by Matt Khourie
Urda rested a gentle hand on the Beast’s paw and guided the medallion back to his mane. “Take heart, Beast of Briarburn. Your fate is no more certain than the next man’s. All you carry from this moment, your fears, your strength, and yes even your weakness can protect you from that fate. But only if you recognize which is which.”
The Beast grumbled a minor complaint about Urda’s cryptic words but the old woman hushed him with a wave. She extended her arm and this time the Beast was swift to take it.
“Come. This wind is fit to chill a witch’s heart. Let us find the fire. In the morning, you will visit Sensheeri. An old friend there may be of further service. I yet have a trick that will aid your travels.”
***
A bright sapphire star penetrated the newly settled cloud cover where the macabre theatre had been drawn. Polaris shined down with increasing intensity. The light filtered down in a spiral, enveloping the Troll’s Breath in its center.
Chapter 7
Sensheeri was founded at the edge of Lake Tamahl, the largest lake in the Once Kingdom. The mammoth body took weeks to traverse under the most accommodating happenstance. At its deepest Tamahl was several times deeper than man’s natural ability to dive. For generations, Sensheeri’s people worked the bountiful waters as fisherman and salvager. The town was raised in circular fashion like the rings of a tree; proud evidence of growth and prosperity. Sensheeri’s domiciles and small shops were also perfect circles, owing to a belief that evil spirits preferred shadowy corners to use as portals.
Daybreak found vendors of bolted wool and cured meats pushing carts through the modest marketplace. Cries of cheap wares and scandalous bargains melded into a continuous buzz. A bakery teased the air with scents of sweet bread, a welcome distraction from the scent of brine. A small armada of fishing boats cinched to a pair of barnacled piers rolled on gentle tides. Icy winter months provided no respite: the lake remained under daily siege by eager crews preparing their vessels for launch. Men bundled in thick coats scurried across the docks, carrying supplies for the long day ahead. Lines were cast off and wives wished for safe returns, their breath dotting the morning air like smoke signals.
Lia knelt in front of Sensheeri’s bakery, watching a pack of children kick a patchwork ball around a muddied stretch of road. Her shoulder length hair was the color of baker’s chocolate, carelessly cinched with a pale blue ribbon. She wanted nothing more than to join them at play, but knew better than to ask. She was different and they would never let her forget it.
She pressed a tiny twig of a finger into the snow, doodling nothing in particular. The nothing was soon a box. Another scribble and it became a house. Next to the box-house came a family of stick figures. She giggled at the accidental giants beside the tiny home. How peculiar, she thought. A wave and a whisper and the canvas of snow became blank once more.
Startled by a sudden chill, Lia looked up from the snow, cautiously looking around. No one had noticed. She breathed a sigh of relief. Magic in all forms was expressly forbidden by the queen. Even simple gestures like asking the snow to erase itself. Lia didn’t understand why it were so. How silly that something as wonderful as painting the sky over Festival with tiny comets was forbidden?
A tall boy noticed Lia off by herself. Philip sneered, carefully lining up his next kick. With a dull thump, the ball sailed over the slush covered road. He took off in hot pursuit, knowing full well where it would land. A growing shadow darkened Lia’s snowy canvas. The dirty ball bumped her knees and spread mud through her work space. Sighing, she looked up and found a most expected Philip grinning down from behind a mask of filth. Lia fought back a gag. Philip smelled of manure and the fishmonger, a wretched stench that could fell a charging bull.
“What are ya drawing today, durp?”
Lia shrugged. She hated the word ‘durp’, essentially a slur meaning ‘outcast’. The other children were fast at Philip’s side, loyal minions all.
“Leave me alone, Philip.” Lia’s voice was soft but steady. Sadly, being bullied was a way of life. She took a deep breath. ‘Don’t give in starshine’, she heard Cedrik say in her head. Her back stiffened a bit.
“I asked you a question, durp!” Philip shrugged his shoulder with more than a little menace.
“Yeah durp, what’s that supposed to be?” Another boy chimed in, emboldened by his boss.
The urge to lash out germinated deep in Lia’s belly, rising steadily into her lungs. She knew she shouldn’t give in. It never ended well and usually supplied them with additional fodder. Instead, her amber eyes darted back and forth, hoping for a nearby elder.
No such luck.
“Maybe it was supposed to be her matar,” a fat, pig-faced girl oinked in a nasally voice, “the mother she doesn’t have!”
The band of bullies laughed at Pig-face’s cruel jab. Lia’s eyes watered, but no tears fell. She swore to deny them the pleasure of seeing her cry. She climbed to her feet, deftly dabbing her eyes. Her brave act lit the powder keg inside Philip’s mean streak. The bully’s shove sent Lia reeling through the muddy snow and flopping into a freezing puddle.
“Stay in the gutter where you belong.” Philip trampled the rest of the clean patch of snow. “No more stupid pictures today, durp.”
Lia shivered, looking on in sad disbelief. Not for her pictures, or for Philip’s cruelty. She pitied Philip and the others. How sad and hurt they must be on the inside. Philip racked his brain for another insult. The wheels turned then stalled. Frustrated, Philip wound up a kick instead. If he couldn’t hurt Lia with words...
“You little demons leave that girl alone,” called a stern voice. It was instantly soothing to Lia as always and in the air like a woodwind. Cedrik made for the crowd of bullies, walking stick leading the way. A battered lute was strapped to his back, partially obscured by folds of his cloak. He stopped, pinning the stick beneath his arm, and adjusted his blindfold.
Philip picked up the ragged ball and flung it hard. “Mind your own business, old man!”
Without dropping his seeing-stick, Cedrik caught the ball with a flash of his hand. He held the captured projectile in place for a moment before offering a sly smile, much to Philip’s chagrin. Satisfied that he had Philip’s attention, Cedrik returned fire with perfect aim. The impact forced Philip to stumble. Cedrik stooped and helped Lia to her feet. He quietly asked if she were ok. Lia was equally awestruck by Cedrik’s keen reflexes. She mumbled a meek ‘yes’.
“You kids run along.”
“Lucky throw,” Philip muttered, hands yet stinging. “Come on then, let’s have another kick up the road.” Philip tossed the ball up and kicked it away.
“They’re just little fools. We can only hope they outgrow it someday,” Cedrik offered as he lowered himself to a bench. His intervention came as quickly as his rickety knees had allowed. The price was a paltry soreness and well worth it.
Lia sat beside her savior, feet dangling, eyes filling with tears. “I know. It’s just...” With her tormentors gone her voice finally cracked. Sobs quickly followed.
Cedrik rested a thin arm around his ward. “It’ll be ok, starshine.”
Lia dried her eyes. What would she do without her ’pafaa’? Cedrik was more than a grandfather. He was a constant source of love and guidance that far exceeded any such title. She was grateful for his many lessons on the world’s magical wonders. Of utmost importance, he lectured, was starlight. Cedrik taught her of the Breath and Blight and how they were the balancing halves that made magic a family. Death and decay are natural parts of life. It is the darkness of mankind’s heart that corrupts the starlight and spawns evil into our world.
Cedrik swung the lute from underneath his cloak and strummed a few chords. The melody was hypnotic; legendary throughout the lakeside villages for its ability to soothe fussy newborns. His record on the subject was spotless. Lia proved no different from the day she was born. Seven chords later, Lia was all cried out and
smiling.
“Feel better, starshine?”
Lia hugged the old man with the tight squeeze of a grateful grandchild.
“I think those little demons will get what’s coming to them someday,” Cedrik said, pointing the seeing-stick.
“I think you’re right.” Lia closed her eyes and whispered a secret meant only for the wind’s ear. A strange glyph formed in her mind and her nimble fingers began to scribble in the air. Lia’s enchantment settled upon the ball, encasing it with a golden shine. It took on a life of its own, bouncing wildly, running amok through Philip’s band. Her tormentors shrieked in confused terror.
Pig-face tried escaping on her stubby legs, but the ball danced around her feet and sent her sprawling. Philip cried the loudest when the ball singled him out for a double share of punishment. The golden enchantment spread to his boot laces, tying them together while a newly golden sweater flew over his head. The scratchy garment snagged under Philip’s bulbous nose, blocking his vision.
A giggle escaped Lia despite her best attempts at stifling. Cedrik was thankful for a mind capable of painting the chaotic and gratifying picture. Philip bucked against the enchanted sweater and knotted boot strings. “Oh, oh there he goes!” Cedrik snickered.
Philip spun around, tripped, and fell face first into a frozen dung pile. The others remained at the mercy of the still rampaging ball, flattening backsides and faces as it saw fit.
“That’s quite enough, young lady,” Sensheeri’s mountain of a sheriff called. He brushed at the thick ginger moustache foresting his upper lip.
Cedrik attempted to mount a defense. “Oh Jack, she was just having a bit of fun. And bullies are not to be appeased.”
“Ced, you know the law. Absolutely no magic. And besides, you shouldn’t want her stooping to their level.” Jack stared at Lia as he stressed the point.
“But Jack, you’re the one who always says how magic is the most precious part of our world. It’s what pushes us forward when we most want to run home!” Lia pouted. “Besides, I’m tired of being bullied all the time.”
Cedrik’s pride swelled. The child by his side, so small and fragile, had proven once again to be much sturdier than she was given credit.
Jack took a knee, still doubling Lia’s height. “Magic is very important. But using it to reflect malice is wrong. Even if it means we have to turn the other cheek. Magic is a dangerous tool, more dangerous than all of our axes and gaffing hooks combined. When we use magic for vengeance a little flicker of our soul’s shine is eaten away. And soon enough we find we have none left to light our way. Do you understand, dutre?”
Lia nodded, knowing Jack to be right. He was always right. She appreciated hearing the traditional word for daughter. It offered additional balm against Philip’s terrible slur. Jack opened a sweeping wingspan. Lia barreled face first into his ample belly, arms not even close to reaching around Jack’s waist. The sheriff’s arms wrapped around her. With a surprise scoop, Lia was deposited on a burly shoulder.
Jack’s tone darkened. “Word on the Road is that the queen is becoming woefully intolerant of even the smallest transgressions. The Wakeful are sweeping the countryside, just itching to find people daring to dabble in magic-craft.”
A shiver ran up Lia’s spine. Though too young to fully grasp the tyranny at large in her tiny world, the uneasiness in Jack’s voice was crystal clear. She was no stranger to the odd soldiers whose voices all droned alike. Horror stories of the Wakeful’s incursions whispered by hushed tongues were commonplace amongst travelers journeying through Sensheeri. Stories that included kidnapping ‘undesirables’ and making them disappear. Or worse.
The village’s lone bell clanged everyone to attention. It was a startling sound, used for emergencies like fires on the wharf. Lia knew the other reason the bell was used. A reason nobody cared for. A reason most sensible people feared. Jack knew it too. He was responsible for the assembly the tolling demanded.
Lia climbed down from Jack’s shoulder and stared at the twin cairns marking Sensheeri’s main gate. She grabbed a hand from each of her guardian bookends. Bearing down on the peaceful fishing hamlet was a tight formation of riders...
...in black armor.
Chapter 8
Sensheeri’s moss covered cairns stood twice as tall as a man and stood far enough apart to accommodate two wagons. The original settlers regarded the great stones as symbols of welcome and amity. The Wakeful burst through the gateway oblivious of their sentiment.
Hooves pounded the snowy road, grinding the peaceful morning to a halt. The cobbled stone of the Great Road ended, giving way to well trafficked mud. Smacking sounds replaced clopping ones as the formation trampled into the village. Malachai halted his men and ordered a dismount amidst the crowd summoned by the bell. Fishing crews filed down the piers and joined their apprehensive families. Though long accustomed to the Wakeful’s regular incursions, the people of Sensheeri sensed this visit was cause for grave concern.
Lia followed closely behind Jack, leading Cedrik by an elbow. She peeked around Jack’s waist, careful to avoid the icy stares of the unwelcome visitors. A timid glance found Jack’s cheeks drained of color. She watched in dismay as the same pallor spread over the sea of Sensheeri’s faces.
Malachai marched to the crowd’s center flanked by his semi-circle of Wakeful. He moved with the supreme confidence possessed by all hardened warriors; a swagger born of a career’s worth of crushing victories. The unseen hand of fear brushed aside even the largest citizen, causing more than one to stumble. At a position to his liking, Malachai removed his dragon inspired helm. His eyes were crimson infernos that hollowed Sensheeri’s hearts and souls. The fear was all but palpable and he knew his mission had been completed long ago. Sensheeri was properly subjugated.
How he reveled in their delicious terror...
His nod saw a pair of Wakeful to purpose, stacking wood taken from a nearby pile into a pyre. The villagers groaned but found their protests muted to a murmur by Malachai’s penetrating stare.
“You searched our village not two months ago, Captain,” Jack shouted. “Why have you returned so soon? We’ve done no wrong.”
“I beg to differ.” Malachai’s sinister drone climbed every spine present. A Wakeful produced a vial of emerald liquid from his belt’s pouch and presented it to his captain. Malachai’s armor screeched as he brandished the vial high overhead. Sensheeri fell silent, stiller than a graveyard past the witching hour. Malachai threw the vial with frigid indifference, shattering the glass over the pyre. A breath later, the pyre erupted into an eerie, smokeless green flame.
“Captain--” Jack said.
“People of Sensheeri. By decree of her Majesty, your Queen, we are charged with the destruction of your heresy.” Malachai’s powerful voice suffocated the crowd like an avalanche. “Bring to us all that inspires you that we may purge such... burdens.”
Lia cupped her hands over her ears. She tried to block out Malachai’s words, but the voice reverberated in her head. Her brow crinkled. “What do they mean ’heresy’?”
The veins in Cedrik’s thin neck bulged. “They mean to say ‘magic’ or anything to do with it.”
“But why? Why do they hate it so? Haven’t they seen the magic at Festival?”
“Starshine, they have seen magic. Magic that stirs the heart and invigorates the spirit. This is precisely why she wants to destroy it,” Cedrik spat, unwilling to name the Liche Queen. “I hope you live to see a day when magic exists as it did during the time of the once ways.”
A handful of villagers slogged glumly to the pyre, carrying assorted blankets and trinkets. They stared at the frozen ground, fearful of Malachai’s condemnatory glare. He nodded to each, signaling that their offerings should be cast in. Purged. The emerald flame had yet to go hungry. A short woman with stringy hair gently tossed an earthen decanter. A simple flower was scrawled on its side. She sobbed while it was consumed
by the green fire, erased from all but her memory. She toddled from the pyre, whimpering.
Lia wanted to run to Nell, to wrap her arms around her and squeeze. She recognized the decanter. She remembered the day that Nell’s daughter had painted the blue flower and the ceremony for her passing into the World After that winter. Several of the villagers remembered it from the summer fair where it had taken the blue ribbon that matched the proud flower.
Fists were balled and a few braver souls clenched farm tools tighter. The subtle uptick in tension did not go unnoticed. The Wakeful reached for weapons, but only Malachai drew his blade.
“Be at peace, for this is your queen’s command.”
Cedrik dropped his seeing stick and reached for Lia’s hands. “Starshine, I need you to do your old pafaa a favor. I need you to remember this day. Remember that there comes a time when you must draw a line.” A tear traced one of the many lines on Cedrik’s face.
“Not my queen! Never my queen!” Cedrik released Lia’s hands and unknotted his blindfold, letting it fall away. He felt the sun on his eyes for the first time since his punishment. The warmth seeped into his wrinkled skin. It was time.
“Pafaa, what’s happening? Lia’s eyes watered as confusion washed over. The crowd was fast parting at the front. The Wakeful cut a path to Cedrik, shoving people aside, old and young. Cedrik pinched Lia’s chin with a loving squeeze and kissed the top of her head.
“Someday you will. And on that day, you will make me the proudest pafaa in the world.” Cedrik pushed away his cloak, slinging free the old lute. Lia’s eyes widened. Music was banned under the law. The penalty for possessing an instrument, let alone playing one was...
After the fullest breath he had ever known was discharged through pursed lips, Cedrik strummed tired fingers over tired strings.