Sissa giggled. “Joy isn’t keen on words in general. She just smacked them and sent them back to my father to tell him what they’d done. But they were too afraid of him, so they came to me for advice. Apparently, they tried to use knives to tear holes in the protective shield.”
Loren burst into laughter. He doubled over with tears in his eyes. “Silly children… Like cutlery was going to help… By the heavens!”
“Well, they learned their lesson,” Sissa replied, trying not to chuckle, though her cheeks were as red as roses at this point. “I hope you’ll forgive them, Father.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. Have you forgotten the time you tried to get out?”
Unending raised an eyebrow. “Something tells me the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, Your Majesty.”
“What?” Loren stared at us, slightly confused.
“Like father, like daughter?” I said, going for an expression that might’ve been more familiar to him. The king put on the proudest grin.
“You’re damn right,” he replied. “I think every single one of the more curious among us has attempted to leave this place without fully understanding the repercussions or the dangers we face out there in the world. In time, we all learn our place and accept our fate. We’re safer here. The young ones are always stubborn, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when one or more of them try to do what we once attempted.”
“I see. That makes sense,” Unending said.
Sissa smiled at her father. “You were just as mischievous?”
“Didn’t you hear Tristan? Like father, like daughter. Where do you think you got your rebellious streak from?” Loren shot back.
I glanced over my shoulder, checking to see if Joy had come to. There was no sign of her. Just white stone igloos and blossoming orchids and delicate, narrow paths that zigzagged through the village. The night had fully settled, and the stars were shining down on us. The smell of burning wood filled my nostrils, and the sound of it crackling a few feet away tickled my ears. It was nice and peaceful here, but I knew it wouldn’t last. This… all this was an ephemeral illusion of peace and comfort because Anunit was still out there. Her presence—though unseen—applied enough pressure to keep me on edge.
As I covered Unending’s hand with mine, I hoped she would see the urgency in my eyes. “Your Majesty, would you perhaps mind showing us the artifact?” she asked the king, and I knew we were finally headed into the last stage of our stay among the soul fae. “As much as we enjoy your company and your wonderful hospitality, my husband and I must keep moving. We’re trying to catch Anunit before she flees to another location. Time is of the essence.”
Loren and Sissa exchanged glances. “I think Joy should be present for this,” the king said.
“She doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Unending replied, maintaining a faint smile. But Loren was not so easily persuaded.
“It’s a death magic artifact, and Joy has asked to be a part of any operation that involves the Mixer. This happened telepathically, long before we sat down for dinner. Personally, I don’t care about who sanctioned this entire endeavor. Out of respect for Joy, I’d like for her to be involved in the hand-over.”
Unending nodded slowly. “I see. Completely understandable, of course. However, I only wish to see it. I’d like to better understand what it is about it that has Anunit so interested. You can hand it over to me when Joy comes back. If you’d like, I can reach out to her telepathically.”
“By all means, please do,” Loren said, then got up. “Fine, let us return to my chambers. I keep it there. It’s the safest place in the village, as every inch of it is warded with death magic.”
“Even if—by some miracle—a Reaper like this Anunit you speak of did breach the protective shield, she would never be able to get the artifact out of my father’s house,” Sissa added.
Unending looked at me. “Joy obviously didn’t want anyone to try anything funny. I suppose she’ll be the one to break the wards when it’s time to hand it over to us.” She moved her focus back to Loren. “I’ve let her know that we’re looking to leave soon. She should be with us shortly.”
“That’s good. In the meantime, let us go,” Loren said.
We followed him back to his house. Sissa stayed by the riverbank, per his request, to entertain the rest of their extended family. She wouldn’t be needed for the showcase, and I breathed a sigh of relief, since I certainly didn’t want her involved in everything that would soon follow.
“Have you told Death about what happened with Joy?” I asked Unending through our telepathy.
“Yes. She hasn’t been able to reach Joy, or Joy isn’t answering, which might be because I knocked her out,” she replied. “We still have a green light.”
“Will that get Joy off our backs?”
“Hopefully. You’ve seen the ego on that Reaper,” Unending said. “Combined with her precarious mental state… I shudder to even think about it. We need to be quick about this, either way. It’s just the two of us against Joy, since Death coming here would trigger Anunit’s alarms, and we’d lose that little devil before we’re done with her. We can’t drag the soul fae into our skirmish with Joy, either. Another Death directive.”
“So, get the Mixer, one way or another, then get out before Joy finds us still here,” I replied. “Sounds like the kind of mess we’re used to…”
Tension gripped me by the throat, but I kept my cool as we made our way down the stone path and stopped outside the main entrance to the king’s quarters. Loren turned around for a second and smiled. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, then went inside. We joined him in what appeared to be a small lobby, barely ten feet wide and long. Pottery artwork adorned the walls, mostly white and blue against the pale gray paint. The details on each piece were absolutely exquisite—the soul fae must have worked on these with slim and sharp tools, likely the size of toothpicks.
Some depicted casual scenes of the soul fae plucking fruits from the orchard or squeezing nectar from the orchids. Others gave glimpses of group celebrations and the building of houses. A few portrayed creatures I had never seen before. “What are these?” I asked, compelled by my own curiosity.
Loren followed my gaze and smiled. “Monsters from our ancient mythology.” He pointed to one particular creature with giant horns and hooves for feet. It looked a lot like the goat hybrids I’d found in Greek mythology. “This one is a Pashin. He steals the dreams of children, and they grow up to be bland and empty vessels.” He then showed me an octopus-like monster. “And this is the Soul Eater. Each of its limbs can enter one’s chest and pluck out the spirit to eat it.”
“Okay. Wow…” I murmured.
“Yes, I’m afraid we have scary stories passed down to us across many generations,” the king replied, slightly amused. “They’re all children’s tales, however. None of this is real. I’ve certainly never seen a Pashin or a Soul Eater.”
“Maybe they date back to an era before you were all enclosed here,” Unending suggested. “These could have been dwellers of Rothko before the mass extinction that nearly wiped your people out.”
Loren shrugged. “Perhaps. No one can confirm this, so I’d rather consider these tales part of our folklore and nothing else. There is a basement beneath this house where the most ancient of our texts are preserved. The artists who made these ceramic pieces were given access to the original writings for inspiration.”
He walked us through a couple more rooms, including a lounge area with plush and furry sofa-style seaters and a wider chamber featuring a dining table and wicker chairs. Despite being the king, Loren seemed to be a fan of simplicity. There was nothing to denote opulence, and I figured living in a small village had played a fundamental part in this. No one here cared if he had fancier linens, and they didn’t have any precious metals to mine for, either. From what I’d been able to gather thus far, the soul fae had been making do with what their isolated patch of land had to offer.
We reached
a small wooden door on the eastern wall of the dining room. Loren produced a key from around his neck and showed it to us. “The first of many wards,” he said, unlocking the door. As soon as he opened it, a cold draft burst out, sending shivers down my spine.
Ahead, pitch-black darkness awaited.
“I must admit, the simplicity of your home is impressive,” Unending replied. “Of all the kings I’ve met in my long lifetime, you are the most modest.”
“It’s all I know,” Loren said. “From our ancient texts, I understand that there was once a hierarchy for our people. The upper class, the middle class, the lower class. The first had fortunes and land titles. The second had functions and homesteads, thriving on what the earth gave them. The third lived mostly in poverty or servitude. I’ve read stories about our glorious kings. Fair princesses and valiant warriors. That’s all that is left of our civilization. Memories imprinted on thin pieces of stone and crumbling sheets of paper. But I have no need for riches or a palace, when our world is so small. Besides, wealth does not define me. It’s my ability to lead the people and make sure they understand why we belong here and nowhere else that truly counts. Everything else is… nothing.”
“That makes sense,” Unending replied. “Your role is important, but it doesn’t require the artifices of monarchy to set you apart.”
“My bloodline is my wealth.” Loren chuckled. “Now, come on into the basement. I bet you’re going to love it.”
We went down a narrow set of wooden stairs. Each step creaked as we descended into the underground, and I nearly lost my breath upon realizing exactly how big this place was. It wasn’t an average basement. At first glance, it seemed as big as the village, with tunnels going in different directions and stretching for at least two or three miles, if not more, judging by the protective shield’s arch width.
Shelves covered the walls on both sides of each corridor, and there was barely a spare inch anywhere. Rolled-up scrolls, leather-bound manuscripts, stone and clay tablets, stacks of yellowing papers—everything the soul fae had written over the years, according to Loren, since before the great extinction. Stories and poems. Philosophical ramblings. Novels and novellas. Religious texts. Legal documents and yearly reports from what had once been the palace’s administrative wing. There were sketches, too, and illustrations, compendiums of mythology and legends of every nation of the soul fae.
These tunnels were all that remained of a civilization that had once spanned continents, each of its people renowned for their ability to bend spirits. This planet had been merciless in its destruction, and I really couldn’t blame Death for choosing to save them.
“Here…” Loren muttered as we headed south down a dimly lit corridor. This one was different from the others. Its shelves were loaded with various objects—most of them mundane, such as candleholders, reading glasses, shoes and pots, porcelain drinking sets, trays, and other items used on a daily basis by their ancestors. “This is the reliquary of times gone by. It has historical value, more than anything else. It’s the only place where you’ll find jewelry, by the way. The real stuff, not what we weave with leather strings and river pebbles. Look.”
He stopped by one of the shelves where several decorative boxes had been stored. Dust covered them, but I could still make out the mother-of-pearl inlays and brass edges. Loren opened one to reveal a stunning set of earrings and a matching necklace. The rubies stood out because they were considerably larger than similar jewels I’d seen and were a vivid, bloody red. I couldn’t look away. The gems were framed by tiny diamonds and mounted on white gold. They looked old, parts of the facets chipped away. The original sheen was gone, and rust had settled in the tiny nooks between each element, but they were still beautiful. Still eye-catching.
“How did these pieces survive for so long?” Unending asked. “We’re talking millions of years here. Even metal changes its properties over such a period of time. Why hasn’t everything in here turned to compressed carbon?”
Loren smiled. “Death was kind enough to cast a spell on this place when my ancestors built it. The magic slowed time to such a degree that it seems as though it has stopped altogether. Eventually, maybe in a billion years, what you see in this place will be nothing but dirt. In the meantime, my people will start remaking and rewriting everything so that when the originals fade away, our future generations will still know what this is and what it means.”
We continued down the corridor until we reached the far end. A multitude of death magic symbols were scribbled on the wall, and Unending couldn’t help but run her fingers over the runes. “These are the wards you mentioned. Aside from the key, that is,” she murmured.
“Indeed. But only a part of them. Death had the ceilings and the floors inscribed, and Joy added spells of her own. I doubt there’s an inch in this place that hasn’t been warded, all for the sake of protecting the objects within. No one can walk out of here with the Mixer, that much I can tell you. Not even I.” Loren searched through one of the bottom shelves and took out a box, barely the size of a shoebox. “This is it…”
Gingerly lifting the lid, he showed us the contents. The Mixer was nothing like how I’d imagined it. It was a ring-shaped object, about as wide as a regular bracelet, and I wondered how it worked in bringing multiple scythes together. The interior of the band was etched with a multitude of death magic runes, every inlay filled with some type of black crystal. The exterior was smooth gold, matte, lacking the usual metallic sheen. It was an odd thing, but its craftsmanship was out of this world.
“The Mixer,” Unending whispered, her galaxy eyes widening as she beheld the object, barely a couple of feet from her reach. Loren put the lid back on rather abruptly, nearly startling her.
“When Joy comes back, I will happily hand it over. Until then, and assuming you’re not the biggest fans of large gatherings such as the one currently unfolding along the riverbank, would you two like to come upstairs? I believe I have more ceramic art you might be interested in,” he said.
We nodded and allowed him to lead us back into the house, but just as Loren reached the wooden door, Unending tapped her blade against his shoulder. He dropped like a log, face down on the floor in a deep sleep. “I am sorry about this, Your Majesty,” she said, then looked at me. “We have to hurry. I need to find the wards that keep the Mixer from leaving this place.”
There was very little time to do that. Loren wasn’t the problem, of course, but rather the Reaper we’d knocked out earlier. The Reaper with the strength of a First Tenner who’d snapped upon seeing Anunit—though her incontrollable rage had very little to do with our mischievous runaway. Joy was going to cut our heads off unless we got what we came for and left the village before she woke up. Or maybe Death would manage to hold her back. We’d had trouble reasoning with Joy before, however, and she’d absolutely lost it this time around.
“Joy’s issues stem from isolation, right?” I asked. “Or some design faults, too?”
Rushing down the creaky wooden steps, I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat. The first trial was proving to be more difficult and more dangerous than we’d expected, and it was Anunit’s fault. If only she’d stuck to telepathic communication. I worried she’d done this on purpose, but I couldn’t understand why she would gleefully sabotage her own operation.
“Yes. And I doubt she’ll let us go without a fight. Hence our need to hurry before she comes to,” Unending said. “Death’s order is usually enough to hold a Reaper back, but you saw her earlier… completely unhinged. I think the isolation, like you said, plus some sloppy Reaper design work on Death’s part might have screwed with Joy’s spiritual circuits.”
“I still don’t get why Anunit insisted on showing up. She was basically the catalyst for this hot mess.”
“Me neither.” She sighed.
We were missing some information, and I was determined to fill in the blank once we got out of here. That was our greatest challenge at the moment—retrieving the Mixer and escaping from
the village before Joy’s wrath caught up with us.
Thayen
Jericho and Dafne stood by, ready to intervene if needed, but Astra unleashed what I assumed was the little Daughter energy she had left, dropping to one knee right afterwards. It burst out as wave upon wave of glimmering pink waves that crashed into the clones before they could touch us. She was back up a few seconds later, though I wasn’t sure she’d have much fight left in her. Richard’s doppelganger fell backward hard, crying out from the pain her power had inflicted.
“Don’t say I didn’t want to help.” Jericho sighed, crossing his arms.
Voss and Chantal’s clones managed to duck, dodging the worst of the hit. They bolted toward Astra, but Soph and I were quick to stop them, launching into combat without hesitation. “We really need one of them alive!” I shouted, as Chantal’s clone tried to burn me to a crisp. Dafne knocked her away with a swing of her leg, and the clone landed at Soph’s feet.
“I got it from here,” Soph said.
I spotted Astra close by. She had reached Richard’s copy, her hands flashing pink like an intermittent beacon. Her arsenal had definitely been close to depletion, but she wasn’t done tormenting him—not after everything he and his ilk had put her through. Astra grabbed him by the throat, the pink glow sinking into his skin. He screamed in agony as the energy spread and covered him whole, while she became paler with every passing second.
A Shade of Vampire 88: An Isle of Mirrors Page 16
