by Pirateaba
“Will you not choose one? Do you not wish for any?”
“I want all three.”
Erin said it and meant every word. She wanted all three gifts with a passion she couldn’t describe. She would have given anything for them, even her soul. But—
“But I’m afraid I can’t take any of them. You see, I don’t think I should have them.”
“Why?”
They stared at her. Erin smiled as she tried to explain.
“They’re not for someone like me. You see…I’m just an innkeeper. I’m no warrior. I don’t fight battles. I don’t have enemies. And I have enough light. I’m afraid someone else might find more use for them than me.”
The three men held their gifts, priceless beyond words, as Erin bowed her head.
“Sorry. But I’ll have to refuse.”
The first to speak was the man with the beard. He laughed, and the laughter filled the room. He turned to the others and they laughed to, as one. When he was done, he stood before her, grave.
“So. Three times we have offered and you have refused.”
He pointed at Erin, standing tall and proud.
“Not for pride, she declines.”
The man with the book opened it and wrote in it.
“Not for knowledge she says no.”
And the third man stared at Erin and sighed wistfully.
“Not for others she refuses. So it must be.”
“I’m sorry.”
Erin felt bad, but the man with the beard smiled at her.
“It must be. And you have chosen. Innkeeper, I thank you for your hospitality. One day we may meet again. Until that day, I offer you my thanks.”
“And I.”
The man with the book bowed slightly.
“And I.”
The dancing man gave Erin a bow more graceful than a moonbeam. She smiled at them all.
“Thank you. Come back whenever you want. I’ll be happy to serve you again.”
They laughed again at that, as if she’d told another fine joke. And then the man with the beard turned to the fire. He pointed.
“Keep it lit. The night is not over, innkeeper.”
Erin turned. The fire had grown very low. She piled more wood on it, and it blazed brightly. She was about to thank the man for pointing that out. But he was gone.
She turned and they were gone. The three men had vanished without a trace. But in their place, something glinted at the table where they’d sat. Erin went over to it. She reached down and slowly picked up a coin.
It was small, and looked a bit like silver. But brighter. Whiter. If it was metal, it was none that Erin knew. She lifted it and felt the weight of it in her palm. It was light as a feather.
What to do with it? Erin stared at the coin, and then walked into the kitchen . She looked around and saw the small jar Lyonette kept separate from the main stash. In a dream she put the coin the men had left in the small pot of coins. Then Erin went back to the fire.
It was low, now, despite all the fuel she’d added. Erin curled up next to it, staring at the flames. Her encounter with the three men seemed more like a dream, now. She didn’t even know if it had happened. Erin stared into the heart of the flames and felt a deep exhaustion fall over her. She closed her eyes. In moments, she was asleep.
—-
It was dark. Ryoka ran through the darkness, heart pounding. She couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t see. It was too dark.
There were things around her. They reached for her with appendages. Some were hands. Others were…different. They grasped at her, trying to pull her back. But Ryoka ran on, and the light in her hands pushed them back, kept them at bay.
But the light was fading. As Ryoka ran, it slowly burnt away, fading into the blackness. Ryoka ran on, searching for a way out. But there was nothing around her. No sign of escape.
Just the night.
“Is anyone there? Someone! Please!”
Ryoka screamed as she ran. There had to be something. Some sign that there was life—something else but the darkness. But all she heard was her own voice, and the things closing in.
Her breath was tearing at her lungs. Ryoka had run so far, but now the torch was a flickering stub. She slowed, trying to cradle the fire as the wind threatened to blow it out. And still there was nothing.
Nothing…Ryoka closed her eyes. Something was next to her. It reached for her, and she knew it was over. She saw the last flicker of light die.
“Ryoka!”
And then there was light. Ryoka turned in the darkness and ran for it, ran for the voice that cut through the howling oblivion around her. She turned, searching for the source of the voice.
“Ivolethe?”
“Ryoka! Come to my voice!”
Ryoka ran. She ran towards the sound of the voice in the darkness. There was nothing around her. Nothing, and yet the things reached for her, trying to touch her. To…
Ryoka felt something tugging at her neck. She cried out, but the thing hadn’t touched her. It had tangled on her scarf and was trying to pull her back. She fought to get free and the scarf tore loose from its grip. She ran away, towards the voice.
There was light. Faint, in the distance, but as absolute as certainty. In this darkness, even the faintest glimmer was unmistakable. Ryoka ran towards it, shouting and hearing her name called again and again.
“I’m here! Here!”
Again, she heard the call and this time Ryoka threw everything she had into the run. She ran fast, faster than she’d ever run in her life. There was nothing that held her back. If her legs broke, if her body tore and bled—if she fell just a step behind, the things would catch her, and there would be nothing of Ryoka after that.
Now she could see someone running towards her. Ryoka saw a shape, a…woman?
“Ryoka!”
The voice was familiar, but the person was not. Ryoka only caught a glimpse as she ran, but the woman was tall, as tall as Ryoka and lithe. She held something in her hands that shone in the darkness.
A sword. She ran and Ryoka ran with her.
“This way! Do not look back, no matter what! Run.”
“Ivolethe?”
“Run, fool!”
The sword flashed as the woman swung it behind Ryoka. And Ryoka ran. She ran, and the darkness followed her. But there was light up ahead. Light and—
And movement. Something ran towards her. Ryoka saw something dash by her. A man? No. Not a man. But someone in armor nonetheless, a…being with a sword that had the same unnatural radiance as his face. It was a he, and he ran past Ryoka.
A warrior. But he was not the only one. Ryoka heard galloping hooves, and cries that made her ears ring. Not one, but many beings ran past her, each one male, or so she thought. They ran towards the darkness and kept it at bay. And she ran and ran—
And burst out into the light. Not the light of day, but rather the light of midnight. There were no stars in the sky and the sun had long set. The clouds were thick and it was snowing and the moon was obscured.
But it was light. Ryoka sank to her knees in the snow, gasping, and then saw the blue radiance flying towards her, and heard her name being called.
“Ryoka! Ryoka Griffin!”
“Ivolethe!”
Ryoka struggled to her feet and ran to the faerie. Ivolethe flew towards Ryoka, and the girl cupped her hands so the faerie could land in them.
“How did you find me?”
“Never mind that. Did they touch you? Did anything touch you?”
Ivolethe was looking Ryoka up and down anxiously. The girl shook her head.
“Nothing. What was—what—”
“Do not speak of it. Do not mention what was there, lest you call it.”
Ivolethe put a finger as cold as frost itself to Ryoka’s lips warningly. The girl closed her mouth. Ivolethe studied Ryoka and shook her head.
“Build a fire. You are near death.”
She was. Ryoka looked around for wood, but nearly fell. She coul
d barely feel her limbs. Ivolethe flew off as Ryoka had to sit. She came back with wood and dumped it on the ground. Then the faerie stared at the wood. The color of her body changed and her body shimmered. For a second her crystal skin and living ice body become molten, and her flesh was burning fire—
“Fire.”
And there was. Ryoka pulled herself towards the flames and felt the icy chill around her body fading. She huddled near the flames for a long time, until her clothing was smouldering and she felt blisters forming from the heat. Only then did she roll away and look at herself.
“I—I felt…”
Ryoka touched at her throat and shuddered. Only once had the things nearly caught her. She pulled away her scarf and Ivolethe hissed.
“Do not touch that!”
Part of the scarf that Mistress Yesel had given Ryoka had…changed. The waving pattern had warped and altered, the fabric’s stitching switching around. Forming the impression of a…hand…
Ryoka shuddered as she stared at the impression in the fabric. She tore the scarf away and hurled it into the fire. She grimly watched it burn, and then remembered the second horror of the night.
The girl reached into her pocket, hoping that she would find nothing. But her heart chilled as she touched something at the bottom of her pocket.
“That was no dream.”
She pulled out two twitching digits. Her fingers. Ivolethe’s eyes went wide and she flew back from the fingers. Ryoka stared at them. She tried to clench her hand and watched the fingers curl up.
“What the hell was that, Ivolethe?”
The faerie had no answer for Ryoka. None she could give. She stared at Ryoka with mouth tightly closed, staring at the fingers. Ryoka stared at them too.
They were her fingers. She could feel them. If she touched them, she felt the sensation, as if her fingers were back again. But they had been given to her by…by…
They were her fingers. No. They had been. But they weren’t anymore. Ryoka’s hand shook as she lifted the fingers, clutched them tightly. She closed her eyes.
And the she hurled them into the burning fire.
Ivolethe saw Ryoka react as the fingers hit the burning coals, sending up a cloud of sparks. She heard a scream. The girl cried out and doubled over, clutching at the stumps of her fingers. She straightened slowly, gritting her teeth so hard that Ivolethe could hear the grinding.
“Are ye well, Ryoka Griffin?”
Ryoka tasted blood. She felt…she turned away from the fire.
“It’s…nothing. Let’s go. I want to be away from this place. Now.”
Ivolethe nodded silently. Ryoka took off running and the faerie flew ahead. Ryoka left the second fire to die down as she ran through the snow. Her right hand burned and the pain nearly made her pass out. But she kept running, on and on, away from this place. Back towards Invrisil.
And she didn’t look back. Not once.
—-
“Erin? Erin!”
Erin woke up slowly, to someone shaking her.
“Huh? What’s that? Lyonette?”
The girl was shaking Erin, looking worried. As Erin woke up, she realized her inn was full again. There was lots of people standing around her.
Her guests. Her friends. Zel and the Horns of Hammerad and Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers…
And Lyonette. And Mrsha. The Gnoll licked at Erin’s face as the young woman sat up.
“What’s happening, everyone?”
“You tell us. Erin, what happened to the kitchen?”
“Huh?”
It took Erin a few seconds to get up and go to the kitchen. When she did, she could only stare.
The kitchen was empty. Not of people, but of food. All the food in the kitchen was gone. Erin stared at the empty pantry, the ransacked larder, and then at the dishes piled up, and the unwashed pots and pans.
“Did you eat it? All of it?”
Lyonette stared at Erin uncertainly. The girl shook her head.
“No, I—I had a dream, but—”
“You ate everything in your dream?”
Revi stared at Erin incredulously. Ceria shook her head.
“No way. You could have fed us all for days with all the food in there! There’s no way…where did it go?”
Erin had no answers. She only shook her head and stared. After a while, when no answers were forthcoming, the people around her took action.
“I’ll get some food from the city! I mean, I’ll buy some—no, it’s an emergency.”
Lyonette ran out the door and the adventurers who were hungriest went with her to carry things. They left Erin alone, standing in the kitchen.
“Was it just a dream?”
It had felt so real. And yet, Erin felt like the events had to be a dream. Surely it couldn’t be—
Her eyes turned towards the jar of coins at the side of the room. Erin went over to it. Lyonette had grabbed a big handful out in a hurry. So it probably wasn’t…
There. At the bottom of the jar, Erin’s fingers found something other than the regular coins. She slowly drew out a coin that shone white and silver, practically glowing in the light from one of the lamps.
“It wasn’t a dream.”
But then, what was it? Erin stared at the coin. She ran her finger over it and peered at it. There was some sort of inscription on the coin. There was a rough border on both sides…faded imagery…she thought there might have been words, too.
But it was all long gone. Only the metal remained. Erin stared down at it, and then slowly put the coin in her pocket.
She walked over to the windows. Someone, probably Lyonette, had thrown them open. Through the glass, Erin stared out into the night.
“Oh. The snow’s stopped.”
The snow had indeed stopped falling. The drifts of snow were piled up very high, but now the sky was clear. And Erin could look up and see the stars and moon. And the second moon, a sliver of a crescent hanging across the sky from the first. Two moons. Sometimes Erin forgot. They hung in the sky, beautiful, lighting up the world.
Behind her, the fire crackled, burning brightly in the fireplace. Erin ignored it as she stared out across the vast world, up into a universe that was not hers.
But it was hers now, wasn’t it? Erin sighed and saw the windows fog up. Her windows. And this was her inn.
Around her, the snow covered the plains, deep, white. Untouched. To the right the city of Liscor sat, dark, the walls staring down at her. But familiar, nonetheless.
Erin reached into her pocket and felt the coin again. Was it just a small thing? No. Today had meant something, she was certain. It was the end of the winter. The winter solstice. The thing she had been named after.
Something had happened. Even if she didn’t know what. And looking out into the world, Erin knew more things were happening.
The winter was ending. The shortest day and the longest night of the year was over. Soon the world would warm, and then…
Erin smiled. Oh, that was right. If the longest night of the year was over, didn’t that technically make today sort of a new year’s? It was close enough, right? Perhaps that was how this world celebrated such things.
It certainly seemed fitting. Erin wiped at the glass and saw a group of people trudging back towards her inn, carrying what looked like enough food to feed an army. Or a bunch of starving adventurers.
It was just a short moment, but Erin was finally alone. She felt loneliness in her heart, and sadness. And grief. But also hope, and the reassurance that came to her as she stared at the people coming towards her inn.
She wasn’t completely alone. And so Erin walked towards her door and threw it open. She smiled as the night passed into day and the next day began. Everything started today. She laughed as, in the distance, the sun stopped setting and began to rise.
“It looks like it’s going to be an interesting year.”
End of Volume 3.
4.00 K
The sun was setting as Flos, the King of Destructio
n, found the small rock outcropping at the top of the hill. He trudged up the grassy slope, admiring the greenery around him.
Despite the burning fires of the army’s campfires below and the sea of tents and moving soldiers who had based themselves around the hill on which he stood, it was the grass that held more importance for Flos at this moment.
He was not accustomed to so much life in the earth. In his home, the arid ground was dry and inhospitable. The few places capable of producing water and sustenance were coveted. There would certainly be no grass growing there.
But here—Flos inhaled the smell of nature and smiled. He climbed the last stretch of hill, his armor rasping a bit as two ill-fitting pieces ground together.
“You should have that looked at, sire. I’m no [Blacksmith], but I don’t think armor is supposed to make that sound. Not unless you’re being stabbed, that is.”
The King smiled and looked up. The acerbic tone came from a man sitting on a rocky ledge, staring down at what would be tomorrow’s battlefield.
Drevish, known to all as the Architect, one of the King’s Seven, barely glanced up as Flos took a seat beside him. He was busy with a piece of parchment and charcoal. Flos glanced over his shoulder and saw the man had drawn a rough sketch of the landscape, only in his depiction there were buildings in the place of grass and stone.
“A new fortress?”
The King smiled. Drevish irritably waved him off. He continued sketching for a few moments, lost in thought. Flos was content to wait; he could see three more figures ascending the slop of the hill.
“It will not be anything special. But I want to test my new prototypes for a wall…and this place would make an acceptable chokepoint for advancing armies, or so Orthenon has informed me.”
“That it would. Assuming we take the field tomorrow.”
Flos stared pensively out across the battlefield. He could see smoke and fire rising in the distance. Drevish looked up and out at the other enemy’s encampment. He grunted sourly; the [Architect] had little time for battle.
