Spellbreaker (42 page)

Ellen turned to look out at the shark god. “You're sure I shouldn't stay?”

“You're not going to escape helping the twins with Lolo that easily.”

“Can't blame a girl for trying.”

“I don't.”

Francesca disarmed the barrier spells on the door and slid it back so that Ellen could walk out into the narrow hallway. “And, Ellen, don't worry about Rory.”

Ellen nodded and continued down the hall. But just before she reached the stairway she said, “Magistra,” and looked back. “Thank you.”

Francesca smiled despite another twinge of guilt that she should be so much closer to her student than her daughter. She turned back to the window.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Leandra surveyed the Lesser Sacred Pool as the day darkened into dusk. Chanted evening prayers echoed out from the temple behind her. A reflection of sunset-bright clouds quavered on the water.

The Lesser Sacred Pool was more of a wide, slow-moving stream than a proper pool. Several underground channels that carried water from the crater lake to the city filled the pool. An elegant pavilion floated on the glassy surface. Several hydromancers were performing evening ablutions. During the night they kept vigil and continued to strain water for the hydromantic texts that had come from the crater lake.

Every civic stream in Chandralu began in a similar pool where hydromancers could extract both impurities and spells. The recovered aqueous texts were then concentrated and stored in vials or carried back to the lake.

Leandra had always thought it inefficient that the hydromancers should spend so much time casting their spells in the crater lake and then collecting them again in the streams. Several hydromancers had told her that during the cycling from lake to city and back again, many of the hydromantic spells reacted with each other to form more powerful texts. To Leandra that sounded like throwing grapes into the ocean to make them into wine. But however they did it, there was no arguing with the hydromancers' results; every day, they churned out gallons of bizarre and wonderful textual fluids ranging from explosives to medicines to the world's most powerful disspells.

And the hydromantic disspells were the reason for meeting the smuggler at the Lesser Sacred Pool; if things got hot, with either steel or text, the hydromancers would dampen the situation.

Sparse foot traffic flowed around the pool. Most headed down the Palm Steps to see the shadow plays performed in the Bay Market.

Leandra glanced back and saw the Cloud temple-mountain looming high. The faithful were gathered before the temple, some chanting, others praying silently. All wore the flowing gray or brown robes of penitents. It was traditional to pray for forgiveness at the Cloud Temple at dusk, but this crowd seemed unusually large. Leandra supposed the day's ominous news had inflamed religious sentiments. Just then she spotted Holokai, disguised in the crowd by gray robes, walking toward her.

Leandra waited while he stood beside her, as if casually observing the pool. “Searched the whole place twice,” he murmured. “No sign of the smuggler. Maybe he won't show, hey?”

“That would be unfortunate. What about the payment? The catamaran?”

She had sent Dhrun to the family compound to fetch their remaining jade. Additionally, she had dispatched Holokai to ready the catamaran.

“I gave Lieutenant Peleki his orders. As to the payment, I saw Dhrun. She said she's got it secure and nearby. She'll be patrolling the top of the Palm Steps.”

“So then,” Leandra said, “nothing left but waiting.”

“Lea, can I ask you a question?”

She looked at the shark god, hearing in his voice a note of anxiety. Or, was it guilt? “Yes?”

“You don't think … you don't think that divine sickness that killed Baru is catching?”

Not guilt, then; fear. “I don't know. Have you felt different?”

“No … it's just … never saw a god come apart like wet paper.”

“Poor, simple Baru.”

“What do you think it means, the divine sickness? Do you think it really could be from an ancient demon?”

“It could be. But we don't know for a fact that a sickness caused Baru's condition. I could get a firmer grasp on a thrashing dolphinfish than he ever got on reality.”

“And then you just … took him apart?”

“I'm not sure if that happened because of something inside Baru or because of Thad's loveless spell. Maybe it's both.”

Holokai eyed her. “Hey, Lea, you okay with what happened to Thad?”

She looked at him and tried to show him how much she had wished things could be different. “I am, Kai. Are you?”

He studied her for a moment longer and then nodded. “If you are, then, yeah.” He nodded again.

“Good. Now, you had better get back into the crowd.”

Holokai looked at the pool and the bay beyond. Then he walked back into the crowd around the Cloud Temple.

Leandra examined the Palm Steps and admired the view of the city dropping steeply away. She could see the Sea Temple in shadow, the hazy blue of the bay beyond. Through the prophetic godspell, she had sensed that most of her future selves felt varying degrees of stress, determination, satisfaction. It was a good sign. There was little in her immediate future that might cause fear or pain.

Just then a man walked up the steep Palm Steps. He had a dark handsome face, a white headwrap and blouse, red lungi. He was carrying two small leather folios, and when he saw Leandra, his smile showed perfect white teeth. The smuggler.

As she had on the beach, Leandra had the sense she had seen him before though she knew that was impossible. She nodded to the smuggler as he walked around the pool to stand next to her.

Flatly he asked, “No blackrice liqueur this time?”

“Nor tetrodotoxin.”

“But hopefully as much mutual benefit? Are you satisfied with your godspell?”

“It's come in handy now and then.”

“Then I expect we should do more business.”

“You came alone?”

“Alone but I can summon enough help to make you regret any treachery.”

Leandra looked around the empty pool and saw only the hydromancers on the pavilion, a few pedestrians on the Palm Steps. She didn't doubt the smuggler but wondered where his support was hiding. “You have something new to sell?”

He glanced at the folios in his hands. “I might. Perhaps you have something you could sell to me in return?”

“I might.”

“Information about the Cult of the Undivided Society?”

She nodded.

“Information I would find valuable?” he asked.

“Perhaps we can trade in kind. Perhaps you know something of why thugs are attacking weak deities in Chandralu and claiming to be members of the Undivided Society?”

“They're not?”

“So you know nothing more about the Undivided Society?”

“Nothing more than the empress is offering gold for information about them.”

“Pity. So then, what might you have to offer me?”

“A godspell that will allow you to sense all deities within ten miles and, with a little effort, manipulate their attention. You can make yourself invisible to the Ixonian Pantheon, or you could focus a neodemon's attention on your enemy.”

“A godspell of misdirection?”

“Precisely.”

“That would have been useful a few years ago, but I am afraid the situation has changed.”

He snorted. “You aren't good at hiding your interest.” He gestured around him. “These islands crawl with divinity. Manipulating what they can see would be raw power.”

She bobbed her head from side to side as if weighing the evidence for and against. Bartering, whether for lychee fruit or godspells, was always the same.

The smuggler nodded. “Perhaps you'll tell me what you want these godspells for? I could fetch texts suited to your purpose.”

“As I mentioned, if you ever discover my identity, I would be forced to destroy you. And, as you can no doubt understand, you are more valuable to me breathing.”

“Then I propose that I sell you this godspell”—he held one of the folios—“and we become partners on your information about the Cult of the Undivided Society. I will give you four tenths of the reward for selling the information to the empire.”

“Why, what generous terms you're offering.”

“I would be taking the bulk of the risk.”

“Spoken like a true merchant. But I repeat myself: You're not fully aware of the environment we are trading in.”

“Oh?”

“Once I tell you about the cult, you won't want to sell the information to the empress. You will want to take what profits you can and run from Chandralu while your neck still connects your head to your shoulders.”

“And why should you become so worried about my neck?”

“A war with the empire is coming, as you have surmised. Should you survive, I could make you rich by buying information from you.”

“Make me a spy?”

She nodded.

“For whom?” he asked.

“Like you give a damn.”

He studied her face then laughed. “I guess I don't. But knowing my employer would help my political position.”

“My concern for your political position rivals my concern for your toe jam in terms of its smallness. What I am concerned about is making us both wealthy.”

While he thought about this, Leandra felt through her godspell. More clearly than before, she sensed that while most of her future selves were dealing with some shade of anxiety, nearly all of them felt the elevating satisfaction of her new loveless state. But, oddly, it seemed as if there were fewer possible futures she could perceive. Was this another side effect of the loveless? Or was she in a situation that was likely to produce only satisfying futures?

“Very well,” the smuggler said, breaking her concentration. “This godspell for the agreed-upon price, and your information about the cult in exchange for three-quarters of the earnings you make from any secrets I smuggle to you from the empire.”

Leandra shook her head. “The godspell for half the previous price. Remember, you have to flee the city. You won't have time to try to sell it elsewhere. And one-third of the profits from your future secrets.”

“At those rates, I might as well throw this book in the sea and ride out the war safely on land.”

“You're welcome to.” She gestured to the bay.

“You need to make my risk at sea more profitable.”

“I can always find another god smuggler, but you cannot find anyone else with my information.”

“Why do I need the information if know I should sail on the next tide for home?”

“Then have at it,” Leandra said as she repeated her gesture to the bay.

He frowned and looked at the bay, brooded. “This godspell for three-quarters the price, and half the profits for future secrets.”

She looked him up and down. When she got to his handsome, care-worn face, goatee chased with silver, he met her eyes. Again she had the sensation that she had met him long ago. At last she said, “It's a deal.” She held a fist above her head, then extended first three, then four fingers, the prearranged signal to Dhrun that they had settled for three-fourths the price.

A moment later, she saw the four-armed goddess carrying a chest up the Palm Steps. “I will have my goddess cast your godspell on you first to make sure it isn't a death sentence. You can review the payment. If everything is satisfactory, we can make arrangements for communicating during the war.”

The smuggler grunted. “And I suppose you will now tell me what you know about what that war will be?”

Leandra drew a long breath in through her nose. “There is no Cult of the Undivided Society. At least not as you imagined. No one is worshiping the ancient demons. However, the empress had discovered that some element within the league has been smuggling living deities out of the empire and into the league. No one within the Ixonian pantheon or regency knows who exactly has done this.”

“But you do?” he interrupted, quickly grasping the situation.

“That's information with a different price. What you need to know now is that the Council of Starfall has failed to establish diplomatic relations with the empress's court. That, and the buildup of her air and sea fleets, can mean only one thing.”

“Invasion of the archipelago.”

Leandra frowned. He understood the situation surprisingly fast. Again Leandra searched the godspell to feel her futures; they were again reassuring. And yet, as before, there were far fewer futures that she could perceive. A sudden thrill ran up Leandra's body. What if her godspell was wrong?

Dhrun placed the small chest on the ground before the smuggler. Then the goddess looked out on the pool as if to join their contemplative gazing.

The smuggler glanced at Leandra. “That's your bodyguard? He changed?”

“That's her. She's the same.”

“But he's a she.”

“She's a she. Don't be dense.”

The smuggler looked over a Dhrun and then, with a shrug, held out one of his folios. Dhrun accepted it with her lower hands. The smuggler then bent to peek into the chest while the goddess flipped through the book.

Meanwhile Leandra's mind worked hotly, trying to figure out what had changed her perception of the future. Why could she now feel so few of her future selves?

On the pool, the hydromancers continued their ablutions. Not being fluent in the divine language written in the smuggler's book, the water mages wouldn't take note of the group unless violence broke out.

When the smuggler stood up, Dhrun gestured to his head with the book. The smuggler bent forward and undid his head wrap revealing his silvering dreadlocks. Leandra saw among them a rubicund godspell. She remembered that on the beach, he had claimed to have a godspell identical to the one he had sold her. He must have found some divinity to cast that spell onto him.