Blood of Mystery (46 page)

Travis hadn’t thought of that. The sorcerer must have left Castle City not long after overhearing their conversation in the old cabin. He must have traveled to London, where he tracked Jack down. But why go to so much trouble to find Jack and attack him? The sorcerer could have just waited like they did for Jack to come to Castle City.

Don’t you see, Travis. This is how Jack came to Castle City
in 1883. It was all because of you. And the sorcerer. And it’s because Jack came here that, over a hundred years from now,
you’ll go to Eldh.

The thought made his head spin. However, he could wonder about it later. Jack was in town, but so was the sorcerer, and he was planning something. What it was, Travis wasn’t certain, only that the Scirathi no doubt wanted to use Jack to find a way to return to the future. And that the sorcerer intended to kill Sareth before he left.

“May I see it, Travis?” Jack said, his expression eager. “The scarab you spoke of? I’ve heard of such artifacts, but I’ve never witnessed one with my own eyes.”

Travis reached into his pocket and drew out the golden spider. The drop of blood that lay within was their key back to Eldh, along with the gate artifact hidden in the rafters up in their room.

“Hold out your hand,” Travis said. He let the spider crawl to his fingertip, then over onto Jack’s hand.

“Why, it tickles!” Jack said, laughing.

Lirith smiled. “I think it likes you.”

“Yes, I suppose it does.” He lifted his hand, studying the scarab. “How marvelous, to think that in my hand I hold the blood of a god.”

Durge glowered at this. “King Orú was not a true god. We heard the tale from the Mournish, who are descendants of his people. Orú was a sorcerer into whose veins entered thirteen spirits. He was powerful, yes, but he was only a man, not a god like Jorus or Yrsaia or Vathris.”

“My good man,” Jack said, looking up, “it was from the blood of Orú that Jorus, Yrsaia, and Vathris arose. They and all of the New Gods of the mystery cults.”

Durge’s mustaches pulled down. “But that’s impossible.”

“And have you made a particular study of the origins of gods, Lord Stonebreak? Do tell me more of your studies concerning gods.”

Durge clamped his mouth shut.

Lirith reached out and stroked the scarab with a finger. “How can it be, Lord Graystone? How can Orú have been the father of the New Gods?”

Jack smiled at the witch. “I’m afraid I don’t have all the answers, my dear. It was all very long ago, and well before my time. And it wasn’t just Orú—it was all the sorcerers. Do you know of the cities of Amún, which were raised in the far south eons ago?”

She nodded. “They were home to sorcerers and ruled by the god-kings. One of the most powerful cities was Morindu the Dark, which was ruled by Orú. But after the thirteen
morndari
entered his body, Orú fell into an endless slumber, and his priests ruled in his name. And then there was a great conflict, in which the sorcerers rose up against the god-kings, and the god-kings tried to smite them, and all of Amún was laid waste.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Jack said. “And in the destruction of Amún, the blood of countless sorcerers was spilled, so that the great river Emyr ran red with it, and the land was stained dark. In the end, the course of the Emyr was changed, so that it flowed north, not south, and Amún became a desert, and those who survived fled. But the blood of power remained in the soil. And the soil became dust. And the dust blew out over the world, and people breathed it, and ate it, and took it inside them grain by grain over the centuries.”

Lirith’s eyes were wide with wonder. “But what did it do to them, to the people?”

“I think it gave them the power to believe.” Jack let the scarab crawl into his other hand. “Of course, one person alone could never have breathed enough dust to amount to anything much. Nor a dozen people, or even a hundred. But when thousands came together and believed in the same thing...well, my dear, that was when magic happened.”

Understanding sizzled in Travis’s brain. “So when enough people believed in a god, that god became real.”

“In a way,” Jack said. “Although I think it’s a bit more complicated than that. You see, the mystery of each cult tells how one man or woman was transformed into a god. I think those people must have been different somehow. Perhaps they were more sensitive to the ancient dust, or consumed more of it. People like King Vathris, and the young huntress Yrsaia.”

And Melia,
Travis thought,
who escaped betrothal to a
tyrant by marrying the moon
.

The gold spider perched on the tip of Jack’s finger. “The blood of the mysteries is right here in my hand,” he said softly. “And it’s in every one of us, just waiting to become something wonderful, if only we believe.”

Travis felt a tingling course through him. He glanced at Lirith and Durge, but the witch seemed lost in thought, a hand to her breast, and the knight gazed down at his gnarled hands. Travis reached out, and the scarab crawled back onto his palm.

“Jack, there’s something we need to know—is there a way we can get back to our own time?”

“Why, don’t you like this one?”

Travis bit his lip. “It’s fine. It’s just not ours, that’s all. There are people who will miss us.” In his mind he pictured a tall blond man with a brilliant smile. However, the image kept wavering, becoming a woman with golden eyes before flickering back. “Please.”

“Well, it’s simple enough. You’re a runelord, Travis. And a good one, I might add, since it’s my ability you’ve got in you. All you have to do is break the rune of time.”

“And where could I find the rune of time?”

“You don’t have one?”

“I’m fresh out,” Travis said through clenched teeth.

“Oh, dear,” Jack said. “That was always a tricky one to make. It took a good number of us to bind, so we never had many of them. Let me think.” He tapped his brow. “It was all so long ago—things can get a bit foggy after seven centuries. And it was not long after we all fled Malachor that I used the Stone to come here, to Earth. But I did manage to speak with a band of apprentices, those who favored the art of runebreaking. They told me they were going to raise a tower at the western tip of the Fal Sinfath. They had a good number of artifacts in their possession. I’m quite certain a bound rune of time was among them. You could go to their tower.”

“To the Black Tower of the Runebreakers?” Travis said, and Lirith shot him a startled look.

“Weren’t they evil?” the witch said. “The Runebreakers. Didn’t they destroy things?”

Jack gave her a sharp look. “Really, my dear, I would think a daughter of Sia of all people would know there can be no sowing without reaping, and no creation without destruction.”

Lirith said nothing, but Travis could still feel her eyes boring into him.

“Is it not dangerous to break runes?” Durge said.

“Oh, yes,” Jack said excitedly. “Quite dangerous. Why, the apprentices I met, the ones who were going to raise the tower and study runebreaking, had some artifacts of terrible power and peril. It’s a wonder, really, that they didn’t do something horrible.”

Durge scowled. “Like what?”

“Like breaking the rune of sky and opening a crack in the world. Trust me, my good man, that’s something you don’t want to do. All sorts of horrible and nameless things lurk just beyond the boundaries of the world. They’ve been there for eons, only waiting for a chance to get in.”

Travis looked at Durge and Lirith. “We have to go to the Black Tower of the Runebreakers. If the rune of time is anywhere, that’s where it’ll—”

Crash!

The muffled noise of splintering glass came from above. All of them looked up. There was a thudding sound, followed by another crash.

“By Vesta, that doesn’t sound good,” Jack said.

Durge was already on his feet and moving toward the stairs. Travis hurried after him.

“Lirith,” he said over his shoulder. “Watch Jack.”

The witch nodded. Jack nervously petted Miss Guenivere, for the little cat had leaped into his lap at the noise.

Travis followed Durge up the stairs. The boardinghouse was quiet now. Travis wished he had his Malachorian stiletto, but it was up in their room. All Durge had was his empty gun.

They reached the third-floor hallway. All of the doors were shut. Durge opened the door to Lirith’s room, but there was nothing inside. Then the knight opened the door to the room he and Travis shared.

Night air rushed out, cool against their faces. Glass crunched under their boots; the window had been smashed in. The beds were overturned, and the drawers of the bureau had been ripped open.

Durge peered out the window. “It seems the thief is gone.” Travis moved farther into the room. Nothing seemed to be missing. The sack of money they had saved was still in the bureau. So what had the thief taken?

Durge must have had the same thought. As one, the two men looked up at the rafters. Then they were moving. Durge got a chair, and Travis scrambled onto it, reaching up a hand and feeling along the top of the rafter.

His fingers met nothing. He searched a few moments more, but in his heart he already knew the truth, and by the look on his face so did Durge. A wave of dizziness crashed through Travis, so strong he would have fallen if Durge hadn’t helped him down.

“The gate artifact is gone,” Travis said.

52.

Morning brought light but little comfort. Travis, Lirith, Durge, and Jack sat around the dining table in grim silence. The other boarders had headed off to the mines for the day, and by the clatter of dishes and the sound of coughing that drifted through the door, both Liza and Maudie were in the kitchen.

They had finally gone to bed as the grandfather clock in the parlor struck three, after Durge and Travis cleaned up the broken glass in their room and boarded the window. Lirith had cast a spell around the Bluebell, one that would alert her if anyone tried to enter, but not even Durge had believed the sorcerer would return that night. The Scirathi had gotten everything he had come for.

Or had he? Travis slipped a hand into his pocket, and he felt the touch of the scarab. Without the blood contained in the jewel, the gate was worthless.
Which means he’s coming back.
The sorcerer isn’t going to stop until he has both the gate and
the scarab.

Lirith raised an eyebrow. “Is the coffee too strong, Travis?”

He must have been grimacing. “I don’t think it could possibly be too strong today.”

Lirith nodded as she took a sip from her own cup. Travis doubted any of them had gotten a wink of sleep during the fractured remnants of the night. There were dark circles under Lirith’s eyes, and Durge’s face was even more careworn than usual.

Of them all, only Jack seemed to be of good cheer. The gray pallor of the previous night was gone, and his cheeks were rosy and eyes bright. Which made sense. Jack had been feeling ill and weak ever since Travis entered the year 1883; his power as a runelord had been stretched thousands of miles across an ocean. But now Travis was sitting just a few feet away.

“I must say, Travis,” Jack said, munching on a piece of toast slathered with marmalade, “I didn’t have the foggiest notion of what I was going to do with myself here in Castle City. But I rather like your suggestion of an antique store. This town is far too new—it could do with a bit of history.”

Travis rubbed his stubbly head. “It wasn’t a suggestion, Jack. You
will
open an antique store. I know because that’s how I met you. Or will meet you. You’ll come by the Mine Shaft one day and ask if you can look for antiques in the—oh.” He clamped his mouth shut. Had he said too much?

Maybe you’re supposed to a fect the future, Travis. Maybe
nothing that’s supposed to happen then would take place if you
weren’t here now. After all, if Jack didn’t meet you here in 1883,
he probably never would have come by the Mine Shaft that day,
and you never would have become friends, and that means you
would never have gotten Sinfathisar or gone to Eldh.

Travis felt queasy. There was something there, something important, just out of reach. It had to do with affecting the future. Before he could grasp it, Durge spoke.

“I suppose the sorcerer heard everything we said last night. Only I don’t understand how he could get so close without my detecting him. Or you, my lady.” The knight glanced at Lirith.

Jack drizzled honey into his tea. “The sorcerer didn’t need to get close. I don’t know a great deal about the magic of the far south, but I suspect a spell that allows him to hear others at a distance is well within his capabilities.”

“Then that means he could be listening to us right now,” Durge said, glowering.

Jack nodded. “Almost certainly.”

“No,” Lirith said, setting down her cup. “If he listens, he will hear talk, but it will not be ours. I’ve seen to that.”

Jack smiled at Lirith. “That’s clever, my dear—clever indeed. We can’t prevent him from listening to us, but thanks to you we can choose what he will hear when he does. You’re very skilled at the craft of illusion.”

Durge cast a startled look at Lirith. However, before the knight could speak, Maudie stepped through the kitchen door. Durge rose and pulled out a chair for her.

“How’s your tea, Mr. Graystone?” she asked as she sat down. “I bought it at McKay’s, but I don’t know what it’s called. Is it as good as that tea you said you liked—your Prince Green?”

“Earl Grey,” Jack gently corrected. “And I believe that’s exactly what this is. So it’s quite good, thank you.”

Maudie looked a little better that morning. She had slept all night, thanks to one of Lirith’s potions. And that meant she hadn’t heard about the break-in. Travis knew they had to tell her, only Durge was faster.

“Lord above!” Maudie said, pressing a hand to her chest, when Durge finished speaking. “The hoodlums in this town get bolder by the day. Was anything stolen?”

Jack started to open his mouth, and Travis gave him a hard look.

“No,” Travis said.

Maudie leaned back in her chair, looking relieved. “Well, then it sounds like they weren’t thieves at all. Just vandals— young men who had drunk more whiskey than they could hold. I suppose they threw a rock through the window.”

“How is Lord Barrett this morning?” Lirith said, deftly changing the subject.

Maudie’s smile was both fond and sad. “Liza said he’s still sleeping. His cuts are starting to heal up, so that’s good. Some are going to scar, but he never was much of a looker anyway. His charms were all in his manner of speaking.”

Lirith took Maudie’s hand in her own. “He does have a beautiful voice.”

“Only I wonder if we’ll ever hear it again.” Maudie shook her head. “Poor Niles. He never hurt anyone in his life. It’s not right that such a kind man should have to suffer so, and for no reason at all. Just because the Good Lord chose to mold him from different clay than other men.”

A fit of coughing gripped Maudie, and Lirith helped her up and into the kitchen to get some water. Lirith returned a minute later with a fresh pot of coffee.

Travis gazed at his hands on the table. “I suppose he’ll be coming for the scarab soon.” He knew he sounded a bit like Durge right then, but he couldn’t help it. Niles Barrett wasn’t waking up, Maudie was dying, and the sorcerer was in league with the Crusade for Purity. “It’s the only thing he still needs to return to the future.”

“You’re not thinking, Travis,” Jack said, shaggy eyebrows drawing together in a glower. “Our enemy is a sorcerer, not a runelord. There’s simply no way he can use the rune of time to return to his own century. And he knows it.”

Travis hadn’t thought of that. And by their surprised looks, neither had Lirith or Durge.

“I don’t know what the sorcerer wants,” Jack said. “However, whatever it is, I imagine it’s the same thing he came to London for. Our enemy is up to something, and I’m quite certain it can’t be good.”

That was surely an understatement. “Can’t you do something, Jack? Can’t you stop him?”

A bit of weariness stole once more across Jack’s face. “I don’t think I can. Even if my powers were great enough to do so, as long as you’re here, they’re not at my command. I’m afraid you’re the runelord now, Travis, not me.”

Travis’s heart sank. So far he hadn’t shown himself to be much of a runelord. He was as likely to harm with his power as help. However, he felt Lirith and Durge watching him.

“I’ll just have to find a way to get the gate back from the sorcerer,” he said, although he didn’t sound very convincing even to himself.

Jack took another piece of toast. “Why go to all the bother with that old thing? Why don’t you simply use the Stone to return to Eldh?”

Travis’s blood ran cold. “What?”

“You needn’t act so surprised,” Jack said, scowling. “After all, how do you think I got here in the first place? The three Great Stones fell
to
Eldh, but they’re not
of
it. In a way, I think they belong to all of the worlds. And with a Stone, travel among the worlds is possible. Or at least between this world and Eldh, for they seem to be rather close together. And getting closer all the time.”

Travis was sorry he had drunk so much coffee. It seemed to burn a hole in his stomach.

“Can you do it, Travis?” Durge said. “Can you use the Stone to return us to Eldh?”

Jack waved a butter knife at the knight. “Didn’t you hear a word I said? By the gods of this world and that, he’s a runelord. And a good one, since I made him. It’s in his blood. The Stone will heed his command.”

“Please, Travis,” Lirith said. “We have to go back. We have to take Sareth home. I think I know now why he’s been getting sicker. It’s his leg. It was the demon that took his leg from him. The demon was forged from the
morndari
, and the
morndari
inhabit the Void between the worlds. I think passing through the Void inflamed his wound somehow. I think it’s consuming him, and it won’t stop...” She took a shuddering breath. “It won’t stop until he’s gone.”

She reached across the table and touched his hand. “Please, Travis. If we get him back to Eldh, I think I can heal him. But I can’t do it here. The Weirding is too weak, and I have none of my sisters to lend me their power.”

She didn’t know what she was asking. He wasn’t Jack. And he wasn’t a runelord, despite everything that had been done to him. He hadn’t asked for this power, and he had done everything he could to hide it away. Because it seemed like every time he let it out, people died.

That’s not true, Travis. You’ve done good with your power.
You sealed the Rune Gate.

And he had set people on fire.

He pulled his hand away. If there had been no other choice, maybe he would consider using the Stone. However, he still had the scarab. All they had to do was get the gate back from the Scirathi. And the idea of facing the sorcerer was far less terrifying than the idea of acting like a runelord. Because the moment he believed he really did have control over his power was the moment he was lost.

Before Travis could explain this to her, Lirith let out a gasp. She stood, body rigid, eyes wide.

“Sareth!” she cried out.

Durge rose from his chair. “What is it, my lady?”

“Something’s happened,” she said, breathless. “Something’s wrong.”

Durge frowned. “No, my lady, I’m certain he is well. Sheriff Tanner was keeping watch at the jail last night, and young Wilson was going to stay to help. I imagine Sareth was safer last night than we were.”

“No, you’re wrong,” Lirith said, her voice anguished.

By the way she stared into space, Travis knew she had seen something the rest of them couldn’t—something with the Sight. “What is it?”

Lirith was already moving. “I have to go to the jail.”

Travis knew there wouldn’t be any stopping her. “Durge, don’t let her out of sight. Jack, you stay here with Maudie. Don’t leave the Bluebell, do you understand?”

Maybe Travis had better control of his power than he thought, because Jack only nodded, gripping his teacup. Lirith and Durge were already out the door, and Travis grabbed his hat and dashed after them.

The sun had just crested Signal Ridge, and Travis started sweating instantly. He caught up to Lirith and Durge, and they ran down the dirt street without speaking. When they reached the jail, nothing looked out of the ordinary; the street was quiet. Durge led the way, pounding up the steps, and together they burst through the door.

Sheriff Tanner slumped in the desk chair, arms dangling, his face pressed against the desktop in a pool of yellow bile. He wasn’t moving.

“Sareth!” Lirith cried, flinging herself forward. The door to the jail stood ajar, and she threw it wide. Travis didn’t need to look beyond to know that Sareth’s cell was empty. A moan escaped Lirith, and she fell to her knees.

Durge was already next to Tanner, two fingers pressed to the sheriff’s throat. “He’s alive, but his heart beats weakly.”

Travis forced his legs to carry him forward. What was wrong with Tanner? Next to his hand was a half-drunk cup of coffee. Durge leaned the sheriff back; Tanner’s head lolled to one side.

“Lirith,” Durge said. “You must see to Tanner.”

The witch rocked back and forth, hands clenched over her stomach, weeping.

Something caught Travis’s eye. The door to the back shed was open. He moved to it, stepped inside. There wasn’t much to see. Just the small stove on which Tanner and the deputies brewed coffee in a tin pot. Both stove and pot were cold. Then Travis caught a glint of light.

He knelt. On the floor were two small glass bottles. One still had a small amount of syrupy residue in the bottom. He picked up the bottles, and as he stood he saw that the front door of the stove was ajar. Inside were wadded up pieces of paper. Most were burned, but a few were only charred around the edges. Travis pulled one of the papers out. He set the bottles on the stove, then unwadded the paper, spreading it flat. It was a pen-and-ink illustration, depicting a man in a black hat shooting a man with a star pinned to his chest.

Travis’s sweat turned to a clammy chill. He grabbed the bottles and paper and returned to the main room. Lirith seemed to have recovered her composure, although her face was ashen. She was examining Tanner as Durge watched. Lirith lifted one of his eyelids; his eye was dilated wide. She picked up the coffee cup and sniffed it, then looked up.

“This coffee is thick with tincture of poppy,” she said. “Far more than a usual dose.”

Durge glowered at her. “What are you saying?”

“I think...I think Sir Tanner did this to himself.”

“No,” Travis said before Durge could protest. “It was done to him.” He set the laudanum bottles on the desk, along with the piece of paper. He had recognized the picture at once; it was from the dime novel he had seen Deputy Wilson reading.

“Treachery!” the knight hissed, clenching a fist.

“Look,” Lirith said, leaning over Tanner. “There’s something in his pocket.”

The witch pulled out a small piece of paper and unfolded it. She scanned it with darting eyes, then a sigh escaped her. “Oh, Sareth. Forgive me for not coming sooner.”

The slip of paper fell from her fingers to the desk. Travis glanced at it, wishing for the first time in his life that he wouldn’t be able to read something, that his dyslexia would prevent him. Only it didn’t, and he could. The neatly written letters all fell into place.

Bring the gold spider to the Bar L Ranch at sundown on
Friday if you want to see the gypsy alive.