Through the Black Veil

by Steve Vera

  They looked at each other. The Shardyn stirred from their circle.

  “I’m kinda thirsty,” Skip volunteered, eyeballing what looked like wine inside the decanter. “How ’bout you?” He took the top off the decanter and gave it a little sniff.

  Mmmmm. It was wine, all right. Light and fresh. Skip sniffed again and imagined he smelled hints of raspberry and toasted vanilla.

  Something moved in the back of Amanda’s eyes. “Maybe a sip,” she said with a shrug.

  Skip poured her a full glass. One sip, my ass, he thought and poured himself one as well.

  A moment later Dwensolt re-kicked open his door, but this time, he wedged it. Proud of his ingenuity he raced up the cellar stairs, holding a silver tray brimming with blackberries, a wheel of cheese, purple grapes the size of plums and a jar of honey.

  “Don’t just stand there like a gorgon’s prey,” Dwensolt barked at Amanda. “Assist!”

  Amanda looked at him inquisitively and then at Skip.

  “Dwensolt, she has no idea what you’re saying.”

  “Bah.” He jammed his hand into his pouch, scowled as he came up empty, pried one of his own rings off his right hand, barked a spidery syllable at it, where it jumped in his hand just like the other one had—Skip was glad for another witness—and then he was shoving it at her. He motioned his hand impatiently for her to put it on. “Quicker!” The moment she did he was giving her orders. “Come, do you know how to spit a boar?” He turned toward the others. “You, too, Shardyn women, quicker! There are tasks to be had!”

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” Skip said with a smirk.

  “Don’t even think about slacking,” Amanda said to him, narrowing her eyes before following the Druid into his home. A minute later she emerged with three more wheels of cheese under her arm and a stack of wooden plates in the other.

  “You’re a natural table-setter.”

  “I’m warning you, Skip...”

  With a laugh, Skip made his way down the stairs to the cellar. Why start a fight with the only normal Earth person on this whole world? Besides, there was something centering about performing mundane chores. Something normal about it. He helped Tarsidion carry out three tables from inside, found himself julienning a bowl of wild onions and purple mushrooms with a bone-handled knife, while the unmistakable fragrance of baking bread filled his nostrils. His mouth watered.

  When twilight fell, only a half hour later, dozens of small spheres of green and gold lit up, glowing atop the various posts adorning Dwensolt’s extensive grounds. The ambiance was warm and soft, the type of light that made even the ugliest things beautiful somehow.

  Soon, the oppression of vanquished spirits and eviscerated morale gave way to the strange mix of serenity and Dwensolt’s bustling. Gavin had relieved Amanda of boar-spitting duty and it was now roasting mouth-wateringly over a medium fire. Every time Dwensolt came out he was carrying something to eat or drink. On one table was a bowl of orange-brown mushroom caps with stems that looked like spaghetti, bean pods the color of limes, three gutted trout-looking fish, creamy cheese wheels veined with blue, seven different bottles of wine and a bunch of other stuff.

  It just kept coming. Food, drink, more food and more drink.

  Once the last vestige of the day had dissipated and the world beyond the gardens was dark, Dwensolt looked up, cleared his voice and then began to chant. His voice, low and hypnotic, mixed with the gentle tinkle of the windchimes and bells wrapped around certain branches and then disappeared in a sudden breeze. When the air became still again, a haunting flute began to pipe from the forest beyond. It was joined by some sort of wind pipe and a few moments later a dulcet, angelic voice joined them.

  “A feast without music is like mead without honey,” Dwensolt said to Skip conspiratorially.

  “Indeed, good Druid, indeed. High-five,” Skip said holding up his hand. Dwensolt stared at him as if he’d just farted at a funeral. “It’s all right, hit my hand.” Nothing. “Amanda?”

  Amanda stepped up and gave Skip a good one.

  “Hoo-ya,” he said with a hard nod.

  Dwensolt merely shook his head and muttered something about insults in rock D’worf.

  By the time they ate, Skip could have eaten a moose. He feasted on sizzling strips of boar smothered in blackberry chutney with a hint of spice, crunched into fresh bread that steamed after every bite and devoured a whole bushel of those jellyfish-looking mushrooms, alongside a hearty serving of sliced potatoes lathered in wild honey and sage. He was sure to swallow it down with a mighty fine assortment of wine. It was fun to try and match it to something similar he might have had on Earth, but they were all different.

  And delicious.

  Bright, crisp aromatic whites that paired with the fruit, softer golds they drank with slices of the crumbly, blue-veined cheeses and a hearty, oaky red to complement the boar.

  It didn’t take long for Skip to get drunk. Not long for any of them. Except for Donovan, of course. Mr. Shades was doing his regular creepy thing, watching from afar.

  “High fiiiiiive!” Skip yelled to Dwensolt for the seventh time.

  “Foo-ya!” Dwensolt yelled back as their hands slapped loudly. The two of them laughed uproariously before tossing back what remained in their glass.

  “You’re a cool cat, Dwensolt.”

  “And yet again I find your manner of speech completely baffling,” Dwensolt said, swaying as he sat. “You are a strange man, master Skrip, but I suspect a good one.”

  “I’d like to make a toast,” Gavin said while standing on a rock. His eyes were glassy and swollen. He teetered ever so slightly and stood a good ten seconds before speaking. “To the fallen,” he said in a strong voice that wavered with emotion. He held up his goblet high.

  “To the fallen,” they repeated and raised their glasses, each staring at memories only they could see.

  “To new friends,” Skip said before he knew what he was doing.

  “To new friends,” they repeated and once again all drank.

  There was a small pause and then Tarsidion stepped forward. “To victory,” he rumbled, and this time everyone yelled it. “To victory!” Tarsidion stood there and soaked it up, grim-faced but proud.

  “To rebuilding,” Donovan rasped, and even the music in the forest stopped. Skip hadn’t heard a peep out of him all night. All eyes went to the young stranger who stood by himself, apart from the rest on the other side of the table and even now, was wearing his Aviators.

  “To rebuilding what?” Gavin asked.

  Donovan looked at him, the glow of a nearby sphere of golden light reflecting in his red sunglasses. “Everything.”

  His smile could have spooked a shark.

  He was the only one who drank.

  Chapter 20

  “Awaken, Sur Stavengre! The sun has found its way over the World Ridge, behold!”

  Gavin cracked open his eyes and stifled a groan as bright-eyed and bushy-haired Dwensolt stood over him. He was pointing through a window at the mountains in the distance, a leather pouch bursting at the seams slung over his shoulder, face brimming with smiles.

  “Breakfast awaits. Refresh yourselves at once and prepare,” Dwensolt continued with far too much vigor. He rubbed his hands together. “From this moment on I shall be a scribe as well, detailing the events of the Return of the Seven Apprentices and the final victory over the Drynn! Come quickly. The day awaits.” At that, Dwensolt disappeared down the stairs, his off-key voice lilting into a song that followed him outside the door and into the grounds.

  “He’s way loud,” Amanda observed and plopped her head back onto her pillow. In seconds she was sleeping again. She’d always needed a snooze button.

  Gavin massaged his face and sniffed, taking an inventory with bleary eyes. It had been a long time s
ince he’d had been hung over. Usually he had more sense but last night, yesterday...was a soul-shaker. A day of mourning.

  Today, however, was a new day.

  How had they gotten here, anyway? Their quarters were cozy if not unorthodox. In the back of Dwensolt’s grounds was a temple, overgrown with vines and ivy but well-built (which led Gavin to believe that Dwensolt had nothing to do with its construction) and heavily protected by a platoon of thorn-shooting shrubbery. They were on the second floor, in what Gavin could only guess was a meditation room. A small basin on the west wall gurgled soothingly between two large ferns with leaves so thick a wall was formed. Bathroom.

  “C’mon, babe, rise and shine,” Gavin said gently and wiped a lock of hair off her cheek.

  “Mmm, five more minutes,” she mumbled and turned over onto her shoulder.

  He caught Cirena staring at him but she looked away quickly, found something interesting outside the window. He pretended he hadn’t caught her. Tarsidion was already stretching his long, heavily muscled arms above him, and Noah was sitting with her legs crisscrossed, the same green book she’d always had opened on her lap as she mouthed her daily devotionals.

  “Is it me or does last night feel like a dream?” Skip wondered aloud in a sleepy, croaky voice, fingers laced behind his head.

  “It’s you,” Cirena said and stood, which had the effect of a Taser gun on Skip. She wasn’t wearing any armor. None of them were. Her long, firm, shapely legs seemed to go straight up to her chin. She gave Skip a don’t-even-think-about it glance, hooked Gavin’s attention with a dreamy-eyed coy little smirk and then padded toward the basin murmuring by the wall and slipped behind the ferns.

  “You have some drool on your chin,” Noah remarked without looking up from her book.

  “It happens,” he said and exhaled slowly.

  Amanda had begun to snore quietly.

  “Dawdling knights!” Dwensolt’s voice drifted from the courtyard. “Your fare grows cold! Must I send the Krakenwood to fetch you? Quicker!”

  “C’mon, Amanda, up and at ‘em. Unless you want Dwensolt to make good on his threats.”

  With a dramatic groan Amanda sat up and smacked her lips sleepily. “Why didn’t you tell me to hydrate last night?” she asked, holding her head in her hands.

  “Bet my headache’s worse than yours.”

  “Couldn’t you just twinkle your nose and heal us? Because that would be awesome.”

  Gavin answered by offering his hand.

  She regarded it through squinty eyes. “Couldn’t you?” she persisted.

  “I could,” he said, hauling her up. “But the next time it would be harder to heal you and less effective, the time after that even more so.”

  “Really?” Some of the pain cleared from her eyes. “Like building a tolerance to penicillin?”

  Gavin smiled. “Exactly. And who said I loved you just for your body?”

  “I guess that sort of makes sense,” she said. “How about you? How much of a tolerance have you built up?”

  Gavin laughed. “It would take an Arch Druid just to clear up a stuffy nose. I’m afraid my days of healings are about done.”

  Cirena returned from the fountain. The two girls looked each other up and down as only women could and then moved past each other.

  Skip chuckled.

  “Something funny, officer?” Amanda asked.

  “Hell yeah,” he said with a smile.

  A thorn the size of a steak knife thudded into the wall, a piece of parchment pierced through the middle. Quicker! It read scrawled in red ink.

  Both Gavin and Skip looked out the window and saw Dwensolt raise his arms in exasperation. He pointed at a table heaped with food.

  “Why do I get the feeling he’s coming with us?” Skip said.

  “It does look that way, doesn’t it?”

  By the time they got down, Dwensolt was fuming, tapping his foot and glaring. There had been another two pieces of parchment with warnings scrawled into them.

  He pointed to the table. “Eat,” he grunted. On one table was a brown ceramic bowl filled with steaming water, bobbing with poached quail eggs, beside small loaves of buttered blackbread crumbled with bacon lardon, fresh fruit and wine glasses filled with juice.

  “Note to self. Druids rock breakfast,” Skip said and went for the other table, heaped with clusters of juicy raspberries, sprigs of mint and honeyed crepes.

  Gavin hadn’t planned to eat, still queasy from last night’s wine, but he didn’t particularly feel like agitating their host any more than he was. He dug in.

  “Enough!” Dwensolt said after five minutes of impatient nibbling at his plate. They all looked at him, some with full mouths, others in midbite. “Come, come, come, dawdlers, there is something you must see. Quicker!” At that he bounded away deeper into the gardens, his staff leading the way.

  “Did he say if he was coming with us or not?” Skip asked, leaning in to Gavin.

  “No. But what better guide through the wilds of Theia than a Druid?”

  “I was afraid you might say that.”

  The spring in Dwensolt’s step was contagious, despite Gavin’s hangover. His hope was a long shot, a mere tickle in the gut, but Gavin could feel what was about to happen. He gnawed on his thumbnail. C’mon Dwensolt, don’t let me down. Following the Druid through the dewy grass, he held his breath and played along. None of the others had a clue.

  Dwensolt stopped in a small field toward the back of his grounds.

  “Wait here, and for the love of all things sacred, do not move! I don’t want you scaring them away.”

  “Scare what away?” Noah asked.

  “You’ll see! You’ll see!” His earlier crotchety irritation had been replaced with a gleam. Quickly, almost breathlessly, Dwensolt dashed across the field toward the green stone tower standing in the middle of it.

  It wasn’t a big tower as they went, more of an overlook than anything else, but it was a good thirty feet up. They watched Dwensolt sprint faster than any old man had a right to, climb the stairs that spiraled around the tower’s neck, disappear into a single door only to reappear a second later on top, staff in hand. He glanced down, flashed them an excited wink and an exaggerated glower not to move, and then faced the sky.

  “I’m kinda curious,” Skip offered.

  Dwensolt closed his eyes, took a breath and chanted into the wind. Even from the fifty-foot distance, Gavin could feel the electric, herbal scent of magic pooling around them. A long, vacillating whistle emerged from Dwensolt’s mouth, impossibly loud, and was whipped away from a gale that came from behind them.

  Seconds ticked past into a minute. And then another minute. Dwensolt faced the sky with the confidence of a fisherman awaiting the tide. More minutes went past, marked by the calls of birds.

  And then Gavin saw them. Spots at first, but they began to take shape the closer they got. Feathered wings, manes of hair and hooves...

  Amanda grabbed his arm. “Oh my God, Gavin, are those what I think they are? Are those what I think they are?”

  Yup. They sure were. He’d seen a small herd of them on his little astral projection the other night.

  “What was it you said the other day, Skip?” Gavin asked the slack-jawed chief of police whose eyes were stapled to the horizon. Even Donovan stared.

  “Refresh me,” Skip said without moving his head.

  “It went something like...‘keep your pantyhose on.’”

  Chapter 21

  There were five of them. Five of the most gorgeous, magnificent creatures Amanda had ever imagined standing in front of her, all rippling muscles and blowing manes.

  And wings.

  Pegasi.

  The three mares were silver, flecked with deep purple that matched their hooves a
nd the long hair of their fetlocks. They were enormous, too, at least seventeen hands, maybe eighteen. The other two were even bigger...stallions.

  I don’t know if this makes it all worth it, but it sure is a great start.

  The first of the two stallions was a brilliant, vibrant turquoise closer to green than blue, with a head and legs as black as obsidian. He folded his wings, which were white like all of their wings, and watched with eyes that were wiser than any horse’s.

  The last, and yes, most impressive was a gigantic golden ivory stallion behemoth. Twenty hands at least. He nickered powerfully and put his head into Dwensolt’s hand, who had rejoined them from the tower.

  “Yes, mighty Bronwyn, you came when I called, and for that I am grateful.” Dwensolt scratched his hair affectionately.

  The five Pegasi stood in regal splendor and appraised the assembled before them.

  “They will take us as far as the footcrags to the Ridge but no farther. Beyond that the skies are ruled by fire-drakes and gryphons.”

  Amanda heard his words but they were far away. If only she had a camera, or an apple...

  “Can I touch one?” she blurted. She looked around briefly to see if she were the only one who was so affected. She was. Everyone was awed, but nothing close to Amanda.

  “Approach slowly and hold your hand open to him,” Dwensolt said. “If he approves, he will allow your touch. If not, step away. Do you understand, Amanda Kasey?”

  “I understand,” she said, feeling like she was in a trance. There were butterflies racing in circles around her belly. At his nod, Amanda approached, heart pounding, and held up her hand to the golden Pegasus. He sniffed her palm with hot breath that tickled her skin and nickered softly. He lowered his head to her. Trembling, she glided her fingers over his powerful neck and into the luxuriant mane of hair that hung like coarse silk from the crest of his neck. He pressed his head into her hand.