Plasma Frequency Magazine: Issue 12

by Arley

  But Jainor bent as much as he braced. He was flow to her fire, and there sometimes seemed little Eridanus could do but hover over them.

  Jainor's eyelids flickered; his head turned. A soft sound issued from him, "Danus?"

  "I am here," Eridanus said.

  Jainor twisted to look at him. "Come closer." When the Lthieryn complied, he continued in a whisper, "I need your help."

  Eridanus did not hesitate. "Whatever you need."

  A hand seized his, the fingers shards of ice. "I need you to kill me."

  Eridanus did not shock easily, having learned human emotions only through training and exposure, but the statement held him numb. "Jainor?"

  "Please." His voice strengthened. "The longer you stay here, the more danger there is. The only thing holding you here—"

  "Adiarwen is strong," Eridanus interrupted. "She will not stay unless she wishes to, and we both know her mind on that."

  "No." Jainor was sure, despite the fever. "They will make her choose between my survival and her freedom, if they haven't already—"

  Despite himself, Eridanus thought of Teva's surety, of the weight in Coreliar's words...the rumors that must have flown through the temple grounds, and the city that waited on her word to revolve around her.

  "I cannot have her make that choice." Jainor closed his eyes. "We both know what she would do. I would rather see her happy without me than trapped and miserable with me."

  "It will not come to that," Eridanus said.

  "I could not bear if she surrendered for me. Think about it." Jainor breathed out on slumber.

  Eridanus stood motionless, the words tingling through his body. He had feared Adiarwen would be drawn into the web of Gwynora, but he could not imagine such drastic measures. Yet he had never doubted Jainor would sacrifice for her. They both would, given the chance.

  "You're going to live for her, Jainor," he said softly. "That's the best thing you can do."

  ~

  The night passed, and most of the next day. Adiarwen finally slept when the sun was high, her head curled against the side of the bed. Eridanus watched over them for a time, then saw himself out. He wanted to gather information—something that would prove Jainor's dire predictions as nothing more than shadows.

  Teva met him in the sitting room, nervous as she curtsied. "Milord Eridanus."

  "I need no title." He was about to ask for directions when her manner struck him. "Is everything all right, priestess?"

  "The council of kings..." Her hands plucked at her skirt. "I should not worry the star-heiress with my concerns. The heavens have given her the strength to face what lies ahead."

  If only that were true. Adiarwen had raw power, magic enough to move the earth, but it was no more than a whisper in the face of human conspiracy. "Perhaps," Eridanus said, "but those close to her are her pillars. Tell me?"

  Teva's eyes flickered to his face. "The council of kings is very anxious to see her ascend...oh, certainly from respect," she hastened to clarify, "but not only that. Barbarians are rising in the south. Poor harvests threaten throughout the breadbasket, and the remnant followers of the God-Sons wait for a weakness. No one wants to be the center of attention when these problems come to the fore. Do you see what I mean?"

  "They're looking for a scapegoat. Someone who should have been there from the start." With the further pressure that once she had ascended, to step aside would put the empire in jeopardy.

  "Nothing so harsh as that," she protested.

  He had to know. "Would the council ask the healers to stop tending to Jainor? And would you obey?"

  "Oh, I cannot imagine that," Teva said, with less conviction. "If they did, we would have to. To do otherwise would be treason."

  Adiarwen might counter them...but only by taking authority she did not want. Eridanus bowed his head. She took that for dismissal and slipped away.

  He dropped to a seat, hands limp. Could Jainor be right? Nothing stopped them from riding out of here, but that would kill him as surely. Despite himself, Eridanus felt a trickle of attraction towards the idea. No Jainor meant a second chance, nothing between him and Adiarwen...except his conscience.

  Enough he had no desire to hurt a dear friend, how could he stay near her if he were responsible for the death of her beloved? Whatever the reason, it would be his hand on the blade.

  It would not come to that. Teva knew the council better than he did, and she believed this was nothing more dire than a few suspect motivations.

  Eridanus built himself a wall of reasoning, brick by brick, confining the idea that Jainor had planted in his mind. When he was done, only a mote of memory stared back at him through the cracks.

  "His fever has broken," Adiarwen said from the doorway. "He has a long way to go before he is out of danger, but the worst is over." Her voice rose towards singing. "The worst is over, Eri." She flurried over to him and hugged him fiercely. He could feel her trembling.

  "I never had a doubt," he said. "How are you holding up?"

  Her gaze met his, then jerked away. "I told the high priests I would speak to the faithful during the sunset rites," she said. Her voice tightened in self-defense as she continued, "I'm taking their hospitality, their talents and even these chambers. I owe them something, don't I?"

  "You accepted no obligations, and the healers here are sworn to help the sick," he said, "so I believe anything you choose to do makes you remarkable."

  She crinkled her nose. "Sometimes I wish I could make you less polite. Would you watch over Jainor while I attend the rites?"

  "Of course." The words were out before he could make up an excuse, and he grimaced inwardly.

  Adiarwen squeezed his arm. "Thank you. Wish me luck, would you?"

  She left him with no other choice than to retire to the bedchamber where the smell of herbs lay cloying on the air. Every stray twitch or breath from Jainor put him on edge, waiting for a mournful repeat of that plea.

  ~

  Shortly after sunset, Jainor stirred. He jerked upright with rasping breaths, only to be calmed by the healers. Eridanus retreated, somehow found himself continuing to walk, and ended up in unfamiliar regions of the tower, drawn to open air and doorways long left closed.

  He stepped onto a balcony and sighed. Maybe it was time for an escape of his own. Maybe he had spent too much time among humans, and the only solution was the tranquil heavens. But the mere thought of leaving the light around which his life circled left him cold. Maybe once Adiarwen and Jainor were joined, when they had no need of him...

  Perhaps the Lthieryn were right. Perhaps humans were shallow, impulsive, too consumed by their passions to make something of their world, too trapped by love to see its frailties.

  Eridanus found his center. He would return and finish his watch. If Jainor urged him on, he would invoke reason. Adiarwen did not need to be forced to make her decisions; there was enough of that going on already.

  He moved through the tower, quickening his pace as he neared the royal suite. He knew something was wrong when he entered the sitting room and found the healers in a flurry, Teva keeping order with a fading voice. They turned on him as if he were their savior.

  "The council—oh, lord Eridanus!" she exclaimed. "They have taken Jainor for his protection and installed him in the innermost suite of the palace under heavy guard. News of the star-heiress has spread, and they want to be sure no one tries to assassinate him."

  "Priestess," he said gently, "you don't really believe that, do you?"

  Teva lowered her eyes. "We are reprimanded to remember that many are suffering and a barbarian needs no special treatment," she whispered. "We care for him because of who he is—who he might become."

  "The council of kings rules the temple," said a healer. "The star-heiress' mother appointed them, and she could overrule them, but no one else."

  It was a hopeless situation. Even violence was futile; Adiarwen could easily breach the palace with her powers, but not before Jainor's captors hurt him. Eridanus l
owered himself to the couch, overcome by the sudden sense of responsibility. Had he not run from the request he could not answer...

  "The council left a letter for the star-heiress," Teva continued. "We are to give it to her when she arrives."

  Eridanus made himself look up. "Let me give it to her," he said. "I think we should be alone."

  She bowed her head and ushered the others out. Eridanus stood with the letter in his hand, a condemned man.

  She knew when she entered that something was wrong. She stood like a doe ready for flight. "Eri?"

  He handed her the letter and watched her expressions as she moved through the violent gamut from confusion to understanding. "Everything is arranged. They're 'protecting' Jainor until the coronation. How could they do this?" she demanded. "Seven years, isn't that enough to realize they don't need me?"

  But they wanted her, a convenient excuse, a symbol, a balm for their problems. He tried to organize his thoughts. "Jainor would want—"

  She shot him a furious look. "I love him," she said, "more than my freedom, more than whatever good we've done out there." Her eyes pierced him. She had made her choice.

  Eridanus knew then it didn't matter what she came to think of him, how far he had to travel, where his story ended. There was only one thing left to do.

  He leaned in, tentative, and placed a brotherly kiss on her brow. "My soul and faith are yours forever," he said. "You will survive this."

  Adiarwen held his eyes. "You are my oldest and dearest friend, Eri. You always will be."

  For a second, he let himself believe she knew what he intended. He shook off that delusion and hugged her. "I have something I need to do."

  She trusted him—she had no reason not to—and let him go without question. He could tell by her eyes there were tears to be shed, an ocean followed by a tempest before she faced what she saw as her future.

  He entered the palace. The guards disarmed him, but he had abilities the rumors didn't reveal.

  He knelt by the foot of Jainor's bed. He half-expected the man to wake up, to make his argument again, to affirm what had to be done, somehow to absolve Eridanus. "I would rather see her happy without me," Jainor had said, "than trapped and miserable with me."

  "That's one thing we have in common, my friend," he said, laying a hand on the slick brow. He remained motionless, listening to Jainor's breathing, and somewhere hoping maybe they would be all right, maybe...

  He could hear the guards in the other room turning restless. They would interrupt any second. He had no more time.

  "I love her," he said to silence, "more than life itself."

  His hand moved down to Jainor's heart. He released himself from the bound and glassy form of a Lthieryn on earth and blazed like a star. A spear of light struck home like a dagger. The young man jerked, a single breath expelled from his body, and then no more.

  Eridanus rose, shaking. It would appear natural, but he could not lie. He could only confess to Adiarwen, bow under the weight of her ire, and then flee. He said a silent farewell to humanity as he moved for the door.

  Voices outside made him pause. "You are allowed to see him, star-heiress, but you must remember that—"

  "I know perfectly well I can do nothing against you." Adiarwen's voice promised vengeance, though it shook as she spoke.

  Eridanus stepped back. There was no way to avoid this scene, short of abandoning his physical form, and he owed Adiarwen closure. He closed his eyes and waited, but could not blot out the image of Jainor's face.

  "Eri?" The puzzlement in her voice passed as her steps advanced to the bed. "Jainor, love, I—" A sharp intake of breath, a rustling of fabrics, fingers scrabbling. "Jainor!" she shrieked.

  Eridanus' eyes wrenched open as if Jainor's spirit had drawn a hand over them. He could not have gone to her if he wanted to, for the guards, alarmed by the shouting, crowded her, checking what he already knew. One guard straightened. "Your highness, please believe us when we say—"

  She raked their faces with puffy eyes and nodded stiffly. "There was a chance. We always knew there was a chance he would not make it."

  She whirled to Eridanus, her body crushed to his, her sobs in his shoulder. He flinched without noticing any pain. He couldn't bring himself to touch her, his arms limp at his sides. What could he possibly say?

  Adiarwen noticed his distance in a way more instinctive than conscious, eyes coming to his. "Eridanus? Please...you're the only thing I have left."

  The words, the simple words, swept away his resolve and all the noble intentions. Some day, some time...but not now, not one more betrayal. He would keep his peace until he could not. In the meantime, knowing the truth and bearing the weight of false pretenses would have to be punishment enough.

  He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. "I'm not going anywhere."

  Adiarwen straightened, eyes flaring in fury. "Nothing holds us here," she said, celestial fire building in her voice. "We leave now. We'll take him home to be sent to the winds as his people would want. Most importantly, Eridanus...we ride." She was free, and even in the grip of shock and loss, she glowed. For an instant, Eridanus let himself forget the price that had been paid.

  Then it swallowed him, and she was the only, untouchable light in the darkness.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  LINDSEY DUNCAN is a life-long writer and professional Celtic harp performer, with short fiction and poetry in numerous speculative fiction publications. Her contemporary fantasy novel, Flow, is available from Double Dragon Publishing. She feels that music and language are inextricably linked. She lives in Cincinnati, Ohio, and is currently attending culinary school. She can be found on the web athttp://www.LindseyDuncan.com

  Take Two Sips of Witch’s Brew

  By John H. Dromey

  It's hard to get good help these days, especially if you live in a cave. Actually, Agatha doesn't really reside in a hole in the ground; she only works there. Most of her leisure time is passed, pleasantly enough, in an enchanted cottage equipped with all the modern conveniences. That's a far cry from how it was for her in the beginning, though.

  As a child, Agatha was a good little girl, but that was just a phase she was going through. Although in her outward appearance she was the spitting image of her mother, she was rebellious enough not to emulate her mom in chewing tobacco, even after it became abundantly clear just how handy that habit might be for someone of her heritage. When an angry mob tried to immolate the materfamilias, that resourceful matron spat on the ringleader's burning matches, one after another, thereby delaying the ceremony long enough to untie herself from the stake and escape. Consequently, before hanging up her lightly-singed black dress and taking early retirement, she was able to teach Agatha nearly everything—strictly old school, of course—that she knew about the family enterprise.

  In Agatha's profession, image was everything. That's why she stayed away from the general public, whenever possible, and avoided traditional doctors like the plague. She had good reason to be standoffish. Ordinary people were turned off by her trademark wart, and physicians with itchy scalpel fingers had trouble keeping their hands off of her crooked nose and pointy chin.

  Even though from her early teens on she had ostensibly belonged to an elite sisterhood, Agatha was mostly on her own. A loner. She followed her mother's independent ways and paid little heed to either tradition or precedence. As a grownup, she wouldn't have known which way to point her broomstick to find the nearest coven.

  While still a relatively young woman, Agatha became the sole proprietor of an apothecary shop which specialized in hard-to-find botanicals, various and sundry animal parts—from eye of newt to powdered unicorn horn—along with rare minerals and alchemical concoctions of all kinds. Right from the start, her shop attracted an unusual clientele, including some customers with exceedingly odd sleep patterns, so that keeping regular nine-to-five business hours was totally out of the question. Her clients ran the gamut from people with a morbid fear of darkness, at o
ne end of the spectrum, to creatures of the night at the other. Some days Agatha ran herself ragged while trying to run down their special requests. She needed help in the worst possible way and that's what she got. Her familiar was a cat. Nine lives, but not a good shopper in any one of them. What she really needed was a reliable human assistant. Sorcerers have apprentices, so why shouldn't she? Agatha put on a hat with a veil and went to a temp agency.

  The first young woman Agatha interviewed literally laughed in her face. Needless to say, she didn't get the position.

  The second jobseeker was much more subtle and likewise more pernicious. She waited until she'd actually arrived at Agatha's place of business before showing her true colors. From the newly-hired shop girl's perspective, Agatha could do nothing right. Heating a cauldron with a wood-burning fire was both old-fashioned and inefficient; the noxious fumes given off by the contents of the kettle added to air pollution; dumping the dregs behind the shop was bad for the environment; and so on. Her harping was relentless.

  Agatha finally had enough. She confronted her querulous employee. "You'd like for me to go green, is that right?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "You first," Agatha said, and with a wave of her hand turned the temp into a garter snake.

  "The freshness date on this spell will expire in about six months," Agatha explained to her squirmy protégée. "Maybe by crawling around on your belly eating bugs for that length of time you can develop a true closeness with Mother Earth."

  A wary Agatha returned to the temp agency and tried again. She asked pointed questions and was pleased when her latest applicant gave sharp answers.

  "I can offer you room and board and decent wages. The job's yours if you want it," Agatha said, after the interview.

  "I do, but I should warn you, I come with a lot of baggage."

  "That shouldn't be a problem. I have a big storage room."

  "That's not what I meant. I have a stalker."

  "Oh? Well, don't worry, I'll make short work of your stalker if he ever dares to show his face anywhere near my shop."