Magic's Genesis- Reckoning

by Rosaire Bushey

  “When we arrive in Eigroth, we will look for a minor functionary of Vul Griffis, his lieutenant, if you will. A man named Rax who may be able to show us a path to the man you seek.”

  Lydria didn’t like how Dravud said ‘may be able’ but held her tongue. It was obvious their guide had been here before despite what the boy Dravud had implied on the beach.

  Eigroth was not dissimilar to many of the small hamlets of Wesolk, Lydria noted, with the exception of the barrenness of the land outside the hamlet itself. The only distinction for newcomers to know they had entered the hamlet was a small bridge that crossed over a modest stream that wound silently through the landscape.

  “There is no noise Dravud? Even in place such as this there should be a tavern where people gather. Should we not be able to hear them from here?” Haustis nodded her head toward the sole two-story building where firelight and shadows could be seen in every window.

  “There is no drink here, so there is no drunkenness. There are no travelers here, only newcomers, so what tales there are come only from Eigrae. Those who have been here the longest wish to hear nothing of the place they once called home, for it has been so long there is no longer any resemblance to their memories in the tales shared by those who are new. Those who are new, hope to hear some little thing of some person they may have known, but rarely are shared stories a cause for celebration. Yet people gather because they find comfort in each other’s company. At least, they do for a time, until they have either accepted their fate, or until they wander into The Shade.”

  Finding Rax, it turned out, wasn’t difficult at all. Lydria thought that a lieutenant of someone like Vul Griffis would be a hidden figure, with others guarding his privacy and carrying out his orders. But Rax was sitting on a bench in front of the meeting hall, watching their approach.

  “Rax.” Dravud’s acknowledgement of the man was still and hinted at a past full of disagreements.

  “Dravud. We don’t see you here often. What have you brought?”

  “These three seek to travel to Vul.” The plain statement seemed to register interest as Rax sat up a little straighter and looked at each of the three in turn and then back to the guide, showing no more interest in Lydria and her friends than had they been a block of cheese.

  “Were they invited?”

  “I would hardly know that. I was asked by the travelers to guide them to Vul, so I do my duty as I am bade and bound to do. You are Vul Griffis’ lieutenant. You tell me. Were they invited?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” Rax stood and shifted himself toward Dravud. If he expected the guide to flinch, he was not surprised to see that he did not. Dravud maintained his ground, seeming to grow slightly larger so that he looked down at the man, his face stern and unamused by the lieutenant’s attempt to bully him.

  Rax laughed and looked toward Lydria, then Haustis and finally Hokra. “This is as interesting a group as I’ve ever seen. A human, an Eifen, and a …” he waited until the answer was provided by Hokra. “Finally, something new to talk about,” Rax said, smiling and trying to elicit a response from any of them, but succeeding only in Lydria clearing her throat.

  Dravud was happy to respond to Lydria’s signal and only too eager to cut through the games he knew Rax would play. “Have you seen another man come this way? He would have been carrying a large sword.”

  At the mention of the sword, Rax’s head and eyes swung up to look at Dravud and then quickly down again at the three newcomers. It was apparent he had seen the sword and presumably Wynter as well. Lydria had seen this look hundreds of times among some of the younger soldiers who still thought that the king’s army was a place to play hero and be well fed and use their power to enrich themselves. They were all disavowed of such foolish notions quickly enough. The reality of a solider settled in quickly for most. But for a few of the more stubborn among them, reality came from men like Lydria’s father, who stomped out criminal pettiness with a devotion that made it nearly a religion. Among Wesolk’s soldiers, it was the most followed of all the religions of Eigrae. Rax, Lydria could see, was of that vile species who did not learn. No amount of explanation or physical correction could bring them into the light. It seemed only right then, that he was in this dark place.

  “Why do you want to know?” Lydria smiled. She was correct, Rax was the soldier with the big eyes, big ears, and bigger mouth. As such his place in the pecking order was at the very bottom, and every scrap he found he held onto, trying to parlay it into a feast. He was fishing for information and it didn’t seem like he knew anything of use regarding Wynter and the sword.

  “Where did he go, Rax?”

  The man scowled and turned away from the guide and toward Lydria who stood closest to him, staring at him. “If you want to see the man who carried that sword, you have chosen your path well. He also intends on seeking out Vul Griffis.” He stopped a moment and a curious smirk formed at the corner of his mouth. It surprised Lydria somewhat when he turned to find that Rax was an Eifen, as were most of the others they saw moving slowly behind him, shifting their gaze in Rax’s direction for quick, furtive glances before continuing on their way.

  The lieutenant wasn’t a large man, almost certainly not a soldier, Lydria surmised. His arms were weak, but his fingers were lithe, and they were always in motion, wiggling on his hand like they were trying to escape. His eyes also sliced the air back and forth, rarely stopping on any one thing for more than a moment before scurrying away like a worried dog. He was, or used to be, or perhaps still was, Lydria thought, a common thief. A picker of pockets and a dealer in the wares of other people. How he was so connected to The Grey to be sent to the Nethyn Plains hardly entered her mind at all. That Rax was someone who was the type to kill someone in their sleep to prevent himself from being caught, was foremost in her mind. A quick scan of his clothing, loose in the middle but tight by the wrists and ankles, showed the promising signs of at least three bladed weapons, likely of the throwing variety. Rax wasn’t a man who would want to be in a close-in fight, because he was a man who meet his end in such circumstances.

  Taking only minor interest in Lydria’s surveillance of him, he continued, leaning in slightly as if he were providing some great knowledge to the travelers. “Dravud knows how to reach Vul, and he knows there is only one way there.” He turned to the guide and searched Dravud’s expressionless face, raising his eyebrows in arrogant joy. “You haven’t told them, have you?” Rax let go of a short laugh and turned to the travelers his smile wide and his eyes alight.

  “Not everyone is lucky enough to spend forever on Dravud’s beach.” He spoke with his head down slightly, his voice not quite a whisper, but quieter than it had been before. “Don’t let this young man fool you. He’s brought plenty of people through here before. Usually, he leaves them with me, but often enough he takes them down the path. Sometimes he even traipses that way on his own too, don’t you, Dra? What are you up to by yourself in Herewist…or Agubend?” Rax looked cryptically at the guide as if sizing him up properly for the first time. The lieutenant’s lips curled up in a cruel impersonation of a smile, and he lifted his right hand, its thin fingers finally motionless and decorated with thin strips of gold, and he pointed toward a copse of trees to the right of the main path at the other end of the street.

  “The paths are there for those who don’t know,” came Rax’s lazy reply to an unspoken question. “To get to Herewist - well, to get to the part of Herewist that leads to Vul Griffis, the path is no good. You’ll need to take the forest road.” Rax lifted his lips to reveal blackened teeth, none of which had likely ever been in contact with its neighbor. “Did Dravud forget to mention that you have to take the forest path? Did he mention what you might find there?” Waiting for an answer or a sign of weakness or fear from the three travelers, Rax found none, but continued as if he had. “Even the dead seldom walk the woods, for that is where people go when they’ve lost themselves. They are madmen in the woods, and they take poorly to those who w
ander into their realm. Even Vul Griffis stays out of The Shade.”

  “What have the dead to fear from madmen?” Hokra was getting impatient with the man. As a prince, he rarely had to deal with fools or riddles. Rax looked where the bald head of the Chag Ca’Grae waited between the rib cage of Haustis and the chest of Lydria, their breathing evident near the Chags’ skin. He bent down toward Hokra as if preparing to speak with a child, but before he reached Hokra’s eye level, he straightened and looked to Dravud. As everyone’s attention was on the guide, Rax’s arm snapped out and grabbed Lydria by the wrist.

  “What’s this Dravud? Do you bring the living to Vul Griffis?” Rax let go of the woman’s wrist and moved backward, laughing until he was at his bench, bending over to regain his seat.

  “Well, my short friend, even the dead feel pain. And remorse. And guilt. And anger. Those who go mad, it’s said, get the blessing of no longer feeling the guilt and remorse. But they feel the anger keenly and to the exclusion of anything else. They try to earn true death the only way they know how – by seeing if someone can kill them again.” The lieutenant straightened somewhat and looked up and down the deserted street. A burst of noise, such as it was, came from the building behind him as the door was open and two people came into the street, looked toward Rax and quietly shuffled off in the opposite direction.

  “Of course, you can die here. And I don’t know what will become of you if you do. Perhaps we’ll see each other again?” Rax smiled weakly in their direction one last time before rising slowly to his feet and walking three paces to stand in front of Dravud.

  “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Dra, but even if they make it, Vul Griffis will ensure they never leave this place.”

  “Will you inform him of our coming then, so that my charges might at least die quickly?” Dravud stared at Rax, his firm voice intoning a threat to the man should he send such a message. His arms were crossed over his chest, but even so, Lydria could see that he was not unprepared. He held eye contact with Rax for a long while before the smaller man laughed again and took a step backward.

  “I will do nothing of the sort. Why spoil his fun? The guest unlooked for, in this case, will be the most enjoyable, I think.”

  With that, Rax gave a small nod to the three travelers and bowed from the waist, pointing with his hand down the road to where the trees began. “Good luck to you,” he said. Lydria couldn’t tell whether he was serious or if he was mocking them.

  “What of the traveler with the black sword?” Lydria asked Rax pulling him away from a staring contest he had started with Dravud – one that he was losing.

  “What of it?”

  “Did you not speak to him as you do to us? Did you not interview him if he seeks Vul Griffis as do we?”

  The question took Rax by surprise and it was several moments before he put together an answer that was acceptable to him. He didn’t know. He remembered seeing the man, and the darkness of the weapon he carried, but he remembered nothing of speaking to him. The realization that he didn’t know weighed heavily upon him and Rax circled the bench, one hand on its back and the other stroking his own chin, hoping to recall what the man had said to him. Suddenly, he stopped and looked at Lydria with a fierceness of one who has remembered an important thing and discovered along the way that they were right.

  “He was invited by Vul Griffis,” he said, his voice strong, clear, and defiant against any who would disagree. “The voice was quiet, and actually quite melodious for a man. I remember it drifting through me and telling me that his presence was required in Vul.” Rax shook his head slightly and scowled at the travelers. “Who am I to say? If someone tells me they were invited by Vul Griffis, then they should be on their way.” He crossed his arms in defiance, making it understood that his words were the final judgment on the matter.

  Dravud touched his hair above his eye and smiled at the man, motioning the others forward as he spoke. “Well then, Rax, we will be on our way. My charges have been invited by Vul Griffis to attend him.”

  11-The Shade

  They walked quickly through the nearly empty streets of Eigroth smiling and Haustis even giggling a little, the humiliation of Rax fresh in her memory, until Dravud told them they should turn off the main road after the last small house on the main street. The lights of the small fires seemed to fade away almost instantly when their feet left the stone road for the dark, lifeless grass path that made its way into the trees. Before the houses were out of their sight, the path stopped suddenly like it had been blocked by an invisible boulder.

  “Many people come off the trail for a few moments but turn back toward it. Most are allowed to find the main trail again, some are not.” Lydria and the others looked behind them to find the small path they had followed was gone, and while she was sure they had only walked a few dozen paces from the main trail, Lydria knew she would never find it again. Without a second thought she held out a blue sphere and, as she was sure would happen, a milky white path led its way through the trees.

  “That is impressive.” Dravud said nothing else but lowered his head slightly toward Lydria who turned her head to the side, wondering if the guide had seen the path the stone had shown her. She had never known any other wielder to be able to see the path unless they themselves held the stone.

  “Do you know the way?”

  “I do,” Dravud said. As his size increased in front of Rax, the guide’s stature again grew slightly when they left the main path. Lydria stood next to him to give herself a proper accounting of his size. Up close his armor was a darker green than before, but Lydria thought the darkness of the forest would account for any changes in his clothing.

  “Because of the rules of this place, I cannot merely lead you to Vul Griffis. I am a guide on the main path. Once off that path, I may be of some use to you, but I cannot show you the way.”

  “That would have been helpful to know before we started.” Hokra glowered at Dravud and shook his head, pulling his hammer from a magical containment that hid its shape and location. He rested the butt of the handle in the dirt and rested his hands across the large steel head.

  “Would it?” Dravud’s voice was calming, and within the single question, Lydria and others knew the answer. It did not matter if Dravud was a guide, or if he was even with them. They had no choice but to try to find Wynter.

  “Look here.” Haustis had moved several feet further in the direction Lydria had shown the path to be, and knelt on the forest floor, her hand touching the ground carefully.

  With little light and almost no foliage, it was easy to spot the tiny slice of gold on the ground where Haustis’ hands moved thin dirt and debris. “The forest covers up these marks.” Haustis looked to Hokra and urged him to put his hand on the forest floor. “If the rocks are dead, the forest lives even if barely, and it is not happy.” She brushed away the area more carefully and the patch of golden light seemed as bright as a candle, even though there was no light that shone from the space. Lydria and Hokra put their hands on either side of the golden light and their collars warmed, their blue light reaching out from their necks into the forest, several trees deep.

  “Wynter has passed this way,” Hokra said. Lydria nodded her confirmation and the three turned to their guide to see if he would confirm their findings.

  “You have seen what the weapon your quarry carries can do,” Dravud said. “It is my guess his blade simply touched the ground, or perhaps he uses it to help him walk.” Without another word the four were off again, following the white path. Haustis found several other marks, but none were part of a regular pattern. Wynter was most certainly not using the weapon as a walking stick as he had in the Melting Grae.

  It was not long before Haustis’ search for gold marks ended with the discovery of a patch of dirt unlike anything else in the forest.

  “Do not touch it.” Dravud’s voice was even. There was no concern or immediacy in his plea, only a simple order.

  “What is it?” Lydria asked,
kneeling by the small pile of grey dirt, her hand hovering just above it.

  “Have you not seen something like this before?” Not waiting for an answer Dravud moved to Lydria’s side and lowered his head. He blew and a fierce, hot air scattered the dust across the forest floor in front of them.

  “Has he killed someone?”

  “He cannot kill the dead. But he has given at least one soul the rest they have craved since stepping into these woods. If the unlucky in these woods discover what Wynter has done, they may believe you can do the same.” Dravud’s eyes scanned the others slowly, settling on Lydria. “Can you?”

  Lydria thought back to the smaller version of the Wilmamen’s sword she had handed to the boatwoman as payment for their passage and cursed herself for letting go of the weapon. Her jaw tight she locked Dravud’s eyes and told him she could not.

  “How are we to fight them then?” Hokra looked at his hammer as if dismissing it as a useful weapon against the dead.

  “I cannot tell you. I will say only this. You cannot kill the dead.”

  Dravud’s warning, as Lydria thought perhaps it was meant, came just in time. From the path in front of them, a large man made his way toward them. He did not run or make noise. His gait was methodical, and he stepped with purpose and when he stood a knife’s throw away, he stopped and spoke.

  “I have felt the dust on the wind. The dust of true death and I would have you banish me from this place as you have banished the others.”

  “We cannot banish you from this place,” Lydria said. “There is only one who can do this, and it is none of us.”

  “Lies. Strike me down.”

  The man’s words came faster, and louder. His face was clenched. It was, Lydria thought, handsome, or might have been in full light. He stood as tall as her father, with a square jaw, and rough beard. His chest was large beneath a leather vest and his forearms suggested a blacksmith or farmer. If she had met this man in any other place, Lydria would never have believed he was dead.