224. [SEGUE] The Worst Oath

  Of all the living souls in Tidereign, perhaps none had more just cause to redo her oath than Caraway ere’Lochlan.

  How did she get into this mess? Did she really have no one to blame but herself? A more lenient soul than her might’ve allowed that she was a victim of circumstance. Orphaned as a kitten by parents who both breached on the same Night. To be then raised by a stern yet kind-hearted neighbor—one Kestrel ere’Quinlan who taught her the warmth of good company under a sturdy roof.

  She owed everything to Mrs Quinlan—the Gloam keep her loving soul—and maybe that was where it’d all gone wrong in the first place. What had started as a self-prescribed mission to watch over Kestrel’s son—to keep Oriole’s good-fer-nothing nose out of the troubles it liked to sniff out—had, over the Keeper knew how many turns of the moon, become a kind of obsession. A self-fulfilling prophecy from which Caraway knew no escape other than to chase Oriole’s whimsical shadows, Night after exasperating Night.

  Caraway reflected on her hapless journey now, as she trudged the obsidian steps of an alien landscape. This… city, for the lack of a better word, had been nothing but a wretched nuisance since the moment she’d stepped foot in it. From the uncanny shades stalking its streets to its maze-like structure to the seemingly endless mists that had swallowed her up as she’d tried to follow her ‘marks’ up through the gates.

  Even before reaching the city, her progress had been fraught with dangers and near misses.

  The first leg of the trip had been simple enough, with Caraway pursuing the Wayfarers from as close a distance as she’d dared. For five or six Nights at least, she’d been able to putter up the Sanzu aboard the Cormorant, using her connection with its owner to invoke shelter at the end of each cycle.

  But how was she to know just how far the Realm extended beyond Veilwatch Hill? How could she have accounted for the Cormorant’s jankiness, eating up her fuel reserves faster than Loosestrife (the Gloam keep his jolly soul) went through bottles of moonshine? By the sixth Night, Caraway was forced to abandon the steamboat and continue on foot. No small task, given the Wayfarers and their cheat of a living castle. Not to mention the skyveils that drooped down each Night to unmoor all those caught without shelter.

  Forget oaths and breaches. Her journey—and indeed her life—could’ve ended right there and then. And it very well would’ve, had her big gamble not paid off in a big way.

  In her endless efforts to keep Oriole on the straight and narrow, Caraway herself had tried to model a squeaky-clean life. She’d never lied, cheated, nor stolen… until the Night before Oriole set off on his Realm-trotting expedition. That Night, Caraway had forced herself to stay awake for one Ksana longer, just so she could slip the wax-sealed envelope out of Oriole’s chest pocket. A perfect bit of roguery, one the ginger tabby himself would’ve been proud of.

  For far too long, that blasted envelope had been the bane of Caraway’s existence. She couldn’t recall exactly when Oriole had started to carry it with him everywhere—just another in a growing list of secrets he refused to share with his oldest and closest friend.

  But he had no qualms sharing it with his new Wayfaring troupe, innit? Indeed, Caraway had fought her own shame to eavesdrop on many a secret meeting between Oriole and his outrealmer companions. There, they’d talked at length about this ‘mark of the oathless’ and how it could be used to smuggle objects across and through the veils.

  Well, Caraway herself wasn’t an ‘object’. But she’d be damned if she sat at home while Oriole followed his nose to new heights and unforeseeable dangers. Her oath demanded she follow him. By hook, by crook, or—in this rather upsetting case—by some improvised surgery.

  The pain and mess weren’t even the worst of it. No, the worst part was having to sneak into the Infirmary for Gladiolus’s abandoned supplies. Returning to that den of murder and betrayal, breathing in the scent of sterile equipment and the blood that yet lingered, she’d come closest to breaching. Nearly gave up altogether on her ill-fated mission and unhealthy obsession.

  But she persisted, innit? She weren’t about to give up that easily. At this point, it was spite more than loyalty that drove her.

  Caraway wasn’t stupid. She could see the writing on the wall. She knew there would come a time when Oriole would drift too far for her to follow. Her tabby friend meant to chase his own shadows to the ends of the earth—chase his deer lady across the veils—even if it meant leaving Caraway behind. Well, if she couldn’t stop him, she’d at least make him think twice. Maybe, just maybe, he might even have the grace to feel some remorse.

  Ill-fated mission. Unhealthy obsession. Quite possibly the worst oath in Tidereign’s history.

  With the mark of the oathless securely sewn on her person, Caraway braved the end of the cycle, alone and unsheltered. The skyveils did come down on the Realm as they always did—dense, immense, and unfeeling. But they left her alone. She slept soundly through to the Morrow, unharmed and yet moored to her self. She lived to reaffirm her oath for another Night, for all the good it did her.

  Afterward, what followed were feats of resolve, persistence, and maybe a sprinkle of divine intervention.

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  The Wayfarers used their cheat of a castle to scale a wall as tall as the heavens. Caraway too cheated by hitching a ride, hanging on by a grapnel as the castle rocked and swerved through its vertical climb. Atop the wall stood the first gate and its gatekeeper. The silent giant with the cat face and deer antlers gave her a proper fright, but the thing turned out to be helpful enough, for it also gave her a key into the alien city.

  Then came the mists. Yes. The mists were where Caraway came second closest to abandoning her mission, and not by any choice of her own.

  Oriole's envelope continued to protect her from direct harm, but that mattered little when the veils were so thick and so endless in all directions. No landmark, no scent to follow. Caraway couldn't even be sure if she'd doubled back on herself, as the city's obsidian floor refused to keep track of her Tiryaga feet.

  Just when all hope seemed lost—when she'd resigned herself to dying alone in the Gloam—she saw it. The furry shadow of a tabbycat, bounding through the mists and leaping toward its future with such reckless certitude Caraway had no choice but to follow it.

  Follow it she did, straight and unwavering. She knew not how long she walked through the unchanging mists, long after her guiding shadow had faded. But she never lost heart. Because she knew. Even if he didn't. She knew Oriole had reached across the universe to nudge her—had given her a piece of himself to chase.

  Hers was the worst oath in history. And Caraway ere'Lochlan wouldn't have it any other way.

  That was how she found herself now, trudging up the steep, obsidian steps atop an alien city. She'd followed Oriole's little Wayfaring troupe, chased his shadow all the way to one end of the earth.

  Along the way, ghosts of deer and cats alike sang their silent warning. Turn back. Do you not see how much we suffered to get here? How much strife and struggle await us still? This is not a place for the likes of you.

  Caraway paid them no mind. Because she too had suffered, innit? And she'd be damned if she let anyone up and down Mount Meru decide that her strife and her struggle were somehow inadequate—unworthy in the eyes of gods or the Keeper or whatever force in the universe claimed to know the measure of souls and their oathbound lives.

  I don't need recognition. I ain't looking for a reward. All I want... is Oriole safely back by my side.

  In the end, it was all too typical. All too predictable. Caraway climbed the final step where velvet obsidian made way for lotus-white. She pushed through the purple fog and took in the fearsome sight of Tidereign's latest strife. Ghosts. Outrealmers. Even a living, breathing Day-sider among them. But none of it mattered. Caraway had eyes only for Oriole. Daft, stupid, clueless, selfish Oriole and his nose that had, once again, led him straight to trouble.

  Perhaps the biggest trouble in his life.

  For he looked nothing like the ginger tabby she knew and loved. Darkness had consumed and brought him to heel, stripping him of his earnest humor and his fighting spirit. Yet, even though he looked nothing like himself, he couldn’t fool her. Caraway would recognize Oriole anywhere—by sight, by scent, and by soul. And right now, it was up to her to bring him back.

  "Oi, antler-head! Just what do you think yer doing with my friend?"

  The calico's righteous anger pealed across the promontory, waking ghosts and demons alike. One demon in particular, he of the rigid frame and towering antlers, spun and turned his crazed stag eyes—and flaming weapon—onto Caraway. She crouched down with grim determination, intent on keeping the hunter’s attention for as long as Tiryaga-ly possible. Long enough, with any luck, for the Wayfarers to get off their arses and do something about it!

  I can’t just die here. Not until I’ve given Ori a piece of my mind!

  The hunter let loose his ball of golden flames. It flared brighter and flew faster than an Anchored soul could ever prepare for. Yet, even as Caraway made a hopeless dash for her life, she saw. She knew.

  The dark figure that had replaced Oriole raised its nose and sniffed. A familiar scent. Marmalade breath wafting over floral perfume. A scent for an oathbound soul to follow.

  Caraway made her hopeless dash. The Day-side hunter’s golden flames spread toward her, sure to turn her into calico ash in an instant. But then her gamble paid off again. In the form of multiple shadows that bounded and leapt across a lotus-white field.

  A whole clowder of shadowy tabbycats flew across Caraway’s vision, cutting through the golden light before it could reach her. They all combusted upon contact, leaving not a trace of ash to remember them by. But they did what they’d been sent to do, reducing a hunter’s flames to embers that merely singed the tips of Caraway’s whiskers.

  And not just shadows. Following right behind the clowder, so quick it looked as though he’d flown with them…

  “Cara!”

  “Ori!”

  Calico and tabby embraced, eyes and nose only for each other.

  As soon as he was with her, Caraway knew. By sight, by scent, and by soul. Her Oriole was back from whatever darkness had taken him. As ginger, daft, stupid, clueless, selfish, and hers as the day he was born.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” Oriole’s voice was thick with snot and tears. “When all seemed lost, I caught your scent in the darkness. What else was I to do but follow it? You brought me here. You brought me back.”

  “You too, ya sod.” Caraway’s voice was no better off. “You showed me the way. Brought me back to you.”

  And I’ll never let go again.

  Caraway never lied to Oriole, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t keep a few secrets of her own. Perhaps, one of these Nights, she’d have the courage to speak them out loud. For now, however, she was content to have chased a tabbycat’s shadow to the end of the earth.

  The worst oath in history. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Patreon |