40

Ebb and Flow

"I want to learn how to use magic more than anything," said Candle, "but I don't think I'll be able to do it."

"Why not?"

"I told you I - I can't do anything." She gritted her teeth. Her throat thickened, and she made a small noise of rage and frustration. Even now, she couldn't get out a simple sentence. The geas throttled her whenever she came close to even thinking about taking about Ramus, about Belias, about how they were stealing her magic. It felt like the whole world had changed, and yet nothing had.

"Well, I just saw you become a dragon," said Jotham, "so that's not entirely true."

Candle shrugged, trying not to get her hopes up. Maybe he had a point. Maybe the geas didn't affect anything she did in dragon form. Somehow she knew it wouldn't be that simple.

"Human magic and our magic is quite different," he continued. "You might have an aptitude for one and not the other. Human magic revolves around principles of sacrifice, whereas my magic is all about manipulating the flow of energy between worlds."

"Wait, what? Sacrifice?" Candle frowned. "Don't you mean creativity?" It was well known that the Ancestors favoured works that were time-consuming or painstaking to create, but she would hardly call sacrifice the defining attribute.

"Sacrifice," he said firmly. "The Teurek do it with more violence and less finesse, it's true. They burn a tree, an animal or a person. In return, they get power. The power of the thing that might have been."

"That's not the same at all!"

"Your people burn paintings or sculptures instead of living things," said Jotham, flicking a bit off the rock, "but the principle is the same. You get back the power of the thing - the time invested, what could have been - the impact it might have had on those who beheld it."

He sat in repose and watched her think about it, a superior smile on his face that made Candle's palm itch.

"It's not the same! It can't be. Why would the Ancestors accept such a thing?" she said, at last, "Human sacrifice! Why would they gift them with magic for such heinous acts, for such savagery? It goes against everything I've been taught!"

He shrugged dismissively.

"I'm not one of your Sages," he said. "Perhaps it is not your Ancestors who respond but something else. Demonic spirits-" Candle gasped at his heresy, "-or some other denizens of the Night Nation? Or perhaps your Ancestors were violent and reward the blood of innocents?" He spread his hands wide, laughing at her outrage. "I truly do not know - the ways of humans are a mystery to me. I have not made a study of it. When I knew humans...long ago...they did things differently."

His eyes turned sombre as he reflected. Candle wondered who or what he was remembering. What must it be like to be so old? Her mind shuddered away at the thought. It was easier to regard Jotham as an eccentric troglodyte. She hoped the many years locked underground had not broken his mind, but then, she thought, who was she to judge broken things?

"They didn't worship their Ancestors?"

He shook his head.

"You don't speak to your Ancestors?"

"Why would I need their help?" he asked. "When I am incredible just as I am?" He raised an eyebrow as if daring her to disagree. "I do know," he continued after a while, "that on death a dragon follows the highway of souls into the heavens. They don't linger in the Night Nation. They move on. I highly doubt they care what their descendants are doing. And I would rather they found peace in their deaths."

"How can you know that?" she demanded, squirming on the rock. She wondered what the Sages at the Lizard would think of his world view. Jotham was making her quite uncomfortable. "You just said the Night Nation was full of undead."

"Restless dead, yes. Wights and ghouls. Evil spirits. Not the contented souls of those who have lived good lives."

"How can you know that," she repeated, stubbornly.

"I know," he said in the irritating manner he used when he did not want to pursue a point further.

"It's not the same," she said, under her breath. She could not stand the idea that the sacred ritual of Devotion was in any way connected to the foul magics of the desert tribes; to the unclean sacrifice, she had seen her brother perform in exchange for power. "The Teurek are sacrificing to demons, not their Ancestors."

"Perhaps. I do know a little about demons," he said, and she looked up at him, her heart thumping. "Are you interested in demons?" he asked, sensing the intensity of her gaze. She nodded, as casually as she could, willing him to talk.

"I know that they are attracted to those with unclean thoughts, who perform unclean deeds. To those that murder and kill." Vague, but hopefully it would spin Jotham's thoughts in the right direction.

"Well, that might be true," he said, "partially. But from my observation, I can tell you that demons are attracted to those channelling a lot of magic. Like flies to honey. They are parasites, powerful parasites. They crave magic and those that use it brightly and often. Like a candle in the dark." He laughed at his own joke.

Candle thought of her brother who was so often lauded as a prodigy. It was true that he had used extraordinary amounts of magic at a very young age. Everyone had commented on it. Was this how he had first attracted the attention of a demon?

"The pale ones," Jotham continued, "the Teurek, they go out of their way to attract the attention of demons and demon lords. It is seen as desirable, the mark of power and influence. The more powerful the demon, the more prestige for the shaman, and usually, the shorter their life."

His lip twisted in distaste, and Candle repressed a shudder. She could not imagine intentionally seeking one out. This was not news, however, Pasco had told her pretty much the same thing. "There are always those who crave power. Those who feel it is worth the price, especially when it is paid in other people's blood. They think that they will be different, that they will master their demon. They are always wrong. The demon always wins." His face settled in grim lines as he looked at her, eyes deep and mournful. "It is inevitable."

"Our magic," he said, after a while, the furrows of his brow lifting, "is a thing of beauty and wonder. We merely orchestrate the flow of energy between worlds."

"Between worlds?"

"Between the Twilight Nation and the Night Nation, between the here and there. It is more powerful when the worlds are entwined - during twilight, at noon or midnight, near a gateway, a doorway, a crossroad and near the sea." She looked out at the vast rolling waves before them, laced with incandescent fingers of magic. "Water is a conduit," he said, "particularly saltwater. Menkowas too."

"Menkowas?" She did not know the word.

"The metal," said Jotham, waving his hands around, "you know - there are large deposits in these mountains and you humans use it to power your moongates."

"Do you mean moonsilver?" asked Candle with a shiver. Working with moonsilver was notoriously dangerous, and that was why it was the providence of the Ancestors' Own. In powder form, it was both addictive and a hallucinogenic. Without it, there would be no moongates, however.

"Probably," he said, "although I don't know it by that name. Anyway, you can't do anything unless you can feel the ebb and flow of the current passing between this world and the next. It is strongest during times of transition, and in places on the edge. Do you feel it?"

"I don't know," said Candle, rather startled. "I'm not sure."

"The first thing is to draw the energy into yourself." He shut his eyes and breathed in deeply; then his eyes snapped open. "Then release it," he said, "in a controlled manner, of course." He drew a rune in the air; it shimmered there for a second, and then a wall of air slammed into the water below. "Simple."

Candle traced the rune on the rock so she would memorise it. She stared at it hard, committing it to memory.

"Awel," said Jotham, tracing it again for her. Once again, the gust flattened the swell and sent a seagull squawking. He added a tail and some dots to her rune on the rock, showing her fingers where to make changes. "Hager-Awel," he said, "gives it more punch."

This time the wall of air was so intense the rocky sea bottom was momentarily visible. Candle sat back, blinking. He was so casual about it. "But hager-awel takes more energy," he said, with a shrug, turning towards her. "Simple, but no good if you don't know how to call the energy to you in the first place. So, close your eyes, and breathe. In and out. Then listen with your ears and your heart. Be still so the world can show you her secrets."

She did as instructed, sitting cross-legged on the rock. The wind was cool on her cheek, the rock beneath her, hard and comforting. She listened to the sound of the breakers, always soothing, and the distant cry of seabirds wheeling overhead. It was all very calming, but she couldn't sense any magic.

"Well?" asked Jotham. "Can you feel it?"

She opened her eyes regretfully and shook her head.

"I told you," she said, "I can't do magic." She sighed and put her head in her hands. It was wonderful to be able to fly, to become a dragon. She shouldn't be greedy, but for one brief moment, she had believed she could be more.

"Get in the sea."

"What?"

"There is no reason you should not be able to do this," he said. "Something is blocking you. Get in the sea." She stared at him, open-mouthed. "I said, get in," he repeated, "Water is a conduit for liminal magic, yes, but it also washes away ... any malevolent influences. Human magic is destroyed by water. So are the marks of demons."

He stared at her meaningfully, and she gulped, hope rising sick and fast. She knew she felt good in the water, and she knew water had a cancelling effect on magic, everybody did. Was it possible the geas wouldn't survive the water? Didn't it run through her blood? It certainly hadn't washed away, but even if while she was submerged...the thought was almost too exciting to contemplate. She stood up, feeling giddy and stared at the water, afraid to get in, afraid that she would be disappointed again.

She slid off the rock, falling into the shallow waters of the bay, bracing herself for the cold. She plunged under the waves and once again she was entranced by the multicoloured sheen of magic flowing around her as she transformed into her dragon self. Was that what Jotham meant? Was this the flow of magic tugging between the worlds? She could certainly see something, feel something, as she transformed, and it was beautiful.

As before, all her senses felt heightened, and she felt healthy and strong. She rose to the surface and breathed in the glorious brine and salt of the sea. Jotham looked down at her from the ledge, still in his man form.

"Well?"

She took a deep breath.

My brother is demon-possessed, she said to Jotham, mind to mind. His demon is called Belias. It feeds off me, off my Devotions. His demon steals my magic and my energy, and when Rasmus is there, I have to do what he says. I've never been able to tell anyone or speak ill of him. Every time I try I choke, or freeze. It's been so awful. I think he put a geas on me when I was too small to remember.

The words came tumbling out of her mouth as easily as if she was talking about the weather. She beamed with delight, relief thundering through her veins. She had said it! She had told someone. Finally!

She looked up at Jotham to express her joy, and the smile slipped off her face. He was in his human form, but there was nothing of the human left in his face. She shrank away from him as his lip curled and he let out a feral snarl that was so loud bounced off the rocks. The seabirds roosting above them took flight in a startled wave, and Jotham leapt with them, transforming into his dragon form in midair.

Where are you going? Cried Candle in alarm.

To kill your brother, came the reply from his receding figure, high above. Candle hesitated, caught in a tangled web of emotions and then shot into the sky after him. She beat her wings as hard as she could but could not catch him.

No! She cried after him, Jotham, please!

He heard her plea and turned mid-flight, his golden eyes savage. He beat his wings, circling until she was level with him, which took her a few minutes. Below, a cloud passed lazily between them and the sea while the world curved away in both directions.

He deserves to die, said Jotham. You cannot disagree; you know it is the truth. His golden eyes bored into her soul. You cannot speak freely while he lives, he said, turning away. You will not be free until he is dead. Say your piece and let me be on my way. He cocked his head on one side. Unless you want to be the one to kill him? This would be just, although perhaps not advisable without the mastery of magic.

I don't want you him to hurt you. Surely there is another way? Is there no way to kill the demon and save the man? I mean, I hate him, but I don't want you to endanger your soul for my sake. She had no idea how dangerous Belias was, but she didn't really want to find out. She knew Jotham was powerful, but he was not infallible. She clearly remembered his bloody side from when the barbarians had shot him.

Little cousin, my soul is in no danger, he said, my Ancestors, if they were listening, would congratulate me on removing such a menace from the world. There is no saving him; you must know this.

Jotham stretched his wings and laughed, arrogance in every pore.

Do not fear, little cousin, he said, men are easy to kill. He chose his own path. He doesn't get to choose yours for you.

You can't just murder someone, even Belias.

I can, and I will. You know he will harm others, he said, if he lives. Not killing him means others will suffer. There is no shame in destroying an evil creature, even if it shares your blood. There is a time and a place for killing. But if it bothers you so much, I will just wait for him to attack you, and then kill him.

Jotham's head turned sharply towards the north, and his eyes narrowed. Candle swung around to look. Far out over the isthmus she spotted two Lochlanach airships.

But this will have to wait, he said. I have been too long gone from my duties.

What are your duties?

Guarding my treasures, he said, I've told you before. Anxiety passed like a shadow across his face. I will find you soon, he said, turning back to her, and we will sort out your brother. Stay near the sea and you will be safe.