by Ren Garcia
The Black Maiden looked at Stenstrom and, in a lilting fashion, sat next to him.
“See, perfectly harmless and submissive.” Mother crushed out her cigarette. Her tone became dark. “Now, prepare yourselves.”
The three sat there looking at the ghostly form sitting next to Stenstrom.
Mother continued. “There are other things protecting our House beyond mere Black Maidens. Something cruel and utterly evil. When a Black Maiden encounters someone hostile on our grounds, they summon what I am about to show you. I am going to let you see, so that you will know the difference. Dredged up from the shadow-lands, from the lightless places, are the Soul Devourers, hungry, restless, always seeking their next soul to eat.”
Jubilee added something to the pot and the smoke coming out of it became dense and choking. They coughed, sickened with it.
Something rose up in the distance, backlit in a brackish light. It appeared to be a naked female rising up with a ballerina’s grace, her lean body perfectly formed.
She raised her head. There was no face there, just a huge mouth full of chattering teeth and a seeking tongue.
Virginia, and even Lyra, screamed.
“There is my son,” Jubilee said quietly.
The Soul Devourer raised her arms and clenched her hands into grasping claws.
“You may have him.”
The creature shouted with feral passion and sprinted toward Stenstrom, eager to tear into him. “YOOOOUUUUURRR SOUUUUULLLLLLLLL!!” she wailed.
Stenstrom sat there, horrified. Lyra dashed in front of him, daggers in hand, ready to stand and fight the unholy thing.
Mother sat there, allowing it to approach. Then she said: “Save my son,” and the Black Maiden leaned over and kissed Stenstrom on the cheek.
He was instantly teleported home. He spun about. He was all alone in his room.
10 His Greatest Enemy
They sat in the stony darkness of the culvert. Stenstrom was wearing the now familiar white robes. His sisters Virginia and Lyra wore the same. Their training had been going on at a steady rate for nine years, around the calendar without protracted pause. He was now nineteen years old.
Their mother, sitting before them, wore black robes. As usual, Mother slowly smoked a large cigarette with a burning ember that sizzled with every pull.
This old culvert, once flowing with drainage waters from the interior swamps of Esther, became like a second home. They sat in a semicircle in the quiet dark with all manner of arcane flotsam from their years of study scattered around them. There were tripods full of boiling oils and gels heated with purple, red and blue flames. Mortar and pestles, aromatic with the crushed remains of herbs and rare salts, sat pushed aside along with various scrolls and books opened to mystical pages. The books were thick, made of hide and stout vellum, each page meticulously hand copied from mother’s originals. Over the past nine years, they’d worked hard, writing down the knowledge Mother shared with them, and each student now had a small library of arcane learning written by their own hand. Lady Lyra’s books were very studious and similar to Mother’s. Stenstrom’s were craftier with generous hand-drawn art, and Lady Virginia’s were overflowing with expanded insets and detailed, step-by-step instructions. Near Lady Jubilee was a holo-pedestal—the cheery image of Lord Stenstrom the Older slowly spun, something she always kept near her when he was away on his Fleet vessel that she hated.
Lady Jubilee was, as before, putting her life in jeopardy—she was teaching her children the shadowy and seldom spoken of subject of Tyrol Sorcery, an offense not easily forgiven by the Sisterhood of Light should it become known. Lady Jubilee, as she often said, didn’t care about the Sisters and potential punishments that could be in the offing; her children needed these skills and they would have them—the repercussions to herself would be dealt with at another time.
“Now, do it again,” she said, her voice echoing around the vastness of the culvert. All heads turned to Virginia as she raised her hands. Virginia had inherited a body shape very similar to Mother’s, and therefore was a tad plump in her robes. She shook her hands and, in a blur, two bright blue balls appeared between her fingers.
Jubilee was elated and critical at the same time. “Decent technique, Virginia, but slow hand speed,” she said, pointing with her cigarette, the ember making a reddish trail as she moved it about. “I could see how you did that, even in the dark here. You must practice with your dexterity—I have told you so before. Let me see one of your Holystones, please,” she said.
Virginia handed one of them to her. She looked at it in the dim light. “There are a number of imperfections in the plaster casing—and it’s too thick in spots—it will be difficult to break.” She cast the Holystone away, where it bounced off of a stone slab and didn’t crack open.
“I expect better next time. It should be hard enough for safe handling, yet thin enough to crack open with the slightest of tosses.”
Even in the dark, Stenstrom could see Virginia flushing up a bit.
“Now, Virginia, come here and turn around.”
Virginia was shy and apprehensive. “Mother, I’m not ready.”
“Come here, Virginia! By Creation, you’re as apprehensive and uncoordinated as your sister Deneba was years before.”
She slowly stood and approached her mother.
“Turn around.”
Virginia winced and turned around. There was a small “click,” the sound made loud in the quiet culvert, as Virginia’s wrists were bound with a stout set of manacles.
“Now, get out of them, Virginia!”
As Virginia struggled, Mother turned her attention to Lyra. “Lyra has long completed her training. Watch her skill and technique.”
Lyra pushed back the sleeves of her white robes and displayed her hands. In a blur, she had six Tyrol MARZABLE daggers nested between her fingers. Mother was clearly impressed.
“Well done, Lyra!” She reached out and took one of the daggers. “See, impeccable balance. This is what you two have to do.” She held it by the tip and sent it tumbling into a solid rock face where it buried to the hilt with a thud. “We often forget the LosCapricos weapon of my family—the MARZABLE, your father’s NTH pistol being a bit flashier. But, do not forget your Tyrol heritage and the MARZABLE dagger that comes with it. Make it well and keep it hidden, and you will never run out of them—you will never be disarmed.”
Virginia cried out and fell over, her wrists still hopelessly shackled, her robed butt slightly sticking up in the air as she struggled. “I can’t, Mother, I can’t get out!”
“You have much to train, young lady. Slow hands, thick fingers—you require improvement in every category of the art. Lyra, please save your sister.”
Lyra scooted over and reached out. Virginia disappeared.
“Leave me alone!” they heard her voice say.
Mother looked around and pulled on her cigarette. “I will stand corrected, Virginia. You have mastered the art of walking in the shadows—yes, you do that quite well.”
There was a clatter off in the darkness. “Oww!” they heard her cry. “These damn things!”
Mother laughed. “Virginia, come back here, and Lyra will take them off.”
Virginia re-emerged a moment later, still hopelessly shackled. Lyra approached her, and in an effortless movement had the manacles off.
Jubilee took a pull from her cigarette. “We shall discuss this development in further detail later, young lady,” she said to Virginia. “Now, Lyra, shackle your brother.”
Lyra smiled and approached. Stenstrom calmly turned and let her put them on.
“Do not be kind to your brother, Lyra. Make them tight.”
Lyra squeezed and the manacles clicked tightly into place. She then resumed her seat.
“You forgot something, Lyra,” Stenstrom said.
“What did I forget, Bel?”
“These.” Stenstrom held out the manacles and handed them to her. She gasped at the speed and ease with which he’d
escaped them.
Jubilee sat there in silence, her cigarette glowing brightly. “Now, Bel, I wish to see your MARZABLE.”
He shrugged and felt on-the-spot. “I’m not finished with it, Mother.”
She held her hand out and motioned with her fingers. He hesitated, then pulled the small silver dagger from the folds of his robes. It had a classic stiletto handle with a tapering blade, sharpened on both sides. He had stained the handle black and embossed tiny stars at regular intervals.
Lady Jubilee carefully inspected the dagger, testing its weight, trying its balance. “Bel, I don’t see anything wrong with this MARZABLE—it looks completed to me. I’m very pleased.”
Jubilee smiled and gazed at him with a mother’s pride. She handed it back to him, where he returned it to the folds of his robes.
“Now, turn it into many.”
He raised his hands. He shook them, and six identical daggers appeared between his fingers.
She approved with a nod, as did Lyra. Virginia stewed a bit. “And your Holystones? Let’s see those.”
Stenstrom shook his hands and the daggers vanished, replaced by four shiny balls of pastel green.
Mother took one and looked at the surface—it was like an enameled ping pong ball. She hauled back and threw it. It smashed against a stone slab and burst into a confusion of spider webs.
“Excellent, Bel—well made!”
Jubilee looked over her shoulder. “Now, Bel, for your final test of the day, I wish you to get up and start walking.”
“Walking? Where, Mother?” he asked.
Jubilee pointed into the darkness of the culvert beyond. “That way.”
Confused, Stenstrom stood, straightened his robes, and started walking. The stone floor of the culvert was strewn with old pebbles and other bits of wash once carried along by the swamp run-off, and he crunched with every step.
The culvert was vast, stretching off into the dark for as far as his straining eyes could see.
He had no idea how far he had walked when he barely heard his sister Lyra cry out: “Come back, Bel!”
He turned and made his slow way back, seeing nothing at first, then the low purple glow of the tripods came into view along with the three huddled shapes of his mother and two sisters.
When he returned, his mother looked up at him. “Do you know what your trouble is, Bel?”
“No, Mother,” he replied.
“You’re too compliant. I ask you to walk off into the dark, and you do so without a question.” Jubilee turned to his sister, Lyra. “Lyra! Get up and start walking!”
“Why would I want to do that, Mother?”
Jubilee smiled. “You see, Bel—your sister didn’t simply take a bizarre order, and nor should you. Are you afraid of me, my son?”
“Mother, you have put me to the knife three times by my latest counting and …”
“There is occasion for the knife, Bel, and there is time when you need to be a man. I have put you to the knife because I love you. I love my children beyond all reason. I have taught you my secrets, and I have made you strong, fully able to see to yourself. Now, with your skills fully matured, I do not have to worry about you quite so much. I would wager your skills against anybody’s—Gifted or not, Blue or not. You’re a good son, Bel, but I want you to stop being such a good son all of the time. I want you to resist my demands—confound me, challenge me. Look at your sisters before you—they challenged me, and yet they still sit at our family table. Though I am your mother, consider me your enemy. Consider me your greatest, most vile enemy. Henceforth, I shall attempt to confound you and set you to my will. I want you to resist—to confound me in turn. Thus, using your wits, I shall make you strong. Nothing more than your best effort do I expect of you. To give you the will to become your own man—that is the final bit of sorcery I have to teach you, for you have mastered all else.”
Jubilee leaned back. “So, Bel, I want you to get up and start walking.”
He sat there a moment, then got up and again started walking down the culvert.
After a minute or so, he heard his mother’s voice. “Come back, Bel!”
This time, he kept on walking into the deep dark of the culvert.
“Bel!” he heard from far away, but he didn’t listen, he kept on going.
After a time of wandering through the dark, he decided he’d gone far enough and turned to go back, but quickly found he was quite lost—he had no idea which way he’d come from. “Mother?” he cried. “Mother!”
No answer.
He spun around, not really sure what to do. He couldn’t see a thing, and he had no Holystones on him that would make light.
He heard a sound. It was a soft hiss, like the grating of small bits of dry rock rubbing together. It seemed to be coming from far away, but was rapidly approaching.
He felt he was in terrible danger. He backed away. He felt something dry and abrasive wrap around his ankle, like a coiling snake made of sand or grit. He tried to free himself, but whatever it was had him tight.
He heard something. He heard: “. . . bellllllllll . . .” in a sort of grating hiss.
His first inclination was to panic; however, he managed to recall his untested training. He shook his hand and created three MARZABLE daggers. He quickly let two fly. He could hear the creature moving around his throws in a gritty, snakelike undulation. The MARZABLES bounced off the stone floor of the culvert with a clatter. He heard the creature tittering slightly, as if it were toying with him.
He lined up his third dagger and let it fly. It hit something.
Stenstrom was seized about the waist and held fast for a moment—it felt like a soft beach full of sand—and then it gave him a firm shove, sending him sprawling. He lost his footing and roughly fell to the ground.
Something metallic clattered in front of him—his MARZABLE, returned to him, by the creature?
“. . . bye . . . bye . . .” it hissed. He heard something sliding away in a gritty fuss, and then it was gone.
Three globes of light approached. “Bel!” came his mother’s shaking voice, his sisters close by.
* * * * *
“Boy, Mother was mad,” Lyra said snickering.
Stenstrom, Lyra, and Virginia sat in their favorite Merian ruin down the hillside. Virginia fumbled with her gown.
“She said to resist, so I resisted.”
“I don’t think she expected you to resist quite so quickly,” Virginia said. She shook her hands and nothing happened. “Why am I so bad at this? I don’t understand!”
“Keep your hands closer to your chest,” Stenstrom said, trying to help with her form.
Virginia got frustrated and vanished into the shadows.
“Virginia, come back here, please,” Stenstrom said.
“No! I’m terrible!” came her voice from nowhere.
“Get back here!” Lyra said, annoyed.
Virginia reappeared like nothing, still holding her hands in the same position.
“Thank you,” Stenstrom said. “So, what are we to infer from this? Is Mother going to allow us a bit of roam from now on?’”
“Perhaps, but I doubt it,” Lyra said adjusting Virginia’s foot placement. “She might say she wants us to spread our wings, but I don’t know if I believe her. I think she’s going to sic the Black Maidens on us anytime she wants us home. She’s done it before.”
“She used them on me last month,” Virginia said, readying her hands for another try. “I was visiting at the House of Copperwell when, out of nowhere, a Black Maiden appeared, kissed me on the cheek, and teleported me straight home. It was galling, and a little embarrassing.”
“I don’t know about you, but I am tired of being sequestered,” Lyra said. “I want to stretch out, see the cities, and find a love on my own. Those Black Maidens shall make it impossible—she’ll have us back here on a whim.”
Stenstrom reached into Virginia’s gown. “Don’t put your MARZABLE there; it’s too difficult to extract. Here is better
.” He adjusted it.
“Thanks, Bel.”
He stepped back and leaned against the old, weathered telescope. “I know almost nothing of the cities, or of the people in them. You two are my best friends. I have no others.”
Lyra approached him. “And in that Mother has done you a disservice. How are you to properly interact with your fellows if you’ve rarely been allowed to do so? There’s a big world out there beyond these manor grounds.”
“And I’ve seen almost nothing of it.”
Virginia lifted her hands to try again. “Watch your hands,” Lyra said. “Now breathe and produce them.”
Lyra looked at Stenstrom. “I’m afraid, when you do get out, you’re going to be horribly unprepared, have no idea how to act, and probably will get homesick.”
“I think you’ll do just fine, Bel,” Virginia said. She shook her hands. Again nothing happened.
“Not on the upstroke, Sis. On the down stroke. Try again,” he said.
“You two and Mother make this look so easy,” she said, flustered.
Lyra began toying with the telescope and swung it around to look at the smaller moon Solon which was high to the south. “I’ve been looking through these old Merian telescopes since I was a child. I’ve never seen anything other than the ordinary.”
“What?” Virginia asked as she flexed her fingers and prepared herself.
“That funny star the Merians say is out there. I’ve never seen it. How do you hide a star? It cannot exist. The Merians have been deluding themselves, just like we have been.”
“How so?” Virginia asked.
“That we’d ever get to live a life that we truly wanted, free of knives and Black Maidens,” Lyra said.
Virginia shook her hands and produced one knife between her fingers. “Ah!” she cried in triumph. “For one thing, Lyra, you’re looking for the Merian’s star in the wrong place.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got the telescope pointing to the south. The star is over there,” she said pointing with the dagger to the north-west.”
Stenstrom and Lyra looked at each other. “Come again?”