Lord of Souls

SIX

He swam in black water, probing through the rotting leaves, lifting his eyes now and then above the surface to search the shallows and shore for movement. Larger things in the depths of the swamp couldn’t reach him here, amidst the twisting cypress roots; here the danger usually came from land.

Something in the mud moved, and he snapped at it with webbed paws and lifted a feathery-gilled wriggler into view. He ate it happily and searched for more, but in a short time his belly was full and he felt like basking. He swam lazily back to the gathering hole.

The old ones had already claimed the choicest perches, so he crawled onto a log already crowded with his siblings and wriggled down among them until he felt the rough bark against his belly. When his brothers and sisters gave up their sleepy, halfhearted complaints at his added company, he felt the sun on his skin and began to dream his life; swimming, basking, killing, avoiding death, the sun and moons, all mystery, all terrifying, all beautiful. Each day the same day, each year the same year.

Until the root came, and the taste of sap. Some changes were slow, others came quickly, and he-they-flowed together, found the stream of time. His old body wasn’t forgotten, but it changed, became more like things the root remembered from otherwhere; his hind legs lengthened and his spine stood up. Small thoughts in his head put out branches, and those branched also, until what had before been warmth, light, shadow, movement, fear, contentment, anger, and lust became categories instead of simple facts. The world was the same, but it seemed more, bigger, stranger than ever.

Death followed life and life death, but it all flowed through the root, each life different, each the same.

Until that, too, ended, and the root was ripped away, and he was alone. The gathering place was empty except for him-no elders, no siblings. He swam in black water, forgetting everything. Losing his form, melting away.

But in that dissolution, the illusion was also dissolved. He was many, and he was one. He sang, a plaintive tune, a remembrance, a prayer. All of his voices took it up, trembling it out through every branch and root, through heart and blood and bone.

I want to go home, he sang. I want to go home.

Glim woke gasping, spitting water from his mouth, remembering the ache closing in on his chest. He smelled his own terror, and remembered more-his heart stopping, the cold, nothingness.

And Fhena. Then he understood that he wasn’t just thinking of her-she was looking down at him anxiously.

“What?” he managed.

“You’re talking!” she said.

“Where am I?”

“You’re safe,” Fhena said. “Just know you’re safe.”

“I don’t understand,” he grunted. His skin felt tight, itchy, and he was shivering. His mind was full of shifting images and half thoughts, as if he were back home, touching the root of the City Tree but stronger, stranger, freer.

“What happened to me?” he said. “I’m not the same. The trees-”

“You hear them now,” she said. “Like I do.” She touched him, and her face changed to an expression of purest wonder. “No,” she said, “not like me. Better-more-it’s like you’re one of them, Glim.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m me. I’m me.”

He fought back the thoughts invading his head.

“What happened?” he demanded. “I thought I died. I was sure I died.” He felt at his side, then his face. “Where are my wounds?” There weren’t even any scars.

“She did it to save you,” Fhena told him. “To keep you safe.”

“Did what?” Glim asked, starting to feel hysterical.

“I killed you,” another familiar voice said. “I killed you.”

The face was Annaig’s, but the words made no sense juxtaposed with it.

“She did it to save you,” Fhena murmured, laying her hand on his shoulder.

“Neither of you is making any sense,” he snarled.

“Be calm, Glim,” Annaig said in their private cant. “Just be still and let me explain.”

Annaig watched Glim’s face as he listened to her, as she tried to explain to him that he was still Glim, still the friend she had grown up with, that she had rescued him, not murdered him.

But his face wasn’t exactly the same. It looked younger, which made sense, but there was also a little something different about the shape of it; the same for his coloring, which had more rust in it now. If she had seen this body a few months ago, she would have thought it one of Glim’s brothers, but she wouldn’t have mistaken it for him.

But inside, he had to be the same. He had to. Sure, he seemed somehow more distracted than the old Glim, seemed to have a hard time focusing on what she was saying, but surely that was a side effect of the incubation process. To go from a worm to an adult with eighteen years’ worth of memories in a few days had to be a shock.

But Glim didn’t come to that conclusion.

“You’re saying I’m not me anymore,” he said, in as strange a tone as she had ever heard him use. “I’m a copy.”

“No,” Annaig said. “You have the same soul, Glim. The poison I made caught it before Umbriel could take it away.”

Glim scratched at his flesh. “But this isn’t my body. It isn’t even a Saxhleel body. It’s grown from a proform. I’m not-” He jerked to his feet.

“This is all I’ve ever been to you, an experimental subject! ‘Drink this, Glim, you’ll turn invisible, this will let you fly, this will kill you and bring you back to life,’ but not quite right, never quite right!”

Annaig felt as if layers of cloth were wrapped around her, muffling everything, hiding what Glim ought to be able to see, trapping anything she could say that might help in dense warp and weft.

“I’m sorry, Glim, it’s all I could think of,” was the best she could do, and she saw now that it wasn’t good enough, might never be good enough.

“Listen,” she said, reaching to soothe his spines, “I know this is a lot right now. I know you may hate me. But I need to tell you a few things, about what I’m planning-”

“No,” Glim said, jerking away from her touch. “I’ve had it with your plans, with doing things your way. I’m finished with it.”

“Glim, listen,” she said, but he turned and stamped from the room. She went after him, but his wet footprints led to the balcony and ended there. She stood looking down at the spreading ripples far below, while Fhena came and stood by her.

“Go back to the Fringe Gyre,” she told Fhena. “I’m sure he’ll find you there, if he doesn’t get killed again immediately. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”

Fhena nodded and padded silently away, leaving Annaig staring out at the wonder and madness that was Umbriel.

Her locket chimed.

She held it up and stared at it for a moment, then flipped it open.

Attrebus looked like he hadn’t slept in a month.

“Hello,” he said. “How are you?”

“As best as can be expected,” she replied.

“Look,” he said, “I may not have long. Sul and I think we’ve found a way to get up there. I’m not sure exactly when it will happen or where we’ll be.”

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Hierem, my father’s minister-he’s in league with Umbriel. We think he’s been traveling up there and back using a magical portal. We’re hoping when he comes down, we’ll go back up.”

The threads about her seemed to tighten.

“What can I do?”

“We’re going to try to use the sword, as we discussed earlier,” he said. “I’m not exactly sure what will happen then, even if we manage it. But I thought you should know, so you can be ready if-if any chance for escape comes.”

“What about you?”

“When it’s all over, Sul may be able to take us into Oblivion again.”

To her ear, it almost sounded like he didn’t care if he survived.

“Attrebus,” she said, “I’m sorry if I seemed angry before-”

“It’s okay. I think… I think maybe you had a right to be. I think we might have to talk about that someday.”

“Right,” she said. “Someday.”

“I’m going to put Coo up now-I need to be ready to fight whenever this happens. I just wanted you to know what was going on. If I have a chance to contact you after we get there, I’ll try.”

“Do that,” she said.

The locket went dark.

She took one last look at the vista beyond the balcony and then began striding purposefully toward her kitchen.

Hours passed, and Attrebus began to fear that perhaps Vineben was right, and Hierem had no intention of returning to the Imperial City. The wait did provide the time for a fuller exchange of information, but beyond that it was sheer torture. His mind kept trying to return to the feelings Hierem had violated him with, and he feared if he let that happen he would be useless in any confrontation, and so pressed for more conversation when he could.

“Arese?”

“Yes, Prince Attrebus?”

“You say you worked for my father.”

She glanced at her companion, but he didn’t give any sort of reaction. She pulled her shoulders back.

“I was at one time in his small circle, majesty.”

“You have the brand?”

She nodded and reached to show him, but he shook his head.

“That’s okay. I believe you.” He took a deep breath. “So you knew, then? About me?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean, Prince-”

“I’m sure you know exactly what I mean,” he said.

She made a little grimace, and then acknowledged with a tilt of her head.

“Can you tell me why?” he asked.

“Your father-he’s a brilliant general, a cunning emperor. I’ve never known a man so strong. But when it came to you, he always had something of a weak spot.”

“Weak spot? My father doesn’t have a sentimental bone in his body.”

“I don’t mean that way,” she said. “I mean he had no idea what to do with you. When Hierem suggested you be groomed as a sort of boy hero, I think he was relieved to have some sort of direction. It was a way to keep an eye on you and keep you entertained at the same time.”

“Yes, when I was ten, I might see that,” Attrebus said. “But when I was fifteen? Nineteen?”

“Sometimes when something like that gets started, it takes on a life of its own. No one saw how far it was going to go, how locked into the role you would be. It’s been ten years since I could talk freely with the Emperor, but I’m sure he was hoping to draw you out of it gradually, marry you, settle you down, prepare you to rule.”

Attrebus absorbed that, remembering Gulan saying something about marriage not long before…

“I got them all killed,” he murmured. “And I should have known better. I should have seen it myself, but I didn’t want to. And for that, everyone who rode with me-”

“Hierem did that, not you,” Vineben cut in.

“He’s right,” Sul said tersely. “This is no time for this sort of thing.” His voice softened a little. “Maybe you should do what he suggests-go to your father. If I can’t kill Vuhon by myself…” He trailed off.

“Then me being there won’t help?” Attrebus finished. “What about all of that about needing Coo?”

“I’ll find him,” Sul replied.

“I’m not the warrior you are,” Attrebus admitted. “I’ve got no arcane arts. But if I hadn’t been with you in the cave, Elhul would have killed you.”

“Maybe,” Sul admitted.

“You need me.”

Sul was taking a breath to say something else when Attrebus heard a thud loud enough to leave his ears ringing and his stomach threatening to rush up and out of his mouth. He swayed, trying not to lose his footing. It was dark, and someone was standing right in front of him.

“Vuhon!” Sul snarled.

The Dunmer’s eyes arched in surprise and his mouth opened, but before he had a chance to say anything, Sul had already stabbed him with Umbra; the blade went in deep.

Vuhon vented an odd little gasp as Sul yanked the sword out and cut at his head, but the Dark Elf caught the blade with his hand, which burned with a steely blue light.

Attrebus swung Flashing at the joint of Vuhon’s leg; the blade struck, but it felt as if he’d hit iron. Vuhon ignored him in favor of striking Sul with his other hand, sending the sorcerer staggering back.

Attrebus was making another cut when Vuhon’s eye flicked to him, and suddenly he felt unbelievable cold spike through his body. He lost the timing of his attack, and Vuhon easily sidestepped the blow and caught him by the collar.

Then a bellowing Sul smashed into Vuhon, stabbing him again, and they all went out into space.

Animal terror passed through Attrebus as the world, the starry sky, and dark Umbriel spun nightmarishly around him. The fall seemed to go on much too long, but in reality he knew he’d only drawn one good breath for screaming before they struck a strangely yielding surface. Fire flashed and he was buffeted away as if by an enormous burning hand. He flailed to get up, but the surface he’d landed on shifted crazily.

Then he understood where he was-on top of the glass forest.

It was the best name he had for it; it was where Sul and he had arrived on their last visit here. Far below, a great web of flexible, glasslike cables anchored to various buildings along the rim formed a large web suspended over the valley and sump below. From the web, hundreds of smaller tubes grew skyward, branching, and those branches dividing until they at last became a virtual cloud of translucent twigs no bigger around than a little finger-and it was this upper layer they had fallen on.

He managed to get to his knees and heard Sul screaming. He’d heard Sul cry out in his sleep, but this was different; it was hysterical, insane in temper. It reminded him of Elhul.

Sul struck at Vuhon again, but glass coils sprouted up below the lord of Umbriel and raised him above the reach of the weapon. The crystalline forest suddenly pulsed with blue-white light, and Vuhon’s eyes shone with the same radiance. Attrebus felt tendrils grip at his feet, pulling him down, and Sul as well.

“You dare to bring that here? You think I’m afraid of that?” Vuhon roared so loudly that the sound shocked against Attrebus’s face.

Sul’s only answer was an incoherent screech and a slash at the tubules supporting Vuhon. They shattered, much to Attrebus’s surprise.

It appeared to surprise Vuhon, too, as those supporting him collapsed in shards. Attrebus felt a strange hum-it seemed, almost, to be in his teeth-and then most of the cables suddenly darkened. Only those that plucked Vuhon away from Sul’s next attack-and those that held Sul-still shone with unabated light.

Vuhon shouted something, and a darkness smote Sul, sending him tumbling back and Umbra flying from his hands. More of the tubules went dark or shone with a sickly violet color.

Attrebus, now completely free, struggled toward Vuhon, who seemed drained by his attack on Sul.

He got within five unsteady strides before Vuhon seemed to notice him. Attrebus swung hard at his neck, nothing fancy. The sword struck, and this time bit a little. Not much, but it cut the artery. Vuhon slapped his hand over the sudden spurt of blood.

Then a glowing cable caught Attrebus by the ankle and another wrapped around his neck. He slashed as best he could at it, but in an instant his sword arm was immobilized as well. The cables passed him away from Vuhon, then began drawing him slowly down into them.

Sul was back up. Attrebus saw him glance at Umbra, which lay between him and Vuhon, then back at him. Even from ten yards away, Attrebus could see his companion shaking as if with palsy.

“What have you done to me?” Vuhon exploded. “Tell me, or he dies immediately.”

Sul took another step toward the sword.

“I cut him, Sul,” Attrebus yelled. “He’s weaker. Something’s wrong with him-”

The cable tightened on his neck and he couldn’t breathe.

Sul took another step. More of the cables pulsed darkly, and Vuhon began backing away. Attrebus saw the fear on his face, because Vuhon knew what he himself knew-that nothing would stop Sul now.

Then the cables pulled him down and he couldn’t see anything. All he had to concentrate on was how much he wanted to breathe, and how he couldn’t, would never again. He strained every fiber of his being against the coils that held him, but they still glowed brightly. Above, broken into rainbows by hundreds of strange prisms, he saw what must be Vuhon’s radiant perch.

Kill him, Sul, he thought as his muscles began to finally loosen.

But then everything around him seemed to shatter and Sul was there. They were falling again.

This time they hit water, but if it had killed him, he would never have known it wasn’t stone.

When Mere-Glim reached the weak end of the bough, he stopped and stared down. He saw the moons both above and below, and for a moment he didn’t care to wonder why or how-it just made sense. Then he reluctantly sorted out that they were over water, a vast body of water. The sea?

But no, ahead he saw a great tower in the moonlight, and the vast circle of a city, and he knew-from all of Annaig’s ramblings-it could only be one place.

“What is it?” Fhena asked from behind him.

“The Imperial City,” he replied.

“It’s huge.”

“Yes,” he replied. But he was having a hard time concentrating on the city.

Because the trees were loud now-as strong in his mind as the Hist had ever been, except they weren’t telling him what to do; they were singing, a deep and melancholy song.

“Can you hear that?” he asked. “The trees?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Have they always sounded like this?”

“Yes and no. Their song changed a few days ago.”

“A few days ago? Before or after I died?”

“After, I think.”

“I dreamed this,” he said. “When I was-before waking, just now.”

“You weren’t waking,” she said. “You were being born.”

“Annaig brought me back,” he murmured. “But the trees…” He examined his limbs again, which looked and did not look like those he remembered, and he realized his heart was beating more softly.

“She loves you,” Fhena said. “She thought she was doing what was best for you.”

Glim knelt and then lay against the bark, closing his eyes, feeling it all turning under him.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I didn’t realize before. I shouldn’t have been angry.”

Fhena sat down on her heels. “What is it, Glim?”

“They shaped me,” he murmured. “Like the Hist. They shaped me to do something.”

“What?”

He started to tell her, but then felt it, like a sickness in his bones.

“No,” he gasped. “Oh, Annaig, no!”

“What is it?”

“I’ve got to go,” he said. “I’ve got to stop her.”

“I’m coming with you, then.”

“It’s dangerous,” he said. “It’s no place for you.”

“I know where my place is,” she said quietly. “And you need to realize it.”

Her gaze caught him and turned something inside of him.

“Okay,” he said. “Follow me.”