Falls

by Melinda Kucsera

  “Papa!” Ran grasped his limp arm and shook it.

  “Sarn!” Moirraina landed next to Ran and shoved him aside. “Bevik—get a light. I can’t see anything in here. Don’t you have any lumir?” That last statement she directed to Ran.

  “Yes, but it went out.” Ran squeezed his bear, but Ghost Bear opted not to manifest.

  Were there faces in the darkness other than Moirraina’s and Bevik’s? Ran scanned the blackness around them but saw nothing—no wraiths, no wizened faces, no grinning skulls, no skeletal hands reaching for him. He squeezed his eyes closed and chewed on Bear’s ear until the backs of his eyelids lit up orange.

  Ran opened his eyes.

  Bevik picked his way through the clutter while holding a thin stick away from his body. An orangey tongue danced on its tip and splashed his teenage face with light, accentuating the area around his eyes and nose.

  Ran sat up. He’d never noticed Bevik and Will had similar features, but in this lighting, their resemblance was unmistakable. Were they related? Entranced, Ran stared at the flickering thing Bevik held. It wasn’t lumir nor was it like anything he’d ever seen.

  “What is that?” Ran reached for the pretty light.

  “It’s fire. Don’t touch it unless you want to get burned.” Bevik swatted Ran’s hand away.

  “What’s a fire?”

  “It’s like red lumir only not a crystal, and it’ll spread to anything flammable it touches.” Bevik nodded to the piles of papers, clothes, and books strewn around the cave. Most of the clutter belonged to Uncle Miren. Bevik held the fire higher, and its glow fell on Papa, who’d begun to thrash.

  “What the hell did you do to yourself?” Moirraina shook Papa’s shoulders, but the fit continued.

  Crack! She slapped Papa hard across the face, again and again, but it had no effect. Papa kept seizing and gasping for breath. His eyes were rolled back until only the whites showed intermittently when his eyes fluttered open.

  “This is why you shouldn’t live alone.” She slapped Papa again then wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

  “Papa?” Ran clutched the tie that bound them. It was strong and secure like always despite Papa’s apparent distress.

  As suddenly as it started, the fit ended. Papa slumped into unconsciousness. Ran edged past Moirraina. Before he reached Papa, she seized his arm and hauled him out of the door into darkness.

  Down the hall to the Foundlings’ cave, they went. Moirraina didn’t trip over anything, but every rock caught Ran’s boots and he stumbled. He tried to break her grip, but her fingers were wrought iron, and they manacled his arm.

  “Let go of me! Papa, help me!”

  “Quiet. I’m trying to help your father.” She flung a door open and shoved Ran inside.

  “Make sure he stays here,” she said before shutting the door in his face.

  Ran kicked the door and stretched up on his toes, but his fingers just grazed the handle. He glared at it. I wish I was as big as Papa. But he wasn’t. He was still too little to reach anything without help. Ran kicked the door again as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “Papa!”

  Honor Him

  Aralore picked up a fist-sized rock and placed it on Hutel’s back. His corpse collapsed in a shower of particulates, exposing a pile of browning bones. But she retained her composure despite her gorge rising at the sight.

  Thank God, he no longer had a face. Aralore set another rock down next to Hutel’s skull, and its eyeless pits glared at her. Hutel’s the first, but there’ll be more. I must accustom myself to the gore. There’s no victory without bloodshed. Aralore forced herself to meet that hollow stare as she intoned the first words of the new death rite. After all, she was the Will and the Way of the future.

  Looking to heaven, Aralore said, “O, heavenly Father, throw wide the gates. Send out Your angels to light the way.” Aralore placed another stone beside the first. “To heaven fly, our fallen brother-in-the-spirit.”

  The others followed her lead, each repeating the same refrain, “To heaven fly, our fallen brother-in-the-spirit.”

  With eleven pairs of hands, building a crude ossuary took a half an hour. Aralore offered the crowning stone to Velor. As Hutel’s friend, it was his right to end the ceremony and say those final, soul-freeing words.

  The taciturn swordsman took the stone with a nod of thanks and held it for a moment of silent prayer before laying it on the cairn. “Heavenly Father, accept our fallen brother Hutel into the ranks of Your Faithful.”

  “We’ll meet him again in the Last War.” Aralore squeezed Velor’s shoulder, bunching the orange fabric of his robe.

  “’Till the Last War!” echoed the others.

  Aralore gave them a moment more then she clapped her hands. “Hutel has earned his place. Let’s go earn ours.”

  “What about the box?” Somnya pointed and all eyes turned to the magic-killer.

  Was that why its contents had killed Hutel? Had he possessed hidden magical talents? Aralore rolled that reasoning around in her mind disliking it. Wouldn’t there have been signs?

  Aralore approached the box. It rested on one of the million boulders littering Shayari’s greenery. She touched the lid. Why did you attack me? I have no magic. But she did live in a country infested with that vile stuff. Maybe it had infected her too. Aralore shuddered at the thought and cracked open the lid.

  Darkness leaped out. A narrow black beam slammed into an enchanted tree two hundred yards away. It screamed and writhed out of the way. Aralore turned the box, angling it so the beam tracked the fleeing tree. It gave one last shriek then fell with a satisfying thud.

  Aralore stroked the box as possibilities flooded her mind. Maybe the Last War was here already.

  “Preceptor?”

  It was Somnya again, her faithful seneschal. Aralore let those visions of grand battles go. She’d come back to them another time.

  “Come. We’ve got a magical site to investigate and cleanse. Velor—send word of our errand. Inform me the instant the prelate’s spotted. He should be here for the grand unveiling, don’t you think?”

  With luck, one touch to the crystal will cave his pompous, misogynistic head in. Aralore fought a smile at the image that thought conjured.

  Velor bowed. “Yes, Preceptor.”

  Aralore slid her hands under the box. How had it grown so heavy? Earlier it had weighed about ten pounds, but now it felt like it weighed double or triple that, and her arms strained to lift it.

  No way, I can't ask for help. This is my test, my burden to bear. I won’t share it. Though Aralore’s opinion changed when the weight pinning her arms against the boulder lightened. Somnya caught her eye, and at Aralore’s nod, they lifted.

  The box rose but the lid slipped. It wedged itself between the rear of the box and Aralore’s breasts doubling the exposure of the black lumir crystal. However, the lid reflected the shadows boiling out of it away from Aralore and her assistant.

  Those shadows fanned out in a gray cone seeking and destroying enchanted trees. Light streamed out of their moaning corpses into the jewel swelling inside the expanding box, weighing it down. Aralore strained to hold her end up until another pair of hands reached in to take some of the load.

  It was Velor, of course. He and Somnya had been with her since the beginning. It was right for the three of them to trudge into victory together. Aralore regretted ever desiring to shut out her siblings of the cloth. They were her true family.

  Shoulder-to-shoulder, they marched, and her acolytes trailed behind in somber silence. The ten men and women in burnt orange robes were the only color left in the graying forest. For now, their strength was enough to carry the black lumir crystal as it gorged itself on magic. But there would always be more hands to help carry the light-stealer.

  A large hand landed on Ran’s heaving shoulder and squeezed.

  “Why are you crying?” Saveen asked as he spun Ran to face him. Saveen stood a little shorter than Uncle Miren, but his mind was stil
l little like Ran’s which made him the perfect playmate—just not right now.

  Saveen regarded Ran in that open, trusting way of his. A candle melted on a nearby stalagmite, and its blackened wax ran down its side like ichor from a wounded monster. Ran shuddered, remembering the tentacular thing in the cavern with the underground lake and the pink lumir island.

  He could still hear its victim’s screams and feel Papa’s big warm hands covering his eyes. More people would have died if Papa, Bear and I hadn’t been there. We saved a lot of people. Now Papa needed saving, but no one would let him. Ran kicked the door.

  “Ran, are you okay?”

  Ran shook his head. Worry and fear tied his tongue in knots when he tried to speak. So, he pointed at the door. A third kick might help get his point across, but his toes smarted from the last blow.

  The other children called Saveen slow-witted, but Saveen had no trouble interpreting his silent demand. His friend shook his head and regret filled his eyes.

  “I can’t let you out until your father or your uncle comes for you. I promised Sarn and Miren and—” Saveen ticked off the names of the people who’d extracted that damnable promise on his stubby fingers. Saveen only had three digits and a thumb on each hand.

  Or was the candlelight playing tricks on his eyes? Ran stared at his friend’s hand. It was as large as Papa’s but much thicker. Had Saveen always had four fingers? Ran couldn’t remember. Today had been long and confusing, and he’d dropped Bear when Moirraina hauled him out of his cave.

  Hot tears pricked Ran’s eyes again. “I want Papa.”

  “I know, but Moirraina said you must stay here.” Saveen readjusted the scarf tied around his head.

  No hair stuck out from under that tan cloth because Saveen didn’t have any, just a scaly scalp. In fact, his mottled skin looked a lot like Snake Woman’s, but they weren’t related. Snake Woman was a demon-made creature, and Saveen was a real boy, wasn’t he?

  Ran put those doubts aside. Saveen was his friend and the best playmate ever, aside from Papa. Ran squared his shoulders. He must get to Papa. But first, he needed Saveen to open that door.

  “Papa’s in trouble.”

  “You must stay here. That’s the rule. Your Papa will come when he can. Do you want to play Knights and dragons while we wait?" Saveen gave Ran a hopeful look.

  That happened to be Ran’s favorite game, but he shook his head. Fresh tears spilled down his face. “I want Papa. He’s not okay. Let me out. Please let me out.”

  Ran grasped Saveen’s pant leg, but the material felt like scales instead of the plain homespun his eyes saw. The mismatch confused him. How could something look like one thing but feel like something else?

  Perplexed, Ran let his hand fall back to his side. Saveen was a puzzle. One I’ll solve when I’m big like Papa. By then, he’d have enough pieces to make a start on that.

  “I can’t do that. I promised Sarn I’d look after you when you’re here. So here you must stay. But we can play knights and dragons until he comes. I’ll be the dragon if you’ll be the knight.”

  Saveen crouched in front of Ran. Were everyone’s hands the same size as their feet? Ran blinked. Were Saveen’s arms and legs always the same length? Something was off about Saveen, but Ran's suspicions faded when his friend smiled and gestured to his back.

  “Climb on and we’ll play until your Papa comes.”

  Ran shook his head. After fighting real monsters, his favorite game seemed silly. Why chase imaginary creatures when a real one might be hurting Papa?

  “Papa!” Ran slapped the door. I need you.

  A pawn landed on the ground at the Queen of All Trees’ roots as the Adversary left with Dirk. A woman in white flickered into view beside her.

  The Queen of Shayari shook off her trance. Astral projection was risky but expedient. Shayari kicked the chess piece, sending it rolling down a long, denuded slope.

  “You didn’t know they were down there. You—we—aren’t omniscient. And how would you have known anyway? They didn’t cry out. I would have heard. I was there too before you threw me out.” The Queen of Shayari paced around the Queen of All Trees. Their combined light and power rivaled the sun.

  “Did I make the right decision?” asked the Queen of All Trees. She lifted a branch then let it fall.

  “Yes, of course, you did. Aralore’s merry band of magic-slaying bastards are still the greater danger. The Ægeldar is nothing compared to the havoc that foul rock can wreak especially in a Seeker’s hands, and you know it.” Shayari gestured from the mile-wide swath of destruction to the thin black line poking heaven in the eye. “If it grows strong enough, it could destroy us.”

  The Queen of All Trees extended a silver branch to the tall woman she dwarfed with her extreme height.

  “You’re right of course. How do we stop it?”

  “You don’t. You promised you’d let little miss priestess do whatever she wants, remember?”

  “You promised that. I was otherwise engaged. Trouble seems to come in threes lately.” The Queen of All Trees laid her stricken child-tree gently on the ground. Until the black lumir crystal was somehow contained, replacing what her child had lost would just open the wounded creature up to another assault.

  “I had no choice. I needed her to leave those menhirs alone. They’re our last line of defense.”

  Shayari brushed a silver lock out of her eyes then grimaced when it tangled on her overly bejeweled crown. She’d have preferred trousers and a sword or barring that, a divided skirt. But legend remembered her as the beauty in white from that Goddamned painting even though she’d never looked like that. So, she was stuck in a lacy, floor-length gown studded with more diamonds than had existed in her day.

  Ignoring the dirt, she knelt in the wilting grass and laid her hands on the dying tree. Silver light suffused her, and its nimbus elongated until it encompassed the quivering tree.

  “And it’s you who promised. Aralore thought I was you, and I didn’t tell her I wasn’t. So you can’t go after her, but I can.”

  Under her hands, the bark warmed. Light filtered through the tubes carrying nutrients, replacing the magic the black lumir crystal stole. It took only a moment to reweave the broken enchantments. She had been repairing them for centuries, possibly even a millennium. Time had no meaning when everyone you knew was immortal.

  “There, good as new. Arise and protect, our people.”

  The tree rose of its own accord. It stood tall and proud again. After it bowed to her, it processed to a nearby fallen tree and began ministering to it.

  “What did you do?”

  A silver branch snaked around Shayari’s arm as she turned to go. “Neither you nor I have time to save them all. Since the damage is the same on all of them—a rupture to the magical reservoir fueling their enchantments—I created a patch for it. One they can pass on. It’s easy enough to duplicate. Even a worker can do it.”

  “Are you sure that’s all you did? Tinkering with your army in the middle of a war is a bad idea.”

  “What’s done is done. Few of them are self-aware enough for this to cause a problem.” Shayari yanked her wrist free and rubbed it.

  “Where are you going?” The Queen of All Trees straightened to her full thousand-foot-tall height. She was about a hundred and sixty-six-and-a-half times taller than the woman charging down the denuded slope. But her companion was quicker.

  “The same place you’re going. Don’t you dare try to stop me.”

  The Queen of All Trees shook her crown, but she didn’t follow her sister-Queen. Instead, she trailed her branches over her stricken children. If she left, they'd die, so she remained. After all, she was their anchor, and they were hers.

  An alarm shrilled through her bark. No! Without a backward glance, the Queen of All Trees propelled herself as fast as her roots allowed toward a soul hurtling toward the waiting arms of the grinning Adversary. You can’t have him. He belongs to us.

  She reached for the Child of Magic—
the young man all her hopes rested on.

  This Spirit Isn’t Made for Walking

  Walking was for ordinary folk who had no better way to get around. Since better ways of locomotion existed, the Adversary dispensed with that annoyance. He’d already wasted too much time on this pointless errand. So he touched Dirk’s shoulder and jumped them a half mile for every step the silent conman took.

  Except they didn’t take that first step. The Adversary held Dirk back and veiled them. There was something not quite right about this entire interlude. He scanned the forest. This as her place of power. The Queen of All Trees could hide all manner of things in here without him knowing.

  Where’s that mage? He couldn’t have escaped the invisible currents pulling everything toward the black lumir crystal. But what if he had? Oh, what a prize a mage like that would be.

  “Why are we just standing here? You said my friends are in trouble. Shouldn’t we go to them?” Dirk said right before the Adversary touched his shoulder and froze him.

  Just stand there and think about what you’ve done.

  And why not? Dirk looked like he needed to marinate for a bit. A little self-reflection was good for the soul, especially a damned one. It made a better minion in the end.

  After patting Dirk’s shoulder, the Adversary floated upward for one last glance, but all he saw was the Queen of All Trees moping around. It was maddening. Every bone in his spiritual body vibrated, signaling active spell work. It could be the Witch Tree you’re sensing. She is magical.

  Bells chimed signaling an angel on the wing. He rotated, scanning all the way to the serrated horizon in a panoramic sweep. Where are you, angel? What business brought you here?

  Are you looking for a certain doubly-gifted mage?

  Of course, he couldn’t see angels. The All-Father hid his haloed sycophants from all infernal eyes, but this angel was close judging by the chiming he heard.