by Aaron Crash
Haylee looked on, quiet and, like before, embarrassed by the passion in her friend. The half-elf was beautiful, and Ymir had trouble keeping his eyes from lingering. He had to laugh at himself. Sleeping with two professors his first year might be pushing things. He’d simply have to settle for one professor a year. There were many wise sayings in the Sacred Mysteries of the Ax about moderation.
Ymir hurried out of the rain to walk down the covered path that ran alongside the feasting hall. It was later afternoon, Monday, and the Artist Moon would be full later that week, on Sunday night, alone in the sky without the Warrior. Actually for Ymir, it was the Shieldmaiden moon they needed, not this artist nonsense. He liked the idea of the Shieldmaiden giving him protection so he could tear through the veil of reality and see the truth.
They still had a few things to gather. He walked into the feasting hall, poured himself some kaif, and wondered what kind of magic drew him to the hot drink day after day. He’d even found himself liking the bitter bite. With how rainy and cold it had been for months on end, drinking something hot was nice. Better was the burst of energy and focus it gave him.
He wandered into the Librarium. Gatha scowled at him. “Excuse me, scholar. There is no food or drink in the library. The lightning could arc and electrocute you. And we can’t have stains on our books and scrolls.”
Ymir had a lot to think about, and he was in no mood to deal with the she-orc librarian and her madness. He finished off the kaif and set it on her table. He walked away without saying a word. If she wanted to pretend they were strangers, he’d indulge in her games. She bitched at him to take the cup back to the feasting hall. He ignored her.
He’d found her hate for him amusing. He found her apathy simply annoying and not worth his time. Maybe the she-orc librarian had found a big-breasted woman to play with. He didn’t think so. She had her books, and that seemed like enough for her.
Walking up the steps to the second floor, he found Jenny sitting at their table. Her face was white. She was staring off in the distance, holding a crumpled piece of paper. Someone must’ve told her about her sand letter.
When he sat down, she closed her eyes, like she knew Ymir wasn’t going to let her weasel her way out of talking about what was troubling her. After the cool reception from Gatha, he’d be damned if he let the swamp woman spend another night plagued by her foul dreams.
“I don’t want to talk about the elkshit in that letter. It’s bad news. Good. We can use it for our spell. Fucking magic. No, Jennybelle, today, right now, you’re going to tell me about your nightmares. You’re going to tell me what’s bothering you. Or I will not spend another night in your bed. My cell is still full of packaging for the Amora Xoca, but there is always Lillee’s cell.”
The Josentown princess grimaced. “You can’t give me an ultimatum like that. And you won’t stay away. My oheesy is too sweet, and Lillee ain’t got enough titties to satisfy you. Don’t make me call your bluff.” Jenny’s face had gained some color, but her blue eyes were still sunken into her skull.
Ymir snapped his fingers. “Tell me. Now. And I’ll tell you what has me worried. I learned something that has saddened me.”
“You fucking think you can make me curious and I’ll break?” Jenny laughed. At the same time, she wiped tears away in hopes she was quick enough he wouldn’t see them. She wasn’t.
“Tell me. Now. I won’t ask again.” He was serious. He wasn’t bluffing. This wasn’t a river deck game of Seven Devils, and he didn’t have shitty cards. He’d been kind and patient, and that hadn’t worked. It was time to give her a hard edge.
“You want to be the big man? The big tough man? Ha!” Her laughter was ragged, bordering on hysterical. “I’ll be the poor weak woman. I’ve had people killed before. I’ve mixed poison, and I knew who it was for, and I didn’t care a bit. You know us Swamp Coast women. We murdered the Tree-damned men who thought to put us in their harems. No, fuck that. We had the harems. Us.”
He shrugged. “It’s a fair introduction, but I don’t want a history lesson. I want to hear about the wound in your heart. It’s been bleeding for weeks and it’s fouled the air around you. I’m tired of its fucking stink.”
Her eyes darted across his face, her lips trembled, and she was blinking fiercely, trying hard to find a way around him. But he’d set the edge. “All right, all right, I dream, most every night, that we’re back on that island. And most every night, I feel myself stab Siteev, right in her back. I feel the blade going in, sliding between bone, the blood splashing me, and even how she smelled. I can still smell her.” She was breathing hard. Then she was pleading with him. “Don’t make me say it, Ymir. Don’t make me. Please.”
“You’re already over the worst of it. Let me guess. You stab her, and she won’t stay dead.” He remembered his first kill with his own hands. He remembered the dreams afterwards. Of course, he talked with his battle brothers about it, and they’d eased his concerns. That White Wolf clansman would’ve killed Ymir. It was war. It was bloody. It was a hard world, and men were forced into the bloodletting.
“Those dreams aren’t so bad.” Jenny swallowed. She choked on a sob, and more tears fell. “It’s the dreams when she pleads with me not to kill her. Or worse, she’s dead, I know she’s dead, and she’s asking for mercy. But it’s too late. Don’t you understand? I took her life, and I’m glad, but she’s haunting me. Maybe there are ghosts and orishas and all that shit.”
“Akkor,” Ymir said softly. “But I don’t think that Siteev is some ghost come back to haunt you. I think this is your first kill, face to face, and you feel bad.”
“But I told you. I’ve killed before. There was this one bitch, rising up in a county, and she was gathering support. She’d already hired a killer from the Silent Scream to take out my mother. We got her first. I mixed the bloodcross mushroom poison that killed the assassin and the bitch who hired her.” Jenny’s words were grim, but they were strong.
He gazed into her eyes. “Sure. But sending someone to take a life is different than taking that life yourself. You feel bad for the murder. I understand. When I was young, I felt bad for things.”
“But I shouldn’t,” Jenny hissed. “I’m weak.”
“You didn’t let your fear stop you from killing her. That would’ve been weak. You didn’t tell us, right away, about your nightmares. That was weak. If you want to be strong, you’ll tell us about your nightmares. You’ll be honest.”
Jenny sat, jaw muscles straining, shaking her head and crying. “She wanted to kill us. She would’ve killed us. It’s good she’s dead. Why do I feel bad for that?”
“The Axman strikes us down, good and bad, when it’s our time. The Shieldmaiden protects us, good and bad, when she probably shouldn’t. But the Wolf? The Wolf howls and bites and fucks and runs across the world pissing in temples and shitting in soup pots. The Wolf can’t be explained. What you’re feeling can’t be explained. It is what it is. And I don’t think you’re weak. You still have my heart, Jennybelle Josen. You still have my life. You and I are going to build an empire together. That will require blood. It’s good you feel bad for killing. We shouldn’t do it lightly.”
Jenny stood, pushed the table aside, and curled up in his lap. He held her. She didn’t cry. She just let him hold her as she started to heal the wound in her heart. She even smelled better.
“What’s in the letter?” he asked.
“It’s from Arribelle. She says she hates me for stealing you away. Nelly has told her all about how smart you are, how handsome, and how powerful. Arri says she’s never going to speak to me again, and that once Mama dies, she’s gonna cut me off from the money. I won’t be welcome home. She don’t say anything about Auntie Jia. She just says she hates me.” Jenny sighed. “And I hate her. I don’t mind stupid much. Stupid and cruel? That I won’t tolerate. And that’s what Arri is. So fuck her right in her prissy butthole.”
Ymir held her, breathed in the scent of her hair, and kissed her head. “My own
people cast me out. I understand, Jenny, like few can. I never cared much for my father, but his single tear, when he sent me away, haunts me. I told Lillee about it. I told you. We will be the family we need, Jennybelle. We will be the family we need.”
Jenny laughed. “We have the piece of paper bearing bad news. The hatred of a sister.”
Lillee walked over, kissed Ymir, and kissed Jenny before sitting down. She looked at Ymir for a long time without saying anything.
“What is that look for?” he asked.
The elf girl smiled wistfully. “I want to memorize you both. I want that memory, always, of seeing you together.” Her voice failed. She had to clear her throat. “Jenny told you what’s bothering her, didn’t she?”
“She did. Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, Lillee?” he asked.
“Not yet. But soon. Soon.” Lillee frowned. “Gatha pretended to not know me. It’s sad for her to be so alone.”
“She has her books,” he growled.
Tori was the last to arrive. She sat down.
With Jenny on his lap, there was still an open chair at the table. If Gatha had any sense, she could’ve joined them. It was a damn shame.
Tori climbed up onto her chair and set a silver bowl in the middle of the table. “And that’s a bowl consecrated by the heartbroken. I got a feather from Brodor Bootblack. As the Form Studia Dux, he has all matter of interesting items lying around. I followed the ritual. I even cried a bit.”
“You? Heartbroken?” Jenny asked. “Not sure I see it, T.”
Tori laughed, sitting back. “I hide it well. You don’t want to hear about my sad story. It’s not that sad, or shouldn’t be. Gosh me underground, I have friends like you. And I have a dozen roommates, in this big old Moons apartment, with views, and the whole thing. And I have a great life, working, going to school—it’s a lot of fun. I’d like it if Ribrib snored less. That Ribrib.”
Jenny lifted her head off Ymir’s chest. “Like I said, you don’t sound heartbroken.”
“But she is,” Lillee whispered. “I’ve seen it.”
The dwab gave the elf girl an uneasy look. “See? Lillee knows. And Ymir knows a little. And let’s just leave it at that.” Her chuckle was wrong, all wrong, like a wounded animal. Yet, she smiled right through it, which was her way.
Tori cleared her throat. “So Francy, my boss—you know Francy—well, bless my stone bits, she knows a blind woman, the wife of a farmer. I went there, and we talked, and I told her the sad story of Sinaj Pjolin, the Wingkin who couldn’t fly but who could cook. It worked. Got her crying. I got the tears. And we have the blood of a virgin. That would be my own blood.”
Again, Jenny coughed. “Uh, I heard a little bit about you and Lillee. That doesn’t sound so innocent.”
“I’ve not known a man,” Tori said. “Which is to say, I’ve not been devirginized. And besides, the Inconvenience isn’t my fault. It just happens. I’m saying I’m heartbroken, and I’m saying I’m innocent.”
“I think that’s right,” Lillee agreed. “It feels right. And this spell is more about feelings than about logic, I think. Flow magic, the flow of life, requires us to use all parts of our minds, our intuition, our feelings, and our thoughts.”
Ymir couldn’t believe Tori. She’d been working tirelessly for them. And she wasn’t done yet. He did agree with both of his princesses—she seemed far more innocent than she was heartbroken, and maybe she was both, and maybe she was neither. They’d try this spell, and if it failed, they’d try again.
However, from the little he could glean from the references to the Akkiric Rings, they couldn’t be created over and over. They could only exist one at a time. Some sorcerers disagreed. Ymir did wonder what had happened to the original Akkiric Rings. What was their story? He knew the answer to that lay in the Illuminates Spire, which he didn’t have access to. Yet.
The fire-headed dwab rattled off the rest of the components that she’d gathered herself. “The cobwebs were easy. I got some from an old room in the Moons Tower. Francy came through on the bay leaves from the kitchen. Ethra mint is rarer, but wouldn’t you know it? One of my roommates knew a sailor who was in StormCry who had some. It seems the sea elves over there like to chew it. Finally, I went to Professor Leel for the vision salt and the high john root. You people, I thought Issa Leel was stern, yes, a little humorless, okay, but all in all, I thought she was lovely. I think she’s mean because you don’t give her a chance.”
Ymir didn’t hide his disgust. Lillee sighed.
Tori saw their faces and grinned. “That leaves you three doing the spit part. If you need me, though, I’m not such the delicate flower that I won’t spit in a bowl for your magic.”
Ymir and the princesses were speechless for a moment, clearly reduced to silence by all the work Tori had done on top of her work in the kitchens and her studies.
The clansman was the first one to laugh. “Toriah Welldeep, you have shamed us.”
The little woman shrugged. “When your head isn’t in your pants, you can get a lot done.”
“You can.” Lillee touched her essess.
Jenny got off Ymir, walked over, and patted Tori’s shoulder. “That is some impressive shit. Good job, T. I have to say, I’m all for work, but I’m all for heads in pants as well.” The swamp woman went over and sank down into the fourth chair. She paused. “Looks like we have what we need for this ring. I got some bad news today. You up to drawing, Lillee?”
“I am,” the elf girl said.
Jenny reached out and held her hand. Her next question was for Ymir. “Where are we gonna make this thing?”
“I have the perfect place,” he said. “This Sunday night, we’ll go there. It’s safer if we do because I don’t think we’ll be bothered like the last time we forged a ring.”
When he told them the place, Lillee paled. Jenny cursed. Tori, though, smiled. “I’ve only been out of the school a few times, and mostly to the farmer’s to get food. Bless my stone bits, but this should be quite the adventure!”
Ymir appreciated her enthusiasm, but he couldn’t share in it. Too many times adventure meant death.
He told his friends about the shadow he’d seen around the Honored Princept.
It was Jenny who said the obvious. “Once we have the ring, we can use it on her, just like we’ll use it on us.”
Ymir agreed. Getting the ring was critical and they should have it in time to use it.
In six days, on Sunday night, they’d create the ring. They’d know the identity of the assassin before the Third Exam even started.
By then, Ymir hoped to know exactly what was going on. He’d shine his light on the college, and when the roaches scattered, he’d step on every single one of them.
Chapter Twenty-Six
ANOTHER BUSY WEEK TURNED Monday into Friday. That afternoon, Ymir was surprised when Brodor Bootblack asked him to stay after school. The classroom in the Form Tower was on the north end of campus. The windows showed the northern coast, where rolling waves crashed into craggy pinnacles of rock out in the Weeping Sea.
Brodor’s room smelled like the polish he used on his boots. Ymir liked the dwarf, though their days drinking together were over. Gharam couldn’t stand the sight of Ymir, and Brodor had been friends with the Gruul professor a lot longer than he had with the clansman.
The dwarven professor was about four feet tall, the same height as Tori, but Brodor was wider. He had a mane of shaggy red-brown hair and a big bush beard, unbraided at the moment. His eyebrows, nose, and ears were overly large. He was in a red waistcoat and brown pantaloons.
The pair stood in front of the chalkboard, which showed numbers, grids, graphs, and shapes, all marked with more numerals.
The students filtered away, and Brodor got right to the point. “You’re kind to be friends with that poor Toriah Welldeep. I wanted to tell you that. She came by to make some silver bowl for you. Quite a gift.” His voice was gruff, and his lips were barely visible in the tangle of his b
eard. “You know, Ymir, us Morbuskor don’t care much for you overtoppers. In the end, we think you’ll wipe yourselves out, and we’ll be in our stoneholds just fine and dandy.”
Ymir had heard that time and again. He didn’t much care for them either. Half the time, he didn’t see Tori as a dwab, just a friend. “Then why are you here, Brodor? Why are the Ironcoats here? Why is Tori here?”
Brodor’s laughter sounded like boulders crashing down a hill. “Tori is here because she’s so ugly. Not sure why the Forger hammered her that way, but he did. I try to be friendly, but I feel damn uncomfortable around her. Those big jugs. That whiskerless chin. And she’s taller than she should be, which wouldn’t matter if her ears and nose weren’t so mantle-damned small. Looking at her makes my stones wrinkle and my butthole pucker.”
The clansman wanted to punch the wall of a man in his overgrown nose. Instead, he put a slack look on his face and pretended not to care. This was why Tori was heartbroken. This was why she used her smile and her cheer to fight her empty nights.
He knew Brodor would circle back to his original questions. He figured Tori wasn’t attractive to other Morbuskor.
“You won’t tell her that,” Brodor said brusquely. “It’s good she has friends. But despite how ugly, a dwab is a treasure to you uppergrounders.” He stroked his beard. “As for me, had a bad divorce in the Golden Stonehold, and that bitch took most everything I ever loved in the world. It’d be better if she’d have died. Or I would’ve. You know it’s a bad divorce when death is the better option.”
Ymir nodded. Divorce wasn’t unknown in the tundra clans, but most of the time, marriages did end in death, and far sooner than they should’ve.
Again, he didn’t need to comment. He merely had to listen. It was one of the nice things about being with Brodor—the dwarf single-handedly carried the weight of most conversations. Drunk, he’d listen better. Or maybe the drink helped him forget to talk.
“Teaching here at Old Ironbound is an honor and privilege, though I do miss having rock over my head. I go back some. I have a son who prefers me to his mother. The daughter, though, the daughter is a different story. But that has been the same since the Forger hammered the pot where the Tree of Life was planted.” Brodor chuckled a bit.
