by S. G. Night
Nelle smiled again, clearly delighted that he was playing along. “Have you ever heard of the dianimus tree before?”
Racath shook his head.
“It’s an Elven name,” she explained. “Means two-heart. The Elves used to cultivate them all over the Spikes. They were almost completely cleared out during the Occupation — the Demons wanted them for their fruit — but the trees don’t need much light to grow, so a few pairs like this one survived.”
To Racath’s surprise, he found himself legitimately intrigued. “They’re beautiful. But if they don’t need much light, what do they live on?”
“Oh, you know,” she said casually. “Water. Air…and the magic in said water and air.”
Racath’s eyebrows went up. “There’s magic in the air?”
The augur looked at him. “Yeah…?” she said slowly, like it should have been obvious. “What? Don’t you — ohhhh….” Realization dawned on her face. “Right. Mrak. I forgot. Oron’s going to have a field day when you start asking questions. Yes, there is magic in the air. And the dianimus trees live off it. Here,” she reached up and plucked two medium-sized fruits from the lower branches of one tree. She gave one to Racath. “Try this.”
The pear-shaped fruit had taut, lustrous skin colored crimson, dappled with spots of bright ochre. A single bright flower clinging to the stem.
After a moment’s hesitation, Racath sank his teeth into it. Sweet, tangy juice filled his mouth. The mouthful of firm, golden flesh came away clean, like the bite of a crisp, autumn apple. He nodded appreciatively as he chewed.
“Ith good!”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” said Nelle. “Take another bite.”
Racath did so.
“You feel that?” she asked expectantly, biting into her own fruit with a hearty crunch.
Racath did. There was a spark to the flavor, some strange sort of energy. He shivered as tingle rand down his spine, his limbs, and his markara.
“Since they feed off of ambient magic, the fruit’s full of all sorts of magical properties. Hence why the Demons wanted them.”
“Gotcha.” Racath took a third bite. “Damn, this is good…but, what’s with the connected branches?”
Nelle blinked. “What? Oh, right! The trees. So, they always grow in pairs like this one, and the binding between them lets them share energy, so they can sustain each other in times of crisis.”
Racath frowned and swallowed. “That’s…different.”
“It’s romantic,” Nelle amended with a sportive grin. “Back in the day, they were a universal literary icon of romantic attraction. Some of the old epics in Oron’s library mention them a whole bunch. Symbols, you know.”
Racath’s eyes went wide. “Oron has books?”
Nelle grinned at him. “Tons. He and I are both enthusiastic readers. I get the feeling you’ll fit right in.”
A brief silence fell between them as they gnawed on their fruit. Questions still burned on Racath’s tongue, but he suspected that he’d never get an answer out of her by a direct question. He needed a more subtle route.
“So,” he said conversationally. “If Oron’s down the tunnel, then what are you doing out here?”
Nelle shrugged innocently. “I like visiting the trees. Plus, I figured that it’d be good for you to have a somewhat-familiar face to greet you.”
Racath cocked his head at her. “How’d you know I was coming?”
“I had a…hunch,” she tapped her temple meaningfully. “And Mrak sent a note.”
“It got here before me?” Racath frowned.
“Mhm. He Slipped it a few days ago.”
“Slipped?” Racath repeated. “What do you mean?”
Nelle gave him a searching look. “Oron is definitely going to have a field day with you. Mrak really didn’t tell you anything, did he?”
Racath’s mood suddenly soured at the thought. He scowled down at his fruit. “I guess not.”
Nelle patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, all of your questions will be answered soon enough.” She took one last bite of her dianimus fruit, and then threw the core into the brook. “And on that note, we should get going. As much as I love casual repartee, we’ve probably kept Oron waiting too long.” She started towards the tunnel at the back of the chamber, beckoning for him to follow.
“What about them?” Racath asked, pointing uncertainly up at Sokol and Elohim.
Nelle waved a dismissive hand. “Just leave them here for now. They have some catching up to do, I expect. They know their way home.” She didn’t pause to wait for him.
After one last hesitant look up at his old companion, Racath shrugged and hurried to catch up with the augur. Together, they entered the tunnel.
The air in the passageway cooled with a damp humidity. Drops of water dripped from the moist, rocky ceiling, falling like graceful rain to join the puddles on the floor. The light dimmed, and the darkness gathered around them. But curiously, the light did not fade completely; even after the cavern with the trees was far behind them, a strange and sourceless glow provided enough illumination to see by.
It was not a great deal of light, however, and Racath tripped more than once on the rugged stone floor. Nelle swiftly navigated the irregular surface without issue, absentmindedly dragging her gloved fingertip across the stalagmites. Her golden hair floated up and down with every step.
Eventually, Racath was able to catch up and walk beside her. It took a good deal of effort to match her stride: she always seemed to be one pace ahead of him, and he would have to speed up to stay with her.
“So….”
She glanced at him expectantly. “Yes?”
He searched for words for a moment, and then asked, “If you’re the augur, then…what exactly do you see of my future? Or Io’s future? How does this all end? Do we win?”
Without warning, Nelle stopped dead in her tracks. Surprised, Racath slid to a halt beside her on the slick tunnel-floor. Even through the fog of half-light, he could see that her face was blanched white. Her playful, childlike exuberance had vanished, replaced by eyes that burned into him with the most profound intensity he had ever seen.
“What?” Racath said innocently.
Nelle shook her head at him once. The motion of her neck was stiff, measured, and ardent. “Don’t ever,” she breathed in a flat, edged whisper. “Ever, ever ask me that question. Ever again.”
Racath blinked and took an uneasy step away. “Why not?”
There was ice on Nelle’s words. “The night you met me, I said too much. I forgot the most important rule about being an augur. My purpose isn’t to tell you what I see; I’m supposed to guide you to the correct path.” She shook her head again, but this time the rebuke seemed to be directed inward. “I gave you a head-start when I told you those things. I don’t regret that, it was the best thing for you. But it was dangerous. If I’m explicit with you about what I see, I’ll influence you to do things that you otherwise wouldn’t. It'll just faul up fate, and cause everyone pain. So please,” she implored. “Promise me you will never ask me that again.”
Racath dropped his gaze. He could feel a flush mingled with an unfamiliar guilt rising on his neck. “I promise. I’m sorry….” He meant it.
“It’s not your fault…” she muttered at the floor. She turned away and a curtain of golden hair hid her face. “You didn’t know. Let’s just keep moving.”
They continued down the tunnel, more slowly this time. The uncomfortable silence broke only for the echoes of dripping water and quiet footsteps. Contrition nagged at Racath’s thoughts as they walked, tugging at him like a fishhook in his chest. He had clearly made a blunder, but he couldn’t understand why she was so upset by the simple question. Her reaction almost made it seem like there was something specific that she didn’t want him to know.
Racath remembered the way she would looked at him, the easy way she bantered with him, like they were old friends. The way she seemed to know him better than he knew himself�
��.
He suddenly realized, while he had only just met her, she probably knew him from her visions. If she had been seeing him in prophecy for all that time then, in her mind, they had known each other for years and years. He couldn’t help but wonder how much of her interactions with him — or anyone — was not only predicated on past experiences, but also on things to come.
It occurred to him, as he shot a remorseful glance at her, how different her mind must be. What must it be like for her, to have a vision of the future and then awake in the present? What would it be like if she foresaw the death of a friend? And then have to sit beside them the next day, knowing that death was on their doorstep, but unable to say anything without making changing it all for the worse? He knew then that he would have to be more careful with her. More sensitive.
For a moment he wondered why he cared at all, but he quickly pushed that thought aside. He had no idea why, but for some reason he did care about how the girl with golden hair felt. And he wanted nothing more than to close this sudden gap between them.
Looking down, Racath realized that he still held the core of the dianimus fruit. The flower on its stem was painted amaranth, its silken petals splayed out in a broad starburst. An idea came to him. Plucking the flower from the stem, Racath tossed the core away and stepped in front of Nelle, walking backwards so they were facing each other as they continued down the passage.
She looked at him blankly. Racath offered her the blossom. “A pretty flower for a pretty girl?” he said, mustering his entire apology into his voice.
Nelle’s morose expression bloomed into a shy smile. “That sounded like a question,” she teased, a summery blush warming her cheeks.
Racath shrugged and gave her a sly, crooked grin. “I figured it would be more polite to ask, rather than tell.” The familiar sunlight gradually returned to Nelle’s face. Relief flooded Racath as the fishhook of guilt left his chest.
“Thank you, Racath. That’s very sweet of you. All is forgiven.” She accepted the flower and brought it delicately to her nose — she did not take her eyes off his. “You really think I’m pretty?”
It was Racath’s turn to blush. “Uhh….” He was saved as his heel hit a loose rock on the floor, tripping him. He fell backward, arms flailing clumsily in the air.
Nelle caught his hand before he could hit the floor. Laughing delightedly, she pulled him back upright. “That was graceful,” she flirted. She winked — which only made him blush more — and stepped past him, tucking the flower behind her ear.
Racath tried to mutter something in reply, but it came out utterly incoherent. Embarrassed, he collected himself and followed after her.
“How much farther?” Racath asked after a moment.
“We’re close. Look,” Nelle pointed down the tunnel, and Racath saw that the tunnel made a sharp turn about fifty feet further on. A luminous glow bled around that corner, as though it opened into….
“Is that daylight?” Racath asked. “I thought were still under the mountain.”
Nelle didn’t answer. “It’s just around the bend. Come on!”
They half-jogged down the remainder of the tunnel, the light growing brighter with each step. Right before they reached the bend, Nelle put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“I should warn you,” she hedged. “There’s a reason that I thought it would be good to greet you outside. So that you wouldn’t be completely surprised by what’s around this corner.”
Racath raised an eyebrow. “Why? What’s around the corner?”
Nelle thought a moment, and then said, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. You’re going to have to see it for yourself. It’s not daylight.”
Racath looked at the light spilling across the floor. It looked like daylight. “Then what is it?”
The augur smiled excitedly. “Just…brace yourself.” She took her hand off his shoulder and gestured for him to step around the corner. “After you.”
Hesitant, Racath stepped forward, and Nelle followed after him. Together, they exited the tunnel. Light blinded him for a moment, light that churned with the warmth of the summer sun.
And then his eyes adjusted — and he saw impossibility. Impossibility in its most pure, unadulterated form. Fresh, raw, untainted impossibility laid out before him.
The tunnel opened up into a…I think that calling it a room would give you the wrong impression. Chamber isn’t the right word either. Let me say this then: it was like being inside an enormous, hollow mountain — probably because they were in an enormous, hollow mountain. Racath once described this place to me as something akin to paradisiacal region in the mountains, sealed under a massive glass cone.
The “cavern” stretched for miles into the distance, the back wall almost beyond Racath’s sight. The conical ceiling stretched thousands of feet upward. The walls were a moving mural: blue heavens, white clouds, and a horizon of distant mountains. To the touch, the walls were merely animated rock. But to the eye they were a real, living sky painted with drifting cotton clouds, illuminated by an impossible sun that arched overhead.
Wind — real mountain wind! — rustled his hair. The warm air tasted like clean summer. Sheets of rich dirt and thick, green grass swathed the gentle hills that rolled out like ripples on a spring pond. Lush, healthy trees dotted the hills. And in the center, the earth became a flat, grassy plateau, maybe a half-mile square.
“Glorious, isn’t it?” Nelle said to him.
“What…is…this?” Racath croaked. He bent and felt the carpet of grass and soil beneath at his feet. It was real.
Nelle crouched down beside him. “More work of the Elves. Before the Demons came, the Elven High Scholars were experimenting with the creation of massive, self-sustaining artificial habitats. This,” she gestured expansively at the geography. “is the product of their efforts. It’s called a domus.”
Racath shook his head in disbelief. “How is this possible? How does it work? The plants, the environment…it all feels so real.”
“The Elves’ High-Magicks,” Nelle explained. “We don’t really know everything about it. But, from what we can gather, the images on the walls are dynamic illusions. The image of the artificial sun is too, but somehow it gives off real warmth, light, and magical energies, which sustains the plant-life.”
“What about water?” Racath asked in fascination.
The augur pointed, and Racath followed her finger to see a ring of rocky cliffs that circumscribed the domus walls. A half-dozen waterfalls cascaded from those cliffs, gathering into pools and streams that cut through the troughs between the hills.
“The domus has its own water cycle,” Nelle continued. “Those streams naturally irrigate the land. Each stream flows from its respective waterfall to the other end of the domus, where the water is magically transported back to the top of the waterfall for recirculation. On a regular basis, enough water will condense in the ceiling above and come back down as rainfall.”
“That’s incredible,” Racath breathed. “How many places like this are there? How could I have never heard about something like this before?”
Nelle shrugged at him. “There were only a few that were as well-developed as this. Most of them were lost during the Occupation. Of those whose locations we still know for certain, this is the only one that the Elves didn’t seal off. And that’s only because the Genshwin had possession of it before the Demons came.”
Racath looked at her, puzzled. “We did?”
She made a face. “Well, I guess that’s a bit of a long story. And not one that I really care to talk about. Oron can tell you more about this place’s history.”
“Wait,” Racath stopped her. “This is where Oron lives?”
Nelle pointed again, this time toward the plateau. “Yep. Right there.”
Racath looked, squinting to see into the distance. For the first time, he noticed a cottage nestled into the grassy plateau at the center, pleasant plumes of white smoke puffing from the chimney. Racath could see
a large garden not far from the cottage, in addition to a well, a pigpen and a chicken coup.
“We should get going,” Nelle said. “We have a bit of a walk ahead of us, and it’d be best to not keep him waiting!” She took his hand and pulled him to his feet, and together they hiked toward the plateau.
The artificial sun slid languidly overhead as they trekked through miles of hills and small valleys. Eventually, they came to a creek that cut across their path. The water was a pure crystal blue, reflecting the sun and sky above, like a ribbon of sapphire dappled with pearlescent white. A blanket of water-smooth stones and pebbles blanketed the streambed; strings of larger rocks made stepping-stone pathways from bank to bank, the gurgling water lapping at their edges.
Laughing, Nelle skipped across the stones. Her hair floated and dandled in the air behind her in a rush of gold. There was something marvelous about the way she soared over the stone and stream, something tantalizing about each carefree step she took. She had an innocent grace, elegance fueled by the untroubled sun above.
A part of Racath wanted that. A part of him envied her. A part of him wanted to follow her, to cast off care and worry, and dance across the stones with her, to release the pain of the reality beyond these walls. To forget the despair of the dark grey clouds outside, and revel in the bliss of this new sky. To live like nothing mattered but his own freedom.
To let go.
But something held him fast. Ten years of well-learned lessons rang in his ears like an angry parent’s warnings.
An assassin cannot be ruled by the fancies of his heart. An assassin cannot be tempted by small indulgences. An assassin cannot partake of whimsy. An assassin does not bow to desire.
An assassin must be self-controlled. Lest he show weakness. Lest he die.
Each adage bound him, trapping him like cold, icy manacles. He found himself frozen. Rooted to the earth. Rent between the wonderful need to breathe in the freedom, and the asphyxiating ice of a Genshwin’s mask.
Nelle alighted upon the opposite shoreline, her boots sinking into the moist soil at the creek’s edge. She turned her head and looked back over her shoulder at him. And in that small, fleeting moment, the light caught her.
