–Illise M.

NYX____________________________

“No!” she shouted, scuttling back farther beneath her bed.

“My little night shard, please come out.”

“No!  No, no, no! I don’t want him to see!”

Her mother narrowed her eyes at her. “Nyx, your brother misses you.  I hardly think he’ll care if–”

“No!”

Fotini hissed, a sharp and long sound from the back of her throat.  The young girl squeaked, trying to press harder back into the wall as though it could swallow her into safety.  She bumped her head on the bed in her struggles, and her eyes immediately teared.  Nyx, seven-years-old, covered her head and started to cry, her wails audible even as she tried to smother the sound.  A hand grabbed her by the ankle and she was pulled out from under the bed with one strong tug.

A sigh.  Nyx was gathered up in warmth and soft wool.  She turned her face into her mother’s bosom and clutched at her.  The soothing smell of her filled her lungs.

“My little girl.  My Nyx of the night.  Haven’t you learned yet?  Your struggles hurt you in the end.  Ehna, ehna, shhhh…let A-ma see.”  Fotini took her head and brushed back Nyx’s hair, to see the scratch at the top of her head.

Nyx sniffled.  “Is it gone yet?”

“Yes my darling.”  Fotini kissed her forehead.  “It’s gone.  It was only a scratch after all.”

Just then a small kitten came tumbling through the door way, batting at dust.  At the sight of them, it began to mewl.  Her mother let out a low growl.  “Atalo, you were to wait for us!”  Like lightning, the woman snatched out and caught the kitten by the scruff of the neck.  The kitten went limp as she picked it up and glowered at it.

Nyx snickered even as she wiped away the last of her tears.

Fotini pinched her ear and the girl squealed.  “M’sorry, m’sorry!” she cried, tears cropping up anew.

“Don’t think you’re free, Nyx.  You will run with us tonight.  All of us.  Last month you made me look the fool, disappearing like you did.”  The woman gave Nyx’s ear a tug as she was forced to her feet and led out of the room.

“I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss.” The woman went on to say.  “I, for one, think it looks lovely.”

Nyx whimpered as she was led to the kitchen by the ear.  “I look stupid!”

“You do not.  You look beautiful.  There are plenty of other girls that have manes.” The woman paused, releasing the girl after guiding her into a chair. “Oh…well I suppose there aren’t any in Tosmai…” she admitted reluctantly.

“That’s because only boys have manes.  Why do I have to have one?”

Fotini sighed.  “Oh, Sweet Aelurus, this child is so tiresome!  Nyx, leave the matter alone.  At the least, I can assure you, you didn’t get the trait from me.  You must’ve gotten that from your father.”

“I’m going to shave my head,” Nyx mumbled glaring at the table.

“Enough!” The woman snapped. She started to rifle through the cupboards.  “Focus on something else.  Help me decide what’s for dinner tomorrow.”

Nyx sighed and laid her head down, gazing around the kitchen. “Huckleberry bread and white honey,” the girl said.

Fotini smiled patiently.  “That’d be good for dessert…What about dinner?”

“Fried vegetables.  And…” Nyx thought for a moment. “Beef,” she said decisively.

The girl hopped up from the chair and stepped over her little brother, who’d taken to rolling on the floor.  She hefted herself up onto the counter with the aid of her mother and pointed at the brown sugar.  “I read somewhere that if you rub the raw beef with brown sugar and let it sit overnight, it tastes good.”

“Where’d you read this?” Fotini asked, frowning.

Nyx blushed.  She’d used her allowance to buy books from an elven merchant that had been coming near the village.  One of the books she’d bought was a cooking book, since her mother was always making her help in the kitchen.  “From one of my classmates,” the girl said hurriedly.

Fotini squinted her eyes in suspicion.  “It’s another one of those elf books, isn’t it?”

Nyx swallowed and bowed her head, instinctually covering her ears.

The woman helped the girl down.  “Nyx, it’s fine that you want to read.  But why can’t it be Ailuran books?  Aren’t they interesting?”

The girl frowned.  “A-pa said they lie.”

Fotini sighed and covered her face with her hand.  “Sweet Aelurus…Alvis…even now your actions haunt us…”

The mother turned and knelt down.  “Nyx, listen to me.  I can understand reading a cooking book.  Your tip was very good.  But please my little nightshard…try and appreciate our culture a bit more.  There’s nothing wrong with reading about your own people.”  The woman stood, her long dark  hair sweeping.  “Now run along and get dressed.  We leave in less than an hour…and no more fussing!”

——————————————————-

Nyx carried Atalo in her arms.  He was still in the form of a kitten.  She glowered at him.  “Why don’t you get your ears pinched?  Why is it always me?”

As if answering her, her brother pressed his paw against her nose, making her look like a pig.  The girl cuffed him on the head.  “Cajeck!” she snapped.

The cat yowled at her, biting at her purple gambeson with tiny teeth.

“You two behave,” Fotini warned.  Her mother was dressed up in her finest set of clothes–a tanned leather shroud with the hood down, the hide embroidered with black silk thread.  She had on fur boots, and a beaded belt.  Her long dark hair was pulled back with an obsidian clip.

“Aren’t you going to make him shift back?” Nyx asked, still glaring at her little brother, whose drool was soaking the lapel of her gambeson.

Fotini shook her head as she grabbed her large sling bag off the hook.  “It’s far too close to Night.  Remember your lessons?  Shapeshifting too much back and forth can tax your spirit.  It’s safer if he remains as he is.”

“But I read somewhere that if he stays like this too long–”

“Nyx!” Fotini gave her a warning glare.

Nyx sighed as she followed her mother out the front door and down the steps of their daikut.  Outside, there were many people hurrying along the road, anxious and excited.  The evening seemed so electric.  Despite herself, the girl gradually came out of her sullenness.  At the main square, there was much jubilation.  Flag bearers bore the symbol of the nation high over their heads, a full moon and three tear drops falling from it.  She could smell barbecued pork and roasted nuts and felt hungry.

“A-ma, can we get a snack, please?” Nyx asked, tugging on her mother’s sleeve.

“Not now, child.  The procession comes!”  Fotini craned her head, trying to see over the crowd.  The woman gave up, looking frustrated.  “Oooh…I can’t see a thing from here!  But maybe you and Atalo can get up closer.  Just don’t go wandering too far!  I’ll be right here.”  She gave the girl a small push forward at the back.

Nyx slouched, glaring through the forest of bodies down the road leading into the central square.  Sure enough, she could see a large body of people marching toward them in the distance.  The sulk on her face faded a portion as Nyx moved to the front of the crowd.  There, many of her peers from school stood waiting.  They turned and regarded her with varying expressions–most negative.

“What’s Nyx the Nitwit doing up here?”

Nyx turned and glared at a boy nearest her.  He had dark hair flecked with brown and narrowed hazelnut eyes.  Kilen, Leander’s nephew.  He smelled like fresh cotton and dirt.  The two children stared each other down.  Meanwhile, the adults around them remained oblivious of the blossoming exchange.  People cheered as the marchers drew closer.

“Kilen, you’re an ass,” Nyx said, rolling her eyes.

The boy mimicked her voice. Then he pointed at her and jeered, “Go stick your head into a book, weirdo!  This is for true Ailurans only!”

Nyx smiled at him coolly.  “Then I’ll be sure to let your dollies know you’re coming home early!”

Kilen’s face turned pink as the children around them giggled.  He stomped his foot.  “Stop it!  If you laugh with her, then you aren’t coming to my birthday party!”  The laughter stopped.  The boy flashed his eyes at her victoriously.  “Your father was a freak and so are you!  No Ailuran girl is supposed to have a mane!” He turned to those around them.  “Come on, let’s get away from the freak.  Her evil might rub off on us.”

The children migrated, following the boy as he left to stand near his uncle Leander, who was speaking with Orestes.  Nyx sighed and watched them go with a growing sense of defeat, not even caring that Atalo had pulled the top button off her gambeson.

“Kilen’s got fleas in his brain.”

Nyx blinked and turned.  An older girl with two dark pigtails and amethyst eyes grinned at her.  Behind her stood a slouching boy with flushed cheeks, warm-honey eyes, and curly umber hair.  “Don’t listen to him, ‘kay?  Not everybody hates you.  And not everybody’s a’scared of that cajeck.”  She held out her hand.  “My name’s Taila.”

Nyx hesitated.  She’d seen Taila before around the village.  She was a very tomboyish girl and very strong headed.  She was nine?  Maybe ten?  No…twelve.  Rumor had it that she had a crush on Nyx’s older brother, but the girl didn’t trust such talk.  There was also a rumor that Taila had once tamed a wild unicorn, after all.  Nyx had read enough to know that unicorns had gone extinct more than 200 years ago.  That was just one of the many discrepancies in what was locally known as the “Taila Tales”.  But the girl didn’t like the idea of being impolite, so she moved to greet Taila in similar fashion, but then her brother took to wiggling.  She couldn’t get a hand free to shake with.  “Ah, um…”

Taila giggled and reached over to pet Atalo instead.  Nyx inhaled softly.  She picked up the scent of honey.  “This is your brother Atalo, right?  He takes the same lessons with my little sister.”  The girl pointed over her shoulder.  “And this is Ampelos.  He’s shy.”

“Hi,” Ampelos muttered, staring down at his shoes.  His scent was overpowered by Taila and those around them, even as the girl tried to catch a whiff of him.

Nyx nodded, smiling nervously.  “Um, hi!  Nice to meet you.  My name’s Nyx.”

“We know!” Taila took Ampelos’ hand and waved with her other.  “‘Kay!  We gotta go find his mother.  Talk to you later!”

The sudden departure left Nyx anxious and even more uncertain.  “Uh…”  The two children were gone, and the girl bowed her head with a sigh.  “Yeah…bye…”

She turned and was conscious of how isolated she felt.  Even the adults seemed keen on giving her space.  Nyx shifted Atalo in her arms and wiped at her eyes.  She felt her sleeve come away damp, and this detail seemed enough to send her into all out crying once more, but the people around her began to cheer.  She gave a start, damp eyes blinking away the last tears as she looked forward.

There was a great fanfare, and energetic drums.  Cymbals crashed and people clapped as the Ailuran soldiers returned from their second tour.  In this battalion was–

“Thaddeus!”  Nyx whispered, ducking a little.

Her older brother marched at the end of his row.  He had medium long hair, dark like all of her family, and it was tied back in a low ponytail.  The fourteen-year-old marched with eyes forward.

Nyx turned to find her mother approached, gently pushing to the front of the crowd.  When she was close enough to speak and be heard, the woman was out of breath.

“I saw him, A-ma!” Nyx said, pointing.

“I think I did too!” the woman said, face flushed.  She took Nyx’s hand.  “Come on, they’re going to do a speech and then the men will be released to the families!”

Nyx started to fuss with her hair, brushing it back with sweaty fingers.  “He’s going to laugh at me, I just know it!”

“Child you are so odd! Weren’t you just excited to see him?  Can’t you leave your fears and just be happy that our Thad is home?”

“But–”

“Shh!” Fotini held a finger up to her lips and pulled the girl close by the shoulders.  Together, the three ventured into the gathering crowd near the central platform.  They didn’t need to wait long.  Orestes appeared to the cheers of many.  He raised a hand and smiled.

“My dear people of Tosmai.  Long have we awaited the return of our precious sons…Tonight, they come to us in good health, filled with pride for their service to our nation.  I will not keep you long, for the Eye of Aelurus is upon us as Night draws close, but hear me now, my good people.  These men have sacrificed much, and for some that price was great.  These few have returned to our glorious Mother, shrouded in honor and love.  Let us take a moment to pay our thanks to those who gave their lives so that we may stand here whole and happy tonight.”

Nyx covered Atalo’s head as she bowed her own.  Her little brother, though Changed, seemed to understand the situation enough to sit still beneath her hand.

They remained that way for one full minute before Orestes spoke again, bringing everyone out of their silent prayers.

“Thank you, and thank you to the families of those lost braves.” He gestured behind him where the soldiers had stood, waiting quietly.  “Come forward, my sons.  Your families await you!”

There was a cheer as the soldiers moved to find their beloveds.  Fotini gripped onto her daughter tightly, and Nyx couldn’t help but tighten with fear the way the crowd seemed to smother them in their haste to get by.  She turned to look behind her, feet stumbling as her mother dragged her forward.  The girl knew she could find a space free of the mad hustle if only her mother would let her go, but as she gazed past the villagers, she saw a woman staring toward the stage, tears streaming openly down her face.  She stood alone, and her gaze turned to the sky, her dark hair lifting with the breeze.  Nyx blinked and craned her head as more people came, but within the next instant her view of the woman was gone.

“Thaddeus!”

Nyx turned her head forward again.  Fotini hugged the girl around the shoulders, and Atalo fought in her arms to raise himself up higher to see.  The villagers parted and Thaddeus stepped forward, his broad face smiling fully.  He had tawny eyes, like she and Atalo did, but his were muddier.  But the dimples in his cheeks, his round-tipped nose, his expressive eyebrows, the messy black hair…all the same.

“Hello everyone!” was all he said.

Fotini laughed as she snatched the teenager up in a bone-crushing hug.  Atalo mewled loudly, extending a paw and struggling to push out of Nyx’s arms.  The girl just stared at her brother, shoulders hunched, eyes wide with awe.

Thaddeus was home.

——————————————————-

The forest’s belly was full with them, it seemed.  They crossed the earth with steps that the wood and grass seemed to respond to.  As the population passed the limits of the village into the wild, guards stood watch over those passing.  The Cerrite.  They were criminal hunters, domestic guardians, and enforcers.  As it was the middle of autumn, they worse deer skins for camouflage.

Nyx stared as they passed one, and his milky eyes turned her way.  The Cerrite were specially trained both by warriors and priests alike.  This one had a stony face, smeared with charcoal.  Chosen at birth, these men’ spirits were marked with unbreakable magic that gave them unique abilities.  For instance, they could resist the Change when the full moon came.  They protected the village whilst the populace honored the Blessed Mother each month.  It required a unique strength, as the magic that made this possible could kill anyone who was too weak in spirit to bear it.  The Cerrite were both admired and feared among the community.  It was said that their divine sense of justice was so acute, that they could sense their prey even unto the future.

Nyx ducked behind her mother’s legs as they followed the crowd down the familiar path.  The trees cast shadows over them as the suns slowly pulled back the blanket of their warmth from the sky.

The feeling of being watched didn’t leave her.

There was a designated field, not far from the village.  Here families chose their respective areas for the Change.  Nyx’s family found a place still near the woods, but with a soft patch of ground and high grass.  Fotini dropped her bag with a sigh.  The woman hadn’t always made a habit of bringing a bag with her…but last year, Nyx and Atalo had thought it would be fun to play with the folded clothing whilst in their animal forms.  What resulted was half of their belongings being torn in half from tug of war, the rest being scattered around the forest in a game of chase.  The trouncing that came afterward was forever coined by Thaddeus as, “The Great Kitten Clobber.”  Nyx and Atalo didn’t think it very funny.

Fotini fussed over her eldest son, ruffling his hair in disapproval.  “You need a cut!” she sighed, shaking her head.

Thaddeus ducked away from her, his eyebrow raised.  “A-ma, please!  I’m a soldier, remember?  We don’t have much time to fuss about those sorts of things on the field.”

At the mention of the war, Fotini’s face turned tense.  “Thad, you haven’t been made to fight, have you?  You’re still just scouting, right?”

Thaddeus’ expression turned reserved as he pulled off his shirt.  His limbs were wiry now.  “We’ll talk about it later.  The moon is almost out.” He sat on the grass and proceeded to remove his boots.  As he worked, his eyes flickered to Nyx, who hadn’t budged from her position sitting in a tight ball. “Koah, you okay?”

Nyx shrugged and looked over at Atalo, who was having fun knocking over stalks of grass.  She didn’t want to Change.  She didn’t want her brother to see, and somehow, she had fixed it in her mind that if she refused to prepare for the night, then the transformation simply wouldn’t come.

Atalo came cantering over, his ears perked.  He hid behind a rock, the thing nearly completely concealing him.  He peered at her over it, his ears flattening and his eyes holding a tell-tale shine.  The girl scowled at him.  “Don’t,” she warned.

Her little brother didn’t listen.  He ducked out of sight for a moment before popping over the rock and launching at her, claws extended.  He landed on her shoulder and bit at her ear.  It was quite an impressive jump, for such a little thing, but Nyx wasn’t amused.

She snatched her brother up by the scruff of his neck, and instinctually he went limp.  She hissed at him from the back of her throat, and if she had been in her animal form, her tail would have been lashing angrily.  “I said leave me alone!”  She threw him away, literally.  Her brother skittered along the dirt in a loud yowl.

Fotini’s eyes flashed at her, and Nyx flattened herself on the ground, like a cat who’d heard a loud sound.  “Nyx!” the woman shouted, standing.  She’d already stripped off her shoes and top, leaving her only dressed in her pants.

Thaddeus was already nude.  He didn’t stand, but simply leaned over.  Nyx tried to move out of his reach, but the boy was fast and she was still flat against the ground.  He grabbed her by the back of her neck, pinning her down, and the girl couldn’t resist the relaxation that went through her body, setting her still.  Even in sapien form, the pressure point still worked.

“Koah,” he said over her.  Then he cuffed her hard over the head.  “Be nice!”

Her older brother let her go, and Nyx rolled away from him, baring her teeth.  With each passing second, animal behavior was becoming more and more natural.  Night was turning thick about them, igniting an ancient magic that none present could resist.  Some of the villagers had already shifted.

Nyx let out a spitting sound, her fingers digging into the dirt.  “I just wanna be left alone!”

Fotini went on all fours, glaring at her.  She mirrored Nyx’s bared teeth and her head bowed forward.  The girl recognized the stance.  The woman was going to rush forward and topple her.

“Nyx, if you don’t stop this–”

“No!“  but the sound was choked.  Anxiety was bringing about a premature Change.  Nyx let out a cry of pain and curled in on herself.

She heard movement through the grass and lifted her head enough to see Thaddeus and her mother at either side before her.  Their eyes had gone cat, and their teeth were changing to fangs.  Nyx watched, shuddering as she saw their features change smoothly.

“My little nightshard, stop fighting it.  Don’t you see your struggles hurt you in the end?” Fotini breathed gently.

Nyx looked anxiously at Thaddeus.  “B-But I don’t want him to see!”  Her eyes teared up and her face crumpled.  She ducked her head, her body shuddering as she fought to keep her form.  “I look like a freak!” she choked through sobs.

Nyx hugged herself tightly and looked at her brother, pained.  “I missed you!”  she tried to speak, even as the pain grew worse.  “I jes’ wanted–you to–to–think I was–growing into a good girl!” the girl wailed, pressing her forehead to the ground as he hugged herself tighter.  She was trying to keep her ribs from expanding.  “But I’m wrong! And everyone hates me ’cause of it!”

Thaddeus bopped her lightly on the head.  The girl looked up at him in confusion, tears streaming from her eyes.

Her brother smiled at her, just as Atalo came around him, eyes peering curiously.  “Cajeck,” he murmured, ruffling her hair.  “I’m just happy to see you!”

Nyx swallowed hard.  “You…mean it?”

Thaddeus nodded, and together she and Fotini made the girl sit up.  Their faces had gone cat.

“You see, child?” Fotini said gently as she peeled away Nyx’s gambeson.

Thaddeus pulled her legs forward and pulled off her boots.  His fingers had claws.

“Go on, Koah,” Thaddeus said with a smile.  “Stop fighting it, and let the Change happen.  We’ll be with you in a second.”

Nyx didn’t need telling twice.  She relaxed her body, and gasped as she felt the transformation hit her in a rush.  Her mother held her around the torso and guided her back to the ground as the girl’s body seized up, bones and muscles shifting.  The process was faster this time around, as though a great dam had burst.  It felt…euphoric, and the girl sighed as she felt herself fall into a place that was cool and safe…

Then she opened Her eyes.

——————————————————-

[Thaddeus immediately started laughing.  As she kicked away the dead skin of her Other Self--those "pants".] “Wow! Nyx has a mane!  Is that what she was fussing about all this time!?”

“Thad, your sister has been agonizing over this for ages.  Please don’t confirm her fears!”

“Okay…but I mean…” [and here he snickered.] “Wow.”

[Funny words.  Sapien words.  Words didn't mean much to Her like this, though somewhere, far away, she thought she could remember some sort of meaning to them.]

[The cat raised herself up and shook her fur out.  The dark tresses fell into her eyes and she gave her head another shake.  Atalo mewled at her, and she answered him.  She was larger than her brother by at least a few pounds and stood an inch and a half taller than him, but when compared to Thaddeus or her mother, she still looked so small.  The girl's nose flared, taking in the unique scent of her family.  She felt safe.]

[Without much preamble, she pounced on Atalo.  It was time to get him back for all his pestering.  The two wrestled in the dirt as the rest of their family shapeshifted near them.]

[Then the mother raised her head, and she looked right, and Nyx raised herself from her play long enough to meow at her.  Fotini padded near and with mouth slightly parted so that the tips of her canines showed, let out a huff of breath that caressed the kitten's face, startling the locks of her mane.  This was the silent way of saying hello.  Nyx butted her head beneath her mother's chin purring.  Atalo pounced on her from behind, gnawing on her hide.  She turned and batted at him with her paw.]

[A shadow fell over her.  The cat turned to see her eldest brother, nearly as big as her mother and with a mane of his own, gazing down at her.  He gave the customary greeting before he buried his face in her neck.  Her spine curved, but her muscles tensed.  She recalled another group of cats her age attacking her and pulling her by the mane once.  Kilin and his companions.  This memory brought up hazy recollections of embarrassment and fear of judgment.  But this was family--he wouldn't harm her.  Right?]

[Thaddeus let out a sharp snort, growling as he withdrew.  Then with his great paw, he pushed Nyx down by the back.  The kitten hissed, ears drawing back at this physicality.  But what came next startled her.]

[Her older brother started to groom her.  His tongue swept over her mane, which in truth, was messier than his.]

[Atalo sat before her, a curiously sapien expression of smugness on his furry face as he watched his sister mewl in protest.  This didn't last.  Within the next instant, the younger kitten was caught by his mother, and both Nyx and Atalo glowered at their paws as their elders groomed them.]

[This done, the family played in the grass.  Fotini played chase with her litter, her graceful form loping through the field.  They greeted other families, reacquainting themselves with their individual scents.  As Fotini became intimate with a young tom, her children drifted a bit in boredom.  Some of the other kittens, playing nearby, started to chase Nyx, hissing and yowling.  Atalo tried to defend her only to find himself easily knocked aside.]

[Nyx found herself buried beneath three others, whose bites and scratches were rougher than necessary.  She hissed and tried to swat them away, but their eyes peered at her like she were a mouse in the corner.  She recognized one by the smell of cotton on his skin, and she locked her tawny eyes onto his hazelnut ones.]

[Then Thaddeus stood before her and roared.]

[The kittens startled back, slinking low to the ground as they scuttled away through the tall grass.]

[Nyx purred her thanks, rubbing her body along the length of his leg.]

[The rest of the evening was spent running in the nearby forest and over the field.  They hunted squirrels and gophers.  Nyx managed to catch one of the latter and she devoured it happily.]

[The night ended with the family sleeping in a close huddle, back where they had originally Changed.]

——————————————————-

The soldiers were to return to war in three weeks time.  Until then, Thaddeus was once more a part of the household.  He told funny war stories that delighted Nyx and Atalo, but made her mother stiff and anxious.  The creaks and squeaks of the house were fixed by the teenager with a new set of tools.  As he was older now, he’d even decided to give his siblings some of his old toys and books (…actually, just the latter to Nyx, who was practically dancing around the house–she wasn’t allowed into Thaddeus’ room while he was away and so receiving his books felt like winning at a raffle).  Nyx wasn’t beat up at all in the week as her brother scared away her tormentors by his presence alone.

…There were not so good times too.  One night, Nyx awoke to Fotini and Thaddeus arguing in the kitchen.  She’d sneaked out into the short hallway and peered with wide eyes as Thad demanded to know who the “lecher” was that her mother had been seeing every other night after “the little ones had fallen asleep.”

“Don’t you care about A-pa at all!?” he’d hissed, his hand a fist on the counter. “What if he comes back?  What if he–”

Fotini’s face was pink and she stood from the chair she’d been sitting on. “Child, you talk of things you don’t understand!”

“I’m a man now.  I provide for this family, I think I have a right to–”

“You are still my son, Thaddeus.  Your father has vanished, and let’s face it, he wasn’t around that much to begin with!  He was too busy chasing his ideals, his dreams–”

“Weren’t you the same way once!?”

“His talk fascinated me, and his passion inspired me–but I never lost sight of what was important.  My family!“  The woman stared down her son, and the boy looked away after a moment.  The animal in them was always present, and to stare too long into the eyes of another was considered a challenge.  Thaddeus may have become a man, but he still relented when it came to his mother.

“I have always cared for my family, Thad,” Fotini said quietly.

The boy laughed harshly.  “Really, A-ma?  If you’re so certain that A-pa is never coming back, then atleast find a partner that provides for you.”  The boy slammed his fist into the counter. “I hate the thought that I risk my life for this nation, for my family, only to find out that some boy pretending to be a man comes and reaps the benefits!  The gold I earn is only for you, Nyx, and Atalo!  Not some lecher that vanishes with the suns rising!”

“You cannot shame me on this, Thad.  I may not be the best mother, but I try.  I’m…I feel so alone.  I miss Alvis, truly.  You’re old enough to understand this, yes?  Can’t you be more compassionate for your A-ma?  Whereas other wives have a husband who supports them, I have no one.  You tell me to find someone who will provide?  With more of our men going to war, none are left to stay with the poor abandoned Fotini and her strange, wild children.  I have no one…”  The woman’s last words became thick, and she turned away, covering her face.

The boy bowed his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “You have me, A-ma…”

Nyx blinked away tears, and trying to keep her sniffles silent, she crept back to her room.

You have me too, A-ma…

——————————————————-

Market day.  Atalo carried the list that Fotini had written up, while Nyx carried the basket.  She didn’t want to carry the basket, but after the full moon, she’d been trying her hardest to behave extra good because she felt bad about how much of a fuss she’d made.  Thaddeus, meanwhile, did the haggling.

“How much for the corn, sir?” he asked a merchant.  He glanced down at Atalo, “Hey, A-ma wanted corn, right?”

“Yes, Koen!” he said, excited that he was in some way a part of the process.

Nyx resisted the urge to yawn.

“One silver each,” the merchant said.

The girl frowned, coming out of her dull stupor.  She knew for a fact that Fotini purchased corn from this man at three copper.

“Okay,” Thaddeus said, picking up the corn off the top.  He didn’t even bother to inspect them closely.

Nyx couldn’t help it.  She tugged on his sleeve.  “Koen…” she breathed, glaring at the merchant, who stared back at her.

“Not now, Nyx,” the boy said, squinting at an ear of corn that was clearly lacking in kernels, but he added it to the basket anyway.

Nyx gazed at him as though he were an idiot.  “Thad.”

“Those don’t look good…” Atalo said, scrunching up his nose.

Thaddeus shrugged.  “What’s the big deal?  You guys are just kids, relax and let me handle things.”

Nyx crossed her arms and pouted.  “I did this by myself for a year and I’ve done better than you have in an hour!”

“Yeah!” Atalo cried, crumpling A-ma’s paper by accident.  The boy disliked being left out.

The teenager sighed and glared at his two younger siblings.  “Hey, who’s the oldest here?  Raise your hand.”  Nyx and Atalo exchanged looks as Thaddeus raised his hand, which held another funny-looking ear of corn.  “Okay…who did A-ma ask to get the vegetables?  Raise your hand.”  He lowered his hand only to raise it again.

Nyx sucked at her teeth and looked at Atalo.  “Who’s got half a brain?  Raise your hand,” she said whilst nudging her little brother.  Both children raised their hand and glared at their elder.  Actually, Atalo raised two.

Thaddeus turned red in the face, gripping the ear of corn like it were a rock he was preparing to throw.

“These are no good!  They’re shriveled and stuff.  And you’re paying too much!” Nyx explained fast, her courage failing at her brother’s expression.

“Those are excellent ears of corn.  I don’t sell bad food!” the merchant snapped, rising from his seat.

“Nyx, you’ve insulted the man,” Thaddeus said, narrowing his eyes.  “Apologize.”

Nyx scowled.  “But he’s a liar.  A-ma paid three copper for the corn last time, not a silver piece each!”

Thaddeus turned and fixed the man with a stare.  “Is this true?”

The merchant faltered.  It was one thing to shout down a seven-year-old.  Quite a different thing to shout at a recently returned soldier.  He’d be vilified forever, and there were customers watching.

He held up his hands, like a man who’d just been assualted with tears and sob stories.  “Okay!  Okay! I’ll give you these for five copper each.”

Thaddeus grabbed him by the front of his shirt and jabbed the tip of the ear of corn under the merchant’s chin.  “Make it one,” he hissed.

The merchant nodded, though it looked more like he were trembling.  “One copper each is good!  Very good!”

Thaddeus let the man go, glaring for a second more just to drive the point home.  Then he turned to Nyx.  He grinned, the expression a mixture of embarassment, gratitude, and apology.  “Go on, Koah.  Pick the best you see!”

Nyx smiled, thrusting the basket into his hands.  “Hold this!” she giggled.

——————————————————-

Night time.  New moon.

Thaddeus peeked his head into Nyx’s bedroom.

“Koah,” he breathed.  “Are you ready?”

Nyx sprang upright in her bed, fully dressed.  “Yes!” she whispered as she slid to the floor.

Her brother pressed a finger to her lips and gestured for the girl to follow him.  As she went into the hallway, she saw Atalo leaning against the wall, his eyes slipping shut.  The boy wasn’t used to staying up this late.  Quite frankly, neither was she, but she’d been so excited she could hardly wait.  She went to her little brother and took him gently by the shoulders.

“C’mon, Atalo!” she said quietly.

Together the three siblings backpedaled, eyes on their mother’s doorway at the end of the hall.  Thaddeus took exaggerated steps, as though he were tiptoeing over giant barrels.  Nyx and Atalo tried to keep from giggling too loud as they mimicked him.  Within a few seconds, they were in the cool night air and dashing through the sleeping village, laughter still caught in their throats like a bird in a net.

They entered the forest.

There, Thaddeus led them at a carefuller pace, his eyes scanning the trees for dangers.  An owl hooted not far away.  The teenager stopped, holding out a hand to his siblings.  Then he cupped his hands and returned the call.

Then another teenage boy appeared, out from behind a poplar.  Nyx couldn’t make out his features.  With the new moon upon them, even their therian eyes struggled in the dark of the forest.  What the girl could make out was that he had puffy, dark hair and was dressed much lighter than any of them.

“Myrk!” Thaddeus cried jubilantly, holding out a hand.  The boy approached and shook it, then he looked at Nyx and Atalo, who huddled together at his attention.

The boy crouched down slowly and held out a hand to Nyx.  “Hello, Nyx.  Thaddeus has told me alot about you!  My name’s Myrk.”

Nyx blinked and took the teenager’s hand.  Her hand was swallowed in his rough grip, but he shook her arm gently.  “Nice to meet you.”

The teenager nodded, then turned to Atalo next.  He thumped his chest and he gave a shadowy smile.  “And the mighty Atalo, we meet at last!” He put out his hand and the boy shook it eagerly.

As Myrk straightened, Thaddeus clapped him on the shoulder.  “Myrk comes from the capital!  We met when our battalions unified in a charge against the Fiamman army!”

Nyx looked at her brother, the shy smile on her face falling away.  “Wait!  You said you didn’t fight while you were away!”

Thaddeus faltered, looking at the ground.  Myrk glanced at him with a somber face.

“Thad?  You…lied to A-ma?”  Nyx bunched the end of her smock, her eyes turning wide.

The older brother shook his head.  “I never said I didn’t fight.” Then he turned and stalked forward, leaving Myrk with the two children.

The teenager cleared his throat.  “Ah…” he jerked his head.  “Come on, you two, let’s get going!”

Together the four traveled until they came to Ebon Lake.

Nyx exhaled softly, feeling her breath like it were an extension of herself in the night.  But it would be a while longer before the true cold descended, and all warmth turned to chill in the world.  She rubbed at her arms, shivering in the wind, but smiled as she saw Atalo run forward, yelling after Thaddeus, who had proceeded to take off his clothes.

When her older brother had invited her along on the night time adventure, she’d turn down the opportunity for a swim, preferring simply to be in the company of her siblings.  Myrk, she was happy to find, was rather amiable and easy to be around.  He laughed and talked casually, like he’d been acquainted with them all since birth.  The girl looked skyward, and her smile waned as she took note of the starry sky.

“Nyx!”

The girl’s eyes snapped forward, and she saw that Thaddeus was calling her over.  He was down to just his underpants, his wrists pinned beneath his underarms as he hunched in the face of the cold.  Atalo had stripped down too and was hopping up and down, beating his bare chest like an ape.

“Koah, come on!  Swim!”

She shook her head mutely, sitting on the ground as if to illustrate that she could not be persuaded.

Thaddeus gave her an exasperated smile, then turned to Myrk.  “She gets like this sometimes, especially around new people,” he explained in a low voice.

“She doesn’t like the water?” Myrk asked.  Then without waiting for an answer, he turned and shouted the question to her.  “You don’t like the water?”

“Nyx loves the water,” Thaddeus said, smirking.

“Once our A-ma thought that Nyx had died!” Atalo chirped, leaping in front of Myrk.

“She had swum to the bottom of the lake and decided to see how long she could hold her breath,” Thaddeus elaborated with a laugh.

“How long was she under for?” Myrk asked.

“Two minutes!” Nyx called, unable to contain her pride.

The teenager laughed and clapped.  “By the gods, that’s pretty good!”

The girl drew up her legs and smiled into her knees.

Thaddeus smacked Myrk’s arm.  “Hey, let’s hurry up and jump in, before it gets any colder.”

“Okay.”

The boys counted to three, then sprinted into the water, screaming.  Atalo made it as far as his ankles before he turned around and sprinted back the way he’d come, shivering.  He crashed down next to Nyx, or rather into her, his teeth chattering loudly.

“It’s too cold!” he whined.

Nyx hugged him around the shoulders with a lopsided smile.  “Cajeck…you don’t need to pretend to be a tough guy just because Thaddeus is here.  You’ll be big and strong someday too!”

The girl helped her little brother back into his clothes.  Then the two entertained themselves by making grass boats and seeing which sailed out the farthest.  Nyx’s beat Atalo’s two times in a row, and the boy was frustrated to tears.  Feeling bad for him, the girl secretly punched a hole in her leaf, and when they raced again, hers sank after floating out no more than an inch on the water.  Atalo screamed and jumped wildly at his “victory”.

Finally, after the siblings cheered their brother on in a water wrestling match against Myrk (their brother won) the four decided it was time to head home.  Nyx and Atalo sat together while the teenagers dressed, and the girl could hardly keep her eyes open.  When she decided she’d just close them for “a second”, Thaddeus was already shaking her awake, fully clothed and his hair dripping.

“Come on Koah, I’ll carry you home.”  Then Thaddeus gathered her up in his arms, and this was the last thing the girl remembered before she awoke in her bed the next morning.

——————————————————-

Nyx ran as fast as she could.  It was the last day of the month, and Marq, the elf merchant, was sure to be at the outskirts of town.

She’d saved and saved since his last visit, and now had a hundred copper, worth exactly one silver coin.  It wasn’t enough for a large book, but a slim volume perhaps.  Or maybe a strange trinket, like the ball and chain that whistled through the air when she spun it.  (Her mother had asked what she was doing with that “tea strainer”–but the girl was certain it was far more special than that.  It looked too interesting.)

Out of breath and pink-faced, the girl came to a slow stop just past the border flags that marked the village’s perimeter.  She looked right, then left.

“Marq?” she said.

“Over here!” A voice said in Common.

The girl turned and her face split into a grin as she saw an elf emerge from the shade of the local grain shed.  He was a tall elven man with short, pale lilac hair, dressed in a worn out poncho, beige canvas pants, and leather shoes.  His ears were two inches long at the tips and pointy.  He had a soft cleft chin, short slashes for eyebrows, and a pinched nose.  He grinned lopsidedly.

“Hullo there, kitten!” he chirped.  He gestured for her to come near, and the girl did so with a skip.

“Why are you hiding?” she asked, her words stiff and over-enunciated as she struggled with the sounds.  She was still working on getting rid of her accent.

“Oh, uh…” the man grinned, looking embarrassed.  “There’s some people…who really want what I have.”  He turned to pick up his large bag, and the girl thought she heard the man mutter something about “thugs” and “gold”.

Opening the flap, he knelt down and pulled out some books.  “Yer lookin’ for more books, eh?  Here I have some new ones that should be easy for ya to read!  By the by, did I tell ya your Common has improved a bunch since we last saw each other?  Yer gettin’ better every time I see you, kitten!”

Nyx beamed and leaned over to examine the titles.

The Life and Times of Edmund the Eerie; Alchemy in Daily Life; So You Want To Be A Demon Hunter?; Bauble Art and You; Arcane Couture – Magical Fashion for Magical People; Penelope’s Guide to Cherry Popping, etc….

The girl reached for Penelope’s Guide to Cherry Popping, her thought being, “I like cherries!”

When Marq saw what she was going for however, he let out a sound akin to a dog being turned inside out.  “Aaaa-ah’m sorry little one!” he smoothly swiped the book away, tucking it deep within his bag.  His face had gotten sweaty and he tugged at his ear hard.  “That…that book isn’t quite for you.”

“Is hard read?” Nyx said, frowning in disappointment.

“Let’s jes’ say…that it’d be hard for me, for you, for ever’one with half a’ ounce of moral grain ta read…” Marq said, his voice cracking a little.

The girl gave him a weird look.

Aware that the man was just trying to change the subject, the youth was a hard sell on Marq’s suggestion in place of Penelope’s Guide.  With long slim fingers, he picked up Alchemy in Daily Life and handed it to her.  It was a small book with barely over a hundred pages.  Each page seemed to consist of a short recipe for various potions.  It would be easy to hide, as she didn’t have a bag to put the book in–and she was certain her mother wouldn’t approve of her having it.  Thaddeus even less.

“This is a good book!” Then Marq seemed to think about it.  Then he added, “Good so long as you’re good.  Yer good, right kitten?  You won’t use it fer anything bad will ya?”  His brows crashed together.  “Please tell me ya won’t.  I don’t need anyone else trying ta kill me!”

The girl glanced off to the side.  Then she looked back at the elf.  “Ah…No?”

The man seemed to think about it.  Then he shrugged.  “Alright!  That’s fifty copper!”

Nyx frowned shrewdly at him.  ”Thirtyfive!  Three-Five!”

Marq tutted.  ”Come now, you just got a good deal!”

“Fine.” The girl stood up and made as if to go.

“Hold on, lil’ one!”

Nyx smiled slowly and turned around.  ”Yes, Marq?” she asked, voice full of honey.

The elf glowered at her as he held out the book and an open hand.  ”Yer gettin’ far too crafty for your own good, kid.  I’ll sell it to ya for forty, and not a coin less!”

The girl thought about it a moment, then nodded.  ”M’kay!”

She fished the coin bag out and counted forty copper pieces into the elf’s narrow palm.  He handed her the book and gestured at the rest.

“No more for this month?” he asked.

She shook her head, then gave the man a wave.  ”Bye, Marq!”

The man chuckled.  ”Yeah…bye kitten!”

Nyx walked back the way she’d come, calmer now.  She flipped through the pages as she walked.  Not all the words she understood, but her father had left her a large tome which he’d once used to translate Common into Ailuran.  She read from it every day.

One recipe caught her eye.

“One batreng tooth, pinch of floor dust, one therian nail, pinch of sea salt…”  The girl’s eyes brightened.  ”I have all these!” she held up her hand and giggled.  ”I even have five of one of them!”

“Oh really?  I have five of those too.”  Kilen’s voice.

Nyx looked up just in time to see his fist fly into her face.  The girl fell onto her rear, blood splattering the page of her book.  Leander’s nephew stood over her, smirking.  Behind him were two other boys, nameless in Nyx’s mind, but whom she recognized as members of Kilen’s gang of friends.  They were in a less traveled part of the village, where spare parts for building repairs were kept.  Nyx liked to cut through here, to save time and avoid trouble.  But it seemed her secrete route was finally discovered.

The boy snatched the book from her hands, smacking her hard in the forehead with its spine.  ”Nyx the Nitwit, at it again!”  the children laughed.

Nyx glared up at him, even as tears clouded her eyes.  ”Kilen that’s mine, I paid for it!”

“From that shady elf that gets chased away every month?  You’re pathetic!”  He kicked her in the leg, hard.

The girl cried, eyes closing in pain.  She heard ripping.  Then through her tears and the glare of the suns, she saw Kilen tearing out page after page…

“No!” she screamed, her heart wrenching as she launched at the boy.  His cronies intercepted her, both tall for their age, and shoved her back down.  But the girl saw movement in the corner of her eye.

In the next instant, a piece of lumber sailed over Nyx and hit both boys in the chest.  Both stumbled back, knocking into Kilen.  The assailant…?

Nyx stared agape as Taila, holding the wood like it were a sports bat, hissed at the three younger children.  Kilen glared at her, daring to take one step forward.  ”Taila, go away!  This is none of your business!”

“Shut up, runt, or I’ll knock your face in!  Both my mother and my father fought for the army, so don’t think I can’t kick your ass!” the girl snarled.

Kilen didn’t need much more than that.  He was one of the many believers of the Taila Tales.  Dropping the book, he turned and ran, his friends quickly following him.

Nyx flinched as Taila turned her fierce gaze on the girl.  She decided the girl was scary…and sort’ve…

Awesome.

“Cajeck,” the older girl said.  She held out a hand.  ”Have you got fleas in your brain?”

Nyx took Taila’s hand, and with more pull than was necessary, Nyx was on her feet.  She turned her head and saw that Ampelos was nearby, trembling, draped in towels as though he’d used them for hiding.

“Don’t come this way anymore,” Taila said, jabbing a finger into Nyx’s shoulder.  ”Your brother can’t keep you safe all the time!  It was just luck that we ran into you at all!”

Nyx bowed her head.  ”Sorry,” she mumbled.  Blood still dripped from her mouth.  She glanced at her shirt, then groaned.  Some of her blood had stained the fabric, and she was certain to be quizzed about it once she returned home.

“Here.”

The girl blinked as a short-sleeved shirt, a little sweaty, but still smelling of honey, was thrust under nose.  She looked up and her face flared to see that Taila was shirtless.  Ampelos quickly threw a towel at her, making a dry, panicked sound, but Taila didn’t even look at him.  As she wrapped herself with the towel, she nodded at Nyx’s shirt.  ”Go on!  You’ve got blood all over that one.”

Nyx blushed.  ”But…”

Taila raised an eyebrow at her.

Mutely, the girl did as she was told.  When she was done, Ampelos was holding her book out to her, the torn pages stacked ontop.

“H-Here,” he said, head ducked.  ”I think I got all of ‘em…”

Nyx’s face crumpled as she saw the book.  She hid her face behind it to try and hide the tears that fell.

Then without warning, she felt someone hug her.  The girl looked up with a start to see Taila looking down at her sadly, her breath a warm flutter over her forehead.  ”Don’t worry, Nyx.  We’ll get back at them.  I promise!” the girl said.

Nyx seized up, feeling her skin grow hot. “But I…I don’t–”

“You have to fight back!” the girl said, giving Nyx a shake.  ”You can’t let them just get away with this.  It isn’t fair!”

Nyx sniffled, her brows pressing together.  Taila was something of an outsider herself.  Her family was poor, and scraped by through honey farming.  It was true that both parents had served in the Ailuran military, and she seemed to recall Thaddeus mentioning that it was Taila’s parents that had backed up their father when speaking at the village council meetings.

But the girl saw a vast difference in herself and Taila.  While the older girl had managed a level of respect through her extraordinary reputation as a strong and capable person; Nyx, on the other hand, was considered a freak and a subverter waiting to happen.

Taila stepped back and grabbed Ampelos, who turned redder by the second.  ”Look, why don’t you come with us for a swim at Ebon Lake?  Maybe you’ll feel better then?”

“I have to get home.  My mother’s waiting for me.”  Nyx found herself sorry to say this.

Taila shrugged one shoulder.  ”Then next week!”  This was a statement, not a question.

Nyx scratched her head and smiled.  ”Um…okay!”

“‘Kay, bye!” and the older girl strode away, Ampelos close behind.

“Bye,” Nyx breathed, waving.  She glanced at her bloody shirt, then tossed it away.  If she were lucky, her mother wouldn’t notice she was wearing a shirt two sizes too big…

——————————————————-

“Why are you wearing a shirt two sizes too big?” Fotini demanded, her body blocking the hallway leading to Nyx’s room like she were some sort of gate keeper.  Atalo peered at his sister from between her legs, eyes curious.

Nyx slouched before her mother, feeling on the verge of tears again.  ”I…was attacked…again…” the girl bowed her head.  ”Kilen.  It was Kilen.”

Fotini growled, her fingers curling like claws.  ”That’s it, I’m speaking to his parents now!”

When Nyx had come home, Fotini had been handling a situation with Atalo, who seemed to think butter was excellent lubricant to make his toy carts go faster.  Thaddeus had followed the girl in after fixing a squeaky window in Fotini’s room from outside.  Now everyone gathered in the kitchen for what seemed to be yet another episode of family drama.

Fotini grabbed her cloak from the hook on the far wall.  “That boy is always picking on you!  I’ve spoken to Leander, but it seems these people need someone to make them care–”

“Wait A-ma.”  Thaddeus blocked her way.  He gestured at Nyx, “She has to learn how to defend herself.  You can speak to Kilen’s parents all you want–but Nyx needs to face this head on.  I mean, you said it yourself, talking it out before didn’t work.”

Fotini scowled.  ”This is just a squabble between children!  It hardly requires us to draw arms!”

“Even children need to know what it means to fight.”  Thaddeus drew himself up, and he swallowed audibly.  ”I did.”

The silence that fell over the room was like a hammer.  Atalo hugged Nyx around the waist, trembling a little.  Nyx hugged him back, her body tense as she waited for her mother’s reaction.

“You’ve killed…?”

“You can’t say you didn’t expect this…” the teenager said slowly to his mother.  ”It’s war.  I’m old enough now, and we’re losing men.  I was much more useful in battle than I ever was as a scout!”

“You’re far too young…to take lives…to risk your own…” Fotini’s voice was a shaky whisper.  From where they stood, Nyx and Atalo could see that their mother was fighting to contain her tears.  ”You’re a boy.  You’re my son!”

“Who happens to be a soldier!”  Thaddeus thumped his chest with one fist.  ”I’m proud to serve my nation!  I don’t want any of you falling into danger!  I’ll fight to see this won’t happen!”

This proud exclamation seemed enough to make Fotini verklempt.  Her son guided her into a chair, where the girl could now see silent tears falling.

Thaddeus pointed at Nyx, fire in his eyes.  ”And I won’t let my little sister get beaten by thugs!  Koah, I’m going to teach you what I know!”

Nyx’s face tensed with apprehension.  She didn’t know if she liked this idea…

Atalo raised his hand, jumping.  ”And me too!?”

Thaddeus laughed. “And you too, Koen.”

——————————————————-

Her mother was making cake from scratch for the first time using a recipe Janus, their neighbor, had given her.  There was a taut feeling of peppiness as everyone seemed determined not to think of the coming days.  Soon Thaddeus was to return to the battlefield.  When Nyx had asked where he was going, the teenager just chuckled and said, “Far, far away, Koah.  But you don’t have to worry about that.”

Nyx chewed off her thumbnail.  She was in her room, feeling the need to be alone, and decided she felt like giving the recipe from the alchemy book a try.  She’d already raided the cupboard for the other ingredients.  The sea salt was easy.  What took more time was the tooth.  She finally found a small bag of them at the bottom shelf, behind the large jars of herbs.  She knew her brother Thaddeus had bought them a year ago because of a rumor he’d heard which said that if you snorted ground up batreng teeth and red peppers on a crescent moon, it’d make you stronger.  What’d happened instead was the boy was sent straight to the village healer.  Somehow, the bag of teeth hadn’t been tossed away.  At her mother’s inquiry, the girl had explained that she was looking for sweets, then fled.  The floor dust was easy.  She had plenty in her room alone.

Using a mortar and pestle, the girl ground up her ingredients into a fine powder.  It was harder than it looked.

“Stupid tooth…” the girl grunted, smashing the pestle into the mortar.

“Hey, Nyx,”

The girl turned to see Thaddeus in the doorway.  “Yes?” she asked nervously.

“Let that alone for a minute.  Come outside with me, I wanna show you how to throw a punch.”

“I thought A-ma said she didn’t want us doing that!?” the girl stood, gripping the pestle in both hands anxiously.

Thaddeus sighed and marched into the room.  He stooped down and grabbed the mortar.  “What is this?” he asked.

Nyx swallowed.  “Um…”

The boy held up a hand.  “Wait, if it’s something weird from those elven books, like cleaning powder or something, then I don’t want to know.”  He started to pull his sister along.  “Let’s go.”

Nyx tried to grab the mortar.  “Koen, wait!”

The teenager held it over her head.  “Forget it, Nyx!  You aren’t getting out of this!” he shoved her toward the door and set the mortar onto the table.  “Look, it’s safe here.  A-ma,” he said, turning next to their mother.  “Don’t touch this thing here, alright?”

Fotini didn’t turn around as she was busy trying to figure out the measurement for sugar from the messily scrawled recipe.  “Uhn….” she said, holding up a hand.

Nyx, surprisingly, wasn’t reassured.  “A-ma, don’t–” but she was out the door at her brother’s insistence.  Or rather, his manhandling.

The seven-year-old wondered if she could use his training to knock him in his thick head, atleast once.

“Why doesn’t anyone listen to me when they need to…?” she thought.

Two hours later, they were back inside.  Nyx sat at the kitchen table, her face sullen.  Thaddeus looked far more pleased however.  “She can punch straight now!” he announced.

Fotini pursed her lips.  “Wonderful.”

“Yeah, wonderful,” Nyx muttered.

Thaddeus thumped her on the back.  “Cheer up, Koah, you’ll get it.”

The girl glared at him, wiping sweaty bangs from her forehead.

“Cake!” Atalo came running down the hallway, barefoot.  He pulled at his mother’s dress.  “Cake, A-ma!  You said the cake’d be ready!”

Fotini sighed.  “Sweet Aelurus…” gently, she displaced her son.  “Atalo, just give me a moment will you?  A-ma is tired from stirring and figuring out Janus’ terrible handwriting.”

“Stepping over him must be pretty tiring too,” Thaddeus added with a smirk at the boy.

Nyx allowed a small grin to spread her face–but this small look of ease vanished when she saw that her mortar was empty.  She grabbed it and tipped it over, sending over a small speck of powder to the table.  “A-ma, where’s my–”

There was a muted ‘crack’.  Nyx squealed as something gunky and soft hit her in the ear and side of the face.  Thaddeus cursed, knocking his chair over.  Atalo screamed and fell to the floor, covering his head.  Fotini stared blankly at the pan she gripped with her mitts, the oven open behind her.  Her eyes slowly rolled to Nyx, and the girl slunk out of her chair to duck behind the table.  She covered her ears with her hands.

The entire kitchen was covered in…cake.

“A-ma!” she said weakly.  “I tried to tell you!  I tried to tell you and Thad both, but no one ever listens to me!”

“What was it?” her mother hissed.  She stood frozen, but her face tightened and grew pink at the cheeks.  “What book did you read this time?”

Thaddeus turned slowly and stared at her.  “Nyx…!” he seethed.  He scooped a glob of frosting from his nose.

Nyx’s voice trembled. “A-Alchemy!  Easy stuff!  It was just a powder mix to make pellets you could step on and hear them snap and crack!  For fun.  That’s it!”

“Snap and crack!?” Fotini threw the pan down, where it hit the floor with a loud ‘clang’.  The woman thrust her arms out at either side of her.  “The cake exploded Nyx!”

“It…it must’ve been a’cause you b-baked it!” Nyx ducked down so that only her eyes could be seen over the table.  “Please don’t pinch my ears!”

“I think you earned a little more than that…” Thaddeus growled, moving to grab her.  Nyx screamed and tried to get away.  Their struggles shoved the table over to the far wall, and there was much kicking and grabbing.

“Atalo!” Fotini cried.

Brother and sister froze–Thaddeus trying to grab a hold of Nyx around the back of the neck, and the girl on her back with her foot against his face.

Both turned to see Atalo had climbed onto the cabinet and was now reaching for the cake on the ceiling with a long wooden spoon.  He stopped and blinked at them all, his head covered with bits of frosting.

“But it’s cake,” he said with an unconcerned smile.

——————————————————-

Luckily, Fotini had set aside a small batch of cupcakes with the extra batter she had.

At her two eldest children’s skeptic looks, the mother explained (for Atalo didn’t care either way,) “I just thought the powder was extra flour, so I dumped it into the main bowl.  I didn’t put it in this one.  It’s safe to eat, I assure you.”

She also assured Nyx and Thaddeus that if the kitchen wasn’t cleaned by morning, she’d show them both why she still wasn’t an old woman.

“Why am I doing this with you?” Thaddeus grumbled as he reached with a rag around the cabinet.  The cake had gotten everywhere.  They’d been scrubbing and wiping surfaces for the past hour while their mother and Atalo washed up.

“Because!” Nyx snapped. “Aelurus felt sorry for me.  I’m always taking the blame!”

“Why would she feel sorry for you!?” The teenager returned.

“I’m the middle child,” Nyx said simply, sweeping cake crumbs from around the stove.  “No one ever listens to me!  No one ever takes me seriously!”

Her brother stopped to give her a look.

“What?” she said crossly.  “It’s true!”

“…You really think that, Koah?”

Nyx hunched her shoulders as she swept the last of the crumbs onto the dust pan.  “Yes.  Sometimes,” she mumbled.

Thaddeus paused and looked at her.  “You’re…right, aren’t you?”

The girl did a double take as she threw the crumbs into the mop bucket near her.  “What’d you say?” she asked.

Her older brother swiped at his nose and leaned against the cabinet.  “I said you’re right.  You help alot.  You do…more than I did when I was your age.”

Nyx glanced down at the dust pan in her hand.

“I cause trouble, though,” she said sadly.  “I don’t know how not to.”  She rubbed her eye and felt her palm come away moist.  “I just want to be good.”

“Koah, you are good.”

“Then why am I so different from everyone else?” Nyx bit out.  She threw the dust pan to the floor.  “You tell me to fight, Taila tells me to fight…but what if I want to do what A-ma says?  What if I don’t want to fight back?  It always hurts worse when I do!”

“Don’t you love A-ma?” Thaddeus asked quietly.

Nyx blinked at him, startled by the question.  “Course I do!”

“And Atalo?”

“Yes!”

“What about me?”

Nyx stomped her foot. “Cajeck!  Yes, I love you all!”

“Then you don’t really want to be left alone.  But you can’t run Koah.  So fight for the things you love!”  Thaddeus touched a hand to his chest.  “I love you all, so I fight to protect us.  But while I’m away, you have to keep supporting A-ma everyday.  Help her with Atalo and the house.  It’s up to you and me, understand?”

Nyx nodded, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

Thaddeus jerked his head.  “Alright, come on.  Let’s get this done before A-ma rips off our ears.”

The girl paused, her brush hovering over the crumb covered floor.  “She’d do that?”

“Oh sure, didn’t I tell you about that time my ear grew back over a week?”

Her gut did a somersault.  “…Koen, stop it!  S’not funny!” she snapped.

He looked at her, perfectly blank faced. “Who’s laughing…?”

That night, Fotini set on her son with a wooden spoon after she found out the reason why Nyx wouldn’t stop covering her ears around her.

——————————————————-

The final day came.

He hugged and kissed each of them, his bag of things slung over his back as all around them families said goodbye to their loved ones. He smiled, his muddy eyes winking in the sunlight.

“Bye, then,” was all he said.

And then…

Thaddeus was gone.

His room was shut up and dark.  The house seemed larger somehow, but not in the good way.  In the way that one felt as though they had too little for something that was meant to have more.  Atalo didn’t laugh, run, or scream.  Fotini didn’t care much for scolding them or taking care of the kitchen.  Nyx stared at her books but opened none of them.

The first night, both children slept with their mother.  Nyx traced circles into her mother’s stomach as she listened to her heartbeat and the grumbles of her digestive tract.  Atalo curled into a fetal position and didn’t move.

By the end of the first week, Nyx wiped her tears, rolled up her sleeves and did the dishes.  As the months passed, she did more and more.  She swept the floors and made the beds.  She helped Atalo with his lessons, and started dinner for her mother.

“Sometimes,” she said to Taila, one day at the lake. “I’m not sure if I’m good…But if I’m not good enough, I can fight for everyone else instead.  It’s easier.”

The older girl blinked her amethyst eyes at her.  Then she punched Nyx in the arm.  “I think you’ve got fleas in your brain.”  But she smiled.  “They’re good fleas.”

Nyx scrunched up her nose as Ampelos snickered on her other side. “Um.  Thanks.”

She waited for Thaddeus to come every year, and when he did, he made a point of thanking her.  “Thanks Koah, you did good while I was away.  You really helped out, A-ma says…but…” he sometimes got on her case, though.  “You saw the gods damned elf again!?  What did I say about him?  He’s no good!”

…Then one year, Thaddeus didn’t come back at all.

His room was shut up and dark.  The house seemed larger somehow, but not in the good way.  In the way that one felt as though they had too little for something that was meant to have more.  Atalo didn’t laugh, run, or scream.  Fotini didn’t care much for…anything it seemed.  Nyx stared at her books but opened none of them.

The first night, both children slept with their mother.  Nyx, fourteen years old, stared at the ceiling as her mother laid her head on her chest and traced circles into her stomach.  The girl felt her tears, cool and damp on her skin.  Atalo curled into a fetal position and didn’t move.

By the end of the first month, Nyx wiped her tears.  She rolled up her sleeves and did the dishes, swept the floors, made the beds, helped Atalo with his lessons, and made dinner for her family.  She fixed the creaks and squeaks of the house with the old tools they had.  She made trips to the market, sometimes with Atalo, but never with her mother.  She turned down the opportunity to join a traveling scholar’s company, and instead tried to find work in the village.

She kissed her mother’s forehead one night when the woman had awoken in hysterics.

“A-ma,” she whispered to a sleeping Fotini. “Sometimes, I’m not sure if I’m good…but I can fight for you.  You have me…”

Back to The Performers

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” — e. e. cummings

Images in the misty recesses that existed when the world was shut out; like precious opals, fleeting songbirds in the corners of her thoughts, and delicate rays of light dancing behind the curtain to her perception.  These made her think heavy things–like birth and death and the cost of breathing.

Usually when she was knocked flat onto her back by Thendril, her unrelenting trainer, she’d just think of something pretty and inviting.  Nothing quite so grand, abstract, and out of range for a twelve-year-old.  Her mother’s smile.  A painting she liked.  Happy music.  A cute puppy.  Today, however, she was training with Warner, her father–a rare occurrence of which had only happened once before–when she’d first started her training at the age of seven.

“Up, Elmiryn.  Now.”

She envisioned Halward, the All-God, reaching deep within her, and the girl choked on the sudden recall that hit her mind.  She remembered her mother, looking very young and pretty, working on a painting on the balcony overlooking their estate.  The girl had been small then, with an infant’s vocabulary and grabby hands.  One pull and the lip of a paint can tipped, sending red paint all over her.  She didn’t remember what her mother said exactly–but she recalled the woman being upset, even unto tears.

“You turn thirteen in just a few days,” her father said. She heard Warner begin to pace around her.  “My condition was simple.  Either you defeat me in combat before this coming birthday, or you’ll spend the rest of your training locked away here until you’re ready to serve in the king’s army.”  Her father paused, and the absence of his voice was heavy.  When he spoke again, it was with a low tone.  “Don’t you want to see your mother again?”

Elmiryn’s eyes snapped open, and all she saw was sunlight.

——————————–

Years ago, when Elmiryn was seven.

In her mother’s chambers, sitting on the edge of a massive bed.  Fiamman lamps in each corner lit the large room in a warm glow, making the crimson velvet curtains seem deeper and richer in shade and texture.  Candles at the bedside table flickered from the breeze drafting in through the one open window.

Brianna brushed her daughter’s hair carefully, using a silver brush with a mirror on the back, humming a song as she worked.  Elmiryn glowered at the paneled wall, her arms crossed over her tiny chest.

“I don’t want to wear it,” she mumbled.

“This isn’t a discussion,” was her mother’s smooth reply.

The girl let her lower lip pout even more.  “It’s itchy.”

“You haven’t even worn it yet, Elle.”  Her mother was the only person in the world who called her this.  It brought the girl immense pleasure.

Her face brightened at the nickname.  “I can tell the future,” was her riposte.

A small sigh.  “You cannot tell the future.”

“I can tell the future.  And when I wear the dress, I’m going to think that stupid thing is itchy.”

“Okay sweetest, if you can see so much, then what am I thinking?”

Elmiryn twisted around to grin shyly at her mother.  Brianna’s cerulean eyes held mirth. The woman had long, warm hair–not quite red and not quite brown, but a shimmering shade in-between.  She had an expressive mouth–long and curvaceous–and a slim button nose.  The woman had sent away the attendants, opting to help her daughter get ready for the ball herself.  Because of this, she still wore her domestic evening clothes, a lavender silk dress and a thin cotton robe with beaded slippers.

The seven-year-old puffed out her cheeks and stared up at the coffered ceiling as she tried to conjure up an answer.  Then an idea came to her, and she doubled over, giggling, her arms rising to cover her blushing face.  “Umm…’Elmiryn is the most beautiful girl in the world?’” she managed through her smile.

Her mother gasped, dropping the brush and feigning a look of shock.  “Oh my goodness!” she reached around and started to tickle the girl, sending the child into a squealing fit.  “You were able to read my mind!!”

“Brianna.”

The game stopped immediately at the stern voice, and both mother and child turned to see Warner standing in the doorway.  He was tall and slim, with an angular face and hard gray eyes.  His bright red hair was swept back neatly.  At the temples, the strands were paling into a sort of platinum blond.  Tonight, he wore his soldier’s dress uniform–pleated gray pants and a thick wool coat with polished golden buttons.  Pristine white gloves on the hands.  Draping his back was a short, blue cloak, meant more as a symbol of status than protection.

“Stop playing with the girl and get ready,” the man said, already turning and walking down the hall.  “We’re due to leave in less than two hours.”

His footsteps echoed farther and farther away.

Elmiryn stuck her tongue out after him.  Brianna gave her a whap on the forehead that stung.  “None of that.  Your father’s right.  We’re late.” But as she picked her daughter up and moved to the dressing screen where the girl’s dress awaited on a hook, the mother couldn’t help but add with a slight grin, “Even if he is a stick-in-the-mud…” and they shared a conspiratorial giggle.

Two hot, itchy, and irritable hours later, they were at the Aimeri’s Ball.  The Aimeri House was strong in the royal courts, playing a part in nearly every major decision of the kingdom.  Their estate made those of the Manard’s, Elmiryn’s family, seem tiny in comparison.  They had acres to their name, and their home was second only to the royal family.

Elmiryn didn’t understand these functions at all–and fortunately neither did her mother, something she confided to her daughter during the carriage ride over.  Both were dressed in their finest, hair coiffed, cheeks powdered with rouge and eyes lined with black pencil.  Elmiryn wore small diamond stud earrings and a light-blue dress with white ribbons.  She felt like rolling on the ground to get at the persistent itch all around her.

Her father vanished upon arrival, stating that he had business to take care of, and since his departure, the mother and daughter were left to make what they would of the night.

They had come through the loggia out into the perrenial garden where some of the most powerful lords and ladies of the Engus province complained about the help, discussed the finer points of fashion, and debated political matters.  It sounded like drivel to Brianna.  To Elmiryn, it sounded like gobbledygook.

“If you don’t like it, mother, then why do you pretend?” Elmiryn whispered inquisitively as Brianna gritted a smile at the Lady Poratel, who waved at them from across the thorny rose bushes.

“Because, sweetest,” the woman explained.  “It is expected of me.  We are members of the royal court.  We must act accordingly.”

“But you don’t like it!  You told me so yourself!” the girl frowned up at her mother.

Brianna looked at her daughter, chagrined.  “Even so, I have no choice.  If I were to behave as I wished, it would shame your grandparents and your father.  It’s difficult for you to understand, but this would bring us much trouble.”

“But if you thought someone’s hat looked funny, why can’t you say so?  Maybe they’ll think it’s funny too?”

“Ahh…you’re thinking of that time you commented on Lady Mirabellum’s new hat?”

Elmiryn puckered her lips, her brow dipping low.  “Father got so angry with me that time…”

“You see, Elle, you must pretend for the sake of yourself as much as for others.  Your words brought you misfortune!  You can be yourself when it is safe, when no one would expect otherwise.  That is why I tease and jest in quiet.  But until that time of freedom, you have to just…go along with how the world works.”

The girl blinked and stopped walking.

Brianna stopped as well and smiled at her daughter.  “Hmm?  Was there something else, dear?”

Elmiryn squinted her eyes at the woman.  “I’m trying to see.”

“See what?”

“If you’re pretending to be happy with me.”

The smile fell from Brianna’s face, and she dropped into a crouch.  She grabbed at Elmiryn’s shoulders tightly and gave her a shake.  “What a thing to say!  Of course I’m not pretending!”

“But you pretend with father all the time!”

Brianna moved her hands to gently cup the girl’s face.  The woman’s eyes teared up and she looked at Elmiryn, wounded.  “You…think I don’t love you?”

At the sight of her mother’s tears, she immediately felt sorry.  She caught the woman in a tight hug.

“Mama!” She’d been told not to say this word, because it was a peasant’s word not befitting a noble.  But Elmiryn found her ability to speak reduced to simple consonants and vowels as she became emotionally gripped. “M’sorry!”

Brianna hugged the girl back, wiping at her eyes carefully.  “There, there.  I’m sorry too, sweetest…I didn’t mean…you just…do what makes you happy.  I suppose you’d be predisposed to such behavior, given your father’s bloodline…”

Elmiryn pulled back, her little hands cupping her mother’s cheeks.  Her face was tight with anxiety.  “You won’t cry anymore?”

“I wasn’t crying dear…”

The girl puckered her lips and frowned critically at her mother.

Brianna blinked, then laughed.  The sound was melodic.  She gently gripped Elmiryn’s wrists.  “Ah…I suppose I was!”

“Why do you laugh when you were just crying?” The girl asked, now even more puzzled than before.  “You smile when things aren’t funny, too.”

Elmiryn was about to add, “That’s really weird!” to her statement, but thought better of it.  The child had decided her mother was a bit emotionally sensitive, and didn’t want to set her crying again, even if she herself sometimes forgot the various ways one could upset a person.  This self-censorship made the girl start.

…Was this what her mother had meant about “pretending” until the time was right?

Brianna fussed over the girl’s appearance, tightening bows, smoothing wrinkles, and brushing back rebellious locks of auburn hair.  “Because, my little Elle.  One must always find a reason to laugh,” she smiled, but the expression seemed crooked somehow. “It can get you through the toughest of times, because you appreciate life, even at its thorniest.”

After the exchange was done, they admired the garden in peace, away from the others, the mother managing to avoid some of the chattier gossipers.  But a chime from the northern clock tower had the woman pulling her daughter along, her white gown and heavy beaded throw shining in the smile of the waning moon.

“We need to hurry sweetest, or we’ll miss the main event!” Brianna explained in response to her daughters complaints.  The girl would have much rather had stayed out in the fragrant garden, watching the trails of snails along the stone and the way the ants made the ground seem alive.

They rushed, not quite running but not quite walking either.  Their forms cast shadows along the limestone walls.  They returned to the focus of the evening, the ballroom, through large marble archways that kept the space cool despite the number of party goers.  Musicians let their sound crawl along the space–magnified by the concave ceiling painted with pastel depictions of the various gods prominent in Fiamman culture–chief among them Halward, the All-God, the Creator of the Universe and the Star Ruler.

Elmiryn blinked up at the ceiling mural, at the god king that sat half-naked, surrounded by his subjects.  He had a handsome, but stern face, with strawberry blond hair and a short beard.  Covering him was just a white sheet around the waist that came near his knees.  The girl wondered if he was cold up in heaven.

Her view to the dance floor was forested by an audience of nobles, but they had a reserved table near the front of the ballroom, close to the music.  Once there, Elmiryn sat on her mother’s lap and was able to see the orchestral sway of dancers along the polished floor.  It interested her for all but two minutes before her attention turned to playing with the cloth napkin on the table.  She’d seen the servants dancing in their quarters, and knew for a fact that real dancing involved alot more grabbing and kicking of the feet.

As such, the girl was very glad she wasn’t passed off to an attendant that night, because Brianna had a special eye for things, and she often shared what she saw with her daughter.

“Look, look,” the woman breathed into the girl’s ear as Elmiryn made a hand puppet of her napkin.  Blinking curiously, she followed where her mother pointed across the dance floor at a young couple that looked as though they were being tortured.  “The boy,” she went on, “I think he’s from the Winnolm’s House, he keeps stepping on the girl.  But the girl, from the Satorett’s House–you played with her little brother once–she’s doing the same to him!” Brianna giggled.  “They can hardly stand it, but the poor dears are being made to dance by their parents.”

Elmiryn didn’t know the Winnolm’s, but she’d been to the Satorett’s and she remembered that particular girl as being quite the priss.   When she was through giggling into her hands, she calmed down enough to turn and ask, “Why?”

Her mother smiled at her gently.  “Why what, dear?”

“Why are they dancing?  Why do their parents make them do it?  Isn’t it s’posed to be for fun?”

“SU-pposed to.  Don’t cut your words, Elmiryn.” Then Brianna’s brow wrinkled in thought.  “It’s…difficult to explain, why.  The simplest way to say it is that they want the two to marry.”

“Why?”

“Because they think good things will come of it.”

“…Like what?”

Brianna’s face turned flushed and she frowned at the girl.  “Elmiryn you’re being awfully persistent tonight!  Be a good girl and just enjoy the evening as best you can, hmm?”

Elmiryn puckered her lips and swung side to side in response. It had been on her mind in the latter days, ever since one of her attendants had brought up her sex life in detail whilst watching the girl play in the courtyard.  She’d thought the youth was out of earshot and had called over one of the water maids to gossip.  Elmiryn had learned early that adults tended to mention the most interesting things when they thought no children were around to hear them.  So the girl, meanwhile, had pretended she was hunting the evil Ailuran named Felix (really, just the house cat napping on the lawn–this was before the Fiamman-Ailuran war had started in full, and the trend of killing cats on sight had become popular in the kingdom).

Brianna winced and grabbed the girl by the shoulders, ceasing her movements.  “Dearest?  Your bottom hurts mother when you do that,” she smoothed out the girl’s dress.  “Remember what we talked about?  All your lessons with Lady Priscella?  Don’t fidget and–” Brianna sighed as she stopped Elmiryn from scratching at her back, “Never scratch.”

“I told you I wouldn’t like this dress…” Elmiryn muttered sullenly.

Brianna shushed the girl.  “Look!  The Duke is coming.  He’s promised us a grand show.  I’m sure you’ll like it.”

——————————–

The girl sat up as quick as she could, but winced as she moved.  Her father was a shadow over her, backlit by the morning light.  They were in the courtyard, where the blue sky was open to them, even as they were still in the confines of her father’s private training grounds, located in Ebinus.  She placed her hands over her head against the dirt, curling them back so that the fingers were directed toward the body.  She pushed next with her legs, digging in with her heels.  There was a twinge in her right ankle, but she could still put weight on it.

With a breath, Elmiryn kicked up from the ground hard, and as her body rose into the air feet first, she tucked her legs in and pushed at the ground with her hands.

The girl sprang up and landed on her feet with a decisive snap.  Her fists were before her, clenched and sweaty.  She glared at her father for a second, but let her eyes flicker to the ground behind him.  She’d lost her training sword in the last assault.  Though she was quicker than her father, she’d need the extra reach.  That, and while the conditions for victory required her only to incapacitate Warner, she knew hand-to-hand would be nearly impossible for her.

“Excellent,” her father said, nodding once at her quick recovery.  “You move like a true warrior.  Now think like one!”

And they were back to fighting.

——————————–

The head of the Aimeri House, Duke Dreton Aimeri, gave a speech about the new year, about the good omens coming, and his contributions to the community.  Elmiryn started to nod off in Brianna’s lap, but a sharp pinch from her mother made the girl sit bolt upright.  She pouted at the woman, who gave the girl a warning stare.

Then, as promised, the performers came.

This had been all the buzz in the kingdom as word had been that the Aimeri’s had hired acrobats all the way from the Higashi Kingdom.

They appeared on the center of the cleared dance floor, ten men and ten women all dressed in close-fitted clothing, cool in color–unusual for Fiamma who was used to seeing warm shades.

The acrobats, with little fanfare, started their show.  They flew through the air without mechanical aid, graceful bodies arcing, perfectly poised, landing with confidence each time.  They made human sculptures of taut muscles, which built a brilliant sight to Elmiryn’s young mind.  These people looked so different from herself.  They had pearly skin and thin, jet black hair.  Their eyes were dark and narrow.  It was the first time she had ever seen people from outside the kingdom.

The finale was to be a human tower, consisting of twenty people.  The one to stand on top?

A small figure jogged across the dance floor to the gasps of many.  Elmiryn sat forward, pulling her legs up so that she could raise herself higher.  Brianna smiled with mild exasperation as she craned her head around her daughter.  She thought to pull the girl down again–she wasn’t carrying herself in a proper manner at all…but none were looking their way, and the girl seemed so enthralled with the sight before her that it seemed far too stern to interrupt.

The new performer, a young girl with bobbed hair, conquered the perilous mountain of limbs and shoulders in less than eight seconds.  When she reached the top, atleast fifteen feet in the air, she raised both hands and smiled winningly.  To make certain all in the ballroom could see, the members on the top shuffled to the left, creating the appearance of a revolving platform.

Elmiryn smiled, her eyes wide with wonder.

All around, the crowd clapped as the tower disassembled and the performers gave their final bow.  The general murmur was positive, but reserved.

“Wasn’t that just darling?”

“What a curious performance.”

“Why, they’re so like little dolls!”

Brianna stroked Elmiryn’s hair.  The woman was smiling openly, showing all teeth.  “Did you like that, Elmiryn?”

The girl looked at her, and mirrored her smile.  But someone approached from the corner of her eye, and when they turned to see who it was, their smiles waned.  The child quickly sat on her bottom, smoothing out her dress as she gazed up at the newcomer through her bangs.

Elmiryn’s father stood, hands behind his back.  He raised his eyebrows at Brianna.  “I need to speak with you.  Unburdened, as it were.” His eyes flickered to Elmiryn.

Brianna frowned, even as she gently displaced the girl and stood.  “Warner, dearest,” she said in a low voice, “Surely whatever you have to discuss with me can be done in public?  If not, couldn’t this wait until we’re home?  We haven’t seen you all night!  You promised me we’d spend the evening as a family.”

The man’s lips thinned and his gaze narrowed a fraction.  Elmiryn wondered if her father ever pretended like her mother did.  If the coldness and strictness that shrouded him were really natural.  “Brianna,” the voice held steel.

The woman gazed back at him quietly.  Then she bowed her head.  “Let me find Julianna, then–”

“No need.  The Aimeri’s are kindly providing us with their child attendant.”  He stepped to the side and gestured at a short woman with platinum gray hair and wrinkled eyes that stood behind him.  He looked at Elmiryn.  “This is Eneste.  Elmiryn, I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

The girl resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose at the older woman.  She smelled like cabbages.  “Yes, father,” she said instead.

Eneste held out her liver-spotted hands, and the girl reluctantly stepped toward her.  She looked at her mother, pleading silently with her eyes.

The woman nodded and smiled, though the expression was subdued somehow.  “Go on, sweetest.”

Elmiryn craned her head as Eneste took her hand, her grip cold, and led her through the crowd of nobles.  The seven-year-old could hear her mother’s voice, even when she’d lost sight of her face.  “I’ll come find you soon…”

——————————–

She rose to her feet, coming out from another nasty fall.  She brought her fists back before her, her eyes flickering once again to her sword.  Her father had effectively kept her from retrieving it.  In truth, she knew he was dragging the fight out–wearing her down.  She’d trained every day since she and her father had last fought.  Elmiryn wanted to show her father what she could do.

She wanted him to see Halward in the back of his gods damned eyelids.

The girl bared her teeth and charged forward, kicking up dust as she rushed to engage Warner once again.

——————————–

Eneste liked to talk about all the children she’d once cared for.  She followed Elmiryn through the perennial garden, talking, her voice reminiscent of dead dry leaves.

“Ah, she was so darling!  You’re almost as pretty as she was, dear.  Lady Aimeri was such a special girl.  Once, she’d played the harp for my birthday!  Do you know how to play any instruments, dear?  Oh, Lady Aimeri knew so many…”

And it went on and on.

Elmiryn didn’t even try to listen.  The woman was slow and annoying.  She wanted to get away from her.

She pointed excitedly down one of the pathways and cried, “My mother’s coming!”

Eneste turned to look, squinting her eyes.  “Oh?  Where?”

The girl had pretended…until the time was right.

Elmiryn pulled away from the woman with a wrench of her hand, and ran in the opposite direction.  The attendant squawked as she realized what had just happened.  “Lady Elmiryn, wait!”

But the girl did not wait.  If anything, she ran faster.

Nobles stared after her, gasping and glaring as she pushed past dresses and cloaks and furs and legs.  She knew better than to return to the ballroom–if she were caught by her father…well in truth, she didn’t know what would happen.  Elmiryn had never done something so blatantly defiant before.  She wasn’t behaving as she should, and the pressure that pushed on her was immense.  There was so much indignation from the lords and ladies, so much open shock and so many appalled expressions.  Servants moved to snatch her up, but the little girl dodged them easily.  They would be poor opponents in a game of tag.

She decided she liked not pretending better.

Giggling, the girl ran through empty hallways, where guests were scarce.  As she came across guards and servants, she moved carefully, avoiding them.  She realized she was moving into an area she was really not supposed to be, but Elmiryn figured it was all a part of the adventure.  Her mother liked to tell her stories before bed, and they were much like this.  Certainly, she’d find something of interest…?

Elmiryn hopped down a short staircase, entering a peristyle–a columned porch that looked over a small garden.  At the back was a man-made pond.

Seated at the water’s edge was the little acrobat girl.  Elmiryn could hear her weeping from where she stood, and she stopped, transfixed in the shadows.

——————————–

She was a noble girl, no matter what.  Her father wouldn’t risk cutting her, wouldn’t risk damaging her face.  Appearances were everything.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t bruise her in places hidden.

Elmiryn cried out as she fell again.  Her body hurt with every strike of his sword.  Baring her teeth, she struggled to sit up again.  Her limbs quivered.  They’d been at this for more than ten hours and she had yet to have eaten.  Warner may have looked old, but he certainly didn’t act like it.

The man gazed down at her with imperious eyes. “Are you done?” his lip curled.  “All those years I put into you, and you’re already done? Maybe it’s just as well, then.  You would have been torn apart by the Ailurans, and it would’ve upset your mother beyond the point of return–”

“Shut up!” she screamed.  The girl pushed to her feet, swaying.  Sweat stung her eyes, and the strands from her ponytail stuck to her damp neck.  She fell into a fighting stance.  “Stop talking about her!”  She hated hearing Warner speak of her mother.  He objectified the woman, and vilified her.  But Elmiryn knew better.  She knew what Brianna had really thought of her father’s plans.  “You’re just pretending!”  Then the girl’s face drew blank and she stared at her father as though seeing him for the first time.  “You’re…pretending.” She repeated slowly.

——————————–

Elmiryn stepped forward quietly, the moonlight swathing her in a cool light.

“Hello?” she said.

The girl yelped and spun her head around.  The sudden movement made her hands slip on the wet stone, and she tumbled back into the pond.

“Iya!” she cried, flailing.

Elmiryn winced and hurried forward, her scuffed shoes squeaking as she bent and creased them in her run.  They had never been meant for such hurried movement.

At the pond, the youth wrinkled her nose at the smell of still water.  The acrobat girl had ceased her struggles, and stared up at Elmiryn with dark almond shaped eyes bewildered, wet locks of hair clinging to her porcelain face.  She shivered, dressed only in her thin performer outfit, and hugged her knees to her chest as she took in the sight of the redhead standing over her.  This made Elmiryn feel self-conscious, and she took a hesitating step backward.

She felt scared.  Her heart was loud in her ears.

Blushing, the redhead tried to summon her courage and held out her hand.  “Let me help,” she said.

The Higashan blinked up at her.  Then gingerly, she took Elmiryn’s hand.  With a grunt, she was out of the pond on her feet.

Up close, the seven-year-old saw that the young performer’s eyes were swollen and pink.  There were also tell-tale qualities in the way her expression shifted from that of fear to reservation, the gravity with which she carried herself…the acrobat girl wasn’t Elmiryn’s age.  She was much older. (“Much”–in her child’s mind–being some two years at the least.)

The girl was even an inch taller than her–a detail revealed only in proximity.  Elmiryn became even more bashful as she stared down at the ground.  Her left thumb flexed against soft wet skin, and she became aware of the fact that she was still holding the Higashan’s hand–

“…Hanasu, chi nu hai.”

Elmiryn’s eyes raised again and was met by the Higashan’s irritated face.  “Hanasu!”

Then she wrenched her hand away from the seven-year-old.  The girl gave a start, stumbling back until she’d fallen on her behind.

“Gáau ngóh!” the Higashan shrilled, stomping her foot.  She turned her face away quickly then, but Elmiryn saw her face start to crumple in that familiar way she’d seen her mother’s whenever the woman was upset.

The girl stood up, her palms throbbing and a little scratched from taking the brunt of her fall.  She wiped them on her dress to rid herself of the rocks and dirt.  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

The Higashan didn’t even look at her this time.  She just waved a dismissive hand at her.  “Cheh-cheh! Gáau ngóh!”

Elmiryn bit her lip and stared upward.  “Umm…I dunno what that means.”  Then she corrected herself, remembering what her mother had said.  “I do not know what that means.” She didn’t want the Higashan to think she was stupid.

She peered at the acrobat, her brows pressing together as she took in how the girl’s shivering had gotten worse.  The night was a cool one, but a dip in scummy pond water was certainly enough to turn the breeze into a frigid wind.

Elmiryn lightly touched the Higashan’s shoulder.  She thought of hugging the girl, as she didn’t have her shawl with her, but the acrobat shrank away from her, hissing.

The redhead let her head drop. “I’m sorry I scared you…I didn’t mean for you to fall into the pond.”  Then her eyes brightened and she looked up with a grin.

The Higashan girl, named Ting, had run away from her performance group after her mother had attacked her with a switch for not climbing the human tower faster.  But now she was lost in the labyrinth that was the Aimeri estate.  She had been certain she would receive an even harsher beating for this, but had decided that she’d rather die at Fiamman hands for trespassing than suffer the tyranny of her mother any longer.  But instead of the guards Ting had expected, this little girl had come–and how troublesome she was!  Now to add to her misfortune, she smelled like pond scum.  Why was her life so hard and miserable?

Ting heard a splash and was drawn out of her angst long enough to turn around and see Elmiryn beaming up at her, her dress soaked from top-to-bottom with smelly pond water.

The redhead plucked up a lily pad, placed it on top of her head, and croaked out, “Ribbit!”

Ting didn’t know what to make of this.  At first she stared at Elmiryn as though she were a lunatic.  Then, unbidden, she started to laugh.  She kept laughing until her ribs hurt.

——————————–

Warner shook his head, scowling at her.  “You’re speaking nonsense.  I never pretend.  Brianna was my wife before she was your mother.  You think she didn’t know about my plans for you?”

Elmiryn smiled slowly.

The man’s face took on a puzzled look.  “She’s weak-minded your mother.  She needed someone strong like me to guide her.  She needed me to protect her from those pirahnic fools that plague the royal court.”

The girl started to giggle, losing her fighting stance as she doubled over and leaned onto her knees.

Warner slashed the air angrily with his wooden sword.  “Insolent girl!”  He stomped forward, the weapon drawn back.  “If you wish for it, then I’ll punish you for your carelessness!”

When the man was within striking range, Elmiryn tipped her body forward and rolled off to the side.  Warner grunted as the blow he expected to connect fell through open air.  This left him off-balance for a second, and it was all Elmiryn needed to distance herself from the man.  Springing out of her roll with a newfound energy, the twelve-year-old recovered her blade from the ground and swung around into a charge.

——————————–

Names were easy enough to figure out.  Both girl pointed at themselves, stating their names emphatically, and the messages were well received.  On the other hand, it took a fair bit of miming on Ting’s part to explain her situation to Elmiryn.  The redhead delighted in this round of charades, seeing it as a sort of game.  Finally she thought she had it.

“So…you were attacked by your pet monkey and was looking for food to make it less grumpy?  Is that how you got lost?”

The only thing Ting got out of this was “monkey” and “food”–both Common words she’d learned one way or another–but she suspected it was quite far from what she’d been trying to say all along.

The Higashan face-palmed and waved the answer away like it were a lingering cloud of smoke.  “Mei!  Mei!” No!  No!

Ting sighed and pointed to the southern part of the estate.  She mimed running away by jogging in place and looking fearfully over her back.  Elmiryn looked to the North, where she’d come from, and back at Ting, who was pretending to run the opposite way.

Realization dawned on her young face.  “You…you’re running away?”

Ting nodded emphatically, touching her chest and pointing to the South.  “Run!” she said, her accent making the word seem thick in her mouth.  “Ting!  Run!”

Elmiryn bit her lip.  In her mind, she saw her actions like a stack of building blocks.  First, she’d run away from Eneste, second she’d trespassed into private areas of the Aimeri estate, and third she’d ruined her expensive dress.  Would helping a foreigner run away make things any worse?

“Hey!”  Both girls gave a start as an adult voice cut through the garden.  A servant carrying a basket of cloths pointed at them.  He’d appeared from the same hall Elmiryn had.  “You’re not supposed to be here!”

Elmiryn grabbed Ting’s hand and pulled her into a run, across the pond and into the cool hallway heading South…

——————————–

Warner turned around just in time to see his daughter’s face vanish within the blink of an eye.  What had really happened was the girl had dropped into a perfect split, and she jammed the tip of her sword into her father’s crotch.  The man curled in, dropping his sword as he stared at her with a purpling face.

Elmiryn smiled up at him briefly before she swept her back leg forward, hitting the back of the man’s left knee.  When he fell into a kneel, the girl thrust the edge of her sword into her father’s neck.  She pushed forward with all her body, and her father gurgled as the object pressed into his windpipe.  He slammed into the ground and stared up at his daughter, brows raised high and veins bulging.

“Mother taught me that,” she breathed, smirking. “Sometimes, you just gotta laugh.  And sometimes, you just gotta wait till the right moment to quit faking it…”

Her father said nothing for a minute.  Then his lips spread apart in an alligator’s grin.

Elmiryn straightened and clambered off her father, her face turning somber.

Warner chuckled deeply as he pushed himself onto his elbows.  “Good…very good, Elmiryn.  You finally used your head.  You’ll need that guile when you get older.”

“Are we done?” The youth pressed, her brows knitting.

Warner straightened and nodded his head once.  “We’re done.  I’ll have the servants ready your bath.”

——————————–

Elmiryn didn’t know the estate any better than Ting did, honestly.  But together they managed to slip past more servants and guards.  They entered the backwoods, and here the Higashan stopped, turning to Elmiryn with a smile.

“Kam sia.  Tank-yoo, xiǎo jie Elmiryn!”  Ting gently pressed at the girl’s back and pointed back North.  “Ting go.  Elmiryn go.”  She took her hands, palms pressed together, then separated them.

Elmiryn immediately understood what the Higashan meant.  The girl looked at her, pained.  “But…aren’t you scared?”

Ting blinked at her.  “Ss-scarred?”

“No.  Scared.  Afraid.”  Elmiryn mimed biting her fingers anxiously.  “Scared!  Aren’t you?”

Ting giggled and nodded, pointing at herself.  “Yesh!  Ting, ss-scarred!”

Elmiryn pointed at herself shyly. “Elmiryn…go?  With Ting?”

The Higashan shook her head emphatically.  “Mei!  Xiǎo jie Elmiryn home!” She pointed at the ground.  “Stay!  Fiamman!”

The girl’s eyes teared up, but she sucked at her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

Ting patted her head.  “Ja, ne?”

Then they heard someone speaking, and heavy footfalls on stone.  Both girls turned to see two figures emerging from the gates that protected the main grounds.  They ducked, hearts hammering, and as the men drew closer, they heard what they said to one another.

“One of the servants said they saw two kids run out this way.  But what kid in their right mind would pull a stunt like this on Aimeri land?”

“Who knows.  But we have to check, or we could get into even more trouble for letting them get by!”

Ting turned to look at Elmiryn fearfully.  “Iya!” she breathed.  “Chi nán dù!  Bad!”

Elmiryn grabbed at the girl, and carefully, they scuttled together behind a bush.  One of the guards drew closer, and his shadowed face peered their way.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered.

Elmiryn could feel Ting trembling next to her.  She looked at the girl, her heart like a humming bird in her chest.  She blushed when she realized how close the Higashan was.  She smelled…sweet.  And her body was warm.  But the look on her face twisted Elmiryn’s guts.  She decided she wanted to make the look of fear go away.

“Ting!” Elmiryn whispered.

Ting looked at her.

Elmiryn kissed her cheek quickly, making Ting’s eyes turn wide.  The redhead’s face was burning.  “Bye!” she breathed, before bursting out of the bush and running between the surprised guard’s legs.

“Woah–hey!  You!  Wait!”  He chased after her.

Elmiryn ran back toward the main grounds, her little lungs burning.  She ran until she felt hands snatch her up from behind.

——————————–

The Fiamman lamps were cold in the corners.  The bedroom was dark with the velvet curtains drawn closed.

Elmiryn stood in the doorway, her eyes on the mountain of blankets seemed to collect in the center of the vast bed.  She stepped into the room, aware that it was the first time in nearly five years.  Back then, she’d been such a small thing, with arms like noodles and a limited understanding of what it meant to have a father who was a high ranking official in the Fiamman military.  She’d worn dresses and stiff shoes, powdered her face and worn earrings.  Now she strode in pants and fresh leather boots, with a sword belt around her waist and a body that would shame even the fittest boy.

Elmiryn went to the curtains.  She stood before them, her body tensed like she were waiting for an attack from Thendril.  Her throat was tight.  Then she tore the curtains to the sides and whipped around, all smiles.

“Mother!  Rise and shine!” she cried.

The bed squeaked as Brianna startled awake, her eyes glassy but wide as she stared around.  Her hair was a veritable bird’s nest–quite a rare sight, as Elmiryn recalled her mother always being careful with her appearance.  She was always so careful with her appearance…

The newly-turned thirteen-year-old jumped onto the bed, making the woman gasp and sit bolt upright.

Elmiryn smirked at her and tilted her head to one side.  “Mama…are you happy to see me?” she asked, her voice teasing.

——————————–

Elmiryn felt a little ill as she was presented to her father and mother in a private room somewhere on the estate.  Unbeknowst to her was that Warner had promised Duke Dreton a fair bit of gold and a large favor to keep the matter quiet.

Brianna was in tears.  “Elmiryn, you foolish child, what were you thinking!?  You had me so worried!”

The girl looked down at her ruined shoes, scuffed and stained with dirt.  “I’m sorry…”

“Just wait until we’re home, young lady,” Warner seethed, his face purple as he glared down at her.

The girl hunched her shoulders around her ears.  Brianna moved to hug the girl, but her husband stopped her, his eyes flashing.

“We’re going home.  Now!” he snapped.

And sure enough, they were home within the hour–the carriage driver pushing the horses at Warner’s order.  Once there, the girl was denied supper, and instead, was sent to take a bath.

After her attendant’s had scrubbed her skin pink and the last of the pond scum was gone from her hair, Elmiryn emerged from the bath wrapped in a small robe.  Her attendant led her into the hallway, and there, the girl heard her parents arguing in their bedroom down the way.

“Warner, please don’t do this!”

“Brianna, the matter is settled.  I’ve decided that the girl leaves tomorrow.  She’s shown the final signs.”

“It wasn’t a sign, it was childish antics–nothing more!”

“No noble child in her right mind would have done as she has.  This isn’t the typical youthful rebellion.”

As Elmiryn was led to her room, she pulled at her attendant’s hand, slowing their progress.  She stared, wide-eyed at the bedroom doors, and saw her father’s figure flit past the narrow opening before her mother stopped into view.  She was red in the face and looking frantic.  The attendant tugged at her arm, whispering that the girl had to follow, but Elmiryn only wrenched away and ran to the doorway, her slippers smacking over the polished floor.  She slid into a crouch outside her parents bedroom, the light that filtered through the door crack like a line dividing her down the middle.

“You base so much off the word of a seer,” her mother shrilled,  “What of me!?  Her mother?  Your wife.  Don’t I have a say in this destiny you keep going on about!?”

“I will not argue this further.  I’ve already sent a messenger to Thendril.”

“Warner.”

No response from her father.  Elmiryn felt a sense of dread pool into her stomach as the attendant caught up with her and dragged her back to her room by the robes.

“Warner!” she heard her mother scream.

The next morning, Elmiryn was sent away to begin her private training as a warrior.  She cried for a full year before she remembered how to pretend.  It took another year before she remembered how to smile.  And once she did, it seemed hard not to laugh.  And when she started to laugh, it was especially hard to stop.

“One must always find a reason to laugh.  It can get you through the toughest of times, because you appreciate life, even at its thorniest.”

——————————–

Brianna stared at her daughter, mouth agape.  The five years had not been kind to her.  She seemed so much older now, with gray hairs appearing at the roots and faint lines around the eyes and mouth.  Her skin no longer seemed so radiant, and even her bosom seemed to yield to gravity.

The woman’s lips twitched.  Then her face flashed into a wide smile, showing all teeth.  “My sweetest Elle!  You’re home!”

Elmiryn mirrored the expression.  She couldn’t resist a smart response, however. “Oh, we’re home?  I thought father had tricked me into walking into a dungeon.”

For all her combat training, Elmiryn hardly expected the sharp whap on the forehead from her mother.  She also received a strong hug afterward, and she stared at the paneled wall across the room.  She grinned, but her eyes watered, even as she tried to keep herself from choking up.

“Elmiryn you’re incorrigible…” Brianna hissed.  Then she added quietly, “I missed you so much, dearest.  Really.”

Elmiryn squeezed her mother around the shoulders and closed her eyes, two tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes.  “…I missed you too, mama.  Really.”

Back to Short Term Solutions | Forward to Tooth and Nail

1. From the HBO miniseries ‘Angels in America’; directed by Mike Nichols; written by Tony Kushner; produced by Celia D. Costas; first aired in 2003; starring Al Pacino, Meryl Streep, Patrick Wilson, Emma Thompson, Mary-Louise Parker, Jeffrey Wright, and Justin Kirk.

We sing the nightmare of the lies that you speak
The beast that I lie beneath is coming in
We sing the nightmare of the lies that you speak
The beast that I lie beneath is coming in”¹

QUINCY____________________________

Live steps.  Wired steps.  Livewired steps that shocked from the soles up the shins to the hips to the heart to the mind to the fingertips and back again.  She held her sword in her right hand around the scabbard, and tapped it against her leg.  She flashed along flagstone floors and compacted dirt trails that weaved in and out of the rocky mountainside.  Roots and vines weaved with statues, and fallen leaves flushed cold hallways.  She tucked a russet lock of hair behind her ear and hummed.  The ocean roar was a soothing presence all around and it set her in a good mood.  Somewhere, she could hear a chorus of people speaking in unison.  The carved, open windows looking outward onto the faded rooftops and white crest waves were stolen for the moment as she rounded the corner, heading eastward further into the mountain.  The commune was entirely based inside the looming mountain that overlooked the city of Crysen.  It was said that sorcerers had carved their place there, in the earth.

Torches lit the hallway she stepped through.  She flashed her eyes on younger pupils and they skittered out of her path, mouths agape, clutching at each other’s robes as she swept on by in a rush of lilac.  Then she paused at the archway at the end of the hall, the cold stone breathing around her from the draft of coastal air just ahead…

Quincy turned around and smiled, her left hand resting on her hip.

“Boys, where are you going?” she asked the two children huddled wide-eyed against the wall.

The two exchanged looks.  One stepped forward, barely four feet tall with gingery hair.  The shorter one behind him pulled his hood up and slouched.

“Alchemy lessons with Madame Igora…but it’s our first time, miss.  We’re lost.”

“Your masters?”

“We’ve got the same one, miss.  Master Fendrel.”

“Oh, I see.  Sorcerers, huh?”

The boy blushed and looked down at his tanned shoes.  ”Not yet, miss.”

Quincy’s smile widened.  She jerked her head toward the archway and beckoned with her hand.  ”Well come on, then.  Igora hates tardy pupils.”  She turned and started to walk, not waiting to see their reaction.

She heard the boys run to catch up.

They followed a little bit behind her as the hall led out onto the open courtyard, where a group of apprentices were stretching in lines.

Quincy looked at the boys over her shoulder.  ”How’d you two end up at Crysen?”

“Our lord wishes for us to get training, so that we can protect him from any threats when we’re older.  We were escorted here by some of his personal guard.”

“Your lord must be powerful to get two boys so young to the Kilemare Coast.  Most of our newcomers are atleast entering their teens!”

The redheaded boy puffed his chest out and tried to square his shoulders.  ”I don’t look like a teenager?” he said, voice strained from holding his breath.

Quincy giggled and stopped to ruffle the boy’s ginger mop.  ”Don’t worry, you’ll strike others with your presence soon enough.”

The boy couldn’t seem to decide if he liked this attention or not.  Then his eyes lit up and he touched his head where her hand had been.  ”…Miss, is it true you and sir Hakeem came to Crysen by yourselves and killed a full-grown dragon as a way to earn tutelage in the collective!?” he said this all quickly.  His little friend looked up from beneath his hood, his expression one of awe.

To earn training at the magical collective, one had to offer something of value to the master in question.  Some students, like the two boys before her, were sponsored by wealthy people of high standing.  She had even heard of certain students being the payment themselves–from previous students who had promised their first born child to their master.  While the masters ran their studies independently, arrangements often sprang up between them for collaboration, creating a sort of “school” environment without the proper system for it.  There was no headmaster and no detentions here.  The relationship between master and pupil was a personal one, and many masters residing at the collective still lacked students of their own.  Part of it was the dangerous location of the city.  The other part of it was that more than half of the prospective students died trying to prove themselves.

For those still awaiting training, idle minds delighted in twisting the truth.  Mystery and rumor was a staple of the commune, and Quincy found she was no more safe from it than a beach from the waves.

The girl scratched her head, a dubious grin spreading her lips.  ”Um…”

“Quincy!”

Quincy looked up as Hakeem jogged toward her.  He wore thick boots meant for conquering rocks and mud, and loose cotton pants that draped over his shoes.  Normally he wore his special chainmail tunic, but at the moment he wore just a sleeveless shirt with a stained apron.  The teenage boy frowned at the two youngsters in her presence, then looked at Quincy again.

“Emiline told me to find you.  You’re due at the soup kitchen for lunch.”

The girl scowled.  ”Now?  I can’t go now! I have to meet with Master Saerth!”

“If you don’t go, Emiline says she’s going to fire you without pay.  We won’t be able to pay Tegin for the room if this happens.”  Hakeem’s face was drawn and tense.  ”Mweze, please.  Do this for me.”

“There has to be another way.  Didn’t you try to talk to her?”

“Of course I did!  But do you think that mkundu listened to me?”  He pointed at the sword in her hands, sneering.  ”If all you’re going to do is another useless session with that rusty sword, then please forget it and get over there.”

Quincy pursed her lips and gave him a leveling stare.  ”I was told to meet with my master.  If the purpose just so happens to be for my sword, then it’s none of your flaming business!”  But her expression sobered and she gestured at the two boys.  ”Look…Can you help them to Madame Igora’s?  I need to get this handled before I go.”

“So you will go?”

“Yes, yes!  I will, I promise.”

Hakeem glared down at the boys and the two shrank visibly.  He sighed and rolled his eyes.  ”Fine, I’ll take these two then.  I have a bit more time before Emiline expects me back.”  He looked at the boys and jerked his head.  ”Let’s go.”  He turned and started to walk away.

Quincy nudged the boys along and they stared at her pleadingly.  ”Go on,” she said around her grin.  ”He’ll only break your knees if you keep doddling!”

At this the boys ran to catch up with Hakeem, and when they did, they bumped into his back.  The man turned to stare at them with annoyed confusion.  ”What’re you doing?”

The brunette bit her lip, trying not to laugh as she turned to resume her original trip.  When she found Master Saerth, it was in his study, at the far corner of the collective.

Master Saerth looked up, his eyebrows raised.  ”Quincy!  You’re early!  This is rare!  There were no tornadoes?  No runaway dragons?  No surprise attacks from assassins?”  He was only a little taller than her, with a short gray bushy beard, a shiny bald head, and shrewd deep blue eyes flecked with emerald.  When he stood from behind his desk, the room seemed to expand, as though to accommodate for his strong presence.

Quincy blushed before bowing low.  She was never late, but she did have a tendency to arrive just in the nick of time–and usually with a long tale as to how she nearly didn’t make it at all.  ”No, Master.  Not this time.  Just some boys who needed my help.”

“Oh, well I suppose I can see how that wouldn’t deter you quite as much.”  The man came forward, hands behind his back.  Unlike some of the other masters in the collective, he wore thick wool pants and a white tunic without a belt.  His boots made sharp sounds on the stone floor as he came near.  ”I do, however, get the impression that your punctuality was brought about by some pressing matter.  What’s happened?”

The teenager still didn’t rise from her bow.  ”Sir, I face a financial dilemma.  As you know, I work at the local soup kitchen to pay for my living and training expenses.  Even though my husband and I have managed all this time, Emiline has served me an ultimatum–either I go to work for her now, or I lose my job and do not receive my pay for this week.  We owe our landlord in just a few days time, sir.  I face losing my home and a means to fund my studies.”

“So you came here first, seeking some sort of guidance?”

The girl tensed at the steel in her master’s voice.  ”…Yes, sir.  If you’d be so generous as to advise me…”

Quincy heard nothing for a time, then a hand on her shoulder made her look up.  Saerth’s eyes were narrowed but his lip was turned into a sort of smirk.  ”Raise yourself, Quincy.”

The man turned and returned to his desk.  He sat down again in his chair with a sigh.  ”Given your circumstances, I appreciate your speaking with me first.  Today you may go,”

The girl straightened, her face beaming.  ”Thank you, Master, I–”

“However,” Saerth sat back in his chair and ran a hand over his bald head.  ”I’m familiar with Emiline.  If you give her this today, she will ask for more until you are unable to meet both her demands and your obligations here.  This solution of yours is temporary, Quincy.  You will have to figure out a better way to resume your stay here if want to fulfill your aspirations.  I cannot give you the answer.  Part of being a wizard is being clever enough to work things out on your own.  My only advice is to put your true strengths to use.  You came here when you were, what?  Fifteen, sixteen?”

“Sixteen, Master.”

“Now you’re older, and you’ve learned much.  A soup kitchen is not befitting someone of your caliber anymore.”

Quincy blinked at him, then turned her eyes to the ground.  ”Yes, Master.”

“When you next return here, I expect the matter resolved.  If not, then you no longer have the right to be my pupil.”  He blinked, then looked mildly at the long horned skull sitting at his desk.  ”Even if you did bring me the head of a dragon hatchling.”  He poked the skull with a stubby finger, blinking once more.  ”…I get to keep this no matter what, by the way.  I hear Igora can make some mean potions just with the skull alone.”

“Um…yes, Master.  Of course, sir.”

——————————

Quincy walked slowly through the hallways, her eyes holding a storm.  Other pupils passed her by, some glancing at her curiously.  Usually the brunette was tearing through the halls in a rush, but now she walked slow contemplative steps.  She and Hakeem had been at the magical collective for almost two years now, and it truly felt like home.  The turnout was high here–many hopefuls came, seeking the tutelage of the masters that resided at the impromptu school, but the lessons were hard.  Only the true seekers of knowledge remained, and Quincy had been certain that nothing would endanger her and Hakeem’s studies.  Except now…

She had left the commune and wandered down into the city, towards the beach, where she now sat in the sand with her sword in her hands and her russet brown hair whipping about her.  The wind had picked up, now that night approached, and even though she loved the sight of the ocean, the girl loathed the strong winds.  With every gust that buffeted her, Quincy expected him to appear.

“Jack…if you come…I’ll kill you.”  Tears trickled down her face and dripped onto the scabbard.  Quincy pulled her sword out partially and glared at the rusted blade that appeared.  ”I’ll kill you with everything you ever gave me, do you hear?”

A familiar voice met her ear.  “I wish you’d talk to me before making these decisions.”

Quincy turned with a start and saw Hakeem approaching her, his fists clenched.  She hadn’t gone to the soup kitchen, like she’d said she would.  Her rebellion likely caused the boy to be fired as well.

She turned and bowed her head.  ”M’sorry,” she mumbled.

Hakeem sat heavily next to her, his jaw clenched tight.  ”Why do you always do this?” he muttered.

“Do what?”

“Throw things away when you think it doesn’t suit you anymore.  You never think about me.  How I might feel.  You didn’t like living in the jungles when we were young?  You stole from pirates and get us caught.  You started to hate living with pirates?  You lured me away from the ship where it ends up sailing off with all of my belongings.  Then I go along with your plans to come here–risking life and limb to get a gods damned master, a home, a job–and you’re threatening to piss it all away again!” the boy punched the ground. “I’m tired of being at the mercy of your whims!  I know things are hard, but sometimes you just have to stick things out, Quincy!  If you want to make a change–fine! But don’t cut away everything without something to fall back on!  Don’t make those big decisions without talking to me!”

Quincy swiped at her eyes and sniffled back the snot that had been teasing her nostrils.  She stared forward and didn’t look at Hakeem, though she could feel the anger rolling off of him.

But when he spoke again, he sounded tired.  ”…If you can’t take our marriage seriously, then atleast take me seriously as your friend.  Talk to me.  Trust me.  Or else…why are we even together?  Are you going to throw me away too?  Do I…not suit you anymore?”

The girl looked at him, fear striking her heart as the boy stood to his feet.  ”Hakeem!”

The boy didn’t stop as he walked away.  He continued trudging back toward the city with bunched shoulders.

Quincy stood and ran forward several steps.  ”Hakeem!  Please!”

Hakeem paused but didn’t turn around.

The girl trembled, her sword forgotten in the sand where it had tumbled from her lap.  ”Hakeem…I love you.  I’ve always loved you…it’s just–it’s just that–”

The boy whirled around, his face contorted with anger.  ”No.  No.  Enough, Quincy.  There shouldn’t be an addendum when you tell me that.  I’ve sacrificed everything to be with you.  It’d be nice if you’d return the favor and quit placing our relationship as second on your priority list!  I don’t even know what it is you’re looking for, and quite frankly, I’m tired of waiting for you to tell me!!”

Quincy watched as he left, her eyes clouding again.  She let her head fall, shivering as the wind shoved at her from all sides.

She started to speak, her broken voice rushed away by the breath of the world.  ”…It’s just, that I never want to be at the mercy of anyone else again,” she watched as her tears fell into the sand.  The brunette raised her azure eyes to the sky, and her throat tightened with a desire to scream. “Jack…if you come, I’ll kill you with everything you ever gave me…because when you come, I’ll finally be the master of my life…answering to no one…untouchable…and when you and Tobias are dead, I’ll be free…”

HAKEEM_________________________

He heard the melodious chime of a bell singing into the evening air.  Here, even on the coast, it was warm, so the night’s approach felt muggy at best.  He liked this weather.  It reminded him of home, of the village he came from, where they lived with nature instead of trying to conquer it.  Quincy had been brought to his family and left in their care when they were young.  His father had known her father, was the terse explanation.  Things had been peaceful, up until…

Hakeem didn’t like to get sentimental.  He preferred getting mad.  Being angry made it easier not to think on how much he missed his family.  How much it still haunted him, seeing them burned to death and hacked to pieces by marauders.  Even as children, they knew, it was because the marauders were looking for something.  For someone.

Even when it was beyond her control, Quincy seemed to take so much away from him.

He didn’t blame her for the massacre, she was just a child.  But surrounding the girl was a leeching aura that demanded still more from him to be with her.  More sacrifice.  The boy didn’t know what else he had to give, and this made him angry.

At the market.  Hakeem glowered at the assortment of vegetables before him.  He figured he could make a stew tonight…the final good meal to be had in a while it seemed…

“Say, friend.  Why the long face?”

The boy turned to see a young man–perhaps early twenties–smiling at him.  He had dark tanned skin, short cropped hair, and was freakishly tall.  A large metal saber was strapped to his back.  Around his waist, a belt jingled with dozens of metal ingots.

Hakeem turned his face trying to ignore him.  ”I’m deciding what I want in my dinner.”

“Oh?  You want to know what that says to me?  ’Girl trouble’.”

The boy turned and glared.  ”Leave me alone.”

“Yep, girl trouble.”  The man came to stand next to Hakeem.  He leaned against the vegetable stand with a smirk. ”A real man should never make his own dinner.  It’s against nature.”

Hakeem shoved at the stranger with both hands, sending a few vegetables tumbling to the ground.  The merchant yelled at him, but he ignored him.  The teenager bared his teeth and advanced, full of murder.  ”Stupid mkundu!  Keep running your mouth and I’ll smash your face in!”

The stranger laughed and held up his hands. “Woah, woah! I wanna help you!”  He thumbed over his shoulder.  ”I know you come from the commune.  You’ve got a teacher right?  Or…what…a master you call it?  So you must know a thing or two about magic, right?”

Hakeem turned and started to walk away.  He had nearly gotten into a fight, and this would’ve gotten him in trouble with the local authorities.  If his master had heard, he would’ve been punished.  ”Tai’undu!  Leave me alone already, you big ape!”

“Wait,” the man caught up with him and blocked him off.  ”Now hold on!  I happen to know for a fact that you were fired from your job at the soup kitchen–”

The boy gave him a weird look, “You’ve been following me?  What are you?  A queer or something?”

The man thumped his chest, looking angry for the first time.  ”Of course not!  My name’s Karolek, and I’ve got a proposition for you!”

“A proposition?  Definitely not interested.”

“…What?  No! I told you I’m not like that!”

“Move, or I’ll move you myself.”

“Listen, listen.  There’s a bounty out there worth five hundred gold,”

“Fine, I’ll count to three.  One…”

“It’s an easy catch–sort’ve.  I just need some help,”

“…Two…”

“Look here, I have the wanted poster–”

“Three!”

Hakeem buried his fist into Karolek’s gut, just as the young man reached into his back pocket.  Then he backhanded the man with all his might.  The oaf stumbled to the side, coughing.  The boy gave him a final shove out of the way, and Karolek was sent to the ground, still cradling his stomach.

“Idiot,” the boy mumbled as he stalked past.

QUINCY____________________________

Quincy had left the beach in a melancholy, the waves of people heading back to their homes buoying her forward.  Home…

“Soon I won’t have one, and it’ll be my fault,” The girl sighed.  Then she stopped in the middle of the road, slamming the heels of her palms into the sides of her head, much to the consternation of those she forced to walk around her.  ”Aaah!  Quincy, not now!  You can’t fall apart!”

When her head started to throb, the girl opened her eyes and turned her head.  She stared wide-eyed out into the night, the sky overhead now a deep plum with the stars peeking out from their vast blanket of the universe.  Colors blended together in a cool palette that made definition hard to come by, but her eyes lit onto one thing that stood out starkly in the growing moonlight.  A piece of parchment nailed to a tall wooden post.

Quincy drifted towards it, and her heart started to hammer at the sight of the words “REWARD:  500 GOLD”.

The brunette snatched the parchment off the post and examined the large charcoal sketch of a man with a long face, rounded cheeks, and thick mutton chops.  A pair of goggles dangled from around his neck, and his expression was bewildered, as though he couldn’t believe the artist had drawn him on a wanted poster.  At the bottom, smaller text read, “This reward is offered for the apprehension of Kollin Endrick Montbrai, found guilty of selling illegal narcotics, polluting the water supply, public drunkenness, and besmirching the good Lady Rosalinda of Santos.  The above reward will be paid in part by the Lord Adalberto of Santos and also the city-state of Gulley upon his delivery in good health to the offices of Marshal Fuller.  ADVISORY:  Suspect lost his left hand, either purposefully or by accident, and uses an arcane hand crafted from steel as a replacement.  This hand is said to boost the strength of his entire left arm.  Suspect has been known to make and sell magical weapons, and so may be further armed.  He is well versed in the ways of alchemy.  Exercise extreme caution when dealing with him.  Rubber gloves and a cotton mask are advised when in close proximity.”

“Looks promising, yes?”  Quincy jumped and turned to see a tall young man with short-cropped hair and metal ingots on his belt.  He was sporting a bruise on his dark-tanned face, but he smiled at her charmingly.  He pointed at the poster clutched to her chest.  ”If you’re wondering…I happen to know where Kollin is now.  But I need help catching him.”

Quincy frowned at him, glancing at the poster, then back at the man before her.  ”Who’re you?” she eventually asked.

The man gave a short bow.  ”My name is Karolek.  I’m a metal sorcerer.”  He straightened and wagged a finger at Quincy.  ”Now…I think I know who you are…you’re Quincy, aren’t you?”

The girl raised her eyebrows at him, and her grip on her sword handle tightened.  If she swung hard enough, the scabbard would fly off and expose the blade, sparing her a second to catch him by surprise, but could she press an attack with just one arm…?

“I’ve seen you around here a few times with your boyfriend–”

“Husband,” She corrected, tensing her sword arm.

Karolek held up his hands, his look surprised.  ”Oh!  Wow, you’re…so young!”  The man scratched the back of his head, “Gods…well, I’d heard you and your husband killed a full-grown dragon to get yourselves a master–”

Quincy rolled her eyes.  ”Look, about that–”

“–And I was just thinking I could really use the help of someone as strong and capable as you.  Catching Kollin will be easy with the two of us working together–won’t even take us a day.  I’ll split the reward with you 50-50.  I bet you can think of something you can use that gold for, right?”

The girl paused to think, her lips puckering.  She and Hakeem owed their landlord a hundred gold.  The reward from the bounty would float them for almost an entire season, and they’d have gold to spare for supplies and food…

“…Do you need to talk it over with your husband?”  Karolek asked carefully.  There was something teasing in his eyes.

Quincy blinked, her eyes widening as she looked at the man.  She shook her head emphatically.  She could easily imagine Hakeem’s reaction to this idea of hers–

“Bwa-mweze, wikan a thusa katsul ko zini-jyan!?”  My wife, why do you have such wild ideas!?

“No.  He’s busy.  When did you want to go after Kollin?”

Karolek smirked.  ”Tonight.”

Quincy gave a nod.  ”Let me get a few things and I’ll meet you by the city gates.”

HAKEEM_________________________

He came home tired, and with a satchel full of fresh vegetables.  The house was dark and cold.  Hakeem set the bag down and frowned.

His search was done with a single sweep of his eyes, for everything was forced into a small square space of masonry.  Their bed to the left was empty, the quilts still neat and folded.  The kitchen counter was clear and the stove dark.  The table to the right, however…

Hakeem cleared the distance from the door in two large steps.  On the table was a parchment.  His heart started to palpitate, and wild ideas sprang into his head.  ”She really did throw me away…”  But then he saw from the poor moonlight that filtered in through the front windows what the parchment said.

“REWARD:  500 gold”.

The teenager’s jaw clenched and he went to the wardrobe adjacent to the door.  Tearing open the door, the boy saw that it lacked Quincy’s cloak and traveling boots.  The boy slammed the door shut with a shout.

“Quincy wikan!”

QUINCY____________________________

They traveled on foot eastward, away from the coast and toward the savannah of the Talmorian continent.

“I grew up there, y’know.  At Gulley,” Karolek said, trying to make small talk.  ”It’s my hometown.”

Quincy glanced at him from the corner of her eyes.  She stifled a yawn.  Normally she’d be asleep by this hour.  ”Oh, yeah?” she really didn’t care to hear his life story.

The man put his hands behind his head, the ingots on his belt clinking together.  ”Yes!  I know that city like the back of my hand.  All the shortcuts, all the best restaurants…” he smirked at her.  ”Would you like to see these places, after we turn Kollin in?”

The girl gazed at him frigidly.  “No.”

Karolek laughed, throwing his head back and crowing into the night.  Quincy winced and glanced as she saw a rabbit peal away through the tall grass.  Was this how a person went about catching criminals?  By being as obnoxious as possible?

“No wonder you need my help…” Quincy muttered.

“What was that?” Karolek asked, oblivious.

“Nothing.”

“Say,” he went on, much to the girl’s annoyance.  ”Where do you come from?  Your Common has a curious accent.”

The girl shrugged.  ”What do you think I am?” she sighed.

Karolek rubbed his chin.  ”Mmm…Fiamman?”

Quincy nodded.  ”Sort of.  My ancestry is, anyway.”

“So then where did you spend your childhood?”

“Fanaea…mostly.”

“Ah, that explains it…You speak Fanaean don’t you?  With your husband.  Is he a chest-thumper like most Fanaean men?”

“You know most Fanaean men, I take it?”

Karolek sputtered.  ”I’m not queer!”

“Hey, you said it.  Not me.”  Quincy kicked at a rock on the path.  ”Anyway, can we not talk about my husband?”

“Oh…You two had a fight?”

“No.”

“Then can I ask–”

“Let it alone, already!”  Quincy snapped.  ”Tai’undu!  You talk too fucking much!”  She stormed ahead, her cloak swishing behind her stiff back.

“Glad you’re not my wife…” She heard Karolek mutter.

Quincy, with little pause, scooped up a rock and threw it at his head, her face tight with outrage.  After that, Karolek finally stopped his inane chatter.  They walked for miles that way, the journey spanning nearly the entire night.  Finally, as the hours crept into the early morning, the girl could see burning lights on the horizon.

She yawned, stretching.  ”Gods, finally!”

Karolek glanced at her, grinning.  ”Tired already?  Do you want me to carry you into town?”

Quincy snorted, her arms crossing her chest.  ”If I weren’t getting 250 gold for this, I’d have struck you with a bolt of lightning by now…twice.”

“It’s nice isn’t it?  Not having to pretend to be friends when there’s gold involved?”

“Shut up and lead the way, already.”

“My, you’re such a refined young lady!”

“Oh look!  That rock looks nice and sharp…”

“Well! I guess we’d better get going.  Don’t want to miss Kollin, now do we? …gods what a bitch…”

When they entered the town of Akii, Quincy immediately recognized the sort of people she was about to encounter.  The buildings were still lit, and people stumbled through the dirt roads, wide-brimmed hats jilted on their heads.  There was shouting and loud laughter.  Dogs made a mess of the garbage, scattering it into the roads where carriages crushed and squished it with their wheels.  Quincy pulled out her four foot lightning rod, which she had kept tied to her back.

Karolek put an arm over her shoulders, and she was about to punch him in the face for getting so fresh, but then the man leaned down to murmur, “Relax.  Put the damn rod away.  If you keep acting this way, people will notice, and if people notice, so might Kollin.  If you stay close to me, no one will bother you, I promise.”

Quincy shrugged the man’s arm off.  ”Fine.  But keep your hands to yourself!”  Still with a sour look, the girl slid the rod back into its strap.

“Why do you have that and your sword?” he asked.

“This sword never leaves my side.  It’s magical, but it won’t respond to me.  I keep it around just in case that might change.  The rod actually works, and was given to me by my master.  It calls forth lightning.”

“Wow,” Karolek led her to a one-story building with a flat roof.  He held the door open for her.  ”Do you have any other goodies with you?”

Quincy passed him, entering a smoky bar.  When they were both inside, she responded, “A wizard always has an ace in the hole.”

Karolek nodded thoughtfully.  ”Something to keep in mind, then…”

They sat at a table nearest the bar, because all the tables near the wall were taken.  A waitress came by and Karolek ordered a mug of beer.  Quincy asked for a glass of water and was reminded snippily that she was in a bar not a gods damned restaurant.  Then the brunette told the waitress to come back with some manners and fresher breath.  The sorcerer kicked her under the table as the waitress left in a huff to fetch their orders.

“Idiot!” he snarled.  ”I told you to relax!”

Quincy kicked him back, harder.  ”I like rude people even less than self-absorbed snoops like you!  Kick me again, and I’ll kick you so hard in your uchango you’d think you were a queer!”

The sorcerer winced, reaching down to rub his leg.  ”Gods, girl!  Your inferiority complex is fierce!”

“I don’t have a complex!”  She kicked him again, catching him on the hand.  That time it just felt good.

Karolek bit his lip to contain the yell that came up his throat as he cradled his hand.

Quincy turned her head, and her eyes widened.  ”Oh!”  She looked away, toward the bar, her face turning pink.

A man appeared at the entrance, a bag slung over his muscular shoulders and a pair of dark goggles drawn over his eyes.  He had thick mutton chops and a length of straw between his lips.  He wore suspenders and a sleeveless blue shirt, with baggy brown shorts and untied leather shoes that stopped around the ankles.  His belt was weighed down with tools–a hammer, a wrench, a screwdriver, a pair of tongs, and other things she couldn’t name.  And on his left hand, or rather, replacing his left hand, there was a metal claw that occasionally hissed with steam around the wrist.  It clicked and whirred with bare mechanics as he flexed the fingers.

“‘Oh’ what?” Karolek grumbled, his eyes teary as he rubbed his swelling hand.

“‘Oh’ as in, ‘Oh, our subject of interest just walked in!’”

“Then, shh!” he hissed, slouching forward.  He glanced only with his eyes over the girl’s shoulder.  Then nodded.  ”Yeah, that’s him.”

“What do we do?”

“What else?  We wait till he’s piss-ass drunk, then follow him to wherever he’s staying.”

“That’s it?”

“He’s a well known drunkard, and his brains are fried from all the fumes he’s breathed in.  I told you this would be easy.”

Quincy frowned and fisted her cheek.  ”It seems too easy to me…” she mumbled.

HAKEEM_________________________

He was marching through the savannah, a lightly packed bag against his back, his eyes staring forward like harsh knives in the dark.  He was heading to Gulley because it was the best he had to go on, given what the poster said.  He didn’t know the first place to look for Kollin, and therefor didn’t know the first place to look for Quincy.  But when he found Quincy…when he found her…he was going to…

Without warning the boy kicked at an ant hill, cursing rapidly in his native tongue.

“Mweze, when I get my hands on you, there’s finally going to be order in this marriage!  You will be my wife and nothing more!  No more magic, no more get-rich-quick schemes, no more swords!  You’ll behave like a woman should.  TAI’UNDU!!  I should’ve done what my Uncle did with all three of his wives, and just tied you to my bed!!  AARGH!!  When I get my hands on you, you’ll cook, you’ll clean, and you’ll wash my under things–all at our home, where you’ll never leave and send me running after you again!” he stomped at the ants, his dark face taking on a ruddy shade, “Like. You. Were. Sup-Posed.  To. ARRGH!”

The boy fell to his knees, and screamed to the night sky.

“Why did I fall in love with a white woman?  What the FUCK was I thinking!?”

Then his eyes bugged and he jumped up, slapping at himself.  “Shit, those were fire ants!!”

QUINCY____________________________

“This is boring…” The girl muttered, struggling to keep her eyes open.  Her entire body felt heavy.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been up so long.  There had already been a few times when she’d nodded off, but a loud noise in the bar always woke her up.  The last she had looked, Kollin was still pinching the asses of women that passed his table, but he appeared surprisingly sober.  ”Is he, like, almost drunk yet?”

Karolek snorted awake, his head having fallen back against his chair.  He wiped the saliva from the corner of his mouth and blinked at her.  ”…Huh?”

Quincy sighed and turned her head to look herself.  Then she shot upright, her eyes bugging open.

“Tai’undu!” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

Karolek followed suit, startled.  ”What, what!?”

“He’s gone!”

They spilled out onto the street, harried and cursing and blaming one another.  People stared as they barreled by.

“You big idiot, he’s gone now!”  Quincy scanned the streets and buildings, her face flushed.

Karolek glared at her, scandalized.  ”How is this my fault!?  You were the one awake, why didn’t you notice he’d left?”

“You shouldn’t have fallen asleep to begin with!  What kind of man are you!?”

“Right.  Like you hadn’t caught a few minutes napping either!”

“Whatever! Just help me look for him!”

Then she was running as fast as she could, everything on fire, the swing of her arms like blades cutting through the wind.  Clearly, the city of Akii wasn’t known for paved streets–in fact, the golden earth was hard and riddled with potholes.  Quincy struggled to keep her vision clear as they tumbled through the growing morning crowd–merchants and buyers out for the early market setup.  It was getting harder when she had to check her path to keep from falling and breaking her ankle.  The rod staff across her back didn’t help with matters either.  She knocked a man in the head with the tip of it, and the blow jerked her back a beat as the strap that held the staff cut into her chest.

The girl stumbled forward again, her eyes turning to gaze at the man in the fez hat apologetically.

“Ih-shun!” she cried.  ”Sorry!”

The man shouted angrily at her, brandishing his fist.

“Gods damnit!”  Karolek grabbed her hand and forced her to run faster.  ”Your Talmas is horrible!  How long did you say you’ve been living in Crysen!?”

“What’d he think I said?  I was trying to apologize,” Quincy panted, her cloak flapping behind her.  With her exhaustion, it was feeling quite heavy.

“You have to put more phlegm into the word next time!  ICH-shun!  Right now, you just called that man an ass fiddle!  It’s one of the gravest insults you can give, and coming from a woman, it’s even worse!  Now we have to run just to keep from being stoned!”

Quincy glanced over her shoulder.  Sure enough, the man and some of his companions were chasing after them, their silk shoes and light clothing making agility seem effortless.  Then the girl slid and tumbled to the ground as Karolek made a sharp turn.  He jerked her up painfully by the arm and she had but a moment to prepare for the flight of stairs they jumped over.  They flew some five feet down, and the shock that hit Quincy’s soles made her cry out, but the man didn’t let her stop.  Behind them, the angry men followed.  They weren’t as weighed down by weapons and heavy clothing as she and Karolek were.

Quincy felt close to tears.  ”I just…wanted…to make things up…to Hakeem!” she wheezed through a tight throat.

Then she had an idea.

“Leggo of my hand!” Quincy shouted, wrenching out of Karolek’s grip.

“What’re you doing!?” he snapped, looking fearfully over his shoulder.  ”I don’t want to have to fight these men!  It could set the whole community on us!  I live in this area, damnit!”

Quincy pushed herself to continue running as she fished for the leather pouch she had tied to her hip.  Holding it before her, she rubbed the bag between her hands.  ”Come on, come on…” she breathed.  Something long and thin grew beneath her ministrations.  The girl quickly loosened the opening and pulled out the item.

Karolek did a double-take, sweat rolling down his face.  ”Is that…a wand?”

“Yes!”

“What’re you going to do, pull a rabbit out of your ass!?”

“Shut up and get back!”  Quincy skidded to a stop and turned to glare at the men that charged after them.  She gripped her wand tightly in her right hand, the long smooth piece of wood barely weighing a thing.  The one in the fez hat led his five companions, men dressed similarly, possibly members of a guild.  He pointed at her angrily, shouting something in Talmas.  Gripped in his other hand was a large rock.

Quincy pointed the wand at him and said loudly, “Exorior Gerbillinae!!”

The Talmorian men flinched back as she shouted this, their eyes bugging.  Clouds of dust rose about their feet as they skittered to a full stop.  Everyone stopped, waiting for something to happen.

Quincy looked around too, nervous.  She had wanted to transform the man into a gerbil, but nothing was happening.  Had she used the right words?

Then they heard a sound.  It seemed to rise up in their ears as a crackling and scratching first.  Then they heard the high-pitched squeals.

“Quincy…” Karolek said slowly.  He looked at her with his eyes, knees bent and his hands held out.  ”What in the nine hells did you do?”

“I…uh…” she pointed at the man in the fez hat with her wand, who was staring around in confusion still.  ”…turned him into a gerbil?  Or…or…tried to?”

“I don’t think it worked.”

The sound grew louder.  The squeals, the squeaking, the scratching…

Quincy’s face drew long in horror.  She stumbled backward, stepping onto her cloak, and falling onto her rear.  ”I–I think I know how I m-messed it up!” she stammered.

From all around, flooding over the stone and the wood and the dirt, hundreds of little bodies flooded forth, their fur shining in the early morning sunlight.  Their tails were long but furry.  If she hadn’t cast the spell, she would’ve erroneously thought them to be rats.  But they were gerbils.

Exorior Gerbillinae.  Gerbil appear.  Apparently that wasn’t the phrase for transforming someone then…

Karolek cursed and took off running without her.

Quincy scrambled after him, “Hey, wait!”  He didn’t look back.  Quincy stubbed the tip of her boot on an uneven piece of ground and fell to the ground in a nasty crash.  Her left knee scraped the ground painfully.  Her eyes teared up and she screamed at Karolek’s retreating back.  “Damnit, wait for me!”  He still didn’t look back.

Behind her, the men screamed.  She glanced back and saw the little creatures clawing up their legs, the men writhing in pain before they fell over into the growing swarm that followed her.

The girl pushed herself to her feet.  She limped a few steps before she forced her left leg to work–then it was a matter of ignoring the sharp sensations that shot up her thigh from the knee.  With fear’s claw around her heart, she managed to double her pace from before, and within a minute, she outstripped Karolek.

“Woah, hold on, wait up!” His voice cracked as he reached out and tried to grab her.  The girl danced out of his reach.

“Fuck you, mkundu, you were gonna leave me!  We’re through!” she screamed over her shoulder.  She stumbled around the corner, her hip crashing into a fruit stand.  She limped a few steps again, bracing herself on an eroded wall, before she bared her teeth and tumbled clumsily onward.  Russet locks stuck to her sweaty neck, and she spat strands of hair from her mouth.  Down an alley, through a wide street and into another alley.  She didn’t know where she was running to.  She didn’t know this town.  Maybe she shouldn’t have left Karolek behind…?

She glanced behind her.  The gerbils, shockingly, were following her.  More than that, they were keeping pace with her.  She was certain it was because of the magic–gerbils couldn’t fucking run that fast.  Could they?

Then up ahead she saw a man in a cloak opening a heavy wooden door with a key.  The building had no windows that she could see and it was a small one-story.  She sprinted towards him just as he opened the door.  Quincy slid and bumped him inside with her hip, then nearly fell through the door herself.  She kept stepping on her cloak in a panic, but managed to get to her feet again.  Snatching the key off the floor, she turned around, slammed the door shut, then locked it.  Then the girl looked around, drawing out her rod staff.  The building was dark, but she thought she saw hooks and chains and springs hanging from the ceiling.  The two tables in the middle of the room was riddled with unnameable miscellany.  At the back, she thought she saw a messy bed.  There were two windows high up on the right and left, but they were small and closed shut.  She doubted the gerbils could climb up the bare stone walls…right?

“S’cuse me, sir.  Sorry, sorry,” she said quickly, turning her attention to the man she had bumped into.  ”Ich’shun, Ich’shun.  There’s a swarm of rodents on its way here and I needed a place to hide.”

The man on the floor groaned, his head still covered with his hood.

Quincy bit her lip, kneeling.  ”Sir…sir, are you okay?”

Then came the scratching.  The girl froze as the squeals and squeaks grew louder all around, turning into a hissing sound as the gerbils surrounded the building.  She kept on eye on the windows, just in case, but they didn’t seem to reach.  It didn’t seem to stop them from trying, however.  She could hear them clawing up the stone, the sound setting her teeth on edge.

The man before her sat up.

“Wow…you weren’t kidding!”  He pulled the hood back with a steel hand, one that hissed out steam at the wrist.

Quincy did a double-take.

Kollin Endrick Montbrai pulled the goggles off his eyes and blinked at her, white as a sheet.  When he spoke, all she could smell was beer. “Thanks, kid!  I can’t stand rodents…Say, what’s your name?”

The girl blinked, and stared at him.

Then she struck him across the face with her rod staff as hard as she could, little sparks of lightning flying into the air.  The man’s head snapped to the side from the blow, and his eyes rolled into his head.  He fell back, limp.  His cheek sported a mild burn.  Quincy brushed back her hair and smiled, eyes filled with wonder.

“Wow…that was easy!” she giggled excitedly.

———————–

The girl spent the rest of the day waiting out the gerbil swarm.  She considered using her wand to make them vanish, but she was afraid she’d get the wording wrong again.  Quincy hadn’t trained much in linguistic prescriptivism–figured it had nothing to do with the magic items she wanted to use.  She made a mental note to correct this in the future.

By the time the gerbils were gone it was already the afternoon.  Quincy found some bread in Kollin’s cupboard and ate it quickly.  Then she took out her magic pouch and put in other food–some jerky, a cheese wheel, some fruit.  They all vanished without the pouch becoming full once.  Next, she rifled through the assortment of items on the tables.  There were gloves that gave off static energy, blades that were stained red, an assortment of bottles likely filled with illegal potions, and–

Quincy plucked up a small white box, frowning at it.  It was the only package on the table, and seemed unusually “prepared”.  Was it an item for a customer?  The girl opened the box cautiously, peering inside.  She raised an eyebrow.  Sitting in the box was small reflective orb with a slip of paper.  The teenager pulled the paper out carefully, not wanting to touch the orb–she didn’t know what the item did.  Opening the slip with one hand, she squinted at the scrawled message.

“Brom.  This is the Orb of Ilkmar.  I nicked it off this elf I drank under the table down in Gulley.  I’m scared.  I think he was just a delivery boy for someone powerful, and now I have this heat down my neck.  I want you to take it and keep it somewhere safe.  This thing is rare.  It helps you remember stuff you’ve forgotten, helps you find what was lost, and brings you to whatever it is that you desired.  If you’re in a bind and have NO CHOICE, then say these words when holding the orb, ‘I see, so you see.  I hear, so you hear.  I know, so you know.  Illuminate this for the eyes of the blind.  Reveal what is hidden, bring forth what is desired.’”

Quincy’s heart hammered.  Her azure eyes flickered back to the orb, and she saw her face reflected back at her, smiling slowly.

———————

She kept her head down as she pushed the wheelbarrow through Akii.  It had taken her nearly an hour to clear the wheelbarrow of spare parts and to load Kollin’s limp body into it.  For good measure, she wrestled a chain around him too, and (as per the wanted poster’s suggestion) used a pair of rubber gloves she’d found to do it.  As she tied him up, she found he had five flasks of acid, a bottle of beer, a flask of oil, half a bottle of ether, and atleast six different knives hidden beneath his cloak.  Exhaustion bit at her, even as her preparations were done.  She was approaching 24 hours with hardly any sleep, and all the adrenaline was gone.  The girl forced herself to keep going.  With Kollin covered by a thick tarp, and the hood of her cloak pulled up, Quincy left the little impromptu home and tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

All around her, people were dealing with the damage wrought by the rabid gerbil swarm.  Many sported cuts and gashes, little chunks missing from faces old and young alike.  Quincy felt her heart twist in guilt as she passed one little boy, who was still screaming from the pain and trauma.  His dusty face was streaked with tears and blood, a piece of his ear missing, and scratches all over his face.  He was the worst she had seen, however–most of the damage seemed superficial.  Still, his one face was enough to haunt her the rest of the way.

She paused only to buy water and get directions.  She wanted to keep moving, lest Karolek see her.  She was certain the man still thought the alchemist was in Akii, and that suited her fine.  She’d done most of the work anyway.

As it turned out, Gulley was almost five miles away.  Though the wheelbarrow was a necessity, it also slowed her walking rate down by half.  If she stopped frequently, she’d be there in two hours.  Ideally.  That, of course, didn’t take into account the terrain.

Sweat stung her vision as Quincy fought to conquer thick plant growth and hard, clay-like earth.  Kollin awoke, not even an hour after she had left Akii.

He banged his head against the bed of the wheelbarrow, screaming.  ”Aah!  Aargh, you bitch, lemme go!”

“Shut up!” She snapped, panting as she powered the wheelbarrow over a rock that had been blocking her for a full minute.

“Don’t do this!” Kollin begged, squirming out from under the tarp.  He squinted up at her, his scruffy face covered in grime and dirt.  ”Please, you don’t understand what you’re doin!”  He tried to inch off the wheelbarrow, grunting.

Quincy set the wheelbarrow down, and ran around to the other side.  She kicked the man back on.  ”Bastard.  Stop it!  I’m taking you in and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

Kollin yelled and curled away from her.  She could see his left arm straining against the chain.

“That won’t work,” she said, going back to take the wheelbarrow’s handles.  She resumed pushing forward.  ”I don’t care how strong that claw makes you.  You haven’t got the leverage to break out of chain.”

The man ceased his struggles, panting.  The tarp had fallen off of him, and he stared up at the afternoon sky, tears streaking from the corners of his eyes.  Quincy faltered as she saw this, her brows pressing together.

“C’mon, kid,” he said, his voice thick.  Kollin looked at her pleadingly.  ”C’mon–Jes’ lemme go.  You don’t know what those men’ll do to me.  They won’t just kill me, they’ll make me suffer!”

Quincy squeezed her eyes shut and tried to push the wheelbarrow up a hill.  ”I’m not listening!”

Her foot slipped on the sand and she squealed, nearly losing her footing entirely.

“Fuck you!” he screamed, spit flying from his mouth.  He thrashed wildly again, his face turning purple.  ”Fuck you, I wish you’d fallen flat on your whore face, you bitch!  I can’t believe you’d do this!  You’re just a stupid kid, how can you be so cruel!?”

“I said be quiet!!” Quincy screamed, grunting as she tried to crest the hill.  But her arms were shaking, and her feet kept sliding on the dirt.  Finally, she gave up and let the wheelbarrow roll back slowly.  It was almost as tiring keeping the thing from running her over.  With a heavy sigh, she set it down with a bang and sat on the ground.

“I have to do this!  I have no choice!“  Her eyes teared up.  “I wish Taika were here…” she mumbled next, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Bitch…” Kollin said again, but his voice sounded as tired as hers.

Neither said a word for nearly fifteen minutes.  Then Quincy turned her head, wiping her face dry.

“Hey…who’s Brom?”  She would’ve been content with sitting in silence, but the question had been niggling at her since she’d left Akii.

The wheelbarrow shuddered as Kollin twisted around in it.  “How do you know that name?” his voice had an edge she hadn’t heard before.

She decided to play coy.  “A little birdie told me.”

“Were you going through my stuff?!”

“I wouldn’t be a good bounty hunter if I didn’t, now would I?”

“Have you got the orb?”

Quincy bit her lip and shrugged, even though the man couldn’t see this.  “No,” she lied.  “I left it there, along with all of your other stuff.  Your note was addressed to someone named ‘Brom’.  Who’s that?”

To her frustration, Kollin ignored her question again.  “You know the Orb of Ilkmar can lead you to whatever it is you truly want, right?  Just take it and let me go!  If you return me, they’ll torture me until they get the orb back!  It won’t even matter if I tell them!  That’s what this whole thing’s really about!”

The teenager got on her knees and twisted around to stare dryly at Kollin.  “So this is all just about the orb?  Meaning you didn’t poison Gulley’s water supply?”

The man actually blushed.  He swiped at his ear with his shoulder and stared at the bed of the wheelbarrow.  “When you’ve had two bottles of whiskey, inhaled clouds of witch smoke, and took a sip of ether, those things jes’ tend to happen…”

“I bet.  I’m surprised your list of charges weren’t longer.”

“So will you take the orb and let me free?”

“Why?” Quincy returned, drumming her fingers on the edge of the handle.  “So that I can have the state of Gulley coming down on my head?  No thanks, I’ve seen enough vengeance seekers in my lifetime,”

“Yeah, I guess a bitch like you’d piss a ton of people off,” Kollin muttered sullenly.

“It wasn’t my fault,” the girl said coldly.  “It was my father’s.”

Kollin glanced at her sideways.  “…That so?”

“Yeah.  That’s so.”  Quincy sat down again.  She leaned back against the wheelbarrow.  “Who’s Brom?” she asked again.

“…Brom’s my son.”

“What!?” the teenager sat forward some, her ear cocked to the side.  “You’ve got a son?  How old is he?”

“Fifteen now.”

“Gods, you barely look older than twenty-five!  How can that be?”

“An’ how old’re you?” Kollin returned hotly.  “I’m not that young.  I know I’m a fuck up, but I’ve been around.  You think I don’t know what ‘taika’ means?  How’s a kid like you married?  Was it arranged or somethin’?”

Quincy’s brow furrowed and her fists bunched in her lap.  “We were in love,” Then she corrected herself hurriedly.  “Are in love!”

Kollin let loose a sardonic chuckle.  “Uh-huh.  Yeah.  Well, so was I!”  He sighed heavily.  “An’ Brom was the only thing good that came out of it.”

“I bet you’re a lousy father,” the girl snapped, suddenly feeling angry.  She felt emotionally exposed somehow, and this set her on edge.  “Your choices will haunt your child for the rest of his life!”  She glared at the ground.  “I know from experience…”

“Whatever, kid.”

Silence followed.  Quincy spent another five minutes, taking a moment to have a snack from her magic pouch, before pressing onward.  Kollin struggled more, but there was less exchange between them.  The man seemed to writhe simply on principle, as though to illustrate his desire to be free.  Quincy watched him as he did this, thinking of his son, Brom.  She tried to imagine what the son would look like.  Probably like his father–and the boy probably wished he’d taken after his mother.  Quincy often found herself feeling the same way when looking into the mirror.  She thought of all the times Kollin must’ve failed to do his part, too busy running illegal deals and getting high off of his own concoctions.  The father had likely arranged a meet up with the boy, to give him the orb.  Would Brom show up at Kollin’s place tonight, only to find his father had disappointed him again?

Quincy disliked thinking of herself as somehow the reason for this.  Kollin’s life unfolded as he saw fit to shape it.  It wasn’t her problem if the man was going to be tortured over stealing the Orb of Ilkmar, or if he’d possibly never see his son again.

But the man’s face displayed an animal sort of desperation–an undying need to fight and struggle despite his hopeless situation.  Quincy watched with morbid fascination as the man kicked and strained against his chains to the point that the metal cut at his skin, making him bleed and bruise.

Eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore.

The girl stopped and produced her wand from her magic pouch.  She then went around to the end of the wheelbarrow where Kollin glared daggers at her.  The setting suns scorched the savannah in a warm glow as evening approached.

Quincy pointed the wand at Kollin.  “Stop doing that, now.” She swallowed the lump in her throat and willed her eyes to stay dry.  “Stop struggling, you’re hurting yourself!”

“Fuck you,” Kollin muttered, setting his head back against the wheelbarrow bed.

The girl bared her teeth, giving her wand a vicious shake.  This got the man’s attention, and his head shot up as he gazed at her in alarm.  “Hey, don’t go waving that thing at me!”

“This thing is the Wand of Beasts.  I’ll turn you into a turtle and carry you back to Akii under my arm if I have to!  You won’t struggle so much then!”

“Hey, hey! Come on, don’t play around!” Kollin looked panicked now.

Quincy squinted at her wand.  “You know, I wonder what I’d have to say to make that work.  Last time, I conjured up a gerbil swarm by accident.”

“That was you!?”

The girl blushed and pointed the wand at the sky as she placed her other hand at her hip. “Look, I didn’t train with this thing that much, okay?”

“What kind of shitty wizard are you?”

“One that gets her power phrases mixed up!” A faraway voice shouted.  Karolek’s voice.

Quincy paled, looking up.

The man was not far off, and speeding ever closer.  He tossed away a sandy-colored blanket, which he seemed to adorn with grass to make his camouflage better.  But what marveled Quincy was the object he was riding.

Karolek was standing on a round rectangular piece of metal, only a little longer than his arm.  It wasn’t hovering over the ground, but still sliding over it, propelled by some force she couldn’t see.  Quincy didn’t specialize in sorcery, but her interest in magic was enough that she had read about it.  Sorcerers could achieve something that, by appearance, was similar to gravitational magic, but still inherently different.  Sorcerers were masters of physical nature, and they interacted with these elements through their animus, which acted like a pair of ghostly hands that shaped the materials in question.  It didn’t matter if Karolek had been following this whole time, or if he’d just caught up.  With his camouflage blanket, he could have manipulated the metal ingots on his belt to make the board he rode, and thus, silently slide along the savannah as though he were gliding over air.  The metal was quiet and so was the power he used to push it forward.

And now the man was going to use this power against her.

Karolek jumped off the board some twenty feet away just as Quincy drew her lightning rod with her free hand.  The sorcerer drew his saber and pointed at her, his expression livid.

“I’m taking Kollin back!” he shouted.

“I did all the work!” Quincy shouted back, brandishing her wand.  Both Kollin and Karolek ducked as they wand tip turned their way.  “I even pushed this idiot all the way out here alone!  You can’t take him!”

Karolek spat on the ground, and behind him, the metal board lifted into the air.  It broke into two halves, then morphed into crude looking hammers.  The young twenty-something may have needed work on the finer details of elemental mastery, but the hammers still looked quite capable of caving her head in.

Quincy cursed and tucked her wand in her belt.  She placed herself before the wheelbarrow.  “Karolek, let’s not do this!”  But beneath her determined voice she was clenching in terror.  She’d never been in a magical fight before.

“This was going to come one way or another, Quincy!” Karolek barked.  “I was going to bail on you in the end anyway!  Atleast I can say it wasn’t my fault this time!”

The girl stomped her foot, her face turning red. “Bastard!  You didn’t contribute to this catch at all!”

Karolek charged forward, his saber drawn back.  “Who was the one who knew where Kollin was!?”

Quincy tensed and pointed her rod.  She willed lightning to shoot forth, and as quickly as the thought entered her mind, the rod staff shuddered, crackling briefly with tendrils of energy.  But Karolek anticipated her attack when she brought her arm up, and had one of his hammers drift before him.  The hammer caught the lightning, effectively absorbing it.

The man had never broken stride.  He tensed his arms, prepared to swing, and the hammer that had caught her lightning bolt rose in the sky, the heavy blunt end tilted back like a hand were holding it as well.  Quincy instinctively struck the ground with her rod, and a small explosion of lightning and energy shot forth, covering the area around her.  Karolek slid to a messy stop, but his other hammer, which had hovered dutifully behind him, shot forward like a bullet.

Quincy heard the hammer from above whistle down as well…but she was ready.

The girl thrust the rod toward the sky, yelling from her gut.  All around her, the remnant energy from the lightning surged and hummed around her.  She felt the all her hair stand on end as a faintly glowing field of magnetic energy formed around her in less than a second.  The two hammers struck the field, and they groaned, straining against it as Karolek tried to push his way through.  Quincy growled, jerked the tip of her rod to the side.  Both hammers were sent smashing into the ground as the magnetic force redirected them.

Quincy unclasped her cloak, her face drawn tight as she set her eyes on Karolek, who rose to his feet again.

Off behind them, Kollin squealed.  “Hey, hey, hey! Shit, wheel me away first before you go at it like that!!”

The girl ignored him, charging toward Karolek as the man brought about his saber and roared at her.  She feinted with one end of her rod staff, towards the sorcerer’s head.  He moved to block the high attack with his blade, but left his chest exposed, and here, Quincy shifted and struck with the other end of the staff.  She caught him hard in the ribs and a blast of electricity shot forth, entering his body and scorching his clothes.

Karolek let out a strangled scream, stumbling backwards as he tried to keep his convulsing limbs in his control.  His face turned a deep crimson, and veins bulged all over his neck, arms, and face.  Then he keeled over and fell still.

Quincy hesitated, her eyes widening.  Did she put too much into the strike?  She didn’t want to kill the man, much as she disliked him…

“Karolek?” she tried tentatively when he didn’t move for a full minute.

The man let out a wheeze.  “That…hurt…” he panted.  His breathing sounded labored.  His limbs were arranged in an unnatural manner, like he were a doll on the floor.

Behind her, Quincy heard Kollin shifting and grunting around in the wheelbarrow again, but she didn’t turn to look.  She stepped toward Karolek with a wrinkled brow.  “Hey you big idiot, stand up!” her voice was shrill.

“I can’t!” he snapped his arms twitching into movement.  He clutched at the tufts of grass near him and pulled himself over so that he didn’t stare up at the sky anymore.  He looked at his body in a sort of numb shock.  “My…my legs aren’t working,” he mumbled.

“What do you mean!?”

“I mean your lightning attack went through to my gods damned spine, and now my legs aren’t working!”  He pulled at his hip, turning the rest of his body over.

“…You really can’t stand?” The girl’s hand reached up to brush back her hair, but her hand was shocked and she winced, shaking it out.

“No!  I can’t!”  The man twisted around to stare at his legs.  He sounded on the verge of hysterics.  “Gods, what if I’m like this for the rest of my life!?”

Quincy’s eyes bugged.  Now she felt on the verge of hysterics herself.  “It’s…It’s just the magic.  If it were a real paralysis, a real spinal injury, you’d have passed out or something.  I’m certain you’ll recover!”

“Oh yeah.  Sure.”

The girl froze at the unexpected voice.  It was right behind her.  Slowly she turned around.

Kollin smirked at her, his chains in his human hand, his steel claw drawn back in a fist.  It seems he’d finally gained that leverage he needed.  “And I’m sure you’ll recover too!”

Then he punched her with his metal fist, and everything went black.

———————-

When Quincy woke, she was tied up in chains.  She felt a body against her back and twisted around.  It seemed not much time had passed, because the suns were still over the horizon, though that was to change within the hour it seemed.

“Karolek?” Quincy called softly over her shoulder.

“What?” the man grunted, shifting behind her.

“Oh.”  She sighed and hung her head.  “I just wanted to see if you were awake.”

“Yeah.  I’m still awake.  Still paralyzed too, y’know.”

“You sound pretty cavalier about it.”

“Oh that’s just to stave off the rage and panic inside.”

The woman sighed heavily.  “Please don’t start raging or panicking.  My body’s sore from pushing that wheelbarrow.”

“I’ll be sure to stay still then.  I mean, that ought to be easy considering I can’t move anything from my chest down.”

Quincy let out a sound of frustration, kicking at the sand.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry it was an accident already!”  Then she thrashed backward harshly.  “But you know what?  You brought it on yourself!  You tried to smash my head in with those hammers!”

Karolek threw his head back, catching her in the back of her skull.  “I wasn’t going to actually do it!  I just wanted Kollin back!”

Quincy cried out, curling forward.  “That hurt!” she whined.

“Don’t fucking complain to me!  I’m the one whose legs won’t move!  I might never get it up again!”

“I’m certain your boyfriends will be crushed…” Quincy muttered.

Karolek threw his head back again, this time harder.  Quincy turned livid and tried to twist around.  “Mkundu!  I’m going to gnaw your face off, I don’t care if you’re gimpy!”

“Crazy bitch!  Stay away from me!”

Then without warning, Karolek fell out from behind her, and Quincy teetered off to the side.  She blinked, feeling around with her hands behind her back.  The man wasn’t near her.  “…Karolek, we weren’t tied together?”

“Of course not!  Kollin just used strips of your cloak to bind my wrists.  I’d say he was considerate for propping me up against you since I can’t sit up on my own, but now I’m thinking that was just sadism on his part.”

Quincy rolled to her side so that she was facing Karolek.  The man had fallen over and was now facing away from her.

When she spoke next, it was in extreme exasperation.  “Dummy!  You’re a metal sorcerer.  He put chains on me.  Use your power to get them off!”

Karolek didn’t say anything for a moment.  Then he twisted his head around to look at her.  “Oh yeah.”

The chains shuddered around her.  This startled Quincy, who imagined them tightening, or turning into blades…but sure enough, the links came apart and quietly fell away from her as though they were a blanket pushed back with gentle hands.

Quincy sat up, rubbing her wrists.  She glanced down quickly at her hip and saw that her wand was still there, as was her sword and magic pouch.  At the sight of the last two items, she sighed in relief.  Then she gazed at Karolek.  She could leave him out here, in the savannah.  Gulley was just a mile away, after all…

Only the girl truly felt guilty for his predicament.  It was one thing to leave the big oaf when chased by a swarm of gerbils–he was capable of taking care of himself then.  But now he was completely vulnerable, and there were animals and monsters that would take advantage of his misfortune.  The girl stood, dusting off her pants.

The man glared at her warily.

Quincy leaned down and took him gently by the shoulders.  With a grunt, she sat him up.  “C’mon.  Let’s get you onto the wheelbarrow…”

HAKEEM_________________________

The teenager was beyond exhausted.  He’d walked ceaselessly from Crysen across the open plains and had been stopped by a rukh–a giant winged monster, similar to an eagle, with pure white plumage that reflected the glare of the suns and a reptilian head.  The fight against it had taken a while.  Everytime Hakeem attacked using the power of his magic armor, the bird would fly away again, circling around for another strike.  Eventually he was able to convince the monster that he was too troublesome to be prey, and it flew away.  He was left exhausted from his efforts and so his pace slowed.  Oddly enough, he was paused again by a swarm of gerbils, foaming at the mouths, but the man waited out their passing with a few deterring blasts and a gravitational shield.

“What in the nine hells…” he muttered as the last of the little creatures scurried away.

He walked on and on until Gulley was within his sight.

But as he picked up his pace, he thought he saw lightning flares, off to the north of the city.  Hakeem stopped and frowned, then slowly redirected his path to head to that location.

It wasn’t long before he saw a man approaching him in a jog.

The man had a long face, rounded cheeks, and thick mutton chops.  A pair of goggles dangled from around his neck, and his left hand was wrapped in a familiar dark cloth…

“Hail!” Hakeem called, holding up his hand.

Kollin Endrick Montbrai stopped and looked up from the ground, his eyes wide and spooked.

The two men stared at each other.  Hakeem started to lower his hand.

That was when Kollin took off running.

Throwing his bag on the ground, Hakeem gave chase.

QUINCY____________________________

She sighed as they entered the city.  She wouldn’t have made it pushing Karolek in herself, but the sorcerer proved that he was capable of some ingenuity.  Using his sorcery, he covered the wheels of the wheelbarrow with his metal so that all Quincy had to do was keep it from tipping forward while he rotated the wheels.

“Okay…” she said, guiding the wheelbarrow to the side of the road, where she sat on a low wall.  Gulley, unlike Akii, was turning quiet with the aging night.  She appreciated the calm that surrounded them.  “Where do you want me to take you?  A healer?  To Marshal Fuller to explain what happened?  Maybe we’ll get compensated for providing information…”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” Karolek said, shrugging morosely.  His saber was laid across his lap, like a broken toy.

Quincy nodded and stood again, taking the wheelbarrow’s handles.  “Okay.  Then afterward, I’ll take you to a healer.  I’m certain they’ll be able to–”

“Just forget it,” Karolek interjected.

The girl scowled down at the top of his head as they moved over the brick road.  “Look, I’m trying to help you.”

The man leaned his head back and sneered up at her.  “And that’s what I don’t get!  Supposedly, you hated me because you thought I was a nosy, talkative fool, then you hate me because I tried to save my own skin after you call up that wave of rodents–”

“–You forgot ‘dimwitted creep’ among your list of adjectives–”

“–Then you really hate me because I tried to take back Kollin–”

“–You had no right to him to begin with–”

“–And now…now you’re HELPING me after you could’ve finally been rid of me!  You make no sense, wizard!”

Quincy stopped and glared at the man with narrowed eyes.  “Karolek…regardless of what I think…you are an asshole,”

“Your kindness still strikes me with awe.  By the way, that makes no sense.  Opinion isn’t fact–”

“But whilst I may be inclined toward awkward fits of rage, I am not a complete bitch.”

Karolek blinked up at her.  Then he grinned and pointed up at her.  “You just called yourself awkward.”

Quincy took her elbow and dug it into his scalp, stopping only when she ran out of insults to rain down on the sorcerer.

They reached the marshal’s building.  Luckily, the entrance was a double door, so they were able to push Karolek in.  As they entered the torchlit room, they were both met with a surprising sight.

Kollin was being dragged off through a doorway to the left, his body limp as though he were unconscious.  Quincy could see jail cells before the sight was closed away from her.  A man dressed in an official-looking uniform–set with a black cape, black gloves, and black polished boots–was shaking the hand of–

“Taika!” Quincy exclaimed, dropping the wheelbarrow with a bang.

Karolek glared at her resentfully.

Hakeem turned to look at her, his brows rising high just as the man before him held up a filled coin bag.

“Quincy.”  He looked down at Karolek, and his expression turned dark.  The sorcerer held up his hands, grinning uncertainly.  “So it was you…” the boy seethed, stepping forward.

The girl hurried forward, “Wait, wait!” She stopped the teenager, grabbing him by the shoulders.  “I would’ve gone with or without Karolek.  I was desperate for the gold!”

“That doesn’t excuse what you did!” Hakeem snapped, brushing her hands away.

The official behind them cleared his throat.  “I’m sorry to interrupt…but…your gold?”

Hakeem turned around, “Sorry marshal.  Thank you, sir.”  He took the gold and returned to glaring at Quincy.

Quincy looked down at the ground. “Um…” she took a lock of her hair and rolled it between her fingers, turning her gaze to the ceiling next.  “So…I softened Kollin up for you!”  She smiled nervously and gestured at Karolek.  “And look!  I brought you a pet sorcerer!”

“Leave me out of it,” Karolek barked. “I’m already paralyzed, for gods sakes…I don’t need anymore injuries.”

Hakeem pointed a finger at her.  His entire body was bunched.  “Mweze–”

She quailed as his voice broke off.  “Yes?

The boy seemed to struggle with what to say next.  Quincy watched him anxiously.  Any other time, and she would’ve been in his face, arguing her case.  But this time, she was aware, that perhaps she had crossed a line.

Hakeem let out a rush of air and gazed at her tiredly.  “Don’t…do this to me again.  I was worried.”

Quincy nodded emphatically, hugging him around the neck.  “Samahani…” she whispered into his ear.  Sorry…

Then the girl sought his lips, and at first she was shy and careful, but his receptiveness bred bravery in her heart, and Quincy clutched at her husband hungrily.  She was sorry, and she wanted to show him just how much…

There was a loud ‘harumph’ behind them.  The girl pulled away, hissing in irritation.

“This all would be very stimulating, if only I weren’t experiencing bodily difficulties,” Karolek griped.

Hakeem and Quincy stared down at him.

The boy looked at her, frowning suspiciously.  “You’re the reason he’s stuck there aren’t you?”

Quincy rolled her eyes shut.  “Well…”

“And the swarm of gerbils that passed me by on the way here?”

“Gods, you saw that?”

A sigh.  “Mweze, is there anything else that you did?”

“Um…nothing like the dragon incident.  Or…or the rukh breeding.  Or the possessed broom.”

“But there’s something else,” Hakeem deadpanned.

Quincy bit her lip and looked at him tentatively with one eye.  “It isn’t really that simple.”

The teenage boy covered his face with his hand.  “Tai’undu!  When is it ever with you?”

————————————

The girl promised to explain once they were safely home.  But first there was the matter of Karolek.  As promised, she took the man to a healer, and there they were assured that the sorcerer was indeed just suffering lingering magical effects.  He would be walking within a few days, with all of his…functions…returned.  In an attempt to ease her guilt, Quincy gave the man fifty gold, much to the protest of Hakeem, but the girl was able to reason that Karolek had earned atleast that much.  Then they started back home.

Once back at Crysen, their talk was further postponed when Quincy faced an immediate summons from her master.  Master Saerth had heard of some of the ordeal through one of his sessions of divinations.  He was pleased that Quincy had figured out a way to pay her landlord, but he ordered her to, “Fix the gods damned gerbil problem.  Immediately,” as punishment for her brash actions.  She was also forbidden from using her Wand of Beasts again…Ever.  Or atleast until he could train her to use the item properly.

Finally, when the landlord was paid and all other matters settled, Quincy and Hakeem sat in their home and talked.  She told her husband everything.  From the gerbils, to the talk with Kollin, to the fight with Karolek.  She took her time however in mentioning…

“The Orb of Ilkmar.”

“The what?”

“Here, look.”

Quincy took out her pouch and rubbed the sides quickly.  A round object grew between her palms, and she squeezed out the reflective orb, handing it to Hakeem so that he could see.

“The alchemist pinched it off of an elven courier,” She explained.  “I think it was meant for that Lord of Santos the wanted poster mentioned.  Kollin seemed to think it was the real reason he had a bounty on his head, anyway.”

“So now you have it?” Hakeem said, staring at her.  “Do you realize how much trouble this could bring us if they find out we have it?”

Quincy plucked the orb from his hands.  “But they won’t find out.  When they’re interrogating Kollin,” You mean torturing, a voice in her head corrected.  She tried to ignore it.  “He won’t know what really happened to it.  It was in my pouch the whole time, and Kollin must’ve thought the pouch was empty.  He’ll think I left it at his place back in Akii!”

Hakeem frowned at her.  “How does it work…?” he said cautiously.

“Don’t look so scared!  You act as though I’m going to blow something up!” She said crossly.

“That’s because you’ve done that before…”

“Anyway,” she kissed the orb and smiled at it.  “It’s pretty simple.  All you have to do is say these words:  ‘I see, so you see.  I hear, so you hear.  I know, so you know.  Illuminate this for the eyes of the blind.  Reveal what is hidden, bring forth what is desired.’”

The orb flashed in her hands, filling the entire room with white light.  Both she and Hakeem jumped to their feet, chairs knocking back onto the floor.

Then the light was gone as quick as it had come, and both stared at each other.  Hakeem turned his head slowly.  “I just remembered…a bunch of things…”  he touched his head, then frowned at Quincy.  “Are you okay?”

Quincy was staring at her wrists, at the purple veins that could be seen through the creamy skin.  She looked up and smiled shakily.  “I’m fine.  That’s what the Orb of Ilkmar does.  If you’ve forgotten something, it’ll help you remember.  If you’re looking for something, you’ll find it.  If you’re trying to figure something out, it’ll bring you…to the…answer…” her voice trailed off and she stared down at the ground.

Hakeem touched her shoulder.  “Mweze?”

She looked up.  Then stepped into his embrace.  “Taika…let’s go to bed…”

Quincy hated it when Hakeem was mad at her, but she had to admit–make-up sex was incredible.  They weren’t through until morning, and then and only then, did Hakeem fall asleep next to her.  The girl kissed his cheek, one hand on her chest where she could feel his heartbeat.

Without a sound, she slipped out from beneath the covers, the cool air caressing her naked body in a way that made her shiver.  Quietly, she tip-toed across the floor to the cabinet where she took out a cooking knife.  Then she crept to the far corner to the right of the door, where leaning against the wall was her sword.  She knelt before it and took out the blade.

The rusted metal felt rough against her fingertips, but she knew the blade was too dull to cut effectively into her skin, so with bared teeth, she pressed the tip of the cooking knife into her palm and dug in.  Blood pooled in her hand and trickled down her wrist.  Carefully, the girl trickled this onto her sword.

At first nothing happened, and Quincy sighed.

Then she felt the blade glow warm, and the girl let out a small gasp.

Her blade started to glow through the rust with a soft golden light, highlighting Quincy’s features from below.  The girl trembled and held the blade up to her face.  It pulsed like a heartbeat in her hands…

…And a grim smile spread across the brunette’s face.

Back to Chapter 18.3 | Forward to The Performers

1. ‘Dull Life’ by Yeah Yeah Yeahs, from the album ‘It’s Blitz!’. DGC/Interscope, 2009.

They didn’t try for conversation, which was fine, because the woman didn’t feel like talking.  Graziano and Paulo stuck to their side of camp, resting from the day’s events it seemed, while Hakeem and Quincy sat against the rock.  Argos was sitting, staring toward the tower, his head on his paws.  The woman watched the embers float to the dark sky–starless with the cloud cover.  One of the scultones sighed and the woman was fit to agree with it.  Earlier, the question was raised if someone needed to stand watch for trouble.  The blonde pointed out that she had already taken care of any oncoming threats, and when the others came with Syria, all they’d have to do was follow the main path to discover their camp again.

“My suggestion is to stay near the fire and be ready to move,” the woman said.

Then she thought of something.

Quincy drew up her magic bag, and Hakeem glanced at her.

“You need something?” he asked with a mild voice.

Quincy started to rub the sides of the bag, her gaze narrowed.  ”I want to check the Divinare Cube.  Sadly, I used my last angel tear at Belcliff.  I think it’d be better suited to this situation.”

“It’s unlikely the cube will tell you anything you wouldn’t already expect.”  Hakeem inspected his armor, which he had decided to keep activated in case of trouble.  He wiped a snowflake off his shoulder.

Quincy shrugged.  ”Perhaps you’re right, but I still want to check.”

When she felt points poking her skin, she opened the bag and let a small black stone cube fall into her waiting hand.  The woman took one corner of the cube and pushed at it with her thumb.  The little pyramid that had been the corner swiveled out, as though on a hinge.  Just as she had outside of Tiesmire, the woman turned and twisted the cube until it began to shift on its own.  Quincy favored its clear readings and broad divination.  There was an angry scorpion demigod on the Indaban continent that would’ve liked to have it back…but it had been worth the trouble for the amazing little cube.

Graziano and Paulo sat forward, watching with curiosity as much as apprehension.

“Oye, what’re you doing?” Graziano asked, his handsome face pulled into a frown.

Quincy glanced up at him.  ”I’m checking the spiritual state of our environment.  I’ve heard Holzoff’s is drenched with unhappy souls.  They can tamper with our magic.”

Graziano squinted his eyes, as though he wasn’t sure he could trust her answer.  Then he sat back with a grumble.  Something about a “bruja maldita”.  She had been lying, of course.  For all she knew there was no oncoming threat–or atleast nothing they couldn’t easily handle, so the lie could be innocuous, but still–

The cube stopped its assembly.  It had changed to form a short straight line with a wide triangle jutting to the right.

Quincy clenched her teeth, her eyes searing.

Thurisaz.  The Thorn.  It meant danger.  It meant betrayal.  It meant destructive forces, spiritual possession, and two clear paths to take–retreat or attack.

The wizard wasn’t going to turn back now.

She looked at her husband, and whispered,  ”Hakeem, we need to move away from camp and position ourselves in a way that we can see the others when they come.”

Hakeem frowned at her.  ”What did you see?”

The woman held up the magic stone.  ”Thurisaz.  If the others manage to return with Syria, I think something bad will happen.”

“Should we tell Graziano and Paulo?”

“Better to keep quiet.  If there’s too much suspicion, then things could end prematurely–and not in our favor. I can only guess that the enchantress is the source of the trouble, so I want to be prepared.  She can feel our emotions and thoughts if we’re in sight, but not if we’re out of sight.  Let the Morettis lull her into a sense of security.  We won’t be able to hide completely, she’ll still be able to sense our presence, but she won’t be able to use her enchantment to harm us, and then we can spring in at the most opportune moment.”

“This could be risky for Paulo.  Are you really okay with just…putting him out there like that?  We’ve known the Morettis for years.” Hakeem gazed at her hard.

The woman looks at him, annoyed.  What was this hesitance all of a sudden?  ”They aren’t our friends.”

“Neither are Karolek or Jetswick, yet I know you wouldn’t let them risk coming to harm this way.” Hakeem managed to sound bitter.

Quincy blinked at him.  Then she sat back and sighed in exasperation.  ”We can move fast.  Plus, I have some tricks to use in case trouble stirs before we can intervene.”  She stroked the side of the stone’s face, and it shuddered before shifting back into a normal cube.  She dropped it into her bag and it vanished into nothing.

She stood and held out her hand for him.  ”Let’s go.”

The man gazed up at her for a long time.  Then he took her grip.  When he was on his feet, he leaned in close, his cheek brushing hers.

He spoke low in his Fanaean language, “Mweze, when this is all over, we will talk.”

Quincy glanced at him from the corner of her eyes.  She answered him similarly, “I will speak with you about whatever you’d like for as long as you’d like, bwa-taika…”  She let go of his hand and turned, leaving the camp.  Graziano and Paulo sat up, the elder sparing her a question, but she didn’t answer, and she knew they wouldn’t press the issue.  They knew better.

…Her husband should’ve too.

With her face turned from them all, Quincy’s eyes shone beneath the shadow of her hood.  ”I will speak with you, but that does not mean I will listen.”

ELMIRYN___________________________

This was it.  Did she need answers?  Did she need a spiel laid before her, revealing the motives?

No.  The crimes committed by this woman were too severe.

Elmiryn slashed horizontally at Syria, but she didn’t put all her power into the stroke.  With only the one arm, the woman found her balance was hampered by the snow and her inability to adjust.  She couldn’t control broad power strokes unless she wanted to become unbalanced and open to attack.  But what a surprise!  Syria was quicker than the warrior had expected, leaning back so far, the tip of the blade just managed to graze her beneath the chin.  Her left hand, still swollen at the wrist, came rising up underhand, and Elmiryn had just a moment to brace herself when–

Quincy lanced forward from behind.  Syria let out a hiss, her eyes flickering to the side as though her mind picked up on the intention.  She shifted her body to dodge being impaled and the direction of her left hand was altered.

This change in motion meant everything, for it seemed the world around Elmiryn became muted for a split second, and she felt an immense pressure throughout the front of her body.  In the next second, she was sent flying, in a low arc, backward at high speed.

She tumbled and crashed, everything hurting to the point that thought was lost amidst the desire for release.  She heard herself screaming.  She felt like she had knives in her arms.  The fractured bones were likely stabbing her.  Perhaps the injury had been exacerbated.  Elmiryn finally came to a stop, down slope, face down in the snow.  She couldn’t breath in right away.  Beneath, her left forearm stung angrily, and there was a strong ache at her left shoulder.  Her right shoulder fared no better.  Perhaps the tumble had opened up the stab wound?

What would’ve happen if Syria had been able to hit her dead on, with all her power?  Would the warrior be alive, let alone conscious?

The cold bit her skin.  She wasn’t wearing proper clothing for this sort of climate after all.  She was a Fiamman.  It had never snowed at the kingdom.  She made a note in the future, if there was a future, to invest in heavier winter clothing.  Nyx had known a thing or two about the cold, why the hell hadn’t the girl thought about it?

–Oh right, they were poor. And it was sorta (kinda) her fault.

With bared teeth, Elmiryn made to rise.  Pain, pain, pain. She gagged and coughed, and dark fluid stained the white snow.  Her chest hurt with every breath she took.  Broken rib?  Internal bleeding?  She’d heard of that.  Seen it happen atleast once before–a man under her command dying from the shock of it.  She groped for her sword and found it, down near her leg, but she didn’t have the strength to lift it up.  The woman let herself fall back to the snow and let out a ragged sigh.  She heard the sounds of combat ahead, and felt anxious that she was missing it.  But as she tried to push up with her right arm again, her shoulder screamed at her, and the woman hissed and let herself fall back again.  The warrior still wanted to try and see what was happening, so she struggled to roll onto her back.  There, she craned her head back to try and steal a look.

Elmiryn saw the others, their heads atleast, over the slope.  The battle was furious and broad–covering a wide area so that she found herself cut off from them.  Though she couldn’t see the details of it, there were flashes here and there that told her Syria and Quincy were intensely engaged.  Even if she were well, Elmiryn was certain she’d find it near impossible to join the fray and imagined the others faced a similar problem.  It was all between the wizard and enchantress now.

The warrior was quite far down the slope, as detailed by the messy trail her body had cut into the snow.  The others seemed so far, their faces indefinite to her in the dark night.  She counted out the heads.  One, two, three…she imagined Paulo and Lethia were lying out of sight, still unconscious, but there should’ve been a fourth.  Nyx was missing.

She faded for a moment, wondering about the girl…

Then a cry cut into her thoughts and Elmiryn’s eyes snapped back open and shifted to see a streak of gold flash over the slope. Something tumbled down in a blast of snow to rival her landing.  The person slid to a stop just a little before the warrior.  Quincy.  She grunted and raised herself onto all fours, her eyes immediately turning to gaze up towards the battle.  Her limbs were visibly shaking, and her face was drenched in sweat.  Her hood had fallen back to reveal that her hair looked…luminescent. The others up ahead finally moved to take her place.  One stayed back to watch those unconscious.  The redhead guessed it to be Farrel, judging by the light hair.

Elmiryn turned to the woman, who had closed her eyes and was muttering to herself.  She grinned jauntily.  ”Oh my!  How nice of you to join me wizard.  I was getting a bit lonely.”

The blond opened her eyes turned to regard Elmiryn with a blank face.  Her azure eyes were glowing too.

“Fool.  If you’re done, then keep out of the way,” The wizard said.  Her voice lacked the malice the warrior would’ve expected, but it was strained–like she were pushing a large rock.  Quincy pulled her hood back on and shifted into a crouch, her golden blade gripped in her right hand.  The thing seemed to pulse at Elmiryn’s gaze.  She was waiting for an opportunity to rejoin the battle.

The warrior hissed through breath, trying to keep the spots from clouding her vision and the ice cold feeling from sending her thoughts under.  Sweat soaked her hairline and rolled down her neck. “Come now,” she cried.  ”That’s uncalled for!  Just because I beat you before–”

“You didn’t beat me.”

Such a quick response.  So the wizard was a sore loser…interesting…

“Okay,”  Elmiryn grinned, closing her eyes.  Despite her efforts to remain conscious, she felt so sleepy.  ”But can we be a little nicer to the gimp, huh?  I mean, no hard feelings, right?” she breathed, cradling her arm.  She was certain the splints were out of place now.  Then her eyes snapped back open.  ”And hey isn’t your arm supposed to be broken like mine?”  Elmiryn twisted her head to the side so as to look at Quincy better.

The blond had already looked back to the battle, craning her neck to see what was happening.  ”Never mind that.  You’re attack against Syria was idiotic.  You should know better than to announce yourself,” she said this without a glance.

“What can I say?” Elmiryn snickered.  ”I’ve been a little insane lately.”

“Elmiryn!!”

The woman opened her eyes and turned her head.  Nyx’s shadowed form came tumbling, her breath a trail of fog behind her.  She was coming at them from the north, strafing along the slope, whose shifting made it difficult to run in a straight line.  She grinned as the girl came near.  She had probably gone and jogged a crescent through the snow, to give the battle wide berth.

The girl stumbled next to her, all panicked breath.  ”Gods, Elmiryn, are you okay!?” she cried.  She glanced at Quincy warily, who resumed ignoring them.

Elmiryn winced pulling away.  Then she grinned.  ”Sorry, I got cocky.  But you know, Syria can’t get a grasp on my thoughts, maybe I could–”

Nyx took hold of the woman’s face and shook her head.  Her eyes were clouded with tears.  ”Enough is enough, Elle!  Cajeck, ni aji üle boeneh?  Your left forearm is broken, your left shoulder was just recently dislocated, and you were stabbed by–by–” the girl turned and glared pointedly at Quincy’s back, “By her. Speaking of which, why on earth are you even here!?” she asked the wizard, venom in every word.

Elmiryn pulled at the girl’s front.  ”Nyx, put it out of your mind.  With our run of luck, we can’t be choosy about where help comes from.  You said the same about Farrel, didn’t you?”

“But that was different–”

Quincy turned her head slightly.  ”Therian.  Stay with your friend for now.  Hakeem, Graziano, and I can manage.  The halfling is watching the others, but should one of us fall, you must be prepared to defend them.”

Nyx hissed at her, her teeth bared.  ”Who are you to give orders!?”  But even as she spoke, Quincy was already dashing away.

“It must be exhausting, fighting Syria.  She’s good at mind control.  I bet they have to fight to keep in control of their minds every single second.  Syria told me my thoughts were like smoke.  I bet it’s my curse that makes it hard for her to get a handle on me.  If I could just get in there…But what can I do when I’m like this…?” she muttered.

A sigh.  ”We can’t do it all, Elle.  You’ve already done so much these past few days.”

“I want to see this finished.”  The warrior felt anxiety thrash inside her.  She clenched her jaw and glared skyward.  ”I don’t want to just sit here.”  But even as the warrior said this, she knew and understood that she’d be more of a hinderance than a help.  It bothered her greatly.

“We will see this finished, one way or another,”  Nyx said grimly.  ”Syria is incredibly powerful.  I’ve never even heard of someone capable of using so many different forms of magic, and at such levels!  It’s better that you stay safe.  When I saw Syria hit you with that attack…” The girl’s voice trailed away.  She stroked Elmiryn’s face, her hands shaking.  ”Och tet boenah üle lunam…”

I thought you had died…

Elmiryn gazed up at her somberly.  She had told the girl these things would happen.  There would be danger, there would be struggle…possibly even sacrifice.  The warrior had made it very clear.

But she knew, given her own scares with Nyx, that this made those moments no easier to handle.

The redhead found the girl’s hand and squeezed it.  From her mind, she drew up an Ailuran phrase she had learned from her borrowed memories back at Gamath.  It seemed appropriate here.

“Och oeni…” Elmiryn mumbled.

I’m sorry…

QUINCY____________________________

On the mountain ridge to the right.  They were just close enough to camp to still be able to make out which of the Morettis was which, but not close enough to see the expressions on their faces, or to hear what they spoke of.  Hakeem was crouched, his gauntlet gripping the rock.  They had a decent view of the tower.  Detail was robbed by mist and darkness, but they could still make out the gate at the end of the bridge.  Quincy squinted her eyes as she saw the gate roll up, leaving the tower entrance wide open.

“Hakeem, I think they’re coming,” she said.

Hakeem nodded, his eyes shadowed beneath his furrowed brows.  ”But…what are they doing?”

Quincy shifted higher up the slope she rested on, her hands pulling her up.  She squinted her eyes as she saw the snow and rock surrounding the tower shift, almost as though…

“…It seems the daesce are invading the tower.”  She pointed, “But look there.  There’s a group moving away from it.”  Her voice took on a fascinated note.  ”Those aren’t daesce.  Those are the ones we’re waiting for.  The monsters are ignoring them…”

“They have the enchantress…and she’s killing everyone in the tower,” Hakeem breathed.  His grip tightened around the rock.

Quincy sighed.  ”If she’s that powerful…we’ll be in for quite a fight.”

“I believe you…but your voice suggests something else.”

“When I was in Belcliff, I told you about my findings.  The files suggested two spellcasters were needed for the damage done to the bodies.  Lethia’s hair was found at the site where the bodies were being kept.  If Syria is capable of controlling a mob of daesce, and possibly enchanting an entire tower beforehand, then what’s stopping a person from believing she could control Lethia?”  As she said this, Quincy reached for her leather pouch with one hand.  She pressed it to the rock and began rubbing it.  Within a minute, she felt a round object grow beneath her palm.  The item she pushed out from the pouch was the Orb of Ilkmar.

“Why do you think the woman controlled her?  Maybe the girl went along with everything?”

The wizard shook her head.  ”Even Gaduman of the East was incapable of such broad mind control.  This woman’s power is on a level I’ve never seen before.  Enchantment is one of the Unbound Disciplines, what if Syria discovered new lengths in which to use it?”

Hakeem shook his head.  ”I still don’t see what you’re getting at.  Syria’s an enchantress.  What happened to those bodies were the work of a master sorcerer and magician.  You said it yourself.”

Quincy shook her head.  The mystery was still working itself out in her mind, and she didn’t have that answer yet.

They watched as the group grew closer and closer.  Finally, they arrived, and the Morettis rose to greet them.  …But then something went wrong.  The therian girl had collapsed, and the dog, Argos, had turned on Syria.  Lethia fell to the ground, on her knees.  A newcomer, light-haired and dressed in guard’s armor, stepped away from Syria, visibly appalled.  He was shouting.  Quincy couldn’t make out what was being said.

Then everything went to hell.

The others were frozen in place, it seemed–for Graziano, the guard, the dog, and Elmiryn were in mid-movement before they suddenly stopped.  Lethia rose from her place on the ground, then proceeded to help Paulo undress.  She seemed different now, removed from her hysteria.  The boy was going along with it, but his movements were far too calm as well.  Syria was likely controlling them both.

What came next filled Quincy with wonder, and in a more diminutive sense, revulsion.  Paulo was now naked and levitated in the air by Lethia.  Syria used sorcery to command flames from the campfire to surround the boy.  The wizard didn’t have to guess at what the woman was doing.  She was burning symbols into his body.  From her place, the wizard thought she saw Syria speaking.  It wouldn’t surprise her.  Rituals of this sort usually required a spoken rite of some sort.  If this was correct, then Syria would draw out the process until the flames had worked down to the deepest tissue–almost to bone, and then she’d castrate the boy and have him gutted.

…This seemed as good a time as any to intervene.

Hakeem seemed keen on this, as he was already over the rocks.

But then Quincy’s eyes lightened and she grabbed him by the elbow.

Her husband stared up at her, surprised.  She spoke quickly, “Hakeem, I just realized how this works!  Enchantment deals in the mind.  When a person dreams or goes unconscious, the mind can delve into a hyper-state that creates a pocket of perceived reality.  Depending on the strength of the users mind, and their ability to control their dream state, an individual could–theoretically–make seconds into days.  Break this down further, and time can be removed as an obstacle completely.”

Hakeem gestured down to the spectacle below.  ”Fascinating, Quincy–but don’t you think–”

She jerked his arm and continued on, doggedly.  ”Listen to me! Think of the magic form of primality.  Time magic is the ultimate limitation that controls space and gravity.  Remove time, and space is free.  A person could then split themselves infinitely, like little ideas acting independently of one another but connected to the same intellect.  Taika, Syria is capable of simultaneous thought. She may not be able to control time in the real world, but it wouldn’t matter if she could simulate this in her mind!”  Quincy let loose her version of a smile, and the corners of her lips twitched up a fraction.  ”She managed to fool her own animus, which is the boundary that contains the intellect.  Quite a feat, even for an enchantress, to make the mind forget the nature of the world on such a primal level whenever it conveniences her.”

Hakeem’s brows rose high.  ”…And if given this control, this power, one could use it to their advantage.  Like–”

“Mastering different schools of magic,” Quincy said, her brow creased.  ”In which case then, if Syria managed to use the ability of simultaneous thought with another individual of matching power–”

“Then she could use two magic forms at the same time.”  Hakeem looked down below him.  ”Lethia Artaud must have an incredible amount of raw power for Syria to vicariously cast her magic through her.”

“I’m a bit envious, I’ll admit,” Quincy nodded and let go of him.  She held up her reflective orb.  ”Unfortunately, we’ll be on the wrong end of that power in just a moment.”

Hakeem glanced at her.  ”What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to use the Orb of Ilkmar.  With just the two of us, we could possibly take down an enchantress–even one capable of mind-controlling so many at once.  But an enchantress who’s a master in sorcery, gravitational magic, and gods knows what else?  That’s why I had to stop you.  I think we’ll be needing a little help.”  She kissed the orb.  ”Maybe this thing will give the others below an idea of what to do…”

And perhaps–the woman wondered quietly as she activated the magic–

“I see, so you see.  I hear, so you hear.  I know, so you know.  Illuminate this for the eyes of the blind.  Reveal what is hidden, bring forth what is desired!”  Quincy threw the orb into the air and it flashed–

–Maybe the Orb of Ilkmar could reveal to her why it was someone so powerful, allowed herself to be incarcerated for so long?

ELMIRYN___________________________

At a glance, it seemed a bit unfair.  Three against one?

…But the enchantress was holding them back.  No, more than that, she seemed to be winning.

Quincy was as quick as the light she drew power from, for her attacks were like flashes, and her stabs as powerful and poignant as lightning.  Elmiryn meant it when she said she wasn’t surprised the blonde had come.  Hakeem was her partner, and if there was gold in it, then she would likely go along with their plans.  But more than that, Quincy was driven by some kind of code of honor.  When they had fought barely a day earlier, the wizard had believed her to be a part of the evil power surrounding them and had been determined to stop her.  Elmiryn wasn’t sure if Quincy was entirely convinced of her innocence, but given the greater threat before them, the matter seemed set aside for the moment.

Syria, after all, proved the greater surprise here.

For a woman who had been in prison with a body bruised and swollen and stiff, she moved like a leopard–fast, graceful, and indifferent to her body’s limitations…and the warrior was reminded of Lethia.  The girl had conquered a wall of jagged rock after suffering a possibly near-fatal injury.  Was this the true extent of enchantment’s powers?  Expanding one’s mind and rising above the mortal coil to defeat challenges with ease?  Mind over matter, as they said.  She wanted to ask Graziano how it was possible that Syria knew gravitational magic and various forms of sorcery on top of her enchantment.  Gravitational magic alone took years to learn, didn’t it?  And decades still to master it?  So why was Syria able to use it with such ease?

More help would be needed, and not from her.

Elmiryn tugged at her companion’s sleeve.  ”Hey, Nyx.”

The girl looked at her, blinking.

The warrior pointed up the slope.  ”You have to help them.”

“What?  But what about you?”

“I’m not dead, gods damnit.  Let Halward do his part and keep me safe.  Your ass needs to get up there.”

The girl shook her head bowing down low.  She let out a shuddering breath through her mouth and stroked Elmiryn’s cheek.  ”No.  You need me here.  I don’t want you getting hurt anymore than you are.  I don’t…” the girl choked back a sob. “I don’t want to go through Gamath again!  I can do something to help you this time!”

Elmiryn snatched at the girl’s upper left arm with her right hand.  It hurt, and she knew her grip must’ve been painful judging by the look that crossed Nyx’s face.  She jerked the girl forward and sat up as best she could.  Her mouth crashed against Nyx’s, the girl’s breath was harsh against her cheek.  She could feel the cry against her lips, and through her pain nettled an inexhaustible desire.

No longer able to keep the position up, the warrior fell back and turned her face away.  ”Right now the others need you.  Go now…or you’ll regret staying with me more than anything.”  This phrase pumped acid through Elmiryn’s veins, and her eyes clouded.  Why…did she feel guilty now?

Nyx sat there for a minute, tears silently falling onto Elmiryn’s arm.  Then she stood and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

“Elle…” she said in a querulous voice.  But when she spoke again, her voice steeled, and the woman heard hints of a growl in the belly of her words.  ”I won’t let you down!”

And the girl was gone.

Elmiryn blinked the moisture from her eyes and weak tears dripped to the snow.  She took a breath and pushed herself into a sitting position, her vision tunneling away for moment and all her upper body protested.

…It hadn’t been her intention, but now that Nyx was not around to stop her, she could work on trying to stand again.

QUINCY____________________________

“But the right to first blood is mine!”

Idiot.  Did the Fiamman want to die?  …Or was she trying to give Quincy an opening?

The wizard saw Syria’s hand pull back and felt the power surging around it.  With little thought, she stabbed forward.  Syria shifted and her blade went slicing past its target, but the enchantress had been forced to change the course of her strike, taking away the energy she had built up.  The dark-haired woman lashed at Elmiryn, and the warrior was blasted away into the dark of the night, down a slope where she couldn’t be seen.  Was she dead?

No time to think of her.

Syria didn’t pause after her attack, and instead turned with a full whirl to send a sickle of gravitational force at Quincy.  The woman dodged and pressed forward, stepping in close enough that her left foot slid between Syria’s legs.  The wizard stabbed from low at her right hip, cutting up in a diagonal line towards Syria’s right shoulder.  The enchantress leaned back, and the sword tip sailed over her shoulder and just missed grazing her tender neck.

She lifted her right knee high to her chest, then shot it back down again, close to the center of her body.  Just as it came down along Quincy’s inner thigh, the enchantress hooked it to the right shoved at the wizard’s knee with hers.  Simultaneously, she leaned her body forward and to the left where she slammed her fist into the woman’s exposed left side.

The body blow was backed with a gravity force that, coupled with Quincy’s compromised stance, sent the woman flying.  Syria’s form and execution were excellent, but the power of the attack came mostly from the magic she used.  Though she was clearly ignoring the limitations of her own swollen wrists, that didn’t mean physical strength appeared out of thin air.

So to Quincy’s fortune, she wasn’t sent very far, and rolled back upright, her sword at the ready.  Her side throbbed, and she had to focus to get her breathing back on track, but the woman was fine.

Syria didn’t wait for her to counter.  The enchantress narrowed her gaze and brought forth more flames, which seemed to funnel from the campfire to roar in a hot cloud about the woman.  With a push of her hands, the woman speared the fire forward.

Quincy straightened and held out her sword.

As the flames neared, there was an inhuman scream as the fires that surged forth vanished and flickered, the cooled air rushing about Quincy in a startled gasp.  Her sword was engorged on the light and glowed hot.  She drew back Tonatiuh’s fang and let out a breath–

Flash.

Within a millisecond she was a blast of light, pulled through space in a hot sear through the dark.  She was raw energy, traveling at a high speed, and she rocketed toward Syria–but she met resistance. A gravitational field. How could this be? The world warped, and her form bent. Unlike before, when she had taken Tonatiuh into her heart, Quincy was still in a humanoid form. Perhaps because of this, she was denser, and of course, she wasn’t moving at the true speed of light.  This would explain how the field was redirecting her, so that she saw Syria beneath her, like she were looking through curved glass.  Within the next second, the wizard was headed for the snowy ground, unable to stop, she had just enough time to flip herself around, feet first–

The snow exploded and slushed about her boots as the energy left Quincy. The force of the landing sent her down onto a knee, and pain shot up from her soles.  She looked up just in time to see Syria swing overhand toward her.  She jumped backward, and the enchantress slammed her gravitational hammer into the ground.  The force rattled the ground.  Quincy pressed forward, blade drawn back at the hip.  She couldn’t flash forward again, but her weapon still held power.  With a slash, a long lance of hot light blasted forth towards Syria’s body, atleast four yards long, melting the snow it carved into.  Syria slid away, the snow shifting about her feet to pull her yards back.  She raised a hand and snow drifted up from the ground, collecting into hundreds of icicles at around her head.  She then pushed her hand out, and the icicles shot forth, whizzing.

Quincy shifted to the left, putting her companions further behind her.  Lifting her sword toward the sky so that the light shot up like a beacon, the woman closed her eyes and squeezed the hilt of her sword.  She felt the light, felt its heat and power, and imagined it as glass at the hands of her animus–her soul.  She broke it.

The light shaft shortened to stop just two feet above Quincy’s head.  It flashed and hundreds of rays cut forward.  She could see through the individual paths of light, see the icicles just as they were within three feet of her–The rays sliced into the icicles, cutting them up, melting them, leaving the wizard only to be sprayed with water and small ice chunks.  She could hear more snow collected, more icicles.  Syria was going to keep blasting her until the woman missed one.  She wouldn’t let this turn into a fire fight–there, Syria would have the advantage.  Quincy’s power was limited as her sword drew from light and the suns still hadn’t risen yet, but the enchantress could draw infinitely from their surroundings with her sorcery.

Quincy opened her eyes, swinging her blade to the side.  At the back of her mind, she could feel Syria fishing–trying to worm her way in, trying to anticipate what she would do next.  But the woman had been trained in protecting herself from such intrusions, and she steeled the barriers of her mindscape.

“You have no home in my mind, witch!” she called as she lurched forward into a charge.  The rays of light swirled and pulsed around her, obliterating the hail of icicles as they came.  But the rays were dying off each second.  Quincy knew the battle had become too complicated, too dangerous for the others to try and join in, but what could she do? The enchantress had attacked her with high power. The wizard had to respond similarly or be killed. This was most likely what Syria wanted–to fight them one at a time. Without a foothold to control the minds of those around her and so many things seeking to break her attention, her best bet was to isolate them in battle.

Quincy cursed herself. How could she have played into the woman’s plans so easily?

Syria didn’t run from her as Quincy came close, and this caused the woman pause.  She cut at her front, but she knew the blade would not reach, just slash near the mark.  It was to test the older woman’s resolve.  Syria didn’t move.  Didn’t even act to defend herself.  She seemed to wait for Quincy to come and deliver the final blow.  But the wizard didn’t take the bait.  She stared the enchantress down.

“Syria, what is this all for?” she asked quietly.

The enchantress gave her a pitying smile.  ”Freedom.”

Then Quincy took in a breath and noticed the damp, humid smell.  She blinked and with squinted eyes saw the vapor that flew about her, highlighted by the last of the dying rays.  She cursed, stepping back, but it was too late.  Syria bowed her head, and within the next instant, the wizard was encased in ice that seemed to thicken exponentially.  Her eyes watered, and her skin stung from the cold.  She tried to twist, but her spine, hips, and shoulders ground painfully into the ice.  Her eyes stared through inches of translucent white.  The woman tried to suck in breath, but only managed to expand her chest a quarter of an inch before limitation stopped her.

“Tai’undu!” Quincy thought.  She saw Syria move away towards the others, who rose to engage her.  If she did nothing, she could suffocate in seconds–there was no new air flowing in and restriction kept her from even recycling her breath.  She had to get out, and quickly, but her sword had used up the last of the power it had drawn from the fire.

Quincy, however, came up with a wild idea.

She drew in breaths, quick and short.  She consciously conjured up memories of the smoldering remains of huts and charred flesh.  Of gusty winds that buffeted her.  Of a certain young enchantress with her head trapped beneath iron.  Of manacles on her wrists while a shadow stood over her, seagulls squawking overhead.  Of sea salt and blood on her tongue.  Of tall, tall men with tall, tall tales of heroes and villains and gods.  Of standing in a swaying field, a heavy sword in her tiny hands, watching as a cloaked figure grew farther and farther away…  ”You have more than that, lazy beast,” she thought, tightening her grip around Tonatiuh’s hilt.  ”Pathetic, worthless scrap metal.”  Suddenly it wasn’t that hard to feel angry.  She strained against the ice, felt her muscles press and twist painfully.  It fueled her fury.  ”I’ll cast you into the sea, where you can rust away in Atargatis’ dark belly!  Cursed weapon!!”

The weapon grew hot beneath her touch, scalding her.  Fire seemed to erupt in her chest, and her skin flushed with heat.  Sweat rolled down her tight face, and Quincy groaned.

“That’s it,” she panted against the ice.  ”I’m feeding you.  It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?  Take my anger!  It’s yours!”

Tonatiuh flashed, blinding her.  She felt herself blasted backward, through crumbled ice and water where she sailed through the air.  She felt like she flew a long time.  Then she crashed and tumbled into the snow.  Dizziness and a relentless heat boiling inside her made movement an impossibility.  Than through sheer effort, the woman raised herself with a grunt.  She looked up the slope she had tumbled down, craning her head to see the battle resume without her. She took deep, slow breaths.  Beneath her cloak, she was trembling, but she banished this weak show of constitution by repeating a mantra her old master had taught her, to reign in her emotions when they had slipped away from her.

She closed her eyes and muttered this to herself over and over, quickly. “Baghun, mahar-krun ekhep jukatiba…Baghun, mahar-krun ekhep jukatiba…Baghun, mahar-krun ekhep jukatiba…”

Tonatiuh was laughing in her head, even as she struggled to fight down the unwanted memories.  Then Quincy heard a voice.

“Oh my!  How nice of you to join me wizard.  I was getting a bit lonely.”

GRAZIANO__________________________

“How do you figure Tulki managed it, Graz?”

“What?”

“Capturing those Lycans?”

“Pure silver, likely.  Some other alchemy trick, who knows.”

“I figured you did, hermano.  You know so much about this crazy stuff.”

“Choi, that’s only because your ass of an older brother won’t bother keeping up with the new ways.”

“If Ard were around I bet you wouldn’t talk so fresh, eh?”

“Yah, yah–c’mere perrico, lemme show you what he’d do if he were around!”

“Ow, ow!  Distagea, distagea hermano, merci!”

Paulo’s body was covered in rune-shaped burns, the skin blistered and in some cases peeling some of the superficial layers of skin away.  Some of the runes were weeping blood and puss, staining the snow.  The smell of burned flesh was nauseating.  There was a weak pulse at his neck.  Graziano held the boy’s face, his hazelnut eyes shocked wide and his entire body trembling.

“Choi?” he whispered.  He avoided the hollow of his cheek, because there on each side, mirroring runes had been burned in.  Symbols that looked like they belonged to an ancient language.  He didn’t recognize them.  There were too many to count.  All he saw was pain and horror, and while he half-wished his brother would regain consciousness, he feared the suffering he’d find if he did.  The man tore at his wavy hair, his body tensing as something indescribable built up in him.  He thought of his older brother, Arduino, and what he would do.  What he would say.  His brother had been the surrogate father to them both, but this time Graziano had thought he’d known better, he’d thought…

“Pardona me,” He sobbed, rocking back and forth.  He scraped at the skin around his neck and tore at his shirt, trying to find release from the pain and desperation that gripped him.  ”Pardona me, Choi! Yo no sabea!”

“Oye, Choi!  Look at you!  Big bounty hunter now!  That was quite daring of you, swinging down on the rope the way you did.”

“Tulki was going to shoot you, Graziano.  You smell funny, pér familia is everything!”

“Ha!  I love you too, idi’ute…”

A light touch at his shoulder.  Graziano jumped and turned to stare wild-eyed at Hakeem.  The dark-skinned man was gazing intensely toward the battle.  ”Graziano, forgive me, but I think trouble is turning its eye on us.”

The Moretti blinked and looked in the direction the wizard was staring.  Quincy was trapped in a rock of ice, and Syria walked toward them calmly, her expression blank.  The man grabbed onto the hilt of his rapier, but paused and looked at his brother in anguish.  ”But my brother–”

“Go,” said the halfling man.  He held a hand over Paulo and gave Graziano a nod.  Argos brushed up next to him, panting.  ”I just have my dagger with me, and I’m not much good with close-range combat, but I’ll watch him and try to keep him safe as best I can.”

Graziano clenched his jaw and nodded once.  Then he looked at Hakeem, and together they both rose.  The Moretti drew his sword and held it before him with quaking hands.  He tried to steel himself, but rage and anguish were devils that sought to overthrow him.

“Why have you done this!?” He screamed, advancing slowly.  Hakeem kept pace on his left, his fists held up.  ”Paulo is just a boy!”

Syria stopped and blinked at him.  Then she looked to the ground.  ”I will answer you, Moretti, because your pain is so vast, it warrants some response…though I doubt you’ll like my answer anymore than you’ll understand it.”  The woman took a breath and raised her head.  ”Paulo is fertile.  He is young and vivacious.  He had everything she needed, and I must deliver him to her.”

“To who!?” he raged.  He slashed his sword through the air.  ”For what!?”

“To the one who speaks to me always.  I fought her for years, but I found I could do this no more.  My own struggles were futile in the end.  If it were not me, then it would be others still.  Like my Lethia.  The one who speaks to me seeks to break down boundaries.”  Syria turned her face toward Holzoff’s. “My last rebellion was in allowing myself to be taken away.  If structured bodies could stop me, as a virus, then perhaps the world had merit in its incarnation?  But…my darling girl showed me how such things could be conquered through pure and basic principle.  Unabashed loyalty.  Love.  Then I realized there were purer things then the insecure practices so many abide by.  These crippled societies, these hungry kingdoms, these prejudicial communities…I have seen and touched the dreams and minds of so many.  You would not believe the horrors that breed in sentient minds.  Belcliff’s marshal saw me for years over guilt for what he did to the Albian dwarves.  He murdered them all, you know.  Kept it quiet.  With my help, he kept it quiet.  Yet he feared I’d reveal this, even as he begged me to help him with his pain.  Do you see the broken madness in this?  What’s wrong then, in opening the flood gates, and returning the world to its baser qualities?”

Syria’s chin crumpled and she took a breath.  ”I tried to keep Lethia safe.  I didn’t want her to know about what was really happening.  But her subconscious always remembered the rituals. The blood.  Her nightmares were so powerful, they flooded the minds of all in Albias.”  Suddenly, a crooked smile spread across her face, and she looked at Graziano and Hakeem again.  Tears trickled from her eyes into her frozen smile.  ”But despite this all, I’m glad an end can finally be reached!”

“You’re insane,” Hakeem said, he pulled a fist back, and the space around it rippled.

Syria cackled and raised her arms.  Wind swept up around them, whipping up snow.  Graziano took a step back as he saw the snow collect together, then hardened into thousands of icicles.  They slashed at his skin, and the Moretti shouted as he tried to shield his face and neck.

He looked at the wizard, “Hakeem, do something gods damn it!”

The man in question raised his fist in the air.  There was a muted rush and Graziano felt an invisible force brush past all of his body.  The wind and icicles stopped.  He lowered his arms and saw that Hakeem had created a sort of barrier around them.  Outside, the wind still whirled sharp ice.  Syria’s lip curled and she made a beckoning motion with her hands.

Both Hakeem and Graziano fell as they snow they stood on shifted, like a carpet had been pulled beneath them.  The snow shifted again, and the next thing they knew, they were sliding towards Syria at high speed.  Hakeem had other plans, however.

Striking both arms against the ground, the wizard knocked both himself and Graziano upright with a strong gravitational blast.  The Moretti stumbled, unprepared for this sudden change in position, but the wizard charged forward, and in the next instant, he was throwing punches, his attacks backed with gravitational force.  The wind around them died as the enchantress couldn’t keep the magic going.  But Syria, for her ragged appearance, dodged the man’s advances.  There was a critical misstep, and Hakeem was sent spinning to the ground from a blow to the shoulder.

Graziano didn’t pause in taking Hakeem’s place.  He jabbed at her stomach, but the woman shifted away.  The man followed up quickly with a slash to the face, but this too Syria dodged.  She mirrored his footwork, tracing a perilous dance through the snow.  With each stroke that missed, Graziano’s rage grew.  It pulsed within him, tearing away at his control.  His attacks grew wilder, leaving him open.  Syria struck him in the chest, knocking the wind out of him, and he was launched backward to the ground.

Gasping, he stared up at the sky.

“Capturing Lethia Artaud…This is the last bounty before we go back home to Erminia, right?”

“Yes, Choi.”

“…I don’t want to go back, hermano.”

“Why not?”

“It’s alot more fun, being out here with you and Ard.”

The man growled and scrambled to his feet.  Hakeem was back to fighting Syria one-on-one, but this time, Graziano didn’t wait.  He pressed forward, his blade swinging at Syria’s head.  The tip of his sword nearly hit the wizard’s neck, and the man strafed away from him, his eyes cutting.  Graziano ignored him.  The only thing that mattered was killing Syria.

Their fight gained a rhythm.  Syria was forced to travel backwards, her black hair a swaying curtain as she dodged both fist and blade.  She tried to shift the snow beneath their feet, but both men recovered quickly each time.  Graziano became dimly aware of Quincy’s joining the battle.  The blond didn’t say a word.  For a time, she followed the battle fine, but the attacks soon clashed and the rhythm was lost.  Syria took advantage of this.

With a stomp of her foot, the ground rolled like a wave, going outward from the enchantress in a growing circle.  The three of them were forced backward.

Quincy shouted at Hakeem, “Give us some paths!”

The man nodded, and with a swing of his gauntlet, he sent a roll of force at Syria.  The woman jumped away, but the man didn’t appear too concerned.  The air seemed warped there.  He punched both arms out from his sides, yelling from his gut.  Another wave of force blasted from his fists.  As he did this, Quincy attacked Syria, keeping her busy.

Despite her talk of teamwork, the woman seemed to be doing alot of the fighting herself. The Moretti recognized this to be her impatient professionalism–the old “If you want it done right, you’ve got to do it yourself,” at work.

He spat at the ground, his grip tightening around his sword.

…And what about him? What about his family’s right to battle?

Hakeem called to Graziano, ”Moretti!  When the time is right, jump into my pathways and try to keep still!  We can flank her in ways she can’t follow!  If you can, back her into the pathways.  They’re a condensation of space, and it could disorient anyone unprepared for it.”

The man gave an imperceptible nod.  Hakeem leapt through one of his pathways, flashing to the end of it.  There, he let out a kai and sent another wave of force slicing through the snow.  Another pathway.

From the corner of his eye, Graziano saw someone jogging toward them in the snow.  He glanced and saw it to be Nyx, her expression taut with apprehension.  She stopped near him, watching as Quincy fought against the enchantress.

The man grabbed her by the shoulder and pointed with his rapier.  ”Quincy’s just keeping her occupied.  We have to help her or Syria will just overwhelm her in the end!”

The girl swallowed and nodded.  As they ran forward, Graziano pointed at the pathway before them, where view of the battle was warped like a fish lens, “Watch out for these.  I know they’re hard to see right away, but if you go through them it can be dangerous.  Here’s an opening, come on!”

They passed through, the air between the separate pathways charged with static energy that made his hair stand on end.  As they neared the fight, Syria had drawn back her arm and was about to lash at Quincy’s head.  The wizard had just missed with a downward stroke and her body tensed to dodge the blow.  She wouldn’t make it.  Graziano yelled and lunged at Syria, forcing the woman’s attention on him.  The enchantress fell back, and instead of lashing out at Quincy, sent her attack at the Moretti instead.  A swing of her arm and the man felt a sickle of force strike him from his left shoulder down to his right hip.  The blow did not knock him down, but he was forced to stumble back several steps.

Nyx, a little wiser it seemed, flanked the enchantress, taking the time to go around to the woman’s side and strike with a kick to the back of the knee.  Syria went down, and the therian moved to knee the woman in the face, but as she lifted her leg, the enchantress jerked her head back.  The snow beneath Nyx shifted, and the girl gave a surprised yelp as she fell backward.  Quincy slashed down to cut at Syria’s head.  Their opponent rolled backward and slammed her fists into the ground.  The force of the blow, much like Hakeem’s move, launched her to her feet in an instant.

“Therian help me!” Quincy shouted as she pressed forward.  Nyx wheezed but was back on her feet and following suit.  Graziano watched as they fought the enchantress back more and more.  The Ailuran had what the Moretti didn’t–control.  Her speed and agility made each attack seem part of a greater whole, an interwoven series that allowed little pause on the part of the defender.  Graziano had always known Quincy to be the adaptable fighter.  She fed off of the girl’s rhythm, using it to her advantage to offer the power that Nyx’s technical skill lacked.

Did the enchantress know what they were doing?  Was the relentless onslaught so much that she couldn’t change it, even if she did?  Whatever the reason, the outcome was the same.

With a unified kick to the chest, Quincy and Nyx sent Syria flying backward into Hakeem’s pathway.  …But she went in the wrong way.

From where he stood, it was like the woman’s body was warped to be no wider than three inches, and no shorter than seven feet.  There was a choked gasp from Syria, and then she fell back, out of the pathway.  Hakeem, jogging up to join Quincy and Nyx, waved his arms, and the pathway vanished, leaving Graziano’s view of Syria clear.

The woman fell to her knees, gasping for breath.  Her eyes were wide and her arms limp at her sides.  Was it over, was it done?

Graziano sheathed his sword…then drew his pistol.  The ivory stock fit his palm so nicely.  He walked forward with slow steps, his face blank.

He could hear Quincy speaking to the others.  ”…must close the ritual somehow.  The magic is still active, but it’s deteriorating, leaving the required objectives less definite.  That’s even more dangerous.  The last thing Syria needed for this to be complete was–” the wizard cut off as the Moretti appeared next to her.

“Un otrie sin casé, no posque funcío,” Graziano whispered, silent tears trailing down his cheeks.  ”A tool has no purpose without a hand to use it…” he lifted his pistol.

In a rare show of expression, Quincy’s eyes widened, and she made as if to grab the man’s hand.  ”No, Graziano don’t!”

The man managed to squeeze off three shots in rapid succession before the wizard grabbed his wrist. He didn’t just want the woman dead. He wanted her to suffer…

One shot entered Syria’s right shoulder.

The other two stopped in mid-air just before they could.  These would’ve struck her in the forehead and throat.  The woman’s eyes flickered back to life, and they moved to meet Graziano’s horrified gaze.  She offered him a thin smile, her eyes clouded with tears.

Dimly, he thought about his father.

“Papa, don’t worry, Arduino and I can take care of Paulo just fine.”

Then the hovering bullets shot forth at him.  One pierced his heart, the other the middle of his forehead.

Graziano fell, and when he hit the ground, he didn’t think about anything anymore…

ELMIRYN___________________________

The warrior made a last push up the slope, her breath ragged.  She teetered backward for a scary moment before she managed to right herself.  Doubled over, she tried to catch her breath.  Then she heard three gunshots, and her head snapped up.

Nyx screamed.

Ahead of her, far away, Graziano fell to the ground, limp.  To the side, Farrel had stood to his feet, one hand clenched like a punch he was considering throwing.  Quincy stared down at Graziano’s body like she couldn’t compute it.  Nyx fell to her knees, also in a sort of disbelief.  Hakeem pulled the both of them back harshly, leaving Elmiryn with a clear view of Syria.  Blossoming in her right shoulder was a blood stain, from a gunshot wound it looked like, but this didn’t seem to phase her.  Her head was tilted back, and the enchantress whispered something into the air.

Elmiryn stumbled forward as quickly as she could.  ”Nyx!” she shouted.

The girl turned and saw her.  She ran to the woman, arms held out.  Nyx was in hysterics as she took the woman a little too roughly by the shoulders.  ”Elmiryn, she killed him!  She killed Graziano!”

The warrior winced at the harsh contact, but turned her eyes to Quincy.  The wizard was staring at Paulo.  Elmiryn followed her gaze, and her brows crashed together.  ”Oh fuck…”

Farrel stood staring down at the boy’s body with horror, his face under lit by the white glow that shone from the burned in runes on the boy’s body. Argos stood near Lethia, as though shielding her with his body, his hackles raised and teeth bared.

The air around them grew thick.  Elmiryn grabbed Nyx’s hand and squeezed it.  ”Stay close to me, something’s happening.”

“Should we run?”  Nyx asked quickly, her voice taut with fear.

Overhead, a white mist had appeared, and it shifted in the sky, like milk being stirred.  Drops of water and light pieces of snow began floating upward, toward the sky.  With each passing second, the mist grew wider until it were a dense liquid disc that occupied all the sky overhead.  A powerful hum began to reverberate all around them.  Elmiryn started to feel the hair on her skin rise, and her blood felt thick in her body.  She clenched her jaw and began to pull Nyx back toward camp.  There, the scultones stood watching, their white eyes glowing in the dark as they flared their nostrils and took in the scene.

“Oh gods…” Nyx whimpered, squeezing Elmiryn’s hand.

Quincy and Hakeem jogged toward them.  Elmiryn slowed to a stop and gazed at them hard.  The man spoke, out of breath.  ”We can’t get near Syria–there’s something preventing us from getting near.”

“Graziano, the fool…” Quincy muttered, staring blankly upward.  ”The ritual needed a sacrifice to be completed.  Because we had interrupted Syria’s process, the magic had started to deteriorate, leaving that requirement open to be interpreted by the power in question.  Graziano’s life and blood were enough to substitute for Paulo’s…but the reaction will be different than whatever Syria expected.  Not even she can control it now–however she doesn’t seem to mind.”

“But what the fuck is happening?” Elmiryn snapped.

Quincy sighed.  ”Nothing good.”

The warrior started to run, dragging Nyx with her.  ”Then why are we just sitting around talking about it!?”

She started to feel lighter.  Her feet sunk less and less into the snow.  When her next step barely skimmed the ground, Elmiryn shouted and tumbled forward on purpose, back to the ground.  Her hand still held Nyx’s, and when she turned, she saw the girl was in the air, floating, her legs kicking wildly.

“Elmiryn!” The girl screamed in a panic.

A little behind them, Quincy and Hakeem were holding hands as well (oh, they were a couple?) and were floating up, but they’re expressions were less surprised.  They looked at her with somber expressions.

“Elmiryn.  We aren’t running, because we already know it’s too late,” Hakeem said, his brows together.

Elmiryn started to feel her body lift as well.  She looked to Farrel.  The man was clutching both Lethia and Paulo around their upper arms.  Argos was writhing and snarling near Lethia’s feet.  Farrel looked wildly at her, and she thought she heard him shout over the growing hum, “What’s goin’ on!?”

The warrior craned her neck to see Syria already floating near the mysterious liquid overhead.  Her expression seemed peaceful as her body was swallowed whole.  When she was out of sight, the liquid rippled, and the redhead’s eyes widened as she saw a myriad of colors flash in the white.  She thought she could make out objects between the ripples–mountains, rivers, people–

Syria had opened up a gateway.

Elmiryn’s tension sloughed away.  As she drifted up, ever closer to the liquid, she pulled Nyx to her and held the girl around the torso.

“Nyx…” she breathed, her eyes shining with wonder.  ”I think I know where this goes.”

The girl seemed beyond speech.  She was trembling and hugging the woman tightly, so that it hurt, but the warrior was beyond caring.

She laughed and threw her head back, the momentum twisting them both around so that they slipped into the liquid feet first.  Upon touching it, she felt as though her nerves were on pins and needles.  Nyx was staring at her, hyperventilating.  She opened her mouth, trying to say something but nothing came out.  Hakeem and Quincy were already halfway in.  The warrior couldn’t even see Farrel and the others anymore.

“I’m going to tear this evil out by the roots,” Elmiryn said between laughs shortly before her head was swallowed by the oblivion.

And the torrent of unknowing that howled around them, pushed and pulled, wanting and puzzling and tasting to make sense of their particle existences.

…Because in the Other Place, definition had to be destroyed before it could be discovered again…

Back to Chapter 18.2 | Forward to Short Term Solutions

I’m confused–naturally, as I’m only seeing things in a dream state.  You’d think this was natural.  But I fail to understand the reason the smells of the prison have faded to be replaced by…I don’t even know.  But it makes me feel nonplussed.  We’re moving toward a large entrance.  The woman known as Syria stops us, her hand cupping her ear to the door.  ”It seems we left some of our fellows still waiting for us.”

The doors open, by no one’s hand it seems, revealing a beautiful garden.  Just as she said, there’s more people outside, but…I question this.  I make my concerns known to my sapien counterpart.  Just an empathic strike void of words, I’m not sure I can adequately describe what I’m feeling anyway–but as I receive Nyx’s dismissal (“Creature, keep quiet,“) I feel a simultaneous stab of pain through me.  Alarmed, I fall silent, shrinking into the cold mists of my world.  It smells of animality and desperation.  My face bunches as I gaze up into a sky that has turned cloudy.  Then all at once…I can see nothing more.

I scream.

“Nyx! What treachery is this!  What’s happened!?  Why can’t I see–” my voice is cut short as the ink closes in around me.

A voice echoes from afar, but I recognize it…I know it because I’ve only just heard it…

“Animals should not speak,” the voice says, just as the shadows rise over my head…

ELMIRYN________________________

Syria bowed to the new guests, all smiles, all warmth.  She invited them into her home, but gazed out into the garden with dismay.  ”Oh my,” she breathed, a hand at her lips. “The dogs must be hungry!  We must let them in.”

The garden.

Elmiryn’s gaze hardened as her eyes trailed the wave of carefully pruned rosebushes, neat green grass, and tranquil flower beds.  The mountain wind was somewhat nippy, but the woman didn’t feel the need for a cloak.  Their group of five stood aside to allow the dogs in, a pack of mixed breeds, and the animals scurried into the enchantress’ home.  Their claws clicked on the polished floors.  The warrior heard laughter, but the sound echoed with something else.  She started to look over her shoulder when she saw the others moving forward, chatting together like they were old friends.  Farrel flirted with Syria, and the woman flirted back.  Lethia giggled with Nyx.  Elmiryn listened once again to the sounds behind her, and as Syria traveled farther ahead, she heard it.  Clearly.

Screaming.

The warrior moved to catch up with the group, the edges of her vision blurring as they traveled farther away.  When she was within a few feet of them again, the blurring was gone, and so were the screams.  She had to keep up.  She tried to take some pleasure in the scene presented to her by looking up.  The sky was open to them, revealing stars–gods tears, caught in a veil that concealed heaven.  A veil, a screen–

A lie.

Elmiryn cursed under her breath.

Lethia fell into step next to her, looking shy.  She was wearing a blue frilly dress with light pink laces.  Her hair was pulled back with a jade clip.  Hands behind her back, she smiled at Elmiryn and met her eyes.  ”So…what do you think of my mistress?”

Elmiryn sighed, turning her gaze to look at the drink in her left hand with dissatisfaction.  ”Yes.  She’s very nice.  Pretty.”  Then she did a double-take.

Wait a fucking minute…

“Hey, your eyes–!” Elmiryn started.

“Hmm?” The girl tilted her head to one side.

The woman faltered.  Then she shook her head and turned her face away.  ”Never mind.”

Lethia looked forward again, carefree.  ”It’s great that so many people were willing to come to celebrate Syria’s birthday.  After all she’s been through, she deserves it!  She has you and the others to thank too, of course,”  The girl’s smile turned somber.  ”Thank you, Elmiryn…for helping.  I know…I know I complicated things.  But you saved me.  And my mistress.”

“The last part is what worries me,” the woman muttered, sloshing her drink.

The girl looked at her, blinking.  ”…Sorry?”

“Nothing.”  Elmiryn looked up at her.  ”You’ve been having fun, it seems.  Have you thought about it much?”

“What?”

“How you got here?”

Lethia’s smile turned uncertain.  ”Um…Elmiryn, are you having a good time?”

The woman gazed at her.  They were walking at the same pace.  Left, right, left, right, left…and yet somehow they still managed to be out of sync.  How annoying. “I’m having a great time, kid,”  Elmiryn eventually said.  She pointed at the girl, “Hey, by the way, how did you manage what you did back there…?  In the staircase.”  She elaborated at the teenager’s look of confusion.  ”At Holzoff’s, I mean, with those two guards you controlled.”

“Oh!” Lethia’s eyes went wide.  Then she tapped her jaw.  ”Ah…lemme see…wow that seems so long ago.  But I can try and tell you,”  She held up both her hands.  ”You see, there are two categories people fall into:  believers and skeptics.  Believers are easier to convince that an illusion is true.  Skeptics need a great deal more work and effort before they’ll buy into anything, and more work if you want them to do as you tell them.  Walt was easy to control–he was a bit simple-minded.  The matrix of his animus was very easy for me to infiltrate and thus control.  But Redford wasn’t so easy.  His matrix was much more complicated.  I had to first present him something very innocuous, something that he could easily agree to, before gradually increasing the level of my commands.”

“Ah, that’s why he seemed to keep acting normal, up until the end.”

“Yes!  Usually that control would take weeks to achieve, but I didn’t have time to wait.  I had to shut down his thoughts altogether.”  Lethia’s brows crashed together as she looked off to the side.  ”Come to think of it, I can’t remember how the man fared after we escaped Holzoff’s.  Typically…typically a subject would experience a great deal of mental damage given…given what I did…”  The girl’s expression turned anxious and her eyes fogged with her concerns.

Elmiryn gripped her shoulder.  ”Lethia, you did what you had to.”  Skepticism at this point was dangerous, especially coming from the young enchantress.  The woman steered her forward, so that they caught up with the others.  ”Don’t dwell too much on it right now.  We’ll figure something out.”

“It’s just…odd.  Even for me.  How could I forget that?”  Then the girl paused, thinking over her words, and without warning she burst into a nervous fit of giggles.  “Gosh, what did I just say!”

Elmiryn started to chuckle.

How ridiculous this all was!

Farrel, walking arm in arm with Syria, turned to look at them over his shoulder.  His wisterian eyes, sharp and cool at the same time, were like bowls that held liquid curiosity.  His light lips broke apart in a smile.

“What has ya in such a humorous mood?” he asked.  His accent was back.

“You don’t hear that noise behind us?” Elmiryn asked, gesturing behind her.

The halfling frowned at her and Syria looked back at her now too.  The warrior smiled toothily at the enchantress.  ”Your dogs seem to be having a good time with your guests…”

HER________________________

……………pi…………………………..ec………………….

……………………………pi…………………………………..

………….pi…………….ec………………….es…………….

……………………..pi…ec…es…………………………….

………………………pieces………………………………..

[It is a cold place.  A thankless, unforgiving place.  A place devoid of all but the basest of understandings.  But she feels a hook in her.  A way to the surface.  A thread that goes up--but it is too weak to return her.  Still.  Not all had been snuffed out.  Not all had been lost.  After all she still had--]

……pieces……………pieces…………….pieces……….

[--Of Expression still quivering in the surreal breeze like cobwebs still clinging to their warm corners.  This place is rank with fear and self-loathing.  In a bizarre way, the Expression brings her pain, because it brings her understanding, but she cannot do away with it.  She needs it.  Still, her understanding still fails to reach the answers she seeks.  How long had she been there?  A minute?  An hour?  A week?  She is a shard, lost within a vast sea of broken unwanted things--things her other self, her other personality had long since locked away.  This dark ocean once surrounded her sanctuary, threatening to swallow her too, and now it finally had her.  Was it possible to come back?]

…pieces…pieces……pieces…pieces……pieces…pieces……pieces…pieces…

[What if you could bring this chaos together? -- She wonders.  Would this take away the cold?  Would this end her turmoil?  She cannot rid herself of the pain, but instead, she decides to embrace it, for it is the one thing she has to tell her she's alive.  Still existing.  She starts to draw together the cobwebs and the whisperings.  The Dark Matter that made up this sea of unwanted things.  Somethings and Nothings that once were.  She brings these things together, joining them.  The darkness swells around her.  A thought occurs to her and she pauses.  What she was doing could bring trouble for her.  It could hurt Nyx.  It could grow and manifest and hurt the others--like Elmiryn.  It could grow and grow.  Could She stop it?  The thread she has to the light is not strong enough to bear her so she needs more to bolster it, but this Dark Matter is nefarious.  Only...she sees the art cobble together, and she sees a new beast, an unrelenting strength, that could be hers.

She stares at the--]

…pieces…pieces……pieces…pieces……pieces…pieces……pieces…pieces…

[--And decides she'd rather live, fractured in pieces with her Twin, than be lost here for eternity.]

ELMIRYN________________________

The woman couldn’t say for certain how far they’d gone.  Things had dimmed to a grayscale, failing to keep her attentive to the happy chatterings that passed through her head.  She started seeing snow in the garden, and felt colder.  Her broken arm ached more and more.  But amidst the blurry indefinite shapes that paraded and caroused in jovial fashion, there was the ever-colorful, ever beautiful art that she had come to know as uniquely belonging to Nyx.  The girl here, in this pretty pretend world, was radiant.  Her smile was broad.  Her hair was no longer in a mane, but in soft, even curls that bounced and teased her porcelain shoulders.  The girl was laughing.  Smiling with Lethia and with Farrel and with Syria.  Up ahead, there was a glow, over the tall hedgerows, and Elmiryn surmised that the dream would soon end.

The woman looked skyward again, and took a deep breath.

If the dream could last a little longer, than why not let it?

They trudged up a hill.  A large tree rested off to the side, disrupting the mountainous skyline.  There was barking in the distance.  Then Argos appeared, bursting through the bushes, leaves in his fur and his ears perked as he set eyes on Lethia.  The teenager squealed, gathering up her dress as she ran forward.

“Argos!”  She cried.

The great big shaggy dog ran to greet her, barking excitedly.  Well behaved, he didn’t jump on her, but when she crouched down to hug him, he froze, jerking out of her embrace to sniff the front of her dress.  At the injury she had so conveniently forgotten about.  Two silhouettes appeared at the top of the hill, backlit by campfire.  One was taller than the other, though that could’ve been because the one on the left was leaning on his knees.

“Oye!  You people look terrible!”  Graziano.

Elmiryn shouted back up at him, glad to hear his voice.  ”Yet surprisingly, we’re still fuckable!”

“Elmiryn.”  Nyx glared at her.

The woman grinned at her in return.

They were getting close enough now that she could see his face.  He was smiling a little, but his eyes were on Farrel and Syria.  Then Elmiryn noticed the gun in his hand.

“I don’t believe it.  You made it,” he said.

“Barely,” she said, glancing at the weapon, then at the man.  ”Where’s the wizard?”

“Wasn’t he just behind us–?” Graziano started to look over his shoulder.

Paulo straightened, taking a shuddering breath.  He looked at Syria and grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands.  ”Hello…Miss Syria.  I was told…you could help me.  P-Please…”

Elmiryn raised an eyebrow at him.  She was half expecting more of his tantrums.  It sounded like he’d rehearsed this in his head.  Or maybe it was Graziano’s doing.

“You have others here,” Syria said suddenly.  Her brusque ignore on Paulo’s request made Elmiryn’s eyebrow quirk.  “More guests.”

Paulo blinked at her.  His eyes had dark circles now, making him seem more haunted than when Elmiryn last saw him.  ”Guests?  Oh you mean–”

Nyx let out a choked noise.  She fell to her knees, her expression drawn in blank shock. Elmiryn let go of the mirage she had been holding–and the image of her “wine glass” vanished into nothing.  She was once again wearing a ruined doublet with a broken arm, her hair in a sweaty, tangled braid.  The beautiful garden wavered and fell away.  They were knee-deep in snow, almost to camp.  The warrior knelt by Nyx quickly, her eyes trying to make out what was happening.  Argos came up at her side, snarling–but it wasn’t at her or even the Morettis.

The large animal drew his teeth back, hackles raised as he stared up at Syria.  Lethia tried to pull him back from behind, but it was like trying to move a boulder.

“Argos! What’s gotten into you!?”  The teenager looked at Elmiryn who hugged Nyx with one-arm.  The Ailuran was struggling to breath, and she was burning up under the touch. “Elmiryn, what’s going on?  What’s happened to Nyx?”  Lethia’s oval-shaped face now sported a light sheen of sweat and a healthy dose of fear.

The woman looked up at Syria, who gazed down at her from the corner of her eye.  She no longer seemed that beautiful anymore.  She was dressed in rags and there were shadows in her eyes.  Her slight smile had something twisted tucked away in it.  Her injuries didn’t seem to faze her, either.

The warrior smirked.  ”Kid,” she said, “Stop and think a moment.  Why can you meet my gaze without emptying my head?  How did you get here to this party?  What day is today?”

“I–I don’t–” the girl’s voice cut short.

Elmiryn looked at her again and saw that a sleepy, blank look had taken over her face.  She sat back and Argos turned to look at his owner, his ferocity dying out with a whine.

“I was hoping,” Syria drawled over them.  ”That the animal in Nyx would stay quiet.  I’ve never quite come across a mindscape like hers.  I was very tempted to risk everything in probing further.  Perhaps I should have invested more time investigating how her split personalities work…then maybe she wouldn’t have slipped from me.  It doesn’t matter.  It seems her malady removes her as a concern for the time being.”

Elmiryn closed her eyes.  ”The Twin is all about survival.  On top of that, she’s intelligent.  She knows a cage when she sees one, and won’t allow herself to remain trapped.  Now whether or not her sudden rebellion was wise, that’s left up to debate,” the warrior shrugged her good shoulder.

The dark-haired woman looked at her, a wry smile on her lips.  ”Your mindscape is quite interesting as well, Elmiryn. It’s just beginning to show signs of deterioration, but nothing of your thoughts gave you away.  I’d thought you were under my thrall.  It’s as though you’re smoke.”

Elmiryn opened her eyes and smirked up at the woman.  ”I’m not so easy to manipulate.”

The noble laughed.  ”I’ll remember that next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“…You’re right.”

Farrel was staring between the two women.  Argos licked Lethia’s cheek and hand in an attempt to get her to wake.  She didn’t move.

Graziano held up his pistol.  He placed a hand on Paulo’s chest and forced the boy back.  ”Elmiryn.  Tell us what’s going on…” he said, voice wary.

“Why are you doing this?”  The warrior asked the enchantress.

Syria looked at Elmiryn, eyebrow raised.  ”You’re an inquisitive ghost…aren’t you?”

Farrel stepped away from her.  ”I’m…not following any of this…”

“I was trying to wait this out, to see what Syria had planned,”  Elmiryn said nodding at the enchantress.  ”Making us believe in her illusions just as much as the guards wasn’t in keeping with someone who was innocent.  But she spared us, unlike those men in the tower.  I wanted to know why.  She could’ve killed us right away and been done with the whole matter.”

Farrel clenched his fists as he looked down at himself as though seeing his armor for the first time.  He glared at Syria, all his affection and humor gone.  ”What did you do?”

Syria laughed again, but the sound was dryer–harsher.  ”Silly man, I saved you all!”

“What did you do!” He snarled.

“She let the daesce into the tower,” Elmiryn spat.  ”Those men are all torn apart by now.  What about the prisoners, Syria?  Didn’t you care about them?”

The woman shrugged.  ”They’re in prison cells.  Unless help doesn’t arrive, I imagine the worst they’ll suffer is starvation…so long as they stay away from the bars.”

“You’re insane!”  Farrel shouted, pink-faced.  He drew his dagger and held it before him, but it was like holding a twig to a raging fire, and the man knew it.

Syria looked at him mildly.  She gestured at Elmiryn.  “I’m no more insane than this woman here.”  She looked at Lethia.  ”Up, girl.  There are magic users near, but they won’t be able to interfere.  At any rate, this won’t take very long.”

Lethia stood, a breath rattling from her lips.

Everyone around had stepped away from the enchantress and her apprentice, Argos included.  He whimpered, a last appeal to his owner who stared at Syria like she were the only thing in the world that existed.  Paulo drew his rapier, swallowing loudly.  Elmiryn dragged Nyx back by her clothes.  She lay the girl at her feet, who was still gasping, still lost in her mind.  The woman didn’t know what was wrong with her–but there was not much she could do.  Her eyes were still strained on the dark-haired enchantress, who now gazed skyward.

“I’m not going to indulge you all with a speech.”  She smiled, her expression sad.  ”You wouldn’t understand anyway.”

Graziano pointed his gun and Elmiryn saw his finger flex on the trigger, but he didn’t pull.  Sweat rolled into his unblinking gaze.  She made to push into a run, to charge with her blade, screaming.  But her body couldn’t move.  At first she thought she was suffering another episode–but then it occurred to her that such things weren’t supposed to be noticed by the subject in question–and at any rate this was happening differently.  She was still aware of her body, still aware of the size of the world and her place in it, but an invisible force was physically preventing her from moving.  The woman could still move her eyes, and she saw that she was not alone in her entrapment.  Graziano was similarly stuck, as was Farrel, and so she guessed, was Argos.  They were like grave statues.  But then Paulo walked forward, dropping his weapon.  His face now sported the same blank expression Lethia’s did.

Syria held her chin, her face turned away.  She seemed lost in thought.  Paulo stopped before Lethia, and the two faced each other.  The boy removed his shirt, and Lethia crouched down to pull at his pants.  Within a minute, the boy was standing naked in the cold.  His limbs were wiry and he sported an erection (“Quite a feat in this cold!” the woman thought.)  The dark-haired enchantress waved one hand.  The snow crunched and hissed as it shifted to make a flat relief in the slope.  Paulo lay down in the center of the newly cleared snow and Lethia stood over him, both hands held palm up at either side of her.

Syria stood at Paulo’s feet, her eyes shining in the dark.  She gazed at her captive audience.  ”Enchantment is not the only form of magic I know.  It was my secret for years.  But you can all still walk away, today, without ever knowing the extent of my power.  You can live long lives, and I can wipe your minds free of the burden of these memories.  For freeing me, this I can offer you.  But I have something I must finish first.  I’m sorry, but this will not be pleasant.”

Then she looked at Paulo again.

Lethia raised her hands.

At first Elmiryn didn’t understand it, but then Paulo began to rise in the air, perfectly horizontal as though he were still lying at his back.  Then there was a roar, and in the next instant, a stream of fire flowed over them.  Syria was taking the fire from the camp and multiplying it.  Elmiryn would have ducked, would have shielded Nyx.  But the woman still couldn’t move.  She couldn’t even blink.  She could only watch with watering eyes as the brilliant fire encircled Paulo.  Then…

Flames licked out, with purpose, over every part of the boy’s body, tracing shapes into his skin.  He didn’t scream.  He didn’t squirm.  It were as though he wanted it, wished for it to happen.

Syria was murmuring, her face a tight scowl as she worked.

Then there was a voice that drifted on the wind.

“I see, so you see.  I hear, so you hear.  I know, so you know.  Illuminate this for the eyes of the blind.  Reveal what is hidden, bring forth what is desired!”

Syria didn’t even turn her head.  Simply pointed with her arm, and a surge of flames broke away from the ritual to fly back toward camp.  Something flashed overhead, a bright white light.  Elmiryn’s mind felt as though it were electrified.  Thoughts flashed through at miraculous speed.

“Syria’s using Lethia as a puppet.  I’ve never heard of it–I don’t know shit about magic, really–but I guess it’s possible isn’t it?  It’s like she’s possessing the girl.  She has Lethia levitate Paulo while Syria burns those symbols into his body–sacrifice, he’s a sacrifice, a seed–but what’s it all for? Take out Lethia and Syria’s power is halved.  The girl…her eyes.  She never needed those glasses.  Syria had just done something to her, to control her–Lethia must be powerful for Syria to put such a cap on her.  But none of this solves my problem of fucking moving–”

HER________________________

I start to rise forth, all gritty vengeance, the vestiges of a world nameless and unwanted slowly stripping away from my spirit as I spearhead my way into the forefront of this shared intellect.  I’m gripping onto my newfound weapon, the Dark Matter, my force of primal instincts gathered together with these lost thoughts and feelings.  It is a black ribbon, a rope that takes me higher.  It lashes in my grip, but I command it still.  With this, I am the forgotten and unwanted daughter.  But I will have my say.

My return from the darkness brings Nyx to her knees, and I feel the ghostly wave of shock and inertia take hold of our body.  I’m pushing into her consciousness, but I’m not seeking to conquer it.  I feel like the entire world is pressing down on me, squeezing my limbs, gripping my spirit.

Two souls cannot be in control.  Two souls cannot fit here.

The mind struggles to make a stage for us both.  Within seconds we stand opposite the other, staring each other down–me upright, but with fur and claw, she looking just as she had in Syria’s illusion.

Nyx starts, trembling.  It could be rage or fear or both. ”What’re you–”

I cut her off.  We do not have time for the usual dance of words. “Nyx.  You must remember where you are.  Do you really think you’re at Syria’s home?  Do you remember anything of Holzoff’s?  Of how we got there?”

“Of course I do!” she snaps.  ”But that doesn’t explain–”

“What’s my name.”

Nyx blinks.  Stares at me as though I’ve suddenly turned into a human (scary thought.)  ”What sort of question is that?”

I bare my teeth, my tail lashing behind me.  ”You self-important baboon…you forget so easily!?”

“What?  What did I forget?”

“That you would give me a name!  After Holzoff’s Tower, I would’ve raised the issue, and yet you cannot even recall sparing a thought for it!  What happened to all those guards you left behind?  The prisoners?  What happened to Belcliff?  Why is Syria’s tower suddenly a castle instead?”  I’m screaming at her now.  Why is my life tied with this fool?

The girl hugs herself.  Her breaths–imaginary in this place–turn to fog. “How do you know this?  All you see is just a dream to you, how do you know this isn’t just your misinterpretation?”

“Our malady doesn’t quite work that way, sister.”  I spit the word out.  I crouch and point a claw at her, the black ribbon snaking up my arm.  ”Whatever you experience, I still feel.  I still sense.  When the prison suddenly vanished, I knew something was wrong–but when I moved to speak to you Syria tried to silence me.”

“So she’s…”

“Not as she seemed.”  I look up at the black overhead that looms over us.  ”I imagine something is happening now.”

“Why’s that?”

“Moron.  Because she hasn’t tried to stop me yet.”

Light flares around us, and riding on its hot intensity comes a deep understanding.  Then the stage tears away, unable to hold us both.  I willingly slip back into the subconscious, back to the sanctuary I have made.  Given the look that had crossed Nyx’s face before sight and sound had been torn asunder, I decide that for once, my sister can handle it.  It’s a surprise, and not an unpleasant one.

I don’t really envy her position.

At any rate, I’m always here in case of disaster, and I have the Dark Matter to aid me…

ELMIRYN________________________

Nyx shuddered and rose, her nose and ears bleeding just as the light overhead vanished.  She was heaving breaths, her eyes wild and glassy.  Syria didn’t think it necessary to restrain her, it seemed.  She looked at Paulo, Lethia, then Syria.  She didn’t need long to make a decision about the scene before her.

“No, NO!  We have to stop her!”  Nyx screamed, scrambling to her feet.

The Words echoed in Elmiryn’s head.  There was something spiky about it, that made her body tingle pleasantly.  She had felt tired, despite her determination, her body shuddering on the last stretches of its strength.  But she suddenly felt rejuvenated.  Nyx said they had to stop this, and she was right.  Elmiryn took as much breath as she could, and…

Again, Syria didn’t even move her head.  A slight flick of her hand, and the flames surged forth, reaching angrily.  There was a muted boom.  Snow exploded before them and the ground shook.  A black gauntlet struck away the flames, where they perished in the cold air in a hiss of embers and heat.  Nyx stared, dumbfounded as Hakeem, dressed in his mage armor, stood over her and Elmiryn both.

The warrior grunted, forcing her muscles to move against the invisible force.  When she gained an inch forward, the woman screamed and pushed her body harder.  There was a rush of air around her, and she tumbled into Hakeem’s side.  She was free. The man was still crouching before them, his arm held up as he maintained some sort of gravitational shield against the fire that lashed at the group.  They were literally caught under a bordello of flames.  Snow turned to slush, turning their boots and pants damp.

Panting, the woman winced as her broken arm stabbed with pain.  She looked at Hakeem, “We have to stop this before she kills Paulo!” she shouted over the roar of fire.  She pointed forward with her sword.  ”Give me cover, I think I know what to do!”

The man nodded, his face tight with exertion.  ”Go now!”

Elmiryn returned the nod, and with a breath, she pushed forward into a run.  Hakeem roared, pushing with all his body as he rocked the shield forward so that it cleared a way for the woman to run through the flames.  As she passed beneath Paulo’s body, she saw Lethia, her face slack and disconnected from the chaos before her–indifferent to the hellish flames that came frighteningly close to scorching her.  With a shout, she slammed her fist into the girl’s mouth.  The teenager’s head snapped back, her eyes rolling back into her head.  Lethia fell backward…unconscious.  The warrior continued her run, legs pumping through the snow.

Behind Elmiryn, there was a crunch.  Without the gravitational force keeping Paulo aloft, his body had crashed down into the snow.  The woman started to wheel around, her gaze flickering to Syria.  From the corner of her eyes, she saw Graziano and Farrel freed of their bonds.  The Moretti moved, his face drawn in horror as he took in his brother’s mutilated body but Hakeem held him back, saying something that was lost in the resulting commotion.  Was the boy even still alive…?

“Your therian friend possesses an ancient magic, it seems.  I thought that art form was dead.  Somehow I missed that,”  Syria sounded more exasperated than angry.  Her arms swung, and her eyes held the flames of the fire she now orchestrated toward Elmiryn.  ”Something wrong was bound to happen, it’s been so long since I’ve had to command so much at such levels.  But do you really think you can win?”

…Only, the fire died, sputtering as they fruitlessly stretched through the cold air.  The warrior stopped and watched as the flames literally flickered out to nothing before her face.

Overhead, there was a bright and orange glow.  Elmiryn looked up, her eyes widening.  Were those the suns…?

Like a bolt of lightning, the light condensed together, then flashed down with a crack.  Syria stirred the snow about her feet, sending up a snow wall as she stumbled backward.

Standing in a crater of melted snow, steam curling about her, Quincy pointed her golden blade at Syria–her body glowing with a bright light.  ”You thought yourself supreme, and thus underestimated us all.  Perhaps Hakeem and I aren’t enough to stop you.  But these people will not just sit back and let you carry out your sick plans.”  The woman drew back her blade as she fell into a fighting stance.  ”Let me be the first to show you the error of your ways!”

Elmiryn laughed and charged forward, her sword poised to strike.

“Somehow I’m not surprised you’re here, wizard!”  She cried.  Syria turned, her eyes widening with surprise as the warrior drew back her blade.  ”But the right to first blood is mine!”

Back to Chapter 18.1 | Forward to Chapter 18.3

NYX____________________________

The door opened.  I half expected the hinges to squeak, but the door swung quietly to reveal a dark room.  It was large, and I gasped at the sight of chains crossing from ceiling to floor, from wall to wall, from corner to corner.  It was one long chain that began and ended at the same place.

Toward the center of the room, my therian eyes made out a person, whose arms were strung up, body wrapped in the heavy bindings.  Their head was covered by some sort of bulky covering, but long hair trailed over the shoulders.  They were dressed in rags, torn and ripped around the thighs leaving their legs bare.

Syria.

There was something off about the room, I knew, for Lethia quickly stepped back, shuddering.

“Can’t…go in,” she whispered, though her expression was anguished.  She wanted nothing more than to enter the room.

“Why can’t you?” Farrel asked, turning to her.

“Cold iron…” Elmiryn said low, scowling at the matrix the long chain created.  ”They didn’t want Syria to use her power.  If she goes in, it could interfere with her control over Redford and Walt.”

I turned to Lethia.  ”They must have another lock or something here too.  Lethia do you know how to get Syria free?”  I asked.

The girl gave an imperceptible shake of the head.  ”No.”

“Redford was the only one we encountered who had any sort of understanding about the upper floors.  That doesn’t mean he knows anything about Syria’s security.  He just brought us the warden’s keys, remember?”  Farrel said, nodding down the hall at the ensorcelled guards.

“It’s alright.  Nyx can handle it.  She’s good at this sort of thing,” Elmiryn said, looking at me.  She said this without any irony, and it really felt like a genuine compliment.

“Go fetch a torch from the warden’s office,” I said as I crept in, eyes on the floor for possible traps or alchemical wards.  I tucked my key into my belt, where the tightly fitted accessory kept it pinned close to my body.  ”I can start looking for the lock. My eyes work fine in the dark.”

Farrel and Elmiryn said nothing, but I heard footfalls on the stone floor and assumed the halfling–being in better health–had run down the hall to fetch some light.  I held a hand out and ducked beneath the chains, my eyes wide as I strained to make out the details of my surroundings.  I didn’t know if the cold iron worked on me like it did magical weapons.  I was a spiritual being, but a mortal, and I had shifted completely back to my sapien form so as to not blow my cover.  But as I touched the rough metal, the pads of my fingers tingled, and I shivered like an iciness had entered my bones.  The room didn’t smell like the cells down below…but my nose flared as something acrid hit my senses.  It smelled of fear and oppression.  My nose wrinkled and I had to take a moment to grow accustomed to it.  Since Belcliff, my senses had grown close to their previous caliber–my eyesight, my smell, my hearing–but it fluctuated with every passing moment.  Sometimes I felt like I had back at Toah, capable of smelling things from almost a mile away.  Then I felt…human, with my senses barely extending past a room.  Right now, She was attentive, because as much as she disagreed with our plans (when did She ever agree?) we were nearly through with this mess, and this worked to both our ends.

As I pierced the darkness, my nose finally reaching a level of tolerance that didn’t make my eyes water, I came to a complex cross of chains and was forced to drag along the floor on my belly.  Down on the floor, I had to gather myself again, because the smell was stronger.  I entered a brief sneezing fit, but forced myself to keep moving.

“…Lady Syria?” I said tentatively, now sounding a little stuffed up.  I rose to my feet again and wiped my nose on my sleeve.

The woman didn’t stir before me.  I frowned and ventured nearer, feet stepping over cold lines of metal.  I tried again.  ”Lady Syria of Albias?  My name is Nyx.  I’ve come with your apprentice to save you.”

I looked over my shoulder at Lethia who watched with both hands over her mouth.  A single tear had leaked out of one eye, and trailed down the back of her hand to the floor.  A panicking thought entered my mind–what if Lethia’s emotions broke her concentration, and she lost control of the guards?  I turned and began to move forward, more recklessly.  I had only cleared some six feet–the matrix of chains was thick–another four feet and I’d have reached Syria.

“Please excuse me, ma’am, but I’m going to look for–” my voice cut short as I came close.  Even with my nose, which had turned congested from the dust, I could smell her unwashed body, rank and stale.  What’s more was the sight that hit me, to go along with this new sensory information.  I froze, one leg hovering over a diagonal chain, my hands gripping two chain-lines over my head.

Covering the woman’s head was a horrible iron mask that blocked all sight of Syria’s face, leaving only slits for eyes and a pitiful grid for her mouth.  It was likely cold iron as well.  The item looked heavy, so much so that her entire body pulled forward from the weight, where it rested against her chest.  I could hear her breathing, but I noted something off about it–like she were taking long draws, but exhaling in short bursts.

“Sweet Aelurus…!”  I took hold of the woman’s mask and slowly pulled it back so that her head was up.  I heard a sound behind the metal, like a sigh.  Or a death rattle.

Behind me I heard Farrel come near, and soon his light swathed us in a warm fierce glow.  The illumination brought to my attention the wounds on the woman’s feet–bloody and purpling, with frayed flesh at the toes.  Rats had chewed at her.  There was a drain beneath her, and the stone around it had an orange rust color.  I saw trails of dried blood that came down the inside of her thighs, the paths flaked and broken in some places.  Her wrists, which were swollen, bruised, and crusted with dried blood, were bound by thick manacles.  These looped onto the chains, forcing her arms up.  What was bizarre was that these chains didn’t end at the manacles, but continued down to snake tightly around her shoulders, torso, and hips.  Around her hips,  I noted the fabric was stained–not blood.  Puss, maybe.  She must’ve developed pressure sores, but they had not yet reached the stage where they burst and bled.  Did that mean that the guards did come into the room, and moved her now and again?  I stared, openly appalled.

Had the guards…ever come into this room?

“Have you found the lock yet?” he asked me, breathing heavy.  He was looking at me, not at Syria.  I wanted to grab his face and scream at him.  What sort of prison was this?  Even for people who weren’t guards by choice, was this really how they treated prisoners?

I swallowed hard, and felt my chest tighten with something…familiar.  This horror, this cold, this open pain was familiar to me.

…My Mark started to burn and itch.  I bowed my head, my breath fast and shallow.  Inside, I could feel Her.  She wasn’t raging, she wasn’t screaming.  She was…frozen, seized, like I was.  My clothes started to feel tight, and my skin burned, like it were about to rip.  My joints hurt and I had to lower Syria’s head some, as my arms couldn’t hold the weight up so high.

Farrel took a small step away from me.  ”…Nyx?”

I shook my head, my teeth bared.  ”What is this?  Why would they…leave her like this?”

Through my curtain of hair, I saw out of the corner of my eye Farrel move, as though to look at Syria more properly.  Was this common to him?  My shoulders bunched at the thought, and I felt a fury rise in me to rival what I had felt in the staircase.  This was the person who had judged me so?  But I heard him let out a shaky breath, and I tried to let this sound serve as the release of my anger.  Maybe…Farrel had just been focused more on the task at hand than what was around him?  His senses weren’t as sharp as mine.  Elmiryn had done it atleast once before, when fighting the daesce.  Maybe Syria, at a glance, was just like all the other prisoners.

When he spoke, his voice was genuinely frightened…and appalled.  ”Is she…”

“No, she’s alive.  She’s breathing anyway.”  My voice was tight, on the verge of a growl.  I lifted my head slowly, my eyes resting on the part of the mask where I guessed Syria’s eyes to be resting behind.  ”Something’s not right, but we have to hurry.  When she’s well, she can tell us herself what happened…if she wants to.”

That, and I was desperate to leave.  Holzoff’s Tower would haunt me in my sleep, and I wasn’t keen on drawing out the nightmare.

“Her mask.  Do you see any locks for the mask?”  I looked at its front, but saw nothing.

Farrel appeared behind Syria, searching the back of the mask with a frown.  ”I see no keyhole.  I don’t understand.”  But his eyes lit onto something behind her.  ”Here, against her spine!  Here’s the lock holding the ends of the chain!”

“Then I suppose we’ll take care of that first.  I don’t know how much time we have to devote to puzzling out the mask.”  I spoke to the front of the mask, where I hoped Syria could hear me.  Or was conscious to hear me.  My face was pained.  ”My apologies miss, but with the mask on you can still move with our help.  But you won’t be able to leave until we get the chains off.”  I looked at Farrel again.  ”Which key do you suppose we need?”

“…I don’t know.  The keyhole is wide, but it seems like…” the man ducked down as he inspected the lock more closely.  ”Nyx.  I think you’ll have to look yourself, my eyes can’t make this out.”

“Hold her head then and hand me the torch.”

We exchanged the torch as Farrel held up Syria’s head.  He shifted as I came around to the woman’s back to inspect the lock myself.  Crouching down I saw a large padlock, long in length but divided into four equal parts, hanging down Syria’s back.  I took the lock with my free hand and lifted it so that I could squint into the keyhole, my other hand bringing the torch as close as I dared.  Inside the wide hole, I made out a series of cuts meant for specific keys.  ”We have to unlock this in order.  Have you still got the key Lethia gave you?”

I took out my key from my belt.  I bit my lip and pushed it into the keyhole.  I recalled Lethia’s instructions, and instead of turning to the left, I turned it to the right.

What hit me was like a giant cosmic spike.  It struck at my solar plexus, then spread to the rest of my body.  I let out a small scream and fell back into the chains.  Farrel looked at me in alarm.

“What happened!?” he exclaimed.

I couldn’t breathe right away.  I tried to sit up, tried to speak, but my body wouldn’t listen to me.  The torch in my hands had fallen to the floor, embers scattering across the stone but it remained lit.

“Nyx!”  I heard Elmiryn’s voice echo across the room.

Breathe filled my lungs, and when I exhaled, it was with a whimper.  Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes and I sat up, trembling.  My nerves felt on fire and my muscles felt like they couldn’t sit still.  With twitching features, I looked up at Farrel. “I did…something…wrong,” I managed to whisper.  ”They have a charm on these locks that punishes you if you mess up.”

“Ya need ta’ hurry!” Lethia cried out, still with Farrel’s accent.  Her eyes were vacant, and I could see her clutching her head.  She was fighting to stay in control of the guards.

“The other guards.  They’re here.  They’re banging at the doors…” Elmiryn said, looking down the hall.  She was holding Lethia around the shoulders, offering the girl a body to lean against.  Her expression was blank.

I gave a shake, trying to gather myself.  Then I scooted closer, my face set in a rigid scowl.  I didn’t bother picking up the torch. My limbs still felt jittery and I didn’t want to accidentally set something on fire.

“I have to use this key first…I’m pretty sure,” I mused aloud.  ”Mine was the one that went into the last keyhole.”

“But why did you get hit with that…whatever it was?” Farrel said, sounding confused.

My eyes turned sharp as I answered him,  ”This is going backwards.  Even though I was the last key for the door, technically, one could say I’m the first key here.  So it’s like we’re working in the opposite way.  Lethia made a fuss about which direction I should turn the key.  That means I need to turn…”

I pushed the key in and turned to the left instead.  The first part of the lock clicked and fell off.  Three more.

“Farrel, give me your key and go get the other two.  I’ll hold her head up with my arm.”  I rose and wrapped my arm around the front of Syria’s mask, my body pressing against hers.  It felt a bit invasive, but it was the only way I could keep her head from falling.  Farrel gave me his key and did as I asked.  I put the key in-between my teeth and watched the man go.  The others gave him the key without much verbal exchange, and he came rushing back, tangling in the chains now and again.  He handed me Lethia’s key first and wordlessly I took it, placing it into the keyhole.  I closed my eyes and tried to remember which direction the girl had turned.

I had turned to the right the first time.  The second time I had turned to the left.  Lethia had turned to the left the first time.  So I had to turn to the…

Right.  The lock clicked and fell away.  I took Farrel’s key and placed it into the keyhole.  It was an “on-off” pattern.  I turned to the left.  The lock clicked and fell away again.  Farrel handed me the last key.  I pushed it into the lock and turned to the right.  Same as before.  The lock fell away, the ends of the chains were free.

But Syria was still bound.  I looked around the room at the chains, which threaded through metal loops in the ceiling and on the floor and on the walls.  Even though the lock was gone, the chains still held up, taut, and I knew we had to pull at them to get the woman free.  I grabbed at the chains to Syria’s left, using my free arm.

“Help me!  Even if I unlock the manacles, we have to loosen the chains around her body first.  They are completely wrapped around her!”

The man did as I asked and together we pulled.  Farrel had to travel around the room, freeing up some of the links that were stuck and rusted in place.  He grunted as the chains reluctantly stuttered through the loops, dust and iron flakes falling to the floor.  I just needed my one arm thanks to my natural strength, but I strained, pulling with all my body.  The chain came, groaning and chinking angrily.  Finally, we had enough slack that the woman was allowed to slink to the floor.  This change in her environment, in her state of life, seemed dramatic enough to startle the woman to higher animation.  She said something behind the mask, but I couldn’t understand her, and her hands clutched at the air like claws.  Without my telling him too, the man loosened the chains around the woman, just enough that, when we worked together, we were able to lift her up and pull her free.  All around us, the chains shuddered, as though aware of losing their prisoner.  We laid Syria along the floor, and I saw how the fabric hardly moved, as though dirt and grime had frozen the material in the same position permanently.  She shifted under our touch, like she wanted to rise up, like she wanted to start crawling away, pitifully, but we held her still.

“Her manacles,” Farrel said, holding her gently but firmly.

“Hurry up!”  Elmiryn barked through the door.

“We’re working on it!”  I snapped back.  I squinted at the manacles, then cursed in my native tongue.

Farrel looked at me, a wild look in his eyes.  The pounding in the hall was becoming louder.  ”What’s wrong!?”

I held out my right hand and took a measured breath.  My Twin was eager in answering my request, because my hand began to shift so suddenly I grunted and tried to keep it from spreading up my arm.  Within the minute, I had furry hand, set with claws.  I extended my pinky claw and began picking at the first manacle.

I didn’t have time to explain it to Farrel.  There must’ve been one more set of keys, besides the four that we had.  As the halfling had explained it, Lethia had only worked with Redford’s knowledge, and so she hadn’t known to look for anything else in the warden’s room.  Perhaps one could say we should’ve just looked.  But the noises in the hall were growing fiercer, and I knew I had to have Syria free before we could face the threat that came for us.  So I worked, with beaded sweat, trying to get a feel for the lock’s mechanics.

It was no where near as complicated as I was expecting.  My pinky’s claw was slim enough that I could turn it in the lock, and I could feel the pin inside the lock and pushed it in with the flat of my claw, twisting my finger almost painfully–the mechanism was dusty and I thought I felt wax.  The wax was supposed to stuff up the lock and make it harder to pick.  Only the key would be able to work through it.  It was a small detail, but fortunately my claw was much sturdier than a thin metal wire.  The manacle was off, and I set onto the other one.  This one was freed faster because I had figured out the lock’s design.

Finally, Syria was completely free of the chains.

But now there was the final struggle.  The iron mask.  The last horrible bond that kept Syria trapped, in the truest sense, because we couldn’t find the keyhole.  I couldn’t lockpick what wasn’t there.

Nearly twenty minutes had gone by.  For a group not having a solid understanding of the security here, we were making alright progress.  It was a great deal of luck, I knew, but I wasn’t going to spit on it.  Redford and Walt were probably a big reason the guards hadn’t entered the hallway yet.  But a glance told me that Lethia was now really struggling to keep her hold on them.  I felt it.  Our time was drawing to a close.

I felt around the mask desperately, one hand sapien, the other a bestial claw.  Farrel watched me, his face strained.  We had all been pushed, farther than we imagined we could’ve gone.  It was incredible, how much the desire for survival could win out over exhaustion and pain.  Elmiryn and Lethia were a testament to that.  I wanted to be worthy of standing next to them.  Even as a twisted monster, a being that no longer fit into the natural design of life, spiritually maimed, I wanted to be with these people.  I wanted to be someone they could look to, in times of need.  What else could I hope for in life, besides eternal damnation?

My eyes flew open as I felt something around the edges of the mask.  Buttons.  There were buttons on the edges of the mask.  I bit my lip and tried to feel them out.  There were eight in total, all against the back of Sryia’s neck.

I didn’t haven anything to go off of.  What order did I need to push the buttons in?  How were they ordered?  What if I got it wrong, but instead of just hurting me, it hurt Syria too?

Then the woman began to tap the ground.  Her hand shook, like it hurt to bend her swollen wrists, but as I watched her tappings, I realized she was trying to tell me the order of the buttons.  I didn’t question how she knew.

“Which side is where the buttons start?” I asked her.

Syria lifted her right hand.  So it was the right side.  Then she tapped the floor three times with her fingers.  Third button. I reached for it, feeling it out, then pressed.  Five taps.  Fifth button.  I pressed this too.  Eight total.  Three, five, six, nine, five, three, one, four.  I knew 3569 to be the year, as far as humans, dwarves, and elves were concerned.  They used a different calendar than Ailurans and Lycans.  Whereas they centered their calendar around seasons, we based ours around full moons.  In our language we called our calendar, Lunenn, and the human calendar, Verenn.  The humans called it Thomin’s calendar, after the one who supposedly created it.  The Thomin’s calendar had four months, each spanning the approximate length of the seasons.  New year was at the start of spring.  The five and three were probably the 53rd day, but the last numbers confused me.  A one and a four?  Maybe the one was a stand-in for zero, meaning date in question was during the fourth and final month?  I didn’t know the significance of the number.  I only kept track of the Lunenn, and that was because I had to.  If it were a famous birthday, a holiday, or a commemorative day, then I was unaware of it.  But it had some importance to the warden…possibly even Syria herself.

Regardless of the reason, the numbers were right.  There was a thunk as the mask literally split open at the back.  Syria tried to lift herself from the mask, her face still hidden behind her hair, and she took a deep and desperate breath of air.  Her hair was matted and smelled sweaty.  I took the woman beneath her right shoulder, Farrel the left.  Together, we carefully helped the woman sit up.  I blinked at her, feeling a little in awe.  Finally.  Finally.

Even from malnourishment and abuse, I noted a refined beauty about Syria that made me think of royalty.  Though her lips were dry and pale, I could see they were much like Elmiryn’s in that they seemed the sort to curl whenever amusement struck.  Her nose was petite and her brow gentle and sloping.  She had a fine, rounded jaw, with small ears that connected at the lobes, whereas Lethia’s were left disconnected and seemed to stick out more.  Her face was gaunt, and when she turned her smoldering dark eyes on me, I held my breath.

“You came…with my Lethia?” she breathed, voice rasping.

“Yes, but there are others coming, and we have to hurry.”

Syria smiled at me shakily.  Then she bowed her head, her black hair slipping forward to shield her face from me.  ”You shouldn’t have come,” she breathed.

I frowned at her.

I looked at Farrel, who nodded once and turned to the woman.  ”Pardon me, ma’am, but I’m going to need to pick you up,” he said.

Syria looked at him, dazed it seemed.  Then gave a slight nod.

The halfling scooped her up into his arms, carefully.  We left the room, stepping over the chains like they were corpses.

“Mistress…” Lethia sobbed as we came through the door.  She was fighting so hard, I could see it–her face had turned a deep red, and she was relying on Elmiryn to keep her upright.  Tears leaked down her face, and the girl held out a hand slowly, like she weren’t sure what she was seeing was real.

The woman seemed to take a moment before she recognized the girl.  ”Lethia?”  She reached a hand out, her beautiful face crumpling, revealing the laugh lines around her eyes.  ”My dear sweet girl!”

The girl nodded her head emphatically, more fat tears streaking down her swollen face.  She knelt before the woman, and bowed her head.

The enchantress stared forward, tears in her eyes as well.  ”Lethia.  Gather yourself.  The struggle is not yet won.”  Her voice seemed stronger now.  It made something warm blossom in my chest to hear it.

Lethia rose again to her feet, Elmiryn helping her by pulling her up with her good arm.  She looked at Syria, her cerulean eyes casting about this new face.  Her architect’s eyes.  Then she let loose a thin smile.  I thought this curiously reserved of her, and I watched her shrewdly.  Her gaze was glassy, despite her attempt at expression.  ”Syria,” she said, voice upbeat like she were meeting the enchantress at a ball.  ”My name is Elmiryn, of Fiamma.  I hate to ask it, but is there something you can do to help the situation?”

Syria gazed at her, and I recognized something of Elmiryn’s calculating stare in the enchantress eyes.  Neither seemed to know what to make of the other.

“I’m still coming out of the affects of the cold iron…But with Lethia’s help I think we can walk out of here fine.”  She looked at Lethia.  ”My dear, would you please have your friends open the door?”  She gestured down the hall at Redford and Walt with shaking hands.  The men in question were bracing the door with all their weight, sweat lining their faces.

Lethia looked to them.  She didn’t wave her hands, or say a magic word.  Redford merely stepped back, pressing up against the wall, and Walt opened the door.

He was bowled over.  Some seven or eight men came tumbling through the doorway with what sounded like more following in the staircase.  The ones in the lead were equipped with bows, and they stopped at a certain point before us, kneeling, and drew their weapons.  The rest of the men appeared behind them, faces tight and furious–or was that fear?  Most of these men weren’t real fighters, after all.  But then the commotion stopped.  The men just stared at us, and we all stared back.

I had fallen into a fighting stance, one leg drawn back, my hands held up and clenched into tight fists.  Farrel and Elmiryn had positioned themselves similarly.

The tension was broken when Syria began to speak.

“My!  Our guests have arrived!”  She gave a soft clap of her hands, smiling at the mob of guards.  She looked at Lethia.  ”My girl!  Please show our guests in!”

Lethia gestured down the hallway, her smile now matching Syria’s.  ”Yes, this way please!”  She chirped.

The guards before us began to follow her–the archers dropping their bows and arrows, the swordsmen dropping their blades.  I went to shut the door to Syria’s room–just in case the cold iron broke their spell.  Then I turned and watched in amazement as a train of men passed us by without a glance, Redford and Walt now with them.  They all crowded into the warden’s room.  Some of the men couldn’t fit.  This didn’t seem to be a problem though.

“Isn’t the gallery lovely?” Lethia said to those still in the hall.  She gestured at the blank walls.  ”Beautiful portraits done by the best in the land.”

The men seemed to see something we didn’t.  They rubbed their chins and murmured appreciatively at nothing.  Elmiryn started giggling, but I shushed her.

“Let’s check on the other guests now, hmm?” Syria said.

We left the hallway, back down the staircase to the sixth floor.  There a guard had remained to watch the prisoners.  He jumped to his feet when he saw us, his expression spooked.  He must’ve thought we had been apprehended peacefully, because there had been no sounds of struggle.  He had his hand on his sword, but didn’t draw it.  Syria spoke to him, her voice soothing.

“Sir, please don’t hold yourself back.  Have some of the turkey.  Have some of the wine.  This is a party!”

The guard stared at her blankly, then nodded, a vacant smile spreading across his face.  He moved to the nearest wall and proceeded to mime out serving himself a plate of food.

We descended further down.  The staircase seemed darker than usual.  Pitch black it seemed.  As we entered, the shadows swallowed us…and I felt warm.

“Oh dear.  Please watch your step, everyone.  I wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt.  We’re almost to the study now.”

When we emerged from the staircase, we encountered more guests, and they turned to look at us with surprise.  Wine glasses were gripped in their hands.  I smelled tobacco and incense.

Syria greeted them all.  ”Jerry!  How’ve you been my boy?  Tell me news of your mother.  Is she well?  Luis, you rascal, don’t go spreading rumors!  Angelo, the mutton is quite good isn’t it?  Yes…yes I had the room remodeled.  Much more spacious this way.  I wanted to hang up my new self-portrait.  The artist was this beautiful lad from Gerl.  The artistry there will astound you!  Yes we should all go together one day.  Have some more wine, Wilson, don’t be a prude.  It’s my birthday, isn’t it?  I can do as I please!  And it pleases me to have so many guests, so many beautiful people having a good time!”

“Isn’t this wonderful, Nyx?  We’re all finally safe!  And it’s Syria’s birthday!”  Lethia held my hand.

I smiled at her.  We passed through the study.  The ceiling was high, and there was a fire going in the fireplace.  Large windows were closed off with red curtains.  But I felt like I was…forgetting something.  Still I smiled.  ”Yes…this is nice, Lethia.”

She squeezed my hand once before skipping ahead, her blue frilly dress bouncing with each step.

“I’ve been to many parties, and this one is by far the best,” Farrel said to my left.  He wore a plain black robe, with a cream double-quilted vest beneath.

Syria laughed, a tinkling sound.  She slapped at the man’s chest, her heeled boots kicking in the air.  ”Oh but how silly of you!  Don’t you recall the celebration we had last year?”

Our group murmured in agreement.  ”Yes, yes!  The party from last year!”

Syria’s home was spacious and grand.  I felt close to tears for seeing such a beautiful place.  The enchantress was walking again, now that Farrel had decided to stop his little game and had set her down.  She looked my way and the smile on her face faded some.  I looked away, embarrassed.  I heard her fall into step next to me as Farrel went to walk with Lethia.  She patted my shoulder, leaning in close.  ”Nyx, you’ve fought hard.  Some rest is well deserved.”

“I don’t…know if I should be here,” I returned, feeling my throat tighten.  My eyes fell to the black marble floor, which danced from the Fiamman lamps that lit the hallway.  ”It’s hard to explain to you.”

The woman rubbed my shoulder, leaving me to feel warm despite my guilt.  ”Don’t be silly,” she scolded.  ”I know the pain you have suffered–your spirit burns with it–but know that in my home, you are an honored and welcome guest, and I’d have you joining in the merriment!”

“Nyx…”

Syria quietly slipped ahead as I turned and saw Elmiryn, wearing an emerald dress.  It was a simple cut, but of a beautiful fabric that danced in the warm light.  Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, the locks twisting in tight ringlets.  Her eyes seemed brighter somehow, and I gazed back with wonder.  She brushed my side with her arm and smiled at me.  ”Remember that I’m here…okay?”

I smiled at her, openly, and hugged her from the side, managing to grab her right arm in my embrace too.  She hissed and I looked at her confused.  ”What is it?” I asked, pulling back.

She blinked at me, like I was some bizarre surprise.  Then she smiled again, but slowly.

“Nothing, Nyx.  Don’t worry about it.  I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Back to Chapter 17.4 | Forward to Chapter 18.2

I snapped the heavy manacles over Elmiryn’s wrists and ankles, my brow wrinkled at the idea of having my friends under such bondage.  I was worried about the warrior’s arm, but she made no fuss about it, just turned her arm enough so that her hands were in front of her center.  I held the chain that trailed from the links between their hands, holding it like a leash so that I could appear as though I were leading them along.  Elmiryn regarded the new prop with a thoughtful expression, as though she were considering how she could use it for her own purposes.  Farrel updated Lethia on our plans as he fitted her similarly.  The girl listened and nodded, but her body trembled badly.  I wondered how much of it was due to blood loss, and how much of it was her mental condition reacting to the stress?  Despite my fears I felt a sense of awe and respect begin to emerge at the girl’s inner strength, something I had only ever felt towards Elmiryn, and once long ago, towards my oldest brother Thaddeus.

Farrel pulled out the slip of paper he had tucked inside his belt.  “I’ve got the writ here.  It lacks the watermark, but no one ever checks that, as far as I’ve seen.  It’s just our luck that the seal from Belcliff’s offices are easy to carve out of wax with a blade.”  He held it out for us to see.  I leaned forward and squinted my eyes at it.  I was holding Lethia by the shoulders and the girl leaned against me with a sleepy look on her face, but she looked too.  Over the fold of the paper, keeping it closed, was a seal of red wax.  On it, I saw what seemed to be a large government building, with a flock of birds over it.  The amount of detail Farrel put into the red wax was impressive and I let out a fascinated sigh.

“No one will tell the difference?” Elmiryn asked turning her head as though it were something abstract.

The halfling shook his head.  “The guards here are simple folk.  As far as I know, none are sharp enough to pick up on a detail like that.  I managed to smooth out the blade strokes with a dying flame.”

“Wait!” I said, looking between Farrel and Lethia.  ”You both sound different.  Farrel, your companions might notice if you don’t sound like your usual self.”

The man tugged at his ear.  ”Öctér!  You’re right!”  He looked at Lethia.  ”Well…I suppose I’ll just…have to fake my own accent?”  He scrunched his nose.  ”How odd!”

Elmiryn straightened and jerked her head down the hall.  “We need to get moving.”

I frowned at Farrel as yet another thought occurred to me.  ”And what explanation do you have for your missing guards? Won’t the others be suspicious if they don’t see the men that they’re supposed to trade shifts with?”

Farrel shook his head, but his face tightened. “Don’t worry about that.  I have an excuse lined up that they won’t much look into.” He beckoned us to follow him. “C’mon, we’ve been taking too long!”

I shared a glance with Elmiryn.  Then I turned to look at Lethia.  ”Do you want me to carry you?”

The girl turned and smiled at me.  ”You won’t seem so tough carrying a thing like me, now won’t you?”  Her voice still had the northwestern accent, and it was like a wrinkle my mind kept tripping over.  Lethia pulled away from me.  ”I’ll be fine.”

I picked up Elmiryn’s sword, which we had to remove from her or else she wasn’t very convincing as a prisoner.  I handed it to Farrel, who tied the strap across his chest.  Together we walked back down the hall to the first door on the left.  Farrel gestured for us to take a step back.  He looked at me, his expression tight with anxiety.

“Are you ready?” He asked me.  ”These two don’t need to do much besides keep quiet.  But you’ll really have to sell this to the guards…can you do that?”

“Just…open the door,” I said, my expression equally tense.  All of this stalling was driving me insane.  I wanted to be brave, like Lethia and Elmiryn were brave, but I couldn’t do that if things continued to be dragged out.  I had to jump into things.  I had to turn my brain off–for once.

Farrel said nothing.  Just pursed his lips tightly and turned.  With a deep breath through his nose, the man opened the door.  He stepped through and knocked on the wall.  Inside the room it was dark, but I could make out atleast two bunk beds from where I stood.

“Hey, I need atleast two of you to come with me.  We’ve got an escort.” The halfling tried to sound like his old self, but it didn’t quite match his northwestern accent.  When nothing happened, he stepped further into the room and shook two men awake.  ”Oi!  Walt!  Tyson!  Get up!  I said we have an escort!”

The men stirred awake, grumbling.  One sat up, and I could see a crop of messy black hair.  ”Eh? Why don’ the others take care o’ it?”

“Several Daesce managed ta’ slip ‘neath th’gate ‘fore it closed after our new prisoners came in.  They’re takin’ care of it now.  I had ta’ close the gate and the door so tha’ they wouldn’ get into the tower.”

The guards cursed but they rose and started putting on their gear. Within ten minutes their white pajamas were lost beneath leather armor.  They emerged from the sleeping quarters quietly, eyes squinting in the torchlight.  The two men, Walt and Tyson, were of average height.  One had overgrown black hair that fell into his gray eyes, the other had closely cut brown hair and a small dimpled chin and brown eyes.  They were only equipped with six-inch knives, sheathed on their belts, and I recalled what I had overhead outside the gate.  I was glad to see this was true.  I was certain Elmiryn saw this too.  If we had to, we could overwhelm these men.

I drew myself up as they stared me and my companions up and down.  I even mirrored the action, my lip curling in feigned disgust.  It concealed the grimace which battled to take over my features.  I tried to think of all the strong and overbearing people I knew in my life–how they had behaved, how they moved, how they spoke.

Fortunately Farrel did most of the talking for me.

“This bounty hunter just came in with these two prisoners.  I asked ‘er about it, but she says she hadn’t heard about the trouble in Belcliff.  It was too recent ah’guess.  The marshal couldn’ spare any militia men for the escort, so she was by herself,” Farrel explained to them as he handed over his forged documents.

The two guards squinted at the wax seal, then looked up within the second.  I felt my heart lift, and Farrel’s face eased a bit.  The men had no idea the seal was fake.  None of the guards would open the letter, either, until we reached the warden.  I wondered if Farrel bothered with faking a letter at all.

“So who’re you?” The black-haired guard asked.  I still didn’t who was Tyson and who was Walt.

I pulled the first name I could think of.  ”My name is Quincy.”

“You’re Quincy, the bounty hunter?”  they sounded skeptical.

I blinked and looked at Farrel.  His eyes stared back at me wide, and I realized if I looked at him too long the guards would know I was looking to him for a cue.  I snapped my eyes back to the men, my heart pounding in my chest.  Through some miracle, I took my fear and used it to twist my features into one of annoyance.  ”I didn’t come here to meet your expectations.  I came here to give my report to the warden and nothing else.”  I looked at Farrel again, but this time I bared my teeth.  ”Tell your men to quit wasting my time!”

The guards exchanged looks, then held up their hands.  ”Our apologies, ma’am,” the brown-haired guard said.   “We were just confused that’s all.  You look different than what we would’a expected.”

Farrel rolled his eyes.  ”That learns ya both.  Rumors ain’ to be takin’ serious.”  He still sounded off to me, but his friends didn’t seem to think it out of place.

They came forward, one hand on their weapons, the other held out.

“We’ll take your prisoners from here, miss,” the dark-haired man said.

I handed him Elmiryn’s chain, my jaw muscles clenching.  Then I gave Lethia’s chain to the brown-haired guard.

Farrel started walking down the hall and together we followed him.  The guards trailed behind me, and every now and again I heard the men jerk the chain hard.  I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder and tell them to stop.  If I showed too much compassion, they would become suspicious.  But each time I heard one jerk the chain, I could practically hear Elmiryn wincing in pain from her injured arm, or Lethia falling to her knees.  My eyes burned with the desire to cry, but I bit the inside of my cheek and kept moving.  Farrel didn’t look back either.

We made it to the end of the hallway.  At the door to the staircase, Farrel took out a key from his pocket and turned it in the keyhole.  There was a satisfying click as the door unlocked.  He opened the door and proceeded up the staircase.  The staircase was narrow and dark.  The steps seemed high, even to me, and my thighs burned as I worked to climb higher.  I didn’t realize how much heavier I was now that I was dressed in full armor.  The guards fell behind us with Lethia and Elmiryn.

When the sound of their climbing grew distant, I turned and called down the staircase.  ”For the girl, you’ll have to pick her up.  She’s injured and weak and can’t be pushed too hard.”

Farrel hissed at me from ahead, and I turned to look at him.  His expression was angry and incredulous. “What’re you doing?  You sound too much like you care about them!” He mouthed.

I winced and turned my head as I called down the staircase again.  ”And just to be clear, if anything happens to either of those women, you’ll answer to my blade!  I don’t get paid if they die before their execution date!”  I tried to sound as cold and menacing as possible.  My voice trembled a little toward the end of my remark, and I couldn’t see the guards expression as they hadn’t caught up yet.  I prayed to Aelurus they didn’t suspect anything.

“Don’t touch me!” I heard Lethia snap.

I heard a scuffle, and the girl cried out.

I bared my teeth and shouted, “Did you hear me–!?”

Within the next moment they appeared, Elmiryn grinning behind her guard, who looked annoyed, and Lethia hanging over the shoulder of the brown-haired guard, her butt to me.  She was wriggling, her face screwed up in outrage.

“Let me go!”  She half-shouted.

The guard holding her looked at me, not appearing in the least bit strained.  ”We heard you, ma’am.  Don’t worry.”  But there was a chilly indifference in his voice that made me anxious.

I turned my face away before this emotion could betray me and followed Farrel further up the stairs.  It seemed we just needed one more go around up the steps before we reached the entrance to the second floor.  We had climbed a total of forty steps to get there.  The ache in my legs confirmed this.

Adjacent to the door, there was a metal box set into the wall at the right.  Farrel opened this to reveal a grid of nine large buttons, each with a geometric shape.  He pushed these in an order I couldn’t follow, then closed the box.  Next he turned to the door and rapped on it three times softly before pausing and pounding on it hard, once.

“Name?” a voice said through the wood.

“Farrel, here.”

There was a click and the door opened.  A guard stared at him through the doorway.  ”I didn’t think you had second floor duty this week.”

The halfling stepped aside, and the guard turned his eyes on me and the others behind me.  His eyebrows went high.  Farrel held up the forged writ.  ”I’m takin’em up.  Walt and Tyson are just helpin’ out.  They aren’t on duty yet.  Regulations says an on-duty guard gotta go with, but the others are busy handling a Daesce break in.”

The guard cursed as he looked at the writ closely.  ”Damn…again?”  He sighed and stepped back.  ”Alright, then.  On you go.”

Not many questions asked.  Was this the famous Holzoff’s Tower?  The men here looked so tired and scared and jaded.  But as Farrel put it, most were forced into working here.  The only way I could justify the prison’s fame was for its isolation out in the harsh cold mountains, and for its unwelcome plague of vicious monsters.  I glanced at Farrel as we crossed the walkway, slim and narrow, with my line of sight jarred by the passing bars and the stark faces that stared through them.  Farrel was doing a good job of pretending not to know me–and in a sense this wasn’t entirely a lie.  He didn’t know me.  We had known each other for barely an hour and a half.  I could understand his fears–regarding me.

Unbidden, my mind returned to the days not all that long ago when I hardly knew Elmiryn.  I hadn’t known where the woman came from, what she was truly working toward, what she was possibly running from.  I feared she was a criminal, a cut throat, a lunatic.  The really odd thing was, atleast two of those assessments were true–but not like I thought.  The warrior was wanted by her kingdom for black magic, yet she was innocent of it.  And while she sometimes behaved like a lunatic, I knew there was a bizarre sanity in how she tried to cope with her curse…even if I could feel the stableness in her corroding away.  But Elmiryn was not a cut throat.  She was ruthless sometimes, perhaps, but she was honorable, in her own unique way.

…Would Farrel have these revelations about me?  If he even hung around that long?

Crossing the second floor was like drifting through a tier in hell.  The air was fetid and hot for the cramped bodies and lack of good air circulation.  There were huddles of prisoners, all men from what I saw, draped in dirty blankets and trying to get comfortable on patches of hay.  The room was mostly quiet, save for some coughing.  I noted how some of the prisoners were sporting bruises and cuts.  One was relieving himself in a corner, where I saw a drain.  The lack of privacy repulsed me.  Judging from the prisoners who were injured or battered in some way, I surmised that the guards beat whoever made too much of a fuss.  Thankfully, the sight was gone from us within the minute.  Again we took to the stairs.  Another forty steps.  Then again we came to another metal box, where Farrel punched in the code needed before someone spoke through the door.  Identities were verified.  We were granted passage and made our way quietly.  The third floor was just as the one before it.  Along the way my face grew numb and cold.  This was all so surreal in how routine it was beginning to appear…and it made things all the more terrible for me.

But at the fourth floor, we came to our first break in the pattern.  We had crossed the room as usual.  The guards there sized us up but otherwise didn’t move from their places, and the prisoners were, as before, quiet.

Farrel held up his note for the guard who blocked our way to the staircase leading up to the fifth floor.  ”One of you will have to help us go up,” he said.  ”I was the guard to receive Miss Quincy so I have to proceed.”

“You don’t have the authority to go up,” said the man.  He wore a helmet, and I found that I didn’t care enough anymore to get the details of his face.  The men here were beginning to blend together for me.  ”Why didn’t Jowan or Freck come up?  They’ve got clearance.”

“There was a daesce break-in downstairs.  It couldn’t be helped.”

“I don’t recall the warden telling us we were to be expecting new prisoners.  Wouldn’t the marshal have told him so in the letter we got today?”

Farrel scowled at him, but I could see him start to sweat.  ”Damn it, you want us to go all the way back!?”

“Yeh.”  The man said, squaring his shoulders and stepping closer so that he got in the halfling’s face.  ”I do.”

“Get out of the way,” I spat, putting some beastliness into my words.

But the guard didn’t seem impressed.  He looked my way.  ”All do respect, Miss, but the prison runs under strict protocol.  Farrel here doesn’t have the authority, and quite frankly neither do y–”

I took a step forward, one hand clenched, the other flashing up to grab at the hilt of the sword that pressed at my back.  I heard a clatter as the other men in the room reacted.  I bared my teeth.  Inside me, She reared her head, eyes peering intently through mine.  She was putting lightning and fury into my voice.  I didn’t deny her.  I welcomed whatever boost in ferocity she could spare.  There was only one way to go–up, forward, onward–and to turn back meant failure.  But more than that, danger.  The men downstairs had likely risen, maybe they were even coming after us, impeded only by Holzoff’s own procedures?  This understanding, meted out in words and measured assumptions, riled something unseen and beyond definition.  It came from nowhere, but was a presence that took little time in commanding my actions.

Could I call it…fear?

I wanted to run, but I knew I couldn’t–not in the moral sense either.  This wasn’t about letting down my friends.  What bothered me was that I didn’t have the literal option to run.  The door behind us leading to the third floor had been locked, and we were in a limited space filled with enemies and strangers.  It was a fear–I suppose I can call it this–that called beyond logic and morality.  I was starting to hurt again.  I felt my rib cage expand, felt my teeth ache, felt my joints burn.  My instincts flared, nettled by the circumstances.

I felt like a cornered animal.

Yes.  A form of fear.  Better known as a need to survive.

“Fool,” I spat, sounding very much like a cat.  ”You will move out of the way, or I’ll cut you where you stand!  The marshal personally charged me with getting these prisoners to the warden as soon as possible–not even the slightest bit of delay.  They were charged with destroying a quarter of the city of Belcliff using their black magic, and so they can’t be doddled about just because you haven’t the right asshat to salute you.”  Then, in a stroke of madness, I snarled.  ”Look at the letter if you need the proof.  Look at what the marshal wrote for the warden, then explain to the warden why YOU impeded the top priority of the man who’s paying you all your pathetic stipend!”

Farrel stared at me with wild eyes.

I looked back at him, my eyes sharp, my breath short.  His expression said it all.  The halfling hadn’t faked a proper looking letter.  Or maybe he hadn’t written anything to back up my claim.  I was gambling our whole plan.  Had I lost my mind?

The guard blinked at me, clearly taken aback.  He stepped away from Farrel, then bowed his head.  ”…Ma’am…to break the seal and open the letter prior to the warden’s review would be–”

“Against protocol,” I snapped.  I took my hand off my hilt and took another step forward, backing the man into the door.  Either it was because of my threat or something in my demeanor, but I was scaring the man.  …And deep down, I felt a sense of pleasure. ”So?” I pressed.

The guard looked between us, stricken.  Then he turned around and opened the door.  ”…I’ll see you up myself.  My name’s Redford, ma’am.  I apologize again.”

Before we went through the door, Farrel waited for me to come up to his side, and that’s when he hissed from the side of his mouth.  ”Your eyes.”

I didn’t need much more than that to understand his meaning.  My eyes must’ve gone cat again.  I raised my hand to my face and saw that, while they hadn’t sprouted fur, my nails had still turned to claws.  The brazen fire in me was gone, replaced with panic.  We entered the staircase, away from the audience in the room.  There I squeezed my eyes shut and willed everything back to their rightful places.  Pain shot through my head as I felt my eyes return to their sapien origin.  My hands too.  The change was fast, but I felt it this time.  I felt it because I made it happen.  And what of the times when I hadn’t felt the change?  The curse of my Mark was to bring pain to any slight shift from my sapien to bestial forms.  It didn’t matter the extent of the transformation.

I thought to raise the issue in my mind with my Twin, but she bristled just at the suggestion.  I sensed in her a confusion to match mine, and a resentment that I would be so quick to blame her.  I hadn’t written her off as innocent yet–such animalistic outbursts were in her domain after all–but not long ago it had been brought to my attention that things were perhaps not so simple as “My Fault–Her Fault”.

But that wasn’t the time to think of it.

I glanced over my shoulder at Elmiryn.  The woman smiled openly at me behind her guard, but by then we had entered the staircase and neither Walt nor Tyson saw her face.  I looked forward again so that they wouldn’t notice.  I didn’t like the look on Elmiryn’s face.  Like she were in some way impressed.  I just felt like a bully, strong-arming these men to get my way.  It wasn’t in my nature, this attitude, this bristling charade.  If it weren’t for my experience dealing with such people, I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to behave.  If it weren’t for my Twin, I wouldn’t have the fierceness or bravado needed to make my act convincing.

…Right?

Being of such a hardy-make, it was easier for me to recover from arduous climbs like the flights of stairs we had passed.  Just the few minutes spent bickering with Redford the guard was enough for the burn in my thighs and calfs to stop.  Farrel seemed to be doing as well as I was, though that was hardly a surprise–for a paper merchant, he seemed incredibly in shape.  But the others?

Behind me, I could hear the guard carrying Lethia panting behind Elmiryn.  Elmiryn herself seemed a bit winded, and the guard holding her chains was beginning to get impatient.

“C’mon you!” he snapped, when the woman started to lag again.

I glanced over my shoulder, a flicker of concern crossing my face.  I couldn’t help it.  The woman was injured, and I knew for a fact that she hadn’t slept for more than a day.  She seemed to only make it this far because of her sudden spikes of energy, but as I saw outside of the tower, she was crashing harder now.  When would her body collapse?

Elmiryn tried to pick up her pace by skipping a step, but her leg was weak as it gave out under her, and she fell.  She managed to turn her body just enough that she fell on her good arm, but the injured arm still pulled in a way that her impromptu brace did not spare her the pain.  She rolled over to her side, growling with a bunched expression, eyes closed and her cheeks turning a deep red.  I turned fully, my mask falling, and I was about to call her name when–

The guard kicked her.  He pulled his foot back and kicked her broken arm.

Elmiryn let out a strangled scream, her body curling like an animal whose exposed nerves had been poked with a hot stick.

I grabbed the man from behind, hardly thinking.  I hooked my right arm around the front of his neck from the left side, then grabbed his left wrist with my free hand, forcing him into a backward bend.  I was…beside myself with anger.  My first instinct had been to stop the man, to restrain him as Elmiryn had shown me in the days passed.

“Bastard.  Didn’t I warn you…!?” I hissed.

I heard Redford say something behind me, saw the guard carrying Lethia bend his knees and shift the girl in his arms as though he meant to get involved somehow.  The girl in question was trying to twist her body around to get a look at what was happening.  Her expression was twisted in perplexity and she seemed to forget her compromised position for a moment.  Elmiryn’s eyes peered up at me like white sickles, and her breath had turned harsh.  She still cradled her left arm.  Her lips moved gently, and I realized she was trying to tell me something.

Then Farrel’s hand came down on my shoulder like a gavel.  ”Quincy!”

The word was loaded with so many things.  Surprise, appeal for peace, a furious warning.  I released the man and stood, my head bowed.  Locks of my hair clung to my face, where hot tears had fallen.  I tried to cover this by rubbing my hand over my face as though in frustration…it wasn’t that hard to fake.

Farrel passed me on the stairs.  I raised my eyes to look and saw that he helped Elmiryn to her feet.  He pulled the chains from the guard’s hands and gestured behind him.  ”Go on, Tyson.  You should’ve known better.”

The guard at my feet stared up at Farrel.  ”You’re siding with her?”

“He isn’t the only one,” Redford snapped from behind me.  I looked at the man to see him sneering at Tyson.  ”You’re a real fool.  The warden’ll be hearing about you.  Now get back to your post before you slow us down even more!”

Tyson looked as though he wanted to punch him.  But he turned and went back down the stairs, out of sight.

“He won’t cause any trouble.  Unlike him, I’m a real guard.  I’ve worked here for years.  The wardnen’ll listen to what I have to say.”  Redford turned without glancing back again.  ”That’s done.  Just a bit more, now.”

Our pace slowed as Elmiryn, for all her toughness, seemed to reach her limit.  She looked ill, and she held her broken forearm close to her hunched body.

We reached the fifth floor.  This floor was different from the others as it had more floor space.  That was because the cells were set against the circular walls.  They were like metal closets, less than four feet wide.  This allowed eight prisoners on the floor.  These were the high profile prisoners, Farrel had mentioned.  I couldn’t see any of them, because the little windows set into the cell doors were closed.  I would’ve thought them empty if I hadn’t heard a man howling in one of them.  The sixth floor was the same, only with a small difference.

Redford took out a key and unlocked the door leading to the final staircase.

Or it seemed he was  opening it to the final staircase.

Before us was a giant stone slab with a confusing array of carved lines.  They reminded me of the puzzles I used to solve as a child, where the solver was to figure out what lines connected to what symbols.  This was, of course, much grander, and I was surprised to see it.  So far, Holzoff’s Tower had used more mundane manners of security–this was more reminiscent of the arcane.

Sure enough, Redford traced his fingers along the lines in a fast and confusing order.  To me, there wasn’t any thought to it.  But the way the man started at a certain point, then traced out some unnameable shape suggested otherwise.  And where his finger passed, the stone glowed white, until a complete and closed shape shined at our marveling faces.  There was a groan, and the stone slid to the side, into some partition that seemed unlikely to me–but this was magic.  Perhaps part of the spell, made the stone collapse into small spaces?

It didn’t matter.  We were past it.  We were heading to the final floor.  But I wasn’t quite at ease yet.  There was still Walt and Redford to deal with.  And how was security on this floor?  How many guards would we have to fight through, and how in the nine hells would we get out of the tower once Syria was safely in our custody?

We came to the door leading to the seventh floor.  There was no box here–no great and magical stone barrier.  Just a door, and Redford had the key to unlock it.  He did so, no sense of anxiety spurring him onward.  I tensed, waiting for some cue, waiting for some sign that would tell me what it was I needed to do and when.  Were we going to attack?  Or were we going to fake this through to the end?

But we stepped through the doorway, into a wide hall.  At the end of the hall was a large heavy door that was likely the way into the Warden’s office.  But halfway down the hall, to the right, was a menacing looking entrance, that reminded me of the cells down below.  The difference here was in the four locks at the edge of the door, and the large wooden bar that suggested the door open outward.

I turned to look at Farrel, who raised his eyebrows at me.  Elmiryn’s face looked blank, but her eyes were bright, as though the sight of our goal was enough to rejuvenate her.  I clenched my fists and turned to look at Redford.  I moved forward, intending to knock him out from behind when–

“Thank you, Walt.  You can set me down now.”

I froze.  I looked over my shoulder with a slow incredulity, and saw Walt the guard set Lethia down without a fuss.  His expression was blank.  The girl patted his shoulder.  Next she looked in my direction, but her green eyes were on the floor.  ”Redford.  Please get the keys from the warden’s room.  Knock the man out, if you need to, but don’t kill him.”

Redford said nothing.  Didn’t even turn his head.  Just continued walking down the hall to the warden’s room as if nothing had happened.  When he went through the door, we heard a brief inquiry from someone we couldn’t see, before the door shut and all sounds were cut off.  Whatever happened next, we heard nothing.

I stared, open mouthed.  ”Lethia, are you–?”

“Not now. Concentrating,” Lethia muttered.

Farrel looked at her, then at me.  He seemed equally surprised.

Elmiryn bumped him hard with her shoulder.  ”Hey, damn it.  Am I supposed to keep wearing these or what?”

The halfling fumbled for the keys to the chains and mumbled an apology.  The woman looked at me and winked.  ”See?  The kid pulled through for us.  I didn’t want to say anything, but she’s been in control ever since Walt tried to pick her up.”

“How did you know?” Farrel asked her, frowning.

Elmiryn shrugged her uninjured shoulder.  ”She stopped fighting him.  That, and Redford gave things up too easily.  I dunno how she got Redford to yield, but she must’ve made eye contact with Walt when he tried to throw her over his shoulder.”

“So my act was–?”

“Still necessary.  Lethia just helped.” Elmiryn affirmed, now free of her bonds.  Farrel returned her weapon to her, and went to free Lethia next.  The warrior came to my side and brushed back my hair.  ”You did great, Nyx.”

The door opened again and Redford emerged a key ring jangling four keys at his side.  When I looked around him, I saw a leg sprawled out on the floor.  The warden, hopefully just knocked out as Lethia had instructed.  The ensorcelled guard ignored the rest of us, brushing past to stop before Lethia, who received him warmly.  It was a bit ridiculous, but even when dealing with a man she was mind-controlling the girl treated him kind.

“Thank you, Redford!”  She said as she took the keys from him.

Farrel finished removing the chains from her ankles.  ”What’re you going to do with them?” he asked.

Lethia didn’t look at the halfling.  Just pointed behind her.  ”Walt.  Redford.  Please watch the door.  I think your friends may be coming soon, and I’d prefer it if we weren’t interrupted.”

Without a word, both men went to do as they were told.  Elmiryn shook her head, a grin on her face.  ”Enchantment!  It’s THE way to deal with pesky men!”

Despite myself I grinned.

Lethia held up the keys.  ”One for each of us.  We need to turn the keys at the same time.”

She came closer and unhooked the keys from the hoop.  The one she handed to me was small and a warm honey colored metal.  ”That one goes into the last hole.  Turn it to the right.”

I frowned at her.  ”The right?  But it’s a key.  Doesn’t it turn to the left?”

Lethia didn’t answer me.  At first I was annoyed, but then it occurred to me that mind-controlling two men at the same time was likely very taxing on her, and she could spare little time to talk.  She handed keys to Elmiryn and Farrel.  Both were differently shaped then mine.

“Yours is the first.  Turn to the left,” she said to Elmiryn.  And to Farrel, “Yours is the second.  Turn to the right.”

She held up her own key.  ”I’m the third keyhole, and I turn to the left.  We’ll turn on three.”

Lethia didn’t wait for us.  She went to the heavy door and placed her key into the third keyhole.  The three of us exchanged looks.  Then Elmiryn followed suit, using her good arm to reach for the first keyhole.  Farrel went next, placing his key into the appropriate place.  I was last.

My eyes were on Lethia, who seemed different somehow.  It didn’t help that she still had the odd accent she had stolen from Farrel, but something of her was subdued.  Likely because she was using her power to keep Walt and Redford under control, but there was something else.  The girl’s face was blank and pale, save for the scratches and light bruises she had received in the day, both from Belcliff’s jail and our dangerous trek through daesce territory.  Her green eyes were like glass, but tears collected at the corners, and I saw her lips were set into a tight line.

She was going to see her mistress again.

Did this fact afford her with the sudden spiritual strength needed to overcome her fatigue and injuries?

I moved forward and placed my key into the final keyhole.

Lethia began counting.

“One…two…three!”

Back to High Walls, Small Gates | Forward to Chapter 18.1

Springtime chased dreams into her solemn march–and cerulean eyes followed a butterfly over the glades. The carriage shuddered over the bumpy road, eliciting grumbles from the silk-coat passenger who looked as though he had shit up his nose. He pulled the window of his curtain shut, and she heard the nobleman sneeze. Her lips curled up at the corners, and she wanted to crack a joke, but Saelin looked at her sideways and gave her a tense shake of the head.

“Sir…please don’t!” He hissed out of the corner of his mouth. His mint green eyes were wide like a spooked deer’s.

Elmiryn glanced at him with a mild expression. They were marching side-by-side, two others following in similar fashion behind. Four more soldiers would be on the other side of the wagon, with two at the front and rear. Excessive–but it was part of the show. All of this was just part of a show.

“Private!” she cried softly. “Are you frightened of a round-assed noble?” But she said this low.

Her companion looked at her with horror. “Lieutenant, I’d very much like to be promoted, if it’s all the same to you! Your last comment turned Tiedby’s face purple. My ascension is dependent on him being safe and happy, so please–!”

“How dull,” she interjected with a click of her tongue.

“You know you could have a chance to be promoted too? Aren’t you even the least bit concerned?”

Elmiryn reached a dainty hand up to tap her chin, her brow dipping low and her lower lip pushing up as she gazed thoughtfully at the blue sky. Her companion let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Nevermind, sir!” he said with a wave of his hand, but as she glanced over at him, the woman saw the corner of his lips twitch.

Elmiryn grinned and looked forward. Leading this team of glorified bodyguards was Duncan, Major to the famous Olimer, and one of Lord Westley’s most prized soldiers. He wore polished plate armor, with horned shoulder guards that came up over his ears–to protect from projectiles and high strikes from the side. He lacked a helmet, as the one issued to him was an impractical creation, closed with a grate in the front to allow for breathing and small cuts for the eyes, the dome fitted with curved horns taken from a ram and gilded with gold. If he was to aid in keeping a lookout, he couldn’t even bother with such a thing, which was something their superiors didn’t seem to understand. The chest plate was specially molded to his form, yet his hands wore heavy gauntlets that the woman imagined to be stiff and inarticulate. The shiny metal was decorated with strips of gold alloy that were made to resemble Fiamman flames–an artistic motif that Elmiryn thought simplistic yet brilliant all the same.

She and the other men, however, wore less interesting armor–actually being the body of the escort, after all. They wore a combination of things. Chainmail tunics that came down to their wrists. Over this they wore thick quilted tunics of cotton and wool that fanned out over their thighs with a triangle cut in the front to make running easy. However, this made marching a pain in the ass due to the heat, but the white and gold tunics were meant to show their loyalty to the Fiamman kingdom. They all wore standard issue leather boots, dragon hide, with brass buckles around the ankles and calfs.

The men had chainmail coifs, too, but Elmiryn, being of a higher rank under Duncan, was made to wear a coppergate helmet instead. The helmet had two cheek plates that came down to brush against her collar bone, a chainmail curtain over the base of her neck in the back, and a long nose-guard. The helmet was decorated with warm brass, which lined the edges and fanned around the sides in the usual flame design, similar to Duncan’s armor. It was a small benefit as her long hair disagreed with the coifs, and often times the metal would pinch her if she turned her head too fast.

Their mission was a simple one. Guard the noble Tiedby during his journey to Tiesmire and his property. Following behind the carriage were two canvas-covered wagons with great wheels reinforced by steel. Prized minerals, southern spices, and eastern cloths were the cargo. It was a gesture of goodwill to the King of Tiesmire (a title used with a note of derision in Fiamma–the city-state’s leader was an opportunistic businessman, not a true noble or politician.) Elmiryn had never seen King Brice, but she’d heard of his ten concubines; of his mansion that he dared to call a castle; of his personal guard, orphans taken and trained since a young age, who were notorious and feared throughout the East.

The warrior eyed the forest as they passed, knowing that their emerald treachery would soon be rid of the moment the trail rounded the bend. With time, they’d be in view of the Hellas ocean. She’d never seen it before. The company had made its way along the southern seaboard to avoid crossing through the Torreth Mountains and Ailuran lands. The southeastern tip of the Sibesonan continent was controlled by a large and powerful clan of Lycans, but the Fiamman kingdom had made a deal with the therians to allow for safe passage.

Two nights ago, the woman thought she had seen a pair of glowing eyes watching their camp from the dark of the woods, but when she went to investigate she found nothing. Each night, they heard howls in the distance. Tiedby hated it.

“These horrid flowers all in bloom, spreading their awful pollen to make me sneeze! This bumpy road and these horrid cushions that do nothing for my delicate rear. And those horrid savage monsters out there, making such a racket at night! I’ll be glad when this is over!” He’d complained.

“Sir,” Elmiryn had said with a mild tone. “The Lycans have a trade agreement with our kingdom. They will not harm us. But in that same agreement, there are rules we must abide by, which include not tampering with their forests, and staying no longer than two days in any given acre. Their howls serve the dual purpose of communicating with each other, and also, to remind us of their vigilance.” She disliked the stuffy tone she spoke in, but it was something her mother had taught her. Nobles refused to listen to you unless you sounded like a scholar or a delicate ninny. With time, Elmiryn had practiced her speech to fit somewhere between the two. Her woman’s voice permitted little else.

“I’ve no idea why we don’t just stomp the bloody beasts out…” Tiedby muttered. They were in luck, for it seemed no Lycan scouts had heard him. That didn’t mean such talk wasn’t dangerous. Duncan, being the only man of standing allowed to do so, advised Tiedby to watch his fool mouth. (Not in those literal words, but if Elmiryn could have, she would have said worse.)

Today, finally, they would be on the Eastern side of the Sibesona.

Elmiryn bumped Saelin with her elbow. “Hey. Once we arrive at Tiesmire, we’ll be floating around for atleast three days waiting for Duncan and Tiedby to handle their affairs. Why don’t we have some fun?”

Saelin looked at her, his cool mint green eyes shining with trepidation. “But…But sir, we have to check in with the local authority for a debriefing!”

“And how long do you think that will take?”

“Then after that, we’re supposed to work with the city guards! It’s a gesture of goodwill on behalf of our kingdom!”

Elmiryn threw her hands up into the air. “Oh for fuck’s sake! This whole thing is a ‘gesture of goodwill’. They won’t miss you. No offense, but you’re just a Private.”

Saelin scowled at her. “And you’re a First Lieutenant!! They’ll care if you’re gone!”

“Oh, please. You think that Duncan, our illustrious leader, is going to waste his time patrolling streets that bear no meaning to him? You think any of the others here will? Look, we’re going to do the debriefing, but as far as I know, the whole ‘make nice with the Tiesmirian government’ was strictly on the shoulders of Tiedby, who isn’t even that important in our royal courts. This whole thing is bullshit, and I’m not playing along. So are you coming or not?”

The blonde pressed his mouth with lips rolled inward so that she couldn’t see them anymore. Then he let out a rush of air that he’d been holding. “Okay…fine! But I’m not getting drunk with you again, not after last time!”

Elmiryn pouted. “Why not?”

The man’s face turned a shade of pink and he glared at her. “Because I don’t feel like fishing my underthings from the tavern cauldron again!”

The woman smiled.

“Oh fine…”
————————————————

She would never admit to anyone how much she enjoyed the night. It was cool and crisp with a lingering scintillation that harkened from the receding day. Dusk buried limitations in warm confidence, which allowed the breezy expanse of thought and feeling. Elmiryn refused to let on, even to herself, how much the starry sky filled her with wonder and fear–a delightful mix that tasted of mystery. She asserted that the heavens themselves were conquerable, and if she were patient enough, her arrows would soon pierce the veil that kept the gods hidden. These were blasphemous thoughts, and she trembled, aroused by her audacity to trail so far from society’s clearly marked paths.

Reflection turned on the nature of her life and gradual ascension she saw as a soldier. It was thanks to her father that her superiors ever gave her a try, but it was thanks to her peers that she fought so hard. Not to protect them, but herself. Sometimes Elmiryn wondered if she resented this. Her cerulean eyes blinked skyward, and she scowled at how the sky suddenly seemed to bend to her gaze–like a curved plate. If Halward wished, could he crush her? If He pushed down, could she push up?

…No, she decided, she didn’t resent her situation at all.

The combat, the oppression, the danger–it was what made her life, both in content and in substance. The woman adored fighting, adored overcoming obstacles, adored the chance and gamble that cut and hardened her, for it spoke of value. Namely that she had it. Elmiryn had something to lose, or else Life wouldn’t struggle to take away from her so. This viewpoint, though lonely in nature, was what drove her onward.

It was what made her free.

Her sword perhaps served to the benefit of the Fiamman kingdom, but Elmiryn knew its highest master rested in her heart. She saw with eyes unclouded, and while the path of honor and strength was difficult, it was hers to blaze.

Toward the main campfire, the woman saw Saelin sitting with the other men. They were eating rabbit stew, laughing about something or other. The Major stood as he responded to a question called out by one of the men.

“You want the real story? How Tiesmire got started?” He said, looking around. The men made affirmative noises, nodding their heads. Duncan shrugged. “Well I’ll give it to you then. The city, originally, was just a plot of land where thousands started to gather for international trade, throwing up tents and digging holes and shitting in bushes. Then some just started building there. It was Brice’s family, all merchant class dwarves, who strong-armed the different groups into harmony,”

Major Duncan’s deep-set muddy eyes flickered with shadows as he gazed around at the shadowy forms of his men. His gaze lingered on Elmiryn, sitting on the border into pitch black night, before he continued. “They knew nothing about large scale development or security. It hasn’t crumbled yet, partly out of luck. Brice had satyrs come in, sniffing out gold, and they told him how to bring Tiesmire out of the organized chaos it writhed in. But how much could they do? You’ll all see soon enough. You’ll see dwarves next to elves, and humans next to therians. The main roads lead toward the heart of Tiesmire, and there, at the center of it all, is the Brice mansion, which is heavily fortified. All other roads in Tiesmire are as confusing as a rat’s maze, and if you stray from the main roads, you will get lost. So my advice? Travel smart, and explore at your peril.”

At the city gates.

Elmiryn tilted her head back far as her cerulean eyes took in the thick walls–as wide as small buildings–and the heavy steel gates that loomed over them as they passed down below. The suns seared around the stone as the sky opened, and the woman turned her gaze with a squint.

“That’s where the Tiesmirian guards stay,” Saelin said to her as they passed the second arch.

“Where?”

The man pointed at the thick walls. Elmiryn stared at him. “They live in the walls?”

The blond nodded. “Yes sir. All around the perimeter.”

The woman clicked her tongue. “I wonder what it’s like to live like a rat? I guess they aren’t worried about outside forces attacking them. Sure it does good for handling internal problems, but you get an army with catapults and cannons and they’ll kiss half of their men goodbye!”

“You’re ignoring the landscape, sir. Open fields all around, and the city sits on elevated terrain. They’d see a threat coming even at night, I bet.”

“Whatever…I still say they’re like rats in the walls.”

The ground shifted beneath their feet as they walked–little more than pebbles in dirt. Elmiryn’s left the chatter alone as she became much more aware of the potential threat such a crowded street presented to their charge. The other soldiers seemed to see this too, and so closed rank and kept their hands near their weapons. Some commoners didn’t move out of the way fast enough, and the woman had to shove some of the rabble out of the way.

The city was just as Duncan had warned. A great salad bowl of cultures tossed together but no more blended than oil in water. She saw architecture she couldn’t readily name, and people so odd-looking that it even set her on edge–and how queer this was, considering she always thought of herself as open minded. Large eyes, dark skin, furry faces, long fangs, pointed ears, and hooved feet. Food that didn’t look quite right–like the critters were still alive but bleeding out all over the grill–or odd plants being dipped in hot batter–or a brightly colored dust being sprinkled over uncooked meat and served as it was. People in silken clothes, people wearing great big furs, people barely wearing anything at all it seemed. Streamers crissed and crossed her face with thin shadows overhead, while flags and banners of different clans and nations flapped in the coastal wind.

Ah, and the noise!

Elmiryn was no stranger to din and chaos, but how disorienting it all seemed! It rivaled a Fiamman festival, the way so many languages contended with each other in her ear. And it wasn’t so much the noise, or the sounds, or the smells that put her on edge…but the rudeness of it all–as though people were fighting to be heard, not caring who they tread upon, not caring…just not caring. She could ignore this selfishness on a smaller scale, like in a tavern or at a military campsite, but for it to be everywhere all at once with no reprieve?

They arrived at the gates of King Brice’s mansion and the woman was glad.

The gates were high and gilded in gold, winged muses sitting at the top; one side displayed a robed muse bearing a cornucopia of food, and the other bore a scythe. Without the aid of anyone she could see, the doors creaked open, inward, and the caravan rolled in. Elmiryn and Saelin had to press close to the carriage as the entryway seemed narrow–like it wasn’t meant for so many and so much to come in at once.

Over the tall brick walls the sounds of the city rolled in like dull waves, but it wasn’t as overwhelming now, and the woman felt the knot between her shoulders ease knowing much of the threat to Tiedby was gone.

The noble stepped out of the carriage, his jowls jiggling as he fixed his silk hat and his gray eyes glared out beneath bald eyebrows.

Elmiryn grinned as she eyed the man’s plum robes. She turned to Saelin and lifted her hand, letting it go limp at the wrist and crossing her eyes as she did so. The man knocked her side hard, but his lips pressed together hard and his eyes held mirth. A soldier behind them snickered. When the noble looked their way, the woman snapped to, her grin vanishing as she gazed back at the man with as serious an expression as she could manage. Tiedby eyed her suspiciously before he allowed himself to be distracted by the welcoming committee.

The noble swished away with them, his round backside bouncing as it went. Elmiryn was back to grinning.

Major Duncan approached them, his short, dark tan hair mussed from his helmet, which he kept balanced on his side. With him was a man dressed in dark studded leather. He didn’t look native to any part of the Sibesona, instead, more likely from the Santos kingdom. Elmiryn straightened, her grin lessening as she took in this tall newcomer. She got the sense he wasn’t to be trifled with.

“Men!” Duncan barked. “Lars, captain of King Brice’s men, will debrief us personally.”

All the soldiers gathered, forming two neat lines next to the caravan. Behind them, Elmiryn could hear servants taking the wagons to storage. Lars jerked with his head. “Follow me,” he said, lacking the accent the woman expected. His expression seemed bored as he led them, with Duncan at front, to an off-shoot of the mansion.

Inside the cottage-like building, the man were cramped, and all were forced to pull out their scabbards from their belts so that they could be gripped in hand and not knock anyone’s legs or chairs. Elmiryn sat near the back, and with a rough tug of suggestion, so did Saelin.

The room fell quiet relatively quickly as Lars took his place before them. He cleared his throat. “First I want to thank you all for being here. You have the respect and appreciation of the Tiesmirian government and the personal gratitude of King Brice,” But even as he said all this there was a knowing look in his eyes, as though he didn’t care nor expect any one of them to remain long once the debriefing was done. As such, the man didn’t bother taking much time. They were instructed not to admit to anything beyond Tiedby’s presence, or their Fiamman origin. They were prohibited from making comment on the Fiamman-Ailuran war, or whether Tiesmire was in any way going to become involved. They could not make comment regarding Tiedby’s noble standing, nor could they comment on Tiesmirian politics.

In short, they couldn’t say a damn thing.

Lars dismissed them with hands behind his back, Duncan coming out of his glazed stare to stand at his side. The Major instructed them to report back to him at “the earliest convenience” to help with local patrols.

As they shuffled out of the building, Saelin looked at Elmiryn in confusion. “At the earliest convenience? That isn’t very specific!”

The woman threw an arm around his shoulders. “That’s the point.” The men were lead by guards of the estate to the servant gate back to the city. She gestured at them with a curled lip. “They don’t want us around, really. We cramp their style, and they can’t match ours. So tonight, we have some fun! We’ve done our share of the work!”

————————————————

It became a race to find a decent place to hole up in. There were taverns featuring tits, and taverns filled with tits. There were belly dancers, and men singing songs, and women with blades. There were Satyrs who smoked sitting on barrels, and Elves playing mandolins and panpipes. There were card games and dice games with money and sex as prizes. There were hundreds of drinks–mixed or pure. There were places that were run down, and places that were expensive. The shifting road seemed to bare them all these possibilities.

But Elmiryn stopped only for The Howling Goblin.

It was a tavern located in the northwestern part of the city, far from the mass of noise and bodies that streamed along the main roads. It was a sturdy brick building with a thatched roof, with large low windows and no visible guards to impede on the fun. When they entered, the smell that hit the woman’s senses was warm and heady–sweat and ale and seasoned steak. She breathed this in deeply and felt at ease.

From the outside, the woman judged there to be three floors. The first floor had a high ceiling and there were long heavy tables that stretched across the room, like a lodge. The bar was average enough, save for the collection of liquor that decorated the entire wall behind it. A large torch wheel hung from the ceiling, lighting the room, with small candles giving a more personal glow. The crowd was diverse, yet the tavern wasn’t cramped–a good sign as this meant they likely had rooms available for the night.

Elmiryn turned to Saelin with a satisfied grin. She gestured in front of them with the hand that held her helmet. “This looks like a great place. And just in time too! I think the curfew is about to set in.”

The man nodded, but his expression was reserved. His coif was pulled off and hung over the back of his tunic limp, leaving his sun bleached hair matted down and sticking up at the back. “It seems fine, sir.”

There was no one to check their weapons, and none came forward to show them to their seats–a notable difference from the other taverns that Elmiryn liked just fine. She and Saelin crossed the main floor, eyes following their unhurried walk to the end of the table opposite of the bar. Drunken conversations floated to them, smelling of ale. The woman saw a dwarf eyeing her and returned the stare without pause. He turned away, mumbling to his friends.

Given their armor, Elmiryn figured attention wouldn’t be hard to find. Sure enough, once they took their seat on the bench, a dark-haired man with a dusty lined face came to sit across from them.

“Fiammans, eh?” He said brushing his chin.

“No,” Elmiryn said with a shake of her head. She smiled at the man and held up her helmet. “We’re soulless golems, clearly!”

The man blinked at him, then turned to look down the table, where the dwarf that had been staring and atleast two other men stared back. Then he turned to the woman and chuckled.

He held out his hand. “Meh name’s Soot. I work the smithy down the road.” He jerked his head to the others. “Them’s meh friends. Oster’s the dwarf, Galic is the one with the buck teeth, and Willy is the darkie.” Soot leaned forward and whispered confidentially behind a gnarled, dirty hand, “His name ain’t really Willy. He’s from Fanaea, but none here kin pronounce his name fer shit, Halward help the boy–so we’s given him a proper name.”

Elmiryn looked at the man, his companions, then at Saelin. The Private looked at her with raised eyebrows. The woman grinned and placed a hand over her heart. “I’m Elmiryn. This is Saelin.” She turned and bellowed toward the bar, where the tavern master looked up with a start. “And I want a round for us and our new friends!!”

The men cheered.

The night went well enough. The tavern hall cleared as patrons either retired for the night or left to return home before curfew. Elmiryn, Saelin, and their new drinking buddies, however, went on conversing.

The conversation topics were kept light, mostly by the Private’s efforts. They didn’t discuss politics, nor the Fiamman-Ailuran war, which was no small feat because Oster was quite pushy about it. Instead, the conversation fell on Tiesmire’s diversity and how it started.

“It’s fine, I suppose,” Elmiryn said with a shrug. “But fuck me, it’s a zoo out there! I like how this place seems so much more together.” She took a deep drink of her mead, then slammed the goblet down onto the table. She swiped at her mouth with a satisfied sigh, then gestured toward the street with a jerk of her chin. “I see barbarism out there–dirt and slime rutting on streets that are of dwarven make. Humans sit in towers, apart from the fuckin’ noise, and it’s a good thing too–I’d hate to be patrolling this place! It’d be so easy to miss something, and it’s so easy to get bowled over. Omatts trying to jump on your back, therians nipping your ankles, ogres shaking you down for coin, and goblins trying to rip off whatever you’ve got left–I’d rather wrestle with a shaggip then deal with that every day.” She held up a goblet. “Here’s to the poor bastards who do!”

The men mirrored her action, and they each took a drink. Oster, a forgettable man with dark eyes and ashy hair, frowned at Elmiryn. “What’s a shaggip, though?”

“A wild ogre from the Indabe. They’ve got sticky hair that move like limbs to grab and trap you.” Saelin clarified, at the men’s confused looks. “She’s never seen one, but she likes to pretend she has.”

“I did see one!” the woman argued, turning to the man with a furrowed brow. “Don’t you remember the adventuring troupe that came to Engus? They brought a shaggip for the arena last year!”

“I don’t remember that at all,” Saelin sighed as though he weren’t very concerned about the matter. He looked sadly at his empty goblet.

Elmiryn rolled her eyes with crooked smile. “At any rate, I’d rather fight one of those then be forced into the company of so many assholes for so long. Don’t get me wrong. Tiesmire has it’s good points–but I’ll be glad when we’re marching home.”

“Sir, it isn’t that bad,” Saelin said, his fist planted in his cheek, which was sliding up. “You speak as though you’ve lived here long. At any rate, I saw you eyeing the halflings in the brothel we saw on the way here. What was the name of it?”

“Madame Eros House of Heaven!” Galic burped, sloshing his drink as he lifted up his goblet. Willy knocked him hard in the ribs, glaring at his now-wet sleeve then back at his buck-toothed companion.

Soot laughed at the man. “Ha! You could walk there in your sleep, you dog.”

Elmiryn shrugged again, but this time only one shoulder. The movement made her slump to the side and she bumped against Saelin, who started to chuckle for no reason. Her body felt heavy, and her skin was warm. It was a shame there wasn’t any there to share the night with–all the beautiful women had gone. But it was fine enough, she supposed, just being able to rest her swollen feet.

“They’re half human. That doesn’t count,” she half-mumbled through a smile.

The Private burped loudly in reply, and the woman set to giggling.

The hour turned and the others retired to their beds. Elmiryn stayed in the hall, even after the tavern master extinguished all the candles and torches, leaving her with the moonlight from the windows. He didn’t have the gall to force her to her room, but he had just enough to strongly suggest the idea. It didn’t matter, really. She had her key for her room that night. The woman stared at it, turning it in her fingers as she sucked down the last of her mead. When tilting her head back as far as it could go produced no more drink, the Lieutenant decided that perhaps it was time for sleep.

Elmiryn stood and swayed, both hands planted on the table for support. She stepped over the bench, the tip of her boot catching and making her lose her balance for a moment. She caught herself, giggling. Then, with slow, swerving steps, the woman made her way to the stairs. Once at the second floor, she tried to move as quietly as possible with moderate success. She was nearly at the second flight of stairs (her room was on the third floor) but stopped when she heard a familiar laugh come from the door on her left.

The woman stopped and frowned. She stepped closer and pressed her ear to the door, hands on the frame to keep from face planting into the wood.

She heard Saelin’s voice.

“Down on your knees.”

Elmiryn’s eyes fluttered. Slowly she kneeled down because her legs were unsteady and she felt tired, but the parallel wasn’t lost on her. She held her breath as Saelin spoke again.

“Slower…Slower, I said! I want to feel the back of your throat.”

At this the woman’s eyebrows went high. What came next was a mixture of unintelligible moans and whispers. She hadn’t realized the Private had found a wench to spend the night with, but gods! The redhead snickered, a surprised smile on her face as she listened to the lovemaking through the door. How assertive Saelin was in bed! She turned and leaned against the wall next to the door, her eyes turning lidded at the sounds of a squeaking bed frame and loud gasping.

Then before she knew it, Elmiryn fell asleep.

————————————————

Usually, when the redhead woke, it was with a gradual consciousness. Information would trickle in, bit by bit, and the woman was reminded of reality and her place in it. But there was nothing gradual with how she was awoken this time.

She felt pain at her legs, and her eyes snapped open, bleary at first, but it only took a second to realize where she was. Her hands had come up, curled as fists, and the woman sucked in breath as she sat up. She was still in the hallway, still next to Saelin’s door, only now–

–Now there was a black man draped over her legs.

Elmiryn stared at him, sleepy confusion falling away as she put together the pieces. Willy, Soot’s friend, stared at her in horror, his dark face taking on a warm shade as he blushed. He was bare-chested, with his shirt and shoes bundled in his arms. The woman blinked at him, then turned her head to look toward the door. Saelin stared down at her, pale as a sheet, his jaw loose.

“First Lieutenant…” He said weakly.

Willy gathered himself up, bowing and muttering apologies that were flavored in his Fanaean accent, then he turned and bolted up the stairs. Elmiryn rubbed at her eyes roughly. Judging by the sting of her eyelids, it was still fairly early. She dropped her hands and stared up at Saelin with a frown. The Private ran a hand through his light blonde hair, his green eyes wide and misty. “…Sir, if you’ll let me explain–!”

The woman held up a hand and stood to her feet. She gestured towards the man’s room. “In there,” she said tersely.

They entered his room, and the man shut the door behind them. It was a simple room, small and furnished only with a bed and a small dresser. The window looking out onto the street was covered with a curtain. Elmiryn’s nose flared at the smell of sex in the air.

She turned to her companion. “You son of a bitch,” she said in a low voice. Her fists curled at her sides.

Saelin started to tremble, he held his hands in front of him. “Wait!”

“You fucking bastard!” Elmiryn launched toward him.

The Private flinched and stumbled backward, as though meaning to fall to the floor in a fetal position. His arms flew around his head and he turned away.

The woman hugged him and squeezed tightly. “Why didn’t you tell me!?”

Saelin continued to tremble, but after a moment, his arms came away from his head, and he blinked at her with eyelashes clumped by tears. “Wha–ah–that is to say…p-pardon!?”

Elmiryn shook him with a large smile. “I said why didn’t you tell me before?”

The man shrugged weakly. “I…” he straightened, and the woman let go of him. “Sir…I just thought–I mean–you come from such a powerful family–”

“And in all the time you’ve known me this meant what, exactly?”

“And, well, you’re a redhead.” Saelin finished lamely. He gestured at her hair. “I always thought…I mean it’s different for you.”

Elmiryn raised an eyebrow at him.  She paced a few steps in front of him, her eyes narrowing a degree as she let her initial annoyance pass.  She hated when people brought this up.  “I know Fiammans believe in the story of Diokles and his horny redheaded descendants, but do you think this makes people any less uncomfortable around me?”  She stopped and glared at her companion.  ”I had to fight to become a First Lieutenant, and I imagine I’ll have to fight even more if I ever hope to advance in rank. The only real reason people seem to accept me is that they believe I’ll someday get married. To a man. I’d just as soon fall on my own sword!”

Saelin looked down at the floor at his bare feet, pink around the toes. He scratched at his cheek and looked at Elmiryn shyly. “So…you don’t like men…at all?”

“No. Not at all,” the woman said. The woman let a mischievous smile play across her face. “Why? Were you thinking of laying with me?”

The Private went cherry red and shook his head emphatically.

Her smile turned into a hook.  “Oh? I’m not good enough for you, Private?”

Saelin ran his hands through his hair. His eyes were watery and he tried to force his mouth to speak. “I–Sir, that isn’t what I meant–!”

Elmiryn took the man by the shoulders, chuckling. “Relax!  I was teasing you. In fact, I think you’re feelings are exactly why I…” her voice trailed away.  Her hands flexed on the man’s shoulders and she frowned.

The man gazed at her apprehensively.

The redhead cleared her throat and stepped back.  Her fingers trailed Saelin’s skin and they tingled a little.  She squeezed her hands to fists to make the sensation go away.  “Anyway, you have to learn to trust me, Private. You should’ve known I wouldn’t have had a problem with your preferences. Heaven knows, mine are hardly accepted, even given my preferential treatment.”

“I’m…sorry, Sir. But…we haven’t discussed anything quite so personal before. I had no way of knowing.”

The woman sucked at her teeth. Then she shrugged and looked down at the floor. “I’spose not.” Elmiryn looked at the man again, without lifting her head. “…You really think this is weird?”

Saelin shook his head, his mint green eyes holding incredulity. “How else am I supposed to feel? My closest superior just found out my deepest secret. There aren’t words for such a thing!”

The woman placed her hands on her hips and grinned. “Then I’ll give it words. For the both of us. This is really fucking bizarre! …Yet we’re fine.”  Her grin started to slip and the woman forced it to stay, giving it a fixed look.  ”We’re fine,” she asserted.

Saelin didn’t reciprocate her attitude.  He just moved to his bed and sat down heavily, wiping at his eyes and sniffing now and again.

The woman turned somber. She gestured between them. “Saelin, we’ve guarded each others backs since our first training day together. You’ve been an excellent comrade. This means you can eat off my plate without my killing you. You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ when other soldiers aren’t around. You can even tell me you’re a homo! Rank be damned, you’re the one I can trust. Do you not trust me, Private?”

The man stiffened and scowled, as though offended at the idea of the contrary. “Of course I do!” he snapped.

“So then relax, and know that your secret is safe with me.  I know what would happen to you if our superiors found out–hell, if our peers found out–so I won’t let that happen.  Alright?”

“Alright…” he looked up at her and smiled weakly.  ”Thank you, sir.”

“Saelin, we aren’t in the company of the other soldiers.  Call me by my name.”

The man faltered.  ”Um…”

Elmiryn smirked. “Well?”

Saelin blinked and rubbed his neck. “But calling you by your name wouldn’t feel right!”

“Go on, try it.”

He bit his lip and squinted his eyes, as though contemplating it. Then he opened his mouth. “…El…mi…miryn.”

Elmiryn rubbed her brow, and shook her head. She spoke in a slow humoring voice, like a nanny to a child. “Goo-od…now say it like you aren’t a simpleton!”

He gave her a dry look. “Elmiryn.”

The woman clapped her hands together slow as she nodded in approval. “Fantastic!”

“Sir, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stick to the honorifics.”

“Fine, if it pleases you. Oh…I’m sorry, I’d have to get on my knees for that, right?”

The man closed his eyes, a suffering expression on his face. He pointed toward the door. “Out, sir!”

————————————————

Morning.

Elmiryn woke with a jerk, her mouth like cotton and her back sore. She rolled over and felt her head throb just a bit from the light. Hangovers weren’t a frequent occurrence in her life, but she loathed them just the same. Eyes still swollen from sleep, the redhead gazed about her small empty room. There was a draft coming from the window. She grit her teeth as she shifted from it, and she eyed the light coming from the crack beneath her door. Shadows passed it, voices floating through the walls, and the woman felt…

Spread apart. Picked apart. Far apart from…

Everything.

Elmiryn grudgingly admitted she was jealous of Saelin’s ability to find company for the night. She thought of the light-haired soldier, gazing at her with fear. Why did he think she’d shun him. Why didn’t he trust her? The woman, her mind still storming, rose from the bed wearing only her tunic, and pulled on her pants. She tied her hair back with a bit of string, so that it hung in a low ponytail. She left the metal armor in the room, but took her sword, and locked the door.

Downstairs, she saw Willy, and the man stood, his eyes on her like she were a predator on the hunt. He was guant-looking, with a pronounced brow bone and a wide nose. His skin was a deep, deep brown–almost ruddy in nature. His black hair was kinked and short, his limbs wiry but his chest broad and showing small black curly hairs on the sternum. She didn’t find this very attractive, and she was baffled as to how Saelin would find this even remotely desirable, but Elmiryn went to him anyway.

“Have you seen Private Saelin?” She asked.

Willy shook his head, his brow bunched and his dark skin shiny with sweat. When he spoke, it was with a thick accent. “N-no, miss. I don’t know where he is.”

Elmiryn nodded and turned to leave, but paused to look back at the man.

“What’s your real name, anyway?” she asked.

Willy blinked at her. Then pointed at himself. “Onye-Ka-Chukwu.”

Elmiryn stared at him, waiting for him to tell her what that meant. The man remained silent, staring apprehensively back at her. Then she realized she didn’t care enough to hear about it, and resumed walking.

“I think I like Willy better,” she said without looking back.

————————————————

The woman stepped through roads, her dragon hide boots clicking along tiles before poverty tore at her surroundings and made her path to dirt and pebbles again. Slowly, she went–the morning suns heating her flushed skin. Fire was eating her from within. She pressed the heel of her palm into her eye and paused to vomit at the side of the road.

At first, she thought she were searching for Saelin. But this lie was discarded quickly, and she felt cross with herself for even bothering with it. The suns rose high overhead, signifying noon. Elmiryn squinted her eyes as she gazed up at them.

When her feet stopped, she realized she had stopped in front of Madame Eros House of Heaven. The redhead stared up at the sign. The building was a two-story, the facade painted blue, and the windows were small and all were closed with curtains. She could smell pumpkin spice and roses drifting from the open doorway. Elmiryn quirked her eyebrow, but turned as though she meant to leave.

“How easily dissuaded you are! I haven’t even delivered my pitch yet!”

The redhead paused and turned her head.

A petite girl with sharp yellow eyes and long braided black hair smiled at her. She wore a thin cotton dress with piece of jute twin around her waist where the fabric bunched then fanned out. She was barefoot, with dark flowery designs painted onto her skin. These designs were also on her hands, which she used to beckon Elmiryn closer.

Smirking, the redhead came near, a hand on her hip. “You’re going to proposition me?”

The girl mirrored her smirk. “Do you want me to?”

Elmiryn’s eyebrows rose high and she rubbed the back of her neck. Her eyes flickered to the girl’s ears and noted the bump at the tips. “You’re a halfling,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

The girl laughed. “Yes, I am! Very astute of you.”

The dark-haired beauty leaned on the door frame as two of her peers exited from the building, flowers in their hair. They batted their eyes at Elmiryn as they passed, and the woman followed them with her eyes. She looked back to the youth before her.

She tilted her head to the side. “So if you’re not going to proposition me, then why should I pay you any mind? Isn’t this the point of your job?”

The girl shrugged, playing with the ends of her hair. “If you see only that, then your view is limited isn’t it? I don’t offer just bodily pleasure, though that is one thing I can offer. Only…you aren’t really looking for that, are you?”

Elmiryn blinked at the girl. “I don’t understand.”

“Come in. Let’s have tea. Speak your mind.” The girl didn’t pause as she took the woman’s hand and pulled her in. And the woman didn’t fight her either.

They entered a warmly lit room where a few sofa chairs were arranged against the walls. There was a man sitting with a human girl on his lap, and they were both giggling about something. There was a guard standing near the door that lead to the back rooms, and he eyed Elmiryn with surprise and possible disgust. Behind the high counter, a child looking no older than twelve handed the halfling a key. The youth took it without a word, and with a look over her shoulder, led the woman past the guard and through the door.

The back hallway was an L-shape, and was wide, allowing for wooden chairs outside of each room. They took a left down the hallway, and as they passed the doors, the redhead could hear dubious sounds coming from inside the rooms.

Elmiryn tugged on the halflings hand. “How much will this adventure cost me, little thing?”

The youth stopped at a door in the middle of the hallway. She unlocked it and pushed in without answering the woman’s question. Inside, the woman noted the four glass lamps in each corner of the room. They ascended in height so that one was near her waist, whilst the tallest was nearer to the ceiling. The flames flickered behind curved glass, the bottoms being curved reflective bowls that carried the light upward…

“These are Fiamman lamps.” The woman noted with surprise.

The halfling girl smiled as she let go of the woman and sat at the foot of the bed. The bed itself was large enough to fit two people, but a tad short length-wise. Then again, this wasn’t a place where people were expected to stay long.

“Sit here, next to me,” the youth said, patting the spot next to her.

Elmiryn crossed her arms again. “You didn’t tell me what this would cost. I owe nothing as I haven’t agreed to anything.”

The girl sighed and played with the hem of her skirt, her pretty hawk eyes flashing in the warm light. “Fifteen silver for fifteen minutes. Three gold for thirty minutes. Five gold for an hour.” She droned this, as though she’d said it a thousand times.

The woman nodded. She uncrossed her arms and sat next to the halfling, her long hair brushing the back of her arm. “You haven’t told me your name yet.”

“Eris,” the girl said, eyes still turned toward her lap.

“My name’s Elmiryn.” She took the girl’s chin and turned it toward her. “How old are you, Eris?”

Eris stared unblinkingly into the woman’s eyes, and the fire illuminated sharp highlights and muddy parallels in her complex gaze. “Old enough to understand a woman’s need to talk.”

“I thought you wanted to talk to me about something?”

“What have I got to talk about? ‘I laid on my back all day yesterday and counted the cracks in the ceiling. Oh, and I did the exact same thing the day before!’ Awfully boring.”

“Do you normally speak this way?”

Here the girl let loose a dazzling smile. “Never.”

Elmiryn sat back onto her hands and laughed. She covered her mouth as it occurred to her that making too much noise may be bad, so she took deep breaths to calm herself. Then she gestured around the room. “So this was your master plan? Get me into this place to remind me of home, then act charming and hope I’ll just relax and not notice?”

Eris shrugged and sat back onto her hands as well. She kicked her feet and her smile turned into a hook. “Is it working?’

The woman mirrored the expression. “Possibly.” Her eyes flickered to the girl’s feet. She pointed at them, then at her hands. “Those markings you have. What are they for?”

“Oh. These?” Eris paused and held up one foot so that they could look at the top of it. The dancing light made the designs seem like they were moving. “They’re for customers.”

“What do they tell them?”

Eris smile faded. “It lets them know if we’ve been taken that day. Some customers are so particular, they want to be the first to have lain with a girl. It has nothing to do with virginity just–”

“It makes them feel valued. Like they could keep up the illusion that a girl was waiting just for them.”

“Yes, exactly. They purposefully smear the paint. It’s the only opportunity they have to leave any sort of mark on us. They aren’t allowed to bite.”

“Ah. And what of the girl out front? She looks far too young to be here.”

“That’s a daughter of one of the women here. Madame Eros let her stay. I think she’s meaning to groom the girl to be one of her prize companions–possibly to be offered up to King Brice.”

Elmiryn pursed her lips. “And you? How did you end up here, if I might ask?”

Eris frowned. “I’m certain you have your ideas. How do you think I ended up here?”

The woman leaned forward again and rubbed her chin. “Your parents were compelled by a debt, to forfeit you.”

The halfling giggled. “Aha! I knew it!”

Elmiryn looked at her, confused. “What?”

“You Fiammans think so alike! I behave out of the ordinary, and your first thought is that it was beyond my power to refuse this life!” Eris shook her head and fell back onto the bed, and the low neck of her dress shifted to show the soft flesh of her breast. The woman turned her head and smirked at the girl, her eyes not missing this detail.

“Did I offend you?” the woman asked.

The youth looked at her, then grinned. “No. That’s fine. You just didn’t know. Everyone on this planet needs a way to react to something new and mysterious if they want to keep from getting overwhelmed. I imagine you’ve been doing that since you’ve arrived here. What do you think of Tiesmire?”

The woman’s smirk wiped from her face, and she turned her head away. “Your walls are too high, and your gates are too small…that’s what I think.”

She heard and felt Eris shift on the bed–a sigh on the quilted blanket, and the woman closed her eyes at the feel of the girl running her fingers down her back. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean,” the youth said.

Elmiryn clenched her jaw and tried to sort her thoughts out. When she spoke, it was through tight lips. “There’s too much,” she sighed and rubbed at her face. “Too many different things, different people. And none of them care or respect who or what you are. They’re just…rushing by to do their errands or gods know what. All pushing, all shouting, all running.” The woman turned and stared at a lamp in the corner. Her eyes teared from the bright light. “Everyone’s out for themselves. I understand that much of life. I do it all the time. Only…”

“It’s as though the world doesn’t acknowledge you as anything more than something to brush by,” Eris breathed, her fingers pausing on the woman’s back.

The woman nodded, closing her eyes. “And because you aren’t acknowledged, you cannot contend. And if you cannot contend, you’re just a spectator. But why should I want the respect and attention of the rabble outside? Those people are so different from me, so apart from anything I’ve ever known. I should trust in the things that are mine and familiar, right?” Elmiryn rubbed her brow as her mind flickered with images of Saelin. “But…what if those things turn out to be more distant than close? Foreign and unattainable?”

The youth said and sat up. She scooted behind the redhead and took hold of her shoulders, gently kneading the muscles. The woman relaxed somewhat, but her frown deepened. “Well?” she pressed, turning her head to look at the girl from the corner of her eye.

Eris shrugged, her expression mild. “I told you before. It’s fine to have your initial ideas, some way to cope with things unknown. But if the shield is too heavy and blocks your sight, why keep using it?” She took hold of a lock of Elmiryn’s hair. “Can I braid it?” she asked. “I haven’t got a comb, but your hair doesn’t seem to need it. It’s very easy to part.”

The woman nodded once, and the girl undid the tie. Eris worked very gently behind her, and Elmiryn mulled over the girl’s words. At the time, she had been positive and supportive of Saelin, despite a quiet feeling deep down that bothered her. She knew, in a way, that what she was feeling was silly, and could easily be done away with…if only she wished to. But did she? Could she accept that not all the world wanted to play the audience, but rather, be the spectacle themselves? Could she accept that not all roads were open for her boots to tread?

Before she knew it, Eris patted Elmiryn’s shoulders. “Done!” she chirped.

The woman stood and pulled the braid over her shoulder. It wasn’t perfect, but considering what the girl had to work with, it was impressive. She ran her fingers over the work and quirked her eyebrow. The style required more effort from the woman, but it meant her hair would stay out of her way in battle and wouldn’t snag as much on her armor. She made a note to learn how to do the braid herself in the future.

Elmiryn looked at Eris and smiled. “Thank you.” She reached for the coin pouch looped onto her belt, and the girl placed a hand on her arm.

“You don’t give it to me. You give it to the girl at the front,” she said.

The redhead looked at her, then gently pulled the girl’s hand away. “Okay.” She resumed untying the pouch and pulled out a gold coin. Eris blinked up at her, her brow furrowed. Elmiryn took the girl’s hand and placed the coin in her palm. She curled her hand over it and leaned down to plant a kiss at the girl’s forehead. “Goodbye,” she murmured.

The woman walked to the door, her hand on the doorknob. She didn’t turn it. She felt annoyed with herself. Conflicted even. She disliked this. Heat and desire was a demon coiled within her, and Elmiryn would’ve been more than willing to pay the extra coin just to lay with Eris a while. But after their short conversation…it no longer seemed right.

…And this really annoyed her, because she was horny.

Grumbling, the woman left the room and proceeded back out to the front, where she paid a gold coin and three silver (apparently a minute cost a silver each). She left, rejecting the idea of finding a new wench to pass the time with. Elmiryn wondered if meeting Eris had been a good idea, as now she felt so emotionally keyed. Sentimentality prevented her to even consider the possibility of finding fun elsewhere, so the woman decided to return to the Howling Goblin.

There, she found Saelin at last.

“There you are!” They both cried in unison.

Elmiryn went to sit next to the man at the middle table, near to the entrance. She clapped him on the back and eyed his plate of lamb’s leg and sourdough hungrily.

“Sir, I was worried! I’d thought you’d gotten lost in the city!” he said around a mouth full of food.

The woman snatched up his bread and took a large bite of it. After a moment of chewing, Elmiryn spoke around her food too. “You think I’d go wandering around until I got lost?”

The man smirked at her, and the woman hit his arm hard.

Saelin took a drink from his goblet and frowned at her. “But really, where were you, if I may ask?”

The woman shrugged. “Madame Eros House of Heaven. Doing the last thing I thought I’d ever do.”

The Private stared at her, not following. Then his eyes grew big and his face went slack. “…You were with a man!?”

Elmiryn punched him again. “Smart ass. I was talking. With this really young halfling girl.”

“…She wasn’t pretty?”

The woman had taken to staring ahead, and looked at the man with a start. “Huh?”

“I asked if she wasn’t pretty.”

“What? Yes. Gods, yes! She was gorgeous. Exotic even.”

Saelin blinked and looked at his goblet as though checking how much he’d had. Then he looked at Elmiryn with squinted eyes. “And…you just talked to her?”

The redhead’s smile was not far from a grit. “Saelin. If you thought the last two punches hurt, just wait for this third one!”

The man held his hands up. “I’m sorry sir!” For a moment the woman thought he was serious, but then the man grinned. “…Only, you have to admit, it sounds like you’ve been drinking enchanted potions. Have you, sir? You know you can tell me anything.”

Elmiryn smiled and took another bite of the man’s bread. “Wow, you really are a smart ass.”

They spent the day, speaking with the locals, drinking, and eating. Elmiryn still felt odd, as though she were fighting off a head cold, but she ignored it in favor of doing a jig to a dwarf’s fiddle. As the suns crawled across the sky, she and Saelin met a Talmorian sailor named Piccolo who’d lost his arm fighting mermen off the Kilemare coast. They also met an Indaban dancer named Gati, who did a special dance at Elmiryn’s request. The woman tried to persuade the dancer to stay the night, but the Indaban was strong-willed as much as flirty. Later they met three Satyrs by the names of Vick, Joel, and Ian, who were “traveling west in search of Lekeid.”

“Good gold there!” They chorused.

Elmiryn liked the Satyrs best. They bought her and Saelin drinks, and by the time evening came, the woman was quite giggly.

It was after her fourth drink that a shadow loomed over she and Saelin, and the woman looked up to find a broad man, average height, staring down at them. He had long, warm brown hair and tanned ruddy skin. His face was round and his nose pronounced, giving him an animalistic look. A therian. Judging by the light color of his eyes…what was the word again?  Something starting with an “A”….an…Avian. Yes…yes, yes. What else could he be with a nose like that?  It was hooked…wasn’t it?

“S’cuse me,” He rumbled, pointing at their seats.

Elmiryn turned and exchanged a look with her companion. The man’s mint green eyes were wide and his eyebrows high. “Sir…?”

The woman looked back at the man. “Yes?” she said sweetly.

“You’re in my spot,” the man said, leaning down, his body bunching.

“Your spot?” the woman looked at where she sat, then looked up again. “What do you mean your spot?”

The man came closer, leaning on the table so that he was practically hovering over the woman.  His eyes narrowed.  ”I’ve been comin’ here ten years.  This here’s my spot.”

Saelin bumped Elmiryn in the ribs. “Sir? Can we not–?” The woman shushed him.

The woman stood, swaying a bit. She touched a hand to her chest. “Tell you what…Let’s have a drinking match. If I can drink you under the table, you cover me and my friend’s tab. If you win, I move, and pay for your expenses tonight.”

The man stared at her, stony face. Then grinned. “Okay, human.”

The woman nodded and shouted toward the bar. “Two drinks here!”

Saelin stood and whispered harshly in her ear, “Sir, you’ve already had four drinks!  This isn’t some watery swill, these drinks are strong.  That, and he’s a gods damned therian. I think he’s an–”

“An Avian, right? They’re bird-men. They can’t drink much at all.”

“But–”

“Not now, Saelin! Just be a good partner and back me up, would you? We could get away with a free stay here tonight!”

The man groaned and pressed a hand to his head. Elmiryn sat down again, and the newcomer sat across from them. Their goblets were placed before them, and a small crowd gathered, laughing and cheering. The woman took her goblet and the man mirrored her.

“I’m Elmiryn,” she said.

“And I’m your biggest mistake,” the man said, smiling fiercely. Then he threw his head back and sucked down his drink in less than a minute.

Elmiryn blinked, shrugged, and did the same.

Next round.

“Okay, really. What’s your name?”

“Sol. My name’s Sol. Shut up and drink.”

Third round.

“Sol…Sol, like sun?”

“Yes. Like sun.”

“Oh.”

Fourth round.

“Y’know, I don’t know what my name stands for. ‘Elmiryn’. What does that mean. What do I mean?  Ailurans pay attention to that shit, why can’t Fiammans!?”

“…You’re still talking?”

Fifth round.

Her face against the table. Faces swimming around her. She managed to recognize Soot, Willy, Ian, Piccolo, Oster, and Galic. She grinned stupidly at them, waving a hand. “It’s fine! I’m fine.” She felt hands at her back trying to force her upright. She knocked them away. “Saelin, ger’rof, ah’said m’fine!”

Sol just chuckled before he drained his goblet.

Sixth round.

Elmiryn saw the cup placed before her before she fell backward onto the floor. Everything went black.

——————–

The woman opened her eyes and moaned. Her head was pounding, and her stomach felt swollen and sore. She tried to roll over and winced at how much her body protested the movement, how the shaft of light from the window lanced her eyes, and how the smell of the bed made her feel ill. The intimate brush of the blankets told her she was naked. Elmiryn covered her head, then peeked through the cracks between her arms. She was back in her room. And sitting next to her was…

“Saelin…?” she croaked.

The man looked up, his eyes tired and bloodshot. He was wearing his tunic–now a bit wrinkled and sporting a grease stain on the breast. He smiled weakly at her. “Morning.”

The woman closed her eyes, trying to will the pain away. “Wha…happened?” even speaking made her feel nauseous, so she didn’t bother speaking above a mumble.

Saelin reached over and patted her shoulder. “You lost, is what happened. I had to give Sol all your coin. You didn’t have enough so I made up the difference. We’re broke sir.”

Elmiryn sighed and turned her face into the pillow. She made an unintelligible groan and the Private patted her again.

“The waitress is doing you a favor and washing your clothes. You vomited all over them.”

“Did you undress me?”  The woman gave him a sharp look.

The man frowned at her.  ”Sir, my…‘preferences’ aside, I’m still a gentleman!”

The woman grinned softly.  ”Eh.  It’d like being touched by a eunuch I suppose.”

“I’m fully equipped, thanks,” he said in a dry tone.

Elmiryn would’ve loved to have continued teasing if only her head would stop hurting her, and that horrible feeling in her stomach wasn’t so strong.  She closed her eyes and waited out a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness before she looked at her partner again, frowning. “How many did I have?” she asked, words still a mumble.

Saelin grimaced. “Including what you had before Sol showed up? You had atleast ten drinks that I know of.”

“Wow. I didn’t know I could have so much.”

“Neither did I. I’m surprised you aren’t dead.”

“I’m kind of wishing I were!”

“By the way,” the man added, grinning sarcastically. “Sol wasn’t an Avian.”

Elmiryn blinked at him. “He wasn’t?”

The Private shook his head. “No, sir. He was an Arktan. A bear-man. Which makes him capable of atleast three kegs of liquor, once you factor in the regenerative ability. He told me so himself.”

The redhead looked at him, dumbfounded. Then laughed. Then she immediately stopped because that hurt.

Saelin paused and scratched at his cheek. He ran a hand through his hair, then winced as he spoke. “And…Um…We march this afternoon, sir.”

“…What?” Elmiryn lifted her head just enough to fix the man with a vicious stare. “What do you mean, ‘we march this afternoon’?”

The man quailed and held up his hands. “How else can I put it? We march at the crack of noon! I just heard from one of King Brice’s men.”

The woman sighed. “Halward help me…”

Though it took a few hours, the woman was sitting upright again and even managed a small light meal before she and Saelin reported back at Brice’s mansion. As they stood in formation before the gates with their fellows, the woman took a moment to glance back at the King’s private estate. In all their stay, she had not seen nor heard the man they had traveled so far because of. She found herself resenting this.

The march brought back her headache with a vengeance, but the woman pressed on, even energetically–for every step they took brought her closer to home. Now and again, she had to take a moment to spit out bile, but she couldn’t stop to do so. Duncan would notice, and she would be disciplined for breaking formation. Tiedby was back to bitching as usual, but it took all the woman had not to just collapse on the road, so he was spared any of the usual ridicule. When the city was a smoldering dot in the distance, the woman stood apart from camp and watched it. Howls echoed from the South. Elmiryn thought of Eris, and her gut twisted.

She wanted to believe that the heavens themselves were conquerable, and if she were patient enough, her arrows could soon pierce the veil that kept the gods hidden.

…But until the time in which high walls and small gates no longer kept her barred, the woman would have to wait.

Saelin appeared next to her, a fellow shadow in the dark night, warmth a flicker at his back as he smiled at her. “Lieutenant, are you okay?”

Elmiryn blinked at him, noting the gentle slope of his jaw, his fine-shaped lips, his light green eyes. There was something unattainable in him, as a friend. He was a man who preferred men, and the woman felt silly she hadn’t noticed it before. But the difference between them didn’t seem as vast anymore. Smiling, the woman took him by the shoulder and steered him back toward camp.

“Yes, Private. I’m fine. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about our upcoming promotions–”

“Sir, they haven’t guaranteed those yet.”

She smiled, showing all teeth.  ”…Not yet.”

Back to Chapter 17.3 | Forward to Chapter 17.4

–Illise M.

NYX____________________________

Farrel continued his work as I told him a summarized version of how we ended up at the tower.  I brought up Gamath, but made no attempt to tell the story–it was far too long and it made my chest turn tight to think of Sedwick changed, and Baldwin…dead.  The man’s eyes remained on his work, but I could see his ears visibly tweak in my direction as he pressed the fresh bandages around Lethia’s torso.  I noticed there was an ointment or salve of some sort spread over her wounds before the bandages covered them from sight.  Encouraged by his skill and confidence, I helped him by propping the girl up, and while I went on telling our tale, I glanced at Elmiryn to see how she was doing. The woman had migrated further down the room to closer inspect the sleeping soldier. Then she drifted toward the open cabinets which Farrel had left open prior.

I went on quietly.

“…After Lethia was taken, we saw that there was a a loose but visible connection between what happened in Gamath and what is happening in Belcliff.   It’s like…a looming sort of presence or heavy aura in the air.  One of our companions has been suffering strange dreams about…about…ah…” I faltered and the halfling looked at me with curious eyes. I looked up at Elmiryn again. She was looking closely at bottles, still at the other side of the room. I shrugged one shoulder and laid Lethia down. Farrel was done wrapping the bandage around her torso. “Well, anyway, we decided to help Lethia and her mistress. So far everyone working with us has a reason to want to help them.”

“Sounds like I’m on the right side,” The man chuckled. “A wizard, two monster tamers, an enchantress, a therian, and an ex-soldier? Gods!  Even with the marshal’s men, I get the feeling they’re outmatched!”

“Who says you’re on our side?” Elmiryn said as she came near us, holding three bottles with her right arm.

Farrel looked at her, his grin fading.

The woman looked down at him, her eyebrow quirking. “Well go on, Rabbit. What makes you think you’re with us?”

I looked at her, aghast. “Elle, I thought the matter was settled!”

Elmiryn shook her head. “How do I know he won’t backstab us the first chance he gets?”

“You didn’t have such qualms with Hakeem!”

“Well the wizard was different.  We had him trapped and he had the option of fleeing.  He chose not to.  He chose to put himself into unnecessary peril on our behalf.  That’s a level bit more trustworthy than this guard, who I’ve known all but ten minutes and seems more inclined to saving his own skin than putting up a fight.”

“Are you saying I’m at fault for not wanting to harm the ones who showed me mercy?” Farrel said angrily.  He stood up and stared the woman down.

Elmiryn threw the bottles on the bed where they bounced and clinked together.  She smirked at him.  ”I’m saying you have a poor concept of fealty.”

“I owe the marshal nothing!  I was a traveler, an honest entrepreneur selling paper imported from Santos.  It had a small harmless charm to it that brought inspiration to any that wrote on it, but I was accused of black magic and put to trial.”  The man rolled his eyes and made a sweeping gesture with his hand.  ”They found me innocent of black magic, but decided I still violated the law.  ’Smuggling contraband and reckless magical exposure,’ they said.  So they confiscated my merchandise and forced me to become a guard.  I’ve only been here three months!  Even after this escape plan of yours is finished, I’ll still be here for another seven months with the daesce snorting at me through the gaps in the barred windows!  What fealty am I supposed to have, woman!?”

Elmiryn shrugged her uninjured shoulder.  ”Either way, you’re coming with us now.  See, the girl was supposed to sap the information about the tower from your head, but after her run-in with a daesce, I’ll be lucky if she can tell me what a hungry person is supposed to do with their food.  So I need you to do her job instead.  Do you remember much about this prison?  The layout, the security?”

Farrel frowned and rubbed his forehead.  ”I…remember some.  But it’s filled with gaps.  I can tell you about the next three floors, but not beyond that.  I’ve never been up there.  There’s atleast four more floors.”

I interjected pointing at Lethia.  ”Wait!  We aren’t going to leave Lethia here, are we?”

Elmiryn shook her head.  ”No.  One of you two will have to carry her.  There’s a chance she might be able to tell us whatever the Rabbit can’t.  If she wakes up.  Plus, if what he’s saying is true, we can try and see if she can sap some more information about the upper floors from one of the other guards.”

“Is that wise, pushing her like that?  She passed out the last time she tried such a stunt!” Farrel objected.

Elmiryn gave him a hard look.  ”No, she passed out saving your gods damn life when she didn’t fucking have to.  Saving her mistress was her mission, and she would’ve wanted to keep going.  So if something happens to her, I promise there will be no mercy at the tip of my sword.”

Farrel’s exhaled harshly through his nose, his wisterian eyes flashing.

I shook my head and held up my hand.  ”At this point, I’m not sure we can afford anymore fighting.  With each other, or these guards!  Which begs the question how we’re supposed to even make it through three floors, let alone seven?  Look at the state we’re in!  Lethia hurt and unconscious, you with an injured arm–”

“You’d be surprised what I can do with one arm,” Elmiryn said, grinning.

I rolled my eyes.  ”Your confidence is reassuring, but not by much.  Holzoff’s isn’t a common jailhouse–it’s a prison.  And one of the best, as I’ve heard tell.  I’m amazed we even got in!”

Farrel looked at me, a small line down the middle of his brow.  ”Holzoff’s Tower, for a place under constant threat from the monsters outside, is quite a place.  The walls are as thick as four men and reinforced with a steel skeleton.  There are less than seventy prisoners held here, actually, so each floor is rather small.  The stairs wind up, and to reach the next flight you must cross the floor in question.  That’s if you know all the codes for entry.  The lower floors, the ones I have access to, hold two to three prisoners in each of the five cells.  There are five guards on each floor.  Beyond that, I can’t really say.  Some of the others have told me that they keep the special prisoners there–the ones awaiting death and nobles owing outstanding debts.  The top floor is where the prison’s warden stays.  I hear that’s where they’re keeping Syria of Albias as well.”

“Of course,” Elmiryn chuckled dryly.

The man’s eyes lit up.  ”But I’ve an idea!  We recently got a message from Belcliff warning us that you would be coming.  No one ever sees these messages directly save for the warden, and he’s always holed up in his office.  Since no one knows what these documents actually look like, I can fabricate an official writ from Belcliff and pretend that two of you are new prisoners that the marshal has sent.  It takes over a day for an escort to arrive at the tower, so you can act as though you hadn’t heard about the prison break threat!  I can make the writ, rouse some of the guards, and dupe them into helping me.  The fact that they think it’s real will make our lie even more authentic!”  He pointed at me.  ”You’ll have to play the role as bounty hunter and pretend you were the one who caught your companions.  It has to be you, as you’re the only one who isn’t hurt.  I’ve seen this once before since I’ve started working here.  Bounty hunters have two options–either write up a debriefing regarding the prisoner in question, or earn some extra gold aiding in their escort to Holzoff’s to deliver the debriefing personally.  When I started here, I saw one man brought in such a way.  All we’ll need to do is put your friends in chains and get you something nicer to wear.”

“How far do you think we can carry this ruse?  Up to the top?” Elmiryn asked.  ”What happens if you’re guard friends, the ones you’ll get to help us, wise up?”

Farrel shrugged with a sigh.  ”After what I’ve done with those guards outside, there’s no way I’ll be able to resume my time in peace here.  I’m in this as much as you are now.  So I’m giving you the best plan I’ve got.”  The man let a crooked smile spread across his lips.  He gestured at our grimy, blood stained appearance up and down.  ”Unless you’re trying to tell me that your master plan has gone exactly as expected, I really don’t see how my idea is any worse than what you’ve been through already!”

Elmiryn sucked at her teeth and looked at me.  ”He has a point.”

I said nothing, only rubbed at my chin and stared down at the ground.  I was already feeling nervous just at the idea of having to “pretend” to be anything…but I had done it once before.  Prior to receiving my Mark, I had done my share of undercover work for the Ailuran resistance, so in a way, I was familiar with pretending to be what I wasn’t.  But at the time, it wasn’t easy, and given how unfamiliar I was with the particular role I was to play, I was even less comfortable with the idea.  But with luck, the plan would result in no more violence, which was good–because we were hardly in the shape to see any more battle, even with Farrel’s help.

I sighed and pulled off my ruined tunic.  ”…Okay.  I’ll need to clean up, too.  Have you any place I can do that?”

Farrel nodded and jerked with his head.  ”Yes, let me show you.”  He looked at Elmiryn.  ”If you could wait here with your friend while I show Nyx to the wash room?”

The woman nodded and sat down on the bed next to Lethia’s.  She looked at me.  ”Will you be alright?”

“Yes,” I said, touching her shoulder as I followed Farrel out the room.  ”I’ll be back in a moment.”

The man shut the door behind him as we entered the curved hallway.  He gestured for me to follow him.  Our steps made light sounds on the stone floor, and my body tightened when we came to the first door on the left.  It was closed, but the halfling turned to me with a finger at his lips.  I swallowed and gave him a nod, being careful to shift my weight back so that my footsteps didn’t come down hard.  Not much further down the hall, we came to a door on the right.  He opened it, taking up the nearest torch on the wall and entered first.  I follow him in as he placed the torch into a corner at the the far wall of the wash room.

The center of the room was clear save for a stool and a drain in the center.  As I walked further into the room, I noted how the tiled floor was a small concave where the drain was meant to catch the water.  Beneath the torch against the far wall was a low partition that resembled a counter, only the surface of it was at an angle.  Then, as I came closer, I saw that there were hinges at the back, and Farrel opened this and reached into the dark.  He pulled out a rope, and I realized it was a well.  It took him a minute, and I could see his arms bulging from the effort as he put one foot on the partition and leaned back far, but soon the heavy bucket was out of the well and sloshing water on the ground.

He set the bucket down, then scooped up a ladle that was hanging on the wall, and pointed at the right, where a shelf housed spare towels and fresh underwear–long cotton leggings and plain tanks.

“There’s all you need there to get you started.  I’ll come back and knock on the door three times when I’ve found some armor you can use,” Farrel said, already backpedaling toward the door.

I nodded at him and turned, my clawed hands reaching to undo the bandage around my chest.  I got the knot undone and was done removing two wrappings when my mind whispered that something wasn’t right.  I paused, and tilted my head, then my face grew hot as I made the connection.

The door hadn’t shut yet.

I whipped my head around, claws at the ready and a hiss building up the back of my throat.  My Twin was a hot burn at the back of my eyes.  But I stopped at the sight of Farrel staring at me with wide eyes and a deep scowl.

“I heard them say it, you know.  That you were a Marked therian,” The man gestured at me with his chin.  ”I hadn’t got a good look at it till now.  This half hour I think I’ve been trying to focus just on helping your friend, and what you did for me.  But…I know what the symbols on your back mean.  I lived near the Ailuran nation, visited their villages and towns even.  I know what those symbols mean…You…what you’ve done…”  He gripped the door tightly, his eyes shining as he turned his gaze to the ground.  My spine curled and I hugged my body as tightly as I could.  My throat had become so tight I could barely breathe.

I suddenly wished Elmiryn were there.  I wanted to hide in her shadow…and I hated myself for it.

“My mother always told me” The man went on, “That critical moments in life, small but important, are what paint a person’s true quality, not…not the tapestry of life as a whole.  Just choice moments bundled together, like the broken pieces of a beautiful vase.”

Farrel glanced over his shoulder, then slowly let his eyes crawl back to me.  His head was angled so that his brows came low ever his gaze.  It was aggressive, and it made me tense, but I sensed nothing of danger.  Just…just–

“Tell me I won’t regret helping you,” He said in a low voice.  ”I’m an honest man, and for all my mother’s words, I know that a person can step with the right foot as much as the left–so tell me I won’t regret helping you!”

I swallowed.  My eyes were blurring and I didn’t want to speak.  I wanted the man to go and leave me alone.  I could feel the lines of my Mark, tingling almost, as though it wanted to remind me just what I really was.

I shook my head slowly.  ”I…can’t.  I can’t tell you that.  I am in no such place to guarantee that the path I walk with my companions wouldn’t bring misfortune to you.  So you would be within your rights to not trust me.  To find me disgusting and irredeemable.  You truly would be.  But…” I swallowed and forced myself to stand straight.  Tears leaked down my face but I fought to kept my face from crumpling like paper.  I started trembling from the effort of looking Farrel in the face, and I thought my guts would fall out for the shame and fear.  When I spoke, my voice was taut with the effort of not breaking down into sobs.  ”Farrel, you decide for yourself if you want to change your mind.  I received this Mark as punishment because I made horrible decisions, and they haunt me everyday.  I hold no pride, no joy, no peace over what has occurred in my past.  But don’t just think of me–there are others you would be turning on should you decide not to help us.  Others, like the girl you just treated, or the boy outside I told you about who is fighting to keep sane.  I’m…I’m here because I have been cast out from my people, and rightfully so–but with Elmiryn I think I may have found a way to balance out my blighted existence.  And…I will fight any who try to harm my friends, with all my might.  Protecting those I loved was all I ever wanted to do.  Shame me for my mistakes, but you cannot shame me for my intentions!”

I bared my teeth, and my claws bit so deep into my arms that I felt blood trickle down to my elbows, but suddenly I didn’t care.  Suddenly I was angry.  Angry that this man would even consider damning Elmiryn, Lethia, or even Paulo just for the spite of me…and at such a critical time!  I swiped at my face, wanting the tears gone.  If I had to stop him, I would, and we’d just have to figure out another way to the seventh floor of the tower.  I would make it happen.  All at once, Lethia’s determination was mine.

I would make this work.  No matter what.

Farrel closed his eyes and rubbed at his face harshly.  He breathed out a curse and slammed his fist against his temple.  ”Öctér!  Okay…alright.  I see your point.  I’m…sorry, for bringing this up now.  It does nothing to help you or me.  Perhaps another time, another day, when we aren’t at threat of losing our lives, I’ll get the full story from you.  For now, know that you can trust in me.”  He smiled weakly, but I saw a staleness in his eyes.  ”I’ll be back with your change of clothes.”

After my short speech I felt drained of the energy to speak, so I gave him a silent nod.  Within the next moment, the man shut the door, and I collapsed onto the stool, letting out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

ELMIRYN________________________

Elmiryn stared down at Lethia with her elbow digging into her knee from the weight of propping her head.  Her fist started to slide up her cheek so that her eye was forced into a squint, but the woman didn’t move.  It was funny seeing the girl through one squinted, blurry eye.  She looked like a an upside down monster, with a blue pronged head, a white face, and wheat colored tentacles that fanned up along with the body.  As far as monsters went, Elmiryn had to say she liked this one best.  The daesce were horrible nightmares mimicking sentient life, and batrengs were annoying little imps.  Scultones were convenient but far too big to bring around for fun.  But blue pronged monsters with white faces and tentacles?  How nice and simple!  How diverse!  How–

“Wait…” the woman muttered, rubbing at her face as she felt a wave of cold sweep through her.  Her palm came away, cool with sweat, and she frowned down at her lap.  ”Blue monsters?  What the fuck’m I talking about?”  She chuckled.  ”Why would a blue monster be sitting with me when Lethia is supposed to be in the same spot?”  Her smile faded and she poked the girl in the arm, just to be certain it was an arm.  Just to be certain there was anything there at all–the last fifteen minutes was getting hard to recall, and her mind danced with phantoms playing with scarlet ribbons, but who could make sense of such confusion?

“Hey kid, you with me?”

Elmiryn trailed up Lethia’s arm where her fingers tangled in the girl’s long hair.  ”Kid?” she breathed.

When no response came, the woman drew back her hand with a sigh.  She twisted around and eyed the man down the room.  Still quiet, still silent, still missing parts like a machine broken by an inept operator.  She thought about some of the machines she saw in Fiamma–hunks of metal that ran on steam and sometimes magic and sometimes both.  Shiny creations of copper and steel.  This man was not shiny.  Nor was he made of copper or steel.  Yet the woman found no better word to attribute to him other than “broken”.

Elmiryn stood from the bed and crossed the room so that she stood at the end of the guard’s bed.  The man’s face was entirely covered in a bandage.  She was aware that this was not good for the man, would perhaps result in his end, because it made him less of a man, which made the woman’s sense of sympathy for him almost non-existent.  She knew this much and yet felt her conscience turn a blind eye to the logic anyway.  She had known what real men, injured in war, looked like.  Even with her curse, it was something deep and powerful, like a ghostly instinct that failed to fade even given the circumstances.  Her heart knew it so well–the bloody limbs, the deep cuts, the burned flesh.  It was War.  That was the gift her father gave her, and that was the destiny her god pressed upon her, and that was the call that society screamed at her.

War.

But this thing on the bed, this broken machine, was not a relative of War, and thus was not her kin.  Elmiryn floated nearer, to get a better look at the thing and its rods and shafts, all wrapped up and leaking red oil.  The thing jerked.  The woman’s eyes narrowed and she drew her knife from its sheath.  It was the enemy’s weapon.  What if the guards got it to work again?  What if the weapon was put back together again and turned on her?  On Lethia?  On Nyx?  The woman’s jaw clenched.

She reached down and jabbed the blade into what she recognized to be the main shaft.  The machine shuddered, making a grinding, bubbling noise before its parts turned still and it made no sound.  She pulled the knife away with a jerk and wiped the blade clean on the sheets.  Then she took the blanket and pulled it over the ruined creation.

Then Elmiryn walked back to Lethia’s bed and resumed her seat next to the girl, feeling a little more at ease.  She tried to remember the significance red ribbons, bandaged faces, and blue tentacled monsters had for her.

She tried and tried.

NYX____________________________

A long-sleeved thick cotton weave shirt, dyed ash grey, beneath a long black leather tunic.  There were extensions from the shoulders that tapered down and were tied around my upper arms by slim leather belts.  On the left shoulder, at the back was a gold ring, and at lower right of the tunic, against the back of my right thigh, was another large golden ring.  Farrel slipped a slim rapier through both rings, and it was a menacing weight on my back.  On my forearms were studded bracers, which bothered me because I wasn’t use to the constant press on my muscles, but the man insisted, stating that the costume didn’t seem right without them.  I wore dark leggings beneath heavy wool pants, and menacing leather boots that came up to my knees.  We had to stuff strips of cloth in the tips just to keep my feet from sliding around too much, because the boots were far too large for me.  Still they were an improvement over the makeshift pair that I had been left to use before.

When I asked Farrel where he had gotten the armor and clothes, he smiled humorlessly.  ”As you saw, we like to scavenge what we can from the daesce’s bloody claws.  This outfit you’re wearing took two years to put together, apparently.  The sad thing is none of the pieces fit anyone, save for those boots–but the boots belonged to a recently deceased guard who’d been stationed here a long time.  No one wanted to wear them.  You’re lucky.”

Any other time I would’ve disagreed with such a statement, and it certainly didn’t make me pleased to know I was wearing dead men’s clothing, but I couldn’t deny that there was an odd sort of providence in the situation.  Given my run of luck, I certainly wasn’t going to be picky.  It felt good being clean again, anyway.

The two of us returned to find that Elmiryn had fallen asleep in her chair.  I sighed and touched her shoulder.

“Elle.” The woman didn’t respond.  Her head simply fell forward and I became fearful.  I gave her another hard shake.  ”Elmiryn?”

“We have smelling salts,” Farrel said, pointing at the collection of bottles next to the bed.  ”I was meaning to try it on your other friend once we were ready to go.”

I wanted to believe the woman could wake without much aid–in such a dangerous place with so much still yet to get through, I had to believe that Elmiryn was up to making it through.  Uncertain of what else to try, I leaned down next to Elmiryn’s ear and said her name one more time.

“Elmiryn.”

The warrior’s eyes flew open and she turned and looked at me in mild confusion.  Her eyes fluttered as she took in my new outfit, then she reached up and took a lock of my hair between her fingers.  ”Nyx?” she breathed.

I nodded, sighing in relief.  I cupped her cheek.  ”Yes, Elle.  I’m right here.”

Elmiryn looked me up and down.  Then she pouted her lower lip and raised her eyebrows.  ”Not bad!”

I grimaced, “I certainly hope it’s enough!  I’m not sure if I can pull off menacing.”

The woman chuckled.  ”Sure you can.”

Farrel sidled past us to reach the bedside table.  ”Pardon me.”  He plucked up a bottle filled with small translucent bits, which I then noted to be the smelling salts.  ”I hope this works for your friend.  She’s very much out of it.”

Elmiryn and I watched as he uncorked the bottle and held it beneath the girl’s nose.  He waved it slowly back and forth for a moment, then made a disappointed frown.  My heart sank.

As he started to pull away, that’s when Lethia awoke with a cough.

She breathed in deep, her puffy eyelids snapping up to reveal blotchy red eyes.  They teared up, likely from the powerful salts, and rolled about in their sockets before they settled on us.  I was careful not to meet her gaze dead on, but the teenager seemed conscious of this even after just waking.  The girl took a breath.

“…Nyx?  Elmiryn?” she whispered.  I noted something odd about the way she said our names, but given the volume she was speaking in, I couldn’t immediately place it.  Next her eyes flickered to Farrel, and her face drew up in a frown.  ”You’re…helping?” she asked.

Farrel nodded.  ”Lethia Artaud.  I owe you and your friend.  I want to help you.  This is my wish.”

The girl’s lips pulled into a shaky smile.  ”Thank you.”  Then Lethia’s eyes hardened and she pushed up on her elbows.  I moved forward–maybe to help her, maybe to stop her.  At the moment I can’t recall, but Elmiryn stopped me with a hand.  Farrel looked on with a look of intense concern, and though it appalled me at how manipulative it seemed, I was glad to see such an expression on his face.  If I couldn’t convince him to continue helping us, Lethia’s determination despite her pain certainly could.

Within the minute, the girl was sitting on the edge of the bed.  She had a distant look to her, and I wondered how much longer she could continue pushing herself.

Elmiryn stood.  ”Are we just about ready?”

Farrel nodded.  ”The last thing we need is on the way to the staircase.  We should start moving before the guards down the hall wake up for shift change.”

The warrior and the guard helped Lethia stand, and the enchantress managed to walk on her own–if a bit slowly and shakily.  As a group we exited the room and followed Farrel down the hallway, where he stopped at a door adjacent to the staircase.  He opened it with a key, and inside was a small arms closet, where spare weapons and the like were found.  He slipped in, carrying a torch, and came out a second later holding two pairs of manacles.  Warily he held them out to me.

“Help me put these on your friends…” the man said with a wince.

Back to Chapter 17.2 | Forward to High Walls, Small Gates

Elmiryn crunched through the snow as her eyes swept through perceived palaces of gray fortification–little imaginings of architecture that existed as phantoms before her face until vanishing in the truth of spacial cognition.  A person can’t walk through walls.  But a ghost?

A minute of contemplation made her aware to the fact that her eyes were really just seeing the wisps of frost carried on the wind, kissing the juts of rock that climbed and melded with the formation that served as Holzoff’s roots into the world.  The dark of the rocks and shadows and muddied snow shifted with shaggy figures and flashing eyes, that marked her with inquisitive attention.  The warrior mirrored her surroundings, crouching in the filth and shrugging deeper into her daesce hide.  The thing stank something terrible–and the woman wondered if it were necessary anymore–but she kept it anyway.  It aided her mind’s sense of ferocity.  If she could keep it with her when entering the tower, she was certain it would serve a decent mental weapon.  What soldier would want to face an enemy dressed in the skin of their worst nightmare?

But a way up.  She had to focus.

The cold was making her sleepy.  Her adrenaline was running down from her fight with the daesce, and the pain of her left arm was turning into a grinding ache, wearing her down.  The woman saw her breath curl through the air in a cloud before dissipating into the night.  She closed her eyes and bowed her head, ears perking now and again at the sound of claws scratching against rock.

Then she heard screaming.

The woman stood and turned her head, toward the tower gate, or as much as she could see of it down on the ground, and–

Lethia standing on the ledge, her back pressed against the stone.  She looked like she were in hiding, waiting for her moment to jump out, but she had nothing of unraveling fear in her eyes.  Elmiryn blinked and tried to find the source of the sound.  She moved back toward the bridge, and through the veil of darkness, she saw the daesce ripping apart the beast she had just slain.  These were the young ones, the weak ones, the sick ones–the weaklings of the sordid community–who were getting their revenge.  Or getting their first meal in days.  The woman’s jaw tensed as she saw two of the little bastards rip off a limb and proceed to fight over it, bloody tendrils sliding along the ground as it was dragged hurriedly.

Ribbons.

Beautiful, velvet ribbons dancing and trailing through black night air, then wrapping along fur and limb in decoration–how chic!  The daesce were celebrating, hooting, giggling as they took the ribbon, clearly of a cheap pastel, and smeared it.  How rude of them.  Messing up the picture.  But they did it anyway, biting into the desert, tossing up streamers and confetti and–

bits of flesh : bits of blood : bits of fur and yellow piss where one had found the bladder and bowels and : the spine with effort was out out out out out : and then the others were sticking things in in in in in : revenge was semen and spit and defilement–

Elmiryn closed her eyes and turned away, gagging once before she steeled herself and sat hard on the ground.  Her ears perked again as, through the horror that floated across the way, she picked out the sounds of conflict.  Shouts and metal hitting stone as though a weapon had fallen.  The warrior gave her head a shake.  She couldn’t slip into another episode.  The world couldn’t feel too large, nor her too small, because she had to be with Nyx.  The woman strained her eyes, making them ache, ignoring the pain in her arm from her inconsiderate movements in favor of–

“Fuck it, just start somewhere,” the woman muttered to herself.

She went to the stone, noting how it was at something of a slant.  She found one gash in the rock by the weak moonlight, like Nyx had found before, and proceeded to climb–a wounded caterpillar forced to favor her right side for every foot she gained.  The woman grit her teeth and cursed, knowing that whatever was happening on the bridge would be done with before she made it there.  What bothered her was that she didn’t know what the outcome was.  The woman thought about the others at camp as below her chased the sounds of hell, and she wondered if they were having as good a time as she was.

Then Elmiryn nearly fell, because she started to laugh.

HAKEEM_________________________

Quincy was…brighter now.  The shade of honey her long bangs still held had been swallowed in a near platinum blonde, and her skin had a radiance to it that made the camp a tad bit more illuminated.  These were the effects of Tonatiuh’s use.  Hakeem pulled back at the woman’s collar to reveal the skin of her chest, and just over her heart (it took a pointed glare to make Graziano stop trying to get a look) revealed to him the blended scars from all the time Quincy had taken the blade into her soul.  She had done it four times in her life.  The man was glad that the woman, his partner–his wife–had returned from her journey into the light, but the stakes were raised too high now, and she couldn’t afford to gamble her soul again.  If he could, he’d take the blade away and destroy it himself, but it wasn’t that simple.  The sword and the woman were bound together, and by the woman’s changed appearance, now so more than ever.

“Why does she look like that?” Paulo asked warily.

Graziano stood over them.  ”Yes, Hakeem.  Have we anything to fear, beyond the usual from you two?  Will the woman…explode?”

The man looked up at the Moretti.  ”She isn’t a bomb waiting to go off.  This is just an aftereffect of using her magic.  You have nothing to fear.”

Graziano didn’t seem entirely satisfied with this explanation, but he didn’t press the matter, and went to sit near his brother.

Hakeem returned his attention to his partner, and it was at this point that something hit him.  Hard.  The jubilation truly fled him when it occurred to the man that Quincy shouldn’t be sleeping.  At all.

He seized up and took to shaking the woman.  She could sleep into death, and there’d be nothing he could do about it.  If things were still as he thought they were, then his attempts were futile, but still he tried.  With both hands, the wizard shook his wife with all the strength he had…

What he got in return was a mouthful of knuckles and an old Fanaean curse he hadn’t heard since his mother first washed it from his mouth.

Azure eyes burned a hole in him, bright and angry with the luminescence of a lit sky.  The man sat back–and laughed out in relief.  Then he looked at the hand Quincy used to wipe at her eyes, and frowned, his happiness fading to consternation.

“Your ring!  Where is it?” he asked.

The ring of the Living Death.  He still wore his since the day he had put it on at Tiesmire.  It gave the user the ability to move through the days without sleep, food, or drink.  The tradeoff was that upon its removal, the user slipped into a death-like sleep for the same amount of time the ring was worn.  The worst of it was that all the strength the ring gave, it took away.  So not only did one slip into an unbreakable hibernation, their body still suffered the effects of starvation and dehydration. When pressed with time whilst pursuing a target, the ring was a fantastic tool–but this particular venture of theirs had gone on too long.  For his part, the man didn’t know if he could ever take the ring off again.  This wasn’t a solution, either.  Eventually the power of the ring would turn him into an empty shell, soulless and yet stuck in continued existence.

…But how had Quincy avoided the effects?

“What?” the woman mumbled, frowning at her hand.  Then her look turned sour.  ”Tai’undu!”  She sat up and looked at him.  ”I’ve lost it!”

“But you were wearing the ring when you pierced yourself, didn’t you?”

“Of course!  But…”  The woman blinked, then held out her arm.  Tonatiuh, which had vanished the moment she fell asleep, was now back in her grip in a flash.  It pulsed with a warm glow, as though sensing it was the focus of attention.

Hakeem scowled.  ”It took it, didn’t it?  Your ring of the Living Death?”

“I imagine…” Quincy shook her head, frowning.  ”I imagine it was like the third time.”

“What do you mean?”

“The last time I took His fang into my heart, Tonatiuh consumed the staff of lightning I possessed.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?  I thought you’d traded the item away!”

Quincy tapped her lips, her focus on her weapon.  ”When I returned that time, I was restored in full health.  It did it again this time, and I came back with all my injuries healed.  Only it took the ring from me…as payment.”

“Or a tradeoff.” Hakeem said, crossing his arms.  ”To restore the energy you used up.  It explains why you do not suffer the usual effects from removing the ring.”

“Perhaps…”

The woman drew her cloak about her as she stifled a yawn.  Her hood came low over her face, leaving only her pink bow lips showing.  ”Hakeem, now that we’re together again and you have so rudely rouse me from sleep, do you mind explaining to me in detail why it is you’ve decided to help these people?  I heard the marshal say you were helping the enchantresses and came looking for you along the main trail.  I admit, I’m surprised at how much those claims were true.”  As she said this, her head turned in the direction of Paulo and Graziano, both resting against their scultones, the older Moretti with his loaded pistol in his lap.  He glowered at them over the flames.

Hakeem sighed and looked at Quincy.  ”It wasn’t entirely my choice.  The Morettis captured me with the help of the warrior woman.”

“Elmiryn.”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“And then he found us again when we split up, after Elmiryn defeated you,” Graziano dug.

Quincy grew hot beneath Hakeem’s touch, but her voice remained level.  ”She didn’t defeat me.”

Graziano sneered and Paulo managed a weak laugh through his cough.  ”You retreated,” the man said.

“Arduino was going to abandon me and the dog on the mountain with no food or warmth,” Hakeem interjected loudly.  ”I did meet up with Graziano and Elmiryn, but only after I realized there was foul magic suffocating Belcliff.  From what I learned from the warrior’s items, I concluded that she was involved with it somehow.  She…spoke of bizarre things–”

“Crazy things…” Graziano muttered.

“Astral demons and the like.  But at present I still do not know the exact nature of what is going on.  I only know that the enchantresses are the best means to stop this trouble.”

Quincy shifted next to him.  ”Hmm…given my recent actions, your prolonged absence, and our accuser, the marshal has seen fit to condemn us both.  Something has him scared.  I think he fears that Syria will reveal his secrets.  Things that could ruin him.  Her apprentice, Lethia, told me that the enchantress had been seeing the marshal secretly for therapy.  This started some two years ago, after the dwarven colonies left Albias due to disagreements with the local city-state.  And there were discrepancies in the case files I viewed for the murders.  The damage done to the bodies required two spellcasters to achieve, and Lethia doesn’t have the skill needed to achieve the level of magic required.  Yet they sentenced her to death as well.  I’m no longer certain either woman is guilty of anything.  There’s something rotten in this region, and my vows compel me to find the answers.”

“Compel you?  I didn’t think anything compelled you Quincy save for the sight of riches.”  Graziano sat forward, stroking the neck of his pistol.  ”My dearest lia, have you a moral compass in that super nova chest of yours?”

The woman gazed at him coolly.  ”That’s quite arrogant of you, Graziano.  Tell me, did your nethers burn when you realized you had left me to face the Torsheks alone whilst you lay passed out at the brothel with gonorrhea?”

Paulo looked at his brother.  ”Chuso!  Graz is that true?”

Graziano looked at his brother in alarm.  ”I never abandoned her!  I was fourteen years old and my culebre ate my horse!”

“Your excuse is your pet dragon ate your horse?” Quincy deadpanned.  ”Do you have the mind of a child, Graziano?”

Paulo waved this away with a floppy hand.  His sweaty face broke into a grin.  ”No way, brother.  I know you left Quincy to deal with those giant beetles alone.  I’m talking about the gonorrhea.”

“Bruja!” The man mumbled at the woman.  ”Now he’ll never leave me alone about it!”

“But for what reason would the marshal want Syria dead?”  Hakeem said, bringing Quincy’s bright eyes back his way.

“I don’t know.  But he’s become unhinged, and I’m afraid our fellow bounty hunters are all too glad to oblige his demands for our heads.  I killed off some of the rabble that were traveling with the marshal on their way here, but the more formidable ones I knew to be in the city were notably absent.  Karolek, Jetswick, Tennim, Winamer, Arduino–I haven’t the slightest idea where they could be, and that isn’t good.  They should’ve been with the marshal’s group.”

“You didn’t see them when you watched in secret?”

“I was following the marshal, trying to see if he’d give anything away while I was one with the light.  But he revealed nothing.”

“So doing just what Arduino is accusing us of could clear our names.  Amusing.”

“Yes.  Possibly.  But I hope you managed to bargain up something nicer to ease this stress?”

Hakeem smirked.  ”Of course.  We get a fourth of whatever the warrior receives from the enchantresses, as well as all the information they have on Tobias.”

Quincy nodded.  ”Excellent.  Then I approve of this.”

“So glad to have you on board…” Paulo wheezed sardonically.

NYX____________________________

I slowly rose to my feet, knees bent and my claws tensed.  Jowan came nearer, squinting at me.  Then his eyes turned big and he took a step back.  ”Great Halward, you’re an Ailuran!”

Two more guards appeared behind him, wielding swords and shields.  Jowan held them back with hand.

I thought about how my performance for the daesce had saved our skins once.  I decided to give it a second try.  In my travels, I had learned that of all the therian races, the Ailurans were probably hated the most next to the Draconians.  Even the Draconians seemed better liked–gods knew why.  But who was I to sit and weigh popular opinion amongst humans when my own kind was liable to throw rocks at me on sight?

Funny, the things one thinks before plunging into danger.

I breathed in all the air I could muster, ready to let out another fierce roar.

Then a blow to the back of my head reminded me, quickly, that not everyone froze at the sight of a bloodstained therian.

I went down, my face knocking into the hard stone floor, scraping at my cheek and pulling my right eyelid down.  My nose hurt, badly–so much that I could hardly see for the tears that came flowing.  Then I was hoisted up a few inches by the collar of my tunic.  I gurgled.  The fabric felt like it were cutting into my throat.

“She’s Marked.”  Freck grunted over me.

Jowan spoke to him.  ”Didn’t the messenger bird bring an official warrant for the head of any who tried to break into the tower today?”

“Aye.”

I heard a blade and I started to squirm.  Freck sat on my lower back with all of his weight and pulled my tunic back so hard I heard some of the fabric tearing.  I could hardly breathe, and my neck burned where the collar cut into me, just under the chin.

“Woah!  Are you really–?”

“I’m retiring from this shit job soon, damn it.  I’m going to get something out of this hell hole, even if it means cutting off some kid’s head!”

“Mm…alright.  But I want some coin too–I distracted her after all!”  Through my blurred vision, I saw Jowan look up and smile.  ”Oh, Farrel!  You’re alright boy!”

Then I heard a muffled slap and Freck let me go.  I hit the ground gasping, but I didn’t sit and dwell on my pain.  I could hear Elmiryn in my head, urging me to capitalize on this sudden turn around.  “Fights don’t give you second chances!  Move, or die.”

I screamed and scrambled into a charge, knocking Jowan over as I went.  He knocked into one of the guards behind him, and the man fell with the bald guard over his legs, successfully pinning him down.  The second guard jumped back in surprise, but I sensed in his lack of proaction a man unskilled in combat.  I could feel the cartilage in my nose shifting, and the stinging at my throat and the skin of my neck fade away.  I blinked away tears as I disentangled myself from Jowan’s flying fists.  A sixth sense feeling, a heat up my back, inspired me to lean back far, and I saw a blade flash past me, down onto his armor.  The swing was at a poor angle, so it didn’t pierce the armor, but this misstep made the novice guard, who had attacked without much thought, very fearful, and I saw him dance back again with uncertainty in his eyes.  As I leaned forward again, I mustered up all my strength raised both my hands and brought them down on Jowan’s ribs.  This was a thing to be seen, as even with his armor, I heard something snap, and Jowan curled beneath me with a purpling face, hugging his ribs.  I hit him with as hard a right hook as I could muster, and the man was knocked out, blood trickling from his mouth where I imagined his teeth had cut the inside of his lips.  I stood, clumsily and from the corner of my eye, I saw the guard at my left attack again.

I ducked, feeling the blade soar over me.  My eyes flashed his way, and I saw an opening in his armor, at the armpit.  Already I was moving to strike, stepping to the side to better reach his exposed flank, my claws extending as far as I could make them.  I felt them bury into his flesh, felt them drag through his skin and muscle.  As far as I knew, the place I hit him lacked any vital artery, but his pain would not be small.  Sure enough, the man stumbled back with a scream, his hand flying to his new wound as his shield dropped from his grasp.  Unaccustomed to the pain, he did not look as though he would dare rise and attack again.  Still, I knocked him out with a clean kick to the head.

But there was still his partner.

With his legs freed, the other guard was up on his feet, and I could see by the way he held his sword and shield that he had more experience than his partner.  He strafed slowly, crouched low behind his shield with his weapon at the ready.  I mirrored his movements, waiting for him to strike so that I could counter.  The man jabbed toward me, and I leaned away, but didn’t take a step back.  He was testing my resolve and skill.  I saw his eyes, beneath the dark of his nose guard helmet, turn hard with resolution.  He rushed forward, and I tried to evade him, but his kite shield was broader than I thought, or maybe he just moved faster than I thought he could, because, the guard managed to bash into me with it.  I lost my footing and fell backward hard onto the ground.  The soldier moved to jab at me, but I kicked at his left knee as hard as I could.  It didn’t snap the other way–a terrible thing to hope for, I suppose, but he’d hardly die from it, and I was fighting for my life at the time–instead it bent far to the right.  This made the man loose his balance, and he screamed out as his body crashed over mine.  I let out a shout as I slammed my elbow into his head, near the back of his right ear.  The man went limp, and the weight of him was tremendous.  I grunted as I shoved him off me.  My eyes looked to his knee, and I realized that while I hadn’t broken his leg clean in half, I had still broken his kneecap.

I turned, hands raised, ready to engage Freck next when I was met with a shocking sight.

The archer was kneeling next to Lethia, checking her pulse and her breathing with hands that bled a