Chapter 47 Declan #2
A white marble pillar stood waist high in the center of the circle. The scrying Mage poured water from a pitcher into a shiny brass bowl and placed it on the pedestal, careful not to spill anything inside the circle.
“Is it too much to hope that you have something personal to Irina?” he asked.
I barked a laugh. “I don’t know that anything matters to her anymore. She’s the purest kind of evil.”
“Declan’s right that we don’t have an item of hers, but he’s wrong in painting her with one solid color. While I agree she’s turned dark, no one is entirely evil—or good, for that matter. We are all shades and hues.”
“Maybe she’s shades of black,” I mused.
“Let’s focus on locating her, shall we?” Atikus steered us back to our purpose.
The scrying Mage stepped up to the bowl and looked at me.
“It’s a simple process. Whichever of you is performing the scrying, place both hands on the outside of the bowl, but don’t touch the water. Call your Light. When your magic responds, focus your thoughts on Irina, what she looks like, every detail you can remember. If she wore a certain scent,
try to recreate that memory. Everything helps. We wouldn’t normally need to be this detailed, but without an artifact, your mind will have to be the bridge. If you do everything correctly and maintain steady focus, the water will ripple and show images of where Irina is currently.”
Atikus raised a brow. “Would you like to do the honors?”
“I’m not sure this counts as honors, but sure. I have never done a scrying before. You may have to guide me,” I said, stepping up and gripping the sides of the bowl.
I closed my eyes, and my Light flared at my call.
I heard a gasp and opened my eyes, disrupting the process.
“What happened? Is everything okay?”
Atikus chuckled and looked to the scrying Mage, whose eyes couldn’t have grown any wider.
“I don’t think he’s seen your tunic light up before,” Atikus said with a flourish of bushy brows and a chuckle.
“Sorry,” the Mage said. “It’s . . . incredible. I’ll stay quiet this time.”
I allowed myself a grin, then closed my eyes to focus again.
As before, my Light responded quickly.
I replayed the scene from the Well in my mind, first with Kelsa and me running into the chamber in response to órla’s alarm.
Then Irina appeared wearing the mask of Larinda.
I focused on the details as the Mage had instructed, recreating every wrinkle and weathered spot on the old woman’s face and bare arms, her stringy snow-white hair, and her colorful island dress.
I could hear Larinda’s voice, the warmth and depth in her laugh, taste the salt in the air as I breathed deeply.
I held that image, those sensations, for five minutes, then ten.
Finally, I felt a hand pat my shoulder, and the image fell away.
I opened my eyes to find the other two men staring at the bowl in frustration.
“Were you able to remember details?” the scrying Mage asked.
“Of course. I spent a lot of time with Larinda. That wasn’t hard.”
“Well, the water didn’t so much as ripple, much less show us anything,” Atikus said. “I could feel waves of power wafting off as you focused. Having strong enough magic is not our problem here.”
“Wait,” the Mage said excitedly. “You said Larinda.”
I nodded, confused. “That’s right. That’s the face Irina wore when I saw her.”
“True, but we’re not looking for Larinda, we’re looking for Irina. Her spirit could have left Larinda’s body to inhabit another. Regardless of what body she wore, it’s Irina’s spirit we are trying to locate. Try again, this time focused on Irina.”
“This just got a lot harder. I’ve never seen Irina. No one has, at least not in a thousand years.”
Atikus raised a hand like a schoolboy.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said.
“Perfect memory, remember? I have studied the Kingdom War, read much of what still exists detailing Irina’s rise. There are no busts or sketches of her, but her appearance is described in vivid detail in Matias’s Histories.”
“Of course, he even remembers the name of the boring book he read,” I grumbled.
“Yes, my boy, I do. Stand aside and watch your Arch Mage work.”
I rolled my eyes, more for the scrying Mage’s amusement than for Atikus’s sake, then backed away from the bowl and watched as Atikus took over the process.
Within a few heartbeats, the old Mage had closed his eyes, called his Light, and caused the water to ripple violently, then settle into images of a building none of us recognized.
“It looks like an old warehouse. There are candles hanging everywhere; there must be a hundred of them hanging from lines stretched across the ceiling. I’ve never seen so many in one place. Does that mean anything to either of you?” Atikus asked.
The Mage shrugged, but I stared into the water.
“When I was on border patrol, there were a few traders who would come through from the Kingdom with carts laden with candles. We are the producer in the trading relationship with the Spires, but there are a few items where they do most of the production and selling. Candles are one of those items.”
“Do you know where they’re made? Where the Merchant sells them?”
“No, but Keelan’s over there, right? Why don’t we pay him a visit with our shiny new powers? He may know someone who can help—like the Queen.”
“My boy, you may become the smartest of us all.” Atikus grinned. “I have been to the Palace several times, so Traveling there should not be a problem. Let’s go see your brother.”