“Stupid shards!” His words drifted off. A glow pulsing through the glass stopped his progress. The pieces radiated a dark blue light, all of them in unison, as if connected in some way. Fret stared—awestruck—fascinated by the light dancing among the fragments. His frustration ebbed.
But the light faded out and the shards went back to normal broken pieces of worthless junk. Mild disappointment crept in. Maybe if he touched them again, they would pulse with that light. Carefully he nudged one. Nothing happened. He tried again. This time the shard he moved touched another and quickly fused with it. A hairline crack was still visible where the two met, but they were stuck together.
Fret didn’t know what to make of it. But as he stared at the shards, he noticed their edges lined up with each other. Was this supposed to link back together somehow? He stood and worked the one shard with his foot. Fret didn’t want his fingers cut up, but curiosity motivated him on. What was this puzzle?
With a little work, he pushed the two pieces together. Instantly, they did the same as the two pieces before. He almost jumped up and down and clapped for himself. In about fifteen minutes, fifteen pieces were now seven bigger pieces. And then five, four, three, and two.
He stepped back to take in the final product. It still looked incomplete. From what he could tell, it looked to be half of an oval. Maybe a mirror. With a gentle push, he added the last piece. As it fused together, the shard puzzle pulsed with light again. The soft glow drew him in.
Fret got to his knees again, to get closer. The light changed and became a swirling mist. And from that mist a face appeared, a beautiful, flawless face. He was not startled, or fearful, as he would normally be of something that seemed so magical. The light numbed his senses and made him feel good. Words appeared in his mind.
Hello, Big Boy.
Chapter Three
Euphoria slept for some time. She lay quietly. Taylon made sure she was comfortable on a nearby cot before sitting down himself. While the queen rested, he decided to learn as much as he could from this medicine woman.
“What do you know of these demon cases?” Taylon shuddered at the name again. To think, first the wraith and now this. He wanted all of this behind him. Hazel must have answers, yet he feared what the answers may bring. Did he dare ask her about the necklace, the mirror, or the wraith?
Hazel looked over to where they had set the box. She had tied a cord around it. “So it doesn’t accidentally open,” she told Taylon as she carefully bound the thing with rope. He noticed she made sure not to touch it in any way. Taylon didn’t blame her. The few times he held the accursed thing, a weird sensation ran through his body, a warm yet prickly, uncomfortable feeling.
“Is it true what the queen has done?”
This took Taylon by surprise. “I’ll need a bit more information than that to give you an answer.”
“About the Witch Guard?” A gleam of hope sparkled in her eyes.
“Yes, the Witch Guard has been disbanded. We are called the Royal Guard.”
She hesitated before she spoke again. “So all of this is not a trap to capture an old woman that might know something about magic?”
Taylon blinked, relieved by the statement. “All I am concerned about is her safety. I couldn’t care less if you are a witch, so long as you are helping the queen. And even after all this is done and she is better, we would honor you and not condemn your skills.” He offered a warm smile. “But I need to know what this demon did to her.” His words betrayed his true feelings for Euphoria.
Hazel nodded and turned her eyes to the artifact.
“I was raised in Smead by just a mother. The true story of what happened to my father never came out. One year I was told he was crushed in a mining accident, and the other he was off on a campaign against the trolls.
“Mother was extremely gsifted in magic, but she was incredibly cautious. She wanted to pass me her gift and knowledge. We often took trips away from everyone else. The threat of the Witch Guard was too much for her to teach me at home.
“During these trips, we would go all over the realm, visit places of power or strange people. I learned of such boxes while visiting an odd man called Zediah, who lived way to the west by the Catskills Falls. He believed the falls had power, a source of his magic. I never saw him perform, but Mother truly believed.”
Taylon listened intently to the woman’s tale, wanting her to hurry up, but knowing there was no other way she could tell it.
“Mother was into the rituals and the ceremonies of magic, not so much the performing of spells. To her, it was a religion, a way of being. Zediah had similar thoughts. I was sixteen at the time, questioning things, not always wanting to go on these trips, but still being obedient.” She sat back and laughed a moment.
“Sorry, some of the crazy rituals Zediah and my mother…but you aren’t here for this old woman’s drivel. Zediah collected items of magical power. He claimed he knew a dwarf who could get him great things in exchange for the homebrew he made. One such object was a demon box, a little different from this one here. He called them spirit dwellings.
“His was made of cedar and was very fancy—inlayed designs of runes and flowers and other symbols I did not know. This was his prized possession, until later that is…but I will get to that. Would you like anything to eat or drink?”
Taylon was about to decline, but then took a moment to realize he was a bit dizzy and light-headed. “Yes, if it wouldn’t be any trouble.”
“Ha, trouble. It is no trouble at all. Actually the only trouble I usually get, other than an ache or pain, is from the town bully, Fret. But don’t you mind. I enjoy the company, plus I can talk and prepare.” Hazel stood slowly, like a newborn colt, but she got her bearings quickly. Then she proceeded away, continuing her tale.
“These ‘cages’ were carved by trolls, or so Zediah said. ‘Trolls are skilled woodworkers,’ he would say in his exaggerated tone, which I came to realize meant he had no idea what he was talking about. The purpose of this casket was to capture a demon or spirit—to hold it. Then, the owner could command the malevolent presence like a slave.”
“Like a servant? But how is that possible?” Taylon interjected.
Hazel simply nodded and smiled. “Ahh, but it is. Zediah wished to capture the spirit of his dead wife. He said he became very lonely at times and longed for her company once again. He was not successful.”
Silence fell for a moment, until Euphoria started to murmur. Both looked toward the queen, but she quieted.
“Why do you think this portmanteau contains a demon?” Taylon asked in a whisper.
“Those are the only kind of spirits that seek out the traps. They don’t mind being trapped. Evil and corruption can still be spread from one little box. And that is what demons are all about.”
Hazel paused and passed a look over the queen. “Evil spirits can do tremendous harm. I hope…pray that your queen will come out of this alive.”
***
Fret spent most of the morning and into the afternoon talking with the mirror fragment. Time passed so quickly that when he stopped, Fret was surprised by the time of day. He needed to move. Trouble could be searching for him if the queen’s men had noticed the bag missing.
His legs ached as he stood. His knees cracked and began to throb. He had knelt over the artifact the whole time, talking to Lyra, the girl in the looking glass. She intrigued him, fascinated him. Enough so he did not notice the strain. He felt weird, like shaking off sleep.
Where are you going? Lyra’s voice sounded weaker than before.
“I need to move somewhere. The people I took you from could be looking for you.”
No, no, no. We mustn’t let them find us.
“But where should I go?” Fret was at a loss for action.
Need a horse, need to go away.
Fret thought a moment. He scooped up the fragment carefully and exited the barn. No one was around, or so he thought. After a few steps, someone called out in the distance. By th
e cottage adjacent to this property, a little old lady waved to him. She wore a garden apron. A small tiller rested at her side. Her hand beckoned him closer.
Go to her, Lyra commanded, and Fret did so without question. Within a minute he stood on the outside of the garden patch, the mirror fragment hidden behind his back.
“Young man, are you disturbing the barn animals?” Her voice reminded Fret of a creaking rocking chair.
“There’s no animals in the barn. You sold them.”
The woman considered this, a confused look on her face, and then comprehension dawned on it. “Oh yes, I forgot.” Her eyes drifted off lazily into thought but soon came back to focus on Fret. “What is it you have there, behind your back? Are you stealing from me?” She took a step closer.
Instantly he panicked, and his defenses went up. Before he could lie, Lyra whispered, Show her, and somehow he heard her. Still unsure why, Fret carefully brought the mirror around. He held it out to her so she was looking at her own reflection.
The old woman let out a horrible choked scream. She went to take a step away but stumbled and fell. The tiller caught up in her feet, and the metal part bit into her side; a small gash began gushing a lot of blood.
Fret almost dropped the mirror. He saw the old woman crumple and the blood. More trouble. He wanted to run, but his feet remained planted. It took him a minute to realize Lyra was calling his name.
“Lyra, what…?”
Put me in the blood.
The statement sent a shiver up his spine. His eyes glanced toward the lady, who was breathing heavily—tears coming down her wrinkled face, blood pooling at her side.
“Why?”
I need…energy… Lyra’s image started to fade in and out. Fret’s heart let out a mournful cry as she disappeared from the glass.
Fret acted without thinking, without knowing completely why. He laid the fragment in the blood, touching the old woman. The mirror suddenly glowed strong. Fret felt his sense of worry and confusion drift away. His eyes focused in on the beautiful light, barely seeing the mirror absorbing all the blood, not seeing the old woman’s tears turn to ones of agony and her breathing shudder until it stopped.
After five minutes, the brilliant light slowly faded. Fret came back to the real world and the situation at hand. He blinked several times, trying to remember what occurred. The fragment lay next to a pile of clothes and a tiller. Blood coated everything like a blanket of leaves.
Pick me up.
Fret reached down, confusion clouding his mind once again. “Where’s the old lady?” He continued looking at the bloody mess, trying to make sense of it all. Once his hand touched the fragment, his question didn’t seem to matter; the answer was unimportant.
Don’t we have to go? The queen and her man might be coming. Lyra’s voice sounded different, bolder.
Without much more thought on the issue, Fret ran off toward his house with Lyra under his arm.
***
The smell of something—something awful—awoke her. Eyes fluttered as her nose woke up the rest of her body. Manure? Katrena rolled onto her back, away from the smell, which floated everywhere. What? Where?
Pain coursed through her, awakening the rest of her senses. Her wrist swelled red and hot. A throbbing sensation of needles darted away from the area. Muscles ached as she moved to prop herself up off the ground. Where am I?
Cottage, two humans, a mule, food. It came back slowly through a tremendous headache. Her remaining hand went to her forehead to massage the discomfort away. If she could only remember a relief spell, things would be so much better. But it hurt to think, to remember.
Katrena made it to her feet in about ten minutes. Her stomach now cried out, wanting nourishment. Above the ground, a new odor wafted through the air as she neared the cottage door. The smell came from the mule, its body having let loose its final meal contents.
Next to the mule lay the male human. The venom had done a number on him. His face was black and bloated.
The elf staggered as if intoxicated. Her stomach’s gurgle ripped through her again. From the man, she looked toward the door, seeing the woman lying a few feet away. Katrena almost dismissed her as dead until she saw the human’s chest rise and fall. She was still breathing. There would be plenty of time after a meal to dispatch her. Katrena made a mental note and stumbled into the cottage.
A small dinner waited on the table; some biscuits had been in the process of baking when Katrena came calling. The food was slightly warm. She concluded she had not been out that long. Like an animal, Katrena tore into the sustenance with her hand—the quicker, the better. As the first morsels reached her stomach, there was an internal sigh. Her mind had not come to deal with the missing hand. Pain pulsed every time her arm reached for food and the stump knocked against pots.
After five minutes of gorging, Katrena’s face resembled that of a child’s after their first self-fed meal. Soon she could feel the nutrients working through her body. The headache eased enough for her to recall and mumble a partial relief spell. All her arduous work made her tired. Maybe she would sleep it off here, at least for an hour.
The cottage was humble with very few furnishings. Katrena rocked the table back and forth, noticing for the first time it was off balance. Her chair had mismatched wooden legs, two of which looked to be crawling with ants. A small fire dwindled in a crudely built hearth. Another room adjoined this, and Katrena caught sight of a hay-stuffed bed.
“I’m glad this dump is not my home,” she muttered, throwing a chicken bone to the floor.
Her instincts, not up to par, didn’t detect the person in the doorway for a full minute. Katrena turned her head to see the human female, her head bloodied. A dazed look clouded the human’s eyes as she stumbled from the entry. Katrena ignored her and turned back to eating.
“Who…what…Rodrick?” The words came out garbled. A hand clutched at a frame.
Katrena looked up, mouth still full of potatoes and greens. “Can’t you see I’m eating? I suggest you lie down.” She turned back to the bowl, which was almost empty.
“You…killed….”
This time she whipped her head around, setting her eyes ablaze with as much evil intent as possible. It brought on a bout of pain, but she hated being interrupted during a meal. “Yes, I did. And if you don’t sit, I will do the same to you.”
It got the reaction Katrena was looking for. The human backed up in alarm, lost her handhold on the doorframe, and fell to the ground. Her head fell slightly to the side, and her eyes closed.
“Good,” Katrena said as she stuffed a whole biscuit in her mouth. New energy surged through her veins, thoughts became clearer. A few more minor spells and the elf would be back to her old self, minus the hand, of course.
Once her stomach protested against more food, Katrena turned in her seat to look at the woman. What am I going to do with you? Of course, she should just kill her outright, but something about the human made Katrena question her instincts. She could leave her alive, but what kind of assassin would that make her? The first rule of training was never to leave a witness…alive.
The only other choice was to take this girl with her. That might be possible. A slave? She’d never had one of those before. She could prove useful.
While Katrena pondered, she conjured a healing spell on the woman. She didn’t want the creature to die before determining what to do. The elf hated when fate decided a course of action for her.
Chapter Four
LaHiem! Gantha cursed as he hurried up the curving staircase. He was late, again. But this time he could claim it wasn’t his fault. The note about the surprise meeting only arrived by raven two hours ago. It usually took Gantha two hours to make it to the council chambers in Shalaydis.
Shalaydis was located south of the market at Aladedas, almost a day’s ride. The governing elf council met to determine the important matters of the world, or at least of the Territories, in the ages-old council chambers just outside town. It was strict
ly an elf city, unless in times of great ceremony or ritual. Those happened only every four years, and this was not one of those years.
So what’s so important about this prophecy? Gantha grumbled to himself. His pace slowed with each step he climbed toward the council room at the top of Pajote Palace. In the middle of Shalaydis stood a huge structure where the council presided. The Palace, named after the goddess Pajote in elfin lore, was a towering spiral of various metals and stone. Legend had it that the goddess herself commanded a lone dwarf to build the temple in her honor.
To Gantha, the tower felt cold, even with the elf interior designs. Trees and flowers grew along the inside of the structure, hoping to bring the natural spirit of the world into the building. The cold of the solid metal and dense stone still permeated the air. Perfect place for these council meetings. By the time I make it to the top, I will be tired and unhappy.
The council consisted of five major members, all representing the different elven tribes living in the Territories. Gantha stood elected for the Sounth Tribe, also known as the tree dwellers. He hated that connotation, tree dwellers, because very few of his tribe lived in trees. Gantha lived in rather a nice home on the ground. He hated heights.
And one more. Gantha reached the top. He paused a moment to catch his breath and compose himself. As a representative, he had to look his best. He brushed his long, auburn locks behind his pointed ears and adjusted his council robe before striding through the doors.
The four other members, already seated, turned to look at Gantha. He wasn’t late, considering the circumstances, but the stares made him feel self-conscious.
“Good. We may begin,” Outhsola commanded in his deep baritone voice. At nine hundred and fifty two years of age, Outhsola lead the council. Age dictated leadership.
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