by Kim Fielding
He took me in and swallowed me whole, and it took all my remaining stamina to remain upright. I had a momentary vision—both of us freshly bathed, me newly shaved, Jory laid out nude on silk sheets with sunlight turning his skin to gold. If there was an afterlife, I’d wish for that. Even the gods and goddesses would be envious.
Jory took his time with me. My knees went wobbly and I clutched his shoulders for support. In the brief bliss of his hands and mouth, I could almost forget my pain and the certainty of our looming ruin. I could imagine myself respected and loved. I could imagine myself happy.
I climaxed with a long, drawn-out gasp.
Afterward I dressed and sat on the pallet with my back against the stone wall, a bowl of food at my side. I expected Jory to join me.
Instead he looked down at me with a faint smile. “Can I sing to you? It may be my last performance.”
“Yes.” I chewed some nuts and washed them down with water, wishing it was ale.
With a broader smile, he bent to unlace his boots. Within moments he was entirely bare, and in the spiritlight, he looked silver instead of gold, his fresh injury not detracting from his perfection. He was half-hard as well. Although I was too depleted to respond physically, I enjoyed the sight nearly as much as I’d relished his touch.
He sang quietly, with a slight rasp to his voice I hadn’t heard before. I couldn’t understand the words, which were in the Old Tongue, but I thought it was a love song. Something about yearning and denial, or maybe loss. Jory’s eyes glittered.
After he finished singing, while the notes still echoed gently around the room, he began to stroke himself. He kept his gaze locked on me.
I’d lived in close quarters with other men and women when I was in the guard, and I’d had my share of sex. But I’d never experienced anything like this. It was a trance-dream, a magical web spun before me, a visitation from the gods. I would hold this memory close, I vowed, and in the moments before Lady Death finally claimed me, I would recall it and die smiling.
Jory never once broke eye contact with me, not even when he climaxed.
He dressed and sat beside me, and we shared our small meal in silence. Then he reached into the folds of his clothing and pulled out a small wooden box that proved to contain calmsticks. He snapped one to life and took a drag, then held it toward me.
“No,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Never picked up the habit.”
He shrugged and had another puff. “I used them often before I was disowned. Too much of a luxury since.”
“Then where did you get those?”
No answer. We watched the small plume of smoke rise into the darkness of the ceiling beams. After he finished the calmstick, he flicked the butt away and lit another. He leaned in close against my shoulder. “Tell me something happy, Daveth.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Something good that happened to you.”
“Your performance just now.”
He grinned quickly. “I’m glad you enjoyed. But what about in the past? There must have been something.”
Although I was reluctant to answer, I found myself speaking. “I wanted to be a guard. It was my salvation. My proof that I wasn’t garbage.” I huffed. “I was naive and hardly more than a child.”
“I doubt you were ever naive.”
“I was about the city guard. I thought they were what they claim to be—the power of righteousness. I don’t know where I got that impression. No Lowler believes anything good of the guards. But I did. And I cleaned myself up one afternoon and presented myself at their post outside the Royal Quarter. Demanded to see the officer in charge.”
“They listened to you?” Jory asked, surprised.
“I’m sure they thought it would be good entertainment. They fetched the captain. When I told her I wanted to join the guard, everyone laughed. But I said I’d fight any two of them there and prove I was worthy. More laughing. The captain agreed, though. She picked two of her best and we all went to the little exercise yard behind the building. We fought with dull practice swords.”
“And you beat them.”
“I did. Not easily, but I won. By that evening, I was accepted as a trainee. And gods and goddesses, the feeling I had when I lay down in my cot, with my uniform hanging nearby and the guard colors up on the wall.” I’d been content that night—no, happy—thrilled to be among my snoring, farting compatriots. Thrilled to belong. Such a fool.
“That’s a good one,” Jory said. “What happened later doesn’t spoil it?”
“No. I can handle bitter without forgetting the sweet.” I leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes. “And you? A good memory for you?”
He was silent for so long that I thought he wasn’t going to answer, which would hardly be fair since he’d started this little game. But then he sighed. “When I was fifteen, I slipped out of the palace and crossed the city by myself. I’d never done that before. I felt quite daring to pass through the Low without guards. I climbed Sevi Hill all the way to the top, where Flyra’s temple is. But I didn’t go inside. I stood outside and looked out toward the ocean, and I imagined I had wings that could spread and soar. I felt… full of promise.”
“That’s… nice.” It was, even if I couldn’t express it well.
“I sang. Bellowed at the top of my lungs, actually. And some priests found me—they could tell I was from Royal Quarter—and made me tell them my family name. My parents were not happy with me when their guards fetched me home.”
“Sweet, then bitter?”
He laughed softly. “Yes. My father beat me. But even as he was doing it, I realized that nothing would take away the memory of the feeling I’d had atop the hill.”
After several minutes of silence, he took out the calmsticks. I stopped him with my hand before he could light one. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“The smell… reminds me of someone.”
“A lover?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the shadowed crates across from us.
That wasn’t the right word. I’d never deceived myself about how Myghal felt about me, nor did I swoon over him. He was handsome and dashing; I was willing.
“Somebody I used to fuck,” I said.
“Hmm.” He tucked the box away. “You’ve never had a lover?”
I was willing to concede that love existed, but not for people like me. “No.”
“A friend?”
That made me snort. “In the end, we all end up like him.” I pointed at the bag containing Lord Uren’s head. “We all end up alone. Anything else is illusion.”
“But an illusion can be beautiful.”
He leaned his head on my shoulder, and we waited for night.
Chapter Fifteen
TWILIGHT HUNG over the city as we left the cellar of Two Gray Cats. The air carried the scents of smoke and cooking food, and when we descended a street lined with modest, neat houses, I heard friendly chatter through open windows. A child laughing. A woman singing.
I carried Lord Uren’s head. Jory offered to do it, but he’d already toted the thing, and I figured it was my turn. Besides, what better way to enter Tewl Loor than with a piece of dead man slung over my shoulder?
As we walked past shops shuttered for the night, Jory spied a handbill tacked to a wall and stopped. “There’s a price on our heads,” he said.
I wasn’t surprised. “How much?”
“Ten crowns for me, fifteen for you.”
“I’m worth more?” I said, barking a laugh.
“Of course. You’re the dangerous one. I’m only a thief.”
I felt the weight of Lord Uren’s head and tried not to think of Jory’s head shoved in a bag. Or my own. Although they wouldn’t bother with that nonsense. Once we were dead, they’d just toss whatever remained of us into the river. Maybe the wraiths would find us and be happy we would no longer invade their warehouse.
We saw a few more of the handbills as we passed
through the Silver, but none in the Low, where few could read. Pity, really—the Lowlers would crave the bounty most ardently. Nobody stopped us as we walked down to the riverbank.
Along the north edge of the river was an unpaved path, the dirt packed solid by a hundred generations of pedestrians. Since there were no lanterns, our nighttime passage was slightly difficult. But it was also as safe as we could be in the city, because few people walked this way and none of them would see us well. Besides, most of them would be trying to avoid the guards’ attention too.
Jory hummed so softly I could barely hear him. “I miss my lute,” he said as we skirted a large pile of stinking refuse. “What about you?”
“I don’t have a lute.”
He poked me. “You haven’t been able to return home either. Is there something there you miss?”
I thought a moment. “Just the… security. I had that new set of clothing too, but I can’t say I’m grieving it.”
“Is there anything you value?”
Although I had the sense he was talking about more than material goods, I grunted. “My blades and my boots. And I have those still.” I didn’t even mention those coins sitting in the bank, because I hadn’t possessed them long enough to feel a true sense of ownership.
As we neared the Eastern Gate, the river widened and buildings grew sparser. The smell was worse here, as the city’s sewage made its way toward the ocean, but our chances of being stopped were reduced.
The city wall appeared before us, its ramparts sprinkled with spiritlights. I’d never seen it in the darkness and only rarely during the day. It was unexpectedly pretty. When the pathway passed between the wall and the river, I traced my hand along the ancient stones, wondering how many people had walked here before me.
Nobody guarded this gate; there was little to guard. Residents of Tangye seldom went this way, and the fisherfolk of Moon Harbor entered the city only to sell their wares. That left only Tewl Loor. My heart beat raggedly just thinking about it.
Soon we were out of Tangye entirely, and the path skirted the base of Seli Hill before curving north, away from the river. Out here, the sea breeze kept the city smoke at bay, so Jory and I were treated to the vision of thousands of glittering stars—a rare sight for Tangye-dwellers. But we didn’t pause to admire the spectacle and instead marched steadily ahead.
When the first of the rock cones loomed before us, Jory took my hand. “Have you been here before?” he asked tightly.
“Once.” I’d been a new member of the city guard. Our captain had sent me with three other new recruits, ostensibly to deliver a letter but really to test our courage. One of my compatriots had taken one look at Tewl Loor and fled back to the city, abandoning his new career. The rest of us had completed our task, but we’d all been pale and hurried, and as soon as we returned to Tangye we all got very drunk. And that had been a daytime visit.
I don’t know how accurate the stories are, but I’d heard that Tewl Loor had been built long before Tangye, back even before the Old Tongue was spoken. Many, many centuries ago, the people of Tewl Loor had been repeatedly attacked by dragons and water serpents, yet were reluctant to move far from the ocean. To defend themselves, they’d dug into the earth, creating a town that was almost entirely underground. Their strategy had worked for a while, until a plague wiped out most of the population and left the passageways infested with ghosts. The survivors had moved a short way inland and built a new city aboveground. I don’t know what happened to the dragons and serpents. Maybe the plague killed them as well.
“That head you’re carrying is the least creepy thing around here,” Jory whispered as we passed between two of the cones. They were four or five times my height and glowed dully, but I had no idea of the light’s source. The cones were primarily exits from the underground chambers; only a single door allowed entrance. The single exit was the doing of Tewl Loor’s more recent inhabitants.
We reached the largest cone, which also glowed the brightest. It appeared to be solid stone, but I knew how to get in.
“Daveth Blyd and Jory Pearce,” I announced loudly. “We seek special services.”
A voice of indeterminate gender hissed out of nowhere, making Jory jump. “What type of services?”
The next word came out with difficulty. “Necromancy.”
“What have you to offer in return?”
“Coins.”
Silence fell, and I thought we might be turned away—a prospect that didn’t entirely distress me. But then a loud scraping began and an opening appeared in the rock.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward. Jory was right at my heels, and if he made a dismayed noise when the rock closed behind us, I didn’t blame him.
More of that vague light suffused the entry chamber, lending a faint greenish tinge to everything, including our skin and Jory’s hair. The walls around us were rough and uneven, pitted with numerous small holes. They reminded me of old bones. And in fact, a human skeleton lay slumped against one wall, its vacant eyes somehow seeming to watch us.
Jory muttered a small prayer, but I remained silent. I figured Bolitho had heard enough of me by now.
The stairway leading down into Tewl Loor was cut from the living rock and was wildly uneven. The walls pressed in close. Sometimes the ceiling hung so low I had to duck. I don’t like feeling trapped, but I continued because I had no other options. Lord Uren’s head felt heavier with each step.
Jory and I reached a landing where a corridor stretched to either side of us. But a red mark appeared on the ground, urging us toward more stairs. “How deep will we have to go?” Jory asked quietly.
“As deep as necessary.”
We descended, following the red mark down a narrow passageway and through a large, echoing chamber, then down more stairs. We saw nothing living but did pass many piles of human bones. Some were intact skeletons, while others consisted only of selected pieces—mostly skulls. I would have sworn the skulls watched us.
“Who are they?” asked Jory.
“The dead.”
“But how did they die?”
“What difference does it make to us?” They might have gasped their last breaths recently, or perhaps they’d died in the plague thousands of years ago. Either way, they were no more or less dead than the man whose head bounced against my back.
Ah—but the lifeless man we saw next was something else entirely.
Jory gasped and clutched my bad arm, making me grunt. But I didn’t pull away from him, and I didn’t take my gaze off the apparition in front of us. He’d been handsome once and hardly more than a youth when he died. It hadn’t been the plague that got him—terrible burns marred most of his torso and upper legs, his flesh looking more like charcoal than skin. His face was untouched, and he stared at us with eyes that glowed a slightly brighter green than the stone.
“Let us pass,” I said to the ghost. Conversationally, because there was no point stirring things up unnecessarily.
The ghost said something, but I couldn’t understand a word. I turned to Jory. “Did you catch that?”
“It was the Old Tongue.”
“I thought so. What did he say?”
“Um….” Jory licked his lips. Then he surprised me by addressing the ghost himself, also in words I didn’t comprehend. The ghost answered him.
“I… I’m not very good at this. Gods. I think he wants you to do something to the person who murdered him.”
“Not likely,” I muttered. Whoever had wronged this boy was centuries past vengeance. “Ask him who it was.”
A brief conversation followed, Jory’s part more halting than the ghost’s, and finally Jory nodded. “His master. Our ghost was… an apprentice, I think. I’m not sure of that word. Anyway, he worked for a smith who got angry with him and beat him, then dumped a shovelful of burning coals on him. What a terrible way to die!”
“There are few good ways.” I sighed. “Ask his master’s name.”
Jory did, and even I caught the answe
r: Avesanto. Not a name I’d heard before, but I supposed people weren’t called the same things back in the ghost’s time. No matter. I nodded at the ghost, cleared my throat, and uttered a short petition to Yestwi, the god of justice. He and I were normally not on speaking terms, but I figured we could make an exception in this case. And since I didn’t know any of the formal prayers for Yestwi, I tried a general request that Avesanto be punished in some way for what he’d done to his poor apprentice. If the long-dead could be punished. Judging from this ghost, they could certainly suffer.
I don’t know whether Yestwi listened; Gods are inscrutable like that. But the ghost seemed satisfied, which was the whole point. He even smiled at us. Then he disappeared.
Jory loudly let out his breath. “Has he been waiting here all these years?”
When did I become the expert on the deceased? I shrugged and began following the red mark again. “Maybe. He died in Tangye—I don’t know when he migrated to Tewl Loor.” At the time the Old Tongue was spoken, Tewl Loor was already completely abandoned. It wasn’t until some time later—but still hundreds of years ago—that a few people began to live here again. And those select few had a good reason for living outside the city walls: they practiced dark magic.
Dark magic wasn’t exactly forbidden in Tangye, mostly because enforcing a ban like that would be impossible. It was strongly discouraged, however, and nobody wanted to live near those who practiced it. I think the dark wizards weren’t especially eager to be neighbors with the rest of us either. They preferred quiet, the absence of city smells, and near solitude, so they’d taken up residence in Tewl Loor. Eventually those too criminal or broken or diseased even for the Low joined them, and together they’d formed a community of sorts.
I’ve heard that the residents of Tewl Loor breed and produce creatures no longer human. I’ve heard that the wizards who practice dark magic live almost forever, their bodies aging but not dying or decaying. I’ve heard that some of them fish corpses from the river and drag them underground, where they give them a semblance of life, turning them into helpless slaves. I’ve heard that sometimes they want fresher meat and snatch people off the streets of Tangye. I’ve heard more than that as well, none of it savory. I didn’t know if any of it was true.