by Rain Oxford
“Telling the kids a bedtime story. What was with all that talk of unicorns?”
“Is the Painter gone?” Katok asked.
“Yes,” I said. Everyone made sounds of relief. “Come on, Pita.”
“There is no one here by that name,” Katok said, confused.
“He means me,” Luca said, taking his dear sweet time getting up. “It stands for ‘pain in the ass.’ He takes me for granted.” I wasn’t interested in our usual banter, so I grabbed his arm and pulled him along. “Ze master is impatient tonight. Fetch ze oils!”
I sighed. “Not now, Luca. I’m not in the mood. The Painter just killed three priests.” He went quiet. “One was in front of me. He could easily have killed me.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. I’ve been learning a few tricks. He’s half god.”
Luca stopped. “Does that mean you’re giving up?”
I stopped and turned to him. “Have you ever known me to give up?”
“No. At least, I’ve never known you to back down from a bully.” We started walking again. “You did give up on teaching me table manners.”
“I didn’t give up. I got you to stop chewing on the table.”
“That’s what you think. Why did he show up?”
“It sounded like he wanted something, and he thought the priests had it.”
“The Book of Names?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. He didn’t say either way.”
“But if he has the book, why would he be looking for it?”
“I don’t think the guy is sane. Either way, I’m not going to let him continue to hurt people. I didn’t know the Painter was half god and he shouldn’t have told me that. Now I know what I’m up against.”
“If you get serious about studying magic, you can control it instead of letting it happen to you. People will stop getting hurt around you.”
“I’m going to learn enough magic to take down the Painter. Everyone has a weakness, even demigods.”
“Where are we going?” he asked as we went in the opposite direction of our room.
“To get my damn broken arm fixed.”
* * *
I found Healer sitting on his bed, holding a bloody rag to his nose. “Come and sit, Nathan, and I will heal your arm,” he said, his voice nasally.
“Are you sure? You look pretty banged up yourself.”
“Sit down and let him help you,” Luca demanded. He was staring at the floor, where my blood was forming a puddle.
“Yeah, that might be a good idea.” I sat.
With obvious difficulty, Healer got up, came to me, and put his hand gently over the damage. Green light pulsed from his hand and the pain suddenly increased beyond reason. I leaned forward to get away from him and ended up going down.
* * *
Once again, I dreamed of Keira, but this time, it was a lot more vivid. I actually thought I was awake when I felt her kissing my neck. I sat up, feeling a sharp pain in my arm as I did. Keira didn’t back up, which put her face an inch from mine. Her breath was warm and her eyes almost glowed in the dim light of my bedroom.
“Why am I dreaming of being in the temple when we should be in my apartment?”
She smirked. “Because your bedroom here is closer.” She then pulled her knees closer until she was sitting over my lap.
I knew for sure it was a dream because I was nude and I never slept without pants on in case there was a house fire.
“You’re allowed to touch,” she said. “You’re thinking about this way too hard.”
“I don’t normally have dreams like this.”
“It’s because you were badly injured,” she said before kissing me again, this time on the lips. Her lips were soft and sweet, eager, but clearly wanting me to take charge. I put my hands on her waist and tried to push my thoughts away.
Her warm skin helped, so I ran my hands across her back. She leaned forward, forcing me down. I pushed her over so that she was on her back and broke the kiss. She must have thought I was rejecting her because she frowned, but instead, I brushed my hand across her stomach, admiring her soft skin and feminine figure. When I looked back at her eyes, she was doing her own assessment of my body.
“This is definitely a dream,” I said.
She laughed, her eyes rising to meet mine. “Yes? Why are you so sure?”
“You have no marks on you; no birthmarks, moles, scars, blemishes… just… unrealistic perfection.”
“Unrealistic? If this weren’t a dream, I might be insulted.”
I leaned down to give her a quick, soft kiss, and then said, “If this weren’t a dream, you wouldn’t be in my bed.”
“Really? Would you rather talk?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“You mean you’re afraid I’ll get hurt?” she asked. I nodded. “Well, you’re lucky you found me, then, because I’m a lot tougher than the women you’re used to and I don’t run from something I want.”
“I’m lucky that this is a dream,” I corrected her.
“Yes, that,” she conceded, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me against her.
* * *
The next morning, I woke to the jaguar at the foot of my bed again and a letter from Luca saying that he was going to look into things while I practiced magic. The kid was the earliest riser and he never even drank coffee. I skipped breakfast and went out to the courtyard to practice before Keeper showed up. I practiced half a dozen different spells, as well as useful ways of combining them.
After about half an hour, I heard a commotion. It was coming from outside, but not in the courtyard. “Tradje.” My feet left the ground and I levitated myself onto the roof. I could see the city, and it didn’t take more than a few seconds to see what was happening. Two of the masked priests held the arms of a little girl and they were dragging her towards the temple. She couldn’t have been more than six. Behind her, a man was trying to hold back a screaming woman.
“Don’t take her!” the woman begged.
I went to the edge of the roof and stepped off. “Kredje.” I levitated down softly, just quick enough to intercept the priests from entering the temple. “What’s going on here?”
“Cover your face!” one of the priests hissed. It sounded like Whisperer, but I couldn’t be certain.
“I’m not doing anything obscene enough to warrant hiding my face. What are you doing?”
“This girl has magic.”
“You’re taking her into the temple?”
“Of course not. Girls cannot have magic. All females with magic and males who break the rules are exiled to beyond the wall. Keeper should have told you this already.”
“You’re taking a little girl away from her mother and sending her out into the desert alone? That’s a death sentence!”
“The gods will save her if they choose. Her fate is up to them. If she makes it back into the kingdom, she will be forgiven and welcomed.”
“Forgiven?! She’s a baby! She has nothing to be forgiven for! Let her go!”
“This is our tradition. You are a---”
“Let her go.”
The one on the right did. “We can’t argue with a steward of the gods.” That was Caretaker’s voice.
“Fine,” Whisperer groused. “We will take her next year.” He let the girl go and she ran to her mother.
“You won’t exile any more children. I’ll make sure of that.”
“You only have authority because of the gods,” Whisperer said. “You have done nothing to earn it.”
“Maybe I should have let the Painter kill you last night.” I turned and walked inside, not at all afraid to show my back. Whisperer wouldn’t attack me in the temple. That didn’t mean I was going to let him near me when I slept, though. It occurred to me that he could have been the one to send Meto after me. It also occurred to me that the jaguar was protecting me.
* * *
Keeper was sitting on his usual bench when I returned to the court
yard.
“That was quite a disturbance,” he said.
“I can almost understand taking kids to be taught magic against their parents’ wills. My magic has hurt people all my life because I wasn’t trained. It’s a different matter entirely to take them from their parents and exile them. It’s also bullshit that girls aren’t allowed to do magic.”
“You are angry.”
“Damn right I’m angry.”
“You cannot change our culture or traditions. You don’t have to partake or believe what we’re doing is right, but it has been our way for thousands of years.”
“You can’t get better if you never change. I would never tell a person their religion is wrong, but I’m not going to let children be exiled because they can’t protect themselves. That being said, I want a weapon.”
“Why?”
“You guys got your ass handed to you by a fancy paintbrush.”
“I will not deny that the Painter has superior magic to us, but---”
“You won’t deny it, but no one was willing to tell me I was supposed to fight a demigod. I would have found that to be vital information.”
“What sort of weapon?”
“I want a staff like yours. Why didn’t any of you have your staffs? I saw what Healer could do with his.”
“Staffs are created to enhance our power. We would never use them to injure anyone. Thus, we don’t walk around in the temple with them.”
“I want to be able to protect myself physically when the Painter attacks again or if a priest attacks. I also want a knife. If I’m going to defeat the Painter, I can’t do it with a bouquet of lilies. I need magic and a weapon. Am I able to make one before passing my trials?” I knew it would have been less work to use Trickster’s, but I wanted one of my own. Besides, I was worried that if I told him about it, he would take it, and then I wouldn’t have it for evidence or to use in an emergency.
“We do not make them, we have them made by a craftsman who specializes in caster tools.”
“Oh,” I said, disappointed. “Wizards make their own in movies.”
“I don’t know what wizards or movies are.”
“It doesn’t matter. What do I have to do?”
“We will go to the craftsman and he will design a staff to suit your magic. It will take time. Also, no one has ever been allowed a staff before passing the trials.”
“I didn’t ask if it was allowed. I am risking my life to fight a demigod and protect a world I don’t belong on, people I don’t know, and gods I don’t believe in. I don’t care about your rules. Rules won’t keep me alive. If a staff will, then I’m using it.”
“Very well.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, we were standing outside a shop in the market. The walls were made of concrete and the door was made of metal. Keeper entered without knocking, so I followed hesitantly. I knew better than to interrupt someone who worked with power tools or fire.
There were scraps of metal, wood, stone, and glass everywhere, along with tools like anvils, tongs, hammers, and saws. The room was about fifteen-by-fifteen. In the middle of the shop was a well-used kiln with several openings. Next to it was a trough of water. I was disappointed Luca wasn’t there to share my enthusiasm, because I felt like I just walked into a scene from Oblivion.
The east wall was covered in swords and daggers, but none of them looked spectacular or unique. On the back wall was a door open to a small garden and a set of stairs leading up. I wondered if the blacksmith lived there, because he wasn’t in the shop.
“Roman!” Keeper called.
I had enough time to acknowledge how much that name didn’t fit on Syndrial before the man came down the steps… wearing motorcycle boots.
His dark brown, graying hair and sun-weathered face put him in his late forties or early fifties. He wore dark blue robes over a brown tunic and pants, yet the boots were a dead giveaway that he wasn’t from Syndrial. Also, he was six-four, making him practically a giant to the natives. The instant he saw me, he turned pale and froze.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
After a moment, he shook his head and descended the rest of the steps, regaining his color slowly. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else for a minute.” He had, of all things, a slight Russian accent.
Definitely not from Syndrial.
Luca and I spoke the common language of Syndrial since he was gifted the ability by Isis, but it magically sounded like English to us. This guy was actually speaking English.
“You’re from Earth,” I accused.
He glared at me and gestured to Keeper. “Would you keep that to yourself, please? I have a life here.”
“Oh, sorry. I thought they were cool with aliens.”
“That doesn’t mean I advertise it. Who wants to buy from foreigners?”
“Please speak Common,” Keeper said. “It’s rude to talk behind someone’s back.”
“Sorry,” I apologized automatically, knowing he would understand this time. “He said---”
“I can speak Common,” Roman interrupted. His accent was gone. “What can I do for you two?”
“Nathan here is a steward of the gods and requires a staff.”
“And a knife,” I added.
“Sounds like a sticky mission. Let’s start with the knife and then I’ll fit you for a staff.”
I nodded and followed him over to a section of the west wall that was covered in a sheet. “This is a… private collection…” He glanced at Keeper, who was on the other side of the room, and quietly spoke English. “Something only my own kind would appreciate.” He pulled down the sheet, revealing ten swords and a couple dozen daggers.”
“Wow.”
“Yep.” He smirked with pride as I took them in.
They were fantasy weapons. They were made of fancy metal, formed unusual shapes, or had more spikes and blades than what was practical. Some of them had handles in the shapes of dragon or wolf heads, some had curved handles with double blades, and some had amazing etchings on them. Two daggers drew my eye instantly. One of them had a double-edged, obsidian blade with a Celtic design in the black leather handle. The other one had a somewhat basic handle, but the blades were two interwoven snakes. The bodies themselves weren’t sharp, but the last three inches were.
“Can I?”
“Sure.”
I took the snake one and the obsidian ones down and studied them. “Excuse me while I have a little girl moment.”
“Oh, right out there is nice and private.”
I stepped outside to see them shine in the sun and he followed me. Along the edges of the garden were colorful flowers. In the middle was a black stone slab with a magic circle painted in it.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“America. You?”
“Same. Of course, I wasn’t born there. I moved there when I was ten and was brought here when I was twenty.”
“So you’re from Russia and your name is Roman?”
“I always loved reading about the Romans. My name is Albert. It’s not like they check, though, so I took it as an opportunity. I was miserable working on appliances. I wanted to be a real blacksmith, so I came here and ended up in the magical blacksmithing career. I can let you take the obsidian one, but the snake one is not for sale. It had a matching ring originally, and I can’t let it go without the ring.”
“What happened to the ring?”
“A guy came in a long time ago. He didn’t want a sword or dagger or anything, just a ring. The band was the body of a silver snake and a black star sapphire was set in its fangs.”
“That sounds pretty cool.”
“It was. I refused to sell it without the dagger and tried to explain why, but he wouldn’t listen. He took the ring and left the dagger. It’s important that they are reunited someday.” He drew in a breath and took the dagger regretfully. “But, anyway, we have a staff to fit you for.”
The first step in fitting me was measuring me from ever
y angle, with and without my robe and boots. Next, I had to sit in the magic circle and meditate. I caught Keeper smirking when he saw me. Instead of being ashamed for finding my discomfort amusing, he asked me if I needed him to get the stick.
My threats of where I would shove the stick didn’t bother him in the least, and neither did Roman telling me it wouldn’t fit because there was already one there.
Roman then set a crystal in front of me and told me to fill it with my magic. “Can you reiterate?”
He held his hands close like he was holding a basketball. Between his hands, a deep purple plasma formed. “If you don’t know how to do this yet, you’re not ready for a staff.”
“He hasn’t been here a month,” Keeper explained. “We haven’t had time to…”
He trailed off as I formed a sphere of energy above my hand. With ease, I poured the magic into the crystal.
“Not too much or it’ll drain you,” Roman warned. “I only need a little to bond your staff to you.”
I stopped and marveled at the crystal, which was now glowing brilliant blue. “What’s the process?”
“From this, I will be able to determine what elements complement your power. It will tell me what metal, wood, animal, and stone to use.”
“I don’t get to choose my animal head? I was hoping for something cool, like a lion.”
“It is not a choice, no.”
“How long will it take?”
“That depends on what I need for it. I will not make a subpar tool. The staff must be made exact, even if that means going to other worlds to get the materials. I will send a message to the High Temple when it’s ready. You’re looking at anything from a week to three months.”
“I really hope I’m not here in three months.”
He shrugged. “If you leave before it’s ready, let me know so I can send it to you.”
After Keeper paid him several gold coins, Roman pulled a special harness out of a drawer for the dagger. “This will keep it from cutting you up, but that dagger is more of a ceremonial piece.” As I buckled the dagger in its custom harness, he pulled out a simple, small, double-edged dagger. “Take this, too, for everyday stuff.” It also had a leather sheath. “This one is designed to fit into a boot.”
