The Word Changers

by Ashlee Willis

  The king left the chamber silently. Valanor took her seat by the fire. As she plucked her needle from the arm of the chair where she had placed it, she threw a derisive look across the room at the empty space in which her husband had just stood. “Fool,” she hissed scornfully, shaking her beautiful head and settling to her work once again.

  * * *

  And so, the staircase; it stretched below Kyran and Posy like a fathomless cavern, an open mouth ready to swallow them into its darkness. Each of them had a torch from the chamber behind them, held before them like a talisman against whatever evil they might encounter upon the stone stairs, or at the bottom of them. Their free hands were clasped together. Kyran’s hand in her own left hand gave Posy more courage than the torch in her right. Somehow she knew—and Kyran did, too—that this was the final length of their journey in the Glooming. They were close—she could feel it—close to what they were looking for. But what they were looking for had changed shape since the start of their journey. Princess Evanthe was their destination, but Posy now knew there were things beneath the surface, unseen and intangible, that they must find as well. Things that flitted through the grasp and just beyond sight, like a wood fairy, or a wisp of cloud.

  So, hand in hand, they descended. It wasn’t long before they became tired with the descent. It seemed to Posy to go on forever, and her legs began to ache and cramp.

  “What if this is a magical staircase?” she spoke her fear at last. “What if it never ends, and we are stuck here on it for the rest of our lives? No top, no bottom?”

  “But we know there is a top. We just came from it,” Kyran reasoned wearily, stopping to rest on a crumbling stone stair.

  “But what if we were to turn and try to go up the stairs again, and found that we just kept walking, kept climbing, going nowhere?”

  “Posy,” Kyran said, “that kind of thinking doesn’t help. Perhaps this staircase is enchanted, like you say. But perhaps its enchantment is to make the person upon it only believe there is no end, and thus despair. We must press on. But first”—he patted the hard stone beside him—“rest here with me for a while, sweet.”

  Sweet. Posy smiled despite herself and settled next to Kyran, his arm slipping naturally around her waist and her head dropping to his shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered and drooped. Much too soon, Kyran was urging her up again, and so they pressed on. The staircase began to show a subtle change eventually. The crumbling stairs gave way to smoothly-cut ones. Then the smooth ones turned to glossed marble. When Posy saw this, she felt a shudder of foreboding.

  “Kyran,” she whispered, “I think we must be watchful from now on.” She didn’t know where the feeling of dread came from. But she remembered the feeling of comfort she had before they entered the room of ghostly creatures, and she knew this was a place where nothing was as it seemed.

  In his usual way, Kyran seemed to read her thoughts, and nodded, understanding her meaning without words. “I do not forget Stonus’ words to us of this place, Posy,” he said quietly.

  They kept descending, and the staircase widened. Before, it had barely fit the two of them shoulder to shoulder; now it would have fit a dozen people or more walking parallel. Posy glanced over her shoulder at this point—she didn’t know why—and stopped dead in her tracks. Kyran felt her body stiffen next to his and turned swiftly, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. But it was not something he could fight against that they both turned to see. A wall now stood behind them, solid and seemingly invulnerable, blocking the stairs they had just descended. It was odd, Posy thought, but there were no words to say about this. There was only the look of fear in her own face, and the determination in Kyran’s dark eyes as he sheathed his sword and continued. No thoughts of turning back now.

  “Well”—Posy pushed past her fear in an attempt to make Kyran smile—“at least we know now that the stairs aren’t enchanted—at least in the way we thought.”

  Kyran did smile at this, but it was fleeting. His eyes were directed sharply ahead of them now, and his stance was that of the warrior-Kyran that Posy felt she was beginning to know too well.

  The staircase had ended at last. Posy was on the alert the instant her eyes took in the room. Luxurious furniture was arranged in an enormous chamber that stretched before them in a great expanse of marble floors covered with vast sumptuous rugs. Ornate and detailed tapestries covered the high walls. A small fountain bubbled in the center of the room soothingly, the only sound to be heard other than the thumping of their own hearts.

  “It’s not as it seems,” warned Posy quickly, desperately almost, in a low whisper. Kyran was silent beside her. “What are we to do?” she finished.

  Before Kyran could answer her, a ringing voice said, “What are you to do? Why, you are to be our honored guests, and come sit with us a while.”

  Posy’s eyes shot swiftly around the room and she saw a woman, an astonishingly beautiful woman, sitting upon one of the couches. Posy would have sworn that only moments ago she was not there. The moment the woman’s lovely voice called to them, she felt a difference in Kyran, who stood close beside her. He relaxed his grip on her hand, and his shoulders lost their rigidity. “Come, Posy,” he whispered, “We must at least speak with her if we are to get through this chamber.”

  Posy felt her mouth drop in bewilderment, and started to protest, but she had no other alternative to this plan. After all, they couldn’t stand at the foot of the great staircase forever. “Kyran—” she started, wanting to repeat her warning, but he was tugging her swiftly across the chamber to where the woman sat waiting for them, a smile on her beautiful lips.

  “Welcome, children,” she said as they approached. Her dark silky hair hung in rippling waves over her shoulder and spilled onto the couch beside her. “Forgive me, I didn’t know when exactly to expect you. The princess was rather uncertain of when you would arrive.”

  “The princess?” Kyran breathed, his voice wavering. “Is my sister here? Is Evanthe here?”

  “Oh, yes, our lovely Evanthe is here. What a brave girl she is, to traverse the Glooming alone! We are very proud of her.” The woman’s dark liquid eyes danced, light glistening on two shadowy pools.

  “Oh, Posy!” Kyran turned to Posy and squeezed her hands in a painful grip. “She is here! We have found her at last! I knew it—I knew we were close.”

  The woman beamed upon them as if they were amusing children. But Posy didn’t take her eyes off the woman’s face. “Who are you?” she asked, ignoring Kyran. “And what do you mean, ‘we’?”

  “Oh, how remiss of me! I am Seraphine,” the woman answered, touching a slender white hand delicately to her chest. “And these are my sisters, Limnoreia and Adamaris. We have been keeping watch over the young princess these many weeks, have we not, sisters?”

  Posy and Kyran turned and saw two more women, as lovely as their sister, sitting composedly on the couch behind them. Posy knew this time, with foreboding in her heart, that they had most certainly not been sitting there moments ago.

  “Wha—” Kyran started, and Seraphine interrupted him with a laugh like a ringing bell.

  “My sisters have just come from your own sister, Prince. Do you not wish to hear of Evanthe?”

  This got Kyran’s attention. “Yes, of course,” he answered. “But—pardon me—I wish to see her even more than to hear about her. Is she near?”

  “Very near,” said Limnoreia. Posy silently stared at the women, all so exquisitely beautiful. She knew something was wrong here. She could feel it. She just couldn’t see it. She turned to look at Kyran. His face was open and trusting, and he gazed from one sister to the next in open admiration. Posy felt annoyance rise in her. I suppose every danger is forgotten if the woman is pretty enough, she thought to herself angrily. She pushed away her feelings, though, and tried to concentrate every thought on reality. This is not as it seems, she repeated to herself. Not as it seems ... why can’t I see it for what it is?

  And suddenly she saw it. She didn’t
know what it meant, exactly, but she knew it was a clue—the first loose thread, ready to be pulled to unravel this veil that covered their eyes.

  As Posy looked at Seraphine, her eyes traveled down to the couch, and she saw that Seraphine’s lovely hair looked ... wet. At first it seemed the very tips of her hair were dripping slowly onto the couch beside her, forming a tiny puddle; then, as Posy’s eyes traveled up, she blinked in disbelief. Seraphine’s entire body was drenched with water. Her dress clung heavily around her shoulders, her breasts, her thighs. Drops of water hung, like glistening diamonds, from her black eyelashes. Posy felt her breath quicken as her heart began to beat harder. She turned to look at the other two sisters and saw that it was the same with them—wet from head to toe. She saw a piece of something that looked like seaweed in Adamaris’ hair.

  “You can speak to the princess yourself, Prince Kyran. You must only follow us,” Seraphine was saying calmly. Follow her where? And why does she not rise from the couch? Posy’s thoughts were in a frenzy as she tried to work out this puzzle. She glanced at Kyran and saw that he discerned nothing of what she now could see. The veil still covered his eyes, it seemed. Ah, well, so it was up to her, then.

  “Then stand and take us to her,” said Posy suddenly, cutting into the conversation. She was met with silence. Kyran turned to her to give her a look of reproach. “But they don’t!” she said to him, not missing the sudden flame that seemed to spark in Seraphine’s eyes. “Don’t you see? They don’t take us to her. They only speak of her.”

  “Oh, but we will,” said Seraphine, her voice dangerously serene. A smile still played at the edge of her lovely mouth, but it was tight.

  “You have to do it now, then. We have waited long enough. We have traveled a long way. Stand and take us to the princess Evanthe. Please,” she added as an afterthought, and because Kyran was now gaping at her in astonishment. “Oh,” she said to him in a burst of frustration. “Don’t look at me that way! You never showed me even an ounce of courtesy when we first met, but here you are drooling over –”

  Kyran grabbed Posy’s arm roughly and pulled her away from the women, near the fountain. “What are you doing?” he demanded in a harsh whisper. “Are you going to offend the only ones who can take us to my sister—out of ... out of jealousy? What are you trying to do, Posy?”

  “Please, Kyran,” Posy said, and she knew it was important now to chose the right words. “Listen to me for a moment. We know we are in a place of deception. That is what the Glooming is. We have been deceived before this, and more than once. Why do you trust these women so much? Is it because they are beautiful? Is that it?”

  Kyran let go of her arm abruptly and took a step back from her, the old disdain and pride taking hold in his expression and voice. “It is because they know where my sister is. What other choice do I have? Beautiful or not, Posy”—and he gave her a scathing look—“I am here to rescue my sister. Nothing else. Or have you forgotten that?”

  “No,” Posy said, keeping the anger and pain she felt from her voice. “I only thought you had, that’s all. Nothing is as it seems. Didn’t we agree on that?” But Kyran was no longer listening to her. He turned from her and strode back to where the sisters sat waiting calmly.

  “Kyran, please,” Posy pleaded. “Remember what Stonus told us. You said you’d remember his words!” But she spoke to his back, and he would not turn to her again.

  Posy turned to stare into the waters of the fountain for a moment to collect her thoughts. Why must she do this alone? Why was Kyran so blind? The waters swirled with more motion than Posy would have thought possible for a small fountain, and she bent over to look more closely. She saw that the water was deep—fathoms deep, blue disappearing into darkness miles below. A creature with many tentacles swam slowly by and seemed to gaze up at her. Posy felt her breathing still, her face felt frozen as she stared down. Then she turned from the fountain and ran.

  She did not spare a word for Kyran; there was no point in that. She ran straight to Seraphine and lunged for the foot of her couch before she could move, a mad instinct guiding her.

  “Posy!” shouted Kyran, pouncing toward her to stop her. But he stopped dead in his tracks when he reached her. Posy had lifted the bottom of Seraphine’s dress to reveal the thread that unraveled it all. A tail, and fins.

  Kyran’s eyes widened in horror, but he immediately sprang into action. He swung Posy up from the floor and thrust her ahead of him. “Run for the stairs,” he cried behind her, and as she obeyed him, she heard Seraphine’s furious scream.

  As she ran, Posy felt the floor beneath her giving way, dissolving into nothing as if the beautiful room had been made of clouds or dreams. She reached the foot of the stairs, panting, and turned quickly to see Kyran give a great leap and land sprawled beside her. Water lapped the edge of the staircase, and green-black depths of it spanned the entire chamber, licking gently, almost silently, at the walls of the cavern. The enchantment was gone—there were no more carpets and tapestries, just cold stone walls, dimly shadowed waters, and darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Cruel Memories

  “Oh, Prince,” called a watery voice, a voice like an eel slipping through the deep. “What a mistake you have made, you and your worthless companion. You won’t get away now, you know.”

  Seraphine’s shining wet head emerged at the water’s edge next to where Kyran and Posy stood at the foot of the stone stairs. The tips of her shimmering tail fins curled and uncurled slowly beside her as she eyed them with an amused detachment. Kyran's left arm was tightly wrapped around Posy, and his right brandished his sword, though neither of them could see much more in the dark chamber than Seraphine’s face. A mermaid, then, Posy said to herself. A cruel mermaid. What does she want with us?

  “I only seek my sister,” Kyran’s voice came strong and clear across the cavern. “I promise no harm will come to you or your sisters if you will release the princess to me now.”

  Limnoreia and Adamaris materialized beside their sister, gentle smiles on their blood-red lips. “Sweet of you,” said Adamaris almost regretfully. She shrugged her slender white shoulders, “But you could do us no harm anyway. Your father has done enough al—”

  “Hold your tongue!” Seraphine’s voice grew, her face contorting furiously. But the damage had been done.

  “My father?” Kyran leapt on Adamaris’ words. “What has my father done to you? If he has hurt you, or treated you unfairly, I can help you. Indeed, I have vowed after I rescue my sister to lead an army against him.”

  Too much, Kyran, you are telling them too much, and too soon. Posy’s thoughts flew through her head, and she reached down to squeeze his hand, willing him to hear her thoughts.

  The mermaids exchanged subtle glances with one another, and Seraphine’s expression immediately mellowed. “Yes,” she whispered. “I suppose you might help us. For my sister is right; your father has done us great harm. But first, tell me—why do you oppose him? You, who are his own son?”

  Kyran smiled coldly. “He is a tyrant and a manipulator, selfish, untrue and unkind to those he should be caring for.”

  Seraphine nodded acknowledgement, her face serene. “We, too, feel this way, young prince. I will show you how it was.” The three beautiful faces disappeared suddenly beneath the water, leaving three rippling circles where they had been. Moments later Posy and Kyran could see brightness, a glowing deep within the water. It shone brighter and brighter, closer to the surface, until it burst upward from the water, a twinkling mist that filled the cavern and hovered over the water’s surface. Two figures gleamed before them, created by the mist, and Posy recognized them at once: King Melanthius and Queen Valanor. She heard Kyran’s slow intake of breath beside her.

  The king and queen seemed not to notice them, but stood facing each other angrily. Posy felt somehow that this must be a memory, bottled up and released, or recreated, within the haze that hung heavily in the chamber. She watched as the scene before them unfolded.<
br />
  The king and queen appeared to be much younger than they were now, though Posy knew that couldn’t be true—for they remained the same age always in this story. Yet the king didn’t wear the hardness in his face that Posy remembered. The queen had an openness in her countenance that held passion, very unlike the subtle flickers of repression and grief Posy had seen in her eyes before. Yes, they were both infinitely different from what Posy had seen with her own eyes not long ago. From the corner of her eye, she saw Kyran shake his head as if to dispel a lingering dream.

  “You,” the queen shrieked at her husband, her pale skin flushed and fevered. “If you cared for me at all, or the Plot, you would banish them.”

  “Banish!” Melanthius crowed. “Oh, Valanor, you speak in the heat of passion. We can forget what they have done and continue with the Plot. Let it lie in the past, my dear. For”—and he hesitated, a look of something like shame crossing his face—“you know that you are the only one I have ever loved.”

  “You forget, husband,” Valanor’s voice hovered between anger and wild tears, “there is no past here, and never has been. Anything you have done ... anything those creatures may have done ... will not fade in my memory. Not now—not ever.”

  A cloud passed across the king’s face then, and he moved his hand across his forehead absently. “Yes,” he said at last, “there is no past within the Plot. Only the Plot, over and over again.”

  Valanor nodded as if encouraging a child who recited his lines. “Over and over again, yes,” she repeated. “An endless beautiful circle. We know who we are and what we do. There are no questions for anyone, no need for confusion or deviance. Only the Plot, husband. And any who disturb it ...”