by Pirateaba
“I know there are rules. I know destiny exacts casualty for every action. But if that is the nature of this world, why not cheat? Why not—break the rules and act without consequence? I bet you can.”
Scornful looks. One of the faeries flies closer. I think I know her. I think I’ve been talking to her most of the time. She looks like the others, but—
She taps me on the nose and everything freezes for a second. I stumble backwards and clap my hands to my face. She shakes her head.
“You really know nothing, do you? Did ye ever think that even we have enemies? Did you not think that the rules exist for a reason? You could not even dream of those who would call the fair folk their enemy.”
“So what?”
The faerie blinks at me. I swing at her and she lazily flips over my hand. She doesn’t look offended. I breathe heavily out of my mouth; my nose feels numb.
“What’s the point of rules if you can’t do anything? If—if your version of morality doesn’t consider Humans important, it’s broken. If that’s what you believe, you can all go to hell.”
I raise my middle finger and flip all the faeries off. They stare at me.
“It matters. Now matters. If we’re so insignificant and you can’t do anything, why are you following me?”
The faeries exchange a glance. And then four more fly down with the first faerie. They speak right on top of each other.
“Because we are bored.”
“Because you defy the fates.”
“Because of a grain of sand.”
“Because you would challenge Gods.”
“Because we can.”
I look at them.
“Then help. You can’t just watch. There’s a cost, even for the audience.”
One of the faeries blinks. The others scratch at their heads.
“There is?”
My heart beats again. I hear it, but my mind is racing. I grasp for straws.
“Of course there is. The audience is never silent. They gasp and encourage or boo the actors. And sometimes they help. Sometimes they change the story.”
“Mm. True. She speaks the truth!”
One of the faeries says that. The other smacks her, eliciting a cry of pain. The second faerie glares at me.
“You have asked much already. Too much! If we do all for you, what purpose do you serve?”
She’s right. I stare at her. I have been asking for their help. I should have been taking care of everything myself.
Without a word I keep running. Something in my body screams, and I swear, it feels like things are breaking—snapping apart in my legs. But I keep running nevertheless.
Faster. I have to run—
A faerie flies by my side. The same one as before. She looks at me.
“Ye really are slow, you know.”
“I know.”
I close my eyes. It was the only thing I was proud of. But it’s true.
“I know.”
A bit faster. I pump my arms, and my foot pushes off the ground. I can’t really feel them. But who cares?
This might be my last chance.
Erin backs away from a skeleton with a sword. It grins at her, empty sockets flashing with purple life. She raises her arms, but it runs her through. Blood bubbles out of her mouth and she grasps at the skeleton. It yanks the sword back and pieces of her come with it. It slowly raises the dripping blade and—
Faster. I gasp and cry and run. Just once, please. Please God, or anyone who’s listening. Just let me save one more person.
I did it once. Mrsha. I paid a price. I’ll do it again. No matter what I have to give up. Faeries and Dragons. Immortals. I’ll offer whatever it takes.
But how? I know who might find her. But how can I convince him to help me?
It’s like part of me is screaming at once, running with a thousand emotions in my heart. But another side of me sits in silence, listening to the rushing wind. That other Ryoka in me is thinking. Even if I get to Teriarch in time, how do I convince him?
He’s proud. He’s a Dragon. I’m nothing. He might erase my mind or kill me in an instant. What could I offer him?
Think. Dragons. Old. Immortals. Timeless. Pride?
No. Greed? Wisdom? The desire of immortals is…what does a Dragon want? Virgins on stakes? Cow steaks? Money? Magical items?
It’s impossible. But I have to think of something. Something that would tempt even a Dragon?
The oldest kind. The oldest games. Something timeless. Pride. Challenge the Dragon. Sacrifice and risk. A magic sword.
I—old. He’s old. And he’s prideful? Yes. Something’s there.
Hold on. Pride. Magic sword. Magic? Magic…the oldest games?
Hang on.
I think I know what I have to do. If I can ask him that—how did it go? Red house. Owning cats? Fish?
Try to remember. Cryptology club. Middle school. So long ago. I can reconstruct it. Think of it.
My mind is fuzzy. I’m so tired. How long have I been running? Where did my shoes go? I feel numb. It’s a bad sign. But I’m still running. It feels like it’s been over a day. Or maybe it’s been a few hours?
It doesn’t matter. I can feel the cold wind touching my half-healed stumps. I’ve already lost something. I’ve not lost enough. I would give away the rest if it means I’m not too late for once.
I have to be there in time.
It’s so cold.
—-
High above the girl, the faeries fly in the cold sky. They stare down at her and consider what she’s said. They debate in words no Human could ever understand, and think of what might happen and might be.
A faint wind blows. It pushes the girl, though she doesn’t feel it. It is not a wind that touches the skin. It makes her run across the ground, though the snow, and yet, somehow, her path is shorter than before. She runs the same distance the same way, and yet the wind makes her arrive a bit faster than she would have otherwise. That’s all.
The faeries fly after her, savoring the breeze. Then they fly up, and one speaks. She declaims to the world, to the others, her voice high and carrying.
“‘Tis so often we see on high that it is like rain.
The thing that kings dream of and heroes possess;
An end or beginning of such tales, which mortals call doom.
The birthright of tragedy; a speck of hope in despair.
As blades of grass are crushed ‘neath heedless foot
So too shall the skein of woven fate
Crumble and break
Upon this earth.
Yet for this one, the star shines brightest now,
At fire’s waning and the moment hammer strikes.
‘Twill spell her fate, the wretched child
Who would dice upon the table of worlds with Gods.
But quick, we fly on!
To bear witness for friendship burgeoning.
And let the oldest stories rise again.
Lo! We declare such immortal words.”
The other faeries looked at each other. One spoke.
“Lord, what fools these mortals be!”
They flew off after Ryoka. And in moments, hours, in due time, she reached the High Passes.
—-
“Teriarch!”
The girl screamed. The Dragon watched with magic, one eye cracked the tiniest fraction of the way open. His spells had woken him from his slumber, and now he stared at the girl running through the deathly path between the mountains.
Shouting.
He’d thought she was at least partly intelligent. Didn’t she know what shouting would bring? She wasn’t even using that foul potion this time. Already the wolves were following, and the goats had begun to descend. A few more steps and she would wake darker things with her noise.
He sighed. He didn’t feel like dealing with Humans today. Already he’d been pestered by Reinhart’s messages. He just wanted to sleep. But he had sent something with her, hadn’t he? Something important?
&nb
sp; Oh yes, the letter. He’d thought about it for a while. Had it arrived? Teriarch thought of Perril Chandler. Yes, the mage was a nuisance, but the letter was the important thing. He had to know if it had arrived safely.
The Dragon grumbled, but the girl was stumbling. And there were those blasted fae with her as well. But it couldn’t be helped.
He stirred himself, spoke a word. A man appeared in the room; standing with an irritated expression on his face. Teriarch focused, and the man walked back a few paces. There. He looked normal, didn’t he? Teriarch had a thought and glanced at the cave wall.
Right. Shadow. He flicked his tail and his shadow vanished. That should do it.
He looked back at his image of the high passes. He couldn’t focus on the girl; her blasted name still didn’t work. But he could still see her from high overhead. He spoke another word. The girl in the magic spell vanished, and she was standing before him.
She stumbled; stared around in shock. The fae were already chattering to him in tinny voices that hurt his ears. Teriarch grumbled and spoke another word. The flitting immortals didn’t freeze, but the girl did. That was something.
Teriarch cleared his throat. Below him, the magical copy did the same. He saw the Human representation of himself raise his hand to cast the next spell.
All he had to do was say a few words. Teriarch didn’t know what the spell would be called with the magic system Humans used. [Greater Geas] was probably close enough; he doubted the girl would ever meet a mage capable of casting the same.
The Dragon took a breath. He only had to say those words. Then he could ask her all the questions he wanted. She wouldn’t be able to throw off his magic if he used more force. He only had to do that.
But then the Dragon smelled the blood. It was such a faint odor at first, almost masked by the scent of the fae and snow and sweat and ice. And he was used to smelling blood from the things in the High Passes. But this blood was fresh, and close.
Teriarch stared at the girl. Blood was pooling around her feet, running in the warmth of his cave. It ran from her feet, but he couldn’t see any wounds on her body. He stared at her feet.
Two words. He only had to say them. But Teriarch hesitated, and that made all the difference. It was such a small thing. But it meant…
Everything.
—-
“Your feet.”
I stare at the old man, unable to move. I throw myself against the spell that holds me, trying to move any muscle in my body. Hell, I’d release my bowel control if it meant getting his attention. But the full-body paralyze spell freezes even those muscles.
I can’t let him send me away. I have to resist whatever he does. I have to resist. Don’t lose focus. Don’t give in. Don’t—
“What happened to your feet?”
I blink at him. I can move again. I stare down at my feet and see the blood.
“Oh.”
There’s a lot of it. It stains the perfect, lovely marble floor. I raise my foot and slowly stare at it.
Ruined. Flesh is torn. I stare at the bottom of my feet and try to remember what they’re supposed to look like. My feet always had calluses, and Mom used to say that they looked awful. But now—
“Hah.”
It’s not quite a laugh. I just stare at what used to be my soles and shrug. I look at Teriarch. The old man is staring at my feet. His haughty look is gone.
“It doesn’t matter.”
He looks at me, surprised. I just stare back. They really don’t matter. Not right now. But he shakes his head.
“Enough. [Mend].”
He points at my feet, and I feel a shock that goes through my core. It feels like something bright flashes through me. If bright could be a feeling—
Suddenly, the terrible numbness in my feet and my legs fades. I feel pain, and then not even that. I wiggle my toes, able to wiggle them after that feeling vanished.
Blink. Blink. My toes waggle in the blood around my feet. Teriarch speaks again, and then the blood begins to flow away.
I turn around and see the blood flowing away, back towards the cavern entrance. One of the faeries laughs and chases after it.
“There. Kindly do not track—kindly do not bleed in my domain again.”
This time, I look at Teriarch and realize how frozen and tired I’d been before. Now my mind feels like it’s racing at its peak. No—I feel better than I have in years. What magic was that?
No. Focus. Standing before me is a Dragon. Remember that.
But now that I’m in front of him, the old man seems far realer than my belief in Dragons. Just looking at him erodes my confidence in my memories. I remember them clearly but he looks—
He looks good, okay? Like, really good*.
*Like the kind of person we wish we could be. Like a model, something to strive for. Even if it’s an illusion, it’s art in its own way. He makes me remember my imperfections.
But I have to focus. Erin.
The thought of her is the shock I need. I blink and grit my teeth so hard my gums hurt. Teriarch stares at me in silence for a few moments. What should I say first?
“Well, I must congratulate you for punctuality, I suppose. You took longer than I had hoped, but you are clearly dedicated to your duties.”
I stare at him. What? What’s he—
Oh. Oh right. The letter. I’d barely remembered that.
Human Teriarch sighs. He waves a hand and a bag appears and gold coins appear out of the air and drop into it. A lot of coins for such a small bag*.
*A bag of holding? No—focus. Why do I feel so—so distracted? I was—was I depressed? Did that spell actually normalize my brain chemistry or something? Focus, Ryoka*.
**But I want to smile. I want to laugh. What the—I feel so good. What is this? I’ll take it, whatever it is. I can do this.
The old man waves the bag and it drifts towards me. He looks me in the eye, his heterochromic eyes hypnotizing.
“Speak the truth…messenger.”
Did he just forget my name? Teriarch clears his throat.
“I assume that you fulfilled my request and delivered both ring and letter to Perril Chandler?”
“I did.”
He nods.
“Was there any response? I doubt it, but the man might surprise me.”
“No. He…read the letter and said it was an appropriate gift.”
While he was making a horrific monstrosity over my head. Don’t mention that part! Just speak the truth. But half-truths. Yeah.
Teriarch looks vaguely pleased. He nods, but then flicks his fingers.
“Well, it took a bit of thought. And with that, I should be fine for another hundred…blast, what about Reinhart? Hmm…”
Unless Magnolia’s older than I thought, Teriarch believes in thinking ahead a lot more than a Human. And he’s pretty damn optimistic too, unless Humans live longer than they do in our world.
But then the old man pretending to be a mage looks back at me, and my spine stiffens. It’s not a spell; I’m just tense. I have to speak. I open my mouth, but then the bag flies towards me. I catch it instinctively.
“There. Eight hundred gold pieces, as agreed. I believe it should serve you well. Now, I will send you back to your city or hovel or wherever you please.”
He waves a hand and then hesitates.
“Ah. [Open Portal]?”
Did he just cast magic without using a spell? The shimmering magic of golden motes that begins to swirl around me started before he said those words. But that’s not important.
“Wait!”
He looks irritated.
“What is it this time? I will not renegotiate—”
Is now the time for it? No, no time to hesitate. I point at Teriarch, straight as his chest.
“You…you are a Dragon, aren’t you.”
He freezes. The air freezes. For a moment the world goes s—
“Ooh! She said it!”
“Shh! Quiet!”
That came from overhe
ad. I barely process the voices, though. Neither, seemingly, does Teriarch. He stares at me. At last, he clears his throat.
“Dragon? What? You must be…I’m not a Dragon. Hah. You must be mistaken.”
Oh my—he sucks at acting! I stare at Teriarch. He stares back.
“Don’t lie to me. I know you’re a Dragon.”
“I’m not a Dragon. You’re mistaken. I’m uh, an [Archmage]. You must have confused my noble disposition with a Dragon’s…somehow.”
“I know you cast some kind of memory spell on me. I broke it and remembered. You. Are. A. Dragon.”
The white brows of the old man draw together.
“That’s impossible! No Human could—wait a second. Did Magnolia interfere? Is this one of her…pranks?”
“A Courier had a powerful charm. It broke the enchantment on me.”
“A Courier? One of them had—but my spells—was it a directly applied magic, or some kind of non-renewable sealed spell? I suppose my magic might have been compromised by a interwoven spell…”
The old man begins to mumble. Again, I’m a bit taken aback. He sounds grouchy, now, not like a Dragon. But after a few more seconds the old man looks at me. Shit. He’s going to—
“Anyways, you are mistaken. I am not a Dragon. I am just a—”
Teriarch’s eyes widen and then my fist crunches as it meets his perfect nose. It was a good punch; I stepped in and hit him with my best shot. With my left hand. My right one is still missing those fingers even after the spell.
I’ve gotta admit, even though part of me feels bad for hitting someone who looks like he’s four times my age, I enjoy that immensely. Add that to my gravestone*.
*Ryoka Griffin, 1995 – 2017. “Never knew when to shut up. Also, punched a Dragon.”
The old man stumbles backwards. I blink. What? He raises a hand to his nose and looks at the blood gushing from one nostril.
