The Other Side of Magic

by Ester Manzini

  “No! Fuck!” Evandro snarled, but the wheels were moving fast through the chaos. He tried to keep his toes on the wooden surface, but stood no chance against the pull of the noose. The rope tensed and the noose tightened around his neck, taking away his breath, his best intentions and his wits.

  For a long, horrific moment he just dangled from the tree. Branches moaning at the tug of the bodies, and what he considered the very last seconds of his life badly sucked. He needed air and help, and all he could do was let out strangled sounds as his eyes darted wildly all around. Three soldiers burst from the shadows, all in shiny armor, white banners while magical auras surrounding them.

  A gunshot rang so near it made Evandro's ears hurt--and the last thing he needed was more pain. Danger and fear finally kicked in over the roaring scream of blood in his head. It was something primal, not entirely human, howling at him with the voice of instinct and survival. Evandro lifted his tied hands and grabbed the noose; the coarse fibers burned his palms and his arms and shoulders--Spirits, all of his body tensed in a blaze of sharp pain as he pulled himself up, hooking his ankles around the rope and easing the tension on his throat. He managed to take a single, ragged breath and forced himself not to cough, failing miserably. Upside down, skin peeling from his hands, he grasped the rope in a desperate attempt to keep the balance and finally, finally the tension of the knot loosened slightly. In the moment of rest, he heard it before he could even see it.

  Two of his unlikely Asares companions were dying quickly, their tongues protruding from their mouths. Only Barnabas and the nameless captain proved smart enough to follow Evandro's example, and now they were grabbing the rope, painstakingly keeping their own weight from killing them.

  Evandro stretched his legs up. The branch was inches from his toes, and his shoulders tensed under his tunic, tearing it at the seams. His head felt light already for the awful position, but he eventually got a grip on the branch, upside down, with the bark bruising his calves and the back of his knees. His fingers were numb and clumsy, but now that the rope wasn’t stretched anymore, he could work around it. It took him ages, breathless and frantic in his movements, but eventually the knot around his neck relented, and he managed to pull it from his head. He dropped from the tree with a grunt, crashing on his shoulder and rolling away before he could stop coughing and catching his breath. When he got to his feet, his ankle was still throbbing, but he ignored it.

  He needed to act. His loyalty required him to grab the captain’s feet and pull, finishing the rebels’ job, but…

  There was a dead man at his feet. Around him, the reinforcements chased the remaining outlaws, by sheer force of steel and military discipline this time.

  Evandro knew what to do. He ran to the captain and held her by the legs, lifting her despite her kicking until she pulled free and slumped to the ground couching.

  “You’re… one of us,” her heard her say, but didn’t reply. He stood guarding her until she got to her feet and helped her only surviving companion.

  A shriek pierced the cacophony of curses and moans of the camp.

  Evandro turned to see a flash of blond hair--Ampelio, crouched behind the cart, his face streaked in blood, his hand a red pulp from the knuckles to his wrist. Someone had cut the horse free.

  Idiot of a boy!

  But before he could think twice, Evandro was running toward him, dodging a charging horse by inches. He leapt and dived behind the cart, grabbing Ampelio by his shirt and pushing it down. The boy was slender, and with a single quick pull Evandro dragged him under the cart.

  Curled behind him, Ampelio sobbed and whimpered.

  “I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!”

  Evandro peeked up and saw one of the horsemen take out the scribe with a sweep of his sword. Blood sprayed from the man’s chest.

  “What’s happening? I’m scared, I’m…”

  “Good for you, it means you’re not entirely stupid,” Evandro snarled.

  “My hand… my…”

  “You have another, stop whining! It won’t kill you, and once you’re off…”

  “I’m dying!”

  Evandro spat and took Ampelio's chin in his tied hands, leaving reddish and brown smears on his cheeks, squeezing hard.

  “Listen up, boy. I need you to run to the woods now, and run fast. Find the nearest healer and you’ll be alright, I’m not done with the Asares but you must trust me!”

  He shook Ampelio so hard his teeth chattered, but he couldn’t tell if that nod was acknowledgement or simple physics.

  “Tell me you understand!” he growled, and this time he was pretty sure Ampelio muttered a very small ‘yes’. He let him go and looked him straight in the eyes.

  “I’m not with them. Remember this, alright? I want them dead too, but…”

  “You’re him,” Ampelio said, and his voice sounded eerie and powerful again, soft as it was. “Evandro Sideris. The Dawn Star.”

  Evandro didn’t answer, but his name marked his soul like molten iron. Ampelio, still terrified, looked at him as if he’d seen a dead man come back to life.

  “No, I’m no one,” he insisted. “Go! Hurry!”

  He pushed the boy away, watched him scramble to his feet and hesitate, unable to take his eyes off him. Eventually, when one of the soldiers blew a horn, Ampelio shivered and followed Evandro's orders. He ran and jumped among the trees, disappearing quickly from the battlefield.

  Evandro sighed in relief and emerged from under the cart.

  Battlefield? No, this was a slaughterhouse. Nearly every one of the rebels lay with their faces in the dirt, dead or dying. Those few who could still keep their feet were easy targets, and Ram was among them. He stood in front of the cart, his hair a cloud of black wires, his face grey and his lips trembling. A large slash on his stomach revealed the pale mass of his entrails, pink and red and black with mud. He was still clinging to his knife: he hadn’t realized he was doomed yet.

  Evandro saw an opportunity in the death of another man. Younger than him, but another fighter.

  The soldiers were approaching, and he acted before guilt or mercy could interfere. He took the knife from Ram’s weak fist, painfully aware the captain was staring at him.

  “Ram. The Laskaris aren’t forgotten. In the name of king Eliodoro, I’ll bring justice.” Ram’s eyes opened wide for a second, and Evandro knew the dying man saw him for who he was. Maybe he even had time to forgive him before the blade sunk under his sternum and up, going for the heart.

  A good end. Fast and painless, not the slow agony of a torn mesentery, nor the humiliation of a public execution. Ram went limp, and when Evandro removed the blade a hot gush splashed on his arms. He let the body fall to the ground and closed his eyes, praying the Mother and the Spirits would welcome the soul of that unfortunate, desperate man.

  The battle quieted down. Under the serious gaze of the captain, Evandro stepped away from Ram and counted--three knights, Barnabas and the captain. Two dead bodies hanging from the branch, and a dozen scattered all around.

  No one had seen Ampelio go, and he felt oddly relieved. He twisted the knife in his palms and held its handle between his teeth; it tasted of old leather, sweat and mud, and of the omnipresent copper of blood. He slowly cut his wrists free, and when the ropes fell in coils he spat the knife to the ground.

  “You there! Get your hands in the hair and try not to make any sudden movement!” one of the soldiers cried out. Evandro complied and stood still, his hands over his head and his eyes cast low.

  “He’s a friend!” called out a rough female voice. The captain helped Barnabass take the two bodies from the branch and turned to him. “I had my doubts, but he’s on our side. We can trust him.”

  She limped and patted him on the elbow.

  “Is that so?” the knight asked. He unmounted from his horse and took his helmet off, revealing a plain dark face and small eyes. “Commander Helena, I’m glad we came in time to save you.”

  “Not all
of us, but you did good, soldier,” the woman said.

  Evandro buried the wild desire to see them all dead and wore a new armor made of deceit and stubborn hope. It didn’t quite fit like that of the knight he used to be, but it was more than he could’ve hoped for.

  “I just wanted to help, I told you…”

  “I should’ve believed you then. Ah, thank you,” she said when Barnabas handed her sword. She hesitated, and then handed it to Evandro. “What’s your name, stranger?”

  Again? He’d forgotten to come up with a fake identity. Bloodshed and hanging had that effect.

  He rubbed the burning circle around his neck and coughed.

  “I’m-er-my name’s Stelio,” he said.

  Helena cocked an eyebrow.

  “Like the old Laskaris king?”

  His blood chilled.

  You really want to die, you idiot!

  “Oh? Well, it’s a pretty common name around here. I know at least five Stelio, and none of them are noble. I’m a hunter, one other was a shepherd, then there was that guy who made the worst wine in the land, and…”

  Commander Helena grinned and patted his shoulder.

  “Well, I like you better than your more famous namesake. Accept this sword as a sign of gratitude of House Asares, Stelio.”

  Evandro's lips quivered in disgust.

  If you only knew how much I’d like to bury it in your chest, you foul creature…

  “I can’t, commander. I’m just a common man, not a knight. I’m not worthy of such a recognition.”

  It was truer than Helena could’ve thought, but she didn’t need to know it. She smiled and insisted.

  “Do it for me, then. You deserve it.”

  The Dawn Star would’ve screamed and kept his vow never to wield a sword again, but he had a façade to keep. Hating himself for it, Evandro sighed and accepted it.

  “Commander, we need to take our men back to their families,” the knight said, interrupting their exchange.

  Helena winced but nodded.

  “You’re right, soldier. Take the cart and two horses, and take those poor lads home; leave one member of your patrol with us, for we’re not fit to ride at the moment. We’ll resume our search for the princess as soon as we’re rested, and…”

  An opportunity? Seize it!

  “Speaking of which,” Evandro interrupted her with the best smile he could summon. A very bad one, he thought, but a grimace would do. “I’m not at my best, too. I could help you bury the dead, here, and… well, would you let me share your fire for the night?”

  “Bury the dead? You mean the rebels… I suppose you’re right. They don’t deserve it, but I’d rather not have the wolves invade our route.” Helena ruffled her hair and barked some more orders.

  Two hours later, the clearing was covered in mounds, and all the rebels lay at rest.

  All but one, Evandro thought, leaning on his shovel. But if they haven’t noticed Ampelio go, I won’t tell them.

  Soon, two of the fresh knights were riding off with the cart and their dead companions, and Evandro had joined Helena, Barnabas and Corrado, a young recruit, in a short trip to find a decent spot to camp.

  He was sore, heartbroken, terrified.

  He was more alive than he’d ever felt in the past eight years.

  Chapter 8

  The silver chain was cold, its thin shining links digging into her skin. Against her wrist, the delicate wings of the butterfly pendant fluttered and clinked. Leo tightened her grip on the fistful of silk and precious metal, twisted it and gave a sharp tug.

  Slender as she was, the girl squirming on the slab of rock was fighting, arching back and kicking. On the tip of her toes, Leo grunted when a pointy elbow struck her in the cheek, but didn’t let go.

  She’d known it the moment she saw the bundle of ivory silk on top of that boulder. For a long while she’d stood in the shadows, studying her target. That was the princess, with her pretty black hair all tangled with dead leaves and her pale face relaxed in sleep.

  Not so peaceful now, she thought with angry sarcasm: the girl was beet red, and her mouth was open like that of a beached chub.

  Spitting out a mouthful of blood and saliva, Leo pulled herself up and shoved the princess away. A gasp, a choked eep!, and the princess rolled back against the rocky wall behind her..

  Leo, breathless, crawled on her feet. Her damp hair hung flat in front of her eyes, trickling with rain.

  Gaiane. The Asares princess. She didn’t look very princessly, on all four, with her pretty dress covered in mud and a constellation of mosquito bites on her neck and shoulders. Leo doubted that any royal descendant would cough to the point of retching so loudly, she thought, but the girl didn’t look about to stop it.

  That was her. The wretch that was behind all the ruin lashing upon Epidalio. Her home was a pile of smoking rubbish because of her. Her dad had nowhere to sleep. And Leo herself was on a quest to put her life back together, instead of carrying on with her routine.

  All for that slight thing whimpering at her feet.

  “You’re not worth all the fuss,” Leo said. She licked at the cut her teeth had left on the inside her cheek. Gaiane was still floundering on the stones, wheezing and crying and calling some name Leo couldn’t quite grasp. Aliena? Alcena? Well, whoever that woman was, she’d be reunited with this nuisance soon enough.

  She left the princess to her antics and took her bag. She rummaged through its content, ignoring the leather water flask and her knife, and there it was. The rope she’d found was rough and smelled heavily of manure, which seemed ironically fitting for its purpose.

  “Oh, come on. I didn’t even hit you that hard, stop making a scene!” she snapped, but Gaiane only whined more loudly. Leo closed her eyes for a second; her heart raced, and blood pulsed too fast and loud in her head.

  She’d thought that, once she’d found the princess, seeing her in the mud would’ve been a grim satisfaction. Payback, revenge, whatever. Now, though, all she felt watching the princess bawl and crawl in the grass, was annoyance.

  “Get up,” she said. Gaiane ignored her and recoiled from her some more. “Hey, let’s get this straight: you’re not leaving.” She reached out for her, grabbing her by the arm and hauling her to her feet with no courtesy.

  “N-No!” Gaiane stuttered, keeping her face low.

  “I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” Leo said. The princess started to cough again, and Leo huffed. “Listen, I have no time and zero tolerance for your tantrums, you don’t even have any bruises! Stop squirming!”

  It was like speaking to a particularly dull hen. All Gaiane did was cry, trying to wrestle her arm free, and covering Leo’s shoulder with weak slaps.

  “Would you… stop it?” Leo caught her wrists and swiftly wrapped a length of rope around them, tugging it into a tight knot.

  “You think you can hold me?” The princess threw her head back, and her puffy, red eyes glimmered with defiance. Her voice was still hoarse, her dirty cheeks streaked with tears, but to Leo’s surprise a slow grin spread on her chapped lips. Not a pleasant one, and Leo had a moment of doubt. The black ring on Gaiane’s forehead was darker than ink, and Leo wasn’t equipped to fight magic.

  A blow to the head? Maybe knocking her out was the safest route, but…

  Gaiane’s blue eyes sparkled with triumph when she snatched her hands from Leo’s grip.

  “I’m the greatest mage in existence, and you will respect me!” she screamed before lowering her arms in a swift arc.

  Leo held her breath and squinted.

  Nothing happened. For a moment none of them moved; they stood in silence under the rain in the stillness of the forest. Leo peeked from under her lids: Gaiane’s proud expression crumbled, leaving the girl pale under her freckles and in shock. Another whip of her arms, less graceful this time, same effect. Nothing.

  Leo snorted and took the extremity of the rope.

  “Color me impressed...” Just in case, she added a secon
d knot and tugged at it.

  “What… no, it can’t be! It’s not over, they told me I’ll never run out of power! And last time I knew there were some more, the same as usual, why… why can’t I…” The girl raised her eyes on Leo, large and watery. Her whole body trembled, from her lower lip to her arms.

  Leo wrapped the rope around her fist, slung her satchel across her shoulders and headed to the stone ledge.

  “Interesting. No, wait: I don’t give a rat's ass about your ramblings. Now, your highness, would you grant me the honor of moving your royal butt and come with me?” She asked with a mocking curtsy.

  But Gaiane didn’t move. She stared at her hands in horror for a moment, but at Leo’s sarcastic tones she lifted her head and glared at her.

  “You don’t know who I am,” she hissed.

  “I do, and if you’re expecting reverence from me you’re in the wrong place. Come on, I won’t ask you again…” She sat on the boulder and slung her legs down. The rope tensed in her hand, and when she turned to check again, the princess was crying.

  Again.

  Leo rolled her eyes, loosened the leash and jumped off the boulder.

  Gaiane, all white faced and trembling pout, was still standing with her back to the vines behind her.

  “I don’t have all day.” Leo gave another small tug.

  Gaiane shook her head. Spirits, she was a mess indeed, Leo thought, but with no sympathy.

  Pathetic.

  “I can’t…”

  “Yes you can. Now jump, if you don’t want me to drag you down.”

  “I said I can’t! My hands are tied, and my foot hurts, and…” Her high-pitched voice thinned into a whimper.

  “If you only bothered to use your eyes, you could see there’s a foothold right there! Put your damned slipper there and jump! I swear a toddler could to it, but no, you’re too busy being a nuisance to even look!”

  The whimper turned into deep sobs, and Gaiane dropped to her knees. Leo ran her fingers through her hair and pulled with a groan.

  “Are you serious? Just… just slide down, it’s six feet of height top, for the Spirits’ sake!”