Threadbare - Complete Trilogy, page 62
“Your orders, Captain?” Anise asked, hands folded behind her back, smiling.
And oh, did Cecelia hate her at that moment. But why? She wondered. Anise was easy to blame, true, but she couldn’t help what she was. And she hadn’t killed Kayin.
Cecelia thought. And as she did, that sensation nagged at her mind. She’d felt something like that before, both in the Catamountain, and in the dungeon the elite knights had special access to…
“Renick, Graves,” she said, carefully. “A second ago, did it feel like everything shifted? Like when we ran Highmountain together?”
“Yeah. Yeah it did,” Renick said. “I didn’t think anything of it because I was busy breaking that doll, but now that you mention it…”
Cecelia gnawed her lip. “Grandfather. Renick, take Kayin’s body to the corpse cart, then get the army moving. I assume it’s that thing?” She pointed across the lake, to where a green glow was visible to the southwest.
“Yes.” Said Anise. “I’ll have the scout guide them.”
“You’re not going yourself?” Grave asked.
“If this strange feeling is your grandfather, I need to be there with you when you find him,” Anise smiled at Cecelia. “You understand, dear.”
“I know,” the girl sighed. “You don’t trust me one bit.”
“I trust you every bit as much as you trust me.” Anise smiled.
“That’s pretty much what I just said.” Cecelia confirmed, then checked her coal reserves. A bit left. Enough for the task at hand. “Stand back. If there’s a dungeon it’ll be in the church somewhere. I’ll clear the wreckage and see what we can find.”
The trapdoor they eventually uncovered, and the wooden stairs down, were too small for reason. With a sigh, Cecelia decanted from her suit, animating it and inviting it to her party. It should be enough to stand guard over the site while they explored, but… “Does Kayin still have a messenger imp on her?” she asked.
“Burned up like she was, sorry,” Graves said.
“No worries,” Kayin said from her soulstone. “I’m pretty much beyond offending, here. Besides, I’ve made too many corpses to be sensitive about my own.”
“Heh. Just sit tight, we’ll get to you shortly,” Cecelia smiled, glad to hear her friend’s spirit in good… well, spirits.
“Who are you speaking to?” Anise interrupted.
Cecelia shot Graves a glance, got one in return. “You didn’t hear that?” Cecelia asked.
“Let’s just focus on the job at hand.” The Inquisitor descended the steps, peering around, distracted and with a hungry look on her face. “A dungeon, yessss….”
“Might want to stay silent for a bit, Kayin.” Graves whispered. “Don’t want that one getting ideas about you.”
The cave below was relatively small, and definitely not a dungeon. It had bloodstained sand next to a cove full of dark water. There was also a small chamber down a side-passage, that led to a room with bleachers, mattresses on the grimy floor, and an unexpected shock to her sanity when Cecelia saw the kind of drawings that lined the walls. If there’d been any doubt to the righteousness of her cause, it was gone now.
But it was also empty of any kind of dungeon.
At least, she and Graves thought so until they returned to the main cave, and found Anise crouched at the water line, staring into the darkness. “Clever, clever,” said the Inquisitor, a smile curving her flawless lips. “They put it underwater.”
“How far?” Graves asked.
“Not far.” And then Anise waded into the cold water, fading from view as she went.
Graves and Cecelia shared a look. “Invite me,” She said.
One invite later, she and his remaining three skeletons, and a hastily created animus blade and shield went into the water…
…and surfaced into the light.
“Oh,” Cecelia said, staring around her, at the riverbank, and the pine woods just beyond.
And there, up on a hill, was a two-story house. Cozy, hidden…
…and familiar.
Beyond the stretch of river, a narrow bit of woods, and the house, everything was foggy and unresolved. The colors were bleached and strained, and some of the trees had a translucent quality to them.
“It’s new. Barely formed,” Anise hissed, to their side. She paced back and forth, hands flexing, fingers grasping. “Oh this will be perfect!”
But Cecelia didn’t hear her. She was too busy looking at the house, where she had been safe. Where she had been innocent once. And her eyes burned once more, as she felt her heart burn in her chest.
Here was her reckoning, she knew. The final reconciliation, one way or the other, the final challenge to overcome, to put aside childish things and become the woman her Father and her future subjects needed her to be.
And she didn’t know if she was strong enough.
Winning Hearts and Minds 3
“What is this?” Graves asked.
“This was my house. This is where I grew up.” Cecelia shook her head. “I was so naive back then.”
Anise smiled, and said nothing.
Her voice sounded distant to her own ears. “He’ll be inside. I know what he’s doing, why he’s doing it.” She swallowed, hard. “And I’m going to march in there and tell him why it won’t work, and will never work, and arrest him for treason.”
“We,” said Graves.
“What?”
“We’ll march in there and arrest him.”
Cecelia closed her eyes. “Thank you.” Then she shot Anise a look, and found the thing glowering at the house.
“Something wrong?”
“I thought I was done with this place. It gives me… indigestion.”
“We’ll get you something for that when we’re done. Let’s go… Inquisitor.”
Cecelia led the way, and as they went, the trees loomed larger and larger.
“What is this?” Graves asked. “I didn’t think there was any old growth left in the valley.”
“There isn’t. This is wrong. It’s a perspective trick. Which means… keep an eye out for giant scarecrows.”
“What?”
Then the first thing stepped out of the trees.
“Eye for Detail,” she scrutinized it as it came, arms extended, lumbering toward them in eerie silence. Covered in tattered cloth, with straw poking out the eyeholes of its massive cloth mask, it was thirty feet tall if it was an inch. Grasping fingers of wood clenched, and more sticks of wood showed through its torn pants, woven together with old rope.
“Captain?” Graves shouted, moving his skeletons in between them and the raggedy man.
“It’s level seven, and weaker than our sergeants” she snorted. “Let’s take it apart.”
It didn’t get a single hit past their shields before they knocked it to bits. Anise didn’t break stride, leaving them to deal with it as she marched up the hill.
Cecelia hurried after, lips compressed in a thin line. She didn’t trust her alone here. Didn’t trust her, period.
That was pretty much how things had been for the last few years, it’s just that there had never been anything Cecelia could do about it beyond tread as cautiously as she could around Anise. And even then, the daemon had a way about her, something that let her slip things into conversations that you caught later, and winced at.
But she was literally the devil Cecelia knew.
So for now that would have to do.
Then they were up and moving through the trees, each of them six times as tall as she remembered. But the details were off here, subtly off. Trees that she knew by heart were different, sketchy, foggy.
“Getting senile, Grandfather?” she whispered. She paused by one that he’d used to measure her every year, carved notches into as she grew. The bark was bare, and the wrong type for its species. “Birch,” she murmured and remembered Mordecai, and flashed to the image of the old scout in his cell, scarred and broken, and almost lost it then.
But Anise didn’t stop, and Cecelia couldn’t leave her be. So she followed, and Graves kept pace alongside her.
Her house was huge, as was the workshop to the wide. She swallowed hard as she saw the black cat in the window of the shop, glowering out at her. “Pulsivar,” she said, and turned her back on him. He’d lain on her back sometimes, when it rained in the night. A heavy purring weight, warm in the cold. They’d slept there that way sometimes and she’d nodded off to dreams, lulled by raindrops and the smell of his fur.
“That handle’s pretty far up there,” Graves said.
“It’s still a door,” Cecelia said, her voice raw. “Animus. Invite door.” It opened, and she kicked it from the party, running mostly on force of habit.
The front room was empty, a simple dinner set on the table. Venison and porridge, she could smell it, and the smell hit her harder than the sight of the place did. Hurt in a way she hadn’t expected.
“Pretty nice place,” Graves said. “But… where are all the monsters? This is a dungeon, right?”
Cecelia looked toward Emmet, huge as two Reasons put together, and shook her head. “Wait for it.”
But the giant suit of armor didn’t animate as they crossed the floor, or as they passed the cheerful fireplace, with the logs popping in their merry blaze, but oddly cold.
There was no temperature differential between here and outside, she realized suddenly. It all just sort of was.
That struck her as odd, more than anything else she’d encountered so far. Doubts gnawed at her mind, for the first time.
“This might not be Caradon,” she said, stopping abruptly before the stairs. “This… something’s not right, here.”
“If not him, then who?” Anise asked.
“This isn’t an old man’s house,” she said, as she sheathed her sword and slung her shield on her back, and scrambled up the stairs, grabbing each one and boosting herself up. “It’s the house as seen from a very small person’s perspective. Which means…”
She got to the top, and peered down the hallway. There, at the very end, was her grandfather’s room. Light spilled from under the door, and she could hear the old man humming, as he did when he sat up and worked before he went to bed every night. An old familiar melody, but she knew it for the ruse it was now. “He left you behind, didn’t he, Threadbare?” She said, looking instead to her own room, darkness beneath the crack under the door. “Left you behind to stall me, while he escaped. Come on. It’s me, Cecelia, all gr-grown up now,” she said, tears spilling from her eyes. “Come… come out and we’ll talk. About this. I’ll get you some paper to write on or s-s-something.” Oh, they were coming freely now, and she tugged off her helm, shook her head. Her hair bounced, short but frizzy as it had ever been.
And for a second, everything flickered. For a second, there was nothing there but darkness and green light, and Anise gasped.
“What is this?” Graves said, pushing in to put his back to Cecelia’s.
“The master just stepped out of his slot,” Anise said, and for once her voice wasn’t tainted with cool malice. “But someone else stepped in before the dungeon could close.”
“Dungeons close?” Graves narrowed his eyes.
“How do you think we seal them?” Anise said, looking around.
“Come out!” Cecelia shouted. “You have no idea how much I’ve m-m-missed you all these years! It’s not too late, we can talk this over!”
And after a moment, from under the door to her room, a light flickered on.
“Perhaps you’d better come in,” An even, calm voice said. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Anise started forward, then hissed in anger as Cecelia’s gauntlet fell on her shoulder. “Listen, and listen well, daemon,” Cecelia said. “Our bargain about my grandfather extends to Threadbare, as well. I don’t care the terms you tried to extort, or about the exact wording. I just want you to know that if you try to harm him in any way, shape, or form, I WILL kill you or see that you spend all eternity with the worst punishment I can inflict upon you.”
“As you like,” Anise shrugged her hand off, staring at her like a lion watching a housecat strut and hiss. “To be honest, we’ve long passed the point where I need your permission to ensure you’re all you must be. The bargain was more for my amusement than anything else, and eventual irony to salt the wound a bit, in case things fall out like I think they might.”
Cecelia digested that, and the anger and disgust helped her focus her mind a bit. “I think this is the most honesty you’ve ever shown me.”
“Part of me DID love you once.” Anise smiled. “It took years to grind away that weakness. Then you turned into a teenager and it got much easier. Shall we?”
Pushing the arrogance of the woman-thing from her mind, the young woman approached her room. The door swung open as she went to push it open.
And there, in a cluttered room, with her old drawings on the walls, and her old bed looming giant to the side, with toys strewn about and rendered exactly like she remembered them, was a table.
And around it, sat toys having a tea party.
“Beanarella,” she said, staring at the little stuffed doll. “D-dracosnack,” Cecelia managed, looking at the little green plush dragon that had survived so many battles. “Loopy,” she sighed, at the fuzzy giraffe, much larger proportionately now, in this dungeon of memories and sweet pain.
“Threadbare,” she finished, staring at the toy, the smallest one in the room.
He wore a red coat with mismatched buttons, and an apron over it, and baggy pants that looked ridiculous on him. But she recognized the scepter and the toy top hat, the very same one she’d given him here, in this room, at this table, so long ago. And Cecelia wailed then, overcome as she sank to the floor and sobbed, arms open wide as the little bear ran to her and hugged her, hugged her tightly. Golden light flared, and her minor injuries closed, and she picked him up and cried into his fur, cried for everything she’d lost and everything she’d done, and sobbed until she couldn’t anymore.
Purring at her side then, and she looked up through a veil of tears, to a black feline face and yellow eyes. The ears were wrong somehow, but that purr…
“Pulsivar?” She whispered.
And then he was licking her tears away, and rubbing his face all over hers, and she laughed and held him to her breastplate, held them both, and the anger and sorrow and bitterness that had filled her and buoyed her to this point drained away like pus from an infected wound.
“I’m going to vomit,” Anise announced behind her.
“No Inquisitor, you’re going to shut the hell up and let her have this,” Graves said, and Cecelia giggled, absurdly, breaking her sobs as they wound down.
She had friends now. New and old. She’d been so lonely, for so long… but now everything could be fixed.
“I missed you, Celia,” Threadbare said. “I was so worried for you.”
“I’m sorry. I’m… I thought you were dead. The sword… I looked up and you were pinned and you weren’t moving, and then they backed me into a corner and I couldn’t see-I wondered, later. I thought you had more hit points, but they told me the house burned, and I didn’t know if you made it out, and I tried Wind’s Whisper a few times just in case, but I didn’t have much range-”
“Shh.” he said, patting her lips with the teacup he still held in his left hand.
She giggled, as she remembered how he’d done that, long ago. Then, collecting herself, she put him down.
“Hm,” he said, looking down at his snot and tearstained coat. “Clean and Press.”
“Your grandfather left behind a toy teddy tailor to… do what, exactly?” Graves asked. “Forgive me, I’m honestly a little confused by this whole situation.”
“He’s more than that,” Cecelia whispered. “Much more. We ran dungeons together. Well, a dungeon, anyway. Which… how?” She gestured at the house-shaped world around them.
“It’s a very long story. Would you all care for some tea? It’s mostly real.” He pointed to the table.
“Erm.” Graves said, glancing at her.
“Appraise,” Cecelia said, looking the setup over. She didn’t think he’d poison her, but this place was strange, and golems might not be used to things like the vagaries of human digestive systems. “It’s tea. It’ll restore a little sanity, that’s all.”
“Tea parties are good for that, I find,” Threadbare said, settling into his chair and laying his scepter on the table. “You taught me that one early on.”
“They are,” she giggled, as Pulsivar licked her face again, then gently nudged him away. “Gods you’ve gotten big. Wait, you’re a bobcat?” She blinked. “You weren’t a bobcat before.”
“He ranked up in the years after everything went bad,” Threadbare said. “I did too. My head’s bigger now. Evidently that’s a cave bear thing.”
She shook her head as she took her seat. Graves settled in next to her.
“I’ll pass, thanks.” Anise shook her head. “I’m really here for one thing only.”
“Which is?” Threadbare asked.
“I’ll tell you if it comes up.”
“Fair enough, I suppose.”
“It never is.” Cecelia drank her tea. “So. You can talk now.”
“It took a lot of work and tailoring. I figured out how to make voices. My chest is full of strings and other things. And then once I could speak I could say things like Status, and all of my skills and spells, and life got a bit easier. In some ways.” The little bear took off his hat, and rubbed his head. “I guess it’s more complicated now, too. So it’s not much easier. It’s just that I’ve got more ways to handle problems, if that makes sense.”
“That’s how life goes, I’m afraid,” Cecelia said. “We all have to grow up, and do things we don’t like.”
“Oh. I don’t know about that,” Threadbare said. “I like helping people, and saving them. And that’s mostly what we did tonight.”
“Helping people like old ones cultists? Saving innocents by feeding them to blasphemous gods?”
