by Ziv Gray
Alone again, he turned his face to the open window. The rain still poured. The sun could not infiltrate the storm. The clouds were dark and churning. Mantos walked to the window as more of Bomsoi’s words returned to him.
‘There is no Dark. There is no Light. There are only choices.’
He wasn’t sure about the first part, but Mantos was sure about the second. There were many choices in the world. Every day came with decision upon decision. What to eat, what to wear—and, most crucially of all, what to do.
As he stalked across the room to the clothing trunk, a new coat of ice enveloped Mantos’s heart. He thrust open the lid and wrenched out as many shirts and tunics as he could. He pulled them on, layer upon layer of clothing that did not belong to him.
Yes. There were many choices in the world. And Mantos had made his.
With nothing but the clothes on his back and the coldness in his heart, he crossed to the open window. He stared down at the empty courtyard. Then he gritted his teeth. He clambered onto the sill.
And, under of the cover of the storm, he fled.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Kubodinnu
By the time they reached Kubodinnu, the rain had been falling for half the day. When they arrived at the Althemerian capital, the clouds broke at last. Soaked to the skin and miserable, Emmy and the others trudged after Rel as she led them through the city gates.
‘Do not fret, friends,’ Rel said. ‘Bomsoi will see that we receive a good welcome. I cannot guarantee feather mattresses, but you at least will be given a bed.’
‘Anything would be better than the ground,’ Zecha groused, rubbing his back.
Charo chuckled and slung an arm around his shoulders. Her reddish fronds stuck out in a haze around her head.
‘I would take the hard ground over the cold embrace of death any day,’ she said. ‘We were very lucky. That could have been our fate.’
‘Never!’ Zecha said, leaning into Charo’s touch. ‘With you around, I don’t think I’ll ever die. Even if a demon came to claim me, I think you’d fight them back.’
Emmy rolled her eyes as the two went about their playful flirtation. She jogged to catch up with Rel. Her boots slapped in the puddles on the cobbled streets.
Staring at the huge buildings, Emmy’s head swam in the presence of their grandeur. If she thought Athomur was a marvel, Kubodinnu was a jewel. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason her heart was in her throat. There was the small matter of why they had come to the capital.
Rel smiled as Emmy reached her side. Haelo bobbed on her hip.
‘I’m…a little scared to meet your friend,’ Emmy said.
‘Try not to fret,’ Rel said. ‘Don’t think of her as a wonder. Think of her instead as…a sister. Or a mother.’
Emmy chuckled, though the sound was tainted with self-depreciation.
‘I don’t know how to think like that,’ she said. ‘I never had either.’
‘Well, now you have both,’ Rel said. She pushed some of Emmy’s dripping fronds from her face, tucking them behind her pointed ears.
Warmed by the words, Emmy ducked her head.
‘Thank you, Rel,’ she said. ‘Not just for what you said, but for everything. Thank you for looking for me, and then looking out for me, and keeping me safe. And telling me about my folk and myself, and—’ Breaking off, Emmy twisted her lips. ‘Sorry. I…’
Rel placed a hand on Emmy’s shoulder and squeezed
‘You’re welcome,’ she said. ‘And thank you.’
‘Why thank me?’ she asked. ‘I haven’t—’
A dual exclamation came from the two friends behind her. Their faces were painted with matching expressions of wonder. At Emmy’s questioning gaze, Zecha pointed forward. Emmy turned. And she understood.
The palace of the Althemerian queen rose into the grey sky, tall and imposing, a swirling mass of curved stone and twinkling glass above the whitewashed buildings of the city, glittering like a pearl.
‘That’s beautiful,’ Emmy breathed.
‘Exactly,’ came Charo’s reply.
‘That is where we are going,’ Rel said. She squinted as the sun peeked out from behind a dark cloud. ‘Perhaps we will dry out by the time we get there.’
As they walked through the city, Althemerians stared. For the first time in her life, Emmy didn’t glare or try to hide in the shadows. Standing tall beside Rel, with her two friends flanking her, she did something different.
She smiled.
They can’t hurt me with their looks or their words, she thought. The new idea rolled around in her head as they walked along the cobbled streets. As she concentrated on those words, Emmy forgot about the dull ache of her body and the squelching in her boots. They can’t hurt me. Yes. Those were powerful words—more powerful than any magic could ever hope to be.
As they began to climb, ascending the winding streets towards the palace, Emmy’s limbs began to tire. But her spirit could not be tarnished. When they reached the barbican in the thick walls surrounding the palace, Emmy and the others stood back as Rel strode to the guard. After a few words, one of the females shouted. The portcullis rose.
‘Bomsoi is waiting for us,’ Rel said. ‘Come. It’s time to see her at last.’
Even the interior of the courtyard was grand. Every wall was painted like pristine sand, and a huge fountain bloomed in its middle. Emmy consciously closed her mouth as they strode across the elaborate paving. She marvelled at the carefully manicured hedgerows and the planters filled with exotic plants, most of which she had never seen before. This place is wonderful, she thought. Everything is perfect.
They took a left turn, down through a covered walkway that ran along the side of one of the larger buildings. It looked like a hall of some sort. Perhaps a banquet hall, or a receiving chamber, she thought. It could be anything. As she gazed around, across the courtyard and up the length and along the breadth of the great towers, her imagination ran wild. Every window had its own story. Who’s inside? she thought. What are they doing? Where are they from? The palace was full of endless possibilities.
In the shadow of the walkway, she shivered. With the sun gone, her soaked clothes brought her clanging back to reality. Judging by the chatter of their teeth, Charo and Zecha felt the same.
‘Do not worry,’ Rel said. ‘There will be clothing and food waiting for you when we reach our chambers. There will be time to attend to your needs before we meet my friend.’
As they reached their destination, Rel ushered the others inside. She knew the palace servants and the palace servants knew her. They greeted her, not just by her name, but with wide smiles.
‘You have returned at last, Rel,’ a wizened male said. He walked with a cane, his limp severe, but he exuded an air of authority. ‘We wondered if you would ever come back to us.’
‘I had business to attend to, Ilia,’ she said. ‘But I am here now, and am anxious to see Bomsoi.’
Ilia waved a hand and clucked his tongue. His eyes gleamed with affection.
‘Everyone is always anxious to see Bomsoi,’ he chided. ‘Come and eat and change, and tell me of your journey, before you disappear once more.’
Rel made to argue, but when the male waved a talon at her, she relented.
‘Alright, old one,’ Rel said. ‘I will do as you say.’
‘Old one!’ Ilia scoffed. He lifted his cane so that he no longer leaned on it. He wavered, but he did not fall. ‘I am only ninety-five cycles,’ he said. ‘Hardly old!’
Rel barked a laugh.
‘Hardly,’ she said. Then she turned to the others. ‘Follow me,’ she said.
And so they followed her into the bowels of the lower levels of the palace. And when Emmy saw the bed—not grand by any means, but with a straw-stuffed mattress and a pillow. Stripped of her soaked clothing and wrapped in a soft undershirt, she sank down onto the bed, her every bone grateful for its embrace.
After a moment, she was asleep.
It was several hou
rs before Emmy woke again. To her relief, by the look of chagrin on both Charo and Zecha’s faces, they had been asleep too.
The little group found themselves gathered around a long table, somewhere in the darkness of the castle’s winding interior. The had been furnished with clean clothes and hot broth before they arrived. But the pleasantries were gone now, along with the servants. The three were left alone, the door flanked by guards with tall pikes. The friends sat around the table, saying nothing. Just waiting.
It was Zecha who eventually broke the silence.
‘What do you think she’ll be like?’ he asked. ‘Bomsoi, I mean. I can’t even imagine.’
‘I don’t know,’ Charo replied. She turned to Emmy. ‘What was she like? In your dream, I mean. Or was it a vision?’
Emmy closed her eyes, trying to recall the figure who had invaded her thoughts what felt like weeks before. In reality, it was only a few days.
‘She was beautiful,’ she said. ‘And terrible. And...’ She broke off, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know how to describe her.’
Zecha sat forward, drumming his talons on the tabletop.
‘Maybe there are no words to describe her,’ he said. ‘How can you describe a god?’
The question sent them into silent contemplation, their minds turning in curious circles. After a time, Rel appeared in the doorway to save them from their thoughts.
Behind her stood the one they were waiting for. Emmy rose and clenched her talons. Everything seemed like it was slower, as if the world was travelling through mire. Her breathing was laboured, her movements leaden. Every blink took an age to pass.
Rel grinned as she led Bomsoi into the room.
‘Emmy, Zecha, Charo,’ she said. ‘Please meet my friend.’
As the impressive Uloni approached them, Emmy’s mouth went dry. Her tongue felt like it had swollen to twice its size and, no matter how she tried, she couldn’t force any words from her mouth. This was Bomsoi, the female from her vision. Another Uloni, full-blooded like Emmy herself, living and breathing, as similar as catching her reflection in a cracked plate. They were alike, no doubt, but there was a strangeness, an agelessness to Bomsoi’s features. And something else, not corporeal, but tangible. To look upon her was to look back through the centuries.
‘My new friends,’ Bomsoi said, reaching for them. ‘I am more pleased to meet you than you will ever know.’
Her voice resonated with something long lost in Emmy’s heart. There was a timbre to her words that soothed a hurt Emmy had long ignored. Bomsoi sounded loving.
She sounded like a mother.
At that, Emmy’s knees crumpled. It was only for Charo and Zecha’s quick hands that she didn’t dash her head on the floor. They pulled her chair close and set her in it, their faces tight with worry.
Bomsoi came to her. She knelt down. She placed a palm on Emmy’s cheek. Her hands were cold.
‘My child,’ Bomsoi said. ‘My beautiful child. Long have I sought you. And now, you have returned to me.’
Emotions churning, Emmy’s head swam.
‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘Who are you really, and how do you know me?’
Rel gestured for Charo and Zecha to step back. They did with reluctance, though Emmy was too swallowed up Bomsoi’s gaze to notice.
‘I am your mother of long ago,’ Bomsoi said, ‘just as I am Rel’s mother. All Uloni come from me. You are my folk, my greatest achievement. My true love.’
This makes no sense, Emmy thought, her stomach lurching.
‘I know you do not understand right now,’ Bomsoi said, still holding Emmy’s face. ‘But you will. I promise, you will.’
‘Tell me everything,’ Emmy whispered. ‘I need to know.’
Nodding, Bomsoi closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were blue.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Discovery
Phen had been stuffed into one tower. Now she was trapped in another. I wish I had the power to leave, she thought. But I can’t. And where could I go? Hardly back to Bandim. No. Better to stay with the one son I have left.
She could go nowhere without a guarded escort, so Phen found herself flanked as she climbed the spiral staircase to Mantos’s chambers. The deluge of earlier had abated, leaving a heady sunshine behind. Smells of damp ground and new-grown flowers wafted from the gardens below. Stopping at a narrow window, she stared out. The guards clattered to a halt beside her.
‘Your country is beautiful,’ she said. ‘You are lucky.’
Her escort did not reply. Phen closed her eyes for a moment. I am not afforded even the nicety of conversation, she thought. But then, who would speak freely to their enemy? They climbed the remainder of the stairs in silence.
Her visit was prompted by two reasons. The first was the news there would be a meeting later that day. An apprentice of Bomsoi’s had returned, bringing an important visitor in tow—though, in typical Bomsoi fashion, she hadn’t explained who it was or why they were important. Phen had gladly agreed to pass the message t her son. I need to ensure Mantos will attend with listening ears, instead of a dark heart, she thought. He hasn’t been of sensible mind for some days.
The second reason was more personal. Fonbir had come to her and told her of their fight. Those silly fools, Phen thought. Why must they bicker? Her slippered feet were silent on the stone floors. While she hadn’t known of their association before, watching her son’s eyes in the other’s company told all. They love each other, she thought. Love does not always breed sense. Perhaps it was time for a well-meaning mother to knock their heads together. I suspect, Queen Valaria will not do it, but I will…
There were more guards outside Mantos’s door. At first, it seemed like they wouldn’t step aside, but Phen would have none of it. I might be nothing now, but once, I was an empress. Lifting her chin high, she stared. With bobbing throats, they moved, though they didn’t open the door. No matter, Phen thought. I must learn to look after myself.
As her claws settled on the door handle, she stopped. A strangle feeling niggled at the back of her mind, though she shook it away. Such things are foolishness, she thought. Mere superstition. She opened the door and entered, pasting on a thin smile.
‘Mantos, my dear,’ she said, shutting the guards out. ‘I have come to check on you. There is a meeting later, and Fonbir mentioned you were upset, and...’
Her voice trailed off to nothing.
Across from the door, the window hung open, languishing in the drowse of the early afternoon. The floor below was drenched in rainwater from the earlier deluge. Neck scales rising, she turned to check the bed, the chairs, the shadowy nooks. Nothing.
Mantos wasn’t there.
A leaden lump formed in her throat. Phen whirled around and thrust the door open once more.
‘Where is my son?’ she demanded, the guards jumping back at her ire. ‘What have you done with my son?’
None of them favoured her with words. Instead, they pushed past, sending her spinning on her heels. Stumbling against the wall, her talons scratched the stone.
The guards descended on the empty room in harried fear.
‘Where is he?’ one asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said another. ‘You were here first! You’ve been here longer than any of us!’
‘That doesn’t mean I’m the one at fault!’
Their bickering went on and Phen growled, shoving her way back in. Her own guards trailed on her tail. Crossing to the window, she stared at the ground. Nothing there. Then she looked up.
When she craned her neck out of the open shutters, one of the guards grasped her arm and pulled her back. Rage rising, Phen bared her teeth.
‘Do not touch me!’ she hissed.
With a scowl, the guard released her.
There were scuff marks on the exterior wall. Some of the roof tiles had crumbled away, recently snapped by the brightness of the clay inside. Realisation dawned. Mantos, no, Phen thought, her breath hitching. Please, no!
&
nbsp; Pulling herself back in, Phen battled against the fear and fury that brimmed in her eyes. Taking a shuddering breath, she turned her anger on the guards.
‘You let him escape,’ she snapped. ‘You let him get away, and now he could be anywhere! You fools!’
She launched her hand forward. The heel struck the nearest guard, the noise reverberating in the silence of the chamber. Her hand stung. The guard wheeled away.
Temper abating, Phen’s tears began to flow.
‘You fools,’ she breathed. ‘You absolute fools!’
The struck guard threw her a filthy look, before she turned tail and stalked out. Another followed her. Phen’s own unwelcome entourage dragged her away, claws digging into her arms. Snarling, Phen wrenched herself free.
‘I must see Bomsoi,’ she said. ‘Bring me to her. Now.’
Her footfalls were heavy as she stormed from the tower, following in the guards’ wake. Sunlight broke through the scattered clouds, but the sight no longer seemed so cheerful. It did not matter. Nothing did, except Mantos’s return.
Before she reached Bomsoi’s rooms, she met a familiar figure in a narrow hall. Fonbir. His eyes were red-rimmed. His waxy face blanched further when he saw hers. He didn’t need to guess the cause of her distress.
‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘What has Mantos done?’
‘He’s gone,’ Phen said, grabbing Fonbir’s arm. Her strength waned as reality fell upon her. ‘I went to his chambers and he wasn’t there. I fear that he has escaped through the window. He could be anywhere by now.’
Face hardened to stone, Fonbir grimaced.
‘I will alert the queen,’ he said. ‘We’ll send out search parties. He will be found. For the love of the gods, he’s a Masvam. We’ll be lucky if he isn’t lynched before we get him.’
‘I need to tell Bomsoi,’ Phen said, the comment rolling off her like water. ‘Where is she?’
‘In one of the black chambers, the room where Mantos was—’ Fonbir caught himself and shook his head. ‘The room where you met my mother when you first arrived.’ He looked at the guards. ‘Take her there, now.’
