by Brindi Quinn
“What?!” I let out a shriek. “Ark is possessing Awyer?!”
“Hold on, Grim.” Techton holds out a hand to suppress my panic. “Don’t get all flustered, now. What do you mean through Awyer?” He eyes Feligo with suspicion.
“Those two mancers were right. I can see things. The ties of thought. The webs of fate. Whatever they are, your sphinx is marked with one now. To put it dumbly, you’re being spied on. Allow me to cut it at once!” His energy is self-righteous.
My energy is spasmodic.
“Ark . . . within . . . Awyer?!” My eyes are wide and shaking. If that is the case, I cannot allow it!
Techton rolls his eyes unsympathetically. “Come on, now. Clear your head. This official could be lying.”
Yes . . . that is true, I suppose. I attempt to push aside my emotions.
Techton sees my effort. “Good. Now, what do you think, Grim?” He leaves the decision to me.
Eyes locked on my pactor, I mull.
“It WAS peculiar that Ark disappeared after the sleepness hit, leaving us to go on our way through the Golden Lands without acknowledgement,” I say, attempting clarity. “At the time, I thought it strange that he and the sphinxes did not so much as glance at us after the fall. It makes sense that he would have maintained watch over us somehow, in the absence of Chast. Even so, this fox does not hold my trust. Ask if we may cut the web ourselves.”
To the query, Feligo answers, “You lot don’t possess weapons capable of slicing it. You all stand firmly with both feet remaining in the physical plane. The fae might have stood a chance, but her presence is more . . . human than fae. I doubt she even picked up on the observer. There’s little chance she’ll be able to snip the tie completely, even if she tried.”
He is correct. I did not perceive the threat. I did not sense anything unnatural. And I still do not.
“Very well, my confidant. Allow him to proceed, but be at the ready. If you sense him turning on us, do not hesitate to end his life. He does not know anything useful anyway.”
Darkness passes over Techton’s stare. “Gladly,” he says.
With my permission, the silverfox completes his task. He does not lay harm to Awyer, merely swings the suspended blade through the air above Awyer’s head. As it moves through the space, the blade lights golden, and when it has completely passed, there is a small pop!
Feligo promptly returns the glimmering weapon to its sheath. “Done!” He motions dramatically to the ex-zombie. “And as far as your accusation that I attacked your Capital, I didn’t! I didn’t make it that far, you see. Magister Bexwin sent a memo on the wind, instructing me to go to Jiik Anar. He spoke of a change in the tide of war – a power that must be seen to be believed. I took the bait, along with a small faction of soldiers. You can imagine my surprise when everyone around us started dropping like kewple flies on the way. I lost most of my men to this disease.”
“That old croop sent you to the canyon?” says Pedj. “Why?”
“Because that’s where I found him, sleeping like the rest.”
Nonchalantly, he delivers the statement. So nonchalantly, in fact, that it takes a moment to fully permeate me, and when at last it does –
“YOU FOUND HIM?! WHY DID YOU NOT SAY SO?! WHEN WE INQUIRED, YOU ACTED AS THOUGH YOU HAD NOT SEEN HIM SINCE PARTING WAYS WEEKS AGO!”
There is not need for my confidant to voice my cries. Pedj is doing a fine job of crying out on his own.
“I couldn’t say so with that spy loitering, could I?” rebounds Feligo.
Well, I suppose that is reasonable, though Pedj continues to fume.
“Where’s Bexwin now?” says Techton.
Feligo folds his arms smugly. “Right where I left him. In Azuria. After transporting him there, I returned here, laying out my agions in search of clues as to what happened to the world. You lot were the first promising traces I found.”
“Hear that, Grim?” Techton frowns at me. “Bexwin is asleep, after all.”
The truth is dismal. In ignorance, I had hoped that he held the key to reverting the world. What will we do now? Search his sleeping person for clues? There are none, if Feligo speaks the truth. What, then? Travel to the secret places of the world? Ergandach, Yel’ram . . . Ensecré?
Feligo begins to pace, here and there and around the fire. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re searching for Magister Bexwin?”
Should I? Can we hope to gain anything from confiding in this fox? My eyes befall Awyer’s resting form. Even if we gain a grain, it is worth it.
Techton speaks my answer: “She knows of him from her time in the Amethyst City,” he says.
“Go on . . .”
“The Pates were the riffraff of the kingdom,” I continue, “content with bullying the lesser residents and causing piddly acts of disarray. Comprised predominantly of failed Amethyst users, they were the gnats of Eldrade, and Count Bexwin was their leader in secret. Not so secret was his role as attendant to the king and elder of Eldrade. During the Bloődite attack on the city, we had an . . . encounter with him, during which he spoke peculiarly to my pactor, warning not to take the Amethyst. Later, in the Rusticlands, we laid eyes upon him and you and a handful of Pates. He knew the truth, yet he led you and yours astray, sending you after the Bloődites for a crime they did not commit. At first, I thought he wished to distract your army so that he could fish Awyer out for himself; but in time, I came to realize that he might have been aiding Awyer all along. In the Gloerlands, I had a vision, in which I learned of the fate to befall the scouts sent into the Reck. Drained of their power, only one would survive: Count Bexwin, crawling away with the name of my pactor on his tongue. He was attempting to warn us of Ark’s danger, but he did not make it in time. He knew of what was to come. He knew, and so I hoped that he might have a solution. For that reason, we have been on the path to him.”
With the truth out, there are many things Feligo should ask. Righty, his words should run freely. But run, they do not. All he musters upon hearing my tale is, “What do you mean you’ve been on the path to him?”
“Techt’s got helpers.” Mael wiggles her fingers through the air in mimicry of the witch. Feligo eyes the ‘dark thing’ that is my confidant. A moment of silence settles, during which Mael drags her toes through the earth, until at last,
“I understand,” says Feligo.
“That’s all you got?!” Pedj lashes. “After all that?!”
The princely fox puffs out his chest. “Pointing fingers is of no use.”
Because there have been many pointed fingers thrown from the Maestro lately, Techton releases a “Tch.”
Feligo takes no notice. “I am sworn to protect the people of Azuria. Waking them is more important than old disputes! The Eternity Vessel is cracked, you say? Well, we shall repair it! And then we shall flush out the Gold and Void that has laid waste to our land, and return the Mother Colors to their protective watch over the world.” The fair-skinned man turns flush. His armor shines in the morning sun, a valiant glimmer of incense. His is the speech of a commander. “We will defeat this disease and reclaim the world!”
Unfortunately, his fervor does not catch on.
“Oka, that’s great and all, but how’re you expectin’ to do that?” says Pedj, unconvinced. “You knew even less than us till just now.”
“I see no reason you can’t continue on the path to the Magister. We are close to the city where he lies. When we arrive, you can ask him your questions, as you planned.”
Mael cocks her head. “But he’s sleepin’, so . . .”
“Aha!” Feligo spins, landing a pointed finger in my direction. “Your fae can do it! She’s crossed into the realm of Gold! I sense it on her!”
The realm of . . .?
“Of what does he speak?” I ask.
Techton massages his temple. “She doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The bottoms of her feet are stained golden from the realm of slumber. Even without seeing her, their sheen ha
ngs in the air, almost detectable. She’s crossed into that realm. Perhaps to visit with someone?”
“Grim?” Techton says my name alike a disgruntled father.
“Do not accuse me of anything! I have not traversed across realms! See my feet for yourself! They are not golden!”
“Maybe . . .” Mael’s brow furrows in thought. “You think maybe when you was dreamin’ of Ower, you were really . . .”
“What, crossin’ realms?” Pedj allows the theory to settle into his harebrained mind. “Whoa.”
“No, it is not ‘whoa’; it is unfathomable,” I say. “Crossing into the dream world? Were it possible, I would have heard of it before.”
“Hey now,” says Techton. “You could at least try. And if you don’t feel up to it yet, why not practice on your beau? I’m sure you wouldn’t mind another nighttime rendezvous with him, huh?” And before giving me a chance to answer, he raises his voice so that the rest may hear – “She’s all for it.”
To be spoken for is a burdensome thing, indeed.
“Then it’s settled!” Feligo says triumphantly, throwing a fist into the air.
“On and ho!” says Mael, throwing a second fist into the air. Techton scowls over her copied gesture before moving to demolish the tent.
Be warned, Mael: A jealous witch is dangerous company to keep.
The necromancers also gather up their few things, but in the midst of busyness, Pedj finds a moment to slip away, to my shadow that falls over Awyer, and mutter, “Are you really oka with this, Grim?”
No, not entirely. But there is little I can do. I am captive to a confidant that may skew my wishes however he pleases. Ceasing to be relevant once cut off from Awyer, I am uncomfortably similar to that ‘spy’ lurking between realms. I am nothing more than a watcher.
Chapter V: Azuria
The land of Azure differs from the lands of Amethyst and Bloőd. Eldrade enchanted its sky to show lavender. Bloőd feels no need to waste enchant on something so trivial. And Azure? Azure need not bother with enchanting the environment to match their preferences, for the power of Azure differs slightly from the rest. Before Techton was stricken with Void, his eyes shone brightest blue; his hair was tinted slate. While his eyes have lost their quality, his hair remains widely as it was, save the dark streaks that have begun to settle at the roots. The old stains of Azure fade.
But that is the way of Azure.
The Mother Color stains when overused.
As we near the Blue Capital, the trees tint from brown to blue. No power lingers within their towering trunks, as Azure now rests along with the rest, but its influence remains, marking nature with tales of past use.
Even more striking than the bark of the wood, are its leaves. Russet or rust or jade, their veins show a blue as crisp as the noon sky. At least, how the noon sky used to be.
With the fall of night, we decide to continue on. We may rest within the safety of the city. We will press through the night with the everglowing crystal as our guide light.
“But won’t it lead others to us?” says Pedj. Because he has been tasked with carrying the stone, his concern is greatest.
“What others?” says Feligo. “There are few others we might encounter, and they will be more wary of us than we are of them.”
He says so without fully knowing the spread of mythics.
Rock imp. Merbabe. Witch. Necromancer. Sphinx. Gloer. Naefaerie. Aged lochie. Silverfox.
And there are others, I am sure, that are lost to me. The fiercest creatures of night, pushed away by the reign of man, now have roam of the earth. The time will come that we will encounter them, and while they have had millennia to hone their skills of concealment and survival, we have not.
Necromancers lie at one end of the spectrum – nearly men themselves, they cannot possibly know the extent of the dangers lurking in the deep places of night. Silverfoxes and merbabes and zombies may have entered their storytales, but what of the rest?
And so, Pedj’s fear is warranted.
Not that I am able to tell him so.
Techton is set on reaching the Azurian Capital. He is set on returning the silverfox to its home. He is set on searching for Bexwin and moving on, far, far away from this newcomer with a handsome scent.
It is hard to admit that perhaps the darkest threat is already in our company.
. . .
“This’s where you’re from, Techt? Is beautiful!”
“It is the center of Azure territory,” Feligo steps in to answer. “Naturally, it has been kept with the highest degree of meticulousness!” To his voice is an air of snobbery. Clearly he does not think as highly of the Bloődite Capital.
“Yeah, guess it’s oka,” grumbles Pedj.
Azuria is not as grand as Eldrade, but that is not to say it lacks grandeur. Because Azure is not as strong as Amethyst, the people of Azure were made to compensate. Thus, there are gears and wheels where in Eldrade there would only be enchant. A city of magicks meets mechanics, the place was surely once bustling with life and motion. It has since fallen, like the rest of the world. Quiet and still, yet much remains intact, for mechanics did not fail when magicks did.
As for the structures of the city, the Azurians of today favor metal over stone, it seems. When asked about such, Techton explains that to the south lie vast mountain mines, ever useful for extracting the supplies needed to maintain a lifestyle of enchanted metal. Glistening gilded-blue in the golden sun, rotund structures dot the city, stacked upon one another and forming a web of domes, which are undersided by tunnels and roads of cobbled metal.
“Sistel 18,” says Techton, gesturing down one such tunnel. “That’s where I used to live.”
“Ah,” says Feligo. “A Loring boy, were you?”
“My neighborhood,” Techton explains to Mael’s inquiring eyes. “Loring was my district. Sistels 17-20 are in Loring Parkplace.”
Pedj plucks at his hair – a sure sign that he is confused. “What’s a sistel, again?”
“Those hemispherical structures are known as sistels,” says Feligo. “Within those you’ll find apartments, shopping centers, and parks.”
“Incredibleness,” says Mael.
“OR,” says Techton, seeking to outdo the knowledgeable maestro, “if you’re rich, you can afford to have one of them all to yourself.”
“Really?” says Mael, impressed. “Oooh and also ahhh.”
Techton smiles with self-satisfaction.
“I, on the other hand, hail from Sistel 48 in Branchia.” Feligo flings a finger down the opposite road. “But as a maestro of Azure, I currently reside in Sistel 2.” Even more vivaciously, he shoots a finger directly into the center of the city, where the largest dome is stacked. “It’s connected to the palace, you see.”
A sick cracking sound emits from the witch’s knuckles.
“Contain yourself. If you are wise, you will see that he does not wish to steal her heart. He merely wishes to boast of his importance. I assume it is to gain a leadership role among a pre-established party. It may be due to intimidation.”
“Sure, sure. Or he’s a just self-promoting showoff. Pompous son-of-a . . .”
Ah. And for the first time I realize that Techton’s hostility may not be entirely due to Mael’s interest in the silverfox; it may also be due to bitterness over being forced into casting at a young age. In Techton’s mind, the fault for his life of addiction belongs partially to maestros like Feligo.
“Remember that he is no longer a man of the king. Remember that he is an ex-Azurian mythic just like you.”
I have become a voice of reason. I do not delight in the fact that it is so. This role makes me nothing more than an attachment. An accessory. With Awyer, I was so much more. I was . . .
“Pfft.” Techton turns so that I can no longer see his face.
“So where’s the old croop sleepin’?” says Pedj, gawking with mouth wide at the overhead streetlamps hanging from chains. “Your place?
“Naturally I couldn’t
keep him at the palace! That is the first place looters will strike!”
“Your homesistel, then?” suggests Techton.
“Why, yes! Where better?”
“Ugh. To Branchia it is, I guess.”
“Why the ‘ugh’? You have something against Branchia?”
“No, no.” Techton puts up his hands in denial; though he adds under his breath, “Just you.”
With a flick of his hair, Feligo leads the way. The cobbled metal streets are a mash of metallic triangles implanted into concrete, hither and yon. Their composition makes for a unique clap-tapping sound with each step of existent being. The street corners are marked by posts, upon which engraved metal signs hang, showing what lies along in each direction. The language is reminiscent of the language of Eldrade, and at the same time, it is highly evolved. No wonder Techton had such a difficult time reading my scratchings in the dirt. Now that we are no longer under pursuit from count or army, it would be convenient to create a common text, with which I may communicate to the others. Then again, if Ark felt it necessary to spy at us through Awyer, we might be under pursuit yet.
It is too soon to rest easily.
“Newop.” Techton shows Mael his knowledge of the city by gesturing to and fro. “And over that way is Kindley Rope. Kindley Rope’s got a megascreen that circles the whole of Sistel 61. They show moving pictures there in the evenings, although they’re fueled by magick, so who knows what kind of disaster the inside’s turned into.”
The interior may be disastrous, but from the exterior, the sistels are solid. Constructed with manpower over color power, they are unlike the fallen towers of Eldrade. The world could learn from such innovation. Then again, the world might already know of it. Naïve Eldrade may be the only place where magicks were relied on so heavily.