by Dan Wingreen
Aidan stared at the flaps for a moment after he left, feeling vaguely sad; the way he sometimes had after WA meetings. Kids should be allowed to be kids, and it broke his heart every time he saw one of them forced to be an adult way too early. At least he didn't have that hollow, helpless feeling anymore though. He could actually do something about it now. Maybe after they'd woken up Arthur and changed things, he'd make his way back here, back to Pendragon Bay. See Two Rivers, and all the kids he'd known, laughing and playing and chasing girls or boys and being carefree, instead of having nothing but lives of responsibility and worry to look forward to. Maybe Lee would come with him. It could be a vacation. Except a kind of vacation that someone took when their work was done, and instead of going back to their job when it was over, they could just…keep vacationing. There should be a word for that. A new word for a new system. Something that meant—you're done now, go off, and enjoy your life, you earned it—instead of working until the day they died. Not that they were even close to being able to think up new words for concepts that didn't even exist yet.
He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, grimacing at the slightly oily feeling.
At least that's one thing I can take care of now.
His stomach growled, and he suddenly realized he was starving. Almost like he hadn't eaten anything for nearly two days.
Okay, fine, two things.
He slid out of bed and onto the blanketed floor, shivering slightly as the cold night air hit his bare legs. He quickly scurried over to the entrance of the yurt and tied the flaps shut. The last thing he needed was Eallair—or worse, anybody else—strolling in while he was in the middle of getting changed. He started to pull off the large shirt, but stopped when it was halfway over his head.
It smelled like Eallair. Musky and smoky, with that sort of ozone-y smell magic sometimes had that, he hadn't realized until just then, followed Eallair around like an eager puppy. He'd given Aidan an unwashed shirt. It should have been disgusting, but he found himself pushing his face into the fabric so he could smell it better.
He flushed when he realized what he was doing, then quickly pulled the shirt the rest of the way off.
Instead of tossing it away in horror like he meant to, he rolled it into a ball and placed it next to his clothes. Not at all so he could pack it away with his own stuff. And definitely not so he could smell it later.
Not even a little.
Stupid aromatic sorcerer…
He got dressed quickly, sliding into a pair of jeans, an undershirt, and a thin blue sweater. He smiled when he saw his new sweater jacket had survived the cave, but when he went to put it on, he noticed it was slightly singed around the sleeves and shoulders. The rest of his clothes were clean and freshly washed, so why wouldn't whoever cleaned them also fix the jacket?
Maybe it was because it was singed with magical fire, Aidan realized a moment later. It didn't matter. He decided he liked it. It sort of matched Eallair's battered leather jacket. Made him feel like part of the team.
He put the jacket on, trying not to feel like he was Agent Arthur suiting up to go fight evil doers with Major Merlin, and failing miserably.
Except Agent Arthur didn't usually make out with Major Merlin…
It was even colder when he finally made it outside, and he pulled his jacket around him tightly as he looked for Eallair.
It only took him a minute to get lost. Not only was the haphazard way the People set up their tepees and yurts confusing, but at some point, the entire village had been moved and rearranged. The magical fire pit where they had burned their dead, which had previously been right in the middle of the village, was now off to the side about a hundred feet away from the nearest tent. The fire was out, of course, the ground charred and blackened in a huge, glassy circle, but the smell still lingered. Hints of burnt flesh and smoke mixed with the scent of the desert at night, and Aidan didn't waste any time heading back into the maze of odd little structures.
Eventually he wandered out of what he was starting to think of as the "back alley" and into an open area with normal wood burning fires and people. He hesitated on the edge of the clearing and looked around, hoping he'd find Eallair before anyone saw him.
At least none of them seemed hostile this time. Actually, none of them seemed to notice Aidan at all. They were grouped around their fires in threes and fours, talking or just sitting there, staring into the flames. Someone laughed loudly. Someone else tried to stand up, swayed, then collapsed back down. Two People, a man and a woman, stumbled out of the dark a few feet away from Aidan, startling him. They looked disheveled and flushed and they clung to each other as they collapsed, giggling, in front of the nearest fire to the laughter and teasing of the People near them. The woman's vest wasn't tied properly, and it opened as she fell. Aidan got an eyeful.
He quickly looked away, his face burning.
After that he tried not to spend too much time looking at any of the People as he searched for Eallair. Surprisingly, and against all logic, that actually worked, and he found him a few minutes later, sitting around a fire with five of the People, cheerfully drinking out of what looked like some kind of hide sack with a spout on it. He stared in disbelief.
Are they all…drunk?
"Aidan!" Eallair shouted. His words weren't slurred, like Aidan had been half expecting, and his voice sounded strong, if a bit…merry. He waved Aidan over. "Come 'ere!"
The People had definitely noticed Aidan now, though there still wasn't any hostility, he was relieved to see. In fact, the folk who didn't seem ready to pass out were staring at him with something that looked suspiciously like awe. Aidan shuffled in place, uncomfortable with the sudden attention, with the regard shining in their slightly inebriated eyes. He quickly made his way over to Eallair's fire and sat down next to him, equally relieved and embarrassed when Eallair slid an arm around his shoulders. He'd put his jacket back on at some point and Aidan wrinkled his nose at the way the smell of singed leather mixed with the pungent odor of alcohol that was much stronger down at ground level.
Or maybe it was just on Eallair's breath.
"Got your clothes on, eh?" Eallair asked, looking pleased with himself.
Aidan held back a sigh. Drunk then.
"Yes," he said slowly, glancing down at the clothes he was, in fact, wearing.
"Good. Thought the boy might've gotten lost or stopped to play knucklebones or somethin’."
Knucklebones?
"How much have you had to drink?" Aidan asked. He couldn't have been gone that long, right?
Eallair shrugged and held up the sack. Liquid sloshed inside of it. "Not much. A few."
"A few." Aidan looked at the sack. "Of those…big sack things?"
"Waterskins." Eallair grinned. "And yeah, only a few. Was waitin’ for ya. ‘Ere, have a drink."
Aidan ducked as Eallair thrust the waterskin in his face, barely managing to not be punched in the mouth with it.
"I'll just…not." He looked at the thing warily, ready to dodge if it attacked him again.
Eallair cocked his head, then shrugged and took a big gulp. "Suit yourself."
Aidan shook his head. Merlin, please just let him pass out before he decides to start using magic. He'd like to think Eallair would be smart enough not to try casting while he was this obviously drunk, but he wasn't sure. There was a good reason why wizards weren't allowed to drink, after all, and he'd always thought that rule should be extended to sorcerers, too.
Especially sorcerers who liked to set things on fire.
"Are you gon’ pass shat at shome point?" one of the People asked, his musical accent marred by more than his fair share of slurring.
Eallair glared at the man resentfully for a moment before perking up. "Aye! Didn't even finish my story, did I?" He tossed the waterskin towards the man, who somehow managed to catch it without spilling it all over himself. "Can't tell a story suckin' on a buffalo bladder."
Aidan really hoped that was some kind of slang.
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"What story?" he asked, trying not to look at the waterskin.
Eallair grinned. "The story of how you saved the world."
"O-oh." Aidan shifted uncomfortably.
"Right. So, there we were, running for our lives, a million and a half undead screaming for our blood…"
Aidan stared in fascinated horror as Eallair embellished the story to the point where he might as well have been reading an Agent Arthur comic. And it obviously wasn't the first time he'd told it that night, either, judging by the way a few of the People were grinning and nodding eagerly as Eallair approached the good parts.
It was only then he really noticed the People sitting around the fire with him. He recognized them, he realized. Or at least some of them. One of the men, the one who had apparently lost his shirt at some point, was one of the People he'd seen carrying bodies to be burned. Most of them were, actually. Except for the woman staring blankly into the fire next to him. She hadn't moved once since Aidan sat down, and he wondered if she'd done much of anything since he last saw her, watching at him through tears, cradling the head of her dead lover in her lap.
She stirred as Eallair told his story though, exaggerated as it was. He could see the change in her eyes. They went from blank cloudiness to alert clarity as she listened. When he got to the part where Aidan killed the necromancer, her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and her lips curled into a satisfied snarl.
By the time Eallair was done, they were all quiet, the waterskin lying forgotten on the sand. Several times during the story Aidan had cut in, tried to downplay what Eallair was saying, to tell what actually happened, but halfway through he realized all he was doing was making himself seem humble in their eyes. When Eallair quietly got to the part where Aidan had tried to sacrifice himself to save him, the embellishment was gone, and Aidan realized the sorcerer wasn't nearly as drunk as he was pretending to be.
Silence greeted the end of the story. Then, one by one, they all turned to look at Aidan; not just the People around his fire, but everyone he could see. The ones who must have heard it earlier, and the ones who were drawn in by Eallair's melodic voice, by the subject of the story sitting around that particular fire. He didn't think he'd ever forget the way they looked at him. Awe and respect and a little bit of fear, but mostly it was with an almost painful gratitude. He was the outsider who had not only saved them and wreaked a bloody revenge on the thing that had killed their loved ones, but had willingly attempted to sacrifice his own life in the process.
It came on him suddenly, almost like a vision. Just for a moment, the present and the future seemed to exist at the same time, like two see-through pieces of paper with drawings on them that didn't quite line up. Blurry, indistinct, but just clear enough to make out. He could see in their eyes that every single one of them would be willing to do the same for him, now, without hesitation. He could see them in the future agreeing to anything he asked of them with an eagerness that bordered on zealotry, and he doubted it would take long for this story to spread to the other villages as well. That was what Eallair had been doing. His gift to Aidan. By the time they reached Arthur and woke him up, there would be an entire race willing to go to war for Aidan, if he asked it.
The outsider who'd risked his life to avenge the People and save the world; how could any of them refuse and still have their pride? Their honor?
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see the Shaman standing just outside the clearing, watching him, his arms crossed, his blank face carved from stone. He was the only one of them who saw what had happened around the fire that night. The way Eallair had manipulated an entire village with nothing but the exaggerated truth and a drunk, disarming smile. The Shaman knew their goal, the terrible, necessary purpose that drove them. He knew his people would be called on to go to war and if Aidan was the one to ask, not even he, the Shaman, could stop them from going.
The Shaman nodded, slowly, and Aidan took that to mean that he wouldn't even try. That he understood not just what was going on, but the purpose behind it; that maybe he’d understood all along. There was hardness in his gaze though; a look that said if Aidan wasted the lives of his people, then nothing would stop him from getting his own bloody revenge. Aidan looked away, unable to bear the weight of that look. Unable to bear any of the looks. He knew now what it was to be a hero.
And being a hero was a terrible thing.
Part III
The Quest
Chapter 1
Aidan watched the wheels of the carriage bounce as they drove over the rough desert terrain. It was so strange, seeing them shudder so violently and yet barely feeling it. Suspension, the People called it. It was a way of putting some kind of springs on the wheels to absorb most of the impact of driving on anything that wasn't a road. They'd also added new tires, ridged to grip the ground and thicker to avoid damage. It had been fascinating, watching them work.
He also had to fight the sudden, unreasonable urge to yell at Eallair. It was completely unfair that someone who had never driven before was doing it so well, keeping straight even over the sandy 'road' and deftly avoiding sudden dips and large, half-buried rocks.
That had been the last thing they'd done to his carriage; 'unrestricted' it. Aidan still had trouble believing it was possible, even with the proof sitting silently next to him driving his carriage. Apparently unrestricting a carriage involved ripping out the engine—and he'd almost had a heart attack when they explained that bit—and replacing it with one they'd built from scratch with scavenged parts—whose origins the People refused to explain—without the spells and mechanical sensors that tied a carriage to a single driver. It was a better engine, too. Supposedly faster and more efficient in the way it used processed magic, but they couldn't really test out the speed until they left the desert. And probably not even then, unless they wanted to attract attention.
It had been a little over two hours since leaving the village that morning, and they'd barely spoken to each other. Most of it was Aidan's fault. Eallair had tried several times to start up a conversation, but Aidan had shut them all down with grunts or quick one-word answers. Eallair was probably wondering what was wrong, but like always, he seemed to know when not to press and left Aidan alone to sort out his own thoughts.
Eallair's instinctual insight made it very hard not to like him. Which was confusing, because Aidan was also pretty sure he hated Eallair just a little bit, too.
How dare he put that kind of responsibility on me?
It was the thought of the day, the thing Aidan couldn't stop thinking about no matter how hard he tried. At some point, he would be responsible for sending the People to their deaths. People who, even as he and Eallair had left, were looking at him with clear, alcohol free eyes, and a reverence all the more disturbing in the sunlight.
After all his crap about choice and free will, does he even try to give me a choice? Of course not! He just goes and turns me into some kind of desert savior while I'm passed out, half naked, in his shirt.
Aidan had never signed up for so much responsibility.
A tiny, calm voice in the back of his head said, Except, it's kind of exactly what you signed up for.
He hated that voice. Because he suspected it was right. He knew what war meant when he'd agreed to come with Eallair. He might not have thought of this specific scenario, but he knew what was expected in a war. People would die. And he might have something to do with their deaths. It wasn’t Eallair’s fault that Aidan had, foolishly, assumed any deaths he caused would be in battle, and most likely not even caused directly by him. When he’d agreed to join Eallair on his quest, he had no idea he could use magic. The most he thought he’d be able to offer was some kind on nebulous, undefined help at some nebulous, undefined future date—a somehow all his own. But even after he found out he could use magic he never once thought about being responsible for the death of anyone on their side. During the fleeting moments he’d even had time for daydreaming, his head had been filled
with fantasies of wading into battle with Eallair, cutting down DMS agents and other shadowy, faceless enemies at Arthur’s side. He’d never considered that people might fight for him. That they might die for him.
And, in the end, that lack of imagination was all on Aidan.
If he was being honest though, it wasn't just what Eallair did last night that bothered Aidan. It was also the conversation he'd had with the Shaman just before they left.
Eallair had been packing up the carriage with some food and water skins the People had given them, filled with actual water this time and not alcohol, thank Merlin, and Aidan was alone in the village. With a small, sad smile, he'd been watching Two Rivers try to talk with a few boys his own age. Even from a distance he could see the way the other boys deferred to him, the way they shifted uncomfortably when they thought Two Rivers wasn’t looking, the way they only laughed if he did first, and even then that laughter was nothing like the carefree joy most teenagers showed with their friends. He could see the way Two Rivers struggled not to wilt at every forced laugh and every poorly concealed bit of body language that screamed they’d rather be anywhere else. Even among other People his own age, it seemed Two Rivers still wasn't allowed to just be a kid no matter how hard he tried. Aidan had been drawn out of his melancholic thoughts about whether the Shaman-to-be was ever allowed to be anything else by the Shaman himself appearing at his shoulder, seemingly out of nowhere. Aidan had looked at him with curiosity, but when the man just stood there watching Two Rivers, Aidan turned back and watched as well. He wished he knew what the Shaman saw when he looked at his protégé. If he could see how hard it was for the boy to always be so alone, the way Aidan could.
"Do you know how Two Rivers got his name?"
Aidan had started, surprised by the Shaman speaking and the question itself.
"Um, his parents gave it to him?" he asked.