Mist upon the Marsh: The Story of Nessa and Cassie (29 page)

Cassie merely watched him, shivering.

“You should take a moment to wish,” continued Niono, “that you had never had any at all.”

Well, Cassie MacAdam was by no means ignorant. She could only assume that these were the enemies whom Nessa had spoken of, the night her brother died; and although Nessa had never told her the name of her father, she assumed likewise that
the house of Dahro
was Nessa’s own house.

And so the puzzle, was not much of a puzzle at all. Her fear, in that moment, even dissipated somewhat; and she looked bravely towards the wolves. “You would like for me to say that,” she said to them. “But I won’t.”

She knelt down, then, and reached for old Clocker’s hand – but Niono snatched her up before she could take hold of it. “Foolish human,” he said. “You have no idea what is in store for you!”

He slung Cassie over his shoulder; and she had to fight fiercely with the urge to vomit, so terrible was the smell that rose off his coat.

“Come, Onelen,” said Niono, starting towards the door. “Take Tilego on your back. Leave the old man.”

So Onelen took up the wounded Tilego, and hurried after his brother. They emerged into the silver moonlight, each with their particular burdens weighted upon their shoulders, and struck off into the depths of the swamp.

~

It was Nessa’s intention to, and her thorough belief that she did, set off from Mindren alone. Dahro kept her departure silent, so that she might have more time before chaos broke upon the fortress. He prayed silently as he looked upon his mate, that she might remain unconscious for some time more; and thence remain unable to spread any account of what had passed.

Indeed, all slept soundly, unaware even that the process of some of their deaths had already begun; for Morkin certainly was not eager to share anything of the news. He would feign surprise when it was learnt that Nessa had departed, and pretend indifference, so that none might have the chance to call him weak. (Little did he know, however, that that was the very least of his worries.)

But Nessa did not leave alone. For, as she slipped otherwise unseen through the tunnel past the Northernmost corridor, and then through the trap-door at the head of it, she was followed by two others. They travelled in single file; and though the last was
aware of both who went before, the second was aware only of Nessa. In this sense, each knew only of those who went ahead of themselves – and so Nessa sped through the night without any qualms or suspicions of her own.

She intended to stop off for only a little time at Dog’s Hill, so as to bathe and take food, the latter of which activities she realised that she had forgotten to partake in, either that day, or the day before. She ran much more slowly than she was otherwise able, hungry as she was, but only one of her followers did notice, and curse her sloth; for the other was not quick enough to take heed.

Yet she arrived at the hill before midnight. The porch was dark, and she changed her shape with no fear of observation. She then took up another key which she had strung upon the chain at her neck, and unlocked the door. She passed into the house without sound.

While she hurried upstairs, the two followers remained outside. The first still was not aware of the second, and watched the house as if indeed the only one present. But when there came the flicker of lights on the second storey, the first watcher slipped into the house, with the second not far behind.

Little did these watchers know, however, that there were
other
watchers present around the perimeter. It was a windless night, and they had caught no sign of their scent, so they moved on to the house without even suspecting their company so near. Yet this company noticed them immediately, and dashed off to alert their captain as to the arrival of the others.

Their captain, though, was some distance off. The three occupants of Dog’s Hill, therefore, had some time to become aware of one another; and even to begin to doubt one another.

~

When Nessa came downstairs, clean and clothed, and with her Turin hung round her neck, the first and second watchers were positioned respectively in the parlour and the foyer. The second watcher had managed to slip round the first, so as to gain the parlour, and even took a moment to scoff at the other’s pathetic observational skills. Yet he crouched down quietly, surrounded by darkness, and kept a watch upon the foyer.

Nessa came down with a candle in her hand. She had intended to take a seat in the parlour, and to think for a while as to how best to approach Cassie; but she was interrupted in her train of thought by the sound of a soft scuffling.

She held up her candle, and looked warily about. “Who’s there?” she demanded.

The sound ceased. But she was no longer unaware.

“Come out,” she said. “Come out – or I will come
for
you.”

She could not have been more surprised, at the appearance of Leyra from out of the thick shadows near the parlour door. She stepped timidly into the circle of candlelight, with hands held stiffly by her sides, and eyes fixed nervously upon Nessa’s face.

“What are you doing here?” asked Nessa. “Some other plan to spite me, I suppose.”

“No, Nessa!” Leyra exclaimed. “Nothing like that, I promise you.”

“Then what?”

“I only –”

Here she looked away, and crossed her arms over her chest. She seemed to think very hard.

“You only what?”

“I only had to apologise to you,” Leyra said desperately, taking a step forward. “I didn’t know where you were going, and I thought that you might be doing something – something rash, or –”

“And you had to apologise,” said Nessa tonelessly.

“Yes!” Leyra cried, seemingly ignorant of Nessa’s sarcasm. “I have done so many things, Nessa, so many things wrong by you. But I only ever did them, because I was –”

“Jealous?”

Leyra narrowed her eyes, and began to seem somewhat less amiable. Nessa could see her digging her fingernails into her arms.

“Well?” said Nessa.

“Yes, I suppose,” Leyra said slowly. “Yes, I suppose that’s it.”

“And what is there to do about it now?” asked Nessa. “None of it matters anymore, you know. I don’t care about any of it.”

Leyra’s eyes widened, and her face brightened. “Then you – then you forgive me?”

“No,” Nessa snapped. “Of course I don’t. I only don’t care anymore.”

Leyra’s countenance fell.

“See here, Leyra. You need to leave now. Just turn right around, and make back to Mindren, before you botch up something important.”

“Important?” Leyra sneered. “You want to go and see that human girl, you mean.”

“Yes,” said Nessa plainly.

Leyra came forward again, and fell down on her knees before Nessa. She reached up to take hold of her hands, and looked into her face beseechingly. Nessa felt an immediate surge of contempt; but found that she needed also batten down a strange trickle of familiar sympathy, which was engendered by the stricken look upon Leyra’s face. Leyra squeezed her hands; and she pulled her up from the floor.

“No more of this, Leyra,” she said gently. “No more of it – do you understand?”

The second watcher stepped, then, out into the foyer. He looked to the two women, and laughed. “Ha!” he said. “Only proof of what I already knew, I suppose.”

“Faevin!” Leyra cried, separating herself quickly from Nessa.

“How dare you speak to me!” he shouted, striding towards her. He slapped her face, and grinned as she fell down to the floor.

“Stop that, Faevin,” Nessa warned. “Hold your temper.”

“My temper?” he said. “Dear Nessa, you know absolutely nothing at all –”

At that moment, however, the front door flew open – much as had the door of Samuel Clocker, when the sons of Qiello arrived. This time, though, it was Qiello himself who stood over its wooden shards, looking savagely upon the three Endai. But he fixed his eyes upon only one of them, and said, “Good evening, Nessa.”

~

His voice was low and rasping, and needed be paid great heed to come intelligibly to ears which were not accustomed to it. But Nessa nearly dropped her candle at the sight of him, so horrid was he. You must remember, that she had never before seen a disfigured member of the clan of Qiello, and was naturally startled and repelled. She set the candle down with a shaking hand, and moved nearer to Leyra.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“I am Qiello,” the wolf offered generously. “And I am here to speak with you.”

“And why,” said Nessa, “would you want to speak with
me?”

Leyra was clutching, with cold hands, at her arm. Nessa unconsciously took hold of one of them, and pressed it.

“You need not understand my motives,” Qiello went on. “But they are there nonetheless. All you really need know is that I was once a member of the Voranu – but I was banished from the sight of Arol, for choosing to question his authority. Now, I have taken a goodly number of Arol’s people into my dwelling place, and made them my own. The accomplishment, I suppose, of a mind ever superior to that of Arol. A mind so superior that it was sentenced to death; but again so superior, that it could not be done away with so easily!” (He seemed to forget, here, that it was his son who had orchestrated this great “accomplishment”; but anyway grew quickly sobre, to add calmly, “But, really, this is not only about Arol.”)

He studied Nessa’s face carefully, set as it was even in the wavering candlelight. Her jaws were clenched together, and she looked ready to spring.

“My interest,” said Qiello, “is, for now, most greatly fixated upon you. Through you I will finally gain my revenge against Morachi – and oh, it shall be sweet!”

“What grievance have you against Morachi?”

“What grievance?” cried Qiello.
“What grievance?
Oh, dear girl, I am afraid we have nowhere near so much time as to get into all of that.” He grinned wickedly, and drew himself up to his full height. “All you really need know,” he repeated, “is that I have so very much, at this moment, to do with your happiness, that you should think very carefully how best to deal with me.”

“And why should I not kill you now, you filthy Ziruk?” proposed Nessa.

“Because, my dear girl!” cried Qiello. “Should you kill
me,
your love shall be killed, as well.”

He watched with great amusement as Nessa’s face went so very pale and white, and added, “Oh yes, my dear – I know that you love her! I saw you that night – can’t you figure? – at the lighthouse.”

Nessa threw Leyra’s hand away, and stepped towards Qiello. “What do you want from me?” she whispered. “Only tell me what you want, and I shall do it. But promise me you will not harm her!”

“I am holding her now in the swamp,” said Qiello. “And I
will
kill her, I assure you, if you do not do as I command. Now, I wish for you, dear girl – great one of the Endai that you are – to join myself and the Voranu who have deserted Arol, in the fight against Morachi. Somewhere along the way, I shall call Arol to us; and we will destroy him, as well!”

“I will do whatever you ask,” Nessa said quietly. “You need not doubt me, I promise you that.”

Just as Qiello opened his mouth to respond, there came a loud snarl from behind. Nessa whirled about, and saw Faevin standing flushed and sweating, and panting there beside Leyra. He took Leyra, then, into his strong arms, and held her with her back pressed to his chest, and his right forearm against her neck. She choked, and reached for Nessa.

Chapter XXXVII:

Aramort

“W
hat are you doing, Faevin?” Nessa snapped, looking in confusion and aggravation from him to Qiello – and back again, so that she might not miss a trick. “What is this? Let her go.”

“I shan’t,” Faevin breathed, pressing his face into Leyra’s neck. He inhaled deeply, and clutched Leyra tighter, so that the skin of her face began to change colour. Still she reached for Nessa; but her arm was growing somewhat slack.

“Damn you, Faevin,” Nessa snarled. “I haven’t the time for you. What are you
doing?”

Faevin’s head whipped up, and he growled at Nessa. “You would like to know what I’m doing?” he asked. “Well, I shall tell you. I shall tell you!”

“What is this about?” Qiello asked impatiently, stepping forward to cast his great shadow over all three of them. “You seem not to be taking me seriously, daughter of Dahro.”

Nessa turned quickly to him, and held out a hand to stay him. “I am sorry,” she said. “I mean nothing against you – you must believe me! I care nothing for any of this –” (and she jerked her head towards Leyra and Faevin) “– I do swear to you.”

“Then you must come with me now. Leave them to their own strangeness!”

Nessa nodded curtly, and began to move with Qiello towards the door. But she heard the low gurgle behind her, that was Leyra trying to call out to her; and she could not help but look back.

“Come!” Qiello shouted.

“Please, Nessa,” Leyra whispered.

“No one will leave!” Faevin cried, leaping forth to interpose himself between the Voranan and his exit.

“What do you do, boy?” demanded Qiello. “Out of my way, this instant! I swear I shall crush your head like a melon.”

In his quick movement, Faevin had cast Leyra away from him. She lay now upon the floor, and Nessa bent over her, with a hand against her bruised neck.

“Are you all right?” she asked softly, looking warily towards the door, where Faevin and Qiello stood staring hotly at one another.

“I think so,” Leyra gasped, clinging to Nessa’s hand. “But I can hardly breathe.”

“Come, now,” said Nessa, rubbing her hand over Leyra’s throat. “It will be all right.”

“What is wrong with him?” Leyra asked fearfully, as she glanced at Faevin. “What is he doing?”

“I am sure that I’ve no better idea than you,” said Nessa, staring in wonder at Faevin, as he stood fixedly before the door. He and Qiello were now exchanging loud words; and his face was flushed a dark shade of crimson.

And then, quite suddenly, there happened a thing which thoroughly shocked both Nessa and Leyra. Faevin raised his arm without warning, and flung it out so that it caught the great Ziruk across the chest. Much to the astonishment of the small audience, the enormous beast went soaring across the room, as if struck by a hand even larger than his own (which Faevin’s certainly was not), so that he fell heavily against the wall, and went crashing through it. There was suddenly a clear view of the parlour, from the place where Nessa and Leyra crouched in the foyer.

They looked with open mouths to Faevin; but he only grinned, and screamed with delight. “You would like to know what I’m doing?” he asked again. “Well, I shall tell you!”

He ushered them roughly into the parlour, where the huge and stinking wolf (stinking, much to Nessa’s displeasure, of the swampland that surrounded Samuel Clocker’s humble abode) lay unconscious in a corner of the room. He shoved them down onto a sofa, and then went out to the middle of the room, where he began to pace to and fro. He looked to them from time to time, with quite the widest smile upon his face, and with his longish hair sticking damply to his skull.              

“I suppose I shall just tell you,” he said. “There is no sense, as they say, in beating around the bush.”

He let his head fall back, and roared with laughter. Leyra started, and shifted nearer to Nessa.

“Oh, yes!” Faevin cried. “Cling tighter to your dear Nessa, do! She may be the only one who can save you.”

At this, Leyra began to tremble. But Nessa looked shrewdly into Faevin’s face, and demanded to know what he blathered on about. She was undoubtedly shaken by the recent display of his strength (a strength none had ever before known he possessed), but was entirely unwilling to allow him to become privy to the fact.

“What do I blather on about?” he repeated. “Well, Nessa, I shall tell you. I
blather on
concerning a story that you have surely never heard before; and which you would do well to hear.” Again he smiled that broad, fierce smile, that made him appear doubly alarming, and trebly insane. “I should begin, I think, with my name. Would you like to know my name, Nessa?”

Nessa narrowed her eyes. “Have you lost your mind, Faevin?”

“Faevin!” he cried. “Who is Faevin? Not I, I assure you.”

“Then who might you be, exactly?”

He drew himself up, and puffed out his chest in arrogance. “My name,” he said sternly, “is Aramort. I am the fifth son of Arol, High Prince of the Voranu.”

It is no surprise that both Nessa and Leyra lost their breath, then. They gasped respectively, and stared at Faevin, with eyes quite as wide as they had certainly ever had cause to be.

“You
have
lost your mind,” Leyra whispered. “I wouldn’t have believed it –

but . . .”

“I promise you, dear,” said Faevin condescendingly, and he looked down upon Leyra with disdain; “I have lost nothing of the sort.”

“Explain yourself, Faevin,” said Nessa.

“Ah!” he cried, pulling wildly at his hair. “Call me no more by that name! I am Aramort; and you shall address me thus.”

“All right, Aramort,” said Nessa. “Explain yourself, do.”

Faevin looked with disgust towards the Ziruk in the corner. “He thinks he can do so easily away with my father,” he scoffed. “The fool! None can overcome the might of Arol. If any should know, it is I – his most beloved and faithful son!”

“Beloved?” echoed Nessa. “Mind you, I still think you are quite insane – but I do believe that Arol’s most beloved son was, and ever shall be, Arod.”

Faevin lunged for her; but she flew from the sofa, and met him midway. She struck out with both hands, and aimed a heavy blow at his head, whereupon he fell to the floor with a sharp whine.

“Wench!” he cried. “Filthy, spoiled whore! How dare you strike me!”

Nessa said nothing, but only went back to the sofa, and snatched up Leyra’s hand. There was naught upon her mind but Cassie; for she knew within her heart that Qiello had spoken the truth. “Come!” she said. “We must go.”

She tried to pull Leyra across the room, and pass with her through the great hole in the wall; but Faevin dragged them back with astounding strength.

“You will go when I permit you!” he hollered. “Now
sit!”

He thrust them away, and they landed heavily again upon the sofa. Nessa looked towards him in challenge; but was not entirely sure whether she could overtake him.

“Hush yourselves up,” he cried, “and listen to me! You shall have the truth – and you shall have it now.”

Nessa leant back reluctantly, and took Leyra’s frightened head onto her shoulder. The young woman was fairly sobbing now.

“You always were just the most infuriating thing,” Faevin said angrily to her. “You always were!”

“Leave her be, Faevin,” Nessa growled. “Say what you will.”

He breathed deeply; and there came again that strange smile upon his face. “I am the last son of Arol,” he said. “When I was just a child, I was injected with a serum entrusted to only a select few of my father’s people, designed to revert the Voranan condition to the Endalin one. My true name, as I said, is Aramort.”

“That makes no sense,” Nessa argued. “Even if it were true, you could never have forced your way into a house of the Endai – most especially the house of my own father!”

Faevin waggled a finger at her. “Ah, but there is an explanation for everything, Nessa! There did once exist a young Endalin named Faevin, in the house of Silo. But my father was watching; and he saw the birth of the child. While the house was in disorder, on account of fortunate complications which had accompanied the birth, my father slipped himself inside the place; stole the child away, before its mother had laid eyes upon it; and killed it. I was then put in its place. Only a little while later, of course, I was paired to Leyra – and brought to the great house of Dahro.” His smile faded a little. “Naturally I had no memory of my father’s house, and grew thinking that I was indeed a member of the Endai. But my father came upon me in the forest, on my sixth birthday; and it was then he began to explain my true heritage.”

“And how is it,” asked Nessa, “that none ever found you out? How did none ever notice these meetings – with your
father?”

Faevin fixed her with a blank expression. “My father is the greatest of our kind,” he said. “The greatest of any kind! If he wishes not to be seen, then he shall not be seen. It is no guessing game, you foolish wench.”

But then his face began to clear, and adopted rather a dreamy look. “My father always loved me well,” he said, “and so it was only natural I should love him also. He bade me learn the secrets of the Endai, and pass them on to him, so that never again would the Voranu’s safe-house be compromised. And I have accomplished my task flawlessly!”

“Have you?” Nessa asked. She was determined to show no more of her shock concerning what she was hearing; and decided instead to undermine it. “If that’s the case, then why have the Ziruk migrated to the swamp, to follow Qiello instead of Arol?”

Faevin looked as if he might break a blood vessel, here. His face changed to a blotchy sort of purple, and his fists furled and unfurled there by his sides, with the thick veins of his arms standing out against the skin.

“We are the Voranu,” he said through clenched teeth. “Do not speak that name again; or I shall cut out your tongue, and make it so that you never speak another word!”

On some level not so deep at all, Nessa was sure that he would; but she feigned fearlessness and disinterest.

Seemingly all in an instant, Faevin’s face returned to white, and the cords in his arms and neck lay flat.

Nessa looked him full in the face, and finally began to believe his tale. She had almost a clear view of his heart, instilled as a young boy with the hatred of his father. What anger and volatility had been always considered as Faevin’s natural temperament, Nessa knew now rather to be the effects of long bitterness, never completely shadowed on account of a poor play-actor. How had no one ever guessed – ever even supposed? It all seemed so obvious now!

But then, that is most always the way it seems, when the fullness of a terrible truth has been exposed to the light.

And speaking of the light – it so happened to be growing fainter and fainter, upon the company all rounded into the parlour. When Nessa looked to the corner where Qiello lay, she could only just barely see him, and very little of him at that. But that very little did bring her finally to think that he was perhaps beginning to twitch.

She was unsettled, too, by the greyness and gloom into which Faevin was falling. He had stood only a short time ago with his face all bathed in moonlight, that fell in through the window behind the sofa; but it seemed that the moon was continuing on its course round the house, and that it was not to call again. Nessa looked to Leyra, and saw the very last of that light on her own face, lit up in that moment with the very starkest sort of terror.

“Then Arol has somehow managed,” Nessa began, understanding that she needed somehow keep Faevin’s mind from any further notion of harm (for quite as long as she could), “to sustain your hatred for the Endai. Or, rather I should say – that he created it in the first place. Had he never come upon you in the forest, you would have grown instead into a fine man, a fine Endalin.”

Faevin’s face began to twist, in a kind of confused anger; and she knew that he wanted only to negate her words, though he seemed not sure how.

“That is not so,” he said slowly. “I have always hated you. I always knew that I did not belong.”

“How would you have known that, Faevin? You were only a small boy. You looked upon Ceir as a mother, and Dahro as a father. You thought Caramon your

brother – and I your sister!”

“No!” he shouted, taking a step back. “I thought no such things. I despised you all! I knew ever that I was different from you – better than you. Better, as my father was.”

“You knew no such thing.”

“Ah!” he cried, taking hold of the ends of his hair. “Do not tell me what I know! You are nothing to me! Nothing!”

“Not nothing.” She looked again towards the great Voranan – who was beginning now without a doubt to move about. “Not nothing, Faevin. You might kill
him,
I know – but you cannot kill us. It is not in you. You love Leyra; I know it.”

“She is nothing to me!” he inveighed, hollering now. “Nothing at all!”

“Prove it, Faevin.”

Leyra tugged anxiously at Nessa’s hand. “Nessa!” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

“Hush,” Nessa commanded.