by Lexy Wolfe
“You noticed that, did you? And you stayed despite the fact you were risking an arrow, spear, knife, or sword to the kidney?”
He grinned, looking sideways at Gareth. “I knew quite well the intention of next to every individual in Bralden the moment I showed up, but I needed Doom and Tiwaz for my quest to succeed. If I’d not lost my temper with that child, maybe we’d have started out on better terms. But once I didn’t need to worry about being attacked, I was quite impressed with the loyalty they have inspired.” His smile faded. “But if I do learn anything, I will send word.”
BRANCHES BUDDING WITH new leaves created an odd silhouette against the moonless sky above the small camp in the early hours of the sixth day of travel. Doom sat by the campfire while the others slept, keeping watch. He glanced over towards his friend’s back and sighed, keeping his voice low. “You should be sleeping, Ti. You already took your watch tonight.”
“I’m not tired,” she stated in a voice rough with disuse. She rolled over then got up to sit next to him. “I can finish your watch.” He did not say a word to her offer, simply putting his arm around her and pulling her against him. She sighed softly, closing her eyes as she rested her head against his chest.
“Tell me what’s bothering you,” he murmured, tightening his arm around her when he felt her stiffen. “Please.”
“Nothing’s bothering me,” she replied after several minutes of silence.
He frowned and looked down at the top of her head. “Stop it. Trying to protect me from yourself doesn’t do either of us any good. You bottle everything inside until you can’t hold it in anymore then get upset you lose control and I worry myself sick over you the entire time.” She sighed gustily, turning her face into his chest. He stroked her arm. “If you talk to me, maybe we can figure out—”
“There is nothing to figure out. There is no fixing this.” She tried to pull away from him, but he refused to let her go. “Just leave me alone, Doom.”
“Not on your life, Ti. And you don’t know that whatever it is can’t be fixed. You believed the same thing about the glyphs. While you were right about not being able to stay in the Southern Wildlands, we did find a means to get those off of you.”
“This is different, Doom,” she argued with a hint of despairing resignation. “It just feels as though something—” she began when the silence of the night erupted into the sounds of approaching howls and crashing. Mya flew up in alarm, her glow illuminating the area like a small sun. Tiwaz dove towards her gear, rolling to her feet with a long sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.
The noise roused the other three. Simpkins and Gareth moved sluggishly, disoriented at the sudden disruption. Tracker jumped to his feet, awake and focused, spear in hand. All but Doom startled, staring as Tiwaz yelled and leapt onto the back of the largest and closest of a group of beasts that appeared to be a violent mutation of an armadillo, a wolf, and a badger the size of a small pony. Doom fired his massive bow, the long shaft sprouting from the heart of the next closest beast. Tracker howled, diverting the attention of the rest of the pack away from the camp.
In the same fluid motion that brought her astride the monstrosity, Tiwaz drove the dagger into its neck where the armor plating separated. As it collapsed, she rolled off it and onto her back. She drove her long sword into the soft underside of another of the creatures. Two more sprouted over-sized arrows and collapsed. The smaller versions of the first four animals suddenly stopped, looking uncertain. They fled when Simpkins threw a pouch that exploded in a flash of noise and smoke.
“What the hell were those things?” the ogre asked, holding his hands up to Mya, drawing the tiny sprite close to calm her.
“Armor wolves,” Tracker stated. “Very territorial.” He grabbed one by the legs to drag it away from the campsite. “Bodies will draw scavengers.”
Simpkins grinned roguishly at Tiwaz and Doom. “And this is why I wanted to hire you.” He almost fell on his backside when the woman jerked her bloody sword out and pointed it at him.
“If not for you, we would not be here walking to our deaths!” She turned away from the blank looks given to her, stripped her clothes and shape-shifted into a panther, bounding into the darkness.
“Bard. Help Tracker. Must move bodies far from camp before scavengers come.” The bard hesitated, dearly wanting to go after Tiwaz. But when he saw his own concerned expression mirrored on the wolflen’s face he turned to help him and wait Tiwaz’s temper out.
Simpkins looked at the worried gromek’s profile, contrite. “I didn’t mean to upset her more.” He sighed, following the gromek’s stare into the darkness. “Seems to be the only thing I’ve been able to accomplish successfully of late when it comes to our shape-shifting companion.”
Doom looked sharply at the ogre. “You know what she is? How—?” A scowl twisted his visage. “Gareth told you. Damn it, he promised he would keep her secret.”
“He did not tell me intentionally,” he assured. “But yes, he let it slip when we were talking about her. I’ve been trying to understand what I’m doing wrong. I usually win people over faster than this.” Doom snorted softly. “Honestly, I’m not surprised she is a shape-shifter. If more people understood the nature of the Southern Wildlands’ magic and really think about it, they would realize one thing. Any human that looks normal and is considered a native has something peculiar about them.”
“You have traveled the Southern Wildlands?” Doom asked, his expression reflecting his uncertainty about this revelation of the ogre.
Simpkins shrugged. “It is a rite of passage for journeymen on the cusp of their mastery to travel the lands with the strongest, wildest magic known.” He looked at Doom. “I haven’t seen gromeks for probably twenty years or so. It took me a while to realize that you are missing your horns and wings.” No levity tarnished Simpkins’ voice as he spoke. “I know gromeks are particularly fixated on them.”
“They are, yes,” he stated tonelessly.
“I heard from many about Alimar the Black during that trip. I vowed then I would have nothing to do with him because of what I could hear behind the words.” Doom’s glower lifted in surprise. “She accused me of working for him.” He chuckled ruefully. “Not in words. I could see it in her eyes. I understand her antipathy if he was the most notable experience with a magic user she’s had.” Blue eyes met yellow. “I don’t associate with his sort for many damned good reasons.”
The gromek grunted at that. “Alimar punished me for attacking him by putting my wings and horns on a dog. She tried to protect me.” He clenched his fists. “She never told me about the glyphs. I think…no. I know she never knew what they repressed until they were gone. But she fought them. As hard as she fights with a weapon. Her hands and arms would be covered in blood when she broke through them.” He frowned and looked at the magic user. “Could they still be affecting her even though they were removed? Still cause her pain?”
Simpkins tilted his head, studying the gromek. “Doubtful if they were removed. Why?”
Doom shook his head. “No reason.” The ogre watched Doom join the others in moving the largest corpses away from camp with an unreadable expression. He remained silent even once Tiwaz returned to the camp. She did not speak, nor did anyone speak to her, as she changed form and redressed. Breakfast was eaten early before they struck camp and resumed the journey towards the looming range of mountains and the ominous Dragons Peaks.
THE GROUND TURNED abruptly treacherous, the forest giving way to rocky terrain bare of even the smallest plant life. Resembling crumbled paper that had been tossed aside, the group considered the path ahead from the tree line edge, wary of stepping onto the narrow strip of anemic grass between the barren region and the heavy forest.
Simpkins held up his hand as the tiny air elemental returned. “Mya says the terrain only gets worse from here. Let’s take the rest of the day to get some extra rest before we decide where to go.” The others murmured agreement.
Gareth lamente
d as he pulled off one boot and shook out motes of tree dirt and tiny pebbles, “I will never, ever, ever complain about roads again. Ever.” He examined some red patches on his feet. “My poor feet will never be the same.”
Tracker bared his teeth in a wicked smile as he held out his foot, wiggling his toes. “Human boots bad. Better bare feet.”
Gareth stuck his foot out at the wolflen. “My skin is not as tough as yours. They’d have been flayed by now. I’ll keep my boots, thank you.”
“Bard.” Simpkins tossed a small jar to him.
Gareth caught the jar, studying it in puzzlement. “What’s this?”
“Healing salve,” the ogre replied. “Don’t get greedy with it. The stuff is expensive. A little will go a long way to healing your blisters and any other tender spots.” He added, “And don’t ingest any of it. Unless you fancy sporting green stripes for a moon.” The four others looked at the magic user’s droll expression. “The apothecarist who makes that has a strange sense of humor. He wants people to listen to his instructions and gives them consequences to remind them they are worth listening to.”
Gareth sighed in relieved bliss as he smeared the salve on his reddened feet. “Oh, Sulnar’s teeth, that’s wonderful.” He looked towards Doom and Tiwaz, offering the jar. “Either of you need any?”
Doom grinned toothily. “My hide’s too tough. I usually wear down my boots from the inside out.” He glanced at Tiwaz who stood atop a boulder, staring towards the looming mountains. “Ti heals when she shape-shifts.”
“Fair enough,” the bard stated, taking care of both feet and stretching out to let them dry. He tossed the jar back to Simpkins. “Not that I’m not ungrateful, but I’m surprised you’re not docking my share for the assist.” Simpkins snorted softly, but made no comment.
Doom joined his friend, sitting on the boulder beside her. He studied her profile in silence for several minutes before speaking. “What’s bothering you? It worries me you when are so distracted.”
Tearing her eyes away from the mountains, she looked away, shaking her head. “I do not have a good feeling about any of this.”
“That’s nothing new,” Simpkins observed dryly. “You’ve hated me since we crossed paths. Why would you think my quest has any more worth than me?” The giant man could not help but pale a little at the dark look she shot him. He held up his hands in surrender, mollifying her fractionally.
Tracker leaned against a tree, arms crossed. “Wolflen tribes believe lands around mountains cursed. Nothing grows. Nothing calls land home. Not plants, not animals. Elders of many tribes whisper of darkness stealing souls away.”
“The further we have traveled, the closer we get to those mountains, the more I hear…” She flushed in embarrassment. “I hear a voice I do not recognize. It whispers of warnings and danger ahead. Dangers we may not be ready to face.”
Simpkins frowned. “It tells you to turn back?”
She remained silent for several moments before replying. “No. It wants me to go. Whenever I am about to demand we return because I think your quest is worthless, the voice…croons soothingly, praising my virtues and strength and skills. My bravery and any other placating platitudes to silence my opposition to being here.” She growled as she hopped down and started pacing. “Even my own insanity lies to manipulate me.” She drew her dagger, pointing it at Simpkins. “If you are doing this to me, Magic User,” she snarled.
“I assure you, I am not,” Simpkins replied defensively. “Forcing or coercing people to work with or for me requires constantly ensuring that I’m not about to be stabbed in the back, figuratively or literally.” He turned his attention to the coffee pot and filled his mug, keeping his demeanor casual. “I’m too lazy for that nonsense. And I like being able to sleep soundly. Waking up with my throat cut would completely ruin my day.”
The world seemed to hold its breath as the rest of the party watched Tiwaz for her reaction to Simpkins’ words. Finally, she swore colorfully, jamming the dagger back in its sheath. “You are a pain in my ass, Ogre.” The collectively held breath released into quiet chuckling.
He blew across the hot liquid before taking a sip. “My apologies for not living up to your expectations of heartless cruelty, self-centered treatment, and abject narcissism,” he said drolly. “Of course, I don’t live up to any of the expectations of my sect. Pompous, pretentious asses. Happy to stay in their pretty towers, studying and researching the limits of their abilities, but never doing anything with them. They don’t even use them for selfish gain. Utterly useless waste of talent. Magic should be embraced and used for something, not just showing off new tricks to one another within a walled-off tower.”
“Which sect?” Gareth wondered.
“Order of the Lavender Branch.” Before the bard could do more than try to repress a laugh behind his hand, Simpkins pointed out defensively, “There are very few sects that would take in an ogre, and fewer dual-talent sects! Especially for psionics and conjuring. I can’t help they had been established by the most pansy group of snobs to have graced the world.” Tiwaz scowled as the other three laughed at the red-faced ogre then turned her back on them, returning to perch on the boulder, staring into the distance.
The darkness stirs, the voice whispered in her mind. You are the only one who can protect them.
“Shut up,” she muttered under her breath. “Just shut up and leave me alone!” Doom did not look at her. He just shifted to put his hand atop her foot reassuringly.
"I AM HERE, Tiwaz.”
“Veridian?” The former gladiator sat up sharply, looking around. Her eyes narrowed at the surreal appearance of the campsite. She looked at Gareth as the bard idly played his lute, on watch. “I’m asleep,” she stated in flat tones. “Gareth never ignores me.” She got to her feet, and looked down to see her sleeping self, crossing her arms. “This is how you came to me last time, isn’t it? What is this place?”
“It is the edge of the veil between your world and mine.” The ruby-eyed dragon man emerged from the darkness of the forest. “It takes a great deal of energy for gods to cross back into the world. We could at Dragons Gate because it was home to us. I used much of my power to answer Thrahx’s prayer to watch over you when you were ill.”
She snorted softly. “You cannot come to me there, but I can come to you here? What good is it being a god if you’ve so little power, then?”
He smiled. “There are benefits and detriments to becoming a god.” His amusement faded. “I prefer to conserve my strength so when there is need, I am not incapable of assisting those in need due to weakness.”
She considered him. “I understand not wanting to be weak.” She looked around. “I am not a god. I can’t go into your realm. You cannot come to mine. What is this place?”
“This place is much like the borders between fractures within the mortal world.”
“The borders have violent winds,” she pointed out.
He smiled faintly. “That is because I am calming this place so we may meet. Even to come this close to the edge of the veil requires strength. But you reached out to me, as you had before, and I answered.” He smiled faintly. “In fact, we share in the effort to be here, though I am guiding your unconscious effort.”
She frowned, uncertain. “I did not call you.”
He walked up to her, putting an arm around her and drawing her away from the campfire. “Not consciously, no. However, you were distressed and you reached out for help. You are my friend. When your other friends could not ease your heart, I reached out to take your hand. In a manner of speaking.”
She sighed softly, looking away. “I do not know why you want my friendship. My flaws only hurt those around me.”
“Perfection is an illusion,” Veridian told her in soothing tones. “Your former master has much to answer for.”
She clenched her fists. “Yes, he does,” she stated darkly. She calmed at a light touch on the back of one fist. “He stole Doom’s identity from him. No one born to fly sh
ould have to walk with the rest of us. You are a dragon. You should understand that better than I.”
“I very much understand. But.” He rested a finger along her chin, turning her face towards his. “He stole your identity as well, my friend. One day, you will find it again, I promise you, and I do not make promises lightly.” He smiled. “And you are not going insane. The voice you have been hearing is Ghalnecha’s.”
“The spirit in my sword is talking to me?” She scowled at him. “Why?”
“Because the reason she chose to be forged into the sword has awakened her. She chose this path for a singular purpose. When that purpose awakens her, it draws her like a moth to a flame. But she depends on the one who bears her to carry her there, to wield her well. You are her chosen one, and you are the one she speaks to.”
“What is this purpose? She just speaks lies to manipulate me so we continue with this foolish journey for that magic user’s greed.”
“Ghalnecha cannot speak lies. But you are not whole, so you cannot accept the truth of even those you love with your entire soul.” He looked towards the mountain peaks, dark silhouettes against the starry sky. “There are many wounds that still bleed, much like your own. You hid yours exceptionally well. I did not see them until I looked more closely.”
Tiwaz considered the god for a moment. “You bear such wounds?”
He nodded. “For longer than you can imagine. For most of my existence as a god.” He smiled lopsidedly. “It seems to be a curse on our kind, to suffer in exchange for strength.”
“'Our' kind? I am not a god!”
“You are a warrior,” he said in a soft voice. “Like me.” He kissed her cheek. “Your journey nears its end. I promise you, when you reach it, you will find that which will make you whole.”
She sighed softly as she walked back to the campfire where her body rested, Gareth shaking her shoulder trying to wake her. “Do I have any choice?” She lay down, closing her eyes.