by Greg Curtis
“I've never heard of such a spell,” the man replied. “I don't think there is one. Evil is our bailiwick, not yours.”
“Read it for yourself!”
The angry woman stopped shouting then. But others began muttering and in the distance he could hear another woman laughing hysterically. As if it was somehow funny. But he didn't understand the joke. And still a woman kept crying. A woman he knew. He couldn't remember her name, or anything about her. But he knew her. And something about the sound of her pain bothered him.
Luckily there was always the soft embrace of darkness to sink into and little by little the sounds began to sweep away. But not all the way. He kept coming back to the voices. Hearing them arguing. And despite himself, he was curious. Even though it didn't really matter. All that mattered was that there was no more pain. No more fear..
But that was coming he guessed. It always came. And the only thing he could do was try to sink as far into the peaceful night as he could for as long as he could.
“This is not doctrine!”
Someone shouted, pulling him out of his peaceful place. Another man. And he sounded angry too. Angrier than the first one.
“This is heresy!” Immediately the man said it there were more voices shouting. Men and woman were yelling at one another. Arguing about faith and fidelity and someone called Ingrim.
Strangely, he knew that name. He couldn't think who it was, but he was sure he knew this Ingrim. Maybe they were friends? But did he have any friends? He knew himself to be evil. He had a terrible darkness inside him. They kept telling him that as they tore it out of him. Did evil people have friends? He wasn't sure. But again it didn't matter. What did matter was returning to his peaceful darkness. Escaping this place. Before the tearing apart began anew.
“Please! Let him go!” The crying woman suddenly shouted, waking him up. “He's suffered too much!”
“An accusation was made –,” the man began.
“No! No accusation was made! A marking was found. It looked like something else and an investigation had to be made. But now we know it's nothing to do with the Reaver. That's the end of it! There is no darkness!”
“But there's heresy!” A woman yelled back. “That can't be tolerated!”
Heresy. Evil. Darkness. Those were bad things. He was sure of it. Was there nothing good in him he wondered? And why could he still hear the other woman laughing away in the distance? Did she never grow quiet? Because all he wanted was quiet. Peace. To go back to his peaceful place, before the tearing began again. So he tried to crawl back into it.
But soon he was pulled back out of it when a man began yelling over the top of everyone else.
“Banish him!” He kept repeating it. Louder and louder. Shattering the peaceful darkness he was trying to crawl into.
Why wouldn't they let him be? Just for a little while. Before they started ripping him to shreds again. It was all he wanted. It wasn't so much to ask, was it?
Unfortunately, it seemed it was. He discovered that when he felt hands on him. Strong hands, hoisting him off the ground, manhandling him. Dragging him around like a sack of potatoes. And all the while the crying woman yelled at them to be gentle.
But they weren't gentle. They dragged him across the ground, not worrying that every so often his body knocked into things before finally tossing him on the ground again. But this ground didn’t feel like grass. It felt like something else. Rope. He knew that word. They'd thrown him onto a lot of ropes. Why? He didn’t understand.
But it didn't matter. The ropes suddenly bit into him, and then he was hoisted into the air. But he didn't understand. Why was he being lifted? In time though he understood. He was being carried somewhere.
Why were they doing that? He didn't know. But he did know that he was swinging around wildly. And that it was cold and there was wind blasting into him. Freezing cold wind. And there were birds cawing. Big birds. There was no more green. The world was grey now, for some reason. Maybe for the same reason he couldn't stop shaking.
Eventually a thought came to him. Could he be flying? It didn't seem as it should. But it explained why he was swinging around so much. And maybe the grey too. Didn't things get greyer as you got higher? He was sure he'd heard that somewhere. But maybe he hadn't. And really, he just wanted the biting cold wind to stop. He wanted to stop shaking. He wanted to return to his peaceful darkness.
He couldn't though. Not when the swaying and the freezing cold wind wouldn't stop. When his empty stomach kept trying to eject its contents. And when his shaking grew so bad that his teeth chattered constantly.
Eventually something clicked in him. Some thought. That he had to get out of here. Out of this freezing cold. And from somewhere an answer came. A spell. It was a simple spell. Barely even a rune. With that his hands attacked the rope. It only took a moment to enchant its coarse fibres so that they started rotting. Not long after that it began to unwind.
Someone shouted. A man's voice that was immediately lost in the howl of the bitterly cold wind. But it didn't matter as the rope holding him parted. And with that he was falling.
It felt good even if it was still cold. The wind was still bitter and whipping at his face. But he was free. Even tumbling through the air he understood that. He'd been trapped in the rope. Now he wasn't.
Still, it would be nice to stop tumbling he thought. It was very disorienting. And he was sure that it was bad for some reason. With what little wit he had left to think with he let a spell come to him. A spell of lightness and immediately cast it on himself.
Almost immediately the strength of the bitter wind lessened. It stopped tearing at his skin. He still tumbled, but it was slow. It felt more like a gentle rocking. Best of all, he could once again feel the warmth of the sun on his skin. That was all that he'd ever wanted. To be warm. To be gently rocked to sleep.
Finally, he thought as he drifted back into the darkness, the world was at peace.
Chapter Thirty
Pigeon pooh was one of the worst substances known to man, Dariya thought as she washed it off the roof with a broom and a bucket. It wasn't just the smell, though that was enough to make her want to retch. It was the look of it and the consistency. White slime with pieces in it. Why would anyone ever want to go near it? Across the way the city guards in their tethered dirigibles spying on the city, were probably laughing at her. But as she tied the new papers to the last of the birds and sent them on their way one by one, she did think there were some advantages to what she was doing. And the greatest of them was the simple pleasure of being able to laugh at her cousin.
He was going to be beside himself with fury when he found out that he'd just declared a public holiday and feast in perpetuity for his aunt, Amberlee the Martyr. And it was only going to get worse when he discovered that the costs for the official celebrations were to be borne by the Royal Treasury. That made her smile.
The wizard was a clever man even if he did sometimes lean towards muck spouting, and this idea of his for changing all of Richmond's decrees had been ingenious. Still, the man truly did not know how to have fun. Already she'd had her cousin change the national flag so that it was now a field of grass beneath a sky of white to symbolise the land under the gods. There would be thousands of seamstresses across the entire realm desperately crafting new flags to be flown above every town hall, court house and barracks in Grenland.
Of course Grenland had now been renamed Amberlee – she wondered if her cousin knew that yet – and the Royal colours were now pink and blue. The tailors would be run off their feet creating the new uniforms for the army.
But it wasn't just for fun that she was doing these things. It was also to undermine Richmond. His people across the entire realm now believed he was completely mad, with the only exception being the people of Greenfields who never got the decrees. Apart from the fact that pigeons obviously didn't fly from Greenfields to Greenfields, it would have told Richmond that his orders were being changed, and she didn't want that. She wante
d to keep things a surprise for him for as long as possible.
Maybe too, she wanted to redeem her mother a little in the peoples' eyes. Her mother had given her life to save her after all. Dariya owed her something for that. And it would drive Richmond out of his head. Maybe that was worth a little pigeon pooh. A little sweeping and mopping. Besides, her time was nearly up. The wizard would be back soon, and she wouldn't have to do this any longer.
That might not be such a good thing though. Not for the city. Not when the entire centre of the city was now a forest with buildings growing out of it. People yelled and cursed at one another as they fought their way through it, though thankfully there were at least trails between the trees. It was just that those with steam wagons and carriages couldn't get through. Businesses were dying since their customers didn't want to walk to them through the trees and neither could they get all their stock in and out. And everyone was having to hire tree surgeons to cut away branches as they overhung houses and pushed against walls and windows. Far from a sanctuary, this was quickly becoming a disaster! If anyone ever found out that Baen was responsible for that, they'd lynch him! He might be better off fleeing before that happened.
On the other hand the air was fresher. The workshops that were still operating, were all far away from the store.
Her thoughts though suddenly turned in a different direction. Baen's return. Because when he came back, she'd have to face an unexpected problem – what was she supposed to do?
She couldn't go back to the Order. She was after all, dead. And if her cousin was still trying to kill her, that would create problems for everyone. But what else could she do? Since she'd left Castle Alldrake as a fourteen year old girl, the Order of Friends was the only life she'd ever known. She was perfectly suited to be a rider with the Order. But not a Queen. Especially not a queen. But what else was there for her?
“I don't suppose you know where this damned circlet is?” she called across to Mortimer, who was presently sitting on an outdoor couch talking to his invisible friends.
“I don't suppose you know where my lunch is?” he retorted before returning to his conversation with the empty air.
“Coming soon.” She shook her head sadly. Damn, the man was annoying! And where was he putting all the food? He was as thin as a rake, the sum total of the exercise he did was to take a walk every day, and he ate constantly. The man had to have worms!
But as she had thought briefly before – was he actually talking to someone? Because he had known about that book and as far as she could be sure, there was no way in the world that he could have.
“Dariya.”
She turned as she heard her name called, to see J'bel walking out of the stairway housing, and knew a moment's happiness. She liked the Fae. Not because he was handsome and tall, nor that he dressed well and had magic. No, she liked him because he was reliable. Trustworthy. A man of proper character. She respected that, and she respected him.
“Here for lunch?” she asked. Well, if she was going to feed Mortimer she might as well feed him too.
“Thank you, but no. I'm afraid I have come to share some bad news,” he told her as he walked over to her.
“Bad news?”
“The wizard – Baen – is dead.”
“What?!” That caught her completely by surprise. It shocked her. In fact she couldn't quite believe it. How could he be dead? He was only in G'lorenvale to be assessed for possibly having used dark magic. Something she very much doubted he'd done. They hadn't executed him surely? The Fae didn't do that – not as far as she knew. Not even if he'd been found guilty. It took her a moment or two to collect her thoughts. “How?”
“That's still to be assessed. They're saying it was an accident. But from what I've been told he was being carried back to Grenland in a net when it failed and he tumbled to his death. They could not catch him.”
“Why was he in a net?” It seemed like the obvious question. Couldn't he have ridden?
“I don't know. That's not the way they carry most people. Unless they're prisoners.” He lowered his head. “And there is one more thing I was told. He was not being returned to this realm as an innocent man. He was being banished.”
“Banished!” Once more she was taken aback. “But we sent them the book! It showed them the truth!”
J'bel's only answer was to shrug helplessly. He didn't know.
“What I do know is that Baen's G'lorenvale family are grieving. Caris is beside herself. And Nyri is furious. Demanding an investigation. This loss weighs heavily on many shoulders in Illoria.”
It also clearly weighed heavily on him, Dariya could see that in his face.
But it was going to weigh more heavily on her, she guessed. And soon. Someone would have to tell the wizard's family, and she guessed that that someone would have to be her. She was after all, living in his house and they had stood together in battle. It was her duty as a fellow rider. She was also the only one that his Aunt Millie spoke to. The one who was currently looking after his great uncle. And there was no one else to do it. Perhaps it should have been the Fae's responsibility? She didn't know. But if the Fae had somehow dropped him to his death, she doubted the wizard's family would want to speak to them ever again.
“Thank you for telling me.” Eventually she remembered her manners, though they seemed inadequate. But she went through the rest of the formalities and bid him good day. She wanted to be by herself for a bit. Especially when she knew what she was going to have to do next. Baen's great uncle was sitting in his favourite chair on the other side of the roof, not thirty yards away, talking to his invisible friends, and someone was going to have to tell him. That someone was her.
It took Dariya a little bit to gather herself, before she finally went to him. And with every step she took she found herself wondering how he would take it. The family were strange. Beyond strange. Magic and madness – that was what the wizard said about them. But she also knew they were close. And despite his eternal crankiness she suspected that applied to his great uncle as well.
“Mortimer?” She called to him.
“Is my lunch ready?” He looked up at her from the couch.
“No. I'm sorry.” That wasn't what she had expected to hear. But maybe she should have. The man was forever concerned with food. “It won't be long.”
“Good.”
“I have to tell you something.” She hurried on, determined to get this over with – before he returned to his private conversation with the air.
“Can it wait until after lunch?” he asked tiredly, as if she was just a nuisance getting in the way.
“No, I'm afraid it can't.” But she dearly wished it could. “I have some bad news for you. It seems that your great nephew, Baen, has been killed.” She blurted it out in a terrible rush.
“And that couldn't wait until after lunch?” The old man stared at her as if wondering why she was bothering him.
Dariya stared at him in shock. Had he heard her? Had he understood? Or were his wits completely gone? Because of all things, that was not the reaction she had expected.
“Did you hear what I said?” She finally asked him. “Baen is dead!”
“No he's not, Girl. Now can you get a move on with my lunch. It's been hours and I'm famished!”
Dariya went a little weak at the knees when she heard him say that, and had to sit down. But at least she understood what was wrong – sort of. He didn't believe her. And strangely that almost seemed to make sense where very little else did.
“Mortimer, I'm sorry, but he really is dead. He fell.” She tried to convince him, even though she wasn't completely sure that was the kindest thing to do. Perhaps he was better off not believing her? But it was too late to consider that option she realised as she saw something other than impatience and irritation finally appear in his eyes. It turned out to be confusion.
“No … I don't remember that.” He stared at her, apparently looking for something. An answer maybe. And then he turned back to his invisib
le companion. “Do you remember it?” He turned around in his seat to face the other way and another invisible companion. “You?”
“Mortimer, please.” Dariya tried again. “You have to concentrate. Baen is gone.”
“No, he's not.” He turned back to her. “Don't you understand, he's here with me. How can he be gone when he's still here with me? That doesn't make any sense.”
“There's no one here except you and me.”
“Yes! Exactly! I'm here! You understand!” He looked relieved, as if he'd finally managed to explain something to her.
“No.” Dariya tried again. “You're here. I'm here. There's no one else.”
