Dark apprentice, p.29
Dark Apprentice, page 29
“But you can choose not to accept the challenge, right? Today, you offered that man a chance to walk away.”
“Yes, but there is a cost. You have to understand, dueling—real dueling, not this sparring you do—is all about honor. If you have a grievance, you have a right to challenge someone. But if they decline, it means you challenged them without just cause, and it reflects poorly on your honor. Now I know what you’re going to say—who cares about honor? That is the point of the Servitus aut Mors. It’s a serious challenge, one that is magically binding. The winner can choose to kill or enslave the loser, but if the challenged refuses to fight at all, there is a penalty to the challenger.”
“What kind of penalty?”
“A loss of power. The Servitus aut Mors is a form of soul magic, and it takes the penalty from there.”
He leaned forward. “Meaning what, precisely?” Oh, Nikolai. His interest betrayed that he was indeed considering the ramifications.
“Your magical power stems from your soul. It would drain much of that. Enough that you’d probably become Mundane. So you see, even if I had let the man walk away, he would never have been the same.”
26
THE BOTANIST
Nikolai checked his reflection, then knocked on the door. Every window boasted a flower box filled with yellow and purple blooms, suffusing the air with their heady scent. Several well-tended garden beds sat adjacent to the cottage, while honeysuckle vines crawled lazily up the chimney. Like many Magi homes, it was off the beaten path and relatively hidden from view. Medea’s closest gateway had dumped Nikolai in the woods not far from a small Mundane village.
Tracking down the occupant of the cottage had taken some time, but Harper’s connections had eventually come through with a list of former German Enforcers. Nikolai checked their service records and ages against Medea’s hazy recollections. Günter Bergmann served before the First World War and quickly rose through the ranks, owing to his unique spell repertoire and ferocity in combat.
The door opened to reveal a burly man with a thick white mustache and beard. “Ah! Hello! You must be Nikolai. Do come in.”
“Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me, Herr Bergmann.”
“Not at all, not at all.”
Nikolai followed Bergmann inside. Potted plants scattered about gave the small home a claustrophobic quality. Next to the kitchen sink, where one might normally find a drying rack, were a variety of orchids; one lay with its roots bare next to a bag of vermiculite, as though Nikolai had interrupted a repotting. A window box in the living room held an assortment of medicinal plants. It took a moment for Nikolai to even spot the other windows, as they were so crowded with plant leaves that nearly all the sunlight was blocked. The plants appeared to be thriving regardless, owing to several of Medea’s light crystals that hung overhead.
Botanist indeed. Nikolai had prepared well for this meeting, spending several evenings in the library studying plants and, based on an offhand remark Bergmann had made in their letter exchange, making a small excursion to one of Medea’s gardens to find a suitable gift.
“You have quite a collection here,” he said, making a show of admiring the plants. “Is this fairy lace? I didn’t realize it could be cultivated indoors.”
The man swelled with pride. “Yes. I had to borrow a few of Medea’s sun stones to do it, but my plants have managed well. Many of these were taken from her gardens. Has she shown you the gardens yet?”
Too goddamned many. “Yes. She has such a fascinating variety of plants!”
“Her collection is extraordinary. Oh, I do miss having access—”
“That reminds me . . .” Nikolai opened his pouch and carefully extracted an oblong mass of brown paper tied with string. “You mentioned looking for one of these.”
He handed the parcel to Bergmann, who set it gently on the coffee table and began to unwrap it. Nikolai watched impassively as the man’s excitement grew. Bergmann let out a small gasp when an orchid emerged.
“Oh, dear,” said Nikolai with feigned concern. “Did I collect the wrong one?”
“It’s . . . no, it’s the right one. Do you have any idea how difficult these are to obtain? This is really too much.”
“Not at all. Happy to help.” Nikolai chuckled. “What’s the point of having access to Medea’s gateways if I don’t make good use of them?” The man owed him now, even if he didn’t realize it.
“Thank you. Please, sit. I’ll make us tea.” Bergmann walked away, the orchid cradled in his arms.
Nikolai made his way to a faded sofa draped with crocheted blanket. The coffee table was littered with horticultural publications. He pretended to read one of the periodicals until Bergmann returned with a tray, at which point he made a show of stacking the magazines carefully to one side of the table to make room. Bergmann settled into an armchair, and for a time they spoke of nothing but plants, Nikolai asking questions that would allow Bergmann to show off his breadth of knowledge. When the man’s body language signaled he was thoroughly relaxed, Nikolai judged it time to press forward.
“You said you no longer have access to Medea’s gardens. I thought her former apprentices were free to use the gateways.”
“They are, but only if they graduate. I never made it to master rank. So, how is the old girl?”
“Well enough, I suppose. I don’t really have much to compare to. Was she always irritable?”
Bergmann laughed. “Yes. It takes her a few years to warm up to people. Seems like she was just getting used to me when I decided to leave.”
“Why did you leave? The gardens alone are worth staying for.”
“Not for me they weren’t.” He frowned and absently rubbed his arm. “The training was a bit much for my taste. Necessary, of course, but three years was enough for me to learn what I needed.”
“I didn’t think Enforcers liked Medea much.”
“They don’t, but she causes far fewer problems than the Magi who come sniffing after her for training. Attracts a lot of dark wizards, that one. Teaches any magic you please, but people don’t go to her for the nice stuff. What’s your specialty, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Illusion was the most respectable answer, but also the least believable. No one in their right mind would go to Medea for illusion when the Academy had a perfectly acceptable program. Nikolai didn’t know enough about healing or nature to fake expertise, and he certainly wasn’t going to mention that necromancy was his true goal. In this case, the truth might be more fun. He smiled and laid the trap.
“Telepathy.”
“Really?” The man’s voice was too casual as he poured more tea. “Don’t see many of those. How exactly do you intend to use your skill? It could be quite lucrative, if used on unsuspecting Mundanes.” He nailed Nikolai with a stony gaze.
Time to put the man in his place. Nikolai put a quiet anger into his voice. “You know, it may have been a decade since my countrymen took your capital, but we still remember what was inflicted on us. My brothers will never be the same. I will never be the same.” He glared at Bergmann, adding a quaver to his voice for authenticity. “I attended the Academy after the war. It wasn’t unusual to see students crying in the hallways. Every night someone woke, screaming from the nightmares. Children of war, all of us. You want to know what I intend to do?”
Nikolai slammed his fist on the table, causing both the kettle and Bergmann to jump. “Heal minds! I don’t believe in an almighty god, but if I did, I would thank him every day for giving me a gift to ease the suffering of my comrades.” There, that should do it.
“I . . . of course—I . . . I’m so sorry.”
Pain and guilt warred in the man’s eyes—delightfully entertaining. The stupid fool owed him twice over now, once for the gift and twice for the insult. Given Bergmann’s connections and gullibility, he might be Useful long-term.
“Yes, yes—skilled enough, telepathy could help a great deal with that. I meant no offense, you understand. I am an Enforcer—we see lawbreakers everywhere. Puts us in a certain frame of mind. I do apologize.”
Nikolai looked down and sighed. “Thank you. I’m sorry for the outburst. I want to help others, but fear makes telepaths ostracized. Medea was the only one both willing and able to train me in my gift.”
“Of course, of course. It’s a very noble endeavor. But what can I do for you?”
“In truth, I came for advice. The training is—well, you know what it’s like. I was hoping you could offer me some tips. As I understand it, apprentices don’t often make it through the process. You were the only one in recent years who survived. What’s the secret?”
“Recent years, ha! I wish.” He leaned back, hands entwined over his belly. “I can’t say that there’s any trick to it. Keep your head down, follow directions, don’t talk back. She’s really not as bad as they say. I got a lot of flak for training with her. The Collective almost turned my application down, until they saw what I could do. Her training is like nothing else, that’s for sure. But I see no reason to worry you won’t make it through. Despite the, uh, injuries, she’s careful not to kill her students.”
“I see. Do you have any idea how long training usually lasts? She said I’m not to ask her.”
“No, she hates that question. Makes you look impatient. I did ask after I left though. Ten years was the average, I believe. Of course, some people may take more or less time, depending on their talent.”
“Ever heard of someone going longer, like seventeen years?”
“That seems excessive. Was the student a bit dim?”
“No, she said he was her best.”
“Hmpf. Maybe he stayed for extended study. She’ll release you at master level, but you can always try for grand master.”
“I suppose.” Nikolai took a sip of tea. Now was the moment. “I wanted to ask you, did you ever feel like your life was in danger while you were there?”
A booming laugh erupted from Bergmann. “You mean besides all the time?”
“I meant outside of lessons.”
“Well, sure.” He shrugged. “She’s pretty intimidating. Always seems so angry . . .”
Was he being purposely obtuse? Candidness was risky. What if Bergmann told Medea his concerns? She claimed not to remember the man’s name, indicating they weren’t close, but maybe she was trying to hide the only man who could give him answers. Fuck it. He needed to know.
“Did you ever find yourself afflicted? Morose without cause? Unable to rise or do anything at all?”
“What? During training?”
“Yes. Since setting foot on the island.”
Bergmann frowned. “No, can’t say I ever experienced that. Have you spoken with her about it?”
“She’s aware but refuses to tell me anything.”
“Really? That’s unlike her. Are you sure the problem is magical? If it were magical, you’d be hard-pressed to get her to stop talking about it.”
“I’ve encountered that. This is different. I can tell she knows something, but she’s been evasive.” Nikolai leaned forward. “I think she might be causing it.”
“Any chance it might be”—Bergmann tapped his head—“all up here? There’s no shame to it. As you said, many people came out of the war with—well, they were never quite the same.”
As if he didn’t know the difference! The man clearly had no idea what he was talking about. Nikolai sat back. He kept his voice carefully controlled. “Positive. I never experienced it until I began training with her.”
“Strange . . . strange. Has she told you anything? Anything at all?”
“No, but she becomes very angry whenever it happens. She acts as if it’s all my fault.”
Bergmann’s frown deepened. “That doesn’t sound like her at all. She’s nothing if not fair. I can’t see her blaming you for anything you had no control over.” Clearly the man had experienced a very different relationship with Medea.
Then it hit him. Of course! It was no coincidence that Bergmann alone had survived the training. Who didn’t want an Enforcer in their pocket? The Collective hated Medea. Why not work to gain a valuable ally on the inside? She would have done her best to maintain a respectable face. It was a sound investment, really, but unfortunately, it didn’t help him any.
Nikolai turned the conversation back to safer topics.
Thomas—that’s who he needed to talk to. But the man was dead, or should be. Medea had been circumspect on that point too. He had been her greatest apprentice, staying with her an unheard-of seventeen years.
Did Thomas linger, not to study but to find out how Medea maintained her youth? She said they’d had a falling out. Maybe he’d succeeded, causing her to craft a spell to rob future apprentices of their ambitions. There was only one way to find out.
27
SÉANCE
Nikolai sat at his desk and took out his most recent purchase, Mediums for Mundanes, cringing at the title. The séance spell was covered at the Academy, but as he had no interest in contacting the dead back then, he hadn’t bothered to learn it. He did know it was a simple spell any Magi could cast.
So it was telling when he searched for the spell in Medea’s master grimoire and it came back restricted, filed away under Soul Magic. Silly thing for her to hide. He simply took the gateway to Istanbul and bought a copy of the Academy’s beginner guide to communing with the dead.
On the surface, the séance spell was relatively simple—all it required was a few candles and the right frame of mind—but it came with dire warnings. If the desired soul was unable to be reached, it was possible for other souls and spirits to answer the call and haunt the caster. Nikolai shrugged this off. What did he have to fear from the dead?
There was a list of caveats. Not all souls could return to speak. Okay, that wasn’t great. The recently deceased were easier to contact. That wasn’t good. If Thomas were dead, he likely passed a couple centuries ago.
The guidelines also stated that a connection was required, preferably an emotional bond. Barring a close family member or friend, a physical object could be used. Body parts worked best for this—hair, nail clippings, and the like. Medea’s hasty incineration of the skeleton in the forest suddenly made a lot more sense. Whoever it had been, she’d ensured he’d never speak to them.
Personal possessions were less reliable. The best was an item they had an emotional attachment to. Barring that, it had to be something they used every day—probably working off skin cells or bodily fluids, as Medea’s locket enchantment back in Haven had done. With each degree of removal from the person, the chance of success decreased. Nikolai set the book down and leaned back in his chair.
Therein lay the problem. He didn’t know Thomas personally, and it was doubtful he’d find the man’s hair lying around after two hundred years. It wasn’t as if he could ask Medea to identify objects Thomas had used.
There had to be something around here that would work. Medea didn’t seem to get rid of anything. The desk alone had probably been here for centuries.
That was it!
He walked to the back wall, pushing aside one of the tapestries he’d purchased to liven up the place. Hidden behind was the straw pallet included with his room. Medea said it hadn’t been replaced in centuries.
He grabbed his drawstring pouch and shoved the mattress inside, then headed to the laboratory for candles. In the gateway room, he chose the gateway for the temple in the jungle. If ever he needed a magical boost, it was today.
Humidity smacked him as soon as he crossed the threshold. Not the most comfortable place for a séance, but it would do. He didn’t intend to take all day. Finally, he was going to get answers!
Nikolai cleared a few branches that had blown over the stone platform and upended his pouch, depositing the straw mattress. At each corner he lit a candle, then he sat facing north with the séance book in his lap.
The chant had to be as specific as possible. Thankfully, Medea never hesitated to talk about Thomas. Given her adulatory ravings during their lessons, he suspected she had an intellectual hard-on for the guy. He withdrew a list from his breast pocket—god, he was turning into Medea—and reviewed his notes.
He took a deep breath and intoned, “I call thee, Thomas, former apprentice of the great mage Medea. Thomas, who once slept on this very bed. Thomas, witch from Massachusetts. Thomas, who turned his back on the Christian god that wronged him. I call thee. I bind thee. Answer my call.” It would be enough.
Nothing happened. He repeated the chant. Again, nothing.
Was he missing something? It did say that some souls were incapable of being called back. Was Thomas one of them? He thought for certain a caster that powerful would hasten to the call.
He scanned the book. Séances worked better when there was emotional attachment involved. He’d make one, damnit. An angry soul was better than none at all.
He stood and shouted into the jungle. “I call thee, Thomas, former apprentice of that bitch-mage Medea. BEST apprentice according to her, even though she is CLEARLY showing FAVORITISM. You couldn’t have been THAT good or you never would have DIED. Some apprentice you were, Thomas who had a falling out with Medea in”—he glanced down at his notes—“1686. What’d you do, try to fuck her and get shot down? You give up like the pussy you are? How could you be her best, when you turned away and RAN? Coward. Come here and answer my call, Thomas! I’ll have words with you!”
Still nothing.
“I don’t think he’s coming.”
Nikolai spun. “Who said that?”
“If you don’t blow out those candles soon, something far nastier than me is going to come through. We get bored, you know. Nothing passes the time like messing with mortals.”
Nikolai spun in a circle but saw nothing. “Who are you? Where are you?”
A small creature appeared, almost like a fox except its bushy tail was ringed. Black fur glistened with flecks of silver like stars in the night sky. The creature approached with catlike grace to stare up at him with amber eyes.
