Sight Beyond Epik Sight: A Steampunk Fantasy Romp (Epik Fantasy Book 3) Page 3

  “That’s important? I don’t know what he likes or dislikes. What about Gerdy?” Epik asked. “What can I do to help her? I hate that she’s locked up. And it’s my fault.”

  “That’s not the story I remember. You told her not to go back, didn’t you?”

  “Still,” Epik said glumly. “I want to help.”

  Schmilda sipped her coffee.

  Epik brightened as a new shadow appeared in the hall off the kitchen. Not because of the shadow, which was that of another witch, but because it jarred a memory of his own shadow from a forgotten corner of his mind.

  “That’s it. When my shadow returns, I’ll send word with him.”

  “Hold on,” Schmilda said. “I thought you said the Grand Sovereign can destroy shadows. You’re going to send yours back there to die?”

  Epik sat back in the seat. “No, of course not,” he lied. That was exactly where his mind had been.

  “Yes, you can be in two places at once with that shadow. But in your mind, you could be in three or four, or, uh, you get the picture.”

  “I can?”

  “Yes, well, the magic’s a bit advanced.” Schmilda looked down the hall and lowered her voice. “If you promise to do as I say, I’ll teach you. This would have to be a private lesson—Begonia won’t approve.”

  Epik nodded.

  Footsteps creaked toward them, and Schmilda gave the newcomer a grim smile. “Begonia, good morning.”

  5

  Taken

  Gerdy had never played the part of captive. Back in primary school, when she and the other children played the puerile game of damsel in distress, she had never once acted as damsel.

  No, Gerdy was always a squire— usually one that died fighting the dragon before the knight rode in on his invisible horse, clip-clopping with hands against thighs, and vanquished the beast.

  A few times, she had played the dragon; she’d liked that role. And once, in a pinch, Gerdy had served as the knight—she liked that one best.

  Then, in the King’s Way Harvest Festival, Gerdy had also played the part of knight. But this time, she wasn’t forced to by girls unwilling to get their hands dirty and play-fight with the boys, but she was forced nonetheless. The evil Grand Sovereign and his servant Catarina coerced Gerdy using Catarina’s blood magic, and when the blood magic failed, the Grand Sovereign used a different tactic. Blackmail.

  The game didn’t work out quite as the evil wizard had expected. Not only had Epik gotten away, but Gerdy almost escaped as well. Then she’d gone back for Myra. And now, she wasn’t playing the part of captive, the damsel in distress. She was one.

  But unlike Myra, Gerdy’s beautiful more than best friend, she wasn’t taking this in stride. Not that Gerdy knew for sure if Myra was either. The girls had been separated since that day. But Gerdy intended to change that. She had a particular set of skills—skills she’d acquired since those days in school—fighting skills mostly, but she’d also once seen Epik pick a lock. And once was all she needed.

  She’d attempted escape twice now. After the second, most recent, attempt, they moved her from the tower room to a dank and dark dungeon cell where escape seemed all but impossible.

  Gerdy’s dwarf half didn’t mind the darkness or the smell, but her human side very much objected to the cold.

  She woke from a dream—a good one, too. She’d been walking with Myra, hand-in-hand as they used to do on sun-filled days in Dune All-En. In the dream, Myra had smiled and spoken softly to her. There was a part before she’d woken, when she asked Myra if it was a dream, and Myra had put a finger to her lips.

  “Shhh.”

  Gerdy breathed easy, waking slowly. There was no hurry. She rested her head against the cold rock of the wall. The memory of Myra’s smile lingered.

  But there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and not a metaphorical light of potential escape. This one bounced and bobbed down the narrow passage toward her.

  “Up girl,” Wallack groused. A contingent of two additional palace guards followed behind the grizzled and fat old knight. They’d learned all too well that much like changing a lantern, this wasn’t a job for one man. “The Grand Sovereign wishes to see you.”

  “Me?” Gerdy croaked. It had been some time since she’d last used her voice. She put a hand to her throat and swallowed hard. “Me?” she asked again. “I haven’t been down here long, have I? What does he want me for?”

  “That’s for him to know and you to—”

  “He didn’t tell you,” Gerdy said confidently. “I thought you were his trusted and loyal turncoat.”

  “I’m warning you, girl!” Wallack sneered.

  “No!” Gerdy drew herself to her full height. Half-dwarf she might be, but the other half made up the difference. She was taller than most women—and men. With dwarfish features and frizzy dark hair—thick on her head, if wispy the rest of the way down, she was an imposing specimen. “I’m warning you,” she said, “before this is over… before all is done, I’m going to kill you.”

  “Oh, you’ve made a list, have you? Join the queue. There’s plenty who want me dead.”

  “You’re on the top of mine,” Gerdy muttered under her breath.

  She followed him, sandwiched between the fat knight and the pair of armored guards. Heat, or rather the heat of anger, flared in the pit of her stomach. It felt wrong to leave it there. Gerdy knew emotion was a key to magic, and if she could only figure out how to use her magic without a lance, well, then she’d be in business… And Sir Wallack would be dead.

  The Grand Sovereign’s parlor looked much like the last time Gerdy had set foot inside it. Ornate and uncomfortable furniture in the center of the room arrayed around a large rug under a chandelier. A row of floor-to-ceiling windows displayed a view of the Bludmud River. Gerdy could just make out the topsails of a large ship in the harbor.

  It was midday—the clock on the mantle told her as much—but the room wasn’t as bright as it should be. There were no blinding rays of sun, nothing to shield her unaccustomed eyes against. Instead, a dark gray cloud hung over the kingdom—the same shroud of swirling mist the old wizard had conjured on the day of Epik and Gerdy’s joust.

  Not everything was the same. Someone had cleaned up the mess—the one Gerdy made defeating Wallack using a chair cushion for a shield. Well, most of the mess. The stuffing that she’d spread all over the floor was gone, but the chair cushion hadn’t been replaced.

  The old bastard knight had revealed his true allegiance that day—and his small gift of magical ability. But in the end, he was no match for Gerdy. She smirked at the memory of him sprawled on the floor with her boot to his chest.

  “I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you, dwarf girl,” he sneered. “This is most certainly the last place you’ll ever see.”

  We’ll just see about that, she thought. Anger gurgled in her gut. She wondered if there was anything in this room she could use to channel her magic.

  From nowhere, or so it seemed, the Grand Sovereign appeared next to the large fireplace.

  Was he there the whole time? Gerdy asked herself. In her previous visits, she’d never seen so much as a log in the hearth, let alone a fire, but now the Grand Sovereign snapped his fingers and dozens of logs stacked neatly inside were ablaze.

  The decrepit-looking wizard turned to greet her. Much the opposite of the stately middle-aged man of the day they first met him, he was garbed in a black robe, not a finely tailored suit. And he looked much the part of dark lord—his skin folded over on itself, his deep-set black eyes trained on her. He seemed to glide across the floor.

  “Gertrude,” he said with malice, “it’s nice to see you. It’s been quite some time since our last little chat.” He studied her. “You’re looking worse for wear.”

  “I’d say the same could be said of you.”

  Gerdy steeled herself for pain, for the wizard to send a shock of some dark magic down her spine. But he did nothing, just smiled coldly at her. “Sit down.”

&nb
sp; She considered resisting—of forcing him to force her into the seat, but then thought better of it. She took a deep breath and sat on her own accord.

  “Already off to a better start than I’d imagined.” The old man took a seat opposite her. Fittingly, he sat on the cushion-less chair. When Gerdy tried to speak, he quelled her with a gnarled and pointed finger. “I know what you’re going to ask, my dear. Myra is fine. No harm has come to her. And no harm will. If you do as I ask.”

  Gerdy’s throat clenched. Her insides quivered at the sound of Myra’s name. Months had passed without seeing or talking to her love. Her true love. All Gerdy wanted was proof that Myra was unharmed.

  “And that is?” she asked meekly.

  The wrinkles on the old man’s face stretched. Gerdy guessed that was another smile. “Where’s the spunk I came to know those months ago?”

  “What do you want?” Gerdy’s voice was steadier now but her mind began to race. Maybe Myra was under another spell—Gerdy hoped desperately that Myra would walk right into this room. Seeing her, even in some wicked state, would be something.

  Or perhaps, Gerdy thought, Myra’s locked in her tower room, playing the damsel to my knight. Gerdy could work with that just as she had in the tournament and as a child.

  “There’s the Gertrude I expected. I see her there, behind this facade. Wallack told me all about your thirst for revenge. When you’re done with him, I expect I’m next on the list?”

  “Something like that.” Gerdy nodded. The list was as follows: first Wallack, then Catarina, Myra’s yellow-eyed servant, and last, but certainly not least, the Grand Sovereign.

  “No matter,” he said. “I expect you’re aware this list of yours is just a way to keep the mind from going crazy in the dungeon. I’d be remiss not to ask if you find it comfortable down there? Is it suitable? We could bring down a featherbed if you’d like.”

  Gerdy remembered the lumpy bed from her tower room and the aches and pains it gave her. “No, I’m fine, thanks,” she said.

  The Grand Sovereign feigned a laugh. “You’re right,” he said to Wallack. “She hasn’t lost an ounce of spunk. She was just hiding it.”

  Wallack smirked uncomfortably. Whatever his arrangement with the Grand Sovereign, he wasn’t comfortable when the wizard addressed him directly.

  “I know you’re wondering why I brought you up here,” the Grand Sovereign began. “You see, I’m in a bit of a pickle. Your little friend Epik—my grandson—in his flight from the city, he did me a grave disservice.”

  She opened her mouth, but he shushed her with his finger again.

  “I’ve lived a long, long time. My well of magic does runneth dry. I require the powers of others. For a long while I was able to keep this a secret, able to take the magic I needed from—”

  “From children,” Gerdy interrupted.

  “Ah, you have been keeping up. Yes, that’s exactly so. A child without the knowledge of their gifts makes for an easy target. Once the magic is revealed, well, things become difficult,” he said slowly. “And the only way I can have their magic is if they give it over freely, or...” He glanced at Wallack. “Look at me, monologuing, telling you all my secrets.”

  “I’ll never—”

  The Grand Sovereign rose his finger for a third time.

  “Hear me out, will you? There just so happens to be a girl here in the castle, one you know well, with magic deep within her soul. For some reason, whatever it may be, the magic never manifested over the course of her twenty-one years. Or was it twenty-two? She has no inkling what lies dormant inside her. Isn’t that an odd coincidence? Do you think her father knew?”

  Gerdy gritted her teeth. “Again,” she asked, “what do you want? I’ll do—”

  “Anything?” The Grand Sovereign was smug. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. And to think, only a moment ago, you weren’t going to help me. Now attend me. I want magic. I’ve already taken it back from this fool.” He pointed to Wallack. “I’ve taken from the knights. I’ve taken from all the willing subjects in the realm—”

  “Except the tech mage,” Wallack interrupted.

  “Did I ask you to speak?” the Grand Sovereign snapped.

  “No, sire.”

  “So, here we are.” The Grand Sovereign returned his attention to Gerdy. “I could take Myra’s magic without her consent. But, well… it’s not pretty. There’s the small reaction to stealing from her soul. She would become a wraith—it’s not a pretty thing. I’ve seen it happen many times before.”

  “I’ll do it,” Gerdy said, her voice as meek as before. “I’ll give you my magic.”

  “Oh, child. Oh, foolish girl. Is that what you think I’m after? No, no, your tiny powers are all but worthless, except in a pinch.”

  “Then… Then, what?”

  “I need you to set a trap for young Epik. If you do that, no harm will come to you or your beloved.”

  6

  Cloud Atlas

  Epik wondered, was black a color or lack thereof? He was ninety-nine percent sure his eyes were open. But no light penetrated the chamber. There was no sound either, save a rumble of his stomach and the pattering of his heart.

  Epik closed his eyes, if they weren’t already.

  This was one more thing—in a long line of them—that hadn’t met his expectations.

  Train to become a great wizard, train to save the realm—like training to become a knight, both had sounded a whole lot better at the outset.

  It wasn’t quite as bad as the etiquette lessons required for knighthood, but the witches’ magical instruction wasn’t anything like fight training with the ranger, Coe. Nor was it like Epik’s magical jousting lesson with Sir Dom.

  This magic instruction was something else entirely.

  “Why do my feet need to be dunked in ice water?” Epik asked before the first lesson. “I thought you said sensory deprivation.”

  “Aye, it is,” Schmilda had said. “And when your skin goes all numb, your senses will be nice and de-pri-vated, now, won’t they?”

  “That’s not a word,” he’d said.

  Regardless, Schmilda had shoved him inside then pulled him out and shoved him inside several more times.

  He sighed. His feet were numb, and the rest of him was getting there. But in a way, this was all a sort of therapy3—to put him in touch with his emotions and his magic.

  He couldn’t guess whether he’d been inside one minute, ten minutes, or a day at this point.

  It was time to concentrate. Time to train. To learn to hone his magic without emotion.

  Epik let go of the feelings, all the emotions buried within his soul. Letting go was the hardest part. His love, his friendships, the sour feeling he felt when his father’s, Epiman’s, name came up. The anger he felt toward the Grand Sovereign—all of them boiled to the surface. It was like an immense weight was lifted from his chest. All that was left was magic, a strange tingle just out of reach, like a word on the tip of a tongue—like the name of a childhood friend only half remembered.

  And when magic is the only thing available, it grows—it became stronger, coupled tightly with Epik’s soul.

  There was a swirling sensation as Epik was cast from the darkness of the chamber and into the light of day. Clouds swept by on a light breeze. And for the first time, Epik saw something he knew only by his shadow’s description: an airship.

  But something wasn’t right. Like magic, it was on the tip of his tongue.

  The pantry door opened wide, flooding the inside of the cupboard with daylight.

  Three witches waited, drinking coffee at the kitchen table. Epik squinted against the light. “How long was I in there?”

  Begonia, the oldest of the Coven, regarded the cuckoo clock on the wall. “About ten minutes,” she said jovially. She slurped her coffee with a sound not unlike a drain.

  “Only ten minutes?”

  Epik pulled his feet from the bucket of now slushy snow. He heard Kavya’s voice somewhere nearby, proba
bly helping the children with the day’s chores.

  The witch smiled. It was quite a toothy smile—her dentures were obviously made with horse teeth, something Millie had pointed out to her on their first encounter, much to her continued sorrow. Begonia was a stout woman, and imposingly tall. Her thick gray eyebrows curled upward and joined the curls of her wig, which at the moment, was lopsided, revealing the hairless scalp on the right side of her head. There the skin was puckered, red, and raw.

  Neither of her cohorts said a word to her about it, but not for fear she’d get mad. No, each had a beauty regime and cared only for her own appearance.

  Schmilda wanted to look the part of the cackling old hag. She came close most of the time—her resting witch face was quite well trained, but every now and then the brightness in her temperament shone through and spoiled the whole effect.

  Of the three, Dora was best at pulling off her appearance. She donned a red beehive wig, truly a towering inferno, and she went so far as to paint herself with some possibly enchanted goo she called ‘makeup.’ And it certainly seemed to make up the entirety of her face. Epik was sure that underneath it all she was as old and batty as the other two.

  “And what did you feel there inside the cupboard?” Schmilda was the first to ask.

  “Do you mean what did I see?” Epik asked. “Well, I saw—”

  “No,” Schmilda corrected harshly—really getting into her role, “I said what I meant, and I mean what I said—what did you feel?”

  Dora rocked back in her seat and said, “Seeing something in the darkness is a whole other problem.”

  Epik tried to answer. “I felt… I dunno, what was I supposed to feel?”

  “Nothing and everything,” Begonia said.

  “I think I see what you mean.” Epik pondered this.

  In the chamber, he did lose awareness of the cold. And the whooshing sound of nothing in his ears had subsided as quickly.