Beyond the Boundary Stones (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 3) (20 page)

She only hoped it would prove as effective against the rest of their enemies.

Eleven

V
igorre focused on his fists, peeling them open one finger at a time. With stiff motions he pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed the bloody half-circles where his fingernails had cut into his palm.

His father looked at him. “Are you alright?”

Vigorre nodded. Even though he was free to speak now, he felt as if the struggle to remain silent through all he’d just witnessed had rendered him permanently mute.

When Keeper Yoran had conveyed Vigorre and his father from his temple to this building and settled them into the waiting rows of chairs in the darkened room, he hadn’t told them what they would see. He only stressed that they must not speak or make any other sound if they wished to receive incontrovertible proof of the demons’ existence. So when several other men were escorted in by Purifier Keepers they exchanged nods but didn’t greet each other. Vigorre recognized them as some of the Matriarch’s most trusted advisors. Shortly thereafter a few more Keepers, ones high in the Temple hierarchy, arrived as well, along with a number of wealthy and influential citizens. By the time the lanterns were lit, turning the portion of the room beyond the filmy curtain into a stage, all the chairs were full.

Only a supreme effort of will kept him from exclaiming aloud when Yoran led Kevessa into the brightly lit space. The difference in illumination that rendered the fabric transparent from their side must have caused it to be opaque from the other, because Kevessa gave the curtain only a quick, unseeing glance before focusing her attention on Yoran.

Vigorre had heard, of course, that Kevessa had returned with her father from Tevenar. Among their circle of friends her unexpected departure had been a source of much gossip and speculation. Eventually they’d concluded she must have been so tempted by the prospect of traveling to unknown lands and seeing real wizardry at work that she’d run away from her aunt and uncle’s house and stowed away on the ship. She might successfully hide her obsession with tales of the ancient wizards and their adventures from the adults, but when you grew up together in a tight group like the children of Ramunna’s aristocracy, you knew such things about each other. Privately, Vigorre had been sure she’d love the whole thing. He’d even envied her.

Why in the Mother’s name had Keeper Yoran brought her here? And even more shocking, why was he making threats against her father? Vigorre hadn’t been able to see what Yoran indicated out the window, but from the look on Kevessa’s face as she lowered the window-glass, he knew she must have seen Gevan captive, just as Yoran had said.

But when the squirrel leapt into Kevessa’s arms and the golden sphere appeared above Kevessa’s palm, he understood. Again he’d smothered a cry.

Kevessa had been enslaved by a demon. He knew all too well how it must have happened. Unaware of the truths contained in the Purifier’s secret text, she must have found the offer of the power she’d always dreamed of irresistible.

He didn’t approve of Keeper Yoran’s methods, but he could see why they were necessary. The beating Gevan received was surely painful, but would do no lasting harm. And he was certain the rest of Yoran’s threats would never be carried out. The Keeper had known they wouldn’t have to be. The prospect was enough to make Kevessa use the influence she had with the demon to persuade it to reveal itself.

Vigorre wasn’t the only one who’d forcibly restrained a gasp when the creature transformed from a fluffy, charming, harmless-looking pet into a ravening monster. It swelled to double its former size and threatened Yoran with razor-sharp teeth, its eyes blazing red. Just as Yashonna had described. Even Vigorre’s father stiffened and drew in a breath.

What was Keeper Yoran thinking, letting the demon go? Vigorre wanted to shout for the Purifier to kill the horrible thing and free Kevessa from its clutches. But he could see how vulnerable Yoran was, now that the demon’s power was restored by contact with its slave. The Keeper had risked his life to demonstrate the truth. Vigorre doubted the demons would abide by Yoran’s bargain, but it bought them a little time before open battle must be engaged. Time for Vigorre to discover the demons’ weaknesses.

If they had any.

Keeper Yoran watched out the window for many long minutes. But at last his shoulders relaxed and he turned to face the audience beyond the curtain. “Does anyone have any questions?”

Emirre rose and went forward, pushing aside the transparent curtain so he could face Yoran directly. “You’ve proven your point beyond any doubt, Keeper Yoran. Whatever our other differences, the Temple is united in this. The Tevenaran animals are demons, the so-called wizards their slaves. They must be defeated.” Murmurs of agreement from the other Keepers punctuated his words.

Yoran clasped his offered hand. “Thank you, Keeper Emirre.” As Vigorre moved to his father’s side, Yoran gave him an approving smile. “And thank you, Keeper Vigorre, for making this possible.”

Father’s arm tightened around Vigorre’s shoulders. “Yes, son. Thank you for pursuing the truth, even against my objections, and not giving up until I saw it, too.”

Vigorre ducked his head, his heart swelling at their praise. “I only did what the Mother led me to do.”

“As we all must, in the coming days,” Yoran said with a sigh. “I fear this is only the beginning of the battle. The demons won’t easily surrender the foothold they’ve gained in Ramunna.”

Father shook his head grimly. “The people have embraced them already. It will be hard to convince them that the ones who’ve healed so many are their enemies.”

“I have an idea of how to counteract that, at least somewhat. If tonight has convinced me of anything, it’s that the demons’s counterfeit of the Mother’s power is limited in the same ways as the genuine gift. There are a number of things it cannot do; the records are clear about that. And Vigorre”—Yoran clapped him on the back—“has brought me a document describing what the false wizards
will
not do. I think between those two things we can arrange a series of events which will undermine the people’s faith in them. If all works as I envision, by the time the ships sail, the crowds will be ready to drag the Tevenarans aboard.”

Vigorre stiffened. “But not Kevessa,” he said urgently, grabbing Yoran’s arm. “She’s my friend. We can’t let her stay the demon’s prisoner. She’s done nothing to deserve exile from her homeland. She only wanted to help people; it’s not her fault the Lord of Demons tricked her.”

Yoran regarded him compassionately. “We’ll save her if we can. I can’t tell you how much I wished I could simply kill the demon while it was powerless and set her free. But it was vital to make this demonstration.”

“You were quite right,” Father told him. He turned to Vigorre. “Keeper Yoran and I need to discuss matters further. You’ve had a long, hard day, and if I’m not mistaken you’ll have another tomorrow.” He looked questioningly at Yoran.

“If you can continue what you started today, it will be of great service. I know it will be hard to endure the demons’ presence now that you’ve seen their true nature, but if you can manage—”

“I can.” Vigorre’s task was more important than ever. “They’re well on their way to trusting me. In a few more days, they’ll do whatever I ask. Prepare your trap, and I’ll be ready to lead them into it.”

Yoran nodded grimly. “It’s too much to hope they’ll leave with the ships. And truthfully, it would be far better if they never sail. I wouldn’t be surprised if their stories of famine were a ruse to lure more of our ships to their shores. What if they’re seized and used to carry dozens more demons here?”

“It’s a risk,” Father agreed. “And even if the famine is real, should we rescue our enemies from the calamity the Mother has sent them? It’s quite possible she arranged for them to be weak so we’d be able to strike against them.”

“That would be the ideal, wouldn’t it? To persuade the Matriarch to send the Armada to destroy their stronghold.” Yoran looked pensively into the distance, then glanced over at where the Matriarch’s advisors were talking with each other in agitated voices. “If that’s to prove possible, much work remains to be done.” He nodded to Vigorre. “Go on. We need our soldier to be well rested for tomorrow’s battle.”

“Tell your stepmother I’ll be late,” Father said, giving Vigorre a quick embrace. He turned back to Yoran and the two Keepers dropped their voices.

Vigorre didn’t mind being dismissed. He was exhausted, and he’d need all his strength to serve beside the wizards tomorrow without succumbing to their temptation.

He shivered. The memory of the demon’s blazing eyes would serve as a powerful counterpoint to the healing he would see. All the power in the world wouldn’t be worth subjecting himself to
that
.

He made his way out of the room and down the stairs. The darkness and quiet outside was a welcome relief. Vigorre let himself relax as his feet carried him along the winding streets. It was a long walk home, but his route would take him through prosperous neighborhoods that were safe even at night.

When he’d traveled about two thirds of the way he passed through a park bordering both sides of one of the small streams that flowed out of the mountains. This one was a favorite of the wealthy for its picturesque cascades and rocky pools that provided cool retreats from the heat of summer. He paused on a gracefully curved footbridge that spanned the gurgling water and leaned on the railing to gaze up at the stars.

Dear Mother,
he prayed.
Keep me strong in the days to come. Lead me always in the path of your will as I confront your enemies. Guard my heart against temptation lest it draw me away from—

A dark shape moved against the stars. Vigorre flinched as the sudden noise of beating wings swept over his head and a rush of wind stirred his hair. In a swirl of flapping wings and reaching claws, a huge bird landed on the railing not a foot from him.

Vigorre stared at the bird. It met his gaze with one dark eye. It must be an eagle, with its hooked beak and clawed talons. In the starlight its feathers glinted dark gold.

He kept very still lest he frighten it away. How amazing to behold one of the Mother’s wild creatures so close! He could hear the rasp of its claws on the wood, breathe its scent of musk and fish and wind, see the way its feathers shifted against each other as it tilted its head. He felt as if the Mother had offered him a special blessing, a confirmation that she’d heard his prayer and would grant him what he asked.

Unless—

The eagle struck far too quickly for Vigorre to react. One slash of its wicked beak opened a gash on its own foot. The next sliced into the back of Vigorre’s wrist. The eagle pounced, its talons locking around his arm, their blood mingling as their wounds pressed together.

Horrified, Vigorre tried to yank his arm away, but it was too late. Golden billows crowded around the edges of his vision. The dark night around him faded, replaced by a shining, featureless space, empty except for the being who stood before him.

She looked just as she did in his favorite Temple mosaic, clad in a simple white robe instead of the ornate draperies she was often depicted wearing, her long chestnut hair falling in loose waves down her back, her face ageless, her eyes infinitely deep. He longed to throw himself at her feet and pour out all the formal words of devotion he’d ever learned. He stood before the one to whose service he’d dedicated his life, and she regarded him with an affectionate, compassionate smile.

But her words struck like a spear of ice through his heart. “Are you willing to humble yourself beneath this eagle, and allow her to use my power through you?”

Vigorre lurched away from her. “You’re not the Mother!”

Her eyebrows lifted. “I’m not?”

“No!” Vigorre clenched his fists, fighting an intense desire to sink to his knees and beg her forgiveness. “I know the truth about you. You’re the Lord of Demons, the one the Dualists worship, the Mother’s enemy. You wear her form to deceive me.”

“Would you rather I look like this?” She wavered, blurred, and re-solidified into a stern-faced older man, keen eyes fixed on Vigorre above an iron-gray beard. His voice was deep and cold. “This is what the Faithful picture when they address the Lord of Justice. Or would another guise please you better?” Again the apparition dissolved, this time becoming an androgynous figure with sooty skin and pointed teeth, body covered in fur and scales, hair and eyes of flame. Its voice snarled and hissed. “The Purifiers imagine the Lord of Demons in many shapes, but this is the most common.”

Vigorre trembled, but he lifted his chin and stared at the monster. “I do not fear you, whatever your form. I am sworn to the Mother’s service—the true Mother, not your false image—and she protects me.”

“And yet you don’t know me when you stand in my presence.” The being reverted to the appearance of the Mother. “I value your service, Vigorre. I always have. I want to give you the chance to serve me in a new and more powerful way. But I can’t compel you. Only you can choose to accept or reject what I offer.”

“I reject it,” Vigorre growled, his fists clenched. He forced his imagination to impose the creature’s true demonic appearance over its beautiful pretense. “I won’t let you trick me into forfeiting the Mother’s gift of free will. You tempt me with power, but you want to make me your slave. You admit you can’t force me, so you’re wasting your time trying to change my mind.”

“Am I?” She took a step toward Vigorre. “I’d usually consider such a rejection final, but I know you’ve been lied to by those you trust, in such a way that it’s become difficult for you to discern truth from falsehood.” Her voice softened. “Think of what you’ve seen my power do, Vigorre. With your own eyes, not what others have told you. You’ve watched it heal, and help, and show truth, the way I always intended. You’ve never seen it used for evil, nor will you ever, because the experiment I undertook at Gurion’s urging has proven a success. I want to return my power to Ravanetha, and I want you to help me. You’re the best suited of any of my children to undertake this task.”