Fury Lingers: Book One of The Foreseen Trilogy

by Ethan Spears

  She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a forlorn look. “No, we’re not. I don’t think we’ll ever be.”

  “Why? What makes you say that?” She kept walking. They continued without saying anything more, passing through the main gate of the city.

  Chapter 20

  Music and Water

  Tabir woke with a start, his flailing arms catching his mug and sending it shattering on the common room floor. The bartender barked some angry rebuke, but Tabir didn’t register what was said. Gods, what had he just seen? He was watching them, Ezma’s apprentice and the half-elf, and everything went to hell. There was fire, screaming, a blood-covered sword, and the smell of burning flesh.

  Without warning, a wave of pain and nausea washed over him. Even as he tried to stand, his legs buckled and he emptied his stomach on the inn’s floor. The bartender rushed around the counter to his side, lifting Tabir with two meaty hands.

  “Gods, Tabir,” said Jess, easily pulling him to his feet. “Usually you can hold your drink. The hell happened?”

  Tabir’s head was splitting. He pressed his palm to the bridge of his nose, raking his forehead with his nails. What was happening? This dream, this pain; something was very wrong.

  “Roberts,” he gasped, leaning heavily on Jess. “Get Roberts.”

  “Roberts?” said Jess. “He said he was leaving at midnight. He might already be gone for all—”

  “Just get him, Jess. Better yet, bring me to his room.”

  Jess didn’t argue further; he may not understand half of what these people did, but he recognized the urgency behind the request. Placing a huge arm around Tabir, he carried more than led him towards the rooms on the second floor. Tabir’s mind was imploding in on itself, the pain excruciating. He could hardly make sense of where they were going.

  Jess punched the door, a single powerful knock that sent items on the shelves inside falling to the floor.

  “What in the blazes? Jess, you big ape! Can’t you knock like a normal person? There’s graysap everywhere.”

  “Mr. Roberts, please open up. Something’s wrong with Tabir.”

  Roberts clanked towards the door and began working on the lock. “There’s something wrong with him, alright. I saw him passed out drunk at his table, still in his traveling clothes. Been in his cups for weeks now, nothing but crying and complaining.” He opened the door and gave Tabir a stern look, but it was soon replaced by shock. “Gods! Quickly, get him in, get him in!” He ran to his table, blindly swiping bottles and scrolls off and waving Jess over. Ignoring the broken glass and bottle contents now mingling under his boots. Jess lifted Tabir onto the table. Though Tabir’s body had grown limp and unresponsive, it was also oddly light.

  “What’s happened to him? What’s wrong?”

  “Jess, we’re going to need food and drink as soon as you can manage. Put it on my tab. Please, go now!”

  Jess thundered from the room in a clumsy run. Food would be needed, but it was more an excuse to get Jess out of the room. Roberts could already feel the energy in Tabir changing, growing otherworldly and tainted, his skin becoming ashen. It had been years since he had to pull someone back from the brink and he hoped he still remembered how. He took a calming breath and placed his hands on either side of Tabir’s head. He had to build a mental bridge, and he had to do it fast.

  “Croon!” he cursed as the pain hit him as well: he was supposed to feel only a fraction of Tabir’s pain. Unless, of course, he was only feeling a fraction, in which case it was no surprise Tabir had succumbed in the short time it took Jess to bring him here.

  Roberts delved into Tabir’s mind and found it a chaotic mess, his magical energy roiling against the invading force in a titanic struggle. With Tabir losing consciousness, however, it was swinging sharply against him. Roberts surveyed the scene for a split second before he acted, but the brief glance gave him all the information he needed. He didn’t remember the incantation fully, but as he recited the first few words, his mouth and mind spoke the rest by rote. The alien energy recoiled as Tabir’s began to grow and retaliate. Roberts instinctively wanted to help fend it off, but he had seen this enough time to know the dangers. Instead, he lent his own powers to Tabir, bolstering his flagging mind.

  He was surprised at how aggressively the attempt to take Tabir’s mind was being carried out. This had to be one powerful sprite.

  The sprite’s energy lashed out, pelting the combined mental force of the two humans. Each time their energies met, Roberts sucked air in pain. He urged Tabir’s mind to strike back, but the man was already too far into unconsciousness to respond. Unless he wanted to expose his own mind to the sprite, all Roberts could do was shift the bulk of their power like a wave.

  The voice of the sprite rose up, angry and musical. Its cries were like the strings of a violin, its hisses like the deep thrum of a cello. As Roberts plied his skills, he was treated to the orchestral music of the mind, an experience that might have been enjoyable were it not for the pain and the inherent danger of his task.

  Roberts compelled their powers forward, pushing against the sprite’s energy and forcing it back towards the mental rift it had used to invade his mind. It sent out psychic shrieks like the blast of a trumpet and lashed out wildly as it tried to pull itself away from the gulf, but against the power of two minds, it was completely overwhelmed.

  Tabir’s mental energy rolled back like the tide, allowing the sprite a moment to recover and lurch away from the rift. Roberts urged the energy forward again, straining his mind to the breaking point. The sprite spat out energy in futility. With one last shove and the scream of an operatic voice, it hurtled into the abyss, the hole sealing shut as Tabir’s magic washed over it.

  Roberts cut off his mental connection as soon as the scene was calm, his head thumping. Already Tabir’s breathing and color were returning to normal. Roberts took the opportunity to grab a chair and sit, messaging his temples.

  A minute later, Jess waddled back into the room with arms laden with sausages and bottles of wine, plates and cups forgotten in his rush. “He looks loads better,” he said, relieved.

  “He’s not clear yet,” said Roberts. “He still needs to wake out of this stupor.” Ignoring his own pain, he stood and slapped at Tabir’s face. “Come on, Tabir, wake up.” Tabir’s head jerked, but his eyes didn’t open. “Damn it, Tabir, stop fooling around and get up.”

  Jess put down his victuals and strode to the table. He put his face an inch from Tabir’s and shouted. “Oi, Christopher, wake up!”

  Tabir’s head jerked up, barely missing Jess’s face as he pulled away. “Dammit, Jess,” he mumbled groggily. “Don’t go waking me up. And don’t call me that.”

  Roberts laughed. “Jess, sometimes I think you’re a smarter man than you let on. Welcome back to the waking world, Tabir.”

  Christopher Tabir looked around, then closed his eyes again and clutched his head. “Gods above, how much did I drink?”

  “It wasn’t what you drank. Jess, I thank you for your time and assistance, but I need to have a private talk with young Tabir. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine,” he added as Jess wrung his hands. “I’ll have him back on his feet before I leave.”

  Roberts’s word was enough for Jess. He gave him a relieved look, bowing as he left the room and closing the door behind him. “You’re lucky Jess is a good-hearted man,” Roberts said as the footsteps receded. “Most innkeeps would wait for you to die then call the guards to clean you up. At least they would plan to, until you went berserk on them.”

  Tabir felt dizzy, but the pain and nausea were rapidly receding. “You’ve lost me. Why am I going berserk, now?”

  “Because a sprite was trying to take your body on a joyride,” he chastised. “Doing a little drunken seeing tonight, Tabir?”

  “A sprite?” He tried thinking back. He sat up sharply, knocking the glasses right off of Roberts’s face. “That’s right! Roberts, I need to tell you about what I saw.”

  Roberts rubbe
d his nose and felt around for his spectacles. “You shouldn’t be seeing while inebriated. Honestly, since you came back from Ezma’s you’ve been terribly reckless.”

  “I wasn’t doing it on purpose. I wasn’t even awake. It was in a dream.”

  “A dream vision?” Robert’s placed his spectacles on his nose. “That’s abnormal. You’ve never had one of those before, have you?” Tabir shook his head vigorously, then had to steady himself as his head swam. Roberts tapped the bridge of his glasses with his finger, thinking. “How strange. It’s almost unheard of for someone to have their first dream vision this late into adulthood. What was it concerning?”

  “It was about…” he stopped, realizing what he was going to say would probably get him in trouble.

  Roberts was too quick on the uptake, however. He read Tabir’s grimace with keen eyes. “The orc and the half-elf, it would be.” Tabir nodded somberly. Roberts sighed. “I suppose I can’t be angry with you. Ezma said spying on them would disrupt the process, but you can’t help it if it was a dream vision, can you?” He offered Tabir a sausage. “Here, you need to recover some energy.” Tabir took the sausage and forced himself to eat, knowing Roberts was right. “Now, since you’ve seen it, you might as well share. What happened, exactly?”

  “It was an awful, bloody mess,” Tabir recounted. “Both of them dead, the buildings around them burning. I saw it as clear as if I were there with them. They had turned on each other, the elf landing a fatal blow, and the orc burning everything as she bled out. It was the most atrocious thing I had ever seen.”

  Roberts nodded. “That’s because you didn’t see the Fury. But this dream goes against everything Ezma said would happen. They aren’t supposed to die, as far as I know.”

  “As far as I know as well, but things have already strayed from what we expected. That aside, the content of the dream isn’t the only strange part.” Roberts raised an eyebrow, an invitation to continue. “According to Ezma’s timeline, they should be well to the west, perhaps in Verka already, but they aren’t, not even close. They were in the east at the halfling village of Wickwick.”

  Roberts sputtered. “Wickwick? Impossible! That’s hundreds of stretches from where they’re supposed to be! How in the world could that be? Are you sure you saw it right?”

  Tabir nodded. “I saw the sign at the entrance. And things only get worse from there, because the events I saw happen twelve days from now, on Airday.”

  “Twelve days? But that’s over twice as far as—” Roberts snapped his fingers. “Pushing your vision that far explains the sprite attack! I’ve never heard of a sprite attack resulting from a dream vision, however. I’ll have to make a note of it later. Is there anything else you recall?”

  Tabir recounted the dream in as much detail as he could. “That’s everything I remember,” he finished. “I know I’m throwing all this at you right when you’re about to leave.”

  “No, no, it was right of you to come to me, sprite or no.” Roberts fell to thinking.

  Tabir only now realized how Roberts was dressed. He usually looked like somebody’s confused grandfather, a gray, balding head and turkey-like neck jutting from a worn and stained brown robe that he wore on most occasions, so hunched and small for a human that he could be confused for a tall halfling. But now he stood in traveling leathers dyed black, matching boots and cloak, and even his usual yew walking stick was wrapped in blackened leather strips.

  “Is Croon’s congregation gathering?” Tabir asked, unsure if the question was appropriate.

  Roberts looked surprised, remembering his garb. “Ah, right. I was hoping to leave without everyone realizing what the trip was for. I suppose that plan is ruined now, but yes, the priests of Croon are calling the highest of her Nilriel faithful to gather at Loche for an important meeting.”

  “Really? Isn’t Croon a hands-off goddess?”

  Roberts nodded gravely. “That’s why I wanted to leave silently. Look, keep this to yourself. If people hear that the death goddess is calling her faithful for the first time since before Kenta’s Fury, it’s liable to cause panic, especially among our fellow humans.”

  “It must be about the end of the Restraint.”

  “Surely, but Croon is an impartial goddess: she’ll snip our lifestrings as she sees fit and we can only hope she finds no reason this day or the next. She seems, however, to have her sheers resting over the strings of our two unfortunate puppets. I hope she won’t mind if we toy with fate a bit more today. Gods know she doesn’t need any more souls to process.”

  “Does that mean you’ll stay and help me figure this out?” Tabir asked.

  “No, a meeting of this sort is too rare to excuse myself from. I must go tonight. The rest of the Order is scattered at the moment, each carrying out the tasks that they’ve been assigned. That leaves you to take care of things with those two.”

  “That’s a hefty charge to leave me with,” he averted his eyes, adding at a mumble, “especially after I botched things with Ezma and the mirror.”

  “You must forgive yourself for that. There’s no use regretting that which cannot be undone. I’ve already stayed here longer than I intended, but this is important: you must get to Wickwick before they kill each other. I cannot stress that enough. You know what’s at stake. Use what Ezma taught you to puzzle it out once you get there, but you must find some solution to keep them safe.”

  Tabir shifted uncomfortably. “I won’t be able to start until a day before it happens. Do you think that will be enough time?”

  “I hope so. If not, well, Croon will be busy, if even she survives.” Roberts looked around his room, still stained with spilled mixtures and scattered with scrolls. “I’ll worry about all this when I get back. Nothing terribly important got ruined. I’ll make sure Jess and his people know not to clean my room while I’m gone.” He reached for his staff but paused when he saw the sober expression on Tabir’s face. “Now, now,” he said gently, reaching up and placing a hand on Tabir’s shoulder, “don’t think I’m sending you because you’re my only choice: even were all the Order here tonight, it would fall to me to pick the one I felt best suited for the task and I’d still choose you, understand? And so, as head of the Order of the Last Night, I charge you with this mission. I won’t take no for an answer or failure as an option.” He squeezed Tabir’s shoulder encouragingly. “Now I really must get going. You can leave in the morning after you’ve gotten proper rest. With this fine weather, you should make it with days to spare.”

  “I won’t fail, sir.”

  “Ha! ‘Sir.’ You must be all atwitter if you’re calling me that. But yes, don’t fail, and good luck.” He scooped up his walking stick and shuffled Tabir out of his room, locking the door behind them. He then went off without another word.

  Tabir rested his head against Roberts’s door. What happened, Ezma? he wondered. Where did it all fall apart? Was it me? Was it you? He stood lost in thought for longer than he intended because Jess came up to check on him.

  “You feeling alright, Tabir?” he asked, peeking through the doorframe at the top of the stairs.

  “I’ve been better, Jess, but I’m good enough now. Roberts is already off and I’ll be leaving in the morning as well.”

  “Another mission, huh? That’ll mean no one from the Order will be here, don’t it? It’ll be the first time in years.”

  Tabir chuckled. “Don’t sound so dejected, Jess. Ryan and Morris will be back in a few days, Trint the day after that barring some trouble at sea, and Gunsk by month’s end.”

  “You lot aren’t loud, but the place is oddly quiet without the Order around.”

  “Well, I promise it will be lively again soon enough. I’ll only be gone for a month if all goes right. Keep my room clean for me, would you?”

  Jess nodded and went back down the stairs. Tabir would head to his room in a moment, but he had to make a quick stop first. He headed to the end of the hall and around the corner. There were only two rooms down this way. He pu
lled out his keyring, pushed aside his own, and grabbed the one for the door on the left. The lock sounded twice, emitting a familiar cla-click, and he let himself in.

  Not much was left in Ezma’s room. Roberts had claimed most of the items inside for the Order, and various members made off with bits they determined useful for their purposes. Tabir had been sour about it, thinking it disrespectful to pick over her property so shortly after her death, but in the end, it was Ezma’s wishes that they do so. The bed and nightstand remained—those belonged to the inn after all—along with some candle holders, an odd assortment of books on several non-magical subjects, a map of western Astran on which her hut was circled in red, and three wooden crates bursting with knickknacks they had yet to discard.

  He sat on her bed and wallowed in the melancholy that weighed on him. He wanted nothing more than to think about Ezma and feel absolutely miserable. He was of sound enough mind to acknowledge how unhealthy that feeling was, but he was also weak of will and quick to indulge himself. With the inn empty and the hour late, the room was perfectly silent. He pulled one of the crates over to the bed and lifted the top off, sifting through the contents without purpose.

  Most of what was left behind were trinkets from her family. No one in the Order had met her older brother, but she spoke about him often and with such warmth. He sent her letters and baubles until the day he died, but that was decades ago, before she joined the Order. They now rested in this crate, yellowed and rotten with age. Tabir had tried going through some before but couldn’t make heads or tails of the Orcish. Likewise, there were many drawings folded and stuffed in among the letters. Some were made by her brother and some by Ezma herself. Their styles were very different, Ezma’s being bright sketches of buildings and people done in shaky and unskilled lines, while her brother’s were smooth and accurate, but dull brown and charcoal black. Tabir assumed she was trying to become as good an artist as her brother, but it looked like she gave up after he passed on.