Creatures Without Real Souls

Llaneth, youngest daughter of the high king, awoke with a start in her white-walled chamber. The same dream again. Always the same dream, every night, ever since that one night a year ago when it had been more than a dream. A young man, an old mare, a snake in the grass — unseen by all but her.

Her pillow was soaked with sweat, and her nightdress clung to her. She could feel the urgency of his touch on her waist. She smelt the sweat of his horse.

She rose quickly and crossed to the window, throwing it wide. The cold mountain air washed over her body, and the sounds from the city below rose up to meet her. This was real, not that other place, that dark valley without a moon.

The white city was spread out below. The traders were up already, though the sun had not yet crested the rim of the mountains and the streets remained in shadow. Men and women pushed barrows of bread and vegetables. The distant sounds of their voices mingled as they drifted up to her window.

The wind rushed between the towers, caressing their white spires, flowing beneath the spans of slender bridges.

Something was different.

She let her eyes travel up, over the sweeping walls that closed like whale jawbones around the rim of the city, where cloaked sentinels stood guard, watching for an attack that would never come. For who would be foolish enough to attack the White City?

Beyond the walls, the great, green plain of Erin curved upwards like a bowl to meet the mountains. In the distance, the snow-crested peak of the Dathaldur stood sentry, like a lonely giant, the massive shadow it cast across the plain was hard and dark in the crisp morning air.

Something was different.

She felt the shift in her body, a change in the pattern, in the mechanism. The world had changed somehow while she slept. It was not a comfortable change. It tugged at her. She closed the window, shivering. She stripped off her wet nightdress and pulled on another from the cupboard by her bed.

There was a knock at the door.

"Enter," she said, using the tone of voice her mother had shown her to use with servants—her High-Princess voice.

A girl bustled in with a bowl of warm water. As she set it down, some of the water slopped over the side and spilt across the waxed wood of the nightstand. The girl bobbed a curtsey and stared at the floor, cheeks reddening, no doubt expecting punishment for the mistake.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

How strange it was to be treated thus. The girl was not much younger than her. She had been born to different parents, that was all. No doubt the girl's father loved her, just as her own father, the King, loved Llaneth.

But was she not right to fear her? Was she not of Erinthor? Her sisters would have sent the girl crying from the room, or worse. She could kill this girl with a word. With a thought, if she wanted to.

The grey band she wore at her wrist hummed with the power of the undarken'd flame. It grew warm as though eager to serve, and she felt power and heat rising in her. She could push fire into the girl's heart until the blood boiled in her veins if she wished it. But she didn't want to hurt the girl. She never wanted to hurt anyone.

Instead, she picked up the wet nightdress from where she had dropped it and used it to mop up the small spill, ignoring the girl's protests that a princess should not be cleaning. The water was warm on her fingers, and as she wiped the nightstand, it was as though the memory of the dream was cleaned away with it, though the sense of unease remained.

"Don't trouble yourself, girl," she said gently as she blotted up the water. "See, it is a new day."

The girl bobbed a curtsey again. She hurried out and fetched a tray of fruit. Wrinkled yellow apples and soft raisins. Llaneth hoped she would not trip and drop the tray in her haste.

"Would you like an apple?" Llaneth said.

The girl remained mute and shook her head, looking down. Llaneth noticed the girl's hands were trembling, and her eyes were reddened.

"What is your name, girl?" she asked.

"M... Mary, if it please you, m'lady." The girl's voice was tiny, like a child at the bottom of a well.

"Are you afraid of me, Mary?"

The girl made no reply, just stood and stared at the floor.

"Take an apple, Mary, for your breakfast."

The girl remained still, frozen. Llaneth sighed.

"Take one," she said, a little more gently.

Very slowly the girl reached out a small hand and took one of the soft wrinkled apples. Then she turned on her heel and dashed from the room, leaving the door open behind her.

Llaneth sighed and closed it. She would have to dress herself this morning, but it was no great chore. In truth, she liked doing things for herself. Choosing to be kind to the servant had lifted her spirits. In any dealings, one may choose to be cruel or to be kind, her father had once said, but choosing kindness always felt better somehow.

But there was still something wrong.

Llaneth crossed back to the window and stared out. There was a small black speck moving across the distant mountain, perhaps a traveller, perhaps something else. There were creatures that lived out there, everyone knew it. Creatures from beyond the Shadow Gates. Creatures without proper bodies or real souls.

She squinted her eyes, trying to use the power of the Flame to see more clearly, drawing the power through the plain grey band she wore around her wrist.

The speck was moving down the mountain towards the city. A traveller, then. For no reason at all, she shivered.

She dressed hurriedly. When she went out into the hallway later, she found an apple bruised and abandoned in the corner behind the door.