Nomadin

by Cormier, Shawn P.

  "You've got to be joking," it said. "What is it you think I can do, give the Groll a geometry lesson?"

  "Don't worry, I know a spell or two," Ilien said. "Just be ready. I have a plan of my own."

  "I don't like the sound of that."

  "You heard what the Swan said. Wands focus magic. If I can turn a wierwulf into a toad using Gallund's, imagine what I can do to a Groll with you."

  "I think I'll wait here with the others," the pencil replied.

  Ilien smiled. "Consider this payback for all the times you've gotten me in trouble with Peaty."

  "But—"

  Ilien squeezed the pencil silent and waved goodbye to the others. With a few steps he disappeared from their sight, but to Ilien those three steps seemed no different than the last three. There was no flash, no shaking of the earth, nothing to signify that he had been magically transported out of the last mystical realm in all Nadae. He simply placed one foot in front of the other and soon found himself standing in the moonlit field outside the small grove of pines.

  And face to face with the Groll.

  Ilien froze, hoping his pencil was smart enough to keep quiet for once. Curled in a ball like an overgrown puppy with a black, barbed dagger for a tail, the Groll slept soundly in the grass not ten feet away. Ilien quickly aimed the pencil at his unsuspecting target.

  For a terrifying moment he wasn't sure if he remembered the spell correctly. But then it all came back to him in a rush. "Mitra—"

  "Wait!" the pencil whispered in a panic. "I think you're holding me backwards!"

  "What do you mean, you think I'm holding you backwards?" Ilien whispered back, one eye fixed on the sleeping Groll. "Isn't that something you should know by now?"

  "This is my first time as a wand. I've never channeled a spell before. What if it backfires?"

  The Groll began to stir. Its tail shifted about. It arched its back and stretched its legs, and its claws spread out like garden rakes. Ilien spun the pencil around.

  "Mitari—"

  "No! Wait!" the pencil said. "I was wrong! Turn me back! Turn me back!"

  Ilien's heart jumped in his chest. "What? Are you sure?"

  The Groll's slobbering lips drew back in a yawn, revealing long, curved fangs. One eye opened, blinking away its weariness.

  "Yes. Do it now!" the pencil cried too loudly.

  Ilien re-aimed. "Matara miru!" he shouted, finishing the incantation.

  The Groll opened both eyes just as the burst of bright red stars shot forth—from the wrong end of Ilien's pencil! The magical fireworks shot backwards past Ilien, missing him by inches. They smoked and sizzled, bouncing among the trees behind him. The Groll stiffened in surprise, as did its four hairy legs, sending it leaping into the air. It landed before Ilien, its barbed tail rattling like a box of broken plates.

  Ilien looked deep into the Groll's yellow eyes—then ran.

  The Groll stood mesmerized, stunned for the moment by the multicolored lights dancing wildly between the trees. Ilien stopped and looked back. He had to be sure that the Groll followed his trail exactly as he laid it. If he ran too far ahead, the Groll would make a bee-line to cut him off. It too had to follow the invisible maze—in three trees, left two, right three more—or the Swan's plan would fail from the start.

  He held his station near the third tree, sweating and trembling as the Groll came to its senses. Slowly it looked his way. Their eyes met and Ilien leapt forward again as the Groll streaked after him. Left then right, the Groll closed fast, leaping and darting around the trees to reach him. Three steps later they were back in the Drowsy Wood and Ilien began counting trees. One. Two. Three. The Groll's clawed feet tore up the forest floor behind him. Four. Five. Six. The Groll surged forward, closing the gap between them and Ilien cried out in panic. Seven. Eight—

  Ilien tripped and fell flat on his face. Like a spike he stuck fast in the soft earth. Surprised, the Groll ran past, leaped over him in a single bound and landed squarely in the center of Anselm's snare. The rope sprang tight. The beast flew screaming into the air, thrashing wildly in an attempt to escape, the tree from which it dangled swaying precariously under its weight.

  The others jumped out from behind the trees. Anselm stared in wide-eyed awe. Kink, on seeing the Groll hanging helplessly from its hind legs, stalked forward, fangs bared. The Swan stepped before him with both wings spread wide.

  "Don't be a fool. Run as fast as you can. The snare won't hold forever." She turned to Ilien. "Ride at once!"

  Ilien searched frantically for his invisible mount. "Runner! Where are you?" he shouted. He groped about in desperation, felt something warm, and leaped into the air. He landed on his back on the soft forest floor. Anselm rushed over, picked him clear into the air and set him on Runner's back.

  "Ride!" the Swan cried.

  Ilien turned to call for Kink, but the words hung in his throat. Behind the Swan rose a black barbed tail. The Groll crouched low in the center of the straight forest lane, the broken end of the snare dangling in the air above it.

  Before Ilien could shout a warning the tail drove downward, striking the Swan in the back with a sickening crunch. It lanced straight through her and out the other side, spraying venom in all directions. The Swan's wings spread wide in crucifixion. Her beak opened mutely, her eyes filling with anguish. She looked at Ilien, stepped haltingly forward, then toppled to the ground, impaled upon the Groll's deadly tail.

  "No!"

  Ilien's scream erupted from a place he never knew existed, from so deep down it crippled him upon Runner's back. Unknowingly, he thrust out his pencil to smite the Groll down. A jet of blue flames leapt from the pencil's end, rushing forward and striking the Groll's tail. Ilien's wild magic engulfed both Swan and Groll in a torrent of blue fire. The trees blew back like reeds. Ilien's scream continued, pouring out of him like water from a drowned man's lungs. Still the flames streaked forth, intensifying into a blinding shaft of white hot magic, kindling the treetops into flames.

  The Groll pulled its blade from the Swan's feathered back and reared in the air on its wolfish hind legs, roaring in pain. The Swan lay motionless beneath, frozen in the blue aura of Ilien's wild magic. The gaping hole in the center of her back filled with roiling flames like a forge come alive. Slowly the wound closed. The flames began to fade as her injuries disappeared. The bloodstained feathers bleached back to white.

  As quickly as the magic began, it ended.

  The Groll fell backwards to the ground. The Swan jumped up and stared wide-eyed at Ilien, reeling from a wound that no longer existed. Without a moment's hesitation she sprang into action.

  "Flee!" she cried, rushing forward, flapping her wings in warning. Anselm and Kink leaped to her aid, but she snapped at the air with her beak. "This is a battle you cannot win! Now go!"

  She whirled about to face the fallen Groll, her strength renewed, her long neck outstretched in anger. The Groll slowly rose, its fur still smoldering, its tail extended to ward off attack. A low growl rippled in the back of its throat. The Swan stepped back in fear and the Groll advanced, grinning a mouthful of fangs.

  That was all Ilien saw before Runner raced away, weaving through the trees to safety. Try as he might, Ilien couldn't stop his invisible mount. In moments they exited the forest and emerged from the pine grove. Once in the moonlit field it was only through sheer luck that Ilien caught hold of the unseen reins and pulled Runner to a stop. He watched as first Anselm then Kink came running from the trees.

  The Giant sprinted past him in leaps and bounds. "Come on!" he called.

  But Kink stopped short. He wagged his head from side to side and sniffed at the air.

  "Kink! Let's go!" Ilien shouted.

  Kink glanced over. His teeth flashed white in the gloom. He whirled about and sped off parallel to the trees. Ilien turned to call for Anselm but the Giant was already running past him again, following Kink. Ilien spurred Runner on.

  A hundred yards away, they found Kink sitting in the grass besi
de the body of his brother.

  Breach lay on his side, the earth all around scarred and torn from the battle that had taken his life. He might have seemed sleeping, if it wasn't for the hind leg twisted horribly beneath him. Kink lowered his head and breathed deep the scent of his brother, sniffing his ears, and touching his face as a low whine escaped him as he read the story of how Breach had died. He laid his head across his brother's neck where the Groll's fatal sting had left it swollen with poison, and sank to the grass, his crooked back end curling around his fallen brother in a tender embrace.

  Anselm knelt beside him. "Kink. I'm sorry."

  Kink shivered in the warm night air. He nuzzled his brother's neck and licked the blood from off his face. "I will avenge you," he whispered. He looked up at Ilien. "I will, you know."

  "We all will," Anselm said. "But not here." He looked back at the silent grove. "Not here, Kink."

  Ilien stared at the painful scene that played out before him. Pain. Fear. Vengeance. He knew the first two by heart. He would learn the last, he promised himself. He would learn the last.

  Kink rose to his feet. Tears cast dark shadows beneath his shining eyes. His shoulders drooped and a low moan escaped his lips, but nothing more.

  Anselm lay a gently hand on the great dog's head. "I'm sorry, Kink, but we have to leave."

  With a quick glance back at the trees, they moved on, leaving Breach lying in the field beneath the waxing moon.

  Chapter XVII

  The Giant's Tale

  The sun rose slowly above the flat hard horizon, lighting the land with a pale weary light, and still Ilien struggled to stay atop Runner as he trailed behind the relentless Giant. His back ached and his legs felt like rubber, and several times he had nearly fallen from his invisible mount, but Anselm never slowed. The featureless land had blown by in the night like the march of dark clouds, and the moon had kept silent pace above, sailing tirelessly over their shoulders as they made their way swiftly northward. Anselm had led them from the exit grove with haste, his long legs putting miles between them and possible pursuit. Now as Ilien clung to Runner, fear quickening his heart, his thoughts returned to the Swan and the wild magic that had saved her.

  To wield such a power without trying sent a cold wave of fear through Ilien. Yes, it had rescued them, but magic like that could also cause grievous harm. The same untamed magic that had healed the Swan had also wounded the Groll. He could still smell the burning fur, still hear the Groll’s roar of pain and see the smoke rising from its poisonous tail. If it could do that much harm to the Groll, then what could it do to those he loved if he was unable to control it? He vowed to himself not to use such magic again, but even as he did so he wondered if it was a promise he could keep.

  And what of the Swan? Was she still alive? Had she been able to fend off the Groll in the end, or like Breach, was she just another innocent sacrifice made for his sake? He looked over his shoulder at the receding landscape and searched the horizon. Kink loped along behind him, silent and brooding. To his relief, they ran alone.

  At length, he pulled his invisible horse level with Anselm. "There's no sign of pursuit. Can’t we rest for a bit?"

  "Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it's not back there," Anselm replied, his eyes fixed ahead, sweat running down his face as he ran. "If you're hungry there's food in your saddlebag. Otherwise, we keep going."

  Ilien grit his teeth. He was hungry but that wasn't the point. He was exhausted. He didn't know how much longer he could keep riding before he simply fell off. Besides, what saddlebag?

  "It's on the other side," Kink said, running next to him. "It's there, behind you, behind your right leg."

  "Here we go again," Ilien muttered, spearing an arm behind him and to the right. "I suppose the food is invisible too."

  Kink kept a steady pace beside the invisible Runner. "For your sake I hope it is," he said. "No. No. Lower."

  Ilien leaned to the side, groping lower. His hand disappeared. He drew it back, startled.

  "No. No. Don't worry." Kink's eyes lit up. "It's just the saddle bag. It's invisible."

  Ilien reached down again and his hand vanished once more.

  "That's it," Kink said, growing excited, his tongue flopping up and down as he ran. "You've got it. Now dig to the bottom. No. Deeper. That's it. You feel something hard? Good. Now pull it out. Careful. Don't drop it. It's heavy."

  As Ilien withdrew the item from the unseen bag, he marveled as his hand grew visible again. Along with his hand there appeared a five pound, two foot—bone? Kink drifted closer as he ran beside Ilien's invisible horse.

  "Hand it down here," the giant dog instructed, beginning to drool. "Slowly now. Slowly. Don't drop it." Kink snatched it and wheeled away, dropping back to chew on it as he resumed his steady, crooked march in the rear.

  A few minutes later, after he grew tired of watching his hand vanish and reappear over and over again, Ilien fished out what appeared to be bread—flat, stale, foul-smelling bread. He placed it back in the bag with a grimace, hoping to find something else, anything else. His search proved fruitless. He plucked out the bread again, glancing back at Kink chewing happily on his bone and wondering who had the better deal. There was nothing to do but eat it so he tore off a hunk with his teeth. It had the texture of raw meat and tasted like a sour mushroom, but at least it took his mind off the endless riding.

  They finally stopped as darkness descended. A few sooty clouds hung low in the sky, puffs of black smoke above the vast expanse before them. The tall grass of the plain stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction, a grey sea in the dying light, and though there was none to be seen, Ilien decided to search for firewood. He made sure he handed Runner's reins to Anselm first. There was no sense in his trying to unsaddle an invisible horse when the Giant could unsaddle a visible one.

  "I still don't like it that you can't see her," Anselm said. To Ilien it looked as if the Giant moved in pantomime as he tended the invisible mount. "I don't know what it means, but it can't be good."

  "It's good for him," Kink said, curling up in the grass. "It means he doesn't have to unsaddle her."

  Ilien wandered around the campsite searching in vain for something to burn. The thought of a damp and chilly night without a fire was almost more than he could bear. "There wouldn't happen to be any invisible wood around here that I can't see, would there?"

  "Don't bother," Anselm replied. "We've entered the Far Plains. You won't find wood in any direction for a hundred miles or more. But don't worry, I brought some fireflies."

  "Fireflies? You're joking." Ilien flexed his fingers. "I can do better than fireflies."

  "They're not what you think." Anselm reached into his pocket, but before the Giant could show him, Ilien pulled out his pencil.

  "Are you sure you're holding me the right way?" the pencil asked pointedly, its profile outlined in the gloom. "I wouldn't want to—"

  "Just keep quiet," said Ilien, and circling it above his hand before it could quip back, he chanted his Light spell. "Kinil ubid, illubid kinar.” The tiny, magical sphere took shape in his palm.

  "Unfortunately, this seems to be the only spell I can control," he said as the light grew brighter. "Throw me from the highest tower, shoot me with an arrow, chase me with a hungry Groll and I'll somehow save the day. But let me try a simple Lightning spell and it's 'run for the hills'!" Globe grew to a bright moon, pulsing softly. Ilien stroked it gently, as he might a cat, and soon there was enough light to see twenty yards in all directions. He laughed. "Globe and I go way back, don't we boy?" He looked at Anselm and smiled.

  All at once Globe shot from his hand in a hot spray of sparks and hissed up into the sky. Ilien watched in dismay as it arched up over the grassland, leaving a bright trail behind, and disappeared in the distance with a tiny, yellow flash.

  "You don't say," Anselm chuckled in the darkness. "Me, I just got these fireflies yesterday." He drew forth a glass vial, holding it up for Ilien to see. Three b
right pinpoints of light milled about at the bottom of the small container. "Guaranteed not to fly away."

  "You don't say," Ilien muttered, staring off into space where the pesky little Globe had disappeared.

  "Yeah," Kink said, scratching his backside half-heartedly. "He tore off their wings."

  "Just keep quiet!" Anselm snapped. "These flies will start and keep a fire all night, with or without wings."

  Ilien moved to take a closer look at the three glowing lights. Sure enough, they were bugs alright, fireflies actually, sans wings of course. "They're just plain old fireflies. I used to catch those back home."

  Anselm pulled the stopper off the glass vial. "They're not plain or old when caught in the Drowsy Wood." He fished out the more sluggish of the three, holding it in a cupped hand. He replaced the cover and dropped the bottle back in his pocket. "No wood needed. Behold." With a flourish he placed the bug on the grass. Immediately a small fire jumped up as if consuming the very air itself, and Anselm held his hands to its warmth.

  "But what about the firefly?" Ilien asked, peering into the dancing flames. "The poor thing's cooked for sure."

  Anselm looked to Kink and back again. "For crying out loud, Ilien. You can't reuse it. It's a bug!"

  They ate a hot meal of steaming, foul-smelling stale bread. It seemed, to Ilien's horror, that they carried little else. Kink wolfed his down and promptly curled into a massive ball of fur in the grass. Anselm ate his share gingerly, as if it were some sort of delicacy.

  "What is this stuff?" Ilien asked, taking a bite and trying to chew without gagging. He poked his piece suspiciously.

  "It's dragon dung." Anselm licked a hunk off his finger, then tore out laughing as Ilien choked and coughed. "It's just Awefull," the Giant snorted with tears in his eyes.