After all the long days, now she was finally enjoying herself.
That morning had been hard. Saying goodbye to Owen, and then Iob and Dillie, had been more wrenching than she had anticipated. She had clung to her children, even though she knew she had earned this. It was her time to move on to the glory that awaited her. Dillie had helped. She’d seen the tear pooling at the edge of her eye and said, “Don’t worry, mummy. I’ll look after Iob. And we’ll see you again when we get to go on the pilgrimage. Right?”
She had smiled and nodded her head, comforted in the knowledge that they would be together again. Though a small part of her did want to see how they would grow up. She supposed that must have been how her own father, and then later her mother, had felt when they had walked. Tynir’s grip tightened around her hand, and she looked over to see him looking at her with some concern. Could he sense what she was thinking? She concentrated on returning the smile to her face and he winked back in response. Back in the moment once more, she floated along on the roars of the crowd and the musicians that lined their route.
Somewhere at the back of the parade she knew there were others who were not happy with the honor bestowed upon them. Before the celebration had begun, she and Tynir had surveyed the crowds getting ready to walk; shaking hands and exchanging words about the beautiful weather they were blessed with. But at the rear of the camp site were the few hundred people from Alfaria who had been brought on the pilgrimage. And surprisingly, they were not believers. Gwil had met with a select few of the pilgrims from the furthest outpost of the empire a few days prior who had seemed an excited and joyous bunch, and they made her glad that they would march too. They were all men, taller than the average citizen of Pyrfew, even those from the south, their complexion the golden-bronze of people who spent their time under the sun, and they talked about the honor of being the first of the Alfjarun (for that is what they called themselves) to be blessed so. She knew that the others of their group were camped outside the city but she hadn’t been aware that they were all conscripts.
As the empire expanded and brought new countries under its wing, it wasn’t uncommon to have people who resisted the new ways. People hated change. Other, more barbaric, countries put those people to the sword, fearing an insurrection down the line. The Emperor, in his wisdom and mercy, had long ago decreed that any such people should be conscripted into the service of the empire. They would work where they were told but they would be fed and kept healthy, and any children they may have would be welcomed into new families so they could grow up to understand the true nature of the world and have the chance to be good citizens. Conscripts had never before been treated with the honor of attending a pilgrimage, instead they were shamed to die once their life had run its course. So to see the Alfjarun, being prodded along by a combination of the handlers she had met and Pyrfew’s good soldiers, was a sight that she was not used to. They had been given draughts of some strange liquid to make them less aggressive, but they still had to be cajoled along the parade route.
The walk ended back at the camp grounds where Gwil and the rest of the pilgrims arranged themselves in lines facing the tall white spire of the Emperor. As she waited in position, she saw the Alfjarun being ushered past her to the rear. She watched them go, hoping that their unruly behavior would not dampen any of the festivities. Gwil turned to face Tynir.
“Tell me again, why are they here? They do not deserve this.”
“Some of them do, Gwilenhin. And they will make fine soldiers for the Emperor in the next world. Trust me, the Alfjarun are the future of the empire.” He reached out and took her hand, patting the back of it. “I must go now. It has been a pleasure working with you.”
“You too,” she said, smiling. She had never thought how terrible it must be for the Ancients like Tynir that never got to make the walk. Would never taste the blessing of their god. She supposed they must take pleasure from serving the Emperor instead.
“You will be a fine hero,” said Tynir, before he marched off across the trampled grass toward the tower.
Time passed as the walkers were organized in to neat lines. She leaned forward trying to assess whether they were straight. In the past she would have been the one coordinating the pilgrims into the right spots, and though she knew she had trained her assistants well, she didn’t want anything to look disappointing for the Emperor when he appeared at the top of the spire to look down upon his people, regimented and full of love. She caught sight of Owen amongst the onlookers who had massed around the field, many of whom would have a part to play in the ceremony. She waved as the crowd hushed.
Gwil craned her neck to see the top of the tower; Tynir had stepped out onto the balcony. The people all went silent at his outstretched hands. From behind him came a brilliant white light emanating from her god as he walked out to greet his people. Gwil cheered at the top of her lungs, all the people of Fymrius and the pilgrims welcoming their protector on this most holy of days. He bathed in the adulation for a moment, before he spoke.
“Welcome to you all.” The crowd went silent again, everyone hanging on the silken voice of the Emperor. Just four words, but already Gwil felt at ease, a warmth taking hold in her stomach.
“I am honored to greet you. It does my heart good to see the citizens of our fair land. Though I keep the evil world outside our home at bay, it is you people who are our heroes—who give me the strength to do so.
“We all love our empire and the safety and prosperity we hold dear. You have all lived long enjoyable lives, safe in the knowledge that the same will be so for your children. But let us not forget that for this to be possible we depend on our soldiers. Those who die on foreign soil and forsake their chance to enjoy the pleasures of the Hall of Heroes. Let us take a moment and reflect on their sacrifice.”
Her god Emperor bowed his head, and all watching followed suit. A moment of reflection for the poor souls, who in their bravery and service, would not join with the light.
“Now, it is time. Time for you to be one with this land. To be one with me.”
This was the cue for the attendants to move into position; assistants from the Department of Pilgrim Affairs directing people into the rows of space behind each of the green-robed pilgrims. Her heart was full knowing that Owen would be there behind her. As she had been the one to be behind her mother to catch the husk of her former being when she had been blessed. Gwil turned to see him one last time. He smiled the same smile that had once drawn her attention to him when they were still in school. She would not see those lips for a while. Gwil grabbed him by the face and kissed him goodbye.
“Open up your hearts,” said the Emperor. “Open up your minds. Embrace my light.”
She closed her eyes and let the feeling of thousands of people, together as one, fill her heart with an immense feeling of well-being. Gwil felt the light expand from the Emperor, the world turning bright pink as seen through her eyelids. She felt a soft touch on her chest, like the caress of a tentative lover. Her skin prickled, hair standing on end, and a rush of joy in the very center of her being.
And then He was standing before her, floating in an inky black void, his light beckoning her. She tried to walk forward but he raised his hand to stop her.
“Gwilenhin. I am sorry, but now is not the time for you.”
“Why?” she asked, terrified for what she might have done. Why she was being rejected? Had she failed in organizing the pilgrimage?
“Do not fear. You have done nothing wrong,” reassured her god, answering her thoughts as if they were laid out before him. “I have need of you. Will you help me?”
“Of course, my lord. But what could I do for you?”
“The world outside our borders becomes ever more perilous. But this is an opportunity to finally make the world a better place. A time for our heroes to rise.”
She nodded, though she was not sure what he was referring to.
“In two years, not three, there will be another pilgrimage. The biggest that
Pyrfew has ever seen. You must go to the Wild Continent and bring all the Alfjarun who are of age. All. Bring them to Ioth and there we will change the world.”
“Why me?” asked Gwil, struggling to comprehend what was happening.
The bright shining form of her god smiled and that alone was enough. She didn’t need anything else to ever happen in her life. She would of course do whatever was needed of her.
“Because I trust you and you are more than capable. Now sleep. Your family will not know of this. They have rejoiced with you and I would not taint that. You shall have the honor of joining the Hall of Heroes at the same time as your husband.”
The feeling of the touch on her chest retreated as her god walked away. Had she been able, she would have cried at the aching absence it left behind. But her distress was brief, as the void consumed her.
Chapter 24
Follow That Cat
Time was of the essence. Lady Grey, the evil two-faced bitch, must have seen her. No such thing as a coincidence. It was the only explanation for why a demon dog had come out of nowhere to attack her. And Grey wouldn’t stop there to make sure she was put down. That meant she had to get into the palace quickly and get Mareth and Petra out.
But she could hardly waltz right in. If Grey or that fake Mareth ordered the palace guard to take her, she was sure she did not have the fearsome reputation of her father to make them think twice about trying to arrest her, and she really did not want to have to kill a palace-full of guards. That was exactly what Jyuth had warned her about when they had fought the Draco-Turtle.
So, she needed to sneak in.
Now, people didn’t normally sneak into palaces stark-titted naked, but then again Neenahwi was anything but normal. She had taken off her torn robes, tattered by the exploding wall, and removing a very similar robe from a wardrobe, she had folded it up and put it into her bag that rested on the bed. Next, she picked up the demon stone amulet and unthreaded the chain, placing it inside as well. Finally, she picked up the Librarian.
“You can open your eyes you know,” she said.
“You have no clothes on!” he said in outrage. “It isn’t proper.”
“It’s fine. I bet you haven’t seen a naked woman in a long time. I’ll let you have this moment.”
The wight’s eyes opened a peek. “I’ll have you know that I’ve often admired the female form—”
“One that’s not in a book?”
“Erm, well, no.” The Librarian opened his eyelids fully, his gaze flickering down Neenahwi’s body. “Oh, my word.” He shut his eyes tight again.
“That’s all you’re going to see for a while. I have to put you in the bag. I’ll call for you later.”
Before he could answer, she shoved the desiccated head into the satchel, slid in her familiar steel arrows and closed the flap, leaving it resting on the dusty bedspread. Placing the amulet in her hand, she turned and looked toward Tuft, who was sitting on her meditation cushion licking at a paw.
“Are you ready?” she asked the cat.
Tuft put his foot down and met Neenahwi’s gaze. Meow.
“Good. Let’s do this.”
She split her consciousness, and drawing mana from the demon stone, she brought it into herself, letting the threads multiply and split into thousands of tendrils that spread throughout her body. The other part of Neenahwi formed an image in her mind and her shape blurred and warped. Tuft looked up from his grooming but showed no alarm as Neenahwi slowly disappeared, and in her place was a sleek, smoky-grey cat, the red demon stone pendant spinning on the floor where it had fallen.
Tuft rose from his resting place and stretched, first one paw and then the other. He walked over to the grey cat, looked into her eyes and then moved close, to groom her with his rough tongue.
“Hey!” meowed Neenahwi as she batted him with a paw. “None of that.”
“What? Me?” asked Tuft indignantly.
“Yes, you. Focus. Let’s go.”
Tuft huffed but turned toward the broken window. He leapt nimbly to the narrow sill and stepped onto the ledge outside, before leaping into the dark. Neenahwi picked up the amulet with her mouth and clamped her teeth shut around it before following him, wondering why the bloody cat couldn’t use the small door she had installed for him downstairs. The grey cat bounced from one roof top to another until she was in a wet alleyway with Tuft. She avoided the puddles, coming by Tuft’s side momentarily, before the tom cat shot off in the direction of the inner city.
Neenahwi bounded after him, dodging and weaving through the people who were still on the rain-soaked streets, as they ran toward the Floral Gate. Nobody paid two minds to a couple of cats chasing each other, though Neenahwi did have to avoid the odd boot kicked in her direction from some of the more cold-hearted bastards that called Kingshold home.
The inner city came and went in a blur. She found her proximity to the ground to be a strange way to observe the city, so used to flying was she. She noticed more of the city’s other inhabitants; mice, the odd rat, scurrying beetles; and the smells of Kingshold were a pitchfork-wielding riot in her sensitive feline nose. How Tuft could bear to live in a place where the aggressive scent of rotten fish, stale human, and cat’s piss weaved together into a horrid tapestry she had no idea.
Tuft had stopped under the awning of a house opposite the palace gate. The lamplight gleamed off wet coat, and she could tell that he would much rather be by the fire at home. The cat nodded to her and then shot out in a straight line toward the soldiers standing guard. Tuft jinked when he was almost at the guard, who had been watching his approach with initial interest and then concern—evidently the palace guard training program did not tell you how to defend yourself against a charging tabby—slipping past him and his comrade. The soldiers turned and hollered something at the rapidly departing cat, and Neenahwi took advantage of their distraction to zip through the legs of the first guard. If it wasn’t for the seriousness of her mission, she would have probably admitted she was enjoying herself.
They raced around the outside of the palace and into the unlit gardens, away from any pursuit, though she couldn’t imagine that the soldiers would leave their posts to chase a couple of cats. She recognized the gravel path that they ran alongside—she had spent many hours as a child walking that route with Jyuth as he quizzed her on the latest lesson—and soon they were waiting in the shadows by the doors to the kitchen. Minutes passed, and while Neenahwi savored the rush of adrenaline, Tuft resumed licking his paw. Eventually someone came out of the door and before it could close behind them, they were inside and rushing through the kitchen to the long corridors under the palace.
Neenahwi stopped, gently placing the demon stone amulet on the floor and called for Tuft to stop.
“Thank you, King Tuft,” she said. “I will take it from here.”
“As you wish,” said Tuft, approaching Neenahwi and gently rubbing her nose with his own.
“Look after yourself. It may be some time until I return home.”
“Of course. Come back soon. I will miss you.” And with that, Tuft was gone, scampering back the way they had come.
Neenahwi picked up the amulet once more in her mouth and continued down the passage way, until she found the connection down to Bartholomew’s home. The corridor was deserted, but it remained lit with flickering oil lamps, until eventually she reached the steel door that was partially ajar. No need for security when the inhabitants of this place usually had a hard time walking, what with the chains, and even the hobbling.
The air around her shimmered and warped as she regained her normal form. She was on all fours, and as she regained her feet, she spat out the demon stone into her palm, the needle on the back of the amulet scratching her tongue. Stupid. Why didn’t she drop it first? She had to make sure she was paying attention, there was no room for mistakes with this plan. She wasn’t even sure it was much of a plan right now. The first step was complete; get to the dungeon. Next step, get Mareth and Petra. Hopefull
y she could do all this without killing any Edlanders. What came after that she wasn’t sure. Wait until Mareth was well enough to confront the doppelganger and then be able to get the Edland navy organized to make an expedition to the Wild Continent? She had to believe that Motega was going to take care of events in Ioth. Hearing the news about what had been happening to her own people made her realize it was time to go home.
She realized she was dawdling. Sucking in a breath, she drew on a thread of mana from the demon stone and pushed open the door with her bare foot. It swung open noiselessly. Well oiled. Unfortunately, it was too well lubricated and its own weight carried it on its hinges to clatter into the stone wall.
Shit.
From the doorway at the end of the central room came an inquisitive voice. “Who’s there?”
A head popped around the door jamb opposite her, a man with a gentle-looking face and an expression of surprise. She knew full well she was standing there naked, so she put her hand on her hip and tried her best to look provocative (though it wasn’t something she was all that practiced in), all the while willing him to walk out for a cleaner shot.
“Are you alright, miss?” he asked, with what seemed a genuine sound of concern. He disappeared behind the wall and then reappeared carrying a blanket. “Here, put this round you. You’ll catch your d—”
The loop of force fell over his head and tightened around his neck. She squeezed, watching his face turn red and then purple. His eyes rolled back and his legs gave way under him, only held up by her magic noose. She released the weave and Bartholomew, Master Interrogator, fell to the floor. Neenahwi hoped she hadn’t squeezed hard enough to kill him, but she couldn’t have him sound the alarm.
She strode across the bare room, the doors to the cells spaced in the walls all around, checking for signs of another presence, but the coast was clear. Bartholomew was right about one thing, it was too cold to be walking around like this, and she needed her stuff. What she was about to do, she’d never done before. Oh, she knew the mechanics, and when she was younger, she’d practiced with some objects close by, like a broom or a candlestick. But this was going to take a lot of mana and so, not for the first time, she was grateful for the demon stone and what seemed to be its never-ending supply of energy.
Ioth, City of Lights Page 23
