10. Ubique
Her dreams were restless: a violent haze of fire and screaming, an assuring touch here and there, the stinging scent of blood filling her nostrils, everything melting in sight, left dark and destroyed. She remembered weariness, life pouring from her body, heat fleeting, and the rise of vapor, barely distinguishable with the human eye, but there nevertheless, rising from cooling bodies. It swirled so beautifully in the air, vanished in just seconds like it had never been there in the first place.
This lasted for awhile; time became incomprehensible in her haze, and when she tried to stir awake, recognizing she could not give in to sleep at this troubling hour, she always went back down, always closed her eyes. Her lips mumbled incoherent sounds resembling words. Sweat pearled on her neck, glued her hair to her face. Days passed like this; one hour replaced by another, one looming figure replaced by another, and consciousness denied despite her attempts to regain it.
Then she began to stay awake for longer periods, minutes even. She would glance around in bewilderment, seeking for anything or anyone. But her strength was fleeting and her mind still recovering from the intrusion it had experienced, and thus Azkadellia would soon drift back into chaotic sleep. The faces above her bed distant and unknown melted into one that was threatening and unwanted, before vanishing altogether.
The morning she was finally able to remain awake, there was no one by her side. Azkadellia was greeted by an empty room.
Everything was monochromatic at first. Her sight lacked depth, and her body felt weary and uncomfortable. Ghost pain lingered on her skin, in the depths of her mind, but she couldn't quite tell what its cause was. Azkadellia recalled sleeping, dreaming of horrible things. And she recalled being held, being cared for. She remembered a voice calling for her, keeping her there. None of that was present anymore.
Everything about her felt foreign, unreal. Her hair was tangled and it smelled strange. She wore a gaudy nightgown that was imbued with the scent of sweat and blood, despite its apparent cleanliness. Her arms were heavy to lift, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. Instead she stared at the ceiling above, the dance of light and shadows against its surface. Although the walls and windows blocked the noise outside, she could tell there were birds outside her window as their shadows cast onto the ceiling, dancing across it lightly, free from the earthly chains that still bound her.
How was she still alive? Azkadellia remembered what her judgment had been now; how she had attacked the Coffin in rage and set it aflame. It had nearly killed her as well, but somehow she had emerged victorious. How? By all accounts she should've been dead.
She turned her head on the pillow with effort as inflaming pain radiated from her neck, turning simple actions into exertion. She was still hurt and weak in the aftermath of her ordeal. A wave of disappointment passed through her, and she moved her hand to her face, feeling healthy skin beneath her fingers and nails. She remembered being burned, consumed by heat and its scorching tendrils. Again reality didn't correspond well with this memory.
Azkadellia sat up after a moment's struggle and reached for a mirror by her bedside table. Loathing passed through her system and emerged in jolts, little unwanted jerks across her body, before she could even look at herself from the reflective surface. She was shaking with repulsion, imaging her now ruined beauty in her head. It pushed her out of the bed and on her feet, even though she felt anything but ready for it, and the mirror in her hand was thrown across the room violently. It shattered against the floor, creating a loud and ominous sound that resounded in the roomy space like a broken record for awhile. The action helped release some of her aggression for being so helpless though, acting as another nasty reminder of what she had become during the long years under the Witch's tutelage.
Her long grey nightgown followed her steps with patience while she limped to the windows to see what was happening outside. Azkadellia stopped half-way though, when she realized that her reflection on the glass was unblemished. She didn't find a single scar or bruise or burn. For a moment she simply stared at herself in the stained glass, not knowing what to say or do.
Disillusion followed next, and Azkadellia began to wonder if she was still within the Coffin. Her steps made noise though, her hand could touch the walls and her bed, and she could see the way she had thrown off the covers on her bed. Could a dream be this vivid for real?
A wave of nausea passed by her, and she fumbled back into the bed, lying there until she felt it pass her by. Her skin was covered in sweat, her forehead felt hot, and everything in her head was a mess. Regardless Azkadellia tried to think. She remembered her final fortress, a world of snow and ice. She remembered being guided by a voice, a loving voice. I'm still yours, it had whispered to her, she recalled this now.
Azkadellia curled herself into a ball, trying to somehow minimize the sensations that overcame her. She could hear her heartbeat thunder in her ears, raging on and on. So she lay in her bed, face buried in the softness of her pillows, hand rubbing her stomach and its sore muscles to palliate the discomfort. Her arms felt wrong, like something was slithering under her skin, crawling over her flesh. But she didn't try and relieve this irritation, knew it was just an echo of what had come before.
There was a knock on her door, gentle and light.
"Azkadellia?" a voice inquired tenderly, laced with worry. Azkadellia could imagine a frown upon fine ageless features, a pout that was unbecoming of its owner. She understood she had invited this query by breaking the mirror, as if crying out for attention in her plight, but now that help was here, she wasn't sure if she wanted it after all.
Her visitor didn't stay and wait for permission to enter though, much to Azkadellia's annoyance. She was still lying on her side, curled up and head buried in her pillows, when she heard the sound of the door opening, followed closely by the sound of footsteps entering her room. Azkadellia turned enough to gain a good view of the approaching figure, recognizing her mother instantly.
The Queen emerged from the doorway, appearing calm and collected. She approached without hurry, moving with utmost grace. It was easy to tell she had been raised as royalty, for everything in her was refined: her manners, her body language, her appearance, her speech, even her expressions reveled nothing unless she wanted them to. This was a woman who had ruled the O.Z. for centuries, a woman who did not vacillate or act impetuously. Azkadellia had once strived to be like her: unreadable, memorable and always in control. In hindsight Azkadellia may have succeeded excellently that task, albeit in her own uncaring manner, for hadn't her mother always been loving and gentle whereas she had chosen the opposite approach?
There was no one else, and the hallway behind the Queen was quiet, almost unnaturally so. This led Azkadellia to believe the news of her survival was not yet public. Probably only a few selected and trustworthy insiders knew of her condition and had permission to even enter Azkadellia's quarters at this time. It was all for the better though.
The Queen examined Azkadellia's reaction, her flushed face and swollen eyes, but she didn't find a trace of malice there. Actually her daughter looked more peaceful than she had in ages. Hoping this marked the beginning of a new era in their strained relationship she closed the door behind her and walked quietly to Azkadellia's bedside, sitting near her.
The noise that had disturbed the dead calm and invited her presence appeared to have come from a breaking mirror that was now in pieces on the floor a bit further away. The question was already on the Queen's lips, an invitation for understanding, yet she held it back, acknowledging her daughter's fragile state of mind. Perhaps it would be easier to approach with care and avoid unnecessarily exhausting topics?
"How are you feeling?" she asked her daughter instead, placing her smooth hand over Azkadellia's heated forehead, feeling her skin for fever. The sickness prevailed, symptoms of withdrawal becoming more and more evident. This was no surprise though; the Coffin's magic was powerful and addictive and Azkadellia had been under its influence for quite some time.
Azkadellia didn't dare look at her mother. Here they were, back at the beginning. Nothing had changed with her headstrong escape. The only difference lied in her, for she now knew the whole truth.
"What happened?" Azkadellia asked, sounding disillusioned, sad.
Her mother observed her warily, running the back of her fingers against Azkadellia's heated skin in effort to bring her comfort in her obvious vexation. Clearly she needed time to form the thought, to shape it so it would not alarm her daughter. Her mother had always been cunning that way, saying things in shapes and forms that caused less harm. Now, however, Azkadellia did not appreciate the courtesy.
"You were showing signs of malaise, unease. The thing you surrendered yourself to was hurting you," her mother said after a thoughtful pause. There was no visible judgment there, but Azkadellia knew very well what her mother had thought about her abrupt announcement. The Queen had been very much against it right from the start. Alas, she had been unable to stop the wheels once set in motion, much to her disappointment.
"I am told you were near death and barely survived," her mother explained kindly, pulling the covers over Azkadellia's body. Their eyes did not meet at that time, so her mother did not catch the clear response Azkadellia had to this revelation.
"When the Coffin began to burn, you had to be forced out. One of our Viewers, DG's friend Raw, healed your wounds. You were in terrible shape. It would appear that the Coffin was destroyed, but we do not know why there was fire."
Azkadellia swallowed painfully, sensing this was not the whole truth. She didn't know what to ask though, what to question. Her mother was excellent at twisting words, telling half-truths. There was a lingering feeling within her, a presence she had felt while sleeping. Had it just been the doppelganger, vivid as he'd been crafted from her memories? Had it simply been the reawakening of those old desires that had nearly driven her into taking the Coffin's offer?
"I'm still alive," Azkadellia whispered at this, deep in thought, not knowing what to think yet. Two things were clear now after this harrowing experience; Redemption and rebirth, finding who she was for real and making up the sins of the past, and keeping her promise to Zero, giving him freedom as long as there was life in her.
"Mother," she then said, clearing her voice, "The general of my… the Longcoats, Zero. Where is he?"
Her mother sighed, witnessing affection Azkadellia's tone. She had heard it from DG, but hadn't truly wanted to believe it. Now it was evident that Azkadellia's heart belonged to a terrible man, and she, also a victim of unwise love so long ago, knew quite well those were not bonds easily broken. She had fought to marry a man beneath her stature and faced fierce opposition about it, but at least Ahamo had been a good man, nothing like the sadistic Zero.
"Where is he?" Azkadellia repeated, having received no answer to her first question. Her mother had averted her eyes though, wishing to conceal the disapproval in them, but it was clear to Azkadellia. She had seen this face many times; it was memorized in her heart by now.
"I dreamed of him. Of the evil we did together. Of the orders I gave him. Please, I need to see him," she explained herself further, trying to bend the issue as if it was all about redemption, understanding the past. Yet the thought of him was vexing, a stone on her heart, heavy and suffocating. Just knowing would help ease her mind, keep her from trembling with guilt at night. What a conflict it was, completely overwhelming and sudden; knowing that she still ached for such a man.
Again, her mother observed carefully, weighing her options, choosing her words carefully. She could offer salvation for Azkadellia, but not this man. It was better for Azkadellia to lose hope, let that affection wither and die, than to let her believe there was any chance of reunion.
"He is imprisoned. A trial will be held," her mother explained, trying to sound neutral, yet her judgment shone through. Of course she didn't mean it as personal offense as she did not know the man other than by reputation. It was difficult to see the appeal though. There was something impish and rash about Zero, disrespect and rebellion rooted deep in him.
"When?" Azkadellia asked abruptly, shocked by this news. She turned on her back now, to look into her mother's eyes as they spoke, wary of their deceptive expression.
"It was recently. You were within the Coffin," the Queen responded, speaking half-truths.
The grim reality opened before Azkadellia now. Whatever her future was, free or condemned, Zero was on his own path, had to pay their crimes alone. The thought was unbearable, even as it should've been clear from the start. Could she watch from the sidelines? Could she remain unaffected while he paid the price? This angered her.
Azkadellia turned her gaze with disappointment, locked it on the headboard of her bed instead. "Is that to be my fate as well?" She questioned.
"No," her mother shook her head quickly in response, "You're alive. You were proven worthy and you've served your punishment, Az."
Yet Azkadellia's body tensed at the mention of it. Somehow she was caught holding secrets again, and it wasn't her desire, not at all. Azkadellia turned on her back, locking eyes with her mother. She hated that apologetic smile her mother would get when she was explaining something.
"I was found guilty, mother," she explained then, giving up the burden of secrets. "I refused to die like that, so I burned it down."
Her mother absorbed these words like poison, seeping carefully and breathing deep. She obviously didn't want to believe. "Azkadellia-," she began, getting interrupted by her daughter.
"No, mother. I am guilty. I feared death. I wanted life." She hadn't before, not really. Her future had been a losing battle over the control of her body – nothing worth fighting over.
Her mother clearly didn't know what to say. Tears glimmered in her eyes. "DG has done everything in her power to make sure this was enough, and you would just throw it away for guilt?" she asked and watched as Azkadellia sat up, anger seething in her.
A moment later Azkadellia'd hand connected with her mother's cheek, her eyes burning with contempt as the slap made the older woman whimper. Now they looked at one another with clear eyes, stripped down to the essentials. She didn't need to play along with this lie that they were mother and daughter in the true sense of the word.
"What about me, mother? I know you love her more, but – what – about - me?" she asked, pained by her mother's behavior. How everything could still revolve around DG after all these years was beyond her.
Her mother didn't respond; she tried to understand the question, the implication. "You think-," she began, struggling with words, "-that I don't love you?"
"I know you love me, but I also know that you gave up your light for her. Would have you condemned the entire kingdom to ruin like that for me? Frankly, I don't think so," Azkadellia confessed, finally speaking her mind on their issues honestly.
"You always wanted to believe there was nothing but the Witch in me when I was Queen, but it was me too. I kept you alive, I tortured you. Because you made me feel like I could never be loved by anyone."
Horror was an accurate description of the Queen's face then and there. She had truly been blind to Azkadellia's emotions, to her pain. A small part of her also admitted that there was a seed of truth in there. Azkadellia was her firstborn, a wonderful, talented young woman, yet DG had always been something special. She had just known that DG would change the world like her namesake had.
The Queen pulled Azkadellia in her arms and her daughter did not resist. However, the embrace wasn't all that loving, but rather an act of desperation. It still felt uncomfortable to Azkadellia, and her mother held on, waiting to feel the same belonging she did with her other daughter.
Azkadellia realized it now; why her mother's embrace was so unwanted. There was warmth between them, but that wordless instinctive bond between mother and daughter simply wasn't there. The damage was deepened by a decade's worth of wrongdoing, hurtful actions and thoughts. At this point Azkadellia was simply unable to believe anything her mother said, be it a confession of love, or a vow of change.
"Of course I love you, my darling. I never wanted this for you. I never wanted this for us. You were always so collected, so strong. I should've been there for you more, but I thought you didn't need me," her mother spoke, her voice stained by tears.
It was all very touching, yet Azkadellia couldn't embrace these words, this regret. Her heart had been set on stone a long time ago, and after revisiting those early memories of abandonment, she understood everything a little better now.
"I forgive you," she said almost mechanically, feeling how her mother cried in relief against her.
Azkadellia remained still though, calm and quiet. She did not need her mother to love her more any longer. In her heart she knew the struggle was pointless and without end. She would give her mother this reconciliation, this peace for she knew it was the right thing to do. She would never feel comfortable in this woman's arms though, and it didn't bother her anymore. She could forgive, but she could not forget, not anymore.
By the time her mother pulled away, a hopeful smile on her reserved face, Azkadellia had conjured a smile herself.
Her mother moved her hair behind her ears to bring out her face, looking genuinely moved and happy for once.
"You need to rest now. You have been under powerful magic. It has left you weak, your body addicted to its flow. It will take awhile for you to recover," she explained to her daughter, worried about her pale complexion and heated body. The Queen had faith they would get through this though; that together they would rise again and find that elusive happiness from years ago.
Azkadellia understood the wisdom in her mother's words, embraced them for now. She was too weak as things were. But knowing he was close (that he was alive), helped ease her mind. She would find him before the end, see him again, and talk to him again. And she would ask him for forgiveness as well, for not living up to his expectations, for being the coward he was always accused of being.
Her nod was slight, her eyelids wanted to push down. "Just for awhile, mother," she said, sounding drowsy already, her energy spent in her outburst.
Azkadellia fell asleep again at the feel of her mother petting her hair, humming a lullaby.
As days passed, she regained her appetite and ate everything in display greedily, obsessed with the thought of recovery. Azkadellia refrained from asking about Zero, and settled to gain her Intel more quietly. He was safe for now, locked in his cell, the date of his trial pending still. It was good, she had time.
During DG's first visits, Azkadellia was asleep without fail, and DG would simply sit by her bed, reading, singing, talking. She settled for the little things, just knowing her big sister was alright and headed towards recovery. Something about the mood was a bit strange, others noticed it too. Traces of her supercilious character had mostly vanished, leaving behind a bereft woman, someone whose eyes were towards the skies, heart and mind somewhere distant.
A change for the best, as most would say, but this concerned DG somewhat. What exactly was the woman between the Sorceress' stoic cruelty and her sister's heartwarming grace like?
The morning DG finally caught Azkadellia awake, she struggled with her questions while watching the polite yet distant woman stand in front of her. The former Sorceress stood in front of a full-body mirror, arranging her long hair on several clean braids across her head. Her dexterous fingers worked wonders with her silky hair. She had yearned for something to do, other than gawk at her younger sister, whose presence had been very much desired.
Something about Azkadellia was different now, and not just her mood. She looked real somehow, when the Sorceress had always had that ethereal air to her, power and immortality, her mind soaring at heights mortals could not conceive. This Azkadellia was very much present, a woman rather than divine instrument. If you were to prick her she would bleed.
"That creature was behind my door this morning again," Azkadellia announced dryly, rather focusing on her reflection than the actual topic. She seemed bothered by this sight, unsure of its meaning.
"Raw?" DG frowned, "Why?"
"I wouldn't know," Azkadellia replied. "He just stands there, never saying a word, never asking for audience. He just stands and looks at me with this strange look."
It made her highly uncomfortable; especially knowing this was the Viewer who had been inside her mind. The things he must've seen… Azkadellia wasn't keen on confronting him about it. It had been heard enough to have a look herself, let alone having a stranger see the same.
DG didn't say anything. She knew why Raw was there, just as Azkadellia had to know. It was just one of those topics they did not engage in. Raw was probably waiting for the right time to approach Azkadellia, to tell her what he had seen. Curiosity would've made her ask about it a hundred times already, but it was distasteful to ask for something so personal without Azkadellia's consent. No, it was better to let them discuss it over first.
"I always feared them," Azkadellia then said. "The way they can just look inside and see what's beneath the surface. And my ment- the Witch, I mean, she agreed they were dangerous."
DG didn't know what to make of that statement. The revelation that Azkadellia had been very much present during the evildoings, even acting as a more or less willing participant, still didn't sit well with her. She didn't know how to respond to these statements. The Sorceress had enslaved Raw's people, taken pleasure in torturing them. For Raw to be this sympathetic to Azkadellia was another proof of his huge heart, his incredible compassion.
DG chose to change the topic instead, hoping to find some answers to her questions.
Azkadellia had barely caught her breath, when DG suddenly spoke her mind, having held it on the tip of her tongue long enough.
"I was scared, you know?" DG said, glancing at Azkadellia sideways to remain discreet. Azkadellia didn't stop what she was doing, even if she flinched a bit at the confession though.
"No one would tell me what you had really gotten yourself into, and when it became clear without asking, it was like no one else was even fazed," DG explained recalling the experience at Azkadellia's former home.
"You were screaming so much. And I was completely helpless to stop it," she then concluded, eyes cast onto the floor, hurt pressing against her throat.
"It needed to be done, Deege," Azkadellia said firmly but kindly. Her eyes rested on her reflection, her youthful appearance so different from what it had once been.
"What was it like?" DG then asked, having wanted to know this for some while now. The screams of Azkadellia still sounded in her ears sometimes when it was peaceful.
Azkadellia paused, holding still for a moment, her hands frozen in her hair, fingers trying to attach one braid into the hairdo with the others. "I could see everything," she finally said, sounding strangely bemused, "The past, the present, the future."
DG focused, listening fully. "I wasn't a very good person back then," Azkadellia settled to say. "But I had forgotten much, the Witch had made me forget much."
She had taken strength for aloofness, obstinacy and stoicism. The aforementioned qualities had made her seem hard to outsiders, truly the strongest candidate for the job, but she had been anything but strong really. True strength lied in compassion, openness, humility, trust; all these fine qualities were exhibited in DG, the daughter who had had two loving sets of parents, the daughter who so naturally excelled at everything she put her mind to.
Emotions, in a way, were foreign to Azkadellia. The Witch's council had had her suppressing everything to the point where answers needed to be pried from her by force, where every acquiescent was humiliation. Her need to remain untouched, unreachable, had turned the love affair with Zero into something twisted. She had flaunted the possibility of reunion at his face, forcing every inclination of interest into fitting with the pattern of a strange courtship, because that was safer for her.
DG listened, but Azkadellia became silent after that. Tilting her head and sighing, the younger sister knew when she was being too nosy. "It's ok," DG said encouragingly. "You don't need to say anything more."
Azkadellia now looked at DG through the mirror, their eyes connected. For a moment they looked strikingly similar, both with slender faces and dark hair. In their eyes gleamed an understanding, an unspoken bond that had survived the horrors of the past, unlike Azkadellia's relationship with their mother.
"I just don't know what I would've done without Zero," DG said, feeling slightly embarrassed to admit it. She was too busy to be shaking her head at her helplessness to notice how this information affected Azkadellia. She was suddenly very aware of the space around her, the oppressive air, and her own alertness.
"Zero was there?" Azkadellia asked, trying to keep her voice still. For days, he had haunted her thoughts, her dreams. While she had lain weak in bed, thinking of the chance to see him again, to tell him everything, had he already come to her aid in this dark hour, even after she had failed him?
"You were calling for him in your sleep," DG told her, almost like she was reciting a romantic encounter. "Things were pretty grim, so I wanted him there to help. And he did. He didn't leave your side after we brought him there. He was the one who pulled you out of the Coffin when the burning began too."
What a shock; Azkadellia thought, having forgotten all about her preparations, her hair and dress, the joy at seeing her skin gain a healthier tone. DG had indeed brought Zero to her side and let him guide her through her experience. She had been so sure of his presence, and yet she had told herself it was just the Coffin's masterful manipulation. But he had really been there, speaking to her, telling her to hold on. Without him, she might've taken the doppelganger's hand and stayed inside, lost in an illusion she had so desperately wanted.
"I didn't know you two were so close," DG said, hoping Azkadellia would take her words and finally explain was what happening here. She knew her mother had wanted Azkadellia and Zero as far away from one another as possible, but DG honestly felt they were indebted to the man.
"It doesn't matter now," Azkadellia replied flatly, refusing to show her weakness for him even to DG. "He may receive a fair trial, but his crimes have only one punishment and that is death."
DG picked up on the hurt, the underlying anger. She could feel Azkadellia's emotions heighten, could sense it with her magic, just like she had when Azkadellia had been within the Coffin. And how badly she wanted to scratch the surface, to see beneath!
"What happened between you and him, Az?" she asked carefully, trying not to pry.
"More than words can convey, sister," Azkadellia answered, holding back the hurt. He was always with her, like a bad habit, a craving she could not quench. Even when she had not consciously thought of him, she had wanted to hear his footsteps behind her, to feel his unwavering support, to hear his crisp remarks, accompanied by that playful smirk.
And then it hit her. Her mother had done this on purpose, hadn't she? Her mother had tried not to mention Zero, in case Azkadellia would rush into his arms like a lovesick girl and vow eternal loyalty. How trusting, how insulting! But her rage was calm, contained. She expected nothing more from the woman.
"I'm surprised he came when you asked," Azkadellia said to DG now, turning to her sister, appearing more like her old self, a cunning sorceress. This was a mellow version of the role though, something played with a smirk, a sense of humor. Azkadellia did it to divert the conversation from this painful topic.
In DG's eyes Azkadellia was still a bit sickly, thin and damaged, even if the damage was not something detectable with the bare eye. And yet there was new life-force in her, a determination that had not existed before.
DG rolled her eyes theatrically. "It's pretty obvious he would do anything for you, Az," she said, half-smiling. The statement worried her a bit, yet she felt it was something Azkadellia needed to hear. Being the most hated person in the Outer Zone today, Azkadellia needed all the love and loyalty she could get. If someone still cared for her despite the actions she had done while possessed, she needed to know.
"I know," she whispered back, reciting the mantra for the public in her head before continuing, "but none of that matters now."
And yet it did. He was everywhere; she was covered in him, marked for good.
TBC