NeverSleep

by Brindi Quinn

  “Yes,” I say. “It would appear they are attacking the mountain. Or rather, it would appear that they are attacking those residing in the dark crooks of this wretched place.”

  “Those old witches?” says Pedj. “But why?”

  I’ve gathered what I can of your situation. Arkraine heard about your prophecy from the twin witches of Secret Mountain. He’s been in contact with them for decades, trading secrets and conjurings.

  “According to the Count, they are allies of Ark. What is more, they would no sooner wish to see the world rid of magicks than Ark himself. Without magicks, they too will die.”

  The ex-zombie studies the wide expanse of dead objects separating us from the others. The last time we were here Awyer enchanted a craft to carry us across using his insurmountable Amethyst. Without that power, we will have a much harder time of crossing. Pedj sees it too.

  “If Mael left us that paff, why the heck’d she plop us way out here?” he asks.

  Indeed, the action occurs at the peak of the mount. If Mael foresaw this battle, her aim may have been to keep her cousin safe. She wants to keep us near, for whatever is to happen, but away from danger?

  “Sister.”

  Before I may express the theory, a voice that is neither male nor female sounds from behind us.

  I know that voice well enough to know that I should not dally. With agile kinesis, I spin, and as I do, I release a precursory ball of Gold.

  The agent with the strange hair dodges it by dipping to the side and firing a retaliating blast of her own. I zip away from the bomb, but even as it hurtles into the distance, a cloud of darkened smoke lingers in its wake. Only once that clears do I see the truth of what waits at our backs.

  I was wrong to attack.

  We are far, far outnumbered.

  The lead agent is backed by a horde of other agents, and this time, they do not wait properly in line. With angst, they fidget and bob and bare their teeth. A conglomerate of lovely, floating silver women peppers the sky with foreboding. Judging by their squirmery, they, too, are aware of how close we are to the end.

  “Uhh, Gwim?” Pedj butts up against the side of Awyer. “Ain’t sure if you realize this, but I’m not gonna be able to blast them away again!”

  Of course I know that. In the absence of Pedj’s sun, our only hope is to buy time. I answer him nothing, and instead move to shield Awyer from the agents.

  “I am not your sister,” I say to the leader.

  “You’re right,” she says. “That would imply you’re worthy of being an equal.” The viciousness behind her words drips down the corners of her frowning mouth.

  I will counter it with composure. “Are you here to again ask for my repentance?” I ask, backing into Awyer.

  “Repentance?” The agent’s expression turns from glare to playful. “The time for that is gone, gone, gone! What luck! Ark’s finally decided you aren’t worth saving! Your continued denial of him was finally enough to lose his favor.” Her tone turns throaty – “It means we get to have a little fun.”

  She smiles a sinister smile, tucks the long side of her hair behind her ear, then holds up her opposite hand over her head – a call to action.

  Action answers relentlessly.

  As I stand between my resting pactor and the dark faeries of Ark, an onslaught of smoke balls comes. First forming at the hands of each of a hundred agents, the spheres come at us, wispy or compact, varying in size and speed. Through the air, they shoot, marked with wrath and malice, all of them directed at cowering Pedj and me.

  We cannot hide and we cannot run. Even if I could dodge them, Awyer would be left vulnerable.

  Whomp!

  The quickest of attacks is also the most temperamental. It goes whizzing through the air to the left of Pedj’s ear.

  “Waaak-ack-ack!”

  His cry is followed immediately by a round of choking coughs. From the sound of it, he has nearly swallowed the voided crystal.

  I cannot worry about that now. The rest of the attacks are closing in! They are shot with much more accuracy than the first!

  I cannot think quickly enough of what to do.

  The blasts will strike.

  The blasts should strike.

  The blasts do not strike.

  With the attacks of the agents nearly upon us, there is a loud shriek from the crowd, and the smoke balls suddenly fall, burrowing their attacks into the grass.

  Pedj’s hands are firmly wrapped over his wild hair. His eyes are clenched tight. When the balls do not reach us, he opens one of them cautiously.

  “Why’d they stop?” he asks.

  From what I can gather, it was not by choice. The lead agent holds a hand to her ear and growls, as though she has just heard something unpleasant. Likewise, the rest show signs of pent disappointment and rage. Holes in the ground emit hissing smoke tails where the Void bombs made contact.

  We were spared from attack, but not from ire. The agents eye us with more hatred than ever.

  Without warning, the lead one zips from her post and comes to stand directly in front of us. Though her stance is hostile, I do not move away from Awyer. I will separate him from her even if it means being struck down.

  But it is not in destiny’s plan for me to be stricken just yet.

  “Change of plans,” she says. “Ark wants you.”

  “Eh?!” Pedj scurries backward. “What for?!”

  “Leverage.”

  And before we can protest, the rest of the agents are upon us. They are wrapping us in Void. They are pulling and pushing. With minimal effort they lift Pedj into the air – an action for which the zombie does not delight. He kicks and wriggles and brays. Suspended between a dozen ropes of Void, the Bloődite rises and begins to cross over the motionless sea of artifacts.

  And although I resist with all my might, the same fate befalls me.

  “AWYER!”

  I scream and reach for him as they heave me into the air, coiled in enchanted black rope.

  They make no move for Awyer. They intend to take only us.

  “NO!”

  There is naught I can do. With ease, the agents take me, bobbing, over the expanse of dead items, and to the mountain where the witches wait. Under an unnaturally dark sky, through the cool, musty air, they take me, and my pact with Awyer strains.

  I am fearful. Not of what the witches or Ark or even the hellbeast may do. I am fearful of what the distance may do to our bond in its already weakened state.

  From the core of my chest, a sob escapes. Once, it was easy to contain my emotions, for I had very few emotions to speak of. But now? It feels as though emotions make up most of me. There is logic and there is instinct, but emotion rules the rest, and my feelings for my sphinx are strongest. The tearing at our pact, as the agents carry me farther and farther away from him, tears also at my heart; it tears also at my soul. Everything that I am is in that pact. Without it, I am nothing more than a wandering soul. I need it. I need him.

  The agents do not care. Brutal, jeering things. They carry me away from him.

  As our pact stretches ever farther, my chest aches ever more deeply. I rue the day I forced Awyer to sit upon the king’s throne. I scorn the day the Amethyst barreled into him. Had he left it where it lay, we could have fled the city and lived peacefully following the Bloődite attack.

  Through the moist, chilled wind the rogue faeries pull us, led by the odd-haired agent. She speeds through the air with annoyed energy. Left without a conduit for her aggression, her ire shows in her haste.

  The mountain’s top is sharp, but there is a place where the rock rams against itself, forming a small piece of flat surface. It is there that the agents drop us without any amount of care. Pedj’s body, existent in nature, makes a sound as he crashes against the rock.

  Mine makes no sound but to sob.

  The strain on my pact is dangerous. I must return to my pactor at once! But though I attempt to fly away, the wrappings around my waist hold me, for they are co
nnected to a chain of Void, and at the other end, holding tightly to that Void, stands a man gray in nature. His garment ruffles with imbued power. His pupil-less eyes find mine without expression.

  And that is not all.

  In the shadows, around the bends of rock, two hissing creatures dart, summoning dark spells to attack the golden creature circling Ensecré’s peak.

  My appetite falls at the smell of them.

  Hamira and Gorma. Their putrid incantations stain the air with wickedness!

  With a flick of his wrist, Ark calls the voided ropes holding Pedj and me at bay to retract. They do so with obedience, ushering us to Ark’s side. The zombie’s dread is unfathomable to be in the clasp of the Bloődite boogeyman. Ark holds him in place by the neck.

  The draggar ceases its circling.

  Leverage. Ark’s plan is to use Pedj to call off Mael.

  From here, I see her clearer now. I see all of them. Warrior-stanced, Mael stands atop the draggar’s back, fire and sorrow clashing within her dark eyes. Behind her, Techton sits upon the beast, collared in Gold, waiting for his lady’s order. Lastly, upon the creature’s claw, Bexwin lounges, almost leisurely, wearing an expression smug enough to wake the dead. Mael’s sharpened gaze finds Pedj. It interlocks on him and the sorrow and fire held in her eyes swell.

  “Your quest ends here, Queen Necromancer!” Ark’s voice booms. “Return the Vesselbeast to its resting place!”

  But to the order, Mael says nothing. She looks to her left, where waits the nest of agents. The lead one bobs with expectation. Eager nymph, she is impatient for an order of attack. Mael stares her down with those eyes of fiery virtue, harboring not a face of war; hers is one of sympathy.

  “Ain’t your fault,” she says to them boldly, before looking to Ark. “Ain’t yours neither.”

  “Of course it isn’t,” Ark says, and his silky seduction moves with his breath. “It’s mankind’s fault. They are responsible for stealing the world from US, the mythics. You’ve come to an understanding, then?”

  Mael shakes her head vigorously. “Nope. That’s wrong. What’s is, is no one’s fault but the Vessel’s. Makin’ people fight over color’s what did us in.”

  “You think magick’s to blame?” Ark’s voice holds pity. “It’s magick’s misuse that’s at fault, silly girl.”

  “Save it, Arkraine,” Bexwin chimes. He appears irked from the claw of the hellbeast.

  “NO!” Mael’s fire overpowers her sorrow. “It’ll never stop if there’s magick! I’ve seen it! I’ve seen it all! Magick ain’t bad in itself, but when there’s too much – when we use it for too much . . .” Mael steals a look at Techton. “It’s better if there never was any.”

  “Blaming the tool for its master’s reliance is naïve at best. Better be careful, Queen Necromancer, or you’ll end up the world’s villain.”

  “What does that make you, then, brother?” Bexwin sneers.

  “The savior.”

  “Ha!”

  But Ark does not jest. His voice and countenance are steady. He truly believes himself a savior.

  “All I know’s what I know,” Mael counters. “Oka, then. I’ll be the world’s villain if it means undoin’ the wrongs we did. If it means savin’ the world, I’ll ruin it. Ain’t no use fighting me, Mr. Arky. Gonna do what I’s gonna do.” She pats the top of the hellbeast’s head. “And this little guy’s gonna help me, too.” Turning to her hostage of a cousin, she goes on, “Was hopin’ you’d come, Pedjram. Can end it now.”

  The strength of her soul is obvious. Something has changed within her from the day we first met. I see it, and yet to Pedj, her words serve as no comfort. Immediately, he suspects the worst. “Knew it,” he says, eyes wide and teeth grinding. “Crankin’ knew it! She’s gonna get on sacrificin’ me after all! Can’t believe I let you talk me into this, Gwim!”

  Though I did nothing of the sort, I doubt it will do any good to say so now. Besides, the most pressing issue – the one more important than the rest – is the strain on my pact with Awyer. Piercing, our bond tears at me, ordering me to return to him. I pull from him to muster enchant, but alas, he is too distant. Without his magicks to keep me afloat, I will sink into the ground and fade from memory. I will never again see or touch or smell him.

  Fear squeezes at my organs.

  “Awyer,” I say in a squeal that barely exists. “Please.”

  “Always so hasty.” From my side, Ark’s voice breaks through my suffering. I look to him, expecting that his energy should still be focused on Mael, but am surprised to find his soulless eyes drilling into me.

  “That sphinx . . . would you do anything for him?” he asks, soft.

  I would. But I will not admit my most compromising feelings to our enemy!

  His words float upon the air, masked only slightly by the trembling thunder.

  “Join me, you wretch, and save your pact. What do you expect to happen without Gold and Void? You’ll wander the world, pactorless, and without someone like me to be your savior, you’ll fade away. Is that what you really want?”

  Now that it is directed at me, the sound of his voice is even more addictive, subduing, sweet.

  “It is not my will to fade, but my pactor says that–”

  “What does he know?” Ark interrupts. “Only what the darkness has shown him? You’d trust that over what you know to be true?”

  No, I do not trust the darkness.

  My shadow marks my existence – no matter how vague or faint – yet I do not trust in shadows.

  I trust him.

  And I have proven before how little I truly know: Locks placed upon naefaeries and their wards – locks that can be only broken by a naefaerie’s kiss . . . The ability for one man to pact many faeries using Void . . . The ability of another man to practice two opposing colors at once . . .

  There are many things that I did not know before starting this journey, and while all of them have disrupted what I thought to be true, none of them have disrupted my feelings for him. In a world that is ever changing, he is constant.

  “I choose to trust him,” I say with new confidence. “I will always choose to trust him. If you seek an ally, you will not find it in me!”

  With all that is in me, I will that an enchant would form – one to break away from the gray man’s bonds; one to allow me to return to my resting sphinx’s side. I focus and strain and pull.

  Gold comes. In the form of a spear, it shoots through the air. Brilliant, it sears through Ark’s garment.

  But it does not come from me.

  It comes from a true warrior.

  Mael stands atop the draggar, hand pressed to its forehead, fury in her eyes. The draggar’s mouth is open wide, its teeth sharp as jagged glass.

  The enchant came from its mouth?!

  Cut through the center, Ark doubles back, releasing both Pedj and me in the process. The on-looking agents cry and shriek and gnash over their fallen master, but before they may retaliate, they are swallowed by a cloud of Gold. This time I am sure, the Gold was birthed from the draggar’s mouth.

  If the beast held such power, then why did Mael resort to circling!? Why play a game of mouse and feline when she could so easily attack the gray man?!

  Unless . . .

  Gotta tell Pedjram where to go. I’s gonna leave a path for you. Oka? I’ll wait ‘s long’s I can. Oka?

  She was merely toying with the gray man. Her real want is us. She was waiting for us.

  Yes, that much is clear to me and also to Pedj. Yet thinking he is meant to be a sacrifice, the ex-zombie scampers into a crevice of rock. Free from the wraps of Void, I make an attempt to zip to my pactor’s side.

  “A little longer, my love,” I say through my teeth. “Just a little bit . . .”

  “Shim haarnon! Acka, haarnon weeana!”

  Foolish pest! You belong to me!

  The moment I am freed from one voided cable, another comes. The witches, upon seeing a moment of opportunity, flash into action. They hav
e been waiting in the shadows, biding their time and preparing incantations to use against me.

  Old crones. Even now, they will not let me go!

  Wrinkled too greatly, they no longer appear as women. Sagged skin, reeking of Void, falls from them in chunks, marking the trail over which they rush.

  At their appearance, Techton gives a jolt. I see him there, atop the draggar. From the corner of my eye, I watch as he leans over the edge of the beast for a better look, jaw off-put by the sight of the twin witches. Perhaps it is because, for the first time, he understands the extremity of his condition. Aye, if color is not removed from him, this, too, will be his fate.

  I am quickly distracted from him.

  Like a hand, an incantation moves under my smock and presses against my abdomen. Incanted fingers push into my nonexistent flesh. Starting gently, they begin to probe and prod until they are deeply pushing into my skin.

  Ah! I know this spell! The witches seek to enter me! If they succeed, they will be able to take temporary control of me, and knowing them, they will dream up the most horrific of punishments for my defiance. And that is not all . . .

  My pactor lies defenseless across the sea of dead artifacts. His power was made apparent to them the last time we entered their lair. As it stands, they cannot reach him, but if they think to use me to go after him . . .

  “NO!” Again, I draw from the tattooed crystal on Awyer’s shoulder. I siphon Gold through our pact. I must do something, ANYTHING to break free from them! I will not let them have me and I will NEVER allow them to have him.

  It is no use. I am weak. My pact is weak.

  Mael has not swallowed Void, and so she cannot see me. The commander of the draggar, the only one that may help me in this moment, will not know the danger that I am in. Even if she would offer aid, she will not know where to –

  Icy, cutting words ring through the dark air.

  “Lady! Over there! Mistress needs your help!”

  Techton, though fully witch, still possesses an inkling of merit. He thinks to help me?! No matter what he has done wrongly in the past, his soul is good. Though his hunger is strong, his soul struggles to remain good.