Reality's Plaything

by Will Greenway

  The Myrmigyne shook her head. “Irodee make it, but not like it.”

  Wren nodded. “Are you tired, Sarai?”

  “No.” She shrugged. “I’ve felt no fatigue since Bannor did this to me.”

  The savant stared at the log for a moment rubbing her chin. “Will you do an experiment for me?”

  Sarai glanced at Bannor, then folded her arms. “Yes.”

  Wren patted the wood next to Bannor. “Stand there for a moment.”

  Sarai stepped up on the log with a puzzled expression. She stayed for a hundred heartbeats, winced as if someone had punched her in the stomach and stepped back to the ground.

  Sarai shook her head. “That was unpleasant.”

  “What did it feel like?” Bannor asked.

  She frowned. “Like all my strength was being drained.”

  Wren sighed. “Sarai gets her strength from the rocks now.” She looked to the elf. “If you keep the power long, it will be hard to give up.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “One of the laws of magic, Sarai. All power has a price.”

  * * *

  In the many millennia of my life I’ve been every kind of good, and all shades of bad.

  I can’t really say that one kind of conduct appeals more than another.

  One thing that I’ve determined, though, is that truth, honor, charity and having a conscience are a real bother. They do so get in the way of molding the realms the way I want them to be.

  —From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

  Chapter Eight

  « ^ »

  The rumble of erupting water startled Bannor. The fear died before his tired body could respond. The dank smell of sulfur and minerals had worked its way into clothes and skin after only a short time walking through the clouds of hot vapor. He wiped the perspiration off his forehead and looked around.

  The Hades flats stretched for a league in all directions. The ashen ground looked like dying flesh, cracked and festering. Stunted trees and bushes grew in solitary patches. Sediment caked rock jutted upward like spires of melting wax. Plumes of steam curled out of craters that bubbled and hissed.

  Wren led the way using Irodee’s spear to find a safe path. Before they headed into the mists, she’d cast a spell that would aid her in detecting unsafe footing. Sarai walked behind her. Some part of his mate’s new elemental powers allowed her to pass over fragile crusts of dirt that would collapse with one prod of the spear.

  Bannor stayed behind Sarai, forcing himself to stay upright. Occasionally, Irodee reached out to steady him. In all his years, he couldn’t recall feeling more exhausted.

  After only half a bell of rest on the canyon rim, Wren decided to press on. Three bell cycles of hard climbing later, it became apparent that the savant had exceeded her endurance. For himself, only Sarai’s support had enabled him to come this far. Even Irodee walked with a ragged stride.

  Sarai pranced through the fog like someone fresh on a morning jaunt. During the journey across the canyon she spoke little, obviously troubled by Wren’s remarks concerning her new magic. What price might there be for drawing vitality from the soil?

  “Irodee have to know. Why Wren lead us here?”

  Wren stopped and frowned. “This area should keep the avatars from magically locating us.” She pointed to a cluster of trees at the top of a white terrace. “That’ll be a good place to camp. The poisonous gases stay down in the depressions.”

  She turned and tripped. Off balance, she reeled a few steps. A crunch and one foot plunged into the ground. Wren gasped as steaming water splashed up. Bannor lurched forward.

  Too late.

  Before he could take a step, Sarai had dragged Wren back onto safe ground. Wren cried out and fought to get her boot off. Bannor dropped to his knees and jerked the hot leather off her foot. His chest tightened at the sight of her now crimson skin. Irodee knelt and gripped Wren’s shoulder.

  “Is it bad?” he asked.

  Clutching her leg above the knee, Wren spoke through gritted teeth. “Boot stopped most of it. Damn, stupid-stupid.”

  “Sarai pulled you out in time. It looks like it’s only a surface burn.”

  “Thanks-Sarai.”

  The elf nodded brushing silvery hair out of her eyes.

  “Help me up, please.”

  Irodee lifted her. Wren balanced on one foot. Bannor collected the spear and boot. He had to wait until the wet leather cooled enough to touch. He winced, imagining what would have happened if she’d fallen in up to her waist.

  Wren took the spear from him. The pain was evident in her eyes and in the way she held her breath. He handed over the boot, and she pulled it through her belt.

  Sarai offered her shoulder for support, and Wren walk-hopped toward the yellow-stained white hill. Irodee bit her lip. Bannor saw that the Myrmigyne was restraining her emotions. No doubt Wren hated being coddled which appeared to be Irodee’s first instinct; the kind of concern a big sister might show for a younger. Her devotion to Wren verged on fanatical. He’d watched her face a demon simply on the savant’s say so.

  The fact she could inspire that kind of loyalty made Bannor want to trust Wren. Still, her evasiveness worried him. She clearly had a private agenda, but how did he and Sarai figure into it? He knew she plotted some revenge against the avatars. Would they be forced to choose sides?

  He watched Wren and Sarai for a few moments admiring the savant’s tenacity. He’d seen veteran soldiers blubber like babies from lesser wounds.

  The thought made him grow cold. His admiration didn’t blind him to the fact that Wren planned to manipulate them in some way. She said all she wanted to do was teach him to protect himself. He didn’t believe it. Accepting Wren’s help obliged them to assist her. If he refused her aid, he and Sarai would have to fight the avatars alone. Irodee stopped part way up the terrace and looked at him. Deep hazel eyes searched his face.

  If forced to choose between serving Wren or the avatars, one look at Irodee made the choice obvious. He hated being forced to chose one of two paths when neither appealed. He found it especially frustrating because he couldn’t see a way around it.

  Shaking his head, he followed their tracks across the treacherous ground and up the hill. His whole body felt like one giant toothache. Irodee waited and took his shoulder to help him up the steep incline.

  She smiled and brushed back her dark hair. “Irodee suspect Bannor thinking too much.”

  “Bannor doesn’t like being press-ganged.”

  The Myrmigyne shrugged. “What if Wren asks it of you? What is your freedom and Sarai’s worth?” Her hand gripped his shoulder.

  He glanced to where Sarai waited at the hillcrest with Wren. The memory of Rankorhaaz holding his beloved in the forest flickered in his mind. “A lot.”

  Reaching the top he put an arm around Sarai. His mate responded with a brief squeeze.

  “Are you all right, my One?”

  “I’ve never hurt so bad, but at least I’m alive.”

  Wren sat on a dead tree examining her foot. Irodee nodded to him and went to inspect Wren’s wounds. “Need healing potion if you want to walk on it soon.”

  Wren nodded. “We’ll set up over there.” She pointed. “We’ll be upwind from the fumes. The trees will give us some shade.”

  Irodee helped her up and the four of them found a flat place between several large needleleaf. Bannor undid his bedroll and collapsed on it with a groan. “This has been the worst forced march since I was in the war.”

  Irodee raised an eyebrow. “Bannor must have been very young.”

  “Fourteen summers.” He sighed. “King Balhadd was desperate for troops. If they could march and swing a knife he’d put colors on them. I’m lucky Father taught me to fight early or I wouldn’t have survived the first skirmish. If my older brother Rammal had spent more time learning his lessons rather than climbing trees, he might have lived.” He swallowed. “I wonder if he had powers too? Guess we’ll nev
er know now.”

  Wren unrolled her blankets and lay down with a sigh. “Iggerd and Balhadd’s five-year feud broke up a lot of families. Nothing worse than being forced to participate in a war you have no stake in—empty victories and unjustified loss.”

  Bannor looked at her to see if she was being sarcastic. Her eyes were closed, face impassive. Irodee pulled the potion box out of her pack and prepared to tend Wren’s burns.

  And you think your fight will be any different? I lost my brother fighting someone else’s war. I won’t sacrifice Sarai the same way.

  It had been many seasons since he had dredged up those dark feelings. A decade later the guilt could still return full force. He had accepted the lonely job as a border woodsman to escape it, so he wouldn’t have to face his family and friends knowing he’d left Rammal to die.

  He remembered that day, hot like now, the air muggy and thick with the scent of carrion. He’d supported his brother for leagues, the Northerners coming down the hills like a swarm of insects.

  I’ll get you out, Ramm, three more leagues to the staging camp. No place to hide. So heavy. So tired. Come on, Ramm, don’t give up—move! His brother’s limp body slogged forward slower and slower. Bannor’s stomach knotted with fear as he looked back and saw sunlight glinting off an advancing wall of armor and weapons.

  Heart pounding, legs like wooden posts. Get up, Ramm! Get up! His brother looked at him with glazed eyes, face ashen. Rammal blinked as though his lids were weighted. Help me. Lifting his body felt like levering up a mountain. Every jolt and gully made the burden heavier. Don’t die. We can make it.

  His knees buckled repeatedly. Each time he fought his brother back over his shoulder again. Fire burned in his chest. Behind him, the Northerners howled like wolves. Up down, up down—the ground sucked at his feet. Can’t give up. Then the arrows came; a hail of steel and wood. Cold metal stabbed deep into his shoulder. Screaming, he crumpled. They rolled down the side of gully. Agony ripped through his shoulder. He heard the shaft snap. Lying face down in the grime His body twitched. Rammal groaned, fingers raking the dirt. Bannor clawed up to his knees. No strength. Enemy so close. Blood soaking his back. His arm felt like dough. Ramm!

  His brother only shook his head and closed his eyes. He grabbed Rammal’s shoulder. His skin felt so cold. Ramm! He knelt next to the still body, tears burning on his face. No.

  He heard footsteps and the sound of steel being pulled. A fog closed around his mind. Scrambling out of the gully, he ran. The image of Rammal’s eyes closing flashed through his mind again and again. I left him.

  So tired.

  “My One?” Sarai’s warm hand stroked his forehead.

  He blinked and laced his fingers in hers. Wren and Irodee looked at him.

  “I thought you’d fallen asleep with your eyes open.”

  “Grim thoughts, Little Star, that’s all.” He let out a breath. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

  She brushed the hair out of his eyes and smiled. “We’ll do what we have to do, as long as we can be together. After all, we might be going to a better place.” Sarai glanced at Wren then met his gaze. “Rest now, we’ll worry about it later.”

  She snuggled next to him. Her body didn’t burn as it had before. It felt cool and comforting. He looked into Sarai’s glowing eyes.

  “I love you, Sarai. I don’t want anything to hurt you.”

  “I love thee, my One. Nothing will harm me again, I promise.”

  So certain. So confident. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off.

  The smell of burning needlewood pitch and the crackling of fire woke Bannor. His sleep had been an abrupt plunge into blackness where even the horrors of the previous night couldn’t reach him. His legs still throbbed and his mouth tasted leathery. The misery of the headache had finally left him.

  Stars shone in an ebony sky. The gleaming white circle of Pernithius, the harvest moon, illuminated the eastern horizon. He could hear the distant yipping of wild dogs now and then over the hiss coming from the flats.

  Sarai knelt by the fire teasing the flames with a twig. The flickering light cast her features in golden hues. Irodee and Wren slept close to one another, their breathing deep and steady.

  Sarai looked up and gestured him over. Muscles protesting he rose and went to sit by her.

  She kissed him on the cheek and spoke in a whisper. “Feeling better?”

  He nodded. “Didn’t you sleep? Even Elves need some.”

  “A little. I don’t feel tired, so I need even less.”

  He frowned and looked in the sky. “What time is it?”

  “Around ten bells. Triatus rose and set already.”

  “We’ve been asleep that long? I shouldn’t be surprised. Nothing unusual?”

  Sarai shook her head. “No demons or orcs, just dogs and they seem content to stay far away.”

  “Good.” He tossed a twig in the flames and watched as it curled and expired. “How are you feeling?”

  Her eyes glowed brighter. “I have never felt so—alive.” She paused, her lips pressed to a line. “Bannor, I don’t care what Wren says. I want to stay like this. I was too vulnerable before. Now, I can fight back.”

  He’d suspected she’d feel that way. “What about the price?”

  Sarai’s gaze didn’t waver. “You gave me this power. How bad could it be?”

  Bannor sighed. “You once told me a story about the magician’s apprentice who hired an imp to find his lost love. He wasn’t concerned with how much it cost, either.”

  She frowned. “You don’t know what it’s like to lack strength, to be handled by men and unable to break their grip. No one will drag me around or put me in a cage again.” Her eyes flashed. “Ever.”

  He put his hand in hers. Sarai’s fingers closed and squeezed tight.

  “I want you safe the way that this new magic can make you. It’s just—”

  She put a finger on his lips. “Let us worry about Rankorhaaz and—” she gestured to Wren and Irodee. “Those two.” Bannor glanced over. “What about them?”

  “How beholden to them do we want to get? I’m obliged for their help, but how much more can we accept?”

  Putting his head on her shoulder he stared at the flames. “There’s so much we need to know. I don’t see how we’ll learn it without Wren.”

  “I like not being shackled to them.”

  “Neither do I. I’ve decided one thing though.”

  “That is?”

  “She can’t make us pay what we’re not willing to give.”

  Sarai nodded. “Aye, that’s the way it will be then.”

  He put his other hand on hers. “We will find a safe haven from all this chaos, where the avatars can’t bother us.” A roaring interrupted Bannor’s next words. It made his skin crawl. Sarai stiffened.

  Rankorhaaz.

  The sound came closer. Irodee woke up and grabbed her spear. Wren opened one eye, frowned and rolled over in the blankets.

  “Wren, is demon!”

  The savant’s voice sounded thick with sleep. “Yeah, I hear it—tell him to be quiet.”

  Bannor’s voice rose. “It’s Rankorhaaz!”

  Wren growled. “Let him yell. If he gets closer, wake me up.”

  Irodee nudged the smaller woman. “Wren, this not funny.”

  “Wasn’t ‘posed to be funny. Demons don’t like water. He tries to drive those orcs out here and he’ll have whole platoon of cooked Urakai. I picked the spot for a reason.”

  Bannor chimed in this time. “That is?”

  “I’m a savant of Forces.”

  “So?”

  She patted the folded cloak she used for a pillow. “Can you think of a stronger force than a ground quake?”

  “What’s that got to do—”

  “This is the most unstable terrain you can find. I can turn every fissure, geyser, and fumarole in this area into a weapon. He doesn’t have the courage to fight me where I have the advantage, especially now that
we have an avatar of stone with us too. For the time being, relax. Save your energy for when we need to leave. That’s when it’ll get ugly.”

  * * *

  Love is a trick played on the consciousness of fools.

  I’ve extracted the definition from many creatures and all of it is just so much blather about ‘sacrifice’ and ‘feelings’ and ‘caring’.

  If such a thing truly exists it is nothing but a convention and no real tangible force. My cousin Aphrodite argues vehemently to the contrary, but she was never very bright and has always been easily duped.

  The thing that bothers me is that in the texts of the First Ones, there is reference to it (love), and the achieving of Tan’Acho.

  Instinct tells me this little intangible will be an irritating snag in my plans…

  —From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

  Chapter Nine

  « ^ »

  “Wren, you led us five leagues out of our way so you could have a bath?” Bannor’s voice rose. The demon’s roars had kept him awake long after the creature gave up. Lack of sleep left him in no mood to play games.

  Face feeling hot, he sat on a boulder. Wren had led them to a rocky basin surrounded by trees and a scattering of bushes. A stream tumbled into the steep-sided depression where it mingled with hissing fumarole water. Silver and gold flecks eddied in the bubbling liquid.

  “Honestly, Bannor, I’d have gone even further for a hot soak.” She grinned. “More for you than me. Get a smell of yourself.”

  He frowned and folded his arms. Still half awake, it made everything bleary and annoying.

  Irodee and Sarai sat on the pool’s edge making ripples in the water with their toes. They both looked amused. Sarai siding with Wren and Irodee made it more irritating. One moment she complained about owing Wren, the next she’d joined the savant’s bath party.

  Women.

  Wren dove in fully clothed. Swimming to the edge, she fished a parchment packet from the backpack she’d left on the ledge.

  Sarai borrowed Irodee’s comb and worked at removing the snarls from her hair.