The Savage Realms

by Willard Black

  “How far?” Cinder wanted to know.

  Ven thought it over. “About four days’ walk, but it will be a hard journey, and cold.”

  Drake cocked his head to one side. “If you knew about the prize money and the city, how come you didn’t go collect the Byte yourself?”

  “That would only draw attention to us,” said Bridger. “Besides, we have everything we need.”

  Mercer said, “With ten million Byte, you could have everything you want too.”

  A rueful grin turned up one side of Bridger’s mouth. “The only thing we want is to be left alone.”

  “Can’t fault a man for that,” Mercer said.

  Drake didn’t seem convinced. He eyed Bridger and Ven with open suspicion. To assuage Drake’s fear, Bridger said, “Cut them loose and get them some food and furs.”

  Ven and his team of archers sliced the ropes binding them. Cinder massaged her wrists, flexing her fingers in an effort to get the blood flowing again. “Sorry about the rough treatment,” Ven said. “No hard feelings?”

  “I’d have done the same.” Mercer shrugged his shoulders and rolled his head. “What about Trix?”

  Bridger stooped next to the litter and placed a hand gently on her forehead with his forefinger and thumb pressed against her temples. He closed his eyes and said, “She’s got a cracked rib and the wound is infected.”

  Drake tried to get up, but without his staff he needed a hand. Cinder helped pull him to his feet. He said, “How can you know that just by touching her?”

  Bridger smiled. He suddenly reminded Cinder of a kindly old grandfather, and he said, “Your brand of magic isn’t the only magic in the Realms.”

  He turned to the gathering, nodded to one of the women, and said, “Ayrie, see what you can do.”

  She came over and knelt down beside Trix. She was a plain girl with red hair and freckles across her nose. Her hands went out to touch Trix, but she stopped. Her brow wrinkled. “This one is full of jealousy and hate.”

  Mercer grinned. “That about sums it up. You a doctor?”

  Ayrie shook her head and smiled. “I was an art major in the Real.”

  Mercer cocked an eyebrow.

  Cinder said, “What do you plan to do for her?”

  Ayrie reached out a hand, touched the bandage, and closed her eyes. Instead of suddenly electrified air, Cinder felt a warmth on her skin, like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm. Trix’s eyes flickered open. She looked around and tried to sit up, but Ayrie placed a hand on her shoulder and eased her back down. “Rest,” she said. “You’ve still got a lot of healing to do.”

  “Where are we?” Trix wanted to know.

  “Long story,” Mercer said.

  Bridger turned to Ven. “Put her in one of the huts and make her warm. See that she gets plenty of food and water.”

  A middle-aged couple stepped forward from the crowd and the woman said, “She can sleep in our home.”

  Ven and the archers lifted Trix’s hammock and carried her into one of the ramshackle dwellings. Bridger motioned to the fire and said, “Please, come, sit down and be our guests.”

  Chapter Seventy-One

  An old man in a fur cap offered his stump to Cinder. She tried to refuse, but he insisted. Someone else draped a fur cloak around her shoulders and a bowl of steaming hot stew was pushed into her hands. The warmth from the fire helped ease her aching muscles, and the stew banished any final misgivings she had. There was a round of introductions—Cinder would never remember all the names and didn’t try—then the music started up and the gathering sang about the Faithful and Glorious Day to Come.

  While they clapped and sang, Cinder leaned over to Mercer and dropped her voice, “Who are these people?”

  Drake muttered, “A bunch of weirdos if you ask me.”

  “They’re members of a strange religious cult,” Mercer explained. “The practice has been banned in the Real, so they come to the Realm where they can worship their god in secret.”

  “Why is it banned?” Cinder wanted to know. “Do they sacrifice virgins or something?”

  Mercer smiled and shook his head. “Not so far as I’m aware.”

  Cinder said, “They must have done something.”

  Mercer only shrugged. “Beats me. All I know is their temples are all closed and you can’t get a job in the Real if you’re a member of their cult.”

  “They seem alright,” Cinder said.

  “Oh really?” Drake looked pointedly at a woman doing a funny jig with her eyes closed and her head back. She raised her arms overhead in wild excitation.

  “Okay,” Cinder admitted. “They’re a little peculiar. But they don’t seem dangerous.”

  “And they probably saved Trix’s life,” Mercer added.

  Cinder turned to Drake. “What kind of magic was that? I’ve never felt anything like it.”

  “Restorative magic,” Drake explained. “It’s some of the most difficult to master and once you start down that path”—he shook his head—there’s no going back.”

  “What’s that mean?” Cinder wanted to know.

  Before Drake could explain, the music stopped and the gathering formed a circle around the fire, linking hands. All eyes went to the newcomers. Cinder shared a shrug with Mercer, then put her bowl down, stooped, and took Mercer’s hand in her right and Drake’s in her left. The people closed their eyes. Some of them bowed their heads. Others turned their faces up to the sky. Bridger chanted in a loud voice while the others issued little notes of approval or sighed out agreement. Before long, Cinder realized Bridger was praying for her and her friends.

  “. . . open their hearts and minds,” Bridger was saying. “Let them see the Light.”

  She glanced at Mercer. He only shrugged. Drake rolled his eyes.

  When it was over, the crowd gathered around their guests, asking where they were from and how long they’d been in the Realm, eager for news from the Real. They seemed genuinely interested in getting to know the new additions and making them feel comfortable. Cinder finished off three bowls of stew and had to refuse more. It was late before the strange group started drifting off toward their cabins. Ayrie grasped Cinder’s hand and said, “You can bunk with me.”

  A tall man with a wide face and close-set eyes clapped a hand down on Drake’s shoulder. “I’ve got a nice soft bed for you,” he announced. “You look positively done in.”

  Bridger turned to Mercer. “You can room with me and my wife.”

  Before they could protest these arrangements, they were being led off to different cabins and Cinder wondered if this might be some elaborate ruse to separate them and slit their throats while they slept. But why go to all the effort? They could have easily killed them while they were bound, and without all the theater. She allowed herself to be led through the woods to Ayrie’s little house.

  It was a single room with a cheery fire in a potbelly stove and a narrow cot. A vague misgiving filled Cinder. She wondered if Ayrie had plans other than sleeping.

  “It’s not much,” Ayrie said. “But I helped build it with my own two hands.”

  “It’s lovely,” Cinder said. “And warm.”

  “You take the bed,” Ayrie said to Cinder’s great relief. “I’ll make a pallet on the floor by the stove.”

  “Oh, no,” said Cinder. “I can’t take your bed.”

  But Ayrie wouldn’t hear it. She pulled three pelts from a chest under the cot and spread them out on the rough planks. While she fixed her sleeping arrangements, she asked all about Cinder’s life. Soon they were chatting like old friends. Cinder tugged off her boots and curled up on the cot under a thick bear fur. There seemed no shortage of animal skins in the expanded territory. It was surprisingly comfortable.

  Ayrie said, “So, are you and Mercer . . .?”

  Cinder blushed. She shook her head. “Oh, no. Nothing like that.”

  Ayrie’s brows went up. “But you like him.”

  Cinder hesitated and then said, “I
do . . . I think . . . I’m not sure.” To change the subject, she said, “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

  She turned scarlet. “There is someone I like.”

  “Who?”

  Ayrie glanced around, like someone might be hiding in the corners of the tiny cabin, and then her face lit up. “Ven,” she said, and then her smile faded. “He’s a little older than me, but he’s a really great guy. Only, he hardly knows I exist.”

  “Sometimes you have to make yourself noticed,” Cinder offered.

  Ayrie wrapped a skin around herself and stuck one leg out. “Maybe I can wear a sexy fur!”

  They had a laugh and spent the next two hours discussing men. The conversation eventually drifted to other topics, returned to men, and wandered off again. They were both stretched out on their beds, staring up at the dark ceiling, when Cinder said, “What kind of magic was that? It was different than anything I’ve seen.”

  “It’s healing magic,” Ayrie said, as if that should be obvious. “But it’s really hard to do and takes a long time to learn.”

  Cinder sat up on one elbow. “How long have you been in the Realms?”

  “Almost four years now,” Ayrie said.

  “But you’re not”—Cinder motioned to her face—“wrinkled.”

  Ayrie rolled onto her side. “Healing magic doesn’t age you, but it does come at a price.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Once you choose the path of healing, it forever cuts you off from using defensive magic, even to save your own life,” Ayrie explained. “The Mystical Plane is composed of two opposite poles. Once you move to one side, you’ve made your choice. There’s no going back. It’s sort of a yin and yang thing. That’s why there are so few healers in the Realms.”

  Before she could really think about what she was saying, Cinder asked, “Can you teach me?”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  Cinder laid down and thought it over. The only magic she had managed to produce so far was a bit of light. She wasn’t much good in a fight, and Drake was already a fair hand at throwing lightning. Wouldn’t it impress Mercer if she could heal him after a fight? She nodded. “I think so, yeah.”

  “We’ll start tomorrow.”

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  In the end, they spent a week with the religious outcasts camped among the pines. Every morning the people gathered in their tabernacle for prayers—Cinder watched from a polite distance—and then they would all eat breakfast together before going about their daily chores. Every evening they gathered around the fire for singing and dancing and more prayers. Mercer spent most of his time with Bridger and Ven. He pitched in, helping chop wood and dig a foundation for a new cabin. He also showed Ven and his archers a few tricks for hunting and trapping. The collective made their money selling furs to Citadel. Every two weeks, Ven and his crew would haul a load of bear and badger skins south where they would trade them for Byte, which was divided up among the camp.

  When Ayrie wasn’t tending to Trix, she was teaching Cinder about healing magic. They would take long walks in the woods, and Ayrie explained the finer details of channeling the Mystical Plane. When Cinder was ready, they found a chicken in camp that had a bent wing and she tried healing the bird. Her first three attempts were unsuccessful. But on the fourth day, she managed to tap into the wellspring and felt that same warm sensation she had when Ayrie healed Trix. The chicken cooed and flapped her wings a few times before capering off around the yard to peck for seed.

  “You did it,” Ayrie announced.

  Cinder laughed and threw her arms around Ayrie. They shared a tight embrace and then turned to find Ven and Mercer watching from the other side of the clearing. Mercer had a large mallet in one hand, but he had stopped to watch. He gave Cinder a thumbs up and she returned the gesture. Ven, perched atop the half-built wall, waved to them.

  The two girls turned their backs and giggled.

  Trix was sitting up and taking solid food by the third day. On the fourth day, while Cinder was fixing broken chicken wings, Trix was up and taking a walk around the encampment wrapped in a heavy fur. She had gotten her strength back, and some of her spirit as well. That evening, during the singing, she went and sat right down in the middle of the congregation. She hummed along to the music even though she didn’t know the words.

  Drake seemed to be the only one not enjoying his time in the camp. He spent most of his days alone, cooped up in one of the cabins. He refused to help with any of the chores and never came out for the merrymaking in the evenings. Cinder had tried talking to him a few times, but he answered mostly in surly grunts and short-tempered outbursts. It seemed the only person he wanted to talk to was Trix, but she apparently wasn’t interested in talking with him. Cinder asked Mercer about it over dinner one evening, wondering if something had happened between them. Mercer only shrugged and shook his head. He was too busy engaged in a running debate with Bridger about the nature of the universe to worry about Drake.

  By the fifth day, a light snow had started to fall. Large blue flakes twirled down out of the sky, lighting on the ground and melting before they had a chance to accumulate. Ayrie said Trix would be well enough to travel in another day or two, and Cinder was surprised to find she was troubled by the announcement. Life in the camp was simple and enjoyable. She didn’t have to worry about rent or electric bills and everybody, with very few exceptions, got along. She woke up, did her chores in the crisp clean air, and then spent the evenings singing and dancing. She had even listened to Bridger speak in the tabernacle a few times. It was odd, but then who wasn’t a little odd? Cinder was a grown woman living inside a video game. In the end, they weren’t hurting anybody, and what they chose to believe was their own business.

  The seventh day dawned bright and clear with a layer of white frost on the ground. It had snowed in the night and the pine branches were weighted down with ice, giving the encampment the charm of a Christmas village. Ven had told Mercer the night before that they should start out soon before the weather turned worse. After breakfast, Cinder gathered her gear with a heavy heart and met Mercer by the embers of last night’s bonfire. Tendrils of smoke still wafted into the freezing air where they were torn apart by the breeze. Drake was huddled in a large bear pelt, shivering from the cold and sniffling like he had a cold. Ven was already there, a sack on his back and his bow in hand. They were only waiting on Trix. The whole camp had turned out to see them off. Everyone wanted to shake hands and wish them luck. Cinder and Ayrie shared a tight embrace. Bridger clasped Mercer’s hand and gave it a firm shake. He said, “May the Creator favor you, son. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  Mercer returned the sentiment out of respect.

  Drake sniffed.

  When Trix finally emerged from her cabin, Cinder knew right away something was wrong. Trix wore a curious expression. She made her way across the clearing with her eyes down and her brow pinched in concentration, like she had a choice to make and wasn’t sure which way to go. She shook a few hands on her way through the crowd, thanked Ayrie, and then stopped in front of her friends.

  Mercer said, “You ready?”

  It was a moment before Trix answered. She looked up with a sad smile and shook her head. “I’m not going with you.”

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Cinder stood rooted to the spot, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. Mercer and Drake looked just as shocked. Drake let out a croak that might have been a question. Mercer stepped toward her and raised a hand, like he would reach out to her, but stopped halfway. His face worked through a series of emotions. He finally said, “Why?”

  “I’m out,” Trix said, visibly holding back tears. “I’m heading south. Back to Tanthus if I can. Going to log out for a while, get my head clear.”

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” Mercer asked.

  She dashed away tears, worked a smile onto her face, and nodded. “Yeah. It’s what I have to do.”

&
nbsp; Drake said, “We need you.”

  Trix’s lips pressed together and she shook her head slowly. “Sorry. You’ll have to go on without me.”

  “This is bullcrap!” Drake said. “What’s going on?” He thrust a boney finger at Bridger. “Is it them? Did you let them get into your head?”

  “This has nothing to do with them,” Trix said. “It’s about me.”

  “Bullcrap!” Drake spat and then turned and hobbled away.

  They watched him go and then Cinder said, “Will you be okay?”

  Trix nodded. “We made enough from Eternal Night to live on for a while. I’ll be fine.”

  “What about the Pass?” Mercer wanted to know.

  “I’ll winter in Citadel and then make my way south along the river when the snows clear,” she said. “If you make it back before the thaw, who knows, maybe you’ll catch up and you can tell me all about your adventure.”

  Mercer’s brow pinched, but he nodded. “You have to do what you think is right.”

  Trix turned to Cinder and put out a hand. Cinder wrapped her up in a hug. She said, “Thank you, for everything.”

  Trix patted her back. “You be careful out there.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Stay close to Merc,” Trix said.

  “I will,” Cinder told her.

  When Cinder let go, Trix put her arms around Mercer. She buried her face in his neck and whispered something that Cinder couldn’t make out. Mercer’s face clouded over and then he nodded. Trix pecked him on the lips and said, “So long, Merc.”

  “So long,” said Mercer, and he hitched a shaking breath in through his teeth.

  Bridger came forward. “I’ll see that she makes it safely to Citadel. We need to make the trip south anyway for salt and Byte.”

  Mercer shook his hand and thanked him for everything. Cinder hugged him, and Ayrie.

  Ven shouldered his pack. “We’ve got a long road. Best get started.”