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Chapter Five

Rae crept back to the house, pausing beneath the sill of his window just long enough to take off his boots. His heart was beating a mile a minute, and his head felt as light as the breeze bound to his soul. He had done it! La was going to have a fit when she found out he had actually bound an aspect of the plane of Air, even one so minor as a summer breeze.

He nudged his window open, but it refused to move. He pushed a little harder. The panes creaked under the pressure, but didn’t budge. It was stuck. Swearing, he pulled himself up on the sill and peered into his room, just in time to see his door close. Someone had come into the room and locked his window.

“Lalette, you vile bitch,” he said, exasperated. Rae could almost hear her giggling into her fist as she locked the window. Now he had to come in through the front door, and pray like hell that his parents didn’t hear him. Rae buried the sword in the loose grass beneath his window, to collect once he was inside. If he got caught sneaking inside, he could come up with a good lie, but not one that would explain away his father’s broken spiritblade. He started formulating a story. Something to do with sneaking out to see a girl. His mother at least always approved of those stories, even if she still punished him.

Working his way around to the front of the house, Rae opened the front door an inch at a time, pausing each time the wood creaked, straining his ears in the darkness to hear if he had been discovered. Once inside he repeated the ritual, until the latch finally slid shut. With a sigh of relief, he turned and started toward his room.

The smell of angelrose washed over him. It was a very pleasant smell, woody and sweet, with a twist of clove that always reminded him of home. The crackle of tobacco drawing into a clay bowl filled the room. Rae stopped where he was and turned toward the sound. The red glow from the pipe illuminated his mother’s face in sharp red shadows. She tapped the pipe against her palm and sighed.

“My son, my son,” she said mournfully. “What have you been doing with yourself?”

“There’s this . . . it’s a girl. And she—”

“I remember nights like this, in Hadroy House. The baron’s estate. Do you remember living there? Of course you do. You must have been, what, ten years old?” she asked, and it finally occurred to Rae that his mother was more than a little drunk. “Your father, up all night, cloistered away in his little study. Tucked into books, his fingers spotted with ink.” Another long drag on the pipe, the exhalation so thick it turned the dark shadows of the house blue with smoke. “Got worse near the end. I always wondered if he knew what the bastard Hadroy was up to. He had to, didn’t he? He had to know.”

“Mom?” Rae asked, unsure what to say. His mother was never like this. “Whatever La told you, it’s not—”

“Not your sister. She’s a good girl, Lalette is. Never tells on her brother, even when she should.” Lady Kelthannis leaned forward, and her dark eyes glinted in the dim light from her pipe. “Was the spirits told me, Rae. I know that feeling. Cold air, and colder on a night like this. Like all the breath’s been sucked out of your lungs. Not everyone can feel it. But I can. I’ve been with your father long enough for that.”

Rae hesitated. Denial was easy, but his mother wasn’t the kind of person who took a lie, and in her current mood, Rae had no idea how she’d react. What she’d believe, and what she already knew. He cleared his throat.

“It’s not what you think,” he said.

“What do I think, Raelle Kelthannis? Do I think my boy is dealing with demons, or making a contract with the fae, trading his sister for a bag of magic teeth?” She settled back in her chair and chuckled, a deep, rasping sound that dissolved into a cough. “No, none of that. I know your father’s books as well as he does. Better. Where they go, how they rest on the shelf. Which ones he hasn’t touched in a while, so the dust lies heavy on them. I’ve noticed. I’m sure he has too, but old Tren won’t say anything. Afraid to discourage his boy.” She spat into the corner and cleared her throat. “No matter the cost of that. Secretly proud of you, that one. But not me. I know better.”

Rae stood silently while his mother shifted in her chair. He could see his plans unraveling right before his eyes. He would never get his family out of this chaos-scrubbed burgh, never get back to Fulcrum, to the honor he deserved.

“There are things in those books you don’t want to know about, Raelle,” Lady Kelthannis said after several moments. “Things that will break your heart. As they broke your father’s heart. Stay out of them. Your father was a curious man. That curiosity cost us—our home, and nearly our lives. We might have been okay, but that sword . . .” She hesitated, and Rae could hear her struggling to hold back tears. He took a step forward, to plead his good intentions, maybe to comfort her, but she raised a hand.

“He couldn’t leave well enough alone. We could have settled closer to Fulcrum. They were all dead, all of them—Rassek, Hadroy, his dirty coven of bent mages.” She took a long, shuddering breath, then exhaled. Margret Kelthannis seemed to deflate. “But he couldn’t leave it alone. He had to pry. So he studied that damned sword. And so we had to keep running, until we ended up here. And now we have to run again. I don’t think I have much run left in me.”

Rae’s ears perked up. If Father had studied the sword, that meant there would be diagrams, formulae, scryings . . . everything Rae would need to use the spiritblade. But he had been through Father’s study countless times, and never seen a hint of these things. Where could they be?

Rae paused. The family never talked about Hadroy, or the heresy, or anything to do with their former lives. He shook his head. “I was young. I don’t remember any sword. Just running, and the flight to Hammerwall.”

“You were young,” she answered with a smile. “And your sister was younger. Easier for her, I imagine. Can’t remember what she’s lost. But you can.” She lapsed into a long silence. Rae was about to stir when his mother sat upright and started talking again. “Forget about that life, Rae. Forget about Hadroy, and Fulcrum. Don’t make the mistakes your father made. Leave well enough alone.”

“But what was it about the sword?” Rae pressed. There was so much he didn’t know, so much his family never talked about. If he could just get his mother to talk . . . 

“Your mother knows more than you think she does. More than your father thinks she does. Kept quiet long enough, I have,” she said, then settled back into the chair, almost collapsing. “You’re to have nothing to do with it. I lost a husband to that sword. I’ll not lose a son.”

Rae hesitated for a long heartbeat. His mother leaned back in her chair, dragging deeply on her pipe. In the amber glow of the bowl he could see that her eyes were closed, and her cheeks wet with tears. Should he say something? Should he try to comfort her?

“Promise me, Rae. Promise you won’t break your mother’s heart?”

After a long moment, Rae nodded. “I promise,” he said. A promise already broken.

Lady Kelthannis reached out a gnarled hand and patted his face. Her hand was rough with calluses. Rae went to his room and shut the door, leaning against it while his heart slowed. He never heard his mother go to bed, or even stand from her chair. When he couldn’t wait any longer, he unlocked his window and leaned out to retrieve the sword. He tucked the burlap package under his mattress, then tucked himself back into bed and tried to sleep.

His mind raced with the promise of storms.


The next morning, Lady Kelthannis made no mention of the previous night. She looked delicate, as though the weight of wine and tobacco balanced precariously in the middle of her forehead. Rae ate his breakfast as quickly as possible, then rushed through his chores. His mind was abuzz, and the spirit nestled in his soul hummed through his blood. It was hard to chop wood when you had a storm elemental pulling at you.

Lalette gave Rae a single knowing look before retiring to the barn for the majority of the day, only emerging to gather food for lunch, which she took back to the barn.

“That girl doesn’t know when to quit,” Father said quietly. He was dusty from the fields, but seemed distracted. His lunch grew cold on the plate. “Give her a problem and she’ll chew it to the bone, rather than give up.”

“Sounds familiar,” Mother said quietly. Tren smiled.

“Yes, well.” He slapped his knees. “I should get back to it.”

“Are we going to talk about what we’re going to do?” Mother asked. “You know we can’t stay here. Not with—”

“After Hallowsphere,” Tren answered as he stood. “Let’s have a nice holiday. Then we’ll talk.”

Rae waited until his father was outside. “Is it the justicar? Is that why Father is so worried?” he asked. When Margret didn’t answer right away, he pressed. “Is he looking for us, after all this time?”

“Hardly,” Margret answered. She stood and collected Father’s discarded dishes, talking as she worked. “There are rumors of a diabolist in the steading. Hogwash, of course—why would a fiendbinder come to Hammerwall? But the justicars take their job seriously.”

“So, if he’s not looking for us . . .”

“Your father is merely worried that someone will ask the wrong question, or give the wrong answer. People in town already think we’re strange. It doesn’t take much to get the justicars in a froth.”

Rae gathered his plates and took them to the kitchen, then headed outside. A lot to think about. A diabolist in Hammerwall? That was madness. But he didn’t have time to think about it. Tomorrow was Hallowsphere. Morgan would be waiting for him.

As the sun started toward the tree line, Rae returned to his room a little early. His mind was filled with his plans for the night, but those plans started with one more lie. Mother raised her eyes from her Hallowsphere preparations to watch him cross the living room. She raised her brows.

“Done already?” she asked.

“Hens still need gathering, and the firewood is only half-stacked.” He touched his belly and winced. “Think something’s not agreeing with me.”

“Something other than hard work?”

“I’m serious. My stomach’s a rumble, and I’m sweating at palms and forehead.”

“That is perspiration,” she answered. “It’s what happens when you do difficult things. An unfamiliar experience, I understand, but perfectly natural.”

“A stomach shouldn’t sweat,” Rae answered, feigning a pang of discomfort in his gut. “Must have been something I ate.”

“We all ate the same breakfast,” she said. “Unless you’re sneaking extra food from the root cellar. You know to take the pickles out of the jar before you down them, yes?”

“Might be something I picked up in Hammerwall yesterday,” he said. “A child coughed on me, a particularly sickly looking child.”

“Mm-hm,” she answered. “Well, lie down for a bit. I won’t have you sicking up the Hallowsphere.”

Gratefully, Rae returned to his room and shut the door, then quickly stripped out of his work clothes and got into his pajamas and crawled into bed. It was less than ten minutes before La burst into his room without knocking.

“La! I could have been—”

“Shut it,” she said. “You’re really going through with this?”

Rae hesitated, glancing over his sister’s shoulder to see if their mother was listening. He finally answered, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper.

“Do you have a better way to get us out of Hammerwall? Mom says there’s a diabolist sneaking around. You know how justicars get when there’s a fiendbinder involved. Someone breathes a suspicious word in our direction and we’ll be in a prison ship to Fulcrum before you know it.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it. You just need to keep Mom and Dad busy while I’m out.”

“So did you manage it?” she asked carefully. “Is my big brother finally a spiritbinder?”

Rae grimaced, checked once again that the coast was clear, then worked his hand free from the sheets. It took a second for him to collect his thoughts and find the narrow seam in his soul. The wound was nearly closed, and the shard of foreign spirit was knit so smoothly into his own that Rae could barely tell the difference. He found the loose thread at the edge of the mote and pulled, drawing the elemental into the material plane.

The sheets on the bed rippled viciously, snapping free from the mattress and swirling into the air. Rae tried to get a grip on the elemental, but it slid through his will like icy rope, chafing invisibly against his soul. It was a surprisingly painful if bloodless wound. He gasped, then bent his attention to controlling the spirit. It whipped through the room, ruffling the curtains and knocking a pile of papers off Rae’s shelf. He finally got a hold of it, reeling it back home before it caused any more damage.

Lalette stood stock-still, staring at her brother. She backed slowly out of the room, closing the door behind her.

“He’s legitimately sick, Mother,” she announced. Their mother’s muffled answer carried concern. “No, I think he’ll be fine. Just needs to rest.”

Rae lay back in the bed, saying a silent prayer of thanks to his sister. Now he just needed to wait for night to fall, and the celebration to begin.


Hallowsphere had been Rae’s favorite holiday when he was a child. The reason behind the bindings, the ritual of the meal, the wardings painted on wall and door and forehead—none of it held any meaning for him. It was just a fantastic meal, followed by toys. That’s all it was to most children in Fulcrum and surrounds, where the need for binding Order against the dangers of Chaos was less. But since their exodus to Hammerwall, the grim necessity of quarterly bindings and the protections they provided were starkly apparent in the still lightning of the orderwall and the constant threat of disorderly collapse.

Lying in his bed, Rae listened to his father go through the incantations, breathed in the stink of burnt leaves that would be mixed into a paste, flinched as his mother scratched the warding sigils onto the door with the point of her paring knife, dipped in ash. He lay very still as his father crept into the room and leaned over him to circle Rae’s forehead in lines of ash, whispering the prayers for order and grace. When he was gone, Rae slipped from bed and started pulling on his clothes. He did a final inventory. Sword, parchment, knife, inkpot and pen. Everything a young spiritbinder might need in the perpetration of minor crimes. Or at least he hoped it was.

He knelt at the window, nudging it open a little at a time, pushing the sill up with each blow of the calming bell. It sounded like Lalette was giving the copper bell extra attention, to give him cover. Another thing to thank his sister for when he got home. When the window was open far enough, he rolled outside, then repeated the procedure. Just before he closed the shutter, a waft of air reached him from the kitchen. It carried the spicy smell of the Hallowsphere pie, heavy with cinnamon and anise and wine. Rae paused and took a deep breath. The smell filled him with memories of better days, holidays spent in the gilded halls of the manor, family gathered around the Counting Day fire, or humming the Coldness dirge. So much had changed since then. And so little. Especially on the holidays, it was easy to forget how bad things had gotten. Father was still Father, quiet and wise. Mother still baked the best pies. And La . . . well, Lalette was always Lalette. For better or worse.

Rae almost went back inside, to break the pie and sing the songs. But he had things to do. He leaned against the sill and slid it home. Once the window was shut, he started toward the road, avoiding the driveway.

The road was different at night, and the wilds that surrounded it felt malicious. The trees that had waved gently in the autumn wind now looked like broken bones against the deeper shadows of the forest. The air filled with insect life, ratcheting and chirruping through the darkness. Even the moon, usually as bright as silver this time of year, hung sick and yellow in the sky. Once he was sure he wasn’t at risk of being seen by his parents, Rae slipped his lantern from his pocket and spun it up. Its warm light did little to push back the night, but it still comforted him. The road forked, and he took the southern route. Away from Hammerwall, and toward the border with Chaos.

He crested a hill and came into sight of the orderwall. At this distance, the thick spires of the anchors looked like narrow trees, glowing with electric fire. The bonds that laced from anchor to anchor shivered in the darkness. Beyond them, the primeval forest rose unnaturally high, trees curling like thunderheads into the sky. Globes of bioluminescent light clung to the branches, pulsing and winking, sometimes slithering through the leaves. Sparks wafted up from the canopy, or glowing birds, or something stranger. They floated over the trees, drifting until they came into contact with the wall. Whatever they were, they died in plumes of brilliant light, as strokes of lightning plucked them out of the air, incinerating them in a heartbeat. Rae shivered.

This was as close as Rae ever came to the wall. Not out of fear, or even strict obedience to the wishes of his parents. No, Rae never came this way because the wall represented everything he hated about Hammerwall. It was Chaos, delineated, clear. Beyond it lay madness and destruction. It shouldn’t exist. When he lived in Fulcrum, the orderwall seemed unreal, a story told to scare children or reinforce the authority of the Iron College. Now that he lived in the lee of the great barrier, its existence offended him. It shouldn’t exist. Worse, a man of his bearing shouldn’t be made to know that it existed.

Hunching his shoulders, Rae hurried down the road. He was so occupied with the oppressive presence of the orderwall and his own distaste for it, that he didn’t hear the footsteps coming from behind until they were nearly on him.

“I thought a spiritbinder was supposed to be one with his environment.” The voice was light and jovial, but it scared Rae out of his shoes. Rae jumped, spinning around as he pulled the tiny knife from his belt, dropping the sword in the process. His lantern slipped from his fingers and tumbled to the ground, winking off when it struck the hard-packed earth of the road. Rae stood there, blinking into the darkness. A shadow loomed over him.

“Enough with the sticker, Kelthannis.” A soft hand closed over Rae’s fist and plucked the knife out of his hand. A familiar scent tickled his nose. Crushed flowers and sweat. “You want to fight me, you’re going to have to do it with your fists. Or your soul, if what Morgan says is true.”

“Mahk?” Rae ventured. The big shadow snorted at him, and Rae relaxed. Mahk was the only dangerous person Rae knew that he wasn’t really scared of. The big man was just too nice to Rae and his family. “So where are we headed? Where’s Morgan?”

“He’ll meet us there.” The whir of a hand lantern filled the air, and light blinded Rae. Mahk wore a farmer’s simple tunic and had a friendly smile. The lantern looked like a toy in his hands. He held Rae’s knife out, hilt first. “Can I trust you with this thing? It’s almost sharp. You might hurt yourself with it.”

Rae accepted the knife and tucked it away. He was still nursing his bruised ego when Mahk let out a low whistle. Mahk’s gaze took in the sword. The burlap wrap had fallen back, and the fractured ice of the hilt glittered in the light of Mahk’s lamp.

“Is that a spiritblade? You made that?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“A spiritblade, yes. But not mine. Soulforging is quite advanced,” Rae said nonchalantly. “This belonged to someone else. But he’s dead now, so it’s not likely he’ll need it anytime soon. It will serve for tonight’s purposes.”

“So it’s true? You a spiritbinder now, Rae?” He bent over to pick up the sword.

“I said I was,” Rae snapped. He snatched up the sword before Mahk could reach it, tucking the burlap back in place. “You’re lucky it was only the knife I drew when you startled me. I could have summoned the power of storms, and then where’d you be?”

“Yeah, lucky,” Mahk said with a laugh. He tousled Rae’s hair the way you might a stubborn child. “Grab your lantern and follow me. Misdeeds wait for no man, as the poets say.”

“You’re quoting poetry now? Will wonders never cease?”

“I like you, Kelthannis, but don’t be too smart tonight. Morgan’s already on his last nerve. Wouldn’t want anything bad happening to you. La would never forgive me.” He looped a congenial arm over Rae’s shoulders, drawing him close as he turned back down the road. Rae was sharply aware of the thick muscle under the man’s tunic. Mahk was more than strong enough to crush his skull.

“No, I suppose she wouldn’t,” Rae said. “So. What is this mysterious job?”

Mahk didn’t answer. He just chuckled and dragged Rae along at his side, humming quietly to himself. Rae twisted around to give the orderwall one last look. The forest beyond the barrier seemed to grow, rising like clouds over the wall. Lightning flashed, and the forest retreated.

“At least we’re not getting closer to that place,” Rae mumbled to himself. He shrugged out of Mahk’s grip, settling into a quick march. “Anything’s better than that.”


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