Page 31 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
He let out a small laugh and shook his head. ‘Thank you, Kat. I’ll bring you a few problems to keep things interesting, don’t you worry.’
With that he gave another grin and rushed off, leaving me to consider the mess on the table before me.
‘I hope he does; it will be a welcome change to dealing with my own.’ I sighed, Alma’s tale swishing in annoyance the only sign of her agreement.
Chapter Ten
The chaos of duality. Sacred fire of the heavens and demonic fire of the depths. Burning eternal. Unwavering and pure. Unable to be smothered or unmade by the other. Both occupying sides of fate’s twisted coin. A summoning beyond magic itself. Too ancient to be given creed or command.
– Insidious Theory.Myths of the Deep, 1145
The rumours of Emrys Blackthorn being a madman might have been justified. I’d never seen anyone work with such intensity, which was evident in his notes. Half of them didn’t even make sense, comprising mostly symbols and fey shorthand he hadn’t bothered to translate.
No wonder the man hadn’t been seen much in the Council chambers. I doubted he’d had time. He’d travelled Elysior numerous times this year alone, to each corner and back again. I was exhausted just considering the different locations mentioned in his notes.
His passion was easy to understand on paper; numerous evidence bundles showed his attempts to defend fey accused of wild magic breaches or dark summonings in the midlands. He’d stopped seven fey cleansings this year alone. His facts and writings were just as unforgiving as his temperament.
It was no wonder William ran everywhere; being close to Blackthorn was like how I imagined the eye of a storm would be – one wrong step and he could easily drag you off course.
How a brilliant being such as Blackthorn had ended up in service to the Council worried me, as well as the fact he’d been a king’s mage, just as his father had been. Servants to a madman. Then again, Master Hale had also been in service to the same king.
I’d forgiven Hale without thought, perhaps childishly, the moment he’d promised to keep Alma safe. However, one good act didn’t eradicate a lifetime of wrongs.
My gaze drifted to where Alma lay curled up on top of a small stack of books I hadn’t gotten to yet. The ones I had managed to study were a mixture of dark-magic-caused illnesses that had gone untreated, violent malevolent spirit attacks or simple demonic torment caused by lesser fiends. The number, frequency and recentness of them worried me, considering the Council’s current denial that Verr and dark magic were even a threat. No, in the Council’s eyes, it was the fey who hungered for power and wished to undermine authority.
The darkness of the crimes reminded me of stories my father had told. Tales of monsters and Verr. Of the Old Gods and the Alder Kings, rulers of the endless dark. Ancient demons with no form. Nightmarish tales I should give little credence to, but again I was pulled back to my own history. When Kysillian Kings had ruled Elysior and the fey here, their greatest enemy were Verr, dark beings that wielded the darkest of magic and fed off the earth, giving fey no choice but to go to war and force such creatures deep beneath the earth. Over time Verr lost mortal form, becoming the dark magic they once wielded. Dark, demonic beasts made of smoke and curses that seeped from the earth.
The Kysillian Kings used their fire to heal the earth, molten-enchanted metal burning seals into the ground, making it impossible for such darkness to ever escape again.
But if a being indulged too fervently in dark magic, if they summoned too strongly, it could cause a weakness in the earth and such forsaken power could surge forth. Creatures created from such a summoning would corrupt the land, causing sickness and disease. Other dark beasts grew from the lack of earth magic left to defend the world and went hunting for flesh to eat.
The victims in Emrys’s files were all fey, the descriptions of their deaths brutal and relentless. It seemed the Verr beneath the earth still sought revenge, despite the Kysillian Kings who trapped them being nothing more than myth now.
A loud crash of glass breaking and a wail of alarm from beyond the study doors sent me to my feet. Alma jumped awake, skittering off the desk and scattering papers across the floor.
I rushed in the direction of the noise and into the hallway, seeing it had shifted once more, light spilling across the tiled floor as a maze of halls lay before me. In the mouth of one archway carved with dragons doing battle, trying to juggle books and jars under his arms with glass shattered at his feet, was William.
‘William?’ I asked, his bright hair in disarray, half of it tangled around his horns as he glanced up with flushed cheeks.
‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.’ He shook his head, gathering up the mess of glass with a simple enchantment, reforming the jar easily and adding it carefully to the stack in his arms.
‘Here. Let me help.’ I crossed the hall and took the most precariously stacked jars from him with an easy smile.
‘Is that a mouse?’ he asked, at the same moment I felt a small pressure on my shoulder.
I turned my head and there, perched on my shoulder, rubbing its ear with a small paw, was indeed a mouse, one with familiar green eyes.
‘Alma.’ I sighed, knowing I should be relieved she was changing once more, even if it wasn’t into the right being.
‘Can she transfigure any smaller?’ asked William, watching her with the same fascinated concern I was.
‘Don’t tempt her. I think she’s beyond the usual rules of transfiguration,’ I admitted, worried by the concept. Another reason why it was so hard to find tonics that repressed her changes. When I found one that worked, her magic found a way around it.
I just hoped she didn’t change into something so small I couldn’t find her.
‘I just need them in the workshop.’ He nodded in the direction of the open doorway, where sunlight poured in. I followed, Alma perched on my shoulder and clearly sharing in my curiosity as we entered a large space. The warmth of the air was the first thing that hit me. Then came the pungent scent of soil, the sweetness of enchanted flowers and the fragrance of so many plants. It was overwhelming.
The ceiling was stained glass, geometric shapes that drenched the room in multicoloured light. Rows and rows of plant boxes, some housing small forests that almost reached the glass ceiling, others barely shoots emerging from the dirt. A rusty watering can levitated over the boxes, showering whatever plant it deemed in need.
