by Aaron Crash
The Age of Discord ended with the death of Aegel Akkridor. Then the Age of Withering began. If dragons had trouble bearing children, well, so did most of the other races thanks to the Withering. Fewer boys were being born, fewer children altogether, and now most of the women in the world had to drink sanctum sap tea to make their wombs fertile.
The dragon had talked of some kind of game, probably just more metaphors, but it had also spoken of fruit. Ymir thought of its words:
When the time comes, you will give me the fruits of your labor, and I will bear fruit myself...
Was the dragon speaking of the seeds from the book? Or his literal seed?
Ymir couldn’t know the mind of the dragon, and Fannrilk might be full of shit. His book certainly was as pedantic as it was arrogant.
And yet, Ymir had unlocked the next piece of the puzzle. The Ventita Fructus, the uncanny fruit, required seed and coin. He had both, thanks to Gulnash, and he knew the coins were enchanted. They just needed to figure out how.
Had Gulnash and the dragon been working together? Did they know each other?
Another thing that Ymir didn’t know. However, Gulnash would’ve had trouble working with anyone. He was known as the Betrayer because he didn’t care about anything other than his own lust for power.
Ymir heard the stairs creak above him. Whispers followed, then Gatha’s gruff complaint, “Whoever made kaif should’ve made enough for everyone. And where is our man?”
Ymir closed the book, but not before slipping the coins into the binding along with the seeds. They fit perfectly. He saw the faint circles in the leather. Gulnash had secreted coins in there before. Ymir knew he was on the right path.
Yesterday’s events had finally caught up with him. He was tired and feeling a bit scattered. He and Della had much to talk about. Would he tell her about Ziziva and her pregnancy? He wasn’t sure.
Ymir had to laugh at himself. Ziziva might not be pregnant, so he had nothing to worry about. He would walk the path of today and not the path of tomorrow.
Or, as Swordwrite put it in Amleth, “To forge tomorrow in the hours of this day is to become the master of life.”
He took his mug and climbed the stairs, through his room and the central bathroom and up to the kitchen.
Gatha was already boiling water. Her hair was clean, combed, and braided. She turned in a simple white dress, which made her green skin look darker. She scowled. “Oh, so you made the kaif. You should’ve made me some. I am to meet the fucking fairy later today. I wanted to sleep in. I’m surprised the scheming little bitch shows up day after day. She’ll quit soon enough. She’s ridiculous.”
“It would seem she is very ridiculous,” Ymir agreed. “But perhaps she’s not.”
Gatha didn’t comment.
Jennybelle and Lillee came up. The swamp woman was still in her sleeping gown, her hair wild, marks from her pillow on her cheek. Lillee, however, had combed her hair, washed her face, and wore a simple dress that didn’t hide a thing. Her feet were pink and cute.
Jennybelle collapsed into a chair and let her face fall onto the table. It took her a long time to wake up—probably the result of her pampered life as a princess in Josentown.
Lillee laughed a little, then went to Ymir, to hug him, to kiss him. She drew back. “And what did you do last night? I can smell oheesy on you. Ribby and who else? I don’t know the scent.”
Jenny was sitting upright and smiling. “Ribby and who else? Damn, Lillee, you can’t know all of our smells.”
Lillee blushed. “I can. You, Gatha, Tori, and Ribby. We’re with each other so often.”
Gatha laughed. She left her kaif and drew Lillee into a savage embrace. “Elf! If I didn’t fucking love you before, I do now! You are my kind of slut!”
Gatha kissed the elf’s cheek lightly, but she grabbed ahold of Ymir and drank from his mouth. She broke the kiss and wiped her chin. “Tell of your night, barbarian!”
Ymir retrieved his mug and sat down at the head of the table while Gatha got them all their kaif, with the various condiments. Two cups for Lillee, who liked to pour her drink from one cup to another to cool the liquid off.
Ymir looked into the faces of the three women. “Do I start with my conversation with the dragon or the fact that things with our least favorite fairy have changed?”
Tori came bustling in. “Busy morning! You’re all up! Great! I brought some extra pastries from the feasting hall. I have to get back. Wanted to drop off some treats ’cause I love you all so much.” The little woman slammed down a tray of the sweet and spicy swirls.
The other women were shocked by what Ymir had said. No one moved.
Tori was in her kitchen uniform, complete with apron. She had a bit of flour on her nose, and her red hair was frizzy. She squinted at her sister wives. “So, did I come in at a good time or a bad one? Should I leave? I should leave.”
“No,” Ymir said quickly. “Sit. I have news for you all.”
Jennybelle’s laughter was jagged. “Ymir talked with a dragon. And probably fucked a fairy, and not in her butter hole from the smell of him. Lillee can tell you more about that. She has a nose for oheesy, it seems.”
Tori pulled up a chair and clambered onto it. She took a spice swirl pastry and licked frosting off the top. “Well, now, this sounds like some good gossip, all talk of oheesies aside. I’m not in my Inconvenience. A dragon? Really?”
“There was a dragon on the Flow Field. It ripped me to shreds, then healed me. There is more to it than that.” Ymir sipped his kaif, which had gotten cold. He warmed it to steaming in seconds with his ring. “Let’s talk later of the dragon. Let’s discuss Ziziva first.”
Gatha snapped out her tusks. “That fucking fairy bitch is working with the dragon. All the visions Della and Ribby had of her are lies. We can’t trust her.”
Tori patted the she-orc’s shoulder. “Easy, green. Go easy on us. Let’s just let Ymir talk.”
Ymir regarded the faces of his wives, all so different, all so gorgeous, from Tori’s freckled nose to Gatha’s monstrous beauty, to Jennybelle’s flashing blue eyes, to Lillee’s stately elegance. “You must not tell anyone what I’m about to tell you. The Fayee are not what they seem. They wear masks of silliness, they pretend to be stupid, but they aren’t. They control the Undergem Guild, and they have a vast empire of rivers, lakes, even oceans—which is why they are so connected to the Aquaterreb. You all know they can grow into a taller, bigger form—that is just one of their many secrets. Another? They mate with men to have babies.”
Gatha wasn’t about to retract her tusks. “And you gave Ziziva a baby. Or tried to. Is that what you wanted to tell us? I will not have anything to do with some squalling fairy suckling.”
The she-orc’s anger was to hide her hurt.
Tori’s smile was dizzy. “A little baby? Will it be tiny? I betcha it’ll be tiny. Why, Ribby likes Ziziva, and that’s good enough for me. And I trust Ymir’s judgment. If he and the fairy girl thought it was a good idea, well, I’m in. A tiny baby in our home?” Tears appeared in Tori’s eyes.
Lillee smiled at the little dwab, then smiled at Ymir. “I am with Tori in this matter. We love you. We will love your child. And if you say there is more to Ziziva than being a silly, giggling nuisance, I will believe you.” A pause. “Though it is hard to think of Ziziva as a friend. She stole Jennybelle’s memories. She has tried to manipulate us. And the fairies are a troublesome people. Dillyday Everjewel was put in the Undergem Guild because powerful men thought that she was too insipid to do much there. This is troubling.”
The furrow wrinkling Jennybelle’s brow told a similar story. “Are we sure that the fairy is giving you good info? I mean, she might be saying all kinds of shit just to earn your trust. Then she betrays you, steals your business, cuts off your uht...I don’t know. But I’m with Gatha. We can’t trust Ziziva. Not after all the shit she’s pulled. Maybe if I remembered that little shower escapade we had together, I might think differently, but I don’t.
Me and Gatha are never going to like her.”
Tori raised a finger. She was chewing on her pastry vigorously. She swallowed it down. “Let me be clear. I’m iffy on this fairy girl. And remember, I was friends with Ribby even when no one liked her. But come on, let’s focus on the baby. A little baby, an inch long, in a little bed. Probably eats only a single drop of honey, but you still have to burp her. I’ll lay her across my thumb and massage her back with my little finger. She’s going to be so cute!”
Ymir reached out and retrieved a spice swirl pastry. “I have no idea how this fairy baby business will work. And it’s not certain that Ziziva is pregnant. However, if you had been there, if you had seen her, you would think differently. Remember, there was a time when we all hated Ribrib.”
Gatha pounded her coffee mug on the table. “Ribby sacrificed her life for mine. If this fairy bitch does something similar, perhaps I’ll feel differently.” She laughed, and it was a hard sound. “But I’ve fought with both the mermaid and the fairy. The fairy is useless on the battlefield. She won’t save us from the dragon. She’ll die. And I will be glad.”
Those words shocked even Jennybelle. It took the swamp woman a moment to speak. “We’ll see how this fairy business shakes out, baby or not. Now, tell us about the dragon.”
Ymir was about to do just that when there was a knock on the door.
Tori was the first off her chair and to the door. She flung it open.
The she-orc soldier, Agneeyeshka, stood there with Ymir’s note in her hand. “The Honored Princept would like you all to meet her at her alcove office on the sixth floor of the Librarium Citadel. She has several things to discuss.”
Tori made a face. “I’ll get out of my kitchen duties. Hate to do it. Francy relies on me. But this seems pretty dang important.”
Gatha sprang up from her seat. “I am weary of this business, all of it, and I have my worthless student to train. I will not give her the satisfaction of a day off.”
The she-orc librarian pushed past Agneeyeshka and disappeared outside.
Ymir stood. “Let’s not keep the Princept waiting.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
ZIZIVA HONEYGOOD DIDN’T know why Gatha was in such a bad mood that Saturday on the beach, but she was brutal to the poor fairy. The she-orc found issues with every one of Ziziva’s poses, and Gatha hit her with her prokta blade to correct her.
It was painful, bruising, and unfair.
At least the fog had burned off. The sky was blue, and it was a rather warm day for being so late in the year. The waves crashed, and every single wave made Ziziva think of Ribby, how kind the mermaid was to her, and how sexy they’d been together with Ymir. It had been a lovely, exciting night, and it made the fairy sad that she’d spent so much of her life alone—the fairies encouraged sisterhood for the common good of the Fayee, but with so much secrecy, so much hierarchy, the fairies were always trying to outdo one another. Each fairy wanted to rise in the ranks, or at least make sure they didn’t fall that far should they fall.
The competition didn’t bring the fairies closer—it drove them apart.
Not with Ymir and Ribby. That had been love. And Ziziva knew she made the right decision to trust them—to bear Ymir’s child would be an honor. But could the barbarian protect Ziziva and her child from the Fayee leadership? When the fairy queen found out about Ziziva’s pregnancy, Deedee would want her dead. Without a doubt.
Well, if anyone could protect her, it would be Ymir and his amazing wives.
Gatha, for example, fought like a demon—to survive all those years in the Ssunash Pits took a brutality that could serve Ziziva very well.
Ziziva had to learn faster, had to be better, and she had to bury her own desires and do what Gatha wanted. For the fairy girl, that seemed impossible. Ziziva had risen in the fairy hierarchy—she had the ear of the queen, she was rich beyond measure, and it was only the fact that Ziziva wanted to be a mother that kept her from usurping Lolazny Lyla’s position as magistrate of the Sorrow Coast District. Yes, Ziziva could’ve ruled, maybe even risen in the ranks of the Undergem Guild, but she’d stayed at her candy shop, biding her time.
Ziziva knew she had to bow down to the she-orc, but when Gatha struck her leg for being too wide, Ziziva lashed out. “You don’t need to keep hitting me!”
Gatha shoved her back. “I do if you don’t fucking learn!”
Ziziva would’ve fallen if she hadn’t caught herself with her wings. After her long night of sex, the fairy girl was exhausted. And she was frustrated. And she was annoyed that Gatha was allowed to hit someone of her stature at all.
Ziziva lost control. Her wings fluttered out Scintilla Dust, which she cast into Gatha’s eyes. The fairy girl then cast a Moons cantrip, speeding her actions up. “Caelum caelarum!” She slammed a fist into Gatha, forcing the blinded she-orc back. “I am fucking learning!”
Ziziva charged forward with her sword, keeping her weight centered, because Gatha would recover quickly if the fairy didn’t keep her off-balance. Ziziva had her own prokta blade, and she struck Gatha’s leg, then flew over her, pouring more Scintilla Dust into her eyes.
Gatha powered up with her Sunfire armor, including a flaming shield.
Ziziva giggled. “You’re so hot, Gatha of Ssunash. I’ll bet Ymir does a lot of sweating on you. Oh, a sweaty Ymirry would make a delicious little snack.” She struck at the she-orc, to batter her head, which wasn’t covered with a fire helmet yet.
The she-orc caught the blow on her shield, then lashed out, but Ziziva was ready—Gatha had taught her not to drop her guard. The she-orc’s sword clanged off the fairy’s blade, and though Gatha couldn’t see, she kept up the attack, forcing Ziziva back toward the ocean.
“Jelu jelarum!” The she-orc pulled water from the waves, drenching them both and clearing her own eyes of the dust. The steam from her fizzled flames made it hard for Ziziva to see.
A green hand grabbed her leg and pulled her down, and then another fist, clenched around the hilt of a sword, struck her poor face. Ziziva felt the knuckles, but she also felt the unforgiving metal of the hilt.
The fairy girl staggered back, tasting blood, with her nose streaming blood. It hurt. But the fairy girl knew the fight wasn’t over, and if she didn’t want to get hurt more, she’d better do something about it.
“Caelum armatus!” Gleaming golden armor covered her, a little something she’d learned at the Majestrial, though Jacinta Sugartime had made several suggestions. The armor wasn’t metal, but made from energy taken from her dusza, and so there was space for her wings.
Gatha charged in, swinging her sword left and right, and Ziziva used her lessons to protect herself.
Gatha kicked her feet out from under her. Ziziva fluttered her wings to stop herself from falling, but it was too late—she’d let Gatha get too close. The she-orc’s flaming armor burned her skin. A second later, Ziziva found herself on her back, her delicate wings getting all sandy. She swallowed more blood from her hurt nose.
Gatha’s armor vanished and she thrust her prokta blade into the sand.
The she-orc was breathing hard, her tusks were out, and Ziziva knew she had ruined everything. She’d fought back. She hadn’t listened. Worse yet, she’d lost.
Unbelievably, Gatha’s lips curled around her tusks into a smile. What was happening? “Good. Your dust blinded me. You took advantage of that. I thought you had me, only your giggling gave you away. And your smell. Not your oheesy, though Lillee claims to know how each of us smells. But that sweet smell of your wing dust. I got you to the waves and then did Flow to pull the water to save myself.”
Ziziva winced against the pain in her nose. She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t get silly with Gatha; that would be the worst thing she could do. And it seemed she wasn’t in trouble.
Gatha sank down onto the sand and touched Ziziva’s nose. “I thought I broke the fucking thing, but no, your bones held. You might be tougher than you seem, you little fairy bitch. You bleed re
d. Good. If your blood would’ve sparkled, I’d have wanted to cut out your heart to see if that sparkled too.”
Then Gatha looked into the fairy girl’s eyes. “Ymir told us you wanted a baby, and he tried to give you one. I hate the idea. I hate you.”
“I know.” Ziziva wanted to get up, wash the blood off her face, and take care of her wings. She loathed the feel of the sand in her wings!
However, the fairy girl saw that Gatha wasn’t done talking.
The she-orc retracted her tusks. “I hated Ribby. Ribby saved my life. And I hated Ymir before I loved him. I hate easily. It’s better. It keeps you safe.” She clenched her jaw muscles. “I was safe. But I was lonely. I don’t expect you to know about that, all you fucking Fayee stick together. Never see you alone, or I didn’t until recently. You alone, fairy?”
“No,” Ziziva said softly. “I found Ymir and Ribby. I trust them. I love them.”
Gatha stood and turned away. “I beat you in the fight. I wouldn’t have lost. I would’ve killed you rather than lose. But you aren’t completely worthless. Ymir and the others went to talk to Della about the dragon. Ymir saw it. Talked to it. Perhaps we’ll all die, roasted inside it, but even then, I would continue to cut it, stab it, hurt it. As long as I have breath, I will never, ever stop fighting.”
“In that, we are the same,” Ziziva said quietly. Had Ymir really talked to the dragon from Ribby’s vision? It seemed impossible. Perhaps it had been some kind of demon and not an actual dragon. Ziziva didn’t ask, though.
And Gatha didn’t comment further. She scooped up both prokta blades and stalked off. When she was a good bit of distance away, she turned and yelled above the crashing waves. “Monday, fairy, you and I will fight again. Get your poses correct, and I won’t hit you. Get them wrong, and I’ll bloody you like I did today.”
Ziziva watched her go, then slumped down, this time on her side to give her poor wings a break. Then she went into the water, just up to her knees, to wash some of the sand off. She also washed her face clean of the blood. She’d have to use a bit of cura magic to take care of the bruising.