《Mal》


 Prologue: Whimper

    Mal trudged through the snow. It had come down in drifts during the night and covered the rusty pine needles in white. Mal had thought a walk would be a good idea. Clear his head. But now actually doing it, he regretted his decision. The snow was deceptively thick, and he sunk to his knees with each step. ¡°I could be sitting in front of the hearth,¡± he muttered. ¡°Knee-deep in a good book.¡± He always knew the intentions of his books, or at least he knew that they would never change. He could always understand them and bring that understanding into himself and be whole again. There was something warming about that.


    The air was cold as Winter wanted this snow to last. Late flakes fluttered around him, catching in his curly black hair. The spine of the Halgen mountains caught the morning light, blinding white, throwing it onto the foothills. Mal would have had to shade his eyes if he wanted to look anywhere in that direction. But that didn¡¯t worry him now because he was distracted by something in front of him.


    Mal crawled over a rotted log to get a better view. There before him sprawled a man in the snow. One ski was attached to his foot, the other lay a few yards off. Birchbark wrappings bound his shins and his knees. He was dressed in a guard¡¯s regalia, a bright blue and yellow. He must be from Halgen, Mal thought. He could spot those colors anywhere after seeing them plastered on huge airships floating above the city.


    The guard didn¡¯t move, even as Mal poked him with his staff. Not a wince of pain or a grimace. Nothing. Snowflakes continued to collect on the guard¡¯s cold face. Mal heard a little whimper, he looked around for the source. Pines in all directions, and the sound of the wind in the treetops, but no whimper-source. He heard it again, like the sound of a lost pup. Looking at the guard, Mal noticed in his arms a bundle of brown cloth. Mal turned over the brown bundle with the butt of his staff to find a human baby. A small child with golden hair.


    Mal took a step back. He didn¡¯t want a baby. He had specifically come out to the woods to erase all human contact, but now it somehow found him way out here. Looking at its face, he knew he couldn¡¯t leave it here. There was something about its face or perhaps its eyes that beckoned Mal to help it. Something incomprehensible about the face of the other. Whatever it was, Mal scooped up the child, poked the guard one last time, then turned back toward home.


    The sun was clear in the middle-sky when Mal came within view of his home: a small cabin, more of a hut than anything. He adjusted the baby on his arm; the baby questioned him with broad eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s more spacious inside than the outside lets on, okay.¡±


    He made his way, past a woodpile, past a pen of goats huddled in the corner, into the cabin. Mal set the child down on the table and went out. Coming back with wood, he placed it in the stove fireplace, then grabbed his hickory staff which was topped with a small red crystal. The crystal brightened, and a flame shot out from it into the stove. Mal shut the stove-hatch and sat down in front of the child. Eyes tightening, he peered at his new acquaintance.


    ¡°Why were you out in the woods, little one?¡±


    The baby gurgled and spit on its clothes.


    ¡°I guess we should see if you¡¯re a girl or a boy.¡±


    Mal saw that she was a girl but while he was checking he also saw she had soiled her clothes. It took him a while to come up with a solution to this problem. He searched his house. At last, he stepped back from the girl. The diaper he had fashioned was made out of old bedding he was ready to discard and small metal clips. It would serve for now.


    ¡°What would you like to be called?¡± Mal asked.


    The girl babbled and played with a wooden bowl. Her eyes were grey-blue, and they roamed the room.


    ¡°Maple.¡± He looked for a response. ¡°I¡¯ll call you Maple.¡±


    Maple raised the bowl to her mouth chewing on the lip.


    ¡°What would you like to do today, Maple?¡± He asked her. ¡°Ah, what am I doing? Talking to a baby. Perhaps I have been out in the woods too long.¡±


    Mal carried Maple out to the goat pen and set her down. He then grabbed a goat and tied it to a post, placed a bucket underneath, and sat down next to the goat. Grabbing a teet, he pinched and pulled down. The milk shot into the bucket, hollow-sounding as it hit the bottom. Steam curled from the bucket as he carried it inside with Maple.


    She wouldn¡¯t drink the milk. Her face soured and she turned away when Mal brought it near. He knew she would drink it when she got hungry enough.


    He was out cutting wood when they came days later. A group of men approached on horseback. Again, they wore blue and yellow armbands. They saw a middle-aged man with dark skin.


    ¡°Greetings sir, can we speak with you?¡± The guards stayed in their saddles.


    ¡°Gentlemen.¡± Mal leaned the ax on a stump, wiped his hands, and grabbed his staff. ¡°What can I do for you?¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    ¡°We¡¯re on the hunt for a missing child. We have a hunch that it''s somewhere in these foothills. You wouldn¡¯t know anything about that, would you?¡±


    Mal knew he couldn¡¯t look towards his cabin. ¡°No, haven¡¯t seen any children running around lately. I¡¯m curious though, what do you want with the child?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s classified. All I can tell you is we¡¯ve been tasked to find the child. Would you mind us searching your hut?¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± he said. Mal knew he couldn¡¯t deny their search. But he sensed something was off. How often do people go searching the woods with good intent? There was a certain bite to their words that rubbed him the wrong way. ¡°Let me just put a few things in order.¡±


    Mal went inside and closed the door as the men were unsaddling. He could hear their muffled speech moving around the outside of his house. Pulling out from under his bed a sack, a travel bag, he threw open the top and rooted through it. His hands came up holding three glass vials filled with a clear liquid. He held them up and grinned looking through them.


    A knock rapped on the door.


    ¡°Just a second,¡± Mal called, slipping the vials into his pocket.


    He went over to the animal-trough-turned-crib and looked at Maple: she was asleep but her brows furrowed as there were more knocks on the door. A carrier he had made sat on the table. Putting it on, he grabbed Maple still half-asleep and placed her in it; her head rested on his back.


    A knock rapped again, louder this time. ¡°Sir, open up.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not ready,¡± Mal called.


    ¡°We¡¯re coming in whether you¡¯re ready or not.¡±


    Thuds pounded on the door, once, twice, three times. The door flew inward with a boot and the Halgen men filed in, swords drawn. Mal stood away from the door with Maple on his back.


    ¡°Give us the girl¡ªnow,¡± the guard said, stepping forward.


    Mal shot a firebolt at the guard¡¯s outstretched hands. It struck his right hand, and he yanked his arm back and screamed, ¡°he¡¯s a mancer!¡± The guard cradled his hand which was red and blistering. Mal and he both knew it would never fully heal, the burn was just too deep.


    ¡°Let me pass,¡± Mal said, ¡°and no one else will be hurt.¡±


    ¡°You know we can¡¯t do that.¡± Another guard stepped up to face him.


    Mal knew it was as good a time as any for dragon¡¯s breath. He took a vial from his pocket and downed its contents. His face twisted and he coughed. The guards looked apprehensive. One raised his sword, hoping to bring it down on Mal, but he was surprised when the mancer parried with his staff. The wood surely should have broke, or at least had a notch, but there were no marks.


    Heat rose in his body, flaring from his core. He could feel it bubbling up from his stomach, reaching out to his palms and his soles. A warmth that wasn¡¯t there before. He breathed deeply. Mal loved this feeling, yet he hadn¡¯t felt it for years. Glancing back, he saw Maple was wide-eyed now, but she didn¡¯t cry.


    Opening his mouth, there were flames coming from his throat; they looked like a writhing tongue. With each breath, the flames jumped from his mouth, searing the air. The guards looked at each other, then charged him. He let loose the fire on them. Moving his head side to side, the fire overtook the room. One guard fell to the floor when he was set ablaze, rolling and screaming. The other two tried to grab him, glanced at each other, and ducking under the steady-flowing flame, they left him. Exiting, they jumped on their horses, one leg up over the saddle. Turning their reigns toward Halgen, they wasted no time in front of the burning shack, as they whipped their horses into a foaming gallop.


    Smoke and flame curled from the doorway. Mal emerged, untouched, still carrying Maple on his back. Clearing his throat, he coughed, and hit his chest with a fist. Maple¡¯s eyes were tearing up from the smoke. ¡°Sorry,¡± he snorted. ¡°I forget, it¡¯s not just me anymore.¡±


    Taking a few steps from the burning house, he looked back at it. Mal had spent years building and perfecting it. Even though it wasn¡¯t much, he had still been proud of what he created. But now it was a bright pyre in the snow, and for what? A stupid girl, he didn¡¯t even know. Maple was fully awake now, and she looked at Mal with large eyes. Her face beckoned to him, called him to act. He felt pressure to protect her, to watch her thrive. But he didn¡¯t know if he liked feeling pressure placed on him. It almost felt as if he wasn¡¯t free.


    Raising his hand, Mal placed his pointer and his pinkie in his mouth, and his whistle split the still air. Those guards would ride to King Baltha. They would tell him what happened. Perhaps they would be flogged for letting him escape. Mal could see the fat king doing that. Whether they deserved it or not was another question. Either way, he knew he had to flee.


    And then he heard it. The familiar huff and the brush of thicket as the tough body came close. A wooly boar came barreling out of the forest. Twice the size of a horse, with beady eyes and thick brown hair that kept it warm. Steam ebbed from its nostrils.


    ¡°Hi Wart,¡± Mal said.


    Wart had been gifted to Mal after a Mancer competition in Towers Six. The elders had told him that Wart was no ordinary pet. He was not to be kept on a leash, or in a pen. That was no way to build a relationship. If Mal wanted to get anything from Wart, he had to let him roam. Like a hawk under clear skies, Wart had to choose his own horizon, or else he would simply shut down.


    Mal had taken that to heart, and now he was reaping the benefits. The boar was still a wild animal. There was no doubt about that. He could sense by the twitch of his skin, by the flick of his tail, by the hoarse breath. The way the eyes never stayed still. But Wart allowed Mal to place a harness around his neck. Not ride him, but yoke him. Behind the boar, Mal placed a sled.


    ¡°Go slow now, Wart. No getting out of control like last time.¡±


    The boar huffed.


    He took off, away from the charred hut. A black frame against white. Most of his books were lost. Actually, most of his life was lost. A life he had spent years curating. Don¡¯t look back, he thought, or you might be turned to stone. Moving forward, the sled sped and jumped over the snow. He held the reins tight in his palms.


    Maple coughed for the next few days. Her body racked and her muscles contracted. She was vulnerable but Mal didn¡¯t know how to help her. He just kept her close. Maple never left his sight when they rested. Even if she wanted to get far, she couldn¡¯t walk, and Mal could tell she didn¡¯t like crawling on the snow. How was Mal supposed to tell what she was thinking? How could he even tell if she thought or not? Perhaps her behavior! Crying seemed to be an obvious sign of discomfort. He could just run to her then. But there surely are situations where crying is not attached to pain or hunger, situations where she cries just to cry.

 Skydocks

    ¡°Do you want to see Halgen regain its glory?¡± Jordan asked, raising his hands. His grey cloak hung on his tall frame like he was a scarecrow. ¡°Or do you want to see it crumble under the hands of King Baltha?¡±


    There was a murmur in the crowd before Jordan continued. The hall where fellowship was held was not big, more of a basement, and the people were squeezed in to make room for all to catch a glimpse of the speaker. A ring of torches flickered on the walls.


    ¡°We were once the richest and safest nation in the world. All lived in plenty. The older among us will remember those days where our children could play in the street, and we sat back unafraid that they would be kidnapped or mugged. Before, production could barely keep up with the trade demand. When is the last time you¡¯ve heard of a trade deal¡ªit has been years!¡±


    Jordan enjoyed seeing his words affecting the people. There was tension in the room that hadn¡¯t been there before, and their eyes were fixed on him as if he was all that existed.


    ¡°What does King Baltha do when our production is failing? He raises our tithes...raises them...acting like he deserves our well-earned crowns. What is he a god-send?¡±


    The crowd was getting rowdy. A few men stood, shaking their fists. Arthur was in the back row, barely a man, yelling obscenities at the absent king.


    He had heard of the Grey from Cassondra. ¡°You¡¯ll love the atmosphere,¡± she had said, sitting with him on the airship docks half a year ago. They had a perfect view of the city from up here. The long cobble streets were out of focus and the few people left in the market at dusk were ants. ¡°Instead of sitting around and watching their country waste away, they¡¯re taking their destiny into their own hands. They¡¯re actually doing something about it!¡±


    They spent so many hours up here, Cassondra leading, Arthur trailing behind. Cassondra loved watching the airships float lazily above the city, their blue and yellow balloons inflated to the maximum: they looked as if a pinprick would send them spiraling...but they must be stronger than that. She forgot Arthur was there as she spoke of the sky, how it was far more expansive than the sea could wish to be; how true sailors clung to the air, and how one day she would own her own airship. Arthur had sat through all her rantings, through all her poetic digressions, through all her almost-too-childish dreamings for the sole reason of getting in her pants. It sounded worse than it was. He figured he was in his 20¡¯s. There was no need for grand social movements or political involvement. That¡¯s for old folks, when the body stops working. He wanted to live his hedonic lifestyle in peace. He wanted to have fun...and fun for him meant sex.


    So, in the name of the conquest, he started going to group meetings¡ªfellowship, they called it. It all seemed like a cult the first time: the matching grey cloaks, the code names, the chanting. They called him Atla for Oa¡¯s sake. What is that even supposed to mean? But through it all Cass looked unphased so he had to keep his cool. He couldn¡¯t spout off about her little club, no matter how much he wanted to.


    After a few meetings, it started growing on him. He looked forward to fellowship every week. It was the people there that did it for him. They always welcomed him with smiling faces, always greeted him by name, even if in code. The fellowship would end with whatever the community-designated chefs would whip up¡ªusually meat of some kind: smoked pork or brisket, accompanied with sweet ale. There would be warm laughter, and perhaps it was the ale, but Arthur had a sense the room would swell. He wished he could freeze time at moments like this: when worry simply stopped and he felt whole. At times like this, he would grab Cass and bring her close to him, and he could read her raw acceptance.


    Arthur finally got her home after months of hard work. It was summer and it was hot. He escorted her into his room, small...but all he could afford. There, they sat on the single bed, creaking. They were both a little tipsy from the ale and the scent of each other so their words were slurred.


    ¡°I feel so relaxed,¡± Cass said, laying back on the bed, her feet on the floor, her eyes ceilingward.


    Arthur mirrored her, laying the same. ¡°Those meetings always leave me so hopeful, like I could conquer the world.¡± Their eyes caught each other¡¯s, he held her gaze for longer than needed. He had learned that trick a while back: girls loved it when you looked them in the eyes.


    The crickets were whirring outside and a light rain ticked on the roof, but none of that mattered to Arthur who had his eyes on the prize. She was laying next to him, soft and comfortable, he would not get a better chance than this.


    ¡°I hope Jordan decides to make a move on the cap¡ª¡±


    He leaned over and kissed her lips, which were rigid at first...but gradually gave in. His hand tilted her chin for a better angle. ¡°The way he kissed me,¡± Cass would later disclose to her friends, ¡°was like a starving dog.¡± She was a dead deer and he couldn¡¯t get enough of her.


    It was obvious he wanted to go further. His roaming hands and the tiny thrusts on her hip spelled it out. The pressure increased, harder and harder. And then he was on top of her, sliding his cool hand under her shirt.


    Arthur sat up, ripped off his shirt, and was undoing his pants when she stopped him. ¡°Not yet,¡± she said, pulling him back down on top of her.


    Not yet, he thought, what was that supposed to mean? Did she want it later tonight, or did this mean she didn¡¯t want it at all? He considered both options. Did she not trust him, was that the problem? Not yet? Without context, that statement has no meaning, but she never provided any. How long did she intend to make him wait? It was almost like she didn¡¯t know, like she hadn¡¯t considered this far in advance. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    While he was thinking, he was neither thrusting nor kissing her, and his body was dead weight, a lifeless gunny sack. He slid off her and turned on his back, staring with blank eyes at the ceiling. The rain pounded now, making the room a cage.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Cass whispered.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± he replied flatly, his eyes locked on the patterned ceiling. It was not fine, and he wanted her to feel regret at not having made love to him, so he never turned to her.


    They fell asleep as they were.


    Things were weird between them for the next few days. Distant would be a pretty good description. In fact, Arthur avoided her. He didn¡¯t need this stress in his life. He didn¡¯t need this girl. What she was doing was stringing him along, making him sit, making him wait. Cass must¡¯ve thought he was some dog she could leash up and bring with her. He was tired of it all.


    Even at the next fellowship, he avoided her at all costs. She could ruin their relationship, but she couldn¡¯t ruin the Grey for him too. Walking in, he saw she had saved him a seat near the front and was looking around expectantly. He decided to slide in the back row where he could escape at a moment¡¯s notice. Throughout the meeting, his eyes kept glancing at her red, curly hair, shoulder-length. He kept waiting for her to turn around and survey the hall. If she could pick out his face among the sea of heads then he thought he might give her a smile.


    Wait, Arthur stopped himself. He was supposed to be angry with her...but he wasn¡¯t. Cass hadn¡¯t given him what he wanted, so why all of a sudden did he have the urge to sit next to her? Why did he want to see her face?


    Some guy slid into the row where Cass sat. Tall with a full head of brown hair. The guy appeared to motion at the empty seat. He was looking mighty friendly with her. Arthur could see a smile widen on the half of Cass¡¯s face as she looked up at the man.


    She let him sit down, she actually let him. And now she was talking with this random guy.


    He fumed in the back as he could just imagine what they were talking about, what they were laughing about. Finally, he decided it wasn¡¯t good to watch this so he left.


    He stalked out into the night, where the cobblestone streets reflected the moonlight. Wandering, he made his way to the skydocks. Climbing the many stairs felt good. Some houses still had candles flickering in the window, but most were dark. He imagined a husband and a wife spooning in bed, their children tucked away in the next room. For some reason the wife¡¯s face was Cassondra¡¯s and the husband¡¯s was the face of that guy that had stolen his seat. Why should he envy them? Once he settled down with a girl, he would be trapped for all eternity. Arthur couldn¡¯t get this through his head. He told himself he wanted to be free and that he should want that. Who would want to be caught in a snare?


    Arriving at the top, Arthur had to catch his breath as he had almost ran up those steps. The lift through the mountain didn¡¯t run at night, and there were night dock-workers on duty, hauling boxes. The dock extended straight out into the sky, over the city, and the airships were parked motionless, except for a steady swaying from the wind. They were lit with torches, which backlit the city guards positioned in front of them.


    A freighter approached out of the dark. Large and slow. At first it was a black blob, phasing into existence. Arthur could see the huge balloon reflecting moonlight. The ship looked black and he could detect no movement on the deck. None at all. It was almost as if it was empty, a ghost-ship. A tiny ship went to help it park, tugging its stern around. Once parked, the side opened with a booming clank, and workers funneled out with large crates on wheels.


    He thought about what Cass was doing with that guy right now. Food was served right about now, and Arthur bet she was sitting next to the guy with a hand on his thigh under the table. She probably gave it a squeeze every now and then.


    Stop it, he told himself, you¡¯re just being jealous. It¡¯s better to move on, be free. He could go anywhere, do anything. He wasn¡¯t chained to one place. But what was the point of being free if he wasn¡¯t happy? He didn¡¯t have an answer.


    How was he to get her back? The first step is to apologize, he figured, then probably impress her by proving the guy she¡¯s with is an idiot. That¡¯s the plan. But he¡¯d have to go about it smoothly. It wouldn¡¯t be right walking up to her and saying sorry, that wouldn¡¯t seem natural. He would have to get close to her again. The only way to elicit sympathy is to seem sincere.


    A noise came from the stairway, voices. Familiar voices. Cass¡¯s head appeared in the stairway, accompanied by the man.


    ¡°Oh...Arthur,¡± she said, looking like she had seen a ghost.


    Arthur glared at the man.


    ¡°You know him?¡± the man asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Arthur noticed she didn¡¯t mention how she knew him.


    ¡°Arthur, this is Rone. I met him at fellowship.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± There was silence.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be up here,¡± she said to Arthur.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m leaving.¡±


    He got up and left, but they didn¡¯t see him sneak around the bushes. What was he doing? He didn¡¯t want to see whatever was going to happen. It was going to hurt him...but for some reason he couldn¡¯t get himself to walk away. He laid behind a tree. Peeking out from the root, he had a perfect view of them sitting on a bench.


    This Roney guy put an arm around Cass as they looked at the airships. He leaned over and kissed her cheek, and she rested her head on his shoulder.


    ¡°The time for peaceful protest is over,¡± Jordan stated to the crowd. ¡°We must rage against Kinga Baltha until we have control!¡±


    At this, some people quieted, and some filed out the exits. They had come for the food and the friendships, not for rebellion. Good riddance, Jordan thought.


    ¡°Those among you who want change, I invite you to stay after. I have a proposal.¡±


    Arthur watched as Cass¡¯s head didn¡¯t move, neither did Rone¡¯s. They must be staying, he thought. He considered if he wanted change, if he wanted to have a lasting impact. He did, otherwise what was the point of this all.


    Soon the hall was empty except for a few people. Arthur was one of them, and Cass, and Rone too, as well as others.


    ¡°Come forward young ones,¡± Jordan beckoned. ¡°Come closer. You, way in the back. Come up here.¡±


    Cass and Rone looked back for the first time. Up the center aisle walked Arthur. He looked like he had his chest puffed out, and he was standing tall. He leaned nonchalantly on a chair, grinning at Cass.


    ¡°I want to upset Halgen¡¯s political system,¡± Jordan began. ¡°And I think I know how, but I need your help.


    ¡°What I¡¯m asking is not easy and it will disrupt your lives and everyone around you for a long time. But we must allow for change, even if it is uncomfortable.¡±

 Stench

    They were heading further into the mountains. Mal knew of a safe place to hide, but he dreaded what they had to do to get there. Leaving the forest, they ascended a grey ridge. Their footing became smooth stones. Mal could hear it before he could see it. The sounds of water hurtling over rock. They rounded the corner and there was a thunderous waterfall. Ice-covered the top but the water rushed underneath it down into a basin below, winding out of sight.


    Mal unhitched Wart and gave him a pat on the flank. He looked into the beady eyes.


    ¡°Thank you, my friend. You¡¯ve served me well, again.¡±


    The boar shook his fur and wandered off, down the ridge, disappearing into the forest.


    Mal turned, adjusted Maple¡¯s carrier, then made his way to the side of the basin. There was a pathway leading behind the falling water just wide enough for a man. Inside, the noise echoed off the walls. The cave was gaping dark and Mal shuddered. He gave his staff a shake and the crystal brightened. It shone red light on the dark walls, like a candle in the night. Maple reached for the crystal but Mal grabbed her hand.


    ¡°It¡¯s too hot.¡±


    Mal descended into the depths. He could feel Maple hug him tight and rightly so. This place was scary even to Mal, and he had been here before with Bron. He remembered that time. It was in Bron¡¯s nature to do stupid things. That is the person he was. Mal recalled him lumbering up and telling of a cave deep in the mountains. There was a glint in Bron¡¯s eye and his teeth shined through his brown beard. The tendons on his tattooed neck flared. Apparently Bron heard from an unknown source that there was treasure in this cave, treasure past his wildest dream. For Bron that cryptic message obviously meant gold, and gold meant nothing was going to stop him. Mal wished he had his determination.


    The red light bounced off shiny stalactites. He could hear water dripping far off into a subterranean pool. The air grew danker, closer, until Mal felt he could barely breathe. He wondered if there was anyone guarding this tunnel anymore. Bron had smashed everyone that came close, and Cythra was not anywhere to be found. Perhaps they had killed her. Mal always had a bad feeling that they hadn¡¯t, that she was still lurking in the deep. Her wounds would be healed by now but not her pride, and that¡¯s what he was afraid of.


    Mal reached out and broke off a tiny stalactite like a glazed icycle and held it in front of Maple. She babbled, grabbing it, and turning it over in her small hands. He smiled as she inspected it. Then she lost interest, tossing it. The stalactite shattered on the dark floor, the noise echoing through the cave. Maple giggled at the sound, reaching for another.


    ¡°No more of those,¡± he whispered, ¡°not if you¡¯re going to break them.¡±


    They reached what should have been the lowest point of the cave from what he could remember. A wide expanse with a pool in the center. The water was untouched, not a ripple marred its surface.


    Mal struggled holding Maple above the water as he swam. He held her like a delicate artifact not to be broken, and his eyes never left her quaking body until his feet graze the muddy floor on the other side.


    He had an eerie feeling, something deep in his core. Perhaps it was the confines of the cave, but he couldn¡¯t breathe. It was like he was being choked from the inside. And then it hit him, a horrid smell. When Mal was a child, he would often roam over the beaches of Fresden. Days he spent out there soaking in warmth. But one day he found the carcass of a large whale washed ashore, rotting and stinking in the sun. Its stomach was like loose cloth and had large chunks taken out of it. He was reminded of this smell in the cave. The stench of the dead. She was still kicking somewhere in these bowels, not that she could kick anymore.


    Whispers started behind him. His staff brightened as he shot a firebolt down the tunnel, glowing on the walls. He didn¡¯t spot anything. Mal ran, Maple bobbed up and down on his back. He kept looking behind him.


    ¡°Hello Mal,¡± a voice said.


    He turned to find Cythra smiling. Her forked tongue slithered through her teeth tasting the air.


    ¡°I knew I heard someone,¡± she continued, ¡°but I had no idea it¡¯d be my lover. Did you come back for me?¡±


    Mal knew running would be useless, she knew these tunnels better than anyone. Her face was beautiful, with a small nose. The shirt she wore didn¡¯t leave much to be imagined. But the feature that most stood out was her bottom half. Her scaly skin sat coiled beneath her.


    ¡°Yes, I couldn¡¯t live on without you, Cythra.¡± He forced these words out.


    Her smile widened showing her pearly-white teeth.


    ¡°I knew it. I knew you couldn¡¯t resist this.¡± She motioned to her snake-like body and moved towards him. Mal raised his staff from instinct, then lowered it.


    He felt goosebumps form on his arm as she touched him. She ran her rough hand up his forearm, giving his bicep a squeeze, then rested it on his shoulder. There was a longing-like hunger in her touch. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Is this your child?¡± she asked, running a finger down the girl¡¯s cheek. Maple turned away and started crying. ¡°There, there. You are not as pretty when you cry.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not mine,¡± he said. ¡°I was hoping to drop her off in Arden.¡±


    ¡°Arden huh. I have a better idea.¡± She moved her mouth close to his ear. So close that he could feel her breath. ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted a daughter. We could raise her together.¡±


    It took all he had not to flinch away from her whispers. But then she flicked her tongue inside his ear. He jerked his head away, rubbing his ear.


    ¡°Let me drop her off and I will come back to you.¡±


    ¡°How do I know you will come back?¡± she hesitated.


    ¡°You have to trust me. A relationship is built on trust.¡±


    She grinned at the word relationship. This was the closest she had come. ¡°You can follow me,¡± she said, starry eyed.


    The tunnel didn¡¯t seem to be leading upward; if anything, it only seemed to be leading further down. This made Mal nervous.


    ¡°You¡¯re leading us out, right?¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t you worry.¡± She looked back at him and Mal had to put on his best smile.


    After a while, the distance between them lengthened. She was a few steps ahead. Mal kept telling her to slow down because Maple was growing heavy.


    When she had her back turned, Mal plunked her in the head with his staff, her body collapsing on the floor. He ran ahead without her. The tunnel was dark, so dark that without his red crystal, he wouldn¡¯t be able to see his hand waving in front of his face.


    He turned another corner and began to panic. This tunnel system must go for miles in every direction, he thought. He started sweating as the thought that he might not get out crossed his mind. Glancing back at Maple¡¯s face, he knew he had to make it out, if only for her sake. She didn¡¯t deserve to live a life in a dungeon with Cythra as a demented mother.


    He lost count of how many corners he turned. Mal had been trying to keep track in his head, making a mental map just in case, but that was muddled now, far beyond repair. The hairs on his neck were wet with sweat, but they still prickled. His footfalls echoing off the walls made it sound like there were feet chasing him, shadows following him in the gloom.


    If he gave in to the panic, he would be lost forever. That is what he kept telling himself. He paused for a second, catching his breath. Placing his hand on his chest, he could feel his heart pounding.


    ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going?¡± Cythra¡¯s voice asked. Mal could not tell where her voice was coming from. It sounded like it was coming from the walls.


    ¡°Oh thank the gods,¡± he said. ¡°I thought you had left me.¡±


    ¡°You are the one who planned to leave me,¡± her voice said.


    ¡°...What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°Do you really think I was born yesterday?¡± she asked. ¡°You knocked me out.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not true. A rock hit you. I got scared and ran. I was going to get help. All I want is you, Cythra...you are a light in dark places. You are¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stop with the endearments. I assumed you thought better of me. I thought that maybe for once in my life someone actually wanted me. That sure is a good feeling, being wanted, fleeting but good. I thought we could live together, build a life together, finally be happy. But now I see your real colors. ¡±


    Mal stood, stunned that he had been found out. He had treated Cythra like a tool, something he could use when he needed and then discard when he didn¡¯t, but now he questioned. Perhaps she deserved more. But it was hard to tell when he couldn¡¯t see her face.


    She emerged from a hole in the wall. Her yellow eyes reflected his red light.


    He sighed. ¡°I have been poor to you, I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Save it¡ªGive me the child?¡±


    Mal edged back, hiding Maple. ¡°What do you want with her?¡±


    ¡°If I cannot get people to love me naturally, I will raise her to love me. I will be everything to her and she will be everything to me. We will be happy.¡±


    While she was speaking, Mal edged further back. His crystal burned bright red.


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to do anything stupid now,¡± she stated.


    He shot a firebolt at her but she ducked it. By the time she came back up he was sprinting away. She disappeared through a hole in the rock.


    Mal didn¡¯t know where he was going, but he knew he had to run. He wasn¡¯t about to let Cythra take Maple, not after everything they¡¯d already been through. There was no hiding in these tunnels, she knew them too well; but he could keep running. He drained another vial and dropped it clattering on the floor. Heat rose in him. This would keep his energy up for a while. He felt the warmth rush into his spine and up into his brain. Heat behind his eyes brightened the tunnel.


    A tunnel led upward, and Mal smelled sweeter air. He took it, praying to Oa that it would lead to freedom. He could see light in the distance, day or night Mal didn¡¯t know. He had lost all sense of time, not to mention sense of direction. What if Wart was waiting outside? What if he had gone through all this just to come out on the same mountain side he had entered? Mal knew he probably deserved that.


    Emerging again out of her shortcuts, Cythra stood in front of Mal. Her ropelike hair was backlit by the tunnel exit.


    ¡°Is there something about me that cannot be loved?¡± she asked. ¡°I can¡¯t understand why everyone always leaves.¡±


    ¡°Like everything else in life Cythra, if you focus on it too hard it will not come. You have to let things flow. Do not focus on love and it will show. It will ebb from everything.¡±


    This visibly angered Cythra. She came at Mal with her claws, but he warded her off with his staff.


    ¡°Love may be that easy for you, Mal, but it''s not for me,¡± she cried.


    A nail caught his face, ripping down, leaving a wound on his right cheek that would form a life-lasting scar. Maple often asked about it when she came of age.


    He raised his hand to his face, feeling blood. He only had to make it past her. When she charged at him next, he pushed her down. She fell to the side, and he hightailed it. His legs pumped into the light, and he had to shield his eyes from the day; at least until they were under the trees, where there was enough shade to see. He fell down on his hands and knees and gazed at the forest floor. He had made it. They had made it.


    It took him a while to recover.

 Mothers Kiss

    Glancing around, they were in a forest; not a pine stand like he was used to, but birch. Black scars marred their smooth bark. Maple was somehow still alert. Mal was surprised she had made it through so much unharmed. He hoped it would stay that way.


    Why was she not to be harmed? He often asked himself this question. What did he owe her? It wasn¡¯t like he was related to her in any way. He had merely found her, an orphan. He supposed because she was human, that was why he protected her. If she was another species, say a fawn, he wouldn¡¯t have gone out of his way; and perhaps he would have taken the opportunity for a free dinner. But there seems to be something about humans, particularly their faces and deep eyes that call out to each other, warning others from killing them.


    And besides, Mal thought she was adorable. Her plump cheeks and the bulging baby neck. Her tiny hands gripping one of his fingers. The way she looked out at the world through her young eyes was innocent. Naive, he thought, but refreshing nonetheless. Mal felt better than he had in a long time with her on his back. He felt renewed watching her wave her arms around in the snow.


    Judging by the sun, they were on the correct side of the mountain. And it was only a few miles of white trees before they arrived in Arden.


    Arden was not too big. A worn cart path led through the center of town as a kind of main-street. There was a butcher shop and a small tavern, that was it. Each of the Arden people had their own reason for moving into the valley, but the reasons boiled down to one: they all wanted to escape the confines of society. The citizens liked their life here. The green mountains, white-capped, rising up on either side. The miles of thick forest between them. They fought with all their strength to keep things quaint because if things started to grow they would just be building another society.


    Mal walked into town, up the steps of Red Mill Tavern, which was next to the slow-moving River Tay, and into the dimly lit barroom.


    ¡°Mal!¡± a round man said. He had a lot of hair: a full white beard and long locks.¡°Good to see you. You look awful.¡±


    He looked down at himself. His shirt was torn and dirty.


    ¡°I guess I have seen better days. Oldcastle, I need an ale.¡±


    Oldcastle returned with a mug. He looked like he had a burning question.


    ¡°Can I ask why you have a child on your back?¡±


    How was Mal to explain this other than the truth?


    ¡°I found her alone in the woods. I thought I¡¯d take her in and feed her, at least until I could find her a home. Do you know of anyone looking to take in an orphan? Maybe Mama Narissa?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know...I haven¡¯t been out her way in years. She rarely comes to town anymore. Besides, we all, including her, like our time too much to waste it on a baby.¡±


    ¡°...Well, do you know of a place we could stay, at least until I can get back on my feet?¡±


    ¡°As you know, we don¡¯t have much here. A minimalist lifestyle we like to call it.¡± He smiled. ¡°But I do have one room.¡±


    The door creaked open to an attic. Coughing, Oldcastle led with a candle into the dark room. It was filled with extra bar essentials: spare tables and chairs sat stacked in the corner, cobwebs hanging from their legs. Various unmarked boxes were scattered about.


    ¡°With a broom and some elbow grease I bet you could have this place shining in no time,¡± Oldcastle said.


    It was small, and a little dusty, but it would do. ¡°Thank you,¡± Mal said, grabbing for his coin purse, holding it out to Oldcastle. ¡°This is for you.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t take that.¡±


    ¡°Why not? I would feel guilty using all this for free.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    ¡°Free?¡± Oldcastle laughed. ¡°No, I¡¯m still going to ask for payment, just not gold...I can see you look confused.


    ¡°We stopped using currency a while back. We all said we were tired of being separated from the fruits of our labor. And since we make the rules out here, we flat-out abolished gold. We operate on a barter system now.¡±


    ¡°Well, how do I pay then?¡±


    ¡°Provide goods or a service¡­something you can barter with. You¡¯re talented so I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll think of something.¡±


    It would take months to figure out a good or a service. But before that, his wound started to fester. It was yellow, and oozing, and tender to the touch. Oldcastle took one look at it and recommended he go to Mama Narissa. She would know what to do. She always did.


    On their way, Oldcastle described her as a witch of sorts, a healer. She had flocked to Arden for the sole reason of being able to practice her craft in peace. In Summerfell, the council would make her fill out reams of paperwork before she could even think about using an incantation, lest she do something the government deemed naughty. She wanted community, don¡¯t get her wrong. She was just tired of being treated like a petulant child. At least that was what she said was the reason.


    While Oldcastle was droning on and on, Mal was focused on the puss coming from his face. He caught bits and pieces of what the old man was saying, but there was no way he could catch it all due to his pain. If he contorted his face at all, he felt a sharp stab under his eye. So much so that his face started stiffening into a flat stare. Oldcastle would look for conversation cues in Mal¡¯s face, but there were none there, not because he didn¡¯t want to, but because he simply couldn¡¯t. Mal was amazed he had not felt the wound in the cave. Surely a wound like this he would¡¯ve felt immediately. Did the heat of his fight with Cythra block the sensations? He assumed this must be the case. But a normal wound wouldn¡¯t inflame like this. It looked like half his face was blistering. There must¡¯ve been something on Cythra¡¯s nails that caused this, something only an experienced healer could deal with.


    By the time they got to Mama Narissa¡¯s cottage, Mal could no longer see out of his right eye; and he was weakening. Oldcastle, with Maple on his back, carried Mal up her rickety steps. They had to swerve past many cats, who hissed at the intruders messing up their afternoon naps.


    The inside of the cottage was smoky, and a not-so-subtle smell of incense hit them, sweet and strong. Mama Narissa stood in front of her hearth, flipping what looked like doughy pastries on a pan. She was a wide woman, not very tall. She looked like she would be the matriarch to a large family, but as far as anyone knew, she had none. ¡°Oldcastle,¡± she said, not turning, ¡°why do you always bring me injured animals. You know they never leave.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a cat this time. It¡¯s Mal.¡±


    She turned, unbelieving, from her pastries. Oldcastle wasn¡¯t lying for once. Perhaps this time away from Halgen had really straightened him out. She looked at the dark-skinned man who by this time was struggling to breathe. He was choking on himself.


    ¡°Put him here,¡± she said, swiping candles and pouches of mixing ingredients off the table. A wax candle hit the ground with a soft thud. Oldcastle set him down. ¡°What happened, Child?¡±


    Oldcastle still thought it was strange she called him child. She mustn¡¯t have been ten years his elder. ¡°Cythra,¡± he stated matter-of-factly.


    ¡°When?¡±


    ¡°About a day or two ago. I don¡¯t exactly know.¡±


    Mama Narissa looked concerned; and deep in thought, she hurried to the backroom. Oldcastle could hear her rummaging around. He heard glass clinking and stuff thrown on the floor. He looked down at the writhing patient. If she could heal him, she must be a miracle-worker. Because Mal was looking rough; not like stuffy-nose rough, but like minutes-away-from-dying rough. She returned with an armful of small jars, and noticing maple for the first time, she gave Oldcastle a questioning look, before setting the jars down on the butt of a chair.


    The healing practices she used she had learned from the Sets of Summerfell, but the government no longer recognized the Sets as part of their nation; and so, they didn¡¯t allow their witchcraft. Mama Narissa always said it was a lack of understanding that caused them to outlaw it. Misunderstanding leads to fear, she thought, and fear leads to action. It was the natural course of these things.


    She opened one jar and took dark green leaves, holding them to Mal¡¯s lips. ¡°Eat these.¡±


    Mal, barely conscious, opened his mouth and chewed them. They tasted of mint. He didn¡¯t enjoy the texture as they mashed between his teeth. He swallowed hard and the clump went down his throat. Almost immediately, he felt a change in his breathing. It was getting easier and easier. Next, she mixed a concoction in a mortar and pestle, with reddish leaves and a powder of some kind. Grinding this up and running her hand through the mixture, she moved it close to his face. Mal flinched away.


    ¡°This is going to sting a little,¡± She said.


    Mal knew when people said that, it meant it was going to sting a lot. He mentally braced himself, and he was right. When she applied the mixture it started to burn, like salt on a fresh wound. He tried, but he couldn¡¯t stop himself from crying out in pain and kicking. For some reason, Maple too started crying.


    ¡°Get her out of here¡ªthis is no place for a child!¡± She turned back to Mal. ¡°This hurts now, I know, and it will for a while. But hold out. The pain will subside, and you can go back to your life. You should call yourself lucky she didn¡¯t do more damage to you.¡± Mama Narissa grabbed another jar. She smelled of sugar, like a sweet pastry. And he felt her warmth. ¡°This powder, Mal, is called Mother¡¯s Kiss. It relieves all ailments for a time.¡± She spooned some and fed it to him. ¡°Sleep now,¡± she said, rubbing his hair.