by Brindi Quinn
“She is the cousin of Pedj?” I ask of Awyer.
“Mm.”
And while I am inspecting her, a thing happens that I do not anticipate. The girl moves her gaze from the sky, directly to me, and speaks with a voice that does not sound attached to her mind, “Hullo, agent.”
The fact that she looks at me without fail is a lucky guess on her part.
“Mistress,” Awyer instructs.
Mael nods, and her hair swings with her head. “Mistress is bright,” she says, yet gazing at me. It is an unusual thing indeed, as her eyes follow me without fail even though I have since shifted position a ways to the right.
I am bright? How so? It is not as though she can SEE me.
Pedj is impatient. “Oka, oka. If you’re about ready, let’s get–”
“I saw,” Mael interrupts, tone foggy. “I saw in the water.”
“She saw?” I ask Awyer.
He shakes his head, for he does not know any more than I. Mael looks from my direction to Awyer and then again to me. Meanwhile, Pedj is anxiously eyeing the mount looming at our backs.
“I saw Ower in the water,” continues Mael without prompt. “I saw what’s needed. I saw.”
“What is she speaking of, my fief?” What did I miss while in my vague state?
But again, Awyer shakes his head.
“I saw you needed me, Ower. I saw the dead bird. I’ll stay with you.”
“You saw?” Pedj’s arms are folded in cynicism. “Means you saw in one of your dreams?” His sunken eyes roll. “Since a kipper, Mael ‘sees’ things in the water. She’s . . . not . . .”
“All there,” Awyer finishes.
“Er– right,” says Pedj, scowling.
“The witches had the bird, Ower. And only I can follow him. The dead won’t listen to Pedjram. Pedj is half.”
“She believes that we need her because she is a full necromancer?” I ask of no one. I merely seek to make clarity of the girl’s babble.
“The bird leads Ower to gold. I follow the bird. Is why the witches gave the bird to me. Is why I went to the witches in the first place. Is why I called for Pedjram. Knew he’d come if I said not to.”
“What?” Pedj rubs the whole of his face. “You sayin’ you went to Secret Mountain ‘cause the water told you to help him? What means, you were caught on PURPOSE!?”
Mael nods. “I saw you’d find Ower. I sent the letter on the wind so you’d bring him.”
Pedj smacks his forehead. The corner of Awyer’s mouth twitches.
A dead bird? I see nothing of the sort on or around her person. However, if I know the witches – and I do – the spell may come in a variety of forms. If the witches chose to give the artifact to Mael, when they willingly gave the vial of void to me, perhaps it is with reason that they bestowed the relic in such a way.
“Urgh!” Pedj gives off a low, exasperated grumble. “True or not, we need to get outta this place before those hags come racin’.”
Awyer looks to me.
“Aye, we should,” I say. “I have jeopardized our safety. Ask the girl the location of this ‘bird’.”
Turning to Mael, Awyer inquires, “Where is the dead bird?”
Slowly, Pedj’s cousin raises her dainty wrist, upon which a thin line of silver dangles. A charmed band. “That isn’t no bird!” cries the zombie. “It’s a bracelet, Mael!”
Not simply a bracelet. “Can it be taken off?” I ask via Awyer, to which Mael shakes her head. As suspected, the piece has been branded to her. “Very well,” I say. “Let us leave this place.”
Yes, let us leave forever. Let us never return to this rock stenching of voided black magicks. Let us never lay eyes upon the nest of the twin witches again.
With Awyer’s go say, Pedj and Mael set about enchanting a board to carry us again over the sea of Faded Enchants. With a new caster among us, my reluctant ward will not bother to dirty his hands with Amethyst. It is a shame. The raft putters upward from the pile, less steadily than when Amethyst was in charge.
Awyer takes no remorse, and looks shrewdly at Mael’s swinging ponytail. “What do you think?” he asks me in confidence.
“Of the girl? She said she would lead you to gold. Did you or Pedj speak it to her?”
Awyer shakes his head.
Unsettling.
“Whether her story about seeing you in the water is true or not, she knows that our destination is the Golden Lands. As far as the witches gifting her with the key to your homeland . . .” I continue, “It is true that there are magicks in this world which may only be used by specific persons. It is also true that the witches quite possibly possess multiple ways to your homeland. They would surely pick the route that would cause me the most strife.”
“They branded the key to her to slow us down,” Awyer assumes.
“It could be so.”
“Grim.” He lowers his voice even lower. “Can she really see you?” A very many questions from the boy who has slowly become accustomed to speaking – but still only when he must.
“I do not know,” I tell him. “Until today, I did not think it possible that any but you could hear me. However, there are a great many strange things in this world. The possibility exists. Either way, we should make haste to find out for certain. If she has swallowed void, we will have a new mess of issues with which to deal.”
The enchanted board reaches the edge of our dais. Awyer, who because he does not understand the language of the witches, does not know what I mean by ‘swallowed void’, steps onto the Bloőd-fueled thing without enthusiasm. He disapproves of my vagueness.
Pedj and Mael spell the craft to move.
“What do them two hags look like, anyhoop?” Pedj asks Mael as we drift over the popping sea. Theirs is a ride much less lively than Awyer’s, for their power is nowhere near as great.
Mael shrugs. It is likely she did not lay eyes upon the crones. “A witch holds a wrinkle for every spell known to him or her,” I tell through Awyer.
“For real?!” Pedj perks. “How many do they know?”
“Thousands upon thousands.”
The zombie makes no attempt to conceal his disgust. A large shudder runs through his bony shoulders. “Pew,” he says.
The raft continues lazily, spelled by nonvolatile enchants, until we four land on the opposite bank of the Faded Enchants. Though we are tired, we will not stop for rest here; we must continue on the move, in the know that we should be far gone, lest the witches decide to take pursuit.
From the mountain, the mood is off-putting.
Pedj insists that he does not wish to know how or why my sphinx came to hold the power of Amethyst, though by this time, he certainly understands that Awyer is no mere Azurian. For now, he assumes my ward one of the escaped ‘whores’, and he believes the rest to be hiding somewhere in the wilds, waiting to attack unsuspecting Bloődites who may come to know their secret. He fears Awyer’s power enough to keep without gaining additional unnecessary knowledge. He understands that such knowledge would be detrimental to his wellbeing. Mael, on the contrary, does not appear concerned over the issue. And it is good. We would not be able to tell her, even if she were to inquire.
Instead, the girl takes it upon herself to lead us away from the mountain, while Pedj takes it upon himself to chip away at her resolve. Through the dawn, he whispers at her ear as Awyer trails behind – and as I skim around the traveling group, attempting to find the truth behind Mael’s ability to accurately speak toward me.
I flit to the right of her, and she follows my form like a distracted child. Pedj grows annoyed. “Pay attention, Mael!”
I float above her, and she looks upward, too. I drift behind her, whispering in a small voice,
“Can you hear me?”
But to that, she does not react. So she cannot hear my voice. Awyer watches my behavior with amusement.
I must know for sure.
“Fine!” I cry when I am exhausted of ideas. “A test!” I zip right in front of Mael to
cut off her movements, and rather than move through me, she halts and tips her head to the side, cooing,
“Hmmm?”
How rare! Making my face to be ferocious, I lunge at her, but she does not react with any amount of surprise. She continues to stare at me with vacant curiosity.
“Grim is trying to figure out if you can really see her,” explains Awyer the betrayer, concealing a very, very small laugh.
“Do not tell her!” I lash.
It is for naught.
“I can’t see her,” says Mael flatly.
“Oh?” says Pedj, who is now even more annoyed that Mael has apparently decided to halt for no discernable reason. “So you can’t see her after all? Knew it. Didn’t take long for you to–”
“I see her light. Not her. Only her light,” says Mael.
“Her light?” says Pedj.
“She’s there.” Mael points at me. Pedj hurries to wave his hand through the space where I am. Because I do not wish for his hand to move through me, I swiftly flit away. “There.” Mael points to my new position. I flit again away. “There.” She points and I move. “There. There. There.”
Each time she accurately points out my location!
Awyer is convinced. “Mael, what do you mean by light?” he asks.
“Mistress glows. I see the glow.”
It is not usual. The girl possesses some ability that allows for that which should not be? Abilities like those are not to be taken lightly.
“By the hoo,” she goes on, not seeing the peculiarity of her revelation, “been meanin’ to ask – what’s Mistress look like, Ower?”
Awyer does not take even the shortest moment to think on the question. Eyes set upon my face, he says plainly, “She is fair.”
Pedj shakes his head, then angrily mutters to no one in particular, “Like I said, it’s he thinks she’s a real girl or somethin’! Loonsie!”
Whatever progress may have been made by my healing of him, it is gone now that he knows Awyer’s true color. No matter. There are more important things to be concerned over. Awyer has just spoken of my fairness to another, and my face has become flush in response. It becomes flush even easier this time than the first! How, when embarrassment should not be possible on a being such as I!?
These days I am feeling less naefaerie, and more . . .
“It’s now. Now I kill the bird.” Mael speaks the words just as the sun begins to peer from the edge of the earth and just as my heart is beginning to race. ‘Kill the bird’ is a startling thing to hear from a mouth so listless. Rightly, Pedj exclaims,
“Kill?! What bird are you gonna kill, Mael?!”
Mael gestures to her wrist, where a small silhouette has just appeared. It is not a bird, but the shadow of a bird. “See? Can only see it by day,” she says.
“It’s a shade bird?” Pedj leans in to inspect the appeared creature. “Thought them was supposed to be extinct.” He taps the shadow’s head delicately, and the shadow responds by rustling its wings. Pedj’s eyes grow wide, shining, intrigued. “Whoa!” But his wonder is soon squashed by the recollection of Mael’s declaration: kill. “But why do you gotta kill it? Is it even alive to begin with?”
Mael shakes her head.
“Then why?” Pedj pleads, turning desperate. He holds a soft spot for the shadowed creature. Ironic, when he cares not for my shadowed existence at all.
“Won’t obey till I kill it again,” says Mael.
A shade bird. I have heard of them. Long ago, they were kept as pets by the necromancers. Of course, that was before – when necromancers were still the holders of Amethyst. After the last color war, and the bequeathment unto Eldrade, many things were lost to the dead-raising people. It is likely few of their pets made it through the attack.
“It’s time,” says Mael. And while Pedj stands in horror, grinding his teeth sickly, she wraps her hand around the shadow perched on her wrist and squeezes without mercy. There is no sound from the creature, for the song and cry of a shade bird cannot be heard by sphinx nor man nor zombie. When Mael removes her hand, the shadow, previously lively, falls into a motionless ball.
Awyer looks at me sidelong.
“It was not alive to begin with,” I explain. “Rekilling it is alike when you and I made pact. The bird will be reborn and Mael will be its master.”
With the shade bird’s corpse lying on her arm, Mael raises her wrist to her face and makes a clicking noise through her teeth. The dead bird responds by lifting from Mael’s arm and into the air. The dark mass does not make it far. The bangle on Mael’s arm serves as a hold on the bird’s invisible leash. Mael may now use its pull to direct her to wherever it may fly.
“To the Golden Place,” the girl whispers to her pet. In response, her wrist is drawn westward. She turns toward her cousin. “I’m takin’ Ower to gold. You comin’?”
So casually she presents the offer.
With tight teeth, Pedj eyes up my fief. “Well, I can’t leave you alone with him, can I?” Mumbling, he adds, “Shifty crankin’ cutthroat.”
Mael tips her head. “Can you?”
“Argh! That’s it! Grandmar’s resting soul would never forgive me if I let you off alone. Guess I’m going where you go, Mael.”
So he says. Though it is more likely he plans to dissuade her from the task altogether.
In this way, we four set off to the west, where the Golden Lands supposedly lie. Much has happened in a day. At the first chance I get, I touch my hand to my sphinx’s. I do not expect much.
I am rewarded.
Awyer stands atop a pillar, encompassed in a funnel of Amethyst smoke. Soundless, the air around him rises, pushing the cloud higher and higher until there is nothing less than a direct line to the heavens.
From below him, a golden light shines, through which stoic faces are visible. One rises above the rest. Part man, part lion, the being offers a token to the deliverer that is Awyer.
But Awyer does not take the token. Instead, he instructs a person in the shadows to step forth.
I give a start.
That is not how it is meant to be. It is all, ALL wrong! Alas, when I try to cry out to him, a garbled voice at my back interrupts,
“He’s doing it for you, faerie. Just ask the necromancer.”
I look down the wall, where stands a girl of disconnected gaze. Mael, the true necromancer, has been warning me of this all along. Why did I not listen to her!? Now, because of me, Awyer will be . . .
The voice at my back begins to whistle.
I am pulled from the memory, but not from Awyer’s hand. I fear what is coming. I fear the whistling person at my back for whom my distress serves as entertainment. And because I fear these things, I find my hand clinging to Awyer’s. He holds mine as I hold him.
A shadow of some creature crosses over our path.
“Grim.” Awyer’s voice is grave. “What is it?”
I cannot tell him.
“It is nothing.”
But these denials do nothing but put distance between us. Frowning, Awyer releases my hand.
He says not a thing more to me the remainder of the day.
Over highland and brush we roam. By midday, the travelers are weary; by lateday, they are exhausted. Without consulting my ward, Pedj tells Mael that they should make camp.
“Not until Ower says,” is her reply. At least she deems my ward the leader of their troupe.
Because Awyer, upset over my divulgelessness, is not speaking to me, he gives answer on his own. “We will stop at dusk.”
Mael nods and continues through the wild. Eventually, she begins to veer north, for the bird is altering course. This is apparent by the angle of her wrist. As the sun has faded, the creature has become less and less visible to the eye. Northward we trek, through stout tree and bush, until happening upon a sheltering cave tucked into the base of a dry-grass hill.
It is here that the mortals make camp. Pedj does not trust Awyer; hence, he instructs Mael that the pair will take turns keeping
watch under star cover. As before, I will look over my ward. I will make sure nothing gets him in the night. He may sleep with ease.
Seemingly agreeing to the arrangement, the necromancer offers to keep first lookout for her cousin – a lie revealed once the zombie’s breathing turns heavy – at which point, she looks to me, saying, “You’ll wake Ower if anything comes, won’t you?”
I bob to show my agreement. Satisfied, Mael settles into a curled ball, where she drifts quickly asleep.
She trusts us wholly.
Did she really gather visions of us in the water? Necromancers gain power from water, so if she were to have a forememory, it makes sense that it would arise in the presence of water, but . . . Do prophets truly exist in this day? I have not personally come across one before. Any who claimed such turned out to be fraudulent. Even so, I know firsthand that foresight is possible. Mael’s knowledge and fearlessness of our situation are convincing. She allowed herself to be nabbed by the witches, trusting that we would save her.
For now, I will observe the girl as she quietly babbles in her sleep.
Chapter IX: Rustics
In the morning, Pedj stirs with fury. Due to exhaustion, he did not wake in the night on his own, and because Mael failed to trigger his shift, both were left at my mercy throughout the night.
“Shup, Pedjram,” Mael responds to his complaining.
A new day, we head northwestern. Through rock and crystal and tree, my ward traverses.
“We keep on that way, we’ll run smack into Pallkeep. That what you want, Mael?”
She nods.
“What is Pallkeep?” I ask through Awyer, who would not have otherwise asked.
“Town in Bloődite territory ‘bout a day from here,” says Pedj gruffly. His irritable attitude continues to grow. “So’s to warn you, if anyone sees what you got hid under your sleeves, you’ll be crankin’ toast.”
