by Blake Rivers
They were now at the end of the hallway, and in the dim light that seemed to seep from the very walls and beams, they were able to see remains of a fallen staircase. The rubble was strewn at their feet, rotted, powdered; above, nothing could be seen of the upper floor at all.
“If there is a portal here,” Hero whispered, “and we assume Ami and Raven took it, then we can follow.” He reached out to touch the steps, but faltered. “Reach out with the power. Touch it with me.”
“What good would that do?”
“A thought only, but perhaps the steps used to go…somewhere else?”
She nodded, hating the feeling of this alien power crawling over her. It was in the air, in the walls. It was outside in the rain, too, but oh so powerful here. Nevertheless, she grasped his hand. A white light came and flourished, covering Hero’s hand to his wrist, the grasp a union. They reached out together to touch the last remaining step, the white light too bright, a licking flame against their palms.
Just as the shack itself had seemed a ghost, a luminous apparition, the wooden steps became an ethereal sheen. The air above wavered and blossomed white, shaping further steps that shadowed the first. Otherworldly, they were there and not-there, glittering with the power, the gentle magic.
The storm raged on regardless and the shack lifted once more, impaled upon trees.
“What should we do? Climb them?” she asked.
Hero nodded. “And quickly, before they disappear.”
Even as she took her hand away, the image began to fade a little, though she kept a firm grasp on Hero.
“Ready?” he asked, the ground quaking beneath, thunder taking his words. She nodded, and together they climbed the short rise to the third step, the last solid one remaining. “If I fall on my face—”
They felt the change happen much as it had before. The walls and the floor, the very steps themselves, began to solidify into something more substantial. Stone replaced wood as the two merged, light and dark shifting places, shadows shrinking to grow and pale into smooth grey.
The next step was of chiselled stone, wooden rafters revealing carved granite and chipped plaster as it changed, the temperature dropping dramatically.
And then they were there, completely in the other.
The last steps were easy and led into a large open space, the walls and floor rough, and the room empty; a single window welcomed them in a path of pooled moonlight, soft and silver, shadowing a few remaining runnels of rain that slipped down the panes.
Florence reached for the latch and threw the window open.
The salt-heavy smell of the sea filled the chamber, together with the fresh scent of a night, post-storm. Shadows of grey and black covered the ground below, and she could make out large, rounded shapes, stark in the lunar light; a few trees littered the cliff edge that fell into the sea, roots gnarled and reaching to point across the infinite ocean expanse, the beauty of the nightscape broken only by the shattered moon on rippled waves.
Hero joined her and leaned out.
“Almost a lighthouse,” he murmured, before slipping back inside, squeezing water from his robes. Florence did the same.
“We were right about the portal,” she said, shivering and returning to the top of the steps, stone the whole way and unbroken. “Do you think that if we walked down we would return to the other layer?”
“No, I think not.” He placed his foot upon the top step. “There is only one way to find out.” Leaving her on the upper floor, Hero descended, reaching the bottom step, whole and complete, beckoning her down. “The place is quite empty.”
With caution, Florence followed down into a hallway that reminded her much of a mausoleum. At the far end, Hero gave the stone door a mighty tug and it opened out into the night, the mystical moon clear and bright.
The wind caressed her skin with a cool hand.
“This is quite strange,” Hero said, walking around the small plot of land. “The two places are connected, and in their own ways, quite similar, yet where there were woods there is now sea, where there was a shack, now there is a tower of stone.”
“The Sentries split the world apart. The portals they created joined them.” Florence looked down at the boulders, their smooth surfaces curious and deliberate. “There was a storm here, too, but it has passed. The sky still flickers. It’s all connected.” Partly to keep warm, she jogged to the side of the tower and peered round. “If Ami came through here, where is she?”
Hero joined her and started up the climb, following a worn and muddy path.
“There must be a settlement over there,” he said, pointing to where the dark sky was lit ever so slightly brighter in the near distance. “She’ll be there with Raven, I’m sure of it. We best set off now while the night remains.”
“Yes, we don’t want to be seen,” she grasped her sword, “and I best stay as a woman for now.”
“You’ll be able to run free again soon, Florina,” he whispered, “but for now, yes, as a woman.” He smiled and touched her chin lightly before turning to the climb.
Florence hesitated for a moment, looking out across the ocean and all she could see of it. A strange ocean of another land, it seemed to go on forever. She was dedicated to Hero and Legacy, but she still missed home—her true home—the Solancra Forest. There, her never ending love would stay with her once lost heart, Talos, the only unicorn sans horn. He would never leave Solancra now, not for anything, not even for her. The moon told her that she would return to him, that she would retire from her newfound duties—just not yet.
With a small sigh she followed Hero, who’d already climbed a little way ahead, stopping only as a glimmer of something shiny caught her eye. Reaching down into the long grass beside the path she grasped it, wet and heavy, and held it up to the light. It was a golden chess piece. Strange.
A whistle, and Hero waved to her from the climb. Pushing the totem into her robes, Florence waved back and scrambled up the path to catch up.
*
Raven woke with a start, turning so sudden and swift that his feet became tangled. He’d been dreaming of the Mortrus Lands, the dark blue light, black, dead trunks—he kicked and fell, hitting the floor hard, knocking his eyes wide. Dust rose from the floor, the clouds huffing soft billows with each breath as he allowed the panic to wash away, to flow from him and into the house he now remembered; he quietened his mind. A flit of a memory, in a room with the Guards of Legacy, cross-legged and quiet, breathing slowly and hearing, seeing the blessed peace fall like a veil. Other images and memories came to him. Ami leaving him with the beautiful girl. She’d come close. Stroked his skin. He’d fallen to the bed beneath her touch, beneath her gaze. It’d been romantic and perfect, her lips to his a magic untold, unfelt—then darkness.
A cold ocean churned in his guts as the poisoned memories bled through.
Now everything felt damp, old and unused, the air holding a pungent perfume he’d been blind to before, a sense he’d been tricked out of.
Pulling the cord that swung at his shoulder, Raven opened the roof hatch, flooding the once dark room with moonlight of a dusky silver-grey. It allowed him to see, if only partially, certain subtleties he’d missed before. The room he’d thought so cosy was truthfully forlorn and in decay. The beds, the straw, the floor, all mouldered in disuse and neglect.
“Ami?” he called. “Princess?” But no reply came, his voice settling in the dust and cold air. The ocean could be heard some distance away through the open roof, but there appeared to be no one else present. No one in the house.
Ami had been right to be wary, and Raven had been taken in by the girl’s charm, her witchcraft; but there were better times for self-pity. If he had truly become separated from his princess, there was no telling what could have happened to her. At least I’m still alive.
Ami.
Edging his way through the room, Raven found the stairs. The moonlight tapered out three steps down, leaving all else shrouded in shadow. The house creaked, a half-flash f
rom the hatch, a storm moving on.
“Princess Ami?” he called again, but it was useless, he was sure. With no sword he felt naked, with no Ami he felt alone. He listened as the wind caught the side of the house and howled in the gaps and gullies.
There had been a candle and a tinderbox. He looked around for it now and spied the stump of wax on a small bureaux. The wick had been burned to extinction, but he thought he could save it if he dug a little. He pushed his nail in and fished the wick out while looking for the tinderbox. It was there, sitting on the other side. He took it and lit a flame to the stump, giving just enough light to see by.
Returning to the stairs he was soon back on the ground floor.
Walls lit a subtle orange, as did the door to the cellar that stood open.
“Ami? Are you down there?” The smell that responded churned the cold in his guts to a tepid froth. He knew it well, had smelt death before, dealt death before. Holding his sleeve to his nose, he ventured down.
The slope took him by surprise, the stone becoming earth, the stench stronger still. He gagged. “Ami!”
Rounding the corner, he bent down low.
The flame almost snuffed with his cry, the candle almost dropping as he backed into the wall, illuminating the shadow and gloom, and the dull, dead eyes.
They stared at him from beneath the massacre of bodies.
Raven fell to his knees and voided through his fingers, the splatter falling short of a woman’s face—Ami’s face—maggots crawling—
On his knees, he crept forward. He had to know, had to make sure. Closer now, much too close, and Raven saw that she wasn’t Ami, and a sick relief passed through him—but what of the others?
“Ami?” he whispered, now to himself as he bent low across another upturned head. A man, not Ami. The third was beyond, and Raven set to the task, sinking down, down into himself. He felt the dead beneath him as flies rose and landed repeatedly on his face and hands. He waved them away but drew back as he gagged again, holding his breath yet still smelling the blood, the meat…
The face of a boy watched him and Raven felt waves of relief, disgust and sorrow.
Quickly he backed out, focussed on retreat, focussed on Ami—not here, not dead. Three only. A woman, a man, a boy. Not Ami.
Reaching the sloped exit he grabbed the wall for support, his fingers coming away black and sooty. Breathing heavily, he brought his hand up to the candle and took a closer look.
“Burnt,” he whispered. However, he could no longer stand it, and with a fast flight back up to the ground floor he broke through into the hallway, and then out into the street, his stomach emptying, his breaths gasps and whoops.
A family of three, dead, slaughtered recently. The girl housesitting. She knew, she was part of it, perhaps had done it. She. She.
Wiping his mouth with a bloody sleeve, Raven looked back into the house once more, the small portrait of the family, the toys, the plates…
“Why?” He needed to find Ami.
Stumbling, his legs weak, Raven continued out into the empty street. Leaving was easy, but where was he to go in this strange land? The street sloped down and round, houses lifeless, the night deathly silent, his footsteps echoing. To the palace?
He held onto the side of a house and pressed himself flat against it, shimmying down to the ground. A mist kissed his flesh, cooling the fever there, his hand running through his hair, soaked in sweat and blood. In his other hand he still grasped the candle, the flame gone. He threw it away and covered his face with both hands.
He’d faced death before, but perhaps not so close, so personal, so putrid and foul. Even Kane’s death, his late friend and fellow Guard, had been in battle. Smooth, quick, not painless, but accepted. The carnage he’d just seen? A woman, a man, a boy. His eyes filled with tears that he pushed away quickly with the heels of his palms.
“No,” he whispered, “no, not here, not now.”
Raven got up and looked down the street. The tower of the palace was visible, a silhouette against the night sky, stars peeking through, unfamiliar and out of place.
With as much courage as he had conviction, Raven pushed on.
*
From a window within a room in darkness, Jonus peered down at the rain soaked street. The bridge connecting him to it was but a shadow in moonlight and he could see the water of the river far below. It had flowed once, but was now all but still and dead. He knew what lay beneath.
His thoughts had been musing on Madam Romany and the sword of power. He’d also thought much about their failed attempt to capture the girl. She, too, was powerful.
He stroked his beard.
The lunar had never failed before in its tasks, but whom should he blame? The girl, or Mattus? Mattus had never failed before, none of them had, yet things were changing. Madam Romany’s focus had shifted to the sword and the girl, and he knew where she had gone. He’d been watching. It was over now though, yet still there was movement in the street below, a lone figure limping.
“Breaking curfew? More strangeness.” He curled his hand around his eye and let the magic enhance his sight. The street came closer and became lighter in the dark. “The stranger-man. How apt. And you are alone and injured? My, my, what could have happened?”
Jonus would let him pass, let him find his way to the bridge and let him cross it. Then he would make his move.
He stroked his beard and turned away.
Chapter Seven
The dancing scarlet fire that held her captive haunted the sparse room, while the open gallery teased her views of liberty she couldn’t gain: the sprawling town upon the hill, the high-walled courtyard of red and white—charming, gothic, lacking only a smattering of snowflake to make a Christmas card scene; though no matter how picturesque, it was a gaol all the same.
The strange woman stood at her side, her ember eyes burning bright against her smooth café au lait skin. Ami’s sword was in her grasp, the blade laid across her palm, her long, elegant fingers caressing the folded steel.
If she could have, she would’ve made a grab for it and jumped from the open gallery to the courtyard, bounding up to the tall walls, and over, escaping into the valley—but her power was muted by the fire that crawled her skin and licked her body. She was a slave to it, and could not speak or move, but only breathe and blink and watch the woman pace. This she did sporadically, stopping for stretches, the silence spinning with a statue’s smile. Then she would resume once more, swinging the blade to and fro.
Time passed, much time, before a single word was spoken.
“You may speak.”
Her voice was that of the girl, though she seemed more the woman. A predator.
Ami swallowed and coughed, feeling her throat work and fail and work again.
“Who…are you?”
“Oh, and I expected so much more than that.”
“You’re not a house-sitter.”
“No, no I’m not a house-sitter,” she laughed. “I am, shall we say, the Alpha and Omega. I am the beginning, I am the end.”
“You aren’t God.”
“Aren’t I?” The woman smiled. “And what would a little girl like you know about gods?” Her expression hardened for a moment, then dropped to placidity. “Now, my turn. Who are you?”
Ami said nothing though the woman continued to glare, her red eyes fading to a dark brown. She looked as if an Egyptian queen, Cleopatra maybe, or her sister, Arsinoe.
“Shall I tell you who you are?” she asked, glancing now outside. “Shall I tell you of rumour and prophesy? Of heresy?” Holding the blade to the night, the woman pointed to the symbol at its base. “Do you know what this is?”
Ami remained silent, her mind reeling with images of Raven, of Legacy, of Hero, of the woman, her white dress catching the firelight, bleeding against her chest. Where was Raven? The bodies…the family…the house…the blood—
“Is this your sword?” she asked, pointing it to the stars. A surge of white light gathered at her wrist
and travelled the steel. It flashed a deep red, turning to violet, then green and silver. “It holds power, great power, but I’ve never seen a weapon like this before, and with the symbol…”
She lowered the blade and leant against the wall, a breeze stirring her long dark hair, her armlet chinking softly against the stone.
“There was talk of a girl,” she whispered, “a young woman who’d one day come. She’d have the power of the Sentries. I never believed it, never thought it. Any that were caught with it on their lips were removed, punished, their words destroyed for all time. I am the beginning and the end, and you are the Assassin Princess once foretold.” She moved in front of her, reaching through the flames to caress her cheek. Ami could smell the sweet spice of her skin. It smelt of forgotten fruits, forgotten lands. There was a tingle, a strange sensation soon withdrawn. “Not a myth but real. You are real, are you not? Yes, flesh and blood, just a girl, a girl with a powerful sword.”
The fire dropped suddenly, freeing her.
“You haven’t any power, have you, not really? You aren’t anything special.”
At these words, Ami felt Dangerous flex inside. “I am the Assassin Princess.” She made a grab for the sword, pushing her power, letting it flow—but her flamed grip dampened on the other, and the sword remained firmly in the woman’s iron grasp. For all her might, she couldn’t prise it away. She was only a girl after all, only Ami, and the smooth skin of the hand beneath hers was immovable.
“If this is the great Assassin Princess,” the woman mocked, turning away, “I can see I have nothing to fear.”
Ami closed her eyes and searched desperately for Dangerous, rushing across the lush green to the marble and stone—but those were only memories. Dangerous wasn’t there.
At the gallery, arms raised high and sword in hand, the woman gave a flourish and thrust toward the town. Immediately the world began to shake, throwing Ami off balance. A storm brewed from nowhere and rain lashed the lands, a gale rising to topple and flatten, to tear and destroy as the lithe woman shimmered in white flares of fire, scoring the night with missiles of light. They arced a thousand miles and fell out of sight.
