by Wight, Will
The air on the other side was pleasantly cool, like a perfect spring day. Alin took a moment to enjoy the weather before he realized that, behind him, the Gate was growing smaller by the second.
Alin cried out in fear and lunged for the portal, but from the other side, Grandmaster Naraka laughed. “Do not worry, Eliadel. You will be able to open a way back.”
“I will?” Alin asked, pulling himself up short. The Gate back was now scarcely bigger than his fist.
“Eventually,” Naraka responded. “Good luck.”
The Gate blinked out, leaving Alin alone in Elysia.
***
Kai’s bedroom matched the rest of the House: huge, expensive, and dimly lit. Most of the room was dominated by a four-poster bed wider than Simon’s whole house back in the village, but this wasn’t the feature that occupied Simon’s attention.
One entire wall was covered in dolls.
Dolls rested on a row of shelves stacked from floor to ceiling. Dozens of dolls, made of carved and polished wood and painted with delicate care. Dolls in green silk, or purple-striped cotton, or brown sackcloth; blond dolls, dark-haired dolls, even dolls with hair the color of flame. Perhaps fifty dolls in total, all carefully arranged on delicately carved wooden shelves, and all staring at the center of the room with their empty eyes.
Simon had wondered if Kai was crazy before, but now he found himself considering that question very carefully.
Kai followed Simon into the room, crooning and caressing a doll in a red dress. His eyes were hidden by his hair, but he had his mouth cocked into a half-crazy smile.
“Sleep now. The day was long, yes? Yes, it was. You’ll feel better tucked in with your sisters. All of your sisters.”
Simon spoke just to remind the man that he was still there. “These dolls are...” words failed him, but he continued on. “Did you make them yourself?”
“Oh no, no.” Kai delicately positioned the doll on the shelf with all the care of a new father placing an infant into a cradle. “They were all over the house when we arrived. Scattered and lonely. But I brought them together, didn’t I? What a nice family.”
Kai paused as if for a reply, and Simon could have sworn he heard a whisper from the dolls. It was faint enough that, if he were anywhere else, Simon would have thought it was the sound of wind from outside. But this House didn’t have an outside, did it?
Kai chuckled and shook his head. “We’ll see. He’s young yet.”
Simon took one careful step back from the shelves.
“Well then, Simon, let’s get some sleep. Eventually you’ll be able to earn your own bedroom, but you’d have to earn a key. And I don’t think the housekeepers would like it too much if you slept in the hall.”
“Housekeepers?”
“Right. I think they would kill you. Anyway, I have you a blanket on the floor. Sleep well.”
Kai tossed a fluffy red blanket down onto the wooden floor. Simon lay obediently down on the blanket, wrapping it around him like a cocoon. His normal bed at home was nothing more than a mat of reeds and straw—it smelled worse and kept him no warmer than this soft blanket on the floor.
He was all but asleep in seconds. Then he heard a voice whispering next to his ear.
Sweet dreams, said the voice. It sounded like the wind.
Simon’s eyes snapped open, but Kai was all the way across the room putting Azura onto a rack above the door. Anyway, it hadn’t sounded like his voice. The rest of the room seemed normal, only...
Maybe it was his imagination, but a few of the dolls seemed like they had turned in his direction. Staring with painted eyes.
Suddenly, sleep seemed impossible.
***
Simon’s mother had been haunted by nightmares for years. Sometimes he would wake to her screams; on one memorable occasion, he had woken to find her wielding a knife, thinking he was a stranger who had broken into her hut.
And he couldn’t remember the last time he had slept this badly.
Every time he was on the verge of falling asleep, a drifting whisper or a half-heard giggle would bring him back to consciousness. Each time, more of the dolls would be turned to look in his direction.
He tried to trick them, to pretend to sleep and lure them into moving, but he never caught them in motion. Every time he snapped his eyes open, they remained lifeless.
Frightening as it was, that alone wouldn’t be so bad. Sometimes he would catch a glimpse of moving shadows out of the corner of his eye, or hear the clink of a chain. He became certain that the room was filled with shadowy creatures like the one that had tried to strangle him earlier. He thought about warning Kai, but the man was sleeping so deeply that he obviously didn’t feel himself in any danger. Besides, this was his house. He should be able to handle anything that happened here, right?
Over the bed rose the head and shoulders of a hooded man made of shadows and black cloth. He drew a black chain between two gloved hands and leaned down over Kai’s sleeping face.
Simon cried out, but Kai was already moving. He straightened immediately and, in one smooth movement, pulled a dagger from underneath a pillow and plunged it straight into the shadow’s heart.
The man dispersed into a cloud of darkness, and Kai fell back onto the bed.
“Wow,” Simon said. “That was incredible. Do you—”
He stopped at the sound of light snores. Kai was asleep. He had killed the shadow man in his sleep.
So you needed to be at least that alert to survive in this House. Simon felt doomed. He spent the rest of the night huddled against the wall, clutching his sword.
***
There were no windows, so Simon only knew it was morning when Kai rose from his bed.
He was dressed in only a cloth wrapped around his waist, and his body was covered in long, thin scars. It took Simon a moment to realize that, if the pool in this House could heal, most of Kai’s wounds would have left no trace. Only the smallest fraction of his injuries would have left marks, the ones that Kai had been unable or unwilling to heal.
He had hundreds of scars.
“Good morning, little ones,” Kai said. “Good morning, Kojina. You look lovely this morning. Good morning, Angeline, and may I compliment your beautiful hair. Good morning, Otoku. Ha! I could say the same to you. Good morning...”
Kai continued to speak, but Simon stopped listening as soon as he realized he was going to address each doll by name. He wondered if Kai had always been like this, or if he had been driven crazy by years of isolation.
Or maybe it was the training that had strained his sanity. That was an uncomfortable thought, but it didn’t matter, did it? Even if the training left him old and alone with a creepy obsession over dolls, Simon had no choice but to put up with it. It was that, or wait—helpless and alone—for Alin to do something.
Simon refused to accept that. He wouldn’t stand aside this time; win or lose, he was going to make a difference.
“...of course I dreamed of you, Lilia. And now, little mouse, good morning to you.”
“Good morning, Kai.” His throat was dry and raspy. He hoped that Kai would hear it and offered him something to drink.
“I’m in the mood for some breakfast,” Kai said. “How about you?”
When Simon scrambled to stand up, Kai held up a hand. “Don’t forget your sword,” he said.
Chaka glared at Simon with gleaming yellow eyes as he walked into the garden. “Oh, you’re back, boy. I see nothin’ ate you in the night.”
Simon didn’t know what to say, so he laughed nervously. Kai levered Azura off of his shoulder and maneuvered it into place.
“I’ll be going first today, Chaka,” he said.
Chaka moved forward to face him, and the two met in a clash of steel.
Simon fully intended to watch, but the nights without sleep were catching up to him. He found his eyes drifting to the room around them. The artificial sky spread above them, and Simon even f
elt a breeze pass over his skin. The huge fruit tree ruffled lightly.
The House may have been deadly, but at least one room was peaceful.
“Good on ya, Kai,” Chaka said. “Sharp as ever. Now, boy, think you can keep from shamin’ yourself this morning?”
Simon held his sword awkwardly and tried a respectful bow, but had to straighten instantly to avoid Chaka’s stab toward his eye.
“Eyes on me, you sod.” Chaka’s blade came again, and once again Simon felt his hand sting as the sword flew away from him.
“One more time,” Simon said, moving to retrieve his sword. But Chaka had other plans; he snarled viciously and lunged forward, pressing a blade against Simon’s forehead.
Simon froze. Liquid trickled down his face, and he almost panicked before recognizing it as sweat.
“You think this is a game, do ya? You’re insultin’ me with this garbage. Get out of here before I kill ya.” Simon was inches from Chaka’s face, and from this distance he could see the infernal light that glowed from within the leather man’s ruby eyes.
Simon spoke slowly and carefully, the better to avoid a sword into the brain. “Please, let me try one more time.”
Chaka kicked him in the chest and he fell over backwards, choking on air.
“Get out,” Chaka said. Then he turned and walked away.
He turned his back on Simon. And Kai just stood there and watched, saying nothing. It was too much. All of the frustration and exhaustion boiled up and over.
Simon gripped his sword so tightly his knuckles burned, and he launched himself at Chaka’s back. He swung with his entire body, bringing the sword down at Chaka’s neck like an axe at a log.
The leather man didn’t turn around. He just raised a hand and caught Simon’s blade on his own.
The impact rang up Simon’s arms, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he screamed wordlessly, pulled his blade back, and stabbed at Chaka’s back.
Chaka spun and swiped at Simon’s sword. Simon attacked again, pouring all of his frustration into an overhand attack. Chaka blocked it with both his hands crossed into an X.
From behind Chaka, Kai clapped three times. “Tight grip, good stance, strong swing. Looks like he listened after all, leather man.”
Chaka snorted and moved out from under Simon’s strike. “Barely good enough, if you ask me. Go on, then. Catch a bite.”
Simon almost wept in relief. The fruit was delicious, but even more than that was the water. Sweet, cool, refreshing. He drank so much that he almost choked.
Simple as it was, he could never remember such a satisfying meal.
When he was finished, he sprawled on the soft grass and closed his eyes. Maybe he could finally get some sleep.
The toe of a boot nudged his side. “What are you doing, little mouse? We have a long day ahead of us.”
Simon groaned, but he didn’t want to appear ungrateful this early in his training. Obediently, he sat up.
“Good, good,” Kai said. “Now that you’re worthy to eat, it’s time to begin your training.”
“...begin?”
***
After a few days, Simon had settled in to life in Valinhall.
He was earning meals almost two out of three times now, and had mastered bathing. The imps, it seemed, were easy to slip; it was all about being faster to leave the water than they were in catching you. That, and not staying a long time. Still, he had the habit now of keeping a small dagger tied to his ankle at all times.
His nights were still interrupted halfway through by the shadow-folk, which Kai called the Nye. Nye were exactly as they appeared: humanoids made up of cloth and shadow who tried to strangle outsiders with their chains. They were, also, it turned out, the House’s keepers: just as good at laundry and sweeping as they were at choking strangers.
They kept out of sight and left generous hospitality in their wake. They folded clothes, dusted shelves, polished swords; except for the periodic murder attempts, they were perfect hosts. Now that he knew to look for them, Simon was always catching a glimpse of a shadow napping under a table or a cluster of child-sized black robes peering down at him from their perch on a chandelier.
“They don’t really mean it, do they?” Simon asked Kai, after a Nye attack interrupted their midday training.
Kai pulled Azura’s gleaming length out of one Nye man, who deflated into shadows and blue light, slithering away under the door. “If they wanted to kill you, little mouse, you would not have woken up this morning.”
“If they’re not going to kill me, then why do they keep trying?”
“You misunderstand me. They will kill you. They just don’t want to. They think they’re helping you by keeping you alert. If you are so defenseless that you can’t survive them, well, they’ve saved you from a worse death.”
“How did you find that out?”
Kai shrugged. “Best guess. They’re not the most talkative sorts. Now, from the top, and if you keep overextending I might take off a finger!” He sang the last few words, which made them doubly disturbing.
They trained mostly in the huge garden room, whose open skies and grassy fields left plenty of room for swinging a blade as long as Azura. Sometimes Kai showed up with shorter weapons—daggers or a standard infantry sword like Simon’s—and they would take the fights into the more cramped corners of the hallway or the bedroom. There were many other rooms into which Kai occasionally vanished, but Simon was never allowed even a glance into a new room. Not that he tried very hard to catch a glimpse; he had a strong suspicion that if Kai considered the other rooms too dangerous, he was probably right.
Sometimes they would train slowly, working on forms for hours at a time. Other days they would only fight for a few minutes and work on building muscles for most of the day. Either way, Simon soon learned that despite the danger it was no worse than a usual day of hard work. After about a week, he even started to enjoy it.
With no sun, he had at first been afraid that he would be unable to tell the time, but once he got used to it he had little trouble figuring out how much time they had spent awake. His body’s rhythms adjusted accordingly, and soon his stomach would let him know when mealtime approached.
Kai claimed he could tell time by use of a device called a “clock,” but Simon didn’t fully trust his master’s words or the machine itself. He half-suspected that Kai had been driven insane by the device’s non-stop ticking. Besides, he would probably have to fight something to use it.
On the eleventh day since Simon’s arrival, Kai cut off training early for the first time.
“Something’s bothering you,” he said. “Let it out of your mind.”
As he caught his breath, Simon rummaged around in his thoughts, trying to figure out what Kai was talking about. “I’m sorry, sir. I was focused on the training.”
Kai held Lilia, a doll with a white dress and huge purple eyes, up to his ear. Simon almost thought he heard a whisper, but he shook that idea away. He hoped Kai’s madness was not contagious.
“Mmmm. Yes. Lilia thinks that you are unsatisfied.”
“I guess, if I had to say something, it’s...well, we’re Travelers now. And I haven’t seen you do anything Traveler-like. You don’t throw lightning or anything.”
“Oh-ho. Hmmm, hmmm. I think I see what you’re getting at.” Kai let his sword shimmer and evaporate, then pointed to the door that led to the hallway. “Go back into the hallway and walk into the door marked with a knight. Go inside. When you’re finished, come back up and tell me what you’ve learned.”
With that, he sat down on the grass and began to converse more closely with his doll.
Somewhat confused, Simon hesitated a few moments before walking out of the garden, his sword still in his hand.
Last time, Kai had told him to stay away from that door. Maybe he was ready for it now? But as he stood in the doorway gazing down into the shadow-shrouded staircase, he felt a sense of unease. He heard mutters
, as of lowered voices and rhythmic clanking, like pots jumbled together in a sack.
He would almost certainly have to fight once he reached the bottom of the stairs. Most likely he would be risking his life. But what choice did he have? An image of Leah in chains rose up in his mind, and he swallowed his fear. If he was going to do anything useful to save his people, he had to move forward. There was no other option.
Simon left the door open for the light and moved slowly down the stairs, sword lifted in front of him. He was halfway down when the sounds from below ceased, as though whoever or whatever waited below had sensed him coming.
“Hello?” Simon called out. “Who’s down there?”
There were a few wooden chuckles, and a relaxed voice called up: “Don’t worry, kid. We don’t bite. Most of us don’t have the equipment for it, to tell you the truth.”
The casual tone eased Simon’s tension somewhat, though he didn’t lower his sword. He had learned never to let his guard down too much in this house.
When he finally set his foot down on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, unnatural blue flames ignited all around the room, revealing the basement in a wavy light that made Simon think of being underwater. The flames were cupped by tall black torches, which lined the walls every few feet. The room was a long rectangle that stretched away from him, and the torches were interspersed with bulky black shadows that crouched next to the lights. After a moment, Simon recognized them as suits of armor on pedestals.
At the far end of the room, an obsidian chair gleamed in the blue half-light. No, not a chair; a throne. It was plain and undecorated, but it had a huge sense of weight. On it, with one leg draped casually over one arm, sat a skeleton.
At least, Simon thought it was a skeleton at first. But it shone as if it had been covered in, or made entirely out of, metal. It wore a wide-brimmed hat tilted to cover one eye socket, and the other blazed blue, as if one of the torches that lit the room had been placed within its skull.
The skeleton jumped up from the throne—Simon drew in a breath and took a quick step back—and then it swept a jaunty bow. “Lovely to meet you, kid. The honorable Benson, at your service.”
