by RM Wark
He opened his eyes in surprise when it became clear his lips had not touched hers. Jezebel had shied away and turned her cheek. She left without saying good-bye.
*************
Once again in the form of a solitary black wolf, Lord Edmund made his way south towards the Village of Asan.
He was grateful to have the Keirko Forest behind him. It had been eerily quiet, especially at night, which was his preferred time to travel. No owls hooted, no rodents scampered, no crickets chirped. If not for a few unlucky snakes he had found hiding amongst fallen leaves, Lord Edmund would have gone hungry once again – not that the snakes were very satisfying. He was looking forward to the taste of fish from the South Samora Sea.
He arrived at the Village of Asan a few hours after the sun had set. The village appeared to be of similar size to Govi. But unlike Govi, this seaside village was not abandoned. A few lanterns burned along the streets and some windows were aglow in a pale flickering light.
Lord Edmund scanned the horizon, his gaze coming to a rest on a large bonfire near the shore. His mouth watered with the thought of the food that might be roasting on that bonfire. He transformed into a fox – still his favored creature of stealth – and made his way towards the shore.
As he grew closer to the sea, the smell of salt and rotting fish filled the air. He could also hear loud rhythmic drumming and chanting, but he could not make out what was being said. Puzzled, Lord Edmund continued to make his way towards the bonfire, ever-so-carefully climbing the large sand dunes that separated the village from the sea.
When he finally neared the bonfire, Lord Edmund crouched low atop a sand dune and watched. He had never seen anything like it before.
The fire was massive, rising high above the crowd of people surrounding it. Twenty men danced around the fire in painted faces, chanting along to the rhythm of wooden drums being played by another twenty men sitting cross-legged on the ground. Many others – men, women and children – stood in a crowd behind the drummers. But the crowd did not chant. They remained silent, their eyes transfixed on the dancers.
A loud cry stopped the music momentarily, and an old man dressed in a robe of deep red walked towards the dancers. He was followed by a trail of young boys, each carrying a live chicken. The last boy carried a sleeping infant.
At the command of the man in red, each boy presented his chicken – or in one case, an infant – to a dancer and promptly retreated into the shadows behind the drummers. Afterwards, the man dressed in red approached the first dancer and handed him a long knife. The man in red shouted a phrase. The dancer repeated the phrase as he cut the throat of the chicken, allowing its blood to pour down his arm and pool upon the sand below. As blood splattered in the sand, the drums slowly began to sound in steady rhythm not unlike a heartbeat. Without warning, the dancer threw the bird into the flames of the bonfire, eliciting rabid cheers from the crowd.
The dancer returned the knife to the man in red, who then offered it to the next dancer. The entire scene was repeated – again and again – until all the chickens were dead.
Finally, the man in red came to the dancer holding the sleeping infant. Once again the man in red chanted. Once again the dancer repeated the phrase. And with the slice of a knife, the sleeping infant breathed no more. The infant was thrown into the flames like the chickens before him, and once again, the crowd burst out in cheers.
Lord Edmund recoiled in disgust at all he had seen and struggled to make sense of it all. He had been able to make out only a single word of the phrase the man in red and the dancers had been chanting: Chindi.
*************
Much to Fallon’s bewilderment, Jezebel returned the next night. This time she brought along sweet bread. Once again he found himself complimenting her efforts, though in truth Beatrice and Elizabeth had both made much better.
They continued to exchange simple pleasantries, but Fallon was careful not to sit too close. He had gone too far before, and he did not want to make the same mistake again.
Fallon watched the sand fall from the hourglass. “The guard shall be coming soon,” he said.
A look of disappointment crossed Jezebel’s face for a brief moment, but she stood up and smiled. “I suppose I should be going then.”
Fallon followed her to the window. He lifted it ever-so-gently so as not to make any noise and turned to offer her a helping hand. Once again she placed her hand on his, and once again she looked upon him with her soft hazel eyes.
But this time, Fallon did not attempt to kiss her. And this time, it was Jezebel who seemed caught by surprise.
*************
Jezebel could not sleep that night. She had been certain Fallon would try to kiss her again – and she had thought perhaps this time she might let him – though she was not completely certain. He was a Reedite after all.
But things had not gone as planned. Although he had been quite cordial, Fallon seemed very distant that night. A small part of her worried he might not care for her after all. And for the first time in her life, Jezebel felt the bitter pain of rejection.
*************
Lord Edmund fled shortly after witnessing the sacrifice of the sleeping infant. He did not want to risk being caught by the followers of the man in red. He did not want to become part of the ritual. He sought out a remote section of the shore, far away from the villagers and their bonfire. Once there, he took shelter under a piece of driftwood and tried to ignore the rumbling in his stomach.
When Lord Edmond awoke the next morning, he was surprised to find that he was not sheltered by driftwood but rather the remnants of a fishing boat. As he surveyed the beach around him, he noticed several more discarded boats, some in better shape than others.
He was surprised the villagers had not tried to salvage the wood for use in another boat. It was not until his gaze turned to the sea that he understood. There was no need for fishing boats. The tide was red for as far as the eye could see. The fish were all dead and rotting upon the sand. Once again, Lord Edmund tried his best to ignore the pangs of an empty stomach.
The wizard headed back towards Asan. He remained as a fox until he was just outside the village, where he transformed into a rat once again. He was able to enter a few of the structures in the village – several homes and what looked to be a bakery (sadly it only held a few stale crumbs), but there was nothing of interest. He also found a local pub, but it was empty. He considered returning in the evening when he might find villagers seated at the bar with stories to tell, but the thought of staying in the Village of Asan much longer filled him with dread.
So the rat became a lone black wolf once again, and Lord Edmund began his journey east along the southern shoreline to the Town of Nurlat. It was one of the few names on the mariner’s map that the wizard recognized. He knew it must be a large and important town to have made it into the books of the West, and he hoped he might find some useful intelligence there.
*************
This time she came with a basket of plums. She watched as the guard slowly made his way around the house, and after waiting for another few minutes, she slowly approached the rear bedroom window.
Stepping on the tips of her toes in order to tap on the glass, she watched the movement of shadows within the house for signs that he heard her. It was not long before the window opened and he extended his arm.
“It is good to see you again, Jezebel.”
Fallon had offered her a polite smile along with a helping hand into the house, but she could still feel the awkward distance between them.
“What have you brought me this time?” he asked, peering into the basket.
Jezebel did not reply. Instead, she stepped closer to him. She pulled the basket from his grip and dropped it to the floor. Fallon’s head cocked in confusion. She took another step forward and then another, until her body was mere inches from his. She stood on the tips of her toes once again and pressed her lips to his.
To her immense relief, Fallon’s li
ps responded.
*************
“But I love him,” Lady Delia protested, fighting back tears.
The King tried his best to temper his words so as to avoid another fight. But, as was typical of his interactions with his daughter as of late, he failed miserably.
“You must remember that you shall be the Queen one day, my dear Delia,” he replied with collected calm. “He … he is not worthy of you.”
“And why is that?” she snapped. “Whom should I marry instead? Whom do you deem worthy enough for the future Queen?”
“Anyone,” Lord Huron replied with an exasperated sigh. “Anyone save Lord Milton.”
She glared at him, the bitter venom in her expression undeniable, before she stormed out of the library.
He was tempted to go after her, but he knew it would likely do more harm than good. In truth, he bore no grudge against Lord Milton. He seemed a nice enough wizard, if not a bit eccentric. It was Lord Milton’s father who was to blame. The King could not bear the thought of forever being connected to that family – even if it meant he must endure his daughter’s wrath.
It is for the best, he told himself. No good shall come from such a union. He is his father’s son.
*************
Selma had come to visit him several times in the past few months – she felt drawn to him in fact. They had many pleasant conversations, but they had not spoken of Wendell since their first meeting.
“How did my brother die?” Selma finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The question had been weighing on her mind for some time, but she could not bring herself to ask Lord Cephas.
This way is easier, she thought. He knows many things.
She willed herself to meet Oren’s eyes, which flashed silver for the briefest of moments. Selma held her breath, but Oren did not speak.
“What is it, Oren?” she asked.
Oren frowned. “To this question I cannot give you an answer.”
“But you know many things!” Selma protested. “I saw your eyes.”
“I am sorry, dear Selma.”
Selma fell silent with disappointment, her eyes filling with hot tears. “He must have suffered greatly then,” she sobbed. “I know it to be true. Otherwise you would tell me.”
“I did not say that, dear Selma.” Oren’s voice was tender and consoling.
“Then why not tell me?” she pleaded.
Oren paused, as if searching for the right words. “It is not my story to tell,” he said finally.
“I must be leaving you now.” Selma turned and hurried down the corridor, away from Oren’s cell.
“Some truths are better left unsaid,” Oren called after her.
But Selma was already gone.
*************
Jezebel’s heart was aflutter and her head was spinning. She could not recall the last time she had felt this way about anyone.
He kissed me back.
There had been other men in her life. Dirk had wanted to marry her and had told her as much, repeatedly. But she had always resisted. “Not yet, sweet Dirk,” she would say. The truth was that although she cared for Dirk, she was not certain that she would ever truly love him – not the way her parents loved each other.
But it was different with Fallon. Fallon was special, he was marked. And he needed her, so much so that he had risked his life to find her. And in the process, he awakened a passion in her that she had never experienced before. She looked forward to their next meeting.
*************
Lord Etan stared at the two wizards standing before him. Lord Abner had not aged well, and the Emperor wondered if the wizard’s family and friends would even recognize him. Lady Victoria, however, remained as beautiful as she had been the day she arrived at Cetahl. For the briefest of moments, he reconsidered his plan to release them both.
It would be a shame to let such beauty go.
“I have made arrangements to return you both to the West,” he said.
The Western Wizards stood in shocked silence at the Emperor’s unexpected words. Lord Abner was the first to speak.
“Forgive me, Emperor, but I find your sense of humor lacking.”
“You have known me long enough, Lord Abner, to know that I rarely speak in jest.”
The Emperor turned his gaze to Lady Victoria.
“Why?” she asked, her eyes searching his.
The Emperor noted a trace of hurt in the wizard’s expression. Good, he thought. “I need you to deliver a message to the Queen,” he replied.
“Queen? King Huron is dead?”
The Emperor watched as Lady Victoria turned her head in surprise and studied the man beside her – the man who had just asked what she probably considered an absurd question. I suppose I should have informed her of the other Western Wizard … and that he has been here for quite some time.
“Aye. The King is dead, and so is his daughter, Lady Delia,” explained the Emperor.
The revelation silenced Lord Abner.
“What message do you have for Lady Dinah?” asked Lady Victoria, her attention now directed back at the Emperor. “And why not send a raven instead?” Anger had replaced the hurt once apparent in her expression.
“I would have thought the news of your release would bring you cheer. Would you rather that I continue to keep you as prisoners?”
The Western Wizards seemed at a loss as to how to respond.
This did not surprise Lord Etan. The Western Wizards had not exactly been treated as prisoners … not for some time, anyway, and they had long ago stopped asking to go home. He liked to believe they were happy here in Cetahl – especially Lady Victoria.
“I have a simple message for the Queen. I should like to apologize to her for the inconvenience of the Easterners crossing into the West. Please let her know that we are working to resolve the situation as quickly as possible, and that I am releasing you both as a gesture of good faith. Can you tell her this?”
The Wizard Wizards nodded.
“I trust you both shall also assure the Queen that you were well treated during your time here in Cetahl. I would hate for my gesture of good faith to inspire any thoughts of vengeance.”
“Aye, Emperor,” the Western Wizards replied in unison.
“Good.”
Lord Abner cleared his throat. “To deliver the message – that is all you want from us?” he asked.
Lord Etan smiled. “No, my friend. It is not.”
*************
As he traveled along the southern coast to the Town of Nurlat, the sand dunes gave way to rocky cliffs, and those cliffs slowly gave way to a flat expanse of mud. Lord Edmund had finally reached the mouth of the River Vosk, where roaring waters of brown silt spilled into an estuary choked with mangroves and seagrass.
The sight surprised him. He had encountered several forests in his journey through the East, but the quietness that hung in the air of those forests served as a haunting reminder that the animals were largely gone. This estuary was teeming with life. The thick vegetation did present a bit of a dilemma, however. How am I to get across? The Town of Nurlat is on the other side.
Lord Edmund looked up at the early morning sky. He had grown accustomed to traveling during the night and sleeping during the day, but he felt compelled to keep moving. At least a little while longer. He attempted to wade into the water, but his paws quickly became ensnared in a tangle of weeds, so he dragged himself back onto the muddy shoreline. His only choice was to follow the river north and hope to find some way across.
Before long, Lord Edmund found a dirt road that appeared to parallel the riverbank. Not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to himself, he quickly changed from a wolf to a fox and tried his best to remain concealed in the thicket of trees between the water and the road. He was about to settle down to sleep in some underbrush when he heard voices from the road.
“Hurry, Nikolai, the boat shall not wait much longer!”
“I am an old man, Petrov. My legs do no
t move so fast.”
“You are not so much older than me, my brother. If you cannot persuade your legs to move faster, I fear we shall not make it to Nurlat today.”
Lord Edmund scampered up to the road, taking care to crouch low so as not to be discovered. Craning his neck, he could see two men quite a ways off in the distance, but they were heading his way. The thought of a boat nearby – a boat headed to Nurlat, no less – was all the wizard needed to shake off the exhaustion he had nearly succumbed to moments before. The fox jumped back down into the thicket of trees and continued his way north in search of a boat.
A half hour passed before he finally reached the boat. There were already several passengers on board, and the captain was keeping a close eye on his water clock, a sure sign that the boat’s departure was imminent. Lord Edmund quickly changed into a rat, sprinted (as much as a rat can sprint) up the dock, and jumped onto the vessel. Whether he was seen or not he could not say, as he immediately ran into a small storage compartment near the bow and dared not peek his head back out until the boat reached the other side of the river.
The compartment was dark and smelled vaguely of lye and mildew. Lord Edmund curled up on a worn rag and waited. With a ring of a bell, the boat began to move. From the safety of the compartment, Lord Edmund listened closely to voices that would occasionally fill the silence during the river crossing. He had hoped to recognize the voices of Nikolai or Petrov, but if they were on board, they remained silent.
Lord Edmund did not emerge from the compartment until the boat docked and the sounds of departing passengers diminished. Then he ran. He did not stop running until he reached an alleyway across from dock, where stacks of hay were piled up against the far wall. Lord Edmund squeezed in between the stacks and pushed his way towards the back.