Charms of the Feykin

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “Please keep yourself safe, my savior,” Zohara whispers before turning to run. She stops at the sight of a cloaked figure stepping out from behind a tree, a yelp of surprise caught in her throat. “You’re not one of them. The robe is the wrong style and color.”

  “Too stupid to recognize your own belongings?” asks the fake priestess as she pulls back the cowl. The grinning woman takes a few steps forward, holding up her hands as if she means the other Feykin no harm. “We owe you an apology. It was a mistake to drive you away instead of murdering you. We really hoped the Order would do the job for us. If not then they would keep you out of our hair until the ritual was complete. You showing up in Rhundar will reveal . . . everything, but that won’t make a difference.”

  “My people will-” Zohara begins before a gray tentacle erupts from under her double’s clothing.

  The dripping extension shoves the priestess off the cliff and wraps around her neck, snapping it with a twist. A final wave of fear drifts off the dying Feykin’s mind as the body is dropped into the river. The fake Zohara crouches at the edge and licks her lips at the tasty emotions that fill her psychic gullet. She whimpers when her meal is abruptly cut off by the source’s final heartbeat. Gazing at the rapids, the imposter spots the priestess’s remains in the jaws of a stone crocodile and shrugs in defeat.

  “Oh well. Plenty more treats where she came from.”

  12

  “He has not been here in a while,” Timoran says as he walks into Luke’s empty room. He notices that the bed is a mess and there are clothes in the wardrobe, all of them marked with moist dirt. “Those shirts are filthy, but there are no signs of wear such as sweat stains or loose hairs. Whoever is trying to trick us merely spread dirt on the clothes and did a half-hearted attempt at disguising their work on the bed. The sheet is balled up, but the pillow is fluffed and in a perfectly square position. Our enemies are lazy.”

  “I’m still confused on something,” Nyx claims, taking a seat on the solitary chair. She runs her finger along the desk and examines a faint layer of dust. “Luke must have left Rhundar after our meeting on the Earth Tower. Yet Dariana keeps sensing him in the city. How is that happening if the Order has him?”

  Holding up a hand for silence, the telepath goes to the window and stares at the figures down below. Having spent much of her free time observing the Feykin, she can see some of them are doing what they always do. One or two of the bright-haired citizens even walk the same a circuit and run the same errands every day. With her focus predominantly on her friends and the cultists, Dariana never noticed how life in Rhundar is truly sterile and bland. Aside from when the hunting parties return victorious, there are no celebrations, forms of entertainment, or any cohesive culture that she can discern from the locals. She scans a few minds to discover that they are aware of their actions and varied in thought like any normal civilized creature. Yet there is a constant routine that the Feykin are forced to repeat until their leaders call for them. The system reminds her of golems that are designed to follow simple orders until pulled away for a more complex assignment.

  “I believe one of the citizens has been implanted with a replica of Luke’s mind. They might not even know about the transplant, but I should have realized it was a fake,” Dariana explains while searching for the false trail. She finds the unwitting Feykin by the river and sees it is a young woman who is cleaning clothes. “I thought I was seeing things because I’d been asleep for so long. Social situations and cultural differences still confuse me at times. Yet there is no vibrancy here like in the other places I’ve visited. Bor’daruk, Nevra Coil, Stonehelm, and everywhere else has had a unique atmosphere. Rhundar has one, but it is muted. There is evidence that the Feykin once had forms of entertainment and cultural rites, but we never see any of these things followed.”

  “Could it be because each Feykin comes from a different fairy lineage?” Timoran suggests as he searches the dresser drawers. He finds Luke’s griffin talon necklace under a pair of discarded pants and tucks it into the inner pocket of his vest. “Then again they have been around for years, so a melded culture should have come about by now. Much like when an outcast or orphan joins a new tribe, they assimilate and sometimes the existing system changes due to their influence. Are you saying that everyone here might be under someone’s control like Delvin and Sari?”

  “It’s possible,” the telepath admits with a helpless shrug. Turning her glass ring around her finger, she considers taking it off and leaving herself vulnerable to the swarm of ever present thoughts. “To be honest, I have no way of telling. Our interactions with the Feykin have been limited and I wonder if that has been on purpose. For example, Frog and Plume were nice, if not a little standoffish, which made sense considering their people are being hunted. Yet I haven’t seen either of them in days.”

  “Almost like they were actors who have been removed from the stage,” Nyx interrupts while holding out her gloved hands. She watches the illusions of herself and Delvin dancing on the table, the vague sense of her aura being blocked making her shudder. “Whatever this plan is, it’s complicated and a little showy. The person behind it is taunting us specifically. Probably enjoying our suffering too. I know I said this before, but maybe this mess is something Stephen set up before we took him out. A final blow from the grave.”

  Dariana shrugs and sits on the edge of the desk, her eyes narrowed as she peers at the melancholic half-elf. “My brother never believed he could die, so it could be something he started and never got to finish. If that is the case then either somebody else is in charge of this trap or he had an agent who isn’t sure of what he or she is doing. The Luke decoy tricked us, but it could have fallen apart at any moment. I could have stumbled onto the fake psyche and seen that it wasn’t him or one of us could have visited this room before now. Maybe the final goal is very close, so they can afford to take risks.”

  The illusions of Nyx and Delvin move off the table and float through the air, the pair’s dance becoming more of a wrestling match. When the warrior draws his blade, the channeler multiplies into several copies that hurl tiny fireballs at him. His shield is knocked out of his hand and his sword is melted before a combined blast drives him to the floor. Nyx gets out of her chair to wipe away the extra copies of herself and picks up the groaning Delvin illusion. She catches her tiny copy and holds the pair out for a few seconds before sending them back into the enchanted gloves.

  “There’s a four moon eclipse coming, which might have something to do with it,” Nyx states, wishing she could tell her friends the truth. A strange idea comes to her mind and she takes a deep breath before facing the others. “I think Zohara is a kind, beautiful woman and perfect for Delvin. Much better for him than me. I’m really nothing more than a ragged, hideous wench compared to her.”

  “I believe you are being too hard on yourself,” Timoran says while putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. The wicked smile on her face confuses the barbarian, who touches her forehead to check for a fever. “You are not sick. Is this some type of code that I am unfamiliar with?”

  “I’m only saying that Zohara means us no harm and has the best of intentions toward Delvin and Sari,” the channeler declares, turning her attention to Dariana. She urgently shakes her head when she feels the telepath attempt to read her thoughts. “As you can see, I’m entirely sincere here. Zohara really is perfect. Compared to her, I might as well crawl back to Helgard and stay locked away forever.”

  “A psychic curse!” Dariana exclaims, her face shifting from joy at having the answer to worry for her friend. Wanting to take a peek, the gingerly grips the channeler by the wrists and touches their foreheads together. “Zohara is the person behind this and she’s very powerful, which I got simply from your words. I can feel the mental bindings and they’re extremely complicated. She’d notice if I began tampering with her work, so I have to leave it alone. Don’t want her turning off your mind or controlling you like she’s doing to Delvin and Sari. Amazing tha
t she’s capable of manipulating so many without showing signs of fatigue. I wonder what kind of fairy she is descended from.”

  “What is a psychic curse?” Timoran asks once he can get a word in.

  Remembering the patient man’s presence, Dariana blushes and bows her head toward the barbarian in apology. “I’m sorry about that, but I’m excited to have solved this mystery. Similar to a magical curse, this type is created by a psychic who attacks a person’s mind instead of their aura. Makes perfect sense if you think about it. While Zohara would lose in a battle of magic with Nyx, she has the advantage in a mental battle. Stuff like this is what malicious telepaths do when their true plans are discovered and they need to distract their enemies. The tactic is more complicated and subtle than turning off the other person’s brain and stashing the body. Not that . . . I’m sorry, but I admit that I’ve had to do that a few times in my life. Personally, I don’t like doing these kinds of curses.”

  “They do seem rather ineffective,” the barbarian states while patting Nyx on the head. She swats his hand away and points at her tongue, the gesture not making any sense. “What I mean is that it seems easy to discern. The victim speaks the opposite of what they want to say. While that hides the information, it reveals tampering. Friends would know something is wrong and that increases the risk of being discovered. Especially if one is praising a person that they should dislike.”

  “By the gods, I want to kiss Zohara in the face,” Nyx declares before cringing at her own words. Taking the flask out of Timoran’s pocket, she takes a long pull only to find that it is water instead of alcohol. “Close enough. Please tell me you two know what I meant. I’m going to be quiet now and wait for someone to stop my suffering.”

  “I always find telepaths who use curses to be narcissistic, which is why these things backfire so often,” Dariana explains, putting a comforting arm around her friend. She is about to test the intricate curse with a tiny mental poke, but stops when the channeler flicks her nose. “Strange that she went after Nyx and ignored the rest of us. Makes me think she feared losing Delvin and decided to make a move. Then again, I can only take wild guesses since we don’t know her plans. It has to involve the local feud, but what could she gain from that conflict? Do you think it has to do with Binhadar Falls? We seem to be focusing on answers that fall outside of our destiny. It could have everything to do with us.”

  Nyx gives the silver-haired woman a friendly smile as she jokes, “Now who sounds like a narcissist?”

  “But it usually does have to do with our destiny.”

  “I know, but saying it out loud sounds rather self-centered.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “You still haven’t figured out when we’re teasing you?”

  “Not without reading your emotions or thoughts.”

  “That’s cheating.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  A booming cheer punches through the window, stopping the champions’ conversation and draw their attention to the outdoors. The streets are clear of citizens, but they can see the Feykin gathered by the distant waterfall. There are a few figures standing in the middle of the crowd, a space growing around them as if they are pushing the mob back. As the adventurers watch, a purple blur races toward the tower and moves to head straight for the window. They expect Fizzle to slow down, but the drite moves faster with every passing second. His friends dive out of the way as he enters the room, a boom of sound shaking the entire building and overturning the furniture.

  “Trouble, trouble, trouble!” Fizzle shouts, his excitement driving him to circle around the ceiling. He dives to coil his tail around Nyx’s arm and drags her toward the open window, the channeler struggling to get free. “No time! Friends fighting! Big fight. Not listening to Fizzle. Come to help!”

  Dariana and Timoran race out the door, the pair leaping into a vertical wind tunnel that they can navigate to the bottom floor. With her upper half already out the window, Nyx makes herself light enough for Fizzle to carry without slowing him down. A battering wind forces her eyes closed, the sensation of not knowing where she is or what is ahead making her guts tie into nervous knots. She relaxes when a puff of rainbow mist hits her nose, the drite having picked up on her anxiety. With Fizzle’s speed, they are nothing more than hazy blurs that go unnoticed by the roaring crowd.

  *****

  “Kill that outsider! He’s not one of us!”

  “Shut up! She’s not a warrior, so why should we follow her?”

  “Because she’s a Feykin.”

  “Doesn’t that mean the Order’s defenses can stop her too?”

  The churning argument and open vitriol runs through the audience that have gathered near Binhadar Falls. Children of all ages join in the shouting, most of them only repeating what their parents are saying. Billowing winds redirect the thick mist along the river, giving the Feykin a clear view of their leaders. Not wanting to miss anything, those with wings rise remain in the sky and gather to make a swarm that casts colorful shadows across the earth. Standing on a rock at the base of the waterfall, Zohara keeps her hands raised in an attempt to quiet the crowd. The dark-skinned priestess has no luck since there is an eruption of voices every time one of the three figures within the circle moves. Delvin’s bastard sword is already out and pointed at Sari, whose steady hands rapidly spin a pair of curved daggers. Ready to defend the gypsy, Phelan crouches on another rock, water coiling around his knives.

  When the combatants are about to charge, a bubble of magic drops between them and releases a paralyzing gas. Rushing to prevent a riot from breaking out, Fizzle and Nyx accidentally knock a few Feykin to the ground as they reach the crowd. The pair land next to Zohara, the priestess doing her best to appear happy that they have arrived. Dariana and Timoran push their way through the mob, stopping when they see that their friends have drawn steel on each other. They go around to join Nyx and notice the evil glares they are getting from Delvin and Sari, the pair struggling against the paralysis. Fizzle undoes his spell and darts between the armed champions, preventing them from attacking unless they want to risk hitting him. Fearing that they will not be stopped by his presence, the drite delivers a series of smacks with his tail to knocks their weapons to the ground.

  “What is going on here?” Nyx asks, her attention focused on Zohara. She has thunder shake the city when the Feykin shout at her, the channeler’s fury making them stay silent. “You have a big battle coming and your best warriors are about to kill each other? Are you determined to lose this war?”

  “I agree that this is a foolish mistake that I wanted no part of,” the priestess answers, bowing her head to the half-elf. She coughs when she feels a sickly sweet taste in her mouth, the sensation making her teeth ache. “They were arguing over who should lead the army. Sari and Phelan believe that being Feykin and their successful raids gives them the right. Delvin is claiming that his training and experience make him the better choice. It’s the same thing they always argue about, but it reached a new level of aggression this time.”

  “And where do you stand on this?” Dariana asks as she gathers the fallen weapons. The flexible woman easily leans away from the trio’s attempts to reclaim their gear, a sweeping kick knocking all of them down. “I notice that this is an unfair fight. Smart of you to not get physically involved, but this does put Delvin at a disadvantage. Not that I think the fight should go on since it seems to be to the death.”

  “It was going to be to the injury. You have to leave if you’re cut,” Sari argues, drawing fresh weapons from her skirts. She is forced to drop the blades when they heat up and curses when the ones hidden in her enchanted skirt do the same. “Dammit, Nyx! My legs feel like they’re being cooked. Stop it and I promise not to touch them.”

  “I will take these and walk far away,” Timoran announces, claiming the weapons from Dariana and marching through the crowd. The barbarian takes a final look over his shoulder and shakes his head in disappointment before disap
pearing behind a building.

  With Delvin’s attention on the departing champion, Phelan rushes forward and tackles the warrior. Sari jumps in Dariana’s way, preventing the telepath from stopping her boyfriend’s assault. The Feykin’s punches are wild as they rain down on his enemy’s arms, which are protecting the other warrior’s head. Phelan is helped by Sari delivering a quick kick to Delvin’s ribs, the attack giving Dariana a chance to push forward. The silver-haired woman is repeatedly driven back by daggers thrown at her feet, half of the blades nothing more than illusions. The crowd cheers and boos with several scuffles breaking out among the divided populace. The fighting finally stops when pillars of fire erupt from the top of every tower, the flames curling into the form of a sinister dragon.

  “Consider that a reason to behave,” Nyx states, her eyes flickering like tiny bonfires that move with the breeze. Hopping off the rocks, the half-elf storms over to Delvin and flings Phelan away with a burst of glistening magic. “You two better thank me for not beating both of you into the ground and leading the army myself. Of all the stupid things you’ve done since we got here, a fight with real weapons before a big battle is the worst. Still, I don’t think I’m really going to stop you. Give me your pouch, Delvin.”

  “Who are you to-” the warriors starts to say before the furious channeler leans over him. Fire drips down her cheeks and leaves burning marks on his clothes, the flames barely touching his skin. “Fine, but know that you have no true authority here. This is only because I don’t want to kill you.”