Atop The Naked, in the Realm of the Faerie

He became aware of another presence, so very gradually that Louis wondered if the presence had been there for hours, perhaps even days, before he truly took any notice of it.

It was an irritating presence, if only because it was so persistent.

Louis…

Louis…

Louis…

It was the Lord of the Faerie, and because of that Louis slowed on his journey through the Ringwalk, and eventually halted.

What is it?

Noah needs to see you, to talk with you. We can talk enough once I have completed my journey. Why now?

Louis, it is urgent. This should not wait.

What is it?

It is Asterion.

Ah…He nodded. I will see her.

They met atop The Naked. Louis waited in the centre of the summit, a vastly different man than he had been when last at this place. Now there was a wild stillness about him that made any who regarded him deeply uncomfortable.

Not that there were many to observe him. Louis was alone save for the Lord of the Faerie, who sat his throne on the eastern edge of the summit.

Noah appeared in her goddess form, walking up the slope close to the summit. One moment she was not there, the next she had all but arrived.

Louis, watching, realised that she moved like a dancer, which was something new for Noah. He recognised the movement instantly, for it bespoke her training in the arts of the labyrinth. At that he felt great relief. All would be well. She was transforming, as was he. When both were done, and the Great Marriage accomplished, then nothing could stop them in their goal to complete the Troy Game.

“Louis,” Noah said, coming directly to him, “how do you?”

She leaned forward and kissed him, not waiting for an answer. When she pulled her mouth away from his, her eyes shone even brighter. “The Ringwalk has truly become your home.”

“As the labyrinth has become yours,” he said, gathering her once more into his arms for a longer and far deeper kiss. “Noah, what is it?” he said, as she pulled back. “What has Weyland done?”

She rested her hands on his chest. “Louis, leave the matter of Weyland for the moment. First, I must tell you news of our daughter.”

“She is not harmed? Weyland has not—”

“What has happened to Catling is most certainly no doing of Weyland’s,” Noah said. “Louis, Catling is not our daughter.”

“But we conceived her.” He smiled slowly. “Unless I imagined that afternoon we spent in the bedchamber of your father’s palace in Mesopotama.”

“We were tricked.” Noah closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then looked directly into Louis’ eyes. “Catling is the Troy Game incarnate. It used us, used our bodies, to gain flesh and breath.”

He did not answer her verbally, but his entire being became still, and yet more watchful.

“The Game took the shape and form of our daughter, she who we lost, and pretended to be her, and—”

He stopped the flow of words with a finger to her lips. “Noah, I am so sorry. I had no idea.” He pulled her to him, and cuddled her, knowing she would feel this deception greatly.

Yet, as he held her, Louis frowned, puzzled. His perceptive powers were far stronger and far more finely attuned than they had been when he had merely been Brutus-reborn. Now, as Noah leaned against him, and wept, he felt something from her.

Something that stank of the taint of Weyland.

He pushed her away a little, so he could see her face.

“Louis,” she said, very low, “plague is infecting the land. A terrible pestilence. Deliberately sent.”

“Weyland—”

“I think the Troy Game has caused it.”

Again, Louis wondered what it was that he felt from her. What was this strange taint within her flesh and spirit? “Why would the Game wish to do that?”

“To force me to its will.”

Louis frowned. What did she mean by that? “Weyland has caused this plague. Surely.” Gods, my love, tell me that you also believe this, and stay my fears.

She shook her head. “I fear that the Troy Game has grown into a terrible being, Louis. The land suffers. Listen to me, I beg you.”

He wanted to listen to her, very badly. Here she stood within the circle of his arms, the woman he loved before all others, his true mate, and she wept because her daughter had been torn from her yet once more, and she worried that what they were supposed to protect and nurture, the Troy Game, had turned sour.

But…still…that strange subtle taint…and her refusal to believe that it could be Weyland who had caused the plague.

Worse, he could feel a slight stiffness in her, as if she wanted to withdraw from him.

“Noah, this plague is not the Troy Game’s doing. The plague is Weyland’s handiwork certainly. The land needs the Game.”

“I am no longer sure that the Troy Game is what the land needs.”

That shocked him, but he tried to stay reasonable. She was, after all, upset about her daughter. “The Game is not always pleasant, Noah. Surely you have learned that already from your training within the labyrinth. But it is not evil. It cannot be. It will not harm the city it has been formed to protect. That is not its nature.”

“Louis, please, please listen to me. Consider what I say.”

“Gods, Noah, how can you think the Game more evil than Weyland? I felt your agony the day Charles entered London. Have you forgot it? What spell has Weyland cast over you, that you so willingly believe that this malevolence gripping the land is the Game’s doing, and not his?” He suddenly whipped her about, and pulled away the diaphanous material that clothed her back. He stared, then laid a hand gently against the scars that marred her flesh. “He does this to you, my love, and you think him worthy of belief?”

She twisted around, away from his touch. “I am talking of the Troy Game, Louis. Not Weyland.”

He reached out a hand to her face, trying to reach her with both touch and love. “Noah, think, I beg you. How can you believe Weyland—Asterion—before the Troy Game?”

“Louis, do you believe me before the Game?”

He hesitated, and she drew back from him, her eyes round, terrified, lost.

“Noah…”

But she was gone, and Louis was left standing in the middle of The Naked, his hand outstretched.

The Lord of the Faerie came to him, and stood by his side.

“That was not so well done, Louis. She needed you to believe her.”

“How can I believe her, my friend? She lives within Weyland’s den. She could be his mouthpiece—”

The Lord of the Faerie started to say something, but Louis held up a hand and silenced him. “No. Listen to me. I mourn with her about the child. I know how much she wanted a daughter, and how much she mourned the one who was lost. I can understand how she feels betrayed by the Game, and its winding ways. But I also feel something else from her. A closeness with Weyland. Gods, I can almost smell it. There is something happening between her and him. I don’t know what, but I do know it. Can I trust the Game, my faerie friend? Perhaps not. But I also wonder about Noah. I love her, I want to love her…but I think Weyland has turned her.”

There was something else, but for the moment that possibility so terrified Louis he could not elucidate it.

He thought he had felt the power of a Darkwitch, his one certain enemy, rising from the very pores of Noah’s skin.