“Sir?”
Japheth jumped.
The steward stood in the chamber’s doorway, one hand holding a lantern, the other bearing a tray heaped with food and a cup of tea. The steward’s shadow flared down the narrow catacomb hallway behind him.
“Oh, damn me for an idiot,” said Japheth, as the plate in the man’s hands reminded him of Anusha’s gathering. He instantly realized he’d missed it.
“Lady Marhana asked that I bring this down to you,” said the steward. “Shall I just leave it here by the doorway?”
Japheth cleared his throat, then nodded. “Yes, that will be fine,” he replied. “Please convey my regrets to A-Lady Marhana. Tell her I’ll be up in just a moment.”
“No need,” said the steward. “All the other guests apparently forgot the engagement too. I’m afraid the tea is off until tomorrow.”
Regret on Anusha’s behalf swept through Japheth. It was bad enough he’d lost track of time, but everyone else as well? Anusha wanted to discuss the Sovereignty. Apparently, she was the only one.
The steward bowed and departed, leaving the chamber to the dozens of flickering candles, plus the single lantern Japheth had set on the balcony railing overlooking the chamber.
It was odd, Japheth mused. Of them all, Anusha was the one who’d come closest to being destroyed during her time trapped inside Xxiphu. She was the one he’d assumed would want the least to do with the aboleths.
But instead, she was the one most eager to discuss the repercussions of the Sovereignty’s appearance. Seren and Captain Thoster seemed willing to forget the matter entirely given that they were safely away from the aboleth city. And Raidon … Well, the warlock wondered if anything really mattered to the monk anymore.
What about himself?
Of course he was interested in Xxiphu. He owed his renewed ability to wield arcane power to the Dreamheart, and the Eldest’s bond to the eternal stars. Though his pact was better negotiated than the one he’d sworn to the Lord of Bats, he understood far less about the entities that looked out from behind the tiny points in the sky.
Then again, here he was down in the catacombs working on his project, allowing it to drive all other thoughts from his head, including worrying about the Sovereignty.
More importantly, his undertaking also did a great job distracting him from fruitless speculation about Anusha.
Because if he thought about it, he’d have to admit … that he loved her.
That was all.
Anusha made him feel real and alive, maybe for the first time ever. Just thinking about their last few hours together on the Green Siren made his breath come quicker. He would do nearly anything for her; for them. Nothing else should matter.
Anusha had feelings for him, obviously. But she also had reservations. His addiction to traveler’s dust, not to mention his star pact, was a shadow between them, as was how he’d risked everything-the world and his own sanity-for just one life, even though it was hers.
Since they’d come to stay at Marhana Manor, Anusha had been reserved. Or perhaps he was projecting his own insecurity onto her? Either way, neither she nor he had moved to initiate repeating those wondrous few hours.
He knew that part of what attracted him to her was her core of purity-her essential goodness. She wouldn’t be the person he loved if she could long tolerate his addiction to hellborn drugs. If he and Anusha were to have anything other than a dalliance, he needed to make changes.
Her feelings for him gave him the confidence to believe that perhaps he could. If someone as good and as decent as Anusha could care for him, there must be something in him worth loving, something uncorrupted by his drugs and pacts. He needed to hold on to that no matter what else happened.
Japheth had to prove himself and show her the drugs, no matter how deadly, were nothing compared to her.
He could find a way to give up traveler’s dust. He just needed time to find the right ritual-willpower alone wouldn’t be enough. A soul was irretrievably hooked after only a few trips on the crimson road. Japheth shuddered and dismissed the thoughts of the road before images of its lethal terminus could form.
Once he had kicked traveler’s dust, he would look into giving up his new pact, especially if the power ultimately flowed from an entity as awful as the Eldest. That monstrosity had nearly consumed Anusha’s soul.
But first, before any of that, he had to complete his project. It was a gift for Anusha-something sure to put a smile on her face.
He was just about done.
Japheth wrestled the iron mannequin off the stone block, gritting his teeth and grunting as he heaved it upright. If not for its hollow core, it would have been unmovable, at least by him.
Japheth released the body. He waited a moment to be sure it wouldn’t topple off its feet, then selected a piece of red chalk from the surface of the stone block. He bent and carefully drew a ritual circle on the catacomb floor around his creation. The circle was small, but that shouldn’t matter. It would focus the arcane energies just as well as something more elaborate.
He reached for the tiny pouch on the far side of the block, but his finger grazed the tin compact containing his supply of traveler’s dust.
A tremor assailed him.
The ritual he was about to attempt didn’t require an enhanced ability to see the unseen, but he supposed it couldn’t hurt. A quarter grain, just enough to get the sight, but not too much. He picked up the compact … then threw it across the room.
“No. Not yet,” said, closing his eyes. He drew several breaths, each slower than the last. The tremor in his limbs subsided.
He opened his eyes when his pulse was back to normal, then continued on without the tin lying on the block to distract him.
Japheth selected the felt bag of crushed crystal he’d originally intended. He removed a pinch of emerald dust from it and scattered it in the circle. Next he picked up a jade rod. Fracture lines ran through the rod, and the top was missing completely, but the essence held within it remained secure.
It contained the other soul he’d bargained from the Eldest’s psychic hunger: Anusha’s friend Yeva.
He hoped.
He positioned the lifeless hands of the iron mannequin so they gripped the rod.
Last, he shook out a rolled parchment from an ebony scroll-case. It was titled “Soul Dance,” and its intended use presumably involved the transfer of minds between one willing and one unwilling subject. Though his two “subjects” were a jade rod and a soulless creation of artifice, Japheth was hopeful the spell would work for what he had in mind.
He walked widdershins around the circle containing his creation, and began incanting the parchment’s scribed words. He had to keep a close count of the number of syllables uttered. The ritual required that he mentally intone a harmonizing syllable for some, but not all, of the syllables he spoke aloud. The mental syllable occurred once before he said anything, then twice on the first vocal syllable, once on the second and third vocal syllable, once on the fifth vocal syllable, and so on. There was a trick to it; each mental syllable after the first two occurred on the sum of the preceding two.
Concentration was important.
The ritual concluded on the nine hundred and eighty-seventh syllable.
Japheth ceased moving and speaking. The echoes of the last syllables fell soft and dead, like birds shot out of a tree.
Nothing happened.
He leaned into the circle and tapped the mannequin’s metal forehead.
“Blast.”
He reached to remove the jade rod from the construct’s hand when a sound of cloth on stone drew the warlock’s attention upward.
A pale man stood on the balcony overlooking the chamber. He was dressed in black, and a small green symbol wriggled on his forehead. The warlock recognized his former patron instantly. The outline of a great dog lurked in the shadows behind the intruder.