A Dying Land

by K. Ferrin

  “Who are you?” Evelyn demanded.

  “You are not in any position to make demands,” said the loud male voice. “But since we are already well acquainted, and being as I’m hoping for quite a fruitful relationship, I’ll give you what you seek. You may call me Fariss.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Fariss. She knew of no one by that name. Had never even heard of that name, as far as she could remember. Trying to keep to her father’s advice, she tallied up one more thing she knew. These two were not from Meuse. Maybe she could use that to her advantage.

  “Do you have any idea who I am?” Evelyn spat, careful not to pull against the restraints. “My parents are powerful people, and they will see to it that I’m found and that you are suitably punished!”

  Fariss chuckled. “I know exactly who you are. And what you are. Your parents have no power here, though that hardly matters. I doubt very much they care one wit where you are or what happens to you. Ignorant fools.”

  Evelyn clenched her lips tightly together, refusing to give in to her confusion at his words. Nothing he said made any sense. If her parents knew she were his captive they would move mountains to get to her. The only way they wouldn’t was if they were held too. Or dead. She flinched away from the latter option. “I know what you’re doing,” she said. “Let my family go.”

  Both Fariss and the quiet one chuckled again. Fariss’s laughter was as pointy as a sword, while the other person’s was sibilant and profoundly creepy.

  “I don’t care about your parents, dear. I’ve got exactly what I’ve been searching for. So many years of looking, and you plop right into my lap without any effort at all. You know, I’d about given up. Took every bit of my considerable discipline not to snatch you right after we stepped off that damned ship.”

  “Ye’d never’ve geevin’ up, Fariss,” the quiet one said as she, or he—Evelyn still couldn’t tell which—snatched the hood from her head. She couldn’t lift her head at all, but she turned it from side to side, struggling to see what she could of her captors and where she was. Neither Fariss nor the quiet one were visible, but the ceiling above her was made of large grey stones that traveled as far down to the floor as she could see with her limited view. There was nothing like this in Meuse. Nothing like it in Middelhaern. That meant they’d taken her somewhere else. And the man, Fariss, he’d mentioned a ship.

  “Ship, what ship?”

  “What ship?”

  Farris moved into her line of sight, studying her closely. He had curling brown hair and beautiful green eyes that were as empty as boiled water. His chin was stained indigo, and he had a large purple stone embedded right in the center of the purple mark. Even stranger, the man seemed to fade in and out. One moment he was as solid as she was, and the next, she could see straight through him. Being held and tied like this was affecting her badly.

  “You don’t know, do you?”

  “I know everything I need to know,” her lip curled in disdain.

  “Fascinating. She doesn’t remember. She remembered just fine on the Courser…” He tapped one finger against the deep purple amethyst in his chin. “You said she had a book with her?”

  “Ayup,” said the quiet one. Evelyn heard movement outside her vision and then a pale hand handed a large book over to Fariss. The book was thick and brown, and there were no words on the cover. Only swirling patterns that looked a lot like the marks on a person’s fingertip.

  Fariss grabbed the cover to flip it open, but it seemed it wasn’t a book after all because the cover refused to open.

  “Hmmm,” Fariss said, pulling harder to separate the two flaps. “Now that is intriguing.” He mumbled some words over the book and tried again, but the cover stayed right where it was. “That’s some interesting magic you have there. Where did you find it?”

  Evelyn had no idea. She’d never seen the book in her life, but she wasn’t about to tell Fariss that. She stuck out her chin and stared up at the ceiling.

  “It will open for me, girl. It’s only a matter of time before all of your secrets are mine too. Set her up,” Farris said.

  The surface she was laying on tilted suddenly upright, and she could finally truly see the space she was held in. She was in the center of a very large room. Along one side was a wall filled floor to ceiling with filmy jars containing floating dark shapes. She could not make out what they contained, but swore she saw faces floating in the murk of at least a few of them. Another wall held a table covered in enormous globular shapes that looked to be made of glass, with piping going in and out of them. An impressive assortment of pots, jars, and baskets holding who knew what covered just about every other free surface except for the top of an enormous table that had strange letters carved all over it. Nearby stood a mortar and pestle that was so large Evelyn would have to stand to use it.

  Without warning, her arms were yanked to either side, and her legs were forcibly spread until she was stretched out like the five-pointed star she always used to calm her panic. Her limbs were pulled so tight, she felt as if her joints would pop.

  “Wait,” she gasped. “We have a lot of money.” Pain swept over her as she was stretched even farther.

  “’T ain’t yer money we want, peerie thin’,” the quiet voice breathed so close that she could feel his lips brushing against her ear. She could see now that it was a he. White as a sheet, with white hair sticking up erratically all over his head, and eyes that were such a pale shade of blue that they were almost translucent. She squirmed, trying to put more space between that foul mouth and her body.

  “You are more valuable than all the money in the world,” Fariss said. “I know what you are. I knew it the instant I saw her look at you. So brief, so discreet, yet so telling. It’s an embarrassment really. But, since it worked in my favor, I’ll forgive her for it. You are going to win this war for me, Ling.”

  Evelyn’s head spun. War? There was no war. But that disturbed her less than his other words. “Wh…what I am?” she asked.

  “Ye ken she knows?” The quiet one was beside her again, a soft clinking suggesting that he was arranging something nearby. Her teeth chattered, and she clenched her eyes closed.

  She felt body heat directly in front of her, and she opened her eyes to see the strange white man standing before her. He pinched one of her fingers in a clamp and looked up as Fariss came back into view. Without hesitation, Fariss reached out and pushed a hot needle into her finger so deeply that she saw the point emerge on the other side. She screamed in agony.

  “What do you know?” Fariss asked her. She could feel his breath against the rawness of her finger, the tip of his nose just a hair’s width from its tip. “About yourself? About what you are?” She felt a sharp tug as the needle was yanked out.

  “Look a’ that!” the quiet one breathed. “Gone alreedy.”

  “Hand me the longer one. I’m going to test her arm.”

  “Please…don’t…”

  “Oh, peerie thin’, we can’t hurt ye. That’s why yer so special, ye ken?”

  Something penetrated her forearm, splitting the skin, pushing through tendon and muscle, and boring through bone. Evelyn struggled, metal biting into her flesh as she tried to free herself. But the restraints were unforgiving and unbreakable, and the man wielding the poker relentless. They could do whatever they wished with her, and she was helpless to stop them.

  She sobbed. She would die here. She would never see her parents again. Her friends. They would never even know what happened to her.

  “It’s a pity you didn’t find Grag down in those Salt Caves. I’d dearly love to learn his secrets. Specifically, how did he muster enough magic to make something like you? A changeling who thinks and acts human, but has—it seems—none of the human frailties to go with it.”

  “Do ’er guts,” the white man’s whispery voice shushed beside her, made even more breathy with excitement.

  Fariss came into view, a glinting blade in one hand. He smiled wide, eyes glinting with joy. She
watched as he placed the blade against her belly, and a moment later she felt the smooth skin of her stomach split before the force of it. Her mind fluttered violently, seeking escape from consciousness.

  She had stumbled upon a dying deer near Meuse once. It had gotten stuck in the mud, a very rare event. She couldn’t tell how long it had been there, but the poor thing was still on its feet, sides heaving, its head so low its nose brushed the ground, blood dripping from its nose and belly. It had fallen to its knees as she approached, its wide liquid brown eyes watching her. She had knelt beside it, stroking its nose and talking gently to it. She had lain her head against its side and listened as its heart fluttered, slowed, and then shuddered to a stop.

  Her mind felt like that now. Slowing, fluttering erratically against the cage of her skull, until finally…silence.

  * * *

  Evelyn groaned. She’d had the worst dream. Two strange men had taken her, had strapped her to some frame of some kind, and were doing terrible things to her.

  “Ye ken what happened to him?”

  Evelyn’s body went stiff with shock. The voice, with its quiet sibilance, was right out of her dream. As her muscles went rigid, she felt the touch of cold, hard steel holding her tightly in place. Her eyes flew open as she realized it hadn’t been a dream after all.

  “The damn fool locked himself away in some tower way up in the north. The locals got sick of him killing off their people and sent some warrior to kill him.”

  A sharp smell hit her nose. It was herbal, with an undertone of something that made her want to retch. To her left she heard a rhythmic grinding sound. She turned toward it and saw the ghostly man doubled over the mortar and pestle as he worked.

  Not real, it’s not real, not real, it’s not real…

  “So he ’us taken out by a normal, eh? Shame, shame.”

  “Not a normal. At least not exactly. He was killed by someone who nullified magic. Sucked it into himself, somehow, and canceled it all out. I’d love to get my hands on him. What a power to have! It’d rival this one here in value.”

  She couldn’t see the other man, Fariss. She turned her head frantically trying to find him, but he was outside of her line of sight. She turned back to the pale man just as he stood up, curving his spine backwards in a stretch as if he’d just gotten out of bed. “Blaualgen’s done,” he said, his voice caressing the air like satin.

  Evelyn shuddered and felt her body begin to shake. She wasn’t waking up from sleep in her own bed. She had passed out from what they were doing to her. Evelyn jerked against the restraints, though she knew it was hopeless. Even if she were somehow strong enough to break them, she’d never be able to withstand the pain they could inflict

  “Fecken’ thin’s awake,” the soft voice hissed. His pale eyes stared right through her. “Ye keep yankin’ them cuffs, I’ll kill ye meself, ye ken?”

  “Why?” Evelyn sobbed.

  “Why what?” Fariss asked her distractedly. She stared at him as he walked back into her view. He’d been somewhere behind her.

  “Why me?”

  “You are the most finely crafted creature I have ever encountered, Ling. Imagine, if you would, an army of soldiers who can’t be killed by swords or knives or fire. Soldiers who heal even as they are injured. Even Alyssum would be unable to stop you. You will tip the scale in my favor, Ling, if I can only learn how you work, how you were made, so I can make more of you. Sharup, get the blaualgen over here. Dump it in.”

  She heard feet shuffling hurriedly across the room, followed by a loud pop and a harsh yell.

  “Fool! You don’t throw it all in that way! You almost killed every one of us!”

  “Ye sed…”

  “Get out of my way you idiot. I’ll cast it myself.”

  The sharp herbal scent grew stronger. The undertone of it made her think of the smell of dead things after they’d sat out in the summer sun for a few days. More specifically, like a fish that had been left to rot.

  She watched Fariss as he worked, his feet pattering rhythmically and his cloak swishing softly as he moved. He was almost dancing. As his movement continued, Evelyn began to feel something growing in the air around her. Her ears popped. Fariss began chanting softly. She couldn’t understand the words, but they matched the rhythm of his steps.

  “What are you doing?” Evelyn’s head was spinning. Nothing made sense to her. She had no idea what war he was talking about, who Alyssum was, or why he kept calling her a changeling. Changelings were stupid bumbling things according to all the stories, and she was just a normal girl. She watched Fariss as his feet moved about, beating out complex patterns and rhythms on the stone floor. His movements and chanting unnerved her.

  “I’m just a normal girl,” she said.

  “Nuthin’ normal about ye.” Sharup’s lips turned up, showing white teeth and white gums. “Yer not gonna like this, peerie thin’,” Sharup continued. “He’s gonna tek ya ’part, he is. Bit by meaty bit.”

  “It’s not about destruction, Sharup. It’s about creation.”

  Fariss set the steaming cauldron down on the stone floor beside her. Oddly, her attention was caught by the flagstones, so neatly cut and so tightly fitted that she couldn’t see the seams between them.

  “It is my ultimate aim to perform an act of creation,” Fariss said. “Or, more accurately, recreation.” He looked at her, his eyes clear and steady. He reached out one hand and stroked from her cheek to her chin. He studied her closely, examining every minute detail: the movement of her eye as she blinked, the flare of her nostrils as she breathed, the delicate throbbing of her veins as blood flowed through them.

  “You are so beautiful, it’s unfortunate, really. But I need to know how you were made if I’m to learn how to make more of you. Your immortality is the key to everything. With assassins like you, it will be easy to kill the last of them, and without the Mari in my way, I’ll have all the magic I need.” His eyes held a deep sincerity and unwavering purpose.

  “You’ve made a mistake. I’m just…normal,” she stammered.

  “Oh, you are so much more than that, Ling.”

  “I am Evelyn. My parents are Camden and Laera. We live in Meuse,” Evelyn said the words with conviction, as if they were a spell that could somehow wake her from this nightmare and deliver her home.

  “Remarkable.” Fariss placed one cool finger against her cheek, rubbing gently. “Every detail is simply perfect. Even your veins look real. The fine hairs along your skin. I can’t fathom how Grag managed to make something like you while avoiding the notice of someone like me.”

  Evelyn pulled her head back as far as her restraints would allow, separating her cheek from the tip of his finger. “I am Evelyn,” she repeated. “My parents are Camden and Laera.”

  “Say what you will, but you are nothing but a bag of sticks and stones, with some serious magic holding you together. I’ve never seen your like.” He pulled on a pair of gloves that covered him from fingertip to shoulder and boots that reached above his knees. “Have you ever seen such a thing, Sharup? She has all the girl’s feelings. All her memories too, it seems. Or at least a good number of them. Step back, please. This is likely to get messy.”

  Sharup shook his head as he backed away, fat jowls bouncing beneath a weak chin. Fariss stepped forward, grasped her jaw tightly, and jammed a funnel in her mouth. In one smooth motion, he lifted the steaming pot and dumped a healthy amount of bubbling liquid down her throat. The liquid burned as it streamed down. She tried to fight it; she closed her throat tight against it, but there was too much of it. She choked as the fluid rushed into her mouth. She shook her head, trying to throw the funnel. But no amount of struggling could dislodge Fariss or the funnel. He held her chin tightly, and her stomach began to burn as it filled. She retched, liquid splashing out around her. She felt it spill down her chest, splash up into her face, but more filled whatever openings her retching might have created.

  As the last of the vile liquid drained down the funn
el, he set down the pot and stepped away. She spat the funnel out and glared at him as her stomach roiled and heaved. He was unmoved and stood calmly, watching the hands tick by on a watch he’d pulled from a pocket. Her heart raced in her chest. What had he filled her with? She moaned as a storm ignited in her belly. Lighting crackled through her body, traveling from belly to scalp to the tips of her fingers and her toes.

  “It’s afraid,” Sharup said, squinting at her from across the room. “Ain’t never seen ’em feel.”

  “I’m going to kill you when I get out of this chair.” She tried to make her tone menacing, dumping every bit of rage and fear she had into the threat. She was so hot. Her body felt like it was on fire from the inside, and her skin crackled with electricity. All her life she had heard stories of magic, of dark monsters that lived beyond the borders of Meuse. She had believed them as a young child. She’d scoffed at them as she had gotten older. She realized now just how true the stories were. They had gotten the details wrong. The monsters were just men. They had no horns or glowing red eyes, but they had powers she could never have imagined.

  “You are never getting out of that chair. Least not as you are now.” Fariss hefted the pot and slowly poured its contents over the top of her. It soaked her hair, plastered her clothes to her body, and puddled in the boots on her feet. She was dripping wet by the time the bits fell out from the bottom of the cauldron. Chunks of leathery wings and legs, tiny fox-like heads, eyeballs.

  They were dead. So dead, they practically disintegrated as they hit her. The only things that remained reasonably intact were the thick leather wings and hard bits of bone. Before she could react, an odd tingling sensation began at the top of her head and spread quickly across her entire body. It felt like millions of needles jabbed into her flesh again and again and again. Her muscles twitched and bunched, separating themselves from her skin and bone in an agony of ripping and tearing. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth.