by E. A. James
“Exactly. So go.”
She crossed her arms, frustration simmering beneath her throat. “You—you know what? I feel sorry for you! You heathens are the reason Olnorma is in such pain.”
He rolled his eyes again. “Yes, yes, the doubters of the gods and of the angels destroy all happiness and cheer – time to leave.” He flicked his hand toward the mountain. “I’m doing a job so that I can get paid, nothing more. You disrupt my job, you disrupt my pay. You see my predicament?”
She took a deep breath and willed herself to calm down—to think. Her blood was too hot, though, moving too fast in her veins and dizzying her. It was instinct, of all things, that had her saying, “Fine. You win. But why does that man get to cross the border freely?”
The Gargan’s eyes widen before he turned around.
She dashed past him. She raced through the forest—leaping over ditches and logs, ducking beneath low thick branches and weaving around trees.
Heavy footsteps assaulted the ground at a swift pace behind her.
The Gargan shouted at her to return and face justice as he barreled his way through the serene environment. The forest floor rumbled with each quick step.
He was fast for someone so large, but she was nimble. She would lose him at any moment.
Leonie jarred her body left, sprinted, and then some shape walked past a tree and right in her path.
She crashed into it, the two tumbling over the grass and dirt until Leonie’s side hit the trunk of a tree. She hissed, hands snapping to her hurt hip. As she massaged it, she looked up to see what she had unintentionally assaulted.
She swore her heart stopped.
The being rose on its hands and knees, pointed ears pointed to the crook of her neck. She shook her head and blinked at the ground. Her face expressed no emotions, no soul, her entire body translucent as if to represent her own emptiness.
A Fader. An elven Fader.
They weren’t real, though. They weren’t supposed to be real.
Leonie pushed herself to her feet, her shoulders pressing against the bark behind her. She gaped at the Fader as it, too, stood up. Leonie sucked in a breath, heart hammering and blood roaring past her ears.
Distantly, she heard the Gargan running toward them, the forest blocking him from view.
The Fader slowly turned its head to Leonie and blinked.
Leonie went ice-cold.
“Mathsus,” the Fader whispered. It sounded in awe. “You saw a god. You spoke to a god.” It took a step toward her and reached out. “That light, that memory…it's sweeter than mice and honey. It's brighter without the pain of it. You saw the god of fate and you still live.” It took another step toward her.
Leonie pressed herself further into the bark.
The Fader opened and closed its mouth repeatedly.
The forest was quiet.
“You saw a god and listened,” the Fader said, eyebrows rising. “My, the memory—the intoxicating memory is pure. So pure.” It took another step closer. “I can’t pull away. I don’t wish to pull away. This memory of Mathsus—it must be mine forever.” It clasped its hands onto Leonie’s face.
She kicked its gut and then elbowed its nose.
The poor thing reeled back, palms pressed against its crooked nose—not bleeding. It turned and rubbed its face, strangled sounds escaping it.
Leonie rushed over and planted a hard kick against the Fader’s temple.
It collapsed, eyes closing and clear liquid dripped from its opened mouth. It shivered for a few seconds before becoming still, save for the gentle rhythm of its chest moving up and down repeatedly.
Leonie stared in awe at the Fader. It was…it was too much. A god and then a Fader. She shook her head and stumbled forward, her gaze sweeping over the ground in search of her pack.
There, to her left.
She went to it, picked up, and then straightened.
The Gargan stood a few meters away, his eyes bulging and his face a lighter shade than it had been before. Could Gargan’s get pale?
They stared at each other for a long moment, the Fader breathing between them and the wind brushing past them.
“So,” he said at last, “you said there would be a war between Sallimor and Maylorn?”
She cocked an eyebrow. “What? You believe it now that you heard it from—?” She glanced at the Fader. She wanted to be resentful, she really did, but hearing about religious things from a mythical creature did make seem all more plausible for some reason. Leonie sighed and shook her head. “Well, fine then. Does this mean I can cross Sasawa without you chasing me?”
His face scrunched, creating small wrinkles around his lips and face. Wrinkled rock…she stepped closer, wishing to observe this amazing sight. Her eyes softened as she did so.
His face scrunched further and he leaned back a little. “What are you doing?”
She blinked and shook her head. “I’m sorry.” Her tone was too indifferent to convey sincerity, so she cleared her throat. “I just…nevermind. I’ll be leaving now.”
“Let me go with you.”
She nearly laughed. “What? Why? Not five minutes ago, you thought I was a loon.”
“To be fair, I still think that.”
Leonie crossed her arms.
“But,” the Gargan continued, raising a hand in appeasement, “I do believe you now…” He motioned toward the unconscious Fader. “That means my home and my family are truly in danger. I wish to aid them in any way I can.”
Her eyebrows rose, the tension within her ebbing. “You’re from…?”
“Maylorn.”
The smallest kingdom in Olnorma—the size of two cities, really. How it had not been swallowed by another kingdom yet, no one was sure.
Leonie frowned, doubt flickered within her mind. Still, if it was her family and kingdom in danger... Her neck stiff, she nodded. “I suppose if you’re polite toward me, I could use the company.”
“You could use the company regardless. You fight well, but you cannot match my strength.”
She scoffed, lips curling upward. “I don’t think I’ll be needing any kind of brute force, but that’s good to know, Mr.…?”
He took off his hat, his scalp made of thousands of tiny spikes pointed behind him. Pressing the hat against his chest, he used his free hand to reach for her own. “You may call me Adrik Shabalin.”
She shook his hand—cold, rough, though his grip was rather gentle. “Leonie Dupont.”
“The Young Duchess of Asawiss?” He smirked as if joking.
“One of them.” She shrugged, releasing his hand before she walked away—Adrik walking right beside her with his head canted to the side. “We’re smaller than Maylorn, you know. At least half of our citizens have some kind of royal title.”
He hummed in stoic acknowledgment, his eyes aimed forward and his hat held by his side.
She eyed him. He said nothing as they continued onward, the birds fluttering wings and soft chirps the only sounds disrupting the silence between herself and this Adrik. He blinked slowly, gaze distant as thoughts—perhaps utterly boring thoughts—clouded his expression.
She glanced between him and the trees ahead of them. The back of her mind tickle, an aching sensation, really. “So…that’s it?”
“What’s it?”
“You don’t have any questions—or better yet, any apologies you wish to speak?”
“No.”
She balked. “The god of fate told me to stop a war between your land and another, and you have no questions?”
He glanced at her, his frown deepening. “It probably wasn’t a literal god who came to you. Perhaps it was someone who knew something of value—something that would compel Sallimor and Maylorn to war with one another.”
“What?!”
He flinched. “Why are you shrieking at me?”
“You’re—you—you’re unbelievable.” She pressed her hand against her forehead, the tip of her hood being pushed back a bit. She forced herself to br
eathe slowly—to calm the waves of hot anger crashing upon her chest. “You witnessed the Fader read my mind and go into hysterics. It said ‘Mathsus’ like ten times, at least.”
“I don’t think it was that many times.”
“But the Fader said it!”
“That proves nothing.” Adrik held his head high, not looking at her. “Seeing and hearing the Fader proves its existence, but hearing it mention a god? That doesn’t prove the god’s existence.”
She growled and pressed her palms against her face. Never before had she dealt with such a stubborn and blind skeptic, and it forced pain to bloom from various points beneath her skull.
She tripped over a tree root, hands flying out and heart leaping out of her flesh.
Adrik snorted, not slowing.
She glared at his back and swore as she trudged on.
CHAPTER THREE
The shops and houses of Narma Village were wide cone shapes, most of which didn’t contain any windows. They were all clustered together—no fences, but the metal doors were covered in various kinds of locks. Vines wrapped around some of the houses while leaving the shops unbothered.
Remarkably, the village hadn’t removed any of the trees or other foliage around it. Trees cluttered the area—the shops—but the citizens appeared unhindered by it as they walked about, talking, purchasing goods, playing with their children—
Adrik tugged on Leonie’s sleeve, so she slowed her step and turned to him. “What?”
“I need to go to the guards’ station and hand in my resignation.”
“Oh. Um, alright.”
As her led down a few dirt paths—weaving around various shops—her eyes wandered over the citizens. Elves, humans, Gargans, Elven humans—there were all kinds here, and no one appeared bothered by it. There were polite conversations and polite smiles.
Leonie’s heart swelled as curiosity brushed over her mind. Oh, she had so many questions to ask these people. What was like to not notice one another’s race? Or did they notice it and honor it? How did—?
Adrik shoved the heel of his hand against her shoulder.
Her hands snapped to her sore shoulder. “Ow! What?”
“Wait here.” He entered the building to their left—the tallest building in the entire village, its pointed tip a few meters higher than the surrounding trees.
She massaged her shoulder, her pack nearly sliding down her arm as she did so. She clenched her teeth and waited—like he had so kindly ordered—before her heart started thudding a little too hard.
Swearing, she stormed into the guards’ station.
Her eyes snapped to the floor—the forest floor, no manmade covering keeping her boots off the grass and dirt. Her lips quirked upward, and she walked in a small circle indoors.
How…odd.
“Adrik, you’re of the medium caste. You’re expected to be better than this.”
Leonie turned and looked at the front desk, an incredibly long and tall thing made out of rough wood. Adrik stood before it, a couple of meters from herself, as he spoke with another Gargan in a border patrol uniform behind the desk.
Adrik sighed but otherwise remained silent.
The other Gargan glared with disgust. “You’re serious? You’re just…you’re just going to quit after working here for a couple of weeks? That’s pathetic and unworthy of you.”
“I’ll go to my assigned room, change, and give you back this uniform. You just get my last payment ready.”
The other Gargan cackled, eyes wide and dulled. “Oh, no, no, no! Why in the great world of Olnorma would I allow payment to go through to a man that quits his post. We don’t allow that of the lower castes, so we can’t allow it to the likes of you.”
Adrik pressed his hands against the desk and leaned forward, growling something that Leonie couldn’t hear.
The other Gargan smirked. “You quit, and I can say and do whatever I want. Quitting makes you nothing more than rumnern.”
Leonie gasped, horror freezing her blood. Rumnern was such an ugly word to call a Gargan—even from one Gargan to another. Before she knew it, the ice had melted beneath a flash of fiery rage, squeezing her lungs and clawing into her head.
Adrik backed away, his entire posture rigid. He breathed heavily like he was choking on each inhale.
Leonie stormed forward and slammed her hands on the desk. “How dare you!”
The other Gargan blinked at her. “Excuse me?”
“You’re disgusting, you know that! No one deserves to be called that word. It’s based out of idiocy and insecurity of other races!”
“Your race, specifically,” he said with a blunt chortle. He shook his head and gave her a toothy smile. “You don’t even have a caste to your person. My acknowledgment of your presence is a gift you’ll never deserve.”
Other employees walked about and started to glance in her direction.
Leonie’s chest burned, her facial muscles twitching as anger swallowed her whole. She was well aware of Sasawa’s caste system, a pointless societal way of giving the privileged more rights than the unfortunate. In her case, an outsider wouldn’t receive the honor of a label.
She cracked her jaw and stared at him hard. “I know my worth.”
The Gargan huffed. “I doubt that.”
“The god of fate visited me just the night before, and requested that I accomplish an important task for me.”
Adrik groaned behind her.
The Gargan before her laughed, the sound light and joyous. “What?!”
The other guards laughed, as well, stopping from their short ventures to turn toward her and laugh harder.
She ground her teeth together, face reddening despite the truth of her words. She spoke her claim louder—over their laughter—and with more detail. She told them about the Mathsus’s starlight, the Fader attacking her—
One elven guard tripped and fell to the ground, cackles bursting out of him as he rolled around.
Adrik grabbed her arm and gently tugged her back. “Come now before you make this situation worse.”
She followed him, her steps awkward as her pride clutched her chest. “But—but what about your payment? And what about the truth?”
He pulled her out of the building and led her toward the other end of the village. “This uniform will be my payment, and no one else needs to hear this ‘truth’ of yours.”
She yanked herself free from his grip, but both of them kept their pace. Not knowing what to say—blood searing, as it was—she pressed her lips together and trekked onward.
Remarkably, in the hour it took the two of them to exit Narma and enter another forest, most of the citizens had heard of her claims in regards to Mathsus and the Fader. A few daring people even pointed at her and excitedly yelled, “There she is! The mad duchess of Asawiss!”
Some laughed.
Others gasped in awe as if witnessing something amazingly wretched.
Leonie clenched her hands into tight fists. “Disrespectful louts. All of them.”
Adrik didn’t agree or disagree with her. He just bowed his head and sighed, his hand pressing against his forehead.
CHAPTER FOUR
“You must keep quiet about this supposed vision of yours. It’s only bringing us trouble.”
Leonie kept her gaze forward, her boots stomping against the forest floor. Frowning, she cracked her knuckles and shifted her pack a bit. “I don’t like keeping things to myself, and this—this is important. This is probably the most important thing I’ll ever do in my life.”
Adrik shook his head. “You’ve become the Mad Duchess of Asawiss in less than a day because of your rantings. People will only see your madness when they look at you, and they won’t help. Some things must be kept secret.”
“Must they?” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “What secrets are you keeping from me?”
He glowered.
“We’re traveling together,” she said. “If I’m to trust you, I should know you.”
“You
know enough.”
“I don’t know anything about you!”
“You know that I was a guard, a position given to those of honor.”
“I also know you just quit as a guard.”
“I resigned to prevent a war in my homeland.” He smiled, smugness marring his expression. “As I’ve said, you know enough. And others certainly know enough about you.”