Chy

by Greg Curtis

  “But she was a pig!” He objected. “Eating my crops. And she'd just shredded me to a pulp, smashing me into fence posts!” Not that that was going to be any defence he guessed. Meanwhile he couldn't help but notice that the flying pig in question, standing just behind her mistress, was looking surprisingly trim for an ancient. And she still had wings.

  “Whose cooking skills are so lacking that I wonder he hasn't poisoned himself long ago!”

  “And yet you kept eating it and demanding more!” He retorted, whether it was wise or not. “And you could have chosen to live somewhere else!”

  “But worst of all,” the former cat continued, ignoring everything he said, “he called me fat!” She planted her hands on her hips as if to point out the obvious – that she was clearly not at all overweight. Something the audience could see for themselves as they gasped at him.

  “I … was mistaken,” Chy replied, realising that there was no winning this argument – and he might be in trouble.

  “Mange ridden!”

  There was another gasp from the audience, who Chy was certain were enjoying this. “I was concerned for your health.”

  “He said I had fleas!”

  “Again I was just worried for you. What do I know about the health of cats?”

  “Selfish and mean!”

  “Tired after a long day,” Chy suggested.

  “He even tried to throw me out to sleep in the rain and the cold!”

  “Cats do sleep outside!” Chy finally defended himself. But she didn't look convinced. Actually she looked like she was going to scratch him again! “Sorry!” he mumbled, giving up again.

  “So what do you have to say for yourself, human?”

  “Ahh …” Chy had to lie there and think for a bit before the words came to him. “I'm a terrible host and you shouldn't come back?”

  “The Empress stood there, hands still on hips, and let out a somewhat theatrical sigh. But she raised her eyes a little to stare at Elodie. “And you're sure that this is the man you love?”

  “Yes.” Elodie nodded.

  “Then it is a terrible shame. But if it's what you want I will not stand in your way, child. You are free to leave my service.”

  “Thank you Empress.” Elodie bowed. And then a heartbeat later both she and Chy were back in his home. On the rug in front of the fire.

  Their home, Chy corrected himself. Because he might have missed a few things here and there, but he absolutely wanted this to be her home as well.”

  “So, Love,” he craned his neck as best he could to look up at her. “In case it isn't completely clear, I love you too. But if you're going to stay here, there is one rule that you're going to have to follow to the ends of the world.”

  “And what's that, Honey?” She smiled happily down at him as she kept running her fingers through his hair.

  “We are never getting a cat!”

  Chapter Sixty

  The house was quiet – still. No one had shown up yet. But Fylarne was sure they would. Which was why he was spending his days now cleaning out the inside of the house and cutting back the garden. He was getting the home ready for them.

  He knew his family were alive now. Or at least he needed to believe it. He had seen them in the sending that the Master – the Emperor – had shown him. While it could have been an illusion, he didn't think it had been. And while he hadn't seen anything of what had happened after he had dived into the lava, the others had said that his family hadn't been killed. He had been hoping that they wouldn't be. Because after all what would have been the point? The Emperor would have gained nothing from it.

  As to how he was alive and breathing, Fylarne had no answer. Of course the cat – the Empress – was some sort of goddess and the Heartfire was connected to her somehow. But she hadn't said. All he knew was that one moment he had been in the lava, burning, dying, and the next he had been on the far side of the caldera's edge, alive and well if somewhat exhausted. There were a few scorch marks here and there, his hair was a lot shorter, and every morning he found himself brushing of layers of skin to find fresh pink skin underneath, but that was all he knew. Somehow the Empress had saved him. He didn't know how. He didn't even know why she'd done it.

  Maybe she'd decided there'd been too much dying.

  That would explain why everyone else had survived – with the exception of her husband of course. He was well and truly dead and his remains were now encased in the stone of the volcano. But there had been a lot of badly injured people on the lip of the caldera. All of them however had somehow kept breathing. And they were healing well. Better than the healers expected.

  It wasn't so good for the Emperor's army. Very few of them had survived. They had been his final victims. But there had been many others on that fateful day. The explosions they had felt and the yellow sky, had all been the Emperor murdering more people. Destroying towns. All so he could distract the people of Prima. Send them all rushing off in one direction, racing for the portal where they thought he was arriving, while his army arrived elsewhere.

  The sprite had told them that – though none of them had realised it at the time. He'd said that the Master was at his end. That he'd taken the last of his power with him, everything he had left, that he had only one goal, and that he should always be feared and never under-estimated. Fylarne hadn't understood him.

  Such terrible evil. And such a terrible loss of life. It was almost unthinkable. And yet it had happened.

  But he tried not to think about that these days. Instead he tried to concentrate on the good things – like the fact that people were finally returning to Hellas. It was only a few so far. Maybe a hundred or so. But they were coming. Returning to their homes. Beginning to clean things up and make the houses liveable again. Soon, his family would be among them. It was only a matter of time. That was his hope.

  Of course even that came with darkness. Because he kept wondering what they would think of him. They would know what he'd done. The whole world – or all the worlds – knew what he'd done now. And as much as he'd tried to repair his mistakes, he couldn't make them all go away.

  He had been told by Kirkain that others had been placed in the same terrible position he had, but somehow that didn't make it any easier for him to deal with his failure. All he felt for Alur and Edorn was terrible sadness. The same sadness he felt for all the others. And he knew sorrow for the loss of the Temple too. There was no more Temple and he doubted it would ever be rebuilt. The goddess didn't seem to want that. She and her handmaiden were from what he had heard, simply enjoying life on a volcano and making sure no one bothered them there. And even if people did one day decide to rebuild the Temple, how could they when there were no thrones?

  The thrones were in Stonely so he understood. Still recovering from their ordeal. And maybe in time they would become teachers again. It was in their nature. But the way they had once brought magic to so many would never be possible. The thrones that had been created for that to happen, were now nothing more than statues. The spirits that had powered them were back in the people they belonged to.

  Elodie had also left the Temple. The last Guardian had gone. So what did that leave of all those years and centuries of effort? Nothing.

  Maybe that was a good thing he thought as he tugged diligently at some overgrown weeds that were as high as his waist. The Temple's good work had been built upon a terrible evil. And there were other ways to teach. With the worlds gradually reforming into one, there would be plenty of academies and wizards looking to take on apprentices in time. And with the people mingling, there might be other options as well. Who knew, some of the dwarves might one day find themselves learning magic in a dryad circle, or the humans might join the wood elves learning the way of the Huntsman. The world was changing, and just because the Temple was gone, it didn't mean the end of magic.

  But as for him, he was done with the craft. He had sat on the sphinx throne so many times to gain the knowledge he'd needed and in the end he wasn't sure t
hat it had helped in the least. The Temple had still been attacked and his companions killed, simply because he hadn't known that others of the guardians were in the grip of the Master. And though some had said his rewriting of the books had been what had caused the Master's downfall, he wasn't sure of that either. The man had been old and probably mad. He could have got things wrong all by himself. He quite likely had.

  One last tug allowed him to rip the clump of weeds free from the side of the stairs along with a fairly large chunk of soil, and he tossed them into the barrow. Then he began work on the next one.

  As for the others, his companions on his journey, they were returning to their normal lives. Dah, if she had ever truly been cast out by her tower, had now been returned to it in glory. It seemed that being a war hero made up for any shortcomings she might have had. Gris was back with his people, returning to his precious hunt, and no doubt telling everyone of his adventure. Magnus was no doubt back in his clanhold, drinking himself into a stupor, and bragging to everyone who would listen about his great battle and hopefully not burning anything down. Even Allide was surely back in Pushana with his family and friends.

  The only one who hadn't returned home that he knew of was Trey. He and his little dragon Spike were in Stonely – he wasn't sure why. But the boy could now go back to his home in Longfield any time he wanted to. All he had to do was step on a portal. But maybe he wouldn't for a while as it seemed his adventure wasn't quite over.

  Still they were all well. All happy. And he would likely never see any of them ever again. Another group of companions lost to him. He sighed, but returned to his work with the weeds around the steps. And soon enough he had a full barrow ready for the compost bin. And not long after that he was back, working on filling it again.

  Fylarne continued with his work throughout the morning, clearing not just the steps of the hugely overgrown weeds, but the entire front of the house and the garden path as well. And by the time the sun was at its highest and lunch was due, he was pleased with what he'd done. Maybe he could become a gardener, he thought.

  Then when lunch was done, he set to work with the scythe on the front lawn, thinking that if he could get that done by the end of the day he would have done a good day's work. Maybe the first day's work he could actually be proud of in a very long time.

  Unfortunately just as he was getting into a rhythm and watching the thigh high grass fall before him, he was interrupted by the sound of someone at the gate.

  He turned to see who it was, and then stopped dead as he saw his wife and daughter standing there. And the rest of the family behind them. And then he dropped the scythe and ran to them, his eyes already filling with tears of happiness.

  “You're home!” He yelled at them as he picked his daughter up and hugged her. And then the rest of them in turn. And once he'd got to the end of the line he started again, overwhelmed by the wonder of simply having them back. They were thin, older and carrying wounds. And not just the injuries of his mother and daughter. Life as a lava miner was hard. Most of those who he'd seen return had been much the same.

  It didn't matter. They would heal. He would take them to the healers and get them seen to. Food and rest and time would take care of the rest. Most of it anyway. The confusion and the haunted looks in their eyes might take a little longer to address. But time would fix even that. Time and being with family. And already he could feel them hugging him back. Calling his name – if a little hesitantly as if they weren't quite sure what to do.

  But they would be well. They would be the happy, loving people they had once been. He would see to that.

  Fylarne promised them that as he led them into the house and sat them down and then rushed off to get them some hot tea and food. And though it seemed wrong, he was deliriously happy as he worked. This was the only thing he'd ever wanted. The only thing that had ever mattered.

  So why, he wondered as he worked, did he see the faces of his long dead fellow guardians? But even as he wondered he knew the answer. Just as he knew he would never be free of that shame. Which was enough to tell him what his life's work was going to have to be. He would never be able to return the dead to life. Never be able to atone for what he'd done. But maybe, he could do enough good in the world that he would be able to sleep in the comfort of knowing that their lives had not been lost for nothing.

  That was his purpose.

  Chapter Sixty One

  Penfields. Another town he'd never heard of in a realm he barely knew the name of. And another crisis to face. They never stopped. But as he stared at the river which was apparently full of long snouted, big toothed monsters, Chy wasn't troubled by that. Every day it was the same for him – just as it was for untold thousands of others.

  But it seemed that today was going to be slightly different he discovered as he saw a tiny black dragon racing across the river puffing smoke.

  “Dulcie?” Then he turned around and saw the dragon's owner not far behind him. “Nga Roth!” He smiled. “What brings you here?”

  “The leaders were worried about you. They feared that between your puny stature and failing intellect you might get yourself killed.”

  Chy laughed happily. “It's kind of them, I suppose.” But really he knew they were not so much worried that he might get himself killed as they were that he might then not be available to help them when they ran into their next diplomatic crisis in Ruttland. He was after all the only human wizard from the province and humans were difficult people to deal with. And for some reason his name now carried weight among his people. He was Ruttland's wizard!

  But he had a sneaking suspicion that there was more on their minds. The leaders had been making noises – ones he didn't like at all – about visiting the volcano and speaking with the goddess. And for some reason they seemed to think he might be useful. He'd tried to point out that the goddess in question disliked him. Her handmaiden disliked him. And that whatever they were doing on that volcano, if they'd wanted visitors they wouldn't have put up wards to keep people away. But more than that, if she'd wanted to talk to people, the very first thing the goddess would have done was told someone her name! If she had a name that was.

  Lord how things had changed in the last year! Now people didn't hate and fear magic any longer – they searched for it. So many people came to the new school in Stonely that his wife and the thrones were setting up, that they scarcely had time to teach. But people were now desperate to prove that their child had a gift. A wizard in the family would be something to be proud of. Especially when the world was still changing and new people with magic were showing up everywhere.

  He felt sorry for Elodie some days. It was a lot of work she had taken on. And the thrones still weren't fully recovered. They could only do so much. But it was good, honest work and she loved it, and most important of all to him, it was safe. He kept telling her that she had to be extra careful these days now that her belly was bulging. And that they had to keep his family at a safe distance – they were absolutely full of ideas of how to make coin from his gift! Only a very few of them might have been legal.

  “So how are things with you?” he asked, not having seen the ogre for at least a month.

  “Great!” She smiled broadly enough to show him all of her stone crunching teeth. “I've almost got Con Dar trained completely. Soon I won't even have to chain him at night!”

  “You chain him?!” His eyes widened. That was new. Though he knew who Con Dar was. The gargantuan ogre was the man she'd got herself into trouble with before. Except that now he was her mate so he'd heard – and there was still trouble with her former friends – or the jealous cows as she called them. There had been more brawls in the streets. Thankfully, the streets of Imbris.

  “Of course. You know how men are! They can't be trusted. Not until they're properly broken in.”

  “Broken in?” But even as he asked, Chy wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

  “Well of course! You can't just let them do what they want. That'd lead t
o all sorts of trouble. No, you have to beat and beat and beat them down until they know their place and are ready to take on their responsibilities.”

  “You … beat … him?” Chy could hear the words coming out of his mouth, and he knew he shouldn't say them. That he shouldn't ask the question. But still he couldn't seem to stop himself.

  “Naturally!” She looked at him in confusion. “Doesn't Elodie beat you?”

  “No!”

  “Oh that poor girl! She just doesn't know the first thing when it comes to men!”

  “We're very happy thank you!” Chy protested. “And you do know that Elodie is with child?”

  “I know. With child and without a wedding. People keep mentioning that. I really must have a talk with her.”

  Chy groaned. That didn't sound like a good idea to him. “It's not my fault! I want to get married. But she keeps worrying about the families and the way they are around one another. Or the house which isn't right. Or even the dress which now has to be taken out a little because she's put the day off for so long.”