The Source

by Dale Broda, Jr

hitting the ground in front of them. One of the ice traps exploded, contained itself, shrunk back to nothing.

  Anti-magic of some kind? Was that the light?

  Phhitt!

  The bolt was stopped short of the mounted leader. Caught in the air by wires of light, vanishing into the hunter’s shield. In return, the leader lifted his spear, its tip burst into a deep purple sphere that came hurtling at them.

  No…not us. Her. They are just after her.

  In the few heartbeats of time he had, he glanced at the little tart. She was turned around, firing red, twisting lines of whatever that power was at the flying hunters. She wasn’t even paying attention to her incoming death.

  Well, if she expects me to–

  …damn it all!

  As quick as that he fired three bolts. The first two broke the incoming attack up slightly, the third sent it spinning past them. The tart jumped as the purple ball sputtered by. She looked at him, those huge lantern eyes aglow.

  Before she could thank him–

  …don’t ever do that you little hells tart!...

  –he pushed her to the ground as one of the flying hunters came diving in. Swearing, he leapt to the side knowing he wasn’t fast enough.

  A grunt escaped him as the mount’s talons tore into his back. Spinning away as best he could, he swung the bow at the fast moving target.

  Nothing.

  He hit nothing but air. However–

  The mount curled into a shrieking ball as red plumes erupted from within. Spilling burning liquid, hunter and winged mount alike flamed to earth.

  He sneered.

  Maybe I can’t hit you, but a little girl can.

  That wiped the sneer from his face.

  Without helping her or thanking her he concentrated on the remaining hunters. With only one still in the air, he was sure the little tart would be able to hit it. He needed to decide what to do with the land bound hunters.

  I shouldn’t even be here. Think fast, as there are now three bolts of different kinds of death coming right at me..

  He lifted his bow to–

  “Fffuuuuu…” was the only word that came to him when he saw his arrow was dull, its magic already used. Turning the bow, thinking out plans, he did the only thing left to him.

  “If I can pull it off…”

  He dropped into a special part in his mind. A warrior’s place.

  It’s cold in here.

  It’s hotter than any fire.

  I feel…nothing.

  I feel….everything.

  This…

  …is what…

  …a warrior is.

  That blade of grass a hundred paces off? He could see a bright pink snail on it. That bird of the night, so far away, he could see every feather.

  The world slowed around him. He looked at the slowly moving faces of the hunters. There was no fear there. They would die and more would be sent if they did not accomplish their mission.

  They knew they would win in the end. Even if they, as individuals, died here.

  It should have been a scary sight but in this state, he felt nothing. He moved. Even with his gimp leg he was able to easily swat the bolts from the air. As he moved forward, making sure to avoid his own traps, he could see the hunters begin to speed up. Their eyes tracking him. They were beginning to fall into his zone.

  I’m not going to make it. I’m not the warrior I was.

  There was certainty that cheerful thought. He knew he would die here. Normally that would be a bad thing. A blow to his mind to slow him down. Not in this state. No no. Not in his warrior place.

  If I’m going, so are you.

  He knew he was protected by many shield bracelets he had looted. He knew he had his own leather armor as well as the pieces he’d wrapped himself in. Thanks to the hunters. Would it be enough?

  He stopped close to the hunters as they continued to speed up, tracking him and various lights beginning to slowly unwind from their weapons to form various shapes of death that would smite him.

  He smiled, making a yanking motion with his hand while touching off all the bracelets he wore.

  Overlapping spheres erupted from the simple bracelets, slowly wrapping up and over him as all the traps he had lain came spinning through the air.

  As they came, the hunters deadly weapons also began spitting their load, the shields were slowly cocooned around him.

  Too slow.

  His mind knew this but he didn’t feel any emotion about it.

  As fast as the shields are, this will probably kill–

  Everything went white.

  4

  It was well after dark when he opened his eyes.

  Stars?

  The sky was filled with stars. He felt a tug on his leg. He blinked slowly. Stars. How many were there? He began to count them.

  There, in the head of Bricus. A great red star. The warrior’s star. He felt another tug.

  There, in the womb of Apotho. A small, bright blue star. The mother’s protector.

  Makes one wonder when, in our history, did we come up with these names and figures? What were they before? What were they to other races?

  He frowned at yet another tug.

  What are they across the sea? What is this?

  He lifted his arm as best he could. Some of the grass that had been wrapped around it fell back to earth.

  Am I dead then? At last?

  The only sound he heard was a hum. Not only did he hear it, it was reverberating through him. Hurting as it rolled around within.

  “Nice way ta try and kilt yerself lad.” Old Grommy said.

  “I figured it was better than dying old and alone.” He answered. Not sure where the old man was in the sky above him.

  “Ha. So, are ya ded then?”

  “I…don’t think…no. Probably not.”

  “Tha’ so? Shame. Ye mi’t be an ol’ man like me then, somedays, erm?”

  “You should see the little company I’m–”

  “I do lad. I do. She bein’ tuggin’ on ya fer the entire time.”

  “Wha…” He blinked as he felt that tug again. No. A different tug. He looked at his legs. The little tart was trying to drag him through the grass.

  “Well look at that. So the tart lived then?”

  “Ah’yah. An she been draggin’ ye back ta that ther blanks I gaves ya. Magics ta keeps the grass at bay.”

  “Is that so?” He laughed. It hurt.

  He looked at the tart. Her eyes were shining, determined despite looking exhausted. Blood and dirt smeared her cheeks and her hair looked a mess. She was saying something to him. He couldn’t hear it over the hum.

  “Doesn’t she know I can’t hear her?”

  “Per’haps. Per’haps not. Ye be talkin’ ta me after all.”

  “True.” He laid his head back down, staring into the sky. “I’m sorry Grommy. Tell the others I’ll be there soon. Soon enough. Tell them. Make sure to tell them how much…” He couldn’t finish.

  Grommy never replied.

  It was rare when they did. The dead were not supposed to speak after all.

  “Then why bother at all? Why speak at all? If you’re not–” he paused to move his arm again, getting the grass to let go. It was particularly clingy at night. “–not going to really talk, why speak at all?”

  He felt another hard yank on his legs.

  What does she want?

  He looked at her. She was standing there, hands on her hips, eyes aflame, mouth jabbering away.

  Well, I can guess what that is coming out of her mouth. Get up lazy. Walk up here lazy. Move your bruised, beaten ass. Or close enough.

  He moved his arms experimentally. Nothing seemed broken. He looked. Where the bracelets were, nothing but a black singe and missing arm hair remained.

  Nice.

  There was no sign of the Antia leathers he had worn and his own leathers were tattered.

  I must have just barely managed to–

  …hmm. a draf
t down there?

  Damn.

  He was very exposed to the world like this. His lower half was completely bare. Not a stitch remained. If he were younger, he might be more upset by this fact. His little warrior hanging out like that for all to see. As it was, he just didn’t care.

  Hells with it.

  The tart noticed him noticing he was naked and blushed slightly. At least, it looked like that in the dark. He sighed. So was she actually young or just some kind of strange witch woman?

  I’m not sure which is worse.

  “Doesn’t matter, Bull. Get your sorry ass up and move it. To the hilltop solider. Now!”

  “Yes sir! Whatever you say sir. May I bow down before you sir?”

  “Funny, Bull. Now get your limping, whiny rear up that hill and onto that blanket.”

  “Yes sir.” He frowned. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it with you–oouff!”

  He looked at the tart as she lifted her leg to kick him again.

  That was motivation.

  “I don’t think so.”

  He caught her foot and pulled hard. Caught off guard, the tart fell onto him. She scrambled away from his nakedness, a look of shock on her face. He laughed.

  “Get up there.” He said. “I’m coming.” If she answered, he didn’t know. All he heard was the hum.

  Maybe I’m deaf now? Maybe this one won’t wear off?

  Whenever a warrior used the strange trance state they all tried to learn, he was never the same. His hearing was gone. His senses were scrambled. Those things were normal. But for him. Ha. Add the little fact he had detonated about a dozen traps on himself.

  I must have gotten them too.

  He looked for signs of the hunters or their mounts. Nothing. He stood slowly, looking around. “Did I get them?”

  He waited for a bit before realizing he would not hear her. He looked at her and yes, she was indeed yammering away. He shook his head. “I can’t hear you, tart.” Ha, that made her mouth snap shut and her eyes flare. Good! “Did I get them? Yes? No? Nod. Yes?” She nodded. If it could be called that.

  Good. Good. “Did I get their mounts?” Shake of her head. “Damn all the–” She was motioning to herself. “Did you get them?” Nod. “And the last one in the air?” Nod.

  I’m impressed. And, honestly, a bit frightened by this little strawberry. What uses true magic in this world? What could?

  He shooed her away. She glared as she stomped through the grass towards the top. He followed more slowly.

  “Think on this one, sweets.” Mayla! Oh sweet, sweet Mayla. “Remember the facts. This little one is not from here. What we know of magic is not what she knows. Over there, maybe they all can use magic. Think of better questions. For example…why is she here? What does she want? What is this Source she speaks of?”

  “Mayla!? Oh thank the Gods. Mayla I… I miss…” he sighed. “…you’re gone aren’t you?” Nothing answered back. “Gone.” Head held low, he walked slowly up the hill. At the top, the little tart was sitting on the blanket, sifting through a pile of burnt things near the edge. She pulled out some leggings, holding them towards him, turned so she wouldn’t have to see him.

  “What? I’m not pretty enough for you?”

  She cast a glance his way, her eyes slipping down, jerking away as her face reddened.

  So, she really is young then? Great.

  “I’ll worry about your sensibilities later.” Like it mattered. “I need to recover.” As best I can. “Hand me that green vial.” She looked through their things, dug a bit, held it out to him while keeping her eyes turned away.

  He took off his tattered shirt and tossed it out into the grass. Laying down caused a few things to pop and grind and in general, hurt. He hated that about his body.

  Where did you go to, my old friend? Once, we could have handled all that and been recovered by now with a mug in one hand and a tit in the other. Age. What a bitch.

  He emptied the vial into his hands, rubbing them together vigorously. A slow green glow began to bloom, spreading up his arms.

  I treated you well enough didn’t I?

  He rubbed at his feet, some of the green grow creeping out of his hands and into his legs.

  I ate as much as I could. I trained nearly everyday.

  He rubbed it into his thighs and up into his stomach. The green glow leaving his hands to spread through his body.

  I fought in so many battles. So many. We have made it here, now, so…what more do you want from me?

  Finally he rubbed it over his chest, the green seemed to pulse through him, cooling him. He relaxed, flat on his back, his eyes beginning to droop as he stared into the sky.

  So many stars.

  So much gone. Why? He lifted his hand to his chest, making sure the hole he felt there was not physical. “Why did you all leave me behind? Why… why am I the only one left behind?” How could they go and leave him like that? “Mayla…”

  5

  His eyes hurt. Throbbing in time with his heartbeat. A small sound caught his attention.

  Sound?

  He opened an eye slowly, knowing the sun would be a bastard. He was right. He tried to look for the source of the sound without moving. It was the tart. What was she doing?

  Sitting crosslegged facing him, she had a small pot in front of her, a red fire burning under it that had no right to be there. It was burning on the war tarp he was using as his blanket. A magic thing thrown down over the grass to keep it away.

  Yet there she was, defying all known…well…facts. He studied her as she did–

  …what is she doing?

  Steam of a strange color swirled up from whatever she was boiling. A faint wind carried the odor to him. It had a very unique smell. What was it? Spicy and sweet and very apple like all at once yet not exactly like them. It seemed as if he were smelling familiar things yet he knew they were not.

  He looked into her face. She had her brow furrowed, concentrating on the task at hand. She still looked tired, though her face was clean and her hair combed out and absolutely blazing in the morning sun.

  She’s not unpleasant on the eyes really. If one can forget the fact an endless stream of Antia hunters has her on their list of death. Yet in the clear light, there was something different. Hard to put his finger on.

  “Awake?” She asked.

  “Yes.” He was glad his hearing was back, even if the first thing he heard was her.

  “You lied to me. I saw you call those traps to you. I thought you couldn’t do magic.”

  “Lines.”

  “What?”

  “Tether Lines.” He held up his hand. “Every good trap layer keeps these little buggers lined to their fingers, just in case. A spell attached to this,” he turned his hand, showing a small dark dot. “and the trap. A tool. Nothing more.”

  Smelling that strange smell made his stomach growl. “What are you making?” Not ‘how are you doing that?’ Not ‘how is that possible?’ No. Just a simple ‘what are you making?’

  “Just a soup with what little provisions I had left.”

  Provisions? He didn’t recall seeing her with–

  “Who’s Mayla?”

  Mayla. Mayla. My Mayla…

  She wants to know who Mayla is? “None of your business tart.” He rolled over. He could feel those strange eyes of hers following his movements. He was naked still and just didn’t care. Even as her continued exanimation began to feel heated. Burning really.

  Why is she staring?

  “Bah.” He got to his feet, stepping off into the grass. He needed to piss and he’d at least not do that in front of her. He needed to see what was left of the hunters anyway.

  As he walked on, he could already see where he had been standing. The grass was doing a hell of a job filling in but the crater he left was pretty impressive.

  Damn. I’m shocked the shields held.

  There were strips of blue and black high in the grass, hanging motionless there despite the slight wind. And i
n the grass…lumps. No doubts in his mind those lumps were flesh. What was left of the hunters.

  And here I stand. Surviving. Again. Good joke my friends. Very funny. Ha ha.

  He glared at the sky. Nothing replied.

  “As usual.”

  He made a sweep, enjoying the feel of the soft grass over his skin. The grass was not very powerful in the morning and weakest at noon. But, it would get touchy at night.

  Could at any rate.

  Eventually, he made his way back up the hill. The tart was keeping her eyes decidedly away from his nudity. He smiled at that.

  “There.” She pointed. “They should work.” He walked over to the pile. The leggings she had tossed to him before were there but he frowned at the rest. It was a shirt and pants made from the blue and black leathers of a hunter. He also saw bits of his own, original leather in there.

  It was all neatly stitched together and looked brand new. Strangely, despite being different colors and materials, it was done seamlessly. It looked like it belonged together instead of a bunch of rags thrown together.

  “How…” He began before noticing she wore a strange outfit now as well. The once tattered leathers were sewn so neatly together it was hard to imagine they had ever been apart. They gave her a whole new look. The pants a bit loose to allow movement, the top not exactly skin tight but tight enough to allow free movement.

  She wore it well. He tried to make out the bundle at her feet.

  A thick robe?

  “I made them while you slept. That was–” Her eyes locked onto him despite herself. A blush. “For the love of the Source, please dress yourself.”

  He smirked. Standing closer to her, he held his arms out. “What? Little tart’s never seen a naked man? Is she too young to–”

  “I’m not that young you fool.” Her eyes sparked at him. Something else flashed there. “I didn’t think it proper for you to be out in the open like that. Embarrassing yourself with your…size.”

  What!? Why you snot nosed little–

  …that flash never left her eyes.

  –oh, I see. I get it.

  “As you wish, your hinass.” He mock bowed as he turned, pulling the leathers on. He didn’t want to turn back to her. No need for her to see the look on his face. She had just tossed a joke at him. About him. And he had stepped right into it.

  As he slipped into the clothing, his annoyance began to fade. These were very well done. “How did you make these?” He kept the note of approval out of his voice.

  “Took a few hours and I had to, urm–” she coughed. “measure you while you slept but, it really wasn’t that hard.”

  Measure? Why–nevermind. “Let me guess.” He looked back at her. “Magic?”

  She shrugged, the pot was on the ground now, steam rising from it, an interesting looking fluid within. “Not really. Just fast needle work.”

  Really? Color me impressed.

  He tugged at the pants. They were not too tight, not too lose. Actually, though he’d not say it to her, they were very well done. Tight enough to never worry about losing them in a fight while still being lose enough to leave him unencumbered.

  He’d paid a lot of money for clothing that was not nearly so well done.

  She smiled. “Faster than usual. I’d say I had help.”

  “Help?”

  “It’s the Source. Apparently, you are going to be my new companion.”

  What? “No. I don’t think so.” He took a spot near her when she offered him a bowl. Where did this stuff come from? He didn’t remember seeing a bowl or pot or anything like this.

  “I’m sorry, but if the Source wishes it, you can’t fight it. It just sort of…happens.”

  He snorted, then sniffed at the liquid. “Is that so?” It didn’t smell like poison. At least, none he knew of. He brought the little bowl to his lips,