Spellscribed Tales: First Refrain

by Kristopher Cruz

  “You should be dead!” he said, unable to process the situation. Her hair had changed, her skin had become a shade darker, and she had matured, but it was the same face sneering at him as had been nearly a year and a half before.

  “You should be dead.” Devinia mocked, mimicking his tone. “You were too much of a weakling to kill me yourself, so you hoped I’d suffocate in a fire? Pathetic.”

  “A problem we will rectify.” Lukas replied. Devinia felt movement at her back and tried to sidestep. Markus had risen, somehow standing on his damaged knee, a long blade in his hand as he attempted to stab her in the back.

  Devinia dove to the side, the dagger clipping her shoulder as she dodged. Hot, fiery pain bloomed in her shoulder, but as she rolled to her feet she saw something that gave her moment to pause.

  The Dancer in Darkness, her partner, leapt into the light, streamers of steam erupting from its skin as it collided with Markus. Her claws bit into the hammered silver scales and her jaws clamped around the back of his helmet, the teeth puncturing almost immediately. Her tail flicked up between his legs, slamming the spines into his gut. In the light, her hide was almost transparent as it burned.

  Markus screamed as she bore him down. Lukas screamed in rage and lunged forward with the spear. Devinia swung wildly with her spear, but she was too far back to interfere in time. The tip of her spear grazed the back scales of Lukas’ armor as he drove his weapon into the Dancer in Darkness’ neck. Dark blood spattered out, and though her partner recoiled silently Devinia screamed out for her. Both Markus and her partner fell to the ground and lay still.

  Lukas leapt over the fallen beast and his dying brother and ran, holding the spear of light in front of him to light his way as he fled. Devinia cried out and threw the other spear, but it hit a tree trunk far behind the fleeing brother.

  She dropped to her knees next to her partner and tried to tend to her injuries. The wound poured blood copiously, and she could tell it would be fatal.

  “No… no.” she muttered. “Not again.”

  The Dancer in Darkness looked at her and she could see pain and sadness reflected in her gaze. No tears would come, but Devinia felt a familiar wrenching sensation in her chest. “Yin Jalah.” She whispered, reminding herself of her promise.

  She picked up her discarded knife, and put her left hand on her partner’s flank. The great hunter gave her one last look, her strength fading. Devinia felt a sense of approval. She nodded, and drove the blade home. You want to make every strike your best, and most importantly your first.

  For her friend, for her companion and partner in the deep wood, her strike was perfect. Already badly burned, the hide faded into nothingness only seconds after Devinia was done.

  She turned to Markus to find him still conscious. The armor had done an admirable job protecting his hide, but even if he hadn’t been injured all over his body, Devinia could count nearly a dozen poisoned spines sticking out from his gut. He was not long for the world. He looked up at her, his sight distant from poison and pain. A bottle that looked similar to her healing potions lay empty near his left hand.

  “I’m… sorry.” He whispered. His right hand was still clenched around the long knife. Devinia bent down and pulled it from his numb fingers. It was the dagger they had taken from her long ago. He must have kept it as a memento.

  “I liked you, you know?” Markus muttered deliriously. “It was my brother that said we had to kill you. I wish things had happened differently.”

  She knelt down next to him and clamped a hand over his mouth. She put the reclaimed blade to his throat and in one smooth pull, cut down to the bone.

  “I wish it had too,” she whispered in response. “But since it was what it was, I’ll settle for revenge.”

  She was gone before the last light faded from his eyes.

  * * * *

  Lukas threw down the spear as he crossed the light curtain edging the city. Leaping onto the streets from the park, he ran quickly despite his fatigue. He kept the armor on; such a matter as returning it seemed trivial when the rest of the crew, including his brother, were dead. And she was after him; for all he knew she was only a step behind. He couldn’t afford to stop.

  He dashed up the stairs to their modest home, opening the door and locking it behind him. He quickly ran to the bedroom and pulled out the coin they had been saving. He would have to flee the city, maybe even Salthimere for a time. She would come after him, but if he ran far enough, he could figure out how to protect himself.

  He pulled out his sword and strapped it to his belt. Armed with a weapon he was familiar with, he slammed the front door open and ran out without bothering to close it. As far as he was concerned, he would never be returning.

  Devinia was waiting for him at the plaza directly in front of the tree his now abandoned home resided within. She was leaning against the side of a fruit cart, enjoying a bite of some imported fruit as she watched him skid to a stop. She left a silver piece on the cart as she pushed off, a smile on her face.

  “I missed the city.” She said aloud. The cart owner wisely decided to wheel his wares somewhere safer. For all it appeared, an assassin had confronted a mark in public. Other elves went about their business, doing their best to both ignore them and give them a wide berth.

  “I didn’t get much fruit in the Fiorache’Sora; I almost forgot what it tasted like.”

  “You’re not going to let me leave.” Lukas replied.

  “Not at all.” She replied. “I won’t leave a job half completed.”

  “So my brother…” he trailed off.

  “Yes, and so is the one you speared.” She replied, her face hardening.

  Lukas’ face tightened as he prepared to fight. “It would have killed you just as easily as I.”

  “You know nothing, you pathetic worm.” She spat, drawing both her knives. “You’ll never take anything away from me ever again.”

  Lukas drew his sword and lunged, using the thrust to give him extraordinary reach. Devinia ducked under the blade and twisted over the kick she had been expecting him to throw. He reoriented, hopping back as she slashed at him with one dagger. They clashed several more times, this time Devinia was surprised at how skilled he was with the sword. It was true that she had no training in the art of fighting; she had learned how to kill by hunting, not how to actually fight with her weapons. Still, her natural agility and double blades kept him on his toes as he tried to get an edge on her.

  He slashed down and she slipped to the left, whirling as she brought a dagger around in a backhanded stab. He ducked, reversing the stroke of the sword, and he stood as he slashed upwards to add extra speed and force to the strike. Devinia tumbled aside, but caught a slash across her left arm near the shoulder that would have severed the limb if she hadn’t been fast enough.

  “Hah!” Lukas exclaimed. “You’re not so tough.”

  Devinia sneered at him and leapt back. Her left arm was numb, and she was bleeding badly. She threw her knife at him as he lunged forward, and he dove to the ground, the blade knocking his helmet off his head as it nearly caught him in the eye. While he crashed to the floor, she melded into the shadows with a thought. Popping out five yards farther back, she pulled one of the vials from her belt and popped the cork with her thumb as she tossed it back.

  Without hesitating, she opened and drank a second vial as Lukas reoriented on her. Tossing the empty bottle to the ground, she transferred her remaining dagger to her right hand. Warmth spread to the wound, but it was going to take time to heal.

  She leapt forward, making a strong downward stab, but he rolled out of the way instead of trying to deflect. He countered with his blade, and the dance resumed. She was not skilled at fighting, but he was not as agile. Her lack of skill was made up for by his lack of mobility. Now he was starting to regret the armor.

  Several moments of furious combat passed, and Devinia was getting tired. Her opponent had superior stamina, but was already exhausted, so neither of them had much
left. She leapt back from a slash, somersaulting behind a signpost and dropping into the shadows. She needed to catch him off guard to win this. She looked around for some advantage, and saw her thrown dagger had skittered to a stop on the plaza stones a few yards away from Lukas.

  Her mind raced. She needed to trick him, and she figured out what she was going to do. She erupted from the shadows behind him, exactly where he was expecting her. He whirled, slashing, but was surprised as she sailed over his head. She slashed at him as she passed, forcing him to delay his turn to duck her swing.

  She landed in a roll that took her over the dagger, which she caught in her newly recovered left hand and whirled. Her right hand blade caught his slash as she stood, and she stepped into him before he could see her arm had recovered. The same dagger she had cut Markus’ throat with hit home, sliding up in between the silver scales and under his ribs.

  Lukas’ breath caught, and his eyes froze. Looking down, his sword clattered from his hand as he saw her dagger was buried to her fingers in his abdomen.

  “…” He must have wanted to say something, but Devinia twisted the blade and pulled it free. Blood poured copiously from his wound. Lukas sank to the ground bonelessly.

  Devinia looked down at the dead body and felt nothing. The deed was done, her task completed. She looked down at the bloody dagger. The etched house Nightsever sigil was clearly visible through the blood coating the pommel.

  Someone started clapping nearby, and Devinia turned numbly. A Sha’hdi female that looked strangely familiar. She clapped a few more times and then took several steps towards her.

  “You’re surprisingly capable.” She observed. “And look at you, all grown up and you still had a year to go.”

  It clicked. This was the assassin who had given her the offer the night her mother died. She wasn’t in assassin leathers, which meant she had not been on a job when she had appeared.

  “You.” Devinia replied. “You were the one who told me to keep the dagger.”

  “Yes I was.” The female replied. “My name is Puria. I think I am safe in saying that I underestimated your abilities.” She tapped the cooling body with her booted foot. “Tell me, what did he do?” she asked curiously.

  Devinia shrugged. “Stole my things, tried to kill me. Twice.”

  The female looked down at him with a frown. “It looks like you’re in the clear. It was a lost seed after all.”

  “As am I.” she replied.

  “Yes, but I think it’s time we change that.” She turned. “Follow me, we’ll get you cleaned up.”

  “What do you mean, we?” Devinia asked.

  Puria turned to look back at her. “Why, the Poisonblades, of course.” She replied. “You have great potential; it would be a shame to see such a prominent civil servant fall by the wayside because of such a little thing as belonging to a house.”

  Devinia followed.

  * * * *

  Devinia’s training was harsh. She was not called by name, but ‘seedling’ was heard instead. It was shouted at her nearly constantly. She was pushed so hard and yelled that name so often that by the end of it, she almost believed it was her new name.

  From the first day forward, she was denied more than an hour’s sleep. She had only the time between when one trainer left and the next arrived to rest. They would come whenever they pleased, some of them not coming for hours,. Others would come while their predecessor was still in the room, and anywhere in between. If she didn’t wake up instantly, the trainer would shock her awake.

  The blur that was the many trainers assigned to her carried pain staves. Metal rods tipped in topaz; they delivered an incredibly painful, but otherwise harmless, shock when touched to a living person. Her trainers would not refrain from using them on her should they find the slightest thing displeasing to them. Devinia had several moments in the first few weeks when she was jolted awake with pain flashing through her body like lightning. She had thought she would get used to the pain, or perhaps even just become too exhausted to react to the pain staves, but their evil punishment worked on her every time.

  She would have sought to gain revenge on the trainers, but they were all clothed in full body covering leathers, and wore white bone masks that concealed their identities and made their voices all sound the same. It was a precaution the house was wise to keep; the Sha’hdi were, by their nature, vindictive and had long memories. Devinia had no idea if she was trained by a dozen elves, or just two that traded off. It could have been Puria alone for all she knew.

  She could only find the safety to sleep in the shadows. Since the night in the forest with the Dancer in Darkness that she had killed, her ability to use shadowplay was on a level beyond what all but the most experienced Sha’hdi could do. Only one blessed with the eyes and with significant experience could hope to find her when she was determined to find refuge. She was punished harshly with the pain staves when discovered, but she managed to steal away a full night’s sleep every few days that way.

  She became flighty and cautious; catlike, but controlled. Ferocity tempered by discipline, instinct honed by skill.

  All that remained was her final trial.

  Devinia stood in the hall of the Poisonblades; a grand tree, easily one of the dozen biggest in Salthimere. Nearly a hundred family members worked out of the hall, and a hundred more worked in satellite houses all over the country. The meeting hall had a low ceiling, but was sparsely lit with flickering ghost flames that neither went out nor burned, and cast deep shadows. She stood, dressed in a simple white dress, customary for guests within the house. Anyone not of the house and not in white was considered an intruder and was dealt with severely.

  On a chair that cradled her body, the matron of the Poisonblades watched her with expressionless eyes. Stern and regal, the matron of the Poisonblades looked to be hardly into her elder years, only a few strands of gray hair gracing the long black hair that was thickly braided down to her waist. Draped in diaphanous layers of cloth dyed in slightly varied shades of red, the matron bore a powerful and yet tantalizing air.

  Her daughter, Puria, observed with a small smile of amusement on her face. As much as Puria had assured her it was only a formality, Devinia worried that she would not be accepted in the end. With her training, she might be able to make it into a different house… she mentally shook herself. She wasn’t going to accept failure, ever again.

  She also didn’t have any guarantees that they’d let her live if she failed her trials. That was a cheerful bit of motivation for Devinia.

  It seemed the matron was aware of her reinforced resolution, her stern expression melted into a smile.

  “I heard you have been making a reputation… the new lost seed trying to join my family.” She spoke, her voice quiet, yet somehow reaching the farthest corners of the chamber.

  Devinia nodded. “Yes, matron. I hope to be worthy to join your house.”

  The matron nodded her head. “I have seen much of your training and I would be crippling the Poisonblades should I not bring you into this house. You have shown talent I’ve seen in no other but my own sister.”

  The matron’s head tilted slightly, considering her. “Where did you come from, before you were a lost seed?” she asked.

  Devinia hesitated. It was considered taboo to discuss one’s past if disowned by your history, but not answering a direct question from a matron was nearly as bad. Though, before this matron, she knew which one was worse.

  “I… was Devinia, daughter of Ashrava, a civil servant of the Nightsever house.” She admitted, casting her eyes down. “I forsook my family name to survive when my mother had brought our household to be culled with her irresponsibility.”

  “I have also heard that you slayed your own mother with the dagger I have here.” The matron stated, holding the same blade she had fought so hard to keep before. “And you slayed the one who stole it from you with it after its recovery. I’m impressed. Poetry is something best left to the Suo’hdi.”

 
“Thank you, matron.” Devinia said with a tilt of her head.

  “I would hope my own daughter has the fortitude to do what’s necessary should I ever fall so far.” The matron continued. Puria, her face shielded from her mother’s gaze, winked.

  The matron continued. “But this brings up something I think you’d be interested in.”

  Devinia nodded her head, waiting for the matron to continue.

  “I have a contract.” The matron stated. “One that, if you accept, will be your trial to enter the Poisonblades.” She eyed the dagger as she turned it in her hands. “I think you would want this contract too. You see, the matron of the Nightsever house has a great-granddaughter who has been making trouble, abusing her position and wealth in the Suo’hdi half of the city. I need someone… eager to do this contract to my exact specifications.”

  Devinia felt a shiver go up her spine. The great-granddaughter of the matron who had ordered her to kill her own mother? It was a suitable revenge. While she couldn’t strike at the matron herself for many reasons, being contracted to kill one of her direct descendants would be a sideways blow back at her. “I accept.” Devinia blurted, her eyes wide.

  “And you didn’t even wait to see what my specifications were.” The matron replied. “Interesting.”

  “Matron, I only want for two things. One is to serve the Poisonblades with pride, and the other-”

  “To stick it to the one that put you out on the streets.” Puria interjected.

  Devinia inclined her head in assent.

  The matron smiled wickedly. “I knew you would find the task to your… liking. We only have one final order of business before we take you in as a member of our house.” She said, holding up one long, perfectly manicured finger

  “Matron?” Devinia asked.

  “When you were a lost seed, you had given up your name.” Puria said when the matron nodded to her. “And you may have tried to hold onto that name while you were lost, but now you are becoming a member of a prestigious house. You cannot be who you were before.”

  “I have to be named.” Devinia whispered. She thought back to her trials, even the ones she had before when she was all alone. The moments where it was made obvious to her that being soft and sentimental would only cause her more pain. She had thought it better to not feel at all. Very quickly it came to her and she nodded, looking up at her new matron with confidence in her eyes. She knew who she was.