by G. P McKenna
Well, my daughter for one.
Or rather, she did desire to live forever, just not while trapped as a child. I did my best to help her, taught her how to magically change her appearance, but the best we could muster were superficial changes— “You know, hair and eyes and such,” — and my daughter’s anger at her so-called-ruined-life only grew until she, to be frank, went berserk and systematically slaughtered every soul within the Dahl family manor one morning. I attempted to stop her, but rage is a powerful motivator.
I’m not sure why she didn’t kill me, but I must’ve blacked out at one point, for when I awoke my entire manor was on fire, my family dead, my daughter missing. In the years that followed I tried and failed to locate her. Believe you me, if that girl doesn’t wish to be found, you won’t find her. One-hundred years I searched without so much as a clue before I decided to give up. I hoped she’d found happiness on her own, but just as I ceased my search, I started hearing rumours of a child Warlock with oil spilt hair running amuck by killing people and hunting things that should never be hunted. I knew instantaneously who it was and immediately set a trap. She fell for it, and I believed I had destroyed her. The guilt was overwhelming, it drove me to commit the terrible deeds that have placed me here before you. However, my trap failed. My daughter is not dead. You know that for you met her last night.
Only as the final word hung in the silence did Pierous sit up straight, meeting our eyes as he raked bloody nails across his face, “there you are,” he said, “the mystery unravelled. Satisfied?”
Not quite.
“You’re saying that girl is your daughter?” I asked.
“Indeed.”
“And she slaughtered her entire family because she will never grow to be a woman?” Ilya asked while squinting intently at Pierous’ face before rubbing his own eyes.
The slightest of smirks graced the Warlock’s lips before being forced away by a dramatic sigh. Pierous looked at Ilya with a smile, “it sounds silly to you because for your people remaining a child forever would be regarded as a gift, but for a normal person…I don’t know,” he tipped his head backwards and sighed once more, “perhaps it’s all my fault. Maybe I spoiled her. Maybe she’s just a bad seed. Either way, she’s my actions come to bite my behind.”
“I need you to explain why you allied with Lord Deniliquin,” Ilya said.
“Didn’t I already?” Pierous asked, then groaned when Ilya shook his head, “what’s there to say? I was bored, he was there. I’ve walked the paths for a long time, lad. Not much gets my blood pumping these days. I’m unsure if you’ve met him, but the Kaori Priest is enigmatic. There’s nothing more attractive than a man who truly believes the bullmuck he’s sprouting, and he does, but it wasn’t a philosophical connection. He offered a vision of a new world, and new is exciting. That’s all. Then I met a Shield out in the wild toting around the legendary Casteel sword like it was nothing. That’s exciting, and an exciting person is always more fun than an exciting idea, so yippee, here I am.”
“And what exactly are your plans here?” Ilya asked.
“I was promised an audience with your Princess. After that, we’ll see,” Pierous replied.
Ilya’s eyes squinted to the point I was sure he was going to burst a blood vessel, “how can we assure that you will not harm Her Highness if we allow you an audience?”
Pierous stared at Ilya for a moment before laughing. He stretched his arms over his head, allowing his shoulders to pop, “with all due respect, lad, had I wanted your Princess dead she would already be dead. She was on the hill when Attica attacked. All I needed to do was turn a blind eye and you all would’ve died out there,” Pierous gave me a sideways glance before clapping his hands together, “rest assured, I’m not here to assassinate anybody. Your job is safe. At this point my only desire is to prevent Attica from hurting herself or others any further, after which, I shall uphold my promise to the blessed Sword and leave these lands. That is all.”
Ilya squinted at Pierous for a moment longer before nodding and rubbing at his eyes, “you speak truth. We are unsure exactly when Her Highness will be available to meet with you, but know that when she does, we will be present: watching, waiting, and listening.”
“Aren’t you always?’ Pierous sneered, “now that’s been established, run back to mummy and report like a good little soldier. Tell her that if there’s anything else she desires to say, she’s welcome to come and say it herself. Now leave, I want to sleep.”
With that said, Pierous rolled over and resumed his snoring. I wanted nothing more than to flick him, but Ilya grabbed my hand when I tried and dragged me outside. He leaned against the infirmary’s canvas, inhaling deeply as I stared at him, “so?” I asked, “what do you think?”
“He wasn’t telling the whole truth,” Ilya said. He raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose through the mask, “but nor was he lying. I don’t know, it’s made my nose bleed. However, he wasn’t lying about his intentions with Her Highness. At the end of the day, that’s the only important thing. Everything else is perhaps not mine to see.”
“Ilya,” I said before I could stop myself, “how do you see?”
The answer never came as he tipped his head back. He wasn’t going to tell me. Still didn’t trust me enough to tell me. Sighing, I sunk against the canvas, “Barnaby Dahl, huh?”
Thirty Three
Pedophobia
Fear of children
“Do tell, little Kilco, what is this dribble?”
My knuckles faded to white as they clenched the spoiled tray. Was there a word for being racist towards Warlocks? For if there was in the four days that I’d cared for him, Pierous had converted me. The way his cold, metallic voice cut through my most private thoughts, the mocking tsk of his tongue humming late into the night. I never acknowledged or responded to the voice internally, but it was always there. Always in the back of my mind, watching and waiting. Yet I dare not complain, for I had been sincere in my promise to be more responsible, but damn if the Warlock didn’t make it difficult.
Huffing, I placed the tray on the cart outside before stepping back into the room. Pierous’ eyes remained trained upon my every move. With half-closed eyes and a predatory smile, he allowed the gravy to dribble off his spoon. Deities, I didn’t know how nobody hadn’t punched him yet. I didn’t know how I hadn’t punched him. But violence disguised as bedside manner was a privilege reserved only for supervising physicians, so I instead tapped my foot and said as pleasantly as I dared, “it’s lamb, and you should consider yourself lucky. The healers found some kids trying to poison your serving. It’s miraculous you eat at all.”
“Dear me,” Pierous drawled with twin tsks, “this little charade of ours is turning into a real witch hunt, isn’t it? Complete with stakes, pitchforks, and burnings. Reminds me of my own youth, though I do hate it when I know they’re after me. Ruins the surprise,” Pierous gave a hum of approval deep in his chest. It somewhat ruined any joy I might’ve taken at the image of his airways swelling after biting into the black forest cake that was typically reserved for the nobs. I needed a break.
Outside there was a thickness in the air. Almost cloying. The humidity made it seem like the air itself was sticking to my skin. Pine needles shifted and rustled as I sunk against the canvas of the infirmary to stare out over the dense green inferno. The trees were moving, creaking and groaning with a strong wind that I couldn’t feel. Within their branches, cicadas had been screaming for four days straight, day and night. I couldn’t remember what the world sounded like before the cicadas, but I didn’t want them to stop, afraid of what might hide in the silence. Was there even a world outside of the forest? I couldn’t remember.
“What are you thinking about?” A shiver ran up my vertebra at the whisper in my ear, but I bit down any outward signs of surprise as I turned. Ilya was sitting beside me, picking the pine needles into mulch. I tapped the tip of his covered nose just hard enough for him to drop it.
“A
nnounce yourself,” I said. I placed my hand over my heart, feeling the beat slowing, pacing, “if I had the toothpick of justice, I would’ve gutted you where you sat.”
Ilya arched his brow with expert ease, “toothpick of justice?”
“That’s what I’ve named my dagger,” I reached over and picked up his abandoned pine needle to twist, “you and Pogue have named weapons, it’s only fair.”
“I’m not convinced fairness comes much into it,” he said gently.
No, probably not. I dropped the pine and looked at him closely. He looked as exhausted as I felt, but why exactly I couldn’t guess. It was the first time I had seen him since first speaking with Pierous. Everybody needed time to process what had happened, but still, four days is an eternity to an ant. I flicked the button of his hood and smiled, “it’s good you’re here. I need a break.”
“Me too,” he said before standing gracefully, “but I’m here on business again.”
Typical. Exhaling, I picked up another pinecone and twiddled it, “well, you know which room is the Warlocks.”
Ilya took the pine from my hands, “I’m not here for him. My mother has sent me for you.”
My heart dropped down into the pit of my stomach. Ramsey had promised there would be punishment, and that Ilana would be the one wielding the whip, but I was praying it would all be forgotten in the commotion, but alas, scapegoat as usual.
Thoughts and images rushed through my head as Ilya undid the complicated locks that separated the Ilvarjo from everybody else. There I was, in the one place I had always wanted to be, and I couldn’t enjoy it. Why were there windchimes and suncatchers hanging from the trees? What did the ribbons on each tent stake represent? All burning questions that would go unanswered forevermore, dissolved upon conception by the acid of anxiety as the one I loved most led me to my doom.
Doom comes in strange packages.
Five tiny Ilvarjo, covered as if mortally wounded, sat on the grass beneath a marquee. They looked up from the parchment they were scribbling on to glare at us as we approached, before huddling to whisper in their foreign, melodic tongue. I barely resisted the urge to kick the gawking little abominations as Ilya dragged me inside.
Even sitting upon a wooden crate with her chin resting upon her fist, Lady Ilana looked exquisite. Completely unphased by the sixth masked monster who spoke a million miles a minute while shoving parchment into her face, she tucked behind her ear a lock of pale hair that had escaped her braid. Heat swelled in my stomach. She was like mother nature herself, while I was little more than a mountain troll. How unjust it was that a woman who must’ve been at least thirty should make a sixteen-year-old feel such things. I dragged my feet as Ilya led me to her.
“Mother?”
Ilana raised her hand, eyes locked firmly upon the child as they spoke. An old line of scar tissue ran from wrist to elbow, and I stared at it as the child finished their spiel. It was the only imperfection upon her that could be found, yet it did nothing to distract from her overall beauty. Not like the freckles or too-pointy nose the Deities gifted me. Nature was a bitch. Ilana smiled softly as the child finished speaking and accepted their parchment before saying something short. The child turned those irritated eyes on both Ilya and me in turn, glaring something fierce, before nodding and running off to join its pack. Ilana’s smile instantly evaporated.
“Go help them with their lettering, Ilya,” she said in a bored tone.
“But-”
“Go,” her tone didn’t change, yet it was somehow infused with a level of authority that hadn’t been there before. Ilya looked at her a moment before tuning. With the smallest nod, he walked to the children who glared at him with equal contempt they had me.
At least it wasn’t personal.
“You can sit,” Ilana said without looking away from her son, and though I would’ve very much preferred to stand, I gingerly perched myself on the edge of the crate. My shoulder brushed against Ilana’s side, sending prickles up my arm. Ilana looked to me briefly before turning to the parchment of hastily scribbled cyrillic, “are you any good with children?”
Huh. That wasn’t the question I’d been expecting, “I don’t know,” I said quietly, “I haven’t got much experience with them.”
“It’s not about experience. I’ve been a mother since I was younger than you are now, yet children remain a complete mystery to me. You either understand them or you don’t,” she placed the parchment on the ground and turned to me. I could feel those wine-coloured eyes of hers examining my every twitch, but dared not meet them, keeping my eyes firmly upon Ilya, “but that’s neither here nor now. Are you left or right handed?”
“Right,” I replied.
“Show me.”
I finally broke my gaze from Ilya to look at her blankly. Ilana indicated towards my hand before pinching the wrist. I didn’t resist as she turned it over, tracing a cold finger across the lines of my palm.
“What are you looking for?”
“For your truth,” she looked into my eyes, “I want to know who I’m betraying.” A jolt of energy flooded my system and I attempted to tug my hand away, but her grip was like velvet steel; gentle, yet unrelenting. Her touch tickled as she looked back down, “it’s an old Ilvarjo fable. Two adventurers meet at the foot of the world spine mountain and decide to conquer it together. A noble quest, except one is truthfully a marauder who plans to kill the other upon reaching the mountain’s peak to claim the glory for himself. Only the marauder becomes careless, and the adventurer learns of his plans. In an attempt to deter him, the adventurer tells the marauder the story of his life. When the pair finally reach the peak, the marauder attempts to kill the adventurer but finds himself unable for he knows too well the one he is betraying.”
I nodded, “my father told me a similar story once, only the moral was reversed.”
“The marauder kills the adventurer because he knows who he is betraying,” the smallest shadow of a smile graced Ilana’s lips though her tone didn’t change as she spoke, “perhaps his tale is truer.”
Ilana continued tracing my hand in silence. In the corner of the marquee, a calico cat was playing with a gift it had brought. It occurred to me that it had been a while since the dogs had last howled. Ilana pressed down on my palm, “Ilya tells me that you had your own run-in with the Morrigan,” I nodded and pushed my sleeve up to reveal the bite, which was still slightly raised and stung when it rained. Ilana’s finger traced over it gently before returning to my palm, “it marked you.”
“Apparently.”
“Has anybody explained to you what that means?” again, I shook my head and Ilana tickled my pointer finger, “the Morrigan has imparted within you part of its essence. You are a base for it. A vessel. This is most unfortunate. Who have you spoken to about this?”
“Only the Princess, Ilya and Mercy.”
Ilana pulled the finger back until the joint clicked painfully, “My Mercy?”
I nodded, cringing at the increasing pressure, “she found me moving Ilya’s body and held me at knifepoint, demanded I tell her everything, so I did.” Ilana released my finger and moved back to the palm. Her fluttering movements were ticklish.
“How flexible are you?”
“Not very. Why?”
Her nails dug into my flesh, “have you ever killed before?”
“No,” I answered immediately. Self-preservation may not have been my bosom buddies, but even I knew better than to admit in that moment to technically killing her child. Ilana released my hand and sat back, watching as I shook it off. Beads of blood bubbled where her nails had clawed and I scowled, “does it reveal anything interesting?”
“Probably, but I’m not the one to ask. I know little about palm reading.”
“Then why…” I massaged my palm. Asking that question would be a waste of breath. If she was anything like her son, she’d just ignore it anyway.
The heat of Ilana’s gaze was almost tangible as she looked to me, “people have a tendency
to tell the truth when they’re not paying attention to what they’re answering. I like to know who I’m betraying, but I prefer to know precisely who is betraying me. You’ve deduced by now that it is vital the Morrigan is destroyed. It is too dangerous to leave wondering when it’s only duty is to reap,” Ilana grabbed my wrist once more, ignoring my struggles as she pushed up my sleeve, “as I said, it’s unfortunate that you’ve been marked in this way. When threatened, the Morrigan could escape into your mind, rotting you from the inside out. The only way to prevent this is for you to be present when the attack is mounted. You and Ilya.”
That time she didn’t resist as I ripped my hand away. Going after Sedna myself? No, no. That was Pogue’s job, not mine. My job was to patch him up once he was done, “I-I can’t do that,” I stuttered, “Look at me, I’m a human stick. I don’t know the first thing about fighting.”
“That’s true, but there isn’t any rush. Our scouts have only begun their hunt. We have time,” she stood, graceful, tall, and altogether above my station, “I will teach you.”
Thirty Four
Homophobia
Fear of homosexuals
From that day forward, I lived by the sword. One day, I knew I’d die by it, but until that dawn arrived, it owned my soul in its entirety. It was a never-ending dance of blood and pained victory, for one can only truly feel alive with a blade in their hand; charging towards your opponent, meeting death as an equal-
“Are you monologing during your kata?”
The intruding voice made me jump in a lame attempt at hiding the wooden practice sword I had been swinging. I shouldn’t have bothered. From the urgent to the mundane, very little happened in camp that Lady Ilana didn’t see. Every move the Princess made, every decision decided upon by the Order of the Shamrock, every honey bun stolen all reported to her. It was like she had eyes hidden around every corner, beneath every rock. The only logical conclusion I could fathom was that she was always doing two things at once and never slept. A theory that ticked me off greatly, for she was always, without fail, impeccably groomed. She had skin like a baby’s arse, while I slept six hours most nights and still had eyebags down to my chin. That woman was an atrocity of nature.
