by Brindi Quinn
The three of them also jumped and turned to him.
“You there,” – he pointed to Rend – “are a loose cannon. You,” – he shifted his point to Nyte – “are entirely untrustworthy, and you,” – he saved his most accusatory point for Ardette – “are the least professional member of you-know-what that I have ever encountered!”
“Were you all ready?” The waitress was again frozen at the end of our table.
“Eh, maybe we’d better just come back later?” Grotts rubbed the back of his hair and looked around the group uneasily.
This is ridiculous.
“NO,” – I shot Ardette a warning look – “everyone just sit down. Grotts, please order something for all of us.”
The children were outside, so why did I feel like a schoolmarm?
“Eh, right.” He tugged on his ear. “In that case, we’ll take some kinda fruit for those two there and . . .”
While he ordered, I looked back to the others. Ardette was grinning smugly and watching Rend, who was again turned away from the waitress; Scardo was bowing low and spouting off hushed apologies for his ‘impulsive behavior’; and Nyte was looking at the waitress and rubbing his temple. I could tell he was tossing something heavy around in his mind.
I don’t get it.
“How I long to corrupt you, my cherry pit.” Ardette had shifted his gaze to me. “You are too innocent for your own good.”
I scowled. His tone made me feel like a child. Innocent? So he thought so too.
“That’s fine, though, I suppose,” he continued. “It is one of the things I find so enchanting about you. It will probably work out in our favor anyway. Isn’t that right, Nyte?”
Nyte stiffened. Though he was looking away, it was obvious he’d been listening in on Ardette’s remarks.
Work in their favor?
“What are you talking about?” I said curtly. “Stop toying with me.”
“Yes, we certainly have nothing to worry about.” Ardette smirked at Nyte. Nyte remained stiff.
“Tch,” I said.
Scardo was watching from the corner of his eye. It seemed he was trying to assess the coded message. At least I wasn’t the only one confused. It was probably nothing . . . but then what was with Nyte?
“Really?!” Kantú squealed. “Oh Grottsy, thank you!” I looked over in time to see her grab the great man’s shoulders and plant a kiss on his cheek. He rubbed the spot, looked away bashfully, and muttered something under his breath.
“Spring nuts, Aura! Aaaalright!”
Grotts had ordered the one thing she’d been lusting after. I giggled. In the midst of all this frustration, their relationship was something cute and tender. If only my own worries could be as simple as wondering when my next fix of spring nuts would come.
Instead, I long for the fix of another’s spirit. Again I looked at Nyte, but he was still lost in thought.
When the waitress returned a while later, Rend still wouldn’t meet her eyes. She stared out the window and rudely ignored the girl when she set down a wooden bowl of fruit between the two Elves.
“I wasn’t sure what you two preferred, so I just brought a little of everything.”
“Thank you,” said Nyte. Rend said nothing.
Was it really possible that Rend hated someone more than me? The yellow-haired girl had done nothing offensive as far as I could tell, yet Rend completely disliked her and had no intention of hiding it.
We ate our food in silence. I was grateful for the break in bickering. The day had been a struggle for all of us.
When we left the café, I for once, intentionally allowed myself to lag behind with Ardette.
Normally, I wouldn’t have done it, but I was too curious.
He slowed his pace when he realized my intention to separate us from the rest of the group.
“What’s this? Finally going to confess yourself to me, are you? I knew you’d realize your feelings sooner or later, my cherry pit.” He smiled brightly.
“Confess? Eh, no . . . That’s not it. I was just wondering . . .”
“Yes?”
“Why did Rend . . . hate that girl? Please tell me.” I looked away, embarrassed that I hadn’t been able to read the situation on my own.
Ardette’s smile turned into a smirk. “Oh, my cherry pit, she didn’t hate that girl. She was taken with her.”
“Taken with her?”
“As I am taken with you.” He grabbed my arm.
“So that was it.” Rend liked that girl? That’s why she acted like that?
Ardette’s eyes closed slightly, and he started to pull me towards him.
Hm? His mouth softened. Wait a minute?!
“What do you mean you’re taken with me!? Cut it out.” I pushed him away, saving myself from the almost-kiss.
“That’s the part you choose to react to?” He laughed. “Dear Rend was more alarmed about the situation than you are. I had expected someone from a closed city to be more surprised than that; how disappointing.”
Surprised? That’s true. But . . .
“Why should she be alarmed?”
“Such a thing is forbidden in Elven culture.”
I thought about it. “It is surprising, but I’m the last person that should be judging her. I’ve been using the forbidden ariandos, without really giving thought to how heinous it would be considered by the other songstresses.”
“You are a heretic of sorts, then? How fascinating. I didn’t realize you were such a rebel.” He took my hand. “Dangerous and beautiful? It’s quite sexy really.”
I sighed. “If you couldn’t tell, I’m not in the mood for false flattery, Ardette. Cut the act. We’re alone; none of the others will see if you just act like you for a little bit.”
“Now, why would I want to do that? That’s no fun at all. How about I show you a trick instead?”
“A trick?” I glanced at him warily.
“Yes, a delightful trick.”
Oh, boy. I tensed up, wary as to what sort of ‘trick’ he was planning.
He closed his eyes in concentration. “Alright, then. Here . . . we . . . go.” His words were labored.
He was still holding my hand, but it suddenly felt . . . tingly. I looked down.
“What?!” Alarm came over me when I realized his hand was missing!
But then I saw the black. He’d turned it to shadow. He was no longer holding my hand; he was inside of my hand, wearing me like a glove. The smoke felt different than it had inside of my throat. It was light and sort of quivered.
“Weird,” I whispered.
“But wait, my cherry pit, the best part is yet to come.”
Best part?
But then I understood what he was talking about, for my hand abruptly flexed on its own.
“Eyah! What was that?”
He smiled. “Me.”
The smoke lifted my hand into the air and waved it in front of my face.
He’s controlling me?!
Ardette beamed at my unsettled reaction. I watched him move my hand around like a puppet. My fingers clenched shut and spread out and then reached toward me and brushed across my lower lip.
Amazing . . . But it was also unnerving to see myself move like that. He could’ve forced me to strangle myself had he wanted to, and I’d have had no idea how to escape. I shivered.
“Aura,” he whispered.
I looked over at him and was startled to find his expression soft.
“Hm?”
He pulled my hand to the side of his head and then caressed my fingers through his hair. My hand slipped to the back of his head and intimately pulled his face close to mine. I concentrated and tried to make it stop.
Another crude attempt? But there was gentleness in Ardette’s eyes that told me he wouldn’t try anything.
I quit fighting and allowed my hand to play with his hair. And then the small something was there in my chest.
“Aura?” he said again.
“Yeah?”
H
is red eyes bore into mine.
What is it? Why did he look so sad all of a sudden?
“Don’t betray me,” he whispered.
There was genuine fear in his voice.
Chapter 20: The Pact
“Grotts! Old friend! It’s been too long!” A young man with a long, orange ponytail greeted us at the inn’s door. He had a tarnished, metal ring sticking through his right nostril.
“Kugar!” Grotts shook the man’s hand.
“What a group you’ve brought with you this time, but I suppose I shouldn’t ask names?”
Grotts winked at him.
“Alright then,” said Kugar, rubbing his chin. “Mr. Green-hair, Mr. Pirate, you two can collect the packs and bring them up to the third floor. It’s the door at the end of the hall.”
Pirate? I stifled a laugh. I could already tell I liked this Kugar fellow.
“I certainly hope you aren’t referring to me.” Ardette looked down at his ruffled blouse and then back up at Kugar, who nodded. “You are? How unpleasant. There were so many other things you had to choose from. No matter, come along then, Greeny.”
Nyte grinned at Ardette’s disapproval of the new nickname. He seemed not to mind his own.
I watched the two of them start up the stairs.
Ardette hadn’t said anything more about the ‘betrayal’ issue, leaving me completely bewildered as to what he’d been referring to. I didn’t understand what his motives were with the comment. If it was a game, it was certainly a weird one. And he’d seemed so real at that moment – really afraid that I’d betray him. But how could I? I had nothing with which to betray him, and even if I did, I definitely wouldn’t.
We were friends.
“Miss Crystal, Miss Tails, Mrs. Green-hair, would you like a warm washcloth?”
“For what?!” asked Kantú, bounding forward.
Rend pursed her lips haughtily at me, boasting the fact that Kugar had named her Nyte’s wife. After all, in her mind, she should’ve been. I ignored her. My soul still felt . . . tired.
“For your wrists,” said Kugar, pulling out a black cloth that had been sitting near the fire.
“Our wrists?” I asked.
“It’s part ‘o Abardoan lore,” said Grotts.
Kugar nodded. “It is believed by us natives that a woman’s spirit is released through her wrists when she tires. The washcloth is used to warm the wrist to invite the spirit back inside.” He held out the black cloth. “In short, it’s refreshing.”
“How unusual,” I muttered. I started to reach out my arm, but Scardo stopped me, wrapping his hand around my wrist and jerking it down.
“I don’t think it wise,” he whispered.
“Huh?”
He tapped my tattoo with his finger.
Oh, right. Fugitive.
“No, thanks.” I smiled at Kugar weakly. He shrugged, but didn’t appear offended.
Kantú stuck out both arms. “I’ll do it!”
“Swell!” said Kugar.
He pushed her sleeves with his pinky and lightly placed the cloth across her wrists. Her tail started to twitch. I knew that look.
“Ah! It tickles!” She broke out in chitters. “Help Grottsy!”
“How appalling!” scoffed Rend, crossing her arms.
Grotts narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t ya run along after yer husband then?”
A long, wicked grin slid across the Elf’s tight mouth at the mention of ‘husband’.
“Gladly,” she said dryly, darting up the stairs.
Grotts moved in close to Kugar, and with a hushed voice that sounded like they were undertaking some dark exchange, asked, “Anything interestin’ happen lately?”
Kugar shrugged. “Not really. Not your kind of interesting anyway. Bergra is back in town. You’ll have to swing in there if you have time.”
“Back from his expedition ‘o the Mistlands already?”
“If you can call it that.” Kugar chuckled. “How far in did he say he made it this time? Thirty paces or something.”
Grotts shook his head. “He’ll never learn. Ya can’t get through that stuff.”
Kugar held up his hands in surrender. “I know, man, I know. But does he listen to me? Nope.”
Grotts turned to the rest of us. “Bergra’s an old friend. He’s been tryin’ to make it through the Mistlands fer years.”
Through them? But you can’t come back from there!
“Why?” asked Kantú.
“Bergra seems ta think that the mist doesn’t lead ta the afterlife. Crazy, right?”
“What does he think lies through there?” I asked.
It did sound crazy, but everything else in my worldview had been shaken on this journey, so I was more open than most to the idea that my conception of the mist might’ve been wrong too. How could we really say for sure?
“More land,” said Kugar, fiddling with his nose hoop. “He thinks the mist just goes through the Westerlands, not ends it. Not that he has any proof at all.”
“Preposterous,” said Scardo. “Suicide is the only thing that lies through the mist.”
Kugar nodded. “He’s spent too much time in the caves, if you ask me.”
“Eh, Bergra’s alrigh’, though,” said Grotts. “He’s had a tough time since his kid was killed in that cave-in. This obsession of his is just a way ta cope.”
“Killed?!” I blurted. Then I hugged myself. “That’s awful.” I felt for the man. I didn’t know him, but I knew his pain: the pain of loss.
In the first years after losing Illuma, it’d been unbearable. There were times when I couldn’t speak without crying; times when I didn’t even feel like a real person – just a hollow shell that might, at any moment, fly away with the breeze or dissipate into dust.
“That’s the life of a miner.” Kugar’s expression was grave. “That’s why you won’t catch me anywhere near those caves . . . . Aaaaanyway, I suppose it’s time I show you to your room. Knowing Grotts, you’ve all had one heck of a journey.”
If he only knew.
With that, he stepped from behind the counter and brought us upstairs.
“At the end of the hall there. Let me know if you need anything. And Grotts, I’m up for a game of Panod later . . . if you’re interested.”
When we entered the room, Ardette was boredly pacing about.
“My, my, having a party down there, were you? Pirates weren’t invited, I suppose?”
Nyte and Rend were leaning against the far wall in the middle of a hushed quarrel.
They could’ve passed for siblings, maybe. But husband and wife? Not a chance.
The room was exotically decorated with black and white paper fans mounted all over its walls. I settled down on what turned out to be a lumpy – but comfortable – bed and cranked my neck around to get a glimpse of them all.
“They tell the legends of the miners,” said Grotts, plopping down on the bed opposite mine. “This one here’s my favorite.” He gestured to a particularly large one that had a black, scaled beast painted on it. “It’s the tale ‘o the dragon keeper’s wife.”
“Dragon? Things like that don’t really exist, do they?”
He chuckled. “Not anymore. The story’s kinda lovely, though.”
“Would you tell us?” I asked. The beauty of the small brush strokes that made up the dragon’s inky scales intrigued me.
“Yeah, Grottsy!” Kantú chimed in. “Go on!”
“Eh . . .” He looked at her hopeful face. “Oh, alright. But I might not get it all right. I was never good with rememberin’ that kinda stuff. But anyway, ‘ere goes.” He rubbed his palms on his thighs and took a deep breath before starting,
“The dragon keeper was a fierce man. He had ta be, ta watch over the dragons. Ya never know when they’ll turn on ya, see?”
We nodded.
“Anyway, the keeper treasured his role more than anything. One of his dragons was a cunnin’ one, more cunnin’ than all the others, and he was even able to take on t
he form of a man. He rued being mastered by a Sape and looked fer a way to get out from under the keeper’s watch. His eye fell on the keeper’s wife, who was a beautiful woman with hair as black as a dragon’s heart-” He paused. “Er, yeah, Kantoo?”
She’d raised her hand properly.
“Dragons have black hearts?” She scrunched her nose and examined the fan.
“Sure they do. They were formed durin’ the void. In fact, the Creator,” – he searched for the right word – “squished pieces ‘o the void together ta make the dragons’ hearts. They were some ‘o the first things ta be created.”
I imagined that the actual tale contained words much more eloquent than ‘squished’, but I held in the desire to chuckle at Grotts’ version of the tale, certain I preferred his spin on it anyway.
“Where was I?” Grotts thought a second. “Oh yeah, the beautiful wife. Well, the dragon wanted to make ‘er his. If a dragon sets his sights on ya, he’ll surely get what he wants, or so they say. Dragons are very cunnin’ by nature, and like I said, he was the most cunnin’ one ‘o all. The dragon pursued the woman fiercely,” – Grotts smoothed his hair shyly – “tellin’ ‘er poems of love, and eventually she fell for him. He’d use this as leverage for gainin’ his freedom.
“What the dragon didn’t know is that women can be even more cunnin’ than dragons, ‘specially where matters ‘o the heart are concerned. Before she’d agree to give ‘erself to the dragon, she demanded his heart for one night.
“‘What could one night hurt?’ is what the dragon thought, so he agreed. Ya see, the woman had seen through the dragon’s plot. She’d remained true to her husband even after falling in love with the dragon.
“The wife had a plan. That night, she cut off her black hair and formed it into a knot. The next morning, when the dragon came back for his heart, she gave him her hair instead. He didn’t suspect a thing, and he took the hair and put it in place of his own missin’ heart. The woman gave the dragon’s real heart to ‘er husband. If the keeper held the heart, then he’d always be able ta lord over the dragon.
“When the dragon discovered the woman’s trick, he cried out in anguish, cursin’ her as a treacherous woman. He refused to see her again. Despite all this, the woman still loved the dragon. As a final act of remorse for what she’d done, she cut out her own heart and left it for the dragon to replace the one he’d lost.
