The Knave of Souls - Fantasy - Sequel to The Jack of Souls

Chapter 10

  (Author note: Here is where an Exerpt / Eprigram / Quote should go. The topic should be something about the Unseen Moon that maybe readers wonder about. Any ideas? If not, no problem, read on! :) )  

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BLACK MOON INTERLUDE

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Fink bounced on a wire in the fire-cone trees. The massive cable descended from the soaring structure Harric had called a "thunder spire" to anchor in the bedrock beneath the grasping roots of the firecones. He wasn't sure of its purpose. Something about stealing thunder and lightening? That didn't seem right. How could one steal them, and why would one want to? He'd ask Harric about it when he came.

Fink scowled and shifted uncomfortably on the wire. This sort of contraption was all over Arkendia. "Toolery," Harric called it. Instead of magic, they resorted to this clumsy mechanical flimflam. He picked absently at the strands of the cable under his feet. Above him, a breeze rocked the spire, and the cable slacked so he dipped slightly, then rose as the spire rocked back again. Such effort, such labor and energy—all to avoid magic!

He shivered. Arkendian refusal of magic made his guts crawl. And it was an aspect of Harric's background that put him on guard. The kid thought different than any magus Fink had ever known. In surprising ways that he couldn't anticipate. And if he couldn't anticipate him, how could he control him?

The air before him pushed with a loud rush and pop as Fink's sisters materialized around him. With a small cry of surprise, he slipped from the wire, only avoiding a stinging fall to the roots with an awkward grab with one hand, which won him time to spread and flap his wings.

Zire loomed above him, a pillar of black smoke. Sic and Missy flanked her, tall cloaked figures of bone and hooded skulls.

"Greetings, sisters three," he said, as he found footing on the roots and folded his wings in a high peak behind him. He performed a mocking bow, his grin wide and strained. "To what do I owe this enormous—if utterly un-called-for—pleasure?"

A squirm of worry rippled through in him as his gaze flicked from one to the other, looking for clues to the purpose of the visitation. They had no reason to be there. His reports had been on time. He hadn't summoned them. And if Harric saw them, it would damage his already tenuous trust in Fink. The one time he'd seen them Harric nearly fainted.

Sic spoke, her voice the fluting hiss of wind through dry bones. "We come to relieve you. We choose to secure the Arkendian ourselves."

Fink's jaw dropped like he'd been knocked with a stone. He stared into Sic's empty hood, stunned. When he finally found his tongue, he quivered with fear and fury. "You have no idea what you're doing. You'll ruin everything. Even you aren't that stupid."

Zire's grating sub-bass sent an itching vibration through the membranes of his wings. "YOUR ATTEMPTS TO WIN THE ARKENDIAN'S TRUST BRING RISK. I WILL TAKE POSSESSION OF HIS WILL AND ELIMINATE RISK."

Fink could not keep the panic from his voice. "Possess his body? This can't be happening. You're teasing, right?" He glanced to Sic and Missy, who remained silent. Did he sense discomfort in their stiff postures? Had Zire overruled them in this? It wasn't like them to play this sort of trick; if they wanted to torture him, they'd simply beat and rob him of his meals. No, this was real.

With a jolt, he realized how stupid he'd been. He'd assumed they'd merely wanted him to fail again, so they could consume him or make him their slave forever. To thwart them he'd simply planned to succeed—to use Harric to get close enough to steal the secret of the Kwendi magic—and thereby win promotion beyond their reach. But all along they'd been plotting to make a play for the Kwendi magic themselves. It was as bold as it was stupid.