The Ventifact Colossus (The Heroes of Spira Book 1) (6 page)

Its mouth, a thin black line of dark iron, didn’t move as it spoke. “Greetings! Abernathy is indisposed at the moment, but I would be pleased to convey your message to him.”

“Handsome fellow,” said Dranko.

“I would be pleased to convey a message to Abernathy,” repeated the metal head.

“What’s your name?” Dranko asked.

“Abernathy refers to me as ‘Mister Golem.’”

“Well, Mister Golem,” said Dranko with a grin, “tell the boss we appreciate him hiring us a butler. Eddings is great!”

“I will convey your message to Abernathy at his earliest convenience. Is there anything else with which I can assist?”

“Do you have anything of substance to say to us?” Morningstar asked the creature. “Abernathy said he would try persuading us to sign on with him. Have you any idea when that’s going to happen?”

“No,” said the golem.

When several seconds passed with no one speaking further, Mister Golem’s face vanished, and the polished glass sphere returned to transparency.

“That was amazing!” cried Tor.

“That was underwhelming,” said Grey Wolf.

“And creepy,” added Ernie. “You’d think Abernathy would make it so Mister Golem’s mouth moved when it talked.”

* * *

Morningstar was still awake an hour after midnight, which was not unusual. Sisters of Ell typically woke in the midafternoon and retired at sunrise, so for her this was the middle of her “day.” On an ordinary night she’d be sparring with her Shield trainer, Clariel, in the hour before two-bells services.

At least they each had their own bedroom—a luxury she hadn’t expected, especially one well furnished with a wardrobe, desk, and enchanted tub that filled with hot or cold water on command. Morningstar sat on the edge of her featherbed in the comforting darkness, head bowed. Would she bother describing this experience to her sisters when she returned home? Most of them wouldn’t care, and the rest would merely add it to the tally of her peculiarities. Would they even believe that she’d been in the tower of one of the most powerful wizards in the kingdom?

Someone knocked on her door.

“Morningstar? It’s Abernathy. May I come in?”

She stared at the door. Hadn’t the old wizard said he couldn’t leave his tower? Goddess, was Dranko playing a drunken prank? He had been far into his cups when he had staggered upstairs an hour earlier.

Morningstar sighed, stood, and opened the door. Abernathy was in the hall, still in his long white robe, slightly bent and leaning on a tall staff. His body was outlined in a flickering blue corona.

“Come in…” She wracked her brain for the proper honorific. Sir? Your wizardliness? He shuffled into her room and sat in the chair at the desk.

“I’m not really here,” he explained. “I’m projecting myself. I can do that into the Greenhouse.”

She nodded blankly.

“I’ve visited all the others. I’m here, as promised, to try convincing you to stay on and defend our kingdom.”

Morningstar squinted; the wizard’s blue aura hurt her eyes. “It’s not that I don’t wish to see Charagan defended. But it’s hopelessly impractical that I be part of your team. Ellish priestesses are forbidden from the outdoors while the sun is up. However worthy your cause, I cannot betray my faith. Are you proposing that we eight perform all of our tasks for you at night?”

“No, I think that would be infeasible.” The deep blue glow about him cast eerie shadows over his features, and outlined every hair of his abundant eyebrows. “But I have already taken the liberty of contacting the upper echelons of the Ellish hierarchy, in case some accommodation can be made.”

Morningstar tried not to read anything sinister into the word “accommodation.” Abernathy hadn’t promised not to turn anyone
else
into toads.

“I trust you issued no threats?”

“Certainly not. I merely inquired if there might be some compromise that would allow you to remain in my employ.”

“The Ellish religion is not amenable to compromise,” she told him.

“You are not very popular in your temple, Morningstar.”

It was not a question.

“So you have been talking with the sisters of Port Kymer?”

“No. I’m simply good at reading…certain people. I’m not wrong, am I?”

“No. You’re not wrong, and I’m not popular.”

“It must be tiring, going through life without the acceptance of one’s peers.”

Morningstar reached for her inner calm, an island in choppy seas. Was this meant to make her angry? “I’ve learned to live with it. I serve Ell with all of my being, and that is enough.”

It was true that Morningstar had no close friends, and could count her friendly acquaintances using only her thumbs. Her sisters judged her harshly while at the same time treading lightly around her, as if they feared what her purpose would be, placed in their midst by Ell. She made her sisters distinctly uncomfortable, and this they reflected back at her in defense.

“I don’t pretend to know the will of the Gods for certain,” said Abernathy, “but I suspect that Ell would consider service defending all the Kingdom of Charagan to be within your general remit.”

Possible, but irrelevant.

“What do you think of the others?” asked the wizard.

That was an oddly abrupt change of subject, but she could humor him. They were decent people. Ernie and Tor, the kids, were friendly if naïve. Aravia was a little full of herself and her wizardry, but not so much as to be annoying. Kibi, the soft-spoken one, was hard to get a read on, but she didn’t sense any malice there. Mrs. Horn was quiet but had a wry sense of humor. And Grey Wolf, though rough around the edges, had a rugged, world-weary competence she could appreciate. It didn’t hurt that he was also quite easy on the eyes.

But Dranko…ugh. He was rough around the edges, rough in the middle, and rough everywhere in between. He was a rude and wholly unpleasant con artist who was obviously lying about being a Deliochan acolyte. His only redeeming feature was an ugliness so profound that it was liable to make
him
the freak of their group, a role she was all too happy to forgo.

“I like most of them well enough,” she said. “Except for Dranko. I don’t see why your summoning spell included a boorish drunken felon.”

“He’s also a Deliochan channeler,” Abernathy pointed out.

“He wasn’t lying about that?” Morningstar tried to picture Dranko as a pious healer but couldn’t summon up imagery that absurd.

“I don’t think so, no. I ask about your fellow summonees because they represent something you’ve not had in your adult life, not truly. They will accept you, Morningstar of Ell. They could be your friends and allies, your confidants, even your family if you allow it. They don’t care about your skin, your hair, your name. You might find that quite liberating.”

Morningstar was good at reading people, but Abernathy—or this shimmering projection of him—was a puzzle. He seemed sincere, but she sensed that he was uncomfortable with his words, like he was reading from a script and hoping its author had his facts straight.

But for all that, he was right. Somewhere buried beneath her protective layers of emotional detachment was a desire for acceptance. No, that was too strong. Better to call it a curiosity about what acceptance would be like.

“I’m sorry, Abernathy,” she said quietly. “I’m sure the kingdom is full of people both able and willing to help you, but I’m not one of them.”

Abernathy gave her a long penetrating look, his eyes shaded nearly purple by his nimbus. She looked back at him, unabashed. What a strange life this old wizard must lead, stranger than hers, and no less lonely. How long had he lived alone in his tower, keeping his monster at bay?

He quickly turned his head, as if he had heard something unexpected from the next room. “Do as you must,” he said sadly, “but I must return to my work at once.”

He vanished, a blue flame instantly snuffed.

So that was settled then. Tomorrow she’d ask Eddings to book her passage back to Port Kymer on a ship departing after sunset. In a few days she’d be back at the temple. As intriguing as this business with Abernathy was, life would return to its normalcy, its isolation.

Sometime after three o’clock Morningstar drifted to sleep.

She stands upon a platform atop a narrow spire of rock. The platform is swaying in time to a series of massive booming thunderclaps, as though a giant is striking the base of the spire with a hammer. The tower is going to fall, and if she were real, if she were truly standing there, she would plummet to her death.

A man is standing at one edge of the platform, a man plated in red mail. He ignores her—she is not truly there, in this dream—and looks south over a hazy ocean. In one hand he holds a shimmering black sword, and in the other is a polished gem-studded horn. His face is cruel and triumphant, a combination Morningstar finds troubling. He seems unconcerned with the spire’s oscillations.

“This seems like a great deal of trouble to go through, Forkbeard,” he says to the air. “And my master is not entirely convinced any of this is necessary. He thinks his victory is already inevitable.”

Another thunderbolt rocks the tower.

“But it’s quite the spectacle, either way,” he murmurs. “Even more so if you’re wrong about how this will end.”

“I think you’ll be surprised about how this ends,” says another voice. It’s Tor, who has appeared on the far side of the platform. Tor charges at the man in red armor, crashing into him and sending both hurtling off the edge.

Morningstar sat bolt upright in her bed, drenched in sweat, her heart thudding heavily in her chest. Late morning light spilling in the window immediately blinded her; she threw an arm across her eyes and staggered to draw the curtains. It took almost five minutes for her vision to return.

A Seer-dream! Certain sisters were Dreamseers, trained to interpret dreams and provide guidance based upon those interpretations. All Ellish priestesses understood that some dreams were prophetic though usually in small or ambiguous ways.

Dreamseers were also, on rare occasions, granted prophetic dreams of their own, called Seer-dreams. They had been described to her as unusually vivid, and unlike most dreams which burned off like morning mist, Seer-dreams were as easily remembered afterward as any waking experience. Not for a second did she doubt that was what this was. She could still hear the sound of the thunderous booms, as clearly as if she had been there.

Would she tell the others? Morningstar was unused to sharing…anything, really. Opinions, revelations, spiritual experiences, even mundane pleasantries had been too often turned back on her by her Ellish sisters. For something as intensely personal as a Seer-dream, all of her instincts warned her to keep it to herself.

But then there was the boy. She didn’t see him strike the ground, but the implication was clear enough. Should she warn young Tor about what she saw? Seer-dreams could be anything from obscure metaphors to near-literal foretellings. She ought to tell him, though he’d probably forget all about it before lunch.

Downstairs Dranko and Tor were sitting together at the living room table. Dranko was pulling on a cigar, the smoke of which was so thick and heavy that it curled downward to form a spreading cloud by the floor. Tor was methodically stacking coins. Mrs. Horn was curled up on a couch nearby, sewing up a hole in a sock that wasn’t hers. The old woman looked up at her.

“Are you feeling well, dear?” Mrs. Horn glanced at the window and shook her head. “This won’t do at all. Boys, we need to remember that Morningstar isn’t used to sunlight.” She carefully set down her needle and thread, crossed the room, and drew the curtains across the bay windows. “There’s still plenty of light for you two to enjoy your coins.”

Morningstar nodded gratefully to Mrs. Horn. “Thank you.”

The old woman smiled as she sat back down. “We all need to look out for one another, now that we’ve been thrown together.”

Dranko gestured proudly at the table. “
I’m
looking out for us.”

There was quite a lot of money there—the pile included at least twelve crescents, plus a handful of silver talons and copper chits. Dranko took a long draw from his cigar and blew out a downward-streaming slug of dark smoke. “You know that owl Abernathy gave us? Turns out those ruby eyes were the real deal. Figured there was no point in waiting to turn that birdie into some seed capital. Now you can buy yourself a blindfold.”

“I’m not staying,” she told him. “Abernathy tried his best to convince me, but it’s not going to work.”

“Shame,” said Dranko. “What about you, Grey Wolf?”

Morningstar turned to see Grey Wolf on her heels. He wrinkled his nose. “I have a favor to ask. How about no cigars in the…wait. Is that gold?”

“Dranko sold Abernathy’s owl this morning.” Tor flipped a gold crescent to Grey Wolf, who caught it deftly.

“Right,” said Grey Wolf. “And Dranko, I’m sure you wouldn’t have held anything back for yourself. Yes?”

“I could argue that I deserve a small fee for my service,” said Dranko. Grey Wolf took a step forward, but Dranko held up his hands. “I
could
argue that, but I won’t. I promise you, every last chit is on the table.”