by J. K. Barber
“Sorry, sorcerers aren’t much for exercise. Please, a moment for me to catch my breath,” he asked between feigned wheezes. The Shadow Walker scowled but let him rest, moving away to lean on the wall, as if the meager shadows between the stone blocks gave it comfort.
Tomas closed his eyes, the energy of his sending still gathered. He laid his palm on the smooth surface, allowing his body to relax and surrendering himself to the crystal. The crystal gave way beneath his palm, but he only allowed his hand to enter a tiny bit. He quickly let the energy of the message spell go into the crystal in the direction of the Blodwood. Shivering from the effort, he let go of the crystal and regarded the Shadow Walker, as if he had finished catching his breath.
“I am recovered. Let us continue,” Administrator Tomas said as confirmation. The creature nodded, repositioned its dagger against Tomas’ side with an arm across his shoulders to steady it, and they finished their descent. The Shadow Walker’s grip was amazingly strong, and The Administrator could feel coldness, even through his robes, from its bony hand. Tomas also noticed that there was no longer pounding where the tower door to the outside used to be, before the Shadow Walker shoved him hard down the basement stairs.
The Empress of Ice sat on one of the stools that surrounded the alchemical lab that resided in the basement of the Sorcerer School, her skirt ballooning out around her. Long wooden tables, with built-in shelves, lined the wall. Resting in the compartments were all shapes and sizes of beakers, as well as oddities both natural and unnatural. Neatly labeled jars of bat wings, white spotted mushrooms, rat eyeballs, bear fur, liquids of all colors, rabbit feet and various roots, sat upon the shelves, while dried herbs hung from the ceiling. There were hundreds of jars, but one shelf with about twenty small vials, slid into holding racks, stood out from the rest.
The last shelf’s contents were the finished product, with labels reading “It hurts,” “It hurts real bad,” and “Oh, dear Mother, I am dying.” The Administrator grinned to himself at the labels; it seemed his students had had some fun in last week’s potion production. There were holes in the racks for one hundred of the slender vials. However, a great deal of them were empty, most likely handed out before the last battle. How many unused potions lay in the pouches of the dead soldiers and sorcerers outside? Tomas thought, his face contorting in anger for a moment but then settling into sadness. His strange purple eyes grew misty. It was a shame that the remaining potions would go to waste by next week or to The Empress of Ice for her troops.
The alchemy lab was impressive but not as much as its centerpiece. Like the rest of the tower, the massive crystal resided in the center of the circular lab. This was its base, and it measured at least ten war horses in width. Part of the crystal had been hacked away, and the Ice Queen held one of the eggs on a cloth in her lap. Her eyes were closed in concentration. In one hand she held an obsidian spike and in the other she held the egg, its leathery white shell still covered in tiny crystals. The egg itself was the size of medium keg of ale, but shaped as an oval. In one fluid motion, she shoved the spike into the egg. Purple glowing runes flowed over the egg and then faded.
The Administrator whimpered loudly, as if he himself had been struck. It took every ounce of his self-control not to attack Salamasca at that moment. To act now would endanger the rest of the eggs, he realized. The Ice Queen opened her eyes.
“Teacher, what a pleasant surprise,” she said, grinning like the young sorceress he remembered teaching magic to centuries ago. “Please, pull up a stool. My pet told me you wanted to share something with me.”
Tomas grabbed a stool, while the Ice Queen regarded him coolly, still keeping the egg in her lap. He settled his robes about him, trying to remain calm, but his eyes kept going to the egg in her lap. She followed his gaze, smiled cruelly, and began to pet the egg in small gentle strokes.
“So... that information you have for me,” she said, obviously enjoying whatever discomfort she had caused her old master. Tomas wetted his lips.
“Of course, you want into the Ley Lines. Yes?”
She handed the egg to her personal Shadow Walker and leaned in close to him, like she was starving and a simmering plate of food had just been offered to her. “Yes,” she said eagerly.
“I will tell you only this one thing. Those,” his eyes settled on the egg in the hands of her Shadow Walker, “are not the way in. They only use the crystal to sustain themselves. The crystal itself is the true power source. You have to attune yourself to it to gain access to the Ley Lines.”
She stared at him intently, pondering his words, and finally sat up straight again. “I believe you. However, you are leaving much out. But...” she smiled wickedly, “You have given me a tremendous clue that will put me on the right track. Thank you, Teacher, even though it seems you told me only out of concern for what is inside those.” She hooked a thumb at the egg. “Curious indeed. Now, unless you feel like telling me how to attune myself to get into the,” she giggled at her new knowledge, “...Ley Lines, then get out of my way.”
“No, I won’t assist you any further,” Tomas said blandly.
The Empress of Ice waved to the Shadow Walker, which had been assigned as his keeper, to escort him out. The Administrator stood and allowed himself to be slightly manhandled up the stairs.
Chapter 26
Lady Amara was cheerfully chattering in her favorite chair by the fireplace. The homespun cloth, covering the chair, was dyed blue with blueberries, bound to a stick frame, and stuffed with the softest of the shed feathers, gathered by the villagers. The Elder had made it for her himself. The fireplace was not lit, as spring was in full bloom, and the evening temperature, inside the Elder’s massive ten bedroom home, was quite pleasant. By human standards, the house was about the size of a shed.
Elder Razorik sat across from his wife in a suede covered chair, again of his own making, happily listening to his wife, while she spun thread on her spinning wheel. Her goat hair thread was one of the finest in the whole village. The produced cloth was not often used in garments, however; should a Nhyme need to shape change suddenly the cloth would be ruined, whereas the leaf garments they wore would simply fall away and could easily be remade. The Ancient One, a very old friend of the Nhyme, had offered to enchant their clothing, so that it would shift with them, but The Elder and his previous Elders hadn’t really seen the point. As small as the Nhyme were, it just wasn’t that hard to pull a leaf over one’s loins and tie it on the side with a blade of grass. The Elder, thinking of these things with his lips spread into a content grin, sipped water from a worn pistachio shell. Even as old as the shell was, it still gave the water a slightly salty taste, which he liked.
The room was cozily lit by the soft glow from the crystals set into the walls like sconces. It was furnished with only the two chairs, the fireplace, a plush rabbit’s fur rug on the floor, and a sideboard made of smoothed bark. Chyla was dozing, snuggled deeply up into the fur rug. The Elder regarded his daughter with a smile. What a beautiful woman she is becoming, he thought. I remember her snuggled into that rug just the same way when she was no bigger than an acorn. He ran a hand over his leathery face, rubbing his tired eyes.
Three doors attached the room to the rest of the house, one to the kitchen, one to the front of the house where the Elder’s study and the entry area were, and one to the house’s bedrooms. Cumo would be standing guard at the entry room. That boy sure is determined, and his loyalty is unquestionable. I think he will make a fine mate for my Chyla.
“Razorik, you aren’t even listening to me,” Lady Amara had stopped her spinning and was shooting the Elder a dirty look.
“Oh, I am sorry, my dear, my thoughts were just wandering. You have my apologies, my love. What were...” The Elder’s voice trailed off, as he sat straight up in his chair, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling. His small body began to vibrate, causing the green leaves of his robe to shake, while his eyes fixated on something unseen.
“What is it?” L
ady Amara asked. Chyla, sensing the alarm in her mother’s voice, sat up. The crystal sconces in the room flared wildly. The elderly Nhyme woman rose from her chair and took the water shell from her husband’s aged hand and set it on the floor before he dropped it. She then leaned on the edge of his chair and put her own hand on his forearm, helping him up while guiding him over to one of the crystals in the room.
“Father?” Chyla asked, as her father continued to shake. “Mother what is wrong with him?”
“Hush, child. All is well but we must be patient,” she replied.
The Elder laid a trembling hand on the crystal sconce his wife had led him to. After a short time, Razorik visibly relaxed. Lady Amara led him back to his chair, and he sunk comfortably back into it. “Oh my, sorry for the scare. I haven’t gotten one of those for at least two hundred years,” he said.
“One of what, Father?” Chyla asked again, concern in her eyes.
“It is a message, child, from the Ancient One,” Lady Amara said to her daughter. She then turned to her husband. “What did he say?” the older Nhyme asked excitedly.
Beads of sweat had formed on the Elder’s forehead, which his wife patted away with a soft handkerchief she kept in the blouse of her dress of pale ivy. She crouched by his chair and kept watch over him. She knew that, in the past, he had once blacked out after a message, the strain just too much on his small body. He reached down for his shell cup and drank deeply.
“The Ancient One has sent me a message through the Ley Lines to our node. Because the village has parts of the crystal in every home, I was able to receive it here. The human kingdom, Illyander, in which our woods reside, is in great peril. The northern border town of Snowhaven has been breached, and this invader is an evil sorceress that calls herself the Empress of Ice.
“She is an old enemy, but never before has she been so bold or as powerful. He says that she knows about the Ley Lines and plans to send her army into them, appearing at the capital to conquer it from the inside. She has no desire to compromise and seeks to destroy instead of bring peace after her war is waged.
“The Ancient One asks that I send a messenger to the current King and Queen to warn them of the Empress’ intentions. He asked that we find a man named Branden, a former King’s Guard that the King will trust, and his female companion, Mistress Mala, who is a therianthrope and a great warrior as well. The Ancient One personally knows this man. They both lived in the border town of Snowhaven. The Ancient One believes Branden and Mistress Mala have escaped to the Trade Star. He asked me not to send a response, because the Ice Queen has him as a prisoner in his tower.”
“Snowhaven is where Katya said she was from, Father,” Chyla added when her father paused and took another sip from his drink. The Elder and Lady Amara both nodded in agreement. They were all quiet for a short time, pondering this news.
“What is a therianthrope?” Chyla asked.
“It is a human shape shifter,” he replied, looking directly into his daughters eyes. “They are different than us and much more dangerous, as many of them do not know how to control themselves while changed in their animal form. They can also only change into one kind of animal. And, while you can tell the difference between a Nhyme and a regular forest creature, we cannot tell the difference in these kinds of humans. Therianthropes are extremely rare. I, myself, have only known one in all my years, and his presence did not feel like a Nhyme’s,” he rubbed his face wearily. “I wish he had asked this of me a hundred years ago. I am getting too old for this kind of task.”
“Well, if it just involves travel and finding these two humans, I could go, Father. He didn’t say that you had to go, just that you send someone. I could find Niko. He is with Katya, and they were heading back to Snowhaven anyway. Perhaps they have not heard the news that her town is overrun. Katya might know this Branden, and we could find him and the therianthrope together.”
The Elder looked at his daughter gravely, pondering her offer. He looked to his wife. Realizing that he was asking for her blessing, she voiced it.
“Of course, I’d be worried, but all Nhyme will wander from the woods at some point to see the world, even if it is a small part. I am okay with her going. It would be a good experience for her, before she settles down,” Lady Amara winked at her daughter.
“Cumo is going to insist upon going with you, and I’d honestly feel better if he accompanied you,” The Elder stated.
“And you can tell him that he is needed more here,” Chyla said, rolling her eyes at the mention of her father’s intended husband for her.
“I just want you to be taken care of, my dear,” he said, as if hurt.
“I know, Father, but I’d like to do this on my own. I don’t need him breathing down my neck every minute. It creeps me out, the way he hovers around me, and would delay this very important message. Not to mention how protective he is of me… he’d slow me down.”
“Cumo won’t be happy,” Razorik stated sourly.
“Well, let me deal with that, but don’t tell him until I am gone,” Chyla requested. “Let me go pack some things. I can get a good head start, if I leave tonight.” The Elder looked a little taken aback at her desire to leave right away. Seeing his reaction, Chyla explained, “I’d like to go now before I get scared and change my mind. Father, please don’t look at me like that. I can do this, I know I can,” she said, determination in her voice. “Did The Ancient One say where to look for these two humans, so that when I find Niko and Katya we know where to start?”
“Yes, he said to look to the northwest at a place called the Trade Star,” Razorik answered. “He thinks they fled there after the border town had been taken by the Empress of Ice. I have been to this Trade Star before, when I was younger. It is a human-made giant obelisk that connects five major roads. Are you sure you want to do this?” The Elder asked. “The journey is quite long.”
“Positive,” Chyla smiled, and her eyes shown brighter than he had ever seen them. She hugged her parents and then went through the door to her bedroom to pack.
“They grow up so fast,” Lady Amara said with hint of imminent tears, as her voice cracked. The Elder put an arm around his wife’s trim waist and hugged her close.
Chyla flew as fast as her dove wings could go, cursing to herself for ever volunteering to deliver the Ancient One’s message. Another arrow sliced through the air from the rider below, not six inches from her right wing. This hunter had attempted to bring her down just a few hours after she had left the protection of the Blodwood.
The Nhyme girl thought her heart would beat out of her chest, and the tendons of her wings felt as if they were on fire. She couldn’t keep up this pace for much longer, and she’d already been at it since the sun was directly overhead. The sun now cast shadows on the world below her, and they only stretched longer as the pursuit continued. She had tried ducking for cover, hiding, or flying as fast as she could to outdistance him, but the human continued to pursue her. At this point, she didn’t know where she was in her rush to get away from hunter; she had just flown in random directions, using cover where ever she could find it.
The human below readied another arrow. She dove with breakneck speed towards a high tree branch. Right before she crashed into it, her body began to change under the cover of the leaves, so that when her feet hit the bark she was a squirrel. She tucked and tumbled, but the impact jarred her. She flipped badly over her tail a couple times, before hitting the tree’s trunk with a crack. Squeaking in pain, she held her front leg against her furry torso with her good paw.
The hunter rode his palomino a few strides past the tree and then stopped, watching the branches with a nocked arrow aimed up into the lush spring-green growth. Chyla quieted herself and did not move. Not seeing the white of the dove he was hunting anywhere, he cursed and lowered his bow. He took a few moments to stare up into the tree. After what seemed like hours to Chyla, the man finally gave up, having lost sight of his prey, and rode back the way they had come.
Chyla changed into her natural form and sobbed. She was lost, naked, afraid, and injured. The human world had not been kind to her so far. She cried for a long time, but eventually her sniffling came to an end. Wiping her eyes on her good forearm, she settled to the task of healing herself.
The elbow was bent the wrong way, and her shoulder was out of its socket as well. The pain was beyond horrible, and Chyla retched off the side of the branch. Knowing she’d have to set her shoulder and arm before she could start the healing process, she grabbed a small stick nearby and shoved it between her teeth. I have never done this to myself, she thought. Oh, mother, how I wish you were here.
She stood up and balanced on the branch with her hind legs, facing the tree trunk. Chyla took a deep breath, gathering courage, and then charged the tree, slamming her shoulder into it. The Nhyme girl grunted in pain but kept the stick in her mouth, locking down hard onto it with her teeth as she made contact. With a loud pop, her shoulder went back into its rightful position. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but if she stopped now she wouldn’t have the courage to set her arm too.
She found the “Y” of two branches coming together at approximately chest level, both sides of which forked into two smaller ones. Positioning the wrist of her broken arm gingerly into the makeshift restraint, she prepared herself and made sure the angle was right. In one fluid motion, she leaned back, allowing all her weight to pull on her arm. There was another pop, and the Nhyme girl screamed, the stick dropping out of her mouth and falling to the ground below. She stood there for a moment, gasping and waiting for the pain to stop blinding her. Taking a few deep breaths, Chyla retrieved her hand from the connecting branches.
Putting her back to the trunk, tears rolling down her face from the effort of moving her injured arm, she closed her eyes and rested. She focused inwardly, starting with the beating of her heart and then shifting that focus down through her blood to her arm. She began drawing the smallest hint of energy to her, visualizing first her shoulder and then the area around the break. Envisioning tiny sutures, she repaired the damage to the bone itself and then the strained and torn tissues surrounding it. Satisfied that all had been sewn back together, she released the energy. Her mental stitches faded away to smooth bone and healthy intact tissue. Chyla smiled to herself, plucked a nearby leaf to cover up with, and leaned back into the tree, letting exhaustion take her. Before she succumbed to sleep, she said aloud, “No pretty dove form. Got it.”