Stain

by A. G. Howard

  My flask is leaking, Selena signed to Vesper while still atop her mount. She bent over to search through her saddlebag where water stains darkened the leather. Her long braid swung across Dusklight’s flank, the colors so close they blended together beneath the moon’s glow.

  Vesper caught Cyprian watching his sister beneath his white lashes. The skull painted upon his friend’s face had little hope of hiding the tender, lovelorn expression behind it. Yet somehow, Selena was blind to it. The prince wondered if his friend would ever be brave enough to tell her.

  Preparing to dismount, Vesper hesitated as something shifted the powder beside Dusklight’s left hoof. Nysa’s floppy brown ears perked and she barked, spurring the jackdaws to screech in their cages. The spaniel wriggled from her perch before Selena could catch her.

  A pale, bony tentacle hurled out from the snow, scattering tufts of white mist into the air. Nysa leapt at it. Selena guided Dusklight’s hooves to safety while whistling for her dog. The spine-like plant uncoiled to the size of a boa constrictor, then snapped its barbed tip out to catch Nysa’s long, furry tail. The dog yelped, disappearing into a snow drift—leaving only drag marks. All ten horses squealed and shimmied, ears back, scattering as their riders attempted to calm them.

  Vesper threw off his fur cape and dove from Lanthe’s saddle to tackle the retreating end of the bramble. He hit the ground with a metallic thud that echoed through his abdomen. Selena attempted to dismount but Dusklight released a panicked neigh and reared. Selena leaned into her knees to stay balanced. Vesper spun through the snow and plunged an arm into the drift where Nysa’s yelping form had vanished. Knees straddled around the bramble, Vesper dragged out the sneezing, gasping ball of fur. The spaniel nipped at her tail, trying to free it from the vine. Vesper struggled to help her while the rest of his troop slid from their mounts. Amidst the muffled chaos, Vesper sensed instead of heard the mental shouts taking place between Cyprian and the others.

  The prince pounded the bramble, the spiny points eating through his gloved fists. His brisk movements captured the predator’s attention. It released the dog, threw Vesper off balance, then lashed out at him instead. Vesper snapped up his left arm to block his face and the bramble twisted around it. Spiky stingers shoved through his eel-skin uniform but were unable to breach his gold-plated forearm. Scrambling to his knees, he pulled up fast to stretch the bramble taut, using his stiffened limb like a pry bar.

  The sun-smugglers contained the bucking horses as Cyprian and the foot soldiers gathered around Vesper with handheld shovels. Boring through the snow, they found the vine’s entry point in the frozen ground. Selena hacked away with an axe until the bramble split apart, releasing the prince. The tentacle continued to thrash, seeking a new victim. It could live for weeks without its roots, so long as it had marrow to feed upon. But this one was chopped to bits by Selena’s blade and the others’ shovels. The pieces shriveled and turned gray then scattered on the wind. Vesper plugged the exposed root socket—a hollow white tube—with a cloth doused in mineral acid. It curled upon itself, withered and dead.

  Panting, Vesper accepted Cyprian’s help to stand. His muscles ached, his left elbow drizzled golden blood, and the skull paint on his face blurred his eyes as wet and cold droplets ran down his forehead from sweat and snow. He shivered, but there was warmth, too. Back before he was infected by sunlight—before it altered him internally—battling the elements used to fire his rage, feed his determination to prove he belonged. Sometimes, he missed that rage. However, tonight, he’d managed to use his golden affliction as an advantage. At least some good had come of his mutating form.

  After scooping up Nysa, Selena rushed over and hugged him. Vesper held her—cheek pressed to her head. It wasn’t often they were open with their affections; Selena kept a respectful distance and abided the rules of obeisance when in the presence of court and council. But here, among friends, Vesper welcomed it. Having once known what it was like to avoid contact for fear of searing his loved ones’ flesh, he refused to take such moments for granted.

  Nysa shoved her muzzle against his ear to lick it, leaving behind a wash of slobber and dog scent. Vesper grinned and rubbed the scruff of her neck. “Glad you’re all right, little spitfire,” he said on a quiet breath.

  “Thank you for saving her,” Selena whispered.

  He nodded, knowing she would’ve done the same for Lanthe. He and his sister shared a deep compassion for animals, and each had their favorites. His was an affinity for the equestrian lot. They understood and accepted him in a way few people did.

  “You’re hurt,” Selena said, preoccupied with the rip in his left sleeve and the flaxen-red smear of blood.

  “It’s just a few shallow cuts. Not worth stitching up.” He was spared her fussing when Cyprian offered her Dusklight’s reins and then turned to Vesper with Lanthe’s.

  “What do you think it was?” Cyprian asked.

  “It was smaller than a man’s leavings,” Vesper answered as he ran his hands across his stallion’s legs—checking the joints and bones—then lifted each hoof to ensure the spiked shoes remained secure and free of debris. Lanthe stood patiently for the examination, his tail swishing from side to side. “Had to have been a hoarfrost goblin’s corpse. Must’ve sprouted over the last week for the scythe-cleansing to have missed it.”

  Cyprian nodded. “These treks would be easier by far would they concede to living among us, or at least take part in our censuses.”

  Vesper shrugged back into his fur cape. “Until they trust us enough to abide our laws or respect our ruling class, there’s not much chance of that.”

  For centuries Vesper’s kingdom had tried to make peace with the small anthropoids, but it was forfeit. Goblins were envious—coveting the height, power, and humanness of the Nerezethites. They wanted places of prestige on the council, yet their jealous and shifty ways made it difficult to trust them. Over time, they’d become reclusive, their stick-thin bodies and rough-textured skin blending into the gray-glazed trees they now called home. Since they weren’t an official populace of the kingdom, it was impossible to keep track of their deaths out in the wilds.

  Vesper gripped the bridle and coaxed his stallion’s large head close. He pressed his cheek against Lanthe’s curled forelock. Although every person in the troop was desensitized to cadaver-bramble venom, horses couldn’t build up such an immunity, making it risky for them outside of the province. Thus, they were ridden out only for trips into Eldoria.

  “Sorry, old boy. My promise for a safe trek was a bit premature. Hope you didn’t lose any footing with your lady love.” Lanthe nudged him. Vesper grinned. His stallion had the best sense of humor of any horse he’d ever met.

  Cyprian and the others fell into line once more for the walk to the cavern’s entrance. The horses’ unsettled snorts took up again as Vesper felt a thundering in the soles of his boots. He glanced over his shoulder at a wall of snow tumbling down and swelling toward them like a wave—triggered by the earlier uproar.

  “Avalanche!” Vesper and Cyprian shouted simultaneously. Everyone vaulted atop their mounts and galloped for the Rigamort’s entrance, leaping within only seconds before the flurried rush enveloped the trail and the trees they’d wound through just minutes before.

  Vesper was all but blind in the sudden darkness. The sound of metallic-spiked hooves scraped the ice and the dank of cold stone stung his nose. Nine pairs of eyes lit to amber glows around him. He dismounted and drew his sword. Selena slid from her saddle and flipped her dagger from its scabbard with all the skill and dexterity of any foot soldier.

  After what they’d just encountered, he couldn’t help but hope his mother was right about his delicate princess being sturdier than their missives had indicated. How could any lady rule by his side if she feared his world as much as she feared her own? How would she be strong enough to take on his curse if she had no tolerance for pain and discomfort?

  The skin at the edge of his sternum prickled, and he swallowed
a groan along with the taste of metal. Such sensations accompanied the golden spread along his flesh. He was dying more every day. He didn’t have the luxury to wonder upon the logic of magic and prophecies, or to seek a princess who was perfectly matched for him and his brutal world.

  He had to have faith: You will know her by her voice.

  Attaching spikes with leather straps to their boot soles, his troop took the slow and treacherous decline along a winding outcrop of rock barely wide enough for man and horse side by side. The heavy press of darkness was softened only by the long, glossy stalactites catching flashes of amber eyes. Far, far below a bluish glow winked and wavered, like ripples in water. Smaller lights, the size of lightning bugs from these heights, hovered around it.

  Other than the rustle of clothes, the gripping crunch of hooves and boots, and the occasional flapping of a tinder-bat, silence reigned until halfway down. Then the scrabbling foot-pricks of bone spiders set everyone on full alert. One passed through Vesper’s peripheral view—a shadow the size of Nysa. It scuttled up a slick, frozen waterfall using an anchor line of web as thick as a man’s arm. The creatures had white, brittle bodies the shape of winter squash, with six hinged legs and two pincer claws. They moved like crabs, but had long, snapping jaws with fangs opening side to side like scissors. Horses were their mortal enemy, prone to stomp through their delicate shells when spooked, so the spiders kept their distance.

  The others had to stop and wait for Vesper to recover balance once or twice, his limp proving a cumbrance on the icy ledge. This cavernous journey always brought his flaws to surface: his blindness, his gimp leg, his inability to partake in silent conversations. But this time, the moment he stepped into the cave’s lowest plateau—heard the coughs and wails of dying stags, saw their once graceful, majestic forms fallen to decay and abuse—he forgot his imperfections as a man and remembered he was king.

  A shimmering blue tunnel gilded the icy chamber with an incandescent glaze. Some of the stags flocked around the flickering passage that led upward into the ravine, others lapped hungrily at rock formations so long they reached to the ground, drawing nutrients from the mineral-rich stalactites and ice that encrusted every crevice of the caverns. These were still healthy and turned toward Vesper and his companions—pronged heads held high. The thick scales upon their backs and chests exuded such a bright gleam that Vesper had to squint. He was always surprised anew when seeing them up close, considering they appeared as small as fireflies from above.

  The stags that laid beside decomposing corpses and hollow skeletons were sick, easy to spot as their scales were dulled to a dim gray. Vesper didn’t see a pile of antlers as Dyadia’s eye had; he did, however, see empty sockets upon two corpses’ heads and black blood, speckled with lambent glitters—reserves of the magic that filled their prongs. Their wounds tainted the air with a sour tang.

  His stomach clenched and he moaned, sheathing his sword.

  One of the stronger stags approached, head low, antlers gleaming and pointed toward them. Vesper stepped forward, putting himself between the creature and his troop.

  “Brother.” Selena reached to pull him back. Her voice echoed in the cave, carrying notes of fear and awe. Even Nysa, on her rope, remained at his sister’s ankles, quietly observant as if she sensed the stags were dying.

  “Selena, I’ve been here before. They know me.”

  “Yes, but . . . they appear not to recognize anyone.” Remembering her place, she dropped her hand but finished her thought. “Perhaps Alger and Dolyn might take the lead.”

  She had a point. Having used the glowing blue tunnel in their sun-smuggling days made them the logical choice to approach the stags. They’d passed this way many more times than he had.

  But this wasn’t a typical passing through. There was a ritual: The creatures would form opposing lines and lift their heads, touching prongs, tip to tip, like the saber arch tradition for military weddings in his kingdom. Just as a bride and groom would stroll beneath the swords, the hopeful traveler would walk under and through the antler arch. It was the stags’ way of absorbing the impressions of those using the tunnel, to trigger a remembrance upon their return—a foolproof method to ensure anyone entering Nerezeth from this point belonged in the night realm. However, the creatures weren’t moving into any formation this time. They seemed disparate, unorganized.

  They were vulnerable, and they’d lost their purpose.

  Vesper glanced at the nine concerned faces behind him. “These are my gatekeepers, that I imprinted upon as a child. And they need me.” He dropped Lanthe’s reins. The others did the same with their horses and made to follow, but halted when Vesper raised a hand, forestalling them. “This is mine alone.” Though he’d lost his mental connection, he had to have faith that if magic could unite him with his other half, a girl he’d never met, it could bind these wild creatures’ loyalties to him for life, as it had every other night-king before him.

  He took a second step.

  The brumal stag charged backward, its panther-like claws scraping the icy floor. It lowered its head again in warning, releasing a threatening sound—part snort, part growl. The antlers caught a flash of light from the tunnel and sparkled—mesmerizing, yet deadly. The soft keening cries of the ill and dying in the background gave Vesper the courage to move forward two more steps, to take off his glove and open his palm, holding it low.

  “I’m here to help, Beauty. I won’t harm you. I know my voice hasn’t been in your mind of late.” He lifted his brows, imploring. “But I’m still the prince . . . your king. Come closer. One sniff, and you’ll remember.”

  The creature whipped its long tail, slender and white like a snake, with a bushy tip as iridescent as a pearl. It snorted, antlers raised and nostrils flared on a deep, misty breath. Its white eyes widened, then it bobbed its head, like a horse catching scent of something familiar, something beloved. It pranced forward and nuzzled Vesper’s hand. Vesper smiled and glanced over his shoulder where his companions looked on with astonished expressions.

  When he scratched the stag’s pointed ears, he was rewarded with a blissful whinny. The horses whickered in response, as did the other healthy stags. Then one by one, each guardian pushed forward and insisted Vesper pet them, snuffling his bared palm as if it were coated with sugar and honey.

  Moments later, Vesper made his way past the two corpses with severed antlers, hissing at the sight of them and the skeletons. He would see it all buried beneath rocks before he and his crew took the tunnel into the ravine.

  Approaching the sick, he knelt, his heavy heart pulling him down. Selena’s hand squeezed his shoulder from behind as others of the troop befriended the healthy stags somewhere to the left of the cave.

  “I feel so helpless,” he told her quietly.

  She reached down to stroke the neck of the closest one. It bleated pitifully and its eyelids twitched, straining to open.

  Cyprian knelt beside Vesper. He pulled off his skintight hood, leaving his shoulder length white hair mussed. The paint upon his face reflected the flickering lights of the tunnel—adding a gruesome and ironic element to the skull mask. He looked like death itself. It reminded Vesper of his own painted face. No wonder the stag had shied away from him at first.

  “What has happened to their antlers?” his first knight asked.

  “How are they being gored off to begin with?” Selena added. “As defensive as they are?”

  Vesper clenched his jaw. “Not all of them are defensive. The sick ones have no fight left. If someone were to distract the stronger and lure them to other side of the cave, the weaker would be defenseless.”

  “So, what is weakening them in the first place?” Selena asked. The ripples of light from the tunnel enhanced her pale skin—making it bluer than usual—and her hair and eyes reflected the phosphorescent glow. She looked like an angel. He wished she was, so she could heal his gatekeepers.

  “I can’t imagine,” Vesper finally answered. “For centuries they’ve been a
ll but invincible.”

  The moment he said this, the stag his sister had been petting dragged its head toward Vesper’s bleeding arm. It brayed, its tongue flitting out. Puzzled, Vesper lowered his arm. With a strangely human sigh, the creature snuggled against his wound. In moments, its eyes opened and the scales upon its back brightened. It was gaining strength.

  Vesper and Selena exchanged stunned glances.

  “The sunlight in your blood.” Selena was the first to say it aloud, though they were both thinking it. “All these centuries, the sun-smugglers came back through, transporting sunlight. Is it possible the stags also need exposure to it, however small?”

  “And these past five years, we’ve been depriving them,” Cyprian took over. “We made them weak. We made them susceptible.”

  Vesper winced, horrified. The importance of the sun’s touch upon Nerezeth grew more apparent each day. “I will send Alger or Dolyn back through with a supply after we capture the witch. Enough of a supply to last until my union with Lady Lyra heals our worlds.” He turned back to the bleeding corpses. “Such cruel butchery demands vengeance. When I find the criminals responsible, I will slay them where they stand.”

  Inside Eldoria’s dungeon cell, tucked within the plush fabrication of her own making, Griselda stood beside the small dining table where she and her daughters had taken meals for the past five years.

  There, she unwrapped a fresh delivery: two sets of brumal stag antlers, still oozing brackish, magical blood that sparkled like the starlit sky in portraits of old. Griselda barred herself against that strange stinging—as if something ached under her scalp above her temples. It always accompanied these transactions. Had she a conscience, she’d suspect it was sympathy pains.