The Voice Inside has Questions
Chapter 5 of To Those Who Hear the Call
I’m Lydia Woodward and I write fantasy stories about redemption and forgiveness. To learn more, you can read my bio here or the about page here.
Welcome back, starling!
Today’s chapter is slightly longer (though not by much) and I am so excited to share it with you. The tension and stakes will pick up from here on out as Eraneshu and his mental hitchhiker learn to work together. I love learning more about my characters as I write them and I hope you enjoy reading about them!
If you haven’t read Chapter 1 yet, you can find it here:
Denial is a funny thing. We see it in the strained smiles of the faces around us, perhaps several times a day, and yet, we are often the last ones to note it in ourselves. There’s a method to it, a tidy frame, and a tightly closed box in our thoughts. It stays there, for a moment, a year. We tell ourselves that it is gone, perhaps it never existed at all.
But regret and fear are two siblings that soon grow beyond denial’s means of containment. All it takes is a crack. Just one slip, and they will find us, all the worse for having to grow in the dark.
There’s a thin veil fluttering in the back of my mind while the rattle of metal wheels on track echoes in the quiet cabin around me. Trees blur by in a mesh of gray and green, the daylight rings doing little to brighten the sky amidst the approaching storm. The subtle sway of the train does little to detract from the battle waging within. I can taste them, the denial and fear so palpable they could be my own.
Not for the first time, I brace myself to attempt an offer of diplomacy, something I haven’t had enough practice in to prove any good. Perhaps if you were to calm down a bit-
Stop distracting me! I need to wake up.
How unfortunate that therein seems to be the real problem. Not only does my mental hitchhiker have no idea how she falls into my mind, but she can’t wake herself back into her own either. Sinking back into the well-worn cushions, I exhale a heavy sigh. Vigilant is sheathed and propped up beneath my window, the satchel secure on the seat beside me. Not for the first time, I pull out the small book Milpho left behind. There are several maps and sketches of wanted Vaye, but it’s the smallest one that I find my eyes being drawn to yet again. It’s only a side profile, a rough charcoal outline of a person at the end of a narrow alley, but there’s something in the stance that feels unmistakable. Milpho thought so too, or else he wouldn’t have scratched down the address in angry red letters and then circled it for good measure.
Perhaps that is what has me so sure Wodahs won’t be there. He was always clever, always thinking of the next step. It doesn’t make sense that he would walk into the only city near the borderlands, not when there are countless small villages and hunting trails to disappear into.
The sharp, long whistle of the train lets me know we’re nearly at the next station. Time to disappear.
Getting off of trains always seems to take longer than getting on. It often seems that each and every passenger has unanimously decided that there is some great danger lurking in the farthest back rows, sure to swallow them alive if they are not the first to disembark onto the walkway toward the station. Perhaps today that fear is not wholly unfounded. Several eyes slide over to my corner of the train as I exit the small cabin and form the back of the line. Anxious feet seem to shuffle all at once from each pair of feet to the next like a wave of anticipation trying to carry them away with it. Mothers grip the small chubby hands of their children in an iron grip as they tug them close to their skirts. The younger men risk second glances at my worn cloak and the unmistakable tip of Vigilant’s sheath poking out from underneath its ragged edges. They jostle one another’s shoulders and whisper great promises of what they would like their comrades to deem them capable of, yet they find their feet inching them steadily closer to the exit even as they goad on each other’s verbal displays of bravery.
It’s no small wonder that the more well-off inhabitants of Seffervayiim would be unsettled by my presence on one of the main railways. The dark simple clothing I wear lacks any of the bold colors and shiny buttons of the city dwellers. My arms are marked from my knuckles to my shoulders with the unmistakable black scrawling lines of the High Court’s brand. There’s little room for subtlety in an arena where every shadow must be adorned with glamor and pomp. Much less so for a puppet with a sword on his side.
The shell-shaped vial from Eevo weighs heavier in my satchel as I feel the burning stares of every guard on the station watching me walk toward the gates. If only running away was quite so simple.
My vision blurs - a sharp pain nearly blocking my sight in a flash of bright white while I struggle to keep my walking steady, aiming to stay pointed in the right direction. Hurried phantom fingers scratch inside my mind, apparently trying to claw their way through.
Blinding me is not going to get you out of my head any quicker. The scratching pauses for a blissful moment, my vision sliding back into place for long enough that I notice I’ve wandered to the left just enough to make the guards at the last gate uncomfortable as I amble toward the one who’s gripping the handle of his electric whip just a little tighter, the tip sparking where he’s flicked his wrist lightly to the side. And I’m sure you’d rather not get us both electrocuted on this little hitchhike you’re enjoying so much, hmm?
The implied threat seems to do the trick as the back of my mind quiets down. Though I can’t say for sure whether the pain could transfer to Enaj’s consciousness, it certainly won’t hurt me if she believes it will.
There’s another moment of hesitation before a voice begins clearing dramatically, echoing around in my skull while she decides what to say. What can I - uh - how do I get out of your head? I want to wake up now.
Twin pillars of white stone light up, the green rays inside their smooth inlays shimmering over the markings on my forearms, glowing brighter as the green beam arches over my head and the two streams of light meet in the middle. The twitchy guard grunts his reluctant acquiescence as the bright gold gates swing outward to grant me passage into the inner city. I wait until I feel their disapproving gaze vanish, my back muscles releasing some tension when I turn the next corner out of their sight before I bother responding to Enaj’s probing.
Lights above us, girl! How am I supposed to know what a goblin does? Didn’t your parents teach you anything about the dreamscape? I pinch the bridge of my nose and dart into the nearest alleyway, hurrying down past the flashing lights and hanging banners. Streams of bright ribbons shimmer in the air as they fall just behind me, the large airships blaring overhead with the latest announcement from the Redemption Trials. Several posters line the unkempt walls of the narrow passageway to the city’s underbelly. Faces stare out from them, eyes too wide and bright to have comprehended what they were being baited into. An old advert line from decades past still clings to the mossy stones in faded letters proclaiming that the trials are a place with “Fun That Never Ends!” Hardly surprising that even this close to the bustling pomp of the main streets there’s glowing green paint splattered over the word “Fun” with the word “Pain” sprayed on above it.
I don’t think we should go this way…
How fortunate then that I am in charge of this body. I am going this way. You are more than welcome to vacate my mind as soon as possible.
How many times must I tell you? Her voice rises, shrill and sharp as a knife’s edge. I CAN’T GET OUT.
Faint echoes of scuffing footprints register before I can bother responding. My fingers brush over the billowing folds of my cloak with every new stride and I make a conscious effort to keep my twitchy fingers from flexing toward Vigilant’s hilt. We’re being followed.
What?!
Enaj. I would appreciate being able to concentrate for a moment. A small huff is her only reply. Her nervousness, however, is palpable, my temples pulsing with the tempo of her heart rate. For the first time in years, I can feel my own pulse thrumming faster, my chest clenching painfully tight for an uncomfortable moment. We really must get this sorted soon. Having a heart attack is not on my agenda.
Are we still being followed?
The absurdity of believing our pursuer had been deterred in a moment of her silence is nearly enough to elicit a sigh. I'll let you know when we're not. Pulsing from behind my eyelids has me hurriedly adding the only assurance I can think of during this emotional onslaught: Only a fool would try to attack me alone. I don't bother contemplating just how many such fools are bound to be lurking in the undercurrents of city life. Make that the first of many thoughts I'm sure I'll be needing to stuff into the dark before they can reach her consciousness.
Glimmering lights reflect dully off of the grimy windows of the first shops when I exit the alleyway. My entrance into the underbelly of Seffervayiim is indescribably unsettling as I'm sure that several pairs of light feet are already off to report on it. Where information is currency, speed is infinitely more valuable. My employment under Milpho has been one of few and bitter advantages: one of which is the intimate knowledge of every corner and every shard of discernible window pane. A shadow flits across the disjointed, rusted glass of the watchmaker shop sign, its owner creeping closer behind me in ignorance as to my vantage points scattered all around. That knowledge provides little comfort when recognition registers at my first full glimpse of his face.
The warlock.
Mentally berating myself for my complacency, I make a mental note to double-check the body before Milpho intervenes next time. That last thought lingers with a strange aftertaste — like an itch waiting to be scratched, it throbs, beckoning me toward something I haven't fully grasped yet.
Wasn't that guy dead? Enaj's whisper is somehow more distracting than her typical volume. It would seem she hasn't thought through how utterly pointless whispering is when you're inside someone else's head.
I'm about to say as much when I realize: Milpho knows that he's still alive.
That weird old guy? You think he's in on it?
Before I can question what in the seven mirrorworlds she believes a creature could be both in and on at the same time, my subconscious decides that now is somehow an appropriate time to wonder at the implication that Enaj seems incapable of recognizing her own species. Tucking that aside, I dart inside the next frame where memory serves that the doorway was torn down years ago and never replaced. It's just enough of a surprise that I catch the warlock unawares, gripping him by the collar to tug him in after me while I slip the dagger loose from my right sleeve and press it beneath his jawline. His eyes are wide, his throat bobbing under the sharp blade as I pin his collar to the decrepit wall.
"You so much as spark your fingertips, and you'll be choking on your own blood. Bright?"
The warlock stills with an almost imperceptible nod that seems to be all the acknowledgment he dares for the moment. When I raise an eyebrow, he clears his throat, sounding almost choked from the effort. "Bright enough." His voice croaks and he risks another nod. "I understand."
"I suggest you start talking faster if you want to keep on living."
The warlock's eyes shift toward the open doorway before sliding back to mine. "Not sure what you mean-" he starts, but I tighten my grip on his collar and the last word ends in a choking sound.
"Try again."
He nods, his eyes steadying, and I sense more than see the next trick. Slamming my dagger down on his hand just as the forefinger starts to brighten with the flare of a spell, I release his collar to slide Vigilant from his sheath and swing the blade just in time to block the lightning from the other hand. The warlock screams and the light on his hands goes dark. This time, I know my aim is true.
His body slumps to the floor, and I catch his torso just in time to keep the corpse from crashing into the rubble. There's only a small window of time before the darker side of Seffervayiim shows up to play, and I would rather not be standing around here when it does.
A suppressed squeak causes me to jerk around before realizing it came from my own mind. Is he dead? For real this time? Her voice is shakier than before, too thin to have been prepared for what I've just done.
Yes. I hesitate, hurrying further into the shadows to make my escape. He was a warlock. He would have killed us. Me, my conscience reminds me, he most likely would have killed just me. There's a pause, and I wonder whether she's about to question me on that point.
Are you okay?
What? Her response is so odd that I find I have to fight the urge to laugh. I just killed someone and you're asking if I'm alright? Positively absurd, I remind myself, she must realize that.
Yeah. I mean, you had to kill him, but that doesn't, I don't know, doesn't mean it was easy, I guess?
Her words seem to echo, an uncomfortable sensation causing my chest to tighten again. This is her fault after all — once she's gone, I'll be back to myself. But there's a strangeness to it that feels more like a memory and I find myself wondering whether I'll be any better once she goes away. I'm fine, Enaj. We need to keep moving.
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