At first Master Elwith just stood and stared at Kyla and Masis.
Compared to his clean shaven, well-pressed appearance, their dirty, unkempt appearance was all the more severe. He smelled of exotic spices, cloyingly spicy in the nostrils. In contrast, they stunk of loam and underbrush.
A placid, high-tempered surface manifested on Master Elwith's lifelight, sheer like fabric stretched and kept taut, undulating between placid blues and excited oranges. Kyla was quite impressed at the control that Master Elwith exhibited. A dark splotch roamed into Kyla's Sight, floating over the mage's lifelight, an unexpected gaping soulwound. So dark the dimensions of the spot, Kyla's keen mindeye could not penetrate its depth. Something about its yawning emptiness churned her stomach.
"Are you just going to stare at us?" asked Kyla. "Or are we going to get on with it?"
A corner of Master Elwith's mouth quirked, not with annoyance or even amusement but rather curiosity, the kind of curiosity one would show when dealing with a stray animal, dirty from neglect, thin from malnutrition—a curiosity, not filled with malice or ill-intent, simply a morbid register and ultimate disregard of what stood right in front of him.
Kyla bristled at the scrutiny. What are you waiting for?!
"Aren't you rushing a bit, Lady Kyla," said Master Elwith, wagging a finger. "If you are indeed Lady Kyla Gaudin."
Kyla's mouth began to slacken loaded with expletives, before she clenched it with tight efficiency. Politics. Only the lunatic, tyrannical, or simple minded would ever become involved in politics.
"How would I have gotten in here if I wasn't Lady Kyla?" she asked, voice strained. "I knew the passphrases that I agreed on with the head mage all those centuries ago."
"Aren't you forgetting something?" asked Master Elwith, picking at his nails. "Something else that you two agreed on. Something that has been passed down from High Mage to High Mage ever since that time."
"Are you really going to insist on this?" she asked, cocking a hip like an irritated parent.
"I'm afraid I must," said Master Elwith, eyes wide with mocking innocence. His mouth twitched, fighting a smile. "How else will I know for certain that you are really who you say you are? So, if you wouldn't mind, please, give me the last passphrase."
"Oh, very well," huffed Kyla. She took a breath then blew it out. "I am Lady Kyla. My father was half-lit, my mother was a whore. They met one night upon the ocean shore..."
Snickering from Master Elwith cut Kyla's words off. It escalated into chuckles and then exploded into bursts of laughter. Arms held at his middle, eyes screwed shut, Master Elwith's mouth gaped open, pouring out the half-strangled sound.
Both Masis and Kyla stood exchanging glances, nonplussed. Even the acolyte fidgeted by the door, as the master of his order, twittered away like a madman.
I thought I had my work cut out for me when I found Masis, thought Kyla.
The idea of slapping the near hysterical man flashed into her mind, which she swatted away quickly enough. She simply kept her spot, unmoving, her face void of amusement. Masis kept flicking his eyes between her and Master Elwith, his face a confusion of emotions. They both waited for the waves of levity to subside.
Forcing his eyes open, his face still squinted with humor, Master Elwith held a hand up as his antics quieted. His laughter trickled away faster than it had begun. Coughing a few times, a hand covering his mouth, he cleared his throat. Checking himself over—his thinning hair, robes, and face—Master Elwith straightened his back into his previously exact posture. A few more bubbles of laughter popped from his mouth, and he pressed his long, callus-free fingers into the corners of his eyes as though to dislodge the last remnants of levity that might have hidden there. He flicked what he found away.
"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.
Masis shook himself. Shoulders drew back. Stomach sucked in. Chin rose. Back straightened. From one moment to the next, Masis shifted from one self to another—the broken but mending boy under Kyla's tutelage became the son of the Forest Lord of Asthurn, a duke in his own right. This was the battleground on which Masis Domrae had first been trained. Accepting the hand thrust out at him, Masis locked his eyes directly with Master Elwith's. From the way the color drained from the mage's hand and the slight clench of his jaw, Kyla could only imagine how hard Masis squeezed. With his newly acquired strength it could be nigh unto bone crushing.
"If I am the chosen vessel as you say," said Masis, words flat while the corners of his mouth peaked into a hint of a polite smile, "then I am chosen because of Lady Kyla."
How very gallant of you, Lord Domrae, thought Kyla, but if only you knew who really chose you, molded you.
As soon as Masis released his hand, Master Elwith started to rub the blood back into it. "You have quite a grip, Lord... Lord... I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage sir, since I do not know your name."
"Actually, you do," said Masis. His hand scraped along the stubble that had accumulated on his chin. "It has been at least a year, but we have met several times. My father's position made it inevitable."
Master Elwith leaned in toward Masis, peering at him as though reading a text from an unknown author in hopes that the writer would reveal himself. He leaned back when it appeared he had gleaned all he could, his lifelight flaring here and there with points of heat at the effort. Eyes unfocusing, hand going to his smooth chin, Master Elwith considered for a moment before recognition formed his mouth into a circle.
"Forgive me, Your Grace," said Master Elwith with anything but humility, remaining erect without a hint of a bow. "It was assumed you were dead after you disappeared following your family's death." His eyes raked over Masis' face. "I see the reports of your Shadowing were grossly over-exaggerated."
Masis' brows drew together when the observation struck between them.
"It was a great tragedy when your family died," said Master Elwith, shaking his head. "If your father hadn't opposed the treaty and instead pushed for its ratification, all this unfortunate unpleasantness would have most likely been avoided."
Treaty? wondered Kyla, her eyes widening at the implications. What treaty?
"I'm sorry?" asked Masis. His entire frame tightening, his hands squeezing into fists. Only his eyes did opposite, opening as wide as they could. "Unpleasantness? Is that what you think of what happened to my family? That it was just unpleasant? Just a delay of tea time?" He pulled in a long draft of air, shuddering. "My family was killed! And you, you have the..."
"Master Elwith, what did you mean by feral night wights?" asked Kyla, stepping in front of Masis, cutting him off in both view and word. "Every Manu cursed wightie is feral."
First taken aback by the initial stages of Masis' outburst and the sudden shift to Kyla's question, Master Elwith straightened his robes before Kyla's words registered. His mouth frowned and his nose rose into the air as though to avoid a particularly putrid smell.
"I think you will find tonight, Lady Kyla," he said his next words as though correcting an errant acolyte, "that your antiquated views of the night wights will be all together changed. For now, apprentice Filibert will show you to where you can wash yourselves and will provide you with a change of clothes."
Don't you dare treat me like a child you smug shadow, fumed Kyla, her own body tensing at his condescending mannerisms.
Master Elwith swept out of the room without another word or backward glance. Filibert stood before them, feet turned in toward each other, hands clasped before him.
"Well," said Kyla, nothing else to be done. "Lead on, boy."
************
Masis dunked himself back under the warm water, washing away the soap in his hair. The grease, dirt, and tangled dead hair floated out of his unruly locks, now all much longer than he usually kept them. Besides the filth and sweat that sullied his skin, the warm water carried away some of the tension bound up in his body. Muscles loosened. Joints relaxed. Overall, Masis floated in the dark balmy weightlessness, his eyes closed, his breath held, all while his body rid itself of unneeded burdens, both physical and mental. Coming up for air, its chill starkness brought Master Elwith's words back into his mind.
Unpleasantness. Masis spat at the insipidness of the word. Unpleasantness.
As though losing his family could even come close to such a trivial description. His chest tightened again. His breathing, hot and urgent, grunted from his nose. He spat into the water again in an attempt to rid himself of that thin descriptor as well as the soap that had attacked his tongue with its strong lye flavor. Rousting himself, the soap-murky water sloshing beyond the tub's bounds, Masis' skin prickled at the sudden assault of the chill air. He stepped onto the brisk stone floor and dripped water all over its polished surface.
When compared to his family's apartments in the city, this washing chamber and its adjacent suite were unsettling. Instead of being made in the style of Imitation like Hyrbn and the Domrae's capital residence, the mages had created this chamber in a rigid adherence to the Imposition ideology. The bathtub was an oval depression in the rock, the water constantly recycled by a shallow trough that ran in from one wall and out the other. Overall, the room mirrored the shape of the tub, all of its surfaces smooth, all the corners exact. A large mage-light hung from the ceiling in an arrangement of chains and brass, casting a cool light over the water's rippling surface.
Snatching up his towel, Masis moved back into the adjacent bedchamber, wiping the droplets from his face. On impulse, he shook his head and his now mane of hair flung water in all directions.
Odd, thought Masis, drawing up short as to why he would do such a thing. He had never done so before. But satisfying. I wonder if this just is a part of being the Warden?
Shrugging the question away, Masis finished toweling himself down as his eyes took in the room and its trappings.
Exactly square, not one of the several corners and edges were off by so much as a single degree. The bed sat some distance from the door. Its large headboard rose up along the wall not so much as a hair's breadth between it and the stone surface. Fresh clothing, fine in material and construction though simple in design, lay on the coverings. Various tables, chests, and chairs occupied the remainder of the room, all resting on rich, warm rugs. Still and stale from lack of use, the air teetered on the line of heavy heat, weighing on Masis' skin and threatening to make him perspire from exertion.
He tugged on his breeches. Barely having gotten them over his backside, he yanked them up higher as Kyla came bursting through the door. His jaw slackened as his hands and arms worked to keep his pants in place while covering as much of his torso as possible.
In all the time that Masis had known Kyla, she had only worn breeches, her legs wrapped with winigas. She now bore a dress. A dress! Cut to show off her long neck and smooth collar bones, the dress slimmed neatly in the middle, hugging from her torso to her waist before flaring back out into a skirt that brushed the ground. Made of a pewter toned material, it complimented her eyes and figure far too well. Her skin glowing from the recent scrubbing it had undergone, her cheeks still rosy from the abrasion, Kyla's face resembled that of a cat just dunked in water, her hair, still damp, bound in her customary tight braids.
Beautiful, thought Masis involuntarily. He shook himself. What am I thinking! She could be my great, great, great, great... uh, ancient ancestor.
"What was that treaty he was talking about?" asked Kyla in a harsh whisper.
"You're wearing a dress," said Masis, his frantic efforts to cover his nakedness slowing as the sight before him increasingly befuddled his composure.
"Well, what did you expect? For me to come into your room stark naked?" Her hands hung limply at her side. "Now what was Master Elwith talking about when he said your father should have supported a treaty?"
Still staring, the spell of disbelief still unbroken, none of Lady Kyla's words registered in Masis' mind. "But you're wearing a dress."
Kyla stared up at the ceiling, her hands clasped before her. "Oh, for the love of Wilo."
A coquettish smile sprang to her lips and she meandered toward Masis to the rhythm of her now sultry high tones. "Don't you just love the color and cut, milord?" She twirled, giggling, as her dress flared about her. "Doesn't it just bring out the color of my eyes?" Now near enough, she walloped Masis over the head, her voice regaining its bite. "Now, concentrate. Listen to the words that are coming out of my mouth. What treaty was your father supposed to have supported?"
You'd need more than a dress to change this creature, thought Masis, rubbing his stinging head. At least, I can count on her never to change.
"Don't tell me you don't know," said Masis, his hand still on top of his head, his bare-chestedness completely forgotten. "In all the time you spent observing me, you must have overheard all the important conversations."
"Well, apparently, I missed this one. I know your father received several reports concerning wightie activity, but from what Master Elwith said, you're supposed to know something about a treaty that your father opposed."
Grabbing the linen shirt from off the bed, Masis hastily tugged it on. The conversation had taken place on that day, the day the tree nearly took his sister, the day before the nightlings took his entire family. He squeezed his eyes shut as the linen passed over them, scraping along his skin, his breath held, hot and beating in his chest.
"That day he... he mentioned something to me about a treaty that was being considered between the sovereigns and a faction of wights. But you have to know this already. You told me you had been watching me all that time. Surely you must remember that workday when my father and I were trying to fell that tree that nearly killed my sister."
"I must have missed that conversation," said Kyla, her attention going to her attire.
"What? You told me...no, you boasted to me that you had me under observation almost the entire time while you were in Asthurn."
"Emphasis on 'almost,'" retorted Kyla, sniffing. "No one is infallible."
Masis, tucking his shirt into his breeches, stopped mid-tuck, mouth slack, heavy with incredulity. "What?! 'No one is infallible?' You can't be serious right now." Silence let the question echo between them. "Who was it that said I have to be aware of everything around me even while I sleep? Or who told me to be prepared for everything even if I didn't think something was possible? Or, my personal favorite, the mission is everything, nothing can get in the way of the mission, not family, not feelings, not even bodily functions. So, which one of those got in your way that day that kept you from hearing that obvious conversation?"
Nostrils flaring, knocking her fists against her legs several times, Kyla turned away from Masis with a huff. Back rigid, she took two brisk steps, her bare feet slapping against the stone floor.
"We don't have time for this." She did not turn her head to deliver the words. An embarrassed, spicy pink blushed through Kyla's lifelight. "If you must know... you and your father were only working on that tree when I left... I have functions too, you know."
So, she isn't perfect! Masis crowed the thought out in his mind.
Kyla whirled, eyes, hot with flustered indignation, her dress blooming out from the sudden motion. Masis flinched back as her lifelight burned so hot it seemed it might sear them both into oblivion. His smile melted away.
"This isn't important at the moment," snapped Kyla. "What did your father tell you about this treaty being worked out between the kingdom and those tame wighties?"
Sputtering for a second, eyes down so his consciousness could turn inward, his father's face, voice, presence pressed in on Masis, freezing his body into tight coils, tingling with hot, trembling recollection of sweat, saw dust, and contentment. Memories of that day, sharp with nostalgia, were a pit so deep Masis could not help but fall in simply by glancing into their depths. Before he could fall too far, he caught himself, wobbling in thought and frame, teetering on the edge just before that drop back into dark despair and gagging grief.
"He... he didn't say much," said Masis, steadying himself with his words. "All he said was that there was a group of wights trying to form an alliance with the sovereigns. My mother and sister arrived, so he didn't have time to elaborate."
"And you didn't think that little tidbit was important enough to mention," said Kyla, voice hard, stance planted. "Wighties don't form alliances, they kill and maim and dominate. Something else is going..."
A knock at the door interrupted her. Masis called for the person to come in. The door swung open to reveal Filibert standing awkwardly by the threshold.
"When you two are ready," he said, "I'm to escort you to Master Elwith."
"We'll finish this later," whispered Kyla, out of the corner of her mouth. "Now, finish dressing and be ready for anything."
*DON'T FORGET TO VOTE*