by Sever Bronny
“Go on,” Bridget pressed delicately.
“He was a sweet man, he really was, it’s just that I felt nothing for him. Nothing at all. You see, I had read too many books by then and I believed in true love. True love where both partners loved each other deeply, poetically, passionately. Nonetheless, everyone deemed the match too favorable to go to waste, and kept pushing and pushing and pushing for me to go along with it. I resigned myself to become a wife of the home, but I wanted so, so much more.”
“So what did you want?” Olaf asked.
She looked up, voice rapid with excitement. “I wanted to become a musician—I play the vellay, it’s a stringed Ohmish instrument so beautiful it is said to shed tears when played in harmony with the soul. And I had the best and most extravagant vellay in the entire village, gifted to me by my future husband.” She drew her arms to herself and sighed longingly. “How I miss that sound. It was the sound of love and beauty and peace. And yet I felt nothing for him.” Her hands dropped and her voice softened. “But then everything changed when I showed aptitude in the arcane arts. The town I lived in was highly superstitious. They thought me a witch and wanted to burn me alive to cleanse the village of my foul spirit.”
Maxine looked away.
“So what did you do?” Cry asked, chewing on the tip of his quill.
“I ran away, throwing dishonor on my family and my name. I live in deep shame of that. I think of it every day.”
“You did what you had to do,” Bridget said. “The only thing you could do.”
“That is not the Ohmish way. I should have faced the fires with an open heart. Then my soul would have been cleansed by the gods. Now it is tainted, and only one act may clear my soul.” She looked at Augum. “I told The Grizzly my story and begged him to accept me, telling him that if the moment ever came, I would sacrifice my life for you, Augum, and be accepted by the gods with open arms.”
“And like I said before, I hope that you never have to do that,” Augum said, giving Leera’s waist a loving squeeze as he adjusted her in his lap.
Naoki noticed this and blushed. “After roaming the streets of Semadon for a time, I found a job dying cloth and began supporting myself. Eventually, I tried out for and was accepted into the Semadon academy, pretending to be an orphan. It was a lie, but a necessary one. I flourished there, eventually taking part in an exchange program.” She opened her palms at them in an And here we are fashion.
“But I miss my kingdom. And despite everything that had happened, I miss my town and my home and my parents. But I know I can never go back. I shall never see them again …” She forced a troubled smile at Augum. “You have to know that I am deeply honored to watch the back of someone whose name will be forever etched into the tablets of history.” She looked around at them all. “My life has purpose in this quest. It has meaning, as if I’ve been training for it since birth, and I want you all to know that.”
There was a long pause during which people resettled and fiddled with their hands.
“I’m honored too,” Arthur blurted, looking at Leera. “Incredibly honored … and stuff.” Then he cleared his throat and looked at Augum. “Guess we all know the story of your parents, don’t we?”
“My parents …” Augum wanted to scoff. “My father murdered my mother, burned half the kingdom and butchered thousands of people. Some of those people were Canterran, hence why we’re in this mess.”
“And what do you fear?” Naoki whispered.
Augum’s eyes unfocused as he looked up at the sky just as a cloud passed before the sun, blocking the warm rays and making people bundle up. He thought of having taken yet another life, and how it affected him less now. “That I stop caring. That I become a cold-blooded soldier going through the motions.” He barely noticed Cry’s quill furiously scratching away.
“Planning on writing a book one day?” Brandon muttered, but Cry ignored him.
“How you all needlessly prattle,” Maxine muttered as she paced. “Killing me here …”
“Everything happens for a reason,” Mary said in her mousy voice as she continued to blithely draw in the snow.
Augum saw Maxine scowl and turn her back on them. Just like at the dance, she surreptitiously withdrew the same piece of parchment. “Hey, Maxine—what’s your story, anyway?”
She jammed the parchment back into a pocket. Suspecting that it was something particularly personal, Augum decided not to ask her about it.
“You want to know my story?” Maxine marched up to the window and glanced through it even though Haylee was right there. “Fine. Father tore off with another woman and Mother died from the cough. I worked as a weaver in a small-minded piss-pool of a nowhere town called Everscale, taking care of a useless husband who never appreciated nothin’.”
A slight twang had slipped into her speech. She returned to patrolling, examining them like a commander inspecting her troops, a distasteful expression on her face. “Got married too young to know better. But that’s small-town life. Thought I was a witch when I started moving things about with my mind, so I hid the talent from prying eyes. One day that brute saw me movin’ thread without touchin’ it. Came at me like a wild animal. Punched my face in, made it go all purple and fat an’ ugly. Worked me over good. Then he dragged me out to the street by my hair, kickin’ and screamin’ and cryin’ like a little girl, where he spat in my face, hollerin’ that I was an evil witch who needed to be ‘fed to them fires.’ That woke the fight in me and I gave ’im all I had, bitin’ and scratchin’ and shriekin’ like a banshee. Got away by the skin of my teeth when the villagers came runnin’, findin’ him drunk for the umpteenth time. Kept trying to wallop me as they dragged ’im off.”
She returned to the window, obviously not trusting Haylee to do her job. “A whiles later, another girl caught the accusation. But she didn’t have the fight in her like I did. When they called her a witch, she just gawked all meek-like.” Her voice was quiet now and her hand was pressed against the pocket with the note. “They set a stake. Kindling. Logs. Strung her up, shouting at her and throwin’ moldy bread and tomaters. Cut off all her hair. Made her ugly.” Maxine snorted. “She found her voice then. Got to screamin’ and cryin’ and beggin’ to repent. But it was too late …” Her voice had dropped to a barely audible whisper and she was shaking her head. “Way, way too late …”
“They burned her,” Bridget said, and for a moment, nobody spoke. “How awful. I’m so sorry that you went through that.”
Maxine returned to her patrol. “Never you mind with that cheap pity. Life is brutal and if you want a lick of fairness, well then you’re a damn fool. That girl should have fought it all from the moment the accusation was made. Should have fought her guts out instead of playing meek as a mouse. Ain’t done her no good, did it? Did it?” She flicked Brandon’s ear as she passed behind him. “Eat something, you’ll need the energy,” and then continued on as he rubbed the side of his head, a foul look on his face. “Life went on, and I kept my witch weirdness close to my chest, but then I got in a vicious fight with my husband over the drink—see, after it all, I still didn’t have the guts to leave him because I was young and stupid. Evil bastard waited till the morn, when he was only half sober, then reported to the constables that I well and truly was a witch, that he saw me floating the dishes about and hexin’ this and that. Heard ’em comin’ and jumped out the window. Never ran so fast in my life. Found out later that brute went and done annulled the marriage then disappeared altogether.”
She hesitated here, swallowing and looking skyward as if remembering something that pained her, only to resume her patrol, now with a curled lip. “Hitched a ride with a merchant caravan to this very city, where I stayed for a couple years toiling as a weaver, only to learn I was making wild arcanery and that warlocks weren’t witches at all. Got lucky that the academy accepted me on a partial mercy scholarship because I had to weave my butt off for the rest of the money and work odd arcane jobs under the table. But I was ambitious and
ripped through the degrees.” She turned to pace back while staring at Augum. “That about sum it up for you?”
Certainly explains a few things about your character, Augum thought. “What did you do during the war?” he pressed.
Maxine grabbed Haylee’s arm. “You’re too obvious. Stand back. There, like that. Not hard, is it? Just cause you’re a cripple don’t mean you should be dumb as a post.” As Haylee scowled at her, Maxine strolled back to the stairs to look down, once more ignoring Brandon doing that very duty.
“What did I do during the war? Well, seeing as the Legion took over the academy, I was forced to play along, wasn’t I? Can’t believe this kingdom got so weak as to fall prey to stupid ideas about the Lord of the Legion giving them eternal life. Weak-minded and superstitious fools. If I had it in me, I’d’ve beat the superstition from the lot of them. Box it right out of their idiot minds. Even before that stupid Canterran cult came, everyone still prayed to the gods in one manner or another. You all say, ‘Unnameables this, Fates that, Gods help me’ like mindless fools, and you don’t even realize it. All the traditions of the kingdom come from the gods. The songs, the celebration days, everything.”
She kicked Jengo’s foot. “Lace is loose,” and continued pacing as he wearily tied it. “It’s all superstitious bunk, if you ask me. It’s not a popular opinion but someone’s got to have the guts to say it. One day we’ll make decisions based on reason and intelligence, not some—” She waved vaguely skyward. “—fictitious beings in the sky.”
“What are you saying, that you don’t believe in the gods?” Mary whispered. “That’s blasphemy. You could hang for that.”
Arthur vigorously nodded along.
Maxine whirled on her. “Spare me, airhead. Show me proof any of the so-called Unnameables exist. One single shred of proof. Show it to me. Do it.”
“But arcanery—”
“—is the product of tapping into a force we do not understand, no more, no less. It’s like fire. They used to think it came from wood, but it’s all about friction and alchemy and stuff arcaneologists can measure. Heck, people used to toss barley over their shoulders hoping for a good crop, not realizing it’s all about the quality of the soil, the seeds, and the rain.” She nodded at Arthur. “I mean, look at this fool clutching his salt pouch as if it’s all he has in the world. It’s only salt, kiddo. Simple, stupid salt.” She whirled back on Mary. “So what else you got? Huh? What else?”
“What about Leyans?” Leera asked, nudging her spectacles. “Do you believe in Leyans?”
“Not in the sense that they’re Unnameables. That said, I am willing to concede they might be powerful warlocks who have discovered ancient secrets and use those secrets for life extension. For example, I am convinced arcane meditation can extend life, and that’s their true secret to longevity. Anyway, the point is, everything has a rational and reasonable explanation. Do you understand, Leera?” She glanced at the other skeptical faces, repeating, “Do you understand? Rational and reasonable.”
“Wait, back up to the part about you attending the academy during the Legion’s reign,” Augum interrupted as Leera ballooned with a reply. “By ‘forced to play along,’ do you mean that you were a necrophyte?” The apprentice necromancers in the war were usually forcefully recruited by the Legion.
“Didn’t exactly have a choice, did I? Your father murdered anyone who refused.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Now here’s a test, Dragoon Stone—what does that make you?”
Augum did not hesitate. “The son of a murderer.”
Her plain eyebrows rose in surprise. “Yes,” she said, almost softly. “Yes, that is exactly right.” She nodded stiffly. “You have reminded me why I have sworn to defend you. I may not agree with you on a lot, but I believe that if anyone can stop the Canterran scourge, it is you. You accept responsibility for who you are. That is … remarkably rare.” Then she glanced around at everybody else as if she resented being stuck with them, before refocusing on Augum. “And … and you intrigue me. For example, how is it that you defeated the Lord of the Legion, a 20th degree master warlock?”
“Teamwork,” Augum replied flatly. “It was teamwork. Couldn’t have done it without everyone else’s help, especially Bridget’s and Leera’s. Saved my life countless times.” He gently shook Leera. “This girl here saved my life.” And he beamed over at Bridget. “As did my sister-in-war.”
Bridget smiled back.
One of Maxine’s eyebrows rose. “Not the scion?”
“It had a part to play, sure, but only because we worked together.”
“I’m curious, how’d you get out of being a necrophyte?” Bridget asked. She too now rested in Olaf’s arms, having grudgingly allowed him to win her over with quiet jesting prods even though she was usually quite averse to public shows of affection. When Brandon saw this from the doorway, he suddenly seemed determined to organize the contents of his rucksack.
“Stop that and pay attention to the stairs!” Maxine snapped so harshly that Brandon dropped his rucksack.
“Pick that up.”
“I’ll watch the stairs,” he conceded, but rebelliously did not pick up his rucksack, even though it sat with its contents spilled out.
Maxine shook her head in disgust before her iron gaze settled on Bridget. “Is there some sort of combat advantage to being all lovey-dovey?”
“Well, not really, but—”
“Good, then you can let go of her, Olaf. This is not the time or place to slobber all over each other. You’re men and women grown. Have you no sense of propriety at all?”
A red-faced Olaf reluctantly let go of Bridget, only for her to grab his arm and drag it back across her stomach with a stern look. “That is outside of your purview, Maxine,” she said.
“Agreed, that really is none of your business,” Leera chimed in, leaning against Augum to rub it in. “You might be in charge by default, but we’re not trying to mimic The Path here, so lay off, you aspiring tyrant. And I noticed you didn’t say anything this whole time to Augum or me. You’re nothing more than a little bully, aren’t you? And why are you avoiding Bridget’s question?”
Everyone stared at Maxine, waiting to see how she would respond.
“This is not conducive to our quest,” Jengo said in a meek voice. Maxine plainly intimidated him, as she did almost everybody. Augum would be lying if he didn’t find her at least a little intimidating as well.
Maxine glared at Leera as she spoke through clenched teeth. “I pretended to go along with the training, but I learned little on purpose. When the war ended, I just went back to being a normal warlock like the hundreds of other students who had been forced to become necrophytes. We were pardoned for a reason, get me? And I do not appreciate you challenging my authority before the troops. You’re freakishly immature for sixteen, whereas I’m twenty-three.” She opened her palms as if weighing a scale. “Sixteen. Twenty-three. See how that works? Yeah, you’ve shot through the degrees at a rapid clip. You’re 8th degree, fine, but I’m 9th. I’m in charge. Get me, princess? And Commander Brewerson chose me for the group because he knew I wouldn’t let your silly girlish fancies and your lapdog fame distract me from the quest.”
Leera, who Augum was sure was going to explode, instead reached up with both hands, but rather than entwine them behind her neck in a nonchalant manner, entwined them behind Augum’s. She extended her legs, crossing her ankles and stretching like a cat. “I get you, I do. See, what you need, Max, is a bit of love in your life. That’ll remove whatever’s lodged up your robe. Maybe try this thing they call dating. Have you ever dated anyone other than the loom? Or is it because boys find that flaxen hair and dry skin a turn-off?”
“We’re in a damn war!” Maxine roared, stepping toward Leera, voice echoing in the ruined house, face as crimson as the robe under her coat. “A war!”
“Quiet!” Haylee hissed from beside the window. “Shoot, now look what you’ve done—got the attention of a couple passing guards.”
<
br /> “They Canterran?” Maxine pressed. “Spit it out, Tennyson.”
“Obviously.”
“Hope you’re happy,” Maxine snapped at Leera. “Chameleon, everyone. Now.” Then she added under her breath, “Idiots.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have lost your temper like a whiny little girl,” Leera snapped back. “Twenty-three. Pfft. More like twelve.”
“Shut your damn mouth and go chameleonic.”
Leera was about to escalate with a reply when voices sounded from below. Everyone scrambled to spots they deemed would be the most inconspicuous and began casting Chameleon. As trained, ice warlocks Haylee and Olaf gently swept their arms before them, smoothing over the footsteps in the snow. Then they hurriedly took their places and swept hands over their bodies, incanting, “Armari obscura chameleano,” and just in time too, for a chubby soldier’s head popped up from the stairs.
“Odd, the footsteps disappear ’ere,” he called down to his partner in a rough but lilting accent.
“They teleported from there then,” the man called from the street, already running off. “Gettin’ command!”
The man on the stairs looked around. “Spooky,” and bolted.
“See what you’ve done?” Maxine hissed when he was gone, becoming visible. “Now we have to move. Excellent job compromising our location, Jones. Excellent,” adding in a mutter, “idiot girl.”
“We can duel anytime in the old way,” Leera spat. “I’d slap you around like you were nothing more than—”
“Enough,” Bridget interrupted. “We have to move. Now, Lee.”
Leera’s eyes narrowed at Maxine but she prudently did not continue the argument.
The group hurriedly departed to search for a new hideout, with Olaf and Haylee arcanely obscuring their footprints as they went but leaving the guards’ prints alone.
