Broken Earth

by C M Blackwood

  As something of a contest, several Narken would stand beside one another, and listen intently for the prisoner who screamed the loudest inside their bellies. He with the loudest yeller was the winner; though all he won was another prisoner to drop down his gullet. This was considered something of a valuable prize, though, as the numbers of the prisoners were dwindling quickly with this game. The triumphant Narkul would gladly take up another emaciated fellow in his paws, and drop him down atop the fellow below, who was already well on his way to disintegrating.

  The Sorceress, of course, was paying no mind at all to any of this nonsense. She was holed up in her own chamber, pacing to and fro, and concentrating with great difficulty upon a very particular thing. Back and forth she went with her decision, never quite able to choose whether she would or no; and what she was referring to, was whether or not she would summon Zana to her. Not to reprimand, and not to scold; but perhaps to assist her.

  Eventually (after some five or six hours, to be exact), she decided in the affirmative of her plan. She called the Sphere to her; passed her hand over it, and spoke Zana’s name aloud. A moment later, she found herself looking upon Zana’s ever-obstinate face within the Sphere. She looked at Dain with rather a wicked little smile upon her lips.

  “Yes?” said Zana, lounging back in her seat.

  “I mean you nothing ill,” said Dain. “I only wish to speak with you. Will you come?”

  Zana eyed her warily. “I suppose,” she said. “Give me a moment or two – and I will come.”

  With another movement of her hand, Zana’s face was gone from the Sphere. She leaned forward with her elbows upon the table; and thought of her next errand. It had already been too long, she knew; and the fact that the Master had not yet returned was nothing but the sheerest kind of luck. So it was now that she did the thing which she had dreaded; and it was now that she wrote out her final plans, and prepared to put them into motion.

  She was almost frightened by the sudden appearance of Zana, who took a seat opposite her. She crossed her slender arms over her chest, and looked at Dain impatiently.

  “First of all,” said Dain, “I think it is important for me to note – that this is not an apology, of any kind. I am not sorry for anything I have ever said to you; just as I am certain you are not sorry for anything you have said to me.”

  Zana’s expression seemed to relax a little; but she said nothing, only waited.

  “There are great things ahead,” said Dain. “You and I are not friends, Zana, and we never will be – but the fact remains that our goals are identical, and that there is rather not a bone free of evil in either of our bodies. Do you agree with this?”

  Zana nodded curtly.

  “After all, Zana – it is only you and I who know the full truth of this war we have waged. The others see only me, and not the Master who stands behind me. Let us put past grievances aside, and look together towards the task at hand. Something had escaped us, Zana; and the Master wishes it back. He wishes for the Auren, safe again in our hands; and he wishes also for Princess Lila Bier. We shall do what we can to obtain these things for him. If not together, Zana, you and I – how shall it ever be done?”

  Zana nodded once more; yet this time more slowly.

  “The siege will take place shortly,” said Dain. “Will you accompany me?”

  “I will,” said Zana simply. “Only call upon me when all is ready, and I will come to you.”

  Dain nodded, and Zana disappeared.

  For several moments, Dain became lost in thoughts of plans and times, and of relevant faces; but then she remembered her errand. It was down to the prison cellar for her. Down to the prison – and down to Antony Bier.

  She found him sitting up straight upon his bench, and looking towards the door to the cell, almost as if he had been awaiting her. She opened the door and went in to him, smiling malignantly all the while, and taking great pleasure from the bravery which he was feigning for her own benefit.

  “Oh, poor little Prince!” cried Dain, sweeping towards the boy and placing a hand upon his cheek. He recoiled from her instinctively, and stared up at her with quite the deepest hatred what ever lived.

  “I see that Grotha grew tired of your screaming, and loosed your bonds.”

  “Curse you, Sorceress.”

  “Oh, Antony!” exclaimed Dain, sitting herself down beside the boy. He moved away from her; but she pulled him back, and leaned down to whisper into his ear.

  “Haven’t you had quite enough of this terrible place? I tell you – if it were me, I would be horribly tired of it! But I shall make you a proposition. If you do something for me, Antony – I shall set you free.”

  He eyed her doubtfully; but he could not hide the small sprig of hope that was positioned behind each eye.

  “I told you long ago what I wanted,” she said. “That has not changed. Perhaps, though, you have had a change of heart, and decided to help me? Close, suffocating prisons have a tendency of bringing about such things.”

  “I shall never help you,” said the boy, though his voice quivered in a way that he could not hope to hide, and his eyes were still rather bright from the mention of his freedom.

  “Ah, well,” said Dain. “It was only a lie to begin with.”

  Here she took hold of either side of the boy’s head; and though he struggled violently against her, he had not a hope of freeing himself from her grasp. She kept his face turned towards hers, and peered intently into his eyes – behind them to the nervous mind, its hold on reality made tenuous by its body’s imprisonment; and then down, down to the heart that beat so quickly, in fear and rage and all of the righteous emotions that lay betwixt. She felt her own eyes catch fire; and then pushed the flames across the space that separated her face from the boy’s.

  A moment later, he was sitting there beside her perfectly still, gazing blankly out into the darkness of the cell.

  “You are feeling well, I hope?”

  The boy nodded.

  “I trust you are going to be a good little Prince?”

  He nodded again.

  Now, Dain moved her face a little closer, and spoke once again into his ear. “You are going to help me, aren’t you, Antony?”

  “Yes, Sorceress.”

  “You will come with me to Eredor, and help me find your sister?”

  “Yes, Sorceress.”

  Dain nodded to herself, feeling satisfied. “Now, Antony,” she said, “I am sure that you have had quite enough of being all alone. Haven’t you?”

  “Yes, Sorceress.”

  “Is there anyone you would like me to bring to you, who can help you in your mission?”

  He nodded.

  “Will you tell me their names?”

  He nodded, and answered her their names. Minutes later, he sat upon the bench beside three other boys. His eyes flamed hotly as he looked at Dain; just as did those of George Etley, Deegin Bryte, and young Selly Finks.

  “These will be your playmates, Antony,” said Dain.

  “Thank you, Sorceress.”

  “And you will all be very good boys until I return?”

  “Yes, Sorceress,” said the four voices in unison.

  ~

  Until now, the thoughts of Dera Black have not been recorded with much avidity. At this particular moment, however, those thoughts are of such import that they certainly cannot go without being mentioned.

  She had not spoken to Heidi since the night before, when she came into her chamber with a face downcast and eyes averted. Before that, of course, things had been of such an apparently complicated nature, that the two had not spoken much at all. The evening previous, however, Heidi would not answer to Dera’s inquiry as to what was wrong; she would answer, in fact, no question of Dera’s at all; and she would not tell why she had come to sleep in her bed.

  And so they both fell asleep, with much mystery hanging betwixt them, and not a little aggravation on Dera’s part. Now Dera sat up in her own chamber, while (little did she kn
ow), Heidi and Jade were passing the time downstairs with Tobias Redda. Not that she knew, either, who Mr Redda was – but she no doubt would have been glad to know where everyone was. When she awoke, and found Heidi gone, she went to knock upon her door; but there was no answer, and she came back to the loneliness of her own place, only with the greatest reluctance.

  Indeed, it seemed that she had been nothing but lonely, ever since she arrived at the castle – especially after Jade came. Presently she only sat moodily, arms crossed tightly and face set like stone, as she stared out of the window in the opposite wall.

  There was a certain something what had been bothering her all day, pressing against all sides of her mind like the irksome clenching of an imaginary fist round her brain. Something lingered there, just outside her line of vision; and she could not for the life of her pull it into view.

  So she only sat for a while longer, still curious as to where the others might be, but quite sufficiently hurt by their ignorance of her that she had no intention at all of going to look for them. After some minutes more, she leaned her head back against the cushions of the chair, and closed her eyes against the grey light that was streaming through the window. She turned her head, so as to put her face out of it; and was soon afterwards asleep.

  It was in that even lonelier place of her sleep, and in the dreams that dwelt there, where she found what had been persisting upon her awareness since she came awake that morning. In those dim and narrow halls that she walked along, lost quite completely in the depth of the place (for when she looked above her, she could see nothing but thick and heavy darkness), she came finally to a place where the world opened up, and the walls passed away.

  As she walked into that clearing which had opened up before her, her eyes were filled with a bright light that, for several long moments, inhibited her ability to see. Once that had cleared away, though, she found that she was looking upon her very own house; and for that matter, her very own roll-away bed, which was currently pushed up against the wall of the parlour. There sat a man upon it, young in his years and quite handsome, with a head of dark hair and a weeks-long beard. His green eyes were focused upon something what sat opposite him, but which Dera could not see; and, of course, Dera recognised him immediately. How could she not, when it was the much-familiar countenance of David Misaria that she looked upon?

  She turned her face away from him, for a better view of what was currently commanding his attention. She looked to the table, positioned as always under the window in the West wall of the little house. There sat a woman with raven-black hair, pale skin and a pair of striking blue eyes – who looked so very different from, but also quite the same as, Dera’s own dear friend, Heidi Bastian. Could this be the sister whom she had admitted to having, the little-known Helena Makepeace? Certainly it must have been; for who else would it be? She sat there in a chair turned round to face David, and spoke to him with words that Dera could not hear. She was obviously some years older than Heidi, and looked thus far to have gathered no less than five-and-thirty to herself.

  So it was these two who had filled her consciousness so irritatingly! For some reason, it seemed, she had been meant to see them. They sat there together in the parlour, talking of who-knew-what and wondering, no doubt, exactly where their siblings had got to. Dera had told David enough to spark his concern; and that concern had most definitely already been passed on to Helena Makepeace, for both she and the man across from her were possessive of extremely serious faces.

  So what was to be done? From the somewhat-chilly depths of her own sleep, Dera considered what she might do; and, of course, especially noting the fact that Dera knew nowhere near as much of what their entire situation (including Jade’s) was comprised of as did Heidi, she certainly cannot be blamed for thinking of drawing yet another party into the confusion. After all, who can pass any sort of blame at all onto the actions of a sleeping person?

  She looked from David to Helena, and from Helena to David, and wondered exactly what she might do. She knew that she was looking upon the scene, quite entirely as it was truly taking place, at that very moment, all those miles away. Being more familiar with David, she was inclined at first to pass what information she would onto him; but she was struck suddenly with the opposite feeling, and found her attention turning completely over to Helena. She looked upon her for a moment, and considered yet again. Finally, though, she moved from her place by the hearth, where she had stood invisible for some minutes, and went to the place where Heidi’s sister sat – still quite invisible, of course.

  As she moved nearer to the woman, she could have sworn that she looked up, and turned her face towards the exact spot where she was standing. But surely, as that must have been nothing but nonsense, she disregarded the movement, for which there might have been any number of causes; and went to stand directly in front of her, so that she might lay a hand on either side of her head.

  As she did this, the woman ceased her talking. She gazed straight ahead, and a shining film came to cover her eyes. Dera closed her own eyes, and turned her mind back to the path which she and Heidi had trod together, over the mountains and across the land; and showed every bit of it to Helena Makepeace, who sat still and silent as the images flooded her brain.

  David had come across the room to lay a hand on the woman’s arm, and seemed quite concerned as to her questionable state of mind. But the woman only looked ahead, heedless of his words or his touch, and watched as Dera showed her the things she wished to see.

  After she had done, she let her hands fall away from the woman’s head. Then she took a step back, and watched as the woman shook her head, and looked up bemusedly at David. Then she smiled to reassure him, and cast her eyes once more towards the place where Dera stood.

  But Dera had finished, and she used that moment to take her leave of the room. She found herself once again in the corridors which she had already travelled; but retraced her steps with much more speed, and arrived back in her own chair, quite awake, just as the last of the light was fading from the window. Quite fortunately, she remembered nothing of the mental connection she had shared with Helena Makepeace. For, if she had remembered, and had mentioned it to Heidi – which she most likely would have done – simply suffice it to say that Heidi would not have been pleased, and that Jade’s mind was much too full at that moment to contain anything but her own troubles, which were quite expansive enough without involving her much-loved brother in them.

  ~

  “My goodness, woman! Are you all right?”

  “Quite,” said Helena, smiling thinly as she looked up at David. But then she turned her eyes to the empty space beside him, and studied it intently. And yet, there was nothing at all there; and even those people who dwelt in a lesser state of sanity than she, would have had to admit to that fact. So she looked back to David, and said, somewhat hotly, “I have a name, you know – and it is not ‘woman’.”

  He looked to the floor with a rueful face, and said, “Of course I do apologise.”

  She waved him away from her, the better to gain her feet. “Oh, never mind it,” she said. She went to the window above the table, so that she might look out into the dark and empty street, and the houses which stood beside. She pictured the roads which had entered, strangely and all of a sudden, into her mind. Roads which she had certainly never seen – and certainly never heard of. What did she know of the land over the mountains?

  “What are you thinking of?” asked David.

  “It’s the strangest thing,” she said softly, looking for another moment or two out of the window. But then she turned to the bearded man behind her and said, quite confidently, and spurred by no other proof of her own words besides a particularly strong feeling that was lodged somewhere inside her heart:

  “I believe that I know where my sister is. And yours, as well.”

  ~

  While all of this was taking place, in that solitary chamber on the fourth floor of the castle, and the tiny parlour of that house on
Bridgewater Street, Lila Bier was rather busy herself. She sat in the Hall of Mirrors with Harn Fala at her right-hand side, along with several other worthy gentlemen who were considering with her the best plans of action. She had not bothered to summon those fellows who had already voiced their own doubts concerning her. Indeed, the party was a very small one; and consisted only of Fala, Yuvi Flay, Silas Perco and Samson Trippe, and a few other high officers who had already proven that they would not question Lila’s decisions in times of trouble.

  All of them had inquired nearly straightaway as to the reason behind Thomas Henry’s absence. Lila spoke quite as credibly as she could, of a terrible illness of both heart and body – which had been occasioned by the death of John Zoden, and the painful memories (of which all men present were aware) that had been awakened of his own son. The men seemed doubtful, and were obviously not satisfied with Lila’s answers; but they did seem, at least, to think that whatever reason was hers to lie, must be something of a good one, and that their not knowing made little difference.

  So on they talked, going round and round in circles but never quite coming to any solid decisions. Guard against Dain Aerca? How could it be done, when she had already proved that she could slip through their fingers so easily? What was to be done?

  When night fell down outside the tall windows, Lila bid the men goodnight, with the promise that they would re-convene the following morning. The men smiled grimly, and each soldier gave a salute as he went out the door. Samson patted her on the shoulder as he exited.

  And then she was left to herself, to gaze upon her own haggard reflection in all of those shining mirrors. The first and foremost thought upon her mind, as she considered so thoroughly (but with so little success) the intent of the Sorceress, was, of course, her own dear brother Antony. If she were to step in the wrong direction, would his life be the price? Would her mistake be the end of him?

  She took her leave of the hall, and thought of pausing at the second storey to inquire into Misaria’s condition, but quickly discarded the idea, under the honest pretence of being unable to handle any more news which could be given as ill. She thought of pausing as the fourth storey to speak with her mother – for what could be more beneficial at such a time? But she felt so wasted, and so very far away, that she could not imagine holding a conversation with any other living person. No, no – it was by herself that she would spend the night. For good or for ill, she would spend it alone, locked inside her chamber with her own terrible thoughts.