by Lexy Wolfe
Tiwaz looked towards the horizon, thoughtful. “It sounds quite noisy.”
Veridian smiled, appreciative of her insight. “Yes. It is incredibly so. Even after so long, I must focus to distinguish one being or thing from another. Some things are easier to see than others. They stand out, like how some stars in the night sky shine brighter in the sea of their fellows.
“The prayers of the truly devout make it easier to focus on individuals.” His smile faded, taking her hand and turning it over. He stroked his finger along the laces of her bracer. The laces loosened, allowing him to slip it off to expose the grey, twisted flesh. She shivered at his gentle touch as he spoke. “When my sister Sulnar removed the glyphs binding your nature, you did not simply shine. It was like the blackest storm clouds moved from in front of the sun. If we are drawn to you, it is because we cannot help ourselves.”
She pulled her arm away, hugging her wrist against her chest uncertainly. “I’m not…”
He touched her chin, gently turning her face to meet his eyes. “There is a difference between being special and being important, my friend. You are not more important than any other mortal in the world. But you are special. So is Thrahx Vaug. Doom,” he corrected drolly when she opened her mouth to do so herself. “And before you distress yourself further, there is no harm confiding in someone other than Doom. It is no betrayal. Sometimes, we all need someone more objective than we are to see things we cannot see because we are too close. Or too far.”
“If he knows I did not confide in him, he will be upset because he will think I don’t want him, or need him, or trust him or—” She closed her eyes when he touched her lips with a single, light fingertip.
“If you confided in me, would you need or trust Doom less?”
“Of course not,” she replied automatically.
Veridian tilted his head. “And if Doom confided in another, do you think he would really need or trust you any less?” She opened her mouth, then shut it, hiding her face again as she drew her knees in tighter. He ran his hand over her hair lightly. “You never had the benefit of learning to socialize as children. Making friends. Losing them. Fighting with them. Making up with them. Learning to trust. Learning how much it hurts to lose trust and how hard it is to regain it. You lived a life afraid that tomorrow you would lose the only person in the world who gave you a reason to live. Some do so because they worry unnecessarily. But you were both warranted in your fears.”
He smiled sadly as he looked at her with kind eyes. “Your world was one of fear that the moment you cared about anyone, they would be ripped from you and harmed in the most horrible ways. And you dreaded the day Doom would become one of them.” She met his eyes, not bothering to try hiding the despair that threatened to overwhelm her. He sat forward, elbows on knees and elbows crossed at the wrists casually. “Talk to me, my friend. What troubles you?”
She took a deep breath, then exhaled gustily before speaking. “There is a magic user in Bralden who asks for Doom’s and my help. In my head, there is no reason not to help him. In my heart…” She bit her lip until it bled before continuing.
“All my life,” she whispered harshly, “magic epitomized evil. I saw what Alimar did to me, to others. I saw what those around him did. Magic was the sword that tortured, that cut wounds that would bleed but never heal, that killed in the most painful and terrible ways.” She held up trembling hands, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I have magic. I am Alimar’s sword.”
“Is the sword to blame for the deaths it brings, or the one who wields it?” Veridian asked simply. “The sword you bear knows the answer to that. Ghalnecha chooses only the most worthy to wield her. That is the only power she has left to control her destiny and she refuses to be used for selfish, evil purposes. Do you believe she would have chosen you if she believed you were either selfish or evil?”
“Ghalnecha?” Tiwaz looked to the sword sitting in the sheath and harness beside her. She reflexively reached out to touch the sword, then drew back uncertainly. “The sword is…alive?”
“No, the sword is not alive. The spirit imbued in the metal is, yes.” His eyes were sad and proud. “She was my first priestess. It was my blood that sealed her into the sword so those who wielded her could stand against the entities from the heavens and hells that threatened this plane.”
Eyes wide in horror, she looked from sword to dragon man. “She became a slave? Why would she imprison her soul like that?”
He looked to the sword. “She says she is no slave but a servant who protects those of this world through her sacrifice.” He smiled wanly. “Before she chose this path, she had become maimed in a terrible battle. It had left her paralyzed, unable to do even the most basic tasks for herself. But worse than that, in her mind, she was unable to protect anyone. She convinced a weapon smith to forge the sword, and convinced me to bind her to the weapon.” He shook his head in bemusement. “She says when she sensed you, she sent the man-bear after you, then waited until you had rested to call to you.”
Hesitantly, Tiwaz reached out then finally rested her hand on the hilt’s crosspiece, closing her eyes with a shaky sigh. “You are no longer Alimar’s sword,” Veridian stated firmly. “He lost his claim on you the moment you defied the spell that controlled you. Magic such as he wielded has one flaw. If you are strong enough to counter a spell, it will never be able to affect you again.”
She looked up sharply. “You mean…?”
He nodded. “When you are ready to face him, he will be unable to compel you to do anything against your will. It does not negate all of his spells, but defying one in the manner you had blunts the effectiveness of others. He will never be able to force you to do anything.”
Her eyes were wide. “That is why he beat me,” she whispered. “He didn’t want anyone knowing…”
“That is why,” Veridian confirmed as he began to rise. He arched an eyebrow when she caught his wrist.
“The ogre magic user,” she asked with a quiet desperation. “What should I do? Can he be trusted? I don’t know what to do.”
He smiled and leaned down to press his lips against her brow. “What to do is your choice. Whether he can be trusted is for you to discover. Trust yourself.” He gently eased the sleeping young woman down to lean against the log, gently caressing her hair like a parent would a child’s before he straightened and walked away.
“Tiwaz!” She woke abruptly to being shaken, looking around dazedly to see Doom kneeling in front of her, Tracker behind him looking on with deep worry. “Oh, thank gods. When Tracker came back to say he couldn’t wake you, I feared the worst.” He pulled her into a fierce bear hug before she could say or do anything. “Don’t scare me like that! I thought I lost you.”
She feebly patted his shoulder and squeaked, “Must…breathe…” Tracker laughed at the gromek’s contrite expression when he released her and she inhaled deeply.
GARETH WATCHED TIWAZ from the corner of his eye while he finished packing supplies into his backpack. Her own gear prepared, she occupied herself with inspecting her array of weapons, all but Ghalnecha forged by her hand. When she didn’t acknowledge him calling her name, he put a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. She jumped, knife in hand.
He snatched his hand back to save his fingers. “Tiwaz, relax! Why are you so worked up? I thought you got over your distrust of Simpkins?”
“I never said I trusted him. I’m just not going to kill him yet.” Sheathing the knife, she slid another in her boot and secured it. “I don’t know what’s bothering me. I just know something is going to happen. I don’t know if it is good or bad.”
“Have you talked to Doom?” She shook her head. “Why not?” he asked, astonished she confided something in him that she had not confided in Doom first.
“He is the one who will be guiding us. I do not want to distract him with my foolish imagination.”
Gareth moved to stand in front of her, frowning as he studied her expression. “I have yet to hear anything you t
hink be foolish. Talk to him.” She flushed at his comment, shaking her head. “Have a little faith in your instincts.”
“When I deserve faith.” She looked at him morosely. “I know I have not been acting…normal. Not even by Doom’s and my standards. I have heard Doom talk to you about his worries when he thinks I am asleep or not nearby.” She straightened, settling her backpack more securely. “He would either be distracted waiting for something to happen, or distracted watching me because he’ll think I’m about to do something stupid.” She turned towards the door. “He’s justified worrying about me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, either. But he can’t be distracted.”
“Tiwaz! Have more confidence in your friend,” Gareth admonished. “Talk to him.”
She hesitated at the door. “I will…consider your advice.” She fixed him with a hard look. “This remains between us.” With a bleak expression, he nodded, unable to do more than watch her leave. He looked over as Doom emerged from the room he shared with Tiwaz. The gromek looked towards the door with a concerned frown first, then at the bard. Gareth could only shrug helplessly.
OUTSIDE, SIMPKINS WATCHED the sullen warrior emerge and climb onto a fence to wait for the others to join them. His ego still smarting that he was unable to charm her, he decided to attempt to win her over again. “So, what do they call you besides Tiwaz and The Warrior?”
She fixed him with a wintry gaze. “Nothing. I have no name.”
He frowned, opening his mouth to comment, then shut it again for several minutes. “You know, I used to hear about a woman gladiator who used to fight in the Western Empire arenas years ago who went by those names.”
“Good for you.”
He ignored her sarcasm. “Never saw her myself. Heard she was a slave belonging to Alimar the Black. You wouldn’t have seen her and wanted to be like her, would you?”
Anger flared in her eyes and she spat, “I am her, Magic User.” Her glare challenged him to say or do something about the revelation.
“Ah, ha. So, that’s why you look at me like that.” He shook his head. “I do not work for the likes of Alimar. He is just as liable to turn on you as pay you.” He sighed. “I usually don’t go hunting such obscure objects like this book, but the pay was right.” He looked at the overcast sky ruefully. “Though I am beginning to question if the pay is worth all this trouble.” He noticed her expression from the corner of his eye. “The advance I was given is enough that, were I the dishonorable type, I could settle down somewhere and live quite well for the rest of my days.”
Tiwaz sniffed. “You do not seem the type to ‘settle down,’ Magic User.”
He chuckled. “I’m not, no.” Then he frowned. “Why don’t you call me by my name? The way you say ‘magic user’ makes me sound sound like I’ve some contagious disease.”
“Denying you are a magic user does not change the fact you are one,” she stated flatly. “I hate magic and I hate your kind, looking down on everyone else, using everyone and everything then throwing them aside when they are used up. I would just as soon stay here instead of trekking about the forests with the likes of you, waiting for you to stab us in the back. But Doom and Tracker would go anyway.” She added in a frank, matter-of-fact tone, “I do not trust you and I will make sure my pack-mates return home safe and sound.”
He looked confused. “Hate magic? Why? I mean you…are…” his voice trailed off at the dark look she fixed him with and finished lamely, “…carrying a sword that is full of magic.”
“It is not Ghalnecha’s fault for what she is.” Tiwaz crossed her arms. “But those entirely devoted to the accursed arts—”
He blinked at the sword’s name, and started to question about it, then thought better and let it go. “Listen, I know that Alimar the Black is about as close to the definition of pure evil there is, but not all of us who possess magic talent—” He stopped speaking when she took off one of her bracers and held out her wrist. The ogre could only stare, reaching out to touch the grotesque, twisted flesh, but stopped short. “I have never seen such slave shackle wounds. What did he do to cause such scars?”
“He inscribed glyphs on my wrists and hid them with golden shackles.”
The ogre’s pupils shrank until they were mere pinprick dots in a field of blue, his body shaking with outrage. “He put glyphs on you? The law against that is immutable! Glyphs are not to be put on any living thing. Ever! Besides being lethal, the instability alone—” He stopped and regarded her with deep respect. “You bore them for ten years?” She nodded. “How did you survive it?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed, replacing the bracer. “Stubbornness. Contrariness. A promise to Doom to live to see Alimar dead. Too stupid to know I was supposed to die. I don’t know.” She looked up as Tracker approached and Doom and Gareth emerged from the house. She hopped down from the rail she had perched on. “I do not even trust gods to wield magic to anyone’s benefit but their own.”
Doom looked at the others, leaning on Boomstick. “Ready?” Tracker nodded and fell in step at Tiwaz’s side, walking ahead. The gromek glanced at Simpkins’ profile questioningly, but said nothing as they started out on their journey for the spell book of all tongues.
THREE DAYS OF walking brought them into the deeper, darker wilds of the Northern Territories. Trees towered above them, gnarled and twisted from the strong winds that came off of the distant mountains they traveled towards. Once camp was set up, Doom, Tiwaz and Tracker went out to hunt, leaving Gareth and Simpkins alone.
Gareth dumped another armload of wood in a pile as Simpkins got the fire started. Neither spoke to the other, even after they had both settled on their sleeping mats near the chill-banishing flames. After some time listening to Gareth quietly strumming his lute, the ogre asked, “Is Tiwaz always so bad tempered? I don’t think she’s spoken more than two words since we left Bralden. I thought she would have relaxed once we settled into rhythm of the journey.”
Gareth shrugged one shoulder, not looking up from his playing. “Couldn’t tell you. I haven’t known her very long.”
Simpkins snorted. “Really? I thought the reason she was snappish towards you was because you were having a lover’s spat.” He blinked when Gareth nearly broke a string in reaction to the comment.
The bard looked around in a half-panic, then sighed gustily in relief before turning an annoyed glare on the ogre. “Don’t ever say that again, unless you want to get one of those damned blades of yours stuck somewhere the sun doesn’t shine. And it won’t be me doing it. She would.” Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he said in a low voice, “We are not, nor have we ever been, lovers. I might have entertained the idea when I had first met her, but…” He sighed. “She is very…withdrawn. She’s only just started trusting humans again. I’m lucky she’s accepted me on any level at all.”
The ogre arched an eyebrow in mild surprise. “Why would she hate her own kind?” He looked into the forest, musing. “Though it would explain her closeness to a gromek and a wolflen.”
“The fact Doom and Tracker aren’t human has nothing to do with her friendship with them. Tiwaz honestly doesn’t hate any race, just magic users. She does not trust anyone easily beyond the rare individual.” He sighed softly. “The cruelty she suffered at the hands of Alimar the Black doesn’t bear repeating. The worst was discovering she’s a shape-shif—” Gareth bit his words off, but he got the magic user’s attention with the slip.
“Shape-shifter?” Simpkins looked at the fire thoughtfully as he poked the wood with a stick. “That makes sense. I’d wondered how a normal human came out of the Southern Wildlands. She did mention she and Doom were from there.” He glanced up. “Do you know what her other form is?”
“You know about shape-shifters?”
Simpkins gave a withering look to the bard as he straightened. “Of course I know about them. Every properly trained magic user learns about the worst transgressions caused by our arts and lycanthropy is one of the worst ones.” He looked bac
k to the fire, expression grim. “I also know exactly how the blights were created, but those were created from the shape-shifting races from the northern continent. The southern continent was home to a wider variety.” He looked up again. “What is her other form?”
“Black panther.”
“Ah.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “Heard of them. Traveled the Southern Wildlands and managed to ferret a few groups out. The black panther was all but a legend even to them.”
Gareth looked dismayed, glancing upwards when the wind gusted and the trees creaked ominously. “There aren’t any left? Alimar killed them all?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. I was still a journeyman when I traveled with my master through the Southern Wildlands. Met a shape-shifter whose bestial form was a tiger. More of a loner, like normal tigers. He told us about Alimar’s ‘safaris’ through the Wildlands. Many populations and settlements of any native race were devastated, not simply shape-shifters. Unfortunately, he never specified which ones. He was not inclined to tell my master or I more than vague details because we were magic users from the north.”
“Do me a favor, then,” Gareth said in a low voice. Simpkins arched an eyebrow and the bard said impatiently, “Keep my share of the payment and whatever treasure we find. Just…find out if Tiwaz is the last of her people. If there is any chance she might be able to go home someday, she should know.”
Simpkins scratched his chin thoughtfully, then rubbed Mya’s back with his little finger, the tiny wind sprite looking as though she were cooing in pleasure. “I don’t think she would be at home anywhere else than where she is right now, Tavarius. Not many places where an entire population, especially of mixed races, would jump to defend anyone against someone like me.”
