The Light of Life Read online

  Gladdic stared at Dante for a moment, then lowered his hand from his head to his lap. "That is why they lie to us about the afterlife. Because if we knew the truth, we would not be afraid to do wrong. Not when there are no punishments or repercussions. We would be free to do anything."

  Sensing the drama was over, the others quit watching and moved back under the tarp. Dante soon joined them. Gladdic sat alone in the rain for a while yet, then crawled beneath the shelter.

  In the morning, they struck out as soon as it was light enough to see whether there were any swamp dragons in their path. Volo told them it would take two days to reach Dara Bode. Crossing under the boughs, with the morning sun poking through in yellow fingers, Dante wondered what the Eiden Rane was up to, then realized he didn't have to wonder. The lich would be ensuring no harm could come to the prime body. And once that was done, he would be traveling from village to village, absorbing the people there into himself.

  Blays stifled a yawn. "Say Volo. Considering that you are the only right and honorable Tanarian among us, and that the rest of us are a bunch of filthy hari, you think we'll have any problems getting into the city?"

  She shook her head, her dark ponytail sweeping her shoulders. "Nah. By law, any settlement has to let the people who do my work inside. Even the capital."

  "That was the law under the Drakebane. But that revolution you were a part of is calling the shots now."

  "I don't think even the Monsoon would be that heretical."

  Dante was less convinced, but supposed they'd be in better position to find out once they were upon the city. And they were still dressed in Monsoon jabats, which might make things a little easier.

  He spent most of the morning in thought. As noon neared, he turned to Gladdic. "That thing the lesser lich was doing. Throwing his blood at us. Have you ever seen something like that before?"

  Gladdic gave a quick jerk of his chin. "You neither?"

  "Never even heard of such a thing. Did it seem to you that he was…amplifying his powers?"

  "More that he may have been expending somewhat less energy than typically necessary to achieve such results."

  "Which might be a way of saying the same thing. He was just flicking his blood around. Any ideas as to why that would work?"

  The priest narrowed his eyes, deepening his crow's feet. "Blood attracts nether. You yourself employ it to magnify the shadows' strength. Yet you do so in a passive way. Perhaps a more active use results in more active nether."

  "Plausible."

  "What are your thoughts?"

  This time, Dante only hesitated a moment before deciding to reveal them. "Along similar lines. But I don't think it's as simple as just flinging your blood around. If it was, somebody else would have figured it out a hell of a long time ago."

  "Whereas what the lesser lich did had the whiff of a lost art. Or one he developed over centuries of isolation."

  "Exactly. We already know certain skills have been lost to time. It isn't hard to believe there's been others." Dante drummed his fingers against the gunwale. "Who was that guy, anyway? A sorcerer, right?"

  "The only other possibility would seem to be an unusually talented dancer."

  "So when the White Lich turns you, he doesn't have to turn you into a Blighted? You can keep your powers? Your personality?"

  Gladdic shrugged. "If he was able to turn himself into the Eiden Rane, why would he be incapable of replicating the effect in others, if only to a lesser degree?"

  "How much independence do they have?"

  "I have gathered a selection of stories on this matter. They agree that while the lich's lieutenants are able to think and act of their own will, ultimately, they are each bound to the Eiden Rane's commands to such extent that thoughts of treason would be inconceivable to them."

  "This sounds like bad news. If we send sorcerers against him, can he turn them against us?"

  "If they choose to join him, absolutely. But if they are unwilling, I am not sure." Gladdic toyed with a loose thread on his jabat. "Would you like to know why I collected these stories of the lesser liches?"

  "I don't know, so you stood less chance of getting murdered by them?"

  "I was considering whether it would be better to join him, or to be destroyed."

  "And you chose to be destroyed?"

  "Indeed. I thought it would please Taim." Gladdic's shoulders jerked. He broke into laughter, its peals drowning out the buzz of the insects.

  Deciding that the canoe was perhaps not the appropriate venue for sloppy bloodshed, Dante waited to begin his experiments until they made landfall for the night. As usual, they camped near the center of the island to hide themselves from passing boats, so Dante padded toward the north shore. There, he produced his knife and cut the tips of his ring fingers enough to bleed steadily. Cutting his fingertips took a much more concerted mustering of willpower than the back of his arm, but he promised himself that he would heal the damage soon enough.

  He was too self-conscious to do any twirling about—Blays would never let him live it down—so he contented himself with flicking his wrists like whips, snapping beads of blood from his fingers. The nether darted after it, as quick and hungry as ziki oko, but not in any way that looked noticeably different from when it came to a cut on his arm.

  Still, was it more effective? How could he even measure such a thing? He crouched over the ground, drew a small portion of nether to his palm, and frowned. He got up, meaning to go back to camp and fetch a spoon, then spied a nutshell on the ground. One half had cracked and the meat inside had been eaten by fungus. He scooped out the remains and removed the cracked side, leaving him with an intact half.

  He summoned the nether again, filling the nutshell to the brim. Once he was satisfied the surface was level, he brushed aside the leaves from a patch of bare ground and sent the shadows into the earth, softening the soil and drawing it aside until the nether ran out. The resulting depression was roughly a cubic foot in size.

  Dante filled the nutshell again, ensuring it was to the same level as before, then snapped his right hand at the ground. At the same time, he commanded the nether toward the falling specks of blood. The shadows swirled violently as they plunged into the ground. Again, he used every drop to soften and remove the dirt.

  The second hole looked no bigger nor smaller than the first. He measured them using his hands and found they were the same size, or at least close enough that he couldn't tell the difference. Cursing under his breath, he repeated the experiment just to make sure nothing funny had happened, but the results were the same.

  It was possible, however, that the blood-flicking—he made a mental note to come up with a more impressive name in the event he discovered how to harness its power—simply didn't apply to earth-moving. The lesser lich had used it on offense and defense. He searched about for and found a smaller nutshell and filled it with nether. Shaping this into a small bolt, he rammed it into the trunk of a large tree. He refilled the shell, flipped blood at the tree, and struck it again. Leaning close, he couldn't see any difference between the two holes he'd knocked in it.

  With the sunlight getting scarce, he backed away from experiments in favor of simply whipping a bit of blood around, sending the nether to it, and observing the results. By nightfall, this had gotten him exactly nowhere. He healed his fingers and trudged back to camp.

  The next day kept him busy watching the path ahead with a trio of nimble dragonflies, warning Volo whenever they were neared by a Monsoon patrol boat. Now that they'd seized the capital, the rebels seemed to have taken on a new set of colors: a white flag set with two circles, one light blue, the other dark. Their soldiers were dressed in similar colors. The uniforms Dante and the others wore had become outdated.

  As they neared Dara Bode, the patrols grew more frequent, detouring them on five different occasions. By sunset, they were still miles from the capital, but Volo paddled on.

  Blays laid his paddle across the gunwales and motioned to the west. "I k
now it's easy to miss now that the sun's going down, but did you notice that the sun's going down?"

  Volo didn't break pace. "What, are your arms getting tired? We can be there in two hours."

  "Silly me. I forgot that city guards love letting foreigners inside the walls after dark."

  "It's better this way. We Maggots come at all hours of the day to collect our bodies."

  "What about us four hari?" Dante said.

  "You're…advisors. Brought here to speak to the Monsoon." She brightened. "About the Drakebane's plans in Mallon, which is where you are from."

  "That's more plausible than half the stories we've used to get into places that didn't want us there. Still, now that the capital's under rebel control, we should treat it like hostile territory. Let's do our best to not cause any battles."

  They carried on, the woods darkening around them. As they neared the city, the foliage grew denser on both sides until there was only a single wide lane of open water providing access to the capital. To Dante's complete lack of surprise, it was blockaded near its end by a small flotilla of Monsoon sailors flying their white and blue.

  Working on the assumption that every entrance to the city would be similarly patrolled, they approached the soldiers and were ordered to present themselves before a double-hulled war canoe. The soldiers asked Volo several questions, made a few disparaging remarks about the poor quality of her foreign cargo, and waved her on to the capital.

  The forest opened before them, exposing an enormous clearing. The capital was laid out like any other village, but the scale was immense, with the outer ring consisting of four hundred feet of open water (though some of this was taken up by fish pens) before the agricultural islands and paddies marking the outside of the city proper. Past that, oil lanterns flickered from swathes of raft-houses and in the windows of the stone manors that populated the many islands in the center.

  Volo steered them around to the passage through the netting that surrounded the capital, calling out a greeting to the guardsman watching their approach from one of the docks supporting the gate.

  The man stood, tottering to the edge of the dock and lifting his lantern to spill light over the black canoe. "Volo? Is that you?"

  She shielded her eyes from the sudden glare of the lantern. "Hobron? They got you on the gates?"

  "You didn't think Commander Barain was going to leave the Drakebane's soldiers in charge of the gates, did you?"

  "Yeah, but I expected him to put someone good on the job."

  He flashed a toothy grin and beckoned them onward. "Tie up and hop out, will you?"

  Volo obliged. She hopped from the canoe and entwined the fingers of her right hand with his, a gesture that appeared intimate to Dante's standards, but which seemed to bear no more weight than a handshake. Dante climbed onto the dock, trying to look inoffensive as Hobron gave them a once-over.

  "Nice to go a few days without rain," Volo said when the sentry was finished making sure they weren't obvious threats. "Then again, if you consider the fact that—"

  Hobron bulged his eyes and lunged forward, clapping his hand to her mouth. He glanced down the dock to where two other guards chatted and laughed with each other.

  He released her and stepped back. "Sorry about—"

  "What the hell was that?" Volo stamped after him. "I'll shove you off this dock!"

  Hobron dropped his voice so it could barely be heard above the wash of water against the dock. "How have you not heard? The Monsoon has banned dana kide. Just like they promised."

  "I thought that was just…something they were saying. How can they ban dana kide?"

  "We already know the truth. What's the point in arguing different? It's just meant to confuse us. To muddle our minds and make us forget what's right. You know this."

  "I know," Volo said softly. "That's what they told us."

  "And they're right. So what's there to worry about?"

  "What do they do to you if they catch you doing it?"

  "They glass you."

  "Shit and scales. They're serious."

  'There's nothing more serious than protecting the truth from those who would slander it." Hobron smiled, then grew sober. "You sailed north with them, didn't you? Into the Go Kaza?"

  She nodded.

  Hobron lowered his voice again. "Is it true what they say? That we've freed the Eiden Rane?"

  "Yes."

  He whooped and clapped his thigh. "Then Tanar Atain is ours!"

  "Yeah." Volo did her best to smile. "And they'll never take it back from us." She jerked her thumb toward the city. "Hate to rush things, but they're waiting on me."

  "What's your business here, anyway? In case my captain asks."

  "Hauling bodies. As for the hari, they're here to advise the Monsoon."

  Hobron gave the four outlanders a skeptical eye. "Advise us in what? How to smell bad? How to kneel to little statues of false gods?"

  This time, Volo's laughter was genuine. "Our leaders know what they're doing, don't they? Who are we to question if they want to hear hari gibberish?"

  "I don't get it. But I guess I don't have to." The guard rocked on his sandaled heels. "Well. Try to see me again when you're leaving?"

  Volo stepped into the canoe. "I'll do that."

  "Clear waters, Volo."

  She waved. "Clear waters."

  The others reembarked. The metal gates, painted blue against corrosion, creaked apart. Volo guided them through the entry and into the farmlands, which were dark and smelled of damp leaves. The clouds were thin and were rippled like a spoon dragged through whipped cream, allowing the full moon to shine through. A tear slid down Volo's cheek.

  "Er," Blays said. "Is something the matter?"

  She dipped her paddle in the water three times before answering. "I can't believe they did it."

  "Banned dana kide? Your peculiar way of saying hello?"

  "I bet it looks pretty funny to you, doesn't it? A couple of Tanarians meet each other, and maybe they haven't seen each other in years, but the first thing they do is argue about whether the rain is good or bad. Or whether beauty is proof of virtue."

  "'Hello' is a lot shorter."

  "Dana kide isn't about rain, or beauty, or any of that crap. It's about always hunting for the most elusive prey in the swamp: the truth. Our devotion to the hunt is what made us who we are. Then the Monsoon came along, and told us they had the truth, and anyone who argued otherwise was trying to pollute our minds and keep the peasants locked in the Drakebane's chains. Their supporters believed it—and so did I."

  "There's no shame in being wrong," Dante said. "Only in refusing to admit it."

  "And in spouting wise-old-grampa wisdom like you just came up with it." Blays swept his paddle along. "What'd he say about the punishment for dana kide? That they'd glass you?"

  Volo nodded. "At high noon, they chain you to the middle of a dock. And they bring out a glass lens. And use the sun's rays to burn your crime into your skin."

  "Congratulations," Naran said. "Your people have discovered a way to make hanging seem like a kindness."

  The watery farms looked undisturbed by the recent unrest, but as they passed into the sprawling neighborhoods of rafts, Volo had to dodge around numerous planks sticking from and floating in the water. Four-man Monsoon canoes cruised down the canals. The raft-filled slums had always been boisterous, laughing places, but that night, the loudest voices Dante heard were people coughing.

  Gladdic provided Volo with the address of their destination. This was a manor in the well-heeled island districts. His contact was an elderly man named Fade Alu. According to Gladdic, Alu's official position within the Drakebane's cabinet had been that of a roving tax collector assigned to many of the outlying villages. But for reasons that were obscure to Dante, Gladdic suspected Alu's job was actually a cover for his true task: traveling about and identifying potential talent to join the Knights of Odo Sein.

  Alu's home was one of a score built onto a shallowly sloping isla
nd. Volo guided the canoe up to one of the island's docks and tied it to a cleat. Gladdic stepped off and waited for the others.

  Dante crossed over the platform. "Are we all going with you?"

  "He will not wish to reveal his secret," Gladdic said. "He might kill to protect it. By arriving en masse, we may intimidate him away from such ideas."

  He made way to the thoroughfare that bisected the island, running from its low point to its highest. Cobbled paths wound away from the street to the gates of the high walls that enclosed each property. Alu's manse was located at the far end of the island, which at an elevation of some hundred feet rendered it one of the highest points in the capital. From its vantage, the only thing blocking sight of the entire city was the heart of Dara Bode: the fortress of the Bastion of Last Acts.

  Gladdic followed the path to the gate in Alu's brick wall. The grilles were wrought iron, sealed by a chain whose links were as thick around as a man's wrist.

  Blays cocked his head at the distant house. "Shall we yell?"

  Gladdic slashed his hand downward. A blade of white light flicked across the air. The chains fell away with a weighty clank. He pushed the gate aside and entered the garden, which remained well-kept despite whatever troubles had riven Dara Bode over the last few weeks. Gladdic took another path to the stoop and its oversized front door. The knocker boomed through the house.

  The door opened with a mutter of hinges, revealing a middle-aged servant in an orange jabat. He flicked his gaze across the five of them with increasing disgust. "Do you even know the hour?"

  "Later than you imagine. I am Gladdic of Bressel, and I will see Fade Alu."

  "Then you will depart, and only return once the sun has given you permission." The servant moved to close the door. Gladdic extended his index finger. The door quit moving. The man blinked at it and put his weight behind it, but it wouldn't budge. He fell back a step. "Who are you?"

  "A former servant of the Drakebane. Your emperor has fled. But I remain here to save your country."

  The doorman's eyelid twitched. "You will wait here."

  He made to close the door, which held firm until Gladdic gave a small nod. The servant slammed the door. His footsteps retreated into the interior.