13: Of Shattering

Ahn shuddered. The world was in darkness, a pressing weight, a sickness in his belly.

Why were his thoughts swirling mud? Why did his heart try to beat against the current, and why did his limbs refuse his commands? And why did ice tear through his veins instead of blood?

Voices sounded in his awareness—muted, indistinct. He heard something that sounded familiar. His name?

A face appeared in his line of vision, fading into being from nothingness. Death-pallid skin, eyes like the void, a triumphant smile curving red-stained lips.

“Ahndras Frost. So alive, so strong.”

He blinked. Fear scratched at his mind like clawed creatures in the darkness.

“Their souls give me shape and will. Your power, most of all—even the tiniest sliver of it—thanks to the bond I created when you worked by my side.”

“My power?” He croaked out the words. The creature—apparition, whatever it was—did not reply.

“You used me. Us. You nearly killed my guardian!” He was screaming now, searching for the warmth of Moya’s hand on his arm, which he could no longer feel.

Larkwing, or what remained of her, had harmed children. Had siphoned his power. Had nearly destroyed Moya, one of the kindest, most capable people Ahn had ever met. With a groan of effort, Ahn lifted one hand, begging his body to cooperate. He could not let Larkwing hold any sway over him.

“I did what was necessary to help my people, Ahndras Frost. The Kraah were wise, and they knew the cost of being unguarded, weak. They knew that power and determination are the only things that will keep us alive.”

“You are not alive,” Ahn hissed, pointing his index and middle fingers at the ghoul before him. “You are a revenant, forged out of a dead woman’s hate. This ends today.”

Larkwing laughed, teeth bared, head thrown back. Ahn shivered in horror.

“Right now, one of my loyal servants approaches. You will die tonight. You will all die, and I will feast on your aether, your mind and soul.” The words hung in the air, dripping with menace and promise.

Where was Moya? Why could he not see her, or Seshka and the others?

“The guardian cannot help you now,” Larkwing tutted, her voice a syrup-drenched mockery of concern that was horrifying in its alienness. “You are separated. Apart. She is no longer by your side.”

But Moya had said she would be there no matter what. And didn’t Moya always tell the truth?

“Moya?” He called his guardian’s name, the syllables slurred as he forced them from his leaden tongue. “Moya, I can’t see you!”

His words muddled, his tongue felt frozen, and his mind dulled. Was he even speaking common Tan’shi? Why couldn’t he turn to look at her? She did not reply.

“Moyyy–ahhhh…” This time, the word only wheezed from his tight throat as needles of icy pain stabbed through his body in time with his slowing heartbeat. Though he could not see Moya or the children, his line of sight to the corrupted font was unnaturally clear, the temple’s center shining with a sharp, too-bright light.

A light which pulsed irregularly, another heartbeat, rippling the inky leywater around it. A burst of cool air, this time scented with night-blooming jasmine and moonflowers, wafted over him. Something large and heavy darted toward the strange new glow.

“It’s true, then,” a rasping voice sounded, muffled by the ringing in Ahn’s ears. He did not recognize this voice, or the man in swirling dark robes who leaned toward the font, yearning, reaching for that grotesque shuddering light in the inky waters.

A scream of pain sounded from somewhere in the room, echoed by smaller exclamations of fear.

“No, you don’t!” Was that Moya’s voice? Something whizzed by his ear, stirring his hair. A thud and splash sounded from somewhere, near or far he could not tell.

“Moya? Moya, can you hear me?” This time, the words felt firm, and his voice was clear. Was Larkwing fading?

“I’m here, Ahn. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere!” Moya’s words sent warmth crashing over his heart, floating to him over a great distance.

It really was her. A nightmare vision ensnared him, the creature calling itself Larkwing shaping the aether leymagic within him to fit its own reality, bringing visions of ghastly lights and creeping men.

Well, two can play that game, Ahn thought fiercely.

With his remaining strength, he conjured into his mind an image of a warm spring evening, seeing the leytemple as it was supposed to be. His place. The sleepy, sunny Ahran refuge where he had tended the garden and browsed through ancient tomes. He pictured the temple and grounds, then surrounding countryside extending out for miles, familiar and free of corruption as he and Moya stood guard. Moya—strong, willful, brave. Even though he had just met her, he knew she was special. That she was a powerful force for good.

Ahn saw the light of her prayers shining between them like a tether that moored him in a better world, his heartbeat galloping joyfully. He imagined the group of children not huddled in a frightened knot behind his guardian, but happy and free, bathed in warm and healing sunshine that dappled through flowering tree branches. He pictured himself standing with Moya, hand in hand as they watched the creature made of stolen soul pieces wither and melt.

“No!” A shriek sliced through the air, shrill and blade-sharp with rage. “How dare you⁠⁠.”

“Silence,” he commanded, strength returning to his mind and body.

The revenant’s aether nightmare faded, and Ahn saw Moya beside him. Dirt streaked her face, her eyes wide with worry. Seshka and the other children waited, trapped behind a wall of flickering green power, the stench of rot choking the air—a smell Ahn was recognizing as the reek of dark Kraah magic. They all slumped, their haunted eyes showing their fear and pain.

“Children, Moya—all of us—call back the parts of ourselves this monster stole!” Ahn yelled. “All of us, open our hearts to the others who have fallen victim to this woman and imagine their souls returning to them. Do it!”

“H-how?” someone asked in a small, shaking voice.

“Say, ‘I take back what was mine in the Source’s name,’” Ahn offered. When he repeated the phrase, Moya’s voice joined his. Soon, all the children were chanting the prayer, Seshka nearly screaming at the top of her lungs.

The Larkwing-revenant flickered back into being, standing inhumanly tall before him, and screamed, a roar that echoed into the aether itself. The ground shook, and the sickly green power caging in the children flared ceiling-high before flickering away to nothing. With a brittle noise, the apparition split into shards. Arrows of bluish-white radiance flew everywhere—towards the children, into Seshka and Moya, beyond the temple, and into Ahn himself. From somewhere in the room came the bell-like music Ahn knew to be a portal opening, and flashes upon flashes of sun-yellow light zipped back and forth like dragonflies formed of pure energy.

Suddenly voices were crying out all around Ahn—a chaos of joyous shouts, surprised giggles, and cheering. Other voices joined them, confused, afraid. And then there was a man’s low, silky voice, calling out in alarm. When the portal opened, their band of virtuous fighters had a few new members.

“Emrhys?” the man asked. “Are you still with me?”

“Corvus? Is that you?” A light, feminine voice answered.

A second woman’s voice, soft and hesitant, came from behind Ahn. “Who are you all? Wait. By the Source, did my plan work?”

A voice he would always know rose confidently over the others. Moya’s voice.

“Tie that creature up. NOW,” she shouted, darting away from him and toward the leytemple. A broken groan and litany of heavily accented swears echoed from the direction she had gone. The flashing lights faded, and abrupt silence filled the room. Three unknown people crowded together amid the children, closest to Seshka. Ahn gazed around, frantic, until he spied Moya wrangling someone else new—this one a familiar man in black robes, with an arrow sticking from his arm, writhing feebly as she secured him with a length of rope from her pack.

The pilgrim who had been asking all those questions at the portal, Ahn remembered. The one who had seemed far too eager to learn about the corruption…

“Ahn! Ahndras, are you well?” Moya limped over the circle and candles, ignoring the group of strangers while she looked him up and down, searching for injury.

“I’m better than well.” Ahn smiled at her, but his joy faded when he noticed blood on the ground at her feet. “You’re hurt again⁠⁠.”

“Shallow cut,” she said. “Our stabby friend is not good with a dagger,” she laughed weakly, throwing a glare at the tied-up stranger.

“Still, we must treat it. I need you whole, especially for what we must do next.”

Moya moved close to his side, whispering, “Who are these people?”

“That is what we are about to find out.” Ahn spoke with as much command as he could. “My guardian has a wound that needs treating. Is there a healer here?”

“I can do it myself—” Moya started.

“I’m well-versed in mending,” a blond woman said, her voice low and soft, the words in accented high Tan’shi. “I’m Lenore. Please let me help.” She moved toward Moya with Seshka following behind. The girl was smiling so widely, she was almost unrecognizable.

“Lenore!” A striking young woman with silver hair cried out, her gaunt face alight with joy. “Sister, you made it! Is this a dream?”

“Emrhys,” Lenore said. “Sweet Source! And Corvus?”

“You’re the one,” Seshka cut in, staring at the woman called Lenore in awe. “You saved us. But how are you here?”

“I think you somehow called us, young one,” Lenore said, taking the feverbane bandages Seshka offered her. “You united me with my sister and a dear friend.”

She gently directed Moya to a chair that the two Sionnach children dragged to the center of the room and set to undoing shin-guards and cutting away fabric to get to Moya’s wound. The tall man with them had the pale gold eyes of a duskcat. He walked silently to Lenore, with the silver-haired woman holding his arm.

“But where are we?” the man—Corvus, Lenore had called him—asked with the same thickly accented Tan’shi, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“A leytemple near Duskmere, southern Tanahr,” Moya replied, staring at the newcomers in wonder.

“We made it.” Corvus smiled down at the woman at his side. “We made it to Tanahr. Emrhys, do you know what this means? We are free!”

Both were young, though their haunted eyes spoke of traumas Ahn could only imagine. This meant that Larkwing had done terrible things to them, and his caution toward them melted into compassion. Emrhys smiled, one hand twined with Corvus’s, the other resting on her sister’s back as Lenore expertly bandaged Moya’s wound. Seshka and the other children handed everyone bottles of healing restorative, taking sips themselves.

“I think I have some ideas about why you are all here,” Ahn started, voice raised so everyone could hear him. “I’m just not clear on the specifics. I cast a spell… Well, we all cast it, calling to the lost pieces of our soul or magic that Lady Larkwing and her rabble took from us. It seems to have worked. I feel stronger—more like myself than I have since that accident. But I could swear I saw a portal…”

“It was me, I think,” Seshka offered, brow wrinkled in thought. “I still had the portal focus in my bag. I thought the energy was spent, though.”

“There was so much light,” Moya said, shoving the stopper back into her bottle of potion. “Dancing in the air like butterflies, and then this burst of light from where Seshka was. Ahn, I think the power of your spells might have opened that portal. At the end, when you finally saw me again—you did that thing where you hovered over the ground, bright blue like the hot part of a fire. You are amazing, mage, you know that?”

“That is remarkable power,” Emrhys said, her eyes wide. “You are an aethermage, I take it?”

“Ahndras Frost, at your service. Yes, I’m an aethermage—my primary strength is cleansing corrupt leylines, which is why I was here with my guardian, Moya,” he said, gesturing to where she now stood, looking entirely herself again.

“I see,” Emrhys said. “I too am an aethermage, and familiar with cleansing rituals. Emrhys Coldriver, formerly of the Dominion Thaumaturgy Laboratory,” she said, a look of such pain crossing her face that Ahn shivered. “I saw an evil light in your leywater font, which concerns me. Before we get further acquainted, I think we should fix this?”

“An excellent notion.” Ahn smiled at the woman, her formal speech and earnestness both strange and refreshing.

“Lenore, please check on the children?” Moya asked. “They were caught behind a wall of dark magic, thanks to our uninvited guest over there.” She jerked her head disdainfully toward the trussed up, gagged man in his dark robes. “Speaking of him, please also make sure he is not hurt too badly. I need him alive for questioning.” A frisson shivered down Ahn’s spine at the deadly promise in his guardian’s voice.

“Corvus, please assist me if you would,” Lenore said with a dazzling smile, as she headed to where the children huddled, exhausted and in varying degrees of shock. “It seems Emrhys and Mage Frost have some work to do.”

“I’ll assist by ensuring this one,” he nodded to the tied-up man, “attempts nothing untoward.”

“Thank you, all.” Ahn offered Moya an elaborate bow. “Moya, I would appreciate your guardianship again, if you would do me the honor.”

“The honor is all mine,” Moya said and dropped an awkward curtsy, her scabbard banging against her thigh. “Let’s get rid of this corruption once and for all.”