Spirits of Light and Shadow (The Gods of Talmor) (6 page)

“Father? Who is Yerwood?” The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Korbin couldn’t place it.

“Yerwood the Great, they call him. Ridiculous! Great indeed. No one is greater than I. Soon the world will call me Jorek the Great.” Graiphen lowered his tone. “I must kill him before he kills me.”

Jorek?
Jorek had been emperor two hundred years before. Korbin exhaled loudly.

“You are Dul Graiphen Ulbrich. I am your son, Korbin. We are at home.” When Graiphen offered no response, Korbin repeated, “Home, Father?” This place hadn’t been home to Korbin in a long time, but he hoped his words would help break his father’s delusion.

Graiphen spat his disdain. “Home? I have no home. It's infested with rats and spiders. Shadows lurk in every corner.”

Unsure what to say, Korbin replied, “Father, you’re safe here.”

The Dul stiffened. “You’re trying to protect me, boy? I have fought on the bloodiest battlefields and not only survived, but came through unscathed. I have commanded legions against overwhelming odds and burned cities to the ground. You do not need to tend me.” The glazed eyes came into sharp focus. “Where am I?”

“Your manor in Vol.”

“Who are you?” Graiphen stared at Korbin. “I know you.”

“Korbin Ulbrich. I am your son.”

Clarity returned to Graiphen’s eyes. He nodded and gave Korbin an appraising stare. “I need your help. Someone is trying to drive me mad.” He reached out and Korbin went to him. His father so rarely touched him, even as a little boy. Graiphen grabbed Korbin’s arm and pulled him down so he knelt beside Graiphen’s seat.

Korbin’s heart clutched at the desperation in Graiphen’s eyes. “What do you want me to do?” This man that he’d come so close to hating now needed him. Korbin didn’t want anything to do with him, but a sense of duty compelled him. Was duty enough?

“Find the one who is doing this to me, son.” His eyes glinted. “I have so few moments of clarity. But something happened this morning. I feel better. Stronger. Still, I need help.”

The only thing Korbin could do was nod. Could Octavia’s magic have made a difference?

“I’ll search the house for items of black magic,” Korbin said. “Eliam and Tarsten believe you have been cursed by a Kilovian witch.”

Graiphen scowled deeply. “Cursed,” he murmured. “By an enemy.”

Korbin opened his mouth to speak, but Graiphen cut him off, behaving more like himself than he had since Korbin arrived.

“We must find out who. Find him and end him.” Suddenly Graiphen winced. “Before he ends me.”

Out in the corridor, voices rose. Eliam and Tarsten.

Graiphen tightened his iron grip on Korbin’s arm. “Don’t trust anyone. Not even those who claim to be my allies. Promise me, son. I need your help.”

Korbin felt trapped. The words sounded like an order. They filled him with an equal measure of anger and dread. Nothing good would come of this, but could he turn his back on his father? What if the old man was simply going mad, sending Korbin on some dangerous chase with no true enemy at the end?

A knock at the chamber door saved him from having to answer Graiphen’s request. Dul Tarsten entered without waiting for an invitation, and Eliam followed close behind, his eyes full of concern.

“Graiphen, my friend,” Tarsten said. “You look better than I’ve seen you in weeks.”

The older man frowned. “My head aches.” An odd confession from a man who never complained.

“Don’t worry,” Tarsten said. “We’re going to take care of this.” He glanced at Korbin. “Come, son. We need to talk.”

Korbin glanced at Graiphen, who responded with a curt nod. “Go. I need to rest.”

“Very well.” Korbin watched his father for a moment, mystified at the quickly changing moods. The dread that had threatened him earlier settled in the pit of his stomach as he followed Tarsten out of the chamber.

Chapter 4

Korbin had reported to Tarsten and Eliam, who assured him Graiphen’s state was, in fact, much improved. Afterward, Korbin conducted a thorough search of the house. He found five small metal sharps jutting from beside mirrors or on the underside of a table, always in places only Graiphen would be likely to touch. On one bit of iron, Korbin noticed a smear of blood and shuddered.

Following Octavia’s instructions, he wrapped the objects in a clean cloth and placed them in the black bag she’d given him. He’d been reluctant to leave once he finished. Strange, considering that he’d thought never to set foot in this house again. But now he noticed the softly padding servants, most of whom expressed relief at his return. Was one of them feigning the mood? Surely no one outside the household could have placed these items, but who among them would knowingly participate in dark Kilovian witchcraft?

He wasn’t a big believer in the power of the eight Spirits of Light and Shadow. Oh, likely they’d once existed. He’d learned enough of the histories to believe that at some point,
possibly,
they had been real. But the gods were dead, if they’d ever actually lived.

By comparison, he’d always thought the Kilovian religion seemed backward, simplistic. He had many Kilovian friends, though, and they seemed to feel the same way about the Talmoran Spirits. The Kilovians didn’t even have a god. Just this concept of the One that he didn’t fully understand.

Poison, however, explained everything, and he felt more comfortable with a logical, concrete explanation. He wondered if Octavia knew anything about poisons. Would she be so blinded by her beliefs that she wouldn’t consider a mundane line of enquiry? Not that Korbin was committed to making enquiries, despite his father’s plea.

When he left Graiphen’s house that afternoon, he’d wandered the city, pondering the request. For a fleeting moment, he’d even wondered if Graiphen had perhaps poisoned himself. The suspicion vanished quickly. The great and powerful Graiphen Ulbrich would never take such a risk, and what reason would he have? Still, he
was
devious and manipulative enough to undertake such a ploy if doing so would serve some purpose. But no, Korbin couldn’t think of a good reason for his father to have taken the risk. None of this made sense.

By early evening, he headed home and ate a solitary meal in his flat. He rarely dined there, but he wasn’t in the frame of mind to enjoy the company of others. He kept hearing his father’s voice:
I need your help.
Graiphen was a schemer, a calculating, controlling man who never cared about anyone else. Why should Korbin run to his aid? Was there even anything that could be done?

Graiphen needed a healer, and if no medicine or treatment worked, he should retire in quiet dignity. Korbin could, at least, help with that. But an investigation? Into what? A few sharp objects and a couple of bloody dolls? He would have laughed at the ridiculousness of the tale if he hadn’t seen Graiphen’s confused condition for himself.

Suddenly, Korbin didn’t want to be alone any longer. He grabbed a cloak and draped it over his shoulders on the way out. He headed toward a nearby pub, but the raucous laughter filtering into the streets kept him at bay, so he walked on.

None of his haunts appealed to him. Troubling thoughts wormed through his head, both those of the present day and memories of long-passed arguments. The old hatreds and conflicts didn’t seem to have hope of resolution. He wandered the streets, prowling from one district to the next.

When Korbin looked up, he stood beneath Octavia’s window. The sun had long since set, and the light from her flat filtered into the quiet street in a yellow haze. Shadows occasionally blocked the light, and he imagined her up there, moving around the room.

A sound in a nearby alley spurred him to move from his place. He couldn’t loiter all night gazing up at a woman’s window, especially not a conduit’s. Her neighbors would be looking out for her, and they wouldn’t hesitate to send him on his way with a few bruises as a reminder not to interfere with the Sennestelle.

Before he could think twice, he was rapping on her door, but no answer came. He waited a few moments, then tried again, louder this time. Certain the banging would wake the entire district, he knocked a third time. Relief filled him when her soft footfalls sounded on the other side of the door.

The wood creaked when the door swung back, and he was shocked to find her clutching a loose robe around her body. Her hair lay about her shoulders, untied and unkempt, and a sheen of sweat glistened on her face. Her eyes shone and had a wild look. When she met his gaze, she exhaled, as though catching her breath. For a moment, he wondered if she had a man upstairs.

“Come in,” she said finally.

He followed with some trepidation, both curious and wary. At the top of the stair, he saw lit candles on every surface, with only a clear spot in the center of the room large enough for her to sit. The scent of fragrant oils filled his senses, along with the delicate aroma of a feminine body. On a small, worn silver tray sat a poppet. This one was different from the ones found in his father’s house, but it had long ribbons binding it in a strange way.

Korbin glanced up to see her watching him. “What is this?”

“This?” she asked with a smile. “This is my work. Which you have interrupted.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, confused. Should he go or stay?

She sighed. “The green sash on the door means I’m not available. Did you not see it?”

He hadn’t. He hadn’t even known to look for it. Shaking his head, he muttered another apology. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” she said. “The focus is already broken, and I haven’t the energy to try again tonight. Tomorrow is soon enough.” She spoke the final phrase like an old saying. “What purpose brings you here?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the black cloth bag. “I found these things in my father’s house today.”

“Wait,” she said and picked up the items around the room, extinguishing the candles in a round pattern, working from inside the circle outward. When she finished, only one small oil lamp remained lit. She turned its metal key to brighten the flame.

Methodically, she wiped her tools and stowed them in a drawer, handling the poppet with care, as though performing a dance and every motion needed to be precise. Only when every item was cleared did she speak again. “Show me.”

Giving her the bag, he said, “This was all I found.”

She nodded and unwrapped the items with caution, frowning as she handled each one, careful to only touch with the edge of the cloth.

“My father is much improved. Or so they tell me.”

She held one small metal bit to the light and it gleamed. “Silver. Not iron. Curious.” With a glance, she asked, “Your father is a powerful man?”

Something in the way her voice caught surprised him. She sounded afraid. Of what? Of Graiphen? “No matter how much he achieves, the great Dul never thinks he is powerful enough. He might be the emperor himself and not believe he had enough power.” When her eyes snapped to him, he quickly added, “He’s not. Of course.” He laughed nervously. Why had he said that? “He’s just some Dul. Nobody, I suppose.” The lie felt bitter in his mouth.

“Everyone is someone,” she said quietly.

Korbin tried to smile. “He’s nobody good, then.”

“Good?” She looked thoughtful. “Do you understand the concept of the One?”

He hadn’t expected that question. “Not really. We Talmorans acknowledge the Spirits and no other gods.”

She shook her head. “The One is not a god. Every person, every moment has equal measure of good and bad, positive and negative, but some traits, some influences are fostered more strongly. To touch the One is to accept both darkness and light. A good man or a bad man, they’re merely men out of balance. Many fight their nature or perhaps hide it.”

Korbin frowned and watched the flickering light from the oil lamp play across the wall. “You don’t believe in good and evil?”

“Oh no,” she said. “Good and evil are real. But they’re only half. Your Spirits of Light and Shadow are incomplete. How can death exist without life? Health without disease? Loss without possession?”

He considered. “It can’t. Maybe that’s why there are eight, not four.”

She smiled, and he noticed her lips were slightly crooked. “There is only One, Korbin.” She paused. “What really brought you to my street tonight?”

“To bring you the bits of metal,” he said, then realized he sounded defensive. Why
had
he come? “I was worried they might be poisoned.”

She nodded, but her expression told him she saw through the excuse. “They’re harmless on their own. Merely tiny traps to gather blood for further rituals.”

“One drop of blood is enough to do harm?”

“Yes. Harm. Or great good, such as you did this morning to help your father. Is that what brought you back? You have questions about the ritual?”

He did, but that wasn’t the foremost topic on his mind. “When I went to see my father today, he appeared lost and confused. For the first time in my life, he asked for my help.” He glanced at his hand, rubbing the callouses he got from holding horses’ reins. A few years ago, his hands were soft.

“A man under the influence of such a powerful curse might say many things,” Octavia said carefully.

“This wasn’t that. His mind had cleared, but he slipped in and out, raving one moment and calm the next.”

“That’s to be expected,” she said. “His mind will settle. Still, I cannot promise he’ll again be the way he once was.”

Korbin chuckled and met her gaze. “That might not be a bad thing.”

“What did he ask of you?”

“He wants me to find out who did this to him. Is it possible to find the conduit with what’s left of the poppets?”

Octavia’s expression darkened. “It might have been, but I disposed of the pieces. Their influence was destroyed this morning, but to be certain, I cleansed them in the river. I understand his desire, but it was more important to break their usefulness.”

Korbin felt unsettled. She seemed defensive. Did she intentionally destroy the only means of finding out who placed the items? If so, why would she? Would she protect another conduit, even if that conduit had done something evil? She had a loose concept of right and wrong. Perhaps there was some code amongst conduits that he didn’t understand. He barely grasped basic Kilovian culture. This was something deeper.