by A. L. Knorr
Blue blinked and lifted his head. He gave three sharp snaps in the air, displaying razor-sharp teeth, and then laid his chin on his front claws again.
"Right. You'll take their fingers off. Got it." Jordan got to her feet feeling unsure as to whether she should leave Blue there alone or not. She frowned. I can’t be with him every single minute of his life; I’ll have to learn to trust him sooner or later.
She turned away and her eye caught on something familiar—something from home. Her eyes widened as she walked up to the antique gramophone. It was similar to the one the Kacys had in their parlor back home; beautiful, with a copper horn and crank, and glossy wooden bracket. The turntable glittered with what looked like black granite and she bent for a closer look. There was an embossed stamp, a glyph of some kind, pressed into the end of the copper crank. Jordan ran her finger over it.
"Isn't it charming?"
Jordan jumped and turned to see a Nycht emerging from the shop, wiping her hands on a dirty towel. She was very petite; the top of her head barely reached Jordan's shoulder. Her wings were a rich chocolate brown, her skin only a few shades lighter. Coal black eyes glittered at the gramophone with affection. Her hair was knotted into dreadlocks and tied up on top of her head like a thick bouquet, the ends spraying up and out in all directions. Gold jewelry sparkled in her ears. Her face was angular and lit with fierce intelligence.
"Where did you get this?" Jordan asked. She was about to add that her family had one similar to it, but thought that might lead in the direction of portals.
"I reverse engineered it from a sample brought over from Earth," replied the Nycht. "I’m Arth."
"Jordan." She smiled at the Nycht. "You made this?"
Jordan wasn't sure what surprised her more—the fact that the Nycht had made a perfect copy of a gramophone, or that she had mentioned Earth so casually.
"I made everything," said Arth, gesturing wide at the array of complicated looking items scattered about in front of her shop. "It's what I do. That's my stamp on the crank there; it's my last name in Rodanian."
"A single glyph?" Jordan peered at the mark. Looking closer, she saw it wasn't a single glyph, but a number of short curves and lines that, from far away, looked connected.
"You don't speak Rodanian?" Arth arched an eyebrow and glanced at Jordan's wings.
"Uh, not…very well," Jordan stuttered. "Does it work?"
"Of course it works!" Arth looked affronted.
"I mean, do you have records to play on it?"
"Oh." Her face fell. "I don't, no. Those are difficult to come by." Arth brightened momentarily "Not impossible, though, if you know the right people." Her face froze for a second, and then she blinked up at Jordan, realizing she might have said something compromising. She put her hands up. "Not me, though. I don't do that kind of thing."
"Your work is remarkable," complimented Jordan. "This is for sale, right?"
Arth nodded vigorously. "Everything is."
"Forgive me, but what is the point of purchasing a gramophone when there are no records to play on it?"
"Really?" Arth looked surprised. "Most of my customers are not looking to use the things they purchase from me. They are collectors." She stroked the bell of the gramophone. "The fact that it is a replica of something taken from Earth is enough of a selling feature." She cocked a dark eyebrow at Jordan. "You're not from here, are you?"
"No."
"Where are you from?"
"Oh, beyond," replied Jordan vaguely. "Do you have anything else that you've reverse engineered from Earth?"
Arth brightened again. "Lots of things! Come in." She turned and disappeared through the doorway of her workshop.
With a last glance at the sleeping dragon under the bench, Jordan followed her.
The shop smelled of rubber and wood, grease and burnt metal. Tables and floor space at the front of the shop were cluttered with complicated looking items. Most of them were not familiar to Jordan, until she spied a grandfather clock.
"Wow!" She took in the clock that towered over them, its face an elaborate display of flourishes and semi-precious stones.
"You like this one?" Arth stopped so Jordan could admire it. "The original was made with tortoiseshell," explained Arth, her eyes skimming the elegant curves of the clock's face. "But I don't use animal parts in anything I make." She shuddered. "I'm not sure why they do that on Earth; humans are so barbaric."
"I suppose," replied Jordan weakly.
Beside the grandfather clock sat an old radio of the type produced in the ‘60s. Next to that lay a large hand-bellows, and an old-fashioned typewriter. An antique rifle stood against the wall in the corner, its barrel pointing to the sky. Jordan couldn't tell how old the rifle that it had been modelled after would have been. Allan would know, she thought with a pang.
"Did you make that, too?" Jordan pointed to the rifle.
"Of course. I made everything."
"Does it work?"
"In theory. I believe it requires something that we do not manufacture in Rodania." Arth closed her eyes, thinking hard. "Some kind of powder…"
"Gunpowder?" supplied Jordan.
Arth's eyes popped open. "Yes! How did you know that?"
Jordan shrugged. "Fount of useless knowledge," she smiled.
"Where did you say you were from?" Arth's eyes narrowed and seemed to trace Jordan's features with more scrutiny than before.
"Oh, down a ways…" Jordan began to wilt under the Nycht’s probing gaze. "I really should be getting on." She turned toward the door. "Remarkable work you do here."
"Wait—" Arth followed her.
"Someone is expecting me. Delightful to have met you." She left the shop and bent to look under the bench. "Blue. Time to go."
The dragon yawned and got up. He stretched and gave a squeak of dislike at being woken.
"How do you know so much about Earth?" Arth asked, following Jordan out into the street.
"I've read a lot," Jordan skirted. "Now, Blue." Her tone was sharp as she called him again. Blue made a flapping leap into Jordan's arms, and she grunted as the reptile hit her stomach. She looked down at him in surprise. Does he seem bigger than yesterday?
"You have a dragon?" Arth gaped at the reptile in Jordan's arms.
"He sort of adopted me. Lovely to meet you," Jordan shot the Nycht a big smile and wandered down the street before she could be asked anything else. She could feel Arth's eyes on her back as she strolled away.
***
Heading in the direction of Belshar's office, Jordan took a bridge across the gap to the other side. Blue perked up, stretching his neck. He squawked and bounced out of her arms, his claws clicking across the stones as he disappeared between people's legs and down a dark alley.
"Blue?" Jordan peered into the narrow space. It wasn't wide enough for her to squeeze through with her wings.
"Did he imprint on you?" came a raspy voice from an open shop door.
Jordan looked over to see a small wizened and wingless man cleaning a set of paintbrushes with a wet rag. His seamed face was open and his blue eyes warm. His complexion was rosy, including the tip of his nose.
"Yes. You know about dragon imprinting?"
"There's only three known species that do it," the man replied, inspecting the fibers of the brushes in his hands. He blew on them and nodded with approval. "He must have imprinted on you, otherwise he wouldn't be here. Yes?"
"Yes."
"Then don't worry about him. When he's finished his little adventure, he'll find you." The old man turned and shuffled inside his shop.
Jordan peered through the door and followed the man inside, where she saw that the place was stuffed to the gills with artwork. "Did you do all of these?"
"Many of them, but not all," the man's voice drifted out from behind a large canvas propped on an easel. His face appeared beside it. "Like art, do you?"
A large window overhead allowed natural light to stream down on the man and his canvas.
"
Some of it," Jordan said. "I was a fan of Mucha when I was growing up."
"Who?"
Jordan flushed. "No one special."
She stopped in front of a miniature portrait of a man in a strange uniform. She narrowed her eyes at the artwork. What is it that seems so familiar? It certainly wasn't the subject—he had green hair and was wearing a bright yellow double-breasted jacket with a solid red stripe down the side.
Jordan gasped.
The style! The same soft application of color, the way the light plays across the man's cheekbones and brows. She yanked the locket out from under her vest and popped it open. She held the locket up beside the portrait, her skin marbling with gooseflesh.
"Is this your work?" Jordan breathed, her heart pounding and crawling up her throat with the realization that the artists had to be one and the same.
There was a thud as the man hopped down from a stool, and he appeared in the narrow aisle where Jordan stood in front of the painting.
"Lovely work, isn't it?" The old man patted his chest absently. "It's not mine; this was done by a fellow named Five Hurley. What have you got there?" He peered at the open locket.
"The style looks the same, don't you think?" Jordan held the locket up so he could see it and compare the two portraits.
"That it does," he confirmed.
Jordan's face lit up and her heart pounded with a rush of hope. "Does this artist live here, on Middle Rodania? I need to meet him. This portrait is of my mother; she disappeared when I was a little girl and I've been looking for her."
The man's face fell. "Oh, I am sorry. Five died a few years ago, now. His work fetches a pretty price, I can tell you that."
Jordan's heart plummeted.
The man's bushy brows shot up. "But you might have everything you need right here, my dear!"
"What do you mean?"
"Five was a Light Elf. A lot of his work was done with magic paint."
"Magic paint?"
"The paint was imbued with power as it was applied. It acts as a compass of sorts, leading the way to whose countenance the art portrays."
Jordan took a breath. She stared at the portrait in wonder. Jaclyn's beautiful face stared back at her, calm and serene, as if to say ‘I knew you'd discover my secret. So what are you waiting for?’
"A compass," Jordan whispered, holding the locket in her hand. "How does it work?"
"From what I know," the man disclosed, "the magic could be purchased in varying degrees of power; the stronger the magic, the more expensive the work. When the paint comes within a predetermined radius of the subject, the paint will be drawn home, so to speak."
Jordan smacked her forehead with her palm as a memory came rushing back to her: the locket floating up in front of her face the day she'd met Blue.
"She's in Maticaw! Oh!" She danced on her toes, almost unable to comprehend the meaning as it barrelled into her all at once. "The locket, it drifted up."
"Drifted up?" echoed the elderly man. "That is certainly a good sign. Yes."
"It floated up from my neck, it was the weirdest—" Jordan panted with excitement. "I thought it was just one of those crazy Oriceran things."
The old man chuckled and crossed his arms. "Not much experience with magic, eh? Most Strix don't. So, you have your answer."
Jordan squeaked with joy. She grinned at the man, her eyes shining. Unable to contain herself, she threw her arms around him.
"Thank you, thank you! You have no idea how much this means. Thank you!"
The man started then laughed. He patted her arm. "You're welcome."
Jordan released him and headed for the door, then turned back as another thought struck her. "Do you know who would have commissioned this? It wouldn't have been my mother, would it? That wouldn't make sense; why would you have a compass made that points to yourself?"
"No, it wouldn't likely have been her. Unless it was given as a gift?"
"Right." Jordan chewed her lip, absorbing this new idea. Another mystery unfolded in her brain, like a flower missing several petals. "Thank you again. Goodbye!"
"Good bye, my dear." The old man watched the yellow-winged Arpak disappear from his shop. "Good luck."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Eohne watched from behind a cluster of boulders as three harpies screamed and warbled on The Conca floor up ahead. Their scabby bald heads bobbed down out of view as they ripped and tore at their meal, then bobbed up again to look around, their beaks dripping with black blood and pieces of rotten meat. At least Eohne was downwind so they couldn't smell her crouching among the dusty rocks less than five hundred paces away. The downside of being downwind was the putrid smell. She put a hand over her nose and breathed through her mouth. There was no time to wait for the overgrown buzzards to finish their meal and move on.
Eohne reached into her satchel and pulled out a stone cylinder, which had a second cylinder made of alabaster inserted inside. She reached behind her head and grabbed one of her curved blades. She could do a lot with her kind of magic, but it always seemed to require some kind of bodily fluid to work. One day, I will figure out how to tap into a being’s frequency without asking for blood or spittle or urine. Until then…
Pricking her finger with the blade’s tip, she squeezed a drop of blood into the reservoir in the center of the cylinder. She sucked on her thumb and held the cylinder out in front of her, parallel with her hips. The inner cylinder began to spin inside the outer, making a soft whirring sound. A light began to grow inside, sending rays straight out the ends, which then curved up and down and around Eohne's frame until the rays met above and below her, making a bubble around her. The light and sound faded, but the protective field remained. Eohne held the cylinder steadily in front of her hips and resumed walking. The sounds of her footsteps and her breathing echoed around her inside the small space. Sound waves couldn't get out, but they could certainly come in, and so could the air. Eohne could smell the harpies and hear them warbling and tearing at flesh and bone.
She walked past the three black beasts and paused to take a closer look. They were each well over twelve feet tall, but one of them—the one with the wide, curving horns—must have been close to sixteen or seventeen feet. One of the smaller ones had the two short horns protruding from her knobby skull—a promise of larger horns to come. They curved down toward her beak, giving off an ugly, demonic impression. Eohne avoided looking at the carcass they were dining on, but from the corner of her eye, she caught a single great, curved horn thrusting upward from a mess of black feathers.
They are eating their own kind. Eohne had a strong stomach, but with this realization, she swallowed down a heave and moved swiftly on.
Several minutes later, when the three harpies were well behind her, Eohne spotted a large curved thing in the dirt and she paused to look down at it. It was the other horn, broken off the dead harpy’s skull as though sliced through cleanly with a blade. Eohne continued on, but paused again when she came to the scuff marks and black pools of dried blood in the middle of The Conca's gorge. When she started moving again, she increased her pace, still holding the cylinder steadily in front of her hips.
As night was falling, Eohne took a break to eat and rest. Crawling into a low cave in the gorge wall, she pulled out a bag of mixed nuts and berries and munched on them as she considered the cool shadow creeping up the far side of the gorge wall as the sun set. She took long draughts of water from her water horn and when she was satisfied, put away the food and drink and rummaged in her bag for something else.
She pulled out a small round disk of glass and a string of vials all linked together. Eohne set the disk on the dirt in between her long legs, which were stretched straight out in front of her. She held the vials up to what little light she had and read the labels of each one silently until she found the one marked 'Nycht'. She unhinged the vial from the rest and removed the tiny stopper. Upturning the vial, she held her breath as a single drop of the fluid rolled out and splashed onto the surface of the disk. Ca
reful not to use any more of the precious fluid, she stoppered it and put it back into its place in the links. It wasn't as good as blood, since it was generic Nycht frequency made from soaking a strand of Nycht hair in a leeching concoction she'd made, but it would do the trick.
Eohne picked up the disk and rolled it in her hand so that the fluid spread out evenly over the depression in the glass, covering it from edge to edge. The fluid then congealed with a snap, and rolled back together into a single drop. The drop turned a bright, illuminated orange and sat in the top right corner of the disk. No matter which way Eohne turned the disk, even if she tilted it right on its side or spun it with her fingers, that orange light would lead the way. Putting the rest of her things away, Eohne left the cave and began to walk on in the dark. The evening was cool, but the air was still. Conca insects chirruped, keeping Eohne company. The sky became a strip of stars overhead, a long spectacular ribbon of twinkling lights and galaxies.
When she grew tired, she swallowed a bean not unlike the one she'd given Jordan, only this one would give her a kind of twilight consciousness—allowing her to get the restful benefits of sleep without having to stop and make camp.
As the sun was beginning to make whispers of light in the strip of sky overhead, Eohne's twilight consciousness wore off, and she blinked awake. Looking down at the disk in her hand, she noted that the orange light had shifted to the three o'clock position. Eohne looked up and saw a tall, dark crack in the gorge wall just up ahead.
She squeezed into the narrow passage, noting that the gorge opened wide again up ahead, creating a whole second alleyway that branched off the main Conca. The orange light shifted again on its glass surface, and its message was clear: dead ahead.
As the sun rose, the gorge revealed itself to be very broad, and the walls were not quite as high as those she had passed through previously. Dark recesses and caves speckled both sides ahead and the sounds of a waterfall reached her ears. Another seam opened to the right where she could see a sparkling pool of bubbling water; the morning sun had already found it and turned it bright aqua. Greenery sprang up around the banks of the pool, and Eohne thought she saw the shape of something dart past.