by J Jordan
“Well, what did I say?”
Romney watched them stir from their own stupors. Even fully aware, they had nothing to say.
“Everybody’s got their own share of the pie. Are we happy?”
Cora and Tykeso nodded. They seemed to be trying very hard to stay in a daydream. This was obviously a dream of some kind. No one would ever walk into a business deal with Devon Reymus and come out like Romney did.
“I take it you work with people like Mr. Reymus,” said Cora.
“What do you mean?”
“That guy owns a piece of every business in the world,” said Tykeso. “If he doesn’t own it outright. You squeezed three hundred thousand notes out of the most powerful man in all the provinces.”
“I must admit that was impressive,” added Cora.
Romney’s grin fell slightly.
“That guy in there? Devon Reymus?”
“Yes, Devon Reymus,” said Tykeso, in a serious tone. “The most powerful man in the world. Bar none.”
“Who, him?” said Romney. “Does he eat guys like me for breakfast? Does he have a million little Milas on a chain that cater to his every whim? Does he make and break fortunes, bring civilizations to their knees, and all in time for brunch? He makes the world turn, does he?”
Tykeso straightened at this. For once, his frown wasn’t menacing. If there was one good thing to be said of Romney Balvance, it was this: Romney Balvance was not easily intimidated by men in suits. Some attributed this to his bravery. Some attributed it to his vast ego. Cora Queldin would say it was a little column A, but mostly column B.
“He’s just a guy in a suit,” said Romney, “nothing more. We had something he wanted. And he wanted it bad. Did you see him eyeing that thing?”
“Yeah,” said Cora, “but he is powerful. And intimidating.”
“But what did you see when he had that stone in his hand? I saw a guy who would have paid a fifty note for the chance to stare at it. This Devon guy has a taste for some weird stuff. But we just proved he’s willing to pay anything for it. Don’t worry about Devon Reymus. He can be my problem.”
Romney slapped his new associates on the shoulders.
“We’re not a bad team at all. Ty’s the muscle, Cora’s the brains, and I’m the—”
“Mouth?” ventured Cora.
“Sure,” said Romney. “And we can make a lot of money off this guy, if we stick together. So, how about it? Are you guys with me?”
The muscles, brains, and mouth agreed. And with that, they had become a group. A coalition. A band of siblings.
Sometimes the great moments of history aren’t really that great. One scholar wrote that the air was heavy with possibility as the three walked back to Romney’s car. This scholar claimed that several passersby looked on with admiration as they drove down the street. The three looked like pioneers moving into a mysterious unknown. He even had the audacity to claim that Romney gave a stirring speech about the journeys and adventures to come.
When asked to substantiate the claims, the scholar in question made note of the floor and mumbled something about his phone being dead at the time.
The facts are mundane. The three drove quietly back to the Underbrew Café, without any orchestral motion or sense of pioneering. The afternoon air was heavy, but not with purpose. Lanvale is a humid place in the summer. They decided to meet at the café the next morning. From there, they would decide their next move. Romney’s stirring speech had three syllables: “See ya then.”
Without ceremony, the three new associates departed.
Romney Balvance and the First Dream
Before we present the following events, we must take a moment to make one thing clear. The writers, researchers, editors, scholars, and historians of this text come from different backgrounds, who bring a variety of differing views and opinions to the subject matter. With help from our editors, we have tried to present Romney’s history without bias. But there is always some bias. Of our multicultural and diversely opinionated staff, exactly one-third of them thought the following events were utter malarkey, one-third found them blasphemous, and the final third were divided on whether or not the events were even plausible. Despite our differences, we have agreed to present the events in their entirety, be they raving mad or downright sinful.
We leave the decision to you, dear reader. This is where things get weird.
◆◆◆
At various moments, Romney started his car, drove to his apartment, walked through his living room, and laid on his bed. He couldn’t remember where these moments started or ended, only that they had placed him on his bed faceup. He remembered thinking that his shoes were still on and that his keys were still jabbing into his hip through his pocket.
He watched the ceiling fan spin, following a single blade as it tumbled across the textured ceiling, then watched a single space be chopped apart by passing blades. Romney could hear the faint hum of the air conditioner, the light swishing of the rotating plastic sabers, the dull churning of distant waves.
He closed his eyes. A wave crashed.
The buzzing waned again, leaving another heavy silence. Romney was lying on his back, in something wet. His limbs felt disconnected. Not numb, he reasoned, because there was no tingling sensation. His extremities simply weren’t there. He tried wiggling his fingers. Nothing. His toes? No response. Romney tried to open his mouth, even a little, but the neural call could not be completed as dialed. His body ignored him. He could hear the churning waves approaching once more. Romney braced.
This wave swept under him, pushing him further up shore. He shivered at the intense cold, but his body didn’t join in. Romney felt something welling slowly in his chest. Panic? Frustration?
A heavy hand was on his chest now, pushing in harsh beats. It was digging into his lungs and squeezing his heart like a ripe tomato. He tried in vain to push the hand away. The welling sensation grew. There was something in his throat now. He could feel it rising up and up. Romney coughed.
He turned onto his side and coughed again. He coughed until the last of the sea water was out, until he could bring in a gulp of air. His head throbbed as he sat up. His eyes swam across the beach, taking in the details as a hazy blur that focused with each breath. The daylight was all but gone, leaving red and purple on the sand. The air was frigid for a beach. It stabbed at his tongue as he sucked in each mouthful. He scrambled up to drier land as another icy wave approached. The sea breeze howled once more through his wet skin. He curled onto the chilled sand and hugged his knees. It was then that he noticed the figure standing by the shore.
She was watching the sun press slowly into the horizon. Her linen robes billowed lightly in the breeze. A wave reached out and caressed her bare feet, before wilting bashfully back into the sea. Romney could see no more of her in the failing light, until she turned to face him. She approached slowly, her wet feet leaving small craters in the sand. Romney looked up in awe as she towered above him.
Her eyes were two rings of dusky blue, like small windows into a darkening sky. She had that kind of familiar face, the kind one sees everywhere but can never place. Perhaps it was the nose? The cheeks? Her long, elvish ears? Or maybe it was the shape of her eyes. Romney looked into her eyes and imagined they had darkened slightly with the fading day. A long braid of hair trailed down the side of her face, escaped from the network of other braids and haphazard tangles on her head. Her hair was orange, but not the auburn of the Camerran highlands. It was orange like a safety vest.
The tall, elven woman stood and watched him for a time. Then she spoke.
“Hey you.”
Romney gave no answer. He looked away to the darkening horizon and the cooling blues of evening. The sea continued its endless crawl toward the shore. The elf continued to watch him.
“Glad to see you awake. I thought we lost you there for a minute.”
She kneeled beside him and placed a hand on his worn leather jerkin. The damp material was like ice on his skin.
And then there was fire. Romney never saw her gather the wood and never saw what she used to light the pile. These details were lost on him, shoved out of the way by a more important thought: warmth. Romney huddled by the fire and held his shivering arms against the flame. The elf was above him again, pulling his shirt gently over his head. He crossed his arms over his chest and said nothing.
“Get over it. I’ve seen it all before. You’ll warm more quickly if you let your shirt dry on its own.”
Romney shrank deeper into the sand. His cheeks were burning now. There was something wrong with all of this. He was having trouble with the scrapes and scars on his arms. There were two more along his belly.
The beach and the cold, the sudden thoughts swirling through his mind. Romney felt out of place.
He was out of place. He wasn’t supposed to be here anymore.
A blanket dropped on his head. Romney scrabbled to wrap the warm bundle around his body. The material was soft and thick, perhaps a mixture of cotton and wool. He could feel the elf’s gaze from behind. He turned his head to find her sitting on a log, legs crossed and hands resting comfortably on her knee. She gave him a warm smile. Her starry gaze was difficult to meet.
“How’s it going?”
Romney gave no answer. He felt embarrassed now. She had done so much for him already, and he didn’t even have the courage to look her in the eye. She had saved him, but he didn’t want saving. Her mouth twitched from side to side. Then, she ventured the question. She took it carefully.
“Do you want to know why I saved you?”
Romney buried his head between his knees. He didn’t want to hear it.
“It’s a good question to ask. ‘Why me?’ ‘What did I do?’ Why did I choose you?”
Romney’s eyes burned. The tears sizzled on his cheeks. He turned once more to meet her gaze, doing his best to meet the darkening circles of her irises. Why was she doing this?
“I love you, for starters.”
The answer hit Romney like a sledgehammer to the chest. The first sob slipped by, but he caught the others in his throat before they could escape. They ached more deeply than the sea water.
“I believe in you. You know that, right? I know you are capable of great things.”
“I bet you say that to everyone,” Romney croaked.
The elf chuckled.
“Not often enough.”
She was sitting beside him now. Romney watched the flames lick at the tinder, nibble off a small sliver, then continue to crawl down into the grain. She was still watching him. He decided it was time to say something. Maybe a question first.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Katrese,” said the elf. “What, you’ve never heard of me?”
He had heard the name before. Romney thought hard about this. There was something familiar about it. Where had he seen her face before?
“And what’s yours?”
Romney looked quizzically at Katrese. He was having trouble with his name. There were two possible options and both were absolutely true. Something moved from underneath him. Romney had the sudden sensation of falling, then landing softly back on the beach. A rogue stone poked at his underside.
“I am Semnir.”
No, he was Romney. He looked down and noticed the familiar dress slacks, the dress shirt, the tie, the coat. These were parts of Romney Balvance. Who the hells was Semnir anyway?
Romney scanned the beach. He spotted their fire in the distance, now a spark in the gaining darkness. There was Katrese, laying a loving hand on the back of a small man huddled beneath a blanket. Katrese, the Goddess of Creation, Matron of the Elves, the Destroyer and the Balancer. She was comforting the man named Semnir.
Romney could hear their conversation faintly, but wasn’t entirely sure of what they were saying. Katrese turned to look at him. And then . . .
The first Katrese remained seated beside the little Semnir, while a second Katrese rose and started walking toward him. This one looked angry. Romney scrambled to his feet, but the mighty goddess was already standing above him.
This Katrese was different in subtle ways. She was only an inch taller than he was now. And her eyes were now the black of twilight, dotted by tiny constellations of green, blue, and white. She was not smiling.
“All right, buster, listen up, because I am only explaining this once.”
She reached into her robe and brandished a spherical stone on a leather strap. The strap was around her neck.
“This is a Katarin stone. It is highly magical and incredibly dangerous.”
Romney nodded but said nothing. He hated scoldings, even if they were coming from divinity.
“Pay attention. What am I holding in my hand right now?”
“A Katarin stone?” said Romney, knowing he probably had it wrong.
“It’s a piece of magic,” said Katrese, “and magic is dangerous.”
She pointed a long finger at him. The digit was loaded with divine guilt. Romney could only resist so much.
“Magic is dangerous stuff. Do not mess with it. Ever. There are serious consequences involved that you could never possibly understand. Now, I know you have one of these in your possession. So, here’s what you’re going to do with it. You are going to take your stone and put it back where you found it. ASAP. Understand?”
“I don’t have it anymore. I gave it to Devon Reymus.”
Katrese’s wagging finger curled into a fist. Her celestial jaw was set.
“That is a serious problem, mister,” said Katrese, “and you are in deep trouble right now. That is why you are going to listen to me and do exactly as I say.”
Katrese waved a hand. Romney could see small blue lines reaching up from the horizon into the night sky. He felt a sudden tremor beneath him. A whining, grinding sound followed.
“What is that?”
“Those are all pieces of magic, scattered all across the world. If Devon is going to use the Katarin stone, then he’s going to need these to complete his task. But he can’t search for them on his own. That’s why he has you doing his dirty work.”
“I meant that feeling. Like being in a clock tower during an earthquake.”
Katrese shot him a sideways glance. Her starry eyes were apprehensive.
“I take it you’ve experienced that before.”
“Come again?” shouted Romney. “I can’t hear anything. What is that awful grinding noise? And there’re these vibrations in the ground.”
Romney put his hands to his ears to block out the sound. This didn’t help.
“That is magic,” said Katrese, in a clear voice that cut through the din in Romney’s head. “Have you noticed anything strange about the world lately? Anything happening that shouldn’t? Violations of natural law? A sudden loss of time?”
“No,” said Romney. “It’s so loud. It’s going straight through my hands.”
“That is magic. It’s potential energy,” said Katrese, “sort of. It’s potentially anything. And that’s the problem. Right now, there is active magic somewhere in the world. That grinding in your ears, and the whining, and those dull tremors at your feet? That is what it does to the laws of nature.”
Katrese pointed to the sand. Romney strained to see.
“Magic puts a strain on the natural world. It’s not powerful enough to do any damage right now. But it doesn’t take much to build it up. A little spell here, a magic amulet there, maybe a wand for good measure, and you have a big problem that gets worse every second. You could undo the natural world with enough magical forces. And when it reaches that point, there would be no stopping it.”
As quickly as it appeared, the magic faded. The whining gears and the trembling earth subsided as one. Romney tested his ears.
“So, that’s bad?”
“You did hear the part about the natural world unraveling, didn’t you? You know ‘unravel?’ Ripped asunder? Exploded?”
S
he pointed to the blue lines along the horizon. They were small strings that split the night.
“Now, let me finish explaining this part. Those lights out there are objects enchanted with magic power. Devon is trying to uncover that power. And when he has enough it at his disposal, he’s going to use it.”
Romney turned his head toward Katrese. Did she say something? Her starry eyes gazed out into the horizon, while her mouth twisted in the effort of celestial concentration.
“For something. What that something is, I don’t know yet.”
Katrese continued to ponder this. It was a difficult one to be sure. Romney continued clearing his throat and trying to test his ears. He knew enough about hearing loss. If rock music could hurt your ears, then what could a magical field do? So far, he could only test baritone before his voice cracked.
“Romney?”
“I get it. Devon has a Katarin stone and he’s collecting magical stuff to do something,” said Romney. “I don’t know what he plans to do, okay? Maybe he wants to use the magic to take over the world. He’s already got tons of money.”
“He can’t take over the world. I made sure of that.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that Devon is plotting something, and it going to require lots of magic. He’s probably going to exploit a loophole of some kind. But which one? There’s no way to know for certain until it’s too late. That’s why you need to find out what he’s planning and stop him.”
Romney gave the deity an odd look.
“Me? You’re the goddess.”
She looked back at him. Romney could make out a cluster of stars on the cusp of her iris. It pulsed quietly in its far-off nebula.
“I can’t intervene in the world’s course unless there is a clear existential threat. I can’t do anything until I know Devon’s full plan. So, right now, my hands are tied. But you can do whatever you want. Which is why you’re going to be my avatar, Romney. You need to find out what Devon is doing. I know you can figure this out for me. I believe in you. I know you can do this.”