44
(Enemy Inside- Black Butterfly)
Tells
Ain’t no way a-ha got sent to this place with us, but sure enough the sound of their music was coming from two instrument-toting fruitcakes.
“It’s the strangest music I ever heard.” The voice came from the edge of the doorway as I entered the theater. I turned around to see the lanky, poorly rendered Christian Bale. “You’re Adam’s friend, yeah? Lady Simira’s hand?”
I nodded.
“Don’t think we’ve met yet. Call me Rezyn.”
“I don’t think I’ll need to call you.” I awkwardly glanced at him and then turned back around to the music.
“One second, if you would?”
I grudgingly turned back around.
“Have you seen Lady Simira? I have been meaning to speak with her.”
“In her office. Like usual.”
“Right, thanks for saving me a run around the manor, Tells.”
He smiled like a creep and slinked around the corner.
Yeah. He’s bad vibes.
Despite him, the most uncanny part of all of this was the display on stage. The clowns were wrapping up “Take On Me” and talking to the crowd, which was the most alive I had ever seen the people in this manor. I was genuinely questioning who they could be until they started playing Skynyrd. Desmond wasn’t subtle. He’d give his left nut just to lick the stage that band walked on.
I found a seat near the back of the room and chilled for a bit. I didn’t come into the theater often, but it was a dark, easing change of pace. After not hearing music for so long, it was like my entire body reverberated with the beat. Even for such stripped down, barebones music, the stress trickled out of my shoulders and back, and I let my face relax for the first time in a while. The whole mess with Vetia was eating away at me, but I didn’t hate Simira for it, as much as part of me wanted to. She was a better person than her father, so if I could help her make this portion of the city better, I wanted to.
This music is so nice to hear. What would our future look like if we’d never been taken here? All of us have powers and abilities that we can definitely get loaded off of. And maybe one day, after we all do our thing and kill a monster or save the world or whatever, we can build our own castle up on the rocks floating high above the planet. Wouldn’t that be a dream? What would I do after a while, though? Sure, we’d have a hideout, but settling down… I’m still making sense of how I am now. Will it get easier? Will I be able to “settle down” at all?
Tired of overthinking it all, I drowned out the music and pulled “Djoteided’s Beat” from my satchel.
Twas a bright, lovely day ‘tween bursts of ash. The brain gloriously illuminating the land and inspiring new thought upon that forum. Gazing upward, basking in knowledge, bright ideas abounded among my compatriots within the forum. However, upon a white stone bench, muddying the pristine glamour was, once again, Larmeonip. Hair scraggly and legs half-caked in fresh mud. Steps tracked from entry to seat and not a man spoke to him.
“Man! If you be man and not beast, prove it and I shall a golden coin bestow upon thee. For why didst thou ignore my summons, my humble invitation to supp and then show filthy upon this forum, whose denizens are akin to my kin?! Speak, Larmeonip.”
“Many thanks be upon ye for such a chance, Unwise Djoteided! To my displeasure, my body and mind are muddled and muddied. Forgive any confusion I may have.”
“Ay, shouldst thou be of unusual mind, then I shan’t critique thine words too harshly. Alas, my query presently stands, messy Larmeonip.”
“A beast I am not, but a messy man I may be, as a cake of mud is surely inedible and unwanted at supper.”
“Filthy Larmeonip, thou hast bathing privilege for thy citizenship! I’ve no reason to believe thy muck is truly thy reason! For what reason didst thou ignore my letter of invitation?!”
“Thy question I shall answer in question, detailed Djoteided. What becomes of letters in the wetness of the rain?”
“What care should rain have for letters, Larmeonip?! Rain reads not the intention of words nor the flourish with which they’re written! I’ve witnessed letters survive aback corty through storm and shine, yet a simple ticket evades the care of thyself!”
“Ay, critical Djoteided, perhaps I am at fault for leaving thine invitation amidst rain. My fullest apologies I gift thee.”
“I’d a wonderful discussion plotted and devised for which I sought to understand thine assessments on pressing worries of life and death, divinity and nature.”
“Are you of mind to ask now? Surely there is light left for discussion.”
“Ay, apologetic Larmeonip, I’ve worries worthy of days of discussion! What thinkest thou on the subject of death?”
“Contemplative Djoteided, what good is it to think on death?”
“Foolish Larmeonip, art thou not at all curious what becomes of man after is his final beat? Art thou not fearful of what becomes of thy soul?”
“Curious, yes, and I will one day know, but what good does thinking on death do? What good is arbitrary fear of death?”
“Frustrating Larmeonip, thou’rt perhaps not equipped to discuss such lofty matters. What would thee think of in death’s stead?”
“I am simple, pondering Djoteided. Perhaps another of your prepared topics is better suited to one such as myself?”
“Then what of the Body and our organs, our vessels of worship? Thou worshippest a piece, yes?”
“Religious Djoteided, what of the Body? Ay, the pieces inspire interesting questions and moral tales, but what am I to the Heart to question the Heart, or the Brain? Surely the vessels have matters more important than my worship. Are the Brain and Heart aware of the stories we tell of them?”
“Blasphemous Larmeonip, the vessels see and know all! Their omnipotence ought inspire fright at the utterance of such words!”
“Am I smote? Perhaps they hear, but what is the opinion of a mortal to the greater beings of Rhial? What is my perspective to that of one who sees all, who knows all, and who is always seeing and knowing?”
“Rash Larmeonip, dost thou not fear tortuous punishment by the Hand?!”
“Does the Hand punish beasts for being beasts? Why must man be punished for being man? Will it not cause more pain to fear lasting pain after death?”
“Malevolent Larmeonip, art thou without a grain of good?!”
“Quick Djoteided, is evil or good punished in life?”
“Rhetorical Larmeonip, tis obviously evil.”
“Interspective Djoteided, am I punished for acting as Larmeonip?”
“No.”
“Then by reason, I am good with ease, no?”
“Correct.”
“Therefore, I will endure no worldly punishment, no?”
“Correct again.”
“Therefore, I’ve not a just vessel to fear, no?”
“Correct again, Larmeonip.”
“Therefore, I’ve not death to fear, no?”
“Correct again, Larmeonip, and?”
“Then for what should I worry?”
“Lackadaisical Larmeonip, thou’rt not confused nor muddied of mind! What didst thou read to accrue such clarity?! No man can be rid of such worries without eons of understanding to teach him!”
“Have I not told you that I cannot read?”
“Thou hast the clarity of a fool and the reason of a wiseman!”
“And yet I am freer of mind than the stuped unwiseman.”
In a flight of frustration, I dropped a gold coin politely in that dreadful man’s hand and cursed the fear which curdled my veil of wisdom.
“Alright, alright, alright!” Desmond’s voice broke through my reading, reminding me of the mission at hand. “We’re gonna be taking an intermission from the main show now. All of you go have some fun, get your rocks off, and come back to enjoy some more right after! Madam Diona, you’re up.” Desmond played lightly on his guitar while Brenden stepped off stage and Diona stepped up.
The hall turned into its usual fuckfest, so I slipped through the chaos to the west wing. I was the first one there, pacing around the area to avoid looking overly suspicious. I didn’t know what else to do, but I could tell people were probably more confused by my telegraphed pacing than if I had just posted nearby. Thinking about it was only making me more anxious, which made me pace faster.
“Tells,” Simira sharply whispered to me, “Come, now.”
I joined her and the silver crackhead that I could only assume was Brenden in disguise. Without a word, Lady Simira opened the door and brought us outside, across the training grounds to the shack connected to the arena. She checked over her shoulder and swung the door open, ushering us inside.
The inside of the building was stale. Still air and a musty atmosphere in utter silence, except for the creaking of planks around us. The only light was from a bimunaekat outside, peaking through the slits in the wooden walls.
“Through here.”
A door stood immediately to the left of us, and Simira wasted no time forcing it open. She stepped through the threshold and down several steps before stopping. Her fingers glowed a dim red, illuminating the dark walls around her as her hand caught fire. The stairs evened out to flat ground eventually and the hall widened just a little. Simira stopped about halfway down the corridor and began knocking along the wall to our left, glancing at the parchment I retrieved.
“Lady Simira?”
“Yes, Tells?”
“Rezyn was asking for you earlier. He needed to speak to you.”
“Did he? I never saw him. When did he ask?”
“At the beginning of the performance, milady.”
Simira sighed and cautiously glanced down both directions of the hall. Her body grew tense. “Be aware of your surroundings. You’ll smell his slime before you see him. I’d bet he’s the traitor sicced on me.”
Simira led us onward. Brenden’s disguise had faded, and he looked at me as himself finally. “Didn’t get to say this back there, but it’s good to see you again.” He hugged me.
“Yeah, it is.”
He let go, but leaned in. “I’ve heard bad things about Rezyn, but a traitor?”
I couldn’t look him in the eye. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him, and were it not for the darkness and flickering light, my face would have said it all. “Rumors of a plot to kill Lady Simira.”
Simira cut in. “My father ordering Rezyn to kill me would not bode well for his reputation. I anticipate he is reconnaissance, but that said, we’re walking into a forgotten tomb only few know the whereabouts of. Catch up with each other later, we need to press forward quickly and quietly.”
She backed up and then slammed her foot into the wall, crashing through a thin layer of rock and wood to reveal an opening. Ripping off the excess wall, she climbed through and disappeared.
“Hey,” Brenden tapped my arm, “is everything okay?”
I stopped at the hole in the wall and looked away from him, biting my tongue and trying to hold back my emotions. “Yeah.” I slipped through and caught up to Simira, Brenden following behind me.
We walked down stone stairs for several minutes before being entombed in darkness, the cavern opening to void all around. The deep gray damp walls and floor aggressively absorbed our firelight.
“It would behoove you to light your hand, Brenden. Vision will worsen.” Simira passed me the piece of parchment, struck the wall with reflective chalk, and pulled me right against her, holding the flame over the map and pointing. “This is where we’re going. This is where we are now. Keep it facing this direction as we go so we’re not wandering aimlessly.”
The caves were silent except for our footsteps and the occasional word from Lady Simira to have a look at the map. The strangest part was that the pathways were rigid, almost like they were organized with countless holes in the walls that led to rooms and smaller caverns.
Brenden caught up to Lady Simira. “If you don’t mind me asking, what even is this place?”
She gave a skeptical look back at him and sighed. “This was once a habitat of the yeffen. This is what they call their ancestral land. They lived atop the ground in the summer, and down here in the winter for countless generations. Records state that luminescent subterranean plant life allowed the yeffen easy traversal of these caves similar to how they swing between trees of the surface.”
“What happened to them?”
“Quite simply, they weren’t human yet. My ancestors freely eradicated those who wouldn’t leave, burnt out the caves, and built the manor. The then Baron Amien wrote history to say he freed the yeffen from a tyrant, and that’s how our family became viscounts. That’s how the Amien Quarter of Vehfirn was founded. Geren holds early yeffen records of the massacre, being the former leader and now archivist. I wanted to know, which is partly why we ventured toward Poikla.”
I chimed in. “Is that why they’re so mad and yelling all the time?”
“Quite the opposite, actually. Those are the songs my mother taught them. The relations were repaired almost two dodecades ago by my mother, the bearer of the Amien name. Around the time of the yeffen’s first induction attempt, my mother hosted an expedition to allow the yeffen to retrieve relics from the past, as a way to make reparations and create a new alliance. She gave them noble backing to officially declare them human before the Triali government, and the Elysians gave approval. When my father killed her and the yeffen with the cave in, it was declared unsafe to traverse and returned to being a secret of my family. I suspect he did it because my family had been using the yeffen to blame for unrest for generations, but she was willing to give up power for integrity. She wrote of her doubts, of her beliefs that he was treacherous in her journal, and gave it to me before she came down here. It was the first piece of evidence that allowed me to open this investigation, to seek a map and bring the Count to our side all these years later.” She pulled me over and looked at the map again. “We’re here.”
Before us were hundreds of massive stones, rubble, piled atop each other around the stone statue of a grand yeffen. Its feathers were chipped and worn with time, but it stood at least 30 feet tall. It wasn’t flaunting or cruel, just standing as one would expect the yeffen to. Like how Geren stood when he spoke to us. Simira approached the rubble and poked at something with her boot. Half of a yeffen skull, cracked and broken.
Simira’s voice bit with cold hatred. “He never did recover the bodies. Just left them here to rot forever. My mother included.” She walked back to Brenden and passed him a piece of parchment. “This is the sigil you’re using.”
“What am I doing with it?” He looked over the paper and whipped it around while gesturing to the room.
“We’re looking for what caused the cave in. Look, over here. The walls have massive craters in them.” Simira walked over to the pile of dust and rubble beneath the wall and began searching around. “There must be a piece or several in here…” She sifted through until she abruptly raised a piece of jagged stone in the air. “Here. This.” She showed us the piece of metal.
Brenden looked it over. “It’s… metal?”
“It’s a segment of the explosive charges planted in this cave, known only to the mining guild. We just need a piece with residue of the explosive compound.” She seemed hopeful in the flickering firelight, like a kid about to unwrap gifts on Christmas morning, but reining in her expectations. “The more we find, the better our chances are. Search! Now!”
While they searched the rubble pile, I looked around for another spot. The walls were dotted with five craters, equal distances apart. On the front and back walls, the thinner ones, there was only one crater each. On the right wall were two craters, and the left wall only had one, but it was near the front of the room, with a flat segment toward the back.
“Brenden, can I get some light over here?”
Simira glanced between me and Brenden, who was still reading the parchment. “What? Do you actually not know simple fire sigils.”
“Um… yes, but also, Lady Simira,” I pointed up to the flat wall. “That wall doesn’t have a crater in it, just a hole.”
She stood up and stepped back next to me. “A hole?” Her eyes went wide and she grabbed my arm hopefully. “Brenden, activate the sigil! Now! This is it! This is what we need!”
“Uh, sure. But how does it work?”
Simira’s expression soured a little as she stomped over and held the paper with her non-burning hand. “Weren’t you lot boasting of your reading abilities before? Read the sigil, activate it, then look around and you’ll have a legally viewable record of what we’re seeing.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Brenden looked down at the sigil and extinguished his flame, using Simira’s fire to read. I couldn’t see all the shapes he was doing, but it seemed like there were a lot of pieces to the sigil until finally he lifted his head and his eyes glowed with a pale white light.
“Quickly.” Simira stood back, surveying the area while I boosted Brenden up to the hole.
Brenden surveyed the entire room with his eyes, marveling at how he could see through the darkness. He was wobbling back and forth as he looked in, standing on my shoulders. I heard a shifting of rocks to my right. “Holy shit. You were right, Tells. There’s a fuckin’ bomb in here!”
Simira cut in. “Good, you’ve seen it. Retrieve- Tells! Move!”
Like a fly buzzing, electricity crackled in my left ear. My body instinctively dodged away and Brenden tumbled. I barely caught him by the arm to ease his fall then whipped around to see Lady Simira’s hand wrapped around… nothing. She had grabbed onto something invisible connected to two beads of blue electricity popping in place, aimed at Brenden, like they were fighting back against her. The man’s voice screamed out, her fiery hand burning the hell out of wherever she’d grabbed. Suddenly, she pulled her unlit hand back, her entire fist glowing with pale orange concentrated energy. It thundered forward into the center mass of the man, destabilizing the electricity to his finger, which tapped her chest a moment too late to cause any damage. Like shattering glass, reflective shards of energy burst toward her and a man crashed out of invisibility, landing on his back into the rubble.
“You slimy filthmonger.” Simira seethed, stepping toward the fallen man while drawing a sigil and igniting her hand more voraciously.
He turned over and started crawling away. “Lady Simira… wait! I’m not… Let me explain…”
His single-handed crawl was nothing to Simira. She stepped next to Rezyn and grabbed his shoulder, flipping him over. Suddenly a flash of light filled the cavern from under Rezyn and he lurched up at Simira with his electrified fingers.
Everything went white and I reeled back, trying to see what was going on at all.
Shit! What happened to Si-
Her flaming fist was planted where Rezyn had been, and he was backed away, catching his breath. “You’re a crazy bitch.” Rezyn stumbled backward while Simira’s eyes readjusted. He stood, glancing between the three of us surrounding him.
Simira chuckled. “I’ve thought of everything you might do to kill me. I’ve learned every sigil you use, studied your style, and made counters for every single thing you could do to me.” She breathed in, a hateful, eager, bloodthirsty smile growing on her face as she removed her jzonuto and dagger belt, passing them to me. “Metal blades won’t do much good against lightning. Come on, try to kill me. You haven’t a clue how long I’ve been anticipating this.”
“Lady Simira!” Rezyn offered a less confident, but equally cocky smile. “I’m sure that your father will forgive you and even welcome you back if you tell him everything that’s going on.”
“I expected better, Rezyn,” Simira’s eyes finally dilated on him. “You being the traitor is all too obvious, even a little disappointing.”
“Traitor?” He chuckled. “I’d say a coup is the real treachery and I’ve been told to do whatever it takes. I didn’t want to hurt you, but you’re not giving me a choice. Let me kill the musician, you wait til your father dies, and take power the right way.”
“No. I’m doing it my way.”
Brenden cut in. “Listen, guy, we don’t have to fight right now.”
“You’re profoundly an idiot.” Simira stepped forward, not taking her hungry eyes off of Rezyn. “He’s seen our actions. If he lives, he reports it to the duke as a coup. Infighting and subversion attempts like this won’t sit. Executions and demotions around the table. And we aren’t fighting. I am. Stand aside and be a good light.”
Brenden mumbled something under his breath, which was overspoken by Rezyn.
“You’ve lightened up, Lady Simira.” Rezyn chuckled. “Has your spineless fool of a consort softened those cold chapped lips of yours?” He flicked out his wrist and prodded his middle and ring fingers up toward her.
“Don’t try to sully either of our names, a swindler’s tongue is only as worthwhile as the boots it licks clean.” She could try to hide it all she wanted, but Simira’s temper was growing. Rezyn had to have noticed it too. No, he was trying to rile her up.
“Oh, I wasn’t talking about Tells, but she’s quite able. Though, I’ll have to tell Eulin that a servant is cucking him.”
She chuckled menacingly, madly, eyes darting over him rapidly like she was deep in calculation until she finally stopped laughing and nodded. “Rezyn, your father hated you so much that he killed himself. I read the report, which included the letter, but you were so young that we figured it would be best to not tell you.”
Rezyn’s eyes widened slightly, perhaps remembering the fire he’d stoked was a seasoned warrior with a lot of issues. “That’s a load of shit.”
“No, because he also confessed that it was you that killed your mother, he had simply taken the fall because he wanted better for you.”
Rezyn’s cool swagger suddenly became more rigid.
Simira continued, “And Rezyn, you have certainly fallen short of his less-than-ambitious expectations.”
“What,” he grimaced, “that note why you were too scared to even kiss and broke it off back then?”
She burst out laughing. “Fear was never an issue. I could always easily kill you. You’re a fickle fighter, a dumb dancer, and a lazy lover. I wanted to help you be better, but you never wanted to try. But it's telling by all the prostitutes you bed, that I was right in my assessment what kind of people you belong with.” She smirked as if referencing something.
“Helping is about extending an open hand, bitch, not a closed fist.”
“You deserved it back then, and now I shall finish what I started.”
Simira pressed off of her back foot and swung twice at Rezyn’s face. He slipped under each one, fully avoiding the blows before launching a volley of prods with his electrified fingers.
The first prod, Simira deflected away from her face. The next aimed for the same spot between her eyes and she threw her head back just in time for his next prod to hit her core. The point of connection bursted with electricity for a brief moment as she pulled away.
Rezyn was pressing forward on her retreat.
I can’t let her get hurt! I’ve gotta do something!
I flexed my arm, and like an instinct it swelled to a massive size, but she acted before I did, like the pain had only riled her up further. She grabbed his arm with her burning hand and twisted him into a hold, the stench of burning skin and ozone filling the cave. He screamed and tumbled toward her, shocking her knee and sending her backward.
They broke, resetting ten paces apart. Rezyn circled with swagger, slowly, casually flicking to feint and try to get a flinch. Simira stepped with the grace and bravado of a feral dancer, her eyes rapidly darting over him as if creating new strategies on the spot.
She winced with a wild smile and rubbed the burnmark on her abdomen where her blouse had a fresh hole. Clutching the baggy blouse with her flaming hand, letting the flames catch and envelope her torso, she ripped the scorching fabric off her chest in a single pull. The burning shirt slowly descended in the air between them, illuminating the competitors. Rezyn’s cold stare, slicked back hair, and black cloaked figure left him unreadable to the flickering firelight. Simira’s chiseled muscles, burning hand and seering eyes made her all the more intimidating as fire glistened off her perspiration.
Slowly, the burning shirt drifted through the still cave air. It settled on the floor of the cavern and both Simira and Rezyn lunged toward each other. Rezyn let his hands fly in toward her torso again, but Simira was ready and twisted, raising her left foot to kick his arm and shoulder. It landed clean, knocking Rezyn between her and Brenden. With the light directly behind him, Rezyn tucked his hands into his cloak and rushed forward. At the last second, he thrust his hands out, one for Simira’s head, the other for her thigh.
Simira lunged forward and immediately turned herself, dipping gracefully between his strikes, dragging her burning hand across his face and searing his left eye. He caught her lightly in the back, but not enough to stop her from slinking around his strikes and grabbing his arm. She swiftly pulled her arm back and palmstruck the back of his elbow, inverting it. Rezyn’s forearm boiled in her clutch as he tugged his limp arm away, a slop of liquified skin dripping down.
His other hand flashed, where he was discretely carving a sigil into the air and a circle of electricity rippled in the air behind Simira.
I yelled out. “Lightning behind you!”
Simira let go of Rezyn and pushed him away. Her right fist glowed bright again and she struck the electricity snaking toward her. It wasn’t without cost, though. While the electricity dissipated, her right arm twitched violently from the shock.
Both Simira and Rezyn stood again, circling each other, watching each other’s every movement.
“I told you to be a good light,” Simira barked at Brenden. “Keep him in my sight!”
“Don’t worry buddy,” Rezyn commended, “you’re doing a stellar job.”
Sweat poured down Simira’s entire body, but she was still breathing steadily. Rezyn, on the other hand, was panting like a dehydrated dog as his arm hung limply at his side. He grabbed the arm and slammed it back in place, but it still hung lifeless.
Simira trudged toward him as he scribed a sigil into the air. He pivoted, her fist again filled with light and streaked toward the sigil, scattering it. The two fighters were like shadows exchanging blows, melding in and out of each other as the fire flickered. Simira followed through on the punch and slammed her palm upward into his side. Rezyn wasn’t done with his tricks, though. His dead arm suddenly lurched toward her, lighting flaring. Without even looking, Simira threw her left hand out and caught his forearm before it could prod her with more electricity.
Simira scoffed, “Juvenile,” and twisted his broken elbow. She pulled her punching hand and carved orange lines into the air, which Rezyn reached out for with a glowing fist. A sly smile curled up Simira’s face as Rezyn took the bait. She pulled her hand away from the sigil and slid her right foot out to the side, raising her left foot into a kick through a sigil she had carved with her foot. Her boot caught ablaze and slammed into Rezyn’s torso, exploding fire and launching Rezyn into a pile of rubble about fifteen feet away.
Brenden dodged Rezyn’s body and stepped back with me, behind Simira. Simira spit off to the side.
“You… you don’t know what you’re doing, Lady Simira! She’s gonna kill you regardless! Why are you fighting the inevitable?!” Rezyn’s face looked wild as he lay in his flaming cloak, his side completely scorched. “But… that doesn’t matter. I just have to get rid of the evidence.”
Rezyn smiled and flicked a dagger from his belt. The world seemed to come to a halt as I watched the dagger fly straight toward Brenden, who was already squinting to see properly over the flame he was holding. Simira realized where the dagger was flying, and in a panic, threw her arm out to catch the knife, lodging it in her hand instead.
“Grrraaah!” She growled, grabbing at her hand as Rezyn threw another at Brenden.
This time, Brenden ducked out of the way, pulling the light down entirely.
In the pitch darkness, a sharp pain jolted through my shoulder. The light returned and Brenden stood back up. A third dagger had shallowly cut into my left shoulder.
I growled to myself as a familiar twinge of heat and pain swelled in my gut. The knife fell from my wound, clattering on the ground.
“Shit, I missed him.” Rezyn chuckled from the rubble, immobile. “It doesn’t matter. Without you, your whole scheme falls apart anyway.”
Simira pulled the dagger out of her hand and tossed it aside, cold fury building in her eyes. “Don’t kid yourself. I took precautions.”
“Maybe so, but that won’t stop the poison from killing you and Tells.” Rezyn smiled grimly. “A drop, Simira. A drop of zekin poison is more than enough to kill a man before the sun falls on the same day. You wouldn’t make it out of this cave before succumbing, much less make it to the mau.”
Simira’s eyes flicked to me and she clenched her hand. A dreadful, hateful vengeance consumed her. She trudged toward Rezyn and stomped on his chest, using it as a support to lift a large rock over her head.
“How does it feel to know you’re dying just like your mother?”
“I didn’t fucking ask.” Lady Simira slammed the jagged stone through Rezyn’s skull, smashing his brains into a foamy mess. She crushed and ground everything until his head was nothing more than a hairy paste. Simira lifted herself up, hunched over him for a moment before she straightened her back and screamed.
“COWARD, YOU AND YOUR FUCKING POISONS! GAAAAH!” She stomped Rezyn’s torso into the rocks and screamed out at the universe in a raging frenzy, indignant toward nature, fighting the very force of death that held her from her life’s ambition. “I’m not done! I have it all! FUUUUUUCK!” She whipped around to us. “Tells! Brenden!” Simira clutched at her chest and heaved, collecting herself but falling into the rubble next to Rezyn. “The evidence.” She gasped raggedly, like her throat was closing. “The explosives. They aren’t sigils. Chemical compound. Mining guild trade secret. My father… comes from a family of… mining barons.” She grabbed Brenden and pulled him to meet her eyes. “Take the charge to Hallax. Wey… must know. Father killed mother. Show them.” She turned to me, still using Brenden as support as she verged on falling over. “Tells, take my key, the journal… my pillow…” Her breathing turned labored and her throat was closing.
Brenden met her eyes with determination. “I will. I promise.”
She grabbed me and pulled me down toward her, her face withering to a sickly blue color. She could only whisper, but she spoke with such intensity. “Shoulder. You’re… mau. You-” Her head reeled back in pain as she gasped, choking on her own closing throat, pulling in no air.
“Huh?” Despair washed over me.
Why did she say that? Can I do something? Can I stop the poison, I just don’t know how? Is that my punishment for not helping Vetia? Am I watching another friend die and can’t do a thing about it?! Am I just being tortured at this point? Do I have to watch her die now? What the fuck do I do?!
Tears rushed down my face.
I clutched her bleeding hand, holding it to my face, bowing, desperately praying to God for a miracle or a clue on how to save her.
“God, please, give her a chance! I don’t know what to do! Show me the right way! I couldn’t save Vetia, but if I can save Simira then please! Just give me a chance to make it right!” I broke down, tears excessively drenching my face and our clasped praying hands, already soaked with her blood.
With the remaining strength left in her hand, she squeezed. The only thing I could do was squeeze her hand back to tell her I was there.
This is supposed to be what I wanted, revenge, but even when she’s dying I can’t bring myself to hate her. Why do I have to be immune to poison? Is it just to watch as Simira dies to the same poison that I shrugged off?
My heart raged and my eyes poured, like a river of emotion, like the emotions I had been trying to keep calm were finally crashing out of me.
Am I cursed? Is it just my luck that made me watch the people I care about dying in front of me without any way of helping? How many more friends will I have to watch die?!
My face shuddered in frustration, pain, heartache, and fell into whispers, begging for this to be a lie.
“This ain’t real. This ain’t real.”
I stared forward blindly into her eyes, through them, wondering where it all went wrong.
Her gargled hics became labored breaths, and all I did was stare into her bloodshot eyes while tears streamed down my expressionless face. Her breathing slowly quieted, disappearing into the silent darkness of the cavern around us. I collapsed onto her, crying silently into her shoulder.
Why is her chest rising?
She was breathing. Her hand squeezed mine again and I picked my head up, meeting her eyes.
I frantically glanced at her face, her wound, the singes across her skin, confused but overjoyed.
She caught her breath and sighed painfully, smiling through it. “Thank you. I wasn’t certain, but I’m glad I had faith in you.”
I held her head into my shoulder and tightly embraced her, a new flood of tears breaking as I silently thanked God.
A deep breath escaped her mouth and her eyes opened as I pulled back. “We have to move. Take the charge. I’ll store it until the trial. When we ascend, inform Lord Hallax that we’re tearing my father down.” A reserved smile crossed her face and I pulled her to her feet, still in awe and disbelief. “You’ve given me another chance. Let’s not squander it.”
Brenden stared blankly at the frothy brain matter oozing out from the rock replacing Rezyn’s head like he was struggling to process what was going on. “Lady Simira, I don’t know how to stop this sigil. It’s not deactivating like the other ones I use.”
She sighed, still regaining her strength as she turned me away from the bloody mess, my own vision starting to spot over as a rising nausea took me. “Read the parchment.”
“Oh, sorry.”
We carefully retrieved the heavy explosive charge from the wall and ascended from the depths. Brenden got back to performing with a laborious sigh and a haunted expression. The west wing was empty of people save for a guard here or there, so sneaking Simira and the charge through the manor back to her room was easy. I sat her down in her chair while I found bandages and a bottle of clear alcohol.
Simira winced, the alcohol stinging her hand while I began wrapping the bandage. It had been a long time since my dad showed me how to wrap a wound, so it wasn’t as good as a healer might be able to do, but it did the trick. She was looking into my eyes the whole time, and I was too awkward to look directly back at her after crying in front of her like that.
“Do you truly not know of the mau? Even though you are one?”
“I’ve heard about them once. No details.”
“I heard a story once, about the mau. About what you are. The clans of beings who can alter their body freely. As creatures of many shapes, they are immune to nearly every toxin and ailment that occurs in nature. According to myth, mau tears can remedy any poison or venom that the mau has been afflicted by. Their tears must be given, something about their connection to jzanmah transmutes antidotes only willingly. They must care enough for the afflicted to produce tears for them. You cried over my wounded hand.” She averted her eyes to the floor. “Your loyalty… your friendship- if that’s what it is- saved my life. You saved me. Thank you.”
I silently nodded and smiled at her, not sure how to respond.
“But still, even with Rezyn dead, it doesn’t feel right.” Simira’s eyes darted around the room. “He was the traitor. The one who was sent to kill me, but something feels wrong. I can’t place what. I’ve thought on it a thousand times and it doesn’t make sense for it to be Rezyn. He wouldn’t utter such a plot so openly that she could hear it. It doesn’t make sense that anyone would have uttered it around her. Unless…”
I tied the wrap off and looked into her eyes. “Lady Simira, what if it was an empty threat? She was… crazy, completely gone.”
She wrenched her hand away and her face wrinkled in rage. “I’ve seen into the eyes of the dying to know their curses and their wishes. The curse of a smile who sees a descending blade and the wish of an oaf prodding at fears. It wasn’t empty! She wasn’t lying. There’s something. I don’t know what! A missing piece!” She closed her frustrated eyes, gritting her teeth. “I can’t relax yet. Not until this is done.”
“Blood!” Suddenly, there was a muffled voice and a banging at the door. It was consistent and heavy pounding.
Simira’s eyes overflowed paranoia. “Why does he scream blood before my door?” She took up her jzonuto and cautiously approached the door. She yanked it quickly, raising her jzonuto to the figure on the other side.
On the other side of the door was a tall and broad… man? Child? He looked both young and old at the same time. His lips were almost nonexistent and his beady eyes were tiny and close together.
“Blood.” He sounded like he struggled speaking in general, undoubtedly having some sort of serious mental disorder. I’d worked with kids like him in the youth groups, and he was the type who would never be able to live without a caretaker. He just stood there repeating “Blood.”
Simira pushed past him and frantically checked both sides of the door. “Eulin. Go back to your room. You know you are not supposed to be out on these nights!”
“Blood.”
She grabbed him by the collar and pushed him back down the hallway, jzonuto at the ready.
I broke the silence. “I’ve never seen him around the manor.”
Her breath shook. “You’re not supposed to. Nobody is. But recently, he’s been getting out of his room and I haven’t figured out how. I have Zev working on securing Eulin’s room better, but he’s been too busy and I’ve barely the time between my own duties and essentially being his mother. My father ordered servants to ignore him, to let him die, so I’ve been the only one taking care of him all this time.”
I stared at her a little blankly, but she seemed to have read my mind, or perhaps had been asked many times before.
“If I can raise the most troubled boy to be a good man, I can raise my people the same. He’s my trial and error, my proof that we can be better.”
She led us through the manor, toward the west wing where the dungeons and clinic were.
“I’ve done my best to educate him, and he’s learned to read and write, but hasn’t developed much further than a child and most people can’t read or write, so he can’t even communicate. Blood is the first word he’s ever spoken. Honestly I was overjoyed to hear him speak even a word, but despite one massive breakthrough, there are so many tiny steps to take in habilitating him.”
Next to the stairs down to the dungeons, Simira unbolted the door and pushed Eulin into the dark, lavishly furnished room. It reeked of body odor and mildew, but everywhere were soft blankets, pillows, barred windows, and caged off glowing crystals. Eulin’s personal asylum.
Simira stepped in after him, wincing at the smell. He wasn’t saying another word, he just meandered toward the far wall, toward a mound of filthy pillows and blankets. He turned, staring at Simira from the darkness. His mouth unwittingly hung agape as his eyes did, a foreboding stare of confusion and fear. She sighed and slammed the sturdy reinforced door shut, sealing him away. Her head hung for a moment before she walked off.
She stopped in the hallway at the point between the dungeon stairs and the stairs back to her wing, speaking into the wall, completely lost. “I don’t know who to trust, Tells. Only you I can be sure of. Tarynn is absent and wallowing in misery because of me. Eulin is imprisoned and I cannot help him, but he cries blood to me. I don’t even know if he knows what it means, if he associates the word with its meaning. My father dispatched an assassin to kill me. Who did she hear? Whose whispers? Outside the clinic window? The training ground. Has Andris been conspiring? Has he realized my cruelty?” An empty stare took hold of her. “She was right. The more I search, the less clear it becomes. All I can do is proceed forward and fight, as I always have.”
I leaned forward, pulled her into me, and hugged her rigid body tightly, an askew side hug and a little awkward, but I gave it my best try.
“Keep your head up, Simira, you’re doing all you can and that’s enough.”
She fell limp and started to collapse into my arms. For a brief moment, she was silent. Then a short whimper escaped her throat and she shot up, pushing back toward the wall, looking away.
“Is it?” Hollow fear settled throughout her. “At what moment will I be stabbed as I turn a corner? When will a merchant poison my food?” Her teeth chattered violently and her frustration returned. “It can’t be. It doesn’t make sense! Not even Rezyn! Who could it be? Who else could it be?!” Her chest heaved and she glared hollowly into the dungeon. “Unless it was truly a perfect deception to teach me her madness, to drag me down until I bring about my own demise.”
I rested my hand on her shoulder and she violently, instinctively grabbed it, squeezing in fear until she turned her head to meet my eyes. “Go. Enjoy the rest of the festivities. Watch your friend perform.”
“I don’t mind-”
“I will not fall to this!” She allowed herself a calming breath. “I have overcome worse. Good night.”
Simira took off in a nervous stride down the hallway, hand on her jzonuto the whole way. I glanced into the pitch darkness of the imposing dungeon and turned away, onward to the bright cheers and music.