The Search for the Shadowsoul, page 20
And, if Shepherd Kipling really was the villain, that meant Percy hadn’t made a Shadowsoul. It meant that he hadn’t hurt anyone else.
“But he’s not a magical being,” Percy continued. “He must be experimenting with magical objects—he built that Disrupter and that Aether diviner, after all…. He’s figured out some way of casting that umbranox, and has those bizarre minions…”
Percy trailed off. He’d been speaking as quickly as Forest typically did, but the sugar glider didn’t seem enthused. (Though he did clutch Percy’s shoulder more tightly than normal while the wizard paced.)
“What’s wrong?” Percy asked. “We’ve figured it out!”
“I know,” Forest moaned, “but now we have to stop him alone!”
“You sound like Ignus,” Percy said. “What happened to leaping at your enemies and not minding the danger?”
Forest picked at Percy’s collar, not meeting his gaze. “I guess that sounded more exciting before we got here. By ourselves.”
Percy patted him on the head. “We can do this, Forest. Let’s split up and look around. Kipling might have left some other clues.”
“Maybe… maybe I can just stick with you?” Forest asked.
“Sure,” Percy said absently, scanning the area. He still held Faithful, which was something, but Kipling would try for it again, or search for another Earth item. He’d have to stop the Shepherd before he found one—or before he found Percy, or Merlynda and the others. Kipling had somehow known where to send his creatures after them. Percy shouldn’t underestimate him.
He paused his circling, took in a deep breath, and focused. He felt the Air all around him, the natural carrier of magical traces. He pushed past the Air and into the Aether, and magical threads lit up throughout the forest.
It was as if someone had taken an endless ball of yarn and strung it back and forth across the trees. Every strand represented a different magical item. Some descended from the tree branches high above, and others hovered inches above the ground. Many came from the gnarled tree and its runes, but they all led in one direction. Percy followed.
“Heya, Percy?” Forest asked. “So we’re definitely not waiting for the others? To help with Kipling? A really mean, bad, powerful magic-using person?”
The threads of magic wound together to form their own rope, twining together along a common path. It was beautiful, in a way, but Percy knew that at the end there was only sorrow and stolen magic. Forest glowed, still connected to nothing.
Percy swallowed. “I can’t let Merlynda put herself in danger,” he told Forest. “I need to take care of this before the others get here.” They were probably already on their way, but without Faithful it would take them some time.
The magical traces disappeared into an enormous tree, as all the others had.
The wizard stepped up to the trunk, inspecting it. “There must be a hidden latch or something,” he muttered. He lifted Forest from his shoulder and onto the trunk. “Can you see anything higher up? Maybe more runes?”
Forest jumped up onto the nearest branch. “Nope, nothing here.”
“At least try to look.”
“My familiar senses are telling me we should go back and wait for the others. That there’s some real evil scary stuff ahead.”
Percy ran his fingers over where the magical threads disappeared. The runes didn’t give off the same traces as Aether-imbued objects. But…
He pulled out Kipling’s bracelet once more. Iggy had said the runes felt uncomfortable, thorny, like forced magic. He used his own magic to slip into the Air around him, the Aether it led to, and the braided leather forming the bracelet. He sensed the jasper lodestones, and even the white beads, but the runes carved into them were… absent. No, not quite absent. Shifted somehow, like they were sitting on the beads, but also not.
He memorized that shiftedness, then adapted his senses to search for it.
The glowing threads fell away, replaced by others that were jagged and frayed. Odd, but the runes on the bracelet deepened, emanating that magical shift. Percy focused on this, on the prickle of forced magic.
On the tree before him, a line of runes materialized.
Percy almost shouted his success, but the Shepherd might be anywhere. The wizard felt the shape of the runes with his magic, how they cut into the tree, how they linked and connected with one another.
The waypoint runes needed anchors, just like lodestones did. So if these runes also needed a partner…
With Faithful still clutched in one hand, Percy held Kipling’s bracelet up to the runes with the other. He felt a slight tug from one of the beads as it answered the runes, and part of the tree trunk disappeared to reveal a descending spiral staircase.
“Come on, Forest,” Percy whispered. “Unless you’d rather stay behind?”
No self-respecting familiar would ever let their wizard walk into the jaws of danger alone, so Forest reluctantly jumped onto Percy’s shoulder, and they crept inside.
The stairs were carved directly into the tree, giving way to stone and rock farther down. Magical sconces, marked with more runes, lit the way. The scent of trees and soil gradually staled. All around him Percy sensed the forced and shifted rune magic.
They were deep, deep underground before the staircase opened into a wide natural cavern, large enough to fit all of Merlyn Manor and even some of the grounds. Water trickled somewhere, continuing on the ancient path that had carved the cave eons before.
Percy crept away from the stairs. Stretching into the cavern, rows and rows of shelves had been meticulously labeled and organized, like it was Kipling’s own library, or museum. Percy recognized the chalice the Shepherd had originally presented to the Round Table as Hollowed. There was a shelf lined entirely with various elemental stones and focuses. It seemed Kipling needed every object imaginable to fulfill his dastardly plan—whatever that was.
The wizard snuck on. Beyond the shelves, a large worktable was set up near the center of the cavern, covered with tools and contraptions and a mountain of embroidery thread spools. Glass vials, glowing with emerald energy, were meticulously labeled and tucked away in a large cabinet.
An eerie green light washed over the table. Percy searched for its source and gasped.
An enormous glass sphere full of a swirling emerald cloud hung from the ceiling. Runes were meticulously emblazoned across the canister’s surface. Silver chains strung across the ceiling connected it to smaller glass containers, full of the same emerald glow and rune markings.
Percy sensed the power in the containers—Aether. Not the pure Aether currently lacing through him, through Merlynda, through all who were of or connected to magic. This was forced, unformed, chaotic.
Beyond the worktable, directly below the sphere, was a round, slightly raised platform. Four pedestals, each carved with runes, were set along the edges of the platform at precise intervals. Resting on three of the pedestals were a horn of obvious magical ability, an elegant ocarina, and—
“Merlynda’s staff!” Percy cringed as his outburst carried across the cavern. The Aether overhead hummed in its sphere. All else was silent.
He started toward the platform, but footsteps sounded behind him from the stairs. He hurried to crouch in the shadows behind the shelves.
Kipling strode forward, skin paler than ever in the eerie lighting, in contrast to his dark red curly hair. His tunic was less formal than when he’d been in the presence of Round Table members, but still beautifully embroidered.
The Shepherd—though, Percy thought he ought to be stripped of his title now—approached his worktable, selected a tool, and got to work, apparently none the wiser about the wizard’s intrusion.
Percy backed away, keeping a tight grip on Faithful. Hopefully the hum of the Aether masked his steps. If he could circle around, he’d be able to catch the Shepherd off guard and recover the stolen items. He’d be able to stop Kipling from Hollowing ever again.
The wizard slipped down the shelves, then paused. He was now surrounded by row upon row of tiny wool hats and mittens. Kipling didn’t strike him as a doll maker. But they were exactly the right size for…
“Forest.” Percy fervently hoped his voice didn’t carry, but this was too important to wait.
The sugar glider poked his head out from where he’d been quivering in Percy’s collar. “Yeah?”
“The creatures that stole Merlynda’s staff and Faithful. They skitter. And leap.”
“Yeah?” Forest said again, quieter.
“They’re sugar gliders, aren’t they?”
Silence.
Percy tried to keep his voice steady, soft. “Aren’t they?”
“… Yeah.”
A tangle of feelings that Percy hadn’t known since he’d been the Hollower surged within him. Anger, shame, resentment—all of these writhed together, pressing sharply against him as they sought to escape.
Strongest was the pain of betrayal slicing him, stealing his breath. He’d known that Forest had secrets, but Percy had thought that he and the not-familiar were friends.
He grabbed the sugar glider with his free hand and held him up. “You led them to us,” he hissed.
“Never!”
“Were you helping Kipling this whole time?”
“No! Percy—”
“I’ve known you were lying,” Percy bit out. He felt only the tangle, the need to hurt in return. “You’re no familiar. You never were, and never will be. So who are you?”
“I—” Forest’s eyes welled up, then went wide. “Look out!”
Percy dove to the side as a golden bolt lanced into the shelves where he’d been standing. He hit the cavern ground hard, but kept his grip on Faithful. Forest slipped from his grasp, leaving his starry cloak behind in Percy’s hand. The sugar glider disappeared into the shadows.
Percy scrambled to his feet and whirled around, dropping Forest’s cloak. He quickly summoned an Aether shield to block another bolt.
Shepherd Kipling stood at the end of the aisle, annoyance on his face. He wore a leather gauntlet covered in gold embroidery, pointed at Percy. Some of the thread fizzled out. “Now, that’s hardly fair, Percy. I haven’t got an unlimited supply of magic like you. Do you know how long it takes to embroider a single bolt?”
Percy kept his shield up. The thread on the gauntlet must have been embroidered into runes, and each rune represented a bolt. He wished he could see how many Kipling had left. “The Round Table is on their way,” Percy lied. “They know everything.”
The elf laughed. “If that were true, they’d be here instead of you. Now, be a good Hollower and hand me that dagger.”
Percy gripped Faithful tighter, reinforcing his Aether shield. “No.” He was hesitant to use more of his magic while the chaotic emerald Aether raged above. Could his magic even mix with runework? It was too much of a risk, especially if the glass sphere broke and the Aether leaked into the lair.
Kipling sighed. “I recognize that look. It’s exactly the same as when you stepped in to defend Merlynda when I tried to steal the staff at the de-Hollowing.”
Percy narrowed his eyes. No one had tried to steal her staff at the last de-Hollowing.
But there had been a brief scuffle shortly after their return from the Omnivia. A faun who had claimed Merlynda was holding out on him had tried to take her staff. “You were the faun at the first de-Hollowing. Disguised.”
Kipling sauntered closer, and Percy backed away, wary. He didn’t know what other tricks the Shepherd might have.
“Yes. And when Merlynda refused to restore what’s mine, I decided to expand my research.”
Percy remembered the little flat white tiles the faun—Kipling—had shown them. “She didn’t refuse. There was nothing to restore.”
“Nothing?” Kipling snarled. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect the Hollower to consider a fellow wizard much of anything.”
Percy shrank back, keeping the Aether shield between him and Kipling. The Shepherd was forcing him farther away from the cavern’s exit. “Fellow wizard?” he hazarded.
Kipling stalked closer. “My grandfather. You Hollowed him before I was born, before even my mother was born. You stole his magic. Our family legacy.”
Guilt rose in Percy, braiding with the tangle, the squeezing. Magic was almost always hereditary. He had altered the course of Kipling’s life before it had begun. “I’m sorry,” Percy said, knowing an apology wouldn’t be enough.
“You’ve carried a piece of him with you, these past days,” Kipling said. “I need it back.”
Percy thought he would know if he’d had pieces of a dead wizard with him. All he’d had was— “Your bracelet? It’s… a family heirloom?”
“Not a family heirloom. Family.” Kipling reached into his pocket, and Percy tensed, but the Shepherd only pulled out the same white tiles the faun had brought so many months ago. “These are all I have left of him.”
The tiles matched Kipling’s bracelet. “Beads?” Percy asked.
“Truly, your sister is the scholar,” the elf said dryly. “Not beads. Bones. Carved into more manageable shapes.”
“Bones?” Percy almost dropped his Aether shield. Even as the Hollower, bonecraft was a line he had refused to cross.
That must have been what the Dread Count Nyx had meant, when the necromancers had first attacked. We sense the bones you carry. Kipling hadn’t asked Merlynda to de-Hollow tiles. He’d asked her to de-Hollow his grandfather’s bones.
Kipling fired two bolts in rapid succession. The first broke Percy’s shield. The second grazed his shoulder.
He cried out as a buzz tore through him, shaking his magic, his connection to the Aether.
The Whisper Snare cracked.
He tried to summon the Aether, but his magic felt crumbly. All that came were sparks.
Underground lairs are so last century, Morgan whispered through the break, but I like this elf’s style.
Percy scrambled down an aisle. His magic was still there—a glancing blow wasn’t enough to fully cut him from the Aether, apparently—but he couldn’t sort his buzzing magic out with Morgan echoing through his mind, and he couldn’t shut Morgan away with Kipling after him.
He shouldn’t have come alone, even if his goal had been to keep others safe. His arrogance was partly what had led to him becoming the Hollower, and here he’d given in to it again. Foolish! He clutched Faithful as Kipling stepped into view once more.
“I didn’t expect you to escape the Round Table. Very clever, that. I had to lead the others on a convincing chase away from my research.” Kipling flexed his gauntleted hand. “I’m glad I prepared for your arrival, just in case.”
Percy cast about for a way to stall. The bones nagged at him—if he’d Hollowed Kipling’s grandfather, then wouldn’t Merlynda’s staff have restored their Aether? Or did that not work on bones? Or had something else gone wrong, since it had been their first de-Hollowing? “If all you want is to restore magic to your grandfather’s bones, why the Disrupter?”
A smile twisted Kipling’s face. “Vengeance, for one.”
Percy threw himself down another aisle, narrowly dodging another bolt. He hurtled out past the shelves—he’d gotten turned around, been led too far away from the stairs!—and found himself near the worktable. He grabbed a few of the meticulously labeled vials and stuffed them into his pockets. He was defenseless, and willing to try anything.
Use my power, Percival. His tricks are nothing compared to true magic.
Percy felt Morgan pushing gently, offering help. He shoved her away, but the act felt slippery through the buzzing still rattling his body, confusing his connection to the Aether.
Kipling spun out from behind a life-sized centaur statue and fired off another golden bolt. Percy lurched aside and threw a vial. It shattered at Kipling’s feet, who stumbled back as it erupted into a small whirlpool. The vortex sucked in the full shelves, merging the contents into a writhing tentacled mass of Hollowed objects.
They stretched for Kipling, but he shot another bolt from his gauntlet. The tentacles burst into a plume of emerald smoke and rose to the ceiling—free-floating, chaotic Aether.
“The second reason,” the Shepherd said calmly, “was to lure out Merlynda.”
“What do you want with Merlynda?” Percy shouted, not bothering to hide his anger. He ducked behind another shelf, but not before he’d noticed that Kipling’s gauntlet still had plenty of gold thread left.
“Her staff. I’d never manage to steal it with you both confined to Merlyn Manor. But if you were to be framed, punished for something you hadn’t done—well, she’d already proven she’d go to the ends of the known world and beyond for you. Surely she’d escape the manor to find a way to prove your innocence.”
Kipling darted into the aisle, and Percy threw another vial at him. A gold bolt met the vial in midair, exploding into half-melted candles and grass cuttings, sending more wisps of Aether to float above them.
The Shepherd brushed grass from his clothes as Percy dashed farther away. “We nearly had you all at the Lake of Cantor. All I needed was the dagger. Your friend pretending to be you was clever, by the way.”
Percy crouched behind a rusting suit of armor that held a taxidermied goose. He squeezed his eyes shut against Morgan’s pressing.
“I’ve new plans for your sister,” the Shepherd called. “I assume Merlynda is on her way here? She really would do anything for you.”
Percy didn’t answer.
“I thought as much. Give me the dagger, Percy. You’d be protecting her.”
Percy wrenched his focus away from Morgan and sprinted to the stairs. He was so close, nearly free—
A tower of shelves crashed into the aisle before him. He scrambled away as Kipling stepped over them.
You can’t do this alone, Percival! Take my power, and we’ll end him together.
No!
Morgan’s whispers were shouts, mingling with Percy’s fear for his sister. He tripped over a small Hollowed cauldron, then stumbled away. He never should have left Merlynda that scoungering charm. He had to get out, had to warn her—
