by Sarah Dalton
“I am Avery, little one.”
“What do you want with me?”
“I want you to live, of course. You seem to be giving up, and I can’t have that at all.”
“Why is the Nix trying to kill me?”
“Why, I don’t believe it is, dear one. But its intentions are not pure at all, and I am very sorry for everything it is putting you through.” She glances at my wound and raises an eyebrow. “Such a cruel way to try and obtain what it wants from you.” The corner of her mouth lifts in amusement. She raises her hand from my forehead.
“I need to help Cas,” I whisper. “And I must find Anta.”
“Yes, you will need to be alive to help your prince.” She hesitates and a small frown plays on her lips. “I am sorry for what you will endure. It is almost too much for a little one like you. Never stray from your path and remain as strong as the oldest tree in the Waerg Woods. There will come a time in the future when you have a difficult decision to make, dear Mae. You must go with your heart when it comes. Always trust your heart, and always trust the magic within you.”
She stands straight and tall and backs away. As she leaves, a thread of heat works its way through my fingers. I can feel the knitting of my chest as my wounds begin to heal.
She steps back, singing softly as she goes:
Over yellow sands,
Our girl will weep,
Great river run,
Calm the drought.
Under yellow sands,
Our girl will cry,
Streams flow free,
An ache subsides,
Win for us,
Our girl will try.
Strong of heart,
Of will, of mind.
We wait, we wait.
We’re free, we’re free!
But never she.
Never she.
“Mae? Mae?”
As I begin to wake, I am vaguely aware of Sasha leaning over me. She seems so real that I almost ask her to help me up.
“I have work to do,” I say, attempting to sit and experiencing another searing bout of pain explode in my chest.
“Oh no you don’t,” she says. You need to sleep. I wish I could help tend to your injuries but I can’t touch you.” She lowers her voice. “Mae, I was frightened for you.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “Avery helped me.”
“Avery? Who?” Sasha replies. “Never mind. The Nix is not here. You must sleep and help the wound heal. Keep using your craft, Mae. Let it heal you.”
Now I know why the craft-born needs the Borgans. Without Sasha I would be drifting and alone. I would be frightened and weak, like a small child. Her presence gives me strength.
Back in Halts-Walden, I had always thought that I didn’t like the company of others. Perhaps I told myself that to make myself feel better when the other villagers kept their distance. It simply isn’t true. In fact, it is the opposite. I think I have always been afraid to be alone. That is why Father’s death left such a large hole in my life and why Casimir’s presence brought me such comfort.
The problem is—I am not used to being around anyone except Father. I don’t know how to be someone’s friend. I didn’t think I even knew how to love anyone except him. At least, not at first.
Love.
The word sits heavy on my heart. Did I ever tell Father how much I love him? Did he die without knowing?
It wasn’t Cas’s vision version of me who told him she loved him, it was me. It came from me, and there was part of me that wasn’t even sure if I did. After those long weeks in the Waerg Woods, the nights around the fire, and the ways in which we rescued each other. It has been a slow progression that has built with intensity.
How long has he been sleeping in the basement of the palace? How long have we been apart?
Those moments in his vision have left another hole, one which burns away like an ember that refuses to die. If there is even one iota of truth in Cas’s vision…
Oh, the Nix is clever. It uses every trick it can to play with my mind. How long will it be before it uses the death of my Father, too? I clench my fists as I lay on the stone floor, waiting for my wounds to heal. I drift in and out of consciousness, listening to Sasha’s melodic hums.
I want sleep, now. I want a dreamless sleep where I am alone. There I can mend.
I’m not sure how many more cruel tricks I can stand from the Nix. I don’t know who to believe, or what is real. How can I be hurt in some visions and not in others? It must be when I am me. When I am in someone else, or when I am a bystander, I come away unscathed. It is the Nix’s way of punishing me for trying to take control.
Perhaps that means I am close to defeating it. If the Nix needs to weaken me in every vision, it means that I am doing something that must be quelled. Avery mentioned the hardships I endure. What if this is all a test?
I try to sort through what I have discovered from the visions so far.
Beardsley is afraid of something he created for the king.
Trailing silk, I glide, spin patterns to catch you, suck you dry.
The spider. I shudder at the thought.
Ellen is afraid of her father, and of her love for a girl.
I am there in the faint of heart,
But rarely with the daring and bold.
Fear. The Nix repeated this riddle twice. It was warning me of the fears.
Both Cas and the queen are afraid of Lyndon.
I am in you.
Evil. Evil is in all of us, but there is more in Lyndon than anyone else I have met. Even the king.
Cas is afraid… for me? Or that he loves me? I can’t work out Cas’s fears. Some of the visions show his perspective of my own memories. No, not my memories, the memories that the Nix has chosen to show me. They could be twisted memories for all I know, teasing me of what might have been but what could never happen because Cas will never love me. He isn’t here to ask.
Whatever you see, he will never love you. It will not be because of the craft-born imposter, it will be because you lied to him.
You will break your heart in two.
I’m always wrong and so are you.
My emotions are too tangled with this vision. I cannot think clearly. For the time being I must disregard my last vision with Cas and concentrate on the facts.
Other things I have learned:
The king has a journal with the combinations of many of the locks in the castle.
There is some sort of code in the tunnels. En Crypt Saran. I don’t believe it to be a crypt at all.
The king is in debt to the Haedalands.
The king has paid for weapons to be forged.
The payment to blacksmiths and the debts in the Haedalands could at least mean unrest. There’s a chance that the king is stockpiling weapons as a precaution. But why put the realm in yet more debt for the sake of extra weaponry? When I read Father’s books on the old wars, they almost always began when one region wanted something from the other. They usually made up excuses, like the execution of a family member, or the dissolution of a marriage, but really one king wanted to steal from another king. I saw a lot of greed in those books, and I already know the king is greedy.
But as I consider the king’s motives, there is an itchy feeling inside that tells me there is more to all this. Why would the Nix care about a war? Even though part of me has begun to believe that this is all a sadistic ruse to torture and kill me, I know deep down that it doesn’t make sense to go to such efforts. There has to be more to it.
Allerton was right. The key to all this is learning to use my powers. If I can channel the craft, I can not only fight the Nix, but grow strong enough to control the visions. If I can control them, I can figure out what it is the Nix wants. There is too much manipulation within these visions. I have to take some of the control.
Sasha’s humming soothes my mind as I relax. I can do nothing while I am injured. It’s time to let the craft mend me, and as I meditate on my powers, I feel them blossom inside. It’s like the ope
ning of a flower in spring. I’m reminded of the sunflowers that grow in Halts-Walden. Even though our cabin overlooked the dark woods, the sunflowers grew strong and tall. Many of the wives in the village were jealous of our garden. Little did they know that it has always been my connection with nature that has allowed them to flourish.
I must concentrate on the knitting of my flesh. I take deep breaths and imagine myself to be tiny enough to hide in droplets of my blood. The thought of blood and torn flesh is hideous, and yet it gives me some comfort to think of these things as they multiply and mend. I become whole again.
“Mae, how are you doing?”
“How long have I been sleeping?” I ask.
“A few hours… actually, that’s a lie. Almost a day.”
I bolt upright and feel a twinge in my chest. “A day? Why didn’t you wake me?”
I check on my wounds with Sasha’s supervision. They are healing well. Together we move through the castle back to the kitchen where I can eat and regain strength. I have no fear of the Nix now. It did not kill me when it had the chance. Instead, it left me to heal. I do not believe that the Nix wants me dead. I am a tool in its game, essential for as long as it needs me.
“This soul-rip is odd,” Sasha says. “I can’t touch, or feel. It’s like I’m not human anymore.”
“A ghost,” I reply, my mouth filled with apple.
“Don’t say that,” she says. There’s a warning in her eyes, a glassiness. “It’s not right.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean… it doesn’t mean you’re dead.”
“I know. It’s just frightening to know my body is out there. It feels vulnerable somehow, like I’m unable to protect it. And I’m hardly able to protect you, too. I can’t help tend to your wounds, or fight the Nix. I can’t do anything.”
“Yes you can. You can use your mind. Your presence helps me,” I say. “I’ve missed you.”
Sasha feigns shock. “A kind word from Mae Waylander? Is the sky now green and the grass blue?”
I can’t help it, I laugh, but then I think of all that has happened and the laugh fizzles out. “There’s been so much going on since I got to the Red Palace. First I had to work with Ellen to trick the king. Then I decided to leave Ellen and Cas. Then I’ve been sent into these visions where the worst fears of some of the court members come alive. I’ve seen… terrible things. It’s all happened in a blur. I can’t… I can’t slow it down. I…”
Sasha bows her head. “I’m sorry, Mae.”
I take another bite of my apple and try to push it all aside. “It’s fine. I can deal with it.”
“Why did you send Allerton away?” Sasha asks.
I shrug my shoulders and stare down at my apple, almost chewed to the core. “I believe that Allerton wanted to protect me. I think I was beginning to trust him, and I know his knowledge was helping me. He has a lot of wisdom.” I shake my head and let out a sigh. “But he isn’t a good man, I don’t think.”
Sasha regards me with a blank expression. She blinks twice and maintains her gaze. It’s non-judgemental and somehow puts me at ease.
“I haven’t fully forgiven him but I am working on it. That wasn’t the reason, though. When we met him in the Borgans tent, he never showed a good side to him. He was always giggling and laughing at things that weren’t funny. He had Ellen trapped in a cage and regarded her with disdain. He isn’t a good person, Sasha, I can feel it. You are a good person. You’re the one I want protecting me. Not him.”
Sasha leans towards me. “I wish I could hold your hands and pledge my allegiance—”
“No,” I say. “I’m not royal. I’m not a queen. I don’t want you to pledge yourself to me. You’re my friend. That’s all I ever want from you.” Inexplicable tears fill my eyes. I’m unsure as to whether they are tears of joy or tears of pain. Perhaps both; joy that Sasha and I are together, and pain that neither Cas, Father, or Anta are here.
Sasha swallows thickly and turns away. “I will be the best friend you’ve ever had. You can count on that.” Then she turns to me with a wicked grin. “And I forgive you for choking me.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “I’m sorry for that. I was full of anger after my father died.”
“And you’re not now?”
“It seems pointless. It created a barrier between me and my feelings. I don’t want to let that happen again.”
“A barrier between yourself and your feelings is a barrier between yourself and happiness,” Sasha says.
I’d never thought about it like that before, but of course she is right. How could I ever let someone love me, or even be happy, if I couldn’t feel it for myself?
After a long pause, Sasha clears her throat. “I am here to help you. So far I know you are stuck in the Red Palace and that you have been hurt by the Nix. You mentioned that you have been in the worst fears of other people. That is something I have never heard of before. We need to work out how to stop all this. Tell me everything you know.”
I don’t hold back on any detail and Sasha sits patiently as I recall the last couple of days. It has all been such a blur that I find myself going back and adding in details as I remember them.
“So you have the king’s personal journal?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say. “It has all the lock combinations—”
“And what about his private thoughts? Have you read them? Have you read the journal at all?”
I pull the small book from my pocket. I haven’t read any of it. “I’ve been too busy with the Nix.”
“Well read it, Mae. Everything seems to go back to the king when you think about it,” she says. “The queen has a secret passageway to get away from him. The designer of the castle is afraid of him. His youngest son wants to be him. There’s some sort of secret laboratory somewhere. He owes money to rich people in the Haedalands, and he has already commissioned weapons for some sort of war. You need to read that book if you’re to outwit whatever the Nix wants.”
I crack the well-worn spine and open the book to the first page.
I am in despair.
Chapter Twelve – The King’s Journal
I am in despair. I need Beardsley to end this. If what they tell me is true, there is nothing else I can do about it. The end will come and I will be powerless.
I am the King, born to a bloodline chosen by the Gods. I will not accept my fate. I will not sit idly by and let this happen to me. I have not worked at keeping my crown against the usurpers who wish to take it away from me only to have it prised from my cold fingers in such a humiliating fashion. This turn of events is unacceptable to me.
Beardsley tells me that there is a solution, but it is somewhat of a legend. I believe it exists, and I believe it is in Aegunlund. I just don’t know where. I will make sure that Beardsley uses his damn brain to acquire it for me. There has to be a way. He says that it is tied to the magic of the realm. Why does everything have to come back to the damn craft-born? It adds insult to injury that it is always a useless girl given the power. The king should have the power.
Never mind, it will be of no concern in the end. I will uncover this secret even if I have to drain the craft-born of the last drop of blood in her body.
It will be mine, and with it I will become a God.
“What does all this mean?” I say out loud.
Sasha shakes her head. “It sounds like the king is afraid of losing the throne.”
“He wants to drain my blood in order to keep the crown?” I say with a shake of my head. “I don’t think so! The man is a maniac.”
We carry on reading, but the journals are the ramblings of either a drunk or a deranged man. Anyone who thinks they will become a God can’t be in his right mind. But then I think of Allerton’s stories about the Gods I had always thought created us, not the other way around, and wonder if more is possible than I had ever thought before.
“Do you think it could be the Nix? He could be afraid of the Nix?” I say.
“It’s possi
ble,” Sasha replies.
It’s black, all black. I see nothing, only the ever stretching dark. It lies before me, waiting, waiting.
And inside grows the evil. It is consuming me as I breathe.
Beardsley, that useless old lump. He has not come up with a way to find it without the magic, and there is not a craft-born to be found. I will make that magical bitch marry my son if it is the last thing I do.
No, no, not the last. Never the last.
Find it. He must find it.
I shake my head. “None of this makes sense. He could be looking for anything.” I slam the book closed. “It’s probably a diamond so he can pay off those he owes in the Haedalands. Or he’s looking for a way to finance his stupid war.” When I think of the king it makes my blood boil. It should be Cas on the throne, not this rambling mad man.
And inside grows the evil.
It sounds like an insane thing to say, and yet there is truth there too. He is evil through and through. It shows that he has some awareness at least; unless he is talking about something else, like his favourite son, Lyndon.
“There’s more to all this,” Sasha says. “The king isn’t just crazy. He wouldn’t be able to function if he was. He wouldn’t be able to rule. There are plenty of power hungry people who would gladly take the throne if they had the chance. He’s managed to maintain his position of power despite being verging on destitute. That takes cunning and manipulation and fear. Insanity is not as frightening as ruthlessness. Trust me, if he really is as crazy as that journal suggests, he wouldn’t still be king. ”
I think for a moment. The answer lies in all of this somewhere, and I know that I only need to put the pieces together, but everything is going off in different directions and I find the pressure of it all overwhelming.
“We need to go back to the tunnels,” I say. “There was some sort of code written on one of the stones and I think it might be useful. En Crypt Saran. Cas said he thought it was a crypt, a dead foe buried in the walls of the secret passageway, but I think that’s hogwash. I think it is a clue. I had a feeling in my stomach that it was important.”