The Gloomcatcher

06: Ginger Lady

    N E R I A T H

    There was a rapt knock.

    "Who is it?"

    "It's me, dear. Ignatious."

    Neriath instantly opened the door and allowed him in. His hands had disappeared in the mass of stuff he was carrying. "Here are what you asked for, ropes, blades, knapsacks, a pair of sheets, Kuratis, and some staple food." There was a pause as he mustered up the courage to speak more. "I know you're off to some new adventure."

    His voice held no tone of mockery or pain, it seemed more of plain disappointment. She replied, "I was going to tell you."

    "You must not explain and I also know that this boy here is the prince; I saw the royal crest on the ring,"—Orephnil took a step back, looking warily—"don't worry, I will not breathe a word to anyone but you must know that this place is not currently safe for you, My Prince. If anyone can keep you safe, it is Neriath."

    "Thank you Ignatious," she took the things from his hand and began to organize them in the knapsacks. "One last favor. We would need palfreys to reach the bay of Vercona."

    "Bay of Vercona? Are you planning to go out of Filhayal?" she ignored him and placed the tools and types of equipment in one knapsack.

    "Where are you off to?"

    This was going to be difficult. She halted, shoving the bags away on the table as she looked at him,—eyebrows crinkled, and he had ripples on his forehead, ripples of perturbation. Orephnil was silently standing, as though this was too personal for him to indulge and so didn't utter a word when Neriath instructed him to finish the rest of the packing while she went with Ignatious to get the horses and he merely nodded in reply.

    The full moon with all its imperious shine demanded attention as they strolled out, behind the shabby edifice of the Snooty Ooze where the diminutive stable was. Ignatious had carried a lamp with him, blazing in the dark although it was needless because the full moon, gave enough silvery light to be able to see fairly.

    "Were you going to tell me?" he asked while she examined some of the horses and ponies, running her hand across their bodies.

    "Of course," that was a lie. "I'm going to Tethoris." But this was the truth.

    She wondered how lying had become her habit. Now her vices were heavier than the virtues on her weighing scale of personality.

    "What exactly are you aiming for, Neriath? What bells and whistles does Tethoris offer that Meinoris does not?"

    She looked askance, his features appearing golden in the light of the lamp he held close to his head. "You know what I want, Ignatious. I've told you before."

    "My child, my sweet child,"—he advanced towards her, a pained expression on his face—"Vengeance is the act of evil who doesn't have a soul."

    She gritted out, "I have become soulless."

    His eyes sparkled as he gazed up at her. "It's a fool's job to walk himself to his own doom. You're not a fool, dear."

    "I had planned for it since my childhood, since the time I had been destroyed. No amount of words can stop me now. Not even you and Calista can stop me now."