by Y W Lumaris
“Yes, but what are the origins of my kind? Do you know them?”
Ladon said nothing. He had him there.
“Mr. Scholar, you should know very well, that I’m a harpy not by choice, not by birth, but because some asshole fucked with me. It doesn’t make my blood any fucking different, I’m just—”
“Fen.”
Both of them looked at the spider, her voice soft and gentle. The anger and resentment seething through the harpy lessened, almost instantly.
The man pushed aside his pink hair and sighed through his nose, as if to reclaim his thoughts.
“I believe going into the Between had a certain...effect on me.” Fen twisted the medallion hanging from his neck absently, a tick it seemed. “That I believe is what changed me. So many have succumbed, human and creature alike. I haven’t heard whisper of other harpies since the Fall. So if you excuse me, general, I would keep this between us.”
“And what of the soldiers? They’ll see this?” he gestured to himself.
“Makeup?”
“Oh come on.”
Fen dropped his head and rubbed it, irritated. “I don’t know. We’ll just...call it luck.”
“And when I go into your tent every – however often – for this treatment?”
Fen’s cheeks flushed and lips tightened. He shrugged. “It is possible to be...friends.”
“Captain Hawk is a friend. You are not.”
“I saved your men yesterday, General Ladon.”
“Voices, boys,” Ophelia scolded. “You’re going to draw the watch to your tent, and then you best make some good fun noise if you want to avoid eavesdropping!”
Fen pursed his lips, sending a sharp look. Ladon glowered.
“I’m outta here.”
“Ladon, no!” Fen grabbed his wrist and forced him back before he could stand. “We need to talk – you must know everything about your condition.”
Ladon stared at the ceiling and resigned. “Fine.”
“All right. Good.” Fen released him and took a sip from his teacup before setting it aside and motioning to the spider. “Now. I need a book – Ophelia?”
“On it.”
Ladon looked at him.
“Why a book?”
“I need to make notes. You’re the first with your condition, so...”
Ladon frowned. “You don’t even know about it.”
Fen accepted the pen and book and flipped it open. “So, we’re going to try to push your dosage as far between as possible. So, it was,” he wrote the day and time, counted under his breath, “thirteen hours since the last dose. You said you feel well?”
“Other than...general sickness...”
“Good. Gauge it. And we’ll eat, drink that tea, and let me know if anything changes. When it gets real bad – however long it may be – then we’ll do another dose.”
“Why not once a day? Be careful like that?”
“I prepared four doses. I’d like to make the time between drawing my blood as far apart as possible. It takes a lot out of me.”
Ladon wasn’t sure how to think of it. Drinking a harpy’s blood to stay alive wasn’t his ideal vision of a treatment. Yet there he was. He touched his shoulder wound, wincing from the sting beneath the bandages.
“I...I suppose I should be thanking you instead of arguing.”
Fen’s expression disappeared.
“Don’t thank me. You were the best general I could choose, and I saw today your worth.” He reached down, taking up the cup again to steal another sip. “As I said before, we need each other to end this war with the gods.”
Ladon fell quiet for a moment, looking at the steaming cup he’d set aside. He hesitated, then took it. Fen’s words unsettled with him. “War with the gods. What are we warring for? They want us dead because of what you did. I wonder if they’d stop if they knew it was you? Would they change course and only seek you?”
Fen’s look hardened.
“The gods don’t give a shit about us. If they cared about finding who it was – they would not level cities and kill by the millions. They would not have unleashed the Accursed.”
“This was just one skirmish, Court-Mage Fen. My experience in the field has taught me that things can – and will – get worse the longer we are outside the wards,” Ladon said, watching him carefully. “I only ask because I think avoiding as many fights as possible would be in the better interest. They didn’t listen to sacrifices, they won’t hear prayers now. Being mortals now, maybe they’ll consider mortal words in person. Who are we going for first?”
Fen frowned. “Cernuin.”
“What if he listens to you? Get him in a corner and have him hear you speak?”
The harpy threw his head back and laughed – an empty, humorless laugh. It unnerved the general. Then Fen dropped his head and glared at him. “You’re funny. No. The gods have shown their true colors, and they have made their bed. It’s time they lie in it.”
Ladon swallowed. So this would be their death march.
“Drink your tea. It’ll be dawn soon, and we are still a ways from Haven.”
Chapter Seven
Ladon marched ahead of his men, Fen at his side with Ophelia hidden once again in his pocket. The harpy seemed stronger, more confident.
“So...tell me about yourself, General Ladon,” the mage said, breaking the silence. “I know you were aspiring to be a scholar, right?” The general looked at him and adjusted the strap across his chest. The gun’s weight bounced against his back.
“I was.”
“You could have continued after three years of military training. What changed?”
Ladon’s eyes flickered, and he could see Captain Hawk a few paces back, talking to Captain Rox. “I chose cleaning up your mess over whims.”
Fen sent a sour look. “I told you, it—”
“Just don’t talk to me unless you have orders to give, sir.”
The court-mage fell silent again, but remained determined. “General, I feel that if we try to understand each other, we may work better together.” Ladon pursed his lips.
You want to understand me? Ladon wanted to laugh. A mage, understand a soldier? Let alone Fen? Part of him wanted to, though. As useless as it felt, maybe something he said could leave some note of truth with the man of what he’d done. Fine. I’ll entertain the idea.
“My entire class at the academy were mandated to join the army. Everyone had to wear the arm band. We were fifteen. Elva was my best friend, and I watched her die the following year, our first mission outside the wards. Her girlfriend died a week later. I watched more than my share of friends die by these monsters.” His flat tones amid the marching of the army acted like daggers to the harpy. Fen kept his eyes averted. “You may not have given the order, but I grew up with the world dying. I’m thirty, Court-Mage Fen. I was born when you damned the world.” Now the mage chanced a look.
“I’ve said it before; I didn’t know this would happen.”
“What did you think would happen?” Ladon tried not to yell, not wishing to draw the attention of his captains. He winced, pain pulsing from his shoulder. He let out a heavy sigh, tired. “We could argue your intentions all day, but in the end, you brought this upon us. Just so you understand why my men have such a difficult time trusting in you as a leader.” Never mind your lack of fighting skills, the general chose not to add. That was another conversation in itself.
The mage set his jaw, eyes shadowed by his brow and the slight downward tilt of his head. Ladon tried not to look at him. Despite the madness of his endeavors, he couldn’t shake that the mage had saved him.
“My reasons are my own,” Fen muttered, “but I refuse to blame myself for the actions of ancient gods.”
“So you instead will take the blame when you march us into suicide.”
“General, we have the blessings of the king. Norvan knows we can do this.”
“Yes, King Norvan does.” Ladon sighed through his nose. Silence stretched, save for the cr
unch, crunch, of dusty dirt beneath their footfalls.
“About your scholar-days,” Fen said, clearing his throat. “Backing up to that. Do you have any clearance to the libraries?”
“I gave it up five years ago to work on training this new division in the army. You appointed me the general of it, so. Choices had to be made.” Ladon tried not to sound resentful. He didn’t really resent him for that. Ladon had applied for the position, after all. It didn’t erase how much he missed the smell of books, the atmosphere of a library. Copying notes, helping to preserve chronicles.
“Why’d you apply, if you don’t mind my asking?”
So polite. Ladon felt it was painfully fake, as if he was forcing those words out. “You don’t have to act like it’s a bother to ask.” He shook his head. “I had a feeling it could work, back then. A hope. If I could help end this, I could go back to the academy. Work my way up in the library. Chronicle the end of this war.”
Fen lifted a brow. “You wish to chronicle this?”
“If there are people to survive this, why not? It should be added to our history books. Provided humanity lives long enough to appreciate it.”
The mage fell quiet. “I hope to have you return, General. And if you need my input, I’d gladly offer it.”
Ladon glanced at him, and their eyes connected briefly. That moment felt like several, his hazel eyes seeming almost amber in the midday orange sunlight. Perhaps it was the harpy part of Fen, but the way the light hit his fair skin and absorbed into the pink locks of hair left the general momentarily frozen. It brought him back to the moment watching Fen play the lute. Something began to stir, and he looked away, trying not to allow his thoughts to wander.
Harpies, Ladon. He’s a harpy.
The following silence remained there for the rest of the evening. Ladon’s mind habitually flickered back to the events unfolded, and events yet to unfold. He doubted he’d be able to chronicle anything, to go back to a calmer, peaceful life. He could only find fortune that he’d not lost his life yet – that his parents would not receive their son’s rank sigil on their doorstep.
To think, that almost happened.
It’ll eventually happen, he thought bitterly, the twinge in his shoulder a constant memory. The captains had asked about his skin, how he survived. Everyone looked at him now as if he were...tainted. Fen stood the closest anyone would, now. No one had ever survived an attack like he did. Well, perhaps Fen had. How else had he discovered the properties in...his blood.
* * *
Around supper, they ate around one of many fire pits, heating up water and making stew to serve the soldiers. Fen remained in his tent while Ladon attempted to sit with his comrades. Hawk moved over for him to sit, though it was clear he wasn’t keen on the idea.
“So...you feeling better, then?” he said, stirring his stew as Ladon sat. Ladon left his armor in his own tent, choosing to utilize what few opportunities he could to relieve himself of the weight. Most soldiers had abandoned their armors once reasonably comfortable in their safety.
“Compared to death, I’m fine.”
“Strange you’ve recovered. Is it the Accursed aren’t as cursed anymore? Or...”
“Fen.” Ladon grunted, taking a bite of the watery stew. “Court-Mage Fen’s powers aren’t perfect, but he got to me in time. Said I’m the first.”
Hawk fell quiet. “He tried to divert to save the fallen yesterday. I told him they were done though, to keep up the wards.”
Sensing Hawk’s shame, Ladon elbowed him, but didn’t look as he scooped another bite. His stomach demanded attention.
“I’d have ordered the same. If he had, we may have lost far more. We still needed his wards.” He sniffed. The dirty air seemed worse this time of day. Perhaps the wind. “Besides, he’s certain I’m an anomaly...”
“Anomaly, huh? Well, I’m glad for it then. Wouldn’t be the same here without ya.” Hawk paused. “When’s your skin going to go back to normal?”
Ladon glanced at his hands, well aware of himself now. The gray tinge made him look almost like a recently deceased corpse. The green veins still remained, webbing out from his wound crawled up his neck and stopped at his right cheek.
“I don’t know if it ever will.” He didn’t want to say the truth. Although it seemed he was going to die anyway on this insane mission Fen marched them on, he would rather meet death in battle than on a medical stretcher.
He glanced when he heard Hawk get up. The man helped himself to a second helping and moved on to sit with the other captains. There wasn’t much else to say that wasn’t related to this damned mission or his tainted look.
As Ladon finished his soup, his eyes drifted to the tent pitched several rows back, marked by a small triangle purple flag. He stood and went to the basin to wash his used utensils and dishes, starkly aware of how his soldiers eyed him and kept their distance from him. It would probably be a few weeks before they were comfortable around him again. He could blame Fen, but he’d let the anger subside into a flicker of hope. Fen had given him an opportunity to keep fighting, if nothing else.
He tried not to think of their mission as he went to his own tent. He changed out his bandages and applied the salve to help guard against infections, then re-wrapped his wounds. Dropping backwards into the cot, he kicked off the boots and tried to distract his mind with thoughts of Haven. The city in the north.
I heard they still have chocolate and spices. Damn prudes, not trading south. He welcomed the warmth filling his chest at the idea of hot drink and decent food. How long had it been since he’d enjoyed any such comforts? Aklon was pinching its resources, and military food was hardly decadent.
He fell asleep, the wind rapping against his tent. Soon, it would rain.
Chapter Eight
Four battles and half their supplies gone. Fen walked shoulder to shoulder between General Ladon and Captain Hawk. The sun beat down upon them. A haze rose around them, stretching for miles into the plains. Once lush, now dry and arid. Fen wondered how many years before it’d turn into a desert like the one which stretched between Aklon and Torrik to the southwest. The mage was exhausted, with bloodstained and torn robes, his clawed feet crunching the crusty ground beneath each uneven step. His formerly well-groomed hair now was pulled back in a knotted tail, revealing pointed ears fletched with pale blue feathery hair.
His muscles and bones ached. In his mind, he replayed over and over again, the fate thirty soldiers fell to just yesterday. And the forty before then. He needed to do better.
It’s not your fault, Fen, Ophelia reminded him.
“It is, damn it.”
Ladon and Hawk glanced at him and he wiped his face.
“Just thinking, apologies,” he mumbled, hoping to avoid more questions. Ladon had an idea by now that he was communicating with Ophelia, but Hawk remained unaware. The spider sat in his pocket – safe and tiny. Ladon shook his head, but coughed. The cough turned into a fit, and his pace hesitated. Fen looked at him, pausing. As Hawk went around to check on him, he watched the human’s now-gray face contort in true pain. The man wiped blood-flecked lips and shooed off his captain.
“Fine. Just a cold, I think.”
His amber eyes met with Fen’s, and he knew. So, tonight, then? Fen nodded at Ophelia’s question, and Ladon looked away. The gesture might’ve been for the spider in his pocket, but it seemed to answer Ladon’s own thoughts. Fen continued walking with him, new questions arising.
He’s not shown any signs of illness before now. In the battles, he was fast and strong, sharp-thinking, and quick to react. Perhaps this is the first sign? He swallowed, thinking of the three remaining vials in his bag, which sat tucked safely in one of the cargo trucks. There were other questions he had. Questions he sensed Ophelia about to ask him again, for the seemingly thousandth time.
Sharing your blood might have unintended consequences, Fen. Particularly since you, yourself, are a cursed being. What if he can read your thoughts, the more he has of it? Or
what if he becomes a harpy, too?
Fen laughed, earning another set of odd looks. “Sorry! Sorry,” he snorted. “I need a drink – Ladon” – he caught himself and cleared his throat – “General Ladon, apologies. You said there was a flask nearby?”
Ladon paused and yanked a steel flask from his belt and handed it over unceremoniously. His thick brow arched in a curious expression. Hawk began to say something, but clamped his mouth shut, eyeing Fen just as curiously.
Alright, let’s just stare at Fen then. Though who could blame them – he was having odd outbursts every so often, every day now. The harpy unscrewed the lid and took a drink – only to cough and choke the moment it hit his tongue.
“Ack! What in the – is this piss?!” He looked incredulously at Ladon, eyes watery, and he spit at the ground. Ladon and Hawk burst into laughter, and Fen went cold. “You gave me piss?”
“No!” Ladon coughed and grabbed the flask before Fen could chuck it. He caught the panicking man’s wrist and calmed him, fighting his own laughter. The smile caught Fen off guard and he froze. “It’s ale, Court-Mage Fen. I didn’t tell you, because well, didn’t think about it.”
“Did it occur to you I never drink that poison?” Fen sneered, wrenching away. Ophelia even laughed in his mind. “Shush.”
“Yeah,” Hawk piped from behind, laughing. “That’s why he gave it to ya. It was fuckin’ hilarious!”
Fen scoffed, Ophelia being unhelpful amid the laughter. He grumbled, marching ahead of them. God damn fools. Ale is poison! Everyone knows that. And – the hell – I’m their superior! The mage stopped and looked back at them coldly.
“You realize I could have your head for aggression toward your commander, General Ladon, Captain Hawk?”
The two laughed harder.
“Calm down, all right?” Ladon said, wiping his face from tears. He coughed again, catching it in his arm. A blood splotch stained the elbow, and Hawk silenced, paling at the sight.