Victor

It can’t be. Is she actually challenging me right now? She’s more gutsy than I’d have guessed, this one. It hurts a little to hear how much fight she has in her. She’s just like me, I think, when I first came here. I had to learn my lesson the hard way. Better for this one to forget her willfulness sooner rather than later. Mirantha loves nothing more than to crush the spirits of hopefuls exactly like Fion. The sooner she learns to submit, the easier her time here, and her imminent death, will be.

I ought to rough her up, I think, still staring into her eyes. I ought to give her a taste of what’s coming, break her spirit early before she begins to hope there’s some way out of this. But somehow, I just haven’t got it in me right now.

Tomorrow, I tell myself. I’ll rough her up tomorrow. For now, just get her out of my sight. She’s too good, too wholesome; I’m not accustomed to being around people like her. Already I sense something of her goodness is starting to rub off on me, and I fear I’m starting to lose my edge.  

“Go in for now,” I say with a weary sigh. “I’ve been absent from this place a long time, so I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on. I’ll be in to see you tomorrow.”

“What time?” she wants to know. “It’s morning now; you must come to me in the morning, or I will come looking for you.”

“You’ll stay put,” I snap.

“Only if you promise to come before noon.”

“Alright,” I say, having neither the desire nor the strength to argue with her further.

“Then the matter is settled,” Fion seems satisfied. “I shall see you tomorrow, Victor.”

“Whatever,” I say, sending her into the room with a kick to her backside and locking the door behind her.

That wench will stay put and keep quiet, if she knows what’s good for her.

Fion

This room is dusty and mold ridden. The scent burns my nostrils and makes my eyes water; even my ears start to hurt. This will not do.

With a silent command I pull a fresh breeze in to sweep all the dust away in a single gust. Then I call to all the insects in the palace. They hear me and hurry upwards, skittering to my command.

Swarms of termites, cockroaches, booklice, all the creatures that feast upon mold, I summon them to clean-up duty. I stand at the center of the room and watch them work their way around the cracks in the floorboards and under the windows. It takes them very little time at all to clean up the mess, and I send them on their way with my thanks.

Satisfied the place is clean, I walk through it with a scrutinizing eye. The furniture looks old, though the style is unfamiliar to me. I believe Victor said High King Braxtus had this palace built some two hundred years ago. I wouldn’t be surprised if this were the original furniture.

The blankets and drapes are threadbare, badly in need of repair. With another gust of wind I pull soft strands of dead grass through the window to patch the curtains and pad the bed.

Better, I think, but still unpleasant. I am well aware of the nature of this place. I felt the blight upon this land before we ever entered it. The evil is at its thickest here, beneath the cloud, and especially within the walls of the palace. But that is no reason why my own quarters should feel unwelcoming.

Wind brings me fresh earth from the distant forest, packed with seeds. I spread it across the floor in an even layer and coax the seedlings up with the merest gesture, so the floor becomes a soft lush carpet.

Grass, ferns and flowers I allow to grow, but I save the acorns and apple pips in the ground to be called upon later. Instead of letting these trees grow up, I lay my hand upon the bedposts and speak life into their long dead bones, causing tender green branches to sprout from them, pulling a canopy of leaves over my bed.

“This is more familiar,” I smile to myself as a little nuthatch flies inside to investigate my handiwork. I hold out my hand to her and she alights on my finger, a question in her bright eyes.

“Thou mustn’t stay, little one,” I speak to her gently. “This is no place to build a nest. Fly east. Winters in the Aelph forest are mild. Make thy home there, where the witch’s shadow does not reach.”

She twitters at me softly and hops back to the window sill. I hold the cold iron bars and watch her flit away on the wind with an incredible pang of loneliness.

To be kept alone in such a place, I cannot believe I’ve allowed it to come to this. If I were certain Azariah made a mistake, and that Victor were not my true love, I would leave this place in a moment and never look back. If I were certain…

Victor. He’s not what I imagined. There is good in him, yes. I’ve seen it shine in spite of the filth that he covers himself with. But is that enough? I wish I felt more certain. Wish he were here with me even now…

I’m lonely, I think, going to sit on the window seat and look out across the barren plain. I did not wake from four hundred years of sleep only to be isolated in an awful place like this. It’s so cold here. So dull and bleak, tainted by this unnatural shadow.

Hours pass. A dumb waiter creaks and delivers crusts of bread and liquid that they cannot possibly expect to pass for water. I ignore the fare and turn my face back out the window and begin to sing.

It is dark here, yes, but Valion’s light reaches even through the darkest clouds. I sing to my lord, and He answers me with a ray of light that pierces the gloom. It warms me and fills the lonely space in my heart.

I sing to Him more and the clouds begin to change. No longer black, they turn to healthy gray as rain begins to fall on the plain. Tears fall from my eyes as I hear the ground cry out in agony at these first drops, so dry and dead that at first it can only reject the life giving water. But it does not last.

Little by little, the drops seep into the earth, awakening long dormant seeds of grass and wildflowers. The earth trembles as they break forth, slowly painting the plain green with their tender shoots.

I collect the rain in my hands and drink. It tastes of honey and I know Valion has used this water not only to quench my thirst, but to nourish my body which has not tasted a morsel of food in over four hundred years. I thank Him for the gift, and drink my fill.  

Below me the jackals and gargoyles look out in wonder, examining the plants, kicking at them experimentally. They are deaf to my love song to the Creator, for the servants of Morass have no comprehension of such music.

Only one stands alone, with them but apart, his face turned up to the sky so that the water washes him, his eyes fixed on me.

I look down on him solemnly, hardly recognizing his figure with proper clothes on. Even so, I think my heart would recognize him, no matter what shape he came to me in.

Victor.

As I continue to sit in my beam of sunlight and sing to Valion, he watches me with such a poignant look of sorrow and longing, it stirs something warm in my breast.

“Is it really him, Valion?” I ask my lord. I want to deny it as much as I want to believe it, but I don’t think Azariah would have mistaken him, like I don’t believe my heart could mistake him.

That man, is he really—

 My one true love?