The Soul Mirror Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER 1 - 36 NIEBA, MIDDAY 881ST YEAR OF THE SABRIAN REALM

  CHAPTER 2 - 36 NIEBA, MIDDLE-NIGHT

  CHAPTER 3 - 1 OCET, AFTERNOON

  CHAPTER 4 - 1 OCET, EVENING

  CHAPTER 5 - 4 OCET, AFTERNOON

  CHAPTER 6 - 4 OCET, EVENING

  CHAPTER 7 - 5 OCET, EVENING

  CHAPTER 8 - 10 OCET, AFTERNOON

  CHAPTER 9 - 17 OCET, AFTERNOON

  CHAPTER 10 - 17 OCET, EVENING

  CHAPTER 11 - 17 OCET, NIGHT

  CHAPTER 12 - 18 OCET, MIDMORNING

  CHAPTER 13 - SOLA PASSIERT, MORNING

  CHAPTER 14 - SOLA PASSIERT, LATE AFTERNOON

  CHAPTER 15 - SOLA PASSIERT, EVENING

  CHAPTER 16 - 19 OCET, MORNING

  CHAPTER 17 - 19 OCET, LATE AFTERNOON

  CHAPTER 18 - 19 OCET, NIGHT

  CHAPTER 19 - 19 OCET, MIDDLE-NIGHT

  CHAPTER 20 - 20 OCET, BEFORE DAWN

  CHAPTER 21 - 20 OCET, MORNING

  CHAPTER 22 - 20 OCET, EVENING

  CHAPTER 23 - 21 OCET, AFTERNOON

  CHAPTER 24 - 21 OCET, EVENING

  CHAPTER 25 - 22 OCET, MORNING

  CHAPTER 26 - 22/23 OCET, MIDDLE-NIGHT

  CHAPTER 27 - 23 OCET, DAWN

  CHAPTER 28 - 23 OCET, MORNING

  CHAPTER 29 - 23 OCET, MIDDAY

  CHAPTER 30 - 23 OCET, AFTERNOON

  CHAPTER 31 - 24 OCET, LATE EVENING

  CHAPTER 32 - 25 OCET, BEFORE DAWN

  CHAPTER 33 - 25 OCET, NIGHT

  CHAPTER 34 - 26 OCET, BEFORE DAWN

  CHAPTER 35 - 26 OCET, BEFORE DAWN

  CHAPTER 36 - 26 OCET, MORNING

  CHAPTER 37 - 26 OCET, MIDDAY

  CHAPTER 38 - 27 OCET, PREDAWN

  CHAPTER 39 - 27 OCET, MIDMORNING

  CHAPTER 40 - 27 OCET, SUNSET

  CHAPTER 41 - 27 OCET, NIGHT

  CHAPTER 42 - 27 OCET, NIGHT

  CHAPTER 43 - AFTERWARD

  CHAPTER 44

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Praise for the Novels of Carol Berg

  The Spirit Lens

  “In this superbly realized leadoff to Berg’s quasi-Renaissance fantasy trilogy . . . Berg shapes the well-worn elements of epic fantasy into a lush, absorbing narrative.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Rich with vivid characters and unforgettable places. . . . [Berg] spins an infectiously enjoyable series opener that fans of thought-provoking fantasy and intriguing mystery should appreciate.”

  —Library Journal

  “A super opening to what looks like a great alternate Renaissance fantasy. . . . Fans will appreciate this strong beginning as science and sorcery collide when three undercover agents investigate the divine and unholy collision of murder, magic, and physics.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  “Berg is entirely adept at creating a detailed and nuanced fantasy world, made all the more impressive by noting that other books she has written seem to be about other worlds with other rules.”

  —I Don’t Write Summaries

  “A genuine page-turner that should please both mystery and fantasy fans.”

  —Booklist

  “A nonstop ride to a superb ending that left my appetite whetted for the next installment.”

  —Fantasy Book Critic

  “Berg is a master world builder that novice fantasy authors would do well to study. This first installment in a new trilogy, Collegia Magica, is a winner.”

  —Romantic Times

  “The Spirit Lens is an incredibly enjoyable fantasy adventure for those who love unexpected heroes, web-worked plots, magic versus technology, and librarians with a skill for investigative spying.”

  —The Reader Eclectic

  Breath and Bone

  “The narrative crackles with intensity against a vivid backdrop of real depth and conviction, with characters to match. Altogether superior.”

  —Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

  “Berg’s lush, evocative storytelling and fully developed characters add up to a first-rate purchase for most fantasy collections.”

  —Library Journal

  “Replete with magic-powered machinations, secret societies, and doomsday divinations, the emotionally intense second volume of Berg’s intrigue-laden Lighthouse Duet concludes the story of Valen. . . . Fans of Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Avalon sequence and Sharon Shinn will be rewarded.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Berg combines druid and Christian influences against a backdrop of sorcerers, priestesses, priests, deep evil, and a dying land to create an engrossing tale to get lost in . . . enjoyable.”

  —Monsters and Critics

  “An excellent read . . . a satisfying sequel.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  Flesh and Spirit

  “The vividly rendered details . . . give this book such power. Berg brings to life every stone in a peaceful monastery and every nuance in a stratified society, describing the difficult dirty work of ordinary life as beautifully as she conveys the heart-stopping mysticism of holiness just beyond human perception.”

  —Sharon Shinn, national bestselling author of Quatrain

  “Valen is unquestionably memorable—in what is definitely a dark fantasy as much concerned with Valen’s internal struggle as with his conflicts with others.”

  —Booklist

  “Chilling fantasy.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Fast-paced. . . . Berg creates a troubled world full of politics, anarchy, and dark magic. . . . The magic is fascinating.”

  —SFRevu

  “Carol Berg has done a masterful job of creating characters, places, religions, and political trials that grab and hold your attention. . . . Don’t miss one of 2007’s best fantasy books!”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “[Berg] excels at creating worlds. . . . I’m eagerly awaiting the duology’s concluding volume, Breath and Bone. . . . An engrossing and lively tale, with enough action to keep you hungry for more.”

  —The Davis Enterprise

  The Bridge of D’Arnath Novels

  “A very promising start to a new series.”

  —The Denver Post

  “Berg has mastered the balance between mystery and storytelling [and] pacing; she weaves past and present together, setting a solid foundation. . . . It’s obvious [she] has put incredible thought into who and what makes her characters tick.”

  —The Davis Enterprise

  “Berg exhibits her skill with language, world building, and the intelligent development of the magic that affects and is affected by the characters. . . . A promising new multivolume work that should provide much intelligent entertainment.”

  —Booklist

  “Imagination harnessed to talent produces a fantasy masterpiece, a work so original and believable that it will be very hard to wait for the next book in this series to be published.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “[Seri] is an excellent main heroine; her voice, from the first person, is real and practical. . . . I’m truly looking forward to seeing what happens next.”

  —SF Site

  “Gut-wrenching, serious fantasy fiction.”

  —Science Fiction Romance

  Song of the Beast Winner of the Colorado Book Award for Science Fiction/Fantasy

  “The plot keeps twisting right until the end . . . entertaining characters.”

  —Locus

  “Berg’s fascinating fantasy is a puzzle story, with a Celtic-flavored setting and a plot as intricate and absorbing as fine Celtic lacework. . . . The characters
are memorable, and Berg’s intelligence and narrative skill make this stand-alone fantasy most commendable.”

  —Booklist

  “It would be easy to categorize it as another dragon fantasy book. Instead, it is a well-crafted mystery. . . . Definitely recommended for libraries looking for high-quality fantasy and mystery additions.”

  —KLIATT

  ALSO BY CAROL BERG

  THE COLLEGIA MAGICA SERIES

  The Spirit Lens

  THE LIGHTHOUSE SERIES

  Flesh and Spirit

  Breath and Bone

  THE BRIDGE OF D’ARNATH SERIES

  Son of Avonar

  Guardians of the Keep

  The Soul Weaver

  Daughter of Ancients

  THE RAI-KIRAH SERIES

  Transformation

  Revelation

  Restoration

  Song of the Beast

  ROC

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, January 2011

  Copyright © Carol Berg, 2011 All rights reserved

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:

  Berg, Carol.

  The soul mirror: a novel of the Collegia Magica/Carol Berg.

  p. cm.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-47847-9

  PS3602.E7523S68 2011

  813’.6—dc22 2010034844

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For those who are shy, reserved, or introverted, who lack self confidence, or who just can’t ever come up with a punch line until a day late . . .

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks, as always, to Linda the Muse, aka the spirit of Lianelle, for literary lunching and launching. To Susan, Laurey, Brian, Catherine, Curt, and Courtney for their support and tough, careful reading, and especially to Glenn, fine man, fine friend, fine writer. To Markus for sharing his combative expertise. To my dear readers for their constant encouragement. And most especially to the Exceptional Spouse for love and support above and beyond.

  CHAPTER 1

  36 NIEBA, MIDDAY 881ST YEAR OF THE SABRIAN REALM

  “Here we are, Damoselle de Vernase.” My escort drew aside the overhanging pine branches so I could better view the disturbed ground. A raven flapped away, screeching, scraping my already stripped nerves. The shallow ravine was heavily wooded, preventing any glimpse of the severe gray walls or the round, slate-roofed towers my younger sister had called home for the past seven years.

  Lianelle had once told me that forests were the perfect representation of magic: roots that delved deep into the rich, layered loam of all that had come before, shadow and light, growth and decay, mystery and life. All of it connected and balanced, ever changing, yet old beyond history. My sister had lived for magic. And now she had died for it—all her merry teasing, her laughter, her brilliance wasted on lies, dead dreams, and superstition.

  The wiry little man shuddered and licked his pale lips with an overlong tongue. “Mage Bourrier says that for the last tenday Acolyte Lianelle has scarce been seen about the collegia. Whatever she was working on, it was certainly not her assigned duties or lessons. The alchemical stores were dreadfully out of order and the aviary unswept, and she had not yet submitted her essay on theoretical formulae for shape transformations. One of the tutors found her out here. Evidence bespoke a magical explosion . . . as I told you. Horrid.”

  And then they had dug a hole and thrown her in without a song or a prayer or a kinsman’s touch to bid her farewell. A girl of seventeen. Horrid could not even begin to describe it. What of despicable, vile, unconscionable?

  Yet another spasm of pain shivered my heart. Anger and resentment burned in my chest like fiery ingots, and I wanted to yell and weep and curse every stone of this place and every bastion of Heaven. But I swallowed the knot in my throat and clamped my jaw tight. Anne de Vernase did not crumble before strangers.

  The patch of raw earth scraped out of the scorched bracken had been outlined with salt and sprinkled with herbs, likely some magical foolery intended to keep evil away—or contain it. Unbelievable that anyone could countenance such nonsense, when academicians could view the structure of a salt crystal through magnifying lenses and write treatises cataloging its properties. Every day scholars and academicians unmasked another enchantment as a fraud.

  Only Lianelle had ever been able to fool me into thinking there was any substance to sorcery. “Certainly not in the common practices,” she would say with a mixture of excitement and worldly wisdom laughable in a girl who had spent almost half her life within these walls. “Most large magical workings are illusion, and anything for sale in the marketplace is a waste of good coin. But the fundamentals—spellwork, binding power, elemental linkages between natural objects—those are real. That’s what I study at Collegia Seravain.” And then an oriole would settle on top of her head or the hearth fire would flare into stringy flames the deep blue of iris, and Lianelle would swear she had not thrown lamp oil in the hearth to make it burn so strangely or sprinkled seeds in her hair to attract the bird, but had done it all with magic. Laughing.

  I folded my arms in front of me as if by force of will I might not lose the last bits of her. My sister. My dearest friend in the world. How could she be dead?

  Their salt barrier had not lasted even a sevenday. Rain or animals had already blurred and broken the white lines.

  “You’ve not marked her burial place with so much as a stick,” I said, the magnitude of the hurt leaving privacy and dignity in ruins. “Did no one recall she had family to mourn her, to give her honor to ease her Veil journey? Why was she not taken to a proper deadhouse?”

&nb
sp; My companion’s fluttering hands dismissed my concerns, his bony wrists protruding from his sleeves as if he had put on a younger apprentice’s gown. “The chancellor determined we could afford no delay in such untidy circumstances. A master mage came from Merona and laid heavy enchantments about her body to ensure nothing of her mistakes lingered to harm others. Being ungifted, you perhaps would not understand.”

  Ungifted. Paeans to the Pantokrator and his saints that I was ungifted in the ways of magic! Better to be plain, plodding Anne than dead like my gifted sister or locked away, unable to tell day from night, like my gifted mother. With my brother four years hostage to an angry king’s vengeance, I seemed to be the only functioning member left of a family my father had once proclaimed “as perfectly balanced as the elegant ellipses of the planets.” My father, who had explained the world to me, only to prove his every word a lie. My father, the royal diplomat, the man of science, the traitor.

  I squeezed my arms tighter, fingers pressing to the bone. “This land belongs to the collegia?” I scanned the rugged landscape for some fence or marker.

  “Yes. Though much of our lower, flatter land has had to be sold off—a disgraceful result of the king’s new tax levies—the forest reaches and cliff-side lands remain under our hold.”

  “Then certainly the mages will not object to my placing a stone marker scribed with my sister’s name here. A small thing. Out of the way.” Too little, too cold, too hard to remember a bright spirit. “She died while in the school’s care.”

  “Um . . . I will have to inquire, of course. I was told only to show you.” The balding man, not a day younger than fifty years, chewed his nails like a schoolchild. The masters of the collegia had sent an aging apprentice—a nobody—to guide me here. Someone who could answer not one of my thousand questions. No adept, no mage, and certainly no master could spare the time to explain why a sixth-year student at Collegia Magica de Seravain had been found half buried in last year’s leaves, her flesh scorched and her fingers missing. I supposed I should be grateful they had notified me at all.