S. Farrell - A Magic of Twilight

Ana hesitated. She was coming from the Second Call services, hurrying to her apartments to change before going to meet the Kraljiki again. There were many people about in the plaza; if she shouted, they would hurry to her. She bit at her lip, uncertain, then went over to him, following him back a few steps between the side of the temple and the sacristy alongside. “Tell me quickly,” she demanded. “I don’t have much time. What of Envoy ci’Vliomani?”

Mahri’s breathed wheezed in his lungs. He tapped his chest. “I. .”

he said. He stopped and swallowed. “I am not Mahri. I’m Karl. I’m Karl, Ana.”

Ana could not stop the laugh of disbelief. “I don’t know what game you’re playing here, but I won’t be part of it. Good day to you.”

“No!” Mahri spat out. “Listen. You came to me in my cell in the Bastida. Commandant ca’Rudka brought you. He chained your hands together. You told me that you’d lost the ability to use the Scath Cumhacht, the Ilmodo. You said that you’d lost your faith. .”

“How do you know that?” Suspicion narrowed her eyes. “You have spies in the Bastida, or you can use the Ilmodo yourself. .”

“He can, indeed,” Mahri answered. “And more than you would think. Mahri sent his presence into my cell, somehow, and switched our places. He is the one who is in my body, Ana, sitting in the cell. And I’m trapped in his body.”

Ana was shaking her head. “No one could do that. There’s no spell that allows it. Cenzi Himself would not allow it. .”

“I would have said much the same a few days ago. But it’s the truth. I can prove it to you.”

“How?” His assertion held her while common sense shouted at her to leave, to refuse to believe any of this, to stop listening to what had to be the blathering of a madman.

“Go to the Bastida. Have the commandant let you see me. . him. . again. Look at the person in the body that was once mine and ask him if it’s true.”

She was shaking her head already. She started to step away from him, and the pendant that the Archigos had given her swung on its chain. “I gave you a stone shell,” Mahri said. “Have you stopped wearing it?” Ana put her hand over the jeweled broken globe the Archigos had given her. She took a step backward. “It is me, Ana,” Mahri persisted.

Ana retreated again. He started to pursue her, but she scowled and that seemed to stop his advance. “What do you want of me?” she asked.

“What are you after?”

“I want you to come with me. To Mahri’s rooms in Oldtown.”

“That won’t happen.”

“You wanted me to teach you how to use the Ilmodo again. I could begin that process. And there are things there that you should see.

That we both need to see.”

“You’re not Karl. I don’t believe that.” It can’t be true. I don’t want it to be true. And she knew that it was not only because of the horror of thinking of Karl trapped in Mahri’s body. It was because that meant that the sacrifice of her body to the Kraljiki had been unnecessary.

“It’s true regardless,” he told her. “But whether you can believe it or not, I can still help you. Let me try, Ana. Please.”

Denial forced her another step backward. She was at the corner of the building, one hand on the marble seams. She could feel the sunlight at her back. Another step, and she could run. “12 Rue a’Jeunesse,”

Mahri told her. “I’ll be there. Tonight.”

“Not tonight,” she told him. “It’s not possible.”

“Then tomorrow night,” he insisted. “Ana, it’s very important.”

She didn’t reply. She took another step backward, then turned and hurried away. She didn’t look back to see if he pursued her, not until she was safely in the crowds of the plaza. When she looked, she could not see him at all.

At her apartment, she let Watha and Sunna help her change into a formal dress robe and comb and arrange her hair. She tried not to think of Mahri or of Karl as they fussed over her, as Beida came in to announce that the Kraljiki’s carriage had arrived, as she was driven again over the Pontica a’Brezi Nippoli to his palace on the Isle A’Kralji, as Renard led her to the private back corridors and into the Kraljiki’s apartment.

As she went to him and kissed him, as she knew he expected that.

He had made it clear to her that he wished his lovers to be actively affectionate in private, that he gave no pretense of propriety and expected none. There was a sharp, faint odor lingering around him, and his response was perfunctory, a bare brush of lips. “Is something wrong, Justi?” Ana asked. Francesca, was her immediate suspicion. She’s done something, said something. . She been expecting this-following her meeting with Francesca outside the Reception Hall, she knew that the Vajica would not easily give up her relationship with Justi, and it was not a subject that she could broach with him. Not safely. Francesca’s presence had been in the background of all their conversations since, but Justi had never directly mentioned her.

But Justi put his fingers on his temples, closing his eyes, and Ana realized that she was smelling the scent of cloves. “You’ve a headache?”

“A horrible one,” he answered. “It feels as if a smithy were smashing his hammer on the inside of my skull. I can’t seem to rid myself of it, and the healer’s potions have been worse than useless. I’m sorry, Ana.”

“Don’t be,” she told him. “Here, sit and let me rub your temples. I used to do that with Matarh when she had headaches, and she would do it for me.” He allowed her to lead him to one of the chairs in the apartment, and she stood behind him, massaging his forehead and scalp. She expected him to be tense, but he seemed relaxed and comfortable.

“You’re not chanting,” he said after a few moments.

She stopped. “Kraljiki?”

“Ana, you and the Archigos came every night after the Gschnas to my matarh. You kept her alive when she should have died immediately after ci’Recroix did his despicable act-you, not the Archigos. Matarh told me once that you had the ‘healing touch,’ and we both know what she really meant by that.”

“Kraljiki, the Divolonte. .” Ana began. Her hands had fallen to her sides, and Justi turned in the chair to look at her.

“I understand what the Divolonte says. I also know that the Archigos will sometimes look the other way when a teni uses that power.

There’s no one here but the two of us, Ana. Who would know?”

She trembled. She looked down at the floor rather than at him. Her stomach burned. The walls of the apartment seemed to loom impossibly close, trapping her. “I can’t. .”

His eyebrows raised, his already-prominent chin jutted forward even more. “You would refuse me that?”

You can’t refuse. You have to try. . “No, Justi. . But. . I’m so tired, and I don’t know. .”

“Try,” he said, the single word burning in her ears. He turned away from her again, leaning back in his chair, obviously expecting her obedience.

Ana took a breath. She closed her eyes. Cenzi, I pray to You to help me now. Please. I can’t do this without You. I know that. . She spoke the calming, prepatory prayer that U’Teni cu’Dosteau had taught her so long ago, letting the phrases open her mind to the Ilmodo. She could feel the energy pulsing around her after she finished the prayer, but it seemed to linger just outside the touch of her mind, almost mocking her with its proximity. She ignored the gathering feeling of failure, the sense that Cenzi had abandoned her for interest in the Numetodo.

She allowed herself to find the words of healing, the syllables in words she did not know, and her hands moved as she chanted, following the path the words of release demanded. The Ilmodo writhed and sparked around her, yet continued to elude her grasp. She started the chant again, almost sobbing with frustration. Cenzi, I beg of You. I am sorry for my failures. I am weak, and ask You to forgive me my weakness and make me Your vessel again. .