Kara

by Scott J. Kramer

  She stood stationary as if the slightest motion would expose her location. How did he know that it wasn’t the Witch Guard? Should she trust him?

  “Kara, get out here.” The command came out gruff but held a humorous note to it. She obeyed, but cautiously. The first sight of silver and violet, she was out of there.

  She made her way outside and the afternoon sun felt good on her still damp clothes. The greenery sparkled. Everything held a new vivid color. This forest felt so alive.

  Talk and laughter rose up from around a large shrub on the far side of the willow. Kara kept her guard up.

  She saw Hambone first. But then things started to look strange. The dwarc was talking and laughing with a fox and a green glow floating in the air.

  “Hambone has company?” The fox met eyes with Kara who stood frozen to the spot, clutching the branch of a shrub. The animal pranced over, followed by the green speck.

  Kara’s paralysis broke and she stepped a few feet back as the creature and glow approached.

  “It’s okay, Kara. They’re friends.” Hambone said, as he approached her too.

  She still couldn’t believe it. The word friends had a different meaning to her. Sure, Birch was her friend, but he didn’t talk. He just barked.

  “Madam, let me introduce myself. I am Dante, at your service.” The fox bowed and then extended a paw toward Kara. It stayed there until she tentatively shook it. The green ball of light came forward. It made a twittering sound as if tiny bells were ringing and crickets singing.

  “That’s Grace. She’s a sprite.” Hambone said. Grace twittered some more. “Oh, and she is pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Kara’s eyes still felt the size of saucers. This was too much for one day. Heck, it was too much for her whole life. She longed to be back on the normal side of the river.

  “I think she is still a little scared from the prank you guys pulled.” Hambone said.

  “That was harmless. It was only meant to scare the big guy.” Dante said, swishing his cedar-red tail in front of him. Grace twittered something too. As she talked, her aura flashed a little greener.

  Hambone looked again toward Kara and then slowly made his way over to her. He poked her in the shoulder. “Earth to Kara. Are you still in there?”

  “I’m…I’m sorry. It’s just that…this all has been…I don’t know.” She struggled to control the wave of emotion that rolled over her. She closed her eyes and started to count. Maybe this weirdness would all go away, if she just shut them out.

  Schunk!

  The sound came from in front of her. An arm suddenly snaked around her shoulders, but the arm felt too small to be Hambone’s.

  “We didn’t mean to scare you that much. Come on now, you’re making me feel bad.” Dante’s voice whispered in her ear. How did a fox put an arm around someone? And where was the fur?

  Kara willed her eyes to open, not sure of what they would see. She turned her head and looked into a pair of gorgeous, golden-brown eyes.

  What? Dante is a man?

  Chapter Four

  The castle felt cold to him these days, even though torches and fireplaces blazed nightly. Things felt foul since the happening. La’ard hated to even think about the event. It made his heart ice up while his mind screamed with rage. But most of all, it caused him pain.

  Very few people roamed the corridors at night. Maybe a stray servant or guard, but no one important other than the monarch. Had they seen the king’s anguish or even his tears, La’ard would have had them executed immediately. It was weakness to be in such a state, but it was not a state he could prevent at night.

  Before knocking upon the heavy oak door, he composed himself mentally. Every evening he went through this ritual, but he never knew what to expect. Ruler in his own castle, and fear, despair, and insanity always found him. Even his fist hesitated before it struck.

  Almost immediately, a voice commanded. Come.

  Even though he had heard it before, the voice still sent chills creeping down his spine. The sound was like an unearthly snake hiss, yet deeper and hauntingly charming.

  The door swung open, admitting him. And then it swung shut as soon as he was in. La’ard’s terror surfaced to meet his rage.

  His daughter Euphoria’s room looked very inviting—a room every noble girl dreamed of having. A massive, four-poster bed sat as the centerpiece. The living canopy blossomed with flowers, some from the farthest reaches of the known lands. Violet and silver hues appeared in all aspects of the space—from the fabric at the windows, to the rugs on the floor, to the hanging wall tapestries.

  Only one object seemed out of place in the princess’ paradise, an ancient oval mirror. Out of place, but not because it wasn’t fit for a princess. One look at the marvelous crystal frame and the deep blue murk of the mirror’s surface told otherwise. The mirror didn’t belong, because it was broken. A foot long shard, jagged like a bolt from the heavens, was missing from the lower half. On closer inspection, the rest of the surface showed cracks as well—a giant jigsaw puzzle, missing one fatal shard.

  La’ard stood at the door, gazing into the fractured looking glass. His eyes delved deep, lost in its darkness. Unlike a regular mirror, it did not reflect images back.

  Pity.

  The voice came from a fireplace chair. La’ard turned from the mirror, emotions tucked away. He approached the fire. It lit the room casting shadows that danced upon the stone hearth with joy and merriment. But for the king, these dancing spirits screamed in terror, fought to escape. Warmth was not what he felt, but freezing, icy cold, like a heart that had died.

  In the chair sat his daughter, Princess Euphoria, a lovely young woman of twenty-one. Tonight she wore an elegant violet dress made for her by the royal seamstress on her twentieth birthday. It had only been worn once since that eve.

  Chocolate-colored hair fell upon her shoulders in thick curls and gave contrast to her light skin. A silver ribbon tied her hair back, away from her face. La’ard had once claimed his daughter fairest in the land, but not anymore. No one but Master Kreitan and a few spooks knew about his daughter’s condition. Of course there were a few servants who had learned her secret, but they never lasted long after finding out.

  The woman turned to look at her father. He jumped back stunned. La’ard never got used to the eyes. Instead of the soft azure eyes Euphoria had been born with, black coal pits looked back at him. They were windows to a tainted soul. They resonated evil that invited him into a hell that haunted his dreams.

  I see that my eyes still frighten you, Father. Euphoria ended with a chuckle. La’ard scowled, shaking away his terror.

  “I am not your father, you beast!” Anger soared through him, urging him to strike out—but the king resisted, fearful of the consequences.

  Tsk, tsk. But I have grown fond of you since my arrival. Do I not look like sweet Euphoria. She waved a hand in front of her face.

  “You know why I have come here, so stop these foolish games!” La’ard paced, not wanting to look at the creature that possessed his daughter.

  Ahh, but you bring no gift for me. No shard to complete the mirror. Not even sustenance for these weary bones.

  La’ard dared to stand with his back to her. Grief and anger rolled together as his skin chilled. A sob rose in his throat, which he quickly tried to contain. “I will bring you ‘food’ later. I was…closer today. Soon I’ll have the shard…I think.”

  The defeated man took a deep breath. Slowly he turned, trying not to look at the thing in the chair. La’ard steeled himself and then commanded. “Now, show me my daughter.”

  He focused on the fire, waiting for the thing’s hateful reply, but La’ard’s defenses shattered when he heard the next word.

  “Daddy?”

  The sound came not from the thing in the chair, but from behind him, from the mirror. La’ard turned quickly, tears cresting his eyes.

  The mirror’s surface now glowed, and a form took shape. An exact copy of the woman w
ho sat in the chair, but the eyes were not evil black things. The real Euphoria looked out at her father with cobalt eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek.

  La’ard stumbled, running to the mirror, hungry eyes ready to drink in the vision of his daughter.

  He so wanted to reach out, hug his child, even grasp the mirror, but he knew the wraith would not allow it. If he touched the surface, even a simple caress, the vision would disappear, be lost among the dark surface’s swirling mist.

  “When can I come home?” A question she often asked him, and every time it was a stone upon his heart.

  “Soon, dear, really soon.” His head sank down. He didn’t want to see her disappointment. “Euphoria…soon.” When he looked up, she was gone. He realized his hand had accidentally touched the side of the mirror.

  “Bring her back! I didn’t mean to touch it!” La’ard shouted. His head swiveled, hoping the creature in the chair would grant his request, but the mirror remained its normal shade. “I told you I would get what you needed! Now bring her back! Please…” His cries died off. His heart gave up hope. Defeat swallowed the royal man.

  Tut, tut. No touching. Maybe tomorrow I will let her be just a little longer…if you behave yourself. The figure in the chair cackled this time and his sadness spiked with agitation. The thing held all the cards and all he could do was play the game as it dictated.

  He glanced back at the mirror one more time, longing, willing an image to come. Eventually, his hope disappeared.

  Slowly, he made his way to the door, opened it, and stepped into the corridor. A female servant came down the hall toward him. The king stopped her and gestured at the door. “Tend to Princess Euphoria,” he said to the lady-in-waiting. The door closed behind her.

  La’ard had no idea what the creature did with each servant, and he really did not want to know. He knew he’d find only a pile of clothes in the morning. Nothing else.

  The king retreated into the darkness for a long lonely night.

  ***

  The low mournful chime of bells rang through the morning air. A slow, sad mournful cry echoed in the sky, tolling for the dead. No one he knew had died, or at least no one important enough to announce it to the world.

  Kreitan walked briskly through the street, not catching anyone’s eye. Those who knew the man, all looked away from him, scurrying in the opposite direction. Well-known throughout the land were the terrors Kreitan’s men could bring upon people. The captain held an even darker reputation.

  Mourning bells continued to ring as he entered the cathedral. This massive church was a sanctuary, a safe haven—despite the tourists and pilgrims flocked there hoping for some kind of resolve, clue, or blessing. Kreitan couldn’t care less what others thought of the place. For him, it was just a meeting place for his ‘business associate.’

  His boots hissed and clicked on the stone floor. Echoes of the noise quickly reached all the pious gathered there. Most scuttled into dark corners. Kreitan sniggered. He loved it when the fearful fled, the nobodies cowered, and the bravest bowed as he passed. Kreitan did not concern himself with any of the riff raff. He had a mission.

  The confessional sat off to the side of the main row of pews. Two doors opened outward in the front of the square, closet-like box. He chose the right one, and swung it open.

  A trembling priest sat there in a chair. Master Kreitan reached in, plucked the holy man up, and threw him into the nearest pew. “Time’s up, padre. This box is reserved. Come back later.” Inside, the captain seated himself and pulled the door closed.

  It was a dimly lit confessional, Kreitan thought, to purposely impart a sense of guilt and shame, but also one of secrecy. A square metal crisscrossing grate separated one side from another. When kneeling penitently on the other side, one’s face would be level with the priest’s face as he sat in his chair. A sheer black curtain helped provide anonymity, so neither side could see each other’s face, only make out shapes and shadows. It was the perfect place for telling sins, planning abductions, contracting assassinations.

  As soon as Kreitan seated himself, he heard the door to the adjoining area open and then close.

  Ahhh, the privileges of rank. His minions always jumped to do his bidding. Only the king had more power than he in the kingdom.

  “The willow night holds no rest for the mortal souls,” the visitor whispered.

  “But many are dead and sleep forever,” Kreitan answered.

  Silence.

  “It has been awhile, Kreitan. I thought you had forgotten about me.” The voice was smoky, exotic, feminine.

  Kreitan ignored the seduction. “This matter of mine has become complicated. I need someone of your expertise.”

  “But how can I help you, oh Master?” Kreitan could hear the sarcasm dipped in honey. He was not amused.

  “My quarry has entered into the Territories.”

  “That indeed is a complication for you. King La’ard’s power does not reach so far.” The tone held humor, with an edge of spite to it.

  “Need I remind you that I still have my little magic box?”

  Silence fell again before the reply came back.

  “Need I remind you that you must sleep sometime?” Her words contained icy steel without a shiver of hesitation in them. Kreitan knew her threat would ring true.

  Both parties stared at each other through the grate, although neither could actually see their foe. Kreitan gritted his teeth. He despised working with her, but she accomplished what he could not.

  “I need you to capture a human girl by the name of Kara. She jumped into the River Kilarne and washed downstream.”

  “A girl?” The voice almost laughed. “She is the one complicating your plans. Is she a playmate of Euphoria’s?”

  “Enough!” Kreitan’s temper flared. His fist slammed down on the chair and snapped its arm off. He gave himself a moment to compose his temper. “Will you take the assignment?”

  The person on the other side of the confessional remained quiet. For a second, Kreitan thought his accomplice had left.

  “I will. Do you have something I can track her with?”

  He pulled out a small envelope and slid it through an opening in the grate. “You will find a detailed description of her and some of her hair pulled from a brush.”

  “So much to work with. And I thought this would be difficult.”

  Kreitan seethed at the sarcastic, snide tone. Obviously, he needed to remind her who she was dealing with. One day, when he got what he wanted, he would show her who was boss. Then she would show a little more respect. “A human girl in the Territories should not be difficult to find. Especially for one with your talents.”

  “Such a charmer.” The seductive tone was back. With it came an aroma of vanilla and cinnamon.

  Kreitan breathed shallowly through his mouth. He knew her tricks all too well. “Payment as usual upon delivery.”

  “And how might I deliver such a package? Just come up to the palace and drop it off? I work behind the scenes, remember?”

  “Contact me and I will arrange a pickup.” He tired of this conversation.

  “And probably arrange an ambush for me as well. I’ll find the girl for you and then find a way to get her to you safely on my terms.”

  Kreitan heard the soft click of the door. She was gone. If he hurried, he could catch a glimpse of her. Even though they had worked together for years, he had never seen her face.

  Kreitan quickly made to exit, but found he was bound to the chair. A thin bond of magic held him there. He quickly snapped it and flung open the confessional door. Patrons, who had been trying to eavesdrop, cringed back, apparently seeing the anger and frustration on the captain’s face. He searched the remaining patrons and alms givers, but none seemed to be his accomplice.

  Slamming the confessional door behind him, Kreitan strode down the aisle. Bringing Kara in for questioning was imperative. If his ‘business associate’ knew what was good for her, she had better come through on her end.
r />   Chapter Five

  Kara screamed and pushed herself out of the strange man’s arms.

  “Who are you?”

  Hambone chuckled. And the green glow tittered. The fox had vanished. Kara backed up a few steps, not sure why everyone was laughing.

  “I do forget myself sometimes. I am sorry, young lady.” The strange man apologized. His voice sounded very familiar.

  “Dante?”

  “The one, the only. Charming, handsome… Ladies tend to faint dead away in my arms.” Dante bowed exuberantly. Grace twittered something in response.

  Dante abruptly turned around and addressed Grace. “It is not because I smell, you silly glow bug!”

  “Enough, you two. “ Hambone shushed his friends.

  While the two ignored the dwarc, Kara got a good look at the man. His hair was a cedar color like that of the talking fox. Facial hair lined his upper lip and a patch of it hung from his chin. And there were those same eyes she remembered from the fox.

  “I still don’t get it. This Dante looks human. Where’s the talking fox named Dante?”

  Hambone smiled. “He’s of the were clan. A werefox.”

  This bit of information still didn’t resolve her confusion. “I’m sorry, but what is a werefox?”

  Dante spoke up before Hambone could explain. “I am of the prodigious clan of shapeshifters. We can change form—like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  Schunk!

  And there was the fox she remembered from before.

  Grace twittered something, which made Dante retort back at the green light. “Well, at least I have a talent.”

  The ball of light buzzed around his head, chirping.

  Hambone brought a stop to the fight before it began. “All right. That’s enough. Kara’s has enough to deal with.”

  Dante took one final look at Grace, gave a brief growl, and then turned to Kara. “So what’s a human like you doing in our neck of the woods? Are you hoping to become a slave?”