Chapter 2 – In the Belly of the Serpent

Aeva jolted awake to the sensation of harsh light trickling through her eyelids.

She sat up straight, struggling to take in new surroundings. She was in a room, bare and square with grey walls, adorned only by a table in front of her and a chair on the opposite side, as well as a bobbing magelight in the center of the ceiling. An angry-red eye attached to a metal stalk jutted out of the far wall. It regarded her with unblinking disinterest.

Trying to stand, she found her hands pinned to the table. Bound by metal shackles crisscrossed with arcane symbols. They buzzed with energy.

Aeva turned over her right hand. The palm was badly bruised, thumping dully, but the skin was whole.

There should have been something more. Something worse.

Shouldn’t there?

Her memories returned. First as a trickle, then a flood. She remembered her tribesmen, saw their dying expressions before her mind’s eye.

Aeva gritted her teeth, sharp canines grinding against one another.

I will not weep. They must not see my weakness.

She remembered the Crown. She looked around the room frantically for some sign of it, before quickly realizing it wasn’t there. Of course the humans hadn’t left it with her. They had taken everything else—why not this, too?

The Crown had been her only chance at redemption. Her only hope to be more than a runt, a weakling, a half-blood. It had been the final desperate gambit for her people’s liberation.

Now her tribesmen were dead. There was no one to guide her. The humans had her in a box to poke and prod whenever their morbid whims suited them.

What should I do? Where could I possibly go from here?

She whispered a prayer to the moon and stars, hoping for some inkling of a response. She sat for several minutes in deafening silence. There was nothing.

Aeva let out an anguished cry and stood, straining her legs to the fullest as she pulled on her restraints.

The heavy metal groaned but did not give. The table was bolted firmly to the floor. As she pulled, the symbols along the surface of the shackles burned brighter, and a hot, dull pain grew around her wrists. She yanked harder until she smelled burnt flesh. She finally gave up and slumped back into the chair, clenching and unclenching her fists.

The single door at the end of the room came open with a whir and a hiss.

A human male stepped through, his face partly hidden beneath a hat.

The one from before.

Aeva tugged on her bonds.

“That won’t do you any good,” the male said. He approached the metal chair opposite her and took a seat. “Unless struggling uselessly is making you feel better. I’ve got all the time in the world, so go ahead. No need to stop on my account.”

Aeva snarled, spittle flying across the table.

“What did you do with my mother?” she yelled, her voice bouncing off the walls.

“She was your mother?” He brushed a speck of saliva off his coat. “Condolences. She’s probably being autopsied as we speak. Ditto for your other companions.”

“Murderer!” She dug her claws into the metal tabletop. “You murdered her!”

The male held up a slim finger, a roomy sleeve sliding down his wrist. “On the contrary. I shot you in the hand—which is healing quite swimmingly, might I add, after I had the taskmages look you over—but my superior was the one who killed your mother.”

“Storm,” Aeva hissed.

The male grimaced, thin lips splitting to reveal rows of white teeth. “Yes. Him.” He sighed, leaning back in the chair with a metallic creak. “As you might have gathered, I’m here on business. I need you to answer some questions for me. The quicker you do, the sooner we might be able to work out this mess. You were brought in on suspicion of murder, but we both know you didn’t do it. I don’t think my superiors even care too much themselves, now that they have your relic to slobber over.”

“Where am I?” Aeva asked.

“Now, who’s interrogating who?” The male shook his head with a smile. “If you play ball with me, I might be willing to do the same.”

He pulled off his hat and placed it on the table, revealing a tumble of thick, bright blue curls. He looked absently into the ceiling as he ran his hand through it.

“Now, since you insisted on being difficult,” he said, “I was forced to expend a lot of anima retrieving you. I suggest you avoid doing that moving forward, or things might have to get a bit unpleasant.”

Aeva took a deep breath and composed herself. Ranting at this human was not going to help. She had to wait for any possibility of retrieving the Crown. That necessitated biding her time and outsmarting her captors.

She stared down the creature opposite. He met her gaze with no signs of unease.

“Okay, I’m going to ask you some questions,” he said. “What is your name, and where are you from?”

“No,” Aeva said firmly.

“No? Well, then…”

“I will not be party to an interrogation. If you wish to learn anything from me, you must give me something in return. One answer for another.”

“Hmm. I’ll bite. How about we start with our names? I’m Inquisitor Linton Granhorn.”

Aeva hesitated, reluctant to give her captor any information he might be able to use against her. “Aeva ag Krethnich,” she said after some deliberation. “Where am I being held?”

“The underground Internment Level of the Arcanex, the latter being the main seat of the MOW in the entire Concord. 102 floors, nearly impenetrable, crawling with truthers just like me who are trained to shoot and kill any would-be escapees. I wouldn’t recommend giving it a try.”

Aeva let silence sit between them for several moments. Her odds were even worse than she had feared. The MOW was clearly an organization with considerable influence, and she was trapped at their very center.

“Now, then,” Linton said, clapping his hands together, “where did you and your companions come from?”

“Anderland.”

“Not Gaerwyn?”

“No. We are not Gaerish spies, as much as you might like to believe it.”

“Huh. But Anderland was—”

“Raped. Ravaged. Stolen,” Aeva said bitterly. “Yes.”

“You are here fleeing the Gaerish occupation, then?”

She shook her head. “My turn.”

Aeva thought about how to word her next question, claws tapping on the tabletop. “The Crown,” she said. “What happened to it?”

“Brought to the Arcanex for testing. The object, from what I’m told, is emitting some strange energy signatures. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Aeva screwed her lips tight and shook her head. “No.”

Linton chuckled. “Lying is not going to do you any favors. I can read your aura like a book.”

Aura? He must be referring to my soul. Surely, he cannot…

“Oh, but I can,” he said.

Aeva flinched. The human grinned like a fox, clearly pleased with himself. She narrowed her eyes at him but failed to put a dent in his mirth.

I will have to be careful with this one. He dabbles in dark magics.

She conceded with a sigh. “The Crown of the Moon-King. It is a sacred relic of our people.”

“Hmm.” Linton frowned. “The Moon-King. That’s one of the names for your god, isn’t it? Sounds important.”

“My turn to ask,” Aeva said. “What is your organization planning to do with me?”

“Nothing, for now. At least, nothing that’ll kill you. I’ve been sent down here to interrogate you, obviously, but that’s it.” He scooted his chair a bit closer to the table and lowered his tone conspiratorially. “Now, tell me… what is the Crown for?”

Aeva hunched in a defensive position. “I… cannot tell you that.”

“Fair enough. Then tell me this: why did you come to Northmark? A forthright answer, this time.”

“This, too, I cannot tell you.”

For all their supposed insight, this MOW still hadn’t put together that Aeva and her tribesmen had come to the city in search of the Crown. They likely believed it had already been in their possession when they arrived. They had not yet foreseen its true importance, as evidenced by this rather lax interrogation.

It wasn’t much, but it was a small advantage. One she wasn’t willing to give up so easily.

The voice she had heard when donning the Crown echoed in her mind.

You are not worthy.

She bit back a sob, turned it into a growl.

No. That cannot be. I am the Chosen One, and I will reclaim the Crown. It is my destiny. It has to be. All this bloodshed cannot be for nothing.

“Last chance to start telling me the truth,” Linton said. “I saw you perform some sort of magic when we apprehended you. Did this Crown have anything to do with that?”

“No,” she said firmly.

Linton cocked his head slightly, eyebrows shooting up. “Lies, lies, lies. Very well, I have my answer.”

Aeva stared into the table.

“You look a bit agitated,” he remarked. “Would you like something calming?”

“No,” she said firmly.

“Oh, well. I tried.” Linton stood up and rounded the table. “I’m sorry about this.”

Aeva pulled away as the black-coated human lunged, but her restraints kept her pinned in place. He sank a syringe into her arm and injected a clear liquid. She snapped her jaws at him, but he leapt clear at the last moment.

“What is that?” Aeva yelled, thrashing violently. The syringe shook itself free of her arm and smashed on the floor.

“An anesthetic,” Linton said, arms folded behind his back as he regarded Aeva with a cold, even gaze. “You’ve given me some tidbits so far, but I’m afraid I need more.”

Aeva’s limbs grew heavy. She sank into the chair, arms going slack even though she wished nothing more than to break out of her shackles and tear the human limb from limb.

“No…” she muttered as her eyelids flickered, world growing dark. “Not again…”

Linton took a step towards her, holding out his right hand. His fingers brushed against her forehead, running over her horns.

“You really are fascinating,” he said breathlessly.

Aeva wanted to bite his hand off, tear his throat out, but she had been rendered completely immobile.

“Well,” Linton sighed. “Let’s get this started. Bringa.”

***

Aeva fell.

She hurtled through an endless, churning sky, faces forming and collapsing amid the imposing clouds.

There was no sun and no moon. Everything was lit with an even, soft light, no contrasts, no harsh shadows.

She landed flat on her stomach, but the impact was soft, muted. She stood and found herself in a level field choked by thick fog in every direction, no hills or mountains to break up the terrain.

“Where am I?” she asked. Her voice echoed into infinity.

No one answered.

She started walking.

There was nothing to see apart from the fog. No plants. No animals. No people.

She walked until she lost track of time. Looking back, there was no way to tell where she had landed.

“Why am I here?” Aeva shouted.

How had it turned out this way? They had been so close. Victory within their grasp, and then…

You are not worthy.

She cried into her hands. Bitter, soundless tears ran down her fingers. Her tribesmen, her mother, they were never coming back. The visions had given her a place within the tribe, and now all that was for nothing.

“Are you lost, my daughter?” Soeva’s voice rang throughout the fog, everywhere and nowhere.

Aeva pulled her hands away from her face and looked up.

There she was. Mother. Standing right in front of her, tall and intrepid, with all the proud features of a true wildkin.

“Is this a dream?” Aeva asked, grasping at her mother’s cloak.

Soeva stepped back, just out of reach. “Of a kind.”

“I am sorry, Mother.” Aeva looked down. “For failing you. Everyone.”

“You haven’t failed. You yet live. There is still a chance.”

Aeva looked up, searching her mother’s face. There was no hint of sadness or joy. Only cold judgment.

“Yes… Yes. I understand, Mother. Just tell me what I must do. It all feels so hopeless.”

“Do you remember why we are doing this?” Soeva asked. She turned away, the edge of her cloak whipping up whorls of thick fog. “Why we came to this godless land?”

“Of course,” Aeva said. “Because of my visions. You… told me they were sent by Gjurin.”

“And so they were. Do you remember them?”

“Always.”

“Good, my daughter. That is good. I want you to recall the dream you had. Focus only on this.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Aeva closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath through her nostrils, and attempted to recreate the vision in her mind.

She had spent hours poring over every detail of it. The memory came to her easily.

“Good!” Soeva called. “As much detail as possible!”

Aeva opened her eyes. Soeva stood before a spinning portal—high as three wildkin and just as wide—which sucked in the drifting fog. Through the portal she could make out the scarred, barren landscape of the moon. A black sky, and beneath it a throne hewn from rock, in which a man was seated whose horns branched out into the heavens, each point holding its own star. He wore a splendid suit of armor, seemingly made of a million tiny, interlocking pieces, and a crown rested upon his brow. A greatsword leaned against the throne, large enough that five men would not be able to lift it.

Gjurin. The Moon-King. Lord of the Earth and Sky. Bringer of Hunts. Slayer of Serpents.

He spoke, but his words were muffled, as if he were speaking through a pane of glass. Even so, Aeva remembered them.

You have been Chosen.

You will become the future of my people.

The Devouring Serpent comes.

Take up the fight in my stead.

Gjurin took the crown off his head with one long-clawed hand. He held it out towards Aeva, and the crown sparked with jumping arcs of electricity. He smiled. A gentle, fatherly smile that eased the intensity behind his yellow eyes.

Then the vision disappeared.

Soeva turned to face Aeva.

“Do you believe Gjurin granted you his blessing?” she asked.

“I… I do not know,” Aeva said.

Something was wrong. It was hard to tell in this dream-like fugue, but she was growing more certain of it.

“You must be certain. Do you believe this was a prophetic dream?”

Aeva frowned. “You are the one who told me it was. Are you saying you were wrong?”

Soeva looked away. “No. Merely testing your conviction.”

“Mother, please…” she said slowly, rising to her feet. She reached out tentatively for an embrace. “I apologize for my weakness, but I wish to hold you. Just this once. This last time.”

It was an indulgent request, indicative of the human taint within her. A true wildkin was strong. Independent. Unbreakable. But she was so lost. She needed something, anything, to hold her firm.

Soeva pulled Aeva into a hug, her fur tickly and coarse. Even in this place, her touch was warm, comforting, everything she could have wanted.

“Of course,” she said, stroking Aeva’s hair. “I love you, daughter mine.”

A cold chill went up Aeva’s body. She pulled back as if stung. Soeva looked down at her, hands still on her shoulders.

Her mother had never once said those words, not even in Aeva’s most desirous dreams. A moment later, the second piece fell into place. Her mother was speaking Attean.

Soeva frowned, registering Aeva’s confusion. “Damn,” she said, “looks like I broke character. Mommy issues? I can relate.”

Aeva backed away a few steps. “You…”

Soeva smiled as she shed her fur, face flattening into the countenance of the human interrogator as blue hair fell over his eyes. “I have all I need for now. You have fun down here.”

The fog was swept away on an intangible wind. The ground dropped out underneath her as the clouds arced lightning.

Aeva lunged at the human, but her claws swiped air as he drifted into the sky. She fell into an infinite void, arms flailing, and the last thing she saw was the face of Linton Granhorn grinning like a fool as he stared down from the clouds.