by Brindi Quinn
I zip before his face in preparation. In hope. In breathlessness.
“Do it,” I say to him. “Open your eyes. See me. Hear me.”
“Gwim?” Cheek full of crystal, Pedj’s eyes shoot open and set squarely upon mine. “Gwim!” His gaze is focused. It does not pass through me, as so many do.
“It has worked? You see me!?”
“Not as good as in the Golden Pwace. You’s kinda fwickerin’. But your voice’s clearer than what it was yefferday!”
Joy, pristine and bold, enters me. I rush to thank the witch responsible for the miracle. “My confidant! You have accomplished a great and selfless task! You have my gratitude!” In my glee, I attempt to place my arms around his neck, at the last moment remembering that I cannot, and instead placing them in a hover above his shoulders.
“I’m glad it worked,” the Azurian says. Tipping his forehead forward darkly, he adds, “I’m really am glad, Grim.” Again, he looks to the door of Sistel 6 – an unspoken display of his intentions. I read them.
“You do not mean to–! Not yet!”
“Shhh.” He places his finger to where my untouchable mouth floats. “I’m not the only one who can hear you now.”
To be sure, Pedj watches our exchange with curiosity. “What’re you two discuffin’ on?”
“Little rude to be talking with your mouth full, don’t you think?” says Techton.
“Doy! Not like I have a cwankin’ choice! Gimme a break, you!”
Techton grins. It is a forced show of playfulness. Pedj does not perceive it, but I do. There is faint bitterness behind the grin. Our time together runs ever short.
Now that I am no longer reliant on him, everything is changed. We may press forth without fear of losing my sole confidant. Mael and Feligo are even now gathering as much information on naefaeries as they can. To understand Ark, we must first understand his agents. We bank on the prospect that I do not know my kind as well as I think.
“Pedj,” I instruct, “go and tell the others of Techton’s success. Tell them to gather up their belongings and whatever documents you see fit. Make haste!” At my bidding, the zombie scrambles into the archives building. I am left alone with my confidant. “What you said before about making it easier for Mael . . .” My words trail.
“It won’t be much of a stretch. Once I give it an allowance, it’ll take over,” the addict-turned-witch says.
“Then you mean to do it immediately!?”
My confidant nods a solemn nod. “You made it clear you don’t want me to leave the city with you. Pedj and that playboy’s secret meeting last night shows they’re on the same page. It’s exile for me. Sooner is better, in my case. Besides, you can’t really set a destination until you’re sure I won’t follow.”
“But why this instant?! Can you not give us a little more time to prepare?!”
“You wouldn’t ask that if you knew how close I came to going after her last night. If you hadn’t kept me busy–” He looks to his hands, which have started to shake – “I don’t know what I would have done.” I mean, Lady gave me some this morning, and I’m already . . .” He wets his lips. “See? You don’t know how much it’s eating at me. I have to do this while I still can.”
My throat catches. “So that you know, I will not kill you.”
“Gee, thanks.” He releases a sarcastic rasp. “Anyway, you better not. I’m going to find out what I can, too. If I figure out anything important, I’ll have them deliver it to you.” He swishes his fingers through the air.
Them. The dark spirits of Dimensia.
At the thought of them, something occurs to me. “But . . . will ‘they’ not also betray our location to you?”
“Yup.”
“Then . . . will you not follow us anyway?!”
“I’ll try not to.”
“And if you cannot resist?”
“That’s why you’re getting a head start.”
“THAT IS HARDLY COMFORTING!”
CLASH!
The door to the Sistel 6 comes clashing open as an excited ex-zombie comes bouncing out, posse on heel. The crystal is no longer in his cheek; it instead rests between his fingers, moist and glistening. “You wanna try?” he offers to Feligo.
“I’ll pass,” the fox says once inspecting the wet quality of the object. Mael, on the contrary, is not fazed.
“I’ll,” she says, raising her hand, and without so much as dabbing away the excess moisture, she tosses the stone into her mouth. Her eyes fixate on me at once. “Works! Hullo, Miffress.” She flattens her mouth into a goonish smile. “Now we’ll get on oka even if Techt . . .” But the taste of her words makes her falter. She shoots a shifting glance at her witch.
Pedj clears his throat.
“Needs a break,” Mael finishes, turned downtrodden.
I watch Techton, in wonder of whether or not he will take it as a cue. But take it as a cue, he does not. Or rather, he is not given the chance, for at that precise moment, Feligo, the most perceptive of the group, stands rigid.
“Someone’s here!” he says. He closes his eyes and raises his nose into the air alike a meerkat. His inspection lasts only a second. With a flash of Gold-polished silver, his blade pulls from the sheath and holds at the ready.
“What’s is?” says Pedj, backing against the sistel.
“Mael,” I speak at her without need for confidant. “Raise Awyer, in case we need to make an escape.”
She nods with determination and begins summoning the bones to rise. Techton, too, sets off in a mutter, forming an incantation of defense. I pull from Awyer, readying a ball of Gold. Only Pedj refrains from action.
The street ahead of the archive is long and straight and lined with smaller government domes. Fake trees with faded yellow leaves stand in place of street signs. On the opposite end of the stretch stands a large monument – pieced together metal resembling the shape of a man. It is from that statue that I first feel the presence.
Someone indeed comes.
But as I squint through the gold of daylight, I see no figure to accompany the feeling. Not anything tangible, at any rate. It is more so as though there is a disturbance in the atmosphere. The golden sleepness pulls aside and distorts the image of the statue.
And from the darkness beyond, a figure steps.
Ah. Now I see him. Now he is tangible.
And now I hear him, whistling.
Gasp.
The gray being is alike something from a nightmare, tall and dressed in a shiny black garment that drapes to his feet and comes up to his face. The garment does not stop at his neck; its collar rises to his nose, cutting across his face so that, of his features, only his pale eyes are exposed. If there are pupils to be found within those eerie gray eyes of his, I cannot see them.
He does not walk in strides as most men do; rather, the bottom of his garment lingers just above the ground. He is as I am in some ways. But he is not faerie. And he is not human. And above all, if he is able to distort the Gold of the air, he is not to be trifled with.
“Ark,” Pedj breathes. “He’s Ark!”
“He is the one who spied through the sphinx,” Feligo charges through his teeth, whilst clutching his hilt ever tighter.
Techton ceases his mutter. “Uh-oh. I’m pretty much useless then.” Void will not attack Void. But the rest of us, we may be of use if Ark’s aim is to attack.
But why should he attack now? Why should he even show his face? Why, when he and the sphinxes allowed us to leave the Golden Lands without acknowledgement?
“Do not strike,” I instruct of Mael. “But focus your energy on raising Awy–”
“Look who it is.” The gray man’s words flow freely through me, tasting of liquid honey. I am not prepared. At once, I fall victim to their charm. Without thunder to mask their sweetness, they slip into me, wasting naught to work their intoxication. And I am not the only one affected. To my left, Techton shivers and stares at the dark shroud that is Ark’s garment.
“Hold st
eady, witch,” I warn him. “We cannot lose you just yet.” But even as I say them, my words stammer.
“Faerie.” Ark approaches only so far as the centerpoint between the statue and us, and there he waits, presumably for me. “Yes, I’m talking to you. The faerie who’s more woman than she should be. Come here.”
He wishes for me to leave the others and go to him? It is not wise to separate from those who may offer me aid. That is certain. Yet . . . perhaps speaking first with the gray man will ensure that no ‘aid’ is necessary.
So I say, but what I really wish for is to confront the man who dared use my resting pactor’s body as a tool. My sacred sphinx’s form defiled by the destroyer of the world. The thought of it heats my rage. Still, I should take caution over my next action. Ark is powerful and persuasive, and I have no way of knowing his intentions.
While I deliberate, Feligo makes motion of his own. He takes a step – a single, dangerous step with the potential to sabotage all chances of confrontation.
“No!” I make plea. “Techton, bid him to wait! There may not be need for violence!”
But my confidant is of little use. It is Mael who conveys my wishes.
“Fine!” the fox huffs, snobbish, retracing his step. “But if that’s the case, then why hasn’t he addressed us? In Azuria we have a special way of dealing with traitors and spies. As Maestro of this city, I take his silence as a confession and will initiate any and all punishment if he doesn’t speak up soon!”
“He is speaking,” I confess via Mael. “To me. Only to me, it seems. I will go to him and inquire what he wants. Be at the ready.”
And without permission, I skit away from those who may protect me. I skit away and feel my bond with Awyer straining.
I flit only a short distance nearer before calling to him. “What is it, fiend? What have you to say? Voice yourself!”
“There’s no reason to shout,” Ark speaks. “I haven’t come for your pactor who so stupidly gave up immortality. I’m here on other business. Now get over here.”
I am reluctant, for fear of trap. “If I do, will you swear to speak peaceably?” I ask.
“My business with your pactor is through. Come.”
The more he speaks, the less I need convincing. His words weave a comforting veil around my shoulders. Snug. Secure. My vision disfigures. Moving forward is the soundest option. But I must retain a clear head. For the sake of my pactor and his companions, I must . . . not . . .
In the center of the deserted street, the tall, dark being waits for me. His ears point outwards, like mine. His body skims the air, like mine.
“What are you?” I ask dizzily.
“Tsk, tsk. Why would you want to know a thing like that, faerie? Are you ready to join me now? I always knew you were willing, but to throw yourself at me when your pactor’s just over there? You’re something of a scamp, aren’t you?” I cannot tell whether he is being playful or sincere, for his eyes show no expression. “A little farther,” he coaxes. “That’s it.”
My body moves without fear. Closer. Closer. And as I come up to where he is, I feel someone following in my wake. I fight to glance over my shoulder and my skull weighs more than it should. The world moves with me in a blur, until eventually I am able to see behind me, only to find that Techton is my follower. Giving in to his lesser qualities, he follows.
“Stop him, Mael!” My words fall to the wind in a jumble. Lo, I am lucky. The broken pieces reach Mael, and at my command, she gives up her task of necromancy and begins firing enchants after Techton.
“They can see you?” The gray man’s voice is singsong. “I believe some gratitude’s in order, then. Gold’s a giving courtesan and I’m the one that introduced you to her, after all.”
Though he is wrong, I say nothing.
“So it isn’t because of Gold that they can see you,” Ark perceives anyway. “As I thought. Your aura’s very easy to read. It’s true – the Gold here isn’t thick enough to make you materialize. You have few tricks in your bag, then? Good for you.”
Is he . . . patronizing me?
“Tell me what you want,” my muzzled tongue manages. “The world is in disarray, and it was your will. My fief . . . my pactor is lost to me.”
“Don’t kid yourself, wretched faerie. He chose to go under.”
“Do not speak to me so! Either way, he would have been lost to me.”
“And either way, you shouldn’t care.”
That is truth. Were I an average naefaerie, losing my ward would not have bothered me so. But Awyer is more than my ward. He is my all.
I look to the ground, where my shadow melts with Ark’s. In my anger, I find clarity.
“What is more, you used Awyer’s body to watch us! How dare you think to defile his–”
“Listen to my words, faerie. Liiiisten.”
I close my eyes. I am wooed. My head is heavy. My body is light.
“I’m here to offer you a deal. An exchange.”
“Ex . . . change?”
“If you agree to give up Queen Necromancer, I’ll sever your bond for you. From the look of it, it’s already on the verge of snapping.”
“Queen . . . Necromancer?” Only one person in proximity matches that description: Mael. “What do you . . . want with her?”
“Let’s just say I made a mistake when I let you leave that place. Thank the Void, I was listening in, or I wouldn’t have caught it.”
“Caught . . . what?” I ask.
“Why should I tell you? Mites don’t need to know much of anything, and you exist less than a mite. All that’s important is that I heard his confession, and now that I know, I have an interest in the girl. Give her to me, faerie. You understand. It’s right to side with your kind. I freed this world for mythics like you. One day you’ll thank me, and then you’ll join me. I’ll be a greater master than you’ve ever known.”
“Thank you?” It is enough to snap me out of stupor. “Why ever would I thank you when you are what separated me from my ward?! And make no mistake – I have already met my greatest master, for he is not a master but an equal. You, oppressor, have no room to speak.”
Ark stares at me. “Don’t judge. I happen to like faeries. I feel a special fondness for them. Even nippy ones like you.”
“Is that why you force them to pact with you!? Is that why you turn them to agents?! It is your fault Chast–”
“Don’t say her name. It’s wretched. I’m still grieving.”
Suddenly my ire grows to intensity. “Do not toy with me! I know you do not care for us! You merely use us as tools and toss us away as you like!” I do not know why I react as I do. It is as if I am personally slighted. “We mean nothing to you!”
But, for my wrath, Ark is calm. “Do you have any grounds for those accusations? You don’t really know what you’re talking about, so I’ll forgive you this time. And I’ll even let you in on a secret. I don’t force your kind; I free them.”
“Ha!”
“What do you think happens when a naefaerie fails to find a pactor?”
They fade.
Or . . .
How do you KNOW you will fade if you are unpacted? To understand Ark, understand his agents.
The words of my sphinx echo in my mind.
“They don’t die,” says Ark. “They drift. As did the faeries you so brutally left behind in the Amethyst City. Without a supply of power, naefaeries can do little. I find them, and offer them the power they need. And with Void, so much more is accomplishable. They may be whatever age they want to be, go wherever they want to go, and pact with whomever they want to pact with, without fear of rejection. Sorry, faerie. I’m not the villain you want me to be. If you need to call me something, call me savior.”
Savior.
I don’t want to believe his words, but the feel of them is good.
“I can free you, like I freed them. All you need to do is give me Queen Necromancer.”
Although his words may entice, his offer is too much to sw
allow. “No . . .” I am again heavy with intoxication. “I have . . . no desire to be ‘freed’. There is one thing I desire and it is not something you . . . can . . . give me.”
“You’d really choose to be stuck to that anchor for all eternity?”
Fury – sweet, sweet fury – comes once more to my rescue, pulling me from surrender.
“He is not merely an anchor!” I lash. “Do you not see? He is more important than anyone. I . . . love him.”
Compromising.
Perhaps MOST compromising is admitting one’s weakness to an enemy.
For the first time since I have known him, Ark’s face changes expression. His forehead flinches, as does his light-headed hold on me. “You could say I’m sympathetic, faerie. I’ll leave your people be if you make a promise to me.”
Too suddenly he plays a hand of compliance. I wait for a rebuttal, though none comes.
“Did you hear me? I said I’ll leave if you make me a promise.”
Truly!? My compromising revelation makes him change his tone with such ease? I struggle to maintain composure. “It depends on what the promise is.”
“If you really feel that strongly about him, forget about waking the world and concentrate only on him. Don’t allow those necromancers anywhere near Cascade Yel’ram. Keep them far away from there. If you do that, I’ll let you seek out a cure for your pactor in peace. If you break your promise, I WILL come for him, and I won’t feel bad about it. Understand?”
“I . . .” The bond between Awyer and me is tense. I do not wish to stay away from him for long. I do not wish ever to stay away from him. “I understand,” I say.
“Then you’re released.”
“Released?”
But even as I ask, I realize that I have not been in an ordinary state. I have been away from the others too long without interruption. I understand that now.
Turning to find them, I let out a gasp. The reason they did not come for me is because I am not so easily reached. Surrounding Ark and me is a gray version of the city, devoid of life and Gold. I see domes, regal and polished, lining the cobbled metal street, and far away, seeming smaller than natural, one witch, two necromancers, and a silverfox ram their fists and bodies against something – a wall I cannot see.