The Source

by Dale Broda, Jr

way of the warrior arts like he was. These were simply… men. Shoddy weapons. Barely sharp enough to cut through thick cloth, no way of making a mark on leather or any kind of armor.

  Only one piece of armor among them and that was a breast plate on the last man he had killed. He couldn’t study the ones the girl had killed because, well, they were piles of ash. Mostly. Though, he thought he’d find much the same.

  Common men. Poor men. What were they doing here?

  “The Source.”

  He stood over one of the bodies, the man’s common face staring blankly upward. Was he a father? A farmer? “What do you mean?”

  “This isn’t random. You have to know that by now.” She knelt down in front of him, searching the man.

  “You need to finish this.” Mayla whispered into his ear. Her voice was not as strong as it had been. And where were the others? He could really use advice right now. “I’m afraid I’m all that you have for now, my sweet. The others…” Usually he could see her. “…I know. I’m trying though. The girl… finish it.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Eh?” The tart glanced up. Her eyes narrowed. “Ah.” She crawled over to the other man. “Talking to the dead again?” She shook her head at his silence. “Why talk to them? Do they actually talk to you? Do you think they are? I have lost…many. So many.” She snorted, standing. “As I thought.” What she showed him made no sense.

  “Gimme that!” He studied it, his frown deepening. “What the hel–” he stopped to gather his thoughts. “What is this?”

  “Obviously you know. I know you’re insane b–” She let out a squeak as he grabbed her, dragging her off her feet to bring her eye to eye.

  “How is this possible? I’ve only just met you. We’ve only been on this route for…” how long? He blinked, trying to think.

  “It’s already been four days you insane mule headed…mule headed…” she struggled for an insult that seemed fitting. “…fool!” That was obviously not what she wanted to say, but she looked rather frazzled dangling in the air as he held her.

  He blinked. Rapidly. Four days? No. No that wasn’t possible. “Sss.” He turned his head at that small sound. It was the tart. He was hurting her. As gently as he could, he sat her back on her feet, catching her as she wobbled. Despite himself!

  Damn. Would have been funnier if she had fallen.

  She rubbed her arms where he had held her, blinking away the wetness in her eyes as she met his. “It’s been four days. Are you that out of it?” She stepped forward, reaching for his cheek. He backed away. Her hand seemed like a viper ready to strike. She made a face, letting her hand drop. “I won’t hurt you, you mule headed dox. Why are you so afraid?”

  Not hurt him, eh? But that isn’t completely true was it? Just by being with her he had already been put on an order. A death order. He found the dark paper and looked more closely.

  The etchings were spot on. He looked…Gods, he looked insane… and she looked, well, like she does. His frown deepened. No names for either but their last known location, the probable direction they were headed and the reward for their heads. He stared.

  In all his life as a warrior. In his dark times as an assassin. Even the short period he had tried to be something he wasn’t, he’d never had a reward that large for his old, slightly jarred, slightly damaged, slightly off head.

  Still. “Four days…” how was that possible?

  “The enemies of the Source knew where I was going before I did. They knew my companions.” She reached into her little satchel, drew out another paper. This one was similar, though definitely not from these lands. There she was, but in this picture she was smiling. And around her, as far as he could guess, her last group. Her little traveling circus of warriors and friends.

  “Funny…she’s the only one still here…” Mayla whispered.

  “Indeed.” He looked at her. Tried to look at her. “What is this Source? Why is it driving people so crazy?” Mayla did not reply. Did she refuse to reply because she did not know… or did she not reply because he did not know?

  The girl tilted her head slightly, as if listening. When he said no more, she smiled. “I thought the dead would know all. Did your Mayla,” did she add a bit of venom to her voice just then? “not know what the Source is?”

  He sighed. “Come on.” He started dragging the bodies off the path.

  “What? You–”

  He growled at her. “I’m helping you get to a town, you help me drag the dead.” He grunted as he tossed the dead man into the thick underbrush. “Seems fair.”

  “Why bother dr–”

  “We need to at least try to cover our tracks! What the he–” He was silenced by the thundering whoosh and blast of heat as all the remaining bodies turned bright red, quickly bursting into an eerie green bluish flame which then poofed out leaving nothing behind.

  “If you had let me finish…” her voice was low. “I’d have said why bother dragging them when I can make them ash?” She sounded… weak. He looked up just as she began to slump down. The fire leaving her, draining her.

  He caught her on his knees as they both went to the ground. He looked at her face as she fought and struggled against the dark. It was pointless. She was out.

  Four days? How had it been so long? There was no possible way he had been traveling with her for four days. Where was he missing time? When had he eaten? Drank? Relieved himself? He stared at his hand as it carefully brushed the flaming red hair from that pale, peaceful face.

  He jerked it back, feeling betrayed by his own limb.

  No. Time to end this…

  The dagger tip was just touching her throat. He stared at his hand. It would not move further.

  I’d be better off with her gone.

  His limb betrayed him yet again as the knife vanished.

  Is she smiling?

  This…this is some kind of dream? It must be. Days do not vanish like that. Time does not flow around one so quickly. As he looked on, her breathing deepened. She tried to sink into his lap. He sighed. As much as his leg hurt…she would be light enough.

  15

  As he limped down the path, his senses were in a heightened state. Half the world was a shade off. What had the little devil done to his eye? Sprites. No trusting them. The leathers he wore were incredibly light. They felt very natural. Not only that, he was pretty sure they would turn most arrows aside.

  A small murmur escaped the tart. That brought her back into his mind. He had been able to pick her up and carry her on his back. He had an arm under each of her legs while her arms hung over his shoulders.

  He’d used a bit of cloth to keep her hands tied like that. Every now and then, she’d moan or press against him which, while wearing the leathers, let him feel her softness against his stony old back.

  Damned girl. He blew at a red hair that kept floating in front of his face.

  “…focus…” Mayla’s voice.

  “Mayla?”

  “…around.”

  He frowned. Why were his friends so hard to hear? “Mayla, are you leaving me? Aren’t you waiting for me? All of you?” He frowned when the sound of the wind through the upper branches of the trees was his only reply.

  “I don’t understand.” He inhaled deeply. Instead of Mayla’s scent… he caught something alien. Something he had been smelling for a time and just now noticing. He paused.

  What is that?

  He couldn’t put his finger on it. It was so different compared to anything he’d smelled before. It seemed to dull his senses, lull him into a peaceful place he was not used to. It was the reason he had missed the ambush. It was making him weak.

  “What the hells? W–” He shut his mouth as more strands of hair whipped in front of him. Ah. It was her. It was the girl. As one of the strands tickled his nose, there was little doubt. Was it a hair cleaner of some kind? Magic maybe? Or was it just her?

  Annoyed, he blew the hair away.

  Again.

  She was gett
ing into his head. Shaking his warrior senses and trying her best to generally annoy.

  “Or am I just an old troll?” But that was fair wasn’t it? When you are all alone and looking to be with your lost ones, when you set up camp to die in a lovely, deserted place that will take your body into itself, you don’t expect a new burden to just suddenly appear out of nowhere.

  “The Source.” He started. The tart’s voice was so soft.

  “What about it?” She didn’t answer him. In fact, her breathing never changed. Did she just talk to him in her sleep? He shivered at that. “Are you awake?” No answer. Eerie. He didn’t like eerie. This Source thing was too big for him at this point in his life.

  Maybe when I was younger, maybe with Mayla and my friends, maybe then. But now? At the end? No. A thousand times no.

  Yet here he was. One step at a time, carrying the little tart to the closest village he knew of. Fighting assassins from another land. Finding himself touched by creatures most didn’t believe in anymore. Thinking on that, his eye throbbed. What had that little sprite done to him? Would he ever know?

  If it was something helpful, I wish it’d make itself known.

  Nothing.

  Sighing, he put one foot in front of the other, trying his best to ignore the pain twisting his body, the warmth against his back and the smell in his nose as he traveled onward. It wasn’t far now. Once there… well… she’d find her way.

  “Just a bit more… a bit more… then I’m done with this. Easy. Then peace…”

  16

  “I knew I shouldn’t have said that out loud.” He stood just