by Brindi Quinn
“He was,” the Maestro argues. “And I can prove it. Have a look at this!” He hurries to a cabinet against the wall and flings open its doors. Inside, there are a few cloaks in varying shades of blue, as well as a pair of boots and a walking stick mounted with the head of a phoenix.
“What?” says Pedj, peering in. “What’s is?”
“It’s–!” Following a moment of dynamism, Feligo’s jaw lies slack. “GONE! There was a cloak in here that was his, but–!”
Pedj dawns with new comprehension. “Wait! You mean . . .”
“I’m afraid so,” says Feligo.
“You undressed the croop before you put him in bed?” Pedj determines.
“Pardon?” The Maestro appears dumbstruck. “No, that isn’t what I mean at all!”
“That is of little importance,” I scathe. “What is important is that it appears Bexwin DID leave of his own volition. Why else would his cloak also be missing?”
“Oh yeah,” Pedj sings sarcastically, under his breath, “it isn’t ‘cause he was never even here to begin with.”
“Refrain, zombie. You may think what you like, but I have chosen to believe Maestro Feligo’s tale. The silverfox caught me with Gold when he could have let me fall, and even while our numbers are low, he has not attempted to attack the handicapped naefaerie nor the weakling necromancer. I cannot foresee any reason why he would have forced us to this place.”
Pedj folds his arms in a pout. “Psh. Suit yourself . . . Hold up! I’m not weak!” He falls into mutter. “Think I liked talkin' to you better when you couldn’t say anythin’ back.”
Though only mutter, I am taken by his confession. Head cocked, I ask, “Do you mean it?” and am surprised to hear my voice falter.
With cheeks becoming rosy, Pedj looks first at me and then to the ground. The question shames him? “‘Course not, Mistress,” he tells the faux grass.
“Grim.”
Feligo staggers into the cabinet that formerly held the Count’s robe. “While I appreciate your confidence, fae, I don’t think I can hold you much longer.” He shoots a glare at Pedj: “Unless someone else will take part of the burden, I might drop you, and then it won’t matter if you believe my story or not. We should return outside at once.”
“Did you not hear him, Pedj? Can you not offer aid?” I ask with new urgency.
But to my surprise, the zombie flatly responds, “No,” and edgily folds his arms.
“A great help you are,” says Feligo, equally flat. “Outside it is.”
Bother.
But I am in agreement. Judging by his posture, Pedj most likely feels fear over his inexperience with the new power. It is his fear of Gold that keeps him from offering aid. Because he does not look to have any intention of battling said fear now and assisting the failing silverfox, a getaway is our next option.
“Very well. Be prepared for anything once we leave the room,” I instruct. “And for the sake of your own skin, zombie, PLEASE do not hesitate to cast Gold if you must. It is more or less the same as casting Bloőd. You should never fear your abilities. Awyer was the same way when he first received the Amethyst.”
Ache.
Pedj glances upward from the grass. “Who said I was afraid?”
“Why else would you refrain from using your Gold?”
A simple question, yet Pedj’s answer is anything but simple. Digging his toes into the grass, he begins to grind his teeth in his anxious way. “Can’t really say.”
“You cannot?” I tip my head. “For what reason?”
“It’s a secret.”
There is something about the way he says secret.
“A secret?” I repeat.
. . . As in THE secret? That powerful, glowing secret spoken to the witches of Ensecré, as well as to Techton!?
“It involves Gold?” I persist.
Pedj shrugs.
“How, when you spoke the secret to the witches long before you ever knew of Gold?”
Again, he shrugs.
“Uh-oh.” Feligo wobbles in the way he did when without agions. “This very conversation is exerting me. I-I fear we may no longer make it outside! You’d do well to combine your Gold with mine, mancer!”
The suspension around me weakens. Panic sets in. “Pedj?!”
Still, Pedj moves not.
Holding to the cabinet for support, Feligo dictates, “If you aren’t going to supply any enchantments, ask your sister to do it in your place!”
“Cousin,” says Pedj, wide-eyed and frozen under the hail of responsibility.
“Technicality!” says Feligo. “Make rash and dash, man! I’m going to drop the fae at any moment!”
Yes, I should be more concerned with that, being dropped and sticking to the floor. Or worse, falling through the floor and sticking between levels, where no one may reach me. It is a panicking, troubling thing, indeed. And yet . . .
“Call me Grim,” I say with only half a mind, for the mystery of Pedj’s secret takes up most of my thought. Even in a moment of dire panic, he refuses to lift a hand of magickal aid. Does he not care for my wellbeing? Does he care not if I am lost to the party?
No, that is not it. I can read him, for he is mostly open. He wishes to ease the burden of my confidant. He even wishes to become a confidant himself. There is something else stopping him. That secret.
The ex-zombie feels the weight of my stare, it unfreezes him, and in an act of escaping – “I-I’ll go get her!” – he slips out of the room.
“No!” I cry. He cannot go out there alone! He is not prepared for what might lie beyond! Will he yet refuse to use Gold when face-to-face with a witch?
Feligo feels no sympathy. “Uff. What was he waiting for?” he says, queasish.
“I must go after him!” I attempt a move for the door.
But I am stopped by a commanding voice:
“Wait, fae,” Feligo says, stern-lipped and clinging to the cabinet. “There is something I need to say while we’re alone.”
“But–!”
Feligo shakes his head. “If not now, then never. Understand this: I’m sworn to protect the people of Azuria from harm. It’s my duty to wake them; therefore, anyone who gets in my way shall be considered an enemy . . . including the dark thing out there. I’d like to come to an understanding.”
“An understanding?”
The woozy fox straightens himself to finish: “What I mean to say is, I’ll get rid of him if you can’t.”
The severity of it hits me. Get rid of him. We must dispose of Techton, that much is certain, but what, exactly, do I mean by ‘dispose’?
Do I mean kill?
Or do I merely mean outrun?
For whatever reason, my chest tightens.
“I need to get to Pedj,” I say and flee the scene.
My chest throbs tighter, tighter –
And then, to further the compression, on my way into the hall I collide with a person. It is not Pedj and it is not Mael, and the expression on his face tightens my ribcage with a guilty, sorry sensation. “Apologies, Grim,” Techton says, and despite my instinctive caution, he sounds sincere. “Really, apologies.”
“You are awake!” I exclaim with surprise. Looking past him allows for a view of a zombie holding his hands out as if to say ‘do-not-blame-me.’
Techton proceeds to reach for me, but I shy from him. The fresh feeling of his mouth upon my neck does not permit me to accept him with grace.
Baring a wince, he shakes his head. “I’m okay now. You . . . fed it.”
It. The hunger.
I do not trust him. I do not wish to rely on him again. However, by the feel of it, I am without a choice. As Feligo’s last bouts of Gold remove from my body and I begin to sink to the floor, I give Techton one nod of warning, and with a tearful Mael and an apprehensive Pedj looking on, the witch takes me again in his arms.
It is with stiffness that I meet his chest. Again, it is warm and good to be touched, but I cannot let myself relax. I will not allow any
one to consume me unless it is he – the sphinx waiting in the shadows. “Bexwin is gone,” I tell Techton, to divert.
“Fill me in on the way down,” he says over my head. “Lady, can you charge that doohickey up? Let’s get Grim out of here before it happens again.”
That is little comfort.
“You do realize that something must be done, do you not?” I say quietly enough that the necromancer will not hear.
Techton swallows. “Yup.”
“Can you conjure some way for me to communicate with the others, in case . . .”
“More like when.”
Aye, when. When we are forced to escape the witch, I will need a way to speak to the others.
. . .
For once, I am grateful to be invisible. I much prefer invisibility to being caught between realms. Outside, I am able to skim without fear of sinking. Outside, I wait for the others to gather supplies, alongside a friend-turned-foe-turned-friend.
“Are you sure you want that playboy to come with us?” the only one who may hear and see me says.
“Maestro Feligo has shown no such signs of philandery! If anyone has . . .” It is my confidant himself. Not that I should say so if I wish to keep the peace. “He is an asset, Techton. A skilled fighter and a knowledgeable source. And . . .”
“And?”
“If Bexwin awoke from this curse, then there is a chance for Awyer to awaken as well. Feligo was the only one who had considerable interaction with the Count. If something valuable comes to the Maestro’s memory regarding the Count’s skillset, then I wish to be near to hear it.”
“Makes sense. So, where to from here?”
I answer him nothing. There is a good chance that we will part ways soon, and when that happens, he cannot know where to find us. I am certain he already knows so deep down, for a speck enters the bottom corner of his eye. A sad speck of parting that is quickly lost to the darkness.
I ask, “Before we go to wherever we will go, will you continue to work on it – on a way for me to communicate with the others?”
He nods and scratches his chin with his thumb. Leaned along the side of Sistel 48, he gazes into the city whose many domes reflect the sinking golden sun. I watch him as he watches it, unspeaking. Eventually, his hand moves from his chin to his ear, where he takes up fiddling with his large earring.
“If you remove that plug, will there be a hole in your ear?” I ask.
Not moving his eyes from the sun, he answers, “Do you want to see?”
Not particularly.
The city is silent. Even the wind makes quiet its howl. All around there are fallen sorcerers held within shining domes that are not theirs. Only the mythics walk. Some born as such, others forced.
In the stillness of fading day, I again study my confidant. There is a softness to him at the moment, mimicking the kindness he used to hold, but it is shallow. Void has taken that space, pushed out the good and replaced it with hunger. When I suggested he drink Void, never did I expect it would take him over so quickly. Perhaps Pedj’s secret is to blame. Perhaps its power kick-started the process. Or perhaps that has nothing to do with it. After all, Hamira and Gorma never suffered the burden of addiction before becoming witch. Maybe Techton’s upbringing is to blame.
“Heed this, Azurian. Some are born with hungry veins. Some are born to crave mastery over magic. When allowed to run their own course, taking things in stride, they may turn out favorably. However, when one chosen for greatness is forced to indulge before gaining control of his or her body and mind, greatness may suffer into failure. The fault is not yours that you cannot control it. The fault is mine, and Mael’s, and those responsible for your upbringing.”
“At least you didn’t try blaming it on fate,” Techton says, tiredly. “Like I told you before, I don’t believe in that stuff.”
“I wish I could declare the same. I am at war with fate. Destiny is what got us into this mess. It is what separated me from my pactor.”
“I thought defying destiny is that put him under?”
“True, but either way, we were not meant to last. And for that, I shun fate.”
Techton is silent a moment. Then he chuckles. “Since we’ve resorted to shunning fate, do you think there’s a way to change mine?”
“Your fate?” I touch my neck in remembrance of his transgression. There is no stopping a drive so powerful. “I have thought on it long and hard, and unless this world is somehow rid of Void and Gold completely, you will remain as you are until death.”
“Until death, huh?”
By Thyst. We are bound. Until death.
When Awyer awakens, we will speak those words to each other each night before dusk and each morning before dawn. In the darkness, we will whisper.
Techton slaps his thigh. “Don’t worry, Grim. He’s the hero, remember? He’ll make it through this. It’s us villains I’d be worried about.”
“A hero, is he? Since when? Never did he wish to save anyone.” I think on Awyer’s reluctance, concluding, “If he is a hero, he is an unwilling hero. Is that not an oxymoron?”
Techton releases a second chuckle. “When you put it that way, maybe he’s a villain, too, for bringing about the end the world, and maybe that makes you the hero, Mistress.”
“Me?! I do not wish to save anyone either. I only wish to be reunited with him.”
“But you’d save me, if you could, right? And them, in there.”
“Well . . .” I am unsure of how to answer. I was once willing to let all of Eldrade fall in order to advance Awyer’s destiny. He comes first, true, but what would I do to protect the others? Would I so easily let them fall for the sake of convenience? I do care what happens to them, and for that, my compromising feelings span wider then I ever thought they would.
“Heloõs brolee, aquis brolee. Do you get it now?” Techton says quietly into the sun.
“Are you saying that we are like brothers now?”
“Sister’s more of what I had in mind, but yup.” He tips his face toward mine, and upon it is a small, sorrowful grin. When the grin has passed, he closes his eyes and inhales a hearty helping of air and relaxes. “It’s better like this. I can’t smell you anymore. Now, I just smell . . .” Swallowing, he looks to the door of the sistel.
“She is not safe,” I tell him earnestly. “And she will not cooperate when . . .”
When it is time.
“I’ll make it easier for her,” Techton says, strained. “I’ll let it all out.”
I nod, even though it is unpleasant to picture.
From there, we sit in silence as Techton attempts to forget Mael’s tantalizing scent that wafts beneath the sistel’s door. During his attempts, I make strides to distract him, as it is the only thing I can do to aid in his fight.
“While we have a moment, my confidant, will you tell me what Pedj’s secret entails? I have managed to deduce that it involves his denial of Gold, although I cannot imagine why he would resist so strongly–”
“DON’T!” My distraction backfires. Techton’s gaze at the door turns from longing to lustful. A new twitch in his face shows deeper signs of unhealthy desire. The darkness swells. Even so, he fights to peel his eyes away. Yanking. Wrenching. And when he has at last landed them again upon the city, he swallows a second time. “Just don’t, Grim. Don’t bring it up, or I’ll lose it.”
Lose it? It is a little late for that; his breathing pattern is far from even and the twitch in his face remains.
An ex-zombie’s secret is a dangerous secret to keep, indeed.
“Contain yourself, witch,” I speak compensatingly calmly. “You cannot ‘let it all out’ at this time. There are things yet to be accomplished. The weak ones need a night of rest before setting out, supplies must be gathered, plans must be finalized, and you must find a way for me to communicate with the others. If you begin to feel it, concentrate on that.”
Giving a nod, Techton swipes his hand through the air. “I’ll do my best, Mistress, but no prom
ises. We’ll see what they have to say.”
“Be careful.”
Taking flight, I leave him because I cannot bear to be long in his hunger’s presence. Guilt is perhaps the least desirable of the human emotions I have begun to feel. A skim around the exterior of the sistel follows, during which I feel my pull against my sphinx tighten and lapse. I eagerly await the moment Mael’s creatures will bring him from that Gold-infested place. Mayhap then we can find a dome to rest within free of Gold. Mayhap then Feligo, Pedj and I can steal away from the witch and his lady, in hopes of laying a new course.
One ally gained. One soon to be lost.
I lament that truth long after the others emerge from Sistel 48 and move to a new dome, one free of Gold but stocked with sleeping Azurians. Children, women, and men, all left defenseless like my pactor; all halted mid-life. Long after the others are fed and cleaned, I lament the looming truth of what will soon happen. Techton keeps his distance from Mael and her sultry nature, and instead continues to communicate with the dark beings at his beck and call long into the night. Over a fire built by hand, he mutters and spits. Feligo and Pedj whisper plots in an adjoining room – plots that I cannot fully participate in, though I attempt to contribute by marking their maps with the places upon the land that might hold clues to righting the world. For the most part, my messages are distorted, and I eventually give up. I will simply have to hold out until Techton finishes his task.
Once given a taste of being heard and seen by all, it is hard to revert to invisible.
Beside a sulking necromancer and her fallen bone pile, I pine for my sleeping sphinx, whose skin is cooler than it should be and whose eyes refuse to open. I will that he would awaken and make me real; and as my growing hair turns to deepest black, I almost feel the fire’s warmth flickering against my silver cheeks.
Chapter VII: Pactor
“My faerie?”
Overhead, the sky changes from day to night to day. In rolling waves, the stars and clouds pass. Alone, I stand atop a tall timber, overlooking the rolling hills and forests and mountlands surrounding Eldrade. The wind encompasses me, fiercer than I have ever known; realer than I have ever known.
