Depths of Promises Sworn

 

 

Ayre

 

There is no one sharing a petal with me when I wake.

Almost immediately I become aware of a… dampness.  Feeling around me as I sit up to get my bearings, it is clear that the whole petal is wet with something like trace amounts of… I’m not sure what. Whatever it is, it has replaced any lingering sweat, grime, or dried blood from the night before.

Curious, maybe even concerning.

“I don’t agree with this.” Cerya speaks in a hushed tone. She is standing in the doorway, arms crossed as she addresses someone outside the room.

“I’m not asking you.” Theriya pushes past her sister to lock eyes with me. “Oh good. You’re awake.”

I’m still trying to get my bearings as the Seed Seer crosses over to loom over me. A glance to the side confirms that my dolls are asleep and unharmed. Noticing this, Theriya lowers her voice to a harsh whisper. “What you said before. You meant it?”

I blink apprehensively. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to, but yeah. Whatever you all need from me. I’m committed to this, remember?”

Theriya narrows her eyes, but I get the sense that it isn’t an attempt to scrutinize my words. 

She hasn’t slept. 

“I’m going to give you instructions.” Theriya hisses, before swaying unsteadily. “You’re going to follow them.”

“I will.” I say, holding her gaze.

Cerya crosses the room to join us, but Theriya holds up a hand, keeping her sister at arm’s length.

“Fine. I’ll lay down. But this is important.” Theriya falls into the petal alongside me before growling with annoyance. She affixes Cerya with an annoyed look before jabbing a finger in my direction. “They know how gemstone implements work. I left fresh implements with unfilled gemstones on the table downstairs, in case you get into trouble. Just see to it that the stones are filled to capacity by moonrise.” There is a moment of doubt there, at the end.

Both sisters regard me with interest.

I take that as an opportunity to stretch my limbs and ease myself to my feet. Becoming aware of my body must show on my face, as Cerya starts to look concerned. Theriya looks away.

“Are you okay with this, Ayre?” Cerya asks.

“Don’t worry about me. If this is what must be done, I’ll see it done.” I gesture dismissively, brushing off Cerya’s concern. “But if something happened last night…” I allow my words to trail off, thinking of a more specific question I could ask. “Why the rush?”

Theriya sighs. “Ask a Watcher. Done all I can. Your turn.” Theriya pulls the petal of her bedding closed around her.

I decide to take her non answer as answer enough. Before stepping outside I fetch my shawl, breeches, and step into my boots. I watch for every flinch and deepening of concern in Cerya’s expression as I undo and tighten the bindings that cover my scars.

If she didn’t before, Cerya knows for sure now. My legs and arms are not my own.

But I can’t think about that. Not now.

There is a very specific reason the Lunarians maintain a role of martially inclined youths dedicated to watching the walls at night. Everyone has to deal with the Moon’s bloodlust. Entire lessons were carved into my instruction back at the castle that contrasted with what could be learned from books.

Under moonlight, even prey animals and plants can turn actively malicious. If it is capable of spilling blood, it is dangerous. And that doesn’t even touch on the transformative effects the moon’s influence has in constantly reinforcing changes that facilitate bloodshed in all living things exposed to it.

Cerya joins me moments later, midway through the act of exchanging a small robe for one more luxurious and long.

I notice the spot on her arm that rubbed away a drop of my blood. 

There is nothing there. “Do I need to worry about the flower we slept on last night?” 

I get a weak smile in reply. “It doesn’t feed on anything of consequence. Sweat, bugs…”

“My blood?” I say, making it a question.

“Oh.” Cerya says, drawing a finger to her lips in contemplation. “I’ll have to get back to you. We have some recorded entries on the effects of consuming Vylian blood, but it’s not something that sticks out in my mind.”

“Okay.” I relent, letting this drop for now in favor of addressing potential external threats. “You were awake before me. Did you get anything else out of Theriya?”

Cerya shakes her head. “Not really. Most of her projects are long term. It is notable that these gemstones and implements are new and exist outside our quota.”

I pause at that. There are a number of possibilities there. “Redundancies? An answer to a recent threat?”

Cerya latches onto that second one. “If I had to guess, she crafted a response to whatever most likely happened at the gates last night.”

“The Watchers. Are they going to be cooperative? Resonance extraction can be… unpleasant.”

I am treated to a nervous look. “I imagine you’ll want to look for Snapdragon.”

“We’re in agreement then. Shall you be joining me in finding out if your protector is unharmed?”

The horned Seed Seer bites at her lip. 

A curious expression, but one that holds a very different connotation for Vylians. I am not sure what to make of it in this instance.

“I shouldn’t.” She says. “Wait for me downstairs anyway?”

I nod dutifully. “I’ll figure out food for the both of us then.”

Fruits and greens make up the bulk of readily available food. I recognize almost none of it, deciding to instead sear the first fish I find. Eventually I settle for picking a fruit of each color and waiting on Cerya to critique the selection.

When I arrive at the table, I find an unrolled bundle of fabric. Six smooth lengths of carved wooden implements with indentations in which to affix gemstones await my perusal. 

Each ends in a different shaped tip that alters how the final effect will be delivered. None of them have a wide end typically used for larger scale battlefield applications. As far as I can tell, almost all of these are focused on applying something to a singular target. 

The main exception is one with sharp jagged twists that I suspect will rebound in some way.

Considering that protecting their creation is my primary stated role, it might be worth asking if I can peruse some books on the subject. It will be good to brush up on my understanding of the nuances if it will allow me to better serve.

Upon close inspection, none of them show the gnarled, thorned, or signs of compromise that come from the moon reshaping them in a way that results in harm to the wielder.

My admittedly limited but practical understanding of such things suggests that these six implements should be safe to use. That Theriya crafted spare implements is something I can appreciate. It is better that the casting implement bear the backlash of harnessing storms of emotions contained within a gemstone than me.

I’ve got enough unwanted alterations to my body to worry about.

Although I suppose it does not mean these implements can’t be altered later. Moonlight sure increases the potency of implements. But that just means such tools don’t last. 

And when they inevitably break, my understanding is that the wielders tend to as well.

Now that I think about it, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of a Moon Wrought implement used for large scale applications. What kind of backlash would such an implement cause?

There’s probably a reason for that beyond the obvious. Why create something to help deal with superior numbers when we are the ones that outnumber our enemies?

Before I can untie a pouch of an appropriate size to hold gemstones and check their resonance levels, I hear Cerya begin to descend the staircase. “Have you seen Astraea?”

“She disappears sometimes.” I say.

“At night.” Cerya says, giving me a dubious look.

“I have… never left the castle until being sent here.” I say with a shrug, not really knowing what more to say. “I trust Astraea to… know what she is doing.”

That was half as reassuring as I intended. But I guess after last night, I might have to get used to just being vulnerable with Cerya on a regular basis.

Cerya gives me a look that suggests she really wants to press me on it. But she doesn’t.

After a few moments, I decide to encourage her. “You can ask.”

With a sigh, Cerya shakes her head. “I’m not sure if I am reading you right. There are moments I see you express an ease of affection with Astraea. A part of me wishes it was safe to want that for myself.”

I can’t help but feel my gaze fall to the floor. “Astraea just… understands, somehow. She got this look in her eye once. I don’t understand it. The way that you, Snapdragon, and Astraea treat me is just… all wrong.” 

I don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt unless they are scheming for ways to put an end to me and my siblings. 

I look up, and I don’t know if I’m capable of hope, but I offer Cerya a look of regret that I just know is going to cost me. If Astraea is confident that things will get better, I want to believe it. “A part of me wants to be wrong.”

The sad smile that Cerya offers me is of no surprise. But her words are puzzling. “Understanding and believing are two entirely different things, I’m afraid. I wish I had advice I could give, but Snapdragon is the believer. It just so happens that our guardians have this frustrating habit of protecting us from ourselves.”

I laugh with contempt for the absurdity of it all. It’s been a while since I have wanted to make additions to my journal. But I can already tell that I’m going to have to make time for it.

“What’s so funny, if I might ask?” Cerya asks, allowing her smile to look not so sad anymore.

I shake my head, feeling the need to fend off some matters for another time. “It’s personal. Maybe a little silly. But you’ve made me want to indulge in an old habit. If you don’t mind, I’d like to pretend you’re not in the room again later. This is… something that I’m not sure I’m ready to share but…” I hesitate.

Cerya fills in the blanks. “Sometimes it is healthier for us to not keep things to ourselves. If there’s ever anything you need to get off your chest, we can make time for it.”

“I… appreciate that.” I say, laughing easier this time.

Cerya looks like she really wants to press me further, but ends up shaking her head. My bound decides instead to critique my food choices. “We’re going to need to eat on the way. Let me… pick out less demanding fruits to safely prepare and eat, since you clearly had a preference for fruit.”

I nod, not trusting myself to say anything more. 

Instead I distract myself by rolling up the bundle of casting implements. With that done, I take a peek at the gemstones.

Focusing on them turns out to be a mistake.

Pain.

Despair.

Worthlessness.

“Wretch… not now!” I gasp, pulling my hand from the bag and grasping at my chest in a vain attempt to steady my breathing. 

My capacity to focus on the room around me goes in and out as the air becomes thick and hard to breathe.

No. That’s not true.

I’m panicking, struggling to get lungfuls of air.

I am stronger than this.

Trying to think about anything else, I shove the bag of stones away from me.

Not the most unpleasant experience I’ve been through, I tell myself.

But the day’s purpose has become clear. I am going to need to extract all three of those resonances out of any Lunarian I can find.

That these gemstones already feel half full to me is concerning. I am not going to want to touch them directly by the time I am done filling them.

Cerya returns a few moments later, having replaced half of my selection with smoother textured fruits. She gives me and the open bag of gemstones a sympathetic look, but we don’t make a conversation of it.

She hooks an arm around mine before guiding me to the barracks occupied by the Thorned Watchers.

Cerya and I are not a second through the door before it becomes clear that comfort and curatives are abundant for the Thorned Watchers who weathered last night’s watch. Thankfully, very little of it has been applied beyond stabilizing the worst cases.

Snapdragon is nowhere to be seen. All but one of the Watchers present is very intentionally tied down to a bed with leather straps.

Which is just as well. By the time I’m done, I will likely need to redress some wounds.

A head of green hair snaps to our attention. The only Watcher on their feet begins to stride towards us with purpose.

I take the opportunity to greet him, remembering Snapdragon’s advice. “Thorned Watcher, Second Seed. What happened last night?”

Second comes to a halt just out of arm’s reach. “Seed Seer Cerya. Fourteenth Prince Ayre.” Second says, looking us over with tired eyes. “Beasts attacked. They were repelled.”

Cerya frowns. “I see everyone here but First, Third, and Nineteen.”

Second glowers. “First Seed is overseeing repairs to the gate. Third is delivering a report to the Howling Watchers. Nineteen has been dealt with.”

I raise an eyebrow, casting a questioning look at Cerya.

The tension in Cerya’s grip around a basket carrying the remains of our meal lessens.

My eyes turn back to Second. Knowing that Snapdragon is okay, my thoughts wander elsewhere. It occurs to me that I see no real resemblance between him and Third. Were it not for their uniforms, all of the Watchers would look subtly different.

So many questions that Second would likely find frivolous linger in my mind. “What kind of beasts?” I ask, aiming my curiosity somewhere more useful.

Second Seed’s jaw tightens, casting an accusatory glance at Cerya that goes unaddressed. He then launches into an annoyed explanation. “We have been calling them Cinder Blights. They are a breed of scavenger displaced by a recent conquest about two eclipses past, by Vylians no less, and have become something of a menace to the local ecosystem.”

An annoying coincidence, that. Two eclipses ago, a brother of mine returned from a successful conquest to regale to me all about a kind of creature he would love to cast into the depths. 

Vylia has so many marked occasions that my dolls and I have been routinely punished for not knowing and properly celebrating with sufficiently perceived reverence.

But how could I forget the day of my Twelfth brother’s greatest triumph?

Having to systematically sever every limb was a particular fixation for this brother of mine. 

Cerya bites her lip as my arm tenses up and begins to shake. “They… spread a sort of infection that causes a fever. If not dealt with…”

“You get more Cinder Blights.” Second hisses.

Cerya averts her gaze.

I think I already know where this is going, but I need to know. “This Nineteen. Did they succumb to this infection or…”

“I dealt with him before he became an issue. Course without an arm with which to serve, he will be useless to us as a Watcher.” Second says with annoyance. “Enough of your questions. See to your duties and leave me to mine.” Thorned Watcher Second Seed says before pushing past us to storm out of the building.

I receive an apologetic smile from Cerya.

Still within earshot, I decide to save the questions for later. There is no hiding the venom in my voice. “Pick your poison.” I say with a mismatched grin for the occasion. “Pain, Despair, or Worthlessness?”

Cerya’s raises eyebrows at my choice of words. “I’ll… see to the crestfallen.” She lets go of my arm to hold out a hand. 

I reach into the gemstone pouch, recognizing the resonance by sense of touch alone. A familiar weight eases the moment I drop the dark opal into Cerya’s hand.

“I’ll see to the wounded then.” I say, fishing out a red garnet that I carry with ease.

One by one, I approach each member of the Thorned Watchers, pressing the garnet to their wound. Each and every Watcher is asked to describe their injury to me. I keep my voice gentle, asking follow up questions in an effort to coax them to linger on the moment of injury.

By my fourth watcher, it quickly becomes clear that there is not enough pain in this room to fill the garnet to capacity. I would be lucky to make it three quarters of the way.

I eye the wound in the leg of the Watcher in front of me. “Seventeen, you say a quill punched through your leg?”

I get a weak nod from the bound Watcher.

“Like this?” I say, digging a pointed end of the garnet into the Watcher’s wound.

The cries of the Watcher cause the garnet to glow with a much more usable amount of resonance. Well, that and extract no small amount of blood. But that is what applying fresh binding is for. I make sure it is nice and tight, getting one last little shimmer out of the garnet.

When I search for Cerya’s gaze, I do not find disapproval.

Seizing the commotion I am causing as an opportunity, her gaze sweeps over the Watchers. I follow her gaze, identifying those most frightened by my method of enhanced resonance extraction. 

Cerya makes her way over to kneel beside the most frightened Watcher, coaxing out their fears and sorrows with a gentle patience and a whispered exchange.

I note a wet rag that Cerya is using to wipe at the foreheads of those under her care. Only then does it occur to me that the leather bindings may not be here for my purposes of optimal resonance extraction, but to restrain potential threats.

If Nineteen were here, would I be able to play the part of the cruel Vylian noble?

No. I can hardly stand the sight of myself in the mirror most days.

Sighing, I make an effort to provide what comforts I can. If helping with the fever saves or comforts even a couple Watchers who might otherwise not make it, maybe I can make up for the cruelty of the garnet’s appetite for pain.

When it becomes clear that I have extracted all the resonance I am going to get out of the captive Watchers, I count the lingering stares that still verge on the murderous.

Cerya approaches me. “You might want to leave until I finish up.”

I look down at the bloodied stone in my hand. So light despite only being three quarters of the way to full. “What’s the point?” I say with an antagonistic scowl. With a sigh, I bury my doubts. “If this is all they are worth, why should I care what any of these Watchers think of me?”

With all eyes on me now, my free hand slips into the gemstone pouch. “I thought I’d play nice. Be agreeable. Address you by your numbered titles. But if you’re all going to be laid low or killed in a single night, why should I care?” I say, my voice dripping with venom as I mean every word.

They’re a captive audience. One glance tells me even Cerya is not entirely sure how to address my outburst.

I perch myself on the end of an empty cot with a sigh, allowing what harsh words come from the Lunarians in reply. Much of it is lost in the cacophony of overlapping voices, but I take away the highlights.

“Depths spawn!”

“Blood sucking scavenger!”

“Pallid fiend!”

When the voices die down, I remind myself that I am antagonizing sick and injured people.

My shoulders sag at the thought.

It is not like anyone here can just drink from a readily available supply of blood and politely ask their Vylian parasite to stitch them back together.

Inconsiderate. 

Foolish wretch of a Prince. 

I just… thought I could make this work.

Force it, if I have to.

Bleed out every drop of necessary resonance into these stones.

But that’s just how my siblings would act.

And I can’t even trust myself to get that right.

How am I going to protect my dolls at this rate?

I’ve only just started to open up to Cerya. But if this is how I am going to treat the rest of my allies, my siblings are likely to kill us all in a few nights anyway.

If there is any consolation from having to carry out this wretched affair, it is knowing that Twelve will most assuredly be one of the siblings to pay me a visit. Especially if one of his favorite abominations to hunt is causing the Lunarians problems.

Might as well commit at this point. I can try and do better elsewhere.

As I rise to my feet, the nearest Watcher lets out a whimper. I give him a good look at my fangs. “I’d say rest up, but what’s the point? I’m sure my siblings will find better uses for your blood.”

My eyes meet Cerya’s. I don’t really see a point in reading her expression or offering an apology.

I turn away from her and make for the door. A red tourmaline glimmers in the palm of my hand, drinking deep from the depths of my self loathing.

There’s more where that came from.

If shedding unneeded emotions is the route I am taking, I can fill the garnet while I am at it.

I give the door a swift kick, delighting in the sharp pain that shoots through my leg and causes the garnet to resonate.

The door swings open, revealing a furious Snapdragon on the other side.

Her expression tells me everything I need to know.

“What did I say?” Snapdragon says with a snarl, her voice harsh and unlike before.

Suddenly I am outside of Cerya and Theriya’s ritual chamber. Snapdragon’s voice fell to the quietest of whispers before entering.

Do not make me regret this.

The thought of being a disappointment to Snapdragon catches me off guard, hitting me like a punch to the gut. Worse, I see the brutish monster reflected in her eyes.

“You’re coming with me.” She says bluntly, and I am struck by how it sounds like I am hearing another person. 

Someone named Third, and not Snapdragon.