by Jeramy Goble
“Drink,” he said.
Jularra hesitated, looking askance at the jar containing some of her own blood. But an eyeblink was all she allowed herself. She grabbed the jar and slung the fluid back before flinging the empty vessel to the ground. She instantly gagged.
Jularra panted, shivered, and stared ahead with a stunned expression. She licked her lips and heaved from the iron taste in her mouth. She reached to her side and scooped an upstream handful of water to rinse and spit.
Vylas sighed. “Come on,” he said. He pushed himself to his knees and then stood. “Let’s get you warmed up.”
Jularra looked around to figure out the best way to get up. She was cold, soaking wet from blood and water, and worn out. Fortunately, the pain had diminished from indescribable to bearable.
She bent sideways and pushed up on the ground. With one arm, she pulled up her trousers just enough so that she could walk without tripping. Her other clothes draped and clung around her. Vylas took hold of her other arm and slowly helped her over to the house.
“Want to get those clothes off?” He made sure she could steady herself, and then disappeared inside before quickly returning with a huge quilt. He wrapped it around her.
Though modesty wasn’t much of a concern for either of them at this point, he held the blanket around her as she wriggled out of her clothing. Once she was finished, Vylas clamped the blanket tightly around her shoulders and helped her the rest of the way inside.
They crept over to his favorite chair in front of the fire, and Vylas let her hang onto his arm while she sat down. As soon as the chair had her weight, he scurried around the house and grabbed any other spare blankets he could find. With his arms overflowing, he shuffled back to her and helped her wrap up even more, then he tapped her reassuringly on her blanket-smothered knee and sank to the floor to catch his breath. Together, they stared at the fire, retreating into the calming allure of the flames.
Ribbons of fear wrapped around Jularra’s mind like a maypole. Winding in tightly, the thoughts constricted her conscience and branded her brain with relentless facts. For hundreds of years, no queen has ever failed to deliver on her obligation. For a thousand years, no queen has not delivered a daughter in time. No queen, since the oath was made, has ever jeopardized her people. Until now.
Until now!
Jularra’s mind sought a path to hope. False or not, she tried to convince herself there was something to be done. Maybe Vylas’ potion will work. Maybe it will fool the Voidwarden. The ribbons of fear loosened, spinning out from the maypole of her mind.
And then reality took hold; the ribbons tightened and strangled hope. Even if it works and I fool the Voidwarden for a few months, it’s still too late to conceive again.
There was no hope. There was only the sliver of her pointless existence, which she had little control over.
“Next steps, Jularra,” Vylas uttered. “Next steps. Whatever they may be. No matter how futile. Focus on the next steps.”
He turned towards her as he spoke.
“We must think on the next steps,” he repeated. “Whether it’s notifying your people and your allies, or consulting on the specifics of the oath and agreement, we will consider what to do next, and proceed accordingly.
“There must be some precedent for this,” he continued. “Through the countless generations of your predecessors, there must have been occasions of women being barren, or other situations similar to yours. There must be.”
Jularra looked at Vylas, wishing she had something to add, but she was at a loss. She let her eyes unfocus and retreated back to the fire.
“Are you sure each queen offered a child in time?” he pressed her.
Jularra nodded. “I don’t know of any exceptions. Well,” she added after clearing her throat, “the bloodline has always been maintained. Either with an immediate daughter, niece, or other female descendant.”
“So, it hasn’t always been a daughter,” he clarified. Hope made his voice grow louder. “We must look closer at those exceptions!”
“It doesn’t matter, Vylas,” she snapped. “I have no living female relatives!”
“There must be something that can be done, Jularra—”
“There isn’t!”
“You must go and talk with it! There has to be a way—”
“I will not negotiate with it, Vylas! Do you hear me? I will not!”
Her last syllable shot out through the open windows. The two friends sat staring at each other, both tense from similar stubbornness, until the sounds of birds chirping and the wind trickling through the leaves returned
Vylas blinked slowly. “Jularra…”
“I’m not going to tell it,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he replied. “You said that.”
“No,” she said as she shifted. “That’s not what I mean.”
Vylas frowned.
“I’m going to do what I wanted to do from the beginning. I’m going to fight. I’m going to destroy it.”
Vylas’ jaw dropped.
“What are you talking about?” he asked sharply, shaking his head. “That thing is old.” He sounded almost disgusted that she would even suggest the idea. “It has ages of knowledge behind it. You know that! It was already powerful before Colendra did whatever she did to it! I was talking about trying to strike a deal—not fight it!”
“Listen!” Jularra returned, rapidly becoming surer of her position. “If I don’t say anything and your potion works, that will work to our advantage! There is always a way to undo something that is done. One must simply learn how!”
Vylas rolled his head from one side to the other.
“Jularra. There is no knowledge available to us that can defeat, or undo, that agreement. The magic Colendra used on that thing came from a time when that level of skill was more common; when it was known and used by scholars all over the world, passed down for generations in societies and cultures that felt responsible for the knowledge. The Nurudians were a culture of sorcery. It was entwined with their existence! Our skills are nothing in comparison!”
“Vylas, I’m not disagreeing. I can appreciate the challenge, and maybe even the futility. But it's as you say: I have to make a decision on what to do next. I’ve decided to resist. My attempt to fulfil that twisted obligation is floating down that fucking creek out there. So much for doing what was expected of me. Now, you can either help me, or not. I’ll love you either way, but I’ve made my decision.”
Vylas looked at Jularra without expression. He sat calmly, digesting everything she had said to him. Jularra was in no hurry to force a reply, and let her dizzy head fall into her hands.
She saw him rubbing his jaw out of the corner of her eye, but stared silently into the fire while the forest made music outside.
Here it comes, she thought. The rejection.
After a thoughtful silence, Vylas poked at his forehead, and shifted to prop himself up on the hearth as he stood.
“Mmph,” he grunted.
Vylas stretched quickly after standing and made his way over to a set of shelves in the corner. Jularra allowed her eyes to flicker up once, then stared back into the fire. A few wooden bangs and thumps confirmed that he was looking for something, then he dragged a chair back over to the fire. He held a jumble of letters and a moderately-sized map on parchment. Jularra finally looked over, craning her neck to try and catch a glimpse as he held it up to the light.
“I wanted to look for accounts that might mention past queens who weren’t able to provide an heiress in time,” he said. His voice was soft.
Jularra stopped trying to look. Her shoulders fell in disappointment.
“But I...” he swallowed. “I found these instead.”
Vylas handed Jularra the fistful of letters, and focused his full attention on the map.
“I haven’t heard from her since before you were born,” he resumed.
Jularra shuffled through the first few letters and saw them all signed by "Leona". The name so
unded familiar. An acquaintance from the past? Vylas had mentioned her before, but only in passing.
“She was extraordinary, Jularra.” His eyes were still locked on the map. “She helped me make the most of my magical learning. She nurtured my love for it, and sweetened the mystery of magic.”
Jularra shifted where she sat, mentally adapting to the conversation’s change of direction.
“Leona,” she said, glancing at the letters again. “I remember you speaking of her, but I didn’t know she was skilled in magic. But then—”
“I haven’t spoken of her much,” Vylas finished. He turned to stare out into the woods. “She was a treasure, Jularra.”
Jularra sat, puzzled, with no delicate way to ask why Leona was relevant to her decision to fight the Voidwarden.
“She is the wildest fire I’ve ever been warmed by, Jularra. Everything she did or said was filled with such passion, such conviction.”
The look on Vylas’ face grew distant. The corners of his mouth worked to find the placement of long-gone smiles, and his eyes widened while trying to focus on old images. He wore pure contentedness on his face as scenes from another time sped through his mind.
“She is a good soul, Jularra, but she grew too…” Vylas trailed off as he pondered the right word.
“Fixated,” he said finally, wincing as if poking an unhealed cut. “She became too fervent. Too radical. Her desire to grow in her magical knowledge became an obsession. Our conversations had little to do with anything else, and I found it increasingly hard to talk with her about other things. That’s why our letters trailed off, I suppose.”
Jularra sensed that he was talking more to himself. His mouth drifted open; he himself had drifted, losing touch with the present. But the picture of the pleasant past blew away, leaving his mouth dry. He blinked and licked his lips before turning to Jularra with flooded eyes.
“Yes. We stopped writing to each other years ago,” said Vylas. “I don’t remember which of us first stopped returning letters. I just… remember… that they stopped. But if anyone has the knowledge you seek, or an idea of how to obtain it, it would be her.”
Jularra wasn’t expecting the abrupt shift back to their original conversation. “Wait, what? You’re telling me to fight?”
Vylas chuckled. “You made it quite clear that you were going to do that, regardless.”
“Well, yes.” Jularra worked to clarify. “But you’re helping me? She can help?”
“I’m only suggesting that she would be immensely useful to you—if you can locate her,” Vylas said.
He brought the map between them.
“A few years before we stopped writing, she traveled to somewhere outside Messyleio, to learn some of the more unorthodox magical practices that fell out of favor in the west. She didn’t want to restrict herself, so she went there—where, as you know, there are still more remaining influences from the Nurudians and the Wars of Expansion than there are anywhere else.”
“You're saying I need to go to Messyleio.” Jularra's voice was flat.
“Well, that’s where I would start. If anyone knows where she is, it would probably be someone over there.” Vylas lifted his palms in a shrug. “She might be able to help. However, I have no idea if she’s alive, or what her… disposition may be. If you go, I can’t stress enough how careful you must be about whom you speak with and what you say. The Messyleians haven’t looked favorably upon us in some time, considering Acorilan’s history with Hignriten. You’ll need to come up with a justification for your arrival, and for your need to speak with her.”
Jularra took a moment to consider Vylas’ advice. She slowly stood to stretch her legs.
“Can't I just tell them Vylas sent me?” she asked.
Vylas shook his head.
“Oh, I doubt anyone over there would know who I am. My name would have no meaning to them.”
“What if I just tell people I need to see Leona? Will her name be known?”
Vylas shrugged.
“She is probably more well-known than I. But I can’t say for sure.”
Jularra's vision sharpened. “Well, there’s not enough time to come up with anything more elaborate. I’ll tell them I’ve come to mend the discord that has grown between our lands. That I want to re-establish regular interactions, nurture our bonds, and re-dedicate our country to the growth and study of magic again.”
She turned to face Vylas.
“I’ll come to them with humility and respect.”
Vylas waited for further comment, then started to smile when Jularra added nothing.
“Do you mean that?” Vylas asked with a laugh.
“Mean what?”
“That you want to mend things. Nurture magic. All that?”
Jularra hesitated before responding.
“Yes,” she said firmly. Vylas’ eyebrows raised. “I do,” she said, with an extra edge. “I do mean it. I obviously need their help, but it’s a perfect excuse to try to re-establish our ties with the coastal nations.”
“Well, then,” Vylas started as he rubbed his hands together. “You need to prepare for adversity. Friends will not be made quickly, and any made will be difficult to maintain. We should both reach out to any contacts we have in the area and have them anticipate your arrival. Hopefully they can leverage some of their relationships to make your work that much easier.
“What kind of escort will you take?” Vylas wondered.
Jularra’s eyes narrowed. “I was planning on traveling alone with Vylas.”
“Well, that’s just ludicrous,” Vylas replied. “You can be the most powerful sorceress in the world and still somehow be killed by a street thug having an off-day.”
Jularra rolled her eyes and sank back into the chair. “Come on. I know it’s risky. But there’s no way I can travel with guards. I might as well fly banners for the whole continent to see.”
“You know what I mean, Jularra. You don’t have to go to the extreme and bring an entire army, but there are varying degrees of options in lieu of that.”
Vylas reached for another log and placed it on the fire.
“You know I’m aware of how capable you are,” he continued. “You simply must ensure that you give yourself every opportunity to succeed.”
Jularra allowed the conversation to simmer a bit more in her mind. A morsel of surprise bubbled to the top. She peered over at Vylas.
“You’re not coming with me?”
Vylas turned towards her slowly. His face was constricted with uneasiness.
“Hmm? I never said—”
“Oh, don’t try that!”
He turned his head and had no response.
“You can’t be serious. How am I going to convince this extremely powerful witch to help me? I can’t just say, 'I was in the area and Vylas said you might be able to help!'”
“Jularra, I am in no shape or condition to ride that far. You’ll need to move a lot faster than I’ll be able to.”
Jularra was shaking her head before he finished.
“No. No. I don’t care how long it takes. There is no way I’m going to see this Leona without you.”
“You’re going to have to, Jularra! It is not a smart idea to bring me along. I’ll only hinder your progress.”
“You just finished lecturing me about giving myself every opportunity to succeed, yet your absence would be an incredible detriment! You must see how that makes no sense.”
Vylas said nothing.
“What?”
He still didn’t answer.
“Vylas, what?”
“I don’t want to see her!”
For the tiniest fraction of time, Jularra was still confused by his hesitance, so contradictory to his advice. Then it clicked. The resilient power and influence of an old love. She sighed and let her shoulders fall before turning back to the fire.
“You don’t need me on this trip, Jularra. Take these letters with you and show them to her. And I’ll write a new one for you to bring to he
r. If I were to show up with you, it would only enrage her.”
“What would you say to her in this new letter?” Jularra wondered. “I still don’t understand how, after this long silence, a letter asking her to help this stranger on her doorstep would be better than you asking in person.”
Vylas stuttered, lost for words, then grunted in frustration. He apparently hadn’t thought that far.
“Jularra, I don’t know,” he said with a bite of frustration.
“I can’t read your mind, Vylas,” she huffed.
“I haven’t written it yet. I don’t know what I would want to say.”
“Well, start thinking about it. If you’re not coming, and you’re just going to send me off with nothing but a letter, we need to talk about what will be in the letter!”
Jularra fell silent for a moment in the face of his obvious regret. Then she shook her head and clapped her hands to change the conversation’s focus.
“I have about seven months before the deadline,” she said. She leaned over to where Vylas had set the map and letters, and snatched the map.
“If I take the most direct route,” she continued, “northwest through Yubik, I can probably make the border of Hignriten in about three weeks.”
She glanced at Vylas.
“That’s about a month before I can even start asking around. Before I locate Leona. Before I hopefully persuade her to help me. And then, the trip back.”
She sighed and rubbed her eyes, then followed with a yawn.
“You need some rest,” Vylas said.
Jularra ran her hand through her hair and yawned again. “Mind if I sleep here tonight? I’ll talk with Korden tomorrow about getting an emissary sent ahead to Yubik, and start preparations for the advance group to Messyleio.”
Vylas nodded.
“Of course. Get comfortable. I’ll go wash out your clothes.”
He started to turn away.
“I, uh…” she started, trying to focus her thoughts and face her fears. “What if this effort doesn’t yield anything? What if the deadline comes and goes with no heiress provided, or no arrangement made?”