by Brindi Quinn
I cannot delve too deeply, for Mael has just begun to rifle through my pactor’s other shoe.
“Enough!” I say. I do not like the way they crowd Awyer. “Techton, tell them away.”
As penance for his actions the previous day, my confidant is obedient. “Okay, now. Give the sphinx some space.”
At his command, the nosy cousins recede.
Pedj pats his stomach twice. “So we ‘bout ready to head smack outta here or what?” he says.
Mael answers by commanding the bone heap to rise with a swivel of her wrist.
“Whoa-ho! I didn’t mean before breakfast, Mael! Shoot, you mean to starve me?”
The no-longer-half-dead boy insists on eating at least three helpings of stew – made from whatever ingredients Techton can scrounge – before allowing us to set off again. Once Mael’s skeletons are again in march, I take it upon myself to call to my confidant. “Techton, it might be best if you stay near to me,” I tell him.
It is my intention to save him from himself. The way he watches the necromancer’s skirt sway from side to side is not safe. This, he surely realizes. All the same, he makes a grumble in his throat before complying, “Sure,” and falling back, taking up position beside me. “Look, about yesterday–” he starts again.
“There is not need,” I say.
“Fine, then.” The atmosphere is awkward. Small talk is his remedy. “Another dream, huh?” he says.
I nod. A dream or not, I will not divulge that it featured him.
Ever awkward, Techton covers with a chuckle. “I was tripping pretty bad, myself. Thought I saw a star whizzing around in the trees.”
“A star?”
“Or something. It was silver, whatever it was.”
Huh, a silver whizzing . . .
It hits me. “I do not think it was a dream! I had a similar experience. There was something silver in the trees.” It hits me harder. “Oh no! I fear that my newfound slumber is leaving us vulnerable! If I cannot keep watch there will be no one to announce when danger comes!”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. Lady’s been sleeping light ever since losing her faerie.”
“You mean ever since you killed her naefaerie,” I correct.
Techton ignores me. “All it takes is one rustle in the weeds and she’s wide awake. I’m sure if she ever saw a real threat . . . she’d . . .” He trails, most likely in thought of Mael’s tempting power. Again his eyes settle upon her swaying skirt.
The time for formality is gone.
“Keep hold of yourself, witch,” I say without restraint.
This time, Techton is the one who is hit. “Witch?” He blinks at me thrice. The title is severe, and it is the first time he has been directly called such.
“That is what you are now, my confidant, and you must work to retain your morality. Void is fueled by secrets and malice – an accumulation of the evil thoughts thought but never carried through; and the secrets kept in shame, never to be shared. If you do not work hard to counterbalance that malice, it will overtake you. As honorable as you were before, you must strive to be tenfold. It is your only hope.”
The confession affects me, for I know that I am responsible for his state. It was I who suggested he drink from the vial of Void, even if Mael was the one to carry it through. Mael . . . Does she feel guilt as I do? Mayhap that is the reason for her sleepless nights.
Techton may be contemplating the same as I. He stares at her with a new expression – one I do not recognize.
We are broken from our shared thoughts by an insufferable shout.
“Ho! There’s somethin’ over here!”
Mael raises a hand to halt her bonemen. “What’s it, Pedjram?”
“A blade!” says Pedj, his excitement great.
Techton glances at me. “The city is still a few days away. What would a weapon be doing way out here?” he says.
“Naw, not that kinda blade! A grass blade!” says Pedj.
“I hardly think it appropriate to exclaim for a blade of grass.” So I say. But when I glide to where the excited ex-zombie stands pointing and hopping, I understand. It is not any mere blade of grass; it is a strikingly silver blade of grassweed, springing knee-high from the browned ground, alone, amidst a forest of deadened trees and pathetic bristles.
“Any clue what it is, Grim?” Pedj asks the space far to the left of me.
“Tell him I do not,” I instruct of Techton.
“She doesn’t, and neither do I. And she’s over here, Pedj.”
“Oh. Right.” Pedj swivels so that he is facing the space just to the right of me. “Should we get on pickin’ it?” he persists.
“I do not think it wise–”
Behold, Techton is not hasty enough to relay my instruction. Mael has taken it upon herself to pluck the blade from its resting place. Airily, she brings it to her nose. “Mmmm. Smells like handsome.”
“Lemme see.” Pedj takes a sniff and agrees, “Now you mention it, it does kinda smell like a man.”
Mael nods fervently. “A handsome man.”
Jealous Techton does not take kindly to the opinion. He leans in for an analysis of his own. “Smells like playboy.”
“Playboy?” I am not familiar with the term.
“Umm . . . philanderer?” says Techton.
“Ah. That aside, one thing is certain: that stalk is not natural. We must leave it where it lies–”
Bother. Once again, Mael acts without direction, tucking the blade firmly between her . . . knockies.
“Oka. Fall out!” she shouts, and the skeletons parade away.
“Impulsive little thing, isn’t she?” says Techton.
“Are we certain she is no longer possessed?” I say.
As we press on, the tree cover begins to thicken and green. The branches sprout bulbs of fruit and stings of vegetation. A common growth dotting the forest is a tree ten feet or so in height, which, in place of leaves, harbors waxy green balls strung together. Alike strings of pearls, the beads dangle fully, springing from the center of the trunk’s top and cascading down around the base, making for an umbrella of beaded strands. Pedj and the others brush their fingers through them as they pass, and the beads respond by rebounding against the rest. The tree shakes.
I am tempted to enchant one of these bead trees to receive me. But my power – Awyer’s power – will be better spent elsewhere. Gold is nowhere near as powerful as Amethyst. I should not be wasteful.
Two days from the city, Pedj discovers another silver piece of grassweed, which Mael plucks and tucks between her breasts. The second stalk is even more striking than the first, so silver that it gives off a faint glow. Pedj shares his concern:
“Careful so’s you don’t go on catchin’ somethin’ from that. Could be poison, for all you know.”
“Is fine, Pedjram.”
“Tch. Don’t blame me if your knockies start a-itching. That’ll look real fine, Mael. Red and blotched up knockies. That what you want?”
Mael peers downward at her chest. And then she gives it a poke.
The witch in our company, whose self-control lessens by the day, cannot handle the action. He lurches forward, but is caught in a cloud of Gold. These are the moments for which I have preserved power. Casting the enchant feels good. And natural. And pulling from the power through Awyer’s obsidian tattoo reinforces our diminutive bond. By Thyst we are bound until death. I delight in the fact that it is so.
“Do not do something that you will regret,” I tell Techton. Even after the sleepness, the rules of enchants remain the same. Gold will not attack Gold. Fortunately, Techton is not like the rest of us. He is fueled by another power entirely.
Surrounded by my golden cloud, his shoulders give an unnatural twitch, and then he twists his neck to look at me. His eyes, once purest, brightest blue, have since become tainted dull, and today, they are even darker. “Grim.” His voice is a snarl.
“You grow worse by the day. Place your hands into your pockets and your teet
h against your teeth. Set your jaw and breathe and do not approach the necromancer. If you do, I swear that I will sic this Gold on you faster than you can speak a syllable of incantation.”
Techton’s ferocious expression lingers a moment more, and then it falls. “Apologies.”
Mael takes no notice of what has transpired behind her back. Pedj, on the other hand, sees the whole of it – Techton’s portion of it, at least – and he grinds his teeth in his uneasy way.
Aye, zombie. Things grow more and more dangerous by the day.
An understatement, I find, once blackest night has set. While the others sleep, I, too, tire. Casting enchants proves more draining than ever before. Tucked beside my sleeping sphinx, I am also in preparation for descent, when something rustles from the tent where reside the mortals and witch.
A moment later, a body emerges from the flaps of canvas.
Techton, showing only slightly in the blackness of night, moves to the edge of camp, within his hand a grassblade of silver. He holds the grassblade to his face, allowing its light to illuminate his expression, which has become twisted in a manner most unsettling.
Mumbling something to the grass, he scowls and froths, and in the next moment the grassweed catches fire. It falls to ashes in his palm. He licks them up and turns to me.
“Are you awake?”
I speak to him nothing.
“Good.”
With that, he returns to the tent. There is another mythic awake in there, apparently, because as soon as he does, a fury of muffled whispers erupts.
I can make out one of them:
“Need to get on takin’ a piss!” says angry Pedj. “Back off, you!”
Now, a second body emerges from the tent folds, but this time, he is not wrapped in darkness. Clasped in Pedj’s hand is the everglowing crystal found in my pactor’s shoe. In this darkness, my shadow is hidden. I am all but invisible. There is no way for me to communicate with anyone but Techton. That is what I think, anyway.
Pedj moves a short distance away from the tent. Then he holds the crystal above his head and surveys the area around Awyer.
“Mistress?” he whispers softly. “That is – Grim?”
“Yes?” Out of habit, I answer him.
Unable to hear me, he merely shines the stone around the ground. What does he seek? He will not be able to see me, no matter how much he searches. Unless . . .
“Move around or somethin’. Can’t see it.”
My shadow! Pedj seeks to cast light upon me so that my shadow will show. In a flash, I rise from the ground and move my shadow into his light.
“There you are. Gotta talk to you. Let’s get over there.” He gestures to a grouping of bead trees a short distance away. I do not delight in leaving my sphinx, and for a moment, I stall. “What’s is?” says Pedj.
I raise my hand so that my shadow will point at Awyer.
“Oka, oka, I twig it. Don’t want to leave him. I don’t really feel so hot ‘bout leaving Mael, either, but it’s only for a skosh. They’ll be fine. ‘Sides, this is important stuff we need to get on discussin’, so’s you better get movin’, BEFORE that guy gets suspicious.” By ‘that guy’, he surely means Techton.
Very well.
I bob to show my compliance and together we move toward the tree of beads. Once there, Pedj opens the strands for me to move through. A proper gentleman, all of a sudden. There is naught I can do to convey that his gesture is unnecessary. I do not exist. I may move through them with ease.
Within the tree’s umbrella, we are contained. As is the light from the crystal. Pedj scratches his head while attempting to figure out the best way to place it so that my full shadow might show. Settling on a fork in the tree’s trunk, he situates the rock, then motions for me to move within.
It is not perfect, but it will do.
“Oka,” says Pedj. “Here’s the idea. I’s gonna ask you questions. For ‘no’, throw your arms in the air. For ‘I’m not sure’, put your hands out at your sides. And for ‘yes’ . . . oh, I dunno, jiggle yourself around.”
Jiggle myself around? I would, if his talk of knockies was not within recent memory. I fold my arms to show disagreement.
“Oka, oka!” Pedj puts his hands up in defense. “For ‘yes’ just bobble up and down then. How’s that sound?”
Is that better?
Because I am anxious to return to my sphinx’s side, I bobble in agreement.
“First of all,” he says, “what’re we gonna do about Techie?”
Right from the start, he does not present a question that I can answer through his system. Fool. I do nothing.
“Right! Eh-heh. Forgot ‘bout that. Do-over. Somethin’ needs to be done with him, doesn’t it?”
This time, I bobble for ‘yes’.
“He’s gettin’ worse.”
Another bobble.
“Any ideas how to stop it?”
I put my hands above my head. There is no solution that I can think of aside from smiting him.
“Oka, so I know you need someone what can hear you and all, but don’t you think it would be better if he wouldn’ta turned like what he is? Wouldn’t it be better if he was asleep like Awyer?”
Disheartened, I bobble. True. It would have been better. But it is too late now. He is on this path, forced onto it by us, and there is naught to be done to change it.
“Can you turn him back?”
I raise my hands.
“Crank,” Pedj swears. “Is there anyone what can turn him back?”
Because I do not know the answer to that, I place my hands outward at my sides.
“Better than a ‘no’, I guess.”
Futile. Our conversation is futile. I shall return to Awyer’s side. I shall –
“We could run away from him. Only till we figure out how to fix him.”
Pedj offers a reasonable option. One too reasonable. I did not expect it to come from him. Still, I do nothing. Guilt is a human emotion I am not fond of. Guilt is a thing a naefaerie should not rightly feel.
“Don’t like that idea, eh?”
Defeated, I put my hands out at my sides. No, I do not like the idea of abandoning the monster I had a hand in creating.
“Well, ‘least he’s not all bad. Not all the time, anyhoop. Sometimes he’s just like he was. Maybe we can just keep hopin’ he’ll keep it together.”
He will not. He will get worse and worse until he is just as the witches Hamira and Gorma are. I was foolish to assume that his goodness would be able to counterbalance the malice of the Void.
“If you ain’t keen on leavin’ him behind, we better at least come up with a plan, case we got no choice. Not gonna lie, I’ll kill him before I’ll let him eat Mael.”
Eat her? Is that what Pedj thinks the Azurian wants? Then again, it is unsafe to say what he wants to do with her.
Pedj wrinkles his forehead in concentration. “What we gots to work on is comin’ up with a way for me to see you, Grim. Supposin’ you don’t gotta rely on that guy, it’ll make things easier. What say you?”
It is alike what he said the other night. I am unable to bob or shift. My arms prick at the thought of someone willing to converse with me.
“What’s is, is you’re probably lonely, being Awyer can’t chatter with you no more, and . . . well, he’s stony as hell, but everything’s off now without him. Guess what I’m sayin’ is I . . .”
What, that he misses my pactor?
The ex-zombie shows embarrassment in his no-longer-gaunt cheeks. “Naw, forget it. Just, let’s find a way. Not like what Techie is, but a different way. Oka?” He waits for an answer. “Or not. You don’t wanna? Oka, guess I can take a hint.”
That is not it! I was simply caught off-guard by his suggestion!
I bob up and down and up again, not because I believe there is a way to accomplish what he says, but because I am appreciative of his interest. I care for no one but my pactor.
. . . But is that really true?
Pedj bea
ms, followed by a tense laugh. “So that went good, eh? Was nervous to boot. You’re one scary faerie . . . er, sometimes.”
Scary? I pass through him to prove his point, and he shivers upon cold, nonmaterial contact.
“Yeah, that’s it right there,” he says, teeth grinding.
Point proven.
We recess, out of the bead tree’s cover and into the dark night.
Only, the night is not so dark.
Zipping here and there, through the trees, a silver light flashes. The light I saw, the ‘star’ Techton saw, it zooms around in the bushes fervently.
“What the heck is that?!” Pedj hisses.
I do not know, but I cannot take the chance that it is dangerous. With all of my might, I will that Pedj’s hand would receive mine. I will that his existent flesh would accept my nonexistent flesh. The enchant is born of the Gold shared by Awyer and me. My hand makes contact with Pedj’s, and before he can so much as jump, I am whisking him back to the campsite.
Chapter III: Silvie
“Waah! Grim?! That you?!”
Really, who else would it be?
“Wake them!” I fling Pedj at the tent and take stance over my pactor’s sleeping body, prepped to cast enchants. There is movement in the not so distant brush. It is not the silver thing, though. It is a peach thing, barely visible in a space unlit by the flitting silver.
Techton was correct. Mael sleeps lightly. Having perceived the threat, she now extends her hand toward the pile of resting bones, at the ready to command her army.
A helping of seconds later, Techton, laden with grog, spews from the mouth of the tent, followed closely by a frantic ex-zombie. The silver thing is alerted to their movement. It halts between two trees before going out completely.
“Where the crank did it go?!” Pedj holds the everglowing crystal above his head and squints, in search of the foreign silver.
“Quiet!” orders Techton. There is a shuffling sound, and the crystal, stuffed into some piece of Pedj’s clothing, dims.
Everything is soundless.
And then –
“Ha!”
Mael cries out the cry of a warrior.
