Heirot

When she slipped toward him, her intentions were so obvious that Havitharon was at a loss for words. How could someone with this much spiritual power be this foolish in combat? Almost in disbelief, he raised a hand to catch her clumsy swing.

A shower of violet sparks was all his hand caught as it tried to meet the blade. He had a moment of shock to realize the weapon was cutting straight through him. Once again, that odd heat sizzled through his core. It was like someone drew a line down through the front of his body with hot syrup. Finally truly afraid, he swiped at her with a clawed fist.

He moved, and the sword passed through him, into the muck next to him. Tenara turned her face away, as if that would save her from the claws coming her way. She clenched her eyes and braced for the pain. His claws passed through her, out the other side, and she saw his hand in the air. She blinked at it as she lost her strength and collapsed into the mud with him. He was a... ghost?

She'd heard of them. Whispered in stories and folktales, but she had never seen one. She didn't believe they existed, until now.

"Are you to haunt me?" she murmured, tunneled vision worsening. She was going to pass out. At least, with a ghost, she didn't have to worry about him killing her. She thought about trying to crawl back under the log, to hide, but couldn't move. She curled her hands onto the hilt of the sword, and fell a sleep.

Seeing the woman fall asleep in his presence felt a bit like a slight. She really didn't see him as a threat in the least. She, on the other hand, seemed to have control over his very existence. Then again, she also appeared badly injured from whatever she had done to bring him here.

He eased close enough to her to try to get a better look at where she was injured. Knowing her weak spots might prove useful. Just because he couldn't attack her now didn't mean he wouldn't discover a way later. Despite his investigation, it was nearly impossible to tell which of her injuries were the most severe through her soaked and muddy clothing. If she was indeed cut up, lying in filth would certainly lead to an infection. If he just bided his time, perhaps she would die of her injuries.

...If she died, what would become of him? He seemed to be tethered to her, and he was teetering on the brink of existence as it is. He decided to try to get a feel for his situation and the area. He began an athletic jog through the woods. He could feel the earth under him and smell it around him. He even slipped a few times in the muddy footing, but his steps had no sound. The leaves went uncrushed. He could lean against the giant pillars. He could punch their hard skin and feel pain in his knuckles. But he didn't bleed, and his actions left no impact on anything he touched either. He was like a phantom.

He decided to see how much distance he could put between himself and his tamer. After about 10 minutes of running, he felt the same sensation as earlier. Even knowing it might come, it was still deeply unsettling to feel the universe piece him apart and then funnel him out somewhere else. When he came back to his senses, he was at her side once again. She still slept soundly.

The first drops of rain began to plop to the leaves around him. They gradually picked up volume, and within a few minutes the woman and her sword were getting thoroughly soaked. It was odd. He'd never disliked rain before, but this time, he had an intense desire to be dry. The sensation of the water wasn't painful, but it somehow made his skin crawl. One more thing he'd have to figure out.

He sat next to the woman and frowned. Her hair stuck to her face in wet strings, and she did not look well. Perhaps it would take less time for her to perish than he'd thought. But there was still no answer on what would happen to him if she died here. He grimaced at the plan forming in his head. For now, it would be unwise to let her die without learning more.

He rose to his feet and explored the area again, this time seeking shelter from the elements. He was limited in how far he could explore. Each time he went too far in a particular direction, the binding would summon him back to her side. But on his third attempted direction, he picked up the sound of water crashing and a smell that he actually recognized. The sea.

The woods led out to a beach, where a mid-sized boat was anchored. He approached it cautiously, looking for signs of life. No one seemed to be there. Perhaps this was how she'd arrived at this place? Either way, it was afloat, and should be dry inside.

He turned and made his way back to his captor. He found her drenched in the mud, still breathing. He thought about how to get her attention. He couldn't touch her, but she seemed to hear his voice earlier. Though she was speaking an alien language...

"Woman. Hey!" He crouched beside her and waved a hand through her shoulder. The attempted contact garnered a ticklish sensation and not much else. "Woman!"

Tenara felt something pulling her out of the darkness, a sensation of hearing utter, jumbled noise like the rattling of a pan. She tried to ignore it, content in the deep blessing of sleep that exhaustion and blood loss had lured her to, but as the noise kept pestering her, she began to notice other things.

She was freezing. Her body began to shiver, or maybe it had already been shivering, and she hadn’t noticed before. Hajaras deserts could be cold at night, but at least it was dry. She was so cold, down to her bones, and it clung to her like a second skin.

Tenara cracked an eye open, dragged her face out of the mud, which was beginning to pool with water. She might have drowned in it, if not for the clattering noise. She jolted more awake, remembering what happened and where she was. She pushed up on shaking arms and looked to the monster—ghost—standing near her. She felt an edge of fear, because she wasn’t certain what to make of him or what he was. He had taken her power, but didn’t seem to be able to hurt her. In fact, it was as if were wanted her attention, and she wished he sounded like something other than gibberish.

Havitharon glared at the woman. Someone this weak had dared to vie for him? "This is no time-..." he drifted off. Was there any point in trying to talk to her if she couldn't hear him? He put a hand over his head, his clawed fingers spreading like an umbrella. "Come," he snarled unpleasantly.

He seemed to be wanting her to follow him. She hesitated, but wasn't certain it mattered whether or not she followed him. He was incorporeal and nonsensical, and she was alone, half bled like a dead pig, cold and... She followed him across the marsh and rocks, weaving between black bark pines until she began to hear the sound of crashing waves. The familiar sound, the sound of home, tugged at her heart.

But this wasn't home. This wasn't Hajara. No sun or warmth. The sky was dull gray. The air, cold and full of mist. Then, she spotted the boat and her heart sang. She could go. She could...

It was decent in size but still too small to sail across the Ongore Sea towards home, not that she would know how to navigate the seas anyway. One mild storm and the ocean waves would overtake it. But it was shelter... for now. It had to belong to the man who'd tried to sacrifice her to... She eyed the being who'd led her here.

"Do you think he's dead?" she asked the ghost, and frowned. He wouldn't know or be able to answer.

Tenara waded out into the water, holding the sword in her hand. The waves crashed frigid against her legs. She kept going until the waves lapped at her neck, and then she swam clumsily the last few feet to the back of the boat where a rope ladder waited. She tossed the sword onto the boat, and then fought the ladder to get up. She slipped and fell into the sea, coming up with a gasp and clamoring for the ladder again. On the third try, Tenara pulled her battered form onto the main deck, flopping back next to the sword she'd stolen from the sorcerer.

The struggle had helped in one thing, she wasn't covered in mud and blood anymore.

It was a bit of a relief when she followed him, but that ended when they reached the water. He stood at the sea and eyed the waves as they crept up around his feet. He could feel the tug of the water like a shower of sparks up his leg, but when he kicked at it, it barely reacted at all to his touch.

The woman wasted no more time. She stepped into the water and began to make her way toward the boat. As soon as she was in the water, his skin began to crawl. The uneasy sensation was worse this time than it had been earlier. Was this her way of threatening him to follow her? Did she have that much power left?

Either way, he didn't have enough information yet to let her go without him. He took a few more steps in to follow after the woman. Sure enough, gravity held him down to the ocean floor, but he couldn't seem to interact with the water properly. 'I can't swim...' he realized. Was she doing this to humiliate him? Fury surged up in him, and he attempted to swing his arms against the weight of the water with all his strength. It tickled and slithered around him like he were made of oil. Nothing he did moved him. For a minute he just stood there seething, neck deep and unable to make more progress. "Yurivis!" he roared up at the boat.

Tenara's shivering turned violent, so she dragged her weary form up to her knees, and using the sword like a cane, fought her way to her feet and down the steps, into the main cabin of the ship. It was dim, with the only light coming in from small port windows along the sides. It was a spacious area, taking up most of the length of the vessel, with a bench along one side and a narrow table bolted to the floor in the center. Lamps hung from hooks in the ceiling, and books covered the table, laid splayed open with incantations and runes on full display. The bench had frayed rope connected to chains on the walls, and Tenara wondered if that was where the sorcerer had kept her on the last leg of her journey. At the front of the boat was a narrow open doorway leading to a bed tucked into the bow.

Tenara tossed the sword into the disheveled wool blankets. Watched it roll to a stop, tucked nice and dry and warm beneath a pillow. She stripped the sopping wet gossamer gown off, rummaging through a narrow closet near the entrance for something of the sorcerer's to wear.

She glanced around for the ghost. Taking a moment to pause and peek through the bedroom porthole back to the land. But she didn't see him. Maybe he was gone? Having done his good deed... Tenara glanced down at her chest, remembering the sorcerer plunging the sword through her. She traced the faint shimmering white scar with the tip of her finger. Then, she shivered against the cold, and went back to the closet, dragging one of the sorcerer's thick black robes off a hanger. She pulled it around her, overlapping the ends and borrowing a woven belt to tie it in place. Then she climbed into the bed, climbed beneath the covers with the sword and hugged it to her, thinking of the ghost.

What called him? Was it the sorcerer's words or the blood? She felt along the blade beneath the covers, ran her thumb over the sharp edge until she felt the sting of it sinking into her flesh. She drew her hand away, admiring the sliver of red as the wound sealed shut and an iridescent scar replaced it.

Havitharon sat on the shore. He felt tired, more than he should be, and his skin burned. He saw a small lamp glow to life on the ship and grunted. She was alive in there, then. A few minutes later, whatever hold she'd placed on him must have relaxed, because the offputting sensation on his skin faded away. He guessed that meant she had gone to sleep, and she meant to leave him unable to escape and unable to reach shelter either. Such dominance games weren't uncommon from Yurivis, and he was normally extremely good at beating them. This time, though, he was at a loss. Something didn't seem normal about the woman's behavior, and this hex she'd placed on him was like nothing he'd ever heard of. He didn't recognize anything about his surroundings either, and he'd travelled most of the inhabited half of his world.

He blinked at the boat through his blue-tinted vision, and didn't feel himself. Should he sleep? Just doze in the sand here like a dog awaiting its master?

He'd just made up his mind to stay up till dawn if he had to, when a hot sensation slid over him. The feeling was so abrupt he nearly yelled. For a second, the blue haze over his vision faded. The night was black, as it should be. He jumped to his feet, and the lapping splashed under them as he did so. That got his attention. Had something changed? Could he swim? Could he go to her?

Why did it feel so important to be closer to that boat?

He jogged back into the water, and distinctly felt it press against his movements this time. He didn't waste the momentum, kicking off the sand into a steady, beating sidestroke toward the ship. When he reached the side, he tugged himself up to the first rung of the ladder. The first few rungs he climbed swiftly. Then his grip became unstable. His hands began slipping through the rungs as he grasped them, violet sparks showering around them. With renewed urgency, he scrambled inconsistently the rest of the way into the boat, barely hurling himself over the railing before the blue haze fully returned. He fell flat on his back with a bang, cursing.

Tenara jerked up at the sound of the bang, and if it were not for the alien language, she might have thought the sorcerer had boarded his vessel. Still... the last time she checked, ghosts could not touch things—at least, this ghost couldn't. She didn't want to leave the warmth of the bed, but felt compelled to make sure that what had flung itself onto the boat was her ghost, and not a creature like him that could, in fact, touch things.

She almost pouted as she slid out from beneath the wool blankets and padded barefoot through the cabin, clutching the sword in her hands. She used the railing going up the stairs to draw herself up just enough to peek out of the cabin, finding, oddly comfortingly, that it was her ghost. She should give him a name...

"Come on. Get in. I think there is a little iron stove we could keep ourselves warm with... Do you even get cold?" she asked, turning back into the cabin. She knelt next to the stove. It seemed a dumb thing to have on a boat, but she had never been on a boat that went places where the temperature dropped enough to warrant one. She stuffed it with the logs and kindling, thinking it had to be spelled so as not to burn the boat into the sea, or at least she hoped as much as she lit the flame and watched the stove come to life. She sat cross-legged in front of it, her arms wrapped around the sword, hugging it to her chest.

She didn't want to put it down, not right now. It seemed important to be near it. She wasn't certain why, but it felt like it was... hers. A part of her. Like the tether around her wrist had been before it broke into a hundred pieces.

"I'm Tenara," she said, staring at the budding fire. It reflected in her crystal blue eyes as she absentmindedly ran a finger along the smooth side of the blade.

He stood just inside the room, as if he might rethink his choice to follow her at any moment. He didn't sit, or take initiative to come any closer to her. It was hard to look at the sword she was holding, and for the first time he wondered why. Nothing else here seemed to affect him that way. Perhaps it was part of her power? If so, then maybe it was her weak spot as well? He was absorbed in that particular theory when her soft voice called him out of it.

"I'm Tenara," she said.

He twitched, broke from his thoughts, and stared straight into her striking blue eyes. Havitharon touched his right arm in confusion. What she'd said just now had sounded... had felt literally like a caress. His skin still tingled with it.

He flushed, and only half from anger. Golden eyes narrowed on hers. "It's insulting that you think you can bewitch me so." He stopped his rant there, surprisingly not in the mood. He waited to see what she would say, interested to hear her voice even if he couldn't understand it. "...Tenara," he added, testing the word to see if he'd understood its meaning.

If it was a name, it was an unfamiliar one. It sounded like nothing in his language.

She turned her eyes from the fire to him, surprise lighting her features. She tapped her chest with her hand. “Tenara.” Then, she pointed to him. “You?”

At least, if she knew his name, she could stop calling him “her ghost”.

Now that was interesting. He tilted his head slightly, trying to piece together her actions. She didn't know who he was? That made no sense. The summoning had to be done on purpose. Did she really not know?

If she didn't, and she learned his family name, his situation could very well grow even more dangerous. He took a thoughtful breath and said, "Thvoros."

Tenara smiled. “Thvoros,” she repeated, testing the foreign name on her tongue. She would have told him it was a lovely name, but he wouldn’t have understood.

She rose slowly, groaning and using the sword to steady her as she hobbled to the table littered with spellbooks and what appeared to be a journal.

“Alright,” she said, “Who did this to us?” She thumbed her way through the books, most in languages she wasn’t familiar with—and she knew four. Then, she dragged the heavy, leather-bound journal to her. Laying the sword across the table, she lifted the book into her shaking arms and half-fell by the fire, draping the book across her crossed legs.

Tenara thumbed through the precise writing, looking for a clue to who had taken her and tried to sacrifice her to… she glanced at the ghost. Not a ghost. Thvoros.

She ran her fingers along the sentences until she found a clue… a reference to his mother. His desire to be more powerful than her. To rule…

“Oh no,” she whispered, color draining from her face. “Oh no.” She shoved the book off her lap as if it burned.

Arken. He was Arken, and not just any Arken, he was the eldest of Queen Shea’s three sons—Edan.

“Shit!” Tenara stood too quickly, and swayed on her feet. She stumbled into the table, knocking the sword off. It tumbled to impale the cabin’s wood deck. “We have to get away from here, or go back there and somehow heal and bring that bastard back to life… or an entire kingdom is going to war with mine…”

She shook her head. “What am I saying? That fucker kidnapped me. We’ll go to war either way… The most important thing, then, is getting home before Shea finds us… me. I think you’re safe… being a ghost and all.”

Tenele felt about as haggard as she looked. She hadn't eaten much or slept any since Tenara disappeared, and her ability to keep her temper in check had been lost exactly thirty-one days ago.

Thirty-one days...

"We have to assume, at this point, that it wasn't kidnapping for ransom," the adviser said to them.

Atul frowned. He didn't want to be here, she knew that. He wanted to be out with Vlad, carving holes in people until someone told them where she was. "And why do we assume that?" he asked, his voice like a blade.

"Because we would have received something by now—a finger in a box with a letter demanding three chests of gold for her return," the adviser said.

"Oddly specific example, Aram," Atul growled.

Aram bowed his head apologetically. "I think we need to consider... the alternative."

"The alternative?" Tenele asked, trying to ignore the cold weight of fear in her belly.

"That she was taken by a noble or royal family." Aram folded his hands, looking afraid to speak. He glanced around, down the length of the table at all of Atul's honored voices. The men helped him guide Hajara towards prosperity, and had, for three years, begged him to marry the princess to someone—anyone—to avoid what he was going to now suggest...

"Hajara has had a king for four thousand years. Only kings. Always sons to wed someone's daughter, and which daughter never mattered. They died at the birth of the next son, and so on and so forth, until your daughter. There has never been an opportunity for another kingdom or noble to insert themselves into this dynasty—to merge or overtake it—through marriage, until her."

"What are you saying, Aram? Should I have forced her into a loveless marriage to keep some foolish regime from thinking they had a chance at grasping power?"

Aram pursed his lips together. "Love may not have been first, but we could have selected a suitor that met her requirements as well as ours."

"This doesn't matter!" Tenele yelled. "Our daughter is missing. None of this matters. I want her back. Find who did this. If you think it was one of the nobles who wanted her hand, then go through the requests. Five-hundred-and-twenty-three. Send a brigade to all of them. Find her."

"We could start a war on over five-hundred fronts doing that," another adviser said, scoffing at her rage.

She almost killed him. She wished Vlad was in the room, because he might have.

She took a deep, stabling breath, fisting her hands in her dress. Tenele tried very hard not to think of what was happening to her daughter, what might have been happening to her for a month. She had been captured enough in her own life to know what those possibilities were. They were either keeping her safe in a golden prison or...

"We might not know who took her for some months, if not a year..." Aram said. He was easing into something, shifting in his seat, as if the words inside made him uncomfortable. "We will know when they return to Hajara, very publicly. It is easy to take a wife and claim yourself to be her husband, and claim a right to a throne that is hers, but a marriage forced is easily annulled unless..."

"Unless?" Atul asked.

"They will arrive publicly, so that all can see, and no one can deny his right to what is hers by marriage. That no one might annul the marriage on grounds of non-consummation. Even if… it was. They will bring proof, and display it so that all your people can see and accept their legitimacy."

"What are you saying?" Blue flame licked across Atul's hands, scorching the table.

Tenele stood up so quickly her chair cracked backwards against the floor. She felt dizzy and sick, and went to the door as Atul lit into an angry, expletive-ridden tirade about killing who'd held Tenara against her will, regardless of their public display of a consummated marriage, or whatever else they came up with to try and weasle onto his throne through her. He'd go to war and burn a thousand kingdoms if he needed to, and he would.

She knew he would.

Tenele fled to a balcony, and let the cool desert night air wash over her. She took a deep breath, but even that wouldn't calm the fear and pain in her heart. The tears fell like rivers. Maybe she should have pushed Tenara to choose someone, anyone, if it might have spared her this. She hadn't taken the warnings seriously, she thought they could protect her, and now...

Everything worried Tenele, but she couldn’t shake the feeling something else had happened to her daughter. Tenara’s bind was made to release if her life was in danger, so that she could use her powers, however uncontrollable, to save her own life. Wouldn’t what the adviser describe trigger that? Couldn’t her daughter save herself, if needed?

If she hadn’t been found by now, what did that mean? Was Tenara dead, or severely trapped in some way, or… had she left on purpose.

Tenele looked up at the moon. Three more days until Knight could search for Tenara again. He could go to five-hundred-and-twenty-three houses and burn them to the ground in a night. Then they would know if what the adviser spoke of was true.