by Brindi Quinn
I have just involuntarily made contact with the material ground.
And that worn pillar, at the center of this arena, is the one from my forememories. The one upon which a particular ‘Amethyst boy’ bequeaths his destined color.
That boy-turned-man, eyes no longer glowing, stares at me peculiarly.
“Awyer! This is the place–”
A loud moan interrupts me as I speak. It comes from just to the left of where we have arrived. Through golden fog, I see two forms piled atop each other. The moan resounds one time more.
“You landed smack on top of me, you oafer!”
“Oh!” Techton chuckles. “Apologies.”
There is a rustling while the pair of them shift weight.
“My sphinx! It is the Azurian and the zombie! They have also made it to this place! You know where we are, do you not? We are within the Golden Lands!”
Fear translates into excitement. Even my body thinks to shiver. We are here. We are catching up with the time of my forememories. And our task, very soon, will end.
“Who’s that yellin’?” says Pedj. Throwing Techton’s rucksack from himself, he stands contrivedly to his feet, joints cracking sickly.
Awyer has yet to speak to me. His countenance remains peculiar, making me to wonder if there is something wrong with the way I look, or if mayhap I have willed my hair to become too long.
“What is wrong?” I ask of him. “Will you not go to them?”
“You touch the ground, Grim.”
Ah! That is right! My bottom is firmly settled upon a ground that has not been enchanted to receive me, when usually I would remain hovered just above the rocks.
To be heard and seen by everyone – the Land of Gold is truly a miraculous place.
No, even if I am interacting with this world, it does not mean I am visible. I will not believe it until I am sure.
An attempt to fly to my feet results in flailing. I do not lift as I should. If I am not in constant flight, I am made to walk as the mortals walk? I try again, but am rewarded with not even the slightest hover. Mouth crooked, Awyer helps me to my feet.
Techton, who has just made it to where we are, releases a whistle that rises in pitch before again falling. When I look to him, it seems his eyes are set upon . . . me. Not through me; ON me.
“You can . . .” The words have trouble forming in my throat.
“So that’s your faerie, is it?” says Techton. He shakes his head. “You’re one lucky son-of-a–”
“YOU CAN SEE ME?”
Pedj sports a look of shock. “That’s Grim?” he spouts. “WHY THE ERF CAN WE SEE HER?!”
“Mistress,” corrects Awyer, eyes slender. “To you she is Mistress.”
“Right, right, oka, I get that, but she’s–”
“It was truth! In the Golden Lands, I am visible to all!” Holding true to my zipping patterns of motion, I attempt again to fly to where I wish – an action that ends in failure as I stumble over the ground upon legs unaccustomed. Into Techton’s outstretched arms, I trip, for he has rushed forward to grab me in time. My skin makes contact with his, warm and solid. I do not pass through him.
Eyes admittedly wider than they ought to be, I rub my hands over his hairy forearms. I feel them! Every sprout of hair.
“Umm, okay.” Bringing a hand behind his collar shamefacedly, Techton refuses to meet my eyes, though his sparkle. “You’d best be careful, Mistress. We don’t want Awyer getting heated.” Over my head, he exchanges a glance with the sphinx in question. At first, I do not understand Techton’s implication, but upon seeing him mouth the word, “WOW,” I am quick to pull away from him.
I must stifle my excitement. It is improper for me to cling to every man that I meet. But stifling is not so difficult when I realize: If my visibility is true, as was foretold, then the rest of it must be as well.
Pang. A tight pang hits my windpipe.
Pedj still wears that look of shock. Now that I may no longer hide within the folds of space, I am self-conscious over the lies Awyer told him of my bloodthirsty nature. I attempt to make better the situation: “Greetings, zombie.”
Alas, his shock does not lessen. “She’s silver?” He appears to be thinking a great many things. “Awyer, you never mentioned her skin’s silver.”
“Ask him why that matters,” I order Awyer.
In return, Awyer’s brow cocks. “YOU ask him, Grim.”
Habits are hard to die. In this place, I do not need to ask anything via my pactor. Releasing a visible giggle, I inquire, “Why does that matter, zombie?”
“It’s nothin’,” Pedj says. But if I have learned anything, ‘nothing’ always means ‘something’. And something of importance, at that. I am not given opportunity to prod him further.
“Where is Mael?” What starts as a simple question from normally-laid-back Techton, quickly transforms into panic as he realizes that the airy girl is not within close vicinity. “Where’s the lady!?”
“Was she not with you?” I say.
“She was, but she lagged a little there at the end,” says Techton. Rapidly, he inspects the sky for indication of the portal through which we came.
“You serious?! You notice she pulled back at the end, and you didn’t do nothin’!? I thought she was comin’ smack behind us!” Pedj lunges at Techton. “You should’ve copped her!”
“Hold on, there. Why didn’t you grab her? If any man was to grab her, I’d expect you’d want it to be yourself, her relative.” For once, Techton’s pleasantness is irked, leading to passive aggressiveness of unannounced nature.
It is hard to say which of the men is more in a riot.
“Do not be daft,” I say to them. “Would it not be acceptable to first look for the necromancer before biting at each other’s throats?”
Pedj breaks his frenzy to note, “Hoo, she talks like what you talk, Awyer.”
Techton’s titter is different than usual. It hides hints of mockery. “What did you expect?” he says, mid-laugh. “Don’t tell me you thought an Amethyst faerie would talk like a Bloődite rustic?”
Pedj shows offense. “What did I expect?! Not zactly what’s standing there! And look who’s pullin’ out the stereotypical thinkin’ now! Guess the truth shows itself, Techie! All bla-biddy-bla, don’t-matter-if-you’re-Bloőd-or-Azure-let’s-all-just-get-along! Blegh!”
Did he just refer to me as a ‘what’? Now I am the one to show offense. Awyer protectively puts a hand across my abdomen.
How quickly Mael’s disappearance does turn the mood sour.
Just as quickly, her return makes it light.
“Shup, Pedjram.” A haunting purr slips around the side of the center pillar. “Tech’s just worried, is all.”
“Mael!” Dropping his quarrel, Pedj shoots to her side. “Where were you?”
“My skirt got caught.” To prove her point, she takes up a heaping of fabric and gives it a shake.
“I’m glad you made it, Lady,” Techton says, and he is much calmer than just a moment ago. He hides his distress well.
Mael looks past both fawning men. “Hullo, Mistress.”
“Greetings, Mael.”
Though I expect something further, given her ignition of conversation, she does not say anything more. Now that I am material, I am able to pick up on a certain vibe in the air. Anger? Aye, the vibe I feel from the necromancer is anger. Then again, it does not seem possible for someone so disconnected to discharge negative emotions. Perhaps I am mistaken.
“What happens now?” Techton asks of Awyer.
Because Awyer does not himself know, I answer for him. “He is to release Amethyst atop that pillar, and his ancestors will gather in the space below to accept it. Once it is through, the Amethyst will be gone from his body and from mine.”
“And then we’ll see what’s what,” says Pedj, determined. He still believes the sphinxes might ‘bequeaf’ Amethyst unto him and his people. Awyer goes along with it. The two tap fists.
“Without Ame
thyst, how are you two going to keep up your pact?” says Techton. “If I’m not mistaken, faeries can only be bonded through magicks.”
Because it is news to him, Awyer stiffens. I am not certain if Techton’s assumption is true or if it is false, but I did not wish for Awyer to wonder on what became of the naefaeries of Eldrade after his act, so I have previously refrained from bringing it up.
I swallow. And then I lie. “It is my hope that our bond will remain, solely relying on Awyer’s gold.”
The lie is enough. Awyer unhardens.
If I am honest, I do not know what will happen to our pact once the Amethyst is gone, or if it is even possible for a naefaerie bond to rely on gold. If I allow myself to think that Awyer and I are in our last moments together, I will not make it; and so I purposely lose myself in ignorance.
“I have seen the future,” I admit to the rest. “Awyer will stand upon the pillar and release his power. That leaves only the question of where his ancestors are.” This place is desolate and abandoned. As far as I can see, similar environment travels far across the land.
Mael has a plan of her own. Walking to Awyer, she plucks one hair from his head. “Let them know you’re here.” She cups the hair within her palms and whispers to it before releasing it on the wind.
I do not know if something like that will work, but because I have nothing better to offer, I will let the necromancer do as she pleases. Either way, the sphinxes will come. And Awyer will release Amethyst. And then, he will accept the token given to him. He will defy my forememory and accept the gift bestowed upon him by his ancestors.
If I think on what might happen at the end of this, my core becomes overwrought, distraught, and so I resist the urge to dwell. According to Mael, there are two possible futures. Does one of them include a way to keep my pactor’s life from ending? Does accepting the token save him in some way? I must believe that it does. If I do not, I will break. I will flee with Awyer from this place and my debt will go unpaid.
“So we’re going to wait here, then?” says Techton. “In that case, I’ll do a little scouting. See if I can’t whip us up a meal. There were some mushrooms over there, and I saw a few lizards scampering around in the rocks. I should be able to make a stew, at any rate.”
“Lizards,” says Mael. “Peeeeew.”
But it is music to starving Pedj’s ears. “I’ll go with you!” he blurts, hand over head.
Hence, they ready to depart. But there is something I must know before they go.
“Techton, will you wait?” I am careful to walk the ground to where he is. My unpracticed legs are not graceful enough for darting.
When I reach him, I bid him to lean to my height, so that I may ask the question I have needed to ask, in private. “You once mentioned that you believed it possible Awyer had two naefaeries. Was there . . .” Because I am uncertain, my voice wavers. “Was there a reason behind your speculation?”
“Huh?” It is almost as though he does not remember saying so.
“At the Nerve,” I prod. “Before you slept.”
Techton tightens his straps. “Oh, right. I forgot about that. For a while, I sensed there were two of you hanging around him. That’s clearly not the case, though. If we can see you, we should be able to see the other one, so I was wrong.” He squints at me. “Let me guess, you’ve been worried this whole time? A little jealous, maybe?” He teases me. “That’s what you get for being a naughty faerie that undoes her locks.”
“You are one to talk of being ‘naughty’. I see the way your eyes follow the necromancer. Lewd.”
“Well now, I can’t help it. She smells so delicious.”
Smell? It is Mael’s smell that draws Techton? It is not something I assumed. With a lover’s grin, Techton leaves me to contemplate as he and Pedj disappear into the golden fog.
I return to Awyer, who edgily watched my interaction with Techton, and Mael, who dances around the pillar’s clearing whilst humming to herself.
“It is almost the end,” I call to her.
Ignoring me, she continues to dance, skirt billowing around her ankles.
“Now that we may talk freely, will you not tell me the things you have seen in detail? We must make Awyer’s future right,” I say – to which my sphinx eyes me with suspicion. “Mael, too, has seen the future,” I admit alike a disobedient child.
“Grim.”
“I only held back because it would not do any good to speculate!”
“Mael,” says Awyer, releasing a sigh. “Come.”
At this, Mael halts and skips to where we are. She scratches at her stripes. “Yes, Ower?”
She thinks only to ignore me?
“She is angry with me,” I tell Awyer.
“Mistress didn’t listen,” says Mael. “And now it’s too late.”
“What do you mean,” says Awyer. He remains unruffled, though I am far from it.
“What’s is, is there’s two. I seen in the water. Two different endings. Ower goes to gold for destiny. But Mistress messes it up.”
“Do not be vague,” says Awyer, and for once, the command is not directed at me. “How does Grim mess it up?”
“You got a choice, Ower,” says Mael, staring directly through us. “You can take it or you can’t take it. If you get on not takin’ it, you’ll ruin everything. You’ll descend.”
The token. This must pertain to the token given by the sphinxes. “If he takes it, he’ll live?” I say.
“Yeah,” says Mael, “but he won’t take it. Not what with him thinkin’ of you the way he thinks of you. It’s all ‘cause you went kissin’ on him.”
No. NO!
“Awyer!” I grab my pactor’s shoulders. “You must take it! Do not refuse it! In my forememory, you refuse it, and it brings me much grief! You must take it! If you do not, I believe you will die! Say that you will accept it!”
But to my plea, Awyer shakes his head. “Something is not right,” he says.
Indeed, something is not right.
The ground has started to rumble. Awyer pulls me to his chest, lest I lose my newfound footing. Beneath us, the rocks jump against the cracked, dusty ground like beans on fire. The golden fog lingering there thickens, accumulating thickly around our ankles and rising higher until the whole of the area becomes flooded in iridescent miasma. Meanwhile, a sound, like a melding of roaring beast and rolling thunder, moves along the ground.
Awyer’s eyes react by glowing. Light and moving, their golden color transcends the fog. “It is them,” he says.
“How do you know?” I breathe, against his body.
“They spoke,” he says.
But I did not hear anything in the way of words.
“The rumbling’s their talk. Ain’t it, Ower?” says Mael, who is not at all put off by the change in atmosphere. A seer is not meant to fear the future. Yet I do. I am unlike her.
“The thunder is their language?” I say.
Awyer nods, and it is as though he permissions the thunder to reply. It rolls through the fog, booming, snarling, foreboding. A harbinger. Overcome by the imminent events about to unfold, I bury my face into Awyer’s shirt, clutching at his chest. “You must accept their token, Awyer. I cannot bear your death. I am a failure as a naefaerie, for I selfishly wish that you would remain with me longer than your designated time. Please–”
Awyer presses his mouth to my ear. “I promise I will not leave you. By Thyst. I am bound. Until death.”
So easily I am assured.
Awyer must defy my forememory. He will accept the token. And he shall live.
My ex-ward, my ex-fief, my pactor, my sphinx, my Awyer releases me, as through the fog dozens of pawed beings slink into view. Lions donning the faces of man. The gold-pelted creatures are massive. Far larger than normal beasts. I have never been shown the true form of a sphinx. Only have I heard storytales. Regal and hallowed, each padded step is contained and precise. They do not bound. They only march. Within their company are none of the winged females of
their kind.
Listening to words contained within the thunder that I cannot make out, Awyer moves toward the cleared parts around the pillar.
“W-what are you doing?” I call, fearful.
“The middle. It is time,” he says.
It is going to begin now? So suddenly!?
Mael peers at me head on. “Tell him you hate him,” she coos. “Tell Ower he disgusts you.”
“I cannot, Mael.” Because I am weak; because I am compromised; because for Awyer, I feel . . .
She shakes her head and her ponytail swings along. “Mistress is a baby.”
“You do not understand. Telling him I hate him would pain me even more than his death. To see his face after delivering that sort of message would be unbearable. I would rather our death than to abandon him.”
Yet shaking her head, Mael saunters to the side of the arena, leaving me to mull on what I have just confessed to her. I would rather our death than to abandon him. My fondness for him is stronger than I knew. I do not bear the soul of a naefaerie. My soul is wholly woman.
While the massive sphinxes pour into the space, I make a dash through the glimmering fog, to Awyer’s side, where he stands at the base of the pillar.
His glowing eyes find mine.
“I do not hate you,” I tell him. “And you do not disgust me.”
Though his eyes show ageless, his mouth is the same as it has always been. It twitches. “I know.”
“You do not know,” I tell him. “Not everything. These days, I feel more girl than naefaerie. These days, I feel less indefinable and more real. It is a feeling I delight in, and it is because of you that I feel this way.” I swallow, turning nervous in a way that is human. “Awyer . . . the witches . . . what I told to them . . .”
Awyer’s twitch falls. “You are being vague again.”
“Though I should not, ever will I dare to feel fondness for you,” I say.
“Ever,” Awyer repeats.
I nod. “And I will tell you more after you accept the token of the sphinxes and rid yourself of this cursed color.”
Once it is through, I will tell him that I have fallen into an emotion I should not be able to experience.
