(Skeleton Key) Into Elurien (5 page)

“Their stories are bad,” Auphel observed. “I never liked talk of the spark, either.” She scooped the doll head up off the floor and fiddled with the knotted hair. “I wish there was more to do here.”

“What’s the spark?”

She looked up, surprised. “I thought all humans knew about it. Don’t you have it?”

I shrugged. “You tell me.”

Her beady eyes widened. “It’s the oldest story. When Maela, the Mother of all, created the world, she gave humans the spark. It’s what makes them special. Makes them wise and able to do things that aren’t natural.”

“Magic?” I asked.

“That’s supposed to be part of it, though I can’t say I ever met any humans with real magic. But they say they all have it. Verelle had more of it, of course, and that’s why she was queen for hundreds of years. It’s how she made her flying soldiers, the ones that fought us and protected the humans for so long. She had the biggest spark, and the most magic.” Auphel frowned. “The humans said that put her closest to the Mother.”

“And monsters don’t have… spark?”

“That’s what the stories say, the ones that come from back when the Mother spoke to people.”

My stomach clenched. “I see.” Religion had never been my favourite topic. My mother called my beliefs wishy-washy, while a few of my college friends laughed at me for believing in anything beyond what they could see and touch. I considered my beliefs open-minded and reasonable, if flexible enough that Grandma would have beaten me with a Bible if we’d ever talked about them.

“This spark doesn’t justify anyone hurting you, though,” I said, remembering what Zinian had told me about the humans. “Even if it’s true.”

Auphel wiped her nose on her wrist. “Humans seem to think it does. Like they own the whole world. You want to talk about something else?”

We spent a few hours trading information about our worlds. My stories about cars and airplanes and printing presses were met with stark disbelief until Auphel decided that we had strong spark there, magic that allowed all of it. “You should keep quiet about that,” she whispered, though no one was there to overhear. “Don’t want anyone thinking you’re the next Verelle, after all.”

“I didn’t make any of it,” I whispered back.

She shook her head. “Don’t risk it.”

“Good. Thanks.”

Auphel left me to get supper and brought me more bread, along with a slightly underripe tomato. I ate all of it, and she went back to the garden to find more. She returned with a pair of apples. “Found the orchard,” she explained. “Had to break down a door.”

After sunset, firelight lit the room from outside.

“They’re burning human stuff they don’t want to keep,” Auphel explained before I could ask. “Celebrating.”

I sat near the window and moved not-chess pieces around the board at random. “You know how to play this?” I asked. Auphel shook her head.

Someone screamed outside. It sounded human. My throat tightened.

Auphel’s lips narrowed, and she motioned for me to come closer to her. She pulled back the blankets on the big bed, and I climbed in. “You don’t need to hear that,” she said.

“I thought the humans were all dead.”

She sighed. “I suppose some will have been hiding. You’re safe here, I promise.”

That wasn’t my concern.

I couldn’t get a handle on anything. The monsters were free. The humans had been cruel and controlling. But the death, the destruction… these weren’t good things, and never would be. Someone out there was afraid, maybe in pain, and at that moment I didn’t care what they’d done to deserve it.

So much for quick deaths.
A tear slipped from my eye. I wondered whether Zinian was out there following Jaid’s suggestion that he have some fun, and tried not to imagine what he had done to enemies with those claws, those teeth, that sword.

“Oh, don’t cry,” Auphel said, sounding genuinely upset. “It’s just… It’s war, you know? It’s a bad thing. But it will be over soon. At last. Just promise you won’t try to go out there. You can’t stop any of this.”

That only made it worse. Self-pity quickly joined the party, and I didn’t bother to shut it out. I’d landed on my feet as much as was possible in this world. I still had my head, thanks to poor Auphel being too kind to kill a stranger. But quite frankly, things had gone to shit since I had decided to explore that attic. I wanted to go home.

Auphel sat on the bed and stroked my hair. “Don’t feel sad.”

Another scream rang out. Auphel cleared her throat and hummed a few notes. The humming turned into a song. A lullaby. Her voice was as simple and sweet as her nature, a stark contrast to the thick and heavy tones of her speech. I found myself relaxing as she drowned out the noise of the streets.

“Thank you, Auphel,” I said.

She patted my shoulder—or rather thumped it, and hard. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Where will you sleep?” I asked. “There’s room on the bed.”

“I’ll sleep by the hearth,” she said. “I’m not comfortable with these human things.”

She stopped frequently to yawn, but kept singing until I felt myself drifting off.

This world needs more people like you,
I thought. At least there was one monster I knew I could trust.

I
woke with a plan
. Not a grand plan for my life, and not the hourly breakdown that usually gave me a sense of control when everything became unmanageable. But it was a starting point, and that was all I needed.

I would take Zinian’s advice and keep to myself. It might not be exciting, but Auphel would keep me company, and maybe I’d read some of those books to learn more about the conflict from those who could no longer speak. I knew better than to think the humans were undeserving victims, or that the monsters were paragons of virtue. There couldn’t possibly be a perfect resolution in a situation like this.

But I wanted to understand.

Zinian had said there were monsters around who knew about magic. I hoped they’d be able to get me home. I could bide my time until then, perhaps make myself useful in a quiet way. I didn’t like the feeling that Auphel was waiting on me as much as guarding me, and wondered whether I might be allowed to prepare my own food.

More responsibility for myself was the key. More control. It would make everything so much less frightening, and I was beyond ready to get rid of the tight, fluttery feeling in my chest.

I lay in bed for a while, listening to Auphel’s gentle snoring. She was looking out for me. I wondered whether she needed the same from me, and whether I was in any position to offer my help. The poor ogress seemed so innocent and dangerously eager to follow orders. The thought of what she could be turned into saddened me.

But the war is over. Maybe she’ll be free to go home now.
I hoped she’d stay until I left, at least. I’d miss her.

I got up and did my morning stretches as quietly as I could. Auphel roused herself and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “You do training exercises, too?”

“Not exactly. Just… physical conditioning, I guess. Staying limber.”

She nodded and watched, then tried to copy my head-down position. She crashed to the floor and snorted. “I might stick with strength training.”

“Maybe you just need to work on it,” I said, laughing. “We could help each other. I’m so weak. How do you manage to carry that axe you had the other night?”

She grinned and opened her mouth to speak, but a knock at the door interrupted her. She hoisted herself off the floor and answered, using her broad form to block the entrance as she held the door firmly against anyone who might try to invade. She spoke quietly, nodded, and closed the door again.

“You should change,” she said, nodding at the rumpled dress I hadn’t taken off the night before. “They’re deciding what to do with you. You might want to be there.”

I dug quickly through the closet and threw on a brown dress, tying a thick ribbon around my waist with fumbling fingers, and dashed out the door. Auphel locked it behind us, then led the way down a spiral staircase and along a darker corridor than the ones I’d seen the day before. At the end we came to a huge wooden door that Auphel threw open without knocking.

It led to a conference room of sorts, containing a massive, round table made of stone. Auphel paused as a dozen faces at the table turned toward her. Some of the room’s occupants already had hands or paws on their weapons, but relaxed when they saw her. Their irritated scowls remained, though. Zinian sat with his hands clasped on the table, unconcerned.

“What’s she doing here?”

I turned toward the gruff voice. It took a moment for my brain to process what I was seeing. He was shaped like a man, and yet not. In fact, his shape changed slightly with each moment that passed. He had facial features, but they kept shifting, as though he was more of an indistinct idea than anything real. One moment he seemed to be made of smoke, the next of tar, the next of liquid grey stone. He was solid enough, though, which he proved when he slammed his fist on the table.

“Auphel!”

Auphel jumped. “General Grys, I was told that there was a meeting about the uh… prisoner.”

Grys narrowed his glowing yellow eyes—the only constant feature in his face. “There is. I want to know why she’s here. Who told you?”

“I—I thought I was supposed to…” Auphel’s words trailed off, but she didn’t back down. “Shouldn’t she be here if you’re talking about her?”

I looked around the table. Jaid was there, seated next to Zinian, and looking none too pleased. I recognized the massive ogre to her right as the one I’d seen in the streets the day before. He bore fresh scratches on his face, which made Auphel’s look positively cherubic in comparison. He leered at her.

The others were an assortment of creatures, a collection of fur and scales and wings and horns that overwhelmed me. I turned to Zinian, the only semi-welcoming face.

“She should have a say in her fate, if she’s here anyway,” he said. I understood then who had sent the messenger. Auphel knew, too, I realized. But she wouldn’t give him away, not even to the higher-ranking general.

Zinian stood. “Hazel, would you like to sit?”

“I’ll stand, if it’s all the same,” I said. I had no desire to be near Jaid’s claws or the glaring eyes of the strange bird woman who sat on Zinian’s other side. He nodded and sat.

“We’re sending you to an outlying human village,” Grys said. He stared hard at me, as though daring me to refuse. Glad as I was to learn there were human settlements that hadn’t been wiped out during the battles, I knew I couldn’t go. “You’ll be safer there,” he added. “You’ll leave tonight, and be among your own people.”

He didn’t have to add,
People who don’t hate you.
I understood.

“It’s the best thing,” Jaid said. She spoke to Grys, not to me. “The city is ours now. A face like hers will never be accepted among us.”

Zinian cleared his throat. “That’s what they said about me.”

Grys waved that off. “Your human aspects have always disturbed some, and your associations didn’t help. But you’re a monster. A proper one, if an unsettling one.”

I’d have laughed at that if I hadn’t been so frightened. True, I’d thought him unsettling at first, but he now seemed far less so than anyone else, at least in physical appearance.

Zinian tapped a claw on the table. “My point is that we prove ourselves by our deeds, not our appearance or our birth. She has no more to do with the humans here than you. Less than any of us, in fact. I say she should choose where she goes.”

“Thank you,” I said, too quietly for anyone to hear, but Zinian nodded.

Jaid turned to me. “You object to being sent to safety?”

“Yes, actually.” I clasped my hands behind my back to keep them from trembling.
Stand up for yourself.
“Zinian told you about the key?”

Grys nodded. “We’ve learned nothing further from it.”

“I’d like to be here if you do. I’m as eager to go home as you are to be rid of me. That key is my only chance, as far as I can tell.”

“We’ve completed our investigations. You might as well take it,” Grys said. He narrowed his eyes. “Try your key for a day or two. You’ll report to us if you learn anything. If you don’t, be prepared to move to the villages. One way or another, you’ll be leaving the city.”

“Thank you.” It wasn’t much, but maybe a few days would be enough time to find my way home. I felt certain that if my door was anywhere, it would be here in Verelle’s city. If she had the most magic, surely her city did, too. Going elsewhere would doom me to staying in Elurien forever.

Jaid scowled. “We can’t entrust magical objects to humans.”

“Hazel’s the one who used it before,” Zinian replied. “I still think another door might help us find Verelle. If Hazel can open one—”

“Let it go,” Jaid growled, but without real anger. “Verelle is gone. Be content with that.”

The ogre leaned back in his chair. It creaked under the strain. “If that’s settled…”

Grys turned to him. “I suppose it is, for now.”

The ogre cracked his knuckles so loudly that it sounded like boards breaking. “Auphel should be returned to regular duties if the human is no longer a prisoner. I’d be happy to take her in as part of the rearrangement crew. We could use her strength.”

Auphel stiffened beside me, fists clenched, but said nothing. She would do as she was told, though the idea of going with this creature obviously distressed her.

I couldn’t blame her if she was afraid. He was practically salivating.

“I need Auphel to stay with me a while longer,” I said. I knew I was far overstepping my rights, but she’d protected me. I had to return the favour. “She’s helping me figure things out here, keeping me out of trouble. I won’t be a bother to any of you if she’s with me.”

Jaid lifted her lips in a silent snarl. “The new human wishes to have a monster servant. How shocking. This is a bad idea, Grys.”

“Not a servant,” I added, before he could respond. “A friend. I understand it would be inconvenient to lose her for other purposes, but I do think this would benefit everyone.”
Auphel more than most,
I added silently as I caught the disappointed scowl that crossed the male ogre’s face.

“Having a monster with her to keep an eye on Hazel isn’t a bad idea,” Zinian said. “We believe her to be trustworthy, but having Auphel with her would allow us more certainty.”

Grys waved an indistinct hand at us, then tossed the skeleton key onto the table. It skittered toward me, and I caught it from the air as it sailed off the end. “Go, then. Zinian, you’ll continue to supervise.”

Zinian nodded, and Auphel dragged me out of the room.

“That was pleasant,” I said under my breath. I was still quaking inside from my unaccustomed display of nerve, but I felt stronger. More in control than I had since my arrival.

“It really was not.” She shuddered. “I guess we’re free now, though. Want to get some fresh air?”

My stomach turned at the thought of returning to the streets, but if I was going to find my way home, I’d need to explore the city. And I knew no one would dare mess with Auphel. “Definitely.”

After a few wrong turns, we found the palace entrance. We stepped out into an empty street, though I heard voices from farther away. The sun beat down hard and hot as we walked, and I kept my eyes open for doors that looked as out of place as the one in the attic had.

“Thank you for asking to keep me,” Auphel said as we walked toward the square. “I wouldn’t want to work for Kringus.”

I was about to respond, but the words disappeared as we rounded a corner and I stepped into a puddle. Not water, but thick, dark blood. I gasped and jumped to the other side, and Auphel pulled me away. She put her body between me and the spiked boot on the other side of the puddle.

I turned away, but not before I saw the thin, shapely leg sticking out of it, torn off at the knee. I gagged, and spots appeared in front of my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Hazel,” Auphel said as I leaned my face against a cool stone wall and caught my breath. “I expected they’d have cleaned up.”

I waited until the spots cleared before I tried to walk away. “This is what they were doing last night?” I was glad that Auphel had been with me, but felt sick thinking she’d known about this.

She picked at her rough fingernails and bit her lip. “I suppose. I mean, I didn’t know exactly, but I knew they were still hunting down a few important people. Personal enemies. Slavers.” She glanced up at a nearby storefront. “A garment maker who…” She looked back. “Hazel, he kept imps tied to his machines and cut their feet off if they tried to escape.”

“That was a woman’s leg.”

“Maybe it was his wife.”

“And what did she do?”

Auphel looked away. “Nothing.”

“I see.” And I did. These humans had invited their fates with their actions or lack thereof. I couldn’t say they didn’t deserve to die. Even if I’d never suffered as these monsters had, I understood why “an eye for an eye” would be so appealing.

And yet an old quote about that leaving the whole world blind wouldn’t leave my mind.

I clutched the skeleton key tighter and walked faster. I didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to have to think about it.

This has nothing to do with me. I’m going to find a way home. Soon.

We continued on and entered the square where the angel had been executed—if, in fact, he’d been alive to begin with. I wanted to ask about that. Zinian said Verelle had created them. Did they think or feel? Or were they empty shells?

I would have asked Auphel if my train of thought hadn’t crashed and derailed at the sight of the pile of books in the middle of the square, a mountain of paper and leather that rose higher than Auphel’s head. She urged me on, but I couldn’t stop watching—not only out of curiosity over the books, but out of fascination with the three giants who were dumping more onto the top of the pile as fast as the books slid down. The creatures stood at least twenty feet tall, clothed in rags that could have at one time been boat sails. The closest had one massive eye in the centre of his deeply lined forehead. The other beside him had two, in the same glacier blue shade. Their hair matched as well, fiery red from head to hairy toes. Behind them, a massive woman who sported impressively thick black hair turned toward me as she dropped more books onto the pile. She had three eyes, the third set in her forehead just above and between the other two.

The ground shook under their footsteps.

“What are they doing?” I asked Auphel.

She looked around. “Clearing out the library. I’m guessing we’re to have another bonfire tonight.”

“To celebrate again?”

“General Grys has permitted the destruction of the human things.” Auphel moved toward the pile, gave a friendly wave to one of the giants, and picked up a book. I did the same, selecting a beautiful volume with a gilded blue cover. The pages inside had been hand-printed and gorgeously illuminated. I’d practiced my own handwriting plenty over the past few years—another calming exercise, one that filled dozens of notebooks and planners. These books put my work to shame.

“They can’t destroy these,” I said.

Auphel sighed. “I know. We’d do so much better to save some for winter, when we’ll actually need them.”

“I mean that they’re irreplaceable. Once these burn, they’re gone. An entire culture. Right?” From the way Grys and his council had spoken of the villages, it sounded like there probably weren’t a lot of other libraries holding similar collections.