Myth's Legend: Norrix

by Ysobella Black

  The blade flew in a direct line at the minion, scattering bystanders as it swooped around to hover in front of him. The man came to an abrupt halt, reversed his steps and fled the other way.

  With a bright silver flash like a burst of excitement, the sword turned its back and pulsed red ten times. Countdown over, it rocketed toward the ceiling and circled overhead.

  On the floor, its target shoved people and careened off displays in a zigzag pattern, unaware the threat idly floated above his head.

  “Did that sword just count to ten and hunt him down?” Ember asked.

  “Yes.” Norrix swallowed. “That’s Hellion. She enjoys playing with her food.”

  “She’s toying with her... food?” Ember sounded fascinated and horrified.

  “Souls. She eats souls.”

  Stryx sucked in his breath. “I thought Jael was kidding when he said his swords weren’t the most menacing.”

  “No, that is true.” While the Assassin’s scimitars had a mind of their own, Jael still had to wield them. They couldn’t act of their own volition like Hellion.

  Glowing a steady red, the blade flew lower. Aiming at her target’s back, she tapped his shoulder, then darted away to hide behind one of the exhibits.

  The minion spun, sent an accusatory glare at the people around him, and resumed his flight toward the door.

  Hellion burst from her hiding place and flashed in front of the minion to hang vertically in the air. She waggled her hilt from side to side, then advanced as her target backpedaled. Glowing a steady dark crimson, she lunged, and the man screamed as the sharp tip touched his chest. She backed up, strobing bright silver like laughter. With an exaggerated spin, Hellion turned her back and counted out ten more red pulses.

  “She’s playing... tag?”

  “More like hide and seek, I think. It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

  “Reap.” Zax’s whisper blew across the back of Norrix’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine. He hadn’t heard that voice in a long time. “Cover your ears. Playtime’s over.”

  The sword zipped forward, plunged into the man’s chest, and lifted. Eyes bulging, mouth gaping, he didn’t make a sound. Ten feet above the floor, he remained pinned in place, back arched in agony, arms outstretched.

  A garnet shade of red burst into a flaming dark aura around the pair. As the physical part of her target burned, Hellion withdrew, extracting a soul on her tip. The nebulous, wraith-like spirit kept loosely to its human shape and colors, face and upper body stretching grotesquely it tried to arch back into its more tangible anchor to the world.

  Norrix remembered his own advice and covered his ears, although with his Witness abilities active, his palms wouldn’t help.

  Flames burned darker red. As the body vanished, so did the fire, leaving the bare soul skewered on the blade. A sound erupted from the hazy, amorphous shape. It screamed, resonating all the agony of a tortured soul being fed every moment of pain and suffering it had caused in its life.

  Souls didn’t need to breathe, and the screaming went on in one continuous, excruciating wail of lament as Hellion devoured the wraith bit by bit. Riveted, Norrix kept his eyes on the soul as the blade drank it in. As an instrument of Vengeance, the sword always made a soul suffer equal to the torment it had perpetrated. For the scream to last so long, the minion must have been exceptionally cruel.

  Norrix’s non-beating heart clenched in his chest. That was the world his Dragă lived in. He had to convince her to leave Ashana with him.

  The silence, when it finally fell, seemed louder than the scream. Norrix dropped his hands from his head and looked up for what came next.

  Overhead, the cloud of shadow Hellion had flown from elongated and fell away, absorbed into the body of the hooded woman who stepped out of it. From her perch above them, Zax turned in a circle, ran her green-amber eyes over the crowd, and held up a hand. “Is anyone else having impolite thoughts?”

  Ember shivered. “I feel like she knows everything about me now.”

  “That’s possible,” Norrix whispered, although he didn’t know why. Zax could hear whatever she wanted to in Ashana. “She can see your past and future if she wants to.”

  The sword, glowing a muted, contented silver, flew to Zax and smacked the hilt into her open palm.

  Kasuku, a grey parrot with red tail feathers, took off from Zax’s shoulder. Midair, he shifted to his hybrid form — with a fifteen foot wingspan and armored dragon scales. “Play nice or you go to bedtime bedtime,” his voice boomed through the entire hall. Someone tittered, prompting more hesitant laughter, and the dread covering the room snapped.

  If only they knew bedtime bedtime was death.

  Shadow steps formed under Zax’s booted feet, and she descended to stand in front of Norrix. She tugged her hood down to reveal black hair with red streaks, and her two-toned eyes regarded him. “Norrix.”

  “Hello, Zax and Bastian.” He would be with her, although without a body.

  “Hello, Norrix.” Bastian’s disembodied voice startled Ember and Stryx, and they glanced around.

  “You two are up to your old tricks, I see.”

  Zax lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “You know how it is. Another day, another goner.”

  Norrix chuckled. She always said the right thing the wrong way.

  “Dollar,” Bastian said.

  “Who needs a dollar?” Zax scoffed. “I much prefer to rid the world of Gajo.”

  Ember snorted from under her hood. “If this place is meant to be so safe, why do you let men like these minions come here? Seems like you’d do a better job of it if you kept them out in the first place.”

  Norrix winced. War was so reckless. Ember had no idea who she was poking a stick at.

  Zax only smirked. “I see you inherited The Morrigan’s attitude. So impatient and judge-y. You’d think that would have mellowed after all this time.”

  “Why?” Bastian asked. “She hasn’t. Yesterday she and Menhit were swinging their golf clubs at each other like swords.”

  “That’s not my fault. I told them golf is boring. Apparently, you can take the Goddesses out of the war, but you can’t take the war out of the Goddesses.”

  Ember took a step forward. “You know The Morrigan? She’s here? Can I see her? Wait. You’re the woman I saw in my visions.”

  Zax nodded. “We raised the Morrigan from when she was a girl. Who do you think taught her to fight? If you want to see her, ask Clio to send a message from the front desk to make the arrangements.”

  “You never answered the original question.” Stryx’s impatient voice, with a hint of demand, cut across their conversation.

  “There are mages on your world. Kindred on another. There are worlds where vampires, djinn, demons, and warlords rule. Why do I let them come here?” Two-toned eyes focused on Stryx. “So I can watch where they go.”

  “You —” Stryx’s expression went from a scowl to contemplative. “I see. So it’s all some sort of elaborate chess game.”

  “Chess is the game they all think we’re playing. I’m playing dominoes. Anyway, this is wasting time. Norrix has someplace else to be.” Zax turned to him. “Do you remember what I told you?”

  Well, of course he did. He remembered everything. He just couldn’t remember what he wanted to when he needed to. “You’ve told me many things over the years. Do you mean something about cake? I never seem to have trouble remembering you like cake.”

  She nodded. “Cake is important. But no. About the beginning of the end.”

  “You said when I wanted to see through child’s eyes again, that would be the beginning of the end.”

  Zax tucked her hands into pockets and hunched her shoulders. “Yeah. Not my best rhyme, was it? End and again. It’s important to get the rhymes right, or no one listens.”

  Already having inhabited a child’s body for thousands of years when he first became the Witness, he’d been deliberately trying to forget that prophecy for millennia. Living as a child
again was not an experience he wanted to repeat, no matter how well the words rhymed. “Am I to age backwards now?” The end could be tens of thousands of years off in that case. Or, if it happened faster, he’d just found his Dragă. How would he explain that to her?

  “You think I could do that?” Zax cocked her head, crossed her arms, and tapped a finger on her cheekbone.

  “The first time we met, I saw you beat back a darkness that was killing a world. If there is a limit to what you can do, I’ve not Witnessed it.”

  “Don't encourage her,” Bastian murmured. “I have enough difficulty keeping her out of trouble.”

  Zax lifted her chin. “I don’t get in trouble. Anyway, that whole aging backwards thing has been done. Did you know, while you’re standing here talking to me, your Dragă is getting away? You saw what she’s up against where she comes from. I know the rule is no chasing, but we’ll make an exception for you. Run, Norrix, run!”

  Norrix laughed. “She’s still getting her pop culture wrong, I see.”

  Bastian sighed. “I’ve given up. She refuses to learn. It’s her small mind.”

  “This small mind thinks Norrix is an idiot for standing here. Go on. You’ve waited long enough. Go find your Dragă, and when you do, kiss the girl.”

  Despite the permission to run, Norrix stalked quickly to his room, following the smell of apples. His Dragă’s sweet scent intensified as he neared the door. She’d gone to his room. The desperate plan worked. Relief eased the tension in his shoulders. She’d be safe there.

  Esne. His blood boiled in his veins. That was what mages called witches they used for breeding. The idea of his Dragă being treated that way, thinking she had no identity of her own, made him want to murder someone. At the door, her scent carried past it. She’d come to his room and left.

  He needed a Plan B.

  In the hallway, he traced the scent of apples to the lobby, which was a circus. An actual circus. The canvas of a gigantic big top tent draped from the ceiling. High wires hung in midair, the acrobats balancing on them unconcerned the thin surface under their feet wasn’t attached to anything. Neither were the trapezes as they swung artists who flipped through the air.

  Jugglers wandered the floor, tossing eggs, knives, balls, and firebrands between one another. Carnies enticed guests to lose at rigged games. Music blasted from unseen speakers, a carousel, musicians, and screams from passengers on the carnival rides added to the cacophony. Vendors sold cotton candy, popcorn and fried dough piled high with powdered sugar.

  Norrix’s height gave him an advantage, and he frantically scanned the crowd. Still in Witness mode, he took in every sight — a thousand sounds and conversations, and a sensory overload of smells that smothered the faint scent of apples.

  No Dragă, but there was salvation. He pushed his way through, offering apologies as he jostled people.

  In the middle of the enormous space, blue-skinned Clio wore a top hat, tight black pants, shiny knee-high boots and a tailed jacket as she organized chaos. In rings around her, magicians dazzled with tricks, or actual magic, contortionists bent in improbable directions, and women used swaths of material to spin and defy gravity.

  He struggled to focus as memories of bacchanals full of drunken revelers, hunts with mounted riders, orgies of sex, feasts in Fae realms, dancers waltzing at masquerades and parties threatened to sweep him away.

  Dragă. The image of her face hit him like the sun, blinding him to everything but her. He tore himself into the present and opened his eyes to find Clio’s worried, yellow gaze peering up at him.

  “Mr. N!” she greeted him. “Are you all right? How can I help you?”

  “Clio.” Norrix grasped onto reality, unbeating heart aching. He had to find his Dragă. The thought of her frightened and alone — even here in Ashana — every second felt like a part of him died. “Did you see her run through here?”

  She dubiously glanced around the mob and spectacles, returned her gaze to him, and raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

  “Your friend from the pub.”

  “She was running? From you?” The ever-friendly Clio scowled at him, her tone icy.

  “Not exactly. She was scared someone might see us, but Zax and Hellion, uh, took care of that problem. I want to tell her she’s safe. Explain what she is to me. Will you help?”

  Her unfriendly scowl eased into a sympathetic frown. “I can’t tell you where her room is. You know that.”

  “I know. I need a second key for my room.” There, at least he could make a plan.

  “Ooooh.” Her second eyebrow rose to join the first, and she gave him an exaggerated wink. “Adultery, banging, coitus, dalliance, erotica, fuc—”

  “Stop!” Norrix placed a finger over Clio’s lips. “It’s not like that. May I please have a second key?”

  “But Mr. N, you’ve never asked for a second key before.” Clio’s eyes sparkled. “Not in the thousands of years I’ve worked here. Is it love? It is, isn’t it? I saw the adoration, bewitching, caring, devotion —”

  “She is my Dragă.” Saying the words aloud settled something tangible in his mind and soul. He pressed a hand to his heart, willing it to beat. The stupid muscle remained inert.

  “It is love!” Clio squealed and clapped her hands. “We do weddings on Floor 13-N. I can move your room right now!” She spun in a circle. “I love weddings!” Her scowl returned. “I am invited to the wedding, right?”

  He held up his hands. “Whoa. We’re not at the wedding stage yet.”

  Clio crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side. “This calls for presents.”

  “What?” Confusion that had nothing to do with his broken mind was a refreshing change, even if it wasn’t the timeliest occurrence. Clio was the one who had lost the plot this time. “I just need —”

  She went on like he hadn’t said anything. “Gifts! You know. Aromatic scents, balloons, candy, dream catchers, earrings, flowers, gowns —”

  Gods help him. The Dragă lunacy had already started. His Witness abilities made a note that this may be a speed record. And although it was tempting to let her finish this list, he stopped her. “My memory isn’t that bad. I know what presents are.”

  “Good! And she likes to collect stories.” Clio watched him with interest as she shooed him away with twitches of her fingers. “Go buy her things. I’ll finish up here and have your new key ready when you return.”

  “But —”

  “Lots of presents!” Clio turned her back on him as she resumed her ringmaster duties.

  Right. Gifts seemed like a good idea. Everyone liked those. And Clio didn’t look like she'd be moved. Impatience and irritation curled his hands into fists. Arguing would waste more time. “Fine. I’ll be right back.”

  The gift shop sold everything, and he did his best to obey Clio’s instructions. While he knew what presents were, he didn’t have the first clue what his Dragă might like. Was she a modern woman or would she prefer something more old-fashioned? How long... How long had she been an Esne? His heart twisted painfully inside him. Better to buy more now than risk being sent back for not purchasing enough or the right things. Surely she would like something in the pile he’d amassed near the register.

  Ammit braced her lion fore-paws on the counter, amused golden eyes widening in her crocodile head as the stack increased. She laughed. “I’ve eaten enough hearts from condemned souls to see when someone is worried about not measuring up, but I don’t sense you weighing your soul. What gives, Norrix?”

  C was for candy. Norrix scooped up boxes of chocolates, taffy, caramels, and butterscotch. “I met someone and Clio recommended I buy a lot of presents.”

  She laughed. “One for every letter, then? Are you sticking to one alphabet?” Reaching under the counter, she brought up scissors, rolls of wrapping paper and tape.

  “If one alphabet of gifts doesn’t work, I’ll have to rethink my strategy.”

  Ammit taped a neat edge of sparkly blue paper. “Are you carrying all
these yourself?”

  Norrix shook his head. Clio’s orders hadn’t gone this far. “Will you have it all sent to the front desk?” This was her idea. She could figure out what to do with them from there.

  “As soon as I’m done wrapping them. Good luck.”

  He returned to his shopping. Z... what could he buy for Z? Something zebra print? A Zippo? Throw pillows with a zigzag pattern? He stacked them all in front of Ammit.

  She shook her head

  hurried back to the lobby, doing his best to ignore the circus. “Satisfied?”

  Clio stood behind the reception desk, examining the growing pile of gifts. “Now we’re going to have the presents delivered, and you’re going to help.”

  So that was her plan to get him to his Dragă. He closed his eyes. The delivery staff in Ashana... Gods.

  Well. Vampires had done crazier things for their Dragăs, he was certain, but had to stop the onslaught of memories that would prove it. Stryx had gone into the ocean at sunrise. Xenos’ parents fought wars. Idris spent days sitting by Musette’s side while she slept. Was being pixied temporarily so bad? It would be temporary, wouldn’t it? With his already broken mind, he didn’t need a short attention span complicating things.

  The sense of urgency to return to her only grew as this possible way to find her took root. Opening his eyes, he tried to ignore the amused, smug look Clio directed at him. “You... You want to make me a pixie? Okay. I’ll do it.”

  Ferocious in battle, loyal to lifetime mates, they had admirable traits, despite being three inches tall and sparkly. Given a choice, he’d probably choose a child’s body again over becoming a pixie forever.

  “Honorary and temporary. They’ll still have to approve, but they like me.” Clio opened a small cabinet next to the rack of keys, revealing a view of a forest alive with flickering lights between green leaves. “There's a job to do. I need two.”

  Two tiny green lights floated away from the rest, growing larger as they neared the opening. Zipping out of the cabinet, they examined the mountain of packages. The pixies, green-eyed, green-haired humanoid females, barefoot and wearing green tunics, flapped their wings in a blur as they darted around Norrix’s purchases.