by D N Meinster
She could see little specks moving about down there, as all the Kytherans went on with their lives like they hadn't recently been spared from extermination. Her whole life she wanted to be out among them, but now she preferred being airborne. There was no one else up here; only herself and Mirabelle. She could go wherever she wanted.
Rikki sighed. She would've spent the rest of the day navigating the skies if she could. But there were more tasks to complete before tomorrow.
"Let's go back," she told Mirabelle.
Her pegasus dove as soon as she finished the sentence. They were back at the stables in no time.
Rikki swung down from Mirabelle's back and set her staff on the ground. She folded her arms around Mirabelle's neck.
"You're free now," she said. "No one can keep you locked up in these stables. You can use your wings anytime you want."
Rikki let go of her and picked up her staff. The two of them stared at each other for a moment. "I'm going to miss you so much."
Rikki was free now as well. She could leave and hide out if she still desired to. But she had responsibilities, and they were a self-imposed constriction.
Rikki made her way back inside the black walls of the castle but did not travel far. Instead, she slipped into a narrow passageway not far from the stables, which led directly towards a winding staircase. The staircase was poorly lit, perhaps explaining its deteriorating condition. No one bothered to fix a problem they couldn't see. The steps were scarcely there, and the walls seemed to close in the further down she went. Rikki used her staff to keep balanced every instance she thought she may fall, and she even lit up the crystal for a better view of the hazardous climbing conditions.
The castle's crypt was not highly traversed and was rarely acknowledged. Few cared to know that there was a place deeper than the dungeons, limiting their knowledge to the inmates that occupied much of the space beneath Kytheras' most notable structure. But there were more than just criminals and maniacs in the lower levels; there were corpses.
Mages and kings had the option to send their bodies to the crypts once their souls had departed. Many chose elsewhere, closer to their families or their place of origin. King Aergo had chosen a spot in Terrastream, while Amelia had designated a grave near Wingless River. Rikki hadn't even considered where she'd want her body to end up. And, despite his mature attitude, neither had Milo.
The hazardous staircase seemed never-ending, as it bypassed all the dungeons and let out right into the crypt. Round and round she went, getting dizzy as she finally neared the end. It would have been an easier trip if she had been taught to shift.
Rikki caught her breath at the bottom and gazed back at the stairs with dread. It wouldn't be long before she had to slog back up.
There were kings that ruled before Aergo in these crypts, along with mages that had never gotten their names into the history books. Rikki took her time as she passed shrines dedicated to the long forgotten, many in worse condition than the staircase. The dust was noticeable on each statue or coffin, even though the only light was emanating from her staff. There were walls decorated with weapons that had long since fallen over, and symbols that had been carved into the stone that no longer bore any meaning. Some of the caskets were surrounded by paintings, though the images they exhibited were impossible to distinguish. It was all as depressing as death, which was somehow fitting.
As Rikki made her way deeper into the crypt, she started hearing more than just her footsteps. She froze, trying to decipher the encompassing noise. Was someone else down here? Or was it the pipes?
It was inconsistent, and when she took a few paces forward, it grew louder. She pointed her staff at the unknown darkness ahead of her, ready to strike if necessary. But the sound became clearer as she neared its origin: it was sobbing. Rikki could only hope that whoever was wailing was still alive. She did not want to deal with any more reanimated beings.
A flash of light shot out of her staff, illuminating the way to Milo's shrine. She chased after the light so that it wouldn't fade from view and made it to Milo's coffin within moments. It was there that she came upon the sobbing woman. She was rather rotund, and kneeling in front of the coffin, which had been placed on a stone pedestal. Even though it was moved there rather recently, a layer of dust already covered the entirety of the shrine and was even beginning to hide the name that had been carved into the base.
"Phyllis?" Rikki said before another moan could escape her.
Phyllis gazed back at Rikki, revealing a face that was red and far more bloated than usual. "Rikki?" she said, sniffling a few times and dabbing her wet cheeks with her palms.
Rikki dropped down beside her. "What's wrong?"
"He was using me," Phyllis lamented. "And I had no idea. All this time. How could I not have known?"
"That's what magic can do," Rikki sighed. "Especially when it's tainted."
"I trusted that man."
"We all did."
"You weren't his puppet."
"Actually, we all kind of were," Rikki said. "Hatswick manipulated each of us. Me. You. Him." She looked towards Milo's coffin. Were her words any comfort to this woman? She was expecting to be down here alone; to be able to say goodbye without anyone listening. She hadn't thought that someone else would already be here. Phyllis must have taken the long way down, for there was no way she could have made it down the narrow staircase.
"But you weren't complicit in his death," Phyllis shot back. "Milo," she started to cry. "I'm so sorry."
"You don't know – "
"I know if he used anyone else, it was me." Phyllis dropped her head to the grubby floor. "Magenine, let me undo what I have done. Let me make it right."
Rikki reluctantly patted Phyllis' back a few times. "The Goddess knows who is responsible for this. Hatswick will answer for his actions, whether it be here or in the Bastion."
Phyllis' head turned to the side so suddenly that it startled Rikki. Her eyes became completely white, and her voice took on a gravelly tone. "You fool. Neanthal will rule and Hatswick will be at his side. It is you that will have to answer to him." She jumped up and started violently shaking. Her body drifted off the ground like she was being pulled by an unseen wire.
Rikki touched her staff to the servant. "Leave her alone!"
Phyllis dropped back down with a thunderous thud. She stood up and looked at Rikki, her eyes back to normal. "I'll never be who I was, before he did this to me." She ran into the darkness of the crypt, disappearing from view.
Rikki returned her attention to Milo's coffin, trying to push her pity for Phyllis from her mind. "Which of us will ever be the same?" she asked, laying her palm onto the dust-covered lid.
Doren rapped on the King's bedroom door three times and repeated the motion when there was no answer. He knew his father was inside and refused to be denied this chat. He had wanted to have it since he returned from the desert.
Doren opened the door and poked his head inside. It had been many years since he had entered the royal bedroom, and nothing at all had changed. The King had left all his wife's decorations in place, but they had long ago started showing their wear. The violet and gold paint was chipped and fading from the walls. The sheets on the bed had frayed edges, and its wooden board had multiple cracks. The rug he stepped onto had lost its vibrancy, and there was an inescapable must that hit Doren's nostrils as he fully entered the room.
Halstrom was out on the balcony, which looked to be in worse shape than the indoors. The once shiny metal railing he was leaning on was now almost entirely rusted over, but the King seemed more concerned with what was out in the empty desert than what was beneath his arms. His faded green robe flopped about with the breeze while he stared out into the empty sands, where once there had been an ocean and an island to look upon.
"What do you see?" Doren asked, joining his father on the balcony.
"The Twilight Islands," Halstrom replied. "I've always dreamed of that tropical paradise."
"Seems like it
wasn't worth losing them now," Doren said. "Everyone could have stayed together. We didn't have to lose the seas or the mountains."
"We shouldn't have had a celebration after three hundred years. It should have been a period of mourning for all that was lost because of that beast behind the Door. Families were split apart. Our finally united land was again divided. And apparently the best and wisest of us was corrupted." Halstrom lowered his head. "Do you know how many kings Hatswick has advised? Every one since the Parting. Every one. And all of us, fools for not seeing the truth."
Doren didn't know what to say. He had never been in a position to console his father. He was too young to do so when his mother died. And he was always too furious with him to bother since then. Doren made to place his hand on the King, but instead rested it on the tarnished railing. "I imagine you're including princes in that collective. As well as mages. And Amelia."
"Who would they have blamed if the world ended a few days ago? Not any of them. Just me." Halstrom glanced at his son. "Sort of makes me understand why someone wouldn't want to be in this position."
Doren looked into his father's eyes. This was the first time Halstrom had broached the topic and hadn't started screaming.
"When I was younger, my father did some pretty terrible things. King Fogg the Third wanted to make up for his namesake's flaws and overstepped. So I promised myself, when I was King, I wouldn't repeat their mistakes. I wound up doing nothing. I am the Hermit King. I've kept the city running, and I accomplished my only goal. But I won't be remembered fondly for it."
"You haven't been a bad king," Doren muttered.
"No, I'm worse," Halstrom said. "I'm a mediocre king. Any chance I had for greatness died with your mother. Look at my room, son. I haven't been able to change a blasted inch since she left us. Those are all her choices in there, rotting away. I suppose I've been rotting as well."
Doren had never heard his father speak so honestly in front of him. Was his father under some sort of mind control now? Or did he believe that this was going to be their last conversation? "Do you think I'm gonna die, too?"
Halstrom seemed taken aback by the question. "Why would you say that?"
"You've never said anything like this to me before."
The King gave a weak smile. "I don't think you're going to die. I just see how wrong I was. All that time, I was lecturing you about being a warrior, and carrying a sword. But you don't need a sword to be fierce, or a warrior's instinct to be victorious. You only need good intentions. And you are full of those, just like your mother."
"You couldn't have seen this years ago?" Doren asked. "Would've saved me a lot of angst."
"Son, when you're a teenager, nothing can save you from that." Halstrom straightened himself up. "You would make a fine king. I'm more certain of that than ever."
"I still don't want it," Doren said, less certain about such a declaration than ever.
"I know," Halstrom said. "But you still have time to change your mind. Plus you have to survive your little trip first."
"So you do think I might die," Doren accused.
"I mean, it is possible. How many have gone up against sin mages and lived?"
"I already have," Doren bragged.
"You've got the right people around you," Halstrom stated. "More than I can say. Look at the idiots that are on the High Council. They might do their jobs well enough, but I never expected their egos to grow with each passing season."
"If I ever was king, they'd all be dismissed."
"Good. And put Aros and Rikki at your side instead. Rikki's basically the Grand Mage already. She just has to survive as well."
"There's a lot betting on our survival isn't there," Doren said. He was certainly feeling the pressure of the task ahead.
"More than possible positions in your council," Halstrom replied. "But this happened at the right time. There is no way I could've dealt with Neanthal when I was your age."
"Can you be this honest all the time?"
"Of course I can't. I am the King."
The two of them departed the balcony and walked side-by-side into the royal bedroom.
"You know, this is the first time that our conversation hasn't involved yelling," Doren remarked.
"Then let's end it now so it stays that way," Halstrom said.
Doren departed the King's bedroom and headed for his own. He still had some packing to do.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Guardian
Leidess brushed a few loose strands of hair from her eyes before nocking the arrow. She closed one eye and targeted the fletching of the other arrow that was sticking out of the wall. She eased the bowstring back gently, raising her elbow up and back, and loosed the projectile.
A second later, the arrow in the wall was split in two, serving as decoration for the new arrival.
"It's not even a challenge for you," Aros told her. "You should play it the right way."
"We could play bonball instead," Leidess suggested.
"No thanks," Aros said. He wiped the blade of his dagger on his orange shirt before tossing it at Leidess' arrow. It got stuck in the wall several inches away from the target. "Then again..."
Aros took the sword he had borrowed from Ratch's shop and hurled it at the arrow. This time it met the shaft, shredding it into pieces. "The sword is better than the dagger."
Leidess shot off another arrow, smacking the hilt of Aros' weapon.
"Hey!" Aros warned. "Don't damage it. I have to give it back to Ratch."
"More like you have to return it before he realizes it was missing," Leidess said. "And a few dents would be suspicious."
"It would be," Aros said, beaming at her.
"Why don't you just get your own sword?"
"I plan to. I'm not becoming a blacksmith's apprentice so I can only make pots and pans."
"So when you make your own sword, will it be specifically for Splitting?" she asked.
"Probably," Aros replied. "What else do we need swords for?"
"Then you should make it a challenge," Leidess urged.
"How?"
"Curved blades," Leidess stated. "If you can split an arrow with a curved blade, and stick it in the wall, that would be impressive."
"I could so do that," Aros stated with conviction.
Leidess giggled. "I'm so sure you could."
"You'll see. But first, I'd like you to play this game properly." Aros ran to the wall to retrieve the borrowed sword.
Memories of Leidess flooded Aros' head since he returned home. She had occupied every second of his time, even though she was no longer among the living. He held onto each moment with her, playing their conversations over again in his head. He could still hear the soothing wisdom of her voice and smell the pleasing scent of her hair. He could feel her hand in his, and his lips on hers. She was right here with him, even if physically she was not.
Aros turned over in his bed, hiding beneath the covers. He did not want to know if it was day or night. It really didn't matter. He wanted to go back to sleep no matter what, for in dreams her presence was even more real than in the memories.
He hadn't counted the days he had spent in bed, but he knew there was no reason to leave. There was only a world without her beyond these sheets, and he wanted no part of it. He would stay forever if he could, because he knew she was here. "Leidess," he cried out meekly.
Within his eyelids, he saw her smiling back at him. She was full of life; a life that was taken away. He pushed away the last time he saw her, as the thought of life only reminded him of death. He did not want to see that moment again.
"She's not dead. She's not dead." He repeated it over and over until he was back to a time and place where she was alive and with him. There was no way the Goddess would allow this beautiful woman to be taken from a world that still needed her.
"Aros," the voice started to whisper, but he shook his head over and over again until it was gone. He didn't care whose voice it was. It wasn't Leidess, so he didn't want t
o hear it.
A loud pounding downstairs temporarily lifted Aros out of the doldrums. He listened carefully for what it could be.
He heard the front door open, and then a gruff voice say "Maureen!"
"Ratch," he heard her gently reply. Her voice did not carry as far as his mentor's.
"How is he?" Ratch asked.
There was an extended pause before she answered. "Awful. He hasn't left his room in days. He hasn't even eaten anything."
"I get it," Ratch said. "Love o' his life suddenly died."
"I don't recall it being this bad after his father."
"Eh, maybe you just don' remember right," Ratch suggested. "O' maybe it's just worse for him. Don' think he had anyone else besides Leidess."
"He had you," his mother said.
"Thanks for that, but it's different. Aros didn' need me like he needed her."
"He's got me, too," she said. "But I don't think he cares. I'm afraid he's gonna..."
"No! He wouldn' do that!" Ratch responded.
"He missed her funeral. He'd rather stay up there and drown than mourn with the rest of us. He wasn't the only one that knew her, or that loved her."
"It's gonna take time. I remember when I lost my ear." Ratch cut himself off. "Not that losing an ear is the same as losing a loved one. But all the same, I stayed locked inside for days."
"What finally got you out?"
"Can' say I remember. But something sure did."
Aros placed his pillow over his head and descended deeper into his sheets. He didn't want to hear any more. He knew he had missed Leidess' funeral. But there was no reason to go. He had already been around her body.
He started quivering beneath the sheets. "No body. No body."
"I can go drag him down if you'd like," Ratch's voice carried. "But I don' think that's gonna help."
"Maybe in a few days," his mother replied. "I won't have him stay up there for more than a deck."