Now – considering this to be true – what explanation could possibly be given for the state of the green grass, and the colourful flowers? What could be said for the blue sky, and the brilliant sunlight? What could be said for the birds that she heard at that very moment, singing just as cheerfully and graciously, as those imagined minstrels would sing? If that place without, which was filled presently with all the beauty and wonder of early spring, was indeed the body what housed that miserable castle – well, what could be said of that?
She took a moment to think upon it; but then her thoughts gave way to things less deep, and less hollow at the heart. She thought, indeed, that it was early spring; and she wondered, how had that come to be? It seemed that she had only just lain down, amidst the silence and the pale blue light, that had filled her chamber on that night she came to be alone. She remembered looking upon the pillow where Jade had rested her head, and placing her hand gently within that shallow depression, where but only hours earlier her palm would have been lying upon Jade’s very cheek.
She recollected the burial of the Queen, and could feel the cold wind that bit mercilessly through her cloak as she stood there among the mourners, out of place and out of time. So cold, it had been; and so white! Could that have been so very long ago, that the world had been transformed into this place of colour and warmth? It could not have been!
She rubbed her arms nervously, pacing back and forth across the floor, for so long that she was sure, were she to glance down, she would see the path that her restless feet had worn over the stone. Her eyes strayed ever and anon to the windows; and she looked with great distress upon the brightness of the world.
What could be said of it?
After a while, her legs began to tire, and she went back to the place where she had lain before. She pulled the covers up to her chin, and shut her eyes tight; but the yellow light pervaded her attempt, and turned the backs of her eyelids red. She thought of dashing back to the windows, so to once again draw all the curtains; but she could not bring herself to invite the darkness back in. So she settled for the crimson stuff behind her eyes; and imagined that it was the blood of her heart, come to rise up into her throat, and her head, to swirl all about. Were she to open her eyes, and let out the tears, she was sure that they would be tears of blood.
She shivered beneath the blanket, and clutched herself tightly, thinking perhaps that if she did not, she would float away from herself again – maybe this time forever. Who could tell? She could not.
So she turned once more to the windows, and witnessed again the sunlight that streamed through. Yet the brightness brought spots to dance before her eyes; and she glanced away with all the aversion of a guilty child, whose eyes have perhaps finally come in contact with those of its mother, who has become well aware of the fact that the child has done something it ought not to have done. And so her eyes wandered round; round and round till they came finally to rest again upon Jade’s pillow.
Now, even if she was not wholly sure of how the time had passed, and how much of it had passed, she certainly knew some of the things that she had done in its space. She had looked upon that pillow, yes, many times – but also she had taken it up in her arms, and fallen asleep with her face pressed against it, for the fact that it smelled so sweetly of Jade. For this, she had traded the visible evidence of Jade’s head having lain there. For this, the surface of the pillow was flat, unwrinkled and smooth. Yet, as she looked upon it now, it was none of these things. Somehow there had come again that depression in its centre, where a head had rested; and she jumped immediately from the bed in a sort of madness, certain in that instant that somehow, Jade had returned. She circled the room many times; opened the door to the chamber, and peered out into the hall; went so far, even, as to inspect the dark and dusty space beneath the bed.
But there was nothing to be seen. After several more minutes of thinking, of course, this came to make very much sense; for there was a vague memory at the front of her brain, that consisted of a face there in the mild darkness, beside hers in the night. She felt a hand in hers, and could hear the breathing of another soul – but though she squinted and rubbed her eyes, till she thought they might bolt from her skull for ill treatment, she could not make the face belong to Jade. The hair was not red, but shining and dark; and the eyes were not green, but were black as the raven. There was a feeling of difference, in that hand upon hers, though she could not place it rightly. But she lay back down upon the bed, and faced the pillow where the head had lain. She held out her hand, so that an invisible one might take it; and she closed her eyes to make the night return. There came in an instant, a strange feeling of peace over her troubled heart, that brightened the dankness for just a moment, and lightened the heaviness so that her head was not bowed. She tightened her hand upon that what had been, but was presently not; and felt warm fingers in her own, that dispelled for a time the icy wind that gusted through her.
But then came an image unbidden, as Dera had described to her that night, so many nights ago; and she could see again dear Jade, all broken and bloodied with the battle that should not have been hers.
She broke the grip of the memory of the hand, almost in horror; and leapt again to her feet, to beat upon the pillow with her fists, and make it so that there was no more sign that a head had lain upon it.
XLI: Renewed Alliance
For the first time, in a time indeterminate only to Heidi, the four guests of the castle came together again. For a long while by then, Dera had been left almost entirely alone (though she had, from time to time – though we think none the worse of her for it – sought the companionship of a nearby soldier), and David and Helena had kept much to themselves. Many nights, they did not even lay their heads at Eredor, but set up small camps on the boundaries of the wild places in the Abandoned Earth. Perhaps to lighten the darkness of his own heart, David took to the lands with his sword, and felled many a foul beast before it could manage the harm it had intended to perform. He returned always to camp, hands stained with blood and face stained with tears, and slept away the night with the hilt of his sword tucked tight beneath his chin. He seemed to take great pleasure in teaching Helena the art of the sword; and she, too, did indeed slay her share of the miserable Narken. At any other time, David might have feared for her safety, and refused to instruct her; or Helena might have feared for herself, and refused to learn. But they both seemed caught up rather in a whirlwind of trouble and sorrow, and took to the barren plains like carrion-birds to dead flesh, cutting through the tough hides of the wolves, as if their bones were no more than hollow reeds.
From time to time, though, the travelling warriors found themselves low on food, and such things that were necessary to keep themselves alive. So they stowed all their things away upon their horses, and rode like breaths of wind back to Eredor, where they slept a night or two in their beds, and looked in upon Heidi and Dera. With Dera they would share a supper, and talk but little; and on Heidi they would only look, for it seemed that most times she was not even aware of their presence. Especially for Helena, there was an obligation felt to at least sit in upon the woman, though she spoke not at all and scarce even opened her eyes. Helena would sit for long hours beside her sister, all the while holding her hand, and would shed there her own tears.
Like to all these other occasions, Helena and David rode presently over the dark and empty land, making their way swiftly to the gates of the city. The guards espied them from afar, and were waiting upon them with an open gate. They nodded to the travelling warriors, in a manner that had become most friendly, and secured the gate after they had passed.
Neither of the travellers had any reason to believe, of course, that anything would be different upon this particular return. They would rest a while, and then gather together their share of food and supplies, including a fresh amount of clothes that could always be got for them, which they would trade for the dusted attire that they had clad themselves in over the weeks they had been missing, th
at was most always all stained irreparably with the blood of their victims. Yet their first destinations, after having secured their horses in the stables, were the quarters of their friends. Soiled and gruesome as they were, they went first to Heidi and Dera, either of whom more often than not did not appreciate such visits, quite as much as the travellers had hoped they would.
So it was on this day. They stabled their horses, and took from their packs what things they would no longer need, or what was no more good to them. Then they said farewell to their hearty companions, and set off across the grounds, making their way towards the castle – where they certainly had no reason to think that anything at all had changed. But they strode purposefully, and with a firm step, holding their heads quite as high as they had come to expect themselves to do, what with their new occupation as travelling warriors. This was certainly a lot to David, who had all his life been only a farmer; and was even more to Helena, who had all her life been nothing at all. And this, of course, was not just a thing to be appreciated by themselves; but was indeed recognised by all of the equally brave men who passed them by. They had become, in some short months, the wild vigilantes of the city, whose shining steel met with bone and blood as another man’s knife would meet with the butter for his bread. The travellers accepted this acclaim with a grim kind of determination, and gave and received salute to the soldiers who passed, as if their reputations had been branded for all to see.
But now, as they passed quietly through the doors of the castle, they put away their pride and their glory, and took up once again their mantles of misery. Their hearts fell ever down and down, even as up and up they ascended those many steps, until finally they had reached the familiar fourth storey. They went first to Dera, and knocked upon her door, what was answered in only a few short seconds. She joined them without a word, and went with them to the door of Heidi’s chamber, where Helena’s fist sounded firmly upon the wood. They expected, quite as always, no answer; and expected, quite as always, for David to have to break down the door. After this, they would rouse Heidi from a sleep that nearly resembled death (and which they feared, many times, might actually be such; having come to call upon her after too many days of self-neglect) and would force her to eat. Then they would sit with her for a while, and watch as she drifted again into sleep. When they had ascertained that her rest was sound, they would all three depart from the chamber, and would go together down to the servants’ dining room, where they took a plentiful supper at the kind and motherly hand of Rilga.
And so they came presently to Heidi’s door; but before Helena had even had an opportunity to knock upon it, it opened of its own accord. The hearts of the three visitors nearly failed; and they stumbled backwards, away from the door, sure that some terrible thing had befallen while they were absent from their friend, and that they were soon to be met with the sight of her poor demise. Dera, of course, made a daily ritual of attempting upon the chamber door – but she had never before experienced any success, save for the evening before, when the Princess had requested her help in the task.
After a moment of shock, however, they could not help but notice that the answerer of the door was Heidi herself; and that she was standing before them in that very instant, looking just as thin and wan as ever she had, but looking infinitely more well. As she looked upon them, her eyes did not withdraw from their faces, and she ventured even a faint smile upon them (which in truth did more to astound them, than had the opening of the door in the first place).
“Heidi?” said Helena slowly, holding out her hand as if to touch her sister’s arm; but not quite finding the courage to grasp upon it.
To the surprise of all three, though most of all to poor Helena, Heidi turned her face directly upon her sister, and fell forth to wrap her in an unexpected embrace.
Now, this was the very first of any such thing that Helena had had from her in many years; and it is fair to say that it overwhelmed her greatly. She clutched Heidi tight in her arms, whose sleeves were even stained a little from the death of a Narkul the night previous – but Heidi seemed to notice nothing of it at all, and only buried her face in her sister’s neck, and wept freely.
Tears came then into the eyes of every member of that party, and as affected as both Dera and David were by this unforeseen event, they took hold of one another’s hands for the very thickness of the moment. Then all four came together, and kissed one another’s cheeks, and exchanged smiles that had not been seen for a very long while.
Then they all laughed; and with each holding onto all the others in some way, they made their way down to the kitchen, where they shared a supper together.
~
As is most always the case, the slight amount of happiness that took hold of Eredor that day, did very little in forecasting the mood that had taken hold of all the rest of the land. There is little to be said of Death Rock, other than the fact that Lokin had assumed full control of it, and ruled now the Mountain from the throne that had once belonged to Biscayne. His people had quite turned against him, and had taken wildly to the dictations of Lokin. They did anything he bid, with little to no thought of the result, or of the effect that might be brought upon themselves. It is in this strain that things began to pass, and continued to pass until it may very well have brought ruin in its own self – as always seems to be the way of things, when an improper leader with untrue intentions lays hold of a people. And it was worse, in this case, due to the pre-existing evil condition of the people in question.
What wicked and horrible things were taking place, in those days, in the halls of the Mountain, are best left to the imagination. So we shift instead to Grénha, inside which Dain Aerca was currently busy at work, replenishing her armies in a fashion slow but sure. Beside her was Zana, who seemed to have put away for a time the ill will she bore for the Sorceress. She worked just as quickly, and just as heartily, and ordered about like dogs the five Lumaria who dwelt there with her. Biscayne said nothing to her, and did nothing to object her treatment of him, for he felt just as foolishly for her as ever he had; and as the others had not the strength of numbers on their side (and considering that Zana was stronger, all alone, than their group as a whole) they too said very little about their extreme punishments.
During her hours of leisure, Dain Aerca took most fondly and vigorously to the act of breaking the Auren. She was kept in a separate dungeon, all by herself; and was visited several times a day by the Sorceress. She was reverting quickly to her human state; but was still so very strong, that for the sake of the keeping of her own fingers, Dain did not even attempt to force flesh down her throat. She tried to coax her, and then tried to threaten her; she tried to starve her, and then tried to torture her. But nothing seemed to have effect.
During one particular session of theirs, wherein Dain was making creative use of an iron stake, with the end in mind of having the Auren eat even a small amount of the portion of flesh which she had brought along with her to the dungeons, Zana intervened. She did such on occasion, always with the claim that Dain’s methods were ineffective, and wasteful of her useful energies. Dain never did, of course, much believe all this talk; but she gave way on this day, for she was indeed rather tired with the efforts she had put forth, and was thinking more of sleep than of torture.
“You may have her for now,” she said to Zana. “But even in spite of the fact that you come here under false pretences – do you think that you might do me the favour of continuing my work for me? I know better than to think that you will make use of my stake; but try whatever methods you like, I care no more for today.”
And so she departed from the dark, damp chamber. Zana lingered for a moment in the doorway, looking upon the Auren with a sensation that she could not quite place – for, indeed, she could not remember ever having felt it. Now, she had seen her share of sorry creatures penned up and hung, and tortured till their very insides fell out of the holes that had been made in their flesh. She had seen all this in bountiful plenty, and had ever befo
re been only amused, and at best indifferent, at the sight.
But now she looked upon the Auren; and she was visited by a feeling which resembled that what took hold of her, when she had gone too long a time without feeding. It was the sickness that set in, just before the pain. But she knew that she was not hungry now – for she had made a meal of an entire man just the day before.
The Auren hung in chains from the ceiling. At this point, her raiment was all but gone, and she was clad in nothing but a rag or two that had managed to cling to the dried blood that covered her body. Her head hung low, so that her chin nearly touched her chest; and Zana was sure that she was not even aware of the presence of another, there in the chamber with her. With the departure of the Sorceress, she knew nothing else.
If it had been any other, Zana would have smirked at the sight of them, and would have uttered wicked taunts meant to traumatise them further. She would have gone to the bleeding body, and she would have ripped the last of the rags from the flesh, so that a new torrent of blood flowed forth. She would have picked up the iron stake, stained crimson already, and she would have made the good use of it that Dain Aerca had suggested; but as she looked now towards the Auren, she could do nothing but stare.
But finally, she took a few slow steps into the room. The Auren’s head snapped up in an instant, and her eyes darted all around in the dark, searching for what evil presence had come to feast next upon her pain. As she had become, by now, more human than not, her eyes could no longer see in the dark. So Zana doubled back, took a candle from the hall, and used it to light the wick of the dungeon’s torch. The Auren blinked rapidly, acclimating her swollen and bloodshot eyes to the sudden radiance. They fell upon Zana; and Zana thought that she saw her exhale, in something that resembled relief. Again – in any other, this would have enraged her. But now she felt only grateful, that this wretched creature did not despise her; or that if she did, she did not despise her so near as much, as she did do the Sorceress.
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