by Greg James
“It is called amethi. Try it.”
Willow bit into it, made an uhm sound, smacked her lips and said, “This is what stardraught is made from, isn’t it?”
Henu shrugged as he bit into an amethi of his own.
“Distilled from fruit? No wonder it tastes like magic.”
Willow couldn’t help herself. She began to laugh and soon Henu joined in.
It was the first laughter heard in that part of Tirlane for a long time.
Chapter Seven
After a dinner of amethi and stardraught, Willow drifted off to sleep very easily.
There was a moment of vertigo and hanging in blackness.
She opened her eyes and saw nothing.
There was ground underneath her feet.
It felt cold and rough.
Where am I?
She reached out and felt the edge of something close by. She reached a bit further and found another edge running parallel and set farther back. These were the steps out of the cellar. They must be. It had been a dream, after all. Willow got up onto her knees, looked around and saw faint shapes, which must’ve been the cellar’s clutter.
There was a light at the top of the steps filtering around the door.
I’m home.
It was night-time and Dad had turned the lights on indoors.
Willow got to her feet and went up the steps. She opened the door at the top and stepped out of the cellar. Dad was here. Dad was home. She was going to see him and everything was going to be okay – but the smile on her face and hope in her heart died with the closing of the door behind her.
This was not her home.
It was a cavern carved out by water and the passing of ages until it resembled a place of worship. There was a natural stone altar in the centre. Ochre flames danced quietly in standing sconces of twisted iron. The light of the flames caught on something which rested upon the altar. Willow couldn’t hear anything, except for the sound of running water far away. Wherever this place was, it was deep underground.
She looked back the way she’d come. There was no door set in the opening she’d stepped through even though she’s seen it, opened it, and felt it close. She looked through the opening and saw the steps she’d ascended were an uneven stone path with a fall into abysmal darkness on the far side. There was no trace of the house’s cellar.
It had been an illusion.
A dream within a dream?
She dismissed the thought. It was too insane to even consider.
What was that on the altar?
She went over, looked, and her breath caught in her throat.
It was a framed photograph of her and Dad.
There was a dark crack in the glass running between them.
Willow stifled a sob.
“Do not weep, Willow Grey. I am not done with you yet.”
The words came from all around her. Willow turned and turned but she could see no-one there. There was no way in or out of the cavern except by the path she’d taken.
“Who’s that? Who’s there?”
“I am here. I am everywhere. I bid thee welcome. This is my domain.”
“Who’re you?”
“You know me. The Wealdsman doth call me Lamia.”
Before Willow could speak, something grabbed hold of her. It pushed her down, forcing her to the ground. The bones in her knees cracked hard on stone. She cried out.
“You would do well to pray to me for succour. It is within my power to grant mercy as well as pain.”
“Wuh-why would I do that?”
“I could ease your pain. If you were to give yourself to me willingly, this could be over. You could go back to your world and I could spare you further suffering.”
“ I-I am going back. We’re going to Harrowclave. There is a gate there. The Wisps showed it to me.”
Pain crept and sprang along the path of every nerve in her body. Willow felt tears in her eyes and tasted blood in her mouth. This was no dream – it was a nightmare.
The voice was no longer all around her. It was inside her head and it felt like a hundred-thousand small spiders were crawling about under her skin. They were as cold as ice and as dark as night. She knew without being told that this Lamia was the mother of the No-men.
As such things should not be born, so there should be no such thing alive which could birth them. This was the Lamia; in name and nature. Hoary and ancient; existing before the first light was shed and sure to endure after the last of it faded away. Endless and brooding in the pits and nether-places of the world. All things were hers to feast upon and Willow’s pain was but a morsel compared to the banquet which the Lamia wished to make of the world above.
“Why are you hurting me?”
“Because you are a blind, dull, and witless creature. It pleases me to torment such things as yourself. The gate at Harrowclave is a false gate, Willow Grey. It is not why they wish you to go there.”
“What d’you mean? Why would the Wisps ... why would Henu lie to me?”
“Because they are slaves to prophecy. They have seen your coming and think they are saved. Harrowclave is where they wish to declare you. They will call you Greychild. Heed my words, Willow Grey, for only I know you stumbled into Tirlane unwillingly. Give yourself to me and I will show you the way home. I will return you to your father.”
“Why would you help me?”
“Because you do not wish to be here and I would not have you here. I would see you awake and know this is all the dream it must be. Think on it, Greychild, but not for too long. Time is ever-moving. The hour of decision approaches, and I will brook no delay from you when it comes.”
“How will I know?”
“You will know, and you will kneel before me with bloodstained hands.”
Willow was shaking to her core, almost in spasm. She was sure that she must be crying out in her sleep. Why didn’t Henu wake her? Why couldn’t someone save her from this horror?
Dad!
However, through the fear, she found her voice and some resolve. Enough to ask a question, make a small demand, “Why can’t you tell me what you want from me? I want to know ... before I agree to anything.”
How could she trust something that took so much pleasure in pain?
“Because I will make sure the pain never ends if you do not do as I ask,” the voice said, “and would you not do anything to return home to your father, Willow Grey?”
The pain ended. Willow drew in a breath that was wet and halting.
“Yes ... yes, I would. Anything.”
“Then, Willow Grey, you already know what I would ask of you.”
With those words ringing in her ears, Willow awoke, breathless and gasping. Long minutes passed before she was able to draw a calm breath. Henu slept on, undisturbed. The Lamia had made sure of that. Willow lay awake until the dawn rose thinking, long and deep.
... prophecy ... lies ... home ... decision ... false ... bloodstained hands ...
She wished Dad was there so she could ask him – what do I do now? – because Willow didn’t know. She didn’t have a clue.
Chapter Eight
The following day, as they walked, Willow espied a number of broken peaks reaching high over the land. The peaks looked like they were once towers. Henu answered her question before she could ask it. “What you see are the remains of Covenheart, friend Willow. It was the sister to the castle of Silfrenheart. As Silfrenheart guards Tirlane’s lower lands, so Covenheart was founded to protect the higher lands.”
“That didn’t work out too well for them by the look of things.”
“No. Covenheart fell and, with its fall, began the growth of the Lamia’s strength.”
“And this is the sanctuary you were talking about?”
Henu shook his head, “I would not enter Covenheart unless there was absolutely no other choice. It is a haunted place. The ghosts of its past do not rest easy.”
Henu finished speaking as they came over the last rise and Willow beheld the
shattered glory of Covenheart, sunken into a shallow vale which cleft the plain. The castle towers were crushed spindles. The outer walls were gouged and wounded. The inner keep itself was unbroken but its portals were dark with years of silent sorrow.
Suddenly from behind them came a terrible cry. Willow looked back and saw familiar, dreadful shapes cresting the rises of the uneven land.
“Henu, the No-men are coming. They’ve found us.”
The Wealdsman looked at the unmistakable forms of his enemies and then cast a dark look at the ruin of Covenheart. The whispering voices of the No-men were close. It would not be long before the creatures were upon them. Willow didn’t know if she could drive them off again. No, some part of her knew she could not deny the No-men a second time.
Henu’s voice was heavy as he spoke, “They are too close and the place I would bring you to is too far away.”
“So we’re going inside? Won’t they follow us in there?”
“I do not think so. No-one has entered Covenheart’s portals and returned since its fall.”
“That’s not very comforting.”
“No, it is not, but it is the only haven we can turn to now.”
Henu led the way through Covenheart’s gate. After they were through, he turned about, swigged from his flask of stardraught and made a motion with his hands. The ancient gate slammed shut. “A spell of Closing,” he said, “hopefully it will be enough to keep them out.”
When he turned back to face her, Willow could see he was not telling her everything. He feared something – or could it be someone? – in this place. She followed him, hoping an appropriate moment would come where she could ask him what he feared.
In the mean time, Willow marvelled at the tumbled-down necropolis as they crossed through the crumbled skeleton of its barbican. The courtyard beyond was marked by fallen balconies over which the two companions had to carefully climb. Willow also saw how Henu eyed the movement of shadows. He was just being cautious of the No-men getting in by some other way path, right?
At the far side of the courtyard, there was an open gateway with statues on either side of it. Willow noticed how the heads of the statues were missing and nothing else. The sight gave her a chill. Hadn’t she heard something about certain spiders biting off the heads of their prey first? She wasn’t sure, but she knew this was the Lamia’s work – not just for her benefit though. No, that couldn’t be the case. Willow didn’t look at the statues as she walked past them into the main court chamber of Covenheart.
The roof overhead was domed and partially fallen-in. The suspended ruin looked as if it might at any moment collapse upon their heads like an avalanche. Daylight filtered through, casting jagged shadows onto overturned urns of green copper, tables of splintered marble, and shards of porcelain vases which were mingled with huge fragments of masonry already fallen from above. All was mutilated here. All was ruin.
Henu took out the Kindling. Its light intensified enough to fully illuminate the echoing space around them. Willow caught her breath as she saw there was a dais at the centre of the chamber and, at the top of it, a throne.
The throne was not empty.
There was a figure sitting on it, erect like a statue, staring off into the distance.
“Who’s that, Henu? Should she even be here? This place is dead.”
“Her name is Eren, I believe. The last High Warden of Tirlane.” His voice held the same fear as she’d heard earlier. This woman was the source of his dread.
“Is she alive?”
“Yes,” the figure on the throne intoned, “I am alive though I should not be. Come closer that I might see you.”
Willow looked at Henu, doubtful. He sighed and hung his head a little.
“Please,” the voice spoke again, “it is so long since I have looked upon the living face of another soul. Have pity on one who does not deserve pity.”
Willow and Henu carefully mounted the cracked steps to the foot of the throne and presented themselves to Eren. The enthroned woman was regally dressed and crowned though her clothing was deeply worn away, almost to tatters. Her face was lean and noble with slender, almond eyes which seemed to glow with an inner light. “They left me here as a mockery. The queen of nothing and mistress only to the desolation which I wrought.”
“What’s she talking about, Henu?” Willow asked.
“Let her tell you.” Henu said, almost curtly.
“For a hundred years,” Eren went on, “there was bounty and plenty in Tirlane, until I fell into hubris as the Giants fell before me. I thought I could undo the Lamia’s very being and cast her out of this world. I spoke the Uncanted Spell atop the highest tower of Covenheart, thinking it would destroy her but it did not. Instead it destroyed all those dear to me and, through them, it destroyed me.”
“What’s the Uncanted Spell?” Willow asked, feeling like an uninitiated student.
“A conjuration of great power,” Henu said, “the simplest way that I can explain it is this; death has its place in the natural order, at the end of one’s life, yes?”
Willow nodded.
“Well, the Uncanted Spell takes death out of its place and brings it into the present, to now. So you see, whomsoever the Spell is cast against has their last day ahead of the time when it should have been – and that is the true horror of it.
“The Uncanted Spell tears apart and then remakes the sacred weave of Time and Space. It makes an event that should not be become so. No mortal soul should ever wield such power.”
“And she did. She used it against the Lamia.” Willow said, beginning to understand Henu’s fear.
“She did, and there were consequences. You cannot re-mould the very stuff of Creation and think not to suffer for it. Her arrogance was rank and her pain for it has been great.”
“The Wealdsman speaks the truth and I hold naught against him for being so bold,” Eren said, “let me show you my last day and how it has been with me ever since then.”
Chapter Nine
Eren stood atop the highest minaret of Covenheart.
She had cast the Uncanted Spell. The world had seemed to disappear and for a terrifying moment she had thought the world itself had come undone, but it came back – looking much the same as it had before. There was no outward sign of her will upon it and she was glad of that. It was only when she descended the steps into the heart of the castle that she saw what was amiss; her fellow Wardens, the Maidens, their children, and the Elders, that comprehension began to dawn – though she denied it as much as she could.
Everyone had been here when she ascended the minaret’s stairs. Their talk, their chanting, and their laughter had been in the air.
It was not there now – and neither were they.
Covenheart was empty.
Eren drew up her skirts and began to quickly pace through the halls and chambers but found the truth of her senses answered everywhere. The castle was utterly deserted. She was returning to the minaret when she heard a footstep behind her.
Eren turned and saw it was Thekreth; a Maiden not yet raised to Wardenhood – and she remembered how the girl had often struck her as passing strange. She could not remember when the Maiden arrived at the castle. Indeed, now that she thought about it, she remembered nothing of Thekreth being trained or taught the ways of the Wardens. The girl had just been there from some point; cooking in the kitchens, scrubbing the floors, and working in the library-halls.
Eren had never been able to shake the sense she was being watched whenever she turned her back on the girl. Of course, whenever she turned to confront the Maiden for impertinence, Thekreth was hard at work; looking as if she had not even paused from her labours to look Eren’s way – except for that one time. Eren had been studying the ancient books by candlelight in the library-halls when Thekreth came to her side, soft as a whisper out of the night-time shadows. She’d made Eren jump. “Maiden, what do you do here? Can you not see I am at my studies?”
“You should take care of what you se
ek in the old books, my Warden.”
“And may I remind you that you are not to speak to a Warden in such a way?”
“You may. Be sure though, my Warden, be very sure of what you do. Even now it is not too late to turn from the path you have set yourself upon.”
Such familiarity rankled with Eren. “I am sure of what I do, thank you, and do not presume to speak to me as one who is wise. You are yet to be raised.”
“As you are yet to be raised to High Warden. Is that not your dream? Is that not why you toil here seeking for ancient spells which are not a part of your studies?”
“Away, child, away. Before I have you chastised.”
“Forgive me, my Warden. I only wished to help as a Maiden is meant to. I hope you find, and deserve, what you seek.” Thekreth said as she departed.
Very strange, how very strange, Eren had thought at the time and now, here she was.
Thekreth met her gaze with eyes as hard as glass.
“Explain yourself, Thekreth. Where is everyone?”
“They are gone, my Warden.”
“How so?”
“Gone. No longer here. They have been taken away.”
“Taken away? What say you?”
“They have been taken by Time, my Warden. They have been ripped from the world and cast into the bottomless depths of Space. The Uncanted Spell has done its work very well.”
Eren’s heart stilled for a split-second and numbness ran through her body, “What do you know of the Uncanted Spell?”
“That you cast it unthinking of the consequences. You should have read further than you did in the old books, my Warden. It is not enough to know the formula. One should know what will be the end of the formula being enacted. You did not, did you?”
Eren shook her head demurely, a Maiden again before Thekreth, “Tell me.”
“The Uncanted Spell unmakes and remakes the weave of Time and Space, but a price must be paid for such an act. You sought to destroy the Lamia with it – a being so primal that she was found gnawing at the roots of the world, was she not? Time and Space have taken all those within Covenheart’s walls to set the balance aright, otherwise the weave of Time would have been torn asunder.”