Nurturer of Nightmares

Nym

The rasp of chainlinks brushing against each other in the darkness jolted me from my sleep, the room just as dark as it had been when we had been shoved in here, gagged and chained with a single hand to our shared bed, Lydiav breathing peacefully beside me. Somehow, my twin was able to sleep through all of it, every horrible second in this room. I didn’t know how she did it.

I wished I did.

I couldn’t remember the last time the sheets in this room had been washed, the crumbs from our meagre meals sharp beneath our bodies, the pillows slowly dissolving beneath our heads. Lifting one hand up, I ran it through my hair roughly, trying to smooth the tangles that had formed there during the two days we’d spent here, my chin-length hair not preventing it from matting like I had hoped. Lydiav had kept hers long, wanting to look pretty. I had cut mine short, knowing that keeping it long was just another way for them to grab a hold of me, or for it to mat like it had tonight. I would have to spend hours, maybe even days, brushing it out. Lydiav would spend weeks!

And by then, we would be back in this room, gagged with those matching cloths and chained to the bed, unable to move. Because one of us would speak up and say something, and it would only land us in more trouble.

Counting back over the days we had spent in here, memorising it carefully, I finished dragging my fingers through my hair and decided to try and test the gag again, turning to Lydiav and timidly shaking her awake.

“Lydi. Lyds.”

“Huh?” She peeked through her lashes, her eyes glazed over from sleep, and I breathed, “Happy birthday.”

Nine years old. I’d figured it out this morning, by counting back over how many Demon’s Daylight Festivals I could remember. There were eight previously. So we were turning nine this year. There would be no fanfare, I knew, or even a cake. The others wouldn’t even mention it.

She mumbled it back, still half-asleep, and closed her eyes again, breathing, “Go to sleep, Nym. The time will pass quicker.”

Except it wouldn’t, because someone had to keep count of how long we had been in here, and what day it was, and who we were. Two days, and three hours. That was how long.

And it was our birthday. Our ninth birthday.

Our names were Lady Lydiav Succorbenoth and Lady Nym Succorbenoth, and we were twin sisters.

And if we ever escaped, that would be what I’d tell someone. We had been trapped for roughly three-thousand days in this place, with people who hated us.

Flexing my fingers, I sighed, closing my eyes and running over everything again. We had been in here for two days, but trapped in the house for roughly three-thousand days. We were nine years old, and our names were Lady Lydiav Succorbenoth and Lady Nym Succorbenoth.

Just as I began settling off to sleep, Lydiav’s quiet breathing soothing me, I heard the lock on the ancient door click, the hinges squealing as it was opened, and our father’s gruff voice saying-

“Get up.”

I opened my eyes, my heart hammering in my chest, only to have it drop into my toes as I spotted the grimy white walls, just the same as they had been when I had been nine, thousands of years ago, if not a bit dustier. It hadn’t just been a nightmare. We really were back in this house, in this room. Lydiav was back in the same position beside me, although she was unable to simply sleep through it this time, her eyes wide and afraid above that white gag, our family’s crest stitched onto the front.

And it was our father standing in the doorway, his bulking frame weakened by the addition of a cane, his bones weak ever since he had been doused with water hemlock. Whoever had done it, I loved them. It might even have been Destiny. She knew about poisons, and would have known the correct dosage to hurt him, but not kill him.

She had offered herself up to save us, not that Zeella had honoured that deal. My father had put out a reward for anyone who could bring Lydiav and I back home, to this nightmare of a room, so Zeella had left us here, and taken that reward for himself, using it to fund a war against my friends.

We’d broken out of the chains in the first ten minutes, the Guardian training we’d had making them obsolete, but the gags were different. They were warded or something. In the centuries we had worn them, we had never been able to remove them until someone else did.

“Are you two going to be silent now?”

Lydiav gripped my hand tightly, looking to me for guidance, to be the deciding factor, and I saw a flicker of defiance in her eyes. We weren’t kids anymore.

Lifting my other hand up, I flipped him the finger, staring him down. His bloodshot eyes narrowed, the pupils going dark, and he turned away, slamming the door shut, the lock turning again.

There were worst things than being locked in this room; both Lydiav and I knew that. It was better to stay in this room, chained up and left alone for days, then it was to go out there and face the rest of the family home and the memories that came along with each and every room.

Just being back here was enough to make me remember everything I had spent thousands of years shoving away, Lydiav thinking the same.

How long would it be before Destiny came to save us, if she was even able to? She could already be dead, or married to that Dark God.

And what the Hell had happened to Bal’gag?! He had been burnt on that pyre! Had he been dumped back home as well? His family weren’t that bad. They liked the fact that he worked for the Royal family… Or they had. I didn’t know how they would react now that Destiny was considered a traitor, and everybody with her.

Releasing Lydiav’s hand with a squeeze, I reached underneath the bed as far as I could, patting the underside of the panels, feeling the rough wood beneath my fingertips. If my memories as a child were correct, then there should be… There was a quiet ‘CLICK!’ in the dark, a small panel of wood falling into my palm, a box coming with it, and I let out a quiet breath of celebration and relief. It was still here, all this time later. Through war, radiation- everything.

The floorboards creaked beneath the weight of Lydiav’s feet as she crept into the room behind me, clinging onto the latch of the door nervously, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds as I crouched beside the bed, a small pocketknife in my hand. I dragged it across one of the wooden panels that held the mattress up, sawing it back and forth, slowly carving a small hole into it, the box in my pocket seeming as heavy as the lead bars my uncle collected.

“Why are we here, Nym?” She pleaded, “Let’s just go!”

I kept sawing, even when I heard one of the doors open upstairs, Lydiav squeaking in fear, muffling the sound by clapping her hand over her mouth. I’d heard the whispers, that they were getting rid of us, that they would drag us back eventually. I wasn’t letting that happen. Sneaking into my fathers’ office had been a risk, stealing his spare set of keys a bigger one, but it didn’t matter. I had put them into a little wooden box, and finally figured out a good hiding place. We would never be locked in this place again, even if they did manage to drag us back. I kept sawing, measuring it with nothing but my eyes, and knowing that if I got it wrong, and the box got stuck…

The stairs groaned, someone coming down to check on us, and Lydiav began bouncing from one foot to the other, shaking with fear.

Just a little bit longer… I jammed the box up into the slot I had carved out, feeling it slot effortlessly in, and I grinned, shoving the pocketknife back into my nightgown pocket, the purple fabric swaying. There was a shadow in the hallway, and Lydiav turned paper-white, the blood draining from her. I didn’t need to look down to know she had wet herself from fear, and I ground my teeth together.

Knowing there was no time to run back to our room, I shoved her out into the hallway and behind the cabinet pressed up against the hallway wall. She would be hidden, even if they came down the first hallway and turned down her one. Stepping on those ancient floorboards cost me, the sound loud enough that whoever was coming down stiffened, and I heard them, in a sickly-sweet tone, call out, “Who’s there? Nym, Lydiav, is that you?”

Darting back into the doorway, I stood there, knowing that if we both hid, our father would only search until he found both of us, and tried not to shake too hard. From her hiding place, Lydiav watched me, her hand pressed over her mouth and nose, tears streaming down her face. I didn’t look at her, refused to give away her hiding place, and locked my eyes onto the shadow that stretched out for a moment, before shortening, my father’s presence filling the house.

He came down the hallway, the lights dimming in his presence, and his eyes immediately locked on me, his disapproving glare widening into a delighted smile. I remained where I was, knowing it was futile to do anything, and he purred, “Did you miss that room, darling?”

I shrugged wordlessly, and he rushed at me suddenly, his hand locking onto my shoulder and wrenching me into the room, shoving me onto the bed and chaining me there, before snarling, “You know you aren’t meant to be out of bed at this hour! You’ll stay in here until I come to get you!”

I watched him storm out, the door slamming shut, the lock clicking.

Clutching the pocketknife in my pocket, I let a small smile peek through.

We weren’t getting trapped again.

Lifting the box up, I examined the old, splintered wood in the light, the box beginning to slowly fall apart, the keys poking out of the side. Tearing the lid off, I grabbed the keys out, the metal jangling.

“Holy shit,” Lydiav gurgled out around the gag, “It’s still there. The keys…” Her voice cracked with relief, and I rose from the bed, bringing her with me. The nightgowns we had been dressed in were still the same matching set of colours, the same fabric, but larger; probably handmedowns from one of our cousins.

Purple and blue.

Smoothing my hands down the fabric, I tossed the keys up, catching them with a grin. We were getting the Hell out of here. Avoiding the same floorboards that had creaked back then, we jumped and twirled our way to the door, and I found the key I needed, sliding it into the latch. It caught a bit, but ultimately turned, the door opening, our exhilaration coming with it. The house was the exact same as it had been centuries ago, the wallpaper nonexistent, replaced instead by plain drywall that had cracked under the weight of dozens of fists and furniture thrown, the first day we had moved in, and the lightbulbs were still made from the same scratched, grimy glass, hanging from single threads from the rotting, mouldy ceiling. The furniture was broken in several places; a couch propped up with books under one leg pressed against the wall in the corner where both hallways met, a coffee table ‘fixed’ by packing tape sitting in front of it, and cutlery and plates made out of carved pieces of random wood stacked on the glass surface.

There were two hallways from here, one that led ahead before it turned to the right slightly, where the stairs were. Those stairs led to the upstairs rooms, where my father, mother and uncle stayed in their own rooms, as well as my old grandfathers room, and the three rooms that belonged to my cousins; one boy and two girls. There was a small nursery room, and a living room up there too, and each was in the same disrepair as these hallways were.

The second hallway stretched off immediately to our right, forming the ‘L’ shape house that was our home, and this hallway connected to the kitchen, a dingy, broken bathroom, and a smaller sitting room with an ancient, long-ago clogged fireplace. That sitting room held the front door to the entire house, which would lead out into one of the many hallways of the British Manor.

From there, I knew the layout of the Manor well enough to escape, and Lydiav and I could go back to The Borderlands. I would leave her there, and then come back for my friend; the friend who had sacrificed herself for me and my sister time and time again. Jason would know how to remove the warded gags, and there was no time to find a way to cut them off now, anyway.

I kept a tight grip on both the keys and my twins’ hand, pulling her down the hallway to our right, walking straight past the bathroom on the left, the lightbulb humming in the tiny room, and through the kitchen, ignoring the memories that flashed to the front of my mind. I could dwell on them later, when we were all safe.

Dishes were piled high on the broken countertops, my fathers paperwork stacked wherever it would fit amongst the mess. Some of them were official scrolls from Zeella, and I grabbed whatever I could as we ran through, tucking three unknown scrolls into my pockets just as we entered the sitting room, and froze. Our uncle was asleep on the chair there, the fabric tearing beneath his body, a sword on his lap, his dinnerplate, still full of food, at his feet. He snored loudly, his mouth hanging open, and I gripped the keys tighter, preventing them from rattling. Slowing, I motioned to Lydiav, trying to point out the floorboards we knew wouldn’t make noise, and she nodded.

We had memorised the pathways around the house thousands of years ago, knowing that even a tiny misstep would land us back in that locked room again, and as we released each other and began moving, the two of us moving like water- the same fluid, graceful movements that Devon had admired in us, seeing the potential in two Guardians who could move so flawlessly with each other- as we made our way to the front door. I could already hear the hum of a celebration on the other side, Demonic-beings hooting and smashing glasses on the floors.

We would blend in once we were out, at least mostly.

Grabbing the key I needed, I slid it into the lock, turning it, the door swinging open, and noise blasting into the tiny living room. I was shoving Lydiav through the doorway before my uncle could make a reaction beyond gasping in surprise. By the time he rose, the sword in his hands, I had slammed the door shut, Lydiav and I running down one of the many hallways of the British Manor, using the crowds of people to hide as our uncle barrelled out of the door behind us, looking around. The Demonic-beings surrounding us were too drunk to take much notice of who we were, and Lydiav gasped as we heard our uncle shouting out warnings to our father and cousin, alerting them that we had escaped.

Tossing the keys aside, we sped up, sprinting and turning down seemingly random hallways, further sinking into the crowd of people. Our father would send soldiers out to look for us. We had to be gone by then.

There were only so many places we could go, and since I had no way of knowing if Seth was still in the Manor or not, I went for the place I knew best. Destiny’s room.

Leading Lydiav up the massive set of stairs, I kept my breathing controlled, knowing that if I slowed, we would be caught. Shoving people aside, we made it up to the hallway where Destiny’s rooms were, and turned, the doors in sight. It was the door that led to the quarters where both Cain and Destiny’s rooms were, and I began trembling. We were nearly out of sight.

Lydiav was still gasping, crying with fear, and I slammed my shoulder into those doors, forcing them open, the two of us stumbling onto the floor with a ‘BANG!’ and a wild flailing of limbs that brought down a nearby bowl of fruit, an apple bouncing along the floor.

Rising, I slammed the doors shut, Lydiav rising to her feet and helping me drag a table in front of the doors, the adrenaline beginning to wear off.

Until Cain’s room door opened, Lazarus striding out. He was wearing a pair of pyjamas, the grey pants and shirt matching, and he raised an eyebrow when he saw us, tiredly purring, “A gift, I suppose?”

Lydiav stumbled back, and I stepped in front of her, snarling through the gag. He studied the crest for a moment, before sighing, “Ah… Nym and Lydiav Succorbenoth. Which name belongs to which pretty girl, I wonder? Don’t worry, I won’t hand you in. I’m far too tired to do any such thing.” Outside, there was shouting as soldiers ran by, already looking for us, and Lydiav glance to the door nervously.

I felt my shoulders slump slightly, and Lazarus waved his hands, the gags falling from our mouths and dissolving. I gaped at it, wondering what kind of powers he held to do such a thing, and he questioned, “Which one of you is Nym?”

Raising my hand in a nervous half-wave, I replied, “I am. Why do you ask?”

“The Guardians to my wife,” he mused curiously, “I won’t hurt you. That would be cruel of me, wouldn’t it?”

Neither of us answered, not daring to give him any ideas, and he added, “I might have to take you in to stop them from taking you.”

“Where is Destiny?” I demanded, stepping up to the Dark God, and he looked down at me, smiling darkly.

“My wife is currently undergoing training in some dark Hellhole I didn’t bother to learn the name of. I am not pleased about it, either, so don’t give me that look, Demonic-being.”

“Why not rescue her then?!” I challenged, and Lazarus shrugged, saying, “I might not be pleased about it, but I don’t care enough to step in. Her father will let her out in a year. Now, about my proposal?”

“Wha- To take us in? That’s not happening. We’re leaving.”

I moved to turn away, only to have him wrap his hand around my forearm, his fingers digging in as he sweetly questioned, “Is that so? Because the only thing stopping them from finding either of you is me, currently.”

Lydiav stiffened, her scent clouding with fear, and I hissed, “Let me go!”

“Like I said before, darlings, I’m the only thing keeping you from being found, and both of you are my wife’s Guardians. She deserves someone she knows being around her once she comes out of whatever Hellhole Zeella has her in.”

“What about Seth?” Lydiav stammered, wondering the same as I was- Was Seth still alive?

“He was sent back to The Borderlands. He became a bit of a pain, not to mention Zeella had enough on his hands putting up with Lady Reannatiel and her frequent demands.”

Lady Reannatiel… “Destiny’s twin? But- But Reanna’s…” Six? A different person?

“I brought her back, in her original body, as a gift for my wife. Now they have each other. And you can have her by your side, too, if you allow me to claim the both of you as my and my wife’s Guardians.”

We would be Guardians to Lazarus and Destiny? I glanced to Lydiav, seeing the fear that made her face pinch together, like the mouth of a drawstring purse being pulled shut, and I exhaled, long and low.

Alas, exhaling my problems and tension away wouldn’t work the same way it did for Destiny and Cain, their Royal training teaching them long ago how to control themselves in a Manor full of people who wanted nothing more than to see them lose a hold of themselves, and I cocked an eyebrow arrogantly, putting on a mask the same way my Princess had for centuries.

“Why would you keep your word?”

“You have my word, darling. I don’t break my word.”

“Liar.” The word slipped out easier than I cared to admit, something in me cracking at the look Lazarus gave me, like a predator sizing up a mouse, debating not if it could destroy me- since he clearly could- but if I was worthy enough to waste his time killing when bigger, better prey could be found.

I didn’t become a Princess of Hell’s Guardian for nothing.

I levelled the stare right back at him, and he laughed, before sighing, “I suppose a Blood-Oath could be made. I will include my wife’s other Guardians, too. Bal’gag and Xarran, although the latter will take some work to bring here.”

Xarran. Why the Hell would Lord Xarran Rarkamad, the youngest son of Goliath Rarkamad, be one of Destiny’s Guardians? “Xarran,” I said blandly, Lydiav’s eyes widening in recognition, the irony not lost on me.

“He took out the male she thought had killed her cousin. Syrphien Maw’tryx died not in battle, but with a deadly amount of salt in his veins.”

Selphien, the preening, idiotic bitch, had been right.

Holy shit, I owed her an apology.

I couldn’t blame Xarran, I supposed, for following the orders of the Princess he had sworn to protect and obey. I would have done the same. So would Lydiav and Bal’gag, even if we might have disagreed. Except Destiny wouldn’t have made us do it, had we verbally disagreed, and we had, sometimes.

“Xarran Rarkamad.” I repeated. Lazarus nodded, laughing again, tilting his head arrogantly and asking, “Recognise the name?” How could I not? Lydiav gulped, murmuring, “Nym.” I looked to her, seeing the fear in her eyes, footsteps nearing the door. The soldiers had finally come here, searching for us. We were going to be dragged back to our father’s home in a moment. But we couldn’t work for Lazarus! He was forcing Destiny to- to- I gagged, shaking my head, and Lydiav screamed as the door shook, soldiers slamming their shoulders into it, demanding that we come out and face our consequences. They would be harsh. The door cracked, the wards that Cain had installed millenium ago cracking. My twin clung to me, shivering again, and Lazarus simply leaned back against the doorframe, content to let them take us.

“Fine,” I pleaded, “We’ll work for you and Destiny. All of us. I swear.”

Lazarus grinned, extending his hand, and I shook it, screaming in pain as he dug his fingernails in, the skin on my palm burning.

“I instated a rule last night, Guardian, that all members of my court are to carry a signet on them. A symbol on their very skin. I want my court to be feared.”

I bit down on my lip, hissing in pain, and he released my palm, reaching for Lydiav, who shuddered, but took his hand gratefully when the door cracked more, the first of the soldiers shoving their hands through the door, wrenching it open.

I grabbed the broken bowl of fruit we had knocked down, stepping in front of Lydiav as Lazarus laughed again, purring, “I would love to see what you think you could do with that. A test of faith, Guardians. Kill the soldiers who have so rudely invaded my space.”

With Lydiav cowering behind me, I could do it. Kill using an empty bowl of fruit.

The first of the soldiers broke through the door, squeezing his upper torso in, and I swung, gripping Lydiav and hissing, “Focus, Lydi!” If we failed this test, Lazarus would surely toss us to the remaining soldiers, and we would be trialled not just for escaping, but for murder.

My twin was as much a fighter as I was! She had made it through that training, too! Handing the bowl to her, I made her grip it, glaring at her until she nodded, gulping.

Grabbing the only thing I could find that was remotely useful, a pen, I wielded it like a sword, knowing I probably looked ridiculous. The soldier currently squeezing in through the door had a weapon, though.

The look he gave me was murderous, and he snarled, “Traitorous bitch!”

I studied him for no longer than a handful of second, noting the fact that the arm wielding his sword was, stupidly, stuck. Taking advantage of it, I ran up, using the momentum to drive the pen into his eyeball, feeling the resistance and not caring, even when the other end of the pen jammed itself deep into my palm, blood running down my wrist. Lazarus’ laughter froze in midair like dew on a cold winter day, and I shoved the pen in deeper, the Demonic-being screaming, ripping his arm free and swinging the sword carelessly. I ducked, bringing my fist up into his elbow, hearing the crack of bone, his arm bending the wrong way, and a moment later, I found myself rising, sword in hand, and bringing it down atop his neck, severing his head. The other soldiers backed off, shouting for back-up, only for Lazarus to stride up to the door, his hand on my shoulder. An order to stand down.

The table slid away from the door, which swung open, a large crack in the side of it, the Dark God announcing, “Back-up won’t be necessary. I’ve employed these two. Nobody is to lay a hand on them, or so much as insult them. They have free reign to do whatever they wish to the fools that decide to challenge that decision.”

The soldiers snarled and hissed, whispering amongst themselves, until Lazarus furiously snarled, “GO!”

They scampered, Lydiav dropping the bowl and letting out a whimper of relief, Lazarus turning to me and saying, “Both of you take a bath, and then you can both help me redecorate this place. Starting with the bedroom that Nephilim boy was staying in.”

“What happened to him?” Lydiav left almost immediately, heading for the bathroom in Destiny’s old room. I remained where I was, wanting to question Lazarus some more.

“Sent away,” Lazarus drawled, “He is currently in Ordeallan, fighting Zeella’s forces with Cain.”

Fighting… If he died in battle, Destiny would lose her shit. She would probably end the world, if she unleashed the same power that she had used to kill Satalari.

“The power of Daemonium. And if he died in battle, I would perhaps consider bringing him back just to act as a consort to my wife.” I didn’t bother asking how he could hear my thoughts- it was something to do with Daemonium and its mysterious powers, no doubt. Instead, I incredulously asked, “A consort, really? Like Seth would agree-”

“Seth Smith would agree to anything that keeps him close to his Connected. I may be making his Connected my wife, but I am not foolish enough to believe she loves me. Luckily, love is not required in making a child. She can keep her Nephilim lover, so long as she promises devotion in battle to me.”

I grimaced, my mouth and nose scrunching up at the implications, and Lazarus gripped my face, his voice low and venemous as he spat, “Wipe that look off your face!”

“You’re telling me that you’re going to have a child with my Princess, against her will, and ‘allow’ her to keep a consort? Because you’re so generous? I don’t buy it, so I’m going to keep the look on my face.” Destiny had done what she wanted from the day she had been born, and sure, there had been moments when she had been forced to do something she didn’t agree with, but having a child against her will… That was different, an attack so personal that I had no doubts it would shatter her.

“If you were to force someone to have a child with you against their will, then you’re a bigger monster than anyone in this court is anticipating. Your brother would never-”

“I could have killed you for the look alone!” Lazarus snarled, the flicker of powers around his wrists lighting up the room, “You want to mouth off as well? Go train. Four hours. Outside. Don’t come back until you’re on death’s door.”

“Four hours won’t put me on death’s door,” I challenged, crossing my arms stubbornly over my chest, the nightgown swaying around me. Running in it would be Hell, but four hours was nothing. It was a warm-up for Guardians, at least under Devon’s training regime.

Lazarus took a step closer, muscles rippling, and growled, “Do you WANT another ten hours? Get. Outside.”

Bowing sarcastically, I made my way toward the broken doorway, the table still standing at attention beside it, like a Guard who had been ordered to remain by that door.

Slipping through the doorway, I studied the hallways, smiling in satisfaction when I found them empty. Lazarus was a fool for letting me out unguarded.

Because there was only one ‘dark Hellhole’ that Zeella could have put Destiny in.