Rise of the Dead Prince (41 page)

“Well, if that’s west,” she said, pointing to the purple sky on her right. Crocus looked up and let out a geriatric w
hoop.

“There you have it! Always believe the sky when it tells you things. That’s a splendid policy,” he said, still mostly talking to himself. Allie saw what he was doing and craned her head. It was odd, so rather than ask, she left him to it in the hopes that his continued activity would provide some
clue.

“You must be Crocus,” she said at last, not unkindly. Crocus bobbed his head back and forth a few times with a low hum, as if he himself was deciding if the statement was true or
not.

“You must be Allie,” was his answer, given with a wide grin. The old man’s smile was answered with her own. A few seconds passed, and Allie found that she couldn’t take it any
more.

“Would you mind telling me what you’re doing?” she asked, clearly bemused. The old man made another turn, holding up the hand mirror and looking at it from different angles. He stopped and turned to face her, appearing to be wholly ignorant of what she was referrin
g to.

“Oh this?” he asked innocently, gesturing to the mirror. Allie just nodded slowly, her eyes wide and kind, as one did with the extremely elder generation somet
imes.

“Well
…
at the
moment,
I am seeking better
…
uh
…
reception,”
he said, fully oblivious to the cryptic nature of his response. He resumed his turning and angling of the mirror. Allie covered her mouth, trying to hide it, but the laugh came out an
yway.

“I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. Crocus suddenly laughed in a cackle that caused his whole rickety body to s
hake.

“Well, young lady,” he said kindly, “I wish I could tell you with confidence that I
did
…
but I’m not a good liar. Haven’t been for a few decades or more. Anyway, that’s the way it is with us ‘old geezers,’ or didn’t you know?” Allie’s expression turned to a sly
one.

“You
…
weren’t in the room when I said that. I’m sure of it,” she said with firm assurance. Crocus shru
gged.

“I eavesdrop,” he said over the back of his hand. Allie laughed earnestly in dainty, musical tones. She realized that she couldn’t remember the last time that had happ
ened.

“So I take it you aren’t evacuating with the other
…
geezers?”
she asked in a lightly mischievous tone. It was Crocus’s turn to l
augh.

“Whatever do you mean? We’re evacuating?” he asked and then put on a serious face. Allie was immediately fooled. She ga
sped.

“Oh my! But surely,” she said in surprise but then remembered that he was an eavesdropper. Crocus chuckled and put his finger to the side of his nose in confirmation. Allie put her hands on her hips in a gesture of amused indignation reserved for people that had just been impishly je
sted.

“You know, Allie, I think you are the first person I’ve talked to in weeks,” he admitted, still happily smiling. “At least I
think
that’s true. Memory is the first thing to go, you know,” he concluded, gently petting his beard with his free hand. Allie furrowed her brow in disbe
lief.

“I don’t believe that for a second!” she said, folding her arms. He bobbed his head back and forth with another hum, raising his eyebrows earnestly as he did so. “Really?” she asked in a higher
tone.

“Oh yes, and no jesting this time, young lady,” he said, raising a finger. “I can say with some confidence that everyone in the castle has completely forgotten that I exist.” Despite the depressing sound of the statement, Crocus seemed almost happy about it. Allie shook her head, still smi
ling.

“Well,
I
know you’re here,” she said with a gentle touch to the old man’s robed
arm.

“That’s enough for me, I think,” he said, patting her outstretched hand lightly. Looking up, Allie saw that the evening had given way to twilight. The light was failing. For some reason, she didn’t care. Blinking twice, she awoke from her momentary tr
ance.

“So how do you get food? Does no one bring it to you or else dine with you?” she asked, still wrapping her sharp mind around the logistics of his claim. Crocus made a batting ges
ture.

“Pssh. When you get as old as me, you don’t need much food
…
and as for
getting
it, well
…
I sneak around,” he said, making a walking gesture with two fingers while hunched forward slightly. Allie laughed a
gain.

“Sneak around?” she asked lightly. Crocus nodded emphatically several t
imes.

“Oh yes, certainly. I’m ever so good at sneaking around. It helps, I think, that I do it at night. Well mostly,” he said with another sly smile. Allie couldn’t stop laughing at the things the kindly old eccentric had to
say.

“Fair enough, Master Crocus,” she said, patting him again on the shou
lder.

Crocus whooped again. “So it’s ‘Master’ Crocus, eh? Well, I suppose that makes you Lady Allie, doesn’t it?” he said, bowing. She returned the
bow.

“Oh, I doubt that. I am just a stable maid, after all,” she said without malice. Crocus scoffed and, for the first time, reached out to touch her shou
lder.

“You are
just
a nothing at all! You are what you do, young lady. I don’t mean how you pass the day. I mean how you live, and what you love, and what you give, and many other flighty, poetic things,” he said, emphatically at first, and then descending into a fit of waving his hand about. Allie thought it was odd that he had not mentioned what others were calling her “great deeds.” She found that she preferred it that way. Again, Allie stared into the west but then turned her gaze south. She had seen what others had not yet been able to fully imagine. Soon, she thought, that southern horizon would be filled with death. Despite her resolve, she felt tears coming a
gain.

“It’s at the end, Lady Allie, that we can see clearly who we are. That is because, quite obviously, we can only look on all of our past when there is no more future. As for you, my dear
…
I can only assume that
he
is there,” said Crocus, stepping forward to put his arm across her shoulders in a fatherly gesture of kindness and sympathy. Knowing the answer before she asked, she spoke an
yway.

“He?” Crocus sighed and patted her ge
ntly.

“Our boy, of course. Yours and mine. Believe me when I tell you
…
there’s no one remotely like him in the whole wide world.” Allie felt her tears coming, but this time, she did not stop them. She stepped into Crocus and hugged him de
arly.

“I just wish I knew,” she sobbed, “where he is, if he lives, if he
…
” She could not bring herself to finish the statement. She did not nee
d to.

“He does, my dear. He
does
love you,” said the old man, with the same firm assurance. Allie sniffled and looked up at Crocus. She furrowed her brow and shook her
head.

“How could you know that?” she asked with another sob. To her, it had been a cruel thing to say. Crocus embraced her, enfolding her in the sleeves of his robe. She really was a small thing despite her extraordinary na
ture.

“I eavesdrop, my dear. Not just on rooms. I eavesdrop on hearts as well. And to me, there is none more dear than his.” Allie continued to cry, so much that her body began to shake as she
did.

“I’m never going to see him again, am I?” she said with an uncharacteristic whimper. Crocus sighed. He thought hard about what he should do. He glanced at his mi
rror.

“Allie,” he said softly, “do you believe in magic? Real magic? Not just the curse we see?” Allie sniffled again and regained her composure. She no
dded.

“Yes, I think I do, Master Crocus,” she said, thinking about Meier. The fact that he existed as he did was enough for her to believe that some good could come of the word “magic.” Crocus freed his arms from her embrace, patting each shoulder as he did. The mirror was still in his
hand.

“I think I found the right angle, Allie,” he said calmly. “We should be able to see him now.” Allie furrowed her brow and glanced at the mirror, only to return her gaze to the ice blue eyes of Cr
ocus.

“Mirrors can show you things, Allie, if you know how to ask them. I’ve been watching many things since the curse began. I’ve seen you, and I’ve seen others. Families, kinsmen, heroes of every shape and size. Mostly
…
I’ve been watching Meier. I’ve watched his trials. I’ve seen him overcome each one. I’ve seen him do the impossible, and I’ve seen him find allies where once there were enemies. He’s an absolute wonder, Allie, ever so much more than anyone could have ever guessed or hoped for,” he said, his eyes wide with pride and awe. Allie stared at the old man, listening inte
ntly.

“He lives?” she asked, still not fully believing everything, but slowly, this doubt was washed away as her rational mind gave way to the yearnings of her young heart. Crocus no
dded.

“He does. He has made it all the way to the necromancer. Ever since he neared her tower, her focus has been on nothing else. It enabled me to see her at last, where before I was occluded. They fought, Allie. Meier nearly triumphed, but I think that somehow
…
he was not meant to yet.” Allie gripped Crocus’s sle
eves.

“What do you mean? Please, Master Crocus, no more riddles!” She began to cry uncontroll
ably.

“Forgive me, my dear,” he said with earnest contrition. “Yes, he lives, albeit as a captive. The necromancer keeps him alive because she is curious and lusts for the knowledge within him.” Allie shook her
head.

“How can this bring us comfort? How can you think you have done anything but break my heart, Master Crocus?” The old man si
ghed.

“Please, Lady Allie,” he said softly. “Please listen to the rest.” Allie was wracked with grief again, her emotions in a state of complete turmoil. She slowly came around, wiping the tears from her reddened, puffy
eyes.

“All right,” she said in a near whisper, “I’m listening.” Crocus freed his arm again and held the mirror up at an angle that faced south by southeast. He tilted it once up then back down slig
htly.

“There,” he muttered to himself. “It’s time to look at the mirror, Allie, though we may not have long. Are you ready?” he asked, looking up. Night had fallen, and only a faint glow remained on the western horizon. Allie nodded and turned to face the mi
rror.

“I’m ready,” she said. Crocus’s eyes began to shimmer and then glow violet. Allie startled at the sudden dis
play.

“Please show me Prince Meier of Valahia,” he intoned in a deep, steady v
oice.

The image was distorted at first. It wavered and contorted across field, then swamp, then blackness, then sickly green. The image dove down and down into the desecrated and wasted earth. And there the image became watery and came to rest in the light of the green glow of the cavern bottom. There lay Meier, fettered and hanging in his frame. Allie gasped. She felt a stab of absolute horror. Tears filled her eyes a
gain.

“Wait,” Crocus said, then to the mirror, “Show me his face,” using the same deep t
ones.

The picture floated forward, and the mirror was suddenly filled the pale, lightly bobbing face of Meier. Even as they watched, Meier felt a strange pang. Something reminded him of home. Despite his torturous surroundings, a slow, honest smile formed on his lips. The mirror shattered. Allie started to cry again, huddling close to the old wizard. “Did you see what I saw, Allie?” he asked softly. She nodded, her face crushed against his c
hest.

“He’s
…
being
tortured,
Crocus! I wish you had not shown me! Why,
oh why
, did you do it?” she cried out angrily, pounding her small fist against Crocus’s feeble chest. Crocus tried to calm her to no a
vail.

“Allie, oh dear Allie, please listen. You did not see underneath
…
You did not
see
what was really there
…
I wanted
you
to see for yourself what I already knew.” By degrees, Allie caught her br
eath.

“What
…
did
you
see, Master Crocus?” she asked quietly. Crocus squeezed her to his c
hest.

“Oh child, I saw it as clearly as I see the sky,” he said, lightly rocking her. “It is the one hope we have left, dear Allie.” He pushed her to an arm’s length and said five words with great feeling,
“Meier has not give
n up!”

52
The Light Eternal

O
n the dawn of the fifth day of his capture, Meier rose from the deep. Whether he had been there a month or an hour, he did not know. He had broken the chains in his dreams a hundred times, only to wake and find that he still wore them. He had escaped the necromancer time and time again, only to rouse with a terrible shudder. He had even stopped the march of the dead, only to awaken, screaming in the deep. Each nightmare was the same, lucid and lurid, beginning with hope, then ending in despair. Soon after, there was nothing but wickedness dancing through his mind and haunting his every moment, waking or not. He felt every part of his being falling apart in the deep, like pieces of a puzzle, slowly drifting away from his tortured mind. Real or illusory, here or far away, Meier could not reconcile any of these things. By the time the deep had worked its strange magic, he no longer remembered who he was or how he had come to be where he was. He did not even remember where he was, or why, only that things had once been good. Something had kept him going, though he could not say what it was. Somehow there was still a glimmer in his chest, a foolish child’s thing, devoid of reason. It made him able to huddle through nightmare and torture without fully falling victim to it. It kept his mind distracted, searching for whatever it was he had lost. He had begun to acclimate to the dark. Like a child with a blanket of shadow, he retreated into himself when the nightmares seeped in. Soon he would become like Ku
vali.

Rising from the deep finally stirred Meier’s weary, besieged mind. Even as he came to rest in a vaguely familiar place, he questioned the reality of it. He seemed to recall this dream. Each time it had ended with the realization that he was still in the deep. Meier patiently waited for the nightmare to come to a head. It all felt very real, which was the truest sign that it would be an especially bad one. He prepared himself for the retreat within, there to cower and suffer the cruel lashes of whatever images lay in s
tore.

“He’s ready,” said the ethereal voice of Lovo, looking at the hanging, dripping body of Meier. The glow in Suvira’s ink black eyes slowly waned. She took a step toward the racked corpse before her, and with one icy hand, she lifted his head by the hair and regarded his face. She tilted her head, wearing an expression of cruel satisfaction. Still holding his hair with her bare hand, she brought the gauntleted one forth and slowly dragged a single finger down the side of his face, leaving a light scratch as she did. Meier did not stir. He was marginally awake, but he did not see any reason to move. The only sensation that felt somewhat new was that his body was heavier than before. The touch had felt real, as did the scratch. The pain had not started in earnest yet. That was sometimes the way. All in all, it was not especially worthy of notice. That soon changed. He suddenly felt a very real and horrendous pain. It was unlike anything he had felt in his nightmares. He startled into motion, gurgling and choking as he did. What followed was a bout of gagging and vomiting of water onto the stone floor before him. Suvira stood back and watched happily as he struggled and retched. The past two days had been filled with fantasies regarding the man before her. The painful shudders she experienced when thinking about how close she had come to destruction haunted her constantly. They were only quieted by her thoughts of this moment. She had focused on one thing, namely, what she would do to Meier when she had what she wanted. She drank the moment like an aristocrat does a fine
wine.

“
So very soon,”
she thought. Her insides were quivering with dark del
ight.

Once Meier’s convulsions ceased, he found that he was gasping for air. No, he finally realized, it was not a dream. Looking around slowly, he squinted in the dark, seeing only the dim light cast from the floor to the ceiling, with shimmering motes in between. Suvira pointedly walked through the light with a light hiss, feeling the sharp pain it caused. It was her primer for things to follow. As high as they were and as filtered as the light had become, the sensation was little more than an echo of the ecstatic paroxysm she felt at the base of the tower. Still, it was enough to brace her mind for what she was planning. As she stood before Meier, her eyes began to glow again. The ring around Meier’s neck separated, and his head lolled down. The ring had left a deep mark where it had dug into his flesh. Being free of the fetter, Meier’s body was suddenly supported wholly by his wrists, bending his arms back as he fell. The pain in his shoulders was great enough to snap him into action, quickly righting himself with a full flex forward, bending his arms in the right direction again. Suvira seemed to find the display pleasing enough to sneer darkly, filling the room with low tones of laug
hter.

“Meier,”
she rasped at him, her voice filled with barely restrained rage. Meier felt a strange twinge at the sound of his name. It sounded familiar, but not quite real
yet.

“What?” he managed to say questioningly. He felt another stab of pain, brief but intense. His body shook but went slack after, leaving him to take a deep breath. Lovo stepped forward, emitting a low hum as he
did.

“Hmm,” he said. “It seems it may take him some time to recover. If you check him now, you may find a mess.” The old ghost nodded at his own words. Suvira growled and then quite unexpectedly screamed loudly in
rage.

“No more waiting!”
she snarled with all the hate she could summon. She stabbed Meier again with her mind, and he grunted, but not nearly hard enough to satisfy her. Suvira repeated the gesture, unleashing a terrible scream as she did. Her pretty face, hidden by her wrappings, was wild with the lust for vengeance. Meier’s body went tense, and his face screwed and tightened, but still he did not wail. Suvira scoffed in disgust, her cold blood boi
ling.

“He is still too far gone, daughter. Another hour perhaps,” Lovo managed to say before she screamed again. It was a sound that was able to twist and chill even him, a mere afterimage. His worst fears were coming to
pass.

“Another hour for what?” asked Meier groggily. His tone was almost casual. More torture followed. It went on for a while. Finally, even Suvira seemed to
tire.

“He
is
ready,” she said slowly, “if only because I
say
he is.” Her tone was final. Meier looked around a
gain.

“Ready for what?” he asked innocently, his voice rising to a higher tone at the end, much like a child’s. Suvira growled in pure exasperation. She went to start hurting him again, hesitated for a second, but then went ahead. Meier wriggled around but still stubbornly refused to cry out. The truth of it was more simple than it appeared. It was not stubbornness that kept Meier silent. It was intense curiosity. He was awake for the first time in what felt like forever, and he didn’t want to miss a thing. He was afraid some word might be spoken that he would not hear, and so he did not cry out. Besides, he found that he did not mind pain so much as he once had. The true pain came from fighting it. It was better by far to just let it flow thr
ough.

Lovo stepped forward and, with a gritty snap of skeletal fingers, said, “I’ve got it, Suvira.” She narrowed her eyes and turned violently to glare at
him.

“What?”
she yelled. Lovo was quick to answer, knowing the dire consequences that would come from failing to d
o so.

“He’s lost himself temporarily. I’ve read about it with torture subjects. This is unlike what you or I have ever seen, however. What you’re seeing is his
true nature
, unpolluted by his memory,” he said but, seeing his daughter’s homicidal look, quickly continued. “He’s an innocent, Suvira. Unthinkable as it may be, his true self is inquisitive, gentle
…
and
pure.
In other words, he’s not the dark, arrogant prince you took him for. His reactions reveal it.” Suvira scoffed in revul
sion.

“Disgusting,” she said bitterly. She looked at Meier but then turned to Lovo again. “How do
you
know this?” she quipped. Lovo held up a hand, as if to calm her slig
htly.

“You cut him yet he does not wail. You cut him again, and he merely asks simple questions, untainted by the slightest hint of spite. He feels pain after everything he says but does not become silent. More than this, his failure to react to your punishment is telling,” he said, giving his hate-filled daughter a moment to process what he said. Suvira, quite predictably, gro
wled.

“What
do you
mean?”
she asked, the rage still flowing through
her.

“According to our knowledge of the dark,” he answered, trying to hide his mild condescension, “those with a
…
taintless nature
…
are somehow resistant to attacks from the dark. Not immune, mind you, merely
…
renitent
.” The last word was spoken with a disgust of his own. The idea of such a person as Meier was every bit as offensive to him as it was to his daughter. Suvira grunted again in abhorrence. Lovo did not stop there, however. “What this means to you is just this,” he said more positively. “You were right to say that he is ready. He would not resist you even if he wanted to. People like
him
are sickeningly open and cooperative. Meier, as he is now, would probably even feel that it was
impolite
to be anything but helpful. So yes, he is ready, daughter. Take what you
want.”

Suvira looked at Meier with utter distaste but then smiled under her mask. It was all too unbelievable. She began to laugh, softly at first then loudly with honest amuse
ment.

When at last she quieted, she looked at Meier again, who simply asked, “Do I know you, madam?” Suvira just chuckled darkly and shook her head. Without further ado, she put her naked hand to his forehead, and off they went. She pushed the source into him. Meier’s mind became his own again, and everything rushed for
ward.

He was suddenly in a room entirely unlike the one he was in currently. It was the same shape and size, but there the similarities ended. Where once there was blackness, there was only polished white marble and alabaster. Where once there were featureless walls, there was now a series of tall open air windows. The sun was high, and it shone through a sky so blue. The light bathed the surfaces around him, and a cool breeze drifted in, as if to counter the heat of the sun and leave only a perfect balance. Then he saw her. She stood before him, but not as she he had before. Suvira was still cloaked in black, and her skin was still veined and blue. The first difference was her face wrapping was gone and her hood was thrown back. There she stood, her head back and a look of pure bliss on her face. He watched as her long red hair slowly fell down, leaving her harsh features behind. Meier sighed with a pleasant smile on his face as he innocently admired her hidden beauty. The sun came out from behind a cloud, and suddenly her bloodless face was half covered in its direct light. Looking down, he saw that his fetters, while still present, were suddenly brittle, golden things. Not wanting to breach whatever protocol that ruled the place, he did not wish to break them, even as they stretched under his weight. His resolve in this regard slowly melted away when he had a terrible itch on his nose that he couldn’t quite reach without damaging the things. Once an arm was free, he decided that since he had come that far, he may as well step out of the frame. The fetters broke
away.

Looking again at the Lady Suvira, he realized she seemed to be torpid in her movements, like a person that was sort of frozen in place. Her eyes were moving behind her closed eyelids, as though she were having a dream. It seemed impolite to wake her, so he didn’t. Meier was suddenly surprised to find that his memories had returned completely. He had no way of knowing precisely what was happening, but it all seemed surprisingly natural. He was also amazed to find that he did not feel any animosity toward the necromancer, nor was he especially afraid for the fate of Valahia and Karavunia. Closing his eyes, he felt the warm glow of the source surround
him.

There were no words or symbols exchanged, only a strong sentiment of well-being and peace. Softly, a voice came from all sides. “Reveal your secrets,” it said emphatically. Meier was stumped by the question. As far as he knew, he did have any “sec
rets.”

“I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t understand,” he said honestly. There was a hiss. It bounced off each wall, making small echoes as it
did.

“Give me your spells!” said the voice, clearly angry, though still quiet. Meier thought caref
ully.

“Hmm,” he said pensively. “I could teach you what I
know.
Of course, that’s mainly only what I’ve been taught.” Suvira stirred from her place, slowly gliding backward into the center of the sunlit room. She did not seem to be aware that she had done so, nor did the dazzling light and warmth of the shining sun give her pause. Her face had not changed, and her eyes remained cl
osed.

“Someone has
taught
you?
Explain,”
she commanded. Meier smiled widely then took a few sheepish steps toward her, stopping on the edge of the sunlit circle in the room’s center. He traced every line and curve of her face into his
mind.

“Why, my friend Raven taught me,” he said proudly. There was a pause. The voice came again, though Suvira was honestly not intending to be h
eard.

“He knows of ravens? So he is a fraud after all,” she said with a tinge of disappointment, “Still, this prince, who I once thought to be an orphan, has forgotten knowledge. Only the ravens know of
it.”
Meier listened to her thoughts, not trying to be rude. He cleared his voice. Suvira spoke again. “Tell of what the raven taught you. Tell me
everything
you know!” she commanded. Meier was all too happy to co
mply.