Word of Truth

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “Not much of a party,” Whitney muttered to himself.

  “What was that?” Lucindur asked, tearing his attention from the artists.

  He glanced over. He’d nearly forgotten she was there. A smile was full upon her face as she traipsed through streets he guessed she’d been on plenty of times before. It’d been a long time since he’d seen Lucindur so happy. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure he ever had.

  “You seem pleased,” Whitney said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Whitney,” she said. “I know you’re upset.”

  “No, no. Look,” he said, placing a hand on her forearm, “I don’t expect the world to shut down because Whitney Fierstown is a wee bit sad. So, what is it—happy to be home? Or are you smitten?”

  “Smitten!” Lucindur gasped.

  “I saw that smile on your face after Mr. Onepp left the room. Besides, you clearly have history.”

  Lucindur turned away. “He’s a wonderful man. So kind, and caring.”

  A melancholy smile passed over Whitney’s own face. He was happy Lucindur had seemingly found someone to connect with—or reconnect as fate would have it. Before today, he’d never heard a thing about Talwyn’s father. However, as pleased as he was for Lucindur, the thought only furthered his resolve that he never should have left Sora’s side.

  “I’ve made a mistake,” Whitney said.

  “Oh?” Lucindur said, her smile downturning slightly.

  “I need to go back to Sora.”

  “Don’t be silly. Mr. Onepp said the Troupe is just beyond that portal.” She pointed to a wide archway in the center of the street. Stairs climbed to a flattened, golden courtyard, and through the opening, Whitney noted the Pikeback Mountains in the distance.

  “They’re outside the city?” Whitney asked.

  “Of course, they are,” Lucindur said, slapping a palm to her forehead. “How foolish could we be? They are following the Pompare way. ‘Never sleep within the city in which you’re performing.’”

  The Pompares taught the Troupe to arrive like magic, seemingly out of nowhere, to dazzle and captivate before disappearing once again into the night. However, here in Myen Elnoir, where everyone was a musician, artist, dancer, actor, or some other such entertainer, Whitney didn’t see the point.

  “No better way to honor the dead, I guess,” Whitney said as they began their ascent to the courtyard.

  At the top, he stopped in the middle of the portal and spun a slow circle. Not many things had the power to awe someone as worldly as Whitney, but this did it. From so high up, he could see the whole of Myen Elnoir. He’d been to the Glintish capital before, but he’d never seen it like this. The portal was far from anywhere he’d frequented in the past, never straying much farther than the Western arches. Why would he? It was the one place in Pantego he never could manage to steal a yigging thing.

  However, he’d always noted how the city border was utterly unguarded. No walls were built up, nor watchtowers dotting the fringes. Even within, despite the presence of Glass soldiers at scattered outposts, the feeling of always being watched that existed everywhere else in the Kingdom was absent.

  They passed by benches sat upon by men and women deep in passionate kisses, though, it wasn’t obscene or vulgar. There was a quality these people had—purity. He even recalled one of the first times he’d really met Talwyn, garbed in a soaking wet, see-through dress. She was gorgeous, tempting even… but there was nothing untoward about her.

  “Tal,” Lucindur said softly.

  Whitney blushed, worried that Lucindur might have seen his thoughts. But then, he followed her line of sight down into the rocky landscape. At least they hadn’t fully obeyed the Pompare method, having set up camp only just beyond the city on a low mesa. He saw her too, and Benon, and the others. Squinting, he suspected the small one beside the actors was Gentry. He and Benon jested back and forth as they ate around a campfire.

  They weren’t far off the road, where a merchant caravan was just arriving for the evening. Three carts, all pulled by Panpingese Longhairs, giant hoofs clomping in the mud.

  “Oh, Franny’s food,” Whitney groaned, eying the fire. “I wonder what she’s cooking.”

  “Let’s go find out, shall we?” Lucindur said, starting off toward the ramp, which led back down on the other side.

  Whitney, however, stayed rooted to the spot. His mind brought him back to the battle inside the Citadel and all those powerful upyr who’d died facing Nesilia. Then to the dark cloud south of them, which somehow seemed not to be spreading here.

  “Maybe we should leave them,” he said.

  Lucindur stopped and whipped around, eyeing Whitney quizzically. “Leave them?”

  “You remember what you told me that night while we sipped Breklian brandy after talking with Modera?”

  Her expression let him know she didn’t.

  “You said the reason Modera Pompare wanted me to take care of Gentry was that before I came around, he wouldn’t even talk to anyone. Right?”

  “Well, sure, but—“

  “Look at him out there,” Whitney interrupted. “Clearly, he’s happy. Doing what he loves and what he’s best at. He doesn’t need me, or you, or anyone. Why would I want to disturb that?”

  “You made a promise,” Lucindur argued.

  “Look at them, Luce. They are happy. Even Talwyn. And they’re safe. If we go out there, Gentry will be furious with us for having left him here. Even if he forgives us, he’ll want to join us in whatever comes next. He can’t. I can’t let him.”

  “And what does come next?” she asked. “I only agreed to help you save Sora, and we did. That Troupe, that’s my family. That’s where I belong.”

  “Oh, stop it. I know you want to go after Nesilia for all she’s done. All my life, I wanted to travel and perform… then, it finally happens, and I end up in a Troupe with the last Lightmancer anybody knows about at the precise time when the only way I’d find Sora is with magic. You figured out how to separate Nesilia from her hosts. So, we need you.”

  Lucindur’s lips parted like she wanted to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, she glanced back over her shoulder at the camp.”

  “This place… it’s like nothing evil has touched it since… well, ever,” Whitney went on. “How can we take them away from here? Maybe Nesilia won’t even care about this place, it’s no threat.”

  Lucindur continued to watch them as he spoke.

  “And you,” Whitney continued. “If you go down there, and you see Talwyn face to face, you won’t be able to leave. Especially not after we came so close to dying up north. And if you do leave, you’re not going to be yourself. You’ll be distracted. We can’t have you distracted if we have any hope of finding and stopping Nesilia.”

  Lucindur closed her eyes, then let her head hang. Whitney took a few steps until he was standing side by side with her, the beautiful snow-capped mountains stretched out before them.

  “We saw them, right?” Whitney said, lightly elbowing Lucindur. “They are happy. Healthy. Alive. Let’s keep it that way. If we win and defeat Nesilia, you can come back here.”

  “And if we fail?” Lucindur asked.

  “At least they’ll be here with smiles on their faces, instead of horrorstricken like we’ll likely be. It’s what I like to call a ‘win-win.’”

  “One of those sounds less like winning to me,” Lucindur grumbled.

  “Oh, Elsewhere isn’t that bad.”

  “When did you start caring about others, Whitney Fierstown?” she asked.

  “It was a cold night in Troborough. She’d been in labor for hours, and my mother was pushing—“

  “Okay, enough of that,” Lucindur said, scowling. “I don’t like it.”

  “Like it or not, it seems only right.”

  Lucindur’s response was cut off by a voice calling out in Panpingese.

  “Wei!”

  The merchants and their wagons were ascending the incline and causing a ruckus. People moved aside wh
ile the cart fought to find traction on the slick, golden streets.

  “Keep it down!” Whitney shouted, glaring at the driver. A hood cast a shadow over his face.

  Lucindur pulled Whitney aside, giving the merchants a wide berth.

  “They’ll be safe here, Lucy,” Whitney said.

  “There’s nowhere they’ll be safe,” Lucindur said. “Not with Nesilia out there and ready to destroy everyone. We can protect them.”

  “Like we did Kazimir and the others?”

  Behind them, the wagon came to an abrupt halt. The horses whinnied, and metal clanged.

  Whitney shifted his gaze to the driver again. Something was wrong… The man’s eyes… He wore leather armor dotted by bronze rivets—the mark of one capable of defending the goods beneath the wagon’s tarpaulin.

  Hopping down from his bench, he stared at Lucindur and said, “How dare you speak the Lady’s name.” His voice was like gurgling water, and before Whitney could respond, another—this one dressed in plain clothes—leaped out from behind a satin curtain and snatched Lucindur around the neck, pulling her back toward the wagon.

  Whitney reached for his weapons, but a knife to Lucindur’s throat and a threat from the driver made him pause.

  “Touch that, and she bleeds out, feeding the earth and strengthening our Lady,” the driver said.

  Whitney began to tell him there was gold beneath their feet and not dirt, but thought better of it.

  “What do you want?” Whitney said.

  He looked around, hoping someone would see what was happening and come to their aid, but no one seemed to notice. They were all too busy with their art and music and kissing and peace.

  “You think you’ve stayed hidden, but she knows where you are now,” the driver went on, “She always knows. No one is safe when you are around, Whitney Fierstown.”

  Beneath the hood, eyes, black as night and thrice as frightening, bore pinprick holes in Whitney’s own. The veins around the man’s temples and forehead pulsated, skin pallid, and cold-looking.

  Whitney knew what he was looking at without really knowing—a man possessed. Two men possessed. How had she found them? There was no time to wonder.

  “Nesilia wants me?” he said. “Then why don’t you let my friend go, and you can have me instead?”

  “Our Lady desires your life by her own hands,” the possessed merchant said. “You owe her for stealing her prized host.”

  “So, throw me in your little wagon and take me to her.”

  “We know of your prowess, thief,” the demon said. “There’s no prison that can hold you.”

  It was a ridiculous moment for pride, but Whitney couldn’t help it. He sneered. “Perhaps she’s forgotten that I’ve already killed one goddess. I’d love to do it again.”

  The merchants laughed. “You may be a master thief, but you killed nothing. “

  “Plenty of corpses would argue that. I thought Nesilia wanted me for herself? You demons really should get your stories straight.” He hoped the quavering in his voice didn’t betray the fear he felt in spite of his bravado. “Just let my friend go, and I’ll come quietly.”

  Just then, a drum pounded and, with a loud shout, a performer began dancing. The sound put the merchants’ horses into a light frenzy. It was enough for Lucindur and Whitney to react.

  Lucindur stomped down on her captive’s foot while Whitney lunged at the driver. He hoped Lucy had freed herself, and the sounds of battle beside him gave him assurance. She was fighting back.

  Whitney threw a punch that caught the driver in the ribs, but the driver was barely affected. He responded with a punch of his own, doubling Whitney over. Whitney swore, but there was no breath in his lungs. They were tangled up, Whitney bent, and the driver beating against his back. Whitney rushed in and caught the driver with his shoulder, shoving him hard into the side of the wagon.

  The horses bucked and neighed, pulling the cart forward a bit. Whitney rose, still gasping for air, but he managed to seize hold of the driver’s hood and slam his head into the wagon wheel. The Panpingese man took it like a kiss and returned with an elbow to Whitney’s jaw. The taste of blood filled his mouth, and he could feel it dribbling down his chin.

  Now, those who hadn’t been paying attention were beginning to take notice, calling for guards.

  Whitney reached again for his daggers but received a kick to his shin, followed by an uppercut that made him stagger backward.

  “You! Stop, now!” A Glass guard called from still some distance. There may not have been many of them around the city, but these came quickly, with the sounds of swords slipping from sheaths.

  “They attacked us! They’re trying to steal our goods!” the driver shouted, feigning terror with the acting prowess of any member of the Pompare Troupe.

  Whitney tried to argue, but blood forced itself down his throat. Upon looking up, he saw that the man’s eyes had returned to normal, and he was, indeed, beating up an innocent merchant.

  “It’s not like that!” Whitney tried to say, but it sounded like nonsense.

  “We’ve gotta go,” Lucindur called out, pulling herself free from the other merchant’s grip.

  It looked like she’d held her own, using her salfio to defend herself until now they fought over it. He, too, pretended to be but a simple trader, and she ripped the instrument away from him.

  Or maybe, they really were no longer possessed? The guards wouldn’t care either way.

  Lucindur took Whitney by the hand and bolted.

  “What in Elsewhere was that?” Whitney asked.

  “They were possessed by demons,” Lucindur replied.

  “I figured that much!”

  Guards rushed at them from the front now, and Whitney took control and turned them pushing through a band of musicians.

  “Follow me,” he said. “Running from guards is my speci-al-ity.”

  “Clearly, the rumors of Panping’s fate are true,” Lucindur said, ignoring him. “The feeling in my heart after we left the Citadel didn’t lie. Elsewhere is broken.”

  “Great. And we’re her number one targets.” Whitney led them down the stairs and into an alley. He’d zig-zag and confuse the untested guards. In other places, he’d take the sewers, but he didn’t know this city’s infrastructure well.

  He went to drag Lucindur around a corner, but she resisted. Her feet slid.

  “Lucy!” He glanced back and saw her standing, solemn, clutching her salfio against her chest.

  “You’re right. It’s clear now,” she said. “We have to leave them. They won’t be safe with us.”

  “Good.” He extended his hand toward her and listened for the guards. If Nesilia already had people around here in her possession, they’d be live bait locked up in a cell.

  “C’mon,” he said. “I won’t even say I told you so, but we have to get back to the Reba.”

  Lucindur closed her eyes. “I promised you a beautiful world, my daughter,” she said. “I promised you a future of light. Even if I don’t want to go, even if I don’t want to fight the fight the first Lightmancers said we would so long ago, that is how I know that I must. I won’t fail you.”

  “You’ll be back here soon,” Whitney said, his feet twitching to run. “I promise.”

  “Even if I’m not, Talwyn will know I wished to be.” She strummed a chord on her salfio with her fingernails. Even in all the chaos, the sound was spectacular, vibrating right down to Whitney’s core. “She’ll feel my sound.”

  “She sure will,” Whitney said, unsure if he believed it. “Now, let’s go. We have a goddess to kill.”

  He took her hand just as the steel armor of a Glass soldier appeared at the mouth of the alley. Then, he did what he did best. Escaped.

  VII

  The Mystic

  Sora heard her name like she had so many times before. Always it was Whitney, beckoning her from the depths. “Sora!”

  But where was he?

  She could still hear Nesilia’s mad cackle
as hands seized her. Sora slapped at them, desperate to be free. Feeling the call of Elsewhere, she tried again and felt the warmth of flames wreathing her hands, but it didn’t matter.

  “Sora, stop!”

  She clenched her eyes shut. When he shouted again, they snapped open, and she saw Whitney standing next to her, hands firmly on her shoulders. He cowered back, his face aglow with orange light from the blaze burning in her own hands.

  “Whit?,” she said, letting the fire die away.

  “It’s okay, you’re here now. You’re better. I’ve got you.” Whitney brushed the hair away from her face. “I’ve got you.”

  She sat forward, taking in her surroundings. She was still on the Reba, and it swayed as if they were back sailing on the Covenstan Depths.

  “What the yig happened?” Whitney asked, still swiping at her hair, and running his hand over her face and neck.

  It felt good, him touching her, like all the horrors of the world were cast off, even if only for a moment. Then they all came rushing back like a torrent.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know at all.” Her bed was soaked, and so was she. Sweat beaded under her eyes, on her palms. It was so cold despite the perspiration, or perhaps because of it.

  She wore only a thin undergarment. Though it wasn’t lewd, she felt it sticking to her and pushed herself off the bed. She accidentally shoved Whitney aside, then strode across the room. “Nesilia…”

  “Oh, no. Not again,” Whitney said.

  “I’m gettin fed up with that witch,” Tum Tum said, Aquira resting on his broad shoulders. Sora whipped around and realized that he’d been there the whole time. She grabbed her kimono from the plush chair and tossed it on.

  “What now?” Whitney asked, taking her by the hand and leading her to sit.

  As they walked, the ship lurched.

  “Where are we? Are we moving?” Sora asked.

  “It’s a long story, but Nesilia knows where we are,” Whitney said.

  “What? She… This is my fault…”