She glanced down and noticed Danev’s body was gone. All that remained was a trail of blood. She shook her head and swiveled her gaze about…
“Eve,” Zach repeated. He stood in the adjoining doorway. Aram was next to him, crouching over Danev’s body even as the illusionist stared up at her in shock. His leg was still bloody, but otherwise he seemed fine.
“What?” Eve breathed the question more than spoke it, and suddenly her throat went dry. She realized belatedly that she wasn’t even touching the ground—she was hovering almost a full meter off the floor, suspended by an invisible force like an angry goddess…
The strength left her limbs, and she collapsed in a crumpled ball. Zach was there in a heartbeat to scoop her up and whisper soothing words into her ear, but she wasn’t paying attention to them. Her eyes were locked upon the charred remains of the men she’d annhilated.
“It’s all right,” he assured her, squeezing tightly at her shoulders. “It’s all right.”
“No,” she whispered. “It isn’t.”
The rails screeched as the conductor threw on the breaks, and Zach gripped her tightly as they bounced against the seats. Her eyes never left the bodies. They had been men, once. Evil men, perhaps, but living, breathing creatures regardless—and she had killed them. She had severed them from the Fane and cast them into the Void. She had sinned against the Goddess.
And worst of all, she had felt good doing it.
“You had to defend yourself,” Zach said, though his voice was hollow. “You didn’t have a choice.”
Eve glanced down to her hands, to the palms that had so easily wrought death and destruction just seconds earlier. She didn’t understand what she had done. She didn’t understand how it was even possible. She had never been taught that spell, and yet…
“What am I?” she asked in a hushed whisper. The wind froze the tears flowing down her cheeks. “What am I?”
He didn’t answer. They sat there huddled in silence, the only sound the screeching of the rails—and the chilling whisper in her mind, repeating the same word over and over.
Avenshal.
Chapter Eighteen
Glenn Maltus let out a long, slow breath as the sending stone floated back down into its sheath. For almost two decades he’d been dreading this day, and numerous times over the years he’d managed to convince himself that it never would come. Tara could have made a mistake, after all—she could have misinterpreted her visions. Or perhaps she’d taught Eve well enough to change the future, and the crisis had already been averted.
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever really believed those self-serving rationalizations, but after today, they seemed less likely than ever.
It had finally happened. Eve had unleashed her power. She had woven enough energy to claim lives, a supposedly impossible feat for a mage who had yet to take the Oath Rituals. Even with access to the spellbook he’d given her, no krata should have been able to learn its techniques in so short a time. He had given it to her as a test, one he’d prayed she wouldn’t pass.
The Enclave would demand blood. More than likely, they would order Maltus to eliminate her…and if they didn’t trust him, they would have one of their other assets take care of her. He doubted that anything he could do or say at this point would convince them otherwise.
Thankfully, it would probably be at least a day before the Council got news of the attack. According to Shaedra, the train had stopped several hours out of Cadotheia, which would put them squarely in the western heartlands—essentially, the middle of nowhere. It would buy him some time to get her somewhere safe and then figure out what in Edeh’s name they were going to do.
Maltus stood from his chair and glanced towards the bags laid out at the steps by the door. Jean was out shopping and would hopefully be back soon, and they were already packed and ready to go. They would depart the station just after dawn, but until then there wasn’t much he could do besides—
He froze as the unmistakable summons of the Dreamscape tugged at the corner of his mind. It was like a mental alarm, a faint brush against his consciousness that told him when the Council wished to speak with him. He could ignore it, of course. He could later claim he was in the middle of something and couldn’t be disturbed.
But he knew it didn’t matter. There was only one reason they would want to speak with him right this instant, and his stomach immediately sank.
They knew. Somehow, despite the fact the attack had occurred in a remote location far from their prying eyes, the Enclave already knew. They must have had another agent nearby; perhaps he or she had been on the train the entire time. Maltus grimaced. He should have learned long ago not to underestimate the strength or scope of the Council’s reach.
Regardless of how they knew, ignoring them would not only be pointless, but potentially dangerous as well. He needed to stall, to buy Eve as much time as he possibly could…
Maltus walked back over to his desk and sat down. He reached out to the Fane and wove the Dreamscape spell. A moment later his avatar was striding through the forbidding, shadowy mists of the dream realm, and the Magister’s Council materialized before him. The same bitter scowl was repeated over and over on each of their faces as he stopped in front of their half circle.
“Magister Maltus,” Grand Magistrix Veldara said. “You know why you’ve been summoned before us.”
It was a statement more than a question, but he answered anyway. “I do.”
She tilted her head slightly. “There was great concern in this Council as to whether or not you would reply. It is good to see my faith in you was not misplaced.”
“I hope not.”
“We gave you time to find DeShane’s journal, and, just as I expected, it held no answers for us,” Wilhelm said coldly. “Now, despite all your protestations, the Avenshal has revealed herself. The prophecy has come true, and the Fane already cries out in agony.”
Maltus felt his cheek twitch. He hadn’t expected them to waste much time with pleasantries, but apparently Wilhelm was perfectly willing to bypass them all together and launch an all-out assault. Once again Maltus knew they’d already spoken about this without him—and probably already reached a decision. Calling him here before this circle was little more than a formality.
But he had served them for a long time, and he knew they rarely found uniform agreement in anything. He might still have a slim chance…
“The journal is incomplete, but it has provided some insights,” Maltus said. “With time and study, it is still possible that—”
“We no longer have time, thanks to you,” Wilhelm snapped. “You have delayed us for months with your excuses, and now we are forced into a single course of action.”
“An action which you preferred all along,” Organis muttered.
Wilhelm shot an icy glare at the other man. “Even you don’t have the audacity to sit here and deny what has happened. The daughter of the Prophetess has sundered the Fane, and lives have been lost.”
“Of course not,” Organis muttered, folding his arms across his chest.
“Wait, what are you talking about?” Maltus asked, a sudden hope sparking to life in the back of his mind. “Eve did not Defile.”
Wilhelm turned back to face him. “Our agent was very clear on the matter.”
“Your agent was wrong,” Maltus told him. So they did have an agent somewhere on the train. He made a mental note to warn Shaedra about that later. “She defended herself from an attack by Chaval’s Dusties, but she did not Defile.”
Talkas frowned and leaned forward. “You are basing this on testimony from your Vakari? You know more than anyone how unreliable she is.”
“I also know that she understands Defiling magic better than anyone,” Maltus countered. “If she didn’t sense it, then it didn’t happen. Unless your agent has that same talent, then I will side with Shaedra on this matter.”
It was a statement designed as much to get information as it was to persuade them. If they did have another Vakari close by, then Shaedra would need to know that as soon as possible to prepare…
“If we assume that your information is correct, that still means the girl wove power far beyond her means,” Veldara said.
Maltus pressed his lips into a thin line. It wasn’t exactly definitive, but he guessed that meant they probably didn’t have another Vakari. He sent a silent thanks to Edeh before nodding and glancing to each of the magisters in turn.
“It does,” he admitted. “But the fault for that would lie with her instructors, either at the university or perhaps with her mother.”
“Or with you,” Wilhelm growled. “You provided her access to advanced weaving techniques without permission from the Council. You know the punishment for such an offense.”
Maltus waved a hand dismissively. “I did, and I fully admit to it. It was an attempt to test her. But there’s no way a krata could have mastered those techniques on her own in such a short period of time.”
“Unless, of course, she was the Avenshal,” Wilhelm said.
Maltus resisted the urge to swear under his breath. In an effort to defend himself, he had walked right into that neat little trap. It wasn’t even particularly clever—he was simply too nervous to think clearly.
That needed to change. Quickly.
“It’s possible, which I have never denied,” Maltus replied. “She could also merely be a savant. Her mother was blessed by the Goddess.”
Talkas snorted. “Certainly you realize how desperate that sounds. Your personal connection to this girl has clouded your judgment.”
“Of course it has,” Maltus admitted. “And I won’t apologize for feeling compassion for a young girl who has never harmed a roach before today.”
Veldara smiled tightly. “Nor should you. But I do know you understand how dire the situation here is. We have been waiting for confirmation of the girl’s identity for many years. Now we may finally have it, and we feel we must come to a decision sooner rather than later”
He drew in a deep breath. “I know. I only beg for this Council to consider all options before making any decisions. Tara’s journal may not hold the answers to all our problems, but Eve might still have some important part to play in this before it is all over. Civil war will soon be upon us whether Eve is involved or not. Perhaps we should not be so hasty as to discard a potential weapon.”
Wilhelm scoffed. “What are you suggesting, Maltus? That we turn this girl loose on the Dusties? That is exactly what the Prophetess said would happen. First she would eradicate them, and in doing so she would kill the rest of us!”
“I’m saying we still don’t fully understand the situation. Let me go to her—let me bring her back to Selerius where we can watch and observe. Let us study this journal and all the others we have ignored for so long—”
“We cannot harbor her,” Organis interrupted. “Once word of this gets out, it will only serve to turn more of the torbos against us. We must take decisive, public action now to prove to them that we do not tolerate such sacrilege.”
“Forget the screlling torbos,” Wilhelm hissed. “This is about Maltus once again trying to delay us from the proper course of action.” The man’s entire body stiffened and a smug grin drew across his face. “Fortunately, this time the matter has already been settled.”
A cold tingle rippled down Maltus’s spine. “What do you mean?”
“A plan is already in motion,” Wilhelm replied, his grin widening. “We knew your faith in this journal was misplaced, and we have long been prepared to take action.”
Maltus tried to swallow but found his throat had gone dry. “What have you done?”
“The Avenshal will be dealt with before she becomes an even greater threat. That’s all you need to know.”
“You contacted Shaedra already?”