Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  Ryna rose to her feet and was delighted to find that her earlier nausea had subsided for now. She brushed aside her set of new memories and thanked the Fyrnraed for taking away her feelings of sickness. Despite her best efforts to remain devout, a faint sensation of distrust pulled at Ryna’s emotions when she thought about the Fyrnraed. Why would they hurt me like that? she caught herself wondering more than once. Quickly ashamed of her doubt, she denied her questions further attention and instead looked for Halwen. Ryna shook her head with a mixture of disappointment and understanding when she spotted Halwen asleep at the mouth of the fissure. I’m not the only one that’s been keeping watch for too long, Ryna thought with a half-hearted laugh.

  “I remember,” Mainwright Stora said quietly but clearly from the back of the refuge. Ryna spun to face her, though it was hard to see anything beyond hints of the woman’s expression. From what few details Ryna could see, the Mainwright’s face dripped with accusation.

  “Mainwright, I—” Ryna began.

  “Don’t…speak…to me,” Stora hissed sharply. “If I want to hear the words of an Unwoven, I will demand them, not ask.” Ryna stood in silence, bracing herself for further chastisement. The Mainwright coughed several times before finally catching her breath. There was a long pause as she seemed to be thinking.

  “I remember Onaela,” Stora said more loudly. “And I remember you.” Ryna’s eyes grew wide with terror as the Mainwright continued. “Murderer.”

  “Please…” Ryna begged quietly.

  “Murderer!” the Mainwright spat before being taken by another fit of coughing. Ryna searched the refuge for a place to hide, but there was no escape from the inevitable truth. I am meant to suffer her judgement as well, Ryna at last conceded, and she waited for Stora’s coughing to subside.

  ---

  Wyand lurched to a stop after the entire group halted suddenly in a wide section of the valley. He looked up to see that the woman in front had her hand raised, presumably as a signal to keep still. She opened her fist wide and spread her fingers, and in an instant the boatmen leveled their oars. In the silence, Wyand surveyed the canyon through the haugaeldr’s skin for whatever had caused the woman’s reaction. I don’t see anything… he thought after a few moments searching the varying hues of yellow stone. Then a noise reached his ears that was very out of place. That’s someone coughing, he realized with confusion. The woman pointed to a small seam in the rocks on the left side of the valley, and the group advanced silently towards the sound.

  ---

  “What’s wrong?” Halwen asked groggily. Stora’s endless cycle of coughing and shouting had finally reached a level that not even Halwen could sleep through.

  “The Mainwright is…ill,” Ryna offered as an explanation.

  “Murderer!” Stora said, beginning to cough again. Halwen sat upright and shook away the sleep. She turned towards the opening of the fissure as she stood and suddenly froze.

  “Halwen?” Ryna asked. Halwen’s entire body shook as she stared out into the valley. She screamed, flinging her arms in front of her face for protection. Forgetting about the Mainwright for the time being, Ryna leapt to her feet and rushed to the opening of their refuge. In the darkness, she had just enough time to see a dozen or more glowing figures silently approaching the fissure before they were within a stride. Without thought, Ryna pushed Halwen behind her into the relative safety of the fissure and stood defensively with the bone weapon in her hand. The creatures did not slow, so Ryna prepared to strike. One of the creatures stepped forward in a blur and seized the bone as Ryna drew back her arm.

  “You would face us,” its strange voice asked, “even though our numbers far exceed your own?” Ryna was shocked to hear words coming from such a horrendous figure. She struggled to pull the weapon free, but the creature did not flinch.

  “I don’t wish to face anyone,” Ryna replied, “But I will do whatever I must to protect this group.” The creature tilted its featureless, glowing head from one side to the other and then let go of the bone. Ryna readied herself once again, watching cautiously as the creature stepped back and gripped the sides of its head. What in the Kingdom is it doing? she asked herself as the glowing head lifted away from the body beneath. In the faint yellow light, Ryna frowned when the face of a person appeared where the monster’s head had been before. It was a woman, not many turnings older than Ryna by her appearance. This was the same woman who had passed by the refuge nearly two days earlier.

  “You can lower your weapon now,” the woman said to Ryna, and in the same instant every other member of the terrifying group lifted their long, pointed sticks

  skyward. Ryna hadn’t noticed before, but several of those sticks had been within a hand’s length of her face. She shuddered and kept the bone ready to swing.

  “I understand your hesitation,” the woman said, smiling. “And, in fact, your distrust of the unknown gives me great hope for your continued survival in this land. Tell me, Newfallen, what is your name?”

  “I…I have no name,” Ryna replied, shaken as much by the situation as she was by such a sudden and unusual question.

  “An Unwoven. I understand,” the woman said thoughtfully. “Are you all Unwoven?”

  “No,” Stora said flatly from the back of the fissure. “I am Stora, Mainwright of the bannuc forge, and this is one of my Common Wrights, Halwen.” Stora presented her sima in greeting, and a disconcerted Halwen did the same.

  “Very good,” the woman replied as she flipped forward a braid of her own. “As it is woven, I am called Eyrie.”

  ---

  Eyrie? Wyand thought. It’s a strange name, but at least it’s something to call the murderer. He watched Eyrie as she questioned the group of women further. I have to warn them about Eyrie and these boatmen, but what can I say?

  “Unwoven, how many days have each of you been cast out?” Eyrie asked. Wyand noticed a look of surprise on the face of the Mainwright when Eyrie addressed the Unwoven woman directly, but Wyand did not understand why that was so surprising. None of their titles and labels meant anything to him yet, though he was surprised to hear someone claiming to be nameless.

  “Three days ago, nearly four,” the Unwoven responded cautiously. Wyand watched her hand carefully; she still had a tight grip on the bone weapon.

  “They are safe,” Eyrie said as she flicked her wrist casually over her shoulder. At that signal, the group of boatmen turned away from the fissure and wandered out into the main portion of the canyon. Wyand and his two escorts remained nearby, although he had to twist his neck painfully to see the women as they talked.

  “Eyrie…what do you want with us?” the Unwoven asked boldly. Wyand winced, knowing that Eyrie would punish anyone who dared to question her. Strangely, though, Eyrie answered without pause or even a hint of irritation.

  “I can see that you have water,” Eyrie said, avoiding the question, “Though I disapprove of your unnecessary destruction of the wist reed. Why did you tear all of them down?”

  “If you mean the pole plants, we weren’t the ones that killed them,” the Unwoven responded. Eyrie paused for an instant, then nodded in understanding.

  “There was another member of your group, wasn’t there?” Eyrie asked.

  “Several others were cast with us,” the Unwoven replied, her expression becoming a troubled frown as she contended with her own memories.

  “Was one of them a Wright called Celina?” Eyrie asked softly. The Unwoven woman’s eyes grew large at the mentioning of that name.

  “You found her!” Halwen exclaimed from the back of the fissure. “Where is she now?” There was a long silence as Eyrie removed something from a pouch in the front of her clothing. It was the brown sima of the woman that the boatmen had slain at Eyrie’s direction. The Mainwright and Halwen gasped, while the Unwoven backed into the fissure and raised the bone weapon slowly.

  “Where is she?” Halwen asked fearfully. Eyrie remained silent.

  “What have you done?” the U
nwoven demanded, staring angrily at the sima. “Where is Celina?”

  At the sound of the shouting, the boatmen rushed back towards the fissure, spiked oars lowered threateningly. No! Wyand thought in a panic. I can’t witness this again. He thought back to the woman—Celina, as he now knew she was called—and the swift and brutal way that these people killed her. Her eyes still stared at him pleadingly any time he closed his own for more than an instant. From the look of the current situation, he didn’t have long to act before three more deaths would be permanently burned into his memory. In a moment of sudden resolve, Wyand jerked his bound arms free from his captors and sprinted to warn the group of women.

  “They killed her!” Wyand shouted through the haugaeldr’s flesh. “Run now, before they kill you too!” The women stared at him wide-eyed, while Eyrie’s gaze could have carved stone. Wyand made it within two strides of reaching the fissure before one of the boatmen slammed a shoulder into his ribs at a full sprint. The world shifted from green to black in an instant when the force knocked the haugaeldr carcass off of Wyand’s head. His breath fled from his lungs after the impact, and he felt himself tumbling through the air. The coarse sand of the canyon floor dug into his elbows and knees as he rolled several times before finally coming to a stop. It was worth it if they escape, Wyand thought proudly, fully expecting to die for what he had just done.

  “Idiot,” one of the boatmen said quietly as he lifted Wyand upright by his bound arms as painfully as possible. In the dark, Wyand could smell the familiar cloth rag approaching his mouth before he could see it. As he began to protest, the coarse fibers prevented him from speaking once again. The haugaeldr shell slid over Wyand’s head and it was set into place with far more force than was required. Still dazed from his encounter with the boatman’s shoulder, Wyand looked back to the fissure hopefully. His spirits sank when he saw the three women remained where they had been, trapped by Eyrie and her crew of killers.

  “His words hold some truth,” Eyrie said, turning back to face the group of frightened women. “Although his understanding of the situation is completely lacking.”

  “You killed Celina?” the Unwoven asked coldly. The bone trembled slightly in her hand. Halwen sobbed and clung to the Mainwright.

  “We offered her a quick death, instead of the agony brought by the haugaeldr’s sting,” Eyrie replied.

  “Explain. Now,” the Unwoven said, fighting back tears of rage and sorrow. Wyand feared there would still be bloodshed, no matter what explanation Eyrie offered.

  “The creatures by the water—the haugaeldr—are what caused your friend’s death,” Eyrie said. “As soon as she was wounded by one of them, her life was already over. That sting is how the haugaeldr multiply. They inject their young into a host, which immediately begin to grow and produce a substance that leads to insatiable thirst. Once the victim takes in enough water, the young release a second poison that acts as an immobilizer. From that point, the young haugaeldr consume their host from the inside out—it’s a lengthy process, throughout which the host is unfortunately conscious and can feel each bite. There is no cure, and Celina was entering the final stage when we found her.”

  Wyand nearly vomited just thinking about Eyrie’s description of what had happened to Celina. These people killed her, Wyand reminded himself, but at least they spared her from being eaten alive. He hesitated to admit it, but a part of him felt ashamed for judging Eyrie and her people so quickly. Then again, these were the same people that had bound him, beaten him, and still held him captive. His thoughts contradicted themselves until Wyand’s head ached as much as the rest of his body. He expected similar confusion from the group of women in the fissure, but the Unwoven’s reaction to Eyrie’s explanation was strangely calm.

  “I’m going to kill them. All of them,” the Unwoven said with conviction. Eyrie actually smiled at the sentiment and passed Celina’s sima to her.

  “You’ll have your chance for revenge,” Eyrie promised, “but first you should all come with us to recover in Cynmere.” The Unwoven shook her head slowly as she stared at all that remained of her friend.

  “Though your description of these awful haugaeldr makes sense, it still means you took Celina’s life,” the Unwoven said. “I don’t want to be reminded of her death constantly just by being in your company. You should move on to this ‘Cynmere’ without us. We will continue on our own way once daylight arrives.” Eyrie studied the Unwoven for a moment, then looked to Halwen and Stora when the Mainwright was taken by another fit of ragged coughing.

  “Your Mainwright is injured,” Eyrie said, ignoring the Unwoven’s response for now. “May I examine her?” It was said as a courtesy more so than an actual question. The Unwoven drew back the bone briefly as Eyrie brushed past her, but the sound of the boatmen’s oars lowering forced the Unwoven to relax once more. When Eyrie reached Stora’s side, she rolled up the Mainwright’s sleeves and took note of the multitude of bandages that covered her arms. Stora tried to protest at first, but the persistent coughing weakened her resolve until nothing was left. Stora looked away from Eyrie tiredly and seemed to be drifting towards asleep as the inspection continued.

  “You dressed all of these wounds yourselves?” Eyrie asked incredulously.

  “Yes,” the Unwoven responded. She growled quietly when Eyrie began to lift the lower edge of Stora’s robes to examine her legs.

  “Peace, Unwoven,” Eyrie said without looking up. “The men of my Watch know they cannot look upon a woman without her consent.” One of Wyand’s escorts leaned in close to his ear.

  “Unless you want another beating, look away Newfallen,” the boatman said in a whisper. Wyand’s body ached enough as it was, so the thought of yet more bruises made him turn away as quickly as possible. He still strained to listen, though, since Eyrie had already shared more information with these women than she had with him after nearly a day of travelling together.

  “…can’t leave her here in this state,” Eyrie was saying. “Your Mainwright will be dead within three days if she does not come with us and receive proper care in Cynmere.”

  There was an exchange after that between the Unwoven and Halwen that Wyand could not make out. Eyrie must have found a serious injury on the Mainwright, he thought while he struggled to hear more of the conversation.

  “None of that matters now,” Wyand heard Halwen say at last. “We should go with them, for the Mainwright’s sake if for nothing else.” There was a long silence.

  “For the Mainwright, we’ll go,” the Unwoven said at last, “but as soon as she is healed, we are leaving.”

  “If that is still your choice when the time arrives, we will not stand in your way,” Eyrie replied, then she clicked her tongue sharply three times. Wyand’s escorts spun him around to face the fissure again as they joined the rest of the boatmen in walking to the group of women.

  “Here, Newfallen,” Eyrie commanded when Wyand reached the fissure. She left Stora’s side and pulled the dead haugaeldr off of Wyand’s head. Through the yellow haze offered by the creature’s skin, Wyand hadn’t noticed that dawn was rapidly approaching now. He saw a brief flash of something shining in Eyrie’s hand as it passed by his waist, then he suddenly felt the bindings around his wrists fall away. Wyand’s escorts stepped back as he rotated his stiff arms forward slowly in a stretch that he had longed for since being captured by these people.

  “Now that your arms are free, I trust you will not use them to do anything else foolish?” Eyrie asked. Wyand nodded, though he unconsciously glanced at the entrance of the fissure for an escape route. The emptiness of the canyon beyond reminded him that he had nowhere else he could go even if he did manage to elude recapture.

  “Good,” Eyrie replied. “The gag stays in place, however, since your mouth has already earned you a beating once today. Now, go and help lift the Mainwright. You will carry her until it is time to rest again.” She walked past Wyand then, but stopped just behind his ear. “You were wrong to label us killers, Newfall
en,” Eyrie said quietly, “but wrong or not, taking action for something you believe in is an impressive trait. We appreciate that kind of commitment in Cynmere.” She touched his shoulder gently as she continued past.

  Wyand’s mind twisted itself into a knot as he lifted the Mainwright. When he chose to endure the treatment he received from these people he was still met with scorn, yet when he stood against them he received praise from their leader. What did they expect him to do? Eyrie’s words and actions countered each other from one moment to the next, so it seemed an impossible question to answer. There were far too many of those lately for his liking. With his other arm occupied holding up the Mainwright, Wyand’s free hand took hold of the stone in his pocket. The confusion he felt instantly began to melt away in the presence of the stone’s familiar comfort.

  In spite of the relaxation he now felt, a sudden and dark curiosity disrupted Wyand’s solace as he moved with the rest of the group into the main valley. Did Silax meet the same end as Celina? he wondered. It was the first time he had considered that the Woodsman might actually be dead from the haugaeldr’s touch. Arrogant or not, mad or not, Silax didn’t deserve that. Wyand brushed aside the question for now and chose instead to listen as Eyrie conversed with Halwen and the Unwoven.

  “So were all of you cast out too?” Halwen asked timidly.

  “In this group, no,” Eyrie replied. “We have lived outside the walls our entire lives. Our ancestors, though, were cast just like you.”

  “Ancestors?” Halwen replied. Wyand shared the confusion he heard in her voice.

  “A word you will come to understand—and respect—after spending some time in Cynmere,” Eyrie said. “You will learn a great deal over the next few days.” Nothing more was said for many strides after that.

  With the sun’s light brushing the tops of the canyon walls, the group began a sharp climb upwards after a sudden twist in the path. For the first time since leaving the lake, Wyand could see the upper rim of the high cliffs drawing closer. From the climb he was also beginning to notice the weight of the Mainwright more with each step, but he knew if he faltered or attempted to rest he would be punished immediately.