“What terrible stories?” Kala asked, clutching the lab pup closely.
“Last time I was here, Scar had been affected by the Vex’kvette, but that didn’t turn out too badly, did it?” Angst asked, winking at Kala. He didn’t feel like being positive, but, in a way, he was responsible for her being here, and she needed hope. “And we saw a Mendahir Rise. It was very pretty.”
Maarja peered, gripping so tightly to her longbow that the wood creaked. She looked as upset as Faeoris. Why not? Everyone was angry at him for something. But she hadn’t reacted until he’d mentioned the Mendahir Rise.
History was not Angst’s best subject—that was Dallow’s job—but he vaguely remembered that Grayhollow was home to the Mendahir. Something had happened long ago between the lost race, the Angorian, and the Nordruaut. A history that Dallow would’ve been excited to explain in such infinite detail that Angst would’ve had to struggle to listen. Who knew, maybe his oldest friend had explained it once already. He should pay more attention, maybe not to history lessons, but to his friends. Faeoris deserved his attention now just as Dallow had deserved it.
“Angst?” Jintorich asked in a squeaky voice, his ears perked up excitedly.
He’d already been nice to Kala. Did he really have to be nice to Jintorich, too? But, hadn’t he also just chided himself about being a better listener?
“Yes?” he asked through a gritted smile.
“Would you tell me about bonding with your foci?” Jintorich asked.
Angst turned his head to face the Meldusian. Jintorich and Maarja rode together on a creature he didn’t recognize. It had six thick legs and a wide dog-like head with horns. The swifen was made of red gravel and was large enough for them both to ride. Angst hadn’t considered the fact that it meant Jintorich could wield magic, or was maybe magical like Hector.
“We should eat,” Aerella said. “It’s well past lunch.”
She and Kala dismounted her swifen before it disappeared. Aerella placed two fingers in her mouth and blew out a piercing whistle. Within several breaths, Faeoris landed with a thud that shook the ground, cracks appearing beneath her feet. She wouldn’t make eye contact with Angst, walking swiftly to Aerella to speak in whispers. Angst shook his head in dismay. Had being ignored made her angry enough to break the ground, or was it still that tenuous strain he’d felt between them since escaping Victoria’s chamber? He was the last one remaining on a swifen, so he patted the shiny steel ram before it disappeared, dropping him and his satchel.
“Fine,” he said, frustration building. Had they forgotten about being in a hurry? “Is there anything I can help with?”
“No,” Aerella and Faeoris said in unison as they broke apart bread and cheese. “Kala, please come help.”
The young girl grunted, reluctantly placing Scar on the ground. She stomped over to Aerella but didn’t say no.
Angst sighed and looked from them to Maarja. The enormous Nordruaut sat on a boulder, tearing apart a dark, fibrous root and shoving pieces into her mouth. She glared at Faeoris briefly before looking off into the distance. Was this what he should expect from the next several weeks, or was his dark mood tainting his expectations? Were they possibly feeding off his own poor attitude? Scar barked, his tail wagging furiously as he leaped at a tall blade of grass, grabbing it in his jaws. He tugged and rolled around in fierce battle until he was wrapped in grass. The puppy looked at Angst helplessly and yipped in fear.
“The most powerful dog on Ehrde defeated by a blade of grass.” Angst chuckled. He couldn’t help but smile as he freed Scar from the evil confines of foliage. Scar barked fiercely at the grass before Angst scooped him up and petted out the hackles. “I’m just glad you’re here to protect everyone. Thank you for keeping us safe.”
“Ahem,” Jintorich coughed politely.
Angst looked down, making eye contact with the Meldusian. The tiny, black marbles that looked up at him were impossible to read. Jintorich’s long brows dangled over his heavy eyelashes. He seemed sincere, and Angst returned Scar to the ground. The pup ran off toward Kala.
“Right,” Angst said, clapping dust and puppy off his hands. “Sorry. You were asking about my foci.”
“If you don’t mind,” Jintorich said, sitting on the ground and placing his tiny staff across his knees. “I traveled for months, all the way from Meldusia, to discuss your experience with Chryslaenor. Now that you are bonded to Dulgirgraut as well, I’m very hungry to learn.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize that’s why you came to Unsel,” Angst said, unable to hold back his surprise. He removed Chryslaenor from his back and set it on its tip. He sat slowly, unsure which creaked louder, his joints or his armor. “A lot has happened over the last six months... Well, I guess it’s actually nine months. I’ll do my best.”
“Please, tell me about the first time you held your foci,” Jintorich said.
“I’ll start with the first time I picked up my foci,” Angst said firmly.
Jintorich smiled around his great, bulbous nose and nodded vigorously. Angst couldn’t help but return the smile. The Meldusian was always so kind, and so patient. Not only had he been Heather’s midwife, which was still shocking, but he was here, helping Angst face the unknown. All of this to learn about his sword? The man deserved to know everything he could remember.
“I first picked up Chryslaenor at a party,” Angst began. “Every fall, the queen threw a party for the staff. It was a way of saying thank you for all our hard work. Thinking back, it was a generous thing for Isabelle to do. I never thought she cared, but she must have. Anyway, I was a member of that staff, and held the awesome and respectable position of paper shuffling. Every law passed came into my small office for filing in the cellar of the castle. It wasn’t a glorious job, or heroic, but none of my friends got killed or went missing.”
Jintorich looked ready to interrupt, but instead sucked in his puffy lips.
“Sorry,” he muttered awkwardly. That had sounded much funnier in his mind.
Faeoris dropped a plate onto his lap so forcefully a hard roll bounced to the ground. He grabbed the bread and brushed it off before looking at her. She ignored him, and he worried. How many apologies would it take to make things right?
“Please,” Maarja urged. “Continue your story.”
“Sure,” he said. This had to be the first time she was actually interested in something he was saying. Nordruaut did love stories. “So, the party was held in a courtyard. In the middle was a monument with a giant sword that everyone thought was a statue. All new employees were encouraged to try to lift the sword. It was a game. A joke. If anyone could lift it, they would be knighted. No one ever did, and it was mostly considered to be hazing. Anyway, as the party wound down, a knight, Sir Ivan, was harassing my friend Rose. She can handle herself, and typically I wouldn’t have interfered, but he wasn’t alone, he was in armor, and he was drunk. I don’t know what he said, but it was bad enough that she poured wine on him...”
“Good,” Faeoris said.
“He deserved it, but it probably wasn’t the best idea. Ivan was a large man, and Rose is tiny,” he said, looking at Jintorich, “and human. He picked her up by a wrist and was going to strike her. When he reached back, his hand hit the sword. He looked back to see that I was holding that thing, which was supposed to make me a knight. It was enough to make him stop attacking.”
“And then you killed him?” Faeoris asked, frowning.
“No,” he said.
“And then you bonded with the sword?” Jintorich asked, his voice high and excited.
“No,” Angst replied. “I brought it home and went to bed.”
“So, you didn’t bond with it?” the Meldusian asked.
“And you didn’t kill him?” Faeoris asked, frowning in confusion. She tore angrily into her roll.
“Not yet,” Angst said to both of them. “But Chryslaenor still gave me great power.”
“How could you use the sword without bonding?” Jintorich asked.
<
br /> “I guess it sort of wanted me to,” Angst struggled to explain. “Chryslaenor wanted me to bond, and shared power with me until I would. I didn’t completely understand at the time. I had no control over the power at all, but it seemed to work best when I was emotional.”
“When you were angry,” Aerella interrupted. “The foci would give Angst bursts of great power, but only when he was driven by strong emotion like anger, or, uh, angst. Sometimes he was even more powerful than an Al’eyrn, and sometimes it would kill him.”
“Kill him?” Faeoris asked in concern.
“I tend to die,” he said. “But my foci, somehow, always brings me back.”
Maarja barked out a laugh. “You couldn’t have been so very dead.”
“He was!” Kala said defensively. “Scar said so!”
“Please,” Jintorich said, looking up at his tall friend. His pale cheeks were blotchy, and he seemed upset. “Let him continue.”
Maarja nodded respectfully, her lip raised in a disbelieving curl.
“A lot happened. We traveled to Gressmore Towers and met Aerella’s father, Anderfeld. He wielded the foci, Dulgirgraut, and had cast the spell ‘at all costs’ to protect the mage city from a dragon attack. The spell cursed the city to live the same day over and over for two thousand years. To break the spell, he tricked me into killing him. We were cast out with Aerella, and the city was returned to the past. At least, that’s what we assumed. When we woke, everything was in ruins.”
“What? Angst...he killed your father?” Faeoris asked, looking between the two of them. She thoughtfully placed a hand on Aerella’s.
Aerella blinked rapidly. Guilt welled up in him, and he swallowed hard. Killing an innocent man was his first, great failure as a hero. The Gressmore wielders had made Angst see an illusion of Anderfeld murdering Rose, and he’d lost control. His fury, and the power he wielded from Chryslaenor, drove him to kill, but there should’ve been another way.
“I used to be upset with Angst, but he was tricked,” Aerella said, her face contorted in a wince. “He really had no choice.”
They shared a long gaze, her eyes holding back fire and bitterness, but not at him. Did she feel the same? That it should have gone another way? She nodded, either in agreement, or to continue. Either way, it didn’t help his guilt.
“Even as we were being kicked out of Gressmore,” Angst finally went on, “Ivan got lost in the Vex’kvette.”
“Ooh,” Maarja said, leaning in as if a jouster had been struck with a lance.
“Yeah, it wasn’t good,” Angst continued.
“Didn’t you beat him first?” Aerella asked.
“I slapped him senseless.” Angst grunted. He met Kala’s frown and rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t my proudest moment, but the man was crazy. Something in the Vex’kvette drove him mad. Eventually, it changed him into a giant, a monster. Somehow, he mutated all Fulk’han into whatever they are now. I fought him, and he beat me by splitting my head open with Chryslaenor.”
“What?” Faeoris asked, leaping to her feet, her plate dropping to the ground. Scar rushed over to lick it clean.
“That’s not possible,” Maarja said in shock.
“Almost in half,” Angst clarified, rubbing at the spot on his forehead. “I don’t remember much. I was told they dragged my body to a dungeon so my companions could watch me die. I didn’t, not completely, Chryslaenor wouldn’t let me. I just remember pain, all of the pain.”
“You couldn’t have survived this.” Maarja shook her head.
“My friend Rose is a healer who could absorb injuries. Rose was attacked by two guards and grabbed my ankle. She transferred the damage Ivan had caused to one of them. His head exploded, and mine knit back together. I woke up and immediately bonded with Chryslaenor. It’s a longer story, but I eventually destroyed Ivan.”
“Yes!” Faeoris said, still standing.
“Fascinating,” Jintorich said, his black eyes wide. “And Dulgirgraut?”
“Well,” Angst said. “Ivan had actually been taken over by the element Magic. It became a beam of light that reached high up into the sky, but it was black. I chased Magic to Unsel. We traveled from Fulk’han to the capital of Unsel so fast, it only took the night. Magic threatened to kill the people I cared for most, the ones I love. I had to stop it no matter what, and the only way I could trap it...”
“Was to break the binding with Chryslaenor,” Jintorich finished his sentence, his voice filled with wonder. “That...that must have been awful. How are you still alive?”
“Dulgirgraut,” Angst said, frowning at him thoughtfully. How could Jintorich know all of this? “Removing the bond almost killed me. One moment I’d be flush with more power than ever, the next I’d be sick and weak. It took a while, but we found Dulgirgraut in Melkier. This time I bonded immediately. It saved my life.”
“But, how did you find Chryslaenor...”
“I don’t know the full story of what happened to my first foci,” Angst explained. “Rose stole Chryslaenor from Unsel while it still trapped Magic. She somehow ended up at the bottom of the ocean in Azaktrha, which was an old mage city filled with cursed mermen. When we found Rose lying on a stone, Chryslaenor was hovering over her, some old guy was casting a spell, and she was in a lot of pain. I had to save her. The only thing I could think of was to bond with it again.”
“How is that even possible?” Jintorich asked.
“Jormbrinder,” Aerella explained. “A foci made of two daggers. Among other things, it muffles magic.”
“And I think Rose healed me, again,” Angst said. “Rose and the dagger made it possible to bond with another foci. I saved her, and now I have two.”
Faeoris rushed over and picked him up, holding him in a bone-crunching hug. Her eyes glossy with tears, she sniffed loudly. “You are so stupid.”
“I’ve got to be good at something,” he wheezed.
She let him go but didn’t leave his side.
“But...but, how do you do it?” Jintorich asked, his voice filled with concern. “Being bonded to two foci, both in your head? How do they not drive you mad?”
“I just do it,” Angst said, very aware of both songs he always heard. He gritted his teeth. “What choice do I have?”
Jintorich stood and looked back and forth between Aerella and Angst, his eyes wide.
“Is this what you were looking for?” Angst asked.
“Mostly,” Jintorich said. “For now.”
“Then why?” Angst asked. “Why did you travel all the way from Meldusia for this story?”
Angst and Jintorich made eye contact for an uncomfortably long time. The Meldusian looked ready to loose the words resting on his tongue when they heard a high-pitched wail. A distant cry, the pain of ages.
“What was that?” Angst asked, scanning the path ahead.
“Mendahir,” Kala whispered.
24
Scar growled a ferocious puppy growl until barks burst out of him. Tall hackles rose from the nape of his neck and along his rear, and Angst wondered if he would grow into the large monster dog he’d first met in these woods. Looking into the thickness of trees, he saw nothing and heard less. Gamlin provided no warnings, and Chryslaenor’s song sounded like it was trying to teach him how to magically boil pasta. He wished Hector was here, not only to see and hear what he couldn’t, but the old man’s advice would’ve been welcome. Scar was still barking, and both his eyes and Kala’s were glowing bright red. He rushed to the pup and knelt, petting the length of his coat. Angst wouldn’t presume to read the mind of a dog, which was probably full of chasing butterflies and eating other people’s food. The one thing he did know about dogs was that they could be trained. Experience taught them good from bad, and for Scar, this place had to be the worst.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he said, urging Kala over. “Help me calm him.”
Kala blinked several times and, dragging her eyes away from the distant woods, scrambled to Scar. She cooed and coddled until the lab stoppe
d barking.
“I hadn’t thought about this,” he said.
“What, Angst?” Jintorich asked.
“Scar was a monster when we found him, transformed by the Vex’kvette,” he began, trying hard to soothe out the hackles. “He was dragging forest creatures toward him in bubbles, everything that could be eaten. Eventually, his magic captured us, pulling us to the large bubble he waited in. We fought. I won. He almost died, but I cauterized his wound with Chryslaenor, leaving him with a scar, and his name.”
“I would like to hear that story,” Maarja said, tugging at her long, platinum hair. “The long version.”
“When we have time,” Angst replied with a smile. “It’s a good one.”
“But the Vex’kvette is no longer a concern,” Jintorich said, his long eyebrows and longer ears pulled back. “Is it?”
“No, but being here is going to be more frightening to Scar than bringing him to the vet,” Angst warned.
“And the Mendahir,” Kala said softly, her voice quavering.
“Bah,” Maarja and Faeoris said simultaneously before stabbing each other with ferocious glares.
“The Mendahir are mostly dead in this time,” Aerella said softly, her husky voice soothing. “They don’t make noises. That was just the wind.”
“Mostly dead?” Angst asked.
“What does that mean?” Maarja snapped.
“They are alive during other time periods,” she said. “Just not this one.”
“I saw a Mendahir Rise last time I was here,” Angst said. “They were beautiful, ghostly things that rose from the ground.”
“They are like a rainbow, Kala, which is made when water filters sunlight,” Jintorich said. “A Mendahir Rise is a reflection of memories that are formed through the graymowl trees. They are nothing to worry about, and certainly aren’t alive.”
“Then why did they talk to me?” Angst asked.
“No,” Aerella said. “That’s not possible.”
“They told me Scar was my guide,” Angst said. “And they weren’t wrong.”
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