I leaned in close.
“Majira,” I whispered. “Majira…”
Her eyes slid over to me. Weakly she raised a hand as if to pull me closer. I leaned in further.
“…she killed one…” she said in a thin, frail voice. “…she killed one…”
“Who killed what?” I asked.
“…Dawn… she killed one…”
I looked over to Dawn. She was still sitting on the stool shivering, looking innocent.
“Killed a what,” I urged. “What did she kill, Majira…”
Majira turned her head, looking me straight in the face. Her lips trembled and I saw a small smile flicker.
“A Witch… she killed a Witch…”
I looked back at Dawn with new eyes. This pretty little faun princess did what?
“What happened?” I asked Majira incredulously.
“… ask her… she can tell you…” she breathed.
“Do you think you’ll be alright?”
Majira frowned contemplatively. She closed her eyes and shifted in place; grimaced.
“…I’ll survive… I’ll be alright… but you have to go… take Dawn… meet with Bram…” she whispered, closing her eyes.
I put my hand on her bare arm. She went quiet, her breathing slowed down.
“I will. I’ll keep her safe. And please, don’t die. Don’t die, Majira,” I said, not exactly sure how to console someone so grievously injured.
I didn’t know if she heard me. I didn’t know where she was hurt, but she was hurt. Almost on the cusp of death. Her face was so white against her red hair that the bags under her eyes looked blue.
I got up and spoke to Dawn.
“She’s going to be alright,” I said, trying to reassure her.
Right then another figure burst into the room. It was the silver-haired Corhym Braed, Lord of the Treasury or whatever he was called.
“Princess, I heard there was an incident. I dropped everything as soon as I heard. Are you safe? Is everyone alright?” he asked in an urgent voice.
“Yes, everything is fine,” she replied, straightening her posture on the stool.
Dawn took my cloak from her shoulders and handed it back to me. In the blink of an eye she turned from frightened youth to stately heiress. I was impressed.
She stood and addressed Corhym Braed.
“Thank you for your concern, Lord Braed. However, as you can see, my court sorceress was badly injured during a scrying practice, and I’m afraid she will be unable to travel with us tomorrow.”
“Princess, it is no trouble at all. We would be honoured to host her until she has fully recovered,” he replied with a respectful bow. “We will call on nothing but the finest healers.”
“Healers won’t help,” I interjected. “Apologies for the interruption, your highnesses, but it’s her soul that’s been wounded. Nothing but time will cure her.”
“I can second that,” said the magician attending to Majira. “We can only try to alleviate the suffering until she’s healed.”
“Then she may take as much time as she needs. So long as she is in Safon, she will be our guest,” said Corhym Braed.
I stood back as Dawn and Corhym Braed engaged in more court-speech. I always wondered how courtiers could say so little with so many words, and so much with so few.
Eventually we cleared out of the room. Dawn whispered goodbye to Majira and promised to visit before we left the next day, but I don’t think Majira heard her. I put my cloak back on and we closed the door behind us as Corhym Braed dispersed the gathered crowd. Word had travelled fast; Perethon was already waiting.
“Perfect,” Dawn said upon seeing him. “We need to talk. There’s been a change of plans.”
The three of us walked a ways down the hall until we were in a private alcove.
“Captain Perethon, as you already know, Majira is injured. She won’t be able to travel,” Dawn began, wasting no time. She looked tired but in control. “In light of this, it will be best if you and the Royal Guard remain with her. Once she is well enough, escort her back to Naraya.”
“Are we to abandon escorting you, princess?” he asked.
“Indeed. It will be easier for me to travel inconspicuously with a smaller party. And Majira needs an escort.”
“I understand,” rumbled Perethon. “Should I send a courier to Queen Boralia? I fear she may not take well to this change of plans…”
“My mother is merely regent; once I’m crowned I will be High Queen. I respect her orders, but she is back in Naraya and though her intentions are sincere she doesn’t understand the complexities of the situation,” Dawn said in impressive court-speech. “As for a courier, we have three very capable knights who will be returning to Céin Urthia in the morning. They can carry the message, and all without fear of repercussions.”
“It will be done, your highness,” Perethon said, bowing as he was dismissed.
Dawn watched as Perethon walked out of the alcove and down the hall. And as soon as his hoofsteps were out of earshot, she collapsed against me. She breathed out a long, shuddering sigh. I held her close. We stood silently in the private alcove for a long time. I felt her warm breath against me, her arms around me.
“Ortham… do you really think she’ll be alright?” she asked, face still buried in my shirt.
“I think so,” I replied, doing my best to keep the uncertainty out of my voice. “But it will take a long time to get better… what even happened?”
Dawn let go of me and sat down on a stone bench. The alcove was drenched in gloom; through a tall window green moonlight poured in. Dawn’s antlers cast a strange shadow on the floor. I sat down next to her. She played with her wavy hair.
“We were dream delving… we found my teacher. He really is mad. He said he would meet us on our journey – anywhere but Valethucia.”
“So, we’re not going to Valethucia anymore?” I asked, perplexed.
“No. Not anymore. But we need to stay on the move until Bram can teach me.”
“So… where are we headed, then?”
“East. We’re still going to take the ship along the coast, just to keep moving if nothing else. Then I’m going to contact the Wizened Eye.”
That surprised me.
“Wait, you mean those fae that Majira specifically warned us about? The ones that, just by their presence, forced us to flee Glenn Mereillon?”
“When you say it like that you make me feel like it’s not a good idea… but I also don’t care. As long as we keep moving, we’ll be fine. And to be honest, Ortham… I’m not sure I’m even that scared of the Disciples or the Witches anymore.”
That really surprised me. So much so that I stood up.
“Really? You’re not afraid of either of them? Dawn, the Empire of Un is nothing to take lightly. Trust me; I warred against them. And if they’re afraid of the Witches, then we better be afraid too!”
Dawn looked up at me with her big green eyes. She seemed perfectly calm.
“Ortham, in the dreamscape I saw something. I saw Disciples with strange weapons and stranger armour. They came to fight the Witch. They weren’t after me,” she said. “One of them saved Majira. He sacrificed himself to wound the Witch.”
I sat back down next to Dawn.
“They’re at war against the Witches. It’s what they do. That doesn’t mean they wouldn’t have taken you too if the opportunity came.”
“I know…” she replied, putting her chin in her hand and leaning forward. “I just… I feel like we’re almost on the same side. You haven’t seen a Witch yet, Ortham; you haven’t seen the way they radiate evil. It oozes from them. There is nothing good or natural about the Witches. But the unmen… you’ve met good unmen, haven’t you? There must be at least some.”
“Well of course, Dawn. It’s not the unmen; it’s not the uyrguks. It’s the Disciples who want to end the world. It’s the Empire who wants to enslave it. They’re
our enemies.”
“I just… I feel like we would get along if we just understood each other. Like, if we worked together. I mean, think about it; Safon used to fight its neighbours all the time. Now they’re in a league! Same with Céin Urthia; the princedoms used to wage petty wars all the time. But now they’re united.”
“Yeah, but that’s because they all have things in common. They all have something that brings them together. The Disciples of the Void literally want to cleanse the world. That’s their goal,” I said. “But honestly, if you want to go walk up to the Empress of Un and say ‘hey, I know we just fought a decade-long war, but would you like to gang up on the Witches? Just promise you won’t have your priests send us all into the Void,’ then feel free.”
Dawn sat up and crossed her arms.
“Fine. Then I will,” she said, pouting comically.
I laughed.
“You’re better off sailing south to strike a trade deal with the ogres and trolls.”
“We’ll see about that…” she said, arms still crossed. “But I’m serious about the Wizened Eye.”
“But why?”
“Because. Majira wanted me to train under Magus Bram, but Lyrèlie wanted me to go find the being who watches from the cleft in the rock. And to be quite honest, Magus Bram… well, he doesn’t exactly inspire my confidence. He’s mad. And now that we don’t have to go to Valethucia, I can kill two birds with one stone.”
I hated that it was so logical. It was exactly like something I would suggest.
“Alright. Fair enough. So you’re going to contact the evil fae, and then they’ll tell you where the being who watches from the cleft in the rock is. And somewhere along the way that crazy wizard is going to show up. Am I getting it right?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Great. And I guess we’ll tell Herace in the morning once he’s sober, since it’ll just be us three.”
“Yes. But for now… for now we can just sit here, okay?” Dawn said.
She moved closer to me, until we were touching. Then she rested her head on my shoulder. I narrowly avoided getting my eye poked out by her antlers, but I didn’t mind.
We sat there, perfectly content, for a long time. The moonlight shifted from green to blue as the moons floated across the sky.
I wanted to ask if it was true – if she had really killed a Witch. I wanted to know what happened in the dreamscape, even though I didn’t know anything about it. But Dawn was leaning so peacefully against me, and she put her hand on my lap, and I didn’t want to disturb the moment.
I would ask tomorrow, I resolved, and put my hand on hers.
There would always be tomorrow.
32
Bram Tan Heth
I rolled onto my hands and knees. My mouth was dry as dusty parchment. My tongue was shrivelled like a salted slug. I knelt there for a long time, trying to get saliva to form in my mouth.
Something happened… a hazy reflection in a sun-struck mirage... something came, something came in the broad day while I slept… two somethings. Two someones.
Majira… and a princess?
I tried to recall my dream. Majira and an antlered princess… a faun… I couldn’t recall her name. They needed my help. I said I would meet them, meet them… Valethucia? No, certainly not. Never there, never again.
I would meet them on the way. The way where?
I giggled. I didn’t know where. It didn’t matter.
What to do, what to do… where to go? I would have to dream delve. My poor, ragged, battered soul would just have to suffer a little more. If I didn’t find water soon, I would die.
I collapsed back into the sand beneath the shadow of the stone arch. I peeked my head up to the blue sky; dark wings circled far above. Vultures.
Were they still fat from Avaxenon’s flesh?
I closed my eyes. Mustn’t let the buzzards win.
With a little effort I slipped into the dreamscape. I hadn’t yet recovered from transporting into the desert; I didn’t have much time here.
Without a second thought my soul walked into the desert, leaving my breathing body behind. I hoped the vultures wouldn’t get too bold. But even if one plucked my eye out, at least I would be pulled back in to my mortal frame.
I walked into the desert, leaving my living corpse behind.
I certainly hoped I didn’t have an episode while dream delving; there was no telling what would happen here during a bout of the Black Laughter. I could feel it bubbling, seething just below the surface; ready to spill over at any moment.
I ran.
The desert sands blurred beneath me; every stride was a hundred steps. I scouted all about me; there was nothing. It was an utter wasteland. So I rose up into the void sky instead, flying like a bird; it took more energy, and I felt the raw wounds rubbing in my soul. I ignored the pain.
From high above I looked back down. The desert was vast; but it had an end. The orange sands bled into open, arid plains. I was further south than I had realized; there was hope yet.
But in my condition it would still take days to walk out of the sands. Without water, I would succumb to the heat. Succumb to thirst. Or worse, succumb to the Black Laughter, go mad.
I had to be very careful; once I was out of the anti-magickal field of this disruptive desert, I would have to conceal myself once again. For years I had dedicated a trickle of my power to maintain a cloak about my soul; I did not want to be seen, did not want to be found. The Witches despised me; many a time I had slipped through their defenses to peer into places I had best not. The Disciples of the Void, however, were rather unconcerned with me. They knew they could not stop my interloping, and they had no desire to enslave my soul. It was too ragged for their liking, too unstable. For if a magus such as me could barely control my burgeoning reservoir, how could they hope to?
I dropped lower. Perhaps there was a caravan along the way, travelling through this desert waste. If I could find one, speak into their dreams…
I skimmed along the dunes. From this height it looked like a lakeside at sunset; orange waters gently rippling, flowing fluidly one into another, broken only by clusters of pillared rock.
Something caught my eye. Like a trail of tiny ants, dark little dots moved in a line upon the dunes.
I swooped down. They were close enough to where I was; but not close enough for me to intersect with, even if I rejoined by body now and started walking.
I got closer and landed in the sand, disturbing nothing.
Upon a nearby ridgeline the little ants grew into beasts of burden. Dromedaries and lanky, pig-snouted bau’ora, hides toughened by the desert winds, lumbered through the sand. Folk rode astride the beasts, some walking just behind. There were horse riders, too, flanking the edges of the strung-out caravan. They scanned the horizon, eyes squinted beneath wide-brim hats. At the very back of this caravan, to my surprise, strode a long-limbed troll. His back was burdened by a heavy basket, and a fabric awning shaded his head.
I marvelled at this bizarre caravan; I was in a strange land indeed. I still didn’t know exactly where I was. But I had my suspicions; I was far northward, across the Violet Ocean, on a continent I seldom wandered in the dreamscape.
From a safe distance I shadowed the caravan. They were headed west through the dunes, following the undulating waves of sand. I kept back as a cautionary measure; one could never be too certain if another seer or watcher was present.
I began to feel my soul aching more acutely. While my reservoir had refilled significantly since transporting myself into the desert, the pathway of my soul was still quite damaged. I decided to return to my body, and if I had the energy, to start walking south. I needed to get as close as possible before nightfall.
I inhaled, closed my eyes, and fell backward.
* * *
I jolted awake. I touched my body, making sure I was all there; I put my fingers to my eyelids. They hadn’t yet been plucked out by bu
zzards.
I calmed.
Beyond the shade of my rock archway the desert shimmered. Shadows passed over the blinding sand; the scavengers circled, wheeling in the empty blue sky.
I staggered to my feet, supporting myself against the rock.
South. I had to head south.
Peering out of my shelter I scanned the southern horizon. Far away there were more pillars of rock; more places to hide. I would have to move from cluster to cluster to escape the tyrannical sun. I would rest at each one, recuperate for the journey.
I wrapped my cloak over my head and stepped out into the heat.
The distance seemed interminable, insurmountable. Each step was painful; gritty sand found its way into my foot-wrappings, chafing my ankles raw. Once I was halfway to the next rock formation I had to kneel down in the sand. It burned my bare hands. I was sweating from every pore and the sand stuck there too.
I looked behind me and groaned. I wasn’t even halfway. I was maybe one quarter the way.
A giggle skittered its way through my teeth. I didn’t have the energy to quash it. It floated freely into the air.
I got back to my feet. The horizon rose and fell with every step; I was rocking upon a windless sea of molten metal. I was a stumbling statue of stone, broken at the joints, grindings its way to a graveyard of orange spires.
If only I was upside down; if only that blue sky, that azure firmament, could be the thing through which I wandered; the cool blue of shallow coastlines.
I trudged through the sand. The biting, damnable sand; the air was stifling. I choked for breath, wrestled against the heat…
“Ha… ha ha ha,” I started to laugh, dry and mirthless like the rustling of autumn leaves. “Ha ha ha! Ha ha!”
Each was an expulsion from my lungs, a black dust that poisoned what it touched.
I was sinking into the sand… I forced my limbs to carry on.
I was sinking into the sand…
I laughed. The buzzards laughed too.
“You should take a seat,” said the buzzard, dressed in a vest and looking all his best. He waddled alongside me.
Day of the Hunt (The Faun Quartet Book 2) Page 29