by Darren Joy
A thought occurred to her regarding her first problem. She wondered if it was possible.
Yes, time perhaps, for a new approach.
Finesse.
Chapter 15
Dream Touching
AIYANA TODRALAN PACED a corridor lined with marble columns. She felt irritated, searching for something but uncertain what.
At the end of the corridor, doors opened. Sighing with relief, she marched towards them. As she entered, her gaze touched a tall cut of rectangular red-veined marble in the centre of the chamber. An object rested on top, beneath a cloth of amethyst silk.
Is this what I’m looking for? she thought.
Two children stood on either side of the marble plinth, faces and bodies grey, more mist than substance. They stared ahead as though unseeing. Bordered with pillars, the space was windowless, its extremities lost in shadows. Placed thoughtlessly were bronze fire bowls on slender stands, but they gave off little light. Off to one side, twin arched mirrors of polished silver rose from floor to ceiling, giving the impression of another room beyond. She’d never seen mirrors that flawless and clear, nor as tall.
Closer was a table of obsidian with a golden pitcher at its centre. She stepped towards the table. Several wine glasses stood empty.
Her eyes widened when she spotted a shadow within the gloom, watching. The shrouded figure emerged, straightening. The flames on their stands shivered.
‘Hello, dear,’ the tall figure said.
Aiyana took a step backwards. A glass shattered on the floor. She’d forgotten the table was there. Glancing at it, she noticed the glass was back on the table, unbroken. ‘What is this?’
Liviana Avitus lowered her hood. Aiyana recognised her though she appeared a much older woman. Both eyes were missing, but the vacant sockets stared at her as though she could see. One eye flickered into being, before vanishing. There was a hint of vast ghostly wings surrounding her.
‘Yes, it is a surprise to find you here,’ said Liviana. ‘I suspected dream touching was among your talents. You see, I know more about you than you think. You could prove useful to me. There is no more need for this bickering.’
‘What is happening?’
‘Oblivion, as it will happen to all.’
‘Am I dreaming?’
‘You are intruding.’ She laid a mottled hand on Aiyana’s shoulder. With little pressure, she made her sit on a chair she didn’t recall being there. There’d been a table with wine glasses, but those were gone.
‘How are you doing this?’
The haggard witch laughed. ‘I have been looking for you, Todralan, hidden under my nose all those years. Yes, clever of you to hide what you are. I never expected you to come to me.’
She knows. ‘I’m touching your dreams, aren’t I?’ Dream touching was her secret. None knew of it, even Threadfin. None, but her Darken. How had this witch known? Where was she getting all her information from? Okay, I’m asleep. Must wake up.
‘Your Darken is good. She kept one step ahead of me all this time. You must be proud.’
She doesn’t know who it is, thought Aiyana, which means she doesn’t know everything yet. ‘The imperium isn’t yours to rule. No matter if you kill me, you will never succeed in holding on to power. I’ll drag you screaming over hot coals, you black hearted shrew!’
‘Oh, my dear, I’ve no intention of ruling. At least, not just this shabby dominion of yours. If you must dream, dream big, and then make it a reality. Otherwise, what’s the point? You haven’t a clue do you. This is all much bigger than any one throne.’
The grey children hovered behind as though afraid. Aiyana shivered beneath the gaze of Liviana, who was now blind and much older, but then, it was just a dream. She can’t hurt me here. She doesn’t know where I am. She’s just trying to find out. Keep your nerve. A better plan would be waking up. Why couldn’t she?
The room shifted and Liviana vanished. Stone ground on stone, the doorway melding into unyielding wall as another door emerged. The building groaned as it twisted inward, a monster stirring from sleep. Children with skin like grey scales darted between the moving pillars, fading into scaled winged creatures with spiked tails.
Taking a deep breath, she moved deeper into the hall. It appeared endless. Close to a pillar, she raised a hand and touched the stone. The surface flaked. The pillar moaned and she stepped back. The charred flakes weren’t stone but skin. She avoided looking at the floor, which trembled with life. It attempted to grasp her ankles. This feels too real, she thought. This isn’t any normal dream. Wake up you fool woman.
The groans of the building took on a voice, a chorus of pain.
‘Where are you, Avitus? Do you think you can scare me with your tricks? What is it you’re trying to achieve?’
‘Another comes to join us now,’ answered the woman’s voice from everywhere at once. ‘He is far more deadly than I. Perhaps you can hide from me, but you will not from him. I can protect you, for the right price. After all, he comes at my bidding.’
Aiyana took a deep breath, shutting her eyes. I am the princess, the rightful heir, and this is a dream. I do not fear my dreams. I will wake.
She didn’t, though.
The light dimmed. No more than a span to her left or right was now visible. She moved further into the hall, each step muffled, until she arrived at a door.
The young ones in their creature form were clawing at her robes. They were pulling at her, attempting to drag her back. They whispered incessantly, and though it should’ve been unintelligible, she understood. She realised with a start who they were. They were not happy. They were terrified, and she couldn’t blame them, no more than she could escape. Some of them weren’t so young, but hulking creatures looming behind her.
She spotted a large door made of oak, banded with iron and sturdy. There was a heavy iron lock. To her surprise, in her hand was the key.
A man’s voice spoke, which sounded like her brother, ‘Aiy, let me in. I can protect you. Let me in. I know you’re in there. Quickly, before it’s too late.’
She heard the lie in that voice. A part of her wished to open the door. She knew instinctively that if she obeyed, Liviana would have control of her mind, would see where she was in the real world. Perhaps she might even force Aiyana to come to her, like a mindless zombie she once read of. She threw the key away, and it vanished before touching the floor.
‘Leave me alone, usurper,’ she shouted. ‘I won’t listen.’
‘You are mine,’ snarled Liviana from the ether. Her voice sounded disembodied, a neutral quality to it, and then came Threadfin’s voice through the door. ‘Aiy, you must let me in, before it’s too late. She’s going to kill me. Aiy, help! You promised you would always protect me.’
Aiyana heard someone hammering at the door. She’d touched Liviana’s dreams by accident, and although Liviana had trapped her, she wouldn’t give in. Still, her brother’s pleas tugged at her.
The children scratched her skin, fiercer in their protestations. Feeling something behind her, she whirled. From the shadows emerged a cumbersome shape. The children, including the larger ones, scattered at its approach, tails whipping in fear.
‘It’s too late for you, now,’ shouted Liviana with a laugh. ‘He is aware of you. I offered you a chance. You should have taken it.’
‘Who are you talking about?’
‘Gog of Magog comes for you. If you will not surrender to me, I will have him raze your cities to the ground. Whatever it takes, I will have you.’
Aiyana fought for escape, to wake up, anything. Then, she felt the walls and floor shift.
CATHYA REMOVED THE layer of silk. On the plinth sat an orb. At first, it appeared unremarkable, but as Aiyana stared into its depths, it came alive. First came a swirling blue and white stroked by colourful lightning that settled quickly. Then she saw landmasses, separated by vast leagues of oceans. Her breath caught. She was looking upon this world from high above. She saw Adalalcas and Eladaldor, the Aidaril Isl
ands far to the east. Below them was Tage and Nynt and further east, Vegoia and Keen. Far to the north lay the cold wastes of Zalanthya. ‘What is this?’
Her red-haired Darken smiled. ‘Why do you hide who you are. Are you afraid of what they think?’
‘Why are you showing me this?’
‘There is not much time,’ said Cathya with a mischievous smile. ‘I’ve managed to lock her out for now, but she will return.’
Oh, how I love her. Aiyana swallowed hard. ‘This isn’t just a dream is it?’
Cathya shook her head. ‘Liviana thinks me a fool, but it’s not her I’m worried about. Gog is coming. Aiy, the city is in great danger. We must save the people. We must get them out. Quick, there is a door. We should leave together.’
‘Wait,’ said Aiyana. ‘What did you call me?’
‘Quickly, we haven’t time for this.’
‘Cathya always calls me, Yana, nothing else, but then you wouldn’t know that would you, Liviana? You’re nothing but a pretender, a strumpet for powerful men. You have no real power, just that which you steal. Let me go, thief.’ Her heart sank as she realised that Liviana did know who her Darken was. How had she found out?
‘It’s too late, my dear,’ said the withered old woman who took Cathya’s place. ‘Look, look,’ she then said pointing a stunted finger at the orb.
Aiyana looked within and recoiled. Tens of thousands of giants ravaged through a city’s streets, slaughtering. It’s not real, you idiot, she thought, not yet, anyhow. Liviana wasn’t just a woman wanting power. There was much more at stake here, though she couldn’t begin to guess what.
Once more, the crone vanished.
Aiyana held the Shathra Stone in her hands. She knew it wasn’t real, just a projection of it within the dream. The children in grey reappeared, and stood close by, whispering. A handful kept the form of beasts with long tails and wings. They darted by, on the edge of sight. She couldn’t make sense of their noise this time, which told her how distressed they were.
Looking into the Stone once more, she found it empty. She’d hoped to see more, to learn where this Gog was. I must focus. If Liviana took control of her mind, well, that didn’t bear thinking about. On the other hand, now she knew the woman had the Shathra Stone.
‘Look to your left,’ said Liviana’s voice from the air, silky soft and dripping venom.
Aiyana did. There were twin mirrors, which gave the impression of another room, and it seemed that one could step through. She stared at her reflection as it shivered from her familiar image in the colourful robes of her office, to a withered corpse, before it became Liviana. The other woman didn’t look pleased. Her appearance now was as she had been in the conclave, robed in gold and silver.
‘You’re hiding from me,’ the reflection snapped, ‘like you’ve always hidden, coward. I will find you.’
It was then Aiyana noticed that while she held the Stone in her hand, in the mirror, Liviana held nothing. She gripped it tighter. I have the control here, not her. Strange since it was Liviana’s dream, but then a thought occurred. This isn’t Liviana’s dream at all. It’s mine.
The reflection shimmered and Liviana blurred. The beast, which replaced her, was overlarge with vast wings folded over shining armour. It had long thick arms. Its head was horned, jaws filled with jagged teeth. The most eccentric of minds couldn’t have envisaged such a monster.
If Nephilim have nightmares, thought Aiyana, then this is what they dream of. There was no doubt this was Gog, or at least a version of him in the dream.
The beast moved towards her as though the mirrors were no obstacle. It being a dream, they probably weren’t. The wings unfurled. They fanned outward to an impossible span, well beyond the borders of both mirrors.
The glass shattered into millions of silver shards. Aiyana reeled away, eyes shut. She thought of another place and found herself alone in a corridor. In truth, it was a different part of her mind. She stared at her hands. The Stone had vanished.
Black shapes brushed by her. The young ones cried out as they multiplied through her mind, merging with the voices of those much older and wiser. Their lost souls urged her to flee, before it was too late.
She tried to think of another place, this time in the real world.
Wake up. Oh, a grolg’s piss on it anyway, woman.
The corridor spun and her vision blurred. The walls, ceiling and colonnade merged, all entwining into a coil of indistinct detail, and darkness.
Chapter 16
Yellow Spot and Black Rot
WITHIN HER GURD, the old woman tended to Podral Pole. He lay on a bedding of moss over an earthen floor. Threadfin sat close by, watching. The healer’s gurd was made of wood, dried mud and twigs, and a dung fire burned in the centre below a smoke hole, emitting a sweet odour, which mingled with the lesser smells of fish oil and citrus spice. Threadfin preferred open space, or at least the fetid stink of a city’s streets. He found the hut confining, his own mysterious sickness gnawing at him.
Pole was unconscious, though he mumbled at times. Two clay lamps on a wooden chest, each with three wicks, smoked and sputtered along with several tallow candles on the floor.
‘You know that’s a poison you’re using, right?’ Threadfin said at one point. ‘I mean, just saying, since you’re supposed to not kill him.’
Before him on a wooden plate were pieces of half-chewed crusty bread and the remains of a roasted pigeon. He’d watched her eat not an hour earlier, spitting out thin bones, wiping greasy fingers on her rags. She’d refused to answer his questions, forcing him to wait, while Pole sweated and groaned. Her name was Shakti. That much he got out of her at least. When she moved, she did it with speed, though more battered and wrinkled than a wintered apple.
Shakti sat on a low three-legged stool. Her shrunken head bent, she crushed yellow blotched leaves and reddish orange berries with a stone pestle and mortar. ‘The barbs are poisonous, yes, yes, but the leaves drive out poison. You know nothing. You shouldn’t talk, no, no.’
‘Are you sure?’ When he was ten, a paytor had instructed him in the various poisons. There was always the risk of assassination. Odd, that a man of the Church was an expert in such things. His pasty complexion had suggested he’d experimented with his own concoctions on occasion, but he’d taught Threadfin about antidotes. Ewsannec rebels were too ignorant and crude in their methods, but Paldanar terrorists and Aidari fanatics were another matter. Not to mention the cult of Zorast, a centuries-old enemy of the Church. They had assassinated three paladins in history.
Knowledge of such things was essential. What Threadfin remembered was that yellow spot was lethal, the plant found near marshland. Apothecaries extracted the poison, yellow bliss, from it. The paytor had told him there was no antidote, a favourite of assassins.
Shakti lifted her head to scowl, and then resumed her work. A bitter odour rose from the mortar, adding to the symphony of smells. She tossed several leaves onto the coals.
‘Will he live?’
‘Yes, yes, live, yes.’
When she went outside, Threadfin moved closer to Pole. He felt restless. He didn’t want to remain there, but neither did he want to abandon the man. Felps was hunting him, not to mention a Valtari lunatic with fire for blood.
The healer returned clutching odd plants in her knotted hands. ‘Step back,’ she spat, leaning over her patient. ‘Are you deaf or an imbecile? Back, back, yes, yes.’
She forced shreds of dark blue leaves into Pole’s mouth.
‘Hey,’ Threadfin cried, ‘that’s black rot you’re stuffing into him. Do you even know what you’re doing?’ It was possible she was insane. ‘Are you even registered?’ Rogue healers fell through the cracks all the time.
Shakti hissed. ‘What do the dead know of healing, eh?’
‘Why do people keep saying that? I’m half dead. Is that so difficult for you hell-accursed pulsers to grasp?’ She knew he was Plagueborn but was unafraid.
‘Quarter dead, half dead, f
ull dead, undead, yes, dead is dead, yes, yes.’ Closing Podral’s jaw, she forced him to swallow. He struggled, spluttering, and choking. Water followed from a wooden bowl. Most of it spilled down his neck, across his chest.
She’s trying to kill him, thought Threadfin, and it was his fault for bringing him there. Not that he cared. Pole was a breather. It was just that he might need help getting to Icarthya. That was all. Of course, it was.
Armour, cloak, and weapons lay heaped in a corner. The healer had cut a hole through the tunics, and removed old bloodied bandages to expose, in Pole’s left side, a narrow gash. The wound appeared discoloured about the edges, and aflame.
Threadfin had visited the medicary, a low wide building close to the River Sulk in Icarthya. He’d seen the amputees, heard the moans and ravings of men doped with opium or scopolamine. What he noticed about Podral’s wound was that it was unnatural. Fiery webs radiated outwards from its edges and they appeared to be spreading. He thought of the shining dagger that Pen Luthus had held, and shuddered.
‘Do you know,’ he asked in a quiet voice, ‘what caused his wound? What type of weapon it was?’
‘Poison, it tries to run deep, but this man is protected, yes, yes. Lasted longer than he should, oh yes, yes. No ordinary guardian you have, dead one. The soul shard is vicious, carried only by them, but this time it hasn’t taken hold, not yet, not yet.’
‘Carried by who?’ Threadfin pressed, but she ignored any further conversation. What, in the pit of Grim’s unholy bowels, was a soul shard? Threadfin wondered why Pen Luthus hadn’t stabbed him, why he’d waited. The ritual, yes that was why, but what was it for? What did they want from him?
The healer claimed to use those leaves to drive out poison. A soul shard suggested the blade contained a soul, but what sort of one? Then a terrifying thought occurred to him. Perhaps it hadn’t contained a soul, but was meant to take one. It would explain the ritual. The bastards want my soul, or what there was of it.
