Neenahwi’s world crumbled away beneath her. Her own people allied with Pyrfew? It had been so long since she had been there but she imagined that her people would fight to the last one of them before bowing down to Llewdon.
“I’ve got one in the room next door. Trying to talk to him but he’s been well conditioned. Keeps talking about one day having the honor to ‘join’ with the Emperor. Apparently, he’s not the only one either”
“Oh fuck, Mot. We’ve been away too long.” Now she understood why her brother had been looking down when she appeared. It was time. They had to go back to the Wild Continent and work out how they could free her people. And to do that, they would need Edland’s navy. They would need Mareth’s support. “Shit! I guess I need to go to Kingshold and make sure everything is fine. Understand whether we have a problem with Grey.” Motega nodded reluctantly. “Fine. Then you need to let Alana know all of this. And warn the Saint. Warn the Assembly, too, if you think that’s the right thing or if they’ll listen to you. But stop Pyrfew from whatever it is they want to do and come home quickly.”
“Will do, sis.”
“I love you, Mot. Be safe. Don’t do anything stupid.”
She heard him respond “I love you, too,” and then she tugged on the thread back to her body. It brought her speeding back to the tower faster than she could blink twice.
Before she descended through the roof of the tower, she focused on one more soul’s presence. A bright blue flare lit the horizon to the north, though she decided not to pursue it. Just knowing that Jyuth was alive and about in the world gave her some peace of mind. But she couldn’t bring herself to see him right now, not when she’d have to leave him behind again. Not when she still wasn’t sure what she would say to him. He had left for a reason, so she respected his wishes and slid down through the stone ceiling of the tower room. Once more, she was back in her physical body; Neenahwi opened her eyes and the room was as she left it. She wasn’t sure of the passing of time, but her stomach reminded her of its presence and the lack of attention it had been receiving. But her hunger would have to wait a little while longer; she could get something as she traveled. She got to her feet, and strode down the stairs to where she had left the severed head.
“Librarian. How would you like to see a little bit more of the world?”
Chapter 21
Not-Mareth
He was sat on the big chair in the throne room. You know, the big chair that no one had used since the King had lost his head. Mareth was pretty sure that he’d ordered it to be removed once he took office; but there it was, back again. Apparently, he was sitting in it. Though he wasn’t sure as his vision was graying at the edges and he couldn’t feel his hands or his feet. In fact, he felt strangely removed, shifted slightly out of his body, like his eyes, or his mind—he wasn’t sure which—were balanced on the top of his head.
His gaze shifted, not of his own accord, to see Chancellor Grey, sitting on another chair, one step down from him. She smiled at him, though the last he remembered was her apologizing for something. What for? He could not recall. A deep voice called out, though it too sounded fuzzy, distorted, and his head moved again to look at someone who was standing at the foot of the dais. A woman, dressed in purple robes and an inscrutable expression. Did he know her?
“Lady Neenahwi, it is good to have you back. It was a shame that you missed Wintertide,” said a voice close by. Mareth realized it was him, though he didn’t remember talking. He wasn’t sure how to talk.
“Thank you, Lord Protector. There will be time enough for festivals later,” said Neenahwi. Mareth tried to focus on her features as they swam in and out of focus. Now she seemed puzzled. Or angry. He couldn’t tell which. “It’s a surprise to see you in the throne room. I didn’t think it was your style. I’d hoped to talk with you alone.”
“Not my idea, you understand,” laughed the Mareth that was doing the talking. “This is what people expect to see. You can talk freely, after all, it is only the three of us.” Mareth-who-listened hoped for some reason that she would not talk. Why, he was not sure. He could not remember what they had discussed in the past, but he knew he had mentioned it to no one. Not even with…someone he knew he told everything, someone very special, but her name remained as slippery as an eel.
“Where is Petra?” asked Neenahwi. Mareth-who-listened tried to snap his fingers at the prompt of the name. Yes. Petra. He thought he maybe loved her. His fingers did not snap. He did not appear to be in control.
“She is still at the Bard College, admitting them to guild status. I do hope she will get back home soon. I miss her terribly,” said Mareth-who-speaks.
“Yes, I’m sure you do. I just returned, but I heard that you sent Alana to Ioth.”
“Yes, yes. I would have asked you to go of course, if you had been here. I am sure she will do a terrific job. I have the utmost confidence in her. How were your travels?”
“Disappointing. It is good to be home. I am eager to be of service again.”
A shrill voice shrieked in his head, so loud that he tried to close his eyes but to no avail. She will be of service! The Emperor will have her! What was that? It didn’t seem like Neenahwi or Chancellor Grey had heard it. But it didn’t sound like his voice. No, his voice sounded like this.
“I am happy to hear that, Neenahwi. But you look tired. You must have traveled far. Why not go and rest? You can stay here on the palace grounds. Your father’s old apartments are free. Alana and Petra are both away. Chancellor Grey, can you have someone make sure that Neenahwi has everything she needs?”
“Of course,” said the Chancellor. “We can have someone see to it right away.”
Neenahwi raised an eyebrow and held her hand in the air to wave away the offer. “Thank you for the offer, Lord Protector,” she said. “But I will retire to my house. I have to see to my cat.”
Mareth-who-speaks got to his feet and moved down the carpeted steps as the grey around the edges of Mareth-who-listens’ vision slowly crept in. By the time his hand reached out, unbidden by him, to shake Neenahwi’s, he could see little more than the small circle of her face.
“It is good to have you back,” repeated Mareth-who-speaks.
And then black.
Black.
Light coming into view.
Mareth’s own face pulled away slowly from his own. From a kiss on the mouth that left his chest empty. He saw in his own eyes the reflected image of a man looking wasted and thin, patches of grey hair clinging to an almost bald scalp, his eyes sunken. His own face hovered there in front of him, and he did not know what fascinated him more, inspecting his own features or the reflection of the poor soul in the shiny orbs.
He blinked, and his face withdrew. There he was standing in front of him. At his side, the woman he had seen seated in the throne room moments before. She laughed, a sound like teeth being ground in a pestle and mortar. It was her turn to squat down in front of him.
“Poor, Mareth,” she said. “I really am sorry it came to this.”
He tried to speak, but his mouth was dry and his tongue felt thick in his mouth. A moan was all he could manage. He realized his shoulders ached; his arms were held up in the air by chains. He tried to pull on them but his arms were a numb dead weight.
“This should never have happened to you. You’re just unlucky. For those around you, like your old adventuring friends. For yourself. I never expected you to actually win, you know.” She laughed again, and this time it was like a bag of nails held in the hands of a crucifier.
“When Hoxteth was killed, I thought my plans were over. The investment of all those years wasted. I hoped that you would at least be able to create a little chaos, foment a little civilian rebellion. Perhaps make Eden over-react and clamp down on the poor down-trodden commoners once he inevitably came into power. You even escaped the assassin I had arranged. Imagine the anger of the people if you had been killed! And then you only went and won.”
Lights danced in his visio
n. A pounding headache was approaching from the rear of his skull and his stomach wanted to escape his body through his mouth. He blinked slowly.
“The only problem is that you had ideas. People around you with ideas. And that won’t do. So now I have my very own Lord Protector who will do as he is told.” She indicated the Mareth who stood by her side. He even shifted his weight to his left leg like he did when he wanted to appear dashing. Charming.
“Strange creatures, though terribly useful. The same that tried to replace that old fool Uthridge if you remember. One kiss and they can take your form for a few hours. Know what you were thinking at the time. A second kiss and they’ll keep your form for longer. Absorb your mannerisms. Then the third kiss, and they have it all. He will look like you. Talk like you. Remember your life that has passed. Forever. I don’t need you anymore. I don’t expect to see you again; just for you to die slowly. Quiet and forgotten. But at least you will have some company.”
Grey stepped aside, sweeping her arm like a carnival showman introducing the acrobats. Only there was no one doing daring tricks, just a woman, dirty face and matted hair, chained to the wall opposite him.
“Petra…” he croaked.
“Yes!” said Grey. “She never did make it to the Bard College. In fact, the poor dear didn’t really get too far from Kingshold at all.” Mareth couldn’t take his eyes off the woman who held his heart, who had dragged him out of the gutter and made even his lowest days joyful. The only woman who had been more important than a bottle in his whole sorry existence.
“It’s her fault you know,” said Grey, dragging Mareth’s attention back to her. “If you’d have succumbed to my charms. If you’d have just chosen me, then this wouldn’t have had to happen. I’m sure we would have found a way to… work together. But you chose her.” She laughed again; the sound of a sheep being slaughtered. “I guess that’s your fault after all.”
Grey glided forward to encompass his field of vision. He craned his neck to try and see Petra but it was no use. Grey touched his cheek softly with the back of her hand. He wanted to move away from it, like a snake from a hot iron rod, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t escape.
“I am truly sorry, Mareth. And truly thankful.”
She sauntered out of the dark cell and for a moment he saw Petra lit in brighter lantern light. She still breathed. Beneath the cuts and the bruises and the dirt, she was still the same luminescent soul that had awoken his. Then the sound of an iron door slamming shut and the latch clanking into place with finality.
He was left with the shadow of the woman he loved. And the dark.
Chapter 22
Ghosting
Neenahwi spotted a few familiar faces as she left the palace grounds unmolested, nodding or saying a brief hello as she passed. Though she tried to maintain the illusion of being cheerful, she was far from it.
Firstly, it was raining; as it tended to do quite often in Edland when it wasn’t summer. She was sure that it wouldn’t be long until the light snowfalls would commence, that usually heralded the beginning of the new year. But more than that, she was troubled by the meeting she had just had with Mareth. It didn’t sit right with her that he had taken to sitting on the throne like a king. And why hadn’t he requested a private audience so they could follow up from their last discussion? And though she knew that he relied on Chancellor Grey for a lot of advice, he seemed more dependent on her. Which was worrying given the concerns that Motega had passed on. He did at least seem to be in fine health, but if what she was concerned about was true, then why wouldn’t he appear that way?
As she left the inner circle and passed through the Floral Gate, sidestepping a drayman leading supplies to some rich man’s house, she decided to pop in to the Royal Oak and see if she could find out what was going on.
The inn was busy; the common room still decorated with brightly colored garlands of cloth for the Wintertide festival, and packed with customers eating a late lunch and engaged in earnest conversation. She was sure that the Royal Oak’s status as home to the campaign for Lord Bollingsmead had been good for business. The fire roared in the hearth and the dim light gave everything a certain cozy quality. She realized with a pang just how much she’d missed this place.
Neenahwi scanned the room and didn’t find the person she was looking for, but recognizing some of the staff who carried food out to the tables or serving customers behind the bar, she took an empty seat and waited for some attention.
“Wine, please,” she said to the barman who caught her eye. “And the owner.”
The man nodded and disappeared into the back room, only to come back out, followed by a smartly dressed woman, her hair tied back in a bun and looking like she owned the place. “Neenahwi!” she exclaimed. “Happy new year!”
“Hello, Jules. You too,” said Neenahwi. “You look well. Looks like business is kind to you too.”
“Can’t complain,” said Jules smiling. Neenahwi liked the owner of the Royal Oak. She didn’t take any shit from anyone; not afraid to cuff Mareth even on the day he had been named Lord Protector. “What brings you around? I don’t see you lot much anymore. Alana would come by but she’s been gone, near as damn it, for a full moon now. And Petra of course, but she’s out on the road too. You’ve all left me behind.” Jules chuckled.
“I haven’t seen anyone for a while either. Where is Petra?”
“She’s gone up country to the Bard College. She came to see me before she left. All excited at finally seeing something outside Kingshold’s walls. I imagine she must be back soon though. It’s been a couple of weeks.”
“Do you see the bard much?” asked Neenahwi. She deliberately avoided using his name, aware of the strangers surrounding her.
“Nope!” Jules laughed again. “Couldn’t keep the bastard away when he didn’t have any money. Once he finally makes something of his life, he steals my best barmaid and never pays a visit. He came a couple of time over the summer to say hello, but I think it was too much bother.” She paused for a second before continuing. “Come to think of it, I think the last was when I kicked him out because his guards were getting in the way of the other customers. That Commander Grimes was not too happy about it, but the bard had seen the funny side. Anyway, why do you ask? I’m sure you can go and see him whenever you like.”
“Oh, no particular reason. He just seemed to be acting a bit strange. Thought seeing as you’d known him for longer than me, you might have noticed something.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you there, love. But he can be a strange one. He must have been banned from the Royal Oak four or five times in as many years, and there were good reasons.” She leaned over the bar to whisper, a frown creasing her forehead. “I hope that doesn’t mean he’s drinking again.”
There came a muffled voice from Neenahwi’s side and they both looked around to see who was talking. Neenahwi couldn’t see anyone, but then she remembered the bag she wore across her chest. She opened the flap and the head of the Librarian stared out at her.
“Did I hear someone say drink? Can I have one? It’s been years…”
“No, you can’t,” said Neenahwi. “I’m not pouring it in your mouth and it would just fall out into my bag anyway. Shut up.” Neenahwi flipped the flap of the satchel closed and looked up to find Jules wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
“You know you’ve got a head in there, right?” she asked.
Neenahwi nodded and then shrugged. “Long story.” She drained her cup of the pleasant red wine. “Guess I’d better go before he draws any more attention. Look after yourself.”
“Always have done,” replied Jules with a wink. Neenahwi didn’t doubt that. She patted her on the hand in goodbye, climbed down from her stool, and made her way begrudgingly out into the drizzle. Before heading to the Lance, the main thoroughfare on this side of town, she opened up the bag once more and warned the Librarian not to make another scene or she’d find a few town boys who were looking for a new ball to play kick with.
&n
bsp; Though talking to Jules was a pleasure, it hadn’t proved that fruitful. Unless she really could chalk his behavior off to the booze—but he hadn’t appeared drunk, or nursing the effects of previously being so. That meant she needed to see if he had followed through on some of her suggestions, and with one person in particular.
The Hollow House was at the other end of the Lance. The stone building was a shadow on the rest of the whitewashed houses that surrounded it, the black sheep of the neighborhood. She pulled a bell by the front door and waited. A small hatch opened a minute or so later, revealing a wizened old man. He looked her up and down.
“No, thank you. Not today.” The hatch swung shut.
Neenahwi rang the bell again.
Once more the old man appeared and before he could say anything, Neenahwi spoke. “I need to see Lady Chalice. Tell her Neenahwi is here. And if you don’t open the sodding door and let me in out of this rain then I’ll blow the fucking thing down.”
“I’ll go and check.” The hatch shut once more and Neenahwi waited while the soft rain continued to soak through her robes. She thought about using a little magic to dry herself out, but didn’t want to draw on the power of the demon stone; it was liable to put her in a fouler mood. Eventually, the door opened and the gatekeeper led her through the courtyard, past what she knew were the school buildings, to the Hollow House. She momentarily mused on what it would have been like to enroll in this particular learning establishment; apparently Chalice had been keen for her and Motega to study there but Jyuth had declined. It was warm and toasty inside as she tracked wet foot prints along the pristine hallway to Chalice’s office; shame they didn’t let her in sooner.
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