Dark Immolation

by Christopher Husberg

  Winter obliged. As she looked in the mirror, she felt nothing, could not share Galce’s excitment. Dead, black eyes stared back at her, devoid of any emotion.

  What have you done? she asked herself, but she couldn’t bring herself to care enough to respond.

  24

  Turandel, western Khale

  ASTRID PULLED HER CLOAK more tightly around her as she walked the streets. The sun was nearly setting; she had timed her journey so she would arrive as darkness fell. She wanted her first few hours in Turandel to be when she was at her strongest.

  Turandel was a small city, but long, stretching parallel to the sandy beach just to the west. The place seemed no different than when she had left it. Five major roads—known as the Five Fingers—ran the length of the city, lined with shops and apartments. The nobles’ quarter was to the south, easily recognized by its tower-houses, and of course Castle Storonam looming above them all. She thought of Elessa Storonam. She was the reason Knot sent Astrid here in the first place, although Knot had yet to reveal what his connection to House Storonam might be.

  There were two Cantic chapels in the city, one in the south that served the nobles, the other in the north among the shops and other businesses. Astrid felt comfortable moving further south; her time in Turandel decades earlier had mostly been spent near the merchant’s guild in the northern part of the city. The south, while not unfamiliar to her, felt far less threatening.

  Why, of all the places in the Sfaera, did it have to be Turandel? Astrid looked over her shoulder. She had made enemies here, years ago. Chance was those enemies had long since left to find other, more fertile ground. But Astrid was never one to rely solely on chance.

  No one had followed her—at least that was a good sign. Astrid turned down a side street, just in case. She had been walking down the Sea Road, the road that ran closest to the beach, but the inn she intended to stay at was further inland, on the southern half of Crastan’s Road, the fourth of the Five Fingers if one counted the Sea Road as the first.

  The usual daytime bustle was drawing to a close, and many were in the process of closing down shops and stands. Many small alleys ran perpendicular to the Five Fingers, but they were for pedestrian traffic only. Astrid reached the Ring Finger Inn just as the last rays of light faded on the horizon. Her transformation had already occurred, but her glamour would allow her to get a room. As a vampire, Astrid had the limited capability to alter her appearance to others, which came in handy at night when she would otherwise frighten anyone she came in contact with.

  Her glamour only worked so far, though; while she could calm the bright glow of her nighttime eyes, mask her fangs, and replace her elongated claws with normal fingers, she couldn’t alter her appearance from what she already was—a little girl. She couldn’t make herself look adult, or look like a boy. It was nothing short of an inconvenience.

  But Astrid had found ways around that inconvenience. Astrid tore a strip of cloth from her dress. This was her traveling dress, and had seen much worse. She gathered her hair in a ponytail and tied the cloth around it in a bow.

  The guard at the door to the inn looked down at Astrid as she approached. He was a large man, thickly muscled, wearing boiled leather armor and a short sword at his side. A long spear rested against the wall behind him.

  “You all right, little miss? You lost?” the man asked, his voice kind. Astrid was unsurprised; she had become used to both extremes—people were either exceptionally kind to her, or sought to use her in whatever way they saw fit.

  “No, sir, I believe this is the right place. The Ring Finger Inn, is it not?”

  “That it is, that it is,” the guard said, kneeling down so he looked at Astrid at her level. His face was round, his cheeks surprisingly soft and smooth-shaven given his muscled body. “What brings you here all alone? Have you lost your family?”

  “No, sir,” Astrid said, keeping her voice meek. Adults never liked it when she spoke to them as peers. “I’m supposed to meet my entourage here.” She gave him a half-smile for good measure.

  “Very well, little miss, in you go. The innkeeper will help you.”

  Astrid grinned. “Thank you, sir!” She almost skipped into the common room as the guard opened the door.

  Astrid had been inside the Ring Finger Inn only once or twice before, nearly forty years ago. The place did not seem to have changed much. She remembered the name by happenstance only; she had never spent much time in this area of Turandel. The common room was similar to many others Astrid had seen throughout the years. A collection of rectangular tables running half the length of the room, surrounded by chairs occupied by a dozen patrons. A large hearth at one end of the room, a fire glowing merrily within. A bar with stools at the other, at which sat a woman and two men. Heads of stag, deer, boar, and even a black bear loomed outward from the walls. Those details seemed new, Astrid mused. She did not remember them from the last time.

  Astrid walked up to the bar, pushing back her hood. It was particularly high, and she could barely see over it. She had adjusted her glamour so that, in addition to hiding her claws, teeth, and eyes, it also made her seem more refined. Her coarse, gray wool cloak would appear a bold forest green. Her hair, unwashed and relatively unkempt, would be a healthy golden color, and the rag that tied her hair in a ponytail would be a bright green bow.

  “Excuse me?” Astrid asked, trying to peek over the bar. The innkeeper was at the other end, helping another customer. The innkeeper looked over his shoulder but did not see Astrid.

  “Down here,” Astrid said, waving her hand.

  The innkeeper’s gaze finally lowered to Astrid’s level. She smiled up at him.

  “Er… hello there…” He looked at Astrid, then looked up, around the room, no doubt seeking her parents. “Can I help you?”

  Astrid nodded. “I need a room, please. A comfortable one. I shall likely be staying for a few nights. Arrangements should already have been made.”

  “And you are…?” the innkeeper finally managed, after a moment of staring.

  Astrid scoffed. “Lucia Oroden, of course. You’ve been informed of my arrival.”

  The innkeeper’s stare did not falter.

  Goddess, if there were contests for staring idiots, this man would win them all.

  “Er… I’m sorry… Lucia, did you say? My apologies, but we have not been informed of anything in your regard… um… Are your parents here, by chance?”

  Astrid rolled her eyes. “My parents? Are you mad? I am Lucia Oroden, for Canta’s sake. You mean you’ve not heard of me?”

  The innkeeper slowly shook his head.

  “The famed child-scholar? The explorer? The genius, Lucia Oroden?”

  The innkeeper’s head continued to wag back and forth. Not surprising that he hadn’t heard of Lucia Oroden—the girl did not exist. It was one of Astrid’s aliases, whenever she had to travel on her own.

  “What, have you been living under the sea for the past two years? Have you heard nothing of my education in Triah? Of my calculations in Cineste? My excursions in Maven Kol?”

  “Er… I am sorry, Miss…”

  “Oroden.”

  “Miss Oroden, but we have had no warning. Are your parents with you? Perhaps I should talk to them—”

  “Oh, Goddess!” Astrid wailed, looking up to the ceiling. She raised a hand to her forehead. “Why must he bring up my parents? Taken so early from me, for reasons I know not. And now I, alone, travel throughout the Sfaera, masking my grief with adventure. Alone.”

  She could feel a tear squeezing out of one eye. Perfect. Folk like this loved dramatics.

  “Er… Miss… Miss…”

  “Oroden!” Astrid wailed.

  “Miss Oroden! Please stop; I did not mean to bring up your parents. Er… I had no idea that they’d passed, anyway, is what I meant, you see…”

  “Durian Bain!”

  It was like the scream of an eagle skimming a lake. Everyone turned to look for the source, including Astri
d, who had gone silent, mid-wail, hand still on her forehead.

  “What are you doing to that child, Durian Bain? Explain yourself, this instant.” A woman, thin and young, hair up, and wearing large spectacles, had barged down the stairs and into the common room. “I could hear her bawling up on the third floor.”

  “I… I wasn’t doing nothing to her, I swear it.”

  But Astrid knew when to take a cue. She jabbed her finger towards Durian. “He kept talking about my parents!” she cried. “He wouldn’t stop bringing them up! Everyone knows they’re dead!”

  The woman looked from Durian to Astrid. “Yes, well… that was terribly inconsiderate of him, wasn’t it?” Her gaze settled on Astrid. “Now… who are you?”

  Astrid paused, hoping she’d sown seeds in fertile soil. Sure enough, an older man who had been sitting at one of the long tables stood up. “She’s the famed Lucia Ordonin!” he shouted, pointing his finger at Astrid.

  “Oroden,” Astrid corrected.

  “She’s the child-scholar, the girl-adventurer! Here, come to visit Turandel.”

  The woman looked at the man who had spoken, then back at Astrid, obviously perplexed. And for good reason. Astrid would have burst into laughter had she not been a good actress.

  “I’m sorry, Lucia… who?” the woman asked. “There’s a child-scholar?”

  “Well, course there is,” the man who had spoken up for her said. “Haven’t you heard of her?”

  “Aye, she’s famous!” another voice rang out from the other side of the room. “She’s been all over the Sfaera, and she’s only… er… she’s only…”

  “She’s very young!” another voice chimed in.

  Astrid couldn’t help the smile that crept across her face. If she had been in one of the revivalist musicals, this would be when the inn would break into song about her adventures.

  “Of course,” the woman said, lowering her head to look at Astrid over her glasses. This woman wasn’t entirely fooled, it seemed. She walked up to Astrid, holding out her hand. “Miss Oroden, it is a pleasure to have you here at our humble establishment.”

  Astrid accepted the woman’s hand, smiling up at her. “Thank you.”

  “I am Sandea Bain. I run the Ring Finger. You’ve already met my husband, Durian.” She nodded to the innkeeper. Sandea pulled up a chair for Astrid, and another for herself. She sat, indicating Astrid do the same.

  Astrid did, not caring that she seemed smaller still when she sat. Most people viewed her size as a disadvantage, but Astrid had learned that power did not reside in body size or position. No, power had a very specific language, and Astrid had learned it in great detail.

  “Now, what can we do for you, Miss Oroden?” Sandea asked.

  “I need a room, please,” Astrid said, wiping imaginary tears. “I have come all this way, and I have heard of this place, the Ring Finger Inn. I was told I would be welcome here.”

  The innkeeper leaned over the bar and whispered something in Sandea’s ear. Sandea nodded, and looked back to Astrid. “You claim we should have already known of your coming,” she said. “Yet we had no knowledge of it. Why is that?”

  Astrid shrugged. “I don’t know, Mrs. Bain. I sent one of my entourage ahead, to ensure we would find a place here. He did not arrive?”

  Sandea looked back at Durian, who shook his head. Sandea removed her spectacles, cleaning their lenses with a fold of her dress. “I’m afraid not, my dear,” she said. “How many are in this entourage of yours? And where are they?”

  Astrid looked up at Sandea, slowly allowing horror to leak into her eyes. “I… I…” Then, Astrid buried her face in her hands, crying audibly.

  After a moment of this, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Astrid looked up, red-eyed.

  “Miss Oroden, are you all right? What happened to the rest of your group?”

  Astrid looked away dramatically. “They are dead,” she said. “On the way here, we were ambushed by bandits. I escaped but everyone else was killed. Fortunately we were close enough to Turandel for me to get here by nightfall. And now I fear the same fate must have befallen the man I sent ahead.”

  “I thought you said you traveled the Sfaera alone,” Durian the innkeeper said. Perhaps he wasn’t as dim as he seemed. “Why were you traveling with an entourage?”

  “Oh, that’s just a saying,” Astrid growled in her best upset little girl voice. “Of course I wouldn’t travel the world alone; I’m a child! I always travel with people, but now… now I fear the myth will become reality…” For effect, Astrid buried her face in her hands once more, sobbing. She heard a whispered conversation between Sandea and Durian; Astrid’s advanced hearing picked it up easily.

  “Why did you ask that, idiot? No reason to antagonize her further.”

  “Sorry, she just seems… she seems odd, that’s all.”

  “Of course she seems odd. She is odd. That doesn’t mean that you need to be a fool.”

  “Fine, but…”

  “Just shut up, let me do the talking.”

  “Er… Miss Oroden, I’m so sorry for your loss… losses. We do have a suite available. You can stay there tonight, without cost, to give you time to get your bearings. We can bring in Turandel’s Watch and investigate these bandit attacks. Surely we can recover some of your—”

  “No,” Astrid said quickly, shaking her head. “No, it is too soon. I can’t talk about that.” She stood up straight. Time to shift approaches. “And while I appreciate your offer, I can’t accept a room without paying. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  Sandea cocked her head. “I fear propriety went out the window long ago,” she said. “These are unusual circumstances, my dear. Let us help you.”

  “No,” Astrid said, “I couldn’t possibly—”

  “I’m afraid we must insist,” Sandea said with a smile. “Come, I will show you to the room myself. Have you any baggage?”

  If only you knew.

  Astrid shook her head. “Only what I have with me,” she said, indicating her traveling pack.

  “Very well. The third-floor suite will be large for you, but comfortable. Come with me.”

  Astrid followed Sandea to the stairs. She looked over her shoulder before ascending, and noted that, while most of the common room had returned to its business, there were a few eyes watching her, emitting varying mixes of pity and curiosity.

  Good, Astrid thought. She already had them wrapped around her finger.

  * * *

  “Such a beautiful room,” Astrid said, as Sandea showed her around. It was true, even if the real Astrid would never care to say it out loud. The furniture was expensive and the space was huge, appearing to take up at least half the third floor, and was divided into a bedroom area, a living space with a couch and a large armchair, and even a small library with a few dozen books.

  “I’m glad you like it,” Sandea said. “Please, make yourself at home. We are pleased to host the famed Lucia Oroden in our humble establishment.”

  Astrid caught the way Sandea said the word “famed,” with a hint of sarcasm. No matter. Astrid had a feeling she would get to know Sandea quite well before her stay was through.

  “Once you’ve settled in, please come down and join us for a meal. We would love to hear more about your travels, and it will likely do you good to spend time around others, after what you’ve gone through.”

  Astrid, her back turned to Sandea as she inspected the room, raised an eyebrow. Where did Sandea get off thinking she could give advice to someone who had just lost so many people? Or, at least, someone who was pretending to have just lost so many people.

  Nevertheless, Astrid turned and gave a small nod. “Yes,” she said, “that sounds nice.”

  Sandea smiled. “Wonderful. Please let us know if there is anything you need from us, Miss Oroden.”

  When Sandea was gone, Astrid immediately leapt onto the tall four-poster bed, and let the thick, soft quilts and the cushy mattress envelop her. She sighed. She hadn’t expected them to gi
ve her their best room. That had been a happy accident.

  Usually this particular ruse gained her enough sympathy for a room and a meal, but rarely on this scale. Of course, Sandea did not seem to have much trust in her, which was fine with Astrid. Astrid wasn’t that trustworthy.

  She reached into her pocket for her voidstone, pressed her thumb to the rune, and sent her thoughts into the Void. It was still a strange experience, even after doing it dozens of times. It was not a visual sensation—Astrid did not have that kind of power—but it was nevertheless tactile, and the experience so defined in her mind that, if she closed her eyes, she half-expected to see herself sailing through blackness, searching through hundreds of thousands of tiny points of light in the Void.

  Because she had bonded her voidstone to Knot’s, it was simple to find him; she was practically drawn right to him. She felt a tangential connection, a leash behind her connecting her to the Black Matron, too, but she ignored that connection.

  “Astrid?” Knot’s voice rang in the Void.

  “I’m here,” Astrid said. She stretched out on the bed, looking at the plain, plastered ceiling. Odd that the ceiling was so mundane when the rest of the room was so elaborate. Of course, most people did not spend much time looking at ceilings, Astrid supposed. “I just arrived in Turandel.”

  “You safe?” Knot asked.

  Astrid scoffed. “I’m fine,” she said. “I just wanted to check in with you.”

  “Just arrived? Where’re you staying?”

  “An inn.”

  “An inn without a name?”

  “No sense in giving you the name, is there? What does it matter to you? I’m here, and I’m safe, and I’m wondering what to do next.”

  “Look, kid, the name of the inn should—”

  Astrid sighed in exasperation. “It’s the Ring Finger Inn, for Canta’s sake,” she said. “Goddess rising, like it even matters.”