49: THE EASIEST TO BREAK

Kihrin’s story Inside Vol Karoth’s prison

We all watched, horrified, as Kalindra dropped from the edge. None of us would have been able to stop her. None of us could have gotten to her in time. Maybe Thurvishar, if he’d been there.

But I had forgotten about Jarith.

The demon moved faster than any of the rest of us and grabbed Kalindra even as she dropped off the edge. Better still, it was clear that she saw him and knew who he was.

Which meant we just needed to get out—

Vol Karoth appeared in front of me.

I win.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “How do you figure? We saved Kalindra.”

Did you, though? Vol Karoth said. She realized the truth; her life was too painful to allow to continue. Life is too painful to allow to continue. She was willing to take her own life, and even if you’ve stopped her this time, you can’t watch her forever.

“You crazy mother—” I muttered under my breath, then said louder, “That’s a cheap cop-out, and you know it. Life is hard, so just cancel life? People are mean to each other, so the solution is no more people? No.”

We had a deal.

“And you haven’t proved anything!”

She abandoned you, she abandoned her husband, she abandoned her child. She didn’t love them enough to survive for any of you. Love is a mortar too weak to hold when the foundations of our lives crumble.

“Oh, don’t you dare blame her for this. She made some mistakes. Bad ones. Maybe she’d have fixed them on her own if you hadn’t literally pushed her over the edge. But you don’t get to shove her over a cliff and then say she had it coming because she didn’t dodge fast enough.”

Fine. Then we are through playing games.

Vol Karoth vanished.

Everything started moving again. The wind whipped past us.

And I knew, deep in my gut, that everything had just gone terribly wrong.

Senera’s story The Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor
After starting the final glyph

Senera retreated to one of the empty bedrooms while she waited for Thurvishar to finish getting a message to the others in the mindscape. She sat on the edge of a bed, elbows on her knees, fingers steepled together under her chin. Her mind was blank and too full, and nothing had worked out the way she’d wanted. She wrote a letter to Thurvishar, immediately regretted it, and crumpled the paper into a tight ball.¹

“Senera?” Thurvishar’s voice, from the doorway.

“Done so soon?” Senera’s voice cracked, because the sad expression on his face told her what the answer had been. Gods-damn bunch of self-sacrificing fools, all of them.

Herself included.

“I thought we might talk about … that thing we haven’t been talking about.”

Senera rolled her eyes. “Any relationship between us—”

Thurvishar winced. “No, I meant the other thing. You being a spell thief.”

Senera froze. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You can hardly expect me not to have noticed,” Thurvishar said. “I don’t think there’s a single one of us who hasn’t noticed you copying one of our spells. I don’t think Talea or Xivan really understand how rare it is. Or what that means—”

“If you’re going to tell me that I’m a telepath, you can just turn around and walk away,” Senera said. “I’m not.”

“How did you wake me?”

“I used a glyph,” Senera said, staring hatefully at him. “Next question?”

“I’m sorry,” Thurvishar said, “but we both know that’s a lie.”

He reached out and touched the side of her head.

The world changed.

Senera’s memory
The Opaline Palace of House D’Jorax, Quur
Sixteen years earlier

Senera sat perfectly still. She had to sit still; there were wards all around her. If she so much as moved an inch, the result was pain. She wasn’t technically tied up, but in all the ways that mattered, her chains were the size of the entire room.

Senera was going to die. She knew she was going to die. There was only one outcome for a witch, and since that was what she was, it wasn’t difficult math. She considered herself fortunate that they’d never really figured out—or believed—the full extent of her crimes because of her age, her sex. But it didn’t matter, they’d still kill her for casting spells, and dead was dead. They were taking her power seriously too. The wards proved that.

The only reason they hadn’t killed her yet was because they were still trying to find the lord heir to let him know that he was now high lord.

Two men entered the room.

One of them was Emeran D’Jorax, who was a distant cousin of the current—err, former—high lord. He had a real talent for bootlicking. He’d probably go far. Senera didn’t recognize the other man. He was average looking, and to judge by the eyes, not a member of any Royal House.

The wards didn’t stop her from feeling the extraordinary power emanating from him, hard and crisp and sharp enough to cut. He was annoyed, and thought Emeran D’Jorax wouldn’t go far at all if the royal had wasted his time. Emeran was thinking of metal, a lot of it, and just exactly how he planned to spend it.

“You told me, Lord Var, that if I ever found anyone of a certain sort of magical talent, I should contact you immediately.” The sycophantic little toady gestured toward her. “She murdered the high lord.”

“Really.” The wizard (with that aura, Senera just assumed he must be a wizard) seemed skeptical of the idea. He sat back on his haunches to look at her closer, like she was a well-bred horse.

“She knew exactly how to get through the wards, Lord Var, and no one knew that information but the high lord himself. No one could cast the spell but the high lord himself. It was unique.”

Senera cursed. She hadn’t known that. It explained a lot. It explained their panic.

“I see,” Relos Var says. “And are you a telepath, little girl?”

She didn’t dare move her head.

“No need to answer,” Var said. “I can tell. A telepath and yet you were still able to commit a murder. Rather extraordinary. It’s almost a pity I have no need of telepaths.”

“Lord?” Panic from Emeran, who was now worried about losing his grand reward.

“The problem with telepaths,” Relos Var said casually as he stood, “is that they either go insane and become something like mimics, or they go … soft. Too much empathy. Too much ability to understand every point of view. And why would I want a servant who might actually be able to tell if I was lying to them? Stars no.”

“So you’re not interested in her, then?” Emeran looked upset by the idea, probably because what he was doing would also get him killed if the rest of House D’Jorax ever found out about it.

“Oh no, I’ll take her. Please remove these wards.” Relos Var gave Senera what she thought was meant to be a comforting smile. She couldn’t bring herself to return it, although at least he thought that Emeran was a fool, which endeared the wizard to Senera at least a little.

The D’Jorax sorcerer took down the wards and then said, “Now don’t move. He’s powerful enough to stop your heart just by looking at you, you little whore.” It was the first time he’s said a word to Senera.

“Oh, not her,” Relos Var corrected. “She might be a child, but her aura is much too strong. You, though?”

Emeran D’Jorax collapsed into an untidy little heap of flesh.

Senera made a small sound and shied back. The light of Emeran’s mind had simply vanished, snuffed out. He was dead. Senera didn’t scream. There was no point. The wizard could kill her as easily as he killed the D’Jorax fool, strong aura or not.

The wizard who murdered him did something then. Senera wasn’t quite sure what, but she watched as he gathered strands of light from the man’s body, which coalesced into a small, hard indigo jewel with a sparkling star in the center. “Now that’s a surprise,” Var said amiably. He held the star tear up to the light. “Don’t see many of these anymore. Certainly not in idiots too weak to protect their sense of self.”

The wizard had taken that man’s souls, Senera thought, and she cringed at the injustice of it. No reincarnation, no rebirth. No Return, if he had family who cared enough about him to try. And no one inside House D’Jorax would have any idea what happened there. They’d just find the body.

But she underestimated the wizard. He kept casting, and this time, he did something that changed the shape of Emeran’s corpse. She watched intently as he transformed Emeran’s body into something that looked—

“I thought you said you didn’t need a telepath.” Senera said the words before she could stop herself. Because the body on the ground was hers now, dead because she’d struggled too hard against the wards chaining her in place. There was only one reason Senera could think of why Relos Var would do this—because he’d planned on taking her with him.

“I don’t,” Var told her, smiling warmly. “But don’t worry, by the time we’re done, you won’t be one anymore.”²

Senera’s reaction

The Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor

Senera gasped and came back to her own mind. She was still sitting there on the edge of the bed, but it wasn’t Thurvishar who crouched down next to her, so close he’s almost touching.

It was Vol Karoth.

You should have listened to Sheloran.

“That didn’t happen,” Senera said. “That’s not—” She should have cast spells, tried to fight, done something. She couldn’t make herself move.

Not what you remember? He sounded amused. Shall we give you back your memories? Every single one that my dear, sweet brother stole? I saved you for last, you know.

“Saved me for last?” Her heart was beating so fast she could hear the pounding in her ears. She could feel Thurvishar down the hall, the dawning horror in his mind as he must have realized he left her alone for just a damn minute too long.

Oh yes, Val Karoth said. I left you for the end because I always knew you’d be the easiest to break.

The bastard let her remember the truth. He reached inside her mind and brushed away all the cobwebs, every dusty, boarded-up, abandoned part of her mind. Because Relos Var never stopped her from being a telepath. He didn’t stop her from hearing the voices, the screams. All those screams. Every time she killed someone. Every single time anyone died near her. She had always, all these years, felt every single one.

Relos Var just stopped her from remembering them after. Until now.

She started screaming.

By the time Thurvishar reached the room, it was too late.

Senera’s prison

She slammed open the door to the ritual room. “What in all the void do you think you’re doing?” Senera spat.

The room had been recently cleaned; she could smell the astringency of the antiseptics. The floor and walls were marked off, sigils placed in all the right locations, each slightly incomplete as they waited for the final stroke to finish them and bring them to full potency.

In the center of the glyphs lay the unconscious body of a boy of around ten or eleven years old. He wore a plain, unadorned robe too small for him, and his hair was matted. Clearly, he had been kept unconscious for some time.

A handsome man in dark, severe clothing looked up from the scroll he was reading when she entered. He was tall, bald, with eyes that were pure black. He held the scroll with hands that seemed strong despite the long, delicate fingers.

Any fond greeting he might have offered died a quick death at her opening words. “What do you think?” Thurvishar snapped back. “I’m doing what has to be done. And don’t look at me like that; you know I take no pleasure in this. With how rare children are? This breaks my heart.”

“But you’re still going to do it,” Senera said. She refused to look at the child, although a part of her wondered if he had the same eyes as D’eras, the man he’d been before the accident a decade ago. There’s still so much they don’t understand about reincarnation.

“Of course I’m still going to do it,” Thurvishar said. “Someone has to, and you know it.”

“There has to be another way,” Senera said, shaking her head. “He’s the first child since … He’s a miracle.”

“A miracle with a tragic flaw.” Thurvishar mirrored her head-shake. “Telepathy in one so young is problem enough,” he continued, “but the boy is so much more than that. He need but see a spell performed once and he can cast it also. But he’s a child, with a child’s understanding of consequences. That’s a tragedy waiting to happen.”

“So remove it. Take away his ability to cast,” Senera begged. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s not enough, and you know it,” Thurvishar interrupted her. “Even if I could—which I cannot—it wouldn’t be enough. He hears voices, constantly. But they’re not voices, are they? They’re thoughts.” He rolled up the scroll and placed it on a cluttered desk against the far wall. “This won’t hurt him. He simply won’t remember,” he continued. “This will let him lead a normal life.”

“Who are you to define what qualifies as normal?” Senera said with a sour taste in her mouth. “You’re not removing the telepathy…”

“As I said, I cannot,” Thurvishar said mildly. “But what I’m doing is a valid compromise. I will create a buffer around that part of his mind. The thoughts of others will simply be … locked away.”

“That’s too close to his emotional center,” Senera was almost yelling in her passion. “You’re going to create a monster, you know that, right? If it spills over into his emotional core—and it will—you’ll be killing his empathy. It’s … it’s criminal!”

His eyes flashed with rage, briefly, before he took a deep breath. “It’s not criminal,” he said as he exhaled. “I have his parents’ permission. And that of the Assembly. So I’d kindly ask you to get the fuck out of this room and let me work!”

She did, her vision blurring with anger.

She slammed open the door to the ritual room. “What in all the void do you think you’re doing?”

Thurvishar’s story

The Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor

Just after Senera’s collapse

Thurvishar recognized his mistake the moment it occurred. He’d felt it, the way one might feel an itch in the middle of one’s back when being watched. He’d been concentrating on trying to reach one of the people whose bodies were there in the Lighthouse, attempts that had, one and all, proved fruitless. Vol Karoth fooled them all. Thurvishar had thought the dark god was weakening, but it was the opposite: he’d become too strong, and it was ultimately his mind that Thurvishar was attempting to breach. He could no longer send messages.

He opened his eyes. “Where’s Senera?”

The other two women stared at him in surprise and then looked around. It was clear that neither had realized Senera wasn’t with them.

“Fuck,” Xivan said.

Then the screaming started. It cut off abruptly.

“Damn it all,” Thurvishar cursed and ran out the door. He was forced to search from room to room because he could no longer feel Senera. Finally, he found her body in one of the empty bedrooms, laid out on one of the stone beds.

It was all he could do not to collapse. He’d been fine as long as Senera was fine. Even when they were potentially planning a final act that would qualify as suicide, she was there with him, and that made it fine. Now …

“What happened?” Xivan said.

“Oh, she’s been crying,” Talea said, motioning toward Senera’s cheeks.

Talea was right. She had indeed been crying. And Thurvishar had a good idea why. He’d known from very nearly the first moment he’d met Senera, years ago at the court of Duke Kaen, but he’d never said a word. He’d always assumed she’d had her own reasons for blocking that side of her abilities or figured that she’d run afoul of an early magical ritual gone wrong or some kind of psychic trauma. And then, later still, he began to realize the sort of advantages one might gain from having a telepath as a servant, if only one removed all those icky, inconvenient “feelings.”

“Vol Karoth took her,” Thurvishar said, just to spell out the obvious. “Which I’m going to interpret as an indication that the final sigil idea will work.”

Xivan scowled and looked away.

“Did you talk to any of the others?” Talea folded Senera’s arms on top of her chest and brushed away the tears.

“I couldn’t reach them,” Thurvishar said. “He’s blocking me.”

“I felt Kalindra,” Xivan said.

Thurvishar stared at her. What.

“I felt Kalindra earlier. Felt her mind. Felt her calling for help,” Xivan said. “He can’t be blocking that hard. He wants us in the mindscape, because then we’re not here.”

Thurvishar chewed on his lip. “There’s a chance…” He inhaled. “There’s a chance that he’s only blocking communication. I might still be able to transfer minds.”

“You mean going after Senera.”

“While she completed all but the final glyph, we still need her for that final symbol,” Thurvishar said.

Xivan rolled her eyes and pulled a sheet of parchment out of Senera’s skirt. “You honestly think she didn’t allow for that?” She flashed the sheet in front of him. It had the final sigil drawn on it, each component divided so it wouldn’t accidentally activate. “I mean, I’d say you should just use the Name of All Things, but I don’t know if that would count as borrowing.”

“I still want to go after Senera.” Talea pulled on Xivan’s sleeve. “We can’t leave her in there.”

“No,” Thurvishar said. “Xivan’s right. Vol Karoth wants us there.”

“The point is she saved us,” Xivan said, stabbing a finger in Senera’s direction. “She saved us all. Let Vol Karoth chew on that. We can’t do anything here, but you can. So we’ll go rescue Senera and find the others. You can pull one of us back and we’ll tell you the happy news.” The happy news being whether or not the others had agreed to destroy themselves to save all of mankind. Nothing significant.

Talea reached over and laced her fingers in Xivan’s.

“Fine,” Thurvishar agreed. “Bring her back to me.”