Mightiest of Swords (The Inkwell Trilogy Book 1) (25 page)

But I also feared the potency of the spell.  Florac was a village in a valley—who knew what the unintended effects here would be.  Especially if, as Athena believed, my magic was more potent the closer I was to the Well. What if I erased everyone within proximity?

I dismissed the idea. Instead, I Sharpied cloaking spells on the three of us, making Victoria’s spell more complex, even if it need not be.  We tested it out by having her walk several feet out of my spellcasting field to ensure she was just as unobtrusive as we were.   More than anything, we would need our sets of eyes between us.  We ensured our phones were on silent—no vibrate—and told each other not to speak vocally, but rely upon the texts.  Of course, being inside a stone behemoth such as the Chateau du Florac might interfere with a signal.  If that were the case, we would type on the screens and show to each other.  If separated, then maintain radio silence, as it were, and meet back at the car.

Once inside the hotel, we stooped and we listened.  Victoria did some typing on the computer once the attendant had stepped away.  Some seconds later, a new text appeared:

Von Ranke in Suite 504.  Top floor.  Let’s go.

The elevators were retrofits, so could only comfortably fit four people in the best of circumstances.  That made riding with a rEvovler without garnering scrutiny next to impossible.  The set of stone stairs were also much older than what Joy and I had experienced in Cernay-la-Ville.   While one gentleman was headed down stairs, he accidentally shoved Joy over.  Thankfully, Victoria was there to catch her.  Joy also made no noise, helping our cause.  We finally ascended to the fifth floor.  There were only four suites on this floor.  I removed a Post-It from my satchel.

I listened at the door to 504 and heard nothing.  The mechanism on the door was surprisingly modern, so wrote the spell and slid the folded Post-It into the card reader.  It flickered green and I opened the as quietly as possible.  

The suite was entirely submerged in black.  I looked to Joy, then Victoria, seeing if they had any advice.  I thought about using the light from one of our cell phones, but instead wrote out a diminutive pattern to light my finger.  It looked too much like E.T.: Extra Terrestrial, really, but it did the job as it was just enough light to not knock things over or arouse suspicion as the light it emitted was very slight.  

I carefully maneuvered around the room, checked the bedroom, bathroom.  It was not until I felt it was safe enough to turn on a small lamp, that I was stunned by what I beheld: a caged raven.

I swore out loud as I immediately recognized it.

Chapter 24

              “Oh no.” The raven was enveloped in a large, wrought-iron cage.  All along the iron strips were etchings and brandings.  This cage was the one I had made for the ala I trapped in Vermont.  The etchings and brandings were mine.  Upon closer examination of the cage, I noticed a couple inscriptions my father must have added after I had given the ala to him.  

The raven trapped inside was at least three times the size what a normal raven would be.  It was darkness personified and fatter than the last time I had seen it.  It snored lazily in spite of having turned on the lamp.  

                  I looked at Victoria, who nodded.

                  “I know this creature.”  I took a few steps closer to examine it.  Victoria stepped toward and closed the gap as well.   So did Joy, though she held her hand over her nose.

                  “Smells terrible,” Joy wheezed.  

                  “Maybe it is because I live in a cage trapped in my own filth,” the ala spoke; even the words were essence of oily filth and was every bit as unsettling as I remembered.  It sounded neither masculine nor feminine, but high and gravelly, as if it could be the member of either gender.  But with a wicked smoker’s voice.  “I have wondered now for years, when I might again see the magos who trapped me.”  It shifted its weight—a task that took skill and discipline given its girth and the size of the cage.    

                  “How can you be here?” I wondered aloud, incredulous.

                  It seemed to be purring, though I knew it was my rational mind trying to make sense of the internal noises it was making.  “Is that because your father was supposed to have disposed of me?”

                  Joy posted near the door, at the edge of my spell’s field.  She was difficult to see there, but knowing she had my back was reassuring.  I assumed she was there so she could listen for movements from the hall. Getting away from the ala’s stench was an added bonus.

                  “Yes, how have you ended up here?  With Von Ranke of all people?” I asked, fetching out my dart gun.  I meant to shoot it with the tranq gun for some truth, if needs be.

                  “Child—your father was never rid of me while he lived.  He called me a lodger and put me up in your old bedroom.  He and I had a great many conversations,” it jammed one of its eyes through a square opening in the cage, protruding outside the cage grotesquely.  “Along with that friend of his. I promised them I would be good.  If they let me go, I would take human form and never bother anyone again.”

                  Joy coughed audibly, as if to clear her throat, jumping on “the other one” of the raven’s description “You talked to my father?”  The creature jammed the eye on the other side of its head flush between more slats of iron.  I had known it to have the speech of a civilized creature, but the way it was conducting itself in that cage signified something entirely different.  That
it
was something entirely different; crazed and malevolent.  When I had originally caught it, I merely looked at it as a misguided force of nature.  That still might be the case, but it chose to manifest itself destructively.

                  “Of course, Jonathan Hansen and I talked many evenings.  He was quite interested in what I had to say.  He was even working on a paper to submit to one of his journals based on what I told him.”  It looked back to me, stuffing its beak in its own feathers.  “But it was your father, Ms. Theroux, who first called me Zala.  I have grown fond enough of that name,” it rasped.  It was a Slavic feminine name.  And my father had a penchant for rhyming unnecessarily. As a little girl crossing streets, he’d say “Holdy-goldy” as a way to hold my hand. And when we rode in the car, it was “Seatie for my sweetie” as a reminder to buckle my seat belt. Zala the ala brought back those memories and they hit me in the gut.

                  “How is it that you have come to be here—with Dr. Von Ranke?” Victoria spoke for the first time.

                  Zala turned herself around in the cage, squawking as ravens do.  She defecated in plain view and turned back to face us.  This creature was unsettling us on purpose.  I doubt she had many allegiances—but they were certainly not to us.  “They killed your father,” she wheezed to me, stifling a cough.  I didn’t think ravens—or ala—could smoke, but I was beginning to think otherwise.  “Once they realized they could not enter your family vault, they killed your father.”

                  “And my dad?” Joy shouted.  I hoped no one was in the hallway on the other side of that door.  I kept my grip firmly on the tranquilizer gun.  I even briefly wondered why I hadn’t obtained an actual firearm.  It would surely have come in handy tonight.  Or, at least, put my mind somewhat at ease.

                  “They killed your father first, dear girl,” Zala cawed to Joy, sinking down into the cage and holding there.  “They were going to leave me there to starve—but I told them I would tell them everything I heard your father talk about!  Your father had no idea exactly how good my hearing is!”  Zala shot up hard against the iron cage, feathers flying wildly outside of the cage.  The creature was truly insane.  If the spellcraft on the cage were not there to hinder its abilities, that movement would like have conjured a hurricane-force gale.  

                  I was stunned.  My father was dead no matter what, but the reason for all the pain, all the strife since then could be traced to this creature caged before us. While she was not responsible for my father’s death, she was the conduit of information for rEvolve.  I looked at my bag, contemplating writing Zala her own curse spell. The more painful the better.

Victoria did not have an emotional investment whether the bird lived or died, and addressed the bird with her no-nonsense authority.  “We will free you if you tell us what rEvolve is doing.  What do they need with this logomancer?”

Zala was, for the first time since we found her, taken aback.  She squatted, shit herself once more for good measure, ruffled her feathers and stuck her eye up to the iron, eye turned upon Victoria.  “Free me first.”

“That would be impossible.  We are not fools.  We have no reason to trust you and every reason not to trust you,” Victoria spoke.  She was correct.

The raven turned its eye upon me, “Give me your word, logomancer.  If I tell you, make an oath upon your skin that you will free me.

                  I was not sure what the ala meant by forswearing upon my skin.  I supposed it was meant literally.  I looked to Joy and Victoria, whose stares offered me no guidance.  “Okay, I will swear it.”

                  “Make the truth mark upon your arm and tell me you will free me.”  Ah, that’s what she meant.

                  “Zala, she will do as you ask, but you must also promise no guile, and to cause us no further harm,” Victoria had the presence of mind to make the addendum.  “You must allow her to mark you beforehand.”

                  The raven squawked and stirred, pecking herself.  “Done.” She kept one eye peering at me through the iron.  Zala reeked.  Von Ranke must have no sense of smell.  Or, her information was so vital he dared not letting her out of his sight whenever possible and simply willed himself to withstand the olfactory barrage.

                  “I have no way to make this permanent, so you must make your promise and adhere to it.  If you cause anything like the turmoil you did when I caught you, I will find you again.”

                  Zala crowed again loudly, and flitted her wings against the cage.  She did not like this addendum, though she had to expect it.  Well, if she were sane, she had to expect it.  “Hurry, logomancer.  Von Ranke will return soon.  It is no wonder he has not returned already.”

                  I took out the black Sharpie.  “Present your foot, please,” I requested.  It dawned me as I wrote my own version of the lotus-eater on Zala’s foot, that I could write my own “truth” spell in languages of which Zala could not possibly know—and I would not have to tell her the truth at all.  Just as quickly, I dismissed the thought.  If she ever did get free, she would come for me if I did such a thing.  I already had enough people after my hide.  As I finished the spell, Zala would be impelled to not harm us. I also included the same truth spell I would write on my own skin—for her peace of mind and mine.  

                  I marked my own wrist with a truth spell, “I swear to free you upon satisfactorily explaining who Von Ranke is, what he wants with me and giving us any information you have heard that could help us undermine their plans.”

                  The calming spell was having its effect.  The ala perched comfortably—as comfortable as it could get—in its cage.  She cocked her head to the side, “Arthur Von Ranke is a man of Science.  He—and his organization wish to eradicate every last vestige of The
Monde Cachet
.”

              That phrase was direct from my father.

                  “Wouldn’t that include you?” Joy asked.

                  Zala lazily turned its other eye upon Joy, “Yes.  This is why I must escape.  He will kill me as well when he is finished—with the obsidian dagger he stole from you.”

                  “As well?  You’ve seen it in action?” I asked, surprised Von Ranke allowed this creature to be privy to his murders.  

                 “Of course,” answered Zala. “He has slain no less than 30 deities that I know of.”

                 “And drained them of their ichor?” Victoria asked.  She rubbed at her arm nervously, finishing with a scratch at her wrist.

                  “Yes,” the ala replied.

                  “To what end?” Victoria asked, letting her anxiousness dissipate.  Joy paced in front of the door, pausing as though she heard something, but resuming once she realized she hadn’t.

                  “To fill the Well of Gods with their blood would be to silence the Well for eternity.”  The words fell on each of us in a sobering jolt.  Victoria’s complexion was already white, now it was alabaster.  Joy stopped pacing, visibly shuddered and turned to look at the raven.  I had seen the barbarism of draining a deity of their life force in Cernay-la-Ville.  I was still disturbed by what I had witnessed, but the confirmation of my suspicions gave me pause. I noticed my pulse hammering away, and I was cold, but sweating profusely.  “This is why the doctor needs you, Well-keeper—he needs you to open the Well so he can fill it.”

                  Having solved the mystery of the logomancer pictogram, it was what I expected.  “How could Von Rake have known this?” I squeaked, not really directing at Zala, even though I knew what her answer would be.

                  She answered anyway.  “I told him.”

                  “And my father told you?” I asked, feeling that familiar lump rising in my throat.  I dared to close the space between the cage and me.  

                  The bird hesitated at my approach—fearing reprisal?  Then she answered, “No.  I heard him speaking to another man.”

                  “My father?” interrupted Joy.  She had abandoned her post to step closer to the cage as well.  Victoria took the cue and stood by the suite’s door.  

                  “No,” the bird whispered.   “Another man whose voice I do not know, though he called himself the emissary of the Trick Into.”

                  An offshoot of rEvolve. A new question emerged in my mind, and I asked before I realized my mouth was even open.  “If the Well is closed, does that mean there can be no more gods?”

                  “Nevermore,” she cackled at her own joke.  

My immediate inclination was to kick the cage over.  “Would it kill the ones currently alive?”

                  “That was the same question the man from this Trick Into asked. Your father said not immediately, but it would hasten their fading,” Zala replied.

                  Joy stepped even closer, “Why would you not fade?” she asked, almost in challenge to the creature.

                  “I am not born from the Well of Gods,” she did not shrink from Joy’s question or from her challenge.

                  “How many Wells are there?” I asked.  

                  “This exceeds the confines of our contract, logomancer,” the ala creaked in protest.  

Even so, it did not seem angry—which was a good thing.  It meant my spell was working just as it should.  “We are nearly finished.  Telling me would help me understand what rEvolve plans should they succeed here.”

“They must not succeed.  They will close the Well of Gods. I have heard of the Well of Souls, though I know not of any other.”

                  If it took the blood of gods to close the Well of Gods, I wondered how one would close the Well of Souls.  I took a moment to percolate the information Zala just gave me.  Though belief was something intangible, in these Wells, the intangible was forged into the concrete.  I guessed it worked like this, but felt even more slighted that my dad left me in ignorance.  Why hadn’t he told me?  And who was this other man Zala spoke of? The Trick Into?

                  I walked to the cage and, with Joy’s help, lugged it over to the nearest window.  I opened it by unfastening its pins, leaving the cage sitting on the stone-brick sill.  The cage was opened, but the ala did not fly.  Given its size and its time imprisoned, I thought it might have forgotten how.  “Go.  I free you,” I exhorted.  “My oath is fulfill—“