by A C Gogolski
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Copyright © 2011 A C Gogolski
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1466366486
ISBN 13: 9781466366480
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61915-972-3
For Devin and Harper
CHAPTERS
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue: The Sower of Sorrows
Part 1: The Fairy Tale
Chapter 1: The Gift
Chapter 2: The Lonely Tree
Chapter 3: The Trapdoor
Chapter 4: Murkly Marsh
Chapter 5: The Tower
Chapter 6: The Parade
Part 2: Up in Smoke
Chapter 7: Cursed
Chapter 8: The Gray Beast
Chapter 9: The Underground Kingdom
Chapter 10: The Guardian at the Gate
Chapter 11: The Hermit
Chapter 12: Riders
Chapter 13: Escape
Chapter 14: The Wealding Word
Part 3: Words and Silence
Chapter 15: King Reginald
Chapter 16: Writings of the Most Ancient Order
Chapter 17: The Candlestone
Chapter 18: Bad Luck
Chapter 19: The Strangleweed Coast
Part 4: The Chime of Eternity
Chapter 20: The Sea Ruin
Chapter 21: Chains
Chapter 22: Evelyn
Chapter 23: The Chamber Beneath
Chapter 24: Rhiannon
Chapter 25: The Apprentice
Chapter 26: Strangers at the Door
Chapter 27: Lady Zel
Epilogue
Appendix: The Trigoria, or, the 33 Trents
About the Author
PROLOGUE
THE SOWER OF SORROWS
Sailors stared at the sea-spray crags, giddy with relief. After a decade of wandering, they had finally reached the outer islands of their homeland. Over the years, the fleet had shrunk from twelve to just two vessels, with most of the crew dead from disease, starvation, and wave after wave of crushingly bad luck. The men had long since surrendered hope of seeing their native shores again – but a month ago their fortunes had reversed. With the sails snapping overhead, most considered the sudden change in the wind a miracle. Whatever the case, every swell now showed them nearer to home. In a few short days, they would be back in the arms of their wives, back to look upon the grown-up faces of their children, back to somehow resume the lives they had forgotten.
Only one among them felt no joy at the prospect. In fact, this rider cared little for where the ships sailed. No place was home for the stowaway, at least, no place in this world. Below decks in the lower rear hold it crouched, its crab-claw hands snapping and kneading the air. Its face was a rude caricature of a swine’s, dominated by swirling, smoke-pink eyes. The maggoty stench of the creature choked the hold completely, causing even the heartiest sailor to avoid the place. Everyone on board had his own suspicion about the stench below, but no one knew its cause. Nobody had ever seen the creature, since only witchlight made it visible, and the king permitted no sorcerers in his fleet.
Shielded from the eyes of men, the demon was left to hatch its intrigues into the world. It was known by many names: a Sower of Sorrows, a Hungry Ghost, an Angel of Suffering and others. Most often, it was simply called a Malady.
The creature considered the water sloshing in the hold, but its eyes pierced a hidden realm. Maladies fed on the miseries of mankind, angling after the stoutest in spirit – those most capable of living with pain and tragedy. Anyone else would be crushed too soon by his trials, and these creatures hated casting about for new blood. Always its crab hands were in motion, manipulating a curtain of fibers that only it could see. Snick, twist, swip. Grunting low, it sensed the elation of the homeward crew. Their joy was a nuisance to the Malady, but it knew some small seed of hope was always necessary to sweeten the despair of men. The demon endured their high spirits like a fisherman ignoring a worm’s filth to bait a hook. The fish was worth the filth.
Eight years ago this particular Malady settled on an errant ruler: a man named King Reginald. Into his life the demon wove its curses, dooming the royal fleet to suffer at the mercy of uncharted waters. The king’s trials turned him gray and bitter, as year after year he watched the sea swallow the men of his command. The arrangement suited the Malady well, for a time.
But hunger stirred within its belly, making it restless. Though Reginald appeared flinty on the outside, in truth, his will had been crushed long ago. He was a broken man, rotten within. The Malady hated handling anyone so gently, but it had to make this one last.
And so creature rooted through the gossamer filaments – forever pulling, tugging, and testing the strength of men – groping always for a hardier host. As it continued its search, it felt another wave of elation filter through the crew above. And then something unexpected brushed its senses. Someone strong was close, someone much stronger than the king. Pink eyes smoldered with new interest.
It flowed like smoke from below decks to collect itself on the stern of the ship, barely a smudge against the daylight. There it discovered that the tiny fleet was anchored at port. Half a kingdom now cheered on the docks below, waiting to see their king again. The people’s joy buffeted the Malady with physical force, but it stood firm against the jubilation, sifting insect-like through the invisible strings. When Reginald limped off his ship, the demon looked upon him with neither attachment nor disdain. The haggard man was, simply, unsuitable nourishment.
Not wasting any more time on the king, the Malady scanned the crowd, searching for the one it had sensed. Its smoke-swirled eyes came to rest upon a girl in a frayed blue dress. To anyone else, she was no different than the hundreds of other grimy urchins crowding on the docks, yet to the Malady, she was exceptional. She was strong and young, like a green stalk bending flat in a hurricane, only to stand tall again when the clouds had gone away.
The demon’s pincers worked frenziedly at the air, plucking out an invisible cord of life not very long, yet already touched by fate. It tested the tautness of the thread – her thread – squeezing and tugging hard.
Down on the docks the girl felt a sudden pull in her chest. She looked up, and for a brief moment they saw each other. It made the demon snort with pleasure to feel itself revealed to her. Then it breathed deeply, savoring her distinct bouquet of fear for the first time. Snip. No longer would it dine upon the meager fare of the king. Finally, it had found the host it came to this world to discover. Blinking its eyes shut, the Malady slid into the space between worlds for a well-earned rest. There would be time enough to feed. Time enough.
PART 1
THE FAIRY TALE
CHAPTER 1
THE GIFT
From the door of her family’s cottage, Nell watched the red leaves tumble in the wind. The first rays of dawn made the treetops glow amid a haze of wood smoke, and a thick frost blanketed the ground. “You’re letting all the cold in,” Nell’s sister scolded from behind. Lexi was sixteen, three years older than Nell, and she never missed a chance to be cruel. “Go out if you want to go out!” she said, shoving Nell outside. The lock-bolt slid into place with a quiet scrape.
Barefoot and still in her shift, Nell hopped about as the frost-white stones burned her feet. “Lexi! Let me in,” she yelled.
A small flock of goats hurried down the road, their square-pupil eyes blank and wide as they passed the gate before Nell’s house. Behind the bleating animals walked a man, Mr. Gall, twirling a wooden crook in one hand. Nell knew that his other hand, the one hidden in his coat, was missing all four fingers and half of his palm. It was punishment for some crime Gall had committed years ago – a crime that the adults in Nell’s
life were never willing to discuss.
The herder slowed his stride, his face twitching as he watched Nell bang on the door. He flipped the curved stick sideways, dragging it along the stone wall in front of the cottage. Nell could feel his baleful eyes upon her as she danced about, shaking with cold on the doorstep. “What do we have here?” He seemed to be speaking to himself, yet his muttering carried across the yard loud enough for Nell to hear. “And what to do about it?”
Nell wasn’t sure who the herder was talking to, since he had only goats for company. It didn’t matter though, she just wanted to get away. “Lexi!” she cried, beating her fists numb against the wood. Gall stopped in front of the cottage, a grin on his face. He was about to hail her when the door suddenly opened and Nell tumbled into the arms of her mother, Danielle.
“What are you doing out here in your nightgown? In!” the woman said. She cast a dark glance down the lane at Gall, but the herder had moved on.
“Lexi locked me out,” Nell shivered.
The older girl hummed in the kitchen, pretending not to hear the accusation. Danielle shook her head, knowing well enough how her two daughters got along. “Well, get dressed and comb your hair. You can help me at the castle today.”
The castle meant a day free from the awful household chores that Lexi always made her do, like pulling feathers off the hens or dumping the chamber pot. Nell beamed at the offer, but quickly covered her mouth. Lexi liked to remind her that her teeth were as crooked as an old stone wall, so Nell did her best to smile with her lips sealed. “I’ll be right back,” she said, racing to her bedroom.
Once in her room, she hastened into a homespun dress, and then attempted to comb the knots from her hair. Streaked amber, copper, and chestnut, the tangled layers seemed to change color with the season. Of course, Lexi called them troll-tresses and said hair was supposed to be straight and yellow.
Her two pets lolled together on the rug at her feet, watching Nell struggle with the comb. The dog, a blue-eyed border collie named Rawley, took almost as much abuse from Lexi as Nell did, since he was always getting underfoot or making a mess of things. Nell’s striped cat, Sola, knew better how to avoid trouble. She often stayed in the bedroom hiding from Lexi all day. Sometimes Nell went walking in the forest with her pets. The woods were her favorite place – quiet and far away from other people. Plus, Lexi never ventured out of the village, so the time Nell spent in the forest was time spent away from her sister, and that was almost the best part of all.
“Finish up Nell, we need to go,” Danielle called from the kitchen.
As she ran from her room, Nell grinned at Lexi, who would be staying behind. “Have fun with the chamber pot!” With that, she flounced outside after her mother, troll-tresses flying.
Danielle was a tall woman – and a fast walker. Today she was late to her duties, so Nell had to jog to keep pace. Far away through town and up a long hill sat the castle. Its towers and thick walls overlooked the sea on one side, and the forest on the other. Two banners flapped above it: a dark blue one with a white unicorn, symbolizing the queen, and a red one with three interlocking gold circles, which was the standard of the king. “How come only the queen lives in the castle?” Nell asked as they hurried up the road.
“The queen and her son live there,” her mother replied.
“And nobody else? Why doesn’t the king live there?”
“Lots of people live in the castle Nell,” Danielle said, “but King Reginald has been gone for many years. If he returns, he’ll live there again.”
The king’s prolonged absence at sea was no hindrance upon his kingdom. It was a time of peace, and the people loved their queen with the exotic name: Queen Pharisij. Everyone knew Pharisij was from a far-off land, and that her marriage to King Reginald had been arranged before she was born, but if the wedding united two kingdoms, none of the common people ever heard which. Some said King Reginald had been unhappy with the arrangement from the start. It was even rumored that he sailed off shortly after their marriage just to be away from his bride. Whatever the case, the young queen’s lineage – who she was and where she came from – was a constant source of wonder among the people.
Nell and her mother climbed the cobbled road upward, past ramshackle houses, barking dogs, and children caked with mud. The lower warrens were a confusion of sounds and smells all jostling for Nell’s attention. A peddler shouted at Danielle to sample a bit of brown cheese, but the woman pushed past, pulling Nell behind her through the crowd. Higher up on the hill, however, the air was still. Here, stately brick manors competed with one another for the best view of the sea, though most of the estates were hidden by brick walls. It was said that every lord’s house boasted a garden filled with rare flowers and exotic animals – more closely guarded than many a jeweled treasure. When Nell was a girl, she would press her face against the iron gates, hoping to catch sight of a peacock or horned tiger, but all she ever saw were ivied walls within.
The road ended at the outer gates of the castle. In keeping with the ancient custom, its entrances were entwined with magnificent serpents. The stone dragons were supposed to protect the door should some ill fortune seek to enter. Every household in the kingdom owned a small figurine of some sort – even Nell’s family had a chipped dragon standing vigil outside their home.
Across the drawbridge, a man with a sparse beard leaned against the guard house. He had as many antics as Nell had tangles in her hair, and had been Nell’s friend since before she could remember. “Ward!” she called, skipping ahead to meet him. When Edward saw her coming, he raised his plumed helm. Then with a practiced flourish, the young soldier performed a bow so ridiculous that even his fellow guardsmen broke out in laughter.
Their mirth died at once as the clang of weapons rang from just inside the gate. Before the guards could grab their pikes, ten brown geese erupted from the entryway. The angry birds scuttled across the drawbridge, snapping their beaks and racing directly at Nell.
“Look out!” Ward cried, but he was too far away to stop them.
Nell backpedalled as the geese beat their wings into wild flight. Close behind them hurried a woman wrapped in a patterned purple shawl, white hair whipping about her. She was stuffing something into a bag rather than watching where she sped.
Nell knew at once it was the Witch of the Weald, but she was too frightened to move. She could only duck as the woman barreled past, knocking her onto the drawbridge. The angry shouts of guardsmen and the honk of geese filled the air, but Nell was suddenly cut off from all sound. The sorceress’ long hair had become unfastened in the collision, blowing about them both. Wraiths of silver-white sealed Nell in a protective cocoon.
With a face estranged from time, the sorceress considered the girl lying on the bridge. She seemed to recognize something rare in Nell. Reaching down, the woman pulled her to her feet. “You love the weald child, yes? The trees, the air? I can see it in you.” The witch’s voice was crisp and stern. “Listen close now, it’s only right that you have this.” Before Nell could splutter a reply, the sorceress put her lips near the girl’s ear, cupped her hand, and whispered a Word.
The sound of it was the green-hued calm before a storm. It was the weighty crack of stone against groping roots, the first scratch within a blue egg, the howling liturgy of night – all contained within a single syllable. A fierce, vital power passed into her every pore, absorbed her into itself, and rippled on in silence.
Nell was bewildered. She stood still for many moments, shrouded by the witch’s long hair, and steadied by the firm hand upon her shoulder. Slowly her heartbeat replaced the echo of the Word in her chest. Time seemed to resume its normal flow as the lady pulled back a long, white wisp. Men were rushing from the castle, pikes at the ready, and Nell’s mother was yelling her name.
“We will meet again,” the sorceress promised Nell. She left her then, striding away from the castle in a reckless flurry of purple.
As soldiers pounded past, Nell noticed something lyin
g on the timbers. It was a silver bracelet in the shape of a serpent. “She must have dropped it,” Nell breathed. She picked it up to give back, but the sorceress was gone.
By then, Ward was at Nell’s side. “Are you all right?” Unlike the other guards stomping over the drawbridge, the young man seemed more interested in Nell’s safety than in chasing after the witch. But Danielle took her daughter by the hand before Nell could answer, pulling her toward the gate. Clearly, it was time to work, and not time for chatting with palace guards.
“See what happens when you run after boys?” her mother scolded. Nell was still too shaken to argue. Besides, Danielle was late for her duties, and on days like today, it was best not to cross her.
When she finally had a moment alone, Nell brought the bracelet from her pocket to consider it. It had three tiny flowers fashioned out of blue gems that sparkled like water in the sunlight. She slipped it on, since it was the perfect size for her wrist, and the glamour of it made her soon forget the ordeal on the bridge.
While her mother cleaned, Nell wandered through the large, opulent rooms of the castle. She ran her finger along candelabras, and stared into ancient paintings. Over and over her eyes drifted back to the treasure on her wrist. Despite its beauty, something about the trinket made her uneasy. Soon her mind began putting words upon the jittery feeling in her chest: the bracelet had been dropped by a powerful sorceress, and wasn’t really Nell’s. Surely the witch would want it back.
Nell didn’t know much about the sorceress who lived in the deep woods, but people whispered that she had a fearsome temper. Wouldn’t she come looking for the bracelet she dropped? The gems must be worth a fortune – a gift fit for a prince. And it was then that another worry seized her. What if someone saw the bracelet and accused her of stealing it from the castle? Nell swallowed hard, knowing she could be in serious trouble. She looked down at the silver bracelet glittering on her arm, it was so pretty, and then pulled her coat sleeve down to conceal her wrist.
