by McHugh, Ian
A pounding ache rose up behind Lession’s forehead. Tricked! By a child! He eyed the dagger, desperately trying to will his arm out to reach it. “You... you planned all this?”
“The Council decided your fate.” The boy produced another needle from a pouch at his waist. “The first sting was a poison. The second sting is their gift.”
Lession closed his eyes when the needle jabbed into his arm. A throbbing ache began, sending weak pulses of energy out along his veins, enabling him to roll over and haul himself up to his feet. He rounded on the boy and tried to ball his fists. But his fingers were too heavy, too stiff. “You’re... you’re... releasing me?”
“Return to your prison. Let it become your tomb. The antidote will give you half an hour at most before your body hardens to stone.”
To stone! The words almost dragged Lession back to the floor. Hydrameade! Impossible! They couldn’t have gotten hydrameade. “How did....”
“It took three years and much coin to find it.”
Lession coughed and spattered the floor with yellow mucus. “Why not slay me? Where are the soldiers? Where is Halgon?”
“None will laugh at you this time. My father takes no delight at this. Soldiers are not needed. You can waste your energy trying to fight me. Or you can use it to return to your tower.” The boy tossed a third needle towards Lession. “Your partner must share your fate. When we come for the bones we will boil her slowly if we find her alive.”
Briefly, Lession imagined himself finding the energy to fling himself forward and use the needle on the boy. Then an image of Hurkerna passed through his mind. She was smiling, watching for his return. He stuffed the needle into his empty scabbard. “You show me mercy.”
“We are human. We are merciful.”
Lession staggered towards the doorway leading to the loading bay, on legs that felt like they’d been filled with molten lead. He unlocked the door and stumbled outside. A gust of wind caught him, forcing him to steady himself against the doorframe. The boy followed, stony-faced, those terrible eyes as cold and unmoving as his fathers.
“The tower is yours, Lession. We’ll name it after you to mark your passing.”
Lession paused. My passing! So they didn’t know the hydrameade wasn’t fatal, didn’t know that the truth was even worse and the poison would only petrify him indefinitely. He gave the boy a brief, sad smile before spreading his wings and stepping off the loading bay. The current took him quickly, violently, buffeting him about as it whipped him upwards into the calm heart of the storm. Within seconds the yards disappeared below and the City of Roses was hidden beneath a swirling rain cloud. The current held him there for a while, effortlessly, like a feather on the wind.
What now? Could he return to the tower? Could he use the hydrameade on Hurkerna, condemn her to a sleep that might last a thousand years or ten times that? Should he not kill her instead and end the misery permanently?
Or would it not be better to drop through the waves and spend eternity at the bottom of the sea, until barnacles covered him and he became a fireside tale.
The very notion sent a new burst of energy flooding through his muscles. No! Hurkerna was waiting. He couldn’t leave her alone, couldn’t leave her to face the fate Jakar promised. She would die, not by human hands, but by his.
She needed peace.
And when others took flight from the Nothing Lands some day, others who might carry with them the remedy to hydrameade, he’d have his revenge on the City of Roses.
He screamed a long, warlike scream. And it was as if the Gray understood him. The current shifted, released him, and guided his wings until he was gliding out across the sea. Hurkerna was on the parapet when he broke through the clouds. As his arms turned to heavy weights he angled sharply, sailed over her head, and slammed onto the tower with such force it shattered his wings to pieces.
“My Lord!” Hurkerna cried as she dragged him from the wreckage. “What has happened? Are you all right? Are you....”
He dragged himself up and clung onto the parapet for support as the leaden heaviness sank deeper into his limbs.
“My Lord, you are hurt?”
He grabbed her and held her tight. “I am sorry. So very, very sorry. Our day is done here, Hurkerna.”
“What....”
He grasped her tighter, pinning her arms by her sides. “You will suffer here no more.” He nibbled open the larger vein that ran down the back of her neck and nuzzled against her cheek while her life blood drained out and pooled around their feet.
“My Lord, you weaken me.”
“It is not hunger that drives me, Hurkerna. It is love.” Lession eased his grip and stared at her. Love. The word echoed off inside his head like a plea for mercy, not from Hurkerna, but from some deep part of himself. Of course he loved her, loved her too much to carry this through.
She shouldn’t die. She couldn’t die. Even if it meant condemning her to a terrible sleep, a future without her would be a future dark and grim. His hands cramped as he sealed up the vein and pulled the needle from his scabbard. Her jaw dropped when he raised it in his hand.
“My Lord, what... is that?”
“Hydrameade.”
“Hydra.... No! Please, My Lord. Not that. I cannot....”
Lession grabbed her shoulders and spun her around when she tried to shove him away. “It is our future, Hurkerna. Our future. Look west. Look towards the Nothing Lands, for it is from there our salvation will rise some day.”
He slipped the needle into her arm. As her muscles stiffened, he used his last reserves of energy to mould her into a comfortable position, both hands resting on the parapet, her head tilted so she was looking out over the Empty Sea.
“This poison cannot kill us as they think, my love,” he whispered into her ear. “It can only bind us. Time to rest now. Time to sleep.”
Like a keening lament, the Gray storm howled its fury and turned the waves of the Empty Sea white as he took a position beside her and fixed his eyes on the western horizon. He took one last, long breath, raised his arms, and pushed his chest out. He held this position as his heartbeat slowed and the white sea faded to gray and then sank away into blackness.
Copyright © 2010 Fox McGeever
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Fox McGeever is an Irish writer currently living at the edge of a dark and endless forest in Sweden. When he’s not out sifting through the shadows of this forest for inspiration, he’s hard at work creating his alternative world The Parawerthan. In addition to Beneath Ceaseless Skies, his work has appeared in Withersin and Necrotic Tissue. Lession’s Tower is set in The Parawerthan. Fox’s alter ego is currently trekking through this world. You can follow his progress at www.parawerthan.com.
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COVER ART
“Fantasy Gate,” by Wolfgang Wachelhofer
Wolfgang Wachelhofer is an Austrian graphic artist and web designer who has a deep passion for surreal art. Most of his inspiration comes from the rich and colorful cultures of Brazil, where he lived for four years. He has done a lot of work for various clients for which he has earned a high reputation for his uniqueness. View more of his art in his online galleries.
Beneath Ceaseless Skies
ISSN: 1946-1046
Published by Firkin Press,
a 501(c)3 Non-Profit Literary Organization
Copyright © 2010 Firkin Press
This file is distributed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 3.0 U.S. license. You may copy and share the file so long as you retain the attribution to the authors, but you may not sell it and you may not alter it or partition it or transcribe it.
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