by Brindi Quinn
“No!” I zip to my feet and outstretch my arms protectively between my confidant and my pactor. “Leave him as he is. I will watch over him in the night.”
“You sure?”
“You know I do not require sleep.”
“Ummm, okay then.” With a shrug, Techton returns to the pair of collapsed cousins. I observe the way the three of them crawl into the tent’s blankets. I hear the way their breathing changes from soft to heavy.
I do not require sleep as they do.
So I say.
So has always been the case.
Why, then, as I hover beside a sleeping sphinx, do my eyes begin to feel . . . weighted? Why, long after the others have retired, do I find that my nonexistent body has become laden with something alike fatigue?
I am . . . drowsy?
That is not how naefaeries are meant to be. It is all, all wrong! Yet, despite my better judgment, under a sky rapidly turning from gold to black, I settle my cheek against Awyer’s firm chest.
And before I know it, my mind descends.
My sight moves beyond the blackness of my eyelids. The dark fog of reality rolls away and I see only things that cannot be.
A stooped once-boy, now-man stands there, gazing at the golden sky.
I know beyond doubt who he is, for my cheek was just against his chest.
“. . . Awyer?”
Before he can answer, the dark fog that is reality sweeps in once more, covering the image and replacing it again with the darkness of my lids.
. . .
“A dream? It is not possible.”
Unable to speak to any other, I have disclosed the vision to my confidant as we move away from Jiik Anar and over the sparsely vegetated soil that is the neighboring region.
“What else would it be? You said you closed your eyes and saw your beau awake.” Techton glances to the hands of the marching bonemen, which have again taken up their duty of transporting Awyer’s sleeping body. “Apologies, but he looks to be as out of it as ever. My bet’s that you, Mistress, had a dream.”
“But I do not sleep! True, in the past I have allowed myself to drift in the interest of regaining strength, but never have I known sleep as man does!”
“Hallucination, then?” he suggests with a shrug.
“That is not better! And for the last time, call me Grim.”
Mael, in tune to Techton’s portion of the conversation, offers, “Could be the sleepness affects mythics, too. Could be we all sleep differenter than before?”
The witch in our company drags a thumb along his bottom lip, where resides a patch of slate blue hair. “Now, that’s an astute idea, Lady.”
I shake my head at the pair of them. Although Mael’s clarity after losing nefarious naefaerie Chast has allowed for these small spurts of logic, I suspect that Techton’s praise has little to do with her ‘astuteness’.
“Hoop! Now you mention it, I slept full good last night! Didn’t move a scrap ‘sfar as I can tell!” Pedj’s contribution is least helpful of the three. I will not point out that his deep slumber was only natural after traveling days through a difficult canyon.
Surveying the horizon ahead, I predict that our travel will be easier from here on out. Much easier than the harrowing pass through Jiik Anar, at least. Over the land, sprightly sprigs grow into denser thickets, and from there evolve into small grove-like clusters, which eventually span into ‘forests’, if the word is used liberally. The trees offer spotty cover where previously there was none, and the long stretch of even ground is a welcome change.
It is here that we make our mark, we passers of unknown fate, in search of a sleeping count whose intentions have yet to be verified.
On the third day after leaving Jiik Anar, Mael complains. “Is hot. Is TOO hot.”
The sun burns through the bristly forest, baking them in a way it does not do to me. I flit to Awyer’s resting side so that I might share in the corporeal experience. Placing a hand upon his arm results in transferred heat.
Yes, the day is hot.
I do not care that the others suffer; they can take care of themselves. It is only Awyer that holds my concern. Pulling from our shared Gold, I rise into the sky, flying just ahead of him, so that my shadow will shield his skin.
Though the others see only the shifting of my shadow, Techton observes my effort. “Huh,” he says, with considering. Then he moves to the front of the group and walks closely before Mael. Combined with his rucksack, his shadow provides a wide strip of shade. “Better, Lady?” he asks.
“Uh-huh.” Mael’s ponytail bobs with her nod.
Pedj looks from my shadow to Techton’s shadow, and then to his own searing flesh. “H-hey!”
“Oh, please,” I say. “It is not as though you will melt. You have outgrown that quality, have you not?”
This time, Techton’s chuckle holds not a hint of cynicism. He gives out a grin meant for me. At least someone yet appreciates my opinion.
But our camaraderie does not linger for long.
Mael’s skeletons stomp in unison against the grainy ground. Their march resounds upon the skinny trunks surrounding us. Techton’s ears perk with each thudding echo because it is a conspicuous reminder of Mael’s strength. I see it in his eyes.
“Do not think of it,” I scold him.
He looks at me shrewdly. “What?”
“Do not LUST for her. You cannot afford to. If you are to be of any use, you must keep your head.”
There is quiet. I assume that is the end of it.
I am terribly, terribly wrong.
“Before you begin ordering me around, don’t forget I’m not your ward, Grim. I wouldn’t want to end up like HIM, would I?”
Truly!? I look at him twice to make sure I heard him correctly. Did those words just escape the kind-hearted Azurian’s mouth? Never did I expect a response so spiteful!
But I cannot let him see how he has hurt me. The only way to retain control is to make my voice steady.
“True,” I say, eyes stern, “but what would be worse than being my ward would be being my enemy. You will be put to rest if you grow out of hand. I need the necromancer as much as I need you. Leave her be.”
“A threat?”
Placing my gaze firmly on his, I nod. “Do not jeopardize Awyer’s awakening.”
Techton looks at me darkly a moment before shaking his head to shake away Void’s influence. “Sure . . .” he mutters. “Apologies.” He can feel two suspicious Bloődite glances upon the back of his neck, so he diverts, “We’re in Azurian territory now, by the way. Looks like the good count headed to the city.”
The diversion does nothing to subside Pedj’s suspicion. “What’s got you two arguin’?” he asks.
“A faerie’s favor’s a right hard thing to keep,” says perceptive Mael.
Techton glances over his shoulder at her. “Something like that.”
The witch’s nonchalance annoys me greatly. Speaking of me as though I am not there – Awyer would never do that! And that is precisely why I take such great offense. Awyer would never do that . . . were he awake.
“Say Mael, can you still see Mistress’ light without your agent?” Pedj asks.
Mael shakes her head. “Uh-uh. Was Chast what put a marker on her for me. Without Chast, the marker’s gone out.” A whimper accompanies the admission; the necromancer grows maudlin whenever she thinks on her past transgressions.
More dangerous than a hungry predator is a vulnerable prey. At the sound of Mael’s sadness, Techton’s impulses get the better of him. Halting abruptly, he turns and throws his arms around the grieving girl, and in the process, interrupts her control over the skeletons. While Techton stands coddling, the bones begin to crumble, carrying Awyer along with him.
“Careless!”
I zip to lessen the fall.
Again, I am beaten to it. This time it is not by Techton.
THUD! Pedj has thrown himself into the mess of falling pieces to stop my pactor from great impact. Lackin
g grace, he lands between Awyer and the ground.
“Ahh.” In the aftermath, he rubs his shoulder while letting out a sore hissing sound.
“Zombie! You have my gratitude!”
He cannot hear me, of course, and no sooner do I move to enchant the bones from him than he rolls Awyer from himself and hops to his feet. “Aha! Couldn’ta done that before! Solid as a knurl!”
So he says, but the action causes his wounded shoulder another bout of pain. He lets out a new series of hissing ahhhs.
And anyway, a knurl? As in a protrusion?
No matter –
“Awyer! Are you unharmed!?”
The lean sphinx lies beneath bits of bone, arm turned this way, neck turned that way, hair tossed over his face. As I lean over his crumpled form, I imagine him sternly telling me not to worry. I imagine him brushing my cheek and asking about my wellbeing.
I am driven to anger. I am angry at Techton, yes, but more so I am angry at our situation. Since I cannot reprimand the latter, my aggressions fall on the first.
“What are you thinking, Azurian?! Dare you behave compulsively when my pactor’s life is–”
I stop, for there is a more pressing issue.
The witch responsible for Awyer’s fall has taken hold of Mael’s dainty wrist. He has forced her body close to his, and he has proceeded to –
“What the crank?!” Pedj says it best. “Is he lickin’ her?”
Indeed, Techton has proceeded to hungrily lick away Mael’s tears, from the bottom of her cheek to the corner of her eye. He laps them up and once he finishes, he pulls away, rubs his thumb along the inside of his bottom lip, and giggles drunkenly.
What in the Vessel?!
Sadness subsided in consideration of what has just happened, Mael blinks at him twice and then rubs her cheeks with the backside of her hand. “Slobber,” she says.
“You’re off your nut, Techie,” says a very wide-eyed Pedj. He is unsure whether to be defending of his cousin’s honor or outright shocked. “Right off it’s what you are.”
It seems that we are in agreement.
Techton merely continues to touch his bottom lip and stare at the golden sky in ecstasy, laughing sickly to himself. His shoulders quiver as his weight shifts back and forth. He takes no notice of our concern. He is ill, and he grows more ill by the day. Mael wrinkles her face at him. “Maybe we outta rest here,” she says, head cocked. “Pedjram?”
“Keep an eye on him,” says Pedj. “I’ll set up camp.” Giving Mael a nod, the ex-zombie turns his attention to my shadow. “You seein’ this, Mistress?” he says through the side of his mouth.
Yes, I see it. And it worries me.
I make my shadow bob.
Pedj persists, “Think it’s gonna get worse?”
Definitely.
Once more, I dip my silhouette.
“Phoo.” A tired sigh emits from the ex-zombie’s mouth. I know the sound all too well, for it has just escaped my own mouth as well. I tire this day as I did the first night out of Jiik Anar. Will sleep welcome me again? Unnaturally? Imposingly?
The thought of it scares me. I am a naefaerie and naefaeries do not, by nature, sleep. If I have truly begun to sleep, what does that make me?
Shadows do not sleep. Shadows do not get to.
The Bloődite is scared too. But it is for a different reason entirely. “Don’t know what we’re gonna do if that loonsie gets worse,” he says, speaking of Techton.
Aye, it would be practical to devise a plan in preparation for the worst.
Pedj clicks his tongue. “I just keep thinkin’, you know? That it’s a downright shame . . .”
A shame? What is a shame?
“. . . That I ain’t the one who can see you, Mistress.”
I am startled by his declaration. If given the choice, he would willingly choose to see me? Moreover, there is someone besides Awyer who even now desires to interact with me?
But that is just–!
Too unlikely.
I do not really exist. I do not. I do not. I do . . .
Pedj tips his head and speaks his mind: “What it boils down to is, too bad I can’t be your ward, Grim.”
Grim.
The zombie now deems it appropriate to call me Grim.
An offhanded comment to him, but one that stays with me throughout the night.
No, I am no longer a naefaerie. What, then, am I?
. . .
In the midnight hour, when my hair has turned to black and my eyes have begun to fall, I see a movement in the trees. A silver flash darts in the nearby wood.
Or maybe it does not.
I am too tired to be sure.
For the second time ever in my existence, I descend into sleep.
Chapter II: Alliance
Beyond the blackness of my lids, I see Techton standing there, as he was, staring at the golden sky with that ecstatic look upon his face.
And then he is no longer Techton.
“Grim.”
Someone says my name. My real name.
“Pedj?”
No, the voice is not Pedj’s, just as the body is not Techton’s.
It is my sphinx who stares at the sky, muttering my name as softly as a willow bough dipping into a stream. I stare at him, disbelieving, and as I do, the clouds roll and the sun sets, and in comes night. “Grim.” Again, my name laps upon the still, inky sky.
I do not run to him, for fear of trickery. “You are asleep,” I tell him.
“So are you.”
“I do not sleep, for I am not real,” I say.
“You are real to me,” he says.
He is real too, his voice as present as the last time I heard it whisper my name. Beneath its call, I can hold myself back no longer. I flit to him, but find that I am out of hover. As I was in the Golden Lands, I am forced to walk upon unaccustomed legs. I trip over them and fall to the ground, and still Awyer remains as he is, staring at the sky.
“You will need this,” he says, and plucks from the sky a thing that begins to glow.
“What?”
Alas, the thing from the sky is bright. So bright that it swallows the whole of the night in an uncountable instant.
“Grim?”
It is bright. It is day. Techton stands over me, rucksack upon shoulder and dark eyes inquisitive. “Are you awake?”
“Waking would require sleeping, and I do not sleep,” I say in groggy denial.
“Sure. Look, I wanted to talk to you as soon as you got up. About yesterday, I didn’t mean to–” He stops himself. “Er, what are you doing, there?”
I am confused. Waking is not something I am accustomed to, just as sleeping is not something I am accustomed to. Only after Techton gestures to my hand do I understand what he means.
“Ah!”
Somehow, my fingers have become drawn down the inside of Awyer’s shoe.
I am quick to remove them. “I-it happened again,” I dissuade, hiding the guilty hand behind my back.
“Why were you feeling up your Amethyst boy’s foot?” Techton persists.
“Do not focus on that!” I bark, embarrassed by the situation. “I saw him! He tore something bright from the heavens and thrust it at me!”
“You saw . . . him?” Techton nods to sleeping Awyer who has not moved since yesterday.
“Aye.”
“And he thrust something at you?”
“Indeed.”
Techton does not respond to my urgency. While he stands staring at me dully, Pedj stumbles over with a yawn on his mouth. “Sleepin’ out here’s a real pit, I tell you.” He pulls his moistened shirt from his chest. “Would you look at this? Was sweatin’ all night thanks to this hotness, and I swear a centipillar the size of a small cat went wigglin’ across my face.” He shudders. “What’s a thing need with a hundred legs, anyhoop?”
“Grim had her hand down Awyer’s . . . you know,” says Techton, not taking his eyes from me.
“Down his . . .?” Pedj pauses to eye my
pactor from waist to foot. “NO! Really?!”
I do not understand why they skirt the issue.
“Mmhmm,” says Techton.
Pedj scratches his ear. “You don’t say? Didn’t figure her for the type. Must be lonely’s what’s what.”
“What’s what?” Mael says, poking her head from the tent. From the look of her hair, she tossed about much in her sleep.
“Nothin’,” says Pedj, “just that Grim had her hand down Awyer’s–”
“Boot!” Techton shouts. Uneasily he glances at me.
Still, I do not understand.
“Boot?” says Pedj. “You made it sound like it was down his–”
A silky string of blackness shoots from Techton’s palm and directly into Pedj’s open mouth. The ex-zombie coughs as though he has just inhaled an insect.
I do not understand the play of boys.
“His boot?” says Mael. Sleepily, she totters to where Awyer lies. With nothing in the way of warning, she drops to her knees and begins fishing around in his shoe.
“M-Mael! I do not think it considerate to place your hands recklessly upon my–”
Before I may finish – though it is pointless, as she cannot hear me anyway – she pulls from his shoe a bright, shining thing and holds it above her head. “This.”
It is alike that which I saw in the dreamscape!
“A crystal?” says Pedj, peering in for a closer look.
“An everglowing one,” expounds Techton.
An everglowing . . .
“That is right!” I speak rapidly to Techton. “When we left Fetra’s Nerve, I instructed Awyer to take one with him, lest we had need for it. I had forgotten, in lieu of what has happened.”
“Dodgy, never seen his boot glowin’ or nothin’ like that,” observes Pedj.
Indeed. How could I have missed it in the night? Surely the light from the rock shone through his shoe . . .
