by Eve Hathaway
Magdeline uncurled her fingers and stepped back. But Cyrus was rooted firmly to the spot.
He desperately hoped that this was all a dream and when he woke, his faerie would be back to normal and this bossy woman would not exist. He’d be able to get along with his duties as a Hero and not be under the scrutinizing gaze of a female. Especially not a female so… so dominating. Certainly not one who was so beautiful.
Magdeline regarded him with a bemused expression. “Good. Now get your sword and let’s go.”
Cyrus glanced around. He hadn’t had his sword since before they were attacked. If he was lucky, it would still be on the hill upstream.
He turned slowly and walked up the bank, scanning the river for any signs of his belongings. The hair on the back of his neck prickled when he heard the soft crunch of grass behind him that followed his steps. His senses were entirely focused to the woman behind him and he couldn’t seem to shake it. At this rate, a dragon would have landed in front of him and he might still not notice.
As he tried to distract himself, he caught sight of the pouch that was used to capture his faerie the previous night. He must have thrown it after the faerie escaped, tossing it on the rocky edge of the river in his panic for land. He leaned over the bank and grabbed it off a stone, careful not to slip in and relive his nightmare from that night.
Upon closer inspection, he could see that it was made of dragon leather, which explained why his faerie hadn’t been able to teleport out on its own. Magical creatures always had a way of making things inconvenient.
He stuffed the pouch into his shirt and continued to scan the grass and water for his things. He must have had quite the journey in the rapids. The hill was further than he thought it would be.
When they reached it they could find nothing but the flattened grass he and his pack had made. The thieves had taken everything: his sword, his belt, his pack, and even his sleeping pallet.
“Let’s hurry up and get to the city, then,” Magdeline sighed, hugging her waist. “Those men are probably miles away by now. We’ll never see them again. There’s no use searching anymore.”
Cyrus groaned and ran his fingers through his dark hair. He had barely started on his journey and he had already lost the sword that his parents had given him.
He was no Hero, he thought in dismay. What he was was a twenty-year-old boy with an abnormal fear of women who was trying to prove that he was done sitting on his mother’s lap.
Well, he's not on his mother's lap now. But with the other mission, he was failing miserably so far.
He silently walked back to the path that led to the nearest city. Even if he didn’t have his map he knew that the next destination would be the City of Herth, one of the larger cities in the heart of Madala.
Herth was surrounded by walls of white stone that could be seen from miles away against the golden waves of grass and oats that grew on the rolling hills. The City specialized in bread made from these nearby grains and fabric from the animals and insects that fed on them. When the famine struck, it would strike hard on Herth’s economy.
By dusk, Cyrus and Magdeline made it to the gates. They were stopped by a row of guards in thin chainmail, armed with shining spears of sharpened white stone.
“What’s your business?” one demanded, prodding Cyrus in the chest with his spear’s blunt end.
“I’m in need of supplies,” Cyrus muttered. “And a night’s rest.”
Another soldier chimed in with a growl. “We can’t have you refugees taking advantage of our city, you know. We’ve had at least twenty of your kind through these gates only just today. There’s limited food and room available as it is.”
“We’re not refugees!” Magdeline snapped in the guard’s face, pushing past Cyrus. “This man needs supplies to fight in the Forest for you people! He’s a courageous Hero who lost his weapon in battle and is highly insulted to be questioned like some lowly refugee or criminal!”
Cyrus was aghast by Magdeline's outburst. But the soldiers looked taken aback as well. Some bowed their heads while the first soldier apologized. The one who had spoken second looked almost terrified.
“We’re very sorry, miss. Please, purchase what you need. I’m afraid lodgings are scarce as of late. We’ve had many refugees speak of a monster in the north and so they’ve flocked inside our gates.”
“A monster?” Cyrus asked, suddenly forgetting of his dumb tongue. “So it wasn't because of the famine?”
“That’s right, Sir Hero. We don’t know much about it but if you were to ask some of the refugees, I’m sure they would be able to explain the situation in full. You can’t miss them. They look downright awful. Guess it must have been some monster.”
“Uh, thank you.”
The guards moved aside for Cyrus and Magdeline to pass.
Chapter Five
Herth
THERE WERE PEOPLE everywhere within the gates. Most wore bright clothes of blues and greens and oranges, typical clothing for the people of Herth.
Even though the sun was nearly set, the light from fire-lit streetlamps flooded the narrow paths. Every building looked similar; each of the three-story buildings was carved out of the same white stone as the walls. Windows glimmered in blue-tinted glass. Clotheslines were strung between them, clothes and sheets draped over them in every color imaginable.
The two shuffled through the crowd until Magdeline pointed out an inn’s vacancy sign.
“Get us two rooms and I’ll meet you back here in an hour,” she said, pulling out a pouch from the collar of Cyrus’s tunic.
She dug out some jewels and handed them to him without touching him, and then put the pouch back into the tunic and ran off.
Cyrus stared at the jewels in his palm, dumbfounded. Not only had she taken his tunic while he was sleeping, but his money as well.
And now she’s using it as if it were her own?
Were all women were like that? No wonder he wanted them as far away from him as he could, he thought. But he put the small amount of jewels in his sleeve and entered the inn.
* * *
“I’M SORRY,” THE innkeeper said after a brief discussion. The old man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and pointed up his wizened index finger. “We only have one room available. A good lot of refugees have already booked rooms. Paid in advance and everything. They look terrible but they have plenty of money.”
“Is there anywhere else with more rooms?” Cyrus asked. “Another inn in the city perhaps?”
“Sorry, boy. Everywhere else is full that I know of.”
Cyrus sighed as he put two blue jewels on the counter.
“Then just the room you have available, please.”
“Third floor, take a left, then it’s the second door on your right,” the innkeeper said happily, sliding the jewels towards him and handing over a key. “Supper is served an hour after the sun has set. We have breakfast at sunrise and then you have to be out of here unless you’re going to pay for another night.”
Cyrus took the key and decided to spend his time productively. He didn’t have much in the way of money since Magdeline had run off with his pouch, but he could still find a decent replacement for his sword.
There was no blacksmith in Herth. Every piece of armory the City sold had been imported from the east where metals were more common. There were a few weapon shops still open past sunset so Cyrus ducked into one and browsed the selection.
The walls were lines with various swords, hammers, bows, daggers, arrows, and axes. The prices hung above on wooden slats and he grimaced.
A shopkeeper noticed and smirked, walking over to Cyrus.
“Tight on funds, yeah?” he said, twirling a small blade between his thin fingers. He stopped and tapped the edge against a sign.
“As of late,” Cyrus answered bitterly. “I need a short-sword and a sheath and I only have twenty jewels.”
“I think I have just the thing for you,” the shopkeeper said, pulling Cyrus to the side by his shoulder to
a rack of swords.
“But the sign says forty,” Cyrus pointed out.
“But you’re a Hero, yeah?” the other man said, tugging gently at the thin chain around Cyrus’s neck which held his Soulyte. “I should be able to give you a discount.” He pulled a sword from the rack and held it out to Cyrus. “Great balance, good length, fantastic price.”
Cyrus took the hilt and turned away to slice at the air and feel the weight in his hand. It was bit heavier than his old sword but it swung like a dream. He couldn’t help but smile.
This had been his only good luck all day.
“Like I said, I only have twenty.”
“No problem, Hero. I can have that wrapped up for you in a nice ox-leather sheath for whatever you got in your pockets.”
* * *
THE BLACK-HAIRED youth left the shop with a wide smile on his face. The hilt of his new sword was wrapped in soft leather and he kept a tight grip on lest he lose it as well.
The sun was completely set by the time he left. His stomach craved attention so he walked back to the inn with new enthusiasm. To his discomfort, Magdeline was waiting for him just outside the building.
She twirled with a grin when he saw her. She was in a new outfit—a flowing, silken dress of lavender that was cut down the middle, revealing loose silken pants that billowed at her calves and hugged her ankles.
Though the dress hung off of her shoulders, the sleeves were tight and extended to her knuckles in a wispy fabric that hung from her forearm to her knees. The front secured over her bosom with two impossibly thin chains of silver. Her shoes were no more than petite slippers of pearly white.
“Do you like it?” she asked. “It’s the newest thing in Herth.”
She stopped and tossed him his pouch of jewels. He felt it and exhaled sharply.
There was less than half of what had been in there at the beginning of the day! When he lifted his head to yell at her, he found that he couldn’t. He saw how happy she was in her new clothes.
He figured that he owed her something, he told himself grudgingly. She had saved his life in the river, after all.
He sighed, and pushed the pouch into his sleeve.
“I’m tired,” Magdeline said with a small stretch. “Where’s my room?”
Cyrus shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. He brought out the room key. ‘There… uh… was only…” He trailed off in inaudible murmurs.
Magdeline snatched the key from his hand, making him jump. “If there is only one room, that’s fine,” she said, reading the number carved into the metal. “You can have the floor. I’m going to bed now so just be quiet when you come in. Oh, and by the way, I threw away that old tunic of yours. It was terribly itchy. I’m sure you can find a better one while we’re here.”
The woman scampered off, leaving Cyrus gaping in the light of the streetlamps.
No wonder his mother had warned him against women—they were insane.
Sometime soon, Cyrus went into the inn and sat down at a long table. He asked for a glass of water and was promptly given a pint of ale. He flinched at the taste but at that point didn’t very much care.
He downed the contents of the mug and ate supper in the company of the other guests. He didn’t speak or listen. Too many questions of his own were buzzing through his head.
What was he going to do now that his companion had turned into a woman?
There was something he could do. But he couldn’t just leave her.
But what about his Soulyte. There may not be anything else that matched his gem. He certainly could not be a true Hero without a Soulyte companion.
He was tipsy by the time he called it a night and headed upstairs. Magdeline had left the door propped open slightly but he didn’t give it much thought.
In the darkness he couldn’t see her, much to his relief, but he made himself as comfortable as he could on the wooden floor and fell asleep with thoughts of monsters and faeries.
* * *
“IT TOOK the entire place down in an instant with claws the size of long-swords,” an old man raved the next morning at breakfast. He was one of the many refugees sitting at the table, shrouded in town clothes of dirty brown. “I’d never seen such a beast. I’d never even heard tale of one.”
“It was probably driven south from the Forest like the birds have been,” another man offered, swinging around his mug of ale. Most of the refugees had started their drinking long before Cyrus had even come downstairs.
Cyrus listened intently, trying to take his attention off the fact that Magdeline was less than a foot from him. It wasn’t hard, he found.
The monster in the north had wiped out most of the city’s structures where the refugees had fled from. What Hero wouldn’t be filled with excitement at the opportunity to slay such a beast and free the people from its wrath?
“My mother is still in that cursed city,” one man sighed, his cheek pressed against the table. He too had hit the alcohol early. “She refused to leave with me. She said that she’d rather die than leave the only place she’s ever known.”
“Her and half the elderly there, lad. My father, the butcher, is still holding tight with my mother. The country isn’t sending anyone to help, either. They’re too damn busy with that business in the Forest.”
“Damn fools. The government and our people alike. There’s nothing recognizable in that city anymore. I don’t see why the monster keeps coming back.”
Cyrus slammed his hands on the table.
“I will go!” he suddenly announced, chest puffed and chin high. “I will defeat this monster so you all may go back to your homes and family.”
The refugees all stared at him and the inn went silent.
Magdeline snorted.
“I promise on my life that you all will have your city back,” he said, undeterred by the skeptical looks aimed his way.
One of the men grunted and took a swig from his mug.
“Good luck,” he muttered, wiping foam from his mustache.
Chapter Six
The Hero
CYRUS FINISHED OFF his plate and stood, determined as ever to prove himself as a Hero. He placed his room key on the innkeeper’s desk and exited the inn.
Magdeline followed close behind with a scowl. He scarcely noticed her presence now, so intent was he on his current quest. It helped that she was fully dressed. And that she was behind him, not infront of him. SHe had this nasty way of putting her face in front of his face even when he was taller.
“I’m only going with you because after this you’ll go to the Forest, right?” she asked once they were on the path to the north. “You’ll help me, right?”
“Uh-huh,” he answered. He had a plan formulating in his brain and little else mattered.
Then she was on his face, walking backwards and rolling her eyes. “You have a lot to learn about being a Hero,” she said haughtily. “A Hero prepares for his quests. He doesn’t just rush into danger for the sake of glory. You haven’t even bothered gathering the supplies you said you need. A Hero can’t survive all the way to the Forest on only a blade. What about food? Or shelter? You have no idea what kind of monster this is. What if it’s a dragon? You don’t even have a shield."
Lord, she is loud.
“I hope you know that I won’t be able to help you this time. You got lucky in the river when I had magic. I’m not a faerie anymore, if you haven’t noticed.”
Magdeline continued her rant but to Cyrus' delight, he was actually getting used to it.
They walked on, her noise not diminishing at all even as she was being ignored by the young man.
* * *
IT WASN'T long before they came upon refugees along the road. It was a small caravan of perhaps two or three families—four men, five women, and two children. And it was the same story. Cyrus shied from the women despite his determination and the confidence he had only moments before. Instead, he went near the men.
“Are you from the city being attacked?” he asked a man
about his age.
The man nodded, his eyes hazed with fear. His clothes were tattered but he didn’t seem to have any wounds.
“Yes,” he replied. “Harben is an hour’s walk on swift feet if you follow this path.”
“Are you a Hero?” a little girl whispered while clinging to the man’s knee. Her clothes were also tattered and there was a burn on the side of her face.
Cyrus swallowed nervously, kicking himself mentally at being on edge in the presence of a girl no older than six. He nodded sharply and grabbed the hilt of his sword.
She smiled sweetly and another man came up and pulled her back into his legs. He was middle-aged with scars that reminded Cyrus of the shopkeeper back in Kinswick.
“Be careful, Hero,” he said. “We have little in the way of fighters in Harben but even we should have been able to harm that monster. But nothing we tried worked. It’s a beast of magic, three times the size of a horse, with teeth and claws like daggers. It breathes fire but ‘tis no dragon. It visits our city every evening once the sun sets, as it has for the last four nights. Don’t bother preparing to return the way you came if you wish to fight this beast.”
As he listened, Cyrus’s enthusiasm was draining. He looked around at the people in the caravan. Each person had sunken eyes and dirty, torn clothing. They looked broken, their spirits diminished.
Cyrus breathed deeply, remembering how he fared with the thieves that attacked them in the beginning of his journey with Magdeline. After that, how could he fight with a monster who breathe fire and noone could hurt?
But there were still people in the City of Harben. It was a Hero's job to help people, too, and not just save them. He could do there, still do something. He could make sure they lived.
He would make sure these poor refugees could return home.
He bowed to the caravan and walked past, ignoring the shaking of their heads at his foolishness.