"It was a little too touch-and-go," Tris replied. "Even now, I can feel the spirits out there, the ones who want intercession, or justice, or simply the freedom to pass over. How can I keep them from driving me mad?"
Devin considered in silence for a moment. "That is one of the burdens of a Summoner," Devin said finally. "You are the mediator between the living and the dead. When your power becomes known, the living will seek you out as well, hoping to receive final blessing— or pardon—from the dead, wishing to calm angry spirits or cast out evil spirits. To be Lord of the Dead and Undead is not a ceremonial title. It holds all of the responsibilities, in the shadow realm, that a living king bears in the day realm. It is necessary to bring the realms into balance."
"If it's so important, why are there so few spirit mages?"
"Mages are made at the choosing of the Lady," Taru replied. "Perhaps there are times when Summoners are more common. In our time, Land and Water magic is the most common gift, and to our good fortune, less so Fire."
"Arontala is a Fireclan mage," Tris murmured.
"Arontala aspires to become a Summoner," Devin replied. "He believes that when he frees the Obsidian King, in return for permitting the spirit to use his body, he will also gain the mage gifts of that spirit. Those gifts together would bring ruin."
Taru nodded. "We can help you gain the stamina you need for strong magic. You will have to work hard for it."
"I'm ready."
"I will bring you the texts of the spirit mages," Devin promised. "Two of the Obsidian King's journals are here at the library. The third has been missing for many years. It is wise to know one's adversary."
"Spirit magic is the rarest of the gifts," Devin continued, "and the most dangerous. Only the spirit mage, the necromancer, may blur the line between life and death. It is the province of the Goddess herself. Only a few in a generation receive the gift, yet without an intercessor between the living and the dead, we are not complete. Many of the great spirit mages were destroyed because the temptation of their gift is the strongest."
"Like moths to light," Taru said, "your power draws the dead and the undead. Most pass without need for a mediator into the realm of the Lady. But those who are bound by guilt—their own or that of the living—those whose purpose is unfinished, and those who do not have their vengeance, remain. Those are the souls that seek you out, some for honest reasons, and some less so."
"Many mysteries of the spirit mages died with Bava K'aa and the Obsidian King," she said. "You must never assume the intentions of spirits are as they seem."
"I don't understand."
Taru shrugged. "Spirits see much more than the living can imagine. They have a way of ferreting out the weaknesses of the living to use against them."
Tris shut his eyes. The image of Kait from the dream came unbidden. "I would give everything I have to save my sister's spirit," he whispered.
"Then you are already lost," Devin replied. "For what harm can you do to Arontala, who holds her spirit?" Tris said nothing, staring at the shadows. "To defeat Arontala, you must be willing to give up what you hold dearest," Devin pressed. "Your companions, your sister's spirit, those you love most. Your grandmother could not," Devin said sadly, "and that is why the Obsidian King may rise to threaten us again."
"But why would she hold back against such evil?"
"The Obsidian King was not always evil," Taru replied. "Once, he was a good man. Some say he became impatient with the ways of the Lady and bitter about the randomness of fate. Bava K'aa believed that he was possessed by an ancient and evil spirit. He began to take the course of life and death into his own hands, to punish and forgive. He took on the role of a god," Taru said. "And the power seduced his soul."
"But if grandmother knew him, why didn't she stop him?" Tris asked.
Taru shook her head. "Many were the times she tried. You see, before she was a sorceress, or he a wizard, they were in love. But she saw the bitterness growing in him and the longing for power. She was the last to truly believe that he was evil, and her loyalty nearly cost this realm its freedom," she continued. "She and your grandfather, once the Obsidian King's dearest friends, were forced to bind him," she said sadly. "Even so, she could not bring herself to completely destroy him."
"Your way is perilous," Taru went on. "Never may you bind a soul that wishes to be free. Never may you reanimate a corpse. And never may you bend a spirit to do your will. Never, even when to do so might seem to serve the greatest good," she cautioned. "Heed well, or we are lost."
"I will help you defend yourself better in the ways of magic," Sister Taru continued. "It will soon be time to journey to Principality City, where there is a citadel of the Sisterhood. You can continue your training there."
Tris met her eyes, knowing that she understood what was at stake. "I will do whatever it takes to free Margolan," he vowed.
"I believe you will, Martris Drayke. Let us pray to the Lady it is enough."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Inside the thick stone walls of the Library there was no sense of time. Engrossed in their separate studies, armed with parchment, ink and quills, the travelers had to be reminded, usually by Berry, of the passing hours and approaching meal times.
Vahanian spent his days in the salle. He found the promised blacksmith's quarters behind the Library, and fired it up to fix their weapons. Mending armor and saddles, re-shoeing the horses, exercising their mounts and keeping the weapons honed kept him busy as the late autumn days grew shorter. The others would not have ventured outside the Library at all had Vahanian not insisted that sword practice be augmented with archery lessons. When the first practice of the day had ended, the researchers disappeared into the Library until it was time for the evening practice session. Vahanian seemed content to fade into the background.
After morning arms practice, Tris headed for training with Taru, Devin and Maire. After evening sword training and supper, Tris plunged into the dusty volumes assigned to him for his studies. He found a quiet chair in the Library and settled in with a sack of cheese and bread. Yet for all his reading, not one mention of a "Soulcatcher" came to light.
Tris also noticed that Kiara kept her distance from him. She remained close to Carina, giving him no chance to inquire as to the sudden shift from her friendliness on the road. Tris found that the absence of her conversation bothered him more than he expected, and he resolved to find an opportunity to question her.
That chance came sooner than he expected. As he readied himself for sword practice in the first light, Tris stepped outside the Library to get a breath of fresh air. The cold, crisp morning air snapped him awake—a welcome change from the mustiness of the old leather volumes and the dusty Library.
In the garden, he saw Kiara. She sat alone on a small bench, wrapped in her cloak and deep in thought.
"Hello."
"Oh! Hello, Tris," Kiara replied. "I didn't hear you coming."
"Has Carina found a way to strengthen your father?" Tris asked, taking a seat at the other end of her bench.
Kiara shook her hair, her auburn braid coming loose from her hood and spilling down her shoulder. "I don't think so. Not yet." She looked away.
"Carroway tells me you've been looking for other ways to help your kingdom."
Kiara brushed back a lock of hair. "Things haven't been good for Isencroft for a long time," she said quietly. "If we can't turn the situation soon, Isencroft will not survive."
"Mikhail means to ask my uncle's advisors for whatever help they can provide," Tris said, and she looked up at him. "I can't even promise that I'll live to take the throne, but if I do, Margolan will pose you no threat."