Evander and the Strangler's Quest

by Wells, L. G.

  He waited. There was silence all around except for the wind rustling through the dead branches up above.

  “Strangler,” he tried again, “I ask you to show me where my brother is. Please …”

  His voice cracked on the last word just as a crackling noise sounded from within the tree trunk. Evander stepped back in alarm. It sounded as though the trunk was opening wider, preparing to eat him, and –

  Before he could stop himself, Evander was running. He ran past the sprites and through the trees, beneath the branches and through the thick snow, and up to the palace and down to the kitchen where he had made his new home. He dove beneath the work table and clutched the table legs, not bothering to care that the cook was chopping meat above him for Anguis' dinner and had asked him to prepare the fire hours ago.

  He didn't care that the sprites were undoubtedly making fun of him at that very moment, laughing at what a foolish coward he was. He didn't care that he had nearly come face to face with The Strangler and lived to tell the tale, or that he might die if Anguis ever found out what he had done.

  All that he cared about was that he missed his brother, and that he was too much of a milksop to bring him home. He had failed his mother, who would never see freedom again, and he had failed the kingdom from having a true leader reigning over them. And he had failed himself, for he would be forced to stay in that tiny kitchen for years to come until Anguis feared that he was getting too old and sent the Noble Guards to take care of him the same way as they had Arthfael.

  And when they came for him, Selvyn would be doomed forever.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Evander curled up in his blankets as soon as the kitchen had cleared, not bothering to pick at the scraps that had been left for him on the table. He was so shaken both from the walk in the forest and the burn on his hand that he nearly got up and went to his mother's bedchamber several times, not caring that Anguis would punish him for doing so. He had lost his brother, and he was going to lose his hand, and the thought of what the Noble Guard would do to him left him feeling nothing in comparison.

  He would have liked to hear mother sing to him.

  She couldn't, he knew, not now that her tongue had been cut out, but the idea still comforted him somewhat anyway. Perhaps she could still hum. Evander thought he had heard her humming on her walks through the gardens on a few occasions, still singing to the birds that had gotten her into trouble in the first place.

  Evander turned over onto his side to face the window. He wondered if the gods could still hear her if she couldn't pray to them. He wondered if they had ever heard her, though, or if they had ever heard him. He had been asking for the same thing for years and years now, and they had never answered him.

  Perhaps he didn't have a voice that they recognized, he thought as he laid there. Or perhaps it wasn't his voice, but the way he used it that was the problem. Anguis always whispered when he spoke to them, and he had always gotten what he wanted.

  And though Evander had no desire to be like the man who had replaced his father and driven away his brother, Evander dropped his voice as low as it could go and shut his eyes.

  “Gods,” he whispered. “Please … tell me where my brother is.”

  “He's not so far away that you can't reach him.”

  Evander jumped and sat bolt upright, spinning his head in every direction as he tried to find the voice. It wasn't the quiet twinkling sounds that the sprites spoke with, nor the sound of any human he had ever heard before. As his eyes scanned the dark kitchen, he finally found a dark shadowy figure resting off to the side of the hearth. The flames had died, and only the softest of embers glowed from the charcoal. It wasn't enough to see who had answered him, though Evander was quite certain it wasn't one of the gods.

  “Who's there?” he said, his voice as bold as he could muster. “The – the palace is protected. The Noble Guards will catch you –”

  The figure gave a crackling laugh.

  “I don't think so.”

  A low clunking sound suddenly came from the floor, and the outline of the figure moved from one side of the hearth to the other. Ka-clunk, ka-clunk, ka-clunk … Evander backed up until his shoulders were pressed against the wall. It was the sound of hooves. Had the figure brought his horse into the palace so that he could make a quick getaway?

  Evander swallowed a bit harder and tried again. His voice was shaking so badly, though, that it was a wonder any recognizable sound came out at all.

  “Who are you?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  The figure hummed in a low tone that was something between a growl and bleat, and Evander had to shake his head to try and distinguish the sound.

  “You should know,” the figure said. “You invited me.”

  He stepped out of the shadow of the hearth and came close enough to Evander that the moonlight flooding through the window illuminated his form, and it was all that Evander could do to not cry out.

  He hadn't known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't the sight in front of him. The figure was neither human nor animal, but a combination of both. It had the form of a goat that walked on two legs like a man, with thick, pointed horns and a goatee that hung from its chin. Its shoulders were the shape of a man's, yet they were covered in thick, glossy hair, and its hands and feet were hoofed in what looked like shiny black stone. It was The Strangler, who had come to take him away to where the dead souls went.

  “I –” Evander stammered. “I didn't mean to – to call you here –”

  “Didn't mean to?” The Strangler asked, sounding affronted. “You came to my home and summoned me, then left before I answered.”

  “It … it was a mistake.”

  “A mistake? Was it a mistake when you asked the same question again tonight, and begged for an answer?”

  “That wasn't … that's not ...” Evander took a deep breath. “I was asking the gods.”

  The goat-man cocked his head to the side and stared at him.

  “And what do you think I am?”

  The only response that came to Evander's mind was a monster, but as he didn't think that that would go over very well, he remained silent. The Strangler came a bit closer to him. His hooves clicked on the stone floor.

  “Well?” he asked Evander. “What will it be? Do you want to know where your brother is, or not?”

  “I – of course I do. But I have nothing to give you in return. I don't have anything you want.”

  “You sound so certain,” The Strangler said. “How would a boy know what a god would want?”

  “I … I just mean that I don't have much. Not anymore.”

  “I'm not after your riches, boy,” The Strangler said. “You mean nothing to me now, and meant even less when you were still considered a prince. I'm not here to do you a favor: I came because you inquired about your brother, and I was given the impression that you fancied a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “A gentleman's deal. I give you something, but first you give me something in payment. A barter. A trade. An agreement. You may name it anything you choose.”

  Evander was struggling to keep up. His head was spinning, both from the shock of seeing the creature and from the wound eating away at his hand. He tried to focus on what The Strangler was telling him, but when he couldn't, he resolved to take the only bit of information that truly mattered to him.

  “So my brother's alive? You know where he is?”

  “It's as I said: he's not so far away that you can't reach him … if you're quick enough. The question is really whether you're up to it.”

  “I am,” Evander said hurriedly. “I will, I – what do I have to give you?”

  “You don't have to give me anything,” The Strangler said. “It's as you said, there's nothing you have that I would want. But to watch you compete for such a prize … I should enjoy that very much.”

  “Compete?”

  “I shall give you three tasks, if you accept. Three pieces of a puzzle that
all connect and lead to your brother,” The Strangler informed him. “You must complete one to move to the next, and must fulfill them all to get to your brother.”

  Tasks didn't sound so bad, Evander thought to himself. It would be like doing chores and errands for Anguis, only at the end of The Strangler's, he would get the only prize he could ever wish for.

  “What kind of tasks?” he asked.

  “They shan't be easy ones, if that's what you're inquiring,” The Strangler replied coolly. “Not for so great a request. Now, if you wanted a lesser reward, say … if you asked me to repair your hand for you, you would need only complete a simple task. It would be much easier. Hardly any work at all, really.”

  Evander looked down at his bandaged hand.

  “You mean you would cure my hand instead of telling me where my brother is?” he asked.

  “I would cure you hand in exchange for a much simpler task than the ones needed to retrieve your brother. And yes, it could only be one or the other.”

  Evander hugged his hand to his stomach. The flesh burned painfully and he knew that if he were to lift the bandages, the skin would be peeling away in great chunks that would expose his blood and, soon enough, his bones. He wondered if the poison would stop once it ate off his hand, or if it would continue up his arm and work its way down his shoulder and towards his heart, slowly eating him alive. It seemed an awful way to go; and to think, he thought, that he had been worried about what the Noble Guards could do to him with their daggers if they had a chance. What he really wanted to know, though, was what Arthfael could do to the Noble Guards if he was given the chance.

  Evander nodded to himself, making up his mind. It was his left hand, after all. That wasn't so important, really. Or, more precisely, it wasn't so important as his brother was to him.

  “I'd like to know where my brother is,” Evander said.

  “Then say it properly, so that we have a proper deal,” The Strangler said.

  Evander pushed himself off the floor and stood up. He was barely half as tall as the goat-man, and his entire chest was thinner than one of The Strangler's powerful thighs, but he put out his hand regardless.

  “I would like to make a deal,” he said firmly, keeping his voice as even as possible. “I will complete three tasks for you in return for my brother.”

  The Strangler smiled in a strange pull of his hairy lips, and his yellowish teeth were bared. He reached one arm forward and extended his hoof to Evander, who took it in his hand and felt a wave of cold unlike anything the winter had ever caused that numbed his arm as though the limb itself had died and would never be revived.

  “We have an agreement.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When The Strangler left, the kitchen felt emptier than ever, as though he had swept up every hint of life and hopefulness and carried it away with him as he trotted into the darkness. Evander sank back down beneath the window and curled his legs up to his chest, grasping the piece of parchment upon which The Strangler had illustrated his first task. Evander had no need to look at it again, for it was impossible that he could forget what he had been asked to do, and yet he could not bring himself to let it go.

  He was still in the same spot when the kitchen staff began to arrive for their morning work, and only then did he get up and dutifully start his chores. He stood at the work table and diced tomatoes, peeled and shredded potatoes, cleaned mushroom caps, and cracked three-dozen eggs into a bowl and beat them with a metal prong, all the while wincing at the pain in his left hand. He had just passed the ingredients to Gussalen, the cook, when Aeliana's servant girl came down and informed her that only one person would be eating breakfast that morning.

  “It's only m'lady, though she'll take her food in the Feast Hall even so,” the servant girl said. “King Anguis took his men and rode off at dawn.”

  Evander felt his ears perk up immediately, and his joylessness from the meeting with The Strangler was quickly replaced by hope. If Anguis was gone today, then it might be his only chance to complete the first task – though he would have liked to prolong it as many days as possible given its severity.

  “The fire's gone out in the temple again,” the servant girl added. “Someone will need to light it again in case m'lady wishes to pray after her meal.”

  Gussalen waved at Evander.

  “That's your job,” she said, and Evander followed the servant girl from the room and into the stairwell.

  “Is there still wood in the temple, do you know?” he asked. “I'll grab some from outside if not.”

  The servant girl stopped midway up the stairs and turned to him. From the higher step, she stood a foot taller than him, and her soft smile stretched directly in front of his line of vision.

  “The fire's still burning,” she said. “I just thought you might like to see your mother. No one's in the Feast Hall – I told the other servants not to disturb her.”

  Evander blinked in surprise.

  “I –” he started, unable to properly express his gratitude. “Thank you.”

  “Go quickly, now. And don't get caught.”

  Evander hurried past her up the remaining steps, slipped through the White Hall and took the shortcut through the Grand Ballroom before turning into the Feast Hall. In the doorway he halted, his feet catching in timing with his breath, and he blinked at the bright room as though seeing it for the first time.

  It had been months since he had been in the Feast Hall, and years since he had eaten in it, but it was almost exactly as he remembered it. The large domed windows on the left-hand side were covered in sheer curtains that let the morning sun in, and the same white tablecloth was draped over the long banquet table. The buffet table in the back was lined with serving dishes, though they didn't overflow with sweet breads and cakes like they had when Evander and Arthfael had been making breakfast requests; and though the set of candelabras were still on the table, there were no longer bouquets of fresh flowers to fill the room with a light, sweet smell.

  Queen Aeliana was sitting in her usual spot: at the right side of the head chair. Her head was bent low as she sipped at some tea, and she didn't notice her son's arrival for several moments.

  “Mata?”

  The word had barely left his mouth when she sprang from her chair, and she rushed around the table to embrace him. Evander tilted his head into her stomach and wrapped his arms around her, feeling as though he had woken from a nightmare only to enter a dream, with real life lost somewhere unknown. She smoothed down his hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, then pushed him back to look at him.

  She put her hand to her heart and shook her head.

  “I'm alright,” Evander told her, knowing that she was worried. He was more alright than she was, he was inclined to think, given how Anguis undoubtedly treated her.

  She beckoned him over to the table and pulled out a chair for him, then went to the buffet and began to pile up a plate of food. She placed it in front of him before taking her seat across from him and nodded eagerly to indicate that he should eat.

  Evander stared down at the food. It had been longer than he could remember since he had had a real meal, and yet now he found himself without an appetite. He wondered if he ought to tell his mother what he had done. Would she be grateful that he was going to bring Arthfael home, or furious that he had made such a pact? Or, worse, he realized, she might be sickened by the deal because she didn't think that he could complete the tasks, and would fret over his failure before he had even begun.

  Evander spooned some eggs up and put them in his mouth, grateful, at least, that the food was soft and didn't require much effort to swallow. He took his time eating, knowing that it made his mother happy and that it passed the time between them that could not be filled with conversation, and allowed himself for the briefest of moments to pretend that everything was the way it had once been, and that his father and Arthfael were simply sleeping in and would be down to join them later.

  His mother rang for her se
rvant girl and mimed writing, and a moment later she returned with a quill and some parchment. Aeliana looped her long letters together and then flipped the page around for him to read.

  Have you gotten into trouble?

  “No,” Evander said quickly, immediately thinking of The Strangler's visit. As his mother frowned, however, he realized that she was referring to the punishment that Anguis had given him. “He just banned me from the Festival,” he said, doing his best to sound nonchalant. “It's nothing big.”

  You love the Festival and all its decorations.

  “I'll go next year,” Evander said, failing to mention that he would be laying eyes on the decorations regardless of whether or not Anguis was allowing him to go to the Festival, and a surge of nauseousness came over him from both the thought of his first task and eating too quickly.

  He kissed her cheek and claimed he had to get back to his chores before Mata came looking for him, then ducked back through the hallway and went to the White Hall, knowing that it would do neither of them any good if Anguis returned and caught them conversing.

  When he reached the hall, however, he did not turn left and descend the steps to the kitchen as he was supposed to. Instead, he hurried up the Grand Staircase to the second floor where he had not been allowed to go since his father's death.

  His chest rose and fell as quickly as his footsteps, and though he would have liked to see his old bedchamber and take some of the belongings that he missed so dearly, he bypassed it and went to the Master Bedchamber instead. His breathing hitched completely as he opened the door, and his hand, still numb from shaking The Strangler's hoof, felt weak upon the handle.

  His mother's room was not as it had once looked. When his father had been alive, it had been an ornately decorated room with thick drapery that hung over the large four poster bed, and plush chairs near the fire where they could curl up and read. Now the room was bare, like the empty shells of the goose eggs that had littered the Temple floor after the last Festival of the Eyes. The drapes were gone, as were the curtains and the books, and the only decorations were the seven animal heads that lined the walls as tributes to the gods.