* * *
Cade
* * *
How did I end up here?
I don't really remember, to tell truths. There was the charging of horses behind me, there was the feeling of being lifted. I was being sneaky, and no one's been able to detect me. How could I have been seen?
Betrayed, by the one luring me in, then.
Really? Is that possible? Then again, who knows what's possible? I'm kneeling before some person enthroned right now. Some huge person, some huge... thing. I try to lift my head to see it more clearly, but someone's got their fingers dug deep into my hair, scratching the scalp itself. I can't look up.
There's a pool of water around the throne, though. A very simple throne - just a chair, really. My tribe elder has fancier. It's red, like the water. Blood?
Chills go up the back of my neck like the caresses of a dozen ghostly hands. Blood. There's blood all around it. It's welling up from the throne itself - no, maybe not. Maybe it's seeping in. Maybe the throne is eating it.
That little bit of my mind that's becoming unhinged grows a little looser, and I feel even more distant from myself. I've done a few terrible things on my way to the northern lands, and it's gotten easier as my head's gotten looser, as I feel less guilt. As I become a little less Patrick and a little more...
Cade?
What's that? But I suppose it's as good a name for it as anything.
There's a reflection in the blood pooling around the throne. I can see the figure seated in it clearly. It's all black, covered in armor, even has a helmet. All spikes and iron and sharp edges. Such a suit of armor I've never seen in all my days - our tribe relies on the basics, and few who attack us bother with that much overkill.
There's a few more moments of peace, silence. Then someone must notice that I'm aware. As if they were all waiting for me. Those fingers tense up in my hair.
I wonder if they recognize me?
How? I look different by now, don't I? A bit more savage, to be sure.
Some things, some incidents, leave a mark that others can recognize for what it is.
Are you sure? That's going to go down badly for me, then. Hey, why are you so talkative? You're just me, right?
Of course I'm just you. You're just seeing through a different perspective now. Pay attention, we're almost there.
Almost at the end of my life? True enough. I have low expectations of it.
Don't be so unhopeful. The strangest turns can be taken when you least expect it.
I hear those song-words again. A northern regent behind me is speaking. I hear the musical language spoken back to him from many voices, as if in a chant. It gives me a strange feeling - as if I want to puke.
Then, the enthroned one says something that's almost inaudible, but I hear it as a whisper. "Stop it with your hound's screeching and feed me!"
The regents continue to chant, though, as if his words only encourage them. Strange. I heard it perfectly clearly - what's even more strange is that I can't remember what language he spoke it in. I would expect him to reply to the regent words in their own tongue, not mine.
But was it my tongue?
The hand that has me by the hair shakes my head, wrenching my neck, while the voices rise in a ululation. I'm pretty sure that my own blood's about to mingle with that which has been pooled around the throne. One more offering to appease a King they can't understand. I'd fight, but looking at the figure in front of me, all I can feel is lethargy, as if he saps all the strength from my body.
"Cease your racket! Infernal denizens of Hell, why must you be the ones willing to serve your Master when not a blasted one of you can hear me! This noise is enough for me to destroy everyone in the chamber and start over with some other line of people!" He does seem to be readying some power - I can feel it in my marrow. I can tell exactly what it is he wants to do. And if pulverising all of the people in the chamber so much that they were only so much red goo wasn't something that would also end my life, I might just go ahead and let him do it.
Instead I say to him, "Why do you show favor to such imbeciles?"
Two things happen. The regents go quiet after hearing the words that came from my mouth. I don't understand why - they've surely heard my people's tongue spoken before, albeit in screams of attack or howls of dying agony.
The other thing that happens is that the King gestures for the regent holding my head to release it - something that doesn't seem to carry over well for some reason.
Do they see him at all? Can they hear him?
...No. No, they don't, and as I realize that they don't see him, I get a shiver down my back. You see, I can't see him very well either, when I look up from his reflection and at the real thing. Whatever he is, he's kinda hazy to me. No, it's more like where there should be shadows at all, there's nothing at all. But I can see his eyes. I'm fool enough to look into them.
I can't describe it, not with words, not in this language. I could describe his eyes in a language that could unmake the image as you read it, that could unweave this entire story and everyone in it, if spoken by the right speaker, if gone unchecked. To summarize in the only way I can: there's madness in those eyes. Madness that locks onto that unhinged part of me and yanks it right to the front. And I'm hooked, right there.
I'm hooked? Now, with all these Xaillyndessen lowering their weapons around me, with the one towering above me - that very same one who hung me above the pit - unable to keep his grip on me any longer? I could run free, I could go anywhere, hide myself from any person. But I'm hooked?
Of course I am, you nitwit, what other choice do I have?
Are you collared by that Beast then, Jhe Patrick? Jhe Cade?
No. I'm collared by Nul.
Ah. Thank you for admitting it, then. Your life may not be forfeit.
* * *
What was that? I was remembering my first act of devotion at the foot of Nul, wasn't I? Why was I talking to myself? Was that even myself?
Come. We've a ways to go yet.
Who are you? Why are you inside of me?
Funny, you never asked Nul or the Beast that. In that light, it's not that uncommon for others to be inside you, looking at your most private thoughts and intimate feelings, is it?
I never allowed you to be inside of me!
You did, to make a point of it. You took my hand. You did not take the Beast's hand nor Nul's, but you object less to their indwelling. You welcome it. Why?
I don't welcome them! I just live with them!
What are you hiding?
Nothing! Nothing!
Then why are you turning away now? You can remember anything you want to, now. I'm in your head, unlocking the doors, guiding through the corridors. Yet you shrink back and cleave to those who have put you in this position. You can't advance without letting go of them.
I don't want to. Leave me here.
You don't have a choice. You've taken my hand. You've given your life to me. If you will not lead, then I shall drag you through this.
What? No!
I do what I must.
I thought you were going to save me! You're cruel!
I do what I must. That is all I am.
* * *
I speak the words that Nul speaks, but in the regents' own tongue: Lyiannesse. I am taught it because Nul makes clear to them that this is his will. He does it by killing a few of them quite messily, but in a way that leaves no remains behind. It's as if they flip inside out and then retract into their own eardrums. It must have been quite painful, because oh, the screams.
Nul is talking to me quite a lot. 'Nul' is the name he has chosen for us to call him by. He says even I cannot know his name, that it would unmake me. But he is quite proud to possess me, for I alone can hear him without dying or going mad in the process. The latter, of course, is debatable - but what's sanity to me anymore? I lost my grip on it when I was reborn from that hole without dying first.
Still, someone is proud to possess me - Beast-ridden, filthy, wretched, lonely me. He covets me more than those regal Xaillyndessen that kneel to him for his favor. He was more eager to possess me than a hollowed-out skull full of my people's blood. I do realize that still doesn't make me rate as much, but every time he yanks that invisible chain on me, every time I speak for him...
I feel important. Worthwhile. Loved.
Isn't that what everyone wants?
I'm giving orders to the Xaillyndessen for him. I'm translating advice for him. I'm becoming an indispensable part of what he does here. We're growing in power. Nothing can limit us. He doesn't say what he wants yet, but should I care? Why should I even try to break that chain? He keeps whispering to me that he'll keep me alive. Forever.
I'll never have to face the Beast.
* * *
Why are you so afraid of letting go?
He kept me alive all these years. I don't want to die.
You won't die the instant you let go. Your vitality is the Beast's. You'll live on as long as it does. And few will wish to kill you. There is a precedent to keep you alive with. A mark. Only one may deal it against you, though. The payment you have already given.
My life, to you?
Not to me, but in my care. I shall pass it along to the one who shall deal you the mark.
What is the mark?
It will stay the hand of death itself, until Justice can be properly dealt to you.
Will I have Nul anymore?
You will have to reject Nul.
...Can I just think about it some?
No. If you want leniency, you must seek it in Chethar, and plead to the highest Law in this world. Until then you are mine for safekeeping, but at least you are not Nul's. So you shall now be marked.
There's a pause. Everything's growing warm around me, the heat rising until it sears me. The fever rises until, in a flash, it burns every bit of me that I recognize, and leaves behind something I don't.
Welcome, Patrick. I hope you accept your gift with gratitude, for it cannot be returned.