Shadow of the Void

by Nathan Garrison

  Three clicks like twisted metal. Arivana shielded her eyes from what she knew came next.

  The door swung open, blasting her with starlight. Must be night again. Funny how little that matters anymore. A figure stepped up into threshold, his body outlined against pinpricks of brilliant light. Arivana let her hand down from in front of her eyes, then held out both arms to accept her meal.

  “Expecting dinner, my queen?” said a familiar voice. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

  Arivana wrenched her hands back, shrinking into the hardwood wall of the wagon. “Go away, Tior.”

  “I think not.” The minister stepped closer, further cramping the space. “I’ve been away from you too long as it is. What good is an advisor, after all, if he does not tell his charge what she needs to hear?”

  “I won’t listen to any more of your lies.”

  “The time for deception is over. You’ve proven too intractable for that. You will get the harsh truth, whether you’re ready for it or not. I suspect the latter.”

  Light burst forth. Arivana cried out, curling up to hide from the eye-­scorching illumination. Fire seemed to burn the back of her closed eyelids, and it took a few dozen beats before she could sit up and face the man again. It seemed the most difficult movement of her life.

  A ball of light hovered over his wrinkled hand, bathing the wagon’s interior in lurid, flickering radiance. There wasn’t much to see. Sharp shadows crossed Tior’s face from below, making him seem a stranger. Well, even more of one anyway. His eyes still danced with malevolence. Appearing normal, kind even, had been the act. She knew she now saw his true self, unrestrained by the need to appease her. Or appear sane. He seemed more animal, now, than man.

  “Child,” he said, “you are indeed the queen. But you haven’t been raised to understand the true meaning of your title. I sought to ease you into it, to show you the truth slowly so that you would come to accept it. Gradually. Without discomfort. Your impatience and impulsiveness are what led to these . . . growing pains.”

  Arivana gulped. “I’m nothing more than a figurehead.”

  “Indeed. All your predecessors understood their role from the very beginning, but being fourth in line to inherit the crown, your parents sought to shield you from such an unpleasant notion. They filled your head with fables and fairy tales, making you think the life of a royal was a charmed one. That you could be beautiful and intelligent and inspirational and powerful, all at the same time.”

  “You’re as much to blame for planting that idea in my head as my parents. More so. Did you even shed a tear when they died?”

  “I did. They were beautiful ­people. Your siblings as well. The ­people loved them, and thus had little reason to complain. Or, at least, they found their gripes easier to overlook. Use of statute eighty-­seven fell dramatically under their reign.”

  Arivana almost screamed. “Next you’ll be telling me this is all for the good of our nation. Our ­people.”

  “Ah, but it is. Don’t you see? How else can you lift something up than by cutting away that which drags it down? Cater to the useless, the lazy, the deadweight, and all of society will eventually be sucked, strangling, to their level.”

  “They’re still ­people, though. They still matter. Why can’t we make them better? Why can’t we even try?”

  “It has been tried. But the thing you don’t understand is that they’re not ­people—­they’re parasites. They want the world handed to them on a silver platter, expecting not to have to lift a finger to have their every need and want and whim met by the sweat of others. These ­people are a disease, Arivana. An infection, spreading. There is no accepting them. There is only . . . excision.”

  She turned away from him, unable even to look upon his face. Her stomach tightened and curdled. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!

  “What am I supposed to do, then?” Arivana said, mustering all her strength to turn back to him. “Accept something I can never agree with? Play along for the rest of my life?”

  “That’s exactly what you’ll do,” Tior said. “There is no choice in the matter. The only choice is how long that life will be.”

  Arivana shuddered, barely able to contain her fury. Such blatant threats might have unnerved her once, but with what she now knew to be happening to her country, the possibility for harm didn’t seem to matter much anymore.

  “Think on this, my queen,” Tior said, backing out of the wagon. “Think long and hard about how best you can serve your ­people. How little good cold corpses lying in tombs can do.”

  The door slammed shut upon his exit, and Arivana was once again left alone in the darkness. She thought she might be starting to prefer it.

  Voices.

  Tassariel heard voices.

  Blurred and distant, she couldn’t make out words. Couldn’t identify who they belonged to. But the tone was easy enough to read, even in her . . . condition.

  They were arguing.

  She couldn’t move nor open her eyes. Speech was out of the question. If I could only clear the fog from my ears, I could tell what they are saying. Concentrating, she focused every ounce of effort into working her jaw around. It was several marks before she succeeded in the slightest budge.

  A smile formed in her mind at the victory.

  “Don’t strain yourself,” Elos said. “It’ll undo all I’ve been trying to accomplish.”

  It was a good thing she couldn’t speak at the moment. The words that came to her mind upon hearing his voice fell far short of kind and verged on blasphemous. She ignored his advice, continuing to clench what muscles she could, as much now in protest to him as in determination.

  “Right. I guess you’ve given up taking my instructions on faith alone.” Elos paused. “I’m sorry I can’t be the god you deserve.”

  Now it was Tassariel’s turn to pause. She willed herself to relax, signaling, as best she could, that she was willing to listen. I can do that much for you, at least.

  “Good. Now, if you didn’t know already, you’ve been drugged.”

  Thanks. Couldn’t figure that one out on my own. Next you’ll explain to me how this is a bad thing.

  “This is a bad thing.”

  Tassariel rolled her metaphysical eyes.

  “But I have a plan.”

  You’d better.

  “They’ve been timing their doses from when you begin to stir. I’ve been keeping you still a little longer every day—­don’t ask how—­and they’ve been adjusting their administration accordingly.

  “Today, you’re finally cognizant enough to hear my voice. And theirs, I think, though not distinctly. As long as you follow my instructions, you’ll soon have a chance to break free.”

  Tassariel couldn’t help but get excited at the prospect. A surge of energy coursed through her.

  The fingers of her left hand twitched.

  “Quick, she’s waking up,” said a voice close and suddenly clear. Hot breath on her cheek let her know why.

  “Fine,” said another, “but this isn’t over.”

  “Yes. It is.”

  Lerathus?

  “Why are you defending her?” a third man said. “The consul passed his judgment. She’ll never see a free sky again. I don’t see why we can’t have a little fun?”

  “Go play with the daughters of light,” Lerathus said. “That’s why they’re here, is it not? Tassariel is our kin. That should still mean something, even now.”

  “Never done a valynkar woman. Prissy bitches never even looked at me twice.”

  “Oh, save your sad story. Lerathus doesn’t look like he’s going to budge. Besides, she’s not that pretty.”

  “In the dark, all that matters is the feel of them. And she’s got a lean hardness to her I’d just love to break.”

  She started to struggle at that.

  “Stop
that! They’re not going to touch you—­I promise.”

  And for the first time in a long time, she believed her god.

  “Enough,” Lerathus said. “Give me that. Now go.”

  “What? So you can have her all to yourself?”

  “Go!”

  Tassariel felt a thumb on her jaw, pulling down, then something smooth and hard pressed to her lips. Panic set in, and she writhed against what was about to happen, furious that she could do little more than tremble.

  “Easy, now,” Lerathus said. “I’m sorry about this, really I am.”

  His sincerity meant nothing at the moment.

  Cool liquid began trickling into her mouth. The same aromatic wine he’d served at their dinner by the taste of it. She berated herself for not being more careful. It was dangerous business stirring up the establishment. And those with the most to lose would go to the greatest lengths to ensure their continued dominance of others. It was a lesson she’d learned long ago, but never the hard way until now. This time, it might actually stick.

  Her mouth filled with the vile concoction, but she had enough strength to resist swallowing. Lerathus sighed, then pinched her nose. “No use struggling, Tass. It’ll only make things more unpleasant. Be comforted. I could just let my companions have their way with you. The more trouble you give me, the less inclined I’ll be to keep defending you so arduously.”

  Her resolve wavered, under both the need for air and the unveiled threat of his words.

  She swallowed.

  He released her, standing and shuffling away. His footsteps slowly faded out of range.

  Tassariel didn’t feel any effects of the drug yet, but she knew they were coming. She couldn’t stand the thought of being helpless a single beat longer, of being at the mercy of men whose minds were filled with vile thoughts.

  “Settle down,” Elos said. “Another few days—­a week at most—­and we’ll have our opportunity.”

  I can’t wait that long!

  Fighting with every drop of blood in her veins, Tassariel reached for her power.

  To her surprise, it came.

  Energy burst into her control. But only the tiniest fraction of her capacity, and even as she struggled to shape it, she could feel that paltry amount start to slip away.

  So she did the only thing she could think of . . .

  Gilshamed dipped the cloth into the washbasin, squeezed, then dabbed it across Lashriel’s forehead. The movement had become routine. As had everything else about the time he spent with her. Nothing ever changed. Not even the hair-­width strand of hope that stubbornly refused to die.

  He’d brought her out of the temple of healing months ago and cared for her himself in their home. The place had been decrepit, lived in barely a handful of years in the past two millennia, but he’d cleaned it up as best he could and hired a caretaker to look after the house and his wife while he was at council. She seemed to do better here. Or maybe that was just his imagination. Maybe it was only better for him.

  Her brow thus cooled against the afternoon’s warmth, he set the cloth aside and sat back. Every day, he asked himself how much longer he would continue this act. And every day, he told himself just a little bit longer. He didn’t know if what he did was a kindness. By sustaining her empty body, was he keeping her soul from paradise? Was this an act of selflessness or selfishness? Such questions no longer plagued his conscience. It all simply was. He’d given up trying to change things more than need be. Let the good I accomplish as a member of the council stand on its own. Let that be . . . enough.

  Gilshamed stood and strode out onto his open balcony. He peered down the steep edge of Halumyr Domicile to the dancing surface of the sea endless fathoms below. For a time, he lost himself in those distant waves.

  A sound from behind interrupted his reverie and made him turn.

  Lashriel sat up in the bed, eyes shining like stars.

  Gilshamed tried to take a step towards her, but all the strength seeped from his limbs, and he fell to the floor. “My love . . .”

  She gasped. The glow faded as her eyes returned to normal. Open. Aware. She blinked rapidly, her gaze flitting around like a hummingbird until finally coming to a rest on Gilshamed.

  Heart pounding in his chest, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  Lips cracked open, and she tried to speak but only succeeded in coughing. Gilshamed broke free of the invisible bonds that held him and rushed to her side.

  “Lashriel,” he said. “Don’t try to speak. Just look at me. Just let me know you’re really here.”

  A smile tugged at the edge of her mouth. She nodded.

  Gilshamed’s heart burst. Tears dripped down his cheeks as he embraced her. A hope thought lost. A love that could never fade. He let the sorrows of his soul seep away to make way for the joy he’d never thought to see.

  Lashriel coughed again, then cleared her throat. “There is no time,” she said.

  Gilshamed pulled back, cupping her face with his hands. “Oh, my love, now that you’re back, we have all the time in the world.”

  She shook her head.

  Gilshamed felt a tiny twinge of fear echo through his delirious happiness. A fear that he was only dreaming and soon would wake. If so, let me sleep alongside her forever and never know the nightmare that is reality.

  “Tassariel is in trouble,” Lashriel said.

  “Our niece?”

  “She needs help. She needs you. This cannot wait.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “She came to me in communion. She was desperate, and empowered by . . . something. But her message was clear. You must go to her.”

  Gilshamed ran fingers through her violet hair. Lashriel closed her eyes, moaning softly at the gesture. She hadn’t forgotten after all.

  His fingers slipped free as she slumped back onto the bed.

  “Go to her,” she said, eyes fluttering. “Promise me you’ll go to her?”

  Heart broken in half, Gilshamed uttered, “I promise.”

  Lashriel fell asleep once more.

  Gilshamed screamed.

  CHAPTER 21

  Draevenus crept along darkened paths that seemed somehow familiar. The darkwisp hive undulated a dozen paces ahead, morphing in and out of the shape of a giant face, guiding him towards an encounter he’d long yearned for but never actually expected to have. As the moment drew near, every nerve seemed to fray into senselessness, pushing out all reason and enveloping his mind in a cloud of surreality.

  The tunnel opened up into a chamber not quite as large as he had expected. The swarm dissipated to its edges, and he took the shape of the space to be similar to the throne room at Mecrithos: large and rectangular but far short of vast. A quick glance made it almost seem a natural cavern, bedecked in dripping stone and fungus, but his keen senses allowed him to see another layer most men would miss.

  Scattered lumps could easily be the decrepit remains of chairs or desks. Too-­regular clusters around the perimeter might be shelves or cabinets of some kind. The occasional flicker of something perfectly flat and metallic poked through the ancient flow of rock, indicating something not naturally occurring. Something made.

  And the contraption at the far end put any doubts to rest.

  Draevenus shuffled forward. A faint-­yet-­steady glow rose from what he could only describe as a sarcophagus. Dozens of tubes stretched from it, sagging with the weight of ages as they disappeared into hidden crevices in the wall behind. He could feel the energy gathered there, like a web of power, every strand in the world flowing into and through it. Sweet and soothing, it welcomed with familiar darkness yet stung with painful potency. Like pulling off a scab. Whatever he had come to find, Draevenus had no doubt it rested inside the rectangular box against which his hips now rested.

  This is it . . .

  Gulping, he
leaned over the coffin-­like object and pressed down a palm. He swiped, surprised to find his hand still clean of dust and grime. Whatever mechanism or magic sustained his god had worked wonders in this one space alone. Draevenus was not surprised. Expectation itself had fled. The shutters of his mind were flung wide open.

  So he wasn’t surprised when, from out of the darkness, a voice spoke.

  “Have you come to kill me?”

  “Yes,” Draevenus replied. “I have.”

  The mierothi shook with the power of his own pronouncement. Even in the most shadowed corners of his soul, he had never admitted to such a purpose. His own skill with subtlety and deception, unparalleled among either the living or dead, had worked to hide it from him until now. He’d always told Mevon he planned to make Ruul answer for his crimes. To pay for them. Never had he spoken—­or even thought—­the word kill. It seems the time for lies is over. Especially those told to myself.

  Again, the incorporeal voice sounded, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere, from both inside his head and outside of time simultaneously, each syllable surging like a vast shore of waning tides.

  “I see. Know, then, that I have little defense against you. Were even the opposite true, I would not strike down one of my own children to save what little remains of my life. Do what you must.”

  “What I must?” Draevenus clacked his claws in rhythm atop the coffin’s lid while his other hand stroked a dagger hilt. “I don’t think I believe in ‘must.’ All men have a choice in all things. Those who claim otherwise merely seek to pass off the burden of their sins to fate.”

  “Ah, the fickle mistress. Ever blamed for failures yet rarely credited with success.”

  Draevenus sighed. “I suppose you’d know.”

  “Yes. It was a hard lesson to learn.”

  He stepped back, drawing a cold, damp breath. Knees buckling under the weight of all he’d been through, both in the last two years and the last two thousand, Draevenus came to kneel before the sarcophagus. Because before he could kill Ruul, he needed to know one thing.