by Taylor Leigh
Victoria glanced to her fellow card players sympathetically. ‘Sorry!’
Tollin waved her away, swiping her cards from Thedric before he could steal them. ‘By all means, adventure awaits!’
She hurried out the door after Andrew. Luckily he hadn’t gotten far. He was still standing on the back terrace, ponderously watching the lake.
Walking through the village at night was one of Victoria’s favourite activities, all the more so with Andrew beside her; it simply turned to such a different place once the sun had gone down. The misting rain, hardly strong enough to penetrate their clothing, was nothing more than a pleasant addition to their walk, peppering her skin, energising her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a very long stroll to the guardhouse, where the penitentiary was held inside its high log walls, and they arrived much too quickly for Victoria’s liking.
The guard on duty let them in with a terse nod and Victoria got her first look at the interior of the guardhouse. There were barracks off to one side, stables to the other. Gallows were at the centre of the yard, and at the far end Victoria noticed what looked like doors opening into the muddy earth. This is where Andrew headed. Beyond the doors were wooden stairs that led down into the ground. Andrew ducked his head to avoid a hanging lantern and tromped down the steps, Victoria kept close behind him. Beneath the earth was the gaol. It was a long, narrow room with sandy, packed earth walls, beam supported ceiling and five cells, all fitted with iron barred doors. There was only one occupied right now, and it was directly in front of them.
Chance was pacing back and forth like a wild animal, raving at the top of his lungs. He kicked his latrine over wildly and then pulled up short, upon seeing his two observers.
He sniffed. ‘You? Who are you? You’re not the guard.’
‘No,’ Andrew replied smoothly. ‘I’m not with them. I’m here to talk to you about the murder of Quinn Snippet.’
Chance spat. ‘I’ve got nothing to say about that. He was an annoying bastard and I’m glad he’s gone!’
Andrew mulled that over. ‘You two were supposed to be friends. Best mates from what I’d heard.’
‘He changed. Got too nosey. Wanted to know too much.’
Andrew sidled in closer. ‘Wanted to know why his friend changed. Once his friend returned from his trapping trip to the south, Blaiden land, he’d changed and Quinn wanted to know why. That was a problem, wasn’t it?’ His eyebrows rose.
‘Don’t know what you mean.’
Andrew fished into his pocket and pulled out the pouch of spores he’d found in Chance’s drawer. ‘Quinn found out about your little stash, didn’t he? What did you have to trade the Blaiden to get these?’
Chance threw himself up against the bars, clawing through them to try to grab the bag Andrew shook just out of his reach. ‘Those aren’t yours! Give them here!’ Spittle flew from his blackened lips.
Andrew smiled coyly. ‘Miss these? You risked a lot coming back for them. Where did you get them?’
‘Give them here!’
Andrew moved in closer, eyes shining. ‘Where. Did. You. Get. Them?’ he asked slowly.
Chance rocked backwards. ‘Wolves. Gave them to me.’
‘For what?’ Andrew demanded.
Chance moved in closer, eyes gleaming in the faint light. Yellow eyes. ‘Information,’ he purred slowly.
‘Information? What information?’
Chance grinned, ‘You’ll find that out soon enough!’
Andrew glowered. ‘Have you been dealing the spores to other people in the village?’
‘Ha! Like I’d waste my supply on that. Piss off!’ Chance spat at his feet.
Andrew nodded. He spun on his heel.
‘Wait! You can’t just leave me! Bring those back! What’s going to happen to me?’
Andrew stopped on the stairs and turned to look at him. ‘The gallows, Mr Brockshire. That’s what awaits you. Good evening.’ He touched his fingers to his forehead and marched up the stairs. ‘Come on, Victoria.’
‘Come back here! You don’t know what’s coming! You’re all going to die and there will be no hope for you! Death! Death!’
Victoria hurried to keep up with Andrew as he strolled back across the yard of the guardhouse. Chance’s howls echoed behind them.
‘Why didn’t you press him on that?’
Andrew shook his head. ‘He’s too far gone. Not going to answer any more. Torture probably wouldn’t do any good. Regrettably.’
She shuddered.
‘Did you see his eyes?’ she panted.
‘Yes, yellow,’ Andrew nodded.
‘What kind of information do you think he traded the Blaiden for?’
Andrew didn’t answer, and for some reason, that chilled Victoria even more.
Chapter Thirty
In the morning, Victoria found Thedric and Molly breakfasting together. She hadn’t slept well that night. Chance’s words had constantly been picking at her brain, twisting her stomach with concern. She envied the others, whom hadn’t heard what he’d said. No worry shone on their well-refreshed faces.
Andrew and Tollin were nowhere to be found, which was not unusual, but slightly disappointing. Victoria wanted to tell Tollin what Chance had said. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like she’d get a chance to speak with either one of them this morning. She supposed she should be grateful; Thedric and Molly would provide a good distraction to a worried mind. She greeted her friends, grabbed some fresh fruit and grains, and sat down at their table.
‘What’s up? Where are the others?’ she asked Thedric as he took a bite of bacon.
‘Dunno. Tollin was supposed to go on a date with Molly today, but he’s missing in action.’
‘It wasn’t a date,’ Molly grouched, shoving him. ‘We just had something to do today. Seems he’s gone off without me.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Thedric grinned.
‘What about Andrew?’ Victoria asked.
‘Saw him, briefly. Don’t think he ever went to bed. I swear I was going to kill him last night.’
Andrew had been playing the harpsichord—loudly—till well after four in the morning. It was his habit when he couldn’t sleep, which was frustratingly often. No doubt Chance’s words were bothering him as well.
‘Well, where is he? Did he go back to bed?’
‘Don’t think so,’ Thedric said, thoughtfully. ‘Went back to his room, muttering something about an experiment. Had something to do with that murderer, Chance.’
Victoria swore and stood to her feet. She should have known this would happen. The curiosity would be too much for him. She ignored Thedric’s confused cries and raced down the hall to Andrew’s room, pulling a hairpin out of her hair as she did so and attacked the lock on his door with vehemence.
The door gave way submissively and she stormed into Andrew’s room, fuming.
He whirled round, crystal eyes blazing. ‘Do you not understand the simple meaning of locked doors or do you just have no consideration for other’s privacy at all?’
‘Don’t even start with me!’ she roared. ‘You cannot take that stuff!’
His eyebrows rose in maddening amusement. Victoria noticed that he was already holding a large glass flask in his hand. ‘Oh? Is that so? And you’re going to stop me?’
‘It’s dangerous!’ she shouted. ‘I’ve seen what it can do! And considering you, it’s all the more foolish! Why the hell would you want to take it?’
Andrew let out an impatient breath. ‘Because the only way to truly understand the effects of it is to experience them for myself.’
‘I’ve taken them before; you could have just asked me!’
He waved his hand. ‘Not sufficient. No. The only way I can see about understanding the…obsession with these is to try it for myself.’
Victoria knew there was no way of talking Andrew out of something once he’d made up his mind—not short of restraining him physically. She crossed her arms across her chest. ‘Fine, I won’t try to stop you. I think it’s
mental, but there’s obviously nothing I can say that will make you see reason.’
‘Good,’ he said, already turning away from her. ‘Do shut the door on your way out.’
She marched across the room to him and swiped the flask from his hands.
‘Hey!’ he snapped.
‘I didn’t say I was leaving,’ she gave him a steady look. ‘I’ve seen what these spores do and I’m not letting you alone with them, especially considering it’s you. They might cause you to have a fit or something…’
Andrew glowered at her suspiciously as Victoria measured out a decent amount of spores and mixed in water. She could feel his sharp eyes burning into her, but Victoria managed to keep her voice steady, despite the fact her heart was banging in her chest. ‘Besides, you don’t even know how to prepare this stuff. You might overdose.’
He seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment, and then finally, miraculously, gave in. ‘Fine. You can stay. But do not say a word! Understand me?’
Victoria handed him the mixture and sat down on his bed, legs crossed. ‘Clearly.’
Andrew swept over to a table and swiped up a notebook and pencil. ‘Make yourself useful while you’re here. Write down everything I do and say, understood?’
She accepted the items. ‘Right up until the point you start thrashing around on the floor.’
He gave her a dour look, then held up the flask with a slightly unsteady hand, eyeing it for a moment. A grim smile twitched at his lips and then he downed the potion. Victoria waited nervously. Andrew made a disgusted face. She knew it should take a good minute to kick in, and she hadn’t given him a very strong dose. Victoria counted the seconds nervously, eyes glued to Andrew’s placid face.
‘Starting to…feel something. My perception is shifting. Senses seem magnified and my thoughts blurry at the same time.’
‘Yeah, it does that.’
‘Hush!’
Victoria puffed her breath and scribbled down his words. Andrew started to walk the room, eyes straight ahead, hands lifted to his lips, pressed together as if he were in prayer. His voice was a low growl. ‘My body is light, like I’m in the water. It’s a…pleasurable feeling, I have to admit. I can see why people get addicted. It’s soothing. However, my thinking is cloudy…just putting thoughts together in a coherent order is taking more effort than it should.’ His eyes sparkled. ‘Must be how you feel most of the time.’
Victoria rolled her eyes. So, he hadn’t lost his sense of sarcasm.
The next fifteen minutes was draining simply to watch. At times Andrew marched about, ranting loudly, turning objects over in childish satisfaction; at other times he shifted to the point of breaking down. He was complaining about how bright it was, beating the sides of his head in his usual habit of dealing with the problem. In between all of his erratic behaviour was an eerily calm centre he always swung back to. He was no longer completely in control of his actions, but when he stared at her, his face was a mask of disturbing serenity.
It was more violent than Victoria was used to; most people on Scrabia who took the spores slumped against the wall and were lost to the world for an hour. Andrew however, was wild and excited and dangerous. She should have realised it before she’d started. Andrew was already such a highly intense person the spores seemed to have become an amplifier for him. She shuddered at the thought of what would happen if Tollin had been the test subject! Victoria could see why the Blaiden were so wild now, as she watched Andrew. He had completely changed. There was something almost morbidly striking about him now. Victoria tried to shake the thought away. She couldn’t. He was terrifyingly beautiful.
‘Wait,’ Andrew pulled up short in the middle of his maniac pacing back and forth across the room.
‘What?’
‘No, shut up, don’t say anything.’
Victoria waited tensely. His eyes raised to lock with hers. They were wide. The look in them was one she’d never seen before. Fearful.
‘I can hear voices,’ he said in a hushed whisper.
Victoria felt a chill go through her. She bit her bottom lip hard.
‘What does that mean?’ he hissed.
‘You said I couldn’t talk!’ Victoria cried.
He slapped his temples. ‘Forget what I said! Have you heard of this happening before?’
‘Well, yes,’ Victoria struggled to find words. ‘But not to normal people. Only priests and priestesses whom are gifted with the Sight have it. Only people that are deeply connected to the Spirit Realm! People try their whole lives to hear those voices. Most never do!’
This new revelation was shocking. Andrew should not be hearing voices. He was no priest. Andrew had no use for religion at all. It couldn’t be possible.
Andrew swallowed and straightened his shirt, struggling to remain calm. ‘I am going to repeat what they’re saying and you’re going to write it down.’
‘Okay,’ Victoria decided against mentioning the fact that it was forbidden. Her pulse was thudding so loud in her ears she prayed she would be able to hear his words over it. Andrew was sinking into a trance. And it was absolutely impossible. The forces worshipped on Scrabia were dark and terrifying and not to be trifled with. And they most certainly did not show themselves to non-believers. What would happen if they pried too deeply?
Andrew started repeating the words, chanting, haltingly, in a foreign tongue. Victoria didn’t know if she was writing the words down correctly, they were so alien to her, but she did her best despite the fact Andrew was talking as fast as ever, snarling, growling, almost crying at times. His dictation lasted for what felt like ages, voice rising and falling, growing in excitement and fear.
Then, suddenly, his eyes rolled up into his head and he dropped heavily to the floor with a moan. His head cracked against the wooden boards.
Victoria abandoned her notes and flew to the floor next to him. He seemed all right when she checked him over; ignoring the fact he’d have a nasty bump later. His body wasn’t convulsing and his breathing was normal. After a couple moments he came to, groaning. His eyes snapped open and she was caught in his wide, blue gaze. As always, it made her feel that he held her captive in his sight, frozen by his icy stare. It lasted just a moment before his brow crinkled and he let out an unhappy groan, snapping Victoria out of her petrified state. She grabbed a large, relatively empty bowl off of his table and shoved it into his arms as he pushed himself up.
‘You’re going to be sick for a while,’ she informed him, just as he started retching.
Andrew, after several minutes of unpleasantness, flopped back onto his back and stared at the ceiling. ‘That was not very pleasant at all,’ he said, words all slurred together in a sloppy mess.
‘Told you,’ she sulked.
He coughed wetly. ‘Did you write everything down?’
‘Yeah, can you remember any of it?’
He ran a hand across his nose, snuffling. ‘Of course I remember all of it. I never forget anything.’
An hour later, after Andrew had recovered well enough to stand and think clearly, he and Victoria were in the main sitting room of the lodge, going over what she’d written that he’d dictated earlier. It was clear almost immediately that they could make absolutely no sense of the words. The transcription, which Victoria didn’t know if she’d transcribed right, seemed to be absolute nonsense. Andrew was starting to dismiss it as nothing more than auditory hallucinations associated with the drug. Since he was still feeling the effects of the drug, his manner was far from pleasant.
They were both growing more frustrated. He, because he didn’t believe the voices to be real, she, because she’d always been taught that they were. Andrew had resorted to insulting her upbringing, and they were both growing cross with each other.
The doors to the back terrace flung open just as they began to raise their voices with each other and Tollin marched in, covered in grey clay.
‘What happened to you?’ Victoria cried, grateful for a distraction.
‘L
ong story,’ Tollin said evasively.
Victoria shook her head and glanced back at the notebook. Andrew, completely irritated with it, picked it up and hurled it against the wall.
She glowered at him, peeved. ‘Just because you don’t understand it doesn’t mean you have to take your anger out on it.’
‘It had it coming,’ he grumbled, curling up into a tight ball in his chair. He bit his nails, exasperated.
Tollin sloshed forward, picked up the notebook and looked at it. His eyebrows shot up when he saw what was written.
Andrew glanced at him sharply. ‘You recognise it?’
‘Oh yes,’ Tollin breathed.
Andrew glowered. ‘Impossible.’
‘Can you translate it?’ Victoria asked, hopefully.
‘I should think so!’ Tollin exclaimed. He glanced down at himself. ‘Eh, might be good if I cleaned up first.’
When Tollin was no longer covered in layers of mud, Victoria and Andrew found themselves sitting on either side of him, leaning close, as Tollin studied what Victoria had written.
‘Well,’ Tollin said after a long moment. ‘It’s not exactly spelt right, but I think I’ve deciphered what it says.’
He took a pencil in his hand and started scrawling on the page. A strange, scratchy, hooked line of characters.
‘What is it?’ Victoria asked.
‘It’s Daemon. Well, Daemonica, if you want to be more specific. What Andrew heard was the actual suggestions of creatures of energy from a different Realm!’
Andrew shook his head. ‘It was simple auditory hallucinations. It must be a side-effect of the drug. Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m not,’ Tollin’s face was serious. ‘This is genuine Daemonic language.’
‘What does it say?’ Victoria breathed.
‘Well, it doesn’t translate too well, but basically: Drink spores! Kill! Conquer! Fight! Become us!’
Victoria shuddered.
Andrew frowned, clearly intrigued despite himself.