The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

Part II

The Circumference of Darkness

Chapter XIV

The Revelation of the Sorceress

In which a sorceress identifies a terrifying enemy

“You’re one of them fancy ones from down south. Dyed shoes give it away, girl. And you—I don’t know where you’re from, but you have a southern accent. With something extra thrown in. What’s the story, dearie?”

The woman eyed them over her gold-plated cup as she drank. She stood in the doorway to her roundhouse, with her back against one post and her bare feet firmly planted against the other post.

Twig-brown hair crowned her head, and ended in a thick braid resting on her ample belly. Youthful rosiness still bloomed on her cheeks, but the network of lines radiating from her grey eyes told them she was no longer young. However, the berry coloring on her lips told them she still kept her spark: Cingetissa, Red Pointe’s corran, as Silurans referred to their chief reapers.

She was also, plain and simple, the most powerful sorceress outside the fortress.

Edana and Bessa exchanged a look. Three days past the Battle of Red Pointe they were not expecting anyone to concentrate on their clothes and accents when there were giants to ask about.

“That’s how we talk in Falcon’s Hollow,” Edana said dryly. “Good morning, Corran. Do you have any experience with these?” Gagnon’s keystone sparkled in her palm.

For a long while Cingetissa only stared at it, motionless. “So now comes the day.”

Again Edana and Bessa exchanged a look.

“You’re a seer, too?” Bessa asked.

“I don’t have to be for this. Step inside.”

The open door provided the only natural light in her home. Thus, she passed her hand over a glowlight, illuminating the room in soft blue light after they shut the door. Iron scrollworks enameled in red adorned her stone walls, especially around the hearth. A coal-fed fire blazed beneath an iron cauldron in her hearth. Water bubbled and frothed in the pot. By the pungent, grassy scent that wrinkled their noses, they knew Cingetissa was making a tisane of dandelion roots.

“Well?” She gestured for them to sit at her table of seasoned hazel wood, where she had left a basket of elderflowers.

They sat. While they got comfortable, Cingetissa busied herself in the corner of her hut, where she kept a small silver cauldron suspended from chains. She returned with two cups, one for Bessa and one for Edana. Settling in across from them she smiled, and gestured at the cup in front of Bessa.

“I hear you’re one of them fancy wine people, young miss. News of your journey here did not escape my ears. But this here is a good brew, and I reckon you’ll like it fine. Test it for yourself, you’ll see.”

Gamely Bessa took a sip, and was pleasantly surprised. The ale was nicely spiced, with, hmm meadowsweet? Yes, meadowsweet and wild strawberries, along with honey.

“Indeed I do like it fine,” she judged. “If I could trouble you to send some to the Pendrys of Two Rivers, and to my estate in Falcon’s Hollow, I would be most grateful.”

Cingetissa’s eyes brightened. “That good, eh? Consider it done, sweetling.”

This time, Edana placed the keystone on the table, and this time, Cingetissa examined it. After a moment she uttered one word. Suddenly, silver flames bloomed above the table, forming a strange glyph. Edana and Bessa recoiled, but Cingetissa regarded it calmly.

“Hmm,” she said. “This dodges a paralysis spell. And what more? Ah, the one who placed the spell…” Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she spoke in rapid-fire High Siluran, the dialect spoken by Silurans in the mountainous north.

They could barely keep up with her, even before she slipped into another language they had never heard before. Bessa and Edana glanced at each other, and shook their heads.

Finally, Cingetissa came back to herself. Deeply she exhaled, shallowly she inhaled. She gestured vaguely towards the hearth. Bessa went over to the bubbling pot. Steam washed over her face, and with a grimace she endured the assault on her nose. The dandelion water reeked like her cousin Lucius’s nappies after he wet himself. Well, she wasn’t going to drink it.

Neither was Cingetissa; when Bessa brought a cup to her she vigorously shook her head and pointed to the beer cauldron. Silently accepting the rebuke, Bessa hurried over to the cauldron. Small and elegant, the cauldron was fashioned of silver with a chased pattern of bees and flowers circling its middle.

The corran already held her hand out when Bessa returned. Cingetissa drained the cup so rapidly Bessa wondered if she would choke. She did not. Once finished she shook herself, then took a deep breath before she looked at them.

“Thank you, dearie. I needed that. Ahem.” Her eyes looked sharper, focused.

“What happened to you?” Edana ventured.

Cingetissa laughed. “Talking to the spirits, of course. There are some things I cannot know on my own. As for you, be careful, dearies. The spirits, they don’t like the one who made this key. Beware of Murena—the Eel. He’s dangerous. I have a house, he has a lair. You understand me?

Bessa shivered. Beside her, Edana went very still. She eyed Cingetissa with disfavor. In turn Bessa raised an eyebrow, mystified. Then it hit her.

Ohhh.

All sorcerers were forbidden to access the shadow realm of Erebossa, and the spirits therein. Only the Anointed—the priests—were so trusted. It was Law: the law of men … and the law of the gods.

Edana asked, “Isn’t talking to the spirits something an Oathbreaker would do?”

Oathbreaker, the epithet bestowed upon those sorcerers who dared to touch Erebossa, however lightly. Uncle Min’da did not even approve of talking to guardian spirits who resided in the places of the world, however benign the sorcerers claimed them to be.

Sorcerers—the good ones—were only permitted to deal with the material realm. Oathbreakers disregarded that rule, and some were brazen about it.

Cingetissa’s insouciant smile set Bessa on edge, but Edana remained visibly calm.

“No, dearie. That would imply I ever took that oath. I wear no master’s yoke. I swear no fealty to men. You put your faith in oaths them invaders make their gifted ones swear to? Anyone can wear those flashy pins they have. Anyone can break oath to a man. I make no oaths, save to them that’s Above. And I’ve never broken faith with them. Never! Now hear me well!”

Edana started to speak, but Cingetissa raised a hand, quelling her.

“Listen to me, sweet things. Listen. The spirits I speak to ain’t fellshades of Erebossa. They’re right here, the guardians of the land. You do believe in those, don’t you? Not once have I ever had to fight my way to ’em. Until today. Until now. Always they’ve been ‘there,’ until now. Always … I was alone. Now? Something else was with me. A presence.”

Abruptly she bolted up from her chair. Cup in hand, she strode over to her ale cauldron. Only after another long draught did she speak again.

“Listen,” she said at last. Vigorously, she rubbed her arms as if to warm herself. “Something is watching me. Has been, for over a year now. Every day it grows stronger. But just now it seemed it would reach out and touch me.”

Bessa inhaled, and another shiver rippled down her spine. “Are you in danger? Are the other sorcerers in danger?”

Silence met her as Cingetissa twisted her braid around and around, coiling it about her wrist like a torq. Then,

“In my bones I would say yes. When I first felt that presence, I feared a Scouring might be coming. I thought the Presence meant to cut me off from the guardian spirits. The lorekeepers say that happened during the Scouring. We were cut off. This was before the Fourth Cataclysm, but the memories, they linger. Your coming here, the attack by those giants, tells me something else is going on. Something we haven’t seen before.”

Edana took a deep breath, and repeated the ominous motto uttered by the giant and the duke.

“‘The servants will fall’?” Cingetissa repeated to herself. “Who? The priests? The gods? Are there other Children besides the dryads and the naiads and so on? Or are they the servants?”

“Wait, wait,” Bessa interrupted. “You think the giants are speaking on that level? That they’re not talking about people, they’re talking about dryads, or the Huntress?”

In answer Cingetissa went over to a shelf, where she began rooting through several boxes she kept there.

With her back to them she replied, “Of course. Ain’t that where your mind goes? Look. There’s a lotta races in this world. I hear tell a Salamandran is here. Why not giants, too? But the giants saying what you heard yours say, and the Presence? And the spirits’ restlessness? Come, girl, you need to look beyond that which belongs to this world. Count on it, sweet thing. Especially because of that key.”

She opened a box, and let out a whoop of satisfaction.

“What about the key?” Edana asked.

Turning back to them, Cingetissa triumphantly held up something shimmery. She tossed it onto the table, where it landed in front of Edana. After a moment’s hesitation, Edana picked it up and unfurled it. A drawstring bag, shut with golden tassels. At first she thought the bag itself was woven of cloth-of-silver, but its sheen and iridescence suggested something more ethereal.

“Starsilk. Spun from Sorcha’s light, when She shines brightest in the heavens. You fancy folk call this kind of purse a ‘kibisis.’ Keep the key inside it, my sweet, and its master can’t set his gaze on you. The light of the morning star blinds him, you see.”

Immediately Edana shoved the keystone into the bag, earning a nod of approval from Cingetissa.

“Now, my dears, I’ve done all I can do for you. It may be you’re devout enough, but I reckon you can’t deal with the master on your own. I have no amulet, or a blessing, because I ain’t one of them Anointed ones. Just gifted”—Bessa read a rebuke in her sharp smile—“Hear me, my sweet young things: This key? The door it opens is not of this world.”

Two days later they left Red Pointe in somber spirits. Cingetissa’s warning, and the implications of the duke’s otherworldly key, weighed heavily upon them.

“That’s one down,” Lady Nensela observed, when Edana had filled her in, via the oraculum at Red Pointe. “And he takes with him many secrets.”

“Not all of them,” Edana corrected her, revealing what she found in Gagnon’s treasure box. When she explained Cingetissa’s revelation about the keystone, Lady Nensela gasped.

“So I was right,” the seer murmured. “This is not good. Oh, by the Seeker.”

“What happens now?”

Lady Nensela shook her head. “You have done well. Very well. Our friends will take it from here. You have done all we can ask of you. Hurry back now, while there is still chaos. By the time the Battle of Red Pointe is widely known, you will need to be far from there. Return to me as soon as you can.”

For this reason, Edana readily agreed to Saavedra’s offer to escort her and Bessa to his fortress in Casterbridge.

To everyone’s surprise, the Pendrys met them there. Arriving with their own entourage they reached the gates the same time Saavedra’s caravan did. To Bessa’s surprise, her grandparents appeared to have expected her, though they didn’t allow formalities to get in the way of hugging her.

The surprises kept coming. When Bessa started introductions, Saavedra proved to already know who the Pendrys were. Even more, he greeted her grandparents in keeping with their standing as tribal chieftans. Inwardly, she was pleased he troubled himself to learn Siluran politics. Undoubtedly he would be wise enough to ally with the Pendrys and other Silurans in defense of Silura.

It was an hour past noon, and Bessa mentally calculated whether they could reach the Pendry home before nightfall. So far, giants declined to attack during the day. Ever since the attack on Red Pointe she considered the night something to get through, and survive.

“We heard about what happened,” Grandmother Pendry said. “We have something that may interest you.” She directed this at Saavedra.

Saavedra took them to his council chambers. Unlike Red Pointe’s, his walls were timber with slate posts. Like Red Pointe, his walls were covered in cloth itineraria of his territory and that of Greater Silura. Bessa noticed her grandparents tactfully did not acknowledge that Saavedra’s jurisdiction included Two Rivers. They hadn’t come to pick a fight; this wasn’t their style.

Grandfather Pendry set his battle scythe upon the table. Again Saavedra showed his wisdom, in refraining from demanding the Pendrys disarm themselves. Grandmother Pendry gingerly carried a sack in her gloved hands. Bessa intently eyed the sack.

Grandmother Pendry carefully set the sack on the table, pulling out what appeared to be a small clay beehive. Violet lightning sparked and flashed. A hush fell over the room, and Bessa could not help the thrill rippling through her body.

Different colors signaled different powers, and violet denoted the rarest power of all: life-sowing magic.

And in the Pendry family, such power could only mean one thing. Bessa stared at Saavedra. How would he react?

“I’m guessing this doesn’t have bees in it,” he said wryly. His expression suggested he also hadn’t missed the implications of the violet lightning.

“Correct,” said Grandmother Pendry. “We’re still working on a way to penetrate the giants’ armor with our weapons, but for now, here’s your reserve. Mine your fields with them, or have your wingmen drop them. The hives have two components: hydra venom to paralyze and poison the giants…and the dragon’s teeth.”

With narrowed eyes she stared at Saavedra. A challenge. Bessa held her breath. Dragon teeth warriors always bore swords and armor of dragonsteel, which were akin to moonbow steel in their ability to cut through metal and bone.

However, Rasena Valentis had laws dating back to the Fourth Cataclysm against sowing dragon’s teeth. Only the most formidable of sorcerers could properly execute such a spell, but even they must contend with the fact that the warriors could not be readily controlled. Usually…

Whatever Saavedra’s thoughts, they remained hidden behind a pleasant mask of neutrality. “What prevents them from killing us?”

The Pendrys exchanged a glance. On cozy autumn nights they had taught Bessa family lore. Thus, she knew the Two Rivers tribe had mastered sowing the teeth in ways the Rasena Valentians never did.

And their methods were a closely guarded secret.

Grandfather Pendry answered, “Twice the life of my granddaughter has been endangered by these giants that ought not to be here. And twice your people have done everything possible to defend her, and those of our people in your care. Not at all what I would expect of an imperial inter—soldier. Honor shall be met with honor: to aid your defense of our land, I will share with you our way of controlling the sown men.” Glancing at Edana he added, “And the other lands in your power.”

Bessa smiled, unable to conceal her pride. Honor shall be met with honor indeed! More than that, Grandfather’s willingness to think beyond their tribe made her heart do somersaults.

From his own hands Grandfather Pendry handed Saavedra a scroll. The vellum page contained a spell placing a geas on the warriors to defend their lands and obey his orders. However—the warriors would never attack a Siluran. Further, the geas was conditional on the warriors being given their freedom when the threat from the giants were over.

Bessa supposed it was downright polite of him to add to the geas the provision that the warriors could not attack Rasena Valentians either.

As she suspected, Grandfather Pendry did not bring along his battle scythe for nothing. Its pattern-welded blade was angled differently than the farming variety, and coated with hydra venom. By whatever means they killed a giant, the scythe would allow them to behead it.

Without hesitation Saavedra accepted the dragon hives. Briskly, he and the Pendrys negotiated a plan for Two Rivers to supply the garrisons in his jurisdiction. Not an hour had gone by before the Pendrys were on their way, having added Bessa and Edana to their caravan.

The Pendrys escorted Bessa and Edana back to the Philomelos estate. Ostensibly, the Pendrys wanted to deliver dragon-teeth hives to the Philomelos family and the Falcon’s Hollow Watch. However, from the way they watched her, Bessa suspected her grandparents were worried about her safety.

As soon as she arrived home she asked one of the housemaids to summon the remaining workers to join her in the courtyard. In the meantime, Bessa found Grandmother in the library.

Grandmother flung her arms around Bessa and Edana as soon as she set eyes on them. Though overjoyed, she exhaled in relief when Edana assured her they would leave Silura at dawn.

“I have not been able to track down where Lysander is stationed,” Grandmother said. “But his family has an estate in Asil’est, in Sirônasse. That’s where I met his father in the first place. They should be able to tell you more when you reach them.”

Grandfather Pendry’s eyes narrowed, and Bessa recalled he, also, had not been part of the negotiations for her betrothal. And while the sheer fact of her existence had forced him to become more accepting of ‘outsiders,’ it had still taken him several years to even be willing to speak of Bessa’s engagement.

Now, relief fluttered across his face. The look he exchanged with Grandmother Pendry suggested that like Aurelia, he also believed Bessa would be safer away from Silura.

Bessa’s lips quirked. Was this what it took to unite both sets of grandparents? An existential threat to her wellbeing? So rarely did they see eye to eye. Then again, to the Pendrys, was she not also the only child of a child they lost? Yet for Grandfather, a special torment might salt his sorrow: the memory of rejecting Papouli’s input into Morwenna’s care during her pregnancy with Bessa.

Bessa knew the story. While Papa was away from Silura on business, Mama decided to visit her parents. Only then did she discover she was with child, and sent news to her in-laws. In his answering letter, Papouli insisted she return at once. Though energetic in spirit, Morwenna had been delicate in body since birth. Knowing this, Papouli judged her heart too weak to survive a pregnancy without strong magic. If she returned to the Philomelos estate he could look after her.

Compounding the danger was the fact that Bessa was due in little more than a fortnight after the winter solstice, when his powers were at their weakest. The Restorer presided over the summer solstice. A supremely blessed healer might even overcome death when the sun graced the constellation of the Restorer’s sacred phoenix. In his youth, Papouli once proved himself such a healer.

All the same, Grandfather Pendry preferred to place his trust in healers he knew of from his youth. When the time came, it turned out their reputations exceeded their experience. In the end, only Bessa could be saved.

After the death of Bessa's father, Nikandros, Aurelia was ruthless in ensuring Bessa remained with her and Papouli. So ruthless she even invoked the Rasenan law, which gave the father’s family precedence over the mother’s when a child was orphaned.

Now, at long last, her father’s mother and her mother’s parents were on the same side. Shaking her head, Bessa caught sight of a slave arriving in the doorway. The woman nodded at her, and Bessa rose.

“Join me in the courtyard, everyone. I only want to explain this once,” she said.

In the courtyard Bessa had a standing-room only audience as she launched into the story of Red Pointe. Enraptured, they listened intently as she explained the efforts she and Edana made to turn people against Duke Gagnon, and the consequences thereof. When she came to the part of her tale where Gagnon unwittingly doomed himself, a thunderous cheer went up.

“So he’s dead?” This from one of the few survivors of the giants’ attack on the winegrower’s compound. Her eyes were wide with hope.

Bessa opened her blackthorn box, revealing Gagnon’s head.

The survivors hugged each other, and her uncles came forward to clasp her hands and kiss her cheeks. Little Aurelius, Bessa’s cousin, piped up to ask after Lady Aelia’s arm. The quiver of his chin suggested the little boy was alarmed by her mutilation. The question surprised everyone, and they looked expectantly at Bessa.

“Her arm was regenerating when we left her. It’s an…odd thing to see.”

When Aurelius excitedly demanded details, the others laughed and his nursemaid shushed him.

Before the day was out, Bessa made a point of visiting the tombs set aside for the vineyard crews. The recent dead were already interred, and Bessa examined the workmanship of the sculptors, who were busy creating a high-relief frieze in the likenesses of the slain.

By their sketches the sculptors revealed their intention to depict the victims as they lived, at work in the vineyard. Working, but with sly hints of festival season: the jugs and pitchers at their feet, the children hiding cups behind their backs, and Ria bringing out a basket of cheesecakes.

Bessa smiled, pleased they would be commemorated in such a cheerful fashion.

To the spirits of the departed she whispered, “One down. However many more to go, I will find them. I swear it.”