Cure for the Invisibles: January 2014

Chapter VIII

“Calm down, Aru’mat.”

“And why should I? He tells me to stay away and then Karst gets to waltz in?”

“She is not there, yet. And it is her host, not her.”

“You sound just like my brother, Rubi. Why should she get first choice on the one that Taerce promised me?”

“She will not leave her host. You know that.”

“Just because they’ve been together for so long doesn’t mean she won’t change her mind. This one is… intriguing.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Quite unique.”

“You’ve had beasts before. If I recall, you even had a Hafga.”

“Yes, that was a mistake. Such slimy people.”

Well, he gave it his all, at least that’s what Hilt kept telling himself. Perched on the rooftop of one of the spiraling towers, he gazed at the hidden castle obscured behind the falls. He had no choice but to admit defeat. With but a few hours until he would be leaving this bloody place, he was out of options. The secret would have to remain tucked away. If he couldn’t get in, then no one on this continent could. Hilt was sure of that.

He had been so certain, though. No puzzle or trap had ever stumped him quite like this. He felt there must be something missing, some snippet of information that had eluded him. But despite how hard he tried, nothing fell into place.

So as he waited for the sun to settle behind the treetops, he waited on his little perch, allowing the thunderous drone of the falls to wipe his mind of his concerns and worries.

Well, most of them. The more he thought about it, the more concerned he was about this little duel. Something just didn’t sit right with him. Why was Cress suddenly so confident in his skills? The boy he met a few months back had a quivering voice when he spoke to an unconscious (or so he thought) body. Something changed.

But, no matter, he wouldn’t lose. That much he was certain of. If he had to, he’d simply change and devour him on the spot. That way he didn’t have to get his precious swords dirty. Why was he even thinking of this? The fat lump of flesh was just trying to impress Kya. He made that obvious with his pathetic proposal. That was how it always went with these humans, wasn’t it? The men try to impress the girls, and the girls giggle over the men. It didn’t make much sense to Hilt, just as the mating practices of chickens were of no value to the humans. In the end, they’re just food.

The General yawned and scratched at the healing wound on his head, wincing as it pulled at his tender flesh. How irritating. If only the healers in this town knew more than ridiculous chants and prayers. Speaking of which, he was certain he spotted Lieutenant Kya making her way to the Temple or Silence, or whatever these Northerners called it. Likely she needed ‘guidance’ before they headed off, especially since The Council meeting hadn’t gone particularly well.

Grinning, Hilt leaned back on the stone shingles of the rooftop. Princess Liore had been scolded for concocting such a scheme behind their backs and Cress was reprimanded for going along with it. The Council then apologized profusely to Hilt, horribly embarrassed by their Princess’ actions.

One even suggested Hilt as a suitable match for the Lieutenant. At that point, Hilt couldn’t help himself and glanced over at Kya. The stoic woman turned every shade of green and purple and he was quite certain she would be violently ill. Unfortunately, that wonderful spectacle didn’t happen. Instead the girl closed her eyes and fainted right on the spot.

That was the trick about women, though. They were spectacular actors. Hilt knew exactly how the body reacted before it lost consciousness. He witnessed it hundreds if not thousands of times on the battlefield. Men would drop like flies as they saw him stride into their ranks with his sword held high. Their knees began to quiver, the color seeped from their skin, and their eyes began to roll back into their heads. But before it all, their scent changed. It was thick and tangy, like salted wine. It was mesmerizing and sickening all at the same time. Nothing made Hilt’s heart race like the scent of fear.

As it was, Kya showed none of those symptoms. She just languidly flopped onto the floor, like a delicate little flower. Hilt saw her charade as plain as day. Luckily, Hilt had his own plans.

Urged by his role as ‘protector’, Hilt hurried to Kya’s side and feigned his part as beautifully as the Lieutenant had. With tears in his eyes, he turned to The Council, just as shaken as they were. Alas, Hilt told them, it was his duty to keep the Lieutenant safe. It was his valiant honor to stand by her side and protect her from harm’s way, but dear, sweet Lieutenant Kya was much too grand of a lady for his lowly standing.

Hilt recalled with vivid intensity as he brushed the hair from Kya’s face and she flinched instinctively away. The girl’s eyes remained firmly shut as Hilt allowed the healers to take her away and he faced the high, nearly empty benches of the Council. It was slow at first, but soon all were applauding the General as he gazed longingly at Kya’s body being carried from the room. Ah, how blissful that moment had been.

But after all that work of gaining the trust of The Council (well, most; Master Silae still refused to look at him), Hilt would have to leave. Strangely, he would miss this place. It had been so long since he had seen so many trees and felt the morning mist upon his cheeks. From here on, it would be bitter frost and the biting wind that he would have to face.

Speaking of, the breeze picked up and little daggers of frigid rain slapped across his skin. So much for his hiding spot up on the roof.

His good mood now sullied, the General slipped back into the castle through an open window. He would have to occupy himself for some time until the clocks struck twelve. Perhaps a nap was in order.

Kya leaned forward on the stiff pews and gazed around at the exquisite arched windows of stained glass. The figures had such peaceful expressions. All were upturned to the sky, the faces bathed in warm light. Above them all, expertly constructed in the tip of the ceiling were the two brothers: Aru’mat the Baleful and Taerce the Deceptive. Their faces were stoic as they watched down on their creation.

Like the four points of a compass, the remaining spirits took their place in the temple, their vibrant colors of glass cloaking the Sanctuary with vibrant light. It seemed fitting that the moon pick Velrin the Ephemeral to shine its light through tonight; Kya’s thoughts had been scattered and elusive.

In a desperate attempt to rid herself of such an annoying state, she spent the evening in the Sanctuary, praying for…anything. But there were no answers. She didn’t expect any. She simply wanted to enjoy the comforts of a familiar place one last time before she was carted up to the Eversnows. They would die on the journey, she was certain of that. Or at least, she had to be certain of it.

“I’m sorry that I deceived you,” Kya said softly. Soft silk rustled along the tiles as someone sat beside her.

“You didn’t,” a voice responded.

“I assumed I could find a solution.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.” Kya let her fingers trail the intricate carvings in the wood.

“And that’s why you’re here?”

“Yes.” The Lieutenant slowly lifted herself up and turned to stare at the crinkled old face. Master Silae was calm, but the deep crevices and wrinkles around his eyes were exaggerated by the harsh moonlight. She knew him to be old, but she never truly saw him as an old man. He was ageless to her. Those were the same grey eyes she knew from when she was a small child.

“It goes against the teachings of the Spirits.”

“I know.”

“Then you know what I shall say.”

“Do I have any other choice? This could end the war.”

“I was just blessed with seeing your face back in this Sanctuary, and now you willingly leave again. You are much too like your father. You are too stubborn. And I do not approve.”

Kya smirked. She recalled sitting right in this very spot with her father tickling her through the service. He would make uncanny imitations of the different priests and masters. No one dared reprimand him, making an otherwise painful religious lecture rather charming.

So why in this simple and private reverie was she thinking of him?

“You knew who he was, then?”

“Have we changed subjects?” Master Silae asked. He started talking before she could respond. “I know evil when it stares me in the face.”

Kya sucked in a small breath, her eyes widening. So he knew the whole time. Why had he not approached her sooner? Perhaps they could have figured out some sort of plan.

“I trusted the Spirits enough to watch you ride away on your mission, just as I trust them to bring you back.”

“You know this time I won’t.”

“You said that last time, as well.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I think you are too stubborn for Aru’mat to take you. I’m sure you will return, somehow.”

Kya smirked and rubbed at her eyes. It was late, and she had to wake well before dawn to appease the General. “Will you promise to watch over the Princess?”

Master Silae reached over and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I will watch over her as long as she wishes.”

Kya’s eyes fell to the floor. “He will notice my absence, soon,” she insisted. The reality was that she needed to leave these walls before she lost her courage. If she stayed any longer, she would never leave.

“Then take these,” he said, placing a small satchel in her hand.

“But how could have kno—?”

Master Silae silenced her by quietly raising his hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re just mushrooms for your journey.” He then rose to his feet, and hobbled down the aisle, humming a hymn as he went.

“Well this is dragon shit,” Hilt growled. No one. Not a single person was on the bridge. Not even a lone guard on duty. Nothing. Zip. Zilch.

“Fucking coward,” the General swore. He could hardly hear it over the rumbling roar of the constant falls. He leaned against the obsidian rails of the bridge and glared at everything his eyes settled on.

He could have the time wrong, but he knew that was grasping for an excuse. He’d watched the clock like a hawk and then timed it against his footsteps so he knew exactly how long it would take to arrive at his duel. He had stepped on the center of the bridge exactly five minutes before midnight.

And he’d been waiting for nearly half an hour.

Furious, he started grating his nails along the stonework, greatly satisfied that he was able to leave long, stringy etchings in the black rock. He continued to engrave deep grooves as he gazed back and forth down and up the bridge.

He should have expected this. He knew better. More than likely, not-so-little Cress was already halfway to the Fortress in the North. And here Hilt had been thinking that this would be an ideal death for the Knight; perhaps a scrap of honor could be bestowed upon his family name when it was finally revealed that Elivagar had been playing host to the Third General of Nibheis. Though, his family line would end here, wouldn’t it? That made the General smile.

Hilt had a speech and everything prepared. He knew exactly how he wanted to kill the boy. He would pluck off every finger and toe, sucking the juices from each, while basking in the caesura between screams; the brief pause as the victim realized how futile it was, yet was so persistent to belt to the heavens.

The General’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he allowed his mind to envision the moment he immolated the annoying gnat. A growl formed deep in his throat and the muscles along his spine tensed. He couldn’t wait any longer.

With a swish of his cloak, Hilt spun on his heel back to the castle. He was determined that Cress would not evade him this time. He didn’t care if he changed in front of the whole Council at this point. It would be worth it.

Hilt paused as the prickle of uneasiness crept over him. He felt a presence. He hunched over, looking for the source.

“Well, at least he’s not disappointing,” called an unfamiliar voice. It was attached to an obscured figure that was strutting through the mist.

It couldn’t be Cress, he knew that much. This figure was lean and tall, very tall. He was likely a head taller than Hilt was. But that was all he could deduce. Strangely enough, he could hear the light click-clack of the stranger’s boots upon the slick stone.

“General Damien Noden,” the stranger said quietly, though his voice wafted effortlessly above the drone of the falls. He wasn’t questioning Hilt’s identity. He stated it as a simple fact.

“And why would you think I’m him?” Hilt asked defiantly. Instinctively, he rested his hand upon his blade. This man smelled strange. His scent quickly overwhelmed Hilt’s senses with harsh cloves, pine, and cinnamon. There was also something else, something much more subtle, but familiar.

The man stepped just outside the iridescent mist, exposing more of his physique. He was completely bare chested beneath a thin, silk overcoat. His coloring was dark, but more olive than any southern skin he had seen before. His strangely feminine face was soft and unconcerned. And despite his smooth skin and developed muscles, his hair was as silver as an old hare.

“Yes, he is heavier than I expected. It must be that hideous diet of his.”

Hilt had opened his mouth to speak, but this comment took him off guard. The man obviously hadn’t been talking to him, but there was no one else around. Was he talking to himself? And how could he possibly know anything about his diet? It was unnerving.

“Who the hell are you?” Hilt demanded.

“He does have those eyes though. We haven’t seen them in quite some time.” The stranger rolled his head from side to side, a glint of deep crimson flashing from his irises.

Hilt was getting frustrated. “I don’t think we’ve met. And if you have nothing else to say to me, I’ll be on my way.” He strode forward, determined to shove past the man, regardless of how much he knew, and finally satiate the need to kill a certain Knight.

“Figured it out, yet?” The unexpected guest lazily leaned against the rails of the bridge. He seemed effortlessly relaxed, despite having such little clothing to protect against the bitter cold that blanketed Elivagar at night.

“Figured out what?”

The stranger tilted his head slowly to gaze at the falls, a small, serene smile on his face.

Hilt’s eyes flashed hungrily and his fingers tingled. “You know how to get in?”

“Of course. I helped conceal the entrance.”

The General sucked in a breath, trying to conceal his excitement. Was this actually a blessing, not a curse? Had Hilt stumbled upon perhaps the only man alive who could get him into the Castle in the Falls?

“You are worried.”

“Huh?” Hilt was snapped out of his slight trance. His mind had embraced the concept much too quickly. He hadn’t been feeding properly and his feral instincts grasped onto the idea quicker than he would have. A General should be wary, not gullible.

“You are worried,” the man repeated.

Hilt scowled. “No. I have no reason to be.”

“Correction: you had no reason to be. You do now. Pause. Listen. Can you not smell the silver upon me? Can you not taste it as I grow near? You should be suspicious of all and trust none. Yet all I do is dangle the possibility of information and your defenses crumble at your feet. You are a disgrace to the history of Lycaons.”

A tremor ran down Hilt’s spine. Holy fuck.

“What the hell is your name, old man?” Hilt demanded, trying to cover his obvious shock and uneasiness. Every hair on his body was standing straight up and his stomach twisted angrily in his gut. No one knew what he was. No one. And yet—

“Old by your standards, perhaps. And yes, I am what your race calls a ‘man’.”

“Name!” Hilt bellowed.

“Why would you need to know that?” This man was irritatingly indifferent.

“So I know who you are before I slice off that pretty little head of yours.” Hilt drew his favorite blade. The embossed steel felt oddly heavy in his hand.

“Names are for the sentimental. Those who dwell on such minute details never grow to see the full vision of life.”

What the fuck was this asshole talking about? Hilt’s breath quickened and his heart thundered rapidly in his chest.

“I know, my darling, he is rash. And we were told such great things of him. It’s quite pathetic.”

“Who are you talking to?” Hilt yelled, losing control. His brows furrowed and his throat clenched.

The stranger smiled and brushed a tendril of silver hair from his face. Something brilliantly gold and amber fluttered from beneath his locks before quickly disappearing.

“Does it irritate you, Lycaon? Can you feel your grip slipping?”

Hilt growled. This was the stranger’s strategy; he wanted Hilt to slip and change. But if he knew that Hilt was a Lycaon, then he would know that there is no escaping his claws.

At second glance, the General noticed the man was unarmed. Was this Cress’ plan? Did he have a fleet of guards at the ready to shoot him down the instant he transformed? Was the Council lined up to see the Lycaon change like some circus act? And the stranger called him pathetic.

But… if that were true, where was the scent of silver coming from?

“Normally I am not this lenient,” Hilt said, forcing his voice to stay even, “but if you move from my path, I shall let you live.”

The graying man tilted his head ever so slightly. His lips parted and a soft chuckle floated through the hair. “Did you hear that, darling?” he asked. “He shall let us live.”

The man grasped at something on his hip. Hilt flinched, thinking he had hidden some blade, but the stranger produced a small glass full of maroon liquid. How had he stored a wineglass beneath his coat without spilling a drop or shattering it?

Like a dancer in an exquisitely choreographed routine, the stranger stepped back from his languid position and raised his arm to be perfectly parallel with the ground. The liquid swirled in his glass and frothed angrily. Without breaking his gaze with Hilt, he tilted his head back and brought the glass to his lips.

Alarmed, Hilt judged this to be his best, and perhaps only, opportunity to strike. His feet felt heavy and each step he took caused his bones to quiver and shake. He had never felt this way. Was this fear? Hilt had never known that before.

The glistening yellow speck that Hilt had noticed earlier made another appearance. Before he had time to react, the beady creature swirled and spun around the stranger’s body and charged directly to Hilt’s face. He flinched to the side, but couldn’t avoid the strange attack.

Hilt cried out and stumbled forward as something seared at his cheek. He looked up just in time to see the same amber glow darting away from him. He touched his cheek, and, not feeling any blood, he turned back to find the stranger doubled over in apparent pain. But Hilt never touched him.

The queer man coughed and sputtered as he collapsed to his knees.

“’the fuck?” Hilt asked, falling back.

“I shall have you know, young Damien Noden, that I truly appreciate your generous offer.” His voice was light and airy as he rose back to his feet, apparently in perfect health. “Unfortunately, I’m not the one who will be needing assistance tonight.” He tilted up his chin and stared over Hilt. With little choice, the General turned to follow his gaze.

The little amber flicker left a trail of glittering dust wherever it went, so Hilt could follow its path. It had darted with alarming speed to the gate at the front of a bridge. He thought his eyes were failing as the little fleck of gold started to grow into a large dot, and then a startling, ominous flare of crimson, gold, and orange.

Hilt quickly leapt to his feet and lurched back. He had to get back to the castle; the stone of the bridge would stop the flames. He yelped as something white hot and solid whacked the back of his head. Wincing at the tender flesh, he glimpsed the fluttering menace scurry back to its master, but he had a better look this time. How could a moth have wings of brilliant flame?

“You see, my darling did not appreciate the apparent threat to my life. I’ve tried to assure her that you could not cause any bodily harm, but she sees a need to punish you.” The stranger, who had moved back several paces, held out his hand and the glowing moth landed gently upon his finger. Was he talking to this insect the whole time?

The moth fluttered its wings and the sparkling dust floated to the ground. But it wasn’t dust, as Hilt had thought. It was embers. The instant they touched the midnight stone of the bridge they crackled and popped. The embers multiplied and grew as they scattered. Hilt quickly stepped back.

“She has asked me if a Lycaon can fight fire.” The stranger had appeared again in a different spot. He was well over twenty paces away. His back was to the castle as he rocked back and forth on his heels. His pet moth was fluttering about again, leaving dollops of embers with each flap.

Without warning, the scattered pebbles of light sputtered and snapped with alarming force. Each one seemed to come alive as flames erupted and latched onto anything it could. Fingers of fire crawled up the walls and cascaded over the edge. Hilt raised his hand up to his mouth as a heinous odor attacked his nostrils. His eyes watered and his lungs seized in protest as the acrid smoke poured from the ravenous flames which clawed rapidly toward him.

Hilt darted backwards. His route back to the castle was completely obscured by the impossible flames. Obsidian didn’t burn. It was stone. His face contorted as his body revolted against the smoke. He watched the smooth glass-like stone begin to bubble and melt as the flames devoured it.

“Oh, decisions, decisions. Where shall you go, Damien?” asked the stranger, who was suddenly standing precipitously upon one of the tall posts on the rail behind Hilt. The flames not only ignored him, but they were contorted away from him in fluid arcs. He flicked his wrist and his moth darted back to his side, guiding the wall of flames from the entrance to the middle of the bridge.

Hilt was trapped. Flames in front and flames behind. His eyes were burning and his head felt woozy. He shoved his sword back in its sheath, hardly aware what his fingers were doing. Heat prickled at the back of his neck and he hardly had the mind to rip off his cloak before the flames licked at his skin.

“I expected more of you. This is quite the disappointment.”

Fucking pretty-boy was really starting to get on Hilt’s last nerve. His shoulder snapped painfully out of its socket and his teeth clenched down, nearly severing his tongue. Hell no, he wouldn’t give this bastard the satisfaction of a change. He was better than that. And he would prove it.

With a trembling effort, Hilt clutched his arm before leaping up upon one of the same posts which the stranger had been upon. But for the General, it wasn’t nearly as easy to maintain his balance. The moment he left the ground, the eager flames consumed his spot, leaving Hilt balancing with a single foot. He wobbled dangerously and his toes curled helplessly inside his boots as he tried to cling to the small pillar.

The strange man had moved. This time he was just beyond the barrier of flames, practically standing en pointe. “You had best hurry, Lycaon.” The stranger twirled away and calmly raised his hand again. The bullet-moth zipped away, this time heading towards the castle.

Even through the crackle and hiss of the fire and the roar of the falls, Hilt could hear the distant screams and watched as dots of amber and crimson erupted behind glass panes. He didn’t have time to watch. He had to make a decision. To the left, he went to the castle; to the right, the entrance of the bridge. The left had fewer flames, but the right was the only valid escape as this fire did not discriminate against non-flammable objects. His stomach panged angrily and something seemed to be pulling him, but for once it wasn’t his feral mind. Really? Her?

His balance wavered and long, whip-like tendrils of searing fire were clawing and wrapping around the post, grasping to his feet. Smoke clouded his eyes and his ears closed off to the sound. He wasn’t going to make it if he kept debating.

He leapt to the left.

The sound of his own yell startled him as he tumbled through the flames and rolled away, just beyond their reach. Without their moth puppet-master, the coils of light were haphazard and disorganized. Hilt hurried to his feet and started running to the castle, kicking off his singed boots as he did.

It wasn’t until he made it to the large oak doors that he realized he hadn’t passed the tall man. He was nowhere in sight. No time to question it. Kya was still in the castle somewhere, and since his conscience insisted on it, he had no choice but to face the conflagration.

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Cure for the Invisibles

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Thursday, January 23, 2014

Liore

Monday, January 20, 2014

Characters: 'Princess' Liore

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

A: Ch. 8.1