by Brindi Quinn
“A memory?”
“A feeling like we have done something already, as different people. My soul remembers.”
It is all too familiar.
“Déjà vu,” I say. “Encountering a situation you have encountered in a previous life and remembering.”
I did not consider it before, but it is wholly possible that Awyer’s soul has hopped along his family line of sphinxes. Not all of them, of course, as son and father and grandfather may be alive at the same time. But some. After all, all have been connected by Thyst.
“None of your ancestors ever mentioned being reborn, Awyer,” I say, contemplating the possibility.
And as I contemplate, a long shadow, one of the last for the day, passes over the hill. Again Awyer shrugs. And then he stands to let me know he is finished with the conversation.
Just like that, he is through.
I am not.
I continue to wonder:
Can an old soul truly become unfettered from its past?
Chapter XIII: Lock
When we return to camp, Techton has accomplished a great many things. The tent is pitched, the fire is roared, and a stew of squirrely meat and pine is boiling in a pot – a pot which Pedj eyes with doubt.
“You’re SURE that broth’s okay for eatin’? Don’t even think of tryin’ to force-feed us merbabe poo water.”
Techton sits ringing a root between his hands over the pot. He is amused by the zombie’s concern. “Merbabe poo, huh?” He lets out a deep chuckle. “There’s nothing to worry about. The resources found inside the Reck are pure. Only the two rivers are iffy, and I fetched the water for the broth just over there.” He points through the trees. “Go check for excrement if you want.”
“The soup smells good,” says Mael. The skirted girl has climbed to a low branch of a tree extended over the campsite, where she sits and swings her legs and hums. “Not like poo.”
Techton tips his head at her. “Glad to hear it, Lady.”
Pedj is frazzled from everything that has happened in the past days. The witches, the army, the climb, and the supposed Ark. It has all taken its toll on his hair, which has become even wilder than when we first met. When Awyer sits, the zombie scoots directly beside him, hair in full extension like an upset porcapee.
“Hoo!” Pedj pats the place he has just sat. “Didn’t smoosh her, did I?”
Awyer’s mouth curls, amused over the thought of me being accidentally sat upon. “You did not,” he says.
“I am pleased that you delight in my circumstance,” I say dryly.
Sarcasm?
Sarcasm escaping my tongue is something new.
Awyer smirks over the slip. His beguiling gaze follows me as I fly into the air. Above the canopy I go. Far into the sky I flee, as high as I may before feeling the weight of Awyer’s bond below me. We are connected, and I cannot allow any great distance between us. If I did, I would begin to ache.
I fly to the limit. I wish to see the course of the rivers.
From what I can tell through the dusk, Brother reaches a point where it steeply changes into an almost northward flow. Likewise, does Sister mirror him. Her southwestern flow continues to veer until it is almost southward. After convening at the Rise, the sibling rivers repel from each other, quarrelsome things, and the Reck expands. Miles upon miles of uncharted land awaits us. How far does it go? What lies at the end?
I look behind us. I see no large movement through the wetlands. No army of Azurians, at least. Though if my suspicion is correct, and it is instead an army of subdued pactors coming behind us, their influence would not hold the magnitude of an army’s anyway. And as to their ‘darkened naefaeries’ . . . I would not be able to see them at all.
Not that I have fully committed to the idea that Ark can command multiple naefaeries at once.
Still, whatever power the gray man was using at the Rise, it was neither Azure nor Bloőd nor Amethyst. If anything, it was alike the dark magicks used by the witches. The witches? Yes, the gray man also possessed the hair of the hellbeast, did he not? I knew they would follow after me in some way, the witches Hamira and Gorma. Is this their retribution? Passing the hellbeast hair unto Ark?
The tension of the distance between my ward and me tightens. I must return to him. His names cross over my thought: My ward. My fief.
No. My Awyer. My sphinx. My . . .
It is peaceful in the sky. I wish that he would join me up here, away from the others. With his power, he could do most anything. Although an enchant so boundless would not be wise for a sorcerer with untapped, uncontrolled power to attempt. He would likely shoot high into the heavens, leaving a crater in his wake.
Invisibly, I giggle to myself. And then my joy quickly falls.
I start a feather-like descent. Down, down, I glide toward the cozy, firelit group of travelers, whose voices drift into the sky. Whose warmth stains the air I cannot fully feel. Downward to them I fall, and the nearer I get, the heavier sets a feeling of contempt upon my shoulders.
I land upon the end of Mael’s branch.
“Hullo, Mistress.” Mael halts her song to wave at me. I cannot respond. Because I do not fully exist, I cannot return her greeting. For some reason, it bitters me more than usual. It pains me that she sits there, visible to all, while I stand here, nothing more than a figment of life.
My frustration swells.
I come before her face and peer into her vacant eyes, in the hopes of connecting with the prophetic parts of her . . . if they even exist. What more can she tell me about what is coming? Anything? Does she have anything more to reveal?
With my light before her face, Mael swipes her hand through me. It passes without so much as a stutter.
Feeling violated, I hop from the branch and to the ground. Awyer watches with interest as I begin a saunter around the group. Coming first to Techton, who drinks from his stew bowl, I put my hands above his shoulders and lean forward. Into his ear, I speak, “I have seen the way you watch her. I wonder how the zombie would feel if he learned that an Azurian fancies his cousin?” Of course, Techton takes no notice of my presence, so I skim over to Pedj as he sits complaining to the others about his sore joints. “BOO!” I shout into his face, and then into his ear, “Coward.”
“Grim.” Stern, Awyer shakes his head at me. “Stop.”
“It is not as though any of them can hear me,” I scoff.
Yes, I am unsightly. How quickly I have become unsightly.
Why?
Because I am not one of them. Not really. I will never effortlessly whine to others as Pedj does, nor will I ever sip stew as Techton does. None but Awyer will ever hear me if I begin to hum. Not until we reach the Golden Lands, at least, and by that time it will be too late. Awyer and I will never together enjoy the company of others.
Truthfully, all that matters is that HE can see me.
Yes, I still feel that way. My bitterness comes with the understanding that Awyer is suited to be surrounded by others like him, and that I will never share in his existence. With that in mind, I punish myself further by proving the point. I make way for the fire’s licking flames. Having boiled Techton’s stew, they now wish to feast themselves.
I walk into them. Into the fire, I move. But I do not burn. My skin does not boil. My Hair does not melt. The flames surrounding me do nothing to consume my nonmaterial body.
Awyer shoots to his feet. “Stop.”
“No. I will not burn. I will remain as I have always been,” I say with spite.
“Grim.” Awyer walks to the fire and extends his hand. “Come out of there.”
“Why?” I lash, in the true nature of a girl on the verge of tears.
“Because you are fair, Grim. And I am fond of you. And I do not want you to be hostile.”
Thump!
With a future at stake, catalyzed by my kiss, apparently, Mael hops down from her branch abruptly. So, too, do Pedj and Techton take notice of the statement Awyer has just uttered. Both of them make motion in
their seats. Uncomfortable shifting all around.
“Knew it,” Pedj says under his breath.
Awyer is fond of me. Fond. I feel movement, like a thousand tiny ants, crawling over my arms.
At the edge of the fire, Awyer’s hand yet reaches for me. He will not be long for the heat. Shall I see how long he can endure? Shall I see how long it will take him to pull away?
But cruelty is a thing a naefaerie should never feel for her ward.
I take Awyer’s hand. Strong and warm his clasps mine. He draws me from the flames and into his arms, and he wraps his embrace around me for but a few seconds. Fleeting, the seconds pass without remorse, and then Awyer releases me without a word. Turning his back, he sets out into the surrounding wood.
He is angry because I was acting a fool.
“A-Awyer?” I call feebly after him.
“Stay,” he orders. “I need to think.”
And with that, he is gone. I will not follow him now, for I know where he will go.
“Phoooo.” Pedj lets out a long exhale once Awyer’s footsteps fade. “That’s messed up, ain’t it? When he says fond, he means . . .” Pedj shakes his mane of pointed hair from side to side. “Don’t know what he’s thinkin’ getting wrapped up in an agent. Not like they could get on having kippers and–”
“Pedjram!” Mael slaps her cousin on the back of the head. “Mistress is there.” She points in my direction.
Pedj’s eyes widen to enormous, fearful circles. “Woop! Joshin’! Just a skosh of funny business to get the night a-rollin’!”
“No, no. It is fine for you to go on. You are right, after all. Our relationship is not as it should be,” I say to no one, for none remain here who can hear me. At least there is one who can see me, if only a little. I feel the weight of Mael’s stare before I observe it.
“No matter what he says, fond or fair or what, don’t go on kissin’ him,” she instructs. “Even if you want to real bad.”
Ah! In front of the others she thinks to say something to that extent!? And she even dares to go on,
“You’ll be fine s’long as you don’t kiss him and his sweet sphinxy lips.” She finishes with a determined nod.
I am lucky that the others cannot see my mortification.
“You serious?!” says Pedj. “Stay out of it, Mael. What you even know regardin’ kisses from agents?!”
Techton takes a different approach to Mael’s directive. He sets his bowl sloshing onto the ground, pats his gloved hands to his thighs, and then offers, “Now, that’s a fine piece of advice, Lady. The only problem is that it’s too late. Now, I’m no expert, but if he’s feeling that way, it means they’re already undone.”
“What do you mean?!” I shout, zooming to where he is. “Undone?! You cannot say that without expounding anything more!”
Alas, useless is my voice. Will not someone else inquire further? I jump up and down to gain Mael’s attention. She, however, has become completely crestfallen over Techton’s news. Her lip is stuck outward in a pout, her arms are crossed, and she appears to be lost in thought while intently staring into the space just to the left of where she stands.
Pedj looks on with utter confusion.
Trying another tactic, I crouch to the dirt near Techton’s boots and enchant the granules of the earth to receive me. Necromancers may not share a common written language with the rest of the world, but there is a chance that the Azurians yet use the symbols of old. I scrawl a message:
Does this have to do with the lock you spoke of?
I finish and wait for him to answer. But it is a pointless endeavor. Techton does not notice the dirt shifting at his feet.
I am desperate.
Enough to do something I would otherwise not do.
Concentrating a mass of Amethyst to my hand, I enchant the skin of his to receive me. I place my palm upon his knuckles and will that his skin and flesh would accept it.
When it finally becomes solid against mine, Techton’s hand gives a flinch. He assumes it the wind or some amount of his imagination at work. More convincing is necessary.
I loop my fingers through his and begin to tug his hand from his knee. He squints at it.
“Ummm, okay? Hey, Mael.” Techton draws the vacant girl from her thoughts. “Is Awyer’s mistress right here?” He shakes the hand being pulled by mine.
“Yeah. It’s Mistress.” Mael’s tone is dim and disheartened.
Techton gives a start. “She can touch people?!”
“She’s Amethyst,” explains Mael. “Only agents what got Amethyst are strong enough to touch people. But only sometimes ‘cause it’s hard.”
I wonder how she came upon such knowledge.
“Yeah, she healed me before, too,” adds Pedj, as I work to lower Techton’s hand to the ground. “Put her hand on my skin and sewed my gaper smack up!”
Techton is marveled. “Even if you’re more powerful, Mistress,” he says into the air near my shoulder, “I imagine it’s pretty difficult for you to become tangible, though, huh?”
An understatement. Even so, I persist.
“Okay, then.” After that, the Azurian lets me easily bring his hand to the ground, where waits the message.
“Oh, this is what you want?” Techton scans it. “Oh boy. You’re going to make me work, are you? I haven’t studied the Ancient Set since University. Let’s see if I can figure it out . . .”
I will make it easier for him.
While he pours over the message in the dirt, I erase most of it with a wave of air, so that all that remains is a single word: Lock.
“Lock?” he reads. “Lock . . .”
I happily move his hand up and down as well as I can.
“You’re a dainty, bubbly thing, aren’t you?” He chuckles. “I expect that didn’t help Awyer’s process at all.”
But I am no closer to understanding what he means by ‘process’.
“Why’re you so sore, Mael?” Pedj has been watching Techton being led by an invisible creature for too long. He seeks to distract himself with his pouting cousin, whose mood continues to worsen.
“Lock, lock, lock . . . Um, what are you trying to say?” Techton does not recall when he referred to it as a ‘lock’ placed upon us?
I scrawl a second helpful word: Kiss.
It is helpful enough.
“Oh! You want to know about THAT lock.” He tilts his head. “You don’t know, Mistress? I thought that was one of your commandments. Huh. I have only ever dealt with Azurian contractors. Maybe it was different in the Amethyst City.”
Aye, and it was different a thousand years before I ever entered Eldrade, apparently. Techton rubs his chin with his free hand in preparation of divulging.
“Okay,” he rasps, “remember that I said there are lots of good faeries in the Reck? That’s because when faeries started turning rogue way back when, a bunch of Azurians escaped to the Reck with their faeries in order to keep them safe. I know the necromancers seem to think it was Ark’s doing that turned the faeries sick, but personally, I don’t believe in Ark. I think it was environmental factors that drove the faeries mad. Chock it up to overuse of magick. People don’t realize just how much magick pollutes.”
Exactly what I would expect to hear from a man who is anti-enchants.
“The idea was that the Reck would somehow keep the faeries pure since it was on virgin land that had never seen the Color Wars. Whether that’s true or not, it seems to be doing the trick so far. All of the faeries in the Reck are good ones. From what I’ve heard from the contractors I’ve met, there’s a whole list of commandments they have to follow. For instance, a master can’t ever have intimate feelings for his faerie.”
Cannot ever. Should not ever. The very fabric of our pact.
Techton continues, “Now, I don’t know the specifics, and I might get some of the details wrong, but as I understand it, there’s a metaphysical lock put in place when a boy and a faerie form a new contract. The lock ensures that even if a master starts to h
ave feelings for his faerie, the feelings can never develop beyond a certain point.” Techton smiles lewdly. “They say faeries are exceedingly lovely, so the lock is there to keep the contractors from getting distracted. It’s protection for the poor dupes.” Techton’s expression becomes dreamy. “To be constantly near a beautiful girl who only worries about you . . . No wonder none of them ever get married . . . not that the female contractors usually have the same problem. Anyway, the only way to unlock the lock is with a faerie’s kiss.”
“Things are changed.”
“Aye.”
“Since the cavern.”
“For me it was sooner.”
“For me it could not be sooner.”
So it is all my fault? I knew it was, but I had been indulging in ignorance. At the cavern, in that one moment of weakness, I slipped and Awyer . . .
But that does not make sense. Awyer called me ‘fair’ before I ever kissed his forehead!
Techton is still speaking. “I can’t say that any of the contractors I’ve talked to have actually ever received one from their faeries; though I’m sure many of them would like to. The way I took it, the kiss is pretty much just giving permission for the contractor to feel that way if he wants to. It isn’t forcing him to pine for you or anything like that. If your Amethyst boy is ‘fond’ of you, it means he was predisposed to thinking those things, even though he couldn’t access them. He probably saw your beauty, enjoyed your company, but only at your kiss were those deeper emotions allowed to come to head.”
Saw my beauty? Enjoyed my company? So if not for the lock, he would have felt this way even without my kiss?
It makes me feel a bit better. Selfishly so.
Are we wrong in our emotions? Am I a corrupt warden? And why was I, a naefaerie of ancient descent, not made aware of this ‘commandment’ in the first place? Is it a secret known only to the Azurians?
Into the sand I scratch: