Sacrifice (Catalyst Moon #5), page 27
“Do not worry, Milo,” Sarkiss said. “Baat and Etia long ago tired of traipsing through a human city just to swim in these waters. They took advantage of human ingenuity and now have the spring water piped directly to their quarters. Apparently, the result is the same.”
Milo frowned over this. “Is it? Do you have a magic bath as well?”
Sarkiss gave another weary chuckle. “I feel closer to the source of our magic here, immersed in our world’s lifeblood, than I do in some porcelain tub. Besides, I like the privacy of my garden.” They grew serious once more. “Listen to me, Milo. If Baat has designs on Kali, she is in great danger. He always gets what he sets his intention toward, although I cannot say why he has not already claimed her for his own. I would speculate that someone is protecting her, but only one of us Elders could shield her from him. You should warn her.”
Kali had mentioned Baat’s interest, but Milo thought it best to keep that to himself. Pig nuzzled his neck and he sat back down, absently stroking the kit as he tried to think through his confusion. “What do you mean,” he said slowly, “Baat wants to claim her? Like…” He pulled a face. “In his bed?”
Sarkiss made a short, sharp sound that echoed off the trees and made Pig’s ears flatten. “Baat is well past those days. No, Milo, he does not want Kali for her body in the way you think. He wants her magic. She can pull power from one place to another, you see. I think you are familiar with that?” They eyed Milo’s left arm and Milo nodded mutely. “Long have Baat and Etia been suspicious of mages, but only now do they realize the potential of human magic.”
“Only now?” Milo asked, thinking of Sadira’s boundless fire.
“Our lives are long. Much, much longer than yours. And mages are still so new. When we first encountered humans with these strange new abilities, we decided it was wisest to keep them all contained while we observed their behavior. But it seems,” they sighed, “the only constant is change. We are all old, Milo. Etia and Baat are making their own arrangements, as must I.”
Gold eyes fell upon Milo again, and Milo went cold. “You want me,” he whispered. “My…body.”
“The process is not painful,” Sarkiss said gently. “Though for me it will be complicated, you will feel nothing more than a tingling. The one whose body I inhabit now likened it to a limb falling asleep.”
“But…” Milo leaned his cheek against Pig, as if the raccoon kit could help him understand this madness. “Why me?” he managed.
“You are a new soul, untouched by lifetimes of grief, bitterness, and corruption.” Sarkiss looked at their lap and if Milo hadn’t known any better, he would have sworn the Pillar was nervous. “It is rare to find one such as you, Milo. Strong, yet gentle. Wise, yet innocent. Your soul is new and your heart is pure.”
“Well, I’m not sure about all that,” Milo said. “But if I don’t want you…driving my body, or whatever you’re saying, are you going to kill me? Or…” He struggled to recall. “Sweep away my memories, like you tried to do the other day?”
“You passed that test,” Sarkiss replied wryly. “Annoying and delightful – the sum of you, I think.”
Even though the concepts of glimmers and magic were not new to Milo, he still fought the urge to run. But where he could seek safety, he did not know. “So…you’re not going to kill me?”
“No, my boy,” Sarkiss said. “A vessel is best used if all parties are in accord. Consider the thralls; the younger Fata who create them do so with little understanding of how to, for lack of a better word, live as a human. And even if they did, there is no safe place for their souls to cross over to Hiraeth, so the young ones have had to do so wherever they can. It’s like crossing a river with no bridge. Meridians, thus, are willing hosts; a bridge between worlds, anchors in a stormy sea.
“The Elders—myself and the other Pillars—can indeed steal what is not freely given, and we have at times, but for a connection to be strong, to last… We must find a willing soul to join with.”
Milo’s left hand twitched. “But I’m broken.” He recalled the glimmer stories he’d heard and felt a tendril of something like hope. “Can’t your kind heal any hurt? Could you fix me?”
Sarkiss regarded him. “For one, Milo, you are not broken. You are different than you once were, but you are more than the sum of your body parts. For another… No, as powerful as I am, I cannot heal you the way you want, at least not in this realm.”
“Is there another realm where you could?” Milo pressed.
“Not without killing both of us in the process. Even if we could travel there, it would take all of my strength to fully return, and you would not survive the journey.” Sarkiss spoke as if they talked of visiting the next province.
“This must be what going mad feels like.” Milo pressed a hand to his spinning head. It said a lot about his life that the reality of Sarkiss being a Fata was the least strange part of this ordeal.
“It’s quite a lot to take on, I know,” Sarkiss said. “And I would not have burdened you now, but…” They looked at the glowing spring. “I’m weaker than I realized. I could barely touch the river. If I don’t take precautions now, the others will kill me for certain.”
“Baat and Etia?” Milo asked.
“Yes. For with my death, my power will be released back to the river, and thus theirs for the taking. All these centuries, I have kept it from them, for once I was as strong as they. We all had a truce, albeit an uneasy one. But we are all old now, fighting for scraps of life.” They sighed again. “Tor was right.”
Milo barely heard the god’s name, for he was trying too hard to follow the Pillar’s words. “Can’t you…stop the other Fata from possessing people and making thralls?” He sat up, his heart racing. “Do that, let me and my friends come here alone, and I’ll consider letting you…drive me like a carriage.”
A fool’s bargain, perhaps, but if he had leverage, he needed to use it.
Sarkiss studied him and then let loose a laugh that echoed off the stone walls. “Right now, I cannot stop the younger Fata any more than you can stop the tide. No one can, from what I can sense, for their hearts are too full of anger for anything else to flow. They seek only to destroy what we have worked so hard to build.”
“But if you were to inhabit me,” Milo said. “You’d have the power to stop the other Fata. Right?”
“No. The other Elders and I can slow them, we can confuse and scatter them, but we cannot snuff them out, though the One god knows Baat has tried. Tor protects the younger Fata, you see. And while he exists, we can do no more than what we have done.”
This was too much. “Tor…like, Tor?”
“Aye.” Sarkiss’s smile hid a secret, but the expression faded. “He is like me, like us, but he…made a different choice. I thought him a fool for so long, but now I realize my error.” The Pillar rose abruptly and went to the spring’s edge, peering down into the glowing water. “Can this be called living?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” Sarkiss glanced back at Milo. “The transfer of my spirit won’t hurt you. It will be strange and confusing at first, and ultimately you will not be the same person you are now. I have memories and knowledge far beyond your understanding. I can sense others’ hearts like you hear music or smell various flowers in a garden. It will take some time for you to adjust. But I think we could have a peaceful coexistence. With my power and influence, and your kind heart, I think we could do a great deal of good.”
Milo stared at one of the holiest folks in the world, whose damp robes clung to a spindly frame. A rabbit had emerged from the brush to lay at Sarkiss’s feet, and a few hummingbirds floated around their head. Other creatures stirred in the grove as well, as if drawn to the ancient Fata Elder.
It was all so bizarre. A part of Milo hoped this conversation was a dream, a byproduct of the candied figs he and Pig had shared late last night.
But his heart knew the truth, even if his mind didn’t like it. “Why me?” he asked again. “Why not a mage, if they’re so powerful?”
“Too much power corrupts,” Sarkiss replied. “Your friend Kali could tell you so.”
Aye, and Milo had seen what the thrall possession had done to Kali, how she longed for power even after the Fata were gone. She’d told him what she’d done at Stonehaven; he hadn’t had the words to reply. “Baat isn’t afraid of that…corruption?”
Sarkiss stretched out a hand, and a wren landed upon a spindly finger. “Much the opposite, I’m afraid. The One has a dark sense of humor.” The Pillar sighed and stroked the bird’s tiny head. “I have warned Baat, you know. I too feel the hunger for magic, even though I have not myself tasted it. I know it is a hunger that, for my kind, can never be sated. But Baat ignores me. Frankly, it’s preferable to when he shows interest.”
The wren flew away as Sarkiss returned to Milo and sagged into the bench. “I’m tired, Milo. Old and worn, like a shoe that has been mended too many times. I think, perhaps, it is time to let go of this life. But I would like my next meridian to be someone good, someone who will at least try to set right what we Elders have wronged.”
Milo shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“You will.” Sarkiss smiled at him again. “Think on what I have said. As a further sign of my goodwill, you have my permission to return here, at any time. Kali is welcome, too. I presume,” they drawled, “Kali is the one who wishes to see this place?”
Milo flushed. “Aye.”
“Then the journal had its intended effect. Bring her here whenever you like, but please bring her to me before too long. Ah, don’t frown at me so, Milo. I mean her no harm; I only wish to speak with her. I was not given the chance when last we met.”
“You’re not going to try to influence her, are you?” Milo tapped his temple to indicate the Pillar’s strange magic.
“She will not be in danger in my presence.” Sarkiss smiled. “Run along now, Milo. The One keep you.”
Milo rose but frowned down at the old glimmer. “Fata believe in the One?” That was a whole other bag of cats he had yet to consider – if he even could.
Sarkiss looked back at the pool and did not answer.
TWENTY-THREE
The evening after Kali’s encounter with Stonewall, she stood in the Pillar’s private grove. Seren’s light drifted down through the trees, settling upon Kali like silk on bare skin as she stared back up at the mage moon. The branches of the silverwood trees reached like antlers toward the starry sky, their wispy leaves trembling in the night breeze; but then the largest branches curved back down, plunging into the earth like fists, creating a domed effect throughout the forest. So thick were the trees, Kali couldn’t make out the cityscape beyond the walls. She inhaled the scent of jessamin somewhere close by, thick and heady like the sweetest biri smoke. Despite the steady breeze, the air was warm.
She glanced at Milo and Naree. The priestess stared open-mouthed up at the trees, while Milo was looking back at the gate, which the guards had closed behind them.
“I still can’t believe they let us in,” Kali murmured, for it felt wrong to speak in normal tones amid such beauty.
Color crept to Milo’s cheeks. “Ah…about that.”
Tal, who had been scanning the forest in the watchful way of sentinels, gave him a sharp look. “Is there a problem?”
He scowled at his former commander and looked very much like Flint as he did, but spoke to Kali. “I should have mentioned this earlier, but Sarkiss…wants to speak with you. At your convenience.”
“Well, they missed their chance,” Kali began.
But Milo shook his head. “I think you ought to. I think you’d be interested in what they have to say.”
Kali frowned at him, but she had too much on her mind now to argue. “We’ll see. Let’s get through this, first.” She peered through the trees again. A faint blue glow beckoned from the garden’s heart. “Is that the spring?”
Milo nodded and ushered them forward, and the unlikely companions stepped onto the main path.
The silverwood trees struck Kali mute. Though they were not nearly as massive as the oaks in Dilt, they seemed bigger, somehow. Perhaps it was because they were just themselves, not outfitted for human inhabitants. Her knee ached, so she let Milo and Naree go ahead while she leaned occasionally against the trees for support. The grove seemed to continue forever, perhaps even more so due to her habitually slow pace. But even though she’d been so anxious to arrive, and to bring Stonewall back to this world, she didn’t mind her own slowness, for every moment here was one of discovery. A moth fluttered by her cheek, coming to rest on the speckled purple lichen on the closest tree. Some trees were bare, their smooth bark pale as a moon. Others boasted a rainbow of colors: mosses of purple, saffron, pink, and light blue. The silverwood leaves were slowly turning green from winter’s silver; the books said these trees never shed their leaves, but simply shifted their colors. Perhaps they were shape-changers, like Eris.
The thought of her friend sent a pang through Kali’s heart, for there was a strong chance she’d never see Eris again. Nor Sadira, for that matter, though Kali had hope. A day after arriving at Naree’s home, she’d sent a message to Sadira and Beacon in Pillau, but had not yet received a response. Most of her friends, it seemed, were scattered across the world – or at least, out of her reach.
The shape of her life; as familiar as it was depressing.
A presence at her side made her tense, but it was only Tal, hovering in that uncertain way she had when she wanted to be helpful but didn’t know how. “Kalinda?”
Tal’s presence was as unrelenting as the ache in Kali’s knee, but not, Kali was realizing, as unwelcome.
“I know, I know,” Kali sighed. “I need to stop woolgathering.”
A half-smile touched Tal’s mouth. “You rushed us out of Naree’s home almost the instant you got Milo’s message. This,” she gestured to the surrounding trees, “is what you wanted. Stonewall is waiting for you.”
Kali placed a palm against the nearest tree. Now that she was here, now that he was almost within reach, she found herself oddly eager for a distraction; a deep breath before a plunge into icy, murky waters.
Would Stonewall come back to her, after the awful things she’d said?
She exhaled. “I just need a moment.”
Although she’d avoided using her magic since Stonehaven, she couldn’t let this chance pass by. She dove her attention into the particles of the silverwood tree beneath her palm. Solid, sturdy, like most trees Kali had encountered: whorled woodgrain knotted in some places, smooth in others. Each particle was insignificant when compared to the tree itself, but they were all parts of the same whole. Particles were the tree, the grass beneath her feet, the air in her lungs. She breathed out and a sense of calm swept through her. She was the same as the tree, as the wind that teased her hair, as the former sentinel at her side.
“By the One,” Tal breathed. “What have you done?”
Kali’s eyes flew open. Tal’s head was craned up, her eyes wide. When Kali followed her gaze, she gasped. The treetop…glittered. There was no other word for it. Scintillating light of all colors danced among the leaves, fluttering with the breeze. As they watched, the dancing lights spread from the tree they stood beneath to its root-neighbors, and then to the rest of the grove in view. Rainbow light frolicked through the trees, surrounding Kali and Tal. On the path ahead, Milo and Naree exclaimed in wonder.
Energy trickled into Kali, like the tree itself was feeding her spirit. A pulse of light flared beneath her hand and she nearly lifted it from the tree, as if the bark could burn. But there was no pain, only an opalescent play of color and light beneath her palm, bright enough to illuminate the shadows of her bones. Then she risked pulling her hand back and stared at the shimmering imprint of her palm splayed upon the silverwood tree; an echo of her magic, or a response to it?
Wonder flooded Kali as she stared at the display and her eyes pricked with hot tears. But for the first time in far too long, her tears were not bitter. Magic was a burden, yes, but perhaps it was also a gift. Like a sword, she could use it for good or ill; she knew this, but doubt and grief and fear had buried the knowledge. Regardless, magic was a part of her as surely as her blood and bones, and she could no more turn away from it than she could cut off her own head and survive.
Artéa Arvad, the first recorded mage, had written of the silverwood trees, but she had never mentioned this luminous behavior. Perhaps the trees had been too ill to respond like this, or perhaps they had, but Arvad had not believed the sight. Kali pressed her hand back to the tree. The bark glowed beneath her touch, illuminating opalescent veins within the tree and sending a thrill of strength and magic through her own blood. More tears streaked down her face, but she didn’t care. This feeling… It at once sated her latent hunger for magic and answered the lonely cry in her heart. I am here. You are here. We are kindred.
Tal had removed one glove. She, too, touched the bark, and a faint, answering glimmer pulsed beneath her bare hand. Joy and grief mingled on her face, naked, and an answering swell of emotion rolled through Kali.
Tal’s eyes were wet. “Da would have loved this.”
Kali gazed back at the glittering leaves, the gently pulsing opal-veined bark. Kindred.
The tightness in her chest eased a tiny bit, and she smiled despite her stupid, endless tears. “Stonewall will, too.” She motioned toward the blue glow ahead. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Stonewall threw his head back and gazed at the river of souls one last time. The sight of the Shadowlands had once sent his vision spinning, but now he felt no more than a soft sway, like standing on a boat upon glassy waters. In his mind’s eye, the thread that bound him to Kali was stretched too thin and too tight, although it still glowed.
The glow gave him hope. Perhaps he’d not destroyed any chance of reconciliation, but if he was going to repair the bond he’d shattered, he needed to return to her first. All he needed was a signal from Kali—a thought, a dream, or anything—and he’d make his way back to her.
