Child of the Sword, Book 1 of The Gods Within Read online

  ~~~

  Rat awoke suddenly, though cautiously he lay without moving for a time, eyes closed and listening. Only when certain he had heard every sound the room would yield did he open his good eye. He was naked, and alone, lying beneath a blanket on a cot in an otherwise empty room: a bare stone cell with a doorway but no door.

  He tossed the cover aside, swung his legs off the cot and crossed the room in an instant. He found no one in the hallway beyond, but to his delight he discovered many shadows. It took much searching to find his way in such strange surroundings, for often he had to hide in a convenient shadow while witches passed. And then there was the stairway, a long winding path of steps down which he had to sneak with no help whatsoever from shadow. But he made it, and once below he found the courtyard easily. From there it was a simple matter to find the front gate, to slip through the iron bars and lose himself in the shadows of the city beyond.

  It took all afternoon to cross the city and find his den, but he managed it, and once there he searched frantically for his gesh. To his great relief it was there, undisturbed. But as he placed a pinch of the root on his tongue it seemed to catch fire, his eyes felt suddenly as if they would burst from his head, and the contents of his stomach came boiling forth to splatter all over the filthy straw of his bed. The convulsions continued without mercy until he finally fainted.

  Twice more he awoke in the bare stone cell, naked and alone, and twice more he escaped from the witch’s den to the city beyond. Each time he returned to his lair to taste the gesh, and each time he was racked with convulsions and fainted.

  A fourth time he awoke, naked and alone. And a fourth time he made his way to the courtyard below, but this time he could not escape. There was an invisible something that filled the gaps between the bars of the gate. He could feel it, but not see it, and it prevented his passing. He tried the wall, but it was too high and he found no purchase for climbing. He spent the entire day working his way around the compound, seeking some means of escape, and found every path blocked in one fashion or another.

  Late that afternoon he returned to the front gate, desperate, exhausted, and hungry for gesh. In his frustration he began chewing on the lock and rattling its mechanism.

  “You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?”

  At the sound of the voice Rat dove for the nearest shadow, froze, and looked on as one of the witchwomen approached. She stopped some distance from him and smiled pleasantly. “Don’t be afraid, Rat. I won’t hurt you. I am AnnaRail, and I am here to teach you, for you have much to learn, and the first thing you must learn is your new name. From this moment on you will be called ‘Morgin’, and no one will ever again call you ‘Rat.’”

  She finished speaking by passing her hand before her as if to emphasize her words, though for an instant Morgin thought he saw a faint red flash dance among her fingertips. But he dismissed that thought quickly, and his eyes darted between her and the gate.

  “Now that is the second thing you must learn, Morgin. I have placed a spell upon you. You will not again leave this compound without my permission.”

  “Gesh,” he croaked, his voice guttural and harsh.

  “And that, Morgin, is the third thing you must learn.” Her voice surprised Morgin, for there was sadness in it. “You have sampled the pleasures of gesh, and now you must pay a price for that pleasure, and I am afraid you will find that lesson harsh in the extreme.

  “Never again will you enjoy gesh, for I have placed another spell upon you, a spell that will remain until you are old enough to remove it yourself. And that will not be for a very long time. You will suffer in the learning of this lesson, but I will be by your side, and I will help you as much as I can.”

  She held out her hand. “Come with me now, Morgin. It’s time for you to begin a new life.”

  He hissed at her like a snake, “Ssssssssss!”

  Her eyes saddened. “Won’t you be my friend? Come now. Take my hand.”

  Morgin was tempted—this witch seemed kind. He considered her carefully for a moment, then slowly, cautiously, he emerged from his shadow, and with distrust written in every move, he edged closer, step by step, until he was near enough to lean forward and sniff the outstretched hand.

  It was sweet, and soft, and gentle.

  Quickly he scanned the courtyard, assuring himself that this was no trap, that there were no other witches waiting in hiding to snare him. Then warily he reached out and placed his hand in hers, and began a journey from which there could be no return.

  Chapter 2: In the Witches Den

  AnnaRail stood quietly to one side while Malka and Olivia spoke in subdued tones. She cared little about what was said and was wisely silent, forcing herself to remain calm. Olivia’s machinations were a constant source of irritation. The old woman thrived on intimidation, and one of her favorite tactics was to force someone to stand idly by after being summoned urgently to her audience chamber. Sometimes she would even talk about a person as if they weren’t there, when all along they stood nearby waiting patiently to be acknowledged. And the gods help any fool brash enough to speak before being acknowledged.

  A crude squeeze on AnnaRail’s left buttock startled her out of her thoughts. Turning, she found Roland and fixed him with an angry stare. He looked back with an evil grin. Quickly she scanned the room, assuring herself that no one had seen his playfulness.

  He leaned close to her and whispered, “You looked so intense, my love. I felt drastic measures were called for.”

  She smiled pleasantly.

  He leaned even closer, stretching his neck to kiss her on the cheek. She continued to smile, laid her hand softly on his arm, and pinched with a determination she hoped would draw blood.

  He forgot the kiss, stifled a groan, stepped back suddenly. It was her turn to display an evil grin.

  “Is something wrong, Roland?” Olivia demanded, glaring at him.

  “Oh! No, mother,” he said. “Just a little itch.”

  “Then kindly be still.”

  “Yes, mother.”

  Olivia and Malka returned to their conversation. Roland smiled at AnnaRail with a look that admitted he’d gotten what he deserved. She smiled back, then let her eyes drift lazily about Olivia’s audience chamber.

  The room was too small to entertain more than a few selected guests. There were two couches, small tables, large throw-rugs, and a hearth for heat during the winter. It was a warm and comfortable room that contrasted sharply with the old woman’s cold and impersonal nature. Olivia preferred to conduct important business here, reserving the Hall of Wills for ceremonial occasions and large crowds.

  Marjinell said something that Olivia didn’t like. The old woman stared her into silence.

  Poor Marjinell, thought AnnaRail, always trapped between Olivia and Malka, mother and son, both cold and powerful, though Malka was not nearly so willful. Of course Marjinell deserved most of the scorn they heaped upon her. She was a cow, self-centered and often stupid, but she had borne two strong sons, and she was a good mother, so she was tolerated.

  “AnnaRail,” Olivia called. “Attend me.”

  AnnaRail stepped forward and bowed lightly.

  Olivia patted the spot next to her on the couch. “Sit beside me and tell me of the child Morgin. Roland. Malka. Marjinell. Gather around. I’m sure we’re all interested in AnnaRail’s report.”

  Report? AnnaRail thought. Of course. The old woman considered this a report on the piece of property named Morgin so that she and Malka could determine how he might best serve House Elhiyne. AnnaRail hoped it would not be necessary to defy the old woman again. She had done so with her first born DaNoel, and the battle had been hard fought, and hard won, only because she had remained steadfast against the old witch.

  “Does this Morgin child still act like an untamed animal?” Olivia asked. “You’ve had almost half a year now to train him.”

  “He is learning,” AnnaRail said. “Perhaps slowly, but he is learning.”

  “I
should hope so,” Marjinell sneered. “After what I went through for him. And I allowed my oldest son to be placed in danger just to save that little ragamuffin’s life.”

  The silence that followed was embarrassing for Malka, who tried to end it quickly. “The servants speak of him as if he were a demon from hell. Is he that unruly?”

  AnnaRail smiled at that. “Not unruly. Just curious, forever trying to learn the purpose of everything that catches his eye. His problem with the servants is that he gets in their way.”

  “Does he satisfy his curiosity with questions?” Malka asked.

  “No,” AnnaRail said. “And that is the problem. He rarely speaks without prompting. He watches and listens, and if he’s curious, he waits until he’s alone, then acts.”

  “A bad habit, that,” Malka said. “We’ll have to break him of it.”

  “The meddling, yes,” AnnaRail said. “But not the curiosity. If anything, that must be encouraged. It’s healthy. It’s good for him.”

  “Very well,” Olivia said. “His curiosity will not be discouraged, but the servants will be given permission to punish him if he acts up.”

  “Is he housebroken yet?” Marjinell asked. “Or am I going to continue finding dung in the corners?”

  AnnaRail suppressed a laugh as she remembered the evening Marjinell had come screaming from her chambers. Morgin was neat, and careful to leave his droppings in an out-of-the-way corner. Unfortunately, he’d chosen a corner in Marjinell’s suite.

  “He’s housebroken,” AnnaRail said, “though it took some time. But once we left Anistigh his training progressed in leaps and bounds. It seems the ride to these estates was long enough to impress upon him the futility of escape, and he quickly learned that he must learn. Since then his vocabulary has improved greatly. He can now carry on a literate, if halting, conversation, though, as I said, he rarely speaks without prompting. That’s why I think it’s time he joined the other children at their lessons. He’ll learn much faster, and it’s time he began learning to interact with others.”

  “What about his magic?” Malka asked. “How well does he understand the shadows?”

  AnnaRail shook her head. “He doesn’t even know he’s using magic. Whenever he’s seriously frightened he seems to use it naturally, much as you and I breathe without conscious thought. And as for the shadows, he thinks he’s just hiding within those that are already there. He has no idea he’s creating them himself.”

  “That’s not good,” Roland said. “It’s going to be difficult to make him aware of his power.”

  “It’s worse than that,” AnnaRail said. “He uses it to hide from his responsibilities and avoid punishment. And if we allow that to continue, he’ll never learn to face up to a disagreeable situation.”

  “I could create a spell that would prevent him from using such magic,” Olivia said offhandedly.

  AnnaRail shook her head. “Thank you, mother, but no. He must be taught the proper use of magic. We must forbid its improper use, and punish him when he disobeys. Unfortunately, I seem to be particularly susceptible to his shadows. That is why I must ask the rest of you to take a hand in this. Roland, you in particular seem to be immune. And you also, mother.”

  “Very well,” Olivia said. “I see no reason why the family cannot act as one in this. It shall be so.” And that was that. The most powerful witch in the Lesser Clans had spoken. “But I asked you to learn his parentage. Did you conduct a seeking?”

  AnnaRail hesitated for a moment, and when she did speak, she was unable to hide a slight tremble in her voice. “I . . . attempted a seeking.”

  “You attempted a seeking?” Malka asked warily.

  “Yes.”

  “And?” Olivia prompted.

  “I . . . failed.”

  The room was suddenly silent. “Explain yourself,” Olivia demanded sharply.

  AnnaRail hesitated, but it was no use trying to hide her own fear of the ordeal. “I took a preliminary survey of the child’s contact with the netherworld. Based upon what I perceived there I placed several minor wards and a demon under geas, whose continued existence was dependent upon my safety. I found much pain, much sorrow and unhappiness, and no joy. And fear. I found fear above all else.”

  Olivia, Malka, and Roland listened raptly. Marjinell seemed preoccupied with a mirror.

  “Between birth,” AnnaRail continued, “and an undefined time several years ago—probably his entry into life in the market in Anistigh—there is a large period of time that is ruled absolutely by fear. I decided to investigate further, but when I tried to enter it I was trapped by the fear that exists there. I was almost consumed, and when I tried to leave, I could not. The demon pulled me from that existence screaming in terror. I freed the demon, released the wards, and have not returned to that place since.” As an afterthought she added, “And I will not, though the gods themselves order me to.”

  “Kill it,” Marjinell burst out. “Kill the little monster before it harms someone.”

  “No,” Roland shouted.

  “Yes.”

  “No. You’ll have to kill me first.”

  “Silence,” Olivia demanded. She looked at Roland sharply. “I don’t believe you really mean that, son.”

  Roland calmed himself. “Of course not. But I do think such drastic action is unnecessary.”

  “I agree,” AnnaRail said.

  “And I,” added Malka.

  Olivia’s response came slowly. “I will not rule out killing a being that may someday become a threat to this family. But I do believe that, at this time, such action would be premature.”

  Marjinell looked from face, to face, to face. She stood in a huff. “Well, if that’s all you think of my word—”

  “Sit down, daughter,” Olivia commanded sharply. “Your opinion is always valued here. But we all are sometimes wrong.”

  Marjinell sat down slowly.

  Olivia looked at AnnaRail carefully. “Was there anything else?”

  AnnaRail frowned. “Well yes, there was. His dreams are rather odd. I encountered several fragments during the seeking, and I asked him about them.”

  She hesitated for a moment, but Olivia urged her on impatiently. “Well?”

  “Well, to begin with, he doesn’t think of them as dreams, but rather as another life that he leads elsewhere, a life that is of no greater or lesser importance than the one he leads here. And that impression is compounded by the nature of his dreams, which I believe are more coherent than the dreams we experience. Apparently it’s not uncommon for his next dream to take up where the last one left off, to the point where he thinks that when he goes to sleep here, he wakes up in another life, and when he goes to sleep there, he wakes up here.”

  “Very curious,” Roland said.

  AnnaRail agreed. “Yes. Very curious. And then there’s the skeleton king—at least that’s what he calls this being—a recurrent specter that he meets often in his dreams.”

  Malka frowned. “These are nightmares then?”

  “No. On the contrary. He considers the skeleton king a friend, or actually a mentor, even looks forward to meeting him in his next dream, and is disappointed if he doesn’t. Sometimes they talk, discuss his problems much like a father and son might. It’s all very curious.”

  “And of no real import,” Olivia interjected. “It certainly has no bearing on his heritage. The child is probably the son of a clansman; lost, stolen, or abandoned for some reason shortly after birth, probably the get of some prostitute. The boy obviously possesses much power and may someday be of use. So he will be raised as a clansman.”

  She turned to AnnaRail. “You accepted responsibility for him, and now it appears that that responsibility may last his lifetime. Are you prepared to accept that?”

  AnnaRail tried not to show her reluctance as she nodded.

  “Very well. The boy will be treated as close kin. And as with all close kin, we will all lend a hand in his upbringing. Is that clear?” This time Olivia looked to Marjin
ell for an answer.

  “Yes, mother,” she said meekly.

  “Good,” Olivia said. “I have spoken. You may go now, for I wish to be alone.”

  ~~~

  Morgin sat in the corner where he’d found a comfortable shadow, sobbing quietly. He hated the witches, all of them. Well . . . perhaps not AnnaRail. She was kind, and when she did punish him, somehow he knew it hurt her too. And NickoLot. Nicki was all smiles and happiness, a tiny bundle of energy, pink skin and big round eyes. Morgin loved to hold her in his arms and make faces at her, and she would laugh and giggle. But he hated all the rest, especially JohnEngine and the other boys his age. They were mean, always taunting him, and when he tried to hide from them Roland would punish him, telling him to stop making magic.

  At first Morgin had tried to tell them that he didn’t know any magic. That was for witches, not him. But Malka had told him that he too was a witchman, and Morgin had finally come to realize that was why they’d taken him in. He was a witchman—like them—and he wasn’t supposed to make magic. He wasn’t supposed to make shadows and hide in them either, but he didn’t make shadow, and shadow wasn’t magic. Shadow was just shadow.

  AnnaRail had spanked him. Malka had spanked him. Marjinell and Roland and Avis and even MichaelOff had spanked him, all but the old witchwoman Olivia. She he rarely saw, so he wasn’t sure if he really did hate her, but he thought about it carefully and decided to hate her on general principal anyway. And maybe he didn’t hate Annaline and DaNoel, JohnEngine’s older sister and brother, or Brandon, MichaelOff’s younger brother, but he hated all the rest, especially JohnEngine for picking on him, and Roland for spanking him when he did. He tucked his knees up close to his chest, buried his face in his arms, and continued sobbing. He wanted to run away and go back to the city, but that was so far, and he knew he could never find it. The best he could do was find a place to be alone, like now, in the Hall of Wills where it was empty and dark, with many comfortable shadows.