by Mark Shane
***
Michael watched the old woman get in her wagon and roll away then looked at the coin she had pressed into his hand. It was a silver coin that covered half his palm with the image of a perched eagle. To his amazement, the head on the coin moved, pointing to where she was at. He turned his back to the door, the eagle adjusting to face the woman’s position.
“What is that?” Falon asked.
“Direction,” he replied.
Michael and Falon arrived at the old woman’s house as the sun kissed the horizon. Michael gave Falon a reassuring smile and knocked on the door. They had debated the sensibility of taking the old woman’s offer all the way from town and she remained suspicious.
The old woman smiled warmly when she laid sight on them. “Ah, you do have some sense after all. Well, don’t let it blow away with the wind standing there. Come in, come in.”
Her home was a cramped, two-room shack filled with shelves of books, containers, flasks and other oddities. Michael and Falon exchanged a brief look.
“It’s not much, but it’s home,” the woman said. She motioned to two chairs bordering a rug in front of the fireplace. “Sit.”
Michael sat on the floor giving the chair to Falon, prompting a chuckled from Marla.
“My name is Marla. Who might you two be?” she said as she added a log to the fire.
Michael looked at Falon wondering if she would bite his head off for telling Marla their names. He couldn’t be rude and not tell their host something though. “I’m Michael and this is Falon.”
“Fine names. Pleased to meet you,” Marla said, turning from the fireplace. She took a moment to settle into her chair. “Now, I suppose you’re wondering what you’re doing here, hmm?” She smiled at their quick glance between one another. “Well, to be honest, I’m wondering what one as powerful as you”—she pointed at Michael—”is doing in Valan at all. Don’t you know how to read a map?”
“We had no choice. We were attacked in the mountains and had no way to cross the Kisenar River so we...” Michael stopped, realizing he was saying too much.
Concern covered Marla’s face. “Attacked in the mountains? By whom? Where were you going?”
“We don’t want to discuss it,” Falon said, giving Michael a sharp look. “No offense, but we don’t know you. We just want a place to sleep for the night.”
“Fair enough,” Marla replied, her smile returning. She motioned to a cupboard, “Fetch my tea cups, please.” She moved to the fire where a pot of water boiled.
“How did you know I was a magichae?” Michael asked.
“Cups, please. We can at least have tea like civilized people.”
Michael fetched the cups reluctantly and returned to the fire.
Marla poured water in each of their cups then produced three silver tea balls. She sat bobbing her tea ball in her cup.
Her deliberate patience annoyed Michael. “You’re not a stripling. How did you know—”
Marla held up a finger silencing him. Michael brooded but had no choice but to wait patiently as she focused on steeping her tea. Michael took a sip from his own cup. It was different, a bit lighter with a green tinge to it, but pleasant. Maybe he needed to let it steep longer.
“Fifteen years I’ve been hiding under their noses,” Marla said, staring into her cup. “Fifteen years I’ve been helping magichae sneak out of Valan.” She looked straight into Michael’s eyes, her intense gaze boring into him. He felt like she could see all his secrets. “Never have I met one as powerful as you.”
Michael licked his lips nervously. Why were they suddenly so dry? Falon looked fearful.
“Relax, child. If I wanted to turn you in, I would’ve done so in town. I can sense other magichae; a rarity for our kind, and a most valuable tool for my job.”
“Our kind?” Falon said. “You’re a magichae and you can sense other magichae?”
“That I can, my dear.”
“And that’s why you invited us here?” Falon asked.
“Of course it is. You never know when a team of Seekers will show up in town. It would not bode well for you to have them arrive in the night while you were sleeping.”
“Seekers?”
“One stripling teamed up with one magichae. They roam Valan seeking out magichae. It’s a crazy idea, magichae working with striplings. The king’s advisor thought it up. He’s an evil man, that one. The magichae are given a choice; serve the king as protectors to his Seekers or face the gallows. Nasty part is if they decline the king’s generous offer their family goes to the gallows with them, even the children. If the Seeker dies, a member of the magichae’s family dies. Tends to be a strong incentive to do their job well. And if they run, well they do so knowing they have sentenced their entire family to death.
Michael exchanged a glance with Falon.
“From the look of it you already ran into a Seeker,” Marla said.
“We were attacked in Lyndham,” Michael replied.
“The Seekers are highly effective. How did you manage to escape without alerting others?”
“Falon is quite skilled with knives. She managed to dispatch them before I had to use my powers,” Michael said
“I see.” Marla looked at each of them in turn.
He could tell she knew there was more to the story.
“So did you strip the magichae?” Marla asked casually.
Falon dropped her teacup, green tea soaking into the rug. Why was she glaring at him? It wasn’t his fault the old woman had the smarts to figure it out.
“I did what I had to,” Falon snapped. “To save Michael,” she added, like a child afraid her parents would not believe her. “The wizard grabbed me when I killed the stripling. It just happened, I didn’t have a choice.”
“Relax, dear, I’m not judging you. I feel sorry for the magichae. He was forced to work for the king. In the end, I think you released him from a tormented life. May the Creator’s grace welcome him home.”
“So do you work alone?” Michael asked, desperate to take the focus off Falon. “Saving magichae I mean.”
“Heavens, no. There’s an extensive underground network helping magichae escape this horrible land. We use various routes to smuggle them out depending on where they’re found. We even have a path through the Chelean Mountains.”
Falon and Michael looked at each other.
“What?” Marla asked.
“Nothing,” Falon replied.
“Nothing my eye. What do you two know?”
“Your path through the mountains doesn’t involve a rope bridge does it?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” Marla replied slowly, her face growing dark.
“Not anymore,” Falon said.
“Why? What’ve you done?”
“It wasn’t our fault,” Michael countered. “The dragon attacked us and—”
Marla’s eyebrows furrowed, “What dragon?”
She reminded Michael of Max far too much. He recounted their fight with the dragon, leaving the Eye out of it. Luckily she did not question him when he lied about using Air to stab the dragon.
“Congratulations,” Marla said when he finished. “You managed to ruin an important route for us.”
“It wasn’t exactly our doing,” Falon shot back.
“Doesn’t matter! I’ll have to send a message alerting the northern group before someone gets trapped in the mountains. I’m the last point in the northeast corridor so they will send their packages to me now.”
“I’m sorry for the trouble we’ve caused,” Michael said. “You will help us escape though?”
Marla’s face softened. “Of course I will. Best if you stay till tomorrow night. You look like you need the rest.”
“How far is it to Lockhart?”
“Lockhart?” She said the name like she had a bitter taste in her mouth. “Four days on foot. Meeting someone?”
“We have friends waiting for us.”
“It’s not safe for magichae. There’re Seekers patroll
ing the road to Lockhart. They’ve caught some on the bridge mere paces from freedom. I’ve heard Seekers are even stationed in Lockhart, secretly of course. I haven’t heard of any magichae stripped in Lockhart. Then again, I don’t hear everything. Many magichae come through Finery’s Way, headed toward Lockhart. I steer them to a safer route. The Alarus border is only a day due east. We have people on the other side who help with crossing the Kisenar. You can reach Lockhart from there.”
Marla stood up, smoothing her dress. “Well, it’s late and my old bones are asking for my bed.” She nodded toward a simple chest. “You will find blankets in there. Sorry, the accommodations are not any better.”
“The accommodations are fine,” Michael said.
They slept on the floor, Falon keeping a space between them. Michael fell asleep trying to figure out what he had done to make her walls go back up.
CHAPTER 29
The Price of Love
The moon peeked through gaps in the swift moving clouds causing shadows to shift. Michael and Falon ran across the open field, feeling exposed, eyes set on the tree line in the distance. The underground would only help at night and they were going to be hard pressed to get there before daybreak.
Michael glanced at Falon, admiring her athleticism. The moonlight glinted off the coin necklace bouncing against her chest. Marla had given Falon the mate to the coin he had, stating they were meant to be together. Michael had a sneaky suspicion Marla wasn’t talking about the coins.
Once they arrived at the crossing, they would use their lantern to signal the people across the river, three short flashes and two long. Those on the Alarus side would respond with four short flashes to which they would have to respond with three quick flashes. Anything different and those on the other side would simply disappear into the night.
A frightening howl pierced the quiet. Michael and Falon stopped dead and looked at each, the whites of their eyes clear in the moonlight.
“I thought we killed them all,” Falon said, looking into the night.
Michael licked his lips. “There were two left when we jumped to Rhalmadia. I can’t believe they found us.”
Another hellish howl broke the silence, closer, from the north. Michael pointed at a copse of trees a hundred paces away. “Run,” he said pushing Falon toward the trees.
Falon needed no urging. She bolted, dropping her pack as she ran. Another howl, even closer, spurred them on.
“Red eyes!” she said, looking over her shoulder, past Michael.
Michael saw them too. “Keep running,” he yelled.
Falon tripped, but managed to regain her balance as she stumbled to the first tree and began climbing.
Michael stopped ten paces from the trees, drawing his sword. Red eyes charged at him in the night. A fireball formed in his hand, but a massive shape crashed into him from the side. He screamed as teeth pierced his arm, sword falling away. The second nightstalker, eyes burning with blood red hate, glared at him, jaws locked on his arm. Michael grabbed its snout, squeezing hard, trying to force it to release him. Snarling, the beast let go of his arm and went for his neck. Another large shape slammed into the nightstalker and the two bodies rolled away from Michael.
The wolf clamped its jaws around the nightstalker’s neck, then whipped its head to the side with a crunching sound and the nightstalker went limp. Michael lay there amazed.
The second nightstalker lunged at the wolf, the two hitting the ground in a mass of fur. They came up on their feet, facing one another, fangs barred, guttural snarls filling the air. The nightstalker lunged, but the wolf sidestepped and snapped at its neck. They walked a circle, facing off, measuring each other.
“Feel free to help,” Michael heard a voice say in his mind.
The nightstalker lunged again. This time the wolf met the attack head on, their bodies slamming into one another. Raised on their hind legs, each tried to catch the other’s neck.
Michael’s head spun, he felt like vomiting, but he knew he had to help. Grabbing his sword in his good hand, he charged the nightstalker. He wielded Earth and the ground reached up enveloping the nightstalker’s hind legs.
The wolf capitalized on the distraction, clamping down on the monster’s neck with a crunching sound the same time Michael ran his sword through its ribs. With a sharp whipping of its head, the wolf ripped the nightstalker’s throat out and the nightmarish beast fell to the ground twitching.
Michael staggered for a moment, a new wave of queasiness flowing over him and his skin felt like it was on fire. Everything began to go black. He felt the hard impact of the ground and vaguely saw Falon running to him. Fumbling at his belt pouch, fingers not wanting to work properly, he managed to pull a vial from his pouch. The last thing he remembered was how bitter the liquid tasted.
***
“Michael,” Falon yelled, shaking him. It was no use; Michael did not stir. She checked the wound on his arm and recoiled like she had been burned. She shook him again, frantically calling his name, tears streaming down her face.
“We don’t have much time,” the wolf said.
Dumbstruck for a moment she sat there staring at the wolf.
“We have to get him back to the sorceress,” the wolf said, ignoring her shocked look.
“How can I understand you?” Falon asked, finally regaining her voice.
“Because I wish for you to,” the wolf replied matter of fact. “Now take his sword and cut two limbs for a litter, quickly.”
“Here, take this coin to Marla,” Falon said, unclasping the coin necklace. “She can bring her wagon. I’ll make a litter and set off as fast as I can.”
“I don’t plan to leave you. We can share the task of pulling him.”
“Fetch Marla and we’ll get him to her faster.”
The wolf’s lips curled in a silent snarl. “I do not fetch,” he said emphatically, eyes radiating indignation.
Her cheeks colored. “Sorry, bad choice of words.”
“Indeed.” The wolf’s eyes fixed on hers for a moment. “Keep him safe and we shall meet you halfway.” Then he disappeared into the darkness.
***
Marla woke with a start; she had heard something. She heard the scratching again, at the door. Creeping to the window, she peered out. Darkness greeted her. Wait. Did she see something move? Opening the door cautiously, she found the silver coin medallion she had given Falon. Marla looked around but saw no one. She could sense something close by, though. A presence of power but it was different from anything she had ever felt before; visceral and wild, yet there was a sliver of something familiar to it as well.
The moon glinted off the silver coin, beckoning her attention. It pointed east in the direction of the crossing. She grabbed it from the porch and dashed into her room. Dressing quickly, she ran out the door still buttoning her cloak. Miss Nelly nickered as Marla led her out of her stable, not pleased to be roused. She snorted loudly, ears twitching as Marla hitched the wagon to her.
“Relax, girl,” Marla said. She looked into the darkness. The presence of power was there in the shadows then it was gone.
She climbed into the seat and took the reins. The full moon would let them travel faster. She hoped it would be fast enough.
***
“Heal him,” Falon said, frantic. “Please.”
Marla had found her barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Only sheer will kept her moving. She fell asleep beside Michael on the way back to Marla’s house.
“To do so will require a great deal,” Marla replied.
“I don’t care what it takes,” Falon replied stubbornly as she brushed Michael’s hair where it had fallen down over his forehead. His skin was so hot to the touch despite the cold water he was immersed in.
“Even if it requires a great deal from you?” Marla said.
“Me?” Falon replied. She had nothing to offer. She could not save him when he was attacked, what could she do now?
Marla watched her intently. “Do you lov
e him?”
Falon looked at Marla, fire in her eyes. Why did she have to ask such intimate questions? “What does it matter?” Falon said, turning back to Michael, unable to meet Marla’s gaze any longer. “I’m a stripling, he’s a magichae.” Her words burned like acid, bitter with regret and anger.
“It matters greatly, child.” Marla leaned close and enunciated each word. “Now, do you love him?”
“Yes,” she replied in a whisper.
“Such healing requires a price. Are you willing to pay—”
“How dare you talk to me about money!”
“Money means nothing,” Marla snapped back. “There are far greater things than money and far greater prices to be paid. The mandard potion he drank keeps him alive, but the only way for me to heal him is through you. The only hope he has is the strength of your love for him. Are you willing to die for him?”
Falon straightened his hair. He lay so still, hair soaked with sweat. Various scenes of them talking and laughing played through her head. The time he caused her to fall into the river seemed like such a wonderful memory now. She thought of the moment she realized he did not fear her, the moment he proved how much he cared.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“If I can heal him, and you don’t die in the process, there will come a time when I’ll ask something of you. I don’t know when, I don’t know where, but when I come you must heed my request. Do we have a pact?” Marla’s voice was firm, her gaze steel.
“I’ll give you anything, agree to anything. Please, just heal him,” Falon pleaded.
Marla nodded, accepting Falon’s pledge. She poured a bluish powder into the tub. It floated on the surface, casting a faint glow on Michael.
“Take his wound in both your hands and do not let go. If you let go, all will be for nothing. No matter what happens, no matter what you feel, do not lose your grip on his wound.”