by Susan Faw
Alcina’s greedy gaze returned to the doll, and the ghost of a smile passed her lips as she considered his words and their implication.
“Go on,” she said slowly. “I am listening. Why is this doll dressed in royal colours?”
“That is because, Your Highness, that doll is bound to the current king of Cathair. That doll will control the soul of one Cayden Tiernan, once activated. He is someone who has been a thorn in your foot, if the rumours are correct.”
Alcina turned the doll over once again, examining it closely.
“How does it work? And why would you offer it to me so freely? What is your price?”
Hototo’s lips peeled back into a toothless smile. “Our price is this. You will help us wipe out the Spirit Clans and their leader Marea, the High Priestess. You will help us establish rulership over those who survive, so that the true faith, the faith of the flesh, is no longer suppressed. Do this, and you can have the doll and your kingdom back. Do this and you will have a true ally to the north. Do this and you will never be challenged again.” Hototo stared off into the corner of the tent, for a moment absorbed in some vision that only he could see. His face broke into a huge smile, his eyes shining with the fervour of blind devotion. “With the elimination of the Spirit Shield, we will rule supreme! Forever at one with our goddess, Artio. Refuse to do this and you will never learn the secrets of the doll. Without my help, the doll is but a doll.”
Alcina’s smiled a cold smile. “A tempting offer. Now show me how it works.”
Hototo reached into his bag a second time and this time withdrew a doll with no clothing. “Fetch me a scrap of cloth from the servant’s dress,” he commanded. The guards hesitated. With a twitch of Alcina’s hand, a legionnaire with a shaved head marched over to the cowering maid, snatching a fist full of skirt in one hand and drawing a sharp knife in the other. He sliced off a chunk of the rough-spun cloth of her skirt. The servant squeaked in response, cowering behind Alcina’s throne-like chair, then resumed her quivering.
The soldier handed the cloth to Hototo, who wrapped it around the doll like a skirt. Next, he dug into his satchel and removed a smooth stone that glowed with a summer sky blue and tucked it inside the chest of the doll so that it disappeared under the woven strands. “May I borrow your hairpin for a moment, Your Highness?”
Alcina reached back and pulled a long bone hairpin from the back of her hair and handed it to the priest. All heads swiveled to the maid, who was now wringing her hands, eyes darting frantically around the room, looking for a way to escape.
The priest began to chant in a singsong voice that slowly rose in pitch. The stone glowed and the maid’s arm blurred as an azure blue mist rose from her skin. The stone pulsed and the mist surrounding the girl throbbed as though the stone carried a heartbeat. She felt the pulsing mist and swiped at her arms, scrubbing at her skin. When this did nothing to halt the binding, she screamed and abruptly bolted for the doorway despite it being blocked by the big burly guards favoured by Alcina.
Before the maid reached the doorway, the priest stabbed the doll where the heart would be in a human. The maid shrieked and stumbled, clutching at her chest. The priest stabbed the doll again, and the maid collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony. He stabbed a third time. She cried out, her body spasming on the floor and then it stilled.
The closest guard bent over her and felt for a pulse and then straightened. “She still lives.”
Alcina was transfixed by the doll. The doll was no longer straw but had transformed into a perfect replica of the girl with eyes that glowed with an inner blue light. The priest handed the doll to Alcina.
“She is now yours to command. You carry her soul in your hands. Crush that doll, and she is instantly dead. You need but command, and she will do as you ask. She cannot refuse. Total control.”
Alcina’s gaze travelled between the transformed doll and the straw doll in her other hand. A cold, malicious smile froze on her face.
“And there is no release from this spell?”
“There is no release short of death. Only a Primordial priest will know how to undo the enchantment.”
Alcina’s smile widened. Her small pearly teeth glinted in the dim light cast by the lanterns.
“I will pay your price,” she hissed, as she tucked the two dolls inside pockets sewn into her skirts.
Chapter 16
Drawings in a Cave
CAYDEN BOLTED UPRIGHT IN BED, eyes wild, and stared around the room at the fading grey light of predawn. He shoved the sweaty covers off his body and swung his legs over the side of the bed, scratching at the itch on his chest caused by the clothing twisted around his torso. What was it that had awakened him? He cast a glance around his room examining his surroundings, but all was still and silent. He frowned and, standing up, strode for the door and wrenched it open.
There, sitting at his study table, sat Mordecai. He sipped his cup of tea. With a tiny clatter, he placed it back on the table and then turned a page in the tome. A toothpick twirled in his mouth, as he worked it side to side, engrossed in the words in front of him.
Cayden ran his hand through his silky hair and wandered over to Mordecai, feeling anxious and out of sorts, having just awoken. Something was bothering him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
At his approach, Mordecai looked up from his studies and smiled. “Ah, so the king rises from his slumber. Good morning, Your Majesty!” He chuckled as Cayden made a face. While it was the proper form of address, Cayden had spent the weeks after his coronation running about the castle trying to impress upon his subjects that they needn’t be bowing and scraping to him constantly and that his name was Cayden, pure and simple. Of course, none of the staff listened. If anything, his constant reminders of what not to do only spurred on the opposite.
So popular was the new king that several entrepreneurial peasants started creating trinkets to sell to the constant stream of pilgrims who now flowed into the castle to see the marvel at the return of the king. Of course, they wanted his royal patronage, and Cayden had spent some initial time blessing this amulet or adding his royal seal to that commemorative coin. The trade was so brisk that the tribunal of judges who had been set up after Alcina’s hasty departure, now also had to decide how to place a value on the items Cayden had put his royal seal on. Cayden no longer gave his seal of approval for items, as the furor created by this seemingly innocuous event was way out of proportion to the good he had intended.
Mordecai spun one of those coins between his thumb and forefinger as he watched Cayden’s sleepy progress across the floor.
Cayden dropped into the chair beside Mordecai, his eyes on the coins. “Were you able to find them all?”
Mordecai shook his head. “No. The judges did a good job at buying them back from the people, explaining that they would go into a museum for all to enjoy. But ten coins are still unaccounted for.”
Cayden grunted. “What are you studying? That looks like the book I was going through yesterday.”
“Yes, and a curious tome it is. When your mother died, I asked the tree sprites to gather all the books of magic and any books that referenced you or your sister in any way and hide them where no human could find them. They did an excellent job of it, did they not? I did not know that they had snatched this one from my private library, but it is just as well, as Alcina later stormed the place and burned it to the ground.”
Mordecai flipped to the next page and then paused. “See this?” He jabbed a skinny finger halfway down the left page. Cayden leaned in and saw it was the passage he had been reading yesterday when Ziona had awakened.
“Yes, I wished to talk to you about that passage, but then Ziona woke up and I fell asleep.” His voice trailed off as it suddenly hit him, what had awoken him. It was silence. The silence of a vacuum, only this vacuum was in his mind. He shot to his feet. “Ziona! Where is she?”
He spun on the spot, looking for her familiar form. He strode to the adjoining room where she sometim
es slept when they had late night sessions. He grabbed both handles and flung them open. The chamber was empty, the bed linens undisturbed.
“Mordecai, where is she?” he demanded as he returned to the table. “She has left, hasn’t she?”
“Yes, Cayden. Sit down.”
He sank slowly back into the chair and cast out with his mind. He sensed she was on the fringe, the link stretched thin. Avery was an even slimmer thread, but the threads were similar. Ziona was travelling in the same direction he sensed Avery to be. She was headed back to the lands of the Primordials.
“Why would she leave without me? I need her. I would have gone with her! I need to join Avery too!”
“She knows your duties are here, Cayden, and she did not want you to leave your people and your responsibilities as king. She felt she was interfering and that a clean break was for the best.”
“That is ridiculous and you know it, Mordecai!” he hollered. “I have fulfilled my duties here. The Well of Souls is safe and secure. You heard the spirit of my mother. I have to go to Avery. She needs me!”
“Yes, she does, but not yet. Not now.” Mordecai pushed the book to the side as a knock sounded at the door and a Kingsman leaned into the room, holding the door open for the maid who had delivered Cayden’s tray the previous day. She backed into the room with a fresh tray of steaming food.
“I have your breakfast, Majesty!” She curtsied, and Mordecai gestured for her to approach. Cayden ignored her. She placed the tray in front of him, removed the covers and curtsied, then left the room. The Kingsmen pulling the doors closed behind her.
Mordecai’s stomach grumbled, but Cayden felt nauseous the same as the evening before. He grimaced and picked up the tea, thirsty more than anything.
“You must eat, Cayden. Here, try some of this porridge with the raisins and apples.” He pushed the bowl in front of Cayden and added a heavy dollop of cream and a scoop of honey to the top. He filched the crusty roll decorating the edge of the plate and slathered some butter on it then sat back, happily munching his way through the crumbling bread.
Cayden picked up his spoon and shoveled porridge into his protesting mouth. He forced himself to swallow four mouthfuls before pushing the tray away, feeling decidedly green.
Mordecai frowned at him. “The headaches are back? And the nausea?”
“It never really left,” answered Cayden.
“Maybe we should have a healer look at you.” Mordecai placed his hand against Cayden’s forehead.
“Ziona is my healer, and you sent her away.”
“I didn’t send her away. You will be joining her soon, just not right now. Your place is here, Cayden. There are things we must discuss and plans that must be made. She knows this and understands it. You are the king. Your duties lie here, whether you like it or not. Now come. It is time we added to your education.” Mordecai pulled a heavy book entitled A Comparative Study of the Gods and Goddesses of the Pre-Daimon Epoch back across the table and began to read aloud.
“Helga, the youngest of the godlings, was perhaps (at least historically) the godling who was most in touch with the mortal world. Ancient cave drawings discovered in the Highland Spine and predating the Battle of Daimon Ford clearly depict the goddess Helga attending funerals of the mortals and assisting the grieving with the passage of the souls of the dead into her brother’s care. The drawings illustrate a side to Helga that is rarely reflected in the annals of the gods. This illustration, which has been dated to the earliest epoch, displays Helga in her funeral finery carrying the body of a dying child into the blue mists of the Thunder Falls, one of the most sacred of places of the current day Primordial races. Indeed, to be carried into the falls is seen to be a direct conduit of the soul to the spiritual realm.”
Cayden sighed, sliding a hand over his sweating face. He loosened four buttons on his fine red tunic. “Yes, I read that already. So, my godling sibling, Helga, is my nemesis. I figured that out yesterday. It’s frustrating that I cannot remember more of my own history. Do you know why I cannot unlock it if I put my own soul into this body? Why is it that I have forgotten everything?”
Mordecai sat back and studied Cayden. Dark half circles formed crescent moons under his lashes, a sign of his exhaustion.
“I think it had to do with my magical interference, or assistance, if you will. When we had to take such desperate measures to save the pair of you, somehow the memory link with your soul was disturbed. Ordinarily, when a soul is delivered to a newborn babe, the memories associated with that prior life cease, as the person they were before no longer exists. As you saw, the memories of that prior life can linger on while they are part of the spirit pool, but it does not carry forward to the new host.
“But you and Avery are unique. Neither of you died to give up your souls, at least not in the traditional sense. I believe that the disruption is temporary, but I do not know how to restore your memories. What you proposed originally, through Aossi, had never been done before. It is magic of the gods. Something I am not.
“You will find your answers, Cayden. I am sure of it. If not you, then Avery will, but I think the knowledge is within the pair of you. You just have to unlock it.”
Cayden abruptly stood up and began pacing. “Well, I am not going to sit here and wait for it to pop in my head. I will go mad, Mordecai! I cannot shut down the tug at my soul. I need to go to Avery. I will not delay much longer. The counsel is set up, the courts are working, the people are safe and happy, and the knights Ryder has recruited now guard the Well of Souls. My Kingsmen have swelled in number as the guard of old, and now their adult children have returned to service. There is no need for me to stay here.” He paused by Mordecai’s chair and stared him in the eye. “I must go.”
It was Mordecai’s turn to sigh.
“All right. We will go. I can see you are not to be dissuaded from it, but first, let’s bring in your captains and plan this venture, rather than bolting out the door on whim and adrenaline. Call them in, and let’s find out the lay of the land and what the scouts have to report.”
Cayden smiled for the first time that morning. “Now you are talking!” He sprang to his feet and strode to the door, wrenching it open. The two Kingsmen on duty saluted. “Find me Denzik, Fabian, and Nelson. Ask them to report to me in the Shield Room in one hour.” One guard peeled away from his post and tapped the shoulder of a companion as he passed him in the hall. The second Kingsman took up his spot at Cayden’s door.
Cayden closed the door and pulled on a cord dangling from the ceiling. A bell chimed and a maid slipped into the room and curtsied. “Bring me water to bathe, please.” She curtsied again and hurried back into the hallway and off down the corridor. Mordecai had not moved.
“Well? What are you waiting for?” Cayden strode off into his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.
Mordecai frowned, muttering words under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “stubborn” and “pig-headed” and then ran his finger down the page of the book to where he had left off and continued to read. “Other drawings, discovered deeper within this same cave, depicted a darker, less benevolent goddess. In these drawings of the same age as the first set, Helga is depicted as standing over the bodies of a man and a woman. The symbols painted on the foreheads of these people suggest that they are flesh representations of the goddess Alfreda and her brother Caerwyn. They are depicted as mortals and a blue mist surrounds their bodies. Both historians and scholars agree, that the imagery suggests that Helga is harvesting the souls of the twins, her immortal sister and brother. Why they are depicted in a mortal form is a fine point of debate yet to be resolved.” Mordecai sighed a greater sigh than Cayden’s and closed the book, pondering the meaning of the words.
Chapter 17
Remember
AVERY PACED THE NARROW CONFINES of her cell with her arms crossed over her chest, boots scraping across the cold stone surface. A weak light spilled in from the street from a window set high in the cave wall. She knew
her father was next door, but she was unable wake him no matter how much she called out to him.
The guards had attempted to remove her jewellery and clothing before depositing her in the cell, but it was as though there was a forged link between her and the garb. It refused to come off regardless of how much they tugged. At first, they thought she had resisted, but after a few good slaps and pinning her to the ground with a knee in her back and lots of tugging that arched her back to painful levels, they saw the light. She could not resist, and they quickly discovered that the clothing was fused to her physically and would not come off. The same held true with the jewellery and the lone weapon that she carried. In fact, when they tried to remove it, the blade cut them despite their precautions. It was almost as if the blade had a mind of its own, fighting back against capture. Avery shivered and gingerly touched the knife, which grew hot in her hand now and seemed to hum. She sensed it was happy. She felt a welcoming warmth from the blade. It almost seems alive.
The end result of this unfortunate discovery was that triple the normal guard was placed around her cell, but she was grudgingly allowed to keep all of her acquisitions in the cell with her. What else could they do short of killing her to take it?
Marea will be thrilled to hear about this! She is probably planning my execution by morning.
Avery grew tired of her pacing and sank down on the stone bench that doubled as a bed and shivered from the dampness of the cave. Discouragement washed over her in a wave. Some welcome this is. I did not ask to come here. Why is the magic of the temple working in this fashion? What is so important about these things?
Curious, she shrugged out of the coat. It slid easily from her arms, and there was none of the prickling and pulling and biting of the cloak that had accompanied the tussle of a few minutes ago. Interesting. It seems to know to whom it belongs. Now how to figure out why it’s decided it’s me. She stood up and rummaged through the pockets, seeing if there was anything in them she had not noticed before. The pockets on the outside were extraordinarily deep but yielded nothing. She laid the coat open on the bench beside her. She ran her hand over the smooth, seamless interior. To her surprise, she felt a lump in the armpit stitching. She felt along the seam, and there, tucked where no one could possibly find it, was a small pocket. It looked like a spot where the stitching was missing. In the pocket was a piece of parchment. Gingerly, she pulled it out, checking over her shoulder to be certain she was not being watched.