by Brindi Quinn
Ah. He thinks to act as a shield to rebound any voided attacks made at Mael.
Clever.
But we will require much more wit than that if we hope to escape this mess. “Feligo,” I speak at the Maestro, “are you able to untangle?”
There is not need to ask. The fox is already rolling to his sword. He is already summoning Gold though bondaged wrists. He is shimmying against the sword’s blade to cut himself free.
But a gummy mass of Void is still caught up in his hair. It threatens to spread again. And so, holding the ends of his hair taut – in one swift, unhesitant motion – Feligo brings the sword to his mane and slices. Fine, light strands fall to the ground.
In the time it takes for a lip to quiver, Feligo is transformed. His shining hair now ends between ear and shoulder, and rests against jaw and neck. A strong man, he wears only a strong look of melancholy to see them fall.
It is quickly replaced by ardor.
It is a shame. But it is a small price to pay for freedom.
Sword raised high, the defiled fox charges Ark.
Meanwhile, the stench of hellbeast grows stronger. Potently, it fills the air.
The silverfox shoots a myriad of golden spears into Ark’s garment, but all of them fizzle before making contact. Ark’s aura is just too strong. Too dark. Too otherworldly. Feligo does not let up. If he cannot defeat Ark by magickal means, he will use physical force.
His sword gleams in reflection of sun’s light. Pointed at Ark, unfaltering, it rams.
Grosser still, the smell of hellbeast hair grows until it is too strong to breathe! Stronger than ever before! I watch Feligo’s fight and bury my nose in my shoulder. The smell of Ark’s whip is more powerful than ever I remember it! Than ever when used by the witches of Ensecré!
How . . .
. . .
My shadow has always been a constant. Even when I do not show, my shadow marks my presence. It is a small reminder that at least some small portion of me exists. That some tiny fragment of Grim lingers between tangible space. My shadow is constant.
The moment my shadow disappears, lost to a far greater shadow, is the moment I realize:
The smell of hellbeast hair does not come from Ark.
It comes from something far greater. Something to my back.
Turning my neck, I see it.
Dread.
From beneath the island, a giant creature rises in the sky – a massive creature, neither black nor white, nor any other color known to man. I cannot think of a way to describe it, for there is naught in the Vessel that holds its likeness. A color between sunset and hill, perhaps, or one between death and life. The color of a songbird’s cries, perhaps, or that of a dreaming imp. There is no color like it. Not that I have seen or heard.
But that is the color of the UNSPOKEN’s bones.
For the time, the creature is only half formed. One leg, one claw, one wing. But it is quickly turning whole. Enormous bones fly from below us, over the side of the central falls, and join with the rest of the beast. It is much larger than any animal I have ever before seen. Much more treacherous, too. Even the smallest of its bones are larger than I. Even the feel of its presence is more harrowing than a thousand of Ark’s agents.
The draggar.
A perfectly fitting creature for the name.
And the stench. The stench of the beast grows, and a suspicion within me forms. A suspicion that is confirmed when Ark’s whip of hair goes flying from his hand to join the bones.
The draggar. The UNSPOKEN. It is not that we have never heard of it before. It is that we knew of it under a different name.
The draggar, protector of Yel’ram, is so, so much more.
The draggar is the hellbeast.
We were right to doubt the prophecy and the Yel’ram Truth.
“MAEL!” I wail her name in hopes that it will somehow touch her. “DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU ARE DOING?! THIS IS THE HELLBEAST! YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY HOPE TO TAME IT! IT WILL CONSUME US ALL! THE PROPHECY IS A FALSITY! CEASE YOUR NECROMANCY AT ONCE!”
But either Mael does not hear or she does not listen. The bones continue to rise.
I have come to care for the others. Truly I have. I did not ask for it and I did not expect it, but relying on those who are not wards has changed me, somehow.
But Awyer yet rests.
I care for the others. Truly I do.
But Awyer’s life comes first. I must get him out of the hellbeast’s vicinity. I pull from him. With everything in me, I will that every last drop of his inherent Gold would move through him to me. I pull and I pull, and when the enchant finally comes, it comes bright. My hands light golden, searing away the shackles of Void.
“FELIGO! TECHTON! GET AWAY FROM THIS PLACE!”
I make a dive for the side of the dried pool in an effort to return from the fold of Gold. Alas, my legs are unpracticed. I stumble and trip.
I turn to the only one I may for help. “COUNT BEXWIN! DO SOMETHING!”
The lines between friend and foe blur. The lines between savior and enemy blur.
Recovered from his brother’s attack, Bexwin hobbles to where I stagger. “What precisely do you want me to do?” he says in a hiss.
The draggar’s presence daunts.
“Is this what you thought would happen?!” I say.
“Why, are you displeased? Mercy me.”
“Of course I am displeased! We cannot stand by while–”
“Sure we can. Watch us.”
With that, he takes my shoulders and pushes me into submission. My weak legs go easily to the ground. The Count puts his chin against the top of my head and digs it in slightly harder than is comfortable. When I start to struggle, he presses harder.
“Pay attention, faerie,” he says. “Look what you’ve done.”
“What I have?”
“That’s right. Weren’t you the one that pressured the stripling in the first place? Naefaeries and their gift of foresight. Without you, I expect we’d all be in a very different place right now.” His tone is amused.
“Why are you not frightened?” I ask.
“Are you joking?” he says with mocking. “I’m overjoyed. Arkraine didn’t make it in time. The Queen Necromancer’s almost finished.”
“We must do something.” I struggle against him. “Do you really think the draggar will rid the world of color?”
“Rid the world of color . . . Or destroy us all. Whichever, it really doesn’t matter to me.”
“Just so that you can go down with your brother knowing you as an enemy?!” Foolish. “If that is the case, then why did you not end your own life long ago?!”
Out of anger I say something wretched.
Even within the chaotic space, my words resound, an echoing reminder of my greatest sin.
I once killed one of my wards.
He begged that I should end his life, for his sorrow was great and his resolve was weak. His merit was weak. It was his time. Our ages were met, and I was fated to kill him.
It was not difficult to end that silverfox’s life.
For that silverfox did not wish to live.
Dishonorable man he was.
“What fun would there be in that?” is Bexwin’s ignoble response.
Shocking.
“Shush now, faerie. I’m interested to find out the end of this story, aren’t you? The day Ark the Gray died.”
Feligo and Techton and even the gray man himself have stopped their pursuits in lieu of the looming threat at our backs. Bone moves to bone, and the beast forms. I shout and struggle and will that we would escape this prison. Outside, the villagers’ devotion falters. The beast’s presence is much to bear. Even if they cannot see us within the fold of Gold, they can see the draggar. They can smell its vileness. In a matter of minutes, half of the people clear.
They are wise to run.
The rest will fall.
Armani and Sanjuel will fall. They are among those who remain.
Catching his senses
, Feligo again turns on Techton, intent on reaching Mael by whatever means he may. Feligo dodges around Techton, sword instead fixed on the necromancer. Techton is swifter, however. He calls a bolt of Void to strike the Maestro from behind. Feligo falls, and this time, he does not show signs of moving again.
“Feligo!”
Without the hellbeast hair in his grasp, Ark glides backward from the rabid witch and begins to move his hands through the air. He calls upon other forces of darkness to do his bidding. A bubbling cloud of smoke forms into existence around his ankles. It gains, massing, until it reaches his knees, then comes up from behind him and splits into two. One shoots to the right of Techton, the other shoots to the left. The human shield will not be able to shield his lady against both. The witch does not seem to notice. First rebounding the right attack, he makes a dive for the left. He is too late.
The left smoke, pointed like an arrowhead snake, moves toward Mael. Its target is set. Its path is clear. It lashes.
Timing is in Mael’s favor. Only a breath before the arrowhead hits, Pedj’s sun swells. It covers all, drowning Bexwin and me and even the Yel’ram necromancers beyond the fold in searing light.
“YESSS!” Bexwin’s melodic hiss reaches my ears, though naught but light reaches my eyes.
Mael has won. But I cannot say for certain whether that is bad or good.
The spell of light lingers over us, quieting – or perhaps disquieting. Stillness. Anticipation. Ambiguity. And when it lifts, it does not lift fully. Rather, the light moves – from over Pedj’s fallen frame and into the core of the hellbeast itself. Within its great chest of bones, light gleams in place of a heart.
It is over?
It is not over.
The sunlit heart begins to act. Through each of the colored bones, light moves. From center outward, light courses through the creature, and wherever is touched by light, flesh begins to form. Golden hide wraps over colored bones. Muscle, sinew, blood. The beast is more than raised; it is brought wholly back to life!
But all the same, I suspect it may not be brought back to its original state. The hellbeast is a creature of wrath and malice. One of secrets and Void. One of spite and greed. Those ingredients musk it with the indigestible scent. This new beast, on the other hand, is a creature of light and Gold. The more the flesh forms, the weaker the stench becomes until it is all but a putrid memory.
A prophesized light – light from the sun – bequeathed secretly unto the necromancers, is able to alter even the most voided of beasts?
Within the draggar’s chest, the golden heart pumps. Upon massive wings, the creature lifts. And then it lowers, landing before Mael and shaking the central falls.
Now that she is no longer covered in glow, I am able to see more clearly her expression. She looks to the beast with a kind fondness. She extends her hand to caress its snout, and the draggar responds by bowing its great, scaled head.
While I am still beneath Bexwin’s grasp, there is another who is not so still. Ark takes no fear of the creature, but recalls the arrowheads of Void and instead directs them at the beast. Mael does nothing to stop him. Lo, her expression is nonchalant. She looks at him as she would a chipperpillar crossing her path. The arrowheads of Void inflate. They grow until they are as large as one of the beast’s mighty claws, and when they are at approving size, Ark sends them plowing for the creature of light.
Alas for him, the creature’s hide is a strong and repelling hide. The attacks bounce away, through the barrier and into the remaining crowd. Distantly, the devoted scream.
Mael raises her hand in warning.
I say that it is in warning, for her expression does not falter. Behind her cool eyes there is no amount of malevolence. Set on Ark, her eyes are steady. The gray man takes the warning. With a spin, he disappears into a cloud of smoke.
Mael lowers her hand.
Techton growls.
The Count releases me and I attempt to make even my quickened pulse and breaths.
Feligo is still. Pedj is still. And for the first time, I understand what their stillness means.
“Th-they are . . .” Words and legs shaking, I use Bexwin’s shoulder as a crutch to steady myself upward. I take a few wobbling steps at the new Queen Necromancer. “They are dead!” I cry. “You killed Feligo and Pedj.”
“Didn’t,” Mael says, shaking her head. “They’re oka.”
“They . . . are?” I am slow to believe her. Their beaten frames suggest otherwise. “But the prophecy says that you must kill Pedj to rid the world of color! You mean to say that you have not?”
“Ain’t over yet, Mistress,” Mael says. She points to massive draggar bent to her will. “Gotta take this kitty home first.”
“Home?” I question. “What do you . . .?”
“You’s gonna see Ower again. And Techt’s gonna get on all right, too. Even Pedjram . . .” Her brow line quivers. “Even he’ll be oka, I’s sure.”
But she is not sure. I can read it on her face.
“Mael, what is going on? Do you mean to say you do not intend to kill the zombie? Will you truly be able to rid the world of magicks without doing so? And do you have any idea what state the world will be in when you are through?”
Queen Necromancer opens her mouth to respond, but a certain dark thing beats her to it.
“Well now, Grim,” says Techton. “Before all of that, don’t you think we ought to greet each other properly?” Bearing a smile reminiscent of the days we first met, he gives a small wave. “I feel awful about the way I acted before. Heh. Wasn’t really myself then, and I put a lot of strain on you. I took the job of being your voice, but I kind of sucked, huh? The urge was just too great. It was like you said – some people are born with hungry veins. I’ve got a better handle on it now. Come here. I’ll show you.”
Were he not marked by Void, I might be foolish enough to believe his claims, but there is staleness to him, and behind the smile, something too eager hides. He wishes me to come to him? It is more than that. He is desperate that I should come, as though he has never wanted anything greater.
He is hungry.
To test the theory, I allow a small helping of Gold to form in my palm. Merely the size of one lonely pea.
Even that, the witch smells. He charges me, formality to the wind. Luckily, his lady is prepared, and with a burst of Gold, she throws something at him. The golden collar materializes around his neck while the leash’s end materializes in Mael’s dainty palm.
“Stop it, Techt!” she shouts. “You promised you wouldn’t!”
If the dark thing wishes to charger further, he cannot. The chain pulls taut and the Azurian is choked back. He takes a moment to calm, and in the aftermath looks to be inhaling large helpings of air. But it is not air. With each breath, Gold moves down the chain, from Mael’s hand, and into the collar.
Ah. The contraption is such that Techton may freely drink of Mael.
In this way, she has become his warden and he has become her ward. Or maybe it is the other way around.
“Intriguing,” Bexwin says from behind me.
I had nearly forgotten that he was there! I whirl to get his take on the events that have transpired, but am disappointed to find him kicked backward in the dirt, much in the way one would enjoy a picnic.
“Do you not find any of this the least bit alarming?!”
“We’re not dead, are we?” Bexwin sneers. “I thought you’d be happy by that, at least.”
“What is wrong with you!?”
“Gotta get on now, Grim,” Queen Necromancer breaks me from the frustrating man.
Again, I whirl to find her already atop the draggar. She means to ride it?!
“Don’t got time to talk to Pedjram.” She pauses and her eyes threaten tearfulness. “No. Can’t talk to him. Not unless he forgives me.” This time tearfulness wins. “Tell him to meet me where I first met you and Ower,” she says, weepy. “If that’s what he wants.”
Where she first met us? The place comes to
mind and with it brings a wrenching of the gut. Ensecré. My least favorite of places! Mael wants me to send Pedj there?!
“Why must he meet you there?” I ask of her.
“Ain’t ended yet. That’s where it’ll. What’s is, is if you wanna wake Ower, there’s the place what’s gonna wake first.”
My blood rushes at the word wake. My heart races at the word first. Long have I feared my fading pact. An unspoken anxiety has gripped me – the thought that my pact might break before the sleepness is cured.
Wake first.
And while my thought races with vibrant imagery of Awyer freed from Dimensia, Mael orders Techton to climb up the draggar’s nose. Next, she turns to Bexwin. “You comin’?”
“Oh?” For the first time, the Count shows a hint of something resembling excitement. “I’m invited?”
“You brought Pedjram. You can come.”
Bexwin’s smile curls. “Excellent.” He makes haste to join the others, climbing upon one of the beast’s massive claws and lounging as though he is riding one of the floating platforms of Eldrade.
He is leisurely. In his eyes, he has already won his fight.
I cannot say the same. As I look between my three fallen comrades, I feel responsibility’s unwelcomed weight upon my shoulders. Pedj . . . Feligo . . . and more importantly than the rest, Awyer.
“Sorry, Grim,” Mael goes on. “You stay. Gotta tell Pedjram where to go. I’s gonna leave a path for you. Oka? I’ll wait ‘s long’s I can. Oka?”
“I . . .”
She does not wait for answer. The moment Bexwin and Techton are situated upon the golden draggar, she taps it atop the head, and with silent terror, it rises into the air. Its wings make massive whooshing waves through the air.
“Wait, Mael!” I order. “Do not leave so suddenly! If the part about Pedj dying was not true, then what of the rest of the prophecy? How can you trust any other part of it if that part did not come true?!”
Unless . . .
Unless Pedj’s death is yet to come?!
Is they why she wishes me to lead him to Ensecré?! To lure him to his death?! Is she really such a good deceptress that her tears are false?