by Blake Rivers
“I am. I know this palace very well, having been here for so long.” He paused, daring to raise his hand to his own face. There was no reflection of light from her power. It didn’t illuminate. “She punished me for overhearing—”
“Yet you came back for more? Why?”
“Why are you here, in the library on your own? Why has she kept you?”
“I tried to get out, but—”
“It is protected, the whole palace is. You could not escape. But still, she—” Jonus felt a heavy guilt in his stomach. He was speaking ill of his goddess, and after so many years of service, far more than he dared to count, it was finally hard to do…
“I don’t know what she wants of me, but she isn’t going to get it. Now, I need a way out of here before she comes back. You’re staying with me, so unless you want to be a little more dead than blind, I suggest you lead me the hell out of here.”
Jonus bowed to her fire, mesmerised. A luminous being she was, full to the brim of power that burned so brightly. How bright did Madam Romany burn?
He sighed. His choices were limited, and half hoping they’d get away with it, Jonus agreed. Either Romany would catch them, or not, but this was too different to miss. Things were changing. The girl. The Assassin Princess foretold.
He nodded in her general direction. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll take you to the Lunar Room.”
“I want a way out.”
“And you’ll find it, but we must hurry. Take my arm and I’ll lead you.”
“Why do I need to take your arm?”
He coughed, feeling very humble, a sentiment alien to him. “I do not wish to fall down if I misstep.”
She paused, bending through the door once more, and then back to him, a cool touch of a hand on his arm. “Okay, then you lead and I’ll keep you upright, but one false move and—you get the picture?”
“Death would be a sweet release,” he said, “but, I do not wish to face it just yet. I get the picture, I assure you.” He felt her tug on him and he walked, passing between the doors and out into the corridor.
*
There was a silence so sudden that the whole world paused; birds misplaced their songs, and the many morning motions of the town were muted—just for a moment—before the wind sighed again and moved to tickle the leaves, to tease the world to life.
The three had held their breath but now exhaled with the wind, each feeling the fear of the others, though only Raven worded it so exactly.
“There’s something down there.”
In answer, a sudden rush of heat escaped through the cracked crust carrying with it a strong smell of sulphur and flame. They scrambled away from the edge to a chorus of squawking and wild flapping as birds fled their homes and perches.
“Hero, I think we should leave,” Florence said, slowly backing away and dropping to her hands and knees. A cool white fire caught across her body, and she grew larger, changing form in a luminous sparkling light. Her proud horn lit a crystal staff, and she bowed to them as Florina. “If what’s down there is anything like the others?”
Hero nodded, groping for Raven’s arm, pulling him away from the fissure. It had split a grin across the woodland floor, and a faint orange glow now pulsed from its depths.
Quickly mounting Florina, Hero making secure the trinkets of gold and paper within his robes, they set out at a gallop, leaping the river in a single bound to land upon the opposing bank.
They rode the rugged hillside and passed beneath the outer wall, continuing on up into town.
It was a busy morning it seemed, and the townsfolk were out in force, causing Florina to pause for a moment at the opening to the thoroughfare as a procession of folk and fillies passed, being led by reign and rider toward the market square, perhaps for a quick sale. Other folks scrambled and squeeze through, and with much caw and comment, they slipped in behind the line of dapple greys.
Hero had hoped to blend in, but the townsfolk were all too quick to scupper their ruse, for fingers began to point and whispers began to churn of the sparkling horn that adorned the white-one’s head. Florina turned off the main thoroughfare before the curious became a mob, and disappeared into the shadow of a narrow alleyway that nestled between a tavern and tannery.
They dismounted there, away from eyes and ears, their only company the rats and rubbish, broken boxes and rotting foods.
Florina shifted shape again back to the girl, and Hero rushed to the corner to peer back down the hillside, scouting out their camp.
He saw it easily, now a line of fire in dark green. Smoke billowed and wafted away from the town, and if none had been looking, he doubted that anyone would have noticed at all; though it was not the only place to have been wounded. Four or five more cracks were visible, each burning across the land.
“Okay, that certainly woke me up,” Raven said.
“They knew we didn’t belong and have obviously never seen a unicorn before,” Hero said, shaking his head. “It hadn’t crossed my mind. From now on, Florence, it’s best you remain in your current form.”
Florence nodded, straightening her robes. “Agreed.”
“What I don’t understand is what’s causing these quakes?”
“Ami.” Florence looked up. “Perhaps—”
“We can’t assume that this has anything to do with her,” Hero said. He turned to Raven. “Did she seem wrong to you, ready to destroy the world?”
“No,” Raven shook his head, “but there were moments that I wasn’t quite sure.”
“Explain.”
Raven shifted, kicking his feet and rubbing his hands across the blood stains on his robes. “There were moments that, if she wanted to, she could have. I thought I saw a glimmer that she might—”
“But she didn’t,” Hero said.
“No, she didn’t.”
“Then maybe—”
Hero turned on Florence, his voice a low whisper. “I know you have never seen eye to eye with the princess, but I will not allow you to accuse her of death and destruction every chance you get.” He released his hand from his sword, realising that he’d had it in his grasp. A moment passed and he let his breath out between his teeth. “I understand you have cause, as we all do, but there is another player in this game and we already know she possesses secrets—the men around her certainly possess a power. This place is important and we need to focus on unravelling the mystery.”
“I understand,” Florence said, raising her chin to Hero, “and I apologise. You are right, of course.”
“Where do we start?” Raven asked.
“Perhaps we should have a closer look at this book.” Hero pulled the small volume out of his robes. “We need a place we can be alone.”
*
Mattus was very unwell. It seemed that the street cobbles pushed toward him with each step, catching his feet and tripping him to the ground. Sometimes he grabbed a wall, and other times the shoulders, necks and bodies of men and women who pushed him back, yelling at him, sometimes spitting. One man in particular took much offence to his wild gropes, setting two or three others on him—it hardly made a difference; bruised and bloody, his body began to slowly repair. His cheek though felt as ice. The flesh was new, tender, and already infected. There was this smell… Mattus was sure it was rotting.
He’d woken at the cliff’s edge, alone and cold, his limbs feeling their age as he pulled himself up on the stone. Romany had let him live and let him go, but he didn’t feel any the less punished.
He now spied himself in the glass of a tailor’s window and stopped. The owner grimaced at him beyond the stands of jackets and shirts, pants and jerkins, but Mattus paid no mind. It was his own reflection he looked at, taken aback. He was unrecognisable. His skin was ash grey, marred by the dirt, blood and mud of the ground on which he’d lain. The wrinkles in his skin had deepened, and his eyes were bloodshot and mostly closed, swollen. But it was his jaw that had truly changed. It had been repaired, for there was no longer a four-fingered slash, but
the bones had shattered and left him disfigured, crushed and repaired with all the grace of a fist fight. His cheek was deeply infected, black and bubbling with swollen blisters of yellow puss. He went to touch it but pulled back with a hiss. Why had Madam Romany left him like this? He cried out a yelp, sounding even to himself like a wounded pup.
He would not let the tears come though, no. He blinked them away as he sheltered his eyes from the sun. He’d been left alive for a reason, and no matter the reason, perhaps he could regain the favour he’d lost. The girl’s face entered his mind again, though this time he pushed her away with hatred and disgust. It was her fault that this had happened to him, his fall from grace. It was her fault. Where did he know her from? A flash of a pool, a brush…but the answer wouldn’t come. Had Romany found out?
“I never meant to be disloyal,” he murmured, watching a cart roll by, its load of piled up crates roped together and creaking. He covered his ears, the sound hurting him. “I never meant to be, I—”
For a moment he wasn’t sure what he was seeing, only that it was wrong. He rubbed his sore eyes and leant against the window, much to the tailor’s distress, and peered round the corner. There, he squinted into the shadowed alleyway looking to the far end between old Mister Farlan’s tannery and The Cock and Snout. A strange gathering was taking place of two men and a horse. As he watched, the white horse shivered and broke into a sparkling white glow that changed quickly into the shape and form of a woman. There’d been a horn that had formed a sword, and the white mane was now the unruly hair of a girl, dirty blonde against fair skin and grubby robes.
Mattus watched the two men talk with the woman, the sight of them breeding surprising hatred. Madam Romany would want to hear of this, would want to know of this for sure. It was a secret meeting, a definite plot, darker magic than she’d like. If he’d have been in better shape, the power within would have served to enhance his senses, but he was hardly in any shape at all, and he could hear almost nothing. Instead he watched, keeping his eyes on them as long as he could, committing them to memory. Agreeing on something, they headed in his direction.
Mattus stood and stepped from the alley as the tailor began banging on the window, shooing him away. The three strangers walked by without seeing him at all, so invisible and irrelevant he’d become. He brought together all of his strength, all of his reserve, all of his hate and anger and loyalty to a goddess who’d become his eternity, and pushed back through the throng of townsfolk to follow them. Wherever they were headed, he would go.
*
Romany had watched the old man from the top window of the temple, stumbling and clawing his way back up the hill. If she’d have been a lesser being she’d have spat upon him, for he was worth no more than that. However, his was a life still worth keeping, if only to complete the circle. What was coming would require great sacrifice. Better them than she.
She pulled back inside and closed the window, latching it in place. The empty room behind her was cool and dark, a place of worship and sanctuary, for she had made it so. From the first moment she’d discovered the portal beneath the ground, she’d known that she could use it. This was the land to stay in, the place to create, to build.
There were more terrifying things in the world of layers than there had ever been as a whole, and soon they’d all know it.
With a cruel laugh, Romany left the temple.
Chapter Eleven
“Open this one,” said the blind man, giving the door in front of them a firm kick. “You’ll need to pull hard. It sticks.”
Ami did as he said, hooking her hand into the iron ring and twisting it to lift the latch. With a firm yank the door creaked open, letting in the light from a second passage that sloped at a slight angle. The same familiar red carpet ran its floor, and to one side were arched windows that looked out upon Darkscape, the high sun casting dark arms and fingers across the sprawl.
To Ami the town looked like an insect squatting on a mound, its tapered legs gripping to the once green climbs, while beyond the ocean shone true-blue to the horizon, rough waves of folded silk rippling across the expanse. She felt a twinge of loneliness looking out at it and so suddenly wanted to be home.
Jonus kept his hand against the inside wall, his fingers tracing the contours as they reached the end of the walkway, and there turned right to enter another. Three more windows lined the outside giving view to the wild woods behind the palace, but the greens and browns, rich reds and seasoned yellows were soon gone as they continued their descent, and were replaced with turrets and walls and empty windows into empty rooms.
They’d met no others so far, and the palace, though quite beautiful, was desolate of warmth. There were no sounds, no people, no servants or maids, no soldiers or guards, none other than the five men who were presently absent. It seemed to all intents and purposes a lonely vault, a spectacle of sovereignty for vanity’s sake, shared with no one. Form without substance. And where was Romany? Her flight from the library had been too sudden, the battle left open with the outcome undecided, and she’d carelessly left Ami alone to find her own escape. And then what of her emancipator? His dead eyes focussed on her every so often, only to fall back to nothing.
She didn’t trust him.
There was nothing to suggest that he led her to any better fate than if she’d have stayed in the library.
A spiral stairwell took them to the base of the palace and out into a great hall, so large and richly decorated that it almost took Ami’s breath away. There were carvings of painted faces barely seen, leaning from shadows and draped in coloured cloths and shawls; other statues stood off to the side between paintings and murals, looking grand and obscene, like Greek or Roman gods of old.
Ami wished she could study them, sketch them, commit their faces to memory, and wondered who they’d been in life—if anyone. Perhaps Romany had carved the marble with her mind, trying to capture those ghosts of so long ago who’d walked by her side, who’d once been her kin? It was likely, she thought, for each shape and face held a familiar look and feel. One face caught her attention in particular, a stone woman stepping out from the flat shadow of the furthest wall. She was tall, as tall as the room, her hair falling almost to the floor, covering her modesty—her mouth formed a perfect ‘o’, and her eyes were wide, as if she’d been caught in a moment of fear or surprise. Opposite her, at the far end of the hall, was an empty throne where Romany might sit alone, staring at the fearful statue who was undoubtedly herself.
Would she sit there for long, staring at a memory frozen? Would she cry? Ami didn’t know, and Jonus soon pulled her through into another room, large and plain.
They didn’t linger and instead took a sharp right and headed into a third, an airy cavern that looked out across the courtyard fronting the palace.
This was more spectacular than the first, and Ami twirled across the floor looking at everything. There, on the wall, was a mural of Romany playing host to six indulgent men on their knees; and on another, depictions of rivers in motion, trickling softly over rocks and pebbles, all tawdry, splashed and imperious, each image divided by an iron grate, covering an alcove.
Beneath her feet was a single mosaic that stretched the entire floor and featured seven moons in gold and pale yellow; six were smaller, only two feet in width, while the seventh was much larger and dominated the centre of the room. From each of them, Ami felt the remnants of power.
Stepping up to the gallery now, she peered out across the courtyard, spying an empty stable block made of stone and wood, a smithy maybe, a tannery, all empty and open, not quite in ruin; a path crossed in the centre—perhaps originally to quarter gardens that were now only grass—and encompassing all were massive red brick walls littered with windows and guttered out candles.
Here was her way out.
“I can feel the sun, the air. I know where I stand. Yet I cannot see.” Jonus turned, his brow furrowing. “I can see you though, powerful girl. I could’ve shown you the main doors and let Mada
m Romany catch you, but no, Jonus is being nice to the powerful stranger.”
“So you think she won’t catch me jumping out into the courtyard?”
With a wheezy laugh, Jonus carefully backed up against the wall. “I didn’t bring you here to this sacred room for you to jump into the courtyard. See the shape in the centre? I may be blind, but my memory is sound. It’s right in front of you. It’s a lunar, and this is the Lunar Room, the room of The Order. It is where we come to join, to be as one, to be powerful.”
Ami shifted her weight, knowing Romany couldn’t have meant to leave her this long. She’d be back. They needed to hurry. “How does that help my escape?”
He pushed away from the wall, choosing his path toward her with care. “When we were brought into the service of Madam Romany, all those many years ago, we were each given a gift of magic. Each of us received a little; only a little. Only with the six of us joined can we really use it to its fullest. We form a circle, here, around the lunar,” he indicated the white orb on the floor and pointed to the six smaller orbs, “then we raise the lunar power from the centre—”
“The ball of light that chased us—”
“—an immense power at our disposal—at Madam Romany’s bidding.”
“I can’t see how—”
“You are very powerful,” he crooned, a man used to giving flattery. “You wouldn’t need six old men…just the one, to guide you.”
“I can use this to escape?” She pointed to the orb. Jonus nodded. It was just a circle, a pattern on the floor, nothing special. She stepped to its centre. “I can’t see how.”
“That’s why you need me,” he said, pausing. “Take me with you.”
There was a disturbance, the sound of voices hurrying quickly through corridors. Ami looked out across the courtyard seeing shapes passing windows on the far side of the palace.
