The Lantern-Lit City

by Vista McDowall

  The wizard opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. He nodded irritably. "I'll be back for you tomorrow. Now that I've seen you, you can't hide from me. Understood, lass?"

  "I understand."

  Mumbling to himself, Laris Stanthorpe disappeared into the air. After everything she'd seen that day, Cara was barely surprised. She said to Druam, "We need curates."

  Druam nodded. Cara felt the weight of the battle finally settling on her shoulders. Good men had died, men who fought simply because they had been told to do so, and the blood of many innocent people had been spilled. Alex and Sandu might not live to see tomorrow, and Mavian was still out there.

  He has my blood. Who knows what terrible things he could do with it? And he has Merick. At least, what used to be Merick. Still, with all the worries of death around her, Cara felt a small sense of relief. Whatever happens, at least I'm alive. I survived, and I will fight again.

  Chapter Fifty

  Alex

  ALEX LAY in a comfortable bed, white sheets tucked up under his chin and feather pillows cushioning his head. When he opened his eyes, he saw a small, dim room with curtains drawn over the narrow windows. Sandu was in the bed next to him, still sleeping. Cara was draped in a chair nearby. Her eyes were closed, her breathing deep. Standing next to the door was a Realm's Protector captain, his armor still bloodied from the battle.

  As he sat up, Alex noticed that his torso was bandaged. Surprisingly, there was little pain; the curate's ointments did their jobs well. He grunted and threw off the sheets. As he did, Cara's eyes fluttered open.

  "Don't move, Alex. You're still recovering from Chadron's blade."

  "I feel fine," Alex muttered, though he let her help him back into the bed. He avoided meeting her eyes.

  "That's the medicine talking. Without it, you'd be screaming loud enough to hear at the docks."

  "No doubt." Alex glanced over at Sandu. "Will he recover?"

  Cara chewed her lip. "We don't know if one of the prowlers bit him or not, but he's got scratches and marks all over him. We'll just have to wait for him to wake." She paused, then said, "Shepherd Marin didn't know what to do with you. He said the healing magic didn't take, that Chadron's blade had some sort of magic in it to prevent the wound from closing. He sewed it up, but it still might bleed for a time."

  "He dipped his dagger in garlic and onion extracts," Alex said. "I could feel it the moment it touched me. I'd have to drink a lot of blood before my wound fully heals, but I'll live if I don't. Uncomfortably, I'll admit, but better than the alternative."

  Cara didn't reply. She stared at the bed. Wringing his hands in his lap, Alex said quietly, "I'm sorry for lying to you. None of it was right. I'm so used to hiding myself, lying to everyone around me...I should have trusted you."

  "I do understand," Cara said softly. "I've hidden my beast for years, but this is still...somehow...different. I don't know if I can ever look at you the same again."

  Alex sniffed and rubbed his nose. What had he expected? That she'd throw her arms around him, kiss him and forgive him? Those were the dreams of mortal men.

  "What will you do now?" he asked.

  Cara looked at a cut on her arm. "Mavian is still out there. Once Sandu awakens and is back in good humor, we'll find Laris. A wizard could be an incredibly useful ally."

  "So you're leaving Riverfen."

  She nodded. "Renna is gone and Mavian has fled. There's nothing left for me here."

  "I'm here."

  "Yes, I know." Cara gently took Alex's hand, her fingers rubbing the tendons in his palm. "I have to leave. My life as I knew it has ended, and you were a part of that old life. I can't unlearn what I know now."

  "What if I weren't fampir? Would you still leave me then?"

  "I don't know, Alex. 'What ifs' and wishes are mere fantasies. They can't change our reality. What is real is your condition and Mavian's threat. Just forget about me. Perhaps, in another world or another life, we could have been very happy together. But not in this one."

  Cara gave his hand a final squeeze. "I'm going to go lay down for awhile. Dirgard, can you come get me if Sandu wakes?" She kissed Alex's forehead. "I'll say goodbye before I leave. I promise. You deserve that much."

  Once she was gone, Alex discarded the sheets and stood. He took a quivering step to Sandu and laid his hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, friend, that you were caught up in all this. Take care of her." He turned to the captain. "Am I free to leave?"

  Dirgard shrugged. "It's your palace, my lord. I'm here for Sandu, not you."

  Each step easier than the last, Alex left the infirmary. His many years in the palace had taught him the fastest paths back to his rooms. He slipped shadow-like from doorway to alcove to hallway, careful not to tread on cracks between tiles. Tread not on lines, lest you bend your mother's spine. Well over a century ago, his mother would laugh and call the rhyme in a singsong voice as they walked on cobblestones. In his childhood, Alex stood on his tiptoes and tried to jump from cobble to cobble, all the while chattering to his mother. She's gone to dust, as I shall too. His memories of her had started slipping away, becoming no more than fragments of long-dead ghosts. No one should live this long. And yet, Druam has lived centuries longer than I. Has he any memories left of his parents, his siblings, his first love?

  The chambers which Alex had adored years and years ago were now rich husks, tapestried cocoons that held not a butterfly, but an empty hole. Alex wandered each room, the once-beguiling paintings now lifeless, the tapestries representations of candles of meaningless toil rather than stories or tales. He rummaged through his wardrobe, each brocade tunic or silk shirt feeling cheap beneath his fingers. Any rustic would kill for even one of his embroidered vests, yet he found no joy in it.

  How could he have mortal comforts, if he himself were not mortal? Alex longed for human touch, for the feel of Cara beneath him, her earthy smell overpowering him, no thoughts in his head but her and her alone. He had made love to many women in his time, but all were empty, devoid of real connection. I had hoped that, since we were so similar...But he had no one to blame but himself. If only I had been honest with Cara...perhaps she would have seen past my condition.

  There was a chance for a cure. An ancient manuscript, one of many taken by Mavian, had hinted at it. It spoke of fampir who traveled to far-off places and returned as mere men. Alex could become mortal again, he knew it deep in his tarnished soul. And if I am mortal, then she may love me.

  Alex had no desire to set foot in his rooms ever again. He wavered a bit at the stairs, then decided to go up. Druam deserved a goodbye. After all, he never had the chance with Verdon.

  Despite the early hour, Druam was awake. He still wore the battle-stained clothes from that night. When Alex entered, he gave a small, sad smile. "Xandro. I'm so glad to see you recovered. Have you drank enough to heal the wound?"

  Alex shook his head. "I'm not going to drink, now or ever again. Let the wound fester and bite at me; I've had enough."

  "What do you mean?" Druam's body tensed, his lips narrowing. "Why are you dressed for the road? Xandro, you will become a husk in a year, maybe less, with no blood. Why do this to yourself?"

  "Because Cara knows me for what I am," Alex said bitterly.

  "She would have found out sooner or later," Druam said gently. "Give her time; she'll realize that we are her kin."

  "You don't know her like I do. She only sees us as evil."

  "Then we must teach her otherwise."

  Alex clenched his jaw. "She's not one of your gullible nobles; she's intelligent and resourceful, and..." He trailed off, his throat tightening.

  For a moment, Druam was silent. Then, he said, "You really do care for her. So why would you leave? Surely you can speak with her–"

  "There might be a cure," Alex said.

  "What?"

  "A cure. A way to stop being fampir and start living again. As men. You didn't see Cara's face, Druam. You didn't hear her words when she saw me for this...this monst
er!"

  "So you'd let this woman drive you away from your home?" Pain filled Druam's eyes. "I've already lost Verdon. I can't lose you, too."

  "What if Gwen were to scream at the sight of you? If she were to look at you with utter horror?" It was the cruelest thing Alex could have said. For a long time neither spoke.

  "You were a bastard," Druam murmured, "and I offered you the Strilu heritage. I adopted you as my own brother. Do you forget so easily the bond that we have fastened together?"

  "You will always be my brother, as will Verdon," Alex said softly. "I am going to become a man again. You do what you please. But I am leaving."

  Druam's head fell into his hands. When he raised it, his expression was carefully blank. "I wish you had vanished and Verdon remained with me. My true brother would never abandon me."

  If a fampir could cry, Alexandro would have felt salty tears trickle down his cheeks and drip to the floor as he fled from the palace. But fampir cannot cry. They are not as mortal men.

  EPILOGUE

  THE DEAD MAN

  THE DARKNESS terrified the dead man.

  There were different darknesses, he knew. There was the darkness of night, when cool shadows enveloped the earth and the stars and moon gave a surreal brightness. Even when the stars were hidden behind steely clouds there was a normalcy to night's blackness. It was the same everywhere in the eight corners of Earda, an enveloping blanket that hides the earth from the gods' searing eyes. There was mystery and terror and a fear of the supernatural in the deepest dark of dawn, but that could be beaten back with torches and stories and the comfort of family.

  This was not the darkness of a cave deep in the mountains, for that was rich and earthy, with embracing stone walls all around. No, for this darkness did not have the solid, unmoving air and musty smell, the sounds of hidden streams and echoing creatures that scorned light. The cave's darkness had a floor underneath and a ceiling above. The black of dark caves was a tangible feeling, of strength for some and fear for others, but it was there nonetheless.

  This darkness was not even the darkness behind closed eyes. There was familiarity and thought to fill the blindness when eyes are closed, with spots of light flickering on the eyelids. Blindness could be overcome with touch and hearing, but this darkness was not blindness.

  It was a truly terrifying darkness.

  He could not move his hands in it, he could not even feel his fingers or his sweaty palm anymore. He knew they were there, for they had been there when he had fallen. At least, he thought they had been. Now he was not even sure if his waking life was a dream and this was the horrible reality.

  He tried to recall where he was. He last remembered being outdoors, but the location eluded him. An even more worrying thought came to him: who was he?

  Try as he might, he could not remember his name. It was right there, just beyond the darkness, but so elusive. Every time he felt the familiar words forming, they slipped away, wriggling like a rock eel out of his grasp. He wanted nothing more than to be wrapped again in his name.

  The darkness toyed with him. He couldn't move, it controlled his thoughts, it was everywhere. When he opened his eyes there was nothing; it was worse when he shut them. The darkness allowed him – no – encouraged him to imagine horrible things behind his closed eyes, to see the horrors out of sight but not out of reach, tickling his spine and driving spikes of pain and fear into his naked flesh.

  The dead man opened his mouth to scream.

  "Hush, now. Everything's well." A soothing voice came from somewhere nearby. A warm light interrupted the black, growing and growing, until finally all the world was glowing golden light.

  In the light, there was a figure, sitting down cross-legged. It gestured to the dead man. As he joined the figure, the dead man looked at his own arms and legs. He was naked as a newborn babe, his skin fresh and unmarked. He looked at his hands, two whole hands, pinkies and all.

  The dead man found his voice at last. "I thought...I thought I had lost my fingers."

  "You had, while you were living," the figure replied. He was a young man with dark hair and olive skin. He had a pointed face, but his eyes were cloudy and empty: blind. He continued, "You are in Autorus' domain, in the place meant for those who have done evil to repent before they can move on to Lyael. Do you remember your name?"

  "It's..." The dead man tried to recall. He had had a name, he was sure of it. "Do you know it?"

  "You were Jagger Cross," said the blind man. "An agent of Fauste's Shiv. You had a wife named Raven. She died before you did."

  "Raven. I remember her." The memories came back, as vivid as the day he'd lived them. "She had beautiful hair and the sweetest smile. I loved her. I died for her. Is she here, too?"

  "I'm afraid not. She has already moved on to Lyael, where not even Autorus can reach her. She has gone to the beyond, to the final death. You cannot reach her, nor will you be able to for quite some time."

  "I don't understand. We're both dead, why can't I see her?"

  "She's in Lyael. You are not...you are in purgatory. You must earn your way to Lyael if you wish to see her again." The blind man paused, then patted Jagger's hand. "You could remain in purgatory, in this blackness. Or, you could come with me."

  "Where would you take me?"

  "Back to Earda. As my servant, you may earn back Autorus' favor – and the chance to gain Lyael – by doing good. There are always consequences to such resurrections, but they would be negligible. Loss of hearing, perhaps, or the inability to walk."

  "How do you possess such power?"

  The blind man smiled. "This, I do not know. I have worked all my life to find where I am most needed, and, apparently, the dead require my services more than the living. Now, you must decide. Shall you remain, or shall you return?"

  Jagger Cross looked at his unmarred skin, his perfectly whole fingers, and then back to the blind man. "Will it hurt?"

  "The journey from life to death, no matter which way you go, is always difficult."

  "Good. It wouldn't be right otherwise."

  The blind man's smile widened, and he held out his hand. Jagger took it and closed his eyes. I'll find a way to you, Raven, he promised. I'll be with you again.

  The stories of Cara, Gwen, Seanna, and Sandu will continue in:

  Join the monthly newsletter list for sneak peeks, extra scenes, and much more, at vistamcdowall.com.

  GLOSSARY

  PLACES:

  Con Salur - a cliff city home to King Henrik

  D'Clet - a mountain city overseen by Earl Hjalder

  Dedaria - an elven kingdom of D'Ehsen, ruled by Kair Aremo

  D'Ehsen - the large island and surrounding isles on which multiple kingdoms are found

  Demarren - a kingdom of D'Ehsen, ruled by Liegelord Wullum

  Dotschar - the largest kingdom of D'Ehsen, ruled by King Henrik

  Eadrion Empire - a large empire to the west which rules a small portion of D'Ehsen

  Mott - a town which is home to the only university in Dotschar

  Novum - a temple of worship for Dotschar's main religion. Typically has nine sides for the nine gods.

  Rengu - an elven kingdom of D'Ehsen, ruled by Ameer Voclain

  Riverfen - a coastal city overseen by Earl Seastone

  Skålland - a kingdom of D'Ehsen ruled by a chieftain

  Units of Time:

  Candle - roughly equivalent to an hour

  Quinn - five days

  Deshe - ten days

  Creatures:

  Fampir - an undead which used to be a human or elf, and can disguise itself as a mortal

  Mist-folk - swamp-dwelling creatures which lure their prey into the marshes

  Prowler - an undead which used to be a human or elf, but is now feral and predatory

  Sulpari - a woman with a fampir father and mortal mother

  Positions:

  Ameer - the Rengu (elven) word for prince; their equivalent of a king

  Clothman - a low-level cl
eric of the Dotsch religion; usually practices in small novels

  Curate - a mid-level cleric of the Dotsch religion; trained in healing, and employed in manors, palaces, and large novums

  Exalt - the highest position in the Dotsch religion, either chosen by his predecessor or voted in by his fellow predicants

  Kair - the Dedarian (elven) word for prince; their equivalent of a king

  Liegelord - the sovereign ruler of Demarren

  Predicant - the second-highest position in the Dotsch religion, there are three predicants for each of the four earls.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  MOM, DAD, MICHAEL, and Brandon, who would tell me they love it no matter what – thank you for always being there for me.

  Wayne, Beth, and Kendra, whose brutal honesty led to many, many rewrites – thank you for pointing out all my "Disney men" and telling me how annoying you found Gwen.

  Janet, Lauren, Ralph, Apryl, Bruce, and Wendy, who helped me polish up early chapters – thank you.

  Ysabelle and Forest, who helped me believe that strangers may enjoy this – thank you.

  All my readers: May you have enjoyed this journey as much as I have. I hope you'll join me for the next one. Thank you.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  VISTA MCDOWALL LIVES and works in the rural mountains of Colorado, where she imagines great quests over the snow-covered peaks. She also teaches young adults the love of literature and writing, and hopes that they, too, find solace in fantastical places and magical beings.