by Mike Truk
A pillow hit the back of my head.
Neveah couldn’t restrain a smile. “Then I suggest we hurry.”
I grabbed Shard, buckled it around my waist, and strode after Neveah into the pool room, where I saw a portal swirling against the wall.
“Best of luck,” said Imogen, following after us, a sheet pulled over her shoulders.
“Agreed,” said Brielle, and she stepped forward to hug Neveah. “I mean it. Please come back to us.”
Neveah stood stiffly until Brielle released her, then gave a curt nod. “I’ll do everything within my power.”
“Fuck, I’m starving, too,” I said, looking around. No food was laid out, and again I felt a pang of guilt. “I’ve got some rations in my pack, though. We can share that as soon as we’re through.”
“All right,” said Neveah, not sounding concerned.
“Good luck,” said Brielle, kissing me softly on the lips. “Take care of yourself.”
“Yes,” said Imogen, stepping in to give me a tight squeeze. “And take care of her.”
“I will.” I took a deep breath. This departure was so sudden that I felt like my head was spinning. “Watch out for Valeria. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
“The portal is closing,” said Neveah.
“Shit!” I grabbed her hand, and with a final wave, we lunged through it just before it closed.
We emerged in Alusz’s bedchamber, which was exactly as I’d last seen it; did anything ever change in this dark and dour room? Only the queen, it seemed, who now stood awaiting us in a dress of metallic green, which fell in rigid lines from her slender frame.
“I was beginning to think you’d not make it,” said Alusz, studying Neveah intently. “But I’m glad to be proven wrong.”
“Your highness,” I said. “Let me introduce Neveah.”
The two women stared at each other without comment, and I raised my opinion of Alusz for being able to meet Neveah’s eyes without a qualm.
“Very well. I have agreed to open a portal to your home, Neveah. Will you tell me where that is?”
“My world is called Nameshar. My home lies in the continent of Marvash, in the nation of Yeven. Where the Dark Water flows out of the Windspine Mountains, twenty miles from the village of Kurbrek.”
“Nameshar,” said Alusz softly. “I know that world. One of the few that Lilith has yet to bring under her shadow.”
Neveah’s smile was response enough.
“Will that be a problem?” I asked. “Can you still send us there?”
“Not a problem,” said the queen. “Ur-Gharab has access to every corner of the Tree of Death and the worlds that hang lies stars about it. But I’ll have to focus.”
With that she closed her eyes and raised both hands, summoning complex purple circles into existence before her - orbits that began to rotate, bright specks and spheres trapped along their circumference. Sigils and runes burned alongside the orbits, and in their center, I saw the spheres of the Tree of Life, as I knew it, though in miniature.
Alusz frowned and gestured, and the orbits expanded outwards as we zoomed in. But the nature of her diagrams was fractal; the more we zoomed in, the more information appeared, as galaxies gave birth to ever more systems, new runes blazed forth, new suns burned with disparate lights.
“There,” she said, and finally a single planet grew into focus, enlarging to the size of a soccer ball. Its surface was mostly arid across the equator, with the upper reaches by the ice-free poles turning into bands of thick forest. There was little by way of oceans - perhaps only a fifth of the surface was given to water.
“Nameshar,” whispered Alusz. “And here, Marvash.” The sphere expanded as we sank toward a large swathe of forest, rimmed along the northwest by severe mountains. It felt like a mystical version of Google Earth, and the dissonance made me feel almost dizzy.
“The Windspine Mountains, and here the village of Kurbrek.” We zoomed ever closer, the image flowing up into the air of the bedchamber, expanding, until we gazed at a topographical map easily the size of a pool table.
“How do you know of it?” I asked.
“I didn’t till now,” said Alusz, opening her eyes. “But the process of finding it is the guide.”
“Just like Google Earth,” I said.
Both women stared at me.
“Never mind.”
“Indicate on the simulacra where you wish to appear,” Alusz instructed Neveah, who stepped forward, entering the pale purple fire of the hologram to trace a line from the small village of Kurbrek, following a line through the forest and up into the mountains, deep into the forest, until she stopped and turned to the queen.
“Here.”
The map expanded once more. Kurbrek slid out of view, and I saw a cottage grow ever larger till we hovered above it like a soaring eagle.
I felt my stomach cramp with reflexive fear. For a second, I didn’t understand why, didn’t understand why I was suddenly breaking out in a sweat, palms itching, fighting the urge to run.
And then it made sense. The last time I’d flown above this cottage, seeing it from this vantage, I’d been chased by Neveah in her demon form.
I’d been minutes away at most from having Morghothilim plunged through my chest.
“Very well,” said Alusz. “Take my token. Hold it tight and speak my name, and I shall open a portal to bring you back here.”
“A hairpin?” I asked as she pulled it free of her gleaming tresses and held it out to me.
“Tokens are but symbols, and that one as personal and potent as any other,” said the queen. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” said Neveah, but I could have sworn I heard her voice tremble.
“Yes,” I said.
“I wish you luck,” said Alusz. “I know it strange to hear such words from me, but I mean it. May you find success, and may that success score a small victory for both of us in this insufferable war.”
Neveah’s expression was inscrutable, but I nodded my thanks.
“Then let us waste no more time.” She drew back her sleeves, extended her arms, and exhaled steadily, whispering words of power as she did so.
The air trembled, and I felt the fabric of reality warp. A portal coalesced, appearing much like a vortex does in water, deepening and widening until it was large enough for us to step through.
“Ready?” I asked Neveah.
In response, she took hold of my hand. Her grip was crushing, and only then did I realize the depths of her fear. But her face was stoic, her expression focused, determined.
“Ready,” she said.
Together, we stepped into the portal.
We emerged into a different world, on the grassy slopes of a mountain at dusk. The shadows of the forest about us merged into a general gloom that served to highlight the welcoming illumination from a wood cabin ahead.
The air was bitterly cold; I pulled my cloak tighter about my shoulders as I gazed up, spotting a crescent moon that appeared fleetingly in the gaps of the ragged clouds passing before its face.
“Home,” said Neveah. Her tone was impossible to decipher, somewhere between reluctance and regret, relief and wariness.
The cabin was a large structure beneath a steep, slate-shingled roof overgrown with moss. Built on a raised deck that stood on wooden columns, it was fronted by a covered porch that ran all the way around, and a winding stairway that bent once to reach the grassy ground before it.
Smoke was rising from the lone chimney, and the soft glow of candlelight was visible through the window drapes. The area behind the cabin was fenced in; a paddock perhaps, in which I saw a few shadowed shapes the size of donkeys.
“You ready?” I asked.
“They know we’re here,” said Neveah. “That they haven’t killed us is a good sign.”
I hesitated; nothing was threatening about the scene - the bucolic cottage, the serene stillness. “Yeah,” I said at last. “I usually take not being murdered that way.”
Neveah glanced sidelong at me, and I thought I saw both irritation and amusement in the way she quirked her lips. “Any moment now.”
Before I could ask what she was referring to, the cottage’s front door opened, and two figures filed out. They were backlit, so I couldn’t make out much, but even so, it was clear who they were.
Neveah began to walk forward, so I followed just a few steps behind.
Both women moved to the top of the steps and there stopped, side by side. It was eerie; they were of the same build, the same height, though one’s hair shone silver in the moonlight, and appeared slightly frailer.
Or was I imagining that?
There was no sound but the whisper of our feet passing through the grass. The closer we drew, the more something within me grew alarmed; I couldn’t pin the cause, couldn’t figure out what part of me was reacting, but the sense of danger was immense. Sweat prickled across my brow and the palms of my hand. It took effort not the summon the Vam, to simply walk toward those two women in the open.
Neither of them moved. Still, I felt like I was walking into a strong headwind and had to fight the impulse to breathe deeper. My stomach was tying itself up into bitter, acidic knots, and my mouth had dried out completely.
I’d never felt this level of apprehension, and this was just from walking up to them.
Neveah stopped a stone’s throw from the porch. Morghothilim was somehow painfully prominent, slung diagonally across her back.
“Grandmother,” she said at last. “Mother.”
The women didn’t speak. I couldn’t make out their shadowed faces. But somehow, I knew exactly when they turned their attention upon me. I felt the intensity of their gaze like a great leaden hand pressing down on me, pressing me back, so my weight rocked back onto my heels. I dry-swallowed, every instinct telling me to run, to summon Manipura, to fly up in a column of levenbolts and prepare for an assault I could never defend myself from.
There was still no movement. Were they even breathing? Was this a trap - had we been sent to a simulacrum of Neveah’s childhood home, where instead Lilith’s greatest servants awaited? Perhaps I should -
“You have arrived in time for dinner,” said Neveah’s grandmother with a touch of asperity. “Fetch water from the well and come inside.”
“Yes, Grandmother,” said Neveah, bowing her head.
With that, both women turned and went back inside.
I heard Neveah sigh by my side, and wipe her brow. “Come on.”
“That’s it?” I followed her around the cottage, heading toward the back. “That’s all the greeting you get?”
“It’s more than I deserve. They’ve already shown incredible weakness in allowing me to live. To invite me inside? That’s more love than I deserve.”
I took hold of Neveah’s shoulder and turned her toward me. “No, it’s not. You deserve far better than that.”
Neveah’s reaction was immediate. She stepped into my personal zone, face thrusting into mine, eyes narrowed in the dusky gloom. “No, Noah. I don’t. My weakness broke me, ruined Ilandro, and saw me corrupted past the point of redemption. The correct thing for them to have done was to strike me down the moment I appeared on their lawn. That they didn’t breaks my heart.”
My skin broke out in goosebumps. “You’re wrong,” I said. “But fuck it if you’ll listen to me. I know better than to argue with you right now. Let’s get that water and see where this goes.”
“Yes,” said Neveah, stepping back. “Let’s.”
She led me down the side of the wooden fence that lined the paddock, where an old well stood under a small, shingled roof. In silence, I watched as she dropped the bucket into the darkness. A splash sounded from below, and after a few moments, Neveah winched it back up, turning the handle over and over with mechanical efficiency.
The whole time she stared at nothing, eyes wide, face slack.
“Hey,” I said, seized by intuition. I reached out to touch her shoulder again. “I’m here. I’m with you. You’re not facing this alone.”
She tensed under my touch, and I could have sworn she was about to slap my hand away. Instead, she sighed, bowed her head, then nodded. “Thank you, Noah.”
I reached into the well to unhook the bucket, and, knowing there was no longer room for words, led the way back to the cottage.
And goddamn, if anger didn’t start to burn within my soul. Perhaps Neveah was right. Perhaps she did deserve to die from some big picture point of view. Perhaps she was irredeemably corrupted. Perhaps her family had done her a huge favor by not striking her down.
But she was my companion. I loved her. And I would tolerate no one treating her like dirt.
Even if they were so damned perilous, they had Neveah herself cowed.
I climbed the steps to the front door and hesitated, wondering if I should knock. Then that anger surged up once more and I stiff-armed my way inside.
I don’t know what I’d expected. Some ascetic dwelling, all monastic and minimalist? A dojo, perhaps, filled with weapons and training gear?
What I saw instead was a homey, welcoming space that momentarily checked my anger. A bright fire leaped within the hearth, casting forth cheery light and filling the air with the scent of wood smoke. The cabin walls were of natural wood, but the logs had been stripped of bark, smoothed, and waxed, giving the place a rustic but clean feel. Tapestries and works of art hung along the walls, some pleasingly simple and homemade, others of shockingly refined skill, depicting, in the main, naturalistic scenes and wild animals.
One corner was given to a kitchen, complete with stone counters, an oven, and copious shelves laden with jars, bottles, and boxes. Copper pots hung from the ceiling amid sheaves of drying herbs and cured meats.
There was a circular table with curved benches, two narrow beds covered in quilts so welcoming and made of such vibrant cloth that they appeared to have been torn from rainbows, rugs underfoot as scrupulously clean as they were thick, bookcases along one wall, laden with tomes that caused the very shelves to bow beneath their weight.
I wanted to live there - to cook in that kitchen, to sit before that fire, to sleep in those beds. Everything was of the finest quality, built to last, gleaming and waxed, attention paid to the smallest details.
Yet all that paled before the two women regarding me in turn. The grandmother crouched by the fire, while Neveah’s mother stood within the kitchen, in the middle of stirring the contents of a pot.
The family resemblance was striking. I’d have recognized them as Neveah’s blood anywhere. Her mother looked like a mature, handsome version of Neveah twenty years from now, her hair streaked with silver threads, face harder, expression as sober and remote.
And her grandmother? She’d crouched down by the fire like a woman a quarter of her age, and I saw strength still in the way she plucked a log from the pile built against the wall to insert it deliberately into the flames. Her face was wrinkled like a paper bag that had been scrunched up then smoothed out; her hair was completely white and pulled into a bun. Though her frame was slenderer than that of her daughter, she moved with such assurance and fluidity that I had trouble believing she was so old.
“Bring the bucket here,” said Neveah’s mother.
I did as told, irritation rising within me once more at her tone.
“And you, child, come here,” said the grandmother.
“I want to introduce you to Noah Kilmartin,” said Neveah from the doorway where she was removing her boots. “He is -”
“Must I repeat myself?” asked the grandmother, voice deceptively soft.
“No,” said Neveah, and padded silently across the room to stand before the hearth.
I set the bucket on the floor beside the kitchen counter and turned to watch. Neveah’s mother did the same.
The old woman studied Neveah in the firelight, her lips pressing into a straight line, her eyes glittering. “Oh, child,” she said at long last, and I heard heartbreak in those words, a wealth of pain. “Wh
at have you done?”
Tears glimmered in Neveah’s eyes, but she carefully wiped them away. “The best I could, though it was… I was lacking.”
“You were,” said her grandmother. “Of that, there can be no doubt. Why have you come here?”
“To cleanse myself of Lilith’s corruption,” said Neveah, tone tense. “I must be rid of her curse and demon if I am to help Noah defeat her.”
Neveah’s mother spoke next, her tone harsh. “And you think we can work this miracle?”
“No,” said Neveah, defiant. “That falls on me. But it was suggested to us that you could oversee the process, and in doing so help me accomplish my task.”
“Suggested by whom?” asked her grandmother.
“The queen of the Morathi in Ur-Gharab,” replied Neveah.
Her grandmother smiled, a slow expression of amusement. “Oh, child. That is reason enough to destroy you.”
I stepped forward. “You could try, but you would have to destroy me first. And in so doing, you’d destroy the last chance the universe has to protect the Source.”
Her grandmother considered me, her amused smile not quite fading away. “And you are the Tenth Savior? Disappointing. It is late in the game, yet you are still weak.”
“I am as I am,” I said, drawing myself up. “I have passed the Five Trials, and crossed the ashen deserts of Ghogiel, destroying Lilith’s greatest servant there. I passed the tests of the manifold within Tagimron, and there also destroyed her greatest servant. Now I must journey across Gharab to reach Malkuth. Maybe I am kind of shit. But I’ve come farther than six of the previous Saviors, and I know it, I know in my bones, in my soul, that I’ll make it to Malkuth. And when I do, I’m going to hunt down that bitch queen and I’ll cut her down. Nothing in all the worlds will stop me, and that includes you, old woman. So you just try to hurt Neveah. You just try to kill her before me. It’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
Silence filled the cabin but for the crackling of the fire. Neveah’s grandmother studied me, expression inscrutable, then at last barked in laughter. “As far as threats go, that one wasn’t bad. Damaris, is that stew ready?”