CAMILLE IX: THE LATE
When her eyes opened, she had fallen so deep that she could barely see, the light obscured by leagues of water.
It was crushing down against her, held at bay only by an unconscious burn of her power. Or rather, since she had nearly emptied her reserves in the fight with Lumière, it was her life that was draining away into the sea.
As was a trail of blood spiralling up from her shoulder, looking black in the dim light. Immediately, the pain filled her again, lancing all across her body. The meagre scab had torn off with her slightest movement, leaving her shoulder to bleed anew. Using my life energy for magic may not matter, if this wound kills me anyway.
Still, Camille had to know. She closed her eyes, looking within to see what she had lost, and nearly jumped out of her skin.
Two decades.
Gone, in the blink of an eye.
Her life was half over already, no matter what came next.
It didn’t even make sense! Such a rudimentary working of magic, for only a few hours, should have cost her far, far less.
“Shit,” she muttered, using up more of her limited air.
It had to have been days. That was the only way it made sense.
There were so many more pressing things to worry about, but all that filled her mind was the implications of her failure.
Lumière would have declared victory, taken the fifty lives from Lucien and Malin. They would all know her to be a failure, a weakling incapable of protecting them.
And Lumière’s influence would only grow. Fouchand could condemn him in defeat, but in victory? How would the people of Guerron see it as anything other than rightful and just, the triumph of the greater spirit and the greater sage?
Even if Camille could free herself from this and return, her power would be in shambles, their respect for her evaporated in the instant that pistol sounded.
And Lucien…
He’d promised to make sure Lumière was dead either way. It had sounded sweet at the time, but what if he’d actually tried?
Lucien could best Aurelian Lumière in a duel, of that she was sure, but what of the fallout? How could Duke Fouchand possibly remain silent if the king murdered the head of the Sun Temple? The people of Guerron would eat him alive.
The right to do it was during the duel, when none could contest its legality, nor the honor of it. And she had ruined that in her failure.
“Shit,” she swore again. “Fuck!”
She thrashed her arm, unconsciously cutting through the water in a slice that cost her another day. Through the gloom, she saw it sever a fish in half, its blood joining her own in clouding the water. Even in its pointlessness, it felt gratifying to see the water respond to her command, to exert a measure of control.
But that would get her nowhere. Right now, she needed to live.
Somehow.
She shifted herself to a vertical position, wincing as the pain in her shoulder flared back up. With a tap of her finger, she sent a tiny, pointed vibration upwards, which would ripple until it hit the surface and rebounded.
By the time it returned several minutes had passed and another day of life had passed. But that was worth it to find out just how far away the surface was. Keeping the water pressure off and ascending that high could easily lose her years, if it didn’t jostle her shoulder enough to kill her outright.
And then what? She didn’t see the coastline, which meant even more power to make it back to shore. By the time she returned to Guerron, she would have barely any time to fix the mess there, let alone reclaim her homeland. No time to continue her lineage, or have a daughter and train her to be the next High Priestess…
No.
Camille bit her lip, watching the patterns swirl in the darkness as she thought. Her own power simply was not enough. Returning to Guerron a weakened wreck with weeks or months to live would accomplish nothing. At that point, I may as well lie here until my shoulder kills me.
At least then Lucien wouldn’t have to see her in this diminished state. Camille would not have to look Annette in the eyes and say that there was nothing more she could do for her. Uncle Emile would never have hopes stoked of continuing the Leclaire legacy, only to be cruelly crushed. Better, then, to avoid giving false hope.
Or she could simply remove the working giving her air and let herself be swallowed by the sea. A more fitting death for a Leclaire, even if the histories would say only that Lumière vanquished her. If her name was even mentioned in them at all.
But she refused. There was always a way to win. Always.
Even the prospect of eternal torment was worth the risk of dying here, unremarkable, with no power, no accomplishments to her name. Come what may, she had to try.
“Great Spirit Levian,” Camille whispered, the sound echoing past the bubble of air and into the water. “Lord of the Lyrion Sea, Guardian of Raging Waves, Torrent of the Deep, I call you forth to receive my offering.”
In the darkness, the ocean spirit cut an even more ominous figure, slender serpentine tendrils swirling and looping back and forth, sending small ripples that Camille could feel even through her pocket of air.
“You may be the most foolish human ever to call me forth. So young, and already so forgetful.”
Camille starred straight into his eyes. “I have forgotten nothing.”
Levian swirled closer, impossible to fully take in through the gloom. “Your pact was very explicit, human spawn. You said the words yourself.”
“I vowed that each time I called you forth, I would provide a human whose energy you may consume as they die.”
“And yet your hands are empty.” Sharp teeth caught the light for an instant before fading back into the darkness, looking fewer and flatter than they had when Camille had made her compact. “Your soul is not so innocent as it was, but you are still far younger than the ancestors kept in my company. They will despair to even see you there, once your soul is mine.”
“Here I am.” Camille smiled. “I present for you Camille Leclaire, High Priestess of Levian. Her energy is yours to consume as she dies, if you so desire.”
“How disappointing.” Slitted blue eyes stared into hers as Levian shifted back. “Though it is preferable to letting the energy of your life go to waste. Your successor will be rewarded for it.”
“I have no successor ready. This I swear to be truth, and let my soul be taken should I lie.”
After a moment passed, his eyes seemed to grow colder. “Then you have violated our compact after all. You were to find one to take your place. And this time-consuming circumlocution does your temple no favors.”
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“Allow me to be direct, then.” Camille folded her arms, ignoring the pain in her shoulder as she did. “I have acted perfectly within the bounds of our agreement, Great Spirit Levian. I vowed to head the Temple of Levian as its High Priestess from the moment my mother’s service ended until the day I die, or appoint a worthy successor to take my place. Nowhere is finding such a successor mandatory.”
“I tire of this.” Levian curled his body tightly around her. “Why have you called me here?”
“I want you to heal me, and return me to shore.” If he were even capable of doing that. There was no guarantee, but there was nothing else to try. ”You are, of course, welcome to take my life energy as I die instead, per the terms of our agreement.”
The scaled body around her heaved and pulsed, vibrations echoing through the water that sounded almost like a twisted laughter. “Offer nothing and demand everything. You certainly are human. Practically the ideal manifestation.”
“Unless you lack the power to do it?”
Levian’s eye-slits narrowed, the blue within them only growing more intense. “Blood and flesh are mere extensions of my domain, filled with as much water as the world itself. Mending you would be trivial, but I have no reason to. Your arrogance is astounding, human, to think that you could goad me so.” That was something then, at least. If everything went to plan, it was a way out.
“You might want to take the idea more seriously.” Camille patted the spirit’s scaly skin, feeling the unnatural smoothness of it. “If I die now, it would mean the end of your temple. Perhaps slowly, by human standards, since my uncle could continue some things, but he cannot lead it, by the nature of the pact. And soon, by your standards, he will be dead as well.”
“Then you humans would be bereft of my power. A sad fate for the likes of you, but it means little to me.”
“It ought to. Without the Temple, the offerings end. Your power will cease to grow, then diminish as you use it. Even now, after we lost the city, you could not possibly be where you were seventeen years ago. You are lesser.”
Levian squeezed tighter around her. “My power is not in question, High Priestess. When your ancestors hobbled amidst the muck, I ruled the deep.”
“But not the Lyrion sea. That came later.”
Blue eyes narrowed, scales pressing closer against her skin.
Utterly at the spirit’s mercy, Camille stared him down. “It’s our offerings that gave you the power. Power to claim your domain above the other spirits, power to hold the title against all challengers. When the last Lord of the Lyrion sea perished, it was you who had the strength to take his place. Because of us. Because of what we offer. Let me die and all of that disappears.
“How long is it before you find yourself looking like the Moon Spirit, thin and sickly as her offerings dwindle away to nothing. Or Cya, the woods spirit of Refuge, withered away with the death of her domain? How many water spirits covet your place, empowered by sages of their own?”
Levian remained silent, slightly relaxing his coiled grip. Got you.
“You cannot let me die and still maintain your power. Not yet. Let the power of my life be yours if you believe me false.”
She was not sure how much time passed, the faintest light shimmering off the ocean spirit’s skin as he shifted and squirmed, but eventually Levian responded. “Never shall I give to the likes of you without cost. Such weakness ill-becomes one so great as myself. Always, there is a price to pay for power. And you, human, have already offered all that you can. All save one precious thing, so cruelly dangled before me each time you call me forth.”
“I know what you want, and I refuse to grant it.”
“You dare?” His teeth glinted, wisps of blood trailing past them.
“I do.” She drummed her fingers across his scaly skin, still maintaining the bubble around her so that the pressure of the water could not crush her. “In return for saving me, I’m prepared to offer something better. The return of untold offerings, the restoration of your power to what it was before the fall of Malin.”
“Your performance in Guerron does not inspire confidence. I have no reason to believe you would do any better, let alone expand enough to set things as they were.”
“Perhaps, but Guerron is the least of what I’m offering.”
“Oh?”
Camille closed her fist, catching and squeezing the water within the glove of air around her hand. “How better to restore what has been lost, for both of us, than to return our seat of power back to our control? The time for waiting and conserving strength is over.” I won’t even be around to see it to completion, if things continue as they have. “That is what I am prepared to give you in exchange for your help: Malin.”
In a way, it was simple. Camille had spent years trying to build relationships with other nations, to make them see the existential threat that Avalon represented. But no mere nation of humans, untouched by the war and devastation, could ever understand what was to be lost as the spirits did.
Avalon gave no offerings; wherever their influence fell, spirits and sages grew weaker. And their binders could even kill spirits themselves. Suggesting as much to Levian would have been taken as an insult, but that had been how his predecessor had met their end.
Only spirits could see the true value of expelling them from this land.
Levian began to laugh again, shaking and jittering until Camille could not help but smile herself.
“Make your promises then, human, and the deal shall be struck.”
“I vow to return control of Malin to the Empire of the Fox. To rehabilitate the Great Temple of Levian, and welcome all in the city within to leave you offerings.”
The spirit stared, expecting her to continue.
“And as for Avalon, and the sages of the sun acting as their pawns, they will make excellent sacrifices to the Torrent of the Deep. One thousand, carried out to you at sea before the next time I speak with you, at the year’s end.”
“Excellent sacrifices indeed. In return, I shall mend your flesh and carry you safely to your city’s shores.”
“And if I break this agreement, let my soul be yours.”
As Levian flashed his teeth, his body coiled tightly around her, wrapping around and around until only her head was free. She felt the drain on her energy stop as the bubble of air grew larger, Levian now holding it in place himself.
He dragged her up, higher and higher at blistering speeds, the light growing brighter every second until it blinded her. As the white filled her eyes, her body lost all sense of direction, pulled this way and that as the great spirit squeezed so tightly she felt about to choke.
Then it was over in an instant.
By the time her eyes adjusted, Camille found herself lying alone on the beach, her armor in shreds and the red kerchief, Lucien’s favor, swept away. Gone.
But her shoulder was no longer bleeding. The wound was sealed with skin and flesh, only a raised circle of scar tissue to show that it had ever been.
A mark of shame, to show how I failed.
She would have to hide it, during her time here, taking care not to wear anything exposing that area of skin. I have to hide everything. Camille Leclaire needed to remain dead, or Lumière would seize her in a heartbeat. She could leave no way to recognize her, not until she understood where things stood.
The clothing, at least, was already ruined enough to provide no real indication of her identity, but her hair was far too obvious. Even matted and tangled it was, the cascade of blue reminded her of who she was. It would do the same for anyone else who glimpsed it.
As she stared into the waves of the ocean, subtly softening the motion so that she could see her reflection, a mangled revenant stared back at her, looking more like a corpse than anything.
Once Camille tore strips from her tattered clothes and wrapped them around her hair, the woman staring back was unrecognizable.
She released the water and turned around, walking up the beach and watching for any signs of civilization. It was impossible to be sure exactly where Levian had dropped her, and she could hardly call him back to ask, so her best bet was simply to keep walking inland until she reached the Gold Road. From there, it would be easy enough to tell what direction Guerron was.
It ought to be, anyway. Provided the festival accommodations were still set up to the north of the city, their presence or absence would make it blindingly obvious.
Her first step was Vetain Tower. It would give her a decent view of Villemalin, and she’d stashed a coin purse under the rocks at the base of it so she could pay Fernan without carrying so much money on her person at once.
Then a tavern. Not anything as high-profile as the Singer’s Lounge, but some backwater dive where she could further lower the risk of being recognized. A few florins would be more than enough to loosen some tongues, and see what had happened in her absence.
If Lucien had not yet acted, he would be the person to find, but she feared that she might already be too late. Annette, then. She would know to keep things quiet.
One foot after another through the sand, she continued on, feeling her lips crack with thirst under the hot Spring sun.
Once she reached the edge of the beach, she could see the silhouette of a structure to the south, probably the archery tent. How far outside the city did he drop me?
“Your city’s shores” was apparently ambiguous enough to dump her this far to the north, slowly trudging barefoot over the sand as the festival grounds came closer and closer into view.
Only…
Camille’s eyes widened, her pace picking up into a run. The closer she got, the more certain the awful truth became.
One of the step pyramids had crumbled into nothing, the other faded with time in the sea air. But even beneath the dust and grime, the blue stone still shone through where the water touched it. The engravings had faded though, worn away to practically nothing.
Children were playing and laughing, climbing the walls and jumping back down into the water, but there was not a sage to be seen. One waved at her, but she ignored it, continuing to stare at the structure.
Even after so many years, and so much change, Camille still recognized the Great Temple of Levian.
That slippery bastard of a spirit had brought her to Malin.