. She will not awaken until I return.”

“You cannot stay here.”

“I do not intend to.”

His words cut deep, and she averted her eyes so he might not notice the pain. He drew close then. Eolyn held still, though she knew she should step away. It was all she wanted in that moment, to feel the intensity of his aura, to remember the intimacy of his touch.

“Don’t do this,” she whispered, uncertainty breaking through her resolve. “Akmael, please…I can’t…”

He studied her in silence, as if registering every detail. Then he lifted his hands to the silver chain around his neck and removed the jewel woven by his mother. He placed it carefully over Eolyn’s head, letting the fine medallion come to rest upon her bosom. He withdrew before their lips could touch.

“Mage Corey is very impressed by the work you are doing in Moehn.”

It seemed a cold thing to say, so very formal. 

“The Gods have sent me worthy students, talented and dedicated to the craft,” she replied.

“I am pleased to hear it. The Queen and I will undertake a progress next spring, and we will visit your new
Aekelahr
in Moehn.”

“I don’t know if that would be a good idea.”

“It is necessary. Your endeavor is supported by the Crown.”

“Surely you could send a representative, Mage Corey or Thelyn—”

“We cannot avoid seeing each other, Eolyn. You are the only High Maga of Moisehén, and I am the King.”

“But we could put it off, until your marriage solidifies and this…this force that draws us to each other fades.”

He let out a slow exhale. “How long do you think that will be?”

Eolyn bit her lip, unwilling to give voice to the response.

He rested his hand against her cheek, bringing her gaze back to his. His fingers traced the line of her neck before descending to the silver web that rested over her heart. “This jewel binds us to each other and to the forest in which we met. I leave it in your power. Use it to find me, should you ever be in need.”

Eolyn nodded, her throat tight with pain. The hidden tears of all these days escaped and rolled down her cheeks without restraint.

Then his lips were upon hers, tender and full of desire. She drew him close, unable to resist the flame of his touch.

The embrace proved all too brief. Without warning, Akmael pulled away and stepped past her to the window, where he stood with clenched fists, a brooding look upon his face. 

The silence was thick, and Eolyn dared not break it. When at last he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “You said you wanted to restore magic to our people. You said this was the only way.”

“It is, Akmael. I can’t hope to fulfill my promise to Dragon if I—”

He raised a hand to silence her. In that moment, Eolyn realized Akmael had assumed his father’s place, once and for all. Whatever the prince had suffered, wanted, needed or loved was now hidden forever behind the stony mask of Vortingen.

A shimmer passed through him, followed by a flash of white light as he assumed the shape of Owl. In a hush of wings, the Mage King settled on the sill, pausing but a moment before slipping into the night.

Eolyn’s heart leapt after him, but she subdued its impulse, halting at the window and watching Akmael’s shadow against the starry sky.

“I love you,” she whispered as he faded from sight.

Eolyn turned back to her room. It felt barren in the wake of his departure, a vacant space enclosed by stone, a meaningless display of lifeless furniture.

She stood, listening to the silence.

Then she changed out of her dress and into her nightshift, and slipped into her empty bed. She pulled a large pillow into her embrace, inhaling its aroma of stone and earth and timeless magic.

Of him.

Tomorrow, she decided, she would pack early to begin the journey home. She longed to see the girls again, to feel the sun shining on the fields of Moehn and to hear the whisper of the forest. To press her bare feet against the grass and breathe the aroma of warm earth and wildflowers.

Perhaps she would invite Renate or Adiana to travel with her.

She paused at this thought, and her aching heart brightened.

Of course!

Why had she not considered it before? Renate could teach Middle Magic, and Adiana music, which was Primitive Magic, after all. And who knew music better than Adiana? 

Eolyn drew a breath of excitement.

We will weave magic back into this land, united as sisters, like Magas of Old.
 

Nestling beneath the warmth of her covers, Eolyn closed her eyes. 

Tomorrow, they would ride south together.

The threads of all my stories begin and end with my family, who inspired me long before I understood what inspiration meant. Thank you for your unending support. I couldn’t have done this without you.

The forests of the Talamanca Mountain Range in Costa Rica provided fertile ground in which the seeds of
Eolyn
took root and grew. To all the creatures that inhabit those ridges: the great oaks and pumas, the bumble bees and mushrooms, the quetzals, the ferns, the blueberry bushes and mosses. To the duendes who never showed their faces to me, but whose magical presence was always felt, and to all the lush expressions of life in Talamanca: Thank you. I hope I have managed to capture something of your magnificence in these pages.

The greater part of the journey of this second edition was completed when we published the first edition in 2011. All the voices that helped me reach that moment still resonate here. Eric T. Reynolds was the first editor to believe in this novel, and I will forever be indebted to him for giving me an opportunity with Hadley Rille Books. Rafael Aguilar, Suzanne Hunt, Terri-Lynne DeFino, David Hunter, and Carlyle Clark contributed much magic and polish to these pages.

Two writers groups have stuck with me through the years, and continue to help me hone my craft: The Dead Horse Society and The Next Big Writer (tNBW). I’m also fortunate to belong to a wonderful sisterhood of writers, the Dollbabies, who keep me confident and sane.

Most of all, I am grateful to you, the reader, for picking up this book and giving me a chance. Eolyn’s story was written for you. May your journey in magic continue well beyond these pages.

Karin Rita Gastreich lives in Kansas City, Missouri, where she is part of the biology faculty at Avila University. An ecologist by vocation, she has wandered forests and wildlands all over the planet, but most often in the tropics. Her past times include camping, hiking, music, and flamenco dance. In addition to
The Silver Web
trilogy, Karin has published short stories in
World Jumping, Zahir, Adventures for the Average Woman
, and
69 Flavors of Paranoia
. She is a recipient of the Spring 2011 Andrews Forest Writer’s Residency. You can visit Karin at krgastreich.com.

The Sword of Shadows

Book Two of The Silver Web

Karin Rita Gastreich

Sisters in magic, Eolyn and Adiana seek to revive a millennial tradition once forbidden to women. When war strikes, their fledgling community of magas is destroyed; its members killed, captured or scattered.

In hopes of defending their people, Eolyn tries to escape the occupied province and deliver to King Akmael a weapon that might secure his victory. Trapped by the invading army, Adiana is taken prisoner and placed at the mercy of the ruthless Prince Mechnes.

Even as their world is torn asunder, Eolyn and Adiana cling to a common dream. Courage and perseverance guide them toward a future where the Daughters of Aithne will flourish in a world set free from the violence of men.

“War propels the book forward, and the characters are at their best when the events engulfing them are at their worst.” –
Publishers Weekly

Coming Fall 2016

ORB WEAVER PRESS

“I speak in earnest, Renate.” Adiana’s words were slurred by drink. “Borten would be an excellent suitor for Eolyn. He’s good man and a considerate lover.”

Wine escaped Renate’s lips in a sputtering laugh. “How would you know Borten’s a considerate lover?”

Adiana shrugged. “I can see it in his face.”

“See it in his face?” Renate let go a high pitched cackle. “I’ll wager you’ve seen more than his face. You’ve been restless as a lynx in heat since Eostar.”

Adiana gave a mock cry of protest and struck Renate playfully on the shoulder. “How dare you! One does not have to be a maga to see into the hearts of men. I learned a few things working the taverns in Selkynsen, you know. I can read a man as surely as Eolyn reads her books.”

“As surely as Eolyn reads her books in bed,” Renate replied in crisp tones.

Adiana flopped back on the blanket with an indignant harrumph. They had settled in the courtyard for an evening of wine and companionship, after having tucked the girls into bed. Days had passed since Eolyn departed for the South Woods, and the week would likely see its end before she returned.

“And you accuse me of inventing stories and gossip!” Adiana complained. “Even if I had ‘read Borten in bed’, what would it matter? The magas always had untamed teachings with respect to that sort of thing. Isn’t
aen-lasati
the source of a woman’s greatest magic? I swear to the Gods, Renate, sometimes you seem too much of a prude to be a maga.”

A prude
.

Renate rolled the word over her tongue as she swirled her wine. Yes, that’s what she was. Tight inside, dry as autumn leaves underfoot. Forever bound by the failures and disillusions of her past.

“The Magas of the Old Orders were disciplined women,” Renate said, “not harlots at a summer festival. To lay claim to their understanding of
aen-lasati
while ignoring all their other teachings does their memory a disservice. It’s precisely that sort of myth that led us to the pyres in the first place.”

“Oh, Renate.” Adiana groaned and reached for the wine skin. “Why must you take everything so seriously? It’s finished, remember? The war, the purges, the rebellion, the prohibition. We’re free now. The magas have been restored to their rightful place in Moisehén. We’ve got a proper
Aekelahr
, aspiring young magas, the protection of the Mage King, and a nice little regiment of handsome guards. Even you could have some fun, you know.”

The thought of her tired old body wrapped around one of the King’s men made Renate giggle until the giddiness shook her ribs and broke upon her lips.

“That’s the spirit!” Adiana said. “Here, have some more wine. And tell me, which of the guards do you like the most?”

“Oh, for the love of the Gods, Adiana!” Renate was laughing uncontrollably now, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I am an old woman.”

“Age is meaningless for a true maga. That’s what Eolyn says.” Adiana rested her head on Renate’s shoulder.

The older woman returned her warm embrace, inhaling the sweet smells of night mingled with Adiana’s vibrant aroma of primrose and summer winds, of the riverside city that had once been her home.

She envied her friend in that moment, not so much for her youth and beauty, but for her continued faith in the possibility that anything could be finished. Someday time and experience would break that faith. Desire and loss, terror and death, treachery and abandonment, all of it stayed with a person until the end of her days, animating the shadows at night, invading dreams, stealing away tranquility in the lonely hours before dawn.

Adiana sighed and lifted her cup to the sky. “I love this moment, when the wine makes the stars shine brighter than ever. Gods bless the vineyards of Selkynsen! Look at the fir, Renate. See how it dances in the torch light?”

“This is but a momentary truce with the Gods,” Renate murmured into her cup. “Three years they have left us in peace; it cannot last much longer.”

“Hah! There you go again.” Adiana took Renate’s hand in hers. “What’s wrong, Renate? Are you having bad dreams?”

Renate bit her lip and looked away. “Last night I was in the wastes of the dead. The magas came after me with clawed hands and hateful screams.”

“Gods, that’s awful!” Adiana withdrew from their embrace and studied Renate in the dark. “You burden yourself with far too much guilt, dear friend. It wasn’t your fault what happened.”

“It was my fault, Adiana.” There was no sadness in her voice, no regret, only the cold acknowledgment of truth. “I could blame my youth or my fear and innocence. I could say circumstances went beyond my control, but I would only be hiding inside my own myth. I made my choices. I understood their consequences, and many of my sisters burned because of it.”

Adiana sent a slow whistle through her teeth. “You’ve never said it quite like that before.”

Renate shrugged and stared absently into the darkness.

“Does Eolyn know you feel that way?”

“She thinks the Gods have a different way of judging our transgressions, that they interpret our acts across a grander expanse of time and consequence.” Renate shivered as Eolyn’s words echoed inside her head. “She believes I survived then in order to serve a greater purpose now.”

“Well, she’s right, isn’t she? You’re here after all, helping to rebuild the legacy of the magas. I bet all your dead sisters are happy about that.”

Renate frowned. How to explain to Adiana that this would not be enough? Dragon was waiting to exact a greater payment, a harsher sacrifice. The old maga had left everything behind and followed Eolyn to Moehn in anticipation of this.

“Do you know what I dream about, Renate?” Adiana’s voice became bright, washing the away the shadows of doom, as was her gift. “The Circle. Now those are good dreams, about singing with Rishona, making music with Nathan and Kahlil after the show. I miss those times, all our friends from those far-flung kingdoms, travelling from one end of Moisehén to the other.”

Renate gave a short mocking laugh. “Corey had us on a knife’s edge with that show of his. Not a day passed when I didn’t think the next magistrate would throw us all on the pyre.”

“But we laughed about it didn’t we? And we created like happy fools. So much defiance in our art! So much beauty. Do you think Corey will ever organize something like that again?”

“I don’t know.” Renate had cared deeply for Corey. She might have loved him once, had she not been such an old crone and he such a young fool. “He might. But I don’t think it would be the same, if he did.”

“No, I suppose not. I used to think Corey would be the perfect match for Eolyn.”

“Corey and Eolyn?” Renate snorted. “Adiana, you have many gifts, but matchmaking is not one of them.”

“What would have been so wrong about that? He’s a mage, and she is a maga.”

“Corey is like a vine growing in the dark. Eolyn is a flower open to the sun.”

“So he turned out to be a treacherous bastard. None of us saw that coming back then.”

“I thought you could read a man like a book,” Renate retorted.

“I can tell if a man’s a considerate lover. It’s much harder picking out the treacherous bastards.”

“Corey was not so bad.” Renate swirled her cup and took another drink. “He only did what he thought he had to do.”

“Well, Eolyn will never trust him again, not after the way he betrayed her brother.”

The sound of heavy footfalls distracted them from their conversation. One of the men approached, torch in hand.

“Maga Renate,” he said, “Mistress Adiana. Sir Malrec requests that you meet him at the north wall at once.”

Something in the man’s tone extinguished the heat of the wine. Renate’s bones creaked as she rose to her feet, and she gripped Adiana’s hand for help.

They fastened their cloaks and followed the soldier between the stone buildings and across the gardens. There were no voices to be heard, no soldiers engaged in idle conversation. Crickets and frogs filled the silence with their insistent song. The nervous whinny of horses drifted toward them from the stable. When they approached the half-built wall, their escort brought the torch low. Malrec greeted them in subdued tones and beckoned them to his side.

“There toward the north.” He indicated with a nod.

Renate peered over the half-finished wall. In the distance she spotted a luminous mist that wavered, faded then flared again. A memory stirred inside her, nebulous in form, as if she had lived this moment before, though she could not quite capture when.

“What is it?” she asked, not certain she wanted to hear the answer.

“Fire,” Malrec replied. “The fields around Moehn are burning. Or worse, the town itself.”

Renate gripped Adiana’s arm. “We must go to them. We’ll need marigold, yellow carowort, and fire-of-aethne, among other herbs and ointments. Adiana, come with me to the herbarium. Malrec, see the horses are readied at once.”

“No.” The finality of his tone caught Renate off guard.

“No?” she replied. “What do you mean, no?”

“I have readied the horses, but not to take you to Moehn. At least, not until we have some idea of what is happening there.”

“Are you mad? We can see what is happening. Those people are suffering! As a maga, I am sworn to help them.”

“As a Knight of Vortingen, I am sworn to protect you. You and the Mistress Adiana are not to depart until I give you leave to do so. I have sent a scout to assess the situation. We should have word from him within the hour.”

“I will not sit here a prisoner in my own home while people’s lives are in danger.”

“The town may be under attack.”

“Moehn under siege?” Renate threw up her hands in disbelief. “Oh, for Gods’ sake. Who would attack Moehn? Some drunken imbecile kicked over a lantern, or a torch fell from its rusted sconce.”

“We cannot be certain of that.”

A shout from one of the men perched on the wall silenced them. All eyes turned north once again. The night went still. The crickets stopped singing. Renate scanned the darkness, conscious of the unnatural silence. She could hear Malrec’s breath, low and steady. A charge filled the air, as if lightning were poised to rip through the starry heavens.

“What is it?” she whispered. “What did they see?”

Malrec hushed her, raising one hand as he searched the obscure terrain.

Once, a lifetime ago, Renate had been a High Maga, and she could change into an owl and see the night world with clarity. But she had long since abandoned those powers, and now the hills so familiar by daylight were amorphous, the distances impossible to judge.

Was that movement she saw along a nearby ridge? A lynx, perhaps, taking advantage of the moonless night to scurry across open fields. But then a flame ignited in its wake, followed by a discontinuous arc of light that spread point by point over the low hill, like a line of small torches. On sudden impulse, the string of flames rose high into the air, slowed against the ebony firmament, then fell toward the
Aekelahr
in a hissing rain of fire.

Malrec took hold of Renate and crushed her against the wall, knocking the wind out of her as the arrows fell behind them, some embedding in the earth, others landing on nearby roofs and igniting the thatch in an instant.

“The children!” Adiana cried, and she tore away from the soldier who had shielded her, disappearing into the flickering shadows.

Renate moved to follow, but Malrec caught her by the arm and yanked her back.

“The horses are ready,” he said. She had never seen his face so close, so vivid. The rounded cheeks, the rough curls of his beard, the fine spittle that rode on rapid words. “Take them and head south. Do not look back, do not stop, until you reach the forest. Three of the men will accompany you. Go!”

He shoved her away. Renate’s feet moved of their own volition, carrying her toward the girls’ room even as a second volley of flames descended from the heavens. Behind her raged the shouts of desperate men, followed by the ring of metal upon metal and sudden cries of anguish. Already the assailants were topping the half-finished wall.

Adiana was ushering the girls out of their room. They stumbled, bleary eyed and confused, with summer cloaks thrown over their nightshifts. The soldiers met them with five steeds. One of the men hauled Catarina up to ride with him, Adiana mounted with Tasha, and Ghemena was given to Renate.

As they turned the horses toward the south gate, Renate caught site of Eolyn’s study. The roof was ablaze with golden flames, bright as the sun come to earth.

“The annals,” she cried in panic and spurred her horse toward the fire.

The animal whinnied and pulled back before they reached the building. Leaving the reins with Ghemena, Renate dropped to the ground. Ignoring the shock of pain in her legs, she raced to the study and burst through the door.

Smoke lodged in her throat and stung her eyes. The room itself was not yet aflame, but the roof roared and burning ash fluttered on the air like black snow.

Renate blinked back tears. Was this what her sisters had seen, as the flames rose up around them? The world aglow with scalding heat, the cold realm of the dead their only promise of escape.