So, Inari continued reading never noticing the goddess in her presence. Fay studied her. There was a mark alright, but it wasn’t the Adversary’s. It was more like a piece of someone’s magic had gotten caught in her descendant’s chest. Since this unknown mage had life magic, it would help rather than harm, so it was safe enough to leave in place. Still, she disliked anyone marking up her descendants however distant they might be.
Sensing eyes on her, Fay glanced over her shoulder at the view. Right on cue, the Queen of All Trees appeared just beyond the outer circle of menhirs. Fay winked at the giant silver tree and vanished. However, she didn’t fly far before she felt it—the corruptive influence of the Adversary and the slight tug of family.
What have we here? A diversion? Fay drifted unseen toward a longship anchored in the tiny port about a mile from the mountain. A woman paced the deck bearing both the Adversary’s mark and a drop of her blood. Fay floated there, her bare black hands on her blood-red hips considering what to do about this abomination when a whisper interrupted her fuming.
“She’s chosen her path. You can’t change it.”
“Of course, I can. I am the Final Fate, the author of the future.” Fay clenched her fists and glared at the hapless woman in her late twenties. What an utter fool she was to side with the abomination known as the Adversary.
“Leave her be. Interference is forbidden. You know the rules.”
The Queen of All Trees was correct, much as Fay hated to admit it. “Yeah, yeah, it’s that whole ‘free will’ thing—worst idea ever if you ask me. So, who let that creep back in? Answer me that, and I’ll go in peace,” for now.
“He’s still locked out of this world. While the seal remains, he can only whisper.”
“You’re naïve if you believe that.” Fay flashed herself home without waiting for the Queen of All Trees’ rejoinder.
The Adversary had targeted Shayari this time. Fine, let him try to break through there. Her home lay a thousand miles as the dragon flies to the south and west. She had time to safeguard her horde—her family—from his corruptive influence. Claws pricked her fingertips drawing blood as they parted her flesh. Fay raked them across a stone parapet leaving a six-foot gash behind. Smoke curled out of her nose. To the perfect blue sky overhead, she roared.
“You won’t take any of mine this time, Corrupter. I’ll barbeque you if you try.” And wouldn’t that be a fine time?
Scheming Seekers
A sandy-haired young man oversaw passengers boarding one of the two ferries making regular stops at Mount Eredren. And of course, there was the ugly mountain itself sticking up in the meadow’s middle. Girded by balconies, the eyesore was the sole refuge for the fools eking out an existence in this far-flung corner of Shayari. Not for long, a cruel smile curved Aralore’s lips. If all went to plan, that place would be uninhabitable.
Two shimmers drew her eye to the massive doors halfway up the mountain’s south face. Those steel-backed lumir crystals extended a luminous, though false welcome. There was no paradise inside just the same poverty and nobles oblige strangling this country.
By a white lump of a rock long rumored to be the forehead of an unlucky giant, Rangers clustered for a meeting. Their spot was across from the trail leading down the mountain giving them a perfect view of the comings and goings on the green. Aralore gripped the stock of her looking-glass hard, digging her fingers into its metallic barrel. Were any of those Rangers looking at her ship?
Granted, her order had updated its symbology, but word of it could have reached here by now. Mount Eredren was on one of the most trafficked waterways. Thank God, those distinctive orange sails were down. Aralore bit her lip and wished for a way to zoom in on those Rangers so she could read their faces.
Where the hell is my distraction? Her instructions had been clear enough. Aralore checked the position of the sun. Time was running out. She had to clear the field—now before someone remarked on her boat. What the hell was taking them so long?
Aralore swept the looking glass once more across the field and smiled when she caught a flash of color. A gaggle of well-dressed children, their jewelry glinting in the sunlight, skipped across the meadow, quick and clueless as a herd of dear. And she was the hunter this afternoon. Distraction spotted, she smiled. Providence always provides for she who waits.
But sometimes, you must take matters into your own hands. God loves self-starters. Aralore set the looking glass down and disembarked. A passing breeze seized her overskirt and flipped it back to reveal the rust orange of her robes, but Aralore ignored it as she zeroed in on her prey.
They wore soft slippers unsuitable for a jaunt into the big bad enchanted forest. Velor had chosen well. Her lean acolyte, dressed in drab civilian garb, trailed those noble children answering their questions. Perfect. A cruel grin split her lips until Aralore gentled it into something approximating the beatific smile of the more contemplative half of her order. Best not to come off as the tiger she was, not at first. She didn’t want to startle her prey.
Instead, Aralore clasped her hands in pretended prayer and adopted a meditative look. As she passed the group, Aralore muttered nonsensical things under her breath. Between the crunching of grass and their clomping, nothing but her moving lips registered. But she caught every word of their hurried conversation.
“Is she a religious?”
“She must be. She’s deep in prayer.”
“What’s she praying for?”
“Miss? Oof—”
A scuffle broke out behind her between two of the boys.
“You don’t address religious people that way.”
“Then how do you address them?”
“You speak with respect and deference befitting her rank as Preceptor of our order,” Velor replied in his musical baritone.
Aralore fought a grin and increased her pace. So, they were curious about the big bad Seekers, eh? Oh, she’d give them a memorable encounter indeed! The wind flipped her skirt up again revealing her true calling. Excited gasps followed by a chorus of ‘is she?’ and ‘she can’t be’ and finally, one of those young bucks said the word in awe, ‘a Seeker?’
“Yes, but you must lower your voices. We’re here on a secret errand for our high priest, and we need your help.”
Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we? Aralore suppressed a laugh as the gaggle of children broke into excited whispers. If only the fool currently warming his bum on the clockwork throne was worthy of such reverence. Alas, he was not, but she had plans to fix that just as soon as she drained all the magic out of Shayari and sparked a civil war.
As she’d hoped, her curious admirers followed, not that Velor gave them the option of fleeing. He kept making outrageous claims, and they hung on every word. Oh, this was going to be such fun.
After another hundred feet, they fell into step with her, all but running to keep pace. She had them now. They crossed the first circle of standing stones without slowing, then the second. Only when the shadows cast by the first line of enchanted trees crossed their paths did Aralore slow and turn as if she was about to let them in on a great secret. And she was, just not the one they thought they were in for.
“Do you believe in magic? If you lie, I’ll know. After all, I’m a Seeker of Truth,” Aralore said gravely, giving the full name of her ancient and much-maligned order.
The boys were rapt now. Their doe eyes fastened on her as they shook their heads. With a respectful nod, Velor faded into the background as befit his role.
“No ma’am, magic is the dream-killer, the nightmare-maker. We don’t believe in it,” said the spokesman—a boy of no more than ten. He puffed out his chest and wrapped himself in all the dignity his noble station in life had given him.
“He’s right. Magic is bad stuff. It makes the forest act weird forcing people to go miles out of their way to avoid it,” chimed in another boy. He wore a sky-blue velvet tunic and matching trousers that screamed new money.
Oh, this is too perfect. Aralore
squeezed the white box she held.
A gust of wind whispered through the branches tangling in front of them. All five boys started as they realized they stood on the threshold of the enchanted forest. Before they could bolt, Aralore held out the box.
“In here is the cure for magic.” Aralore tapped her nails on its enameled surface and met their wide, excited eyes. “Would you take it deep into the forest and leave it there? We need volunteers. Young, strapping boys like you to spread the cure. Would you do this for me?”
“Are we honorary Seekers?” asked the boy in sky blue. His eyes shined at the prospect.
What luck! A convert and a distraction all rolled into one! God was smiling on her. His benevolence warmed Aralore’s frozen core. Before she could do more than smile, another boy elbowed his friend aside. This one wore hand-me-down finery in violet and dark green cleverly tailored to hide its flaws.
“I heard there’s a bounty on magical things. Seodrid might be interested in joining your order someday, but not the rest of us. We’re interested in gold.”
“Samar! This is a holy commission. How can you talk about money at a time like this?”
Aralore fought a smile then decided to let it spread across her face. This was even better than she’d hoped. “Of course, we Seekers always pay our debts. Bring us proof you’ve destroyed something magical and we’ll pay the going rate—” from her sleeve, she produced a copper coin. “—A penny per pound. Bring proof to my ship. It’s in slip 4, just ask the dockhands for directions.”
I’ve got them now. Evil laughter burbled under the surface. Oh, God, this was too easy. Maybe Shayari was closer to the brink than she had hoped.
“Will you take it? Will you bury it deep and plant the seeds of magic’s destruction?”
Their eyes were as eager as the hands they extended toward the box resting on her palm. They took it marveling at its construction. Surely so fine a box housed a treasure all its own. As if she’d hand off her only black lumir stone to a bunch of greedy children, but they didn’t need to know that. They were just the distraction.
“Don’t open it yet. Take it as far as you can. Wait until just before nightfall.”
“Why can’t we open it now?”
Aralore’s smile turned brittle. Because I need you to get lost in the woods. But she couldn’t tell them that. Then what excuse could she give? Her gaze narrowed on the menhirs towering over the children, and Aralore suppressed a shudder at their alienness. There was something about them that transcended their weather-smoothed exterior. Something that screamed ‘other.’
“Because it’s more effective away from them.” She gestured to those standing stones.
The children turned as one, and they too shuddered. Maybe they even bought her lie. Though as Aralore regarded those rocks, her reasoning seemed plausible. She’d have to test it when Dirk brought her the pure stuff. Yes, they should be her first test. With the Rangers busy looking for these kids, who would notice? Who would care?
“So? What will it be? Will you help us?” Her lips twitched, and perhaps her eyes danced a bit at the irony, “for a fee?”
The shabby chic leader—Samar—inclined his head in thought, but there was a light in his narrowing eyes. He was already bought and waiting for payment. Samar gave the enchanted forest a calculating look as if sizing up a foe.
“How do we know they won’t interfere?” Samar pointed to the trees behind Aralore. Their branches scraped the sky.
“Ah, but the forest has three rules and they guarantee safe passage for you. But if you’re feeling insecure—”
Samar puffed out his chest, and it made him look more than a bit comical thanks to his emerald and violet clothes. “I’m not scared of anything.”
“Should your courage waver, take this restorative.”
Aralore held out a flask. It was a decorative thing embossed with the Seekers’ old symbol—a broken circle enclosing the Flame of Knowledge. With luck, one of the children would make it back to the Rangers with her little gift. What Ranger could resist the urge to see what the big bad Seekers were up to in their slice of the enchanted forest? Oh, it was too perfect and yet, so simple her plan.
The boy in sky blue, the richest and most impractically dressed of the five boys, Seodrid, took the flask from her and uncapped it. He sniffed the drugged alcohol sloshing about inside, and his lips twitched. Catching his friends’ curious glance, Seodrid nodded confirming its hoped-for contents.
Yes, rich boy, drink lots of my tainted brew. Grow so confused, you wander in ever-widening circles until you fall down a rabbit hole or two. Aralore scaled back her grin when it became a tad too manic. Come on boys, move along. I’ve got to acquire the devil’s rocks. But despite her mental prodding, they continued to stand there regarding her gifts.
Samar finally made up his mind. “A penny for a pound, eh?”
Aralore nodded and stepped aside inviting the boys to enter the forest. “We pay ten times that for the trees.”
Greed sparkled in their eyes as they exchanged glances. They just needed one more push. Aralore extended her hands and delivered a blessing.
“Walk unmolested through the forest, untouched by the magic still within it because you wield the cure.”
Halfway through her proclamation, Samar shot into the forest trailed by Seodrid and three other boys. It didn’t matter if they’d heard her. They’d wander around and get themselves horribly lost forcing the Rangers to go find them and leave the field clear for her test.
Aralore spun back to face those menhirs and their creepy cordon. Someone had thought it a good idea to ring Mount Eredren with those stones not once, but twice. Nothing grew in the ten-feet between the inner and outer rings because they were unnatural. Aralore shivered. Gravel crunched underfoot as she passed between two stones. Each was twice as wide and twice as tall as her, and their nearness made her skin prickle.
“Preceptor?” a rich masculine voice called from behind her.
Aralore smiled. “Have someone shadow them. I might need them again. Make sure they find a nice cave far from here to disappear for a while. Leave a confusing trail for the Rangers to follow.”
“Yes, Preceptor,” Velor replied.
Aralore didn’t see him bow, but the rustle of his clothes told her he had observed that propriety as her rank required. Then Velor loped off to do her will, and Aralore sauntered back across the meadow to her ship. Several times, she stopped to pluck out the petals from the daisies she passed. Everything was back on track. If only Dirk would show up with her prize.
Ghosts & Ghouls
Fifteenth bell rang. Sarn paused on a landing as the unknown woman reappeared on his head map. She must have left her ship. Where was she headed now?
Her icon flickered as she crossed the meadow, stretching their connection to the breaking point. The fix Sarn had on her started to slip. Something about her interfered with it, and his magic strained to keep hold of her.
Unease stirred Sarn’s overfull stomach while he waited for her trajectory to settle on a recognizable course. Was her boat still docked?
Sarn checked his map, but it tended to ignore man-made structures and anything beyond the shoreline. So, the River Nirthal was still a ribbon of featureless white on his map. And of course, the meadow had no landmarks either just a mile of grass on all sides of Mount Eredren. It was the only place free of statues other than the Lower Quarters.
Was she angling toward the mountain? Yes—no, now her track was bending forest-ward. What the hell was she up to? Is she important?
Sarn glanced over his shoulder at the steps marching upward around a sharp curve then to his hand gripping the sack slung over his shoulder. Why was she heading toward the enchanted forest? There was nothing but giant, quasi-intelligent weeds in there. Should I follow her? What about Dirk?
Ran bumped into his leg. “Why’d you stop? You said we’d go home.”
And there was that word again, ‘home,’ it knifed Sarn in the gut, but he didn�
�t correct his son because he had nothing better to offer.
“Papa?”
“You’re right.” Sarn shook his head and descended.
Maybe you’re making something out of nothing to avoid grieving for Shade, rasped his conscience and Sarn couldn’t disagree with it.
He had no proof anything illicit was going on between Dirk and that woman—just a gut feeling something was wrong. Why was life so damned complicated?
At the thought of Shade, Sarn’s throat closed and tears stung his eyes. Shivering, he felt the icy touch of the demon who had killed his best friend. Had Shade died only a month ago? It felt like yesterday.
‘I wanted to be beautiful, so you’d love me,’ Shade had said. His—her—its—dark eyes had begged Sarn to understand, and he missed the androgynous fool’s poetic prattle.
Sarn fingered the edge of the cloak swallowing his lean frame. He stood in a bubble of green radiance on a slab of stone. Stairs spiraled in both directions, fading into the gloom. Each time Shade’s confession echoed, it plunged a dagger into his heart.
So, you invited a demon into your body? Sarn clenched his teeth. Ever since Shade had died, he heard his friend’s voice in his head—a clear sign of insanity. At least he hadn’t spoken aloud this time.
Death had settled nothing between them. Unlike his friend’s moniker, Shade was not a specter. No, his best friend was gone leaving a lot of hard words unsaid and a lump in Sarn’s throat.
A small hand squeezed his reminding Sarn he was not alone. He regarded his son peeking around his legs at the darkness obscuring the looping stairs. Ran offered him a smile. When his son noticed the portal in front of them, he frowned.
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