Talystasia: A Faerytale

by Haadiyah Cardinalis

  TALYSTASIA

  A FAERYTALE

  VOLUME I: IN THE CITY

  K.J.H. CARDINALIS

  COPYRIGHT 2014 BY K.J. HAADIYAH CARDINALIS

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

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  THE MANUSCRIPT TO TALYSTASIA HAS BEEN TIME-STAMPED.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  ALL CHARACTERS IN THIS NOVEL ARE ENTIRELY FICTIONAL. ANY RESEMBLANCES TO REAL-LIFE INDIVIDUALS IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

  COVER ART AND COPYRIGHT 2014 BY K.J.H. CARDINALIS.

  MANUSCRIPT FORMATTED BY SHAWN MICHEL DE MONTAIGNE.

  COVER DESIGN BY MARTIN SILVERTANT.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  I: ANDREAS

  II: ROSE

  III: MY HOME IS MY CASTLE

  IV: LIKE THE RAIN

  V: CONSCIENCE

  VI: THE WALL

  VII: VULTURES

  VIII: SHOW ME HELL

  IX: HATE IS LIKE MORTAR

  X: CIPHERS

  XI: STARS

  XII: A NARROW WINDOW

  XIII: ROADS

  Dedication:

  To Shawn

  Who stands by me as steadfast as the Pier he walks

  To Nia

  My counterpart in space and time

  To Martin

  Who shares an uncensored life with me

  To Gamma

  Who still owns her pieces of my broken heart

  &

  To Rose, Andreas, Corin, Julia, Sal, Cerise, Moth.

  This is your story, and without you, it would not exist. And neither would I.

  &

  The Balthasar – every incarnation there has ever been, and Benigna – power given flesh, conscience, and majesty. May I never live another lifetime without knowing your magnificence. If I find these pages in some other flesh, with my knowledge stolen from me, may I read them and remember who I am. Without you, I am nothing. And that’s exactly the way I want it.

  TALYSTASIA

  A FAERYTALE

  —Begin Transmission—

  “Nothing ever changes. Even if you’re victorious, you’ll still be filled with the poison. You’ve got to break the chain of evil … with love.” – Jesus in The Last Temptation of Christ

  “Adventure is not outside man; it is within.” – George Eliot

  I: Andreas

  The ground was slippery and soft with mud. Droplets of dirty rainfall hung from Seleda's mane like feeble diamonds, mesmerizing in the forest gloom.

  She stopped, mud welling around her hooves, ears pricked in apprehension. There was a tenseness in her muscles, a quietness in her demeanour. Someone or something unexpected was here.

  Andreas glanced back through the brush, the chill seeping into his bones. In the deepening dusk, he could make out faint patches of the road between the trees. But the path was empty, as were the woods, the silence broken only by the mournful calls of evening doves.

  Before him was a clearing, verdant grasses bent flat by rainwater, a few stray twigs littering the ground. A dull grey glow poured in from overhead.

  "We've ridden past here thousands of times. So what is it? One of Loren’s brutes?” He laughed softly, stroking Seleda’s warm sorrel mane. “We’ll spill his blood and make him disappear."

  Descending the flattened slope, he dismounted at the trickling stream in the gully, his eyes on the trees. Lowering himself to the ground, he crossed his legs, picking absently at a piece of grass.

  Whatever it was that had Seleda vexed, it could only be a soldier, a civilian, or an animal … or likely as not, nothing. Give it half an hour or so and things back in the city would quiet down for the night.

  Then he could go home.

  … Yet the still paths of the forest felt more like home than the citadel ever could. There were nights he didn’t want to go back at all, that were fraught with unseen dangers. A chilly breeze ruffled his tunic, whispering unhappy tidings. Here there was tranquillity, however fleeting. The air was saturated with the damp scent of tree sap and the last of the wintergreens and lilacs.

  The faintest rustle broke his reverie, and his eyes riveted to the undergrowth across the stream. Rising to his feet, he shook a spell of dizziness from his head and fingered the cold hilt of his sword unenthusiastically.

  Seleda gulped softly. When he lifted his hand to her flank to steady her, his fingers met with motionless muscle. He allowed himself a slight smile at her composure. Relief was in order—but hardly: The woman materializing from the forest was not an enemy, but neither was she human.

  She was difficult to see at first. The sheet of drizzle between them was like a watery glass veil, and the woman a liquid sculpture behind it. As she drew closer, he could see why her outlines seemed so fluid: The rainwater collecting on her skin was gliding over her body and draining into her pores. The details went hazy for a moment with lust: only a thick, wild tangle of capillary vines tumbling over her shoulders like hair obscured her nakedness. Her skin was a creamy silver beryl—the living inner flesh of a tree without bark.

  He stiffened, his blood coursing faster—past the initial shock of encountering a dryad in the flesh, he saw only a woman under the quicksilver, pliant, inviting and exposed. The stream of rainwater shimmering over her belly and breasts only made her shine all the more, outlining her in a liquid halo.

  "Greetings, Lord Telyra of Talystasia.”

  Andreas shivered convulsively as her voice filled the clearing like wind creaking through hollow branches, androgynous, low and cold. It was a frightening old voice, immediately deadening the magnetism of her flesh. Had she been human, he could have overpowered her in an instant. But he knew better. The nymph was as strong as an oak, however supple she appeared, and could rip him limb for limb if she wished it. If her savageness matched his own, he’d never stand a chance. On the incredibly rare occasions that one of her kind had appeared to him, they had brought nothing but trouble.

  Unease hollowing the pit of his stomach, he bowed carefully at the waist, allowing the controlled movement to steady him.

  "Greetings, Emissary," he returned politely, for that was most certainly what she was. His voice sounded indistinct to him after the resounding clap of her own, but his nerves were solid once more. He looked up, determinedly at her face and not at her naked body. Her features, framed by a flow of water seeping into the roots of her fibrous hair, were uncannily human. Dark, full lips cracked open just a little as she approached him, her wide green eyes framed by curving brows.

  "It's the forest," she said urgently. "Please listen."

  "I'm listening," he assured her, glancing up at the darkening sky.

  The dryad's emerald eyes narrowed unnervingly. "Let us review geography," she stated coldly.

  He didn't say anything.

  "Your only real jurisdiction is inside the walls of the eastern half of the city, on your side of the Wall and the territorial dividing line. This mountainside—and the surrounding countryside—is under joint jurisdiction—or shall we say dispute—between you and Lord Loren with respect to your truce."

  "Not quite," he interrupted. "It’s true that is my only solid holding, but we do have a minimal division between our territories outside the city walls. It's all under dispute, come to that, particularly the city. The truce is a thin veneer. Lore
n and I both know that. But it's not like we're stealing each others' crops. Nor is it like our borders are completely sealed. And the truce …"

  "The details of your conflict do not concern us. Because of your vendetta, no one will come near this place save the merchants to trade—and mostly with Lord Loren, of course."

  He would ignore this jab as best he could, though his hand itched to slap her. Thankfully she was out of reach.

  "Your feud. It's not ... specifically the cause of our distress, which is what I’m trying to say. I’m trying to make you understand what this is not about before I attempt to make you understand what it is about. Human influence on the forest has always been mostly negative, and you have protected us from much of that by making this region so thorny, for which we are grateful and indebted."

  "Not on purpose," he said with a shrug.

  "Ever the honest man—whatever your other flaws. Of course, the fields used to be forest too, before they were cultivated without consultation. But can we really fault you for the actions of your ancestors …?"

  Could she?

  … He did often enough. The need to reach out and share the burden that weighed on him was almost a physical ache. And with this deceptively vulnerable woman in front of him—if she really was a woman—it wasn’t the only one.

  The hell with that. He was hungry, and drained There were still the night’s reports to see to. Still work to be done. He shifted from foot to foot, losing his battle with the chill, as he was losing the war with his guilt.

  "What," he asked impatiently, "is the problem then? Though ... if you really want to talk about flaws, we could begin with your people sending emissaries undressed to discuss with me."

  "Why does it trouble you that we do not bother with your human coverings?"

  "Because if you were human, I'd take you for a woman of no virtue. And I don't negotiate with whores."

  She was quick. "Not a surprise, as no woman of virtue would choose your company—at least from what I’ve heard."

  He flinched, but then smiled.

  "Not choose, no. Choice however, doesn't count for a whole lot in my world. Speaking of which—if I had one, I'd not be standing around in the forest outside my city walls chatting, while it's getting colder, and windier ..." he paused, feeling his tone cast a shadow, "... and darker, by the minute. My enemies are on the prowl, because that's my life. And while I could take down five, or six tonight ... I'm not sure I could take down nine or ten. I’m tired."

  "The problem is you," she cut in.

  "What?" Andreas peered at her curiously. Her ancient eyes flashed at him, but there was a surprising lack of blame in her voice.

  "That is the purpose of this meeting. We didn't think you were exactly ... aware."

  "No, I'm obviously not. What are you talking about? I—or we? ... Are a problem to you ...? Loren and I, or just me? You just stated our conflict is superfluous to you."

  She let out a raspy sigh, the sound of dry leaves rustling in the breeze, her shoulders dropping.

  "Not your conflict—your rationalizations, your politics, your elaborate details; those are surface discourse only. Our complaint is about something far more subtle and specific, underpinning all these things. Come here."

  She outstretched her arm. Rain pooled in her upturned palm.

  Stepping forward cautiously, he met her at the bank.

  "Look down please."

  He peered into the rushing waters. At first his gaze met only muddy green stream water, slimy with algae—but then he saw it—a discoloured, bloody stain blooming sickly against the banks to deposit ugly crimson residue on the creek stones. He looked up, finally sensing her alarm, though he didn’t understand it. The back of his neck crawled as if a ghost had breathed on his hackles.

  “What is that?”

  "Even our water is tainted with blood," she answered with a trembling edge of fright. "No evil may touch the forest, Lord Telyra."

  Andreas tilted his head—he was well aware of the Elder decree.

  "You know I do my best to keep fighting clear of the woods. I did that even before I called the truce. Hell, these past three years—"

  She didn't respond.

  "What then?"

  "Do you not see the greater import of this event?"

  "Of ... blood in the water?"

  She nodded.

  "I ..." He closed his eyes, but all he could see was what it might mean for him.

  He spent plenty of time looking over his shoulder on these evening outings, but part of him trusted the shaky ceasefire that held the violence at bay. He assured himself time and again that his anxiety was merely force of habit, and for three edgy years, that had held true.

  And now this. Was this a soldier’s blood? Or perhaps a woman or a child—collateral damage? Where was the body?

  He held his head, reeling with uncertainty.

  ... We're in truce ...

  "Lord Telyra?" she queried.

  "A naiad?" he hazarded, returning to her concerns. "That stream isn't just a stream, right? It is also an Elder’s body, and now she is sick because some human’s blood has tainted her circulation—" he broke off, his patience dissolving. “Whose blood is that?”

  And why for fuck’s sake wasn’t it diluted? It was unnatural, the way it was coagulating there against the rocks—

  "The soul affected is struggling to wash the poison from her body,” the dryad responded, ignoring his question. “Fortunately this is just a finger, as you’d see it—she is also the soul of the Ganea River and its three tributaries. That blood came from a citizen of Lord Loren's."

  "Will she survive?"

  "Yes. Her system is strong. But there are not many of us left."

  "There's something about this I'm not getting. Tell me. The Elder world … your world … is as alien to me as mine is to you."

  "No evil may touch the forest," she responded, this time more emphatically.

  He didn’t respond. He just stared at her blankly.

  "That isn't just an axiom,” she stated. “It's ... the truth."

  "I'm ... not sure I get you."

  "Evil has never penetrated this forest before. Ever. In the entire history of the world."

  Andreas stared at her and then started to laugh. "Plenty of evil touches the forest! Not this one so much, maybe—as you said, foreigners avoid the place—between the bloodshed and the tragic weather, I sure as hell would. And we have our conservation agreement to preserve the hillside. But outside our borders, many, many of you are slaughtered."

  "But Lord Telyra—you must understand that we aren't talking about pollution, or lumberjacks, or hunters, or dams on rivers. We aren't even talking about a direct attack on us. We’re talking about collateral damage. And you are entirely missing the subtle distinction I am trying so hard to make. That truth about evil is specific, and now it is being violated, here. Blood from animals and natural events and even human aggression enters our streams all the time; it doesn't make us sick. You see that, don’t you …? In spite of your best efforts, countless men and women have died here, not to mention the thousands who were killed before you assumed power or were even born. What differs and what matters here is what lies behind the murder ...” She knitted her brow. “… and the way it’s changing.”

  Murder. There it was.

  "You're more concerned about our treatment of each other than our relationship with you? What happened here—?"

  "It is ... the thing that drives your violence that concerns us. I am not talking about your politics. None of that matters, and you are a fool if you believe that it does. I am talking about something else altogether. If I were to write this down in your hand … I would capitalize Evil. A very particular Evil."

  Andreas assumed an immediate stubborn silence, his frustration with her ambiguity overset by a wave of hatred—and shock. Shock that another living being should mention it to him, this burden he lived with alone.

  "You know very well what I'm speaking of." Her m
outh quirked with grim acknowledgement, her eyes drifting to his brow. “And even you must know that the … unusual situation which afflicts your city should have been unsustainable over such a long time, were it just an ordinary war. Generations of conflict, and no resolution, no fundamental change, in such a small territory? Beggars belief, doesn’t it.”

  He eyed her defiantly, but already knew there was no stopping her.

  Why shouldn’t I want her to talk about it? At least someone bloody acknowledges it. She may be the only one … aside from Rizaq. So why shouldn’t I …?

  … Because it disgusts me. Because I feel helpless.

  "… Something is interfering, keeping you on your present track, and if you try to veer off of it, it will react. As it presumably has many times since the foundation of Talystasia—subtly, imperceptibly perhaps, but definitely. Your war involves ... more than human forces, Lord Telyra. And I'm not talking about Elder magic either, a dying power."

  "It's not something I can help, or stop—believe me, I've tried, and I’m doubtless not the first. It exhausts me. More than the fighting, which is a positive waste of time, money and lives. But I really cannot stop it. I’ve tried—I’m trying ….”

  The dryad was frowning at him, as if to say she didn't believe him.

  "Watch," he insisted, and reached up to the circlet at his brow, feeling the ubiquitous cool metal that forever encircled his head.

  "I rarely take it off," he explained. "For good reason. Not because it's a status symbol." Wrapping his hands around the thin band he tugged until it wrenched free.

  Manoeuvring it was work; the vile thing fought his every movement, jerking back toward his skull. Elbows bent with effort, he held it out in front of him.

  "I don't take it off ... because it doesn't stay off. There’s simply no point. Take it," he grunted, and with a mighty heave, tossed it across the stream to the elemental.

  No sooner did she reach out to catch it than it eluded her and catapulted around. He knew it was coming back fast, so he braced himself to catch it. Then he hurled it as hard as he could downstream.

  It vanished into the woods, but he never allowed himself a moment's illusion. He did however permit himself a deep, inadequate breath, savouring the moment’s weightlessness, luxuriating in the gentle caress of the wind in his hair, its coolness against his scalp.