by E. E. Holmes
“There is another explanation,” Lucida said bluntly. “But I doubt you’re interested in hearing it.”
Fiona made a sound through her nose, and I glanced at her. Her arms were crossed, and she was refusing to look at me. “Is that what you think, too?” I asked her. “You think he’s really turned, and that he set me up?”
Fiona continued to look at her feet. She shrugged. “I don’t know what to think,” she muttered.
“Well, I do,” I said, my teeth clenched against the inclination to shout. “When I saw him here, right before I discovered you in your cell, Fiona, he was himself. He was the Finn that I know and that I trust. The man who held me down and trapped me back inside my own body was not Finn. His eyes were empty. He did not know me. They’ve done something to him, and I need to find out what it is. If they’ve done it to him, they’ve probably done it to dozens of other Caomhnóir here.”
Lucida let out a tiny gasp, and I snapped my gaze back onto her. “What?”
Lucida didn’t answer at first. She seemed to be putting something together in her mind.
“What is it, Lucida? If you know something, or heard something, then you need to tell me!” I cried impatiently.
“The Blind Summoners,” she whispered.
“What about them?” I asked eagerly.
“Wait a blooming minute,” Fiona interjected. “What the hell are Blind Summoners?”
“It’s the way they created their spirit army four years ago,” Lucida said. “They used a Casting to separate the spirits from their essences. They trapped the essences in fire, which they carried on torches. Once their essences had been removed, the spirits were just empty vessels, waiting to be filled with instructions. They would do whatever the Necromancers asked.”
“Christ on a bike,” Fiona whispered.
“But what about the Blind Summoners?” I asked. “Why are you bringing them up now?”
“Because back when the Necromancers were experimenting with the concept of the Blind Summoners, they foresaw another use for them,” Lucida said.
“Which was?” I asked impatiently.
“They had hoped that they may one day be able to use Blind Summoners as well to control living people. If they ordered the Blind Summoner to take over a living body—to Habitate with it by force—then, conceivably, they could control the living body in the same way that they had controlled the spirit force inside it.”
“And do you think that’s what they’ve done?” I asked her. “You think they’ve subdued the remaining Caomhnóir with Blind Summoners?”
Lucida shrugged. “I only know that it was something they once aspired to. I can’t say for sure that that’s what happened here. But if it truly is as you say, and your Caomhnóir has been taken over in some way…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. “And if we found them, you know the Castings to release the essences back into the spirits?”
“Yes, I do, but it wouldn’t do any bloody good to perform it,” Lucida said.
“Why not?” I cried.
“Because you can’t put an essence back into a spirit while it’s still inhabiting a body,” Lucida said impatiently, as though this were supposed to be common knowledge as opposed to a completely uncharted territory of Durupinen magic. “The body acts as a barrier, and the essence can’t find its way through the body to the spirit. It’s not strong enough. The only way I can put the essences back into the spirits is if the spirits themselves are already outside of the Caomhnóir’s bodies.”
“But how do we do that?” I asked, feeling desperation creeping upon me. “How could we possibly get the spirits out of all of those bodies to put all of those Caomhnóir back in possession of themselves?”
“I can only think of one possibility,” Lucida said, and her voice suddenly sounded small, and strangely hollow. “But I’ve no idea if I’m powerful enough to do it.”
“Do what?” I asked her. “What would you have to do?”
She looked me in the eyes, her expression unreadable. “I’m a Caller, love. I have to Call them out.”
§
Knowing how many Caomhnóir were stationed at the Skye Príosún, it was unnerving how deserted the halls of the fortress had become. I could not help but think, as we descended two flights of stairs to another prisoner cellblock, that it was all some sort of set-up. Surely, they were lulling us into a false sense of security, so that we would become careless and then they could pounce upon us unawares. I jumped at every tiny noise and looked over my shoulder so frequently that it was a miracle I didn’t trip and fall flat on my face for lack of looking where I was going.
Fiona was able to direct us to the cell where her mother had last been kept. She peered into it, and her face went white. “She’s not there,” Fiona whispered, her breathing becoming more rapid. “I can’t see her anywhere. What in the bollocking blazes have they done with her?”
But then all three of us heard a rapid scurrying sound and a strange, moaning cry. As we watched her, Fiona’s face relaxed into a relieved smile. “No, it’s all right,” she told us over her shoulder. “She must’ve been sitting up against the inside of the door. She’s there, I can see her now.”
Lucida hurried forward with the set of keys, but Fiona held up a hand to stop her. “We’ve got to wait until she recognizes me,” Fiona said. “Until she trusts me. Otherwise, when we open the door, she’s likely to try to defend herself instead of coming with us willingly.”
“You might’ve mentioned she was out of her bloody mind before you made me agree to help her out of here,” Lucida spat at Fiona.
But Fiona ignored her completely. Her attention was entirely on her mother now, to whom she was speaking in the softest, most soothing voice that I had ever heard her use. If I’d closed my eyes, I never in a million years would’ve believed that it was Fiona speaking in such a way.
“Hello there, Mum,” Fiona practically cooed. “That’s right. No need to be afraid, now. It’s Fiona, Mum. Can you see my face? I’m your family, remember? Look at my face, Mum. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s your Fi, Mum. Look. Look, now.”
Lucida and I held our breath, listening intently. We heard the shuffling of footsteps, and the soft murmuring of a voice, although it was impossible from where we were to make out what she was saying. Fiona, however, had no problem interpreting the sounds.
“That’s right, Mum,” she said in a voice that was practically a lullaby. “It is me. It’s Fi. You know my face, don’t you? You know my voice. I want to open your door, and get you out of here. Would you like that? Would you like to go home?”
I caught a snatch of singing from inside the cell, and realized with a start that it had been Fiona’s mother who had been singing during those long hours when I was first locked inside my cell. The realization brought on an almost irresistible urge to cry.
It took several more minutes of coaxing, including Fiona singing along to whatever song her mother was soothing herself with inside the cell, before Fiona finally beckoned Lucida forward to open the door.
Lucida showed a surprising amount of restraint by keeping her mouth shut as she fumbled through the opening of the locks, and finally pushed the door open.
Fiona took a step cautiously into the cell, and emerged a moment later holding her mother’s hand. I had met Fiona’s mother exactly twice. The first time, she had attempted to murder me with a knife. The second time, she had appeared within the context of a drug-fueled vision in the Traveler camp and attempted to explain a prophetic vision that had been plaguing me. Both times, my interaction with her had been disturbing to say the least, and so I found myself stepping back cautiously as the old woman emerged from the cell.
A few moments of observing her, however, left me quite sure that there was nothing to fear from this woman. She was so much smaller, so much frailer than the last time that I had seen her in the flesh. Incarceration and mental deterioration had taken an obvious and very disturbing toll on her. Her palsied h
ands shook, and her eyes darted around the corridor, unable to focus on any one thing for more than a brief moment. She muttered constantly under her breath, and clung to Fiona as though she were the only thing keeping her from drifting away into nothingness.
“For Christ’s sake, Fiona,” Lucida whispered. “You’ll never get her out of here if we are pursued.”
“I assure you, you needn’t wait for us,” Fiona replied coolly. “You’ve already done what I’ve asked. You let her out of the cell. Leave the rest to me, and don’t trouble yourself.”
Lucida looked as though she had a few choice words for Fiona, but I placed a restraining hand upon her arm, and interjected quickly, “We can worry about that later. Let’s keep going.”
Lucida yanked her arm out of my grip, and gave me a sour look, but said nothing more about Fiona’s mother. Instead, she pocketed the ring of keys, and jerked her head to indicate that we should follow her silently. Fiona took her mother’s face in both hands, making sure that she focused upon her eyes before raising a finger to her lips. Fiona’s mother’s song died away, and she repeated the gesture, raising a violently trembling finger to her own lips and nodding solemnly.
The four of us slipped silently across the ground floor of the príosún. Only once did we have to pull ourselves back into a shadowy corner as a single Caomhnóir hurried past us. He was so intent upon his destination, that he did not spare a single glance around him, which was lucky for us, but worrying when we considered what it was he must’ve been hurrying toward. We watched him disappear through a large set of wooden doors, pulling them closed behind him. I looked at Lucida, who was nodding in satisfaction.
“What did I tell you?” she said smugly. “That’s the courtroom there, through those doors.”
I, too, looked at the doors through which the Caomhnóir had disappeared, and felt the dread expanding deep in my stomach. To our other side, the doors to the outer courtyard stood, marking the exit that could possibly lead us to freedom. I ignored their lure, and turned back to Lucida again. “What’s the plan, then?” I asked her.
“There is no plan, foolish child,” she snapped at me. “The plan was to get out of here, but that’s been blown to hell. Now, we wing it.”
“But which way are we winging first?” I clarified.
Lucida slowly scanned the entire space, taking in the staircases both up and down, and all of the sets of doors. “That door there,” she said pointing to a narrow and nondescript wooden door. “If we cut through there, it leads to a small chamber off of the main courtroom. There’s a chance it may be empty, and it’s a less exposed way of getting into the courtroom without being caught. I say we take it.”
“I agree,” I told her quickly. I looked over at Fiona, and she nodded in silent confirmation.
“Maybe Fiona and her mother ought to stay here,” I suggested nervously. “If that place is going to be crawling with Caomhnóir, perhaps we should leave them somewhere that will provide them some cover.”
Lucida shook her head. “That room is the best cover,” she argued. “We are completely exposed out here. That room may provide us with a place to shelter while we assess the situation inside the courtroom. There’s no telling when the Caomhnóir might discover that we’ve broken out, and when they do, they’ll be swarming this bottom level. We can’t stay out in the open like this.”
She was right, of course. Lucida might’ve been a traitor, but she was still one of the best Trackers that the Durupinen had ever had. That expertise was still clearly visible as she prepared us to cross the room, and enter the chosen door. She kept to the shadows, skirting the perimeter of the room, keeping our backs up against the row of cells, and then the far wall. We moved only a few feet at a time, and when we finally reached the entrance she had pointed out, she insisted silently that we stay back while she tested the lock and slowly pushed the door inward. After looking around beyond it, she beckoned us forward, and we all crept through the door into the chamber beyond.
It was a small room, clearly used more for storage than for anything else. A few dozen wooden chairs were stacked along the back wall, along with several desks and a long wooden table. There were also several filing cabinets and a long row of hooks upon which a collection of dusty black robes was hanging. It was to these robes that Lucida gestured once she had had a look around the space. “You and your mother shelter back here,” Lucida said, pointing to the robes. “Hide behind them, and cover yourselves completely. Don’t argue,” she growled, when Fiona looked obstinate and opened her mouth. “I’m not interested in your opinion. You asked me to get you out of here. This is the best way to achieve that goal. Now shut up and hide. And for God’s sake, keep her quiet.”
It was perhaps the first time I’d ever seen Fiona follow a direct order from anyone without raising hell first. Lucida stood with her arms crossed, overseeing the process until she was satisfied that Fiona and her mother were completely concealed. Then, she turned her attention to the opposite wall, where a closed door led to the courtroom beyond.
“All right then, Jess. You’re a Tracker now. Let’s see what you’ve learned.” She crept forward toward the door, and I followed just behind her. She dropped to all fours, and I did the same, but I was not yet sure why she was doing so. Lucida lowered her face until it was level with the bottom edge of the door. Then she turned back to me, and I was surprised to see a satisfied smile upon her face.
“Now, you have a look just there,” she said, “and tell me what you see.”
Bemused, I dropped my face until my cheek was pressed to the cold stone of the floor. The gap between the door and the floor was so narrow, that I could not see anything of the room beyond but for a small sliver of light. I stared at it for a few moments, and then opened my mouth to tell her that I didn’t understand what she was talking about. But then, the realization hit me. It was about the nature of the light itself that had seeped its way under the door. This castle was a cold, drafty place. The light was stark, and pale, and grim everywhere you looked. But the light bleeding out from the courtroom was… warm. It was not cold or white or flickering, like in every other part of the castle. It had a rosy glow, and as I moved my face still closer to the opening, I felt something else that was different, too: a gentle gust of warm, smoke-scented air.
“Fire,” I whispered in wonder. “There’s a fire in that room.”
“And not just any fire, I reckon,” Lucida said, nodding at me. “Can you feel it?”
But this time I did not need her to give me a hint. A creeping sensation had already begun along the back of my neck, raising the hairs there, and causing a sharp, rushing feeling within my veins. There was a very strong spirit presence on the other side of the wall, and it was not just from one spirit. The essences of dozens of souls were being housed within the room just on the other side of the door, and each of those essences was in dire distress.
“It’s terrible,” I whispered. “They’re so confused, so scared.”
Lucida’s face gave a guilty twitch. “It’s not natural, for them to be pulled apart in this way. It’s a perversion.”
“You helped to do that once,” I reminded her. It wasn’t meant to be an admonition. Just more of a realization.
“Once is not now,” Lucida murmured.
I didn’t really understand what she meant, but she had no intention of elaborating. She jumped to her feet, more catlike than I would’ve thought her capable, given how she had deteriorated behind bars, and put a hand to the handle of the door.
“Wait!” I hissed. “How do we know who is in there?”
“We don’t,” Lucida admitted. “So, we proceed with caution. At most, there are a few guards. But if you’re determined to see this through, and reverse this Casting, then we’ve no choice but to take the chance, and deal with what we find. Understood?”
“Understood,” I repeated. My heart was in my throat, but what else could we do? If we stood behind this closed door all day, we would be no closer to escaping,
and no closer to rescuing Finn. Sooner or later, we would have to take the chance.
And later was no longer an option.
Lucida eased the door open just a crack, as slowly as she could, listening for any creak or screech of the old hinges. Luckily for us, they were blessedly quiet, and Lucida was able to open the door wide enough for us to slip through without making a single sound.
The interior of the room was lit with a golden dancing glow of a hundred torches placed in tall freestanding brackets all over the center of the room. They were not unguarded. A single Caomhnóir stood with his eyes trained on the main doors of the room, which meant that he stood with his back almost entirely turned toward us. Lucida slipped along the wall, to the first of a series of large Doric columns that lined the outer walls. She pressed herself up against the far side of it, and beckoned me to follow. I mimed the question of whether I should close the door behind me. Lucida nodded, but then raised a finger to her lips, imploring me to do so quietly. I eased the door shut without a problem, and then slipped along the wall to stand beside her, our shoulders pressed together in an attempt to disappear into the shadowy space beside the column.
It was hard for me to tear my eyes from the guard, but Lucida was taking in every solitary inch of the room. Her eyes darted from the ceiling, to the windows, to the rows of torches, as she silently counted each one. At last she nodded to herself, as though she had decided something, and pointed forcefully toward the very back of the room, which contained an elevated judge’s seat, and a large rectangular corral full of chairs, that might have been a jurors’ box. I watched as she crept forward, and then followed her along the wall, traveling the length of the room in just a few seconds. With a single silent bound, Lucida pulled herself away from the wall, and disappeared behind the jurors’ box. Decidedly less gracefully, but thankfully equally silently, I did the same. We sat with both of our backs pressed against it, each of us panting as the rush of adrenaline took our breath away.
