EverDare

by Brindi Quinn

“Grim!” Awyer takes my shoulders in his hands. “How can I fix you!?”

  I cannot make sound but for the croaked gasping. I feel wetness from my eyes. Tears? But naefaeries do not cry.

  “She is bleeding! How does it stop?!” Awyer shrieks with more rage than I thought him capable. “YOU GAVE YOUR WORD!”

  Pedj scratches his head. “Tell her to say she’s sorry?”

  Awyer presses his thumbs into my flesh. “Do it, Grim!”

  But I cannot. Though I try, forcing those words only results in more gagging.

  “That did not work!”

  “Oka! Oka!” Pedj shakes away his misgivings. “I had to make sure you wasn’t joshin’! Twig it?”

  “PEDJ!”

  “She’s gotta say she commits to you, and you gotta accept it!”

  “Did you hear him, Grim?! Say it!”

  With that intention in mind, my mouth finally allows me to speak. “I commit to you, Awyer!” I spit, mid-gasp.

  As I stare up at him, struggling to breathe and waiting for acceptance, my concerned ward feverishly wipes the blood from beneath my eyes. “I accept!”

  The weight is lifted from my body. My breath comes freely. With exhaustion, I release a series of pants. Awyer’s yellow eyes soften. So, too, does his mouth. “Grim,” he says, bloodied hand to my cheek. “Breathe.”

  And then he does something I do not expect from him.

  Pedj hobbles over with a stream of excuses trailing over his teeth. He had to be certain Awyer was not faking. He had to be certain the result was true. He could not trust us until he knew.

  Awyer does not listen to any of these as he raises his hand and forces a blast of Amethyst power straight into Pedj’s stomach. Pedj, not expecting anything so harsh, is pushed backward from the force. To the ground he falls, cradling his damaged core. My ward, who would simply rather not, has just cast enchants without prompting. What is more, he has just displayed the power that ought remain hidden.

  It is Pedj’s turn to sputter and cough. I hear him, though I do not see him. All that is in view is Awyer, his face over mine, sporting concern that I delight in. I am gluttonous for his distress. I am gluttonous for the compromising feelings a naefaerie should not feel.

  I sit up and lean my forehead into his shoulder. Awyer’s frame is stiff. I do not want to see his face, for I fear that it may not be gladdened by my vulnerability. I cannot sift through what is possible and what is impossible anymore. Does he feel compromising things, too?

  “I did not know you could bleed, Grim,” he says quietly into my hair.

  “Nor did I.”

  “You are weak.”

  “I am fine.” But there is another who is not. Pedj is yonder, rolling and coughing. “You must help the zombie,” I instruct.

  Awyer is reluctant. He would rather not leave my side.

  “He knew of that law which I did not know. He also has knowledge of the world as it is now. His assistance is valuable.” I persuade him. With a nod, Awyer removes himself from my resting forehead, goes to Pedj, offers him water, helps him stand.

  When the zombie finds his voice, it is petrified. “Hey! Hey, hey, hey! What hit me, th-that wasn’t Azure. That looked . . .”

  “It is night,” says Awyer.

  “But you . . . Whatever it was, was strong, eh? Was that . . . Ameth–” Pedj bites his tongue. “Know what? Don’t even wanna know. After gettin’ in and out, we’ll part our ways. What say you?”

  Awyer nods.

  “Phoo.” The stressed Bloődite rubs his chest. “Oka . . . oka . . . Crank! Don’t know how, but you got an agent what ain’t bonded to Ark. It’s proved. You did your part. Guess it’s my turn to tell you my business . . .”

  “Yes,” says Awyer. “Tell.”

  With a sigh, Pedj looks to the towering mountain laid before us. “You were right. I’s bringin’ you to someone. And, yeah, it’s a she. But it ain’t a witch. It’s my cousin. The witches nabbed her smack up. I thought findin’ someone powerful as you was great fortune. There’s no way I’d be able to get on fightin’ the witches on my own. Sorry, if I led you wrong. I had to . . . ‘cause . . .” Pedj rubs the whole of his face with the palm of his hand. Whatever he is about to say, it is difficult for him. “It’s my fault she’s there.”

  “What do you mean?” says Awyer. And he is not skeptical. He is genuine.

  Yes, it is now clear. Despite what has happened, Awyer considers this stranger a friend.

  “She went seekin’ a way to make me whole,” Pedj goes on. “See, she’s not like me. She’s a full necromancer. A crankin’ powerful one, at that. She rose up an army and stormed Secret Mountain. Course I didn’t find out about it till I was supposed to meet her at Káol. She was gonna help me with my trainin’, but when I got there, the croops gave me a Bloőd-sealed envelope what came on the wind.”

  “On the wind?”

  “Yeah, you know: on the wind. It blew in.”

  “Do not question it,” I instruct, in hopes of preserving whatever image Awyer has left. “It seems that beyond Eldrade, people enchant the wind to deliver things. Recall, I witnessed the boy doing so with a lock of your hair.”

  Awyer does not press the issue.

  “She sent the letter from Secret Mountain sayin’ what happened and sayin’ for me to stay away.” Pedj grinds his teeth. “Like I can stay away!” He again looks to the darkened mountain surrounded by fizzes and pops of color, this time with hands that are balled. He is greatly troubled by his involvement in his cousin’s disappearance, and in the midst of his torment, Awyer speaks:

  “I understand.”

  “Huh?” Pedj’s fists relax in surprise.

  “I will help.”

  Willingness is not natural on my ward, and while I do not take particular interest in aiding Pedj, I am curious to see more of this side of my reluctant fief.

  Awyer grows. In merit, he grows quickly.

  “Yeah, oka.” Pedj offers his fist.

  By this time, Awyer has learned that he should respond by touching his own hand against Pedj’s in some way. Hence, he taps the back of his hand against Pedj’s knuckles. Unfortunately, it does not appear to be quite right. “Eh. Close enough,” says Pedj, who frowns upon inspection of the gesture. Awyer is not given time to retry. Immediately following, the zombie’s demeanor becomes as sheepish as a caught crook’s. “Sorry ‘bout what I made your agent do,” he says. “Looks like you . . . really, really care about her.” He laughs nervously. “Almost like you think she’s a real girl or somethin’.”

  Awyer’s eyes narrow. “She is.”

  Pedj holds up his hands in surrender. “Oka! Oka! You gotta understand, them creatures are usually downright nefarious. Workin’ for Ark and all.”

  Ah, yes. There is that matter still. While reveling in my ward’s chivalry, I am reminded: “Awyer, ask him again what Ark is.”

  “Pedj, who is the one called Ark?”

  “Urr. Right. You really don’t know?”

  “We do not.”

  “Phoo. Ark’s . . . Ark.” Pedj releases a second nervous laugh. “How do you explain it to someone what don’t know? Hm . . .” Pedj taps his lip. “Oka. Ark isn’t a man, I don’t think. He’s a being, if anything. And he’s been around a LONG time. And he’s got all – excepting yours and whatever other ‘good’ ones you’ve met – the naefaeries bound to him. And they go around suckerin’ casters of their power.”

  It is not possible for a person to have more than one naefaerie. The weight of multiple pacts would crush a person, no matter what their color. Even so, I refrain from mentioning so. I wish to know more of Pedj’s thinking first.

  “Why?” questions Awyer.

  “Don’t matter if you’re Bloődite or Azurian, if Ark thinks you got more power than the rest, his agents’ll find you and sucker you dry. Not that everyday folks get on worryin’ about it. Just the prodigies. Like kippers born with lots of potential. They’re the ones he comes for when their magick comes of age.”

/>   Awyer locks eyes with me.

  Aye, if it is true, it is a concerning thing indeed.

  “What is his goal?” I ask via Awyer.

  “That’s the scary part. Since the days my grandmar and granddar were kippers, Ark’s been tryin’ to crack open the Eternity Vessel. What for, no one knows.”

  Madness. Cracking the Eternity Vessel is not possible, and even if it were, there would be no sense in it. Without the vessel, all of nature would unbalance and power would be rendered useless.

  I am relieved.

  “There is nothing more to ask, my ward. The things he speaks of are not possible. Ark is a storytale, birthed in the thousand years of Eldrade’s peace.”

  Of this I am certain.

  “All right,” Awyer says. He studies my silvery face. “Do you want to rest?”

  I shake my head. “We should make haste. They know I am here.”

  His forehead shows inquiry.

  “Never mind,” I say; and because I do not yet wish to tell him the truth of my past, I distract, “I am proud of you for using your power.”

  “You know I did not mean to.”

  “You will again if you truly wish to save the zombie’s cousin. And it starts now. Without allowing your color to slip through, pick something from the Faded Enchants to spell. Be sure it is dead. Nothing good will come from enchanting something twitching with the memory of another color. There is an entrance into the mountain’s depths on the northern side, roughly halfway up the mount. That is where you will spell it to go.”

  I continue to give instruction. Meanwhile, Pedj watches Awyer carry on a conversation lacking the other side. “She mad at me?” the zombie asks when he deems it appropriate, attempting a nod in my direction.

  Awyer’s glance shifts from me to him and again to me. And then he shrugs. “She adores you,” he says.

  “I do not!”

  Awyer’s mouth gives a twitch.

  “Har. Har,” says Pedj. “Get on with it. What’s she been tellin’ you?”

  “She knows a way in. I will take us there.”

  Such strong initiative from my ward. Has he finally accepted that he must freely use the power within himself? No. I know it is not the case. The truth of the matter is that he can see the weakness I try to hide. He knows I do not, at present, contain enough strength to get us there. He knows it is up to him, and he wishes to be done with it swiftly so that I may recuperate.

  Our relationship – it is not as it should be.

  I do not care.

  Our time runs short.

  And I will selfishly allow him to concern for me.

  Lost in my thoughts, I do not notice that Awyer has begun his spell. He stands firmly, jaw stern, eyes closed, and focuses on this task he must perform. Awyer’s Amethyst, I feel it in my own nonmaterial body. I feel it flushing from his obsidian shard to me. I feel it before I see it – this power of his – and once I feel it, I begin to watch it unfold. Alike a brilliant fresco coming into existence stroke by stroke, Awyer’s enchant forms from the depths of his center. Were his arms showing, free from the tawny knit, they would pulse their full color. His veins beneath would writhe and twist the darkest purple.

  “That is it, Awyer!”

  As he stands with feet planted and fists tight, the physical world bends to his will. From within the chaotic pile rises a large curved piece of wood. It is a portion of a boat.

  “Crank,” swears Pedj, open-mouthed. “You are strong.”

  The boat’s side flies into the air and then comes crashing to the ground between Awyer and Pedj, where it breaks into tiny pieces that go showering all around

  “ACK!” Pedj cries, turning from the flying splinters.

  Awyer studies the result with a frown.

  “Try again,” I tell him. “And do not use so much power.”

  Again he takes sorcerer’s stance. Beneath the pile, a large piece of debris begins to tremor.

  “Focus, Awyer! Control it!”

  The second attempt, a long table missing two of its legs, is considerably better. While the furniture hits the ground hard, it does not break – though I cannot say whether Awyer has actually exerted restraint or if the wood there is simply sturdier. Awyer steps onto what has become an Amethyst-fueled platform and motions that Pedj should do the same; but with the memory of the crashing boat piece fresh on the zombie’s mind, he is not eager to follow Awyer’s instruction, lest he, too, crash to the ground and break upon impact.

  But he has no other choice. This he knows. And eventually he gains the courage to venture onto my ward’s makeshift lift.

  At Awyer’s will, the enchanted vehicle elevates into the air – much more vigorously than it was meant to, I am sure – and begins a bolt toward the mountain. Pedj gives a yell and hugs the edges as Awyer wills the raft over the sea of half-enchanted artifacts, several of which spark when they sense his untamed power, shooting particles of magick after us. At my urging, Awyer spells the table higher, away from their reach, and to the northern side where we will find the entrance.

  But we are not so lucky, for the entrance I had in mind has long since been blocked by shifted rock. Were I at full strength, I would fly around the mount and scout out a new entrance. Alas, Pedj’s stunt has put us at a disadvantage. I cannot fly high or long, and so Awyer is forced to circle the mount while Pedj and I keep watch for possible openings. It is a tiresome task, indeed, as the lift continually gains speed, causing the very image of the mountain to blur and blend in with the darkness of the night. Even more tiresome is that we do not find entrance near the base of the rise, nor in the middle. Only after climbing the entirety of the mount do we find what we seek. There, on the peak, is a break in the growth, a cleared dark hole. It is Pedj who first spots it.

  “I found one! THERE!”

  A mistake on his part is to carelessly excite my ward.

  Because Awyer does not have whole control over his will, our course is altered at only the slightest inkling. Thus, on Pedj’s haphazard insinuation, we are directed toward the mount at bursting speed.

  “Careful, Awyer!”

  Regrettably, his power is volatile. Slowing is not an option. The table shoots through the air in the bearing of the hole. Rapider. Rapider! RAPIDER!

  I hop to block my ward from impact, though I know it will not do an ounce of good. Our ride zooms at the mountain, through what is indeed an opening, and –

  KRRRSH!

  It ceases to move. Pedj and Awyer are flung from the table and to the ground, where they skid to a halt against a cavern wall. We have passed through a barrier. Alike the one of Eldrade, this barrier is made to keep things out. It is not, however, meant to detain intruder. Its job is to keep out enchants. Awyer’s spell is returned to him. The table is dead.

  And we are in.

  Within the lair of a pair of witch sisters.

  Chapter VII: Secret

  The lair has changed little in a thousand years.

  Our point of entry is a cragged indentation, swarmed with knotted vines that creep inward where they may from the outer greens of the mount. The servants of the earth. The serpents of the rock. Their arms extend, crawling, through the mouth of the cave, along the floor and walls, deep into the darkness that is the throat of Ensecré. An uneven floor of stone and dirt holds the table, now in pieces, in the aftershock of the collision.

  Pedj and Awyer stir. They dust from their clothes the dirt accumulated in the crash. I, who had no actual reason to fear for myself in the impact, flit to where they have ended. “Are you harmed, my ward?”

  Awyer rubs his arm.

  “Your shoulder is injured?” I say.

  Awyer shakes his head. “Not enough for concern,” he says. He nods to Pedj, who immediately after standing, has slumped against a trunk-sized vine in a display of fatigue. “He landed between my fall.”

  I turn attention to the zombie to discover that, in contrast to Awyer, he has truly not fared well at all. The thigh of his pants is quickly beco
ming stained with a line of black liquid, drawn forth from one particularly vengeful piece of rock.

  “Aye, he leaks,” I say.

  At the proclamation, Awyer’s eyes widen. “Pedj.” He leans to find the pale boy’s eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “Not really. I’s bleedin’.” Pedj pushes his hand against the line of liquid. “It’s crankin’ tough for a zombie to get on bleedin’, but when we do, our flesh goes soft. Supposin’ I don’t rest, I’ll come into a slop.”

  Awyer’s nose flares. “As in . . . you will melt?” he says.

  “‘Fraid so.”

  Awyer looks to me.

  My answer is harsh: “He cannot rest.” For the same reason we could not allow my recuperation. The witches know I am here. The longer we do not confront them, the more time they will have to prepare. A witch’s spell is a powerful, terrible thing, but there is a price. For a great power, sequences of incantations are required. A single incantation worthy of note lasts a half of an hour or more. If they are given time to incant more than twice . . .

  Even Awyer’s power will be rivaled.

  But I know we will make it through this. Because I have seen Awyer’s future, I know we will not be stopped here.

  And the same is true of Pedj, apparently.

  “He’s doing it for you, faerie. Just ask the necromancer.”

  As of now, I have not deciphered the forememory. I have yet to determine who speaks the words, how they are able to respond to my actions when they cannot see my actions, and what is meant by Awyer’s motion being ‘for me’.

  I do not have time to think on it now. What is important is that we will all make it past whatever the mountain has planned.

  “Tell him to stand still. I will help his wound to close.”

  Awyer shows concern for my weakened state. “Are you sure?” he says.

  “Yes,” I tell him. “I have enough strength for that at least. Besides, if we were to leave it to you . . .”

  The image of Pedj’s leg exploding into black-blooded bits invades my thought.

  Likewise does it invade Awyer’s. “All right,” he says, eyeing the blackened stain with an apprehensive frown. He instructs the injured boy to be still. Pale as moonlight, the skin showing through the tear in Pedj’s clothes is interrupted by a wide gash of wetted flesh.