by Brindi Quinn
“AARGH!” he yells a second time at the moon that does not deserve his rage.
“You will be fine, Awyer,” I speak, rushed. “It will not break you. You command the enchants. Will them to obey!”
Without my continual string of Amethyst to fend them off, the tailed women lunge – some toward us, some toward the barrel. The latter are the least lucky of the horde. From each end of the tube, balls of red are released. The far end’s balls are feeble, while the ones coming from the end nearest are sharp and stable and compact. Such a great difference in power between cousin and cousin. Mael’s enchants protect us where we stand from both Amethyst and Azure. Only two of my smoke bombs are needed to fend away the seductresses of Bloőd. I release them rapidly and return to my sphinx.
He suffers. He suffers greatly.
I am far weaker than he. I am a small unreal girl with scrawny arms and no mass to speak of. He is strong and lean and tall. He has the aura of a man with untapped power and merit.
I can do little for him.
And so, as I did that night in the cavern, I place my lips upon his forehead.
Compromising.
For both him and me.
Compassion reaches him. Something stronger than compassion reaches him. Something too forbidden to name.
PHOOOOOOOSH!
From where we are, a whirlwind of Amethyst erupts. It tears at our hair, brushes over the grass of the meadow, and plows into the side of the barrel with a thunderous BOOM! The barrel, too colossal to be moved by normal means, nonetheless rocks upon impact.
There is not a creature who will persist after such a shock. Bloőd and Azure alike have felt the might of my pactor. And those of Amethyst? They have undoubtedly felt the strength of Mael.
She and Awyer make a force with which to be reckoned.
“I do not know how, Awyer, but Mael was able to break your trance by humming that song she always hums. It is peculiar, is it no–”
I stop, for as the smoke first settles, I see that Awyer is in no condition to hear my words. Onto the ground he has fallen.
Chapter XIX: Riddle
“Would you like to know it?” I say. “The third answer to the riddle?” Over the body of an unconscious sphinx, I speak to ears that are deaf to the world.
I hold a hand that is limp. Awyer’s future . . . it has not been revealed to me in days and days. Though I have tried repeatedly, it was before entering Fetra’s Nerve that I was last privy to his destiny. I touch his hand now, not because I expect any great revelation, but because I wish to experience him.
His warmth is soothing.
And although I have not been revealed with anything new in a long while, I know that he is not destined to die here, and so I wait. Over moon’s grass. Over the silver of the land. He and I are alone here, in this damp, quiet place.
The others may have tried to get near once the fighting ceased, but I forbade it, warning them away with blasts of Amethyst until they retreated for the night within the stone barrel. I cannot let them close. It was I who forced Awyer to cast an enchant of greatest magnitude. The fault is mine that he has fallen. And it must be my face that he sees first when he awakens.
“A wealth of knowledge is held in its crown. It spreads with wings; it sits on down. Do you wish to know the missing layer?”
Awyer’s breath, drawn in and out of his body, is tainted purple. The field around him is tainted purple. Amethyst has stained everything.
“It is your queen, my sphinx, resting in her nest of down.” I stroke the hair of his forehead and will that the dreams therein would be pleasant. “Female sphinxes have wings. Did you know? They possess the haunches of a lion, the face of a human, and the wings of a bird. Male sphinxes, on the other hand, are not so divine. One in his true form has only the body of a lion and the face of a man. No wings to speak of.”
If Awyer were awake, I imagine he might inquire as to why his mother’s brother, a sphinx of fuller blood, did not have any traces of a lion’s body – something he has undoubtedly thought previously on, though he has never once before questioned it. With that in mind, I tell his unhearing ears –
“A sphinx with enough power can shift in shape. It may conceal its true form, as your distant ancestor did when I met him. When one does so, they appear almost human, but for their gold-blessed eyes.”
At the moment, Awyer’s gold-blessed eyes are hidden behind lids and a row of thick black lashes that cast shadows upon his cheeks.
“You were right, you know,” I say reservedly, allowing my eyes to travel from his cheekbones to his neck. “You are more man than sphinx. What would it be like had you the body of a lion?” I force an invisible giggle to cover the gripping pain of my throat. “We would be even less compatible than we are now, would we not? It is commonly frowned upon for beast to engage with anything other than beast.”
His sleeping form – I long to cling to it. I wish both to protect him and to be protected by him. I wish for him to cradle me.
I place my head to his chest. I will lie with him as he lay with me in the mist so many nights ago. I delight over the slowness of his heartbeat. It means that the Amethyst no longer runs its course through his unwilling body. For now, at least, his power has settled.
I ask, only because he cannot answer, “What did you think of me when we first met? I have wanted to know ever since hearing of the lock . . .”
But I have not yet told him of the lock. I take a breath.
“I may as well confess to you now while you cannot put up a fuss. Techton told me things, while you were gone on the hill. Important things that I have refrained from telling you.”
I imagine him saying my name sternly with eyes that are narrow.
“Techton told me that when a naefaerie forms a new pact, a lock is placed upon her pactor’s heart. The lock makes it impossible for a pactor to have . . . romantic feelings toward his or her naefaerie.”
Romantic. It is silly, is it not? That I have a hard time voicing it to him? That I am embarrassed to speak the word even to someone who cannot hear me?
“D-do you know what that means, Awyer? You said that things changed for you in the cavern, and that they could not have changed earlier. Apparently a naefaerie’s kiss undoes the lock, allowing any deep-rooted feelings to surface. Even if you wanted to feel deeply for me before, you could not – not until I kissed you that night in the cavern. It is crazy that I did not know of the existence of a spell like that upon us.”
Awyer’s chest is warm and solid.
“That is why I wish to know what you thought of me when we first met,” I say into it. “I never knew how I fit into your life. With you, it was always different than with the others. I did not properly understand my role. I wanted to be stern, and I wanted to divert. I wanted to order you, but . . . I also wished for you to order me. I was not your mother nor your sister nor your friend. I was only a companion. But what does ‘companion’ mean, even? I do not know. I have never known. And so I called you ‘ward’ as I called the rest.”
But it feels wrong to call him that now.
“I wish I had known the truth of your emotions,” I whisper into his shirt. “I wish they had been allowed to show all along. Then I would know whether or not I am corrupt.”
I am silent.
It is my strong desire that he would come out of his slumber soon. Then, I may again indulge in his ancient stare.
“You are stupid,” a voice says above my head.
Startled, I am about to look for the source, when a hand is brought to the back of my head, holding me in place against Awyer’s chest.
“I was fond of you,” says the voice that is Awyer’s, “from the very first time I saw you.”
My heartbeat sounds in my neck. Awyer heard what I was telling him. The words he was not truly meant to hear made it to his consciousness. And now he thinks to respond to my forbidden questions.
I am still. The burning of my face makes it unmanageable to move.
Taking
no notice, Awyer pets the back of my hair. “When I was a boy, my mother cautioned me. She told me that one day a silver girl would appear to me,” he says. “She did not want me to accept the girl’s offer. I was meant to, like Grandfather and Uncle, but she knew that if I did, I would have tribulations. She did not want a life of trials for me.”
Awyer’s mother thought to end the sacred arrangement of Awyer’s family line? She thought to force my death!?
“My mother died and I was alone.” Awyer’s voice is steady. “You came to me. I had been expecting you, and on my mother’s dying wish, I knew I could not accept your offer. . . . But when I saw you, you were fair and familiar. I remembered experiencing many things with you. I wanted to spend more time with you. I could not turn you away.”
I have never heard so many words voluntarily given from my sphinx at once.
“In the beginning, you were amusing. You were a friend only I could see. We played.”
A friend. As a boy, Awyer thought of me as a friend. Not a warden?
Voice calm and breath even, Awyer goes on, “When I was young, I liked you, Grim, but as I got older, I became frustrated. One day I looked at you and realized that you were more than fair. You were beautiful. And we had many memories together. I wanted to be with no one else but you. I wanted to hold you.”
The words he says cause my chest to throb. I am breathless, in wait of more.
He continues, “I could not hold you. My body would not let me. I was frustrated. I could not say anything, and when I thought too long on you, my thoughts would leave my grasp. They ran from me, barely out of reach. Enough to taunt, but not enough to taste. It angered me, but even that, I could not act.”
“So you gave in,” I whisper, for I am so overjoyed that I fear my tongue might shout. “Your sphinx parts suppressed your emotions.”
“It is in my nature to hide them,” agrees Awyer.
“Aye, but you are more man than sphinx,” I say.
There is silence. Only the swishing grass sings. Then, without warning, Awyer’s tone darkens.
“Grim,” he says.
“Yes?”
“Do not let the lock return.”
I am caught off guard. “I–”
“Promise me.”
“Awyer.” I grip the fabric of his tunic. “The things you have told me elate me greater than you can know, but . . .”
“Grim.”
“I do not fully exist! I am not suited for you! And there is the matter of what happens after you deliver the Amethyst! You are destined to die very soon!”
Awyer composes. He draws his hand along my spine. “If you do not exist, then I will not exist either. Make me as you are. Make me unseen. We can be together then.”
“I cannot make you to be like me! There are no male naefaeries! And even if there were, a naefaerie cannot see other naefaeries! You speak the impossible.”
“Then let us make you real, Grim. I have told you, you are real to me, but let us make you real to the rest. After this is finished, we will make you SEEN.”
“In the Golden Lands, I will be visible to all,” I squeak.
Awyer stiffens. “You will?”
“I have seen it.”
Admittedly, I am hiding within his shirt, as I have been this whole time, but at my confession, he will not stand for it any longer. He sits up, forcing me to remove myself from him, and as I do, he takes the upper part of my arms within his hands and looks at me squarely.
“There,” he says.
“There?”
The silver moon’s reflection mixes with his gold. “The solution is there,” he says. “Where you are visible.”
I am not so sure. I begin to rise. The others deserve to know that Awyer has woken. He and I should return to them. Lo, the hands upon my arms keep me from flying.
“Mistress.”
Hot intensity.
In one quick motion, Awyer forces me against him, one hand on my back, the other gripping my wrist. How strong he has become. It takes little effort to make me submit.
In the aftermath, my mouth is very near to his neck. “Yes?” I utter.
“Even when they can see you, you will be mine. No other man will have you.”
“I will remain bonded to you by the tattoo upon–”
“That is not what I mean,” says Awyer.
Of course it is not. I know that.
“I will be yours,” I say, giving in to feelings unlocked, “until your last breath is drawn.”
Chapter XX: Gold
From the field stained by Amethyst, we go. We go and we go. Mael’s shade bird leads us onward dutifully in the way it has for weeks.
“I’m not sayn’ I hate it, so’s you know,” says Pedj as he walks. “I’m just sayin’ if I had my choice, I’d get rid of my zombie side. It ain’t so bad. Just can’t get in water too hot. Can’t sit too close to fire. All the little things you don’t realize.”
“Pedj’ll melt,” Mael interjects.
“Oh is that all?” I say. “He will only melt?”
Awyer snorts.
The bird pulls. It pulls and pulls and pulls.
Until, one day, it stops pulling altogether. In the center of one of the stone barrels surrounded on all sides by nothing but grass and sunlight, Mael’s outstretched arm lowers and she comes to an abrupt halt.
“What’s wrong, Lady?” Techton implores.
Mael wiggles her wrist. “It died.”
“What died?” Awyer asks.
“Birdie,” says Mael. “The birdie died.”
“Hoo?” Pedj cranes his neck to see over her shoulder. “What the crank do you mean it died?! It can’t get on dyin’! We’ll be stuck out here forever left to rot! We already as much as run outta grub!”
Mael shrugs and continues to jiggle her wrist.
“You maybe can’t feel it right, Mael,” says Pedj. “Let’s go out in the sun, we’ll be able to tell what it’s doing out there. What say you?”
Mael shakes her head. “It died. See?” She gives her wrist one particularly vigorous fling, and the bangle, which has been upon her person since leaving Ensecré, falls to the ground with a dull tink.
“HOOP!?” Pedj’s eyes bulge as he watches as the bangle, upon contact with the floor, bursts into a thousand bitty specks. “GOOD GOIN’, MAEL! NOW WHAT THE HECK ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO?!”
“Come on, now,” says Techton, civil. “Give her a break. It isn’t her fault. The thing probably just ran out of magicks.”
Awyer gives me one of his sidelong glances.
“If it is gone,” I answer him, “it means that we have reached our destination. The Golden Lands should, by all rights, be here.”
“The land is no different,” observes Awyer.
Aye, this barrel is much like the many others we have traveled through. But I do not fret. The witches’ word is absolute, required to be so because of the urn’s gold. The golden blessing of the sphinxes cannot be broken.
While the others speculate over the ‘dead again’ shade bird, I draw my sphinx deeper into the tunnel.
“If the key to the Golden Lands is here, you will be the one to notice,” I tell him. “Close your eyes and think not with your Amethyst, but with your gold. Allow the gold of your veins to drive your thoughts, and you may be shown entry. Focus!”
Awyer does as I say, closing his eyes and flexing his hands.
“Whatcha doin’ over there?” Pedj calls to interrupt.
“Shup, Pedjram. Ower’s findin’ the way to gold. You’ll get on distractin’ him.” Mael’s perceptiveness knows no bounds.
Awyer keeps shut his eyes while the others and I look on. He opens his hands and closes his hands. His brow indents in concentration. And then he stops. When he opens his lids, something has changed.
“Awyer! Your eyes glow golden!”
“Oooo,” says Mael.
“ACK!” says Pedj.
Techton says nothing but, “Huh.”
Without regarding my charge, Aw
yer looks up and down the barrel. “There.” He points to the end through which we entered.
“There’s nothing back that way,” says Pedj. “We only just got on through there.”
Awyer shakes his head. “It is different now.”
But when I look to the opening, I see no difference. “Are you certain?” I ask of him.
Awyer flicks his eyes upon my face. The gold therein fluctuates, daring me to question his authority. In a snap, he takes my wrist and pulls me along with him toward the end of the barrel.
“Get on,” says Mael, fanning at Pedj and Techton. “We’s to follow them.”
The round opening of the barrel’s end shows green. The meadow lies through it, the same meadow we have constantly traversed. Does the secret entrance to the Golden Lands rest buried somewhere beneath its skirt? Somewhere below the warm-winded grass that covers its soil is a place known only to Awyer’s kin?
The idea that we are near is daunting.
At the edge of the stone tunnel, Awyer stops. Over his shoulder, he looks to me with eyes that yet swim with golden light. “Trust me,” he says. And then, with a running start, he gambols through the barrel’s end.
I, too, am pulled along, expecting to fall against Awyer as he lands upon the grass.
But Awyer does no such thing, and for the tiniest shred of time, my innards feel as though they are contorting. My spine twists in a wringing motion, pulled taut.
Grass does not break Awyer’s fall.
But he does hit the ground.
And so do I. My backside makes contact with the rocky bottom of wherever we are, and it hurts.
“Ow!” Never before have I become pained from accidentally bumping into something, for there is only one I may touch in the absence of enchants, and he does not hurt to rub against.
Fallen rock, shrouded by ground-crawling golden fog, surrounds the place we are. Some sort of large antiquated building has fallen into rubble here, beneath a sky marked overcast by a wall of golden cloud. An arena, we find ourselves in. At its center a massive pillar yet stands.
Three things I know are certain:
This palace of crumbled rock is not the meadow.