by A. R. Cook
“What, chicken?” Mac said with a slight grin, knowing how poultry references were major irritations for Chiriku.
“Shut up, muck-eater!”
“Now don’t-tkk go hen-pecking anybody,” Mac joked.
Borgoff shook his head at the bickering bird and lizard. “Cute couple. Reminds me of my wife and me when we were younger.”
Clova pulled out her whistle and summoned forth her Roc, which had huddled down behind Ironhorn Hall to shield itself from the storm. It flew over and landed before Clova, lowering its head to her. She climbed onto its back.
“Where are you going?” Desert Rain asked.
“We need to protect what we can, and Juka Basin needs my protection now. If I talk to the Ahshi, maybe I can convince them to seek the aid of their kin in the Taigalands. We need all the help we can find.”
“You really think the Elfë Tiagas will help us?” Desert Rain knew very little of the ancient elven race that lived in the far north, other than they were quite different from their friendly,
open-armed Ahshi brethren. Elfë Tiagas were supposedly more like the elven races in the Otherlands across the oceans: remote, secretive, and wanting nothing to do with those of other races. Even the Ahshi had difficulty communicating with them, when they could even gain access to their hidden cities.
“I know it seems doubtful, but we need all the help we can get. If the other Hijn battle the Court of Darkscale, they will surely die, or that Wretched will kill them once he no longer needs them. All that’s left of the Sages’ magic will be gone, and then what if there really is a Lifescourge beast that will return?” The mounting thoughts in Clova’s head were overwhelming her. She took in a deep breath to steady herself. “The Elfë Tiagas know secrets that could help us defeat that Wretched before he starts something we won’t be able to stop.” She offered a hand to Desert Rain. “Please come with me, Dez. There’s not much else we can do here.”
Desert Rain hesitated. Chiriku’s words echoed in her head: Wherever you go, that demon seems to follow. If she went to Juka Basin, would Katawa be close behind? She had no idea of where he was going now, not other than those strange words he had whispered to her. Even now the phrase hovered like a dream in her head…L’Teth Zurên.
Then she was struck by a terrible thought. Katawa, having part of her soul, was therefore linked to her. Could he use it to know where she was at all times? Was he using it to follow her?
“I can’t go with you,” she replied.
Clova looked hurt for a moment, but then her face softened. “If you want to remain here, I understand. You’ve had a very difficult time. You can stay and wait for Woasim and Kidran to come.”
“No, that’s not it. I can’t stay here. I have to get away from everyone. I have to go away as far as I can.”
“But why?” Clova was utterly devastated.
“Because Chiriku’s right. No matter where I go or what I do, I ruin everything! It’s my fault Katawa has done all this, and I’m sick of bringing this curse on everyone. I can’t face him. I can’t fight him. So I…” She swallowed hard, choking back the sour taste in her mouth. “I have to get away from everyone, before I hurt anyone else. I couldn’t stand to see it happen again—and I would die if it happened to you.” She turned and started to walk away, not really caring where she was headed or what she was going to do.
A scale-spotted hand touched her shoulder. Desert Rain stopped and turned to look at Mac, whose face had gotten quite serious. “So that’s it-tkk? You’re giving up like that? We’ve got a sayin’ down in the Bayou that—”
“None of your sayings are going to make things any better right now,” Desert Rain argued.
“But you think going off by yourself is gonna make things-ssck better? I was once riding along with a young lady who vowed she was gonna make things right-tkk. And I believed her.
Don’t make-kk me a damn fool for believing in you.”
Desert Rain was quiet, before asking, “Why do you, Mac? Why do you believe in me when all I’ve done is mess up?”
“Because,” he replied with a smile, “you got-tkk what we Bayou folk know is something rare. Like the great banshee-slaying fox of Bog Buggle Downs-ssck, whose tale I’ve heard since I was no bigger than a newt, you got that blaze inside you. The great fox had the blaze, which is the stuff that makes heroes outta sissies-ssck. In honor of that fox, we call that inner blaze the Foxfire. And that’s-ssck what you got. I’ve seen it in you since-ssck the moment I met you.”
The desert hermit cocked an eyebrow at him. “Isn’t foxfire another term for swamp gas?”
“And you’ve got enough of that-tkk inside of you to shake the entire earth under your feet-tkk!”
“So…I have gas?”
“Yep.” Mac put an arm around her. “You’ve got that blaze, Gila. That’s why I believe you’re gonna do the right-tkk thing.”
Despite the slightly gross analogy, Desert Rain found courage in Mac’s bright eyes. She understood now; by herself, she could never face Katawa. She could not leave her friends behind now, not as long as there was hope. Bellaluna was there too, inside of her, at all times. How could she fail Grandma Luna? She wouldn’t. She was a Hijn, and she had to live up to that.
“Thank you, Mac,” she replied.
She returned to the group, carefully mounting Gust with Clova’s help. Clova smiled warmly at her friend, and prepared to signal the Roc to take off. Desert Rain tapped her shoulder to tell her to wait a moment. She looked down at thr lizard. “Mac, will you come with us? I know you’ll keep me on the right path.”
“I’m much obliged, Dez.” Taking Desert Rain’s hand, he hoisted himself up onto the back of the great bird.
“Hold your Roc, I’m coming too,” Chiriku declared, trying to climb up onto the Roc’s back without assistance.
“Would you miss-ssck me too much, Chi?” Mac teased.
“You guys said you were going to Juka Basin. That’s where most of the Syphurians were going when our city was evacuated. I need to find someone there. You have enough room on this bird for one more. Now is someone going to help me up or what?”
Mac took Chiriku’s wrist and pulled her up. Desert Rain called down to Borgoff, “Will you be all right?”
Borgoff snorted a gruff laugh. “We can hold the fort here. That demon will be in for a few surprises if he comes back.”
“We may have friends that will arrive here soon, two Hijn, Woasim and Kidran,” Clova
informed the dwarf. “If they should come—”
“I’ll give them the story and send them along to you. I wish you luck. Give that demon a good bash to the head for me.”
With that, the Roc took flight, pumping his wings in mighty strokes to lift himself and his passengers aloft.
Desert Rain gripped the feathers on Gust’s back, her breath catching in her lungs as the bird ascended higher and higher. She looked over the side, watching as Vaes Galahar grew smaller, drifting farther and farther away. She could see they were following the jagged chain of the Azokind Mountains into the east, towards the Forest Overlooking the Sea. Even as the wind whistled in her ears, she could hear the words of the shaman: “If it is not your job to rectify this evil, whose is it?”
I will rectify this, she silently vowed. I will find a way to undo what you have done, Katawa. I will save the Hijns you have stolen, and I will protect my friends from you. I’ll reclaim the part of my soul you took from me. No matter what it takes, in Bellaluna’s name, I will do what I must to stop you.
Epilogue
The stenches of mold and a thousand years of decay filled the mausoleum like a murder of ravens perched above the doorways and along the walls. Cobwebs as thick as wool clustered in every corner, and the icy stone floor bore the faded stains of blood and scorched ash.
The corners of Katawa’s lips crept upwards into an oily smile. “So good to be back,” he mused.
It wasn’t his true home. This was a secret hiding place he had picked out long ag
o in the wasteland of the Inbetween, his own private haven where he had often sought refuge and alone time. Privacy had always been hard to come by in the Darkscale Clan, but this abandoned mausoleum had done nicely. Katawa would find his way home soon enough, and have his family reunion…the thought of seeing the horror frozen on the face of his brother’s decapitated head sent a ripple of delight up his spine.
Katawa brushed a veil of spider webs off of a marble sarcophagus lying on the floor in the center of the main room, and then placed his hands upon the cold surface. The marble
shifted at his touch, stretching and reforming into an abstract throne that resembled a gnarled
hand. He sat down in it, and realized his new minions were standing inside the mausoleum doorway, staring vacantly at him.
“Oh, right, you all,” he droned, narrowing his eyes at the Hijn council. “Go fetch some food and drink for me. You,” he snapped, pointing to Fierno, whose eyes wept viscous dark ooze, “start a fire in the pit over in the corner. And I’ll want some entertainment in a while, but leave me be for now.”
The Hijn council did as Katawa commanded. But the Distortionist wasn’t concerned with them at the moment. His mind was elsewhere, as he leaned back on his throne, tapping his fingers on the armrest.
There was so much to be done—finding the hidden gates to the Darkscale bastion, waging war against his clan, getting his hands on their most prized possession—yet his mind lingered on one person, and while he knew her role in his plans was vital, it bothered him that she should so strongly invade his thoughts.
“Don’t worry, my Desert Rain,” he murmured. “I’ll see you again soon enough. You will be ready by the time I need you, and when you are, then all of you—mind, body and soul—will belong to me. And together, we will change this world and everyone in it. Oh, what glorious, perverse beauty we shall create…”
End of Book One
A native of Riverside, Illinois, A.R. Cook currently resides in Gainesville, Georgia, and is the author of the young adult fantasy series The Scholar and the Sphinx. She also has short stories published in the anthology "The Kress Project" from the Georgia Museum of Art, and the fairy-tale collections "Willow Weep No More" and “Shadows of the Oak” from Tenebris Books. From 2009-2013, A.R. was the book review columnist for the Gainesville Times, one of the most widely distributed newspapers in northeastern Georgia.
Visit http://scholarandsphinx.wix.com/arcook to learn more.
