Casket of Souls

Seregil mumbled, continuing on ahead.
    “Well, I am, and the others, too, most likely,” said Alec.
    Ema loaded a tray with rashers of bacon, hot oat cakes, a jar of honey, and a large pot of tea. Thero carried it and followed Alec upstairs.
    Seregil had collapsed into one of the armchairs with his face buried in his hands, heedless for once of how dirty they were. Micum stood gazing into the empty fireplace.
    “Oh, no!” gasped Alec, starting for the bedroom door.
    “No, she’s just the same,” Micum told him.
    Seregil sat back and ran his fingers through his hair. “We’ll search the house tonight while they’re onstage.”
    “And if it’s not there?” asked Thero.
    Seregil snorted. “Then I’ll personally torture Atre until he tells us where it is.”
    “I’ll help you.” Thero poured the tea and handed the cups around.
    “So we burgle Atre’s house tonight,” said Micum.
    “Yes,” Seregil replied. “If we don’t find what we’re looking for, we drive our prey, and pray to Illior that Atre or Brader leads us to the right bottle, and Elani’s things.”
    Micum rested his forehead in his hand. “Why are they doing this?”
    “I’ve been thinking about that,” said Seregil, sipping his tea. “The way that old man and his daughter describedseeing the raven woman up in the northlands? She could be a twin for the one we’ve seen. We know from Atre himself that he and Brader are from the north. What if both old women
are
Atre?”
    “That was thirty years ago,” said Micum. “Atre is a young man.”
    “Consuming the life of another to prolong one’s own,” mused Thero. “The cases I know of have all involved eating the flesh or drinking the blood of a victim. And for the most part, it was just superstition and cannibalism. But if what you suggest is true, then this magic works.”
    “The soul-stealing part certainly does,” said Micum, casting a pained look in the direction of the bedroom.
    Seregil was quiet for a moment, tapping his lip with one long finger, a sure sign that an idea was taking form. “Atre doesn’t always look the same. You haven’t seen enough of him to notice, Micum, but sometimes he looks younger, handsomer than others. I put it down to cosmetics, but maybe that’s the effect of the elixir. At Kylith’s wake Atre was positively glowing. I thought at the time it was odd, given the circumstances.”
    Alec snorted. “He was there to gloat!”
    “Yes. Now, let’s find Mika,” said Seregil, then yawned again.
    “I can guide Thero,” said Micum. “You two should rest while you can.”
    “We have to watch Atre’s house today. None of us have been there. We don’t know what the servant situation is or their daily routine.”
    “I’ll take first watch,” said Alec. “Micum, you can take the next, when you get back. Seregil, get some sleep.”
    As Thero followed Alec and Micum downstairs, he sent up a silent prayer to Illior that the child had survived, and not only for Illia’s sake.

 
    Y EW Street was a small, well-kept lane. People were already out about their morning business, and bread sellers and milk vendors were calling their wares. Dawn was breaking and the clouds overhead were pink against the pale blue of the sky.
    “Mika said a green-and-yellow door,” said Thero, looking around.
    The house in question stood at the far end of the street. It was a tidy little place, with late-summer flowers growing on either side of the stone doorsill. The upper windows were still shuttered, but they could hear a woman sobbing.
    “Oh, Illior!” murmured Micum.
    “We need to know for certain.” Thero went to the door and knocked.
    An instant later the shutters were thrown open overhead and a youngish-looking man in a nightshirt leaned out and gave them a puzzled look. “Who are you?”
    “Are you the father of a boy named Mika?” Thero asked.
    “I am, if that’s anything to you.”
    “Please, sir, if you would, how is the boy?”
    The man broke into a broad grin that belied the sounds of weeping still coming from the room behind him. “He’s awake! But how did you know?”
    “Forgive us for bothering you at such an hour,” said Micum. “This is Lord Thero of the Orëska House. He’s been working with the high priest of Dalna to find a cure for the sleeping death. I think he may have helped your boy tonight.”
    “I must examine him,” Thero told him. “It’s of vital importance to all Rhíminee.”
    The man goggled down at Thero.