her
own.
“My dear Shadow Maiden, you’re not seeing the
gift this girl is to us,” he said, wrapping his soft tanned hands
around her outstretched fist. “She is the key to the city’s power,
which is the key to our power.”
Wilhelmina stared at Luthen, her sunken eyes
squinting. She sighed, shaking her head. “I suppose you are right,”
she said, “but I still don’t think having her around is wise.” She
looked over Luthen’s shoulder and right into Anya’s eyes. The girl
shrank down in the throne, her gaze dropping to the floor.
“Give her time. She will prove her worth. In
fact, she will prove it now.” Luthen turned and beckoned Anya with
his hand. Not knowing what to expect, she slid down from the throne
and onto the cold white stone. Luthen smiled and took her hand. She
could see a pang of jealousy flash across the strange woman’s taunt
face. Wilhelmina smoothed down her closely cut black hair with a
boney hand, her eyes never leaving Anya.
Anya followed Luthen through a door that
stood sheltered behind the throne. It led to a narrow hall covered
in faded and molding tapestries. The strong musty smell made her
wrinkle her nose. Luthen ran his hand over one that showed the city
before its ascent into the sky. He outlined the tall yellowing
towers with his fingers, his thoughts far away. Bringing himself
back to the present, he tore at the tapestry, sending it crashing
to the ground. A small wooden door stood out against the white
stone wall.
He pushed the door open, its hinges squealing
from disuse. Luthen lifted Anya up into his arms and plunged into
the darkness.
Anya’s head bobbed with each step down
further into the shadows. She could hear Luthen’s breath hasten in
the quiet of the stairwell. Moments later, they reached the bottom.
Luthen stepped out of the stairwell and into a wide open room lined
with large paned windows. In its center hung a humming blue
crystal, its size larger than her mother’s grand bed.
Luthen placed her on her feet. A shadow
wafted down the stairs to his side and formed into a scowling
Wilhelmina.
“You better be quick,” she said, leaning on
her scythe, “I don’t have long before I’m missed. The last thing I
need is Death breathing down my neck any more than he already
is.”
Luthen tsked from beneath his hood as
he led Anya to the warm blue crystal. “You doubt the power of the
Anvalin. No matter. You’ll soon be proven wrong,” he said, guiding
the girl’s hand to touch the crystal’s surface. “With this power, you will be sitting in Death’s throne in no time at
all.”
Anya winced at the Anvalin’s unexpected heat.
Muddled voices crept into her head. She squeezed her eyes tight,
trying to shut them out.
“Yes, good, concentrate. Don’t let the voices
take control,” he said, stroking her hair. “Now, I want you to
imagine turning the city as if turning a door knob. Simply reach
out your hand… and turn .”
The city rumbled and as the ground shifted
far below. Anya clenched her teeth, trying to hold on to her image
of turning the knob in her hand. When the knob completed the turn,
she relaxed, pulling away from the Anvalin.
“Very good, my queen,” said Luthen, glaring
at Wilhelmina over his shoulder, “You’ve made me proud.”
***
Merrick remembered the fall as if it were a
dream.
The war machine plummeted off the cliff,
turning end over end. The silent bodies of the slaves bounced off
the walls, limbs flailing and faces lifeless. Merrick clung to the
chain’s anchor on a hefty beam. He was beat against the wall, the
floor, the ceiling—pain and fear mixed together, tasting bitter in
his mouth, overwhelmed the taste of blood.
He sheltered the girl with his broken body.
She didn’t make a sound. Merrick feared she was dead, that her neck
had been snapped like a twig.
Finally, when he thought he could endure no
more, the war machine was ripped in two by the jagged rocks at the
foot of the towering
own.
“My dear Shadow Maiden, you’re not seeing the
gift this girl is to us,” he said, wrapping his soft tanned hands
around her outstretched fist. “She is the key to the city’s power,
which is the key to our power.”
Wilhelmina stared at Luthen, her sunken eyes
squinting. She sighed, shaking her head. “I suppose you are right,”
she said, “but I still don’t think having her around is wise.” She
looked over Luthen’s shoulder and right into Anya’s eyes. The girl
shrank down in the throne, her gaze dropping to the floor.
“Give her time. She will prove her worth. In
fact, she will prove it now.” Luthen turned and beckoned Anya with
his hand. Not knowing what to expect, she slid down from the throne
and onto the cold white stone. Luthen smiled and took her hand. She
could see a pang of jealousy flash across the strange woman’s taunt
face. Wilhelmina smoothed down her closely cut black hair with a
boney hand, her eyes never leaving Anya.
Anya followed Luthen through a door that
stood sheltered behind the throne. It led to a narrow hall covered
in faded and molding tapestries. The strong musty smell made her
wrinkle her nose. Luthen ran his hand over one that showed the city
before its ascent into the sky. He outlined the tall yellowing
towers with his fingers, his thoughts far away. Bringing himself
back to the present, he tore at the tapestry, sending it crashing
to the ground. A small wooden door stood out against the white
stone wall.
He pushed the door open, its hinges squealing
from disuse. Luthen lifted Anya up into his arms and plunged into
the darkness.
Anya’s head bobbed with each step down
further into the shadows. She could hear Luthen’s breath hasten in
the quiet of the stairwell. Moments later, they reached the bottom.
Luthen stepped out of the stairwell and into a wide open room lined
with large paned windows. In its center hung a humming blue
crystal, its size larger than her mother’s grand bed.
Luthen placed her on her feet. A shadow
wafted down the stairs to his side and formed into a scowling
Wilhelmina.
“You better be quick,” she said, leaning on
her scythe, “I don’t have long before I’m missed. The last thing I
need is Death breathing down my neck any more than he already
is.”
Luthen tsked from beneath his hood as
he led Anya to the warm blue crystal. “You doubt the power of the
Anvalin. No matter. You’ll soon be proven wrong,” he said, guiding
the girl’s hand to touch the crystal’s surface. “With this power, you will be sitting in Death’s throne in no time at
all.”
Anya winced at the Anvalin’s unexpected heat.
Muddled voices crept into her head. She squeezed her eyes tight,
trying to shut them out.
“Yes, good, concentrate. Don’t let the voices
take control,” he said, stroking her hair. “Now, I want you to
imagine turning the city as if turning a door knob. Simply reach
out your hand… and turn .”
The city rumbled and as the ground shifted
far below. Anya clenched her teeth, trying to hold on to her image
of turning the knob in her hand. When the knob completed the turn,
she relaxed, pulling away from the Anvalin.
“Very good, my queen,” said Luthen, glaring
at Wilhelmina over his shoulder, “You’ve made me proud.”
***
Merrick remembered the fall as if it were a
dream.
The war machine plummeted off the cliff,
turning end over end. The silent bodies of the slaves bounced off
the walls, limbs flailing and faces lifeless. Merrick clung to the
chain’s anchor on a hefty beam. He was beat against the wall, the
floor, the ceiling—pain and fear mixed together, tasting bitter in
his mouth, overwhelmed the taste of blood.
He sheltered the girl with his broken body.
She didn’t make a sound. Merrick feared she was dead, that her neck
had been snapped like a twig.
Finally, when he thought he could endure no
more, the war machine was ripped in two by the jagged rocks at the
foot of the towering
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