Agent X

by Morgan Blayde

  She smiled and returned to the road. Soon, her eyelids grew heavy. Her mind drifted, as her feet kept her on the road of their own accord. Tilly yawned fiercely, covered her mouth a little too late, and stopped without quite knowing why. Her head turned. She saw the statue from the shrine she’d left behind. The stone man sat on a rock now, staring at her.

  She stared back.

  The wind whipped his cloak. She saw the play of muscles beneath his robes as he rose to his feet. This was flesh, not stone—a living man with eyes still as distant as stars.

  Her head lifted as he neared. Her eyes locked onto his face. Her heart quickened for reasons of its own. Avoiding her, her thoughts remained lost in the arms of emptiness.

  He stopped, looming over her. “You provided a service to me, but asked for nothing.”

  “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” Tilly explained.

  “That is wise, child, and there are none stranger than I.” He bowed. “I am Avryn, the Unknown God.”

  She curtsied. “My name’s Tilly.”

  “Honored. Now that we’re friends, do you want to tell me why you’re alone on this road?”

  The loss of her family, her home, her life, avoided her, but an echo of pain lingered in her heart. Tears streaked her face. She suddenly wanted to howl, to keen, and shriek, to rend and tear—but her throat simply closed, trapping sobs that shook her.

  Avryn stared. His eyes focused on a spot within her head as if he read her thoughts like script on parchment. His brow furrowed, and he took another step. His cape swept around her as he knelt and gathered her in his arms. Her wet face pressed against his chest. Tilly felt him awkwardly stroking her hair as though it were not a thing he did often.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I understand. You don’t have to say a word.”

  Tilly nodded, then pulled free, forgetting the tears on her face as emptiness returned with greater force. “I’m hungry.”

  Avryn reached into the shadows of his cape and thrust forth a huge, golden globe.

  “What’s that?” Tilly asked.

  “Fuji apple. I get them in the next dimension over. Try it. It’s good.”

  Tilly took the fruit and bit into it. She chewed energetically and swallowed. A sweet and wondrous flavor summoned a smile to her face. She tore into the apple with greedy abandon, vaguely aware of Avryn’s fascinated scrutiny.

  She was finally left with an unappealing core, dotted with seeds. Holding it by the stem, she handed it back, hearing her mother’s voice from out of the past, telling her it’s was rude not to share.

  Avryn took the core, stared at it, and vented a brief bark of a laugh. In his hand, the core dissolved into red, silver, and green starbursts. Tilly stood mesmerized by the dancing lights, her mouth hanging open.

  “Pretty,” she said, sad as the show ended.

  “You’ll not reach the town at this rate until morning, and I don’t think you can keep your feet that long.”

  Tilly yawned hugely in confirmation.

  “Come with me,” Avryn said. “I know a place near here where you will be given shelter. To make sure of it...” He reached again into the shadows of his cape. His hand returned with a gold chain. It was adorned with a red-gold disk. The disk was stamped with an obscure rune.

  Tilly’s face brightened again. “Pretty.”

  “Take it. Even in this Yop’r-blighted land, A few stout souls still honor and fear me. They shall see my sign and know my hand is on you.”

  Tilly snatched the necklace from his hands and held it closely before her eyes. “Thanks,” she muttered,” letting her empty hand be taken. Led

  by Avryn, she ambled along, clutching her prize.

  A cold chill passed through her and the road sped underfoot. Every step covered an impossible distance. The chill faded and they were at a fork in the road. The left branch was wide and rutted with wagon tracks. The right path was narrow, leading in a gentle curve around a hill. Avryn pointed down the right path. “That way leads to a farm. It’s not far. Put the necklace on. As long as you keep it near you, I will hear your voice. Call on me in your need, and terror shall come to defend you.”

  Tilly lunged forward, wrapping her arms around her new friend’s waist.

  He patted her head. “It’s all right, Kitten. I won’t be far.”

  She looked into his light-filled eyes as his body turned clear as glass, losing substance. Tilly’s hands slid through him as through a dream. His words fell from a whirlwind that dissolved around her, “Run along.”

  Tilly took the path pressed on her. It brought her to a two-story farmhouse made of logs mired together. Several barns squatted off to the side. Between two of them sat a pen of gort. The tubby animals glowered at her with mean red eyes as she passed. They grunted comments to each other, clawing up the ground.

  In the yard around her, wingless birds wobbled from her path on stubby legs, hissing their irritation.

  The front door to the farmhouse opened. A huge, burly man appeared with lantern in one hand and an ax in the other. Through the haze of light, Tilly saw his face distorted by a grim scowl. “Who’s there,” he called.

  “I am,” Tilly said.

  The man’s brow furrowed. His scowl deepened as he advanced a few steps. His eyes locked onto Tilly, widening with disbelief.

  “Yop’r’s bloated rump, Myra! It’s some fey sprite, or I miss my guess.”

  A large-boned matron appeared behind him, wiping callused hands on an apron. She brushed a silver lock of hair from her eyes, peering past her husband. “‘Tis no night-born spirit, Yoris, it’s a child! Bring her in.”

  “Not so fast.” He stared off into the darkness behind Tilly. “There are wily bandits in these hills. She could be bait in some trap. It’s been done before.”

  “Caution in these times is proper, husband, but if you look closer at the girl you will see she bares a sign all too rare these days.”

  Tilly watched Yoris’ eyes lower to the medallion she wore. A strange expression stole over the man’s face, as it drained of blood. He lowered his ax and bowed with urgently recalled courtesy. “We are honored to receive you in the name of your patron.” He gestured toward the main door of the house. “Come and be welcome to all that is mine.”

  Weary, the dozen steps to the threshold looked like miles to her. She

  felt strange, unaccountable tears on her checks as the farmer’s eyes came back to her face.

  “I’m hungry,” she said.

  Yoris straightened and lurched forward, staring deeply, as if discerning the scars upon her soul. His massive arms gathered her up gently.

  She sensed a sudden burst of love mixed with pity within his heart. How odd. People were usually unfathomable mysteries to her. She was carried into the house and deposited at a table where six boys of staggered ages sat at dinner, battling ravenously for food though there was plenty on the table.

  “Everything all right, Father?” the oldest boy asked, a heavy golden lock of hair falling into his face.

  Tilly wanted the boldness to brush it back in place. She trembled deep within, where something newborn wanted to break free. Were the boy a flower, she’d pick him and keep him in her pocket forever.

  Yoris answered, “Apparently so, Judd. This little thing was all that stirred the gort. Be nice to her—I mean it—all of you.”

  “Poor thing,” Myra returned to the table with a clean plate, “she looks like she’s nearly done in.” She filled a plate, batting away the boy’s questing hands to get to the food, and set the plate before Tilly. Automatically, she gnawed a strip of meat, letting its juice drip down her chin. The pleasure of the taste drew a happy sigh, as her gaze wandered.

  “She’s a rude one,” the smallest boy said. “Not even a ‘thank you.”

  “Hush, Kori,” Yoris said. “The girl’s a bit touched in the ... er ... ah ... well, just don’t trouble her about such things.”

  The table grew still as the gort outside kicked up a new rucku
s.

  “What now?” Yoris rolled his eyes toward the rafters, sighing. “Am I destined never to finish this meal?”

  He left the table, and a moment later, and Tilly heard the creak of the door. It slammed. There was a flurry of activity as it was barred as well.

  “What is it?” Myra called through the wood.

  “The accursed priests of Yop’r. They’ve come for tribute.”

  “Why? They know we won’t pay them,” Myra said. “We never have.”

  Absently, one of Tilly’s hands caressed her medallion. Her thumb traced the pattern on its face, and her thoughts cleared a little, crystallizing. “They’ve come for blood,” she quickly snatched a biscuit from someone’s plate. “They’re the ones who burned down my home.”

  “I was going to eat that,” Kori complained, “and there aren’t any more!”

  Tilly blinked, and plucked a fistful of wildflowers from her dress pocket and deposited them on his plate a fair exchange.

  Kori’s face reddened. He opened his mouth to rage, but was stopped by Judd’s hand on his shoulder. The older boy glared and shook his head in warning. “Leave her be; she needs the biscuit worse than you. Here, take mine.”

  Tilly’s gaze slid to Judd.

  He smiled at her.

  Her face warmed as she stuffed the biscuit in her mouth.

  Judd!” Myra called.

  “Yes, Ma’am?”

  “It’s time again. You know what to do.”

  “Yes, crawl through the tunnel to the gort pen, open the gate, and encourage them to run amok, while Father distracts the priests.”

  “Aye, it’s worked before, it should now. Get going. They’ll be banging on the door soon.”

  Driven by an alien impulse, Tilly pushed away from the table. She padded in Judd’s wake, becoming his shadow as he paused to pull a cabinet away from the wall. A hidden space was revealed. Judd stomped down a flight of stairs, swallowed by darkness. She followed, her hand sliding along a railing.

  The blackness clung like a cocoon. She pushed through it, chasing the echo of Judd’s footfalls. Cool, fetid air assailed her. She stumbled onto another flight of stairs, bruising herself. Her breath slammed out of her. Her thoughts grew thinner, more distant than usual, as she scrambled up the stairs and out onto a trapdoor that lay in a thick patch of shadow. She sensed someone just before her, crouching next to a feed bin. Judd. She watched his shadow-shape slip through a fence of rough-hewn logs and into a huddled, shuffling mass of gort. The animals accepted him without complaint. He patted them and scratched the hide behind their ears. They gave him cover as he moved to the front gate.

  A moment later, the gate swung open. Judd imitated the cry of a wounded baby gort and leaped clear as the herd instantly turned homicidal. They thundered out of the pen, saw a cluster of priests bearing torches near the farmhouse door, and veered for them.

  Tilly wandered over to the fence and leaned against it, watching as the priests were mauled and trampled. They screamed with high, ragged voices as bones snapped and blood spurted from torn flesh. The carnage was not pretty, but Tilly watched, having nothing better to do until Judd appeared beside her. Her eyes swung to his face and remained there.

  He said, “You shouldn’t be out here. Pa will be pissed.”

  Tilly continued to stare silently.

  Judd sighed and took her arm. “Come with me. The trouble’s over. We can go in now. There’s no use trying to pen the gort up again until they calm down.”

  Tilly allowed him to guide her toward the farmhouse. She stepped over scattered bodies, skirting the main cluster of gort. She and Judd were nearly to the porch when a half-dead priest thrust up in their path. Blood dripped from his shattered nose. He clutched a carved crystal wand, mouthing curses mixed with arcane incantations.

  Judd swept Tilly behind him.

  She stumbled and fell. Looking up, she saw the wand spew a thick jag of violet-white fire.

  Judd cried out as the fire swatted him away in a high arc. He fell heavily and lay still.

  A sharp pain pierced her heart. She tasted white-hot fury for the first time in her life.

  One hand clutched her medallion, as she turned to the priest. Her other hand went flat to the blood drenched ground.

  The priest pointed the wand her way. Violet-white fire surged at her. It was stopped short by the earth bucking up, shaping itself into a giant hand. The fire only hardened the hand, making it stronger.

  Tilly climbed to her feet. Staggering forward a step, she made a grasping gesture, and the earthen hand snatched up the priest, enclosing him in a fist. Slowly, the fist sank into the ground, pulling the priest along. Soon, the ground was smooth and unbroken. The priest lay buried, choking on the loam.

  The girl walked over to Judd and stood over him. His body was limp. Arms and legs lay in unnatural angles where bones had snapped. This wasn’t right; her momma had always told her to take good care of her toys. Tilly’s studied Judd. The medallion warmed in her grip.

  Judd’s limbs straightened themselves, mending. His chest expanded with a huge draw of breath. His eyes opened wide. “I dreamed I was killed,” he murmured.

  She nodded.

  “That’s crazy,” he said.

  She nodded again.

  “What happened? Where’s that priest?” The lock of hair was back in his face.

  She brushed it back in place for him. “I buried him.”

  “Then ... he’s dead.”

  “Nearly.”

  Judd closed his eyes, shuddering. “Remind me not to make you mad.”

  “Don’t make me mad.”

  He gave a weak laugh. “I didn’t mean right now.”

  “I’m sleepy,” she said.

  He nodded. “Sure, let’s go in.”

  Tilly smiled as Judd levered himself to his feet. His family closed in. His parents hugged him fiercely. The other children babbled excitedly, swarming.

  Myra fingered his scorched shirt. “Judd, are you all right?”

  “I think so, Mum.” He pulled away from everyone, returning to Tilly. A puppet, he moved on unseen strings, leading her toward the house. “C’mon, you can have my bed if you want.” The idea was almost his own.

  Like a dark, faint wind in the distant trees, Tilly heard the spectral laughter of the Unknown God, and the door opened before her, untouched by human hands.