Kamala drew her power to her in order to investigate that question. It was a difficult task, since she had to reach back to her body to establish a conduit; sorcery this complex required body and soul to be working in harmony. But she was determined to figure out what had happened here, and so she focused all her will upon that distant connection, straining her stolen athra to the utmost to strengthen the channel between body and mind.
And darkness closed in about her suddenly, severing her from the living world in an instant. Death whipped about her, frigid cold piercing her like a thousand razor-edged knives. Maybe a century from now she would come to take transition for granted, but for now it was like suddenly being submerged in a black and icy lake, with no sense of where the surface was. For a moment she panicked and lost her focus, but then sheer survival instinct kicked in. A Magister could not last for more than a handful of seconds without a living soul to draw strength from, so she knew she must find a new one, and quickly. Those who floundered during this process did not survive.
Reaching out with all the force of her will, she searched for a suitable consort. Who could say what factors directed a Magister to one morati as opposed to another? No sorcerer had yet succeeded in controlling the process, or even understanding it. A sorcerer’s soul simply reached out in its moment of need and somewhere, somehow, a living soul responded, offering it the proper channel. Why did lightning strike one tree as opposed to another?
She could feel the connection when it was made, and she imagined that she could sense the nature of the soul that her sorcery had chosen. A young and vibrant life, full of vital energy. Though it should not have been possible for her to sense its location, it seemed to her that it was somewhere nearby. Molten hot power began to flow into her, the kind of athra that only a living soul could manufacture; she could feel it being absorbed into her own parasitic core, banishing the ice and the fear, flooding her spirit with fresh life.
And then suddenly she was being dragged out of herself, into a darkness that was more absolute and terrible than transition itself. A mindless emptiness seemed to suck all the strength out of her soul in an instant, leaving nothing but a void in its wake. Her thoughts swirled down into a bottomless abyss, and she could not recover them. It was impossible to think, in that moment. Impossible to protect herself. The very substance of the darkness surrounding her ripped at the substance of her spirit like some terrible predator, and her strength of will bled out into it.
She struggled against the tide of destruction, but its grip was too powerful. Like an animal caught in the jaws of some great beast, her mind lurched madly in whatever direction it could, trying desperately to break loose. But she could feel her strength leaving her even as she did so. Somewhere in that darkness was a terrible Hunger, and she could feel it closing in on her now, threatening to draw her down into a vast, saber-toothed maw from which there was no escape.
With a mental scream—half anguish, half defiance—she made one last desperate attempt to break away from it. She had not spent a lifetime pursuing forbidden knowledge and dodging murderous Magisters only to give up now; anything that tried to devour her soul was going to have to fight for every mouthful. Summoning the final tattered remnants of her strength, she pitted the last of her will against that of the Hunger, struggling to sever whatever supernatural tie was binding her to it—
And the connection snapped. The force of it was stunning. Rent and bleeding, her soul staggered backward, trying to remain oriented enough to find an escape route. From somewhere in the distance came memories of a body that was waiting for her, a body that she was intimately connected to, a body she might return to with a single thought—
She summoned that thought. Set fire to it and let it blaze in the face of the Hunger, like a torch in the face of a ravenous wolf. The grip of the darkness loosened suddenly and she could feel herself breaking free of it, metaphysical blood splattering across the landscape as the maw of the Hunger closed behind her—but too late, too late, this prey had escaped it . . . .
Gasping, she opened her eyes. Waves of sickness rose up from her gut, and for a minute she thought she would vomit. Was she really back in her own body now? Hundreds of miles away from the source of the Hunger, where it could not possibly follow her? Hot bile rose up in the back of her throat, and she swallowed it back gratefully, relieved by the unmistakable sign that she had in fact reconnected to her flesh.
What the hell had just happened to her? In all the lessons Ethanus had given her about transition and its dangers, he had never even hinted at something like this. Was she the first Magister to encounter such a threat, or was this one of the many things that her kind didn’t talk about?
It was then that she realized that she was not alone.
Colivar.
He stood over her, his expression unreadable. Or maybe there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. In one hand he held a piece of paper, and she recognized the note that she had sent him. In her haste to begin her search she must have been careless about preparing it, and he’d used it as an anchor to locate her.
There was nothing more dangerous than falling into the black abyss of transition while a rival sorcerer was nearby. A Magister wanted nothing more than to grasp that rare moment of opportunity when another Magister was helpless, for whatever purpose amused him. Had he done something to her while she was trapped in that inner darkness? Inserted some suggestion into her brain, perhaps, wrapped a spell around her spirit, adhered some sorcerous sign to her that he would be able to use later, to track her? The list of possibilities was endless.
But she was exhausted from her struggle in the mountains, and right now she just didn’t care.
His mouth twitched into a dry smile. “Our usual arrangements seemed a bit slow, given the urgency of the situation. I took the liberty of coming to deliver this in person.”
It took her a minute to realize that he was holding out the piece of paper to her. Hand trembling with weakness, she took it from him. Below her original note he had scribed a list of geographical attributes. She let the paper flutter from her hand, onto the floor by her side. And she met his eyes with her own, noting with satisfaction just how startled he was when he realized what was in them.
“I found something,” she whispered.
How black his eyes were, in that moment. How hungry. For an instant they offered her a window into that part of his soul where his most precious secrets were guarded. Colivar needed Siderea to be found, she realized, the way morati men need food and water.
And then the moment was gone. She blinked, wondering if it had even been real.
“Tell me,” he said.
She shut her eyes, trying to remember. “ I saw Souleater skeletons. At least that’s what I think they were. There were other bones, too, all around them. Some of them might have been wolves. I don’t know.”
“How many Souleaters?”
“Two. Close by each other. One was smaller than the other. Maybe half the size of the one I fought in the High Kingdom.”
His indrawn breath was a soft hiss.
“That’s bad?”
He did not answer her, but looked down at the vast map with narrow eyes. Black fire burned in their depths. “Where?”
It took her a minute to realize she did not have that information. The shock of her transition had scrambled her memory of the place, and try as she might she could not put the pieces back together. Her head ached from trying.
Slowly, she rolled over on her side, raising herself up on one elbow. Her head spun as she tried to get her bearings, tracing out her search route in her head even as she drew it out with her finger on the floor. There: She had followed that mountain ridge. Swung around that lake. Crossed that river. Gods, it looked like such a short distance now . . . .
And then her knowledge ended. Just ended. It was as if the enchantment that clung to the place had somehow affixed itself to her very mind, and she could not think past it. Shutting her eyes, she struggled to force her way throu
gh . . . and the memory of her transition came back to her in a rush, and with it a flood tide of sickness and fear, as though that black void were once more swallowing her whole. She doubled over and vomited onto the map, spasm after spasm, as if her body thought it could expel the source of her fear along with all her internal fluids.
Strong hands grasped her by the shoulders, steadying her from behind. The shock of having another Magister lay hands on her when she was helpless was almost as powerful as the original wave of sickness, and she tried to jerk away from him. But she didn’t have enough strength left in her, and his grip was too strong. Then sickness took control again, and for a short eternity it was all she could think about.
When the last of the spasms had finally subsided, Colivar drew her gently backward. “Here. Take this.” He was holding a cup of water before her. Every instinct in her soul cried out for her to break free of his grasp, not to let another Magister control her movements like this . . . but he hadn’t hurt her yet, had he? Certainly he’d had enough opportunity to do so by this point. So, swallowing thickly, she nodded, and allowed him to bring the cup up to her lips, easing a bit of water into her mouth. It was clear and cool as fresh mountain water, which was not the state her own supply would have been in by now. As she drank, Colivar waved his hand over the floor surrounding them, banishing the mess she had just made into some other less hygienic dimension.
The mountain range she had been tracing curled about like a serpent’s tail, she saw. She stared at it numbly, trying to retrieve her voice. “I can’t focus in on the exact location,” she gasped, when her throat and tongue finally agreed to acknowledge her commands. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.” His nod stirred her hair; her neck prickled to feel his nearness like that. It was a strange and uncomfortable intimacy. “I know the area. It suits all the parameters I gave you.” He nodded toward the list that was lying on the floor beside her. “And more importantly . . . .” He hesitated. “I detected nothing there myself. Which confirms my suspicion about the role you might be able to play in all this.”
For a moment she hesitated. How much should she trust him? There was no denying that he had more knowledge about these matters than she did. And she needed that knowledge. She needed to understand what had happened to her.
He would not give information to her without some kind of trade, she knew that.
“Colivar, I . . . I went into transition there.” She trembled slightly as she spoke, despite her best attempt not to. “Something . . . attacked me. I think. It was as if all my strength were being sucked out of me. I felt as if I were being . . . devoured.” She shivered, trying to tamp down the memory. Describing the incident brought all those feelings rushing back into her head, and she was in no hurry to relive the experience.
For a long time he said nothing. She felt him move back from her, then rise to his feet. His footsteps resonated on the hardwood floor as he walked a few paces away from her, and she turned around to look at him. For a few long seconds he just stood there with his back to her, and she wondered whether he was going to leave her without saying a word. Wondered how she might possibly have offended him.
But then he spoke again, and when she heard how strained his voice was she understood. He did not want her to know what he was feeling. He needed the distance between them, as emotional armor.
“It would appear you found a Souleater,” he said quietly. “And it appears, as well, that you may have answered one very important question about our own relationship to that species . . . though I think not an answer any Magister wants to hear.” He paused, then muttered, “I know I didn’t want to hear it.”
A portal appeared before him so suddenly that it startled Kamala; by the time she realized what it was, he was gone. The list he had given her fluttered briefly behind him, then slowly came to rest on the wooden floor Just south of where she had drawn the Wrath.
He will come back, she thought, mystified. He’ll want all the details I have to offer. He’s just not ready to deal with all that yet.
And a whisper came, rising up from the depths of her soul: I’m not ready to deal with it either.
Chapter 12
S
TEEL CLASHES against steel, metal ringing as blades strike—scrape—withdraw. Again. Again. Gleaming arcs of silver cutting through the warm air of the armory, shimmering as they pass one another. Graceful curves of feint and parry interwoven in a polished metal tapestry. Steel blades shimmering like lakewater before a storm as the force of each blow ripples down their length.
“Enough.”
Gwynofar let her sword arm drop down by her side, grateful for the reprieve. Sweat was dripping down her face, and her shoulders felt as if molten lead had been poured into her joints. “Remind me why we’re doing this?”
“Because you felt you needed more time in training than Salvator did, given that he was trained in combat from his youth. You asked me for private lessons, remember?”
“No, I meant the swordplay.”
Favias raised an eyebrow. “You wanted to train as a Guardian.”
Gwynofar raised an eyebrow back at him. “I somehow doubt that a Souleater is going to attack me with a short sword.”
Favias dropped his practice weapon onto the rough-hewn table and began to unbuckle his protective gear. Layer upon layer of shallow cuts and abrasions bore witness to the many students he had instructed in the past. “Ramirus said that your reflexes need extra work. That because of his sorcery your mind and body are no longer perfectly meshed, and I should drill you in as many different exercises as I can, to encourage their union.”
She blinked. “Really? He said that?”
“Indeed, Majesty. Which part of it surprises you?”
“I thought we had moved past that point already. ” She began to work her way out of her own armor. It was her least favorite part of these practice sessions. The stiff leather was sweat-drenched and uncomfortable, especially for a woman who had rarely worn anything harsher than lamb’s wool against her skin. Then again, compared to the biting winds of the Alkali mountains, it was a veritable caress. “I don’t feel uncomfortable with my own body any more, though I did at first. And I would have thought that climbing the Sister had proven my capacity.”
“In that one task you did well enough, Majesty. But there’s no telling when other weaknesses may surface.” He shrugged his shoulders; his joints cracked audibly. “There are reasons why we don’t use witchery to enhance the bodies of our warriors. The process can backfire in any one of a hundred ways. I imagine Ramirus would rather have you test for any problems now, in the safety of your own home, than risk an unhappy surprise in the midst of battle.”
“Such as?”
Favias twisted his head to one side and then the other. He was in good shape, thanks to a warrior’s regimen of diet and exercise, but he was no longer young, and sometimes it showed. “The Guardians’ archives are full of tales of those warriors who used witchery to enhance their martial capacity, only to discover later that such tricks aren’t as simple as they seem.”
“You really think there is danger in my case?”
He stepped toward her suddenly, swinging his fist sideways toward her head. Startled, she blocked the blow. For a moment they stood locked in position, strength against strength, as he tried to press forward, and she tried to push him away. Her shoulder burned with pain from the exertion, but she refused to give in.
Finally his hand fell away. “Gwynofar Aurelius . . . you are smaller and more delicate in frame than my youngest daughter. Yet right now you can match the strength of my best men. What happens to a human body when those two qualities are combined? Nature doesn’t normally allow such a combination to occur, but we have forced her to accommodate our needs. What price will she demand in compensation?”
“You said that others tried it in the past. What happened to them?”
He took up the lances they had been practicing with earlier and began to put them back in the
ir rack. “One man had his bones shatter in battle; apparently they were too slender to support the kind of force his altered muscles were exerting upon them. One woman had her heart fail; it was too small to support the kind of creature she had become. And it is said that one man who survived the process in body later lost his mind; he would no longer accept the altered limbs as part of his own person, but believed they belonged to someone else, who was trying to take control of him. They found him face down in the barracks, in a pool of blood, after he had attempted to saw his own legs off.
“Now, I am sure that Ramirus knew of those particular episodes and took them into account when he bolstered your strength, so your heart and your bones and key internal organs were no doubt strengthened along with your muscular capacity. But the warning is still a valid one. How many elements of the human body must be in perfect harmony in order for it to operate at peak efficiency? And then there is the religious element. If you believe that some god created man in his current form, wouldn’t it be the ultimate hubris to assume we could improve upon his design? Might he not strike us down for our efforts, just to prove that point?”
She smiled slightly. “I believe it is only the god of the Penitents who lays claim to infallibility.”
“Yes.” He chuckled. “Egotistical bastard, isn’t he?”
As he put the last weapon in its rack, he caught sight of a liveried youth standing in the doorway, waiting for one of them to notice him. “Yes? What is it?”
The page bowed toward Gwynofar. “Magister Ramirus requests that the Queen Mother and Master Guardian come speak with him. As soon as possible, if you please.”
For Ramirus to ask for both of them was uncharacteristic; usually his counsel was channeled through Gwynofar. Favias looked at her. “Any idea what’s going on?”