Lamma's Night (anthology)

The shiver of ice now grew claws, drawing ragged lines of chill across my chest.

'So if he departs...' I said slowly.

Her voice went so quiet I could hardly hear her, 'I go with him.'

Benzamin waited until Maakus' glass had been refilled before talking.

'What else?' he asked.

'Other than that, I saw her but a few more times. All other knowledge I have acquired was from the book.'

Benzamin nodded.

'The book is not accurate, though.'

The High Lord raised a brow.

'It only holds passages of what occurred before Lammas Night. Nothing after it.'

'And that is what you wish to know?'

'Indeed, High Lord.'

Benzamin nodded and rubbed his chin.

The madrigal paused for a moment. 'As she bid, I went to her home after Lammas Night and found the journal. There was a hand-written note pinned to it naming it mine. I found circles of chalk in the attic, some candles, ashes, and what appeared to be the burnt remains of a book... probably the grimoire she spoke of.'

Benzamin nodded. 'But no sign of her?'

'None. No clothing, no stray strands of hair, no jewelry. She wore a locket of silver, I remember that.'

The kioko magus nodded. 'What do you think happened?'

Maakus furrowed his brow. 'One of three things: she panicked, and allowed him to go on to the land of the dead....'

'And went along with him. Then there should have been a body left.'

Maakus shrugged and nodded. 'Or she miscast, and destroyed them both. Or... brought him back... and he destroyed her.'

'You think he was evil?' Benzamin asked curiously.

The bard sighed. 'I read her journal, sir. You do know how she fared... in the war....'

Benzamin nodded. The war on the west border of Sellgard had been raging for nearly two years, and Aloren had been on the front lines for almost as long as it had been running. Her journal had extended back to that time, and Maakus had not been blind to the slow eroding of her personality that had occurred over the course of the months she had spent fighting the ni'ochi magi who were the anathema of the kioko. Indeed, if one were to compare the entries at the beginning of the journal—when she was just entering the war—to the ones toward the end—after her honorable discharge and restation at the village—one would hardly be able to recognize them as having been written by the same person except by the handwriting.

'What about it?' Benzamin asked.

'He... played on this. I don't know if she realized it, but... many times, in my job, you will never get the truth. So you must learn to read between the lines, and come to conclusions of your own.... My conclusion is that he played on her loneliness. At one point, she said she thought she was in love with him....'

The High Lord looked upset at this. 'In love enough to go on with him into death, I imagine.'

'If that was what he wanted. Which he didn't. He was quite adamant about that.'

Benzamin nodded. 'I see,' he said.

The bard shrugged. 'That's all I know, or have concluded. You?'

The magus shook his head, but said nothing. After the silence had continued longer than Maakus cared for, the bard reached into his satchel again and set a scroll on the High Lord's desk.

Benzamin raised a brow. 'What is this?'

'A song I wrote. A song as yet uncompleted.'

The High Lord nodded, and unrolled the scroll, his eyes scanning rapidly over the words. After a moment he looked up. 'Interesting ending,' he commented.

'Quite the opposite. It has no ending, sir.'

'Is that why you came?'

The bard nodded. 'It's maddening to have questions with no answers.'

'And what makes you think I have any answers?'

'You were her teacher. You are magus. You would know if she yet lives.'

Benzamin smiled bleakly. 'I might.'

The madrigal wet his lips, reaching within himself for the next puzzle. 'By Aloren's own hand,' he began slowly, 'kioko magic is not a definite thing. Even spells... are not definite.'