by Narro, B. T.
“Since you’re so decisive about the rules of the dead, what do you want to do with her?” Jek didn’t take his eyes off Azaylee’s body as he spoke, as if waiting for her to come back to life. Leaving as soon as possible didn’t seem nearly as vital to the mage as it did to Cleve.
“I don’t know,” Cleve admitted, having an easier time looking away from her body than Jek. His eyes found the legless man seated at the table with a knife. It piqued Cleve’s curiosity.
“You have no words for what just happened?” Cleve asked him.
But the man’s gaze did not shift. It remained steady, fixed in their general direction.
Cleve waved. “Can you hear me?”
“Go put your finger on his table and see what happens,” Jek said jokingly.
Cleve didn’t find it humorous. “I think we should forget about her and leave as quickly as we can.”
“That’s good with me.” Jek knelt once more, this time to stick his hands in Azaylee’s pockets.
Cleve couldn’t help but sigh.
“Judge me all you want,” Jek said. “I’m curious what she has on her.” He pulled out a folded paper and opened it for a read.
Cleve waited for Jek to tell him what was on it. But the mage simply put it in his pocket, then started toward the exit at a lively pace. “She can rot in this tower for all I care,” he muttered. “She would’ve killed me.”
Cleve followed after him. “Not going to tell me what it says?”
“Now look who’s curious,” Jek teased. “I couldn’t if I wanted to. It’s in Elvish. Lisanda can read it, though.”
Elvish? Suddenly everything came back—Azaylee’s insecurities of what Cleve had heard about her, her reason for wanting to kill Jek.
“You said you found out who she was, and that’s why she wanted to kill you,” Cleve said, now out of the boxed room and shutting the door behind him. “Who was she?”
“Have you heard the song Golden Girl?”
“No.”
“It was the first song I sang with Lisanda,” Jek said, letting his eyes drift to a memory for a moment. “Apparently, it’s a true story about Azaylee and her family. She was the youngest of four gifted sisters.” Jek opened the door of the tower to leave, keeping it open for Cleve and shutting it the moment he passed through. “She was the only blonde girl in the family, and her parents had great expectations for her, hence the ‘Golden Girl’ name that—”
Jek stopped when he turned and saw the two men in front of them. Cleve didn’t recognize either of them. They were clad in armor, each with a sword on his hip.
“That was a short trial,” one of them commented, lifting his head for a glimpse over Cleve’s shoulder. “Where’s Azaylee?”
Cleve could think of no answer he wished to give. Jek couldn’t seem to, either.
“Where is she…” the man asked again, his curiosity completely gone now. He held on to the hilt of his sword, not drawing it yet.
“She’s sleeping,” Jek said. “It would be wise not to disturb her.”
“Sleeping, at this time?” The men shared a glance. “We heard Jaffo had a finger taken. Is it true?”
“Yes,” Jek answered.
Cleve was content letting Jek handle this. Trying to lie his way out of a situation had always resulted in failure, so Cleve usually just stuck with the truth and dealt with the consequences. But he was thankful that Jek was there to fib. He knew there was no way they could reveal the truth and still leave this village peacefully.
“So, she let you both go without punishment, it seems.” Though it wasn’t a question, the way the man phrased it was as if it could be.
“She did, and if you men don’t mind, we’d like to be leaving now.” Jek started walking around them, Cleve following close behind with his eyes ready to detect movement.
The men said nothing as Cleve passed them, just watched with silent stares.
There had been enough death recently. Cleve dearly hoped these men would suppress their suspicions.
He and Jek didn’t look back, not at first. Doing so would’ve been too obvious. But the moment Cleve was far enough that the tension had dissolved, he shot a look over his shoulder.
The two men were still there, standing by the door and conversing with each other. One man’s eyes found Cleve’s, so he quickly turned back to face forward.
It soon became difficult to maintain a slow pace. So when they turned and put a house between them and the men, Cleve and Jek started into a sprint.
“Our horses still better be there,” Jek said.
Chapter 28
Jek tried the door to Jaffo’s house without a knock. He nearly fell inside when it opened, clearly expecting the door to be locked.
Jaffo was seated at a table with his hand bandaged, a chemist standing beside him—the same one they’d brought the boy to last night.
“We need our horses,” Jek said, making no effort to hide his urgency. “Can you unlock the barn?”
“Already have,” Jaffo answered in a meek voice. “What did she—?”
“Thank you,” Jek interrupted, turning so quickly he nearly ran into Cleve on his way out the door.
Cleve turned to follow, only to stop and glimpse Jaffo over his shoulder. “I’m sorry about your finger.” He didn’t wait for a response.
Jek was already in the barn when Cleve stepped outside.
“You!” someone shouted.
Cleve’s heart jumped when he turned to see five armed men rushing toward him.
“Don’t you run,” one of them warned him.
But it was too late for that. Into the barn he went, untying Nulya in such a hurry he didn’t know his hands could move so fast.
He could hear the boots of the men behind him, then the scared whinnying of Jaffo’s horses by the door as the men stormed into the barn.
By the time Cleve was on his horse, Jek was beside him on his, and the five men stood between them and the doorway. One of them had enough presence of mind to close the door, or maybe it was stupidity, Cleve corrected himself. Luckily, there was no lock on the inside.
They drew their swords, Cleve and Jek drawing their weapons as well.
“I don’t know how you killed her,” one man said as he stepped forward, “but you’ll die for this.”
“She was going to kill me,” Jek argued. “It was the only way to stop her.”
“If she’d decided to take your life, then she must’ve had good reason to.”
“Murderers!” another man shouted from the back.
“And they took her necklace as well,” someone else joined in.
Cleve could’ve spit if he’d had the time. More death.
Was there any way out of this? What would his mother say right now if she were here? He looked to Jek, hoping the mage had thought of something.
But his wand was out, pointed at the lot of them. He’d clearly given up on words. So it was up to Cleve.
With a frightening lack of confidence, he sheathed his sword, and pushed out his palms. “Listen to me,” he started. At least it got their attention. Though, none of them put away their weapons. “This doesn’t need to end with the loss of more lives.” He gestured at Jek. “My friend is right. She would’ve killed him, and it definitely wasn’t for a good reason. She’s Golden Girl…from the song.” Cleve dearly hoped they knew what this meant, for Jek still hadn’t explained enough for Cleve to know himself.
Cleve continued, “Jek figured that out, and Azaylee would’ve killed him to keep that information secret.”
He noticed a few of them lowering their swords, most sharing looks of confusion.
“That’s just a song,” the man in front said, speaking as if he was prepared to be proven wrong. “She can’t be Golden Girl…Golden Girl doesn’t exist.”
“She does,” Jek answered. “Or she did. Your leader was the powerful psychic from the song—the one who lived with the Elves for years, and when she returned, she was cast out by her own family. You must’ve alr
eady known she was a powerful psychic?”
An eerie silence followed. Why aren’t they responding? Could it be none of them knew? “Have any of you met her?” Cleve asked.
“I have.” The man in front answered proudly, too proudly for Cleve’s taste, for he knew what was coming next. “And she was no psychic!”
“Ask Jaffo!” Jek yelled. “She must’ve used psyche to convince him to allow his finger to be cut off.”
“No,” the man in front answered, shaking his head. “Jaffo knows she’s our leader and to go against her is the same as forfeiting his life.”
The men raised their swords again, a hardened look in each of their squinted eyes.
Cleve had spent enough time around men who wanted to fight to know there was no way out of this now.
He dismounted, stepping in front of Nulya to make sure she wouldn’t be injured. Jek jumped off his mount as well.
“Finally decided to give up?” the man in front asked, his tone more disappointed than hopeful.
“No,” Cleve answered for them. “We’re ready to fight if you don’t move.”
“It would be a good idea to move,” Jek added. “My friend here is—”
A dagger was thrown at Jek. He ducked. The startled horses cried out as the men came.
Jek sent a fireball. It exploded within the group of them, sending two to the ground. Cleve jumped in front of the other three storming toward Jek.
They slashed wildly. It was clear they figured he wouldn’t be able to defend himself against all of them at once. And it was true. Cleve had to jump back. But with little room behind him, he needed to make something happen now.
He swung in a wide forward thrust, surprising the overconfident men with the speed of his attack. He opened the stomach of one of them, catching another on the arm.
Jek sent a fireball at the third.
When the burst of light faded, only one man was still standing, holding his injured arm, his sword on the ground.
Realizing it was over, he raised his good arm outward. “Fine, leave. But word of your actions is already spreading, so don’t think the rest of the village will let you out of here.”
Jek sighed loudly. “Of course not. That would be too easy.”
Cleve leapt past the fallen men to open the door. Jek followed with the reins of their horses in hand.
Cleve took one look back at the last man standing. He was crouching over his wounded comrades, despair beginning to strike his face.
Cleve was surprised to find he had no remorse for them. There’s only so much compassion I can give, and it’s all been used up, he figured.
His patience was gone as well—anyone else who stood in their way would fall.
With looks over their shoulders, Jek and Cleve swung up onto their horses and began riding at a trot. The winding pathways between houses didn’t allow them to go much faster.
They made a turn and found the path to be crowded by people conversing, trading, and exchanging goods. Unaware of another route, they slowed and continued forward, dismounting to walk their horses by.
Someone tugged on Cleve’s shirt. “What happened with Azaylee?” It was a girl’s voice.
Turning, he saw it was the same girl as before, the one who’d nearly thrown him from his mount. Her eyes were red, her long hair unkempt.
Cleve continued forward, hoping she would let go of him if he ignored her.
She didn’t. Instead, she used her other hand to grab his wrist, pulling him back even harder.
“I need to leave,” he told her, unwilling to snatch his arm away with the sight it would create.
A few dozen people had encircled him and Nulya by then. Jek had stopped ahead, looking back to see why Cleve wasn’t following.
“Did they really take Jaffo’s finger?” The girl didn’t let go of Cleve.
“Yes, but not mine or Jek’s. You can go see Jaffo. I need to leave now.” Cleve continued forward, dragging her behind him, as she didn’t let go.
“I don’t want to stay here any longer,” the girl said, moving her hands up and clinging tighter to his bicep than a wet shirt.
Cleve looked around for the girl’s mother, but he found no one with her. “Where are your parents? Go to them.”
“I hate them. They pretend to be sad that Olmi’s dead, but I know they’re actually happy. They didn’t like me with him. I can’t stand their faces or their fake feelings.” She lowered her voice, leaning in. “Take me with you.”
Jek had dragged his horse back into the crowd by then. “What’s going on?”
“I want to come with you!” the girl shouted now. A few heads turned. Murmurs began. Cleve heard two people realizing aloud that he and Jek were the ones responsible for Enri’s death.
“That’s them,” someone else said, pointing.
Alarmed chatter broke out, and Cleve felt more than just the girl’s hands on him.
“Did they have their trial?”
“We haven’t heard from Azaylee.”
“Stop them!” a man’s voice boomed louder than everyone else’s. “They killed Azaylee!”
Then ten people were shouting at once.
Someone jumped on Cleve’s back. He thrashed to create some space. It scared Nulya enough to rear up.
He managed to get on her back before she could gallop off. Jek was on his mount also, riding beside him.
People were shouting for their heads now, chasing after them. Those in front, within earshot of the hostile crowd, turned, but they didn’t seem to know what to do. With palms out, they stood their ground for a moment before jumping out of the way when Nulya didn’t slow.
The gate wasn’t far ahead, which Cleve realized was actually a problem. They couldn’t distance themselves far enough from the mob before they got there, and anyone guarding the exit would hear the angry shouts to stop Cleve and Jek.
They took a turn and saw another group of people who acted as if they would stop the horses, only to jump out of the way when they realized it would be impossible.
The houses became sparse. The ten-foot-high wooden wall could be seen just ahead. Cleve unsheathed his sword when he saw the three men there.
One turned to put some sort of lock across the opening of the wooden gate, the other two pointing their weapons and yelling at Cleve and Jek to stop.
“Move or die!” Jek shouted, now just in front of Cleve.
The man who’d locked the gate decided to run, but the other two cursed him and remained steady.
Cleve felt nothing but urgency. He didn’t worry for these men’s lives. He couldn’t in that moment. If they slowed their exit, then Cleve and Jek would just have to deal with more people—possibly more lives he would need to take. Anger surged through Cleve at the thought of it. He blamed the two in front of him for the possibility of needing to kill more.
He jumped off his mount, charging at them with one last warning: “Move!”
They didn’t, attacking instead.
He easily dodged one man’s thrust and finished him with a clean slice across his neck. The other was taken by Jek’s fireball.
Done with them, Cleve turned his focus to the lock holding the gate shut. To Cleve’s dismay, he found it wasn’t a simple lock but a thick bar of steel held in place by several smaller locks.
He searched the fallen guards for keys for a breath before giving up.
Jek blasted the gate with fire to no avail.
“Use your sword!” Jek shouted
“It’ll ruin it.” The moment Cleve spoke, he realized how absurd he sounded. Yes, he was right—the sword would be ruined being bashed against metal and wood until it broke through, but the alternative of not escaping was much worse.
The mob of angry villagers had grown. He could hear them coming, their shouts so loud it was like an oncoming tidal wave.
Jek sent another fireball against the gate. No result. Breathing heavy, he moved back to give Cleve room.
“Do it. I’ll hold them off,” Jek said.
With the strength of two men, he slammed his weapon down against the steel bar holding the gate shut. A sting of pain just as torturous as Azaylee’s spells shot from his fingers to his shoulders. But he didn’t stop.
Letting out the agony through screams, he focused on nothing but hitting the same spot over and over. He could hear the horses being frightened, Jek yelling something to the crowd.
They’re almost here. He didn’t waste a moment turning around to check. He was making progress, a dent at first and then cracks soon after. His sword was chipping away, though. It might not last long enough before it cracked.
A final blow and the bar came apart with a loud snap. He shoved the gate open and looked behind him. Jek was getting on his mount, keeping the reins of Cleve’s in hand as well.
Cleve jumped on Nulya just as arrows started passing by his ears.
Out of all the shouts, one stood out—the girl’s. “Wait, please!” Cleve and Jek were out of the gate, the mob slowing to a halt except for her.
She ran out after them onto the open land. No one came after her. Not one person stopped her.
As hopeless as it was, she didn’t stop. She kept running and running.
The distance between them became insurmountable. Didn’t she realize it? Was she that dumb? Or maybe just that stubborn.
Even when Cleve and Jek eventually got to the top of the hill miles out, she was still puttering after them, looking even more like a desperate child than ever as she struggled to stay on her feet.
Jek dismounted, looking down the hill with his hand over his eyes to block the high sun. “Girl’s like a mooker,” he said. “Won’t stop chasing us.”
With the villagers no longer a threat, Cleve’s emotions re-emerged from wherever they’d been. Pity stuck him hard, making frustration twist within.
Why must I care what happens to this girl?
He despised her, yet couldn’t bring himself to ignore her. He couldn’t even look away, wondering when she would stop, figuring she couldn’t possibly keep running all the way to Goldram.
But then where will she run to instead? Will she go back to her village?