Magic's Genesis- The Grey

by Rosaire Bushey

  Lydria’s heart swelled at the thought of Eifynar, of the women and children there who were in danger from Wynter, and possibly even from Bayside. They were caught in the middle of two armies – in a battleground.

  At a thought from Lydria, Kimi pawed at the clean white bone of Lydria’s finger until Wae Relin picked it up as well and looking at the two items, he knew what Lydria wanted him to do, so he put the blue stone on the larger end of the finger bone and with a little effort, it stuck in place, as if it were made to fit there. It was clearly too small for the stump of skin on Lydria’s hand.

  Following Lydria’s orders, Kimi picked up the necklace of Haustis and dropped it on Wae Relin’s knee. It required some back and forth but eventually, with the suggestions of Branch and Krieger, who had both become very interested in the silent conversation taking place, Wae Relin secured the finger within the necklace so that the circle was complete, with the blue thimble-stone resting between the black and white stones, and the point of Lydria’s bone finger resting in the center of the circle.

  “Kimi, place the necklace under my hand.”

  Wae Relin, watching Kimi’s pawing of Lydria’s left hand, gently lifted the glowing hand and placed the necklace under Lydria’s palm and watched.

  “What will happen?”

  “I’m not sure, Kimi. I hope my finger, being a part of me, will do for Haidrea what I cannot do forever.”

  Kimi stared into Lydria’s eyes and finally moved back to the items still on the floor. The cat moved his paw to the blue stone from the crater and gently batted it toward Wae Relin who picked it up and stood frozen, his eyes fixed on a point above both Lydria and Kimi for several breaths, and then placed the stone gently under Lydria’s hand and on top of the necklace, and then he covered them both with Haidrea’s hands.

  As the stone was put in place Lydria felt a surge of power through her arm and looked up at Wae Relin and then to Haidrea, whose eyes cracked open in the onslaught of golden light.

  Haidrea looked at Wae Relin and then Branch and smiled. She looked down her body and saw the face of Lydria and said, “Sister, there is not much time.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  “What were you thinking, joining that woman in the spirit world? You have no business there and she knew it. It was a trap and you’re lucky to be alive.”

  Wynter willed her to go away but she wouldn’t. He had taken Haustis’ pipe and smoked her weed and saw visions that made even his skin crawl. And while he stood in a foreign land of surreal colors and inexhaustible horrors, a demon came for him, forged of fire and on a pair of giant wings. The great beast was unlike anything he had ever seen, scales like armor lined its body and its mouth an elongated snout not unlike a dog, but so much larger. It had teeth like swords and when it roared, it was all he could do to not wet himself, so much did it shake his insides. Two legs like the trunks of oaks ended in wicked feet the length of his body and topped with talons so large they could slice open a buffalo with ease. But despite the wind of its wings and the dread of its teeth, the true terror was when the beast reared back and drew breath, for then it sent forth a stream of fire and death, melting the rocks it touched.

  Wynter was petrified at first, and as he was thrown toward the beast he reacted instinctively, and it saved his life. Without a weapon, he called upon his magic to block the fire – or most of it. Despite his best efforts, the heat was so intense he was surprised he had not melted.

  Fortunately for Wynter, the beast was not free. It was chained to a gigantic block of pure white stone. The beast strained and snapped its massive jaws in Wynter’s direction, but the chain held. And what a chain it was. It was in darkness what the block was in white. A black so pure that even the flames seemed to be consumed by it. Where the block and the chain met there was nothing, as if the connection did not exist.

  “But I am alive. I have survived whatever horror that was, and Haustis is no more.” That was his first thought after he realized his shield had held.

  But was it true? Wynter’s recollection of his fight with the beast was cloudy at best and he closed his eyes to remember.

  Seeing the chain, he realized the beast was not angry at him, but angry at being captive. He remembered wishing he had his bow, and it appeared. Surprised but delighted, he immediately thought of arrows and they appeared as well. Using all the considerable skill ingrained in his muscles and mind over a lifetime, Wynter sent arrow after arrow straight at the beast, aiming for the softest spots he could find. Not a single arrow reached its target. They were incinerated before reaching the creature and so Wynter began to move. With his bow he was in near-constant motion, taking in the details of the scene around him, that included the beast in its center surrounded by a debris field of boulders and rocks, the burned stumps of trees and a blackened ash that was once ground. Wynter was desperate to find a way to silence the beast, or escape.

  Escape, running away, was always an option – it always had been. But when he tried to run he was thrown back toward the beast by an unseen force that pushed against his chest so hard he tumbled backward. And so, he moved to hide behind the largest stones and look at everything again and again until he formed a plan.

  His eyes kept returning to the dark chain and ivory block and he thought of an arrow fashioned not of wood and steel, but of the midnight darkness of the chain. The arrow arrived in his hand in an instant and in a single fluid motion, Wynter dropped to his left knee, knocked the arrow and held his breath. He drew the arrow back slowly, the feathers, unlike any he had used before, were stiff and scraped across his face and the arrow head seemed to only exist as an edge of waves, such as one might see rising from the desert floor. When he let the arrow fly, the feathers drew blood from his cheek.

  Wynter shuddered to remember that instant, as if time stood still. The arrow left the string and twisted slightly upon release, a fine mist of blood from his face following the shaft and, it was impossible to be certain now, but he remembered seeing his blood absorbed into the feathers as the arrow sped on its way, straight to the point where chain and block met.

  The seconds it took for Wynter to draw the string and fire the arrow seemed to drag on for minutes. The only thing Wynter heard was a single beat of his heart and then the arrow struck home, and the result was immediate and devastating.

  The arrow collided with its target and created a wave of power like Wynter had only seen once before, in the forest where he had found the stone. The force of the air threw him onto his back and forced even time to regain its natural speed. The beast roared again, pulling at his chain but finding no resistance. With a brief look toward Wynter, the beast pushed his massive wings and left the ground, the air from its wings nearly as violent as the blast that forced Wynter to the ground, and it flew off into an unseen sky trailing a ribbon of darkness.

  Staggering to his feet, Wynter looked to the ivory block and saw it split in half as cleanly as a dagger drawn across a throat.

  “Perhaps the spirits were correct. It seems I should have killed you when you were motionless on the ground.”

  Wynter searched for the voice of Haustis. His bow was gone and wish as he might, it did not come back.

  “This is your spirit world then, old woman?”

  “No. This is yours. I have to say it is different than I expected. What was that creature?”

  “This is your nightmare, not mine. Call it what you will.”

  “You freed it. Why?”

  “I wasn’t trying to free it, I was trying to kill it.”

  “Was it a threat to you, chained as it was?”

  Wynter considered not answering but continuing the conversation might allow him time to find Haustis or a way from this place.

  “Did you not feel the heat? I call that a threat.” In truth, the heat was horrible and Wynter knew for certain that only his magic kept him from being burned to ash. He reached a tentative hand to his face and felt the wetness where blood still seeped from a wound on his cheek and then, as the r
ush of battle left him, he started to feel the pain. He gingerly moved his fingertips around his face and felt a stickiness that told him his skin had been damaged. The backs of his hands and fingers too were ravaged from the heat, large welts and blisters forming as he watched.

  He could only imagine the damage the heat had done and was furious. Wynter was not a vain man, but he knew people put trust and faith in a person based as much upon how they looked as how they acted.

  “The people of the north – are you ‘freeing’ them as well?”

  Wynter spun around on the spot, fed up with whatever game Haustis was playing, and moved toward the ivory block. The surface was perfectly smooth and shone like glass. Where from a distance the stone seemed as pure white as a fresh snow, up close it reflected his image clearly. What Wynter saw did not please him and he hurled his answer to Haustis’ question into the air.

  “They are free! I have given them hope and security and equality and they have made me their king. I have made a veritable paradise from a frozen and wretched place.”

  Haustis’ voice was on the air before Wynter’s last syllable faded into the echoes. “So, you are working for their benefit alone? It is your intention to build a free, prosperous and happy kingdom among the wastes of the north?”

  “She toys with you, husband, cut her down.”

  “Do you not think I would have done that if I knew where she was?”

  “Think! Is this a real place you have been before, or do you sit next to her in a world that makes more sense? She is within your reach. Think!” And she was gone. She left on her own, forcing him to plan his next move carefully. Haustis’ patience would not be eternal, of that, he was certain.

  “I build my kingdom for the reasons all kings build,” he said, letting the words fall from his mouth without much to indicate where they were going. He needed time and he was making the most of trying to get out of this place; to be the first to make it back to the world he and Haustis inhabited. “Kings build to create a society where the best can rise and the rest – well, the rest – they exist to do our bidding. It is the same in every society – there are farmers and muckrakers, and there are those who build, create, and help a society become powerful. I am creating a kingdom of the latter; but one where everyone takes a portion of their time to rake muck and make food. We all need to eat, you know.”

  Wynter’s pulse slowed as he turned his mind toward reason. He needed to be calm when he smoked with Haustis to reach this place, it stood to reason he would need to be calm to leave. He continued reciting platitudes about equality and nobility when he found his way out, returning in time to see Haustis raising a blade to his stab down at him, aiming for the soft patch of skin between his collarbone and neck. The strike would have resulted in a swift and silent death, at least, but he raised his arm and blocked the killing stroke, Haustis’ knife embedding itself between the bones of his forearm, as his right hand reached out to grab the old woman’s throat.

  “You’re right, Haustis. You should have killed me while I was lying motionless on the forest floor. But you’re too late. It is too late. I will rule everything your eyes have ever seen before I’m done. Maybe someday someone will stop me, but it most certainly will not be you.”

  Wynter’s fingers, weeping puss and scarred from the heat of the creature in his spirit world, or possibly from the fire nearby, cried out in pain as he forced his thumb and fingers together from either side of the woman’s throat. She made pitiable sounds, but her eyes never left his. And with a final act of defiance, the old woman managed to lift her own right hand and bring it down on the hilt of the dagger in his forearm and drive Wynter’s limp left arm and the blade into his belly.

  Haustis didn’t hear Wynter’s scream. As the knife plunged into Wynter, he released his grip on the old woman’s neck, but he had already crushed her windpipe. As he brought his right hand to his side to stem the flow of dark red blood, the old woman’s last act was to smile, before falling over sideways, dead.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  It was nearly a week before Haidrea and Lydria had regained strength to move. The amulet Lydria made had fused together, the circle had shrunk and met her finger bone below the stone cap and the tip of the finger rested tightly on the bottom of the circle as if forged there by a blacksmith. It was harder than any bone and it was wholly as deep blue as the sky just after dusk. As it rested upon Haidrea’s smooth tan skin, it gave off a soft yellow light that pulsed slightly, in time with the woman’s own heart. Lydria could feel the power in the necklace but shuddered to think what might happen should it fall from Haidrea’s neck. Still, Haidrea was alive and Lydria could rest and as if sensing her friend’s concern, Haidrea slipped the disc under her leather tunic where only the faintest light cast a warm shadow on her neck.

  Lydria told the others of how Kimi found Haustis’ body lying near the grave of Cargile as the cat made his way west to find Lydria, and how he took the necklace that was near her fallen body. Kimi’s story also noted the deep, dark earth near her which he said smelled strongly of Wynter.

  “He is wounded, but not dead,” Krieger said. “If he and Lydria share power, we gain no advantage by his wounds, but we should make preparations to travel as soon as we may.”

  Weaver arrived the next day and brought news that families were leaving Steven’s Folly; persuaded to move north by word of Wynter’s new kingdom. “They now live in Brookside under a governess named Grettune, who holds authority over several smaller towns. But the real power seems to be a tiny fishing village called Solwyn, which has, if you can believe it, a castle with a great blue tower.”

  The party smiled, and Krieger even laughed a little before they confirmed all they knew to Weaver. “That explains the extra manning at the fort, then,” Weaver told them. Soon after the escape of Lydria and her fellows, a detachment was sent to Steven’s Folly and a new commander was put in charge who sent patrols to look for Branch, who had left the fort in late winter, and a group of traitors. “They say Captain Branch was conspiring with Eifen renegades against Ahlric.”

  Krieger sat down as Weaver spoke and raised his head and looked to Branch. “Though we need to move soon, I think it may be time we hear your story Edgar.” Branch, nodded silently and found a chair which he casually turned so he could hang his arms over the back as he spoke. Haidrea moved to a seat close to him and smiled, which seemed to reassure the man. When everyone had taken their seats, Krieger started to take out his pipe from his coat, but Branch held up his hand in refusal.

  “There is no need for a pipe, my friend, for my story is short.” Branch looked at everyone and drew a breath before beginning. “You know me as Edgar Branch, captain of the forces of Wesolk. My birth name, however, is Cambric, son of Nobric, nephew of Ahlric, and rightful heir to the throne Wesolk, as his last nephew. Nobric was Ahlric’s youngest brother, the seventh son of Charic. I too, am the youngest, and the seventh child, but I am the only son of Nobric. Of my sisters I know nothing but what Krieger has told me. All who live are married to traders, merchants, or others, but I have no memory of them. Before I could walk, my father, believing I might be in danger sent me away to a tiny hamlet south of the Swinton Flats, and over the hills that mark Wesolk’s southern border with the free territories Between Wesolk and the desert kingdoms of Dar’Ahlmon far to the south. I grew up with people of learning who taught me to read and write. As I grew, Krieger came and taught me to fight and ride. Otherwise, there were few visitors, save an Eifen woman – Haustis, who taught me of her people, her language, her stories. She said the spirits sent her to find me, for what purpose she would not say.

  “When I was old enough, Krieger told me my story.”

  The room was still for several breaths before Krieger nodded to Branch who stood and left the room. “The proof of Edgar’s lineage and claim to the throne exist in the village where he grew up. If it is ever needed, we can find it there. But despite Ahlric’s treatment of us in his castle, it is not our intent to throw down t
he ruler of Wesolk. Our focus needs to be fixed on the north. But the danger from Wynter is not the only danger – not for some of us at least.”

  With no more to be said, Krieger began to discuss their next steps.

  “We must assume the roads to the east and the paths to Eifynar will be watched, so we cannot go there. There is only one way, and that is north. We will stay until Lydria and Haidrea can ride, and then we will make haste to Solwyn.

  In the days that followed Weaver headed north to the Folly, to do what could be done to mislead the new commander there and keep them out of Krieger’s way. While Lydria and Haidrea gained their strength, Krieger left for hours at a time, to meet with his informants or find what information he could from the sources he still commanded.

  Branch and Relin, who had asked they forgo his title as he was no longer the leader of his expedition, spent hours honing their skills outside, and learning, Relin revealed one night, that Branch was an accomplished bowman. Haidrea spent much of her time deep in thought and communing with the spirits, which she was now able to do without pipe or smoke. She believed the amulet helped her to find her path to the spirits. Lydria, after spending two days doing little more than sleeping and eating, went into the forest to practice her magic, Kimi by her side.

  “Are you ready, Lydria?”

  “To practice magic again, after so long? Yes, I suppose it’s time.”

  “No. Are you ready for Wynter? You must realize it will be you who must face him – the power he wields would overcome any other before they could raise a weapon against him.”

  “I will do what I must do.” Lydria said no more but casually motioned her hand from left to right as if to sweep a small branch from their path. As she made the motion, the branch flew with distinct force and shattered into a nearby tree. Lydria stopped and looked at the remains of the stick and with surprise at Kimi.