CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The morning found her on the journey, still humming tunes of joy. But clouds rolled in, thick and heavy, and the skies emptied themselves of rain. She sheltered under a fallen tree and burrowed into the soft earth. She dug until she was no longer alone, having discovered a serpent’s nest. “Ressst awhile,” the serpent said. And she was so tired, she did.

—THE AYALYA

Darvyn raised the hood of his crimson cloak to protect against the biting chill. A crisp wind blew across the lake, rippling the water around them. Beside him, Roshon scratched above his ear, near where the blond wig hit his scalp. Darvyn nudged the teen, who lowered his arm, looking away sulkily. They sat squeezed on a ferryboat crossing the small lake to the Physicks’ island with a dozen others, all clad in robes of varying shades of red.

After Tai and Lizvette’s departure the evening before, Darvyn and Roshon found a nearby tavern at which to dine. There they overheard talk that Physicks from all parts of the city and commonwealth were converging at the Academie in the morning.

“I recall this happening before, about a year ago,” Roshon had said as they discussed how to use the news to their advantage. “They held the event to show off a new discovery to the other Physicks.”

“What was the discovery they presented on before?” Darvyn asked, but Roshon didn’t know.

The decision to sneak into the Academie along with the other visitors was easy. They’d purchased a new translator amalgamation for Roshon and managed to find the cloaks the mages wore at a secondhand store.

The ferry docked at the tiny island, and the passengers streamed forward. A guard clad in black blocked the gated entrance to the castle. He held up a thin, metal hoop—two handspans across—in front of each person he questioned.

“What is that?” Darvyn asked.

“It’s the lie-detector amalgam I told you of,” Roshon whispered. “They used it on us when we first got here.”

Darvyn mulled over a way to trick the device, but all too soon they were near the front of the line. The guard questioned a tall man ahead of them whose well-used cloak had faded to mauve.

“Name?”

“Moises, Spellsayer Corps.”

The guard waved the wand in front of the man, then peered at it closely. He checked his list and crossed off a name. Darvyn and Roshon were only two people away from being queried. Lying was out of the question, but the truth would be disastrous.

Unless, it wouldn’t …

Something Oola had said to him the day of the temple bombing came to mind. You cannot force a man to do what he would not. You may, however, impel him to prioritize certain actions.

What if Darvyn told the truth and the guard believed him?

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He pictured Kyara’s face—she was his priority. The only way to gain entry and save her and the others meant violating his firmly held beliefs. All men had the right to free will, but now his principles were at odds with his priorities. Doing the right thing had always been second nature to him, but before, the right thing had always been clear. The lines were now blurred, and he was forced to admit that he cared less about right and wrong than he did about seeing Kyara again alive.

He reached for Earthsong, stretching his Song to dip into the endless source of power. When he faced the guard, he shivered from the amount of energy he held at his command.

“Name?”

“Darvyn ol-Tahlyro and Roshon ol-Sarifor.”

The guard frowned at the foreign names, but the lie detector apparently approved the truthful messages. He looked down at his list, mouth still downturned.

“I don’t see you listed among the invited guests.”

“Look again.” Darvyn spoke quietly so no one else in line would hear him. Using his Song, he focused on the guard’s energy and intentions. The man was a servant, not a Physick, and weariness hung over him. Those in service to the mages were conscripted for seven-year terms, often forced to leave their families in order to provide for them. Hopelessness saturated the guard’s emotions, along with grief, pain, and loss. Darvyn prodded at the man’s heavy burdens. Someone like him could be easily manipulated.

With a pang of remorse, Darvyn flooded the guard with a feeling of recognition at the two men before him. Added to it was the pride so lacking in his sentiments about his position. The fear embedded in the man by his superiors was easily bested by the notion that they would appreciate him for a job well done. That ensuring these two honored guests gained entry would bring the man the acclaim and gratitude he so desperately sought. Bring him closer to getting back to his family.

“Let us in,” Darvyn said. He increased the onslaught of emotion, refocusing the guard’s priorities until the man was exhilarated by the idea of letting them through, convinced it could only mean good things for his future. He stood up straighter. His eyes flashed with a boosted sense of self-worth. With a wave of his hand, he allowed Darvyn and Roshon to pass without further questioning.

Darvyn walked on, prolonging the guard’s forced emotions until he and Roshon were well inside. Then he released the swell of power.

“What did you do?” Roshon whispered as they followed the mass of people.

Darvyn shook his head. “Something I shouldn’t have. But it was necessary.”

Roshon peered at him intently, then nodded, seeming to understand. The forward movement of the crowd paused, giving Darvyn the chance to look around. They stood amid a sea of red robes of every shade, with some clad in green or blue mixed in. A few wore white, while the black and gray of guards and other servants peppered the edges. All were being ushered into a vast auditorium.

The gleaming wood that covered every surface made Darvyn’s head spin. He’d first seen forests in Elsira, but it must have taken the wood from a dozen forests to finish this building.

Roshon led the way to the middle of the seating area. They sat as the auditorium quickly filled. Darvyn’s stomach turned sour when he caught sight of the gray, stone table at the front of the room. It was just to the right of center and positioned in front of a black curtain hanging from the ceiling, covering the back half of the main area. From this distance, he couldn’t make out the carvings engraved on the table’s border, but he guessed they were similar to the ones on the identical table in the Cantor’s library in Lagrimar. A chill rippled through him. He knew exactly the sorts of things that took place on those tables and became anxious about what was in store for them.

It was several minutes before everyone was seated. A figure he recognized stood in the front of the auditorium, waiting for the audience’s attention. Ydaris, former Royal Cantor of Lagrimar and second-in-command to the True Father, stood regally next to an older, white-haired man in a ruby cloak. It seemed laughable that the Lagrimari had thought Ydaris one of them, her green eyes were so bright and foreign looking. Now that he’d seen they were traits of the Summ, it was ridiculous for the Lagrimari not to have known. Then again, few had ever seen the Cantor and lived to tell of it, and no Lagrimari knew what anyone outside their land, save the Elsirans, even looked like.

Darvyn wondered if the True Father had known what she was. He must have. Had he simply not cared? He shook off those thoughts and looked around. His curiosity was piqued by the large gathering, but he still needed to be on the lookout for a way to find Kyara and the others.

Roshon whispered in Darvyn’s ear in Lagrimari. “This must be the room Kyara told me about. The one where they bring her to be drained.”

His gaze was drawn like a magnet to the stone table, and a new rip rent his heart. The white-haired Physick approached a podium to the left of the stone table. At the same time, the curtain hiding the back of the stage area drew to the side, flooding the room with light. Gasps sounded throughout the auditorium as the full room was revealed.

At first, Darvyn didn’t know what he was looking at. The blinding shine stole his vision. He made out thin vertical columns of bluish-tinged light, evenly spaced. It was like a cage made of light built to house the sun, for a brilliant orange glow sat behind the bars.

“What is that?” Darvyn whispered. Roshon shook his head.

“Praise be to Saint Dahlia. In her name do we work,” the old Physick intoned.

“By her grace do we prosper,” the crowd responded as one.

“It is my honor as Grand Instructor to welcome you here on this most glorious day.” He swept his arm toward the cage of light where the golden blaze trapped inside seemed to grow brighter. “Witness the Bright One, the Lifebringer, who has served Saint Dahlia for so long.”

Then the Instructor brushed his arm to the other side where the outer door to the auditorium flew open. “And the Deathbringer who is responsible for our latest success.” A hush fell across the crowd as four guards dragged in a shackled and bound Kyara.

Darvyn leaned forward in his seat to watch her be roughly chained to the stone table. Her face was as defiant as ever. His greedy gaze was locked to her form, tracing over the lines of her body again and again. She’d lost weight, her cheekbones were more prominent, and deep circles hung under her eyes. He cringed when the Instructor sliced her palms with a pale knife. The memory of a similar knife cutting into his own flesh was still fresh.

He had lain on a table such as this, bruised and bleeding, and it had not taken long for his will to flicker and nearly give out. But Kyara was strong. Her eyes flashed even as her blood dripped to the ground, where small draining holes had been cut into the floorboards. The Instructor ambled back to the podium to address the crowd again.

“Saint Dahlia has truly been benevolent. She has finally sent us all we need to complete our most sacred goal. The barrier between the three worlds has kept us captive here. We cross to the other side only on a one-way trip, unable to bring back the secrets from the World After to elucidate our quest in this world. Well, that ends today.”

Another red-robed figure, hood drawn up, walked up to the podium to stand beside the speaker. “We welcome Raal to the gathering.”

Murmurs of welcome went up from the crowd. Darvyn’s pulse quickened as the bald man removed his hood. His fists tightened involuntarily at the sight of his mother’s murderer.

“Seeker Raal spent many years in far-flung places, searching for a stronger source of Nethersong. Over the years, he improved the extraction process substantially, discovering the right balance of serums to bring about a slow enough death to provide Nether to run the Great Machine and thus produce the quintessence blessed to us by Saint Dahlia. But the old way required hundreds of vessels. Men and women were continually infected and healed over and over again, coming near death and then being restored. It was slow and resource intensive. Inefficient.”

Many around him shook their heads, mumbling their agreement. Darvyn fought to keep his body steady as rage built within him.

“A new way was needed. By Saint Dahlia’s grace, we were able to make contact with a denizen of the World After over two years ago. He pointed us in the direction of a greater source of Nethersong—the death stone. But as you know, we had no success. Seeker Effram searched the seas for it, but it remained hidden.”

Roshon tensed beside him when another figure joined them up front, thin and blond. “He’s the one who captured us,” he whispered to Darvyn, a look of pure murder on his face.

“But then Seeker Raal and Seeker Ydaris located the Deathbringer,” the Instructor continued. He waved toward Kyara, lying motionless on the table. “A true Nethersinger is so rare and valuable. And the Machine is revitalized, powered by her essence, pulling the energy of death from her at more impressive rates than all our previous sources.

“Production of amalgamations is up sixty percent due to the increased quantity of quintessence being created. And the Great Machine is now powerful enough that we can open a portal to the World After and gain the knowledge we seek. We will bring back those who have crossed over to that world and, at last, learn the secrets of eternal life.”

Roshon shot Darvyn a glance full of skepticism and fear. Were they serious? Could their magic do such a thing?

“You all traveled here to bear witness to our greatest accomplishment! Let us wait no longer.”

The Instructor moved to the center of the room where an enormous lever jutted up from the floor. He pushed until it shifted forty-five degrees in the opposite direction, accompanied by the sound of gears and cranks churning. A great grinding whir began from beneath the floor, and the wooden boards shook from the vibration.

Kyara cried out softly; however, no one but Darvyn seemed to notice. This machine was responsible for draining her Song and using it along with the mysterious source of Earthsong to create their amalgamations. He’d never heard of quintessence before today, but whatever it was seemed vital to the Physicks.

He reached for Earthsong and felt a strange presence to the energy. Here in this room, its texture and vigor were different. Dully, he could sense a siphoning of the power and something more that he couldn’t quite define.

His gaze shot to the glowing brightness caged behind Kyara. It was difficult to make anything out, but he felt a draw toward the light.

What was it? Did it just move?

He blinked several times to try to clear his vision when the jangling of bells rang out overhead. The air below the ceiling rippled with a series of pulses and then began to shine. A brilliant golden mirror, like a pool of water reflecting the sky at dawn, opened. Though he could not see clearly into it, he got the sense of a flurry of motion on the other side.

The attention of the entire crowd was locked overhead. Roshon sucked in a breath when a tendril of black smoke slipped through the mirror and into the room. The undulating column of vapor churned, creeping through the air with jerky movements. It hovered for a few moments, then like a snake, darted toward Seeker Effram and disappeared inside him.

As one, the audience gasped. Effram jerked forward. His eyes clouded over and darkened until the whites were as black as if he’d been stricken with the plague. Then his whole face transformed, remolded itself into an entirely different image. Effram’s features rearranged themselves before their eyes. His skin and hair darkened and his eyes cleared. Now a slightly younger man stood before them. He was Pressian in appearance, with a toasty complexion and a shaved head. A mark of indenturing was tattooed onto the man’s scalp.

The crowd was rapt, motionless with wonder, until the possessed hands of Effram’s new body reached out from the folds of his cloak to grasp hold of the man next to him—Raal. The former Effram began choking the other Physick, growling low like an animal.

The Instructor broke out of his shock and moved to stop the attack, but before he’d taken two steps, his feet shot out from under him. He flew backward and smashed into the wall with a crack. Several people in the front row jumped up, some heading for the exit and some to lend aid. They were all tossed back into their seats, though, all without Effram—or whoever he was now—ever lifting a finger.

Screams rang out as the crowd realized that this joyous, momentous event had turned deadly. Not-Effram released Raal, who collapsed to the ground in a lifeless heap. Darvyn felt for the man’s energy, finding it gone. He was dead.

Chaos erupted as people stood and began trying to escape. Darvyn was on his feet, too, dragging Roshon behind him. “We have to get Kyara,” he said, leaping down the stairs.

More columns of black smoke pierced the shimmering hole in the air. One veered into a female Physick in the front. Her eyes blackened, and she transformed into a pale woman, another mark of indenturing emblazoned on the back of her neck. The possessed woman lurched forward, grabbing the closest Physick and pulling him up by his hair with incredible strength.

Others in the crowd were being possessed by the smoke and transforming before attacking their neighbors—punching, biting, kicking, choking. All the possessed became altered into tattooed servants, back from the World After and, by all appearances, intent on revenge.

Low incantations rose all around the auditorium, and power crackled through the air as some Physicks began using their magic against the attackers. Flashes of light and balls of fire flew through the air, poorly targeted and hastily created.

“Close the portal!” someone shouted.

Still more spirits entered the Living World from the World After, seeking hosts. Behind the stone table, the bright glow inside the cage dimmed slightly—enough for Darvyn to see that the light appeared to be in the shape of a man.

Darvyn raced toward Kyara as the illuminated form drew nearer to the boundary of the cage.

Behind you, a hushed voice whispered via Earthsong inside Darvyn’s head. He turned and ducked, pulling Roshon down, too, as a column of smoke barely missed their heads. The spirit veered and entered a Physick nearby.

Darvyn gulped and stumbled forward, finally reaching Kyara. She pulled and struggled against her bonds, bloodying her wrists.

“Kyara,” he said. She froze, staring at him. “Hold still, I’ll remove them.”

But her face was a mask of horror. Did she not recognize him?

He had no key with which to release her, so he drew his Song to him and crumbled the metal of the locks on the leather bands until they fell off. She jumped from the table, running around to place the stone between them. She leaped to the lever in the ground, then yanked it hard. The whirring below them stopped, and the golden hole in the air above shrank until it disappeared.

All the errant spirits had found bodies and were now battling against the remaining Physicks in the room as guards entered to fight the possessed. They battered the spirit hosts with the black cudgels, releasing blasts of sound that cracked bones on impact.

“Kyara, we have to get out of here,” Darvyn urged.

She whipped her head around, shock now tinged with fear. “Darvyn?” she asked, eyes wild.

“We need to find the others,” he said. He motioned to Roshon. When she looked at the young Elsiran, her brow descended in confusion.

“Get away from him, Roshon. He’s one of them,” she said.

Darvyn’s jaw dropped.

“One of who?” the teen asked.

“The dead … come back for revenge.” Her voice shook. She took another step back.

“No, Kyara,” Roshon pleaded. “I met him yesterday. He’s not a spirit. He’s here to help.”

Tears pooled in her eyes. She shook her head again, still backing away until she stepped into the path of a possessed Physick who had raced over with preternatural speed. The man grabbed her from behind and closed his hands around her neck.

Kyara’s eyes bugged. She clawed at the hands squeezing her, pushing and kicking as Darvyn and Roshon rushed to her aid.

Desperately, Darvyn grasped for his Song and vaulted forward, only to be thrown back by a bruising, invisible force. He was tossed across the floor and crashed into the cage of light. Its solid bars bit into his shoulder as his Song stuttered and began flowing out of him at an alarming rate. This cage must have possessed the same magic as the netting.

This time, though, he was able to pull away. Once he was no longer in contact with the bars, his Song stabilized, now much weaker. He struggled to his feet as the room spun. Roshon was down, as well, and Kyara still frantically fought her attacker. Her movements were furious. She had forced the possessed man backward until he was up against the cage of light. Then all of a sudden, Kyara was free and the man who’d been choking her lay slumped on the ground.

At the edge of the cage, the figure of light stood, dimmer than before. Darvyn could make out the shape of a man again but no features. Somehow, this being had stopped the possessed Physick.

Kyara gripped her neck, staring up through the bars of the cage. “Embrace the Light,” she whispered, eyes wide. Chaos still held the room in its grip as the fighting continued behind them.

“What?” Darvyn asked, approaching cautiously. She shot him a glance that said she still didn’t trust him and wasn’t sure he was really alive. He held up his hands to appease her.

“Your dream?” Roshon guessed, rising unsteadily to his feet.

Darvyn took control of his Song and checked the teen for injuries, healing a few fractured ribs.

“How do we release you?” Kyara asked the man of light.

The cage is powered by electricity.

Darvyn heard the voice clearly in his head. He jogged around the side of the cage to find the electricity source. A thick cable emerged from a hole in the floor and ended in a receptacle on the far wall.

“Watch my back,” he called to Roshon. Darvyn tugged at the cable, pulling it from the wall. The cage disappeared immediately, leaving only the bright, golden light in the shape of a man.

Kyara, Roshon, and Darvyn stared, the sound of fighting crashing around them in the background. In the blink of an eye, the man of light darted forward with blinding speed and took down each of the remaining possessed Physicks attacking the crowd. Each man or woman fell where they stood, unconscious, their bodies transforming back into their original selves. Whatever the man of light had done had banished the spirits.

He stood before them again where the cage had been, as if he’d never moved at all. His form was still too bright to see clearly, but he tilted his head to the side, regarding Darvyn.

“Who are you?” Darvyn asked.

“I am called Fenix. I thank you.” He spoke aloud in Lagrimari.

“How long have you been trapped here?” Kyara whispered.

Fenix turned to face her and dimmed until his light was nearly extinguished. In his place was a man, maybe in his late thirties, like no one Darvyn had ever seen before. His skin was the color of burnished gold and his eyes were fire. He wore light like clothing. “I have been a prisoner here for generations.”

“They stole your Song?” she asked.

He nodded sadly. “And trapped me in that form to do so.” A sparkling golden ripple disturbed the air behind him. The portal was almost identical to the portal to the World After, only smaller and not breeched by angry spirits. He turned toward it. “I must go now.”

“No!” Kyara cried. “In my dream, Mooriah said the Light is the only salvation. What did that mean? Did she mean you?”

Fenix’s impossibly bright eyes swirled orange and red and gold. “You have spoken to Mooriah?” His voice held a tinge of longing. He looked back at the shimmering rift in the air with an expression that appeared torn.

Fenix shook his head slightly and backed away from them. “I must go back now to renew my strength. But I will return. I owe you a debt.” He bowed formally and stepped toward the portal. “Tell Mooriah—” He shook his head, appearing unsure. “Tell her I vow to return.”

“Wait! Where do you come from? What are you?” Kyara asked. Darvyn’s mouth hadn’t closed since Fenix had been freed. He was impressed at her ability to articulate her questions when confronted with something so unbelievable.

But Fenix was gone in the blink of an eye, and the portal disappeared as soon as he stepped through it.

They were alone in the auditorium—the only ones conscious, at any rate. The possessed Physicks had done a lot of damage to the survivors of the onslaught. Darvyn considered healing them but thought better of it. There were others far more deserving of his power.

Kyara looked at him cautiously. He raised his hands in a defensive position. “If I were dead, I’d be attacking someone like all those others, right?”

Her brow furrowed. “You could be biding your time. I saw you die. I killed you.”

“What? No.” He took a step forward, longing for nothing more than to bring her into his arms, but her rigid body kept him at a distance. “Why do you think that?”

“Everyone died that day in Sayya. I killed them all!” she shrieked.

“No, you didn’t. Myself, Farron, Zango, all of us on the street, we woke up that day to find everything smashed to pieces, but no one died. There were cuts and bruises, some broken bones, but nothing more serious.”

She stared at him in shock for a moment, then crumpled in a heap, tears streaming down her face, desperate sobs wrenching themselves from her chest. Darvyn sank down beside her, holding her up and pulling her against his chest. Slowly her arms found their way around him.

“I’m flesh and blood. I’m real,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ve been looking for you.”

She looked up, hope shining in her eyes.

“Someone’s coming,” Roshon said from near the doorway, his voice low. Kyara took several stuttered breaths and then withdrew from Darvyn, still staring in awe as if she couldn’t believe he was real. She stood on wobbly legs and turned toward the door. Darvyn placed himself in front of her protectively, but she settled a hand on his arm as if to remind him who she was and then moved next to him.

Racing footsteps drew closer, and they stood side by side to face the new threat.