Fairmist

by Todd Fahnestock

  She rose and led him back into the pine forest. Behind him, he could see the light from the white trunks of the grove that the spirits called The Root. The sight drew him and frightened him at the same time. He didn’t want to go back into that trunk again. Yet a part of him longed to return forever. He yanked his gaze away.

  The forest was close with the scent of pine needles and bark. His guide came to the edge of a natural bowl in the earth. The trees were tightly packed around the rim like spears on a wall. In the center of the bowl was Selicia, spread-eagled on the grass. Thick roots grew up from the ground, binding her legs and arms.

  She was awake and had obviously been there for some time. When Grei stepped to the edge of the slope, she spotted him. Her hawk eyes regarded him, but she remained silent.

  “This human is filled with violent intent. She is a destroyer,” the spirit said.

  Grei stayed silent. Selicia had clubbed him unconscious and brutally kicked Adora. She’d flung her ringblade into Blevin’s head, a strike that should have killed him. And the grisly deaths of countless others filled her memories.

  “We have spared you because you might stop your emperor,” the tree spirit said. “We spared her only because she came with you.”

  “She can’t see you?” he asked softly.

  Selicia’s thin gaze flicked around the glade, searching for the person to whom Grei spoke.

  “She can neither see nor hear us,” the spirit said. “We leave it to you, what is to be done with her.”

  “And if I leave her with you?” Grei asked.

  “We will kill her.”

  “I don’t want her with me,” he said. He could still see Adora’s head snapping back, see her crumpling to the ground. Selicia had never broken stride. She might have killed Adora with that strike.

  “Very well.” The spirit gestured, and a dozen other Adoras slipped between the trees at the edge of the bowl and started down the slope. He saw their legs move, saw the impact of each footstep in their bodies, but they weren’t really there. He blinked, trying to see their true form, but he couldn’t.

  Though Selicia could not see them, she sensed them and pulled against her restraints. One of the Adoras reached out her hand to touch Selicia’s face—

  “Wait,” Grei said softly.

  The spirit next to him turned, and the tree spirits below paused as one, their heads swiveling to look at him.

  “You wish her to live?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Blevins had slain without compunction. At least two Highblades were dead because of him. Selicia was also a killer, no question, but she had been kinder to his companions than they had been to hers. Did she deserve to die?

  “Let her twisted life end,” the spirit said. “Let her be reborn as something better.”

  “Like what?”

  “Grass. Perhaps a tree will grow there.”

  He should let her die. Anyone would call it justice, but he couldn’t shake the other image he had seen inside her: how tenderly she had collected a near-dead Ree in her arms, how Selicia loved her fellow Ringblades. He couldn’t just let her die. By leaving her here, he was making that decision, and that was a power he didn’t want.

  “I will take her with me,” he said reluctantly. His stomach tightened.

  “This is what you wish?”

  “For better or worse, she’s part of my ‘grove’,” he said.

  “Very well, manling,” the spirit said with disgust.

  The roots slithered off Selicia’s body and disappeared into the earth. With a quick breath, she rolled to her feet, crouching as if ready to spring. Her gaze flicked about, still trying to find with whom Grei had spoken.

  Wind whipped around him so fiercely that he caught his breath. Whispers he could almost understand rushed past him. Hands touched his hair, his arms and legs, and the trees were obscured by white air and ribbons of yellow light. He felt limbs and leaves pass him, thought he could almost see them, then the rushing sound was gone.

  Grei and Selicia tumbled onto the baked earth of the Badlands.

  The tree spirit stared at him from the edge of the Dead Woods. Her yellow eyes glowed with hatred.

  “I’m sorry for what the emperor—”

  “Do not come back to this place until the Lord of Rifts is destroyed,” the spirit interrupted. “We will not spare you a second time.” The spirit paused, put Adora’s hands on Adora’s hips and glared at him with yellow eyes. “Serve your grove. Serve us all.”

  She faded until only the pines of the Dead Woods remained, looking like a hostile fortress. He turned to find Selicia standing behind him, looking in the same direction. She seemed different without her weapons, smaller and thinner. Older. He questioned his own wisdom in sparing her.

  “You were going to let them kill me,” Selicia said. “I felt them drawing near. But you didn’t.” Her eyes were thin slits in her face.

  He kept his hand free. He still hadn’t figured out why using his magic had made him stupid at the wagon, but he’d risk it again to turn the earth soft beneath her. And this time he’d turn it back to rock afterwards. Let her get out of that.

  “What happened in the trees?” she asked.

  “They hate you,” he said. They hate me, too, he thought, but he didn’t say it.

  Selicia looked at him as though she might see something more. “How did you get them to release me?”

  “I have something they want.”

  “What do they want?”

  “They hate the slinks more than they hate us,” he said. “They want me to stop the slinks.”

  “Can you?” she asked.

  “What were your orders from the emperor?” he asked, annoyed at the interrogation.

  “You are an unusual man, Grei.” She watched him with those unnerving black eyes. “You leave me with a difficult decision.”

  “Sorry to inconvenience you.”

  The red scar along her cheek tightened as she gave him a flat smile. “I am a Ringblade. I belong to the empress and to the emperor.” She paused, seemingly reluctant to say more, but after a moment, she continued. “My life is bound to my honor, and honor says I fulfill my mission. Unto death,” she said.

  She didn’t seem about to attack, but he’d seen how fast she was. She would lull him into a false sense of safety, and then strike.

  “Do you know what a life debt is?” she asked.

  “If you’re implying that you have to save my life because I saved yours, then I like it.”

  Slowly, she descended to one knee and bowed her head.

  He took a step back.

  “My fealty is yours,” she intoned softly.

  Chapter 29

  Adora

  Adora wondered if the Order would rescue her on the road to the capitol city of Thiara. But as they rode away from the Badlands, across the open grasslands and then through the Felesh duchy over the next two days, she realized that they either couldn’t come for her or they wouldn’t. Since she had failed, would they leave her to her fate?

  Galius watched her like a hawk. During the day, she rode behind him. During the night, he bound her wrists and tied her ankle to a stake he drove into the ground. She imagined escape, but he did not give her the opportunity. As with everything, Galius was thorough.

  On the third day, they passed through the giant gates of the capitol city of Thiara, and Adora watched Galius marvel at the thirty-foot-thick red granite wall and the seven white towers that thrust up above the smaller buildings. Thiara was Fairmist’s opposite. Fairmist was dark and cool; Thiara was hot and bright. In Fairmist, people hid beneath layers of waterproof clothing. In Thiara, people wore skimpy fashions that changed on a whim. Everything was put on display in the bright sunshine.

  The royal Highblades received Adora and her escort in the courtyard of the palace. Their leader stood even taller than Galius. Instead of the silver and blue leather of a Fairmist Highblade, he wore a golden X harness over his muscular chest and billowi
ng red pants slit up the sides: Doragon colors. The Highblade had shaved the sides of his head and dyed the remaining center stripe of hair red. Adora had been gone so long that the fashions of Thiara seemed bizarre to her, so loud compared to the muted colors of Fairmist.

  “I will accompany her,” Galius said.

  “You’ll do what you’re told, peasant,” the rooster-headed Highblade replied without looking at him.

  Galius’ face went red. “Your tone needs mending,” he said. His grip on Adora’s arm tightened.

  The Highblade looked at Galius. “Shut your mouth, climb on your nag and ride to the imperial barracks, Highblade Ash. The Archon will deal with you later.”

  Galius’ jaw clenched, but he managed to take a calming breath.

  “The girl is in my charge. I will take her to—”

  The Highblade struck quickly, brutally. The backhand snapped Galius’ head to the side, drove him to one knee. Adora gasped.

  Galius leapt to his feet, shook his head. His cheek was bright red and blood flecked his chin. His sword flashed out of its sheath.

  Four red-clad Highblades stepped forward in unison. Steel rang as four blades cleared their scabbards and leveled at Galius.

  The rooster-headed Highblade, who had not drawn, laughed. “Our poor eastern cousin has bravery, but no brains.” His laughter died and his voice lowered. “Listen, ‘cousin’, you’ve drawn enough attention to yourself for a lifetime. Your entire, short lifetime, if you take my meaning. These prisoners were important to his majesty, and you lost all but this ragged girl. If you want to fall on your sword now, I will understand. Otherwise, the Archon will deal with you later.”

  Galius’ swordarm vibrated with rage, and his implacable gaze never left the rooster-headed Highblade. Then, with a smooth motion, Galius sheathed his sword and inclined his head. “Thank you, sir,” he ground out the words.

  “Get out of my sight,” the Highblade said.

  The rest of the Highblades sheathed their swords. Two of them took Adora’s arms and led her away. She glanced once at Galius over her shoulder.

  His dirt-smeared blue and silver clothing looked pitiful and out of place in the shining palace. He stood stiffly as they pulled her away, like he wanted to do something, but didn’t know what it was.

  The Highblades led her through the halls she had grown up in as a child. There were many doors, and after several minutes of walking, they found the one they were looking for. The stairs went down.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Quiet.”

  “I want to know—”

  “Quiet or I’ll make you quiet.”

  Adora had never been to this part of the palace as a child. There was probably a reason for that.

  They descended a long time before they came to the bottom, a six-foot circular landing with one wooden door. The Highblade produced a key, opened the door, and pushed her through.

  The room beyond was large and square. There were no other doors except the one through which they’d come. A huge steel boot sat on the floor to her right, cracked open and ready to swallow a foot. Torchlight flickered off the spikes inside. A stool sat in front of a squat table just beyond that. To her immediate left was a large brazier filled with unlit coals.

  In the center of the room, commanding immediate attention, was a large wooden “X”. It leaned back, and thick leather straps with shackles dangling from the edge of each square post. Behind the “X” were little wooden spools of rope attached to each restraint. The Highblades pulled her toward this.

  “I’m not getting on that.”

  The Highblade hit her in the side of her face, right where Selicia had kicked her. She cried out. Stars burst in her vision, and her head felt like it would split.

  They dragged her forward and wrenched her hands upward. The pain roared through her head, and they closed the first manacle, pulled her other wrist up and locked it in. She held her face away, flinching, waiting for another strike. She didn’t fight them as they secured her ankles.

  She needed to keep her wits about her. She was Adora, just a server of drinks. She had to pretend to be terrified, to be confused. She could have laughed at that. Pretending wouldn’t be hard at all.

  “Please, I didn’t do anything,” she said.

  “Archon’ll sort that out,” one of the Highblades said, stepping back. They left, closing the door behind them.

  The sudden silence was emphatic, and Adora watched the flickering torch on the far wall dance its crazy dance.

  “This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” she whispered.

  She pulled against the straps. Metal clinked. Leather creaked. She bit her lip, hard, to hold back the tears. There had to be something she could do. The Order said there always was. Obstacles could be overcome; she must have the vision to see her way through them. Lyndion had told her that when there was no answer, she must create the answer.

  She stared at the flickering torch. Create the answer.

  Chapter 30

  Adora

  Adora twitched when the door opened. The torch left a black imprint on her vision, and she blinked. Duke Dayn Felesh, a man she had known from birth, entered. He had been like an uncle to her growing up. She and his son Biren had not only been best friends, they’d been betrothed before she had been sacrificed to the slinks. Dayn Felesh was the lord of the most powerful holding in the empire and also the imperial Archon.

  A Highblade flanked him on the right. To his left was a tiny man, stooped and bald, whose hands clasped and unclasped anxiously.

  The Archon stopped, looking Adora over from a distance. She held her breath, waiting for his spark of recognition, but he didn’t know her. Blevins knew what he had been doing when he cut her black and gold Doragon hair. Without it, she was just a battered bald girl.

  “She is secure?” the Archon asked.

  The stooped man moved forward, checked each restraint. He nodded.

  “Tighten them,” the Archon said.

  “My name is Adora,” she said. “If you will, please tell me what I’ve done.”

  The stooped man leaned past her, out of sight. Wood clacked as the spools turned. Her wrists were pulled up, her ankles down.

  “Please,” she tried to put an edge of hysteria in her voice without succumbing to it. She had to keep her wits, stay calm. “Please, sir,” she said. “I don’t know my crimes.”

  “We all know our crimes,” the Archon said. “Whether we want to admit them or not.”

  The stooped man came around to her left side, humming to himself. He touched her bandage, and she flinched.

  “I spilled beer on a man once,” she said quickly. “I meant to do it. On purpose. B-But I said it was an accident.”

  “Clever,” the Archon said. “Who is the boy?”

  “Which boy?”

  The stooped man tapped his finger on her brow, just above her wounded cheek. The little tap seemed like a hammer. She gasped.

  “Grei? Do you mean Grei?” she said.

  “Very good,” the Archon said. “Yes, let’s talk about Grei. What is he to you?”

  She swallowed. “My lover,” she said. “I didn’t know he was in trouble. I swear.”

  “Is not Galius Ash your lover?”

  “We...were courting.”

  “And this Grei as well?”

  “He was… Yes.”

  “Hmmm.” The Archon paused. “Why do you think Grei was taken?”

  “Magic, my lord,” she said. They already knew that he could turn stone to water. She had to tell them what they already knew, but nothing that they didn’t yet know.

  “Indeed.”

  “He changed a waterfall. The water…he made it open like a curtain.”

  “What else?”

  “He turned ground to water.”

  “And he escaped?”

  “Into the Dead Woods.”

  “And do you think he is dead?” the Archon asked.

  Adora flicked a glance at the sto
oped torturer. He had black eyes in a seemingly happy face. He was balding, with age spots on his head and thinning white hair that sprouted just above his ears, draping over them like ghostly curtains. He smiled. He was missing all four of his front teeth. She looked back at the Archon. “No one comes out of the Dead Woods, your majesty,” she said timidly.

  The Archon smiled a thin smile. “I am the Archon, my dear. Not the emperor.”

  Adora gave him a confused look.

  “You may address me as ‘my lord’, not ‘your majesty’.”

  “I’m sorry, my lord.”

  “And that is all you know?”

  “Is Grei an enemy of the emperor?”

  “Most certainly.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Of course,” the Archon said. “And you saw him part this waterfall? You saw him turn earth to water?”

  “The waterfall. Yes, my lord. And earth to water.”

  “Hmm...”

  “Can I go home now?”

  He ran a light finger across her scalp. “Who cut your hair?”

  “Blevins.”

  “The fat man?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me, did the fat man have a sword with him? Red and black jewels on the hilt?”

  Adora swallowed. The Archon knew about Jorun Magnus! Or was he fishing? Her heart began hammering.

  “He had a sword, my lord. He fought with Galius.”

  “With jewels on the hilt?”

  “It was just a sword. There may have been something on the pommel. A white stone. Opal, maybe?”

  “Hmm...” He rubbed his chin. “And this Blevins cut your hair?”

  “That is what Galius said. He said the man was wounded, and he went mad. Galius thought he was going to kill me.”

  “Why would he cut your hair?”

  “I don’t know, my lord.” She let out a sob, and there was no need to fake that. “My hair was long and black,” she whispered. Let him paint the picture that he expected.

  The Archon tapped his chin, thinking, then he came out of his reverie and smiled. “Well, my dear,” he said, leaning so close she could see the tiny dots of stubble on his chin. His breath smelled sour. “I think you’re telling the truth.”