“As much as some of us might have cause to hate her, this girl isn’t a monster. She was as much a victim in this as we were. Lilly would not have asked for her death. She would have begged us to forgive her…” Peter stopped. “That’s all I have.”
Gram started to rise, but Rose put her hand on his shoulder, urging him to wait, and then he saw Sir Cyhan approaching the bench. His eyes widened in surprise.
The old warrior’s face looked as though it had been carved from stone, until his lips began to move, “You all know me, or know of me. I have served Lothion for most of my life, first in service to Edward Carenval, our late king, and then in service to our good Count.
“I have spent my life fighting. As a boy I was taught to fight from an early age and my first step into manhood was killing the bastard that raped my sister, my own teacher. As a man I trained others to fight, cruelly and without mercy, as I was taught. I did not believe in mercy, or compassion. I thought this world was cold and without joy.
“I fully expected to die as I had lived, violently. I yearned for it, for I hated myself. I hated my failures. I mourned for the sister that I hadn’t protected. I avenged her, but it never gave me any satisfaction. It only left me empty, facing a life of meaningless brutality.
“I sought refuge in honor, but it did not shield me, and it was only some joke played by the cosmos that I somehow wound up in the service of the Count di’Cameron. Years later, I have discovered that there is more to this life, much more. But still, most of it had nothing to do with me.
“I had no wife, nor the will to take one. I had no family, only a few friends and a long life ahead of me. Instead of a violent death, I began to see that I might be forced to live long and die alone.
“And then…,” Cyhan stopped, his deep voice trembling. “And then, I found out I had a daughter. I’ve never been a husband even, much less a father, but somehow, I have a daughter. A daughter that was raised without me, who suffered without me, who was tormented just as my sister was, and even named after her.”
A great choking sob rose from his chest then, while tears streamed down his cheeks. “I met her without knowing, without really looking at her, and now I see her, and despite everything, she’s beautiful.” He bowed his head for a moment, but he didn’t step down. “And she’s done some terrible things, because I wasn’t there for her. I never had the chance to help her.
“I’ve never had a family, but now I have a daughter, and I am begging you to please, please let her live. Let me have the chance to know her. Don’t take the first good thing to happen to me in this life away. I will pay any price to keep her.”
Cyhan looked directly at David Summerfield then, “I know you’ve been wronged. But if you need justice, take my life, Mister Summerfield. Just give her a chance…”
There were no dry eyes left by then. The big knight could no longer continue, he stood now, head down and shoulders quaking. The Count started to rise, to go to him, but Gram was there first.
Unsure what to do, Gram didn’t address the judge, but he looked across the room, “I wanted to say something too, but he said it all.” Putting a gentle hand on his teacher’s back, Gram led Cyhan back to his place.
No one else came forward after that, so eventually Judge Watson looked toward the Count, “Your Excellency, if I may have a word with you?”
Mordecai rose and the two men left the room. It was ten minutes before they returned.
The judge addressed the court again, “My sentence is that Jasmine Darzin shall serve six months in Lancaster’s dungeon for the crime of kidnapping. Thereafter she will be given her parole to serve five more years in the Count di’Cameron’s household. For the terrible wrong done to Master Tucker’s family, she will pay him fifty gold marks. The Count has graciously agreed to pay that sum immediately and her service with him may extend beyond her parole until she has repaid the debt.
“This court is now ended.”
Epilogue
Cassandra beat her wings strongly as she dropped toward the mountainside, making her landing as gentle as possible.
Moira and her father clambered down from her back to stare up the slope at the opening to the cave where her unfortunate adventure had begun.
“I had more trouble finding it again than I thought I would,” said Mordecai. “All these damn mountains look the same.”
“You should have waited and let me come with you,” replied Moira. Her father had searched for and found the cave where he had been captured weeks before, while she and her mother were in Dunbar, but today he had asked her to return with him one more time, ostensibly to share her observations with him. She could tell he had other motivations however, it was impossible to hide such things from her these days.
He’s nervous, she observed, following him into the cave.
Mordecai was shielding himself more tightly than ever, preventing her from seeing anything more than his surface emotions. That in itself was remarkable to her; not the fact that he was shielding himself so carefully, her father had always been almost fanatical about that habit, probably as a result of his years of struggle and conflict. What was interesting was that since her trip to Dunbar she could now read his emotions despite his shields.
Since her return home she had noticed many such changes in herself. People were open books to her now, even the residents of Castle Cameron, who all wore pendants to protect their minds from intrusion. The enchanted necklaces had been a defense created during the time when shiggreth roamed the land, but they had kept her from seeing into people’s minds as a child.
Now, they only served as a sort of hazy interference, like looking through a gauze curtain.
Her father’s mental shield was more effective, but she could still see his mood, and today he was nervous.
They entered the last cavern and he glanced around before speaking to her, “This is where it happened. Can you feel it?”
She nodded, walking to the spot that she and Matthew had examined the first time they had been there, “It was right here.”
Her father watched her, “Does it feel different now than it did then?”
Moira frowned, “What do you mean?”
“When you and Matthew were here, you said that he made a point of the fact that the magic was trans-dimensional, or as he calls it, ‘translation magic’. Does it feel different to you now than it did that day?”
She opened her mind more fully, probing the area, before nodding, “It’s much stronger than it was then. What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know. I’m almost certain there has been another crossing, but I have no way of knowing who or what, or even which way,” explained Mordecai.
Her eyes widened, “You don’t think…?”
He held up a hand, “Before we talk about what may be, I want to know if you can feel anything that I cannot.”
“We both have magesight…”
“But you are a Centyr mage, and I know for a fact that the various families sometimes sense things differently. Walter, for example, was always able to spot the shiggreth much more easily than I could, despite my better range and sensitivity.”
She saw a faint flash through his shield when he said the word ‘Centyr’, a hollow echo that might be fear. Is he afraid of me, of what I am? What did she tell him? Is this a test? “I can try,” she answered.
Kneeling she put her hands on the floor in the approximate center of the magical traces. It was definitely stronger now, but she had no way of knowing whether it represented something coming to their world, or something leaving it. All she knew for sure was that it was her brother’s translation magic, gradually fading over time. There was a feeling of curiosity present as well.
She stared up at her father as her face lit up with understanding, “It was Matt. He did this.”
“Then we can likely assume that this was him leaving, rather than the reverse,” said Mordecai.
“He went alone. Why is he so stupid!?” cursed Moira. “What was he
thinking?”
“I don’t know for sure, but he probably meant to trace the source of the enemy you met in Dunbar,” said Mordecai.
“He has no idea how dangerous they are. No one does,” she replied, venting her frustration. She had continued to have bad dreams since her return from Dunbar.
Her father gave her an enigmatic smile, “You might be surprised.”
“What does that mean?”
“You named them ANSIS when we spoke before; that is a name that has meaning to me. It is a name that has particular significance to the She’Har.”
He was talking about the memories he had inherited. Memories passed down from one Illeniel to the next over thousands of years, the gift, or possibly the curse, gained by Tyrion Illeniel long ago. Memories that stretched even farther back than human history, for they were the memories of the She’Har and their roots had their beginnings long before they had come to this world.
“All that happened a long time ago,” said Moira. “How could it be relevant to this?”
Her father’s face changed, becoming earnest, “Before we talk about that we need to discuss something else.”
“You mean what you really brought me here for,” she said, somewhat anxiously.
“About what happened to you in Halam.”
Moira took a deep breath, “It didn’t happen to me, I happened to them.” She had been expecting this conversation for days, now that it was finally happening she felt her fear actually decreasing.
“I spoke with your mother.”
She knew he meant the other Moira, the one that had survived over more than a thousand years just to make sure she could someday find a new family for her. The one that knew the rules regarding her special type of magic.
“Did she tell you what the penalties are for manipulating other people’s minds and memories?” he asked.
Moira shook her head, “Not specifically. It was years ago, but she gave me the impression they were rather serious.”
“How about the personal consequences of using such power?”
A vision of her hand, covered in black scales with fingertips that ended in sharp claws, appeared in her mind as a surge of adrenaline sent a shock of fear up her spine. He knows. She suppressed the fear but she found herself almost unconsciously sizing him up. The shields around his body and mind were considerable. She could get through them, but it would take time, time in which he would be fighting fiercely. Would he kill her before she could get through them? If I can get through, this could end well for both of us.
Moira! Get ahold of yourself. What are you thinking? cautioned Myra. He’s our father!
“No, but I think I understand them now,” she said. “I’ve changed inside.”
“You know I love you, right? That I will always love you,” he said sadly. There were tears in his eyes.
The sight shocked her and her own defensive anger vanished, replaced by feeling of sad longing, of empathy. “I love you too, Dad.” She had lied before; she had remembered the penalties that her mother had spoken of. He was planning to kill her. “I’m sorry.”
“Tell me about it, about what you’ve been feeling.”
“What?”
“You aren’t the only one that has been through the fire. I’ve done things that harrow the soul, things that wake me up in the middle of the night, sweating and fearful. I don’t know what you’ve experienced, but I can probably empathize. Share it with me, tell me what you’ve been going through. I want to know what’s happening inside you,” he explained.
She bowed her head, “Is there any point?”
“More than you know.”
Moira exhaled slowly, letting the tension out of her shoulders, and then she began, starting with the girl she had played chess with in the mountains. She went on to describe her escape from the dungeon in the palace of Halam, the discovery that she had inadvertently created an exact copy of herself, and the way that it had enabled her to do many things at once. Her tension returned as she talked about the battle outside the city, but she held nothing back. She explained about her twins seizing control of the citizens and how some of them had taken control of the wellsprings of their hosts.
The worst part was telling him about her battle with Celior, but she did it anyway, even describing the transformation she had undergone as she tortured the false-god. It was awful, admitting it all to him, but her heart felt better for it. She might be evil, but at least she would die honestly.
When she finished he said only one thing, “Take down your shields.” He was standing directly in front of her.
Not yet, I need more time, she thought. Her eyes had been dry throughout her story, but tears sprang from them now. Reluctantly, she lowered her defenses.
Mordecai lowered his own shield and then he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly. “I’m so sorry all that happened to you.”
Now! The thought sprang at her from the back of her mind, but she pushed it aside. She wouldn’t attack him, no matter what. She tried to talk, but her throat wasn’t cooperating. Nothing came out but quiet sobs. Finally, she managed to say, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“Shhhh, it’s alright. It wasn’t your fault.”
“But it was!” she cried. “If I had known the circle keys, I could have just come home. I could have gotten help.”
Mordecai squeezed her tighter, “Nobody is perfect. That might have been better, but maybe not. What if your mother had come? Who knows what might have happened? Maybe she could have done something else, or maybe she would have gotten herself killed. Would you have blamed yourself then? If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that the ‘what ifs’ never help.”
“But I’m a monster now…”
He chuckled deep in his chest, “Yes, you’re my dear sweet little monster, and I love you anyway.”
“What?”
He pulled his head back to look down at her, “Did you think I wouldn’t love you anymore? Silly thing, daddies never stop loving their little girls.”
She cried harder then, as all the pressure that had built up in her over the past weeks slowly made its way out. He held her and uttered soothing words, as though she were still a little girl, but it didn’t bother her. At that moment it was all she wanted.
Eventually she grew still, empty of everything. Wiping at her eyes with a sleeve she asked, “What are you going to do?”
“Well, I’m not going to kill you, if that’s what you think. You can just forget that nonsense now,” he replied.
“But I’m not safe.”
“Neither am I,” he said simply. “None of us are, although some are more dangerous than others.”
Moira frowned, wondering if he really understood, “No, I could destroy everything. I might take over the whole world.”
“Yeah, me too,” he answered wryly. Looking her firmly in the eye he went on, “Power is power, Moira. It comes in different flavors, but it’s all the same. By your rationale I should have been put to death a long time ago, but here I am. What is important is whether you are willing to take responsibility for yourself.”
“I’m not human anymore, Dad. It’s not the same. I’m turning into something else. You can’t trust me. Eventually I’ll lose control,” she added, trying to explain.
Mordecai laughed again, “Yeah, she tried to feed me that bullshit too, and I think she believes it herself.”
“But it’s true.”
“Only if you believe it,” he said confidently. “Would you like to know how I know?”
She nodded, a feeling of hope beginning to rise within her.
“Because the Centyr family doesn’t know everything. They saw the ones that went bad, the ones they caught. Do you really think those were the only ones that broke the rules? In a thousand years, how many Centyr mages do you think gave in to temptation and used their power to change someone’s mind?”
Moira stared at him blankly, “I don’t know…”
Her father smiled, “That?
??s right! You don’t. No one does. I can tell you this, though. It was far more than the few that went bad, far more than the ones they know about. I would venture to guess that at least half of all the Centyr wizards that ever lived tried it at least once. It’s just human nature. Your power is dangerous, and subtle in a way that few powers are, but it is still only a tool. I understand it harms the user too, but your choices are still your own.
“Besides, I have at least one other reason to believe you won’t destroy the world, or enslave it.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Illeniel’s Doom,” he responded, tapping his temple. “This thing that is in my head and has haunted my family for two thousand years. There’s a reason for it. It wasn’t just stolen, although that’s what was believed at first. Now I have the reason in front of me, or half of the reason anyway. Your brother is the other half.”
“You know I didn’t inherit it from my father,” said Moira. The knowledge of the loshti was only present in one descendant in each generation. Her biological father hadn’t had it even though he had been an Illeniel.
“That’s the beauty of it,” said Mordecai. “It’s your gift that’s important. You are the last living Centyr wizard, and your brother is the first Illeniel wizard. He does have the knowledge granted by the loshti, but that is only part of this puzzle.”
“But he’s not the first Illeniel wizard.”
“Do you remember the story I told you a few years back, about Tyrion?” reminded Mordecai.
“Yes, it was awful,” she said with some distaste.
“Remember the gift of the Illeniel Grove?”
She pursed her lips, “Tyrion didn’t have it. None of them did, because the Illeniel Grove didn’t create human slaves. And even when he tried to steal it, it didn’t work.”