Queen of Oblivion

by Giles Carwyn

  Arefaine’s chest seized, and she leaned forward, biting her knee until she tasted blood.

  Her father shifted, sitting next to her in the mud, and wrapped a ghostly arm around her. She could barely feel it on her rain-spattered back. “I know,” he whispered. “I know how much it hurts. I, too, have felt the sting of betrayal, the shock at a senseless attack from someone I loved.”

  “I never loved him,” she spat, tasting the blood on her lips.

  “Of course you loved him.”

  “They made me! They tricked me into his arms.”

  “No, child, no. No one has that kind of power over your heart.”

  Arefaine squinted her eyes shut and tried to take a breath. She couldn’t.

  “You loved Brophy because you saw the greatness within him,” her father continued. “He is a child of Efften. The illuminated blood calls to its own. He was nearly a man worthy of you. That’s why it hurts so much.”

  “Then why? Why did he turn his back on me? Why did he say no?”

  Her father sighed, seeming to draw her closer as she shivered out of control.

  “He could not see past the lies that were fed to him in the cradle. He could not believe that the monsters from his bedtime stories could actually be his family. His friends. He was a good man, but stubborn to a fault. He didn’t have the wisdom to see what a treasure he held in his hands.”

  Arefaine bit her trembling lip. “No,” she said, her jaw aching. “It wasn’t that. He loved Shara. He loved her, not me. And I killed him for it.” She stood up on shaky legs. “He saved me from…From those men, and I killed him.”

  She staggered to the ragged edge of the bridge. Gripping the broken railing, she peered over the edge. The billowing mist had turned gray in the gloomy dusk. She reached out for Brophy with her magic, looking for the body.

  “Please,” her father said, placing a feathery hand on her back. “Step back from there. You are frightening me.”

  “I have to—”

  “He is gone. He made his choice. He stood against us, against the City of Dreams. Many others will make the same misguided choice. And they will meet the same fate.”

  She whirled on her father. “But he was part of that dream!”

  “I know,” he whispered. He wrapped his arms around her, and it almost felt like he was there. Almost. “I would love to have called him my son. I would have rejoiced at the sight of him by your side. But the dream goes on. The City of Sorcerers will flourish again. And this time no one will take her from us.”

  Arefaine hung her head. Wet hair fell into her eye as she looked down at the ground and saw the red crystal shard Brophy had thrown to her. Kneeling down, she picked it up, rolling the rough edges between her fingers.

  Looking up at her father, she said, “But Brophy was right all along. I am corrupted, aren’t I?”

  Her father smiled, kind and warm. “Oh, my daughter. You have so much yet to learn.”

  “But I corrupted those Carriers. The black ani came from me. It’s inside me, an endless ocean of it.”

  “The emmeria is not inside you. You are not its victim nor its slave. You are its master.”

  “I don’t want to be its master!”

  “No one does,” he whispered. “No one aspires to murder, but many have taken a life to protect those they love. I’m glad you called the emmeria to your aid. You would be dead if you had not.”

  “I’d rather be dead.”

  “Don’t say that. Never say that. Being powerful is not wrong, is not unnatural. The sacred fire is part of the world. We are part of it, and it is part of us. All sorcerers have access to many kinds of power. The black emmeria is simply one of them, the one that responds to fear, anger, and betrayal. When pain bubbles up within you, of course the black emmeria will be near. That is where it comes from. If you could have stopped those traitors with a kind word, you would have done so. But today you needed more than kind words, and you did what you had to. No more. No less.”

  “It didn’t feel that way. I liked it. I liked it too much.”

  Her father shook his head. “Raw, blunt power is very seductive. But also very limited. You will probably never need to do that again. You are a very powerful sorceress, but you have been raised in isolation, away from your own kind. There are gaps in your knowledge. Together we can teach you control, grace, and dignity with your magic. Everything you do will be beautiful once we get to Efften. And all of this stumbling about in the dark will become a distant memory.”

  She turned away, running a hand across her wet hair. “I just—”

  “Shush,” her father said, placing a ghostly finger on her lips. “It is time to forgive yourself. You were the one attacked. You were the one betrayed. What happened today was not your fault. And once we are reunited in Efften, it will never happen again. Come, my daughter. Return to me. I have waited so long to see your face.”

  “But the Ohohhim will never—”

  “Yes they will. Show a firm hand, and they will follow you. Do you think they want to stay locked in their endless rows. Do you think they want to live in a world beyond the warmth of the sacred fire?”

  “But they tried to kill me. Not one of them threw a flower at my feet.”

  “I know. Change takes time. Remain firm and all will be well. I’ll be by your side the entire time.”

  “You will?”

  “I promise.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

  “You never will be.”

  She longed to hug him, cling to him until all this was over. But she would have to wait. Soon enough, she would unlock the towers of Efften, and he would emerge into the light of day after all this time. That day would make all of this worth it. The empty years would fade away, and she would finally be home.

  “Hurry,” her father said. “Your men are approaching.”

  She ran over and grabbed her ruined dress. Fumbling with numb fingers, she stepped into it and slipped the wet material over her hips. Wincing, she slipped her injured arm into a clammy sleeve and tucked the red crystal shard into her pocket.

  Taking a deep breath, she spun a glamour around herself. They would never see the mud or her wound. They would never see her shiver. They would see a goddess before them, fearless and undeniable in her beauty. And they would follow her anywhere.

  Chapter 14

  Stop helping me, woman,” Reef growled.

  Reluctantly, Ossamyr drew her ani back into herself. Reef’s mind was like a fortress; he could instantly sense any intrusion, no matter how benevolent.

  “I’m trying to get you to breathe,” she said. “It’s easier when you breathe.”

  He gave her a lethal glance, and she kept her mouth shut.

  The Islanders’ ship creaked and groaned as they fled south under full sail, pounding through the choppy swells. The no-nonsense simplicity of Reef’s quarters seemed harsh and unrefined after her weeks in Ohohhom. She’d been so comfortable here on the voyage north, but now Reef’s world seemed as distant and unwelcoming as the Opal Empire.

  Ossamyr winced as she watched Reef make an incision in Brophy’s chest next to his heartstone. He performed the ritual like a giant threading a needle. He was trying too hard, forcing the ani when he should be coaxing it. She desperately wanted to reach out to him, bolster his strength, but she held back and turned her attention from Reef’s furrowed brows to Brophy.

  The Ohndarien prince still had a child’s face, smooth and lineless. His yellow curls were as soft as down. He still looked like the naive teenager she had seduced so many years ago, but he didn’t feel like that anymore. He no longer glowed, overflowing with innocence and optimism. She remembered scoffing at his gullibility, assuming he wouldn’t last a month in Physendria. But Nine Squares had not broken him. He had broken it. He had broken her, too, changed her forever.

  But that boy was gone, the youthful glow stripped from him. The beatific face of a young prince had been replaced by the h
aunted visage of a desperate man.

  He was still unconscious, struggling with his nightmares as he had done for the last eighteen years. Every now and then he would struggle feebly against his bonds. Reef’s crew had bound him to the bed hand and foot. His eyes hadn’t stopped twitching beneath their lids since she and Dewland had hoisted him out of that pit under the Opal Palace.

  The priest had been true to his word. He had rowed her to the little cove south of the city and waited while she used a lantern to signal Reef’s ship hidden offshore. The old man had been gracious and polite, but she sensed his trepidation every step of the way. And he was right to worry. He was committing treason against his empress. She didn’t envy his return to Ohohhom.

  She didn’t envy her own return to the Islanders either. She had committed her own form of treason.

  The whole time Ossamyr had been away, she had longed to return to Reef’s arms. But the moment she saw his rowboat appear out of the darkness, she felt only fear. She hid Brophy behind some rocks and went to meet Reef at the edge of the rocky beach. The massive Islander leapt from the boat with a grin on his face and swept her into his arms, spinning her around. She cried out in pain and nearly collapsed. His smile evaporated as his hands went to her wound.

  “What happened?” he cried. “Is the sorceress dead?”

  Ossamyr sank to the ground and shook her head. “I…I was so close.”

  He closed his eyes and nodded.

  “I could have tried again,” she said. “But I had to save him.”

  “Him?”

  He followed her eyes to the rocks where Brophy was hidden. Reef’s lips pulled back into a snarl as he yanked the dagger from his belt and strode up the beach.

  “No!” Ossamyr screamed. “You’ll release the emmeria.” She levered herself to her feet and stumbled toward Reef as he grabbed Brophy by the shirt and raised his dagger for the killing blow. “Please!” she cried. “If you ever loved me, don’t hurt him!”

  The strain had been too much for her. She remembered collapsing, coughing up blood on the wet stones, but nothing after that. Even now, she didn’t know if it was love for her or fear of the emmeria that stayed Reef’s hand. But he brought them both aboard. She woke up four days later in the same bed with Brophy. She had clean clothes and fresh bandages. He was bound hand and foot.

  The next morning they caught their first sight of Efften in the distance. Reef made it very clear that he wouldn’t bring Brophy to the forbidden isle. He wanted the boy cured or he wanted him dead.

  Ossamyr looked back at Brophy. Blood welled up from the incision Reef had made. It was red at first, but slowly darkened to thick, black ooze. Reef withdrew a shard of clear crystal about the size of his thumbnail from a small pouch on the bed. He placed it lightly against the wound. She felt the malicious ichor eating at Reef’s fingertips, trying to dominate him. The Islander was no sorcerer, but his willpower astonished her. Gritting his teeth, he wrestled with the black emmeria, forcing it into the crystal shard.

  Unable to do nothing, she sent her magic into him again, refining his clumsy efforts until the black emmeria flowed steadily into the crystal.

  He growled at her, pulling the crystal away from the wound and putting it into a burlap sack filled with salt. “Am I going to have to paddle you, witch? You have a suppurating belly wound. Save your damned strength!”

  Reluctantly, she withdrew her magical aid, sending it once again to the throbbing burn in her stomach. Reef was right, though. The puncture was infected deep inside, where the contents of her intestines had soured the wound. The Silver Islanders knew how to dress battle wounds, but there was only so much they could do. Reef had stitched her back together himself, but even with the steady stream of ani she was sending to help mend the wound, it was not healing properly. Even if Ossamyr had been in the heart of Ohndarien, treated by a score of Zelani, a wound like this could easily lead to a slow, painful death.

  Stop it, she thought. The body follows the will. Once you believe you are dying, the body will make it so. She had too much to live for, too much unfinished business, to let a simple fever claim her.

  Slowly, methodically, Reef filled another crystal and placed it into the sack of salt. Ossamyr had no idea how the Islander created the little ani crystals. She’d asked Reef once and he’d firmly changed the subject.

  Reef continued drawing the corruption from Brophy’s wound. He withdrew another shard from his little pouch and placed it against the black wound. The Islander was already showing the strain of his efforts. He needed to relax and let the ani flow freely, but he kept himself stiff as a board, not wanting to appear as if he was breathing too hard.

  She nearly snapped at him, but it was no use trying to change the man’s nature. She smirked, remembering her fantasy of having both Brophy and Reef in the same bed. She winced at the pain of the chuckle, and her smile faded. This certainly wasn’t what she had envisioned.

  Reef continued to fill crystals and push them gently into the burlap bag. Finally, the wound seeped true, red blood.

  Ossamyr sent her awareness into Brophy’s body. He no longer battled the black emmeria, and she could feel his consciousness drifting toward the surface.

  “He’s about to wake up,” she said.

  Reef grunted, holding the final crystal against the wound, waiting patiently for the last of the corruption to seep out. With his other hand, he snapped his fingers, pointed at the wooden shelves at the head of the bed. “Give it to me.”

  She let out a little breath, picking up the vial of thick, greenish liquid. “You don’t have to use this,” she said. “Brophy is fighting the same fight we are.”

  “Yes, he is,” Reef said tersely, pushing the last half-filled crystal into the salt. “It’s too bad he’s on the other side.”

  “You don’t know that,” she said.

  Reef drew his dagger. “This isn’t a discussion, Ossamyr. I will not have this man awake on my ship. Now hand me that bottle or I will end this the way I wanted the moment I saw him.”

  She handed him the vial, and he poured the contents into Brophy’s mouth. Brophy choked, swallowed, then coughed. After a moment’s lethargic struggle, he relaxed and fell back into sleep.

  “That should keep him docile, at least,” Reef said. “We’ll have to give him more in a few hours.”

  “Reef, the black emmeria is gone. He’s not going to—”

  The Islander turned a fierce gaze on her. “I’m not convinced of that.”

  “But you saw it yourself. His blood ran red.”

  He grunted and reached for a barrel full of rock salt. He scooped handfuls of salt into the burlap sack, filling it almost to the brim. Crossing the room, he opened a drawer built under the opposite bunk and withdrew a small chest bound in gold. Ossamyr knew what was in that chest. Reef kept it close to himself constantly. He opened the lid, filling the room with rainbow colored light. The ever-shifting colors slid across his tattooed face and his golden eyes started to glow. Reef withdrew one of the precious crystal shards. There were hundreds of them, the product of his people’s grueling sacrifice. She wondered what kind of man Reef would have been if he had not poured all his joy and his hope into those crystals. Would he be so serious? So stern all the time? She tried to imagine Reef carefree and playful, and she could not see it.

  “This is the one you saw us create that night in the mountains,” he said, holding up one of the crystals.

  “You know them each by sight?”

  “Would you know your friends by sight? Your children?”

  He returned to the bed and pushed the shards of light emmeria into the burlap sack one after the other.

  “Every one of these shards contains the gift of ani from over a hundred souls. The best people I know gave over a month’s worth of their life force to fill these shards. We have thousands of them. Tens of thousands. And we’re nowhere close to matching the supply of raw hate created by the wizards of Efften.”

  Slowly and carefully, he ci
nched the sack closed; tying it so tight the salt could not shift. His motions were slow and methodical, as if the tiniest mistake would be disastrous.

  With a weary sigh, he stood and offered his hand.

  “Are you ready?”

  She nodded, giving one last look at Brophy, who slept peacefully. As she turned away, she noticed something, and spun back.

  “Look!”

  The cut Reef had made on Brophy’s chest was all but healed.

  Reef shook his head. “It is as I feared,” he growled. “The black emmeria is healing him.”

  “But I thought you removed it all. You put it into the crystals.”

  He snorted. “There is more than one way to be enslaved by the black emmeria.”

  “What are you talking about?” Her stomach tightened, and she winced. “Shara has withdrawn the corruption from herself dozens of times. I have been corrupted twice and completely healed.”

  He grunted. “Are you truly healed?”

  “Well…” She paused. “At least physically.”

  He shook his head. “Most who come in contact with the black emmeria are overwhelmed by it. It physically invades their bodies and breaks their will. It transforms them into a physical representation of hate and rage.”

  She listened, remembering when Phandir’s bones snapped under her hands, remembering her claws cutting into his flesh.

  “But if your will is strong enough, or if you have a profound mastery over the ani, you can bend it to your will. You can feel as if you control it. But that control is an illusion. The mages of Efften thought themselves masters of the black emmeria, but the vile magic built up over time in the organs of their bodies. It became part of them. They were never transformed into mindless beasts, but it eventually destroyed their souls.”

  She nodded. “I saw all of that when I drank the Siren’s Blood.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “But Brophy is not a mage. He doesn’t want to master the black emmeria.”

  “True, but he has been immersed in it for too long. He never drowned in that ocean, but over the years he drank too much of the water.”