Eve of Destruction (25 page)

Maltus felt like reminding them that over half of this Council had dismissed the entire notion of the Prophetess for the last three decades. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Wilhelm himself didn’t even believe in the Kirshal—the man and his supporters were only one step away from being Vashir, magi who worshipped the Fane by itself rather than the Goddess. 

But attacking any of the magisters now would only undermine his credibility later, and Maltus wasn’t willing to go that far just yet. Wilhelm knew this, of course, and that was all part of his trap. There simply wasn’t any choice but to play along with it. For now.  

“Tara kept her visions from this Council for the most of her life,” Maltus reminded them. “What we know is but a small fragment of the things she saw, and everyone here is aware of how tenuous a single vision can be. Her writings—her journal—may be our only source of real answers.”

“You have come to us before over the years claiming that DeShane was consistently troubled by her daughter’s destiny,” Talkas commented. “It was not a single vision that drove her to reclusion, and you are well aware of that. Your…
personal
connection to this woman and her child are influencing your judgment.”

“Of course they are,” Maltus snapped. “I’ve known Evelyn since she was born; I watched her grow up. I can put a human face on her, and no one else here can.”

“Many have expressed concern about your recent actions, Magister Maltus,” Veldara said diplomatically. “We are approaching a critical moment, and yet we have not taken action to contain the least stable element. Surely you can appreciate our apprehension.”

Maltus took a deep breath to calm himself. “I do, and I share it to a degree. I did, however, ask for patience. I believe that without the journal, any actions we take at this point would be foolish.”

Wilhelm shuffled. “We could have taken it earlier. This Council has long been aware of her writings and did nothing to interfere.”

“Harming the Prophetess was never an option,” Organis insisted. “Even if we did not like what she had to say.”

“Yet how much pain might it have saved us?” Wilhelm countered. “We stand here teetering on the edge of a dark precipice, and if we had taken action earlier we might have found a foothold long ago.”

“Recriminations about what could have been are pointless,” Veldara said, her tone final. “But Magister Wilhelm is correct that we are running out of time. Our spies tell us Chaval is preparing for a war if he needs to fight one—even he does not believe we will allow him to come to power. Steamworks has a substantial personal army, and the bulk of the Arkadian military will stand with him. It is likely that much of the population will as well.”

Organis shook his head. “Even if we wished to stand against him, we do not have the resources. We are not soldiers and we do not have an army.”

“We do not need an army,” Wilhelm replied adamantly. “We have the Fane. What we lack is the will to use it.”

“We cannot validate his position by turning against the people,” Organis bit back sharply. “And I hope you are not suggesting an act of Defilement. That would be heresy—”

“Enough,” Veldara ordered. “We have discussed our options many times, and there is no clear and obvious solution. But that does not change the second issue before us: the daughter of the Prophetess is an unstable element in an already untenable situation, and she must be dealt with.”

Maltus sighed. “We need the journal, Grand Magistrix. It may hold many answers for us; it may even provide us with a solution.”

“Or it may give us nothing,” Talkas pointed out. “And we will have lost even more time.”

“Give me three days—if I cannot secure the journal by then…” Maltus paused and swept his gaze across them. “Then I shall order her termination myself.”

Veldara’s face seemed to flatten. “There are those of us that doubt your Vakari’s self-control. It is likely she will have to confront Chaval to get this journal from him, and given her history, she could very well make this situation even worse.”

“Some of us would support his outright removal,” Wilhelm muttered. “Martyr or not, his death would buy us time. We may not have an army, but we are not defenseless.”

“She is not to kill him,” Veldara declared. “Not yet. We will trust your discretion in this matter, Magister Maltus, but be very careful.”

“Shaedra will be clear on the matter before I send her,” he assured them. “And I thank you for this last opportunity.”

“I pray we don’t all come to regret it,” Wilhelm said gravely.

Maltus bowed and let the Dreamscape fade. His eyes fluttered open as his consciousness slowly returned. His arms had already started to ache; the Flensing had started to gnaw at him for touching the Fane. Fortunately, his next message wouldn’t require another Dreamscape.

He reached out a hand to the sending stone on his desk, and his finger hovered above the small crystal. It was tempting to ignore the Magistrix’s order and simply order Shaedra to deal with Chaval, to take him completely out of the picture. Wilhelm was right about that, at least; it would buy them time to recover and reevaluate their position. More importantly, it might give him the opportunity to figure out what to do with Eve. For years now he had been telling himself he could go through with it, that he could order her death if all else failed, but he wasn’t sure he ever really believed it. Maybe once, in a different lifetime, but now…

He sighed and grabbed a quick glass of water before finally tapping the stone. Shaedra usually responded quickly, and again she didn’t disappoint.

“What now?” she hissed.  

 “Has anything changed?” he asked.

“Little. I’d guess they’re running out of leads. Soon they will make an attempt at the journal and probably get themselves killed.”

“Then it’s time for you to act. Get the journal as quickly as possible, and then reveal yourself. Ally with the others and try to help Eve make sense of whatever it says.”

He could almost visualize the bemused expression on her pale face. “That seems especially desperate. I’m guessing the Enclave upped the stakes?”

“We’re running out of time, Shaedra,” he said gravely. “We need answers, and we need hope.”

“So let me take him. You should have sent me months ago.”

Maltus shook his head even though she couldn’t see it. “No. Get the book, but don’t kill him. And try to be subtle. Wait until tonight if you can.”

“That won’t be easy. He’ll be well protected.”

“They can’t stop you.”

She remained silent for a long moment. “The Council wants me to kill her, don’t they?”

“Some have always wanted that, but it’s not going to happen.”

“I never imagined it would,” she said smugly. “You’re not a killer.”

“But you are,” he reminded her. “I’ll be out of contact for few days. I need to speak with Jean and I can’t afford to take the stone with me. I don’t want the Enclave tracking me. I’ll contact you as soon as I can.”

“Another friend who will abandon you?”

“I hope not,” he whispered. “Just get it done, Shaedra.”

“So be it.”

***

Sitting crouched atop a five-story building at the center of Cadotheia, Shaedra Nafal couldn’t help but thirst for the sweet taste of Selerius—or any other eastern city, for that matter. But as much as the hunger inside her begged to be sated, she found it surprising how the emptiness of this ruined city had actually focused her mind. Here she had nothing to whet her palette or stir her senses; all she had was the mission. It was liberating, in a perverse kind of way.

“So your friends really think the girl will be safe here?”

She twisted her head around to see Alex standing behind her, peering down on the street below. He’d been mercifully silent for the entire trip, and she’d eventually started to wonder if he might find it difficult to manifest here. The Fane was stretched thin in this city, and she thought—or perhaps
hoped
—that the wayward ghost would have trouble following her.

Apparently not.

“They’re not my friends,” she murmured.

“Ah, of course,” he said stiffly, turning to face her. “I forgot you don’t have any of those. Even when you were human you were never very good at making them.”

“I lacked your ability to coddle people’s egos.”

“In other words, social graces,” Alex said, smiling thinly. “It’s rather amazing you weren’t cast out of the nobility.”

Her eyes narrowed and she glanced back down beneath them. “I don’t know why Danev chose this place. A hotel is far too obvious a hideout, especially for a man with his background.”

“Perhaps he wishes to ‘hide in plain sight’, as it were.”

“Or he’s relying on me to protect them if Chaval’s goons show up,” she said.

“If he trusted you that much, he would have tried to make contact already,” Alex pointed out. “It’s all very curious, this game you’re playing. It seems as though the lot of you could have simply pooled your resources by now.”

“Maltus didn’t want that,” Shaedra said. “He wanted to be patient.”

He grunted. “Yes, and I forgot you always do what he says. But you still never told me why—or why you care even the slightest bit for this DeShane girl.”

“You’re right, I didn’t,” she replied flatly. “And I don’t have to. It’s time for me to get to work.”

 “Yes, the hunt,” Alex murmured. “To think you used to spend days rotting away inside your tower pouring over musty books and ancient treatise. Perhaps you were wasting your true talents all along—or perhaps your curse has just turned you into an animal.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Stay here and talk with yourself if you want. I have a job to do.”

With a hollow grunt, Shaedra leapt from her perch. The pavement buckled beneath her on impact, and a series of sickening
cracks
echoed down the alley as the bone in her knees and ankles snapped. She stifled the yelp with practiced ease and held herself in a mangled crouch as she mentally clawed around the alley for the energy to sustain her.

It wasn’t an easy task. Precious few plants grew between the cracks in the cobblestone and brick streets, and she preferred not to drain humans if she could avoid it. It wasn’t as much a moral consideration as a practical one; a corpse brought a lot more unwanted attention than a few wilted plants, after all. Spreading panic amidst the back alleys would only slow her down in the end.

She bit down on her lip and continued her search for sustenance. Eventually she felt the skittering presence of vermin and carrion gnawing their way through discarded trash and dead animals, and she pulled what she needed from them. A nearby rat squeaked as it tried to flee from her invisible grip, but it barely made it a meter before falling over, blood streaming from its eyes.

Its death opened a gateway into the Fane, and she drew what she needed from the invisible rift. Her bones and muscles slowly repaired themselves just as they had a thousand times before, and within moments she was able to pull herself fully upright. Her regeneration was slower and more deliberate than she was used to, but that was all right. It would still be more than sufficient to get the job done.

Once she could walk again, she quickly set off towards the great golden dome in the city plaza. Chaval called it the Hall of Innovation, and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes anytime the name was mentioned. She’d never met the man, but it was obvious that he, like so many others in positions of wealth and power, was driven almost entirely by his ego. It made her want to kill him even more. It wouldn’t even be difficult—his guards would have no way to stop her, and she would have loved to see the look on his presidential face when she grabbed him by the throat and forced him to beg for his life.