Unbroken Chain

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Ashok slept in fits, dreaming of hounds and running across the Shadowfell plains. His muscles woke him screaming with cramps. He broke out in a cold sweat until the pain and tightness subsided. Invigorated, he could not sleep again for a long time.

When he hovered again at the threshold of peace, he heard the door to the chamber open, and soft footfalls came toward his cell. It was not the guards, nor Uwan’s purposeful stride. It was much lighter, faster, like an animal avoiding prey.

He waited for the creature to identify itself by sound or smell. Maybe one of the hounds had escaped from its pen and come looking for a meal. Ashok was not afraid. He’d been chained in the dark too long. His heart beat sluggishly, and he could not bring himself to turn his head when the creature approached the bars.

“Wake, little toad,” said a familiar voice, one that made Ashok jerk his head around, though he couldn’t see her face.

“Ilvani?” he said. Hope may have made him delirious. “Is that you?”

The witch whispered a word, and Ashok heard his cell door swing open. Her footsteps approached, and Ashok felt her small fingers touch his chest.

“Where have you been?” Ashok said. “Uwan … Everyone’s been looking for you.”

“It speaks,” Ilvani said. Her palm grew warm, penetrating the deep cold that had spread over Ashok’s body. Hotter and hotter, her hand began to burn him. “It should know when to be silent.”

Her other hand touched his face. She pulled the hood off him. Ashok blinked at the sudden light. When he could focus again, he saw that Ilvani looked paler and thinner than ever. Her face was streaked with dirt. Her hand where she touched his chest glowed gold and scorched his flesh.

Ashok writhed in pain. He was alive again, but he pushed aside that feeling and forced himself to breathe, to speak through the pain. “Are you all right?” he asked. “What happened to you?”

“I’ve made a box,” Ilvani said. “A box for Ashok. To keep all his lies safe. Do you know what’s in that box?”

Ashok could smell his own flesh burning. He tried not to gag when he answered. “The maps … the notes. I did lie to all of you. I-”

“It admits what it did wrong,” Ilvani said, in a tone of mocking surprise. “But I’m still going to put your ashes in the box. You’ll stand in for all the others.”

“You mean your companions. The ones who didn’t come home,” Ashok said. He gritted his teeth as she moved her hand, crept it up toward his neck. “I’m sorry for what was done to you and your people. If I could have stopped it, I would have.”

“Would your lies have stopped it?” Ilvani demanded. “Would your pictures? You were going to kill us, just like you killed them.”

“No,” Ashok said. “Your companions-I swear they didn’t die by my hand.”

“Swear on your flesh!” Ilvani screamed, and she ground her hand against his chest. Ashok cried out in agony, but he didn’t try to pull away. He leaned into her touch, endured the pain, and waited until he’d composed himself enough to speak again.

“I was … a different person … when I wrote those things,” Ashok said. “I didn’t know you and Uwan, Skagi, or Cree. I never knew a city like this existed. I wanted it to be … my home. So I lied. I tried to bury my past, but it didn’t work.” The searing in his chest made it impossible to concentrate. “I never meant harm … to you.”

Abruptly, Ilvani removed her hand. The intense heat disappeared, but his chest burned with every breath he drew.

“What was Natan?” she said in a cold, dead voice. “He was the only one left. No boxes, no bad memories. You told me I should see him.”

“I wanted you to,” Ashok said. “Ilvani, I’m so sorry, but I didn’t kill him. I swear on my soul.”

“You put him in a box,” Ilvani said. Her body trembled. Ashok thought she hadn’t been so close to breaking even when she’d been in her cell in the slaughter room. “I told you he wouldn’t fit, but you made it happen.”

“No,” Ashok said. She took a step back, but he strained toward her. He wished he could break the chains, but he had no strength; he couldn’t focus his mind to teleport.

Ilvani raised a hand as if to stave him off. Her palm continued to glow, filled with magic. Ashok bent his head so his forehead touched her fingers. He felt the burning heat, power barely contained.

“Do it,” he said. “Finish it.”

She caught her breath, but she didn’t lower her hand. “Why?” she said, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re trying to store more lies.”

“No,” Ashok said. “But if it’ll ease your suffering, then do it, Ilvani, kill me. Do it for both of us.”

“You don’t mean it,” she said.

“I don’t want you to put yourself in a box,” Ashok said.

She slapped him. His cheek burned and went numb. His eyes watering, he tried to lean into the heat, but she backed away.

“You’re false!” she cried, pacing before him like a starved, half-crazed cat. “You’ll die when I say.”

“Do what you have to do,” Ashok said.

She sprang forward and raked her nails across his chest, shredding flesh. Ashok’s body convulsed. He groaned as the fire lines bled, and the wetness ran down his torso.

“Fight back!” Ilvani screamed. She grabbed his hair and jerked his head to one side. She laid her burning fingers against his neck. Ashok couldn’t find the breath to scream and sagged against the chains.

“Not yet,” Ilvani said. “The darkness can’t have you yet. I’m not done taking your ashes.”

Ashok’s head lolled to the side. He bit his lip and tasted blood. He tried to speak, but his throat burned. His entire body was on fire.

“What did you say?” Ilvani asked, stepping closer. Her fingers hovered before his eyes. Ashok watched the glowing points and waited for her to blind him. “Speak,” she commanded.

Ashok’s body begged for the release of unconsciousness. He tried to follow her voice out of the long, dark tunnel. “I said … Take them all. All the ashes. I want …”

“What?” Ilvani said. “Say it.”

Ashok closed his eyes. “Forgiveness,” he said. The darkness surged in to take him.

Ilvani stared at Ashok’s mutilated body. He was not dead, but the pain had made him sleep. In a rare flash of pragmatism she recognized that she would need to summon healing, or Ashok would not live to face his trial.

Is that what she wanted? With clarity came confusion, fear. What had she done? Punished a murderer. Confronted the deceiver with his lies. Judged the guilty.

“Is it guilty?” she said, but of course Ashok couldn’t answer her. She had only the answers he’d given her earlier to judge.

He’d denied nothing, except killing Natan and her companions. At the thought of her brother, Ilvani went away for a while, into a fugue place where she could be safe. In that place there were no thoughts or pain. She’d discovered the small world within her mind while she’d been imprisoned.

When she came back to herself, she was walking up the tower stairs to her quarters in Tower Athanon.

How long had she been away? She didn’t know, and she didn’t know what had become of Ashok. Had she told the healers to see to him?

She reached in her satchel and took out the evidence she’d taken from Vedoran. When she got to her quarters she locked her door, lit a candle, and carried it up the ladder to the window seat. By the faint light she read the evidence again. If she didn’t read certain books or papers often, the words tended to rearrange themselves so she could no longer understand them. She had to keep watch over the pages carefully so they didn’t try to trick her.

She read the notes and looked at the maps again. Would they be infected by Ashok’s lies? Would they try to tell her a tale of innocence, when she knew Ashok to be guilty?

His eyes had tried to tell her the same tale. Ilvani remembered the pain in them, not from the wounds she’d inflicted, but from the thought of her suffering.

Ilvani clenched the pages in her hands. Deceiver. He wants you to pity him.

“That’s not true,” came a voice.

Ilvani started. She looked wildly around the room, but there was no one else there, only the long shadows staring at her from the corners of the room. They always stared at her, but she ignored them as usual.

It must have been her own voice speaking. She just hadn’t recognized it.

She folded the maps and held them in her hands. Nothing had changed. Ashok’s guilt was written in his own hand. All that remained was for her to take the evidence to Uwan. She should do it now while everything was clear.

“He was ready to die for you,” came the voice.

“Stop it!” Ilvani said, covering her ears with her hands. She knew that voice, and it wasn’t hers. It was the voice of dead hopes, of the person she used to be.

“Please look at me, sister. There is not much time.”

Ilvani choked on a sob. She forced her hands down to her sides and turned unwillingly to look at her brother.

He stood at the foot of the ladder, looking up at her with a smile. The pose, the affection was so familiar she felt she was being ripped in two.

“It’s not real,” she said. She found herself using that phrase a great deal when she was alone. When Natan was around, he used it for her.

“I’ve seen you many times this way,” Natan said. His skin looked healthy, and he’d put on weight. He’d always been beautiful, her brother, even when he’d stopped taking care of himself so he could talk to Tempus. She’d always resented the god for taking her brother away from her.

“You’re in the box,” Ilvani said. “I saw them put you in and cover you up. They buried you with swords. I wanted to bury you with silk.”

“You know me best,” Natan said. “Sister, you must set him free.”

“He’s a liar,” Ilvani replied. He deceives beyond death, she thought. How powerful was Ashok?

“He told you the truth,” Natan said. “And you know it, else I would not be here.”

“You think you’re putting the words together in my mind for me, but you’re not,” Ilvani said. “It’s a trick.” She scooted back against the window and wrapped her arms around herself. “I know what he did.”

“He rescued you from something worse than death,” Natan said. “In doing so, he betrayed his own people. He will never forgive himself for that, just like you will never forgive yourself for what happened to you in that cage. You’ll both hate and condemn yourselves until you destroy yourselves.”

“You don’t know,” Ilvani said. “You don’t know either of us.”

“I know you, sister,” Natan said gently. “More now than I ever have. I see your mind, and I know what it’s like to live inside you. You must forgive him. If you don’t, everything that has happened will be for nothing.”

Ilvani clutched the parchment sheets against her chest. Her eyes strayed to the candle beside her. Its wavering flame held her gaze as Natan’s words held her in thrall.

“No!” she said. She shook her head to break the spell. “He killed you. No forgiveness for that.”

Her brother sighed, an exasperated expression Ilvani knew well. It almost made her smile through her pain. “You were always the stubborn one,” he said. “Look inside yourself, sister. You know the truth. He’s been trying to tell you, but you’re blocking him.”

“I’m not,” Ilvani said hotly. She crawled to the ladder and shook a rung. “He’s never liked me. Not my fault.”

“Now you’re being absurd,” Natan said. “He knows what you endured in that cage. He holds you in the highest honor. You are stronger than you know, Ilvani. He thinks you are a wonder, and so do I.”

Ilvani laid her forehead against the ladder. Tears ran down her cheeks and neck. “I don’t want you … to see me,” she sobbed.

“You are beautiful,” Natan said, “powerful and wise beyond the limits of your mind. No one can take that away from you. Open your heart, Ilvani, and it will show you the truth. I will always be here when you need me.”

The ladder moved beneath her. Ilvani looked up, wild with hope that her brother had come up to embrace her, to make everything all right again.

There was no one there.

Sobbing, Ilvani crawled back to the window. She took up the evidence against Ashok and held the sheets over the candle. The parchment darkened and curled. Orange flame licked up the sides, consuming ink and surface so fast Ilvani had to drop and stamp them out with a cup she’d left by the window. The ashes flew up into her face.

She gathered them and the unintelligible scraps that remained and put them in one of the empty boxes in her satchel. When she closed the lid, the lock slid into place without her touching it.

“Ashok box,” she said. “Has all the ashes. Are you happy, brother?”

She flung out a hand. The window glass shattered, and the shards dug into her hand. She bent over the box, sobbing anew.

Too late. She’d done it-given her brother’s murderer his freedom. What a worthless, worthless sister, an ugly failure.

“I won’t forgive you,” she cried, and wiped her hand across her face, streaking tears and blood. “Won’t … won’t.”

The box snapped open.

Ilvani stared at it. The locks were magical. They only answered to her. She reached for the lid, but it wouldn’t move. She tried with both hands, but it wouldn’t shut. Grunting, she put her full weight against the hinges. Nothing.

She looked inside the box. The ashes were gone. Instead, she saw something that shouldn’t have been there.

Within the box, she saw Tempus’s chapel. Two tiny figures moved around in the scene like dolls. She recognized Natan sitting on the steps, and she thought it was Ashok next to him, but when she looked closer she realized it was Vedoran.

The tiny dolls were speaking, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Natan looked upset, not at all as he’d appeared in her room. Ilvani wondered what the cause was, and hoped it wasn’t herself.

What she saw next nearly made her throw the box out the broken window.

Vedoran leaned toward Natan and put his hands around her brother’s throat. He squeezed, and Natan’s eyes widened in panic.

“No!” she cried. She clutched the box, shook it, as if she could make the tiny Vedoran doll let her brother go. But the figures kept on and ignored her shouts and pleas and thrashing. She watched her brother die-at Vedoran’s hands.

Natan’s body fell across the steps. Vedoran looked as stunned as Ilvani felt. He staggered away from the body, and the scene blurred. When it came back into focus, there were other dolls present, though she didn’t know them. They removed Natan’s body, and when one turned to speak to Vedoran she saw the symbol of Beshaba at their breasts.

“All the misfortunes in the world belong to me,” Ilvani said. She thought it might have been the words to a song she’d once heard, but there were so few songs in Ikemmu that weren’t battle hymns, she couldn’t be sure.

She closed the box lid and listened to the wind whistle through the broken glass shards. She knew who had sent the vision. “Thank you, Tempus,” she said, “for putting the truth in the boxes.” She added, “But stay out of them now. I can do it myself.”