Aethersmith (Book 2) (26 page)

“Not really. The details may remain a mystery, though it is
plain as to how it generally befell. He is Rashan’s son much more so than mine.
His timidity and meekness are a result of his upbringing—more that dreadful
Academy of yours than the hearty peasant folk we fostered him with—but the rage
that lies beneath is his father in nascent form. You are here to ask a favor of
me. Do not deny it; I have seen this scene played out a thousand times with
different actors and different favors to ask. Speak, and when you are done, I
will have a favor to ask in return,” Illiardra spoke, not allowing Juliana a
word of her own, despite a few halfhearted tries at interruption.

“I want to see Brannis. I heard there was some sort of
accident that opened his Source or something like that. Rashan said he would
recover, but I want to see him,” she told the ancient demon who looked so like
a young maiden. “Can you get me past Rashan’s wards and back out again without
him knowing?”

“Yes,” Illiardra answered softly, smiling as if to herself.

Juliana looked around, confused. “What? That is it? What of
the favor you wished in return?”

“It is no hurry and I would have asked it whether or not you
needed my help. I will tell you afterward. Come here, child, and take my hand,”
Illiardra said.

Juliana regarded the wizened old creature in her nubile,
youthful form, with green hair and eyes a bit too large.

She is my oathmother now. If I want to see Brannis, I
need her help.

Juliana reached out and took Illiardra’s offered hand. It
was cool to the touch, like wood or stone rather than flesh, but smooth as a
baby’s skin.

* * * * * * * *

Juliana found herself in another room. There was no
sensation of movement. She felt nothing in the aether. She was just suddenly
somewhere different, standing with her hand still outstretched to where
Illiardra had been just the blink of an eye before. Juliana took quick stock of
her surroundings. It was still the distinctive black marble of the palace all
around her, and what looked to be a bedchamber. A massive hole was scooped out,
exposing the adjacent room and two immediately below those; it was an eerie
sight to be sure.

Curled beneath the bedclothes was a Brannis-sized figure,
which she presumed to be Brannis. The sort of demon who could transfer her
through Rashan’s wards was certainly clever enough to put her in the right
room. More cautious than was her typical custom, Juliana took a quick look into
the aether.

She had wanted to confirm that she was indeed surrounded by
Rashan’s shielding wards, and to have a peek at Brannis’s shiny new Source,
like sneaking a look at her age-day presents a week early. She gasped, and
cried out at the unexpected pain in her aether-vision when she saw Brannis’s
Source.

Merciful Tansha, have you begun granting Brannis’s wishes
as well, or did Grandfather work his prophecy from beyond death?

She was forced back into normal light vision to avert the
headache she felt coming. Her gasp stirred Brannis in his bed, but did not wake
him.

Well, he seems to be as sound a sleeper as ever, at
least.
She walked quietly over to the bedside, and sat down next to
Brannis, seeming not to disturb him at all.
He looks pale and gaunt
, she
thought as she brushed the hair back from his face.
What happened to him?
The question hung in her mind, but it did not hang long before her impatience
shouldered it aside. She shook him gently by the shoulder.

“Brannis … Brannis, wake up,” Juliana spoke just above a
whisper. Brannis stirred again, but did not wake. “Brannis, I may not have much
time. I wanted to see you and find out what happened to you.”

Brannis’s deep, even breaths caught up short in a snort as
Juliana shook him a bit more vigorously. He opened his mouth as if to say
something, then stopped himself and closed it again. His eyes blinked open,
gazing into Juliana’s when he was finally able to focus them anywhere.

“What day is it?” Brannis whispered, speaking each word
separately and slowly. He sounded weak and exhausted.

“Springtime third,” Juliana replied. “You cannot have been
asleep too long since Rashan left you. How do you feel?”

“Tired. Confused. Such … beautiful … eyes,” Brannis replied,
smiling weakly.

“Well,” Juliana replied ruefully, “you had your chance and
botched it. If you had that Source in you all along, you waited a season too
long to reveal it. What
did
you do?”

“Not … entirely … sure. Think I had … adventure.” Brannis
sounded as if his wits were not quite sorted within that head of his. She
thought she might have caught a hint of Acardian in his accent, which might
clue anyone who did not already know that he was twinborn. Juliana stroked his
face gently with her hand, distracting him until he stopped even trying to
talk.

“Well, Rashan said you were in a bit of rough shape after
whatever it was that happened to you, but he expects you will be fine. I had to
see for myself, though.”

She leaned down and kissed him, lingering far longer than
was probably proper for a recently married woman. Her hands ran along his body,
finding scant muscle and more prominent ribs than she had been expecting.

* * * * * * * *

Kyrus said nothing, head swimming with dredged-up adolescent
memories of times Brannis had spent together with Juliana. He knew that nothing
he said was going to avail him. Atop that, anything he said might give him away
as an imposter if he was not thinking clearly.

“I had hoped that you were not quite so enervated by your
ordeal as you are. I wish we could have made better use of the little slice of
privacy we have gained here, but truly I am relieved that you were not harmed
any worse,” Juliana said, then lay down and nestled against Kyrus. The two lay
together in silence until Illiardra came to fetch Juliana and they made their
good-byes with another kiss. Juliana seemed not to care if her oathmother saw.

This is going to be a lot more trouble than Tippu and
Kahli,
Kyrus thought before allowing slumber to reclaim him and his
exhausted mind.

* * * * * * * *

“So you have had your indulgence,” Illiardra spoke to
Juliana as the two sat on the high balcony of Rashan’s chamber, looking out
over Kadris. “I trust everything was to your satisfaction?”

“Brannis seemed a bit strange. I don't know what happened to
him, but he has yet to collect all the pieces of himself, and put them back the
way they belong. I had intended to press him for details, but he just seemed so
… exhausted. Brannis is usually so full of energy, I did not know what to say
to him like that,” Juliana replied.

“So instead you just kissed him?” Illiardra smiled with
amusement. Before Juliana could begin defending her actions, Illiardra
chuckled. “Worry not. Rashan has told me about your marriage customs. You and
Iridan were arranged. You did your duty in marrying. It does not erase loves
you already carried in your heart. It never will. Have a care how you conduct
yourself. Much is expected of you, oathdaughter.” Illiardra chuckled at the
last word, as if finding the concept absurd.

“You are just amused? You do not worry about Iridan?”
Juliana wondered aloud, her inner censor as awake and alert as she had found
Brannis.

“I am an awful mother,” Illiardra admitted. “I gave up my
babe before he was old enough to remember me and hardly gave him another
thought. Had Rashan not contacted me about the wedding, Iridan might have died
of age before I thought to inquire about him. He is mortal and will remain so.
I am immortal and hope to remain so. Our paths were never meant to twine
tightly to each other. I have but one boon I would ask of you, to satisfy
whatever motherly obligation I might have.”

“This is the favor you intended to ask of me?” Juliana
asked, leaning close, wondering what Illiardra could want of her.

“Yes. I would ask that you do what you might to see that
Iridan does not turn out like his father,” Illiardra implored, her doe-like
eyes fixing on Juliana’s.

“I will do what I can,” Juliana promised.

It was her fear as well, and she could already see the
signs, the similarities. Iridan might not have the vicious nature that Rashan
possessed, but it might yet lurk below the layers of meekness, of worry, of
self-doubt, and of humility that lacquered his mind—a painted veneer that all
who knew him saw, but which could be chipped away to reveal the base metal
beneath: the true Iridan, whatever it might be.

“Thank you. Oh, and one last thing before I go: Iridan is
almost entirely his father’s son, but there is some of me in him as well. In
whatever children you bear him, be mindful that they may be more fey than even
two such sorcerers might be expected to conceive.”

And with that cryptic farewell, Illiardra was gone.

Chapter 15 - On Holiday

It was easily the strangest place Brannis had ever awakened,
to the point where even pondering the second strangest seemed pointless. No
larder, no hay field, no dank wilderness cave could compare to being tossed an
unfathomable distance through the aether to awaken at your own writing desk,
and find it perched on a lonely bit of black marble floor, surrounded by a
sandy beach and watched by an awestruck assemblage of people from another
world. Brannis glanced around warily, working his mouth to rid it of the gummy
feeling after just awakening and rubbing at his eyes.

Wonderful. I hope you know how to run a war, Kyrus,
because you just bought yourself one with that little stunt.

Brannis took quick stock of what had been brought along to
Denku Appa by the transference spell. The black marble with greenish veins was
clearly from the palace wall and floor, carved out in a spherical chunk. The
desk and chair he had fallen asleep at were wholly intact. There was an
undisturbed inkpot and several sheets of parchment, and a small number of books
of magic. He had fallen asleep with his armor on, something he had done the two
nights running since the assassination attempt at the wedding. The gauntlets
that went along with Liead’s armor hung from a hook at his waist, and the helm
was underfoot where he had left it—no bit was missing. Avalanche was sheathed
at his hip, the tip resting on the floor. In short, he was prepared for being
ambushed in the night by a Megrenn assailant.

I am not sure what countermeasures I could have prepared
against my idiot twin dumping me on a tiny island in the middle of the Katamic
Sea on Tellurak.

Despite his spiteful inner monolog, Brannis had begun to
consider that Kyrus was the smarter of the two of them, spending more of his
time in books while Brannis spent more time with a sword in hand or a horse
beneath his rump. As the curious Denku approached, he could barely understand a
word of what they said.

“(babbling noises) you? (indistinguishable yammering) Kyrus?
Say (something something) name,” a score of Denku spat questions at him along
similar lines. He knew he probably knew most of the words, but his own ears
were untrained, and were not picking them apart from amid the stream of foreign
sounds he was hearing.

“Talk slow. Please,” Brannis requested, standing up from his
chair. If things went badly—and he could envision several ways in which it
could—then he did not want to be at a disadvantage by being seated.

One of the elders held his arms out to his sides and
gestured for the rest to quiet down. Brannis recognized him as Toktu. In fact,
Brannis could put names to most of the Denku present. It was a strange
sensation, the feeling of familiarity with sights his eyes had never seen, with
scents his lungs had never breathed in. Brannis had been awakened as soon as
the transference spell had been completed, so he had no idea how Kyrus was
getting on in Veydrus or if he was having the same experience there.

“Who. Are. You?” Toktu obligingly spoke very slowly for
Brannis’s benefit. “Where. Is. Spirit. Man. Kyrus?” The latter question had a
hint of worried desperation to it. The Denku elder suspected something had gone
wrong.

“I am Brannis,” Brannis explained. “I am … Kyrus’s … spirit
… brother.” Brannis struggled for words in a language he barely knew to explain
a concept he did not fully understand himself.

There were muttered conversations among the gathered Denku,
but Toktu remained respectfully attentive as Brannis fought to make his
explanation.

“Kyrus go (Brannis winced, knowing that was not the right
verb tense) … to spirit world.” Brannis gestured, pointing vaguely to the sky
and out to sea. “He go out (
Blast it, what is the past tense of ‘go’ in
Denku?
) … other place. My home.” Brannis poked himself in the chest. “Kyrus
took … part …” Brannis gestured to the bit of imperial palace stonework that
was brought along with him, outlining it with his hands. “… and send it here.”

“So … Where. Is. Kyrus?” Toktu asked, clearly not
quite
sure what his strange visitor was trying to convey. There was general unease
among the villagers. They had expected a good-bye, but the horrific vortex at
Kyrus’s parting, followed by the arrival of Brannis, was something entirely
different. They were not sure what.

“Home. My home.” Brannis pointed to himself.

“Do you speak Spirit Man Kyrus’s language,” Gahalu called
out in Acardian, hoping to bridge the cultural gap so that his people could
find out what went wrong with Kyrus’s parting.

“Yes,” Brannis managed in Acardian of his own, the first
time he had used the language. It was familiar as an old song he had heard
since childhood, but he had never sung it before.

With Gahalu’s help, Brannis and Toktu were able to discuss
the details of Kyrus’s spell and how it went wrong. The Denku were distraught
that Kyrus was not home in Acardia as he had hoped, feeling that his departure
from Denku Appa was all for naught.

* * * * * * * *

The little stone hut was homey enough, and he recognized it,
but Brannis hoped it would not be his for long. Brannis carefully piled the
books he carried in a corner. None but he would be able to read them, but
nevertheless, he did not want the Denku taking custody of them. The four tomes
were all instruction on magic and belonged in the libraries of the Tower of
Contemplation in faraway Kadrin. It was hard to fathom that he was not
currently on Veydrus, a fact that would have seemed impossible were it not his
current state. Magic made all things possible, they said, but certain life
constants
seemed
less mutable than others.

He took his helm off, and set it down atop the pile of
books. He had no need of it, and had only worn it because it was easier than
finding a free hand to carry it. Brannis might have pressed one of the Denku
into service helping him, but he supposed they were a bit afraid of him and the
otherworldly objects he brought with him.

Brannis slumped down onto the sleeping mat, elbows on knees,
with a rattle of armor.
What am I going to do here? I belong here as much as
Kyrus does in Kadris, which is to say: not at all. I still have a war to fight
back home. Kyrus had better sort this out quickly.

Brannis stood up again, unable to sit calmly and
uncomfortable sitting on the ground in his armor, magically fitted though it
was. He paced the small dwelling, aware of the murmurings outside that indicated
the Denku were watching for him to emerge.

I could live here among them, as Kyrus did. Once he
figures out how he did whatever it was he did, he can undo it and get me back
on Veydrus where I belong. In the meantime, what? Fresh sea breezes and the company
of those two lasses he was too shy to enjoy? I may be forced to … if Kyrus
takes overlong and I cannot find a way to a civilized part of Tellurak.

Brannis began stripping off his armor as he formulated a
plan. The island was hot enough that none of the natives wore more than the
barest of clothing, and he had the distinct feeling that they were wary of the
demonic-looking gold-and-quicksilver plate he was wearing when they first saw
him. He needed to get on the next ship to visit the island, whenever it might
arrive—he had to be ready at any time. Not only would wearing the elaborate
armor scare the Denku, it might make the ship’s crew think he carried a lot
more coin than he actually had. Brannis had a small coin purse with a dozen or
so Kadrin lions. There was no exchange rate between those and any Telluraki
(Tellurakan? Tellurakish? Brannis had no idea how to properly name something
belonging to KyrusWorld) currency. They were pure gold, and large enough to be
worth a tidy sum, but hardly the sort of wealth a man with the armor he wore
would have.

Clad in nothing but the loose garment he wore beneath his
leg armor, Brannis buckled his sword belt back on. Avalanche was not going to
leave his side at any time, if he could help it. It was not that the Denku were
a threatening lot, but a select few of them had personal property issues, and
very little sense or responsibility. Avalanche was dangerous enough that he
could not risk anyone toying with it out of curiosity. The rest of his gear he
piled in the corner with his other belongings. He would need something to pack
it all in, but for now he had one other task that was more pressing.

When Brannis emerged from the hut, a throng had gathered. If
dozens had gone to see Kyrus off, hundreds awaited Brannis’s exit, nearly the
entire village. Brannis waved amiably and headed back to the beach where he had
arrived. The crowd parted for him, but followed his progress.

There is no way I will get privacy to do this. I will at
least impress them, if not frighten them, but if a ship comes, I will not be
able to explain it away.

The crowd held back as Brannis approached the odd structure
that errant magic and happenstance had conspired to construct on their beach.
It was a semicircular wall, standing there like some sculptor’s impression of a
sunset, rendered in black marble. It bisected a circular section of matching
floor, with the side containing Brannis’s desk and chair being the largest by
far, and Brannis’s chair was its center point. Brannis hauled the heavy desk
off the marble and onto the sands several paces back toward the jungle and his
hut, careful not to set a leg down on his bare feet. He did likewise with the
chair, though it was far easier to move. He would enjoy the exotic furnishings
while he was on Denku Appa, and their presence would not be any more odd than
the incongruous little stone hut was in the first place.

The black marble abomination, however, was another matter.

Brannis drew Avalanche from its sheath slowly, turning to
the Denku and calling to Gahalu, “Let them know to keep back. I just cannot
leave this strange wall here.”

Brannis took a gentle swing, and passed the blade through
the wall. There was a crushing of stone as the wall rocked a bit, and gave way
before the inexorable sword as it struck. The Denku were shocked, Gahalu
included, but remained well back and safe from the destruction as Brannis
continued chopping up the wall. Brannis worked carefully, never swinging the
sword more vigorously than he would a full tankard of ale.

As the Denku villagers watched in fascination, Brannis
leveled the wall and began breaking up the floor as well. There was empty space
below, except for where the wall had continued on down to the floor below back
when it was part of the Kadrin Imperial Palace. Kyrus had taken far more sand
from Denku Appa when he had left than he had sent marble to replace it. Brannis
was glad of that. In fact, he had counted on it. Once he had a pit filled with
large rubble, he jabbed the blade down repeatedly to break it up further. With
no other real pressing business to draw away his attention, Brannis spent hours
turning the wall into gravel, and then knocked loose sand from around the edges
of the hole to cover it.

What was left looked like a puckered scar in the beach head.
In time, wind and tide would erase all evidence of Brannis’s handiwork, but
even before then no one would ever have thought that there had once been a wall
from another world standing there.

* * * * * * * *

Brannis awoke in the late afternoon after a long nap. He had
been relieved to see that Kyrus had suffered no major disasters yet in Kadris,
and that Rashan was working to keep the swapping of Brannises a secret.
I
suspected that demon rat knew more than he let on, ever since I set off for
Raynesdark and dropped that tidbit about cannons. He did not ask what one was
or show any reaction at all. He left me to wonder whether he understood what a
cannon was or whether he was just willing to let the odd term pass unchallenged
out of expedience but now I know which it was.

One annoyance from his quick trip to watch Kyrus back in
Kadris was that Rashan had forbade attempting the spell again until they
understood how it had happened. He had gone so far as to indicate he would help
Kyrus to learn how to control his Source. The prospect of Kyrus learning proper
magic without Brannis having to read him bedtime stories out of the Tower of
Contemplation’s libraries was a welcome relief. Brannis had enough to work on
between reading reports, devising strategies for the war with Megrenn,
sketching designs for airships, and learning how to rune-forge weapons in the
style of the stone folk. When he thought about it, it was amazing he had time
to spare for breathing amidst all that.

I suppose I will learn whether I spread myself too thinly
when the reports all come back with losses on the battlefields, airships begin
falling from the skies, and that rune-forged sword snaps in Iridan’s hand when
first he wields it in a real battle. It would be just his luck.

Brannis was somewhat surprised to find that he had slept
undisturbed. At the least, he had expected to find Kyrus’s two little imps
curled up nearby. Brannis poked his head outside the hut, and saw that Gahalu
was sitting with his back against the wall, keeping the others away.

“You are awake. Good. You have a small problem,” Gahalu told
him, climbing to his feet and brushing sand and dirt from his legs.

“You mean in addition to being stranded here because Spirit
Man Kyrus cannot aim his magic?” Brannis hoped he did not offend Gahalu by
slighting the Denku’s “spirit man,” but he felt he had a rather special
privilege in that regard, being his twin. “Any new problem is going to have to
get in line behind that one.”

Gahalu chuckled. “As I said, a small problem. Gaktu wants to
challenge you. You are an outsider, uninvited, and showed great strength when
you broke that rock thing that came with you.”

Gaktu?
Brannis searched his memories to place a face
with that name, which sounded familiar.
Ahh, the hunter with the necklace of
panther teeth
, he recalled.