The Warden

Chapter 36

"You must forgive me," he said, each word still bright with the dregs of laughter. "That last passphrase has been a long standing joke for the High Mages. My predecessor and I were both convinced that Master Eboric insisted on it simply to humiliate you. My master made me promise him that if I ever met you, I would insist that you recite the last passphrase to see if you would comply. If he were still alive, he would owe me quite a tidy sum."

Is this man incompetent or simply insane? wondered Kyla, but then begrudgingly hitched up the corner of her mouth because the smarmy ingrate, Eboric, had done it just to humiliate her. That much was true.

"Yes," said Kyla, her lips not mirroring Master Elwith's smile and her voice not parroting his lightness. "I'm sure that that is all very amusing or drawl or whatever word is fashionable at the moment, but we have more pressing matters to discuss, namely the wighties and the increasing threat they pose."

The remaining humor slipped from Master Elwith's face replaced by a more serious, haughty mien. "Increased threat? I am not aware of any increased threat from feral wights. Quite the contrary. For the last few months, we have been successfully eliminating the feral members of the species, and we're coming closer to neutralizing the worst of them all, the night queen."

A gasp turned all their attentions to the acolyte at the door.

"Forgive me, Master Elwith," said the boy, head bowing.

"It's quite all right, acolyte Filibert," said Master Elwith, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I understand your fear when it comes to the night queen. She has been a plague to our nation for far too long. But soon all that will end."

Filibert did not relax into the tender gesture. Instead, he remained tense, as a dog would while waiting to see if a caress would turn into a reprimand or swat.

How does he normally treat this boy? Kyla asked herself, her imagination conjuring up the blackest images from its recesses, stoking her more animal side into a rumbling growl.

No real relief came for Filibert until Masis' words drew Master Elwith's attention.

"Just how do you plan to kill the night queen?" asked Masis.

Another good question, thought Kyla, eyeing Masis in a sidelong manner. Can I die now knowing that he might survive?

Not yet, said Werold, seemingly out of nowhere. The words surfaced in Kyla's mind, a settling thrum of intention, entering from all around her with a warmth and a settling firmness.

Her tongue slid along her teeth's bumps and ridges, pressed so firmly against the enamel that her taste buds scraped along. She clicked her teeth together several times. A hard snap radiating to her ears. Air filled her lungs. It leaked out. Centuries had accumulated in her person. Centuries of ache and scars and time. Time, that great mirror that shows every person their choices' twist, reflected back at her all the fragility of her being, made so by every thought, every action, every decision. Mortals were not meant to live so long. Kyla's long life stretched her. Her energy. Her drive. Her spirit. Though she would never let it show, always keeping her visage a shield, a ripple-less pond revealing nothing, one half of her seemed tied to that fateful day she made the deal with Manu and another part of her was bound to the present. Between the two points in time her soul, unbearably taut, spanned the space. Each day—another turn of the rack that her life had become—distorted her memories, her thoughts, pulling them apart at their weakest points.

"You must be the Warden," said Master Elwith, pulling Kyla back into the moment. "The chosen vessel."

He ignored Masis' question and extended his hand.