by S. G. Night
The she-Majiski grinned at him, the same bright, out-of-place smile as before. Trust me, she mouthed. Go for the neck.
Vrag’s white eyes widened in sudden realization. “Majiski flesh!” it shouted, his double-voice rising to a roar as he held his blade-arm aloft. “They are quicken! I smell it! He and the female! Destroy them! Destroy them both!”
The Goblins didn’t seem to process the first part of Vrag’s statement, but the final command got their attention. Suddenly awakened from their cowering, their whimpers turn quickly to bloodthirsty braying, shattering the cloud of silence. They stood, claws scraping the floor, drawing brittle iron swords as they rounded on Racath and the woman.
Without hesitation, the woman produced a silver knife from beneath her cloak. Fluid as a river, fast as only a Majiski can be, she threw it. The weapon sliced across the taproom, a steely, whistling pinwheel cutting through the air between chairs and Goblins. A crack of breaking chitin split the air. The Demon howled a raging cry, thudding to the floor, the knife protruding from a splintered wound in its kneecap.
Vrag tried to stand, but the woman’s knife must have hit a ligament, and the injured leg dragged limply on the floor. Crawling on its left hand, the Demon shouted again: “Kill them both!”
Racath knew his cue. Violent intuition seared through his veins, his instincts taking over. He triggered the enchantment bound to the machinery between the layers of his gauntlets. With a satisfying clack and a flicker of steel, his Stingers erupted from their sheaths, like a pair of shortswords bound to his arms. He ran at Vrag, cutting one Goblin down and somersaulting over another. Behind him, the woman had drawn a pair of blades. She was already hewing down the Goblins around her, killing them one by one, smooth as a dancer trading partners.
The Demon roared once more and thrust his hand out toward Racath. A bolt of crackling energy exploded from its palm, blasting a hole clean through the chest of a Goblin that had made the mistake of getting in the way. The lance of lethal magic missed Racath by scant inches and sailed past him, striking the wall of the inn. The wall promptly burst into flame.
Racath leapt at Vrag, sidestepping as the Demon swung its talon-arm at him. He stepped inside the Demon’s reach, grabbed the pointed end of its head, and struck downward with his Stinger. The blade of Ioan steel slipped between the facets of the Demon’s natural armor and passed cleanly into the flesh of its neck.
The monster did not even have time to bellow in its voice of twin-thunder. The Stinger cleaved through its spine. The Demon’s head came free from its shoulders, clunking onto the floor amidst a fountain of syrupy blood. Racath took the time to spit on the massive, truncated body before returning his attention to the Goblin pack and the flames spreading over the walls.
The blond she-Majiski burst from of the chaos of rusted iron and brown fur. She grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the door.
“Come on!”
Racath had no objections. They ran, the woman kicking the door with enough force to smash it off its hinges. Together, the two Majiski tore out into the mountain air. Fast as horses, they flew down the road, leaving the leaderless Goblins, the burning inn, and Vale far behind them.
FOUR
Nightfire
The girl with golden hair pulled Racath behind her at a dead run for nearly three miles. Racath, far too confused to resist, followed without objection. She did not release his hand.
“Here we are!” she announced, coming to a sudden stop and pointing.
Surprised, Racath dug his heals into the mountain grass to keep from plowing into her. Following her finger, he saw a large outcropping of stone that jutted out of the side of the mountain, creating a cave-like depression in the earth.
“Come on,” said the girl with golden hair. “I’ve already got camp set up.”
“Camp?” Racath repeated, perplexed.
The she-Majiski did not answer. She released his hand and entered the small cavity.
“You see, the way I figure it,” she called back to him over her shoulder, nudging a haphazard pile of wood beneath the outcropping with her foot. “If those Goblins are looking for us — and they probably are — then they’ll be looking for a fire. But! This little hole should cover the firelight well enough, and it’s still open enough to let the smoke filter out. Perfect, huh?”
Racath just stood there, blinking stupidly. “What?”
The girl with golden hair waved him over. “Come on! Get in here. Don’t be shy.”
Warily, Racath stepped forward under the outcropping. The night was nearly pitch black to begin with, clouds concealing much of the starlight, but in the small cave it was blacker than midnight under tar. Even with his keen Majiski senses, all he could see was the glinting eyes of the girl with golden hair, and the outline of the woodpile on the ground.
She crossed her legs and gracefully lowered herself onto the soft dirt, smooth as flowing water. “Go on, sit down. I don’t bite. You want to get the fire started? It’s all ready for you.”
Racath remained standing. “I don’t have any flint.” The words seemed to fall out of his mouth, tumbling around the hundreds of questions floating around his tongue.
The girl snorted indelicately. “That’s what magic is for, silly.”
“I’m not very good with magic…” Racath frowned. “I wasn’t ever really trained.”
“Oh, trust me, I know,” she answered. “But you’re certainly better off than me, and a little spark isn’t that difficult. Go on.”
Uncertain, Racath knelt. Squinting, he looked down at the tangled mess of twigs, sticks, and dried grass — from what he could see, there seemed to be neither rhyme nor reason to its construction.
“This is a mess,” he commented. “It won’t catch.”
The girl made a petulant sound. In the dark Racath couldn’t tell, but it sounded like she was sticking her tongue out at him. “Why? Because it’s not like one of those cute little twig-castles they teach you to build fires with? Those are for stupid twits who can’t put their own shoes on right.”
“True,” he conceded, beginning to gather the materials together and replacing them. “But that’s why you cheat. You take bits and pieces from all the different methods, add in a little chaotic pile in the middle and…there.”
The woodpile now resembled a square of thicker sticks with an open pyramid stacked on top of it, housing a knot of dry brown grass.
“Huh. Interesting.”
Racath shrugged. “It’s simple, really.”
“No, not that,” she explained. “It’s interesting that you don’t know me from a hole in the ground, and yet you’re perfectly comfortable giving me a discourse on fire-building.”
Racath shrugged again, tentative. “I didn’t mean to be condescending.”
“No, no!” she said hastily, holding up her hands. “You’re not being condescending, and that’s exactly it. You’re just matter-of-fact, like you teach fire-building for a living. It’s intriguing, it shows that even when you’re all befuddled, you like to understand things, and you like teaching what you understand.”
“I live by the idea that intelligence means knowing everything about something, and something about everything,” Racath replied. “…And thank you. I guess.”
“Don’t mention it!” returned the girl with golden hair, a sincere smile evident in her tone. “Frankly, in your situation, I’d be all a-babble with questions.”
Racath looked up at her silhouette. “Now that you mention it, I am confused as to—”
“Ahh-ahh!” she interrupted, holding up a finger in the dark. “Fire first, questions second. I’m cold and I can’t see worth a damn.”
Slowly, Racath held his palm out to the construction, and concentrated. He felt his arm tingle, but nothing happened. Eyebrows knitting together, he tried again, urging his body to generate heat.
“Can I at least get your name?” he asked distractedly.
“That seems acceptable!” the she-Majiski answered from the da
rk. “I’m Nelle. Nelle Aritas.”
“Racath Thanjel,” he muttered absentmindedly. He felt his markara flex under his gauntlet, but the energy stopped just short of the apex on his palm.
“I know your name, silly!”
Racath pushed, not quite hearing her. It felt forced — awkward, like when you put your shoulder into a stuck door and then stumble as it pops open — but a trail of sparks jumped out of his hand. The tiny flares of light landed amidst the dried grass and the whole thing ignited in a pleasant whoosh! Flickering yellow light danced along the walls of the cave and they both blinked as their eyes adjusted.
“Ahh…” said Nelle, beaming at him. “That’s more like it! Told you could do it.”
“Wait…” Racath said, Nelle’s previous statement clicking into place in his head for the first time. “You know my name?”
“Take your hood off,” she instructed, ignoring his question. “Let me get a good look at you.”
Racath complied, pushing his Shadow’s hood off his head. Across the fire, Nelle’s eyes narrowed as if inspecting him. Her gaze moved over his face, from his loose black hair to the scar across his left eye.
At the same time, Racath took the opportunity to get his first good look at her. She was young, perhaps within a year of Racath’s own age. Her hair was smooth, shiny, naturally straight, falling around her shoulders in a silken cascade. Her face was striking, her features defined and smooth. Not perfect, by any means, but she had an unintentional beauty about her that surpassed anything he had seen before. Her eyes were a deep blue, the color of a clean lake springing forth from a mountainside.
And when he met those eyes, there was something about her that struck deep within Racath’s chest. It’s difficult to explain…you see, I have met her, and so I know that same powerful aspect in her eyes that Racath saw that night. But it is not easily put into words, not so easily described to someone who hasn’t seen it. It was just…something.
Liken it to meeting a star. You do not know the star, have never spoken to it before, nor have you ever picked it out of the sparkle of its sisters in the night sky. But the star knows you. It has spent your whole life watching you from the sky. You can keep no secrets from it. It knows every thought in your mind, every move you have ever made, every flaw you have hidden, every pain you have felt. Like the millennia it spent before you were born were years in waiting. Waiting for you and only you, like you are what gives it purpose. Like watching over you is the dedication of its entire life. So it knows you better than you know yourself.
And while the star is bright, a twinkling gem that brims with youth and beauty, there is an intangible wisdom to it. It is undeniably experienced. But not old. It may have lived for a thousand of years before you were born, counting every second until you were brought into the world. But, for a star, a thousand years is still very, very young. Young enough to kiss.
That feeling, that meeting with a star, is what pierced Racath’s heart when Nelle looked into his eyes. She was starlight, nightfire on an ebon velvet sky. Rapture.
“You’re better looking than I’d hoped for,” Nelle said eventually with an impish grin.
Racath swallowed the block in the back of his throat. “I don’t understand. How do you know me? You’re Majiski, but you’re not with the Genshwin….” He looked her up and down. Her cloak was long and black like his, but it was not a Shadow. Her forearms were covered with long leather gloves like his, but they were not Stingers. “Are you?”
“Eh,” Nelle said, making a face and waggling a splayed hand back and forth. “Yes and no. Kind of, but not really. I’m connected to someone else who is connected to the Genshwin, but the Genshwin don’t really know I exist. It’s a little wishy-washy”
Racath stared at her for a long moment. “What the faul does that mean?”
“Language,” she said. Her voice sounded stern, but it was mitigated by a smile and a wink. “That’s a big question. A little too big for right now. There are some other things you’re gonna have to ask first if you want any chance at understanding. Ask another.” She leaned back against the rocky wall of the small cave, resting her hands behind her head.
There was a pause as Racath sorted through the cluttered confusion in his mind before he asked: “Why were you in that tavern tonight?”
“Who says there was a reason?” Nelle responded, her eyes flashing coyly. “Maybe I was just passing through, just like you. Maybe I fancied a drink and a cozy fire. Had you thought of that?”
“You’re toying with me.”
“I am,” she grinned. “Isn’t it great? I never get to talk to anyone like this. It’s so refreshing. Yes, there was a reason. A couple, actually. But out of curiosity, what made you think that there was?”
“It seems too unlikely to be an accident,” Racath answered. “A Majiski Genshwin, a…Majiski not-Genshwin, a Goblin horde, and a Demon all in the same place at the same time? It just seems like too much coincidence.”
“I’ll give you that much,” Nelle said. “It was partly coincidental though. I mean you and the Demon being there at the same time was coincidence. However, my presence was by design. To answer your question: I was in that tavern to kill Vrag the Red. And because I was waiting for you.”
“But…what does that mean?” Racath protested. “How could you have been waiting for me? We’ve never met before.”
Nelle blew a sigh out threw her teeth. “Okay, big answers now. There are a few things you need to know about me, Racath. Firstly, while I am not necessarily a Genshwin, I’m a lot like you. I hunt Demons.”
“That much I gathered.”
“Secondly, I’m the augur.”
The word tickled a memory deep within Racath’s mind, but he couldn’t place it. “And that means…?”
“Oh, come on, Racath,” Nelle chided. “I know it’s been a long time, but your mother taught you some of Jedan history, didn’t she?”
Racath’s eyebrows furrowed. “How do you…?”
“Augur,” Nelle explained slowly. “Was the title given to the person that God selected to be His voice in the mortal world. There have been dozens since the beginning of time. Every augur has had their own purpose. Some led the Jedan church, some contributed to God’s scripture, and some were given a specific task to complete and would remain alive until that task was done, no matter how long it took.
“But all augurs have been gifted with the holy ability to recall the past — any part of the past — with perfect clarity, to see the present as it unfolds anywhere within their scope, and to glimpse the possible future in dreams. And I,” she held both hands to her chest. “Yours truly, am the augur today.”
Silence. Then Racath doubled over laughing. He laughed until tears came to his eyes, sobs of mirth shaking his lungs.
Nelle glowered at him. “What?” Her voice was dangerously flat.
“Oh, nothing,” Racath choked out between gasps. “That’s just the funniest thing I’ve heard all week! You really expect me to believe that you’re some kind of…prophetess?”
“Dear God, please don’t use that word,” she snapped. “It’s so juvenile and inaccurate. It’s augur, and yes, I do expect you to.”
Racath continued to laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Do you require proof?” Nelle said darkly. “Alright then.” She leaned forward, the fire beneath her casting quavering shadows over her face. Her expression was no longer sunny, but cold and stony.
“Your gyrfalcon, Sokol? I can tell you that Mrak gave her to you as a gift when he made you his Talon last year. I can tell you that he made you a Talon because your predecessor, Jared, went missing a few months prior. I can tell you that on the morning of the twenty-first of Tamur, the day after you drowned Unin Tangaree in his own pomegranate juice, you sent Sokol to fly on ahead and meet you in Oblakgrad. I’ve never been to Velik Tor, but I can tell you that the answer to the Curator’s riddle lock will be my shadow. But another acceptable answer would be Tarek, your middle na
me and the name that you gave to your shadow when you had no one to talk to as an orphan.”
Racath’s laughter ceased. He had never told anyone about how he’d named his shadow. And no one who wasn’t a Genshwin could possibly know about the Curator or the Lock of Riddles. He tried to speak but no real words came out.
Nelle’s cold seriousness vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and was replaced by her bright smile. “There we go, that sounds like an admission of belief, yes?”
Racath floundered, babbled. Then gave in, nodding stiffly.
“Good!” Nelle grinned. “Now, back to topic. The next thing you should know about me. I was born the 938th year of the Third Age. Twenty years before the Demons invaded.”
Another impossibility. But Racath couldn’t find the nerve to argue. All he could manage was: “You look damn good for your age, then.”
Nelle actually blushed at that, although Racath wasn’t sure why. “Thank you. Thing is, I am one of those kinds of augurs who has a certain task to perform, and so until it’s done, I remain ageless.”
“Been procrastinating?” Racath said. He only joked to keep some sort of semblance of sanity in his mind.
Nelle laughed brightly, like chimes on spring wind. “No, no. See, the task I was given by God wasn’t actually possible until now. I have other important things to do, which is why — I think — I was born before the Demons came. So I would have knowledge of the Church, of the histories that the Demons destroyed. Of what’s on the other side of that wall of theirs.”
Burning curiosity seized Racath. “You know what’s past the Grey Wall?”
Nelle nodded. “Uh huh. But that’s a story for another day. So for now, would you like to guess at what your next question should be?”
Racath contemplated a moment, then thoughtfully asked: “What exactly are you supposed to do? And why couldn’t you do it until now?”
“Oh, that’s a good one!” Nelle mimed applause. “And the answer: you.”
Racath blinked. “Excuse me?”
“My nature as the augur is tied directly to you, Racath Thanjel,” Nelle said, all playfulness gone from her demeanor. “My predictions of the future all revolve around you. I’ve been waiting for you for a century, because my task is to guide you. To help you.”
