by J. Levi
“Hold still, I’m almost done,” Kezia says. When I step close enough to smell the familiar combination of herb and smoke I’ve come to know as Kezia, she chides, “It’s about time you showed up.”
When she finishes fastening a torn cloth around the boy’s leg, securing the green mush in place, she finally looks up. I almost wince at how much older she looks from the ash and grief that paints her face.
The blonde boy steps away, scanning the area with his hand over his eyes to shield the sun.
“He ain’t here,” a gruff voice calls from behind. We both spin to see Lan, the caravan leader, walking with the help of a crutch salvaged from a cart plank.
The blonde boy beside me moves back, facing the city. Before he can get too far, Lan grabs his shoulder gently, causing the boy to stop.
“He ain’t here,” Lan repeats.
“Then he might be somewhere in the city,” the boy argues.
“Casaell,” Lan starts but the boy—Casaell shrugs him off. “He ain’t here.”
Casaell’s face pinches in confusion. Lan sighs, dragging a hand down his face.
“Some of us holed up in the city. We kept to the stone structures near the harbor. They held up against the fires. We saw your boy, along with our Duck.”
“Where did they go?”
Lan shrugs, almost unsure as he says, “no fuckin’ clue. One moment they were there, then the next they weren’t.”
Casaell laughs, giddily at first. He shakes his head, a hand covering his smile. “He did it.”
Lan exchanges a look between Kezia and me.
“Look. Our people are hurt, bad. We lost a lot in the initial attack, but those who got out don’t plan to stick around. We’re headin’ south to Shaigrove. Come with us.”
Casaell is already shaking his head before Lan even finishes. “I can’t. He won’t know where to find me.”
Lan’s face twists when he looks back at Kezia again, who snaps, “the boy has his own path. Best you let him follow it.”
Groaning, Lan turns back to Casaell and asks, “at least ride with us. You might find a ship in Beyport willing to take you where you need to go.”
Casaell nods. “Thanks, but I actually have a ride already. Which I should get back to before she thinks I’m not returning.” He turns to me and asks, “do you plan on staying with the caravan? It’s okay if you do. I’ll tell Addlyn.”
Find Tulen, my mothers told me. I look at Kezia, wishing she could just read my mind, so I didn’t have to ask.
“Did you…did you see what happened here? There was a woman with red…with red hair,” I choke out.
Kezia’s lips press into a firm line as she shakes her head. “I saw her, child. Though she was furry when the king arrived. I didn’t see much after that until Veryn, and his goons left the city. She wasn’t here when we returned.”
I swallow hard, biting back the tears threatening to fall. “Okay,” I force out. I turn to Casaell, clearing my throat and say, “I’ll go with you.”
***
We said our goodbyes. Casaell offered Lan a handshake, though Lan pulled the boy into a tight hug, patting his back a few times. I think I saw Casaells shoulders shake, but he recovered quickly. Kezia was less sentimental, and I thank her for it. No hugs or sweet words. Barely a formal goodbye, really. She looked me up and down, patted my shoulder twice and said, “I’ll be seeing you again.” Then she turned and walked away, tending to the injured.
We return to Addlyn’s ship without a word between us, though I don’t speak much, to begin with. It isn’t until we’re safe aboard the flying ship that I hear Casaell’s voice again after hours of mute.
“Mother,” Casaell whispers under his breath. If it weren’t for my enhanced senses, I would have missed it, but I didn’t.
“What?” I ask. He looks at me, somewhat surprised I heard his private words but then solace as he turns back to the ghastly view of the chaos.
“He said, mother.” Casaell offers. Who is he talking about? Then I remember the other man that Casaell always followed in the caravan. I remember his auburn hair and brooding demeanor. I heard him call the people in the caravan carnies several times. It made me laugh sometimes. Then I remember what my mother called him. Aedan.
How did I forget? The sheer surprise in mother’s face was unnerving as she stared at the boy like she looked into the eyes of a ghost. Maybe that’s exactly what it was like for her. Mother knew Aedan was alive, she’d say as much, but deep down, I think there was still doubt.
“Aedan,” I say, bringing a new meaning to the sounds his name makes.
“No, his name is Nova,” Cas tilts his head, staring at me with concern welled in his eyes. I look away, hoping he doesn’t see the tears that burn my eyes or the soft tremble of my lower lip. He lifts a hand to touch my shoulder, but I flinch away. I know I shouldn’t—his touch is what saved me. Even still, I flinch and take a half-step back.
“My mother called him Aedan. She recognized him,” I nearly a shout.
Casaell looks afflicted as his face contorts. “But, Nova never said….”
Nova.
Nova.
“My little ball of nova,” I say. My stomach wrenches as I heave over the railing and hurl bile, tears, and spittle. Casaell’s warm glowing hand slowly rubs my back, his magic easing the queasiness that plagues me. This time I don’t flinch away from his touch. When I’m sure my body has nothing left to expel, I wipe the spittle from my chin before sitting cross-legged with my back to the railing. Casaell sits beside me, silent. I appreciate it.
After a while, I finally say, “my mother…she used to tell me stories about her…her l—little ball—of—of—” I fail to finish because I’m choking on the sobs. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his chest as I weep and howl.
When I’m calm, I pull away and offer thanks. More silence until I find the strength to speak. “Nova,” I finally offer, my voice unwavering. “My mother would tell me stories about her little ball of nova.”
“I don’t understand,” Casaell whispers. I look into his eyes, bright forest green.
“It’s what she’d call my…brother.” I break his gaze and stare at the black sails that twist and pull in the wind that carries us into the horizon.
“Merida…Nova is your brother?” Casaell asks. His words sound absurd, but they feel like truth.
Aedan’s alive, I tell myself. He has to be. Mother, too. Though if Veryn has her, then a small part of me wishes she wasn’t alive just so she’d be free of his torture. Guilt swells in my chest at the selfish thought.
“We’ll find him,” Casaell says, his words resounding and final. “I can’t explain it—I don’t think I even want to. But somewhere in here,” Casaell prods his chest, just above his heart. “I know he’s still alive...and I know I’ll see him again—and so will you.” He holds the black fractured stone in his fingers before offering it to me. I take it, slowly brushing my callused fingertips against the broken surface of the gemstone.
“It’s his?” I whisper before admitting out loud, “Veryn wouldn’t have let him live.”
Casaell chuckles and says, “You have a lot to learn about your brother.”
Cas leans over and taps the stone in my hands. “I found this at the harbor stairway,” he takes the stone back, fiddling with delicate fingers. “He told me this was the last memory he had of his mother—your mother.”
A long pause and then, “You should have it.”
My first instinct is to deny the offer, but the dainty broken stone once belonged to both my mother and brother. I realize I possess no token to honor or carry their memories, except for this. So I let Casaell fasten the threaded leather cord around my neck until the stone weighs heavy in my heart against my collarbone.
Silence sits between us, but it’s easy. Then, Casaell says, “I think he came back to the harbor to find us, but we were already gone. Addlyn’s ship was probably too far into
the clouds and smoke. I’ll bet the wyverns destroyed the harbor by then, and when he finally came…he must have thought—” Casaell’s voice cracks.
“—He must have thought we were dead.” I finish for him.
A thick silence settles between us as the ship sways above the clouds. The wooden hull creaks as the sails whip against the wind.
“Where would he go?” I ask.
“I have an idea.”
Just then, Addlyn emerges out of her cabin while sliding on the ship deck. Her heels are sparkling in glittery magic as she sways along the wood planks as if her feet were flying just above the wood planks. She glides to us before performing a whirl and then a bow. She waits for applause, but Casaell nor I, offer.
“Have any thoughts on where you’d like me to take you?” Addlyn asks. Casaell nods. “Edonia. I need to get back to Edonia.” Addlyn dances in place and starts to glide around the ship masts.
“Sure thing. I avoid the sirens reef—the waters fiddle with The Flying Rooster’s magic too much. We’ll need to traverse around Ljosgard to evade those waters. I avoid the larger ports at all costs, so the closest port I can take you to is Nebach. I can get us close by air, and then we’ll have to sail the rest of the way by the ocean. You know, with their anti-magic laws and everything,” Addlyn sings.
“That’ll work.” Casaell offers, and then he looks at me. I’m not sure what he’s waiting for. Should I say something? Then I remember my mother’s words, find Tulen.
“Tulen,” I say. “I—I need to find Tulen.”
Addlyn skids from her magical skating, coming to an abrupt stop. “Kina broad. Anything more specific?”
I nod, trying to recall the names she used. “Galae?”
“Oh, that’s in the Sol’deia region of Ljosgard,” Addlyn snaps her fingers. “That’s a bit too far inland for me to go, but I can get you to a port on the Sol’deia coast.” Addlyn spins once before admitting, “I can’t say the sylphian are my favorite crowd, but I can drop you off on the way to Nebach. I’ll warn you, though, the sylphian are very prejudiced. Real sticks in the mud, if you ask me. The other fae in Ljosgard is slightly more amenable, but only slightly.”
“My mother told me to find him. I…I don’t have anywhere else to go,” I confess.
We sink into another long stretch of silence. The only sounds are the whips of black sail, the creak of wood, and the groan of the wind brushing against the hull.
“Alrighty. Buckle in. The winds are tough near Ljosgard. Cyclones are pretty popular near it, too—I think it’s part of their defense to ward off any foreign ships, though no one there ever confirms it. No matter, The Flying Rooster will get us there.”
Then, without further debate, we sail into the setting sun. The sky streams colors of twilight before dusk takes hold. Doubts swim in my mind, a festering infection, but hope sings in my heart, and its song is loud and strong. My mother is alive, and I’ll find a way to get back to her. I believe that’ll be enough…for now.
35
Nova
“They say there is a monster in lake Mordanr. A slithery beast with a long neck that arches high above the water line. I’ve never seen such a creature, though my family only arrived to this land. I have seen the river nylphs, however. Real nasty buggers. Grandpa says they love riddles, but never be a fool to let one ask because if you get it wrong, they’ll haunt you. I asked ‘what if I get it right?’ Grandpa just laughed. I’ll show him….”
– personal journal of Thalamo Donhagen 328 B.M.
“How many?” I ask Duck, crouched beside me against the cobblestone and bricked wall. Duck leans against the warm stone, still carrying the summer warmth of the sun. The night sky is beaming with stars while the faint hues of twilight peak over the poplar forest at the edge of the hillside. We’ve been staking out the wall for a few hours now, waiting for the perfect moment I can slip over and get to work.
“There’s at least two dozen in the main house,” Duck says. “More outside but mostly in the stables.”
“Human?”
“Mostly. There’s a lot of animals in there. Do you think they’re a carnival?” I try not to notice the slight influx in his voice.
“I doubt it. The house of Rembert is wine crafters. These are their vineyards where they harvest,” I explain.
I shift from my crouched position, sinking my hands into the thick brush of vines that scour a section of the wall. My foot finds its holding, and I start to climb.
“Oh wait, you’ll need these,” Duck says while tucking a few strips of jerky into my vest pocket.
“What for?”
“The dogs.”
“What dogs, Duck? You didn’t say anything about dogs!” I hiss.
“I’m saying something now,” he offers cheerfully.
I shake off the ensuing frustration and climb another step when Duck says, “You’ll need these as well.” He reaches high enough on his tip-toes to shove a few pieces of salted fish I pilfered from Odenfels. Duck pats the growing mound in my vest lightly and smiles, “for the frost leopard.”
I drop down to the ground and wave my hands incredulously. “Frost leopard?”
“Yeah. Hey, are you sure the Rembert’s aren’t carnival people?”
I count backward from ten, knowing full well it won’t work.
Six weeks ago, I awoke in my Richtenfel villa in a deep fog of nausea and pain. The last thing I remembered was watching the Andeil harbor burn in chaos. Duck was there by my side, offering cool rags and broth he managed to brew from my stores of dried meats. I lost two weeks to the fever, completely delirious and unconscious. It took me another two full days to sit upright without dry heaving, and then the following night, we left. I knew we couldn’t stay, two fae boys in the middle of an Edonian city. Under the cover of night, we snuck out of the city limits and have been camping out in the poplar forest of Fionheart Vale.
I’m not sure how I managed to wisp us back to my villa, but I haven’t managed to repeat it. Each time I summon my magic and command it to consume me into its thrall, it slips away like oil and water. Desperate to regain complete control of my magic and remove the binding the fae assassin invoked, we spend our days scouting and nights pilfering through nobleman estates. The idea came to me from my job in Laenberg. The client Don, who I’m sure to be the lord of house Donhagen, hired me to steal a family heirloom they lost to gambling with the lord Montares of Laenberg. Donhagen still had a magical artifact in his possession even after the purge of arcana. If one nobleman is brave enough to defy the king’s decree, chances are, the noblemen of Fionheart Vale might be as well. I know it’s a shot in the dark to stumble upon a sage stone, but desperation overpowers commonsense.
That’s how I found out about Duck’s animancy—his magical ability to commune and control animals. On our first night in the poplar forest, we encountered a pack of dire wolves. Duck held me back as I went for my dagger, only to scramble through our satchels and toss the meats I’d stollen and gave them to the growling beasts. They took the offering and fled.
“What the fuck was that?” I asked.
“They were just hungry,” Duck said nonchalantly. He eventually explained how he knew.
Technically humans and fae are just as much animal as horses and sheep, which means an animancer can use their magic on anything as long as it breathes. Duck described a culling of elmmen centuries ago in hopes of forcing the magic into extinction. It made sense why Lan had Duck tending to the animals of the carnival.
“Have you ever used it on someone?” I asked him out of curiosity.
Duck looked at me in utter shock. “Forcing anything to do something they don’t want to do is cruel.”
And that’s the last we spoke of it directly. It comes in handy for scouting the estates.
I shake off the reverie of the previous weeks and stare down at the elmmen boy who sometimes looks older than his years.
“Any other surprises,” I grind through cl
enched teeth. Duck pinches his chin between his thumb and finger while pondering seriously.
“Oh!” Duck says while fumbling through his satchel again. He pulls out a half-eaten bread roll that’s harder than the cobblestone wall and tucks it into another vest pocket.
“For later, in case you need a snack,” he says.
I turn away and shift my weight in the deep grooves of stone while grasping the thick vines of overgrowth, focusing on the task at hand rather than the urge to strangle the elmmen boy.
“Oh, hey Nova?” Duck whispers loudly. I stop mid-climb, waiting for whatever nonsense he’s about to spew. “Be careful, okay?
It’s easy to forget that Duck is only sixteen, still a child. I nod curtly and continue the climb.
The estate grounds are nothing compared to the gardens of the Laenberg keep, but they’re the next best thing. The air is soaked in velvety scents of rose and lavender, poppy, and grapes. I brush my fingertips along the vines as I travel down a row of latticework with grapevines tangled between the slats. I pluck a few grapes and savor the bitter sweetness. The central estate sits dark. Not a single candlewick glows through the frosted panes, a sure sign that everyone is asleep.
I come across the dogs first. If they can even be considered dogs given, they’re the size of donkeys. They’re perched at the stone porch overlooking the vineyard. They stood from their relaxed states, haunches perked and deep growls permeating from behinds bare teeth. There’s three of them, and luckily Duck shoved four pieces of dried meat in my pocket. I whistle lightly while tossing the treats. Each of them hesitates, but only for a moment. Then their haunches settle and they nestle to the porch floor, savoring their new treats and considering me a non-threat.
