by Viviene Noel
The switch of personality, on the other hand, ought to be discussed. With the dreams she experienced, even if she refused to explain them in detail, and the twisted thoughts that crossed her mind at times. How dark, or how troubled, was the woman she travelled with?
Emmerentia pressed her mare forward, closing the distance with the men. They took a smaller path lined with arched trees, creating a misty road in the descending sunlight. In the distance, growing as they approached, a cabin started to appear.
It was small, perhaps one or two inhabitants, a facade interlaced with branches and vine leaves, the cabin itself built against the side of a giant oak tree. Flowerpots and herbs hung sparsely from the various branches, the front door itself decorated with three different leaves in the shape of a triangle.
Emmerentia abruptly stopped the horse. She blinked, bracing herself. A scent, old and malicious, hit her. The mist hovering above the house and their own heads chilled her to the core, snaking down her spine.
It stunk of old magic, of essence magic. How had her brother dared bring her to such a place? She walked the horse forward until she was level with the men, angling her head towards her twin. Fàaran only held her stare.
Whatever the Rockery was, it made her hand slide discreetly to the knife at her belt. ‘Care to share what this place is?’ Emmerentia muttered, at a still respectable distance from the cabin to avoid anyone at ear range.
Darios replied, a smile casting shadows on his face, ‘An old friend of mine.’ He lifted his hand in a silent command.
Despite the situation, her nostrils flared. She’d sworn herself never to accept a command from a man again.
There was a green pasture near them, and they dismounted, leaving the horses to rest. Emmerentia patted her horse’s neck whilst tightening her knife belt.
A snivelling, cracking, and mocking voice broke the silence. ‘What do we have here?’
Emmerentia schooled her features into calmness, even if it sent her body shivering.
Darios looked at them both with a face she did not think him capable of. ‘Only I speak.’
Her aversion for magic only matched her nervousness in the face of nature made creatures. Magic, in any form, was an unpredictable advantage showered upon a crib; when they had one or both feet in the forest and the instincts that came with it, it was a different story.
Regardless of the tone, Emmerentia gladly nodded.
Fàaran’s face remained neutral, copying the attitude of his former brother-in-arms as they made their way to the provenance of the voice.
It was hard to expect anything, as with the fall of magic years ago, most of the ancients had retreated into the elements themselves, leaving the earth to those who dared destroy it in their wake. Some remained, unfortunately, shedding their primal forms in favour of a more discreet one. The only reassurance was without the thread of magic flowing in the earth, their actions remained limited.
‘Rosavel,’ Darios called the voice, sweetly. ‘I have need of your talents.’
Her entire life had been dedicated to perfecting the courtly, girlish eye as well as her fighting skills, removing herself from the potential encounters with such beings. The only exception had been Sheya and the silver Valorà, but that was different.
From behind the corner of the house, a frail silhouette peeled away from the tree. Stepping into the dim light, Emmerentia’s hand automatically shot to the dagger at her waist as the figure materialised. Fàaran instantly gripped her hand, forcing her to release. She shot him a glare.
Do not leave me in the dark next time.
You would have fought against it if I had told you.
As opposed to her, her brother had an unhealthy fascination for the extraordinary, that he hid well, but not completely.
A crone appeared, stacked and with sharp teeth, eyes of crystal-clear water. She was small and looked like a sweep of wind would steal her away on its wings.
Emmerentia restrained herself from grinding her teeth.
That woman, or whatever her original form should have been, was old.
Beyond old.
What did the captain of the left-wing barter with her?
Magic always came with a price. What had he sold in return, if they had met before?
She moved faster than expected, a wicked stretch of her lips as she came before Darios. ‘Seeking me again, are we?’
Emmerentia’s entire being yelled at her to turn heels and never think of this place again. But she held fast, keeping her face blank.
Rosavel’s eyes barrelled into the young captain, as though remembering their past deal, stripping him bare in the process. To his credit, the Flatlander did not so much as flinch.
‘Your gifts have no match, Rosavel. I would not risk exposing you if it was not of the utmost urgency.’
Had Fàaran revealed more than she believed?
The crone cast her gaze upon the both of them at last, coming to the realisation there was more than one soul on her patio.
That stare ran her through.
Rosavel pointed to her. ‘Are you ready to pay the price for your questions?’
Emmerentia swallowed hard.
Darios cut in, ‘What is the price?’
Her brother wanted reassurance that they would not lose their lives after entering the desolated part of their world. Was this woman a seer? Had seers retained their curse even without magic roaming the lands?
Fàaran stepped in. ‘I will.’
The crone’s smile widened—a razor-sharp grin mixed with the sweetness of a poisoned apple. She remained focused on Emmerentia. ‘Are you ready to pay the price for your questions?’
‘I do not have any questions.’
Again, that stare layered her down, bit by bit. It was a demand, Emmerentia realised. That creature had picked her.
Rosavel reported her attention back to the captain. ‘Are you making me waste my time, boy?’
The primitive tone, the ancient life breathed at last. They were different, so utterly differ ent to humans, those who took life in the first moment of the world. It was the only explanation to her still possessing her abilities when none could—if she truly did.
They needed answers. So many answers. But what could she offer them? What could be divulged to a soul that could very well help them as much as destroy them on a whim? They were to be avoided at all costs, even in last resorts.
Fàaran grabbed his sister’s arm, forcing her to look at him.
This was not supposed to happen. If she does not take me, we will find another way.
Too late for that.
Emmerentia wrenched her arm free and walked to the crone, her head angling as she approached, stepping up onto the porch. ‘We have no intention of disrespecting your time.’
The crone gestured to the door leading inside the cabin. ‘Come with me.’
Emmerentia swallowed, pulling up courage hidden deep inside her guts as she followed the female inside her house, and the door closed on them, leaving her brother and Darios outside.
The door closed with a trapping sound. The branches in front of the windows cast intertwined shadows of light and darkness, a representation of everyone’s reality. The room was bare save for a table. The walls had wooden shelves on them, as though the tree had crafted them itself, rough and solid, yet beautiful. Various little pots decorated it, all containing herbs or roots of some sort. In the far corner, a cauldron oscillated above an extinguished fire.
The crone pointed to the table. ‘Sit.’
Emmerentia obeyed, not daring to remove her eyes from the Rockery as she lit a small portion of a stick. It started burning and she brought it to the table, setting it on a box.
Emmerentia asked, ‘What is the price for your help?’
Silence settled in the room, blocking out all the sounds of the forest, leaving
only the creaking of the floor as she moved about.
The female—calling her a woman would be wrong—sat in front of her. ‘The price is what you are willing to pay to obtain what you seek.’
‘That is too vague for a deal.’
The crone extended her hands, palms facing upwards. One at a time, she sliced a piece of her skin open with one of her nails. The blood was clear brown, almost like sap. There was a sense of quiet about her, a terrifying face for a power that ran deeper than Emmerentia could possibly comprehend.
‘Once you find your true path, I shall come and claim my debt. An audience, once the balance is restored, with the heir to my homeland’s power.’
Emmerentia cocked her head to the side. The scent of the burning stick snaked inside her brain, a perfume together harsh and earthy, strong and unbending.
‘I don’t understand. Who is that? What homeland?’
The crone smiled, revealing a set of crooked teeth. ‘Is that your question?’
Emmerentia breathed in and out. Something was at play here, she could feel the stakes deep down her bones. A turning point in that journey she forced them to saddle up for. Perhaps it was only repayment for her sins that she had to be responsible for this bone thrown her way.
The twin unsheathed her knife and mirrored the crone’s gesture, slicing each palm. Her guts roiled in warning.
Her brother trusted Darios.
Therefore, so did she.
Emmerentia placed her palms atop the female’s. ‘How do we travel safely to Vassalis?’
She had so many questions to ask, so many things that needed clarifying. But she knew, deep down, that the price equaled the importance of the question. That question was what her brother wanted to know. This primed her own needs and queries.
She swore something like disappointment shone in the witch’s eyes.
The cabin shook at the contact, a strong wind rattling the shelves, whipping her hair back. The connection ran through her blood, through her bones, a vine binding her question to the crone, to her roots. A vine binding her by blood, an unbreakable, wordless vow.
‘Trust your instincts and the ones of the girl you hid from me. Claim the Shadow’s debt and trust the wolf. See the path you must follow.’
An image flashed before her closed eyes, of a traced map and a route to follow after the meeting point.
When Emmerentia opened her eyes, she found herself alone in the cabin, the stick a pile of ash, the being gone. She sat in silence for a moment, catching her breath, trying to shake out the feeling of that blood oath, of that sensation of a snake making its way down to every corner of her soul, searching for her life thread.
She’d thrown all of her resistance in that sweep, to keep her heart enclosed and protect the one part of herself she would never expose to anyone, never explain. Whether it had worked, she did not know.
Emmerentia opened the door slowly, coming out onto sundown, to the buzzing of bugs and howling of other creatures.
Her legs betrayed her, swaying slightly.
The two men moved to her then, her brother instantly seizing her under the arm to support her.
Her breathing turned heavy, as though by stepping outside the cabin, she had come into an atmosphere where the air, where the rules of gravity differed.
It took her brain a minute to re-adapt.
They gave her space to come back to her senses, to realise that her surroundings were safe, that she was safe.
Emmerentia looked up to her brother. ‘I know how to get to the capital.’
36
Mahena squinted at the approaching riders. She leaned against a tree outside the meeting point. The sun was still low in the sky, casting pastel orange light against the plains they had just crossed.
The Inn, Ayslinn told her, had been built as an escape route centuries ago. It shielded an entrance to a tunnel that ran underneath the lands, all the way past the border into Hondora.
It was the safest way for them to cross into the next kingdom without detection or suspicion, and would resurface in the sister Inn on the other side.
‘Can you see if it’s them?’ she asked Ayslinn, who was too sucked in the ground beneath her feet to realise riders were breaking the distance.
She looked up, straightening her back as she put a hand above her eyes, blocking the sun from her sight. She had mentioned her vision was better than humans’, might as well use it.
‘It is.’
The fairy walked the few paces between her and her horse, pushed herself up lightly and pressed the horse to a trot; she did not bother with farewells—rude much.
They met midfield and peeled away after nodding at each other, Fàaran and Darios clamping arms in goodbye.
Emmerentia nodded at the Captain.
Mahena had expected to feel anger, or at least a tad of resentment for excluding her once again but, as they neared, she noticed Emmerentia’s livid face, as though someone had just pillaged her soul, and the feeling simply vanished.
Mahena looked up. ‘You’ve looked better. Interesting trip?’
Fàaran waved the question off as they dismounted, ‘Any issues on the way?’
Mahena shook her head. ‘What do we do from here?’ she asked, her gaze falling on the Inn a few yards from their spot.
A ray of sun hit Emmerentia, setting her hair and skin in glowing golden tones. Mahena hadn’t realised how the sun had turned their bodies browner, especially their faces. The people they had crossed paths with, except for the flatlanders, were much lighter-skinned. Were they originally from this continent? Mahena had never asked, never thought of it even. Never believed it bore any importance. Fàaran knew his way around the continent too well for them not to be. Perhaps from further south? She would ask them, one day.
‘We continue on,’ Fàaran replied indicatively, gesturing to the Inn.
‘What about the horses?’ Mahena asked.
‘They come with.’
Mahena couldn’t imagine how the three horses would fare in total darkness underground. Perhaps the tunnel was more than a mere hewn hole? Mahena expected torches, perhaps built-in lights—a dark, narrow passage, creeping with crawlers and underground vines. They left the horses with an attendant at the Inn’s entrance before slipping inside. Fàaran led them confidently behind the bar and through another door where a man was seated on a stool. He whispered in the man’s ear, words too low for her to hear. And then they were shown down a flight of stairs, through a passage in the floor she had failed to notice.
Mahena looked around her, marking the tall cabinets filled with urns, books, pitchers and other artefacts. The damp atmosphere led her to wonder how any of the objects narrowly avoided turning into piles of gruesome mould.
In the distance, the sound of water dripping echoed.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
They weaved between the shelves, the basement bigger than she’d expected from seeing the upstairs. They stopped before a seemingly random cupboard and the guide heaved his weight against it. With some scattering of wares and low screeching noises, the entrance to the secret tunnel was revealed.
The man motioned to Fàaran to help him lift the iron door, revealing a dim staircase. The smell of dust and old air tickled her nose, as though these passages had laid dormant since they’d been built. How would they get the horses down there? She suspected they would usually be used the other way around—for citizens of Hondora fleeing their Kingdom before the queen surrendered their lands, to either fight or find passages to other shores.
‘Just keep going straight until you hit the other side,’ Was all the man said before he shut the door above them.
Mahena braced herself for darkness. Yet the way was somehow lit, dimly-glowing lanterns set in the walls indicated the path into the underbelly of the Flatlands.
‘Be careful where you step,’ Emm
erentia said. ‘It will be slippery.’
‘And here I was, thinking we would race all the way down,’ Mahena quipped.
The twin gave her a smirk, ‘Don’t tempt—’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Fàaran clipped. ‘I promise I’ll let you rot down there if you fall and break your bones.’
Mahena peered at the stairs—there were no ramps caging them.
Emmerentia elbowed her brother gently. ‘You’re too kind.’
‘I bet he’ll mend them all whilst giving you the biggest bollocking of your life.’
The twins’ brows rose in unison.
‘Lecture?’
Fàaran sighed out dramatically as he stepped down the first stair, testing it. ‘If I had to keep count of it.’
Emmerentia winked at her behind his back and Mahena huffed, the faraway sounds of the underworld resonating around them.
The little banter faded rapidly as they focused on the dimness circling them, on the uneven stairs. A knot of anxiety crippled its way down Mahena’s stomach, clenching her lungs. An image of the Lord of the Rings flashed before her eyes, when they were descending into the heart of Moria. She forced herself to inhale deeply, shoving her fear into a corner of herself and locking it up. As they reached the bottom, a long and wide cave spread before them.
‘That’s really not what I imagined we’d have to cross,’ Mahena murmured, more to herself.
‘Dartar was built above a city that collapsed long ago, creating an underground labyrinth. They stumbled upon it one day and decided to rebuild some of it should they ever find the need to escape.’
‘Meaning that some parts of it were made to accommodate an underground lifestyle, should the need arise?’