Dawn Of Darkness

by Amy Hopkins

  In fact, she was just on her way out of the room with an armload of linen. “All done,” she said with a grin. “Though I think I need a shower after touching these.” With a mock shudder, she skipped downstairs.

  “There’s so much more to this story than I know,” Julianne said, collapsing on the double bed.

  “What, you didn’t just read the mind of the dozen people that saw it unfold?” Marcus asked.

  “I’d rather hear it from you.” When Marcus gave her a skeptical look, she explained. “Have you ever heard a story told that was so funny, the person telling it couldn’t speak? Or seen something just plain stupid, only to have the stories told about it turn out better than the event?”

  Thinking about it, Marcus realized it was true. Sometimes, it wasn’t the story itself that was funny, it was how it was told, or who was telling it.

  “I don’t get to do that. Not often, anyway. In the Temple, everyone knows everything almost before it’s happened. So, go on, tell me!”

  Humoring her need for a good story, Marcus told her what happened between the lovers, and outside the inn with Adeline. Seeing how much Julianne enjoyed the story, he played up the details and acted the part of the young seductress with gusto.

  When someone knocked on the door to drop off their meals, Julianne was rolling on the bed, hysterical. “Oh, my.. And you…” She screeched again, holding her stomach as she laughed.

  “Oh, no,” she gasped. “I can’t eat like this!”

  Her eyes shone white as she forced herself into a deep meditation, then flickered back as she giggled again.

  Eventually, the hunger overwhelmed her mirth and she dove into her meal. “Oh, Bitch’s flames, that’s hot!” Fresh tears, this time from the spicy lentils, slid down her cheeks. Still, she emptied the plate, gulping down wine to cool her tongue.

  “Careful with that,” Marcus warned. “It’s not mystic’s elixir.”

  “Oh, I can handle my wine,” Julianne said. “Had plenty of practice with the guard.”

  Still, she shook her head when Marcus offered to top off the glass. Her muscles were soft and her skin warm and tingling. “What a day. It’s barely sundown, and I’m ready for bed.”

  “You sleep,” Marcus said. He hopped off the bed and pulled down a corner of the freshly laid blanket. Then, he spread his bedroll on the floor beside it.

  “Oh, don’t be an idiot,” Julianne admonished. “Sleep next to me. I swear, I don’t have lice.”

  That made them both dissolve into laughter again. Marcus carefully stacked up the plates and glasses, and left them outside the door by the now-empty wine bottle. “If you’re sure,” he said.

  He stripped down to his underwear and slid into bed. The maid had left a bed warmer between the sheets, and he groaned as his feet found the warm spot. “That feels divine,” he said.

  He rolled over to nestle in beside Julianne. He rubbed her arm, sending goosebumps down her flesh. Nuzzling close, he pressed his nose into her hair. She smelled of jasmine and wine, and he smiled happily.

  “Can you tell what I’m thinking now?" he whispered in her ear.

  His only response was a light snore. Ruefully laughing at his string of bad luck, he snuggled in and closed his eyes. In a few minutes, he was asleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Bette eyeballed the man in front of her. Jake was far taller than her, and yet the short woman still seemed to tower over him.

  “Now, either get yer ass back in that line, or fight me like a man who has an actual pair of balls.” Bette slid a glance to Sherp, a gangly youth in the second row. “No offense, Sherp.” Sherp reddened, swallowed and nodded.

  He had lost one of his balls after a drunken run through what he thought was an empty field. Even fueled by rum and terror, he couldn't outrun the angry bull he had disturbed.

  “Now, what's it gonna be ye big lump of shite?”

  Jake’s eyes dropped to the ground. “If it's alright with you, Sargeant, I'll take my place in line.”

  He shuffled back and Bette resisted the urge to kick him in the balls anyway. From the sidelines, Garrett gave her an approving nod. She scowled back. Don't need yer bloody approval, ye bastard, she thought, uncaring that he couldn’t hear it.

  “Now, do it again ye soft cocks! Try ta do it at least as half as well as the only real soldier in yer bloody troop.” Pointing at Sharne, who already held her spear overhead perfectly straight, Bette grinned.

  “Yes, SIR!” Sharne yelled a bare second before the others.

  Bette ran them through drills three more times, cursing out the slow and the slouched, those with poor form and worse balance. “Ye think ye’ll stop an army with that limp dick?" she asked one young man before jabbing him in the forearm.

  The spear clattered to the ground, and he picked it up, chagrined. “Sorry, Sir.”

  When she finally let them go, they were tired and sweaty. Even Sharne’s form had begun to suffer, a telltale wobble in her spear tip showing her fatigue.

  “Off with ye, then,” Bette yelled. “Go feed yerselves some breakfast and do some real work.”

  The group of villagers slumped in relief.

  “Hey now, don't cry, ye pussies. That was the best bitch-damned training we've had! I never seen progress like this. Better than a guard troop of pubescent rearick, ye are! We'll have ye trained ta fight dragons with toothbrushes in another week or two!”

  Some of the men grinned at that. She had spent the last session telling them how fast that pubescent group of rearick would kick their asses.

  “Do ye think they'll survive in a real fight?” Garrett asked when they had gone.

  “Aye. Marcus has been training them well. They've got the forms, they just need the strength.”

  “And if they're tired and aching when the attack comes?” Garrett picked up the spears left behind by the trainee fighters and started stacking them in the makeshift rack.

  “Then we teach them to fight tired and aching.” A hard glint to Bette’s gaze made Garrett want to know more, but afraid to ask.

  She saw his curious look. “When I finally convinced Henrick to teach me fight skills, he told me the day I began was the day I'd get trounced the moment I left. The cadets I learned with weren't exactly known for forward thinking. I got beaten every day for three weeks. I didn't have the luxury of resting, and I'm bloody well stronger for it.”

  Garrett knew she'd had a hard time. She was the first female fighter in… well, ever. She had fought tooth and nail to be accepted by the rearick as a fighter, and for the most part, she had won. It hadn't come easily, though.

  “I trust ye know what yer doing. Do ye want to check the rosters before I post them?”

  “Eh, I trust ye know what yer doing.” As she echoed his words back, she winked at him.

  He coughed and looked away. Ever since they had fought at the festival, Garrett had treated her as his superior. By their traditions, she was. He had no idea how to feel about his superior flirting with him, though.

  “Annie should have breakfast laid out by now.” He left the unspoken question hanging in the air.

  Ruefully, Bette shook her head. “Clumsy shits broke two more spears. I'm gonna fix those, then get another half-dozen made up. I know they're the easiest weapon to learn, but Bitch knows I wish Marcus had taught them swords.”

  “And where would those swords come from, then?" he reminded her.

  “Aye, true. Still, even shovels might last longer. They might even do some damage.”

  Garrett laughed and waved goodbye. “Send a runner if ye need me. I'm off ta feed me face, then I'll check on the guard stations.”

  “Give them hell if ye see them sleepin’ on the job!” she called after him.

  “That I will, lass,” he muttered to himself. “That I will.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Bastian collapsed at the small patio table outside the makeshift classroom. He pulled out the fresh roll Annie had sent him off with. She knew he had an ea
rly first class, and didn’t want him to miss breakfast.

  “Thank you, Annie,” he muttered through a mouthful of food. “That woman is a blessing from the Bitch herself.”

  “Bastian! Just the man I wanted to see.” Danil strode up, clapping Bastian on the shoulder. Behind him trailed Rhea, one of the young women from the village.

  Only in her early twenties, Rhea was the closest to Bastian’s age. They had chatted at Mary’s a few times, but he didn’t really know her. She stood out amongst the townspeople—quieter than most, she was also one of the smartest. Bastian had seen Julianne beside her, both girls bent over a book or scroll, Rhea’s dark skin offsetting Julianne’s paleness.

  “What can I help you with?” Bastian tried to settle a sudden feeling of foreboding. When Danil smiled that widely, chances were, it meant trouble for everyone around him.

  “I have a new project for you.”

  “Project?” Bastian asked. “I have my next class in a half hour, then I need to see to Francis.”

  “It’s Francis that got you into this. Rhea here,” Danil gestured to the girl, who blushed. “Needs some magic training.”

  Bastian frowned. What the hell is he up to? “I have room in my next session, but these students have already mastered basic shielding. We’re working on strength now.” He took a long swallow of water from his skein to wash down the suddenly dry lump of bread.

  “Oh, Bastian.” Danil grinned and laid a hand on Bastian’s shoulder. “I don't mean mental magic. Young Rhea has the makings of a druid!”

  Bastian choked, spitting out the water. He dabbed the wet dribble down his shirt. “What the fu—uhh. Sorry, Rhea”

  Rhea giggled. “Don’t worry, Master Bastian. I’ve heard worse words outta my pa’s mouth.”

  Ignoring her protest, Bastian turned back to Danil. “Seriously, what are you thinking? I don’t know the first thing about Druidry. And did you listen at all when I told you about the disaster with Francis?”

  “See, Rhea, I told you he’d do it. But if you guys only have a half hour, I’d better leave you to it.” Danil waved at Bastian, whose face glowed an angry red.

  “You can’t just—” Bastian threw the rest of his bread roll at Danil’s retreating back. “YOU OWE ME!" he yelled.

  “Anytime!” came Danil’s fading voice.

  Bastian’s shoulders dropped in defeat and he heaved a long sigh.

  “Geez, I’m not that bad, am I?” Rhea plonked herself down in the chair opposite Bastian. “Look, I think this is crazy. I don’t have magic—I failed out of Danil’s shield class, and I think he feels bad. I’m not like Lilly. I just… you know, like my pets.”

  As if in response to her words, a tiny mouse peeked out from her collar. “Squeak,” it said.

  “Can you talk to it? Make it follow instructions?” Bastian asked wearily.

  Rhea laughed. “I trained Molly with cheese, that’s all. It wasn’t magic.”

  Feeling a flicker of hope, Bastian asked, “How many other pets do you have? How many are trained?”

  “Seven mice, four dogs, two cats, nine birds and a roach,” She beamed proudly and Bastian’s heart fell. “Oh. Right. That’s not really normal, is it?” Rhea looked crestfallen for a moment, then brightened as she realized the implications. “Wow. If I really have magic… Wow!”

  Bastian allowed his head to drop into his hands for a moment. Then, he harnessed his mystic professionalism. “Don’t get too excited. You could just be good at what you do.”

  “So… you don’t think I have magic?”

  “Everyone has magic. Some people just can’t seem to tap into it like others. Here, talk to your mouse or whatever it is you do.” Bastian tucked his water away and rolled up the empty cloth that had held his lunch.

  Rhea slowed her breath, held up the mouse and started whispering to it. As she did, her eyes shimmered with green, like Bastian’s did when he used magic, but weaker and a different color.

  “Ahh, dammit.” He threw the wadded cloth at the ground. “Looks like I’ve got another student.”

  Startled, Rhea almost dropped the mouse. It squeaked loudly as she dropped it in her sleeve, then clapped. “Bastian, that’s so exciting! What do I have to do?”

  She waited patiently while Bastian racked his brain for anything he knew about nature magicians. Though Rhea was not and would never be a true druid—she would have to train with the forest people to earn that title—her magic was like theirs.

  “Look, I don’t think I know enough to really get you started. Have you ever spoken to Lilly? She could run rings around what I know about animal magic.”

  Rhea shook her head. “I’ve asked her help before, when one of my pets got sick. She was happy enough to assist, and fixed little Myra up no trouble, but she refused to breathe a word about her abilities.” Rhea shrugged, embarrassed. “I won’t lie. I’ve always been a little jealous of her magic.”

  Bastian sighed. “Very well. Let’s start with the basics.”

  He told Rhea to stand quietly, concentrating on her breath. “Now, reach inside. Feel the connection with your animals.”

  “Squeak!” Milly poked her head out again.

  “Did I do that?” Rhea asked.

  Bastian had no idea. “Why don’t we try another animal. One you’re not close to.” He looked around and spotted a lark in a nearby tree. “What about that one? See if you can make it come here.”

  “Ok.” Rhea shook out her hands, stretched her neck, then dropped into a relaxed posture.

  Bastian watched as she stared at the bird, brows furrowed into a small frown of concentration. Her breath slowed. Green sparks shimmered in her eyes.

  Bastian’s heart jumped when the bird cocked its head and flew closer, landing on the garden fence. It chirped, then let out a cry before jumping to the ground.

  Rhea opened her eyes and gasped. “Oh… I did do that!”

  A second bird fluttered into the small yard, then a third. A crow swooped at Bastian’s head, and he yelped.

  “Rhea? I think we should—” His words were cut off by the screech of more birds, swooping and diving and circling overhead. He yanked Rhea’s arm, dragging her into the schoolhouse.

  “What the hell was that?" she whimpered. “I take it back. Magic sucks.”

  Bastian pulled back a curtain, jumping back when a nasty looking bird flapped over to it and tapped at the glass with its beak. One eye peered into the room and the bird let out a low ‘caw’. Beyond it, the yard was teeming with birds. They flapped and waddled, covering the yard and tripping over each other as they meandered past the open window.

  “I don’t think we should go out there,” Bastian said in a low voice.

  The bird by the window tapped again, this time harder. The crack jarred Bastian’s nerves, and he let the curtain drop. “This is actually freaking me out more than when Francis tried to set me on fire,” he muttered.

  “Did you say something?” Rhea was peeking through a crack in the wall panelling. She jumped back when a sharp ‘rat-tat-tat’ sounds from the other side of the wall. She rubbed her arms. “Bastian… what if they don’t go away?”

  A solid knock on the front door started Bastian’s heart thumping all over again. “Who—” he cleared his throat and tried again. “Who’s there?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud.” Lilly shoved the door open and strode straight to the back of the small building. Her hair frizzed out angrily and her face was stern. “What are you doing to those poor creatures?”

  Bastian eyed her warily, wondering how such a small child could look so intimidating.

  She flung the back door wide and carefully stepped out, making sure she didn’t disturb any of the birds. “I’m so sorry, little ones. They didn’t mean any harm, and they won’t do it again. Go on… fly away.”

  One, then two birds flapped their wings and took off, followed by two more. Then, in a mess of caws and loud flapping, they rose like a writhing blanket and took off into the sky.

&n
bsp; Lilly stormed back in. “Really, Bastian, for a grown up you don’t have a lot of sense. I’d expected more from you.”

  Too stunned by the tiny girl’s wrath to respond, Bastian just stared. By the time he found his tongue, Lilly had stomped away, slamming the door behind her muttering something that sounded like “stupid boys”.

  “Well,” Bastian said, sitting down with a thump. “I guess that means your first lesson is done.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Julianne smoothed the fabric of her wrinkled dress against the bedspread. “Marcus, this looks awful! I can’t turn up to a theatrical performance like this.” She flopped back on the bed. “I’ll just have to fake it.”

  “Or,” Marcus said as he whipped the dress away from her. “You can do what normal people do at an inn, and ask for what you need.” He walked out, the door swinging hut behind him.

  Julianne rolled herself off the bed and pulled out her bag. She had packed expecting to take audience with a lord, so at least she had enough to make herself presentable. When Marcus returned, she was perched on the edge of the bed with a small mirror in one hand, and a powder-dipped brush in the other.

  “Oh. Uh, sorry.” He blushed, averting his eyes.

  “Marcus, I’m not naked. It’s just a shift.” She rolled her eyes as swept the brush along her cheekbones.

  “You’re in your underclothes!”

  “You wouldn’t even know that if I threw on a belt and did my hair.”

  She had a point. The linen shift was edged with lace and came down past her calves. It certainly didn’t show enough flesh to warrant beetroot cheeks and a sudden stammer.

  “Besides,” she added. “I’ve stood next to you in the middle of a brothel full of bare assed women. I know you’ve seen worse.”

  “Yeah, but they weren’t—” He stopped, swallowed, and turned away. He hung the dress on a hook before kicking through a pile of clothes to find his scabbard.