None of Istera’s historians knew much of runic magic, despite the wealth of research on hand. Having red heartsglass prevented them from seeing its effects. Sakmeet’s silver made her the foremost expert, but her notes were all we had left to go by.
Lord Garindor was the next best thing, but even he admitted his limitations. “Those of us with purple heartsglass see magic on a very different spectrum than those with silver,” he explained. “We simply cannot observe some weaves that are obvious to all asha.”
We had returned to the library while the king and his councilors debated the fate of the historian’s assistant-turned-creature. That this daeva-like being had started as a human, not an unnatural aberration, had shaken the Isterans. If there was a rune capable of turning people into monsters, King Rendorvik argued, then perhaps there was a way to change them back.
But the librarians—bless their staunchly patient hearts, as they worked to supply us with information—spent their lives dedicated to these books and still had little idea of the runes we sought. It was not likely that we would succeed, our experiences as asha notwithstanding.
Still, Althy threw herself into the ongoing inquiry. Likh appeared distracted. He kept abandoning the volume he was perusing to prowl the room, lost in thought. Kalen and Khalad were helping guard the strange creature that had once been Yarrod. Lord Garindor, though rattled, had insisted on accompanying us, determined to help.
“I can do little for my assistant’s condition,” he pointed out, “but what expertise I can offer lies here, among these old books. Permit me to assist you in any way I can.”
“You are very kind, milord,” Althy told him gently. “But I’m afraid we don’t know what questions to ask, knowing very little of this ourselves.”
“Are there any generalities regarding your research that you can tell me? Perhaps I can narrow the field.”
“We seek information on any runic spells that could cause this transformation. We have never encountered anything like this in the Willows before.”
The man thought about it. “No, I cannot say that I am acquainted with such a spell. I have looked through many manuscripts on runes, but our experiments were restricted without a silver heart to guide us. As such, we thought it best to turn over our research to the Isteran asha in the hopes they would make better sense of them, though they also found little. Sakmeet was always very private about her own findings.”
“If she knew anything about these runes, she didn’t write about them.” Likh was going through Sakmeet’s old notes, and he sounded frustrated. “Her handwriting is difficult to read.”
“What else can you tell us about Blade that Soars’ and Dancing Wind’s origins?” Althy asked Lord Garindor. “Perhaps we can find another connection there.”
“Ah. Unlike its popular version, the legend says little about Dancing Wind, for she had almost no agency in the story. Her role was simply that of Blade that Soars’ lover. A few colleagues have even gone so far as to theorize that her abrupt disappearance suggests she died long before Hollow Knife stole his brother’s heart—that her death may have triggered Blade that Soars’ war against the world.
“In the darashi oyun, which Vernasha penned, Dancing Wind takes on Hollow Knife’s role, and the latter is cast as its main villain. We scholars thought it was nothing more than a romanticized version of the legend. Scholars look down on embellishments, but we never thought Vernasha had another motive.”
“That Dancing Wind and Blade that Soars shared two halves of the same soul?” Rahim asked.
“I am afraid you are mistaken, Lord Arrakan.” The scholar took off his spectacles, wiping them vigorously. “Blade that Soars and Hollow Knife are two halves of the same whole. They are brothers. For Blade that Soars to gain power, he would have to take Hollow Knife’s heartsglass, not that of his lover.
“It was not Blade that Soars who formed the world. Older texts indicate a Great Creator shaped the world and begot a son for its stewardship. But then he split his child into two brothers, so their abilities were also halved. There are enough similarities between that ancient document and the Blade that Soars legend for us to say with certainty that this Great Creator was their father.
“Blade that Soars resented his father’s decision to make them two, however, for it greatly diminished his strength. He had wished for a perfect world, free from pain and suffering, and to do so, he strove to be his sire’s equal in power. It was he, not the Creator, who taught magic to his subjects. Hollow Knife criticized his brother’s actions, fearing the chaos that could come from the spells of imperfect creatures.”
“Aenah always said Hollow Knife was the true hero,” I murmured, remembering what Aenah had told me while she languished in the Odalian dungeons, pretending she had had no relationship with Telemaine. “It was why the Faceless worshipped him.”
“But isn’t that good?” Likh asked. “To want a perfect world?”
“To be perfect without suffering means no change. If you know neither hurt nor hardship, then you will not know the strength they can summon within a person. What is life’s meaning if you cannot distinguish between happiness and sorrow?”
“It would have been nice for the Great Creator to make the world with a little less suffering though,” Likh said sadly.
Garindor smiled briefly. “Blade that Soars certainly agreed with you. He believed that the world would be destroyed by its flaws. So he offered magic as a means to address those ills, for his people to forge a better life. But even he abused this power, giving the best of it to Dancing Wind and subjugating his dissidents.
“Hollow Knife determined the only way to stop his brother was to take his heartsglass and merge it with his own, to double his strength and restore the world in the image his father had originally intended—one without magic—even if it meant forfeiting his own life. And because Blade that Soars gave the core of his heartsglass to Dancing Wind, Hollow Knife had to take hers.”
He shifted some books off a heavy pile and selected one volume, opening it to reveal Drychta writing. “The unnamed book you referenced is only a piece of the puzzle. It is the oldest book written in the common tongue that talks of the legend, but this Drychta book—this precedes it by at least a year. Few people study Drychta, so it tends to be overlooked by even the best Isteran scholars. But I know this manuscript’s value; it was discovered twenty years ago, hidden within one of Drycht’s numerous mountains. It lay in a strange cave filled with unnatural flora, unearthed only because of a sudden rock slide. King Aadil decreed its contents heretical because it criticized the absolute rule of kings, and many of my colleagues were killed for defending the tome. This book is more important than my life, and I barely escaped with both intact. I came to Istera because they treasured and honored knowledge in all its forms—Aadil did not.”
“What does it say?” Althy asked. “I can speak a little Drychta, but not to read.”
“Let me translate. ‘Help me, Little Tears,’ Hollow Knife implored the other goddess. ‘Help me take Blade that Soars’ heart, so that I can make the world whole again.’”
He paused. “Until this point, the text is the same as in the other book, but there are passages in this Drychta book that the former did not have: And upon taking his brother’s heartsglass, still stained with his lover’s blood, did Hollow Knife turn to slaughter the seven creatures of Blade that Soars. From each, he drew a shining stone, a different color for each carcass. He took these gems into his own heartsglass with much suffering, but his will was true, and all seven beasts were revived under his bidding. No longer were they ravening beasts that terrorized the people. They became docile and obedient. And with them, his heartsglass shone as black as Blade that Soars’ shone bright. Then he reached for the First Harvest, to join dark and light to create shadowglass.
“The text here then follows the other book’s. But before he could use his brother’s—Lady Tea?”
I rose from my chair, hands clenched. I stared down at Sakmeet’s notes, the letters blurring together. “Dark into light,” I said hoarsely. “Shadowglass. Althy, this is all in Aenah’s book. To you, seeking Hollow Knife’s path: present yourself to the mountain for judgment. If proven worthy, arm yourself with a heartsglass of black, where love’s blood had shed over. Boil seven daeva’s bezoars separately, and drink a vial’s worth of their waters. Weave Compulsion in the air; its heart shall reveal itself to you. Take it into your heartsglass, and be born anew.”
I knew that shadowglass spell; I had committed it to memory nearly two years ago, and it was now a mantra, buried so deep within my psyche that nothing could pull it loose. I had pored over those words for so long that sometimes they came easier to me than my own name. Shadowglass was the reason the Faceless had tried to take Kance’s heartsglass. Aenah had died for the chance. She had tried to kill me for it.
Polaire had paid the price instead.
And what was the next part of that spell? The unity of seven into darksglass and Five into lightsglass is the key. Merge both with the First Harvest and be born anew, with shadowglass to do as you see fit.
“The last place I would have looked to find confirmation is with that Faceless’s book,” Althy said grimly. “But you’re right.”
“I’m sorry,” Lord Garindor said. “I don’t quite follow.”
“We’re in trouble,” Kalen interrupted grimly as he strode in, Khalad trailing after him. “Tea, soldiers have reported sightings of the zarich. It’s left the Runeswood.”
Likh paled.
I gritted my teeth. “Has it attacked anyone?” The Isterans hadn’t seen the creature since Sakmeet died. For what reason would it leave the safety of its home?
Kalen shook his head. “The Isteran soldiers have been briefed for occasions like this. They’re keeping their distance but tracking its movements as best as they can.”
“How is Yarrod?” Garindor asked.
“Dark magic might not do much, but runic wards still work on him,” Khalad responded. “Kalen made sure of that. He’s in no danger to himself or others—for now.”
Althy stood, but I shook my head. “It would be better for one of us to stay here. The wards might hold Yarrod in place, but we’ll need someone close to make sure he doesn’t break free. My magic is useless, but yours isn’t.”
The older asha paused, then nodded, still frowning. “Take care, Tea. We’ve never confronted the zarich before. That had always been Sakmeet’s duty and that of her Isteran predecessors.”
“I will.” I started for the door and Likh followed. “What are you doing?” I asked. The boy asha shrugged. “You might need help. I’m pretty good at this now.”
“Promise me you’ll stay at a reasonable distance.”
I marched toward the palace entrance. Already soldiers were running back and forth, as orders were called out over the din.
What’s happening, Tea?
Fox. Tell Mykaela that a zarich has been sighted near Farsun. I’m off to take care of it.
Be careful. I could feel his worry, his frustration. That he wasn’t here with me was eating him up.
I will. Kalen’s here. You know he has my back. Anything happening in your neck of the woods?
The elders are up to something, but they haven’t made any moves yet. From what Zoya and Shadi could gather, they’ve been recalling some of the asha who’d been contracted out to other kingdoms. I’ll tell you more when we get back. Don’t make any rash decisions.
Have I ever?
Wordlessly, I called for Chief, and soon my Gorvekan horse came cantering. Kalen was already astride his own stallion, Likh and Khalad scrambling up their own steeds.
It was easy enough to pinpoint the zarich’s location. We only had to follow the reports the soldiers provided and investigate its fresh tracks leading from the Runeswood.
The beast hadn’t wandered too far from its home. We found it settled by a frozen stream on the edge of the forest leading toward the River of Peace, which marked the boundary between Istera and Tresea.
The zarich was a disconcerting creature to behold at first. It resembled an upright goat but was the size of a small barn. The five horns growing around its head glistened from the snow, and its face was overrun by a mass of eyes that never closed all at once. Despite its mammalian appearance and its cloven hooves, the zarich was overtly reptilian, with scaled skin and a long snout protruding from its crowd of eyes, reminding me of illustrations I’d seen of long-snouted swamp creatures that inhabited parts of northern Yadosha.
The creature let out a soft, slithering hiss as we approached, but it did not attack. It was not like any daeva behavior I had encountered before.
“What’s it doing?” Likh asked nervously.
“I’m not sure.” I drew the Raising rune and, carefully, entered the creature’s mind. What I found was not so much thoughts as impulses, strange yet familiar, repulsive and enticing. As I probed deeper, the zarich put up little resistance.
Somewhere in another corner of my mind, I could feel Fox’s thoughts drift toward me, tensed like he could ride into battle in an instant to aid me.
The azi responded too. It uttered a soft, plaintive sound. The azi was not angry, nor was it combative. I could feel its presence slide through my mind, reaching out to the zarich.
The zarich blinked its eyes at us and then turned. It padded deeper into the forest. The beasts’ emotions tumbled into and against each other until one stood out.
Follow.
“Are you serious?” Kalen asked as I adopted its suggestion, moving deeper into the woods after it.
“It doesn’t want to fight. The least I can do is see what it wants to show me.”
“And you find nothing wrong with that?” he muttered, but he and Likh followed me anyway.
At a small clearing, at the foot of a magnificent pine tree, the zarich began to dig. Its massive hooves kicked up ice and frozen dirt with little effort. For five minutes, it pawed at the ground until it dug a considerable hole. Then it turned to look at me and bleated.
I sensed it. There was another presence within the zarich’s mind. I could feel it gathering as if to take control. I remembered my time in Daanoris—of the Faceless, Usij, and his past attempts to entrap me in this manner with the savul. I recoiled at the memory and reacted on instinct, putting everything I had into one word.
“Die!”
The zarich didn’t fight me. Its head lowered, as its many eyes drifted closed, its limbs settling against the ground. It let one last cry, melancholy and regretful, and ceased to move. Still braced for an unexpected attack, I waited, probing its head once more, but its mind was gone, and so was the other presence along with it. I felt Fox’s relieved sigh, felt the azi turn away with an unhappy wail.
“Was that supposed to happen?” Likh asked shakily. “Not that I’m complaining, but that was easier than I hoped. I wish they were all like that.”
“It wasn’t intending to fight.” I moved to the daeva’s prone body and fished out my knife. With its blade, I searched at the base of its skull, where all five horns circled around. Likh turned pale as I slid past the brains and the black blood, finally locating and bringing out another bezoar, its bright surface shining despite the gore.
“I’m sorry,” I told the beast quietly. I couldn’t risk anyone entering my mind again, however friendly the zarich appeared to be.
Kalen lowered himself down the hole. “This is all that’s in here,” he reported, lifting out a small sack. Deftly, he undid the knots.
“It’s paper!” Likh burst out.
“It’s more than that,” Kalen said grimly, scanning the contents. “One is signed by Sakmeet herself. The other…is in Vernasha’s handwriting.”
“So the zarich remembered Sakmeet’s instructions, even after she’d died?”
“She must have had a strong bond with the daeva, similar to Tea’s bond with the azi.” Kalen handed me Sakmeet’s letter to read. There was a strange symbol drawn across the page—a kind of mountain, by the looks of it.
If you are reading this, then I am gone. For the love of Anahita, say nothing of these findings to the elders of Kion.
I have lived longer than most bone witches, long by even asha standards. But the elders will reject what we Isteran witches have discovered. They will destroy my books should they learn what I have recorded.
My predecessor, Parika, told me a story passed down to her by the previous bone witches of Istera. It is the story of how the elders of Kion came to Farsun under the pretense of diplomacy but sought in secret to destroy certain volumes in Istera’s library. A Dark asha, Talyri, knew that hiding the books would be impossible; the elders had demanded a complete list from the Isteran king. But one book was unnamed and escaped the librarians’ notice. Only that text was she able to save.
As she watched, horrified, the elders destroyed the other books, and the old king did nothing to stop them. Talyri managed to steal a letter written by Vernasha herself, which one of the elders had possessed. She—and I—stand by its truth. She guarded the unnamed book for the rest of her life, as did her successors. As did I.
It is a terrible thing, to force a witch to hide from her fellow sisters. It is a terrible thing to destroy a book in order to better live a lie.
The Kion oracle once told me that my writings would one day change the world. I wished I had asked her if I would change it for the better or for the worse…
I leave you with a symbol I found in my research: the mark of the People of the Shadow. My predecessor told me it marks those who guard the secrets to shadowglass. Perhaps it can be of use to you, my dear reader.
I wish I had the strength to denounce Kion’s lies. But I am too old, too tired. Safe within Istera’s tolerance, I have neglected my duties to my sisters in the southern kingdoms. I am sorry. May this redeem me.
Shaking, I gently laid Sakmeet’s letter aside, and picked up the other page.
“What does it say?” Kalen asked.
“Beware the Dark asha,” I read in Vernasha’s flowing hand, “for the only good bone witch is one deprived of heartsglass. Temper them, weaken them, collar them if you must. They are Little Tears’s seed, none of whom must come to pass.”