by Jeramy Goble
Seventeen dead in a fucking landslide, she thought. She imagined what it must have been like. Hearing the earth tremble. Seeing it tumble. Trying to escape. She swallowed and struggled to face the scouts.
“Very well,” she whispered.
She had to clear her throat before she could continue, and forced herself to push on—for her people's sake, as well as her own.
“Were you followed?”
“No, Your Majesty,” a Bedrock replied. “As you ordered, the rest of our people are still in town.”
Another of Jularra's scouts clamored for more details.
“What have you learned?”
“It seems most of our information was accurate,” a Bedrock replied. “Messyleio is still run by Melcayro and Abranni. The city is mostly lawless after Hignriten’s attempts to secure it have failed.”
“Were you able to speak with them?” Jularra asked, afraid she already knew the answer.
“Not them specifically. We didn’t have enough time,” Filona answered. “We’ve only been settled for a few days. But we were able to talk with some others.”
“Did you hear or see any mention of Leona?”
“No, ma’am.”
Jularra sighed and rubbed her face. “I was hoping for a bit more preparation before we went down there.”
“My queen,” a Bedrock began, but Jularra cut him off.
“No, no. Don’t apologize. You all have performed admirably. In the face of losing your comrades and being delayed, you pushed on, arrived, and began your surveillance. If there are any failings, they’re not yours,” Jularra reassured the group.
They took a moment to silently appreciate her comments.
“They use magic,” Filona added.
“Mm,” Jularra replied. “We already knew that.”
“No, ma’am,” the Spire replied. “They use magic in everything. Everywhere. But what's troubling, Your Majesty, is the silence. Most areas are dark, and few things are said.”
Jularra’s spine prickled with unease.
“Is Messyleio not a busy port? Bustling with trade and commerce?”
“Oh yes, ma’am. The docks are flooded with goods and merchants, but even that area is dismal and quiet.”
Jularra knuckled her forehead in confusion.
“It’s wild, Your Majesty,” added the other Spire. “Arguments spill into the street, and more often than not end with someone dead in the mud at the hand of another's spell.”
Wona leaned over to Jularra. “It sounds like strangers are just asking to die.”
“All right. It’s dangerous,” Jularra replied. “We knew it was going to be dangerous. That doesn't change the fact that I have to go down there and find someone who knows where to find Leona.”
“I don’t believe they’re trying to dissuade Your Majesty,” Vischuno offered.
“No, ma’am,” Filona agreed. “We’re just wanting to share what we’ve seen.”
Jularra nodded, then licked the dryness off her lips and looked to the tree line. The wind was finally dying. Branches stopped shaking and the hill grew quiet. Only the persistent child of the earlier gust strolled through the grasses. Jularra looked back down the hill to the city's edge, grown brighter as the deep dark took hold.
“Come on. Let’s find the others.” She nudged her horse into a trot, taking point.
“But we’re not disguised,” Wona piped up.
Jularra turned around.
“It was never my intention to hide my identity; only to gather information with disguised personnel. I will present myself as the Queen of Acorilan and engage with them as such. We will not hide.”
In the torchlight, she saw her people nod.
“Keep your eyes open. Don’t try to hide. Let’s just get down there.”
Jularra led the way down the mountain. Wona, Vischuno and the others fell in behind. It was about two miles to Messyleio’s walls, down the hill and around the trees. The trot down the hill was quiet. Jularra and the others kept an anxious eye on both the tree line and the gates—but no one appeared. No horns. No calls from anyone at the wall. As they closed in on the nearest gate, Vischuno rode up next to Jularra.
“Let us take the lead, ma’am.”
She took a moment to consider strategy, but then nodded.
“Thank you, Visch. Captain Filona, will you lead our people into the city? Let’s find someone to talk to, or find a way to talk with Melcayro and Abranni.”
“Yes ma’am,” Filona complied.
Filona rode to the front. Jularra looked up to the top of the wall as her warriors filed past after the captain. No movement. No sentries.
They either don’t care we’re here, or have planned on it.
Filona raised her hand to knock, but froze at the sound of the locking beam sliding out of place on the other side. The massive door swung open just enough for a small hand to slip out through the crack. The door slid open a few more inches, revealing a small girl shoving it open. She leaned into it with a soft grunt. After overcoming her surprise at the sight, Filona stumbled over to the door to help.
“Thank you,” the child said. Though not the maternal sort, Jularra had to admit the girl was quite adorable.
Filona pushed the door the rest of the way and led the way into the city, clearly as curious as Jularra to see who'd lifted the locking beam mounted well above the child’s head. But they found no one. They looked up to the walls now that they could see them from the inside. Nothing.
The rest of the Bedrock and Spire trickled in, each one hesitant and suspicious from the odd greeting. The little girl watched as they passed through the gate and grouped up. At last, Jularra and the few remaining guards entered. The little girl grabbed the captain’s finger.
“They want you to follow me,” she said.
Jularra swung a leg around and hopped off her horse.
“Majesty…” Vischuno whispered in alarm.
She held her hand up while nodding in recognition of his concern. Jularra proceeded to the front of the group and came down on one knee.
“Who wants us to follow you?” she asked.
The child giggled and smiled. There were no teeth in her mouth. Nor was there a tongue, or any discernible depth to her mouth at all. Filona jerked away. Jularra's head tilted with concern, and wonder.
“What are you?” Jularra whispered.
The girl giggled again.
Jularra cycled magic, charms, enchantments, spells, and curses through her head, trying to consider what the little girl was. As she pondered the various types of magic that might be at work, she looked around the dimly-lit street and saw no sign of any other soul. But almost every window had a candle in it.
Jularra turned her head slowly to Filona.
“Where is everyone? Where are our people?”
Filona slowly shook her head. Her eyes were wide with confusion.
The little girl answered. Her voice dipped down unnaturally, and then back up again as she spoke.
“If you follow me, I’ll take you to them.”
Jularra's nerves tingled beneath a wave of realization that she and her group weren’t in control. The little girl spoke again. Her voice dipped down again, but this time it stayed at a deeper pitch.
“Follow me,” the girl directed.
Jularra ran her tongue over her teeth, desperately considering her options. But she didn’t have enough information to act on, nor any other viable choices given her ignorance of the situation. Most of all, the uncertainty over the safety of her people here in Messyleio left her with little choice. She smiled at the mysterious girl and nodded.
The girl took off, jogging down the muddy main street, leaving Jularra’s group staring at their queen in shock. She turned an admonishing look on Filona, whose hands flew about with gestures of innocence.
“Your Majesty, I swear—we took every precaution to go unnoticed. We barely interacted with anyone. We didn’t have time!”
“Magic thrives on deception,” she s
ighed, her words complementing the dark mystery of the Messyleian night. “Come on.” She squeezed Filona’s shoulder and turned to the rest of the group.
“Let’s go.”
Jularra broke into a jog to make up the distance the child already had on them. The others caught up, with some overtaking Jularra to once again assume a protective formation.
At first glance, the city looked fairly benign. Messyleio's main street was wide and mostly unobstructed, save for the occasional oil lamppost. The buildings, shadowed and wooden, were no more than two stories high; they leaned forwards, backwards, and to the side after years of neglect. The city was showing its age. But the biggest peculiarity was the absence of people and horses; of activity, and noise. For such a well-known trade city, Messyleio just didn’t reflect the amount of life its reputation conveyed.
The strange girl leading the group turned off the main road and onto a narrower street. Jularra tried not to shudder at the increasingly confined space.
The child didn’t stop, and said nothing.
Vischuno trotted over to Jularra.
“Ma’am. I don’t like this at all.”
“I don’t either, Visch. But our people are missing, and I need to speak with Messyleio's leaders. What other choice do we have?”
As she finished speaking, a shutter above slammed open, startling riders and horses alike. Looking up, Jularra saw a figure silhouetted by the rising moon. It was the first sign of life other than the girl they had seen since entering the city.
“Good evening!” Jularra called to the shadow in the window. She smiled in the darkness as she turned around.
See? They’re just people. And they’re out there. The unknown city grew less intimidating.
But another sound spilled into the street, and this time there were no figures in windows to match it to.
It was the sound of an old man exerting himself in some way. Its direction was impossible to determine; it was bouncing back and forth between the shacks and shambles on each side of the street. The grunts and groans dug into the silence in a sickening rhythm—too pleasurable for toil, yet too aggravated to be sex.
The steady punch of the grotesque sound sent Jularra's mind strolling in the light of its most demented imaginings. Louder and louder the grunting grew, competing heartily with the clopping of the horses as the group approached whatever the sound’s source was. Hints of Brinnock’s melting terror and perverse faces from the Voidwarden visit grappled their way into Jularra’s mind.
Just when Jularra was planning to contrive a reason to speak, to distract herself from it, the little girl turned. The group veered with her toward a massive barn, its doors even larger than those they'd entered the city through. The potency of the disturbing sounds finally started to subside as they approached the barn.
The little girl walked up to the barn doors and turned to face her followers. She waited patiently as they halted in front of her. Once they had gathered, she smiled her toothless, dimensionless smile.
Jularra slid off her horse.
“All right, little one. We’ve followed you. Are Melcayro and Abranni in here? Are our people in here?”
“Yes,” the little girl answered. She started to giggle. Again, her sounds wavered in pitch, up and down.
“Yes, to which question?” Jularra sought to confirm, aggravated.
“Yes!” the child repeated. Her giggling grew. Mouth agape, she continued to repeat herself through her evolving laughter. "Yes! Yes!"
The girl continued to laugh, then started to shake.
Jularra stepped back. What the fuck?
The little girl shook violently. Her arms and hands started to draw up. Her neck and head curved out and around. Her laughter contorted into a deeper and broader tone as she started to grow. Her legs became thicker as she grew taller. Her arms extended. Her torso lengthened, and her face shifted into the older features of a woman at least twenty years older than the child.
The grown woman continued laughing, but in her own, adult voice. And then the barn doors swung open.
Instinctively, Jularra and the rest of her group reached for their swords, but that was as far as they got. Ahead of them, in the expansive barn, suspended in the air, were all the Bedrock and Spire that had stayed behind.
Their heads were covered with burlap sacks. The nooses were tied tightly around their necks, and attached at the top to some sort of invisible anchor. Jularra ran into the barn as the others sprinted in behind her. The dangling men and women wriggled and struggled against the tension of their nooses.
“Abranni! Melcayro!” Jularra screamed.
She ripped her sword from its scabbard and pointed it at the nearest dangling soldier. After kneeling down for a pinch of dirt, she placed it on her tongue and quickly spat it out. She now had the essence and structure of the dirt at her disposal. Holding her sword with one hand and placing the palm of her other on the flat of the blade, she concentrated the energy she had harnessed into the ground beneath each dangling Spire and Bedrock. One by one, she discharged the earthen energy from her sword, and up sprouted a narrow platform for each of them to step on.
With the last shot of energy and final rising pile of dirt, Jularra spun around, suspicious that her foes—whoever they were—had allowed her to save her people. As she turned, she saw her accompanying warriors with swords drawn, looking around for their adversary. As she completed her circle, the face of a new stranger weaved between the dirt piles she'd created.
“Ah! You are learned in the arts,” the stranger said. “I always wondered how true the rumors were.”
Jularra brandished her sword. With her free hand, she summoned a sphere of conjuration and encircled herself and her people—those behind her, and those still in the air—in veils of protection.
“Melcayro?” she spat.
Melcayro nodded. A smile crept across his face.
“Yes, the rumors are true,” Jularra chided with scorn. “I only came here to speak with you and Abranni. But I see things are going a different way. Unfortunate.”
Melcayro chuckled and looked to one side. The enigmatic woman—previously child—emerged from another section of the risen dirt mounds.
“My sister, Abranni,” Melcayro offered. His voice dripped with condescending courtesy.
Abranni reached out to Jularra. Her hand shook with strain from the beginnings of a spell. Her fingers stretched taut, splayed, trying to grasp Jularra’s veils of protection.
Jularra resisted her grip, fighting for control over her magic. Like the sensation of having a healthy tooth pushed gently by a finger, it was a nuisance at first, but began to feel more and more like a failing tooth being picked at, poked at, and aggravated. Jularra had to get ahead of the struggle.
She dropped her sword and brought both hands beneath the sphere, focusing her full attention upon it. The sphere grew. The veils around her people became stronger, more resistant to Abranni’s formidable power. The nagging prodding from Abranni’s efforts weakened.
But that was before Melcayro joined in.
The momentum in their magical fight shifted dramatically as Melcayro and Abranni’s combined efforts bit at her power. Jularra's protective veils were holding, but the rhythmic pains she felt while resisting her assailants grew sharper and longer. She knew she would have to let go soon.
She began to shift her focus. While still giving her all to the sphere, she looked back to Vischuno, Wona, and the others. They were waiting on her direction. She widened her eyes and lifted her chin.
“Now!”
She dropped the veils. Melcayro and Abranni lurched forward, suddenly finding no resistance to their magic. With full control of her energy sphere once more, Jularra shifted her focus from a force of creation to one of destruction.
As her comrades rushed behind and around her to confront the Messyleian magicians, Jularra shot the energy out from her palms and up toward the roof of the barn. Just before it hit, the sphere fanned out into a large, flat circle of pure
momentum. It slammed into the roof, shooting beams, planks, splinters, and thatch into the air, hundreds of feet out into the town around the barn.
Jularra dipped down, retrieved her sword and pointed it to the sky. She waved it, first with small twirls of the tip and then with wide, powerful swings, all the while still pointing the blade skywards.
The sky, clear and salted with stars, began to cloud over. By the fifth full circle of her sword, the sky flashed with lightning and rumbled with thunder.
The weather crashed, and below it Jularra’s men and women clashed with Melcayro and Abranni. The siblings were proving adept at defending themselves, finding cover in the numerous towers of dirt holding up the other Acorilinians.
Between strikes, blocks and parries, the siblings placed their hands onto the earthen mounds, transforming them into dirt creatures full of brute force to complicate the fight. These new enemies not only challenged the attacking Acorilinians, but also left the hanging Bedrock and Spire at the mercy of their nooses once again.
But Jularra harnessed the weather itself. She summoned a strike of lightning, then another, and then more, half a dozen, dozens. Each strike sliced through a noose, freeing each captured Acorilinian and dropping them to the ground.
Within moments, the captured soldiers wriggled free and tore the bags off their heads. Most still had their sword belts and joined in the fight. The dirt creatures fell quickly, crumbling when struck into harmless piles of earth. But the fighting between Melcayro, Abranni, and Jularra's forces was at an impasse.
The Messyleians were too overwhelmed to wage a meaningful offense. Their swords flew skillfully and their free hands fired off continuous bursts of deflecting and blinding bolts, but they were mostly on the defensive, waiting for an opportunity to take advantage of the stalemate.
The stalemate was indeed about to be broken, but not by Melcayro and Abranni.
Jularra inhaled a massive breath, blew it out, then sucked in another chest full of air before squatting. She extended her arms, wrists together, and then flipped her hands so that the backs touched. With the bulk of her remaining magical energy stores, she forced her arms out from each other. Like parting waters, the fighting Messyleians and Acorilinians were caught up in sliding walls of energy. One by one, the combatants stuck to the invisible wall, losing most of their ability to move. Like bugs on flypaper, they could only twitch as they strained to free themselves from Jularra’s magic. The moment Melcayro and Abranni were caught up in the waves of restraint, the noise and chaotic violence subsided.