The Beggar's Past

by J B Drake

  “Ani, what—”

  “Don’t. Move,” the chronodragon said, then raised her gaze to the heavens and closed her eyes.

  “What’re you doing?” Weighton demanded.

  Ignoring the lich, Anieszirel opened herself to the cold. To most, the cold was nothing more than an absence of warmth, but at that moment, to the chronodragon, it was a source of power for an abomination of a spell, one that was utterly forbidden and largely forgotten, and as she floated above the snow, she drew the cold into herself, her thirst calling forth a soft breeze that grew in intensity.

  “Stop this!” Weighton barked as Marshalla dove to her knees, hugging her head close to her body.

  “I said stop it!” he cried as an azure dome appeared about Marshalla.

  Snarling, the lich turned to his guards.

  “Fire everything you have at the shade!” he barked. “Now!”

  “Yes, sir!” the sellswords cried as they raise their crossbows.

  Then, the chronodragon opened her eyes and began to whisper. It was a whisper in a tongue from a time when the world was young, a tongue long forgotten, a tongue that once defined the arcane. And as the winds blew, they carried the chronodragon’s whispers into the ears and hearts of all about her, save Marshalla, her protective dome shielding her from the spell.

  “Fire, damn you!” Weighton ordered.

  But his words meant nothing to his sellswords, for the chronodragon’s whispers had robbed them of their their very minds, and as the winds blew and the whispers spread, each sellsword found their thoughts slowly turned to one thing and one thing only.

  For Weighton, the whispers meant nothing, for the spell could only affect the living, but as he stared at his men, he watched in horror as life drained from their eyes, replaced by something he’d seen in the eyes of monsters many times before. Hunger.

  Then, as the winds died and the chronodragon slumped behind him, the lich that was Weighton watched as his beloved sellswords stared at each other and howled, then sped off into the snow, their humanity lost.

  Spinning, he glared at the chronodragon.

  “What have you done?” he said.

  “What I had to do,” Anieszirel said, her defiance bringing her to her feet.

  Roaring, Weighton raised his hand, but as his fingers pulsed with vile magic, the lich doubled over without warning.

  “Do that again,” a voice cried out from behind them, “and I’ll shatter this bloody thing!”

  “You’re alive!” Marshalla cried.

  Turning, Weighton watched as Amala neared, a pulsing gem held aloft.

  “My phylactery,” Weighton gasped.

  “Back away from them, Weighton,” Amala continued. “Now!”

  “You don’t know what she’s done!” Weighton yelled.

  “I don’t care what she’s done!” Amala shot back as a panting Anise ran up behind her. “Back away! Now!”

  Weighton levelled a heartfelt glare at the chronodragon as she now lay slumped against the remains of the great redwood tree, then took a few steps back.

  “Go back into your hovel, Weighton,” Amala continued. “We’re leaving!”

  “My phylactery?”

  “Leaving with us!”

  “No!”

  “Yes!” Anise added.

  Weighton stared at the advancing pair like a man watching his whole world crumble around him, and with a pained cry, he turned and flew back the way he came.

  Grinning, the pair hurried towards the chronodragon. As they raced, so too did Marshalla rise.

  “Don’t!” Anieszirel barked, startling Marshalla. “Stay where you are!”

  “But—”

  “Stay, Marsha, stay.”

  “Ha!” Amala cried as the pair reached them, “I bet…” Then, she stopped as she and Anise stared hard at the chronodragon.

  “Ani?” Anise said at last.

  Anieszirel smiled. “The very same.”

  “You look like an orc.”

  “That’s because I am an orc.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a long tale. I’ll tell you some other time.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, well,” Amala grinned, “I bet you’ve never been more glad to see us, eh?”

  “I’d say so!” Anise grinned, then turned to Marshalla.

  “Oh, come here, you,” she said as she held her arms out to Marshalla.

  “No, wait!” Anieszirel cried.

  But she needn’t have bothered, for the moment Anise came within reach of Marshalla, her vampire companion pulled her back.

  “Hey!” Anise cried, “What…?”

  Holding a finger up, Amala stared hard at Marshalla, then, in silence, walked slowly around the kneeling girl, her eyes scanning both Marshalla and the dome she was within. With every step the vampire took, her frown deepened, till at last, standing before the slumped chronodragon, she turned to Anieszirel.

  “What did you do to her?”

  “What did who do to whom?” Anise asked.

  The chronodragon held her peace.

  “I asked you a question, shade!” Amala snapped as she faced Anieszirel square. “What did you do to her?”

  “Amala, you’re not making sense,” Anise said. “What’s wrong with Marsha?”

  “She’s been tainted with…something.”

  “What do you mean, something?”

  “I don’t know,” Amala replied. “I don’t recognise the spell.”

  “It’s a Vengeance spell,” Anieszirel said. “A frost-attuned one.”

  “A what?” Anise frowned as Amala stared wide-eyed at the chronodragon.

  “You cast a Vengeance spell on—” Amala said, her voice quivering.

  “Not on her! Gods! I’m not a monster, alright?”

  “You’re not a monster, but you cast a Vengeance spell? Who the bloody hells casts a Vengeance spell if they’re not monsters? And how in the bloody hells do you even know to how to cast one?”

  “Amala!” Anise yelled.

  “What?” Amala shot back as she spun to face the Archmage.

  “What’s a Vengeance spell?”

  “It’s…an old family of spells,” Amala said.

  “How old?” Anise frowned.

  “Old enough for the world to have more or less forgotten how to cast them.”

  Anise’s frown deepened. “But you know how to.”

  Amala shook her head. “I know of them, not how to cast them. Gods, we don’t even know what they’re truly called. We just call them Vengeance spells because what little text anyone’s found on them show them being used in acts of revenge.”

  “Are they that bad?”

  “They were forbidden even back when people knew how to cast them. You got summarily executed for casting them.”

  “Good gods,” Anise gasped, then turned to Anieszirel. “And you cast it on Marsha?”

  Just as Anieszirel moved to speak, the air was filled with howls from a distance, and as the women heard them, all fell silent as each knew without a doubt they came from the throats of humans that were no longer human.

  “We were about to be overwhelmed,” Marshalla said after a spell. “Weighton said Amala was dead, and you were next, Anise, unless I went with him. Ani did what she did to save us.”

  “And what about now, shade?” Amala snarled, rounding on Anieszirel once more. “Or did you not stop to think how we’ll fare with all those…things running around out here?”

  “They’re no different to you,” the chronodragon said. “They hunger, and they go to feed. And, like any other animal, they’ll go where there’s an abundance of food.”

  “What sort of food?” Anise asked.

  Anieszirel turned to her. “Warm bodies.”

  “What in the hells…?”

  “It’s Weighton’s people who should be worried, not us. Right now they’ll be heading to places they remember having large gatherings.”

  “Oh, gods, Kirsk!”

  Anieszirel shook
her head. “Why go to Kirsk when Weighton’s people are right here? He has an army, remember.”

  “How can you be so ghoulish about this?” Amala grimaced.

  The chronodragon turned to the vampire. “It was them or us, and I will not apologise for choosing Marsha over them.”

  Amala glared at the chronodragon for a spell longer, but couldn’t fault her words.

  “The dome is drawing the poison of the spell from Marsha,” Anieszirel continued after a spell. “It just needs time to do its work, and I just need to rest.”

  Both women stared at Marshalla.

  “Sit with her, Amala,” Anieszirel said. “You have no body warmth of your own for her to hunger for. Anise, you sit with me.”

  The pair exchanged glances, then did as the chronodragon had directed. As they sat however, the howls filled the air once more.

  “Are you sure we’re safe here?” Anise asked.

  “Yes.” Anieszirel nodded. “They won’t return here till they’ve searched the whole area.”

  “There’s a village on the other side of the hill,” Amala said, “I saw it on my way up.”

  “Oh, gods,” Anise said. “You think they’re going there?”

  “Weighton’s place is closer,” Anieszirel said. “They’ll be going there, not the village.”

  “We just came from Weighton’s place, shade,” Amala replied. “We passed no one.”

  Anieszirel sighed. “The village is safe, vampire.”

  “You think so, or you know so?”

  The chronodragon moved to speak, but had no words.

  “Let me rest,” she said instead, “and I’ll take us all to Merethia after.”

  “We can’t just leave,” Anise said. “We have to warn that village.”

  “No.” Amala shook her head. “If those things are going there, by the time we get there it’ll already be too late.”

  “So, what, you’re just going to leave them to their fate? Now who’s the one being ghoulish?”

  “I don’t like it any more than you do, Anise, but we’re in no fit state to help anyone right now.”

  “So we just run,” Anise said, her face twisted with disgust as she stared at the tracks in the snow. “We let loose this horror in their midst then scurry away.”

  Gritting her teeth, Amala turned and hugged Marshalla close.

  “You think what I did was wrong,” Anieszirel said, drawing the Archmage’s gaze. “You think I should’ve let them take Marsha.”

  “Well, no, of course not,” Anise said, “but…surely there must’ve been another way.”

  “There wasn’t,” Marshalla said.

  The Archmage moved to speak, but no words came, and instead, she sighed and smiled at Marshalla.

  “Just let me rest,” Anieszirel said, “then we head for Merethia.”

  “No.” Anise shook her head. “I need to go to Barrow. I have a score to settle there.”

  “It’s my score too,” Amala said. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Our things,” Marshalla muttered.

  “Ah, of course.” Anise nodded. “Let’s head to Kirsk first, then, get our horses then head where we need to.”

  “Very well,” Anieszirel said. “just let me rest first.”

  “In the meantime,” Amala said, staring first at Anise, then at Marshalla, “perhaps you two can tell me who this shade is, and what all this was about.”

  Marshalla and Anise exchanged glances as Anieszirel stared at the pair.

  “Well, we do know her deepest secret,” Marshalla shrugged, “so…”

  “Fair,” Anise said.

  “Ani?” Marshalla asked.

  The chronodragon was staring at Amala.

  “A secret for a secret,” she said. “Ours for yours.”

  “But we already know hers,” Marshalla said.

  “Not all of it,” Anieszirel replied.

  “What else is there?”

  “Who is she? How come she can wander round in the Tower without any of its palings turning her to dust? And how come I couldn’t sense her within the Tower’s walls, but I can sense her here?”

  “Oh, right!” Marshalla exclaimed, then turned to the vampire.

  Amala frowned at the chronodragon for a spell.

  “I can’t tell you any of that,” she said at last.

  “Then, we tell you nothing.”

  “Hold,” Anise said, “hold a moment. We know her deepest secret. If she turns on us, we turn on her.”

  “And what makes you think you have a say in this?” Anieszirel demanded.

  Anise grinned. “Because I know the secret too.”

  “Anise, you—”

  “You didn’t see her in there, Ani. She was like the bloody wrath of the gods. She could’ve died in there, but she never once stopped to think of herself. She’s earned the right to know. And…she’s nothing like me; she’ll keep quiet.”

  “Why do you want to tell her so badly?”

  Anise stared from the chronodragon to Amala and back again.

  “You said the world saw you as a monster and nothing more,” she said. “Perhaps the only way you’ll find peace is amongst monsters like us who see you as something more.”

  Anieszirel stared at the Archmage for a spell.

  “That must be the weakest horse-shite I’ve ever heard you spill,” she said at last.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Marshalla smiled, “I think she has a point.”

  The chronodragon stared from Marshalla to Anise and back again, then sighed.

  “Very well, then,” she said. “You tell her.”

  And as a gentle breeze swirled about them, Marshalla shared their dark secret with the vampire, howls filling the air as she spoke.

  Epilogue

  “Oof!” Amala cried as she stumbled through the door of their home. “Gods, it feels good to be home.”

  “Yeah.” Marshalla smiled as she held the door open for her companion. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “When did you get back?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “Ah.” Amala grinned. “Two days without my wonderful presence. You must be beside yourself.”

  “Hrm,” Marshalla pondered, “two days with the whole place to myself. Yes, of course I was beside myself.”

  “Don’t be cheeky,” Amala chided, “it’s most unbecoming.”

  “Get inside will you? I need to close the door.”

  Chuckling, Amala did as Marshalla urged, and as Marshalla closed the door behind her, the vampire tossed her belongings aside and lumbered over to the couch.

  “Oof!” she repeated as she slumped onto it.

  “How was Barrow?”

  A slow smile parted Amala’s lips. “Let’s just say peace now reigns in that town.”

  “Is that right?” Marshalla smiled.

  “Oh, yes.” Amala grinned as she turned to stare at Marshalla. “In fact, I…”

  Frowning, Amala sat up. “What is it?”

  At her words, the smile upon Marshalla’s lips dissipated. “I’m that easy to read, am I?”

  Amala smiled. “After a fashion.”

  Sighing, Marshalla wandered over to her friend and sat down beside her, a deep frown upon her lips.

  “I need to ask something of you, and I’ve been wondering how to ask.”

  “Try simple.”

  Marshalla glowered at Amala.

  “What?”

  “Fine.” Marshalla sighed. “Before this whole…mess, you were saying you could help me talk to Naeve, remember?”

  “Hunh? Oh, yes I did! You wish to speak to her?”

  Marshalla nodded. “But for something else.”

  “Like what?”

  “Do…do you think she’ll help me learn magic?”

  Silence filled the air as Amala held her friend in a pointed stare.

  “Where are you going with this?” she asked.

  “I want to take the Birthing, Amala.”

  “Marsha, you hate magic.”
/>
  “I know,” Marshalla nodded. “The very thought of what I’m asking makes me want to vomit.”

  “Then, why ask it?”

  Taking a deep breath, Marshalla stared at her friend as if pondering her words.

  “We very nearly didn’t make it back, Amala,” she said at last.

  Sighing, the vampire sat up. “That’s true, but—”

  “No.” Marshalla shook her head. “Hear me, please.”

  Frowning, the vampire held her peace.

  “We nearly died there. All of us. You, me, and Anise. And that thing Ani did, I just can’t get it out of my head.”

  “She had no choice, Marsha,” Amala soothed, placing a hand upon Marshalla’s knee. “It was them or you.”

  “That’s just it. She was protecting me. You were all protecting me. That’s all people have been doing since I came to this bloody place, and I’m sick of it.”

  Amala frowned. “Sick of what precisely?”

  “I’m sick of being a burden.”

  “Oh, my dear,” the vampire smiled, giving Marshalla’s knee a light squeeze, “you’re not a burden.”

  “I am, Amala, and you know it! I hid behind a bloody tree throughout her entire fight with Weighton. All I did was cower and whine. That was all I could do, and I’m sick of it! I don’t want to be useless anymore. I don’t want to be this pathetic little thing everyone has to look after. If I knew even a tenth of the magic Anise does, Ani would never have condemned those people like she did.”

  Amala stared hard at the young girl beside her.

  “Well, bloody say something,” Marshalla said when the silence became unbearable.

  A slow smile parted the vampire’s lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever been as proud of you as I am at this moment.”

  “Bloody hells, Amala, I just need a favour is all,” Marshalla said, though her words did little to dampen the redness of her cheeks.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Amala rose. “Though, I think she’ll be happy to find you a mentor.”

  “Thank you.” Marshalla smiled.

  Amala bowed at her friend. “You’re most welcome.”

  Smiling, Marshalla rose as well.

  “By the bye,” Amala said as Marshalla walked past her. “I ran into Tip on my way home.”

  Marshalla froze.