The Other Side of Magic
Page 33
He knew Eliodoro's spirit was smiling back at him, somewhere in the ethereal world the spirits lived in.
Peace needed effort.
They were ready for it.
* * *
…
* * *
“Folco, please, rest. You’re overworking yourself, and it’s bad for your health.”
“If I’m doing it, it means I feel like…”
A fit of cough interrupted his reply. He covered his mouth with his fist and inhaled some of the dirt that stained his hand, while the bunch of mint and lemongrass he squeezed let out a cloud of scent.
Clio trotted to his side, her skirt tucked into her belt, and took his arm.
“I appreciate you helping me, but now behave and sit down. I can go on with this small harvest of ours on my own.”
“But—I…”
“Hush, boy. Find some shade and have some water. Come on!”
Folco’s lungs quieted down after a while; he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and smiled at his old friend. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper.
“I’m too old to be called a boy…”
“I’ll do it until you stop acting like one. Shoo!” Clio grinned and waved her thin hand at him.
There was no disobeying Clio’s authority, especially because she was right. It stung, but Folco had to admit his health had been declining during the summer. He was always out of breath, slept poorly in the sultry heat, and ate less than he was supposed to. Not that food was abundant at the Mill in the first place, anyway…
And now summer was coming to an end. The sky above his head was still blue, but with that greyish undertones that heralded the arrival of rains. He walked to the log at the base of one of the few trees still standing and sat down, panting lightly. By the Mother, he despised autumn and its rains, now more than ever—how was he going to survive the cold without a proper roof above his head? How would Clio, who was in her sixties and not a little girl anymore?
How will my Leo, wherever she is?
He picked the half empty water skin from the ground and drank. His parched throat felt better for a moment, but this only meant his thoughts could roam free.
Leo. How long had she been missing? Weeks—no, months, now. The Mill had been unusually crowded in the past days: travelers had appeared on the borders of the burned village in small groups, and while the Mill had little to offer, there were enough clothes to mend and horses to feed to grant the few villagers left some essential goods, such as dried meat and even a tiny flask of red wine. Poor merchants, those strangers, but merchants nonetheless, all going to Nikaia. They said people were gathering there, but nobody knew much about the former capital, only that it wasn’t as dead as they said.
And nobody knew anything at all about a girl with a mohawk and no marks on her brow.
Leo was gone, and Folco once more swallowed the lump of anguish and fear in his chest.
He leaned back against the tree and tormented the water skin in his lap, his eyes on Clio and her struggle to collect the few herbs left after the fire.
Leo left her home to give me a better life. It’s what a father should do, not a girl of eighteen. She deserved so much better—my stubborn, brave little girl. Please, come back.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, and under his fingertips he felt the prickle of tears. With his eyes squeezed shut, Folco tried to focus on the bright side of the issue. True, Leo was missing, but it didn’t mean she was in danger. Perhaps she’d seen reason at last and abandoned her quest to find the princess and the bounty; she was probably working and earning a living in one of the larger cities, and soon she’d be back with a nice little nest egg to face the winter. She was so capable, after all, there was no reason to believe she was in danger…
His thoughts sounded pathetic, but he couldn’t let go of them.
Clio was singing softly, grunting every now and then as she had to stand up and move to a new patch. Even without seeing her, Folco knew how she frowned at the crackling of her knees. She, too, wasn’t looking forward to winter.
The neighing of a horse came from behind the river’s bend. Folco huffed and rubbed his face, but when he emerged from his own palms, a shiver ran down his spine.
Not one horse.
Many. Snorting and trotting slowly in the distance.
His head spun when he slowly got up, his heart fluttering in his chest as memories of loss strangled his wits. His wife trampled to death. His life torn to pieces. And years later, when he’d settled into a new, dismal routine, a second round of violence, always announced by the sound of running beasts.
In the blink of an eye, Clio was at his side, a rake in her hands the only weapon she could think of.
Terror froze them both into place. It was a matter of moments before the horses appeared in plain sight; sweat broke on his brow.
Please, we have nothing left to lose. Not again. I beg you, sweet Mother, not again. Not before I’ve seen my daughter one last time.
“Folco, stay behind me,” Clio said. She was a full head shorter than him, but her voice was steady as the rough hands wrapped around the rake. “They won’t get us again.”
Around them, the sparse other villagers jumped into hiding, weeping and covering their heads. Behind the ruins and the burned trees, though, there weren’t may safe places.
“They will, but…”
A spark of curiosity flashed in the mass of fear that was his mind.
Neighing, yes. And snorting. Hooves approaching, but slowly.
There were voices, too. Chatting, singing a beautiful melody. A girl giggling.
A second girl laughing back with her.
Folco took Clio’s shoulder and slowly moved her to the side. The old woman was shocked enough to let him do it.
The Mill, or what was left of it, was silent and motionless. Then slowly, one by one, the villagers peeked from behind their covers.
“Those are not soldiers,” Folco whispered. His lungs hitched, but he breathed so lightly he couldn’t even cough.
And then they appeared. The banners, first—not the pale silver and blue of the Asares, but a symbol Folco hadn’t seen in eight years. Faded green banners, patched-up golden stars. A coat of arms from a different time, so unlikely he blinked in astonishment.
No, it can’t be. The Laskaris are all dead…
When he looked up again, though, the matter lost all relevance. He caught a glimpse of the procession marching on the weed-infested path, with mismatched armors and worn out cloaks, then a voice shattered his reality.
“Da!”
Folco couldn’t see her properly. His eyes veiled with tears and he covered his mouth with his hands, shaking and not even daring to breathe. Even like this, though, he would’ve recognized his Leo everywhere. The way she didn’t just dismount—she jumped off her black horse, how she spread her arms and ran toward him, stomping her feet in the grass, with her hair bouncing on her brow…
His child. His family.
The impact against his chest almost knocked him off his feet. He fell to his knees, carrying Leo with him.
“I’m home,” she whispered, her head tucked in the crook of his shoulder.
Incredulous, Folco wrapped his trembling arms around her. She was real. Solid, leaner but stronger than ever, smelling vaguely of flowers and wooden smoke. Tears rolled down his gaunt cheeks, and he held her closer.
“Leo. My little warrior, you… you’re back! I… I never thought…”
She pulled back, touching their brows together. Now he could see her clearly—she was smiling, and her eyes glimmered.
“I am, Da. I am. I’m with you, and everything’s going to be alright! You have no idea…”
“Who, in the holy name of the Mother, the spirits and anyone who might be witnessing this moment, are those people?” Clio, still wielding her rake, pointed at the crowd. She was pale, shaking, and her eyes jumped wildly from the procession to Leo.
“Ah—er, yeah. Da, can y
ou stand up? No, even better, you should sit down, maybe. I…”
Folco took Leo’s arms and pulled himself up, even if dizziness made his knees weak.
He wiped his face and stared at the strangers.
In the front line, three people stood out from the crowd. A young man in his mid-twenties, blonde and grinning like a loon; a slightly older knight, with uncanny pale eyes, hair like fire and the regal bearing of a noble. The same as the slender girl whose blue eyes rested with shimmering tenderness on Leo.
“Leo?” Folco asked. He tried to push his daughter behind him to protect her, but Leo took his hand and pointed at the group.
“Remember when I set off to find the princess and earn us the money to get a better life? Well, I found her, and… I fear things didn’t go as planned, and now the Asares don’t rule Epidalio anymore.”
Clio dropped the rake and stared at her wide-eyed.
“Did they cast some spell on you? It doesn’t make any sense! I…”
* * *
“I know, it’s crazy, but… it’s a long story, alright? And Ampelio—the one who can’t stop smiling and please, Ampelio, don’t talk for a moment—is a better storyteller than me.” The blond stranger snorted and mumbled in disappointment.
“Leo, I’m overwhelmed with happiness for your return, but…”
“Da, may I introduce you to Gaiane Asares, new queen of Zafiria and responsible for the freeing of Epidalio, and Evandro, the Dawn Star, formerly the First Knight of Eliodoro Laskaris and now bound by loyalty to his queen Ligeia and princess Rea Laskaris?”
Leo was beaming, panting with excitement. Her words were clear in sound, but made no sense in meaning.
Folco stared at the strangers. An Asares and the Dawn Star riding side by side under the Laskaris banner? He pinched his arm, but the pain was very real.
“I’ve got the best medicines from the queen’s personal doctor, Da, and he said that they’ll be enough to keep you in shape through the winter. Then, in spring, we’ll move to somewhere not as damp, and you’ll be good, and…”
“You are right,” Folco whispered, squeezing his daughter’s hand. “It’s a long story to tell. I think we all need to hear it.”
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