by Sever Bronny
“I am.”
Oba Sassone reached out a hand and Thomas took it. The two Leyan friends shared a moment before Oba gave a slight nod and let go.
Thomas turned to the group. “Hold on and do not let go! We are about to teleport.” He grabbed Augum’s hand then Leera’s, who was still eyeing Oba with distrust.
They formed a circle as Oba dug out the same small metallic cube that had been used to teleport Mrs. Stone. Augum now recognized the engraving on its sides—it was the Helix.
Oba held it up and began invoking an arcane phrase. The cube started glowing, the light brighter and brighter as he repeated the invocation, eventually shouting the words as loudly as he could, the veins in his great neck bulging, spittle raining from his mouth.
“Hold on tight!” Thomas yelled as a terrible vibration circulated through their arms, threatening to break their grips on each other. When the light built up to a blinding climax, the air ruptured with a deafening tearing sound, yanking them forward at impossible speed. A moment later, they were tumbling along snowy ground, barely missing trees, until finally there was only the quiet of the night and the distant hooting of an owl.
The Trapper
Augum stood up in knee-deep snow, trying to make his head stop spinning. Leera was nearest so he offered her a hand first. “You all right?”
She coughed and nodded.
One by one, the others gained their footing, taking a bewildered look about. They were in a forest of snow-encrusted evergreens. It was a starry night, the moon’s crescent points lending just enough light to see. The cold was sharp, frosting their breath.
Augum noticed Thomas was still down on one knee, head bowed low, his breathing labored.
“Are you all right, Great-grandfather?”
“I am fine, but let us speak quietly. We do not know what manner of folk stir in these woods.”
Augum helped him stand. As he did so, he noticed the Leyan’s skin lacked its bronze luster—it was now pale and prickled with goose bumps. He also saw that his eyes were no longer night black, but rather light gray, with flecks of gold. “Great-grandfather … what’s happening to you?”
“Never you mind me—we have other concerns at the moment.”
Bridget draped a gray wool blanket around Thomas’ shoulders, then handed another one to Sydo, whose burnt doublet least resisted the cold. “That’s the last of the blankets,” she said. “Knew I should have taken more.”
“We need to find proper boots for Mr. Stone, m’lords and ladies,” Mya whispered, nodding at his slippers while drawing her servant garment close.
Augum silently agreed and drew his hood. They weren’t going to last long unless they found appropriate garb and shelter. “Where are we, Great-grandfather?”
Thomas glanced up at the stars. “We were supposed to teleport to the Northern Peaks, but I am afraid the portal cube is a difficult artifact to wield, especially for a 4th degree warlock such as Oba. I do believe we are somewhere in Solia, though it has been some time since I have navigated by star.” He fixed his gaze upon Augum, wrinkles around his eyes apparent for the first time. “The situation is grave. We must find Anna before my time is up. Let us walk.”
“Sir—wait, what do you mean?” Bridget asked in a quivering voice.
”And what about your seventeen degrees?” Sydo added, teeth chattering. “Could you not use your arcanery—?”
“My arcanery is no more. I am … less than mortal. I will explain when we find shelter. Come—north is this way.”
Augum exchanged an alarmed look with Bridget and Leera before following along, paying close attention to his great-grandfather now. The Leyan’s steps were hesitant, as if he had not walked in snow for a long time, and his back hunched as if carrying a heavy load.
Bridget came alongside Thomas. “Sir, can you tell us what happened to the Leyans? Why are they so stubbornly against helping mortals?”
“Much has changed from the Ley of old, the Ley you know from stories and legends.” He kept pace while watching the trees, like a man hunted.
He even talks and moves differently, Augum thought, watching his great-grandfather raise his sandaled feet above the snow.
“There are three theories on what is happening,” Thomas continued. “The first and the simplest is that Song of the Wastes, a defensive measure implemented after the creation of the scions, has slowly corrupted Ley and Leyans alike over time. The effect of this would be almost imperceptible, occurring over the course of fifteen hundred years or so, as subtly as the influence of water on stone. The second theory is that some Leyans have not relinquished the mortal realm and work to find and support the next Lord of Death, while maintaining to the others that Leyans should stay away from the world.”
“Magua …” Bridget whispered.
“Perhaps. The third theory has to do with the scions, as they are tied to the plane. The nature of those that wield them is thought to reflect back on Ley, changing the land in subtle—and not so subtle—ways. Unfortunately, those that typically possess the scions have great ambition yet little valor, their hearts dark and their souls needy, and so the Leyan landscape twists and corrupts in turn. Now imagine a man of great darkness possessing more than one.”
Augum caught up to Thomas on the other side. “So some Leyans are aware of the change then?”
“Yes. The problem is the elders. They have the power but, as you have seen, are quite resistant to change. There was a time when Leyans used the Karma on many a man and woman, changing their lives for the better, using our vast knowledge to help mortals, sharing it with the worthy and deserving. You are not aware of what you are missing. Your ancestors were far better off when we shared our knowledge with them. They were wiser, more informed, and even more powerful.
“The irony is the current Lord of Death promises everyone eternal life, yet back then, because of the knowledge we shared, people did live longer. Since the vow, however, our knowledge has been wasted, much of it jealously guarded by the oldest amongst us. Our numbers dwindle and we are but legend to the world.” He sighed. “I shudder to think of the future.”
“And what about Oba, why did he step forward to support Magua?”
“He must keep up appearances. He will do his penance then return to the Leyan community. He believes as I do—that a time will come when the fate of many, including Leyans, will rest in the hands of a few. Let us stop speaking now, it is quite wearying.”
Augum, worried about his great-grandfather, fell in behind him. He was hungry, cold, and tired from lack of sleep. The others mutely trampled along, each wrapped tightly for warmth.
They walked like this until the moon had travelled a good ways across the sky, the forest thickening around them, the cold deepening. Then, in the dead of night, Augum smelled burning cedar. Even just the thought of a fire warmed him. The others smelled it too, for their noses were sniffing this way and that, eagerly searching out the source of that delicious scent.
Thomas stopped, gesturing to huddle close. “You are all wanted by the Legion, so we must take precautions. Let us speak to each other as family. I will play the father, you my children. We are walking north to join my wife—your mother—but along the way, bandits had beset upon us. Speak as little as possible. Let us walk loudly now so as not to appear unscrupulous.”
Everyone nodded, teeth chattering. Soon they were plodding forward again. Augum tightened his hood further, dreaming of a warm bed and fire. Bridget and Leera walked together, heads buried in their hoods. Mya’s cheeks and nose were red, jet hair stiff, breathing labored. Sydo was the worst though, visibly shaking even with the gray wool blanket wrapped tightly about his shoulders. His red hair was frosty and askew.
A dog started barking up ahead. The group froze in their tracks.
“What the matter boy?” called a grizzled voice from the darkness in a thick commoner drawl. “Who be out there, huh? You there—declare you self!”
“Just a weary father and his children!” Thomas called back. “We seek
shelter and the warmth of a fire.”
“You not be no robbing scoundrel then? I have a bow and I’m a mean to feather you—”
“No need, we seek shelter and fire. My children and I are cold. We were robbed and have lost our way.”
Augum thought his great-grandfather did a passable job of sounding common.
“Aye, all right then—come forth already.”
As they approached, Augum was able to see a short man with a bushy beard and a tremendous nose, dressed in thick brown furs, a wolf cap, tall turned-down hide boots, and a longbow, which he slung over his back once he had a good look at them. A great shaggy mastiff with black and brown fur strained on a leather leash, barking mightily. The pair stood before a log cabin with a pitched roof, just visible in the starlight, smoke huffing from its stone chimney. The cabin sat above the snowline on a platform of wooden planks, its windows shuttered. Iron traps, rope, and skins hung on pegs above barrels. A shed and a small stable stood nearby.
“What in dog’s breath you doing out in the middle o’ the night in this here weather?” the man asked, blowing great gusts of steam while watching them with close-set brown eyes. “Miracle ye aren’t frozen stiff already, the whole bunch o’ you.” He shook his head, gesturing for them to follow with one hand while dragging the barking mastiff along with the other. He led them to a door made of thick cedar logs, carefully fitted to keep out the cold. As soon as he turned the crude handle, Augum felt a draft of thick hot air. The group eagerly piled inside.
“All right there, Catcher, that a boy … let him sniff your hands, that’s it now … you’re such a good boy, aren’t you?”
They let the dog rub up against them, tail wagging, shoving them about with his great body while they desperately warmed themselves by the hearth. Mya shivered and sneezed. Sydo shook so violently Mya had to brace him. Bridget and Leera’s teeth chattered as they rubbed their hands over the flames. Thomas gave a harsh cough that bent him over double. When his fit subsided, Augum noticed wrinkles on the face where there were none before, and there was even a tuft of silver hair protruding from his naked scalp.
“Father, you’re looking weary.”
Thomas did not respond, keeping his attention on the flames, shivering hands extended like the rest of them.
“So where ye be from? Not from near abouts, I have to say.” The man fetched a large battered kettle. “Your smell be mighty peculiar too.”
Thomas drew the blanket tighter around himself, preventing a glimpse of his naked chest. “We’re travelling north to find my wife, their mother.”
“Oh? And you wouldn’t be fugitives now from that there Legion? I don’t be needing no trouble.” After giving a stern eye, he broke out in a grin and waved dismissively. “Bah—but then I don’t rightly reckon I care too much. Everybody who running nowadays be running from them brutes. Get one plowing through here every now and then.”
“No, as I say, we’re only travelling north in search of their mother.”
The man grunted. “As you say then.”
While Augum’s hands warmed up, he peered around the single-roomed cabin. The log walls were crowded with mounted animal heads, skins, snowshoes, hunting bows, and traps. Shadows swayed in rhythm with the crackling fire. The floor was made of dirty wooden planks, partially covered by a black bearskin rug. Near the hearth sat a great pile of cut wood, a saw, and an axe. A copper washbasin and pitcher stood on a washstand nearby. There was a rustic trestle harvest table surrounded by several crude stools, and a ladder going up to a cramped attic sleeping loft.
The man opened the door briefly and filled the kettle with snow. He then pushed past them and set it on the fire, stirring the logs with an iron. The stench of him was foul—it was all Augum could do not to hold his nose, yet he didn’t want to offend the man lest they find themselves back out in the freezing cold. Sydo had a harder time of it, scrunching his face in disgust.
“What’s the doggone matter with your brother? He sick or somethin’?”
“Been feeling under the weather of late—” Leera replied in an excellent country twang.
“Aye, the weasel not be looking too good there, lass. Best take good care o’ him.”
Sydo looked mutinous and was readying to deliver a stinging rebuke when Leera dug her elbow into his ribs, sending him into a coughing fit instead. The dog started barking along, making the grizzled man wheeze with laughter.
“You be needing more o’ them blankets?” he asked between snorts.
“That would be fine,” Mya replied, catching herself curtsying.
The trapper fetched a pile of yellow wool blankets and handed them out. They had holes and the stench of them was awful, but staying warm outweighed any such inconveniences.
“So what news from out yonder?”
Thomas scrunched his brow but did not reply.
“The Legion is burning them villages—” Augum said, taking a shot at the vernacular. He didn’t need a look from Leera to know it was terrible.
One of the trapper’s thick brows rose. “Aye, I do declare I be hearing the same from Tornvale. That there Legion took all them men, leaving only women, wee children, and old and sick.”
“Tornvale? Is that some there village near?” Bridget asked, reddening. Leera had to turn away and place a hand on her mouth to prevent from cracking up—Bridget’s spurious drawl was even worse than Augum’s.
The man eyed her as if about to laugh. “About a days’ walk east. I run and sell me furs there.” He clapped his great belly. “They be callin’ me Frankie the Trapper.”
“I be understanding,” Bridget said with a forced chuckle.
Augum instantly knew it was too much. The trapper boomed a laugh. He clapped Thomas on the back with a meaty hand. “Say there, feller, you got yourself some bastards here—” and laughed even harder.
Bridget reddened while Leera had to place both hands over her mouth to stop from laughing along. Even Augum had to pretend to wipe his mouth because otherwise he would have broken up.
“Don’t you be worrying now, I hear ye stranger—got me a few o’ them bastards tucked away with me country wives, I do!” His shoulders heaved up and down as great fits of wheezing chuckles escaped like the steam from his giant kettle, which he unhooked and carried over to the trestle table as his snickering subsided.
“M’lord, do you by chance have something to drink?” Mya asked, eyeing two copper tankards on the table.
“ ‘M’lord’? Why look, now I be a lord! By gods, if you be country folk then I be the Lord o’ the Legion, har!” and he went off in another fit, this time joined by howls from the mastiff. The combo was too much for Leera, who simply cracked, falling to the floor heaving with unrestrained laughter. Of course, that was all it took for Augum to lose his composure too. Soon, everyone was in hysterics, even Thomas and Sydo, both laughing as if unfamiliar with such a thing.
“Aye, you not be needing that there twang round me,” the trapper gurgled, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Now, lass, to answer your question, all I have is this here ale, but I give you full use of me fire to boil your own water.” He snagged the tankards and tipped them up to an oaken cask. “Don’t you all be worrying, I also be fixing this here stew.” He grabbed the kettle and poured the steaming water into a bucket, stirring it with an iron rod. Satisfied the contents were mixed, he ladled a generous portion into a grimy wooden bowl, before passing it to Mya, who immediately passed it on to Sydo.
Augum studied his great-grandfather, worried about what was happening to the man. The laughter made him sit more at ease, though his forehead had developed wrinkles, along with the corners of the eyes. His chin had developed jowls and his neck sagged. Bridget had noticed it too, and though her face showed alarm, she said nothing.
“What about you, m’lord, have you heard any news of late?” Mya asked, carefully accepting a tankard of ale and taking a sip. She winced and promptly passed it on.
The trapper’s face darkened as he pulled up a stoo
l. “Aye, I be hearing things,” he said quietly, bringing the tankard to his lips. “I know that there Legion be building a grand ol’ army, taking all the men and even some of the wee boys from the villages. They be getting ready for something—word is war. Folks be saying they be dabbling in magic and the like too—demons and spawns o’ hell and other unspeakable sort. And they be searching far and wide for some magical artifacts and the like, making this and that promise.”
He finished off his ale with one long swig, eyeing them with squinting eyes. He tipped the empty tankard to the cask and refilled it before continuing. “Aye, but you know the common folk be believing everything the Legion be saying, joining up to their causes and the like, eager for war. I can’t rightly blame them. Food’s tough to come by nowadays, what with the markets closed or burnt to a cinder and all. That there Legion be providing barley and shelter and protection. Word is, if you don’t show proper enthusiasm though, they be turning you into a walking corpse, which is just your usual commoner rubbish, if you be asking me.”
The trio’s eyes met briefly.
“So have you seen the Legion much around here?” Augum asked, barely holding Catcher back, who was trying to get at Bridget’s stew.
“Aye, them Black Guard be patrolling here and there, though I be lucky they haven’t seen me, or they’d be dragging me out to fight them wars. If there be one thing me pops taught me, it was to hide when I need to hide, and I be hiding well.” The trapper raised his tankard. “And you’d be wise to heed that there advice and stay off them roads.”
“Would it be possible to stay here a day or two and warm by your fire?” Thomas asked in a voice that seemed to have deepened in the short time since he last spoke.
“You be welcome to stay as long as you can hunt and find your own food. I need me stocks to make it through this here winter, you understand. Tomorrow I be trapping, maybe going to town come dusk—haven’t gone in a whiles, you see— but I can lend you a trap if you likes.”
“Thank you, that is most kind,” Thomas replied, suddenly overcome by a coughing fit.