Queen of Oblivion

by Giles Carwyn

  How had she fallen in with the Islanders? And how had she kidnapped him from Ohohhom? Could they really destroy the black emmeria like she said? Nothing made sense anymore. The only thing he knew was that Arefaine couldn’t go to Efften alone. The voice she was following—the one she thought was her father—was the Fiend. If it wanted her to do something, Brophy had to stop her.

  He continued rowing through the night, sweat rolling down his face and arms. He kept trying to imagine what he would say to Arefaine when he finally found her.

  Hours later, something touched Brophy’s mind, as light as a feather brushing his cheek.

  He stopped rowing and spun about. It was a cloudy night with no moon. The iron sky met the water with an almost indistinguishable line, but he squinted, scanning the horizon.

  “Arefaine?” he spoke. Had the girl sent ships to look for him? Brophy wished he could remember more about their parting. He could barely see anything, but as he looked closer, a black shadow appeared along the horizon.

  It was a ship, moving toward him.

  He secured the oars and grabbed the Islander’s sword from the bottom of the boat. The salt-crusted handle felt good in his hand, and the howling voices grew louder in his mind, strengthening him, sharpening his senses. If the Islanders had sent a ship to finish him, they would find it steep work indeed. If it was Arefaine…

  He might need the sword anyway.

  As the ship drew closer he realized how small it was. It only had one mast and a single sail. This was no oceangoing vessel. It was barely larger than an Ohndarien water bug.

  The ship drew closer and the only person aboard rushed to the rail. All he could see was her white shirt and long black hair billowing across one shoulder.

  “Brophy!” she cried, her voice pulling the breath from him.

  He dropped the sword and dove into the water.

  Three quick strokes and he was halfway to her boat. She jumped in after him and within seconds she was in his arms, her lips against his, her legs wrapping around his waist. He couldn’t think, couldn’t swim. He clutched her to him and they sank beneath the dark surface, lost in the joy of finding each other once again.

  Chapter 16

  Shara watched Brophy’s broad shoulders rise and fall in the water as he swam up to the drifting day-sailer. He reached it, gripped the gunwale, and vaulted over in one smooth motion.

  “Come on,” he called, reaching over the edge and pulling her aboard as if she weighed nothing. “Leave the rowboat. We don’t need it.”

  They stood side by side on the deck for a long moment. Shara smiled so hard her jaw hurt. Her lips were still tingling after their endless underwater kiss. She couldn’t believe she had found him. She finally reached out to touch his sunburned face and make sure he was real.

  “I must be dreaming,” he finally said, looking into her eyes with wonder.

  “No more dreams,” she murmured. “We’ve had enough dreams. It’s time for something more.”

  He nodded. His smile had changed. It wasn’t the childlike smile she loved so well. It was more cautious, tinged with sadness, but she didn’t care. It was Brophy. In her arms. In the flesh. His eyes took in everything, the small ship, the drawn sail. His gaze finally came back to her, lingering on her face. She waited for that look she’d seen atop the Hall of Windows before he made his sacrifice. But he wouldn’t meet her eyes, wouldn’t really look at her.

  Go slow, she reminded herself. He needs you more than you need him.

  “How did you find me?” he finally asked. “I don’t even know where I am.”

  “I looked,” she said. “I never stopped searching for you. I didn’t expect to find you before reaching Ohohhom, but you stand out like a signal fire. I caught the light of your heartstone half a day ago.”

  “With your magic?”

  She nodded, remembering how she had started when she felt the barely contained rage swirling through him.

  He nodded, falling silent. He vibrated as if desperate to run away but held himself by sheer force of will. She wanted to reach out and touch him again, wanted to throw herself into his arms, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t make the same mistake she had in Ohndarien.

  He met her gaze, struggling to maintain contact. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed. “I never meant what I said in Ohndarien. I never meant to hit you.”

  “I know,” she said, her own body starting to tremble. She longed to touch that crease between his brows, smooth it out and tell him it was all right. “I know you didn’t.”

  His jaw clenched and the scant space between them was charged with lightning. “I had to get away,” he said. “I couldn’t stay there, not with all that blackness churning inside of me.”

  “I don’t care about that. I don’t care about then. All I care about is right now. I never stopped loving you. Never.”

  Brophy clenched his eyes shut and nodded. He reached under his shirt and pulled out the black feather on the cord around his neck.

  Shara started to cry. “Me, too,” she said softly, drawing the golden feather out of her blouse.

  Brophy caught it as it spun in the air and pressed it to his lips. He kept his eyes clenched shut, his entire face a knotted mask of agony.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s all right.” She grabbed hold of his trembling hands and pressed her lips against them. “We’re back. We’re back together and that’s all that matters.”

  He tried to reply, but the words didn’t come out.

  “What?” She felt dizzy. She couldn’t feel the rocking of the boat anymore.

  “I’ve wanted…To touch you. To—”

  “By the Seasons, Brophy. Touch me,” she said, a sob catching in her throat. “Love me. Ravage me. It’s all I’ve wanted for—”

  He stepped forward, and she met him halfway. His strong arms caught her, lifting her from the ground as if she were a child. She gasped as they kissed, her fingers grappling with his shirt.

  “Oh, Brophy,” she whispered. “It’s been so long.”

  His eyes glazed with desire and a slither of black crossed his left eye, then was gone.

  “Brophy—”

  He dropped to his knees, slamming her against the deck of the little day-sailer. His teeth showed as he leaned back and grabbed her blouse. With a fierce twist, he ripped it from her body. She cried out, and then he was on her again, driving her into the wooden decking.

  “Wait,” she gasped. His mouth clamped on her nipple, sucking, biting, as the rough boards dug painfully into her back. She twisted away, trying to protect herself with her hands. Brophy tore at his breeches with trembling hands, snapping the laces. They came free, and he withdrew, his chest heaving. Shara grabbed both sides of his face, searching his eyes, trying to find him.

  The snarl returned to his lips, and he lunged forward. He flipped her around and slammed her against the deck, crushing her cheek, her breasts. He grabbed her breeches and yanked them down. She cried out as they raked over her hips, baring her ass to him. “Brophy, please—” she whispered, trying to reach him.

  But he was on her again, heavy as a mountain and hard as stone. She grunted as he shoved himself inside her. Her hands scrambled for a hold as he thrust into her. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Brophy,” she gasped, trying to move with him, trying to make it their dance. But his hands kept her hips harshly against the deck, and he rammed into her again and again.

  He cried out in his release, a guttural howl that pierced her heart. He shook against her, then slumped against the railing.

  Trembling, she turned around. She winced as she touched her left breast. A line of blood trickled slowly down her palm. Her belly was covered with scrapes. Angry red abrasions striped her hips and thighs all the way down to her half-removed pants.

  Brophy looked at her as if he was just waking up. She wanted to cry, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

  “Shara—” he began, then his eyes went wide as he stared at her. “I didn’t—�
��

  “It’s all right,” she said.

  “All right?!” he roared. His fist clenched, and for one crazy moment, she thought he would strike her.

  She flinched away and hated herself for it.

  He spun about, stalked across the ship. He stopped at the prow of the little boat and fell to his knees. Balling his fist, he punched the deck, and the wood cracked.

  Slowly, Shara unbuttoned her pants and gingerly pulled them over her hips before fastening them again. She walked to him, put her hands on his back.

  They were silent for a long time.

  “I should leave,” he said, panting like one of the weeping ones. “I’m dangerous.”

  Shara took a deep breath, cycling the pain in her breasts, her belly, her hips, into herself and turning it into energy.

  “If you left, I would follow you,” she said.

  “Are you mad? Can’t you see what I did to you?”

  “What couples don’t have their problems?” she said, trying to smile.

  He spun around and glared at her. “You make light of it,” he cried. “Don’t make light of it. Not after what I did!”

  “I must,” she said, her voice breaking. “Or I will cry.”

  Brophy put his hands to his face. “This is why I left. This is why I ran away!”

  She knelt next to him, grabbing his shoulders. “It’s not you. It’s—”

  “Yes, it is. It is me. I loved it. Everything I did to you, I loved it when it was happening. I wanted to do more. Even now, I want to do more.”

  She pulled back, her mouth set in a straight line, but she refused to turn away. “I know what you’ve been through. It’s the emmeria, not you. We can fight this together.”

  He stood up, shaking his head. “You can’t fight him! He’s in my head! Screaming at me! All the time!”

  “He?”

  “The voice! The voice in my head! I have to kill him! Rip him out of my skull!”

  “All right, we’ll kill him. I can help you.”

  “No.” Brophy shook his head violently. “No! I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

  She reached for him, and he pushed her back. He leapt from the little boat and started swimming back toward his rowboat several hundred yards away.

  She let him go. She had to. It was part of the promise she had made to herself. She took a deep breath and held back the tears. She knew this was how it could be, and she wasn’t leaving. She would never leave him again.

  “I’m right behind you, Brophy,” she whispered, letting the ache in her heart slowly cycle back into her body. “Wherever you go. Whatever it takes. Run, and I will follow. Fall, and I will pick you up. Die, and I will die with you.”

  Closing her fist over her feather necklace, she watched him swim away.

  Chapter 17

  Father Dewland stood next to the shattered bridge with his head bowed and his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe. It was a rare sunny day, and rainbows shimmered among the swirling mists that hovered along the waterfall.

  The priest tried to enjoy the beauty of the moment, tried to cherish the simple gift of life, the joy of drawing one breath after another, but Dewland was long past such things. He had been waiting in this spot for the past three days. He was brought food and water and instructed to relieve himself twice a day. Other than that, he was ignored. His old bones ached with the strain, and he was sweating profusely beneath his heavy black robes.

  At the end of the twelve days of mourning, the emperor’s body was laid to rest and the Mother Regent had gone to her vigil in Oh’s cave. As high priest, Dewland had accompanied her to bless her journey. Just before entering the cave, she had asked him to return to the bridge and wait for her return. That had been three days ago and still he waited.

  The nervous apprentice who brought his meals fed Dewland news of what was happening in his absence. One hundred and forty-four new recruits had been fitted with armor and weapons and were waiting to take their vows as Arefaine’s new Carriers of the Opal Fire. One hundred forty-four. Twelve times the sacred number. A particularly pious blasphemy.

  The Imperial Navy had been mustered and every seaworthy vessel in the empire had been refitted for war. Catapults were being strapped to their decks and their holds packed with pots of incendiaries. Volunteers had been called to man the ships. Soldiers and sailors had shown up by the thousands, arriving in unruly packs rather than orderly rows. A strange disease seemed to have infected the Ohohhim people. They no longer spoke of Oh’s wisdom. Their mouths were too full of praise for the beautiful young Arefaine Morgeon.

  Dewland had been secretly terrified for his own life ever since aiding Brophy and the Zelani’s escape, but that terror had been overshadowed. He now feared for the soul of the empire. He feared for the entire world. The Awakened Child spoke and reality followed. The divine queue was splintering. The horrors of the past were upon them.

  Dewland was roused from his worries by a subtle change in the air. He looked up and saw the Mother Regent walking down the path. The craftsmen who were repairing the bridge all dropped to their knees. Dewland did the same.

  The mud beneath his knees was still tainted by the explosion of black emmeria. He could feel it through the cloth of his robes, profane and insistent. The First Carrier, Halman, knelt next to him. The young man had a new maniacal light in his eyes that fed Dewland’s growing dread. Halman was the last surviving member of the emperor’s twelve Carriers. His three fellows had turned assassin, but this man remained loyal. Arefaine had rewarded him by naming him Opal Advisor. He had handpicked the hundred and forty-four. He handled the details of mustering the fleet while Arefaine hid in Oh’s cave. He was truly the voice of a new god.

  The priest kept his face to the ground, but he could hear Arefaine’s approaching footsteps crunch lightly on the earthen path. Wood creaked as she crossed the makeshift bridge with feathery steps, and she stopped in front of him.

  “Rise, Father,” the child said. “We have much to discuss.”

  Dewland rose. “Mother Regent, I await your wisdom.” He acknowledged her with a slight bow.

  “My old teacher, let us speak discreetly.”

  She touched his shoulder with her fingertips, and a subtle warmth spread through his body. His back muscles relaxed, and he took a deep breath. He remembered Arefaine as a child and how much he’d loved her then.

  A wave of revulsion rose within him, and Dewland gritted his teeth against the unnatural intrusion, fighting to keep his thoughts straight, to keep his emotions his own.

  Arefaine turned and led him back across the temporary bridge. It was perilously narrow, no more than five thin saplings lashed together. Dewland glanced at the thundering waterfall rushing past him and the rainbow mists far below.

  “Come,” Arefaine insisted. “It is perfectly safe.”

  Dewland’s fear receded, and he was filled with a sudden hope for their conversation. Hating the child’s power over him, he nonetheless found the courage to cross the flexing beams. He reached solid ground as quickly as he could and took Arefaine’s sleeve.

  Halman followed, trailing the two of them at a discreet distance.

  “You seem to have several things on your mind,” Arefaine said. “Please speak freely.”

  Dewland had an overwhelming urge to fall on his knees and confess. But he held back and took the more graceful path.

  “I am pleased to see you returned, Mother Regent. You spent quite some time in Oh’s presence. Did he have any wisdom to share with you?”

  “No.”

  Dewland swallowed. “I am sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be. I stayed in the cave so long purely for political reasons. It is amazing how much more people accomplish when they aren’t constantly waiting in line for me to give them instructions.”

  “I understand. That is very wise of you.”

  “What did you expect me to hear?” Arefaine asked.

  “I would never guess at the mind of Oh.”


  “Really? You seem to have spent your entire life doing just that.”

  Dewland felt the anger behind the word like a blow to the stomach. “I followed the emperor’s sleeve as best I could.”

  Arefaine snorted. “Come now, don’t hide behind a dead man. You made choices. You helped plot the course of my life. Your whispers in the emperor’s ear led me to this glorious shore.”

  Dewland felt the lash of raw emotion behind her carefully modulated voice. He thought it best to remain silent.

  “Is that guilt I hear?” she asked him.

  Again Dewland kept his tongue.

  “Surely you expected Oh to have told me something in all that time. Surely he should have whispered something in my ear.” She leaned close to Dewland and spoke in a ghostly voice. “‘Welcome, child. The world’s fate rests in your hands.’”

  Dewland bit his lip, fearing to run from the venom she whispered into his ear. “’The first thing you must do is suffer for years in silence and solitude. Then you must throw yourself at the first man we give you, abandon all hope and reason and fall helpless in his arms.

  “‘You must travel with him to Efften,’” she continued, mocking the divine. “‘You must liberate your homeland, resurrect the glory of your people. And then, my beloved child, you must lock them away in a towering silver box. You must slit your own wrists, climb into that box, and haunt it forever.

  “‘You must do this to make our lives easier. Because we are tiny people terrified to leave our perfect little rows.’” She kissed him on the ear and pulled back. “Is that what you expected him to say?”

  Dewland began to tremble.

  “Did you honestly expect that a little boy with broad shoulders and golden curls could make me swallow your lies? Did you honestly think the touch of his sacred cock would make me that stupid?”

  Dewland fell to his knees. A crushing weight squeezed his chest. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.