Wicked As You Wish

by Rin Chupeco

  More misshapen forms appeared, breaking through the thinner ice. All were smaller than the first toad, but nonetheless stood six or seven feet tall. They shook themselves free of the marshes, bounding toward the group. The horses whinnied in fear, rearing up to strike haplessly at the air with their hooves.

  “It’s the bloody marsh king!” Without pause, Ken had drawn both his swords out. His first swing cut one frog right across its stomach. Thick brown liquid spurted out, and the stink worsened. The frog stumbled, croaking in a mixture of pain and surprise. A long tongue emerged from its mouth, but the boy evaded it and slashed at another of its companions. The sharp blade burrowed into their forms. But it was the darker blade, the Juuchi Yosamu, that held their fears; many of the creatures nearly stampeded over each other in their bid to avoid its blows.

  Loki, handling their staff with great dexterity, sent a frog toppling forward with a well-placed thrust. “We have to get out of here! Now!”

  West yanked the bear fur up over his head. There were ripping noises as cloth tore from the strain, and a large golden lion stood in his place, adding his own roars over the dreadful noises of the frogs.

  The marsh king, however, showed no signs of lingering. With a loud croak, it plunged back into the muddy water it had burst out from, dragging the still struggling Zoe down with it.

  “Zoe!” Tala cried out, running forward. One of the frogs raced for her, its mouth agape, intent on swallowing her up. Tala jerked to the right at the last minute, swinging her own arnis sticks, and the hideous creature crashed down awkwardly onto the ground, face-first.

  There were sounds of more running from somewhere behind her, and she turned just in time to watch Cole jump, diving into the thick icy hole that both the toad and Zoe had disappeared into.

  “Tala!” Loki yelled, as their staff lengthened and shot forward, right into one frog’s protruding eye. It emitted a thin piercing shriek. “Take the others and ride east! The exit to the swamps should be somewhere up ahead!”

  “And leave you all here?” Nya cried, clinging to her horse. “You’re mad!”

  “We’ll catch up to you soon!” A bright light streaked through the toads, Ken’s sharp blade following, and more high-pitched shrills rose.

  Another frog leaped, but Tala dodged, rolling underneath its feet to scramble up, unhurt, behind it. She raised her hand without thinking.

  There was a sizzling hiss as something slammed into the frog. Crackling electricity-like waves bristled around it, and the creature actually splintered—transforming from one angry dangerous toad into a hundred or so angry but now-harmless ones, ribbiting and hopping frantically in all directions at once.

  “The agimat!” Ken yelled. “It’s short-circuiting the frogs! Do it again!”

  Tala raced toward Ken, trying to remember what she did, pushing out her agimat at another amphibian much like the ring of cell phones she used to practice with back in Invierno. This frog, too, squeaked and dissolved into smaller, furious versions.

  Realizing the new danger, the other toads began to flee, skidding into each other in their haste. One slammed into a few of the horses, all neighing in fright as they struggled to regain their footing. Packs came crashing onto the ground, spilling out food rations, changes of clothing—and the firebird.

  Screeching, displeased at being so rudely awakened, the firebird glowed vehemently, strands of fire coursing through its wings as it prepared to attack.

  “No!” Alex yelled. “Wait!”

  Flames shot out, enveloping the toads. The air caught fire, the heat nearly unbearable, and the resulting explosion sent Tala flying straight into the dark, unforgiving swamp. It was the last thing she remembered, before the waters closed in over her head.

  27

  In Which the “Wife” Isn’t Having Any of That

  Foul water choked the scream out of Zoe’s lungs. She fought madly with her arms and legs, trying to struggle free of the large scaly tongue wrapped around her. The waters were muddy and tasted of rot. She could see nothing beyond a few inches. Everything here was a steady and putrid brown.

  No! She was not going to be pulled down to her death, to drown in brackish swampland. She willed her whip into a fresh blade of light, careful to guide the electricity down a path she shaped instead of unleashing it on the water surrounding her. But the liquid was thick and oppressive, and the monster swam deeper down, pulling her along. It was making it harder to move the whip in the way she wanted. Spots appeared before her eyes and her head spun.

  A scythe appeared, black as sin and thick as night. It bore down, slicing right through the tongue, splitting it into two bloody sections. The roar that echoed around them was deafening, but suddenly she was free.

  Desperate, she clawed her way back up to the surface. She felt a solid barrier and realized in near-panic that the ice had solidified over her head. She thrust her whip upward with all her might, and the lash tore through the layer. Two more swipes opened up a hole wide enough for her to burst through, sucking in a deep, lusty, grateful breath of air as she did—only to be pulled back down again as a webbed foot slammed into her midsection, sending her cartwheeling back into the black depths.

  The water stung her eyes, the cold pouring into her mouth. She spotted the second webbed foot coming her way and struck. The whip coiled around the offending limb, and Zoe had the presence of mind to charge only the points where the lash met creature flesh. There was a faint sizzle and smoke as electricity ran up the toad’s outstretched appendage, and spurts of more black blood clouded their soupy prison. The marsh king’s horribly grotesque, distorted face loomed up from beneath her, its broad mouth agape, its yellow eyes bulging with cruel malice. Then its lips distended farther to screech, a grating, squealing sound that sent her spinning away from the force alone.

  Inky liquid erupted all around its misshapen body, and Zoe saw a scythe buried almost to the hilt in the frog’s stomach. The toad turned its attention to her rescuer, giving her enough time to summon more lightning than she thought she was capable of gathering. With one heavy push, she sent a large spiked current straight into its eye. The resulting scream was hideous, enough to make her ears bleed.

  She popped back up the icy surface, clawing her way up and over the hole as her reflexes kicked into gear. She struck out immediately for the nearest shore, not stopping till her feet found muddy soil instead of hard ice and her fingers dug into frozen stone. Only then did she allow herself to fall limp, the glorious feeling of land against her face, thankful to be alive.

  And then she was up again, turning back in panic. Cole!

  But the waters swirling around the ice hole were already bubbling in protest. A geyser of iced mud and brackish water shot up into the air, erupting for several seconds before weakening and tapering off, like a valve somewhere below was abruptly shut off. Zoe stared fearfully at the icy crater, half expecting the frog to rear up again, wounded and angry. It didn’t. She began her crawl back to it, forging on with her elbows and kicking with her knees because there were no other signs of life, and if he, of all people, died saving her life, then she would never forgive him.

  She was ten feet away when a scythe broke through the freezing brine, blade digging into the ice like a grappling hook, and she couldn’t suppress her scream.

  The scythe was followed immediately by Cole, grunting in pain as he pulled himself out. Zoe grabbed him by his shirt and started to wriggle backward, drawing on reserves of strength she didn’t know she had until they had both retreated to the safety of the embankment. Cole, kneeling with his forehead pressed against the soil, his hand clamped on the wound on his arm, was the last thing Zoe saw before she finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

  She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but when her eyes flew open again, her surroundings were different than from what she had last remembered. She was in a clearing, for one, and it was a good distance from wh
ere she’d fallen. They were practically at the edge of the swamps; she could see the thick frozen water finally giving way to barren soil, albeit covered by more clumps of snow. She still had her bag by some miracle, strapped across her shoulder and secured against her hip.

  Cole sat with his back against a nearby tree stump, head hanging low. Blood stained one side of his shirt, and he held Gravekeeper loosely in one hand. Zoe’s clothes were also bloodstained, nauseating swirls of red and black; none of which, she realized to her horror, were hers.

  “Cole!” She scrambled toward him, relieved to find him breathing, though unconscious. They were both shivering and cold, and if Cole was any indication of how she looked, they were both going to have to stay warm within the next few minutes if neither wanted hypothermia. A painful-looking gash dominated Cole’s right hip, where his shirt had been torn away. There was another longer slash across his shoulder. None of the wounds looked deep, both not bleeding as profusely as she feared. None of the others were in sight. Were they still fighting the marsh king’s toadies?

  Toadies. Did she just make a joke Ken would be proud of, or was this her mind’s way of telling her she was about to black out again?

  Move. Keep moving, keep warm, or you’re both dead.

  Snatching Ogmios, she struck at a nearby trunk, not stopping until she’d flayed off a good deal of bark. She pulled in as much heat as she could through the tip of her whip, striking at the pieces like the Ogmios was a flint. It took three tries, but fire sparked, sputtered, then burned as the rest of the bark took hold.

  She wasn’t as efficient as the firebird was.

  She knew it wasn’t enough. It was too cold, and their kindling too meager, and Zoe hadn’t the energy to summon more lightning.

  “You’re too damn heavy,” she griped instead, dragging the boy closer to the fire. She tugged off his cloak, blanched at the thought of having to remove his pants despite the severity of their situation, and elected to shed her jacket first, pulling off her blouse until she was down to her undershirt. The fire was too small, but their wet clothes would kill them faster than the winter.

  Her hand brushed against a lump in her pocket. Zoe drew out the small sack of glyphs the priestess had given her and stared at it. The woman had said they were going to need it before they’d even reached Maidenkeep…

  Appraisers and experts who knew the exact value of so precious a commodity would have told Zoe that even one glyph would be too precious to use, even to save two lives. She begged to differ.

  The main problem right now was how to use it. Zoe had nothing to go by but historical accounts, most of which varied widely as to implementation. Did she have to make the wish out loud? Was there a ritual she had to complete, or did she make some kind of invocation? And if she was successful, how would she know what the consequences would be?

  All those questions were answered immediately as soon as she took one of the smaller glyphs out from the pouch.

  Everything—the snow, the trees, Cole—disappeared. Instead, she stood at a crossroads of sorts, a wooden pole of various road signs looming above her, each pointing in a different direction.

  Seek warmth, one read, and lose your tears.

  Heal him forever, another spelled out, and lose your life.

  Stand at Maidenkeep, and lose your sight.

  Find your friends at the cost of one.

  Wield the hottest fires, and endure the coldest winters.

  The guideposts wavered, shifted, ebbed away and returned in parallel to where her thoughts raced as she discarded possibilities and considered more.

  In the end, there was only one choice she could live with.

  The glyph in her hands shimmered, as pale and as bright as a silver dollar, and vanished in a faint puff of smoke.

  Cole groaned.

  Zoe dropped to her knees and felt his forehead, but he was no longer trembling from the cold. He was warm, and she was warm, and she didn’t have to strip either of them naked, and historians and spellforgers would probably lament the waste of a good glyphstone, but for now the heat was all that mattered.

  Cole’s gray eyes opened, unfocused, flinching at the light before finding her face. Zoe tugged at the Gravekeeper, but his grip tightened instinctively.

  “Nottingham,” she said urgently. “Nottingham, this is…this is Carlisle. You’ve been hurt. I can help, but first I need you to let go. Do you understand?”

  Cole hesitated, then nodded. His grip slackened, the weapon hitting the ground, as he tried to stand.

  “Don’t move!” Zoe said sharply. “You’re bleeding.”

  “It’s nothing.” Cole’s voice was no higher than a rasp. “I’m not cold.”

  Of course he wasn’t, and he should be more grateful for it. “Nothing, my foot,” Zoe snapped. “This is not the time to be arguing with me, so stop being so pigheaded and do what I tell you without fighting me, for once.”

  For a moment she felt guilty for sounding so harsh, but it worked. A very faint grin appeared on Cole’s grimy face, and his body relaxed. Nottingham, Zoe thought, was probably the only person who could overcome being near-dead just so he could laugh at her.

  With some difficulty, she tore parts of his shirt open so she could get at the wounds on his side. “Water,” she muttered, scooping handfuls of snow and packing it against the injury. “Does this hurt?”

  “I can’t feel the ice. Should I be worried?”

  “No. That’s actually my doing.” Something in her bag clinked as she moved, and she remembered the assortment of bottles inside. She fished out several of the vials.

  In hindsight, it might have been more logical to have asked the priestess what most did before accepting them as gifts, or perhaps quizzed Nya in greater detail after they’d left. Some of the labels on the bottle, which should have enlightened her to as what they contained, only resulted in more questions.

  There were bottles marked with things Zoe was familiar with, like Antitoxin and Tea and Vaccine (though a vaccination from what, Zoe had no idea) and even one that said Cough Medicine. Not all the bottles contained magical potions either; a few were herbs, marked Wonderland Pepper or Thyme or Rosemary. Other labels were just ridiculous.

  “Cake?” she muttered disbelievingly, as she examined a small flask, then at another. “Gift?” Still another spelled out Snake, and Zoe hastily shoved that back into the pouch.

  One of the smaller bottles showed promise, with Clean printed across its surface. Carefully, she unstopped the flask and tilted a few hesitant drops onto the very dirty sleeve of her blouse.

  The drops hit the cloth, rippled out. The mud followed suit, clumps falling away. An area of pristine blue appeared where the drops had fallen and, a couple of minutes later, Zoe was holding a dry, fresh-smelling shirt. Good. This was good.

  She ripped out several strips of cloth from Cole’s shirt, added a small drop to the former, and then several more to the latter. As she watched, mud and water separated, dripping out until the last of the dirt slid off both the makeshift bandage and the cloth it came from.

  She cleaned the other strips, then used one to remove the rest of the mud from Cole’s wounds. Zoe wasn’t sure if the potion could be used directly on injuries and decided to err on the safe side, concerned it might hinder more than heal. Cole hissed quietly a few times when she moved over places where the lacerations were at their deepest, and she tried to keep her touch light.

  Once she was satisfied she’d gotten out all she could, Zoe wrapped more makeshift bandages over the injury. She did the same to his shoulder, noting that the bleeding there had stopped.

  “It’s the best I can do for now.” She looked back, was startled to see him studying her intently, without his usual rudeness. His good hand reached out to close over hers briefly.

  “Thank you.”

  Zoe found herself reddening. A polite Nottingham s
omehow felt more intimidating than a rude one. “Just returning the favor,” she said, trying to make her voice sound light. “You saved my life first, remember?” There was no sign of the others anywhere. “Where are Ken and Tala and…?” Dread gripped her insides. “They weren’t…are they…?”

  “They’re safe.”

  She didn’t believe him. Zoe took a step back into the direction of the marshes.

  “They’re safe.”

  “We have to go back and find them.”

  “Carlisle…”

  “How would you even know they made it out of the swamps? You couldn’t,” she answered her own question bitterly. She felt like crying, but the tears wouldn’t come. “You were too busy rescuing me, because I am apparently neither smart nor skilled enough to take care of myself, much less protect anyone else! This is all my fault. I need to make sure they’re—”

  Cole moved quicker than his injuries should have allowed for, and his large hands found her shoulders, a faint, barely visible wince crossing his face at the pain the movement caused. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Of course it is! Even you said the Cheshire thinks I’m a mess!”

  “Forget what I said,” Cole said roughly, the tremors in his voice betraying an unusual amount of emotion. “Forget everything I ever said about you.”

  Zoe looked up at him. Cole immediately took his hands away, his face now shuttered and suddenly inscrutable.

  “The others survived. Gravekeeper can sense the dead and the dying, and it doesn’t sense them.”

  Despite the warmth she’d willed around them both, Zoe couldn’t repress a shudder. What kind of segen did that? What kind of sacrifice had the Nottinghams made to allow it? “How is it able to…” she began, then realized it was a question Cole was unlikely to answer. “If you’re lying just to make me feel better,” she threatened instead, “I will never forgive you.”

  “When have I ever gone out of my way to make you feel better, Carlisle?” There was still no change in his expression, but it was a faint stab at humor. If this had been anyone but Nottingham, Zoe might have smiled. And then the look on Cole’s face changed again, to one that hovered between uncertainty and something else that Zoe was finding hard to read.