Pocket Full of Tinder

by Jill Archer

  “Obstruction of justice, conspiracy, criminally negligent manslaughter, destruction of property, theft—”

  “Theft?” Zeffre’s voice was incredulous, although I don’t think it was just that last crime that had his mouth agog and his eyes popping out of his head.

  “Of the stymphwax,” I explained. “Yannu declared the last of it was completely destroyed, but I’m not convinced.” I wasn’t about to admit it to Zeffre, but Luck knew I knew how easy it was to find a valuable weapon, hide it, and claim you found nothing at all. And then I thought of two more crimes to add to the list.

  “Violation of civil rights and electoral fraud.”

  Zeffre looked at me as if I were the monster Perthius slew in order to save Daimoneda. I laughed and took pity on him – after all, it wasn’t his fault he wasn’t a lawyer.

  “Yannu’s zero-tolerance policy for any ‘aftermath chaos,’” I explained. “It won’t be hard to make a solid argument that he was trying to manipulate the election results by denying people their right to assemble and discuss other candidates.”

  Zeffre’s expression darkened further. In fact, it was fair to say, he looked like he would explode. “The only electoral fraud being committed right now is by you,” he sneered. “Yannu is innocent of those crimes and we both know it. Threatening to bring legal action against him isn’t going to get me to change my vote.”

  “Fine,” I said, walking over to the stack of books. Thank Luck, Zeffre finally looked uneasy. Did he think I liked to threaten people? If he’d only do what was right…

  “For now”—I plucked Ichabye out of the stack—“let’s forget about Yannu’s crimes and focus on Tenacity’s crimes.” I thrust the book toward him. “Did she tell you about this?”

  Zeffre stared at Ichabye and then slowly shook his head. He’d gone from obstinate to mute. Well, I needed him obedient.

  “Did she tell you what she did?” My voice was low. Calling it threatening would have been like calling a looming extinction event threatening. “She cast a spell over me. Your daughter, Zeffre. A sham Angel cast a spell over me, the executive’s daughter… and this town’s demon executioner.”

  Zeffre’s mouth was a thin line now, his eyes no longer wide with surprise or squinty with anger. Instead, he looked scared.

  Good. Now we were getting somewhere. Zeffre’s fatherly instincts made him rightfully frightened of the truth behind my words.

  “Want to know when Tenacity cast her spell over me?”

  I waited until Zeffre shook his head before continuing. “The night before Ari died.”

  I lowered my voice. I could be reasonable. Really, I could be. If only Zeffre would be. “Want to know who was standing next to me when she cast it?”

  This time, I didn’t wait for Zeffre to shake his head. “That’s right – Ari. Now, I don’t think Tenacity’s botched spell caused his death… but who knows? The one thing I do know is that Angels who are accused of killing regulare demons get sent to Adikia while the Council and the Divinity sort things out.”

  We stood staring at each other for a few minutes. Then I walked over to the stack of books and set the Angel prayer primer back on its top. I turned toward Zeffre and he spread his palms wide. It was a gesture of appeal. Then he bowed.

  “The Zeffres would be happy to support Lady Cliodna in her bid for the patronship,” he said. “As would my crew.”

  Afterward, I was overcome. I didn’t have a word to describe what I felt. Claustrophobia, ennui, exhaustion, imbalance? None of them really described what I was feeling. It was just this massive sense of wrongness. Of unfittingness.

  I couldn’t be sure, but I guessed it was because I’d acted against my true nature. That the meetings I’d had earlier with Tenacity and then Zeffre were contrary to how I would have acted before the curse. I clenched my fists. Well, what was the cure? I couldn’t go back there and tell Zeffre I was kidding. I hadn’t been.

  When I’d gone to Cliodna the night of Ari’s memorial procession, all I’d wanted was to stop feeling what I’d been feeling. But I hadn’t realized how much I would change as a result of losing the ability to love. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t love anymore. I couldn’t relate to people as I once had. I couldn’t empathize, sympathize, or even care. I even found it difficult to even think like someone who did.

  I decided to try, to the extent I was able, to act as I might have before viewing Eidolon’s Alternate Ending.

  My first opportunity came later that day while I was saying my farewells to the Carmines. Once again I found myself standing on the train platform with Joy, Steve, and Matt, who looked only marginally better than he had yesterday. Didn’t the boy realize ‘handsome is as handsome does’ meant you had to take care with your appearance? He looked like the body we should have buried yesterday.

  As surreptitiously as possible, I glanced at the station clock. Only a few more minutes and I could get back to my desk. I had invitations to issue, a press release to write, posters, push cards, and lapel pins to design…

  Nova, who’d been worse than a burr lately, nudged my hand with her nose. Ugh. I wiped my hand on my pants and stepped away. Steve frowned.

  He blamed me for Ari’s death.

  “He should have shifted into smoke and shadow,” I said. “If he’d done that instead of trying to rescue me, none of us would be standing here. Everyone would be alive and somewhere else now.” The train pulled up, whooshing wind and emitting one long, shrill whistle. “You know what Ari’s problem was? He never gave me enough credit. He never learned that I could take care of myself. I had a”—I windmilled my hand in the air, attempting to remember the name of Sartabella’s failsafe, but quickly gave up—“sailing rig designed for me. It saved me. So his sacrifice was unnecessary.”

  Ari’s father started toward me, seething like a red bull. But Joy reached her arm out and stopped him. She was looking more snowshoe hare than white rabbit today. Her boots were scuffed and tufts of her hair were poking out from under the sides of her traveling cap. But her pink eyes were as frosty as ever.

  “Until we meet again, Nouiomo,” she said softly, and shepherded her family onto the waiting train.

  My second opportunity to try to act normal came the next morning when Fara and I were discussing the morning’s training melee.

  “I don’t understand,” Fara said. “What’s wrong with the armor Sartabella made you?”

  “I can’t wear armor adorned with a scarlet drakon now,” I told her again, exasperated. But she just shook her head and frowned. I was tired of frowns. Why couldn’t Fara glamour herself with a mask that never frowned?

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?” My concern that I wasn’t able to act like my old self when necessary ratcheted up a notch. What would I have done in the past? Bite my lip? Give her a hug? Tell her how much I missed Ari? I didn’t.

  Maybe I should just tell her about Eidolon’s Alternate Ending? What was I worried about anyway? It wasn’t as if Fara would be able to reverse the curse.

  But something made me hold back. It was that weird feeling of unfittingness. It lingered at the edge of my consciousness like a phantom. I was afraid that if I told anyone what I’d done, the feeling would get worse. That the phantom would creep closer. That I’d go mad.

  “Noon…” Fara said hesitantly, clearly unsure of how to say whatever it was she wanted to say.

  “Just spit it out, Fara. You’re an Angel, for Luck’s sake. Aren’t you supposed to be an expert on linguistics? How can everyday words fail you?”

  She stared at me. I was as sick of people staring as I was of them frowning. She cleared her throat. At least it was a new response.

  “You’ve been acting differently, that’s all,” she said. “But I know you’re still grieving, and likely will be for some time.” She paused, and I tried to make my face look appropriately sad. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” she continued, “but it’s just that… well… I
worry—”

  “Please don’t,” I said, cutting her off. “Ari used to worry about me and look where that got him. Look, Fara, what I really need you to do is be the best Guardian Angel you can be. Can you do that?”

  She looked upset. But I couldn’t tell if her distress was because of the situation (fact is, Fara was probably still grieving) or if it was because I’d said something wrong.

  So I bit my lip, gave her a hug, and said, “I miss Ari.”

  Did it work? I stepped back and looked at her. She gave me a tremulous smile and nodded. “Me too.”

  Whew.

  I waited a few beats and then said, “That’s why I can’t wear the old armor. Besides, I’m Cliodna’s champion now. I need to be glamoured in bright white. No blood specks no matter how wet the fighting gets, okay?”

  “Your signature feels different, consigliere.”

  “Oh, yeah? What did it feel like before?”

  “Steel lace.”

  “And now?”

  Rockthorn Gorge’s Captain of the Guard refused to answer. We were standing on the stage of the old, ruined amphitheater – the same place where Yannu and his retainers had beaten me the first day I’d sparred here and many times since. This morning, however, I couldn’t afford to lose.

  Today’s melee would be the first since Ari’s death. It would also be the first melee—and hopefully the last—in which Yannu would act as Rockthorn Gorge’s prospective patron. I’d told Cliodna she had to come. Melees in general might not be her style, but this one sure as Luck needed to be. There were only a hundred or so spectators, but I felt confident that each of them would be effective town criers for our cause if we gave them a newsworthy story.

  Around us, beyond the stone steps and the rocky outcroppings, past the Hyrkes standing on the observation platforms and the retainers who stood at the ready, were the mountains of northern Halja. Mount Occasus, obviously, was altered. It looked like a sandcastle that had been kicked. There was nothing left of the tower or the Magna Fax. Instead, there was just a jaggedy peak. The rest of the view had also changed. The warm hues of fall had given way to the starker colors of early winter. Gusts of wind rattled bony trees and the air carried a hint of snow. It was clear and invigorating, but I knew it would soon be laced with dust and the smell of burning flesh. For once, I was impatient to get to that part of the fighting.

  As he had for previous melees, Yannu introduced me to the team I’d be sparring against: Oleg, Igor, Vannis, and two bunyips whose names started with a Y.

  “No,” I said simply.

  “You’d rather spar against someone else?”

  “Yes, you.”

  He snorted. I didn’t hide my revulsion. Blood was one thing. Bunyip snot was quite another.

  “I fought against you your first day here, Onyx. Don’t you remember getting your ass kicked?” He leaned closer and spoke lower. “You hold your own for a human girl, but don’t push your luck.”

  I didn’t know what I would have felt before. Disgust? Obviously. Yannu was hideous. Fear? If so, I hoped I would have hidden it well. I may not have won many matches, but it wasn’t as if I were inexperienced. Determination? Undoubtedly so. And this was the feeling I seized upon now. I’d held my own? Ha. More likely, I’d been holding back. I raised my voice and shouted so that everyone on the mountain could hear me.

  “I’ll be fighting today under the auspices of the Patron Demon of Waves and Waterbirds.”

  Everyone’s gaze turned toward the Lady of the Gorge, who was standing stage right. She wasn’t wearing much, although that was nothing new. Her headgear, however, was different than her usual white feather tresses. Today, she wore a tall, spiky, platinum crown with a center ridge piece that came down over her nose. It looked like a short, black beak. On anyone else, it might have looked farcical, but on Cliodna it just looked wickedly beautiful. Her eyes sparkled and I felt her signature pulse with expectation.

  Yannu looked unimpressed. “Your usual teammates?”

  “Yes, but you mentioned five opponents, so I want Malphia too.”

  Beside me, Fara stiffened. I felt a jolt of surprise run through Yannu’s signature. I could tell he was as puzzled by the change in my behavior as he was by the change in my signature. But he motioned Malphia over nonetheless.

  “She wants you,” he called, grinning.

  Malphia joined us with a quizzical look, but otherwise stayed quiet. I guessed she sensed the curse like Yannu did. Since we were all about to form fiery swords and try to kill one another, I couldn’t work up the energy to care that I didn’t seem able to pull off acting like I had before. Maybe the person I was now was better.

  Maybe this time, my team would win in record time.

  I pulled Fara and Malphia aside for the pre-melee pep talk.

  “Fara, cast Impenetrable over everyone and then glamour Nova.”

  “Don’t you want Cryptid for her?”

  I scoffed. “No. We’re fighting for Cliodna now. She doesn’t do ugly ducklings.” I turned to Malphia. “Are you able to stop your usual heinous transformation?”

  She blinked her baby blues at me. I wasn’t fooled. I’d fought against her before. Once the fighting started, “Pretty Malphia” would vanish as quickly as Vannis, and we couldn’t have that. She shook her head, frowning. Ugh. Enough with the frowns. I turned back to Fara.

  “Then your biggest goal is keeping the glamours up. I’m counting on you, Fara.”

  We spent a few more minutes discussing our strategy and then returned to where Yannu was standing with the other team. I could tell part of my plan was working already. With her blonde, unbound hair streaming behind her in the wind, Fara looked like a heavenly comet. Malphia, on the other hand, writhed with dark beauty. Her raven-colored hair swirled around her, nearly indistinguishable from the black tendrils of magic she radiated. Nova now looked like a giant she-wolf with a lustrous silvery-gray coat that contrasted nicely with Virtus’ glossy, copper-colored pelt. We faced off against the bunyips and the bristly-haired hidebehind. I almost laughed; it was too perfect.

  Beauty versus beastly. Cliodna would love it.

  “No deadly blows,” Yannu reminded everyone. “The first team to be surrounded loses.”

  And… it began, similarly to before… yet altogether different.

  I didn’t allow Vannis even one heartbeat before I pulled a steel dagger out of a hidden sheath and bashed him in the head with the butt of the blade. It wasn’t enough of a blow to knock him out, but it was enough to stun him. I shoved him to the ground and plunged the dagger through his right shoulder, pinning him in place. Then I knocked him out.

  No hiding for the hidebehind, I thought, laughing to myself. The whole maneuver took three seconds – smash, stab, smash. But by the fourth second, Y1 had struck me.

  My head rang like a gong and I nearly bit the tip of my tongue off. I literally saw red. But I felt no fear. Huh. Guess love has something to do with that too, I thought. What I did feel was rage – pure, unadulterated battle rage. I channeled it into a furious wave and tried to shape it into an enormous winged raptor. So great was my fury, I expected my flaming bird to be as big as the rotunda was wide. But nothing appeared. It was like the first few times I’d tried to shape Megaptera. But before, I’d had at least a spark of magic to work from. Now that spark was gone. Shaping a raptor – or any other sentient creature – out of fire now felt as impossible as shaping one out of water.

  A blade then, I thought. Even the most loveless Maegesters could shape those.

  By then, however, Y1 had picked me up and was slinging me over his shoulder. It was outrageous. I was beyond furious. I must have looked ridiculous and paltry and stupid and small and weak and—

  Meanwhile, Malphia was holding her own against Y2, bless her. She was even looking good while doing it, thanks to Fara, who was standing beside Cliodna. Igor was using a javelin to bait Virtus, who was snarling and looking regally fierce. Oleg, however, had somehow managed to catch Nova in a wire a
t the end of a steel catch pole. She was struggling mightily, her tongue lolling to one side while gobs of frothy spit oozed out of her mouth. Ack. She was a mess.

  Feeling almost as rusty as the first time I shaped a weapon, I managed to forge a knife. Uncaring of what internal organs I might hit, I drove it deep into the bunyip’s back. Immediately, he roared and let go of me. I crashed to the ground head first, tucked and rolled my way free. I stood up, gripping my blade, as he came charging toward me.

  Okay, so shaping fiery beasts or smoky demons was out because, apparently, I needed love to do that. I snickered to myself. What, then? Almost without thinking, I ripped the edge of Malphia’s signature, reached inside, and scooped out a wriggling, twisting mass of blackness.

  Hmm… I’d thrown dark magic before, but this felt different. Slick rather than dusty, provocative rather than panicky. Malphia’s magic was strong and supple. It knew what it was about.

  I liked it very much.

  Instead of my fiery knife, I took the black mass of waning magic I’d just stolen from Malphia and launched it into the center of Y1’s signature. The bunyip staggered and looked at me with an almost comical expression.

  What? I wanted to ask him. What does it feel like? A heart attack? Ice running through your veins? What lies or half-truths are running through your head right now? What end-of-world scenario are you witnessing?

  I became fascinated by the bunyip’s response to my invasive magical plunder. He fell to his knees in front of me with a glassy, faraway look in his eyes. I thought about all the weapons I could shape: a mace, a maul, a war hammer… but then decided simple was best. I threw an explosive fireball toward him and watched, pleased as punch, as he dropped to the ground.

  Not dead, I hope. ’Cause that might mean a forfeit.

  I turned to see how Malphia and the sweetings were making out with their prey. Malphia was suffering a bit. My magical pillage must have harmed her more than I’d realized. Virtus was looking testy. His ears were back and his tail was lashing. He limped as he circled Igor, who held him at bay with a bow and arrow.