by Will Bly
“Above all,” she said, “I care about you. I worry about you, and in a way...” She cleared her throat. “... I’ve even come to love you.”
Merek laughed across the fire. He began to drop sticks on top of the blaze.
Irulen regarded her. His eyes glimmered like ripples in water.
Warmth flushed Farah’s skin.
Irulen laughed. “A heavy word to toss about. How do you mean?”
“I mean that you are a scoundrel, conceited at times, arrogant at others, but you have a good heart, even if it’s covered in soot and slathered in blackness.”
“Suddenly so poetic,” he said dryly. “I want to be a good person, nature knows my parents spent enough time trying to fashion me into one. But you, you are that kind of good person, and you don’t even have to try.” His eyes probed her. A tingle ran up her spine with the excitement of a decision already made.
Farah moved closer to him and stood over him. “You thought I was innocent once.”
He shrugged with his hands up. “I still do.”
“Really?” She raised her hands to each side of his face. His facial hair tickled her fingers.
His eyes shut at her touch. “But this, this can’t happen.”
Farah offered her arm to Max, sitting on Irulen’s shoulder. The raven obliged her by stepping onto it though eyeballed her suspiciously as she placed him on a nearby branch.
“Says who?” She turned from him and walked into the darkness.
She spent a long moment in the cold by herself. She watched the fire for Irulen’s silhouette, but he hesitated. Am I really doing this? Her breath reverberated off the quiet night sky. Why not? She just wanted to be with him, to show him a fleeting moment of true happiness. Happiness how nature intended it. It had also been a long time since her last sexual encounter, with Jorin, whose memory she pushed not-so-gently aside. Jorin, who was so clumsy.
A shadow moved across the fire, and Irulen came to stand in front of her. She couldn’t make out his face from the silhouette, but his voice wavered. “This wouldn’t be wise.”
Farah stepped closer. “Wise be damned.”
He outstretched his hands to stop her. “Please, I’ve hurt people… Quinn, Kay, even Lynette. I don’t want to hurt anyone else. Particularly you.”
Farah pressed herself into his hands. “I’m strong, and this goes no further than right now. I’m in a mood to make mistakes.” Feeling his resistence weaken, Farah pushed forward. Irulen’s arms collapsed as she came to rest against his body. “Really, this is for us, just for now. Whatever happens in the future... with Kay, or anyone, it’s fine.”
A gust of wind blew through the trees.
Irulen’s looked up. “A storm is coming.”
Farah pulled herself closer. He responded to her. All in. She slipped her hands under his shirt and ran her fingertips around his back.
“Perhaps,” she said in hushed breath, “but it has yet to arrive.”
◆◆◆
Irulen stared at the fire, smiling. Did that really just happen? He laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Farah spoke softly behind him.
“Nothing, my lady, I’m just happy to be of service.” Something hit him in the back, a piece of ground fodder.
“Feeling chivalrous, are we?”
Irulen turned as Farah threw something else at him. He batted a small stick out of the air and laughed. “Have I ever been less than a gentleman?”
Farah laughed, and Merek laughed with her. Irulen glanced up at Max. The raven perched with his head tucked into the feathers of his back. Yeah, it’s been that kind of day, hasn’t it?
“Do you see what Merek is doing?” Farah gestured toward Merek’s handy work. He had constructed, with meticulous care, a model funeral pyre, and on that pyre was a body made of sticks, apparently with a mushroom as the head. Merek’s face was somber as he lowered the effigy toward the fire. His hand escorted the thing as far as it could, and then withdrew from the intense heat. The pyre, body and all, soon disappeared into the blue flames.
“Who was that?” Irulen asked.
Merek scratched his head. “Father,” he said.
Irulen stood, walked over, and placed his hand on the youth’s back.
Merek startled for a moment and calmed.
“I’m sorry. You miss him. It’s normal to feel that.”
There was a slight nod, or maybe it was just Merek’s head shaking, but his face stared into the fire.
Irulen left his hand where it was for a while and raised his eyes to Farah. She regarded him with a softness he hadn’t seen since the time he spent with Lynette at the river’s edge. Whatever I do, from here on out, will be worthy of that look.
◆◆◆
The fire had fizzled to a dim glow. A gust of wind ripped through the branches above.
“Well, looks like we’ll be getting that storm after all.” Irulen stuck his tongue in his cheek as he walked around the outside of the tents, checking their integrity. Pitching three separate tents for three people, a needless amount of work. He often tried to convince Farah to start sharing a tent with Merek at night, but she had refused the idea—she just didn’t feel comfortable with him. Well, neither do I.
Merek had a relationship with space and textures that Irulen couldn’t grasp. This affinity often lead to some awkward moments where Merek would grab and pull a variety of objects. These things were often not his to grab and pull, often found within the confines of Irulen or Farah’s personal space. One time Farah had found her personal undergarment paddings laid out and arranged in triangles. She had thrown her hands up at the time and covered her face before explaining to Merek that those items were for her personal use. After failing to make Merek understand what he did was wrong, she shook her head and muttered things under her breath while gathering the paddings together into her satchel. Irulen and Farah agreed soon after that it best served all parties if Merek slept in isolation.
Irulen silently directed Merek from the dying fire to the youth’s tent. His gaze traveled from tent to tent and failed to decipher where Farah might be. She took a walk earlier to clear her head and get some air. With any luck, we’ll be setting up just two tents moving forward. He was still high on her essence, and the stuff drove his mind along greedily. The wizard hastily ushered Merek into the tent, laid him down, and heaped layers of comfort upon the cloudwalker. He even covered Merek’s ears with a makeshift band of wool he had purchased not long ago. Merek, it turned out, was sensitive to sound. Sensitive to everything, really. Irulen fixed the wool band so that the thickest parts were snug on his ears. That’ll keep you, you pain in the ass.
Irulen emerged from the tent, secured the entrance, and looked around. He didn’t see her. He held his breath as he surveyed the remaining two tents. If she was in her tent, then their tryst would be surrounded by clear boundaries—maybe even limited to just tonight. If not, if she waited for him in his tent, then the game might just be changed forever. The wind scratched at his head while he thought. He sauntered towards his tent. His appendages felt separate from him, his hands were alien as they reached toward the entry flap. Irulen’s heart jumped. It’s not secured. He bent low, pushed the flap aside, and passed through.
He brought his hand in front of him and illuminated the area. Irulen believed that type of magic took a miniscule, virtually nonexistent amount of power. His research had backed up his theory, but most of all he felt the ease of the radiation. It was as natural to his body as the emanation of heat. If Irulen used only this lower level form of magic, he felt confident he’d hold onto his magic for the rest of his life.
Inside the tent, Farah shied a little from the glow. A blanket covered up to her bare shoulders. She was propped up on her left elbow, her right arm draped over the front of the covers.
“Put it out, you’re wasting it.” She laughed nervously. “And I like the dark.”
“I wouldn’t miss this for all the magic in the world.” He moved to her and raised a han
d to her cheek. The blue light danced along the lines of her slender face, down her neck, and passed along her shoulders. The light dimmed as he ran his hand under the covers and spilled out as he peeled them back. She giggled. Irulen traced every inch of her freckled body and caressed her soft, fair skin. He kept his magic out as he made love with her, teasing her sensitive areas when she least expected it.
The wind blew wildly, and lightning lit the sky.
◆◆◆
Irulen propped himself up on an elbow. He squinted against the darkness. The storm had subsided once again. “Where’s Max?”
He placed his hand on her chest. Her heart rate had slowed back down considerably, but still pumped at a quick rate. He found a strand of her curly hair matted to the sweat of her chest. He rolled the silkiness between his fingers.
“I put him in my tent. Do you mind if I keep him there tonight?”
“By all means… as long as you stay here with me.”
She laughed, but something about her worried him. “This,” she said with hesitation in her voice, “could be us, one day. But not now. I’m sorry.”
She made to get up, and he grabbed at her. “I don’t understand.”
She giggled as she moved his hands away. She began clothing herself. “I needed this—we both did—but we can’t be distracted. Quinn needs us. And there’ll be Kay if we find her… Best not complicate things.”
“But I feel complicated. Life is complicated. I...”
She leaned over him, offering him a last glance beneath her shirt, and pressed a finger against his lips. “One day, maybe. There’s a place we need to get to first.” Her voice hung in the air as she departed.
One day.
Chapter 6: Decisions
Ithial looked on as Merlane buried his head in his hands. A scroll lay next to him on the floor. The old man wept. “It’s been years. We’ve crossed the desert six times now. The answer is in our grasp! We’ve found the Scroll of Shadows—we can’t turn away now.”
Ithial squinted his eyes and cracked his neck. He had chased down and eaten sand lizards raw, been dehydrated to the edge of death, and walked the same desert over and over. They finally found what they’ve been searching for... And now the old man falters?
Merlane sat, collapsed against a wall with his knees lifted to meet his elbows. He rambled on. “This… this can’t be. After all that searching, the reading, the hoping. I paid in blood, sweat and tears, and this is the answer? An answer so obvious that perhaps I had a scent of it in my nose all along. I’ve been kidding myself, of course. I knew the cost would be great to beat nature at its own game, to conquer the eternal law, that magic is finite, that we’ll both lose it one day. Might as well never have had it, as if I’ve lost the sun—I wouldn’t have this pain had it never been there. Pain, oh pain, we have plenty of pain, but salvation, transcendence and enlightenment, these are things bought of the most expensive currency.”
The worn-looking man sighed, scratched his head, and looked to Ithial. “Son, the cost is too great…” His eyes brimmed with tears. “Human sacrifice… I cannot. It cannot be. Life for magic.”
I hate when he calls me son! Ithial couldn’t stand seeing Merlane act this way. The man appeared disheveled, weak, and defeated. Ithial shook his head. Haggard.
Increasingly disappointed to see his mentor in such a state, Ithial decided he couldn’t let it stand anymore. “Maybe, maybe not.” He paused.
Merlane sighed at the ground. “Go on, dear boy.”
“You’ve always said that everything evens out. Of course you knew the price would be as high as the aspiration, to have magic until the day you die. To crack the ancient code…” Ithial walked over and sat next to his older companion. “Well, you cracked it—we did. I pledged to help you on this quest, and I did. And here we are with the answer.” His gaze fell to the scroll on the floor, now equally between Merlane and himself. He hesitated, gauging how Merlane might react, then snatched it off the floor.
Merlane remained staring at the ground, where the scroll had lied. Dust resettled.
Ithial traced his finger along the scroll. “The directions written here, the map to the Crystal Cave. You have it all. The rituals and how to perform them. We can hold onto our magic, forever. And yes, the cost is great. Killing people, or at least making people kill people for our benefit, well, it’s damn terrible, but I wonder how many we could save with such power everlasting? Should we not at least consider the greater good? Everything evens out in the end, as you’ve said. We could do the grisly deeds and be done with it, and more than make up for it with good deeds for the rest of our lives. We can make a difference. Real change.”
The old man looked up at the tomb’s wall with distant eyes and spoke vacantly, “But the cost… paying for lives with lives, magic with souls… How could we afford to pay it? How could we live with it?”
“We’ll drown the evil cost in good deeds. We’ll be born again with enough magic to reshape the world. A few sacrifices for the greater good of the many. Maybe we could even bring back those we mur—those we offer, given enough research and time. We can bring them all back. I’m sure of it! Just imagine—magic without limits! It’s unfathomable. I’m just saying that we shouldn’t write it off just because it skirts a dark path.”
“Skirts a dark path, you say? It travels well into the darkness to a point where we will surely lose ourselves.” The color drained from Merlane’s face, his skin damp.
“The people we use… They could be evil. We could find the worst of the worst to save the best of us.”
“Who are we to say who is good and who is bad?”
“You are a good person—you saved me. You have a good feeling for people. Maybe we could come up with a system, a set of questions we could ask—”
“Even if we got it down to a science—detecting evil people to an undeniable degree—how do we get good people to do the sacrificing? How would we get good people to do the sacrificing without becoming evil themselves? Then do we kill those who helped us because they’ve done an evil thing? We’d only start a cycle of violence that couldn’t be stopped.”
“But—”
“Enough. Just stop—I won’t hear any more of it. Not now, not again. Let’s sleep and figure out where else we can go in the morning.”
◆◆◆
That night, Ithial boiled tea out of birch roots and leaves of other exotic plants Merlane had traded for. The old merchant sat in brooding silence, while Ithial worked. Fragrant steam rose, and Ithial used a ladle to scoop the concoction into solid oaken mugs. In Merlane’s mug, he sprinkled something extra. He knew there would be no reasoning with the old man—his heart as filled as it was with feelings of goodness and denial. They’d found what they’d searched for, the only two humans in the world to know the secret of unending magic.
But one wasn’t strong enough to see it through.
He brought the mug to Merlane. “Here. If you aren’t going to eat, at least fill your belly with this.”
The old man looked wistful around the eyes but smiled with gratitude. “It smells delicious. Thank you… I’m sorry our search has come to this, Ithial. I wanted the best for you—for us both. But perhaps we found what’s best, after all.”
Ithial forced a reassuring smile. He had gotten so good at it now. “Yes, I believe we have. How’s it taste?”
“Oh!” Merlane startled as if he forgot what he held in his hand. He lifted it up and drank. He wiped the gray hair of his beard around his lips. “Very good and not too hot, either! Is that honey I taste?”
“To sweeten it all up a bit.”
Merlane laughed and rocked as if he won something. “Well, of all the things I’ve taught you—I believe you could teach me a thing or two about hot drinks!”
“Maybe,” Ithial said through a smile. “Maybe so.”
The old man looked around. “Well, at least this makes for good shelter. And the etchings on the wall—we’re the only two people alive to have seen them, I
wager. Two of two.”
“You are right, of course. I wonder just how old this place is. How old is the Scroll of Shadows, even?”
“Son, old as magic.”
“But it expresses a deep knowledge of magic. It can’t be as old as magic, then, can it? A baby isn’t born with wisdom.”
“Oh, boy, you are always the sharp one. This tomb is older than the scroll, I think. These types of monuments are often used for many things over many years. I almost believe that if we took the scroll out of here, the tomb would call silently for another purpose, another treasured item or person to keep. Who knows what else might be kept in the halls of this tomb, though? Those drawings look significant. An ancient king, perhaps? What is happening between that person and that bull there? Many questions—too many.” He sighed deep.
Ithial watched him in silence.
Merlane raised the tea to his lips and sipped. “But what do we do with the book? That is the question, right? Do we leave it here or destroy it? Or just rip out the darkest parts?”
Destroy it? “The book is an ancient artifact. We should sleep on it before making that type of decision. Though I think ripping out the darkest pages of a book is to strip the book of its identity. Knowledge has always been of good and evil.”
“I suppose you have a point, though the next question would be where is the book best kept? With whom is the book best kept? If we leave it here, then someone else may find it. If we keep it with us, we might get killed on the trail tomorrow. Then what? Can we truly risk bringing this book back into the world?”
“I think sleep, right now, is best.”
“Sleep, you say again. Sleep, I suppose. Let sleep collect today’s shattered thoughts. I do feel tired. Do make sure the big candle is good to stay lit. I hate waking up in darkness.” He placed the tea down, bunched up one of his sacks, and laid down against it.
“Sure thing.”
Merlane’s signature snores puffed beneath his beard.
Finally.
