by M. P. Taylor
“Look. If you really want to investigate those killings, go for it. Gods know I couldn't stop you anyway. All I ask is that, should you be cornered by blood knights, you just make sure you get out alive and if you need help,” he starred me in the eyes, no doubt looking for my reaction, “Just call us. The justicars are here to help. Yes, even to an outcast like you.”
“You're giving the old man a run for his money in the lecturing department,” it was a risky move to bring our mentor back up. It had brought anger to us both just moments ago but now the ice was broken. A brief smile appeared, followed by the bite of reality and a grimace that matched.
“Someone has to,” he stood up in his chair, “I already replaced your concealment ward and reinforced the ones about your place. No vampire is going to be barging in here. I can stay the rest of the night if you want.”
“Not needed. Like you said, I'm safe here. Besides, I don't think the knights had it out for me. They got the papers they were looking for.”
“Know what was on them?” he asked as he grabbed his coat.
“Not a clue, but I've got an idea about how to figure out,” he eyed me curiously but I shrugged, “Trade secret.”
“Fair enough,” he motioned to my coat which sat upon the dinning room table, my staff laid under it, “Keys are in there, brought your car around a while ago. Remember to rest up for a few days. Regrown flesh can tear quickly, believe me. Oh, and I'll try to see if anyone knows about the blood knights.”
“Goodbye Gerald,” I said as he made his way out. I pause then hurried over to him. A quick hug, “Thank you.”
He returned it, “Your welcome.”
Then he was gone and when he left so to did my sense of security.
Truthfully, I wanted him to stay the night. I didn't get good rest on most nights but I could tell my wound was going to keep me up. Not because of the pain but due to the memory. The way that vampire, the lady Irena, had starred at me. She had been enjoying my torment far more than any normal human would have. It had been a game to her – pushing my discomfort as far as she could while not quite killing me. Would she return and finished the job? A slender blade in the darkness of some future night?
I wondered if anyone would attend my funeral.
A whine from my mutt reminded me that I had at least one person, or rather beast, that would attend.
Since rest wouldn't come to me until I was well fatigued, I decided to make the most of my time.
Whatever was going on it was clear to me that big players were involved. Blood knights were nasty business and I needed to break out my big guns. They weren't exactly bazookas, but more grenades in the 'magical equivalent of explosive' comparison. A quick look through my cupboards and fridge allowed me to find the ingredients needed.
Alchemy was something of a lost art among modern wizards and for good reason. Monster were less common. Humanity had slowly won the battle against the darkness. Civilization had pushed away the beings that feast upon them. That was mostly good, but alchemy suffered for it was the art of mixing monster toxins, fluids and parts to create various useful effects.
Cyanide had nothing on basilisk glands with a bit of nymph's blood.
Of course, all of these ingredients needed to be gatherer. It wasn't cheap and thus the art was slowly lost. It was one of the reasons I tended to look into monster cases, save some folks, do a good deed and get some entrails for loot.
I needed a better hobby.
The purpose of this grim gathering came with a mortar and pestle. I took our troll teeth and began to crush them. It was a laborious process that was made much worse by my rather pathetic physical strength. Even under normal conditions I wasn't much of thug but now, with a near constant burning in my side, I felt as though I were weaker than a toddler. But where there was a will, there was a way, and toddlers were very willful.
Bucket came up to me, looking up with puppy eyes and wanting scraps. I sighed, went to the fridge and threw him some meat.
“Happy?” I asked, Bucket just began to pant and look to the fridge. I gave him one more and shook my head, “If you get fat...”
Bucket ignored my warning as he was apt to do, but graciously allowed me to get back to my work.
A few more minutes with the mortar and pestle and I'd turned the troll's bone into fine paste. A trip to my spice rack and I had the basic elements that I needed.
Potions were simple enough in nature, elements added and combined could create something greater than the sums of their individual parts.
The issue laid in testing. One had to first take random elements and get someone to ingest them. Most of that grim task had been done by witches in the dark ages. One book was on a nearby shelf, an old thing with a sufficiently ominous title 'The Delicacy of Flesh', it was a more modern title that had been edited by the elders. I tended to stick to the book's rules. Alchemy was a hobby to me and not much more. Besides, do you have any idea how troublesome it is to abduct people for experiments?
The one I was making now was one of the more common potions. It was called Troll Rot, a name that implied both an appropriate origin and the effect it would have one one's stomach. What the title didn't include was the actual effect. I took a handful of the powder and added it to the rest of my dry ingredients. A pinch of water and we were all good to go.
Troll Rot was strong. From the moment it touched my lips, my stomach curled. I had enough discipline to force it down – knowing that if I didn't I'd be resting for weeks. A gasp escaped my lips and I slammed the vial onto the ground and rushed for some milk to chase it down. My stomach hated me but not nearly as much as I hated it. I suppressed the urge to vomit and somehow made it back to my bed. Bucket came over and licked my fingers.
“Trying to get a taste huh? Trust me mutt, it isn't worth it unless you need it,” Bucket tilted his head slightly, then continued licking. I sighed and force myself to sleep.
Chapter Four
The next morning I felt much better. The pain was mostly gone, being the rough equivalent of a bad cramp. A quick check beneath the bandage confirmed that the Troll Rot had worked. The flesh had a pinkness to it, having been regenerated during my slumber.
It also had the benefit of Harold's fleshcrafting but that alone wouldn't have been enough. Sure it would have healed in time, but time was something of a precious commodity.
The blood knights already had the upper hand on me since they took the papers. I hoped that scattering them in the wind would slow them down.
A malicious smile crept up on me as I imaged two ancient vampire scrambling through a parking lot, chasing papers. It was the small things in life that kept me going.
Even if they were slowed down, that certainly wasn't going to be enough. I needed to get ahead of them. A quick call on the phone confirmed that one of my contacts was willing to meet with me this afternoon. I had a hunch of how she'd be able to help me out.
There was also the matter of my defenses. Big players were moving about and that meant I needed to up my game if I didn't want to get ran over. From the fridge I pulled out two potions that I'd made some months ago in preparation for just such a day.
They were both held in small, resealable, glass tubes that I'd bought at the store. The only identification on them was a red and blue marker point on the top. They slid in perfectly along the inner lining of my jacket where I'd sown slots for them months before. It would be my first practical test of carrying around alchemic potions on my person. I just hoped that the glass was stronger than it looked. Last things I needed was to have a potion leaking on me in the middle of a fight, especially the red one.
I took my pistol with me, tucking it into the holster on my hip. As soon as I put on my capelet coat it was concealed, but still easy enough to access.
It took me a moment to decide if I wanted to take my staff with me. With the summoning rune it was only a second away but I decided that it would be better just to carry it today. Getting stabbed had put me on edge.
&nb
sp; A shower, brush of the teeth and a cantrip, a mundane spell, for my hair and we were good to roll.
Bucket came paddling along with the dumb look on his face, “You can come along. Just don't bark at everything that moves.”
Taking bucket for a walk was something of a challenge. He had learned as a puppy that he had enough muscle to push me around. Leashes were pointless. A stern tone told him where he needed to be though I admitted my dog training skills still had something to be desired. The saving grace was that dogs were simple creatures. Worse come to worse, I could just mutter a few words and suggest that he obey my will.
We managed to get to my car without any major hassle – just the normal odd looks that the apartment staff and residents would give anyone with such a large beast.
Gerald had pulled my car around to the dront. A noble gesture but a parking ticket was waiting for me on the windshield. He must not have seen the sign. He was most likely trying to save my life so I suppose I could let the matter pass.
I was a wizard, wasn't like money was an issue.
A true issue for the day, a foe that had claimed countless lives since time untold, was the snow. It had fallen freshly the night before and layered the street in sheets of white.
Bucket, stupid Bucket, ran straight into the pile of fluff that a snowplow had pushed up. His tale waged and I shook my head, he would be cold in ten seconds and whine. I knew because he did it every time he saw snow, never learning his lesson. Stupid Bucket.
My car was small, a sedan, but I managed a miracle by not sliding into a ditch as I made my way out of the city.
The drive was a long one and gave me time to think. A thousand different thoughts were all competing for my attention. It became a sort of white noise and before long I'd blocked out thinking all together and simply enjoyed the ride.
My goal was Olympic Nation Park, a nature preserve not to far from the city. It amazed me how dramatic the change was just a few miles out of the city.
A quick drive and the busy urban center gave way to pure nature. Endless dense tress which were covered by fresh snow – it was the sorts of sight that had inspired me to take ice and cold to be my primary areas of study. There was a beauty in winter that I found to be utterly fascinating.
I passed a rather idyllic sign, it had a peaceful sunset over green trees.
False advertising. The actual Olympic Park was something of an odd mix between a few different types of ecosystems – it was what made the place so interesting. Part of it could have easily been mistaken for rain forest while others were classically American – long, tall tress that dwarfed anything for miles around. All of it was covered in snow now. I thought it added to the majesty of the forest.
The side road was blocked off by chains and a red sign. I pulled off on the side, risking another ticket, and hopped the fence with Bucket in tow – the dumb mutt seemingly overjoyed by the amount of snow we were about to walk through.
Just past the gate was a ranger station.
A quick look into the office confirmed that the door was locked and the lights were off. It was one of the more remote posts so it made sense that they wouldn't bother sending someone out this way given the poor weather. Anyone who was dumb enough to enter the forest in this weather deserved what they got.
The trail was a miserable slog through snow. My boots paid for themselves being both warm and tight enough to keep snow out as I plowed through. Bucket seemed happy. He bounded through the snow with far more grace than I could ever hope, his muscles making light work of the stuff. I whistled and he made an effort to stick close to me as I pushed forward with a weary sigh.
After a good thirty minutes of trudging along, I managed to reach my destination.
Most who passed by the conclave wouldn't have the slightest clue what was lurking just a few hundred paces from the main trail.
There was a good reason for that. Those who called this place home liked their privacy. A number of spells had been layer in such a way that one would naturally walk around, avoid or otherwise not notice the place unless you were looking for it. It so happened that I was looking, as such I saw past the illusion.
A new trail appeared among the snow. It was hard to describe how it came into sight, as though it had always been there but it took me far too long to notice it.
Bucket took longer than myself. He barked as I took a step on the trail, apparently terrified at the sudden appearance. Whomever said dogs were good at detecting magic was full of shit.
It began as slightly lesser amounts of snow but, with each step I came closer to spring and then summer. By the time I'd walked fifty feet the snow was all but gone, and I could hear the sound of running water.
The cold was gone as well. There was a gentle warmth in its place. It reminded me of a perfect summer day. I may have been a cryomancer but that didn't mean I was immune to the cold. Thirty minutes of hiking had left me quite cold, and so I all but ran the rest of the trail – basking in the warmth.
Soft laughter, running water, and enchanting music could be heard from ahead. I rounded a bend and found myself seeing more and more of heaven.
A fresh spring of running water culminated into a pool that spread across an open clearing that was breathtaking in terms of natural beauty. Trees, bushes and stone were placed about in a manner that seemed both natural and yet too stunning to have been – as though a gardener had spent endless time perfecting each blade of grass.
Within the glade, a number of humanoid figures moved about. A handful of humanoid creatures – nymphs, satyrs, elves and the such. All creatures that reveled in nature and revel they did. They were sharing drink, laughter and even bodies – a sort of constant orgy that somehow managed to seem intimate instead of obscene. They were creatures of community and primitive nature – fey. Powerful, enchanting and yet utterly enslave to their nature.
They could have been bloodthirsty demons for all I cared. I was cold and wanted to warm up, so I smiled, waved and walked into the crowded clearing.
Bucket rushed ahead of me, into the waiting arms of some nearby nymph who embraced the mutt with a childlike glee. A second later he was surrounded by a dozen of the fey folk, all of whom simply pet and played with him.
Stupid dog, always getting the love.
Eventually my arrival was noticed.
A satyr who stood near the rocks, playing pipes, jumped down and landed a few inches from me. He was a large sort, easily eight feet tall with goat-like legs and a masculine physique. Masculine being a bit of an understatement. He likely could have snapped my neck with one hand, and his nakedness showed off his rather appealing perks.
He grinned and began to speak, “O fondest maiden, of thee I seek-”
“Not happening,” I said while striding past. He looked hurt so I gave him a pat on the shoulder, “Business not pleasure. Nomia is expecting me.”
“Ah, forgive my wanton desire,” the satyr bowed his head and gestured towards the water, “She of the lake is just beyond.” he turned at the sound of erupting laughter, “Thine beast is most popular...”
“Yep, a regular lady killer,” the satyr looked at Bucket wearily, “Not literally, its an expres-Ah never mind.”
One side effect of the fey was their inability to understand human sayings. They didn't hide their intentions. If a fey wanted something it would ask for it or take it. They were pure in that way.
Not that they were without fault. Their habits often included taking or seducing folk who wandering into their woods.
A few such people could be seen, mortals who had given into the pleasures of the oasis. They laid about the rocks nearest the lake, naked or near enough, and universally they seemed quite pleased with their choice to give up the material world. Soon they would drink from the Nomia's blessed water and forever be changed into a creature of pleasure and nature.
That was how the fey gained numbers. They didn't reproduce through birth, not most of them anyway, but from a sort of metamorphosis of spirit. Any human
could become one. All they needed to do was surrender to their baser instincts be they lust, the predator thrill of hunting or even something so simple as feasting. Well, that and a sip of another fey's soul.
This particular group were all spawned from the soul of Nomia.
As I approached the edges of the pond, a small lake was a more apt description, I could see her swimming.
A classical beauty with dark brown hair and a olive complexion that spoke of Mediterranean heritage. About her body she wore a toga but the fabric was pointless when wet. I honestly wondered why she even bothered, it wasn't as if her followers cared about their nudity. Maybe it was for my sake, she'd always been very matronly where I was concerned.
“Nomia,” I greeted.
The woman favored me with a radiant smile, I blushed. It had nothing to do with feelings towards the woman. Anyone would have blushed. Nomia was a Naiad, a sort of water goddess that had immense power over the natural world. Within this isolated piece of summer, she was the only power. My spells were nothing compared to sort of destruction she could cause in her domain – thankfully she wasn't my enemy. In fact, I hoped she could help.
“Do nightmares speak to you once more, broken one?”
I shook my head, “Not those ones anyway.”
In addition to being a goddess of nature, Nomia was also my psychologist. Rather, she was the closet thing that we supernatural types had. Her nature was that of a concerned mother who also sought to help others, even the wicked. I'd been unable to sleep for more than a few hours before I meet her. One of the elders had introduced us and she's been eating away at my memories ever since.
That sounded worse than it was.
Think of all those people in the world who had lived through true trauma, the type that scarred not just the body but also the soul. A solder who saw his fellows tortured to death. A burn victim who could never escape the sensation deep at night. Would it truly be so terrible to forget those thing?
I'd been willing to forget my own trauma and Nomia helped me to do that. Each month I'd lay with her for a time and those dark moments of my past would seem a little less terrifying. Piece by piece, my soul was able to be reforged.