Two Worlds of Oblivion

by Angelina J. Steffort

  “Don’t do it, Langley,” Jemin said; not a warning but a request. “You have helped us before. There is still time to change your mind.”

  “And that’s why I need to make sure, now, that her magic never transfers into Rhia.” His gaze spoke volumes, and a certain madness mixed into the expression of regret.

  Jemin glared at Langley. The shifter wasn’t going to be cooperative, and that left him with only one choice. “Change your mind, Langley, or I swear I will kill you.”

  Pen stomped again, nostrils flaring and releasing a thin cloud of smoke. His teeth were bared, ready to grab whatever came their way.

  “It’s your choice, Maray,” Langley called, ignoring Jemin’s threat, and stopped just below the stairs, body blurring slightly. “Either you come outside, or we take Jemin as placeholder until you come to your senses.” He was about to transform. Jemin could tell by the way his shape became unclear around the edges.

  “Stay inside, Maray.” It was all he could say before Langley burst into the shape of a Yutu, face as high as his head, teeth bared at him.

  Behind Yutu-Langley, the men and women set in motion.

  Pen glanced back at Jemin as if asking what to do.

  “Don’t use the smoke unless they try to get to Maray,” he said without taking his eyes off Yutu-Langley. He knew that if Pen breathed his toxic smoke, he would be affected as well; even die most likely. He wasn’t ready to die. “Whatever happens, protect her.”

  And he stepped forward, ready to sink his sword into anyone who tried to get past him.

  Maray

  Jemin’s blade reflected the pale sunlight, throwing a cold stripe of brightness across the wooden floor before Maray’s feet. She hadn’t found herself able to move and was still crouching there, staring into space.

  They had found her; the revolutionaries. How had they found her? For a second, she tried to figure it out before she decided it didn’t matter. They had found her. And they were ready to kill her.

  “Step aside, Jemin,” another voice demanded, not Langley. He had fallen silent, and a growl had replaced his words. It was obvious on Jemin’s face that Langley had shifted into his Yutu-form. “You heard Cardrick. No one wants to hurt the son of a hero.”

  Jemin’s features remained set, fear retreating from them as he took a careful step forward. There were footsteps, quick and heavy, and then metal hit metal.

  Maray was just about to push away from the wall and peek through the window when Pen trotted inside and eyed her with an impatient look on his face.

  “What is it, Pen?” she asked and felt silly for talking to the creature, but she had seen Corey and Jemin do it before. She had no idea to what extent the Gurnyak understood her.

  In a response, Pen bared his teeth at her and gestured to the side with his nose.

  Was he attacking? Maray couldn’t see any smoke yet, but she didn’t want to take a risk, so she took a step backward in the direction the Gurnyak had pointed. Pen rewarded her with a stomp of his hoof while outside Yutu-Langley’s growl became more prominent. Maray hesitated. Her impulse was to join Jemin and fight by his side. Her magic might even be strong enough to make a difference—

  Pen screeched as he noticed she was glancing at the door; a sound that chilled her bones. He was nodding to the narrow door through which Corey had brought her into the cabin.

  “Is that what you want?” she asked, still doubting if Pen understood. “You want me to run away?”

  Pen threw his furry head up and down wildly as if he couldn’t believe she finally understood, then waited, not letting her out of his black gaze.

  Jemin wanted that, too. But could she abandon him and risk them hurting him?

  “But Jemin needs us.” Maray felt awkward for reasoning with the creature. But apparently, it understood everything she said. And it had taken Jemin’s words seriously. “They will hurt him if we don’t do anything.”

  Pen shook his head, mane flying on his neck, and trotted around Maray in a half-circle like a shepherd until she reluctantly set in motion toward the hidden door, heart hammering in her throat.

  It took her a moment to find a small ledge that was hardly visible even when she stood right in front of it. Maray reached into it and pulled the door open, letting the Gurnyak herd her into the corridor behind it. Behind her, Pen closed the door with his nose. His hoofs sounded in an array of clicks as he trotted away from the secret passage.

  Maray considered opening the door, but she knew that she wouldn’t get past Pen. Especially not without her weapons. Why again hadn’t she thought to bring them?

  Outside, there were screams now. It sounded like a verbal argument webbed into sword fight. Jemin’s voice was dominant among all the others she could hear. It was hard to make out single words, but it sounded a lot like he was cursing. Was he losing? Maray couldn’t even think it—

  A screech tore the air, running through her body like an electric shock, and she cowered on the ground, covering her ears. Pen. He must have returned to Jemin’s side, fighting with him.

  Corey had mentioned he was the best guard for the secret passageway. That, at least, brought Maray some peace of mind, but her heart wouldn’t stop racing until the noise stopped abruptly and was replaced by dead silence. She uncovered her ears and, for a long moment, listened intently for any sound she’d missed, but there was nothing, not even a bird.

  Gingerly, Maray got to her feet and peered through the tiny slits between the boards that were the door. There were no movements in the room nor in the limited view she had on the cabin door.

  “Pen?” she said, wondering if the Gurnyak had bat-ears; she wouldn’t be surprised if he started talking next.

  The lack of response drew her to pull up all her courage and open the door. The metal ring weighed heavy in her hand as she turned it the way she had seen with Corey, and when she pushed the door open, the empty cabin confirmed what she had seen through the boards.

  “Pen?” she tried again. “Jemin?” Her voice was shaky, and even though she felt like she couldn’t get out more than a whisper, the words sounded like a scream for help in her own ears.

  There was no reaction inside the cabin or outside—absolute silence.

  Dreading what she would find when she stepped through the open cabin door, she squeezed her eyes a bit tighter and ducked toward the little table to fetch one of the heavy silver knives Jemin had set between the plates of dumplings before she snuck to the window to take a peek.

  The clearing looked similar to what it had when Maray had practiced her magic with Corey except for three motionless figures on the ground, all of them in dark cloaks, and the little Gurnyak that was pacing between them.

  Maray didn’t even know she had muscles in places where they tightened with anxiety as she stepped into the clearing. She screened the space for potential leftovers from the fight, but nothing moved besides Pen, who was eying her with a look that screamed ‘crisis.’

  As she came down the stairs, she noticed a sulfurous stench. She stopped dead. “Was that you, Pen?” she asked and was inclined to retreat into the cabin, afraid the air was still toxic from the Gurnyak’s breath.

  Pen threw his head up as if upset she would even question something self-explanatory like that.

  “Is it safe for me to be out here?”

  As Pen trotted toward her, she noticed his nose and muzzle were wet with blood. He must have used his fangs on some of the revolutionaries. Instead of stopping in front of her, Pen passed her side and parked behind her. Maray wanted to turn around and see what was going on, but Pen screeched for a second—not the deafening sound from before, but a quiet, desperate sound—then nudged her with his nose. She let him guide her into the center of the clearing where, right between the three motionless shapes, a familiar sword stuck in the frozen ground.

  “Jemin?” Maray darted forward as she recognized the weapon, eager and afraid to confirm it was his.

  When she reached for the blade, Pen was right behind her
. It was Jemin’s sword, but none of the men on the ground were Jemin. Maray took a breath of relief, which immediately got stuck as she spotted the piece of parchment that was pinned to the ground with the tip of the blade.

  “Did you see that?” she unnecessarily asked the Gurnyak who was tapping its hoof onto the edge of the note. “‘I recommend you make your decision soon, Maray Cornay,’” she read aloud, the Gurnyak watching intensely, “‘It would be a shame if I had to hurt Jemin.’”

  Maray turned the note over, looking for a signature, a name, anything that told her who had written it. But it was obvious. “Langley.”

  Pen screeched again. Loud enough to make Maray’s hands flip up to her ears, shielding them from the metal sound, until he stopped, an urgent expression on his horse-face.

  “We need to save him.” She pocketed the note and pulled the sword from the ground, ready to spear Langley had he been there.

  As she was still speaking to the Gurnyak, she wondered in which direction she was supposed to go. Where would Langley be hiding? And, was it smart to give herself up so Jemin would be free? They wouldn’t hurt him; he was their bargaining chip. If they harmed him, they’d lose all leverage. Maray wasn’t a diplomat, but she had learned enough from her father to recognize a situation for what it was.

  Pen didn’t move. His black eyes were remorseful as he peered through the mane hanging over his nose to the ground where the sword had stuck in the frozen dirt.

  “What is it, Pen?” She could hardly stand still knowing Jemin was in Langley’s hands. What if she was wrong? What if the revolutionaries were actually ready to hurt Jemin? He didn’t have his weapon, and if they took away his bracelet, he wouldn’t just heal from a strike in the face or a cut in the arm. She flinched at her own vivid imagination and stuck the sword into her belt.

  Pen lifted his head and rubbed it against the side of her leg, shoving her back toward the cabin.

  “Back through the passageway?” Maray asked, and Pen nodded and trotted beside her into the building.

  Maray didn’t pause to grab her cloak, or pick up one of the gone-cold dumplings, but reached for the hidden door and pulled it open.

  When she stepped into the half-light, the sound of hoofs beside her disappeared, making Maray stop despite her growing impatience.

  “Aren’t you coming?” she called over her shoulder when Pen sat on his carpet instead of following her into the corridor. “Jemin needs us.”

  Pen pointed at her with his nose as if correcting her that Jemin needed her, not him.

  There was no time for her to consider whether it was worth a try to convince Pen to come join her. What she had to do was get back to the palace and inform the others of what had happened.

  The way back was long; much longer than it had appeared when she had walked it with Corey. The turn past the servant quarters came with a surge of angst for Jemin, and for a moment, she wondered if it wouldn’t be better to find Heck or Corey before she went to her parents. What if they considered Jemin was collateral they’d willingly give up to protect their daughter? Before she could consciously decide, she had shouldered the wooden door open. She didn’t know where exactly in the servant quarters she would exit, but she knew that Heck would be somewhere there.

  Maray found herself surrounded by darkness. It smelled like wet rug and wood. Dust tickled her nose, and as she reached up to wipe her face, her hand hit something hard. She cursed under her breath. Where was she? She glanced around, hoping to find an indication where the path continued, but the door behind her had fallen shut. And when she searched the wall, her fingers couldn’t find any indication of a door handle or doorknob; only wooden boards that were arranged as shelves along them.

  She needed light. For a second, she got upset with herself. Why hadn’t she made sure to keep her foot in the door, just in case… Then she thought of her training with Corey earlier. Flames provided light. Perhaps she could manage only a slight bit of fire; just enough to see where she was and, more importantly, how to get out.

  Footsteps announced that someone was approaching her hideout.

  “… Princess Laura ordered us to stand guard twenty-four-seven. It is not your place to question why.”

  The voice came from somewhere ahead. It wasn’t familiar. She would recognize Parsin Scott’s barking orders at soldiers or Heck’s amused tone, no matter how desperate the situation. This was someone she had never heard; and they were talking to someone—or more than one person; soldiers presumably. Maray froze in place, not even daring to breathe as footsteps clicked past her; heavy footsteps on stone.

  “That part of the palace hasn’t been used since the Princess moved out,” someone whispered, and another voice made a sound of agreement.

  Were they talking about her mother’s old room? Maray’s room? As she was still wondering, more footsteps moved past her, close enough to make her shrink into the shelves behind her, and disappeared in the same direction the others had.

  She needed to get out of there, and as she couldn’t find the way back into the secret passageway, there was only one way out, and that was into the servant quarters. She knew what she needed to do.

  With a deep breath, she straightened and lifted her hands before her and checked the distance to the next wall—it was far away enough so she wouldn’t burn anything if the fire blazed too much—before she focused the way she had practiced with Corey.

  A tiny flame emerged from her palms, so small it didn’t even reach above bent fingers. Maray’s heart leapt with pride. She had done it without help, and—so far—she hadn’t burnt anything down. The flame gave enough light for Maray to orient herself. She was in what seemed to be a broom closet.

  While behind her and at her sides there were shelves, in front of her, there was a hardly-identifiable door. A thumb-sized knob sat between broomsticks and towels that had seen better days. Maray memorized the position of the doorknob before she snuffed the flame in her palm by simply laying one palm into the other. Everything returned to darkness, but she now had a plan.

  Carefully, she reached in the direction of the knob until her fingers closed around it, and with a second of listening for sounds on the other side of the wood, she pulled. The door rattled gently but didn’t open. Maray tried again, pulling a little harder, and this time, additionally, she turned the knob.

  The door sprang open under her touch, bringing in a sudden flood of daylight so bright it hurt Maray’s eyes. Surprised, she covered them, peering through her fingers until her eyes adjusted to the light. She could identify a black and white pattern of marble on the floor and emerald doors along one side of the hallway.

  Hesitantly, she stepped out of the broom closet and checked both directions. The hallway was empty.

  A quick glance at the windows told her that she was on the level where Jemin’s bedroom was. Her stomach clenched at the thought of his name, bringing mixed feelings and a flood of guilt with it. He had confessed he was in love with her—her heart fluttered for a second—and then he had basically given himself up to protect her. The guilt sat heavy on her shoulders as she counted the doors in both directions, hoping to find Jemin’s room. She didn’t know where exactly Heck lived, but chances were good that if she made it to Jemin’s room, Heck would eventually show up. At least she wouldn’t need to worry about being caught in the hallway.

  As she snuck along the hallway, careful to keep away from the windows, every sound, even her own tiptoeing footsteps on the marble, made her jumpy.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Maray spun around, reaching for Jemin’s sword, and stumbled into something solid.

  “Heck,” she coughed, relieved and at the same time recovering from an almost-heart-attack. She lowered the sword.

  The lanky, olive-skinned boy sparkled at her with his usual humorous gaze. “Did Jem give you this for cleaning? How rude of him. This is no task for a lady.”

  “I’m not a lady.” Maray shook her head at him. “And technically
, I am not even here. I don’t exist in Allinan.” The impulse to stick her tongue out at him grew stronger as he kept grinning at her. “Jemin is in trouble.”

  That second, Heck’s face went blank, and he pulled her by the arm into the open door behind him.

  Maray found herself standing in a room exactly like Jemin’s. It could have even been his if it hadn’t been for the ridiculous amount of clothes that were strewn across the floor.

  “Wait.” Maray paused for a second. “Is this—?”

  “My room?” Heck bowed slightly and closed the door behind them, shoving Maray forward with a mild push. “I’m afraid so.” His grin flickered over his face for a moment, letting the pearl-white of his teeth flash, before he jumped past her and sat on the edge of the bed. “So, what’s wrong with Jem?”

  Maray didn’t know where to start; Langley, the Gurnyak, the revolutionaries? So she dropped onto the bed beside Heck and rested her face in her palms, ready to cry.

  “Hey, it can’t be that bad,” Heck reassured her, petting her back, unknowingly making it worse.

  “Yes, Heck, it can,” Maray objected, feeling the first sob come through. “Langley has Jemin.” Heck’s hand stopped on her back as if someone had hit pause. “More precisely, the revolutionaries have him.” She reached into her pocket and fished out the note, hardly suppressing a shiver as she re-read the words while handing the piece of parchment to Heck. “I am sorry, Heck.” She didn’t dare look at him. “I know it’s my fault they took him. They want to kill me—just in case—so Rhia never gets access to my blood.”

  Heck took the note wordlessly. It was unusual for him to not have a smart comment on the tip of his tongue, and so Maray, waiting for his wrath to rain down on her, lifted her head and found Heck’s chocolate-brown eyes staring back at her, brimming with confusion.