by C. K. Rieke
“You’re not cursed,” Lilaci said, and Kera pulled back from her. Lilaci looked into the young girl’s eyes, wet with sadness and pain. It reminded her of being alone for the first time— being afraid, and vulnerable. “I’m not going to leave. We will get through this together.”
Kera sniffled and wiped away the tears from her eyes with her sleeve and wiped the mucus from under her nose. Then she smiled and began to start off again with a hop and a skip. A warming feeling came over Lilaci then, and she couldn’t help but let a smile run wide across her face. She felt then that she had a new purpose in life, not just killing, and death, and pride. Someone was now depending on her. I will take you to the Great Oasi someday Kera. I’ll make sure you stay safe, I’ll protect you, no matter what the cost. I won’t leave you alone, ever again.
Part VI
Into the Darkness
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The murky, dark walls of the castle flickered in scant candlelight. The footsteps of his hardened leather boots echoed throughout the empty curving staircase that led up to the higher parts of Castle Erodoran, eventually leading up to the throne room. He was expecting news of Lilaci’s expedition out onto the sands, and he wore his best tunic, of fine white silk. His boots were freshly polished by his newest men-tee who’d been training with him since Lilaci had left.
Approaching the top of the winding stairway that led to the top of the tower, Veranor’s expression turned from excited to sour. As he had begun to enter the walkway that led to the throne room, gilded with golden statues of the gods on red velvet carpets, he saw them— disappearing behind the throne room in a single file line.
“The mages?” Veranor said to himself. “What’ve they got to do with this?”
He paused briefly before following the last mage into the throne room, taking one deep breath before entering. His eyes gazed at the semi-circle of mages that stood to the left of the royal pair, seated upon their thrones. One of the mages gave him a scornful look, that infuriated him. Veranor continued up the red and golden carpet towards the king and queen, their expressions bleak in the six-sided room of clear glass. The looming golden statues of the gods at all six sides, looking down onto their sprawling city below.
“Your Highness,” he said, bowing to the king on one knee. He brushed his long, white silk tunic back behind it as it kissed the soft red velvet. “My queen, ravishing as always.”
“Rise, Veranor,” King Gofgenden Serinaas said. As Veranor rose to his feet, he realized he hadn’t noticed the figure that began walking towards the royal pair from the right side of the room, Veranor nearly stumbled when he realized who it was. He made quick haste to walk over next to the group of mages in their dark robes.
From behind, one of the guards walked in with one of the gods, in person, not another illusion of them in the darkness. There before the king and queen stood Gorlen— The Witch Queen. In her long, flowing black dress, her golden straight hair fell behind her shoulders and down to her backside. She stood two full heads taller than Veranor, and he saw beads of sweat fall down the king’s brow, as he shifted nervously in his throne. The queen normally inquisitive eyes stared straight at those of Gorlen, soft and glowing a pale blue.
The king rose quickly from his seat, seemingly forgetting to pay respect to Her. He bowed low, and the queen followed his lead. Then all in the room bowed to Her.
“Be seated,” Gorlen said. Her voice soft, but strong. All in the room knew the power of her voice. A mere word or phrase could send enough poison through their bodies that they may as well have snake venom for blood. Her voice could topple cities and move the dunes themselves. Dânoz was known as the most powerful of the gods, but The Witch Queen was possibly the most feared.
“To what do we owe the honor of hosting one of The Six?” King Gofgenden asked, he seemed to be trying hard to keep his voice from wavering.
“I’ve been here ten days now,” The Witch Queen said.
The king was taken aback but didn’t reply.
“I’ve been living amongst those in the city, learning their ways. I’ve been watching. I’ve been studying,” a smirk came across her angelic face.
“Had I known, I would have laid out a grand feast every evening in your honor,” he said.
Gorlen’s smirk faded quickly into a scornful gaze. “The mages have given me dire news today. That is why we are here now.” She turned and looked at Veranor, her eyes burned in bright light. Veranor had to fight the urge to step back from her blinding rage.
The king shifted nervously in his seat. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the queen.
“What news have you, mages?” she asked sternly. “Speak!”
One of the mages stepped forward and pulled his hood down from over his head. His silver hair fell down his shoulder and his red tattoos carved on his face. “My queen, yesterday, the enchantment that we imbued in the girl Lilaci faded. We felt her as they encountered the group carrying the Dragon’s Breath. We saw the girl through Lilaci briefly, and then she was gone, and so was our magic.” His voice was brittle and raged.
“What does that mean mage?” the queen said.
“We fear Lilaci may have turned.”
The king’s eyes shot at Veranor. “What kind of treachery—? How dare she!” the king fumed in anger.
“She wouldn’t,” Veranor shot out at the mages.
The mage looked over at him. “Lilaci was beginning to confront the other Scaether last we saw. We could feel her emotions. She was . . . Confused.”
“This is your fault!” Veranor roared. “Your magic wasn’t enough, this was your doing!”
The king’s angry gaze fell on the mages, and as he was about to surely scold them, the goddess took a long stride forwards toward the king.
“I am not here to look for blame. Blame is a mortal tool. I care only for one thing,” she said, leaning down to look squarely into the king’s eyes. He fell back as far as he could into his throne. “This is why I asked you to find your strongest to send out after the girl. Your incompetence fell in your pitiful magics, or your insufficient training, or your weakness.” Her eyes roared a bright blue light. “Hashasha Voronum.”
The king shot back into his seat with a twisted face, his nails clawed at his throat. His eyes went bloodshot and red, and long veins streaked across the backs of his hands and forehead. He coughed and struggled to breathe. His skin turned a pale green, all within a couple of moments. He looked over at the queen with his eyes bulging. Her eyes wet, and horrified. She was careful not to reach out to him, her mouth only motioned the words, “Goodbye,” as the streaks of tears ran down her cheeks.
The king’s gasping and gurgling throat produced a thick green foam that flowed from his mouth, and with one last cough of blood he stood, and in a turning motion he fell before the goddess Gorlen and landed with a thud as all the air left his lungs.
“All hail the queen,” Gorlen said with a wide smile. “May her rule be more— prosperous than her late husbands.” Queen Lezeral Serinaas sat upon her throne, speechless, yet strangely reserved. She appeared stronger than her late husband in the face of fear.
“Hail the queen,” the mages and soldiers said. Veranor repeated quickly after.
Gorlen looked down at the motionless body of the late queen, and then shot her gaze over to Veranor, who stood his ground, but had a nervous expression on his face, and beads of sweat began to gather around his sharp widow’s peak.
“What are we going to do about this? Commander Veranor?” she hissed.
“I always have a backup plan,” he said, his voice quivering slightly. He noticed the queen look over at him inquisitively. He then looked over at the mages. “How far can your spells carry?”
Gorlen gave a wicked smirk with her soft lips.
The mage turned and whispered back to the other mages. Their conversation went on a full two minutes. Then the mage with his hood down turned back and said, “Far enough.”
Veranor nodded.
“There are others after Lilaci the Lazerine, Assassin of the Sands— the Reevins— they seek to consume her power. They want the Sanzoral for themselves. She has defeated a few, but more will desire her power. They believe it can satiate them.”
“The Reevins?” the queen said. “That far north?”
“So, they could handle this all for us then?” Veranor said.
“It is possible,” the mage said. “Probable even, they are intelligent hunters.”
“I care not how she is brought to me,” the goddess said. “I want it done. Do you understand?”
The mage bowed his head. “The will of the gods be done.”
“It won’t be only me next time,” she scorned, turning swiftly, her long black dress flowing behind her as she quickly faded from sight out of the corner of the room. It almost appeared as though she disappeared into the glass.
“You will not fail me,” the queen said, looking at the group of mages, then Veranor, then at the corpse of the king on the ground.
“What is your suggestion?” the mage asked Veranor.
“The Reevins may very well take care of this for us,” he said. “But— in case they fail, I think we should take Lilaci down . . . From the inside.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A cool breeze crept up from behind the three as they walked in a single-file line towards the foothills in the distance. They’d been walking three days with little food, and little water. Lilaci knew the mountains would bring more opportunity for the two, but now her role had gone from the hunter to the hunted— from predator to prey. The last light of the sun slipped between the peaks of two looming mountains in the distance, and the crescent moon hung high directly above.
Lilaci assumed they were heading towards the foothills where The Zont-ils meet with the high, sharp peaks of the Gí-Donlan Mountains. They’d been traveling southwest, and the mountains marked the edge of Bompart. She knew that there were only a thousand miles or so until they would reach the Cape of Arrall, and the Elden Sea, but where would they go then? For how long could they walk the sands until they ran into a band of Scaethers? Surely, they’d be after they great prize shortly. It would only be a matter of time. They will come. I’ve seen the gods, and I know Veranor. They’ll come, and they’ll find us eventually.
“Well this seems like as good a place as any to set up for the night,” Fewn said. “We’ll be at the base of the mountains tomorrow.” She hefted her bag from her shoulders and laid it on the ground, landing with a dull thud, and light sand rustling at her feet.
“Fewn—” Kera said faintly. “I’m thirsty.”
“I know,” she said. “Me too. Just think about all the water we’re going to find in the mountains, and food too.”
“Don’t,” Lilaci said. “That only makes it worse. Here—” She pulled a clean kerchief from her back, it was a soft-red linen. “Chew on this. It’ll help, and it’s the only clean thing on us. I kept it stashed away for a time like this.”
Kera took it and lightly began to nibble on it in the corner of her mouth. Lilaci knelt, and seeing Kera’ face dirty, and her hair frazzled, she brushed away the sand from her skin. She then went behind Kera and began to pull her hair back, and pulling her comb from her pack, she began to brush her hair. Kera sat on her pack, chewing on the kerchief while Lilaci combed her hair, and she began to hum a tune. She didn’t know what she was humming, and she didn’t remember the last time she’d done it, but it seemed to come from her past.
Fewn sat delicately on her pack and seemed to listen intently. It distracted Lilaci just enough that she lost the tune she was humming.
“Don’t stop,” Kera said, turning to look at Lilaci. “Keep going please.”
So Lilaci seemed to search for the tune she faintly remembered from so long ago. Once she found the first couple of notes, the rest seemed to flow from her mouth. It was a somber tone that reminded her of sitting around a fire with two small children and a familiar face— it was her father’s. Sitting next to him, was her mother. It was the first memory Lilaci had remembered that wasn’t about that one night on the sands, in a long, long time. She looked down at Kera who began to sway to the beat of the melody. She could be the same age I was when that happened to me . . . When I lost my family to them.
“Where’d you learn that?” Fewn asked, careful not to end Lilaci’s hum.
“I learned it from my father,” Lilaci said. “From when I was younger.” Kera seemed to be trying to continue the tune herself. Lilaci began to hum again, correcting Kera’s tune, which was slightly offbeat. Kera picked it up and quickly, and they found themselves humming together.
“That’s it,” Lilaci said. Kera turned and sat, facing Lilaci, smiling widely, chewing on the kerchief which hung from her mouth. Her eyes were blissful and wide. The began to hum louder, and Lilaci was surprised to see Fewn join in, softly at first, and then was humming just as loud as they.
It was a sweet tune, slightly somber with high notes that carried into the cool, early night breeze. The low notes carried the sadness they all had inside of them. Each of them had experience loss, not unfamiliar to those that lived on the sands, but that didn’t make it any easier. It was like telling a child that they could never play with a toy again, but it was okay, because the other children didn’t get to play with them either.
As they hummed louder, they found themselves looking at one another in a circle, smiling and laughing. It was as enjoyable a moment as Lilaci had felt since she was a child. She’d been trained to enjoy combat, victory, and death. There they sat. Two assassins and the most wanted child on the entire continent, laughing and singing. She would never have predicted it. This was the closest thing she’d had to a family in decades, and they’d only been together a short time.
Her face, it’s so beautiful. Her soft, innocent smile. Her kind energy. I want to give her everything. I want to have this forever— happiness. Perhaps this is what it’s like for normal-born little girls. Are their lives care-free and filled with laughter and song? I want nothing more than to give her that. I’ll find a way. There has to be a way.
As they reached the end of the tune, they all carried the last low note, and they both looked at Lilaci who relaxed her voice and ended her humming. Fewn looked subtly embarrassed, as though she’d shown a sign of weakness. She cleared her throat and went to pull the tent from her pack.
“Thank you, Lilaci,” Kera said. “That was beautiful.” Lilaci just smiled back. “What happened to your father? I lost mine so long ago, I don’t remember what he looks like.”
“I lost him,” she said. “Like you lost yours I think. I may have been a little older than you when it happened.”
“What did he look like? Did he take care of you?” Kera asked softly, but with vivid curiosity.
“My father had . . . He had brown eyes. Powerful eyes that made you feel safe, even when you weren’t. He had long, coarse hair and he shaved his face every day. Wait— every night. I remember he, or my mother washed the sand from my face and hair every night before bed.” Lilaci sighed, not a sad sigh, more of a calming reminiscent sigh. “With him I felt safe.”
“I feel safe with you,” Kera said, and scooted over to her side, pulling Lilaci’s arm around her.
Lilaci looked down at the young girl under her arm and her soul felt at ease. Kera said she felt safe with Lilaci, but Lilaci thought the opposite to be true. Kera made Lilaci feel safe, like as long as they were together everything would be fine.
Lilaci looked over to see Fewn looking at them, as she had paused from pitching the tent in the soft winds. Fewn looked away quickly and went back to her work.
“You should get some rest,” Lilaci said to Kera. “We’ll have a long day tomorrow.”
Kera scooted away from her and went over to the tent Fewn had just finished pitching.
“Thanks, Fewn,” she said. Fewn nodded w
ith a smile, ushering her into the tent.
Lilaci stood and walked over to Fewn, who stood holding the tent flap open for Kera. “Yes, thank you Fewn. Thanks for all your help. Thanks for being with us, you’re a great help.”
Fewn seemed shy of the praise, but seemed to a force a, “You’re welcome.”
“I’ll take first watch tonight,” Lilaci said. “Why don’t you rest too. I’ve got a lot on my mind anyway.”
Fewn thought about it a moment, then ducked low to enter the tent, but then turned back and walked over to Lilaci’s side.
“Not tired yet?” Lilaci asked, as Fewn went and took a seat next to her.
“Lilaci . . .” she began softly. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something . . .”
“Fewn, what’s the matter? You seem serious.”
“You may already know this,” Fewn began, “and this may be nothing . . . But— do you remember that boy in the camp?”
At first Lilaci looked at her, curiously, not knowing the meaning of where Fewn was taking the question. Then suddenly— Lilaci’s mind shot back into the past, back into memories of a young girl trapped within the walls of Sorock— she was sitting there under the moonlight, and she could vividly feel the warmth of another.
“His name was . . .” Fewn said.
“—Gogenanth,” Lilaci said, her hands shot up to cover her mouth, and she felt her eyes open wide.
“Yes, do you remember him?” Fewn asked softly.
“They— they took the memory of him from me . . . How could they take him away from me too? Those evil mages, will they never relent in their torturous ways? Oh, Gogenanth, I’m so sorry they took you from me. I’ve missed you, old friend.” Then her mind came back to the present. “Wait, what . . . what did you want to tell me about him? Why are you bringing this up now?”