Fairmist

by Todd Fahnestock

  Losing souls too many to measure

  The flesh and the faces of others were bound

  And the shadows all took of their measure

  Their measure felled hordes; their fires untamed

  But the prince, before them, he stood

  One hand on the rose, one hand in the flames

  The prince, before them all, stood

  All stood when the horns of the realm gave alarm

  Too late for all and for one

  But he sent them away

  And never did say

  Why a princess lay down for his charm

  She recited it as though she had read it a thousand times, as though it was as common to her as her name. Grei felt he should know this poem, that the single verse of The Whisper Prince that repeated endlessly in his mind was only a shadow. These words filled Grei with cool water, spreading to every part of him. It drove back the pain of his arm and the hollow fear that his body was ruined forever.

  The whispers swirled through him. They became a light song, lifting him up.

  Adora squeezed his good hand. “The slinks came for you because you frighten them, Grei. Because they know you can hurt them. You can send them away.” She paused. “Make them regret not killing you tonight. Become the Whisper Prince.”

  He looked into her blue eyes. The reflected dawn light illuminated her lovely face. She leaned forward and kissed him, then slid her cheek against his and whispered into his ear. “Do it. Take us to safety.”

  He let her go and turned to the falls. He could feel it now, and the song tugged at him. He faced the platform in the center of the lake that pointed toward their destination.

  He pictured a door opening in the falling water, a corridor that led into another land, to a place where the Faia lived.

  He opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. The water fell from the cliff and pounded into Thiara’s Pool as ever before. The hovering fyds clicked their wings, creating a musical hum.

  He closed his eyes, held forward his good hand. He imagined the gateway once more, imagined parting the water. This time, he listened for the waterfall’s whispers beneath the song, listened for its language.

  He felt something rushing and merry inside him, a desire to race downhill, to flow around the hard parts of the world. Music accompanied the feeling, changing to its cadence, blending perfectly with the words of the poem.

  Grei suddenly realized that this was the voice of the falls, the voice of the water in Thiara’s Pool, the voice of the river that flowed downhill, happily visiting everything along the way. The long grasses of the bank drank of her. The dark bridges hovered over her. The people put their little vessels upon her and floated.

  “Open,” he said to the waters, speaking to them within his mind. He felt them speak to him in return, and their happy language thrummed through him. He wanted to rush along with the water all the way to the Sunset Sea, to give life to a thousand creatures and plants and become something infinitely larger.

  Grei opened his eyes. The falls had parted, like an invisible archway was pushing the water aside. The flat stone in the center of the lake had risen, extending like a bridge all the way to the shore. The way was open.

  He was dizzy. This had been altogether different than when he’d turned the flagstones into water underneath Venderré’s balcony, or when he had turned the slink’s skin to water. He hadn’t felt a thing then, only a frightening need. This time, he was floating on an ocean of power gathered in this place. There was no struggle. He had sent his request, and all things were possible. It was as though this had been prepared, and he had only triggered it.

  He peered through the mists, trying to see beyond the archway as they stepped onto the bridge.

  In the center, glowing blue, was the Faia. The fyds flocked to her, creating a cloud around her and making her little form seem large by comparison. The Faia floated forward over the pool. Behind her was a long, dark corridor as tall as the falls, a cascade of shadows overlapping each other. He could only imagine what was in there.

  Baezin?

  The Faia spoke the word in his head. She was too far away for him to see her eyes, but he felt something on his arm, like a feather lightly brushing his burn.

  Pain.

  The Faia breathed in. The opening in the falls rippled around Her, and the pain seeped from his arm, flowing into the pool and swirling away downstream. He gasped at the release. He looked down. His arm was still grisly charred bone and meat, unhealed, but there was no sensation of any kind. It was as though his arm ended just below his elbow.

  He tore his gaze away from it and focused on the Faia. “We need your help,” he said.

  Union.

  “Y-yes,” he said, not sure what she meant. “We have come to—”

  “Grei—!” Blevins shouted, and his voice was cut off. Grei spun in time to see a steel ring bounce off the big man’s head, glimmering in the dawn light as it arced back the way it had come. Blevins went down.

  A lithe figure leapt down the bank, suddenly visible as she caught the returning ring in a gauntleted hand. She hooked the ring at her hip, danced down the last bit of slope and pulled out another weapon, spinning it over her head. The weapon blurred in a silver circle, and she hurled it at them.

  “Grei!” Adora screamed. Thin steel chains wound around Grei’s ankles and steel balls slammed into his calves and shins. Adora shoved him, too late, and they fell into the shallow water.

  Frantically, Grei turned. He looked desperately at the Faia. The tiny blue woman drew back in dismay, like a little girl watching dogs tear at each other.

  “Help us!” Grei said to her.

  She bowed her head and withdrew, fading into the mists. The opening in the waterfall vanished under a deluge of water.

  “No!” Grei shouted.

  Adora pulled frantically at the chains around his legs. “We have to get these off!” she shouted.

  “She left,” Grei said, filled with a crushing despair. The Faia had seen, and she hadn’t helped. She hadn’t even tried.

  Adora’s mouth set in a line as she looked up at the falls, flowing over the ridge and crashing into the lake as though nothing had happened. The fluttering fyds had vanished.

  “Do it again. Call her back,” she said. She jumped to her feet and hiked her skirt, revealing a sheath strapped to her leg. “I’ll take care of this bitch.” She yanked the dagger out and ran at the Ringblade with a shout.

  Grei struggled to his knees. “Adora, no!”

  “Don’t hurt her!” shouted a second voice, joining Grei’s. He looked downstream to see Galius Ash leaping over rocks and sliding down the bank. Further downstream, three other Highblades sprinted toward them.

  Adora slashed at Selicia, but the black-clad woman leaned into her, as though to embrace her, and Adora’s strike missed. The two seemed to dance for a moment, then the Ringblade pirouetted neatly. Adora coughed and fell to her knees, clutching her stomach. The dagger thumped onto the mossy rocks.

  “Don’t!” Galius shouted, but the Ringblade hit Adora in the neck, and she crumpled in a heap. Galius roared as he charged her. “I said we weren’t going to—”

  The woman turned to him, and suddenly she had a dagger of her own, pointed at his face. Galius drew up short. “See to the fat man, Highblade,” the woman said. “Disarm him. Do it now.”

  Galius Ash seethed, facing off against the Ringblade, his teeth bared. He glanced at Adora, then he turned and scrambled up the slope to where Blevins had fallen.

  Grei looked at the pool. There was no way he could concentrate enough to call the Faia back, despite what Adora wanted. And even if he did, the Faia wouldn’t help. She wouldn’t help!

  He could dive into the water and let the river carry him away, live to fight another day, assuming he didn’t drown with his legs tied together and only one arm to swim.

  He looked back at Adora, unconscious on the ground.

  “Don’t try it,” the Ringblade said over the noise of the
falls, seeing his intention. “Or we’ll kill the girl and fish you out downstream.”

  She sauntered toward him like a dancer relaxing after a performance. Her face was twisted by a red scar that ran from her eye to her chin. She frowned.

  “You are the Whisper Prince,” she said, her voice barely carrying over the noise of the falls. “These Highblades don’t know what that means. But I do.”

  “Do you?” Grei asked, and he opened her with his magic. A scattered array of sensations washed over him: the rotting stench of ruthlessness overlaid with a fresh breeze of love for all women, especially her Ringblades. An imposing monolith stood in the middle of her. It was the purpose that gave her life meaning. It was the empire.

  He saw Ree, huddled in a dark place, emaciated and dirty. Her right arm had been severed at the elbow. He saw Selicia gather up the young woman tenderly.

  He saw the back of some man’s head as Selicia silently reached around and cut his throat. This image repeated, many different men, many different times.

  All to make the empire strong.

  Grei gasped and pulled back. Selicia hovered over him now, and he used his connection to speak to her, to reach past her defenses. To bend her purposes to his own.

  “The empire is on the brink,” he said, just loud enough to carry to her.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “You think you’re doing right,” he pressed. “But you’re not. If you truly want to serve the empire, you’ll help me.”

  Selicia paused as the magic influenced her.

  Listen to me, he thought. Do what I say.

  The three Highblades from downstream finally reached them, and they fanned out at a respectful distance, making sure Grei had nowhere to go.

  “Ree knew,” Grei pressed. “Did you listen to her?”

  Selicia rose up, stunned.

  “Help me, Selicia. Help us all.”

  Her nostrils flared, and she leaned forward. Something round and hard hit him just under his ribs. He coughed, doubling over. His connection to her vanished, and he tried to prop himself up with his good hand. Through blurry vision, he looked up at her.

  “Your emperor wants to see you,” she whispered, her mouth right next to his ear. “And no silver tongue will change that.” Her scar was a furious red line down her face. Grei held up his burnt hand to ward off the next blow, but he never saw it coming.

  Part III

  Thiaran Masks

  Chapter 22

  Kuruk

  The vicious stab sliced into Kuruk’s brain. It tore through the delicate balance, and the pounding surged. He staggered out of the cave, leaning on the wall. He couldn’t see straight. He couldn’t feel the ground beneath his feet.

  The battle slipped from his control. For an excruciating moment, the Thiaran voices in his head broke free. Fire burst from his mouth, his eyes, his fingertips and his skin, lighting the pocked sides of the tunnel.

  He ran up the shale slope, into the night, as though running would allow him to escape his own head, as though running would give him the strength he needed.

  “No!” he shouted. He slammed his willpower down on the voices, stopped them, held them in, clenching his pointy teeth. He fell to his knees, and the rocks glowed beneath him.

  His breath bathed the air in flames, and Kuruk struggled to his feet. He roared and charged up the slope, around the side until he stood atop the craggy tor, shouting his despair.

  Malik.

  The stab into his mind had been his brother’s death. Malik was gone.

  Kuruk screamed his rage, fire roaring from his mouth into the sky. They were all betrayers! Vile murderers!

  His rage took him back to the Thiarans’ first betrayal, the slaying of seven innocents on this spot a century ago. He returned to the first time Malik had been murdered:

  “Immortality,” the old man whispered to Malik, running his fingers through the boy’s blonde curls. “You will ensure the Thiaran Empire thrives forever. That is why you have been chosen. That is why you have been blessed.”

  “Where is my mother?” Malik asked in a small voice, his eyes wide.

  “She sent you with me. She said she wanted you to be good, to listen to me, to help me with my problem.”

  Kuruk always knew when adults lied, and this man was lying. He had seen the violence. These men had killed Malik’s mother, and the mothers of the other boys, too. There was supposed to be peace between Thiara and Benasca, but that was also a lie.

  The six other old men lined Kuruk and the boys up like sheep. Their leader, a man they called Emperor Lyndion, took a glimmering sword from the sheath at his side and cut the air like it was an invisible blanket. Smoking red light poured out. Emperor Lyndion shouted strange words to the night. They were not Benascan words. They were not Thiaran words, either. They were words that sent spiders crawling up Kuruk’s neck.

  Malik cried for his mother, but Kuruk knew crying would do nothing against these men. Sometimes only fighting made a difference. Even if you were small and weak, sometimes you had to fight or you would die.

  “You lie!” Kuruk shouted. He leapt at the emperor, clawing at the old man’s face, trying to gouge an eye, but the emperor was too strong. He grabbed Kuruk’s arm and brutally shoved him through the smoking red slit in the air.

  “Liiiiiiiiie!” Kuruk’s last word in this world stretched like a scream, and then the fires consumed him.

  Kuruk blinked the memory away. He brought himself under control, shutting the fire away within. The top of the hill plunged into darkness once more.

  He had learned much in the last century, things he hadn’t understood when Emperor Lyndion had killed him and his brothers. He knew that Lyndion had attempted to gain immortality by sacrificing them. Lyndion thought he was sending them to the realm of the dead. An exchange of souls. Young sacrificed for the old.

  Except Lyndion had opened a rift to Velakka instead, a flaming realm with thousands of souls about which Lyndion knew nothing.

  Kuruk had been the first to go, the first of his brothers to die. He had also been the first to be reborn at the hands of his master, Lord Velak. He and his followers had taken Kuruk in, remade him. Ironically, Kuruk’s transformation had given him what Lyndion had so desperately sought: Immortality.

  Velakka took Kuruk and his brothers, tormenting them, burning them, searing away their humanity. The seven children died a hundred deaths. But when the pain subsided, they remained, transformed into something new. For the next hundred years, Kuruk studied under Lord Velak, and when his master led him back to the rip, Kuruk and his brothers returned with power.

  Power enough to wreak vengeance on Thiara.

  The Tullawn Mountains hunched beneath the clouds, mimicking them in black. The wet air of this world bit at his skin, burned his lungs. When it rained, it stung him like needles. The oceans were vast tracts of death into which Kuruk could never go. The Thiarans had done this to him. They had torn his birthright away so completely that it hurt to even be here.

  The human histories said Emperor Lyndion had died, but that was a lie, too. According to Lord Velak, Lyndion had found his way to the realm of the dead, had sacrificed more children to get there. No, Lyndion wasn’t gone. The coward was hiding from Kuruk. And there would be enough time to go hunting once his brothers were safe.

  Lord Velak wanted revenge upon all Thiarans; he wanted to engulf Thiara in Velakkan flames. He wanted more than the monthly sacrifice Kuruk made to him through the Blessed. He wanted Kuruk to battle the Faia and throw open the door, but Kuruk wanted his brothers back first. And that took time. Lord Velak raged at Kuruk’s choice, but he was trapped behind the door slammed shut by the Faia. His only recourse was to accept what Kuruk sent to him.

  For now, the Blessed grew in number, pacifying Lord Velak by putting more of his Velakkans in human bodies. When each one of Kuruk’s brothers was safe in this world, Lord Velak would be paid. Not before.

  And he was close. Soon, he could let go of all the pounding, cl
awing voices. Velakkan spirits now filled almost a hundred human forms, mating with them, producing progeny into which his brothers could be born. Kuruk would continue to open pathways into these bodies, until all of his brothers surfaced like Turoh had. It wouldn’t be long now. It had happened once; it could happen for the rest.

  He turned and made his way down the tor into the cave. He could not grieve for Malik now. Kuruk’s grief could only come when his plan was complete, his brothers were safe, and the Thiarans bowed their heads to him.

  It was time to end this Whisper Prince.

  Chapter 23

  Galius

  The flying hare sailed overhead. Its fur glinted white in the sunlight. Its giant ears cupped the wind and his long, feathered hind legs pointed straight back. It had been trailing them for an hour. Full-grown flying hares would eat flesh sometimes. Galius, watching it from below, wondered if it hoped for a meal.

  The airborne rodents were unpredictable. They were generally mild, especially in large groups. A flock might scurry to hide from a child. But alone, flying hares were crazy. This one might do something as stupid as attack a fully armed caravan of Highblades.

  Galius Ash trailed the procession, watching the hare finally choose the better part of valor and bank to the left, staying within the boundaries of the lush Lowlands as the Highblades’ wagon prison entered the cracked ground of the Badlands.

  It had been two days since Fairmist, and Selicia’s pet Highblades had religiously kept Galius away from Adora’s rolling cage. The bitch of a Ringblade hadn’t wanted to take him at all, of course, but Galius had come up with a little luck there. The delegate ordered him to accompany them, and even Selicia could not deny him. It was a boon for which Galius was grateful, despite the delegate’s reasons.

  “You stay with them,” the delegate had whispered before their departure. “Selicia will arrive in Thiara and claim she found the Whisper Prince. You make sure that the emperor knows that he wouldn’t have his prize without you. Without me.”