by Brindi Quinn
“Speak now, my fief,” I say.
“Yes.” His eyes pierce. “My faerie.”
My faerie – it is not something he has spoken before, and because it is not, I am caught without way of response.
Awyer does not pay mind to my condition. Standing in the water, he voices the promise of our contract:
“By Thyst. I am bound. Until death.”
Until death. Until our ages match. Until our maturities match. Until we are suited for each other.
We are suited for each other.
Awyer’s time runs short. I am pained by the reality I cannot voice.
My ward notices. “What is wrong?” he says.
I shake my head.
“Grim–”
But I will not stand to let him see what plagues me. Diversion is everything.
“Here we go, Awyer!”
Forcing distracting enthusiasm, I enchant the stream below to push us into the air without delay. I do not give thought that Pedj might see us as I will the water to spout us up above the tree cover, up and up until we are again within clear view of the painted sky.
Awyer perks a moment, akin to the way he used to when I would pull swift enchants, but he is not long for distraction. His countenance quickly turns to one of displeasure that I have evaded his inquiries.
“You play with me, Grim,” he says with tartness.
No. It is not my wish to play with him in this moment. I take no delight in his anger. Regardless, I have to be sure. I place two of my fingers to his pulsing wrist, in the hopes that his future will be revealed – that I might witness the fate to befall him – that I might have time to alter its course. Alas, his future eludes me.
“I am afraid,” I confess to him. And next, in a motion compromising beyond fathom, I lean my head against his reinforced shoulder. The shard beneath his tunic has most certainly darkened. Its pull is strong. It is good to feel it. It is good to feel him.
“Grim?”
“Happy birthday, my sphinx. May you have a year of good fortune.”
Chapter VI: Ensecré
Like a raised island in the center of a lake, the mount that is Ensecré towers yonder in the twilight. Its bumped stoops jut outwards from its base bulbously, overrun by haggled trees and diligent vines thick as trunks. Around its halo not a creature stirs – neither bird nor fly nor gnat. For the mount known as Ensecré is stained with forbidden power from beyond the Eternity Vessel. A blackness no man or god has ever seen.
And the surrounding ‘lake’ which separates us from that place is not one of water. It is one of relics. Twitching and jerking, partially enchanted articles surround the mount in a vast, piled heap.
“Them’s the Faded Enchants,” Pedj the betrayer stands to share his knowledge with my unsuspecting ward.
“Aye,” I speak into Awyer’s other ear. “Enchants without masters are drawn to the darkness of this place. Here they accumulate and exhaust their remaining power.”
“Enchants without masters?” Awyer questions.
Pedj, who has heard only half of the conversation, ventures, “Crankin’ right! Them’s the enchants what no longer got masters!”
I continue, “If a master dies while in enchant or forgets while in enchant, the object may detach from the caster. Many fizzle after time, but some of those with stronger wills find their ways to places like this.”
At our feet a quill rolls to and fro sparking with emissions of Bloőd. In the rubble beside it, a broken water jug hisses blasts of Azure smoke. Likewise, stretching onward up the base of the mount and circling it all around, artifacts twitch and smoke and pop with half-life twerks of blue and red.
None of them show Amethyst. If ever there were any infused with such, Awyer drank up their power along with the rest.
“They are not all enchanted,” Awyer observes in a mutter.
“You are correct,” I tell him. “Once their power is exhausted, the articles may lie quietly. Thus, the freshest ones situate at the top of the pile, seeking to climb the peak.”
“Is it safe to cross?”
Hearing this as a question for himself, Pedj responds, “Sure. Safe enough if you use enchants.” He winks at Awyer. “Reckon we’d enchant a desk to carry us over. Course, that’s just if you plan on pitchin’ in. Don’t think neither of us’d be strong enough to go on alone.”
Awyer is clearly underestimated by this zombie. Were he to will it, the entire sea of Faded Enchants would cease its twitching and part for him.
Therein lies the problem. Pedj is right. He is not able to go on without Awyer. And Awyer is not able to go on without displaying power. A conundrum for which a solution must be wrought.
And surprisingly, one thereafter is. And more surprisingly, it comes not from me. It comes from Awyer, most surprisingly, as he stands on the edge of the enchanted sea.
“A riddle of gold.”
Pedj and I and the night sky are equally startled.
“A riddle?” I question. “But I have none in mind.”
Awyer says naught. As well, Pedj has nothing to respond. At least not presently. But that is not to say he is not reacting to the proposal. My ward offers his hand, as sphinxes do, and the skeletal boy, rather than taking the offer, grinds his teeth in a manner most discomforting.
From within the shifting pile, a few exertions of Bloőd and Azure pop.
“A riddle,” Awyer says again. “That is what you wanted.”
“Hoop!” Pedj’s nervous energy fills the dark air. “I wanted one, sure, just didn’t want a golded one’s all.”
Curious. The guilty boy fears the golden power of the sphinxes. He knows he will not be able to flee its terms.
“Why’d you get on wantin’ that, all outta nowhere, anyhoop?” says Pedj.
“I need to know,” Awyer says, voice steady, yet extending his hand.
Because he is changing from the boy I knew, I study this new aspect of him. It is not that he is angry. It is not that he is stern. It is that he is definite. It fits well on him.
“Know? Know what?” says wary Pedj.
“The reason you are here.”
I skim to my fief’s side. As I silently observe their interaction, I begin to understand. Awyer does not wish to form a golden riddle. Not really. Rather, he seeks to trick Pedj into truth by offering a false riddle – a riddle he has no intention of delivering. While he may not be using craft in a traditional sense, he IS using craft.
But . . . how? How, when he does not contain an ounce of craft within his person? A sphinx born without guile. A boy born without wile. The ultimate paradox.
Unless . . .
Unless he has finally decided to make effort.
I will fight it.
Those words he spoke – they referred to more than just his emotions. With a squeal of delight, I throw my arms upon his broad shoulders. He reacts to the nonmaterial weight suddenly placed upon him by teetering.
My mistake. To Pedj, he surely appears unstable.
I make haste to release him, and fly around his front for a better view of his unpracticed craft. A proud instructor observing her student. Thinking that way does little to make justified my compromising feelings, however.
Awyer follows me with a look; like sly keepers of knowledge that is both secret and amusing, his eyes chase after a body visible to none but them.
“Can’t I just tell you without you riddlin’ it outta me?” Pedj barters.
Awyer takes a step toward the pale-skinned boy. In comparison to Pedj, my ward appears a man of darkness. Of artfulness. Of danger. “What are you afraid of?” he asks.
“Afraid? Not that I’m afraid. Speakin’ technical, you could gold me into just about anythin’. Not sure I’d be keen enough to spot it.”
“Have you something to hide?”
“Not zactly . . .” Pedj’s voice trails. “Ugh. Might as well just say it.” A pair of sunken eyes fall upon Awyer squarely. “I don’t got anythin’ to hide, but YOU do. And that’s why I can’t tr
ust you far’s I can toss you. I heard you the day I saw you. You was talkin’ to someone what wasn’t there and you’ve talked to it since.”
“Ah!?” This catches me unsuspecting, for Pedj hid well his awareness of my presence. But before I can put too much stock in the zombie’s intuition, he concludes,
“Senses to say, the someone you’ve been chattin’ with’s a dark agent.”
“Dark agent?” echoes Awyer. It is meant as an inquiry to me. Only, I cannot offer answer, as I do not know what a dark agent is either.
“SO’s I can’t tell you my business at Secret Mountain till you reveal your dark agent. I can’t trust you till I know. Twig it?”
Awyer looks to me for assistance.
“Threaten to go on alone,” I say.
“I will leave you,” Awyer says in monotone.
The pale boy is not bothered. “Naw. You can’t cross alone any more what I can,” he says.
Sensing Pedj’s lack of regard, Awyer balls his fists in replication of a caster’s. “Watch,” he says.
And although I know it cannot possibly be so, even I believe that he means it.
So does Pedj. “Oka! oka! What say you we just go on without telling each other anythin’?”
Awyer’s eyes transform to slits. “You made a deal with the witches of this mountain,” he assumes.
So hard he presses without prompt! But then –
You enjoy those?
Anger and humor. Anything but monotony. That is what I requested. If this is an attempt to impress me, it is working.
It remains to be seen if Pedj is capable of craft – whether he holds the ability to match and combat trickery. His actions cannot be taken at face value, yet when accused of conspiring with the witches, his head tilts alike a confused child’s in a very convincing way. “Course I didn’t!” he says. “Who in their crankin’ mind would go on deal makin’ with the likes of them? That’s a surefire way to get on losin’ your nut!”
Awyer is not so convinced. “Then who is the ‘she’ waiting for you here?” he says.
Pedj grinds his teeth and folds his arms and searches to find suitable lies to spin.
“Come, Awyer. Let us find our own way. We will wait until we are out of view and then we will enchant–”
“No, Grim.” Awyer does not attempt to conceal his voice. “We do not need to be afraid of him.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
“I did not mind his acquaintance.”
Awyer is foolish. I am incensed.
“You mean to trust him solely because you did not mind his company!?”
“Yes,” he says.
Pedj takes a step in reverse. “See! You’re talkin’ to someone what ain’t there!” he cries.
In the confusion, I seek a way to remedy the situation. A riddle or lie that may avert Pedj from the truth of our condition. Alas, in the midst of my distraction, the worst happens. Awyer’s next words are thoughtless.
“It is my naefaerie.”
He delivers them quickly, before I can instruct him not to, and as abruptly as that, our secret is out.
“AWYER!”
“Faerie?!” Pedj’s gauntness furthers. “Zactly! They’re what poison the mind! They’re the dark agents of Ark!”
Awyer looks to me with confusion, though I am too distraught to care. “I cannot believe you spoke that!” I scold. “Now we will have no advantage!”
“What does he mean by dark?” says Awyer.
“I cannot give you clarity! This is what you get for confiding in an unsound person!”
Rolling his eyes, my disobedient pactor returns his attention to Pedj. “Grim is not poisonous,” he says. “She is . . .” The deep parts of his eyes settle upon my face. “Good.”
“You WERE livin’ under a stone! There ain’t no good agents! Not one!”
“Where I come from, there are many good ones.”
“Oh yeah? That right? And just where is this wondrous place?” The sarcasm is a ploy. Pedj attempts to catch my ward into further confession.
Awyer shakes his head. Pedj yields.
“Phoooo.” Scratching at the back of his hair, the zombie emits a great sigh. “You’re strange. First a wandin’ lone sphinx. Second, you got a dark agent attached to you. Third, you get on claimin’ there’s good agents of Ark? Listen, an agent – a naefaerie – can say it’s bonding to you, but really, they’re all already bonded with Ark. They’ll hiss in your ear, make you do things you never thought you’d do, and all the while, they’re spyin’ for Ark.” Pedj glares at the air I am nowhere near. “What’s it doin’ now? Floatin’ round, stinkin’ up the sky? Is that what that smell is?”
Accusing me of stenching like void?!
“A mockery!” I cry.
“Grim is offended. She says you mock her.” Awyer eyes Pedj heavily. “Do not mock her.”
He is right. I am offended. “Tell him the stench is not mine! It is the voided darkness of Ensecré!” I put up protest only Awyer can hear. In return, Awyer’s mouth twitches. My offense amuses him. I, on the other hand, feel no amusement over the issue. I fold my arms. “Tell him he may smell me if he does not believe.”
Awyer’s twitch turns into full smirk. “She says you can smell her.” He points to Pedj’s side where I hover. “She is just there.”
“I’ll pass,” Pedj says, glaring in my direction.
“Your loss,” says Awyer.
“Hoo, agent’s got you clear hooked.” Shaking his head with what may very well be pity, Pedj turns to the mass of Faded Enchants separating us from the mount. “Guess I’ll have to find another way to get in. So much for the blessin’ of a sphinx.”
It is my desire to enchant the dull spade lying a few feet in and use it to whack the half-zombie’s skull. Unfortunately, he possesses information too valuable to let waste. “What is Ark?” I say.
“She wants to know what Ark is.”
“Sorry, my friend, but your naefaerie’s stringin’ you. There aren’t no agents what don’t know about Ark . . .” An idea suddenly dawning, Pedj’s face lights. “And I’ll prove it!” He studies the space I have since moved from tepidly. “But if I do, you got to swear to come to my aid when she goes crackin’ mad.” Pedj holds forth a fist. “Deal?”
Awyer catches my eye. Because he knows I am not one of these ‘dark agents’, he feels no reservation in making the deal. He gives Pedj a nod.
In return, Pedj waits, fist extended until it becomes apparent that Awyer will not react to the gesture; at which point he emits a grumble and takes the initiative of bumping his fist against my ward’s loosely hanging hand.
“An agent can’t speak foul against their master without goin’ mad,” he says.
“Is that true?” Awyer asks of me.
“I do not know. I am not familiar with a rule like that.” I squint at the boy to discern falsity. “What does he mean by ‘foul’?”
Before Awyer can find out, the zombie continues, “Tell it to say this: I revoke you, Ark. And if it can’t, you know it’s workin’ for him.”
It is simple enough request. And I do not fear the repercussions, for I feel no fealty to this Ark person.
“All right,” says Awyer.
Pedj draws in a long preparatory breath. “Ready? Three, two, one, GO!” And with that, he brings his arms above his head and winces, as though the whole of the heap is about to attack him. He fears what will come of his directive. He fears me.
I do not need Awyer to relay the message. I hear it fine on my own. “I revoke you, Ark,” I repeat with ease.
Awyer watches with expressionless eyes. He does not doubt my commitment to him. I have been beside him every day for many days.
“She spoke it,” he tells Pedj. “I heard her.”
Yet in a cower, Pedj blinks several times before straightening his posture cautiously. “You sure?”
I skim around the doubtful boy in a circle. “I revoke you, Ark. I revoke you, Ark. I revoke you, Ark!”
&n
bsp; This Awyer watches, and when I am finished, he grins. “I am sure.”
Yet Pedj does not appear appeased. “Tell her . . . to try it with you. With your name, I mean.”
Awyer’s expression turns dull. He says nothing, merely flicks his gaze to mine. “Grim?”
I do not fear a false rule invented by an untrustworthy stranger. I do not fear it, but . . . much has changed in a thousand years. “What will happen?” I ask.
“What will it do to her?” says Awyer.
“What’s is, is she’ll have a reaction. And we’ll know for sure.”
Awyer is not pleased. “But she will recover?” he asks.
“If you want her to,” says Pedj.
If my recovery is up to my ward, I have nothing to fear.
“If she does this, you will tell us your reasons for being here?”
Pedj shakes his head upward and downward. “We made a deal, didn’t we?”
“All right, Grim. It is your choice.” But by the frown across his face, it is clear Awyer is worried. It is not necessary for him to be.
I flit to where he stands. “Do not be anxious, my sphinx.” I place a hand to his arm. “I will be fine.” And then I begin to speak it: “I revoke you, Aw–”
But there is a problem. When I reach his name, my throat closes in a way that blocks both my words and breath. I allow myself a moment of respite before attempting again. Still it is the same. “I revoke you, Aw-Aw-Aw–” My throat releases a sickly croak. I am steadfastly being forced to the ground.
“Grim!” Awyer is over me before I have even completed my fall.
“Aw-Aw–” No longer attempting to speak, my forces at his name have transformed into gasps for air. “Aw-Aw–”
From over me, my ward shoots a glare of ferocity at Pedj, who stands watching his reaction with puzzlement. “How do I make it stop?!” he shouts.
“You for real?” Pedj’s ghost-like face is laden with doubt.
“TELL ME!”
Pedj continues to look on with hesitation.