“Naenie, come to me.”
The voice in its usual softness pulled Naenie Muirah from her deep slumber, though it was not a command. It never sounded like a command, but a request despite the words. It issued from a wight-light that hovered just above her forehead, and she blinked storm-gray eyes against the relative harshness of its pale blue glowing. The voice did not belong to the light, but to another, high up in the obsidian tower they all called home.
Rising quickly, Naenie pulled on blood red clothes that purpled in the blue, urged on by the insistent bouncing of the wight-light. For a moment, she considered her large sword. Something rippled across the surface of the blade, and Naenie's stomach turned. No, she doubted she needed Kaen tonight. Therefore, she left the hated thing and followed the glowing ball that was so eager to do its master's bidding.
She followed it out of her sparse quarters, working the sleep-induced mats from her dark blue mane with her fingers. It led her up the long staircase that wound it's way up the obsidian tower. Naenie knew where she was being taken, but she continued to follow the light because it pleased the lights to do their job well. Though she had never asked what the wight-lights actually were, Naenie could guess that they were once living beings of some sort, now reduced in death to something not much more than a well trained parrot or a dog. That or they were kin to the fairy lights of stories. Either way, there were many of them in the black glass tower. Their master took good care of them.
Eventually, after a thousand stairs, the wight-light passed through an arched doorway, and so did Naenie. The small man inside gave the tiny Light a brush with his fingertips, and it bounced happily away to join its fellows dancing around the top of the domed room. Naenie had been right about the destination. These were the private chambers of Fallen Star's Sorrow, The Blade of Heaven's Caligation, Surveyor of Infinite Loneliness, The Flower's Poisoned Heart, The Son of All Sorrows, the titles that belonged to the nameless man within. Naenie dropped to one knee, bowed her head, and called him the one thing that was most important to her. “My Lord. I await your command.”
Anis half stumbled, half ran across the endless gray landscape, blinded by tears and the blood that trickled from the horrible cracked mark upon her brow. She had no idea how long she ran or where she was going, but it was far, far away from the laughing woman. The giant sword in her hand thunked along behind the running woman, her arm too weakened now to hold it up. She wanted to drop it, fling it away, but she didn't. Instead it dragged her down, finally, to her knees. The one-time Queen Anantu Anis buried her face in the tatters of her once-fine gown and wailed.
How long she stayed that way, blood and salt mingling with ruined silk, Anis could not have counted. She only became aware of her surroundings again when she felt a light, icy touch beneath her chin. Startled, she yelped and scrambled back, crab-like, and found herself staring up into a deep, blood red hood. The slight figure quickly threw back the hood as Anis reached for the hated blade, revealing soft eyes. It was a man, and a quiet, languid voice came from him as he put a finger to his Lips. “Shh. I will not harm you. You are Anantu Anis?”
Swallowing to coat her parched throat, Anis croaked out, “Yes.”
The man took two steps closer and gracefully folded his knees to kneel next to her. “She was wrong to trick you, twice wrong to lie.”
Anis narrowed her eyes, but sat up, trying to conjure as many of her shreds of dignity that she could. “You know me?”
The man darted a hand into his cloak and produced a snowy bit of cloth. “She told me of you.” Cold hands as gentle as his voice began dabbing at the stains on her face, and for the moment, she let him. A sardonic smirk crossed his face. “She thought it was amusing, what she did. I made it clear I didn't think so.”
With a gasp, Anis swatted his hand away. “You're one of them!”
“I am,” he answered, a little sadly. “I am called Fallen Star's Sorrow, among other things.” The Deathlord reached out to begin his ministrations again, and Anis flinched, but she knew there was no where to run now. The man sighed deeply. “We are not all the same, Anis.”
“Forgive me if I don't know what to believe,” Anis spat.
“Her next game will be to have her hounds hunt you. Or would have been.”
“I suppose you are my savior.”
He chuckled at that. “I doubt I can be that. I only wish to offer you another choice.”
Anis hung her head. “I don't care. Let them have me.”
She heard him sigh again and felt his touch on her chin. “Yes, you do care, for who will remember if you do not? Those above? Your tale will become twisted and forgotten in time, but you can endure. I know you can. I know what you did in the labor of a lie, to become what you are, though you didn't know it.” Looking into the Deathlord's eyes, she could see he believed what he said, heard the soft passion in his words. “Who will remember your love if you do not go on?”
Anis felt fresh tears on her cheeks again. “But I want my Ralig with me! How do I know I won't forget?”
“Together in death as you could not be in life.” Fallen Star's Sorrow turned his face away. “It's a pretty lie, told by bards to ease longing hearts. Illusion, deception…” Trailing, he turned back. “I will not lie to you, Anis. I will never lie to you.” He placed his fingertips against her cheek. “You know the favorite food you haven't had in a long time?”
Anis drew her brows together and nodded.
“Even after years, one day the remembered taste seems to come into your mouth, and you crave it. A thousand years can pass, long days at a time that you don't think of your love, but sometimes the remembered taste will enter your mind and you will crave…and you will weep. You will never forget.” He sounded like he knew, and the torrent opened in her eyes again. And the Deathlord, this powerful being, pulled her into his arms and held her until it passed again. His lingering touch burned ice into her flesh, but she didn't care.
“Serve the Citadel of Faithful Mourning. Serve me. You will find me more than a benevolent lord, and it more than a home for your shredded heart.” He whispered into her ear. “Anis…”
She shoved back. “Am I still Anis?” Holding her blood darkened hands palm up, she shook her head. “Anis was a good and pure woman.” Her eyes strayed to the blade nearby. “I have done evil.”
“And what have you done that is so evil?”
“I killed him. I killed my husband. Killed the father of my sons.” She motioned to the blade. “And look what they did to him.”
Something chill entered the Deathlord's voice. “Yes, you did. Your first official act as an Abyssal.” The smirk returned. “Was he such a good man? Why did you kill him?” Anis covered her face against the sudden fury of questions. “Did you want to? Did he deserve it?”
“Yes!” She barked at last. “Yes the bastard deserved it!”
“Why?” Though Fallen Star's Sorrow's voice didn't raise, it seemed to cloak everywhere. “Tell me his crimes.”
“He was the cruelest of men. He lied to tie me to him. He took our sons from my arms to be raised by another because he thought me weak!” Anguish and fury warred in Anis' voice. “And he killed the sweetest of men for the crime of loving me. ” Anguish won, and for a moment, Anis buried her head in her hands. After a time, she looked up. “I wedded Kaen for my father's sake, for my country's sake, but it was always Ralig. My poor sweet foolish Ralig who would not renounce me even as he was tortured to death.”
Fallen Star's Sorrow closed his eyes and bowed his own head. “Those that murder beauty, that slaughter love, they are the most deserving of punishment.” Anis imagined that the Deathlord was holding back a tear of his own, but it had to be imagination only. The moment passed, and he opened his eyes again. “What better than to make him serve you now?” “Maybe,” Anis said, slowly. “I don't know. But I do know that I don't want anyone else to know of what's become of me.”
“Changing names will not alter what is inside of you.”
“I know. I just…I never want my sons to ever have the chance of hearing what really happened to their mother.” She sniffed. The toddler boys were in the best hands now, her brother's. “Or their father.”
The man smiled. “I have a name for you, if you want it.”
“What?”
“An old lost language. You are the Naenie Muirah.” He reached out and stroked her hair. “Lament of the Beloved Martyr.”
“It's pretty.” She found in a strange daze, knowing what was coming, knowing she had made her decision moments ago as he asked his question again.
Naenie pushed herself up to her knees, swallowing as she slowly reached for the hated blade and laid it in front of her, in front of him. Bowing her head, she said in a steady voice, “My lord, I await your command.”
She didn't know what to expect, but silence was not it. Venturing to raise her head, she saw that her new lord had not only risen to his feet but begun walking away. Confusion lasted only a moment before she realized that there was nothing to say. He offered, she accepted.
A few feet away, the lord stopped and pulled up his hood, then reached his hand back toward her. “Naenie, come to me.” It sounded everything like a request. “We have a long journey ahead.”