by Brindi Quinn
“Grim,” he says when he pulls away. “Be quiet. I have seen it. Do not waste time this time. I will show you.”
And with me in his arms, he begins to run. Dashing, sprinting, flying, his feet barely make contact with the meshy ground. To the pool he runs, and when his feet touch it, the world transforms. No longer does the water remain. It is dry. The pool gives way to a dried basin of earth where water once settled. Bones and shells and rocks rest, lodged in the floor of the basin. It is here that I see myself. Another me, doubled over, as a fight carries on.
Feligo and Techton battle, shooting opposing colors at one another, while Mael stands over fallen Pedj, reciting lines I cannot hear. The other me cradles her stomach while Bexwin stands at the ready, ball of Gold in one hand, whip of Void in the other. From the other me’s mouth, blackness trickles. Ark is about to emerge.
“Is this happening now?!” I cry.
“Soon.” Running past the scene, Awyer heads for the cliffy side of the island, gives a great leap, and goes springing over the edge with me in his arms.
As we fall, he speaks rapidly.
“This is Time. We are moving through it. You took them to that place. THAT was the place I saw. Well done, my mistress. That is where the prophecy happens. I will wake soon. We will finish it then.”
“Finish what? If color is removed, will you still see me?”
“Yes. I will show you.”
We land near the sea.
A vast sea.
In the far east, there is a sea like this. The only one in the Vessel so vast. A place where few inhabit for fear of what lies across the water. None have traveled it and returned.
“A bad omen marks this place,” I tell my pactor. “Why are we here?”
“This is Time,” Awyer says again. “After you bring them to that place, this will happen.” He sets me down on the sand, and I am startled to feel my feet dig in. Cool. Grainy. The last time I came to the seaside, many, many years ago, my feet did not touch.
The salt of the air meets my tongue. The sun of the sky heats my back. The wind off the shore billows my hair. And inside of me something moves.
My knees buckle because I do not understand. I bring a hand to my stomach and it does not feel right. “My pactor! What does it mean?”
Awyer takes my hand in his. “I am not your pactor. Not here. Not now.”
The cruelest of words, words I never thought I would hear him utter, cut me.
“You are not my pactor?” I ask, voice caught.
Eyes uncompromisingly on mine, he shakes his head once.
“Then what are you!?” I gasp.
“Something better.”
“Better?”
“Mm.” He runs his thumb across my brow and tucks my hair behind my ear.
The air is cold and meets my skin in a new way. “And . . .” I am afraid to ask. “What am I?”
He does not answer. His eyes smile, though his mouth does not. And then I notice something. Awyer is older. His eyes show knowledge they do not normally show. His mouth and chin are sterner. His frame is taller, his shoulders broader.
I raise a hand to my own face and feel my skin beneath my fingertips. Where it was once smooth and without flaw, there are small, subtle markings. Most noticeable are the corners of my eyes.
“I am older too! Our pact was extended!”
But to this, Awyer shakes his head. “Grim,” he says, taking my cheeks. “Close your eyes.”
I obey because the ancient charm of his stare will not allow me to do otherwise. I close them and wait. “What do you–”
I feel it. The air, though chill, is empty. My veins, though warm, are empty. By this sea, there are no magicks.
“Color is gone,” Awyer says.
“Even without color our pact extended?” I place a hand again to my stomach, for it does not feel right.
Awyer laughs a rare laugh. “You do not get it.”
“Then why do you not tell me? Why must you speak in riddles in this place?! I know it is in your nature, but you choose only to riddle when it is most inconvenient! Answer me plainly! How do we pact without enchants?! Must the zombie die to wake you?”
“How do you know that you will disappear without a ward? Is ‘weak’ the same as ‘fade’?”
“I do not know!” I pound my fists against his chest because he is frustrating. Then I bury my face in his shirt to keep from crying.
“Grim.” Awyer’s voice is inside of my ear, crisper than ever. “YOU are doing this. You are getting in the way. I want to answer you. Listen to what I am really saying.”
“I am getting in the way?” I peek up at him from his shirt. “Alike before when I . . . made us . . .” I am too embarrassed to finish. “When I was dreaming?” I say instead.
“Yes.” He takes my shoulders. “Every time I start to tell you, you alter it. . . .” Peering into mine, his eyes slit suspiciously. “Hm.”
“Hm, what?”
“It is not you. It is something IN you.”
A thing IN me obstructing me from learning the truth? I shiver, for I know what that thing is. “As I told you before, Ark may be using me as a vessel at this very moment!”
From a distant part of me, I feel myself begin to heave. It is not this me; it is the other me. Elsewhere, my body is coughing. The sound cuts across the sky of Dimensia like thunder.
ECK! ECK! ECK!
“It is happening.” Awyer turns his eyes to the heavens. “You have to go.”
“But wait!”
“I will see you soon.” He presses a hand to my chest and with nothing more than his will, I am shot backward through Time.
“I am afraid!” I call after him.
“Let it happen, Grim.” His voice lingers, echoing, as I rise upward to the dried up pool. “Someone will not make it, and you cannot stop it.”
“Eck! Eck! Eck!” I awake in time to see the tail of smoke leaving my mouth.
Chapter XVII: Draggar
I am doubled over. The pool is dried. My nails dig into the earth.
The world is in chaos.
Mael stands over her cousin, hands around a ball of brilliant light suspended above his stomach. Glowing with foretold power, the ball hovers, drowning Mael and Pedj in light. A miniature sun, brimming with energy, it all but blinds them from view.
“Step aside, man! Let me reason with the mancer!”
Feligo attempts to approach her, but Techton, no longer leashed with Gold, stands between fox and lady, casting incants to keep the Maestro at bay.
“Stop that, scoundrel!” Feligo shouts whilst rolling out of the way of a mass of Void. “Hear me out! I have an idea!”
Techton is much deeper swallowed by Void than the last time we saw him. The way he moves is unnatural, darting here and there like a true witch. His incantations are cast inconceivably fast! Even the twin witches, collectors of uncountable secrets, require time to incant!
He answers Feligo by summoning a whip of Void in each hand and lashing them crisscross – an attempt to catch the nimble fox.
“Stop that!” Feligo spins, sword erect, to cut both leashes in the center. “Listen! Why not try using the boy’s newfound power alone to wake the people?
Techton growls a response nearly indiscernible that goes something like, “Lady’s got it covered!”
“Cad! You’re missing the point!” Feligo shouts. “Anything we can do to keep from raising the draggar is a good idea in my book! You must have noticed the way its name pricks the skin! How can waking something like that be a wise choice?!”
“Lady will be its master!” Techton snarls in reply. “She’s the hero; not you, playboy!”
“If you insist,” Feligo says, mid-lunge, “then hear this: I want to wake my people as much as anyone, but what about the Bloődite boy? Can you really stand by while an innocent is slaughtered? It’s barbaric!”
“Heh.” Techton releases one of his rasping chuckles. “That’s a laugh, coming from you.”
Once, Tec
hton would have been right to question it, given Feligo’s history, but we have long since come to know the Maestro as an honorable man. Techton seeks only to rile him. Rile, he does.
“My transgressions are my own! And I WILL atone for them!” Feligo holds his blade vertically and uses it as a bow to shoot arrows of Gold. “Any who stand in my way shall be slain!”
“Shut up!” Techton spits, as spitefully as ever. “Stay out of it and let her do her job!” He slings a web of Void dangerously close to the Maestro’s side.
“Feligo, watch out!” I cry.
My voice rings true throughout the enchanted space.
“Fae!” Feligo stops mid-slash to acknowledge it, before dodging another attack.
“He can hear me?” I dig my hands deeper into the dirt. “I am visible?!”
“Dear me, you are now, aren’t you?” Bexwin speaks from my side, making me jump.
I did not notice him before! Yonder, the Count stands, both Gold and Void prepped, eyeing the trail of smoke that has just left my mouth. “Why, I imagine that’s probably because we’re hiding in a pocket of Gold. Nice of you to bring my brother along, by the way. That doesn’t complicate matters at all.”
That is right!
While I walked with Awyer in Dimensia, Ark possessed my body. Foolishly, I allowed him to enter me! I make haste to cough out whatever darkness might be lingering in me, but there is none. I inspect the tip of my hair and it is reverted to afternoon’s graying white.
Ark’s use of me is through. Before me, the trail of smoke begins to form itself, condensing into shape.
I catch my bearings as best I can, while I can.
Within this pocket of Gold, the water of the falls does not exist. I exist, though. The ground is solid beneath my feet. Mael has drawn Pedj’s sun power from him and is currently holding it whilst attempting to summon some great beast. Feligo wishes to speak to her, but Techton guards her while she casts her spell. Count Bexwin, foe-turned-friend-turned-foe, waits for his brother to appear so that he may defeat him. And my pactor . . .
My pactor is . . . . . .!?
“Awyer?!”
A quiet panic enters me as I realize that my pactor is not within the dried basin with me and the rest. He was left behind?! Of course he was! Ark would not bother to carry him with!
With little else to turn to, I concentrate on the pull of our bond. Faintly, I feel the Gold through the tattoo on his shoulder. Day by day, it seems to weaken. I feel the direction it leads. It is not tight; it is quite lax. He is close.
There.
He is over there, lying in the mesh, yet outside the pocket of Gold. He is here and he is not here, just as I am here and not here. I see him, vaguely, through the fold. And there are others. In the same way I focused my mind’s eye to see beyond the barrier of Eldrade, I focus beyond this pocket of Gold. Ark’s agents yet line the sky, waiting for command from their master, and there are more. Dozens of people . . . hundreds of people have begun to fill the island. From all corners of Yel’ram they come, crossing into the central falls along every connected bridge. I press my sight further. I enchant my eyes to see the crowd and their manner.
The Yel’ram Truth.
The Yel’ram Eight.
The keepers of the secret approach, having witnessed the falls fall under foreign sun, to see their ‘divination’ come to life.
A small group trots faster than the rest, sights set on my pactor. I ready enchants to spell them away until I see that Sanjuel is among them. So, too, is Armani. Upon nearing, the small girl crouches and gives Awyer a poke in his cheek. Sanjuel squints at the pool, in an attempt to see that which is hidden by Gold. Until I sense aggression from them, I will not attack.
Be safe, Awyer. There are things I must do, and posthaste!
“Bexwin.” I turn to the Count, whose Gold-lit hand is outstretched at the forming smoke, attempting to suppress Ark from materializing.
“Little busy here,” he hisses. A small vein at the side of his forehead bulges. He is under great duress!
“Please help us save Pedj.”
“Sure, I’ll get right on that as soon as I fight Arkraine. You could help me, you know, as you aren’t doing anything useful right now.”
“Help you? Why would I help you?!”
“Taking Ark’s side, then? Bad move.”
“No, I do not choose his side either! True, I am fearful of the draggar,” – I shiver at its name – “and I do not think it wise to awaken something we know nothing about, BUT I DO want to see the world awaken. It is most important to me that my pactor awakens from this curse!”
“So you will help me,” says Bexwin, hands aglow.
No. I do not choose Ark’s side and I do not choose Bexwin’s side.
Whose, then, do I choose?
I look again to my resting pactor. The answer is clear. I choose his, now and forever.
I will see you soon.
Yes, I will see him soon, but at this moment, at least, he would want me to save his friend. Our friend.
Making sure first that Bexwin and Techton are both distracted, I pull myself to my feet. Wobbly, they betray me. Traitorous things. If even a child can learn to walk with ease, so too, can I, and so I try again. My intent is to sneak to Mael while Feligo distracts Techton; however, after only a few steps I realize that I will not be able to get to her in any deft manner. Change of plans.
“I am sorry, Techton,” I whisper as, pulling from my sphinx’s shared Gold, I shoot a triad of enchants at the witch.
Yes, I will serve as distraction so that lithe Feligo can reach Mael better.
“Mistress,” Techton’s sunken eyes turn to me. “What are you doing?”
“I am stopping you!”
“I understand why he would – never liked him – but you, Grim, you only want to see your beau awake.”
Drat. He yet focuses his attacks on Feligo, paying no mind to mine. With ease he flicks them away with the turn of his hand. Meanwhile, Feligo struggles to remove a tacky spot of Void caught in his hair and quickly spreading.
I barrage Techton with a flurry of Gold so that at least he will be forced to focus on defense. For at least a moment he lets up his pursuit of Feligo while countering the onslaught of Gold.
“You are not well, my confidant!” I shout through the haze of enchants. “Have you not given thought to the dangerous nature of the creature Mael rises? What is more, have you forgotten that we have traveled at the zombie’s side for many, many days? I was the one that suggested you drink of Void, and for that I am sorry, but I cannot allow you to jeopardize my pact with Awyer any longer! We do not know what the UNSPOKEN draggar will do! As you have seen, it is dangerous to meddle with creatures born of Void! Furthermore, I cannot allow you to sacrifice our friend. I have seen the future and it is good, and I believe that we can work to find another way!”
“This IS the only way! She’s resolved, okay? And I have too!”
Let it happen, Grim. Someone will not make it, and you cannot stop it.
Why, Awyer? I have witnessed your merit. I have seen you stand in danger’s way to save these people. How are you able to let one of them perish now?
With a snarl, Techton throws a particularly vengeful ball of smoke. I cannot dodge. It surrounds me, takes on new form, and binds my hands over my head. Feligo, caught by the Void stuck in his hair soon falls under the same fate. He is disarmed. He is bound.
“NO!” I cry.
But my cry is drowned by another’s.
“Oh, piss!”
From behind, Bexwin swears. Although he presses Gold into Ark’s forming figure, it seems it is not enough. The gray man gains sudden strength and emits a blast that sends Bexwin flying to the barren ground.
Thud!
The elder skids to a stop in the sand. Techton, understanding that a common enemy has arisen, ceases his pursuit of Feligo and sets his glower upon Ark – not that his dark magicks will do any good against another man of Void.
Ark’
s garment takes shape. Starting at the bottom, sleek dark fabric winds around smoke, moving upward until Ark’s bottom half is made physical.
My chest pulses at the sight of him.
He will stop Mael.
He will stop the draggar from rising.
But what will he do in the process? Who will he sacrifice to combat Pedj’s sun-power? All those soldiers at the Gloerland altar . . . Ark sacrificed them to gain their power because his mission took precedence.
There is nothing to stop him from doing so again.
As the voided man’s right hand spins into existence, it holds a familiar weapon, and with it comes a familiar stench. Putrid. Rancid. Curdling.
The hair of the hellbeast!
“Arkraine!” Supported by one elbow, Bexwin casts a measly ring of Gold at his brother, but it does not reach the gray man. The Gold fizzles, caught in the aura of darkness around Ark’s person.
Paying no mind to me or to the rest, Ark’s focusless eyes drift toward Mael. She and Pedj are now completely swallowed by the hovered light. And the light?
It has grown sizably. It blinds to look at. It stings to see.
Outside, the necromancers gather in expectation, showing no fear of the UNSPOKEN resting in the abyss below. Mayhap they are grateful to it for its refuge, but if I have learned anything, it is that those offering refuge often seek something in return.
There was a time when I, too, trusted a creature of darkness. Hamira did not so easily let me leave her refuge.
The gray man glides the floor with resolve, and Techton, anticipating that his enchants will not work against another man of darkness, walks backward, hands tepidly at his sides, until he is butted up against the amassing of sun’s light. Ark sends at him a precursor shot. A single ball of Void. But rather than jump out of the way, Techton places himself directly in the line of fire. The ball changes course and goes zipping to the side.
