by Nick McNeil
Bertly stepped farther into the room, finally feeling somewhat composed. “How do you know so much about me?”
Mother turned around—Bertly lost the composure he’d manage to retrieve because this woman was easily the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. She’d reduced him to near idiocy with a simple glance. A sculptor could not have carved marble with such perfect proportions. “Would you like a drink?”
“I, uh, was waiting until my—” Bertly gulped “—apprentice and I finished our spirit quest.”
“How cute.” The woman grabbed two glasses and filled them to the brim with red wine. “Please, sit.” She gestured toward the chair in front of her with a gentleness that seemed inherent in all her movements, as though she could break a man by pointing too quickly. Bertly wouldn’t have been surprised if that were the truth. “To answer your question, I know everything that is important.”
“You think I’m important?” Bertly blushed.
“I have eyes everywhere.” She tapped on her temple next to her eye. “Nothing in Pangea happens without me knowing about it. Except for your birth. I don’t have any eyes in Stonebank; however, I knew the results of your entrance exam testing before you even finished.”
“How could you know that so quickly?” Bertly sat in a feathered chair and crossed his ankle over his knee.
“I told you, I have eyes everywhere. I even know that your friend Polly has already arrived at the Academy with your pet bear.” Mother took a sip of wine.
“Polly is safe?” Bertly leaned forward. “Wait…where are my friends?”
“Polly is safe.” Mother tipped back her glass and finished it off. “Your apprentice will be safe. I have special plans for him; however, I cannot make the same guarantee for the dwarves.” Mother smiled. “They are going to make excellent gladiators. Would you like another glass?”
“I haven’t finished my first.” Bertly didn’t know why he so calmly and obediently answered her questions; he should have been infuriated. He felt as though something was influencing his behavior—the woman, the air in the room, the wine—something which had control over him, but over which he had none. “How do you know so many people? Everywhere?”
“I have been around for quite some time. I have had the chance to meet many people in many places.” Mother poured another glass of wine.
“I don’t understand. How can you be so old?” Bertly’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked at the floorboards. “You look so young. How can you know Cordelia?”
The tender woman sat in a throne-like chair and crossed her legs. A large desk rested between her and Bertly. “Tell me, what do you know about the Decomposite—aside from the ‘awful species’ and ‘treacherous lands’?” Mother mocked as she made air quotes.
Bertly looked around. “I don’t know, that’s about it.”
“Nothing else?” she questioned. “Nothing…historic, maybe?”
Bertly shook his head. “No, it’s always been like this.”
“They really do shelter you north of the forest, don’t they?” Mother chuckled, then tipped her glass back, emptying her drink in a single sip. “So you don’t know that the final battle of the Blight took place here?”
“No.”
“And I suppose you also don’t know that prior to that, the Decomposite was no different than the rest of Pangea?” Mother placed her empty glass on the table in front of her.
“No.”
“How do you suppose the Blight ended?” She placed her hands under her chin.
“It’s lost in history,” the wizard replied.
“Lost in history?” the woman shouted. “No, no, no. Nothing has been lost in any history. Someone has chosen not to tell you. These are two very different things.” Mother reached over and grabbed Bertly’s glass. “How do you suppose the war ended? With Cordelia fighting off millions of Rotters on her own?”
Bertly’s voice trembled. “Kind of.”
The woman took another long, indulgent sip of wine. “Sit back, young human. You have a lot to learn. Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Actually, yes, that sounds good.”
***
Bertly stopped writing and looked at his fuzzy friend. “Don’t you say a word about my drinking to the elf.”
Bear grunted.
***
“The Decomposite used to be like any other part of Pangea. It actually used to be called Little Flower. We had flourishing landscapes and running streams. Until the Blight came. Until he came. Why he came…that, only Cordelia ever learned. His Rotter army grew tremendously. They seemed to multiply faster than dwarf flies.” Mother tipped the bottom of Bertly’s glass for him. The wizard took a sip of the wine; it tasted awful. “And then Cordelia showed up and she had all the answers. She knew who he was—Bishop, but he may as well have been death incarnate himself. She knew where his base was: Little Flower. Once the locations were scouted and her words turned out to be true, we listened to her.”
“We?” Bertly asked.
“Yes, me and the rest of the Pangeans who fought in the first Blight. We had no one else to trust. The world was succumbing to Bishop, and we were desperate. She told us she knew how to stop him, but she never told us the cost.” Mother finished her glass of wine. “Another?”
“No, thank you.” Bertly took a sip of wine and cringed. “What was the cost?”
“Everything. Our lives, our homeland.” She opened a new bottle, which looked much larger than the ones in Pangea. “Cordelia did something that day…I don’t know how to describe it. I can’t even tell you how it made me feel. It’s the only thing I have ever experienced like it; nothing in this world can replicate what she did. But the damages can be seen. She destroyed our homeland and let the rest of Pangea use us as a scapegoat. The world closed itself off from Little Flower and started referring to it as the Decomposite. We were devastated by war, our lands were left uninhabitable, and no one wanted us. It made it easy for Pangea—a clear battle of good versus evil. It was easier for everyone to cope if they could blame someone. And eventually, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
“That’s…that’s awful. I’m sorry.” Bertly was again distracted, this time by the way her silky brown hair tumbled over her shoulders and chest. “But that still doesn’t explain your age.”
Mother took yet another sip of wine. “What magic Cordelia used, no one knows. But it cast some sort of spell over these lands. Time doesn’t work the same here as it does elsewhere. In fact, it doesn’t work at all.”
“Wait.” Bertly’s mind registered her words as truth. “I actually believe you. That explains something I always wondered about. My old master—”
“Alestar,” Mother interrupted. “Yes, he spent a lot of time here. He was not very fond of me, that one.”
“Why not?” Bertly asked.
“Because I force dozens of people to fight to the death every day for my amusement.” The woman whipped her hair back and batted her eyes.
“Right.” Bertly took another sip of wine. The taste was growing on him.
“As I was saying. That’s why the leaders of Pangea don’t want their residents coming here; once they learn of how the time works, the citizens will never want to live in their home countries again. Despite the scenery.” Mother stood and walked back to her liquor cabinet. “Immortality can be quite persuasive.”
“Why don’t you tell people, then? You can bring glory back to your homeland,” the wizard asked.
“Nothing native to these lands can ever leave, and very few couriers are willing to make the journey here. We really don’t have much to live for, Bertly. That is why we’ve found solidarity in the Zoo. This place wasn’t constructed for nearly a thousand years after the Blight. We didn’t turn into this overnight. Everyone is quite aware of how animalistic it is, but over the years, as our numbers have dwindled, our sympathy for the North has as well.”
“From the Rotters?”
�
�Actually, no,” Mother replied.
“Killing each other?” Bertly questioned.
“I’ll let you think about it.” This time Mother poured a glass of white wine. “So tell me, Winter Wizard, what else intrigues you?”
Bertly uncrossed his legs and let his hair down. “Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Because none of it matters anymore. The Blight has returned, and you aren’t the savior I was hoping for.” Mother stood, crossed the room, and opened a dresser drawer. “Rotters roamed these lands for ten years before I heard about you, so when I did, I thought, this is it.” The woman closed the drawer and walked back toward Bertly. “This must be the answer. The system of checks and balances is back at work. The Rotters have returned and so have humans with red eyes. But there is one major difference—when Cordelia came, she already knew all of the answers.” Mother handed Bertly a brush. “You know nothing.”
Bertly grabbed the brush. “Checks and balances? So you think Cordelia was born with the sole purpose of ending the Blight?”
“Yes, and when I heard two red-eyed humans were born, I was terrified because I assumed the Blight would be twice as bad. But now, now I don’t have any hope, not that I had much before.” She walked back around the desk and daintily sat in her throne. “You don’t understand the Blight, Bertly. No one but us remembers what we had to live through. I can’t put myself through that again. Especially if we don’t have a savior.”
Bertly stood up. “If I can prove to you that I am, will you let me go?”
“What?” Mother put down her half-full glass of wine. “You can’t talk yourself out of this one, Bertly. We know there isn’t much time left in this world, so we want to go out with a bang. And a red-eyed human is going out with a bang.”
“I can prove it.” The Winter Wizard’s voice was deep and confident. “Bring me my sword.”
“You must take me for a fool,” Mother hissed.
“Have you seen it?” the wizard asked.
“No. Nor do I care what your blade looks like.” The woman picked her drink back up and finished it off.
“You may want to take a look.” Lines formed around Bertly’s mouth and his eyebrows arched. “If you are telling me the truth, then I have something you’re going to recognize.”
“Guards.” Mother stood up. “Guards, hurry.”
“Wait.” Bertly waved his hands. “If I can’t convince you…then I will pledge my life to the Zoo. Even after I win my one hundred fights.”
The door burst open. “Get back or your head will be on a platter!” yelled a guard in all black. His frame covered the length of the doorway.
“No need to worry.” Mother poured another glass of wine. “Everything is fine. Can you bring me our guest’s belongings, please?”
“Yes, ma’am. Right away.” The soldier scurried out of the room.
“That soldier there, he is one of the last people with mammoth blood. Maybe a distant relative?” Mother joked.
Bertly took a deep breath and exhaled loudly and slowly. He sank into the feathery seat and sipped the rest of his wine. “Do we have an agreement?”
“You are not in a place to be bargaining, but I have taken a liking to you, little human. You remind me a lot of your old master.” Mother smiled and revealed teeth so perfect they couldn’t have been replicated by even the most talented painter.
“I thought you two didn’t like each other?” The young wizard looked at the bottom of his empty cup.
“Yes, because I broke his heart.”
“What?” Bertly cocked his head back.
“Here they are, ma’am.” The soldier walked into the room and handed Mother Bertly’s travel sack as well as the grip of his warblade.
Mother’s eyes widened as she grasped the sword handle.
“Is everything okay?” the man in black asked.
She blinked and looked up. “Yes, everything is fine. Please leave us now.” Mother waited for the soldier to close the door. “Where did you get this? Who gave this to you? It was Alestar, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I knew it. He knew I had been looking for this for centuries, and he had it right under his nose.” Mother glared. “This proves nothing.”
“Please just trust me.” Bertly reached out. “You have nothing to lose.”
Mother passed him the handle.
As the Winter Wizard clutched the warblade, the clear mammoth-ice blade shot out. On his command, the sword retracted, and he placed the grip onto the table between them. “Your original instincts were correct. I am connected to Cordelia.”
Mother fell back into her chair. “And Polly. Does it work for her?”
Bertly broke eye contact. “She didn’t find out about it until recently.”
“Wait a minute.” Mother pushed against the arms of the throne and bolted from her seat. She scampered to a nearby wooden dresser and swung the door open. She removed a cape made of gray dragon scales. It had leather straps around the neck and a gray furred hood. “Put this on.”
Bertly wrapped the cloak around his body. A sensation of nostalgia overwhelmed him, yet he couldn’t connect it to any particular memory.
“I can’t believe it.” Mother placed her hand over her mouth.
Bertly glanced down to watch as the dragon scales transformed into a vibrant red color. “It matches my eyes.” He batted his lashes.
“You don’t happen to know where the shield is, do you?” She put her hands together as though she were praying.
“Shield?”
“Blast.” Mother bit her bottom lip. “Those were the three items she took to every battle. Her cloak, her warblade, and her shield. You know—” She took a gulp of white wine. “That cloak aided Cordelia in slaying many dragons. It’s fireproof. A dragon’s scales cannot be burned.” The woman ran her well-manicured fingers down the red cape, pressing her hands against Bertly. Goose bumps crawled across his skin, and she dragged her hand from one of his shoulders to the other. “Cordelia really has hand-selected you, hasn’t she?”
The wooden door to Mother’s chamber shot open, forcing it to slam against the stone walls. “Who dares enter without knocking?” Mother lashed out.
“I am sorry. But this is urgent,” the soldier in all black panted.
Mother took her hands off Bertly and squared up with her guard. “Nothing can be—”
“I know you can have my head for interrupting but, ma’am, please,” the mammoth-blood warrior asserted. “This is urgent.”
The woman’s demeanor flipped. “You have only interrupted me like this one other time, Roman.” Mother scrambled toward Roman. Bertly could see she tried to maintain her elegance; however, he couldn’t help but notice she increased the pace of her strides.
The Winter Wizard did his best to eavesdrop. He could hear their muffled whispers, but he couldn’t make out the distinct subject of their conversation. Mother placed her hands over her mouth and turned away from her guard. She sauntered to the middle of the room and pulled the sheet from the covered figure, revealing a white crystal ball that looked as though it were created from the same material as Bertly’s warblade.
Mother closed her eyes and ran her fingers over the white orb. The Winter Wizard was expecting it to glow or to emit a magical energy, but he felt and saw nothing change. She opened her eyes—the black pits of her pupils filled her entire eye sockets, giving off a dark and eerie look. The woman’s eyes returned to normal after she took a desperate breath, as though she had been suffocating until that moment.
Mother took her hand from the ball and peered at the ebony-dressed soldier. “So, it has begun.” She turned toward her liquor cabinet and grabbed a full bottle of wine, ignoring the glass that sat nearby, and took a sip.
“What is it?” Bertly raised his voice. “What’s happening?” The wizard slammed his fists on the table. “I demand to know what’s going on.”
Mother snickered. “Do not f
orget where you are, young human. You are in no position to be making demands.” Mother continued to sip her wine straight from the bottle. “Are you forgetting that your friends are still at my mercy?”
Bertly had forgotten. Ever since he had arrived in Mother’s quarters, he had forgotten many things, including his feelings. No matter how hard he wanted to be mad, his hostility always subsided.
“Have another drink,” the seductive woman insisted.
Bertly looked down at his glass of wine and swirled it around. It’s the wine. “I think I’ve had enough for now. I am not used to drinking much.” What is in this wine?
“I am sorry for Felix’s actions,” Mother said.
“Pardon?” Bertly challenged.
“He is my brother.” Mother lounged back in her seat. “While his methods are…questionable, I cannot kick him to the curb. Not to mention, as long as he has that slave girl by his side, not too many people can actually tell him what to do.”
“That’s it?” Bertly hissed. “I’m supposed to forgive you?” He glared. “Just like that?”
“Your forgiveness means nothing to me. I always figured it was better to have Felix with us than against us. We don’t have room for enemies down here.” The woman reached to the side of her desk and grabbed Bertly’s travel sack. “Here, take this, as well as the cloak.”
Bertly opened his mouth to speak, but Mother gestured for him to keep his mouth shut. “I know you still have a lot of questions for me. But those are for another time.”
“Please.” Bertly placed his hands together. “Just one last question.”
Mother snapped her fingers in a gesture that reminded Bertly too much of Felix for his liking, and her guard left the room. She motioned for the wizard to continue speaking.
“Your body language has changed, and your tone has shifted…what is it that has begun?”
“The second Blight.” Mother looked down.
“You didn’t need to look into a crystal ball to tell me that.” Bertly shook his head. “I already know. And with all the Rotters your soldiers have been dealing with, I’m surprised you didn’t know.”