Nether Kingdom

by J. Edward Neill

  I complain of sleeplessness, but yestereve, even as the driving sleet slashed me clean, I collapsed into a rare hour of slumber. I relished it. It felt like gulping a mouthful of fresh water after a week spent wandering a wasteland, and like a lover’s touch after a year of going without. One hour. Only one. I slept so deep I thought I might never awaken, nor did I want to. I dreamed of the past, of days when my greatest concern was whether to wake up at the crack of dawn or nose beneath the covers until noon. Rellen was there, Garrett too. I ached to see them, and just in dreaming their faces I remembered that I am still human, that I am not yet the ghost the Nightness wants me to be.

  Rellen. There he was, ankle-deep in muck, joyfully returning from a hunt with his fellows. He was the firebrand I remember, boyish to a fault, able to uplift entire rooms with his laughter. How I miss him. I pushed back a tear just now, catching it before it splattered in my freshly-laid ink. Would that I had been wise enough to marry him, all of this might never have happened. He might be alive, and I might not be this wretched, nocturnal thing.

  Garrett. He seemed so real, too real. I wanted to go to him and sink into him like a pebble into the world’s deepest, warmest water. But he would not have it, neither in reality nor in the dream. His eyes were dark and disapproving. His mind was elsewhere. He was not the Garrett I remember. I was afraid of him. I sometimes forget that he too carried the old blood. He was Archithropian, same as I.

  My hour of sleep ended too soon. The rain slowed, the wind shifted, and I awoke. I walked all night and day, and now here I am, out on the Thillrian plain. Now that I think about it, these might be the last rainless hours of my life. If, a few days from now, I claim my father’s tower as home, the storm might very well settle atop me and last forever. I wonder if it will be so. How long will it take for insanity to drown me, for my lonely mind to claim itself as its only friend? Or will the Nightness pass, like most things do, and release me long from now, a withered crone? I wonder, I wonder. Only time will tell.

  I should go soon. I should keep moving. I fear if I stop in any one place for longer than a few hours, I might lose my resolve. Exiling oneself is no easy thing. The marching is not the worst of it, nor the rain. Far worse is my feeling that walking is the easy part, that living a hermit’s life for years on end will prove more misery than I can endure. I have lived alone in my thoughts before, but this seems a death sentence for the heart.

  Questions. So many questions. Will temptation to return be too much? Will the weeks and months win over and drive me to recklessness? I am capable of many things, but will I remain so forever? And when the Ur find me, when the black of night is complete and the whispers have their way, what will happen?

  There it is, the thunder. The clouds crawl nearer. The rain threatens. My desire to write another page must pass, for I have to hide you, little journal, lest you be destroyed. I will stick you snugly beneath the Pages Black. I know it is unfair. I am sorry. When we find father’s tower, I promise to visit you the very night we arrive.

  And every night afterward.

  Riddles in the Rain

  By the time the melancholic dawn washed away the darkness, Andelusia had already marched for two hours.

  Alone, she walked in the wild meadows of middle Thillria, where narrow streams wound like youngling snakes, and where every stray switch of grass whipped her naked calves as though thirsty for a taste of her. Her umbrella was broken and gone, discarded along with her basket of sopping, decomposing food. She carried only her satchel anymore, which dangled from her narrow shoulder, slapping against her hip with every step she took.

  If she thought herself disgusting, a wreck from five days in the rain, she was mostly wrong. Her hair was riotously unkempt and her dress rotted to rags, and yet she appeared no fouler for it. She was graceful still, gliding comfortably between fields, touched always by the wind. The rising sun illumined her face like the ocean’s smoothest pearl, while the very sight of her struck to stillness the few folk she encountered.

  Why? she always wondered. They had better look to what follows me.

  Five days into her exile, and though she had done well not to be seen by too many, her passage went far from unnoticed. Every so often, a stray shepherd or a farmer tending to an off-the-road field glimpsed her, and all of them reacted the same. They just stand there and stare. Why? Am I a ghost? Am I terrifying…or hideous?

  Run and hide, people. The storm is coming.

  Dawn passed her by, and as the last of the local farmsteads fell behind her, she breathed easier. Free of onlookers, she walked the Thillrian grassland as though it were known to her, as though the prairies had always been her home. She glimpsed the sun peeking out from behind the clouds, and she used its fragile presence to guide her ever southward. It was an old skill, something Garrett taught me. And she used it well.

  She marched steadily southward. The breezes were cooler than those of previous days, not only due to the storm, but because of Shivershore. Shivershore, her destined home, was no more than a week away. Its very nearness cast a pall on all the surrounding lands, dredging clouds from the south as if in greeting to the storm from the north. Anyone else would have shuddered against the bitter breezes, but not she. The earth might frost and the sun forever set, and I would hardly notice.

  The day, dreary and overcast, did not last. The storm tortured the lands behind her, trailing her from dawn until eve like a great grey cloak flagging from the back of her neck. At dusk she meandered out of the grass and entered a grove of a hundred or so trees. She was glad for the darkness therein, happy to enter the shadows beneath the oaks. She ambled into the grove, where green leaves reigned and a stream bubbled past, and she felt almost at home. Almost, she thought,. But this place will be frozen by tomorrow. In coming here, I have killed it.

  With no supper on hand, she sipped from a pool of rainwater and made her evening residence upon the trunk of the largest oak in the lot. Softened by the recent rain, the tree welcomed her, smelling sweetly of dew, promising to protect her should the storm overtake her in the night. She leaned against it and closed her eyes. Hungry, she thought. But no food. I will sleep none tonight.

  The sun set. Thick clouds rolled over the stars. Even with her eyes closed, she sensed lightning splitting the northern sky. The night drained into her mind, lending her fresh awareness of everything within the grove. She heard owls waking overhead, hunting mice whose footsteps sounded elephantine. A lone fox gave her wide berth, sniffing in search of food before taking to the grasses beyond the trees. Animals…quieter than men, she thought while half-drowsing. Poor things. Not wise enough to leave.

  It was not until later she heard a noise that did not belong. The crunch of boots falling at the grove’s northern edge recalled her mind from the shadows, sticking out in her senses like a sore tooth. She sat up and searched the darkness. She saw everything, parting the veil of the starless midnight as though it were only now twilight.

  Nothing evil, she sensed, at least at first.

  Nervous yet curious, she crouched beside her tree. She heard the boots fall again and again, crunch, crackle, crunch. Her tension lessened by the moment. She remembered that no man, no matter whether alone or charging in a host of thousands, could lay a finger on her if she wished it. Had she been so inclined, she could wink into the shadows and escape into the sky. The comfort of the Nightness slowed the pounding of her heart, lending her courage.

  So who is it then? Has someone followed me?

  The night answered. At the edge of her sights, a torch flared grudgingly to life, its dampness resisting its waking spark. The scarlet flicker, however small, pierced her Nightness gaze as though she had risen from dead sleep and stared directly into the sun. It hurts. She lifted her forearm to block the light. I should snuff it. I should…

  From near the light, a voice echoed amid the trees. She listened, her heartbeat slowing, her body ready to turn to shadow.

  “Ande?” called the torchbearer, a young man. “Ande, are
you in there?”

  After a moment of calm, the realization struck her. Only a few spare souls in Thillria know me by my nickname. And only one of them is so foolish.

  “Ande?” the young man called again. “Don’t tell me I’m seeing things again! I could’ve sworn…”

  She stepped out from behind her tree. The young man’s firelight guttered and half-died, and its bearer stopped and stared at her as though the moon had dipped low enough to touch.

  “Ande?”

  “Marid.”

  It was Marid, true enough. All the way from Muthem. His tabard, blotched with rain and turned inside-out to hide Duke Ghurlain’s standard, sat askew on his shoulders. His sword dangled from his belt, buckled so loosely it looked ready to fall into the mud. His boots leaked little streams of water, the same as his sodden sleeves and sagging pants.

  Though rain-battered and slick-haired, Marid wore a smile. He gazed upon her as though she were the sun and he a rooted sapling desperate for light. “I found you!” he exhaled.

  She looked at him. He seemed spellbound, his eyes bright and happy. He trod through the grass to reach her, and in his torch’s glow she felt warmer than in days.

  “Marid…what are you doing here?”

  “You left!” he blurted. “No one said why. They sent me out of the city, and I couldn’t find you. But one of Ghurk’s men rode out to me. He said you were heading south. He said the Duke, Ghurk’s father, sent you away. I didn’t believe it, but I…I—”

  “You came after me,” she finished his thought. “You tramped through five days of rain and muck to find me. Why?”

  “Because, I—”

  “You should have stayed near Muthem. The Duke would not have harmed you. And the storm is surely gone by now.”

  “I don’t care about Muthem,” he said. “All I want is you.”

  Her tongue went flat, all semblance of a smile disappearing. Not meaning to, she shut her eyes and turned away from the torchlight. “Marid…” She touched her fingers to her temple. “How did you find me?”

  “I tracked you. It wasn’t hard. The outlanders saw you walking. ‘A ghost of a girl,” they told me. ‘Just over yon field.’ The Duke’s men confiscated my horse, so I came on foot. Ande, I needed to be with you again. The rain and the wind…I promised myself I wouldn’t turn back. Did I do wrong? Are you unhappy to see me?”

  How can I shun him? She shook her head. “No. Not unhappy. Just surprised.” She willed herself to mean it. “I was under the impression we would never meet again. I am to be alone, Marid. Completely and forever.”

  “You don’t mean that,” he said.

  “What if I did?”

  He let loose a voluminous sigh. He held open his arms, inviting her into his embrace, but I cannot go to him. Instead of happiness she felt sickness, the Nightness filling her chest like a draught of black liquor.

  “Marid…” His name tasted bitter on her tongue. “Why?”

  “Why did I come after you?” He looked confused.

  “Yes. Why? The truth.”

  “I hoped…” he stammered, “I thought you’d be happy to see me, that the sight of me might make you come to your senses. Look at you; you’re a mess. You’re clothes are…um…falling off. You’re all alone in the middle of nowhere. I’m here to rescue you.”

  “Rescue me?” She laughed at the notion.

  “Yes, and why not?” He looked hurt. “You must be mad, leaving like that. How much food did you bring? And what about your dress? If this weather had its way, you’d have caught your death. But now…now it’s better. I found you. We can be together, no hiding, no sneaking. We can live wherever we want. The Duke won’t trouble us so long as we stay out of Muthem. He has bigger worries, you know.”

  His offer, however ridiculous, is tempting. Miniscule and short-lived, a daydream smoldered in her mind. I could go with him. No matter the rain, he would stay with me. He would love me even if I never loved him back. I could. We could. A strange life, yes, but…

  It was a foolish thought, she knew, and she cast it from her mind as quickly as she had dreamed it. When she came to her senses, she summoned all her will and stared, her gaze drowning Marid such that he and his torchlight shivered.

  “There is no rescuing me. I meant what I said.”

  “Said what?”

  “In my room.” She looked away from him. “I told you I was the daughter of Thillria’s enemy, the warlock, whom everyone in this damnable country despises. I was not lying. I also said I was incapable of being the woman you deserve, which is truer than you know. I meant it, Marid. If you knew the thoughts that run through my head, if you knew the things I did before I came to Muthem, you would understand. You would know that you cannot rescue me, nor do you need to.”

  Impossibly immune to the truth, he took one step closer. “Nonsense,” he snorted. “Just stop it. I know the warlock was your father, and I don’t care. He’s gone. And if you’d just come with me, we’d live a good life. We’ll build a house and line the walls with as many books as you want. We’ll have gardens. We’ll have children. We’ll roll in our bed from dusk til dawn without any worry for what the Duke thinks. We’ll—”

  “Marid,” She silenced him. “Please…”

  He went quiet. Dimming, his gaze fell to the earth. A roll of thunder, drumming like the boots of ten thousand men, boomed in the north.

  “I am sorry,” she said. “I wish I could make you understand. I am sick, Marid, not the kind of sick a husband can cure. You remember the Undergrave. You heard the stories.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Listen,” she commanded him. “My dreams…horrid. I think black thoughts always, even now. I have to leave it behind, Marid. You need to turn around, march yourself to wherever you mean to call home, and forget you ever met me. It will not be so hard. Just go, and with every step you take, your heart will beat easier for it. If you think to worry, do not. I am my father’s daughter. There is no protection any man can provide me that I cannot provide for myself.”

  Marid was stunned to silence. Many times he opened his mouth as if to ask a question, and many times no sound came out. She wished she could be angry with him, but she pitied him instead. He looked like a half-starved puppy, his glumness a wretched substitute for his smile.

  “No one understands,” she said guiltily. “Sleep here tonight. When you wake I will be gone.”

  She stood motionless for a time, as did he. Together they were like statues chiseled of grey stone, their countenances one in the same. Only when she turned to walk away did he finally stir to life.

  “I will not.” He shook his head.

  “You will not what?” She shut her eyes, knowing the answer.

  “I will not go. Say whatever you like. Go wherever you want. I came all this way. I’m coming with you.”

  Her shoulders sank and her head tilted forward, spilling a sea of raven locks across her face. “Must you make it so difficult?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can escape, you know. I am the witch every Thillrian suspects. If I wished it, I could be on the other side of the world by tomorrow morn.”

  “Maybe so, maybe not,” he scoffed. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “How not?”

  “If it’s true, and you’re a witch, all you’ll accomplish by fleeing is to make it harder for me to find you. But it won’t matter. I’ll keep looking. You’ll wake one morning and find me at your door.”

  “Marid.”

  “No, Ande. It’s my turn. Unless you can honestly say you hate me or that I never meant nothing to you, I swear I’ll chase you to the ends of the world. I love you. There, I said it. So go on then. Tell me I’m a fool. Tell me all the nights we spent together meant nothing, and that all the times we found each other in the halls were an accident. Say it if you can. Say that you have no feeling, and that you never, not once, wanted more of me.”

  Her courage shrank inside her. Feeling so very small, she felt herself giving in. “Please
…” She hid her face in her hands. “I beg you. I care about you. I do, very much. But I will never feel the same as you. You should be glad. The way my life has gone, the men around me have a habit of not lasting.”

  He looked at her, lovesick and soaked. “Ande,” he uttered her name, “if you’ll not have me as your lover, at least have me as a friend. Maybe in time you’ll feel as I do. But even if not, it doesn’t matter. Let me guard you while you sleep. Let me be the one you tell your secrets to, the one you trust. If you really mean to leave it all behind, let me go with you.”

  “Marid…” she tried again.

  “I swear I won’t be a nuisance,” he pleaded. “I won’t woo you or steal glances at you. I’ll be your servant, your guardian. That’s what I am, Ande, a guard. But I’ve no castle anymore.”

  She sighed. Her plan to blow like a breeze into Shivershore and inhabit her father’s tower felt less perfect than before. How can I do this? she thought. Damn him, for being so…persistent.

  “What is it, Ande?” he pried.

  “I promise nothing.” She held up her open palm to silence him. “You may sleep near tonight, and if I am still here in the morning, you may travel the day with me. Do not get your hopes up. I might leave you at any time: while you are napping, dawdling, or tinkling in the woods.”

  He raised his torch and smiled, looking as ebullient as she had ever seen. “You mean it? You’ll let me stay?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “On two conditions: First, tomorrow you take us to the nearest village and find me some proper clothes. And second, you share your supper with me tonight. Wet bread, sour berries, and rainwater have sustained me until now. It is not enough.”