She was dying. I searched for her in the evanescent blackness. Here was an arm, here the curve of her shoulder. I pulled. The creature resisted, but it was the passive resistance of a tar pit; I pried her free of the bulk. It clung to her on lumps and strings. In some places, the substance seemed to have fused with her flesh already. It seethed against my fingers and tried to climb them. I murmured to her. Pled with her. Begged her. I didn’t know whether she could even hear me, with her mouth still agape with a scream that drowned me out.
Her hand sought mine, and she struggled against whatever force held her to nod her head. Agreement. Her craven father’s deal held no weight against this new bargain with her; the strength of the summerlands roared into this cursed vacuum. My touch burnt away the eldritch creature. I approached, and it folded in on itself. I didn’t think it cowered, could not know I was there, but this aspect of it trembled, and turned over, and was gone. I looked back to smile at her. She was crumpled on the rug. I knelt and turned her head. Filmy tears still seeped from her unseeing eyes, only to be subsumed into her skin before they left her face. With my new permission, I dipped into her mind.
I struggled to swim in depths of ink and tar. Though there was no light, this place writhed with grasping shadows. Tendrils and whispers crushed me. She was here, somewhere. I reached out and touched only primordial things moving. Even in the cold, alien depths of the ocean, there is life and calm. Here, we’d plunged into a world of bitter molasses and mindless panic. It was not warm, or cold; it felt like furry parchment against my skin. It was so hard to move here, to think. To remember me. To think of her. Each time I thought I had her, it was some alien appendage or pulsing eye without sight. I could not reach her.
I called on the summerlands. Around me, the tar boiled. I held open my power until all the wrong shapes drew back. Then, my numb hands found hers. I wrapped her in a hug as we both burned. I felt the shadows sipping at her mind. They would ebb at my will, but never go away. She was lost at sea. If that was so, then I was her anchor. I pulled us out of her mind, out into the world. All around us was human squalor cast in early-morning light. She held onto me and sobbed—but they were proper tears.
“You have to come with me,” I said. I didn’t know whether she could keep on her feet if I let her go; I needed to hold her. “We struck a deal.” She pulled away from me.
“The terms are not set, Aethim,” she said with a hoarse crow’s voice. I stared at her, at her eyes from whence no light escaped. Around them, her face was red and cracked from my power. Underneath the sunburn, her skin was translucent blue. Already, she was—changing. “We made a pact,” she said, “But I can’t come with you.” Her fingers stilled my lips when I began to speak; her touch bit into my skin. Where she stood, her feet burned the rug. Wisps of smoke rose from the dirt floor itself. She moved back from me, and her footprints seethed and throbbed. Bits of wool and dirt twisted into shapes that made feeble noises before collapsing upon themselves. She stared down with me at them. “Can you promise me I wouldn’t do this to the summerlands. I wouldn’t eat it all up? Risk all your pretty wives, and make you depend on some other lord, or—flee to some other place where I could spew all this again?” I could not meet her inky eyes.
“No,” I said after too long. “No, I don’t know. No one does.”
“I can’t stay there,” she said. “I can’t stay here. Anywhere. It’s going to keep happening, Aethim. Sickening the land with every step—and you can’t stop it?” I would not agree, but my silence spoke for me. “Help me,” she said. “Contain it. Help me—help me stay sane. Stay whole. Please. You cannot take me to the summerlands, but it will take my mind and myself. Aethim, I don’t—I don’t have any—I give you—my name. I give you my name.” She spoke the words that bound us.
I held her face in my hands and forced myself to look into her eyes while the floor issued smoke around us. I kissed her; her cracked lips cooled my rage at what had been lost. I tasted something dark and seeking, and I had to pull back. A long thread of blue-black ink connected our mouths. Her hands in mine spasmed. I hugged her against me as she seized and drooled that filthy substance and soiled herself. I wasn’t made for this eldritch connection; what would it do to a human body?
It would mangle her. Ruin her. Destroy her. Light streamed in from the broken window; what seemed like moments had taken hours. I twisted my hand and wove sunlight into a golden chain. I warmed it with my breath, and granted it the munificence of summer’s better nature. I wrapped the chain around her wrist and mine. I soldered the last link to the first; light flared. The chain faded until it was no more. My peasant-girl focused on me, despite the ichthyological black invading her eyes. The smoke from the carpet ebbed; I still heard the whispers she heard, but my sunlight held them back from us both.
“Yidhra Tamult,” I murmured, “If you can’t come with me, I will go with you.”
Her hand sought mine, and she struggled against whatever force held her to nod her head. Agreement. Her craven father’s deal held no weight against this new bargain with her; the strength of the summerlands roared into this cursed vacuum. My touch burnt away the eldritch creature. I approached, and it folded in on itself. I didn’t think it cowered, could not know I was there, but this aspect of it trembled, and turned over, and was gone. I looked back to smile at her. She was crumpled on the rug. I knelt and turned her head. Filmy tears still seeped from her unseeing eyes, only to be subsumed into her skin before they left her face. With my new permission, I dipped into her mind.
I struggled to swim in depths of ink and tar. Though there was no light, this place writhed with grasping shadows. Tendrils and whispers crushed me. She was here, somewhere. I reached out and touched only primordial things moving. Even in the cold, alien depths of the ocean, there is life and calm. Here, we’d plunged into a world of bitter molasses and mindless panic. It was not warm, or cold; it felt like furry parchment against my skin. It was so hard to move here, to think. To remember me. To think of her. Each time I thought I had her, it was some alien appendage or pulsing eye without sight. I could not reach her.
I called on the summerlands. Around me, the tar boiled. I held open my power until all the wrong shapes drew back. Then, my numb hands found hers. I wrapped her in a hug as we both burned. I felt the shadows sipping at her mind. They would ebb at my will, but never go away. She was lost at sea. If that was so, then I was her anchor. I pulled us out of her mind, out into the world. All around us was human squalor cast in early-morning light. She held onto me and sobbed—but they were proper tears.
“You have to come with me,” I said. I didn’t know whether she could keep on her feet if I let her go; I needed to hold her. “We struck a deal.” She pulled away from me.
“The terms are not set, Aethim,” she said with a hoarse crow’s voice. I stared at her, at her eyes from whence no light escaped. Around them, her face was red and cracked from my power. Underneath the sunburn, her skin was translucent blue. Already, she was—changing. “We made a pact,” she said, “But I can’t come with you.” Her fingers stilled my lips when I began to speak; her touch bit into my skin. Where she stood, her feet burned the rug. Wisps of smoke rose from the dirt floor itself. She moved back from me, and her footprints seethed and throbbed. Bits of wool and dirt twisted into shapes that made feeble noises before collapsing upon themselves. She stared down with me at them. “Can you promise me I wouldn’t do this to the summerlands. I wouldn’t eat it all up? Risk all your pretty wives, and make you depend on some other lord, or—flee to some other place where I could spew all this again?” I could not meet her inky eyes.
“No,” I said after too long. “No, I don’t know. No one does.”
“I can’t stay there,” she said. “I can’t stay here. Anywhere. It’s going to keep happening, Aethim. Sickening the land with every step—and you can’t stop it?” I would not agree, but my silence spoke for me. “Help me,” she said. “Contain it. Help me—help me stay sane. Stay whole. Please. You cannot take me to the summerlands, but it will take my mind and myself. Aethim, I don’t—I don’t have any—I give you—my name. I give you my name.” She spoke the words that bound us.
I held her face in my hands and forced myself to look into her eyes while the floor issued smoke around us. I kissed her; her cracked lips cooled my rage at what had been lost. I tasted something dark and seeking, and I had to pull back. A long thread of blue-black ink connected our mouths. Her hands in mine spasmed. I hugged her against me as she seized and drooled that filthy substance and soiled herself. I wasn’t made for this eldritch connection; what would it do to a human body?
It would mangle her. Ruin her. Destroy her. Light streamed in from the broken window; what seemed like moments had taken hours. I twisted my hand and wove sunlight into a golden chain. I warmed it with my breath, and granted it the munificence of summer’s better nature. I wrapped the chain around her wrist and mine. I soldered the last link to the first; light flared. The chain faded until it was no more. My peasant-girl focused on me, despite the ichthyological black invading her eyes. The smoke from the carpet ebbed; I still heard the whispers she heard, but my sunlight held them back from us both.
“Yidhra Tamult,” I murmured, “If you can’t come with me, I will go with you.”
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