The Singer, стр. 33
“That’s not good,” Rhys said.
“No, but the bigger surprise is the West. England and Scandinavia are still relatively quiet, but there’s more activity in France and the Netherlands than there has been since the Rending. Some in Germany.”
Malachi said, “But not Vienna?”
“There’s a reason that Irin society is based in Vienna, Malachi. It’s in the very heart of Europe. Surrounded by scribe houses and strongholds in the East and the West. There have always been Grigori in Europe, but not nearly as many as other parts of the world.”
“So it’s protected?”
“It has been. That’s part of the reason the Irin living there are so complacent. They don’t see Grigori attacks every week. If they see one a year, it’s shocking.”
“That makes sense,” he said.
Tas asked, “Is it true Jaron is no longer controlling the Grigori in Istanbul? Not that there’s anything like a good Fallen, but he wasn’t as bad as Volund. And he didn’t breed Grigori like rabbits.”
Leo shook his head. “We don’t know what Jaron is doing. We’re fairly sure the attack that killed Malachi was from Volund’s people, not Jaron’s.”
Phillip mused, “If Volund is making a concentrated push to expand his territory, he’d go for the outlying territories first. Turkey doesn’t fit with that.”
Malachi said, “But if he’s reaching down from Russia and into the Ukraine, then Turkey isn’t that far off.”
Rhys said, “He’d run into Svarog.”
Phillip shook his head. “Volund doesn’t fear Svarog.”
“He should.”
“What does he want?” Malachi muttered, picturing a map of eastern Europe in his mind. He pulled back, looked at all the continent. Not as the humans did, with their constantly changing borders. He pictured the slowly shifting spheres of power, ebbing and flowing with the centuries. One Fallen rose, another slowly toppled. Where was Volund in that cycle? And why had Jaron ceded power of Istanbul when he had held if for centuries?
Irin presence shone through Europe, a bright glowing thread that wove through most of the major cities; its brightest star being Vienna.
“What does Volund want?” Malachi asked again.
Phillip shrugged. “Power. To control as much territory as possible. And wipe out the Irin, of course. It’s always been the theory that Volund was the primary force behind the Rending.”
Malachi’s eyes narrowed. “So…”
Rhys said, “But you said there’s more activity in the West, too. It’s not just coming from one direction. Volund has little influence in western Europe.”
“We all have allies,” Malachi said, more and more of the picture snapping into place. “Volund’s strongest area has always been Russia, correct?”
“Since he destroyed Barak.” Leo smiled. “How did you know that?”
“I just did. Concentrate.” He spread his hands over the table, using cups and silverware to mark his mental map. “Volund wants to expand his influence from his base in Russia, but he doesn’t want to be noticed. What does he do?” He grabbed a saltshaker near his right elbow. “He gets Jaron out of Istanbul.”
“Or Jaron leaves,” Rhys said. “Either way, he’s gone.”
“And with him, the strongest competition for dominance in the east. Svarog is cunning, but he does not hunger for power.”
“And how did you know that?” Rhys asked.
“I don’t know! It doesn’t matter.” Malachi’s left arm came up and rested on the table, across from his right and on the opposite side of the map. “Now Volund comes from the north and the east. He needs help from the west, but according to you, Phillip, he’s getting it.”
Phillip nodded. “There are more Grigori popping up in France and Germany. Spain is still relatively stable. Grigori leadership there is fractured. It used to be controlled by Barak, but Volund killed him. Now we don’t really know who controls it.”
“But we know something is happening there.” Malachi’s left and right arms began to move closer together, showing the direction of movement across the map. “Volund controls the Grigori in the north. He’s moving in the east”—he lifted his right arm—“and someone else is moving in the west.” He lifted his left. “Volund wants to wipe the Irin from the earth. And where is the center of the Irin world?”
“Vienna,” Leo said. “But—”
“Exactly. And why would Volund send an arrow to Vienna when he could give them…” His arms closed in on a mental point in the center of the table. “A nice, slow hug?”
Chapter Twelve
The words Orsala had taught her slipped from her lips, an ancient incantation that set Ava’s blood humming.
“Shanda vash…”
This was Power.
She could feel it welling up, stirring under her skin as the words took shape on her tongue. A spell to distract and disarm an enemy. Ancient words. Holy words. Dangerous words…
Bruno winced and closed his eyes. “Yes. She’s definitely hit it.”
“What do you feel?” Orsala asked.
“Like if she doesn’t stop I’m going to lose my lunch on your lovely Turkish carpet, Orsala.”
“Details, Bruno. I need to know the effects.”
“There’s a—a piercing pain in my temple. A—and my limbs feel weak, as well.”
“Excellent. She’s only been practicing this one for a few days.”
His voice was strained. “I’m serious. I’m about to throw up.”
Ava barely heard him. The magic was too heady. Like wine, it seeped into her blood and went straight to her head. It wasn’t the painful jolt of power she’d felt in the cistern. Orsala had taught her control, so the words she spoke flowed from her belly, up her throat, and left her mouth softly. Weaker magic, perhaps, but magic she could hold far longer.
Speak.
The dark voice called her.
Yes…
“Ava.” She felt the hand on her shoulder as if in a dream. “Enough.”
Bruno’s hand was at his temple. “Orsala,” he forced out the words. “I can’t—”
“Ava, you need to stop.” Orsala’s grip was firmer. Her words more clear. “Now. Release the magic.”
Not yet…
Bruno was barely standing. His face was pale. “Orsala…”
“Shanda huul!”
The old woman’s words hit her in the stomach like a punch. Ava gasped, rocking back on her heels as the force of her own spell was turned against her. She could feel the pain in her head, like the high whine of a piercing whistle. It turned her stomach inside out, and she almost fell down when her knees buckled. Bruno caught her before she hit the ground.
“There you are,” he said. His eyes still carried hints of pain, but he was smiling. “Got a taste of your own medicine, did you?”
“How were you even standing through that?” she choked out.
Orsala said, “He’s a bear. And a very good-natured one at that. Thank you, Bruno.”
The great man enclosed her in an embrace, pressing his hand to her cheek. The warm affection flowed into her like a hug against her soul. “That was a lot of magic you were wielding. Not even my Karen at her angriest has hit me like that.”
“I’m so sorry.” With the heady rush of power dissipating in the room, Ava felt the guilt rush in. She’d caused him pain, and she’d held it for long minutes. She’d only felt a second of her spell turned on her and it made her want to curl in a ball and sleep for a week.
He laughed. “It’s fine! I’m happy to help you practice. How do you feel, sister?”
“Tired. You?”
“Hungry.”
“Hungry? How can you be hungry after that?”
“I am a scribe of tremendous appetite.” He set Ava on her feet and stepped back. Then he patted his belly and looked toward the door. “Are we done here? I need to find my woman.”
“You are a beast,” Orsala said. “Go. And thank you, Bruno.”
He left Orsala’s cottage whistling.
Ava watched him through the window. “That is the most cheerful man I’ve ever met.”
Orsala smiled. “He is a treasure to us. Gentle as a dove and strong as an ox.”