CHAPTER 68

“What do you mean,” Hilde says slowly. “Your Archetype told you about Meriana? You haven’t said what your Archetype is! And how can it know about a Godtouched?”

We speak in whispers, keeping close to each other under the light of the single lamp and surrounded by the smells of reagents and rare herbs.

“I’m an Inquisitor,” I say. “Behind the White Door I met Arbiter. She’s… I don’t really know. Strange. Blind but not blind. I picked Inquisitor because it was Rogue-ish, so I could escape from the room Lysander had me in. But now… Look at this.”

A small fire ignites on the tip of my finger, dancing like candleflame for a second before I snuff it out. Hilde nods, not that impressed, her brow furrowed.

“How does the Fire Tradition connect with inquisi… ting?”

“That’s the thing,” I say. “Inquisitor is all about Secrets. These are… conspiracies, specific hidden things. Complicated secrets, not the sort where your sister has a girlfriend and isn’t telling who she is. The sort of secrets that force you to do legwork.” I pause, considering what I just said. Is it true? Lysander just handed me his secrets and I still gained the rewards. I know less about my own Archetype than I would like. “Anyway. I found some stuff out, and this was my reward. Two Basic Spells, one Intermediate.”

This time her nod is a little more emphatic.

“I only have three Intermediate Spells,” she says.

“Right. And one of the Secrets I know of is right here. In the keep. It involved Maid Meriana.”

Hilde’s eyes open wide, her mouth opens a little. Now that’s impressed.

“What is it?” she asks. “What’s the secret?”

“I don’t knowm,” I say, shaking my head. “But here.”

I summon the misty pages, run through the options until I reach the Secrets list.

“Listen: In Black Sword Keep, servants talk about the strange and labyrinthine rooms in the catacombs where no one is allowed to enter apart from a few select Godtouched.”

What can be seen of Hilde’s expression only creases further as she thinks.

“And that’s it?”

“It mentions two persons of interest: Thomas, a servant, and Meriana.”

Hilde rises and walks across the length of the room. She passes a hand through her combed beard, considering.

“Hum. It doesn’t say it’s Meriana’s secret, does it?”

“I—what? Who else’s can it be? Thomas is a servant, I doubt he’s…” I flounder. “Working forbidden eldritch magics in the keep’s basement.”

The dwarf chuckles, rubbing her eyes. When she opens them again she’s composed and very serious.

“How is it possible that you’re already trying to get in more trouble? You just arrived.”

“Hey, this is my Archetype trying to get me in trouble. That might be the whole point according to Lysander,” I sit on the empty worktable, dangling my feet in the air. “And for your information, I managed to get myself in trouble already.”

“Oh?” she asks, bushy eyebrow rising.

“Yeah.

“I was accused of theft by a Godtouched. A man named Rao challenged me to trial by combat. I accepted.”

Though I start the sentence jovially enough, by the time I’m done Hilde’s expression is so sad, so horrified, I can’t stop myself from looking away, all traces of humor gone from my voice.

When I look up again, I find Hilde staring me down, angrier than I’ve ever seen her before.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks.

I don’t have it in me to answer. I can only face her fury, withstand it like I would a tempest.

“You survived the Challenge – miraculously, like all of us. But you have a good patron, by all appearances. Someone who doesn’t even want you fighting, who isn’t sending you down again into that awful place. Why do you keep doing this?”

The room grows darker. The lamp is oppressed by an encroaching gloom.

“I… It was more complicated than that.”

“It always is! Why couldn’t you have let me have the White Door?”

“Hilde, I wasn’t thinking. I was ill, I was—"

“More the reason! Why didn’t you trust me?”

Our eyes meet in the center of the room. Hers aren’t more than two pinpricks of light shining in a mantle of darkness. We both glance to the lamp, which shines but feebly. Hilde retreats, breathes in – and suddenly the darkness dissipates, flies to the corners of the room and clusters in the corners, under tables.

“Did that happen before?” I ask.

Hilde shakes her head, but her expression doesn’t change. My tentative smile falters.

“I’m sorry, Mal,” the dwarf sighs after a moment. “I just don’t want to see you die, not when you don’t have to. It seems… Offensive to Reva’s sacrifice,” she swallows, a quick look darting in my direction. “But that seems to be the only position you can reliably get yourself in. We’ll… we’ll talk later. I need to think.”

Somber, Hilde turns her back and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her, leaving me alone in the semi-darkness. My eyes don’t leave the ground, the lines separating the flagstones, as I listen to the thin murmur of the wind coursing down from the grated opening in the ceiling and Hilde’s steps retreating down the corridor.

“Right,” I tell the empty room. “To work, then.”

*

“No! No! NO!” I yell as the mix I was attempting bubbles through another glass flask and drip-drops to the stone floor. I slam my left arm on the tabletop and earn myself another lightning strike of pain that leaves me gritting my teeth in frustration.

I stand there, head sunk into my arms, fighting back another shout that’s doing its best to escape. Finally, I stand, brush the bits of glass to a recipient and wipe the foul mixture away with a cloth. I sigh, back against the wall, finally rest my head against the stone. It’s useless. Can’t do the work with one hand only. I hesitate, tapping my foot on the flagstones. Then I rise, grab the lamp, and leave the close quarters of the room to the closer quarters of the corridor.

Doors extend in both directions. Why nothing else to go on, I decide to try them all. The first room is empty. After I knock on the second door, a gruff male voice yells at me to bugger off. In the third, my knock is enough to propel the door open an inch. I peek into the brightly lit room to find a quartet of humming Godtouched with shaved heads sitting around a sigil drawn on the floor. Guttering candles litter every available surface. One of the Godtouched opens a quizzical eye.

“Yes?” he asks, interrupting his humming.

“Hum. Hilde? A Challenger?”

“Two doors to the left.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

I close the door, leaving them to their… whatever that was. I pause by Hilde’s door, steadying myself. Before I knock, I hear her muffled voice.

“Come in.”

“How did you know?” I ask, pushing it open. The room beyond is dark and cold. The light in my lamp can’t penetrate its depths, instead illuminating the darkness itself like it’s a solid structure.

“The walls aren’t that thick and there’s nothing else to do here in the dark but listen.”

“I think you’re doing contemplation wrong,” I say. She doesn’t respond to that, but I think I catch a quick exhalation. “Look. It’s later. Can we talk?”

“What about?”

I sigh and lean against the door jamb.

“I know accepting a trial by combat wasn’t the best idea. And not trusting you to find the White Door yourself was a worse idea, that too. But this… Did I ever tell you how my hand got in that state?”

“You said it happened before the Challenge.”

“Right. A Godtouched stabbed me through the wrist a couple times. They were chasing us, me and my sister. We thought we were going to die, Hilde. And guess…”

“This is that same Godtouched?”

“Yes,” I nod, then feel silly for nodding.

For a long while, the only answer is the barely audible whistle of the wind escaping through the ceiling grate. The darkness covers everything else, seeming to blot out sounds as well, to trap them as much as it traps light. With a little trepidation, I put my stump through that dark globe, sinking it all the way to the elbow. It’s like the cut-off happens there. Everything beyond that point is swallowed by an impossible gloom.

And suddenly the darkness is gone. It doesn’t dwindle or scatter; instead vanishing without a moment’s notice. In the center of the bare chamber, illuminated only by the little lamp I brought, Hilde is getting up to her feet.

“I accept your apology,” she says, brushing herself off. “Let’s go make some potions.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, grinning. “You’re the best. Wait. How did you know I need your help in the lab?”

“Like I said,” Hilde’s eyes shine like gimlets in the half-dark, amused. “The corridor really echoes, and you’ve been smashing glass and screaming like a madman for the past half hour.”

“Oh.”

Things go better with Hilde’s help. Her technique isn’t great, but she’s precise and patient, and isn’t afraid to ask for clarifications when she needs them. I hover over her shoulder, aiding where I can with a single hand and modulating my instructions to her needs. While we work, we fill each other on the details of our recent lives; above all, it’s good to be back with Hilde, to feel so at ease in someone else’s presence.

After a good deal of crushing, mixing, warming, diluting, boiling, and letting sit, we kneel to peer into the red liquid we made. The red deceives, but this concoction doesn’t sparkle with the ruby undertones of the refresh potion. It’s a straightforward and honest red, not too bright, not too dark. A solid effort on a strength potion.

“You’re going to use this to kill a Godtouched?” Hilde asks, doubtful.

“Doesn’t seem all that impressive, does it? But he’s two levels up from me. I need to bridge the gap.”

“Alright,” Hilde nods. “What’s next?”

Looking at the little red vial, so small and innocent, like it isn’t but dye, I suddenly feel the weight of the odds against me, crushing. The breath catches in my throat and I have to stand up, fighting off a shiver.

“I have a problem,” I admit.

“Hah. You have a whole barrel of them, and I doubt we’ll reach the end of the day without you finding a couple more.”

Hilde turns her bright eyes to me, face twisted in a smile, and stops when she sees I’m serious.

“I…” I hesitate. “Lysander just suggested the matter is worse than it looks.” I stop, steeling myself, looking the ugly truth in the face. “He said that the fight is to the death, but Godtouched can’t really die. Does… does that make any sense to you? Would they stack the odds like that?”

I’m fishing for hope, but Hilde’s expression seems to imply I won’t find any in this particular body of water. She looks down, and then, with intense concentration, bites down on a fingernail.

“That’s a worrying possibility,” she mutters. “You didn’t define what ‘death’ meant when you accepted the challenge?”

“Hum. No. I sort of assumed…”

She nods.

“Honestly?” Hilde says. “I think Godtouched will use any and all tricks at their disposal. Why are they so confident with fights to the death?” she asks. “Because they can’t die.”

“Which means I can’t win,” I say.

“Well,” Hilde says softly, half to herself. “Maybe. If you could make him quit…”

“How do I—”

A bang outsider in the corridor interrupts me, followed by a shriek.

“What was that?”

I look down at Hilde. Her face is pale.

Another bang, followed by a series of them as someone seemingly hits each and every door in the corridor down. Whatever the disturbance is, it’s getting closer. Instinctively, I put myself between Hilde and the door, hand hovering over the pommel of my dagger.

Bang! Just a few doors away.

“Where is she!” The shout is more order than request.

We can’t make out the answer, but the voice sounds like the quiet shaved-head Godtouched who pointed me to Hilde’s room.

Another row of doors being violently hit, closer and closer.

Bang!

“Where!”

“Keep going, woman!” roars my gruff neighbor.

Bang! The door right next to us.

Bang! My unlocked door flies open.

A figure stands in the doorway, slim, tall, with long flowing red and golden robes and her hair caught in a messy bun that releases rogue strands like a stylized sun. Her cold dark eyes, like pits in her furious expression, don’t waste a second on me before focusing on Hilde.

“Why,” the woman hisses. “Are you not in your cell like I ordered you to, you awful little dwarf?”

“I’m sorry, mistress,” Hilde mutters. “Malco needed help and I—”

“What is a Malco?” the woman cuts in, pronouncing my name like it belongs to something she found sticking to her shoe. “Is Malco going to make sense of your useless Archetype? Is he going to win me the next Challenge? Well?”

Hilde doesn’t answer. Her eyes remain nailed to the ground.

“Come out here. Maybe shaving that rat’s nest will finally teach you some manners.

The Godtouched woman points a finger down at the ground in front of her, tapping her foot with furious intensity. Hilde panics, twisting her hands together.

“Mistress, please, I—"

“Are you Maid Meriana?”

The woman looks at me with such rage I wouldn’t be very surprised if she snarled.

“Be silent, Untouched. Or I’ll give you something to yammer about. Hilde, come.”

The dwarf gives a timid step forward. I reach out to grab her, but she only shakes her head.

“Wasting my time,” Meriana says. “The most useless Challenger I ever—”

Time to grab her attention.

“The same Maid Meriana who spends all her time in the catacombs?”

That gets her attention with a vengeance. She turns to me and actually steps into the room. Her eyes are wide with momentary surprise, but fury doesn’t ride far behind.

“What do you know about…” her brow furrows. “Wait. You’re that kid. The kid who killed my cyclops.”

And now to double down.

“I heard about what you’re doing down there,” I say, lifting my chin in the air and ignoring her. “I know about the secrets you’re keeping.”

Hilde’s terrified eyes prevent me from going further. Meriana’s expression is a rictus of confused anger. She looks from me to Hilde as her breathing grows deeper and deeper.

“Did the dwarf say something?” she demands.

“Hilde doesn’t know a thing,” I say, smiling with much more confidence than I can feel. But if you lay a finger on her, I promise you: everyone will know.”

The chant takes me by surprise. Meriana’s eyes close and a swirl of energy whips around her. Sourceless yellow light shine in the space between us. A moment later and there, in the previously empty space, I think I see the contours of a figure. Muscle and scale, and a giant eye that I recognize immediately.

“Mistress, no!” Hilde throws herself to the ground in front of Meriana, talking quickly. “Malco will be part of a trial by combat with a young Godtouched in only two days. Guildleader Valkas is invested in the result and it would be displeased if he couldn’t attend. Please, mistress.”

Meriana looks down at the dwarf, seeming for a moment like she doesn’t comprehend what’s happening. Then the yellow light dims, the hint of the cyclops being summoned to the middle of the room vanishes without trace.

“You are a traitorous, base thing,” Meriana tells Hilde. “Go to your cell and do not leave for any reason.”

“Yes, mistress.” Hilde risks a look behind, eyeing me with relief mixed with fear, before vanishing down the corridor.

“And you,” she turns, finger pointed like a dagger. “I’ll relish watching you die in the arena. I do not know what or how you found out, but if you tell anyone what you know I’ll make sure the dwarf’s days will be long and filled with pain.”

Without another word, Meriana stomps down the corridor, red robes flowing after her.

I rest a hand on the counter to steady my nerves and galloping heart, listening for any signs of violence from Meriana to Hilde. But there’s nothing. There isn’t even a break in the furious walking.

After waiting a good while, I relent and check the misty pages.

Twisted Minds (Local)

In Black Sword Keep, servants talk about the strange and labyrinthine rooms in the catacombs where no one is allowed to enter apart from a few select Godtouched.

Meriana seemed vexed that someone apparently knows her secret.

Persons of interest: Thomas, a servant. Maid Meriana, a Godtouched.

Vexed is right, I think. What a mess.

I look back at the worktable, taking in the fruit of my efforts so far. A single strength potion.

Godsdamnit.