Flight Into Darkness by Sarah Ash Page B

it? The very reason for our journey is going to show us the way.” Celestine heard the faint, warning call of a bird, answered by another, farther off. She had been troubled by a strange sensation ever since they parted company with
    Chaikin. From time to time she shivered, even though she was not cold or feverish.
    A current of silvery translucence snakes through the air…
    The green branches overhead stirred, moved by a freak gust of wind.
    She stopped, hugging her arms to her, suddenly chilled to the depths of her soul.
    “Celestine?” Jagu, realizing that she was no longer walking beside him, turned and saw her standing, gazing up into the cloudy sky.
    “What is he doing here?” she said, as if talking to herself.
    “He? Who do you mean?” Jagu looked upward. All he could see above the interwoven branches of shaggy fir was the milky pallor of the cloud-veiled sky.
    “Didn't you feel it?” Her eyes had a distant, unfocused look. “It was the Magus.”

CHAPTER 3

    “The Magus?” Jagu hastily pushed back his sleeve, checking the mark on his left wrist. “Are you sure?” He showed her; the sigil could only faintly be detected, like a pearlescent tattoo against the blue veins marking his pulse point. “If it's a magus, then it's not the one who did this to me.”
    “Why is Kaspar Linnaius in Azhkendir?” Celestine asked, kicking a pinecone out of her path. “Is he here on the Emperor's business? Or on some affair of his own?” She felt on edge now.
    In a little clearing, they found the first shrine to the saint—a worn stone plinth, overgrown with ivy. Jagu bent down to clear away some of the clinging strands. Faint letters could just be made out, surmounted by the sign of the crook pointing the way to the monastery. The only sound was the twittering of birds and the occasional feathery flutter of wings as they flitted across the glade.
    “Doesn't it strike you as ironic that Saint Sergius is venerated here,” Jagu said, straightening up, “even though his murderer, the Drakhaoul, has lived on for centuries in the ruling house? How can the Azhkendis reconcile the two, the saint and the daemon?”
    While he was speaking, Celestine noticed that a strange stillness had fallen over the green glade.
    “The birds have stopped singing. Is someone watching us?”
    “Show yourself!” Jagu drew his pistol. Back to back, heel to heel, they slowly turned around, checking for any sign of movement among the lichen-blotched trunks. But if anyone was shadowing them, he kept well hidden. She heard him let out a slow breath. “Thisis only the first of the shrines; there are four more to go before we reach the monastery.”
    “If we're going to reach the pilgrims’ shelter before nightfall, we'd better make a move.” Celestine was tired and her feet were hot and sore, but the knowledge that Kaspar Linnaius was close by gave her new determination to keep going. As they left the glade, she noticed Jagu glancing back over his shoulder. Had the Magus been shadowing them?
    They stopped by the mossy banks of a forest stream to catch fish for supper. Celestine had learned on earlier missions that Jagu's stillness and quick eye made him a good fisherman.
    “That's not a trick you learned at the seminary,” she said, watching him dispatch the slippery, struggling char with an expertly judged blow to the head.
    “My elder brother Markiz taught me,” he said, laying it beside his two earlier catches.
    “How many brothers do you have?” He so rarely spoke of his family that she couldn't resist the chance to tease out some information about his early life.
    “Markiz took over the family estate when my father died three years ago. Léonor is a notary in Kemper. And I…”
    “You showed an early gift for music, so your father sent you to a seminary.”
    He pulled a face. “My father never really understood,” he said curtly, getting to his feet. “Time to go.” He pointed to the sky. “We have to find the