Grimenna

by N. K. Blazevic

  He sat watching her quietly, his face empty of emotion except for the intensity of his eyes — which were golden.

  “Father?’ Paiva breathed.

  He stared at her for a long, hard moment before his eyes clouded over with tears. He dropped his face into his hands and wept.

  She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, holding him close to her heart. “Thank the stars I’ve found you.”

  He murmured something and she pulled away, taking a step back to peer into his face. It seemed strange to her now, almost unfamiliar. His eyes had a haunted look. She had never before seen him so distraught. “Father,” she shook him gently. “Father, are you well?”

  Tears whelmed in his eyes again and he blinked them away. “I was wrong,” he said, his voice hoarse. “There are no good spirits left in the world.”

  Paiva swallowed hard. “What?”

  Again the tears came and he dropped his head towards the pool. “This is the Conjuring Pool,” he said. “This is why Morinvere was built. It is only filled with water, but water is the lifeblood of the Forest. Look into it and tell me what you see.”

  Paiva peered over the edge and through the reflection held in perfect stillness she saw that the water was a clear turquoise. There was no bottom; it disappeared into a deep chasm that seemed to run to the depths of the earth. Peering into it made her feel afraid. It made her feel as if she were looking into the eye of a strange god, a strange creator.

  “It’s deep,” she said with a chill.

  “It is a womb.”

  She looked back to him, and he stared down into its depths like there was another world beyond it. “This is where spirits are born,” he said, “and this is where they come to die.”

  “What do you mean? Spirits are eternal, like a man’s soul!” she exclaimed.

  “The water is strange here. Nothing floats in it. If a man were to fall in he would sink to the bottom of the earth — as a spirit would when it wants to die, when it wants to leave this world because it has lost its purpose.” He picked a blossoming flower and held it in the water. When he released it, it spun and sank as if it were a stone. She watched it fade away and disappear, spiraling downwards into darkness.

  “Only dreams float in these waters. Dreams and prayers and thoughts,” her father said. “I was born here. Risen from the bottom of creation, conjured by the dreams of men, as all the others were. My soul bled from these waters and took shape in the moss and root. I believed I would find the others here waiting. I believed I could have found a way to bring them back to the world of men, but I found instead that this place was empty. The spirits must have starved, they must have tried to drink the dreams of these waters and drowned. I cannot believe they would willingly leave…I cannot.”

  Paiva drew in a sharp breath and stared into the pool with horror. She felt the beginnings of a great and terrible despair begin to wash over her, registering a horrible thought. She had walked into a trap; her hope had led her astray. Somewhere on the other side of those trees were the Wildermen, some wounded and dead, and others that would wait for her. The Folka would not let her return.

  Renn was on the other side, and she would never see him again.

  “The good spirits are gone?” she whispered. Viviel nodded despairingly, tired and weak and worn. She realized he was grieving, and she felt his sadness like it was her own. It was a soul-breaking, anguishing sadness. She did not know how she could undo it.

  “They are gone forever. There is no way to bring them back,” he whispered.

  “What is at the bottom of it?” she asked.

  “The flux of life itself. The longer I stare into it the more I want to return to it, to the deep of life, where I can be absorbed back into the great mother and maybe be given life anew as something else. I do not know. But I do know when I look into these waters I see only peace. There is no pain down there, no hurt, no happiness, no hunger; only peace.”

  “Don’t go. You can’t go. You can’t leave me. I have come all this way. I have brought death on the heads of many men to find you. Do something, please. Father … please.”

  He smiled so warmly it brought tears to her eyes.

  “Nobody believes in me anymore,” he said. “Even I don’t.”

  “I believe in you.”

  “I can’t fight them, those creatures out there. Those nightmares … I haven’t the strength. Not on my own. There are too many.”

  “Please … there must be a way. For me, for Mother…”

  He shook his head and tears spilled anew down his haggard face.

  “I give up,” he whispered. “I have lost myself.”

  “But listen,” she begged. “Out there in the trees are men being bloodied by nightmares. They each came here with prayers in their hearts, with hope in their hearts. Surely you can hear them calling for you?”

  He shook his head again. “I don’t want to hear them,” he sobbed. “I don’t want to hear their souls break when they realize I have failed them.”

  A noise made her lift her head and she gasped as a dark shape came stumbling into the wild garden. Viviel lifted his head in turn, his eyes shining with the sadness of all the world.

  “Renn?!” she cried as he staggered in. His clothes were ripped to shreds and there was blood seeping from his chest, his arms, sprayed across his face. The sword he held was dripping darkly. His eyes flicked up to her and he sagged in relief.

  She ran to him and clasped his face between her hands, staring wildly into his haunted eyes. He closed them and shook his head, dispelling the shadows from them. When he opened them again his eyes calmed and searched hers, assessing her, wondering at the sadness that welled in her face.

  “You’re safe,” he said.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” Paiva said, her voice breaking.

  “Probably not,” he said wincingly, and folded his own hand over hers where it clasped his face. “What is wrong?” he asked. “What can I do?”

  She pulled away from him, and looked towards the pool. Her father watched them for a moment, then dropped his eyes again to the mirror shined waters, to the barren womb.

  “I was wrong,” she said. “I am so … sorry.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are no spirits here,” she breathed. “There is no one to save us. I’ve led you to your doom.” Then a sickening knot formed in her stomach and tears spilled from her eyes.

  Renn looked about the garden, to Viviel, and then back to Paiva. “Where did they all go?” he asked.

  She told him of the pool, unable to keep the anguish from her voice.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “You will die here, and you will die if you try to leave. Forgive me.”

  For some reason, he laughed. She looked up to him with wide, bewildered eyes.

  “I already knew that coming here,” he replied and curled his hand about her neck, he bent his forehead to hers. “There is nothing to forgive.”

  All she could do was to whimper his name again, her heart breaking as she realized what he said. He had not ever meant to come back from Morinvere; he had not ever meant to find a pardon. Now he never would. He had followed her for something other than her pointless hope.

  “Why did you come with me then?” she sobbed. “Why would you follow me?”

  “To keep you safe.”

  — «» —

  Suddenly a shadow fell over them. Renn lifted his head upwards and saw two shapes descend from the heavens, gliding through the trees on the spans of pale wings. Viviel rose in alarm, watching with a stricken face as the shapes landed in the garden with a rustle of feathers and leaves. Renn pushed Paiva behind him and readied his bloodied sword.

  There was a white shape and a red shape, changing and morphing, feathers sliding and molting, features twisting and untwisting. Paiva recognized the white shape as its
wings folded back and took a more human form. A face appeared, ghoulish and imperfectly human. His white hair tumbled in feathery curls, his eyes black and empty. Varloga.

  Beside him the red shape parted her wings, and her face changed from something birdlike and grotesque to that of something fair and beautiful. Red hair streamed from her head, pearls glittering in the slanted shafts of moted light. Ceitra stood before them, half-woman, half-bird. Her feathers molted into silk and skin, her claws shrinking into long, delicate fingers. Her eyes, black as death, raked across Paiva and Renn. Then she turned her eyes on Viviel as a smile uncurled on her full red lips.

  Paiva stepped away from Renn towards her father, but he raised a hand to halt her. Ceitra laughed, her voice floating through the air like silken feathers. “See what you are?” Ceitra said to Viviel. “I have revealed you at last. You are a naive Hope, you are a false Hope, and an empty promise. For here before me stand your believers who have come to your aid, strung along by the Hope you have promised them, and you cannot save them.”

  Viviel’s golden eyes dimmed.

  “You are a murderer,” he whispered. “You are beyond saving now.”

  “I am far from needing salvation,” she said. “For every time you fail I gain more believers. Every thought that strays from you I claim.”

  “You have murdered the sacred. What have you become… Please, you do not know what you have done,” Viviel said.

  “It is you who has done this,” she sneered. “I remember a time when it was I who was driven away into the woods, hidden from men and forgotten while you and the good kind did their work in the world. But then you began to fail them, and then they began to forget you. Their thoughts rang out, and their fear and their hate gave me power and drew me back into the world. I evolved. I grew as I tasted their hate — hate which is so easily stirred in the hearts of men. This is my forest now, Viviel. This is my world.”

  “I will remain,” Viviel said adamantly.

  “I will banish you at last, Viviel,” she said. “It is not you I need. It is the pain of your defiled Virtue that I need, and how wonderful it tastes.”

  Suddenly Varloga had wings again. He was swooping towards Paiva before she had a chance to even take a step back. His talons outstretched and cinched about her, throwing her into the ground where she gasped with the pain of cracking ribs. Viviel’s face went pale with horror.

  “Don’t,” he whispered hoarsely. “Please.”

  Ceitra dropped her accusing hand and tilted her head back in triumph. “Sink into the pool, Viviel! Be banished forever, or watch your Virtue die.”

  “Do not harm her!”

  “That is up to you to decide. Fie on you for making yourself so weak, for creating something that could destroy you. How long I have been waiting for such a crutch! Go now, Viviel.”

  “You might be rid of me this way you old harpy — you might think this will undo her and you can harvest the grief from her little soul — but I know she will never be yours.” He looked to Paiva, his eyes burning into her. “I know she will not forget the love she was born from.”

  “Father,” Paiva croaked, unable to sound the words to make him stay.

  “Hold fast to yourself,” he said as he took a step towards the water. “You are my last hope.”

  Paiva screamed as her father took a stumbling step towards the water. From his golden eyes fell golden tears, staining his cheeks and mossy beard. Her screams only drove him further and he stepped a foot into the silky, green waters. The mirror-shined surface broke into shivering ripples.

  “Go on,” Ceitra smiled.

  “Let my memory be the hope that guides you,” he said to his daughter. “Remember me. Don’t let the dark humors have you, no matter what she does to you.”

  In the split moment when Varloga canted his head away to watch Viviel’s descent, Renn stepped forward, drawing his blade back to strike. Varloga swung his head towards him and in an instant his face morphed, his features changed. The face that appeared stopped Renn in his tracks.

  Odrik blinked at him with black eyes. The heaviness of Renn’s sword seemed to drag his arm down. He appeared stricken with horror and guilt, as though it were crushing the inner workings of his heart. Ceitra laughed, her hair blooming red with the force of Renn’s terror, with Paiva and Viviel’s despair.

  “Yes,” she said. “Be afraid. For the shadow of the fear you have lived in all these years has been a sweet nectar. I remember the taste of Odrik’s fear, I remember the flavor of his own self-hate. How I grieved for it when it was gone.”

  Odrik smiled, feathers rustling down his winged arms. His face was pale and ghostly and summoned the memory of Renn’s brother’s lifeless body broken on the earth. Renn was stricken, unable even to breathe.

  “Odrik?” he choked.

  “No, Renn! It’s not Ordik!” Paiva cried to him and then gasped as Varloga’s talons clenched her tighter. Ceitra laughed again as Renn struggled within himself.

  “Oh, Rennik,” she cried in delight, breathing in the rippling current of fear that radiated from him. “You have always been a thorn in my side. I remember the day Varloga possessed your brother in the same way. Muting his memories, binding him with the dark humors. But he died a Virtue. He overcame the shadows in his last moments and ended his life so he could spare yours. I will never forgive you for that. Hate does not ruin men. Love does.”

  “Renn!” Paiva screamed. Varloga held Renn’s gaze and as they stared into each other’s souls, Paiva saw the change occur in Renn’s eyes. They grew wide and filled with shadows, turning bleak with emptiness. Varloga stepped away from Paiva, releasing her from his clutches as he became transfixed on binding Renn with fear. Paiva rolled away, wincing with the pain of bruised bones.

  “Renn…” she sobbed as he fell to his knees, his body collapsing. Varloga’s face changed, from Odrik back to the ghoulish creature’s. His mouth split open in a glitter of fangs. Renn was blind to him; all he saw was every horrible image of every horrible thing he had done in his life. He saw himself throw his brother with his own hands; he saw Paiva trampled lifeless by the Folka. He saw his fellow Wildermen slain in the greenery. All of it was because of him.

  “I’ve found it,” Varloga hissed to his mistress. “I have found the fear to undo him at last.”

  “Tell me,” she begged.

  “Helplessness. He fears to be helpless, to be unable to stop wretched things. It was there beneath the cold armor of indifference, all this time.”

  “Break him,” Ceitra purred. “Ruin him or kill him. Be over with it.”

  “Yesss…” Varloga’s smile grew wider as he stepped closer, relishing the unravelling of the soul before him.

  Paiva lurched to her feet and threw herself between them, collapsing on Renn with her broken body. She held his head to her heart to blind him from Varloga’s dark gaze while the white spirit began to snarl in fury behind her.

  Before Varloga could approach her, a shaggy shape leapt into him, knocking him to the ground in a flurry of white feathers. Varloga reared up and snapped his maws at the shape, tearing fur from its neck.

  Paiva swung her head back to the pool and found her father missing. Her heart lurched, for the shape attacking Varloga was half-man, half-wolf. A tattered homespun shirt clung to him in shreds, a long tail sweeping behind him. His arms and his legs were elongated, clawed, and covered in fine brown fur. The face atop his wide shoulders was her father’s, changed somehow into something feral and strong.

  His lips pulled back in a rictus snarl as he lunged at the white spirit. They tore at each other with claws and teeth, feathers ripped, hide and skin severed. Varloga dealt him a sickening blow and he spun away, hitting the ground hard. Paiva stared, wide-eyed, as her father struggled, his head tilting up where she found his bright, golden eyes staring at her desperately. Then he was on his feet again, dodging, lunging, tearing. />
  Suddenly Paiva felt claws in her hair as Ceitra came up behind her and grabbed a fistful of it and began to pull her towards the pool. She was dragged away from Renn, who remained on his knees staring at her vacantly. She remembered the Spook they had met in the pass, his eyes colorless, cold and lifeless as stone.

  “Viviel!” Ceitra shrieked, her face contorting in her rage, trying to draw his attention from mauling Varloga. Viviel hesitated as he heard Paiva’s screams. In that moment Varloga struck him down. With a powerful wrench Ceitra hurled Paiva into the pool, holding her from sinking by the length of her hair. Paiva choked on the water that splashed down her throat, sweet and warm and pure. She thrashed and found a braided vine of flowers at the edge of the pool to grasp onto, though she could do little to free herself from Ceitra’s grip.

  “Viviel,” Ceitra hissed and gave Paiva’s head a violent shake. “I banish you.”

  As Paiva struggled, her eyes fell on Renn again. She called out to him, her voice broken.

  “Renn…” she choked. “Hold fast to yourself. Remember who you are, remember me.” She willed him with all her might to see through the shadows cast upon him. The water spilled from the pool with her thrashing, bleeding into the forest floor.

  Renn blinked, her voice breaking through the spell. His eyes cleared, gleaming silver like the reflection of the pool. They settled on Paiva and then slowly trailed up to Ceitra.

  Ceitra’s dark eyes flashed as she realized too late Renn was upon her, springing up from the ground like a startled bird and diving towards her. He threw his whole body forward before she had time to blink, then she was falling backwards into the pool with Renn on top of her.

  Paiva clung to the vine as Ceitra’s claws ripped through her hair and only just managed to hold fast and keep from being pulled along. She looked down into the waters, unable to see for the ripples that obscured the surface.

  A broken cry rose from her throat as her heart surged with panic. “Renn!” she cried. But he was already disappearing into the void beneath her, sinking into the oblivion below. Paiva watched helplessly as he sank. She realized there were not enough prayers in all the world to save him now.