by Tyler Krings
“Where is Maerko?” Ana asked.
The Red took a shaking breath before answering, “We are all that is left.”
Silence.
Ana took three steps back until her back was to the wall, the blood draining from her face. Jon looked from the old man to the Wolf, who both hung their heads in revered silence. A moment passed, and the dark-skinned woman took a cautious step to the old man. “Niandithir?” The utterance of the name drew all their gazes.
The old man looked at her as she stepped closer. She put a hand to his grizzled face as she graced him with a sad smile. “It has been too long.”
Jon looked at Ana and mouthed the word. Niandithir?
Noah nodded. “Aye.”
“You look…”
“Old?”
“Distinguished,” she said through a smile.
“How did you find us?” Ana asked.
The White walked through the room and into the kitchen, finding quickly both a glass and the bourbon. “I knew the Way by which the Wolf took you and found your trail with some difficulty. I should tell you others have followed as well.”
“Aye, the Hunt crossed our paths not so long ago,” Ana said.
“He was summoned, we suspect—”
“Murder,” Noah finished.
The three looked as one upon him. “Aye,” the Red answered.
“He was here, the day before last,” added the Wolf.
The three looked at one another before the Black spoke. “You had best tell us everything.”
Rom woke slowly. His vision was cloudy, but there was no pain, and he found himself pleasantly refreshed. Looking around, he found he was sitting in a comfortable armchair; a fire purred under a mantle, and a table beside him harbored a carafe of mulled wine and a few glasses. He heard a grumble, and he knew the voice. Ham stretched himself, not unlike a cat, in a similar armchair. He looked the same as when Rom had last seen him, save the dried blood on his neck. A flash of memory, and Rom was suddenly standing and on the verge of panic.
“Sit down.”
Rom sat, not knowing why, and looked at the figure he had not noticed before sitting behind a large desk across from he and Ham. Clad in black and with a face as pale as snow, the man did not look up from the parchment before him as he scribbled vigorously. The man’s skin stretched tightly to a skeletal frame and glistened in the firelight. Behind thin rimmed spectacles sat marble black eyes. Ham had frozen humorously mid-stretch and now looked back and forth between the Rom and the pale gentleman.
“You two,” said the man in black, “are dead. And I, am the Lord of Death.”
Rom swallowed and nodded slowly. Ham came down from his stretch, thought a moment, and reached over for the carafe of wine. Rom took a cup and held it out for Ham to fill. The Lord of Death put down his pen and watched impatiently. Rom drank slowly, savoring the rich flavors of fruit and alcohol, and tried very hard to think of something, anything, to say. He could not. His mind was filled with visions of Ham’s face as he bled, the spit from Arne’s lip as he stabbed Rom again and again, the smile of the creature as it watched. Rom’s hand started to shake as the fringe of fear found its way down his arm.
“Calm,” said the Lord of Death. Rom’s arm ceased its shaking, and he found himself breathing normally as the memories receded. “As I am sure you have many questions, I do not have the patience for them. Instead, I have questions, to which the two of you will answer to my satisfaction.” The Lord of Death held up two sheets of parchment for the boys to admire. “Can you tell me the difference between this parchment and the chairs in which you are sitting?”
Ham raised a hand. “One is more easily burned than the other?”
The Lord of Death stared at Ham. “The difference…is that on one of these things there are the two of you, but not on the other. You see, I enjoy lists. It makes my work easier. This list”—He shook the parchment in his right hand.—“is a list of all those that died on the twelfth day of the eleventh month at the tenth hour on the forty-second minute. This list is the forty-third minute. Neither of you are present on either list, and yet you have arrived in these chairs and in my office at precisely these times. Now either there has been a mistake on the part of my accountants, and I assure you that is very unlikely, or there has been some foul play.”
Both boys were silent. Rom drank more wine. Ham rubbed his neck.
Ham took in a breath. “…We’re… dead?”
Death dropped both sheets dramatically. “For fuck’s sake. Yes, but you’re not supposed to be. How did you die?”
Rom finished his cup and reached to refill it. “Enough wine,” said Death. Rom set down his cup contritely. “Answer the question.”
Rom found his voice. “Ham had his throat slit, and I got stabbed…a lot.”
Death looked from the bloody mess of Ham’s throat to the multiple blood stains on Rom’s shirt. “Who did it?”
“Arne Baylor. Our sergeant.”
“Why?”
“Cus’ that…thing told him to.”
Death leaned forward. The fire dwindled and black shadows spread from his eyes and over his skin menacingly. “What thing?”
Captain Tao Magrin and six men stood amidst the gore of the Ambassador’s suite. The bodies of the women looked down upon them with gazes of shock and pain. Their eyes seemed still alive. Once the men recovered their stomachs, they approached the figure sitting in the armchair, soaked in blood and drinking something dark. The Ambassador had thrown away its costume and sat before them unabashedly as the creature it truly was. Its face was not a face, but a mask of skin pulled by strings and hooks around its head. Its fingernails were long, serrated knives that clinked softly as the creature appeared to be in thought. The men fanned out behind the captain, unsheathing swords as they did so.
“Ambassador,” greeted the Magrin.
“Captain,” the creature responded smoothly.
“You are under arrest.”
“I see that. On what charge?”
Tao Magrin took a step closer. “Murder.”
It laughed. Loudly and hysterically. Magrin smirked. “Can I assume you will come quietly?”
The laughter ceased abruptly. It took a drink, blood red eyes never leaving the captain’s over the rim of its glass. It lowered its drink and smacked its lips. “Assume away. But I think you are going to be disappointed.” It snapped a couple bladed fingers. Stillness. Captain Tao Magrin looked at the soldiers behind and around him. They stood at perfect attention, their swords by their sides, their eyes glazed over.
The creature spoke. “Took some time,” It gestured to the circle in the middle of the floor. “but I finally got this little bastard working. Blood magic is tricky business. So much can go wrong. As you can see, I needed a lot of fuel.”
The Captain unsheathed his sword, not fully understanding what had just happened, but knowing enough. “Release them,” he growled.
“No,” it responded. “They’re mine now, as are all your men. I don’t want you; you’ve irritated me. See that little fella over there?” It pointed to a body in the corner. “That’s the fucker you sent to follow me. And I so despise being watched. Well…sometimes.”
Tao Magrin yelled and attacked. The creature rose and spun smoothly, parrying deft thrusts with ease. The captain’s blade and the creature’s hands danced in a deadly maneuver. The creature lunged as the captain dodged, electing for a fundamental defense. He kept his sword in front of him, held across his body, as the creature’s knives swung wildly and without discipline. Magrin waited, parried, and cut quickly into the creature’s shoulder before spinning out of reach. The creature paused and looked at the deep furrow in its shoulder.
“Ow! What the fuck?” It launched again. Magrin moved decisively into range with a long step, swinging his sword in an upward arc through the creature’s torso. Again, the creature paused; the captain did not wait. He lunged and impaled the thing where the heart should have been. The Ambassador looked from the sword
to Magrin and back again.
“Hold on,” it said. “Maybe we should…talk more.” The captain attempted to pull his sword away only to have the creature spike its fingers into both the Magrin’s shoulders and twist. Magrin roared in pain and anger. The Ambassador pulled Tao Magrin closer and whispered, “Guess not?” It ripped its fingers from Magrin’s torso and injected eight blades into the Captain’s skull. Tao Magrin went still and with some effort, the Lord of Murder removed both man and blade from his body before turning to the six men standing at attention.
Murder wiped his fingers on its bloodied clothes, “Lancer?”
A young man turned to Murder with a smile. “Yes, sir? Can I help you?”
Oh, such nice manners. “Would you be a dear and let the general know I need to have a word with him?”
“The general, sir?”
“Ah, I mean, Commander Emersin.”
“Oh, of course, sir.”
The Red, the White, and the Black listened carefully to Ana’s tale of their efforts against the Hunt and the recollection of the general’s visit. When she was done, the three put their heads together and had a conversation Jon could not hear. The three appeared to have no need for voices. Ana waited with them at the table as Jon rounded into the next room, where he sat by the Wolf, who looked on with a stern expression. According to the Wise, the rebellion had all but been crushed, the last remnants flushed and captured. The Lord of Fate had purged all in direct opposition, and several hundred gods and willing had been taken to the lowest levels of Anu’s palace.
The Wolf spared Jon a look. “I do not know of your loss, only that you have lost. My sympathies.”
Jon nodded. “Thank you.”
“It is small consolation, but it could mean that the enemy is desperate to bring this to a close.”
“Yes. That is a small consolation.”
“Desperate enemies are the ones that make mistakes. We can hope to be so lucky.”
Jon looked at the Wolf’s expression and back to the women at the table deep in silent argument. “Yeah, one can hope.”
The three turned to Ana and the old man. “We will help,” said the Red with finality.
The old man leaned forward. “How?”
“We three can support you, Niandithir,” said the Black.
“You will need it,” said the White. “He will not allow her to be bound to another.”
They continued to speak as Jon and the Wolf waited patiently. They spoke of spells and enchantments, of rituals and rites and things that he did not generally understand until the old man stood suddenly. The three and Ana became silent, and the Wolf was immediately on his feet. The old man turned his head to the front of the house sharply and made his way to the window. Jon stood with him and tried to find where he was looking.
“Blood magic,” the old man whispered. He spared a look to the boy and turned to the others. “Murder has used blood magic this night.”
The collective silence was one of shock, except for the White who looked amused. Ana stood and walked to the old man. “You’re sure?” she asked.
The old man nodded. “The trap is set.”
The Wise were settled in Jon and Ana’s rooms, and though the old man waited up awhile before turning in, he eventually slept. Jon sat on the lone sofa of the living room, listening for some time to the creaks of careful footsteps as heavenly beings explored their rooms and contemplated sleep. Most of the lamps were laid to rest, and the fire burned lowly as the wood was not replenished. It left Jon with a series of dark thoughts, each one more terrible than the last. His friends were dead, and the woman he loved was throwing her life, again, into the fires of revolution. Only this time there was a much lower chance of victory. Again, that feeling of being pulled in a direction not of my own making. Again, a war that will last a single night. He smiled at the thought. Not out of happiness, but nostalgia. His ancestor, Arthen, continued to make war beyond his grave, and it was, again, a war they could not possibly win. Vengeance had been a part of his mindset for years before they had stumbled onto this place and peace had found a dwelling place within him. Even then, the thought of revenge was never far, but its voice had quieted some time ago. When Ana had come to them, and the changes had begun their settling, thoughts of avenging his family and people had slipped even further from his mind. And yet, here they were. The Lords of Fate and Murder stood again against him and his family, and there was no turning from the fight. He would have thought that this turn of events was perhaps some form of providence, but he dismissed it; this was not Fate’s interference. Jon felt the sudden need to be standing as anger and uncertainty made his muscles twitch.
Ana was leaning on the doorway into the kitchen, holding a cup of tea and watching him silently. Jon did not know how long she had been there. “Hey,” he managed.
She sipped her tea. “You’re different.”
He placed his hands on his hips and sighed. “Maybe.”
“You’re less sure of yourself.”
“Pfft, hardly.”
She walked to the sofa and sat. Her eyes asked a question, and Jon let out a long breath. “The Lord of Fate has been messing around with…fates, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And…here we all are…in one place. The last of his enemies.”
“Yes.”
“And none of this feels weird to you?”
She looked at her cup. “It does.”
He sat next to her and placed a hand on her leg. “This is an extremely large trap that we are literally walking right into. I think, in some ways I have been looking forward to this moment for a long time. In some ways, I always knew I would not grow old and fade quietly. In fact, when I was younger, I often prayed that I would not. That I would do my family proud. Death is a certainty…but…it is not my death that has me worried.”
“It is mine?”
“Yours most of all. The old man, the Wolf. Irving, Isca. The Wise, well, they’re kind of new to me, so I don’t know what to think there yet, but nevertheless, I do not think I wish for death as I once did.”
She dropped a hand on his. “I feel the same.” She placed her cup on the ground and straddled him with his head in her hands. His hands found the familiar places on her hips and the small of her back. “Fear of death is not unwise,” she said. “Should the end come, know that I am yours, and you are mine.” She kissed him. When their lips finally parted, the taste of her bringing forth strong desire, he had sudden inspiration.
“What if we…do it?” he asked. She cocked her head amused and made to undo the front lace of her shirt. He stayed her with a hand. “What if we wed, right now?”
She did not respond immediately, but her eyes alighted. “Our wedding is tomorrow…”
He smiled. “Ah, the spectacle is tomorrow. What’s to stop us tonight?”
She nodded slowly. “I have a dress, that one from the market. Who would do the ceremony?”
“I’ve an idea. Grab your coat, too. We’re going for a walk.”
They walked the path to the training circle by the river. The clouds had moved on, leaving the moon to work magic on the silvered snow. Ana wore only her dress and modest slippers but walked as though she did not feel the cold. Jon had on his best coat and boots and felt the cold still slip into his skin. He gripped her hand tightly, his nerves fearful that the moment would be lost, or some machination of Fate’s would intervene and rob them of this. As they walked, he noticed the snow departing more and more as they approached their destination; flowers and leaves and grass bloomed in the light of the moon, and the cold gave way to warmer air. The girl said nothing as they approached the circle, but her breathing quickened and her posture became more attentive. When the forest opened and gave way to the training circle they stopped.
At the farthest edge, closest to the river, an arch had appeared, made entirely of twisted branches and flowers of every color wavering gently in a warm breeze. The man of umber skin in hemp clothing quietly hummed to himself as h
e pruned and coerced leaves and foliage into full blossom. Unsurprised and smiling, Jon walked into the circle but stopped when Ana did not follow him. He looked at her in the blue moonlight. Beautiful and glowing, her face was one of shock and sudden fear. She looked at him through tearing eyes. She shook her head in disbelief at the sigh before her.
“Is this really happening?” Ana asked quietly.
Jon grinned confidently and held out his hand. “I am with you.” She stared at his hand, took a breath, found his palm with her own, and walked into the circle.
The man in hemp turned from his work and stood in the center of the arch, smiling, his hands folded in front of him. The river churned quietly as Jon and Ana stood before him. The dark man extended his hand, and they each took one of his while still holding onto each other.
The dark-skinned man spoke. “I’ve been waiting for you two.” His eyes passed from man to woman, “Are you ready?”
Jon and Ana looked at each other and nodded in unison.
“Very well,” said the spirit. “Life, this world, is full of fear. Of hate, suffering, and darkness. But there is also light, and love, and joy, and hope. What you two have found is more precious than any stone, and it is yours.” He eyes turned to Jon. “The gods declare a lot of things. One of them: Marriage is holy. But it is not their declaration that makes marriage holy, it is the two of you. The choice you have made is a binding of souls, a creation of something new, and a reforging of something old. As you approach the future, whether in good times or not, know that the love you have given is eternal and does not diminish through time. But Love is not merely a series of carnal relations, though I am sure those are very enjoyable, it is a choice. One that you must make time and again.