by Sever Bronny
He proceeded to give the trio a very specific set of instructions: they needed to gather stinkroot, oxy, fish oil, a flake of iron, a flake of silver, a flake of gold, a flake of steel, three candles, and a mortar and pestle. They were to do it as soon as possible because the Legion was probably on its way that very moment.
The trio split up the task—Bridget would gather the three candles, iron, flint and steel; Leera the fish oil and flakes of silver and gold; Augum the stinkroot, oxy, and mortar and pestle.
They raced off in different directions, each warning anyone who’d listen that the Legion was coming and that they had to pack up the camp and go.
At first, Rogan the Conqueror and the chief thought Augum had lost his mind, but after confronting Mr. Ordrid, they became convinced, and began shouting orders immediately, compounding the difficulty of the ingredient gathering.
The day had turned gloomy and windy. The Henawa youth with the spyglass scampered back onto the barn roof, ready to shout a warning should the Legion appear on the horizon. The women and men set to striking down the tents, a task that looked well rehearsed. Horses were readied and packed; waterskins filled to the brim; planks torn off the barn and strapped to steeds. Even young children had a hand in the process, gathering clothes and packing rucksacks.
Augum ran from tent to tent, begging for ingredients in a language none of the Henawa understood. They were far too busy packing to pay him heed anyway.
“Suala Chi!” Rogan called while Augum flew by. “Come.” The warrior shoved the trio’s old rucksack at him.
Augum could only gape stupidly.
Rogan gestured at the barn. “You take back horses,” and strode off, shouting commands.
“Thank you,” Augum muttered, barely able to believe it. Everything was there! Everything except their spyglass, which the Henawa needed; and blankets, which the Pendersons stole, but he didn’t care. He quickly tracked down Bridget and Leera.
“Look, we have something to barter with!” he said. “Oh, and we have the horses too!”
“There’s the flint and steel we need,” Bridget said, taking them out. “Now I just need something to barter for the candles.”
“Here, take the hourglass, I don’t think we need it that bad.”
Bridget took it from him and raced off.
“And I’ll trade the saddles if I have to,” Leera said, running to the barn.
Augum pawed through the rucksack. They couldn’t afford to trade anything that was left, except maybe the sheepskin map. He thought about it—they could always use the stars, or at least Mrs. Stone could. This was all or nothing, after all. Besides, it had to be worth a lot. He yanked it out, heaved the rucksack onto his shoulders, and shot off, finding Ettan helping a gang of kids his age stuff supplies into sacks.
“Ettan—I need your help,” Augum said, skidding to a halt before him, huffing. “I need to trade this map for stinkroot, oxy, and a mortar and pestle.”
Ettan stared at him, bone white face as blank as morning snow.
Augum repeated himself, even making the stirring motions for the mortar and pestle. “Please, Ettan, you have to help!”
The boy casually glanced down at the map, before turning to one of the other boys. They began a somewhat heated exchange before Ettan suddenly walked off.
“Ettan, wait—” Augum had no choice but to follow. He searched the horizon, scanning for the telltale plume of kicked-up snow indicating a galloping army. Nothing yet, but it was only a matter of time.
Ettan yanked at the hide skirt of the husky woman Rogan was seen with. She barked at him, waving him off, but he pointed at the map, calmly explaining in Henawa. She scowled and snatched the map from Augum’s hand. She asked Ettan a question while making to rub her behind with it.
“No, no—it’s a map,” Augum said. “A map.” How does one explain a map?
Ettan shook his head and pointed at the horizon, then back at the map.
Augum nodded along. “Uh, right, I need mortar and pestle in trade.” He made the stirring motion then squeezed his nose. “And Stinkroot. Oh and—” but she had already disappeared inside the tent, taking his map with her. He anxiously shifted his weight from foot to foot. At least he heard the sound of unpacking.
“She talk to me funny. I no like her,” Ettan said, standing as if nothing troubled him in the world.
Augum flashed a sympathetic smile before scanning the horizon for the umpteenth time. The camp was in a tremendous bustle now. The biggest Henawa men ran from tent to tent, striking each one down. This one was the next to go. Why wouldn't this woman hurry!
At last, just as the men surrounded her tent, the woman came out holding two sacks, one of which she dumped to the ground, the other one she pawed through, ignoring the commotion behind her. The woman withdrew a small leather bag, tossing it to Augum. Inside was stinkroot, the familiar lumpy brown root with red welts all over. Never had something that stank so foul looked so good.
Rogan shouted commands, the sinews on his milky muscles bulging as he held a rope attached to the top of the tent. The woman then withdrew another object—a stone mortar and pestle, and Augum thought he was going to jump with joy. She handed it to him and immediately returned to packing while the tent collapsed behind her.
“Thank you,” Augum kept saying over and over, but neither she nor Ettan seemed to notice or care. “Now I just need oxy. Do you know where I could find some, Ettan?”
The boy shrugged and walked away.
“All right, well thanks for these anyway!” Augum raced back to the house.
Mr. Ordrid couldn’t believe how fast the ingredients were coming in. Bridget had already brought three candles, a rusted iron spoon and the flint and steel, while Leera had managed to trade a horse saddle for flakes of gold and silver, and fish oil.
“It’s going to be uncomfortable riding that beast, but I didn’t have a choice,” she explained.
“Now all we need is oxy,” Augum said.
“Try the mill,” said a voice from the corridor. It was Wyza Penderson. Buck stood beside her, holding three Dramask blankets.
“Pappy hates you for what you done,” Buck said. “Far as I sees it though, I—” he swallowed, unable to finish.
Augum smiled at Buck for the first time in his life. “It’s all right. Thanks for these,” and retrieved the blankets.
Buck quickly strode off, leaving Wyza standing there.
“I swears to you we never took that there thing you lost,” she said. “And I know momma don’t have it either.” She stared at him a moment. “You should go on with them savages. We won’t stop you none.” Then she turned on her heel to pursue her brother.
“Well that was strange,” Leera muttered.
“You should get the oxy, Aug,” Bridget said.
“Right.” He left the blankets with Leera before running off through the busy camp and careening into the old mill, practically swimming through the snowdrift at its entrance.
Inside he found remnants of two broken chairs, and empty shelves. Was Wyza playing a trick on him? He turned to the doorway, half expecting the brats to trap him.
No, that was a long time ago …
He recalled sneaking into this place often with a borrowed book in hand—not that the Pendersons had many, mostly books they had received in trade for crops. They’d later either trade those books in town or use the pages as kindling.
He splayed his palm, concentrating on the arcane ether. He wasn’t great at Unconceal, but he’d had some success with it. It was an effort to calm his breathing and shut out all the thoughts zipping through his mind.
“Un vun deo.” His hand wavered before him. He soon felt the subtlest pull, following it to a spot in the wall. There he found a loose brick, which he promptly pulled away. Inside the small cavity, he found a series of leather pouches, each labeled with poor writing. The biggest one was labeled “Gold”. It had to be the Penderson’s secret savings. If he were younger, he would have stolen it instantly in
petty revenge. Instead, he pushed it aside, scrambling between the pouches, until at last finding one with the word ‘Oxy’.
He pumped his fist, before realizing Wyza must have known about the gold. Did she intend on him having that too? Perhaps as some kind of … apology or thank you?
He raced back to the house, leaving it behind.
“I got it!” he shouted, flying around the corner into the room and handing the oxy over to Mr. Ordrid.
“Everyone please stand in the hallway,” Mr. Ordrid said.
They vacated the room. Mr. Ordrid then lit three candles in a triangular pattern on the floor. The trio exchanged looks—they knew all too well that was the sign of the witch.
“This arcanery is old,” Mr. Ordrid said while crushing ingredients in the mortar and pestle. “It uses all the arcane elements. Do not be frightened, but feel free to look away. Above all, do not step into the room.”
A piercing call like that of a hawk suddenly rose outside.
“We don’t have much time,” Mr. Ordrid said, never taking his eyes off the mortar and pestle. “They will be here soon.” Then he began speaking an unfamiliar language that sounded ancient and difficult to pronounce.
The hustle outside increased—men, women and children ran about as commands were barked.
“They’re leaving us—” Leera said.
Augum kept switching his focus between the wide-open front door down the hall and Mr. Ordrid, who began chanting.
The house darkened as if a black cloud had settled directly overhead. The wind increased, whistling through the shutters.
A large horse appeared at the door, rearing up. A snow-skinned boy was lowered to the ground by a muscled arm. He ran to Augum.
“I not like her,” Ettan said.
“What?” Augum didn’t have a clue what the boy was on about.
Ettan dug into his pocket. “She mean.” He held up the engraved pearl.
Augum received it with both hands. “I don’t believe it,” he mumbled. He closed his eyes and looked through it. There, on the other side, the image curved from the Orb of Orion, was a face with too much makeup and oversized earrings. He immediately closed his hand over the pearl and shoved it into his pocket.
“What is it?” Bridget asked quietly.
He put a finger to his lips and scrounged in his pockets. “A cloth,” he mouthed. “Quickly.” Everyone rifled through their pockets. Mr. Goss found one he had used for his spectacles.
Augum wrapped the pearl. “I don’t know how much she knows,” he said.
“Who?” Leera asked.
“Erika Scarson.”
The girls blanched.
“Ettan! Taro!” Rogan the Conqueror called from the door, horse bucking wildly as the sky around the house blackened further.
Ettan glanced back to the door. “Chief say he no want you teach magic. He no like dark cloud. Bad spirits.”
“We wish him well,” Augum replied. “All of you, we wish you well.” Bridget and Leera nodded along.
Ettan ran back to his father, stopping half way. “Bye, Suala Chi.”
“Good bye, Ettan.”
They watched as Ettan’s father scooped him up, then bolted after his tribe, the last of the Henawa to go.
Augum turned back to Mr. Ordrid and Mrs. Stone. It was now so dark he could barely see the mortar resting on her stomach, rising with her rapid breathing. Sweat beaded her wrinkled face.
“Shyneo.” His palm lit.
“Shyneo,” Bridget and Leera echoed.
Mr. Ordrid’s chanting strengthened along with the wind. The house shook. Suddenly, a great purple and black vortex opened up above Mrs. Stone. The space around the maelstrom wobbled and shifted. Within the vortex, a giant scaly hand appeared, pulsing as if its veins were aflame. A second hand soon appeared along with a giant, horned lizard-like head. It reached for Mr. Ordrid, yet at that moment, he bent down to light the contents of the mortar with the flint and steel.
The mortar exploded in a jet of fire and light, shooting up, beating back the demon. The thing screamed and lashed out. A battle waged before their eyes—the demon versus the light. It went back and forth, back and forth, until the light started fading and the demon began winning. It had half of its body out of the vortex, flexing great muscles.
Bridget screamed as Mr. Ordrid slowly turned to the group with a look of pure horror. Behind him, the demon reached for Mrs. Stone.
“Mr. Ordrid—!” Augum called, pointing.
The man snapped back around. When he saw what was happening, he lunged at the demon. There was a furious struggle as Mr. Ordrid lifted off the ground.
Augum saw his chance. He shoved at the air before him, aiming for the demon. “BAKA!”
The beast withstood his blow, but not Bridget and Leera’s, who cast the spell immediately after. It dropped Mr. Ordrid and disappeared back into the vortex, which collapsed with a sucking sound.
All was quiet as the house began to lighten. Everyone rushed to Mrs. Stone’s side, arriving just in time to see her open her eyes.
“Mercy, what are you all gawking at?” she asked, her withered face turning into her classic scowl.
The trio loosed celebratory cries of victory, and hugged, only to be cut short by a distant trumpet blast.
“They’re here,” Mr. Ordrid said, pale and out of breath. I’ll buy you some time and distract them.” He gave a final nod. “Good luck to you all,” and ran off before they could reply.
“Mrs. Stone,” Leera started in a rapid burst, “there’s no time to explain now but that’s the Legion. You have to teleport us out—”
For a moment, Mrs. Stone stared at her in confusion. Then she sat up, head swiveling to the wall in the direction of the charging Legion, as if she could see through it. Her chin rose a little. “Hold hands.”
Everybody immediately attached themselves to the person next to them. Bridget stuffed the Dramask blankets into the rucksack and slipped it on. Augum considered doing the same with the hides, but they were far too large and there was just not enough time.
Mr. Goss helped Mrs. Stone stand. She glanced over at her staff. It jumped to a standing position, vibrating, then floated between them all, a silent lightning storm flashing within the scion.
“Be ready now,” she said. The group tensed. She inhaled, pausing to look at Augum—and winked.
Milham
Augum, tumbling end over end while being pulled in all directions by what felt like a team of horses, had forgotten just how nauseating teleportation could be.
An implosive crunch signified their arrival as the group spilled onto the snowy ground like so many beans cascading from a jar.
Augum’s recovery was slow. His stomach refused to allow him to stand. The others weren’t doing much better, coughing and gasping. Mrs. Stone was the only one on her feet examining the area, panting frozen breaths, clutching her sleek staff.
They were in a small sunlit glade of towering pines, spruces and firs, the waist-high snow untouched. A creek trickled nearby, the only sound to be heard other than the occasional tweet of a bird. Clouds trawled in the distant east, overlooking the hazy tips of a string of enormous snowy mountains. The air was crisp and cold, their breath freezing before them.
“Where are we, Nana?”
“East Ravenwood.”
“So we’re near Castle Arinthian?”
“The castle is many leagues westward. This is the closest I have come to the Muranians. Hence we find ourselves here.”
That’s right, a warlock could only teleport to places he or she had visited.
“We will need supplies for the journey ahead,” Mrs. Stone continued. “There is a village nearby. I deemed it best to walk in, lest it be occupied by the Legion.”
Bridget dug out the three Dramask blankets, distributing them to Leland, Augum and Leera.
“Keep it for yourself,” Augum said.
Bridget nodded and draped herself with it.
“Nana—the boy, Ettan, he h
ad the pearl for a while there, and … and Erika Scarson was on the other side. He talked to her.”
“Did she see your face? Or hear you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then we must assume she did. We must further assume they can deduce the general direction of our travels.” She pursed her lips. “Please use greater caution when handling the pearl in the future.”
“Yes, Nana.” He subconsciously felt his pocket, wondering if Erika Scarson was listening in right then, and if she could hear them through Mr. Goss’ cloth. He reached in and closed his hand over it, just in case. “Um, it is good to see you well, Nana.”
“And I am glad to be well again. Arcane fever, sometimes referred to as overdraw, is a terrible sickness. It had only happened to me once before, after I fought Narsus. This time was worse, however. I am indebted to the healer and his arts.”
“Where did the vortex go?”
“The arcane spell that you witnessed is called Abbagarro, and it predates the Founding. As to the vortex, one can only guess where it leads. Some say it is a portal to hell.”
The trio exchanged looks before walking the trail Mrs. Stone plowed for them. She strode erect, pawing lightly at the ground with her staff, braided ponytail bouncing. Mr. Goss was close behind, particularly careful of his steps, Leland in his arms. The trio took up the rear.
Leera took the time to quietly explain to Bridget what had happened back in the village. When she got to the part about Augum’s back and how scarred it was, he felt his chest tighten. When she fawned on about how brave he was, he found himself trailing further and further behind, until he couldn’t hear them. At the end of the story, the girls stopped to wait for him.
Bridget had a hand on her chest. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
He shrugged, unable to meet her gaze. What was he supposed to do, show them off as if they were battle scars? A vicious drunk had whipped him.
“I should have stayed outside,” Bridget said. “I’m sorry. I should have been there to support you.”
Augum managed to crack a smile. “What would you have done, cheered me on?”
