House of Blood and Bone

by Kimberley J. Ward

  Too late for that, Nessa thought. Her blood already thrummed with anticipation. Her heartbeat was loud and fast in her ears.

  “The only way for the mental block to be broken is for the one who made it to take it down.”

  Nessa’s heart skipped a beat and she bit her lip as the implications slowly sank in. A low hiss, that of a breath forced out through gritted teeth, made Nessa turn around in surprise. Hunter’s face was flushed as he leaped up from the bed, jostling Nessa roughly in his haste. His hands were clenched into tight fists, and he looked like he was about it hit something, someone. Hunter’s eyes, usually so bright and cheery, darkened dangerously as he fixed Orm with a glower, flashing with a rage rarely seen.

  Orm met Hunter’s stare unflinchingly, almost daring him to do something.

  For a split second, Nessa thought Hunter was going to launch himself across the small room at Orm. Aoife must have thought the same thing too, for she shot awake, her alarm joining with Nessa’s, their bond amplifying it.

  A gasp left Nessa’s lips, small and barely discernible, but seemingly enough to make Hunter pause.

  Reluctantly, slowly, Hunter turned and he gazed down at Nessa, taking in her wide eyes and her fearful countenance, her small form huddled on her bed. Little by little, the anger began to leach out of him. His shoulders sagged in defeat.

  “You,” he pointed a finger at Orm with a quick, stabbing jab that reminded Nessa of a dagger being thrust into someone. “You are so full of it. You know that, right?”

  Orm’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth opened in preparation of a response, a defence. He was cut off by an angry wave of Hunter’s hand, a slash through the air like a merciless knife.

  “You are unbelievable,” Hunter continued, his voice an unrecognisable growl, his body hunched like that of a wounded animal beneath his grey winter tunic. “This is so bloody unbelievable. After everything that’s happened, after everything that’s been said, you’re still determined to go down this path? No. You know what? No more! I’m not being involved anymore. This is all on you now.”

  Hunter spun on his heel, stalking over to the door.

  He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and cast an apologetic glance over his shoulder. “I’ll catch you later, Nessie,” he murmured, his tone softening just for her. “We’ll go for a walk or something later, just you and me, and find a nice place for dinner?”

  Nessa could do nothing more than nod, tongue-tied and unable to form any other kind of response.

  Hunter offered her a brief, hesitant smile, which swiftly disappeared when his gaze shifted to Orm. “I’m off to the docks. I’ll make up some excuse for you being late, but I wouldn’t dally too long. Otherwise, you risk pissing off the twins and ruining everything even more.” Slamming the door behind him with enough force to make the furniture in Nessa’s room rattle, Hunter left.

  Orm stared after him for a long moment, his eyes troubled, and swiped a hand over his face as if he could wipe away the weariness that settled over his strong features like a mask.

  “He’ll calm down,” Orm sighed, his way of an explanation. “In a couple of hours, most likely. Definitely after lunch. Maybe. Hopefully. It’s just the stress and the sleepless nights. He’ll be back to his usual self in no time.”

  Finding her voice, Nessa croaked out a, “I bloody well hope so.” Seeing Hunter being anything other than his usual happy-go-lucky self was unsettling. Questions arose, a dozen more to join the hundreds she already had. Aoife’s consciousness once again retreated to the back of Nessa’s mind, where she had been since Nessa had awoken from her fainting spell. She was watchful and alert, but barely noticeable, allowing Hunter and Orm to do all the fussing, the talking and, apparently, most of the fighting. Nessa could tell that Aoife was thinking about a great many things, but when Nessa reached out an enquiring thought, all she would get back was the sense of later.

  “Soooo,” Orm drew out the word, searching for something to say, anything to say. “I…ah…yeah. Not the best way to start the day by far, am I right?”

  Nessa scowled and drooped, both mentally and physically exhausted, and leaned back against the wall, wishing that she could disappear into it. Hunter’s words spun around in her head, angry and insistent, jumbling with Orm’s.

  “Is there really no other way of breaking the mental block?” Nessa murmured, dejected and lost. “You know, other than having the one who put it there take it down?”

  Orm pursed his lips, and his eyes darted to the door. “I’m afraid not.” He cleared his throat. “There’s no easy way of telling you this, but your memories are most likely gone. They are probably never coming back. I know this might be hard to accept. However, you can’t keep clinging onto a hope that’s not there. It will only bring you misery and pain.”

  Nessa’s gaze settled on the brooch, and she couldn’t help but do exactly what he was warning her against. “But Sissy said…” Nessa’s wistful attempt of keeping her fragile hope alive fractured with each shake of Orm’s head. She bit her lip, trying to contain a sob.

  “Heimaey’s probably right,” Orm told her gently. “Sissy’s mistress is most likely little more than a fraud.”

  But Sissy and the creature from the forest stream, the water sprite, both hinted… “The brooch, though. It has magic. Surely that means Sissy’s mistress has some—”

  Orm sighed and reached out a hand, tapping the brooch with a finger. “The magic is weak. There’s no way it would lead you anywhere, least of all to…” He frowned. “How did this Sissy put it? ‘To what you’ve lost’. It’s a trick and nothing more. A particularly cruel trick, admittedly, and pretty damn distasteful, but there it is.”

  “But if it’s just a trick, then why do it in the first place?” Nessa struggled not to cry, swallowing back sobs. She knew that if she started crying, then she wouldn’t be able to stop. “What did—do—either of them hope to achieve?”

  “Who knows.” Orm hiked his shoulders. “Money? Power?”

  Nessa grunted, her thoughts turning bitter.

  Both Orm and Nessa fell into a frosted silence, looking at anything in the room but each other. Orm knew that Nessa was hurting. And hurt she did. Nessa sat bundled in her blankets, even though they weren’t really needed since the fire was now warming the room nicely. Nessa watched listlessly as the frost on the windowpanes melted, fat droplets running down the surface, pooling on the narrow windowsill. A dark cloud of despair settled over her, a rolling thunderstorm of turmoil.

  Come see me, Aoife murmured. It was the first thing she had said to Nessa all morning, and it seemed like a fine idea. Nessa decided then and there that she was uncaring of any consequences. She was going to see her dragon.

  Nessa stood and crossed over to the door.

  Holding it open, she gave Orm a pointed look, indicating that it was time for him to leave.

  Orm paused mid-sentence. Whatever he was talking about—something about Atheals—was abruptly abandoned.

  “Shoo,” Nessa said when Orm made no move to leave. “I’m getting changed,” Orm’s eyebrows rose, surprised by her unusually firm tone, “then I’m going to see Aoife.”

  And that’s exactly what Nessa did.

  ∞∞∞

  Orm had offered very little in the way of a fight, nothing more than the obligatory “I don’t think that’s a good idea” and “could you perhaps wait until tomorrow?” Nessa had stonewalled him, giving away no hint of what she was thinking, feeling… It seemed to have had the desired effect. Quicker than Nessa expected, Orm had left, muttering a few orders that were along the lines of “no dilly-dallying”, “no going anywhere else but straight there and back” and “be back before it is dark”.

  Nessa had, so far, ignored two of those three requests, and as she cast her gaze upward, she knew that she was about to break the third.

  The sun slipped down behind the tall buildings, and the shadows rapidly grew ever deeper and darker. Nessa knew that she should start making her way back to the
guest house. It probably wasn't a wise decision to stay out past her curfew, especially so soon. After all, Nessa had only just won the right to be out and about by herself a few hours prior. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to change her course, to turn around and make her way back to the guest house, to Hunter and Orm, and to all the problems that awaited her there.

  Slowly traversing the streets of Ellor by herself for the first time was refreshing. The cobwebs in her mind were being swept away by the crisp breeze that was funnelled through the narrow streets. Nessa had finally found a sense of inner peace that had been absent since she had witnessed the king’s razing of Arncraft. All evening long, she had done little else but wander and ponder about a great number of issues with a marginally clearer perspective.

  There were a lot of them.

  There were many, many things she had to think about, to process.

  Over and over again, Nessa replayed what Orm had told her earlier, what she had learned from him. She tried desperately to make sense of it all, but it was all too much to deal with, especially when she added the argument she’d had with Aoife to the mix.

  While Nessa was well aware that she’d have to make amends at some point, probably sooner rather than later, she wasn’t quite ready to do so. It had taken her hours to calm down, and she was reluctant to reawaken the anger, the hurt, that had sprung to life during their fight. Having a dispute with a dragon in itself would be bad enough for anyone’s psyche. Having a dispute with a dragon you are bonded to, both of your thoughts and feeling colliding together, was particularly unpleasant.

  Especially since it was about…

  Nessa shook her head, dislodging the upsetting thoughts. She turned her mind back to earlier that morning, focusing on what had happened after her outburst at Hunter and Orm.

  I don’t even trust myself…

  Hunter couldn’t have looked more shocked and, oddly enough, betrayed. Nessa had immediately wished that she’d kept her mouth shut. She never wanted to hurt Hunter or Orm. Not ever. In all honesty, Nessa had no idea where the anger had come from. The irritation, yes. That had been bubbling inside her for a short while. The anger, though… The anger felt different, sudden and fiery. Raw. It was as if it belonged to someone else.

  The sun had finally set, the sky was now a beautiful shade of deep cobalt. A fine peppering of stars littered the heavens to the east, and to the west, the last lingering reaches of the sunset gripped onto the vaporous clouds that stretched across the horizon, turning their undersides a delicate pink, making them shimmer like pearls.

  Nessa looked around, wondering where she was, and tried to catch sight of the castle. As the capital’s main landmark, nestled high into the mountainside, easily seen from most places in the city, it acted as a compass, a guide around the endless warren of streets.

  Unfortunately for her, though, Nessa couldn’t spy it. The tall, stone buildings that lined either side of the narrow street on which she walked hindered her view.

  Lanterns lit her way, casting circles of golden light at intervals down the street. They were, to Nessa’s disappointment, simple oil lamps and not the ones found in the High Quarter, which illuminated the way with light cast by the delicate, glowing mushrooms they contained. Still, having some form of light was favourable to walking in the dark. It was just a shame that Nessa didn’t get the opportunity to see the ethereal mushrooms again. She was awfully fond of them. Sometimes, it felt like she could spend hours staring at them without ever growing bored.

  With nothing much of interest to distract her, Nessa didn’t linger. She set off again, continuing her near-aimless wandering. In her opinion, she wasn’t really breaking her curfew yet. Technically, it wasn’t completely dark. It was only almost dark. By her guesstimate, she still had half an hour or so. If she picked up her pace, she might make it back to the guest house in time. Nessa couldn’t have wandered too far from the Stickworks. She hadn’t even reached the High Quarter.

  By that reasoning, Nessa deduced that she must be in the Stickworks’ neighbouring neighbourhood, the one sitting between it and the High Quarter. The buildings were built taller and stronger compared to the timber-framed buildings that dominated the Stickworks’ architecture, made from more expensive materials such as brick and stone. They were, however, not quite as fine as those closer to the High Quarter, or as grand. Whilst built with more skill and organisation than those seen in the Stickworks, the buildings around Nessa were tall and narrow, and they were packed tightly together, making the roads and streets only marginally better than those that crisscrossed the Stickworks, just a little wider and not quite as filthy.

  Having a vague idea of where she was, Nessa was sure that the guest house wasn’t far. After all, she had only made it back from visiting Aoife a short while ago. She couldn’t have wandered all too far. Most of her day had been consumed by the time taken to journey to and from Aoife’s cave. Even on horseback, it wasn’t a short or easy trek.

  Bryan wasn’t particularly fast, but the two of them had grown used to one another, and he did make the hike a lot more pleasant, and a touch quicker compared to Nessa being on foot. Bryan saved Nessa time, energy and her feet from a few blisters. In return, Bryan was often rewarded with his favourite things: a handful of oats and a good rub down.

  Nessa felt a twinge of guilt when she thought about Bryan.

  In her turmoil, Aoife’s harsh words still echoing in her ears, Nessa felt like she had all but neglected him. Upon her return to the city, she’d deposited him in his stall, unsaddling him as swiftly as she could, and left him with little more than a pat on the head and a handful of hastily grabbed hay. Nessa had gone to Aoife under the assumption that she’d be a shoulder to lean on, an ally of sorts.

  Nessa had assumed wrong.

  Aoife had said, simply put and with a few choice words that shouldn’t be repeated in polite company, that she and the others had Nessa’s best interests at heart. Nessa wasn’t quite so sure…

  Turning right, Nessa strolled down an old alleyway, hoping that it would be a short cut back to one of the main roads. A layer of dirt partially covered the cobbled ground, and the buildings crowded in on both sides, almost looming over her. The lanterns were placed few and far between, and the wooden shutters on dwellings were pulled shut, little more than thin seams of light showing around the edges. It was gloomy and dark, and held an eerie sense of familiarity.

  Nessa shook her head, trying to fling aside such silly notions. Nothing could be familiar to her. Her memories were gone. Everyone was telling her that. Chaos. Orm. Aoife. Aoife… The one who Nessa thought would be on her side no matter what, wanting her to find the answers to the questions that had plagued her for so long.

  Why are you so eager to remember? Aoife’s words lashed through Nessa’s mind, still as savage and as wounding as they had been several hours ago. What do you think the past holds for you?

  Everything, had been Nessa’s response. The past holds everything that makes me, me.

  There’s nothing but darkness and suffering. Don’t you understand that? The scars on your wrists bear testament to that. Having a few happy memories won’t lessen the pain… Nothing will. Save yourself the heartbreak and let the past stay where it is: buried.

  Nessa’s hand automatically wrapped around her wrist, where, hidden beneath the cuff of her sleeve and her felted arm warmer, was a wide band of scarring. Nessa didn’t need to see it to know that the skin was pink and glossy, sensitive and at times tender as it continued to heal. The exception was that of her Rider’s Mark, which was now undamaged, healing faster and neater compared to the skin around it.

  Nessa knew that her scars were glaring evidence that her imprisonment was less than pleasant, to put it nicely. Surely, though, whatever torments she must have suffered are worth remembering in the long run? The way Nessa saw it, it was six months of darkness versus an entire lifetime of light, of living, of family and friends, of excitement and experiences. These are the things Nessa longed for, the
things she wanted to remember. Weren’t they worth reliving everything for?

  Nessa certainly thought so. The others, however, were of a different opinion.

  A peculiar sensation fell over Nessa, settling around her shoulders like a cape made of spider webs and spectres. Her heart skipped a beat and a wave of dizziness coursed through her. Nessa stumbled before she caught herself against a wall, bruising a shoulder. Her vision wavered, blackness threatening to overwhelm her, and she blinked rapidly, like that would stop the world from fading away. In each fluttering moment, imprinted on the inside of her eyelids, was an image.

  Faded and dark, it was little more than a ghost of an impression: a woman walking down the very street on which Nessa now stood, a small bundle carefully held in her arms.

  Nessa came back to herself, the dizziness passing, her heart racing. The image dissolved, drifting away like a morning’s mist. Once again, the sense of familiarity trickled down Nessa’s spine, a memory was trying to claw itself to freedom, battling to break through the wall in her mind. The wall—which Nessa now knew to be a mental block—put in place to hide away all that made her her, to make her biddable to Margan’s and Shadow’s plans, seemed to not be working quite as they had hoped it would. Despite their intentions, their efforts, it had all backfired. Nessa wasn’t feeling particularly compliant, not right now, not anymore.

  Straightening, Nessa pushed off from the wall, the ghostly sound of far distant footsteps echoing in her ears, the image of the woman coming and going, reappearing and shifting like fine fingers of smoke. Nessa felt a spike of indecision, and she looked around as if the alleyway held the answers to what she should do.

  All was still. The street was unusually empty save for Nessa and her unearthly vision. In the distance, she could hear the faint sound of laughter and voices, the clatter of doors opening and closing. The noise was carried on a breeze, channelled through the labyrinth of streets.