by Brindi Quinn
“Aar-ta-ta-ta-ta.”
That was the creaking cry of the ferothew.
I’d previously claimed to be resistant to the fear normally brought on by buggy things, and up until Farrowel, that quality had been true. But my years of insect awareness had not prepared me for my first meeting with the ferothew. They were enormous insects, holding the intelligence of a mammal, maybe even that of a man. Something between a mantis and a locust, they got around by leaping from stubby tree to stubby tree, altogether avoiding the swampy ground below. Ardette’s animal-taming charm had come in handy this time, for with only an outstretched hand, he’d managed to domesticate a handful of them. We now rode in pairs atop their hard, shelled backs, holding on for dear life and whooping at heart’s content.
Darch had excitedly offered to be my riding partner, and our cab was by far the loudest of the bunch.
“We might as well put a flashing target on your back,” spat Rend.
She’d been forced into being Ardette’s riding partner, a situation she was none too happy about, but being as Kantú and Grotts were a given, and Ardette and Nyte would never have shared a ride, it was either Ardette or Nyte. To Rend, I’m sure, Nyte would have been far preferable of the two, but still bitter about the rose of debt’s happenings, Scardo had hopped atop Nyte’s fero before Rend could say a word, thus leaving her with no other option. Certainly Ardette could have tamed another of the creatures for her to ride alone, but he was far too much of a pervert for that.
“We should keep a low profile,” Scardo urged from the tree ahead of us. Though he was still feuding with the bitter Elf, their row wouldn’t stop him from anxious agreement.
“Oh, shut up,” said Ardette in a drone. “As if a Druelcan would be caught dead atop a fero.”
“Why’s that?” piped Kantú. As a person naturally disinclined to the liking of insects, she’d been in shock for the past few days. She even had yet to remove the blindfold Grotts had so tenderly tied around her eyes; but although she’d been squeamish and shivery at the mere site of the massive bugs, in the end, even she’d agreed to ride for the good of the guard.
Ardette’s answer did little to negate her discomfort. “Incredible bad luck. Of the worst kind. The Druelcans think the pets carry some sort of curse, but I’ve been riding them my entire life, and I’m more than fine. What do you think, Rend? Am I more than fine?”
“Repulsive.”
“W-well, what’s the curse entail?” Still sight-challenged, Kantú sniffed at the air timidly. She appeared like a kidnapped baby animal from behind Grotts’ broad back.
“The Dragon’s Wrath. The curse of the marsh. Quite the unfeasible little fire-story if you ask me.” He paused to ‘yawn’, but it was more likely a pause for effect.
Just say it already. You’re freaking her out, you big jerk.
“Hmm. Wish me to recite it, do you?”
. . .
“Well?” he prodded.
“Who are you speaking to?! I am sick of listening to your senseless one-sided conversations!”
Ardette had yet to get out of my head, and Rend, having nothing else to take out her aggressions on, was quick to ridicule that which she’d deemed extremely aggravating.
Ardette, being the ‘gentleman’ that he was, answered with only a dazzling smile and said to himself – but really to me, “You can’t leave it completely blank forever, you know.”
Rend growled.
Fine. Just get on with it.
“I’m afraid I cannot.”
“What? Why not?” This time my response was external.
Darch sniggered knowingly.
“Because you aren’t a Daem,” sighed Ardette, “and it’s forbidden.”
“Ha! Like you care about things like that.”
“True. But I don’t have many opportunities to hold something over you.”
“Tch. Come on, Darch.”
With that, he pulled on the ferothew’s antennae, and together we trotted ahead onto the next tree, where Nyte and Scardo had been waiting.
Nyte’s ferothew, true to its owner’s nature, skipped ahead two trees, completely bypassing that which should have been its next stop. Scardo let out a cry, but Nyte laughed and looked back at us in challenge.
“Psh! Show off!”
A trail of warmth drifted back in reply.
Ah!
The addiction’s call, along with the short-tempered, on-edge attitude that it brought, hadn’t bothered me much since receiving the Song of Salvation, but after a few days into Farrowel, I’d begun to feel it once again.
“Ugh,” I muttered, suddenly feeling a bit perturbed by the tempting, almost gloating, warmness. “Why couldn’t I have been Nyte’s partner? Why should Scardo get to be so close when he doesn’t even appreciate it? The warmth is mine, isn’t it? It’s mine! Huh-?” Almost at once I realized how ridiculous the grievance had been. Embarrassed and ashamed that Darch had heard the slip, I quickly changed my tone. “Eh-he, I mean-”
“It’s the mist,” he said darkly, not glancing back at me. “We’re getting closer, and it’s affecting you. Just try to hold onto yourself.”
“Er, right.” I appreciated that I didn’t have to explain or apologize. “I hate when that part of me comes out.”
“It’ll be over soon enough. After we rescue your sister, we’ll work out a plan to defeat The Mystress.”
The fero clicked – maybe in agreement? – and jumped to another mangrove tree. This tree contained dead branches, which cracked under the creature’s weight and fell into the murkiness below. Darch giggled upon landing, but I wasn’t ready to return to jovialness yet.
“I wish I knew how this releasing of the Songs worked” I said. “I’d feel a lot better about this infiltration if I did.”
“Hmmm.” Darch tapped his chin. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, but if I do, you have to agree not to think about it so that Ardette doesn’t find out.”
I didn’t even bother asking how he knew about that. Whether it was by Magir perception, or a confession on Ardette’s part, I’d long determined that he knew anyway. So I instead asked, “A secret?”
He wiggled excitedly. “Well, have you noticed that the western moon’s been hiding lately?”
“Hiding? Well, it’s not really hiding, is it? I mean, it’s a different season in this part of the world, right?”
“That’s partially true,” he said, “but the western moon should be visible by now. You might not know since you’re from a closed city, but it’s nearly second semester in the south, and that means that the western moon should be rising!” He then made his voice to be ominous as though he were telling a ghost story and added, “Yet, at nightfall, only the eastern moon is visible.”
“Huh. That’s weird.” What could keep a moon from appearing at its designated time?
Darch seemed to like the contemplative reaction he’d caused.
“I know!” he said, eyes filled with an intrigue that had only grown with my interest in the topic. “The reason that we members were waiting on Yes’lech without forming a plan of our own is because of that anomaly. The other guys didn’t want to bother you with it since you’ve been worried about Nyte and your sister and the saving of the entire world and stuff, so they’ve been keeping quiet.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” I held on to him tighter while the fero readied itself again. “So, if the western moon’s hiding or whatever, what does that mean? That we really can’t tell when it’s about to have its ad’ai?”
That was just the sort of question Darch had been hoping for.
“Here’s where the kind of cool thing comes in. Usually, it’s only possible to read the patterns when the moon is visible, but I know how to read the unseen moon’s patterns too. Ardette’s the only one of the guys that knows, so keep it hush-hush for now.”
I agreed to keep it ‘hush-hush’.
“All right then, Darch. You said before that the western moon’s been ‘changing’ lately, right
? So even though it’s been in hiding, thanks to your ‘unseen moon’ skills you still know what it’s been up to?”
“Right-o!”
“And?”
“And what?”
“And what have you read lately?”
Darch wiggled again before starting his tale. His energy seemed to radiate to the surrounding marsh’s much-smaller-bodied bug population, for a swarm of them answered in frog-like croaks when we passed through. Or maybe it wasn’t Darch’s energy at all; maybe it was just that the bugs were becoming more outspoken, the longer that evening masked them.
“From what I’ve read,” said Darch, “the western moon wanted its ad’ai to come to pass already. It was supposed to happen shortly after you went to read the Inscription of Ulan the first time. Before The Mystress ruined your plans, you were meant to receive the Song and then soon after, release it. But for some reason, the eastern moon’s been stalling, keeping the western moon from its rightful place in the southern sky. The two moons may not appear at the same time, you see, and if the eastern moon doesn’t move, the western moon can’t appear. And if it can’t appear, it can’t choose to have its ad’ai, no matter how badly it wants to.”
All of this he said rapidly and without taking a breath. When he finally paused, he was winded.
Once again I was forced to come to terms with the fact that those big, glowing rocks in the sky were actually intelligent, living things. Guardians keeping watch over all of us. It was true, the western moon had always offered me comfort, but that comfort hadn’t really come from a feeling of being watched or anything. Even now, the eastern moon was at our backs, slowly rising into the heavens. I wondered if it knew who I was; what I’d been doing.
It’s keeping my moon away? My beloved moon? But how come?
I allowed Darch time to catch his breath before pressing him further.
“Do you know why the eastern moon’s been hogging the sky?” I asked.
“It seems there’s something it’s been waiting on. That’s why it’s taken up the western moon’s time slot in the south.”
“What kind of ‘something’?”
“The only outside source big enough to make the moon stall on its own would have to be something . . . special.” He was hinting at something.
“Special?” I prodded.
“Well, more than ‘special’, really. It would have to be something celestial.”
“Like the stars?”
Darch shook his head. “Like an angel.”
An angel?! No way!
Ardette shot a questioning look back at us.
“Oops.”
Darch waved at Ardette jollily and then said to me, “It’s all right. Just try not to give anything too big away. Anyways, the story goes that the eastern moon sided with mekanix during the Great Divisia, right? So obviously the eastern moon would also side with the Heart of Havoc, who seeks to bring the land back together so that mekanix could once again run unbridled. Well, my theory is that the eastern moon is working in cahoots with an angel, or at the very least, I think that an angel’s working with The Mystress and that the eastern moon is silently looking on in agreement, doing what it can to help them.”
“What?!” I tried, but failed to keep my voice low. This time, both Rend and Ardette looked back at us.
“That’s right, Aura!” said Darch loud enough for them to hear. “A dash of tangeroot is all you need!”
“Oh, Creator!” complained Rend. “They are exchanging recipes now?”
But Ardette didn’t look so convinced. Luckily, Grotts and Kantú were two trees behind us, and Nyte and Scardo were three trees ahead, so their suspicions weren’t piqued in the slightest.
I leaned closer to Darch and whispered, “A real angel? How is that even possible?”
“It is entirely possible. There is at least one angel that would like to raise mekanix and bring down the Creator’s blessed gift of magic. One angel that would have something to gain from separating magic-using beings from the Creator. One angel whose jealousy has gotten the best of them before . . . . Sound like anyone you’ve heard of?”
One name did come to mind, but he couldn’t really be referring to . . . “Lusafael?”
“Bingo!”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“But then again,” he said with a shrug, “that’s just a theory.”
“Mmhmm. And just how much stock do you put in this ‘theory’ of yours?”
He beamed back at me. “I’d bet my life on it!”
Great. Not the answer I’d been hoping for.
“So, you’re telling me that in addition to The Mystress and her nation of Druelcan thugs, I’m going up against an angel and a moon?!”
You’ve gotta be kidding me! How the hell – but then I remembered that Ardette could hear – does Darch know so much about cooking? Tangeroot added to scurryfish? That man is a culinary genius! I hoped, at least, that Darch’s cooking skills were up to par so that my diversion would be believable. Ardette did nothing in the way of a glance-back this time, so it seemed we were good.
“Mmm.” Darch appeared to be tossing around the concept I’d recently thrown at him. “Well, a moon wouldn’t actively be able to fight you because moons can’t enter the boundaries of man. That’s why, if it is stalling, it’s an angel’s doing. Angels, after all, have the ability to cross both planes.”
“I don’t know if I really get it . . . but does that mean that the western moon is ‘silently in agreement’ with me? Is it helping me out the way the eastern moon’s helping The Mystress?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that it’s anxious for ad’ai to come.”
What the . . . Every time I start to understand things, more of these kinds of twists appear! All I want is to find my sister and not be bothered with the issues of moons and an- AH! Shoot. Hmm. Hmmm. Hm. Hmmm. Hm.
It was all I could to contain my racing thoughts.
“Hey, Aura? Will you communicate in your ‘special way’ to Ardette that we should stop for dinner?”
Special way? I gritted my teeth at the thought of brain intrusion being considered ‘special’. Nonetheless, I said,
“Alright, but I’m sure he’d hear you if you yelled.”
“Yeeeaaah, but I think he’s more likely to do it if you ask.”
“Okay. Sure, Darch.”
Not more than ten minutes later, we hitched up our ferothew and stopped for the night atop a tight group of mangrove cousins. The moon was high above us, the marsh’s insects at full croak. Things were proving to be most uneventful . . .
. . . until Ardette asked Darch his opinion on the best way to prepare scurryfish – to which Darch responded,
“Don’t ask me, Ardetto. You know I don’t know the first thing about cookery!”
At this comment, I sank – sank deep into the cushion of waxy leaves around me, forced into hiding by the light from the eastern moon, which now illuminated Ardette’s wickedly crafty and perspicacious smile.
“Scurryfish, eh?” he cooed. “You’ll have to do better than that, my cherry pit.”
Inside, I groaned.
Chapter 17: The Whisper
Mangrove after mangrove, we hopped atop the feros, until at some point the marsh began to thin and the air started to seem . . . foggier. The white wind of the mist was swelling around us, growing into something more tangible – something more affective. While the others only showed signs of being slightly sadder than normal, my symptoms were something way more sinister. Luckily, our mode of travel left not much time for chatter between parties. This meant that while the others were spared, Darch received the brunt of my random outbursts of warmth annoyance.
. . .
“Damn wind, tantalizing me with the warmth! So carelessly blowing it past me!”
. . .
“Why are they so far ahead?! Ugh. Come on, Darch! Faster! It’s getting away – that essence is getting away!”
. . .
“I’ll bet Scardo doesn
’t even realize what he’s got right there! Look at him! Just sitting so smug. Stupid salamander!”
. . .
To each of these, Darch would answer: “Aura, you’re sounding just a little bit crazy again.” Or, “Hold onto yourself. Push the influence away!”
Each time I managed to follow his advice, always feeling incredibly guilty and embarrassed afterwards for letting the addiction get to me. Treating Nyte like a thing that I had the right to draw from – it was repulsive . . . but I couldn’t make that impulse completely go away.
Eventually the mangrove forest ceased altogether, and we left our feros to the wilds. Foot would carry us the remainder of the way, but that meant I’d be able to travel closer to Nyte – within reach even. That was dangerous. Or maybe even more than dangerous. Not only did I run the risk of snapping and drawing all of his spirit away, there was also a chance that everyone else would witness that ugly side of me. That detestable side. The thought was unbearable, and so I pushed with all of my might every time the addiction entered my head, but sometimes it didn’t enter at all; it just was.
Those were the times that I relied on Darch – as well as Ardette, who had yet to leave my head and was still very much aware of what was going on – to distract me.
When the marshes ended, the landscape transformed into something more similar to what I’d been expecting of Farrowel. It was comparable to the black-rocklands of the Nalla, but more . . . gray. Colorless. Once in a while, patches of grass would paint the dirt, but these were far out of place amidst the otherwise dreary surroundings. There weren’t even any animals to be seen. And the air was hazy; thick with mist and dust.
I don’t know what I’d been expecting. A leisurely stroll? No, I wasn’t optimistic enough to expect something like that. But the thought of trespassing into enemy territory didn’t feel very real . . . until we encountered our first Druelcan brigade.
It wasn’t more than two days past the marsh.
“I hope you know where you are going!” scoffed Rend for the third time.
