The docks took on a different cast than was promised by her grandmother. Instead of being a hive of industrious ingenuity, the early morning darkness made every shadow threatening. It helped to be accompanied by several houseguard and two legionnaires. Still, Aya felt herself stiffen as she passed by stacks of crates and lumber, shadowed arches, and alleys between the various warehouses and workshops.
She was alone; her grandmother, Azio, and his consort Sahadra were off prowling one of the more likely areas. She doubted they’d find him soon, considering the gargantuan size of the dock complex. Aya was left outside on the broad promenade, dotted with canals and slipways, that ran the length of the entire yard. The only point of light other than torches was the flare of the southern lighthouse. Aya focused on that, having little in common with the guards to make conversation with.
“What can you tell me about the lighthouse?” she asked one of the legionnaires.
The woman’s eyes flicked for an instant in the direction she indicated.
“The Rock of Neuthub?” she said, “it’s an old place, a very old one. It’s been here since the founding. Some say the actual stone of the lighthouse was here before anyone else.”
“Who made it then?”
The legionnaire shook her head - it was not her job to know such things. Aya craned, trying to catch a closer glimpse of the lighthouse. She was too far, and it was too dark to try and make out details, though she could’ve sworn that the main body of the emplacement was glimmering. She sat on one of the crates, drumming it with her feet as she thought.
“Who mans it?”
“No one,” said one of the guards, “it’s close enough that yard workers will see to it if needs demand.”
“So no one is likely to go and check it?” Aya wondered aloud, “so long as it’s kept lit? They just assume some worker has kept it going?”
The guards exchanged confused looks, the legionnaires too disciplined to display their confusion openly. Aya had gotten tired of waiting - she needed to do something.
“Well then, let’s go to it, then,” Aya said, hopping off the crate and beginning to walk down the long street.
“My lady-” started one of the legionnaires, “your grandmother told you to-”
“Told me to wait, yes,” she said, not stopping, “best come with me to protect me, then. It’s just one boy. If you’re that uncomfortable, leave a guard here to tell her where I’ve gone. Plus, if he’s desperate, I’m sure that’s where he’s headed. We might be able to catch him first.”
The guards looked at eachother, shrugged, and moved on with the legionnaires around her. It took over twenty minutes of walking, before they were near the edge of the yard. The lighthouse had been made on a lonely outcrop, the yards built out to it over the years. A tall, cast iron fence wrapped around where the stone slabs gave way to grass and earth, barring entrance.
To her surprise, the gate wasn’t even locked, and swung open with a squeak of the hinges. Either the workers were so casual about monitoring it, or…
She set up the short winding way to the base of the great stone pillar. When she emerged from the scraggly trees and overgrown brush, she found that her suspicions had been correct. It was the same black, glimmering stone as the church from Albion, seamless. A single ladder extended from a wooden platform built atop the monolith, where a great brazier burned. Aya glanced up at the ladder, then back at the monolith. She hadn’t had much time to examine those walls, but Sorore had described them to her. In addition, she’d describe the strange way she’d communicated with the stone, and how it had responded to her wishes.
It was worth a try, she decided, before leaning into the stone and resting her hands to it. She wasn’t even sure if this was the ‘correct’ side, but still, she tried to expand her consciousness. She needed to talk to the stones, to have it respond to her, and hopeful that would entail that she…
Nothing happened, at least, not at first, but slowly, she found that there was… something here. An flickering awareness, an ongoing surveying of the stone surroundings. Was it waiting for something? A key perhaps? Was this some kind of living lock? Aya attempted to push and prod, to little response. She tried to conjure up the image of someone living within the stone, to talk to it. Nothing happened.
She sighed, removing her hands from the stones, and turning back to the confused soldiers. Instead of explaining what she’d been doing, she hopped on the ladder and began to climb upwards.
“My lady!” said one of the legionnaires.
Aya was already at the tenth rung, and looked down at the woman who was already sheathing her weapon and slinging it over her back. She continued the climb up, and fifteen metres above the ground or so, she emerged onto the wooden platform. She immediately realised that she should’ve let the legionnaire go first.
A long, thin sabre hovered at her chest, trembling in the hands of a boy not much older than herself. Her hands froze on the final rung, her throat suddenly going dry.
“Um,” she managed to say.
“Come up,” he said, failing to keep a controlled tone, “slowly! Slowly. No sudden moves.”
He moved ever so slightly back, keeping the point firmly fixed on her, his eyes wild.
“You can come up,” he said, raising his voice, “but no one else!”
“What?!” exclaimed the legionnaire below her, “who-”
“Go back down!” the boy shouted, his voice cracking as Aya stepped onto the platform. It was too far to simply let go and trust herself to fall uninjured. The boy didn’t seem bloodthirsty, just desperate.
“Or I’ll kill her!” he called down, “down, back down to the ground. She’ll be safe. I give my word.”
There was some mutterings about how much his word was worth, but the legionnaire retreated, unsheathing weapons at the bottom of tower. The body leaned over the side, looking over the number of people on the ground, then he cupped one hand to his mouth.
“The Eisen guards go to find the matriarch, and bring her and her guard to us,” he shouted, “the legionnaires can stay here.”
Aya’s brows furrowed - that was an interesting request. There was a yell of assent from below, and four guards took off down to the yard, leaving the two legionnaires waiting, weapons drawn. The boy made for her to sit against the wooden railing to the octagonal platform, across from the ladder hole, the blinding brazier in between.
In its light she could see the whites of his eyes, the sweat beaded on his forehead as he shrank down to a crouch. His clothes, while not ragged, were filthy, and he looked like he’d gone without a decent meal in days. Even as Aya watched, his eyelids began to droop over heavy bags.
“So, what happened?” she asked, relaxing to see her suspicions about his desperation confirmed.
She didn’t think he would harm her, not really, but it was hard to tell. Her grandmother would be on her way soon, and it would all be sorted out, one way or another. His eyes snapped open at the query and he looked at her with tired surprise.
“Who even are you?” he said, “why is some young scion of Eisen loping around the docks?”
“I can’t keep away from a mystery,” Aya said, smiling shyly.
The boy scoffed, the tip of his rapier faltering just a little.
“That’s stupid. I could’ve killed you,” he said.
“I guess. Should’ve made the legionnaire go up first,” she said, “that was stupid. I hope there will be a next time to learn from that mistake.”
The boy actually laughed at that, running a hand through his damp hair.
“So what is all this?” Aya said, waving her hand around, “why lead us on this chase? You can’t outrun the guard.”
The boy looked at her, looked at the ladder hole, then back.
“You promise,” he said, slowly, “if I lower the sword, you won’t run away?”
She looked at him, seeing the real terror in his eyes.
“Yes,” she said, “I promise.”
As if being released from a spell, the boy stumbled back and sagged against the railing. He began to cry, sobbing into his hand as he dropped the rapier onto the ground. It would’ve been relatively easy to dash for the ladder, but Aya was now very curious.
“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” she said, “you’ll need to say all this to my grandmother anyway.”
“Grandmother?” he said, trying to wipe his nose on the clothes, not improving their condition.
“I’m the matriarch’s granddaughter,” she said simply, earning a shocked look from reddened eyes.
“I’m-I’m sorry my lady,” he said quickly, bowing his head in shame.
“That’s an odd thing to say to someone you hold hostage,” she giggled, “but really now. What on earth happened? What led to all this?”
The boy took a further few minutes to stop crying, and once he regained his composure, he began. His name was Syoiza, and he was the second son of the Carim household. He related how he’d fought with the first son of Madros, always an offensive bully according to him, and had cut him in the aftermath.
“I heard later that he’d taken very ill,” said the boy, through gritted teeth, “I panicked. I should’ve stayed, should’ve listened to my mother. I knew they’d blame me for it, say I used poison. I should’ve stayed.”
His head slumped against his bunched up knees, with a long sigh.
“So I ran, and on the first night alone, I came up with an idea. I always liked the dockyard, and I had even met with master Azio a couple times. I thought he had taken a liking to me, so I thought… if I just went to him with my problem, maybe he could.”
He trailed off into muttering various combinations of ‘stupid’, and ‘never shoulda’, and so on.
“And?” Aya gently prodded.
“I found him and told him everything. He said that he could fix it, he just needed time, and I needed to remain out of sight. To lay low, right? So he suggested I go to the Miram, since the whole city would be searching for me, just until the festival was done. I hid in that gods-forsaken house for nearly a week now, enough to see what a folly it was.”
“Until tonight?” she said, “how did you know they were coming?”
“Well, I didn’t,” he said, “I just saw a troop of guards coming to the old Miram house. No one comes out to the Miram house, by orders of the matriarch. Since Azio wasn’t with them, I assumed that they’d somehow caught wind of me, I dunno how. So I swam for the furthest point I could. No one checks the lighthouse if it’s still lit.”
He spread his hands with a mock ovation.
“Here I am. Then I saw you coming. I panicked, again. I’m such a coward.”
She laid a hand on his arm.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “I think… everything’s going to be alright.”
He looked up at her, the faintest glimmer of hope flared in the depths of those oh so tired eyes.
“Really,” she assured him, “we can talk to my grandmother. She’ll listen to me, we can sort this all out. Just try to be calm, and don’t point a sword at me.”
“I would never do something so stupid again,” he said, “you really think she’ll be willing to listen?”
“Of course,” she said, patting his shoulder, “she might be a little stern, but she’s not unreasonable. And if half your story’s true, I don’t think she’ll have a problem being angry at Azio. He’s already in her bad books. I promise. Everything’s going to be fine.”
The boy sat up a little straighter at that, and breathed deeply.
“Um, hey down there!” Aya called, leaning over the side, regretting that she hadn’t learned her guards’ names. They were still down there, though they loosened slightly at her words, looking up at her with open curiosity as well as anxiety.
“I had a talk with him,” she continued, wondering what kind of words were appropriate, “he says he’s innocent, I believe him. He just panicked and made some hasty decisions.”
“We would be much more willing to believe him,” called back one of the legionnaires in a mixture of Karkosian and Continental, “if you were back on the ground.”
The female legionnaire accompanying him nodded fervently.
“Well?” she said, looking down to her crestfallen companion, “shall we go down?”
His head snapped up, eyes with their unveiled terror gazing up at her like a drowning man thrown a lifeline.
“These are legionnaires,” she said, “that’s why you sent the house guard away, right? Because they’re in the pay of Azio? They’re different.”
The boy gulped hard, and after a moment, nodded slowly.
“Alright! We’re coming down. No one is to touch him,” she said, “swear on both your honour.”
The legionnaires, after sharing a brief glance, swore that should he surrender, he would be kept alive and safe for the coming of the matriarch. That seemed to be the last thing needed to sway the boy to come down, leaving his sabre at the top. They waited for several minutes before they saw a small group of guards and legionnaires, as well as the occasional dock worker who’d helped guide them, swarm up the hill. It was soon a mass of light and armoured forms, her grandmother, Azio, and Sahadra pushing their way to the front.
“Aya!” her grandmother gasped, “what are you doing?”
“I talked him down,” she said quickly, holding up her hand to put down any further comments, “grandmama, I think there’s a problem here. Someone isn’t telling the whole truth.”
She glared at Azio, her grandmother following suit soon after.
“Explain quickly,” she said, half to Azio, half to her granddaughter.
“Matriarch, I was…” Syoiza began, kneeling in the customary fashion, before Aya cut him off.
“He says he got in a scuffle with the son of Madros. He fled in a panic when the boy took ill. He knew nothing of any poison, instead he went to-”
She stopped for a moment, a sharp pain in her leg. Frowning, she looked down, trying to see if it was just a cramp from climbing the ladder, or if she’d stepped in one of the brambles.
“Yes?” her grandmother said, crossing her arms.
“I said…” she said, her jaw feeling awfully stiff, “I said…”
Something was wrong - she couldn’t move her body properly. Everything felt heavy, or rather, nothing responded, too stiff to move. She was caught by one of the legionnaires as she toppled forward, catching a glimpse of wide eyes and open mouths. Her chest felt sluggish, refusing to rise and fall as her lungs screamed for air.
Everything burned, her ribs a rigid cage that was slowly suffocating her. The guards turned her over, as a violent convulsion passed through her body. There were screams of ‘Poison!’, cries of ‘seize the murderer’, Syoiza’s wild protestations of innocence. Her vision was going black, her mind was slipping as the pain of asphyxiation burned her chest and throat. Her eyes were wet with tears, bulging as she mentally clawed for another breath.
Then she was sliding away in the arms of death, a long sigh accompanying her.
Only the sigh didn’t stop, it remained, and remained distinct. She could not feel her body, could not see or feel anything, but the sigh was definitely there. Then, to her shock, came a voice.
“Stupid child,” it said.
It was that rolling-wave voice, bassy and rhythmic, but it was different. Where before it had been a flat wall of sound, inflicting her with its presence, it now had complexity, depths, a lively dynamism.
“You should’ve accused him first,” it said, “then got onto the particulars. Oh well.”
“Wait,” she managed to say, her voice small and thin when compared to the thing within.
“Wait?” it said, “you made the mistake. So I move on.”
“Just… wait…” she managed to whisper.
There was silence.
“Well?” it said, “you are about to die. Your perceptive window is shrinking.”
“Help… me…”
She had a sense of space, for she could feel the thing move closer to her, inspecting her.
“Why?” it said flatly.
“Help… me…” was all she was able to repeat, feeling the memories of vocabulary, of speech itself grow dim.
There was further terrible silence.
“Hmm,” it said, contemplatively, “so close to seeing the fulcrum’s choice…”
There was one final silence.
“Very well.”
There was the light blue glow of a pair of eyes, then a dozen, then hundreds.
Then thousands.
“Magic?” she croaked.
“Magic? Magic?!” the voice, now an ocean unto itself, bore down on her, “a paltry word for pathetic tricks. I will show you how to be.”
The docks took on a different cast than was promised by her grandmother. Instead of being a hive of industrious ingenuity, the early morning darkness made every shadow threatening. It helped to be accompanied by several houseguard and two legionnaires. Still, Aya felt herself stiffen as she passed by stacks of crates and lumber, shadowed arches, and alleys between the various warehouses and workshops.
She was alone; her grandmother, Azio, and his consort Sahadra were off prowling one of the more likely areas. She doubted they’d find him soon, considering the gargantuan size of the dock complex. Aya was left outside on the broad promenade, dotted with canals and slipways, that ran the length of the entire yard. The only point of light other than torches was the flare of the southern lighthouse. Aya focused on that, having little in common with the guards to make conversation with.
“What can you tell me about the lighthouse?” she asked one of the legionnaires.
The woman’s eyes flicked for an instant in the direction she indicated.
“The Rock of Neuthub?” she said, “it’s an old place, a very old one. It’s been here since the founding. Some say the actual stone of the lighthouse was here before anyone else.”
“Who made it then?”
The legionnaire shook her head - it was not her job to know such things. Aya craned, trying to catch a closer glimpse of the lighthouse. She was too far, and it was too dark to try and make out details, though she could’ve sworn that the main body of the emplacement was glimmering. She sat on one of the crates, drumming it with her feet as she thought.
“Who mans it?”
“No one,” said one of the guards, “it’s close enough that yard workers will see to it if needs demand.”
“So no one is likely to go and check it?” Aya wondered aloud, “so long as it’s kept lit? They just assume some worker has kept it going?”
The guards exchanged confused looks, the legionnaires too disciplined to display their confusion openly. Aya had gotten tired of waiting - she needed to do something.
“Well then, let’s go to it, then,” Aya said, hopping off the crate and beginning to walk down the long street.
“My lady-” started one of the legionnaires, “your grandmother told you to-”
“Told me to wait, yes,” she said, not stopping, “best come with me to protect me, then. It’s just one boy. If you’re that uncomfortable, leave a guard here to tell her where I’ve gone. Plus, if he’s desperate, I’m sure that’s where he’s headed. We might be able to catch him first.”
The guards looked at eachother, shrugged, and moved on with the legionnaires around her. It took over twenty minutes of walking, before they were near the edge of the yard. The lighthouse had been made on a lonely outcrop, the yards built out to it over the years. A tall, cast iron fence wrapped around where the stone slabs gave way to grass and earth, barring entrance.
To her surprise, the gate wasn’t even locked, and swung open with a squeak of the hinges. Either the workers were so casual about monitoring it, or…
She set up the short winding way to the base of the great stone pillar. When she emerged from the scraggly trees and overgrown brush, she found that her suspicions had been correct. It was the same black, glimmering stone as the church from Albion, seamless. A single ladder extended from a wooden platform built atop the monolith, where a great brazier burned. Aya glanced up at the ladder, then back at the monolith. She hadn’t had much time to examine those walls, but Sorore had described them to her. In addition, she’d describe the strange way she’d communicated with the stone, and how it had responded to her wishes.
It was worth a try, she decided, before leaning into the stone and resting her hands to it. She wasn’t even sure if this was the ‘correct’ side, but still, she tried to expand her consciousness. She needed to talk to the stones, to have it respond to her, and hopeful that would entail that she…
Nothing happened, at least, not at first, but slowly, she found that there was… something here. An flickering awareness, an ongoing surveying of the stone surroundings. Was it waiting for something? A key perhaps? Was this some kind of living lock? Aya attempted to push and prod, to little response. She tried to conjure up the image of someone living within the stone, to talk to it. Nothing happened.
She sighed, removing her hands from the stones, and turning back to the confused soldiers. Instead of explaining what she’d been doing, she hopped on the ladder and began to climb upwards.
“My lady!” said one of the legionnaires.
Aya was already at the tenth rung, and looked down at the woman who was already sheathing her weapon and slinging it over her back. She continued the climb up, and fifteen metres above the ground or so, she emerged onto the wooden platform. She immediately realised that she should’ve let the legionnaire go first.
A long, thin sabre hovered at her chest, trembling in the hands of a boy not much older than herself. Her hands froze on the final rung, her throat suddenly going dry.
“Um,” she managed to say.
“Come up,” he said, failing to keep a controlled tone, “slowly! Slowly. No sudden moves.”
He moved ever so slightly back, keeping the point firmly fixed on her, his eyes wild.
“You can come up,” he said, raising his voice, “but no one else!”
“What?!” exclaimed the legionnaire below her, “who-”
“Go back down!” the boy shouted, his voice cracking as Aya stepped onto the platform. It was too far to simply let go and trust herself to fall uninjured. The boy didn’t seem bloodthirsty, just desperate.
“Or I’ll kill her!” he called down, “down, back down to the ground. She’ll be safe. I give my word.”
There was some mutterings about how much his word was worth, but the legionnaire retreated, unsheathing weapons at the bottom of tower. The body leaned over the side, looking over the number of people on the ground, then he cupped one hand to his mouth.
“The Eisen guards go to find the matriarch, and bring her and her guard to us,” he shouted, “the legionnaires can stay here.”
Aya’s brows furrowed - that was an interesting request. There was a yell of assent from below, and four guards took off down to the yard, leaving the two legionnaires waiting, weapons drawn. The boy made for her to sit against the wooden railing to the octagonal platform, across from the ladder hole, the blinding brazier in between.
In its light she could see the whites of his eyes, the sweat beaded on his forehead as he shrank down to a crouch. His clothes, while not ragged, were filthy, and he looked like he’d gone without a decent meal in days. Even as Aya watched, his eyelids began to droop over heavy bags.
“So, what happened?” she asked, relaxing to see her suspicions about his desperation confirmed.
She didn’t think he would harm her, not really, but it was hard to tell. Her grandmother would be on her way soon, and it would all be sorted out, one way or another. His eyes snapped open at the query and he looked at her with tired surprise.
“Who even are you?” he said, “why is some young scion of Eisen loping around the docks?”
“I can’t keep away from a mystery,” Aya said, smiling shyly.
The boy scoffed, the tip of his rapier faltering just a little.
“That’s stupid. I could’ve killed you,” he said.
“I guess. Should’ve made the legionnaire go up first,” she said, “that was stupid. I hope there will be a next time to learn from that mistake.”
The boy actually laughed at that, running a hand through his damp hair.
“So what is all this?” Aya said, waving her hand around, “why lead us on this chase? You can’t outrun the guard.”
The boy looked at her, looked at the ladder hole, then back.
“You promise,” he said, slowly, “if I lower the sword, you won’t run away?”
She looked at him, seeing the real terror in his eyes.
“Yes,” she said, “I promise.”
As if being released from a spell, the boy stumbled back and sagged against the railing. He began to cry, sobbing into his hand as he dropped the rapier onto the ground. It would’ve been relatively easy to dash for the ladder, but Aya was now very curious.
“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” she said, “you’ll need to say all this to my grandmother anyway.”
“Grandmother?” he said, trying to wipe his nose on the clothes, not improving their condition.
“I’m the matriarch’s granddaughter,” she said simply, earning a shocked look from reddened eyes.
“I’m-I’m sorry my lady,” he said quickly, bowing his head in shame.
“That’s an odd thing to say to someone you hold hostage,” she giggled, “but really now. What on earth happened? What led to all this?”
The boy took a further few minutes to stop crying, and once he regained his composure, he began. His name was Syoiza, and he was the second son of the Carim household. He related how he’d fought with the first son of Madros, always an offensive bully according to him, and had cut him in the aftermath.
“I heard later that he’d taken very ill,” said the boy, through gritted teeth, “I panicked. I should’ve stayed, should’ve listened to my mother. I knew they’d blame me for it, say I used poison. I should’ve stayed.”
His head slumped against his bunched up knees, with a long sigh.
“So I ran, and on the first night alone, I came up with an idea. I always liked the dockyard, and I had even met with master Azio a couple times. I thought he had taken a liking to me, so I thought… if I just went to him with my problem, maybe he could.”
He trailed off into muttering various combinations of ‘stupid’, and ‘never shoulda’, and so on.
“And?” Aya gently prodded.
“I found him and told him everything. He said that he could fix it, he just needed time, and I needed to remain out of sight. To lay low, right? So he suggested I go to the Miram, since the whole city would be searching for me, just until the festival was done. I hid in that gods-forsaken house for nearly a week now, enough to see what a folly it was.”
“Until tonight?” she said, “how did you know they were coming?”
“Well, I didn’t,” he said, “I just saw a troop of guards coming to the old Miram house. No one comes out to the Miram house, by orders of the matriarch. Since Azio wasn’t with them, I assumed that they’d somehow caught wind of me, I dunno how. So I swam for the furthest point I could. No one checks the lighthouse if it’s still lit.”
He spread his hands with a mock ovation.
“Here I am. Then I saw you coming. I panicked, again. I’m such a coward.”
She laid a hand on his arm.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “I think… everything’s going to be alright.”
He looked up at her, the faintest glimmer of hope flared in the depths of those oh so tired eyes.
“Really,” she assured him, “we can talk to my grandmother. She’ll listen to me, we can sort this all out. Just try to be calm, and don’t point a sword at me.”
“I would never do something so stupid again,” he said, “you really think she’ll be willing to listen?”
“Of course,” she said, patting his shoulder, “she might be a little stern, but she’s not unreasonable. And if half your story’s true, I don’t think she’ll have a problem being angry at Azio. He’s already in her bad books. I promise. Everything’s going to be fine.”
The boy sat up a little straighter at that, and breathed deeply.
“Um, hey down there!” Aya called, leaning over the side, regretting that she hadn’t learned her guards’ names. They were still down there, though they loosened slightly at her words, looking up at her with open curiosity as well as anxiety.
“I had a talk with him,” she continued, wondering what kind of words were appropriate, “he says he’s innocent, I believe him. He just panicked and made some hasty decisions.”
“We would be much more willing to believe him,” called back one of the legionnaires in a mixture of Karkosian and Continental, “if you were back on the ground.”
The female legionnaire accompanying him nodded fervently.
“Well?” she said, looking down to her crestfallen companion, “shall we go down?”
His head snapped up, eyes with their unveiled terror gazing up at her like a drowning man thrown a lifeline.
“These are legionnaires,” she said, “that’s why you sent the house guard away, right? Because they’re in the pay of Azio? They’re different.”
The boy gulped hard, and after a moment, nodded slowly.
“Alright! We’re coming down. No one is to touch him,” she said, “swear on both your honour.”
The legionnaires, after sharing a brief glance, swore that should he surrender, he would be kept alive and safe for the coming of the matriarch. That seemed to be the last thing needed to sway the boy to come down, leaving his sabre at the top. They waited for several minutes before they saw a small group of guards and legionnaires, as well as the occasional dock worker who’d helped guide them, swarm up the hill. It was soon a mass of light and armoured forms, her grandmother, Azio, and Sahadra pushing their way to the front.
“Aya!” her grandmother gasped, “what are you doing?”
“I talked him down,” she said quickly, holding up her hand to put down any further comments, “grandmama, I think there’s a problem here. Someone isn’t telling the whole truth.”
She glared at Azio, her grandmother following suit soon after.
“Explain quickly,” she said, half to Azio, half to her granddaughter.
“Matriarch, I was…” Syoiza began, kneeling in the customary fashion, before Aya cut him off.
“He says he got in a scuffle with the son of Madros. He fled in a panic when the boy took ill. He knew nothing of any poison, instead he went to-”
She stopped for a moment, a sharp pain in her leg. Frowning, she looked down, trying to see if it was just a cramp from climbing the ladder, or if she’d stepped in one of the brambles.
“Yes?” her grandmother said, crossing her arms.
“I said…” she said, her jaw feeling awfully stiff, “I said…”
Something was wrong - she couldn’t move her body properly. Everything felt heavy, or rather, nothing responded, too stiff to move. She was caught by one of the legionnaires as she toppled forward, catching a glimpse of wide eyes and open mouths. Her chest felt sluggish, refusing to rise and fall as her lungs screamed for air.
Everything burned, her ribs a rigid cage that was slowly suffocating her. The guards turned her over, as a violent convulsion passed through her body. There were screams of ‘Poison!’, cries of ‘seize the murderer’, Syoiza’s wild protestations of innocence. Her vision was going black, her mind was slipping as the pain of asphyxiation burned her chest and throat. Her eyes were wet with tears, bulging as she mentally clawed for another breath.
Then she was sliding away in the arms of death, a long sigh accompanying her.
Only the sigh didn’t stop, it remained, and remained distinct. She could not feel her body, could not see or feel anything, but the sigh was definitely there. Then, to her shock, came a voice.
“Stupid child,” it said.
It was that rolling-wave voice, bassy and rhythmic, but it was different. Where before it had been a flat wall of sound, inflicting her with its presence, it now had complexity, depths, a lively dynamism.
“You should’ve accused him first,” it said, “then got onto the particulars. Oh well.”
“Wait,” she managed to say, her voice small and thin when compared to the thing within.
“Wait?” it said, “you made the mistake. So I move on.”
“Just… wait…” she managed to whisper.
There was silence.
“Well?” it said, “you are about to die. Your perceptive window is shrinking.”
“Help… me…”
She had a sense of space, for she could feel the thing move closer to her, inspecting her.
“Why?” it said flatly.
“Help… me…” was all she was able to repeat, feeling the memories of vocabulary, of speech itself grow dim.
There was further terrible silence.
“Hmm,” it said, contemplatively, “so close to seeing the fulcrum’s choice…”
There was one final silence.
“Very well.”
There was the light blue glow of a pair of eyes, then a dozen, then hundreds.
Then thousands.
“Magic?” she croaked.
“Magic? Magic?!” the voice, now an ocean unto itself, bore down on her, “a paltry word for pathetic tricks. I will show you how to be.”
