by N M Zoltack
Darwin just sat there as Rase stood. He climbed over the bench and marched two paces away before Darwin cleared his throat.
“You don’t want to finish this?” Darwin asked.
“It’s yours. You earned it. I want to earn my bread,” Rase said.
Darwin sighed. “It’s a shame you can’t sing or play instruments.”
Rase had tried and tried and tried when they had been friends. Rase couldn’t carry a tune, and every instrument he tried to play, he ended up breaking even though he hadn’t been trying to. He just wasn’t magically, musically gifted like his friend.
“You don’t know of anyone who might be willing to take me on?” Rase asked eagerly. “I’m… I’m desperate.”
“Clearly you are if you’re asking me for help.” Darwin tilted his head to the side and then slumped his shoulders. “I’ll keep an ear out, but I can’t think of anyone right now.”
Rase nodded. “I didn’t think this would work. Thanks anyway.”
“Wait,” Darwin called. “You can finish this.”
“I don’t want your food,” Rase said, and he left the tavern.
The rest of the week long, Rase reached out to anyone and everyone he could think of who were friends of the family. Not one of them were able to help him and not because they didn’t want to. They couldn’t. None of their friends were fairing much better than they were.
But maybe not every peasant had been struck so hard. There had to be someone, anyone, who was looking for an honest hard worker. There just had to be.
31
Prince Marcellus Gallus
Marcellus’s back ached from sitting on the stone seat for so long already. He longed to stretch, to get up and walk around. Honestly, if he could, he would start to pace around the massive, oblong table in the large mudhouse that his father had turned into his war council room.
Instead, Marcellus had to sit there for who knew how much longer. If you asked him, he thought his father liked to speak too much. It was almost as if his father liked to hear the sound of his own voice.
“We must be smart in all things,” his father was saying.
It hardly seemed fair to Marcellus that his father was able to stand. He was hunched over his portion of the table, towering above their map of the world.
“We cannot strike too early,” his father added.
“We shan’t,” Flavius Calvus, the leader of the army assured him.
While this discussion was crucial, Marcellus struggled to fight back a yawn. They were rehashing the same points repeatedly. Already, this meeting had lasted over two hours.
“How much of our force do you anticipate needing to conquer Atlan?” Flavius inquired.
“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Marcellus’s father marched around Marcellus to clasp the military leader’s shoulder. “Do not be so very small-minded. We do not merely want to conquer a single city. No, we will not only go after Tenoch. Instead, we will take on the full might of Tenoch Proper!”
Hearing this, those assembled began to murmur and whisper to each other. None were scared. It was not within a Vincana’s nature to be frightened. For the most part, the Vincanans had always been a very strict and militant people. Of course they would look to strike first and strike hard. To strike all of Tenoch, though, meant they would need the vast majority of their persons to march. Who then would stay behind and ensure that the Queen of Tenoch did not counterstrike by going after their island while it was left nearly defenseless?
Their new king lifted his hands, and the mutterings ceased almost instantly.
“How else can Vincana Proper be established other than to rise from Tenoch Proper’s ashes? Believe me when I say that this will not be over in a day. It will not be over in a single battle. This will take much planning. This will take battle after battle. This endeavor is exceedingly ambitious, and if we execute properly, we will succeed.”
“We will succeed, of that I have no doubt,” Jovian Decimus, the king’s main advisor said. “However…” He hesitated.
“Speak your mind,” the king said, gesturing for Jovian to stand.
The advisor slowly climbed to his feet. He was in his thirties, his face more scarred than Flavius. A deep, jagged “X” had been etched beneath his left eye. Then again, perhaps Flavius had more scars on his person. Marcellus had seen the marks left from whips on the military man’s back. The prince had never asked the man how he received them.
Jovian’s piercing gray eyes roved over those gathered. He had always been a slow, deliberate man, and he tended to force people to heed his words. He had a habit of speaking softly so that others must be silent in order to hear him.
“How can we best defend our island if our warriors are busy elsewhere expanding our reach?”
Marcellus exhaled noisily. He had already thought the same.
His father, the king, glanced at him, a question in his eye. At Marcellus’s nod, his father’s lips curled slightly.
“We cannot and will not leave the island unprotected. Certainly not. Our army will be divided in half. The men will come to Tenoch and claim our new lands. Our women will defend our land now. I have no doubt that Horatia is up to the task.”
Horatia Ramagi stood and nodded as Jovian sat back down. She was the only one out of the entire assembly to join them in full armor. Even Flavius had taken all off save for his breastplate. She was every bit as fierce of a warrior as any of the men. All of the women were. In Vincana, the men and women were treated equally in all things, including education and weaponry. From the age of three, they were taught how to use slingshots. At five, blunted swords were introduced. While other kingdom made use of wooden swords, Vincana did not bother. Spears, bows and arrows, scimitars, maces, morning stars, staves, and other weapons were not only taught, they were mastered.
“I will defend Vincana with all that is in me,” Horatia said, her voice deeper than most women’s. “All of us women will, and we will continue our training in your absence. Perhaps, once Vincana Proper has settled, we can have a true tournament. I will make certain that one of my women will be the victor.”
Flavius slapped a fist onto the table. “You will be able to defend the island. Of that I have no doubt, but one of my men—”
“Will not be victorious.” Any other woman would have smiled but not Horatia.
Those gathered all laughed. Flavius had lost his wife a few years ago to sickness. Horatia had never married. Not for the first time, Marcellus wondered if the two would ever admit their feelings for each other. They were always pushing each other toward greatness. They brought out the other’s competitive spirit, yes, but also their better natures. Why shouldn’t that develop into love?
Love. Marcellus was a prince now. He would not have the luxury of marrying for love. Not now. Not that he had any singular lady who had caught his attention. Certainly, he appreciate a few for their looks, many for their skills, several for their personalities. None, though, had come close to stealing his heart. Perhaps he was incapable of love.
“Now that that most important matter is settled,” Marcellus’s father said, his voice booming, “I wish to seek your opinion on a matter.”
Again, some murmurs rang out, and one man cried out, “You are our king. Do as you wish, and tell us what we need to do.”
The king held up his hand. “I wish to rule, yes, but I do not wish to dictate. I value your minds as well as your might. As such, do you agree with me that we should send out several ships to each of the other islands? I think it wise to learn what all is going on at each location. As well, it would be prudent to see who is loyal to themselves versus Tenoch.”
Marcellus’s father sought out the verbal opinion of every man and woman there, leaving Marcellus for last. Nearly all consented to the king’s suggestion.
“I agree,” Marcellus said. “It is a pity that we must sail around nearly all of Tenoch to reach Tiapan, Zola, and Xalac, but what must be done will be done.”
“Precisely so. Very well.”
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The talk next turned to the preparations of the ships as well as which ones should be used for the long voyages to the islands. The warships were slightly behind schedule, but the king did not seemed worried.
At long last, the king dismissed everyone. Marcellus stood and stretched. Everything was moving along perfectly, almost too perfectly. He could not help fearing that a problem would arise sooner rather than later. All he could do was hope that later would win the day.
32
Sir Edmund Hill
It was hard to tell exactly how many hours had passed once Edmund had said they would stay only a day longer. His feet were sore, his back aching. His eyelids were growing heavy, and he was tired of walking through the mud and swamp water. Fatigue was setting in badly, but at least they had made a loop around and were heading back the other way, albeit northeast was their heading now and soon just eastern.
Tatum, to her credit, was touching every patch of underbrush in an attempt to find the Wink of Life. Her desperation was so tragic that Edmund began to look in more serious earnest himself. A few times now, he had caught himself watching Tatum instead of their surroundings, and he couldn’t say why.
The howl of a rougarou rang out, and the swamp woman answered in reply. The magical sounds of the swamp drowned out that of the water and the insects.
“We should just head south and leave,” Tatum muttered.
“But we haven’t found it yet,” he protested. “A little longer yet.”
“One minute, five, fifteen… that will not allow us to locate the Wink of Life,” she said bitterly, her lips pursing. “We have seen so few flowers at all in this miserable place!” The alchemist slapped her hand onto the water.
“We knew coming here that the flower was rare,” Edmund said gently.
“Yes, but…” She blinked back tears. “We should leave so you can return—”
“You saved my life.”
“And you saved mine. I asked you to accompany me here. You did, and I thank you, but now—”
“No.”
“No?” She gazed up at him, confusion swimming in her blue orbs.
“You asked me to accompany you to locate a particular herb, which we have not yet secured.”
“The swamp has proven to be a dangerous place. We have hardly slept at all, and with our wit’s slowed, the chances of us surviving another encounter with one of the legends lurking within this place are diminishing. We should leave.”
Tatum, head high, moved to step around him, heading toward the south, which would be the quickest way to exit the swamp, only to be forced to stop when Edmund seized her wrist.
“We can spend a little more time here,” he assured her.
“Edmund, please. I appreciate how generous you have been with your time, but we have to consider that there may not be any more of this particular flower to be found. If that is the case, we are wasting our time.”
He gripped both her hands in his. “I know that alchemy is not like magic, that you can’t close your eyes and locate the flower you seek. Is there anything at all with any of your potions or elixirs that might help, though?”
Tatum bit her lower lip. Although both of them were tired, her potions had helped them to keep going, to endure, to survive. She might not have magic herself, but she was powerful, and he had never met anyone as intelligent as she.
“I won’t lie,” she murmured. “I’ve given thought to trying to change around some recipes, to try to create new potions, but it’s terrifying.”
“Why? Because it might not turn out as you wish?”
“That and…” She weakly tried to pull away. He went to release her hands, but then she squeezed his. “I know the dangers, me being a female alchemist… My father told me stories that the very first alchemist had been a female. She had not wished to share her knowledge with her husband. In a jealous rage, he killed her and then cursed any and all future female alchemists, that they would be as ambitious and cruel and vindictive as his wife so that the dragons three might slay them all.”
Edmund frowned, and he could feel lines appear on his forehead. “It sounds like the dragons should have gone after him, and are curses truly viable? Can they be done? And to last so long…”
“I was only four when my father told me this story, and the only reason why I remember it so vividly is because he was killed the next day. The tale was his last words to me.”
“Was he an alchemist too?”
She nodded. “I think… He never said, but I think he wished I had been a son. He always loved alchemy, though, and… and…”
“You became an alchemist to honor him.”
“Yes, in a way, I guess that is accurate.”
“You’ve only created the recipes he taught you.”
“The ones in his grimoire,” she corrected.
“You are a lot of things, Tatum, but you are not ambitious, cruel, or vindictive.”
“But that does not mean I should tempt fate,” she murmured, dropping her gaze to the swamp water.
“You seek to find the flower for a noble cause,” Edmund reasoned.
“Yes, but—”
“Love is the furthest one can go against cruelty.”
“You will not give this up, will you?” She met his gaze again.
“No. Why are you willing to?”
“I have asked—”
“You are to be my sister. You can ask anything of me. We are here. The only way we are leaving is if we can be certain that there is none of the Wink of Life here.”
“You are far too stubborn,” she said bitterly.
“You should be grateful.” He slipped a hand free to lift her chin. “What other herbs do you need to find to make a new potion?”
“Actually…”
Tatum rushed over to the embankment. For the most part, they walked within the swamp water itself as the trees grew so close together, the dying underbrush so thick and prickly that they could not walk on the land hardly at all.
Edmund followed. Tatum muttered to herself as she examined her herbs and the potions already concocted.
After a moment, she glanced over at him.
“I do not mean to make you nervous by watching,” he said, holding up his hands and stepping back.
“You’re fine,” she assured him. “I just… I’m nervous. What if this doesn’t work? What if it causes harm? What if this is the path that will open the door to my—”
“It won’t,” he interrupted her.
“How can you be so sure?” she murmured.
“Dudley will not allow it.”
She pursed her lips. “If it does—”
“It will not,” he said so firmly that she nodded and returned to her work.
For an hour, maybe two, she worked. A grootslang lumbered their way, but they hid from sight and did not have to engage it. A serpent dripped from a branch, and Edmund chopped off its head.
Still, Tatum worked, mostly ignoring the world around her until she bid him fill an empty vial with swamp water.
He complied, and she carefully poured the water into another vial. She stoppered it, shook it, and the liquid inside changed from cloudy to black to clear to red and then clear again.
“Do you want me to drink it?” Edmund offered.
Tatum offered him a slight smile. “No, no, this is meant to be smelled, and I will do that.”
“But—”
Already, she unstoppered the vial and waved her hand above the opening toward her nose so she could inhale fumes and slight cloud of smoke.
Her eyes shut. Her body shuddered, and then her eyes opened wide. Every part of the orbs were black. It was almost a frightening sight.
Tatum woodenly turned her head this way and that before walking off with purpose. Edmund trailed behind her, and he soon had to race along to keep up with her.
Unfortunately, they headed past the grootslang, whose serpent tail tried to snap at Tatum. Edmund brought up his sword in time to slice off its tongue. Before the
grootslang could turn around to attack, he chased after Tatum, who crawled through a hole Edmund hadn’t even noticed in the side of the embankment.
They crawled straight through to another part of the swamp. Three more such holes she found. In the fourth, the soft muddy floor captured them, and they sank within seconds only to fall down into a slight stone cave.
The floor was littered with black bulbs.
“Do not touch anything,” Tatum said, her voice as devoid of life as her eyes were as dark as oil.
Edmund halted, leaving her to maneuver through the countless dark bulbs. If she were to bloom the wrong one…
He made the mistake of inhaling deeply, and the stench of death from the closed flowers nearly made him pass out. His palm touched the cool stone of the cave wall.
Abruptly, Tatum knelt down and waved her hand above a particular bulb. It opened instantly, revealing the most perfect flower Edmund had ever seen. The blue petals were more purple toward the center, and rays of light appeared to rise out of the center. It was even more glorious than Tatum had said.
She plucked the flower and walked back to Edmund’s side. As she tucked the Wink of Life away, she blinked, and her eyes returned to their normal blue hue.
“Thank you, Edmund,” she murmured. “Without you, I never would have located it.”
“It was all you,” he said.
“Shall we depart now?”
Edmund held out his elbow and waited for her to hook her arm through his. “Yes, we shall.”
33
Cateline Locke
Princess Vivian Rivera was ready for a hot bath. Clean clothes. A cooked meal. A bed. Some pillows. Anything but this blasted saddle, the tired horse, and her own fatigue. She felt so very dirty and hungry and worthless that she fell to her knees when she climbed down from the horse.
But she was here. She had done it. She had arrived in Olac.
From the mountains, she had been able to get a decent view of the city before she even ventured forth into it. The city was divided evenly in half passed on the River Texcoco. One side seemed to be far more affluent than the other, with the buildings all in stone. A large pyramid stood in the direct center. There were a few palaces too, three that she had seen.
