Bridgebreaker (The Echo Worlds Book 2)

by Joshua Cook

  A low whine came from Grellnot, and it rocked back and forth on its heels. “Grellnot not loved, not liked. But Grellnot is feared. All creatures know what happens if Grellnot catches you.” The goblin finger bone flew through the air as Grellnot spat it out. “Grellnot needs an army of its own. An army to fight for Grellnot, to kill for Grellnot!”

  Grellnot stood and sniffed the air, reaching out in all directions with every sense it had, including its new ability to sense and see magic. The goblins were nearby of course, but goblins were small things, cowardly, not strong. Ok eating though, and enough of them might help.

  “Grellnot needs strong things, mighty things. Giants, Jabbers, and more.”

  Grellnot sensed a village of dwarves a few miles away underground, but they wouldn’t be much help. Dwarves didn’t love the Slyph either, but they hated Grellnot. Tasted like dirt and dust, dwarves did; not tasty at all. Finally, a wisp of a scent, a village of Jabbers, far, but no place was really far for Grellnot anymore. A huge leap and Grellnot vanished, leaving only the slight remains of the fat goblin it had been eating, and a feeling of rot and decay behind.

  ________

  The Slyph was both pleased and annoyed. The creature she had created for the single job of breaking the Bridgefinders map had succeeded. Without that map, the Finders were nearly blind. Even better, this seemed to mean that the machine, the fake mind the Makers had made, had lost a great deal of its power with the destruction of the map.

  “I should have destroyed the map instead of the machine when I had the chance before,” the Slyph spoke out loud to her hounds, her now constant companions.

  Her little creation was dead now, sadly; that was annoying. Even more annoying was that the death was due to the interference of a human outside the Bridgefinders. She wasn’t sure why or how, but she knew magic had been worked on one of her creatures; magic that the Bridgefinders didn’t use. It must have been one of the humans that interacted with her world and her creatures. She knew all about those types. She’d been happy to work with them once, but they were still so limited, so slow.

  Worse, they didn’t bow to her easily. They summoned her creatures, her creations to make them do work for them! Humans, if they were allowed to live at all, should serve her and her children, not the other way around. But yet, one of those humans, one of the kind called a wizard, no a witch – that’s right, a witch – had helped the Bridgefinders. Witch. Humans were so limited in their understandings: witch, wizard -- it didn’t matter. Both worked the same power, but because one was normally female and one male, they had different names. Like that mattered at all to the magic.

  It had been useful, the divisions between humans. So tribal; easy hate. But if things were changing, if those humans outside the Bridgefinders who could work power, true power, joined the Finders, she had problems. Problems. The very idea that she, the Slyph, could have problems was laughable, or would have been a short time ago. Now, she faced a human world where a Maker had come forth, and a rebellion in the form of Grellnot on her own.

  Grellnot. Where was the wretched thing? She couldn’t track it, at least not directly. If a creature had seen it she would know, but only if she went looking for it. And looking took time, far too much time. However, as much of a problem as Grellnot was, she did have the upper hand. Grellnot was singular, alone, unloved and hated. Feared. She had an army, thousands of creatures that loved her as a living goddess. She just couldn’t let Grellnot get near her; that was all.

  The Slyph wasn’t sure if Grellnot could feast upon her or not, truthfully, but he’d try, and being taste tested wasn’t in the list of things she wanted to do. Her hounds would offer some protection if it came to that. Grellnot had to make the first move, she wasn’t going to chase it around, not while she had a bit of an opening on the humans’ world.

  “Grellnot will come to me, and I will end its miserable life. It may even thank me for it before it dies.” The Slyph spoke to a hound as it rested its head on her hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you eat the foul thing.”

  The Hound shuddered at this information, its tail whipping back and forth.

  “Come, I have to make sure when our former servant, Grellnot, finally attacks, that it won’t last long.”

  ________

  Cendan found himself standing at the exit to the Headquarters. He wasn’t sure how things had gotten so bad with Marcus so fast. It had been obvious that Marcus and he weren’t going to be friends from somewhat early on. But this -- this had been way outside what Cendan had expected. His bag was heavy in his hand; clothes, books, and a few other things stuffed inside it. A month or so ago he’d have been pretty happy to have Marcus kick him out to his old house, to walk away. That did seem like a lifetime ago; so much had happened to him since.

  Traveling to the Echo World; meeting Oakheart; his troubling deal with the Elves; talking Grellnot out of killing him; the resurrection of EVA; the death of Sal. EVA. His visit to her place in the lair had been far from helpful. Her voice was still muted, even there. Worse, he could tell she was trying to talk to him, or at least he got that feeling. But something was stopping her, holding her back. It was frustrating. Marcus wouldn’t even let him tell him about it either. He hated to leave her as well. Marcus and Jasmine didn’t have a clue what to do with EVA, not even how to fix her if something went wrong.

  For that matter, he was still tweaking everything to make it work better. The job to get EVA back ‘alive’ during the attack by the Slyph had been a rush job, and not the way Cendan had wanted it to be. Maybe that was the issue with her; something he and Sal had fixed in a rush had partially given way again. Marcus, however, wasn’t going to give him the time to even try to figure it out, and he didn’t have much time left.

  He’d grabbed a few books from the Maker Wing that he thought might be somewhat useful at least. One on the creation of foci, another that appeared to be the notes of the Maker before Oakheart. It was odd, but there always seemed to be only one Maker at a time. Until the break with Oakheart, they followed each other like clockwork. But then again, Oakheart hadn’t died; he’d been stuck in a tree, used as a conduit for Earth’s magic for the Slyph to use.

  At least he still had his focus on him. He’d had it when they had worked on the map, and Marcus hadn’t mentioned it in his rant to kick him out. Cendan had little doubt that if Marcus knew he had it on him, the demand for its return would be swift. Fishing the Key out, Cendan felt its touch and warmth comfort him. It was as much a part of him as the hand he held it in. It was also loaded with raw knowledge from Oakheart, most of which he still couldn’t make sense of.

  Cendan still believed that the main reason for that was that Oakheart himself didn’t remember what he still knew or didn’t know. Fifteen hundred years kept in the form of a tree would, and could, make you forget things, even important things. He’d be mentally searching for information on, say, Bridges and why they looked different to each person. He’d get a blast of information but it would have gaps, places where there was nothing. ‘Mental whiteout’ Cendan muttered to himself.

  Clearing his mind of his musings, Cendan held up the focus and opened the portal to leave. The translation felt odd this time to him, however; as if the connection was wobbling. Just as quickly as it came, the translation was done, and he was once again at the bottom of the basement steps of the Red Orchid.

  Two things struck him at once: first off, it was later than he thought it was – the sky was starting to darken. And secondly, standing at the top of the steps was the witch, Heather.

  “Finally! That Jasmine woman told me to leave and wait here. I’ve been sitting here for nearly two hours!” Heather hid none of her irritation. It was only then her eyes lighted upon the bag he was holding and the cut on his face. “So what happened?” was her only question, her tone considerably calmer.

  “Marcus happened,” Cendan answered. “He wasn’t happy about doing anything with the map. He blamed me for it, and in his anger, sucker punched me in
the head and kicked me out.”

  Heather gave off a low whistle. “Sounds like your friend Marcus there has some anger issues.”

  Cendan climbed the stairs, standing in rapidly vanishing light.

  “Marcus is not my friend.” Cendan dropped the bag with a thud on the ground.

  “What? But aren’t you like a, what’s that word you all use…a Maker?” Heather asked confused. “We don’t call them that, but for you all isn’t that a big deal?”

  It was Cendan’s turn to be surprised, then; what did she mean? There were Makers outside of the Bridgefinders? As soon as the thought came to him, he was slightly embarrassed he had never even considered the possibility. He’d taken Marcus and Jasmine at their word that there was nothing but bad about those who were outside the Bridgefinders.

  “You’re not the only one, you know. The title is different, but powers the same.” Heather watched him for a reaction to her words.

  Cendan wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of surprising her. “Ah well... yes. But Marcus blames me for, well, everything apparently. Jasmine thinks it’s just a case of hurt pride, but hurt pride doesn’t go around hitting people and kicking them out.”

  Heather nodded slowly. “You’d be surprised. Pride has made people do many a stupid thing in the world, Cendan.”

  Cendan nodded, but wanted to get back to the subject she had casually mentioned; about other Makers, or whatever they called them, since they don’t call them that, whoever they are.

  “Uh, Heather, what you just said, what do you mean? Makers, or whatever you call them, or us, or… whatever. I guess I’m confused.”

  Laughter greeted his question, and to his surprise he found himself smiling at the sound of it. Immediately, he suspected some sort of compulsion was being used, but when he summoned his magic sight, there was nothing active. Chalking it up to relief from stress, Cendan focused his attention on Heather. Tossing her hair back, Heather grinned at Cendan; that same smart-aleck look that seemed to be her normal face.

  “I forget how little you guys know. I find it funny really. All I heard growing in my powers and abilities is about how the mighty Bridgefinders hate us, and we can never let them know anything about how we operate. And now, after seeing the Bridgefinders up close, I see a dying group of people, in denial of their true powers, clinging to the remnants of what must have been an incredible past.”

  Cendan grimaced, but it wasn’t something he hadn’t thought of. Oakheart had told him that this wasn’t the way it was supposed to be, this denial of magic. How had the Bridgefinders come to this, a whimpering end? Shaking himself, he turned his thoughts to the now. The past would be something he’d have to look into, if he ever had the time.

  “Yes well, educate me then,” Cendan responded. “Look, Heather, your help in there was more than valuable. We’d never have even driven that thing out of the map if you hadn’t been there. Just tell me, ok?”

  For once Heather didn’t respond immediately. “I’d like to, Cendan, but I don’t think it’s a good idea; at least, not without talking to people. You have to understand, the separation between the Bridgefinders and the rest of us is old; really old. I’m not saying there’s prejudice or anything, but there may be people who really don’t want you and yours to know about us.”

  “That would make sense if I was still a Bridgefinder, but I got kicked out, remember?” he answered pointing to the bag on the ground. “At this point I don’t think I’m a Bridgefinder.”

  Silence fell over them, Cendan watching Heather, and Heather looking Cendan.

  “Ok, I’ll do this. You give me a ride to… a place. I’ll ask them what they want to do.”

  Cendan nodded. “That’s fair.”

  He wanted to know a lot more, like who was she going to ask? He’d never really thought that the others, the ones that were labeled witches and wizards, warlocks and sorcerers, or whatever else they could be called, had any organization. He just figured each was a solo agent able to do whatever they wanted. Mentally he chalked that up to a lack of understanding, something he didn’t like. It betrayed a prejudice, an assumption that whoever he was involved with was the right answer, the only answer.

  Chapter 7

  Mentally, he returned to his old standby; the Branches. In his mind, he could see the choices and where they may lead him. Some he discarded because the choice had already been made for him; Marcus had kicked him out, so he didn’t have choices involving the Bridgefinders at the moment. Another choice was to end this and go home, wait it out. But the Branches there were decidedly not pleasant. Assuming it was true, that Grellnot, and the Slyph were at war, not having him as a Bridgefinder meant bad things, for both him and Jasmine. Even to Marcus, he grudgingly admitted to himself. Going with Heather led to some Branches that at least seemed to offer some decent outcomes.

  “What magic are you working?” Heather asked him curiously, breaking his concentration.

  “What?” Cendan asked, bringing his attention back to her.

  “Magic; you were working it right then. The sparks of it where flying around you in a very unusual way. I’ve never seen that, and I’ve seen a lot of magic get worked.” Her eyes appraised him, and for once he didn’t detect any mocking in them.

  “I wasn’t working magic; just a mental exercise I do to see where choices could lead…”

  Heather held up a finger. “Scrying. You were scrying. Never seen a scryer spell like that one though. Interesting.”

  Cendan laughed. “It wasn’t a spell, I was just making a decision.”

  Heather didn’t respond, instead just cocking her eyebrow in a ‘whatever you say’ manner. Cendan found himself instantly wondering what she had seen. It was just his mental exercise, he’d done it many a time, going back years. It wasn’t magic, was it? For some reason, he found the idea rather unsettling. If he had actually been doing some sort of magic for years and not known that, he didn’t like it. He’d chalked up that little exercise to logic and weighing of factors. It had been a mental thing. But perhaps it had been magic all along, a scrying of some kind that meant the answers weren’t based on logic and fact, but some ethereal force of which he had very little understanding.

  He had prided himself on that; making decisions on logic and understanding. If Heather was right…

  “Are we going to go soon? It’s getting dark.” Heather asked, breaking into his head, full of new self-doubt.

  “Yeah… I guess. I uh, well, my car isn’t here it’s at my old house. Dunno if I should borrow one of the Bridgefinder cars or not.”

  A petulant eye-roll greeted this piece of information.

  “Ok fine, we will get a cab to your house then,” Heather snapped at him. “I just want to get moving, I’ve waited around long enough.”

  Cendan grabbed his bag and gestured her to take the lead. Truthfully, his mind was trying to make sense again of everything. A month ago he felt like a curtain had been ripped from a window that he didn’t know existed, showing him the world of the Bridgefinders. A world of magic, creatures, violence and danger. Now things are torn, but even more than they were after his first week in the Bridgefinders. Kicked out of his new home, new knowledge of the users of magic outside the Bridgefinders, and the idea that he’d been using magic for years, and not known it.

  Add in getting punched – punched! – By Marcus, and quite simply this day could end anytime now and he didn’t think he’d have ever been so happy to have it do so. Heather quickly called a cab, Cendan noted with some level of wry amusement, she was impatient to get out of here wasn’t she? Giving the driver his address, Cendan sat in silence, staring out the window as the outside world flew past. He loved this town at night, he realized; not that he often saw it that way. It seemed that after night fell, he’d be inside, away from it all. There was something rather pretty about it though, just different enough to get his attention away from this gnawing self-doubt that had engulfed him with Heather’s spell casting question.

  T
hey rode on in silence, but shortly they pulled in front of his old house. It looked odd to him now, even stranger than it had the last time he’d been here. The lawn service had done its job; the place had been mowed. All the bills were on autopay so Cendan didn’t have to worry about them, at least for now. Quickly paying the driver, they stood in the gathering gloom for a moment before Heather broke the silence.

  “Nice place. Must have some money to live around here.” She glanced around his old neighborhood.

  “Yeah well, before... Well before all this, I was pretty successful in business.” He really didn’t want to go into what he had done for a living. That would just drive more questions and thoughts he wasn’t quite ready to deal with yet. “C’mon, let’s go in. I’ll get my car keys and we can head out. And mail, I probably better clean up the mail.”

  Cendan unlocked his front door to find a small pile of the stuff. His old place had one of those in the door mail slots, handy, but capable of quite a mess if not dealt with.

  Most of it, of course, was junk mail, a few letters from old clients probably wanting to know where he was. He’d gone dark on his old job of consulting when he’d moved into the Bridgefinders lair. There wasn’t much reason to do it in a place where modern technology didn’t really work for the most part. Dropping his bag on the floor, he quickly sorted through the small pile.

  “Nice place inside as well.” Heather remarked as she looked around. “It’s very you.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked as he flipped through a bunch of sales flyers; how many new cars did they think he needed?

  “It’s nice, but clean, organized, and a bit… sterile.” Heather shot back, with a slightly amused tone. He raised his eyes at that to see her face bearing that slightly mocking grin again.

  “Sterile?” he asked, not sure if he really wanted to know what she meant. He just liked things his way. Simple.

  “Yeah, Sterile.” Heather didn’t provide any details, which suited Cendan just fine.