42

The Devil You Know

Candle awoke with a throbbing head in a cold, stone room. She sat up, gingerly, feeling the bruise on her jaw and looked around. There was not much to see and even less to see it by. The air smelt stale and musty. The tiny room was bare, except for a straw-stuffed mattress, and a wall made of bars. And Rasmus.

"Candle," said the familiar voice that made her skin crawl. He detached himself from the shadows by the door. "Where have you been? Why do you make it so difficult for me?"

"Where am I?"

"So worried," he murmured, bending bent over her, with a frown, considering her as if she was a troublesome toddler or a pet that kept getting lost. She scrabbled back as far as she could go, which wasn't far. The cell was small, and her back was soon pressed up against the hard wall. "You keep running off..."

His expression was tinged with sadness as he turned away. "I must have someone to feed Belias," he looked fondly at his demon who filled the darkness behind him with a deeper shade of night. When he turned back to Candle, his smile slipped. "You've made me do some terrible things, little sister, because I couldn't find you. I've had to hurt people."

"Who did you hurt?"

"No one important." His unnaturally blue eyes were as hard as diamonds, and his features unmoved. Was there anything human left to reach? She tried another tack.

"Mother and Father are dead, Ras," she pleaded. "Ishbel's dead. Didn't you see them?" Rasmus' eyes clouded over, the unnatural blue losing its intensity for a moment. Then they snapped back to madness. Wherever they were Rasmus was not making any attempt to hide his true nature. Or perhaps he was so far gone in his madness that he no longer cared?

"If you don't do your Devotions," he said, "I'll just have to start cutting bits off you to feed Belias." He drew a caressing finger down her foot, and she pulled it back quickly, tucking it under her body. "You don't need feet to draw, do you? Or perhaps I'll let Belias feed off someone else." He nodded casually towards the cell next to hers. Candle turned her head sharply; she had thought she was alone in this nightmare. She couldn't see much in the gloom, but now her eyes were adjusting to the dim light she could make out two huddled bodies. "You don't want me to have to do that, do you, Candle? So be a good girl and make your Devotions."

"You honestly don't care that Ishbel's dead? That Hanternos is gone? Don't you care?" She forced herself to meet his gaze, and it was like looking into a pit of madness.

"No," he said. His eyes momentarily swivelled in his head, before fastening on her with ice-cold clarity. "Do as I say," he said, "and I won't have to hurt you - at least not too much." He left, locking the iron door behind him.

Candle collapsed against the wall and wrapped her arms around herself as tightly as she could, pushing her back against the solid comfort of the stone wall.

"Meraud?" The whisper was soft and hesitant, a woman's voice. It was somehow familiar and a comforting sound in that dark place. Her mind matched the voice to a face.

"Delen? Is that you?"

"Yes! Locryn's here too." Candle heard shuffling and then Delen's face appeared at the bars, peering anxiously into Candle's cell. She had a black eye, and her skin was streaked with ash and grime, but she reached out a hand towards Candle and grinned at her, a pale, slightly sickly imitation of her normal expression, but unmistakably Delen.

"Delen! Why are you here?" she managed to ask, sitting up a bit straighter. "How are you here? Where are we, anyway?"

"We're at Gwavas," said Delen, gripping the bars with white-knuckled ferocity. "After you left...things got weird fast. Your brother let all the moonsilver addicts and the unrepentant murderers out of their cells. He locked up anyone who complained. He...he killed quite a few people." She shuddered. "No one was able to stop him."

"I'm sorry," Candle whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. It was her fault. She tried not to think of all those people, lost to the Night before their time. Rasmus would think nothing of killing members of the Ancestors Own, she knew. He would see them as little more than obstacles to be dealt with.

And now here she was in her worst nightmare. This was what she had always dreaded - being locked up. She had run and run and seen so many things, experienced so many wonderful things, but here she was again - locked up like an animal. She might as well have never left Hanternos. She should have died with the rest of her family.

But then, a very small voice in her head whispered, you would never have learned to fly.

"Why in the Night are you apologising?" Delen was saying. "We know what he is now. We know what he does. We know what he does to you."

"If I had not run away," Candle said, her voice thick, "perhaps those people would still be alive."

"Unlikely," said a dry, masculine voice from the other cell, and her heart jumped as she recognised it as belonging to Locryn. "Feeding off you will only keep his demon happy for a short while. I'm surprised he's kept you alive this long."

Even now the geas would not let her say anything negative about her brother, but she huffed a little bit of air out of her mouth in a half-laugh at Locryn's practical assessment.

"I'm sorry, Candle," said Locryn, from the shadows. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you." Candle realised to her horror that Locryn was crying, and she reached through the bars to grasp his hand. "I'm sorry I was so awful to you, that I doubted - that I listened to your brother."

A small icy part of Candle's heart eased, as he spoke. Delen squeezed her arm through the bars, and the three of them sat there silently for a few minutes, their arms intertwined.

It was very quiet, in the dark cells beneath the Keep and Candle wondered what time of day or night it was. There was no way of knowing.

"I'm sorry too," she managed, "I'm sorry for keeping secrets."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Locryn.

"Do either of you have any magic?" asked Candle.

"No," said Delen, "we used it up healing Locryn's burns."

"Will he be alright?" asked Candle, afraid to know the answer. "Was it enough?"

"I'll be fine."

"Anyway," said Delen, "After you got away it got ugly fast. About a third of the Ancestors' Own thought Rasmus was the best thing ever - at least until he started slaughtering indiscriminately. We took a leaf out of your book and ran away too."

"You and Locryn?"

"All of us - Jory and Pasco, and quite a few others."

"Pasco?" said Candle, her heart jumping. "He's alive?"

"I told you it would take more than a few barbarians to finish him off," said Locryn from his dark corner. There was silence as they all reflected.

"So you were all at Dawn Watch?"

"Yes - we -we saw the barbarians coming. We couldn't stop them."

Candle nodded but didn't comment. Nothing would bring back to life the shattered bodies of her family; nothing could reassemble the beautiful little village of her unhappy childhood. It was gone forever, and there was nothing she could do about it. She would never make her parents proud; she would never be able to ask her father how he met her mother. She would never be able to forgive them. She would never again chat to Ishbel as she got ready for a party, or lie on the grass with Steren in the high pastures. She hadn't even seen Steren's body, she was probably still lying there, somewhere, under the wreckage of her home.

"We came as soon as we could, but the moongate at Hanternos was destroyed in one of the first explosions, so we had to scramble down the side of the mountain. We arrived at the same time as Lord Enys and his lackeys. Locryn went to get you while the rest of us tried to distract his lordship. It didn't work, obviously, but Jory and the others managed to get away."

"What happened to the Mester?" Candle asked. There was silence from the other cell.

"We don't know," said Locryn. "She never came back from her meeting with the Kenning... Pasco's gone to try and find her."

"They are blaming her," said Delen, "for the barbarian attacks. Even though they know there is a shaman. Arthwg said they arrested her."

"If they had let her deal with the Teurek witch in the first place, we might not be here now, but they didn't want to "risk" antagonising the barbarians. Stupid aetheling pacifists in their ivory towers."

"We have to get out of here," said Delen, moving restlessly around her and Locryn's cell, poking in all the corners. Locryn didn't move, and Candle wondered if it was because he was too badly injured or because he too, though it was pointless. The cells had been built to keep people in — people who had demons. There was no way out without outside help. Delen searched and poked and prodded optimistically for about half an hour, and then slouched on the floor with a sigh.

"I'm not giving up," she said, "I'm just having a think."

They all dozed fitfully in the dark. A short while later Candle heard a soft noise in the passage and sat up.

"Someone's coming," she warned. They all leaned forward, straining their ears. Whoever it was coming slowly, shuffling along with a clanking chain and a limp.

"Ia!" cried Delen, darting to the bars as the old woman shuffled into sight, her witch lights sending the shadows scudding.

"There now, child," she said. "Calm yourself, you look terrible."

"Let us out, Ia," said Locryn.

"You know I can't do that," said the old lady, her brow creasing. She glanced over her shoulder nervously then set down her armload and pushed food and water into each cell. She slid a pile of blank parchment and paints into Candles. She also put down a stub of candle. "Lord Enys thinks it's best if we keep you all locked up for now."

"How can you say that? You know what he did," cried Delen, reaching for Ia through the bars. "You know what he is!"

"Well, we've all done things," Ia said, vaguely, "I, myself am here for accidentally stabbing my second husband to death."

"That's not the same," said Delen, slumping to the ground. "Lord Enys is still out there...still killing. He's not... he's not repentant at all. He's not serving his country! He's not protecting anyone!"

"I'm not saying I agree with all the changes he's made, mind," said Ia, her brow lined. The old lady had dark circles under her eyes as she smiled at Candle, "but look how kind he is, taking care of his little sister's spiritual needs. He said to make doubly sure Meraud here had whatever she needed for her Devotions. There's not many that would be so thoughtful."

Candle's eyes slid to the parchment with distaste.

"Ia, he's in thrall to a demon," said Locryn, from the back wall. "Surely you can see that?"

"Ah well," said Ia, turning to go with a clank of her chains, her back bent, "if that's the case I'm sure the Mester will be back soon enough to sort it all out. The Mester always knows best."

She disappeared back up the passage. Locryn swore and kicked the wall.

"What are you going to do?" asked Delen, looking at the giant pile of paper in front of Candle.

"To start with - we're all going to make our Devotions," said Candle, pushing some paper into the cell next door.

"What's the point?" asked Locryn. "You know the drill; there's nothing we can do in a couple of hours that can compare with what your brother is capable of. I burned through a week's worth of Devotions trying to fight him at Hanternos, and look how much good it did me."

"You never know," said Candle, the beginnings of a plan hatching in her mind, "but first we should eat."

"Naturally," said Locryn. "Never mind the world is coming down around our ears, Meraud needs a sandwich!" But he said it without animosity, and he settled down with his own bowl. "Might as well keep our strength up," he said to Delen who was looking unusually forlorn. Candle wolfed down her cold soup and eyed her mug of water thoughtfully. When Ia came back a short while later to collect the bowls Candle asked for another mug of water, hiding the other one behind her back.

"To wash my brushes," she said, and the old lady complied. If only she could get her hands on some seawater, but this would have to do.

Once Ia had left them for the night the three of them set to work on their Devotions, huddled round the shuddering candle that Candle managed to prop up in the bars between their cells so that they could all share its pitiful light. Locryn and Delen burnt their Devotions immediately on completion, to hide any evidence they might be storing their Gifts.

"Much good it will do us," said Locryn, as they blew away the ashes of the parchment.

"It's better than doing nothing," said Delen, and they both lay back down, watching as Candle worked on by the light of the guttering stub of candle. They soon fell asleep, but Candle drew comfort from their presence. She glanced over at them often. They both looked dreadful. Delen looked vulnerable in her sleep and younger than her twenty-something years. Locryn's face was a mass of bruises, and his skin was still an unnatural red on one side of his body. He was cradling his right arm, and Candle wondered just how badly hurt he was.

Candle knew she had to create something worth burning, something that would satisfy her brother and his demon, something that would give Rasmus no excuse to hurt her friends - something that would get him in her cell. So she drew her sleeping friends, sketching with fevered energy. She drew until the stub of candle was burnt to the core and then she lay down watching the dark and listening to the world breathe until she fell into the dark, dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion.

Sleep was a short-lived reprieve, and Candle soon woke and lay in silence, watching several spirits wink in and out of the shadows between the bars. She closed her eyes and tried to listen to the ebb and flow of the world, as she had done on the beach. She could hear it, faintly, a pulsing stream on the edge of her consciousness. She eyed the two cups of water. It had been an effort not to drink them, for she had woken thirsty and her tongue felt like sandpaper. Would it be enough? Would it wet her enough to break the bonds of magic between her and her brother? Did she have to be dripping wet to escape the influence of Belias or would the meagre cupfuls be enough? And if it did work, would she be able to call enough power to her to make a difference?

She put doubt aside. It didn't matter. She had reached the end of the road she had been travelling, and a crossroads lay before her. So she sat in the cell with her eyes closed and listened to the world singing around her. Delen and Locryn tried to speak to her, but she ignored them, focusing on the whispers of power she could feel around her, and praying to her deaf Ancestors that it would be enough. Timing was everything; she had to be ready.

To Candle's intense delight, Rasmus arrived with the advent of twilight.

"Why haven't you burned your Devotions, Candle?" he demanded, his white-streaked hair glowing an unearthly hue in the dim light of the cell, his face savage.

Burn, echoed Belias, from behind him. The demon was looking bigger than Candle had ever seen it. He had probably been feeding well, she thought. She held up her parchments for Rasmus to see, trying not to look directly at him.

"The candle went out," she said, clasping tense fingers around the mug of water. She nodded at Delen and Locryn, who were both watching with hooded, wary eyes from the far side of their cell. "They have no gift left," she lied. She held out her papers. "You'll have to burn them," she said with a shrug. She didn't look him in the eye. He didn't like it when she looked at him, so she kept her eyes on the floor.

Rasmus paused, and Candle felt her veins thrumming with tension. She breathed in to calm herself, readying the water, gripping the mug tightly.

Her brother unlocked the door and stepped into the room. As he took a step towards her, she dashed the water from both mugs against her face and chest, letting it drip down her hair as he crossed the threshold. She dropped the parchment as Rasmus recoiled from the splash and drew in a deep, guttering breath, calling those whispers of power to her, from the nearly exposed doorway, from between the bars, from the very air around her in that half-lit place. As she had hoped, the whispers became a swell, as twilight swept the world above. She could feel the power in her veins, but the real question was - did it belong to her or Belias?

She drew awel in the air, and to her profound relief, it shimmered as she released the flow of magic into it. Rasmus was blown backwards, knocking his head against the iron as he fell to the floor with a cry of surprise. Belias reared up behind him in a towering mass of shadow, but she did not wait around to see what he did. She was through the door in a heartbeat, pushing the iron door shut, but it was too heavy to move quickly and stung her hands. Rasmus was on his feet with a roar, before she could close it, so she turned and sprinted down the passage.

This would be her last chance. She could feel it in her bones. Rasmus would not risk locking her up again, and she could feel the water drying, her flight making the air rush over her. The meagre cupful would help her no more. If she was going to finish this, she needed to find water, and quickly.

She tore down the dimly lit passage towards the spring in the bedrock of the great Keep, the spring where she had bathed on her first evening at Gwavas, a lifetime ago. The cell she had been locked in was already near the bottom of the castle; she should be able to make it before Rasmus caught her. She had always been fast. She sped around a corner and bumped into a large man who grabbed her firmly by the wrists. Moonsilver gleamed on his chin.

"Where are you going in such a hurry, little one?" he said, pulling her closer to him as she gasped. Her vision was full of his hideous grin. Candle kicked him in the groin with all her might, and he doubled over, cursing, as she managed to break free.

To her intense relief, she burst from the passageway into the cavern that housed the spring and plunged into the dark blue waters without hesitation. She paddled out to the centre of the pool and found a rock she could balance her feet on, without being in grabbing distance of the edge. She turned to face the passageway, breathing heavily. Here she would make her last stand.

The cavern was cool and dark, with a few spirits drifting gently ceiling high. The only light came from magic laced on the water's surface and the gleam of silver runes that were visible just under the water. They must be worked in moonsilver, Candle thought, peering at them as they sparkled. She didn't remember seeing them during her last visit. But there was no time to think, for Rasmus would be upon her any moment. Instead, she concentrated on gathering in all the power she could muster. She listened for the edges of the world, for the pathways she knew were there. Her breath slowed, the panic receded. As Jotham had said, it was easier submerged in the water. While the fresh water did not have the same energy and vitality as the sea, it nevertheless acted as a wonderful conduit. She sucked in what power she could find, pulling it gently from the spring itself, from the doorways in the passageway, from the shadows of the domed ceiling. It came to her in her time of need, until sparks flew from her hair and lightning coursed through her bones. It rippled across the surface of the water in crackling waves.

As Rasmus, the moonsilver addict and several of his personal thugs raced into the room, she stared up at them, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and released hager-awel. They tumbled across the room, smashing into the rocky wall, and her smile became savage. However, satisfying the result had been, it was not enough. She needed more power. Her brother, with his demon strength, was up quickly, snarling at her, and cursing. He had a small gash on the side of his head, from where he had hit the wall, but the other men were groaning, and struggling to rise.

"Now what, Candle?" His face flushed with anger. "You can't stay in there forever."

Candle had never known that defiance could taste so sweet and she drew in the power again, pulling at every thread she could find, holding it for longer. She needed to do more than knock him back. She drew awel again, buying herself time to think. Rasmus was too strong. If only Jotham had taught her some other runes. If only she had her dragon body and could snap his neck with one claw. She tensed her jaw, holding in the energy.

Rasmus slapped one of his men and pushed him forward.

"Go in and get her out," he said.

"By the Ancestors, no," the man exclaimed, and her brother's face twisted.

"No? No! Then this one's for you, Belias!"

His victim was consumed in a tower of flame. The other men recoiled in horror, and several of them melted down the passage, on quiet feet. But Rasmus did not seem to notice or care. He breathed in and seemed to grow a little taller, his eyes a little wilder. He whirled and pointed at random to another of the men.

"You!" he said, "Go in and get my sister. Now."

"Yes, syr," said the man, his eyes darting from Rasmus to the pool and back again. Inevitably, he decided that hauling Candle out of the water was the lesser of two evils and tentatively lowered his foot into the water. He winced as he did so, making small muttering noises. Candle wondered, slightly hysterically, when he had last washed properly.

She released the rune, and this time, the man fell against the wall and did not get up. One more down but Rasmus was still standing, Belias lending him strength. He was angrier than Candle had ever seen him. She needed a new plan, and quickly - before the twilight passed.

Pushing down her panic, she closed her eyes and tried to calm her mind, reaching out with her senses.

"This is ridiculous," said Rasmus, "one of you get her out of there. Candle get out of there right now."

"No," she said, with a calmness she didn't feel. Her brain was still rippling in the aftermath of the power she had created. It felt so good to tell Rasmus no.

"Bring me her friends," said Rasmus, and Candle's heart turned to ice in her chest, but she kept her chin high, meeting her brother's gaze, not letting him see it. She couldn't let him do anything to Delen and Locryn. She couldn't bear it. All she had done was endanger her friends, and enrage her brother. Should she have stayed meekly in her cell? No! The ice turned to searing hot anger. She couldn't accept it, wouldn't accept it. There had to be something she could do. Better to die in the water than to live the rest of her short, miserable life enslaved to another.

She closed her eyes and listened again, reaching, searching for something, for anything to give her hope. Faint veins of energy pulled at her from the runes below the water. She opened her eyes, and her gaze slipped to the moon-silvered gleam below the rim of the water. The same runes that she had seen in the well at Hanternos. The runes whose magic were immune to water, which meant...they were dragon runes. She took a step towards them, as casually as she could. She had no idea what they said, what they meant, or what they represented but then what did she have to lose?

She studied them, ignoring Rasmus' screams, and choose one at random that caught her eye. She traced it in the air in front of her where it sizzled for a second, ink-black, like obsidian, sucking in the light. There was a thrumming diminuendo of sound, and then the room seemed to contract. Darkness exploded outwards from the central point of the rune and Rasmus fell to the ground. Belias flickered as if the force of the explosion had reached him in the spirit world. Grinning, Candle traced another one, with a shaking finger, quickly, before Rasmus could get up.

This time this rune fizzled and went out. She must have traced it wrong, which was not surprising since her hand was shaking so much. She tried again, and this time, she got it right. This rune hung in the air, shimmering a dull, metallic silver, and then dissolved into mist. Nothing seemed to happen - but then suddenly Rasmus moved, rising strangely - like he was pulled on puppet strings, and the people who had fallen to the ground moved, moved jerkily backwards into the positions they had occupied in a few moments previously. The man who had gone to fetch Delen and Locryn winked back into existence, as if he had never left.

"Bring me her friends," said Rasmus, and his man set off down the passage, for the second time. Candle stared at her fingers, a little afraid. Had she somehow gone back in time a few minutes? But there was no time to think, the last rune had undone the damage of the obsidian black rune, so with haste, she drew it again once again, and once more there was the satisfying slow diminuendo of sound culminating in a devastating blast of darkness.

She drew it again, and again until only Rasmus was left standing, his face flushed with sweat and anger, his fists clenched in impotent rage. But she could hear footsteps echoing in the passage. Once Delen and Locryn were in the cavern, she would not be able to risk the blasting rune, she couldn't risk hurting them. One last rune, she thought, running her eyes over the groves in the rock. One last chance. If anyone is listening, she thought, please help me, but she knew she was on her own.

She couldn't read any of the runes, but there was one similar in shape to the letters for guw, or spear. She drew it in the air, sending up one last, desperate prayer and released the rune. It shimmered, its light growing to a brutal incandescence. It hung for a few seconds before speeding, like a lance of light towards her brother's forehead. Blood blossomed where it made contact, and the light disappeared, leaving only a weeping, gaping hole.

Rasmus toppled forward slowly; his eyes fixed on Candle in an expression of abject surprise. He crumpled onto the ground, and lay still. His blood spread across the stones until he was at the centre of a widening pool of red.