Flight Into Darkness (6 page)

“Are you the Spirit Singer?” Rieuk asked cautiously.

“Malusha's the name, and I'll be frank with you. I don't like your kind. Never have. Not that I've seen one of your tainted mage blood in many a long year. Not that I see that much of anyone, these days. My lords and ladies keep me too busy.”

“Your lords and ladies?”

She jerked a thumb up toward the dilapidated roof of the cottage. Hunched close together perched a row of sleeping owls, their feathers white as the snow on the distant peaks.

“The owls?” Rieuk caught Oranir's sidelong warning glance. Were they wasting their time? “Eccentric” seemed a polite description of Malusha; “out of her wits” seemed closer to the truth.

“Not just any owls.” She glared at him and he flinched, riven by the malice of her bright, mad eyes. “Arkhel's Owls. D'you know nothing, Magus? They can host the spirits of the dead.”

The spirits of the dead.
Had she read his mind?

“Well, there's no sense us all catching cold in this wind; you'd better come inside, seeing as you've traveled halfway across the world to consult me.” She beckoned them to follow her, shooing clucking hens from their path.

Inside the cluttered cottage, it was so murky that it took Rieuk a while to get his bearings. Oranir slipped his hand under his arm and guided him into the center of the room.

“You can take your spectacles off. There's no need to pretend around me,” she said, pouring water into the battered kettle suspended over the fire. It was more an order than a suggestion. As she straightened up, she turned to gaze keenly first at Rieuk, then at Oranir. “Crystal magus,” she said, “and earthfire magus. Two rare talents.”

“I see that there's little we can hide from you,” Rieuk said, wondering what else her sharp brown eyes had spotted.

“Sit down,” she ordered, moving a pile of crumpled, stained blankets from a wooden settle near the fire. Glancing up, Rieuk saw white-feathered bodies huddled close together on one of the beams: more owls. Her familiars.

“So, while the kettle's on the boil for tea, tell me: What brings you halfway across the world from Ondhessar?”

* * * 

By the time steam was puffing from the kettle's spout, Rieuk had given away rather more about himself than he'd intended. There was something about the smoky warmth of the cottage and her open manner that made him feel he was able to confide in her.

“If your dead master's soul was preserved in a soul glass, that means there's something else you're not telling me.” Malusha got up, bones creaking, and went to make tea. The firelight illumined the grave expression on her wrinkled face as she concentrated on mea suring out the dry leaves into the pot and Rieuk saw how wrong his initial impression of her had been. Beneath the wild hair and the owl feathers, a wise and perceptive mind had been assessing them both. But how far could he trust her?

“You practice soul-stealing, don't you?” She shuffled back, carefully carrying mugs of tea. “There's no point denying it. I've heard the legends about Ondhessar.” She settled down opposite them, cradling her mug between gnarled fingers. “I can't say I approve. There're too many Lost Souls wandering around the Ways Beyond as it is, without you adding to them.”

Rieuk set the tea down, untasted. “Could that be what became of Imri?” He could not hide the tremor in his voice.

She shook her head. “Can't say for sure.”

“But what does that mean? To be a Lost Soul?”

“Listen, Master Mage, what you're asking of me is unusual and highly risky—to the both of us. There're two options: one, to go looking for him far into the Ways Beyond, or two, to try to charm your dead master's soul here so that you can ask him what you need to.”

One last chance to speak to Imri after so many years… Rieuk felt a jagged blade twisting in his heart. What would Imri say to him? Would he be filled with bitterness that his last chance to return to life had been dashed forever? Could he endure such a bitter reunion? But he had traveled this far to complete this one last rite for Imri, so he knew he must find the courage.

“To do a summoning, I need a lock of hair, a possession, a relic of some kind.”

“I—I have nothing.” Why had that not occurred to him before?

“The soul glass?” Oranir said softly.

“Of course.” Rieuk brought out the lotus glass from the soft leather pouch he wore around his neck and handed it to Malusha.

A shrewd little smile was glimmering in her eyes. “You do realize, don't you, that for this to work, you're going to have to tell me your real name.”

Unable to look away from her penetrating gaze, Rieuk felt his cheeks burning.

“We didn't intend to deceive you. It's just… we've been traveling for so long, it seems more natural to use assumed names. My name is Mordiern; Rieuk Mordiern.”

“And your kind are no more welcome these days, I imagine, than when I was a girl. It's a curse to be born with powers as strong as yours.” Again Rieuk felt that bright, incisive gleam pierce through his defenses, reading deep into his soul.

Malusha brought out a stringed wooden instrument shaped a little like the ancient dulcimer Rieuk remembered from childhood in the village schoolroom.

“This is a gusly,” she said, answering his unspoken question as she began to test the wire strings that filled the cottage with a resonant jangling. “Some call us Spirit Singers because we charm the spirits of the dead to us with our singing. There's a little more to it than minstrelsy, of course…”

As she played a long, slow succession of notes, the cottage began to grow darker, as if with each note she were weaving a protective veil of sound around them. But then each string began to toll like a bell—a somber, funereal sound that seemed to draw the darkness closer still. Rieuk sensed Oranir shift a little closer to him, as if instinctively seeking his protection. His head felt strange, as if his senses were altering; his sight was dimming yet his hearing was growing more acute. A drug… poison…

“What was in that tea, Malusha?” His tongue moved sluggishly, the words coming out clumsily.

“Nothing harmful. Just a few herbs to help you relax…”

Malusha began to sing, a soft, deep-throated crooning at first, wordless, blending with the bell-like reverberations of the strings. The walls of the firelit cottage slowly receded, melting into rushing darkness. Rieuk felt a shiver run through his body as he heard the Spirit Singer call a name, her voice suddenly strong, compelling, commanding. “Imri! Imri Boldiszar!”

For a moment the swirling confusion around Rieuk stilled and he saw, to his bewilderment, the indistinct, spectral faces of the dead, each one staring at him in mute appeal.

Rieuk followed Malusha through hall after lofty hall where indistinct figures wandered aimlessly. Time and again, she called on Imri's name. Many of the wandering souls looked up when they heard her voice, their eyes filled with longing. Then he saw the hope fade as they turned away.

“So many,” he heard himself murmuring in horror. “So very many…”

Yet not one had answered Malusha's command and as she struck another flurry of notes, the pale faces were gone, swept away into the airy dark.

“So very many…” Rieuk was still repeating the words as he opened his eyes to see that he was back in his own body. Malusha was watching him intently, her gnarled hands resting on the silent strings of her gusly.

“What was that terrible place?” Rieuk could not rid his mind of the sight of the wandering, aimless dead, nor lose the dry taste of dust in his mouth. “And who were they? All those—”

“Those unhappy, unfortunate ones?” She finished the question for him. “You saw some of the Lost Souls, those who can't find their path to the Ways Beyond.”

“But he wasn't there. Imri wasn't there. That has to be a good sign, doesn't it? It means that he's not one of the Lost?”

Malusha did not answer straightaway. And her silence did nothing to calm Rieuk's growing sense of apprehension.

“Or does being lost mean that you no longer remember who you were?” He went over and knelt before her. “Malusha,
tell me the truth.
”

“The Lady,” she said at last. “The one who watches over the ways between our world and the worlds beyond. She's been gone too long. Where is she?” She fixed him with a penetrating stare. “I think you may know.”

“The Lady?” said Oranir. “You mean Azilis?”

“Elesstar, Azilis, Azilia… she has many names. But things are beginning to unravel without her. Can't you sense it? The balance between the worlds is shifting. The place you call the Rift is unstable. If she doesn't go back soon, the souls of the dead will start to return. How can they find peace if she isn't there to guide them?”

Rieuk let out a sigh. “I tried,” he said. “I tried to persuade her to go back. But she did this to me.” He ripped off his eye patch, revealing
his damaged face to Malusha. She did not flinch, but merely put out her hand and gently stroked his cheek.

“I have no more answers for you; I'm only a foolish old woman who's outlived her time.”

Rieuk hung his head. He had placed so many of his hopes in Malusha's skills and all he had gained was more questions.

“So your journey isn't over yet!” She let out a chuckle. “I'm sending you to see an old friend of mine. He's a shaman. He owes me a favor or two.”

“Chinua's the name.” The tea merchant bowed, smiling, to Rieuk and Oranir. “It will be an honor to help a friend of Malusha's. Any friend of the Spirit Singer is a friend of mine.”

Malusha had sent them to the market in the city of Azhgorod. And there, amid the hectic bustle of shoppers and farmers, they had spotted the little shop selling tea at the far corner of the square. Reaching the stall was another matter, for pigs were rooting around in the cabbage leaves, formidable Azhkendi matrons were jostling to get to the best produce first, and the air was filled with the deafening cries of the stallholders proclaiming their wares. The customers waiting in line to purchase black, green, or jasmine tea at the open window of the Khitari tea merchant's shop were quite decorous by comparison.

“Meet me here when the market closes,” Chinua said, turning to serve an elderly lady, who was impatiently tapping her coin on the counter.

When they returned, Chinua led them into the back room of the little shop; it was dark and the air was fragrant with tea dust. They sat around a low table on rugs while Chinua poured them bowls of green tea. Nodding from time to time, he sipped his tea as Rieuk told him the bones of his story. When Rieuk had finished, Chinua was silent for a while, his broad face expressionless so that Rieuk could not tell what he was thinking.

“Are you prepared to travel to the roof of the world?” Chinua asked at last. “This matter is far beyond my skills. But there's a place on the northern shores of Lake Taigal, in the mountains, where you may find the answers you're seeking. Have you ever heard of the Jade Springs?”

“The Jade Springs of Eternal Life? I thought they were just a legend.”

A slow smile spread across the shaman's face. “Ah. But haven't
you found yourselves that there is a grain of truth embedded in all the ancient legends? If you can discover the hidden path to the Jade Springs, the Guardian will surely enlighten you. But it's not a journey to be undertaken lightly. However”—and he leaned forward to refill their bowls— “I'll be returning to Khitari to replenish our stocks in a couple of weeks. If you don't mind traveling on a cart, I'll be happy to take you as far as the steppes.”

Rieuk consulted Oranir with a look; Oranir glared stubbornly back at him.

“I've come this far with you; I'm not going to abandon you now.”

CHAPTER 4

“The roof of the world, Chinua called it.” Oranir shivered as they stopped on the mountain path to gaze down at the blue-green waters of Lake Taigal far below.

“How can you still feel the cold after climbing all this way?” Rieuk was hot, and he leaned against a crooked larch trunk to catch his breath. “Is it me, or is the air growing thinner?”

“Maybe it's too hard a journey for an old man like you.” Oranir let the little taunt slip with a straight face. “Perhaps you should ask the Guardian to make you young again?”

“Show some respect for your elders!” Rieuk said, laughing. And Oranir turned to him with a smile. There was some quality to the clean, clear mountain air that lifted their spirits. In the many months since they left Enhirre, Oranir had slowly begun to open up. No longer the wary, unsmiling, intense young man Rieuk remembered from Ondhessar, he had even begun to reveal a dry, playful sense of humor.

Yet as they set out once more up the rocky path, Rieuk was aware that the encounter to come with the Guardian of the Jade Springs might change their relationship forever. He glanced at Oranir's straight back going steadily on ahead of him and realized that he didn't want that to happen. Would it be better to turn back and leave his questions unanswered?

From time to time they stopped, listening in vain for the sound of fast-flowing water. As the sun began to dip toward the west, Rieuk called on Ormas and sent the hawk to search while he and Oranir
shared some of the dried fruit they had bought in the village far below.