by Amy Hopkins
“Annie!” Julianne leaned forward and wrapped the older woman in a tight embrace. “I’ve missed you!” she exclaimed. “How are the boys?”
Annie pushed Julianne back to look at her, eyes moist as she clucked over the travel stains on Julianne’s pants. The one pair had lasted her the entire trip through the Madlands, and they showed the result of the gory fighting.
“Boys are just fine.” Annie ushered them in, with only a cursory glare at Marcus’s boots. Nevertheless, he slid them off and set them neatly outside the door before stepping inside. “Harlon’s gone to work for Francis, you know. Some kind of secretary, he says. Both are doing well, thanks to you.”
Julianne shook her head at Annie’s beaming smile. “That has nothing to do with me,” she said. “They’re smart, capable men. Francis especially has a gift for working with people.”
Annie couldn’t argue with that, so she set about taking the couple’s packs and piling them by the door. “You’ll be staying the night, I presume? Too late to be traipsing into town.”
“We’d hoped that would be ok,” Julianne said gently. “But if it’s too much bother—” Even Julianne’s words faltered under the furious glare Annie gave them, as if the old woman were offended at the suggestion.
“Have you eaten? Of course not.” She jabbed an elbow at Marcus. “I know the kind of food that one packs when he’s going somewhere.” Nodding, Annie bustled off to the kitchen.
“Hey,” Marcus called. “Any soldier would be happy with my cooking!”
“You’re not feeding a soldier,” Annie snapped, sticking her head back around the corner and waving a tea-towel at him threateningly. “You’re catering for a lady, and an important one at that!”
Marcus shrugged, grinning at Julianne. “Well, she’s got me there.”
Julianne shook her head and waved at the bags. “Go put them away and stop hassling the poor woman.”
She wandered into the kitchen, where Annie was just sliding a square tin into the oven. White dough puffed out of the top, dusted by tiny black seeds. On the bench beside her, three trays of raw oat cookies were carefully laid out.
“Having a bake up?” Julianne asked, inhaling the comforting scent of cinnamon and apple as she perched on a stool.
Annie scowled. “Since the traders have stopped coming so often, things have been scarce. I thought I’d run these into town first thing tomorrow, see if it don’t make a few smiles crop up amongst the gloom.”
Julianne bit her lip, wincing. She’d come back to Tahn because of the strange portal, but knew that the recent increase in remnant numbers had harried the town in her absence. “How bad is it?” Julianne asked.
“Well…” Annie blushed, an uncharacteristic reaction that Julianne noted with surprise. “A few brave men still make their way down, and they’ve been good enough to make sure we’re not wanting for anything urgent.”
“Oh?” Julianne asked, itching to know what had flustered the other woman so badly, but unsure what question to ask to discover it.
Julianne’s ability to read minds had no bearing here. Annie had not only been good to Julianne, she’d also been clear about her thoughts on reading minds uninvited. No mystic who had met her would intrude there without a damn good reason.
Thudding footsteps announced Marcus’s return and he slipped into the kitchen with a grin. He leaned down to peck Annie on the cheek, then darted away from a flick of her tea towel.
“Don’t you be getting fresh with me, young man,” she scolded. Despite her words, her eyes twinkled happily. “The bread won’t take long to cook. You both go and freshen up.” Her eyes raked Julianne’s blood-stained clothes with distaste.
“Thank you, Annie.” Julianne slid off her chair but paused on her way out. “I have to attend a meeting. You know…” She tapped her temple to signify the meeting would take place in her mind. “I might be a bit late coming down.”
“Get yourself dressed, then go make yourself comfortable on the back porch,” Annie said. “There’s no one here to bother you, and I’ll do my best to make sure this one is too busy to get in your way.”
Marcus lifted his hands. “I would never!”
“Fact remains, I need a man’s strength to help me with some things. You’re a man, if I guessed right?” Annie left the taunt hanging.
“All you had to do was ask.” Marcus’s face was painted with a wounded expression, but it was quickly followed by a grin when Annie rolled her eyes at him.
Julianne quickly ran upstairs to find her things stacked neatly on a bed. It was the same room Annie had put her up in last time she had been in Tahn. The bedsheets were smooth and neatly tucked, and despite holding the stale scent of a long-closed room, not a speck of dust marred the thin mantle over the tiny fireplace.
Apart from plain linen curtains and a small corner table, the room was undecorated. Julianne preferred it that way—it suited Annie’s perfunctory, no-nonsense attitude.
Julianne fished the alien creature from her pocket. Uncurled, it was shaped like an almond—if almonds had long, straw-like snouts and flared ridges along each side.
The shell sparkled, a deep rust-red color that threw flecks of light onto the walls as she held it up to the sun. “I know, boy. It was a long trip, and you’re hungry. We’re nearly there, though. You can see your friends again!”
She had no idea if the little beasts had a social structure like bees or ants, or if they were solitary. She didn’t even know if—or how—they mated. Her assumption that she held a boy was based on nothing more than a gut feeling, and the vague memory of a pet rat she’d had for a short time as a child.
With her free hand, she dug into one of her bags and pulled out a sheaf of paper. Tearing one off, she twirled it around. The creature shivered in anticipation, shrugged its shell over its head twice and let out a high-pitched whistle.
The paper jerked from her fingers, and trembled and vanished into a mouth hidden beneath the shell. As it ate, the creature warmed in her hand. Not enough, though—after a good feed, the little beast would heat to burning.
When the door creaked, Julianne jumped.
“It’s just me, girl.” Annie shouldered her way past the door holding a large pitcher and a bowl with a cloth draped over the side, all piled on top of a thick, folded towel. “Water’s warm, but won’t be for long.” Setting the crockery on the table and the towel on the bed, she turned, then jumped back.
“Sorry, Annie.” Julianne held the creature close. “I forgot to tell you—I’ve brought a friend.”
“I’m well familiar with those little vermin,” Annie said. “Ate my only copy of Tessa’s scone recipe, they did.”
“Oh, dear.” Julianne frowned, feeling the tension in the air.
“It’s not that I mind them, so much as I don’t like them,” Annie explained. “That’s no beast of Irth, you mark my words. And that flaming doorway to nowhere your friend found? Nothing but trouble.”
Julianne sighed. “I hope you’re wrong, Annie. I really do. And I wish I could say I thought you were.”
Annie nodded curtly. “You just keep that thing away from my kitchen. Long as it doesn’t eat any more of my important notes, it can stay.”
“Thanks, Annie.” Julianne lifted it to her face and pursed her lips in a kiss. “You won’t be any trouble, will you boy?”
Flicking an eyebrow high, Annie snorted. Then she stomped off downstairs, leaving Julianne to dress.
She set the little beast on the mantle, knowing from long nights watching it that it wouldn’t fall off. As she expected, its little snout felt along the edge and it backed up a safe distance, then settled down to nap again.
Satisfied, Julianne set herself to getting ready. She poured a little water into the bowl and dipped her hands in, scrubbing them together. Then, she dipped the cloth in and carefully sponged off the worst of the travel-dirt and remnant stains.
It took some time, but when she was done it felt like she’d been given new skin. Her flesh
now had a pink glow from the scrubbing, and despite a brisk toweling off, was still damp when she slipped her dress on.
The fabric clung and bunched up. By the time she’d wriggled it down past her hips, Julianne’s face was flushed, and her hair had started to curl from the warmth of her skin.
After placing the portal-beast back safely in her pocket, she made her way downstairs. Marcus had one of Annie’s windows on the ground and was fiddling with the hinges.
“Making yourself useful?” she asked.
“Well, I figured you’d be busy for a while,” he replied. “May as well make myself at home.”
“Good call.” Annie was nowhere in sight, but when Julianne stepped out of the back door onto the small, tidy porch, a pot of tea and a finely painted cup sat ready for her.
She sank into an old white rocker and took a moment to center herself. Steam drifted lazily from the spout of the tea pot, indicating it was still hot. Julianne watched the tendrils rise and twist, then vanish into the crisp evening air.
Blinking to bring herself back to the present, Julianne poured herself a cup and held it in both hands, letting the heat soak into her skin. Her eyes clouded over with a soft white glow as she reached out with her magic.
CHAPTER THREE
Margit? She sent the call across Irth, all the way back to the Mystic Temple on the other side of the Madlands.
The thought still filled her with wonder. Though she’d been using Artemis’s device for a month to stay in contact with Bastian, the ability to ‘speak’ to those back in the Temple while she was gone… Well, it changed everything.
You’re late, came Margit’s brisk reply. Run into trouble, did you?
The blasted rains slowed us down, Julianne explained. The ground was so soft even the horses were having trouble.
But you’re safe in Tahn?
Yes. Julianne sent a quick mental image of their arrival at Annie’s, followed by one of her perched on the rocker by a hot cup of tea.
Margit quickly shot back a vision of her own predicament—sitting in Julianne’s office, paperwork piled high beside her and a congealed plate of barely-touched food set off near the edge of the desk.
Watch out, girl, Margit said. I might just waltz across the Madlands and join you, if these fool Mystics don’t stop making work for me.
Concerned, Julianne wondered what had gone wrong. I made sure everything was up to date before I left!
Bah, Jonsen has it in his head that everything needs to be double-annotated while you’re gone and wants me to check the papers Artemis has been producing, too. Margit’s distaste at the idea leaked through the thoughts she sent.
Tell him to stop. By direct order from me, if need be. Julianne felt Margit’s mental eye-roll and added, If he won’t listen, hook him up to a device of his own, and I’ll tell him my damned self.
Margit snorted, the tone and inflection so perfect that Julianne knew she must have made the sound out loud. That might even stop him. Silly old goat is petrified of the sight of his own blood—maybe that can be my threat of choice while you’re gone.
Julianne sent a wave of affection, laced with commiseration. The mystics were an odd bunch, and loyal to a fault, but in Julianne’s absence they tended to make everything into a drama.
As much as I’d like to reminisce about Jonsen’s frustrating attention to detail, Julianne sent, ignoring a second snorting impression from Margit, We have things to discuss.
That we do, Margit sent, voice resigned. Will you go first? I don’t expect you have much to share.
We were attacked by a roving remnant well beyond the Madlands, Julianne sent flatly. Just the one—it was either separated from its pack or had abandoned them.
Or been abandoned by them, Margit pointed out. They’re not exactly known for their strong family ties, after all.
Fair point, Julianne conceded. But still, this was a little far out for my comfort. The beast wasn’t from the Mads, I don’t think.
How can you tell? Margit’s interest was caught, now, and her thoughts were soaked with curiosity.
Julianne took a sip of her tea, and grimaced when she realized it was already starting to go cold. It was a common problem. Always busy, always distracted. Still, she enjoyed the adrenaline coursing through her as she faced this new problem.
It had white marks painted on its face, like the creatures we saw who claimed Chet as their leader. That was a story that had fascinated the mystics when she’d told them. Remnant rarely claimed a leader for more than a raid or three.
Margit didn’t respond immediately, going quiet for a moment to think over the ramifications. If remnant had indeed travelled all the way across the marshy forest toward a rival group, something must be driving them.
Do you mind if I pull Amelia and our Tahn contingent in? Julianne asked. I still haven’t told Bastian I’m back yet.
Oh, go ahead, Margit sent comfortably. The boy will be knocking on my mind any minute now.
Oh? Margit hadn’t mentioned that earlier.
Yes, she sent wryly. Every afternoon, checks in like clockwork to see if you’ve reached your checkpoint.
Why doesn’t he ask me himself? Julianne wondered.
Doesn’t want to bother you, I imagine.
Shaking her head, Julianne reached out to Bastian and Amelia, twin tendrils of magic stretching across the world thanks to the amphorald at her wrist.
They both answered immediately, Amelia with a buoyant excitement and Bastian with a rush of relief.
Julianne! Amelia sent. I’m so glad to hear from you. Are you really so far away? Her thoughts had the same eagerness as Julianne’s had the first time she used the communication device.
I am, Julianne replied, reflecting the other woman’s wonder. Isn’t it amazing?
You arrived safely? Bastian sent.
More or less, Julianne thought back, making sure to keep her communication open to all three of them. Bastian, have the townspeople complained of any remnant attacks out this far? I ran in to one just past Annie’s.
Startled alarm suggested he hadn’t. We’ll need to set patrols to circle the whole town. Worry flickered at the edge of his thoughts, now. I don’t know how much farther Bette can stretch her men, though.
I’m desperately short of soldiers myself, Amelia broke in, but let me know if the situation is desperate, and I’ll see what I can do.
Gratitude suffused their bond, from both Julianne and Bastian. We can discuss that with Francis later today, Julianne said. Amelia, you’re an absolute gem. Margit, do you have any updates?
There was a pause, and Julianne imagined the older mystic shuffling papers. The first crate of communication devices arrived from the rearick. Found out why that bastard Tavich took so long—he made the damn things look pretty!
Julianne had to hide a wry appreciation for the old man’s tactics. Julianne had ordered over two-hundred of Artemis’s communication devices, and they were to be delivered in staggered lots over the next two years.
Though she hadn’t explained their use to Tavich, he would know the mystics would wear them—and that meant they would be seen. Nothing less than the very best could be associated with rearick crafting, so Tavich had made sure that fine details and quality work would be clearly visible.
Julianne rubbed her own bracelet. The gem was the one Artemis had used, but it was reset into a heavier strap with an ornate surround. It would easily pass as a simple piece of jewelry—something Julianne had insisted on.
She didn’t intend to keep the communication devices a secret, specifically, but the mystics were, in general, a mysterious bunch. Julianne certainly wouldn’t be advertising their new ability to communicate across Irth, and she didn’t think anyone else would, either.
Let them be, she told Margit. You know what the rearick are like. If you tell them to make the devices less detailed, they’ll turn the blasted things into works of art.
Silly old fools. The thought escaped Margit and echoed through the mental b
onds they all shared. Julianne smiled at the sentiment. It was something Margit had been called more than once.
Bastian quickly filled the silence. Did you manage to bring one for Danil, Master? He’s been dying to try it.
I did. Julianne shared a brief mental image of the bracelet she’d had made for her fellow mystic. And I brought two more, in case they are needed this side of the Mads. She had hoped for more, but could not afford to wait for the crafters to finish them.
We can discuss the bracelets later, Margit said pointedly. Despite their valuable nature, I want to know what’s going on at that portal.
Has your research turned up anything new? Julianne asked her.
A resounding sense of frustration flooded her mind in reply. These Bitch-forsaken records are so incomplete! Not a damned word about them. For all we know, they’ve never been seen before.
Maybe they haven’t, Julianne thought back. She was dubious about it—the Matriarch had traveled so far, seen so much that it seemed impossible for anything to occur that she hadn’t experienced.
We’ve gone through what little information we have here, Amelia said. There’s no mention of strange creatures or portals.
Julianne shrugged off the light disappointment she felt. No one had really expected to find the answer to what they were facing in their degraded, incomplete histories. Bastian, any new developments?
The arrivals have slowed. Just one in the last three days. Concern touched his thoughts about the small creatures like the one Julianne had adopted as a pet. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad one.
Do you have a total count?
A scatter of numbers crossed her mind as Bastian’s mental calculations leaked through the bond. I’d say... thirty or more?
Julianne’s eyebrows shot up. That many?
It’s just a guess, but I don’t think I’m far off. Of course, quite a few of those are dead—the remnant seem bent on wiping the poor things out. Bastian’s shudder of distaste made goosebumps run over Julianne’s skin.
Absentmindedly, she reached into her pocket to stroke the little creature inside. It was curled up tight, probably in response to her use of magic. Every time she’d cast a spell or used mental communication, the little beast had skittered away or wrapped itself into an impenetrable ball.