Fury Lingers: Book One of The Foreseen Trilogy

by Ethan Spears

  She wondered what else she could do. She plucked some of the hearty blades of grass from the trails and made them dance in the air, just to see how well she could control them. Turns out it wasn’t well once the wind picked up. To increase control, she weaved her magic through the very structure of the grass, but that failed to aid her focus at all. With a bit of irritation, she canceled the spell. The dissolution of the spell, however, shredded the blade of grass as well. She found that an interesting and useful side effect.

  After her curiosity with spellwork was satiated, she began to test out the mentor stance. Running made her magic spike unexpectedly, but when she slowed, she barely noticed her own power at all. She would speed up and slow down in turns, studying the effects differing speed had on her ability to focus. She was thinking she could find some way to control that spike even at high speeds when she returned to the hut and found an irate Ezma. It turned out she was fifteen minutes over her usual time and Ezma was accepting no excuses.

  She felt she was progressing rapidly on her own. It was hard to imagine Ezma’s instruction would have gotten her where she was now anywhere near as quickly. So focused was she on new types of magic that it wasn’t until a week later that it occurred to her that she could create her scrying window in her head while she meditated, though making it not only without a pen in hand but also in an entirely new medium was as challenging as expected. Her instinct while concentrating hard was to scrunch her face and clench her hands, but those were dead giveaways to the hawk-eyed Ezma that she was not clearing her mind like she was supposed to. Silent, motionless casting done only in the mind did not strike her as a simple feat, and she was unhappy to find her assumption was correct.

  If she could make cylinders and words in her mind, a pen would be no challenge at all. It took her a few seconds to learn that controlling a make-believe pen with a conceptual hand wasn’t only an absurd concept but also obscenely challenging.

  It took her a shamefully long time to realize that the pen was a useless tool, a concept of the physical world that she had no need for in mental space. Her mind was the only tool she needed to forge the borders required for the window. Then she realized that the borders themselves weren’t necessary either. She was thinking too much about her body and the actions she was forced to take because of the way the physical world worked; her mind was limited only by itself. It became so clear to her that she even believed for a moment that the meditation helped her reach that conclusion, but she remembered that she hated meditation so that couldn’t be the reason.

  Mergau was constantly worried Ezma would interrupt her, that surely she must sense the magic stirring, but her letters seemed to occupy her attention even more than usual these past few days. There were often times she would leave the hut without taking any letters with her, just walking out and disappearing for an hour or two. Mergau wasn’t fool enough to attempt open magic in these instances, for who knew if it was a test or some similar devious scheme to catch her defying her mistress, but she felt much calmer with Ezma gone, her secret training progressing in leaps and bounds.

  The day finally came when it clicked for her. Some mental component fell into place with her scrying and she had an epiphany; instead of creating a window in the empty air of her mind and formed free from any restraints, she could place something there, a slab of sorts, and etch the window into it. It was a new idea, but she felt like she’d seen it done before, a vague notion of a field, monoliths, and a lively chase. She shook the idea from her head as a picture formed before her.

  She expected to see Jierta again, maybe Tana and the hut as well, as that was where her mind wandered when she wanted calm. But it wasn’t Jierta’s face that swam into view as the window gained focus, but that of a fair-skinned, blue-eyed elf. It was him again. She was more annoyed than angry with his face, being so focused on her discoveries that thoughts of vengeance were unwelcome. Her mind had wandered in her excitement of the spell coming together. She would rather see one friendly face than a sea of—

  Her eyes snapped open. Before she knew what she was doing, she had cried out and leaped to her feet. Ezma turned a disapproving eye on her, but Mergau hardly noticed. She shifted the focus away from his face, circling around him, physically moving about the small hut as she did so. He was walking in light traveling clothes rather than his armor. He was traveling west.

  And, most importantly, he was alone.

  “You’d best have a good reason for disrupting your meditation, child,” said Ezma, standing from her seat. “You’re supposed to be finding inner calm, not jumping about my house.”

  “I saw him! The Elf!” she babbled. “He’s alone, and heading west, all by himself, alone. He’s always been surrounded by other elves, but he’s all by himself now, all alone.”

  “And who’s with him, now?” Ezma asked dryly.

  “He’s never been alone. He must be taking a trip or something. Maybe he was ejected from society for being a monster,” Mergau said gleefully. “This is the perfect opportunity for me to kill him.”

  Ezma raised herself up, chest expanded and face angry. “And how did you see him when you were supposed to be clearing your mind?”

  “I don’t know, a vision probably,” Mergau lied carelessly, her attention still on the elf as he hiked along a stone path.

  “Somehow I doubt a vision came to you right when the elf was where you need him to be. Sit back down, and this time, clear your mind as you’ve been told.”

  “No,” said Mergau sharply, her mental window slamming shut. “Don’t you understand? This elf, this murderer, is circled by his own kind at all times, but he’s left that protection for who knows how long. He might be gone from his camp for only a few days. The next opportunity might be years away.”

  Ezma puffed up imposingly and Mergau shrank away. “Your training is far from complete. Need I remind you that you nearly blew yourself up earlier this month? Do you honestly think yourself prepared for the rigors of magical combat?”

  “I can kill him now. I have the ability. I can do what this has all been for.”

  “That has not ‘all been for’ you killing the elf!” Ezma shouted. “Avenging your brother means nothing to me. You’re here because your life is bigger than you, me, your brother, or that elf. If you think I’m going to waste these many months I’ve been training you by letting you launch yourself at this elf half-nocked, then I suggest that you save your dreaming for when you are asleep. Now sit back down, clear your mind, and listen to me for once.”

  Mergau felt that old anger flare up inside her. She could use what Ezma taught her and bring it under control and remain calm, but she didn’t want to do that. She wanted to explode. She stared Ezma square in the eye. Ezma wasn’t much taller than her, and her body was thin and frail. What did Mergau need to be intimidated by?

  “Ever since that explosion, you’ve been pushing me. Having me sit in silence doesn’t teach me anything. Having me listen to your endless lecturing doesn’t improve my craft. I came here for one thing only, and that was to learn what I needed to kill the man who slew my brother. I will not have you tell me now that my opportunity has come that I’m wasting my time on fantasies. I don’t know how long he’ll be on the road and I won’t waste time arguing with you. You’re welcome to come with me if you want, but you’re not stopping me from going.”

  Ezma laughed. “Come with you? You’re just going to go? And you think I’d greet you with open arms upon your return after you’ve abandoned my instruction? You think I’d let you walk out of here whenever you like and act like nothing happened when you came back? If you leave my home on this idiotic venture, you are not welcome back. Do you understand me?”

  Ezma smiled coldly as if she had just clinched her victory. Mergau wavered under that look. Did Ezma already know she was going to win this argument? Was this just another one of her games? Was Ezma toying with her yet again?

  No! To hell with this. She wasn’t going to let Ezma control her every action. Sh
e had been training herself well enough these past few days. She didn’t need Ezma’s instruction anymore. Mergau was going to put her foot down, consequences be damned.

  “In that case, I will go and I won’t be back. Now, are you going to get out of my way or do I have to knock you over on my way out?”

  For the first time, Ezma looked genuinely shocked at Mergau’s actions. Her smile soured and was replaced with a look of anger and confusion, like someone who just talked themselves into a corner and realized it only after their bluff had been called. She fixed Mergau with a stare with so much disgust and fury that her student had to force herself to stand straight and not wither before it.

  “Fine,” Ezma said, her voice dripping acid. “I see I made a mistake in believing you worth my tutelage. I reach out with a hopeful hand only to have you become in one stroke my greatest disappointment. Go then. My door is open. You have nothing, so nothing will stop you from leaving this instant.”

  This sudden acrimony cut Mergau deeply, but it wasn’t enough to change her mind. Rather, it sealed her choice. It was just one more bitter event in a growing chain that Mergau was eager to break. She swept past Ezma, avoiding her gaze. The door burst open with a kick and slammed shut with a swing of her hand. With the magic of the door in place, Ezma couldn’t even hear Mergau stomping off in a fury.

  Ezma’s breathing was ragged. Even bringing her own respectable skills to the task was a challenge. The girl made her so angry. If only she knew. If only she understood. She would one day, eventually, but that would be a long way off.

  She felt wetness at the corners of her eyes and dabbed them with her robes. “See what you’ve done to me, girl?” she said to her empty hut. “Can you ever fully comprehend the patience and willpower this took?”

  Ezma didn’t have time to breathe and relax but jumped right into the next part of her task, short on time. Now that things were moving apace, much had to be done to get her house looking how it used to look. She opened her portal to her room in Kawn, pulling through her various personal items: her bed, desk, chair, and bookshelf floated into her little hut and rested comfortably against the walls. The books and rug came through, her pens and papers, clay statues and jugs and bowls, cooking pots and pans, hanging pictures, the wall shelves and spices, potion mixtures, scrolls, etching tools, her reed room divider, a potted fern, and a glass case of assorted odds and ends. By the time she was finished, the walls of her meager home were covered with her worldly possessions, as splendid as they were before her stubborn student ever set foot inside them. She was making minor adjustments and nudging everything into its rightful place when a knock came at her door. “Now who could this be?” she said aloud. She took another calming breath before pulling the door open.

  Silhouetted against the setting sun stood a human. He towered well over Ezma’s height, green eyes staring at her behind the black hair spilling out from under his wide-brimmed hat. He wore a brown traveling cloak loose off one shoulder. His sharp and homely face twisted into a grin when he saw her. His hand slid to his belt and Ezma’s eyes followed. At his waist sat a knife, an ugly thing of blackened steel.

  “Christopher,” she whispered. “How—”

  “Evening, Ez,” he said calmly, his thumb running along the length of his blade as he spoke. His words were without humor, sending a jolt of sudden, uninvited fear down her spine. “Looks like you lost your apprentice. I guess that means it’s time.” As he stepped over the threshold, he whispered, “The Order sends their regards.”

  The human closed the door behind him.

  What happened within the small, lonely hut was lost to the valley outside, save for a handful of muted thumps and crashes. Silence descended, and when the door opened again, the human stumbled out, his knife sheathe empty and his shirt soaked with warm orcish blood.

  Chapter 13a

  Blood…

  Aoden was glad to have his cloak. Autumn was well underway, but it was usually warmer this far north. An unseasonably cold wind blew from the south, making him eager for the protection of the town.

  A sign split the road ahead. Aoden had passed it many times before, long ago, but now it caught his eye and he paused to examine it. The town’s name, Lemonstone, which had been carved in the solid oak for as long as he could remember, was crossed out with thick strokes of black paint. Below, the old town motto, ‘Foundation of Progress,’ had been painted over by what Aoden could only assume was a new town name. Aoden had to mull it over, not sure he had read it right, but there it sat boldly against the wood grain, the name ‘Oakwillow Pines.’

  Aoden looked at the town. He wasn’t sure what struck the halflings who claimed this town as an ‘Oakwillow Pines’: The human name made sense as the town was squat and made mostly of pale yellow rock. The land for some distance had also been deforested a long time ago. Though twenty years of unchecked growth allowed for the occasional small tree, there was nowhere near enough to justify not just one but three trees in the name. He felt like he had stumbled upon a joke that he was missing some context for.

  The cold wind bit at him, reminding him that, sensibly named or not, he wanted to be in the town’s shelter. He adjusted his cloak and pressed onwards, thinking thoughts of warm food to stave off the chill.

  Far down the road, another traveler moved with great agency towards the town, taking long, quick strides. Their face was bound tightly in a scarf, arms in elbow length gloves, and legs in knee-high socks, all stolen over the course of their travels. Their robe, cloak, and hood were all positioned to obscure the traveler’s features, the face only visible if one moved close. Then one would see small black eyes, green skin, and perhaps the briefest flash of magic.

  Mergau didn’t let anyone get that close.

  She could see her quarry ahead, moving briskly away from her and into the town. She wanted to run towards him but forced herself to be calm. Being a seasoned warrior, he would doubtless hear her running at him. And she wanted to be close to him, get right behind him, see his face; though she had never attempted a spell at this distance, she could probably strike him down from here, but it wouldn’t satisfy her. She needed to see his face—the one that laughed at her, laughed at the death he caused—screwed up into mewling, tearful begging. She had already pushed herself for weeks, hardly resting, crossing mountains and forests and plains at a punishing pace to catch up with him, and she could force herself to wait a bit more if she must, but not terribly long.

  In a strange way, the chase was invigorating. The distance she had covered amazed her as only half a year ago she would have dropped dead from exhaustion. She was so consumed with moving forward that she barely ate or slept.

  She was also taken by the wonder of the land; there were plants everywhere! Trees and grass and shrubs, lakes and streams crisscrossing the hills, all surrounded by the signs of civilization such as buildings and wagons and roads and literal signs. She was astounded by the fantastical nature of the many towns and cities she passed through; the buildings were huge! And made of stone and precious wood! Perhaps the wood wasn’t as precious here because of all the trees, but still! She had heard of the great immobile cities of men and elves, but they had seemed impossible fairy tales. Well, not literally impossible as there was no reason a stone building shouldn’t stand when a cliff could, but the idea had been so remote as to warrant no thought.

  And the people! Some towns held thousands. What in the world did they eat? They were tiny people, sure, but they had to eat at least a tenth as much as an orc, and that was the bare minimum she was willing to guess. If they were feeding off of nature, this area should be stripped bare, much like the area around any orcish camp. Even seeing a dozen such towns, this one was no less attractive for its secrets and knowledge. She had so many questions, but no one to answer them.

  But she was forgetting herself again. She had to focus.

  The Elf passed beyond the town walls and turned a corner, but she could still see him in her mind. She saw him more clearly than he had e
ver appeared at Ezma’s hut, more clearly than if she were looking at him with her own eyes. His cocky face looked about with careless abandon, his steps springy with who knows what sick joy he must be feeling. He wore a slight smile that made her heart beat painfully as if it were trying to throw itself at him. She was watching so intently that she was nearly knocked over when a guard threw an arm out to stop her.

  “Hold on, there,” said the halfling, peering up at her. She raised her scarf higher upon her nose, shifting her head away from him. She nearly lost the vision of the Elf but latched onto it before it could fade, dragging it back into focus. “You’ll have to identify yourself before you enter.”

  “You didn’t stop the Elf,” she hissed at him. She hated him too. He looked like a tiny elf with his pink skin and sandy hair.

  “Well, he wasn’t hiding his face, was he? Off with the hood, there.” He prodded her leg sharply with his index finger.

  She placed her hand upon his head. Even as he made a noise of surprise, his body slackened. He offered no resistance as she walked past, diligently but dumbly watching the gate to the town. He would recover in minutes with no memory of her.

  She allowed herself a moment of pride at the magic. As she left Ezma’s house, she had by some serendipity stumbled across her old travel sack that she had left among the rocks. Until that moment she had completely forgotten she had brought it. With Ezma’s training, she now understood the books she had taken from among her brother’s belongings to be spell tomes full of, well, essays mainly, but also the occasional spell intended to help and heal.

  The spell she had used was meant to calm those who had suffered mental trauma, helping them forget, but she found her current employment of the spell more useful. She had improved greatly as she moved from town to town in pursuit of the Elf (the forests were too dangerous, being the domain of elves, so she stuck to the roads, meaning frequent encounters with villages and travelers). The first town she tried that trick, it hardly worked at all, necessitating her running from an irate guard, and at the next she put a bit too much power into it, causing the guard to crumple to the ground unconscious. Eight or nine towns ago, however, she found the knack, even adjusting the strength based on the size of the affected creature. Not that these halflings seemed to differ much in size.