888

Tariro

Chapter 3: I Do Not Wish to be Alone

888

Daine prodded at the frozen mess and sighed. She didn't know how she could escape without clothes, and she certainly couldn't wear these. They'd frozen into a single lump where she'd dropped them on the sand, and there was no way to thaw them in the timid warmth that came from the mage light. She'd gotten used to seeing her frozen breath all the time, but she hadn't realised how cold this place really was until now. Compared to this, the dank of the cave was like summer.

Ghada brought her other clothes from the chests, smiling happily as she did so. Daine stared at them for a long time before speaking, afraid that the sound might tear the fragile silk. These were clothes a queen would wear to her coronation, not clothes to escape in. Not that she could tell that to Ghada, of course.

"I can't wear these clothes," She said hesitantly, "They... they're too thin, too cold. Is there nothing made of stronger fabric?"

"There is armour," Ghada replied, absently looking towards another chest, "But it would not fit you. You are small. I compared the sizes of your clothes with these. If you are cold you have the fur."

Daine looked again at the dresses. If she worked for the Riders for ten years she might have enough money to buy one of them. The fabric shimmered, or fell in soft folds amongst the tiny gardens of embroidered flowers and pearls. Some flaunted garish gems like they were sequins, while others showed delicate lacework or beading. They smelled faintly of musk and the ghost of fuchsia, as if the long-dead women who owned them had carefully scented each one, loving each dress. Ghada had carelessly dumped them on the table in a heap.

"Thank you," she said quietly. Ghada smiled.

She didn't touch any of the clothes until the creature was gone, and then she examined them closely. They were in an old fashioned style, some more like robes than fitted dresses, and most of them draped on the floor when she held them up against herself. The ones that didn't were plainer, made of thinner fabric, and she realised that these were under-dresses. One was made of soft wool spun so thin it was almost see-through. But at least it was warm. She chose that and the plainest dress she could find, and put them on. It felt liberating to be able to walk around without clutching a fur around her shoulders, and she stretched her arms out luxuriously at the sensation. The dress stopped at her elbows with wide flared sleeves, but the under-dress fitted closely enough to keep out the frozen air. She rooted through the chests looking for a belt to gather the skirt up with, hating the fabric that tangled around her legs. The women's belts that she found under a score of headdresses were wide and ornamental, but she found one with a practical decorative knife strapped to it and put it on. Feeling safer for it, she was about to close the chest up when something caught her eye. Hidden under all the accessories was the corner of a plain leather book. There was really nothing in this tomb that wasn't worth a fortune, and even with the expense of paper she could see that this book would never compare. It stood out like a large badger in a small kitchen. Intrigued, she picked it up.

"These are the words of Yawahawa, king of the island of Saisha." The book declared in an unkingly scrawl. Daine frowned. She wasn't sure if she should be reading someone's diary, especially when their bones were so conveniently nearby to haunt her.

On the other hand, what else was there to do? She took the book and her fur to one of the chairs and started reading, blowing on her frozen fingers when they were too numb to turn the pages.

These are the words of Yawahawa, king of the island of Saisha. I write only truth. I commit my thoughts and mind to paper. May my honest words lead me well in the life after this, for they have truly served me badly in this one.

We honoured the Neferii for their protection by building palaces of stone. For generations we lived near their protection, inside the mountain. The lake gave us life, but took away our magic. Slowly, the mage born began to go mad, consumed by the power that was trapped in their very skin. We sent away our women to have children, and the Gifted among them were left to grow outside of the city. The ones who survived were trained to spend their magic, to place it into objects that could return to the city so that it could never boil in their veins. It was a difficult life for them, and I feel much guilt over my forefathers' decision. But it was the only thing to do, to pay for our safety. As long as we were without magic, the Johi's power was weakened. They are creatures of pure magic, but they cannot see without the gift to guide them. In the city, without living magic around them, they were blind.

It was during the fifteenth year of my reign that the rebellion started. There was an uprising- mainly returned mages- who refused to drink the water. They believed that I was controlling them with it, that I wanted them to be weak. I could not tell them that I myself was raised in the camps on the cliffs, they would not listen, and a king cannot admit to such things. But I swore to my goddess to be honest in this tale, so I must admit it now.

The rebels left the city, and we believed them to have died at the hands of the Johi. Their magic bleeds into the very soil of the mountain, and they can see everything it touches. But death is not certain- I am told by survivors that they are like children, that they play, and that they might see two people and only kill one of them. My advisors tell me that they may supplement their diet of flesh for the richer meat of human terror, but I do not believe this. I say I was told these things- I only saw a Johi once, and my impression of it was quite different.

Many months after the uprising, a single man returned to the city. He carried a strange item in one hand and a knife in the other. He had thrown the item in the lake, at the cost of three of the priest's lives, before he was apprehended. Under torture, he confessed- I should say perhaps that he boasted- that the strange item was called a "reverser": a magical device that would "reverse whatever evil we were casting with the damned water."

That night was the first night that the Neferii screamed. The priests tried to speak to them and could not get an answer. The next morning, all who had drunk the water found that their magic had returned overnight. The water that had protected us for hundreds of years had betrayed us, and the Johi could see us again.

That night they massacred half the city. We beseeched the Neferii to help us, to cast whatever magic they used to guard us. They refused. The dampening spell wasn't cast, it was something that the water did naturally. Now it was reversed. Anyone who drank the water would regain the magic they'd lost by walking into the land that had absorbed the deadened water for so many centuries. As long as we didn't drink the water, we would be safe... but so many already had, including myself. I charged the Neferii to guard the pool, to stop people from drinking the water at any cost. I do not know if they will carry out this order; they are often quite contrary.

I mentioned that I encountered a Johi. This is how it occurred:

We lived for a few months without sleep, hearing each night the screams of the lake and the laughter of the Johi. They were impossible to fight or even see- how do you attack something made of light, or fire, or water? For that is how they appeared to us. We tried many things, and lost many people. In the last days, our beautiful city had turned into a ghost town. Only a few survived, the others were killed or fled to the coasts. It was my son who had the final idea, the idea that saved us. He had only returned to us from the mage camps because of the uprising, and still had the strength of his magic that the rest of us had carelessly spent on trinkets. He had been taught, as had we all, about how to trap power inside physical forms. It had never occurred to us that the creatures might be trapped in the same way. In the same meeting, the priests informed us that one of the Neferii had told them why they screamed. The Johi were creatures of sound, and could be frightened or soothed by music or harshness in the same way a mortal man might fear a sword or relax in the sun. The priests had carved flutes from bone and wood, and they reported that the creatures were calmed by the noise. This was not entirely good: they were also called by it, and to stop playing meant death when hundreds of the spirits surrounded you.

We spent that night carving statues, using our gift and all our generations of artistry to make them. The statues we carved were ugly, evil. They warned of the danger that we hoped to trap within. When they were finished we played the flutes, and the Johi appeared. Pulling them into the statues was like lifting a marble pillar- many men died from pure exhaustion, struggling with the power. They drew the life from us with ease, but they were bound to the stone at the cost of our lives. A second's hesitation meant that the spirit was free to slash with his claws, and this was also far too common. To this day I do not know how we managed it. The good spirits must have been on our side that day. When the screaming stopped, and we looked around, there were only three of us left. Myself, my son, and one of the priests.

We took the statues into the city as quickly as possible, not wanting them anywhere near us. Their features shifted as we watched. They became more terrifying, more obscene, trying to scare us. The priest played the flute, and they shifted into the innocent faces of children, listening happily to the sound. We took them into the Neferii temple and my son cast magic on the walls, making flutes that played with the breath of the wind. He also spread the colours of death on the walls and throughout the city, hoping to warn people away. We certainly couldn't defend the city. We were tired, and hurt, and we didn't know if the statues would hold the Johi past the night. When we began to walk away they began to scream, knowing that they were trapped and alone. The sound was sickening.

We returned to the lake and begged the Neferii to care for us, to protect us. We could hardly stand. The fire of fear and fighting was gone, and we knew we were dying. Too much of our power had been spent, and we had poured our lives away like water. They told us to swim to the island in the middle of the lake. We protested, especially the priest- the island is sacred to us, it is the birthplace of a goddess. They said, "What better place to die than sacred ground?"

We jumped into the water, ready to swim, and they pulled us under the surface. We woke up in the palace crypt, surrounded by our treasures... but this place is not the palace. I do not know what it is. There are no doors and no windows. We demanded to know what they had done, and they told us that they would keep us safe. Then they left us here alone. Their gate will not let us pass. It burns our hands.

My son sickens, and the priest has already died of the rot that comes from deep wounds. I pray for my own death to come soon. I do not wish to be alone.

Daine's hands shook as she closed the book. These Johi were obviously the children that Ghada had talked about, and exactly the same thing was happening again. The Neferii had guarded the lake vigilantly, but the statues had awakened. The bandits had tried to fight them with swords- she remembered the cold sound of steel striking rock- but they would fail. She had to get out, to warn them!

She re-read the last few sentences again, trying to avoid looking at the last sentence. "The gate burns our hands..." she murmured, rubbing between her eyes as she tried to think. There was no gate in the cave that she could see. She carefully tucked the book into her belt and ran rapidly along the walls, looking for a crack in the design that might betray a hidden passage. There was none. There were no marks that could be switches, or shadows that could hide handles. There was nothing. She sat back down in the chair with a huff and glared at the room, willing it to surrender its secrets. It did not oblige.

"Fine, then there's no gate." She snapped at it. "I know there's no gate. I've been looking and looking!"

The room didn't answer. She imagined it looking smug and kicked at the wall, irritated. In an ideal world this would have opened a door somewhere. It didn't. Daine was aware that her hands were icy again and stood up to warm them against the mage light. It was the only warm thing in the room. It flickered slightly as her hands got closer to it, and her eyes widened. Impulsively, she stretched out both hands and placed her palms flat on the light.

The room seemed to dissolve around her, melting into water that rushed away into the chasm beneath her feet. The floor was gone; her bare feet stood on black air and nothingness. The world poured away. She looked up and wished she hadn't. Like a waterfall, another room was falling towards her in great torrents of stone and golden light. And then, just as suddenly as it started, the water vanished. She took her hands from the light, which glowed warmly without burning her, and looked around.

The tomb was gone. She was out. Long corridors stretched around her, hung with tatters of tapestries and rugs. Stained, expensive glass windows let in soft green light, and she headed for one with relief. To see the sky again after being buried for so long! She pulled back the drape and gasped. The window looked out into the lake. She was deep, deep under the water. If she tried to swim from here she'd be crushed by the weight of water. Her free hand unconsciously curled into a determined fist.

"Time to find some stairs," she said.