The Shadowed Throne

by K J Taylor

  With her body useless now, all she had left was her mind.

  But even that was starting to fall away.

  She kept on going, unable to feel exhaustion, possibly even unable to stop. Piece by piece, the last of the energy was used up. Piece by piece, she felt herself disappear into the void of magic. She forgot how to sense temperature. She forgot what meat tasted like. She forgot the feeling of the wind in her wings. She forgot her mother’s face and the first soft stumblings of infancy.

  She even began to forget where she was and why she had begun to do this to herself.

  But, just as the void gaped ahead of her, the last of the magic finally ran out.

  Oeka relaxed out of her trance, and that was it. She found herself in her new form at last.

  Pure thought, anchored to nothing. A mind without a body, free to go wherever it chose. A mind so powerful it had almost gone beyond mere thought altogether.

  Oeka—or what she had become—drifted up through the levels of the Eyrie to find Laela.

  Laela was lonely. Kullervo was gone, and Inva. Oeka was as good as gone. Even Iorwerth was away.

  She had never really told anyone just how alone she often felt in the Eyrie. And now it had become even worse. Everyone around her was a potential traitor. Every corner might have an assassin lurking behind it. Once she had been Queen by popular demand. Now, only fear kept her in power. She wasn’t going to lie to herself about that. She often felt afraid, and paranoid as well. The rest of the time, she just felt lonely. She had never imagined that ruling would be like this, and now she wondered if she would have taken it if she had. Either way, she knew what she was now. Laela the half-breed, the half-Southerner Queen, the bastard daughter, disliked just as much as the Southern occupiers Arenadd had driven out.

  By now, only one thing was really keeping her on the throne, and that was the knowledge that, if any other ruler took over, that ruler would do what her father Arenadd had resisted doing for so long.

  Declare war on the South.

  Laela didn’t feel any particular attachment to the place any more, but what she did feel attached to were common people. She wasn’t much better than a commoner herself at heart—she definitely talked like one—and she knew who would pay the real price if the Northerners ever went through the mountains and into the warm Southern lands beyond.

  Everybody, for a start.

  So that was what Laela Taranisäii had become. She came from two different races, and she would protect them from each other come what may. Saeddryn running around with the Night God’s gifts was the last thing either side needed.

  Still, even Laela needed company, and now that all the people she counted as friends were gone, she resorted to summoning the only other person she remembered having been a friend in the past.

  Yorath.

  Her former tutor arrived in the Eyrie library, carrying his books, inks, and pens and looking nervous. To her surprise, Laela found he looked younger than she remembered. Smaller, maybe. Less impressive.

  Yorath hastily put his things down and bowed to her. “Milady.”

  Laela looked down at him, not quite able to accept the fact that she had lost her virginity to him not that long ago. “No need for that. How are yeh gettin’ on?”

  Yorath looked up. “Uh . . . uh, I’m doing well, milady.”

  “I told yeh; there’s no need for that,” said Laela. “Sit down. This is our old spot, remember?”

  He took a seat at a table, and she sat opposite him. “I’m sorry; I just wasn’t expecting this, milady—”

  Laela leant over the table. “Call me that one more time an’ I’ll have yer ears cut off.”

  Yorath gave up and grinned. “Right ye are, Laela.”

  “Better.” Laela sat back. “Still teachin’ kids, then?”

  “Yes. Actually, I’ve been promoted. I’m a full teacher now.”

  “Not an assistant any more, eh?” said Laela. “Funny. I kinda got promoted too, actually. Yeh mighta heard about it.”

  “I did,” said Yorath. “So—what’s this all about?”

  Laela wasn’t going to admit that she’d had him brought up just so she’d have someone to talk to. “Been busy lately, but I just remembered I never finished learnin’ how to read an’ whatnot. So I thought it was about time we did some catchin’ up.”

  “Oh!” Yorath looked surprised. “Well, there are better teachers than me, with a bit more experience—”

  Laela waved him into silence. “Yeh were a good teacher for me, an’ that’s all I care about. Don’t worry; I’ll see yeh get paid properly.”

  “All right, then.” Yorath started to lay out his materials. “Was there anything ye wanted to focus on right now?”

  “Yeah, readin’,” said Laela. “Can’t risk signing somethin’ when I don’t know what it says. Actually, there was somethin’ I wanted to show yeh.”

  She dumped a large book on the table between them.

  Yorath inspected it without touching it. “What is it?”

  “Found it,” said Laela. “Hidden in my dad’s old wardrobe.” She couldn’t resist a smirk. “Under a box of combs.”

  “Heh.” Yorath smiled briefly. “He always did take good care of his hair. Ye could tell just by looking.” He reached for the book. “Let’s have a look at it, then . . .”

  Laela got up and moved around the table to sit next to him, where they could both see the pages.

  Yorath shifted uncomfortably and opened the book to the front page. “Er . . .” He cleared his throat, looked properly at the page, and jerked away as if it had bitten him. “Dear gods!”

  Laela started. “What? What is it? What’s it say?”

  Yorath pulled himself together. “It’s his journal. The King’s journal.”

  Laela’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Yes.” Yorath touched the page very carefully, indicating each word. “‘The Days of the Shadow That Walks’—that’s crossed out, and he’s replaced it with just ‘Arenadd’s Journal.’” He smiled hesitantly. “I suppose he thought the first one didn’t sound right.”

  “He was right,” said Laela. She rubbed her hands together excitedly. “Turn the page! Let’s see what’s inside!”

  Yorath had already taken his hand away from it. “Laela, I’m really not sure we should read this. Not with me here, anyway. There could be anything inside; I don’t have the right . . .” He trailed off, not having to add, “. . . and neither do you.”

  Laela hesitated briefly, then shook her head. “I can’t read it without yer help. Can’t see there bein’ anything that amazin’ in there anyway, if his life was anythin’ like mine is now. Read it.” When Yorath didn’t obey right away, she said sharply, “Read it! That’s an order.”

  Yorath turned the page, coughed, and began to read aloud—touching each word as he said it so she could follow along. “‘I have decided to write down what I do every day, or at least the most important parts. One day this book could be useful to historians, or future rulers, or just the curious. I have no illusions about living forever, despite what I am. Nothing can last forever, not even me, and I swear right now that if I last too long, and it gets too much for me, I will leave the North and go in search of a way to die. Not that I think I’ll have to. I’ve changed too many things and committed too many crimes to ever be left in peace. One day, my people will turn against me, or the Night God will decide I’ve outlived my usefulness, or that one loose end will come back for me. That last possibility haunts me more every day.

  “‘I have succeeded in building a new nation, and I have made my people as free as they will ever be, but in some ways I feel like a failure. I failed to save Skade. I failed Saeddryn. And I failed the Night God. I did not kill Flell’s child the way I was supposed to. Even though my master had told me to do it, even though I knew full well that child could have the p
ower to destroy me.

  “‘Once I thought that I hesitated because Skade’s death had made me stop caring, or because even I was too appalled by the idea of killing an infant in the cradle. But now I know the real reason.

  “‘I did not kill the child because I knew that one day it might come back and kill me. I let it live because I wanted that to happen. With the child dead, I would be safe. With it still alive, I know there is still a chance for me.

  “‘So I wait. Here in Malvern, with only my dear friend Skandar and this journal to confide in, I wait. The child will be a man in just a few years. I can wait for him to come and find me, and I know that he will come one day. He’ll know what I did and what I am. He’ll want revenge, just like I did. But I hope for his sake that he doesn’t become what I became. I hope that, unlike me, he can keep his soul. I hope that he can give me rest. I’ll still fight back, of course. It’ll never be in my nature to bow down and accept the death-blow peacefully. If he wants to set me free, he’ll have to fight for it. I can hardly wait.’”

  Laela listened, utterly captivated. “He wanted to die . . .”

  “No surprise to me,” Yorath murmured. “But the child never did come. I wonder where he is now?”

  Laela smiled inwardly. “Probably got no idea about any of it. This ain’t no story, an’ we ain’t made that way really. I should know.”

  Yorath looked rather sad.

  “Read more,” said Laela. “Flip through toward the back. I wanna see if he wrote about me.”

  Reluctantly, Yorath closed the book and turned it over before opening it again. The last pages were blank, but he leafed back through them until he found more of Arenadd’s neat handwriting.

  “What’s it say?” asked Laela.

  Yorath took a deep breath, and began again. “‘Today, I vowed never to drink again. I realised that I’ve spent far too much time trying to hide away. I didn’t care before, but when I saw the way she looked at me, I felt truly ashamed for the first time. And there I was thinking I’d lost my conscience for good! This girl is astonishing. She’s changing me in ways I thought were impossible, and she doesn’t even seem to realise it. But there’s something about her that gets to me. The way she treats everyone she meets with the same rough and earthy good sense. She even talks to me like an equal—me! She acts as if my status and power don’t matter. She treats me like a human being when no-one else does, and that makes me feel free to speak to her in the same way. I’ve told her things I would never tell anyone, without a moment’s thought. I hope for all our sakes that she never misuses what she knows. I’m not afraid for myself, but I don’t want her to be hurt.

  “‘People say she looks like my daughter, but I don’t feel like a father to her. I—’”

  I can help.

  Yorath and Laela both froze.

  “What?” Laela said loudly.

  I can help, Laela.

  The voice seemed to come from everywhere. Felt, not heard. The two humans looked at each other, then at the library around them.

  Yorath pointed. “What’s that? Can ye see that?”

  Laela looked, and there was . . . was . . .

  “Oeka?”

  The shape flickered in the air. It was Oeka—or looked like her. A vague, wavering image hung in the air. It looked like dust motes caught in sunlight, swirling together to make a coloured sketch of a small griffin. The eyes, big and slanted, were deep green, and they were the boldest part of her.

  Laela rubbed her own eyes. “Great gods on a stick, what’s this? Oeka? What have yeh done now?”

  The image wavered. I have transcended my body, whispered Oeka’s ethereal voice. I am now too powerful to be contained by flesh.

  “Oh good,” Laela mumbled.

  Here. The image of Oeka drifted closer. Do not be afraid, it said, when Laela and Yorath pulled back. I am projecting this image. It cannot hurt you.

  “What do yeh want?” Laela asked, trying to keep herself together.

  To tell you that I am well and will be beside you once again. Oeka drifted onto the table, transparent paws resting on the open book. I wish to demonstrate my powers. Let me show you what I can do.

  “With what?” said Laela, very cautious now.

  With this book. Oeka lowered her head toward the pages. I have the power to reveal the past. This book is a piece of the past. Your father saved memories of himself inside it. Watch, and I will show them to you.

  The image of Oeka faded away, motes drifting apart, and a new voice sounded in the air. But this one was not Oeka’s. It was louder, deeper—and familiar.

  “. . . feel like a father to her. I feel like she is my friend, and that’s how I prefer it.”

  The voice was coming from the book.

  Yorath and Laela fled from the table so fast they fell over the chairs and landed in a heap. The voice spoke on without pausing, and as the two recovered themselves and stood up to look, they saw him.

  Arenadd himself, apparently sitting at the table with the open book in front of him. There was a pen in his hand and a bottle of ink at his elbow, and he wrote, tracing each word perfectly while his voice read them out. “It’s been a long, long time since I had a friend other than Skandar. A human friend. I want Laela to be my friend. She’s the only person I know who doesn’t fear me—or hate me. She represents everything I thought I had lost—the life of a real man, a mortal man. I don’t know if I had friends when I was alive, but—”

  Slowly, making every effort to stay silent, Laela walked around the table to see his face. It was the face she remembered. Angular, bearded, calm. The lips didn’t move in time to his voice, but she could see them move occasionally as he muttered something to himself.

  Laela found her own voice at last. “What . . . is that?”

  A memory, said Oeka, suddenly appearing by her side. He cannot see you. This is a vision of him as he appeared when he wrote these words. Listen! He is writing a secret now.

  “—my plan,” Arenadd’s voice continued. “She is the key. I will make her my heir and adopt her as my daughter. Tara will be ruled by a half-breed, and not even the Night God will be able to stop it. Nothing can make me change my mind now. My master wants purity and segregation forever. No, not even that. She wants the Southerners destroyed, so that our pure race can rule forever and never mix with them again. But I won’t have that. Time has changed me—I hope for the better. Once I saw a future where my people could be free to rule themselves. But now I see another future beyond that, a future I can’t create. Making that future come will be up to better men than me, but I’ve taken the first step now. Laela is the key. Only she can see both sides. Whether she does will be up to her.”

  The voice went silent, and the vision of Arenadd closed an ethereal version of the journal and carried it away from the table. For a moment, he was there, walking straight toward Laela with his unseeing eyes fixed on her face; and then he was gone.

  My gift, Oeka said smugly. The past is open to me. If you wish to see it again, ask me, and I will show you.

  “It, er, it might come in handy,” said Yorath unexpectedly. He glanced at Laela, then looked at the vision of Oeka. “If . . . if . . . I was wondering . . .”

  Speak. Do not speak. I can scent your intention. The vision blurred for a moment. You are interested in history. You wish that I would show you more, so that you may write down what was said and done here long ago.

  Yorath’s eyes widened.

  You are right to be afraid, Oeka said, imperiously. No mind can hide a secret from me. But you are safe. You are not a traitor. But I will not give you your wish now. I must go.

  “Go where?” said Laela.

  The image of Oeka began to fade away. To explore! There is so much to know, and I must know it! I will send my mind far away, and see all there is to see . . .

  “Saeddryn!” said Laela, pouncing o
n the opportunity at once. “If yeh can see that far, find out what she’s doin’! Kill her the way yeh killed Torc—the war’d be over, an’—”

  Oeka was now barely visible. Wars. Humans. Irrelevant and dull. The world has so much more to offer, and I must take it . . .

  With that, she disappeared altogether.

  Laela slumped into a chair. “I hate this place,” she muttered.

  34

  Two and a Half Griffins

  Kullervo’s pains started within days of leaving Malvern.

  He and Senneck flew together, but kept their distance from the younger Skarok and spent their nights away from him as well. He was close enough to be seen sometimes during the day when they were in the air, but he and Senneck kept away from each other, and away from civilisation as well. Laela had ordered them to travel this way since it would make them much less likely to be spotted. It meant that Kullervo and Senneck were essentially travelling alone. In the evenings, they would camp in whatever shelter they could find—usually under a tree. They didn’t light a fire and lived off whatever they both caught. Even in human shape, Kullervo could digest raw meat easily. He even liked the taste.

  He and Senneck travelled well together, used to each other by now, and Kullervo had never been so completely happy. He loved being with Senneck, loved it more than he could say. He loved the spicy smell of her feathers, loved her dry, rasping voice, loved lying against her warm flank to sleep. He loved it when she talked to him while they rested, teaching him what he needed to know about magic. But it was the times when they didn’t talk that he loved best—the times when nothing needed to be said, and he could sit there with her in silence and know that she was there and wouldn’t leave him again.

  So he was happy, at least until the pains began.

  They first appeared in the mornings, in his back and legs. At first they were only a mild annoyance—just an ache in the joints. They weren’t much different than the cramps he sometimes got while recovering from a change. It had been some time since his last transformation, but he had changed back and forth several times in a short period, so he supposed it must have taken a toll. And his wounds were still healing as well. So he said nothing and thought that they would go away soon enough.