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Chapter Twenty-Eight

Rae stared. The pattern of the soul imprinted on the spiritblade was unmistakable. The faint lines of the mote Rae had first bound in his family’s barn stood at the top of the page. That was where Tren had started the scrying, extrapolating out until the full soul came into view. This kind of formula took great effort and skill, to scry a spiritbinder’s soul without the mage’s knowledge. Tren Kelthannis must have gone to great lengths to create this scrying.

Dad had this before we left Hadroy House! Before the Heresy, and...and...before everything. How? How is this possible? And whose soul is this?

Two things were absolutely certain. First, this was his father’s memory, preserved in the shadowlands, hidden in an office that must long ago have been swallowed by the Heretic’s Eye in the Ordered World.

And second, his father had lied to them that day, and every day since.

An icy hook pierced Rae’s chest. Expecting a blade sticking out of his chest, Rae looked down and was shocked to see no wound. The pain startled him, cutting right through his reverie and yanking him backward toward the door. He grabbed at the diagram on his father’s desk, but his fingers slipped through the parchment. Whatever malevolent force had Rae in its grips dragged him inexorably backward, out the study door, down the hallway, and through the front door of his childhood home. The moment he cleared the transom, Rae was jerked upward. He screamed as he left the ground. The wraith grabbed for him, bony fingers scratching across Rae’s chest as he flew into the misty sky. The fog closed around him.

He screamed, but this time he felt it in his throat, felt his lungs burn as the sound escaped him. Rae sat bolt upright, hands and feet scrabbling to keep from falling. Scrabbling at a wooden floor, he realized.

Mahk stumbled back. La’s thin fingers clamped across his mouth, cutting the scream short.

“You want to bring them down on us, you idiot?” she hissed into his ear. Mahk stared at him with nervous eyes, but then the big man rolled onto his feet and went to the window. Estev was already there, looking through a crack in the shutters.

“He’s back?” Estev said.

“Yeah, whatever you did woke him up. Have they noticed?” La asked.

“Something did. Whether it’s following your brother’s soul or his bloody screaming hardly matters.” Estev stepped back from the window. “We need to get moving. They’ll be here any minute.”

“What’s going on? That was you, the hook? Why did you—”

“A forced recall can be difficult, even painful,” Estev said. He was already kneeling over one of the pallets, gathering his recently unpacked bag. “One night. That’s all I wanted. One hot meal, one soft bed . . . I suppose these hardly qualify as soft, but they’re better than the ground.”

“Stop! I have to go back!” Rae said. “I had the pattern for the sword! I had it!”

“What are you talking about? What pattern?” La asked.

“The scrying Dad made of this sword,” Rae answered. “He had it before we left Hammerwall. Before the Heresy, and our flight to Hammerwall. Before any of this!”

“But how is that . . . how is it even possible?” La asked. Estev was watching them with curiosity.

“I don’t know. Maybe he was scrying the soul of one of the other mages. But the demon was missing. So whoever he scried, they weren’t yet possessed by Chaos.” Rae locked eyes with Estev. “I bound the wraith, then was able to use it to travel through the shadowlands to the memory of our cottage on the grounds of Hadroy House. I saw a diagram Dad created, or at least the memory of one. It was the soul engraved in this sword. Minus the demon.”

“Your father continues to amaze me,” Estev said, standing up. “It is possible to diagram the soul of a spiritbinder without their knowledge, but it’s very tricky. You’re sure it’s the same scrying?”

“I’d recognize it anywhere. Which means—”

“It might explain why he ran,” Estev said. His eyes were thoughtful, his voice distant. “That sword is evidence of a diabolist plot of some nature.”

“Could I ask him? Go into the shadowlands and find out what he knew?” Rae asked. Estev shook his head.

“I wouldn’t recommend it. Not until you have much better control over that wraith than you do at present.”

“But I should try, shouldn’t I?”

“You should not,” Estev said.

“But—”

“Raelle,” Estev said sternly. “Your father is dead. It is tempting to try to reach out to him, I understand that. But the freshly deceased are in no state to communicate, especially with those they loved in life. At best, you will find a mad spirit still grappling with its death. At worst, your father’s wraith will latch onto you and destroy you from the inside.”

Rae’s shoulders slumped. La stood up from where she was kneeling and went to his side, rubbing his back. Reluctantly, he met her eyes.

“I just want to see my dad. I just want to ask him some questions, and . . . and . . .”

“I know,” La said. “I miss them, too. Both of them.”

Rae sighed mightily, then looked around the room. Estev was primly packing his collection of notebooks and arcane ephemera, while Mahk was haphazardly throwing their possessions into satchels.

“What’s happening? Why is everyone packing up?” Rae asked, exasperated. “Should we be . . . I don’t know . . . trying to get back into the shadowlands? Finding the original scrying that was used to create this sword?”

“Whatever is in the shadowlands is just a memory. A clue, yes, but not the thing we need,” Estev said. “For now we just need to get you and that sword out of here.”

“Something followed you, wherever you were,” La said. “Estev thinks it might have been the justicars.”

“Or something worse,” Mahk added. He already had his bag over his shoulder.

“The demon?” Rae whispered. Mahk shrugged, but his eyes twitched nervously.

“I sensed the ritual a short while ago. A divination of some sort,” Estev said. “Every spiritbinder in Aervelling must have felt it. Whoever they are, they’re not bothering with subtlety.”

“How do we know it’s meant for us?” Rae asked.

“You have to ask? A fiendbinder tracks our father to the edge of the Ordered World, destroys a bastion to flush us out, then attacks us in the middle of a justicar camp,” La said. “Of course it’s for us!”

“Oh, it’s possible that some other mage decided tonight would be a good night to bind a particularly powerful divination spirit. Perhaps the mayor lost his favorite slippers. You never know. But I would rather be safe than sorry.” Estev looked up distractedly before his eyes locked on the inlaid box. He snapped it shut and tucked it into his satchel. “Did you bind the wraith at least?”

In answer, Rae motioned with his hand and drew the wraith. A vortex of glowing mist laced through with indistinct, howling faces rose from his palm. Mahk swore and looked away. La clucked her tongue.

“You could have just said yes,” she muttered, then shouldered past her brother. Mahk followed without meeting Rae’s eyes. Estev stared at him sadly.

“Yes, well. At least there’s that.” The lifebinder ponderously hefted his satchel and took an uncertain step toward the door. “I’m sorry it had to happen this way, lad.”

“I’m sorry for a lot of things,” Rae answered. “Doesn’t change any of them.”

Estev grunted, then motioned Rae outside. His bag was already packed, leaning next to the door. He hooked it onto one shoulder on his way out.

Mahk was already down the stairs and heading for the back door. The innkeeper stood at the entrance to the kitchen, a knife in her hand, watching them file out. Apparently she knew they were fleeing. A small pile of coins sat on the counter next to her. Estev nodded amicably in her direction, but that only drew a grimace.

“Get out, the lot of you,” she whispered. “Whatever deviled business you’re about, get out of my establishment.”

“We won’t trouble you any longer, m’lady,” Estev said. “The boy takes a fright in his sleep, sometimes, and—”

“Out!” she snarled, then scooped up the coins and disappeared into the kitchen.

“What was that about?” Rae asked.

“There have been some . . . manifestations of your talent,” Estev said. “Ever since you entered the shadowlands. Quite unexpected.” They ducked their way out the back door, then splashed down a narrow alleyway and emerged onto the main drag. Estev looked up and down the moon-shadowed road. “We will discuss it later. For now, we must take flight. There. A stable.” He nodded in the direction of a large building with a hayhook over its doors and a horseshoe dangling from its shingle. There were two doors, one wide and designed for carriages, the other smaller and meant for foot traffic. “Hopefully the proprietor is awake and in the mood to be bribed.”

Mahk led the way to the stables and pulled the foot door open with a creak. The interior was completely dark. The smell of hay and horse dung, sharp and sweet, filled their nostrils. One of the horses neighed curiously at the disturbance. They slipped inside and closed the door, leaving them in absolute shadow.

“Ah,” Estev said. “We will need light.”

Without thinking, Rae dipped into the wraith, drawing the ghostly illumination of the shadowlands into the material plane. The room shimmered into muted light. A collection of horses shifted nervously in their stalls against the far wall, while the middle of the room was crowded with two carriages, secured for the night. Piles of hay were stacked against the other wall, reaching to the ceiling. A loft stretched overhead, a collection of leads, farrier tools, and other paraphernalia dangling from the rafters. One of the horses watched them with wide eyes. The beast clopped its hooves against the hard-packed floor.

“I don’t see any torches,” he said. “We’ll have to crack the door.”

“How are you seeing anything?” La asked.

“With a dead man’s eyes,” Estev said, disappointment in his voice. “Have a care, Raelle. Whoever is following us can track such manifestations as surely as a footprint.”

“They’ll have plenty enough to untangle in the inn. Enough with the lectures,” Rae muttered. “Are we stealing a cart or something?”

“We are paying for a cart and two horses—if we can find the owner of this establishment. I will see if I can locate them,” Estev said. “Are any of you adept at preparing a team of horses?”

“If it’s anything like a plow, I can manage it,” La said. “Rae, are you doing something about the light?”

“Yes, yes, just a moment.” He went to the wide sliding door and jerked it open. It was heavier than he expected and only opened a crack before grinding to a halt. “I might need a . . . hand . . .” He glanced outside and dropped his voice. “Everyone be quiet.”

Rae’s eyes were locked across the street. Two shadowy figures were moving up the boardwalk from the docks, stopping at each door and hammering for entrance. As he watched, the home two doors down from their recently vacated inn opened to the summons. A thin man in an evening shirt stood in the open door, holding a lantern in one hand and an ancient saber in the other. The lantern’s light washed across the two figures, illuminating them.

Justicars. One tall and thin, with a wide-brimmed hat and a staff, the other short, petite, and heavily bandaged. Even with her hair grown out and a linen wrap across half her face, Rae recognized her.

“Caeris,” he whispered. The lawbinder presented a sheet of paper to the man with the ancient saber. The homeowner bent to examine the paper, then shook his head. Caeris lifted the paper higher and asked another question, her voice angry. The homeowner laughed and closed the door in her face.

The tall justicar had to restrain Caeris from kicking the door in. They exchanged a series of harsh whispers. Finally Caeris relented and the justicars continued to the next house.

“What’s happening?” La asked. She was pressed behind Rae, trying to get a look over his shoulder. Rae pushed her back.

“Guys, we don’t have time for a cart,” Rae said. “The justicars are here. Including that crazy angel bitch from the camp.”

“She didn’t die?” Mahk asked. “I really thought she was going to die.”

“Lawbinders are rare,” Estev whispered, huddling over Rae’s shoulder to peer down the street. “The justicars wouldn’t have spared an ounce of healing on her. Though she looks worse for the wear. He’s right, we can’t go out this door.”

“At least it isn’t the fiendbinder,” Mahk mumbled.

“There’s another exit, through the back,” La said. She pointed to a yard, with an idle forge and room to exercise the horses. There was a low fence that opened onto a narrow trail. “We’ll have to walk.”

“We’re not outrunning two justicars on foot,” Estev said. In the muted light, the lifebinder’s face started to change. His forehead lengthened, and his eyes turned to the liquid black of a buck. The barest sketch of antlers tattooed their way across his skull. “I will speak to the horses.”

As soon as Estev reached for his fae, Caeris went stiff. Her head swiveled to the stable doors. She started marching in their direction, the tall justicar sweeping along in her wake, asking questions and hurriedly drawing a pistol from his robes. Rae hissed and pulled away from the door.

“They felt that,” Rae whispered. “She’s on her way here.”

“What? But . . . they couldn’t have. It’s just not possible,” Estev said.

“I don’t care what’s possible, and neither do they,” Rae snapped. He pushed the three of them past the carriages. “Outside. Now!”


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