The Indivisible and the Void

by D M Wozniak

Starting at the third row, the headstones cease.

  Cleanthes must see me staring at them, correctly interpreting my thoughts from my furrowed brow and shaking head.

  “I had lost the gift completely by then,” he says quietly to me. “And I don’t have a stonemason. No other way to carve letters into rock out here. We tried painting on wood but it rotted away.”

  “It’s the hilma,” I tell him. “It has taken away your gift of voidance.”

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. “That can’t be it.”

  I wave my hand to all of the headstones behind us. “This didn’t happen at once. You lost the gift gradually, as your addiction took hold of you. Can’t you see? It’s practically written on these stones.”

  He shakes his head. “I know there is another way,” he says. “If there’s anyone in this world who can help me, it’s you.”

  I pause, disappointed at his stubbornness, but not surprised.

  Cleanthes’ back is still turned to me, so he doesn’t see my forlorn expression.

  There is only one way forward. Not just to restore his gift of voidance, but to restore his very life. He must leave hilma behind and never look back.

  Which is going to be the hardest test of all for him to take. A test which I don’t have the heart to tell him about yet. I must break the news gently.

  He sucks in air through his teeth, as he scratches his mangy red hair. “There is something else I want to show you,” he says.

  Without waiting for my answer, he suddenly walks off, to the edge of the graveyard. I have no choice but to follow him through a matching archway. But before I leave, I turn and look back into the shade. The effulgent has raised his hood once again, a statue among the dead.

  Briefly closing my eyes, I step into the sunlight.

  We’re closer to the barn now, and for the first time, I see another white structure in the distance, long and narrow.

  He points to it.

  “I had that built.”

  “Another barn? For what?”

  He smiles. “It’s not a barn. They’re row-houses. My family lives there. There was not enough room in the mansion for everyone.”

  “Your family?”

  “I brought everyone who was left in Joscaio. The children and elderly. Even the cats and dogs. Nobody was left behind.”

  “You put them to work in your fields?”

  He narrows his eyes and briefly glances at me. “No. They just live here. I knew that I could never kill innocents if my workers ran away. But if I brought everyone here, there would be no reason for anyone to leave me. We would be a loving family.”

  I’m not quite sure what to say, because I no longer believe Cleanthes is of right mind. On one hand, he murdered his own people—tore entire families apart—for petty theft. On the other, he proclaims he is trying to keep them together. It is hard to tell what is the truth and what is a lie, because in Cleanthes’ world, everything is distorted.

  Over the whispering brush and towards the white row-houses, I hear the sound of children playing.

  “There’s over three hundred of them. Between the ones that live in the mansion and the row-houses. My people are better off here than in Joscaio. We have enough money for anything.”

  “Blood money,” I mumble.

  He ignores me. “We might even build a school for my children.”

  My children. I am not sure if he is being literal or figurative, and then I realize that it doesn’t matter. It’s disturbing in either case.

  “Sometimes I think that I even passed your test. You sent me to Joscaio to make their world a better place, and in my own way I think I’ve done it. Without voidance.”

  I sigh, deep and heavy. The road in front of him is going to be very difficult.

  “There is only one test, Cleanthes,” I softly answer. “And it’s still in front of you. If you come out of it alive, you’ll get your gift back.”

  He looks at me excitedly, but his expression drops as my meaning becomes clear.

  The sound of running children gets louder, until I see two boys trample up a hill through a slender trail in the grass and enter our path. They are around seven years old. One had been chasing the other, but when they see us, they immediately go silent, their faces turning white.

  The taller boy taps the shoulder of the other, and they run back in the direction that they came from. My eyes follow them, until I realize that they had been running from two older men, who now approach us from the very same hill, with wide strides.

  One is them is the same footman who led my horse away, while the other is a skullman.

  The latter carries a folded white towel in his outstretched hands. He flashes me a distrusting look, before addressing Cleanthes.

  “Redskull, we found something.”

  Cleanthes tosses his hair with his hand, looking annoyed with the sudden interruption.

  “What is it?” he asks, his curt tone markedly different.

  The skullman glances at me again.

  “Out with it,” Cleanthes adds. “This is my former teacher, whom I trust.”

  The skullman carefully unfolds the white towel, and reveals a glass vial resting in the center.

  I lean in, getting a better look.

  “We found this in the girl’s saddlebag.”

  It’s Chimeline’s vial.

  “Oh,” I explain. “The woman I am traveling with is from the archipelago. I believe that is the extract of jasmine leaves.”

  Cleanthes picks up the clear vial full of grayish liquid, and twists off the rubber stopper. Placing it directly underneath his nose, he breathes in deeply, and then carefully replaces the stopper.

  “This is not jasmine,” he says, placing Chimeline’s vial back on the white towel. “It is moonspit.”

  I look to him in confusion.

  “From the skin of the moonfrog.”

  I take a deep breath and shake my head in disagreement. “Cleanthes, I don’t think Chimeline would lie to me.”

  His red-orange face turns to me, for once not shaking.

  “She is an assassin.”

  A Chance at Life and Voidance

  Cleanthes takes a step near me and begins whispering. His entire body reeks of hilma.

  “This is how Prainise tried to do it. They sent a woman into my bed. If it weren’t for my instincts, and a little bit of luck, I would be dead.” His yellow eyes shift left and right quickly. “Somebody sent her to kill me.”

  I put an arm over his crimson cloak, ushering him away, out of earshot of his two men. “Not everyone is out to kill you.”

  He turns to me. “Maybe she was sent to kill you.”

  “That’s your hilma talking.”

  He puts his face close to mine. “Do you have any enemies?”

  “I have disagreements with many, but none that would resort to murder.”

  “You think that I am paranoid. That my mind is dulled. But it’s sharp. And I’m telling you, she’s an assassin.” His eyes keep flickering left and right. “She’s probably another gift from Prainise.”

  “She’s from the citadel. And she had no idea that we’d be coming here.”

  From far away comes the sound of a woman’s laughter, and he spins his entire body in that direction, as if he can see her beyond the tall grass. His crimson robes flare out at his sides, as he looks back at me.

  “You should kill her with your voidstone,” he whispers. “Or I could have one of my skullmen do it, if you prefer.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “It can be painless, if you want,” he insists.

  “Stop it!” I yell, wiping my dry face with my hands. “You need to stop this madness,” I add, quieter this time and through clenched teeth.

  I shake my head and take a deep breath, briefly wondering if I should tell this crazed man the truth. But the complexity of any lie is more than I can bear right now.

  “She’s one of the king’s harem,” I say.

  “Harem?” He shou
ts out in disbelief.

  “I’m not going to get into details, but I had dinner with the king the night we left the citadel. His majesty practically pushed her on me.”

  “The king,” he whispers, his eyes like gold coins. “Why would the king send an assassin with you?”

  My mind goes back to the blue dining room, King Andrej X’s face and words made of stone. I’m beginning to wonder if I need to find myself another master voider.

  “Have you been sharing your bed with her?” he whispers.

  “No!”

  But I would have, had I given into her advances.

  I recall the moonlit street after my argument with the king. Her dark, brown eyes, and the scent of oranges and sugar. Take me to your bedchamber, your grace.

  Is it possible that the dinner was some sort of test, to gauge my reaction for needing more voiders sent to his cursed war? Is it possible that I had failed that test, and Chimeline was the price of that failure?

  No.

  “We took an airship,” I say, vocalizing my thoughts. “I had passed out from being in the void. If she had wanted to kill me, she could have easily done it then.”

  “That’s not their way,” he says with an upraised finger.

  “What does that mean?”

  “To an assassin, the manner of the murder is as important as the murder itself.”

  “Let me guess. Poison.”

  He nods.

  “Cleanthes, I’ve heard such talk. They are all spurious claims. Superstitions passed down in ratty bars by older men to a younger generation.”

  He grabs onto my robe with a fist. “It nearly happened to me, master voider. Had I not heard these spurious claims and been prepared, I would be the one buried in that cemetery and not Terstine.”

  I give him an icy stare.

  “Moonspit comes from the moonfrog, which is native to Scorpiontail. It’s a very slippery, oily substance, and is extremely deadly. If it gets into your bloodstream, it will stop your heart within a halfbell. Moonspit is much deadlier than your common blade-coating poison. Or the sap my skullmen dip their darts into. With moonspit, you don’t even have to break the skin.”

  I look at him skeptically. “That’s what I heard. It just needs to be rubbed in.”

  His yellow eyes smile. “The assassin applies it on her body. Inside of her.” He clears his throat, as he brings his hand to his groin, in hideous illustration. “You understand my meaning?”

  I turn away to take a deep breath.

  “By the time the man is engaged, it has already begun to work. The moonspit has entered his bloodstream with friction and his heart begins to race. In the throes of passion, it begins to beat faster than it should. Then suddenly,” he snaps his fingers. “It stops.”

  “If these stories were true, it would kill the woman as well.”

  His eyebrows rise. “This is where the seed of the rumor comes from. They say the women of Scorpiontail are as dangerous as they are beautiful.”

  I give a begrudging nod.

  “The women of the Scorpiontail—a rare few, that is—have been slowly introduced to the poison when they are young. A drop at a time. And they build up a tolerance over the years. It does not kill them, but it’s not painless either. I saw this firsthand.”

  “How?”

  He claws at my hand again, tighter this time. “When Terstine lay naked in my room, her body was already covered in sweat, and we had not even begun. Her hair was matted to her face. The sheets were soaked through. So I knew something was wrong. Had I not been playing piano, I would have been dead.”

  “Playing piano?”

  “Let me back up,” he says. “We both undressed. Things were progressing. She then said that she needed to go to the bathroom. Alright, I thought. Killed the mood a bit, but no big deal.”

  He hunches his shoulders.

  “She was taking a while, so I started to work on my etude to pass the time. When she emerged from the bathroom, she was eager to make love. Very eager. But by then, I was in the middle of the etude.”

  I just shake my head.

  “A beautiful piece in minor C from Northinglight. A female composer by the name of Friedchappe. Have you heard—”

  “So you were intent on finishing the song before you and this Terstine...”

  He nods. “This is the critical piece. It took a tenthbell to finish the etude. Meanwhile she started to get very upset with me. She began breaking out in a sweat and then had to rest on the bed. The sweat was practically pouring out of her.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Well, I was naturally suspicious. So I went into the bathroom and that’s when I found the empty vial. A vial that looked remarkably similar to the one in your companion’s possession.”

  I look down at the sandy ground, wondering if Chimeline could be more than she seems, or if I am simply getting caught up in the delusions of an addict.

  “It all makes sense,” he whispers. “Your companion is quite beautiful. A look worthy of her weapon of choice.”

  This is enough.

  I leave Cleanthes side and walk back down the sandy road in the direction we came from, towards the skullmen. One of them is still bearing the white towel with the vial resting upon it.

  I point to it.

  “Take this back to the stables. Return it to her saddlebag exactly like you found it. And make no mention of this to anyone.”

  The skullman looks to Cleanthes, who has followed me. “Redskull?”

  Cleanthes nods anxiously and brings his praying hands up in front of him. “Yes!” he says, his voice a loud whisper. It’s as if he wants to be quiet, but like a child, he cannot control his enthusiasm. “The master voider’s tactic is brilliant. Let the assassin believe she is winning at her own game. Fight deception with deception.”

  He looks at me, perhaps for approval, and I give a single nod, even though his assumptions are not even remotely correct.

  Let Cleanthes think we’re playing some sort of master game. As long as he doesn’t harm Chimeline, I’m fine with it. I have serious doubts about his moonspit theory—whatever Chimeline is doing, I will talk to her about it myself. It’s Cleanthes who needs to be dealt with right now.

  The two men bow and walk back down the gentle slope toward the stables.

  As soon as they are out of earshot, I turn to Cleanthes and say, “Don't say a word of this to anyone. I want to handle this in my own way.”

  “Of course.”

  A moment passes, and my body slowly relaxes. I look around at our bleached gold and white surroundings: the barn, row-houses, tall grasses, towers of millionescents, all of it.

  And I shift my thoughts to Cleanthes.

  I was never going to kill him—if I were, I would have done it in the library when we were first reacquainted.

  Which means that there are only two paths forward.

  I could simply move on from this place. Leave him to his own devices. He will be dead in no time, either due to the drug or his own men—once they realize that he is a charlatan. He’s already lost the gift. He is no more of a threat than any other skullman.

  Or, I could rehabilitate him. Ween him off the drug, and retrain his mind toward voidance. But that would require bringing him with me. Taking him back under my wing.

  I’m not sure what drives my decision more: the remains of his moral compass, or the remains of mine.

  “Let’s head back,” I say.

  We slowly make our way towards the pool and back patio—not through the graveyard, but instead continuing down the circular path through the tall grasses. Along the way, we pass a sizable vegetable garden tended to by at least a dozen people.

  Eventually, I see the pool up ahead. Chimeline is wearing her white lace dress again. It looks as though it’s been repaired.

  As she sees us walking on the path, I wave to her, and she shyly waves back. She then spreads out the hem of her dress. There is a hesitancy in her movements and in the look upon her face, most likely
caused by the recent violence on the road. But I think I can see a hint of a smile there too, a hopeful indication that her dress was not the only thing that was salvaged.

  “Assassin,” Cleanthes mumbles under his breath.

  “Sit down,” I tell him.

  We’re back at the same bench as before, but now the sun is lower. The lemon tree on the opposite side of the path shades the entire area.

  He sits down, and I join him.

  “I will help you restore your gift.”

  He exhales, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and fingers interwoven.

  “I knew you would.”

  He begins rocking his body back and forth in glee.

  “But you need to leave hilma behind.”

  And just as quickly, Cleanthes goes still.

  “There is no other way,” I add quietly.

  “That’s impossible. I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can,” I answer, my voice optimistic.

  I purse my lips, watching him closely as he wrings his hands, his emotion getting a hold of him. “I understand that addiction is hard to overcome. But the drug is what’s preventing your voidance from working.”

  Suddenly, he turns to me and clutches my black robe. “You don’t understand. You don’t know the power of this stupid, fucking little flower.”

  I have the urge to push his hands off of me, but let him be.

  “What do you want?” I ask him. “Hilma or the void? You can’t have both.”

  It takes him longer for him to answer than I expect.

  “The void,” he finally says.

  “Are you sure?”

  He mumbles something that I can’t hear, so grab his shoulders with my two hands and give him a violent shake. He’s so frail underneath the crimson cloak.

  “Are you sure?” I repeat, louder this time.

  He nods.

  “Are you sure?” I shout the words this time.

  “Yes!”

  I push him away from me.

  “Then you have a chance to survive. As long as you want something more than this hideous drug, you have a chance at life and voidance. It will be the hardest test you have ever taken in your life. Harder than anything you did at the university. But I will help you.”

  He shakes uncontrollably now, and I put my arm around him, letting his face fall back into my shoulder. A few women from the patio crane their necks past the yews. They hear the shouting but do not understand what is happening.