The Source

by Dale Broda, Jr

companions…

  Lips curving, he dropped into the warrior’s trance. Everything slowed. The pain slipped away. A chill made his flesh tremble, his body hairs stand. He moved out from under Gen, rolled away into the thick grass.

  A quick glance showed him all the attackers.

  What are the odds of this?

  “Impossible to none, sweets.” Mayla whispered.

  Got that right!

  Behind them, swooping in and retreating were three Antia hunters. He could see a few burning spots on the ground. All that remained of the ones she had already taken out.

  “And there.” Mayla’s voice drew his eyes around and there, ahead of them, a very well armed group of mercenaries.

  How is it possible they came from both direction at once? To time it so perfectly… no way it is coincidence.

  “It’s not. Gennifer has the right of it, my sweet. The Source is hard at work to reach its goal and whatever opposes it is working just as hard to stop it.”

  “Hmm.” In his warrior’s trance, it all played out in slow seconds. Gen was just now realizing he was gone. He saw the yellow lances of power moving so very slowly from the Antia hunters. And the mercenaries? They were drawing weapons as they slowly moved forward.

  Two dozen. Two dozen. Where did they all come from? Drawing out his daggers, he moved. The men slowly, so very slowly, turned to meet him.

  They were far too slow.

  Smiling, he began to cut them down. As well armored as they were, and they were fully plated, they had no chance. The last man’s weapon was finally free of its sheath, a slow blue glitter beginning to run up it, when the dagger went neatly through the man’s visor and into his brain.

  Spinning on his heel, a bit of frosted breath escaping him, he hurried back to Gen. Though it seemed like there was no need.

  He slowed to watch.

  The air around her spun her leathers this way and that. Her red hair was flaming red, jetting sparks into the sky. The yellow magic that had cut through him, still washed around her, briefly highlighting some kind of barrier.

  In her hands, streaks of red moved from her finger tips, into her palm, to snap out at the flying hunters. Moving as slowly as it was, he took a moment to admire it. It was strangely beautiful.

  He was by her side, drawing his bow. The bolt had recharged a bit. It should not have recharged. But it did.

  Somehow.

  Maybe enough for him to actually help. He took aim, waited…

  Phhit!!

  Phhit!!

  …t…

  Only two shots were sure. The last simply winked out. He watched the magic drain from his weapon. He looked back to Gen. He could vaguely see the barrier still.

  That’s not from the bracelets.

  With a screech, the last hunter fell.

  Gen’s head slowly turned to him. Streaks of red mixed with clear liquid under her eyes. Her mouth opened so very slowly. Her eyes were shifting colors. Shifting colors he had never seen. He probably could not see outside of the warrior trance.

  And look at them go, faster than me while everything else is so slow.

  Speaking of…

  “Wait!” Mayla tried to stop him but to late. As the trance vanished, he fell flat on his face.

  18

  When he opened his eyes not much time had passed. He was sure of that. Still…he felt tired. So very tired. He watched the girl as she made a face.

  “You’ll be dead at this rate.” She didn’t meet his eye. “I thought you were this tough, wizened old warrior? Never get ambushed. Never get injured.”

  He laughed. “Those kinds of warriors…” his side burned. “…only exist in fairy tails kid. Real life… real life is not so easy.” He closed his eyes.

  “Yes? Well… this is getting repetitive you old ox. Always passing out or being knocked out. It’s sad really.”

  What? “It’s not like–” He hissed as pain shot through his leg.

  “Quiet you big baby.” He opened an eye. What the hells was she doing to his leg? He could faintly see that strange green and black cloud around his mid section. He didn’t feel anything there but cold. But his leg? Now that hurt.

  “I still can’t heal it.” She inhaled deeply, letting go of whatever power she had been wielding. He watched as her hair and clothes seemed to settle from a wind he had not felt. He was actually getting used to that. “Still. What made this wound? Why can’t I heal it?” She crawled around, getting into his face. “Well?” Her breath smelt of berries. Irony? Or good diet.

  He just smirked. “What is this wrapped around my middle?” She turned her head. A look of apprehension. “You don’t know?” He reached for it. His hand passed through the strange colors to touch his wound.

  Nothing. I can’t feel a thing…

  “I…have never seen that before. It just leapt out of me. I’m not sure…maybe the S–”

  “The Source, eh? Hmm.” He blinked up into the sky. Source. Could it be controlling all of this? He was beginning to think that was the case. Hell, it almost had to be the case. Painfully and plainly obvious.

  Sometimes though, it’s best to try and ignore things you don’t understand.

  If that was so, if he accepted it for truth, what exactly was it doing? What did it want here? Why did it need to come here? What was it?

  “Remind me…this Source of yours… what is it exactly?”

  She sighed, letting herself lean back onto the ground. “I don’t really know. It’s the Source.” She shrugged. “Of everything maybe. Power over magic. Life and death, love and hate. Everything.”

  He frowned. That sounded more like a God or Devil to him. “Which one is it, that’s the question.” A God or a Devil?

  She lifted herself to see him. “What?”

  He shook his head. Bad idea. Stars. Colors swirling.

  Gods I’m gonna be sick.

  “You don’t look so–”

  Before she could finish he emptied his stomach. “Aeeyah!” She tried to move away but…well…there was some splatter. “Eww.” Without another word she was on her feet and walking away while digging in her little, bottomless satchel.

  He grunted. Smiled. Maybe that will help her keep her distance. He closed his eyes for what felt like a second, a small fit of laughter escaped. When he opened them again, she was standing there with a bowl of something. She looked…

  “Are you worried?” He frowned at her. Holding the bowl with one hand, she shifted to place her other hand on her hip. Her look was…quizzical? Worried? Hard to tell.

  “Drink this.” She sat down before he could sit up, she kept him down with a hand on his chest, the bowl moved before he could object. He still tried.

  “Wait. I’m a g–” As the liquid filled his mouth he had no choice but to swallow it.

  He glared at her, debating on the merits of spitting it out. He noticed her leathers had been cleaned. That was fast. Not that he could blame her. He slowly chewed whatever pulp was in his mouth. It was bitter. Had to be medicine. Only something that is really good for you can taste so very badly.

  When he swallowed, the bowl was there again. He simply took it in. Chewed slowly, watching her watch him. She had a curious look about her. Maybe it was just her whole body in the position it was in?

  She shook her head as her bright eyes took in his wounds. “I can’t believe you have lived this long. You are stubborn.” She filled his mouth with more of whatever it was before he could start to protest. “Mule does suit you. But I want your real name. Why so secret about it?” Her mouth quirked. “Is it special? Magical?” She spilled a bit of the soup on him as she spread her arms out.

  He remained silent.

  “This is the last. Open it.” He did so without protest. “That’s a good pet.” She dumped what was left in the bowl into his mouth. “I know I know. Tastes like crud, yes? I know. You need it though. Don’t make that face. Just swallow…come on…there you go.”

  She turned, slipping it into her strange pouch, d
ug around a bit and came out with a bottle of orange liquid. She struggled with the cap for a bit before it popped off. “Stupid…” he didn’t catch the rest of what she said. She sipped at it.

  “Here.” He let her pour it into his mouth, holding it like he was some kind of babe. This was not one of his better days. He shouldn’t be put through this humiliation after the life he had lived.

  “Or maybe you should after the life you’ve lead.” Mayla’s voice was so faint. Her warm laugh made him smile.

  “One of your friends?” Gen turned her head. “That Maylah chick?”

  He growled. “Her name’s Mayla! If you’re going to say it, say it right.”

  “Hmph.” She stood up, the strangely cold liquid vanished in her bag as she crossed her arms. She seemed to be studying him. “You’re a mess.” She strolled around him, looking this way and that. “How long before you can travel?”

  That was a good question. He moved and felt the sharp pains tear at him. He tried to fight the sound but the little brat caught it.

  She shook her head. “Not good. If the enemy of the Source is already sending assassins from this land, we are running out of time.” She dug around, again pulling out some form of liquid. This one actually had steam coming off it.

  And pitch black. Not ever a good thing.

  She hopped over him and managed to get his head into her lap. “Drink this.” A sharp little funnel seemed to force its way into his mouth.

  He began to sneer when the slippery wet shot down his throat. He gagged as the funnel sucked back into the bottle. “Wha–” He froze. No words came to him as everything shifted colors.

  Her hands held his head, gently stroking. “Shhh. Stubborn man. This will