04.10.08
Midnight Visitor.
Sheriff John Little had just extinguished his house lamp for the night when he heard someone open the creaky second-floor window. He unsheathed his sword as he headed for the upper office; he suspected he knew who was breaking into his house at midnight, but it never hurt to be careful.
John waited until his eyes had adjusted to the night, then slid noiselessly into the room.
The intruder wasn’t who he expected.
“Lady Marion!”
The young woman turned towards the startled sheriff, face pale and set. Marion said nothing, but John was not too startled to notice her pocketing her dagger. He moved over to her. “What are you doing here?”
Marion shook her head mutely; now that he was next to her, John could see that she was shaking – with fury or fear, he couldn’t tell.
A light flared in the hall. “John?”
“In here,” John hissed, steering Marion towards the door. Quick, light footsteps sounded in the hall, and a moment later, Hannah Little appeared in the doorway. Her keen dark eyes took in Marion’s appearance; in moments, Hannah had the shaken woman settled in the warm kitchen and was stoking up the fire in the hearth.
Marion sat in the chair, looking dazed. John watched, worried, as his wife coaxed the girl to drink some cider. Finally, Marion put down the mug and looked at the Littles. After a moment, she extended a handful of crumpled papers; John took them, but his eyes never left Marion’s.
“It’s about Duncan.”
“The king’s son?” Hannah asked.
Marion nodded, still watching the sheriff. “He’s an imposter.”
A log in the hearth snapped; a footstep from the hall startled everyone in the room.
“I thought as much,” Rob said, stepping just inside the doorway.
Most People.
Most people expected a general and a guardsman to be able to fight. The fact that the guardsman in question happened to be a cliff-wight and that the general happened to be a notorious serial killer only enhanced their reputation. Most people forgot that the General could barely use his left hand, and that Ekion had trouble seeing.
Most observant people recognized that Maboroshi was dangerous, too. Anybody who failed to notice the outlines of his hidden sheaths and threatened him anyway quickly learned one other thing about the aide – he could move like a snake. For all that, though, he’d had little formal training, and a skilled fighter could still get the upper hand.
Most people, though, seemed to forget that the king could fight, too. In fact, Heizhan mused as he watched the would-be assassin slip through the window behind Nathan, he was probably the best of them all, at least when it came to unarmed combat.
Heizhan winced as Nathan’s fist connected with the assassin’s ribs, remembering all too clearly how it felt to be on the receiving end of such a blow. The king hit like a mule kicks; Heizhan could hear the unfortunate man’s bones crack from all the way across the room.
The assassin wisely threw dignity to the wind and fled out the window. Nathan calmly returned to his seat.
The Council stared at him in varying degrees of shock. Heizhan could see Arawn in the background, laughing silently.
Most people forgot, the General mused, that the person who’d stopped a certain notorious serial killer, who could hold his own with the best of the Guard, and who had repeatedly avoided death at the hands of a skittish revenant, currently occupied the throne.
Rats.
Roland had never seen the gray man before – which was kind of odd, since his family knew everyone in both Arkham Town and East Arkham, even the uni students. There was something odd about the stranger, too.
I’m a fine one to be judging normalcy, though, Roland thought wryly. He turned to pay the cashier, then looked back.
The man was right behind him. Roland took a step back, but before he could move any more, the stranger grabbed his arm and pulled him close.
“The rats are coming,” he hissed into Roland’s ear. “They’re in the sewers. Soon they’ll be in the walls. You can’t stop them coming.”
Roland pulled away. “What are you talking about?”
“Ask about the rats. Ask about the storm drains, and the missing women. Ask about the Bauers. And talk to your professor.“
With that, the man went hazy, and vanished. Roland blinked. At a touch on his shoulder, he spun.
His twin stared at him, one corner of his mouth curled in laughter. “Skittish, much?” Beowulf asked.
Roland glared. “I’ll tell you later. Do you remember where Professor O’Neill’s office is?”
“Sure. It’s in Granddad’s hall.”
“Come on.” Roland marched off. His brother ran to catch up.
“What’s the rush?”
“Rats,” the younger Archer twin replied, quickening his step.
He could hear squeaking coming from the sewer.
Three Thirty-Five A.M.
Maboroshi moved too smoothly to ever stalk, and he would certainly never stoop to actually slamming a door. He couldn’t quite resist sending his dagger flying into the wall, however.
“If that’s the way you express your temper, it’s no wonder your people believe you capable of treason.”
Maboroshi spun, another dagger already in hand, and came face-to-face with Nathan, who regarded him with a level gaze. Beating back a blush, Maboroshi pocketed the dagger. “What are you doing in my room at,” he glanced at the clock, “three thirty-five in the morning?”
“What were you doing in Heizhan’s room a half-hour ago?”
“Is that really any of your business?”
Nathan sighed, almost inaudibly. He glanced at Maboroshi’s bleeding hand. “You might want to take care of that.”
“Stop dodging my question.”
The sigh was louder this time. Nathan pulled a roll of bandages from his pocket and expertly bound Maboroshi’s wounded hand. “That should hold it until morning, at least. The cuts aren’t that bad.”
Maboroshi said nothing. The silence stretched over long minutes.
“Needling a serial killer is generally not considered wise.”
Maboroshi’s head snapped around; Nathan’s hand gripped his chin before he could retort, forcing the smaller man to meet his eyes. “He is a dangerous man, Maboroshi. If anything, his time in the Phantom Islands has only made him more dangerous.”
“I know that,” Maboroshi said when Nathan released him. “That’s the whole problem. I don’t trust him.”
“I know you don’t,” Nathan said softly. “No one does.”
“Then why are you keeping him around?” Maboroshi hissed.
The smile that flickered across Nathan’s face would not have been out of place on a shark. “Because I am more dangerous still.”
Three A.M.
Someone was sitting on his windowsill. It was practically impossible to see the gray figure in the dim light of an Anunnaki night, but then, Heizhan never needed to see anyone to know they were there.
Surreptitiously palming the small knife he’d secreted in his wrist brace, Heizhan moved noiselessly toward the window. “Who’s there?”
The shadow on the sill shifted; light from the room’s single lamp played across steel gray eyes. Heizhan’s hand tightened on his knife.
“Maboroshi.”
The gray man bowed slightly, still silent, still watching.
“What do you want? It’s three in the morning.”
“Judging by your past … activities, the time shouldn’t bother you,” Maboroshi said in his typical hoarse whisper.
Heizhan glared, feeling the old comforting fizzle of rage start deep in his gut. “What do you want?”
Maboroshi just watched him.
Minutes went by; the rage in Heizhan’s belly spread to the rest of him, burning its way out. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore, and hurled the knife with all his might.
The slim blade embedded itself to the hilt in the wall a foot from Maboroshi’s head. The exiled bard never flinched; after a moment, he slid off the sill, removed the knife, and extended it hilt-first to Heizhan. His eyes never left Heizhan’s face.
Heizhan seized Maboroshi’s hand, leaning in close. Blood trickled from between Maboroshi’s fingers, but the gray man simply stood there, without reaction.
“Why did you come here?” Heizhan asked, tightening his grip. He leaned forward so they were practically nose-to-nose.
“To check on something,” Maboroshi replied, sliding his hand out of Heizhan’s grasp. He moved to the window.
“And did I pass your little test?”
Gray eyes locked with Heizhan’s green ones. “More or less.”
Maboroshi vanished into the night, but not before Heizhan noticed him tucking a sharp-edged something up his sleeve.
Absently, Heizhan stuck his knife in his mouth, and stared into the darkness until dawn.
Grendel.
“Your name is Grendel?” Jacob said disbelievingly.
“Boy, is Roland the odd man out, or what? Two from Beowulf, one from medieval legend.” Talia was trying her damndest not to laugh.
“Actually, my name’s Alice,” Grendel said, hitching her backpack higher on her shoulder.
“As in Wonderland?” Jacob was clearly having some trouble with this.
Grendel nodded, looking woebegone.
“Why Grendel, then? As nicknames go, it’s a little … odd.”
“Not if you spent your toddler years tormenting a brother named Beowulf.”
How Time Flies.
“Lia? You in there?”
The woman grunted, too involved in her work to bother with a more coherent answer. She knew Riana knew her well enough to interpret the sound.
Sure enough, not two minutes passed before the taller woman’s shadow darkened the doorway. That got a more verbal – and more vehement – response from Lia.
“You,” she snapped, pointing at Riana with her chisel, “are in my light.” Without waiting for a response, Lia turned back to the stone wall before her.
Riana chuckled, moving aside. “How much longer?”
“I’m on the last symbol. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”
“Good. The metalworkers are anxious to get started.”
“I’m sure.”
“Besides, you have some ruling to do.”
“I know. I’m done, anyway.” Lia stood, placing her chisel back into her toolpouch as she surveyed her handiwork. The newest episode in her clan’s history was now carved into the temple walls, missing only the gold that would fill in all the letters. Several kings’ ransoms worth of gold already glinted from the older stories, but not a single Thaziazhsta would begrudge the expense.
Turning from the wall at last, Lia headed for the door. The metalworkers moved in behind her, chattering excitedly about the project before them. Riana watched, amused, as Lia took a moment to straighten the red crown set atop her copper hair before heading out into the desert sun.
A memory hit Riana then, and she stopped in the temple doorway, lips curving up in a bittersweet smile. A strong hand seized her wrist, and Riana found herself shaken from her reverie, looking up into worried gold eyes. “I’m fine,” the paler woman said. “I was just thinking.”
Gold eyes surveyed her for a moment longer, and Riana held her breath. Then that dark face was split by a painfully familiar smirk, and Liamariye III, Queen of the Red Lands, turned and went about her business.
Yes, she is very much like you, my friend. You’d be quite proud of your newest namesake…even if she is shorter than you…
First Memory.
His earliest memory was of cold and damp. It was not a pleasant memory, but only in a childish and simple way.
Later, as he ran from the sea, his brother’s mockery ringing in his ears, his mind flew back to that first memory, and he thought he saw a violent ocean before the memory faded again.
His worst nightmares were always of water. He was too close to it – far too close – and the gray, roiling sea was reaching up with hungry hands, eager to extinguish him. Those waves would fall back as he struggled away, only to rise again, and again, and again…
Later, while he was imprisoned, with nothing to do but sleep and work, he dreamed it often. In those later nightmares, the sea had caught him, and was holding him fast, and no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t get away, and it was going to drown him…
Then, after his brother and that lady helped him fly free of his prison, he fell. The sea rushed up to meet him, and he felt his old, childish fear seize his throat, and as his vision went gray something else seized him…
…And he woke to strong hands wrapped around him, and the sea too close, and as he struggled, the arms holding him tightened, and a warm voice whispered in his ear, and Weilend felt the last fragments of childhood memory pop into place, and he relaxed into his father’s arms and slept.
—
Going into the Desert.
When the guards had informed her of the visitor waiting outside, the Queen hadn’t expected him. Oh, it wasn’t that she was surprised, exactly; it was just that she’d somehow never imagined him outside of his own country, though she’d heard the stories of his travels when she was younger. Then again, this was his country too, in a way – by blood, at least, if not by rulership.
“Uncle Nathan!”
“Hello, Lith. Or is that ‘Your Majesty’, now?” her uncle asked in his gently teasing manner, brushing his hand over the red crown she wore. “It’s not as red as your hair, I think,” he added, smiling softly.
Lith smiled back. “You look well, uncle.” And it was true. For all that he was the longest-reigning monarch of Annwn, all Nathan had to show for his age were a few wrinkles around the eyes and a head of white hair.
“So do you, Lith.”
“It’s great to see you again! Why are you-” Lith cut herself off. Her uncle was staring at her, his gold eyes sad. “You … you’re going off into the desert, aren’t you?” Nathan just nodded, never taking his eyes from his niece’s.
Most jahdzriamati, if given a chance, left their homes when they felt death approaching, choosing to venture off into the desert from which their people had come. The great founder of Lith’s clan had done it, her grandmother had done it, and so had her mother – Lith was not entirely surprised that her uncle would now go. He had, after all, outlived his lover and his lover’s entire people, and later his beloved little sister and her husband. He had not only ruled Annwn successfully for an entire century, the longest reign of any Anunnaki monarch, but he had also become the oldest desert demon ever.
Most of his mother’s clan – Lith’s clan, now – were too young to have ever met him, knowing Nathan Thaziazhsta only as a name in the schooltexts or a character in stories of strange lands. No, Lith was not surprised that he was going off into the desert.
She was just sad.
“I just wanted to come say goodbye,” Nathan said softly, pulling Lith from her thoughts. “And to see you again. I would see that you are well before I go.”
Lith smiled sadly. “We’re all fine. I’m fine. Who’s taking over Annwn?”
“That’s for the Council to decide, I imagine.” He chuckled softly. “I think they might have some objections to the man I’ve appointed in my will.”
“I’ll miss you,” Lith blurted. She covered her mouth, embarrassed. It wasn’t her decision; it wasn’t kind of her to try and persuade her uncle to stay.
Nathan just smiled. “I’ll miss you too, Lith.” He turned to go, but turned back, hand on the doorframe. “As selfish as this is, Lith – I’m glad you’ll miss me.
“I’d hate to be forgotten.”
With that, Nathan Thaziazhsta walked out into the desert. The sandscreens of the clan fortress hid him almost instantly; their constant roar was almost loud enough to drown out his last words.
“I do love you, you know.”
“I love you too, uncle.” Lith stood in the doorway a minute longer before turning back to her fortress and her clan. “I’ll see you later…”
Her.
She isn’t the kind of woman I’m attracted to at all.
For one thing, she’s about a foot taller than me. I’m fairly tall, as my people go; it’s disconcerting to be the one looked down on. She’s also skinny as hell. She looks as if a stiff breeze would snap her in half. She’s all bones; all hard angles and sharp lines. There’s nothing soft about her.
Her skin is landwight-dark, and her hair is a rich blond, both of which would be fine on any other woman. Her eyes, though… They’re gold, which is always an uncanny color for eyes. Perhaps even that wouldn’t be so bad, except that she doesn’t blink, and she sees everything. I swear, assassins’ knives are duller than her gaze.
Then there’s that damnable grin. She’s always grinning – in a toothy, I’m-going-to-rake-you-over-hot-coals-and-laugh-about-it manner. Okay, she’s not always grinning, but when she isn’t, she’s wearing that insufferably smug I-still-know-more-than-you-do expression that makes me want to slap her, except if I did I wouldn’t live long.
More than anything else though, she’s creepy. She’s the stereotypical creep in the dark alley, made even more unnerving by her preference for broad daylight. She sees everything, and forgets none of it, which triggers a constant caught-with-the-hand-in-the-cookie-jar reaction in everyone around her. Her whole attitude is dismissive; the world is a dark joke to her – and yet you know just by looking at her that to mess with her is to risk life and limb.
No, I’m not attracted to her at all.
Not even if she is intelligent, with a wry sense of humor and scathing wit, an admirable inability to abide fools, and an odd magnetism that draws everyone to her like moths to a flame…
Oh, damn.
—
