Her fingers moved through the grass, tucking and forming. If only life was as simple as weaving baskets. She took another breath, leaned over, and blew out the candle.
8
Bloody Fingerprints
A scream rent the air—high-pitched and suddenly cut off, as though someone had clasped their hands over their mouth. Tor Lir felt the hairs on his arm rise, but this time he knew it was a scream of terror and fright, not fear for one’s life. The monster of the night seemed to have disappeared into shadows, but something else awoke in him. A thrill surged through his body—a combination of excitement and eagerness. He rubbed his hands together as he crept back around the temple, his eyes alert for the predator to leap out again. This time, he braced himself, knowing he was about to view a dead body.
The slow, steady drip of liquid met his ears as he rounded the corner. Regardless of how he prepared himself, death was difficult to view. The freshness of the body made it somehow more poignant than the body he’d discovered in the Land of Lock, rotten and eaten by buzzards. The fright on the friar’s face felt real, almost as if the friar would speak if asked to. His innards were strewn across the stairs, and a gaping hole had been opened in his belly where the beast had eaten him. Yet aside from scratches on his legs, the rest of his body appeared to be intact. Tor Lir frowned. It almost seemed as if the beast wanted something the friar ate. Or perhaps Tor Lir had disturbed its meal.
Again, his reflections turned to Citrine. He knew she was working on some secret undertaking which required the exchange of goods. She desired to settle so she could work and send her beasts on mysterious quests. Yet she wouldn’t breathe a word to him. After a year, Tor Lir assumed she’d grow to confide in him, yet their relationship remained strained and aloof. He decided to speak with her, but it had to wait.
Skipping up the stairs, he reached the high columns of the temple. For some reason, the door was closed, and he thumped on it, wondering if anyone would hear. After a moment, he noticed a rope hanging down, and when he looked up, he saw it was attached to a bell. It seemed too early to sleep, yet all the same, he pulled the bell and the jarring ringing pealed out.
When no one responded, he pushed the heavy door open. It dragged on its hinges, sending a long whine through the air. The warm light of a candle flickered before winking out. Tor Lir padded into the temple, his eyes wide, watching for more stirrings in the gloom.
High arched windows allowed moonlight to filter through to a wide open space. The room was square with three arched windows on either side. At the front was an alter with candles surrounding it, and a white flag with a gray horse rearing on it hung down from the ceiling. The room was held up by a series of columns that reached to the ceiling and were ornately decorated. Tor Lir glided past them, realizing that while he could see in the dark, the friars who lived in the temple might mistake his presence.
“Hello?” he called out, his voice echoing in the stones. “The beast is gone. It’s safe to come out!”
A few more moments of silence passed before he heard the sound of heavy panting. An orange glow illuminated what looked like a passageway on one side of the altar. A paunchy male appeared, wearing a white robe with a golden belt wrapped around his meaty waist. Following him scurried a young boy with a peaked face, high and white with a long nose like a ferret. The boy wore gray robes with a dark belt. Tor Lir raised his eyebrows as their aura struck him, and a cool aloofness came over him.
“Who are you?” the older male panted, waving a white handkerchief. He wore sandals that slapped the stone floor as he walked, or rather waddled, up to Tor Lir. In the candlelight his bushy eyebrows arched, and his wide eyes scanned the room. “Where’s Melvin? What happened?”
Tor Lir gestured to the door. “I assume you mean the one who lies out there. I was passing by and I saw the beast attack him.”
“No,” the friar shrieked, clasping the handkerchief to his mouth. His brown eyes went wider, and sweat poured down his face, pooling in the folds of his swarthy neck. “It got him after all. We must rouse the city watch. They need to find the beast.”
Tor Lir stepped back. He sensed the friar told the truth, but there was something else—a sixth sense about his motives. There was something off about the situation, but he could not quite figure it out.
The friar peered at Tor Lir, scanning him up and down. “Who are you? Why didn’t you go for help?”
“I came here to warn you.” Tor Lir shrugged. “I followed the beast into the garden, but it disappeared. Tell me, have you seen something like it before?”
The friar’s lip trembled as he dropped the handkerchief, and his eyes shifted down to the stone floors. Tor Lir followed his gaze, noticing the trail of blood that led to the temple door.
“Nothing like this has ever happened before,” the friar hissed. He stepped back, pressing down his robes as though he suddenly remembered something. “Come back tomorrow during daylight and tell the watchers what you saw here. Perhaps it will help in the capture of this beast.”
“I’ve told you all I know,” Tor Lir replied, wary of returning the next day. “I must go.”
He took another step back, and his foot landed on something. Glancing down, he saw a thin piece of parchment. Bending, he picked it up, his eyes scanning it for words. Bloody fingerprints stained the parchment, but instead of words there was a drawing of a creature. Before Tor Lir could study it further, the friar snatched it from his hands.
Tor Lir looked up in surprise, his mouth hanging open although no words of retort came to his lips. The friar’s hostile glare softened. He shrugged, a poor excuse tumbling out of his mouth. “This belongs to the temple. You are not a student here and don’t have the right to peer into the knowledge we collect here.”
Tor Lir frowned, a wave of tiredness striking him. “Of course,” he mumbled and turned, wishing to have no dealing with the realm of mortals. Mortals were strange and the things they cared about seemed inconsequential.
All the same, as he stumbled down the steps and past the dead body, he wondered about the drawing on the parchment. It looked like a horse yet it had wings. He would ask Citrine if she knew of such a creature. All he knew with certainty was the creature on the parchment was not what had attacked the friar.
9
Mad Mind
Citrine was almost back to her cave when she heard it. A ringing sounded in her ears and then a long whine, high and poignant. She paused her hasty pace and turned slowly. The wind blew over the waters, moaning like a lost spirit seeking a home. The tall grass bent forward, and loose rock splashed into the sea far below. Citrine became conscious of her own breathing, raw and frightened. She frowned. She needed to get a grip. What was there to be afraid of? Suddenly a dark vision hurled her across the void into the unknown.
She opened her eyes to find herself in a tunnel. Walls of gray stone rose up on either side. There was a dim light, but it was cold and wet. She felt that she was bare, freezing and shaking in the gloom, and yet that was not what concerned her. A malevolent presence was somewhere above her, and she was sobbing, hoping it would not come near and command her once again. She wanted to speak, but when words came out of her mouth, they were a string of unintelligible syllables. She roared and reached up a hand, surprised to see wicked curved claws instead. Reaching out, she ran the claws across the stones and a sharp grating rang through her ears so hard she thought they would begin to bleed. Instead of attempting to speak again, she moved the claws toward her body and scraped them down her chest until blood flowed like a river, dripping onto the stones.
Citrine snapped back to reality with a muffled cry. Clasping her hands over her mouth, she spun widely, searching for whatever had tossed her there. Her heart pattered like incessant rain in her chest. Clutching her short skirts, she fled uphill back to her cave as the winds whipped her bright hair around her.
Flickering orange light greeted her when she reached the cave, and peeking inside, she saw a hooded figure feeding sticks to the fir
e, while Ava lay across the entrance. Citrine had asked her beasts to watch her treasure while she was away. Grift stayed during the day—he was out hunting now—turning the evening watch over to Ava. Zaul was somewhere in the wild, hopefully on his way home.
Citrine had learned, from past mistakes, it was best to check in with her beasts daily. She still hoped to provide a better home for them where they wouldn’t have to sneak around the city of Sanga Sang. Being close to so many mortals made her feel ill at ease. It was only a matter of time until someone discovered them, and the stranger hunched over the fire had already made the discovery.
Citrine wished she’d been home and Ava hadn’t had to show herself. If the people of the city discovered her beasts, it would be another hunt, and she’d be banished once again. The other option would be to do away with them…or just run, although Grift was averse to running away from problems. He’d cautioned Citrine it would be better if she confronted her challenges instead of avoiding or running away from them.
About time you got here, Ava scolded as she peeked open one eye. Her tail swished back and forth. There’s a mouse that’s taunting me and I need to teach it a lesson.
Proceed. Citrine crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin, preparing to confront the intruder. Just don’t go far. I might need you.
Just tell me when. Ava snickered and barred her teeth. Her massive snake-like body rose and she trod out into the windy night, her eyes glowing with mischief as she pounced. Citrine heard a squeak of terror as she leaned against the entrance of the cave.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
The hooded figure turned and lifted the hood, revealing herself to be an old white-haired lady. A milky white eye glared at Citrine followed by a pale blue eye. A shriveled hand rose, shaking, with sun spots covering it. The lady’s white hair stuck out, uncombed and wiry, like an unkept bird’s nest. “Old Edna. That’s what they call me. You have the sight, just like I did…”
“Old Edna? Eh? I don’t care who you are. What are you doing in my home? You’re trespassing. If you wanted to speak with me, you should have approached me during market.”
“Ah. You have a sharp tongue, child. What I need to tell you should not be spoken of in the open air of a marketplace.”
Citrine refused to back down. “I have a shop by the sea. If you need to trade for herbs, that’s where you should find me. Why are you following me?”
“Come. Sit at your fire and calm your mind. It seems you are the one who needs the air of clarity.”
Citrine narrowed her eyes. “What do you know about herbs?”
“I may not be as strong as you…but I had the gift at one time in my life. In fact, I didn’t know there were others like me…until I saw you. It’s your hair.” Old Edna lifted her hands to her head, pulling out strands of hair and tossing them into the fire.
Citrine wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Who are you? An oracle?”
The lady snorted and wagged her head back and forth. “Oracle. Indeed. None are worthy to hold that title. Perhaps in my past I came close, but nay.”
Citrine stepped closer, noticing the lady was missing several teeth. Edna’s eyes roved back and forth, never settling, and from the milky white one, Citrine thought it safe to assume Old Edna had difficulty seeing. Still. Worry and indecision gnawed at her core.
Old Edna continued. “I came because I must pass my knowledge to you.”
“You misunderstand.” Citrine cocked her head as understanding dawned. “I am not your apprentice, nor do I wish to take up your craft. There is nothing you have that I desire.”
She’d heard of people like Old Edna, who had a specific trade and near the end of their lives passed their knowledge on to their successor. Because Old Edna did not have children—Citrine assumed—tradition would have her pick an apprentice to pass her knowledge to. An uneasy feeling snaked around Citrine’s rib cage. Although she did not want to hear what Old Edna had to say, her curiosity rose. Listening to Old Edna would give her time to decide what to do about the lady’s unusual visit. If she had seen Ava, she couldn’t return to the city, no matter how mad some might think her ramblings were. If the warden of the city was roused before Citrine could escape, they would lead an investigation to the cave. Glancing around the sloped walls, Citrine crept to the fire and sat down, crossing her legs. She blew out her breath, relieved she’d had the sense of mind to hide her book of spells.
“It’s not a matter of desire,” Edna said. “You don’t have a choice, which is why I must tell you what I know. Long ago, a time before I was born, the immortals brought a gift to this city. A treasure which gave one the ability to achieve their heart’s desire.”
Citrine sat up straight, a ripple of excitement creeping up her spine.
“The gift was given to the city warden at the time, and it was his responsibility to protect and to use it to bring wealth to the city. After all, a city flourishes when the people are blessed and dwell without animosity. However, the warden misused the gift. When the Black Steeds seized the city, the gift left the warden and disappeared. From there, it only exists in rumors and speculation. Some say a lowly farmer found it and kept it hidden until a time of peace when it is needed again. But the other night, I had a dream, and you were in it.”
Edna lifted a shriveled hand and pointed an accusing finger at Citrine as though she held a knife and wished to drive it into Citrine’s heart.
A cool wind blew over the rocks, and a high-pitched whistle sliced through the air. Citrine crossed her arms and shifted her posture, glancing toward the entrance. It was gloomy outside, although the flames cast hulking shadows into the night.
“It was the day I went to the Tree of Wisdom, seeking answers. You know the gift of the herbs. If you mix the right scents, you can understand them.” Old Edna’s pale blue eye turned pensive. “I took a gift of herbs to the tree, and when I slept that night, the answers came. In my dream I saw you standing with another, and you uncovered the lost treasure, but not without cost. Great joy and great sorrow followed, and after you discovered the treasure, everything you sought turned to dust.”
Old Edna paused, closing her eyes while her hand remained, a finger pointing at Citrine. She jerked, her lips quivering, but although Citrine waited, Old Edna spoke no more. Leaning over, Citrine lifted twigs and fed them to the fire, surprised to see her hands shaking. Questions swirled around her mind. Finally, she decided Old Edna was mad and had given Citrine no reason to trust and believe her.
“If you are trying to scare me with old legends, it won’t work,” Citrine said coldly. “If you want me gone, all you have to do is say so and I will leave the trade of herbs to you.”
“Haa…” Edna shrieked, the ferocity of her laughter making Citrine jump. Edna’s finger fell to her chest, and she gripped her heart while her breasts swayed back and forth, coming to a rest against her wide belly. “Are you daft, child? I’m far too old to trade for herbs. My hands aren’t steady and my sight is almost gone. There is no way I can brew potions for the city folk without accidentally poisoning them.” The merriment left her wrinkled face, replaced with cunning.
Citrine’s fingers twitched as she returned them to her lap, wishing for a draught of wine to calm her nerves.
“I dare say I’ve poisoned one or two already,” Edna mumbled. “Nay. Child. I came to warn you. Don’t seek the treasure. It’s not worth it.”
“I know nothing about this treasure or how to seek it. What does it look like? What does it do?”
“Haa,” Edna said again, but this time her laugh wasn’t as jarring. “It's clear as crystal, carved by the hands of a Shaper—those who work with jewels and metals. Alchemy made it appear like a winged horse, but in the light, it changes colors. Some have sworn it flies off on its own if its bearer is not pure.”
Citrine smirked. “Such nonsense, your brain must be addled mush. Tell me, did you see anything strange when you came to my cave?”
“See?” Edna cackled. “None b
ut your stray dog, watching over the entrance. It’s smart of you to have a beast stand guard or I might have helped myself to your food.”
Citrine sighed with relief. “Dog?” she almost laughed herself. “I’m surprised you saw anything this bleak night.”
Edna wagged her head and reached out, lifting a stick and dragging her rump off the rock. “When you become old like me, you become thankful for ears. They are my guide.”
“Do you need me to walk you home?” Citrine offered out of politeness, although she’d have preferred to push the demented lady off a cliff.
“Nay. Child. Nay. I fend for myself these days, but a bite to eat in exchange for the knowledge I brought you would be decent.”
Citrine huffed. “You didn’t have to come here and tell me a wild tale in exchange for food.”
Edna shook her head as Citrine reached for a meager serving of bread and fish. Wrapping it in a cloth she pressed it into Old Edna’s free hand.
Citrine waited until Old Edna disappeared into shadows before relaxing her shoulders. A passing thought struck her. Should one of her beasts validate the story? But she brushed it away like a stray butterfly. Although there was merit to the idea, it seemed impossible. How could there be a treasure that granted someone’s wishes?
Did she call me a dog? Ava’s offended question crept into her consciousness.
Oh, Ava. Citrine choked down a laugh. At least she didn’t see you.
Blind as a bat to call me a dog. I should take a bite out of her bottom. Ava scoffed.
Ava!
Fine. I’ll stand down. At least I got that mouse. It won’t tease me anymore.
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