by Martha Carr
“So.” Cheyenne turned slowly around, eyeing the dark corners of the courtyard and the tattered, frayed black cloth draped over one wall. “Who is this magical, exactly?”
L’zar chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t call her a friend, but if there’s one magical in this fell-damn world my sister truly fears, it’s Ur’syth.”
“Ur’syth?”
“Say it three times, and she’ll appear in front of us.”
She snorted. “They let you watch Beetlejuice in Chateau D’rahl?”
L’zar merely smiled and turned to casually stroll across the courtyard.
Cheyenne followed him, ducking when the branches of the gnarled tree shivered and creaked, reaching out toward her. “What does she do?”
“All sorts of things, Cheyenne. Be quiet.” L’zar peered into a dark corner of the courtyard, then straightened and turned slowly around again. “Ur’syth! Dark Mother. I can’t say I expected to find you in the Heart, but I’m sure you didn’t expect me to find you here either, did you? Come out and see what I’ve brought with me.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and shot Cheyenne a playful wink.
She stepped away from the tree, scowling at it as the branches returned to their original positions. This better be one of those quick in-and-out visits. I like creepy stuff, but this takes it to a whole new level.
Chapter Twelve
“Ur’syth?” There was laughter in L’zar’s voice as he strolled across the courtyard. “I’ll summon you if I have to, but we both know you and I are past that point. Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
The black cloth hanging over the wall whipped in a wind that didn’t blow through the rest of the courtyard. L’zar’s eyes widened when he saw the fabric move. He met Cheyenne’s gaze and nodded toward the tattered black sheet before it billowed out into the courtyard as if the wind came from the wall itself.
“You’re early.” A grating voice like sandpaper came from behind L’zar, and he whirled, laughing when he saw the hunched, shriveled figure draped in black rags.
“So, you were expecting me.”
A shrouded arm rose from the tattered folds, and a dark-gray finger poked from the end of the sleeve toward L’zar’s face. The crone’s features were invisible in the thick blackness within her hood. “I expected you at the end of days, Weaver, when the deathflame takes us all and Ambar’ogúl sails upon the tides of all its dead. Which basically means never. So yes, you’re early.”
The figure sidled forward and returned her hand to the folds of her tattered rags. “Show me what you’ve brought, then. Is it a gift?”
“Of sorts.” L’zar stepped aside and turned to gesture toward his daughter. “Cheyenne, come meet Ur’syth.”
Cheyenne straightened and stared at the shriveled figure. She raised an eyebrow. “I’m good.”
The crone wheezed with laughter, batting L’zar aside with a flapping hand to approach Cheyenne. The drow stepped easily out of her path and watched her limp toward his daughter.
Cheyenne glanced at him and stuck her hands in her pockets. I was seriously hoping to leave the creepy stuff behind today.
“You.” The crone lifted both hands to her hood and pulled it back in a puff of dust and black particles that danced behind her in the still air.
The halfling’s stomach clenched when she saw Ur’syth’s face—wrinkled lines in dark flesh, beady black eyes, black paint flaking on her face from forehead to chin, and sharp, pointed teeth within a mouth as red and glistening as freshly spilled blood. The face from her dreams. “You.”
The sharp teeth glinted at her when Ur’syth’s lips twitched into a sneer. “I am always myself, hinya. You are something else half the time, are you not?” The crone raised a hand toward L’zar and waved him forward. “Who is this?”
“Cheyenne.”
“You gave me her name already, you grinning idiot. Who is she?”
L’zar clasped his hands behind his back and straightened, that feral glint in his golden eyes giving him a disturbingly hungry look. “My heir. My daughter, Ur’syth. Why else did you think the new Cycle turned when you felt it like the rest of us? The Rahalma has already received her marandúr. It’s done.”
Ur’syth gazed at Cheyenne’s face, or at least her fully black eyes glinted with movement. No pupils. I can’t tell what the hell she’s looking at.
The crone nodded at her, her blood-red tongue poking out between her lips. The spittle left behind on her lips and teeth looked a lot like blood too. “As it was foretold.”
“No.” L’zar stalked toward them, his smile widening into a twitching grin. “Your prophecy was shit, Oracle. Sure, it took me a thousand years or more to prove it, but I did. That’s my daughter standing before you. The Crown’s newest challenger.”
“Yes, you said that too.” Ur’syth turned to peer up at the drow, one shoulder hunched to the side. She cocked her head and sneered. “Did you bring her here to label me a heretic, or to prove to yourself that you’ve achieved whatever victory you sought?”
He stared calmly down at her and shrugged. “Both, most likely.”
The crone narrowed her eyes at him, then burst into wheezing, gasping cackles.
L’zar’s golden eyes flickered toward Cheyenne’s. Her nostrils flared and she shook her head. Proof for me too. No one in this world is sane.
The drow thief pressed his lips together and stared down his nose at the Oracle hag cracking up in front of him. Ur’syth flapped a wrinkled, mottled gray hand in front of her face, the black rags fluttering around her bony wrist. One cloth-wrapped foot thumped softly on the stone floor, and the crone shook her head as quickly as her deteriorating body would allow.
“I’d love to share the jest with you,” L’zar muttered, his smile thin and tight now in irritation.
“You would, wouldn’t you?” Ur’syth fell into a fit of hacking coughs and spat out a nasty black ball of phlegm. It landed in one of the potted plants, and a black, shriveled O’gúleesh version of a Venus flytrap snapped its brittle mouth closed around the unexpected offering.
Cheyenne wanted to spit herself and clenched her jaw instead. No wonder the Crown hates this creature.
Ur’syth cleared her throat, her sharp, pointed teeth glinting in her red grin. She wagged a finger at L’zar. “It’s all fun jests and playful mischief for the Dark Smiling Weaver until he realizes what a fool he’s been. Until he discovers he made himself the center of a universal jest much larger than himself.”
L’zar’s nose twitched. “And what might that be?”
“My prophecies are always fully and completely true, you drow-headed buffoon.”
He gestured at Cheyenne again. “Clearly.”
“Clearly, you didn’t take my interpretation of the threads at the full value with which I delivered them. Clearly, you came out of my circle that day already assuming I was wrong.”
“You were.”
“All this time, and you’re still dumber than my plants. Ha!” Ur’syth moved around Cheyenne again and peered up at the halfling. “I told you every child of yours you pursued would perish before their time. This one only lived because you abandoned her from the start. Quite a blow to your overinflated ego, isn’t it?”
L’zar snorted and eyed the crone up and down. “I suspected you already knew where the loophole was.”
“Not the prophecy’s loophole, Cu’ón. Mine.” The crone hissed out another laugh, pricking her shiny red tongue with her sharpened teeth. “I merely failed to spell it out for you. Wouldn’t be much of an Oracle if I had, eh?”
“Now you know I found it.”
“Oh, sure. She knows too. Don’t you, Cheyenne?”
Hearing her name on the crone’s tongue, slightly accented at the end with growling O’gúleesh sounds, sent a chill down the halfling’s spine. She forced herself not to back away from the beady eyes inching closer despite Ur’syth being at least two feet shorter.
“If he left you to suffer in our sister world, to grow into what you
are now standing here before me, tell me how you came to my front door together.”
Cheyenne stared at what she thought were the centers of the Oracle’s all-black eyes. Maybe the whole thing’s one giant pupil. “I followed him through the streets.”
“Oh. You think you’re as amusing as he thinks he is. I can’t say I’m surprised.” Ur’syth’s tongue ran over her sharpened teeth. From within the folds of her tattered robes came the sound of nails scratching dry flesh. Cheyenne’s nostrils flared. “Did you seek him out, then? Did you pine after your nonexistent father and search the threads for him like he searched for you? Eh? Did you blaze a trail of scorched earth and broken promises like he did?”
Cheyenne pursed her lips, fighting back the spitting snarl she wanted to shove in the old Oracle’s face. She’s goading me. Don’t get pissed and stupid, Cheyenne. “No. I didn’t seek him out.”
“And yet here you are together, yes? Here you’ve returned, to Hangivol, the seat of the O’gúl Crown, to claim your birthright and turn the new Cycle toward you, a fully acknowledged drow in all her glory. Don’t be obtuse, girl. I know you couldn’t have done it without him.”
The halfling took a deep breath. “I went after an orc who almost killed my friend. Then I found L’zar safe and snug in a half-assed Earthside prison, and he took it from there.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“Long story short, yeah.”
“Very simple. Very amusing.” Ur’syth hissed out more laughter and tilted her head from side to side. A black-nailed finger stabbed toward Cheyenne’s face. “And you didn’t once go looking for the man who sired the magic running through your veins?”
“I stopped wondering who my father was when I was six, so no. It’s more like he fell into my lap.”
“Ah!” The crone shrieked with laughter, which cut off abruptly when another coughing fit wracked her.
Cheyenne closed her eyes and turned her head away. Please don’t spit again. Jesus, I can smell her breath.
“L’zar Verdys does have that tendency, doesn’t he? Falling where everyone else least wants him to land.” Ur’syth winked at Cheyenne and looked her up and down again. “And here you are now. The youngest of how many dead, L’zar?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
Cheyenne looked at him sharply and bit her lip, glaring at him. All his dead kids, and he says they don’t matter?
“Perhaps not to you, Weaver. Perhaps not to the rest of us. But they mattered.” Ur’syth nodded slowly. “Oh, yes. But not as much as this one.” In a blur, the Oracle’s hands lashed out from under her robes. Clammy, ice-cold hands clamped around Cheyenne’s wrist while the crone jerked up the sleeve of the halfling’s jacket.
Cheyenne immediately yanked her hand away in disgust and rubbed her wrist on the side of her jacket.
Ur’syth cackled. “Oh! Did I startle you?”
“I don’t like being touched.”
“Of course not. That’s the easiest way to see the truth, isn’t it?” The Oracle pointed at the thick silver band around Cheyenne’s wrist. “Especially when someone went through such pains to hide it from the rest of us. Born Earthside to a human mother, I see.”
“My mother has nothing to do with this,” Cheyenne snarled, her composure snapping as her drow magic burned up her spine. Purple light flared behind her golden eyes.
Ur’syth grinned. “Not yet.” She pointed at the metal cuff and turned toward L’zar. “I should have known your hand was the one to snatch up that little trinket.”
The drow thief smiled back at her with a shrug of fake humility. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold, Ur’syth, and we both know you wouldn’t have given it to me.”
“It’s been put to an acceptable use.” The Oracle stepped away from Cheyenne, giving her another once-over with those glistening black eyes. “L’zar’s halfling heir, eh? It shouldn’t make a difference in the matter of a new Crown turning her own Cycle. But it might. Or it might not.”
Cheyenne gave the old magical a bitter smile. “It hasn’t stopped me so far.”
“Indeed.”
“Ur’syth.” L’zar lifted his chin when the Oracle turned to face him again. “Read the weave for my daughter.”
“What do you bring as an offering?”
He removed his hand from behind his back and held out a small vial filled with a dark liquid that looked like muddy water. Wiggling the vial at her, L’zar raised his eyebrows. “Right off a darkseller.”
“Ah. Come then.” Ur’syth waved her hand for L’zar to approach, and he set the vial gently in her wrinkled gray palm. Her hand and the vial disappeared into her tattered robes, and she sneered up at the thief.
“Make it a good one, Oracle.”
“That’s for her to decide.” The crone sidled past Cheyenne toward the base of the gnarled tree on the right and grunted as she lowered herself to the stone floor.
L’zar headed toward his daughter and dipped his head. “This will be fun.”
“What?” Cheyenne glanced at the haggard gray face emerging from the pile of tattered black rags on the ground and shook her head. “No. No one said anything about more prophecies. I don’t need any more of that kind of crazy in my life.”
“Too bad, Cheyenne. It’s already been paid for.” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “You don’t change your mind once the offering’s been accepted. Not in Ur’syth’s house.” L’zar nodded, then stepped past his daughter and calmly sat in front of the crone, crossing his legs beneath him.
Cheyenne let out a deep, frustrated sigh and swallowed. I already know this is gonna be bad.
Chapter Thirteen
Ur’syth reached out for the closest potted plant on the ground beside her. The courtyard echoed with the grating crunch of small stones scraping across the ground beneath the metal pot. The dead-looking plant inside it shrieked when the crone’s hand plunged into the pot and ripped out a large, blue-pulsing root. The thing squirmed in her tight grip, mewling like a baby animal. Ur’syth scooted the pot aside and raised the root to her mouth. Her pointy teeth tore into its flesh, and it let out a piercing scream as glowing bright blue sludge squirted from its center. Most of it dribbled down the Oracle’s open mouth as she laughed, but a handful of wayward specks splattered the hem of Cheyenne’s trenchcoat where she sat beside her father.
“Ugh.” She leaned away from the crone, her drow sense of smell picking up the thick decaying odors mixed with the scent of copper and the stench of rancid fish.
Beside her, L’zar chuckled.
“Shut up, both of you.” Ur’syth thoughtfully chewed the piece of root in her mouth and used the other half of it like a paintbrush, drawing the blue sludge down the line of paint on her face from forehead to chin. Grinning, she tossed the other root away and spat a purple-blue wad into her gnarled hands. Once she’d rubbed that into her palms like skin lotion, she set the backs of both hands on her knees and closed her eyes.
Cheyenne shot L’zar a sidelong glance. He gestured for her to keep watching. Maleshi was right about Oracles. I’m done with them.
A low, crackling moan came from Ur’syth’s slightly parted lips. When her eyes fluttered open, they were white, rolling around in her head. Her voice rose in volume, not in thousands of tones like the raug Oracle’s voice but just hers, grating and gravelly.
“The Cycle turns.”
The crone was silent for so long, Cheyenne snorted. “Is that it?”
L’zar raised a finger to his smiling lips and stared at the Oracle.
“Crowns rise and fall. Tides of power raise all bloodlines into the Everweave. The bright is no more, and the darkness abides. The sword will pierce the heart. Shackles unbinding. Shackles pinned to pillars of hidden dreaming. A Crown is not a Crown without the blood of all. The blood of one will consume the Crown. The blood of one will lift the tides. The blood of one will sway the doorways into endless flux, and the gates will fall to ruin. To tear, to grieve, to unite the rift between what has
always been and what will never be. But only here.”
Ur’syth swayed where she sat, her voice lowered again into mumbled words Cheyenne couldn’t make out. Then she sucked in a deep breath, her eyes rolling back in her head, and slumped against the tree. When she opened her eyes again, they’d returned to their unnatural all-black shade.
“Really?” L’zar stroked his chin and frowned at the crone, who was struggling to push herself away from the rough bark at her back. The tree shuddered and groaned in protest. “I said, make it a good one.”
“And I said it was up to the Aranél to decide whether or not it’s a good one.” Ur’syth coughed and pointed weakly at the halfling. “You are the only one who can make the decision, Cheyenne. Choose wisely.”
Cheyenne blinked. “I have no idea how to tell if a prophecy is good.”
The old crone wheezed with laughter again and shook her head. “Not that decision, hinya. The blood of one will do many things, yes? You must choose the one.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Ur’syth cocked her head abnormally far toward her shoulder and grinned. “Ask your father to help you with that one, eh? He’s had thousands of years to practice the art.”
A thunderous, bellowing explosion rose from the center of the city. All three of them saw a shimmering mushroom cloud of strobing colors peeking above the highest wall of the courtyard. “What was that?”
L’zar slowly lowered his hand to the stone floor to push himself to his feet. “I don’t know.”
The ground bucked beneath them without warning, making the trees creak even louder and the hanging plants swing violently from their ropes.
The muted gray sky beneath Hangivol’s domed shield flashed with brilliant colors one right after the next, and another explosion wracked the center of the city. Ur’syth’s glass vials and jars toppled over onto the stone and rolled in every direction. The ground shook so violently that the second tree ripped half its roots from the ground and lurched forward, suspended sideways when the rest of its root system held fast however many feet below the surface.