by G. D. Penman
The girl tried to bow down while still creeping forward and nearly ended up in a heap on the rug. She whimpered and grovelled, “Sorry to trouble you mistress but I knew that if I didn't come to see you now I would lose all my courage before heat-rise.”
Lucia looked at the girl trembling on her floor and sighed. She patted the bed beside her and the girl stared, not at her but at the bed, in disbelief. Lucia noticed the girl's bandage wrapped hand and recognised her at last, “You were the seamstress that I burned. I am so sorry.”
The girl shook her head vigorously, eyes still averted, “I just wanted to say that I am sorry that I thought ill of you mistress. I am sorry that I believed you would have hurt me on purpose. I’ve been hearing about all of the things you have been doing. All of the wonderful things you’ve been doing to help folk. I saw what happened out in the fighting. I just... I just wanted you to know that I’m grateful. That everyone is grateful. For all the things you have been doing to keep us safe and to help us. I know we are all yelling and making a fuss but you are... Well... You are much better than all that came before, and no mistake.”
Lucia stared at the girl. Tears would have been flooding down her cheeks if she was still capable. The girl half walked and half crawled across the room and kissed the dusty hem of Lucia’s dress. Lucia caught the seamstress' chin in a cool hand and tilted her face up until their eyes met. The girl shook but she did not pull away. Lucia whispered, “Thank you for reminding me that this was worth doing.”
The girl's face broke into a crooked grin and in that moment Lucia wanted to keep her. She stroked the girl's hair with some envy and then shook herself out of her reverie. “Go and find whoever is in charge of my treasury. Tell them I have commissioned you to make dresses for me. Lets say, six dresses to begin with. They are to pay you in advance, and you will have to visit with me many times in the coming weeks to make adjustments and take measurements.”
The girl's eyes dropped back to the floor and she moaned, “You are too generous mistress. It will be an honour to serve you.”
Lucia sighed and smiled politely as the girl scuttled back out of the room.
***
Without speed to call Kaius was shockingly slow. Just another abandoned soldier on open plains that were scattered with them. He had found an axe and a belt on a body and it seemed to be enough to convince the other deserters that he was too much trouble to kill. He had shared one of their spluttering little camp-fires shortly after nightfall and had fallen asleep for a few hours. He came awake gasping, he had forgotten how the weight of exhaustion could drag you beneath the surface. By the time he awoke, there were even more soldiers and whores gathered around the fire. Lost and far from home, he pushed his way out of the crowd and headed towards the Ashen Dales. It was familiar territory for him. It gave him comfort and he honestly did not believe that Lucia would send anyone after him. She really didn't have the mind for any strategy more than a few steps ahead. He would have seen the value in what she had discarded so carelessly.
She would see his value before all was said and done. Then she would beg him to come back to her. He felt the first bite of hunger as he waded through the ash dunes. It was the first he had experienced in more than twenty years. He had a solution hidden in a twist of silk in his pocket. A solution to his hunger and all of his other problems. Just as soon as he could find somewhere isolated and safe, somewhere he could rest while the change took him.
***
It was quiet again, in as much as the city was every quiet. Lucia sat alone with her thoughts and, although they were brighter now, she longed for company in a way that she never had while out walking in the dark for days at a time. She rose frm the bed and tried to shake it off. The arguments that she had to deal with were evidence that the changes she was making were working and, more importantly, the people recognised what she was doing for them. It was only a matter of time before she could pass the power to them.
Her first revolutionary thoughts of exiling the nobles and re-distributing their wealth had been tempered by contact with them. They were not evil. Not any more than the starving thief was evil. They were all just trapped in the same web that the Eaters had woven. The nobles could keep their wealth. It seemed like fair recompense for the fact that they wouldn't be allowed to pass laws to shore up their positions of power any more. Lucia thought about the merchants and their bribes. She thought about the entire machinery of the noble houses all suddenly resorting to slipping bribes and striving fruitlessly to turn back the clock to their glory days. She realised then that she was going to be fighting them forever. Kaius would have just lopped off their heads and gone about his day.
There was another knock on the chamber door, much firmer than the first. It echoed around the dim chamber and Lucia realised that she had not even bothered to light candles. Why would she when she could see just as well in the dark? She must have been quite the imposing sight for that poor dress-maker. The knocking came again. Lucia realised that the fine cord of will connecting her to the door had never broken, only become inert like the mess that had covered Walpurgan.
She brought it back to life and pulled the door open gently this time. Lucia was standing in the middle of the chamber, illuminated only by the flicker of torches from the hall. The figure in the doorway stood stock still, light shining off its bald head, and for a terrible moment Lucia thought that Kaius had come back. She quickly summoned drifting balls of fire around the room and realised that it was just another one of her Chosen. She reached out for their connection and found none. She frowned and readied herself. The Chosen in the doorway gave a majestic bow, keeping her eyes fixed on the shimmering creature at the heart of the tower. It was only when the front of her robes gaped open that Lucia realised that her visitor was another woman. It was strange how much of a difference hair made.
Lucia called out, “Who are you and why are you disturbing me?”
This seemed to be all that the woman in the doorway needed, she stalked into the room with a polite smile, “I served Valerius before you killed him. I served Negrath too, I suppose, though we never met.”
Lucia watched her dispassionately. “So now that the fighting is done you have come to sign up again? Is that it?”
The woman halted abruptly. “To my sorrow, no. I have no heart for violence. I did not come to you before for that very reason. I saw how Kaius was behaving. I feared for my life if I spoke out against him, powerless as I am.”
Lucia swallowed hard on that uncomfortable truth and the woman went on, “I have observed you Eater. I have learned what I can of you from a distance and now that you have cast that monster out I felt safe to approach you. I would not become Chosen again if you gave me the choice. I regret everything that I did in service of Valerius. But my knowledge, the education that I received, I still have it. I want to use it for something good. That is what brings me to you.”
Lucia stared at this woman, her face the picture of innocence and, now that she saw her properly, of elegance. There was a faint familiarity there, something in the tone of voice that reminded her of the early days after she fell beneath the glass. The voice was all clean tones and education. Lucia tried to focus. “You wish to educate me?”
The woman strode closer, eyes lighting up, “I wish to support this wonderful world that you are creating. As long as you promise to me that I will not have to kill for you, I will take the traitor Kaius' place. I have been trained in strategy by the same teachers as him, my mind was ever as quick as his. I know that you only kept that monster with you because you were afraid. I know that you needed someone who could advise you, someone to talk with. I could be all of that for you. If you will have me. and if you will give me your promise.”
She ended her little speech standing directly in front of Lucia. She showed not one trace of fear, not for an instant.
Lucia's face must have given something away because suddenly this stranger lunged forward and embraced her. Held close, Lucia began to sob once mor
e, this time in relief. The woman held her close and stroked up and down the scales of her bare back. She shushed her and whispered, “Everything will be alright now. I am here for you.”
Lucia clung to her and wept once more. Through gasps she whimpered, “I don't want you to hurt anyone. I don't want anyone to hurt anyone.”
A hand slipped down to the small of her back and the woman whispered, “I know. I know. I will take that as your promise. Don't worry. I will take care of you now.”
Lucia pulled back from the embrace and tried to compose herself, “I am sorry. I don't know what came over me.”
The woman smiled softly, “It is all too much. Far too much for one person to endure alone. No wonder the Eaters have their Beloved. No wonder the Beloved have their Marked. The burden must be shared somehow.”
Lucia found herself nodding at this stranger's words, “I do need somebody. I do.”
They clasped hands, “Then you shall have me.”
Lucia let the beginnings of a smile creep over her face, “I don't even know your name.”
The woman reached up and stroked the wild strands of hair away from Lucia's face, “I am your humble servant. I am Metharia.”
Chapter 19- The Longest Peace
That year seemed more pronounced than those that had come before. Most of it was the cycle of light and dark. Everything that came before seemed like a living dream. Mankind clearly was not meant to live in darkness. It had preyed on their minds. Some of the year's distinctiveness was the slow grinding gears of progress that Lucia was forcing around in the city. The notable changes as repairs were undertaken, when slums were swept aside and new towers of cheap housing were thrown up as quickly as the noble houses could finance them. Now that they could see the profit in renting out property instead of letting people freeze to death in the streets, they were at the forefront of the efforts to rebuild.
When they were stopped in the streets by their new tenants and blessed in Lucia's name, over and over they began to develop an entirely new perspective on life. Some of them went on as they always had, treating the commoners as something to be endured, and sometimes trod on. But other took very kindly to this new adoration. Their properties were the ones that were becoming well stocked with firewood now that the cold season was coming in, theirs were the ones with doors that locked and windows with real glass. Their properties were the ones that were already full to capacity with a waiting list started. They were also the ones who always had strangers ready to run an errand for them, or shine their shoes on a street corner without demanding a penny. The other nobles learned from their example. Especially after the incident in the market.
Change always brought tension, and for one unfortunate nobleman it erupted when he casually backhanded a merchant who was haggling with him. It ended in murder, and ultimately in the merchant's execution by the Chosen who intervened, but the nobleman's family was forced to sit in silent fury throughout the court sessions as the events were laid out clearly and a vote was taken to judge where guilt lay. The merchant was not turned over to the nobles for questioning, he was not turned over to them for punishment and the entire system of justice was changed behind their backs. From that day forward the noble class seemed to be aware of how precarious their balance was at the top of the social pyramid. Many retreated to countryside estates where they could still carry on as they always had, but even out there, far from the eyes of Lucia, her presence was still felt.
The bows were not deep enough, the grovelling was insincere, and the fear was gone. These peasants, these dirt farmers and ash-sifters, thought that they were safe. They thought that they would be avenged. It was intolerable to the inflexible minds of the oldest noble houses. Lucia never moved against them openly. She barely even acted against them in secret. She merely let the other houses know how much their efforts were appreciated. One by one the voices of dissent fell silent.
It was only a few short weeks before the air began to turn to poison. The insect farmers noticed it first. Their charges became lazier and lazier as the days went by until one day they could not be convinced to leave their burrows to graze. Out in the dark lands it struck people first. In the city peoples’ lives were slower paced, they were not running or straining themselves so they gulped down far less of the air. Soon though, they were struggling with tasks that had been simple mere days before. It struck the ghuls worst. Their encampment outside of the Ivory City had gone from places of loud rustic celebrations at night to desolate silence.
Lucia had no trouble drawing breath, nor did her Chosen, and Metharia remained stoic throughout the gradual decline. Before long the nobles coming to pay homage to Lucia, and indulge in their ceaseless nagging, were fainting if the conversation became too intense. Corsetry was abandoned and couches were scattered throughout the audience chambers for visitors to recline on. It grew worse and worse until Lucia and her Chosen alone could walk freely through the city. After Metharia’s eventual collapse, Lucia had laid the woman down in her own bed and walked among her people for the first time.
Fear was rampant in the city and it carried with it rumours and whispers. The poisoned air could not carry the whispers far, but even the Chosen were human and guilty of gossip. At Metharia’s request, one of the Chosen fetched a woman from out in the slums by the walls, where she had lain down to die. Arlia, was much fallen from her position of Pontifex. Despite all of the other changes, she still had not been accepted back into the fold of her peers. She had pinned all her hopes on Kaius raising her back up to grace and his exile had been the final blow to her aspirations. She had not been cast out of the city to live among the feral ghuls of the dark lands, so she supposed she owed Kaius for keeping that one secret at least.
She was draped on one of the overstuffed couches by the throne and Lucia crouched down beside her. Arlia croaked, “Thank you for this audience Lady Lucia. Words cannot express my gratitude.”
Lucia shook her head sinuously. ”Do not waste your words on platitudes. Tell me what the people are saying. You live among them and they have no fear for you.”
Arlia grimaced, “It is a curse, by their reckoning. Their reasoning is that Walpurgan had mastery over the winds and she meant to drag us all down into death with her.”
Lucia had been in court long enough that her expression did not change. Had Kaius doomed them all?
Arlia reached out with a shaking hand. Her fingertips brushed against the shimmering scales on Lucia’s cheek, “I told them that you will save us. Always, when they come to me with their fears and doubts I tell them, our lady of flame will save us. She will burn our troubles away. Do not doubt my loyalty sweet Lucia. I beg you.”
Lucia jerked back from the wheezing woman, she could smell foulness on Arlia’s breath. Arlia had passed out by the time Lucia looked back at her. Lucia sighed then turned to the Chosen by the door, “Did you hear that?”
The smooth helms nodded up and down almost imperceptibly. She chewed on her what was left of her lips, how would Kaius act? How would Metharia? Lucia met their gaze and set her shoulders, “Then repeat it. All of it. This is a curse, but I am going to end it.”
Since the air began to turn, she had not slept in her chambers. Metharia was interred in the bed and the need for sleep had been waning since the first moment sunlight had touched her. Lucia stroked her palm over the woman’s smooth head and sighed. At least she was not sickening as swiftly as the common folk.
If she woke, then Lucia would offer to make her one of the Chosen, to protect her from whatever this curse was. If she had not been so terribly aware of the way even the few chosen she had were tapping her strength, she would have offered it to everyone in the city. In the sunlight she had infinite resources, but in the dark of night she could be drained to a husk far too readily. Metharia had been clear that she did not want to be Chosen again. Just the thought seemed to fill her with revulsion.
Lucia would not force it upon anyone. Not after the transformations that had been forced on her by her i
gnorance. An oil lantern burned by the bedside but it grew dimmer and dimmer with each passing day. Whatever was spoiling the air was doing the same to fire as it was to people. This made it all the more sinister to Lucia’s mind. This was clearly a direct attack on her. There could be no doubt about it. With Metharia taking up the bed, Lucia drifted out onto the balcony and looked out over her domain. The moon had slowly shrunk at the same rate as the air turned bad. Now it was gone. The nights were darker than they had ever been. The people were too weak to light fires. Those that the Chosen managed to get alight in their humanitarian efforts spluttered and died moments after they had moved on. Lucia stood staring up at the distant light of the stars. They were so familiar but so dim compared to the new lights that had come to dominate the sky. Then she did the same thing she had done every night since this fresh nightmare began. Her pupils divided, then divided again as her vision wavered out of the spectrum that humans could see and into the higher level of perception that she shared only with the other Eaters. She began her search again, looking out across the world for whichever tangled cord or misshapen word that had been woven in the underpinnings of the universe was turning the very air against her.
The Strangled Forest was abandoned. The people who had followed Walpurgan through the ages had come up from beneath the earth and scattered across the world to isolated settlements or whichever heretic strongholds would take them in. The forest itself was sickening. The thick vines that had held it strong through the ages at Walpurgan’s behest were no longer being fed their diet of fresh corpses. They had been withering in the sunlight without their creator tending to them. Their flesh was starting to fade, the darkness was seeping out of it as the blood and sap separated. With each passing day they became more and more green. The pods that had pulsed out air through all of the centuries, the ones that had made the forest breathe, were swollen to near bursting now. By all rights it should die now, as it should have died the moment that the sun hid away, but survival is a difficult habit to break, and the memory of plants run far longer than the fleeting thoughts of animals. Evolving to survive was difficult, but returning to what you had once been, that was like coming home.