The Dark Remains (69 page)

So was Brother Cy related to one of these powers? Travis wasn’t certain. But in a way the half-coins were similar to the gate artifact. Although they required no blood.

Travis sighed. There was no way to answer his questions now. But if he ever had the chance to talk to Brother Cy again, he was determined to get some answers. He slipped the coin carefully back into his pocket.

“All right, Melia,” Falken said, hands on hips. “We’re here. And there must be three entire companies of Tarrasian soldiers surrounding the Etherion. Now what?”

Melia’s visage was still pale. However, her expression was resolute, and ire sparked in her eyes. “Sareth has told us that if Travis is to go beneath the city, we must provide a distraction for the Scirathi so they do not accost him. And distracting the sorcerers is exactly what I plan to do.”

“And how exactly are you going to accomplish that?”

“You shall see.”

Before the bard could ask more questions, the lady spread her arms, shut her eyes, and tilted her head back. “Mandu, my dearest brother, are you here?”

Melia’s words dissipated on the hazy air, and silence filled the Etherion. He began to think Melia’s question had been uttered in vain—

—when a voice spoke. The voice came from all directions and nowhere at once: deep and thrumming with power, yet strangely hesitant, as if the one who spoke was rusty at the craft of using words.

“I am … here … dear sister.”

A queer calm came over Travis. He knew he had to go beneath the city, had to find a way to bind the demon with Sinfathisar so that it could not complete its escape. All the same, peace filled him.

Aryn sighed, her blue eyes glowing. “Mandu.”

“Who is Mandu?” Travis quietly asked the baroness.

“The Everdying God.” It seemed Aryn wished to say more, but then she simply sighed again.

Melia stepped forward. “Oh, Mandu, it is so good to see you once more. It has been so terribly long.”

“And you … dear sister.”

The air rippled like water, and before Melia stood an old man clad in a shining white robe.

“I am … keeping watch over them. As you have asked … dear sister.”

Travis let out a soft breath. The old man was beautiful. His wrinkled skin was as thin as tissue, yet luminous, as if light shone beneath it. Wispy white hair floated around his head, and his gold eyes were filled with gentle wisdom. The old god’s form flickered, growing alternately translucent and opaque.

“I am glad, Mandu,” Melia said. “They have need of a shepherd since they have lost theirs. And I fear there are now more lost lambs to join them.”

“Yes … dear Misar has completed his circle. But do not fear … dear Melindora. I will watch Misar’s flock as well. I am nearly ready … to complete another circle myself. Yet I will stay … for a while at least. I have grown perhaps … too distant in my progression. To stay for a time will be good for me.”

Melia was beaming now. “Oh, Mandu, I am glad to hear it. We shall all be better for your presence, especially in these dark times. Were you able to do what I described?”

“I have. Even now does the flock of Geb … speak the rumors as you directed.”

“Wonderful.”

“I will go now … and rest. I fear I am not used to being so … 
present
.”

“Of course, dear brother,” Melia said softly. “When all is done, I shall speak to you again.”

The brilliant aura around the old man flared, so bright Travis was forced to turn away. When he turned back, the old man was gone, and Melia was already walking toward them.

Lirith regarded her. “I thought you said Mandu tended to remain apart from the affairs of the other gods.”

“Usually he does, dear. But recent events have made Mandu feel that perhaps he has become a bit
too
distant. He has agreed to help those who have lost their gods. At least until new gods arise to take the place of Ondo and Geb, and Sif and Misar.”

Beltan scratched his thinning blond hair. “Excuse me, Melia, but that doesn’t make sense. The gods have been around for ages. How can new ones suddenly appear to take the place of the ones who have been murdered?”

“Even I don’t know, dear,” Melia said. “That’s why the cults are called mysteries.”

“Tira,” Grace said softly. “She became a goddess. We watched her rise into the sky. Will some of those who lost their god follow her?”

Melia seemed to think of this. “In time, perhaps. Even though she is a goddess now, it seems to me Tira is yet a child. It might be a long while before we really begin to understand what her purposes are.”

“What was Mandu talking about?” Falken said. “He mentioned something about the flock of Geb speaking rumors.”

Melia smoothed her blue-black hair. “Yes, Mandu has spoken to the beggars and thieves of Tarras. Even now they are spreading rumors throughout the city.”

“Rumors of what, my lady?” Durge asked.

“Rumors that tell of a relic of the ancient south. A relic that is even now being held by the emperor in the Etherion.”

Sareth’s eyes went wide. “The scarab! You’re trying to convince the Scirathi that the emperor has somehow
gained the scarab and is guarding it in the Etherion. That’s why you asked for all the soldiers.”

Melia smiled. “And do you think it will work, Sareth?”

The Mournish man rubbed his bearded chin, then a grin cut across his face. “The lust the Scirathi hold for the scarab knows no bounds. They will not be able to resist discovering for themselves if the rumors are true. They will come.”

Travis gathered his will. “And that will give me the time I need to go beneath the city and …”

And what? He didn’t really know, so he said nothing more.

It was time. If Melia’s plan worked, the Scirathi could begin showing up at the Etherion any moment. Vani took the obsidian artifact from a pouch and set it down in the center of the large balcony. The prism was still askew.

Sareth handed candles and a small sack of herbs to Vani. They were going to work the purification spell. Two minutes, maybe three—that was all Travis had before he went below the city. When Sareth faced the demon, he had lost his best friend as well as his leg. What would Travis lose? Everything, perhaps.

His gaze wandered across the balcony, to a tall, rangy figure. Beltan. The blond knight gazed out over the vast-ness of the Etherion, big hands gripping the stone railing. The knight looked whole and strong. All the same, something seemed to hang over him, dimming his light, and once again Travis wondered what Duratek had done to him.

They were trying to make me into a killer
, Beltan had said.
I guess they didn’t know I already was one
.

Did those words have something to do with the crime Beltan had talked about last night? But whatever the Necromancer said he had done, it had to be a lie. Beltan was good, kind, and brave, not someone who had the power to destroy. Not like Travis.

I’m the monster, Beltan. Not you. I’m the one who’s supposed to destroy Eldh. That’s what the dragon Sfithrisir said. And Grace said the Witches believe it, too
.

Travis started to move toward Beltan—

—then hesitated as a soft voice spoke behind him.

“You can see it, can’t you? His shadow.”

Travis turned to stare at Grace. “What?”

She wasn’t looking at him; her eyes were on the big knight. “I first saw it on the journey to Spardis, and then again when I bound our threads together. He has a shadow just like I do. Just like we all do.”

He gave her a questioning look, and she met his gaze.

“This morning, on our way into the city, I used the Touch to look at your thread, Travis. Yours and the threads of the others. Even Melia and Falken. It’s not just me and Beltan. Some are greater, some lesser. But we all carry shadows with us.”

Travis understood. They all had their ghosts that haunted them. He sighed.
I love you, Alice
.

For a moment he was almost there again, in the silent farmhouse in Illinois where his sister had died. Then his vision cleared, and he saw Grace gazing at him.

“Do you love him?” Grace said.

The question was flat, a doctor asking him if he had noticed any discomfort in his chest while she took his pulse.

“Yes,” Travis said, surprised at the certainty in his voice. “I’ve never really known anything in my life, Grace. Half of the time I can’t even tell left from right. But I love Beltan. That’s the one thing I do know.”

Grace’s eyes pierced him. “Then why aren’t you with him now?”

Travis opened his mouth, but no words came out. Now, just as on the previous night, something was holding him back. But what?

“Vani,” Grace said.

Only as she spoke the word did he realize he was no longer gazing at Beltan, but at the assassin. As if she sensed his attention, she looked up with gold eyes. Then she turned her gaze back to the artifact.

“What’s going on, Grace?” he managed to croak.

“I don’t know. I think maybe …” Grace drew in a breath. “Back in the hotel room, in Denver, Vani asked me about you and Beltan. She asked me if you loved him. When I said yes, she seemed … broken.”

Understanding washed over Travis, along with a sick feeling. “Last night, when Sareth was talking about their friend, Xemeth—the one who died—it was clear that Xemeth loved her. But Vani mentioned something about the cards, something they had said to her.”

Grace seemed to think about this. “The Morindai believe in fate, Travis. Maybe the cards told her who she was fated to fall in love with, and maybe it wasn’t Xemeth. Maybe—”

No, he didn’t want to hear it. Beltan loved him, and he loved the knight. That was the one thing he had finally managed to figure out in this mess of a life, and nothing was going to take that from him.

Except Grace spoke, and she did.

“Maybe it’s you she loves, Travis.”

In the center of the balcony, Vani stood up. The blue smoke of incense coiled around her like ghostly fingers. “Are you ready, Travis?”

He looked at Grace, but there was no more time for words. And maybe it was better this way, going beneath the city to face the demon—one monster to another. Better that than choosing between two people, both of whom deserved so much better than he.

Travis moved to the artifact. He reached into his pocket, felt the smooth surface of Sinfathisar. Despite the dread in his chest, he found himself grinning. Whether he lived
or died, at least he was trying to do something good. Whatever fate would make of him in the end, that had to count for something.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Melia stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Do be careful, dear.”

Aryn clutched the bright blue fabric of her dress. “But he can’t go alone. We have to watch … that is, someone has to go with him.”

Lirith shot the young baroness a sharp look.

“I will be going with him,” Sareth said. “I am the only one of us who has been to the demon’s cavern before. Which means I must open the gate.”

Grace stepped toward the gate. “Well, we’ve been through this much together, Travis. Don’t think you’re going to get rid of me now.”

Her words pierced his heart like knives. This was ridiculous. It was too dangerous; they might never come back. And she was the queen of a lost kingdom. There was absolutely no way she could go.

Then again, if she was a queen, who was he to question her?

“Oh, Grace …” he said, and it was enough.

“Things are going to be bleak and perilous below,” Durge rumbled. “I imagine there’s no hope of any of you coming back. But never let it be said it was not because you didn’t have a sword with you.”

The knight moved to the artifact.

“Well, Grace,” Lirith said crisply, “it is unseemly for you to be the only lady amid this brutish gaggle of men. I shall accompany you, for propriety’s sake.”

The witch cast a glance at Aryn, then moved to stand next to Durge.

Falken crossed his arms and glared. “Is
everybody
going beneath the city?”

“No,” Melia said. “Just those who need to, I think. If they will be so kind as to remain with us, Beltan and Vani
will help me with any sorcerers who might somehow get past Ephesian’s soldiers. And you, Falken, can keep watch over Lady Aryn in such an event.”

Beltan’s face was hard. He gripped the curved Mournish sword strapped at his hip. “No sorcerers will get past me, Melia.”

“They will not get past either of us,” Vani said, folding her arms across her black-leather jacket.

The assassin gazed at Beltan. The knight returned her gaze, then after a moment he nodded.

Travis looked at Grace, Lirith, and Durge. None of them had to come with him. They should stay up here. All the same, he was glad for them.

“Thanks,” he said. It was utterly inadequate, but it was all he could manage.

Aryn let out a gasp. “Something is coming. No,
somethings
—I can feel them.”

“Scirathi,” Vani said.

Beltan drew his sword, and Falken moved closer to the baroness.

“The sorcerers have heeded the rumors,” Melia said. “You had best hurry.”

Sareth knelt, touched the small stone prism, and turned it so its sides aligned with those of the artifact. There was a crackling sound, like distant lightning. The air parted, and it was there: a jagged oval of darkness, edged by blue fire.

Travis felt a hand grip his. Grace. He squeezed back. Durge and Lirith moved close.

“Think of nothing as we pass through,” Sareth said. “You must let me envision the cavern. And we must keep close together no matter what. Do you understand?”

They nodded.

“May the gods go with you, dears,” Melia said.

Travis cast one last glance at Vani and Beltan, but neither of them was looking at him.

“Now!” Sareth said.

And in a tight knot, Travis, Grace, Lirith, and Durge followed after the Mournish man, into the crackling circle of the gate.

It was hot beneath Tarras.

The stifling air of the tunnel wrapped itself around Travis like black blankets, rendering breath an exhausting labor. Sareth held a small lantern, although he had positioned the tin shield so that only the scantest fragments of light escaped. It was not difficult for Travis to make his way along the undulating passage; despite the darkness, his new eyes easily discerned the smooth, rippling walls and floor. However, Grace, Durge, and Lirith stumbled constantly, groping blindly as they went. He could see the desperation on their faces.