by Aaron Bunce
Roman shook his head, backing into Berg, his mind fighting to cast off her words. He eyed the beautiful young woman up and down, from her long, bouncy brown curls to her dimpled cheeks and perfectly straight nose. He saw it in her face, something he saw earlier when they met in the forest, as she removed the scarf covering her face. It stirred something then, but he’d rejected it. Greta. That radiant, accepting woman – who sheltered them from the worst of Garon’s wrath with her own body, and snuck Roman food on the regular occasions when her husband refused to share his table with “someone else’s brat”. He saw her in this young woman’s face.
“Alina…” Roman whispered, doubtfully.
“Yes, Roman. Not the little girl you remember, but the strong young woman I have helped her grow into,” DaeGeroth said with a smile.
Roman didn’t entirely know what he meant by “helped her grow into”, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I encountered you first when you trekked out to the farm and took little Alina,” DaeGeroth said, his smile fading into something darker. “You are a most peculiar specimen, aren’t you, not fully in this realm, and yet not walking amongst the spirits. Throughout the many ages of my life, I have never encountered anything quite like you. I followed you to town, then to your cabin, but I couldn’t find any answers. I watched you for a time, and very nearly confronted you in the field outside the Orchard, but you were not ready to listen, to accept the truth. You were being poisoned by something with immense strength and anger. You fell ill and I was sure you would perish. I claimed Alina after the old man freed you and watched the barn torn apart by living fire. Such power – such fury!”
“The Ifrit,” Roman mumbled, flinching and rubbing the scar on his neck from Banus’s blade.
“Yes!” DaeGeroth cooed. “A formidable denizen.”
“People were hurt…good people, died. You could have helped, but you watched and did nothing!” Roman said, his voice and conviction growing in strength.
“Sacrifice is the way of life. The weak give way to the strong, chaos gives way to order. Order is everything, Roman. You and your friend survived, despite it all. It has hardened and defined you, made you into what you are now. That and a special gift, I think,” DaeGeroth said, his radiant eyes boring into him.
Special gift. Did he know of the Crow? Could he tell?
DaeGeroth seemed to read Roman’s face, and spoke before he could. “Take Ease. I can feel the change in you. A Nym touched you when you were locked away in that cell. You see, our kind are connected. Even now, I can hear their voices, whispering in conjoined harmony,” DaeGeroth said, stopping and tilting his ear to the air, as if listening to some distant noise. “One voice has gone silent. Well, not entirely. I hear it, feel it, resonating inside you. It is what gave you the control you needed, the strength to realize your potential–”
“And what of Argus Kettleborn, Max, and his men in the orchard? Or what about Greta? What of their potential? Good folk, all of them, just gone,” Roman interrupted.
DaeGeroth shifted against the desk, his pleasant smile slipping, and for a moment Roma swore the old Garon had returned.
“A regrettable necessity. I awakened in the underground and found my way to a small pond. Garon was the first of your kind I encountered, so with no other options I took his body as my own. I was weak, starved of life and strength. I knew that the others of my kind had awakened as well, their voices growing in power and hunger so quickly. If I was to endure, and help your people survive what is coming, I needed as much strength as I could muster.”
“Survive? What is coming?” Roman asked.
“Nephera, the Evermother…the strongest and oldest of our kind. She will sweep across this land, and your people will bend like shoots of grass before her. Those she won’t kill, she will slave to her will, or worse, toss to her skinsmiths to be mutilated into living weapons. The creature that stalked you, the hunter, was such a beast. Then she will enact her vengeance, first on the dwarves, and finally, the dalan.”
Roman’s skin tingled and his insides turned abruptly cold. Some part of him knew the man was speaking the truth. He could feel the other Nym out there somewhere, looming, like a deathly shadow.
“But…why are you at risk? And why help us. Aren’t you one of her kind?” Roman asked, trying to slide the remaining puzzle pieces into place.
DaeGeroth pushed away from the desk and ran a hand over Alina’s head affectionately. It was a strange spectacle, even if he knew it was only a monster wearing Garon’s skin.
“I was shunned by my people before their fall. That was why I was not with the rest. Some of us broke from the old ways and helped the dalan rise up. Together with our children, the dwarf remnant, and the Yu’urei, we waged a war that scarred this land for generations. Eventually, we were able to defeat the Evermother. I face a fate worse than your people, so you see? It is in my best interest for your people to prevail…if I wish to survive,” the green-eyed man said, walking straight for Roman. He stopped a few paces away and straightened to his full height, dwarfing him easily by two heads and twice his weight.
Garon had always been a sizable man, but he had never been a giant. Roman could feel the strength radiating from his body, barely perceptible waves of strength bulging at the man’s seams, as if he were a sausage fit to burst its casing. It was awe inspiring, and also, terrifying.
“So…what do you want with me?” Roman asked, straightening his back and trying not to appear meek.
“Help me. Fight by my side. You’re unique, Roman. You haven’t even scratched the surface of your potential yet, and when you do, you will become a force even the Evermother will fear,” DaeGeroth said, moving even closer, throwing Roman completely into his shadow. Sandwiched between Berg and DaeGeroth’s body, Roman felt anything but powerful. He felt small.
“I sense you still hold doubt. So I will make you this offer. Stay here, rest and recover your strength. Heal the wounds of bondage and judgment and learn to trust again. See for yourself how peaceful Bardstown has become under my influence. You will never feel more welcomed or accepted, and by sunset tomorrow, you will see me as a friend and ally. Alina will make sure you are comfortable, and see to anything you might need. I must insist that you stay within the confines of the town for the time being. It is not safe for you out there right now,” DaeGeroth said, motioning Alina forward.
Alina strolled forward, her bouncing curls concealing half of her face, her hand clasping tightly around his. She pulled him forward and towards the door, her palm warm and soft against his.
“One last request, before you go,” DaeGeroth cut in suddenly, before Roman could reach for the door. “Might you grace me with a small demonstration? My curiosity must be satisfied.”
Roman turned, Alina hugging surprisingly close to his side. Her presence, so close, was strange, yet familiar in a way he couldn’t immediately explain. He liked it. She made him feel whole, promising to fill the gaping hole left in his parent’s and Greta’s wake.
The town welcomed him home, showing him more love and acceptance than he’d ever felt from the community before. He still didn’t know where they would go, or what they would do when they got there, but at the moment, they weren’t being chased and that felt like enough. For the first time in a long while, Roman felt at ease.
He urged Tusk forth, the spirit dog almost instantly responding to his beckon. Tusk swirled forth, the dark mist erupting from his body and solidifying a few paces away. Tusk stepped forward a moment later, his body rippling with mist as his fur turned as dark as midnight. His hackles raised, the normally soft, floppy ears jutting straight into the air like daggers. The spirit dog stepped between Roman and DaeGeroth, his form growing larger than any dog or wolf he’d ever seen. A deep growl split the room as the dog’s lips pulled away, exposing gleaming, sharp teeth.
“Magnificent!” DaeGeroth breathed. “You truly have become a channel, a living conduit to beings of the spirit realm. With my knowledge, I can help you hone
this ability, pulling strength from fade itself. But there will be time for that later. Please, go. Rest, eat and relax.”
Roman dropped a hand into Tusk’s ebony fur and urged the dog back, then together they walked back out of the library, through the labyrinthine home, and into the cold, winter wind.
“Where to first, Roman?” Alina asked, slipping from his grasp and turning in the snow. “Lucilla and Noble’s? I know you love their shop…the smoked sausages and roasted garlic. It smells divine! Or, back to Marna’s for a mug of warmed apple wine?”
Roman watched the young woman turn in the snow, his mind moving in endless circles. He laughed as she dropped flat onto her back and started waving her arms and legs, making strange shapes in the snow.
“You always used to do that,” he said, dropping down next to her and rolling from side to side. “Your mom would threaten to ring my neck every time, because you came back into the house with snow crammed in your britches. She thought I was pushing you down and piling snow on top of you!”
“She swatted you with her wooden spoon. The one she just pulled out of the stew pot!” Alina laughed, snow clumping in her hair.
“Yeah. I remember that spoon,” Roman said, distractedly, his thoughts floating pleasantly back to Greta’s cozy kitchen. He remembered sitting on the hearth, making up stories about Alina’s toys as they sat before the fire, letting the heat dry their clothes. He sat up abruptly, brushed the snow out of his hair, and scooped up a handful of snow.
“My bum was sore for a solid day after that. And she got stew bits all over my trousers,” he said, “…you could have saved me that sore bum, you know, and just admitted that you were rolling around in the snow on purpose.”
“It was funny,” Alina howled, pushing up from the snow and brushing it from her clothes. “Besides, father wouldn’t let her smack Arrin and Devlin with her spoon, so she had to use it on someone. And it wasn’t going to be me!” Alina cocked her head to the side, throwing him what looked to be an “I’m an innocent little girl” look.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Roman said, nodding as he stood up. He waited until she looked away and then cocked his arm back and threw the snowball.
Alina gasped, the cold snowball hitting her in the chest, snow splashing up and covering her face. Roman froze, instantly regretting the move. He’d become so wrapped up in the novelty and nostalgia of his memories that he had slipped right back into that childish mode.
“You!” she growled, reaching up and swiping the snow from her face.
Roman’s stomach pinched with fear. He’d almost completely forgotten about how she had come to his aid against the hunter. How Alina, Greta’s little girl, somehow aged beyond nature, bested the beast, showcasing abilities Roman could only dream of. And he just hit her in the face with a snowball. Stupid!
Tusk growled low as he stepped next to him, the dog’s shoulder at level with his hip.
“That was a mistake!” Alina hissed, brushing snowy hair from her face. The young woman took a half step forward, her face reddening, whether from anger, or the cold, he didn’t know.
Tusk barked as Alina dropped into a sudden crouch, her hands thrusting into the snow. Roman froze, costing him precious moments. She lunged forward, springing cat-like to her feet, her arm snapping forward. Roman staggered back a step, the hard packed snowball hitting him squarely in the face.
Tusk barked. It was a sharp, penetrating noise, but not one of anger. Roman wiped the snow from his eyes, the cold like a thousand needlepoints on his cheeks. Alina watched him, expectantly, another snowball waiting in her hand.
“You’ve brought this on yourself!” Roman yelled, leaping to the side and just dodging her next throw. He landed in the snow and rolled over, just as Tusk fell over him, his warm tongue catching Roman in the face. He pushed the dog aside, scooped up handful of snow, threw it, and took off at a run.
A snowball flew over his shoulder and landed in the snow. Tusk bounded past him, his brown fur and floppy ears returned, and pounced, burying his face into the snow, biting the spot where the snowball disappeared.
Roman ducked on the run, scooped up some snow, turned and threw, just as Alina stopped and launched one of her own. Roman watched his projectile hit her in the shoulder, just before hers hit him in the stomach. They both fell to the ground, out of breath and laughing.
* * * *
Dennah startled from her dreams, an unfamiliar sensation pulling at her hand. Her eyes were crusted with sleep and her hair fell in messy tangles into her face.
“Don’t fuss, dear. I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” a woman said, the fire behind her threw her face into shadow.
Dennah groaned, swiped at her face to clear her eyes, and pushed up. Something soft was wrapped around her hands. She thrashed for a moment, fighting to prize her hands free from the blankets, but two warm hands latched on and held her still.
“Easy, girl. I’m tending to you, but if you flop and thrash you’re just going to hurt yourself worse,” the woman said.
Dennah extricated herself and sat up. “I’m fine. I just need sleep,” she grumbled, sleepily.
“Aye, that you do. But those fingers will dry, crack, and bleed if they’re not seen after. I’d hate to see you lose any of those pretty fingers,” the woman responded, pulling away and moving over towards the fire.
She caught sight of the woman in the firelight, her voluminous tangle of curly hair held out of her face by a single, red ribbon. Dennah recognized the eccentric healer. The woman sat at Roman’s beside day and night when he fell ill, refusing to eat or rest. She struggled, trying to remember her name, but her sleep-muddled mind fought against her.
“I am tickled pink to see you two again. I mourned Roman, for sure. Especially after almost succumbing to fever, and then being dragged off to that fort, I thought sure’n you poor younglings were facing a noose, or worse, the axe,” the healer said.
“They tried,” Dennah croaked, the words thick and difficult to form. She cleared her throat and sat up a bit straighter, swinging her feet over the side of the bed. Her right hand was bandaged, each finger wrapped delicately in what looked like cheesecloth. “Although I don’t think the Lord Constable would use anything as straight forward as an axe.”
Lucilla. The healer’s name popped into her head suddenly, and she almost blurted it out. Instead, she held the hand up questioningly in the firelight.
“You caught a bit of the frost’s kiss on your fingers, dear, and I’m guessing your toes, too. Although we haven’t had your boots off, yet,” Lucilla said, but cut in immediately when Dennah’s worry showed. “No…no…no, not a bad case, but if you’d been out there much longer, I’m afraid you might have lost some fingers…surely some toes, too,” Luca said, sliding her large bag over to the bedside and rifling through it.
Dennah lifted her other hand as the woman straightened up, trying to pull the cork stopper from a bottle of what looked like salve. Her hand was warm and pink, but her fingers were pale, bordering on blue. The skin felt hard and chapped.
“It is important that you keep these hands warm for a time, now. This salve is a concoction of my very own, and should heal and protect the skin,” Lucilla said, smearing the opaque mixture onto Dennah’s fingers and hands, before wrapping them with more of the clean cloth.
“Thank you for this. We didn’t expect such a warm welcome. Well, to be honest…” Dennah trailed off, unsure of how much she should say.
“You’re welcome, dear,” Lucilla said, tying the final piece of cloth around her hand.
“With the deaths, and what happened with Frenin, Roman wasn’t sure we should come back here at all,” Dennah said, testing her grip in both hands. The skin felt tight and sore, but her strength would return.
“Yes…some troubling events, for sure. The town was in an uproar for a time, but things have calmed. Time heals all wounds, or so some say.”
Lucilla watched Dennah, a peculiar look creeping onto the healer’
s face. Dennah thought she might say something else, but when she opened her mouth, she abruptly closed it and opened it again.
“Well, I didn’t think we should. But he was worried for you and your husband especially. He wanted to make sure people were safe. He’s good and decent like that. Doesn’t want to see anyone suffer,” Dennah continued.
“Roman is such a sweet lad…definitely one of the good ones. We’re so pleased that he made it back to us. Back to us,” Lucilla said, her hands patting her knees restlessly.
“By the way, where is he? Have you seen Roman?”
Lucilla nodded, her hands patting faster and faster against her knees. “Back to us…to us,” the healer mumbled, turning in the seat to stand.
She moved to follow, only to have Lucilla turn back to her suddenly. Her hands snapped out, latching onto Dennah’s wrists and pulling her close.
“You…have…to,” Lucilla gasped, her face wracked with spasms of intense pain. When she opened her eyes again, something had changed. Her calm, almost glassy expression was gone.
“What is wrong?” Dennah gasped, leaning forward as the shorter woman slumped towards the ground. Lucilla rocked back on her heels, pulling Dennah forward and onto her knees. They pulled closer, until their faces almost touched.
“Not…safe…must,” Lucilla grunted, fighting just to spit out the words, her eyes going wide.
“What is not safe? What are you trying to say?”
“Not what…he…seems,” Lucilla managed, and slumped forward, the sleeves of her dress sliding down her arms. A bracelet, wrapped tightly around her wrist, appeared, a single, cloudy gem set in the roughly hammered metal. The gem flared suddenly bright green, forcing Dennah to shield her eyes. When she lowered her hands, Lucilla had gone still, her mouth pulled up in a cheery smile.
“Who? You can tell me,” Dennah said softly, trying to urge the woman on.
Lucilla pulled Dennah’s hands down to her level, tightening the wrappings, before reaching up and batting at a stray lock of hair. “Who, dear? What was that?” she asked.
