Falls

by Melinda Kucsera

  “Papa, are you okay now?”

  Sarn nodded. His headache had abated—thank Fate for that small mercy—but Beku’s accusations, whether real or imagined, still echoed. It was a familiar refrain. Each time it repeated, it hurt his heart until voices droned her out. He started at the sound. It didn't come from the Foundlings' cave, but no one else lived within a half a mile of here.

  “Are you expecting any company?”

  Saveen shook his head. “Just the return of the others from their work assignments, but it's too early, and I hear too many feet for it to be them.”

  “That's what I thought.” Though all Sarn could hear were raised voices and the low rumble of something behind them. But those echoes could come from anywhere. Sound carried far and wide due to the naked stone of the Lower Quarters.

  “What’s happening?” Ran asked, his green eyes were fearful as they darted about, searching for the source of those shouts. They gained in volume the longer they remained there.

  “It sounds like a mob.” Sarn pushed to his feet, still holding his son. Crowds were dangerous. Where was this one? Was it headed this way?

  Of course, it is. They finally found you. You knew you couldn't hide forever. It was only a matter of time before someone learned the location of your cave.

  Get out of there right now. Just run, shouted his inner child. It cowered in the back of his mind all too familiar with mob violence.

  Before Sarn could move, his map tackled him, and he fell. Shadows fled as his expanding map blotted out everything except his son’s worried face and the increasing glow of his eyes. Did you knock me out earlier? His map didn't reply, but it seemed likely given the violence of its spawning.

  I don’t have time for this. Sarn tried to roll onto his stomach, but he couldn’t move. Green light gathered into a man-shape and it sat on his chest, pinning Sarn to the ground.

  You must look. We must see, said the magic which was both inside him and on top of him in a strange chorus. Please look.

  I can’t. I must run away before the mob gets here. Sarn struggled against the map's pull, but he could find no purchase anywhere. His luminous captor manacled both his wrists above his head, and his hands sank through the stone floor.

  “Papa? What’s happening?” Ran landed beside him and goggled at the spectacle.

  Sarn just shook his head in answer and searched for a weakness. Everything had one, even his magic. But he was running out of time to find it. His body was growing lighter and everything was blurring as the map and tunnel he lay in merged into a constellation of exploding stars.

  Don’t take me away from here. Show me what you need to show me, but I must stay here. I can’t leave my son or Saveen undefended. Sarn told his magic, willing it to understand.

  There could be more monsters lying in wait just around that next bend. Those could be shouts of alarm echoing through the tunnel for all he knew. The magic-stealing mist and the tentacular horror were gone or sealed up in the pit by the Queen of all Trees, but he still had no idea how either had gotten free in the first place. Did I try to find out? Is that why I blacked out—because I overreached somehow? It seemed likely and that was reason enough to resist a repeat.

  “Papa!” Ran shouted.

  “Stay back,” Saveen said.

  “No, I want to stay with Papa. He needs me.”

  A scuffle ensued, but it was far away, veiled by a map swelling until it encompassed everything. There was nothing outside it. And then there was. A small hand clasped his. Sarn squeezed back, digging the splinter deeper into his palm. But the pain was real, and it provided another reference point outside the magic's hold.

  “Anchor me, son, don’t let me slide away.” Was all Sarn managed to say before his map exploded.

  Map Battles

  The conman stared at the outer circle of standing stones ringing the meadow after taking only ten steps. Those damned menhirs had spells woven into the fabric of their being. They prevented all magic from passing, and that included adaptations to seven-league boot spells. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

  “After you,” the Adversary said waving the fool on.

  Dirk blinked as if he’d only just noticed their surroundings. Mortals were so slow on the uptake. “How did we get here so fast?”

  “Does it matter? Time is of the essence. Who knows how much air your friends have left.”

  Dirk paled at the mention of his comrades. The fool had no idea two of his friends were already dead and claimed—Ragnes and Gorfen. And one of his friends was dying, the one called Cris. Only the fat one—Villar? —was still in one piece and likely to stay that way for the time being. Speaking of Villar, it was time to pay him a visit. First, there was a wall of light and magic courtesy of the Queen of All Trees to obliterate.

  The Adversary patted Dirk on the shoulder. “Come, we don’t want your friends to suffocate and freeing them will take time and resources.”

  “You can’t just magic them free?”

  “No, I’m not physically on this plane so my powers are limited. If you remove all the seals keeping me out, then I can snap my fingers and return your friends to you. But don’t worry, I never promise anything I can’t deliver.”

  The Adversary patted Dirk’s shoulder, and his hand merged with it. He climbed into Dirk's body, donning it like an ill-fitting suit as the man crossed the threshold. Giant stones to their left and right oscillated with magical energy, but their keep away spells didn't target infernal souls hitching rides on the mortals who lived inside the mountain they protected. Still, those blasted rocks sensed something was amiss. They roused a fiery man-shape—the golem in this magical machine—and it emitted a green beam from its swirling emerald eyes.

  Holding back gales of laughter, the Adversary threw Dirk’s arms wide in an invitation. Scan me. You'll find nothing, but a son raised inside the mountain you protect. And so, it did.

  When The beam scanned Dirk, it missed the Adversary grinning inside him and recognized Dirk as a resident. Golems were only as intelligent as their programming, and this one had no provision for possession. Too bad, because a fight with a powerful golem might have been fun, but he did still need his temporary vessel, Dirk, alive. Oh well, there’s always next time.

  The golem stepped aside and allowed Dirk’s possessed body to pass through the inner ring unmolested. Once Dirk exited the second circle of menhirs, the Adversary materialized beside him and dropped a steadying arm around the conman's shoulders.

  “Did something happen? I feel strange.” Dirk touched his brow but staggered on.

  “It’s just a little stone-witchery throwing you off. I wouldn't worry about it when there are more important things, like your friends’ lives, at stake.”

  The Adversary threw in a sickle smile right before he recast a variant of the seven leagues boot spell. Of course, he modified it, so his prize could pass through solid walls unharmed at his side once they entered the mountain stronghold.

  In two strides, they reached the base of Mount Eredren and the Adversary repossessed Dirk for the second it took to step inside the mountain’s protections. No golem challenged them this time. In fact, these shields were riddled with holes.

  The short-sighted fool who legalized mage-killing must be turning in his grave. He left no one to stop me. The Adversary grinned.

  A quick step to the left put him beside Dirk. No torches or lanterns interrupted the pitch-black tunnel because the residents of this place had depended on the glowing veins running through the walls. But the black lumir crystal had eaten the magic in those stones, snuffing out their glow hours' earlier. And the Adversary reveled in that perfect darkness.

  Dirk roused from the double possession like a man waking from back-to-back nightmares.

  Oh well, I guess my dark aura rubbed off on him. It might make him a better minion, thought the Adversary as he reinstated the modified seven leagues' boot spell.

  “How can you help them?” Dirk shivered in the dark as they jumped clo
ser and closer to the Ægeldar.

  “Everything has a weakness, even her shields.”

  The Adversary pointed a bony finger at the wall of light and magic looming up ahead. It spanned from floor to ceiling in an unbroken bar of coruscating white. Beyond it lay a pit where an ancient monster long ago calcified by time waited and black lumir crystals, of course. Otherwise, he wouldn’t bother reopening it.

  “She made that, didn’t she?” Dirk rubbed his upper arms. He meant the Queen of All Trees.

  “Of course, who else puts up glowing walls? Now hush and let me work.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling in reinforcements. If you throw enough bodies at a wall—even a magical one—it will break. She could only leave so much power to fuel it thanks to a certain black rock on the other side.” The Adversary rolled up his bell sleeves and a shadow peeled off his back. It bore the grayed-out features of Gorfen, one of Dirk’s deceased friends.

  Just a touch froze the conman standing next to the Adversary.

  “What is thy command?” Gore asked though his black eyes burned with anger at the thought of being anyone’s slave.

  The Adversary smiled. May that fire long burn within that wiry man. Motivated help was so hard to find. “Find me a demon.”

  “A what?” Gore stared at the Adversary. “There are demons under this mountain?”

  The Adversary nodded. “I’ve felt his presence. He’s a young demon. Fetch him.”

  “And what do I get if I do?” Gore’s eyes narrowed.

  The Adversary held out his hand and conjured another image. It blossomed, peeling back gray petals to reveal a fat man hurling rocks at a pit. Instead of falling, the rocks struck the air above that wide chasm and it rippled into a pale mirror. The rocks bounced away, doing no harm to the soap-bubble thin magical shield.

  “He’s beyond that coruscating wall.” The Adversary gestured to the Queen of All Tree’s other shield.

  “And you need a demon to get him out?” Gore glanced back and forth between the image and the wall of light, cutting him off from his childhood friend.

  Well, no, the Adversary didn’t need a demon for that. He had a much showier plan to nab some much-needed souls and weaken the seals barring him physically from this world. But he nodded because Gore didn’t need to know that.

  “I’m but a spirit like you until the seals break.” The Adversary shrugged and closed his fist, shutting off the image.

  “Where’s the catch?”

  “What catch?”

  “That’s what I want to know.” Gore crossed shadowy arms over his chest.

  “There’s no catch. I already own you. I’m offering to extend your friend’s life.” The Adversary rapped on the shield and it emitted a bell-like tone—high C if his vibrating bones were any indication. “This shield isn’t programmed to allow anything through. So, your friend has a limited supply of breathable air left. I suggest you hurry.”

  Gore started at that revelation. It was true too. Casters must program shields to be permeable which they did on reflex unless, of course, whoever was inside the shield was veiled at the time. The Adversary smiled at his sleight of hand, and the fool Queen had missed it!

  “How do I find a demon?”

  “That’s your problem. Now shoo. I have work to do.” The Adversary waved his hand and Gore faded into a wisp of smoke and blew away.

  Once the wraith was gone, the Adversary squeezed Dirk’s shoulder unfreezing him. It’s showtime. I hope you’re watching, Queenie. I have one hell of a spectacular planned for your viewing pleasure. Laughter rippled out of the Adversary.

  After a few more belly laughs, the Adversary sobered and hummed the opening bars of his favorite plainchant then he threw his hooded head back and belted out:

  “Come, sinner, thy time is nigh. Coins buy the apple of your eye. At my side, thy time is nigh. The sorrowful sigh; the envious fly. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh. Though you try, my ally, you lie. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh. You won’t die, nor in my fire fry. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh. Come, sinner, don’t be shy. At my side, thy time is nigh. Come, sinner, to your dark Father fly. At my side, thy time is nigh. This I, your only ally, say to the sky: come, sinner, thy time is nigh.”

  “Papa? Are you okay?”

  Ran held tight to Sarn’s hand, squeezing with all his might, and the world stopped sliding away. His son’s touch grounded Sarn, anchoring him to this place and his body. Not even the magic dared break that fragile connection.

  “Yes, thanks to you.” Sarn squeezed his son’s hand, driving the splinter deeper into his palm, but he dared not let go. He couldn’t see Ran’s smile, but he felt it.

  Release me, Sarn said, pitching his voice so only his magic would hear, but the glowing man-shape pinioning his arms and legs didn’t reply. Nor could he see the damned thing. His stupid map was in the way. It was a tick swelling as it fed on his diminishing sanity.

  Colored lines twisted through the black of the Lower Quarters. Each marked a different tunnel, and people icons packed each one. Arrows pointed to the growing throng and a symbol popped up indicating the distance. They were a half mile off and closing.

  Fear choked Sarn and he struggled until he pried first one wrist free than the other. They blame me for the deaths because I couldn’t save them all. That must be why they’re after me.

  We tried, said his magic, hanging its brilliant green head, but it stole us.

  Yeah, well, we didn’t do enough.

  That sad truth hit his magic hard. His glowing captor collapsed into Sarn, and they merged in a blinding flash.

  “Ow, that hurt my eyes.” Ran rubbed them.

  Sarn started to sit up but his map shifted its viewpoint and dizziness walloped him. He sagged back down as the world spun and his stomach churned.

  “Papa, what do you see?” Ran knelt at his side, so close his bony knees pressed into Sarn's thigh.

  “How do you know I see something?”

  “You have that look and your magic was just out and—” Ran bit his lip uncertain how to describe what he’d seen.

  His map was fading though, so his son’s pensive face was clarifying every moment Sarn fought to reel it in.

  “What look?”

  Ran shrugged. “Your eyes got all glowy—more than usual. What did you see?”

  “People—lots of people—I think they’re coming for me.” Sarn swallowed the fear choking him. Later he could freak out. Right now, he needed to get Ran out of here.

  Oh, they're coming for you, said a sarcastic voice, then it laughed.

  “Who said that?”

  “Who said what?” Ran looked around, his brow crinkling in confusion.

  “You didn't hear anything?”

  “No, should I get someone? Sarn, you don't look so good. Let me get Moirraina or Vierra—"

  Sarn shook his head and his receding map and dizziness punched him in the face again. “No, we must get away from the approaching crowd. I'll be okay.”

  And Sarn would be okay because he couldn't lie. Beside him, Ran relaxed just a hair at that news. I must get control over this stupid thing. I can't let magic run my life. Sarn tried to shove his map down, but it just pointed at the mob with more and more red arrows. Oh, forget it, I'll just run with the damned thing open and hope I don’t crash into anything or anyone.

  “What crowd?” Ran craned his neck, but he couldn’t see past his friend’s legs. “I just see a rat, but it ran away. Will it tell Rat Woman I said hi?”

  “Maybe. I have a feeling we’ll run into her and Insect Man again. Let’s go before the crowd arrives.” Sarn sat up.

  Of course, his damned map took that moment of inattention to turn into a series of colored blurs. They streaked by while Sarn tried to gain his feet, making him queasy. He knelt there until the nausea abated. Shutting his eyes didn’t help because the map was part of his mind.

  “It might be another protest. There hasn’t been one this week,” Saveen volunteere
d.

  “Maybe. The last one didn’t end well.”

  Ran asked the obvious question. “What’s a protest?”

  “Something you’ll never see.”

  Once more, Sarn tried to cram the map back into his head where it belonged. Now was a bad time to be incapacitated especially if his fears were correct. But the Fates-damned thing twisted out of his mental grasp and pain needled his left eye. His map wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.

  Clinging to the wall, Sarn pushed to his feet. He wavered for a moment but remained standing. Good, if I can stand, I can run.

  “Papa?” Ran tugged his pant leg and looked up at him with pleading eyes. Sarn held onto the wall as he picked his son up.

  “Where are you going?” Saveen clamped a hand on Sarn’s arm when he teetered.

  “Away from here.” Sarn glanced at the Foundling’s door. Should he warn them? No, if they kept their door locked, they should be fine. He was the illegal mage, not them. The mob was after him.

  But that didn’t make sense. A few hours ago, he’d fought a monster, saved at least a hundred people and made quite a spectacle of himself. Word traveled fast under Mount Eredren. Information was currency down here and power too. But how do they know where you live?

  Sarn stared at the answer: the Foundlings. They knew where he lived—one-hundred-feet from their door. Before that, he’d lived with them on and off since he was fourteen. Anyone of them could have told someone during those seven years. Fates damn them all. Sarn kicked their door in frustration.

  “Which one of them sold me out?”

  Saveen just stared at him. “No one would do that. We want you to move back in with us.”

  That was true, but the crowd was still bearing down on them. “Someone told. Forget it. It was probably one of the older Foundlings. Not all of them like me.”

  “But they wouldn’t tell because telling would hurt the rest of us and they like us.”

  Maybe Saveen was right. Maybe that mob had found out some other way, but Sarn didn’t think so as he headed in the only direction he could—forward. If he was lucky, he could make it to the next branching unseen and slip away. If not, no, he wouldn’t think of that. Sarn hugged his son who’d been quiet during this exchange.