Excerpt: Revenant Lights

So, this was the mansion, then. She gazed thoughtfully up at the old king and queen—not so very old now, of course. Lithia was likely no older than she was, and Sindre guessed that Demhen was no more than a couple years her elder. She’d always wondered what the interior design looked like, and now she knew. Rich wood panels carved with scenes from a million dreams decorated the walls. Faces and places she’d never recognize, even if she spent her entire life travelling and reading, not in a moral’s lifespan, because every panel displayed a different place and a different person and a different thing. Everything was inset with gold, gold binding panels together at the corners, gold on the chairs, gold on the tables propping up huge, elaborate vases (and these too were painted with the scenes of a hundred ages), gold trim on the frames protecting large pictures on the wall. And just like the walls and the narrow, painted vases, the pictures also displayed a scene. They were photorealistic, not the stylized wood carvings on the panels, and seemed to be almost a window into another world.

Everything except the crystal glass windows said that this was an entrance into another world. This meant something. This was something.

And that something was a record of a million ages and a million dreams long passed.

In the middle of it all was the king and queen.

His Highness had an ashen face and hair a little longer than the reputable, presumable fashion. A little scragglier, because she could see occasional pieces of dark brown peering out from underneath his elaborate crown. At least the crown wasn’t carved to carry the memory of another scene, though she didn’t doubt it had some significance—she’d never noticed the repeated artistic theme in the gardens before, but thinking back, she was certain that the flagstones also bore some carvings. His clothing was rich, velvet and silk, and covered him from head to toe. His boots and gloves were trimmed with gold, as was his tunic and pants. He didn’t wear the collar ruff that most of the lords did, but rather, his shirt was almost quilted, each panel bearing a scene from some long past triumph. Each panel was held together with golden thread.

Where his face wasn’t ash, it was touched with gold, and his eyes were like the sun.

Her Highness wore a simple yellow dress, it was the complete opposite of her husband’s ornately artistic attire. Where he had a memory on every panel, hers was simply a layer of silk, and a layer of gauze over her skirt, done in the fashionable style. Here, her sleeves were longer and her collar closer to her neck, but undone with the golden pin off to the side, holding a thin cloak to her right side. Where his clothing was almost gaudy, hers was understated. A few locks of hair had fallen out of her updo and teased her shoulders and neck.

Where his face was ash, hers was sunlit and her eyes like the moon. Small silver pins, like stars, held her hair into place and every time she shifted on the uncomfortably flamboyant chairs, they glinted in the sunlight drifting in from the windows—there were so many windows in the room.

Neither face revealed a thing.

The soldiers were still talking in whatever the language was that they spoke. Sindre recognized it from other times she’d watched in the garden, but she couldn’t understand more than a few words, mainly food items.

This conversation was not about food. Nor did it seem to be about the Duke and his promiscuous outgoings, nor did it seem to be about anything that would have been discussed in the light-hearted, cheerful garden galas.

It was about their prisoner. Oh, she wasn’t bound or restrained by anything more than the two guards standing beside her, but she had a feeling that if she moved and one of them jumped on her, she would shortly be dead. And they seemed well aware that she couldn’t comprehend whatever it was they spoke through and ignored the highland tongue that she could speak, unless it was to tell her to sit still on the hardwood floor with its taunting golden inlay.

It seemed to repeat it—you can’t move, you can’t leave here, you’re trapped here, don’t even think of leaving.

Every once in a while Sindre thought to try speak, but they always silenced her, kept talking, as if she wasn’t there.

It’s just a dream. Shortly, you will wake up…

But a dream was never this realistic. This was a little too realistic.

Eventually one of the soldiers grabbed her and pulled her back to her feet. Sindre stumbled a little bit and stood there, staring across at the queen and king on their fancy chairs, in their fancy clothes, with their fancy decorations. She realized just how much she had to stand out, standing there with a peasant’s dirty tunic and short skirt and moccasins, dirt on her face and her long hair matted and down.

Wake up…

The queen stood up—as Sindre thought, her chair also had a panel on it, this one with a more dainty scene than the walls seemed to be. It was a place with trees and a place with trees and water and sunlight—even if it was nothing more than a wood carving, Sindre knew it was a good place. Not like the panel to her left, with a red sky and the remains of an army. Not like the panel to her right, with the faces of a thousand dead.

Lithia was merciful enough to speak in the highland tongue. “Have her put away for questioning.”

“But I didn’t do anything, your Highness!” Sindre yelled, ignoring the rap on the side of her head from the butt of the soldier’s sword. She ducked a bit, not really in deference to the queen, but just to avoid getting another knock in the same place. The other grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Where would you like her placed, your Highness?”

They’d taken the consideration to switch to the highland tongue. Evidently some decision had been made, and now they were choosing to speak in a recognizable tongue, likely for her sake rather than the sake of her captors. Sindre snarled and pulled out of his grip. For a moment, she wondered if she could change the past… “They’re going to kill you!”

“Don’t make a worse case for yourself—“ “Who’s going to kill me?” The king and queen spoke simultaneously.