Sparsely decorated, the table and four mismatched rickety chairs were the main features of the room. Two rockers sat in corners of the other side. A tiny cooking area occupied the back wall. Handmade, brown braided rugs covered the stone floor. Although the furnishings showed wear, the room seemed tidy.
“Now, that trade you spoke about. Let’s quibble.” Mrinx sat at the table, a gleam in her eyes. “You be not from Terza. What have you come to find?”
“We’re here to gain a cure for a black magic plague that is killing our people. Our powers are ineffectual,” Cullen replied.
Mrinx leaned forward on her elbows. “How do they suffer?”
“The illness shows with symptoms of scarlet hemorrhaging underneath the skin, but no open lesions, and a marked fever. In later stages, they vomit blood.”
She exchanged a look with her son, then nodded at Lyra. “I’ve seen a sample of her power—strong and not any seen here. Yours must be similar. What be your offer?”
“We can conjure any riches you desire,” Lyra answered.
“Treasure is of no value to us Malificates, only to the shallow, soulless Vizards. For us, power be freedom. You may make only one more offer.”
“Can you supply us with a cure for the illness?” Cullen asked. “How can we be certain of your end of the bargain?”
Lesot leaned over Cullen’s shoulder. “Come with me.” He waved a hand and another cloud of dark smoke formed. Behind it appeared a small door. Carrying the candle, he ducked his tall frame and led the group down a staircase.
“Illume!” Mrinx called out. Again, her pendant faces and figures writhed. Tapers lit in three chandeliers.
The room contrasted with the living quarters in every way except the dingy color scheme. On every inch of the walls hung chains, amulets, and preserved heads of strange animals. A crow-like taxidermy bird on one wall came to life, flew to the opposite wall, and resettled into what looked like a museum specimen.
“Stillness, Rant,” the old woman scolded.
Two large work tables filled the center, resembling the alchemical laboratories where Eburscon and Tarom worked. In place of their mazes of blown glass tubes were networks of metal pipes. Along one wall, a fireplace held three cauldrons.
“As you see, we be capable of creating a potion.” Lesot motioned them to sit on tall stools at one table.
“One of your power jewels we don’t have in this underground would seal the deal,” Mrinx suggested, reaching toward the tip of Cullen’s staff.
He pulled it to his side. “Not an option.”
“You each have so many—rings and pins.” She chuckled while stroking the feathers of the dead-looking black bird. “Choose wisely.”
Cullen shook his head.
“Resto servat brillio magia paro Mrinx,” the old witch declared, and Cullen’s jadestone brooch appeared in her hand.
He attempted to lunge off his stool and found himself unable. The hand on his staff gripped harder and harder until the knuckles turned white, but the staff remained dark.
“You best tell how to work this, or you’ll meet that scorpent again.” Mrinx turned the brooch over in her palm.
The paired jadestones had helped Lyra and Cullen save each other’s lives. Lyra knew those powers couldn’t be lost. Her own glowed a warning in response to the theft.
“What here? Yours be set to operate. How?” the witch asked.
“It calls to its mate,” Lyra replied.
“Well, then I’ll own that one too.”
“No! Wait! I have something else you’ll like better.” Lyra’s arm couldn’t move. “Please allow me to get into my bag.”
Mrinx nodded and lifted the spell.
Hoping the witch could read, Lyra pulled out the document of her bloodswear quest and offered it to her.
Cullen’s eyes widened. “You can’t give her that.”
“Hmm. Why not? That good?” Mrinx asked, her eyes shining. She eagerly scanned the pages. Something caught her attention. She glanced up. “Lesot, come here.” Together they poured over the report.
Finally, she looked at Lyra. “When was this happening?”
“Recently.”
“You give information about a power upset in Dragonspeir—reasons for war. I can use this to trade for respect and position, a better life for me and my son. Our deal be set.”
Chapter Four: Obsidian Dust
“How long will it take you to make the potion?” Lyra asked. “We’re in a hurry to save sick people.”
“We start now. I think only a short while. They suffer from the Sanguinous Low Pestilence, a quick killer. Since I last concocted this, was a long time.”
The big black bird sprang back to life and sailed around the room screeching, “Caw! Caw!”
Busy at a work table, Mrinx didn’t take time to silence it. Instead, Lesot held out an arm where the bird took a quiet perch on his shoulder.
“I don’t remember this potion,” Lesot said.
“You were jest a child. Here, grind these dried trochent eyes.” She handed him a stock jar of shriveled eyeballs, and her pendant figures passed a mortar and pestle.
The bird tipped its head down low, its tail jerking wildly to maintain balance while watching the procedures.
Mrinx paused and opened a large, worn leather-bound grimoire. “Spectaculae en hastium!”
One of her pendants flew up, carrying reading glasses to her nose.
She snatched the pair and parted the wads of her frizzy hair to wind the curved earpieces into place. “Pinch of mettlehammer.” After collecting a bottle from the wall shelves, she added the ingredient and returned to the spell book. “Chattle piss—one squiff. Rant, if you don’t mind.”
The bird hopped down Lesot’s outstretched arm and hovered at the edge of the cauldron. It lifted its tail and contributed to the brew. The steam rising to its feathers made the bird wobble. Once it regained some balance, it flew back to a safer position at the far end of the table near Lyra and Cullen, greeting them with another screech.
Glancing behind her to make sure no roaming hands or wings reached for her from the walls, Lyra backed away from the intimidating bird.
“Rant, manners with our guests,” Lesot reprimanded.
Cullen moved beside Lyra and whispered into her ear, “None of the people we’ve met here seem to recognize where we’re from by our dress. But, these two know our land by name. You may have given away too much.”
“It’s a chance I had to take. People are dying. I’ll accept responsibility for my mistakes.”
He squeezed her hand. Although he didn’t send any hidden thought, she understood his gesture.
Mrinx selected an amulet and another jar from the wall. “Lyra, since you gave a generous trade offer, I’ll include another level of magic. This striated obsidian dust will protect all your folk from catching any future dark illness.”
“Strong stuff.” Her son nodded. “The source of Malificate power.”
”Thank you very much,” Lyra said, leaning around the cackling bird to watch the special substance being added. Black powder glittered like sequins in the candlelight. When it contacted the liquid, the mixture bubbled to the rim of the cauldron and rose in a sparkling vapor.
“Quick! Bring hands over the pot to take in the magic,” Mrinx urged her guests, with a wave of her arm. “Like this.” She rubbed her hand together as though washing in the steam. “Will help protect you from dark spells for the short.”
Lyra cautiously slipped one hand into the mist. “Oh!” She jerked her arm back. “It tickles.” When she replaced it, black glitter coated her skin. At the spot of the degus bite, the residual aches in her deep shin tissues relaxed. “It works! It finished healing my leg.” She looked to Cullen, who followed and joined her, rubbing his hands vigorously in the vapor.
The bubbles of the concoction began to spit, then steam receded. “It be finished.” Mrinx gave a final stir with a wooden spoon before she stepped to the shelves. “How many wells hav
e you where people be taken ill?” She looked back at Lyra and Cullen.
“Six wells supply drinking water where residents are affected. Dozens more are used for agriculture, with livestock and crops,” Cullen replied.
“Can’t make black magic potion enough for all. I’m short on obsidian dust, and it’ll take more than a day to slake more from our mines. What I’ve brewed will mend folks through the drinking wells, but no more.” She transferred six green bottles from a shelf to the work table and used a funnel to pour the steaming liquid into each. “Resto en totalle!” she declared as she waved a hand above the open containers. After her hand passed, vapor throughout the room pulled together into wisps, colliding and swirling in a tangle as if trying to determine which bottle contained the liquid from which they came. When all the steam rejoined the appropriate sample, Mrinx corked each. She handed the bottles to her guests. “Be certain to keep them sealed until you begin stating the imprecation. Your words will seep the magic gases into the well waters.”
Cullen fitted half of the bottles into his pack. “Lyra, you take the other three for safety, in case…”
She nodded and accepted the remaining ones, trying to block his frightening thought. “What is the imprecation?”
“Saturificate entrend e billify din aquifer en totalle!”
Lyra repeated the words. “Will you write it down?”
Mrinx shook her head. “We cannot risk our Malificate spells known to any Vizards or Rotters.”
Cullen stated the phrase aloud while Lyra continued silent repetitions, committing the incantation to memory.
“After that be done, dip and serve samples to each, ill or well, to treat and protect,” Mrinx added. She glanced over her son’s shoulder as he read Lyra’s manuscript of her recent bloodswear quest.
“They will still risk lives, without more for treating all waterways.” He pointed out a passage to her. “Maybe…I’ve seen this on Kon’s bookshelf.”
Lyra strained, trying to determine which page they read. “Is there something you recognize?” she asked, prompting them to talk openly.
“This Book of Dragonspeir you mention…I’ve seen that title in the collection of one of ours,” Lesot replied, glancing up at her “You write that there are missing books in the original set of five, that they could make power to your leader.”
Cullen leaned forward, gripping the table. “Do you recall the author’s name?”
“‘Fraid not. I’ve been trying to think of the name. I paged through that book once while I waited on Kon to slap some trade supplies for my mother.”
“Was it Brigid? Sorcha? Nareene?”
“No, didn’t start with those sounds. More like an ‘el’ sound.”
“Elisabeth?”
“Yes. That be it.”
Lyra grabbed Cullen’s arm. “We need to come back after that copy of Elisabeth’s book.”
His eyes wide, he shook his head but remained speechless.
She addressed Lesot. “Will your friend allow us to have his book?”
Lesot scratched his head and smiled. “For a high price. Kon be one of the elders, like my mother. He’s shrewd to drive a bargain, for sure after he reads this and knows its worth to you.”
Mrinx nodded. “Make payment willing. Bring something good with you.”
“I’m not certain possessing only one more book will enhance the Imperial Dragon’s power,” Cullen said to Lyra. “We’ll need to discuss the matter with him first. He may advise against the risk of returning.”
The glint in his eyes told Lyra more than his words, and she played along. “Yes, the Guardians all have told me it’s the entire set that will deliver great power, not a single volume. It would only be a chance that one would help.”
“Well, if you decide to return, look for us to take you to Kon. It will go better on you,” the witch said. “For me and my son, your trade be handsome, and I can strike in a good word for you with my colleague. Now, let’s get you out as safe as can be.” She looked to Lesot. “You go. I’m old and slow. Take them along the far flap to the outer cross. From there, they’ll have to go on alone.”
He nodded. “Do you wish some food or drink before we go?”
“Just some water. We need to get back soon,” Lyra answered, pulling the bottles of water from her bag.
Back upstairs in the tiny kitchen, Mrinx worked the handle of a small pump attached to the side of a cracked and stained porcelain sink. When water came, she held a glass under the flow and filled another for Lesot. “It be safe, but likely different than you know.”
Particles clouded the water in the glass the witch held, and the air smelled of the same sulfur stench in the tunnels.
“Let’s start on our way,” Cullen said as he returned his empty bottle to Lyra.
Lesot led them to the door.
Mrinx’s pendants clamored, climbing and flying upward under her chin until she gently patted them down. “They want to say goodbyes. Lyra, you have given us more than you know. I hope to see you yet again here, and maybe someday I can see your power stars.” She extended both hands to Lyra.
“Thank you for helping us.” Lyra added hers to make a four-hand clasp. “I would like very much to show you my stars.” She noticed a tiny tear seeping from one of the witch’s eyes and pulled her into a hug. “I’m glad I gave you a way to make your lives better.”
Lesot hurried their guests out the door and along many turns through a maze of alleys. When they darted across a thoroughfare tunnel, smoke hung in the air, a dull haze under the streetlamps. However, Lyra noticed her mind remained clear. She was grateful for the protection of the obsidian dust. With no time to ask Lesot how it worked, she scurried to keep pace, since he moved fast with large strides of his long, thin legs.
Near the center of the merchant area, he stopped several times, motioning them to drop behind waste bins or discarded wooden crates. Often, he pretended to be sifting through trash while Vizards appeared on doorsteps. When the alleyway cleared, he scooted them along faster than they could travel over the dark, uneven stone. A couple of times, when Lyra or Cullen knocked over some debris, Lesot pushed them down behind cover and waited.
Eventually, the footpath opened onto a wide passage, a short distance from any window lights in homes or businesses. He extended both hands, one to Cullen and the other to Lyra. “This be the farthest I may take you without risk. Thanks be to you and fare you well.”
Moving closer to accept his hand, Lyra noticed his forehead seemed more deeply furrowed with lines than she remembered earlier.
Laughter sounded nearby. “Be off fast.” Lesot withdrew into the shadows of the alley.
The passage seemed to be a connector between villages, lit only by the glow of inclusions in obsidian rock. Cullen took hold of Lyra’s hand, and they ran along the wide tunnel, supporting each other whenever unbalanced by the uneven stone.
After running for several minutes, Lyra panted and needed to slow, but forced herself to keep the pace. This seemed to be a longer path than the one they took with Scrunt. Hopefully, it was safer.
When they approached a small connector, shuffling noises drew her attention. Passing through, she peered into the empty blackness, but saw nothing.
“Stop!” a man’s voice shouted after they jogged through the next intersection.
“Keep moving.” Cullen glanced at Lyra and kept running.
“I said stop!” Footsteps thumped behind them. A cloud of smoke formed above their heads and slowly descended, blocking their vision.
“Go ahead of me,” Cullen spit out between gasps for air.
Lyra struggled to breathe, the smoke burning her lungs, but adrenaline powered her legs faster.
“Help me catch those two! My smoke won’t work,” the same voice yelled.
“Right!” another replied.
Lyra couldn’t determine how many followed, their footsteps echoing off the walls in a deafening roar.
Abruptly, the hooded head of a giant snake loo
med into her face.
She stopped cold, and her heart jumped into her throat. She opened her mouth to scream, but her fiery throat only let out a squeak.
Unable to stop quickly enough, Cullen ran into her back, and Lyra braced herself to not fall forward, closer to the monster. When she regained her balance, she noticed the torso of jointed pincher legs and rattler tail of a scorpent.
“I knew that’d stop them.” A tall, wiry-framed Vizard walked around them and stood beside the monster. He patted the side of its neck and cackled while he casually fingered a hole in his ragged flannel shirt.
The scorpent shook its tail higher in the air and tasted the air with its forked tongue, drool dripping at Lyra’s feet.
“Heard this girl a hissin’ down the short lag and called to her.” Another Vizard stepped into sight. His mask dangled to one side, revealing charred tendons underneath. He came alongside Lyra. “Pardon, miss. Didn’t mean to scare you.” With a wicked laugh, he reattached the thin film of loose tissue and straightened his baggy jacket onto the bones of his shoulders.
“Good work, Dupe,” a third called from behind. “But no need to scare our guests. Leave that job to the lady ‘pent. At the Bellicose Bar, heard talk that Goibben had two strangers locked up to feed our demons. Those needing power were to be at the Roundhouse to touch the ones that got their bellies full, but the deal didn’t pan. ‘Spose this be the pair he had?”
“What I’m thinkin’,” Dupe said.
Saliva from the scorpent dropped onto Lyra’s head. She jerked into Cullen’s side and flinched as the drool burned her scalp. She fingered her ring and noticed Cullen clenching his staff, ready to strike.
“In that case, looks like we’ll be the first ones in line to get a big dose of power from this lady scorpent,” the third Vizard said as he walked into view. Hoisting his trousers up, he retied his rope belt.
“Count us fourth and fifth in that line.” More voices chimed in behind.
The scorpent’s hissing grew louder and reverberated off the stone, until Lyra’s mind spun.
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