by Brad Carsten
There were times that she thought Liam may be that man, but lately he'd been cooling towards her. He'd seen who she really was, and as she'd always feared when it came to men, he was now pulling away. It was too late for him, but she swore that she'd never let another man see into her heart again. It was far too painful. She had never been the bravest of people. True, monsters didn't frighten her, but people did. She could kill the nightspawn, she could burn them to ash and scatter them on the wind, but she was helpless to win over the human heart.
She had to get the wings back, but she also had to go before Liam walked away from her first, which was only a matter of time now, and she didn't think she could bare that. She thought about their time together at the fire, when he'd put his arm around her, and she felt joy, like a brook bubbling up inside of her, it made her giddy, and when they danced, she had looked into his eyes and found a home in them. She had never felt so safe with anyone, but then she lost control of her power, and it all came crashing down around her. That was inevitable. Gaharah separated this world from the world of the dead, and it also formed an impenetrable layer between her and her dreams. What else did she have to offer a man, but pain and destruction? Oh, she had the royal line and status and an entire kingdom, but what did any of that matter when sitting outside under the stars holding the hand of the one you loved? Perhaps that was just a foolish dream of the young girl inside of her—the one that climbed the trees to watch the world passing her by.
She sighed, as she drew off her boots and threw them onto the river bank.
She dipped her toes into one of the passing scoops, tentatively. Her eyes popped, and she sucked air in through her teeth. “Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold,” she said, under her breath, until she got the feeling back in her foot. This was not going to be fun, but she reminded herself that she needed those wings if she wanted to get into the tower, and the only way to get the wings was to get to Narlsward before the Lord left. “You can do this,” she said, under her breath. “It's just water. Just freezing cold water that can turn your flesh to ice and then cause it to shatter like glass if you bump it too hard, that's all.” She shut her eyes wanting to weep and crawl back into bed where it was warm and cozy.
She studied the scoops as they swept passed, promising herself that she'd go after the tenth one, which grew to twenty and then thirty. She just had to get to the other end of the scoop, climb over and hang on, that's all. On number thirty-five she finally pushed off.
A thick layer of slime covered the bottom, and Kaylyn's foot slipped out from under her, and she fell back into the bucket. She grabbed the side trying to pull herself up, but the bucket tipped, her legs fell out above her and she was thrown back into the water. The river was strong. She tried to grab onto something, but it carried her past the wheel, and away from the house. Water flooded her nose, and she coughed and spluttered and kicked her way over to the river bank, where she crawled out, soaked and shivering like a drowned kitten. She brushed the water out of her eyes, as her shoulders shook in silent laughter. That hadn't gone at all as she'd planned.
Once she had dried herself, and changed, she tucked the small vial of sleep draft into her belt. Livius proudly showed it to her when they were discussing the Lord, and once everyone was in bed, she'd crept downstairs to retrieve it.
Sticking to the shadows, she hurried over to the barn where they were keeping the horses for the night.
She walked the horse until the house was hidden behind a low rise, and then she kicked off into a gallop. She thought about the wings and finally getting the answers that she wanted, and then her thoughts returned to Liam as they were in the habit of doing of late. She thought about the things he had said in Luthengard, that she was nothing but a burden, and she had to swallow back a lump in her throat. Perhaps she wasn't meant for love and a family of her own. Perhaps she was here to restore fairness to the kingdom, to oppose people like Lord Bowen, so that others could enjoy love and family. Deep down, she wished that responsibility had fallen on someone else's shoulders though.
She decided that as soon as she had the wings, she'd head to the tower alone, and after that? Well, she didn't know, but every time her thoughts returned to Liam, she forced them aside stubbornly.
A slatted wooden wall once surrounded Narlsward, but the buildings had grown beyond them, and no one had bothered to extend the wall. The buildings were old and poorly made, as though the town didn't have the resources or inclination to make them any better, and the people she passed seemed dejected. They kept their eyes down and their shoulders hunched, and no one but the watch stood in groups talking. It reminded Kaylyn of a prison, without any bars, but a prison nonetheless.
It angered her that anyone in Thamaria would have to live without hope, and she vowed to bring justice to this lord Bowen. As soon as the war was over, she'd have him stripped of all he owned, along with anyone who conspired with him.
Livius said that Bowen would be in the town square, and as she drew closer, she began to wonder how in the world she could draw his attention. She had been blessed with her mother's looks, and even though she couldn't remember much about her, she knew that her mother was extraordinarily beautiful from the paintings hanging in the royal court and from the single painting that Master Kempsdane had kept of her. Kaylyn was too aware of her own flaws to call herself extraordinarily beautiful, but she was pretty.
The old wooden buildings circled a large open area where the town must have once held a bustling market, but now, most of the stalls stood abandoned, the wood and canvas rotten, and those stalls that remained had little left to offer. When Kaylyn set out on this journey, she had a list of things she wanted to see and experience, and one of them was a real, bustling market. She had sewn a gold coin into her cloak for that. The list had grown in the days before setting out. She wanted to stay in an inn. She wanted to taste ale and feel what it was like to get tipsy. She wanted to hear musicians and someone singing. She wanted to visit a small village in the mountains somewhere. She wanted to meet a man and fall in love, and she wanted so, so badly to kiss him under the stars. So far that and getting tipsy were the only ones that hadn't happened yet, and yet, none of it was how she'd imagined during those nights when she lay awake thinking of her adventure. The reality was far less romantic, and when she imagined falling in love, she hadn't considered that the man may not feel the same way about her. It just didn't work like that in any of the tales that she had grown up with.
With a sigh, she forced her mind onto other things that didn't involve men. She wanted to taste ice cream again. She wanted to swim in a river and not just a pond. Once again, falling off a water wheel and being swept away in the river was not how she'd imagined it. She decided that wouldn't count.
She wanted to pick out her own clothes; Master Kempsdane tried his best, but he wasn't very good at gauging her moods or choosing clothes that complimented her eyes or her hair or her skin tone, or made her feel attractive.
She wanted to push someone else on a swing. She wanted to watch a show in a theater. She wanted to have a picnic with real people. She wanted to sit in a cathedral and—and kiss a man in the firelight, and on an open carriage, in a small town at night under a street lamp, and in the rain, and after splashing each other in a river, and while watching the ocean at sunrise, and when she had just woken up and her hair was a mess, and he didn't care. She couldn't pick a favorite, so she had included all of them on her list.
Now all she had on her list was not hurting anyone again, and trying not to get her heart broken. She had learned more about the world since leaving than she had gathered in a lifetime of books, and she didn't think she could ever go back to the manor and how she'd thought things were, but sometimes she wished she could. It would be so much easier that way.
For someone as despicable as the lord, he'd managed to gather quite a crowd. Master Livius said that he paid people of influence, and so a lot of them must have been there to earn some of that favour. Most were men, with a few women sc
attered between them, and most of those women had the worn out look of prostitutes. Only a handful were surprisingly regal and well dressed. They must have fallen into the influential group.
Kaylyn kept her hood up and had picked a loosely fitting cloak out of master Livius' closet, so that she wouldn't draw the wrong kind of attention, but there was enough going on for her to stay largely unnoticed.
A group crouched over a game of dice, shouting and passing around a jug of something to drink. Two prostitutes sat with them, and Kaylyn wondered how bad their lives must be to drive them to such a thing. They were laughing, with mouths only half filled with teeth, and Kaylyn's heart went out to them. People like that were never mentioned in books about the kingdom.
A crowd had gathered around two men trying to knock each other out. People cheered and others exchanged bets. The one's lip had split and blood poured out of his nose, leaving splotches in the dirt. The other's eye had already swollen shut.
Kaylyn had read about punching bouts, but still, she stared in amazement. How could they do that to each other and call it sport? And how could anyone watch it, and yet she couldn't pull her eyes away.
As in the tavern, a band played through it all as though two people weren't trying to kill each other. The band consisted of a drum, a fiddle and flute, and all three men were singing out of tune but with gusto.
Tis strange how fast this time has come,
for you're leaving in the morning.
But I'm proud to say that you are my son,
By the morning you'll be leaving.
For you're leaving in the morning,
Oh, you're leaving in the morning.
With your burnished helm and your head held high,
By the morning you'll be leaving.
Share one more cup fore you bid me well,
for you're leaving in the morning.
There is much to say, but we cannot dwell.
By the morning you'll be leaving.
For you're leaving in the morning,
Oh, you're leaving in the morning.
With your boots well-worn but your grit anew,
By the morning you'll be leaving.
When familiar shores are far behind
Once you've left us in the morning.
Know you're forever on our mind
From the morning to the evening.
For you're leaving in the morning,
Oh, you're leaving in the morning.
With your country flag and your kingdom heart,
By the morning you'll be leaving.
Kaylyn found the song surprisingly sober for such a crowd. She may even have said that she was impressed.
They upped the tempo after that, and a few people began clapping their hands in time and stamping their boots.
“Raise your mug to the skies, to the days of lies, to the days of boars and whores. Where feast they run from sun to sun, and a man can lose his drawers.”
Kaylyn clicked her tongue irritably.
She spotted Bowen almost at once. If it wasn't for the fat rolling under his rumpled shirt, or a sheen of sweat on a face that hadn't seen soap in days, or his hair hanging in thick clumps down his back, or his skin that was red and veined from too much drink, then it was the three women fawning over him and the gaggle of men trailing after him like goslings, all laughing a little too loudly at his every jest.
He didn't look like any lord that Kaylyn had ever seen, but he certainly fit the description.
His entourage spoke over each other, competing for his attention, all except one: a sombre looking man with grey streaked hair, and a mean looking face. Where everyone was trying to get the Lord's attention, they seemed to be trying just as hard to escape that man's notice.
That must be Sorrwyn, the chief advisor. As Livius said, he looked intelligent, but dangerous. There was something about him that made her cautious.
Kaylyn wondered how she was going to get the lord to notice her, when he joined another large crowd. The people made way for him and his escort immediately. A few shouted over a greeting or tried to shake his hand.
Kaylyn stepped onto a low wall to see what had caught their attention, and what she found made her sick to the stomach.
In the center, they had stripped a man of all his clothes and were forcing him to crawl through the mud. He had a simple look about him, and his eyes darted around like a frightened doe surrounded by wolves.
Bowen shouted something, and the crowd roared their approval. Someone rushed to hook a belt around the simpleton's neck and the people chanted for him to start neighing like a donkey. They slapped his ears and head until he gave a frightened neigh, and the crowd roared with laughter.
Someone gathered up a bundle of sticks and handed it to the Lord, who tried to force it into the simpleton's mouth. When the man wouldn't eat it, he struck his back over and over and over until it cut into his skin. The lord was playing to the crowd and was becoming ever more boisterous, but Kaylyn had seen enough. Anger and disgust burned through her. That was her man on the ground—a citizen of the kingdom, and thus fell under the protection of the flag. It was the Lord's job to protect him.
She leapt off the wall and forced her way through the crowd, elbowing people aside.
By this time, the Lord had handed the wood to someone else and his women were falling over each other to exalt him.
A weed of a thing had positioned himself behind the poor man and was making crude gestures, and the crowd was lapping it up.
Kaylyn broke through into the center, and she could feel the evil washing off of them in waves. It was a different kind of evil to Gaharah. Twisted faces with dark grins surrounded her. Their eyes began to drink her in, and their mouths spewed what was in their hearts.
For the first time, Kaylyn wondered if she had overplayed her hand, and was getting herself into something that she couldn't get out of.
She tried to focus on the poor thing lying curled up on the ground, and how no one would stand up for him if she didn't.
The weed of a man noticed her, and he turned those crude gestures on her. With that, the people cheered even louder.
The crowd swelled as people came over to see what all the excitement was about, and even the lord, who was exiting the group, had turned back to look.
Well, she wanted to get his attention, but she wasn't sure that this was the best way to have gone about it.
She slipped off her cloak to drape over the poor man and at least give him some dignity, but that set the crowd off like a badger in a henhouse.
Those joining the group from outside began pushing their way in, forcing the circle to close in around her. Kaylyn wasn't afraid, she was too angry for that, but she had to fight the urge to keep everyone in sight at once. If someone pulled a knife on her, she'd never see it in time.
She heard Liam's voice telling her that a lout with a bow could drop her from the shadows, and she suddenly wished that he was here with her. Ignoring the crowd as best she could, she put her arm around the man to help him up, and he buried his head in her shoulder and began to sob.
“It's okay. I've got you. I've got you. It's over.”
She tried to ignore the wall of people, as she walked towards them, or she may have lost her courage. She took two steps and the man jerked. His head twitched, and he began gulping in air. His body weighed down in her arms. She staggered to the side to keep her balance, and that's when she saw the arrow head sticking out of his chest. His body twisted out of her arms, and she tried to catch him, to lower him, but he slipped free and hit the floor with a dull thud.
Kaylyn turned in stunned silence to see the Lord standing with a bow in his hand, and all good cheer had evaporated from his face. His servant hovered behind him, whispering in his ear.
“Bring her,” was all the Lord said, and the crowd closed in around her.
Hands grabbed at her. She kicked and shouted and was carried along in a flood of foul breath and warm bodies.
She couldn't believe
what had just happened, and then shock was replaced by rage. Rivers of Gaharah, ten times what she felt in Luthengard flooded around her, whispering in her ear to submit. With that amount of power, she could incinerate the town from one end to the other. Concentrated on this square, it would turn every bone to ash, consuming the soil fifty feet deep so that nothing would grow in it for decades. It tried to enter her; the smell of sweet anger and hatred caressed her body, sending shivers of pleasure through her. The faces and the hands turned into dark twisted shapes that were as fragile as crusted salt. One flick of her finger, one breath would blow them away. Their swords, their shields, the mightiest among them would be as dust.
Dampened voices, like people speaking into a pillow, whispered from everywhere at once. “Consume their flesh and drink their blood, for the maiden of the night, the reaper of souls doth come, and under her scythe will she gather their lives, and feed the grave with no end.”
More and more voices joined in until they rang in her ears.
“Her thirst cannot be quenched. Her hatred never quelled; the cackle of her laughter will echo through the street. She bathes in their blood, and drinks from their veins, and wears a cloak of the skins of every man that she slays. She holds their beating hearts in her hand, and feels the flesh squeezing through her fingers.”
Gaharah swelled beneath her, like a mountain growing. Darkness and sweet filth surrounded her, sliding over her like silk, and then she saw something that jerked her away from the hypnotic voices in her head: a tiny spear of light. It hovered far away, but it seemed so foreign that she stared at it. The light became murky, but through it she could see Liam's face and it stirred up the same feeling she had when her father died. It lasted but a moment, but it was enough to interrupt the voices, and she saw the world around her for what it was.
No! She pulled back. She couldn't allow it to control her. It was probably already too late to salvage her relationship with Liam, but if she ever wanted the man and the life that she'd spent the last eighteen years longing for, then she couldn't give in to hate. Oh Fate, whatever the cost, she was willing to bare it, but Gaharah had cost her everything, and she couldn't, she wouldn't, submit to it again. Oh, Liam, why couldn't he see who she really was inside?
