Fractures (Facets of Reality Book 2) Read online

  "Well, Granite is different from the other soulgems," she reminded him. "It's not translucent like they are. You don't have anybody available to teach you Granite Theory like you had with the others. I've never seen a Granite runeset, so that's no help. Its properties are largely a mystery, as are the full range of its powers, the fundamental principles that guide its approach to magic..." She spread her arms in a helpless shrug.

  "Yeah, I know," he sighed. Sal knew she wasn't trying to rub his nose in his ignorance. In a way, she was doing what Menkal liked to do -- reflecting his problem back at him, though from her unique perspective. She, like Menkal, understood that often times, when people faced a problem, it wasn't a lack of information that prevented a breakthrough, but a mistaken presumption, one that might be mitigated by viewing the problem from a different angle.

  "It's just that things would be so much easier if Keth were here."

  "There's nothing you could've done," she reminded him. "You were nowhere near him when... whatever happened to him, happened."

  "Oh, I know, and I'm not beating myself up over it. It's just that he got me," he said, searching for the right words. "We all lost Reit, and I thought the world of him, and his loss is devastating to the Cause and all, but we're in a war here, and that kind of stuff happens. I miss Reit, but I can function without him. Keth was different. If there was one person who understood me, where I was coming from, the unique perspective I have with magic, it was Keth. He survived learning Granite the same way I'm trying to learn Diamond. He had to feel his way through it -- something that the rest of the magical community really frowns upon. But it's also something that fosters innovation."

  "He thought on the side of the box," Marissa nodded her agreement.

  "Outside the box," Sal corrected.

  "Whatever."

  "But yeah. Who better to help me feel my way through Granite but someone else who had to do the same thing?" Sal chuckled ruefully. "We were quite a pair, the prophesied Prism and the master of Matter, each with our own strengths and weaknesses..."

  His voice trailed off as a thought occurred to him. Strengths and weaknesses. That is how Keth said a granite's magical vision worked -- by seeing the individual bits that make up creation, each with their own unique structure, their own signature organization of matter and void, strength and weakness.

  Slowly, he turned his head, again taking in the ruined mirror. Strength and weakness. His idea was tenuous, barely more than a subconscious urging. He couldn't really classify it as a thought, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. The more he thought about Granite, the more it slipped away from him, like a distant star that you can only see when you're not looking directly at it. Strength and weakness.

  He looked at the shattered, melted edges of the mirror, scarred by fire, ice, electricity, and decay. There were some parts that jutted, having withstood the magical abuse, and others that had cracked and given way. He focused on these breakage points, on the contrast between the strengths of one and the weaknesses of another. The answer was in there somewhere, if he could just zoom in close enou---

  His diamond eye erupted in searing pain, screaming an agony that he hadn't felt since the day he ascended. He threw up a warding hand and pressed it to the gemstone orb as if to crush it back into his skull. He desperately released the mana he was holding, and the pain faded as quickly as it had come.

  "SAL!" Marissa shouted, leaping forward to catch him as he fell to his knees. "Salt of the Abyss, Sal..."

  "I think... I almost..." he panted.

  "I don't care," she reprimanded fiercely. "If that's what Granite does to you, you don't need it. We'll find another way. C'mon, let's get dressed. We have a long day ahead of us..."

  * * *

  Retzu stood rigidly in shol'zo masu, each muscle taut and ready. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped forward into a strike, the blade of his empty hand held arrow straight and iron steady, fingertips remaining perfectly eye level, with his left hand held close to the chest. He swept an achingly slow block to his lower left quadrant, then dragged his right foot around and jabbed his right hand toward his imagined adversary.

  His body screamed as he crept through his early morning forms, sweat pouring from his brow as he clenched every muscle, in use or not, forcing them to move at tortoise speed. Block seeped into strike, sweep oozed into kick, with all attention paid to perfection of form. That he was the fastest sword in the Cause against the Highest -- perhaps in the Fellowship of the Silent Blade as well -- was of little consequence to him. He didn't care to be the fastest. He was determined to be the best.

  Reit would've expected nothing less of his little brother.

  The thought almost moved him to look over his shoulder, to the table where the body of his twin lay in state, and where his sister-in-law had collapsed in exhaustion, holding her dead husband. He almost looked, but he didn't. It would've broken his concentration. And for what? Reit would still be gone.

  Sweep. Block. Punch. Strike.

  His katas helped, but not much. He closed his eyes and narrowed his focus. The world faded into the background until all that existed for him were his forms. The straining of muscles, the dripping beads of sweat, the feel of pebbles beneath his bare feet, the cool breeze that parted the tent flaps.

  The call of the flax warbler.

  Watchbreak. The start of a new day. Blessed Crafter...

  He pointedly ignored the call, and the startled half-sob that it brought from Delana as she woke -- he didn't want to know what she'd been dreaming of -- and he dove back into his exercises. The world narrowed again, and his churning heart slowed. Focus. All that existed for him---

  "Retzu?"

  He sighed as he returned to shol'zo masu, and paused without turning around. "Sister," he whispered low.

  She sniffled a bit at the familiar address. What did she expect? She was still family, even if... He forced the unbidden thought from his mind, and waited for her to continue.

  She took a deep breath, then cleared her throat before she spoke. "We need to talk about... what comes next. For the Cause. For Caravan." She paused, then added haltingly, "And for us."

  "Us?" he asked softly, finally turning to take in his brother's wife. Her hair was disheveled, her face marked and red from where she'd slept on Reit's armor. But she held her head high and strong, the gleam on her cheeks fading as she willed her tears into submission. Broken though she was, she was still easily the most beautiful woman in Caravan. His brother had done very well for himself. "Us is easy, Sister. Us don't change."

  "I'm glad," she sighed in relief. "I thought with Reit---" Her voice broke as she said his name. She struggled visibly for a moment, swallowing hard, before allowing herself to continue. "I thought with Reit gone, you might see me off to my family in Eastwind Delta."

  "Why would I do that? How could I do that? You are your own woman, whether my brother is alive or dead. I can't tell you what to do. I never could before. That ain't changed."

  "But the Cause... so many dead... you wouldn't send me away for my own safety? Reit threatened to do that almost daily," she said with a half grin.

  "I am not my brother," he said grimly. In so many ways, I am not my brother.

  "And what about Caravan? What about the Cause?"

  At that, Retzu fell silent. What about the Cause? While his twin had been alive, Reit's fight had been Retzu's fight, but now that he was gone... He loved Delana dearly, but could he fight for her as he had fought for her husband, his brother? She was family, the lady of House Nograh... but she wasn't Reit. The Cause would follow her, certainly. They'd have to, if the Cause were to continue, because Retzu and Delana were the last remaining members of House Nograh. And they knew better than to ask him. Surely they wouldn't.

  "We'll see, Sister," he said, as much to Delana as to himself, then returned to his forms in earnest before she could respond.

  * * *

  Delana nodded, though she was sure Retzu didn't see. He'd already thrown himself back into hi
s exercises, as if she had ceased to exist. It was just as well. She didn't think she could keep talking about the Cause without bringing the conversation back to Reit...

  She turned her eyes back to her husband, lying motionless on the table. He still looked so pink, so vibrant, so valiant even now, hours after his...

  ...death...

  Forcing the thought from her mind, she touched Amethyst. She shut her eyes and reveled as she felt the mana flow stream through her conduits. She felt electrified as lavender magics filled her being, chasing away fatigue of the body at least, if not the spirit. The latter still felt absolutely drained.

  She channeled her magics to her eyes, and opened them to her arcane secondary sight. Gone was the morning darkened tent, the flickering torchlight, the dark clad assassin, the vacant form of her husband. All had been replaced with varying degrees of violet light. She spied the two mages guarding the entrance to the tent, their skeletons faintly shining through their flesh, their armor, the tent flaps that had hidden them only a moment before. To her right, Retzu performed his morning routine without a sound, but his head was a veritable lightning storm of deep thoughts, belying his silence. He could sneak up on a shadow, that one, but even he couldn't kill that tempest so easily.

  And in the space between her and Retzu...

  Reit lay has he had all night, in repose. In her magical sight, his lifeless form looked like any other corpse. Sure, she could see his unique map of broken bones that had healed, but for the moment, he was just another skeleton glowing with whitish-purple light, without the slightest spark of thought in his skull or life in his body. Every energy that Delana could see in him was residual, secondary. She saw the violet aura of her own magics, allowing her to see through cloth and flesh. There was the hint of emerald residue, speaking to his various healings throughout the battle. Then there was the granite aura...

  She tore her eyes away and clapped her hand over her mouth, vainly attempting to stifle a sob. It wasn't there.

  To be honest, she hadn't really given herself enough time to see it -- the one aura that she was looking for, the one she most dreaded and yet the one that might give her some measure of peace.

  But she hadn't seen it, and she couldn't screw up her resolve enough to look again. Not right now. Gathering her skirts and her wits, she made for the tent flaps.

  Though the watch had just called the end of night, the camp was already abustle. Smiths were stowing their gear. Fighters were assembling in ranks. She spied Marissa and Sal on the far side of the quad, detouring midstride as they came across one of Sal's emerald compatriots from the Camp of the Unmarked -- Aten'rih? Sal looked rather concerned as he spoke, but was quickly put at ease by whatever the wedge-shaped soldier's response had been. Delana wondered idly what crisis had been averted.

  Jaren also stood nearby, speaking to some of Reit's lieutenants. As he finished with each one, they nodded in turn and set about their orders. She was thankful for the emerald mage. He'd always been so good to the twins and even now served them selflessly. She knew he had to be having a rough time of it, at least as rough as she and Retzu were having. The fact that he could maintain such balance really spoke well of his character. He'd make some woman a fine husband one day.

  But that was a conversation for a later date. Finding in him the distraction she needed, she wiped the last of her tears and made her way over to him.

  "...and make sure that the fletchers and bowyers stick together," he was saying. "They were practically on opposite sides of the fortress yesterday, and the runners were having a devil of a time keeping our archers supplied. We don't know what today will bring, so let's expect the worst. If I'm to be surprised, I'd just as soon the surprise be a pleasant one."

  "Yes, milord mage," said the younger man, a sapphire mage himself, as he snapped a slight bow and left to obey.

  "You're a natural, Green" Delana said, presenting him with her best smile, one that she wouldn't be able to muster had Jaren been anybody else.

  "I wouldn't say that," Jaren demurred. "They listen to me because they listened to Reit. It won't be this way forever."

  "I know. I just hope that Retzu will come around before then."

  "So you talked to him, then? About leading the Cause?"

  "A bit," she sighed. "The most I could get out of him was 'we'll see'."

  "You're lucky to get that much out of him. He's practically allergic to responsibility as it is. For him to take ownership of a hopeless rebellion against an immortal tyrant... Just convincing him to stick around is proof that Reit was indeed the Hand of the Crafter," he added, quirking a bittersweet grin at the thought.

  Delana found it contagious, and chuckled in spite of herself.

  "So how are you doing, Violet?" he asked softly.

  "Not well," she admitted, casting plum colored eyes back toward the tent where Reit lay. Tears welled up, causing the tent to wobble in her sight. She pushed them back defiantly. "It's surreal. I know he's gone, but I can't bring myself to believe it. I keep expecting him to... I don't know. Take me in his arms. Whisper in my ear. Lament the weight of leadership. Complain that the Heads of Order and Guild aren't letting him fight the very war he started -- you know how he was. Something, anything but... to just lay there." She took a slow, shuddering breath, then added, "I've been watching him, you know."

  Jaren furrowed his brows in confusion. "His spirit? I thought it took three days."

  She nodded. "I'm a little early, I know. But a skilled amethyst can sometimes see the spirit hovering much sooner. The energies are very faint, almost like a thin layer of mist, but they grow stronger as the spirit gradually shakes free of the body. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of him as he..."

  "Delana, why are you doing this to yourself," Jaren sighed. "There's nothing you could do, nothing any of us could've done. He's g---"

  "He's not gone until I see him flee to the Crafter's embrace with my own eyes," she snapped, and immediately regretted it. It wasn't his fault. He was just trying to help. Taking a deep, calming breath, she continued in her best not-hysterical tone. "It is written in the book of Unending Seasons that the spirit abides with the body while the Crafter determines its worth."

  "I know," Jaren said, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. "And I know about what happens if the Crafter decides that the spirit has not yet completed His work." He paused, cupping her chin in his hand and drawing her face around. The verdant gaze she met there was as brutally honest as his touch was gentle. "In all my time as an emerald, in all my travels, I've never once heard of the Crafter deciding that the dead was not done."

  She nodded brokenly. He was right. He had grown up in the court of Aitaxen, in the presence of royalty, with luminaries of every stripe at his disposal, so he should know. And she had grown up the daughter of a riverboat captain, and the granddaughter of a Maidservant of el. She'd spent countless summer nights in her grandmother's deh'lt, reaching out to those who had entered the unending season. If any had reason to hope that the Crafter should restore life to the dead, any reason to think that it was even possible, it would be the spirits that spoke from the Abyss.

  But none ever had. Reit was gone. And he wasn't coming back. She knew that, but she couldn't bring herself to accept it until she saw his spirit flee to the Crafter's arms.

  "Do you mind if I spend some time with him?" he asked with a sigh. "It's probably nothing, but I noticed something odd about him when I was looking over his body."

  "Noticed what?"

  "I'd rather not say until I have something more to tell you. Like I said, it's probably nothing, but I want to make sure."

  Delana pursed her lips in thought. Touching Amethyst, she let her vision slip into its magical spectrum, and watched Jaren's tanned, muscular form give way to brilliant purple and white light. His clothing and flesh faded to a lavender outline. She could see clearly the dagger at his hip and the fine chain hanging around his neck, both standing out sharply beneath his robes in white and plum relief. Further inw
ard, she saw his slender skeleton, complete with its unique array of healed fractures, each bearing the ever-fading residue of spent emerald magics. His gemstone eyes blazed in their sockets, solid white and surrounded by thick green auras.

  And behind his eyes...

  "We'll see," she said finally. "There's so much going on right now. When things settle down... We'll see."

  "Of course."

  * * *

  Athnae thrilled at the chill water parting around her, and the almost nonexistent trail of bubbles that marked what little wake her sleek form left. She allowed herself a toothy grin as she sounded, the waves of her throaty song rippling out from her through the water, only to touch the walls of her dark domain and bounce back, giving her a picture of terrain that her eyes could not see. She could feel schools of fish swimming nearby, darting for cover as she glided closer, and she chuckled. Never did she regret becoming the lady-consort of the Scarlet Aerie, ancestral home of her mate, the fire wyrm Aplos, but oh, that she could remain in these blackened depths just a few more---

  Athnae? came a whispered voice, speaking to her through Sapphire. Her song took on a hint of frustration. Could she not have a single morning to enjoy her swim?

  Good morning, Master.

  And to you. How goes everything in Ysre?

  It's as you said. The Earthen Ranks were outmatched, but they still outnumbered the Cause by a good margin. If we hadn't arrived when we did, the Cause would've fallen.

  And yesterday?

  They healed their injured and buried their dead. Odd, but they added the dead of their enemies to the funeral pyre they built for their own. It's as if they honored the dead all the same, be they friend or foe.

  Ahhh... the Master sighed. Cao Tzu did this often, predicting events, then asking for clarification on how those events actually happened. He said that they helped him "read the times", whatever that meant. She could care less. She only cared that he was the Master. He'd had an accord with her kind for millennia, and she was not going to be the serpent to break it.