Angst Box Set 2

by David Pedersen

“They are the finest in the land,” Millow said with a nod as she took a heavy pouch from a knight and handed it to Clod. He fumbled with the book until it closed, and she rested it on top. “As you become more adept at sculpting, you will also find more work. Your help here will not go unrecognized, and if you ever decide to stop making cakes, cities across the land will commission you for sculptures. I will see that it happens.”

  “Thank you, shaman,” he said.

  “And one last thing,” she said, removing a leather pouch from her belt and handing it over. “Tea for Ada.”

  “Oh,” he said, swallowing hard. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for his friend. “She’ll love this.”

  “Let’s see this poor man to rest,” Millow shouted to the troops. The magician, druid, shaman, and accompanying guard scrambled onto horses and fell into formation.

  “Shaman,” Clod said. “Will we see you again?”

  Millow gave him a long, genuine hug, wrapping her arms around as much of him as she could. She pulled back and smiled in a grandmotherly way. “I would like that very much,” she said. “This war is far from over, but in time, I promise to try to visit again.”

  “Thank you, Shaman Millow,” Eidy said.

  Millow nodded, approached a stout pinto, and mounted with a grunt. Without another word, the troops left their tiny home and slowly made their way down the wooded path. Clod and his mum watched in silence, standing close to each other. It was a surreal moment to have their hidden, lonely cottage visited by such an entourage. One he would never forget.

  Silence covered their home like a blanket, only interrupted by the familiar sound of trees creaking in the wind.

  “Quite an adventure,” his mum said. “You did a good thing, Clod.”

  “Thanks,” he said, glancing from the book to the satchel of tools he held.

  “And now?” she asked.

  “I’m going to start gathering clay,” he said with a big grin.

  Age 22

  “You know Mayor Yugen’s rule,” his mum warned as Ada opened the door. “Stay out of town. We aren’t allowed anymore.”

  “How could he possibly have been elected mayor?” Clod asked, incredulous.

  “People make rash decisions in war time,” Eidy said with a hint of worry. “Maybe he’s not the man we want, but hopefully the one we need. We’ll find out.”

  “Find out he’s going to destroy us all.” Clod harrumphed.

  “Clod,” Ada shouted in glee. “It’s winter again!”

  “Wut?” he asked, stepping out of their house and taking in a deep breath of frosty air.

  Ada held out a hand and watched as heavy, white flakes piled up.

  Clod tore his eyes from the odd sight and looked up at the sky in disbelief. “Mum?” he called out.

  Eidy stepped out and immediately hugged herself for warmth. She frowned as she looked up, only to get an eyeful of flakes. “What did you two do now?”

  “I opened the door,” Ada said, racing forward and skidding across the slick surface of the path. “It was just summer…or was it? How long have I been asleep? Did you forget me?”

  “No, I…” He held up a hand, but was too slow to block the tiny ball of snow that struck his forehead.

  Her laughter was childlike and innocent, which was misleading since she was already preparing another snowball. Ada was five and a half feet of quick sass and wiry limbs. She looked more human than ever, and he gazed at her with pride. Her straight brown hair, which now reached her shoulders, was pulled back in an action-ready ponytail. Her large brown eyes glinted with mischief, always. Her skin was now a paler shade of gray—and in a shadowy room, she looked like a teenager who spent too much time inside. If anyone looked too closely, though, she wouldn’t pass. Her eyelashes stuck together, and her ears were boxy and a little uneven. She was missing fingerprints, and arm hair, and toenails—he had a list. But the longer she lasted, the more progress they made, and she was lasting longer. They now enjoyed three days adventuring and two nights sculpting the next Ada before she went away.

  “Quit staring like you’re buying a pig at market,” she warned, packing the snowball with both hands. “You’re almost out of time to defend yourself.”

  “Maybe I should make you a pig next time,” he said, smushing up the end of his nose with his finger and snorting loudly.

  “It’s on,” she said, clumsily hurling the weapon while digging at the thin layer of snow for her next.

  “Kids,” Eidy said in her dangerous mum voice as the snowball whizzed by her cheek.

  “I’m not a kid,” Clod said. “I’m twenty-two.”

  “Then act like it,” his mum said sharply.

  “Yeah, Clod,” Ada said in a singsong voice, brushing off her hands and placing them on her hips.

  He stuck out his tongue just as a strong gust of warm wind slapped a leaf on it. Ada was laughing again as he brushed it off and spat the taste away. A cold wind bristled his hairs before it went hot as their wood stove. The snow at their feet melted in the sudden warmth, making Ada kick at damp leaves in disappointment.

  “It’s like the weather can’t decide,” he said.

  “This isn’t good. It’s supposed to be summer and only summer,” Eidy said. “We should go to town.”

  “All of us?” Ada asked hopefully.

  “Yes, let’s get our coats on, Clod,” Eidy said curtly. “We’re leaving now.”

  By the time they’d donned their winter garb and reached the end of the long path to town, winter had won the battle, and thick flakes of snow covered their clothes. Yesterday had been so hot the only thing he’d wanted to do was sit in a shady pond. This was an unnatural cold his body wasn’t prepared for, and it seemed to get painfully worse as they progressed.

  “I don’t think I like sn-snow anymore,” Ada said, rubbing her hands together. “It’s c-cold.”

  “That’s good,” Clod said. “You’re able to feel more.”

  “That’s not good,” Eidy said. “She doesn’t have warm clothes. She never needed them.”

  “You can have my coat,” he offered.

  “Thanks, Clod,” Ada said through chattering teeth. “I’ll be fine, and I don’t think we can roll up the sleeves enough to make it fit.”

  “Right,” he said, doing his best to shield her with his large arm. “Where do we go, Mum?”

  A sudden gust of wind pelted them with hard flecks of snow. Both Ada and Eidy closed in, burying their faces against his sides.

  “The town hall,” Eidy said, her lips turning blue.

  “Stay close,” he said. “I’ll get us there.”

  The storm went from bitter to vicious. The wind picked up, slicing with a blade of sleet that made it almost impossible to see. The casual five-minute walk to the town hall was becoming a twenty-minute trial of life and death. Halfway to the hall, Ada collapsed. Clod picked her up, opened his jacket, and did his best to draw her close.

  “I hear something,” she shouted, her teeth chattering.

  He stopped to listen. Between the cries of wind and the crashing of sleet against his numb ears, he could barely make out the pathetic, high-pitched mewling of an animal.

  “We don’t have time,” Eidy called.

  “Clod,” Ada pleaded, pointing at a shifting pile of snow.

  Ignoring his mum, he reached into the drift and grabbed a furry bundle of kitten. It was tiny in his hand, scratching and biting in fear—but he didn’t let go. As gently as he could, Clod shoved the cat into a large pocket. To his surprise, it didn’t leap out—and he desperately hoped it wouldn’t die in his coat.

  “We need to go,” Eidy shouted, tugging at his arm.

  “Haim,” he replied, nodding to the bakery back down the street. “We need to go back for him.”

  His mum looked defeated, but nodded in agreement. They slowly trudged through the snow, which was now so thick it felt like hours had passed when they reached the shop. The display window was destroyed, and snow gathered inside as
if the floor were covered in white frosting. It was still cold inside, but at least it was a respite from the driving winds.

  “Haim,” he shouted.

  “Here,” Haim said from behind the counter, his low voice shaky.

  The baker huddled behind the display, shivering beneath layers of blanket. Ice coated his forehead and tusks, and his green skin was a mottled brown. The old malgam didn’t look good.

  “Where’s Melda?” Clod asked.

  “Wife’s safe in the cellar,” Haim said. “There isn’t room for both of us.”

  It was everything Clod could do not to snort out a chuckle. There was plenty of space in the cellar for both of them, if he took the time to remove the stores. Clod had stocked and restocked that room more times than he could count. It was just like the old malgam to put his shop before his life. But really, what did Clod know? The shop was Haim’s life.

  “Come with us to the town hall,” Clod said. Sweat dripped down his cheeks. He had acclimated enough to the blizzard that this room felt almost warm in comparison.

  “I can’t leave my shop,” Haim said, slurping around his teeth.

  “Yuh,” Clod said, nodding and looking around at the mess. “Someone might steal some cake.”

  Their eyes met, and both men burst out laughing. Not only in remembrance of Clod and Ada’s transgressions, but there was nobody in the world who would fight through this blizzard for a frozen pastry. Not even Clod.

  “I’ll slow you down,” Haim said. “Malgams don’t do well in the cold.”

  “You won’t last if you stay,” Clod said sincerely. “I’ll carry you if I have to.”

  Haim peered at him dangerously. Clod stared coolly, with one hand offered until the baker took it and stood.

  “Eat cake,” Haim said. “It’s already destroyed and will keep you warm.”

  Without hesitation, Clod dug his fingers into a snow-covered beauty and clawed out a giant handful. He gorged himself as quickly as he could, shoving it into his mouth like a wild animal. Haim was right, he did feel better—and in his heart, he’d always known cake would save his life.

  “By the gods,” Eidy said, “this is so good.”

  “Your son did this every day before Yugen became mayor,” Haim said with a tight smile. “You should be proud.”

  “Always,” Eidy said with a nod.

  “Eat it,” Clod said, handing a piece to Ada. “You love cake.”

  “I don’t feel very good,” she said in a small voice. “I’m sleepy.”

  “Please,” he pleaded.

  She took the piece and nibbled on it while he watched, and worried. She was supposed to last for days, and something about the storm sapping her life like this felt wrong. Ada was very much a part of him, not only because they were such close friends, but because he willed life into her. If she went away because of this unnatural storm, he didn’t think he could bring her back.

  “Don’t sleep, Ada,” he said. “No matter what.”

  “Okay, Clod,” she said. “I’ll try.”

  “You’ll do,” he said firmly.

  She looked at him in surprise, eventually nodding and taking another bite.

  He dropped a piece of the cake into his cat pocket before turning to the others. “Haim, behind me. I’ll carry Ada, you hold on, and keep my mum close.”

  “Go!” the malgam said, gripping his shoulder hard enough to make him wince. Those enormous arms weren’t for show.

  The cold that numbed his muscles would’ve frozen them solid if not for their battle against the thickly packed snow. Sleet stung his ears while the wind deafened him. His mum collapsed, and he stopped long enough for Haim to lift her shakily.

  “Go, boy,” Haim shouted. “We do this!”

  Time passed slowly in a blinding blur of white where minutes felt like days. Clod’s brain must’ve been partly frozen when they finally reached the town hall, because he couldn’t remember how to open the large double doors. Haim nudged him aside to work the latch, and together they dragged a door open against a hill of waist-deep snow. A furnace blast of warmth poured from inside that was every bit as shocking as the sudden wrongness of winter. It took all his strength, every remaining bit, to fight the door closed—and then he was shocked again by the silence.

  He didn’t remember setting Ada on the floor, or collapsing beside her in exhaustion until the gruff cat tongue licking his face brought him around. It took long moments for his senses to return, and then he wished they hadn’t. The room was stifling, and every bit of his exposed skin seared with windburn. The first thing he heard sounded like the annoying buzz of a thousand bees but at a much higher pitch. The second thing made his heart skip a beat.

  “Help,” a small voice wheezed from the Great Chamber. “Help me.”

  He would’ve known that voice anywhere. Ried. The worst of the bullies who’d picked on him throughout school.

  “Please,” Ried whimpered. “Oh gods.”

  “This just keeps getting better,” Clod said, his voice dripping with reluctance as he shakily pushed himself up.

  They should hurry, but despite the pleas from his former classmate, it took a while to gather themselves. They’d come to the town hall for sanctuary and understanding. Instead, it was almost too calm, like they’d found the eye of the storm. No wonder they were the only ones here.

  The heavy burden of decision weighed on Clod as all eyes fell on him. “It sounds like Ried, from school. We should go see,” Clod said. “Maybe he just twisted an ankle. That can really hurt.”

  They just nodded at him, listening to Ried cry out in that weak voice. It made the back of Clod’s neck tingle with fear. It was hard to fathom that something awful could be happening to one of the most powerful, capable jerks he’d ever known.

  The bully had been the very opposite of Clod. Almost as large, but in a muscular way that made his admirers swoon. He’d been born with the chiseled jawline of a hero, and the fair complexion of a saint. His eyes were crystal blue and sharp as his wit. Ried also held the great power of a storm mage, a weathermancer like no one had seen in a century. He was, of course, Yugen’s favorite, possibly of all time. In private, Ried would occasionally be friendly to Clod. In public, the bully led the charge when it came to pecking orders, always finding new ways to ensure Clod fell in line, all the way to the back.

  Clod had often wondered why someone like Ried would extend one hand in peace while striking so hard with the other. Maybe it was because he’d injured Ried once, but surviving Clod’s clumsiness had only seemed to bolster the bully’s rank. His nemesis had great power, adoring fans, good looks, intelligence, and it still wasn’t enough to stop him from picking on Clod. His mum had tried explaining that Ried was the most insecure person she’d ever met.

  “Don’t assume someone else isn’t struggling,” she’d said. “You’ll never know their demons.”

  It took Clod a long time to understand how this was possible. Ried had everything. He could’ve led armies, but instead he sought to please the masses. Eventually, Clod had pitied his almost-friend who’d never found happiness in what he was gifted.

  “Why are we the only ones here?” Ada asked.

  “Maybe there are more people in the Chamber,” Haim said, slurping awkwardly around ice melting from his tusks.

  “That’s right,” his mum said nervously. “They’re probably in there with the elders.”

  It made sense, and everyone nodded while looking at Clod, their eyes filled with the same doubt that troubled his heart.

  “Let’s go see,” Clod said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

  Ada and the cat led the way down a wide hallway. They took slow, cautious steps toward an ornately carved, wooden door—stopping every time Ried cried out. When they finally arrived, Clod was wary to enter. Ada wasn’t.

  The clay girl opened it, gasped, and immediately stepped away.

  “Oh no,” Eidy exclaimed.

  Haim cursed under his breath, and placed a hand on C
lod’s shoulder.

  It had been five years since his last visit to the Great Chamber. The room had made Clod feel small during his first visit, and now he felt tiny. The circular, domed room that was three times the size of his home should’ve been filled with people seeking shelter. The eight elders should’ve been sitting behind the high bench, preparing to save the day. That would’ve been comforting. That would’ve given him hope.

  His hope sank into a pit of fear as he stared at Ried, the only person in the room who seemed alive. The bully hovered five feet over the floor, in the center of everything. His legs and arms were spread wide as if tethered by invisible ropes. Beams of white light shot from his hands, meeting at a point directly over his head before blasting straight upward. The raw brightness was hard to look at, like lightning that didn’t go away, leaving white echoes in Clod’s vision. The spell vibrated with power, whining painfully in his ears as it shot through a new hole in the domed ceiling.

  “Ried?” Clod called out.

  His old classmate wore steel armor that practically glowed blue-white. It hung loosely on his wasting figure. He appeared to be withering away like a dried leaf in late fall. Ried’s face was gaunt and wrinkled as though from age or sickness. Even more frightening than the spell, or his wasting condition, was Ried’s eyes. They were wide with fear from whatever was happening, and empty at the same time, as if it was all too much for his mind to grasp.

  “He’s making the storm?” Haim asked.

  “Ried’s a weathermancer,” Clod explained. “He’s a jerk, but I never thought he was evil.”

  “Did he kill the council?” Eidy asked, her voice shaking as she pointed.

  Below Ried, four bodies in dark brown robes lay around a red, square symbol marked on the white floor. It was six feet across and glowed dully. The square contained what appeared to be letters scribbled on top of letters—none of which he recognized. They formed something that smelled delicious and made his eyes stare longingly. He just wanted whatever it was the red offered. Didn’t he deserve it after their long trek here? The fact that he didn’t have it already made his muscles quiver, and a slick sheen of sweat covered his face.