From Darkness Won

by Jill Williamson

  Achan took a deep breath. “Sometimes it feels as if Arman has made a game of putting me in dreadful situations. I wonder if my life will ever be normal again.”

  “Not for a king, I imagine.”

  “Well, I never asked to be a king.”

  “I hear you, Highness. Change isn’t my game, either.”

  “Your game?”

  Toros shrugged one shoulder. “My game is dice. One Hundred or Passage. I’m also fond of hawking.”

  “You have a bird?”

  “No. Point is, Highness, Arman uses change to stir us. Clarify priorities. Supply direction. The battle comes and we face it, for that is where Arman wants us to be. Normal is tedious, Highness. Don’t long for blissful lethargy. Long for change.”

  Long for change?

  Achan stared at the interlocking circles on Toros’s tunic. No matter what would come, Arman was in control. He would not allow Achan to fail. He would help Achan find Sparrow, defeat the Hadad, and push back Darkness.

  Achan raised his gaze to Toro Ianjo’s scruffy face. “Thank you, Toros. Your outlook has raised my spirits a great deal. Now I must go.” For Sparrow was lost and needed to be found.

  12

  Averella reached out toward the tea rose again, and again her fingers passed through the two-tone petals. How could that be? Was she invisible? An apparition? Had she died? The knowledge evaded her mind, just out of reach.

  She studied her body, intrigued that she could see through herself. She did not feel sad or frightened. But why was she wearing this peasant dress? It was hideous and itchy and stained and had no corset.

  Confused, she continued to admire the garden. Not even the beauty of the courtyard in Granton Castle compared to this place. There were lilies, irises, rosemary bushes, sunflowers, daffodils, and more types of roses than Averella had ever seen.

  Over the last year, she had missed her garden greatly. She had spent so many days there with Bran. But that had been fall. It was clearly summer now. Why had she neglected her garden all this time? Where had she been?

  Averella drifted closer to the temple along a worn dirt path. Her transparent feet floated inches above the ground.

  How very strange.

  A man’s voice boomed, as if spoken in her ear. Sparrow? You must return to your body.

  Hello? She spun around, pressing a hand to her heart. Is someone there?

  Sparrow. It’s Achan. You’ve been stormed. Return to your body right away.

  Who are you?

  Achan. Achan Cham.

  Cham? Why would a stray address her so familiarly? Averella cocked her head to the side and listened. Distant sounds of chickens and children’s laughter drifted from beyond a nearby sentry wall, but she saw no man. I cannot see you, Master Cham. Where are you and why do you jest? It is a lovely day. I cannot imagine it would storm.

  Sparrow! A moment of silence passed, then the invisible man growled.

  Averella jumped at his angry tone. Sparrow, indeed! How peculiar. She continued to the temple and approached a guard dressed in a black New Kingsguard cape.

  Good day, sir. May I—

  “You there! Where do you think you’re going?”

  Averella turned toward the voice. Two guards dragged a burly young man out of the inner gatehouse. She drifted closer. She did not believe she had ever seen this young man before, yet his familiar pockmarked face drew her near.

  He struggled between the two guards. “I must get inside! You don’t understand!”

  The guards pushed, the man pushed, back and forward like a game of reverse tug-o-war. On one of the tugs when the guards had the man back in the outer bailey, two peasants— a man and a woman—slipped through the gate and scurried toward the keep without looking back.

  A diversion?

  She breathed out a laugh. A diversion, indeed! Listen to her. One would think she had been cavorting with soldiers all her life to have such assumptions quick to her mind. Still, she drifted after the peasants, curious why they snuck about. Peasants came and went from Castle Granton. Why not here?

  Wherever here was.

  Averella followed the peasants inside. The stone structure cut off the heat and light from the sun, bathing her in cool shadow. The peasants stood inside a small foyer. A stone corridor led off on the left and right. Two flights of stairs lay ahead, one going up, the other down.

  The man started up the stairs.

  The woman stepped to the right and whispered, “Noam! Not that way!” She waved the man to follow and ducked into the dark corridor on the right.

  The peasant girl’s brown dress was identical to Averella’s. She drifted behind Noam’s lanky form. Torches crackled every ten paces or so, lighting the corridor in a bronze glow. The peasant woman took the first left and strode through the dark halls as if this were her home. “No one will question us on the servants’ stairwell.”

  “But someone will question us eventually,” Noam said. “Gren, please stop. We need more of a plan.”

  Gren spun around, her chestnut hair twirling over her shoulders. “Fine. If anyone asks, Shelga sent us to mend a ripped canopy in Lady Marah’s chamber.”

  Averella’s memory surged at the mention of Lady Marah, mistress of Sitna Manor, wife to Lord Nathak.

  Then this must be Sitna’s keep. It was very cold and drafty compared to Granton Castle in Carmine.

  Gren continued down the dark corridor and turned up a spiral staircase. Noam and Averella followed her to the top floor and exited on a well-lit passageway that stretched along the outer wall of the keep. Sunlight stabbed through dozens of arrow loops. Averella soared into a sunbeam and let the warmth soak into her.

  Gren stopped where another corridor shot off on into the keep and peeked around the corner. “There are guards posted at the door,” she whispered. “Listen.”

  “…guess he’s a god now,” a man’s voice croaked, low and slow, like a bullfrog. “Traded his soul for a new arm.”

  “To who?” Another man’s voice. High-pitched.

  “To Nathak’s sorcerer, I guess.”

  Averella drifted around the corner. Two New Kingsguardsmen stood before a door. One had bushy brown hair and a beard. The other was younger, though his face was creased as if he had not slept in weeks. He also was missing four front teeth, two on the top and two on the bottom.

  “This sorcerer collects souls?” The bearded man’s high-pitched voice sounded almost like a critical woman.

  The toothless guard grinned, baring a black hole where his teeth should be. “Guess so. Guess that’s how he gets stuff done. Binds people to him.”

  “You think that’s something to smile about, do you?”

  “Nah, just that Prince Gidon was—”

  “Esek.”

  “Oh, you know who I mean. He was a thorn to serve, wasn’t he? Sent me to Myet twice for his own bad temper. Guess I can’t help but smile thinking of him being tethered so. To a master of his own, you know?”

  Averella drifted to the door and reached between the men for the latch. Her fingers passed through the wooden surface. She moved slowly, unsure, but curious to know who or what was being kept behind this door.

  She turned her head so her face was the last thing to pass through the dark wood. She soon found herself in a spacious chamber. On the exterior wall, the sun shone through a narrow balcony. A canopied bed stood in the far corner. Linen draped over the furniture, suggesting the room was not being used. No one was here. Why guard an empty chamber?

  On her second survey of the room, she caught sight of a limp hand dangling over the bedside. She drifted closer. A body came into view, sunk into the linen drape that covered the mattress. A woman in a plain brown dress. A peasant. The woman’s face was twisted away, her thin black hair tangled in a pile that covered her face.

  Averella did not know why, but a dark fear pressed in on her heart as she studied the woman. She skirted to the foot of the bed, trying to get a better view of the woman’s face.

  Th
e chamber door burst open. Averella pressed against the wall and sank to her haunches, falling partway into the next room. Then she remembered that no one could see her, so she steadied herself and looked to the doorway.

  Lord Nathak entered with Lord Levy, Lady Fallina Levy, and their son Reggio. Averella froze at the sight of Lord Nathak and his horrible mask, fear curling the ends of her nerves like ribbon. She built an imaginary wall around herself. What such an act did, she did not know, but she felt more secure after having done it.

  Lady Fallina gripped her thick brocade skirts in both hands and ran to the bedside. “Really, my lord. Could you at least have chosen a room that had been aired? A fresh bed?”

  “She can’t feel anything, right, Father?” Reggio asked.

  “I know nothing of this magic,” Lord Levy said, puffing on an ivory pipe.

  Lady Fallina brushed the hair off the unconscious woman’s face.

  Averella screamed, a soundless, heart-wrenching act for her ears only. For it was her face under all that hair. Her body lying limp on the bed like a discarded shawl. She leaned over the foot of the bed to get a closer look. Was she dead? Why was she dressed as a peasant?

  “She is warm,” Lady Fallina said. “She breathes still.”

  “Of course she does,” Lord Nathak said. “She has been stormed, not stabbed.”

  Stormed. The invisible man in the garden had spoken of a storm. Master Cham! I have found my body, Averella said. Please tell me how to return to it.

  But Master Cham did not answer.

  “Regardless, Lord Nathak,” Lady Fallina said. “This whole situation is horribly improper. I will not allow this lady to be without a chaperone. Think of her reputation.” Lady Fallina moved Averella’s arms, folding them over her stomach so that she truly looked like a corpse.

  Reggio snorted. “Her reputation is soiled of her own instigation. Cavorting all over Er’Rets in the company of men. No one held her hostage, Mother. She chose her lot.”

  “Still.” Lady Fallina smoothed Averella’s hair. “I will have no one say that I contributed to her degeneracy.”

  Averella’s jaw dropped. Never in her life had she been so brutally slandered. On what grounds did they accuse her of such poor conduct?

  “None of this matters, my dear.” Lord Levy set a hand on his wife’s shoulder, bringing with him the strong smell of tobacco and vanilla. His pointed white beard reminded Averella of a goat. “Lord Nathak is moving the lady to Mahanaim in the morning.”

  Lady Fallina regarded her husband with wide eyes. “Moving her how?”

  “She is being transported with my procession,” Lord Nathak said. “My master can do with her as he likes.”

  “I will not have it! Her mother must be notified.” Lady Fallina sat on the edge of the bed and glanced to her husband, who was sucking on his pipe. “Think of Jacqueline, Abidan. She and Lady Averella are the same age. Could you allow our daughter—”

  “Jacqueline has not broken the law, my dear.” Lord Levy blew out a stream of smoke. “Lady Averella is a criminal by her own volition.”

  “And she should be tried as such,” Reggio added.

  Averella gasped, hands trembling.

  “Really,” Lady Fallina said. “Just because she would not marry you, Lord Nathak, or your depraved son?”

  “Fallina!” Lord Levy snapped. “You will respect Lord Nathak in his own house.”

  “Sitna Manor is your house now, my lord husband. You should remind Lord Nathak to respect you.” She shot a haughty glare at Lord Nathak. “And your wife.”

  Lord Levy sighed. “Lord Nathak, would you allow my wife to sit with Lady Averella until you are ready to transport her?”

  “I care not what your wife does. But Lady Averella will be taken to Mahanaim at first light tomorrow.”

  Lord Nathak left the room.

  Lady Fallina stood and smoothed out her skirt. “He intends to send an ill noblewoman to Mahanaim with a bunch of soldiers? And no escort? Can nothing be done?”

  “What does an unconscious woman need with an escort?” Reggio asked.

  “Lord Nathak will make certain nothing vile happens to her, my dear, I assure you,” Lord Levy said.

  “You vouch for Lord Nathak’s character, Abidan? Since when have you trusted him?”

  “Mother, Lord Nathak is loyal to our cause. It’s Lady Averella’s character that’s the issue here,” Reggio said.

  How Averella wished she could speak aloud and give Reggio Levy the scolding of his life.

  “Reggio, please!” Lord Levy turned back to his wife. “Lord Nathak said his interest in the girl is strictly political. She’s to marry his son.”

  Lady Fallina scoffed. “To think all this began because her mother is the Duchess of Carm.”

  “She is only Lady Nitsa now, for I am Duke of Carm. And Lady Nitsa could have avoided all this trouble by making the betrothal herself. Her stubborn ways have done her and her daughter no favors. Both women have brought their fortunes upon themselves. Dâthos has weighed their behavior of the scales of justice and made his judgment.”

  Lady Fallina peered at her husband. “I find it odd that Dâthos always agrees with your judgment, my lord.”

  “Because I know my god well.”

  His wife huffed. “So you agree with Dâthos’s decision to send us to Sitna? That the Levy rule of Mahanaim is to end with you? I would think that Dâthos would condemn Lord Nathak for all his years of deceit. You did, at first.”

  Lord Levy’s eyes smoldered. “I cannot see Dâthos’s full plan, but I assure you my years of loyalty will not be overlooked. Would you have me rebel, as Lady Nitsa has? Would you have our daughters used against us as pawns?”

  Lady Fallina whispered, “Of course not.”

  “Then do not question my judgment. I am loyal to Dâthos, as is the Hadad. I support his takeover, as should you.”

  Lady Fallina looked back to Averella’s body.

  “I would hate to think my own mother a traitor.” Reggio stood by the door with his arms crossed, glaring at his mother as if she were a vandal.

  “That will be enough from you, my boy.” Lord Levy shooed Reggio out the door and pointed his pipe at Lady Fallina. “We shall see you at dinner, I hope?”

  “As long as two women sit with Lady Averella in my place. Send me Tylia now, please.”

  “As you wish, my dear.”

  The door clumped shut behind Lord Levy and Reggio. Lady Fallina stepped back to the bed and sat down. She ran the back of her hand along Averella’s cheek. “I am sorry, child. I can only keep you safe under my roof. Once you leave… May Dâthos find more good in you than evil.”

  • • •

  Averella stayed with her body all afternoon, flitting about the room like a ghost. Two maids came when Lady Fallina went to dinner. Lady Fallina returned shortly and sat in a chair beside the bed, dozing restlessly into the night.

  Averella drifted about the room and went out onto the balcony to look at the moon, high over the glassy sea.

  Sparrow? The stray man’s voice boomed in her head again. You’ve closed your mind. Are you back in your body?

  Averella paused, intrigued by his words. How do you know I am out of my body? And why call me Sparrow?

  Sparrow, please. You have to lower your shields to talk to me. At least say something so I know you are well. I promise to leave you be after that, but I must know that you’re not hurt.

  I am here, Master Cham. And I feel no pain, though I am out of my physical body.

  Averella’s ears itched. She tried to scratch them, yet her fingers passed into her head, finding nothing solid to scratch.

  Achan Cham.

  What do you want, Master Cham? You said you would leave me be. Can you not hear me? Averella did not know what else she could possibly say. This man had heard her in the temple garden. What could have changed?

  Master Cham spoke to her several more times through the rest of the night, but he never seemed to hear her responses. She
did not understand anything. What had happened to her? What was storming? How could her mind be outside her body? Why did she have no memory of how she came to be this way? Why did the Levys slander her name as if she were a wanton woman?

  Her ears itched. Duchess Amal.

  Joy surged inside her. Mother! Where are you?

  Duchess Amal.

  Yes! I am in Sitna. Lord Nathak holds me captive. He plans to take me to Mahanaim tomorrow. Without an escort!

  Duchess Amal.

  Averella’s joy fizzled. Mother?

  Silence stretched on. Crickets chirruped outside. Lady Fallina’s soft breath held a steady flow at Averella’s bedside.

  Merciful heart! Why could no one hear her? Averella started to cry, though no tears left her eyes.

  “Be gentle!” Lady Fallina scolded.

  “We won’t drop her, m’lady,” the toothless guard said as he and the bearded guard heaved the casket off the floor of the bedchamber.

  Averella shuddered, knowing her body lay inside the sanded pine box. She must truly be dead. But where, then, was Arman? For this could not be Shamayim. All believers went to Shamayim when they died. It was written.

  Not knowing what else to do, Averella drifted along with Lady Fallina and the men, staying with her body as they carried the casket down the spiral stairs and out of the keep to a wagon in the inner bailey. Two more guards helped lift the casket into the back.

  “There are three more crates to be loaded,” Lady Fallina said. “I will show you where they are.”

  The guards followed Lady Fallina back into the keep, leaving Averella’s body alone with the driver sitting on his bench.

  “What took you so long, boy?” the driver said. “We’re set to leave soon.”

  Noam, the lanky peasant who had snuck into the keep yesterday, approached the wagon, leading two horses. But today he wore the orange tunic of a stray. “I had to wait until they were shod.”

  Averella watched the young man so closely that she didn’t see Gren until the peasant woman was crouched by the wagon’s wheel. A beefy man squatted down beside her. The same man who had caused the diversion so Noam and Gren could sneak inside the keep.