by Brindi Quinn
“So to warn you,” Awyer lies, “turn us in and Grim will attach herself to you.”
The thought turns Pedj even gaunter.
As we continue forth, Mael hums to herself a melancholy song, which serves to match the overcast sky of the day. Rain may very well be in our future. If only touching Awyer’s arm would allow for near forecast; alas, the future is as vague as it is certain.
In the afternoon, shrouded by gray, we reach the first signs of civilization since leaving Eldrade, witch’s lair aside. In an area where the land begins to flatten, we stumble across our first settlement – a sole hut in the center of a fence. The home is made with little more than wood and mortar and processed slabs of crystal wall. Yet as we pass, Awyer eyes it with covetous intent. Aye, to a simple person like him, a simple abode most certainly looks appealing.
Unassuming structures have long been his preference.
In the corner of the yard, there is a tree overbearing with brown fruit.
“Finally!” Pedj releases. “Been wonderin’ when we’d start comin’ across some myst trees! We can eat these for sure!” Temporarily forgetting his animosity toward my ward, Pedj turns to Awyer with a wide smile – though after setting eyes upon the boy of Amethyst, Pedj’s grin falls into a new set of grumbles.
“Myst trees?” inquires Awyer.
Pedj, who has already set off in a trot toward the gate, thinks not to answer. It is the less energetic of his kin who speaks up. “They’re maintained by Bloőd or Azure,” lists Mael. “Growin’ without magick’s possible in the wild, but most everybody uses spells to help food sprout.”
Awyer frowns at the idea.
“And ‘cause there’s always so much, it’s fine to help yourself. Least in Bloődite territory.”
“Ask her if they contain added nutrients,” I say.
Awyer is silent.
“Ask, my fief, please.”
His dark eyes slide over my face. “Are there added nutrients?” he says dully.
“Yeah. Energy, too. It’ll make you full and healthy,” says Mael, and then to me, “Make him eat, Mistress. He’ll get tired if he don’t.”
“You heard her, Awyer. Do not refrain from eating.”
His stony expression says otherwise.
“I do not see how this is much different than eating the zombie’s ‘preserves’. If you wish to maintain the strength to finish this journey quickly, you will put your stubbornness aside and eat the fruit.”
I feel a pang in my chest. To finish this journey quickly – when who knows what will transpire at the journey’s end? Should it not be my wish that his journey drag? No, rightfully it should not be my wish.
But it is.
“HEY! Here!” With little warning, Pedj lobs one of the fruit at my fief’s head. Awyer catches it easily in one hand.
“Stubbornness?” He takes a bite of the hard, round food. “If I am never stubborn, you will dominate me, Mistress.”
He has not spoken much since gaining the necromancer into our party, and he has not spoken a thing like that to me ever. Not only referring to me as ‘Mistress’, but directly calling me such? I am left to stutter:
“W-what?”
Awyer swallows and catches my stare so that I am powerless to look aside. “Do not dominate me, Grim.” The fierceness underlying his monotonous statement is striking. It has never before happened that a ward has striven to become my equal. Unable to think of a suitable response, I abscond to the top of one of the fence posts. Alone, I wait for the mortals to finish eating.
When the meal has passed, Pedj shoves a fruit into each pocket of his loose-fitting pants – which because of the mugginess of the day, he has rolled to the calf – before giving the signal to move on. Skirt and ponytail swaying, Mael follows close behind, wrist extended to feel the guide of the shade bird’s pull.
I am last to move out. Feet trailing the ground, I tail the others, lost in thoughts that should not be. Eventually, Awyer falls back.
“You are angry,” he assumes.
“No,” I say, “merely confused.” The confession escapes on its own. As has happened in the past, I did not mean for Awyer to hear it.
“Things are changed,” Awyer says, staring ahead and keeping with my pace.
“Aye.”
“Since the cavern,” he says.
“For me it was sooner,” my tongue admits.
“For me it could not be sooner.”
“What do you mean?” I say, caught unaware.
He shakes his head. “I do not know. I cannot explain.”
Inexplicable. It is an accurate term to describe what has happened to us.
Through the rest of the gray day, we march, while Mael continues to hum her tune. Pedj assures that if we travel until dusk and wake with the dawn, we will reach the Bloődite town of Pallkeep in the morrow.
By the frequency of the settlements beginning to dot the landscape, it would seem he is correct. At first, there is a half an hour or more between dwellings, each of which reflects the first hut, though some are larger than others, and some even have outbuildings made of similar crystal and grout. As we go, the dwellings become closer and closer together until there is a grouping of two or more every ten minutes. The land in these places has been cleared to allow gardening and leisure space, and several of the homes are coated with crawling vines and ivies. They are nowhere near as lavish as the rising condominiums of Eldrade, but I did not expect them to be. Life without constant enchant is not so glamorous.
It is a life befitting of my stooped ward.
Although, now that I think of it, he has not stooped in days.
The folk of these residences, who are simple and rugged when compared to the opulent Eldradeans – my modest ward aside – take no notice of us as we pass, other than an occasional head nod here and there. All are on edge due to the chaotic outcome of Eldrade’s attack and the missing Amethyst, so it is no wonder that they are wary of strange passers. That is fine as far as I am concerned. It is better that they take caution than if they were to show burdensome interest.
In the early eve, we find a fence to settle within. Neighbored by several other dwellings, the yard is without structure of its own, though there are the fallen remains of where one once stood. Dirtied crystal meets crumbled mortar. How it came to be in such a state, when surrounded by wielders, is a mystery. Albeit, there is a working water pump at the yard’s side, in addition to bouts of tree cover, making it a perfect waypoint for weary Awyer, Pedj and Mael.
The zombie and necromancer occupy one side of the pen while my sphinx takes the other, busying himself over patching a tear in his sleeve. Looping a tiny thread through a needle from his satchel, he begins to stitch with a boy’s crudeness.
Pedj watches with prudence. He wonders why the Amethyst sorcerer would not simply enchant the tear to mend itself.
He does not yet know my fief well at all.
“So any idea on how long this little jaunt of ours’ll take?” he asks, looking away so that Awyer will not know he was watching.
“I do not know.” Awyer defers to me. “Grim?”
But I do not know either. And Mael has nothing more to add but a new crescendo to her song.
“That’s nice.” Pedj’s arms fold in a grumpy, bony stance. “Could take a year, for all you know.”
I would be glad if it were so.
With that, Pedj falls silent and only Mael’s hum fills the dusked air of our borrowed space. Her song grows fainter when she travels to the opposite side of the fallen home to rinse in water from the pump.
And then it halts completely.
So abruptly that even Awyer takes notice. He looks up from his work, searching through the twilight for the reason behind Mael’s sudden silence.
Pedj calls, “Mael?”
He is responded by an, “Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh!”
Sprinting from the pump, the girl veers to avoid my light. To Pedj she runs, while Awyer hops to his feet in preparation for whatever evil s
he has seen from the pump.
But when I fly to inspect said pump, there is not evil to be found. There is nothing that I can –
Ah!
I feel it.
As I felt just before the Bloődite attack on Eldrade, I feel something amiss in the air.
“Awyer!”
My shout comes too late. It is overpowered by a loud blast of dark-colored smoke that has just landed upon one of the neighboring dimly lit houses:
BOOM!
I swiftly return to Awyer, who now leaps to dodge a second blast of smoke that has just landed at the edge of the yard:
BOOM!
“Azure!?” shouts Pedj.
And he is not alone; the Bloődite inhabitants of the surrounding dwellings are running from their houses, fists balled for enchant, and asserting similar accusations.
An angry rabble fills the air, but it is overcome by two more blasts of what are presumably Azure enchants.
BOOM! BOOM!
“Awyer! This way!” I pull at the edge of Awyer’s tunic. To the far side of the yard, I force him. Likewise, Mael is tugging at Pedj.
“Away!” she yells. “Away, Pedjram!”
“That’s Azure! Plain’s day!” It is with open mouth that the zombie watches the crystal homes destruct one after another. “But there’s no chance of that happenin’!”
“Why?” Awyer asks, rooting himself beside Pedj and attempting to see through the blue-fogged air.
“We got a pact! A treaty! They’re never supposed to use magick against us, and we ain’t either! It ain’t been done since–”
“The Kerr Attack,” says Mael, continuing to pull on her cousin.
“Kerr?” I ask via Awyer while also still pulling at him.
“Fifty years ago!” answers Pedj. “But we’ll get on talkin’ ‘bout that later! We gotta fight back!”
“No,” says Mael. “Let’s go, Pedjram. There’s lots!”
Awyer’s glance sidles at her. “Of?”
“Lots and lots of power!”
“But we gotta fight back!” says Pedj again. “It’s low, what they’ve done! Azurians know the strongest sorcerers went to Káol to attack the whores! Hell! It was Azure’s plan, even! They know none of these outer villages got any defense! But neither do they got anything worth takin’! What gives?!” His fists are already beginning to form a cloud of red smoke.
The matter does not concern us.
The only thing that is important is getting Awyer to the sphinxes.
Awyer, however, does not see it that way.
“I will help,” he says.
I stop tugging at him, for I do not believe what I have heard. “Truly!?”
“I will help Pedj.”
“Do not! It is foolish for you to reveal the stolen color to more than you already have!” I say.
Why would he . . .?
I did not mind his acquaintance.
I look at Awyer’s eyes, so full of unexpected resolution, and understand that it is his ever-growing merit that is responsible for this decision. He seeks to protect a newborn friendship with a boy that no longer even wishes anything to do with him.
“My fief! You do not want to use your power! That is what you claimed!”
“Grim, do not stop me.”
What is he thinking? Besides friendship, what could be driving him to needlessly use his power? To willingly use his power? If Pedj stays, Mael will stay. We need Mael’s guidance to reach the Golden Lands, that is true; but . . .
I am proud of you for using your power.
Why did I ever say such a thing?!
It is too late. Awyer and Pedj have already each sent a blast of smoke in the direction of the attackers, whom we have yet to even see. While Pedj’s enchant is small and fluctuating, Awyer’s is larger than five Azure blasts combined. There is no chance the purple will go undetected. There is nothing to be done but to join them. I must add to the confusion so that Awyer will avoid detection.
Flying a distance away from my fief, I release a series of smaller, heavier purple balls at the attackers, then zip to avoid a retaliating blast of blue. Meanwhile, Mael has raced to the water pump and is drawing from its power to send a blast of red that is much stronger than Pedj’s.
Shrieks from both sides, attackers and villagers, flood the smoke as the villagers join in the fight, some releasing balls as feeble as Pedj’s. None as strong as Mael’s.
Boom! Boom! BOOM!
Blast after blast, colors fly hither and yon. When red meets blue, they do not intermingle; they retract, destroying whatever tree or structure unfortunate enough to be their spot of collision.
After bouncing off of a bomb of blue, a blast of Mael’s rebounds and heads directly for one of the trees shielding the yard, one with a split trunk. Bouted tree cover is no longer a welcome thing. In the midst of volatile, whizzing enchants, it poses even more of a threat. With Mael’s rebounded blast, the longest of the split tree’s branches is struck, and the force bids the wood to fall. Though Pedj makes haste to roll away, he is not swift enough. The branch falls over him, serrated base pointing downward sharp as a dagger.
“Yah!”
Awyer catches it in a net of purple. The sphinx’s reflexes are surprisingly sharp. Battle is surprisingly natural for him – a gift passed down from his mother’s father.
Hands over his head, Pedj swivels to meet his savior, but his savior has already moved on to shipping out a cannonball-sized blast of compacted enchant. “Phoo.” Pedj shakes his head, recuperates, and ships out his own fizzles of red.
Through it all, Amethyst settles heavily over everything, like an ominous miasma.
We are utterly compromised.
The stolen color is found.
The fighting continues. The colors wage.
Until –
“Stop,” says a melodic voice, which, though soft, has been enchanted to reach our ears.
Despite the order, we continue to fire until the blue smoke begins to clear. That is when anxiety finds me. The clearing of smoke means greater possibility of my ward’s detection.
“Wait!” I cry. “They have stopped. They may be surrendering! Take cover, my fief! They cannot find out from whom the Amethyst came!”
Awyer relays my message to Pedj and Mael. In a fury, Pedj releases a few more puny spouts of red before heeding. As the three visible of our party duck behind the pile of destroyed house, I float high so that I might take survey of the Azurian attackers.
Seeing that the assaults have ceased, so too do the remaining Bloődite villagers eventually let up their retaliations, but they do so with confusion and rage. They now cry foul, for they have seen the purple in the air, and they assume the Azurians to have been aided by Amethyst wielders.
Awyer’s involvement in the skirmish is a compromising thing, indeed.
In the middle of rabble, the air is a mixture of purple and red with lingering hints of blue for several seconds before it begins to clear . . .
And I begin to distinguish.
A fair-haired man of princely stature stands before an army numbering several dozen men and women armored in brilliant silver-blue mail, each of their chests marked by a swirled sigil of deep blue. Azurians, yes. But . . .
There are others among them.
And the others . . .
They are dressed in the street garb of the Amethyst City.
It is unmistakable: This army consists not only of Azurians, but of depleted Eldradeans, as well.
This truth, Awyer recognizes too. “Grim?” His voice is a mutter. “They are . . .”
It gets worse. As the smoke clears, I begin to discern faces. Specific parts of faces. Eyes, cheeks, noses. One face stands out. One, belonging to a woman of wide girth and thick chin, I have seen before. She is the Pate woman from the fount, the gnat of wit that was victim to my craft.
A drained Pate aiding the Azurians? It does not make sense.
And there are others – other Pate gnats mixed within the legion, most of wh
ich Eldrade’s only sphinx has before riddled into submission.
It stands to say that Awyer has at least a few enemies among this group.
But that is not even the most troubling of the truths revealed by the settling enchants. Standing beside the fair-haired man is another man of influence. One in a long, draping cloak of plum. One crowned with swooping black hair. One possessing dangerous knowledge.
The most dangerous knowledge.
“Do not let him lay eyes upon you!” I reiterate with urgency.
The only person who was actually witness to Awyer’s Amethyst-ingesting act stands before us with an expression snide. When Awyer sees him, his jaw sets and he tucks further behind the pile.
What in the Eternity Vessel is an elder of Eldrade doing amongst an Azurian army!?
“What did I tell you?” says Count Bexwin of Eldrade. Though his voice is light, it seems to have been enchanted by a comrade to be audible to everyone within hearing distance. “The Bloődites are hoarding Amethyst,” he says.
A sneaking claim he makes knowing it is a lie.
A trailing claim he makes to arouse confusion.
A hissing claim which ignites a cloud of rants from the Azurians and a muddle of protests from the Bloődites.
“It is you who’re hoardin’ the Amethyst!” shouts one of the Bloődite villagers. But his voice is easily swallowed by the angry cries of the Azurian army.
“Silence!” The princely man at the army’s front raises a fist.
Instantly, his portion of the crowd obeys.
“Hear me now, Bloődite scum!” bellows this commander. “Run and tell your nation: I, Maestro Feligo, have sanctioned the Second Kerr Crusade! The Azurians are coming to reclaim what is ours! Enjoy your stolen color while you can, for we have seen proof with our eyes, and neither babe nor sow will be spared from our wrath!”
He ends his proclamation with a new blast of blue that is hastily followed by second wave of assaults.
The air lights with cries of war and rage and fear.
“It is pointless to stay!” I plead with Awyer. “They are many, and although your power is greatest, we cannot let Count Bexwin lay sight on you!”