by Grey, T. A.
The seer looked at Alrik and smiled, his white teeth dazzling against his dark skin. “Shall you ask anyway? People like that. They don’t enjoy knowing that I already know what they’re going to say. I believe it makes them feel more comfortable.”
“Where is my mother?”
The seer jumped up to a stand, surprising Alrik with his agility. The man sounded as if speaking was a chore yet he hopped up with the spring of a child.
The seer was guessed to be older than the kingdom of Harumina itself and yet he looked no older than Alrik did. Surely, he was a shahoulin demon like Alrik, because they aged much slower than some species of earth.
Still smiling, the seer walked to a cupboard hanging on the stone wall and grabbed something off the shelf. With a few more movements, the seer walked to the candle standing in the corner of the room, and with a smoke pressed between his lips he breathed deeply as the candle sparked. The smoke’s end lit brightly as he inhaled.
“Smoke?” the seer asked without glancing at him.
“No,” Alrik said, his patience waning fast. “Answer my question, seer.”
The seer pulled the smoke from between his wrinkled lips and stared at the tip before turning it back around and casually sucking from the end. The scent of burning herbs reached Alrik’s nostrils. The odor was not unpleasant but close to it.
“You’re asking the wrong question, fallen king.”
Alrik squeezed his sword then deposited it back in the scabbard across his back. “Stop calling me that.”
The seer’s dark eyebrows flew up in surprise, and Alrik wasn’t fooled. The seer wasn’t surprised by anything. “What? The fallen king? You are fallen, aren’t you? Were you not banished from your home for all your…horrible deeds?”
Alrik’s blood pumped hard with the need to lash out. The need to tear across the small space, wrap his hand around the old seer’s throat, and squeeze—squeeze until his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his wheezing breaths stopped. He didn’t do that though. Instead, he released a strangled breath and bared his teeth.
“Where is my mother?”
“Ah, yes, the fallen queen,” the seer said, still smiling and puffing away at his smoke. “That’s not the right question to ask. Try another, fallen king.”
“How can I find my mother?”
The seer rocked his head side to side as if contemplating.
“You are very close to death right now,” warned Alrik “I’d answer if I were you.”
The seer tossed his head back and laughed a hoarse, wheezing sound. When he looked back at Alrik, his grin was broader and his dark eyes bright with amusement. “You can’t kill me, fallen king.”
“Want to bet on that, seer?”
The seer spread his arms out wide until his body formed a T. “You need me.”
Alrik looked away. It was either that or risk tearing the seer apart limb by limb. God, just the thought of it sent a rush of pleasure through him. The howl of his screams would fuel him better than any food, the sight of his spurting blood like a balm to his heart.
“Answer the question,” he said slowly, his eyes closing as he enjoyed the mental image of killing the seer with his bare hands.
Silence met him. Alrik pushed back the dark thoughts and opened his eyes to find the seer watching him, no longer smiling.
“How you can find her or where you can find her is not important, and you already know the answer.”
“All that I know, seer, is that she’s in the rift.”
The seer shrugged a slender shoulder.
“I’m sure you know how big the rift is, seer.”
“She’s here. You’ll find her eventually, but you already know that. You don’t need me for that.”
Alrik frowned. “Then why the fuck else am I here?”
Again, the seer smiled. “Because you don’t know how to kill her.”
Alrik’s body stilled, each muscle tensing. “I’ll slice her head off with my blade and if that doesn’t work, I’ll turn to magic as she has.”
The seer laughed then sat back down on the rug at the fire, leaving a trail of smoke behind him. “But you can’t kill her.”
“What do you mean I can’t kill her?” he asked slowly.
That’s all he’d thought about, all he’d planned for years. He’d been searching for her for years, always either one step behind or completely off her trail through some form of her treachery. He was done. This would end soon. He’d make sure of it.
The seer looked him up and down. “Your curse won’t let you. The queen isn’t stupid. When she cursed you she made sure that if you ever learned of her deceit you couldn’t kill her. Since surely you’d want to.”
‘Want’ was such a lame word. He didn’t want to kill his mother, he needed to. He needed to as much as needed air to live.
“How do I break the curse upon me then?”
“By killing her, of course.”
Alrik’s fists clenched until his blunt nails stabbed into his skin. He felt the skin give and blood bead. “But you said I can’t kill her.”
“No, you can’t.”
Alrik nearly saw red. “Then how do I kill her?”
“It’s not a how so much as a who. See, you’re not asking the right questions.”
Alrik blinked, the only sign he gave to show the shock in his body. “Who can kill her?” The thought of anyone else ever delivering the killing blow to his mother had never, not even once, crossed his mind.
The seer laughed and rubbed his hands together. “The most unlikely person, naturally. A woman, a human woman.”
Alrik took a hard step forward and pointed a hard finger at the seer. “Stop messing with me, seer. A human, let alone a woman, could never kill my mother and you know it.”
“But this human is a witch.” His eyes turned into a faraway look, unfocused and hazy. “Though there is a bit of a problem with that.”
As if this wasn’t a problem already. “And what’s that?”
The seer didn’t respond for several moments. His eyes were lost in thought. Finally, the haze left him and he tossed the end of his smoke into the burning fire. “She hasn’t used her magic in a very long time. She shuns it.”
Alrik shook his head. “This is ridiculous. You mean to tell me that the only way to kill my mother and lift the curse from me is through a human witch who doesn’t even practice her skill?”
“Precisely!” the seer said with a smile.
Alrik looked away, lost in his own thoughts. “You’re certain she is the one?”
“Oh yes.”
A human witch. If she could kill his mother then she must be very powerful indeed. The human aspect would be a downside. That means he’d have to go to the surface to get her and she’d have a harder time adjusting to the environment in the rift. But, it could work. The fact that she doesn’t practice her own magic would have to be remedied right away. He needed her power at its fullest for when they reached the queen.
“What is her name?”
The seer’s lips lifted into another smile. “Abbigail Krenshaw.”
Alrik frowned. “That’s a strange name.”
“Maybe to her your name is strange.”
“Maybe so. How do I find her?”
The seer shrugged but a smart glimmer in his eyes said he did know. But he stayed silent.
God, the surface. He hadn’t been there...in ages. The last time was before the Great War and even then he preferred his richer, brighter colors of the rift than the dull colors of the earthen-realm.
“Fine.” Alrik turned without a goodbye and headed back towards the hall. He’d just stepped foot onto the dark path when the seer spoke.
“She’ll die in the process.”
Alrik looked over his shoulder at the seer. “Then so be it.”
The seer’s merry laughter echoed around him as he stalked away with his next quest on his mind.
Chapter Three
Abbigail stretched her tight muscles as she got out
of the car. The sun was entirely too bright today…like it was trying to sear her eyeballs. Stupid sun. It wasn’t the sun’s fault she hadn’t been sleeping well.
She’d never been a great sleeper because she woke at the slightest of noises. Her mother said it was paranoia. Whatever it was she had a hard time sleeping and it didn’t help that she lived alone. At least with a roommate she felt some added comfort and could sleep mildly better.
Abby pinched her eyes into slits to hide the brutal sunlight and grabbed her mail from the mailbox. She pulled out a stack of mail and flipped through the envelopes as she strode back to the house.
“Bill, bill, wrong address, junk, junk, more junk...” she muttered.
She paused as her gaze landed on the last envelope. The envelope was tinted yellow, the paper thick and scratchy like parchment. It certainly didn’t look like any kind of envelope she’d ever received before. Then again, companies that sent out junk mail did seem to be finding more creative ways to get people to open their trash mail.
The tall black cursive letters on the front read: To Abbigail Krenshaw then listed her address below in the same unique scrawl that looked like something from an older era. No return address, and Just a stamp. She flipped the envelope over and her brow drew down in confusion. A black seal made of wax covered the V-closing of the envelope.
Apparently, this was no envelope you licked closed. Certainly not something you’d see from a credit card company trying to get you to apply for a high-interest, low-limit card. She fingered the material and touched the seal feeling the waxy material under her fingertip. Some symbols marked the seal, but it was hard to make out. It just looked like something official. There were two poles curving left and right on the outside with a regal bird’s head in the middle. Peering closer, she corrected herself. Swords, not poles. She could just make out the handles and the edge of the blades if she looked hard enough but not any details of the bird’s head.
“What the...” she said under her breath.
Just to make sure she flipped the strange envelope back over and ensured that it was indeed her name on the letter. Yup, sure was. A strange feeling filled her, starting in her gut and working its way up to the back of her neck until the little hairs stood on end.
She had to sit down for this. Heading back to the house she plopped down on her sofa. Dropping the rest of the mail on her chipped coffee table, she propped her feet up on it and leaned back to inspect the letter.
She hadn’t noticed something before. She had been taking in too many other things on the letter: the handwriting, the seal, but now she noticed it. The worn look to it. As if it’d been crumbled again and again or passed between many hands. Where the envelope should be smooth and firm, the paper was wrinkled and weak, and one corner was bent.
“I’m stalling,” she muttered.
Taking a deep breath, she flipped the envelope over and peeled back the seal; it popped off with a soft snapping sound. A heavy ball formed in her gut. It was almost as if she knew what it was before she even pulled the letter out, which had to be impossible. Maybe a part of her did know, could feel it.
She pulled the yellowed letter out of the envelope, folded thrice. It too was wrinkled and crumpled. This paper was much thinner than the envelope and softer but not as wrinkled like the envelope. The front and back were covered in handwriting of the same elegant, heavily inked hand.
It took effort to keep her hands steady, but she managed it as she parted the folds and opened the letter.
She read it slowly, her feelings so confused she didn’t try to control or understand it. As she read the last word on the page, her chest twisted so tightly that her heart felt like it was being wrung like a wet rag in someone’s hands. She took deep breaths and read it again.
Dearest Abbigail,
I’ve started this letter so many times only to throw it away.
What does a man say to his child? His child whom he’s never met, but watched from afar. I’m afraid, dear Abbigail, that there is no way for me to tell you any of this gently. I only hope that you read this and that you can understand.
I met the love of my life many, many years ago and I lost her. She was taken, stolen from me. She’s been lost for a long time. I was nearly lost to despair, even with my own three girls to raise. I think that made it even harder. I couldn’t break down like my heart wanted to. I couldn’t hide or leave them to search for her. I had to be here because they’d lost someone special too. That woman was my wife, my Protector, Mary Bellum.
One day a new light entered my world. It was so unexpected. I don’t know if I could even describe it. My children made me happy. They filled me with love, but there was and always will be a gaping hole in my heart. Nothing could fill it, or so I thought. The day I met your mother all of that changed. It was as if I could breathe a full breath of air for the first time in so long. I wanted to fall to my knees before her and cry in joy. Naturally, that wouldn’t have been very brave of me, so instead I asked your mother out and she said yes.
She said yes. She changed my life.
Then, something else that I’d never thought possible happened. She had a child. Our child.
I can still remember the feeling. It was like so much happiness and joy had been shoved into my chest it might burst. I didn’t know if I could contain it. However, things can never be perfect. I missed my mate dearly. Even though I loved your mother dearly, she could never fill the whole in my chest fully. No matter how much I wanted her to.
This is where I falter. What to say next? Nothing could ever replace my not being there for you, though from afar I was. I saw your pictures as you grew up, could hear your small voice in the background when I called your mother on the phone. I heard and watched you grow up into a lovely, smart, and charming young woman. A man and a father, dare I say, could never be prouder than I am of you, dear Abbigail. Please believe that.
The day your mother told me you punched a girl in the face after she started a fight with your shapeshifter friend, I grinned in pride. The day your science project won the highest reward in both high school and college brought me to tears. Your mind, darling girl, nothing, and I mean nothing, is more beautiful than that.
Now, for the hard news. I wish I didn’t have to tell you like this. Just once in my life I wanted to pull you into my arms and feel you there, to sit across from you and hear your voice in person. It breaks my heart to think of it. Maybe I should have done more. God, it’s something I’ve struggled with every single day since the day you were born.
However, I have one fatal flaw. I’ve loved one woman in my life and she is gone. Nothing and no one can replace that. I hope one day you understand that feeling.
You need to know that if you’re reading this letter then I am no longer on this earth. I have met my Great Death and moved on to the next life. Perhaps it’s my own cowardice waiting until now to send this letter, but I didn’t know what else to do.
The point of this letter, the point of my writing you is to tell you that I love you. I love you so much that just writing the words on a piece of paper can’t possibly show you just how much I feel or explain how I can love someone so utterly and dearly without ever meeting them. But I do. How I do, Abbigail. Please, if nothing else in this letter, believe that. Believe me. I love you.
I want you to know you have three sisters. Chloe, Willow, and the youngest Lily. You have sisters. If you’re as courageous as I think you are then I know you’ll seek them out, and I sincerely hope you do. It’s my hope now that you can be a family together in a way I could never provide. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me.
With all my love,
May 15, 2011
Francis Jeremiah Bellum
Tears formed at her eyes. She blinked and two dropped onto the letter splattering wetly across the words. She rubbed gently at them as she sucked in a ragged breath. She made sure to be careful, not wanting the wetness to smudge the ink.
She sat the letter on the cushion next
to her and stared off at the wall, her mind turning slowly trying to put the pieces together. After some time, her mind returned to normal speed. Her body slowly relaxed and the weight on her chest gradually released. The tight knot in her gut faded. Her body relaxed as best it could considering what just happened.
She knew what she had to do. She just wasn’t sure she wanted to do it. But she had to.
She went to the kitchen, picked up the phone, and dialed the numbers she called many times a week. Her mother answered on the second ring.
“Hey, baby. How you doin’?”
She could hear the sounds of people chattering in the background. The soft Celtic music her mother always listened to playing gently. She was at work.
“I got a strange letter in the mail.”
Silence. Abby’s gut feeling came roaring back to life. She gripped the counter in her hand, squeezing tight to the surface until her knuckles locked and blanched. Her eyes fixed on some indescript point on the white stucco wall of her kitchen.
“Mom?”
“I think we need to talk,” her mother said gently. She heard her mother’s voice break. The sound crushed her heart as if a fist gripped it. She could never stand the sound of her mother crying without feeling the same emotional pull inside her.
Abby’s fist clenched tighter around the lip of the counter. “About what?” she managed to ask over her own clogged throat.
“It’s about your father.”
It was then that Abbigail Krenshaw’s life changed.
* * *
By the time Abbigail arrived at her mother’s magic shop aptly named Magic Shoppe, her mother had cleared out all guests, sent the employees home, and closed shop. This left the parking lot completely empty except for her mother’s green Volkswagen Bug parked off to the side. The shop didn’t have many employees, and mom had two coworkers under her. Both were witches who practiced magic in the same circle as her.
Her mom even managed to pull in a decent amount of profit from her shop. Abbigail thought the idea was hilarious when her mom first told her some eleven years ago that she’d be opening a “new age” store. She stopped laughing when her mom sold her fifty-year old home with bad plumbing and shoddy insolation and upgraded to a brand new two-story house in the suburbs. It was far from a mansion but wasn’t close to being a dump either.