by Rob J. Hayes
Such a waste. Think of the things we could accomplish with a deathless army.
I ignored Ssserakis. "I need to be close."
Hardt nodded. "It's going to be a long night." He underestimated the size of the task before us.
By the time we left the palace, Emperor Aras Terrelan was hanging from the balcony. His eyes watched us go, limbs twitching in my direction. He had fulfilled the final order I gave him, and now tried to follow me, bound by my will. He did not die then, for a third time. He remained, hanging from the palace, his body deathless. No one cut him down. I do not know how long he remained there, a broken symbol of my vengeance, body rotting while he watched his empire that he was so proud of fall to ruin.
We walked the city. I gave the order for my Cursed to die whenever I found any. The people recognised me, blamed me, hated me even when I saved them. I kept at it, even when some of the more courageous survivors threw stones along with their threats. For two days Hardt and I walked the streets of Juntorrow giving the Cursed whatever measure of peace I could. I think I may have stayed longer, so heavy was my conscience, but a mob of survivors formed in my wake, and eventually Hardt dragged me away. Always my protector, even from myself.
Juntorrow never recovered from my visit. Too many of its people died, too much tragedy left in my wake. The citizens tried, adversity bringing out the best in them even as I had brought out the worst. But they failed. Juntorrow became a town of ghosts and the ravenous dead. It remains that way even now.
I did not catch all the Cursed, and in my anger, I had released a new power upon Ovaeris. The Cursed are a plague, and it does not matter how long the world might go without a sighting of the deathless, they always reappear. And every time they do so, too, does my name surface. A village falls to the Cursed and the Corpse Queen must have been behind it, bringing ruin wherever she treads. That is the legacy I will always be remembered for, regardless of any good I might have done. And who is to argue I should not be? I unleashed it upon the world. Me. I deserve all the blame.
We set our course north and walked. It was a long way to the Pit, to the city I had bought with such a heavy price, but we had nowhere else to go. I hoped Tamura and Imiko were alive, and yet I feared what the Emperor's armies might have done. There were villages along the way, and we found food and new clothing, but little welcome. News of Juntorrow spread far faster than we moved, and it was difficult to hide my appearance. A one-armed woman with flashing eyes and a shadow that moved of its own accord; the Corpse Queen, murderer of Emperor Aras Terrelan, scourge of Juntorrow, mother of the Cursed. We were run out of more than one village no sooner had we arrived. Still, we found succour in some places.
With the Emperor and his line dead, his control was broken. The Terrelan army fractured, their control over the kingdom splintering. Terrelan broke apart into dozens of disparate states, each claiming independence. Some were ruled by military law, others by the local aristocracy, and some were even unionised into a form of citizen government. It did not take long for the first skirmishes to break out, a prelude to a new war that would eventually consume the continent of Isha. More of my legacy. An empire fallen to ruin, engulfed in strife. No wonder the Corpse Queen is hated and feared in equal measure. But I did it. I swore time and time again, whispered promises to myself each night down in the Pit. I renewed that vow up on Ro'shan, and again on Do'shan. I swore I would kill the Emperor and turn the Terrelan Empire to ash. And I did it. A younger me would have rejoiced, blind to the consequences.
One night we came across a tavern, a roadside inn, days away from the nearest village. Hardt and I arrived there on aching feet. We had secured new clothing, and I had even bathed at the last village, but days on the road made such luxury seem like ages past. The owner had heard of me but put little stock in rumours and tales of small women being monsters in disguise. For once I did not educate him on his mistake. Little is ever given away for free, and though we had no money, the owner allowed Hardt and I to work a day for food and a dry roof. Hardt worked the kitchen and I did what Pyromancers often do by way of work: I made fire where it was needed. I think, in truth, the owner took some pity on me; regardless of winter setting in I did not nearly enough to earn the food and drink that night.
There was music in that tavern, a bard by the name of Reo who played songs I had never heard before. Distant shores and mysterious people, lands unknown and a tragedy for the ages. He held the tavern in rapture with his notes and with his words, and when he was done, he found my table, perhaps drawn there by my flashing gaze. We talked long into the night, even once Hardt had retired to our bed. I told him my story, much more of it than I intended. He made a song of it eventually, The Fury of the Storm, it paints me in a favourable, yet tragic, light.
I do not count myself as a vain woman, but neither do I like to think of myself as ugly. In the days and weeks following Juntorrow, I felt ugly. It went beyond the loss of an arm or the ghoulish lack of flesh on my bones. I was a monster. I had done monstrous things. So, when this bard called me beautiful and meant it, I found myself both flattered and charmed. Even I am not immune to flattery, and sometimes even the most endowed of us need to hear that we are worth others' attention.
Nine months later Sirileth was born.
Chapter 31
Anonymity through fame is an interesting concept yet it often holds true. I was known far and wide, my name spreading beyond the reaches of Isha. Even the Polasians feared the name, the Corpse Queen. Yet you could ask a hundred people who the Corpse Queen was, and maybe five would be able to give my true name. My reputation was known, my alias was known, most even knew where they could find me, but my identity was a mystery. I would wager that fact was the only thing that kept me alive. I didn't know it at the time, but the Iron Legion thought I had died at the hands of the Emperor.
When Hardt and I arrived back at our home we found little had changed. It had grown for a certainty, new life and new faces abundant in the city I had raised from the earth. So many new faces I found myself quite lost amongst them. Tamura ruled in my absence, not with an iron fist, but with a considerate ear. Imiko held a different kind of rule. I could not say how, and she would not, but in my absence, it appeared she had garnered quite the criminal network. Thieves, thugs, whores, and bandits from all over the nearby lands answered to Imiko. You may wonder how long had passed, and I will admit that I certainly did. It had been more than half a year since I had been taken by the Terrelans, and most of that was spent down in the Red Cells. My friends had given Hardt and I up for dead. Oddly, I do not blame them for it, though I will admit to a pang of jealousy when I saw Tamura giggling upon his throne as he handed out orders. It vanished the moment the crazy old Aspect saw us amid the crowd. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he leapt toward us, catching me up in a bone cracking embrace, and flooding my ears with nonsense that almost sounded like a string of questions.
Within a few days Tamura stepped aside, and I reluctantly sat upon the throne of my own little kingdom. I did barely any ruling and left the running of the place to Tamura and Imiko. I ate well and new flesh filled my bones, and I became better used to the new balance of my body. It is frustratingly difficult to perform even mundane tasks like dressing yourself when you only have one arm, and it took quite some getting used to. Oddly I could still feel my arm from time to time, or maybe just the ghost of it. It itched more than anything, an itch I could never find to scratch. You have no idea how damnably annoying it is to feel your fingers itching when you don't even have a hand.
I grew fat with pregnancy, and though I handled it far better than I had the first time, it was still a chore more often than not. Ssserakis was not nearly as insistent on action during the months I carried Sirileth. I still felt my horror's need for its own vengeance, and its desire to return to its own world, but it did not push me toward either goal even once while I was pregnant. There was a connection between my horror and my second child. I think Ssserakis felt as much a parent as I did.
Sirileth arrived in blood and noise, mine and hers. What is there to say about my second child? Not lightly do I name her a monster, but there was always too much of her mother in her to be anything else. But that is a story for another time. I love her. I have always loved her, no matter what is said about her or myself. I loved Sirileth from the moment I set eyes on her, with all my heart. But I still abandoned her. Some lessons I guess I have never learned. Know this, though, it was not willingly. I left Sirileth in Imiko's care because of a threat I could not ignore.
The Iron Legion had found me.
A messenger arrived in the middle of the night. It was mere months after Sirileth had been born and I was feeding her, my shadow draped around us, hiding my beautiful daughter from the world that would condemn her for her mother's sins. I would have been better off trying to hide the world from Sirileth. My second daughter would settle for nothing less than infamy to eclipse my own. Even back then, so small and innocent, she demanded to be the centre of all attention. Even back then her eyes glowed with an odd darklight, like the corona of the sun hidden behind our moons.
The messenger was a tall man, handsome in that rugged way that somehow defies the dirt and grime of the road they cart around with them. He went down on one knee before me and bowed his head for a moment. A sign of respect, traditions maintained. I cared little for tradition.
"Loran Orran sends his greetings." The messenger's voice echoed around the empty corners of my great hall. It was quite nice to have the place so empty, it was usually a bustling hive of activity and light and noise. There's a lot to be said for meetings in the middle of the night. "I assume I am addressing Eskara Helsene, the Corpse Queen?" He had a well-trained voice, also musical. It reminded me of the bard I had met in that tavern, and the night we had spent together.
Sirileth stirred and I shifted her beneath the shadow draped around me. That, too, is another thing made more difficult by missing an arm.
"Where is he?" I put as much menace into my voice as I could. I will not lie; I had been looking for the Iron Legion. Not just for my own vengeance, and not just for that of Ssserakis'. I had not forgotten about Josef. I could not forget, would not forget.
The messenger caught the tone I used and when he stood, he looked far less confident than before. "I don't know. I was paid to bring a message for the Corpse Queen's ears only. I should mention, I don't understand the content only…"
My patience with the man wore thin and I snapped at him. "Then tell me the message and get out." Sirileth let out a sharp wail, not muffled at all by my shadow.
The messenger coughed. "Yenhelm lives. You can find him where it all began. Wait too long, and I will come for you." He bowed and turned.
"That's it?" Hardt asked, stepping out from the shadow of a nearby pillar.
The messenger nodded and I let him leave. I was a little preoccupied trying to quiet Sirileth once more.
It's time, Eskara.
"Where it all began?" Hardt asked. "The Pit?" The Pit was flooded beneath our feet. There were things living down there, still. Things that could call the deep, dark water home, but no terrans could.
"Not all beginnings are yours," Tamura said. "Go back further and you will see a million beginnings all intersecting."
Hardt sighed. "You could have just said no."
I was busy cooing to Sirileth and rocking her back and forth in a vain attempt to quiet her. "It began in Picarr, the laboratory beneath the Academy of Magic. That's where he experimented on Josef and I."
The ruins of Picarr were not close. Weeks away at least, especially as I would not risk portal travel over significant distances. It was not for myself that I feared to use portals, but for Ssserakis. Whatever lived on the other side, had taken an interest in my horror, and I would not give it another chance to pick Ssserakis apart.
It's a trap.
"This has to be a trap." Hardt agreed with my horror without even realising it. "Why else would he just tell you where to find him?"
I nodded, still dealing with a wriggling baby. Sirileth was never one for sitting still. I had not known my first daughter long, but Kento had been a quiet babe, calm but for the times she needed something. Sirileth could not have been more different, always moving, always noisy. They were, both of them, perfect, my daughters.
"You're going, aren't you?" Hardt asked.
Again, I nodded. "The Iron Legion knows where I am, and for some reason he wants me to meet him." I sighed. "The fucker isn't going to just accept it if I don't go. There was a threat implied in that message as well as an invitation. What we've built here can be torn down. You saw the powers he can bring to bear. I won't risk it. And I won't risk her."
He must be killed. No one from your world should be strong enough to pull a lord of Sevoari across. There are things in my world that must remain there.
I shrugged. "And he has Josef." Hardt opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "I have left Josef to die twice now, Hardt. Once down in the Pit, and again when he was first taken. I have a chance to set him free. I know you don't… I know what he did." I shook my head. "We've all done regrettable things. I'm going. I'm going to bring Josef back!"
That was the end of the discussion, at least as far as I was concerned. I think Hardt realised it too. He certainly didn't make any sort of move to stop me. Far from it, in fact. He insisted on going with me, even when I tried to leave without him.
I had a maid. Apparently, it's quite normal for women in positions of power to have maids for their children. Mine was a terran woman by the name of Galea who looked as though she could have eaten me and had room for dessert. But she was good with my daughter and damned useful. I let Galea take Sirileth from me and place her in the little wooden cot Hardt had made. She wriggled for a bit, trying to find comfort in the mound of blankets and missing the warmth of her mother. My will almost faltered then, watching my daughter pull faces in discomfort. I had to wipe the tears from my eyes and take a shuddering breath before I could speak.
"People will say things about me. Stories." I sniffed and reached down, pulling a blanket a little closer around her tiny flailing form. Sirileth was a small babe, only now reaching the same size her older sister had been at birth. "Some of them may be true. Probably most of them. Never let them tell you I didn't love you. I do. With everything that makes me, I do.
"Listen to Imiko. She's a fucking bitch at times, but she means well. Tamura, too. Crazier than a barrel of eels but there's no one better for advice, if you can decipher it. Hardt will protect you, even when you don't want him to. Don't let his size fool you, he's not really scary at all." Another ragged breath escaped me. My daughter starred up at me with those darklight eyes, her mouth moving in silent incomprehensible words.
"Don't let anyone tell you what you can't do. Challenge them. Break the rules." My breath caught in my throat.
Never let your own fear rule you. Use the fear of others to rule them.
I smiled despite myself. "Never be ruled by your fears. But don't ignore them either. A little fear can be healthy."
And filling.
I drew in another shuddering breath and stood, staring down at my daughter. "Be great!" We have that hope for our children. That they will be better than us, stronger than us, more successful and wiser. We all wish our children will one day step out from the shadows of their parents and cast their own brilliant light upon the world. Well, Sirileth certainly did that. She cast her own brilliant darklight upon the world, and in that light Ovaeris burned. But again, I'm getting ahead of myself.
"Sounds like you're saying goodbye." Imiko, ever one to enter a room in silence. I think she just liked to surprise people. There was steel in her voice these days. She had found that in my absence.
"I am."
"Not coming back?"
"I'll try." There were words left unsaid. I knew I had little chance of surviving a conflict with the Iron Legion, even less so given it was clearly a trap. But there was more, something I had to do even if I
somehow emerged victorious. Something I was hiding from everyone, even Ssserakis.
I turned to face my little sister only to find her towering over me, her jaw clenched. "Last time you left me with a kingdom to look after and only an old, mad fool for company. Now you're leaving me with a baby as well?"
"Look after her. Please." No words I could have said would be sufficient. "Look after everyone."
Imiko sniffed, blinked away some tears. "Sometimes I wish I'd never stolen that bloody Source from you."
I smiled. "Time moves ever forward."
"And you've been spending too much time with Tamura." Imiko fidgeted, nervous. Then her stern facade broke and she lurched forward wrapping gangly arms around me. "Good luck. Please come back."
I found Hardt and Tamura waiting for me when I snuck away. Even choosing a back door to my rooms and leaving in the middle of the night hadn't fooled them. Both had travel packs and trei birds saddled and ready.
"And here I thought we'd agreed I was going alone," I said.
They'll only get in the way. I didn't disagree.
"You agreed you were going alone," Hardt said. "I agreed I was going with you." He grinned. "And Tamura can't remember who agreed to what."
Tamura narrowed his eyes. "Which is more important; yesterday or tomorrow?" He grinned.
I shook my head at the crazy old Aspect. "I need you to stay, Tamura. Someone must look after this place and Imiko is… You're already running the place better than I could. I just sit around and agree with you."
"It is not foolish to make mistakes, only to repeat them." Tamura finished by swinging up onto the saddle of his trei bird and nodding towards the horizon.
"Tamura…"
Hardt stopped me with a big hand on my shoulder, just like he always had. The familiarity of the contact felt good. It felt like one thing I hadn't managed to ruin, despite everything I had put him through. "He let you leave him behind once before, Eska. Even I can see the meaning behind his madness this time. We're not letting you go alone."
