by Graeme Ing
Blood soaked her dress, spreading outward like necrosis. So much blood. Why was there so much blood? My hands flew to her wound, pushing down hard, not caring how much I might bruise her. Her life trickled between my fingers, warm and slippery. While I maintained pressure with one hand, I ripped free a section of her dress below her waist. Then I rolled her limp form over and back until I had the makeshift bandage wrapped around her chest and pulled as tight as I could manage. Pain seared through my gut but I didn’t dare stop. My breath came in wheezing pants.
She whimpered, a noise so quiet that I nearly missed it.
Thank the Gods. She still lived.
I steeled myself for excruciating pain, scooped her into my arms, and tried to stand. My cries echoed through the empty tower. My vision tunneled and I dropped her. I wiped my sweat-drenched face and tried again, pushing myself to the brink. Just a bit more. Give me strength. One of my ribs snapped. I bit down hard against the agony and caught my tongue. A slimy, metallic taste made me want to puke. I stumbled against the wall, turning to protect Ayla’s head. I didn’t care about myself, but only while I lived did I have a chance to save her.
“I won’t give up on you,” I murmured into her hair.
I set my sights on the door. Just get to the door. Prayers to every God I could name rattled through my mind in an endless chant, while I willed myself to take one step after another. The walls oozed and pulsed as if mocking the life seeping from Ayla.
Step. Step.
I staggered into the hallway, which seemed to stretch away into the distance. The spiders had gathered in a vigil, hovering like vultures for our deaths. The stairs looked a lifetime away. That was my new goal—reach the stairs.
Step. Step.
Stay with me, Ayla. Stay with me.
Somehow I got there and sagged against the curving wall, sliding my back along it as I inched down, grimacing at every jarring step. Sweat poured off me. My knees threatened to give out but I made it to the floor below. I looked down the winding staircase, fighting to focus my blurred vision. How long had it taken to get this far? Was this my purgatory for disturbing Caradan?
With my ear to Ayla’s mouth, I could barely make out her tiniest breath. My throbbing muscles implored me to rest. Pain from my broken ribs stabbed me breath after breath, making me relive the sight of the dagger entering her breast.
I wanted to give up. I couldn’t give up.
The next goal—two more flights.
Step. Step.
I longed to talk to her, whisper in her ear, anything to keep her with me, let her know that she wasn’t alone. I didn’t dare expend the energy. My rapid breathing would have to serve.
Step. Step.
Daylight lanced into the hallway before me. Something was different. Solas beckoned me with a beacon of light, and I couldn’t wait to escape this cursed place. One foot after the other until, finally, fresh air chilled me. My vision sharpened. Only then did I realize that at some point in my agonizing journey I’d departed The Gray. I retraced each painful step in my mind, and then shook my head. It didn’t matter. It was enough to know that Caradan had let us go.
I toppled from the springy plank, plunging into the swamp. Ayla flew from my arms as if in slow motion, making an almighty splash as she entered the bracken water with her back first. I grabbed a clump of reeds for support, waded after her, and used her natural buoyancy to my favor in bringing her back into my arms. Her face had turned blue and her eyes hollow. I scraped muck from her nose and mouth. She didn’t stir.
“Stay with me,” I said. “Don’t leave me.”
The gleaming temple spires in the distance reminded me of my mission. My life had one purpose, and if necessary I would die doing it. I waded in a direct line toward the hole in the wall, weaving only to avoid the ancient, sunken tombs. Ayla’s head lolled and bounced.
How long could she hold on—or had she already passed on? My vision blurred again, this time with tears. What would I do if she died? Would she return as a ghost? Could I Séance with her as I had my mother? What if she fled and refused all contact with the physical world? I couldn’t bear to be so alone. Not now. Not after everything we had shared. I relived the touch of her lips on mine.
I lost count of how many ever-decreasing goals I set and miraculously achieved. After what seemed like days after I had left the tower, I blundered into Temple Plaza. I shuffled her weight in my arms, shocked at the quantities of blood covering us both. This couldn’t be real. Any moment I’d wake from another of Caradan’s nightmares.
“Please help,” I said, my throat parched, sweat stinging my eyes.
Passersby recoiled and hurried past. Why wouldn’t they help? Ayla was likely dead because two people chose to stand up for their city. Damn every one of you trying hard to ignore us, too busy, too scared to help.
“You ungrateful tristak,” I muttered. “Look what this girl gave up for you.”
Anger revitalized me. I blinked back tears and staggered to the closest temple. I didn’t recognize the deity it served, and didn’t care. I would worship them later. When I moved between the ornate entrance pillars, two brown-cloaked guards intercepted me.
“Let me in. She needs healing.”
“Your kind isn’t welcome.” The man shoved me.
Pain lanced through me, but all I cared about was not dropping Ayla.
I moved forward again, and both guards reached for their swords.
Damn my profession.
My arms cramped and buckled. I couldn’t carry her much further. I couldn’t remain conscious much longer. The towering temple buildings blurred into a single fuzzy blob. I shook my head to clear it and my gaze settled on an impressive edifice constructed from white stone.
It called to me like a beacon. I stumbled forward, knowing in my heart I would never reach its distant entrance. I put one foot stubbornly after the other, and made it to a sprawling garden filled with emerald-leafed trees and flowers of every hue. I’d forgotten that colors existed other than blood red.
Ayla’s face was serene, her lips parted but lifeless. I willed her chest to make the barest motion, but it didn’t. Tears streamed down my face as I lay her gently on a bench in the garden. A pair of blurry white shapes moved toward me through the bushes.
“Save her,” I muttered.
They looked up and hurried toward me, resolving into white-robed priests. I considered my Guild robe, then slipped out of it, balled it up, and cast it into the undergrowth. I knelt beside Ayla in plain clothing. At that moment we were equals, not master and apprentice.
I stroked her forehead with one hand, accidentally smearing blood into her hair. I wanted to say something profound and encouraging, but no words came. All I could do was stare into her still face. The priest said something, but his voice seemed to disappear down a long tunnel. Everything on my body hurt. I was spent. My vision darkened.
I fumbled with her hand, fingering the Duke’s signet ring that she wore.
“Duke Imarian,” I mumbled. “Whatever…cost…”
I crashed to the ground and into darkness.
I dreamed of flowers and a manicured garden, through which a young woman ran, her hands trailing through hanging tree fronds before she stopped to breathe deep from immaculately arranged flower beds. She giggled when I gave chase, teasing me, allowing me to catch her. I swept her into my arms and we gazed into each other’s eyes, grinning like fools in love. From behind her, my mother appeared, scowling.
“Stop playing childish games, Maldren.” She waggled a finger. “There is study to be done. Where is your robe?”
I eased the girl away guiltily and glanced down at my gray shirt and brown pants.
Mother stepped forward. “Go and find your robe at once.”
“I found your robe,” a man’s voice said.
I spun but no one was there.
“Your robe,” the man repeated. “I found it.”
My eyes fluttered open and focused on an elderly man. He walked around t
he bed in which I lay.
“I understand why you discarded it.”
He placed a neatly folded black bundle on a chair, on top of what looked like my clothes. Then he crossed to the open window and inhaled deeply. Birds chirped in a bush speckled with snow-white flowers that waved in the breeze, wafting a fresh scent into the room. He turned back to face me and smoothed his white eyebrows with one finger.
“You need not be ashamed. Solas welcomes anyone in need. We cleaned and repaired your robe.”
“Ayla?” My stomach quivered. I needed to know right then.
“She sleeps in the next room.”
My heart pounded. She was alive. I choked on a cry of joy, coughed, and tried again.
“Thank Belaya for all her mercy.”
He smiled back. “You mumbled her name continuously.”
I sat up, stiff, but breathing wasn’t difficult. My body barely ached. I probed my ribs tenderly but there was no pain.
“You were in dire need of healing yourself.”
He poured juice from a pitcher and handed me a goblet.
“Your qe was severely depressed in many places. So much pain for one so young.”
I sipped the wazh, savoring its tart, refreshing taste.
I threw back the bedcovers. “I must see her.”
“From the doorway only. She is still in qe-afreet and must not be disturbed.”
I could only assume that was some kind of ritual. I took a long gulp of cool juice and then swung my legs out of bed. I wore a simple white robe and my feet were bare.
“How long will she—?”
“She will awake tomorrow.”
I peered out the window, trying to see around the large bush. “What time is it? What day is it?”
“You arrived five hours ago. Healing you was a simple matter. Her wounds were substantial. Twice she nearly died.”
My hands trembled and I gripped the goblet tightly.
“I don’t know what happened,” he said, then raised one hand to quell my interruption, “and I don’t care to know, but had you been five minutes later…”
I stood, surprised by how rested I felt. I hadn’t felt so good in ages. Maybe I should move in here. I might get a decent sleep for once. Too many days straining my back in the sewers and undercity.
“Dress and then you can see her. My name is Perris.”
He stepped out of the room, untied a cord, and a drape fell across the entrance to the room to serve as a door.
I wasted no time in dressing in my shirt and pants. I admired the neat repairs they had made to my Guild robe, but chose to carry it out of respect for the old priest and his order. I slipped past the drape and into a long hallway that shone as bright as day. It was airy and carried a delicate aroma of feresen flowers. Holes in the roof funneled in daylight somehow. Why didn’t the Guild have such things?
“Stay in the hallway,” Perris whispered. “You must not go in, however much you wish to.”
When he pushed aside the drape to her room, I stepped up to the threshold. His hand hovered near my arm.
The room was identical to mine except that Ayla lay upon the bed, or at least I thought it was her. Undulating waves of magic orbited the bed, moving between metallic spiked pillars that stood in each corner. The magical field blazed blue and white and purple, barely transparent enough for me to make out a body clothed in a white robe. The air thrummed as the magic whipped around.
I wanted to rush over, lie beside her, and stroke her hair, kiss her lips. Maybe I had moved, because Perris gently pulled me back into the hallway and the drape fell. I had no idea that temples possessed such healing magic. They must have recovered her from the very brink of death. Or had she died and the bizarre contraption in the room had resparked life into her? I shivered.
Perris placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it gently. The desire to remain in the temple tugged at my heart. Ayla and I could stay here, walk the peaceful gardens, forget the city, and forget the evil outside. I could forsake necromancy and become a priest, paying forward the healing that had saved her. Saved us both.
My idyllic bubble popped. The coronation was three days away. No time for such silly dreams.
“I need to leave for a while,” I told Perris.
He nodded and led me along the hallway. I glanced over my shoulder. I wanted to stand outside her room until she awoke, but there was something I had to do.
“Thank you for saving her. I can’t… She’s everything to me. I love her.”
I halted and he looked at me, puzzled. I couldn’t believe it had been that easy to say, but it was true, and I wasn’t afraid of that truth anymore.
“I can see.” His eyes smiled.
“I never expected the temple…anyone, in fact…to help me. I—”
I’d imagined waking in the street, clutching her cold corpse. I shuddered.
He frowned and waggled a finger at me. “Being judgmental clouds the qe, the spirit.”
“Her father’s estate will make a generous donation to your cause, I promise, if you can wait until after the coronation.”
“Of course. You can find your way from here.”
We emerged into the public temple, a gargantuan hall whose towering pillars appeared to have been carved from single pieces of marble. I gawked in wonder at the inside of a cone that stretched above the ceiling and into the late-afternoon sky. The hollow spire had been manufactured entirely from crystal panels, and I couldn’t fathom how such a thing could have been built.
Three enormous arches on the far side of the hall exited to Temple Plaza. On the right wall stood a forty-feet-tall statue of Solas. I veered toward it, my heart telling me it was the right place to go. My heart had been saying a lot lately, probably glad it could get a word in between the endless chattering of my mind. As I arrived at benches set at the base of the statue, I glanced back. Perris had been watching me. He dipped his head and turned into the hallway. I took that as approval.
Solas was dressed in a toga, cinched at the waist with a belt fashioned like a sunbeam traced in a circle. His hands were crossed over his chest as if in peaceful repose, yet clutched a serrated-edged greatsword. I perched on the end of an empty bench.
If you can hear me, Solas, if you bother—no, that sounds rude. If you choose to grace me with your attention, I apologize for my poor articulation. I don’t worship much. Well, at all, really, at least not in temple. Anyway, thank you. Thank you for your kind priests, thank you for taking me in, and thank you for Ayla’s life. As a God, I know you can see below the surface, to see that she and I are trying hard to save lives. Necromancers aren’t bad people. Well, most of us. Ayla is a good soul. Thank you.
I stood, crossed to a copper bowl set near his feet, and threw in five gold coins.
The long delve underground to my mother’s grave gave me time to think of what I wanted to say. Needed to say. I wished I had Ayla as moral support, but it was better this way. I didn’t trust Mother’s games. What had she said to Ayla last time?
I strode boldly into the catacombs. Unseen ghouls tingled on my Perception, skulking in holes or dark coffin niches. They’d regret messing with me. Magic surged in my veins and I itched for an excuse to release it as I stepped over crumbling skeletons and loose rubble. The contented hum of the glow beetle in its cage relaxed me.
At my mother’s grave, I laid the bunch of yellow flowers I had carried all the way from street level. Then I trickled magic through my palms and let my Séance spell seep into the ground.
Hello, Mother.
Nothing.
I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.
I really, genuinely meant it, and hoped that she could sense that.
I was rude and selfish. I—
She appeared in the air before me, transparent yet real enough to let me see her every movement. She looked down at me and smiled.
You remembered my favorite flowers. I can’t smell them but it’s a lovely gesture. Thank you. I didn’t expect to see you again s
o soon.
I lowered my head and warmth flooded my cheeks. Everything you said was true. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. Ever since you… No, that’s not fair. This isn’t about you. I spent so many solars trying to be a man everyone would respect, that I…well, I wrapped myself into my own world. I wanted to prove myself. I needed to do it all. Be it all. The masters lectured me about your talents, your prowess. It was like you were a legend. I didn’t know how to live up to that.
Maldren—
I didn’t want to mess up. Alone, I thought no one could get hurt, but they did. People are still getting hurt, because I’m still messing up.
Maldren—
And all the while I hated that the Guild had lost its way. Why was I the only one who cared, the only one with no lust for power? I slapped my palm on her gravestone. They’re perpetuating a culture of fear. They’ve forgotten whom we serve. What good is the might of the Guild if they’re on the wrong path?
Maldren!
She extended her arm and a wave of soothing warmth washed over me, from the top of my head to my toes. I snapped my head up to look into her smiling face. The delicious heat faded, leaving me tingling all over.
I’m proud to have you as my son. More than you know. It’s been rough for you. I wanted so much to nudge you, to reassure or comfort you.
I uttered a short laugh that echoed through the catacombs, alien and startling.
I wish I could have done the same for Ayla, I said. I think I’ve learned more from her than she from me.
A wide grin spread across her face, revealing perfect spectral teeth.
Even though I almost got her killed…
But you saved her. That’s all that matters. I’m glad you’re confiding in Kolta. I never had a better apprentice.
That was how they knew each other! It also explained Kolta’s remarks in Boattown, but why hadn’t he told me he studied under my mother? I sank back on my heels.
I followed your advice and did some reading. Caradan’s been in the background since day one. He’s the missing piece, I’m sure of it.
