The past, like fire, assumes mutable shapes. One makes do with available light. -- Eric Pankey, Available Light
When he was still alive Ilaran had sometimes wondered why Abihira was -- to put it bluntly -- such a stubborn and reckless idiot. He had his answer now. The only good thing to come out of his unwanted access to all of her memories was that he could see exactly why she had decided necromancy was a good idea.
Unsurprisingly it was not a convincing reason. Indeed it wasn't truly a reason at all. It was simply the product of the Seroyawan royal court's well-meaning but misguided method of raising her.
Fostering children back and forth was a custom the Saoridhin and Seroyawan royal families had invented over a hundred thousand years ago. Part of it was inspired by a Saoridhin princess who married a Seroyawan prince. She missed the land where she grew up while also wanting her family to see her new home. Her wish fit in nicely with the current political situation which had led to her marriage: the two empires wanted to strengthen their alliance while making it almost impossible for either to betray the other. So the idea of sending a Seroyawan child to be fostered in Saoridhlém and vice versa was born.
It was a good idea. It was an even better one when the foster parents didn't indulge the child's every whim. And that was the problem.
When Abihira arrived in Seroyawa, tensions were building between it and Hyon-eun -- yet again. Diplomatic relationships between those two empires were never cordial. They varied only from "coldly indifferent" to "war is imminent". Seroyawa responded to the threat -- which they had caused by their high-handed encroachment on Hyon-eun's territory; Ilaran had been alive at the time, remembered all about it, and had no sympathy at all for Seroyawa -- by doing everything they could to keep Saoridhlém's support. One of the ways they did this was by giving Abihira her own way in everything and never saying a word about her behaviour.
From one perspective he could see why they would think it was a good idea. Abihira would have nothing to complain about, not even a well-earned reprimand. If her grandmother asked how she was being treated she would have nothing but praise for how indulgent her foster parents were. From every other perspective he couldn't believe they'd been so stupid. How could anyone think it was wise to cater to a child's every whim, no matter how ridiculous?
The results were exactly what anyone would expect. Abihira grew up expecting to get her own way in everything and to be allowed to do whatever she wanted with very few consequences. It was a miracle she wasn't utterly unbearable and as relatively sane as she was.
Well, it wasn't really a miracle. It was mostly thanks to Princess Kiriyuki and Prince Mirio. Judging by Abihira's memories they had been the only people in the royal court who consistently said "no" to her. Like all good older sisters Kiriyuki took it upon herself to annoy Abihira into being a better person. Mirio tried to teach Abihira protocol, selflessness, and self-discipline. His efforts were mostly futile, but at least he tried.
Ilaran rubbed his forehead in an attempt to stave off his impending headache. Being dead should have spared him a headache. Unfortunately Abihira's memories were enough to give him one.
"What is it now?" Death asked.
"I wish I could go back in time just to tell the emperor of Seroyawa what I think of his parenting methods."
Surprisingly Death accepted that without question. "I captured two more of your pawns when you were distracted."
When she had only been in Seroyawa a short time, Abihira had thrown a tantrum when Prince Mirio beat her at kinin[1]. She shoved the board off the table and burst into tears. (In fairness to her, she had apologised for that behaviour when she was older and somewhat wiser.)
In that moment Ilaran felt rather like imitating her.
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After the patricide incident Abi did the equivalent of skipping a chapter in a book. Except it wasn't a chapter, it was Ilaran's time as King of Ahalál. And it wasn't a book, it was a record of his life. She walked as far as she could. When she paused to catch her breath she walked on again as quickly as possible. Not once did she give the world a chance to clear and show her some new horror.
Eventually she had to stop. She'd missed at least five thousand years, based on Ilaran's age now. Apparently some very important things had happened in those five thousand years. The first thing she saw was Ilaran and Nuvildu being dragged out of a carriage by armed guards. Ilaran's face was a mask of blood. Nuvildu was shirtless. His back was covered with open, bleeding gashes that could only have been inflicted by a whip.
A woman dismounted from her horse and sneered down at them imperiously. "Do you see that well?"
For the first time Abi took stock of their surroundings. They were in a ruined building of some sort. A temple or a palace, perhaps. In the middle of the floor was a large round hole. She approached cautiously and peered down into it. The bottom was so far below it was out of sight.
The woman continued, "It will be your grave. The water dried up long ago so you needn't worry about drowning. I will go back to the city and tell everyone you died heroically in battle, leaving Father's throne to me."
Another half-sibling? Abi thought. This is the worst family I've ever heard of.
"No one ever comes here now. It will be months at the earliest before your bodies are found. Anyone who does discover you will think you fell in by accident. No one will ever trace it back to me."
Abi would have been even more horrified by this if she hadn't known Ilaran would survive. She looked at Nuvildu with foreboding. Ilaran had never mentioned having a brother. What happened to him? Did he die here, in this awful place?
"Throw them in."
The guards dragged Nuvildu to the edge first. As he passed the woman he turned his head and spat in her face. He didn't scream as they shoved him off the edge. Next they dragged Ilaran over.
Abruptly the world disintegrated before Abi's eyes. A confusing blur of light and dark surrounded her. She blinked several times to clear her vision. When she could see again, she found herself in on the stony, uneven ground at the bottom of a dark pit. A small circle of light glimmered far overhead.
Someone moved beside her.
"Ilaran?" Nuvildu's voice trembled as he spoke. "Ilaran? Are you there?"
For a terrifying moment there was silence. Then, "I landed on my leg. I think it's broken."
Nuvildu tried to crawl over to where Ilaran lay. He gave up, whimpering in pain, after moving a few inches. "My back hurts too much to move."
Silence reigned again. The memory faded into a dreamlike haze. Night fell, day returned, night fell again, all within the space of a few minutes. The sun couldn't reach them so far below the ground. They could see its light above, but none of its rays fell on them down here.
Ilaran managed to stand on his good leg. He circled the well, scrabbling at the wall in hopes of finding a way out. When day came again Nuvildu was muttering nonsense. Abi looked at his wounds. They were still open and oozing green pus. Infection had already set in. Her feeling of foreboding got worse.
Towards the night Ilaran sat down next to Nuvildu. He stared helplessly at the wounds.
"If we had water I could wash them," he said.
"Why don't you wish for wings while you're at it?" Nuvildu asked sarcastically, in a rare moment of lucidness.
"I have wings in my eagle form," Ilaran said. Abi had never heard him sound so defeated. "But I can't carry anyone with me."
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"Then escape alone."
Ilaran didn't answer at first. "I can't. I can't reach my magic."
Neither of them spoke for a long time. Eventually Nuvildu lapsed back into feverish rambling. His words grew quieter and quieter. Finally they stopped altogether.
Night fell again. When the day came it found Ilaran still sitting beside his brother's corpse.
Abi couldn't speak to him. She couldn't tell him it would be all right or offer her condolences. She couldn't even touch him. All she could do was watch helplessly as he ran his fingers through Nuvildu's hair and murmured useless reassurances.
Eventually Ilaran struggled to his feet. He stared up at the light. He gritted his teeth and grabbed hold of a stone jutting out of the wall. Abi watched in bewilderment. He couldn't possibly climb out of the well with a broken leg!
She underestimated what grief and a desire for revenge could do. It took Ilaran over five hours to climb out of the well. By the time he was half-way up his hands were skinned and bleeding. His broken leg bumped against the wall repeatedly. Every few minutes he had to stop and balance on one leg, usually standing on tiptoe on a stone barely protruding from the wall, to catch his breath. When he finally hauled himself out of the well he collapsed onto the floor and lay there all night. Come morning he stumbled to his feet again and staggered out of the ruin.
Abi followed, hardly able to believe her eyes, as Ilaran half-limped, half-hopped his way to a farm half a mile away. She shook her head in disbelief as he literally stumbled upon the farmer, who hastily sent a servant to fetch a doctor.
He survived all that just to die because of my creation.
The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. She moved on to the next memory.
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Once again Abi skipped as much as she could. The next thing she saw was Ilaran talking to her own grandfather. That was so unexpected that she stopped and listened.
"I understand why you want revenge on your sister," her grandfather was saying, "but I can't just declare war on a kingdom in the middle of Tananerl for no reason."
"I know--" Ilaran began.
Emperor Consort Ninuath interrupted him before he could finish. "But there is one thing I can do. Tell me, how would you like to be ruling prince of all of Tananerl?"
Ilaran was silent for several minutes. He stared blankly at Ninuath. "...What?"
"All those warring tribes and kingdoms are a terrible nuisance, you know. Raivíth wants someone who can unite them into something that resembles a civilised province. Do you think you can manage that?"
Abi had never seen Ilaran look so flabbergasted. "But I--"
"Of course we will also give you the support of the Saoridhin army to deal with any troublemakers," Ninuath continued.
"...This is a terrible idea."
"Possibly."
Ilaran glared at Ninuath. "It'll never work."
"The previous attempts didn't work because we sent Saoridhin noblemen and politicians to rule it. You're from Tananerl. You have a better chance of making it work. I have the power to appoint you Prince of Tananerl right now."
I never knew Grandfather was so involved in politics, Abi thought in bemusement.
"All right," Ilaran said at last. "But if this goes as badly wrong as I expect, I'll do my best to drag you down with me."
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It didn't go wrong. It went surprisingly well, in fact. Quite a few kingdoms in Tananerl already wanted someone to settle their disputes for them. Abi continued to skip as many memories as possible. She was here to bring Ilaran back to life, not have a history lesson or spy on his entire life. So far she hadn't even found the present Ilaran yet. Where was he, anyway?
Is he reliving my life while I relive his? Abi wondered, little guessing how accurate that was.
She skipped a long string of memories mostly about treaties, council meetings, and politics. They were followed by an even longer string of memories about social events, diplomacy, and getting various nobles' support. Abi had never realised being a ruling prince required so much work.
A stranger began to pop up again and again, usually right beside Ilaran. She was a woman of about the same age as him, wearing the dull black robes usually worn by scholars or scribes. Yet she kept appearing in places a scholar or scribe wouldn't be. Beside Ilaran at official engagements, for example, or discussing the contents of his letters with him. If her name had been mentioned yet, Abi hadn't caught it. Strange. Abi tried to remember if she'd ever heard of Ilaran being married. He didn't wear alen[2], but perhaps married people didn't do that in Tananerl.
Whoever the woman was, she didn't wear the fine clothes that would be expected of a princess consort. She treated Ilaran with much more deference than a wife would show her husband. Abi shrugged and dismissed it as relatively unimportant. It was none of her business, after all.
The next memory Abi stepped into was much more interesting than the other recent ones. It began with a woman slapping Ilaran across the face.
"What did he do?" Abi asked aloud. There was usually only one reason a woman slapped a man like that, but she couldn't picture Ilaran being guilty of that.
She got an answer almost immediately. "How dare you forge my signature?"
Of all the reasons she'd expected, that wasn't one of them. It also didn't seem like something Ilaran would usually do.
Ilaran sighed. "Captain Bialaer, if you'll let me explain--"
"Please do," Bialaer said icily. "And it had better be a good explanation."
"I needed your written permission to send the guards to his house."
Whose house? Abi wondered. If she hadn't skipped those other memories she would have known. The price for not being bored was not knowing what they were talking about.
Bialaer face-palmed. "So instead of asking for my permission you forged my signature."
"You were out of the city," Ilaran protested.
"And you couldn't wait until I got back?"
He had no answer for that. Abi lost interest and moved on. The very next memory followed on shortly after that one. Ilaran was in what must be his private sitting room, reading a book in the chair beside the fireplace. The scholar -- or whatever she was -- stormed into the room with a furious scowl. She stalked over to Ilaran. He set his book down on the floor with the air of someone who knew he was in for an unpleasant time and wanted to get it over with.
"Hello, Kivoduin," Ilaran said wearily. "What is it now?"
Kivoduin's scowl deepened. "I just had a very interesting discussion with Captain Bialaer. When you asked me for a report with her signature on it I thought you wanted to check the guard rotas."
She leant forward. Ilaran leant back. Soon she was standing on her tiptoes. If she hadn't been holding onto the chair's arms she would have fallen on top of him. It was such a strange sight, especially when Kivoduin was so much shorter than Ilaran, that Abi couldn't help laughing.
"You lied to me, your Highness."
They can't be married, Abi thought. She wouldn't use his title if they were.
"I didn't lie," Ilaran said. "I never said what I wanted it for. You just assumed."
Kivoduin crowded even further into his personal space. Now she was practically standing between his legs. Abi was mildly surprised he hadn't pushed her away yet. She'd never thought Ilaran would put up with such disrespect. He looked thoroughly uncomfortable, yes. Was that a faint blush on his face? But he made no effort to make her move. He was so utterly still it almost looked as if he'd been turned to stone.
"You know perfectly well--"
Kivoduin stopped abruptly. She looked down, then up again sharply. Yes, Ilaran definitely was blushing. He studiously avoided meeting her eyes. Instead he acted as if the wallpaper to his right was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. How odd.
Kivoduin straightened up and took a step back. "Really?" Her voice was somewhere between offended and exasperated. "I thought you said you aren't capable of that."
Ilaran shrugged. His blush deepened while at the same time he looked insulted. "There's nothing wrong with me. I said I'm just not interested."
What has this got to do with the forged signature? Abi wondered. Her mind was still on the argument earlier. It hadn't yet occurred to her that they were talking about something else entirely.
"Not interested?" Kivoduin repeated, raising an eyebrow.
Ilaran nodded. "In the same way I'm not particularly interested in a new house. I might accept if I was offered one, but I have no wish to go looking for one[3]."
Kivoduin stared at him for a minute. "Did you just compare--"
"Yes," Ilaran interrupted. "I know it's not a good comparison. I didn't exactly have time to think of a better one."
Abi was still hopelessly confused. By now she'd figured out they weren't talking about the signature. She still hadn't realised what they were really talking about.
For a minute they were silent. Ilaran finally stopped staring at the wallpaper long enough to glare at Kivoduin. "Well? Why are you still here?"
Kivoduin blinked slowly. "You implied you would accept if someone offered."
He looked at her sharply. "Possibly. If I... liked the person enough."
"And if I offered?"
Is she giving him a new house? Abi scratched her head. These veiled references and insinuations were just confusing her even more. Why didn't they say what they meant?
"...I'd accept," Ilaran said quietly.
Kivoduin leant forward again and kissed him. Abi's mind screeched to a halt. Oh. Oh. That was what they were talking about. In hindsight it was embarrassingly obvious.
She turned and marched out of the memory. There were some things she didn't even want to think about, much less see.
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Another hour had passed. Abi still hadn't left that room. None of them had heard a sound from inside. Irímé opened the door and peered in. Abi was still sitting in the chair by the bed. She looked as if she was asleep. Yet the room was full of magic, a sort of magic he didn't understand and that set his teeth on edge. It wasn't quite dark magic. But it wasn't light magic either.
Irímé closed the door with a shudder. He poked his head back into the sitting room.
"I'm going to tell Abi's parents where she is," he said. "They must be worried about her by now."
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The policemen sent to arrest Abi found they had a hard enough job just finding her. She wasn't in her parents' house. She wasn't with any of her friends. She wasn't at the Silver Palace. No one had seen her recently. In despair they went around all the royal palaces, asking the guards if they'd seen her.
When they reached Kelthír Palace they finally found someone with information.
"Oh yes, she came here a while ago," one of the guards said. "I think she left again."
Well, it was better than nothing. The policemen resigned themselves to questioning all the guests in the palace.
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Irímé walked out the front door and came face to face with a group of policemen.