In Wilder Lands

by Jim Galford

  They sat there quietly for another minute or two, Varra picking at dried blood and dirt in Estin’s fur, even as she unblinkingly watched his face. He felt as though she were staring into his very spirit, waiting for the moment of death to arrive.

  “Will not be so bad,” Varra whispered at him, her fingers tracing the thin scars on his cheek from the fight with Olis months earlier, making his skin crawl at the feel. “This life has been very hard on you. Once you are turned, you will understand. If we hurry, you may even be able to keep your lover. I would not deny you this, if I am able. Make me wait too long and she will be beyond my help.”

  “This isn’t help.”

  Varra shook her head and answered, “Not the turning. She could be dead for years and I could turn her to one of my kind, though not so strong as I. What I mean is if we wait, everything here will be destroyed. I will take you—alive or dead—before that happens, but your little fox girl will be lost in what is to come next. If you accept now, we can still reach her. Her and the little ones. They do not need to be lost, my friend. The cute little foxes can stay young forever…if we can get to them in time.”

  Though his vision was still badly distorted, Estin slid his head along the ground so he could look southwards. No more than about a quarter mile away, the dimly-glowing mists he had seen earlier now floated, gradually drifting closer.

  “What is it?” he asked, trying to stall. He had to believe that Feanne could escape if he just gave her enough time. “Where does it come from?”

  “We do not know,” answered Varra, sounding almost sad, her cold fingers brushing at dirt in his fur absently. “The weapons in the golems…these we think made the mists. After each explosion, then we see large black holes that no magic could touch. A day pass, maybe two, maybe even a week, then the hole would go away and one of these mists appears. There are many now, drifting around, though usually not so large as we have here.”

  “You actually fear them.”

  Varra chuckled, the dry raspy noise grating on Estin’s ears.

  “Yes, is true. We sent so many little skeletons in to find out what the mists were, but only a handful came back. We watched some of our precious children burn to ash as the mists touched them. We may live forever, but magic like this will kill even us.

  “In passing, mists leave behind the remains of those they have taken from other places, even sometimes giving us parts of another city. Is like they take what they want from one land and drop it in another, no? If they do not like something they touch, it is destroyed.

  “At first, we considered them silly and just avoided them. Now, there are too many to avoid.”

  Shifting to look behind her, Varra watched the mists herself for a time, then returned her attention to Estin.

  “So how does being in a family way suit you?” she asked him, a touch of humor in her voice.

  “How does murdering your own father suit you?”

  Varra gave him another dry laugh and said nothing for a time, her hand tracing several deep gashes through her clothing and the skin beneath. Estin watched the motions, then began to wonder just how weakened she had been by the earlier battles if the wounds had not fully closed yet. Whatever powers Varra had gained in death were certainly limited in some way.

  “Do they speak to you anymore?” Estin asked her after a few more minutes.

  “Who?”

  “Your ancestors.”

  Varra sighed deeply, shaking her head.

  “They are upset with me, but they do not understand. Soon, the clans will all be like me and the ancestors will have no choice but to accept us as family again. It will take time, but that is what I have the most of now.”

  Then Varra leaned over top of Estin, watching him closely again, her hood brushing his face.

  “Is time to decide, my friend,” she told him, pulling back her hood. A deep bloodless cut ran across her face, having torn partly through one of her cheeks. The skin was closing, but almost slow enough that Estin could not see the movement. He could only imagine how bad the wound had been earlier. “I can hear your body dying and we cannot wait much longer. I can save you and those you wish, but there is no more time to wait. Let me give you our gift, then tell me where I can find your woman, so we can help the others.”

  “I never wanted or asked for your help,” muttered Estin, rolling onto his back, even through the pain of moving himself. “I’ve spent the last couple years watching your kind tear mine apart. I won’t help you, Varra. You’re offering to put a different kind of leash on me, but it’s still a leash. You’re the one who wanted me to find freedom outside the cities…I found it without you.”

  The rain felt good on his face, the small droplets cooling his skin and taking away the feeling of dirt and blood that covered him. He closed his eyes and let the rain calm him, even while Varra laid her hand on his throat. She was gentle, but he knew that could change easily. A part of his mind drifted back to when Feanne had put her hand on his neck the same way…from her, it had felt merciful, but from Varra, it felt like death waiting to claim him.

  “Is not surprise, but I wish you could have joined me as my equal,” Varra told him, her hand tightening on his throat, making breathing difficult. “We will talk more once I have turned your body into an immortal one. Perhaps then we can agree to find your woman and all the others together, yes? Your children would make adorable travel companions, once turned.”

  Varra’s grip cut off Estin’s breathing as he fumbled against her hand. Nothing he could do would move her one inch. Slowly, he felt the pounding in his head begin to fade as his arms became heavier. Sleep closed in on him again, this time feeling so much more oppressive, knowing what was to come, though he still pawed weakly at Varra’s iron grip.

  Without warning, Varra snatched her hand away, leaving Estin choking and inhaling much of the falling rain as he tried to get air back into his lungs. That only gagged him further, as only one of his lungs felt as though it were working properly.

  “You will not touch him again,” growled another voice. This one he had no trouble recognizing, even with the ringing in his ears. “Back away from my mate, creature.”

  Varra laughed and moved away from Estin very slowly, easing herself onto her feet.

  “Here I thought you had run away with tail between your legs,” said Varra, still standing somewhat over Estin. “He will live much longer with me than running the length of the world, looking for safety with you, fox lady. Very much longer. You are welcome to join us. If you choose not, I understand…I will keep him for the next few hundred years until I am bored with him. Best hurry…he will die soon even without my help.”

  Estin forced himself onto his side, using his elbow to shove himself off of the rocks so that he could see both Feanne and Varra.

  Standing with a straight back and her fingers extended to better fan out her claws, Feanne was not so much as looking down at him. She never took her eyes off of Varra and from what Estin could see, her leg muscles were tense and ready to leap at any moment. Throughout the wait, her ears twitched, turning every so often to follow nearby sounds as she panted, creating small puffs of steam in the cool air. She looked as though she had run hard to get to this place, her clothing and fur covered with a sheen of water and mud.

  Far off in the scrub grass of the canyon they were in, Estin saw the slightest bit of movement in his peripheral vision. The white tips of two tails shifted near the ground, as though someone were crawling through the grass. He quickly shifted his attention back to Varra, hoping she had not followed his gaze.

  “You should have gone with your people, no?” asked Varra, stepping even closer to Estin, her cloak shielding him from the light rain. “When I have killed you both, you will lead me to them. Had you stayed away, my little Estin would have been guessing at where you had gone.”

  “Please try to catch them, creature. I have sent them on through underground paths that only the dwarves from my pack will be able to find.”

&nbs
p; Laughing, Varra closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and shook her head while grinning.

  “Is not smart moment for you, fox lady. Little secret I wish you to know…my people can talk at great distances without words. My master already knows what you have said and is sending one of ours to the caves, with guidance from a dwarf that has already joined us. Your people are lost to you.”

  Estin swore he saw Feanne’s eyes gleam with mischief, but he could well have been imagining it. Before he could think too hard on that, he began coughing. When he opened his eyes again, a wide swath of blood was running swiftly away in the rainwater. He could already feel the drowsiness taking over again, as he fought to stay awake. Some part of him wanted to see the outcome of this battle, even if the result was death for his family.

  Seconds passed. Then as though they had announced to one another that it was time to begin, the two women rushed at each other, slamming together with the sound of claws ripping through flesh and metal sliding across fur and skin. The sickening sounds lasted only a moment, then Varra flung Feanne almost twenty feet away, where she hit the ground roughly, but managed to roll back onto her knees, wincing in pain.

  “Is not right,” mused Varra, eyeing a gash in her chest that exposed broken bones and blackened lungs beneath. Already it was beginning to mend and she looked annoyed, rather than injured. “My master swore we were not to be hurt by mundane weapons. Your claws should not hurt me.”

  Bleeding from a series of blade-wounds across her upper body, Feanne smiled weakly, tracing symbols in the air as quickly as she could, even as she stood unsteadily.

  “Ahh, this I understand,” said Varra, grinning broadly as she waved her hand and dismissed whatever magic Feanne had begun, making Feanne snarl angrily as the spell failed. “I did not know you had magic. This will make things much fun, yes? Is nice to fight someone who can try to harm me.”

  Estin could only helplessly watch as the two began a series of hand motions, each trying to form a spell to attack the other, only to be countered and have to start over. The battle of whispered magical words, overshadowed by the sound of falling rain, struck him as lovely in its simplicity, though he knew the strain both were dealing with, trying to overcome the other’s skills. Throughout the display, he saw flickers of magic over and over as spells began to form, then failed.

  Twice, Feanne had to step aside in a hurry as gouts of fire arced past her, coming from Varra. The second of those times, Estin saw her brush away flames on her fur.

  With a flourish, Varra ducked away as a wave of acid scorched the area where she had stood, steaming loudly in the rain. From what little Estin could see, Varra had been badly burned, but kept moving. The gypsy girl darted through the high grass, keeping Feanne turning as she covered much of the area, preventing a clear attack with magic.

  “You have studied a long time,” hissed Varra, vanishing yet again behind some rocks. “I am not so good at sitting in one place long enough to learn so much. This makes you better at magic than I.”

  Feanne swore loudly as long vine-like tendrils wrapped around open air as Varra slipped away. She waited a moment for Varra to reappear, then relaxed slightly, her feet making soft splashes as she walked to stand beside Estin, while she kept her eyes on the long grass around them.

  “Can you stand?” she asked softly.

  “No,” Estin said, though his own voice sounded like a choked gurgle. Even that word made his lungs ache and he began coughing again.

  “He will walk again once he has died!” called out Varra from somewhere nearby. “I would save my little fuzzy friend, if I can. Let me help him, then we talk about your dislike of me, yes? Do not make your lover die just because you hate me, fox lady. We can share him, no?”

  Estin struggled to get enough air in to be able to speak, fighting against the fluid that was filling his lungs.

  “Feanne,” he gasped, “just change and kill her, then run.”

  “I can’t. If I change again the strain would kill me and that does not help either of us.”

  Feanne stepped lightly over Estin, moving away from the rocks and out towards the brush that likely concealed Varra. She kept her hands up, possibly to block an attack, as well as to hasten any spells she needed to cast.

  “I am not so strong as you,” continued Varra, her voice coming from yet another part of the canyon, then moving as she spoke. “This I know, having seen you breaking my dancing puppets in your village. I have already fought long and hard today, leaving so little of my strength to face you. What is a girl to do when she cannot win with magic or might?”

  A sudden rustle in the bushes and a pair of squeals announced Varra’s location as she stood back up.

  “She will cheat, yes? This is how I win. Tricks!”

  One dangling from each hand, Varra held the kits by their necks. Both were fighting as best they could, squirming and kicking, trying to free themselves. Despite their whimpers and struggles, Varra held them firmly, grinning back at Feanne, even as acid continued to burn into her clothing and some exposed flesh.

  “We run short on time,” observed Varra, nodding towards the glowing mists that had drifted much closer. They now hung no more than twenty feet away. “You fight me, they die and become puppets. Give up and let me have both you and Estin, then you can choose if the children die and become mine, or if they just die. Is fair, no?”

  Oria cried out, fighting to reach Varra’s hand on her neck, tears running down her face. Atall had managed to twist himself almost upside-down and was tearing at Varra’s hand with his claws, though she seemed completely unaware or unconcerned.

  “Mom, help!” Atall shouted, his claws glancing harmlessly off of Varra’s hand. “Get up, dad!”

  Feanne’s ears twitched and went back and from where Estin lay—struggling not only with his own agony, but now the emotions of hearing Atall’s choice of words—he could see Feanne’s hands shaking. With a resigned sigh, she eased out of her tense stance.

  “You win,” Feanne said softly. “I have no other choices. They would be dead before I could tear your arms off.”

  “Yes! This is most wise,” lauded Varra, walking slowly towards Feanne and Estin, the kits whimpering as they were roughly bounced around. “What shall it be for the children?”

  From his prone position, Estin could clearly see Feanne’s hands. They were not idle anymore, though she looked as though she had given up. She had already begun tracing symbols in the air, but Estin could not see any indication Varra was even watching, focusing instead on Feanne’s face that was a mask of defeat.

  “My children are my rock in life. I won’t see them changed into monsters,” said Feanne, letting her shoulders sag…then brought her hands up swiftly and completed whatever magic she had begun.

  Though Varra snarled and tried to break the kits’ necks, Feanne’s spell had split and the two children had instantly hardened to stone, their bodies petrified by Feanne’s magic. In dismay, Varra stared at the small statues, unable to damage them.

  “Is most clever trick…”

  “Never try to out-clever a fox,” roared Feanne as she rushed Varra, her claws ripping half of the gypsy’s face off with her first swing. The second knocked Varra over backwards as most of her jaw was torn free, the frozen kits tumbling away.

  Varra slammed onto the ground on her back, reaching up to try and put her jaw back into place, as though dazed. As she did, Feanne took the moment to call down lightning bolt after lightning bolt, blasting away at Varra until the place where she lay was scorched and blackened, every bit of moisture boiled away. Still, Varra began to sit back up, her entire body burned and broken.

  Feanne leapt across the distance separating them as the last flash of light faded, tackling Varra and sitting down on top of her. Without hesitation, Feanne raked Varra over and over with her claws until Varra finally stopped moving, her torn body going limp on the ground. Feanne continued to strike at her for several more seconds, then let her hands fall to her sides
as she panted for breath. Even as she fought to breathe, Varra’s feet began to twitch again.

  Estin just lay there, feeling his breathing slowing as the sun slowly rose, lighting the field. He closed his eyes and waited for the warmth the light would bring, but it did not come. When he opened his eyes again, he realized the light was from the strange mists that now hung only several steps past Feanne.

  Inside those eerie clouds, Estin could see things that made no sense. At first, he believed his delirium was reaching a new level, but the bizarre sights only could be seen in the mists. Anywhere else he looked, things were relatively normal. He could not pick out anything specific, but flashes of faces and places appeared and vanished rapidly.

  Looking back to Feanne, Estin watched as she leaned to either side, touching first Oria, then Atall. At her touch, each child returned to flesh and bone, blinking as they tried to figure out what had happened. They both just stared between Feanne, Varra, and Estin.

  “Feanne, please take them away,” Estin gasped, not even sure the words were coming out in a way that she would understand. “Let me be alone now.”

  Easing herself up from Varra’s mangled body, Feanne took the kits’ hands and led them to Estin’s side, sitting them down opposite one another. Calmly, as though she had all the time in the world, she took a seat there as well, picking up his hand and cradling it against her cheek.

  “You will never die alone, my love,” she told him, tracing symbols with her free hand over his chest. “Dalania recently taught me a few things the Miharon did not care that I learned about my own magic. I can heal your body…somewhat…but there is little else I can do to save us.”

  As her gestures ceased, Estin immediately began to feel warmth return to his body. Unlike his own magic, which would have repaired anything from a scratch to broken bones instantly, hers was slowly moving things back where they belonged. It was an incredible—and painful—sensation as his bones began to shift, repositioning themselves. The shattered bone in his leg popped back into the flesh, making him cry out in agony.