by C S Vass
“Jet, no wait!” But before she could finish speaking Jet was gone.
Suddenly the darkness of the woods seemed to grow closer on all sides. Fiona shuddered and threw some more kindling in the fire to keep the night at bay. She crouched in the dark shivering while she poked at the flames. “He’ll come back soon,” she said under her breath.
The fog continued to roll in and despite her efforts to revive the fire it seemed to be burning on its last embers. Looking around for some flint she realized that Jet must have taken it with him. Off in the woods a long low howl froze the night stiff. Was Jet right that wolves wouldn’t come to this place? Even if he was, would he be okay out there?
Fiona
The sound of her name was unmistakable, and Fiona’s heart thrashed in her chest. “Who’s there?” she demanded. Slowly, a thick cloud of fog pushed itself together before her eyes. Out of its ethereal blue mist a body began to form. Fiona watched awestruck as legs and arms emerged from the cloud. When she saw the head she gasped.
“You!”
I’ve needed to speak with you, Fiona. I’m glad you’ve come to Morrordraed.
“How? Why are you here? What do you want with me?”
It defied all logic. Of all the restless souls that might await her in Morrordraed he was the very last she thought she might see. Rage and confusion swelled in her chest as the recognition made her briefly forget that she dealt with an apparition. But there could be no mistake. The long arrogant beard. The bald head. Only the eyes were different, eyes that no longer shone with malice but rather were a ghostly white.
“I had hoped never to see you again, Lord Downcastle.” The words dripped with venom as they left her mouth. Here was the man who had betrayed all of Haygarden to the Vaentysh Boys, who had tried to wrest the city away from Duke Redfire and then engaged in a bitter guerrilla warfare against it when he lost. “But since we meet, I’m glad to see that you’re no longer among the living.”
Your anger is just. I was a fool, Fiona, I don’t deny it. An evil one at that. I reached for a crown of stars from the edge of the mountain and didn’t even notice as I fell off and descended into madness.
Fiona looked at the specter uneasily. As surprising as it was to see a true apparition in real life, it was more surprising still to hear Lawrence Downcastle humble himself before her, dead or not. “Then seek no forgiveness from me,” she said at last. “You’ll find none.”
I neither seek nor deserve forgiveness, Fiona. My crimes are great, and my sorrows will not bring back the lives I’ve ruined.
Fiona was on the verge of telling him to drift off into some quiet corner of hell and be done with it if he had so much remorse, but the words wouldn’t pass her lips. If he truly was repentant, then there were so many things that she would want to ask him, things she would never get the chance to again. But the pressure to think quickly was so great and she found herself tongue-tied. She wished Donyo was there. He would have known what to say.
“What are you doing here?” she finally asked him.
I cannot leave. I was with the Vaentysh Boys as we searched for the Tome Vaenti in these ancient swamps. But Rodrick and I quarreled. He murdered me just outside of Barrowbog while the village slept and gave my bones to the mud and the water. The magic of the swamp keeps me here so long as my bones remain.
“Why are you telling me this? I want nothing to do with you or Rodrick. I want nothing to do with any of this. I have my own reasons for being here and they don’t involve the Vaentysh Boys.”
Please.
The single word resounded so painfully in Fiona’s head that it made her knees weak. Whatever else Lawrence Downcastle was, his spirit was clearly in excruciating agony.
Fiona, I do not deserve your help but I have no choice but to beg it. My line is disgraced. I have soiled the name Downcastle and my son Reggie has burnt whatever hopes we may have had for dignity to ash. There is nothing more to hope for regarding my family other than that it end.
Fiona listened with anger. She could hardly believe that she was being made to suffer a dead man’s regrets. To what did she owe him? He caused her enough strife while he lived. Couldn’t he just die and go off to his fate?
Fiona, you must deliver a message to Reggie. You must tell him to leave his wife. He must free his bride of the tyranny he has forced her to live under so that he can dedicate the remainder of his life to the destruction of the Vaentysh Boys. Only then will our line be able to end with some semblance of honor. Only then will I be able to rest.
“If that’s your request then I have to disappoint you,” Fiona said. “As of now I don’t even have a way of making it off of Morrordraed. Even if I did, Reggie would never listen to me long enough so that I could tell him why he needs to let Sasha go.”
You must. Please, Fiona. This is not about me. This is about my line, my family honor. The Downcastle’s will be wretched forever if Reggie does not do this one selfless thing.
“As much as I would love him to, giving up a bride and a life is a tall order for what you call one selfless thing. It’s hopeless.”
You must try. Fiona, you must try. Please. I beg of you. Do it for me. I saved your life.
“You did nothing of the sort!” Fiona roared. “How dare you insinuate something so ridiculous? If you—”
When the necromancers created the monster, it was my spirit that drove the beast to turn on its creators. Do you not remember, Fiona? Are you so quick to forget that terrible night?
Memory of the brief battle quickly came back. She had been all but doomed when that mysterious blue light flooded the area. Slowly she realized…
Do you think that my efforts cost me so little? Death could have released me from all of my pains and regrets, but bound as I am I cannot leave the woes of this world behind and enter eternity. Who are you, Fiona to deny me a wish so simple when I have saved your life?
Fiona sighed. “If you’re truly so tortured, then fine. If I get out of here alive, then I will do my best to speak with Reggie about your final wishes.”
You swear it?
“I do.”
Thank you, Fiona.
The spirit seemed to ease itself immediately, Fiona still found herself searching for something to ask the ghost of Downcastle.
There is one other matter… a small one.
“I’m already doing you a big favor,” Fiona complained.
Indeed. This second matter is of much less importance, but you would find me eternally grateful in the truest sense. Think of it as an atonement for Rodrick’s sins, as I atone for Reggie’s. Take my bones, Fiona. They’re buried in the village Barrowbog. Harken, he knows where they are. Bring them to Tellos. Otherwise I’ll be cursed to wander Morrordraed forever. I will never know rest.
Fiona could hardly believe that Downcastle was asking her to bring his bones back as a secondary task to delivering his message to Reggie. “Surely you’d place more importance on securing your place in the next life than on delivering a message to your son.”
I have made my requests as I see fit.
Downcastle began to slowly fade back.
“Wait! I need to ask you some things. What do you know of my brother? Where is Rodrick? What is he doing now?”
I am weary. I’m sorry, Fiona. Powerful Vaentysh magic binds me to silence even in death. Your brother knows how to guard his secrets well. There is nothing that I can tell you. Forgive me. Tell Reggie… tell him my command…
Downcastle’s wisp of a voice vanished into nothingness as the apparition faded away. Fiona could see from the strain on the ghost’s face that it had cost Downcastle a great deal of magical energy to maintain a physical form for that long.
While Fiona pondered the strangeness of what had just happened Jet returned from the edge of the trees. They locked eyes for only a moment, each wanting to ask the other what they had experienced. But both of them held their silence. Some moments are better left unvisited.
Chapter Ten
The next
day they packed their things quietly and proceeded. Neither of the two travelers gave any account of their experiences the previous night. Fiona tried hard to push the memory of seeing her old enemy out of her head.
As they continued onward the dirt gradually became muddier, and the mud more watery. The thick-trunked oaks that had marked their journey so far soon gave way to countless cypress trees standing like tall soldiers in formation. Their bulbous bases rounded out into a network of roots that formed pod-like structures that fell into the water.
“How do we cross this?” Fiona asked. As far as she could see the land gave way to the water here, and unless Jet planned on swimming there was no obvious way to get across.
“We don’t,” Jet said. “They’re less active in the daylight, but this area is notorious for rusalka. You see the base of these trees?” He pointed to the hollow tree-bottoms. “Those are rusalka prisons. If they put you in that you’re not getting out for a very long time.”
Fiona shuddered at the thought of being half-submerged in swamp water in a cage of wood. “Then assuming we don’t want to end up spending the rest of our lives as a water demon’s pets we should probably find an alternative route.”
“There,” Jet pointed upwards. Above them, barely visibly, a wooden bridge covered in leaves blended perfectly into the greenery of the treetops. “A way for humans to get across.”
“Supposing we can reach that,” Fiona said. “These trees don’t exactly look great for climbing.”
“Always so quick to point out the problems. There’s a rope.”
Indeed there was. After searching for only a few moments Jet found a long length of rope tied securely to one of the thicker branches up above. Soon the two were climbing together, eager to reach the top.
“It won’t be too far after we cross the bridge," Jet said when they reached the top. From up above the swamp seemed much less intimidating. The sun had risen higher and kissed the golden-green leaves around them. Even the brown muddy water below seemed to have a certain charm from their view.
The bridge they were to cross was made of less inspiring stuff. It seemed to just be a patchwork of planks loosely fitted together into the treetops, at times seemingly disappearing altogether when the branches were thick enough to walk across.
“Is this safe?” Fiona asked. She had no fear of heights, but a fear of falling to a sudden watery death or into the prison of a rusalka was a different matter.
“Probably. The magic has held up for a while. Mages from my province created it long ago. Supposedly it reacts to your weight and makes itself as strong as it needs to be in order to allow us to properly cross.”
“How would it do that?” Fiona asked.
“Sunlight. The rays of the sun give it energy to recharge its magic so that it rejuvenates itself new each day.
“What? That’s ridiculous. A plank of wood can’t be given magic by the sun.”
Jet shrugged. “If you say so, though you’d leave me wondering why every plant in this swamp is able to eat the sunlight and keep itself alive.”
Leaving the debate about planks and plants aside, Fiona and Jet made their way across the tops of the trees. Fiona found herself on surprisingly secure footing. The planks connecting the trees were wide enough for her to walk somewhat comfortably on though she and Jet wouldn’t have been able to stand side by side. More often than not there were other branches she could grab onto for support. During those moments she made sure to keep her momentum going forward. Before long they found themselves at the end.
“Naerumi lives just beyond this next group of trees, in a grove that few people have been to.” Jet’s face was deadly serious. “This is not going to be the time to do anything rash, Fiona. Naerumi is serious about her isolation and seriously powerful. We need to be humble and do what she says.”
Fiona nodded. Morrordraed so far had done an excellent job of making her feel humble, and she didn’t foresee herself sauntering into the home of the only person in the world said to be able to heal her like an arrogant child.
“All right, let’s go.”
Another dangling rope led them down to the ground. To Fiona’s surprise, when their feet touched the earth the rope coiled itself back up into the canopy far out of reach. “How do we get back?” Fiona asked, startled.
“At Naerumi’s pleasure. It would seem the psychic doesn’t like the idea of people coming this far only to get cold feet or weak knees at the end. Maybe this means she’ll hear what we have to say.”
“Maybe it means that she’s not going to give us the option to leave.”
“I won’t lie to you, Fiona. If Naerumi decides that then I really don’t think there’s very much that we’re going to be able to do. Best not to think about it.”
With a shiver Fiona moved forward. The swamp looked too bright and pleasant to be so cold. Sunglow fell from directly above in brilliant bands of light, but it was still winter. As they continued forward, Fiona saw a large circular well and beyond it a simple cabin.
“We’re here,” Jet said. His voice was light and Fiona could tell that the significance of what they were doing was much more profound for Jet than it was for her.
“Well,” Fiona said. “I guess we better get a move on then. They approached the well that was directly in their path to the house. It was constructed from clumsy stones that did not fit neatly into each other with the gaps filled with some kind of muddy clay. Fiona looked into it and saw that a strange water a sickly shade of purple filled it to the brim.
“That’s odd,” she said.
Why have you come?
The voice was but a whisper, and as it spoke the well water rippled.
Fiona immediately took a step back and almost reached for her sword before she regained control of herself.
Jet cleared his throat. “We seek the counsel of the great psychic Naerumi.”
What have you brought to offer me?
Something about the voice made Fiona feel like someone was pricking her ears with needles. It was sharp and angry. Not a voice to trifle with.
“You didn’t say anything about an offering,” Fiona hissed at Jet.
“I didn’t know,” he whispered back defensively.
“Naerumi,” Fiona said to the well. “We are poor travelers, and we have naught but the clothes on our back.”
Lies
The voice sounded like shrieking steel in Fiona’s mind.
An offering must be made, or the consequences will be grave.
The water started to bubble as it there were a great fire underneath the well. Fiona’s heart pounded in her chest.
“What do we do?” she asked Jet. When she turned and looked at him, to her surprise she saw that his face was quite distraught. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead.
While Jet silently deliberated with himself the water continued to hiss and bubble. “I don’t know what you’re considering,” Fiona said. “But if you have some spare trinket on you I think this would be a good time to throw it in the well.”
He looked as if he was going to be sick. At last he said, “Very well,” and removed a chain from his neck. Dangling from the end of it was an amulet that glowed like star fire in the sunlight.
“What is that?”
“A gift, from Greythor. He gave it to me last year, along with a message.”
“I’m sorry,” Fiona said. It was truly a heavy price to pay, but if there was anything Naerumi would see as a worthy sacrifice they would be hard-pressed to do better than that.
With a deep sigh Jet dropped the amulet into the purple water, and its turbulence receded. “An offering, for the great Naerumi,” Jet said with his head bowed.
It is acceptable.
The two started to move forward when the waters erupted into a boil.
An offering from the girl.
“What? But, I don’t have anything,” Fiona argued. The water didn’t seem to care, and it started boiling so vigorously that it sloshed over the edge of the well. Whe
re it touched the ground the grass immediately blacked and died.
As they stood there anxiously the sunlight seemed to fade from the grove. Heavy clouds rolled in as the water continued to bubble. “Fiona, you better do something,” Jet said. He sounded scared.
“There’s nothing I can do! I really don’t have anything.” What did they want from her? Was she to throw her boots in?
“Actually, Fiona,” Jet gestured at her back where the demon-pommel and dragon-pommel blades were strapped.
Fiona froze. She had gotten so used to the weight of the swords on her back that she didn’t even think of them as objects any more. She would just as soon toss her own hand into the well as she would toss her demon-pommel blade. As for the dragon… she had never drawn it, but still. It had been Rodrick’s once. She didn’t know what that meant to her, but she knew that the thought of casting it aside made her feel sick.
While she considered things the water continued to bubble. “Fiona, I think she’s getting angry,” Jet hissed. “Just take the one you care about less and toss it in.”
The one she cared about less? She needed both of them! The demon blade was what got her through, well, everything. It had saved her life countless times. But then she had plans for the dragon blade. With a great sadness she realized that deep down, she had always thought that she would be able to give it back to its rightful owner.
The boiling well water was now overflowing and running down the well. A blast of lightning streaked across the sky. “Fiona!” Jet yelled.
With a cry of anguish Fiona grabbed the dragon-pommel blade and flung it into the well. Somehow as it hit the water she felt both lighter and heavier at the same time. The bubbling of the water immediately receded and a sense of calm returned to the landscape.
It is acceptable. You may enter.
Up ahead the door of the cabin creaked open.
* * *
Inside of the cabin Fiona felt as if she had stepped into the lair of a sleeping dragon. It was dark and hot, very little sunlight found its way into the single room. A massive rectangular pit dug into the center of the floor contained a great fire that made Fiona blink with discomfort the second she got near it. Looking around there seemed to be virtually nothing in the room. Just a wooden floor and a fire.
