Dark Lady's Chosen (18 page)

But that wasn’t really true. The casualties among the
vyrkin
and Gabriel’s
vayash moru
were mourned just as deeply by the undead as they would have been by the living. Dead was one thing; destroyed, Jonmarc had come to understand, was entirely different.

Worse, the Magistrate’s words rang in his ears.
It’s up to Her when She claims what
belongs to Her
, he’d said of Jonmarc making Istra’s Bargain. The thought of living chilled him much more than any dread of death. Dark Haven without Carina would be unbearable.

There had been many years when every night was a battle with himself over whether or not to see dawn. Guiding Tris and the others to safety last year had stopped that. He’d hoped that with Carina in his life, that battle was won—permanently. Now, those dark thoughts returned. But what he’d seen of

the restless dead in his year with Tris made him less certain that death actually ended pain.

And while Tris could make his passage to the Lady, Jonmarc was not at all sure he was in any hurry to find out which Aspect would come for him.
So much for suicide.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Jonmarc looked up to see the Magistrate. The older man was smoking a pipe, and the sweet smell of the leaves was a wisp of normalcy amid chaos.

“Was anyone looking?”

The Magistrate shrugged and took a seat next to him. “I wanted to thank you. I know what it cost you to do what you did today.” He met Jonmarc’s eyes, and Jonmarc knew that, with the Magistrate’s truth sensing, the older man really did know.

“Had to be done.”

“You’re not going to sleep?”

Jonmarc shrugged ill-humoredly, knowing the other could guess his reasons.

“I imagine that asking for a mind-healer’s help is out of the question.”

“They aren’t something I come upon every day. I’m used to it by now.”
Carina had hoped to
become a mind-healer someday. Someday.

“I suppose you’ll leave in the morning?”

Jonmarc nodded. “Gabriel’s waiting for me at Wolvenskorn. We think Malesh may make his next move at the Lady’s Temple. It’s as good a place as any to make our stand.”

The Magistrate looked at him for a moment in silence, and the far-away look in his eyes made a chill run down Jonmarc’s back that had nothing to do with the bitter wind. “Shadows and fire,” the Magistrate murmured. “And an arrow without a bow. Your place is between the living and the dead.”

“Come away from the window, Carina.”

Reluctantly, Carina turned away from the window at Taru’s prodding. Beyond Dark Haven’s courtyard, the night was too black to see anything except the stars. “I can’t help hoping that I’ll glance out and see Jonmarc and the others returning safely.”

“You have the scout’s report. At least we know something of what’s going on.”

Carina sighed and moved toward the fire. As if she needed further evidence that she balanced between living and undead, the fire did not warm her, just as the noxious mixture of

blood and milk that kept her alive never seemed to sate her hunger. “We know that the village at Caliggan Crossroads was destroyed. We think there was a battle there, but we didn’t find any
vayash moru
remains. And the scout said everything was at least a day old.

Not much to go on.”

“I’ve sent Kolin to Wolvenskorn. If Gabriel’s headquartered there, we may know more soon,”

Riqua said.

“I know it’s too early for your messengers to reach Tris, but the waiting is awful.” Carina’s voice was quiet. “I’m getting weaker.”

“If our relay is working, this will be the second night. Your letter should reach Tris tomorrow night. We can hold the working the next day.”

“Assuming the messenger is able to get through. Assuming that Tris isn’t so thick in the midst of battle that he can’t do the working.”
Assuming I’m still alive by the time the letter
reaches him.

Whatever Riqua might have responded was cut short as the door opened and Kolin stepped into the room. “M’ladies,” he said with a perfunctory bow. One look at his appearance elicited a gasp. Kolin’s straw-blond hair was singed on one side, and his cloak and left sleeve were burned. A seeping burn was healing on his face, and his hands and cheek showed new, deep scratches that were just beginning to fade.

“What happened?” Carina asked, taking his hand in hers out of reflex before remembering that she couldn’t heal.

Kolin’s blue eyes showed more fear than Carina had ever seen in a
vayash moru
’s gaze.

“I’m late coming from Wolvenskorn,” he apologized, with a gesture toward his disheveled appearance. At second glance, Carina could see that his pants were torn and wet with snow. “Looks like Jonmarc wasn’t able to keep word about Westormere from getting out.

There’ve been two more attacks since then—you’ve heard about the Caliggan Crossroads.

Malesh hit a third village yesterday, but Jonmarc and Gabriel were waiting for him. He got away, but they were able to save most of the villagers.”

“Most,” Carina repeated quietly. “How many is most?”

Kolin met her eyes. “Gabriel said it was bad.” He looked back to the others. “Jonmarc stayed behind in the village today, hoping to find Malesh’s day crypts and run him down.

Gabriel didn’t know how that went, and Jonmarc isn’t due back in Wolvenskorn until tomorrow.”

“Burning day crypts,” Riqua whispered. “Sweet Istra. It’s come to that.”

“Gabriel and Laisren didn’t like it, but they had to agree it was one way to contain Malesh.

Oh, and Uri’s gone missing.”

“There’s a surprise.”

“So Jonmarc’s alive—at least, he was yesterday?” Carina asked.

Kolin kissed the back of her hand before releasing it. “Yes, m’lady. Gabriel said that Jonmarc hoped if he led the villagers to where Malesh’s brood slept by day that they might stop other villagers from harming innocent
vayash moru
.” He grimaced. “Unfortunately, that part didn’t work so well. He’s not the only one to realize that we’re not fond of fire.”

“You were attacked?” Lisette exclaimed.

Kolin nodded. “I wasn’t being careful. But Lady True! It’s been so long since we had to worry, here of all places. I stopped hiding from mortals a century ago.” He glanced down at his scratched hands and burned clothing. “I’m out of practice.”

“Tell me what happened.” Although Riqua’s voice was steady, Carina could hear the controlled anger beneath her words.

“I left Wolvenskorn and I was riding back. There didn’t seem to be a need for quicker travel,”

he said with a glance toward Riqua. “When I rounded a bend in the road, I could sense mortals in the forest ahead. I figured them for brigands—and desperate ones, to be about by night in these times. Brigands they were, but not seeking human prey. The next thing I knew, a ring of fire sprang up around me, and burning arrows were shooting from every side. They’d placed hay bales soaked in oil just beyond the trees on either side, and then sealed front and back when they lit the torch.”

The burn on his face was nearly healed, and the scratches on his hands were fading. But Carina knew by Kolin’s eyes that the memories would take much longer to go away. “They were amateurs, thank the Lady. I lost my horse to them, but I was above their arrow range before they knew it. Without knowing how many there were, I didn’t fancy a fight. Even so, I’m worse for the wear.”

“Have you checked on the others?” Riqua’s anger was clear in her voice.

Kolin nodded. “Our places are empty. From what Gabriel’s said, all of our brood who aren’t here guarding Dark Haven are with him, at Wolvenskorn. That’s the real news. Malesh isn’t acting alone, and it’s not only his own fledges. Either Uri lied or Malesh really was able to keep him out of his thoughts. Gabriel says that there were
vayash moru
older than Malesh in the battle at the

Caliggan Crossroads. That means he’s not only drawing in
vayash moru
from Uri’s brood, but some of Astasia’s as well—and maybe from Rafe’s, too.”

“Damn. Then the war has begun.”

“I’m sure if Gabriel knew there were hunters out looking for us, he would have warned me.

That may not be widespread—yet. But every village Malesh destroys makes it more certain others will take revenge,” Kolin said quietly. “Gabriel hasn’t been idle. The
vyrkin
are massing at Wolvenskorn. They hold common cause with us. It seems that Yestin can be quite persuasive.” Kolin looked down. “Eiria is dead. She was killed in the first battle.”

Lisette covered her mouth with her hands. “I’m so sorry,” Carina said.

“Gabriel says that they think Malesh is planning something on Candles Night at
Naithe
Dorzhet Bene
,” Kolin added. He looked to Carina. “The temple of the Dark Lady.”

Riqua looked up sharply. “Even Malesh can’t be mad enough to think himself fit to be consort to the Lady.”

Kolin shrugged. “The timing fits. Candles Night is only two days away. The old legends say that Her consorts wooed Her with blood.”

“Those tales are corrupted,” Riqua snapped, more upset than Carina had ever seen her.

“The Dark Lady doesn’t want blood sacrifice. Only Nameless ever demanded blood, and even then, it was in the ancient stories.”

“Still, Gabriel has a point. If Malesh is mad enough to think himself fit to be the Lady’s consort, then all this may be an offering to prove his worthiness. In the old stories—”

“The old stories are lies.” Riqua’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“Not completely.” They turned to see Royster in the doorway. “One of my colleagues at Westmarch spent her life researching the Old Ways, before the worship of the Lady. Only fragments from those days remain. Peyhta, the Soul Eater, is a story from those times. So is Shanthadura.”

“We do not speak that name.” Riqua made a warding sign. “Those days are gone.”

“Perhaps not.” Royster seemed completely oblivious to Riqua’s dark mood, pursuing the topic with a scholar’s fervor. “My colleague found that in the high country, back in the remote villages, the villagers used the names of the Eight Faces of the Goddess, but the practice at the shrines and the murals in the temple were of Peyhta and Sh—” Royster caught himself. “The Destroyer.”

“According to my friend the Keeper, Peyhta and… the Destroyer were two of the three death goddesses,” Royster continued excitedly. “Konost is the third. She guided the souls of the dead. They are the bringers of plague, famine and war. Together, they are the Shrouded Ones.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with—”

“It all makes sense,” Royster bubbled, eyes wide. “If Malesh knows the old tales, then he’s heard that every year at Candles Night, in the old stories, a young warrior was offered to the Shrouded Ones in the sacred place. The three light goddesses sent their champion to kill the warrior before he could join with the Shrouded Ones. Two goddesses judged the battle—Fate and Ohainne, the goddess of the undead. If the champion prevailed, plague, famine and war would still occur, but only for a season, and then the land would be healed.

But if the warrior won…” Royster’s voice drifted off.

“What then?” Carina found that she had been holding her breath.

Royster’s excitement sobered. “Then the Shrouded Ones would be loosed upon the land for a generation.”

“Superstitious rubbish, all of it!” Riqua’s voice was strident. “Listen to you! A scholar, telling fish wives’ tales.”

“You remember those days, don’t you.” Kolin’s comment stopped Riqua mid-stride.

Riqua stiffened, and then nodded. “You don’t understand how it was, in those days mortals don’t want to remember and we Elders can’t forget,” she said quietly. “How we feared the spirits in every tree and barrow. How many were sacrificed to bring the rains, or assure the harvest, or end the pox.” She turned to Carina and Royster, and for the first time, Carina saw old pain in Riqua’s eyes. “When I was six years old, they took my older sister to the bogs. They weighted her down and let her sink. They said it would end the famine. But her ghost came to me every harvest, and I knew that it was a lie. When the Shipmen came across the Northern Sea and the Riders invaded from the East, it was a terrible time—war that seemed to go on forever. But they stayed long enough that we heard the stories of their goddesses, and gradually, the old ways blended and changed.

“Even the Crone and Nameless are not as fearsome as the Old Ones,” Riqua said. “Those ways should remain buried.”

“If it’s true that Malesh used blood magic to hide from Uri, then maybe he is trying to become a consort,” Kolin mused. “After all, Uri’s told his brood often enough that the
vayash
moru

are like gods.”

“And right now, the Flow favors blood magic,” Carina added. “It’s wounded, and the blood magic tears at it. First Arontala, and now Curane’s mages, and whoever is supplying Malesh with his charms.”

“There are always blood mages,” Taru said. “Not always mages of real strength, thank the Lady, but dabblers who still can do harm. The Sisterhood has known that blood magic was being practiced, but the blood mages are good at hiding. Foor Arontala was also
vayash
moru
—perhaps old enough to remember some of what Riqua recalls. The Obsidian King claimed to be the consort of the Shrouded Ones. Perhaps that was part of Arontala’s interest in becoming the vessel for the Obsidian King’s spirit.”

“And now Malesh is going to offer himself for the honor?” Lisette said, aghast. She made the sign of the Lady and turned to spit on the ground, warding against evil.

“None of this makes any difference,” Riqua said sternly. “Maybe Malesh is mad enough to believe in old superstitions. It doesn’t matter why he’s going to the Dark Lady’s temple, only that Jonmarc and the others find him and stop him.”

Carina turned slowly to look at Riqua. “Gabriel sought out Jonmarc. He told Jonmarc that the Dark Lady came to him in a dream. He called Jonmarc Her ‘chosen.’ Jonmarc makes two blood sacrifices of his own to fight Malesh, doesn’t he? My life—and his own.”

Riqua and Kolin exchanged glances. “Gabriel is one of the Elders. He’s older than I am, and more… observant. My faith was buried with my mortality. Only fear remains. But Gabriel has always been a mystic. He says very little about those days, but his family had the Sight.