Chapter Twenty Thera #3
A sound came from the storm then, a choked gasp issued by a sickly throat, but magnified to the point where it assailed them like a roar.
The swirl of the vortex slowed as the sound blasted from its depths, Thera perceiving a glimmer of light forming in its centre.
Peering closer, she saw an opening that resembled a disfigured mouth performing a parody of speech.
Every time it opened, she saw another place revealed.
This was not the depths of the ocean but a flat grey plain lacking all feature save two figures.
One was stooped and clad in a hooded cloak that concealed its features.
The other was a young man of sturdy appearance and lean, youthful features.
The image was clear enough to make out the young man’s expression.
Though tensed in concern, Thera discerned a curious weight of experience in his eyes.
This one has seen much for one so young, she thought.
But, as she drifted closer, hoping to learn more, the youth abruptly blinked out of existence.
“WHO ARE YOU TO INTRUDE HERE?”
The demand formed a solid wave of sound blasted out by the mouth of the vortex.
Thera tumbled in the stream of disturbed water, arms and axe flailing, until Lynnea reached out to grasp her about the waist. Instantly, the current calmed.
Looking around, Thera saw that they were now encased in a bubble.
The stuff of dreams is like clay, she thought, a relieved smile coming to her lips.
“I GAVE YOU NO LEAVE!” the vortex thundered again, though this time the bubble that encased them repelled its violence.
Looking to the storm’s mouth, Thera saw the stooped figure, hood drawn back to reveal a face so aged and afflicted by illness it must have been conjured from a nightmare.
Yet, among the creased rage and leaking boils she recognised the same face that had laughed at her when she had dreamed with the aid of Lohdur’s knot. This then, was the spymaster.
“I do not require your leave!” Thera shouted back. “As Queen of the Ascarls I will journey even into dreams to find my enemy!”
Rage abruptly fled the decrepit, ravaged face, replaced with blank surprise that swiftly gave way to sombre calculation.
The spymaster said nothing as he studied them both, sundered boils trickling pus down the sagging flesh of his jowls until finally, he grated out a reply.
“I take it your presence here means my children are all dead?”
“If you mean your spies, those traitors and liars, then yes,” Thera said. “Every one of them caught and punished. Your king’s fleet too has been crushed. Look upon me and know your doom, old man.”
She saw anger in his ancient gaze, but sadness too.
Did he grieve for the Volkrath, those he called his children?
Preparing them and their web of deceit and murder must have been the work of decades, all now brought to nothing.
She might have pitied him, if not for the righteous anger that had burned in her ever since that day when she had discovered the massacre upon the shore of Ayl-ah-Veyn.
So much blood and suffering orchestrated by this creature, something that could barely be called human.
“You would be the one they call the Black Spear,” he said, his narrow eyes flicking from Thera to Lynnea.
“And this one is the Silent Song, the mute maiden with a gift for communing with beasts.” A grudging note of respect coloured his tone as his gaze shifted to the protective bubble encasing them. “And much more besides, it seems.”
“If you know our names, then tell us yours,” Thera demanded.
The ravaged edifice of the spymaster’s face creased and crinkled into something that resembled amusement. “Always obsessed with names, you butterflies,” he reflected in a soft murmur. “If you live long enough, little queen, you will know how meaningless they can be.”
“You will remember mine,” Thera promised, brandishing the dreadaxe. “In the instant before this claims your head. When your king’s holdfast lies in ruins and his warriors bleed their last onto your soil, then you will know my name in full.”
“So, victory over his invasion was not enough.” The ancient’s face drooped in bleak resignation. “Of course it wasn’t. You will come here intent on vengeance, thereby ensuring your own destruction.”
“Your threats mean nothing, old man. Your spies are slain and your king’s menda destroyed. And do not expect the Fire Islands to shield you, not from me.”
Instead of defiance, she saw calculation in the spymaster’s gaze, resignation giving way to stern resolve.
“Defeating you would have ended it. Or at least delayed it. If you will not die in the waking world, then die here, little queen, and know your death is the greatest gift you will ever give your people.”
Instantly, the various hues of the storm turned a bright, fiery red, its spiral arms forming into flaming tentacles.
They lashed at the bubble encasing Lynnea and Thera, sending jolts of pain through her with every impact.
Rare anger showed in Lynnea’s eyes as she raised her arms. The bubble expanded then thrummed, sending a pulse of sound through the water.
This seemed to agitate the spymaster’s storm even more, its tentacles moving in concert to snare the bubble in a web of sickly red luminescence.
Thera saw a matrix of cracks snake their way across the bubble’s surface as it began to yield to the pressure.
“Wake!” she said, clutching Lynnea’s arm. “We need to wake.”
We cannot, her Tielwald replied, gesturing to the enveloping cage which now resembled a thickening wall of fire. This prevents our minds from fleeing. He has more power than we could have known.
“There must be something…” Thera began, her words instantly smothered when the bubble shattered, leaving Thera flailing in a maelstrom of fire.