by Jada Fisher
Gayla cursed, which was also rare. “Sounds like someone’s fighting the golem. Come, we need to stop them before they get killed. Villagers shouldn’t try to fight a spirit like…like…” She trailed off. Tuni frowned at her.
“Gayla?”
The sage put a finger up to silence her. And then Tuni heard it too—a melodic sound, the sweet symphony of a wind instrument. Judging by the tones, she guessed that it was an ocarina. Tuni used to play one as a kid, but she’d broken it long ago and never got a replacement. She’d still recognize the beauty of one anywhere.
Gayla didn’t see the beauty. In fact, her face contorted in horror. “No. Oh no, no.” She took off at a run.
Tuni yelped and stayed on her heels. “What is it?”
“Those aren’t villagers fighting! It’s the Knights of the Red Flame!”
That made Tuni falter a step. She nearly stumbled but kept her balance. The Knights of the Red Flame. She’d heard of them before, the holy order of knights from Al-Sevara that took it upon themselves to police the wilds and try to rid it of spirits, which was a ridiculous sentiment considering it was the Spirit Wilds. They rarely came far out into the Mushroom Wilds. Hell, they barely came as far as the mountains, but here they were, trying to protect and kill when they weren’t needed.
This would be a fight. Tuni hadn’t been ready to fight people, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to let some pompous knight in glittering armor hurt a spirit or the sage.
She unslung her bow from her shoulder and nocked an arrow, ready for a fight.
The fighting grew louder, yet less so as they climbed up the slope. The golem no longer roared, which wasn’t a good sign, and the sound of swords depleted completely. The only sound was the ocarina’s melody.
Gayla came over the ridge first as the road flattened, Tuni right behind her, and then she ground to a halt.
The rock golem was bigger than she’d ever imagined—as tall as any of the multifloored buildings in the town. A body made of dark rock and soil. Its eyes were closed, and it was on its knees, its arms at its side. It shook, as if it was trying to move but couldn’t. Tuni was confused as to what was happening until she saw the knights.
There were six of them, all roughly around her age, which struck her as odd, but she’d never met a knight so maybe they didn’t grow old fighting spirits. One man crouched over another, giving the unconscious one medical aid, his face bloodied. There were two women, both with bows brandished, but they were too focused on the golem. Then there were two more men, one with a sword and shield, his hair soaked with sweat and plastered to his face. The other wore a long red cape, a sword drawn in his left hand as he played the ocarina in the other.
And he stood over the golem, ready to strike it down.
“No!” Gayla roared. The knights turned to them, shocked, and the sage slammed her staff against the ground. A flash of white sent the knights flying.
Tuni whistled. Wow.
The sage wasted no time. She closed her eyes, dropped to her knees, and started chanting, her staff cradled against her chest.
“Menock, esh cosen, Menock hele os.”
A halo of golden light bloomed around her, brilliant and beautiful. Spirit energy, the raw magic inside of all spirits. It was said that it was in humans too, but Tuni didn’t know if that was true. Soon, the rock golem began to glow, and the rocks that had fallen from it began to fit back into place.
She was healing it. Calming its raged mind.
Things wouldn’t end that simply, however. The ocarina-wielding knight stumbled to his feet, though the others were still slow to do so. His eyes were confused for a moment before they turned to rage. He picked up his sword and the ocarina and started to play it, just as the golem had begun to stir. As soon as the notes hit the air, it wailed with pain and rage.
Tuni yelled, “No, you don’t!” He didn’t hear her, which was well enough. She raised her bow, pulled her arrow back, and let it loose.
It soared through the air, her shot as true as always. It struck the blue ocarina, plucking it from the knight’s hand.
Tuni whooped, smiling. Premature.
The knight glared at her, but he wasn’t done. Both hands on his sword, he charged the sage. Oh crap, Tuni thought, panicked. Oh no! She fumbled for another arrow, but he was too fast and the space too short. She wouldn’t hit him in time. In a blink, he was in front of the sage, his sword ready to swing.
“Gayla!” she screamed.
He swung.
But he didn’t aim for the sage. His sword struck her staff, knocking it from her grip. The force tossed her aside with a yelp. Her chanting stopped. The glow disappeared. But Gayla was alive.
Tuni was wild. She finally nocked an arrow and loosed it. It slammed into the knight’s breastplate. It didn’t pierce the armor, but it was enough to knock him back. Tuni was fast, much faster than some knight in heavy armor. She closed the space between them in a few quick strides. Before he could recover, she slid and took his legs out from under him. He clattered to the ground loudly, his armor roaring from the impact. Tuni shimmied around him and wrapped her bow around his neck, holding him back enough to keep him at bay. She was small, but stronger than she looked. And she had leverage. She pinned his arms back. He wouldn’t be able to get up.
“L-let go! You don’t know what yo-ou’re doing. We have… We have to k-kill that thing.”
“No, you need to stop! We can calm it down. No more people need to die.”
He cursed and thrashed, but she held firm. “You stupid wildling!”
“Not a chance. Gayla’s going to—”
But Gayla wasn’t going to. Before the sage could recover her wits, and her staff, the golem recovered, and it was still enraged. It stood to its full, towering height and roared. It sent gooseflesh down her arms.
The golem turned its head to the two women, one still laying in a dazed heap and the other, the knight with the red cape, was just coming to a stand, but she limped. Oh no. Tuni knew what was coming. The knights wouldn’t be able to move. Tuni didn’t like them, but that didn’t mean she wanted to watch them…see them…
…crushed to bits.
With another roar, the rock golem raised its massive, boulder-sized fist and brought it down. The knight screamed and tried to cover the other one with her body, but it hardly mattered. The golem’s fist smashed into them, and the earth shook, sobbing with the loss.
The knight in Tuni’s arms wailed the most heartbreaking sound she’d ever heard.
It happened too fast. It happened too slow.
One moment, the girl he loved was there, and the next, she was gone. Smashed to a pulp.
One moment, there she was, his beautiful Marcella. Dazed but alive. Blood pouring down her face. The spirit blotted the sun, bathing her in shadow. Her eyes went wide. She dove to protect Nessa, though he knew it was hopeless. At the last moment, right before the end, she looked up. Her eyes found his, and she smiled.
The monster brought its fist down, and Dorrick Vane’s world ended.
He roared. It was a sound he never knew he had in him. Primal, violent, animalistic. The pain coursed through him. Everything hurt, and not just from his injuries. His heart had split.
With a surge of strength, he got his arms free, grabbed the bow, and flipped the wildling girl over his head. She yelped. Her back hit the earth hard. She gasped. He didn’t care. He stepped over her and roared right at the monster.
What am I doing? he wondered as he hurtled toward his death. This thing will kill me. He should have regrouped with the others—retreated, got back up—but as he looked around, all he saw were his squires, strewn about like dolls, bloodied and unmoving. Dead too, perhaps? He had no way of knowing.
It mattered little. He couldn’t reverse his course now.
The rock spirit noticed him. It turned to him. Picked up its leg. Ready to stomp him out of existence. It blocked the sun on him, his light about to be extinguished.
And then the wildling girl wa
s there, tackling him to the ground right as the spirit stomped. It missed. The force of the stomp sent an explosion of rock and debris that sent them both flying. They landed hard in a tangle of limbs and curses and pain that left him breathless and woozy. He saw stars.
Dorrick groaned. Tried to move, but there was too much pain. It also didn’t help that the wildling was on top of him. His vision cleared enough for him to find her big teal eyes staring down at him. Her eyes were breathtaking, and Dorrick wanted to pluck them right out of her head.
She’d also saved his life, which was confusing.
“Why… Why did…”
They locked eyes for the briefest of moments. Her lips parted. She took a breath. They both took a breath.
“Sorry about this,” she said. In a blink, she struck him over the head with something hard and everything went black. A part of him hoped that he wouldn’t wake ever again. But if he did, he hoped this nightmare would be over.
Tuni sighed as the knight’s eyes rolled back. She dropped the rock she’d hit him with and crawled off. That was close, she thought, a thought that was quickly dashed when she realized there was a rock golem still on the loose.
She whirled around and put her arms under the knight’s shoulders, ready to drag him out of the way, but she found the golem sitting still, glowing as it had before. Sitting across from it was the sage, staff in hand again, chanting.
It was over. The fight was over.
At what cost, though?
Tuni stood. Her whole body groaned. The knight got the worst of it since she landed on him, but her bones still rattled, and her ribs flared with pain. Nowhere near the pain of when she fell down the hill when she was chased by that pack of cobrunnies, but she still didn’t feel great.
The golem stopped glowing, as did the sage. She stood. The golem leaned its face forward. Gayla put her face against the cool rock and smiled, her eyes twinkling.
“Be at peace, my friend.”
The golem grunted, then he stood and lumbered away up the hill.
Gayla picked up her hat, ran her fingers through her apple locks, and put the hat on. She went to Tuni’s side and gave her a long look.
“Are you okay, Tuni?”
“Not in the slightest.” Tuni sat down. “I…didn’t think it would be like this.”
The sage sat beside her. “It isn’t always this traumatic. Sometimes no one gets hurt. That happens a lot, actually. But this a dangerous world, and things go wrong, and I can’t stop it all. We can’t save everyone.”
Tuni felt a tear come to her eyes, but she kept it down. “There’s nothing you can do for them?”
“Nothing can bring back the dead, my dear,” Gayla said. She turned around to look at the knights. “As for those that may not be dead, well, I’m not all powerful, and healing magic takes a lot out of me. But, if you’d like, we can see if there’s anyone we can help.”
“I’d like that, please.”
Gayla smiled. “You have a good heart. I saw you save that knight, even if he didn’t deserve it.”
Tuni shrugged, her cheeks warming. “He was doing what he believed was right. That doesn’t make him bad; it just makes him wrong.”
“Wise words,” the sage chuckled. She stood and offered Tuni her hand. “Come.”
For the next hour, despite her pain, Tuni accompanied Gayla around the town and mines looking for survivors. Unfortunately, except for the knight she’d saved, there were none. His companions were dead, and all the townspeople were dead too. There seemed to be too few bodies for the size of the town, so Tuni hoped that perhaps there were survivors that had fled. If there were, they didn’t have time to stick around and wait for them to return.
Once they were done, with a heavy heart, it was time to return. Tuni had not expected her first foray into the world of the sage to be so…bleak. But she wasn’t dissuaded from this path. She wanted to stay by the sage’s side.
Perhaps in the future, she’d be able to save these people.
14
Dorrick
Dorrick was out for a long time—a long time—because when he came to, he was surrounded by knights and Al-Sevaran guards, trying to pick up the pieces of the town. His lips were dried and cracked, his head throbbed, and he felt terribly stiff all over. He tried to sit up, but his body protested as pain exploded through him.
“Whoa, slow down, Sir Dorrick.”
He flinched. Next to him knelt Dame Konna—Captain Konna, to be more accurate. She had hair as red as their capes and held it back in two severely tight buns on her head. One green eye blinked at him with sympathy and concern. The other was covered by a leather eyepatch from where a spirit took her right eye when she was a young adolescent living on one of the farms outside the city.
But why is she here? “What— What happened?” he asked.
She frowned. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out, Dorrick.”
And then it all rushed back to him, though he wished it hadn’t.
The mountain spirit, the battle with it, that girl with the bow and the witch…and the squires… And… And…
Marcella.
No.
Dorrick grimaced as he pushed to his feet, but he bore the pain. Dame Konna protested, but he ignored her. He stumbled forward, everything hurting, his armor too heavy, his cape like an anchor weighing him down.
Knights, squires, and guards were at work around him, taking away the bodies of the deceased. Dorrick limped on, trying to find his dearest friend.
He passed rows of cloth-covered corpses. He found a priest and some knights standing over a couple of his squires—Nessa and Tomys—looking broken and bloodied, their gazes distant and blank. Dead. His breath hitched in his throat. Right… They were gone too. Payne and Borner were probably gone as well, though he didn’t have a specific memory of them dying.
With each step, he unclipped a bit of his armor. First his cape, the symbol of his knighthood, fell away in a twirl. Then his gauntlets, with a thud at his feet. He undid his breastplate, which gave way and crashed to the ground with a loud screech. That left his chainmail, but he left that on as it would have been harder to take off. He felt lighter, the weight not bearing down on his injuries.
And yet, his heart had never been heavier.
When he was just about ready to collapse from exhaustion, as the pounding in his head was growing too much for him to bear, he found her…his sweet, sweet Marcella. She was on her back, her head turned to him, eyes looking right at him.
But they didn’t see him. They didn’t see anything. They were cold. Lifeless.
She was dead. Like all the others.
A sob escaped him. He fell to his knees.
It was true. It was true. She’s gone. Marcella was dead, taken from him. He’d never see her smile again or hear her laugh or feel her lips against his. They had so much time, time to live the lives they’d dreamed about, fighting spirits and keeping humanity safe. And now that was all gone.
Their job was a dangerous one—any mission could end in death—but he hadn’t expected it to end quite so soon.
It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair… It isn’t fair!
Dorrick wanted to go to her, to hold her one last time, but as he picked himself up, he finally realized that Marcella had an audience around her. A man in a fine frock coat—magenta velvet with gold trim and buttons—crouched over Marcella, shaking horribly, his skin red from crying and from anger.
Hovering over him was the last person in the world Dorrick expected to see. His father.
Dorrick didn’t want to approach, didn’t want the verbal lashing that he was sure was coming, but he had to. He had to see his friend, gone as she was, so with each painful step, he inched closer until he was only a few paces away, close enough to see the wrinkles on the man’s face, and the familiarity of him. Close enough for the man to notice him.
He whipped his head around as if Dorrick had snuck up behind him and attempted to scare him. The man stood fast, his
face still red and streaked with tears. It was only then that the familiarity of the man struck the younger Vane. This was Marcella’s father, Lord Elron Bather. Not a man one wanted to cross, and Dorrick was in line for his ire.
Lord Elron erupted and snatched up Dorrick by his collar. “You!” he yelled, spit flying in the new knight’s face. “What happened here? Tell me why my daughter is dead!”
The lord’s grip on Dorrick was ironclad and he was still weak from the fight. He wanted to break free, to run and flee and hide and cry and mourn alone, but that wasn’t an option. He was a Knight of the Red Flame, and he could not retreat from this. He took a deep breath and calmly put his hands over the other man’s.
“Sir, I’m— I’m so sorry. If you would please calm down and allow me to explain—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down, you worthless son of a—”
“Lord Bather!” Commander Vane roared. Elron went completely still, though the fire didn’t leave his eyes. “I’ll politely remind you that you are addressing a knight of the order, and my son.”
The nobleman scowled with disgust but wriggled his mustache and released his hold on Dorrick. He took one step back, but he remained within arm’s reach. He stuck a stubby finger out and jammed it in Dorrick’s chest.
“Tell me now.”
Dorrick gulped. He looked to his father. The man just nodded grimly. “Speak plainly, boy.”
He was too overwhelmed by the scene and emotions to even be mad at the fact that his father still called him boy. That was insignificant in the face of all this death. He didn’t want to have to recap what happened, relive it, see his friend die, recite it like it was just some news he heard from a barker…but he had to.
So he told them, every detail he could remember. How they’d had the upper hand until that witch and girl showed up. How they’d stopped them from being able to kill the spirit, how they fought them and allowed the spirit to overwhelm them. Dorrick was never one to make excuses, to assign blame to another, but in this instance, how could he not? They weren’t prepared for someone with magic showing up to help the spirit.
