CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“Can I ask you something?” Thom said to Ilain as they sat in camp.
Evylin and Ethenn were off training again. It had become a point of contention for Thom, since he was rarely able to join their sparring. He felt shunted off to the side, forgotten by two of his closest friends.
He took a breath, rejecting the emotion. Lately, he was attempting to do as Ilain suggested, to be better, to recognize the truth beyond his feelings. It was a harder task than he thought it should be.
Kicking off her boots, Ilain settled onto the grass beside where he lounged. “When have I said no?” she replied.
He averted his gaze as she slipped her stockings from her feet. “Should I have gone with Deckard?” he asked, staring at the rocks around the firepit.
Ilain’s toes wiggled in the grass on the edge of his vision. “Why should you have?”
“Because I’m his brother.”
“Should Auden have stayed with me then?”
Thom picked at the hem of his coat. Though it was new at the start of their journey through Wauld, the fabric now had rips and a fraying edge.
They were moving closer and closer to Vaura Reach, the ultimate destination of the Time Keep, only days away.
The path through the mountains was surprisingly well-worn, a result of the mining, Ilain told them.
With their troop’s reunion looming closer, Thom had begun to think about his brother more and more.
Despite his initial bitterness at Deckard choosing Rafferty to accompany their group, he took equal blame for the choice.
If he wanted to protect him, he could have—should have volunteered immediately.
Thom tugged a thread loose and threw it into the fire. “I mean because Jonn is a Night Mage,” he said, letting the words linger weightily.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
He gave the highlady a bland stare.
“What?” she asked, returning the look dramatically.
“You said Night magic makes people go mad.”
“I said Night magic can bring the Deep upon its users. It’s Auden who believes the whole lot is destined for villainy and insanity.”
Her clarification did little to alleviate his concern. “You don’t understand. Deckard won’t be able to handle it. He’s never done well with death. It’s part of what makes him a pitiful soldier.”
“He’s a perfectly good soldier.”
“No, he isn’t,” Thom argued. “He hates the job. He only does it because he thinks it makes him noble. But traveling like this? Recruiting? Fighting? Killing? No, he’s not a soldier.
He’s an idealist. And now, he’s got this Night magic running wild through him, controlling him, and making him kill everything in sight. ”
Ilain’s prolonged silence drew him to look toward her. The transparent derision of her expression struck him. “You’re an absolute idiot,” she said bluntly.
Thom gaped at her.
“Have you heard nothing I said?” Ilain reached over to shove his head as Meria might’ve done when they were children.
“Try to get it through your thick skull: Magic isn’t evil.
Not even Night magic. Yes, sometimes it’s violent, and if used improperly, it can bring on madness.
But it isn’t controlling your brother. He’s actually doing a surprisingly good job of controlling it.
I theorize it has to do with his and Evylin’s relationship. ”
Thom wasn’t sure if anyone had told Ilain about Evylin’s confession concerning her and Deckard’s marriage yet.
As he didn’t feel compelled to take it upon himself, he ignored it.
“You didn’t see it,” he said, remembering the ambush from the Wind and Terrae Mages.
“You passed out before Deckard . . . He killed over forty Mages like it was nothing. That’s not Deckard.
That’s the magic taking control of him.”
“Do we look dead to you?” Ilain said bluntly.
Thom shook his head, confused. “What?”
She grabbed his wrist, waving his hand in the air between them. “You seem alive enough to me,” she quipped. “And as I’m pretty sure I’m still breathing, it seems we made it through just fine.”
“I don’t—”
“If Jonn lost control of the magic, we would be dead along with those Mages,” she concluded.
Thom blinked.
She released him, letting his hand thump back to the terrae.
“The magic consumes him in the moment, yes. It makes him appear to be someone he’s not, affecting his emotions and actions like a Relic might.
But he is controlling it. He tells it what to do, and it listens.
Then he lets it go. A man controlled by Night magic would kill everyone in his path, friend or foe. ”
With a sigh, Thom struggled to take comfort in her explanation. “But Jonn hates killing. Any death caused by his hands will drive him to madness, even if that insanity isn’t magically induced.”
Ilain hesitated.
“I should have gone with him,” Thom said.
“What good would that have done?” she asked.
Thom looked at her, incredulous. “I’m his brother. I could have helped protect him from himself.”
Ilain shook her head. “Jonn doesn’t need protection from magic. He needs to accept it. It’s the only way he won’t give in to the Deep.”
A spike of fear clouded Thom’s mind. “What does that mean?” he asked weakly. “What is the Deep?”
Ilain turned away. She stared toward the fire, unseeing. The sharp lines of her face hardened further, giving her a haunted appearance. “It’s terrifying,” she admitted at last. “Night magic can be good. But it can also be the greatest evil.”
With a slow breath, Ilain began to explain. “The Deep takes over when a Mage goes too far into the darkness of Night. When they seek to embrace death in its purest form. Some call the practice necromancy, but . . . it’s worse than that.”
Thom wasn’t sure what necromancy was, but he decided not to interrupt.
“When Mages seek to connect with death, their minds warp,” she said.
“They often begin to see visions—premonitions that frequently come true. It’s different than Time magic.
Mages who connect with Time can see the future in a linear fashion.
They can follow the threads of the future and see what’s to come.
The premonitions of the Deep aren’t so logical, instead giving omens and portents of death.
Many begin down this path for the benefit of seeing that future.
They claim that if one can see death coming, they can prevent it. ”
Ilain shrugged sadly. “The problem is, if you prevent one death, you’ll only have to face another.”
“Is that it?” Thom asked, his worry lifting. Deckard wouldn’t have an interest in seeking such visions. “They become oracles of death?”
She gave him a fierce look. “Over time, these premonitions bring mania, resulting in the Deep. But no, that’s not the only means by which the Deep comes on a Mage. It can also be the result of experimenting with death, summoning ghosts, and raising the living dead.”
A cold sweat broke out across Thom’s neck. “I’m sorry, did you say the living dead?”
“It hasn’t happened in over five centuries, but yes, there was a Night Mage who summoned a horde of dead to do his bidding. They could only be killed by decapitation or magic.”
“Ah.” The word choked out of Thom.
“There’s a law against it now,” Ilain said matter-of-factly, then moved on. “All of these things are what bring on the Deep. How it manifests . . .”
Ilain pulled her legs up, resting her arms on her knees, her chin on her arms. The posture startled Thom. He’d never seen the woman look so young or sorrowful.
“The Deep causes Mages to lose their sense of self,” she said darkly.
“They become volatile, driven by their visions toward often violent ends. They grow crazed, many muttering to themselves and the dead they see around them. And eventually, they lose themselves to the madness altogether, their visions overcoming their senses and putting them into a comatose state where only their magic keeps them alive.”
Thom shivered at the thought. He couldn’t fathom something so horrifying. And this was the future Deckard could face.
Comprehending Ilain’s dark mood with renewed understanding, Thom’s mouth fell ajar. “You’ve seen it happen?” he said more than he asked.
“I have.”
Thom shifted closer, his next question a gentle “Who?”
Ilain took a long, thoughtful breath. “That’s not really my story to tell,” she whispered.
Thom furrowed his brow, confused at first. Then it became clear. “Auden,” he muttered. “That’s why he hates it so much. He . . . he lost someone to it?”
It took a long time for Ilain to reply. She raised her head, jade green eyes meeting his with sorrow. “Maura.”
Thom waited, breath held in anticipation.
“Twenty-five years ago, Auden was betrothed,” Ilain said, the simple start a shock all its own. “Maura was a Night Mage, a magister, like him. They’d fallen in love over their shared interest in using magic to invent practical items for non-magical individuals.”
Sympathy welled in Thom, as he could already guess the end of the story. “How—” He grimaced, wondering if his question would come across as callous. “How is it that Auden found love, yet you didn’t?”
Ilain gave him a knowing, if sad, smile.
“As a magister, Auden traveled to other Orders,” she explained.
“They worked together in their studies, which is how he met Maura. As viceMage, I was stuck in the Order of the Flame, training to take the archMage’s place as head of the Order upon his retirement. ”
Thom’s eyes went wide. “You were set to run the entire Order of Fire Mages?”
“And Day Mages.” Ilain continued with her story, “During the course of their betrothal, Maura’s brother—her only family—was killed in the war.
She was devastated, and with the influence of her fellow Night Mages, she began to seek out ways to bring him back.
She was convinced that restoring the soul to a body was possible. It took her down a dark path.”
“And the Deep . . . ?” Thom concluded.
“Yes.”
“Did she—” Thom swallowed around the question. “Die?”