by C S Vass
“Jet. You’re over-thinking this.”
He looked at her with trembling blue eyes shadowed by his curly black hair, and Fiona realized uncomfortably that she had seen that look before. Only last time she had seen it on Martin Lightwing’s face, back in Tellos before this new ordeal had started. A lifetime ago.
“You just need some rest,” Fiona said. “Once you get a good night’s sleep you’ll feel much better.”
Jet was having none of it.
“There’s no time. Who knows when Raejo’s men could come back, and under what pretenses they might do so? They might just abandon pretense altogether and burn Barrowbog into the ground. Besides, what of you Fiona?”
“Me? What do you mean?”
“I see the change that’s come over you since you first arrived in Morrordraed. Hardly any time has passed at all, but all the same you look like you’ve been starved. I know my father’s generosity well. He’s not neglected you, but your eyes are hollow and your face thin. Not all is well with you. You came here to see Naerumi, and I know you are in danger even if you don’t.”
“Maybe so, but here we are. Besides, Geoff is ill and your father has been kind enough to take him in. There’s nothing for me to do until he is well.”
“No, no that’s not true and you know it.” Jet began to pace back and forth very quickly. “You came here for a purpose and now you’re not able to focus on it because you’re too worried about your friend. But he’s in good hands right now, there’s nothing you can do for him. There is, however, something we can do for you. And for me.”
Fiona frowned. She didn’t like where this was going. “What are you talking about?”
“Naerumi.”
With everything that had happened since she arrived in Morrordraed Fiona had nearly forgotten about the psychic.
“That’s not a priority right now,” she said quickly. The last thing she needed was to add another task on top of their increasingly intense situation. But mostly she just wanted to be near Harken and Geoff in case something happened to the village.
“It’s the highest priority. Fiona, I won’t pry into your affairs, but people don’t just sail here from Tellos for no reason. Besides that, people don’t go to Naerumi. They just don’t. Whatever reason you need to see her, I won’t ask, but she can help you. And she can help me. If we speak with her, I can get a sense of direction.”
Fiona hesitated. “Naerumi doesn’t even see anyone. We’d be taking ourselves away from a village that needs our help to pay a visit to someone who has absolutely no interest in dealing with us. I know you’re upset, Jet, but think about this for just a moment. It doesn’t make any sense. We should go back to your father’s house and rest before Raejo’s men come back.”
“Don’t you understand?” Jet shouted. The sudden change in his demeanor shocked Fiona enough that she actually took a step back. “If Raejo’s men do come back right now, I don’t know that I could be of any use. How can I draw my sword, even in defense, after Elder Greythor gave his life for me? After he insisted for an entire lifetime on the importance of pacifism! I need help, and Naerumi is the only one who can give it.”
Jet was breathing hard and his hands were trembling. Fiona realized for the first time just how big the impact of Greythor’s death was on him. Jet was right about one thing, he was going to be completely useless until he got over the day’s events.
“Fiona, we both need this. Come with me. She’s not far from here. She’s isolated, but not impossible to find. We can go right now. If she doesn’t see us, then she doesn’t see us and we’re in the same situation. If she does… who knows?”
Fiona bit her lip. It didn’t feel right to leave Harken behind with Geoff, but maybe Jet had a point. After all, if Naerumi really was close to them, then it would make more sense to go and find her immediately with the hope of getting back before anything happened to Barrowbog.
“What if she’s angry with us for coming to find her?”
“What if she’s not? What if she has the power to help you? What if she has the power to help me? Without her, I see no hope. But if she decides to help us then who knows what might happen?”
“What do you think she’s going to do Jet? Even if she helps me, she can’t just magic away the doubts that you have. You have to decide for yourself who you are, who you want to be. Greythor knew who he was and was willing to stake his life on that. I don’t think he got that kind of conviction from some psychic or sorcerer. He got it from living his life the way he wanted to and believing in it with all his heart.”
A dark look crossed over Jet’s face. “I thought I knew who I was, Fiona. I was so confident in the identity of a rebel, of a warrior who would stand up for my village no matter the odds. But don’t you see that it’s not so simple for me anymore? I can’t just decide like Greythor did. After all, he’s dead and there’s still no guarantee that Barrowbog is going to be okay. I need something more than just a sense of direction or a conviction in my beliefs.”
“What?”
Jet opened his mouth, but he had no words. Finally he said, “I don’t know. But I need find out, and I think Naerumi is the only one who can tell me. I’m not going to ask you to understand, Fiona. I’m just going to ask you to help. Please, will you help me? Will you come with me to see the psychic Naerumi?”
Fiona sighed. She didn’t like that it felt to her as if she was losing control of her situation, but what did she have to lose? This was what she came to Morrordraed for, wasn’t it? All the same, it was all wrong. It should have been Geoff by her side, not Jet. Then again, how could she hope to help Geoff if her condition continued to deteriorate?
“Alright then. Let’s do it.”
Jet nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Fiona. I won’t forget it.”
Chapter Nine
A bitter chill drifted through the swamp as Fiona and Jet began their journey. Jet warned Fiona to stay close to him. He knew the land well. It would be all too easy, especially at night, to fall into a sudden water trap or worse.
Ghostly moonlight illuminated their way though Fiona didn’t like how she could only see as far as the nearest group of trees before a wall of shadows obstructed her view. As they moved past a thick oak swimming in moss Fiona wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell?”
“Swamp berries,” Jet said. “They get overripe this time of the year and go bad. Some villagers say if you eat them when they smell this way you can get drunk.”
“And have even less of an idea where I am and what’s happening around me? No thanks.”
“Yeah, my thought exactly,” Jet said. “Getting sucked down into the water or mud is far from the worst that could happen if we get caught unaware here.”
“Should I have my weapon out?”
“Not unless you want some old tree to take offense.”
Fiona certainly did not want that. The surrounding trees were clearly very old and very powerful. They were far shorter than the evergreens of Tellos, but their stocky trunks splintered a spiderweb of thick roots throughout the swamp while fat branches covered in hanging moss snaked in and out of each other creating a maze-like roof that only shimmers of moonlight could slip through.
“Don’t get anxious on me,” Jet said. “The trees aren’t what we need to look out for. Most swamp-demons won’t bother us where we’re going either. I expect any vampyre we might encounter would be uninterested in us in these parts.”
“Then what should I be watching out for?” Fiona asked.
“Rusalka.”
Fiona had heard Geoff mention the rusalka of Morrordraed on several occasions, but he never explicitly told her what they were and she never asked. It seemed the time had come she should make an effort to find out.
“What’s a rusalka?”
“What’s a rusalka?” Jet stopped and looked at her open-mouthed. “You can’t be serious, can you? Maybe you have a different name for them in Tellos?”
Fiona shrugged. “Maybe. Can’t exactly tell you un
til I know what they are.”
Jet wrinkled his forehead. “How do I… let me think how to explain it. They’re kind of like water demons. They’re supposed to be very beautiful, and very evil.”
“So you’ve never seen one?”
“Wouldn’t be standing here if I had.”
“Geoff dealt with one once.” The words slipped out without her really thinking about them,
“Did not,” Jet protested. “Nobody gets away from rusalka, not unless you’re really crafty. They like compliments.”
“So what are they?”
“I told you, they’re like water demons.”
“That’s a pretty piss-poor explanation.”
“Well, nobody really knows what they are exactly. A lot of folks say that they’re women who were murdered and buried in the swamp. The trees take pity on them and bring them back with supernatural powers. Supposedly they take to women a lot more kindly than men.”
“Oh good,” Fiona smiled. “Nothing to worry about.”
She took Jet’s silence as a sign that he didn’t approve of her attitude.
They continued on for a while unhindered by rusalka, or any other unpleasantries other than the sickly sweet stench of the swamp berries. After a time they came across a small clearing where the ground felt solid and the trees grew close together.
“This is as far as we go tonight,” Jet announced. “It’s harder traveling from here on out, and I’d rather do it in the light of day.”
“Fine by me,” Fiona shrugged. She felt extremely tired, and wouldn’t argue with the chance to rest. “You sure a rusalka isn’t going to come get you?”
“No water,” Jet said. “Besides, this clearing is special. My dad showed me when I was a kid. These trees, they’re kind. They won’t be offended by a fire as long as we don’t make it too big, and they’re said to offer protection. Wolves and demons don’t like to come to this place.
“Well, then it’s better than any that I could bring us to,” Fiona said. They began to set up a fire, working quickly and quietly together. As they worked the surrounding air grew foggy and Fiona shivered. “I wish we had some blankets,” she said. “I didn’t think about it when we left. Maybe we should have stopped back at Harken’s.”
“No need,” Jet said. He continued to set up the fire, propping up the main branches against each other while Fiona put kindling underneath it.
“I guess not if we sleep close to the fire,” Fiona said.
“I’d have thought you knew me better than to bring a lady on a hike through the swamp and expect her to be cold,” Jet said as soon as a small blaze was going.
She eyed him suspiciously. “A lady?”
Jet walked past her and crouched at the base of a thick oak. Kneeling, he pushed aside some leaves and began to tug at something halfway buried at its base.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve come to this spot often enough to know it’s worthwhile to keep a few supplies,” Jet said. He hauled a small trunk out from the mud and wiped some dirt and leaves off the top. Fiona walked over to inspect the goods, and saw that Jet had blankets, a long knife, and even some food.
“Here,” he said handing her something that looked like a lumpy rock. “These things keep forever, and it’ll give you some energy.”
Fiona bit into it hesitantly, expecting to break her teeth off. Shockingly, not only was it soft, it was actually somewhat warm and tasted great.
“What is this?” Fiona asked.
“My dad’s secret recipe. He uses some kind of household magic when he makes them. They basically can’t go bad. Great for storing in places like this.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” Fiona said. Wrapping herself in the blankets she took a seat by the fire and found herself surprisingly comfortable for the place she was in. They sat together, propped side by side against a tree trunk, eating and enjoying the warmth of the fire and each other. Even the tree felt strangely comfortable as if the bark were actually made out of something soft and malleable to her body.
“The fog will get thicker,” Jet said after a time. “It always does here.”
“It’ll make no difference to me when I’m asleep,” Fiona said. “Will it be safe for both of us to rest, or do we need to take turns?”
“It’s safe, and more importantly I’m tired,” Jet said. “I’ve been here myself plenty of nights and I’ve never had a problem.”
Now that they were settled Fiona found that she actually wasn’t quite ready for bed. So much had happened since they’d arrived at Morrordraed, and her head was still swimming with the events. She needed a distraction.
“So tell me about your life here,” Fiona said. “I really don’t know anything about Morrordraed, even now. I can hardly believe I’m here.”
Jet scratched his chin. “Well. What do you want to know?”
“Anything, I don’t know. Do you like it?”
“I liked growing up,” Jet said. “I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but for most of my life the village was a place of peace. I never really thought of us as part of a province, or of having a ruler. There was only Greythor. He always made himself out to be an equal, not some lord.”
“The shift must have been pretty rough when you started having to deal with Lord Raejo then.”
“He’s a monster,” Jet said. “We always gave fealty to the province, I suppose. But other than a little grain and the vague promise to fight if there was a war they had nothing to do with us. But ever since Raejo’s dad died it’s like the son is determined to prove that he’s our ruler. We don’t want him. We don’t want to hear about him. We don’t care about him. He needs to understand that.”
“But of course he won’t.”
“Of course not. I loved Greythor, Fiona, truly I did. But I knew I couldn’t just follow his orders blindly when Raejo’s men started coming into the village. It wasn’t right, what they’ve done to us. It wasn’t right to burst into our lives, humiliate us, demand more money, demand we do things their way. Once we started talking about fighting back, it’s almost like…”
Jet’s eyes grew very foggy, and he was clearly considering something important.
“What is it?”
“It’s almost like… like it’s exactly what they wanted us to do. As soon as we started whispering about pushing Raejo’s men out, they were everywhere. These bastards, they want to fight. That’s what Greythor didn’t understand. No amount of civility or politeness would have made Raejo go away. He would have kept pushing. Better to let him know from the start who we are, and that we won’t just sit by idly and allow him to disgrace our people. Don’t you agree, Fiona?”
Fiona looked at Jet. His face was so worried. He clearly needed something. A sense of direction. A sense of certainty. But this was Morrordraed, and she couldn’t offer him that.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know what the best way to handle things here is, Jet. I’m sorry.”
He sighed. “It’s okay. I’m the one who should apologize. I shouldn’t have gotten worked up. I just wish the people could see what was happening to them. They’ve gotten too comfortable. They got fat and lazy and they drink too much. Now that there’s trouble they don’t want to inconvenience themselves with it. But maybe Greythor meant something more than we know with his final sacrifice. Maybe his death is what will push the people over the edge. Only…”
“Only you think that’s the opposite of what Greythor would want.”
“Exactly.” Jet put his head in his hands. “It’s so confusing. I just want to do what’s right, Fiona. I thought I had been, but now I have so much doubt.”
Fiona had no words of comfort for Jet, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t sit there in the swamp with him. If she couldn’t speak she could at least listen to him. She could at least share the moment.
* * *
They sat in silence for a long while. As the fog grew thicker and thicker around them Fiona began to notice something odd. “Jet?
” she asked quietly. She wasn’t sure if he had fallen asleep.
“Hm?”
“What’s going on with this fog. Is it just me? It looks… odd. It’s blue.”
Jet opened both of his eyes. “Is it really?” Surprising her, he quickly rose, stealing away all the warmth his body had provided and sending a blast of cold up Fiona’s spine.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why is it like that?”
“Blue fog,” Jet said slowly. “Is sacred.”
“Sacred? What do you mean?”
The fire was still going, but it was burning very low, a tiny blaze amidst a sea of black and blue.
“Blue fog means spirits,” Jet said. He didn’t sound worried. In fact, he sounded almost thrilled. “It happens here sometimes. This is a place of great magical energy, and now and then there are ethereal beings attracted here.”
“What should we do?”
“Do? Nothing. It’s okay, Fiona. Spirits won’t hurt you.”
A strange cloud passed over Jet’s face. Fiona didn’t like the looks of things at all. The fog rolled in low to the ground, blue fumes of chilly evanescence. “Are you sure it’s okay?” Jet didn’t seem to hear her. He was walking towards the fire, staring into it.
“Fiona… I think I might see Greythor tonight. He might have something important to tell me before he passes on to the next realm. If that’s true then I need to hear what he has to say.”
Fiona frowned. Maybe this was just the way that things were in Morrordraed, but she didn’t like the idea of dealing with ghosts or spirits at all. In Tellos spirits were to be revered and avoided, not sought out.
“Well then, fine,” she said.
“Okay. I’ll be back shortly.”
“Wait, what? You’re leaving?”
“I won’t go far. I promise. I just, I need to be alone right now. If Greythor is in this mist, then I want to be able to concentrate as hard as I can on listening for him. I’ll be back soon.”
