A bout of silence passed as Whitney watched Sora breathe. Then he said, “What?”
“She’ll know it, too. She’s gonna be fine. Her brain’s been mottled up with all this yig and shog about goddesses. She ain’t slept anythin but fitful naps since the day that evil witch left her body. She’s prolly just catchin up. Can’t blame her none.”
“I can’t leave her again,” Whitney said, voice cracking.
“I’ll stay right here. Won’t even sleep till ye get back. Ye have my word. But ye owe it to Gentry, and to yerself. Go with Lucy and see the lad. Make things right.”
Whitney took a deep breath. He looked at Lucindur and let it out. She was just about to head for the door. He let his gaze shift back to Sora, then, finally, to Tum Tum. “All right, where’s your bucket?”
“Bucket?” Tum Tum replied.
“You said you won’t be leaving her side,” Whitney said. “That means if you’ve got to piss or shog, you’ll need a bucket.”
Tum Tum let out a sharp laugh, slapped Whitney’s arm, and said, “Go find the kid and don’t ye worry about Sora. I care about her, too, ye know.”
“Last chance,” Lucindur said. She slung a brown, leather satchel over her shoulder, her other hand already on the doorknob.
“Don’t leave the room,” Whitney told Tum Tum. Then he rubbed Aquira’s frills. “You either, eh, Girl?”
Aquira puffed her nostrils twice and nodded.
“Wait up!” Whitney called to Lucindur as he followed.
“Good decision,” she said, smiling.
There was something intimidating about walking on roads paved with actual gold. There was also something insulting about it. To think of all the years Whitney had spent chasing the stuff, and here, the ancient swinlars decided it was so worthless, they’d just walk on it.
“Kind of pompous, don’t you think?” Whitney said to Lucindur.
“What?” she asked.
“The gold. It’s just gold, gold, gold, everywhere you look. It’s like someone is trying to compensate for something.”
“Oh, you mean like that massive spire sticking up from the Glass Castle in Yarrington?” Lucindur asked.
“Touché,” Whitney said.
“Everybody here is exactly as wealthy as they need to be, and pursuing their passions. So why waste the gold on anything but looking at how pretty it is? It’s all just metal, after all.”
“That’s a way to look at it. So, where are we going exactly?”
“According to Mr. Onepp’s directions, it’s not much farther.”
Talwyn’s father had tried to insist upon accompanying them. “It’s dark, and I wouldn’t want you getting lost,” he’d said from his perch at the front desk at his dock-side inn, all the while, unable to peel his eyes from Lucindur’s face.
Thankfully, Lucindur politely told him they’d be fine. Whitney thought it was more for his benefit and was okay with that.
“Does she know him?” Whitney asked.
“No,” Lucindur answered very matter-of-factly. “It’s common here in Glint. The physical act of making love is not frowned upon in the same ways it is in more… prudish lands. Sometimes, as is nature, children are conceived through the act, and we consider it a wonderful thing.”
“Wasn’t it difficult raising her without her father?”
“Children are reared by us all here. The burden, if it can be called that, is shared. Even those without children of their own find themselves playing the role of parent to others on regular occasion.”
“Sounds awful,” Whitney said under his breath.
“Plus, I had the Troupe.”
“And you’re sure it’s them Mr. Onepp spotted?” Whitney asked.
“I gave him a pretty clear description,” Lucindur said.
“Brown skin, dark hair? Dressed in bright colors?” Whitney said, observing all the happy locals roaming the streets as if the world wasn’t going to shog beyond their pleasant little valley. “I’m sure that would be difficult to mistake around here.”
Whitney could almost feel Lucindur’s eyes roll. That made him smirk, albeit not for long.
Despite the haughtiness of the place, Myen Elnoir was beautiful, like no other city in the known world. The brilliantly-colored clothing of each passerby was like a thousand rainbows. They all wore jewelry, hanging from ears, noses, lips, eyebrows, cheeks, and more. The Glintish were expressive people, artistic people, proud people. Whitney wondered how someone so bland as Torsten could have shared anything in common with the inhabitants of this flamboyant city.
Music rose from behind so many doors it blended into one song. The incredible thing was just how harmonious it all sounded together. Had this been South Corner, Yarrington, all the various bards would have resulted in a hodgepodge, and sloppy arrangement of individual songs that—when merged—would have made him feel seasick. This… it felt orchestrated.
Even above them, posted on the archways that led from one side of the street to the other, men and women sat fiddling with all manner of musical instrument, each of them playing for no one in particular. Whitney even saw a child that could have been no older than five or six playing a woodwind of some sort. When Whitney was his age, he could barely remember his prayers.
Bright white globe lanterns hung from the bottoms of the arches, illuminating the whole city. Whitney eyed one as he crossed under it. He remembered them from his previous visit, but it hadn’t occurred to him then that there were no flames inside. There was no flicker, no coruscating waves—just pure light.
It was well past dusk, but that didn’t stop the artists from painting, or the dancers from dancing. Glinthaven felt like one big party, but without all the booze and debauchery. They did it because they loved it, not to find an escape from the cruelness of reality.
“Not much of a party,” Whitney muttered to himself.
“What was that?” Lucindur asked, tearing his attention from the artists.
He glanced over. He’d nearly forgotten she was there. A smile was full upon her face as she traipsed through streets he guessed she’d been on plenty of times before. It’d been a long time since he’d seen Lucindur so happy. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure he ever had.
“You seem pleased,” Whitney said.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Whitney,” she said. “I know you’re upset.”
“No, no. Look,” he said, placing a hand on her forearm, “I don’t expect the world to shut down because Whitney Fierstown is a wee bit sad. So, what is it—happy to be home? Or are you smitten?”
“Smitten!” Lucindur gasped.
“I saw that smile on your face after Mr. Onepp left the room. Besides, you clearly have history.”
Lucindur turned away. “He’s a wonderful man. So kind, and caring.”
A melancholy smile passed over Whitney’s own face. He was happy Lucindur had seemingly found someone to connect with—or reconnect as fate would have it. Before today, he’d never heard a thing about Talwyn’s father. However, as pleased as he was for Lucindur, the thought only furthered his resolve that he never should have left Sora’s side.
“I’ve made a mistake,” Whitney said.
“Oh?” Lucindur said, her smile downturning slightly.
“I need to go back to Sora.”
“Don’t be silly. Mr. Onepp said the Troupe is just beyond that portal.” She pointed to a wide archway in the center of the street. Stairs climbed to a flattened, golden courtyard, and through the opening, Whitney noted the Pikeback Mountains in the distance.
“They’re outside the city?” Whitney asked.
“Of course, they are,” Lucindur said, slapping a palm to her forehead. “How foolish could we be? They are following the Pompare way. ‘Never sleep within the city in which you’re performing.’”
The Pompares taught the Troupe to arrive like magic, seemingly out of nowhere, to dazzle and captivate before disappearing once again into the night. However, here in Myen Elnoir, where everyone was a musician, art
ist, dancer, actor, or some other such entertainer, Whitney didn’t see the point.
“No better way to honor the dead, I guess,” Whitney said as they began their ascent to the courtyard.
At the top, he stopped in the middle of the portal and spun a slow circle. Not many things had the power to awe someone as worldly as Whitney, but this did it. From so high up, he could see the whole of Myen Elnoir. He’d been to the Glintish capital before, but he’d never seen it like this. The portal was far from anywhere he’d frequented in the past, never straying much farther than the Western arches. Why would he? It was the one place in Pantego he never could manage to steal a yigging thing.
However, he’d always noted how the city border was utterly unguarded. No walls were built up, nor watchtowers dotting the fringes. Even within, despite the presence of Glass soldiers at scattered outposts, the feeling of always being watched that existed everywhere else in the Kingdom was absent.
They passed by benches sat upon by men and women deep in passionate kisses, though, it wasn’t obscene or vulgar. There was a quality these people had—purity. He even recalled one of the first times he’d really met Talwyn, garbed in a soaking wet, see-through dress. She was gorgeous, tempting even… but there was nothing untoward about her.
“Tal,” Lucindur said softly.
Whitney blushed, worried that Lucindur might have seen his thoughts. But then, he followed her line of sight down into the rocky landscape. At least they hadn’t fully obeyed the Pompare method, having set up camp only just beyond the city on a low mesa. He saw her too, and Benon, and the others. Squinting, he suspected the small one beside the actors was Gentry. He and Benon jested back and forth as they ate around a campfire.
They weren’t far off the road, where a merchant caravan was just arriving for the evening. Three carts, all pulled by Panpingese Longhairs, giant hoofs clomping in the mud.
“Oh, Franny’s food,” Whitney groaned, eying the fire. “I wonder what she’s cooking.”
“Let’s go find out, shall we?” Lucindur said, starting off toward the ramp, which led back down on the other side.
Whitney, however, stayed rooted to the spot. His mind brought him back to the battle inside the Citadel and all those powerful upyr who’d died facing Nesilia. Then to the dark cloud south of them, which somehow seemed not to be spreading here.
“Maybe we should leave them,” he said.
Lucindur stopped and whipped around, eyeing Whitney quizzically. “Leave them?”
“You remember what you told me that night while we sipped Breklian brandy after talking with Modera?”
Her expression let him know she didn’t.
“You said the reason Modera Pompare wanted me to take care of Gentry was that before I came around, he wouldn’t even talk to anyone. Right?”
“Well, sure, but—“
“Look at him out there,” Whitney interrupted. “Clearly, he’s happy. Doing what he loves and what he’s best at. He doesn’t need me, or you, or anyone. Why would I want to disturb that?”
“You made a promise,” Lucindur argued.
“Look at them, Luce. They are happy. Even Talwyn. And they’re safe. If we go out there, Gentry will be furious with us for having left him here. Even if he forgives us, he’ll want to join us in whatever comes next. He can’t. I can’t let him.”
“And what does come next?” she asked. “I only agreed to help you save Sora, and we did. That Troupe, that’s my family. That’s where I belong.”
“Oh, stop it. I know you want to go after Nesilia for all she’s done. All my life, I wanted to travel and perform… then, it finally happens, and I end up in a Troupe with the last Lightmancer anybody knows about at the precise time when the only way I’d find Sora is with magic. You figured out how to separate Nesilia from her hosts. So, we need you.”
Lucindur’s lips parted like she wanted to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, she glanced back over her shoulder at the camp.”
“This place… it’s like nothing evil has touched it since… well, ever,” Whitney went on. “How can we take them away from here? Maybe Nesilia won’t even care about this place, it’s no threat.”
Lucindur continued to watch them as he spoke.
“And you,” Whitney continued. “If you go down there, and you see Talwyn face to face, you won’t be able to leave. Especially not after we came so close to dying up north. And if you do leave, you’re not going to be yourself. You’ll be distracted. We can’t have you distracted if we have any hope of finding and stopping Nesilia.”
Lucindur closed her eyes, then let her head hang. Whitney took a few steps until he was standing side by side with her, the beautiful snow-capped mountains stretched out before them.
“We saw them, right?” Whitney said, lightly elbowing Lucindur. “They are happy. Healthy. Alive. Let’s keep it that way. If we win and defeat Nesilia, you can come back here.”
“And if we fail?” Lucindur asked.
“At least they’ll be here with smiles on their faces, instead of horrorstricken like we’ll likely be. It’s what I like to call a ‘win-win.’”
“One of those sounds less like winning to me,” Lucindur grumbled.
“Oh, Elsewhere isn’t that bad.”
“When did you start caring about others, Whitney Fierstown?” she asked.
“It was a cold night in Troborough. She’d been in labor for hours, and my mother was pushing—“
“Okay, enough of that,” Lucindur said, scowling. “I don’t like it.”
“Like it or not, it seems only right.”
Lucindur’s response was cut off by a voice calling out in Panpingese.
“Wei!”
The merchants and their wagons were ascending the incline and causing a ruckus. People moved aside while the cart fought to find traction on the slick, golden streets.
“Keep it down!” Whitney shouted, glaring at the driver. A hood cast a shadow over his face.
Lucindur pulled Whitney aside, giving the merchants a wide berth.
“They’ll be safe here, Lucy,” Whitney said.
“There’s nowhere they’ll be safe,” Lucindur said. “Not with Nesilia out there and ready to destroy everyone. We can protect them.”
“Like we did Kazimir and the others?”
Behind them, the wagon came to an abrupt halt. The horses whinnied, and metal clanged.
Whitney shifted his gaze to the driver again. Something was wrong… The man’s eyes… He wore leather armor dotted by bronze rivets—the mark of one capable of defending the goods beneath the wagon’s tarpaulin.
Hopping down from his bench, he stared at Lucindur and said, “How dare you speak the Lady’s name.” His voice was like gurgling water, and before Whitney could respond, another—this one dressed in plain clothes—leaped out from behind a satin curtain and snatched Lucindur around the neck, pulling her back toward the wagon.
Whitney reached for his weapons, but a knife to Lucindur’s throat and a threat from the driver made him pause.
“Touch that, and she bleeds out, feeding the earth and strengthening our Lady,” the driver said.
Whitney began to tell him there was gold beneath their feet and not dirt, but thought better of it.
“What do you want?” Whitney said.
He looked around, hoping someone would see what was happening and come to their aid, but no one seemed to notice. They were all too busy with their art and music and kissing and peace.
“You think you’ve stayed hidden, but she knows where you are now,” the driver went on, “She always knows. No one is safe when you are around, Whitney Fierstown.”
Beneath the hood, eyes, black as night and thrice as frightening, bore pinprick holes in Whitney’s own. The veins around the man’s temples and forehead pulsated, skin pallid, and cold-looking.
Whitney knew what he was looking at without really knowing—a man possessed. Two men possessed. How had she found them? There was no time to wonder.
“Nesilia wants me?” he said. “Then why don’t you let my friend go, and you can have me instead?”
“Our Lady desires your life by her own hands,” the possessed merchant said. “You owe her for stealing her prized host.”
“So, throw me in your little wagon and take me to her.”
“We know of your prowess, thief,” the demon said. “There’s no prison that can hold you.”
It was a ridiculous moment for pride, but Whitney couldn’t help it. He sneered. “Perhaps she’s forgotten that I’ve already killed one goddess. I’d love to do it again.”
The merchants laughed. “You may be a master thief, but you killed nothing. “
“Plenty of corpses would argue that. I thought Nesilia wanted me for herself? You demons really should get your stories straight.” He hoped the quavering in his voice didn’t betray the fear he felt in spite of his bravado. “Just let my friend go, and I’ll come quietly.”
Just then, a drum pounded and, with a loud shout, a performer began dancing. The sound put the merchants’ horses into a light frenzy. It was enough for Lucindur and Whitney to react.
Lucindur stomped down on her captive’s foot while Whitney lunged at the driver. He hoped Lucy had freed herself, and the sounds of battle beside him gave him assurance. She was fighting back.
Whitney threw a punch that caught the driver in the ribs, but the driver was barely affected. He responded with a punch of his own, doubling Whitney over. Whitney swore, but there was no breath in his lungs. They were tangled up, Whitney bent, and the driver beating against his back. Whitney rushed in and caught the driver with his shoulder, shoving him hard into the side of the wagon.
The horses bucked and neighed, pulling the cart forward a bit. Whitney rose, still gasping for air, but he managed to seize hold of the driver’s hood and slam his head into the wagon wheel. The Panpingese man took it like a kiss and returned with an elbow to Whitney’s jaw. The taste of blood filled his mouth, and he could feel it dribbling down his chin.
Now, those who hadn’t been paying attention were beginning to take notice, calling for guards.
Whitney reached again for his daggers but received a kick to his shin, followed by an uppercut that made him stagger backward.
The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6) Page 119
