I grabbed the edge of her chemise. “Ty, what did I say?”
She snatched the fabric away from me and opened her mouth to snap a reply. She closed it again. “Leave it be,” she said, her voice sounding tired.
Tyentso picked up her dish and carried it to the kitchen for cleaning.
* * *
A week later, Tyentso showed up at my room after dark. It wasn’t like that. In point of fact, I had a vané woman named Lonorin with me, whom Tyentso shoved out with a firm and impolite hand.
“So, you decided you like those pretty vané flowers sprinkled on your bed after all, have you?”
I sighed and threw a bedspread around me. “I thought we’d established I’m not your type, Tyentso.”
“Not only are you not my type but you’re young enough to be my son, which is a terrifying prospect. These vané immortals may not have any standards, but I sure as hell do.” Tyentso lifted a basket covered with a black cloth. “Anyway, I brought tea. I promise it’s not drugged.”
“If you wanted to kill me, you had plenty more opportunities before this.” I motioned her over to the small reed table and chairs beside the mattress. “To what do I owe the visit then? It’s a little late and I’m a little naked.”
“I know a way to break past your magical block.”
I tilted my head. “Okay … I’m listening.”
She pulled the teapot and several cups out of the basket. “The problem is that it’s dangerous. Not to mention gods-awful unpleasant. And I wouldn’t have offered at all, but…” She winced as she poured the tea. “I won’t lie, Scamp, I feel bad about your gaesh.”
I chuckled and reached for the tea. “You must have gaeshed a thousand people in your life, Ty.”
“But I didn’t know it couldn’t be reversed. And I sure as hell didn’t know that when you finally die and travel past the Second Veil, the gaesh will pull you toward Hell.”
I froze, felt a shudder run over my body. “What?”
She scowled. “When you finally die, you’re not going to the Land of Peace. No one who’s gaeshed does, apparently. I finally understand what the demons get out of it and why they ever agreed to allow us to summon them.”
I stared at her until her cheeks turned red, she cursed, and turned away. “Damn it all, I didn’t know! I knew damage to the upper soul could interfere with passage to Thaena’s realm, but I didn’t think a gaesh caused that kind of harm. You think the demons stop to give mortals a full lecture on what happens to the souls of those they gaesh for us? That every soul taken is a chance for them to add to their power? Not a chance. I found out here—it’s not taught at the Academy.”*
I fought to swallow back my nausea. I hadn’t put the pieces together, hadn’t realized what a gaesh could mean. This would make it easier for Xaltorath to claim me, later. Not even death would free me. I felt the same sense of claustrophobia, the same itchy, ugly feeling of being cornered and caged, that I’d felt when the Old Man had shown me the poor souls kept in his “garden.”
“So…” I drained my cup of tea, set it back down in front of Tyentso. “Why do you think you can teach me magic now, when you haven’t been able to before this?”
She examined her fingers for several long, tense seconds before she looked up. “The dirtiest, nastiest part about learning sorcery is that words aren’t enough. Learning to cast a spell isn’t a matter of memorizing charts, reciting formula, or drawing little glyphs on the floor. Magic is about teaching someone the right way to think. No language, not even the old voras tongues, can describe the precise patterns of thought, the mappings of consciousness, necessary to cast the simplest spell.”
I swallowed and leaned back. “Okay. So … I’m back to my original question. How are you going to teach me?”
Tyentso’s eyes brightened as she lifted her chin. “By making you learn the same way I did: mind to mind. You’re going to have a ghost possess you, and then I will—”
“Hold on there.” I straightened. “I’m going to what?”
Tyentso cleared her throat. “A ghost. A ghost will possess you, and while doing so, the two of you will be in close mental contact. It should be enough so you can intuitively grasp the spellcasting process. It worked for me. I see no reason why it wouldn’t work for you.”
I swallowed hard. “Let me get this straight. You want me to let a ghost take possession of my body and teach me magic. Assuming that would even work, and assuming I’m crazy enough and desperate enough to agree, where are we going to find a ghost sorcerer?”
Tyentso raised her hand. “Me. I’m going to be the ghost.”
54: THE CARRIAGE RIDE
(Talon’s story)
“I’m not running away! I just need a carriage. Go ask the High Lord—” Kihrin D’Mon’s angry tone echoed clearly through the stable courtyard. He was red-faced, and looked like he might jump up and down in frustration at any moment.
“Is there a problem?” Tishar D’Mon asked as she walked down the steps. She motioned to one of the grooms. “My carriage, please.”
The Lord Heir’s newest son paused in the middle of his argument with the stable master, who stepped around Kihrin and bowed to Tishar. “My lady, I am under strict orders not to allow the young man to leave the grounds without an escort.”
“Ah,” Tishar said. “Well that’s not a problem at all then, but thank you for watching out for him.” She held out her hand to Kihrin. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Shall we?”
The young man caught on quickly. He bowed over her hand before releasing it to her again. “It’s my fault, Aunt Tishar. I should have mentioned I was waiting for you.”
“See Hosun?” Tishar smiled at the stable master. She’d known Hosun since he was a small boy with a fascination for horses, apprenticed to the old stable master. She’d fooled him not at all, but Hosun would play along anyway.
“Of course, my lady,” Hosun said with a dry smile and a bow. He turned back to the stable. “My lady’s coach!”
Kihrin exhaled as the stable master walked away. “Thank you,” he whispered to her.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered back. “And where are we going today?”
“The Octagon?”
The answer surprised her. “It’s nothing worth seeing, my dear. Just a lot of miserable souls and the vultures circling their misfortune.”
“Please.” There was so much emotion trapped in that single word she half-expected the boy to fall to his knees.
She gave him a thoughtful look. He was clean and properly dressed, but little details gave away his hurry: the way his hair had been pulled back into a gold clasp, the bruising on his wrist that someone had neglected to treat by salve or healer.
Her examination was interrupted by Hosun returning with the carriage.