If you've not read the previous chapters, this one isn't going to make any sense. For more about the characters and issues Lost is dealing with in this chapter, you can check out her story,
Getting Lost.
I hope you're all enjoying the story so far.
Thank you RNebular for editing!
-Guinevere A. Hart
***
Lost's curiosity made her restless. There were non-corporeal presences in the palace, and she wanted to investigate. She waited until Kytia and Wy were sound asleep, then she silently got out of bed.
She picked up her Eloua-made suit from the floor and frowned at it. The suit enhanced her magical abilities, making her singularities stronger and more stable. However, it wasn't very comfortable, and she didn't need portals to hunt ghosts. She opened the closets and found a simple day gown. The former queen had been taller than Lost, so she hiked the extra length up under a pretty belt. Even if it was a bit big, Lost preferred the light and airy dress over the skin-tight suit.
She checked on Kytia and Wy once more, and she had to stifle a giggle when Kytia snorted softly in her sleep. Lost went barefoot into the dimly lit hallway. Much of the palace had gone unused by the Ay'niki who'd recently occupied it, and the closed off corridors smelled of dust. To her, the portraits hanging on the walls looked forgotten and lonely. A sad energy seeped from the stone and clung to Lost as she explored.
It was not long before, she felt something following her. A furtive flicker of light and dark just barely caught in her periphery now and again. She moved on, letting the presence trail behind her until it was ready to interact with her. They wandered the halls together like this for quite a while, mainly because Lost had nothing else to do.
The presence remained quiet until Lost came upon an unexplored part of the palace with a severe lock on the door. The ylf'nim-made lock was clearly there for a reason, and to Lost, there was only one way to find out what the reason was. She placed both hands on the lock and called on her power to open it. Before her spell was complete, she felt a cold prickle at her neck.
She heard a sibilant, "Lotuuusss."
It sounded like several people all crowded around her to whisper her old name at her. However, Lost had no time to experience the requisite spine tingle, nor even to consider the prospect of fear. A familiar voice overrode the hissing sound with, "Oh, for love of the gods, go be creepy somewhere else."
Prince Dakath had been dead for two centuries, but for Lost and her missing time, it had only been a little over a year. Joy at seeing him again (sort of) pushed aside all the dust and bleakness of the empty castle. "Dakath!" she cried as his apparition slowly materialized.
He smiled at her and said, "Sorry about those guys. They get bored. It's been a while... not sure
how
long, really. Time is weird on this side of dead. By the way, don't go in there." His expression became somber when he said, "You don't want to deal with
that
mess."
For now, Lost took her hands away from the lock. She was thrilled not only to see Dakath, but at the prospect of having a full conversation in her own language. She spoke ylf'nim, of course, and she was fluent in Eloua, and she even spoke some Sil. Barter, however, was irksomely complicated.
She asked Dakath, "What mess? Besides the obvious?"
"Hey, I look fantastic for a dead guy!" His quick smile returned while he joked with her, then he became serious again. "Look, there's a lot to talk about, but not here. No sense drawing unwanted attention. Let's go for a walk, hmm?"
She took one last glance at the lock, then she nodded to Dakath. It wasn't just the two of them on their walk, for Lost could feel the spirits of others gathered around. She quietly asked him, "You do know we're being followed, right?"
"Yeah, they're okay. Don't worry about it." Lost wasn't worried, because she sensed no threat from whatever trailed along behind them. She was curious, however, and she meant to pursue the subject further. Then Dakath turned the conversation, "So, what happened to you? How did you meet Kytia and the krys'nim? And why do they call you Lost?"
"His name is Wyfrost. His people call themselves Norrhim."
"Norrhim, huh? I thought frost giants were a myth." He thought about it for a second and commented, "I always imagined they'd be bigger, somehow."
Lost said, "When we met, my memories were gone, and I had difficulty speaking. Kytia started calling me Lost, because I suppose it's what I was, at the time."
"But you're not lost now. You and Kytia are home, where you should be. And Wyfrost seems cool. He is, isn't he? I mean, you seem to be really into the two of them, and I just want to know you're okay. They
are
good to you, aren't they?"
She smiled. "Yes, they're always good to me. I love what I have with Kytia and Wy."
Lost also loved what she'd had with Dakath. Their relationship had bloomed over the months they'd known each other. She had dreamt of marrying him and starting a family. She'd enjoyed casual sex before him, but with Dakath, their coupling was beyond comparison.
When they'd kissed, it was so much more than a pleasant meeting of lips. Though they were both experienced, their hands and mouths had discovered newly awakened places. Dakath had taken both her body and soul to the scared places where only love could go, to new heights of orgasmic joy. Making love with him was beyond sex, because Lost had truly been in love.
Her relationship with Kytia and Wyfrost was different, but still sacred. Sex with them had begun as a form of comfort, a way for her to feel safe when she couldn't understand the world she'd been thrown into. Over the year they'd spent together, their love had developed into a strong bond. After all the three of them had been through, Lost couldn't imagine walking away.
She could yearn for what she could've had with Dakath, but their time was over. Any dreams had been torn away from them by the hate and jealousy of others. Instead of pining, Lost chose gratitude for the opportunity just to speak with him one more time.
Dakath smiled in relief and nodded. "Good!" He mused, "Wy's not ylf'nim, but maybe this can be his home, too." Dakath trailed off on a tangent, mumbling to himself. "Poor fellow. We're going to have get some bigger furniture. Definitely need to heighten the doorways—"
"Dakath," she had to steer him back. "Can ghosts do construction?"
"No, I don't think so. Be careful, though. There's a few around here who get seriously cranky, and they can sometimes pull together enough energy for a marginally destructive tantrum."
"I think I saw some evidence of that in the grove. Did ghosts kill those Ay'niki?"
"Yeah, they did." Then his jaw firmed and his voice became uncharacteristically heavy. "We may be dead, but Raelinholm is still ours. Violating our sacred burial ground isn't something any of us would tolerate."
While they ascended the stairs to the roof, both of them were quiet. Lost had hit a rare nerve with the easy-going Dakath. She wondered at his plight and that of the ylf'nim spirits around them. It was no surprise Raelinholm was haunted, but the city seemed to have more than its fair share of ghosts. Near the top of the steps, Dakath shook off his moment of darkness. "You still haven't told me how you ran into Kytia and Wy."
She knew how it would sound before she said it, and still she felt all right telling Dakath what little she knew. He could be as facetious as she was, but he would never be truly mean to her, so she told him the truth. "The gods spat me out at Kytia's feet, because she needed me."
He issued a derisive snort, then he commented, "Yeeeaah, of
course
they did." They emerged on the rooftop under the afternoon sun, and he seemed to fade a little. She could still make out his facial features though, and he suggestively waggled his eyebrows at her.
"I'd
never spit you out."
Lost's cheeks turned pink, and she laughed with Dakath. She said, "I've missed you."
He stopped laughing and looked into her eyes. He uttered a sincere, "You have no idea." Before things became too touchy, he retreated to the outer wall. He turned to her and said, "Look!"
Lost joined the ghost of her former lover and looked out over the streets of Raelinholm. The newly freed ylf'nim had already begun to collect goods for a feast. A group were gathered around a smoke pit, and Lost leaned out to try and catch a whiff of what was on the menu. The remnant of Raelinholm was boisterous, singing and dancing. She figured half of them were drunk already.
Sharing their elation, Lost got caught up in it. A bubbling giggle of joy rose up within her, and she set it free. She spun in a quick jig and tried to take Dakath's hands, but his hands were not physically there. Her jubilant mood immediately doused, and Lost quieted.
Lost suddenly understood. Dakath was trapped. She knew he wasn't supposed to be there. Upon his death, Prince Dakath was supposed to have gone to the Sacred Empire to be with the gods in their paradise. "Dakath," she asked, "Why are you here?"
He thought about his answer, then said, "I don't know how any of this works. Honestly, before, I thought dead was just
dead.
You know, no Sacred Empire, no gods. It's been a little while though—"
"Two-hundred years," she offered.
"Two-hundred... fuck!" He spent a few seconds getting over the shock, then he began. "Something's happened to our world, and we can't leave. Spirits of the dead are unable to access the way into their afterlives. I think it has something to do with that day, the snake people's explosive device, our spells, and everything happening all at once."
Lost leaned back on the battlements for support. She thought of all those people, trapped between their physical life and the one waiting for them in the Sacred Empire. The sorrow of it was a crushing weight. When she was able to speak, she asked, "How do we put this right?"
