by Susan Faw
She strode through the night, swifter than a horse could travel the distance, enjoying the journey after eons of time spent watching the world turn. She increased her pace into a ground-eating lope that took her from one end of the Highland Spine to the other. As she walked, steadily climbing, she plucked ripened gooseberries, discovering an intense liking for the juicy red fruit.
Licking the sticky syrup from her fingertips, she paused at the ridge of the great divide and surveyed the lands before her. The vantage point of being at the peak of the world, combined with her extraordinary sight, allowed her to see the entirety of the world. To the south, the foothills of the Highland Needle melted into the grasslands where the Battle of Daimon Ford had been fought. The plains were interrupted by a large swamp enshrouded in fog and then continued on to the coast, where the capital city of Cathair squatted against the edge of the cliffs, the stone fortress flying the king’s flag.
Artio’s head swung to her left and her eyes followed the coastline to where the great pine forests began, the trees growing taller and taller the further northeast her eyes travelled. When they collided with the eastern terminus of the Highland Needle, a flyspeck village was detected. She growled at the site. The air shimmered with the residual presence of magic in that area. The home of my now mortal brother and sister, no doubt, she thought. She turned once again, looking back the way she had come, across the eastern edge of the Spine and down into the lands of the Primordials. She felt a strange affinity for these barbaric people and not only for the fact that they had called her back from her imprisonment amongst the stars. No, she felt a connection to them physically, another mystery to unravel, another puzzle piece to set in place. Her eyes took in the leafy canopy of gumwood and the rounded tops of the mushroom trees, looking ever so much like ruddy faces staring back at her.
As she completed her inspection, her luminous eyes fixed on a convergence of peaks from which issued puffs of steam, cooling and condensing into clouds that drifted away on the breeze. That’s the spot, the entrance to the abyss my dear sister calls home, she thought. It’s time to knock on the door.
Ten more minutes of walking brought her to the base of a waterfall that rose impossibly into the sky. The top of the waterfall disappeared into the clouds so that it appeared to be suspended from the sky. It tumbled down the sheer cliff to a frothing pool before flowing away to the south. A tributary wandered away at the base, and she followed the shore of the errant stream. As the water flowed away, it slowed and finally spilled over into a basin of red rock, hissing as it hit the surface. Steam rose from the contact, creating a curtain that she could not see beyond.
Being of thunder blood did have its advantages. Artio threw back her head and roared at the heavens, invoking the air and the water to blend and gather, swirling faster and faster, more clouds forming and thickening overhead. Lightning flashed and the maelstrom darkened, twisting into a thunderhead above the pool. From the midst of the clouds, a funnel dropped, whirling with ferocious winds that whipped the tree trunks, tearing off leaves and branches and sucking them into the vortex. Yet the tornado did not touch Artio. Her clothing did not even stir. The mists parted, and the open maw of a cave was revealed with jagged teeth, glowing red in the flickering light spilling from its mouth. Silhouetted against the opening was a figure encased in long black robes. The hood was drawn up and the face hidden from view. Its arms were crossed, hands tucked into the opposite sleeve. A crow cawed its raucous song from a nearby tree. The figure held out its arm to the bird, which flew down to perch on the outstretched appendage.
“Welcome, Sister. Welcome back. Will you join me in hell?” Helga chuckled loudly at her own joke, then disappeared back into the waiting chasm. Artio followed, leaving the tornado spinning impossibly in the pool devoid of water.
Chapter 15
Alcina
ALCINA, THE FORMER QUEEN OF CATHAIR, strode through the encampment, ringed by her guards. Her cape of blood-red silk fluttered behind her as she marched along. Her heeled boots kept her hem from dragging through the mud, but she grabbed a fist full of skirts and pulled them higher, just in case. She hated soiling her dress in such filth. No queen should have to live in such primitive conditions. I will have my castle back if I have to eliminate each and every savage, one by one.
Trotting at her heels was her new Lord General. The departure of Cyrus and the discovery shortly thereafter of the two dead captives had put her in a very foul mood. Her specific instructions had been to leave the captives for her to interrogate. What information they had told Cyrus, what secrets they had shared as they had screamed out the last few moments of their existence on this earth she would never know. It bothered her that Cyrus had done this against her specific command. Furthermore, he had not come to tell her what he had learned before he left, and that was extremely disturbing. Beyond disturbing. It bordered on treason.
One captive was left. Only one. She would have answers from this one or…
“Darius!” she snapped.
“Yes, my queen?” Darius was a young man, barely a man by most accountings. He bowed low, hands on knees. She surveyed his shock of red hair on his head and the line of freckles that trailed down his neck. The lad had proven his loyalty to his queen by befriending the usurper. Then, in an act of betrayal befitting one of her own, delivered the traitor into her waiting hands. Her mistress’s pets had dragged the unconscious boy to the cells. If it had not been for that meddling wizard, she would still be safely ensconced within her castle. She had rewarded Darius by granting him a permanent position in the Queen’s Guard. His thin frame was now encased in the uniform of an officer, and the only thing identifying him as a Lord General was the insignia that had been hastily sewn onto the breast of his tunic. His pimpled face was partially covered in a thin scruffy beard. Alcina had the impression that he was growing it in an attempt to look older to the men he commanded. He held himself rigidly as he strode beside her, eyes flickering over the men of the camp and back to her. He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbled in his throat.
“You were successful in getting close to the usurper as our spy. I want you to perform a similar miracle here. I want you to get to know the Primordial captive. I want to know everything he knows. You are to become his best friend.”
“My lady?” Darius frowned at her words.
“I want you to go undercover. I want you to pretend to be a captive alongside him. See if you can gain his trust and find out what he knows.”
“Ah, I see.” Darius’s frown slid into a speculative smile. “The best way to do that would be to have me hauled in and tossed into the same cell.”
“Yes, my thoughts exactly. Listen, do you think your men could rough you up? Give you some bruises and such to make it real? How about a cut or two, as though you were in a fight?”
“I can get those on the training field. No need to stage injuries.”
“Excellent. Then I expect you to be deposited in his tent before dark. Now, what do we know about this captive? Has he given any information?”
“The only thing we know at this point is that he is some kind of a holy man. He wears strange robes and talks to himself a lot. I am not sure he is completely sane.”
Alcina considered the information. “If he is a holy man, he knows a great deal. Did Cyrus question him? Is he damaged?”
“No, my queen. It seems Cyrus chose the men he interrogated at random as far, as we can tell. I believe that he was not questioned by Cyrus.”
“A strange stroke of luck,” said Alcina, as she paused at the edge of the tent containing the prisoner. “One I intend to exploit to its fullest.” One of Alcina’s elite protectors stepped between the two legionnaires manning the entrance to the tent and swept aside the curtain. A second bodyguard preceded Alcina into the tent, followed by two additional security guards who fanned out around the fabric walls, but Darius remained outside.
A man, dressed in nothing but the skin he was born with, sat cross-legged in the middle of
the room. His hands were resting on his knees, palms up and his eyes were closed. Red abrasions ran around his wrists and ankles where the hemp ropes had cut into his skin when he had been tied to the stakes driven into the dirt floor. Curly white hair flowed over his shoulders and down his back. His upper torso was covered in tattoos that started at the join between neck and collarbone and spread out over his chest and back then encircled his upper arms. He did not stir at Alcina’s entrance nor did he acknowledge her presence. His chest barely moved.
The guard, who had preceded Alcina into the tent, raised a gauntleted hand and swung it at the seated Primordial priest with such force that the man was knocked sideways to sprawl on the ground. A trickle of blood bloomed across his cheek and from the split in his upper lip.
“You will acknowledge the queen when she enters a room and bow to Her Highness,” the guard bellowed. “There will be no further warnings!”
The priest raised a hand to his cheek, gazing at the blood left on it as he pulled it away. He sat up slowly and then knelt, bowing from his knees to Alcina.
Alcina walked around the priest, examining the tattoos that decorated his skin. “They say you are a man of importance among the Primordials.”
He lifted his head from the tent floor and risked a glance at her. “I am a servant of my people. Nothing more.”
“Which clan are you?”
“I am of the Flesh Clans.”
“And what is your purpose to your people?”
“I am a spiritual leader. It is our duty to serve.”
“I am interested in the spirits of your people. Will you tell me of them? And your faith?”
“I would be pleased to speak to you about my people’s faith.”
“You would?” asked Alcina, so surprised by his words that she stopped circling, pausing between him and the guards at her back.
“Yes, Your Highness. We have much that we need to discuss.”
“What is your name?”
“Hototo. I am a priest of the Flesh Clans. I was sent to help you.”
Alcina folded her arms, studying the man.
“Well, Hototo, how about you wash up, put some clothes on, and join me for dinner?” Her guards’ heads swiveled as though pulled by the same string to stare at her. “There is more than one way to get business done.” Hototo bowed his head once again.
Alcina vanished from the tent in a swirl of flame red silk, and Darius fell in beside her as she made her way back to her tents. “You heard?”
Darius nodded silently. “Perhaps he will be cooperative. Maybe Cyrus did us a favour in torturing the other two, helping to loosen his tongue.”
“Bring him to me as soon as he stops stinking like a pigsty. And, Darius, I have changed my mind. You will not be spending the night getting cozy with the prisoner,” said Alcina. “I wish for you to sit in on this meeting. If all goes well, I will have a mission for you. If not, I will have a body in need of disposal.”
“Yes, my queen.” Darius left her in the presence of her guards and returned to the prisoner tent.
Alcina entered her quarters, her attendants curtsying low as she passed. “Bring refreshments, enough for three. I am about to entertain,” she commanded. More curtsies followed, and then the servants scurried away. Alcina paused by the basin of water under her mirror and dipped in her hands. It was stone cold. “Water!” she screamed. Once again, they have let my water grow cool. Someone will pay for this incompetence. They know the penalty for failure.
She smiled with grim pleasure. Someone was going to bleed today. Oh yes, indeed.
***
Darius re-entered the tent and stood, arms folded, looking at the little priest. Hototo’s clothing had been returned to him, and he was in the process of pulling on the pale leather-like garments. The clothing had the look of leather and fit the priest like a second skin. Darius’s head whipped back, and he squinted to take a second look at the clothing, which disappeared under a cloak made of fur. It was skin, but of no animal he had ever seen on his father’s farm. A shiver danced up his spine. Human skin? His mind danced away from the thought, not wanting to examine it too closely. The Primordial priest pulled on some soft boots of deerskin and straightened.
Thank the gods I know what that skin is! thought Darius as he studied the priest.
“I have a medicine bag that was taken from me when I arrived. May I have it back?” The old man held out his hand as though he expected to be obeyed.
“I doubt you will need it,” said Darius with a smirk.
Hototo dismissed Darius’s words. “Oh, I need it all right, and so does your queen. It contains the very articles I was sent to deliver into her possession.”
Darius grunted and signaled over his shoulder with a snap of his fingers to the waiting guard. The man left the tent and returned a few minutes later with a satchel covered in seed beading. Some of the designs matched the tattoos on Hototo’s skin.
Darius opened the bag and rummaged around inside it, looking for a weapon. Inside was a child’s straw doll, a pair of them in fact, along with a couple of broken feather quills that were not useful as weapons, cloth that he took to be articles of clothing, and a pot of clear paste like beeswax. Rolling around at the bottom were several coins, the like of which Darius had never seen before, and some polished stones.
He closed the satchel and tossed it to the priest. “Let’s get going. She will be waiting for us.”
Hototo shuffled to the door and bent to pass through and was greeted outside by four guards who towered over his barely five-foot height. Quietly he stood, allowing a search of his person. He then followed the entrance guards (another pair closing rank behind him) across the camp to the queen’s tents. At Alcina’s doorway, Hototo was searched once again and then allowed to enter, followed by Darius.
Alcina was ensconced in her sedan chair, her crown perched on her head. She sipped a steaming cup of tea, recently poured by a trembling maid who attempted to blend into the tapestry hanging between two tent poles behind Alcina, close enough to respond instantly to her summons but far enough away that she hoped the queen would forget her presence. Two places had been set on a low table at her feet. They would be sitting on the floor to eat.
The Primordial stood in front of the table and, with a shove from Darius, sank to his knees.
“Now, now, Darius, show our guest the respect due a dignitary.” Alcina gestured to the cushions on the floor. “Sit, relax, and eat. You must be hungry.”
On the table before them was a bowl of freshly washed dates, slices of cheese and sausage, peppers, and a crunchy, edible green that grew in the shade of the boulders along the trail, and flat-trail bread baked on open grills. Pitchers of water, beading on the surface of clay with the humidity of the tent, sat next to two squat clay cups. “Come, eat. I assure you none of it is poisoned, or she”—she waved vaguely at the cowering maid behind her—“would already be dead.”
Hototo did not need to be told twice and fell to the food with enthusiasm. He rolled meat and cheese and peppers in the flatbread and hungrily bit off large chunks, totally engrossed in his food. His free hand drifted to the pitcher and he poured water, gulping down the contents of a mug as his other hand popped the last of the flatbread into his mouth.
“My, my, one would think you haven’t eaten anything in several days.” Darius barked a laugh but did not take his eyes off the priest.
Hototo slowed down on his third meat roll and only ate half of the fourth, pausing for another drink of water and then settled back on the cushions, sighing with satisfaction.
“I thank you for your hospitality, Your Highness. Let me present you with a gift from my people.” He reached into his satchel. The movements brought the guards and Darius to full attention, their hands on their swords. At the sound of steel being drawn, Hototo looked around and stilled his hand, still buried in the bag.
“I will bring it out slowly. It is a doll…just a doll,” he said in reassurance. Darius gave a tense nod for him
to proceed. A muscle twitched in his clenched jaw. Hototo’s arm moved, drawing out his hand and bringing with it a straw doll. It was about a foot tall with short, cut straw sticking out from the top and woven through the folds that made the head of the doll. String had been tied around the neck, and halfway down the straw was split to form legs and partway up to form arms. The doll was dressed in royal purple robes, and the figure carried a stick that resembled a baton. Along the surface of the baton, small dots were placed.
“A doll? You set yourself up to be captured, endured torture, and have beggared yourself into my presence to give me a toy?” Alcina snapped her fingers, and her guards were instantly at Hototo’s side and reaching down to grab his arms and haul him away from the table.
“Wait!” he held up his arms to fend off the grasping guards. Alcina held up her right hand, halting the guards.
“Speak now, and it had better be good, or your head will shortly be bouncing down the side of this sorry mountain.” She glared at Hototo as he offered her the doll, which she grudgingly took from him.
“It is not a simple doll. It is a Soul Fetch.”
Alcina turned it over in her hand, examining it closely. “What does it do? And why is it dressed in royal clothing?” Her hawk-like gaze pinned the priest to the spot. “If your answer pleases me, I will spare your life. I may even reward you. Now speak.”
“A Soul Fetch is a soul-seeker. It is empowered with the ability to search out the soul of an enemy and trap it within the doll, enslaving them to the wishes of the possessor. With that doll”—Hototo poked one crooked finger at the straw figure—“you can control the soul of another and thereby his actions, his thoughts, and his dreams. With that, the victim is your puppet, completely within your control, regardless of where he is in the world.”
