Slave of Sondelle: The Eleven Kingdoms

by Bevan McGuiness

  The julle finished its examination of her hand and started working its way up her arm. It sniffed and nudged her arm with its nose up past her elbow. When it reached her shoulder, it stopped and raised its head to meet her eye. Myrrhini looked back into the intense stare of the hunter, fear gripping her heart. It rumbled deep in its throat and its breath, foetid with meat, washed over Myrrhini’s face. Her terror at the sight, and scent, of such a fierce beast so close made her freeze. Her breath stopped while her heart started to pound. The julle growled again, showing its teeth. Myrrhini lay motionless, expecting agony as the julle tore at her throat.

  But it remained where it was. The growl died in its throat and it sat down, looking at her with its head slightly tilted to one side.

  Myrrhini remembered the words she had used once when talking to the julle who had oddly befriended her during the Ritual.

  ‘Good morning, fraghtna keiy,’ she said.

  The julle stood up as if surprised and stepped back. It grumbled again, this one sounding somewhat quizzical. Myrrhini slowly sat up. The julle gave a little grunt as she moved.

  ‘Good morning, fraghtna keiy,’ she repeated.

  The julle whined softly. It leaned forwards slightly and gave her another sniff, this time snuffling at her cheek, before turning and trotting away. Myrrhini watched it go, completely mystified. When it had vanished among the trees, Myrrhini threw back her blankets and braved the morning chill.

  It was her fifth morning since leaving the Place of the Acolytes. During that time, she had moved south, following her guess about direction. She was still in the great Forest of the Tundra, and had no real way of knowing whether she was guessing right, but the pain of her broken toe had kept her mind occupied.

  After the first night there was, to her surprise, no evidence of pursuit. Her food was nearly gone and she had no water left. This last was less of a problem because there was plenty of snow around to suck on, but the lack of food was beginning to concern her.

  So far, her clothes and boots were holding up well and she was less afraid than she had imagined she’d be. The first night, she had been too uneasy to rest. She had moved slowly despite the risk of discovery, limping with every step and jerking nervously at every sound. Finally, she had fallen asleep midway through the next morning, awakening suddenly at the sound of some large animal moving nearby. She had pushed herself on until after sunset before stopping by a large old tree and curling up by its roots.

  Since then, she had walked through the days before laying out her blanket on an even piece of ground beside the largest tree she could find. The throbbing pain in her foot kept her awake for a while, as did her tendency to start at every sound, but weariness overcame pain and fear and she eventually slept soundly.

  Now, she was less afraid of a night in the open. Or at least she had been until that huge julle had awakened her. She leaned back against the tree, staring at the tracks it had left in the fresh snow. Nothing she had ever heard or read — or experienced — about julle had suggested they could act like that one just had. They were notoriously vicious, opportunistic hunters who ran in packs and never missed a kill.

  Myrrhini raised her hand to her face and sniffed. There was something decidedly odd about the smell of the julle’s breath. No, she decided, not odd, familiar. How was that possible? She shook her head to clear it of such imaginings and rose to start her day.

  After rolling up her blankets and stuffing them back into her bag, she chewed on the last piece of bread and gathered a handful of snow to suck on. Under the dense canopy of the hardy guar trees, she could glean only a general direction of sunrise and she hoped she was still heading south as she began walking again.

  The ground beneath the tightly tangled canopy was mostly bare, dusted only with snow which fell when breezes shook the laden branches. The trees formed an effective barrier against the bitter winds and even seemed to keep the air a little warmer than in the open. Myrrhini had quickly come to appreciate the great forest and was starting to grow concerned about how she would fare once out of its protection.

  Now that she was used to the kinds of noises a forest made, she was also starting to enjoy the peacefulness. She could see a long way in the dim light between the trees and had already seen dozens of different animals, ranging from the scurrying rodents that made their lives amid the leaf litter to the slow-moving, majestic bloesem with their backwards-curving horns and shaggy black coats. But this morning was the first sighting of a julle, something for which she was most grateful. She made the good luck sign, pointing it in the general direction the julle had just taken.

  ‘And don’t come back,’ she whispered.

  Every step on her broken toe hurt. She knew it had slowed her down but there was nothing she could do about it.

  By what seemed like midday, she was feeling faint. When the fading light signalled the end of the day, she was staggering, weak and almost incapacitated with the pain. Even sucking ice had not alleviated the hunger. Her stomach cramped, frequently causing her to stop and lean heavily on a tree. Finally, even before night had fallen, she allowed herself to fall and not get up. It was only when the cold started to bite that she unrolled her blanket and wrapped it around her aching body.

  The night passed slowly in a blur of hunger and throbbing agony from her foot. She moaned and writhed in the unrelenting assault from her own body, but at some stage weariness sent her into a troubled sleep.

  She awoke in a sweat of terror. A scent of rotting meat washed over her and warm, sticky drops fell onto her face. Opening her eyes confirmed the horrifying reality: a julle stood over her, mouth agape, drooling. She screamed and tried to roll away, but the hunter stood astride her, its forepaws either side of her shoulders. It growled at her attempts to move, sending another flood of stinking breath over her face. She stared up at the rows of fangs and her heart raced while her mind refused to function. Something in her memory screamed at her, but the details remained stubbornly hidden.

  Another growl came from somewhere to her left. It was answered by another to her right. Suddenly, she was surrounded by low rumbles that could only indicate a whole julle pack. The panic that threatened to overwhelm her only moments before abruptly vanished, leaving cold despair. Myrrhini’s only remaining hope was that her death would be quick.

  The big julle standing over her lowered its head towards her throat. It opened its jaws wide. Myrrhini closed her eyes.

  A noise cut across the forest. The julle snapped its jaws shut and looked up. The noise came again. Voices. Low, guttural voices. Myrrhini opened her eyes as the julle sprang away from her and ran towards the voices. The whole pack gave voice and sped away, following the big male. Myrrhini stayed motionless.

  Her relief was short-lived, however, as the sounds of the julle attacking rang out. Howls and screams competed as the pack fell on the new intruders. In moments, the forest rang with the sounds of fighting and dying. Myrrhini continued to lie still, unwilling to even look in the direction of the ferocious fighting. Screams were punctuated with agonised yelps.

  Then, without warning, all sounds of fighting stopped. Myrrhini sat up and looked around. The silence was total. For a moment, she feared she had somehow been struck deaf but a soft, hesitant bird call reassured her. She strained to hear but there was no sound of anything moving. Except …

  Feet.

  Many feet running. Away.

  Myrrhini scrambled from the ground and pushed herself in the direction of the running feet, but before she saw anyone fleeing, she came across the scene of the fight.

  What she saw brought her up short in shock.

  Scattered amid the trees lay the bodies of both julle and squat, human-like creatures with dirt-covered pale skin and huge eyes. Each one bore the horrible scars of the julle fangs that had brought them down as well as twin knife cuts running across their faces, from eyebrow to cheek. Many of them had lost an eye from the knife wounds. Some had painted the damaged eyelid silver while others had just left
the vacant eye socket to stare out at the world.

  Lying with the strange creatures were the julle. To Myrrhini’s eye, it seemed that the whole pack had to be here, slaughtered. Many bore hideous wounds from axes, some had been clubbed to death, while others seemed to have been simply torn apart.

  Such carnage in this peaceful forest struck Myrrhini with a profound sense of wrong. And not only that, these pale, large-eyed creatures did not belong here. Their presence was as wrong as what they had wrought. She stepped forwards, drawn against her will it seemed, to examine the scene more closely.

  When she kneeled beside one of the almost-human creatures, she saw what had drawn her on. The scars slashed across its face were the same as those she had seen on the Scarred Man’s face.

  Was the Scarred Man one of these?

  Even as she thought it, she rejected the idea. The Scarred Man was human, these were not. Not quite. But what were they?

  Why were they here? And where were they going?

  She stood again and looked to where the footprints headed away. Myrrhini toyed briefly with the idea of following them, but decided against it. They seemed to be heading north, and she had to go south. She turned to leave and a leather pouch that lay beside the body caught her eye.

  Inside the pouch were several chunks of what looked like mushrooms. Tentatively, she extracted a piece and took a bite. The flavour was not unpleasant. Hungrily, she chewed on the rest of the piece. With hope, Myrrhini looked around and saw that every one of the dead creatures had a similar pouch. She smiled.

  A full stomach made the pain from her foot seem less. The odd mushrooms were surprisingly filling and she had more than enough to keep her going for several days. She walked through the quiet forest.

  The day waned and just before the sun set, Myrrhini saw light breaking through the canopy. She hurried a little. The light grew brighter as she hobbled forward. Ahead, the trees parted and revealed a vast, open plain.

  33

  Maida screamed.

  All around her the monsters kept coming … no matter how she struggled, fought, begged, they kept coming at her … from all sides, above and below, they came … she hung, floating in nothingness while they drooled, screeched, bellowed, roared, tearing at her flesh … torment, always pain.

  Through the half-light, there it was again. That distant, sparkling light … beckoning, warning … no matter how she tried she was drawn towards it … that face, that hideous leering face … black eyes glinting like chips of obsidian … a skull with tatters of flesh dangling … it spoke, always the same words … soon, my pretty morsel, soon …

  The Claw, spinning through the air straight towards her. The pain as it smashed through her face. The blackness descended, only to be relieved by the leering face.

  …soon, soon…

  * * *

  ‘Maida.’

  The voice cut through her nightmare, dragging her back to reality.

  ‘Maida,’ Keshik repeated. ‘Wake up. You are dreaming again.’

  Maida stared up into Keshik’s troubled eyes. In the days since he carried her out of the old house, he had rarely been away from her side. Every time she awakened from one of these hideous dreams, he was there, anxiously watching her, holding her hand. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but she was too weak.

  ‘How long?’ she asked.

  ‘Twelve days,’ Keshik said softly. She had been like this for twelve days since he had carried her out of Sondelle’s house.

  ‘Is that all?’

  Keshik did not say anything. He lifted a mug and offered it to her. She raised her head and he tipped some of the strong drink into her mouth. The astringent taste bit hard, but she swallowed, grateful for the sensation, welcoming the feelings — they reminded her she was alive and awake, no longer subject to the torment of sleep.

  ‘How long was I …?’ She could not finish the sentence.

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘Yes. How long?’

  ‘Several days.’

  ‘It felt longer.’

  She had nothing else to say, although she could read in Keshik’s eyes how many questions he wanted to ask. Maida looked away, unable to face those questions. She doubted she would ever be able to talk about the time she had spent captive to the ancient, skeletal man with the burning black eyes. Was that truly death?

  Was that where her parents, her brothers, her daughter were?

  Was that where all those killed by Keshik went?

  The pain of those questions was too intense for her to face.

  How had Keshik rescued her?

  That thought, over all the others, rang crystal clear through her mind. Once more, Keshik had rescued her.

  At what price this time?

  She well recalled the high price the Tulugma Swordmaster had paid for rescuing her last time. When the Tusemon bandits had swept out through the blizzard and fallen on her family’s encampment, they had seemed so ferocious, so merciless. As a young mother — still unable to believe she and her husband had been able to produce anything so lovely, so perfect as her beautiful Xenia — Maida could not conceive of anything that could stop them. But Keshik had ridden in like some warrior saviour of ancient legend and showed the bandits no mercy.

  With no one left alive but her, Maida had climbed up onto his horse behind him and ridden away, never looking back.

  Maida squeezed her eyes tight, but the tears trickled slowly down her cheeks. She felt Keshik’s finger stroke her skin, wiping them away as he had done so often in the past. What price did you pay this time, my invincible warrior lover?

  Maida opened her eyes again.

  ‘It hurts,’ she whispered.

  Keshik gathered her in his arms and held her tight. Warm and safe, she felt herself drifting towards sleep. Once again, she fell into the grip of the nightmares, where she stayed until they became too much and she awoke screaming.

  … soon, my pretty morsel, soon …

  On a day when the warmth had fled before an icy north wind, Maida was sitting in the small garden behind the house Keshik had bought for her. The scent of smoke sullied the purity of ice. She wrinkled her nose at the rude intrusion. Vogel was burning again. Vogel burned a lot in these times. She remembered it was burning the day they arrived. The reasons for that fire were a mystery, as no doubt would be the origins of this one. She paid little attention to the things she heard from passers-by when she and Keshik went walking in the street, but even she had heard the worried words, seen the downcast eyes, smelled the smoke. Vogel was burning again, and many feared the fires would not go out, but for Maida it was a trivial issue.

  She felt her life was lived in a walking fugue — never able to grasp what others saw as reality. During the day she was cared for, protected and loved by Keshik, while at night her life was an inescapable torment where she lay, vulnerable to the visions of the time she was dead. The effects of what she saw then tore at her mind, plaguing her waking moments with anguish and creeping, cold dread for the night to come. Maida knew she would lose her mind were she unable to find some sort of peace, a release from this strange waking dream life. And it could not be found in Keshik. To tell him that his sacrifice, whatever it might have been, caused her torture would hurt him too much. So she suffered alone and in as much silence as her nightmares would allow.

  ‘Maida.’ Keshik’s voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘We have a guest.’

  Maida tried to rise, but weakness prevented her doing more than turning to see who had come. It was Drikka, the woman who represented Huenu here in Vogel.

  ‘Peace on your home,’ Drikka said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Drikka sat opposite Maida and leaned forwards. ‘Keshik has told me about your distress,’ she said without preamble. ‘And I think I can help.’

  ‘My distress?’

  ‘The nightmares, the weakness that will not pass, the melancholy that afflicts you.’

  Maida gave Keshik a questioning look.

  ‘I have
noticed. How could I not?’

  ‘But …’

  Keshik held up his hand to forestall her words. ‘I had to do something,’ he explained.

  ‘Although he was not welcome in my home,’ Drikka went on, ‘he waited outside until I came out to him, and sought my help.’

  ‘Why? What can you do?’

  Drikka looked down at the ground between them. ‘Very little, I fear. But I know of some … substances that can help you sleep.’

  ‘Sleeping is not my problem. It is the dreams that come with sleep.’

  ‘There is something that can help with dreams.’

  ‘I will not touch daven juice.’

  ‘As you shouldn’t. But this is not daven juice.’ Drikka reached inside her robe and pulled out a small vial. She offered it to Maida. ‘Try two drops of this before you sleep.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It is called ryle. It is extracted from the phthenol plant that grows wild near the northern forest.’

  ‘I know the plant,’ Maida interrupted. ‘But I have never heard of this ryle.’

  ‘I am not surprised, its existence is a closely guarded secret of the Acolytes.’

  ‘The Acolytes?’

  ‘They use it to ease the sleep of their oracle.’

  ‘So it is a Mertian drug,’ Keshik said flatly.

  ‘No, oddly enough, it is a Scaren medicine.’

  Maida made to reach for the vial, but hesitated and looked to Keshik for his approval.

  ‘Try it,’ he said.

  Maida took the vial and smiled her thanks. Drikka rose to her feet.

  ‘I would like something from you,’ she said to Keshik.

  ‘I thought as much,’ he said. ‘If this works, I will come to see you tomorrow.’

  ‘The Rilaman Laird is still here, and he is still being protected by a magical guardian.’

  ‘That is fair.’

  Maida shook two drops of the yellow liquid onto her tongue and lay back on the bed. The ryle hit her fast, sweeping through her mind like a storm, leaving her shaking and dazed in its wake. In heartbeats, drowsiness overcame her, followed by the deep, dark black of sleep. Her dreams, those harbingers of terror she so dreaded, came back, but without any of their fury. She felt detached from her own dreams, observing them from afar. As she drifted above the horrors that visited her mind every night, she saw other things. She saw a man, an ancient, skeletal man, clad in a robe and cowl, sitting in a darkened room, watching a glowing sphere. She saw him making complex gestures over the sphere and saw the terrors deep within it respond to him. He was doing this to her! Maida tried to cry out, to scream at him to leave her alone, but she could neither move nor speak and his assault on her mind continued. She stared down at him, committing his every feature to memory. I will awaken. Then you will pay.