“Is he alive?” I asked.
“I think so. I’m attuned to some of the crystals inside. They continue to indicate a body signature,” she said.
“He probably put himself in a deep-trance mode,” I said. Druids can shut their bodies down to a near-death state. From my own training, I knew how to survive several days with minimal sustenance. Several weeks were another matter. On the other hand, Nigel was an archdruid, the highest attainable level of our kind. He had skills only the High Queen’s closest advisors could match.
“He can’t stay in there forever,” she said.
I ran my hand over the surface of the round door. Deep lines were incised in the stone, classic Celtic swirls that represented water and the sun. Here and there, tiny flashes of essence sparkled in the ridges, which meant the tuning spells were still active. Tuning spells helped make the sanctum more conducive to spell work. The stone door met the stone frame in one fused transition. “If anyone can, I’d bet on Nigel.”
“That’s not helping,” she said.
The surface of the door had been bleached white except for the center, which had a dark scorch mark where the focus of Meryl’s essence blast had struck. “The tuning spell is not working in the center.”
“I tried recalibrating,” Briallen said. “The underlying pathways are either damaged, or she left something that is blocking me.”
“Under the circumstances, I doubt she had time to set a block,” I said.
“You’re making excuses because you’re biased,” she said.
I frowned. “So are you. Just because you’re mad at her doesn’t make her the bad guy.”
“That’s easy for you to say. Half the Guild is looking for Nigel, and I’ve got him illegally imprisoned in my attic.”
I scanned the surface one more time, then held my hands up in apology. “I got nothing.”
Briallen let out an angry sigh and walked away. I followed her downstairs to the kitchen. She poured herself a mug of coffee, then gestured with the pot to see if I wanted any. I always wanted coffee. “You must have some kind of fail-safe to open the sanctum.”
“Of course. It was predicated on, you know, having a door that opens,” she said. I chuckled. I couldn’t help myself. Briallen glared at me. “I fail to see the humor in this.”
“It’s nice not to be the subject of your frustration for a change,” I said.
She took firm swipes with a dishcloth at the counter. I watched her without speaking. Briallen cleaned when she was angry. Back when I was her student, I was usually the one forced to clean. When the counter was shining, her face softened, and she sat at the island counter with me. “Do you really think that?”
“Well….”
“You don’t frustrate me, Connor. The world does.”
I snorted. “Tell me about it.”
She touched my hand. “Through all these years, I’ve always wanted the best for you. If I could have saved you pain, I would have.”
“I know. Half the problem is that neither of us can mind our business,” I said.
She laughed. “True. I wish I could give you better answers, but I haven’t been able to scry.”
Briallen had a talent for perceiving the future. Through chants and spells, she used the surface of calm water to catch glimpses of what might be. Her preferred instrument was the fountain pool in her back garden. The process wasn’t exact because so many variables changed from moment to moment. Sometimes, though, outcomes became inevitable, the various potential strands of events converging into a few and sometimes one. Those times were rarely positive and never good.
“Still?” I asked. When major events became so uncertain, no amount of fey ability was able to penetrate the veil of the future. It had happened a few weeks ago when the Elven King attacked the Guildhouse. Once past the crisis point, the ability returned.
“Not since before the Guildhouse. What about Meryl?” she asked.
Meryl’s talent was druidic dreaming. Her ability came on its own, in her sleep. Hers was a True Dreaming. The things she envisioned came to pass. She didn’t always understand the details because the images often came in metaphors that she had to interpret. Sometimes she did. Sometimes she failed.
“I haven’t thought to ask,” I said. Any type of scrying hurt my head enough to cause me to pass out. The reaction came from the dark mass in my mind. It hurt like hell, and I avoided coming in contact with scrying whenever possible. Now that the faith stone was embedded in my skull, I had my full body shield. It kept out the pain as long as I didn’t try scrying myself.
“Could you? I’ve found no one who can scry,” she said.
“Sure.” She didn’t move from the window. “Briallen?” She faced me. “It isn’t good, is it? I mean, really not good.”
She shook her head. “Something as huge as the death of Donor Elfenkonig should have set everything in motion again. It didn’t. Whatever is happening is still happening, Connor. It’s not over, and if Donor’s death was only the beginning, I’m afraid of what comes next. Truly afraid.”
The hair on the back of my neck went up, and I shuddered. Briallen ab Gwyll was not afraid of anything.
“If it’s any consolation, I want that door open more than you do. I need answers that I think Nigel has.”
“So now you’re willing to talk to him?” she asked.
Once I lost my abilities, Nigel abandoned me as a friend. I took it personally. We were no longer on speaking terms. “Question him. He was researching something about me. I want to know what it was.”
She tapped her coffee mug. “Maybe you need to talk to someone about opening that door.”
“I have. She won’t. If I can move past that, I think you can,” I said.
“What do you think he was researching?”
I tapped my forehead. “I know he was interested in the darkness in my head, but I think he knew something about the faith stone.”
“As far as I know, he shared everything he knew about the darkness with me and Gillen Yor. He didn’t have any more answers than we did,” she said.
“After everything that’s happened, you believe that?” I asked.
She sipped her coffee. “I understand your doubts, Connor, but you have to remember that for a long time, we thought we could cure you. I still believe that. Nigel was fully involved with researching your problem. He might not like my methods, but I don’t think either Gillen or I would have missed his hiding something from us. The faith stone is another matter.”
“Brokke told me it had the power to instill faith in people,” I said.
“Brokke was a master of the obvious,” she said.
I shook my head. “Briallen, I’m not interested in competing politics anymore. I just want the truth, whether it comes from the Celts or the Teuts.”
She chuckled. “Don’t confuse people and principles, Connor. Brokke was an arrogant, irritating ass. He knew things that were better shared and let people die when they could have been saved.”
“That’s fair—and beside the point. This thing in my head is powerful. The Elven King died over it. What does it mean?” I asked.
She gazed into her coffee mug. I thought she might be trying to scry off the surface of the liquid. I didn’t feel any of the usual pressure in my head that happened when someone scryed. The dark mass didn’t like my being around the future.
Briallen was considering her response. Based on my experience, she knew something and was trying to decide how little she could get away with sharing—ironic, considering what she had said about Brokke.
She shifted herself on the stool. “Here’s what I think: Donor always struggled with persuading allies that the elves were the victims in the war that led to Convergence. No matter his grievances, he ruled in the authoritarian manner of Alfheim, and the modern world never understood or agreed with that method. He wanted something to help him make his case, and he thought the stone would do it.
“Here’s what I believe: The stone is exactly what he thought it was. It’s the remnant of an older reality, when the righteousness of one’s cause could be demonstrated by having the approval of the Wheel of the World. The stone gave credibility to the one who held it.”
I smirked. “Well, that part’s not working anymore.”
