by J B Drake
“Hey,” Marshalla said as the boy reached them.
“Hey, Davian,” Tip added.
Davian nodded at the pair. “Thank you for coming.”
Tip smiled in response.
“How you feeling?” Marshalla asked.
Davian shrugged as the stared at the sea of faces flowing past them. “Everyone tells me the pain will go away, that I just need time to heal.”
“Sorry about what happened,” Tip mumbled.
Turning to hold Tip in a blank stare, Davian shook his head. “No, you’re not.”
“Davian!” Marshalla hissed.
Davian turned to Marshalla. “Thalas tried to kill him, Marsha, how can he possibly be sorry?”
“He’s sorry because he’s your friend,” Marshalla replied, leaning forward. “He’s sorry because he sees how much you hurting.”
For a spell, Davian locked gazes with Marshalla, his face lacking remorse of any kind. But at last, he turned to Tip, a weak smile upon his lips.
“Thank you.”
Marshalla nodded as a smile parted Tip’s lips.
“Anything you want us to do for you?” Tip asked.
Taking a deep breath, Davian shook his head. “Matriarch Earthchild has people looking after Father and I. We’re doing alright.”
“Want us to come round later?” Marshalla asked. “Maybe help get your mind off things?”
Davian shook his head once more. “That would be a mistake.”
“What you mean?” Marshalla frowned.
Davian sighed. “Marsha, let’s stop pretending. Yes, my brother was heartless. Yes, he tried to kill you both, on more than one occasion. But he was my brother, and my father killed him because of you. Both of you.”
“Look, Davian—”
“No, Marsha, no. My father blames you both for what happened to Thalas, and—”
“What? We didn’t—”
“It doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t do, that’s the truth of the matter, and—”
“What you mean it don’t matter?”
“I mean precisely that, Marsha; it doesn’t matter who’s in the wrong, my father blames you both, and that is that.”
“You blame us too?” Tip mumbled.
Turning, Davian stared at Tip. The pause that followed spoke louder to Tip than anything Davian could’ve said.
“I’m all my father has left,” Davian said at last. “I have to be there for him.”
“You said Matriarch got people—” Marshalla began.
“They’re outsiders, Marsha.” Davian shook his head. “They are not Grovemenders. I’m all my father has left, me and nobody else. I’m not going to abandon him. I can’t.”
“You mad at me?” Tip asked, his voice quivering.
Davian smiled at his dear friend. It was a warm smile, but a sad one.
“I don’t know,” he said at last, then turned to Marshalla. “I don’t know how I’m feeling right now. I just know that I need to be there for my father. And that means I can’t be with either of you anymore.”
“What you saying?” Marshalla asked, her brows furrowed deep.
“I’m saying good-bye, Marsha,” Davian said, then turned to Tip. “Good-bye.”
“Wait, what about…her?” Marshalla asked.
Davian sighed as he shook his head. “I may be a lot of things, Marsha, but I’m a Grovemender first and foremost, and we keep our word. I swore to all of you that your secret was safe with me, and I intend to keep that oath. No matter what.”
As young Davian fell silent, the air between the three grew heavy, weighing upon them till it felt suffocating.
“So this is it, then?” Marshalla said at last, her surprise at her own words plain for the others to hear.
Davian nodded. “I suppose so.”
“Sorry, Davian,” Tip muttered, tears stinging his eyes. “Really sorry.”
Davian smiled as he turned to Tip. “I’m sorry too.”
Then, with no more words left to say, the young Grovemender turned and returned to his father’s side.
*****
“Will you stop pacing!” Amala cried as she levelled a heated glare at the panther that was Gray just as Gray sauntered out of Marshalla’s room for the hundredth time.
“She’ll get back when she gets back!” Amala continued. “You prancing about the place isn’t going to…”
Just then, the sound of keys jangling reached the pair. As one, both turned to the door before turning to face each other once more.
“Oh, don’t you start,” Amala muttered at the smug panther just as the door swung open.
“So, how was it?” Amala called out as Marshalla walked into view.
“Oh, hello, Tip,” she added as Tip came into view behind Marshalla. As she stared at the boy, however, her smile dissipated as she noticed the redness of his eyes.
“It was a pain in the arse, is what it was,” Marshalla muttered. “How was Gray?”
“A pain in the arse,” Amala replied as she raised a regal eyebrow at the panther.
In response, Gray flicked her tail at Amala, exposing the entirety of her behind to the silver-haired girl.
“Rude,” Amala muttered, eliciting a chuckle from Marshalla.
But Tip remained silent, staring into the ether.
Turning from Gray to Tip, Amala stared at the little boy for a spell before turning to Marshalla, a question in her eyes.
Shaking her head, Marshalla walked over to Gray before grinning as she gave the panther a loving rub behind the ear.
“No training today, then, Tip?” Amala asked.
“Mardaley and Baern busy today,” Marshalla replied on his behalf. “Gave him the day off.”
“I see,” Amala replied.
“You go sit with Amala, Tip,” Marshalla continued, turning to Tip. “Need to go change, then will come make us something.”
“Okay,” Tip mumbled, then turned to do as he’d been bidden.
Sharing one last glance with Marshalla, Amala watched Tip shuffle over to a couch before plopping onto it just as Marshalla closed her bedroom door behind her. Biting her lip, Amala stared at him. He looked for all the world like a boy with a broken heart. Marshalla had warned her against pressing, but as Amala stared at him, she knew she had to nonetheless.
“Are you alright, Tip?” Amala asked just as Gray wandered over to the boy.
Raising his head, Tip stared at her. “Davian not want to be my friend anymore.”
“Oh my gods.” Amala gasped. “Why?”
The little boy shrugged. “He says his father’s sad, and blames us for what happened to Thalas. He says he doesn’t want to make his father more sad, but think he blames us, too. Think he hates me now.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Amala replied. “You and he were so close.”
Dropping his gaze, Tip nodded.
“You wish to talk about it?”
Tip shook his head.
“Well,” Amala replied, unsure what else to say. “I’m here if you do.”
Tip nodded in response.
Pursing her lips, Amala turned to Gray. She was seated by Tip, her eyes also upon the brooding child.
“Tell you what!” Amala exclaimed, her words bringing Tip’s eyes up to hers. “I think we still have an apple or two left. What say you to a bowl of sliced apple and chilled cream?”
“Yes, please,” Tip muttered.
“Alright, then!” Amala exclaimed, then leapt to her feet and headed for the kitchen, young Gray following behind
Tip watched them leave in silence.
“Do you blame me for any of this?”
Tip dropped his gaze once more.
“Tip, all I’ve ever done is protect you. You must believe I didn’t—”
“Don’t blame you, Ani,” he thought at last.
“Thank you for saying that, Tip. It means a lot.”
Tip nodded, his gaze remaining at his feet.
“But not fair, though,” he continued. “Davian was my
friend. Didn’t do anything wrong, but he mad at me. Not fair.”
“I know, Tip, and I am so sorry.”
A heavy silence fell upon the boy.
“How do you think Marsha’s taking all this?”
Tip frowned as he stared at Marshalla’s bedroom door. “What you mean?”
“Well, she took that woman’s life for one thing, and for another, she truly liked Davian. I wouldn’t be surprised if she feels guilty about all this.”
Tip’s frown deepened. “You think so?”
“I do, Tip, I truly do.”
“Maybe should say something when she comes out.”
“That is an option, yes, but…”
“What…?”
“Perhaps I should talk to her, woman to woman.”
Tip shrugged.
“Okay,” he said as he prepared to relinquish control.
“No, I mean I go talk to her in her room, in private, away from Amala and Gray.”
Tip’s frown returned. “Not allowed in there.”
“That’s quite alright, I’ll go in myself.”
Tip’s frown deepened for a spell, then his eyes glistened as the true meaning of Anieszirel’s words dawned on him.
“You mean your ghost body!”
“Of course!”
Tip smiled. “Marsha’ll love seeing you like that.”
“Why, thank you, Tip.”
Tip’s smile widened.
“Now, that funny feeling in your head might be a mite stronger this time, but I shan’t be long.”
Tip shook his head. “It’s okay, used to it now.”
“You are such a brave young man, Tip.”
Tip grinned.
“You are!”
In response, Tip lowered his eyes to his feet, his grin widening and his cheeks reddening.
“Well then, sit tight, I shan’t be long.”
Nodding, Tip shuffled deeper into his couch, his eyes upon Marshalla’s door. Within moments, the familiar ill-feeling was upon him, and with a sigh, he turned his gaze to the kitchen door. As he turned, however, a shrill cry came from Marshalla’s room, startling him for all he was worth.
“Marsha!” he cried.
As he leapt to his feet, however, Amala and Gray had already raced out of the kitchen and were bounding straight for Marshalla’s room, barging through it without a break in stride.
“Well, that was unexpected.”
Tip frowned. “What’d you do?”
“Nothing! Well…perhaps sneaking up behind Marshalla while she was partly naked wasn’t the best idea I ever had.”
“What?” Tip thought, a grin upon his lips.
Just then, Amala and Gray stepped out of Marshalla’s room. Raising a hand to his lips, Tip hid his grin and fought to replace it with a frown. Thankfully, neither Amala nor Gray paid him any mind, both staring through Marshalla’s open door.
“Are you sure?” Amala asked.
“Yeah,” Marshalla called back. “Fine, honest. Just jumping at bloody shadows.”
“Well,” Amala replied, clearly unconvinced. “If you’re sure.”
“Yeah, yeah!”
“Very well,” Amala said, then closed Marshalla’s bedroom door.
“Right, here I go again.”
Tip frowned. “You sure?”
“Positive. I’ll be more careful this time.”
“Okay,” Tip replied, then sat back once more.
Sitting in her undergarments, Marshalla took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she glowered at her door. After a scant few moments, Anieszirel’s astral frame swam into view.
“Don’t bloody sneak up on me like that!” Marshalla hissed as she sprang to her feet.
“Sorry.” Anieszirel winced. “Though, in my defence, Tip didn’t scream when he first saw me like this.”
Marshalla held the chronodragon in a heartfelt glare.
“He didn’t!”
“You sneak up on him when he was getting changed, too?”
“Well, no, but—”
“You just pop out of nowhere and tell him you need to talk, just like that?”
“Well…no…”
“There you go, then!”
“I did say sorry, though,” Anieszirel said after a brief spell.
Rolling her eyes, Marshalla sat on her bed. “Fine, what you want, then? And how long you been walking around like this?”
Anieszirel shrugged as a smug smile parted her lips. “I’ve always been able to do this, I’ve just only graced those I consider worthy.”
Sighing, Marshalla glowered at the chronodragon.
Grinning, Anieszirel sat upon the bed as well. “You’re no fun when you’re like this, you know that?”
“You said we need to talk,” Marshalla replied. “What about?”
At her words, Anieszirel’s grin faded.
“I need you to be honest with me, Marshalla,” the chronodragon said, “truly and utterly.”
Slowly, Marshalla sat up straight as she cast a sideways glance at the chronodragon. “About what?”
“What do you know of Tip’s past?”
Marshalla frowned. “Why?”
Anieszirel moved to speak, then caught herself, and instead simply stared at Marshalla, as if forming her thoughts.
“What did you see?” she asked at last. “Back at the storehouse.”
Marshalla’s frown deepened. “What you mean?”
“The sellswords, did you see how they died? After they trapped me, I mean.”
Marshalla’s gaze darkened at this. “Yeah, saw what you did.”
At this, Anieszirel smiled. “That wasn’t me.”
“What you mean wasn’t you?” Marshalla asked, leaning forward. “Saw you.”
Anieszirel shook her head. “That wasn’t me, Marsha.”
Marshalla shrugged. “Then, who?”
In response, Anieszirel stared at Marshalla. It wasn’t long before Marshalla found herself staring at her door before turning back to the chronodragon, her gaze one of pure disbelief.
“You joking, yeah?”
“What do you know of Tip, Marsha? What do you know of his past?”
“You saying Tip grew them snake things from his hands by himself?”
“Marsha, please,” the chronodragon said. “What do you know of Tip’s past?”
Marshalla shook her head, trying to make sense of Anieszirel’s words. “Tip and me met in the market—”
“That tale is a myth, Marsha, I need—”
“What you mean, myth? Tip and me—”
“Marsha, every time Tip tells that tale, I sense his shame. It’s the same shame he feels when he tells a lie.”
Marshalla fell silent at this.
“Marsha, this is serious,” Anieszirel continued, leaning forward as she spoke. “ I need to know everything there is to know about Tip. I need to know his past. I need to know how he’s able to do what he did in that storehouse.”
“You sure it wasn’t you and you just thought it was him?”
Anieszirel frowned. “Marsha, that makes absolutely no sense.”
“Oh, but you want me to believe Tip knows magic all of a sudden.”
“Marsha…” Anieszirel began, then sighed, staring at the glowering elf.
“Marsha,” she said after a brief spell, “I do not say this lightly, but what happened in that storehouse was not my doing.”
“You keep saying that, but—”
“You’re not listening to me! I’m not saying I didn’t do it, I’m saying I was incapable of doing it! Weak as I was, I was incapable of casting a spell of anywhere near that magnitude.”
“What you on about?”
“Marsha, I was in a banishing circle, a banishing circle that sealed around me. Would that I could fully explain what that means, but believe me when I say what that boy did, it was… Imagine transforming an ice lance into a fireball in mid-flight, and I don’t mean casting a new spell, but transforming the lance completely, ether and all, in mid
-flight. What Tip did to free us from that circle was of that level.”
Marshalla stared at the chronodragon with a look of pure disbelief.
“Listen to yourself!” she exclaimed at last. “How in the hells can Tip—”
“There’s a power in that boy, Marsha, a power I’ve been wielding since I entered him. Much of what I’ve done since we met has been because of that power.”
“What you—”
“I’m weakened! My void-sphere prison drained much of my strength. Even my escape from it, even that first act, was not solely of my doing. And the teleport that day? There was no way I’d have been able to force a path through the Tower’s paling all on my own. Left to my own strength, you and Davian would’ve been nothing more than bloody lumps of flesh!”
As the chronodragon spoke, she stared hard at the young elf sitting beside her, and for a time, she could see the elven girl’s disbelief remain unshaken. But then, as she stared, she saw something else take hold. It was an emotion, visceral and raw, one that clasped an icy claw about the young elf’s heart and squeezed tight, and as the chronodragon spoke, she watched Marshalla’s disbelief wane as the new emotion took hold.
Nodding, Anieszirel smiled. “Now, do you see?”
“Ani, you scaring me,” was all Marshalla could say.
“Welcome to my world! You have no idea how terrified I was that night, in that body. I tried to leave, you know.”
“You what?”
Anieszirel nodded. “Yes, I tried to leave him, to enter you. But I couldn’t. Do you understand, Marsha? Me, Anieszirel, the Kin-Slayer, the Defiler! I couldn’t leave that child! In all my years, through all the hosts I’ve been in, never have I been bound as strongly as I was that night.”
Once more, Marshalla stared at the door.
“I need the truth from you, Marsha,” Anieszirel continued, “the full truth.”
“Uhm…” Marshalla replied, tearing her gaze from the door to form her thoughts. “Don’t know his past, and that’s the gods honest truth. Know he was in an orphanage once, but how he got there, where he from, don’t know.”
“What orphanage?”
Marshalla shook her head and shrugged.
“Did he tell you he was from an orphanage?”
Marshalla nodded.
“Blast.” Anieszirel sighed. “It’s anyone’s guess how true that is.”
“But he’s just a boy,” Marshalla whispered.
