by Kel Kade
Ina looked around the tiny haven she had managed to protect from the blight. She gazed at her beloved tree, then looked back at Aaslo. She tilted her head. “Are you really a forester?” At his nod, she said, “What you ask will come at a cost.”
“I’m willing to pay it,” said Aaslo.
“You have not even asked what it is,” said Ina.
“What does it matter?” he said. “Without the power, we are all dead.”
She grinned and swayed to the music. “There are worse things than death.”
“Death does not scare me,” said Aaslo. “The end of life does.”
“Then, you agree? I will lend you my power, and you will pay the price.”
“Yes,” said Aaslo.
Ina’s glow began to grow. It filled the space between the trees with brilliant white light, then shot from her toward Aaslo. Just before it struck him, Arayallen said, “Oops,” and shoved Myropa into the stream. Myropa shrieked as the beam of intense power surged through her, a sound that was echoed by Aaslo when it entered his body. Aaslo fell to the ground, his knees sinking into the muddy water, and Myropa fell next to him.
Ina stood over Aaslo with a severe expression, her voice commanding. “You will rid my land of the blight. That is my price. Your price will be greater still.”
Aaslo struggled to speak over the pain. His throat felt like sandpaper, and everything in his body ached as if it had been crushed beneath a massive fallen evergreen. “I-I don’t know how to use it,” he wheezed.
Ina leaned over him with a cruel grin and tapped his head. “It’s all in there. It’ll come to you.” Her body began to shift into amorphous forms as light danced around her; then she disappeared into the dark hole in the tree.
Aaslo stayed in the mud on his hands and knees breathing heavily. He looked up and met Myropa’s concerned gaze. She knew it was impossible, since he couldn’t see her, but he looked straight into her eyes. He said, “Who are you?”
Myropa’s shock caused the ice in her veins to crackle like sea ice breaking into slush. “Y-you can see me?” She glanced toward Arayallen, but the goddess was gone. She couldn’t believe that Arayallen had tried to destroy her.
Aaslo also started to tremble. He wrapped his arms around his body as he shook. His teeth chattered as he replied. “S-sort of. You’re kind of hazy, like you’re not all there.”
“I’m not,” she said, shaking her head.
He reached out to touch her face, but his hand passed right through her. “What are you?”
“I’m a reaper,” she said. “I carry the dead to the Afterlife.”
Aaslo’s brilliant green gaze was full of disappointment. “Am I dead, then?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “I don’t understand. You shouldn’t be able to see me. You’ve never been able to before.”
“You’ve been around for a while?” he said. Her gaze dropped to the sack sitting in the mud still tied to his waist. Aaslo said, “You took him?”
She nodded. “I’m sorry, Aaslo. I didn’t want to, but the Fates required it.”
Aaslo pulled the bag out of the muck and held Mathias’s head to his chest as he continued to tremble.
Myropa said, “You’d best hurry, Aaslo. You don’t look well, and your friends are worried. They can’t find you because you crossed into Ina’s realm. They’ll kill themselves looking.”
Aaslo looked behind him through the trees to see that his companions were indeed frantic over his disappearance. For some reason, none of them had been able to pass through the gap in the trees, or they could no longer find it. “What’s your name?” he said.
“You may call me Myra.”
“Myra,” he said through chattering teeth. “I’m sorry we couldn’t meet under better circumstances.”
“Me, too,” she said as Aaslo rose on shaky legs. Once he was standing, he didn’t move again for several minutes.
“What did she do to me?” he said.
“I don’t know,” said Myropa.
He finally took a few hesitant steps, then began walking with more confidence. He stumbled through the gap in the trees, then collapsed into the murky blight-infested water on the other side. Teza scrambled over the roots, seemingly without concern for her own safety. She gripped a tree branch with one gloved hand as she reached out to Aaslo with the other. Myropa knelt at Aaslo’s side, untouched by the water in the Realm of the Living, and encouraged him to get up. His shivering had gotten worse, but as he stewed in the mud, it slowed. The blight began to seep into his skin, and he stopped struggling as he submerged beneath the water.
“Aaslo!” screamed Teza. “No, Aaslo!”
Myropa’s cries were much the same while she peered through the murky water. She searched the one clear ring amid the sooty mess of the blight and noticed the plague was moving toward the spot where Aaslo had sunk. It slipped across the surface and was sucked down into the depths by an unseen undercurrent. Suddenly, Aaslo lurched out of the water, gasping for breath. His chest heaved as he stood in the waist-high water, and he hung his head while he recovered. The blight continued to converge on him, and Teza began screaming again.
“Aaslo, get out of there! It’s going to kill you! Come on, take my hand!” called Teza.
Myropa, the thieves, and the guards also yelled, but Aaslo wasn’t listening. Myropa wasn’t even sure if he could hear them any longer. His mind seemed to be far away. The blight slithered up his body, eating away his thin linen shirt and enveloping him in powdery black slime. Aaslo began muttering to himself, and Myropa wondered if he was talking to Mathias again. When the blight finally reached his neck, it sank into his flesh like water into a drying cloth. As fast as it could cover him, it was consumed, and Aaslo simply stood there muttering. Eventually, he and the entire puddle in which he stood were cleared of the blight. He shook himself and then finally looked up from his daze. He glanced toward Myropa, then blinked at Teza before taking her hand.
Once he was standing atop the mound of muddy dead plants, Aaslo took a deep breath and looked around the swamp. He didn’t even acknowledge the others as they continued to ask after his well-being. Without a word, he pulled off his glove and dragged his hand over the blight-riddled trees. Everywhere he touched, the deadly plague absorbed into his skin, leaving behind what looked like claw marks. He looked at the others and said, “You all should go back to where you’ll be safer. I need to cure the blight.”
“We’re not leaving you,” said Greylan. “What just happened? You were covered in this black pestilence, yet you are not dead.” Aaslo shook his head as he rested his hands on his knees and took deep breaths. Greylan said, “You saw them—these fae? Did they agree to help?”
“I saw one,” said Aaslo, glancing among the others. Everyone stared at him in earnest except Mory. Aaslo looked back to Greylan. “We made a deal.”
“What was the deal?” said Ijen, tapping his book as he sat atop his horse. His expression held only dread.
“She agreed to lend me her power in exchange for curing the blight and … something else.”
“Lend you her power? Those were her words exactly?”
“Yes,” said Aaslo.
“What was the something else?” said Ijen.
“I don’t know. She was a bit cryptic. Come. You all need to get to safety while I look for the source of the blight.”
“We came here to help you. Why should we leave now?” said Greylan.
“You came to help me find the fae. We did. Now you can go.”
Teza placed her hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay, Aaslo? I thought you were dead … again.”
Aaslo smirked. “I guess I’m hard to kill.”
Myropa wondered about that. Many gods were beginning to toy with him, but ultimately it was up to the Fates.
Aaslo mounted Dolt, who stood still for once, then paused. Turning to Ijen, he said, “I feel different. I feel like … like there are forces battling inside me—strange things, foreign things.” Ijen pu
rsed his lips and anxiously tapped his book as he stared at Aaslo. He offered nothing. Turning to Myropa, Aaslo said, “Are you coming with us?”
Myropa smiled. “Yes, for now.”
“That’s great!” said Mory. “I thought I saw you before, back in Tyellí, just as I woke up, but I wasn’t sure. You were in the marquess’s estate, weren’t you? It was like I knew someone was there, but I couldn’t see you. I’d forgotten what happened, but now I remember clearly. I’m really glad you came back.” Then his face paled, and he said, “You’re not here to take one of us, are you?”
“No,” said Myropa, utterly surprised that Mory could also see her. She glanced at the others, who were watching Aaslo and Mory with concern.
Peck said, “Are you okay, Mory? I think the swamp gas is getting to you. Who are you talking to?”
Mory pointed to Myropa. “The lady that kept me company when I was dead.”
Aaslo turned to Mory. “You were dead?”
“For a little while,” said Mory. He nodded toward Myropa. “She was supposed to take me. Instead, she waited with me, both of us hoping Peck could save me in time.” His grin grew wider, and he slapped Peck on the back. “He did.”
Aaslo turned to Myropa. “That’s why he can see you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Usually only the dead and dying can see me—the ones I take. Maybe it has something to do with the serum the apothecary used.”
“What serum?” said Aaslo.
“Hey,” said Peck. “How did you know about the serum? And who are you talking to? I’m really starting to worry.”
“There’s no one there,” said Greylan. The other guards nodded, eyeing Aaslo as if he were mad. He imagined their concerns were not far from the truth, and his exposed part-dragon body didn’t help matters.
Aaslo looked at Myropa. “They can’t see you, but I can. Does that mean I’m dying?”
“What?” cried Teza. “You’re dying?”
Myropa shook her head. “I don’t think so.” As Aaslo shook his head at a frantic Teza, Myropa said, “Something happened when Ina was giving you power. I got caught in the stream. I think it changed us. I think maybe you got pulled a little into my realm, and I got pulled a little into yours.”
“What makes you think that?” said Aaslo.
“Because I’m not as cold,” she said. “And, I can see your eyes. The colors were muted before. I can see their brilliant green, now, like the forest where you were born. They’re lovely.”
“Aaslo, you’re scaring me,” said Teza. “First, you’re talking to heads, now the air.”
“No, he’s not,” said Mory. “I can see her, too. We’re talking to the same person.”
Teza looked to Ijen for help. He shrugged and said, “There are no invisible people in the story.”
Greylan said to Teza, “You’re the healer. Can madness be contagious?”
“No,” she said, “but noxious fumes can cause delusions. I’ve never heard of two people having the same delusion, though. I think maybe they really are talking to someone the rest of us can’t see.”
“How many of these invisible beings are there?” said Greylan, reaching for his weapon.
Aaslo glanced around. “As far as I can tell, only one. Her name is Myra.”
“Is she pretty?” said Peck.
Aaslo frowned at him. “We’re surrounded by blight. Is that really important?”
Peck grinned. “It’s always important.”
“Oh, she’s very pretty,” said Mory. His cheeks turned red when Myropa smiled at him.
“Well, why is she here?” said Teza.
Aaslo said, “She’s a reaper. She said she carries the souls of the dead to the Afterlife.”
“Are we going to die?” shouted one of the guards. He was a younger man who looked like he would run off into the blighted swamp in a panic.
Aaslo turned to the man, his frustration escaping in his tone. “So what if we are? What do you plan to do about it?” He took a deep breath and more calmly said, “I don’t know why she’s here. We’ll find out later. Right now, we need to get you out of here.”
After much argument and discussion, the guards finally turned their horses. Since there was no room to pass, Aaslo and his companions had to bring up the rear. Myropa walked next to Aaslo, snapping ahead with a thought whenever they went too fast, which wasn’t often in the bog. As they traveled, she wondered if Arayallen had known what would happen when she pushed Myropa into the power stream. She couldn’t figure out if the goddess was friend or foe. Perhaps she was both—or neither, and it only depended on what suited her. That seemed typical behavior for all the gods. Although she didn’t understand what had happened, she was thankful and elated that Aaslo could see and talk with her.
Myropa was so happy that she jumped in surprise when several glowing tethers snapped into place at her core. Her gaze followed their lines just in time to witness the attack. Arrows flew out of the scrub on one side of their path, and tiny disks of red light spun at them from the other. Two of the guards were struck down by arrows, one was knocked from his horse into the blight-ridden muck, and two more received terrible injuries to their arms and torsos that would certainly prove fatal if not treated.
Teza launched a ball of bright white light toward the closest magus who had thrown the red disks. He erected a shield before it struck and answered with another slew of disks. Teza and Ijen tossed up invisible barriers along the path, blocking the worst of the magi’s attacks. The cost of those that got through was devastating. One of the injured soldiers lost consciousness and fell from his agitated horse. The horse wailed when an arrow struck his hindquarter and began bucking. The other horses startled, trying to move out of the way, and two more guards were overcome by the blight when their mounts lost their footing and began to sink. Myropa busily collected souls, but she knew she was not the only reaper on the field that day, for she did not receive everyone’s tether.
* * *
Aaslo felt something stir inside him, and somewhere in the back of his mind, knowledge whispered. The thing inside him, the vicious interloper, wanted to fight. The other thing, the seductive whisper in his mind, wanted to be remembered. It reminded him of the times when Mathias and he quizzed each other over the ridiculous cultural traditions, rituals, and poems Magdelay had taught them. Then it struck him. The ridiculous things taught to him by the high sorceress—were spells.
“Now you’re thinking.”
“I don’t remember,” said Aaslo, surveying the chaotic scene as arrows and explosions struck the invisible barriers that Teza and Ijen were straining to maintain.
“Okay, then you can all die. Myra seems nice. She can take your soul like she did mine.”
“That’s not going to happen,” said Aaslo. “I just need more time.”
“Do you have a spell for that? Because otherwise you’re not going to get it.”
“Okay, um—” Aaslo raised his hand and traced a symbol in the air as he whispered the foreign words in concert with Mathias. He didn’t know what the spell would do, but it was the first that came to mind. He figured anything was better than nothing, and something inside him whispered that it was right. In his mind, he was standing in the study again with Mathias laughing at him for his terrible pronunciation. Magdelay had walked in on them at the exact moment that it looked like they weren’t working.
Just as Aaslo said the last word, one of the intruders that had been stirring in his core jumped to the fore and leapt right out of his body. It surged across the swampland toward the foreign magi, burst through their shield, and collided with the closest magus. The man didn’t survive the explosion. Aaslo muttered the next poem on his mental list and performed the associated hand gestures, then thrust his palm toward the saggy-skinned creatures on the other side of the path. Having discarded their bows, they were attempting to attack on foot but kept bumping against the invisible walls. As the strange power escaped Aaslo, four of the creatures exploded into tiny
pieces that, to everyone’s horror, rained down on them over the shields.
The injured guard fell from his horse but managed to stab an attacker through the gut before he expired. Greylan and the remaining guard continued to engage the monsters attacking from the left, while Peck used his belt knife to fend off any that came at him and Mory. When Aaslo turned his attention back toward the enemy magi, he noticed they had moved close enough for him to recognize the eldest. It was the man named Verus he had met in Mierwyl—the one who had been searching for Mathias.
With the enemy moving in, Aaslo called to his people to fall back beyond the trees. He stepped off the path into a pool to make room for the others, and Greylan’s horse fell in after him. The blight began to consume the horse but then retreated as the plague was absorbed into Aaslo. He felt something shift inside him as more of the blight filled him, but there was nothing to be done for it. He was just glad in that moment that he wasn’t dying.
Ijen cast a spell to topple a few trees for use as cover and prevent the enemy from following. Aaslo, Teza, Ijen, Peck, Mory, Greylan, and the last guard, a man named Rostus, were all that was left of their party. Everyone that had been in the front of the line was dead, and only four horses survived. One of the horses was up to his neck in a murky pool and another was Dolt, who was an idiot.
Verus called out to Aaslo. “Forester! You lied to me. You said you did not possess any power.”
Aaslo began preparing another attack as he said, “I didn’t then. You said you were just a visitor. You made no mention of your plan to destroy the world.”
Verus somehow dredged a boulder the size of a horse’s head from the swamp and launched it toward them as if from a catapult. Ijen swiped it from the air with a spell before the boulder even reached the shields.
“Not the world,” said Verus, looking far too smug. He seemed certain he would prevail. “Just the tainted. How is it you possess power now?”