by J. Levi
In the courtyard below, I stare at the cavern entrance where the roars and screams seemingly emanate from. A burst of smoke billows from the cavernous arch and dozens of slave workers clamber out onto the courtyard with their iron shackles towing heavy chains.
“Another cave in?” I ask, not seeking an answer.
“Third time this week,” my mother says. I ponder for a moment. I spent a week in the cavern of a molten river. I could hear the constant thrum of roars and earthy bellows as if the crude earth sighed and moaned. I haven’t a clue what is making those sounds, but I know if Veryn is behind it, it’s nothing good.
High above the smoke-filled sky, I see the blistering glow of magma as the volcano oozes the molten earth down its peak.
“How do Obsidian Reach and the city below stay protected by the volcano?” I ask, not realizing I was going to.
“Old magic,” she answers. “The amalgamation of ancient earth magic and hundreds of geomancers, under the order of Veryn’s father, king Vercaces. It placed a barrier of magic around Obsidian Reach and Oriand. The volcano acts as a fountain of raw earth magic that fuels the geomancy.”
I’m always in awe by how much my mother knows.
“Was Vercaces like Veryn?” I ask about my grandfather.
“No. Vercaces was hard and old in his ways, but he wasn’t cruel. Perhaps that mercy is why Orgard lost the Seventy Winter War.”
My mother has told me stories about the war between Orgard and Edonia. A feud over territory that’s been waged for centuries. Humans predominately inhabit the country to the North and thus pilfered the lands from the monarchy’s grasp generations before.
“Keep practicing,” my mother purrs, breaking me from my stream of thoughts.
Ever since I managed to shift last night and maintained control, my mother has been instructing me to shift in and out of my wolf form repetitively. The transformation is revolting and exhilarating, and empowering. Shifting is also painful. Very painful, but I’m thankful for it. Pain is only a barrier. It’s nothing compared to the intoxicating feeling of becoming more than the daughter of a foul tyrant. Hours of shifting, listening to my flesh tear and my bones break, and my teeth snap and my inner wolf whispering. I’m so exhausted.
“What do I look like?” I ask. My mother turns to me and pauses mid-tune to answer.
“You look more like yourself than you ever have in your wolf. Your fur is black, luscious, and velvet mink. Your eyes are black with a ring of silver, ears slightly curved, and tipped in white fur. Your fangs are long and pearlescent, coated in venom,” she describes.
“Venom?” I ask, slightly startled.
“Hmm?” My mother hums as if she misheard me. “Oh right, yes. Wolfkin possesses venom in their bite. Lythenian’s were hunted into hiding in the Northern territory hundreds of years ago. Our venom has properties used in the magic craft. Enhanced strength, poison potency, and even rumors of an apothecary perfecting a vitality potion from lythenian venom. However, I’ve never witnessed it myself.”
I want to ask what the wolfkin venom does to someone when bitten, but she clears her throat and waves a hand, a silent command to proceed. I obey, eager to please the only parent who truly cares for me.
Before I shift, I ask, “Are all lythenian’s wolf?”
I can’t help the words that regurgitate from my mouth. Still, my mother’s stories bring me exuberance, excitement, and magic.
Without looking up from her gaze out the window, say replies, “Not all. Only some. Lythenian’s take many forms. Birds as big as dire wolves, cat-like beasts, and wolves as big as bears. Actual bears, too. They’re the largest of lythenian kin.”
I daunt at the imagery in my mind of wolves, birds, cats beasts, and bears. I’ve never seen a beast beyond my mother’s wolf, but I yearn to.
I hear the pattering march of soldiers through the obsidian corridors. “Someone’s coming,” I warn. My mother shifts in her seat and begins to hum nonchalantly.
The sounding footfalls ascend the spiral staircase, followed by the unlatching sequence of iron bolts. The door swings open, and the usual squad of royal guards step into the room.
One of them huffs, scrunches his face, and utters, “Smells like wet dog in here.” The other guards laugh in an ensemble.
I know the room doesn’t smell pleasant. We’re only gifted with a bath once a month or so. We wash our hides and clothes with the same water used to bath our own skin, which is usually murky and soiled already. Veryn has bragged on many occasions the pride he swells, knowing we smell like animals because that’s all we are to him. Caged animals.
I follow the usual routine. I hold my hands above my head while one guard pats my body to ensure I don’t have anything pointy. They secure my wrists and ankles, proceeded by them yanking my chains down the spiral stairs and through the Obsidian corridors. My mother is left behind, she’s always left behind.
I’m led through the obsidian halls, the familiar route that leads directly to the throne room. When I enter the grand hall, I notice the king leaning on his throne with his legs overhanging the carefully carved volcanic glass armrest. He seems overly casual compared to his usual calculated demeanor.
“Ah, there’s my princess,” he coos.
My Princess? A faint chill shivers down my spine.
“Tell me, have you celebrated the good news I gave you last night?” His voice is an octave higher than usual. I won’t give him satisfaction by reacting to his taunts, so I don’t respond.
When my silence perturbs him, he mockingly exasperates, “The princess is so excited, she’s speechless.”
The doors from behind swing open. I shift to peer over my shoulder and watch a beastly figure enter the throne room. It’s tall, at least twice my height. It has long ears and curled horns protruding from its temple. Its chest is muscular, but its torso and waist are asymmetrically thin in comparison. Its feet are bare, exposing its four grotesque toes. Its sunken eyes are black, and ratty hair tangles across its brow. I shudder as the creature approaches. I recognize its features from the stories mother has told me.
It’s an arcenian.
The fiend walks past me and approaches the king. It bows its head before placing its hands behind its back.
“Ah, our guest has arrived, just in time,” Veryn says.
The troll says nothing. It just postures, stoically. Veryn stands from his throne and skips to me. Literally skips.
“I expect you to be on your utmost best behavior. Do you understand me?” He growls under his breath, his lips nearly touching my ear. I know the stakes. If I don’t play his game and behave, he’ll harm mother, or worse.
I nod.
“Good girl!” He berates me like a dog while patting my head. Oh, if only he knew.
Veryn returns his attention to the troll, muttering something too softly for me to hear. Then, he suggests a tour of Obsidian Reach and the adjoining volcanic caverns. They exit the throne room, and I’m dragged not far behind by the king’s guard.
Veryn leads us through halls and corridors that I don’t recognize, all while talking. He never stops talking. The troll doesn’t seem to mind, or if it does, it doesn’t say.
We approach a set of silver leaf doors with ruby garnet vines melded into their finish. Two guards stationed at the doors open them for us as we pass through into an obsidian cavern. The glossy surface is smooth, reflecting warped silhouettes with torch fire as we travel through. A butter-yellow glow dances on the cavern walls, the floor is tiled in iron. The cavern leads to a narrow tunnel. The troll is forced to walk on hands, its knuckles dragging against the floor. We breach another cavern, well-lit by braziers. I feel the sweat pool against my skin, soaking into my clothing. The deeper we go, the hotter it gets. I have no idea how Veryn still manages to appear regal and proper.
Short rodent-like creatures scurry from a tiny hole in the far wall. They march in a single line towards a well at the center of the room. Each creature
climbs a spiral ramp leading to the well’s brim and drops black stones they carry over their shoulders into the opening.
I scan the room and see another set of doors braced wide open. Beyond them is a room full of larger black stones. Their surface is glossy like the cavern’s obsidian walls, although these look slightly translucent. The details are obscured by the darkness in the room beyond. I’m tempted to force a partial shift, changing my eyes into wolfkin so I can pierce the darkness. My mother’s words echo in my mind, a resounding warning not to reveal my newfound ability to shift.
Veryn, who’s been incessantly talking this entire time, kicks one of the tiny rodent-like creatures and chuckles when it squawks in pain.
“Nasty Vermoles,” Veryn spits, and the troll beast grunts something I’d imagine is a laugh.
Vermoles? That’s what they must be called. My heart weeps slightly at the fragile creatures working tirelessly at the command of an oppressor.
The chain linked to my wrists yanks me forward, and I almost lose balance. I’m about to yank the chain back with the urge to wrap it around the soldier’s neck and choke the minuscule life from his decrepit eyes, but I see Veryn raise a brow at me. I keep my head down and continue the tour mute, Veryn the only one speaking.
We leave the cavern and into an adjoining chamber with a molten river along the side of the room. The heat is so intense my eyes welt with tears, which evaporate almost instantly. My skin feels dry, even as I perspire. My bare feet burn as if I were walking on burning coals from a winter’s hearth. I can’t hear anything beyond the magma’s loud roar and gurgle, or the distant roars of something known. I shudder at the thought of what beast or creature Veryn has tucked away in the bowels of the volcanic mountain.
Veryn waves his hand, and the soldiers escort me back through the doors and into the chamber with the Vermoles. My feet sing in solace as they are graced with the relief of a cool obsidian floor. I peer over my shoulders to gaze at the king and his guest, but the guards astutely close the silver doors before getting a glimpse.
After a while, Veryn and his troll fiend return to the prior chamber, where I wait with snickering guards. Veryn veers us back into Obsidian Reach, where he bolsters ballrooms and galas and armories, anything that gives him means to brag. None of this draws my attention even though I’ve never seen them before. No, what truly takes my breath away and cements my feet to the floor is after Veryn leads us through heavy set glass doors.
At first, I’m sure my eyes are betraying me because of the openness and vastness of the darkened sky beam so foreign. I absorb the monstrous volcanic crag. The slight glistening slopes of the castle architecture intricately reflect the ominous glow of molten earth. I didn’t know how beautiful Eridh ‘s second hell can be.
My chains are tugged several times as we stroll through a courtyard. I’m too distracted at studying everything in minuscule detail. I recognize the courtyard slightly, inspiring me to peer at Obsidian Reach until I think I catch a glimpse of fire-red in the window high above in an obsidian tower.
“Oh,” the word escapes my lips involuntarily when I enter a structure of glass. Dark green glass panes mounted together by black iron frames. Inside, there are endless tables with pottery and plants of magnificence and splendor. Stunning butter-yellow petals and lavender violet vines. Some flowering buds bare luscious red and yellow fruits. I’m mesmerized by the artistically exhibited colors. Towards the ceiling, a floating orb of yellow light illuminates the plants and flowers of intricacy.
The only thing better than the view is the scent. My nose twitches at the hints of spicy and sweet and peppery tones.
Is this a glimpse at the world beyond my prison? I allow myself to imagine the exotic lands in my mother’s fables. Forests of luscious green and oceans of ominous blue.
I’m so lost in my trance I don’t realize my name is being called until its harsh tone pierces my daydream.
“Merida...Merida...Mer—,” the king sneers.
I return my attention to the king and his guest, which drags its callused knuckles along a cluster of spiny plants in the corner. Its nose and ears twitch at the sights and sounds, its eyes avoiding the direct light of the glowing ball on the ceiling. I recall my mother describing the troll’s dislike for light, their nocturnal beasts, she said.
“Yes, your majesty,” I say.
Veryn rolls his eyes and growls lowly in his throat. He grabs my shoulder, applying his elongated, sharp nails into my flesh. I wince at the pain, but I know if I react, he’ll only punish my mother.
“I was just telling our esteemed guest how excited you are to meet their soon-to-be Chieftain,” his eyes burn as he grips me tighter.
This troll isn’t the heir to be chief? I realize the figure that lugs its brutish features around the glasshouse must be an esquire.
I swallow but struggle as a seemingly large lump in my throat threatens to spill the grey muck I suffered through at breakfast. I know I have to play along.
“That’s r—right, your majesty,” I manage. “Very excited.”
Veryn doesn’t buy my performance and scowls when the troll gauges me questioningly. The king presses a tongue to his cheek as his nails kneed even deeper into my shoulder. I can feel the slight heat of warm blood trickling against my skin. I’m confident my failure to execute the I he wants will enliven a sadistic punishment.
I don’t let panic consume me, but I allow rage to become me. This rage is unlike any I’ve felt before. It’s controlled and concise, a fire burning deep within my gut. I allow myself to believe in my mother’s words. She promises freedom.
The king hisses at his guards to escort me back to my tower. Just to spite him, I manage a curtsy with a daunting grin plastered on my face. I turn to the troll and say, “Please send my regards and condolences to your heir.”
The troll’s brows raise in question, and I’m surprised it possesses enough intellect to even understand my words. I figured during the tour it was ignoring the king’s obnoxious rants.
The king spits out a command in vylorian, and I’m hauled away from the courtyard, dragged back to my prison in the sky where my mother awaits. Veryn thinks he’s won, but little does he know his tour just gave me a gift. A glimmering hint of what the world can be like outside of Orgard. The beauty that can exist is magnanimous.
Veryn, in all his wicked schemes, just gave me hope.
11
Nova
“The four guardians of Ljosgard are supposed to be a fable, a myth our elders tell us to steer from the forest edge. But I cannot believe that any longer. I’ve witnessed the most beautiful of things that could only be a guardian. Do you recall the tales of Duné, the guardian of fears? I am at a loss for words. It did not appear as a creature of fear, its serpetine body shimmered with radiant beauty. It had antlers upon its head like a crown which shone brighter than a full moon.…”
– personal account by Rishki C’thu 453 B.M.
I chase the distorted howl that echoes through the halls. I rush through a corridor and up a narrow staircase leading to the makeshift hospital’s upper levels. I burst into another passageway, running past living quarters the nurses likely reside. I reach the end of the foyer. A chamber door ripped from its hinges. Deep gorges carved into the wood grain.
I hear the carnage before seeing it. I emerge into the room. The beastly monster rips the limbs from a dead nurse’s corpse. The assassin stands beside it, his grin is wicked, licking his lips.
My stomach lurches, twisting at the obscene butchery. From behind, the prince gasps and retches on the floor off to the side. I try to ignore it, but the sounds of his stomach expelling putrid bile only makes my stomach churn more.
Behind the fae assassin is a large mirror above a row of sinks. This must be a public restroom for the hospital staff. The inscribed runes on the glass are unfinished. I wasn’t fast enough. Maybe if I arrived a few moments sooner, the nurse would still be alive.
My face contor
ts in anger and disgust. The fae laughs, his fang-like teeth glisten in the soft light. His black eyes are foul and soulless. I will kill him.
“How easy it is to find you,” the fae brags.
The fae dares to grin wider and runs a forked tongue over the front of his teeth.
“Get to Ricon now,” I shout at the prince, who’s still dry heaving. He hesitates, but without argument, he runs from the room.
The beast, which surgically tore the nurse’s body apart from every joint, is now finished with its carnage and snarling its ichor-coated fangs at me. I draw a dagger from my back, a sheath secured to my belt. I have to get the demonic hound out of the hospital. Out of the two creatures before me, the hound does more damage, although I start to recall the shadowy black daggers he summoned back in Laenberg. The fae has yet to lift a finger yet. Who knows what else he can do.
“I will confess, you are peculiar,” the assassin says. “How do you travel?”
“Like I’ll tell you—piss off,” I snarl. The fae’s eye twitches, and his brows pinch.
The fae points a boney finger with a long black nail towards me and says, “Don’t kill, just maim.”
The beast lunges forward, teeth bare and crescent talons aimlessly slicing through the air. I summon my magic, wisp behind the creature, and plunge my dagger into its neck. The abrasive scales resist my steel blade as I muster enough strength to dig it further into its flesh. Black tar oozes from its flesh where the blade tears at the skin. The hound thrashes and snarls, but I cling to its lean back. The boney spikes pierce through my leathers and into my skin, the tarry ichor burns my flesh. I need to get this fucking creature out of here, but where would I even take it?
I picture the ivory spire of the Laenberg cathedral. That could work.
I pull my pearlescent violet and black whirls of magic onto the monster I cling to and wisp us into the sky high above the tower. I kick off from the hound, backflipping through the unforgiving gales. My magic still swirls around me, ready to carry me into its void. But I wait until I hear the shrill cry of the beast as its body skewers onto the spire, slowly sliding and squirming. Black gore spills from his cavities.
