The Black Queen (Book 6) (2 page)

“This wasn’t a strict Vision. No one Saw events. All they heard were words. They believe it to be a Warning.”

A shiver ran down Gift’s back. But he kept his mind focused on the conversation. He didn’t want to speculate, not yet. If he had learned anything from his teachers, it had been that speculation could dilute a message.

“I still don’t understand why that made you decide I’m ready for my first visit to the Place of Power.”

“It is not your readiness we are dealing with,” she said, and he knew that the “we” in that sentence did not refer to him, but to the full Shaman in the village.

“Then what is it?” he asked.

“Your presence.”

“You may ask me to leave?”

“I didn’t say that.” Her grip tightened on his arm, and she led him around the Student’s Hut to one of the many paths that led to the steps carved into the mountainside.

His entire body was tense. What he had thought a reward for progress in his studies was turning out to be something else altogether. A test of some sort. A decision, perhaps already made, to treat him differently than the other students or to make him leave.

He didn’t want to leave. He was born a Visionary, the most powerful Visionary in the history of the Fey, and a Visionary had two choices: he could lead or he could become a Shaman. Gift had had a taste of leadership. He had seen the compromises it caused, the responsibility it held for other people’s lives. He had seen how Visionary Leadership could be corrupted, and how such a Leader could often rely on no one but himself.

Visionary Leadership also required a harshness, a warrior’s nature, a willingness to sacrifice one life for the good of all others. Gift had watched his grandfather, his great-grandfather, his father, and now his sister make such decisions. He wanted no part of it.

The life of the Shaman appealed to him. Never did a Shaman take a life. If he did, he would lose his powers. The Shaman’s nature was at its heart peaceful. Madot had once said that put Shaman at odds with all the rest of the Fey.

At the time, Gift hadn’t cared. His sister Arianna, in her role as Black Queen of the Fey, had been attempting to alter the nature of the Fey. She wasn’t full Fey any more than he was, and she had been raised an Islander. For fifteen years, she had held the Fey Empire together using diplomacy and tact. Before that the Fey Empire had been a conquering empire, and its hereditary ruler was often the best warrior among the Fey. Arianna had a warrior’s spirit, but she lacked the conqueror’s drive. She believed the Empire would become stronger by consolidating its holdings, and using its resources to grow richer, not to expand. So far, it had been working. In fact, it had been working so well that Gift felt he could leave her side and immerse himself in his apprenticeship.

Was that what the Warning was about? If Arianna died now, childless, Gift would inherit her throne. The Black Throne only went to those of Black Blood. The Black Blood passed through his mother, Jewel. Gift was the eldest. Arianna only held the throne because he had given it to her, willingly. It had been something he felt she was more suited to than he.

He knew better than to ask Madot any more about the Warning. She would answer him in her own time. She led him to the stairs.

They were ancient and well tended, carved out of the mountainside. Their surface was smooth and shiny, but not slick. Every morning and every evening, one of the Protectors swept the stairs. Once a week, another Protector washed them. If the stone cracked or wore too thin, the Shaman told one of the Infantry when the food deliveries came, and within the week, Domestics who specialized in stone masonry arrived to fix the problem. The Domestics also spelled the stairs so that no one could slip on them or fall down them. The spells were as ancient as the stone, and in all the centuries that the Protectors had guarded the Place of Power, no one had been injured climbing to or from the cave.

As he climbed beside Madot, Gift wondered if the Domestics also spelled the stairs to make the trip easier. His legs felt lighter, as if the muscles in his thighs had to do no work at all. He almost felt as if he could sprint up the mountainside, but he restrained himself. The climb was a long one, and he knew that running would only exhaust himself later.

So he savoured the trip. The ancient staircase was carved deep into the rocks, and as he moved, he could see the veins of red running beneath the surface, like blood beneath the skin. Partway up, he traced a finger along one of the veins: it was warmer than he expected. Madot watched his movement, and smiled.

She said little and that was not like her. Usually she used every moment to teach him. There were seven apprentices in Protectors Village right now, and most were taught by all the Shaman. But Gift had Madot as his main teacher because the Shaman had been divided about his presence from the beginning. Some had been frightened of him. He was the first Shamanic candidate of Black Blood ever, and many did not believe that he was here to become a Shaman, but rather to learn how to dismantle them.

He understood the belief. It showed that the Shaman understood the kind of cunning that had ruled his grandfather and great-grandfather’s lives. If Gift had been like them—and he wasn’t in any way that he knew of—he would have found some way to infiltrate the Shaman, especially now.

A ruthless ruler would want to destroy the Shaman, and the Place they guarded. Ever since the second Place of Power had been discovered, the Shaman had been worried. Fey legend said this:
There are three Points of Power. Link through them, and the Triangle of Might will reform the world.

For centuries, the Fey had debated what that prophecy meant. Did “reform the world” mean that everything would be destroyed? Or did it mean that the world would become strictly a Fey place, a place where all diversity was destroyed? Most agreed, though, that discovering the Triangle would benefit the Fey, as discovering the cave had benefitted the goat herder and his family by giving them powers undreamed of before. Controlling the Triangle, most believed, would make the Fey gods.

Shaman believed that once the second Place of Power had been discovered, the third would be easy to find. A Shaman would stand within the first Place of Power, another Shaman would stand in the second, and together they would triangulate the power, and learn where the third was located.

But discovery of the Triangle frightened everyone. Gift had set up, at his sister’s request, guards for the second Place of Power. Those guards did not allow a Shaman into it. The Black Family, at least Gift and Arianna’s branch of it, did not want anyone to have access to the Triangle. Gift and Arianna could have attempted to triangulate the power and learn where the third Place of Power was. So far, they had chosen not to. Arianna believed, and Gift agreed, that there was no need unleash more magick upon the world.

The Shaman, on the other hand, had requested an opportunity to triangulate the Places of Power, and Arianna had refused them. Then the Shaman had made it clear that they guarded the first Place of Power and they did not want a member of the Black Family to enter it. The Shaman feared such power in the hands of the Black Family, and would have done whatever they could, short of fighting the family themselves, to prevent the Black Family from controlling the Triangle.

The Shaman believed that warrior magick, as represented by the Black Family, would use the Triangle for harm. They believed that only domestic magick should control such power, and they guarded this Place of Power to prove their point.

That they were taking him there now—and the fact that he was one of the few who had ever seen the second Place of Power—made this event even stranger.

He wondered what the Protectors had said. They were the main guardians of this Place of Power, and they had fought his entry into the village. They hadn’t relaxed their vigilance in five years.

Halfway up, he and Madot stopped. A platform with benches carved from stone indicated that this was the designated resting point. Madot sat in the left bench and indicated that Gift sit in the right.

He didn’t want to. He wanted to keep climbing. But that was the impatience she was trying to train out of him. He sat.

The bench was cold beneath him, but then it had no veins of red running through it. It faced westward, providing a spectacular view.

The Eccrasian mountains extended as far as the eye could see. In Vion, distances were vast, and the countries were sparsely populated. These mountains bisected Vion; another shorter range provided its western border. The Fey originated in the mountains, and were like no other race in Vion. Gift could see why. It took a hardy and combative people to survive in this place.

It was early spring, and there was still snow all the way to the treeline on most of the mountain peaks. This one, known as Protector’s Mount, never had snow, no matter what time of year. Some said it was because of the Place of Power. Others believed it was because this mountain was alive. Whatever the cause, it made life in Protectors Village just a little easier than it would have been otherwise.

The wind was bracing here. It whipped at Gift’s cheeks. He threaded his fingers together. His bare feet were warm on the stone platform. He knew if he looked down, he would see more veins of red below. But he continued to stare over the mountains.

He hadn’t been this high before. The rugged peaks were white or gray, and then tapered into a lush greenness provided by a crop of sturdy mountain pines. The valleys down below were lost in morning mist. It was as if he were floating above the clouds.

He could feel Madot’s gaze. When he turned, he expected to see her usual indulgent smile. Instead, he saw a deep and unusual sadness on her face.

A small shiver ran through him.

“Let’s go,” she said, and stood. This time she did not take his arm. She walked ahead of him on the stairs, establishing a pace that was more strenuous than the one before.

He was able to keep up easily, however. The lightness in his legs he had felt earlier was still there. The only difference now was that the stairs were steeper, and he had no chance to observe the sights around him. He had to concentrate on keeping up with Madot.

He had never seen her move so fast. It was almost as if revealing her sadness had embarrassed her.

Or perhaps she had revealed too much.

They reached a second, smaller plateau, and from there he could feel it, the power of the cave ahead. It drew him like a woman’s touch. He was familiar with this feeling. It was how he had discovered the Place of Power on Blue Isle. He also had to live with a muted version of it in Protectors Village. Live with it, and deny it at the same time.

Here there was no denial. He allowed the feeling to guide him. He gazed up, and saw the entrance glowing silver. His heart leapt. That sense of homecoming had returned.

Madot was watching him again. “The feeling is strong in you,” she said, and the words were a statement, not a question. It almost sounded as if she were disappointed by what she saw.

“Shouldn’t it be?” he asked, unable to take his gaze off that entrance.

She didn’t answer him. Instead, she led him up the last flight of stairs. These were so steep they were almost a ladder. He had no trouble negotiating them, but he wondered if others did, if the design was purposeful, to prevent unwanteds from coming to this Place of Power.

The stairs ended in another ledge, this one carved flat and maintained to a polished perfection. Pelô, one of the Shaman Protectors, stood at the top of the stairs.

He was skinny and tall, his white hair as chaotic as Madot’s. He wore a dark Shaman’s robe to blend in with the mountain. He carried no weapon, only a large staff carved from esada wood. He stepped back as Gift climbed onto the ledge. His dark eyes held disapproval, and something else, something even more unsettling.

“One shouldn’t test a Warning,” Pelô said to Madot.

The look she gave him was dismissive. She didn’t bother to reply.

“He has friends at the other Place of Power,” Pelô said. “You know we cannot let him inside.”

“There are no Shaman currently on Blue Isle,” Madot said.

“But there are powerful Visionaries.”

Gift stood perfectly still during the exchange. The wind was stronger here, and colder. It buffeted him and he had to constantly shift his weight to keep his balance.

“I am doing what my Vision told me to do five years ago,” Madot said.

“Why did you not do it then?” Pelô asked.

“Because there was no need.”

“I do not believe there is a need now.”

“The Powers issued a Warning.”

“Did they?” Pelô asked. “There was no Vision attached.”

Gift shifted. Had Madot acted on her own? He didn’t like that. “I have never wanted special treatment,” he said. “I want to be an apprentice like the others. Bring me up here when the time is right, for them and for me. Please. If this is wrong—”

“No one has said it’s wrong,” Madot snapped.

Pelô raised a single eyebrow. The effect made him look like a quizzical dog. “I haven’t said it, but I should have. It is wrong. The boy does not belong here. He belongs with his family.”

“Near the other Place of Power?” Madot asked.

Gift had never seen her agitated before. She wasn’t certain of what she was doing either. “I don’t want to leave,” he said gently. “I do want to learn how to use my powers for Healing Magick, not Warrior Magick. I am not a Domestic. I’m a Visionary. The only choice left to me is to become a Shaman.”