by David Green
She spat on the ground, anger bubbling up inside her.
Relax. You’re not annoyed at the elf. Your own droking kind attacked you. You just got Eviscerated, they nearly killed Vettigan and you found out they’ve had Sparkers like that the whole time. She’s the only one you know is on your side.
“Fine,” Calene said. “What’s your name?”
“Brina,” the elf replied. She tossed her thin bag into the back of the cart.
“Right.” Calene stalked to the rear of the cart. “Can you check the Sparkers’ horses for anything we can use while I see to the men?”
She didn’t wait to see if Brina followed her commands. She needed to help Vettigan and she’d already wasted too much time. The state she found him in sank stones to the pit of her stomach.
Her friend had caught up with his age, looking every day of his almost one hundred and eight years. His luscious, grey locks had thinned and turned white; in some places, they had fallen out and left patches of baldness, scalp dotted with liver spots. His frame had gone beyond thin to emaciated, his skin grey-hued and wrinkled. His eyes, no longer bright, stared unblinking into the twilight skies. If it wasn’t for the shuddering breaths he sucked in, Calene would have thought him dead.
Ganton’s Evisceration had brushed her and she still felt weary from it, head still throbbing. The Shadow Sparker had Vettigan in its clutches for longer, and the black miasma she’d seen forcing its way into her friend’s body with her Second Sight… She’d never seen anything like it before.
She glanced at the Banished. He peered back at her, yellow eyes solemn but focused, looking no worse for wear after his brush with Zal. Calene hadn’t forgotten the puzzle he represented; Evisceration had faltered when it touched him. She knew magic could affect him—she’d healed him days before—but the most powerful, and most vile, weapon a Sparker could wield couldn’t touch him.
The Empire’s Sparkers, Calene thought, a chill running down her spine. Just wait till they find out we have an elf, too. Drok, we can’t trust anyone. We’re outlaws in our own nation.
“Vettigan,” she muttered, laying her palm against his chest, “you poor fool. I’ll do what I can.”
She closed her eyes and opened herself to the surrounding world. She drank in the energies of the water dripping from the leaves, the wind whispering in her ears, the last rays of sunlight licking the sky. Calene pulled it all into her and more. She discovered flames devouring the bodies of the Shadow Sparker, Ganton and Zal in a pit dug by the elf. She let the energies build inside her, felt her weariness evaporate, the pain in her face fade.
Calene wanted to hold on, to absorb it, to let it mend and strengthen her. Then she wanted more. A Sparker’s curse. She drew a little more, approaching what she could safely hold, then jerked as she felt another presence.
Something unique.
The Banished sang, so soft, so tender. A wordless tune that pulsated with energy. She almost lost control of her focus, but she drew that in too. It felt sweeter than life itself. Innocent and pure.
Calene quivered with the Spark. Life flowed within her, bolstered by the Banished’s song. She held more raw magic than she’d ever tried to contain before. Something told her she could gather more, push further, with the Banished’s tune empowering her, but now wasn’t the moment to experiment.
She let the energies flow into her arm, her skin smouldering with fire, prickling with frost, then released it through her palm and into Vettigan’s chest. She pictured him the way he’d appeared before—the man she’d known all her life, who’d taken her under his wing after her father’s betrayal and her mother’s exile. The man who’d stood by her as she dealt with the grief, the anger. Her body shook as she forced her Spark into him, thoughts drifting to the content look on his face when they’d sit by a fire, drinking, talking long into the night and watching the sun rise together. The Sparker, her friend, larger than several lives.
No, more than her friend. Her family.
Come back to me, Vettigan. Please…
The magic enveloped him…but something inside him swallowed it. Calene opened her Second Sight and saw the shadow writhing beneath his skin, like a parasite feeding, alive and moving. A taint left by the Shadow Sparker’s Evisceration. With a shudder, she recalled seeing it forcing its way into his body and realised it lingered still.
She pushed more into him, including her own life energy. Sweat broke out in beads across her brow and still she worked, even though her body grew cold and her vision blurred. Blood trickled from her nose, ears and the corners of her eyes, and she grit her teeth, lips curled back.
More, she thought, muscles burning, cramping. Raas’ teeth, he needs more.
Calene approached her limits, she knew it, but the darkness had defeated her. Vettigan would die. The dark magic used against him still worked inside, and would continue until it fed on every morsel of energy inside his body.
“No,” she breathed, thoughts coming slow, shivers running up and down her spine. “You can’t droking have him. I won’t let you take him from me.”
She felt a firm hand grip her forearm. The sudden bloom of heat felt scalding. Calene looked up, meeting the Banished’s smiling, yellow eyes.
“Mi sineh ovren cha,” he said, glancing at Vettigan. With care, he lifted Calene’s hand away. She tried to fight him off, but strength had left her. She may as well have been trying to mould iron with her bare hands.
“What?” she gasped, releasing the energy. The world dimmed and spun. She’d have fallen if the Banished hadn’t held her.
“Mi sineh ovren cha,” he repeated, voice rich and vibrant.
He smiled at her and placed his fingertips to Vettigan’s forehead. The Banished chanted in a low, melodious tone. Through her Second Sight, Calene could see the shadow inside Vettigan writhe and shrink and, even as she listened, she felt strength flood her body once more, like the song nourished her.
“By the gods,” she whispered, leaning forward to study Vettigan closer. “It’s working. How?”
She watched as the shadow parasite continued to dissipate, until only a blemish the size of her thumb lay above Vettigan’s brain. To Calene’s eyes, a bright light surrounded it, as if the Banished had contained it with his chanting and ringed the shadow in.
Like Solitude and the Peaks of Eternity, Calene thought, surrounding the Banished.
Even if the darkness remained, his body might now be able to heal. She tried again, releasing only a trickle this time, and gasping as her Spark responded. Between the ambush and her last attempt at healing, she knew she should have been on the verge of burning out, but the song made everything easier. Connections broader and deeper, magic flowing like water from the world into her. And from her into Vettigan. His body devoured her Spark, feeding on it, limbs trembling in response.
“Thank you!” She beamed at the Banished. The pale man smiled back, encouraging her with his hands as he chanted, voice a higher pitch than before.
Calene sent more energy into Vettigan’s body as Brina climbed into the cart, hood pulled over her face. She noticed the elf’s eyes flicking to the Banished as his song ended.
“He’s looking better,” she said, gazing down at the stricken man.
Calene nodded. Some wrinkles had faded, and colour returned to his flesh, but the ordeal had left its mark. His eyes were hooded, features sallow, jowls drooping from his cheekbones. She stopped and leaned back, knowing somehow that she’d done all she could.
The shadow still sat on Vettigan’s brain, hemmed in by whatever the Banished had done. Calene knew he needed more than she could provide. She knew of only one person more accomplished at healing than her—Zanna. If anyone could do it, her mother could.
Calene sat back and glanced at the Banished, brain and body tired as she tried to order her thoughts. He gazed back, the fading light passing through the trees dancing in his e
yes.
“Where to?” Brina asked, taking the mule’s reins.
“We can’t go to Spring Haven,” she said, covering Vettigan with a blanket. “Colton is by the sea; it has a port. We’ll head there, take a boat to Solitude. It’s far away from the capital and it means we can avoid the Imperial Highway. They may know something about our ‘friend’ that I don’t. And my mother is there.”
Calene ignored Brina’s grimace at the mention of Colton, and left out the news of the Banished mustering at Solitude’s gates. She thought she could help. Or maybe their strange companion could, if they returned him unharmed. She didn’t want to reflect on her decision to head towards her mother, how her first thoughts when in trouble, with Vettigan incapacitated, went to Zanna.
Raas’ teeth. I’ll stick my fingers into that old wound another time. Why not? It’s for Vettigan, after all.
She needed answers, and the encounter with the Sparkers told her they weren’t safe in Haltveldt. A war brewed on Solitude’s doorstep, but perhaps she and her strange companion held the key to halting it.
“Solitude harran va liesh!” the Banished crowed, clapping his hands.
“Well, at least someone’s droking happy,” Calene muttered.
“Liesh?” Brina said, turning in her seat.
He nodded. “Liesh.”
“You understand what he’s saying?” Calene said, staring between them.
“Not everything,” Brina said, after a pregnant pause. “But ‘liesh’ is an elvish word. It means ‘purpose’.”
Calene looked at the Banished, and he smiled back.
“Solitude,” he said in his musical voice. He pointed at himself, then Brina and held up one more finger. “Ila braun.”
“Right,” Calene replied, climbing into the driver’s seat. Brina’s features settled into a frown. “That’s settled it. Solitude it is, unless anyone has a better idea? Let’s get a droking move on.”
###
“Stop looking at him,” Calene grumbled, glancing at the elf beside her. Brina kept swivelling in the cart to glance at the Banished, who in turn watched the sleeping Vettigan.
“Fine,” the redhead replied, and turned her emerald-eyed stare on Calene instead.
“Don’t do that, either.”
“What would make you more comfortable? Should I watch the skies and the trees?”
“I don’t—” Calene began, then bit her lip and sighed. “Sorry. I should be thanking you. I’m just worried for Vettigan. My own people tried to kill me and that Shadow Sparker? It’s thrown me a little off-balance, that’s all. Sitting next to you like we’re Raas and Janna heading to Eru on prayer day doesn’t help, either.”
The cart’s wheels creaked as they passed through the Forest of Mists towards Colton, daylight fading, the mule’s hooves muffled by the mud on the ground. She felt it best not to mention her mother, or the sinking feeling she got every time her thoughts turned to Solitude. Brina laid a hand on Calene’s forearm. The Sparker felt the calluses against her skin, but didn’t pull away.
She looked up to see the other woman’s eyes fixed on her, bright and piercing. Calene studied her face and saw beauty beneath the fine scars crisscrossing her features. She coughed and looked away.
“Tell me about yourself,” she said, and stared intently into the woods so Brina wouldn’t notice the heat rising in her cheeks. The woman’s eyes unnerved her. Or maybe her lips. “Just Brina, is it?”
She felt the elf shift in her seat and scowled. Staring at the Banished again.
“Brina al’Loria,” she answered. Calene enjoyed the melody of elvish spoken by a native tongue.
“You’re familiar with this duchy?”
“I’ve travelled. Familiar with a lot of places. Been as far as Gallavan’s Seat and all the way down to the Widows.”
Calene gave her a sidelong look. “You know Colton well, is what I mean. That’s plain enough. I noticed your little grimace when I mentioned the place earlier.”
Brina frowned and flicked her fingers at unseen bugs hovering in the surrounding air.
“I’ve…dealt with the traders there. Once or twice. I don’t enjoy returning to this area. My family once owned land in these parts, before the Empire came.”
Calene did a double-take. Colton, and the lands around it, had been a part of the Hiberian Duchy, the last to hold out against Haltveldt’s expansion. Hiberia itself had been levelled in the final battle when the siege broke. Sharing a border with the elves, the people in these parts had enjoyed close ties with their neighbours. They’d resisted the Empire’s anti-elven propaganda more fiercely than most.
But two centuries had passed since Haltveldt absorbed Colton and the Hiberian Duchy.
“How old are you?” Calene asked.
“I stopped counting at three hundred,” Brina muttered, sniffing the air. She appeared distracted, though Calene conceded she’d made the elf uncomfortable with her questions.
“Raas’ teeth,” Calene laughed, attempting to lighten the mood. “You don’t look a day over one hundred and fifty.”
Instead of smiling, Brina held up a hand. Stop. Calene’s heart sank. Gifted with the Spark and the sword, certainly, but never with the hearts of women.
They approached a crossroad, and the elf’s eyes narrowed as she peered around.
“Stop the cart.”
“No,” Calene objected. “We’re in a hurry and—”
“I said,” Brina bit out. “Stop. The. Cart.”
The edge in her voice made Calene act. She sawed the reigns, bringing the mule to an abrupt halt. Birds twittered in the late-afternoon sky, and the wind rustled through the leaves of the trees. She couldn’t tell what had Brina so spooked she’d reached for her sword under her cloak.
“What is it?”
“Listen,” Brina whispered, pointing to the road to their right. “Chains. Slavers approaching.”
“Slavers?” Calene strained her hearing. Seconds passed before she heard it, the clink of metal against metal. “That means… Drok. They only keep one kind of people as slaves.”
Brina ignored her, staring down the road towards the noises. That confirmed it.
“Oi,” Calene hissed, twisting in her seat to glare at the Banished. He sat beside Vettigan, bold as daylight, smiling back at her. She mimed lifting a hood. “Keep covered. Don’t so much as breathe too loud, got it?” She turned to Brina. The elf reminded her of a coiled viper. “Same goes for you. We don’t want more trouble.”
The rattle of chains grew louder, as did the clatter of hooves, and still Brina hadn’t moved an inch.
“Raas’ teeth, woman,” Calene growled, gathering her Spark. “Pull up your hood or I’ll do it myself.”
Brina’s eyes flicked to hers for a moment and her face softened. Nodding, she drew up her hood and slumped in her seat. Calene urged the mule on, but drew it to a stop when the slaving party came into sight.
Don’t stop. Don’t try to talk to us. Just keep droking moving.
“Let the filth rest a moment,” a heavyset man at the caravan’s head shouted over his shoulder.
Drok…
He turned to look at Calene, taking in her party without a word. She returned the favour. Two men on horseback rode behind him—mercenaries, judging by the swords and bows strapped to their backs. A row of twelve chained elves sagged to the floor behind them. Mostly children, some as young as four or five. Two more mounted fighting men brought up the rear.
“What news, travellers?” the leader greeted. “Name’s Tark. I’m heading for Colton.”
Calene felt Brina tense beside her and fought the urge to place a hand on her sword arm.
“I’m Zanty,” she lied, with a nonchalant shrug. Or at least, she hoped it looked that way.
She considered her own small party—hoods up and heads down—from the slavers’
perspective, and knew how odd they looked. Better than thinking about the elven-children, emaciated and chained. The anger coiled in her and her Spark grew, unbidden. She smothered the sparks growing on her fingertips in her damp cloak.
“A simple merchant, travelling from Temek,” she said. “This is my sister Zara, and my brother Huw. Mute, I’m afraid. My father’s in the back with him. Armed men robbed us on the road a while back and he took a nasty turn. Hoping to find help in Colton.”
Tark nodded and threw a thumb over his shoulder at his swellswords. If it came to it, Calene reckoned she could incapacitate them all with her Spark, but her magic would stand out like a beacon for any other Sparkers watching the roads. After their encounter with the Shadow Sparker, Ganton and Zal, she couldn’t rule it out. There’d be more. A secret that threatened Haltveldt rode in her cart and the Emperor wouldn’t have sent just one party to retrieve it. Sparkers could sense magic at a distance. The amount needed to fight them would stand out like a bonfire in the night.
Tark spat. “Bandits all over in these parts. Need a few fighters to protect your wares.”
“Is that what they are?” Brina’s voice curled out of her lips in a hiss that carried through the crossroads. “Wares?”
“Elven scum, is what they are,” Tark laughed. “Bought them from an Empire raiding party, reckon I can turn a pretty profit selling them to the nobles in Spring Haven. They like ‘em young and female.”
Calene pressed her foot down on Brina’s. This time, she did put a hand on her sword arm.
“We’ll accompany you on the road to Colton,” Tark offered. “It’s only a few miles, and I couldn’t sleep if I heard you ran afoul of any more bandits. I’m a good citizen, after all.”
Drok, Calene thought, gritting her teeth, of all the things for Raas to set on our path. A community-minded slaver. Rot your droking teeth!
“Thank you,” she called, and bowed her head. “After you, kind sir.”
Tark signalled for the caravan to move on and Calene’s heart tried to escape from her mouth.