“That journey is too long to risk with the approaching cold,” returned the prince. “The river will be precarious enough for the journey there, but treacherous on the return. And Kelta isn’t a fertile land; they will have less to offer, even if they do give all they can spare. What they give will likely not be enough to see us through the winter.”
The debate went on, with the South Drian lords putting in a word or two now and again, but mostly silent. The strong opinions and personalities of the Prince and Lady of Drian overwhelmed them.
At last, Afias called in one of the captains of the three ships in South Drian and asked his opinion. His name was Wilhem, and he was unequivocally in favor of Afias’ proposal, knowing as he did the dangers of a river journey in winter, and trusting in the good graces South Drian shared with Cronice.
But Adrea, stubborn to the end, refused to let his council sway her opinion. She was the only statesman who understood or had experience with foreign relations, and knew the extent of self-interest that pervaded governments. She could not trust Cronice and preferred to request no help at all than to send a quarter of South Drian’s scarce male population to a hostile country.
Overwhelmed and over-tried, Afias jumped up from the table and stood in the window. The windows here were miserable: streaked forever, no matter how many times they were wiped. The garden outside resembled a bleak winter day, with gray stalks that shivered in the faint breeze. Just another reminder of the land’s death and decay. Winter was coming. At most, it was two months away, and they could afford no more debate. He turned back to the table.
“I will not sign off on Kelta. It’s too far and it would be irresponsible of me to agree to it. Lady Adrea,” he looked at her sternly. So far, he had not defied her. He knew to do so would only increase tension between them, but now he spoke in a tone that brooked no argument. “While I appreciate your counsel, I will not take it. Captain Wilhem will take his ship to Cronice.” Her eyes blazed at him, but he did not waver. “That is my decision.”
44
Fear, Fire, and Darkness
In a fury, Adrea swept back to her chambers and heaved the door to with a resounding clang. She dropped onto the floor before it and wept, her heart tightening in pain and rage. The image of Kazeel, her last glance that had taken in the entire valley, rose again in her mind, as it had done every day since they arrived, haunting her, heralding the fate that awaited them all. She thought of Trinian – if he was here, everything would be alright. Why had he sent her away? If her father was here, he would listen to her. But this prince was useless. He was a stubborn, weak idiot, and refused to heed anything she said. They had to save the kingdom, prevent more death, but he was sending these soldiers like pigs to a slaughter house.
“I won’t let him get to me,” she told herself. “But what can I do? He will drag this country into ruin!”
“You despair,” said a voice from the other end of her room. Adrea startled to her feet, but it was only an old woman.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, although it was her own chamber, “I didn’t know there was anyone here.”
“Just Etchta, my dear. Just her.”
So this was Etchta. She rolled her eyes when she remembered Afias’ words of warning. This was just an old woman. But she did wonder why the old woman was in her private quarters.
“When people despair,” the old voice crooned, “they lose hope. And when there is no hope, they come to me and I help them.” She stretched out her hand invitingly. The nod of her head gently beckoned Adrea to follow her. The Lady of Drian hesitated, gazing at the dry, wrinkled hand with its long yellow nails.
“I think I had better not. Prince Afias wanted me to oversee the food distribution.”
“Is that what a lady of Drian, a daughter of the steward, must do with her time? Is that why she was sent far from home?”
Afias’s commands, orders, and stubborn decisions whirled in her mind – every single one of his words that had galled her heart sounded perfectly in her ears. Oh, how she hated this upstart prince of Drian!
“I can help you,” whispered Etchta, and Adrea followed the strange woman.
The room in the basement was dark and cold; at the bottom of a laborious descent of a spiral staircase, it was easily the deepest section of the castle. It was a plain room with stone walls, wooden chairs, a table, and an iron pot boiling over a makeshift stove.
“Do you want my help?” the woman asked Adrea, gazing fiercely into her eyes. “You must be sure that you want my help – no matter what – or I can do nothing for you.”
“I think she may have a heart of stone, and we should be cautious.” Afias’s words resounded in her head, but Adrea dismissed his warning; it was Afias who had the heart of stone. “Afias has done nothing to help this city and he refuses to take my advice. But I have the experience that could save this land. I have no wish to undermine his authority, but something must change. If there’s anything you can do to help, then please – do it.”
Etchta lifted her wrinkles into a pleased smile. “Come over here,” she pointed to a circle carved in the floor. Adrea stood in the center of it.
“What are you going to do?”
Etchta did not answer, but took from some shelves a variety of liquids and powders. She stirred up the fire and the cauldron began to glow red hot. Then the pot sizzled and cracked from the heat and the fire glowed so white that Etchta’s stooped and wizened figure threw a spectral shadow against the stone wall. Upon her face was cast an eerie glow with shadowy craters running through where the wrinkles of her old age should have been. Then she chanted in a foreign tongue and threw powders into the pot until it boiled over. Like a giant mirror, the liquid that gathered at the base of the cauldron began to show strange things. Adrea beheld gorgans infesting the city of Drian, feasting in Korem’s halls, gorging themselves on meat, vegetables, and slaughter. And for their entertainment, they competed over who could chop off the greatest number of human heads. Presiding over all this, smiling down the long rows of monsters, was the wise prince, Afias of Drian.
Adrea cried out in surprise and horror.
“Yes,” said Etchta, “this is the future you see, and it is what will happen if you do not step in to stop it.”
“He would betray Drian?” Her heart beat in her ears, a rush of wind filling her mind. Despite her hatred, she had never imagined this.
“Perhaps not willingly – he is a good young man, you know – but through lack of proper judgment, he may well become a servant to the dark lord. Possessed by him!”
Yes, Trinian said this was what the god of Karaka tried to do to him, what Strana tried to do to Princess Viol. The god would try to take the prince, and the prince would be too weak to fight it. He was such a weak prince. “What can I do to stop this?”
“Put yourself in my hands, and I will give you the power to save these people.”
“Do what you will,” Adrea extended her hands in an open gesture, “I am in your power.”
The witch called out strange words and stirred her pot. Fire and darkness, cackle and silence in the close space; whirling, twisting, twining, smoke evaporating and returning. Adrea’s body was entered, by someone, something, and she was not herself; but then she was again, and she awoke, calm and collected, in her own bed.
Her hatred against Afias burned stronger than ever, and she was now resolved to do whatever was necessary to unseat him from power.
* * *
Adrea was supervising grain storage as the men packed it into the silos when she received a summons from Prince Afias. He was in the throne room, interviewing farmers, but he dismissed them when she entered.
“How is the grain storage progressing?” he asked her.
Adrea ascended the dais, and placed herself to the right of the throne, directly behind it. She was glad to stand at her post, for she did not have to look at him from here. “Poorly,” she answered him, “We have only two silos full, and the harvest is almost complete.”
She lost her composure and whirled on him. “What? Why?” She was suddenly gripped with panic, feeling that he was slipping out of her fingers.
“The island of Lupit is only a two day journey south by ship. There’s a chance the enemy did not go that way – they may have resources to spare or man-power to help us. I will be back in seven days at the most.” He stared her down quietly, and she returned to her advisor post behind his throne. “You will rule in my stead until I return,” he told her.
“Yes, my lord.” Her tone told nothing of her inner rage; but in her heart, she was deciding she was right to undermine a prince who would leave the very people he was sent to protect.
45
Freedom For and Freedom From
With Afias gone, Adrea enjoyed the freedom to do as she pleased, and soon, the palace was running more smoothly than it had since they first arrived. Adrea basked in her new power and flattered herself that all her decisions and pronouncements were far superior to those of the prince, but like a cloud in the recesses of her mind, she knew that he would return, and that filled her with a deep, calm dread of what she knew would then come to pass.
She knew what would be done through her upon his return, but she did not admit the full truth to herself. He would be defeated, overthrown, and supplanted. A frightful power of the gods coursed in her veins and would overwhelm him when the time came. This she knew, but she did not question the source of the power, or whether she would be in control of it. It was a good thing, she insisted in her heart… but never in her mind. If she had probed with her mind, she would have had to face it, for the truth was just out of reach, brushing against her consciousness, and if she had asked, she would have grasped the awful truth. As time passed, she went about her duties in Varlo jumpy, disgruntled, and short-tempered.
The day of Afias’ return, Adrea stood at the balcony on the verandah, watching Afias while he was still a long way off, riding placidly toward the palace. Her blood boiled with ire at the sight of him, and it was in this state that Etchta found her.
“Prince Afias could no more run a pig-sty than he could this kingdom!” Her black hair whipped across her face, a stark contrast against the white of her skin. “And it should not be my responsibility to clean up after a man I cannot control – whose perversity and carelessness have led us to such a pass.”
Etchta laid her gnarled hand on the lady’s soft arm. “You do the best you can, my dear. Always that.”
Adrea struggled to breathe. A hand like a vice gripped her chest and her body froze - she felt as if she had returned to the Valley of Kazeel, and the cries wailed, begged, shouted in her ears to be heard. But she was not herself in this vision. She was one of the beasts, standing over its prey. She covered her ears and fell to her knees, but still the cries were relentless. She needed to silence the screaming – to bring order and justice back to a people plagued by death.
“Help me, Etchta! Help me to help them.”
The old woman stood above, silent, grim, and watching.
Adrea wrapped her hands around her, but it was no protection. Something frightening lived in her soul, and it struggled to come out – to possess her – to overthrow her. Scratching, clutching, pulling at her pinned up hair, the jet black locks came loose and like a curtain they swept across the floor. She jumped back, frightened, and drew away. The black against the white marble evoked a contrast between good and evil, herself and what she had become. Adrea knew – in the deepest parts of herself, she knew – that she had come to the climax of her soul; she had arrived at the tip of a mountain, and must decide which way to descend. Tipping, tipping, the whole world was spinning, she did not want this, but there was no other way…to go…
“My Lady?”
Adrea started and jumped to her feet. Lord Dargevalor had entered the balcony, and stood uncertainly, watching the two women: the young in agony upon the ground, and the old standing above her, triumphant. Adrea looked at him and for a moment, he experienced the very fires of torment radiating from her eyes. Then the windows of her soul closed and he saw only her ladyship.
“Yes, my lord?” her cool voice held an extra edge as she clutched her hands to keep from shaking. Etchta lifted her gently from the ground, and Lord Dargevalor bowed, uncertain and uncomfortable.
“Lord Afias has just returned,” he told her, and after looking at her uneasily a moment, bowed and quickly left.
Adrea met the prince in the main hall. She was calm and collected, and went straight to take his cloak herself. “How did it go?” she asked, and was surprised at how easy it was to pretend that she cared.
“Worse than could be imagined,” he said, and the dark circles and haggard look of his eyes testified to his statement. He looked as if he had aged twenty years. “It was Kazeel all over again. There is no one – nothing – left.”
She was compassionate, as inwardly she rejoiced at his failure, for it confirmed her in her decision. “You look terrible. You must lie down.”
He shook his head, even though his knees could barely hold him. “I need to meet with you immediately.”
“Very well,” she turned to one of the servants standing near. “Prince Afias and I will meet in the Rowning Room. Bring him a warm dinner.”
In the long meeting hall, Afias dropped into a chair and let his head fall into his hands. “They’re dying, Adrea. They’re dying and I don’t know what to do.”
“You must not blame yourself,” she sat down next to him. “You’ve done all you could.”
“I will not relinquish my help for them but there’s nothing to be done. There is no food, and we cannot grow anything until the spring. They will all die before then.”
The food came. Adrea watched as he wearily sipped the hot soup; with his hair disheveled, his beard untrimmed, his boots and pants still muddy from the ride – and she rejoiced. She remembered the room in the dungeon and the bargain she had made there; she knew it was about to come true; and she was glad.
“Adrea,” said Afias quietly, “I want to apologize for the way I’ve behaved to you since we left Drian. I have been stubborn and disrespectful and – well, very emotional. And through it all, you have been nothing but a pillar of counsel and comfort, and I fear I took advantage of that. I think, possibly, I’ve dismissed you, taken you for granted – but I don’t know what I would have done without you. I depend on you more than you know.”
This was not what she wanted to hear. “Not at all,” she said dismissively.
“My worst fault is that I am unforgiving, and I have resented you for going against me so adamantly. But there is no one I rely on more, and I want to thank you for all you have done.” The prince spoke with deep sincerity, leaning forward and giving her his complete attention.
Adrea refused to look him in the eye. She felt the wall around her heart shake at its foundations. She felt also the storm that was rising in the room – her bargain was about to be met.
“I want this,” she told herself, only she said it out loud.
Afias leaned closer, confused. “What is it you want?”
She looked at him, and saw his honest, trusting eyes. The wall trembled, shook, cracked, and a little sliver of light shone through. The coming storm was like a brooding, menacing cloud over their heads. “Afias, I must warn you…”
He looked at her, but the storm had come. She was suddenly thrown back across the room and her body hit into the far wall. She was lost inside herself, and someone else controlled her body. She felt the dark power rising up and taking her over. Using her as a vessel, it entered the room, filling it. Then, with a rush of force that threw her violently to the ground, it stood by itself in a corner.
46
Power Descends Upon South Drian
A mighty wind whirled through the tall windows, knocking over chairs and dishes. All the lights blew out and the chamber grew dark as if an eclipse were over the sun, but outside it was as bright as day.
&nb
sp; Afias leapt to his feet and knelt beside the lady of Drian, for he had not yet seen the shadow in the corner. Slowly, she raised her vision to the far wall, and froze. She stretched out her hand, pointed with deliberate purpose, and then screamed. The scream was one of absolute, overpowering terror and despair. She knew now that she did not want this, but it was too late. Through her, evil had come to them. All the color in her face was gone, and her eyes were glazed; her breath ceased. She could not look at the divinity, but she was powerless in its grip and it was taking her breath – it was killing her.
Afias looked where she pointed but saw nothing. Then he saw her face, and in terror for her life, took her head between his hands and forced her to look at him. She did, and instantly her chest lifted in breath. She fell against him and he held her face to his mortal, sweaty, human aroma, which she breathed with increasing strength. Afias looked back to the far wall, and now, at last, he saw her demon. It was unseeable, darkness darker than black, swallowing all light like a vacuum.
“Who are you, and what do you want with us?” the prince demanded.
“You.” Echoing through the vast chamber, the sound was heinous and diabolic, and yet there was no sound at all. Afias felt Adrea shiver against him. She shook without remitting and filled Afias with fear.
“Why?”
Silence.
“How did you find your way here?”
Silence again.
“Go away. Go away I tell you. I will not allow you here.” His heart was in his throat. It beat loudly in Adrea’s ears.
“You think you have power over me?” the shade asked. The voice was hollow, amused, and somehow not there at all.
Afias gave a short nod. “I know I have power over you, and I command you to go; now.”
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