Spellwright

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Nicodemus woke to see Deirdre padding down the cellar stairs. A lone sunbeam had slipped through the tattered ceiling to land on the steps. As the druid walked through the light, the sword strapped to her back glinted solar white. She was holding up the front of her robes to make a basket; on the pale cloth rested small pieces of darkness. Nicodemus picked up the Index and went to her.

“Clear sky, cold and windy,” she whispered as they squatted by the nearby wall. “Reminds me of the bright autumn days in the Highlands.” She had folded her legs so the nest of blackberries sat in her lap.

Nicodemus set down the Index and watched with single-minded anticipation as her dark fingers extracted a mound of berries and overturned them into his cupped hands.

“John will need some too,” he said.

On the other side of the cellar, the big man was curled up on Nicodemus’s cloak. Getting him to sleep that morning had been a struggle.

Shortly after Nicodemus had brought Deirdre and John back to the ruins, the big man’s wits had returned with a squall of terror and tears. At first, he had screamed every time Nicodemus had touched him. But eventually he let the younger man pull him into an embrace. Then John had begun to repeat the name “Devin… Devin… Devin…” over and over.

Nicodemus had wept with him until exhaustion pulled them both into sleep.

“I set several rabbit snares,” Deirdre whispered, feeding herself a berry between words. “With luck, evening will see us with dinner.” She searched Nicodemus’s face. “Now that we know more about the Chthonics, have you discovered anything about that dream you told me of-the one of Fellwroth surrounded by ivy and turtles? Any clue where the monster’s true body is now?”

Nicodemus shook his head. “I thought the body must be in a cave where the Spindle Bridge meets the mountain. There must be some connection to the ivy and hexagon patterns carved into the mountain face. But in the Chthonic visions, I saw that the cave into the mountain had disappeared after the Spindle Bridge was built. And Shannon probed the rock before the bridge and found nothing. There must be some other connection. It’s frustrating. I can’t consult the ghosts again until tonight.”

He popped a blackberry into his mouth and stared down at the tattoos that covered his hands and forearms. It was strange to think about Garkex and the other night terrors being written across his body.

Deirdre was still studying him. “The dreams might not matter. We’ll be safe when we reach my goddess’s ark. When will you be ready to run to Gray’s Crossing?”

Nicodemus paused, a berry at his lips. “When I met the golem, it was coming up from Gray’s Crossing.”

He had told Deirdre about his strange dreams, his encounter with Fellwroth, and his dealings with the Chthonic ghost. But he had not told her what Fellwroth had said about the struggle between two factions-one demonic, one divine-to breed a Language Prime spellwright.

“Fellwroth must be watching Gray’s Crossing,” he continued. “He might anticipate our trying to reach your goddess’s ark.”

Deirdre shook her head; her raven hair gleamed even in the half-light. “A dozen armed devotees-two of them druids-guard the stone. And it’s well hidden; Fellwroth wouldn’t know where to find it.”

Her wide eyes widened; her dark cheeks flushed darker. “Nicodemus, we are so close now. My goddess can sense you nearing. She longs to protect you.”

Nicodemus put the blackberry in his mouth and chewed it slowly. “Deirdre, who is your goddess?”

A soft smile curled her lips. “She is Boann of the Highlands, not a powerful deity, but a water goddess of unsurpassed beauty, a dweller of the secret brooks and streams that flow among the boulders and the heather.”

Nicodemus thought about what Fellwroth had told him. “Does she have many Imperials-those that look like us-in her service?”

“A few,” she said, eating another berry. “My family has done so for time out of mind. In the Lowlands, my cousins serve her. But you must understand that she is a Dralish deity. The Lornish occupy the Highlands still. Those of us holding to the old ways must hide-”

Nicodemus interrupted. “Does she direct your family as to whom they might marry?”

This made Deirdre’s eyebrows sink. “We never marry without her blessing.”

“Is she trying to produce a Language Prime spellwright?”

“Language Prime?”

“Maybe she called it the First Language. Have you heard of that?”

Deirdre only frowned.

“No, you haven’t. But did your goddess know that Typhon had crossed the ocean? Has she been struggling against him for long?”

“Nicodemus, what are you driving at?”

He looked down. “Nothing. Only thinking aloud.”

Fellwroth had said that those opposing the Disjunction-the Alliance of Divine Heretics-would kill Nicodemus on sight. But Nicodemus distrusted the monster. If the Alliance wanted a Language Prime spellwright so badly, they might be willing to help Nicodemus recover the missing part of himself in return for his service.

For this reason, Nicodemus hoped that Deirdre’s goddess was a member of the Alliance. Clearly Deirdre did not want him dead; she could have broken his neck long ago.

The problem was that Deirdre didn’t seem to know about Language Prime or whether her goddess was a member of this Alliance.

But then again, she might know more than she was letting on. Nicodemus needed a way to learn more about her.

Suddenly the blackberry in his mouth became sour. He knew what he had to do. “Deirdre,” he said softly, “Kyran is dead.”

She looked away. “I know.” The room’s faint light glowed on her smooth cheeks and accentuated her youthful appearance.

Nicodemus continued, “He died fighting Fellwroth in the compluvium… saved my life. He gave me this script.” Holding out his empty right hand, Nicodemus pulled Kyran’s final spell from his chest with his left. “He asked that I give it to you.”

Deirdre looked down at his right hand and then away. “Read it to me,” she whispered.

Nicodemus’s heart began to strike. “I’d rather you take it.”

Again she looked at his right hand and shook her head. “Please, read it to me.”

A silent pause.

“Deirdre,” Nicodemus said gently, “you’re illiterate.”

She looked at him as if he had turned into a frog. “I learned to read fifty years before you were born.”

“Not mundane language, magical language. You can’t read even the common magical languages. You’re not a druid.”

She started to say one thing and then stopped. Started to say another, stopped. “How did you know?” she managed at last.

“When I told you of Kyran’s spell, you looked at my right hand.” He nodded to the hand in question, which he had stretched out as if offering something.

She frowned “And?”

“I’m holding the text in my left.”

“There were other clues,” Nicodemus added. “Your diction is wrong. You refer to spells and text as ‘magic’-no spellwright would use such a general term. You never unbuttoned your sleeves when we were fleeing Starhaven. You claimed to wield a different kind of magic, but any kind of spellwriting would require you to look at your arms. And then there’s your greatsword. A man of six feet would need both hands just to lift that weapon. You toss it about as if it were a feather.”

Deirdre closed her eyes and pressed a slender hand to her cheek. “Only the druids were called to the convocation. I couldn’t get into Starhaven without the disguise.”

Nicodemus said nothing.

She looked at the stairwell. The sunbeam was moving up the steps. Maybe three hours had passed since midday. “I am Boann’s avatar. Do you know what that means?”

“Theology was thought to be wasted on cacographers. I only know what they say in the stories.”

She nodded. “Deities sometimes invest worthy devotees with portions of their souls. Just as golems carry the spirits of their authors, we avatars carry the souls of our deities. If we die before our divine souls can disengage, then part of the divinity dies with us. And those who carry souls of the high gods and goddesses become the heroes of your stories-warriors with impenetrable skin, bards with hypnotic voices, and so on.”

She smiled sadly. “Boann is nothing so powerful. My gifts are simple: I do not age, I heal with extraordinary speed, and for a brief time I may possess the strength of ten or eleven men.”

Nicodemus was confused. “Why did you come looking for me?”

“What I said before is true. Last spring, Boann ordered me to attend the Starhaven convocation where I would find a ‘treasure wrapped in black.’ You asked if she knew of Typhon. Perhaps she did and didn’t tell me. Now that I think on it, she must have known the demon had hidden you here. Why else send me?”

Nicodemus glanced back to make sure the Index still lay behind him. “Deirdre, I didn’t tell you everything Fellwroth told me.” He explained what he knew about Language Prime and the monster’s claim about two factions striving to breed a Language Prime spellwright.

Deirdre listened with her head resting against the wall. When he finished, she spoke in a flat, exhausted voice. “If they do exist, the Alliance of Divine Heretics is well named. The belief that there is no savior-no Halcyon for the wizards, no Peregrine for the druids, no Cynosure for the hierophants-is perilously heretical. It denies all prophecies, and the high deities use those prophecies to justify their rule over their kingdoms. The heretical gods would need to remain hidden and wage their war against the Disjunction in secret.”

She closed her eyes. “I can’t say if any of this is true or not; nor can I say if Boann is a party to this Alliance.” She paused. “Though her sending me here to rescue you makes it seem probable.”

“But you’re her avatar; shouldn’t you know her intentions?”

Deirdre produced a quavering sigh. “I am indeed Boann’s avatar. Her only one. But… a year ago, I lost her love.”

Nicodemus hugged his knees to his chest and said nothing.

She took a long breath. “The savage Lornish Kingdom occupies my native Highlands. But there are many among us who fight to restore our homelands to the civil forests of Dral. Nearly forty years ago, I became Boann’s avatar in this struggle.”

She was breathing faster now, her cheeks flushing. “I was married when she called. I had two sons I loved dearly. But when the goddess commanded me to go, I left without hesitation. Years later, my husband died with nothing but hatred for me. But you must understand how perfect Boann’s love is.”

The woman’s face had grown tense. Her eyes shone with a light that Nicodemus had once mistaken for simple excitement.

She took the greatsword from her back and set it on the ground. “From time to time, Dralish druids sneak into the Highlands to fight for our independence. Kyran came to me two years ago. His nephew was a famous Highland brigand who ceaselessly attacked the Lornish. The Highlanders called him the White Fox. The Lowlanders had worse names for him and marked his wife and sons for death. So Kyran came across the border to smuggle his nephew’s family into Dral. My goddess, hating Lornish rule, was more than happy to help.”

Deirdre looked at the steps again. “But the Paladin of Garwyn attacked during our crossing into Dral. I managed to save Kyran and his nephew, but not the rest of the family. The paladin slaughtered them.”

She shook her head. “I took Kyran and the Fox back to one of my clan’s secret holdings. I managed to sneak the brigand back into Dral, but Kyran was too badly wounded. He stayed with us for a year. Boann knew but…” She swallowed. “Boann had forbidden me to take a lover, and…”

Nicodemus made a soft sound.

“She discovered my infidelity. Some part of me must have known she would. She withdrew much of her soul from me. For an agonizing season, I was mortal again. And though Kyran and I ceased to be lovers, Boann stayed away. He and I dedicated ourselves to winning her forgiveness.”

Nicodemus touched her knee. “But he didn’t love Boann; he loved you.”

She laughed humorlessly. “Was it so obvious? Yes, he dedicated himself to helping me recover Boann’s affection even though it meant helping me forget my love for him. It was a selfless, stupid thing to do. In a way, I was unfaithful to him as well. I tried to explain that the love he and I shared was flawed, human.”

The avatar wiped her eyes with a sleeve. “How we used to argue. Tortured circles, around and around. He claimed that he-unlike Boann-would never punish me or withhold his love. The poor fool. Likely, he was right. It was frightening how wildly he loved me. But… he couldn’t understand that perfect love does exist.”

Nicodemus withdrew his hand as he remembered Kyran’s death. The man’s eyes had burned with agony. Nicodemus had thought the pain was born of the stomach wound. Now he saw what had truly tortured the druid. “Don’t be like me, boy,” Kyran had growled. “Be anything; be wild, be saintly, be wicked. Love all or love none, but don’t be like me.”

Deirdre was still talking. “After Kyran and I prayed and fasted, Boann called me back to her ark and invested nearly all of her soul into me. But it has never again been like it once was. Now she no longer trusts me. Now when our wills diverge she… sends me into seizures and takes control of my body.”

The woman wiped her eyes again. “I should be grateful. Back in Starhaven, Fellwroth’s golem trapped me. The monster would have killed me if Boann hadn’t controlled my body through a seizure. And I am grateful… but sometimes I don’t know who I am. Sometimes I feel as if my heart is not my own, as if I am only a vessel for the desires of others.”

Nicodemus leaned toward her. “And you believe that if you bring me to Boann’s ark, she will trust you again?”

The lines around Deirdre’s eyes smoothed. “Yes.”

In her gaze Nicodemus saw a desire so strong that it had become emptiness. She had lost part of herself. She was disabled in love. Just as he would be incomplete until he regained his ability to spell, she would be incomplete until she regained her perfect love.

“And so Kyran and I came to Starhaven to atone,” she said. “Last spring, Boann ordered us to join the druidic delegation that was passing through the Highlands. We brought many of Boann’s devotees and her ark. The other druids, the ones we couldn’t go to when fleeing Starhaven, are the true diplomats who came with concerns about the Silent Blight. They do not trust us; they tolerated us only because they could not refuse a goddess’s request.”

The woman’s fingers clenched into fists. “We must go to Boann as soon as possible.”

Nicodemus frowned. “But I have questions for the Chthonics. I might learn something more of Language Prime. Besides, Fellwroth must be watching Gray’s Crossing. We have to wait-”

“No!” Deirdre’s sharp retort made Simple John stir in his sleep.

“No,” she continued in a lowered voice. “If you don’t come, Boann may send me into another seizure. She may force me to do things I don’t want to.” She was looking at him now with eyes wide with fear.

Nicodemus felt his hands go cold. “You haven’t abducted me yet, Deirdre. You could have easily done so. Your goddess must know it would be foolish. Fellwroth would find us.”

Deirdre pressed a trembling hand to her chin. “Before I met Kyran, I was sure of everything. ‘Deirdre wry-smile’ they called me. You must have seen it sometime. I used to wear that smile like armor. My love for Boann was so true that I found mortals-with their dithering uncertainties-somehow amusing. But now the half-smile runs off my face like water.”

“You wore that smile when I met you.”

“I have embraced every sacrifice Boann required,” she continued, “leaving my husband, my sons, the society of other mortals. I did not miss them so long as I basked in her love. But now… now that Kyran has died because I…”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “And such horrible dreams I have-dreams of standing on a riverbank and being stabbed somehow by a wolf with a man’s head and glowing red eyes.”

Nicodemus’s head bobbed back. “In a Highland river?”

She nodded.

Nicodemus spoke excitedly. “Fellwroth killed Typhon in a Highland river, cut the demon into fragments with some kind of disspelling wand. I saw it happen when the golem touched me. And on the road, Fellwroth said Typhon was trying to infect a minor deity. Perhaps it was your goddess.”

Deirdre looked at him. “Then that must be how my goddess knew of you. She is the sovereign of Highland rivers; she must have seen Fellwroth betray his master. Somehow she must have extracted knowledge of you from the dead demon. That must be why she sends the visions to me. She has invested so much of her soul in me that she cannot express herself outside of her ark. She has no direct way of communicating with me, except by controlling”-she looked down at her lap-“this body.”

Again Nicodemus thought about how she had been disabled by love. He thought about John who, out of love, had sought to protect Nicodemus and who now suffered unimaginably because he had loved Devin. He thought also about what Deirdre had done to Kyran and what Kyran had done to himself.

Gently, he placed a hand on Deirdre’s shoulder. “What you did, you did out of love.”

She laughed cruelly. “Don’t be a romantic fool. There’s no force more savage. My love for Boann destroyed my love for Kyran, then destroyed the man himself.”

“He chose his path.”

Again, the hard laugh. “In that, then, he and I were alike; we loved too well. We all love too well.” She closed her eyes. “Will you read me Kyran’s last message now?”

He looked down at the dim green sentence in his left hand. It was so simple that even his cacographic mind had not misspelled the translation: “I loved you always; I love you still.”

He read it aloud.

Deirdre bent forward, her chin on her chest. Again she wore the half-smile, but it no longer held wry amusement. It pulled her face down into a gruesome mask. She shook silently.

When Nicodemus squeezed her hand, she pulled him into an embrace.

Hours later nicodemus woke to find the sunbeam gone from the steps. Only the fading light of dusk came down the stairs.

They were-all three of them-sleeping against the far wall. The Index lay beside Nicodemus, and John was looking at him with frightened eyes.

“Nico,” the big man whispered, “you know it was what Typhon made me do?”

When Nicodemus said that he did, the big man closed his eyes and let out a long breath.

“Are you all right, John?”

The other man pressed his lips together and shook his head. “No,” he said as tears came to his eyes. Nicodemus reached out and took his hand. John said nothing.

In the silence, Nicodemus could hear the wind whistling through the trees. Somewhere far away, a rook called.

John studied him with wet brown eyes. “Are you all right, Nico?”

Nicodemus didn’t look away when his own tears came. “No,” he said. “No.”