She spent close to an hour attempting to dislodge it, hacking at it with her sword, throwing rocks at it, and trying to light it on fire, before she finally gave up and continued on. The thread emanating from her chest now extended backwards towards the siphon, so she was forced to follow the outgoing thread.
Soon she came to a road, and the golden thread pointed straight along it.
Consulting her map, she guessed she was headed for the town of Winselt, a medium-sized city state with several sorcerers to protect it.
A few hours later she was at the gates. The walls were wooden palisades, at least ten feet high. She considered going around the side and slipping through the wall, but she’d have to come back to the main gates anyway to pick up her thread. Might as well ask, first. She stood in the middle of the road, calling up.
A helmeted head poked out of a window high in the wall. “What’s your business here?”
Arabel considered. Should she tell the truth? Not many people liked guardians. Of course, she didn’t look like a reputable person. She looked like a bandit, or perhaps someone already possessed by a demon, walking out of the woods on her own like this.
“I’m Arabel Fossey, an aspirant to the Guardians of the Deep. I’m demon hunting for my Rite of Integrity.” Maybe if she threw in the full names of things it would sound more reputable.
The man peered at her more closely, suspicion etched in the features of his face.
“We don’t have any demons here.”
“Yes, you do. A big one.” He didn’t look like he believed her. “Look, I can tell. It’s a powerful one, and it’s already inside. I’ll just come in, take care of it, and be on my way. No plans to stay. You can even come with me if you want.”
The man’s head was yanked back inside, and another replaced it.
“We’ve got wards, you know. That’s what we’ve got sorcerers for.”
“Yes. Well, clearly that’s working great for you except you’ve got a giant monster in your city.”
The second head was withdrawn, and Arabel thought she could hear furious mutterings. Then the doors swung open. Two men appeared, one short and skinny and one tall and thick. Both men wore helmets and had long, thick beards. The tall one curled his lip, his nose wrinkling. I don’t smell that bad, do I? The small one hopped back and forth from one foot to the other and watched her nervously.
“So,” The large one said, “there is a vicious monster in our city that none of us have noticed but that only you can save us from.”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, by all means.” He gave a mock bow. “Show us the way, your guardianship.”
She glared at him, but she was here for other reasons, not to beat the crap out of this idiot, as much as she would like to.
“Thank you, kindly,” she said, only gritting her teeth a little, and strode up the street, feeling for the golden thread.
They snickered and followed after her. Wonderful. She would have an audience for whatever terrible part of herself she didn’t want to know about.
Finding the golden thread was harder here. There were people bustling about everywhere, many of them giving her odd looks. A few times she ended up in a dead end, her thread extending into a blank wall. If she hadn’t had an audience, she would have slipped through, but somehow she figured they wouldn’t like her cutting through people’s homes and she had enough to deal with without them chasing her with pitchforks. Each time she had to turn around, one of the men made some sort of comment.
“Not an exact science, is it? Finding terrible enormous monsters?”
The short one purchased a bag of sugared nuts from a vendor as he passed and began to chew loudly and lick his fingers. People they knew called out to them curiously.
“Who’s that, Rinald?”
“Some girl. Thinks she’s a demon fighter.” He laughed.
“Really?” The man stared at Arabel with interest. “Can I come?”
As they went, they collected more and more onlookers. Soon there were ten or fifteen of them laughing and commenting on her progress as she combed the streets.
“Oops, aww… thought she had it there!”
“Oooh! Maybe it’s in the lamp, did you check the lamp?”
One man slapped his knee and laughed so hard he choked, passed out, and had to be resuscitated. Someone passed around baked goods. Arabel ignored them. She was making her way into a poorer part of town, where the streets were narrower and darker. The thread was stronger now, pulsing. Was there really a part of herself here? How had it gotten here and how long had it been here? She was barely aware of the crowd now as she stopped outside a dingy shop with dirty glass windows and a sign overhead that read ‘baker’.
A bell tinkled as she pushed her way inside, followed by the expectant crowd. At the back of the dark shop a man sat behind a counter. He had tiny, beady eyes in a large, soft face, and had a body like unformed bread dough. His large, meaty hands rested heavily on the counter and he blinked in surprise as his shop filled.
Arabel approached the man warily. Her onlookers were silent, filled with a sudden expectant curiosity. He watched her dimly out of his small, heavy eyes.
“What do you want?”
The thread stretched directly to him.
This wasn’t an eidolon off in the woods alone, then. Her eidolon had possessed someone. How was it staying here, despite the wards? It must be incredibly strong.
“You have something that belongs to me,” Arabel said, giving a slight tug on the thread. Something in the man reacted and he pushed himself up, pressing back against the wall. He picked up the stool he’d been sitting on and hurled it at her.
She dodged neatly as the stool hurtled past her head. She heard it crash against someone behind her. A male voice grunted and someone near him shrieked, but Arabel kept her attention focused on the baker.
The bell tinkled again as someone left the shop.
“That’s just a stool. Anyone can throw a stool.” Rinald sneered. “Doesn’t mean it’s a demon.”
“Hello,” Arabel said softly, speaking only to whatever lost part of herself was in this man. “What are you?”
The man grabbed the counter with his hands, gave a roar of rage, and ripped a portion off the top. He grabbed one end and swung it at her. She dropped to the floor, slid underneath it, feeling it rustle her hair, and at the same time drew her sword.
There were a few gasps and screams behind her as she moved in close, lifting her blade to the man’s throat. “Stop.”
A cold blue light flashed in the baker’s eyes, and he held still. From his chest, glowing blue claws of light extended, reaching towards her. There were terrified screams and a rush for the exit. Arabel wondered what they were seeing. A window shattered, raining sparkling glass everywhere.
“I accept you,” Arabel said, and felt the eidolon shudder. She still couldn’t tell what it was. The man’s eyes glowed blue fire and he lunged for her. Arabel was barely able to move her sword aside in time to keep from slicing open his throat. She’d only wanted to threaten him, to hold him still. She’d already done enough damage here; she didn’t want to kill him, too.
His meaty hands gripped her throat, pushing her down into the floor, his whole weight coming to bear on her. She struggled but he held her firm. And then the images came, flashing into her mind. This man had had a business, a thriving business, a wife, and three small daughters. She saw him lifting them to his shoulders, showing them how to bake small loaves, kissing his wife and braiding their hair. Then the change happened. He had a quick temper; he broke things. He smashed every shelf in the store one day, in a rage over nothing. His wife cried, pleaded with him, confused. His daughters cowered. And one day they were gone. And he baked and tried to forget about them. He drank and tried to forget about them. He ate and tried to forget about them. And his business failed, and he moved down here, where now he waited to die.
“I’m so sorry,” Arabel tried to say, but couldn’t get the words out;
his hands were locked too tightly around her throat, his knee digging into her chest. I did this, she thought. This is my eidolon, my… what? What is this?
More images came. These were familiar, from her own life. How had she forgotten them? A bee sting, burning her arm, her mother’s lips warm and soft, kissing the pain away. A voice, deep and rich, singing as she cooked. Light, sharp blue eyes, dancing in a face framed by brown hair that glowed red when the sun hit it. A grin, a laugh like bells as she taught her how to wink. Bringing her food in bed and sitting with her arm around her, reading, when she was sick. Warmth and safety and love. And then it was gone. And a grief so terrible it overwhelmed everything. There could be no happiness. Nothing could ever be right. She was gone and everything was gone and nothing would ever be OK. Arabel convulsed, her body tensing as the grief ran through her, and it was hers; it was not this man’s. Serafina Fossey. There were a million memories now, all beautiful but all tinged with an aching sadness, a despair and loneliness, a rage against the world for taking her away.
The hands around her neck released, and the man stumbled back, tears in his eyes.
Shaking, Arabel picked herself up.
He raised one arm, cringing away from her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s OK. It wasn’t you. None of that was you,” she said, pushing aside her own turbulent feelings. “That was an eidolon.” He looked confused. “A demon. You were possessed by a demon.”
He looked at her wonderingly, tears coursing down his face.
“Is your wife still here?” she choked.
He shook his head. “She’s remarried. Some other baker.”
Arabel wanted to cry. “Can you take me to her? I want to tell her what happened, at least.”
He looked around at his ruined shop, stared down at his apron for a few seconds. “Yeah, yeah all right.”
“You’d better let me go first,” Arabel said, moving towards the door. She felt strangely better now. Memories of her mother darted around her mind. She wanted nothing more than to look at them, to think about them, to feel every single one of them. But that could wait. This couldn’t.
The bell tinkled as she pushed the door open. At the other side of the street were clustered the ten or so people who hadn’t run. Someone lifted a baking tin he must have grabbed on the way out. Both guards had their swords drawn.
“It’s all right, I got it,” Arabel said. They stared at her, only lowering their weapons slightly.
“You OK?” Rinald called to the baker behind her.
“Yeah… yeah, I think so.”
He moved up the street, his sandals slapping the cobblestones, followed by Arabel and trailed, at a safe distance, by the onlookers. They made their way to the nice part of town, with wide streets and children running about, finally standing outside a well-appointed bakery. The man wrung his hands and tugged at his apron.
“I’m not wanted here,” he said.
“I’ll go,” Arabel said. “Wait here.”
There were only a few other customers in the shop when Arabel made her way in. She pushed her way right to the front.
“Excuse me, this is important.”
“Wait your turn!”
“This will just take a moment. I’m a guardian. Official, demon-related business.”
Her crowd of onlookers had also started to fill in the shop.
“Yeah,” Rinald said. “You don’t want to see what happened in the last place.”
The people moved back reluctantly.
A woman stood behind the counter. She was pale and thin with deep lines along her face.
“Are you the owner here?” Arabel asked.
“My husband is.”
“I need to speak with you. It’s urgent.” She glanced at the crowd. “Alone, preferably.”
“I’m busy,” she said.
“Please. It’s about your husband.” She didn’t mention that he was outside. “Your first husband. For your daughters’ sakes.”
The woman’s gaze flicked to Rinald, who nodded, and she sighed and brushed the flour off her hands, motioning for Arabel to follow her into a back room. They stood among sacks of flour, and Arabel launched straight into it, explaining that her husband had been possessed by a demon. The woman’s face hardened. “It doesn’t make it any better.”
“No, of course not. But you might try talking to him again now. At least let him see your daughters. The demon is gone, now.”
“How did he get this demon?”
“I don’t know. Did he travel outside the wards much?”
Her throat bobbed up and down. “Once.” Her eyes went watery. “For me. I asked him to. To bring my mother to stay with us, from a neighboring town. I didn’t want her travelling alone.” Her hands shook and she clasped them in her lap.
“It’s not your fault. And it’s not his fault. Maybe just speak with him?”
Fear flickered in her eyes, but she nodded. “I will.”
“Great.” Arabel clapped her on the shoulder. “Then I’ve got to go.” She hopped over a sack of flour and jogged for the door.
The crowd parted as she went. Out in the street, the baker looked up, his eyes too afraid to hope. “She says she’ll see you.”
Relief and joy spilled onto his face. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He felt for his pockets. “What can I—”
She waved a hand, cringing. “No. No, please. You shouldn’t have had that in the first place. I should be apologizing to you. I’m sorry.”
His eyes were wide as he looked up at her.
She turned and took off at a run down the street. Moving was easier than thinking about what she had just remembered.
“Wait!” Rinald was running behind her. She didn’t stop, forcing him to keep pace as she ran for the gates. “Was that it? Are there any more?”
“That’s it. I don’t think there are any more.”
“But, but, how did it—”
“He went on a merchant trip. Outside the gates. It’ll be fine now, I’ve got it.”
“Where are you going? Don’t you want to stay? Like, look around a bit maybe? Make sure there aren’t any more?” He removed his helmet and ran his hand through his hair. “Holy… it was in the baker…”
“Nope, I’ve got places to be.” One more eidolon, and she was done. Then she could get back to the castle.
37
Over the next few hours, as she trudged through the backcountry, more and more memories of her mother flooded back. Reading to her on the grass, planting flower bulbs in the castle gardens, and darker memories, her parents screaming at each other, her mother crying. These memories hurt, and Arabel wanted to push them away, but every time she did she felt the eidolon begin to dislodge, so she forced herself to think about them. Seeing what her eidolon had done to that baker was enough to make her want to keep it, even if she hadn’t wanted the freedom that came with completing her training.
To pass the time she practiced slipping, skimming ahead twenty to fifty feet at a time. This saved her legs, but also the thread was much more distinct in the Deep than it was in the real world. This part of the Deep, and of the real world, felt so much more remote, so much emptier, than the Deep had back at the castle. At the castle there had always been some presence, some sense of other eidolons either there, or at least nearby. But this part of the Deep was empty. It was unsettling.
The next day, she stood on a ridge overlooking a bare, rocky valley. She was too high up now for trees to survive, and all around her the landscape was barren, inhospitable, and empty. She’d better not slip and fall. There was no way anyone would find her out here.
She felt for the thread and saw that it pointed straight up the side of a craggy peak. Of course. Why wouldn’t her eidolon hang out on the top of the highest peak in the middle of a frozen landscape of death? Learning about herself was wonderful. Also, it was great that she’d integrated her fear eidolon. Now she got the extra bonus of being afraid of everything before she di
d it. It turned out she actually was afraid of heights. Fantastic.
“Come down!” she shouted up the face of the mountain. Nothing. She shrugged. It was worth a shot.
She scrambled up the slope as far as she could, then started climbing, moving very slowly and carefully, searching for holds among the icy rocks as the wind howled around her. She grabbed a rock and it pulled away from the wall. She slipped backwards, dropping the rock and dangling from one arm, treated to a wonderful, extremely comforting view of the rock falling fifty feet and smashing on the side of the mountain.
She hadn’t felt fear in so long she didn’t even remember what you were supposed to do with it. Scream? She screamed in terror for several seconds, her voice echoing around the emptiness. That seemed to help a bit.
Hand over hand she scrambled her way up the side of the cliff, at last dragging herself up onto a rocky precipice. The ground was so cold it looked frozen solid, with ice and snow blowing across it. She made the mistake of looking back down over the edge and felt her stomach swoon. She didn’t swoon. That was ridiculous. She didn’t do things like that. She felt the eidolon, newly reincorporated, shift and detach in her heart. Nope. “I’m afraid, I’m afraid, I’m afraid,” she said, and felt it settle back down. She knelt on the ground, closed her eyes, and screamed in terror for several seconds, just for good measure. That felt good. Now, more bits of herself to find. Her eyes snapped open, squinting against the icy wind.
Something slammed into her from behind. She slipped forward, skidding towards the edge, just barely grabbing at a crack in the rock as she went over. She gasped, gripping the icy crack, her feet dangling, gusts of frozen wind driving flakes of snow into her face.
Power roared up within her, an overwhelming urge to let go. She would go, find Oswald and Naomi and Avery and David and the others. She would hurt them. Lock them away. Keep them where they couldn’t hurt her ever again.
Arabel shook her head, her fingers still gripping the icy crack. She didn’t want that, not really. But she did. They had left her; everyone had left her. Or if they hadn’t yet they were going to. She had to stop it. Hurt them enough that they wouldn’t, or couldn’t, anymore.
The Eidolons of Myrefall Page 21