“I said no,” the captain said. Evandro shrugged and marched steadily in the group’s trail.
“And I say you need me,” he insisted.
The woman stopped her horse with such strength the poor beast reared and snorted.
“One more word, and I…”
“The road’s blocked five miles from here. I bet you didn’t know that,” he interrupted her. He enjoyed the flick of her eyes--he was right.
You’ll tell me everything you know. And before you know it, the forest will take you, and your princess will meet my blade.
“But now I do,” she pressed on.
“And how do you plan to circle it? There’s bogs in this part of Epidalio, they can swallow your horse whole. I don’t think your queen would appreciate your…”
“Fine!” the captain snapped. “Come, but shut your trap. I don’t like your accent.”
With a gesture of her head she called her companions, and they all took over Evandro.
“Try not to slow us down,” the last in line said behind his back.
Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you, he grinned when they couldn’t see him.
For a while they marched in silence, but not enough for Evandro's tastes. The footfalls of the horses rang too loud on the stones of the road, and keeping up with the group meant Evandro could hear little but the beasts walking and the armors clattering.
Of course the birds didn’t chirp with such a cacophony.
The shadows were stretching around them in the sunset when the captain turned to peek at Evandro from under her helmet.
“How long to your supposed landslide, stranger?” she asked. The trees were thicker here, and her voice produced no echo under the green canopy.
“I said five miles, didn’t I? We’re to cross a…”
He never finished his sentence.
The first stone fell from the sky, or so it seemed. It bounced on the chestplate of the soldier at his left, leaving a dent in the polished metal.
The horses whinnied and kicked, and the four guards took their swords at once.
Another projectile hit the muzzle of the captain’s horse; the beast reared up, a stripe of blood running between his widened eyes.
“Spirits take you!” the captain yelled. One more stone, as big as an egg, caught the raised visor of her helmet and closed it with a clang.
Evandro half crouched and held his breath.
This was definitely not part of his plan. Or of his knowledge of the land, for the matter.
The hail of stones hissed through the bushes, and Evandro instinctively covered his head with his arms. Among the trees, darker shadows moved right beyond his sight. A hand emerged behind a rock, wielding a strip of leather.
Crude as it was, the slingshot was deadly. It swung in the air and shot its load, right in another soldier’s face. The man swayed on his saddle, and the horse fell with him, crushing his leg under its weight. The sword clanged on the road, sliding with a cloud of sparks toward Evandro.
The next stone got him in his shoulder and he leaned back with a grunt.
The sword was two steps from him.
Take it. Take it!
But when he moved his hand, a second voice whispered in the back of his head.
Unworthy.
Whoever their attackers were, they stormed from the woods. Enemies of the Asares, bandits, outlaws--Evandro couldn’t tell. He caught a glimpse of a man with a wiry black beard, and then his skull cracked.
A flash of pain, red and bright. A warm flow of nausea numbed it, pouring from the top of his head down his brow and into his eyes.
Blood? Was it blood in his mouth, salt and copper on his lips?
The chaos of the battle was a muffled hum, the last lights of the day clouded by black blots.
The horizon tilted, and the road rushed to his face.
Evandro passed out in a puddle of his own blood before his face crashed against the stones.
Chapter 6
Gaiane had lost track of how many times she’d cried. Tears were a constant company in her faltering rounds in that Spirit’s forsaken forest. Her cheeks were sticky with salt and dust, her eyes puffy and burning, and overall she was the most miserable version of herself ever seen.
She dragged herself on, one painful step at a time. Her first night in the open had left her exhausted, because sleeping when everything around her creaked and whispered and slithered had been impossible. Not just fear had kept her awake: her foot was on fire, stabbed by invisible hot wires under her heel and to her toes. She had cradled it in her lap for the dreadful hours of darkness, sobbing at the thought of the gangrene. For the whole night she’s obsessed over the idea of dying alone in that damp, disgusting place, and then over the picture of someone finding her and cutting her foot off because there was nothing they could do. And then the faceless stranger would bring her back to her mother, and she’d end up locked in her tower again, forever imprisoned…
A sob clenched her throat. It was late afternoon again, a whole day spent limping on the moist leaves. Her stomach ached from the raspberries she found that morning; they were sour, and too few to fill her belly, but they were real food. The pale pink fruit had set her teeth on edge for hours, and now she groaned for the fierce heartburn--but she needed food. Ffruits were easily available: she knew that elderberries were delicious in jams and pies, but she’d never had raw. And while she could technically tell blueberries from other, more dangerous fruits, she preferred not to take a chance and risk food poisoning.
There were plenty of animals keeping her company, frogs and rabbits and countless birds; a plump pheasant had even approached her to peck at the ground between her feet, earlier that morning. Her stomach grumbled, but she shook the sensation away with fierce determination. Eating those innocent creatures was inconceivable, even with a snare or a trap.
Nothing could comfort her now. Not the memory of her books and of all the knowledge she’d borrowed from them, nor Alcmena’s pride and encouragement.
Gaiane sniffed loudly and balled the frayed hem of her skirt in her fist. It was something more than dirty, it was caked in mud and already covered in holes; silk, apparently, was not the right fabric for a long hike in the woods.
Woods that were different from the area she’d emerged into. Tired as she was, she was still clear headed enough to notice the subtle changes around her. The ground felt like a big sponge, bouncing and sloshing with every step. The trees were different, too: oaks left room for black locusts and poplar trees, and the air, if possible, was even damp than before. A horrible change, really.
It’s time for some positive thinking, princess. She rubbed her eyes; her sleeve smelled horrible, and she didn’t want to consider the disgusting tangle of her hair. You’re still free, after all. Your calculations were probably correct, and you’re somewhere in Epidalio. Nobody has found you yet.
A sharp sting burned on her shoulder. She snarled and slapped hard, killing a horsefly mid-feast. A red circle of blood spread under the bug’s corpse, and Gaiane’s jaws tingled with nausea.
She stepped over a puddle and scratched the bug bite. It ached, so different from the itch of the infinite stabbing from the clouds of mosquitoes; those she could almost ignore, at this point.
Maybe this would kill her. Were horse flies dangerous? They hurt, that was for sure. She didn’t want to die--not like this. Not at all.
Once more, her lips trembled. Crying wouldn’t bring her closer to a proper road and this time she managed to keep her eyes dry.
* * *
If I whine some more, I’ll start to doubt my decision. Doubt is the real enemy here. Not hunger. Not darkness.
Hope. Hope was what she needed. Despite her tired legs, her missing shoe, her own stink of sweat, she could still think of what to do once she was settled.
A bath, first. And then she’d send for Alcmena. Oh, her tutor would be so worried about her, and so horrified about the state of her clothes! But to hear her sharp voice agai
n, to bury herself in her arms and find comfort in her pragmatic tone… yes, that was something worth putting one step ahead of the other.
In the dusk, the woods seemed more frightening than ever. But Gaiane didn’t fear them: bugs were a bother, but other than that no wild creature had tried to hurt her, or even approach her.
They know I mean them no harm. Pure souls, they react to a good heart.
The first howl surprised her as she was crossing a small creek. A long call, sweet and eerie that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere in particular.
Gaiane froze by a fallen log and a chill ran through her bones. She’d never heard anything like that before: it was nothing like the rough voices of the hounds she sometimes heard from her quarters, or the funny impression Alcmena used to make for her. It reverberated deep, picking a mysterious chord inside her and covering her skin in goosebumps.
It was the first beautiful thing she experienced in almost two days, and a slow smile spread on her lips. She scanned the shadows, eager to see one of those majestic creatures, but she saw nothing.
A bit disappointed, but thankful for the diversion, she sighed and resumed her wandering. And a few minutes later, the howling rose again--one, and then another, calling from a nearby hill.
Closer.
When the night closed above the woods her fascination for the wolves started to blur a little. No matter how carefully she gazed into the bushes, all she could see was more shadows.
Eventually, the shadows blinked.
Gaiane let out a soft whoop! and looked behind her.
Their paws were silent on the leaves, and half a dozen of speckles of cold flame in the darkness stared at her. The moon, high above the treetops, reflected in the wolves’ eyes.
She swallowed, but her mouth felt dry and cold.
They’re probably more frightened than you are. You’re human, and they fear you. Just keep walking.
She wiped her palms on her skirt and grimaced when she loaded her weight on her injured foot, but kept a steady rhythm.
After the howling came the panting. A soft growl to her right, and the snapping of a branch.
Wolves don’t prey on people. There’s plenty of deer and venison in the forest for them… they barely approach the farmlands. Eudoxos’ essay on wild predators was very specific, Epidalian wolves are no threat to… to…
One member of the pack emerged in plain sight, and Gaiane immediately doubted the validity of the old scholar’s research.
This creature--this beast was huge. Each of his paws was as big as her fists, its head as large as her torso. And when it licked its nose, a set of pale fangs flashed in the moonlight. Another wolf howled behind it, and a third answered its call. A fourth.
Gaiane pressed her lips together and tried not to pant.
You’re in no danger. Should anything happen, you can still fight them: surely no guards would patrol this abandoned part of the forest at nightfall. Just walk away, and spare your spells for the worst.
Her own self reassurance melted in her mind when two more wolves appeared behind her. She picked up her pace, and before she could realize it she was running.
In a manner of speaking that is, her muscles were strained after her ordeal, her foot wouldn’t cooperate, and her stride was something less than graceful. But she was fleeing, slow as she was.
Her hair caught in the lowest branches and her gown tore some more on her arms, but she didn’t stop.
Maybe they didn’t want to harm her, but those creatures were persistent: whenever she checked behind her, they were there. Trotting and cantering, coming so near she could hear them breath and snarl, and then letting her loose for a while.
A thorn wrapped around her ankle, and Gaiane yanked herself free. She instantly felt blood trickle down the scratches, but she kept going.
She saw it before understanding what it was--in front of her, half hidden by the trees, there was a blank slate of void. A small part of her brain fumbled for some sort of understanding, but her body was moving ahead of her thoughts.
She jumped blindly, and not very high. Enough for the jaws of the nearest wolf to close an inch from her calf with a snap.
Gaiane’s fingertips slipped on the cold surface, and her remaining shoe glided as she kicked to find a foothold. Her whole body was too heavy and clumsy to move; she grabbed a stalk of ivy as thick as her thumb and pulled herself up. In vain: her feet lost their grip on the stone and she dangled from the vine, her toes mere inches from the ground.
The furious thumping of her heart under her ribcage resonated in her ears, in her head, and almost covered the impatient growls of the wolves.
With a cry that scorched her throat she bent her elbows and tried again. Her biceps screamed in pain, and something in her shoulders snapped minutely. She closed her eyes and pulled some more, and before she knew it, she was on her knees on a slick, hard surface.
The wolves were under her, growling and barking in disappointment. There was another sound coming from all around them, a heavy whimper--Oh. It’s me. My voice.
Gaiane opened her eyes and found she was still clutching a handful of ivy leaves. Her knees, her hands, her feet--everything burned, but she was alive.
With a loud noise of talons on stone, one of the wolves got on its rear legs and sniffed the top of the boulder. Gaiane screeched and kicked until she was with her back to the rocky wall.
They weren’t leaving. They wanted to wear her down and then…
I’m just another prey for them!
Her good intentions and cautious purposes crashed against the hard reality. A pack of wolves was just six or seven feet from her, and they had time. She was weak, an easy morsel.
I’m not a prey, and I didn’t risk my life and sanity to escape my prison just to fall to some overgrown lap dogs.
She ran her hand over her mouth and tasted blood.
I’m a mage. Born for greatness, bred to be a weapon. If I’m to give my position away, let them come. I can fence off these wolves, I can face my mother’s soldiers, too.
From her sitting position, she slowly rose to her feet on the small stone ledge. She closed her eyes, and she started to see.
The wolves were blue shapes of life and hunger, thin threads that spread to the surrounding forest and joined every tree and blade of grass.
I won’t cut these lives. I’ve killed enough, and I’ll never stop another heart.
Her fingertips, black shapes behind her closed eyelids, lit up in a red glow.
The warmth from her blood and the energy from her heart flowed and grew, thickening in spots of magic. Flames, dancing to her own music, dripping from her hands. Friendly and safe.
Gaiane opened her eyes.
A ring of fire exploded around the rock. Its blaze lit up the forest, and the wolves backed away in a chaos of yelping noises and widened yellow eyes. It lasted one, two heartbeats, and Gaiane, half blinded by her own spell, managed to count ten wolves running to the safety of their burrows with their tails between their legs.
The vague dizziness from the use of her power brought tears to her eyes. Again.
“I’m not like you,” she whispered, and she couldn’t tell whether she was speaking to the predators or to the life she’d left behind.
She dropped her arms, and she was alone. The fire hadn’t caught in the wet bushes, and only a few embers burned among the dryer grass. She slipped on her rock, tucking her feet under her body and sniffled loudly.
Alcmena would’ve been so proud. It was part of one of those obnoxious lessons on natural sciences: wild creatures feared fire because they couldn’t understand it.
Somehow, Gaiane managed to make good use of that piece of information.
A wet chuckle rumbled in her chest, and halfway through turned into a yawn.
Gaiane lay down on the hard stone. Above her, the night sky was speckled with stars and shreds of clouds, purple-grey in the moonlight.
She’d survived one more night. The wolves would bother he
r no more, for now at least.
She deserved some rest.
With a sigh, curiously veined with satisfaction, she closed her eyes and curled up against the night chill. Exhaustion got the best of her, and sleep came quickly. She barely had the time to evaluate the soreness in her body and to check how more painful the wound in her foot was that she slipped away into unconsciousness.
When she woke up in the morning it was raining, and someone was strangling her.
* * *
…
* * *
Any other time, the light of the fires would’ve been reassuring, a flash of red against the darkness of the night.
Right now, though, Leo tried to avoid looking at the flames at all, and only the proximity of her father made her sit close enough to the pit to smell the smoke.
The whole Mill smelled like that. Her home hadn’t stopped burning yet, and its embers blinked in the shadows, far into the woods.
Da trembled lightly and kept his arms outstretched, his thin hands even darker against the blaze. Clio sat at his other side, and the other three families that still lived there were huddled a few feet from them.
“Tell me again,” Leo said. Dull, exhausted, her voice was flat and raw.
“Stop obsessing, Leo. It’s pointless.”
“Just once more, Da. Please.”
With a sigh that turned into a fit of coughing, he shook his head, and Clio lifted her eyes from the herbs scattered in her lap. It was all she’d managed to salvage.
“For the fourth time, the soldiers came, saying that we must have seen the princess. We said no, they didn’t believe us, so they searched every house and made a mess.” Clio brushed a loose strand from her wrinkled forehead and frowned. “They scattered the clothes in your place, one caught fire, and here we are.”
“I don’t get it,” Leo insisted. It was true: a wall of dizziness stood between her and the mess that tore down the Mill, and she couldn’t see past it.
The Other Side of Magic Page 9
