Cold winter winds ruffled my hair as I lifted my sword clumsily, holding it as tightly as I could in my right hand. My stance was good. I even rotated to give myself a little advantage.
“Ready.” I nodded. Rol nodded back. Then he disarmed me with a single swing.
I kicked at the packed dirt of the training arena. We had been at this for hours. All day, in fact. We had stopped for lunch and gone straight back at it, but I still couldn’t handle a blade any better than a four-year-old child.
Rol retrieved my sword from the dirt and extended it toward me, hilt first.
“Put it down” I snarled. “This is useless.”
“Training is never useless,” he countered. I could have said that before he did. I’d heard it enough times. “Besides, you are not yet well from your wounds. The healers did not wish for you to begin as yet.”
“Don’t talk to me about healers.”
“Jasmina—”
“And don’t talk to me about her.” I stalked over to the small training forge and threw myself down on one of the benches, flat on my back. The fires felt warm on my cold skin, and they eased the ache in my bloody bandaged hand. Nothing eased the ache in my chest, though. Okay, so it had only been a couple of days since I lost my fingers, but I wanted to feel better faster. I needed to feel better. Jazz was back. I wanted to be my old self, go grab her, spend time with her.
But right now, I just couldn’t. Everything was getting on my nerves. Those harpies—I had to go talk to them. Acaw even said he would help, but facing them longer than a few seconds without being able to hold a sword—no way. I didn’t care how many magical bonds kept them still. If Jazz wasn’t right beside me, I couldn’t even use magic if I had to.
Rol entered the forge and sat down nearby. It always amazed me that such a huge guy could move without making a sound. That sure wasn’t a skill I’d picked up. He didn’t say a word, just went about cleaning, sharpening, and polishing the blades we had used. The scrape of oilstone on steel was so familiar, so right, yet so wrong all at the same time. I knew the feel of my blade better than I knew my own name, but when I touched it now, it felt alien. Like I’d never lifted it or used it to fight. My right hand just wasn’t up to the job. It got tired every few minutes, and I couldn’t coordinate it with my thoughts. I knew what I wanted the hand to do, but I couldn’t make it behave.
“Sorry,” I grumbled to Rol.
He grunted and scraped and polished.
I lifted my mangled hand. Man, did the filthy bandages ever need to be changed. But I couldn’t bear to see those stumps. Just the thought made me want to puke again. “I’m not mad at Jazz or anything. I just don’t want to take this out on her.”
Another grunt from Rol.
“Besides, she’s training Sherise, making sure the kid’s okay.”
“Sherise is a special witch,” Rol said. The sentence was so quiet I almost didn’t hear it. Besides, I was expecting a grunt.
“You think so, too?”
Rol leaned his sword against his bench and starred on mine. “Impulsive. Brash. Foolish at times, but very loyal. I think I could train her to a sword as well.”
My turn to grunt. “Kinda like me when I first got here?”
“Yes. Unfortunately for her. But I have hope.”
“She’s good for Todd.”
This brought silence. Then, “I am not certain Todd is good for her.”
“Hey.” I pushed myself up on my elbows, wincing as my wounded hand banged the wooden bench. “Todd needs somebody on his side.”
Rol snorted. “Todd needs frequent beatings with a rawhide strap.”
“That’s harsh.” I sat up and stared at the big guy. Even though it was nearly freezing outside, Rol still didn’t wear a shirt. His dark skin rippled as he worked my blade, bringing it to a razor edge and a bright shine. “Todd’s just young and impulsive like Sherise—like me.”
“Except for physical appearance, Todd is nothing like you.” Rol stopped his work on my sword. “I should think you could see this by now. While you were away, the whelp became practically unmanageable, as if he thought he might be king in your absence. I had hoped Dame Corey would force him to heel, but since you’ve returned, he barely respects even her. In the old days, she would have consigned him to life as a newt three times over.”
“But—”
“Son?” My dad came hurrying into the training arena lugging a huge wooden box. It was filled with pieces of folded parchment inside. Some of the notes were hopping up and down. “We’ve got some serious trouble here,” Dad said. “I need you to listen to some of these Shadowhispers.”
I could already hear them, and he wasn’t even halfway across the yard. Hag voices. Keepers singing their displeasure. Chirpy tones from whatever those librarians were. Modern witches, snarling away.
“...keeping those foul creatures in our barns...”
“...poor things. It’s so undignified...”
“…eating up our winter stores.”
“What kind of king leaves such a mess...”
“Spare the harpies!”
“Slay the harpies!”
“…that girl with the golem?”
“The oldeFolke are really the most upset.” Dad shouted over the racket as he reached the forge and set the box at my feet. “Winnie’s doing her best, but the Keepers are gathering the klatchKovens for a sit-down, and the hags won’t speak to anybody.”
“Winnie?” It was all I could say. I mean, I knew this was a serious situation, but… “Winnie?”
“Edwina. Jazz’s mother.” Dad blinked at me like I was a little nuts. “She’s down at oldeTowne now.”
“She is not.” Rol used my sword to point to the training arena entrance. A crowd was surging inside despite Dame Corey’s best efforts to hold them back without magical means. She shouted and pleaded, arms spread wide, but still they came, hags first, followed by klatch witches, moderns, elflings—it looked like half the town.
I looked at Dad one more time. “Winnie?”
He gave me a mighty frown, but his cheeks turned red. At least I won that round. Doubtful I’d win this next one.
Doing my best to rein my temper, I straightened my shoulders and strolled out of the meager cover offered by the small forge. At the sight of me, the crowd stopped moving, but kept up their shouting.
“The harpies should leave, leave, leave,” sang a klatchKeeper as male witches plugged their ears. I hoped Rol and Dad were doing the same, because this one was one majorly ugly eggplant with way too many teeth.
“Send them back to their own lands,” an elfling shouted as his crow-brother squawked. He looked a lot like Acaw, but then a lot of elflings looked like Acaw. Even some of the girls. “They are but beasts used by a witch with ill intent, and we should not harm them.”
“Justice!” A hag raised her fist, and her hag-spirit rose above her to hiss its approval. “We suffered more losses than any—a full dozen of our sisters slain. We have the right to blood-debt under all of the old laws!”
My hand throbbed. I felt sweat break across my forehead even though it was way past cold outside. What could I do? I agreed with the hag, but I had made my deal with Jazz, and she was right a lot of the time. Anything I said would piss off half the group, and I had no magic to stop them, not without Jazz beside me. Dame Corey and Rol would do what they could, but the hags were strong, and really, really mad.
“I hear you,” I shouted over the dull roar. Behind me, I heard the snap of Rol spelling the box of Shadowhispers into silence. “Each of you makes a valid point.”
This brought the noise level down, but not much. I ground my teeth to handle the pain of moving and walked closer to the crowd.
“As you all know, our queen was recently restored to us. Jazz—uh—Jasmina Corey believes the harpies have valuable information about the monster who sent them to attack us. I plan to question them this evening.”
Rol and Dad came to stand beside me as the hags muttered angrily am
ongst themselves. Dame Corey stepped back to join us, and Dad reached for her hand.
“They are beasts,” said an elfling. “They can tell us nothing, and you torture them by keeping them prisoners.”
“They have language, of a sort. I’ve heard it.” I held up my bandaged hand. “I don’t like the harpies any more than most of you do, though fingers can’t be compared to lives.”
“Indeed not,” hissed the closest hag. Her serpentine hag-spirit slithered down her side and stretched its angular head coward me, its shadowy tongue flicking in and out.
“I will question them,” I repeated, “and then the queen and I will decide what’s to be done with them.”
“Kill them!” the hags demanded at the same time.
“Or give them to us,” snarled the hag in front. Dame Corey had to give her hag-spirit a little magical slap to keep it away from my feet.
Where was Jazz? My face heated up. I looked like an idiot, not being able to do stuff like that for myself.
“Kill them!” the hags demanded again. “Kill them now! Kill them now!
The klatchKeepers picked up the chant, forcing Dad and Rol to cover their ears, along with the other men in the crowd. The elflings started shouting at the hags and the Keepers, and the moderns started shouting at each other.
The crowd suddenly parted, and something green and stinky stormed toward me screaming louder than anyone else. It looked human, the way it walked—but that stench! I grabbed my nose with my good hand.
“What the—?”
“Your brother!” the green stinky thing shrieked as it shook its fist. “Your idiotic little brother!”
Magic surged between us, gold to silver and silver to gold, swelling. Rage mingled with my nervousness. I felt a power drain, then a force like a sudden hurricane, blowing in every direction.
A huge pop nearly burst my eardrums.
The crowd became an assortment of ferns, flowers, and large pieces of fungus. Only, they seemed bigger than they should have been. Huge, actually. And divided into lots of pieces. My eyes swiveled in a complete circle, taking in the scene. Well, at least two of my eyes. The other three looked straight ahead as I raised my spiky front legs high and couched them together in front of me. When I tried to move, two legs on either side supported my elongated neck and torso.
Next to me I saw a hissing spiky hedgehog with a beard a lot like my father’s, a black frog with stoic eyes not even bothering to croak, and a skunk with tail raised. It was stomping its back feet and turning slowly to aim its butt right at the now massively gigantic stinky green thing.
“I’m a praying mantis,” I grumbled to the gargantuan green thing, which obviously had to be Jazz. “And you turned your mother into a skunk.”
My voice sounded like something out of a cartoon, but Jazz seemed to hear it. She lowered her fist and seemed to come back to reality. “Oh. Sorry.”
“Take care of the crowd first,” the hedgehog suggested.
Blushing like crazy, Jazz leaned down and let me crawl onto her goo-coated palm. Whatever the stuff was, it was thick and nasty and hard to walk through, even with four thin legs.
I held back any smart remarks, not wanting to make her any madder. A praying mantis was bad enough, but I’d been a donkey before, and who knew what else her brain might blast out if I said the wrong thing?
Together we faced the crowd. Using our combined magic, Jazz aimed and fired, restoring hag, elfling, modern, and klatch witch alike. They all looked down at their bodies, then back up at Jazz. As if somebody shot a gun to start a race, they turned around and ran.
Couldn’t say I blamed them.
The Queen of the Witches was definitely home. Yeah, baby.
Next, we restored my dad, followed by Rol and Dame Corey. I was last, and by then I was swimming in whatever it was Jazz had all over her.
Jazz put me down, pointed at me, and in a single tingle-blaze-pop, I was myself again. Only I stunk really, really bad.
“What is this stuff?” I wiped my eyes, which were only two now, and none of them on stalks, thank the universe.
“Slither dung,” Rol said in his oh-so-toneless tone.
“Explain yourself,” Dad said to Jazz, still looking lots like a hedgehog with his hair sticking in every direction.
“What on earth made you do that?” Dame Corey sputtered, straightening her white blouse. Jazz’s color rose again, and I felt the snap of magic as she yelled, “Todd!”
Behind us, the forge fire exploded, raining bits of ash all over the training yard.
Rol sighed. “Ah. I understand completely. Too bad the whelp wasn’t present.” The big guy flexed his fingers, then left to go clean up the forge mess.
My dad and Dame Corey nodded, their anger draining immediately away. Jazz’s mother spelled us both clean, then said, “Bren, your father and I will find the boy and deal with this latest… problem.”
Winnie, Winnie, Winnie. I thought, holding back a roar of nutso laughter. I was way too tired. My control over my ADHD was slipping, and my thoughts were starting to ping. Any second now, I’d start unraveling my clothes, if I even could with just one hand.
Dad nodded. He reached for good old Winnie’s hand, but she shook him off and stalked away. With a perplexed look, my father trotted after her.
“I think you need to sit down, Bren. Where it’s warm.”
“No argument.” I let Jazz take my arm and steer me toward the part of the forge Rol had already restored.
“I didn’t mean to change you into an insect,” she said as she helped me past the box of spelled Shadowhispers.
“No sweat.” I sat down on the bench, and man, did that ever feel good. “A praying mantis isn’t that bad, as far as bugs go.”
“It wasn’t a donkey,” she said in an embarrassed voice. It almost sounded like she was laughing at herself. “I don’t know where the hedgehog came from.”
“Hey, on a better day, I might have paid you to pull that one off.”
She sat down beside me, and for the first time that day, I felt better. Her golden eyes were deep and wide, and her dark hair hung around her face in long, soft wisps. Without thinking, I raised my wrapped left hand to touch her cheek.
Both of us flinched.
At least Dame Corey’s spell had cleaned off the bandages. The good feeling left me in a hurry, but Jazz quickly grabbed my right hand and picked it up. Before I could pull away from her, she kissed my fingers, one at a time.
“When the others are better, I’ll kiss them, too. You still have three, right?”
Frowning, I nodded.
“Then, that’s three kisses I owe you.”
The musical sound of her voice made me laugh in spite of everything. “Can I have one now if I ask nicely?”
Jazz smiled, lighting up the forge. She leaned forward. I wrapped both arms around her and pressed my lips against hers. She always tasted so clean and sweet, and she felt so soft. Why had I stayed away from her all day? For the life of me, I couldn’t remember. I’d gone to hell and back to bring home this wonderful feeling, and I didn’t need to cut myself off from her again, for any reason.
“Want me to show you my place?” I said, noticing how low and rough my voice sounded, even though I didn’t feel low or rough at all. “Rol let me have his weapons shed. I’ve even got a couch.”
At that second, the big guy walked through the forge carrying our swords. As he placed mine on the bench beside us and walked away, he cleared his throat.
“Sounded like he said ‘harpies,’” Jazz murmured.
“He did say harpies.” I pulled back from her and rubbed my eyes. “This long day isn’t over yet, is it?”
“I guess not.” She stood and offered me her hand. “Let’s find Acaw and finish this.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I let her pull me to my feet. As we started out of the forge, my foot bumped the edge of the box of Shadowhispers.
As if from a million miles away, I heard a soft, nasty chuckle that sounded way too mu
ch like the Erlking.
“Whoa.” I stopped. Looked back at the box. “Did you hear that, Jazz?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t hear anything.”
Holding on to her, I focused a bolt of our combined energy at the box and blew it to smithereens.
“Feel better?” Jazz asked as we walked away amidst the raining sparkles.
“Yep,” I said. But I didn’t. Not really.
***
Chapter Thirteen
I filled Bren in on the events of the afternoon, and the terrible truths I had learned from Sherise. The news of Alderon’s cruelty and murder turned Bren’s face and mood dark, which I understood. To learn your half-brother’s treachery rivaled that of your exiled mother’s—well, it wasn’t pleasant. I knew he felt more responsible than he should for Alderon’s actions, but there was little I could do about that.
“I have to find him,” Bren growled as we headed to the barn with Acaw. “We might even have to kill him. I’m not sure I’d mind, brother or not.”
“Finding him is key. If we don’t stop him, he will keep up his campaign, letting Goddess-knows-what loose in our Sanctuaries.”
“Agreed.” Bren sounded miserable and angry, but I knew it wasn’t directed at me. “I’m just glad he doesn’t seem to be able to open and close entrances like we can.”
“That thought is almost too horrible to ponder.”
The oldeTowne storage barns loomed ahead. We made for the center one, where we knew the harpy leader to be housed.
The stench in the barn was almost too much for me. How could any creatures smell so unspeakably foul? And why had I thought we could talk to them?
“Perhaps I was in error.” I held onto Bren’s hand, thinking of pulling him back outside the door. Acaw had entered beside us and seated himself on a bale of hay near the door. His crow-brother remained unusually still and quiet, staring at the staff in my hand.
It was rare for an elfling to loan his sacred staff, but Acaw had always been generous with his, at least as far as I was concerned. The crow-brother seemed to think it wasn’t such a good idea.
“We have to do this,” Bren said firmly. He was wearing his sword on his left side now that he had to use his right hand, but he made no move to draw it. Instead, he kept his hand joined with mine as we went to work.
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