The Path of Flames (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 1) (48 page)

“A witch,” said Iskra softly, turning again to study the stranger who was standing perfectly still, watching her in turn from the dark recesses of her hood. Her firecat was watching the dead fish bob around them in the water.

“Well, I know exactly what to do with witches,” said Ser Tiron. “Invite her in close, and then I’ll chop her head off and we can burn her to ashes.”

“No!” Kethe turned to her mother. “I know it looks frightening, but she saved my life. I gave my word that she would be safe.”

“Peace,” said Iskra, not looking away from the figure. “She saved your life. I’ll not have anybody killed in payment for such service. Bid her approach.”

“Look at those dead fish, Iskra,” said Ser Tiron. “You can’t think she means us any good. Send her away if you won’t let me kill her, but don’t let her step onto this island.”

“Please, Mother.” Kethe touched Iskra’s arm. “I swear to you, I’m not under any spell, and she saved my life. She might be able to help us! At least talk to her. Get a sense of her yourself. The Hrethings won’t do more then sell us food. We can’t turn Mæva away.”

Iskra nodded and gestured that Mæva approach. Ser Tiron stiffened as the woman did so, but didn’t draw his sword. Step by step, the witch approached, and when she was a few yards away she stopped again and drew back her hood. Her firecat leaped up into the air briefly, wings flaring, only to land once more. Iskra gazed at her. She looked to be in her twenties, but her eyes were those of an older woman. There was an intelligence, a cunning, a depth of experience and wisdom in them that Iskra would have sworn had come at a terrible price.

“You saved Kethe’s life,” Iskra said, speaking as if they were in the Lord’s Hall back at her castle. “You have my deepest gratitude.”

Mæva inclined her head. “Hers is a life worth saving.”

“I would agree,” said Iskra. “But, then, I am her mother. What is her value to you?”

“Her value? Why, she’s a charming conversationalist, and her earnestness is so endearing.” Mæva paused and smiled. “Is that not enough?”

“No,” said Ser Tiron, shifting his weight subtly on the sand as if anticipating an attack.

“Your daughter has a powerful wyrd,” said Mæva. “You won’t understand or appreciate what that means, but for one like myself who can sense some of the invisible forces at work in the world, that makes her important. That she’s a Kyferin and stands in Mythgræfen Hold makes her all the more notable.” She paused, examining Iskra carefully. “And makes the boon owed to me for saving her life all the more valuable as well.”

So we come to it, thought Iskra. “And what boon would you ask of me?”

“Nothing as of yet. Let us say that I shall claim it in the future. For now, I am pleased to have returned her to you, and ask for nothing more.”

Ser Tiron went to respond, but Iskra raised her hand. “Why did you cross the lake on foot rather than circle to the causeway?”

Mæva gave a sinuous one-shouldered shrug. “I’ve walked enough for one day. That, and I knew a demonstration of my power would be requested once we got to talking. Two birds, one stone.”

Iskra nodded. “I welcome you to the Hold, Mæva. I offer you guest rights and give you my word that you’ll be safe here as long as you give me no cause for grief.” She turned to stare at Ser Tiron, who scowled at her and nodded, then back to Brocuff, who was watching wide-eyed. “Constable, see to it that your men understand what I’ve said.” She turned back to Mæva. “Now, I see there is much for us to discuss.”

“My Lady!” Audsley came running out of the front gate, puffing for breath, his firecat flying overhead. “Dire news! We have to talk at once—I—ah —” He stumbled to a stop at the sight of Mæva standing calmly on the lake’s surface. “Oh.”

Mæva simply smiled at him and stepped forth onto the beach.

Audsley’s firecat hissed and beat its wings furiously at the sight of the witch, then rose up quickly to disappear into the branches of the twisted oak.

“Enough.” Iskra’s voice was firm. “Follow me into the Hold. We’ll have this discussion in private.” She stepped back up onto the turf and strode back into the Hold, then turned off into one of the small, ruined guard rooms. Ser Tiron positioned himself just before her and to the side while Audsley shrank back against one wall. Kethe stood next to him, and Mæva stood at ease, arms crossed, firecat dropping to the ground to sit beside her, wings folded back across its brindled coat. Its eyes, Iskra saw, were a hideous yellow, like a rancid egg yolk. She’d never seen their like.

“Magister,” said Iskra. “You’re agitated. Do you want to go first?”

“Oh,” said Audsley, eyes still wide as he stared at Mæva. “No. I mean, it is urgent. But she, er, I mean… Ahem. She can go first.”

“Very well.” Iskra turned back to the witch, who met her gaze with amusement. “Then let us begin with you, Mæva. You claim my daughter has a powerful wyrd. Do you care to explain further?”

“First, let it be noted that Kethe is a fine, strong young woman,” said Mæva. “I’d like to think I’d have saved her regardless of these other factors.”

“You’d like to think?” asked Ser Tiron.

Mæva smiled. “My actions aren’t entirely predictable, noble knight, even to myself.” She hesitated. “How to explain? You are all dumb to the world. I do not mean that in an entirely insulting way, though it is hard not to feel superior. You are insensate like most people, and notice only the crudest and most obvious parts of this world. You feel the wind on your skin, enjoy sunlight on your face, can feel rough stone or piercing cold. Sometimes I am sure you feel quite intensely alive, but believe me, you are apprehending only the very surface of reality.”

Iskra found the witch’s arrogance equal parts amusing and grating. “Poor us. I assume it is otherwise for you?”

“Oh, yes.” Mæva lowered her chin, and her eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. “Very much so. There are energies that flow through this world that are undetectable only to a unique few—that eddy and ebb, that surge and pool. When I walk past your Raven’s Gate, I feel a roar akin to a waterfall. This entire Hold—” She extended her arm and turned, looking around the room. “It throbs and vibrates with this power. But it’s fractured. The energies mimic the form, though that’s not always the case.” She narrowed her eyes as she concentrated. “I can feel a vortex out there in the courtyard. A sinking sensation, as if the energies were being pulled down.”

Audsley started. “Down?”

“Hmm. Yes.” Mæva cocked her head and looked to her firecat as if for confirmation. “Is there something below?”

“I… ah. Um.” Audsley stepped back. “In a moment. Please continue.”

Mæva shrugged. “In short, I can feel the play of these energies, and in some manner manipulate them, coax them into doing what I wish. It is a perilous thing to do, and it would surely kill me if I did not deflect the worst of this energy into other living creatures.”

Iskra narrowed her eyes. “The fish.”

“Indeed.” Mæva’s smile disappeared. “They paid the price of my casting.”

“Sin Casting,” said Ser Tiron.

“Names.” Mæva shrugged impatiently. “Suffice to say there’s a reason I live alone. But my point is, just as I can sense the weft and weave of these energies, I can also sense how they flow into Kethe. Pour into her and disappear.”

Kethe blinked. “Disappear?”

“As I told you, my dear, you seem to be a sinkhole for this power. Conflate that with your being a Kyferin, and you become a very important individual indeed.”

Iskra stepped forward. “What does it mean, for her to act as a sinkhole?”

Mæva gave her one-shouldered shrug again. “I don’t know. I’ve lived most of my life in solitude with Ashurina, mastering my own control of magic so as not to die. I’ve never met anybody like her. But I know it holds great import. Especially in light of her being a Kyferin.”

Iskra fought to keep her expression calm. Inside, however, her thoughts were roiling. “And why is that?”

To her surprise, it was Audsley who spoke, his voice wooden. “The Kyferins used to defend this land centuries ago from the dangers of the Black Gate.”

Everyone turned to stare at him. Ser Tiron shifted uncomfortably. “The Black Gate is sealed.”

“The one in Bythos is,” said Audsley. He smiled tremulously, but failed to hide the terror in his eyes. “But not the one high up in the mountains here.”

Iskra felt the shock like a slap. “What are you talking about?”

“Downstairs. I, ah, might have followed a naugrim into a set of hidden rooms—in which I found a lost Lunar Gate and a study and office. Scrolls. Books. Far too many for me to read in one sitting, unfortunately, but I—how shall I say—perused a number of the last message scrolls left on a desk, and learned much.” Two spots of color had appeared on Audsley’s smooth cheeks. “There is and might always have been a smaller Black Gate up in the mountains. The Hold was built by your ancestors to protect the land from it, as well as mine something called ‘Gate Stone’ from the ground. I still have much to learn, but I believe your ancestors were guardians against the evils that came through it, as well as benefiting later from mining this ore, which might quite possibly have been used to build the Lunar and Solar Gates, amongst other things.”

Nobody spoke. Audsley smiled apologetically. “So, um, yes. Which might explain why the Hold has been wiped out again and again since it was originally abandoned. Without a continuous presence here, the forces from the Black Gate would mount and prove impossible to resist when they attacked.”

Kethe passed a hand over her brow. “The demon that nearly killed me. It came through this Black Gate?”

Audsley nodded. “Yes, I’d imagine so.”

“Why was such a vital defense abandoned?” demanded Iskra.

“Well…” Audsley hesitated again. “It seems that the first Ascendant—praised be his name—was against the mining of Gate Stone. When he founded the Ascendant Empire, he ordered that all such mining operations cease.”

Kethe pressed her fingertips to her temples. “But why?”

Audsley shrugged. “I don’t know. He thought it violated the tenets of Ascension. The why of it has been lost, though the answer may lie below.”

Ser Tiron’s eyes were darting from side to side as he tried to piece this together. “But why did the Ascendant abandon this smaller Black Gate?”

Audsley shrugged helplessly again. “I need more time with the scrolls. But from their tone, I think—and this is very awkward—I think its presence was overlooked or ignored. Perhaps it was inconvenient? There is talk of the early Ascendants violently enforcing their beliefs, even at the expense of knowledge and nuance. But I really don’t know.”

Kethe looked to her mother. “While we were in Hrething, they revealed that they don’t celebrate the Winter Shriving. They call it the Black Shriving instead. They said that’s when the forces of evil sweep across the land, and when those in the Hold disappear.” She suddenly flushed in remembered outrage. “And they don’t even believe in the cycles of Ascension – they said they simply hope to lead good lives and go straight through the White Gate when they die!”

Audsley blinked rapidly. “Is that so? Fascinating. That creed was espoused by an Ascension cult over a century ago called the Jogomils, name for Jogomillin, a heretical Noussian who disappeared when his movement was, ah, suppressed by the kragh. No-one knows to where he went, but now I’m sure we can make an educated guess…”

Iskra closed her eyes and fought for calm, for control. All her life she had relied on her Sigean education and upbringing to guide her during times of peril. The world operated according to logical and ineffable laws set down by the first Ascendant, laws which set each and every living being in their place and gave them a simple and elegant system to follow in order to Ascend. There had been no mention of this chaos, this bloodshed, or of Black Gates overlooked during Ascendancy’s rise.

The situation was slipping through her fingers. There were too many questions, too much uncertainty. “This changes nothing.” She opened her eyes and gazed from one person to the next. “Lord Laur is still marching on us in twelve days. The Winter Shriving is almost two months away. We must survive his assault before we can concern ourselves with these older matters.”

Audsley spluttered, “But Lord Laur pales in significance beside these revelations—”

“Lord Laur,” said Iskra, “wants us dead. All the knowledge in the world won’t save us from his knights. Unless you have discovered a means to defeat them below?”

Audsley stepped back almost sulkily against the wall. “Well, there was a sword.”

Ser Tiron perked up. “A sword?”

Audsley nodded. “Nasty-looking thing. Somebody got cut in half by the Gate down there. Dropped their sword as they died.”

Iskra raised her hand. “Excuse me. A Gate?”

“Yes.” Audsley blushed. “I was going to mention it. A Lunar Gate, of course. I don’t know where it goes or to which phase of the moon it’s attuned, however.”

“A new Gate. In the bowels of the Hold.” She paused to process this information. “Incredible. Audsley, see to it that someone watches this Gate whenever the moon is in the sky.”

“Yes, my Lady,” said Audsley, bowing low.

“And I’ll come take a look at this sword,” said Ser Tiron.

“Mæva.” Iskra turned to the witch. “You know our situation. Will you help us against Lord Laur?”