The D'Karon Apprentice (48 page)

“Listen. I think… I think the two of us need
to discuss some things. We may have had a misunderstanding before.
I need to know for certain what you’ve done and why. Would you be
willing to answer some questions?”

“You’re curious. Of course you would be.
Seeing what I’ve seen of these creatures, it stands to reason you
would be. Come…”

She tipped her staff forward. Swirling
ribbons of black poured forth, as if dumped from a bowl that had
been balanced upon the staff’s end. The ribbons arched and coiled
through the air, driving themselves into the ground at Ivy’s feet.
They split and splintered, expanding out into a dense ebony net
that eventually rose at the edges to form a handrail.

Mott scampered out onto the new bridge,
barely a quarter the width of the old one, then turned and ran back
to Ivy to again chomp on to her cloak and tug her forward. A
thousand thoughts rushed through her mind, including her doubts
about the strength of the conjured bridge, her even greater doubts
about the trustworthiness of the woman who’d conjured it, and her
doubts about how much success this mission could possibly have.
None of them mattered, because Mott turned out to be a good deal
stronger than he looked, and a few well-timed yanks were all it
took to get her to stumble onto the bridge.

She shut her eyes tight and allowed Mott to
lead her forward, because though the bridge appeared to be strong,
it was by no means steady. Each gust caused it to sway, and it
dipped worryingly beneath her step. Still, it supported her as she
stepped gingerly across, and when she finally felt stone beneath
her feet again, she felt a hand take hers and guide her a few steps
farther.

“There. Safe and sound,” Turiel said, patting
Ivy on the back. “You should have told me you had problems with
heights. I believe I could have made the bridge a bit wider.”

“You…” Ivy said, more of a flutter in her
voice than she would have liked, “you could have built a bridge the
whole time?”

“If I’d had a mind to, dear,” Turiel said,
leaning heavily on her staff as she continued back toward the fort.
Again, each creature scattered across the island that lay in her
path rose to its feet just long enough to clear the way, then
clattered lifeless again to the ground.

“Then why didn’t you? Why did you let these…
things
fall, or leave them to wait?” Ivy asked.

“I have no interest in spreading chaos or
misery, Ivy. I simply wanted the creatures to live again. It was
silly of me though. I was hasty. Both in my zeal to awaken these
sleeping masterpieces and in my reaction to you. I hope you’ll
accept my apology.”

“Mistakes were made,” Ivy said steadily.

“These… these creatures. The more I study
them, the more I understand that he’d not taken the time to finish
them. Each was a test, a sample. I could work for months to craft
such things from whole cloth. It would have taken me ages to create
the things within this fort. But as fine as they were, they were
incomplete. Limited. They were not
ready
to live on their
own, and it would take more strength than I have to keep them
living. I squandered too much just to wake them. But in my studies,
I realized that just as I had expected too much of
them,
I
had expected too much of
you
. You were unfinished, dear. Far
more so than I’d realized. You were abandoned for this reason or
that before you were complete. That is why you behave as you do.
That is why you don’t understand what I’ve done and why. That is
how the adversaries were able to claim you, to turn you to their
cause. I should have been more patient with you. I hope you can
forgive me.”

“It depends on what sort of answers you can
give me,” Ivy said.

“Of course. Ask. I am an open book. Nothing
would give me greater pleasure than to know that I helped you to
become the work of art that you were
meant
to be, so I will
naturally do my best to aid your development.”

Ivy breathed slowly and wracked her brain for
the best way to proceed. This woman was… off-putting. Now she’d
slipped back to her matronly demeanor, but there was no telling
when she’d become a murderous lunatic again. Could Ivy risk asking
immediately? Should she play the part and ask her simple questions
first?

As Ivy’s mind raced, Turiel faltered,
stumbling as her leg buckled. Mott darted forward, offering his
head to catch her. In spite of herself, Ivy approached to help as
well. She didn’t care if it was an act or not, something about
Turiel suddenly seemed so frail now, so broken.

“What happened to you?” Ivy asked. “You look…
so much
older
now than you did…”

“The spirits take their toll, dear. The
spirits take their toll.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Magic is a mix of one’s own spirit and those
sympathetic to one’s aims. If you embrace those spirits as I have,
it adds great potency to one’s spells.”

“But my friends cast spells like yours all
the time, and they don’t age so.”

“Magic such as mine… it attracts the sort of
spirit who drinks quite greedily in exchange for its aid. But the
aid is often worth it. Don’t worry about me, dear. My best years
are behind me at the moment. But it’s a simple trick to get them
back when I need to. I overreached a bit, that is all.”

“But how? How can you turn back the
years?”

“Magic, my dear. Always magic. The same
current that drains the land may feed it if properly directed. My
focus has always been the passage of life to death and death to
life. What can be done to another can be done to oneself. I gave
rather deeply of my strength, but a bit of time to focus myself or,
failing that, a willing donor of a few years will give me youth
enough to continue comfortably.”

“A donor.”

“Oh, yes. The young squander their years.
Better to let someone with the wisdom to put them to good use take
them instead.”

“That’s… awful,” Ivy said.

“It really isn’t so unpleasant,” Turiel said.
“Oh… heavens. You mean for the
donor
. Yes, I imagine it can
be a bit jarring. But it is all for a good cause.”

“And that cause is… bringing back the
D’Karon.”

“One can hardly imagine a higher
purpose.”

“But I’ve told you, the D’Karon are
evil
,” Ivy said.

Turiel turned to Ivy and shook her head
sadly. “I know you believe that. The adversaries had their way with
your mind. We’ll untie those knots… Though I must say, from what
I’ve seen… the D’Karon haven’t left the legacy I would have
anticipated.”

“They coaxed the world into centuries of
war!” Ivy said.

“Centuries is a
bit
of an
overstatement, dear, but much as I was hesitant to believe it, the
proof seems quite irrefutable.”

“Knowing that, why would you ever bring them
here again?”

“They
must
have had their reasons.
Perhaps they were attempting to teach us a lesson about the
futility of war?” Turiel said.

“… By forcing us to kill each other without
ever allowing it to end?”

“The most difficult lessons require the
firmest hand,” Turiel said.

“You don’t really believe that’s true, do
you? You can’t possibly believe this war was for our own good!”

“Calm yourself, dear. We wouldn’t want you
losing yourself,” she said, patting Ivy gently on the back. “But
no. I’ll allow that the war is a rather… disconcerting development.
However, all the better reason to bring them back to us. No surer
way to find the truth than to ask!”

“But why is it worth that risk!?”

“Why? Oh, Ivy. Look at
you!
Yes,
they’ve done some terrible things, and I hope to one day understand
why such things were necessary, but look at what they can do when
they turn their minds to it.” Turiel stopped and took Ivy’s hand,
holding it up and spreading her fingers. “Look at the beauty, the
precision. They
made
you, and yet you are every bit as right
and proper in this world as a being born of nature. They do the
work of the
gods
, Ivy.” She released Ivy’s hand and brushed
back the malthrope’s hood to stroke her hair. “And they weren’t
even through. You are approaching
perfection
and were just
the beginning of their skills. They could work wonders for us.
Teach use to do such incredible things. I submit that unlocking
power like that is worth any price.”

“But why do you need it? Why does
anyone
need power like that?”

Turiel’s expression became distant. “We all
have our reasons…”

“Tell me. Tell me
your
reasons. Tell
me what you believe made all of the death they brought
worthwhile?”

“Bah!” Turiel said, almost playfully. “Death?
Death is nothing to fear. Nothing to mourn. Death is a door we all
must pass through. Death, my dear, is the proper way of things. We
shall all spend much more of our existence in the gentle embrace of
death than in the madness of life. War is a terrible thing, but not
for the death it brings. It is awful for the damage it causes, and
for the time it wastes. Life
is
precious, and it is precious
because it is so brief and scarce. There are far better ways to
spend it than to hasten the death of others for no reasons other
than politics and principle. Better we should use our years to
discover great things, to
do
great things. And when
greatness,
true
wonder and greatness, is cut short,
that
is the tragedy of death.”

Turiel’s foot struck a patch of ice and she
stumbled again. Ivy kept her on her feet.

“I’m sorry, dear. And thank you. I just can’t
seem to keep my feet under me. Let us get inside, if you don’t
mind. Better to finish our chat there, away from the wind.”

They continued to walk the daunting length of
the island that Ivy and the others had raced across in their
escape. Along the way, she tried her very best to ignore the
assorted ghastly footprints left behind by the horde of
things
that Turiel had awakened. In time they finally
reached the fort.

“Oh,” Turiel said, shaking the frost and ice
from her robes. “So good to get out of the damp.”

Ivy peered around the interior of the fort’s
first floor. It had changed greatly since her first visit. Once
emptied of the twisted, shattered creatures that it had been built
to contain, one could almost forget the dark origins of this place.
In construction it was little more than a sturdy stone warehouse, a
bit scarred from battle and discolored here or there, but otherwise
indistinguishable from any innocent room in a well-built
stronghold. In decoration, it was much,
much
different.
Turiel must have gathered every last flake of thir gem and arrayed
them along the ceiling and walls in artful, swirling patterns that
were striking in their beauty. The fragments of stone bathed the
floor in violet light, making the atmosphere feel almost cozy and
welcoming. Then there was the matter of the… furniture.

Some beasts, it seemed, were too broken to be
repaired. Or perhaps their design was so bizarre and otherworldly
Turiel couldn’t determine how to put the pieces together. Rather
than waste them, though, she’d put them to good use. Large, smooth
plates and bits of carapace had been fused together into an
unnervingly…
living
chair. No part of it really resembled a
creature anymore, but the oily black sheen and curving shapes made
it look as though it might have been part of a great beetle or
other insect. And as she stiffly turned to take a seat, the spindly
legs uncoiled slightly, lifting the seat to meet her and easing her
down again.

She set her staff aside, a claw flicking out
from beneath the seat to grasp it, then eased luxuriously back.
Mott clattered across the floor and crunched his jaws around the
leg of a similar, though smaller, chair and tugged it forward. It
shuffled along on its remaining three legs until it was positioned
behind Ivy. Mott then gave Ivy a playful nudge to the abdomen,
causing her to stumble back onto the seat, which tipped her back
into itself before becoming still again.

“Now, where were we?” Turiel asked, sighing
contentedly and twiddling her fingers beside the head of her
staff.

Mott took the hint and spiraled up the staff,
thrusting his head out beside it to receive affection from her
long, slightly split nails.

“You were telling me about your reasons for
bringing them here.”

She shook her head. “You don’t really want to
hear that story. It is a sad tale. A matter of my own concern.
Nothing that should trouble you.”

Ivy took a breath. Now was the time. “Then
tell me how. How did you bring them here?”

“Ah! A very
valuable
lesson. One that
every D’Karon, each of their followers, and the wisest of their
creations ought to know,” she said, leaning forward as if she were
about to tell a beloved nursery rhyme to an eager child. “The
workings of the spell are intricate, but nothing that even a novice
wizard couldn’t manage. Now, repeat after me—”

“No, no!” Ivy said. “That, uh… that part can
wait. I’m more interested in how
you
brought them here. The
story of when you cast the spell.”

“Ah… I suppose an example or two makes the
lesson easier to learn. It was many years ago, after my sister
died… Again, that is a matter of my own concern. But I was seeking
answers, hoping to reach out to her, to learn what happened to her,
and how I might right the wrongs surrounding her death, or at least
to finish those things she had started. As far into the beyond I
reached, though, I could not sense her. So I pressed on, pierced
deeper. I probed the veil, stretched it and explored it. There were
so many voices. Each night there were more. The ranting of a
thousand new spirits joined the chorus whenever I learned a new
technique or tightened my mind about the task with renewed
strength. But never was there a voice that was familiar. Never was
there a voice that was
hers
.