The box began to rattle and bounce.
“We’re starting to move again,” Roen said. “That means it’s probably morning.”
“Funny. It so dark.”
They lay in silence for a while, jostled up and down. Taya shut her eyes. It made no difference, but she found the darkness more bearable when it was confined behind her eyelids alone. She kept twisting her fingers to remind herself she was alive, and eased her fear and loneliness by listening to Roen’s breathing.
At length she spoke quietly. “Thank you for bringing me back to life.”
“Don’t. I doomed you to a worse fate than death.”
“Then why you did it?”
“I didn’t mean to. I was crying over your body, wishing you lived, and then you did.”
“You cry for me?” Taya asked softly. “But why? You not know me. How you find my body?”
“Lale threw you over the balcony. I caught you.”
“And Lale sawed you?”
“Yes.”
Taya winced. “I sorry, it my fault you here. You no should have brought me back to life; it got you caught.”
“No, don’t be sorry! I don’t regret it.”
“You are so kind to me. I not know what to say.”
“Just tell me your name.”
“Taya.”
“Taya...,” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the word on his tongue.
“I so sorry. I ruined everything. How can you ever forgive me?”
* * * * *
Time passed slowly. Taya and Roen spent it talking, telling each other stories. Taya told him of her woodland home, how the foliage rustled, how the leaves turned red in autumn, how the air smelled of wood and earth. Roen in turn told her of his workshop, of the smell of pigment and oil, how dust danced in sunrays from the window, how his bristly brushes made scraping sounds as they walked across parchment. Their words painted images in their blindness, and so they talked constantly, not letting the darkness overwhelm them.
As time went by Taya grew to know Roen, as well as she had ever known anyone. She felt he knew her the same way. He let her touch his face once, so she could fashion an image of him. His beard was curly, soft and warm in her fingers, but his skin was always cold. It was the heart of winter. Sometimes Taya turned into a bear to keep warm, and let Roen share her fur. He in turn would heal her when she was hungry, easing the ache in her stomach. Thus they survived together. Taya could not imagine lasting such a journey alone.
And then one day it ended.
Unexpectedly, several hours past food time, the box stopped moving. Taya felt it lifted and carried up a flight of stairs. She clutched Roen’s hand. Soon the stairs ended, and from there on, their box was carried only down. Down more stairs, or down slopes, but always down. The descent lasted a long time—hours, maybe. With every minute Taya’s fear grew, till she held Roen’s hand so hard she probably hurt him.
Finally, the box was dropped. It clanged against the floor, bouncing Taya and Roen against the ceiling. Taya cried out in pain. Fear filled her gut, so thick it ached. She clenched her fists to quell her panic.
“We here now?” she asked Roen, forcing the words past stiff lips.
“Yes, I think so,” Roen replied. He sounded frightened too. “Don’t be scared. There’s nothing he can do that I can’t heal.”
A rattling sound came from above, and Taya held her breath. The top of the box slid open.
A single torch flickered above them, set in a craggy stone wall. Taya winced and covered her eyes against the light. Cold, musty air flowed into the box. A dark shadow blocked the torchlight, and Taya removed her hands and peeked through wincing lids. She saw a man’s silhouette.
“Don’t think of escaping,” the shadow spoke. “Your magic cannot help you here.”
Taya couldn’t help but cover her ears. The voice was terrible. It was not even a voice; it was only an echo, a deep rumble like thunder.
“Get out of the box,” the echo said.
Wincing with pain, Taya struggled for long moments before she managed climbing out into the dim cavern. Her muscles screamed. Roen climbed out as well, and Taya gazed at him for the first time. He looked vaguely familiar, like a figure from a dream. They held onto each other for support as their cramped legs wobbled.
“Why don’t you look at me?” asked the echo.
“I know what you look like,” Taya said. “A man of stone.”
“Does this frighten you?”
Taya shook her head. “You no more powerful than us. Roen and me are Firechildren too.”
Sinther laughed—a terrible rumble that reverberated in the cave.
“Your magic cannot hurt me. I am made of stone. My body cannot be harmed.”
Taya turned to look at him. His skin was dark and speckled and rough. She stared up into the cold, stone eyes.
“But the fourth Firechild can hurt you,” she said. “Aeolia is more powerful than you!”
Again Sinther laughed, his stone chest heaving. The sound was deafening.
“You may laugh now!” Roen said, gaining some of Taya’s defiance. “Aeolia is probably on her way here as we speak.”
Sinther grew sober. He stared at Roen with cold eyes. “You speak truth, Healer. The Esiren Firechild is on her way here, but not as you think. She is coming as a prisoner. My son has captured her.”
Ice seemed to encase Taya’s heart.
“No!” she cried. “You is lying!”
“You will see for yourself soon enough,” Sinther replied. “In time, the Esiren’s head will grace this room’s walls, hanging over your statues.”
“What you mean, our statues?” Taya demanded.
“Try to move and you’ll see.”
Taya tried to take a step. Her foot would not budge, as if it were glued to the floor. She tried her other foot, but it too was frozen. Roen was struggling to move as well, but with no more success.
“What you are doing to us?” Taya cried.
“I’m turning you into stone,” Sinther replied.
Taya shook her head wordlessly, unable to speak or breathe.
“The soles of your feet are turned to stone already,” Sinther continued. “The magic will gradually rise, turning your feet to stone, then your legs, then your stomachs.... When the stone reaches your faces, you will suffocate and die.”
Taya looked down at her feet. Her toes were already turning gray. She took Roen’s hand and held it tightly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to him. “It my fault.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Roen whispered back. “I can think of no better way to die than together.”
“Nor can I,” Taya said earnestly. “Nor can I.”
Sinther only laughed.
Chapter Nineteen
Emperor of Stone
Woodwall’s gates creaked slowly open.
Aeolia paced gingerly outside, biting her trembling lip. Her flimsy dress did little for warmth, and she shivered and hugged herself. Blood-red clouds grumbled above, snowing ash.
Outside the city walls, the Stonish army sprawled before her. Rows of cloaked soldiers stood silently, stretching into the horizon. Banners billowed feebly in the wind, listless waves in a vast, gray sea. In the eerie silence, Aeolia heard her shaky breath, the scraping of her shoes as she walked, the rustling of her skirts. She approached the gray mass slowly.
When she reached the stone sea’s border, it split in two, opening a path down the middle. Aeolia swallowed and stepped inside, walked down the aisle with human walls on her sides, their cold eyes following her. The sea closed behind her, swallowing her in darkness, trembling, alone. At the end of the path, in front of a carriage, stood a hooded man with a dark sword at his waist.
“Lale,” Aeolia said when she reached him.
The man pulled back his hood, revealing the prince’s scarred face.
“Aeolia,” said he, smiling softly.
Quick as a cane’s blow, he grabbed her waist and spun her around. He lif
ted her into the air, showing her to the city.
“Thank you for this gift, Esire!” he called, this man who had once been her prince. “I will take her to Grayrock, where she’ll be beheaded in Town Square!”
He lowered Aeolia to the ground. He crossed his arms over her, pinning her to him. When Aeolia squirmed he only squeezed her tighter.
“Now I’d like you to watch something,” he whispered into her ear. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”
He took a silver horn from his belt and gave a short blow. The Stonish army began marching, tapering into a cone. Like water down a drain, they swept through Woodwall’s gates. Lale rested his chin on Aeolia’s head and let out a pleased sigh. Aeolia stood still, her eyes moist, watching silently.
“Like two lovers watching the sunset...,” Lale said softly. “Is it getting dark enough, Your Majesty?”
In an impossible feat, the vast army finally drained into the small city, leaving behind but a score of guards and the carriage.
“They are searching for your husband,” Lale whispered, his split lips touching Aeolia’s ear. “I intend to kill him myself. But not yet, not yet.... First, Aeoly, it is time to take you home.”
He dragged Aeolia to the carriage, pulled her inside, and shut the door behind them. In stark contrast to his cold, gray army, Lale’s carriage was homelike and comfortable. Its cherry walls and glass windows kept the cold outside. A plush couch rested against one wall, topped with pillows.
“Sit down,” Lale said and pushed Aeolia onto the couch.
“A cozy seat,” she observed. “Have you grown too soft for horses?”
“Some are softer than I,” he said quietly, his eyes caressing her exposed flesh. “You will find I can be quite hard.”
Aeolia felt herself blush. “So that’s what the carriage is for. Privacy.”
Lale shook his head. “You must believe me, I had only your comfort in mind.”
“Why are you suddenly so concerned about my comfort?”
“Your pain is my pain.” Lale smiled sourly. “Literally, in your case.”
Aeolia nodded. “You dare not hurt me. I’d simply link the pain back to you.”
Lale sat beside her and put his hand on her thigh. “I guess I’ll just have to be gentle,” he said and licked her cheek.
Aeolia turned her head away. “Do you have any idea how repulsive you are to me?”
“Imagine how much I care.”
“Well, then. Try to imagine myself as repulsive as you.”
He grabbed her cheeks and forced her face near his. “Don’t you wish it.”
She smiled crookedly. “I can wish it so, you know.”
A hint of dread flitted across Lale’s eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Rape me, and I’ll link to you. My disgust will surmount your lust, and then we’ll see exactly who is the soft one.”
Lale’s face contorted. He lifted his fist.
“Go ahead,” Aeolia said. “Hit me. You’ll just be hitting yourself.”
Lale’s face strained as he quelled his anger. Slowly he lowered his fist.
“All right,” he said. “You want to play with threats, do you? Well try this one. You have a moon to live before facing execution in your homeland. You can spend this moon pleasantly, with me in this carriage, with fine wine, fine food, and fine entertainment—”
“If entertainment consists of your marvels in bed, I pass.”
“Or”—Lale’s voice became strained—“you can spend the trip in a cage, frozen and starved. You’ll be eating bugs and twigs before we reach Grayrock. Bare your teeth at me, and you’ll live your last moon in this misery.”
Cold fear flooded Aeolia’s belly, but she shook her head. “You want me to serve you out of fear. You want me to have something to lose, so I will consent to be your slave. I will never be that. Once a slave is enough. I won’t let you defile me.”
He rose to his feet. “Do you think you’re doing your wife’s duty, Esiren? Do you think this is how your husband would have wanted it? Bah! You are a stubborn fool, playing meaningless games of martyrdom. For ten years I’ve hunted you. A decade! I deserve you now!” He clenched his fist. “Be mine!”
“Not willingly. No.” Aeolia shook her head to strengthen her determination, which was wavering. Her heart pounded, and her knees trembled. She had never been so frightened. “You have stolen me from my husband, but you cannot steal his place. Take me by force if you dare. I bet you dare not.”
“And so you will live your last days like an animal! Guards!”
The door swung open and gray-uniformed guards bowed at the entrance.
Lale spoke with a voice strained and shaking with rage. “Take the girl, and bind her arms, and bind her legs, but leave her eyes free. I want her to see the ruin she has wrought upon this land. By the time we reach Grayrock, I want her ruined the same way.” He stared at Aeolia, his gray eyes searing. “This is your last chance. Be mine willingly, and I will save you from this torment.”
“I don’t fear pain,” Aeolia whispered. “It has ever been my ally.”
The guards grabbed her. Their nails dug into her skin. Their reeking breath assailed her through their yellow teeth.
She knew she had made the right choice.
* * * * *
They began the long journey to Grayrock.
Aeolia’s cage was chained to Lale’s carriage, dragging behind it over the ground. She was hogtied behind her back, and the bumpy ride jostled her against the bars. By the end of the first day, she had scarce a patch of unbruised skin. But she was too heartbroken to care. They were journeying through Esire’s scorched earth, the dismal lands she had created, ruined plains vast as solitude. Bare, blackened soil stretched endlessly, crawling with bands of bedraggled peasants awaiting starvation. She had done this, Aeolia knew. And she had done it in vain.
Lale fulfilled his promise in ruining her the same way. He stayed in his carriage, safe from her link, free to let her suffer. He emerged only rarely to feed her, tossing her petty crumbs to lick from the floor, or sometimes a dry bone. As her cage dragged along, Aeolia reached her bound hands out the bars, catching twigs and eating them, or a bug if she was lucky. She drank melted snow. Hunger was her constant companion, like a child of demons in her belly.
The cold was even worse. Lale gave her only an old, flea-ridden blanket, just thick enough to keep her alive and always shivering. Whenever she cried her tears froze, and icicles hung from her hair. She kept moving her fingers and toes, but she was unable to keep her ears from freezing. At least that was one part of her no longer hurting. Her bound limbs cramped and screamed behind her back, and the rope dug so deep she thought it might touch bone.
Sleep brought no relief. Dreams lurked in its haze, terribly wonderful dreams where she made love to Talin, or laughed with Ketya, and would always end up eating them both, tearing their flesh with her teeth, being warmed by their blood. These dreams were the worst of times, and she would always wake from them sobbing. She did not regret her choice, not for an instant. Better to live like this, hurting herself if it could deny Lale’s wish. Better to live in self-chosen pain than luxurious slavery. But, Aeolia slowly discovered as the days went by, the best was not to live at all.
She was praying for death one snowy morning, when Aeolia heard galloping horses. The sound was odd, for they had not encountered any living animal the whole past week, other than bugs and ravens. She looked up, blinking feebly in the winter sunlight, and could not believe her eyes.
Green knights were galloping downhill toward her, armor and swords glistening.
“For the Firefly Queen!” they cried, brandishing their swords.
Aeolia was sure it must be a dream, but still tears budded in her eyes. “Wil!” she cried. “Wil!”
Lale dashed out of his carriage, Bloodtalon in hand, and mounted his horse. He spread his riders out in a wall. As the Greenhill knights came thundering down, the Stonesons outstretched their arms, shooting stone splinters.
“Aeolia!” he cried, waving his sword, his horse crumbling beneath him. “Lia, I’m here!”
“Swarm!” Lale shouted, and the Stonesons galloped forth to engage the fallen Greenhills. There was a long, terrible battle. Steel rang and blood splashed onto white snow. Stonesons and Healers died. Aeolia watched in anguish as they cut one another down, until only two men were left standing.
Lale and Wilon.
Dead bodies surrounding them, the two men dueled, Lale snarling, Wilon grimly intent. Fearing, perhaps, Aeolia’s link, Lale retreated behind the carriage, and the battle moved out of view. Aeolia heard only ringing steel, grunts of anger and pain, and finally a blood-curdling scream, followed by a dull chop and then silence.
Aeolia lay shivering. Who had won?
A dripping ball came flying over the carriage. It crashed against the cage’s top bars, spattering blood. It was Wilon’s head.
Aeolia screamed, frantically bashed it away, gagged outside and slumped trembling into the corner.
“A taste of what’s to come, girl!” Lale cried as he climbed onto his carriage. “Soon your fate will be the same.”
Aeolia lay weeping, shutting her eyes tightly only to find the grisly scene dancing behind her lids.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed onto the cage floor. “Sorry, Wil, I’m sorry....”
Lale whipped his horses. Just the two of them, they began to move, the cage dragging over the bloody ground, bumping over dead bodies.
The journey continued.
* * * * *
The days went by, and they left Esire. Aeolia was now dragged over the hinterland of Stonemark, icy plains and frozen forests, rolling hills and craggy mountain passes. Lale did not head straight to the capital. For weeks he traveled in winding routes, passing through towns and villages, displaying the bedraggled queen. The peasants always came to toss rotten fruits and vegetables.
Lale stopped feeding her then. Eat the food they toss you, he said. Aeolia tried, but she always threw it up. If she licked it up again, still it would not stay down. Strange things began happening to her body. All her fat disappeared, and her skin clung to her skeleton like wet cloth. Her breasts melted, and her belly bulged. Her joints bent only halfway, and hair fell from her head. She could not see so well. She could hardly raise her head from the bumping floor.
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