Sylvie Asleton and the Coven of Glass Page 2

  A golden hand reached out through the crack of light and she instinctively reached for it. She knew it even though she couldn’t see the person attached. It was the only person alive she trusted. The only person who believed in her, even - perhaps especially - when she didn’t believe in herself.

  It was Pyx.

  The warmth flooded through Sylvie and the pain washed away like a foul toxin flushed from her system. Dazzling light smote her vision and sent her reeling.

  Pyx helped her to her feet, but they weren’t in the Graves anymore. They were somewhere else entirely. The sky was filled with the shredded cottony remains of cloud cover. Through their gaps strange red starlight peeked out. Shining fragments in the sky, too big to be stars, too small and irregular to be a moon shone with wan light between the clouds.

  It was a desert. Cold and lifeless, filled with thousands of towering pyramids of black glass. Something was dreadfully wrong about them. Spears of darkness sprang up from the windswept dunes of sand. Sylvie found she couldn’t look at them directly.

  Pyx placed a hand comfortingly on Sylvie’s shoulder. “Let me help you fight it, Sylvie.”

  She looked just as Sylvie remembered. Tall, willowy and drop-dead gorgeous. Pyx wore a black blouse with sheer shoulders and torn jeans with eye-wrenchingly bright fuchsia canvas sneakers. Her eyes were a deep glowing cobalt-blue set into the dark sea of her eyes. Her pristine white hair tipped with fuchsia swayed in a chilly breeze and nearly glowed in the starlight.

  She started when she saw Pyx’s tail, white soft downy fur that glittered like frost and the adorable spaded tip like a cartoonish devil’s tail whipped about behind her. It swayed behind her, not unlike a cat’s. Pyx didn’t have a tail…did she?

  Pyx’s black-tipped horns, slender and barely thicker than Sylvie’s thumbs jutted out of her pristine white hair. She’d never seen such a welcome sight in all her life.

  Sylvie nearly tackled Pyx in a hug. She couldn’t help herself. To her boundless relief, Pyx didn’t disappear or worse, push her off. Pyx’s slender arms draped over her and returned the hug in a tight squeeze before letting go.

  It took Sylvie a fraction of a moment longer than was necessary to do the same.

  That was when Sylvie saw the Shrike gliding towards them soundlessly, its ragged ashen cloak flapping in the breeze.

  To her credit, Pyx stood firm with Sylvie, a hand clasped tightly onto her shoulder.

  Sylvie felt a wellspring of strength from Pyx. The fear and despair that cloaked the Shrike battered against the warmth. Layer by layer Sylvie’s resolve was peeled back, but with Pyx standing beside her she was able to not only stand her ground but push back.

  A wave of glittering golden light flowed forth from Sylvie’s hands. They were no longer glimmering with a thin golden light. They were beacons of blazing light that scorched the Shrike’s robes when it came near.

  Once again its undead shriek rent the air and Sylvie felt it stir something in the distant pyramids. Tombs of long-forgotten horrors better left alone. The fear that welled up within her had nothing to do with the Shrike.

  “You can do it, Sylvie,” said Pyx.

  Before the Shrike could make its move, Sylvie thrust her hands out again. She wanted the Shrike gone. It had no power over her. Golden flames licked along her arms. The black mark across her forearm had vanished and the memory of the pain sent her into a blind fury.

  Sylvie cried out in rage. A wall of golden fire rolled over the Shrike cutting off its wailing.

  Darkness claimed her, and Sylvie felt herself lowered to a soft bed.

  “The fever’s breaking,” said Immau.

  “How did you know Pyx could help?” asked the Dean. He sounded out of breath. They both did.

  “A little known trait of Enferri is their ability to Dream Dive. I had hoped that Pyx’s connection with Sylvie would allow her to go in and find her. To help her subdue the Curse. Now that it’s no longer active, I can begin the Sealing Rite.

  “Without Pyx’s help…well, best not to think about it. She helped Sylvie, in whatever way she deemed best. And the results speak for themselves. If only I knew the type of Curse used.”

  The familiar voice from the dark spoke, but Sylvie had the strangest sensation that it wasn’t talking to her.

  Netherwrought, Millions, it’s Netherwrought.

  Immau gasped, when she spoke again there was a breathless quality to her voice. “My Gods. Who would do such a thing to a child?”

  “What is it, Millie?”

  “It’s a Netherwrought Curse, or rather a very nasty variant of. This is serious, Esra. Whoever did this to he wanted her to suffer before she died. And it’s old, older than it should be. I’ve never heard of a single victim surviving more than a few days. When did you say she lost her parents?”

  “Not here.”

  “Fine, Esra. Both of them are out cold though. I gave them both enough Dimmelweed to keep them out until I’ve had time to finish the Rite.”

  “No, Millie. I’m not discussing a student’s past where anybody could listen in. Especially hers.”

  “Have it your way you old Spook. Either way, you need to know something Esra. I haven’t seen power like this since the Uprising-“

  “Don’t mention that name again,” whispered the Dean in a harsh whisper.

  “Doing this to a little girl is like dropping a hydrogen bomb on a puppy. It’s sick. No wonder she’s so damaged, Esra. Look at what she’s been forced to live with all these years!”

  “For now, say nothing of it to anyone. We’ll call it the Shrike’s Curse. The Arcadian Council cannot hear of this. You know what they will do to her. With her lineage? If you care for her-“

  “Of course I do!” cut in Immau. “How could you say that?”

  “She is special, Millie. They both are. Tread carefully, hm?”

  “Of course, Esra. Now leave me to the Rite. Oh, and Esra?”

  The Dean’s voice was distant. “Yes?”

  “Tell Komachi she can come in now.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” asked the Dean.

  “You know she’ll find a way in anyways. It’s a testament to how much she cares for the girl that she’s held herself back this much. Besides, I can’t do the Rite without her. Unless you want to sign off on a Treskinoff Binding and alert the Arcadian Council to the nature of Sylvie’s affliction? I thought not.”

  Sylvie found herself alone in the darkness. There was a slit of golden light to her right. A door partially open, but not just any door. It was the Door. The same one she’d seen in her mind when she fought the Shrike.

  Something had opened inside her, something she couldn’t shut. It beckoned to her like a siren call.

  The Door promised comfort, peace, a balm for her life of pain. She also knew, instinctively that it came with a heavy cost. Within its golden light, just out of view lay madness. She would be free of her pain, but only because she had retreated so far into herself and let the madness take over.

  I’m so very, very sorry, Syl, came the man’s soft voice.

  It was the same one that had warned her away from giving in to the pain. Painfully familiar, but impossible to place. And the way it called her Syl instead of Sylvie. Nobody ever called her that. Something about his voice and his tone reminded him of her dad. Obviously it wasn’t him. He was dead, and anyways it was only passingly similar.

  “What do you mean?” she called to the dark.

  I never meant for you to open it. The Gate, it was the only way I could suppress the Curse. You were never supposed to open it.

  Sylvie understood, it was just as she thought. “It can’t be closed, can it?”

  No.

  “Will it always be there? Tempting me to open it?”

  Yes, when you are at your weakest it will be there to beckon you. There is unimaginable power within, but you will lose yourself. Do not make the same mistake I did. It isn’t worth the price, Syl. br />
  Sylvie stared at the line of glowing light, knowing before she even tried that it wouldn’t work. But Sylvie was stubborn, and she crossed to the doorway that stood freely in the dark, unsupported by anything. She grabbed the golden knob, it was dimpled like a golf ball. With a tug, the Door shut.

  No light. Total darkness enveloped her. Her arm began to ache with the effort of holding the Door shut. There was a small, but constant force like suction that was trying to open the door to equalize the pressure. Her head started to pulse with a dull throbbing pain like she as twelve again and trying to hold her breath for too long.

  I’m sorry.

  Sylvie was forced to let go and the doorknob sprang out of her hand. The Door opened, but only about an inch or so. Not much, but enough to let out a golden line of light that spilled into the infinite darkness around her.

  Immau’s hushed voice floated towards her in the dark, tight with emotion. “Did you even know the darkness you carried within? The horrors it must have shown you. How it must have warped your perception of the world, of yourself. I’m sorry, child. I wish there was more that I could do, if only I could figure out what Warding held the Curse in place. Then, maybe I could help you where I could not help Thomas.

  “Something about all of this reminds me of him, but I can’t put my finger on it. I was too late to help him, but not you.” There was a long pause. When Immau spoke again, her voice was raw with choking emotion. Barely a whisper in the dark. “I’ve never felt so powerless. Please forgive me.”

  The pain in Immau’s voice broke across Sylvie like a wave. She felt a tender touch across her brow, it was a simple innocuous thing. But when Immau brushed aside her hair she found herself sobbing in the dark.

  It had been well over a decade since Sylvie had felt anything like a mother’s touch. Anything remotely caring and tender. Her mother’s slender face swam into her vision, deep green eyes that sparkled with flecks of gold, freckles across the bridge of her nose and always a slight quirk to her lips like she was just dying to tell you a joke she heard.

  Seeing her mother again broke her in a way the Shrike never could. Sylvie hugged herself in the dark lonely expanse and cried into the boundless oblivion.

  Chapter One

  When Sylvie awoke some time later, it was dark. She thought she was back in the eternal darkness, but there was no golden light and no Door. She could see, dim and gray though the shapes were.

  Professor Immau was there, slumped in a comfortable plush mauve chair beside Sylvie’s bed. She looked haggard, bruised eyelids heavy with sleep. Her curly reddish-brown hair was beginning to come undone from her bun. She had a button nose that reminded her vaguely of her mother.

  It was then that she noticed her hand. Immau’s slender hand was gently resting atop Sylvie’s arm. She was surprised she hadn’t seen it before and instinctively Sylvie started to move, afraid of the tenderness.

  As Sylvie stirred, it woke Immau. She fluttered her dark lashes and peered at Sylvie with the same green and gold flecked eyes of her mother. She blinked and they were gone, replaced by Immau’s gentle browns.

  Immau looked confused for a moment, staring uncomprehendingly at Sylvie until realization dawned. “Ah, Miss Asleton,” she said in her usual proper tones. She tended to Sylvie with uncanny ease, as if she hadn’t been sleeping in the chair next to her, with a hand laid comfortingly on Sylvie’s arm. “How are we? Any pain, numbness, visual abnormalities, strange dreams?”

  That last one startled Sylvie. She looked at Immau for a moment before answering. The woman was focused wholeheartedly on her duties, checking Sylvie’s vitals and whatever else she was doing with that blue faceted gem she was peering through. “I usually have strange dreams.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  Sylvie did her best to describe the fear, the horror of being back in the Graves when she thought she’d never see the place again. When she’d foolishly thought the Shrike would never show up again in her life.

  She told Immau everything. It was, of course, against her better judgment. Sylvie had only told the whole, outlandish truth once in her life to a doctor and that had landed her in a mental institute just after her parents had died. She’d never go back, but something about Immau made her trust her.

  Immau was the perfect listener, attentive and engaged without interrupting. She never once looked with doubt at Sylvie’s ridiculous dream that felt all too real. It was only when she mentioned the voice she’d heard in her head that Immau looked shocked. The way it called her Syl and how it sounded familiar, but not at the same time. How it had called Immau by another name, not Millie like the Dean had called her, but “Millions.”

  When Sylvie mentioned that a change came over Immau. Her eyes grew red-rimmed and bright with unshed tears. She held a slender hand to try and still her trembling lips. A single word slipped from her plump lips, “Thomas.”

  Sylvie didn’t understand. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Millions.” Immau shook her head, unable to go on. She had to swallow twice to get past the lump in her throat. When she spoke again her voice was weak and hoarse with emotion. “Thomas. He was the only one who ever called me that. He never liked to use proper names for anything.”

  And then she was crying. Silent sobs racked her slender shoulders. Tears ran twin tracks of glistening light down her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” croaked Sylvie. The pain and the loss was obvious. She could tell that Immau needed to talk about it. In much the same way that Sylvie had wished somebody, anybody, had cared enough to ask her about her family. “Tell me about him.”

  Immau’s bloodshot eyes widened in surprise. She swallowed hard, mastering her emotions. She scrubbed her cheeks clear of sadness and regained her stately composure. “Very well. To tell you about Thomas, I have to explain a little about the past, and you no doubt have questions about the Uprising as you overheard us speaking. Since you overheard us, then you’ll also have heard what you’re not supposed to speak of, yes?”

  Sylvie nodded. She was supposed to call it the Shrike’s Curse. If, what the Dean said was true, then any mention of the Netherwrought might invite the attention of something called the Arcadian Council. She didn’t have the slightest clue what they were, but they sounded like the sort of governmental body you didn’t want snooping about.

  That would be easy enough. Sylvie wasn’t big on institutional faith.

  “Nearly thirty years ago there was an attempt to shift the thinking of Magi to more…forward means. For the Magi to take command of matters both mundane and supernatural, ‘For the Good of All’ which translates to, ‘I know what’s best for you.’ It was called the Uprising. Not very inventive, I know.

  “Magi, as you’ll come to understand, are very opinionated. The discussions turned into debates. Debates turned into duels, and duels turned into skirmishes. Before anybody knew what was going on there was a rift among the Magi that could not be bridged by words alone.

  “Families split down the middle, torn between loyalty to blood and loyalty to their cause. Friends and lovers on opposite sides of the conflict. People were hurt, some wounded beyond what we could do. Mostly, people simply disappeared.

  “Thomas, he always thought big picture. But he was mortal. No matter what he or anybody else would have you think. He was a man, and he made mistakes. In his attempt to atone he stumbled across something that he said would end the conflict for good. The rift would be healed, the Uprising would stop. Peace, he said, was close at hand.

  “Whatever it was he found, it broke him. He always had a beautiful mind, sharp and radiant. By the time he realized what was happening - by the time I got to him…it was too late. His mind had shattered like a broken mirror. He was somehow more bright and beautiful than ever, but utterly broken. There was nothing I could do to help him. There was nothing anybody could do.”

  The words dragged out of Immau, each one causing immense pain but with it a sort of relief that Sylvie rec
ognized. She doubted Immau had ever told anybody about this, about Thomas. A man she clearly loved. It was like she was pulling out shrapnel from an old festering wound. Painful to dredge up, but finally she could begin healing.

  There was a lengthy pause before Immau mustered the strength to continue.

  “He had power unfathomable, perhaps even the power to end the Uprising as he said. But he could not direct it as he once might have. He had power with no purpose, no direction. He raved like a madman one moment, then broke down in uncontrollable sobs the next.

  “Thomas could take the most advanced magical theorems I’d ever seen and reduce them to dust, supplanting them with something that far outstripped my Third Year knowledge at the time.

  “The faculty doesn’t like to speak of it. The Arcadian Council would prefer the word Uprising was never spoken again.” Immau caught the look in Sylvie’s eyes and nodded. “Of course, you don’t know what they are. The Arcadian Council you can think of as the governing body of all Magi. Not just Brookmoors, but every Magi in the world. They are an international body that imposes rules and sentencing for those that break them.

  “They are not bad people. No matter what you might think, but it is best to avoid their gaze. Just as if it’s best to look both ways before crossing an empty street. Best to be safe, yes?”

  Sylvie nodded. She was beginning to understand.

  “As I was saying, I was only a Third Year at the time. I wasn’t embroiled in it as most of the upperclassmen and the Mavens were. It’s considered a stain on the otherwise ‘pure’ intentions of the Magi.

  “Thomas was a close friend of your parents as I understand it,” she said it so simply, like an obvious fact. It felt like Sylvie had been punched in the gut. She struggled to breathe. Immau caught the look of surprise. “You didn’t know?”

  Sylvie shook her head. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you knew. Even though I was just a flicker of a candle compared to their brilliance, they were kind to me. You couldn’t go anywhere on campus without hearing of their Coven. Each year you get the opportunity to reorganize your Covens, but theirs was one of the few that had survived since its First Year.”