The Daylight War

She dipped a mock curtsy. ‘Then it will be my pleasure to make Your Highness’s breakfast.’

21

Auras

333 AR Summer11 Dawns Before New Moon

The party went on for hours after Arlen and Renna emerged, somewhat dishevelled, from the wedding pavilion. He had thought their consummation would be gentle, but his bride had pounced like an animal the moment the flap fell, her aura lit up with lust.

My bride. Renna Tanner. The thought made his head spin as much as their lovemaking. The girl he ran away from home to avoid marrying was the one he was meant for.

Meant for? He snorted. Spent your whole life believing there’s no Creator, no Deliverer, but you and a girl get along, and that’s proof of divine plan?

But much as he wanted to dismiss the thought as ludicrous, he could not.

They stumbled on watery legs back out into the cheering crowd, and Arlen was amazed once more at its aura.

Arlen had thought magic evil once, but it was beyond such definitions, no more evil than wind or rain or lectrics. It pulsed within all living things, defining them inside and out with a wealth of information. Human auras were dimmer and far more complex than those of demons, but there was a great deal of ambient magic here at the centre of Hollow County’s greatwards. Without even realizing it, the Hollowers were imprinting that magic with their joy, and it danced happily around them, powerful and infectious.

Arlen had been seeing auras since he had first painted wards of sight around his eyes, but had never understood what the subtle variations of colour, brightness, and texture had meant until his encounter with the coreling prince. For an instant their minds had touched, and he had seen the world as the demons did.

Now even a peripheral glance could tell him much about a person’s emotional state, and a full stare fed him a constant stream of information. He knew when people spoke truth to him and when lie, when they were ready to fight and when they would flee. He could see every single emotion a person was feeling at any given time, though he had to guess at the reasons.

He could not see into minds as the coreling princes had … yet. But if he concentrated, Arlen could draw a touch of magic through people, imprinting it with their essence, and then absorb it himself, Knowing them more intimately than lover and Herb Gatherer both – every scar, every ache, every feeling. A firespit burn here, a cat scratch there, telling the body’s tale.

Sometimes images would flash in his mind – people, places, and things that held strong emotional connections to whomever he was Knowing, but it was up to him to interpret them.

Even plants could yield secrets. Simply inhaling a current passing through a tree, Arlen could peel back the years more clearly than a woodcutter reading rings. When there had been flood, and when drought. When there had been fire, and when deep freeze. The types of demon claws that had gouged its bark. Everything since the nut had cracked, grasped in an instant.

Shamavah was waiting for them as they returned to the party, along with Rojer, Kendall, and his new wives.

Rojer’s aura was particularly interesting. When the Jongleur was playing, be it his fiddle or the part in a drama, a mask fell over his aura that was impossible for Arlen to read.

At other times, though, his young friend was an open book. Images floated around him, some dim, others distinct, all connected to Rojer with complex webs of emotion.

Arlen could make out himself and Renna, as well as Amanvah, Sikvah, and Leesha. Arlen could see Rojer had doubts about Renna and the marriage, but he’d made his own questionable choices in that regard, and felt no right to preach. The deed was done, and as Arlen’s friend, Rojer was going to support him.

He put a hand on the Jongleur’s shoulder. ‘Stand by you, too, Rojer. Honest word. Nothing about Renna lessens what I owe you.’

Rojer blinked. ‘How did you know what I was …’

There was a flare in Amanvah’s aura as she focused on him. She was quick, that one, catching her husband’s meaning before he even finished speaking.

For an instant, he saw images floating around her, most prominently her parents. Amanvah walked deep in their shadow. Hovering between their images was a book.

‘You are thinking it is said in the Evejah that only the Deliverer can read the hearts of men,’ Arlen guessed.

Shock rippled along Amanvah’s aura, but then the young dama’ting went … serene, the surface of her emotions buried under the gentle rhythm of her breath. She stared at him with no less intensity, but his ability to read her vanished.

‘It is said,’ Amanvah agreed. ‘But you are not him.’

He glanced at Sikvah, surprised to note that her mind had the same sharp discipline as Amanvah’s. She was more than she seemed. Perhaps it was something to do with her white veil.

But while Rojer’s wives hid their auras, they could not mask the magic of the items they carried. Bound and warded bones in Amanvah’s and Sikvah’s chokers made it seem like their throats were ablaze. Arlen scanned the wards, similar to the ones on Rojer’s fiddle. He had seen the amplifying effect onstage. Useful magic.

Other jewellery shone with similar fire. The hora pouch at Amanvah’s waist veritably throbbed with it, and even Shamavah wore a few bits of demon bone among her rings and bracelets, though he could only guess at the effects.

‘You don’t trust me,’ Arlen said.

‘Is there any reason why we should?’ Amanvah asked.

Arlen concentrated, drawing a touch of magic through the young women, Knowing them.

‘No, but I trust you, Amanvah vah Ahmann.’ He nodded to Sikvah. ‘You and your sister-wife both. I can see that you are no ally of Nie, and your intentions toward my friend are true.’

‘Ay?’ Rojer asked.

‘Don’t get too excited,’ Arlen told him. ‘They may follow the letter of your commands, but they won’t hesitate to disobey the spirit if they think it best for you.’

Amanvah did not seem perturbed by the comment. ‘Our honoured husband sometimes requires … guidance.’

Arlen chuckled. ‘Fair and true.’

‘Ay!’ Rojer shouted.

Arlen smirked. ‘I don’t think I’m the Deliverer, Amanvah. Don’t think your da is, either. Don’t believe the Deliverer exists at all, save perhaps as a symbol all may aspire to.’

‘An unbeliever, rather than a heretic?’ Amanvah asked. ‘Is that better?’

Arlen bowed. ‘That is for you to decide, Princess.’

The corners of Amanvah’s eyes crinkled. ‘A decision for another day. Thank you for honouring us by allowing us to share in your celebration.’

Shamavah stepped up then. She held the same writing tablet Arlen had seen her with a hundred times, bringing back a rush of warm memories of Abban’s pavilions in the Great Bazaar.

Arlen could see images in her aura, connected to her in ledger lines of black and red, calculating debts paid and debts owed. Amanvah had sent her as a peace offering, and Shamavah was happy for the chance to ingratiate herself with Amanvah and Arlen both. She would do whatever was necessary to make tonight perfect, no matter whom she had to bribe or shout at, but it was a loan that would one day be called to account.

Arlen smiled. ‘You are so much like your husband, it makes my heart ache to see my friend Abban again.’

Shamavah bowed. ‘The son of Jeph is too kind.’ She gave no outward sign, but her aura was truly touched at the words.