Fiction
Fantasy
The manse of the Earthworkers was larger than cities with mountain-slope walls and bent willow gates, and for centuries, it had remained silent. One could tell the Earthworkers continued their craft when a new island arose from the sea or a swamp flattened into plains, but they rarely communicated with the outside world.
Tanasdra shivered as she passed into a hall that could have housed her home village. It was filled with dignitaries from the Civilized Kingdoms, the Dark Tribes, and even the Skylands. Every eye moved to her party as they entered. She fell back a step amongst her fellow Lightweavers. White silk slid against her hips, the skirt swaying over hidden blade sheaths.
Gazes followed her, and Tanasdra reminded herself it was what they wanted. She was meant to be mistaken for the Eye, the most gifted foreteller in centuries—to draw attention from the real one. She was not the most talented Lightweaver, but her defenses were solid and she had years in her home country’s legion to recommend her. As an expendable guardian, she was ideal.
They had wanted to leave the Eye at Silverhold, but the girl insisted and would not say why. Tanasdra risked a glance in Chaenomi’s direction and received a smile.
They want to believe, the Eye’s voice said in her thoughts.
Tanasdra pushed down her doubt before she could send it through the mental link formed between them. The link allowed the Eye to whisper visions to her. And she looked the part, in the saffron-trimmed robes of a senior Lightweaver, with russet hair unbound to her shoulder blades.
The crowds parted. The dozen Lightweavers found themselves on a path toward the Shard Empire delegation. Tanasdra muttered a curse under her breath. The Lightweavers closed ranks, tensed with artificial calm.
Vanathus, ruler of the Empire, was unnaturally fair, with platinum-blond hair and ice-blue eyes, and his son Jautris was even paler. The younger’s coloring made him look aged; hard to remember he had only a few years on her.
“Excellent to see you here,” Vanathus said with false ease. “May I have the pleasure of introductions?”
Behind him ranged the Shadowburners. The Earthworkers had a monopoly on the forces of the inanimate; two orders worked with the opposing forces left, those that started and ended life, and now they faced each other. Energy crackled between the mages like the attraction of a magnet, eyes riveted, breaths shallow. Tanasdra gritted her teeth and tried to look omniscient, or at least secure.
“Of course.” Shalmara, who represented the Lightweavers, never wavered in her smile. “I have the pleasure of accompanying…”
Tanasdra almost missed her introduction. She stepped forward hastily at the sound of her name and felt their gazes dissect her. Jautris locked eyes with her, one brow lifted. She stared him down; he grinned and stepped forward.
“Always good to meet an honorable adversary,” he said, offering a hand.
Both groups winced as he put into words what no one would say. Tanasdra grinned in return and clasped his hand firmly; cool, skeletal, but honest enough. She noticed a strange birthmark on his wrist, a crescent moon with three small dots inside its arc. Something about it seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
“You could surrender,” she said.
His eyes crinkled. “Then we wouldn’t be honorable.”
Vanathus made a small sound that cut the strings of the conversation and called forward his entourage. Tanasdra recognized several names, nobles who had been independent before the Shard Empire but were now lackeys. She noted with relief that no one paid attention to the three children—all between the ages of ten and twelve—who traveled with the Lightweavers. No one seemed to suspect the real Eye was one of them.
Winds rushed through the hall and interrupted the uneasy truce. The prisms above shifted, converting sunlight into a tumult of rainbows. Three Earthworkers advanced from the shadows, standing on a promontory above the crowd. They looked human, only instead of possessing limbs and features in pairs—left and right, life and death—they had them in quartets for each element. The eyes in particular were disconcerting, resting at cardinal points: chin, brow, and to either side.
“Thank you for your attendance,” said the middle woman in four voices, from the soothing flow of rivers to the rumble of sliding rock. “We are gratified you would join us. All will be revealed in time. Until then, the winds will show you to your quarters.”
The assembled muttered in protest as the Earthworkers turned and vanished into the rock. Darting breezes flitted through the room, stirring cloth and speaking in personified voices.
“Lightweavers,” said a zephyr at Shalmara’s side, “follow me.”
The manse was breathtaking, vast openness and more precious metal blended into the rock than most countries would see in a century, but it was also a cage. The servant winds brought food, but of the Earthworkers there was no sign. The fact that the Shard Empire delegation was one floor beneath had Tanasdra on edge. Her fingers itched like a plague for the sword she couldn’t carry—the Eye was not supposed to be a warrior.
Still, as desperate as she was to make a move—break something, if necessary—Shalmara’s request scraped a nerve.
“I need to be with her,” Tanasdra said. “I need to be ready to defend her.”
“Your presence elsewhere is the reason she will be safe,” Shalmara said. “Play your role. Talk to people. Give the impression you are following your visions. While they watch you, we will meet with the free kingdoms. The Earthworkers may have called us here for their own reasons, but we can still address the threat the Shard Empire poses and offer our services as advisors and defenders.”
Tanasdra glanced at Chaenomi, her moon-pale face grave as she looked out a quartz window. Delicate cornsilk curls piled in a kerchief, she looked like any other child. She was more important, at eleven, than her guardian would ever be.
“You will at least leave a guard on her?” she asked.
“She said a guard would not be helpful.”
Tanasdra looked at her superior sharply. There was more than one way to interpret that statement—but she also knew that the Eye’s perception of her personal fate was cloudy and fleeting. “That’s not reassuring.”
“But it does make your course clear,” Shalmara said calmly. “We need this time to plan. Has anyone shown a sign of suspecting our young charge?”
“No.” She pushed down her misgivings and turned to Chaenomi. “Keep them out of trouble, hmm?”
Chaenomi smiled slightly. “I will try.”
Tanasdra wandered the ruby-cut halls, conscious of the eyes of servants and lesser nobles. She found herself in an indoor garden, a labyrinth of carved petals with a liquid gold waterfall at the heart. She tried to look purposeful when she was torn between wonder and anxiety. Cautiously, she trailed her fingers through the gold; it was cool to the touch.
A flare of panic wrenched her head around. She spun, dropped into a crouch, had the knife at her left hip out before she realized it was in her mind. Chae! she thought, already at a run. What happened?
No reply, just a wall of fear. Tanasdra’s heart stretched taut. She reached into herself, feeling the life-rhythms and drawing them out, quickening reflexes and sending a shot of strength through her limbs. She hit the corridors faster than any human, but still slower than her peers and cursing it.
Don’t come, Tanasdra.
She had been trained to obey—blast the legion!—too well to avoid slowing. What?
You can’t help. The Eye’s thoughts were sure, but they quavered. If you come, they will kill you. Please believe me!
The vision shot through Tanasdra’s right eye, blades whirling, slowing heartbeats—Shadowburners drawing their foes down with magic—and then a blast of darkness. She stumbled, blinking to clear it. Death awaited her in that fight and would have found her already, had she listened to her instincts and stayed.
I believe you, she answered, but it makes no difference.
She rushed through the halls, her blood singing as she drew the knife from the other hip-sheath. She channeled adrenaline through her skin, forming a sweat-sheen shield of power. It was thin, but she knew it would be effective.
She stepped into a cloud of shadow so deep her mind numbed. She dropped to one knee; the blade skittered out of her right hand. She snarled, but didn’t want to leave herself open by reaching for the third knife against her back. She waited for an attack that never came.
Precious seconds passed. She rolled upright and sprinted out of the enchanted field. Ahead, she saw the doors of the Lightweaver quarters thrown wide, and it was quiet, too quiet.
The room was in dishevel, the children cowering and the two novice Lightweavers in deep, shadow-induced comas. It was too late. With no force to oppose them, the Shadowburners would have stepped from the nearest patch of darkness to one in their own quarters. It would be suicide to challenge them there.
Tiny hands clutched at her. “The bad men, they broke down the doors and—and—”
Silently, Tanasdra panicked. She had children looking to her for guidance, and if they started crying she would freeze completely. “You’re fine now,” she said, her tongue thick. “They went away. They won’t come back, I promise.” It was all she could do not to snap at them to let her think as the shield dissolved into her skin.
She would have dropped her head in her hands, but she couldn’t get the children off her lap. She had failed. The smart thing for the Imperials would be to take Chaenomi far away from here as fast as possible. There they could threaten her, break her or kill her—
Tanasdra forced down the sickness and guilt she felt. Shalmara would expect her to wait, but there was no time.
If you have any ideas how I should try to rescue you, this would be the moment, she thought.
I don’t know. The answer was small and scared.
Tanasdra wondered if Chaenomi had ever said those words before, and instantly regretted the question. Then I’ll find the answer. Stay calm. I’ll come to you. Are you all right?
I’m fine. Those two simple words resonated with worry, hope, fear and trust. More calmly, Chaenomi added, We’re still in the manse.
That solidified the idea in Tanasdra’s mind. “Tell Shalmara,” she said. “The Imperials have the Eye and I’m going after them.”
She knew better than to try subtlety. When she sent out a search thread for Jautris, she let him know she was looking.
Slumber answered her, a murmur of dream in his thought-voice. If you want to speak with me, sorceress, I will meet you in the lower halls.
Tanasdra bounded to her travel chest. She removed the sword she had been forced to lay aside and thrust it through her belt. She wrenched her hair back into a knot, then caught the edge of the robe and pulled until it ripped. If the game was up, then she was going to be comfortable. She found her dropped knife on the way out.
As she descended through the manse, the stone changed from ruby to garnet and then topaz. By the time the colors deepened to green, she had the impression she was on the edge of the visitor quarters. She wondered what the Earthworkers would do if they trespassed.
She found Jautris in a courtyard, leaning by a fissure that led into darkness. “Do you know why they trust us?” he wondered. “Without guards?”
Never mind she had been thinking it, she had no patience for the question. “How did you know?” she demanded. “Why did you take her?”
He turned to face her, one hand draped on the rock, the other on his right hip and blade-hilt. “You might be surprised.”
“We both know the Eye can win wars—or lose empires,” she said, taking a deep breath. Most of her knew this wouldn’t work, but she still hoped the son was made of gentler stuff than the father. “You said you wanted to win honorably.” Was it too much to hope she could convince him? If she couldn’t, she would have to take him by force—if that was possible.
“They don’t trust us,” he answered his own question as if she hadn’t spoken. “Beyond this point, these tunnels split into an impossible labyrinth. It would take vision to pass there, but my father would never let me take the Eye on a whim.”
Tanasdra hesitated, uncertain. Was he asking for a bargain? “I might be able to help you thread the labyrinth,” she said, measuring the words, “but she’s the important thing here. Can you live with allowing a child her age to—”
Jautris barked laughter. “Chaenomi is in no danger. I promise.”
“If she does what you ask, yes, but how can you be sure?” Tanasdra pressed. “We’re her family and we love her. She needs us.”
He stiffened. “The fact you stand to gain from her visions has nothing to do with it?”
Gain? The Lightweavers used what the Eye saw to send warnings to vulnerable countries on the fringe of the burgeoning Shard Empire. She bit down the urge to argue. “No. I am nothing and no one, but defending that child is my life.” She stepped forward. “I’m asking you to do the right thing.”
A smirk crossed his lips. “Do me a favor,” he said, “and I’ll tell you what’s really going on here. That’s not an answer you’ll get out of my corpse.”
Could she afford to give the Shard Empire anything? “What do you want?”
“Help me navigate the labyrinth.” He spread his hands. “You can’t tell me you aren’t curious. How they do it, where they are, why the upper manse is so deserted? Is it only that they can afford to make a place this vast, or is there something more?”
She was surprised by the enthusiasm in his voice, and considered. It might be the only way. If she did not, there was nothing to stop them from forcing it on Chaenomi.
Little one, she thought, I need your help.
A burst of denial answered her. He’s one of them. How can you trust him?
Do you know something? In the silence that followed, Tanasdra continued, I can’t trust him, but I have an instinct.
Chaenomi sighed. Follow the rightmost forks for an hour. Be careful.
She noticed Jautris watching her and grimaced. “Your word,” she said, “on shadow and light.”
“On shadow and light,” he said, “at the end of the journey, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
She started for the fissure, already wakening her veins for quick travel. “Can you keep up with me?”
“I think I’m insulted.” Jautris slid off the rock and followed. She tasted the fringes of his magic, metallic and heavy, as he pushed the darkness away. It created a pool of unlight distinct enough to see by. “Lead the way.”
For a small eternity, they wound through tunnels. The only sign they were headed in the right direction was the change of the rock to sapphire and then lapis, the blues deepening. Neither spoke, Tanasdra trying to work out what she would do when they reached their destination and found out what he was hiding.
She stopped at one turn and consulted Chaenomi. How are they treating you?
An image answered her, of Vanathus standing in the doorway and speaking in soft tones; checking on the Eye’s comfort, reassuring her with nothing of his earlier falseness. Everyone has been very kind to me.
Tanasdra restrained her relief. Where next?
Turn quickly! Chaenomi’s thoughts rose frantically. You must—
Without the warning, she would never have seen it coming. With the warning, she had a split second too little to respond. Jautris wrenched her against the stone; she felt rather than saw the blade jerk under her chin as enervating blackness poured through her veins like sludge.
Tanasdra spat at him. “What are you doing? I’m giving you what you want—”
“My father always says,” he answered, though with weariness in his smile, “you should never trust something given freely when you can compel it. I’m sorry, I really can’t afford to keep watching my back.” He moved deftly, hindering her senses with magic bonds even as he removed the blades at her hips.
“Why does this matter to you?” She tried to hold onto anger, and realized panic was trying to take its place. She had gambled too much on his honesty.
“To know the secrets of the Earthworkers? To be able to fathom what they do and why?” Jautris faced her, his gaze frank as he secured her sword opposite his. “I didn’t lie to you about that. If I bring my father those answers, he will notice.”
She stared him down. Maybe there would be a chance to break free. Maybe she could lead him into a situation where the Earthworkers would interfere. “Let’s move, then.”
Jautris turned and let her lead. “So the Lightweavers asked you to play decoy for her?”
“Yes. Apparently, I have no gift for acting.” She wanted to outpace him, make him sweat, but without a magical touch on her vitality, she could not.
“On the contrary,” he said. “Your acting skills had nothing to do with it.”
Tanasdra fought down her temper. Why bother to mollify her? “I came here to protect her.”
“I believe you.” The footing became treacherous, jagged spars underfoot. “Are you a bodyguard, then?”
“Something like that.” She put a hand out to feel her way through the gloom. “I’ve been with the Lightweavers for six years.”
“And before?”
She snapped a look back. “Why?”
“I’m just curious.” His voice was soft. “What harm is there in answering me?”
“The farm. My homeland’s army. I had my own unit before we lost.” She left the obvious unsaid: the Shard Empire had overwhelmed them by sheer numbers. “Some of us decided the best show of loyalty was survival. To keep fighting in other ways.”
“We’re not all bad, you know.” An odd little smile. “The Empire’s organized. Tight. No more feuding nobles, no border disputes.”
“I don’t recall your father sitting down with my king to offer him the option. You hold your lands through force and death. That’s not honor.” Tanasdra halted to ask Chaenomi for directions, and almost missed his response.
“No.”
It was the reluctance more than the answer that caught her. “You need this,” she said slowly. “You need to gain an edge with your father, or—”
“Shut up!” he snapped, his body gone taut. “Why would I worry? My father is a man of tradition, and I am the only son.”
So we both have our weaknesses, Tanasdra thought. She wished less rested on hers.
I have Sight for you. Chaenomi sounded frightened.
What do you see?
There’s a guardian in the caverns. If you let Jautris go ahead on his own, it will kill him.
The thought rushed through Tanasdra like a song—freedom, an end to the Empire’s heir, a way of redeeming one of her mistakes. It went sour as she thought. He would be dead? Not maimed, not just injured?
Yes, dead. There was no room for doubt in the small thought.
Her chance of answers would vanish, and how could she let some subterranean beast win fights for her? Even if he had the upper hand, Jautris was still her best chance. I can’t do that, she said. How close?
I don’t know.
Tanasdra swore quietly.
“What is it?” Jautris wondered.
“Some kind of monster ahead. I can feel it.” Let him think she had some kind of earth-sense. “You need to return my sword. We can only best it if we work together.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I think I’ll take my chances.”
She couldn’t resist poking at him. “What, are you more afraid of me?”
“Yes.” He answered no more than that, taking the lead. “If there is something up ahead, I’d better be ready.”
She hurried after him, resisting the urge to shake him by one wiry shoulder. “This is not some village minotaur grown too large,” she said, “this is a guardian constructed by the Earthworkers. Do you really want to gamble you can handle it on your own?”
He shot her a wry look. “Just because I’m my father’s son doesn’t mean he coddles me. I have more training than most warriors. If we were on familiar ground, I could shadow-walk past it. As it is, I’m not worried.”
She tested her bonds. Maybe in the distraction of the fight…
A low, persistent hissing rose to meet them, intensifying as they wound through narrow corridors. By the time they turned the last corner, it had built into a wail.
Tanasdra halted. A cleft in the rock walls left a wide chamber through which a wild play of winds swirled. Rock dust and loose crystal spun about in its whirlwind.
Jautris swore. “What exactly is that?”
“Let me free,” she said. “I can’t do anything to help you like this.”
He shook his head as he drew his sword, fingers flicking down the metal. Deep shadow played over the blade. He advanced, edging to one side. The winds flowed towards him, howling as they slid through stalagmites. He braced his body against the gale, but his sword-arm was battered back against him, useless.
Tanasdra rolled sideways into the chamber, feeling the dagger at her back even though she couldn’t use it. She analyzed the winds. They might be crafted to repel human invaders, but that was the extent of intelligence in their play; they followed the same patterns as the winds over the plains of her homeland. Natural patterns—the Earthworkers couldn’t make something that thought for itself. Even their servants had set courses.
Could it sense more than one presence at once? She made a feint for the far end of the chamber and was buffeted backwards. She twisted to one side to avoid landing on her back and rolled against the chamber wall.
Jautris wrenched his arm from his side and slashed at the whirling winds. She saw the sword cut, splitting the air, but the only effect was the crystal-laden gales divided around him and eddied back, carried by the contours of the cavern.
He yelped as a large fragment of crystal cut his cheek. The next blast slammed into his chest and threw him back ten feet. He hit the base of a stalagmite. The sword flew out of his hand and skittered across the stones.
Tanasdra dove for it, staying low, moving with the winds as best she could. She snatched up the blade and almost screamed as shadow pulsed up her arm, a searing chill. She gritted her teeth and whirled into the storm.
Jautris moaned and tried to pull himself upright. She caught him by the collar and yanked him with her. He twisted and brought the other sword—her sword—up to meet her. The clang echoed in the whirlwinds.
“We don’t have time for this!” she shouted. “Trust me!”
Their eyes locked; he dropped his arm. She rolled with the next buffet and brought the sword around in a curve. She felt the winds part, but did not cut through them. Instead, she continued her turn, guiding them into the start of a spiral.
Dust sprayed into her eyes, making her cough. With each slash and turn, the winds quickened into circular flow. The weight of the shadowed blade in her hand was worse than the muscle aches from bracing herself, but she pushed forward until the airy fury wound into a self-renewing spiral. She found herself in the eye of the storm.
Jautris clasped her shoulder with one hand. “What is this?”
“Don’t come from the plains, do you?” The instinct was to shout, but she found she could be heard normally. “They call it a tornado.”
“I can walk us to the other side now,” he said. “Hold on.”
The grey-light disappeared, plunging them into black. In that instant, the world turned inside out as they shadow-walked.
The world bled back to reveal they were standing on the far end of the cavern, outside the storm. She pivoted into his shoulder and knocked him against the faceted lapis wall.
“I saved your life,” she said. “Break your spell.”
He laughed and shoved back, his near leg coming around to trip her. She stepped out of it, but couldn’t pull back far enough to free the sword. They grappled, spinning, bodies locked, neither able to get the upper hand or pull free.
Tanasdra twisted, letting him put her to the wall as she palmed the dagger at her back with her off-hand. She came in for his ribs. He wrenched aside and took a shallow score.
He dropped back and pulled her with him. She tried to reorient the blade even as he grabbed her other wrist and summoned shadow. She would have shaken him off with ease, but the sudden numbness in her fingers caused her hand to spasm.
He caught the sword from her and whirled away, a blade in either hand. “Good try. Put that away.”
“Why do this?” she demanded. She sheathed the dagger at her back.
He swung his sword down the corridor to indicate she was to take the lead. “I told you.”
Seething, she started ahead. “Not what I meant. So you become the next emperor. What good does that do you?”
“It makes me a free man.”
That slowed her. “What?” The grey-light washed his features past easy reading.
“Everyone answers to me. I don’t have to hold myself to your standards or theirs.” He chuckled wearily. “I suppose you wouldn’t understand that.”
She thought back over her history, orders taken and causes championed. The three months she spent in the Mines of Ice, forging ties that made the final decision—protect the miners; leave the metal—a vindication. “I don’t think of those kinds of things as chains.”
He snorted, but did not answer. In the tense silence that followed, she noticed the rock change to amethyst.
“We’re almost there,” she said.
Almost meant another hour of walking, her head throbbing with the spell and her feet sore. Finally, however, she detected streaks of quartz in the walls and felt the rising hum of some unknown force.
Tanasdra?
She smiled at the tentative thought. Do you have something for me?
I have looked as much as I can. He’ll keep his end of the bargain. Chaenomi sounded more worried than pleased by the revelation. You don’t need to put yourself in danger by attacking him.
Tanasdra was too tired to argue. I hear you.
The hum intensified, causing the ground beneath their feet to shudder. Jautris instinctively reached out to steady her. Though annoyed, she accepted the hand as the tunnel dipped.
At the tunnel mouth, the stonework turned to clear quartz. She could not even gasp at the chamber beyond.
The earth dropped away for miles down and lifted into an immense vault that dwarfed the great hall above. Her eyes followed it, noticing the bands of advancing cover: as far down as they had come, the chamber stretched upwards. She could not even begin to guess at the circumference, but the almost imperceptible bend of the walls suggested a sphere.
In the center whirled columns of fire, air, earth, and water, their size unknowable. The Earthworkers that flickered around them appeared like flies against an old-growth tree. Long tendrils of the elements stretched out and met, blurring together to form shapes—there something that reminded her of a swamp, there the dramatic arc of a volcano.
Jautris uttered an oath. Her eyes were drawn from the land features to what appeared to be an archway past them. It did not open, she could see, onto the other side of the cavern, but somewhere…else. It took her a moment to realize she was seeing a vast globe through the arch, suspended in dark and star-light.
As they watched, the swamp floated—impossibly, incredibly—through the arch. It was sucked in, drawn down towards the surface of that other globe—other world. It had to be.
“This is what they’ve been doing,” he breathed.
She stared, mute. No wonder the upper manse was deserted. If the Earthworkers were busy with this…but then why call the nations of this world here? The two had to be connected, but how? Nebulous foreboding washed over her.
She forced her mind onto a track she could deal with, something smaller. “I can’t get you closer.” When he didn’t respond, she turned to face him. He sat with hands limp on his lap. “Jautris?”
“Look at them,” he said softly. “The only power we have in the face of that is the power they choose to grant us.” He looked up. “There really isn’t an escape, is there?”
“There’s no such thing as complete freedom.” Tanasdra watched him, feeling unexpected pain at the trapped tiredness in his eyes. “We wouldn’t know what to do if there was.” Carefully, she edged out onto a verbal limb. “You could always leave.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “And go where? With the Lightweavers?”
“You could think about it,” she said.
The grin returned, this time with a chuckle. “You never give up, do you?”
She answered with a wry smile. “I don’t know how to.”
“I suppose we’ve come this far.” He stood, removing her sword from his belt. “I owe you an answer.”
She felt the knots of darkness loosen around her as she took the sword from him. Chaenomi’s words came back to her. All she had to do was let him talk, and this would be over—and none of it would be over, for there was still the matter of the rescue, still the fact she had meant to capture him if she could not turn him. Still the fact that she was not going to roll over and let him have the last word.
And it had been his theory that it was better to compel than accept the freely given.
“After this? You owe me more than that,” she said, and lunged.
He leapt back as his body blurred under a web of shadow. She reached inside herself, reveling in the life-force that pounded through her veins and rushed over her skin. It formed a shield that could deflect all but the most direct blow. She didn’t wait for her defenses to complete, trusting to them as she cut in.
Blade rang on blade as elemental light poured around them. She fought with close stone to her right, vast space to her left, sounding him out with ruthless precision.
He was left-handed and harried her weak side. She flipped her dagger into her off-hand for parrying and kept going. Legion training didn’t account for off-hand opponents, but she had come a long way from the legions, and the only terrain formation here was the sudden drop.
“You’re crazy,” he said, “what do you want out of this?”
“I want Chaenomi safe.” She frowned as he glided out of her range, as elusive as a nightmare, and sent energy to her eyes, enhancing visual details. Her next thrust almost nicked him, but he parried it into a counter-thrust and met a flick of her dagger.
“You mean you want your tool back.” The dark threads of his magic intensified. The next time their blades met, the unnatural strength behind his arms made her shoulders cry out in protest.
“I don’t care about your politics,” she snapped. “I care about her. I came here willing to die for her, and that hasn’t changed.”
Jautris pivoted and came to land on the brink, his body braced on the ledge. “Yet you devoted your life to a kingdom that no longer exists.”
“Tell me your father is going to let her choose.” She hesitated, knowing he could use her momentum to push her over the edge. She advanced cautiously, trying to get an angle on his right side, but that side faced the abyss. “He certainly didn’t ask if she wanted to leave.”
“Tell me you will.” His eyes challenged her.
Why do you care? she wanted to shout. She glared, steadying the dagger as she turned. “She can make her choice,” she said. “Fire with the consequences.”
A rumbling moved through the chamber. The roiling columns went still and then pulsed once, a wave of pale energy streaming out from each and joining in a braid of color. The light struck the crystal walls and dispersed in all directions. It washed through them, itching like mud on the flesh and burning at the same time.
Neither of them had time to remark on it. “The question is,” he said, “do I believe you?”
Her eyes flicked out over space as she mentally calculated. The best Lightweavers could make themselves light enough to hover on air. She was not one of those. But she only needed a second.
She focused her energy, lowering her shields and drawing the enchantment into her core. Thoughts of airiness played through her body, easing through her bones, making her feel like a feather. She took a deep breath and made the first half of the lunge into empty air.
Time stepped out on her. She seemed to be suspended there, waiting to fall.
“You don’t have a choice,” she said, and pivoted into him.
He tumbled back in surprise as she hit the ledge. Her foot pedaled backwards and almost slipped, but she had his weak side and pinned his sword out of use with a kick. She brought her blade around in a sweeping arc and dropped it to his throat.
“Feel familiar?” she asked.
Jautris blinked as if he couldn’t figure out how their positions had been reversed, then laughed. “Congratulations, Tanasdra.”
“Remove your shadows. Now.”
He closed his eyes and did so, relaxing back on the ledge. “So you want to know what happened, do you?”
She nodded, feeling numb. She clenched her fingers on the sword. “If you lie, I’ll know.”
“The key to your mystery is this.” He turned his wrist to display the birthmark there. “Your Eye has one just like it. A hereditary mark. That was how we saw through the deception.”
Tanasdra frowned, but she remembered as soon as he said it. It was why the mark had seemed so familiar when she had first seen it. “Hereditary…?”
“My father has foretellers, not as gifted or reliable as the Eye, but they were able to tell him.” He smiled grimly.
She shook her head, trying to understand. “I don’t—”
“She’s his blood. His child.” Jautris looked at her frankly. “Potentially, a replacement for me.”
It made sense, though she wanted it not to. Chaenomi had never been in danger; this whole journey was Jautris’s attempt to hold onto his position. She fought the urge to close her eyes, her stomach swimming. “I still…I can’t leave her.”
“I know that,” he said quietly. “If I had any doubts, the fact that you still came at me—and risked your life doing it—made me sure.”
“Why didn’t you help me from the start?” she asked. “If she were gone, your position would be safe.”
“She’s my sister—half-sister. Just because I don’t want her to be my father’s heir, doesn’t mean I want her with the enemy if there’s another way.” He shrugged. “And I really did want to see what was going on down here. What sane man wouldn’t?”
She didn’t move. “You’re going to help me get her back.”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” He grinned wearily. “But after that fight? I might have helped even if you hadn’t won. Honorable adversaries, remember?”
She looked over the brink at the Earthworker chamber, trying to imprint it in her memory. Finally, she turned away. “Shadow-walk us to the surface,” she said.
“I’ll take you into the chamber where they’re keeping her,” Jautris explained as they stood in ruby halls. “Then back out. If you have no weavings active, they’ll never notice.”
Tanasdra gripped his arm in warning. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you.”
“You’re also keeping a dagger at my back,” he said drily.
“Yes, I noticed that.” She poked him with it. “Move us, would you?”
A disorienting surge of darkness, and they stood inside a small sitting-room. Chaenomi sat on silk pillows there, a pale but serene prisoner.
She leapt up and burrowed her face against Tanasdra. “I knew you would come.”
It was somehow less awkward than it had been with the other children, but part of Tanasdra still wanted to squirm. “Let’s—” She paused, then looked over at Jautris significantly. She didn’t owe him anything. But maybe it was a question that needed asking.
“Chaenomi,” she said, “Vanathus is your father. I don’t know much about family, but this is yours.” She was proud of herself for keeping the scorn out of her voice.
The girl’s eyes widened. Her lips dropped a soft sound of astonishment—perhaps the first she had ever made, perhaps even the last. She glanced to Jautris. “My family—”
Hurry, Tanasdra wanted to say. There was no time for this, and her mind urged to grab Chaenomi and go. Instinct kept her still.
“You’d let me stay?” the Eye asked.
She drew in a sharp breath. “I’d hate it,” she said, “but I’d have to.”
Chaenomi answered as if she had already heard the words. “This may be the family of my body, but you are the family of my soul. I want to go wherever you do.” She slid her hand into Tanasdra’s left. “I saw things, but you saw the consequences. You knew what to do without having to look ahead.”
Tanasdra shook her head. “I’m not—”
“You’re enough.” Chaenomi watched her steadily. “I believe in you.”
“You heard the girl,” Jautris said with a chuckle. “Let’s go.”
Still dazed by the expression of trust, she nodded, and the world faded. She turned a wary eye on Jautris. “What about you?” she asked. “Where are you going?”
“I’m staying,” he said. “Maybe we aren’t free, but we build our corner of the world the way we choose.”
“We do.” Cautiously, she pulled the blade from his back. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, then chuckled. “No, really—please don’t. Good luck, little sister.” With that, he was gone.
Chaenomi gripped Tanasdra’s hand tightly. “Take me home?”
The Lightweavers stood in the great hall with the others, Tanasdra dressed in a gold-trimmed tunic and pants now. Her mind refused to settle. Chaenomi stood next to her; no need for secrecy, for the story had slipped out, as gossip did. For now, all attentions were on the Earthworkers.
“We thank you for your patience,” said the woman in a quartet voice. “It was necessary to be sure that all invited dignitaries had arrived before we made our announcement.
“We are taking our leave of you. We have shaped this world for countless centuries and finally realized that rock and water cannot change the human heart. You do not need our surface changes. We have crafted ourselves another world where you cannot follow,” she continued into the confused silence. “For years, our kind have been migrating there. Only a few remain to finish the work.
“It is almost completed. There is only one thing left to do.” Four sets of lips smiled with a secret. “We do not need our powers where we are going. We gift them to you.”
Now there was tumult, nobles shouting out for blessing and others decrying the possibility. Tanasdra felt strangely calm. After what she had seen, it made sense.
“Not to you,” the Earthworker woman continued. “Rather, we have designed our last work so it disperses the power throughout your world, to those who are in distant corners—to those who do not call themselves the rulers of nations. They are the ones who will be our heirs.”
Tanasdra knew the world had changed. The Lightweavers and the Shadowburners had been the sole forces; now they would be two of many. It was no longer a simple matter of choosing one to oppose the other.
She thought back to the power that ebbed from the columns. That had washed through her, and—
Her eyes came up sharply and met those of Jautris, standing by his father and listening with a small smile of recognition. It broadened when their gazes met.
She closed her eyes, looking for something she did not know how to find. It surfaced subtly, a flicker of fire inside her.
Chaenomi squeezed her hand. “I knew there was a reason we had to come here.”
“I don’t think I can stay with the Lightweavers,” Tanasdra murmured. “Not like this.”
“That’s all right. There’s a whole world out there for us.”
She cleared her throat at the pronoun. “You are—”
“I want to go wherever you do,” the Eye repeated.
“I’m going to have a rough time keeping you safe if it’s just us,” Tanasdra murmured. She thought of the people who would like to control the Eye…and found the fire in her blood, the real fire, awake and crackling with the challenge. “Are you sure?”
Chaenomi nodded. “You will keep me safe.”
Tanasdra arched an ironic brow. “Have you foreseen this?”
“No.” A beatific smile. “I just know it.”
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Copyright 2010, Lindsey Duncan. All rights reserved. I am a life-long writer and professional Celtic harp performer. I feel that music and language are inextricably linked. I live, perform and teach harp in Cincinnati, Ohio.
As far as previous credits ... I have had work in Leading Edge Science Fiction and Fantasy, Afterburn SF, Jupiter World Press, AlienSkin Magazine, The Fifth Di.... and of course The Sword Review. I have additional work forthcoming in Tales of the Talisman, From The Asylum, Aoife's Kiss, The Lorelei Signal, Abyss and Apex, OG's Speculative Fiction and multiple stories in Fantasist Enterprises anthologies.
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