The Fenimeldiyaan: Vacation - Chapter 13

Frustration forced Elsa to punch the wall. She grimaced at the pain through her knuckles, but it helped her to focus. She had felt something, and she knew if she could find something even stronger, a more powerful memory, she might break through to Gerald. The only danger was that Ursula might discover what she was doing and put her to sleep again — maybe even move her.

But it was worth the danger. Elsa closed her eyes and focused on another horrible memory. It was when her parents were executed, and she hadn’t intended to watch it with herself. She and Elaine had been up on the battlements, trying to think of a way to save their parents. But she hadn’t been able to, and holding her sister in her arms as tightly as she could, she had seen both her parents beheaded. Elaine had cried out as Elsa had held her as tightly as she could, and both girls had sobbed helplessly in each other’s arms.

It had been the last time Elsa had willingly cried in front of her twin.

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Morgan glared at Kvyrt. “Maybe it is what I want!” he snapped. “Have you ever considered that? Maybe I’m tired of fighting, every day of my life, at war with myself. Even when I sleep, it’s like my mind can’t rest. Dark or light? Good or evil? There’s no in-between for me. It’s either one or the other, and I have to fight to make sure I don’t hurt the people I care about. It’s enough to drive a person mad, and I’ve long since gone past that point. So maybe it’s time to just let go. Give in. Let the Lhavazii have my mortal shell, as you put it. Heaven only knows I’m tired of it. And nobody will even miss me when I’m gone.” Perhaps if Ursula hadn’t toyed with Morgan’s mind, he would have been willing to fight for longer. But the thought that Apollo wouldn’t care and that Andreas cared for Gerald more decided him. Nobody would even miss him when he was gone.

Morgan reached inside of him to the Lhavazii. Take my mortal body, if you want it. I can’t take this anymore. He glared at Kvyrt. “I hope you’re satisfied with yourself,” he snapped. “I’m giving up, old man, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Nobody will even miss me.”

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River smiled at Nye. She scribbled in her book and turned it around. “I’d love to visit your home,” she’d written. “Should I get cooler clothes? The desert is hot, Andreas told me.” She wanted to be anywhere but the Don at the moment. To be away from Rita, from Morgan, and just have a chance to breathe away from the darkness she felt overpowering her. For a moment, doubt entered her. Was she running away?

Swiftly, she pushed the thought aside. Uncle Nye had told her Morgan hadn’t meant it, and she intended to believe him. He wouldn’t lie to her to spare her feelings. She knew she wasn’t brave. The very thought of facing Corttann as their Queen had her quaking in her shoes. But she knew Andreas would be helping her, training her to become Queen. Showing her how to be brave. But that still didn’t set her mind entirely at ease for running away now.

Nye hugged her again. “Ye ain’t a coward, me dear. Ye be brave, but there be nothing ye can do here for the time being. Nothing but be hurt. Don’t tell me ye be reconsidering.”

River shook her head. “Of course not,” she wrote. “Let me change from these robes into something cooler.”

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Dorrie grimaced and shuddered when Andreas broke through the shield around the island.  Her head throbbed and it felt as though her body were being shredded by sharp claws or fangs.  However, the irritating Carpathian appeared to be completely unaffected by the barrier.

They materialised on the beach.  “Whole place stinks of blood-sorcery” Dorrie grumbled.  “And she’s done something to the sand.  It never used to sting me feet”.

Andreas bent down and picked up a handful of sand, letting it trickle through his fingers.  “Tis partially animated.  A poor attempt at recreating the sentient sand of the Sartorian deserts, using the ground-up bones of her victims.  Fragments of their life-force be imbued in the sand”.

“Vanessa were wrong to take her to the Temple of Scherza” Dorrie asserted.  “Ursula were a good girl.  She would never have dabbled in crystal theory and necromancy if it weren’t for what she learned there.”

“Vanessa were wrong about many things” Andreas said, “but ye can’t blame it all on the Holy Temple.  I know plenty of people who have studied at that Temple, and none of them have the slightest inclination to summon and bind Lhavazii.  Knowledge ain’t good or evil.  Tis how it be used that makes the difference”.

Dorrie sniffed.  “Aye, I suppose ye be right.  Well, let’s go inside and see what damage she’s done in there”.

They inspected the villa, moving from room to room.  It was extremely disorganised, so Andreas had to rely on Dorrie to point out any changes which Ursula had made.  Nothing stood out as being wrong until they entered the makeshift laboratory and saw the mystical symbols etched in the dirt floor.

Some of the symbols had blood dribbled over them while others had been sprinkled with ash or ground-up bones.  A nauseating smell of rotting flesh tainted the air.  Andreas used sorcery to carve a square in the outside wall, remarking “This place could use some ventilation”.  He encouraged a breeze to blow in through the window which he had just made, helping to get rid of the stomach-churning odour.

“I don’t even know what most of these mean”.  Dorrie gestured to the array of symbols which covered a large part of the floor. 

“These ones be binding glyphs for the Lhavazii”.  Andreas indicated a group of symbols near the centre of the room.  “We have to leave them in place for the time being.  The rest we can safely erase, so let’s get to work”.

Andreas used a series of banishing spells to smooth away the majority of the symbols.  Dorrie had not yet regained her full strength, so she was forced to resort to smearing them away with her bare feet.  When they had finished, Andreas set sorcery wards to prevent Ursula from drawing any further symbols on the floor.

“What now?” Dorrie asked. 

“Ursula never learned any of this at the Temple of Scherza” Andreas stated.  “There be elements of Chronomancy and necromancy involved, along with other obscure branches of alchemy and crystal theory.  Only an Ascended Master would have such extensive knowledge.  We have to search for any traces which might give us a clue as to the identity of Ursula’s teacher”.

Dorrie sighed.  “Sounds like a lot of hard work”.

“So let’s get started”.  Andreas gave her an annoyingly smug grin.

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Kvyrt laughed.  “Fine by me.  As you said, no-one will miss you.  In fact, I can help with that.  Once the Lhavazii have eroded what remains of you, I can fix it so that you will never have existed.  The name of Morgan Shadowbinder will fade from the memories of everyone you ever encountered during your pathetic wasted life.  Good riddance, I say!”  He grinned and clapped his hands.

He shrank himself down to a mere spark and drifted up to the ceiling, hovering in a corner of the room.

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“Greetings, dear Rita” a disembodied voice spoke.  “Tis time for your first anger management lesson”.

Rita looked all around the sealed classroom, also using her crystal senses to scan for a mind signature.  After a few minutes she gave up, unable to trace anything.  The anger rose in her and she hurled a fireball at the only chair in the room, turning it to ash almost instantly.

“That was pathetic” the voice mocked.  “One measly little chair.  Surely you can’t be the same Rita Micario who laid waste to a departure lounge at Mhaaluk spaceport?  Can’t you do any better than that, Lady Chairkiller?”

Rita let out a stream of strong swear-words of the kind more usually heard on loading docks or construction sites.

The response was a cacophony of eerie laughter, echoing around the room and inside her head.

“Shut up and show yerself!” Rita demanded, readying another fireball.

“Tis hard to focus without a target, eh?” her unseen tormentor taunted.  “How about I give you one.  You seem to enjoy killing strangers and I happen to have another of my victims … I mean … students … in confinement over at the infirmary.  What do you say, Chairkiller?  Bored of torching substandard furniture?  Care for a real living and breathing target?”

Before she could form a reply, she found herself in what looked like one of the isolation rooms within the infirmary complex.  She had only seen this part of the facility once, when she had been given a tour of the entire Institute at the commencement of her studies.

Huddled on the bed was a plump figure in robes.  Rita could only make out some dark hair and a chubby cheek, since the person’s head was angled away from her, facing towards the wall.

“Waste him, Chairkiller” the disembodied voice urged.  “Take him out like only a Carpathian can.  No-one cares for him, so there will be absolutely no consequences to your actions.  Give him your best shot.  By the way, his name be Morgan Shadowbinder, if you want your esteemed father to record the kill in your family’s Merequitus”.

(Note – A Merequitus is a family record kept by all Carpathian families, detailing births, marriages, deaths, business transactions and contract killings)

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“Some vacation this has turned out to be” Gerald remarked, looking around at the livestock pens and trying not to gag on the smell of dung.  “Seems like ye be taking us on a tour of the most disgusting places on Viria”.

Apollo shoved him.  “This man might have important information about where Elsa has been taken.  You’d gladly muck out all those animals if it meant getting her back safely.  You know it”.

Gerald glared at Apollo, but said nothing more.

A faded sign above the door of the office read “Slattery’s Yard”.  Andreas knocked on the office door.  A skinny man of about fifty or so opened it.  He wore a bowler hat, string vest and leggings tucked into mud-splattered knee-length rubber boots.  A limp cigarette dangled from his thin mouth.

“Obadiah Slattery at yer service” the man said.  “Though ye don’t look like me regular sort of customers”.

“We ain’t customers” Andreas informed him.  “We be after information”.  He held up a bundle of banknotes and gave his usual speech about Ursula Cadogan.

Obadiah finished his cigarette, tossed the butt on the floor and ground it out with the heel of his boot.  “Don’t have nothing to do with the Cadogans.  Never have done.  Them lot be a different species from us.  Marry their cousins, they do.  Least, tis what I heard”.  He grimaced.  “If ye ain’t here to buy me stock, be on yer way”.

“Gladly” Gerald answered, turning his back on the unhelpful livestock dealer.

Andreas returned the money to his pocket.  “He be telling the truth, so let’s go to our last destination.  Reventiloh”.

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Reventiloh turned out to be a pleasant medium-sized town.  Mordecai Slattery styled himself as an apothecaire — a rather grand and old-fashioned term for a healer.  His shop was located in a small street, between a bakery and a place selling second-hand furniture. 

Mordecai looked like a typical healer from bygone days with his long white hair and beard and his grey robes.  “How may I help ye, gentlemen?” he enquired, smiling benevolently.

Unlike the others, he seemed to take a keen interest in Andreas’s request.  He waved away the offer of money, saying “I only sell remedies.  I ain’t in the business of taking bribes.  What information I have be offered freely and in the spirit of common decency”.

He came out from behind the counter, changed the sign on the shop door from “Open” to “Closed” and locked it.

He returned to the counter.  “This ain’t common knowledge but young Ursula had a sort of relationship with one of her old teachers from the Holy Temple in Estryge.  Man by the name of Gershon Metcalfe.  Taught crystal theory, alchemy and similar disciplines.  Dabbled in the darker side of things, if ye know what I mean.  They only saw each other every year or so after she left the Temple, but they remained good friends.  Gershon passed away a few years back.  Tis rumoured that he were made into an Ascended Master, but I can’t say for sure”.  He sighed and stroked his beard.  “Tis all I know.  May the Gods guide ye to put it to good use”.

“Thank ye”.  Andreas leaned over the counter and patted the old healer on the arm.  “Tis very helpful indeed”.

“So an Ascended Master has been helping Ursula summon and bind these dark spirits?” Apollo asked, after they had left the shop.

“Seems like” Andreas replied.  “At least we know what we be up against now.  Let’s take a break and go back to the desert.  Me other self will follow up this lead with the Vyrdigaan Elders”.

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At first, River felt rather self-conscious at seeing all the naked tribal Sartorians.  However, once she had become accustomed to looking at their faces, she began to enjoy herself.  It amused her to think that the tiny Justeen had produced two tall, muscular sons.  “Our Pa were a big man” Nye explained.  “Worked in the construction trade mostly.  Me and Ari inherited our crystal bonds from Ma.  Anyways, Ma will speak to ye alone later.  Let’s go and meet some of the others”.

The sand rippled gently beneath her feet while Nye led her around the encampment, explaining about desert life and introducing her to various people.  She already knew Andreas’s wife, Anwyn, from their flying and martial arts lessons, but the others were new to her.  Some of them whirled her around in elaborate greeting dances, while others hugged her.  All of them were friendly and welcoming.

After an hour or so, Nye announced “I gotta go back to the Don for me next lesson.  Anni will look after ye and bring ye back when ye be ready.  Take as long as ye want.  I’ll see ye later”.  He hugged her before translocating away.

Anwyn appeared by her side.  “I understand ye be going through a rough time right now.  Ye be doubting yer ability to become a good Queen, eh?”

River nodded.  “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready”.  Somehow she found it easier to project telepathically in the desert.

“I know how that feels”.  Anwyn patted her arm and gave a sympathetic smile.  “All me life I were groomed to become a Matriarch.  Tisn’t that different from being a Queen.  A Patriarch or Matriarch has to be all things to their tribe or family — a parent, a counsellor, a friend, a warrior, a protector, a business person and a strategist.  I had all the best teachers, good people who had the right balance of knowledge and experience, a loving family and a safe environment to grow up in.  But when the time came for me to take up me position as Matriarch of the Cesario, I weren’t ready.  The old Patriarch, Lord Sylvio, or Uncle Sylv, as I called him, had passed into the Beyond and I barely had a chance to mourn him afore I were called upon to address the Leading Families in the sacred meeting hall”.

“Like addressing the nobles of the Court?” River asked.

“Aye, exactly” Anwyn affirmed.  “Me speech weren’t pretty or elegant, but it came from me heart and soul.  Pa said I sounded more like a radical preacher than a Carpathian Matriarch and Justeen agreed with him.  Since that time, it ain’t gotten any easier.  I’ve had to make harsh decisions and even order people to be killed when they’ve caused harm to those I be sworn to protect.  Tis like ordering yer knights into battle.  Ye know there will be deaths, but ye try to minimise them.  Tis why learning strategy be so important, whether it be the political and business-based strategy of the Carpathians or the more organic way of warfare that yer people be used to”.

“Will you teach me strategy?” River requested.

Anwyn laughed.  “Ye’ve already been learning some along the way.  Yer history, language and culture lessons include strategy, as do yer martial arts and sorcery studies.  Of course, ye’ll need to find someone from Corttann who can help ye apply the basic principles in yer specific context.  Ye’ll need wise and loyal advisers around ye who can help ye make decisions in times of crisis.  Next time ye return to Corttann, make the effort to get to know the nobles and knights.  Talk to them, even read their minds if ye have to.  Twon’t be easy, and some of them might refuse to talk to ye.  Reject anyone who don’t show ye proper respect.  Demonstrate that ye won’t tolerate bad behaviour and reward those who prove themselves useful.  Tis a lot to learn, but we’ll help ye through.  Now, let’s go and have some fun.  Uncle Erroll wants to dance with ye and Ma wants to braid yer hair”.

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Morgan heard a sound, his eyes burning at the man’s words. Remove his memory … make everyone forget him … was that what he really wanted? He didn’t even know anymore. Raising his head, he turned and faced the young woman in the room with him. She held a fireball in her hand.

Morgan reacted out of instinct when she flung it at him. He caught it in his own hand and dissipated it. In one swift movement, he’d stood and stepped closer to his attacker. “What do you want from me?” he demanded. “Can’t a man just let unquiet spirits take over his body in peace?”

Dimming the lights in the room, Morgan summoned the shadows to his hands and launched them at the girl, binding her arms and legs. Her surprise and inexperience were her undoing — Morgan cast an immobilising spell on her, just in case, and stepped toward her. “Now,” he said. “Let’s see what you stand to gain from attacking me.” He rested his hand on the side of her head and initiated a mind-merge against the girl’s will.

Normally, such a thing would have been painful to the one the mind-merge was cast on, but Morgan was unusually gentle. Given that Ursula had toyed with his mind, he was able to move past the blocks the woman had put in Rita’s mind and peer deeper into her mind than Andreas had. Tears filled his eyes. The girl’s family had put immense pressure on her to become a great sorceress, and she had been failing those expectations. It was no wonder she had gone to Ursula for help. Her magic had been weak, at best. And she was little more than a child.

He found yet another connection between them in River Meer. The mute girl had been a bright spot in Rita’s life, yet her warped desire to protect River had led Rita to murder. Much like Morgan’s desire to protect Andreas and Gerald had ended up making him kill the Rajah in Hindustan. Lastly, he saw Kvyrt taunting Rita, bringing her to Morgan’s room. Why, the mage wasn’t sure, but he wouldn’t give the old man the satisfaction of knowing Morgan was truly evil.

He stepped back from the mind-merge, and the shadows flowed off of Rita. He kept the immobile spell on her for a few more moments while he spoke. “You’re just a child,” he said. “Come back and try and kill me when you have a better understanding of your powers. In the meantime, if I were you, I would continue training under the Don. Otherwise, your ‘mentor’ Ursula might find it a funny pastime to infect you with unquiet spirits like she’s done with me.” He managed a wan smile. “I won’t fight you, Rita Micario. Killing you would give me no pleasure. But I won’t let you kill me, either. Maybe there is a life for me to live. Perhaps when I’m better …” He looked at the floor for a moment, then met Rita’s gaze firmly, his own green eyes alight with a fire that had been absent since Ursula had played with his mind. “I can teach you to control the darkness inside.”

Then Morgan went back to the bed and laid down, the Lhavazii churning uncomfortably inside of him as he once again began to fight them. “Now leave,” he ordered Rita. “I’m tired.” He broke the immobilising spell over her and turned his back on the girl.

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Once Andreas had translocated Gerald and Apollo back to the desert, exhaustion threatened to overcome the mercenary. Apollo clapped his shoulder and told him, “Go rest. You’ll do no one any good if you’re close to blacking out. You’ve been awake since you first found Elsa missing, and at this rate you’ll drive yourself into the ground.”

Gerald would have preferred to keep thinking of his bad memory, trying to break through and connect to Elsa, but he knew the wisdom of Apollo’s words. He simply nodded and said, “Ye be the healer. I’ll listen to ye.”

Once again in the tent Andreas and Anwyn had lent him and Elsa, he stared at the cloth above him. “I will get ye back, Els,” he whispered. “I promise ye that.” Then he rolled over on his side and fell asleep.

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River followed Anwyn through the desert with her newly-braided hair, feeling free and happy. The pressures of school and of becoming a Queen eventually seemed miles away to her here. She didn’t even mind the blazing heat, though it was fading somewhat as the sun started to dip below the horizon.

Andreas walked through the sand to his wife and embraced her before doing the same to River. “Ye be enjoying the desert, me dear?” he asked with a smile.

River nodded enthusiastically. “I love it!”

“Andreas!” They all turned to the blond-haired young man walking towards them. “Gerald’s fast asleep. I bet he’s trying to commune with Elsa even in his sleep.”

“Aye,” Andreas agreed with a sigh. “I only wish we could help him. But it be something only they can do.”

Apollo smiled at River, seeing her there for the first time. “Hello, there,” he said quietly. “It’s been a while, Miss Meer.” He bowed. “Apollo Lightbringer, at your service.”

River flung her arms around him, and he looked surprised. “I never thanked you for what you two did for me,” she projected to him.

“I did nothing,” Apollo protested. “It was Morgan who helped you.”

Her lip trembling at the thought of Morgan, she proceeded to project everything about her conversation with the mage to Apollo. It made the healer look sad. “I had no idea those things had such a strong grip on him,” he whispered. He shook off the moment of glumness and brushed a curl of River’s hair behind her ear. “Don’t you worry about him. What he says and what he actually thinks are often two completely different things. He’s often talked of giving in to the darkness, but he always finds an excuse not to. These Lhavazii will be no different.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as River.

Something tugged at him, and he turned to Andreas suddenly. “Andreas!” he said. “Gerald thinks he’s broken through to Elsa. He says they’re both sleeping, and he heard her. He wants you to do a mind-merge with him and trace her!”

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Ursula could tell that something was wrong even before she fully materialised on the island.  The shield around it was failing and when she tried to reinforce it, she found that the effort drained most of her powers.  The blood crystals which she had used to set the sorcery wards around Mureel’s old shop were all depleted, but she knew that there were some spare ones in her laboratory.

On entering her laboratory and seeing that the symbols which she had so carefully drawn were no longer there, she swore and stomped her feet like a young child having a temper tantrum.  It had taken her a long time to research the symbols and practise forming them correctly in order to make them link to the shop and various other places on the mainland which she had claimed for her personal use.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she reached out with her crystal senses, seeking the familiar presence of the only one who had ever truly cared for her.  “Gersh!” she projected, yelling the name out loud at the same time.  “Gersh!  I need yer help!”

There was no reply and she could not detect the faintest hint of his mind signature.  It was as if he no longer existed; not in his ascended form or his mortal form.  Even when he was outside the Fenian Galaxy, she was able to sense him, due to the strong link of friendship which existed between them. 

Thinking that her powers might be too depleted to communicate effectively, she opened the old chest of drawers where she kept her spare blood crystals.  They were not where she had expected them to be, so she searched the whole chest.  Tossing the contents of each drawer onto the dirt floor, she swore and muttered to herself, hoping that she had merely misplaced the crystals.  However, after a thorough search of the entire laboratory, there was still no sign of them.  She could only conclude that someone had stolen them.

Tears streamed down her face and she howled in agony, throwing herself to the floor. 

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Detmarah Cadogan had always been afraid of the Ascended Master and not only because of his hideously scarred face, black eyes and pointed teeth.  He often showed up unannounced and demanded to stay at her cottage.  For someone who supposedly required no physical form, he ate a great deal and never offered any payment for what he consumed.

The visit from the Carpathian and his two off-world companions had unsettled her, despite the blocks which Master Metcalfe had placed on her mind.  She had only told them what Ursula and the Master had instructed her, but she could not help feeling that she might have inadvertently betrayed the sorceress and her fearsome mentor. 

However, on this occasion, he behaved differently, waving away the bowl of stew which she offered him.  It was difficult to understand the ways of the Ascended Ones, but he seemed subdued, possibly even afraid.  He remained silent and kept his eyes fixed firmly on the door, as if expecting someone to burst in at any second.

A spark flew out of the fireplace and whizzed around the room.  Detmarah ducked down underneath the old wooden dining table, hardly daring to breathe. 

“I see you, Gershon Metcalfe” a disembodied voice spoke.  It seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere, which was most disconcerting for both Gershon and Detmarah.  “How conveniently foolish of you to hide in a place which my fellow Elders have already tagged.  Allow me to congratulate you for your immense stupidity”.

“Please leave me alone!” Gershon begged.  “I ain’t helping Ursula anymore.  The things she be messing with be too dark even for me.  I never wanted to create the Lhavazii in the first place”.

“But you wanted to impress her” the voice stated.  “Also, you feared that she might give away your secret if you refused to help her.  Tis far too late for that.  Did you really believe that you could remain undetected by the Vyrdigaan Elders?  We know of all Ascended Masters, even those who were created outside the Fenian Galaxy”.

Gershon shivered and clutched at his brown robes.  “What will ye do to me?  Will ye send me to the Beyond?”

“Tis for the Council of Elders to decide” the voice stated.  “You be summoned to stand before them.  Let’s not keep them waiting!”

The spark grew until it engulfed all of Gershon’s overweight form, then it vanished.