by K T Munson
“You’ve earned yourself a reprieve,” Nauberon finally said. If Elsariel agrees to join me here, I shall release you.” He pushed himself up from the slab that held Ethandirill and strode from the room.
Ethandirill tried not to cringe as the Exhalter released the mechanism that made the wires spring away from his body. They curled toward the ground as his golden blood dripped down them. He slowly and gingerly sat up as the Exhalter gave him a blank stare. His eyelids had been cut away from his eyes. They were always open and always watching. His pale skin was sickly white, and the dark blue bindings he wore depicted exactly what he was: guard of the damned, torturer, and executioner.
As the Exhalter lead him to his cell, Ethandirill reflected on the terrible fates of Exhalters. They were ugly and alone and unable to reproduce. They were exiles and condemned men. Rather than having been punished by death, their penance was to bring unpleasantness to the world and be cursed with loneliness.
As he was led from the room, he realized that it could one day be his fate.
Chapter 6: Tym Resh
Until today, Clara Rhods had never seen the vast river that circumnavigated their world. Though she’d heard of it and had read about it in books she’d never actually laid her eyes on it. It was so wide that she couldn’t even see the other side of the bank. She knew it had to be somewhere past the horizon, but taking in its seeming endlessness made her feel insignificant. It was crazy to think that this sight was only a few hours from Loveday by coach. A whole world existed beyond the place of her birth.
Her employer, Fretrik the Baker, had sent her on a supply run for the first time, and she was both excited and filled with anxiety. All of that was temporarily forgotten now, though, as she stood on the docks in the wee hours of the morning and watched the sun cress the water. It almost made her forget the nightmares and how tired she was.
Clenching the list to her chest, Clara could still remember the birds. How could she ever forget them when they haunted her every night? Forcing her fingers to relax, Clara memorized the scene before her, imprinting it on her memory before turning back to the town. Soon the Blacksmith would open and she could purchase the specialty goods Fretrik had sent her for. There was an old piece on their mill that would soon break. She only hoped they’d caught it in time. She didn’t want to have to grind the grain by hand when the river could crank it for them.
She turned back to look at the Blacksmith’s shop and could just make out the smoke starting to billow from the chimney. She loved the style of these buildings, much finer than the ones back home. They were taller against the river, and each had its own façade. Some of the houses looked like they had been stacked haphazardly on top of each other, like mismatched teacups. As though each additional home had been built in different periods and matched their style to that era, with no regard for how it looked to the home below or to the side of them. It amused her to no end.
With a sigh, she walked the short distance to the shop, the sun casting the buildings into long shadows as she left the sunny shore side. Something seemed to move up ahead. She studied it. It almost looked like the ground was moving.
A trick of the light?
She jumped when an accented voice asked, “Can I help you?”
Putting a hand on her chest, she turned to a tall man built like a bull. He had a massive hammer in one hand and was the picture of what she imagined a blacksmith to look like, right down to the apron. Clara moved toward him and held out the proof of sale.
“I’m here from Fretrik Brok’s bakery to pick up the part he ordered.” Clara turned the paper around so he could read it, but he was already nodding.
Behind him, the sound of metal on metal began in a rhythmic pattern. “Aye, I know the part.” His voice was distinctly northern, his words deeply lilting. She liked the way he drew out his o’s.
He turned away, and she instinctively followed in past the threshold and into the heat. When she turned to the sound, she was shocked to see a woman hammering away at an anvil. Her eyes darted back to the man, but he had already disappeared into the back. The woman continued to hammer, her perfectly tanned arms covered in sweat. She took the prongs that held the metal in place and plunged the piece into a bucket. It sizzled loudly a moment, and a strand of hair slipped in front of her face.
“Here it is,” the man said, and Clara jumped again. For someone so large, he was stealthy.
Clara gingerly took the part, a big cog about the size of her calf that weighed more than she thought it would. She dropped it into her side satchel, the band cutting into her shoulder as she extracted the coins that Fretrik owed for the piece. She handed it over to the man, who took it without question.
“Ah,” the woman said with a smile as she came around the anvil. “Fretrik said in his letter he’d be sending his apprentice in for the work order.” Unlike the man, her vowels were heavy—like her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.
“I’m Clara,” she said shyly, her fingers brushing against her blotchy birthmark absentmindedly.
The woman clapped her on her shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Clara. I’m Meg.”
Warmed by her reaction, Clara felt her face split into a smile. As she was about to respond, fog rolled in against her legs. She looked down, and her whole body stiffened. It was happening again! She felt sick with panic as she slowly turned around and looked at the wall of fog that filled the roadway.
“Close the door,” Clara whispered.
“What was that?” Meg asked leaning in closer.
A woman screamed in the distance as Clara’s blood ran cold. “What’s happening?” The man asked, coming to stand next to her. Commotion came from the street.
“Close the door!” she yelled as she rushed toward the sliding door.
“What is it?” Meg asked, but she helped her shift the door.
They’d nearly gotten it closed when Clara saw something dark in the thick fog. She screamed as the creature collided with the door. Wood groaned, and she stumbled back and landed on her backside. The man rushed around her and joined Meg in forcing it closed. People outside were screaming as Meg and the man managed to get the door latched. A cold sweat broke out all over her body, and she had the urge to vomit.
Meg helped her to her feet. “What was that?”
Clara shook her head as tears streamed down her face. “No, no, no,” she said over and over and covered her ears.
The creature hit the door again, this time bending the metal and splintering the wood. Clara screamed again and began to sob. Her skin felt like it was being picked at again. In her mind’s eye, those red-eyed demon birds were back to terrorize her. The creature charged once more, and someone hauled her to her feet, towing her toward the back of the building.
The door buckled and wood splintered across the floor as the latch broke. The creature, which looked like a massive spider, clawing its way in. Clara screamed, and a big hand quickly covered her mouth. Heavy breathing met her ear as the man carried her into a room in the back. As Meg and the man picked up weapons and held them at the ready, she could hear the monster scratching. Clara whimpered, curled in the corner, her own hands now covering her mouth and her wide eyes gazing through the archway and into the room beyond.
Suddenly, the creature screamed and there was a squelching noise, like someone stomping through mud. The spider slammed against the back wall of the shop, directly in front of them, and Meg raised her sword. The man held a massive hammer aloft, ready to strike, but the creature suddenly flattened like a pancake, goo and chunks of spider flying everywhere.
A woman appeared. She wore an all-black dress in a design that Clara had never seen, and her bright blond hair was pulled back in a fancy bun. Clara stood.
Everyone seemed to hold their breath until, finally, the woman turned to them. She smiled reassuringly. “You are safe now.” Her accent was one Clara had never heard, yet Clara felt like she knew her.
Just as quickly as she’d appeared, she was gone, vanishing bef
ore their eyes. The spider-creature remained, the only proof that what had happened had been real. Clara stared at the spot where the mystery woman had been, relieved to be alive and wondering who their savior was.
Chapter 7: Ashlad
Nanette watched her father from across the table. Ruhan had asked to see her but not said why. His expression was pensive. Nanette shifted in her chair. Fear gripped her. It had to be bad news.
“How is Yuna?” Nanette asked, her fingers sliding across the rim of the teacup.
Ruhan seemed to come out of it. “Yuna? Oh, fine, fine. Been a little ill is all.”
Nanette considered telling her father about Yuna’s pregnancy but decided against stealing her sister’s thunder. Plus her father wasn’t very good at keeping a secret. The silence stretched on between them. It grew uncomfortable and heavy until Nanette couldn’t take it a second longer.
“Is there something you need?”
He cleared his throat. “I wanted to see where you were. That you are well taken care of.”
“Elisabeth and Malthael have been very generous,” Nanette replied, confused. “I’m comfortable here.”
Nodding, he took a sip of tea. “Good,” he managed.
When he went to stand, Nanette’s anger boiled over. “That’s all you have to say to me? Good?” Ruhan stopped in his tracks, but Nanette wasn’t done. “Why should I be surprised?” Nanette leaned toward him and slapped the table. “You didn’t care when I was unhappy before, so why would it matter now?”
“You’re unhappy?” Ruhan asked, immediately sitting down.
“No,” Nanette snapped, feeling childish her anger deflated. “It doesn’t matter.”
Ruhan reached across the table toward her hand. “Of course it matters. You matter to me.”
Nanette blinked in surprise. “Not enough to bother with once mother left.” Her voice was colder then she’d meant it to be. “Not like Yuna needed you.” The hurt stung as the memories swirled.
“Is that what you thought?” Ruhan asked, standing. “That I didn’t love you as much as her?”
Tears sprung to Nanette’s eyes as she nodded—not trusting her voice to work. She was overwhelmed with memories of crying alone in the dark while Yuna slept silently beside her. She remembered realizing that her life would never be the same but having to put on a brave face because Yuna needed her to be. It was Yuna with whom their father had spent time; it was Yuna he had comforted and reassured.
Circling the table, Ruhan held out his arms to her, but Nanette blindly moved away from him. “I don’t…” her voice catching.
“Nanette, I didn’t know you needed me. You were always so strong,” Ruhan said, catching her arms in his hands. “Stronger than me. I’m so sorry.”
Nanette sobbed as Ruhan wrapped her in a warm embrace. A heavy burden she hadn’t even known she’d been carrying suddenly lifted. With each wracking cry of her body, she felt it grow lighter.
When the clock chimed the hour, Nanette jumped. She looked up as the sound filled the room and told her it was late. More importantly, Elisabeth was late. With a groan, she stretched her arms up above her head and yawned. After her father had left, Nanette had stayed up, hoping to tell Elisabeth all about the conversation, but Elisabeth hadn’t come home. Uncurling herself from her position, Nanette tossed the blanket on the back of the couch.
“Duke?” Nanette called into the air. “Nathan?”
She waited a moment. She’d taken a shine to Ashley, and the Netherhounds had been displeased with her as a result. The massive tiger was missing right now, however—it must have snuck off when she was dozing. Just when she was sure they were ignoring her on purpose, Duke appeared like magic in front of her despite all the doors being closed. Her hand flew to her chest before she could catch herself. Not for the first time, she wished she could see them even in their spirit form like Elisabeth did, so the mischievous hounds couldn’t sneak up on her and scare her whenever they wished.
“Can you take me to Elisabeth?” Nanette asked with a smile. Duke didn’t look pleased. Nanette crossed her arms. “Don’t give me that. Elisabeth isn’t here, right? So if she isn’t here, something might have happened to her. Don’t you want to check in and make sure she is alright?”
Duke seemed to sigh and roll his eyes, but he walked toward her. She reached out to pat his head and thank him when suddenly she felt herself freeze. As they entered the spirit pathways it was like being pulled through a too-small hole. Elisabeth insisted traversing the spirit roadways wasn’t like that for her, but for Nanette it was uncomfortable. When they surfaced shortly afterward, Nanette felt out of sorts. Duke didn’t wait for her, instead slipping out of her hold and vanishing once again.
It took Nanette a moment to get her bearings. Her eyes landed on Elisabeth immediately. Her head rested on her arms on an old desk. As a leading expert in her field, Elisabeth was granted unlimited access to the university’s resources. They were in one of the private workspaces at the university.
Curious, Nanette examined her surroundings. To her left was a room similar to Malthael’s study, but the area to the right reminded her more of a doctor’s laboratory. It was sterile, uninviting, and made her skin crawl. Behind where Elisabeth was sleeping was a workstation full of all sorts of metal objects and tools. A device mounted in a clamp looked like it was in the process of being repaired or built. Nanette couldn’t be sure which. Her shoes tapped quietly on the tiled floor as she crossed the room to get a closer look.
The device was torn open and full of little wires that wrapped around a stone. Nanette saw a similar but unbroken device on the countertop. She picked it up and inspected it. When it snapped open in her fingers she let out a cry. The object clattered as it struck the workbench.
Elisabeth was suddenly up on her feet, her eyes wild and alert. “Nanette? What’s going on?”
“Sorry,” Nanette said, pointing at the device. “What is it?”
With a short sigh of relief, Elisabeth pushed her loose hair out of her face and leaned against the desk. “It is a communication device. It allows me to speak across great distances. I can pick this one up”—she retrieved the one that Nanette had dropped and snapped it closed—“and talk into it, and Malthael will hear me on the other end.”
“That’s amazing.” Nanette stepped closer and took the communication device from Elisabeth to analyze it. “How does it work?”
“I use the spirit lines. These rocks”—Elisabeth pointed to the small stone within the gutted device—“are two halves of a whole. I found it on one of my trips. Sadly, it only works on Ashlad, and the devices are the only two of its kind. One day, I hope to find more rocks. But anyway, they are basically linked. I took my knowledge of the spirit realm and created a resonating capability so that the stones recognize a voice and transmit it. The trick is getting them to echo both ways, depending on who is talking.”
“So that’s what you do. With your Fringe Sciences.” Nanette was in complete awe of Elisabeth.
Elisabeth bobbed her head from side to side. “Something like that.” Her smile was genuine, and Nanette liked the way it lit up her face.
“What happened to that one?” Nanette pointed at the broken one.
Elisabeth’s face fell. “I dropped it.” She immediately turned her back on the work table and faced Nanette fully. “Did something happen? Why are you here?”
“You’re late,” Nanette said simply. “My father visited.”
Elisabeth whipped her head around to look at the clock. “We’d better go then, or I won’t be well rested for tomorrow. You can tell me all about Ruhan’s visit.”
Nanette watched Elisabeth as she poured over the maps and old books. A.J. stood next to her as he flipped through an atlas. Nanette kept trying to glimpse his face in his odd suit in the brief moments when the swirls took form. If she had to guess, he’d been about her father’s age when he’d become what he was. Forcing herself to stop staring, she returned to her books. It would take her a while
to get used to a ghost living in their home—though at least he was a useful ghost. After Milo, Elizabeth’s former tutor, had betrayed her and Malthael, everyone—especially Malthael—had hesitated to bring anyone new into the house. A.J. had become the unofficial replacement for their butler, Grog, had left. He seemed happy with the assignment, to be useful to Elisabeth after she had built him the suit and thus the means of his freedom.
The smell of old books filled the room, but it wasn’t a musty scent. It was ancient parchment and ink mingled with the whiff of aged leather. Glancing at a few volumes behind glass that Malthael had brought from the Netherworld, Nanette crinkled her nose. She shuddered and turned back to the volume in her hand.
The books from the Netherworld were made from skin, and most of it wasn’t animal. There were a few on the table in front of Elisabeth, the pages of which she and A.J. were scouring. Cloth-bound books were more Nanette’s liking, and she stood close to the window, sticking close to the sun. She didn’t like anything that reminded her of the Netherworld.
Mostly she didn’t like to think about it because she’d nearly died there, but it was also painful to think about because she missed Ethan. Her time away had made her wonder if it had all been real. She was sure of herself and her feelings toward the exiled prince, but she still had other doubts. Standing in the sunlight, she couldn’t help but wonder if his feelings were as strong as hers. With his inability to speak it wasn’t as though he could tell her. When she’d spent her month in the Netherworld bound to him, she’d wondered the whole time if she was a blessing or a burden. They had known each other such a short time and Nanette had done all the talking—for obvious reasons. Their connection had been undeniable, but that didn’t mean anything. Well, it did mean something—it just didn’t necessarily mean he cared for her or could even love her.
Nanette rubbed her forehead in annoyance. Perhaps being miserable in a marriage was easier than being unsure in love. Love was rather ridiculous at its core, but that didn’t mean Nanette didn’t desire it. The world ran on love and the lack of it. It was the only universal language and desire. Whether that love was directed at another person or at something else, it all came back to that one word.