by Brindi Quinn
I am alive.
“My faerie?”
To the north, Ensecré peaks; to the west, the Golden Lands glimmer; in the east, a sea surges; and to the south, I see a battle. Bloőd and Azure clash.
“My faerie?”
A voice has been calling me, distantly. Nearer it comes with each new call, until it is right against my ear.
“Grim,” it says with perturbation, “move.”
Suddenly, I experience the warmth of a body behind me. Hands move into place upon my shoulders. A mouth pushes against my hair.
“My ward. No, my pactor.” I am afraid to turn around. Afraid that when I do, I will be thrust back into a world where only the mythics walk.
“Grim. Do you hear me now?” he says.
“I do hear you, my pactor.” I turn my eyes to the rushing sky. “Where are we?”
“The realm of sleep and death, Dimensia.”
“Of both sleep and death?” I ask.
“When we sleep, we slip into death. That way, when we die we are not sorry. Dying is familiar. Like YOU are familiar.”
“I am like dying?” I can no longer help myself. In a tizzy, I spin to face him. At last to face him. The shadows pass across his face as day and night rush overhead. The winds of the wild push his hair, dark as untilled under-earth, to and fro. His eyes, dark-lined and tilted and more like an animal than any person’s, shine golden with guile.
“Awyer?” My body shakes because it does not accept the image before it. My skin pricks because it excites over the shock. My heart races because I have desired to see his eyes more than anything.
The sphinx answers me with a smile, small and covering only half of his mouth. “Your hair is longer, Grim.”
I play unaware. “Oh? I-is it really?”
He leans forward and takes a lock of it between his fingers, and I see that it is changing with the sky, from purest white to deepest black. Catching my eye, he whispers, “I like it that way, though. It suits you.”
I am fearful of reaching for him in the way he has reached for me. I fear the rejection of passing through him. Awyer detects the trouble of my thoughts. He sees it and he banishes it away with one swift swipe, in which he takes my hand and presses it to his cheek. Warm and soft and solid, his cheek welcomes me without enchants. It is too much. And yet I crave more. Indulgent, I trace the lines of his jaw with my index finger, from chin to ear, down to his neck that is warm, even within the fight of the wind.
“I have something to tell you,” I struggle to say, though my throat closes with emotion. Surrounded by rushing time and unreal space, I will tell him the words he needs to hear. I will tell him that, “I lo–”
Shaking his head, the deliverer puts a finger to my mouth. “Not until you wake me,” he says. “That is our reward.”
Heart stopped, I will that I would maintain composure. I should not say it until I wake him? Ah, yes. He yet rests, and if we are speaking, it means I, too, am asleep. The realm of sleep and death. The realm of Gold, as Feligo called it. When I leave this place, will my feet again be stained golden?
The wind toys with the bottom of Awyer’s tunic. It flutters against his body, light and listless.
Ache!
The aching that I have felt in the weeks since his slumber intensifies in his presence. “You are yet asleep,” I say.
“I am.”
“And I, too?”
“You are.”
As I feared. My chin falls to my chest, for my eyes are too heavy. It is not meant to be this way! It is all, all wrong! If we are speaking it should be because we are awake and free of this curse we caused! Because of nonmaterial things like destiny and honor and debt, we have come to be this way! I –
I am pulled against a chest. Strong, lean arms are wrapped around me, and a kiss is placed upon my forehead. The chest has a slower-than-average heartbeat, nearly too dim to be detected. The dim heart of a curse. Mine, by contrast, races. Stomach dropped, veins livened, Awyer’s embrace thrills me. I clutch him in return, and press myself to him, attempting to melt into one with his body. The muscles and bones of his back taunt from beneath his shirt. The scent of him, youthful and rugged, charges the air.
“Do not be sad,” he orders, alike a king. “We will be together again. I will do whatever it takes. I denied my ancestors so that we would have this chance. Do not let the others waste it. Lead them. I will help.”
“How?” I whisper into the collar of his shirt. “Do you know what transpires in the land of waking?”
“I gather what I can from here,” he says. “And . . .”
But if he wishes to speak further, he is cut off by my eagerness.
“That reminds me! Do you recall Feligo, whom we encountered at the Rusticlands?”
“Mm.”
“We are now traveling with him.”
Awyer’s manner falls into one resembling Techton’s whenever the silverfox comes into question. “Him?” he says with loathing.
“Yes. And do not give me that tone. He has proven himself an asset. He even discovered that Ark may have been watching us through your sleeping body! And he disposed of the threat! Do you know anything about that?”
“Ark?” Becoming rigid, Awyer releases me, holding me instead at arm’s length. “Grim, this is important. That stone went dull when we entered the Gloerlands. I . . . had it relit for you. Does it work again?”
“The everglowing crystal?”
Eyes sternly on mine, Awyer nods.
“It works, but what shall I do with it?” I say, breathless under the intensity of his golden stare.
“In the dark parts of Dimensia, there are spirits that can communicate with the awake. They say someone near you has power over the dark. Give the crystal to him.”
Someone near to me that has control of the dark? Techton, of course. Then that means the dark beings at his beck and call hail from the land of sleep and death. Very well. But from the sound of it, Awyer does not yet know of Techton’s transformation into witch. If I tell him now, he will suffer. His fondness for the others far exceeds my own.
“I will give it to him,” I say. “But what do you mean you had it relit? And why have you dodged my question about Ark?”
Awyer looks away with guilt. “I made a deal. There was no helping it. You needed it lit.”
“A deal?” I say. “Not that I am displeased over your usage of craft, but if it has something to do with Ark–”
“I did not know it would be him. I only granted them brief usage of my body.”
His body!
“My pactor! That is highly irresponsible!”
“Shhh.” Again Awyer places a finger to my mouth. “You said that maestro got rid of him. All that matters now is that you have the lit stone. There is more I need to tell you before you go. Do not waste it by yelling at me.”
With a sigh, I nod. I am in no position to argue.
As he removes his finger from my lips, Awyer smiles. “I have missed you, . . . my mistress.”
My stomach writhes. “Do not call me that. It makes my pulse speed.”
His smile turns sly. “I am aware.”
Under the influence of hottened cheeks, I fold my arms against myself. “What more have you to tell me?”
But just as I ask, something changes. The rapidly turning sky becomes still, stuck somewhere between twilight and midnight. The timber holding us begins to sink. Before I can understand what is happening, Awyer jumps at me, and takes embrace of me once more. “Not yet,” he tells my hair.
‘Not yet?’ But though, I try to speak it, my voice does not come.
“Do not leave me yet,” he says. “Argh! I thought we would have more time! There is stuff I need to tell you!”
His embrace on me shifts from sturdy to gelatinous, and I understand: I am waking.
No! I do not wish to awaken yet! I do not have vast experience with dreams, but I thought they were longer than just a passing of minutes!
With new rapidness, my pactor begins
to ramble into my ear, all the while holding me as close to his chest as possible. “Grim, do not forget: Give the lit stone to the dark one. And remember what I asked you before: How do you KNOW you will fade if you are unpacted? To understand Ark, understand his agents. Also, there is a place I have never gone to. THAT is where you need to go. I do not know if THEY know about it or not, but you have to bring them there, all right? Can you do that?”
‘What? Who and where? You are being vague!’ I wish to scold him for speaking with haste and ambiguity, but those words will not come. My voice is lost to waking. But there is something I MUST know before I return to reality. Something imperative if I hope to continue. And so, with all of the power within me, I will that my words would sleep.
“Is there a way to wake you?” I manage, weakly.
Awyer’s voice is only an echo in my head. “Yes.”
“How!?”
“I do not know, but there IS a way. I heard . . .”
‘What did you hear!? What?!’
His face no longer exists in my mind. I no longer exist in that plane. I know that I am only lying in a hover beside a pile of bones, eyes pressed and clinging to the remnants of dream. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. I will myself to return to that place and connect with him, and as the last bits of drowsiness leave me, I hear him speak one last thing:
“The prophecy.”
“The prophecy?”
I blink away the last bits of dream and am welcomed to the world of the living by the face of a witch. “You okay, Grim?” Heavy-eyed, Techton stands over me, staring downward with an expression of curiosity. “You were tossing, so . . .”
“The prophecy!” I say again, bolting up.
“Prophecy?” His jaw sets with a jerk. “Where did you hear about a prophecy?” For some reason, his question is graver than it ought to be, but I cannot concern over that right now. I must make haste to repeat the details of the dream, lest I forget something of import!
“Ah! Call for Pedj!” I issue. “He holds the everglowing crystal! We must recover it from him! Awyer told me that I should give it to you! I suspect it will aid us greatly in our quest!”
Techton rubs his eyes with the backside of his hand. “So I gather you had another dream?”
“It was not a mere dream!” I say with gusto. “It was as Feligo said! I entered Dimensia, the realm of sleep and death, and there I saw him, and touched him, and spoke with him.” With fondness, I look to the sleeping sphinx beside me whose skin has reverted to cold and whose eyes have yet to give so much as a flutter.
“Well, that’s good news,” Techton says with something of a strained smile; then he lowers his voice. “But what were you saying about a prophecy?”
“Never mind that! I shall find out more next time! What is important at present is getting the crystal into your hands. Please, Techton, fetch Pedj!”
“Right now?”
“At once!”
“Even though he’s sleeping?”
I do a scan of the room. Light from the fireplace serves as the chamber’s only illumination. Its shadows pattern the wall with nonsense. “It is not morning?” I ask.
“Not yet.”
“Then why are you not asleep?”
“You gave me a job, remember?” He runs his fingers through the air to prove his point.
True. But I did not expect him to work through the night. No matter. “It is important enough that you should wake the zombie,” I say.
The cousins, as it turns out, have chosen to sleep in an adjoining room, safely away from the hungry Azurian. Feligo, on the other hand, rests on a couch opposite the fire, presumably to keep watch over said hungry Azurian. Aye, his breathing is not heavy enough to be truly asleep. Awyer remains where Mael left him. Jumbled over the fallen bones of his carriers. I sit at his side with renewed faith. He and I spoke. Even if not in this realm, our words and touch exchanged.
Words and touch.
Touch.
Why did I not think to do more when I had the chance?! Why did I not caress him and throw upon him my affections. Why . . .? Thoughtfully, I bring my fingertips to my lips and am overcome by a tremble. When I remember what it is like to stare at him, inches away, I realize why I did not act with boldness. Even now, I am embarrassed by the notion. Even now, my neck grows hot.
A few fleeting moments with my sphinx is all it takes to make me feel human.
“What?! What prophecy?!” Before I can finish that thought, Pedj comes running from the side room in a fluster. Techton is closely in tow.
“Be quiet, now, or you’ll say something you regret,” the Azurian warns. “Am I right?”
“But–!”
Techton shakes his head. In response, Pedj closes his mouth, but eyes my distorted shadow with discomfort. When I inquire as to why the ex-zombie is so ruffled, Techton refuses to say anything more than, “He’s a little grumpy, I guess.”
But that is not it. Both reacted to ‘prophecy’ with peculiarity. I cannot dwell on it now. Via my confidant, I instruct Pedj to bequeath the crystal unto Techton, before escaping them to consider the other things my pactor spoke to me.
I float to one of the beams crossing the ceiling, and there I will remain until the first moments of dawn.
How do I know I will cease to exist without a pactor? To understand Ark, I must first understand his agents. Agents like Chast. In addition, there is a place Awyer has never been to. I must take ‘them’ to ‘that place’, whether ‘they’ know it or not. And lastly, Awyer knows there is a way to awaken him because of a prophecy he heard. The same prophecy that seems to make Techton and Pedj distressed.
Both Techton and Pedj? Something they know that the rest of us do not?
. . . The secret?
THE secret! Might the prophecy have something to do with the secret Pedj spoke to both the witches of Ensecré, as well as to Techton!? And whatever it is, it has to do with Pedj’s unwillingness to use Gold. I will drill Techton, and if that does not work, I will wait until I am again heard and seen by all, and I will force Pedj into confession. Weaker than the rest, he should be easy enough to break.
As I think through the things spoken to me by my pactor, I keep watch over my confidant as he mumbles and whispers at the fire. Crystal glowing brightly from his palm, he draws his free hand through the air in conjure of the dark beings who will aid him. And when it appears at last that he will give up, when the first light of dawn streams through the bladed windows, I offer him my support:
“I will tell you a secret, Techton, if it will help.”
He looks to my perch. “If it involves your Amethyst boy, I already know it.”
My chagrin flares. “Not that secret! Another one, from a distant life. It is something I have not even told my pactor. Surely it is powerful enough to charge you in place of the sleep you lack.”
Letting out a wide yawn, he shrugs. “Why not?” he says amidst a second yawn.
“Here I come!” Leaping from the catwalk, I dive to where he stands. He holds out his arms to catch me, but I fall right through them and begin to circle him.
“You’re an energetic little thing tonight, aren’t you?”
That is because my heart is newly restored.
“If I tell you this secret, you must promise never to speak it to another,” I warn.
“Well, duh. That’s what makes it a secret.”
“Very well. Here goes nothing.” Forcing bravery into myself, I halt my spin, position my mouth before Techton’s ear and whisper a thing almost as forbidden as my love for Awyer:
“I once killed one of my wards.”
The secret lights green in the air as it passes from my mouth, until it is swallowed by the witch’s ear. Upon receiving it, Techton’s drooped frame straightens. His tired lids rise. He rolls his head and cracks his neck, and when he turns to look at me, his eyes sear with green light.
“Is that so?” he says. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s highly frowned upon. Would you like to explain yourself?”
“Okay, then. However naughty you are, at least it did the trick.” He flexes his hands. “Let me get back at it and see if I can’t do something with the secret you so graciously donated–” Just then, a thought strikes him. I see it as it crosses his stare, strong as a torrent. While the thought is still within his grasp, he touches his ear, looks to the crystal, and whispers, “Transference.”
Chapter VIII: Gray
Pedj holds the darkened crystal to the midmorning sun. “What the crank am I supposed to do with this?”
“Swallow it,” says Techton.
“What?” I protest. “Do not allow him to do that! It is the only one we have. What if I need to speak to someone else?”
“SURE, then,” Techton says. “Apparently, Grim doesn’t want you to swallow it. I don’t know how much good it’ll do, but try putting it in your mouth instead.”
No longer holding its glow, the crystal has become whispered with Void transferred from Techton’s breath. The only way to see and hear things unseen is by ingesting Void, and consequently, turning into a witch like Techton. But what if the Void is separated from the body, contained within a stone capable of protecting magicks? An everglowing crystal is capable of emitting eternal light. If Techton’s theory is correct, it may also be capable of emitting eternal Void.
Pedj holds the thing before his face and frowns. “Don’t think I could swallow somethin’ this size anyhoop.”
With an air of anxiousness, Techton looks to the door of towering Sistel 6, ‘the archives’, where his lady pours over texts with a handsome stranger. “Just put it in your mouth, would you?” he growls.
“Oka, oka. Geesh. Got on pushy.” First polishing the black stone against his shirt, Pedj pops it into his mouth and closes his eyes.
