by M. Woodruff
“Oh, I think you do,” Madam Irgot said, her dark eyes suddenly taking on a vicious cast. “I think you know exactly what it means when a person has an allegiance with a certain animal—a certain kinship, you might say. When that person owes that animal everything and then callously tries to escape from his own savior, by committing the act of murder. When all the poor animal wanted was that person’s happiness, as was its wont. Not a very nice thing to do, Nels. Not very nice at all. Some of us don’t take very kindly to the mistreatment of others, especially of our animal friends. Some of us might even be tempted to exact our own form of revenge for his transgression, and some of us are painfully skilled in certain creative arts. You’d be wise to remember that, doll.”
Nels fought down panic as he felt a sharp pain lance through his earlobe. Bunny let her hand drop, holding out a blood-tipped thumbnail. “Oh dear! I do play too hard at times. Forgive me. What would I do if I accidently harmed one of Grayson’s guests? Oh, it would be shame on my head. Here, let me see your ear, dearie.” Bunny tsked, as she wiped Nels’ ear with a lacy handkerchief. “Oh, my, my, it’s better already. See? No more blood,” she said as she held out the clean cloth. “You do heal quickly. It won’t even leave a mark. Now, that’s a good boy.” She smiled, folding the kerchief back into her cleavage. “Let’s get something to drink, shall we?”
The old lady abruptly stood up, holding her arm out for Nels to escort her to find a servant wandering about with a full beverage tray. It took a moment to find his feet—his blood had frozen in his veins. He had expected the Darkness to be more subtle than an old harpy with long fingernails. Why had she revealed herself so threateningly and obviously? Now that she had revealed her knowledge, he could never ingratiate himself with her, unless maybe he repented. But, that would be ludicrous—begging forgiveness from an old hag. He wouldn’t do it. No, he would have to find better prey, unless Grayson had any further ideas on the matter once he told her about Madam Irgot.
The young serving man they found carried flutes of pink champagne on a crystal tray. After handing a glass to Bunny, Nels offered her a toast, “To many happy returns.”
“Many are happy, many are not, but only one is important,” Bunny replied, taking a sip then dropping her glass to the floor. “Oh dear! How clumsy of me.” She squatted down just as adroitly as Nels, age and skirt notwithstanding, grabbed a shard of broken glass and thrust it into the back of Nels’ hand. “Your blood calls you, Nels. Go home.” With that, she stood up beckoned to an unoccupied servant, pointing at the spill, and left, heading straight for Madam Arafael.
Nels glanced down at his bloodied hand and saw that his normally pale skin was now rich ebony in color. The blood was fountaining out of a wound that looked like it opened up into the very heart of the Black Mountain itself. The glass shard took on the appearance of a flame straight from the mountain’s forge, burning and searing the glass into his hand.
Nels stifled a strangled gasp of pain just as a young serving man appeared. “Here, let me take care of that, sir. No need to dirty your hands—you might even cut yourself,” the frilly servant said, as he bent down and began gathering up the shards in a white cloth.
About to announce that is was too late to worry about cutting himself, Nels looked down to see his hand was completely normal in appearance. It was no longer black and jutting blood and flames, even the glass shard was gone that had punctured his skin. It was as if it had never happened—no pain, no telltale scaring. Standing, Nels decided it was time to go. Sulla or no Sulla, he would walk.
The Master of Jewels was still schmoozing with the orange-haired lady on a small settee. Both were laughing gaily, and Nels noticed Sulla’s red lipstick was smeared. “Excuse me, Sulla…Madam,” Nels said as he inclined his head to the lady, “I’m afraid I really must be going. I…ah…have some pressing business to attend to.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. You don’t have to leave too, do you?” the orange-haired lady asked Sulla with a pout, putting her hand on his bony knee.
Sulla gave Nels a withering glare. “No, I do not.” He turned to give the lady a sickly sweet smile. “Of course I couldn’t leave you, my dearest.” Turning back to Nels, he said, “If you must leave…on pressing business…you must. But, I will retain the carriage. You can find your own way back to the palace.”
“Oh dear, that will never do. Please, Mister Hunter, you may have the use of my carriage. I certainly won’t be needing it any time soon.” The orange-haired lady snuggled in closer to Sulla.
“Thank you…uh—Madam—“
“Boivine,” the lady replied with a wink. “Just tell Fae on your way out. The footman will take of the rest.”
“Yes, I will, uh…thank you again, Madam Boivine.” Nels gave a curt nod to the old man. “Sulla.”
“Nels.”
Turning away from the duo to search for Madam Arafael, he heard the two break into peals of laughter that sounded like daggers piercing his back.
“Leaving so soon?” Fae crooned from out of nowhere, pressing her bulk against his side.
“Yes, I’m afraid I have important business to attend to.”
“For Grayson, no doubt,” the madam said with a nod. “Well, it has been a pleasure to meet you and I do hope we will have a chance to do so again. If the Jouel doesn’t keep you too busy, that is.” She dropped her fan and gave Nels a knowing leer.
Nels bolted to the front door without any further leave-taking or even mentioning Madam Boivine’s carriage. As he made his escape, he heard what sounded like a raucous roar of female laughter chasing him every step of the way.
Out on the quiet street, he took a deep breath of fresh air, washing away the cloying scent of rotting flowers he hadn’t even realized he’d been immersed in. He took off walking in the direction they had originally arrived from, deciding to forgo any offer of carriages. He could see the palace from the end of the street, so he had no fear of getting lost, but still, it did seem to be a long way to go. He wondered how long it would take to walk. And then a thought occurred to him—he could travel. Grayson had said as much. The whole of Silver Persia was open to traveling, so he wouldn’t need to find a Portal. Could he just imagine himself back in his room at the palace and arrive there? He didn’t even know how to begin to try.
He kept walking deciding he had plenty of time to think about it and, who knows, maybe by the time he got there he would have figured it out. Feeling invigorated by the fresh air, Nels added a spring to his step when he was sure no one was watching. The streets were basically deserted and he felt as if he had the silver mountains to himself. He even started humming one of his favorite tunes from a bard’s tale about several men riding on horses across open plains.
Soon he came to the open-air roads, basically long bridges with no under-supports. Refusing to imagine how such heavy stone could stay suspended in the air—he had ridden on flying carpets and stayed in Javin’s floating estate with no trouble, after all—he kept right on with his stroll in the center of the road, the amethyst palace shimmering in the distance. Arriving at what only could be considered a resting park—a few stone benches, potted trees and flowers, and even a small fountain set alongside the roadway, he decided to sit and enjoy the peace of the day, thankfully away from cackling wrinkles.
Studying the water as it cascaded over the white stone basin into a pool of multi-colored gemstones that seemed to distort under the combination of water and the glittering sunlight, Nels began to feel off. In that short moment, it was as if the whole world had disappeared—noises became muted, time and place flew from his remembrance, the light of the day somehow changed—it was as if he was now somewhere else, like seeing a different scene from a play, but no physical transformation had actually taken place.
As he concentrated harder, staring deeper into the water, trying to capture the experience as it released waves of surreal pleasure coursing from within his very being, he found he was suddenly staring into dancing yellow-orange flames. He jerked upri
ght to find he was sitting on a black leather chair in his room in the palace, only a small fire was burning on the grate, dimly reflecting the emerald leaves.
He had done it. He had traveled. For the first time, by himself, and he had no real clue as to how he had done so.
“I think it works like that on purpose,” Grayson spoke suddenly from the other chair.
“What?” Nels asked, struggling to breathe as his chest tightened and his lungs constricted as much from startlement at hearing Grayson speak as finding himself here in this room.
“The Tiph’arah. It is like trying to catch water from open fingers. You may be able to save a few drops as your fingers moisten, but you will never control or contain the flow. It is the nature of the Gift. The Tiph’arah gives us the bounty of the flow, but never the Source, itself. That is for the Originator alone. It would be too powerful for any one person to hold. Even these small trickles we are given must be let loose slowly, only as we are ready, otherwise, great harm could occur.”
“But, if that is the case. If the Power is controlled by the Tiph’arah then how could there even be such a thing as the Katak’amai? Wouldn’t the Tiph’arah just dam up the flow to protect itself?” Nels asked feeling more disoriented than ever.
“Ah, you mean take back the Gift from all of us just because of a few?” Grayson shook her head. “That is not the purpose of the Tiph’arah—it is to create and grow, to bring prosperity and goodness, to unlock the mysteries of the worlds, and open up our minds to our own creativity. Plus, I do not believe the Light needs protection from the Darkness. The Katak’amai is the Power full of fear. It must fight for its very existence.”
Nels settled back in his chair. The muddled feeling was slowing leaving, being replaced by a feeling of exhilaration. He had actually done it—he had used this Gift of the Tiph’arah to travel, and now as the reality of it set in, Grayson’s words took on more meaning. This wasn’t just some bard’s made-up tale, it was real, and he—a fifty-year-old man from the woods, for flame’s sake—was part of it.
Time to get down to business then. “I met…Sulla—“
The Jouel snorted—“Oh, he was Sulla today, was he?”—she laughed—“I should have expected as much, going to visit the ladies at Madam Arafael’s. He likes to put on quite a show for them. Now, I believe Madam Boivine is his current friend, hence the orange wig to match hers.”
“How can you trust that guy?” Nels asked. “To make him Master of Jewels to oversee your entire joueldom, doesn’t seem—“ he hesitated wondering if he was going to far “—wise.”
“Pshaw!” Grayson exclaimed as she waved a hand. “Silver Persia runs itself. It really doesn’t even need me for day-to-day doings. And I would never ask Jasper DuBlec for any advice that I would really need. It makes him feel important to have a job with such a big title. It is the least I can do for my brother, after all.”
“Your brother?!” Nels replied, horrified. How could that creepy old man be related to her? He knew she was older than she looked…but still.
“My brother,” Grayson acknowledged with a sigh. “My only living relative. He didn’t Awaken until he was much, much older than I,” she said with a fond smile. “But even as he is, I am glad he did. My husband and daughter never did. I lost them many years ago, too many to even remember the count, but I still miss them, though I can hardly picture their faces.” Her smile took on a wan cast as if she searched in her mind for that which could never be found again. “So yes, I am happy to have my brother here with me, no matter what form or name he may decide to take on any given day.”
“I’m sorry. I can see why he’s so very important to you…I didn’t mean to make light of your wisdom or—“
Grayson laughed. “I would think less of you if you didn’t question my judgment regarding Jasper, but now that you know, I think that clears that matter up. Now tell me about your visit with Lam and Madam Arafael, or I imagine she told you to call her Fae.”
“Lam seemed a nice enough fellow, even though he is a meat-eater. You do know I eat meat as well, so I don’t understand why you sent me to him. You certainly can’t hold anything against the man or think he’s part of the Katak’amai just because he eats what he does.”
Grayson’s eyes took on the sparkle of amusement. “There was a two-fold reason for me sending you to meet Lam. One, because I knew you liked meat and Lam’s is the only place to get it in Silver Persia. I don’t serve it in the palace and I would refuse to conjure any up for you. So, if while you’re here you develop an overwhelming desire for animal flesh you know where to get it.
“Two, I am a bit concerned about the way Lam used the Power to manifest his dogs. Turning rats into dogs doesn’t sit right with me—it doesn’t fit with what I know of the Tiph’arah. What has happened to the essence of the rats? Have they been destroyed? Or twisted into what they are not? I find the idea troubling on many levels, but I have no answers. It is something I wanted you to be aware of and keep in mind as a possible sign of the Katak’amai. I do not believe Lam feels he has done anything wrong, but that is not an indication of innocence. He may very well have good intentions, but those intentions could be subtly influenced by the Darkness.”
“I see what you mean,” Nels said slowly. But then again, it seemed an improvement to him. Wouldn’t rats rather be dogs?
“I had also wanted you to meet the Lightflies, but seeing as how you’ve already met two of them, it is of no consequence. However, Jasper would’ve enjoyed showing off—he designs Lightfly dresses and leathers, in addition to his men’s hosen collection.”
“Jasper works with leather?” Nels asked sardonically.
“He creates it with the Gift, Nels. He doesn’t slaughter and eat the leather dripping with blood,” Grayson responded, just as sardonically.
“Okay, okay. I was just asking. I enjoy my bloody leathers just as much as the next guy,” Nels said, wondering just where this created leather actually came from. Maybe the Tiph’arah could create the product without the destruction of an animal. That seemed in line with what he was learning about its character. “You don’t think some of the Fliers could be in league with the Darkness, do you?”
“No, because they spring straight from the Source, I don’t see how they could be. But, there is much I still don’t know. No, my main target for you today was Madam Arafael and her friends. What did you think of those sweet little old ladies? I’m sure they welcomed you with open arms,” she said with a snicker.
“That Madam Irgot, or Bunny, as she likes to be called, stabbed my ear with her thumbnail and stabbed the back of my hand with a piece of broken glass, if you want to know how they welcomed me,” Nels supplied petulantly. “She also made reference to the embroidered serpent, as if she knew all about it, and was now set on taking revenge—creative revenge, as she put it. Those are no sweet old ladies—they’re a bunch of lecherous old vipers if you ask me. I got out of there as quickly as I could before Madam Arafael had a chance to eat me alive. And I certainly wasn’t taking a chance of riding in Madam Boivine’s carriage, she probably had daggers positioned just so in the seat cushions. Oh, no, there’s no telling what those old ladies might do, Grayson. I’m surprised you let your brother go over there,” Nels finished with a harrumph.
“Oh Nels, really,” Grayson said, eyes twinkling. “You’re exaggerating. I admit they might be a little…overzealous…for their ages, but to cause you bodily harm. It was mostly for a jest that I sent you with Jasper, but if what you said about Madam Irgot is true…if she knows about the embroidered serpent…and tried to harm you because of it…” Grayson tapped her lips thoughtfully. “That could be problematic or at least an indication of what we should be looking for. But to be so open about it. You don’t think all the ladies are involved, do you? Or, are you even sure Madam Irgot knew what she was doing? She is very aged, after all. Maybe the Darkness was talking through her.”
Nels thought back to the High Priest in Sandrid who had conveyed the same messa
ge—to go home—completely unawares. In this case, though, he thought Bunny knew exactly what she was about. “All right, I concede that maybe all the ladies aren’t involved, but I do believe Madam Irgot knew exactly what she was saying and doing. Her eyes were too direct in their intent for me to believe otherwise. And I agree, I was expecting more subtlety from this Katak’amai.”
“Well, it’s certainly not being subtle with you Nels, and I think I know why. It is trying to get its point across to you—it wants you to go home. Of course, that works in our favor if everyone who is part of the Darkness tells you to go home, we at least know who its followers are. But, we still won’t be any closer to finding out its overall plans for Silver Persia. Unless…you were to go back to the Black Mountain,” Grayson said slowly. “If you went back the Katak’amai may reveal to you exactly what its plans are or close enough, to recruit you to its cause. Then we would have the inside information we need.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Nels sputtered. “If it told me what evil intentions it had in mind for you and Silver Persia then it would know I would never join its cause. No, the Darkness wouldn’t be that stupid, and neither would I; to go back and even listen to anything it might possibly have to say would be the height of folly. Whatever it did try to tell me, I am sure it would be nothing but lies, anyway. No, Grayson, that’s a terrible idea. I’m not going back home and that’s final!” Nels gave her a hard stare—partly to emphasize his point and partly out of fear he had spoken too harshly.
The Jouel looked less taken aback than Nels had expected, in fact, she had a look of approval in the stony-faced nod she gave.
“Very well, then. I have another proposal to make. One last world you need to visit that will reveal much about the forces working behind the scenes and how each of us affects the balance of power between the two. While the Light can never be destroyed, I do believe it can be dimmed almost to the point of extinction by the very souls gifted with its power. The complete threat has never been by the Katak’amai itself—all it has to give is the desire for destruction and if that is never acted on, it will all come to naught. But, that desire is a powerful thing—full of lures of false promises to turn people’s heads and when that won’t work people can be driven by fear of dread consequences. When an Awakened soul decides to turn that very gift against its source—that is where the real threat lies. Not to the Tiph’arah, but to every person in every world, whether they are Awakened or not.