City of Light (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy) (10 page)

His voice was heavy with weight, and Simon didn’t have to remind himself that he was speaking from personal experience.

“For what?” Valin went on. “Will that be your whole life? Will you stay in the House forever, effectively ceasing to exist until the
King
or
Queen
calls you out to clean up an Incarnation?”

Simon thought about it. He tried to picture himself, weary from finally beating the Incarnations that were loose now, but knowing that the threat was over. He would go back to Valinhall, seeking more and more power, until the next Incarnation showed up and Leah called him back out.

Over and over.

For the rest of his life.

But there was one person who had offered him…not a purpose, but at least something to break up the monotony.
 

“The Eldest has tasks for me,” Simon said. “He wants me to work for him in the outside world.”

Valin threw his one-handed sword to the ground and launched to his feet, pacing between the graves as though he had too much energy to keep still any longer. “Ka’nie’ka is selfish and afraid. He—”

“Who?” Simon blurted.

The Wanderer froze for a moment, then kept walking. “That was the Eldest Nye’s name once, before his title. Forget it. I knew him long ago.”

Simon would have no trouble forgetting the name, since he wasn’t sure he could pronounce it even now.

“I confess to you, Simon, that I don’t know how the Eldest brought me here. Do you understand the implications of that? I am the founder of this Territory, it was bound together by my will and shaped to my intent, and
I don’t know how he did that.
”

Valin began pacing in a circle around Simon, reminding him uneasily of a vulture circling a carcass. He tried to keep an eye on his teacher while at the same time following the man’s words.

It didn’t sound good.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the Nye have more power than I ever thought they did,” Valin said grimly. “That frightens me. The one thing I know the Eldest fears is
losing
that power, as they once almost faded away to nothing. Ka’nie’ka would have you restore Valinhall’s power because that’s what
he
wants, because
he
fears fading back to the state in which I once found him.”

Valin finally stopped stalking around Simon in circle after circle, and faced him head-on. “What do you want, Simon? Is it your own desire to make Valinhall more powerful? What drives
you?
”

Simon’s first thought was,
I wish I had a doll.
Otoku or Caela could have provided him with a clever response, Angeline would have worked the Wanderer’s problem with him, Lilia would have said something incomprehensible about dreams that may have at least lightened the mood.

But he put aside those thoughts and tried to seriously consider the Wanderer’s questions.

What did he want to happen? When he eventually defeated the Incarnations, left Leah securely on her throne, and—somehow—figured out something to do with Alin, what did he want to do for himself?

What was he fighting for?

Simon tried to picture himself in the best possible outcome, if everything went according to plan, and he drew a blank. He couldn’t do it. The best he could imagine was a continuation of the days the way they were now, as Valin had described: training constantly in Valinhall until he was summoned to deal with an Incarnation. And what kind of life was that?

Simon opened his mouth to say he didn’t know, but no sound came out.

Valin nodded, as though he had figured something out, and clapped his hands together.

“How would you like to take the test for the ghost armor, Simon?” he asked cheerfully.

The transition felt like a slap, and Simon tried to force his mind to shift direction. “That’s what I’ve been doing for days now.”

Valin chuckled. “No, no. That wasn’t the graveyard test, that was a fight. You don’t think every single room requires you to duel its guardian, do you?”

Did that mean he had wasted the past day and a half? He expected Leah to need him today, so he had spent all of his time in Valinhall, hoping to achieve something in the two days worth of time he could squeeze out of one real day. But Leah was sure to call for him any time now, and he had spent almost two full days playing around with Valin?

The thought sapped any enthusiasm he might have felt for challenging the room. He looked at Azura lying on the grass where he had dropped it, and felt no desire to pick it up.

Valin reached back, behind one of the nearest ivy-wrapped stone columns. He pulled out a tall, silvery bow, strung with what looked like a cable made of steel wire. “It’s an interesting test,” Valin said, his tone thoughtful. “The details change with time, but the essence of it remains the same. To show you’re ready for the ghost armor, you have to prove that you don’t need it. Almost a paradox, in a way.”

Simon had never heard the word ‘paradox’ before, but he could figure out what the man meant.

Once again, Valin reached behind a column, this time pulling out a two-foot-tall, heavy-looking hourglass. He placed it on top of the headstone next to him. “The different guardians execute the trial in different ways, but essentially it’s simple: you have to dodge my attacks until time runs out. In this case, until the hourglass is empty. It’s supposed to keep you from relying too much on the ghost armor, so you don’t run out in the middle of a battle.” He tugged gently on his bowstring, testing its draw. “Do you know what the ghost armor does?”

Simon picked Azura up, his wariness returning. Valin could, and probably would, attack him without warning at any time. This was Valinhall, where constant vigilance was the highest virtue. “It seems to block attacks from other Travelers.”

Valin pointed at him with one end of his metal bow. “You got it! Most of my students didn’t realize that the armor won’t protect them from mundane attacks. Spears, swords, arrows…we’ve got other powers for those. You use ghost armor when you’re attacked directly by a Traveler. It’ll stop a lightning bolt, a fireball, things like that.”

Simon realized that Valin had actually set the hourglass with the sand up. He hadn’t noticed before, because he couldn’t see the sand draining down. It was the barest trickle, practically one grain of sand at a time, and the glass was huge. How long would it take to drain? Longer than one hour, surely. Simon didn’t have any powers that would last more than a few minutes.

Valin ran a hand lovingly along the curve of the bow. “I found this in Tartarus myself, you know. Deeper in the Labyrinth than most real Tartarus Travelers go. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you the trouble I went through in bringing it back here.” He sighed. “Ah, well. One of the perks of guarding this room is that I get to shoot at you until time runs out. If you’re hit…well, unless you’re exceedingly lucky, you won’t even make it back to the pool.”

He stood, pulling the string back in one smooth motion. The bow was as tall as he was, and the string a metal cord almost as thick as a finger, so that Simon wasn’t sure if he would be able to draw it even with Benson’s steel in him. But the Wanderer bent the weapon with relative ease.

As he pulled back the string, an arrow shimmered and appeared, nocked in the bow. It looked like the rough outline of an arrow sketched in the air, made of pure white light.

From experience, Simon knew that arrows like that could scorch stone and blast holes through trees. There would be no such thing as a non-lethal wound from that weapon. Even if he got hit in the leg or the shoulder, it would tear enough flesh from his body that he would bleed out in seconds.

Fear and the thrill of battle sang through him, and he inhaled a deep breath of Nye essence. Steel and icy power flowed through him, and his breaths carried the faint color of moonlight.

He bent his knees, balanced on the balls of his feet, turned slightly to the side. He held Azura in both hands, elbows bent, the sword pointing back over his head. He would be able to attack quickly from this stance. No matter what Valin said, he didn’t like his odds dodging. His best chance of surviving was to get inside the bow’s range, attacking Valin, knocking the weapon away from him or preventing him from using it in some way.

Valin smiled again; his smiles seemed most genuine when he was about to fight. “I’m glad I got a chance to know you, Simon. And I’m glad we’re in a graveyard.”

“Why is that?” Simon asked. The other man seemed to expect him to say something.

Darkness bled into the whites of Valin’s eyes like a cloud of ink spreading through water. His gray irises brightened until they were almost white, and then gleaming, metallic silver. Soon, his eyes were two silver circles sitting on pools of solid black.

An Incarnation’s eyes.

The dark chains on his skin shifted and writhed like a nest of hungry snakes. His smile never faltered; if anything, it grew brighter, warmer. That made his expression all the more horrible.

“Because you killed me, Simon, son of Kalman. Now, I have a chance to return the favor.”

By the end of his sentence, his voice rang with the unnatural sound of steel-on-steel. His arrow loosed, a white bolt of light that shrieked as it blasted through the air.

Simon ducked to the side. The arrow scorched him as it flew past, tearing a chunk out of one of the columns with a deafening crack.

Terror shocked Simon’s limbs and clenched at his heart. He had thought this fight was over. Why, in the Maker’s name, did he have to fight the Valinhall Incarnation again?

Simon fumbled at the pocket of his cloak, trying to pull out the mask. He had no chance against Valin without the mask, that was why he brought it every time he challenged the graveyard, even though the dolls and Valin himself assured him that he didn’t have to be worried. He had been afraid that something exactly like this would happen.

There was nothing in his pocket.

He scrambled at one pocket, then the other, then at the pockets of his pants. Nothing. Had he forgotten the mask? Had he dropped it?

He managed to dodge a blinding arrow, and the tides of panic began to rise.

But some part of him was still focused, still calm, still ready to fight. His first plan had been a good one, he knew: attacking instead of dodging, staying on the offensive instead of on the back foot.

If he ran, the Incarnation would only shoot him down. If he fought, he at least had a chance. As he ran at Valin, Azura clasped in both hands, he couldn’t shake a single thought.

He
really
wished he hadn’t let Kai take his doll.

***

Kai snuck a peak through the cracked door and into the graveyard, where Simon had charged the Wanderer. This was for the best, all things considered. Simon needed to be strong, especially now that Kai himself was trapped and utterly useless. He would be the first of a new generation, and Valin would teach the boy better than Kai ever could.

He’s not teaching Simon, he’s trying to kill him,
Otoku sent.
And remove your hand!

Kai reluctantly pulled his fingers away from the doll’s silky black hair.
All the better to leave them alone. If Simon lives, he will have learned a valuable lesson. I don’t know what it will be, but I’m sure it will be valuable. If he dies here, I will focus my attention on the other one, the girl. Alissa, was it?

Otoku’s mouth actually twisted into a frown, which was such a rare display that Kai felt his eyes welling with tears.
You don’t even pay attention, do you? Olissa is the mother, Andra is her daughter. They’ve been living here long enough for you to know that.

Alas, I have had other things on my mind,
Kai said. Inside the graveyard, steel rang on steel as Azura made contact with the metal bow. The boy moved in an endless dance, managing to stay ahead of each new white arrow.

Kai lifted the object in his right hand and stared at it. Half black iron, half mirrored steel, with two narrow slits for the eyes. This mask looked like it had been designed for a man who intended to beat his foes to death with his face.

At least he will win or lose this fight as himself,
Kai thought.

Well, maybe he will survive. And
maybe
he’ll learn to appreciate our advice more,
Otoku replied, in tones of self-satisfaction that reminded Kai painfully of Caela.
He relies on us too much and listens to us too little. Lately, he’s far too quick to put on that mask. Perhaps this will be good for him.

I’ll make sure he understands the message before I give this back,
Kai sent, tucking the mask back into his belt.
In the meantime, how about we go visit your sisters? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you all…

I’ll give you fair warning,
Otoku said evenly.
Rebekkah’s going to punch you.

Kai smiled fondly.

***

The arrow blasted past Simon’s shoulder, so close that he could feel the scorching air on his neck. He put it out of his mind, swinging Azura with both hands to knock the bow from Valin’s hands.

The Incarnation spun the bow like a staff, knocking Azura’s blade aside with one end, while the other whipped around and cracked Simon across the temple.

He felt only a little pain through the reinforcement of Benson’s steel, but his vision still flashed white with the impact. He reacted the way he was trained, by long practice in the House: a controlled retreat, stepping backwards evenly, his long blade warding his opponent away.

It bought him another split second for his vision to clear, but the first thing he saw was the Incarnation drawing back another arrow.

The last time Simon had faced this weapon, he had dodged and run, thinking of nothing beyond his desire to
get away.
Indirial had saved him then, so stalling had turned out to be a valid tactic.

Indirial wasn’t here now. He would have to try something else.

Instead of backing off, Simon stepped forward, ducking as low as he could. The arrow streaked by, leaving a fiery line on Simon’s shoulder that must have burned
through
the cloak, but he didn’t have time to take stock of his own wounds. He was still five feet away from Valin, but Azura made that distance trivial.