Page 78 of Anathema

“Why can’t you open it?” It was then Zevander noticed the edges appeared sealed together, confirmed when Dolion gave a small tug of the cover.

“It’s a puzzle book, meant only for the Corvikae. It’s sealed by a spell, of some sort.”

“So, in order for her to have acquired power, someone had to pass it down to her. Which means there may be another and killing her isn’t ending her bloodline?”

“It is a cycle. If she dies before she can pass on her powers, then they are lost forever. And her gifts may prove more beneficial than her death.”

Chuckling, Zevander shook his head and sneered. “Forgive my doubt. The girl nearly fell victim to a boggyr this evening. I’m finding it difficult to imagine her useful against the most dangerous power in Aethyria.”

“We cannot be selfish about this, Zevander. It is a girl’s life we’re talking about here.”

“Allow me to show you something, as well.”

Frowning, Dolion rose up from his desk and followed Zevander from the cell, into the shadowy recesses at the end of the corridor. Zevander shot a blast of flame toward one of the sconce torches, illuminating the stone walls that surrounded them in an alcove and the iron door in the floor. A chain had since been placed over the handle of it, preventing escape.

“What is this?” Dolion asked, staring down at it.

The door thumped, rattling the chain.

Eyes on the mage, Zevander yanked a key hanging from a hook on the wall and knelt down to unlock the chain.

“Y-y-you’re not going to open that, are you?”

Without answering, Zevander loosed the chain and stepped back.

Nothing stirred.

The door creaked slowly, and a black spider the size of a full-grown cat crawled out.

Dolion’s eyes widened.

The spider lurched toward the old man, and Zevander sent a lash of black flame that coiled around its mid-section. The spider hissed, its legs still scrambling across the concrete. In one swift yank, it burst into black guts that spattered over Dolion. Grimacing, the old mage wiped the gore from his face.

Zevander swiped a mirror from the wall, along with a flaming sconce, which he lowered just inside the hole. The light illuminated a wall of webs, and in the corner crouched Branimir. Of course, he no longer looked like the brother Zevander had come to know. His face had hardened to a bark-like texture, his eyes black as onyx. Three horns had grown out the top of his head.

Dolion stared, seemingly entranced. “Dear gods of old … what is this?”

“My brother. Cursed by the same sablefyre that resides in me.”

The reflection of Branimir turned toward the mirror and hissed, showing a mouthful of sharpened teeth. Smaller black spiders rushed forward.

“Close it!” Dolion jumped back, as Zevander withdrew the mirror and flame, and slammed the door shut.

Boot braced on the surface of it, he felt a hard thump hit the other side, while he wound the chain back in place. “It is not a selfish pursuit that compels me to rid this curse. I have watched him evolve into this creature since I was a boy.” He removed his mask, revealing the black veins over his face that had begun to branch out along his jaw. “Should that become my fate, I’d sooner plunge a dagger through my heart.”

Dolion’s brow flickered with the sort of empathy Zevander could no longer summon for his brother. He trailed his gaze toward the spider and Zevander sent a blast of flame over it, setting it ablaze. “Why not …”

“Kill the spiders? I have. Each time I do, the nest grows bigger and bigger. I tried to kill him once, as well.”

“You couldn’t do it.”

“He didn’t ask for this. Neither of us asked for this.”

Dolion nodded toward the pile of ash. “I suspect those spiders have the potential to infect. Crawling beneath the skin. In a baby whose magic hasn’t matured, it presents less damage. In a mage like myself, the mutation would be catastrophic. Sablefyre is an exceptionally dangerous power.”

“It is the will of the wielder. Branimir does not long for power. He longs to die.”

“But his longing could change, and what then?”

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