by J. M. Frey
But do I want to return?
No.
No, my life is here now. What the Deal-Maker Spirit did not understand when she taunted me with my own fears was that now that Kintyre is Lord and Bevel the Shadow Hand, all the meaning my life once held has been stripped away. True, I have my family still, and my friends, but I cannot stand to be idle. And to be the spare to the heir is about as idle as a person could be in my realm.
“No,” I answer, and for the first time, I feel the whole truth of it in my heart.
Elgar deflates, a tension I didn’t realize he was carrying dissipating. “Well!” he says, clutching his hat. “That’s . . . ah. That’s it then. Yeah? Day is saved, and all of that. I should . . . ah. I should go.”
“No!” Pip says, turning around suddenly. “No. No, we still have that wine you brought at Solsticetide. Come on, we’ll open it.”
“Going to tell me another story?” Reed asks, alluding to the first time I met him, in the bar of a hotel at a science fiction and fantasy convention. His face fills with a hope that I hadn’t ever expected to encourage in him again.
“Yes!” Pip calls as she gathers up her ridiculous skirts and goes into the kitchen.
We both watch her go.
“That’s a pretty dress,” Reed says tentatively.
“It was my mother’s,” I explain.
“Ah. I guess . . . you don’t want to talk about . . . um, family? With me.”
“On the contrary, actually. While I was there, I realized something,” I say, reaching out and offering my hand to my creator. “I should like to forge a peace with you, if I am able. It will be . . . shaky, to start. But I think, perhaps, in time . . . we could be friends. We could be family, if that is what you want. I will shut you out no more.”
“No more?” Reed echoes, hopeful, his hands tightening around mine.
“No more,” I say. “You see, I always wanted my father to . . . well, to be short-winded about it, with you, I have shut out the very thing I have been longing for, and I regret it. I hope you will forgive me, as well.”
“Yes! Yes, of course!” Reed gasps. Delighted.
“And you will work with me to attempt to mend this rift between us?”
“Of course!” Reed says again, and begins to pump my hand. “It’s a deal!”
“Ah!” I say, and draw my hand back quickly. “Maybe . . . perhaps, we should not use that particular phrase.”
“Oh. Oh,” he says, jamming his hands into his pockets, startled and worried. “Right, yes, of course. No deals. Of course.”
“Of course.”
“Though I . . . you must understand that I have to draw the line at calling you fa-father,” I caution him.
“Right,” Reed says, sweating, nervous. “Right, you already had one of those.”
“But friend,” I say softly. “Th-th-that I can call you, if you l-l-like.” I hold out my hand again, a truce.
And cautious, hopeful, but still nervous, Reed takes it.
Blood
“It is a Deal,” the woman-shaped thing says, and takes the man’s hand to shake.
It is warm, and firm, and she locks eyes with him because she knows that this Deal, this magic, will be the last she ever does. The task he asks is too great, requires too much. She will not survive it.
Not a third time.
It is only because of the Deal-Maker blood in his veins—veins he opened for her to drink from—that she is able to revive her dormant power enough for her to perform a magic so great. And with him gone from her, parted this time forever, she does not wish to survive it.
He holds her gaze as well, for he is a master warlock. He knows the checks and balances of magic, and he too knows that his revenge will cost her life. The power in his blood is locked away, but that doesn’t mean he can’t take what’s left of hers. They were each barred from accessing their own magics, but nothing in the Deal said that they could not use the other’s. As he opened his veins first for her, he now drinks from hers. Gulp after bloody blue gulp, teeth stained and smiling.
Behind him, the tear waits. When she is a husk, desiccated and fatigued, he presses a gory kiss to her forehead, and stands. Just before the white light envelops him, whisks him away from this world forever, he smiles.
“Thank you, Mother,” he says. “Goodbye. I will revenge you.”
“I know you will. Farewell,” she croaks. “My darkling boy. Take what is owed to you.”
The sky shatters, and white light fills her vision. She dies by inches, with the last image of her child in her mind and a smile on her lips. She thirsts. She dries. She can feel her remains evaporating.
Now that she knows that the Writer is real, and that he has finished her tale and placed her book on his Shelf of the Complete, she wonders if the rest of the stories are also true. That she will be given the chance at a final conversation with the Writer once his Pen is laid down.
If she is, she plans to save her final mouthful of moisture so that she can spit in his face.
About the Author
J.M. is a voice actor, SF/F author, fanthropologist and professional smartypants. She’s appeared in podcasts, documentaries, and on television to discuss all things geeky through the lens of academia. She also has an addiction to scarves, Doctor Who, and tea, which may or may not all be related. Her life’s ambitions are to have stepped foot on every continent - only three to go!
Her debut novel TRIPTYCH was nominated for two Lambda Literary Awards, won the San Francisco Book Festival award for SF/F, was nominated for a 2011 CBC Bookie, was named one of The Advocate’s Best Overlooked Books of 2011, and garnered both a starred review and a place among the Best Books of 2011 from Publishers Weekly.
www.jmfrey.net | @scifrey
Acknowledgements
My very great thanks to:
My REUTS Team—Ashley, Cait and Voule, and Kisa. I am so happy that you loved this world enough to ask for more than I had planned to write. This was never meant to be a series, and having the opportunity to return to Hain has meant the world to me. Also, thank you for being patient while I juggled, jumbled, changed honorifics, and generally ran around like a crazy person while I tried to do some extra world building to support the arc of this extended narrative. Sorry I keep changing the timelines and titles!
My inexhaustible beta readers: Jason (who helped smooth up the poetry wonderfully), Ashley, Sunny, Random Nexus, Devon, and Liana K.
Aunt Brenda and Dennis, in whose Sauble Beach bunkhouse a majority of this book was plotted and written.
Heather Emme, who came up with the name Capplederry.
Adam Shaftoe, who came up with the name Saetesh.
Devon Taylor-Black, who came up with the name Caerdac (though I changed the spelling).
Stephen Tassie, who came up with the name Bradri (though I really changed the spelling).
To Stephanie, Ruthanne, Jason, Sunny, Ashley, Adrienne, Mags, and Alexis, who put their heads together and helped come up with the series name.
Christopher Winkelaar (www.eyelessmax.com), my former roommate and, in no small way, part of my inspiration for both this world and for Forsyth. Chris and I were roommates in University, and he introduced me to D&D and fantasy RPGs; it was clear who the obvious choice had to be when it came time to commission the map at the front of these books.
Devon, Gavin, and Taran Taylor-Black, who provided lots of amazing feedback on the books, who created the marvelous D&D 5.0 compliant mini-campaign set at the Lost Library that you can get for free on Elgar Reed’s website, and who put up with me coming over to their house to play with Baby Taran as he grew older so I had a pattern for Alis.
Laurie McLean, who never gives up on me and my unashamedly “weird shit.”
And Mom and Dad, who let me move home and take over the spare room for an office so I could follow my dreams as Forsyth follows his.
And of course, thank you to you Readers, peering beyond the veil of the skies into the worlds and lives I’ve Written, and lo
ving them. I cannot express how humbling and wonderful you are.
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