The Cat Who Knew How to Cry

13. BODY, SOUL AND SPIRIT (part 2)

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The minutes crawled by at an excruciatingly slow pace. The weight of expectation was pressing on Amialis, as if someone were simultaneously holding her by the whiskers and pulling her by the tail. The former queen of Rual was alone in roomy, dark quarters. She stood still as if petrified, transfixed by the play of fiery tongues on the soot-covered lantern.

Rats were gnawing at her heart. She had gotten what she wanted... and then lost it just as quickly. And here she was, in the place where it all begun. Here to square up, to pay her debt, to fulfill her part of a bargain struck long ago. For the first time in many years, Amialis was afraid.

There came the sound of voices from the passageway, looming darkly at the far end of the wall to her left. She perked up her ears: the minutest detail, the slightest trifle could determine her very fate. The first voice was full, clear and strong. It was the voice of someone used to giving orders, and doing it well. And it spoke a language Amialis did not understand.

The second voice was despicable, rotten. Like that of a corpse-eating worm that had suddenly decided to change careers and become a servant. As she would soon find out, he fit the bill for a worm in appearance as well. His skin was a sickly pale color, and there seemed to be too much of it, drooping in thin, flabby folds. It was as if he had eaten the corpse of some fat, tailed creature from the inside and was now hobbling awkwardly along in this monstrous cocoon, reeking of sweat. A sack race for necrophages.

Despite her exceptional composure, Amialis could not restrain her disgust towards this sickening being; in turn, noticing her squeamish grimace, it literally swayed with pleasure, which, of course, only added fuel to the fire of her anger.

"Your work is done. And it's not yet time for the rest," his companion spat. He was a gaunt, stooped man in a warm dark sweater and badly sewn pants. He motioned the "worm" away and bowed to Amialis with vulgar cordiality.

"Well, well. Queen Amialis, Lady of Rual, in the flesh. I hope you too haven't forgotten Master Shilor."

Amialis had not forgotten. She nodded, not knowing what to say.

"I suppose the queen would like to know why she's here? Why we tore the loving mother away from raising her prodigal son?" He shook his head, as if judging his own wrongdoing. "It saddens me just as much, believe me, but no matter how erroneous his path, it leads to an extremely profitable situation for us. Your son is destined to play a significant role in our plans with respect to a certain sianae I believe you're familiar with."

"In your plans? A decade ago you wanted to keep Aniallu out of Rual at all costs, and now you're rejoicing in the fact that she's running around freely beneath this city?"

"Correct. Plans have changed. Better yet, they've evolved. But that's not the only reason we've gotten involved, sweet Amialis. You see, we did not want to lose you before you fulfilled your part of our little deal. And we most certainly would have lost the pleasure of your company if you had done what you were planning to do – you can trust me on that. I concede that it was rather a... definitive measure, but there was simply no other way."

"I'm here, then, to fulfill my part of our agreement?" Amialis asked with affected nonchalance. Her fear was waning, albeit in tiny baby steps, and the Alae's ever-present confidence was returning.

"Yes, that is exactly why you're here. I need your tel Alait," Shilor declared firmly.

"Tel Alait?" Amialis repeated, puzzled. "But how can I give that to you?"

"Exactly as the gods share their spirit with believers. Impart your grace to me. Squeeze every last drop of cat out of you."

"What?! Why?" Amialis' cool facade broke.