“There’s got to be another way,” he said, not backing down. “Someone you can ask, who might know what these things are. Do you know where the Founder is?”
The beginnings of an idea flickered at the edges of Julianne’s mind. “He’s gone. Up north somewhere. But…” She trailed off, wondering if the idea was even worth trying.
It has to be at least as crazy as trying to get in the head of something even more distant than a remnant, she reminded herself.
At Bastian’s questioning look, Julianne smiled. “But there may be a way to contact him. Maybe.” She glanced at Bastian. “I’ll need help, though?”
Bastian nodded eagerly. “Anything, Master.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Ignoring the sudden flicker of worry on her fellow mystic’s face, Julianne stood. “We’re all going to have a busy day. I suggest we get started.”
She brushed past Marcus and Bastian, reaching for the doorknob. She hesitated, then suddenly ducked to one side as the door burst open.
“Lord Francis!”
The pink-faced girl in the doorway heaved heavy breaths and wiped sweat from her brow. She was young—maybe fourteen—and lithe, with the cocky posture of a seasoned performer.
“Yes, Clarke?”
“There’s been another breach, and it’s not like the others, but Bette went after it, and a remnant got it first, and Garrett said to come, but Danil wanted to know first, so I have—”
“Stop!” Francis snapped.
Clarke’s mouth snapped shut.
“Slow down, child. You said there was another breach?”
She nodded. “Yes, Lord Francis. But, it wasn’t like our little tumblers.”
Trying to stay up with the girl’s excited story, Julianne brushed her mind. ‘Tumblers’ was a name the theatre troupe had given to the little creatures, due to their resemblance to the colored bronze spheres used in the circus acts.
Julianne plucked an image from her mind, muttered quietly, and deftly threw up an image for the room to see. A shimmering red bug sprawled on the ground, spiked legs twisted and face smashed into a pulp. It certainly wasn’t a vark…
Clarke squealed in delight as Marcus and Francis gasped.
“That’s it!” Clarke yelled. “That’s exactly what I saw!”
Bastian looked on, somber. Julianne banished the image with a wave of her hand.
Marcus jerked to his feet. “We have to go help.”
Clarke shook her head, still grinning. “Too late, soldier-boy. It’s dead, and there won’t be another one through for ages now. By the time you get there, Captain Bette and Lieutenant Garrett will be back in town, probably looking for you.”
“Garrett seemed sure the remnant came for it,” Julianne said, after sorting through Clarke’s memories. “But… I don’t know. I’d like to avoid making a judgement on that until I see it with my own eyes.”
Marcus nodded. “The bastard we saw was in the wrong place to be headed towards the rift.”
Francis rubbed his face. “If they’re not coming for the rift, or the beasts that are coming through it… why the change? I’ve lived in Tahn all my life without seeing a remnant.”
“What if they’re not running to something?” Marcus asked quietly. “What if they’re running from it?”
Julianne shuddered. Remnant were mindless, instinctual creatures that had, to her knowledge, never felt fear. Even when death stared them in the face, most would keep running towards it. What could scare a remnant who sought death?
Chapter Seven
Polly watched as Danil’s eyes cleared. Once the white had faded, she could see the sparkling green color that was normally obscured.
His stance dropped. Knees bent, arms outstretched as if to feel the air, he slowly turned towards her.
Keeping her breath quiet, Polly stepped back, feet silent on the soft grass.
They had chosen this spot because Danil was getting too good. Senses heightened due to his blindness, it had gotten too easy for him to judge her position in the noisy undergrowth of the nearby forest.
Here, under the gentle sun and with a wide-open space to train in, it was harder for Danil to hear telltale movements as Polly moved in for the strike.
Come on, Danil, she thought. You got this.
She slid to the left, then darted forwards. Her blunt, wooden training sword whipped through empty air.
Danil laughed beside her. He’d twirled out of the way just in time.
“What gave me away?” she asked, grinning.
Danil’s eyes shifted back to their usual white glow, much to Polly’s disappointment. A tender caress on her mind brought her smile back, though, and she closed her own eyes to see what Danil wanted to tell her.
She concentrated on the sensations he sent through the bond. Warm sun, a gentle breeze. The easy flex of his muscles as he moved. The laser sharp concentration as he held onto every aspect of the world around him.
A touch of coolness fell over one arm. The breeze shifted. Danil spun.
“I don’t understand,” she said with a frown. “I was upwind of you, and you felt that—but you knew before then.”
“Did you feel the shift in temperature?” he asked.
She nodded, but still couldn’t put the pieces together.
Danil reached out and lifted her hand, stretching her arm out and pointing her palm to the sun. She could feel her skin warm even as the breeze whispered by.
He moved, standing so his shadow fell over her arm. It immediately cooled, the breeze taking on a crispness now that the sunshine wasn’t there to offset it.
“My shadow!” she exclaimed. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
Danil pouted. “Every single time I find a new way to win, you use it against me. Why?”
Polly sobered. “One day, we’ll be outside. You won’t have your magic—maybe I won’t be there. And maybe it’ll be dark, or overcast, and there won’t be dry leaves and snapping branches to rely on.”
Danil sighed. “Ok. Fine. You’ve got a point, and I’ll be damned if it’s not a good one. Again?”
His eyes cleared, and Polly stepped back, careful to stay downwind and angling her shadow away from him.
The rapid beat of footsteps sounded nearby. Danil’s eyes flashed, and Polly swung, her rough weapon pointed towards the trail that led to the field.
Danil relaxed a moment before Polly. Then, his body tightened again. “Clarke!” he called. “Did they—I missed it?” Disappointment etched his features.
Clarke grinned. “Garrett said you’d be pissed. Did you see, Danil?” Her face was flushed, and a grin stretched across her young face.
Polly pursed her lips. “See what?” Clarke was too excited for this to be a usual encounter—though it was turning into a bit of a joke, now that Danil had missed every single one of them.
“It was a new kind of creature!”
Glad to be able to break the news to Polly, who couldn’t spoil the fun by reading her mind, Clarke launched into a garbled description of the strange monster that had entered through the rift.
“But I didn’t see its face because a remnant bashed its head in!” she finished. “And that’s when Garrett told me I was the runner, so I bolted. I’ve already told Lord Francis and Master Julianne.”
“Wait.” Danil’s face quickly passed from surprise to joy. “Julianne’s here?”
Polly watched as indecision warred inside Danil. She knew how much he’d missed Julianne… But if Clarke’s description was accurate, this creature was like nothing they’d ever seen before.
Would friendship win, or curiosity?
Danil’s eyes met hers, and a grin spread over his face. “Come on,” he said, and started sprinting down the trail, leaving her to grab their things and catch up with him.
She gathered their belongings together, shoving the cloaks at Clarke who took them with a hurried jerk of her head. Danil’s lead was increasing.
Together, the two girls took off after him, jumpi
ng over a low farm gate as they gripped their bundles. As they reached the road, Danil hesitated for barely a second.
It was enough for Polly to catch up, but only for a moment. With a muttered, “Sorry, Jules,” Danil took off again.
He headed not into town and towards the Mystic Master, but in the other direction. Polly stumbled, one foot already pointed towards Tahn. Clarke whooped in glee as she darted the other way, overtaking Polly.
Cursing, Polly snatched at a water skin that had started to slip and ran after them. Danil had pulled ahead again, but Polly had been trained by Tansy.
Keeping her elbows tucked and back straight, Polly focused on her legs, pumping them harder while keeping her steps light. Blood flooded her limbs, lending them power as she gained on Clarke.
The young performer glanced back just in time to see Polly on her heels. Squealing, Clarke plunged ahead.
Polly kept pace, not letting herself get distracted by the younger girl’s excitement. She landed each foot precisely and forced her lungs to suck air in and out at a steady pace.
She saw her chance. The witchpost was ahead and beyond that, the freshly cut, paved road to Bastian’s new school.
Polly darted down the old path while Danil ran ahead. Through the trees, she saw him wobble and side-step. The bastard was using my eyes, then, she thought with a smirk.
Polly focused her eyes ahead, feeling the earth thud against the soles of her feet as she ran. Hopping between fat roots and lifting her feet higher so she didn’t trip over low branches, she pushed forward.
Another glance showed Danil through the trees, right by her.
I can beat him, she told herself. Clarke had already overtaken the mystic. And I can beat her, too.
The second would be a hard task. The young girl was fast—really fast. Polly let her lungs gasp in three short, fast breaths… then, she roared.
As the two paths merged, Polly surged forward. Her feet hit the solid stones just ahead of Danil. His cry of disappointment echoed behind her, but she ignored it.
She had a bigger target in mind.
Clarke flung a backwards glance and yelped when she caught sight of Polly. Too starved of breath to make any sound, Polly bared her teeth in a ferocious grin.
They burst into the large clearing, darting past shocked builders and leaping over sawn logs and piles of cut stone. Clarke raced around the left side of the growing structure. Polly took the right.
When two feet slapped the smaller path leading towards the rift, each one belonged to a different girl.
Clarke’s grin had faded, replaced with a frown of determination.
Polly blinked, the effort of the sustained run making her eyes water.
A tower peeked over the trees—their destination. One last corner, Polly told her legs. Then you can give out. Ok?
Banishing all thought and letting her body take over, Polly ran. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and as she put one foot down, she felt her leg wobble.
“Gah!” Her hands, numb from exhaustion, trembled.
The strap of the waterskin slipped, wrapping around her foot. She stumbled as everything she carried was jerked from her hands and scattered onto the dirt.
Polly lurched forwards, the tangled foot unable to find purchase as she twisted and fell. Her knees slid in the soft mud, and dirt smeared her face as she landed and skidded along the ground.
Polly jerked her head up in time to see Clarke race past her. A few moments later, Danil jogged up and offered her his outstretched hand.
“A few steps earlier, and you’d have lost,” he said, grinning. “Not that losing to Clarke would be something to be ashamed of. That girl runs like the Bitch herself!”
Polly looked around, then rolled over to examine the damage. Dirt streaked her knees, hands, and elbows. A quick touch to her face and hair revealed she had well and truly ‘eaten dirt’.
Then, Danil words sank in. Polly glanced at Clarke, who stood, hands on knees, grinning widely as she tried to catch her breath.
They’d finished paving the path to the rift days ago. They paved the path, Polly thought. She glanced at where the road ended, stones coming to a stop by the tall tower loaded with flares in case of a dire emergency.
“I won?” she asked, still not quite believing it. She could see the smear in the dirt just past the road’s end, where she’d fallen.
“Bitch’s oath, you did,” Clarke chuckled. “Jakob will never let me live this down! Beaten by a townie. The shame!” she wailed, lifting a dramatic hand to her forehead.
“I won!” Polly screeched. “Bitch’s tits, that was amazing!”
Danil snorted. “You might have won the race, but you’re not getting a trophy for those manners!”
“I’d rather be fast than polite,” Polly shot back. “Manners won’t save you from a remnant.”
“Fair point,” Danil said, still grinning.
Polly took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet, inspecting one of her hands. She hadn’t even noticed the sting in her palm where she’d scraped off the skin.
He gently brushed away the dirt with a corner of his shirt. “You’ll probably lose the hand,” he said.
She slapped him and jerked it back. “I know you mountain-folk are soft,” she said, “but I think I can live with a few scratches. Now, we didn’t race all that way to stand about lollygagging.”
Danil brightened as he remembered why they were there. “Garrett?” he hollered, making the two guards nearby jump.
One of them chuckled. “Sorry, Mystic. He’s gone. Took the beast to town to show Francis.”
“What!” Danil screeched. “Don’t tell me I busted my ass for nothing!”
The guards exchanged a glance and burst out laughing.
Danil narrowed his eyes. “Alright. Where is the the little pig-fucker?”
“Ye can’t trick a mystic, boys, I told ye that!” Garrett stomped out from behind the tower. “Took yer sweet-ass time ta get here, didn’t ye?”
Danil snorted. “If you’d sent the runner to me first, maybe I’d have been quicker.”
“Aye, but where’s the fun in that?” Garrett motioned Danil over. “Come on, I have ta get this ugly little prick to town. Hope ye weren’t expectin’ a rest when ye got here!”
Bette shouldered through the doorway behind him. “Stop yappin’, ye mouthy shit. I need ye ta give me a hand with this wee pest, so we can get him back in one piece. Well... Three pieces. Ye know what I mean.”
Garrett and Bette disappeared into the bottom level of the tower and emerged again a moment later, a board hoisted between them.
Danil peered over Garrett’s shoulder. The spindly beast he’d seen in Clarke’s mind was carefully stretched out, tied at each end to secure it in place. One leg was missing and a chunk of its head was splayed open.
“That’s… disgusting.” Danil couldn’t think of a better word to describe the carnage. “Where’s the rest of it?”
“In a bag on the table. Can ye get it fer me?” Bette asked sweetly. “I don’t have enough hands.”
Wincing, Danil peeked inside the room. A copper bowl sat on a table, with a cloth sack inside. He stepped further in, and his sight vanished.
“Bette, come back. I can’t see!” He groped for the table.
“Erm. It’s probably best that way.” Bette sounded uncomfortable.
Danil ran his hands along the table and found the bowl. He lifted the bag—it wasn’t heavy, so he tucked it under his arm. When he wrapped his hand around the bottom, though, something thick and sticky coated his fingers.
Danil froze, and quickly realized whatever the substance was, it was soaking his clothes, too.
“Bette?” he called, voice flat.
“Yes, Danil?” Bette asked, sweetly.
“What’s in the bag?”
She coughed. “The missing bits, of course.”
As Danil stepped back outside, every set of eyes he was borrowing looked his way. He saw himself, hair mussed up from the fr
antic run, face pale, and mouth drawn tight as he considered what else he could see.
A cloth bag nestled under his arm. The top was tightly knotted, the corners of the white linen dropping down, ends slowly turning red as they soaked up the liquid that dripped from the bottom of the bag.
Deep red ichor soaked the bottom half of the bag. It oozed through his fingers and spread across his shirt.
“Bits of what, Bette?” he asked, just as sweetly.
“Him.” Bette jerked her head over her shoulder, towards the alien body.
Danil gritted his teeth and took in a slow breath. “I’ll get you back for this,” he said. “Just you wait.”
Laughter exploding behind him, Danil adjusted his grip on the bag—no point dropping it now, the damage was done—and strode off towards Tahn.
Chapter Eight
Lord George disembarked from his carriage, greeting Francis with a slap on the shoulder. “Glad to see you again, Francis. Looks like Lordship suits you!”
“Thank you, sir,” Francis said, a pink flush creeping up his neck.
“Patrick, get one of the men to see to the horses.” George waved at Julianne distractedly. “Keep them out of trouble, this time, will you?”
Patrick nodded seriously and jogged off to organize the entourage.
“Interesting choice of troop leader,” Marcus commented under his breath.
“Lord George!” Julianne said.
George beamed and grasped her arms, leaning in to kiss her on each cheek. “My dear girl! So good to see you back. I trust your journey through the Madlands was uneventful?”
“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” she said, gesturing towards Marcus.
Marcus stepped forwards and bowed, then clasped Lord George’s hand.
“Good job, soldier. Glad to see you’re both safe and well. Bastian told me about that mischief in your homeland—bit of a tussle with that Donna, eh?” George raised his eyebrows knowingly at Julianne.
She smiled softly. “I believe the New Dawn is officially defeated.”
“Just in time to face this new dilemma, too.” George slumped a little and sighed. “Just when I think I can ease into retirement softly, another disaster rears its head.”
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