Chapter 20: Energies Spent

[Trigger warning: this chapter contains ALL the triggers. There are instances of emotional, psychological and physical abuse, assault, blood, violence, brief descriptions of self-harm, characters experiencing alcohol dependence and emotional breakdown.]

Chapter 20: Energies Spent

Ber, Day 11 of Melia

Eclipse of Thyxia

Year 602

Brethren, once you begin to use the words “I” and “my,”

instead of the words “we” and “ours,” you have already lost.

—The Facerum

The moment it began, Beynon knew the dream.

From time to time the ugly thing resurfaced and his mind played out the whole damned drama again. Played it out as though it were still happening. As though he were a tender fifteen summers of age again.

He hadn’t discovered the trick of waking himself mid-dream yet, so once this started, he was doomed to see it through to completion. It was horrible. Calumn knew if Beynon could arrest the whole process, he most certainly would.

In the dream, Bryn Beynon was younger, thinner. And he was afraid.

His mother had been unwell for weeks now.

She’d had spells before, but none of them had continued for this long; she’d always been able to snap herself back into lucidity before too much time passed. The worst part about it was her ostensible calmness, her gentle assertiveness. She was able to make even the strangest, most frightening things in the world sound plausible, logical, even. She terrified him.

The woman was a brilliant politician and tactician. She made solid, utilitarian decisions for Daitak. She led the masses with aplomb. And the guilds and councils adored her. But they didn’t know her. They didn’t know her like he knew her.

“Bryn, darling,” she would say. “I’m only thinking of you, and of the kingdom. To be an empress is to be a sacrifice. Now, leave me alone. This needs to be done.”

Her rituals.

He’d never understood why they were so extreme. She never did anything halfheartedly. Everything was dramatic. Everything was… horrible.

Calqua might spend days steeped in wine and potions, convinced she was seeing dreams and visions of the Divine Pantheon and that she must listen to what they were telling her.

She might make herself ill, refusing to eat and forcing herself to vomit for days. “Cleansing myself of the impurities,” was what she told Bryn she was doing.

He remembered her standing out on the terrace, again for days at a time, refusing to drink any water or cover herself until her body blistered with burns from the sun. She’d said she was receiving ancient knowledge from the gods through the cosmic rays.

Then there were the other things she did to herself. The burn marks. The scars.

He could feel himself squirming in his sleep. Let’s get this over with then, shall we? he told his dream self.

Bryn had been in the solar, he remembered. That was back when the palace staff actually maintained it. His mother had kept it lush and palatial and practically overflowing with rare plant and tree species.

It had happened on an Orwa, which was appropriate, and he had just noticed a dwarf ugalia tree inexplicably rotting in the corner, which was also appropriate.

“Bryn!” cried his cousin, arriving breathlessly from the other room.

He turned to face the boy. There were of an age then.

Almost consciously, he shrugged to himself. They were of an age now, he supposed.

Trey was perhaps sixteen in the dream—making Beynon fourteen.

He smiled up at the older boy. “Come and see this,” he said, planning to show his cousin the dying ugalia tree. “It’s disgusting.”

“No,” replied Trey, still panting. “You must come with me. Your empress mother calls.”

Beynon forgot everything else momentarily—forgot his plans for the whole rest of the day. “She’s still not feeling better?” he asked worriedly.

His cousin frowned. “She’s very concerned,” he said seriously. “We have reason to believe the keep may be under attack soon.”

But Beynon was used to this. His mother was notoriously paranoid. When in the throes of a fit, she would often claim she’d intercepted a message, or that someone had threatened her, or even that she’d had a premonition. “Oh?” he asked casually. “Who does she say is going to invade us next?”

Trey gave him a light slap on the shoulder. “Cousin!” he chided. “She reports with perfect conviction! Why shouldn’t we believe her? And where is your respect?”

Bryn shrugged. “I respect her highly, Trey…”

“Then listen to her! She is a very wise woman, and thinks only of the keep and its residents.”

But Bryn wasn't convinced.

“Come,” insisted Trey. “She’s very upset. She’s asking for you. You must come.”

The two boys left in search of Calqua, whom they heard speaking feverishly as they neared her quarters.

Run! Beynon screamed at himself. Leave! Go anywhere else!

But then he noticed Trey place a firm hand on his own forearm, ostensibly in support.

He knew better now.

His mother was largely collected; that may have been the most frightening thing about the whole situation. When they entered, she let out a heartfelt sigh of amelioration. Her hair was half tied up in a braided crown with the rest falling down about her shoulders. She wore one of her favorite kirtles. She was clean, groomed, and apparently in control.

“Bryn,” she said, nearly weak with relief. “I’ve been so worried for you. Where have you been?”

“In the solar,” he told her warily. “Are you all right?”

She gave him a brave, tremulous smile. “I must needs be,” she said. “As long as you and I are together, I have everything I need.”

He went to her and embraced her, feeling her wrap her arms around him and gently caress his upper back.

“Calumn!” she exclaimed. “You’ve gotten so strong!”

He smiled proudly into her hair.

“How many summers are you now?” she asked, feigning ignorance. He knew she knew.

“Fourteen,” he answered.

She tightened her grip around him again, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck and shoulder and sighing deeply again.

The feel of her breath on his throat made him feel—confused.

“My strong man,” she murmured, then pulled away to regard him with shining eyes. “Is he not?” she said more loudly, her eyes never leaving his. Beynon realized she was addressing Trey.

“He is indeed, my Lady Empress,” the boy replied.

Bryn locked eyes with his cousin for a moment, struck by the colour of them. Vibrant blue.

Then, Calqua pulled her son close once more—conspiratorially, to her side. “Listen, my son,” she said quietly. “I dare not speak it loudly, for who knows what ears and eyes listen and watch within the keep… but we are in great danger.”

“Mother,” he began.

“Hear me,” she insisted. “It is true. I was in the library this morning and a servant delivered a missive. It was encrypted, but I was able to decode it.” She allowed a small pause and when he did not press her, she continued. “Eral, Bryn. Eral means to attack us, and very soon.”

He tried not to sigh. “Mother, remember last year, when you thought that relations had soured between Urda and Boradîn?” he asked. “And then I spoke to the ambassador and found it was nothing?”

She was silent for a moment while she chewed her lip. Then she looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

“Mother, no,” he pled.

She drew herself up taller and raised her chin almost imperceptibly. Her voice quivered when she spoke. “It is very hard, Brynn,” she said. “Very hard. That I, who have cared for you your whole life—should be thus disregarded and disrespected. I, the Empress of Urda and the free peoples of the world, think nothing for myself…”

Her chest had flushed a speckled pink, he noticed.

“Mother, you know I respect you,” he rejoined.

“You are not listening to me,” she said bravely through her tears. “My every breath is given gladly and in service of Daitak Capital.” Then she shot a look of supplication at her nephew Trey.

He could not tell why, but it made him nearly mad with jealousy.

Conscious Beynon watched in disgust. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it at the time. Calqua was a marvel, certainly. Beautiful, yes. Intelligent. Charismatic. He could not remember a single time that she had suffered any situation to resolve itself in opposition to her own wishes. She had clearly been skilled. At what, he was not sure.

“Mother,” dream Beynon said softly, placatingly. “What is it you need of me? How can I be of service to you and to Daitak?”

She watched him through dark, wet lashes as if discerning whether or not he spoke true. Then she let go of his arm to wipe tears from her pretty face.

Quietly, she said, “I have taken precautions… I believe I can keep our people safe.”

He nodded appraisingly. “Good,” he said. “Good.”

“Would you like to see?” she asked him.

No! he screamed at himself.

“Of course,” dream Beynon said, hoping to mollify her.

She smiled at him like the sun emerging from behind a cloud. Calqua linked arms with him and led him to her inner chambers. When they crossed the threshold from her parlor into her room, a wash of heat assaulted him.

She’d been brewing.

Calqua was a talented healer and potions maker. She’d studied with private tutors and been awarded a master alchemists’ certificate during a special ceremony in the great hall. The rest of the capital had watched proudly, rejoicing that their empress was a woman of action and letters.

Beynon had no doubt that she knew what she was doing. What troubled him was her sense of judgement.

He would try to explain later to councillors, but would never get it quite right. With Calqua, potions and magic were—an obsession. She was always experimenting, always learning something new. When in the throes of a new technique or idea, she could not stop mentioning it. Beynon felt in those moments that something dangerous was clawing its way to the surface of Calqua’s psyche, and he’d never liked it.

“What is this?” he asked his mother, his face flushing with the heat from the fire.

She’d opened her terrace windows to allow the brunt of the shimmering calefaction to escape, but much of it stayed contained in the chamber, threatening to smother them.

“I’ve brewed a potion of Protection,” she explained matter-of-factly. “It’s quite powerful.”

“Oh,” he said, a bit relieved. “And this will protect us from the Eralian forces you are concerned about?”

“It promises to,” she said slowly.

Well that was fine, then, dream Beynon thought to himself. Let her brew away. If it made her feel better and kept her engaged, he couldn’t find it within himself to mind.

“We’re just missing one ingredient,” she added quietly.

He’d been watching the flames lick languidly at the base of the cauldron when he noticed her give a very slight nod. Something about it caught his attention and he turned to regard her, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at Trey.

His cousin had been standing in the doorway to the parlor.

Beynon frowned as Trey gave him a quick, almost apologetic glance and then backed out swiftly, closing the double doors as he went.

They slammed. And then Beynon heard Trey lock them.

The next thing he recalled was a sharp cracking sound somewhere behind him. His jaws snapped with the force of it, biting down on his tongue hard. A white light surged achingly before his eyes, and then he was falling—falling down into darkness.

Beynon didn’t recall ever landing.

Some time must have passed, he knew. But it seemed that just a few moments later he awoke, dragged back to consciousness by a searing, slicing, inexplicable pain.

His eyes snapped open and he attempted to scream, but found he couldn’t move.

He was reclining, he decided. That was the only way to make sense of how his body was interacting with gravity at the moment. There was a gentle pressure on the right side of his head, and he found himself moving compulsively with it. His hazy eyes slowly focused on the air above him.

Calqua. His mother. Leaning over him.

At first, he was immensely relieved. “Mother,” he tried to say, but the words would not issue forth from his mouth. Instead, there was a breathless, soundless mah—more like the mew of a kitten than a word.

She smiled at him comfortingly. “You won’t be able to speak for at least another hour,” she told him calmly. “Just relax and try to breathe.”

He was nodding. Why was he nodding? Beynon didn’t understand. He tried to stop moving his aching, throbbing head, but found he couldn’t. Then he noticed she was cupping the side of his head… lovingly, it seemed.

She was nodding too. Her arm was moving, nodding.

No.

Not nodding.

Sawing.

A hot trickle of wet snaked down the side of his face and pooled in his neck. And still he nodded, as if he consented to it all with grace and acceptance.

The flames from her cauldron were oppressive. He couldn’t breathe. He would stifle.

Dream Beynon tried to scream again. Real Beynon was sobbing in his sleep.

“There,” she said with a triumphant air after an eternity of heat, and wet, and agony. And Calqua drew her hands away from her son’s head. She was covered in warm, slippery blood. In her beautiful fingers, she held a small, limp flap of something.

Beynon watched in horror, unable to move. She’d dosed him; he knew it now. A paralyzing potion.

His mother wiped the tiny, delicate object enterprisingly on the front of her kirtle.

It was his ear.

Bryn was fourteen.

He fainted.

Real Beynon awoke, tangled in his soaked bed sheets.

He hated that dream. Hated it.

He covered his face with both hands and shuddered, weeping. He was glad Alisia wasn’t there to see him come undone like this. He never wanted anyone to see.

As he wiped tears back from his damp face, his right hand happened to brush the right side of his head where the shell of his ear had used to be. Sometimes it still surprised him to find it missing. Sometimes it itched, or ached, tricking him into believing it was still there.

He could never tell when the dream would emerge to plague him. Beynon supposed that this time, it was the wordless encounter in Daitak dungeon that had brought it on.

A sudden fiery rage broke forth in him then, as it often did.

He turned convulsively and buried his fist in his pillows again and again. And again. Mechanically, almost.

He felt one of the fabric pillowcases rip slightly. He didn’t care. He kept punching.

He missed once and hit the wooden headboard, feeling his knuckles split and the lumber splinter slightly. He redirected, pounding his fist into the pillows, into the mattress, into the coverlet. It was growing light outside before the emperor of Daitak finally exhausted himself, slumping over into sleep.

The next day, the thought continued to eat away at Bryn. He thought of it when Alisia sent him a message that she wanted to lunch with him, when he muddied himself in the training yards, while he galloped the capital grounds on his gelding, while he scrubbed his face with warm water each morning.

A world where the average Urdan citizen could go to a brew shop and purchase a potion of any kind was no longer a safe one, he knew. The practice negated ambition and clean, hard work. Divines, but he hated it!

On a Staos morning as Beynon dressed for the monthly council meeting, he recalled Talebot’s sickening sneer and low threat as he promised, We will not be silenced.

By we, Beynon supposed Talebot referred to the followers of Daepkarra—whoever that was. Informants had yet to bring back more information on the deity or his worshippers, something that chafed at him.

The council meeting in Daitak North that afternoon began as a total waste of time as far as Beynon was concerned—but the conclusion surprised him.

It was always the same with these people; they gabbed about what ridiculous things the populace was doing, gossipped about the titillating crimes, congratulated themselves on their own complacency, and then adjourned for another month.

He made sure to stand again at the end of the conversation and bring up his intent to defund Craestor and Gradl once more.

Li and Longren all but rolled their eyes, which infuriated him.

“My celebration day approaches,” he said warningly, “and then I will be twenty-four summers. You must know—surely—what my first act will be.”

Royal Secretary Longren nodded carefully. “I do know. Is there nothing we can do to put you at ease on this topic, Imperial Majesty?”

“Absolutely not,” he shot back. “I do not agree with the actions the council has taken, or rather, declined to take. I need it remedied.”

Grandmaster Li appeared to humor him by asking quietly, “Imperial Highness, suppose your celebration day arrives and you put the plan into action. How will you even broach it with your kingdom? With the common people of Urda? Imperial Highness, we are looking at riots. This could rip whole villages apart.”

“Agreed, Edius,” echoed a voice or two. “Yes,” called another.

But Beynon was shaking his head with a grim smile. “It is already ripping whole villages apart as we speak, Grandmaster. The recent attempt on my life has seen to that.”

The rest of them listened silently while he continued.  

“And what is to broach? We are the ruling class. We set the rules and they follow. Frankly, the dependence on brews to lead simple, everyday lives is frightening. I cannot believe I am unsupported in my belief.”

“You are not,” said a quiet voice near the back of the chamber.

Bryn glanced that way to see Hodric, Master of the Horse, stand and raise a glass. Behind him, a woven tapestry depicting Minos the Wealth Goddess fluttered, disturbed by his sudden movement. A few attendees murmured, surprised by the statement.

Hodric looked about at the others before he spoke again. “I voted with you last time on this topic, Emperor Beynon,” the man said firmly. “And I will do so again. We are few, but there are connections I have witnessed forged among the nobility of Daitak Capital. We are ready to stand with you, Imperial Highness. No matter what that might mean.”

It was small, but the affirmation gave Bryn a tiny thrill. For the first time since he was fourteen, someone believed in him.

He nodded gratefully at Hodric.

Some of the councillors were shaking their heads and muttering amongst themselves.

“I, too! I stand with the Capital,” declared Almoner Kyne over the din of voices. “I cannot promise you the support of all temples in Urda or even in the Daitak, but I will do my best to rally forces behind us.”

This seemed to upset the council even more.

“What mean you by that?” shouted someone angrily. “We all stand with the Capital! This is no policy but a preference! Mark yourself, Kyne.”

“Aye!” agreed Corbin. “This is not right, by Calumn!”

In the end, Longren had to shout them all down to regain order.

Beynon was heady with the charge of it rushing through the air about him. There was finally some movement on this issue and it excited him. He burned with it.

When the meeting came to a hasty end, he left to go hunting, eager to spend his excess energy. He’d call for Treese later, too.

Let Alisia wait.

* * *

True to his word, Tadyath accompanied Evin back to Craestor to finish her test.

Himes tagged along this time too, professing interest in the greatnut tree housed in the university library.

“I’d like to see it again,” he said softly. “It’s been so long.”

Even barely noticed his introspective tone. When the three met downstairs in the Red Dove, her hands shook so wildly she feared she would drop the stack of papers on the scarred hardwood floor. She felt nauseated and trembly.

The South Urdan grinned at her. “Breakfast?”

But she shook her head. “I can’t. I can barely breathe.”

“Nonsense!” he replied. “The walk to the university will take energy from your body, and then you’ll need fuel to finish that monstrosity in your hands. Lack of sustenance can make one intolerably stupid.” Here, he gestured to Himes. “Just look at what’s happened to him.”

The redheaded man gave his friend a good-natured punch in the shoulder. “Easy.”

Evin laughed nervously.

“Come,” said Tadyath, and pulled them all toward a large table by one of the windows. He ordered them scrambled eggs on baked farmhouse bread with great slabs of sharp, white cheese. The cook also happened to have some withered apples on hand and supplemented their repast in this way—and Evin found her appetite after all, grateful for the sharp sweetness of the fruit, the creaminess of the cheese, and the chewy porosity of the warm bread.

Evin asked for a pint of ale and was granted one. It helped ground her a little, calm her nerves. She wanted another, but it would have made them late.

After, they left for the school in a haze of early morning pollen and cool dew. She enjoyed these walks.

By now, the cuts she’d sustained in the explosion had healed to itchy little scabs, and Evin wondered from time to time if she’d dreamed her life in Liminey.

It was stupid, really.

She hadn’t even been in Craestor for that long, and she’d found some contentment in her rented little room. What did it say about her that she found this lifestyle comfortable, perhaps even preferable?

Quietly, she recalled to herself frantic mornings in Liminey at the shop, hustling to fashion brews for angry, stressed customers. The nausea of the early mornings, the sweat between her breasts and shoulder blades all wafted slowly back to her. The sharp scent of the ingredients.

She missed Stacia desperately.

She missed Guiote, Tak, and the others. And most of all, she missed Wynn and Cotter.

Life is strange, she thought to herself, and then turned a page in her mind—anxious to move on.

Toward what, though?

“How far did you get?” Himes asked, jarring her back to the present.

“In the test?” She looked down at the papers in her hands and realized she was clutching them so tightly that her knuckles were white. She consciously made herself relax them. “I’m over halfway there,” she replied.

Evin had purchased an Alertness brew the evening before at the inn. Well, Tadyath had purchased it, technically. And she’d downed it greedily, staring at all of the questions late into the night until her eyes were gritty. Over and over again, she reviewed them—until she was sure she could not complete another problem without the aid of study materials. Stacia’s book had proved invaluable in this task.

When the three of them arrived at the university, they let themselves in.

This wasn’t like the last time she’d visited, when classes had finished for the day and the university seemed to doze.

This time, the energy of the masters teaching and students soaking up information buzzed through the air about them. Evin grinned to herself. Would she be in one of the chambers with the others soon, sheaves of parchment and quill in hand? A scholar?

* * *

It had been years since he’d taken his own aptitude test, but he remembered well the blind fright and shaky uncertainty it could conjure. Tadyath knew on some level that Evin was a strong, young person—perhaps one of the strongest he’d met—and he hoped she was resilient enough to continue fighting what life was bringing to her.

She’d be alright.

There was much healing to be done. She could do it at school; he knew the study would do her good. But a little sliver of unease was beginning to eat away at him. This test would decide everything. Was Evin equal to it?

The three of them made their way down the airy corridor to the library, where they encountered a student worker on duty there.

“She’s taking the aptitude test,” he said to the girl by way of explanation.

The attendant raised her eyebrows. “I see…” she said, regarding Evin appraisingly.

“C—could you help me?” Evin asked her, rather pitifully, he thought. “I don’t know where to find any of the information I’ll need.”

The girl regarded her sourly and answered, “I can help you up to a certain point. But you have to ask for the exact subject before I help you locate a book. I’ll give you tools, but not answers.”

Evin nodded. “Of course.”

No one noticed as Himes meandered over to the giant greatnut tree and rested a hand gently on its enormous trunk.

As the attendant eyed Evin’s thick hair and slight frame, Tadyath tried not to chuckle. He sensed a sort of unspoken competition between the two of them. It obviously made Evin uncomfortable, and he wondered how she would handle it.

“Of course,” she said again. “I’m just happy not to be alone in the library. I’m terrified I’ll flunk the test! How did you feel when you took it?”

The girl’s icy countenance softened just a little. She was petite, with dark blonde hair and brown eyes she’d lined with kohl, giving her a cat-like appearance. “I was nervous,” she admitted to Evin grudgingly

Evin laughed a little. “It’s a huge undertaking. I had no idea. I’m so glad you’re here.” Then, on impulse it seemed, she added, “I like how you’ve braided your hair. Do you do it yourself?”

At this, the girl’s hand fluttered unconsciously to her thick plaits and she gave them all a rare smile.

Tadyath knew then that all would be well.

He and Himes exchanged a look and excused themselves, leaving the library to go in search of their shared objective. They didn’t have much time.

Six bells later, they returned to find Evin and the girl—Ria was her name—exhaustedly reshelving books and pieces of parchment. The study tables in the center of the library were absolutely littered with materials.

A grey and white cat had perched atop some of the papers and sat there contentedly, curled up into a furry little ball and gazing inscrutably at everyone.

“Done?” Tadyath asked Evin as he entered the room.

“Done,” she breathed, turning to face him as she dusted off her hands.

The girl looked destroyed. Her complexion had taken on a strange pale tone, highlighting the dark circles that stood out below her eyes. “I’ve done my best,” she added. “We’ll see if that’s enough.”

Tadyath looked to Ria, who raised her eyebrows speculatively and nodded at Evin—a respectful agreement.

The atmosphere in the library was altogether sleepy, with the greatnut swaying gently, the bi-coloured cat dozing, and the motes of dust glittering through the expanse of space in the air. The windows had begin to let in lazy rays of late afternoon sunlight. It would be time for supper soon.

On impulse, Tadyath opened his arms to Evin—and to his surprise, she embraced him willingly and seemingly without thought, exhaling a little sigh of relief. “Done,” she whispered into his shirt.

He held her this way for a moment, then patted her softly between her tiny, skinny shoulder blades. He maneuvered so that his chin jutted out over her head. Her hair smelled clean and felt soft—a light-skinned girl’s hair.

“Whatever happens,” he whispered over her protectively, “we’re proud of you.”

Evin gave him a little squeeze, and then he realized in alarm that she’d stopped breathing. Concerned, Tadyath looked down into her face to find her scrubbing it gently against him. She took in a deep breath that seemed to be a sob. Her little face was flushed and a few unshed tears stood in her eyes.

“Come,” he said gently to this girl who was beginning to feel increasingly like a little sister to him. “Let’s go back to the inn. You’re so tired. Let’s go.”

She relinquished her hold on him and nodded wearily.

Ria waved them out, and Himes fell into step behind them.

* * *

Evin felt as if she floated out of Craestor rather than walked.

She’d given the aptitude test everything she had, holding nothing back. The thought that somehow it wouldn’t be enough filled her with a desperation she could not even name. Once, she would have celebrated this victory with a generous glass of ubbeave wine and a dance or two. Now, she cared only to sleep.

In the main hall near the front entrance, the three of them passed a young-ish sort of man—a master by the look of his clothing.

He held a large, important looking tome out in front of him with generously ink-stained hands and looked to be headed up to the second story. His sandaled feet made no sound on the inlaid slate floor. “Goodnight,” he called softly to them as Himes pulled the great doors open.

He has a kind voice, Evin thought to herself incoherently.

“Goodnight to you,” Tadyath replied warmly, and the man gave them a shy smile in response.

Evin smiled back at him.