by Brindi Quinn
Awyer realizes I speak the truth. “Pedj.” He nods at the now exhausted zombie. “Come.”
Mael is in full agreement. Wrist extended, she gathers her skirt as together we flee.
We do not stop even after the blasts are nothing more than pops in the distance.
“That was the count from Terrlgard,” Awyer whispers at me between panted breaths. “And others.”
“It was always rumored that he secretly led the Pates in their rebellion,” I say.
Awyer’s mouth becomes tense. “He knows.”
“That you have the Amethyst?” I say. “Yes, he surely knows.”
“But he kindles war? Why?”
Yes, why?
Why would the leader of a defeated country – a man without magicks, no less – place himself at the start of a war between two enemy countries?
Aside from taking the blame from himself, there is only one reason I can think of:
“To find you, my ward. To fish you out. And he has already done so.” New urgency fills me. We cannot chance moving on to Pallkeep or any other Bloődite city now. “We must flee fast and far!”
Fast and far. Fast and far. To wherever Mael’s shade bird guides us.
By gold we were placed in the shadows, and by shadow we will be guided to the land of gold.
Chapter X: Azure
At first light and first rest, Awyer explains the situation to Pedj and Mael. Eldrade, Count Bexwin, the king’s throne. Despite my protests, he tells them everything. That is, everything as told by a boy of few words. In his way, he explains how he came upon the stolen color. With aversion, he admits that he is destined to deliver it to his homeland.
“Meaning . . . neither of us gets it?” Pedj is first downtrodden. And then he is angry: “After squirrelin’ away Amethyst for hundreds of years, you’re really gonna take it to where neither Azurians or Bloődites gets it!? That’s low!”
It is a difficult thing to take for a boy taught to seek Amethyst’s retrieval above all else.
Awyer nods soberly. “If there was another way, I would do it. I do not want this power. It was not my choice.” He shoots me an accusatory look.
“Do not look at me!” I protest. “I am merely doing as I must!”
Pedj chews on what he has learned. “Amethyst is bequeafed to the victors, right? So’s if I defeat you . . .”
“You can try,” says Awyer. And he does not answer with threat. He is earnest.
Pedj reconsiders. “Tch. Like anyone could defeat the likes of you, being super sphinx and all.”
Awyer looks to his lap. Per usual, he does not delight in his power.
“Don’t, Pedjram,” pipes up Mael.
“‘Scuse me?”
“Destiny. You help him. You don’t fight.”
“Oka, oka, more of your water visions, eh?”
“I saw,” insists Mael. “Ower does go to gold. He makes it there. And so do you. And me. And Mistress. And him. We all go to gold.”
“Him?” says Pedj. “Who’s him?”
Mael shakes her head. “Just saw. Don’t know his name.”
Awyer catches my eye. Furtive, his gaze slips into mine.
Yes. The admission of a new person is worthy of interest. Though there is a chance the girl speaks only delusional babble, a truth remains:
I, too, have witnessed an unknown man in Awyer’s future. Could Mael’s ‘him’ be the same him at my back in the forememory? The whistler who can somehow see me? The whistler who delights in my pain? I remain silent. Awyer has yet to learn of my forememories. He has yet to learn of what comes after the Golden Lands.
The pang returns.
Awyer’s dark-lined eyes flick from me to Pedj. “It is my fault your country is going to war. Your country is blamed for my action.”
Pedj contorts his face. He mulls over things too heavy to be easily tossed about. He wrestles over what to say next. When he settles on his verdict, he exhales and rubs the back of his spiked head. “Naw,” he says. “You jumped smack in to defend those Bloőd rustics. Senses to say you’re a goodie, after all.”
Although the words are not born with ease, what is important is that they are born. Awyer accepts them with a gentleman’s nod. So straightforwardly their friendship is mended.
It is easy for boys to mend when cut by other boys.
It is only difficult when cut by a girl.
“But that croop next to the knight Feligo was from your city, eh? Phooooo.” Pedj exhales a second time. “What’s is, is he’s startin’ up big trouble. Stuff’s been fragile since the first Kerr Attack. Workin’ together to get the whores–” He stops to rethink his wording. “Sorry. Workin’ together to kapooey Amethyst was a big step. Thanks to that Amethyst freak, our king, Quild the Sovereign, will get on thinkin’ the Azurians only used us necromancers to break into your city. There’ll be . . .”
“Worldwide war,” says Awyer.
“Zactly! You don’t understand how it is between us and them! In ancient times, Amethyst had to keep Bloőd and Azure from warrin’ ‘cause it’s right like it’s in our nature to fight with them. We’re housin’ opposite powers inside our bodies, you see. And with Amethyst clammed away for the past thousand years, it was near impossible to maintain peace between us Bloődites and them blue-smokers. Now that there’s a reason to fight . . .”
“It’ll be worser,” says Mael.
“Much worser,” agrees Pedj.
“We are to assume that you two are not to enter Azure territory,” I say via Awyer. “So, too, is it unsafe for us to enter Bloődite territory.”
“Hoo?” Pedj cocks his head. “Lil late for that, Mistress. You’re already IN Bloődite territory.”
I do not overlook that he addresses me respectfully again.
“I mean that we should refrain from entering cities,” I say through my ward. “The wilds are vast. Surely we can alter our path to avoid unnecessary conflict.”
“Oka, oka. That’s probably true . . . Mael, you’re in charge of keepin’ to the wilds. Whenever that bird of yours tugs, you gotta anticipate where it’s headin’. Oka?”
Mael nods. “Oka.”
“And I,” Pedj goes on, “will use my expertise to–”
“Wait.” Awyer shows a shred of startlement. “You are coming with?” he says.
“Who me?” Pedj points to his chest. “Doy. Told you before, can’t leave Mael alone. Plus, I gotta find out what those sphinxes are plannin’ on doing with the Amethyst, don’t I? Figure Bloőd needs a representative around, case the sphinxes are figurin’ on handing the Amethyst out to the first lot they see. Personally, I wouldn’t turn down charity.” He winks. “Twig it?”
While Awyer stands stricken by Pedj’s camaraderie, the zombie holds forth his fist as he has done several times before. Mael, versed in the practice, responds by tapping her fist twice atop his. This, Awyer watches and when she is finished, he stretches out his fist and does the same.
My ward’s effort is truly remarkable.
It pleases the others in our company.
“There you go!” hollers Pedj. And like that, the chipper conversationalist is back.
But now is not the time for conversation. It is time for respite. Hours they have run. And hours they must sleep. In a space of dry woodland, the fatigued sorcerers settle. Mael wastes not time relaxing into her ball – using Pedj’s pack as a pillow, for she did not escape Ensecré with a bag of her own – and begins her sleep babble. Pedj, in contrast, leans against a tree and stares through the squat trunks with tired eyes that are even darker-bagged now that he is deprived of sleep. He thinks to keep first watch.
“Pedj.” Awyer nods forward his head assuredly. “Rest. Grim will wake me if anything comes.”
Pedj eyes my shadow lit by first light. “She don’t need sleep?”
No, I am unlike them. I am not real enough to require slumber each night.
Awyer knows this better than any. He shakes his head.
With a sore groan, Pedj wig
gles down the rawing bark of the tree and lies awkwardly with arms flat against his sides. “Head’s throbbin’. Must’ve sniffed up some of the Azure,” he says. “Yours hurt at all? Don’t know ‘zactly how Amethyst takes to the other colors . . .”
Not bothering to answer, Awyer extends his own satchel, which is cushioned because of its contents. “Put your head on this,” he says.
“Naw,” Pedj declines. “I couldn’t–”
“It will help,” says Awyer. “Here.”
The beguiling of my sphinx’s ancestors slips through. Pedj looks a moment before taking the bag from Awyer’s hand. “A thanks your way.” He is sheepish as, giving in, he wedges the bag beneath his neck.
In turn, Awyer, left without pillow, rests his head against the dirty ground. Because it does not appear comfortable or suitable for the destroyer of Eldrade, I fall into a sit beside him, tucking my feet beneath my bottom. “My fief?” I say.
He opens one eye. “Mm?”
I pat my lap. “You may lean here.”
The corner of his mouth twitches; then, without a word, he shifts over and places his head upon my thigh. His head is warm and heavy, and the fact that I am able to hold it up, makes me feel . . . solid.
“Spooky. Your head’s a-floatin’,” interjects Pedj. It is stifled by a wide yawn as the zombie quickly falls into trusting slumber.
Awyer stares up at me a minute, and a second minute, and on the third minute, slowly, keeping his eyes on mine until the last second, he rolls so that his cheek is flush against my leg. Skin matching skin. Bronze and silver. I place a hand at the side of his head and strum his hair around his ear, and elate in the forbidden stillness of the air contrasted against my livened chest.
On his side, Awyer pretends to sleep awhile. His inconsistent breathing gives him away. It is fine. I enjoy knowing that he pretends as much as I.
At some point his sleep becomes genuine, but my hand continues to stroke his hair. I place the rebellious locks around his ear and do not refrain from touching his lobe along the way.
I am protective of him.
What am I? Caregiver? Mother?
No.
It is apparent in the way my fingers eventually move from his hair, down his neck and to his strong chest and shoulders. Selfishly, I trail my hands along them. Along the pieces of muscle that distinguish man from boy.
My chest kicks a thud.
I do not feel like a warden.
I feel like a girl.
I feel as though I would delight in resting upon his lap the way he is resting upon mine. I feel as though I would delight in him running his fingers through my hair. Mine which is short. Mine which has always been short.
While they continue to sleep, I will my dawn-whitened locks to grow.
. . .
“That way, Mael? You sure?” says Pedj.
Mael gives a nod.
“You know what’s that way, don’t you? There’s the Gated Rise,” says Pedj, voice lowered.
Mael leans forward and clicks her tongue at the shadow on her wrist, waits a moment, and . . . “That’s the way,” she says, nodding with new determination.
“Crank.” Pedj swears under his breath.
The Gated Rise. It has been many, many years since I last set eyes upon that great wall of linked chain. If we are expected to cross it, the non-fliers of our company will have a difficult time indeed. From the sound of it, Mael is convinced and Pedj is alarmed. But then . . . I am not as interested in their conversation as I appear to be.
I feel it. At the back of my neck, I feel an ogle.
The ogle has been there for several minutes now. Two eyes that drill. They are suddenly accompanied by a puff of air.
Stiffening, I release an eek of surprise, and turn to see my ward, whose eyes are still upon me and whose rounded lips have just blown at my hair.
“W-what is it?” I say, blurting in a way uncharacteristic for my kind.
Awyer’s answer comes in the form of a squint. Because it is not a suitable response, again I say,
“What?”
He squints further. Still there is silence. Only when I turn away again does he think to speak at all:
“Your hair is different.” His words come close to my ear – so close that his breath is also pushed against the pointed tip of my ear.
“It . . . grew,” I say.
“It has never grown before,” he says with suspicion.
That is truth. I can think of nothing to answer. It is my turn to arouse silence. I am awkward. Sensing such, Awyer makes his way around me to catch up with the squalling cousins.
I would be able handle the action were it purely that.
Alas, it is not.
As he passes, he says monotonously, “I like it,” before slinking onward.
Compromising!
To be fair, however, we are already far beyond compromised.
I shoot into the air.
The terrain has been changing as we have fled, and now that we are deep into Bloődite territory, water begins to run more freely. Wide lakes separate the grassy fits of land, within which, glowing white fish skim along the top of the water, breaking the sheen with their curved dorsal fins.
Pedj wastes no time rolling the bottom of his cropped pants even higher and jumping into the water with a splash. “Hey, Awyer!” he calls, waving. “You’re hungry, ain’t you?”
Awyer, becoming accustomed to the words of the necromancers, pats his stomach. “I am starving,” he says, and his mouth not only twitches this time; it grins fully.
Cheeky.
“Hoop! Then, let me introduce you to LUNCH!” Pedj leaps at one of the skimming fins, misses terribly, and falls into submergence. When he comes out again, he is sputtering and flailing. Mael’s approach is not so rash. Gathering up her skirt, she ties the garment through her legs like a child’s cloth, before wading surreptitiously into the shallows.
“‘Ere fishy fishy fishy,” she coos.
Looking on, Awyer settles on the bank, arms around his knees, nearly in a stoop. He does not plan to enter the water. But . . . diversion is good for a boy turned man. Let him not cast away his boyishness completely, lest he become old-souled.
It is my duty to push him from behind. “Let us go, Awyer!”
Despite my prodding, he remains rooted, though his shoulders give some. So I skate around him, and into the water, which receives me without enchants.
“Ho! What was that?!” says Pedj, who has only witnessed the water’s reaction to me.
“Mistress,” says Mael. She stares at the water as though there is nothing but space within her head. “It’s Mistress.”
Pedj resumes a crouch in the water. “Don’t get on splashin’ around too much. The slippers’ll get spooked.”
Because HIS splash did nothing to scare them away. Tawdry boy.
An idea comes to me. A morsel of retribution for the way he has treated my ward.
I dip quietly below the surface, breaching and traveling low into wetness. I am a snake skidding the shallows of the lake, leaving not even a ripple in my wake. Pedj’s toes are yonder, buried into the sand. Skinny little things. I glide to where they are, and when I reach them –
SPLASH!
I erupt from the water before where Pedj stands.
“HAAAAAAA!”
With a bawl, the zombie falls onto his derrière. Once more he finds himself submerged. When he comes up for air, he shouts, “Hey! That was her, weren’t it?! Hey! You two don’t go laughin’!”
Mael and Awyer are indeed laughing, and I am satisfied.
“Get in here and get a handle on your agent, would you!? I’s tryin’ to catch lunch!” Pedj makes charge of Awyer.
And, surprisingly, Awyer responds. “I will discipline her,” he says. Then he removes the knit covering his arms and tosses it aside, rolls up the pants beneath his tunic, and begins to trudge into the water.
He is exposed. For the first time, Pedj and Mael are subjected to the true color of his v
eins. While Mael takes no notice, Pedj stares blatantly, mouth copiously open in a hang. I do not blame him. My sphinx’s arms blare Amethyst, and it is a sight to behold for those unaccustomed.
“It is not safe,” I speak at once, “that you should expose yourself in this way!”
“I will be fine,” he says calmly.
And he comes right to me. He does not care that the bottom of his rolled pants are being wetted by the water – nor does he care when the bottom of his tunic is befallen of the same fate. His goal is set. When he reaches me, he cuts his hand through the water and sends a splashing of water into my face.
He turns to Pedj. “There. I have disciplined her.”
But he has started a thing he is not prepared for. The splash he landed upon me was measly; the one I send back will be tenfold, for I will enchant mine to soar at him, leaving not even the slightest trail of purple indication.
Awyer, who is looking at Pedj while I prepare the spell, does not ready.
SPLASH!
Instantly, he is drenched from head to foot in water. Not an inch of him is spared. Pedj and Mael, victims to the oversplash, are not spared, either.
“Oka, that does it! Mael!” Giving a great battle cry, – “HOOOOO!” – Pedj declares war upon me, and consequently, upon Awyer, who is caught between the zombie’s water attack and his target. The already-soaked sphinx gets a second helping of water to the face.
Thus starts our grand water clash.
Alas, necromancers are masters of water. And Awyer’s resistance to using his Amethyst for something as trivial as diversion does not aid our cause.
My ward and I lose the battle.
By the time we surrender, the cousins are worn from play. Siding with ease, Mael opts to enchant the water to strangle a shark for her – more efficient than if Pedj were to straddle one. Onto the shore the gleaming fish plops, and Pedj sets out readily to prepare it over a fire, which I have offered to light in the knowing that my ward must be fed and dried.
