by Aaron Crash
Ymir knew connections to other people kept you stable, though they could tax you even so. Grandmother Rabbit liked to quote from the Sacred Mysteries of the Ax: A man without a family is an unsaddled otelkir without reins, without bridle, without direction.
If Gatha wanted to run alone, she would be like the mounts of the clansman, directionless. If you avoided the pain that other people brought, you also didn’t get the blessings. Ymir felt sorry for the she-orc, but he wouldn’t block the path the Axman had cut for her. He had enough trouble walking his own.
When they made the turn from the alley to walk to Jenny’s door, there was already someone standing there, in a black cloak, her face shrouded. This strange woman wasn’t knocking, nor was she leaving.
Ymir called to the figure. “Hey, if you’re a demon, you’ll have to hold still while my friend inside gets her knife.”
“That isn’t funny,” Lillee said, breathlessly.
The figure threw back her cloak. From her round face, dark skin, and the curls of her dark hair, Ymir marked her as one of the new professors, the one he’d not met yet. The Ironcoats he knew, and he’d seen the half-elf, Hayleesia Heenn, exchanging smoldering looks with Della.
Here was the third teacher. Her name took a bit to come to him. Then he remembered she was from Williminaville, which meant she had the “lynn” suffix. “Linnylynn Albatross. Such a bird as you shouldn’t be out in all this wind.”
The woman smiled, showing bright white teeth. “Ymir, son of Ymok, I like the wind, and I like the rain, and I’m honored to meet you. I was about to knock on Jennybelle Josen’s door. This is her apartment, isn’t it?” Her Pidgin was unaccented, very different from both Jenny’s and Mimilynn’s. She didn’t even sound like Salt Love, nor Sambal.
“I’m not sure it is,” Ymir said. “Why would you want to talk with her?”
Lillee pulled close to him, so close, and he put his arm around her. With her essess on, the elf girl was very shy.
That was when the swamp woman shoved open the door. “You people shouting out there isn’t so respectful of my damn neighbors. Already, I’ve had a talking to ’cause of the noise at night.”
Some of that was Ymir. Most of that was Lillee. She liked her sex loud.
“This is where you live, Jennybelle,” Linny said. “We’ve been meaning to come and talk to you.”
“We?” Under his cloak, Ymir’s hand went to the hilt of his dagger.
“Haylee and I.” Linny lifted her voice. “Haylee, I found it!”
“What’s all this about, Professor Albatross?” Jenny asked. She had the Sapphire Fang in her belt.
Linny smiled impishly. “Haylee and I, we did research in Martin County, in Josentown. We’ve been meaning to come and chat with you.”
“What about?” Jenny asked.
Ymir and Lillee came closer. Behind him, he heard footsteps, and he gently pulled Lillee back, putting her back to the wall. He turned, and there was the half-elf, her hair catching the light so it was a rich red. Her eyes were a deep purple.
“This seems strange, I know,” Haylee said. “We’ve been so busy with learning the routine, our classes, and trying to impress the Princept. We’re both desperate to stay on as the Studia Dux. That being said, we did want to meet with you and chat with you about your queendom.”
“Not my queendom, and it won’t be.” Jenny folded her arms across her chest. “This isn’t the best night to chat, Professors. Ymir, Lillee, and I have to study. The Third Exam is only three weeks away. Maybe we could do lunch sometime this week?”
Linny wrinkled her nose. “That’s the problem. Days we’re running from class to class. Nights aren’t so good, other than Monday nights. Maybe next Monday night then?”
Ymir didn’t believe a word this Scatter Islands woman was saying. There was something off about her. As for Haylee, she had the good sense to stand back, appearing visibly uncomfortable. What she said next proved it. “Come on, Linny, this is awkward. Really, Jennybelle, we didn’t mean to intrude. We know Nellybelle Tucker is here as well, but you’re part of the royal family. We wanted to get your opinion on a few of the local rituals only found on the Swamp Coast.”
“What kind of rituals?” Jenny asked. She clutched herself, as much to keep the cold at bay as to show her displeasure.
Haylee didn’t answer.
Linny, though, didn’t relent. She stood to the side, and the Sunfire lanterns inside Jenny’s apartment lit her face. “We know you cast things like the Lover’s Knot, the Orisha Tongues, and other magic outside the normal Studiae Magica.”
“That stuff?” Jenny’s smile was a mask, and she leapt behind it. Her cheerful voice would fool the nosy professors but not Ymir. “None of that dumb magic works. It’s superstition. It’s not based on your dusza, but like you said, it supposedly uses the power of the orishas, and I’m not sure they exist. Come on. Ghosts now? It’s good for scaring the kiddies. It’s bad for sorcery.”
Linny didn’t pause. “Ghosts is one translation. Demons is another. Still another? Lost souls of the dead that possess the living. We’re not here to test the veracity of them. We just wanted to discuss the ideas they represent, culturally. It’s a fascinating field of study.”
Ymir knew the Lover’s Knot worked, but it didn’t summon spirits he didn’t think. It worked with Sunfire magic to burn the physical components and Moons magic to imbue the ash with power. Yes, there had been the chant to some goddess, but it might not mean a thing.
Linny’s eyes shone brightly. “We also wanted to get your opinion on something else. Did you know that many think Old Ironbound was built on a nexus of magical energy? Some say there are hidden corridors that take you to the Stair, a realm outside of this reality. The Stair is connected to countless other worlds, some demonic, some angelic.”
Ymir didn’t like the sound of any of that, and yet, it made sense. The Vempor Aegel Akkridor built his fortress on the cape for a reason. The clansman stood silently, thinking that this was just one more thing he’d end up studying.
“Next Monday night?” Jenny’s grin wasn’t warm. “This all sounds fascinating, but really, tonight isn’t good for us. Ymir, Lillee, come in, now. You’ll catch your death of a cold.”
“Things seem to be changing in Josentown.” Linny wasn’t relenting.
Haylee finally called to her. “That’s enough, Linnylynn. Let’s leave them alone. We can meet in the Librarium next Monday night after dinner. Would that work, Jennybelle?”
“It would.”
Linny finally looked uncertain. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. I just get caught up in all the ideas. Again, sorry to bother you.”
Jenny’s fake smile widened. “It’s fine.”
More pleasantries were exchanged, and finally Linny and Haylee walked away.
Jenny slammed the door with Ymir and Lillee inside the room. The Josentown princess, her back to the door, slumped down to the floor. “May the seven devils take my soul, but that was strange. That was a confession. That was a fucking warning, and you ain’t gonna tell me no different.”
“And that is a double negative,” Ymir said. When she didn’t smile, he went over and helped her up. He moved her to the couch. Lillee was already getting wine warming on the stove.
Jenny closed her eyes. “Those bitches. They’re here to kill me. And they know about the orishas, which aren’t the same as demons I don’t think. Not sure I believe any of it, but an orisha is supposedly a ghost, a pissed-off one, and demons are not people, never were. You really think that bear-butt with the tentacles ever kissed a girl or ate puff corn?” She sighed out her anger. Her fear continued to eat at her, a fear she wouldn’t talk about.
Ymir knelt on the rug, pulling out the sand parchment, which had a series of Flow cantrips to both hide the truth and to reveal it. Those were relatively simple to cast, and the normal verbal component of “jelu jelarum” would be enough. The instructions to create the Veil Tear Ring seemed blissfully simple. That was a relief. A
nd yet, Ymir’s Homme wasn’t as good as his Pidgin. And this was written in a Homme dialect, a distinctly different one from the Theranus he’d seen before.
Akkir Akkor. That was the royalty of the other-spirited, and that made Ymir wonder about this idea of ghosts. That old anxiousness frosted fingers up his spine.
He recalled lessons from Ibeliah Ironcoat’s poetry class. He leaned into the feeling and muttered, “Jelu jelarum.”
He fell into a vision. He saw Jenny, lying on stone, her face pale, and blood splashed across her throat. She was dead, or close to it.
Then Ymir felt the hands around his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He was being strangled.
He was seeing and feeling what the Princept had seen and felt when she cast her Flow magic. This would happen during the Third Exams, unless they could stop it.
He blinked open his eyes. He wasn’t going to say anything. Jenny seemed so on edge already, and he didn’t want to add to her nightmares. He was fairly certain, however, that he’d just added to his own.
Lillee came over with some mulled wine for all three of them. She sat next to Jenny and held her hand. She didn’t need to say a word to comfort the swamp woman. Jenny seemed far more relaxed sitting next to the elf girl.
Ymir massaged his throat, then let his hand drop. “Those professors might not be the evil that is attacking us. We’ll find out their true intentions with the Veil Tear Ring.”
Jenny brightened. “Tell me we need a veil. I love me some lace.”
Ymir shook his head. “I don’t know if this is another Akkiric Ring, but I think it is. Akkiric, as far as I can tell, can be roughly translated into kingly. To collect them all just might make you a king. Octovato also mentions an akkor, or other-spirited. One of your orishas, Jenny.”
She rolled her eyes.
The clansman continued. “This ring is powerful with Moons magic, and you’ll be happy to know that we need another aszeculum.”
Jenny laughed out loud. “That’s convenient. We know what that word means. And we know where one is. This is all very good.”
Ymir nodded. “Yes, but we need the reflection of the Artist Moon, in a silver bowl consecrated by the heartbroken. We’ll need a feather for that. We need a piece of paper bearing bad news. We take that, and on it we make a sketch of the ring, with very specific dimensions. The ink is the important part. We need the tear of a blind woman. We need the blood of the innocent, and I read that as a virgin. We burn a cobweb, vision salt, Ethra mint, bay leaves, and high john root, mix that in with the spit of the wearer, and that’s the ink you use for the picture. You have to cut the picture to have the same dimension as the bowl. When one places the sketch in the aszeculum, as close to the sky as one can get, an open sky, with no rain, the ringmaker will be tested.”
“What does that mean?” Lillee asked in a quiet voice. Followed by a very big yawn.
Seeing his elf girl yawn put a smile on Ymir’s face. “That is a very good question. There will be an akkor for the Akkir, or I think that’s about what it means. Hard to say. The ringmaker’s test will either tear the veil, or it will destroy him.”
Jenny let out a hiss of frustration. “Of course, here we go, we have the utter destruction thing again. This time it won’t shatter your dusza, but it might kill you. That’s fun.”
“Who said it should be me?” Ymir asked. “Jenny, we might think about you crafting the ring and wearing it. Or maybe we try all three of us. It does say that multiple people can wear the ring. And it does say this will work better with other kingly rings. Kingly. Akkiric.”
“Well, that does it. It should be you, on account of the Black Ice Ring.” Jenny leaned back to let Lillee rest her head on the swamp woman’s breast. “So, this is all very familiar. We have a lunar race against time. The Artist Moon will dominate the sky in three weeks, right when the Third Exam starts. We need a high place, and no rain. So basically we have to wait for summer.”
“I think we should all try,” Lillee whispered. “I think we should all be tested, and if we’re to die, we’ll die together.”
Ymir felt the anger fill him. “That will not happen. I’ll burn heaven down, I’ll wash out hell with oceans of blood, but I will not let anything happen to you two.”
They talked more, but Lillee was worn out after her adventures with Gatha. She went to bed. Jenny fell asleep on Ymir’s chest, while he thought about the day. He didn’t like the fact that he’d found the visiting professors skulking outside Jenny’s door. And yet, if they were the assassins, they were incompetent ones.
He watched the fire burn low. As it did, Jenny moaned in her sleep, twitched, and muttered something he couldn’t quite hear. He swept her up and took her to bed, hoping he’d saved her from a bad dream. He didn’t know if he had or not, but she didn’t cry out again.
The night passed, and Ymir was up before them both, out of habit, though he didn’t need to clean for Gurla anymore.
He left Jenny’s suite to get a cup of kaif in the feasting hall. He wanted to go over his notes on Obanathy’s cantrips again and review the instructions on how to make the Veil Tear Ring. They’d need a list of ingredients.
The morning didn’t have rain but a cold fog, blanketing Vempor’s Cape and obscuring the four college towers and the central citadel. The air smelled good, a fresh damp smell, salted with the ocean. He walked through the Librarium, which was mostly empty. Drippy the librarian sat at the desk, sleepily reading one of the town crier volumes, stale news from six months ago.
In the feasting hall, he poured himself a cup of kaif from the urn and then sat at an empty table to drink and study his grimoire. He’d added some notes to his sand parchment the night before, then dumped the sand down the paper so the words would flow into his tome. He had a tray to collect the leftover sand.
Tori whistled about near the feasting hall, adjusting things on the kaif table, adding to the cream, refilling the beet sprinkles. She then came and flounced down across from him. This day her dress was green, and her apron was white as ever.
“Up early?” Ymir asked.
“Pah!” the dwab burst out. “I’ve been up since four, working. And how are your princesses?”
The clansman didn’t think either was very at peace, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to go into Jenny’s nightmares or Lillee’s taciturn nature. He was about to answer that all was well when movement caught his eye. Flickering in on wings, a familiar fairy shot toward them.
Ymir felt the hair on the back of his nape lift. That chill of winter icicles tickled his spine. He knew what he needed to do. “Jelu jelarum.” He cast the Flow spell, but he didn’t force a vision; he imagined placing a mist as thick as the fog outside around himself and Tori.
It was time to test one of Obanathy’s cantrips.
Ziziva fluttered up and landed on the table between the two. She’d added a warm furry hat, furry mittens, and furry boots to her ensemble. “Oh, and isn’t this convenient? Both of you up so early? Planning mischief? Touch my wings, then touch my heart, but I think so. The barbarian and the dwab, having a little breakfast business meeting.”
The fairy laughed and whipped off her little cap. Her short blond hair was mussed, but it made her even cuter. Too bad she was twelve inches tall and their competitor.
“Ziziva, what business are you talking about?” Ymir asked.
Tori rolled her eyes. “If she means funny business, well, she doesn’t know what’s what. You and I are just friends.”
“The funny business of dwarves and dwabs is not my business at all, Toriah Welldeep. Tori, Tori, Tori is what your friends call you. And what do your enemies call you?” Ziziva danced over and put a boot on the rim of Ymir’s cup. Her inch-long bit of cleavage was very visible. “I’m talking about a sweeter business. You two selling xocalati? If so, let’s talk so this sweet business doesn’t turn bitter.”
Ymir wrinkled his brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ziziva.”
Tori was less polite. “She’s
drinking too much of her own honeydew, Ymir. You know how the Fayee are. Dreamy and funny, the children of the Reveler.”
The Reveler was one of the old gods.
“Am not, dwab!” Ziziva launched up into the air, her wings fluttering into a blur. She buzzed up close to Ymir, and he was reminded of a summer fly bothering him. She then spun around, circled Tori, and came back to hover between them. “You two smell of the xoca bean, and I’ve heard stories, and I’ve heard words, and the Homme-ies and the Ohlyrra-ies and the Gruul-ies are getting wet and getting hard over the Amora Xoca. Even the half-elf from Panseloca loves a little of the xoca. And it’s Ymir, they say. And it’s Tori, Tori, Tori, they say and say.”
The Fayee went spinning off to float in front of Tori. Ziziva crossed her arms. Ymir took a moment to admire her butt in that skin-tight gown. With the mittens and boots, she seemed even less clothed.
Ymir gave Tori a steady look. They weren’t going to admit anything. They didn’t need to.
“I love xocalati,” the dwab said with a cheery smile. “I grew up with it, since the Morbuskor had ways to avoid the Undergem Guild’s tariffs. I’ve had some friends bring me some from your shop. It’s delicious.”
The Fayee swept around them, flying in circles.
Ymir listened closely. He heard the fairy cast the Flow spell. He prayed to the Shieldmaiden that the Obanathy cantrip would hold.
Ziziva spun around and landed on the table again. She sank her hands onto her hips, facing Ymir, not Tori. “Well, you big bully of a barbarian. I know something is up. I don’t know what, and you stink of old magic, forbidden magic, if you want to know the truth. Maybe when I know more about that, I’ll know more about you.” The smile was gone, and there was a glint in the tiny woman’s very blue eyes. Her nose was still upturned, her lips were still full, but her demeanor had changed.
