Time Heals Nothing

By Jodie Sandiford

In a realm filled with misery from a war almost a decade passed, one woman is determined to make things change. More enemies are coming, and the old villains have reappeared in the streets. And yet she doesn't only have them to worry about, but the massive bias that even her own family struggle to recognise her as human.

And that was before her ex-fiance showed up and made everything even worse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781326515218

Book preview

Time Heals Nothing

Time Heals Nothing

Jodie Sandiford

Copyright © 2015 by Jodie Sandiford

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2015

ISBN: 978-1-326-51521-8

www.todreamandtowrite.wordpress.com

Lyra Windsnap

The day had begun wet and harsh, the ground a marsh that sucked at your feet and made it almost impossible to walk more than four yards, but the rain had quickly abated and now the sun had come out again, casting a warm glow over the grass, and making the ripples in the water shine, as if the river was made of silver.

Quite a way back from the edge of the bank, Bella sat by herself in her grey ceremony dress. The four-year-old was tossing her little blue ragdoll from hand to hand as she laid back on the grass, her sandy-blonde hair fanned out on the grass, and her mother was standing a few feet further forward, watching what was happening at the edge of the riverbank.

I didn’t think you liked boats, the prince said as he appeared out of nowhere and sat down next to Bella. Curtis looked nearly nothing like his twin, but today they were wearing the same clothes, and the mist that hung low over the hills made it hard to tell them apart, besides their eyes and the way they stood. Her husband favoured a more relaxed posture, and his eyes shined like sapphires, while his brother’s…they were stonier and more dreary than the grimmest of stormy skies, and he held himself up straight as much as he could.

Lyra frowned. Why would you say that?

He walked slower than usual today, despite the special occasion, and she knew that everyone was worried – it was at times like this that he worried about the queen most. Incidentally, it was also the time when nobody was bold enough to remind him just how slim the chances of his wife returning with a smile were. She’s been gone nearly since the war was finished. Cir said you’re hydrophobic. You know, like a lipid tail, he said, wiggling his hand through the air like a fish, or a worm. Those little bits of fat in cell walls.

Lyra shrugged. Well, you’re not wrong about the ‘fat’ bit. I like water perfectly fine – I drink it, don’t I? she said, waving off the suggestion like just another harmless jape. So yes, of course I like boats. Not overly much, but I do like them. They’re a perfectly viable mode of transportation, I mean. What’s not to like?

Her brother-in-law shook his head, grinning cheesily as he both watched Cirollus untying the little blue boat from the pier. He’s a funny one, your husband, Curtis said as he held his hand up over his eyes to shield himself from the sun. Very optimistic.

You say that as if it’s a bad thing, she said, frowning. What’s wrong with being optimistic about things?

It’s unrealistic, the prince said, muttering to himself more than he was speaking to her. Too much like the goings-on of someone’s fever dream, all unreachable wishes and undetermined goals. Sets people’s expectations too high.

Cir thinks it’s fine, Lyra said, feeling defensive at the mention of unreachable things.

Cir’s an idiot, then, Curtis declared, as the two of them watched his brother push the boat out from the shore and fail to jump into it, spluttering as he resurfaced a few seconds later, and pulled himself up out of the water. See? Only a true, thorough-bred idiot would try to jump into a boat.

She shook her head. You’re brothers, remember? Twins.

He smirked. Ah, yes, but I am obviously the smart one.

If that’s true, then what’s Elliot? The taller, handsomer elder brother? The taller, handsomer abductor of queens and sisters-in-law? Little as she believed him, though, she still humored him with a smile as she walked down to the side of the river and carefully got into the little blue rowboat, tucking her feet under the seat as Cirollus sat down opposite her. You all right?

I’m fine, she lied, gripping her arms together to keep herself from shaking at the prospect of leaving the riverbank loomed over her. Fine.

He started rowing without another word, and when they were a while from the shore, she looked back at where Bella was sitting with Curtis, fashioning a chain out of the flowers in the grass beside her, focusing on them to keep the seasickness at bay. My girl. My lovely little girl. Her daughter’s eyes shone in the sun, bright purple and dangerous.

It wasn’t the water that scared her. It was the lack of land, of some-thing solid beneath her feet. Most importantly, it was the feeling of being trapped, away from all the usual distractions. When she was standing on flat ground, at least she knew there was no worry of falling anywhere. Soil didn’t give way as easily as wood. Not that she had any reason to be scared of course – she was with Cir, he would never let anything hurt her – but she couldn’t help it regardless. She was always scared, that’s just who she was.

Then, though, she looked up and out into the water, and there was a strange kind of heat beneath Lyra’s feet – she looked down and saw that there were flames licking up from the wood, biting at her feet as smoke enveloped them as well. She yanked Cirollus’ arm, turning his panic-stricken face towards her, but there was nothing either of them could do as their seats vanished into ash around them. Eventually the entire bottom of the boat burnt away – regardless of being in the water – and they started to sink, the flames still growing bigger with each second that passed, but feeding off of nothing.

Back on the riverbank, the little girl didn’t know what she’d done and carried on playing with her doll.

***

The first two rooms had contained interrogating figures who wore delicate golden masks over their faces, but this one was different, she knew that already when she stepped inside, the air fresh and cool. A seat – no, a throne – sat in the chamber, alone. It was made of plain dark wood, innocent of any colour or style save for a few symbols carved into its legs. No drapes were here, though, nor any hanging curtains in the doorway like there had been before.

Looking behind her, she held back a gasp as she saw that the doorway had disappeared, replaced by a plain white stone wall. Atop the throne sat a cloaked figure, although what kind of figure, she couldn’t tell, save for that fact that their stature was great and hulking.

Ah, you. The Windsnap woman.

Lyra bowed her head respectfully as the cloaked god – Odin, she realized, as he lifted his head – rose from his seat, and crossed the room to stand in front of her. His eyes were hard and forceful, a pitiful grey where Lyra felt there ought to have been blue, and a poorly shaven chin meant that straggles of a beard remained, entangled amongst themselves awkwardly. In Lyra’s opinion, he should have had it cut off with the rest – it was nothing but a nuisance. Besides, what man – immortal or otherwise – had a beard so pathetic as his? It was beyond ridiculous.

But she knew better; the King of the Gods was not accustomed to being given suggestions, so she kept her lips sealed, as Odin paced back and forth in front of her, as if inspecting her.

Frankly, I’m surprised you made it even this far, he said, stopping and turning to face her again, his eyes still cold and unfeeling. And so I might as well ask my questions. He gestured with a hand that glistened with at least half a dozen different gemstones to Lyra’s own cloak. May I?

Certainly, Your Brilliance, she said, too afraid to object.

Thumping his chest in favor of coughing, Odin pulled away the brooch, and the cloak fell down from Lyra’s shoulders into a heap on the floor. Then, he set a hand – again, the ringed one, so bright she feared it might burn her – on her shoulder, and dug his nails, small as they were, into the fabric of her dress, and she winced. You flatter me, he whispered into her ear, taking his hand away and folding his arms as he took a step back. Still, I’ll not say I’m disappointed. Quite the woman, aren’t you?

This wasn’t what she had expected at all. She could’ve sworn deities were meant to be more humble than this. More…more mature than this. Yes, Your Brilliance, Lyra whispered.

Fingering the brooch, he ran his tongue over his lips, which Lyra saw now were dry and cracked. Family?

Yes; three sisters, a husband and a daughter, Your Brilliance.

Nodding, his expression turned darker. Still alive, by any chance?

Only my daughter and eldest sister, Your Brilliance.

Ah, very good. He paused. For me, that is. For you, I offer my deepest condolences.

Lyra was feeling even colder now than she had in the river, and at the same time even hotter, as if she were burning all over again. Thank you, Your Brilliance.

A touch of joy showed on Odin’s face, but it was gone again in an instant. Now, he said, pocketing the brooch and smoothing down his scrap of a beard, My questions.

She nodded. Of course, Your Brilliance.

He nodded, and clasped his hands together. Firstly, the cause of your…untimely demise, my lady?

Usually, she would’ve blushed at anyone using her ‘proper’ title, but just now, she was too busy trying to keep from being obliterated from existence. I have to get this right.

I drowned, she explained. And burned. Nearly forgetting herself, she then added, Your Brilliance.

Odin stroked his chin, clearly intrigued. I was not aware you could do both.

I was told we were murdered, Your Brilliance, she added, as if it was an important fact.

But he ignored the small piece of trivia. We?

Lyra felt like she should bow her head again, but she didn’t in case it annoyed him. My husband and I, Your Brilliance.

Is your husband here? Odin asked, his eyes narrowing.

Lyra shook her head.

And why not?

The words certainly did not come easily. I do not know, Your Brilliance. I…I didn’t see him.

The man could not pass the first barrier, a third voice informed them, and she looked to see another figure standing in the doorway. He has already been seen to.

He snorted. And what would you know, Hel?

You sound as if you’re ashamed of me, the younger deity said as she stepped out into the light of the chamber, long locks of vibrant red hair falling down around her shoulders.

Pounding his chest again, Odin produced a goblet from thin air, brimming with wine, and emptied it in a gulp, dribbles that spilled out running through his sparse beard and dripping to the floor. I only gave you run of the underworld so you’d cease your pathetic moaning, he said, smiling as she sighed and licking his lips. So yes, I am ashamed.

Hel smirked, and Lyra had to avert her eyes, horrified, as she realized what she was looking at. The goddess didn’t have a face, but more just a skull, although it still held ample expression. So that you wouldn’t have my father to deal with, you mean. And we both know you’re nowhere near being ashamed of me. Not really.

Your father frighten me no more than you do, he muttered. Still, I suppose I did promise to trust you. Tell me what happened.

Despite herself, she seemed too smug to truly care. It’s simple, isn’t it? He wasn’t a good enough person – I didn’t want to bother you with him, not after what you’ve been saying about her.

Now, now, don’t be rude. We have a very important guest, remember? Patting his pocket, he nodded to Lyra, and this time she couldn’t help blushing.

Hel smiled again, and this time it seemed ever so slightly sincere. Don’t worry about it, sweetheart, she said to Lyra. You’re the mother of a Bewitched – Odin always takes a special interest in people like you.

You make it sound like a bad thing, the king muttered.

Is it not?

His face reflected a very slight sense of amusement at her question. You may leave us.

Don’t be ridiculous. I want to watch.

I said, he repeated, his voice now stern again, You may leave us.

She met her better’s glare with her own, but turned and left nonetheless, her dress trailing on the floor behind her as she left.

As for my questions, may we continue? Odin asked once Hel was gone, stroking his chin again, as if deep in thought. Lyra nodded, and he smiled. The hag was right – I do take an interest in Bewitched children. So, what can you tell me about your daughter?

Why does he want to know? Why is it so important? Bella is…she’s never done anything wrong in her life, Your Brilliance.

Could you be a touch more specific? he asked, barely complacent. What about her personality? What did she take an interest in?

Interests. What were her interests? What did she like? She’d only been there a few minutes ago, sitting with her on the riverbank. Why was this so hard to remember? She liked to watch her cousins, Your Brilliance, she said at last. They doted on her – they all got on very well together. Hopefully they still do.

I assume the cousins you speak of are the Chaffian princesses, yes?

She nodded, biting her lip. She got on with Em best, Your Brilliance.

Em?

Embrystical, Lyra corrected. I believe she is looking after my daughter still, Your Brilliance.

The god nodded again, then let his eyes close, and Lyra heard more footsteps. But these were lighter than those of Hel, and she turned to see a young, clean-shaven man approaching them, carrying a thin leather book under his arm.

Forseti, Odin announced, opening his eyes again and holding out a hand, which the other deity took and shook heartily. I fear that I may require your assistance here.

Assist- he paused mid-sentence, looking Lyra up and down as Odin had before him, then nodded. Ah, I see.

She claims to have both drowned and burned, the king explained.

Forseti did not seem impressed. Not exactly a very peaceful death, is it?

I never said it was, otherwise I would’ve fetched your father.

He shrugged. If that is the case, he said simply, ignoring Odin’s reply, Then she ought to have been passed into Rán’s care already, surely.

Her daughter is a Bewitched, Odin told him, his voice now nothing more than the smallest of whispers as they both eyed her with equal discomfort. I’ve been watching the girl for a while now, and she shows promise.

Promise? The other deity frowned, but did not speak. Instead, his voice was low and secretive. We cannot risk another failure. She has to be stopped.

Who are they talking about? Do they mean Hel? Ising?

Odin nodded, and turned back to Lyra.

I have made my decision, he said as a thunderclap sounded, then faded into silence.

The room changed then, and now there was another throne here, but it was far, far different from the first one – instead of golden, it was black and charred, and Odin was nowhere to be seen now.

A stream of cold air brushed past the back of Lyra’s legs, and she froze again as the king entered the room. Now, as to what we plan to do with you…

Lyra held her breath.

…Technically, you were murdered, so I must take that into account as well, he continued, although he wasn’t talking to Lyra so much as allowing her to listen. And Rán has already made it clear that she wants nothing to do with you. Quite the problem, aren’t you? Calmly, he put his hand up to keep her from answering. I suppose it can’t do that much harm, though. Especially if it irritates Hel.

So be it, he said at last, before turning to one of the small cloaked figures that were filling the room from nowhere Lyra could see. From where she stood, it appeared that Forseti had gone now, though as to where it was unclear. Fetch Kitmel Chaffe for me, he commanded,  and two of the creatures disappeared, breaking away from their brethren as willingly as a freed bird. The rest then dispersed, but one. And she could sense that they weren’t just a servant like the others, even if their hood was still drawn close over their face, hiding everything but the tip of their nose, which was a pale milky colour, like chalk.

Then, the two figures reappeared, pushing someone ahead of them. He wasn’t exactly old, at least not in appearance, but a grey-brown beard adorned his chin, hanging down almost to his waist, pleated with golden thread at the end. His head was bent – out of respect, no doubt – but one of the creatures kicked his heel, and he stood up straight so that Lyra could see his eyes were blue, a dirty, grey blue that were hardly filled with remorse.

Tell this girl who you are, and the tasks that celestial guardians must carry out, he said, almost as if he was daring the man to answer him back.

Instead, he bit back whatever threats may have crossed his mind, and nodded. She knows who I am, Kitmel said, his voice quiet and wise. Then he turned to her, and his mouth twitched into a smile. The guardians watch over the mortals in the world below the clouds. We maintain the peace and, if the situation calls for it, push things in the right direction a little.

Lyra’s eyes were fixed on him for a minute, but then information registered, and she turned to look back at Odin, who was reclining on the throne. I already know this, Your Brilliance.

He sat up at the sound of her speaking, as if woken from a thousand nights’ sleep. All of it? She nodded. Even the requirements for becoming one?

Yes, I think so, Your Brilliance. Then, after a pause, she realized why he was asking. They are requirements I do not meet, Your Brilliance.

I think you shall find we can work around such problems. Odin nodded to the little cloaked figure that stood a few feet away watching her from the shadows of his hood. The other two, who had brought Kitmel to them, had disappeared, but this one, they alone remained. Loki, reveal yourself.

There was a little indignant sound that might have been a snort, or a sigh, but he did so, to show a pale white face with small, slit-like eyes.

Properly, Odin told them, any gender they might have remaining hidden beneath the cloth. Then, to Lyra, You might want to close your eyes for this, my lady.

She closed them tentatively, then opened them a second later, to see that the figure – Loki – had disappeared from sight, to be replaced by a young man dressed in all-black garb. A grey laurel sat on his head of jet black hair, which was cut to a length that left his forehead exposed. His eyes were blank.

Hel’s father. Of course – the mischief-maker. Your Brilliance, I don’t think-

Your daughter wanted her, Odin said to Loki, ignoring Lyra.

And you told her no, I presume? The man’s words were sharp, like knives.

Odin nodded, but Loki didn’t see. Instead, he was looking the other way, watching Lyra as he stood, head bowed and silent as a shadow. I did, he said finally, sounding somewhat exasperated that he was having to voice her answer. She…did not exactly take the news well.

The god scoffed. Of course she didn’t, it’s her.

You were not bring you here to talk about Hel, of all things, Odin said. This woman here, this is why I wanted to see you. Or, more specifically, for you to see her. She’s Chaffe’s sister-in-law – we think she may know something about the theft.

I see. He motioned Lyra forward, and she shuffled towards him. He  stared at her for a few moments, and then shook his head. She knows nothing.

Nothing? The king’s expression was beyond describable. Nothing at all?

Not a thing.

Nodding, Odin summoned Kitmel to his feet – the dwarf had sat down on the ground a few feet from the throne – and jerked his head at Lyra. Take her back with you, make her comfortable. He lowered his voice. And see if you can’t find out anything else about your brother.

Of course. Taking a hold of Lyra’s hand, he led her away, leaving the two gods to argue out their differences in the darkness of the throne room behind them.

Embrystical Chaffe

She was sprawled out on her bed reading when they heard.

It was only when Charlotte dropped her pen and screamed that Em sat up at all, and when she looked out the window after her sister, all she could see was a bright orange burst of colour in the middle of the river, surrounded by bits of what she guessed was driftwood. Two little silhouettes – her father and Bella, presumably – were on the riverbank, but she couldn’t tell what the orange mess was. It oddly resembled a kind of little boat – where the driftwood had come from? – and she wondered who had been in it.

Her sister tore the book out of her hands – Em still hadn’t set it down even in being roused from the story’s plot – and tossed it to the floor carelessly as she pulled her to her feet. It’s Lyra! she shouted, shaking. Lyra and Uncle!

It’s…what is?

Charlotte pointed a shaky finger out the window at where the commotion had been, and where now there was a massive crowd gathering at the edge of the river, Curtis and Bella unidentifiable spots in a sea of people. A few of the others had pulled away, and were venturing into the river towards where the orange spot had been – it was gone now, as if swallowed by the water – and pulling something small and dark out onto the grass. Please…please tell me you can’t see it, she stammered. Please tell me I’m seeing things.

No, that’s me you’re thinking of, the girl who sees things. Ignoring the presence of the young girl perched on the end of her bed, whispering horrible things as she rocked back and forth, Em looked out the window after her sister and words caught in her throat as she backed away, eyes closed against her little-rocking-girl hallucination. Are those what I think they are? she asked.

Skeletons, Charlotte whispered.

***

It was the first time she ever thought she’d seen her father cry, but there was no doubt about it, that was exactly what Curtis Chaffe was doing as they reached the riverbank, out of breath and teary-eyed themselves from the long descent from the castle. His face was red, blotchy even, and his cheeks shone with tears as he separated himself from everyone else and stood with his arms stuck to his sides under the shade of two great oaks. Unlike the physical evidence, his body language wasn’t exactly surprisingly. She’d watched him close himself up like this, even if it had been without tears, so many times before, it was almost becoming routine. But tears…those were new, she’d never seen them before, not with him. Not like this. It doesn’t make any sense. He’s never cried before, why now?

Maybe we should leave… Charlotte began as they stepped around the patches of mud amidst the grass, heading towards the trees. Em ignored her and focused instead on her father.

No, she said. No, you go if you want, but I’m not moving anywhere. Kitmel’s the only other one who came with him who understands what happened, if he’s at all sober still, and I don’t trust him to distract Father for one second. You go find Bella – the girl must be traumatized.

Charlotte nodded, then turned and hobbled off, awkwardly as her clothes were wet now from walking through the mud, and Em guessed that she must have said that last suggestion only to herself, since the younger woman seemed to have no intention of looking for their cousin.

As Em turned back again, she was ambushed with a broken-bottle-brandishing Kitmel, hollering as he swigged from a second bottle in the other hand. He yelled some profanity but she wasn’t listening. In fact, she didn’t even worry about the fact that the jagged edges of the broken glass were only a short way from her face.

No, instead she was worried about the other man, the one standing behind her, breathing down her neck. The second hallucination of the day.

You stupid, stupid girl. His voice was hoarse and rough, as if he had a ridiculously fierce cold, although he didn’t sound ill. He’s not the one you need to be worried about.

I know. She wanted to turn around, but she didn’t dare. Kitmel carried on his pathetic drunken rant and carried on waving around his bottle.

Are you listening to me? I said, don’t worry about him.

Finally, she spun round to see that the only thing any different about her surroundings was that Curtis wasn’t quite as far away as he had been. The man wasn’t there – he never was, was he? Drawing in a deep breath, she waved to Kitmel and turned away, trying to get away from her cousin as fast as possible. The man had been wrong: she had every good reason to be afraid of broken glass bottles and drunken cousins.

Cautious just in case the man came back, she stepped towards where the crowd was parting to let Curtis through, and they stepped back even further as she followed him. At the edge of the grass, they’d laid out the bodies – or shadows of bodies, more correctly, as only bones were left – and covered them in blankets. Part of her uncle’s face was still there, an eye and an ear, but everything else was burnt away, and all she could hear were the gasps of the crowd, melodramatic as always, and the true sadness as the prince beat his hands against the ground and cursed mercilessly, until finally she could do nothing but kneel down beside him and press her face to his head.

As the crowd began to disperse, he tried to look up at Cirollus’ body again, but she held his head down, his wet hair sticking to her fingers. Don’t look. Please.

I have to, he said into her shoulder, trying to push her away with his forehead.

She shook her head and pulled him towards her again. You need to go home, she said.

I need to help him!

Help him? If you hadn’t let him on that boat in the first place-

But she stopped herself. This wasn’t his fault – how could it be?

In fact…

Where’s Bella?

Her father mumbled something and shook his head. Dunno.

Em gently detached him from her shoulder. Stay here, she instructed, and stood up to look around. Somebody had given the order to take the bodies away, and so now the crowd had disappeared, and so had the blanketed corpses, although she wasn’t sure where. Where is my cousin? she demanded, looking at the few people left, chattering away in a little group. Has anyone seen Bella?

One of the men glared at her. Maybe if you looked after the brat a little better, she wouldn’t go running off.

Em blinked at him, then realised his lips hadn’t moved.

Maybe she won’t come back.

A hand brushed over her shoulder and she screamed – Curtis swore again, louder, and slowly stood up. What is it?

I can’t trust you. Nothing – where’s Bella?

Em, what’s wrong?

She shook her head. I said, nothing. She shook his hand off her shoulder – the other man was gone again now – and looked up at the sky. Bella! she called.

Mm?

The clueless little four-year-old tottered over with her ragdoll held in her mouth. Mm? she asked again, staring up at her cousin. Mamma?

Curtis bit his lip to stop himself tearing up again, and picked Bella up, taking the doll out of her mouth. You shouldn’t try and eat these kinds of things, he said, tossing the toy away. The little girl stared at it indifferently.

Mamma? Bella asked again, her purple eyes as big and round as moons.

Curtis sniffed. She’s not here just now, he said as he picked her up and she grabbed at his nose with plump little fingers. You’re going to come back with us.

Em pulled her hair down over her eye and dug her nails into her palm to stop herself from shaking. It’s too cold out here, she said. She’ll freeze without a coat on.

The prince stared at her for a second, then at Bella, and finally nodded. I suppose you’re right.

I am right.

He smiled. Of course you are.

No, you don’t understand. I…I just need to go home, she said. Read, or something like that.

Curtis frowned. For how long?

What do you mean?

Her father shook his head. You know what I mean, Em. How long?

I do this too much, don’t I? I’m too gullible, too stupid, it’s becoming another bad habit. I should be worrying about Bella, not some strange nonexistent man. She thought about the question, though, then shrugged, doing her best to continue coming off as nonchalant as possible. A couple of days, maybe. A week, at most.

Why?

What? You know why.

Oh, I wouldn’t say that I do, he said.

Regardless, I’m going.

He sighed. Em…

Why do I have to be here? Why can’t I just disappear every once in a while? You’ve done it.

Because you’re important. He reached forward with his free hand to brush her hair away from her face, and she flinched.

No.

What?

I said, no. It’s my hair, you shouldn’t touch it.

Curtis frowned. I wasn’t talking about your hair.

But you were touching it.

The prince shook his head and muttered something. It’s up to you whether you go or not – I can have Charlotte catch you up on things afterward if need be, I guess.

Charlotte? It sounded