The Last Spellbound House: A Steampunk Dark Fantasy Thriller

by Samuel Simons

  Alendras just wished Serra had left him a blessing as well, to ensure he would measure up to the daunting, wondrous task of being a good partner to two such incredible women.

  Epilogue

  It had been a month since the scholars and Relic-seekers had fled the Last Spellbound House.

  Alendras sat on the third-storey balcony overlooking the shattered grounds as the evening light of the retreating sun-comet faded behind the southern horizon. He held a lute against his shoulder, his fingers tracing chords on the neck of the wide-bodied instrument as he strummed its strings. His idle mind had chosen for tonight a melancholy melody written by a bard he’d met in his days as Tamelios. Music, his consistent companion in his wanderings both before and after the fall of the Ancients, was still the only thing which let him empty his mind of thoughts.

  He allowed the instrument to fall silent as he spotted a figure on horseback atop the horizon to the south: a familiar silhouette he had not seen in a month.

  Alendras’s heart leapt at the thought of seeing Jenna again, especially after the solitude of his repair work on the manse’s systems. There was no one left in the House save himself and the Fae sisters Lifa, Thorne, and Rosie, all three of whom had continued to avoid him.

  Melianne had spent much of the past month travelling the Phoenix Kingdom in disguise, only returning for a day or two here and there. Once, the resulting quiet would never have bothered Alendras, but now he thought of the manse as more than merely a machine. It was his home, and its emptiness was striking. He was more lonesome here than he cared to admit.

  Alendras returned his thoughts to the present as Jenna and her horse Rione drew close enough that he could see the heavy pack on her back and the large bags lashed to the saddle. It looked like she was prepared for a long stay. Alendras’s heart lifted with hope, though he scarcely dared allow himself to believe Jenna planned to move into the Last Spellbound House permanently.

  Replacing the lute on his back and tightening its strap around his chest, Alendras turned and walked through the balcony doors into the manse’s third storey. Descending to the entry hall, he ignited the candles in the chandelier with a mental command to the manse’s systems, then crossed the hall and pulled the left-hand leaf of the double doors open.

  Jenna was in the process of tying Rione’s lead to one of the pillars which held up the balcony. To Alendras’s astonishment, she had recovered her youth, appearing her proper twenty-five cycles of age: her auburn hair had no grey to it anymore, and her features were as youthful as they had ever been.

  She turned as the door opened, and by the way her eyebrows twitched, Alendras could see she was discomfited at seeing him in his new body. It had been too good an opportunity to pass up: the manse’s scrying-monitors had found the tall, broad-shouldered man’s corpse half-buried in the permafrost some distance to the north. It had been a simple act of will and Res to repair the cellular damage and restart the body’s vital functions, and to Alendras’s relief the consciousness of its previous owner had long since departed.

  Moving past her discomfiture, Jenna took a steadying breath as though she were gathering her strength. “We need to talk.”

  “Here, or somewhere more private?”

  Jenna put her hands on her hips, and looked around expectantly at the empty expanse of the grounds. “Is anyone here to listen?”

  “Aside from Melianne, who might be anywhere, I suppose not. What do we need to talk about?”

  “I think I should still take charge of the manse,” Jenna said quickly, each word coming out hot on the heels of the previous one. Alendras could only surmise this was a rehearsed speech. “Anabel named me her successor, and you were away for a hundred cycles. I think it’s fair to say she had a claim, even if you built the place.”

  She paused for a breath, then hurried on. “Anabel and her adventuring companions made a home of this mansion, and attracted people who created something you never intended. The Last Spellbound House became a place of learning where people like me had a chance to aspire to adventure, to save some earnings and someday become one of those Relic-seekers or magic-scholars. I don’t want to see that end, so I’ve decided to demand that you share.”

  Alendras just raised an eyebrow. He sensed Jenna wasn’t finished.

  “You owe me, Alendras. I’ve come to ask you to give up the House to me, to humanity, at least for the remaining cycles I live,” she finished in a rush, and then frowned. “Why are you smiling like that?”

  “Because I agree with you.”

  “Come again?” Jenna stared blankly at Alendras as though he’d spoken in an incomprehensible language.

  “Human beings should live in this manse, and I should step away… not least to ensure you all remain unmolested by the Fiend Hunters.”

  Jenna’s tense posture deflated like a punctured waterskin: apparently she’d come here expecting a fight, or at least a lengthy debate. “So… you’re fine with me working here?”

  “Not just fine, pleased. And if you’re willing, this won’t be simply a job to you. Do you still want the title of ‘successor’ Anabel offered you, and the responsibilities of hospitality it entails?”

  Jenna stared. Then she schooled her expression and paused as though to give the question a moment’s thought. “Yes. That hasn’t changed.”

  “Then by my own authority as well as the late and honoured Anabel’s, I name you adiiuindeos vas reutalas, inheritor twofold of the manse. I nominate your family as my official suggestions for the first resident-caretakers of the Last Spellbound House Beneath the Sun,” Alendras said, his tone formal. “Further, I pledge to return every quarter-century, to maintain the manse’s mechanisms and keep its secrets hidden from the vast swarms of Relic-seekers you’ll no doubt entertain over the cycles. My services will be free of charge.”

  Jenna’s eyes filled with tears, and she dashed them away with a disgruntled noise. “Damnit. I always cry too easily.”

  “Yours is a good heart, Jenna,” Alendras said, stepping forward and reaching out slowly with one hand. When Jenna didn’t lean away, he brushed her cheek with his fingers. “I hope I’ll be welcome in your House a little more often than once every twenty-five cycles.”

  “Count on it, and don’t you dare be a stranger.” Jenna grasped the front of his shirt and pulled him close. Her lips were as soft as Alendras remembered them, and the careful, tender way she kissed him was as deeply comforting as ever. He put his arms around her, relief flooding through him at the knowledge that even after a month of consideration, she hadn’t chosen to push him away.

  When Jenna finally drew back and opened her eyes, her smile was tremulous but genuine.

  “You still kiss the same,” she murmured, blushing. “I’m glad.”

  “I’m the same man who fell in love with you,” Alendras said, pulling her into a warm hug. His new vessel was six feet tall, and her head rested comfortably on his chest. He found he liked this way of standing. “I’m sincerely grateful for your decision to love me back.”

  Jenna’s blush deepened, and she buried her face in his coat.

  “I hear our new landlady has arrived.” Melianne materialized in the doorway Alendras had just left, startling a scream out of Jenna.

  The Fae Queen wasn’t wearing her diadem of office, but instead had chosen to have a thin braid of her platinum blonde hair encircling her head like a crown while the rest of it flowed down her back. Over her pristine white dress, she had caused this form to manifest a colourful apron after the fashion of the southern parts of the Phoenix Kingdom. There was a ladle in her hand. “I’ve just finished making up dinner for six.”

  “Welcome back, my dear.” Alendras turned his head, choosing not to push Jenna away by changing his posture. “For six? You’re still hoping our absentee servitors will make an appearance.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” Melianne replied cheerfully. “Perhaps the occasion of Jenna’s arrival will bring the si
sters crawling out of the woodwork: my people have always enjoyed a feast, even if we don’t need the food itself.”

  Jenna pulled away from Alendras and hurried over to her horse. She dug about in one of Rione’s saddlebags, then cleared her throat self-consciously as she produced a small potted tomato plant. “I… I brought a present for the hostess. I’m afraid it isn’t a gift worthy of a Queen, but I raised it myself over the winter.”

  “You know your Faerie tales.” Melianne’s eyebrows rose, and she looked from Jenna to Alendras. “Maerisrei, I am pleased to see your taste in partners remains exquisite.”

  Jenna blushed again. Melianne stepped forward formally, and with a regal nod of appreciation took possession of the little plant. Then the Fae Queen offered her arm, which Jenna took hold of so as not to appear rude or hesitant.

  “My dear Jenna, you’ll have to tell me if my cooking is a passable reproduction of southern cuisine,” Melianne said, her tone warm as she led Jenna away into the entry hall. “I’ve never cooked anything before, you see... but last week, I travelled in disguise to the capital and gained an audience with the King’s own head chef...”

  Alendras shook his head, unwilling to suppress his smile as he watched these two wildly different women pass through the doorway arm-in-arm. He couldn’t have imagined, when he’d first approached the House a month ago, the incredible changes awaiting him here. The costs still weighed on him: the danger the House’s people had suffered, and those who’d been lost along the way. But he’d first come here with nothing but a few Relics and a task to complete… and now, on this clear, chilly evening, with the warmth of a home and loved ones waiting for him, he simply couldn’t be morose.

  Alendras, Dead Lord of Curiosity, stepped through the door of the Last Spellbound House, with the least familiar emotion of all humming in his chest: contentment.

  Somehow, he thought he could get used to it.

  Fin.

  A PREVIEW

  A cool early autumn breeze stirred the nighttime air of a forest where two women were exchanging tales.

  “I left the Liberated World just as it was beginning to recover, a hundred years after its violent paradigm shift.” The hood of Serra’s cloak hid her face, but her voice carried a wistful melancholy. “I may never know how things turned out for them.”

  “Do you think you’ll go back there?” Estia adjusted her seat on her moss-covered log and arranged her legs more comfortably on the forest floor. “To find out, I mean.”

  The movement in the shadows under Serra’s hood might have been a smile or a grimace. “Even I can’t foresee the future, but I can guess. Let me tell you something: there are three universal truths I’ve learned about the Eternity River and all its spheres: truths every Journeyer would be well advised to know.”

  Estia straightened. “That sounds interesting. Lay them on me.”

  “First is the Language of Magic: the only tongue I’ve ever encountered which isn’t developed but discovered.”

  “Discovered? Like an old language from inscriptions on ruins?”

  “No. Discovered like the secrets behind the pull of gravity, the movement of light, or the function of magnets… or rather, it would be like those, if any of them were consistent in every world.” As the cool wind died down, Serra pulled back the hood of her cloak, revealing her long chestnut hair and brown eyes. “The Language of Magic is found by those who study the nature of things. It’s a language for those who seek to understand the world and its Res, or Essence.”

  “So they come across it by accident, while studying magic?”

  “A simple way of putting it, but not incorrect. The alphabet, vocabulary, and grammar of the Language of Magic are the same everywhere in the Eternity River, which should be impossible. As languages go, it’s a deceptively simple one, though all spheres seem to discover it at their own pace and adjust its use in their own way. For example, the Fae and the Dead of the Spellbound World used it as their common tongue. They delved deeply into the intricacies of its etymological links between Res, life, and death, even composing poetry using the similarities… but they never researched in the direction they needed to discover its name: Seliureos, which is best translated as ‘That Which Speaks Essence.’”

  “Seliureos. That’s the language Camoc mentioned!” exclaimed Estia. “He said it might help me. Could you…?”

  Serra shook her head, regret crossing her features. “I’m sorry… I can’t be your teacher. You’ll have to forget this story in order to leave here, and you would lose what you learned along with it.”

  “Drat. What’s the point of all this storytelling if I’m not going to remember it?”

  ”I’ll explain later. There isn’t time, not if I want to finish this tale and give you the opportunity to tell me the rest of yours. There are two more universal truths. One of them is that, aside from Seliureos, there’s another thing common to every sphere I’ve ever visited.”

  “Even my sphere?”

  Serra smiled again. Yes, even your sphere… and I’m looking at proof of it right now. The second thing every world has in common is the presence of sapient, mortal beings: people who live, die, and are capable of understanding their own existence. Not every world has humans— while we’re present a lot of the time, we’re not universal— yet there are always people, whether they came about by some being’s deliberate design or through a process of evolution.”

  “Why?”

  “No one I’ve met knows. There are theories, of course: perhaps, like Seliureos, it’s a universal constant. Others say such commonalities may be a clue about the nature of the hypothetical source from which all the spheres spring.”

  “What’s the third truth?”

  “It answers your question about whether I’ll one day return to the Liberated World. Normally, it would be impossible for me to find my way back there.”

  Estia leaned forward, her expression quizzical. “Is there something preventing you?”

  “Not quite. You see, the third and final truth every Journeyer must learn is that the Eternity River moves in chaotic ways, and that no sphere will ever be found where one left it. Finding one’s way back to a sphere is somewhat like searching a rainstorm for a singular, specific droplet of water.”

  “That’s terrible.” Estia’s shoulders slumped with the weight of painful memory. “I’m already heartbroken by the loss of my village. I can scarce imagine what it must be like to be unable to return to your world.”

  “However.” Serra raised a finger. “There’s one exception to that rule: no matter how far a Journeyer has gone across the River, she’ll always know how to find her way back to the sphere where she was born. I could tell you, even now, how I would return to Tria.”

  “Don’t you miss your home?”

  “Very much.”

  “You could be on your way back there right now, but you’re not,” Estia observed, her curiosity piqued. “Is that because of a part of your story you haven’t told me yet?”

  “That’s right. I can’t go back, not until I save my brother. I intend to bring him with me when I return, but I need to wait a while longer before I set out to rescue him. The time isn’t right yet.”

  “I don’t get how you’re so patient,” Estia muttered. “If my home still stood, I’d be returning there the first chance I got.”

  “Something tells me you, too, have something you need to do first: a task which will take you on more of a journey than you ever expected.” Serra smiled knowingly. “That brings me to whether I’ll ever return to the Liberated World. I’ve realized something unusual. It seems as though, if one stays long enough, a sphere can become a second home. Tria isn’t the only world I could find my way back to, if I tried: there are two others, and Alendras’s world is one of them.”

  “So you’ll go there again someday.”

  “Maybe. I dearly hope so: I’d regret never learning what becomes of that sphere’s future.”

 
“Then you will,” Estia said, with a degree of confidence which drew an impressed smile from Serra. “If there’s something I’ve learned since I left my own home, it’s that you make room for what’s important to you. You’ll go back, sooner or later.”

  “You’re wise, for one so young.”

  “I’m no child,” Estia retorted with the most faux-insolent expression she could muster. “I’m almost twenty-one! We’re both adults. What’s a few extra centuries after that? I’m just as qualified to say the occasional wise thing as you are, old lady.”

  “Peace, peace, O Sage of Crusann,” Serra chuckled, raising her hands in defeat. “I’ll return to the story, and question your wisdom no further.”

  “Do that.” Estia gave a sniff of mock affront. “I’m listening.”

  Serra shifted from a cross-legged to a kneeling position, and shook off the leaves which had gathered on her cloak’s shoulders in the hours she’d been stationary.

  “After I left the Liberated World, the first place I Journeyed was a sphere covered in jungle, whose people lived in its trees and never descended for fear of the creatures which lurked on the forest floor.” Serra’s voice settled into a slow and clear storyteller’s cadence. “After a short stay there, I would Journey between spheres several more times before I reached the world called Raith. It was there I found what I was searching for: a way to fight back against the trackers who had taken my brother captive and who continued to hunt me so tenaciously.”

  As Serra cast her thoughts into the past to walk among her memories, somewhere in the darkness of the forest a crow cawed harshly. An expression of pain clouded the woman’s features, so briefly Estia barely caught it.

  “Raith was the sphere where I would finally learn the truth of my pursuers. It was the world where I would eventually meet the first man I would ever love as a partner… as well as the first I would ever kill as an enemy.”