by Scott Hale
“That seems awfully complicated.” R’lyeh bent down and impaled a fat beetle with her dagger; it writhed on the end as she slid it under her mask and into her mouth.
“Everything has its rules.”
Out of nowhere, R’lyeh asked, “What’s the point of hiding the mountain?”
Vrana stopped in a patch of roots that looked like dead snakes. “When I first met Nora, she said her town was in a panic after Kistvaen reappeared. I think the point is to do just that: If our people can make something that large vanish, then it’s probably in the Corrupted’s best interests to leave us the hell alone.”
R’lyeh spat out the remaining legs of the beetle. “We used to talk about all the villages.” She jumped onto a vine; it spun her in circles as she swung over to a bed of rot. “They said the people of Caldera burn hot, like the inside of the mountain.”
“It’s been hundreds of years since Kistvaen was active. I think most people think it’s not even a volcano. They think the old elders just made that shit up to scare the Corrupted away.” Vrana paused for a moment. “So, what else did they say about Caldera?”
R’lyeh laughed and joined Vrana in the patch of roots. “That you were a bunch of bloodthirsty warriors, and that if you wanted something done right, you find a Calderan to do it. Did they say anything about Alluvia?”
“Only that they give the best compliments,” Vrana said with a laugh. “‘Alluvians are resilient, and they are the most open-minded amongst our people,’” she quoted.
“I like that,” R’lyeh chirped, nodding her head. “I’d like to go to Rime one day, to see the snow.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind stopping by Traesk to see if Serra had any relatives. Maybe we’ll make a journey of it one day.”
They continued on in silence, having decided that they were making too much noise. After several more logs, trunks, and vines, their feet finally found purchase on sodden land. Ahead, through the crooked, black trees, where the swamp thinned away, Vrana glimpsed the southern expanse, its golden grass and hardened earth just as she remembered it.
“What’s that?” R’lyeh whispered.
Vrana turned her head and found beside them an inlet hidden behind a curtain of Weeping Willows. “A boat,” she said, cocking her head as the wind pulled the hair-like leaves aside. “A person,” she added.
Towards the middle of the inlet, where the water bubbled and hissed, a small, wooden boat sat. On the shore, holding the boat’s tether, a woman stood. She wore a sheer, white dress that covered her from head to toe. It hung loosely over her body, and although they could almost see through the dress, the woman’s body was only visible in the places where the material touched her.
The Ferry Woman tilted her head; Vrana looked down and saw that the woman was holding a dead bird by its legs.
“Is that… the Witch?” R’lyeh moved closer to Vrana.
“No,” the Raven said, turning away, feeling nauseous, “it’s not her.”
Vrana could not help but cry as they came upon the fields of Caldera. It’s still here, she thought to herself, laughing happily. Everything is still here. The crops of the field appeared plentiful and unspoiled, and they gave themselves to the harvesters with ease. The crack of wooden swords could be heard from the practice yard, followed by the triumphant, prepubescent cries of their wielders. Vrana looked to the walls for the watchers and found them there; she looked to the hideaways in the trees and found them there, too. Through the ground, she could feel the vibrations of lives unfettered by disease, despair, and destruction.
The Witch had not returned.
The Worm had not yet found them.
“Your village is beautiful,” R’lyeh said quietly. She stepped back as she looked up, following Kistvaen to its top.
“It’s just as much mine as it is yours.”
R’lyeh’s breathing became shallow, and her voice quivered when she spoke. “You must be so happy to see your mom and dad.”
“It’s just my mother and I,” Vrana said, realizing she hadn’t told R’lyeh about her father’s disappearance, about his probable death.
“Oh.” R’lyeh sighed. Beads of sweat formed on her skin. “I’m sorry. I don’t feel very well.” She began to tremble, and then she fell.
Vrana caught the Octopus and held her close. “My mother is a healer. She’ll take care of you. I promise.”
Behind R’lyeh’s mask another had been placed, and the cracks that had gone without mending were spreading fast.
As they stumbled through the village gates, two things became quite clear to Vrana: Blix had arrived, and all had heard his message. Like peasants prostrating before royalty, the people of Caldera parted as she passed, the masks of the Fox, Rabbit, Eagle, and Cat, the Toad, Deer, Boar, and Bull downcast. Even though she knew he would not be there, Vrana found herself looking for Aeson, scanning the open doorway of the Archive for his skull, the elders’ house for his figure.
She could feel R’lyeh’s fingers wrapping around the straps of her armor. She worried what would become of the girl when they were parted so that she could heal. The talons of the Cruel Mother, which as far as Vrana was concerned were now R’lyeh’s, would need to be removed, hidden away, until the Octopus could be trusted with them once more. What else could I have done? Vrana closed her eyes as she felt the girl’s sickly warmth against her. I should have seen this coming. I should have told her about my father. It may have made a difference.
Vrana saw her mother before she saw her. She was backing out of their house, arms filled with baskets, the baskets filled with tinctures. Vrana didn’t need to say anything, for when her shadow fell upon Adelyn’s, her mother immediately turned around, set the baskets aside, and went to her daughter. At first, Adelyn seemed confused as to where to put her hands, unsure if she should embrace the Raven or see to the Octopus at her side. Either choice would feel a betrayal.
“Who is she?” Adelyn asked, making her decision.
“R’lyeh, of Alluvia,” Vrana said, allowing her mother to share some of the girl’s weight as they brought her inside. “Does everyone know?”
Her mother nodded. “After Blix arrived with Deimos’ message, the elders called the village together and told us what had happened.” She gestured toward the dinner table, and they lowered R’lyeh onto it. “She needs the open air. Your room is too stuffy.”
“She saw everything,” Vrana said loudly as Adelyn left the room and then returned with the baskets she’d been carrying. “She was in the pit when it happened.”
“Poor thing.” Adelyn’s voice trembled as she spoke. She set the baskets on the bench beside the table and started to search them. “She has no one left?”
Vrana shook her head. “She said that her mother and father left for Eld before the soldiers came, for a meeting.” Vrana slowly slid the mask off R’lyeh. “She’s dehydrated.”
“You both are,” her mother said, disappearing and then reappearing with two flasks of water. “Drink,” she commanded, handing one flask to Vrana and pressing the other to R’lyeh’s lips. “What did you say her name was again?”
“R’lyeh.”
“R’lyeh,” her mother repeated softly, “I need you to sit up a little so that you can drink this water.”
“Who… who are you?” R’lyeh asked shyly, her eyes half open.
“I’m Vrana’s mom, sweetie. If you like her, then you’ll love me. I’m much nicer and much funnier. There you go.” She placed her hand on R’lyeh’s back and helped her up. “Drink this, you’ll like it, I promise.”
Vrana watched as her little companion guzzled the contents of the flask, spilling some of it down her chest. The heat seemed to be leaving her body, the red of her flesh giving way to a soft brown. The girl looked starved, was starved; the bones behind her skin were like fossils pushing through rock. She put her palm to R’lyeh’s forehead and wiped away the sweat that had formed there. She reminded Vrana of the young boy, but this one, she decided, this one she would not abandon.
“Your mom and dad are in Eld, is that right, sweetie?” Vrana’s mother asked, helping R’lyeh to lie back down.
“No…. Yeah… I… I think so.” R’lyeh twisted her head, trying to find her mask. “They had to go to… no babies?” She coughed.
Vrana’s mother shushed R’lyeh as she unfastened a stopper from a vial. “I know about that, and I know something else. Guess what that is?”
R’lyeh shook her head pathetically.
“I know a couple of birds who love flying up to Eld this time of the year. Vrana’s going to go send them on a trip to tell your mom and dad that you’re safe here with us. Vrana’s going to tell them to go somewhere else for a while so they are safe, too. Does that sound good?”
“That sounds good,” R’lyeh said dryly. Her eyes finally closed, and she went to sleep.
Fifteen minutes later, winded and ready to fall over, Vrana reached the other side of the village, task completed. Svaya of the Eagle took the note Vrana had quickly written out and whispered its meaning to one of his winged messengers. A peck on the hand and a clutch of meat for the journey, and the bird was gone.
“You look well, considering,” Svaya said as he took a seat in the sunlight outside his hovel. “Did no one else return?”
“No,” she said, trying to determine if he meant to blame her for her companions’ absence, “just the girl.”
Svaya tightened the wrap that ran from heart to knees across his body. To Vrana, the man looked like a half-dressed mummy too long away from its sarcophagus. Adelyn had told her once that Svaya wore the wrap out of medical necessity, but when Vrana asked for specifics, she refused to elaborate any further.
“After you left, word spread of your involvement with the Witch,” Svaya said, fastening the last bit of fabric to his body. “Most, myself included, do not blame you, but there are those who have suffered loss and have become Corrupted in mind. More parties were dispatched, but nothing was found. A few still need someone to blame. I would tread carefully until their grieving has ceased.”
Alarmed, Vrana lowered her voice and herself to Svaya’s place on the ground. “Where did these rumors come from?”
Svaya shrugged. “It is not a large village; much can be heard in the quiet of night. The Jackal, who lost all but one of her pups, is especially worried by your return.”
“My initiation feast afterwards certainly didn’t help, did it?”
“For some, smiles were faked as salt was rubbed into open wounds.” Svaya stood up, held out his hand for Vrana to take. “Nevertheless, you have done well and have endured more than most. I need not see your face to know that what we have been told by the elders is a poor summarization; your voice reveals all.”
“You’re too kind,” Vrana said, baffled by the man’s reception, for up until this moment they had rarely exchanged words with one another. “Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen Blix.”
“Faolan has him. Much can be learned from animals if one knows how to listen.”
The elders were expecting Vrana, but stubbornness steered her toward the Archive instead. She greeted the archivists as she passed, and they responded as they always did: not at all. It would take her forty-five seconds to reach the book on grave digging and thirty more to place it between the grooves in Psychology. But she didn’t go to the book on grave digging, the aisle on Psychology; instead, she found herself gravitating towards the Theater of the World, a small, rotund room at the back of the Archive where all known maps were kept.
“You fucking assholes,” Vrana murmured, leaning over the large table upon which the world atlas sat, its parchment too pristine to be anything but a copy. “Just like that, you made it all disappear.”
She started in Caldera. With her finger, she followed the land to Nora, to Geharra, and then returned home. She revisited the emaciated Den of the Unkindness, tapped her finger against the blighted lands where a name, Marcus Proust, had been written. That’s it, she thought. That was the name of the zealot who tried to take over Caldera years ago. She laughed—Aeson would be proud—and then went eastward to Cadence, the village where she’d left the young boy. I don’t remember it having a name last time. She traced over each letter in the village’s name. Why does it now?
Vrana shrugged and worked her way up the coast and then moved inward to avoid the Nameless Forest, just in case. She followed the turbulent waters of the Divide, past their village of Traesk. She scaled the Quiet Mountains, braved their wintry storms, and went to Penance behind them. Miles from the holy city, hamlets and colonies sat along the icy shore, their names upon the parchment too small to read without a magnifying glass. With little left to be seen in that snowy part of the world, Vrana braved the hinterlands and frozen timberlands and passed over the mountains once more. She flew as a raven might through the white sky, over their village of Rime, and turned toward the Heartland of the great, traumatized continent.
Here, the towns reluctant to be under Eldrus’ rule stood, keeping watch over the river lands, farmlands, and Spine. There were five towns in all, and Vrana traveled between each. There was Nyxis nearest Eldrus, with Hrothas to its east and Islaos to its west. Furthest south of the city-state, there was Cathedra, and furthest east, with the Nameless Forest only a few days away, Gallows.
Vrana went to Eld next and conjured in her mind an image of R’lyeh’s mother and father. She proceeded northward, to the Black Tundra and the glaciers like white towers in the solid sea. She veered south to Mirror Lake where Deimos’ beloved rested below its reflecting waters. She shivered sadness and then, trudging through brambles and weeds, made it to the map’s edge, where a small part of the Dead City sat, which was nothing more than a splash of black across the tawny parchment. She sailed the sea to the continent’s southernmost point, where, hundreds of miles below Caldera, the desert of the Ossuary began.
“I didn’t believe them when they told me.”
Vrana pulled away from the map and saw standing behind her Korr, a former classmate. He had always been the largest in her class, strongest, too; although, when it came to asking Vrana out, he had been as weak as they come. She would have said yes, and now as she stared at him, covered in dirt rather than blood, a harvester’s mask over his face, she was glad she had not. Once unrivaled in melee and archery, he had now given himself to the field. Vrana didn’t have to be top of the class, not that she had been, to know why. He was scared. He had given up.
“I thought the elders were testing me, my resolve. When did they tell you?”
It was Deimos who told me first, not the elders. “After the initiation, but I never saw this,” she said, looking back at the map.
“They changed it after you left, put it back the way it was when we were too young to notice.” Korr leaned against a wall. “They called our class together and told us. You should’ve seen us. We were ready to tear the elders apart.”
“Did they tell you why they did it?” Vrana asked. She stared at the mass of roots that made up his mask, trying to determine where one mask began and the other ended.
Korr laughed and shook his head. “It makes sense. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before. Since we’ve been born, Vrana, all these years, between Alluvia, Caldera, Eld, Rime, Traesk… there’s been one hundred and fifty births.”
“That’s eighteen years,” Vrana said in disbelief. “That doesn’t seem right.”
“That’s why they lied to us.” Korr pushed away from the wall of the Archive and slid his hands into his pockets. “They can’t waste us. Do you remember how everyone wanted to leave Caldera? To kill Corrupted and bring back pieces of the Old World and all that?”
“I remember you wanted that.”
Korr laughed again and nodded at the map. “Not anymore. We are outnumbered. It’s suicide to go into the North. Job well done, elders. I’m staying here.”
“I don’t think that was their intention, Korr. I’ve been there, and I’m a tenth the warrior you are. Well, maybe like half the w
arrior you are. Not to toot my horn, but I think I could give you a run for your money.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He bowed his head and backed away. “That’s how most of us feel now. Eighteen years is a long time to lie to someone, especially when everyone else is doing it, too.” He sighed. “It was good seeing you. I’m glad you made it back.”
“Don’t be a pussy!” Vrana shouted as Korr backed out of the Theater.
He looked over his shoulder, laughed, and said, “Don’t be a stranger, Vrana. You’re braver than most of us now. They’re going to want to use that as much as they can.”
CHAPTER XXV
Aeson stood in the doorway of the Inner Sanctum, skull lit by the blazing torch he held. His body seemed more muscular, more defined—less like that of someone whose sole form of exercise was moving one book atop another. Behind him, his hollowed-out home glowed cerulean, and the air itself had a fibrous texture that refused to stay still.
“What took you so long?” Aeson said, his voice echoing around them.
“What do you think you’re doing down here?” Vrana replied, stopping before him. A feather fell from her mask into the flame of Aeson’s torch. “We had a deal.”
Aeson clicked his tongue against his teeth. “A couple thousand to go and you’ll have gone to bone. And I’ll have you know,” he said, stepping closer to Vrana, “I did what you asked, and I think you might regret it later, because your mom told me a whole lot of things you’d rather I not know.”
“You’re lying,” Vrana said, trying not to smile.
“Terrible and terribly embarrassing things,” Aeson continued. He pretended to cringe. “You do know where pee comes from now, right?”
Vrana slapped the torch out of his hands, sending it with a crack and spew of flames to the tunnel’s floor. “Whatever happened to that pillow you used to fu—”
