Death's Abyss

by S D Simper

  A hush fell upon the council—not of horror, no, but intrigue. “I went to find Yaleris, the dragon beneath the sea, to plead for him to save us. And he listened. He came to fight Yu’Khrall—” Oh, the wound was still so fresh. Tallora swallowed her sorrow. “. . . and perished. Yu’Khrall has the orb he wielded.”

  Tallora looked to Khastra, the one who actually understood. “Harbinger—Yoon—knew how to free Yu’Khrall. That’s what she was trying to prevent, but . . .” She hesitated to speak the truth, unsure what the council knew. “. . . they found the way.”

  “What about your mother?”

  Wounded at the question, Tallora turned toward the tentative voice—to Dauriel, who sipped at her wine. “She sleeps with the rest of the dead,” she replied, forcibly stoic as she swallowed her pain.

  Dauriel’s stare lingered as she nodded, and Tallora said, “Yu’Khrall is a threat to the whole world. When I left, his new agenda was to force what remained of my people to pledge to him as a god. He won’t stop there. The Onians will surely be next. Once he learns how to wield Yaleris’ orb, the lands won’t be safe either. I’m here to plead for Solvira’s help—your navy is the most powerful in the world. You could fight him.”

  “If we do this—” Ilaeri’s smile widened, a wicked glint in his eye. “—Solvira will keep the orb as payment.”

  “Fine,” Tallora said, though it surely meant Solvira would rule the seas next. “There’s more. Morathma himself came to speak to Yu’Khrall. He told Yu’Khrall he would help protect him from from Ilune.”

  Tallora didn’t understand what it meant, and neither did a decent assortment of people at the table—Dauriel among them. But Khastra frowned, as did Rel, Ilune’s priest. “It is not a simple thing, to kill Yu’Khrall,” Khastra said. “That is why Neoma was called, years ago, to put him down.”

  “What would you suggest, General?” Ilaeri asked.

  “I would suggest we not be arrogant. I am willing to prepare the armada, but not before we have a plan. There is also the matter of the continuing conflict in Moratham. We should consider a temporary ceasefire, given the gravity of the situation. We pretend we know nothing of their god colluding with the leviathan.”

  “My queen told the Morathan ship I was dead,” Tallora said. “They won’t suspect I’m here.”

  Dauriel spoke, more assured in her words. “Priestess Greyva, when we’ve concluded, commune with Neoma. See what wisdom she would grant us.”

  At the far end of the table, Priestess Greyva nodded.

  “We will help,” Dauriel said, calculation in her steel gaze, and the stability of her words was admirable, given her subtle slurring. “Your witch is correct—we have the greatest armada in the world. Neoma fought him an eon ago, and so it shall be Solvira’s duty to stop him once more.”

  “Mermaid,” Khastra said, “where has Yu’Khrall settled?”

  “Last I saw, he had come to Iids. I don’t know if he stayed.”

  Khastra sat back, muttering to herself about ‘knots’ and ‘distance’ and ‘better get those damn repairs started.’

  “We shall have an official meeting this evening,” Dauriel said, sipping her wine glass—now half-empty. “Father, alert Tanill that we need the ships inspected and put into good repair. Rel and Toria, send prayers to your respective goddesses—seek their wisdom as well.” She stood from her throne, swaying as she escaped the table. “I adjourn this meeting. I will see you all after dinner.”

  And Dauriel left, wine glass still in hand. Tallora glowered at her exit, her own petulance growing.

  Khastra said, “This matter will take time to resolve—must we get you back to the ocean before nightfall?”

  Tallora shook her head. “Harbinger cast a spell so I could transform between being a mermaid and a human as necessary.”

  “A valuable gift.”

  “She paid a high price. A lifetime—for her, sleep for a hundred years.”

  Khastra merely laughed, much to Tallora’s shock. “A high price for someone like you. I would love a one-hundred-year nap.”

  Tallora forced a smile at Khastra’s enthusiasm, though the sacrifice still felt high.

  “Mermaid, come with me,” Khastra said, standing from the table. “I would discuss logistics with you.”

  She offered a hand, which Tallora accepted. With her stomach content for the first time in weeks, she followed Khastra from the dining room.

  Once in the hallway, the general idly led them outdoors. The chill was far less in the morning light, the sun having melted any frost upon the ground, revealing the well-treaded earth and the corpses of plants not yet consumed. It saddened her, though she knew it was only temporary. “I’ve never seen winter,” she whispered. “Not like this.”

  “It is the way of the world,” Khastra replied, the jewel tones of her skin in stark contrast to the near monochromatic outdoors. “All things must die, but in death there is rebirth.”

  The words might’ve been hopeful, but Tallora thought only of her loss and felt sorrow. “There’s only rebirth if there’s something left,” she whispered, but stopped when Khastra’s large hand settled on her shoulder.

  “I apologize. I am the Bringer of War, and thus a purveyor of death, but never a proponent of genocide.” There was something odd in her glowing eyes—usually so unreadable—yet Tallora saw regret. “This business with Yu’Khrall is distasteful, even to me.”

  “Thank you,” Tallora replied, a question welling in her mind. “Khastra, why does Yu’Khrall fear Ilune?”

  Khastra’s sorrow faded into stoicism. “Ilune fought him before.”

  “She lost, though.” When Khastra said nothing, Tallora wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she had more layers in the frigid morning. “Did you ever speak to Ilune about freeing Yu’Khrall? You told Harbinger you would.”

  Khastra nodded, her next words swift and terse. “She said nothing of merit.”

  Tallora braced herself for her next inquiry, knowing it could be considered a blaspheme. “Do you think she might’ve lied?”

  “No, she was honest about withholding the truth.” Tallora balked at that, even as Khastra’s steps paused, her hooves leaving distinctive marks behind her in the dirty snow. “Mermaid, tell me everything you know. I know where Stelune is, but where else has Yu’Khrall gone? What has he done? No information is too obsolete.”

  Tallora recited every vague detail she could recall as they walked through the expansive garden. She spoke of Iids; she spoke of the destruction of Stelune—and Khastra listened, asking clinical questions regarding the death toll and the dragon’s demise.

  Which . . . she seemed especially enthused by. At least, by the battle itself. “I resent Yu’Khrall for having the chance to fight a dragon.”

  “I’ll be honest,” Tallora said, bitterness in the words, “I’d have rather not watched Yaleris be eaten.”

  “Oh, barbaric, assuredly.” Something wistful overtook her elegant features, her glowing eyes distant. “But a story to tell.”

  Tallora decided to simply let the matter go.

  She spoke instead of the orb, of Yu’Khrall’s apparent fascination with it. “Well now he’s learning to wield it, whatever it truly is,” Tallora said, after describing the creeping ice.

  “Do you not know of the Convergence Orbs?” Khastra asked, and when Tallora shook her head, she frowned thoughtfully. Tallora realized she knew so little of the demon-blooded general, no idea of her age or history. “They were created by the Old Gods and given to dragons to help in protecting and directing the ways of the world. There are six in all, and each bear their own unique power. Some say the power is depthless. This bespeaks consequences I fear we cannot foresee.”

  Tallora thought of the dragon skeleton in the Hall of Relics and of Dauriel’s idle mention of its power stored elsewhere. “Was it a mistake, then? To call Yaleris for aid?”

  Khastra shook her head. “The sea was his realm. You did precisely as you should. Though we do have a far
larger problem now because of it.”

  Tallora spoke of Harbinger’s cryptic message from Onias: “‘My word is law, forever and always.’—I have no idea what that means.”

  “Let me contemplate it,” Khastra replied, calculation in the words. “But please, keep speaking. You are helpful.”

  The morning passed as Tallora continued her account—of Moratham’s bargain with Queen Fauln, and her verbatim account of Morathma and Yu’Khrall’s exchange. Only once the sun hung directly above did she run out of words to say. “If I think of anything more, I’ll tell you, but I think that’s everything.”

  They stood at a far corner of the garden, well out of earshot and sight. Khastra studied a tree with no leaves, her mind clearly far away. “I shall consider what you’ve said, Mermaid. And I shall be studying more of Yu’Khrall’s legend in the library. I regret to tell you that warfare rarely moves quickly—the war in Moratham continues, but it has been made complicated. I need only a few soldiers for the armada, thankfully—and only those who specialize in harpoons. But supplies will risk running out. And I must be present for both, at least in spirit.” A sneer twisted her lip. “I despise sea warfare. I will not be stepping onto any ships. I can lead perfectly well from the shore.”

  A strange dismissal, from a renowned general. “Good to know,” Tallora said, an amused smile at her lip.

  “I know what is down there. Onias would not touch me for fear of starting a war with my mother, but it does not mean I wish to come near his realm. You saw a glimpse, and you are lucky to not have fallen into his abyss. They call it Onias’ Hell for a reason.”

  Tallora recalled the dread that had permeated her soul and nodded.

  “But even with the promise of immunity, I would not join. I cannot swim. I have hooves; I do not swim.”

  Except, even aside from the inherently humorous issue that her hooves would present, Khastra didn’t say ‘hooves.’ Her accent apparently prevented it. She pronounced it ‘hoofs,’ and Tallora had to bite her lip and look away to not burst into giggles.

  Who was she to tell the daughter of a demon goddess that she had hilariously mispronounced as silly a word as ‘hooves?’

  “Mermaid, do you plan to tell Dauriel that you saw her crying, or can I breathe easy?”

  Tallora returned her attention to Khastra, the impulse to laugh entirely squashed. “I . . .” She shook her head. “No. I wasn’t planning on speaking with her any more than necessary.”

  Khastra nodded, contemplative as she continued her leisurely steps through the garden. The crisp air had warmed during their walk, the chill almost pleasant. “That would be best, unfortunately.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  Oh, she hadn’t meant to sound quite so defensive. Khastra raised an eyebrow, her steps stopping entirely. “I will tell you, but know that it is a betrayal to her trust in me to do so.”

  Tallora nodded, but not for a desire to help, if she were honest—truthfully, it was her inner gossip.

  “Over the years, I have done everything I can to impart wisdom into her, to teach her discipline and honor and steer her away from the paths of her progenitors. When you left her to return to your home months ago, she held sorrow, but she was not defeated. I had hope that she would heal and move on.” Khastra looked to the ground, an odd stance for the proud half-demon to take. “I should not tell you this, but on the day we captured your king, Dauriel disappeared. When I searched for her that night, I found her on the tallest tower of the castle, weeping as she drank from her bottle. I stayed with her and coaxed her inside because I truly feared she would jump.”

  It hurt, and fresh bitterness rose in Tallora’s heart. To feel pity for the Empress of Solvira was not why she’d come here.

  “I may be overthinking,” Khastra continued, a sudden distance to her tone. “But it is a fear that haunts me. I am certain you know that Dauriel has tried to take her own life before. Perhaps she told you that I found her bleeding out. It was one of the more harrowing moments of my life, to hold someone I see as a daughter in my arms and know she is dying. She lived, and it is a miracle, but my greatest fear now is that I am too late, and I find her on the ground instead of the roof.”

  Khastra was not one to speak idly of anything, but she held no reservation about her sorrow—and though she did not cry, Tallora saw subtle anguish.

  The general was silent a moment, the winter air as stagnant as she. When she did speak, it held resignation. “And so while I disapprove of her regressing back into paying women for their bodies, at least I have the peace of mind of knowing she is not alone at night.”

  “She is unwell,” Khastra continued, her hooves slowly digging into the rocky ground. “I have watched generations of Solviran Royalty succumb to the madness of their bloodline, and I fear this is the beginning. She is a fool, yes. She is a belligerent, frustrating woman who lets her passions become her undoing. But I made her my responsibility years ago. I love her very much, and I beg you to leave her alone.”

  Tallora followed Khastra’s gaze to the highest tower of the castle, glittering in the sunlight, but surely daunting at night.

  “I do not mean to ignore her. I simply mean to leave her be. Consider it a kindness to me and not to her.” Exhaustion weighed down Khastra’s gaze, age showing in her ancient eyes.

  “If she provokes me,” Tallora said, “I can’t say what will come out of my mouth. But somehow . . .” She remembered the shame in Dauriel’s countenance and sighed. “I don’t think she would. I can be cordial.”

  Khastra’s expression visibly lightened. “Thank you, Mermaid.”

  They continued their pace, and Khastra spoke of kinder things as she led her back to the castle. “I have much to prepare, but I can say with assurance that you are allowed wherever you would like to go. You are a guest.”

  “Thank you, General,” Tallora said, but as they approached the entrance to the castle, she realized someone waited.

  Tallora did not know Priestess Toria well, only that they shared a mutual goddess, and so it surprised her when the beautiful woman stole her hands in her own. “Tallora, I wanted to speak to you,” she said, sparing Khastra only a glance as she walked away. She wore her blonde hair in a messy sort of bun, dotted with tiny, dried flowers, the disheveled look endearing on her ethereal, ageless face. “Staella has been distant, and I fear it is from grief. I don’t doubt she weeps for her and Tortalga’s people. I know I do.”

  “Thank you,” Tallora said softly, finding only sincerity in Toria’s lovely features. “It’s been difficult.”

  “And the story of Morathma coming to speak to Yu’Khrall—unbelievable.” Toria shook her head, and only then did she release Tallora’s hands. “There aren’t nearly so many followers of Staella here as there are for Neoma, but I wanted you to know that you aren’t alone here, and if you need to speak to someone who might offer comfort, you can always come to me.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Won’t you follow me a moment? It’s nearly lunch, and I thought we could share the time together.”

  Tallora agreed, relieved to not have to be alone.

  Priestess Toria took Tallora to a private room in a high tower of the castle.

  An expansive window covered a wall from floor to ceiling, offering her a view of the world without the price of winter’s chill. A sheet of white covered the rooftops far below, but the city bustled all the same, little dots of people going about their day. The city extended far, barely ending at the horizon, though the outer rings seemed darker, even from her tower.

  But more mesmerizing than even that was a small section of the room blocked from the sun by a curtain. Tallora saw a white bat hanging from a beam, presumably fast asleep. Goddess Staella gave bats to her uplander priestesses, and Tallora found them adorable.

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” Toria said, interrupting Tallora’s staring. Lunch had been provided, and Tallora joined her at a small table. “When I first came to work at the
castle, Magister Adrael told me the story of the mermaid who was stolen from the seas. What a harrowing experience. You’re very strong, to have continued on.”

  Tallora poked the provided meat with her fork, uncertain of the species, but the small slab was dark and gamey, seeping delicious juices as she cut. “I’ve let go of my anger,” she said, then sighed as she realized her lie. “Mostly. Regarding my kidnapping, yes. But there’s plenty more to be frustrated about.”

  “I was appalled at Solvira’s behavior at the so-called peace summit,” Toria replied, her own plate filled with an identical slab of meat, as well as plants Tallora still didn’t know the name of. “Only a select few members of the council knew of the eminent betrayal—perhaps they thought, as an Acolyte of Staella, that I would disapprove. They were right, of course; my goddess abhors conflict. She longs for peace.”

  Tallora sat back in her chair, wounded at the memory. The fresh sting of betrayal struck her. “It was awful.”

  “Tell me,” Toria said, her smile as kind as the first glittering stars at night. “I’m trained in wounds of the heart and mind—perhaps I could help.”

  Tallora had spoken so little of it. She set down her utensils, knowing there was only so much she could say, even now. “I trusted Dauriel,” she whispered, quickly swallowing the emotion those words wrought. “And she used me.”

  “The Solviraes have always been tempestuous,” Toria replied. “I knew this when I accepted my position in the castle. I’d hoped I might do some good. But, keep going.”