Chapter Three
First Words

With the lack of light, it was hard to tell how much time was passing.

Elliott had dealt with similar situations in the war, having to merely wait and watch for days at a time for an ambush. In those times, he’d dreaded being outside and exposed to the elements for so long, drenched by rain, frozen by snow, and melted by heat. It had taken him so long to get used to the muck after being pampered for his first fourteen years of life, but now he longed for that sunlight and fresh air.

In the Dark Chambers, the air was static, unmoving and unnatural. The magic ate away at his overwhelmed senses, keeping him on edge despite the immense exhaustion he’d felt since his interview.

Even so, his knees eventually began to give, and he pulled over one of the seats. The sound of the chair scraping against the stone echoed in every direction. Should an intruder come, they would be easy to hear at least.

To pass the time, Elliott retreated into his mind, even though it was a dreadful place to be. He’d been exposed to death for nearly a decade now, and every one of those violent horrors was etched onto the backs of his eyelids. Bones jutting out of severed flesh, twisted necks, lifeless eyes, charred corpses of both soldiers he’d felled and innocents they’d failed to protect; those visions were as regular to his day-to-day life as breathing now.

He wished he could forget them. Especially the images of his family. When those memories rushed up, the Finch’s Blade trilled with that calming song every time. He swallowed when he realised his brief thought from earlier was ringing true – the sword appeared to be sentient. He leaned it against the stone wall, keeping it away from his hands.

However, as more treacherous minutes of being left alone with his thoughts passed, he kept glancing at it. His mind teased him with the thought that he was too scared to even look at a piece of metal, and that insult to himself made him snatch the sword and unsheathe it.

He stared at it for a while and kept reminding himself over and over that it was just a weapon, a tool. It was something he controlled, not the other way around. His face reflected in the perfect steel, showing off the worry lines of his furrowed brow.

He inhaled sharply before he took a sheepish, lazy swing. Once again, an ever-so-light breeze wafted through the quiet room. A tickling sensation ran up his arm as he came into contact with magic yet again, like a rush of pure energy.

He stood up and took a practiced stance as he held the blade outward, aimed down the long hall, then took a larger swing. A gust blew out, causing the crystals to ring out like windchimes and the door at the end to rattle.

Whatever conflict Elliott should’ve felt from disobeying his ingrained fears was being quelled by the sword’s calming song and the thrill of power that raced through him.

With nothing else to do, he continued his tests and grew more confident in the process. It would have been nice if Rhodese were there to see him. Rhodese had always given Elliott first pick of the Otherworld weapons their battalion received, but Elliott, ever the paranoid sceptic, refused them every time. He imagined Rhodese’s jaw would have been on the floor if he saw him now.

That image made Elliott smile briefly.

***

“All right, this weapon should be right for your little arms.”

Elliott glared at his commander, Edward Rhodese. “I’m getting stronger.” He yanked the sword from Rhodese’s hand, then gasped and dropped it when he felt a stinging sensation. “I told you, I don’t want any enchanted weapons!”

"Hey, I’m just trying to keep you alive, kid!” He leaned down and ruffled his hair, which only made Elliott pout harder. “You’re tiny, you’ll barely last ten seconds out there.”

As Elliott tried to fix his hair, he muttered, “I bet I’ll be taller than you when I’m older.”

Rhodese ran his eyes over every bit of his scrawniest soldier. “Since you refuse to tell me your birthday, I’m assuming you’re still fourteen, and I have some unfortunate news for you.” He chuckled and placed his hand on Elliott’s head again, pushing him down. “Growth spurts only do so much. I reckon you’re quite doomed already.”

Every training session with Rhodese was like this. He’d play around with Elliott, trying to get even one smile from that miserable child.

For his next attempt, he picked up the sword again and waved it around to show it off. “Are you certain you don’t want this one?” He flicked it, and it burst into flames. “Don’t think this is impressive?”

His mother’s stories rang in Elliott’s mind, making him cower at the sight of the sword’s magic.

Rhodese groaned. “You know, most boys would be slobbering all over this.” Nevertheless, he tossed the sword to the side and passed Elliott a dagger instead.

“A dagger?”

“You’re a long way from the frontlines, but you’re quick and agile. Make use of that.”

“But I–”

“Listen, Elliott, be grateful I’m training you. If you’d ended up in any other battalion, I can guarantee you that your commander would’ve just used you as fodder.”

Elliott gritted his teeth. His bloodthirsty anger had no outlet, and he was getting more aggravated the longer he suffered from those endless night terrors of his family’s murders. He wanted that revenge already.

Rhodese placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, then knelt onto his knee to make sure Elliott was properly listening. “Do you think your mother would’ve wanted you to just throw your life away?”

The warm touch of his hand made Elliott pause. He hadn’t felt affection in a while, and it brought him right back to those bloody memories.

Rhodese noticed his gaze darkening and reassured him, “Hey, it’s all right.” In a rare moment of sincerity, he told him, “I’m here for you now.”

Then Elliott finally smiled.

***

The hours went on and on still.

To try and distract himself from his roaming mind, Elliott rummaged through the storage cupboards, finding glass bottles of water and a variety of other perfectly normal provisions. They didn’t hold his attention for very long, and most of his time was still spent doing as he was told: guarding the doors and whatever was inside.

True to what Langley said, he was slowly, very slowly, growing used to the magic. It eased into his skin and lungs, feeling more like a humid summer’s day than an overbearing weight like it had in the beginning. Breathing in that heavy air, he tried to picture what the Otherworld looked like, what beasts Rhodese was locked in battle with, but he didn’t have the imagination for such a distant place.

As the hours pressed onward still, he clutched onto the Finch’s Blade appreciatively, finding its soothing song to be an addicting cure for his wretched mind. He hadn’t even reached the end of his shift, and he’d already changed his mind on the sword.

How much more would he change if he stayed at Laudine Castle? Hadn’t he wanted to change?

As he pondered those questions, he turned to the doors, wondering about what he was even protecting. He took a cautious step from his chair to stand before them, then ran his fingers along the detailed carvings of gwythroot flowers.

When he gently clasped one of the silver door knockers, the cool steel stung his skin. It was heavy enough that it didn’t even sway from his touch. Leaning his forehead against the door, he sighed heavily. “Can I really handle this?” he whispered aloud to himself, happy to hear a voice, even if it was just his own.

As the quietness settled over him, he closed his weary eyes and listened for the Finch’s Blade’s song to help him through it. That was until something else rang in his ears.

“Hello?”

In his panic, Elliott nearly shoved the knocker against those forbidden doors. He stumbled back while his heart beat hard in his chest. The double doors were made of a thick wood that should’ve muffled any sound that came from the other side, yet Elliott heard those words loud and clear, like the voice had been right beside his ear.

It had been otherworldly. While he intrinsically knew the voice had said “hello”, it hadn’t sounded like it was saying words. It was something surreal, the experience of speech, rather than the sound.

He widened his stance and raised the Finch’s Blade, waiting for another sound. None came. Still, he didn’t move from where he stood firm.

Is there a person inside? That couldn’t be the case. There was no chance that the voice had been from a human. The next question he asked himself was far more harrowing. Is there a creature of the Otherworld inside?

Elliott tried to quell his shaking. It made sense. Why would Cyneric have all that security and be so secretive, unless there was something deadly important hiding behind those doors?

He’d been specifically told not to open the doors, so he shook his head and tried to convince himself he’d just been hearing things. And yet, he still stared at the doors and waited for the voice to sound again. He looked down at the door knockers once more, then reached out a tentative hand.

Thankfully, before he could knock, Elliott was met with another shock when the warmth in the room vanished, and he was smothered by absolute darkness. He whipped around and brandished his sword towards what he at least thought was the direction of the entrance door, but just as soon as the crystals went out, their glow returned.

He let out a breath when he spotted Kynton Langley pocketing the key to the hallway. His weak and raspy voice was helped along by the ever-echoing chamber. “Ah, Sir Stride, your shift is over. You may return to your room now for your supper.”

A great deal of relief washed over Elliott as his long and haunting shift finally came to an end. Before he left, he faced the grand doors that had been at the centre of his past ten hours one last time. Not a sound came from them.

The air in the hallway shocked him. He had, indeed, gotten very used to the magic in the Dark Chambers, so much so that the regular world felt alien. It was like coming home after being away for a long time, with your own bedroom feeling somehow unfamiliar.

Natural moonlight pooled in from the singular tall window, drenching the hallway in silver. The long hours he’d just endured suddenly weighed on him at the sight of the stars, his eyelids becoming heavy.

When the door to the Dark Chambers clicked shut behind him, closed tightly by Langley, Elliott remembered the sword still gripped in his palm. “Am I meant to return this?”

“It is yours as long as you have this job. Although if you wish to exchange it with another, then we may go through the weapons again tomorrow.”

Elliott stared at the Finch’s Blade. Since the voice’s call, it had yet to stop soothing Elliott’s every nerve with its song. “No, I quite like this one.”

After Elliott’s admission, Langley grew a wide smile. “See, what did I tell you? Magic is nothing to be feared. I must say, it always brings me great joy to introduce my years of work to others, especially those with misjudgements such as yours.”

Elliott tipped his chin and said politely, “I look forward to hearing what you wish to teach me then.” His words seemed to officially put himself in Langley’s good books, as he offered Elliott his bony hand.

Elliott was ready to collapse, but he took the handshake as a chance to ask Langley the question that was burning at the back of his mind, “Sir Langley, while I’m aware that I’m likely not allowed to know what lies behind those doors, I heard a voice come from them and I was wondering if that was something to be alarmed about.”

Langley rubbed his chin in thought. “Well, I can tell you that it is not out of the norm. There is meant to be someone behind those doors.”

Elliott was surprised to hear him answer so easily.

“You likely heard the man who lives in the room beside us. He is your fellow guard for the Dark Chambers.”

Elliott was made even more confused by that answer. It just couldn’t be right. Or, perhaps, Elliott really had just been hearing things. It wouldn’t be the first time you were hearing voices, his mind bitterly reminded him.

To help distract himself from the ugly memories nipping at his heels, he focused on Langley’s continuing explanation, “The man’s name is Sir Auden Tathame. He was the knight commander before Sir Rhodese. After sustaining many injuries over the course of his service, he became a guardian and now works as a guard.”

Elliott said curiously, “I thought we weren’t supposed to reveal what we do for work to anyone.”

Langley looked rather proud of Elliott for being so dedicated to the rules. “I have a feeling that you will do well here. I certainly wouldn’t tell you these things if you were working as a knight, but you are one of us guardians now. The four who reside in this tower are the ones we may trust the most with our work and with whom we may find the easiest friendship.”

Elliott nodded along languidly and barely managed to hide his wide yawn. “My apologies, I’m quite tired. It may take me a while to get used to this kind of job.”

“Ah, of course, it has been quite a long day for you.” His words swirled inside Elliott’s head. “Please refrain from falling asleep until the seamstress arrives, though.”

“Seamstress?”

“Yes, to measure you for your guardian uniform.” He grinned and bid Elliott goodnight.

Returning to his bedroom, Elliott was met with a delicious array of foods that made his mouth water. As expected, the food was of the highest quality and fit for a royal, rather than a mere guard. Along with the sweet breads and perfectly cooked meats was a goblet filled with wine. When he gulped down the last of it, his door was knocked yet again. “Sir Stride? I am the head seamstress. I’m here to take your measurements, my dear!”

Elliott opened the door for her, and she walked straight past him, breathing out a heavy sigh and making a scene as she exhaustively plopped a large bag on the floor. “My goodness, Cyneric just overworks me, doesn’t he? All of a sudden, I’m told to make a guardian uniform overnight?! If he wants his beautiful guards in my beautiful clothes, then I need time to polish my art!”

She swivelled around to Elliott, as if suddenly noticing him for the first time. “Oh, oh! Aren’t you just a darling young man!” She stepped far too close for Elliott’s comfort and cupped his face tightly. It took a lot of effort for him not to swipe her hands away. “What lovely blue eyes! I have so much to work with here!"

Elliott also had a close-up look at her face from that angle. She was an older woman, with wrinkles crinkling as she smiled, but she dressed youthfully. Her blonde hair was carefully twisted atop her head in a perfectly moulded bun, and her emerald green skirt was lined with expertly embroidered symbols of threads and needles.

“You’re much more slender than the other guards, though. I won’t be able to use my usual patterns.” She continued chattering to herself as she turned Elliott’s body this way and that for measuring, “I’m not going to get a wink of sleep! Of course, I don’t mind, it will be so that I can make fine enough clothing to match your gorgeous face! Oh, but it’s such a shame that hardly anyone will see you in this tower!” From the way she talked, it seemed like she was the mastermind behind all the exquisite clothing being modelled within the castle.

Elliott blinked away his dizziness, which had only worsened with that woman’s constant turning, before he asked, “Madam, may I ask, what is your name?”

“Oh, of course! Sorry, I get far too carried away about my work! I am Madam Linley Varnhame. Though I’m only a ‘madam’ inside these castle walls! I’ve been Cyneric’s head seamstress for almost twenty years now!”

Her hands slowed, and she wore a genuine smile while she spoke about Cyneric Haytere, “I was just a peasant woman, looking for a better life. I loved to make clothes, but seamstresses are hardly a respected class of artists – and that’s right, I said artist! Clothes are not just a mere necessity! They are an extension, an evolution of the human form!”

Elliott could certainly tell she’d been around Cyneric for a long time with how her views echoed his own.

“Cyneric saw my talent, so he swept me up into his world and let me give my creative touch to Laudine Castle.”

“You enjoy being here then?”

“I don’t ever plan to leave.”

A small part of Elliott felt respect for Cyneric. He was eccentric, yes, but perhaps treating his servants like dolls was better than treating them like slaves.

“I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow with your clothes. I’ll make sure that they’re stunning, so no need to fret, my dear!” With an animatic wave, Linley, too, was gone.

With no more eyes on him, Elliott let his perfect posture go slack. He lethargically stripped off his leather vest and muslin blouse, and the sweat and dirt from days and days of walking were clear to his nose. Despite his filthiness, he didn’t have the energy to even walk two doors down the hall to bathe.

That tiredness made his normally strong body shake under the weight of merely holding himself up. He held his head as he tried to make sense of his sudden fragility. Even during the harshest days of the war, he’d never felt so weak.

Falling back onto the bed, he sank deep into the mattress, then kicked off his boots and let them fall heavily onto the floor, not bothering to set them up nicely. Crawling under the sheets, his muscles went even more limp.

And yet, when he closed his eyes, rest did not come to him. Instead, the images of the day swirled behind his lids. Visions of the dirty, sad village at the foot of the hill merged with the sights of the grand castle. Most of all, he couldn’t stop thinking about all the servants dancing in Cyneric’s wonderland. Did Elliott really want to be one of them?

Furthermore, why was Cyneric so obsessed with something as dangerous as the Otherworld? Why did Rhodese want to take Elliott there as well? Why would anyone tie themselves to that castle with Cyneric’s ridiculous rules?

The questions wouldn’t stop coming. Why would Elliott consider tying himself to those rules? Why had he left his home? All his responsibilities? Why couldn’t he handle it? Why couldn’t he just get over their deaths already?

When he swallowed, he still tasted the wine from earlier on his tongue. He tossed and turned in his sleep, sweating sickly and sometimes crying out. He couldn’t stop reliving the interview. Cyneric’s entrancing words malformed, becoming inhuman, otherworldly, unlike any other sound – except for the small, formless voice which lived behind those foreboding doors.

That bodiless voice kept repeating in his mind endlessly. At one point, while in the transition between wakefulness and sleep, Elliott whispered back, “Hello.”