ã€ŠA Mage&#x27;s Guide to True Magicã€‹


 Prologue: The Archmage

    (688 A.C.)

    At the top of the world, the Kilyin Mountains soared. The clouds rolled underneath their jagged bases, their peaks stabbed at the sun. Here was the roost of wyverns, their large nests hewn with bits of metal and wood from the towns far below; here was the sacred temple of the Umbeks, carved into the mountain side by a people that held the secret of finding these mountains close to the hearts of their elders. The cliffs of these mountains glimmered like iridescent ocean spray with precious gems, cursed by the old gods to punish the greedy that ventured there. Sometimes a wyvern would pry a glittering stone from its place and drop it into some poor farmer''s field just to laugh when a man or child excitedly picked it up¨Conly for their skin to break out in hideous boils.

    At the highest of the peaks, above even where the wyverns nested and the Umbeks pilgrimed, a small cave was tucked in a deep crevice. In its dark depths a creature slithered and waited, restless in its confines. It was known by many names¨CBlacktongue, Nellen, Warthor¨Cbut its creators called it Retklin, the Carver. At the back of its cave sat a pure blue crystal, not guarded by any curse, but by the magic of the Carver. Though the wyverns would swoop by from time to time to mock it, the only Umbek foolish enough to journey to the Carver''s lair were never seen again.

    Any who told a lie in Retklin''s presence were turned to stone. Petrified flesh was the only thing it was cursed to eat.

    Most of its days were spent waiting anxiously for its next victim, bound to the black recesses of its cave. Time had little effect or meaning to the creature; the only thing it cared about was the gnawing in its stomach and whatever foolish mortal would trespass next. Beyond the dripping stalactites and the sharp stalagmites in the gaping maw of a cave, beyond the tiny imprints of feet impressed into the uneven stone floor from victims long since devoured, the Carver¡¯s only companion was its hunger. Once, the old gods had cared to look upon its cursed form to ensure it had not failed in its task, but now even they have left Retklin, and the new gods never cared enough to forget. It was alone in its prison at the peak of the world.

    But finally, another seemed eager to find its maw.

    The proud sun threw a long, thin slit of light into the cave as usual¨Cthe sun rarely set in this place so elevated. In its reach, a shadow wavered into view. Retklin slithered out from behind the pedestal bearing the treasure, its hard scales perfectly camouflaged on the jagged stone, long body coiling around the walls of the cave, head hanging from the ceiling just above the entrance. The intruder would not be able to see its red eyes piercing through the darkness.

    Sometimes the human sacrifices that came were small and afraid, collapsing in on themselves when stepping into the realm of legend. This cattle seemed to be of the other sort, shoulders thrown back, head held high on a string of foolish bravado, feet carrying her into the monster''s den with a sense of dignity. The Carver flicked out its tongue. Yes, those ones always did have a richer taste.

    Her head was crowned with a short swath of light blue hair. She wore a black robe as deep a color as the shadows of Retklin¡¯s cage¨Cdidn''t that hold some meaning? But then, every little thing seemed to be special to humans, Retklin couldn''t be bothered to remember them all. It could only lick its lips with its tongues and imagine how good the human would taste.

    Her gaze slid around the cave walls before landing on the gem in the back. She stopped with a huff, crossing her arms and looking around again.

    ¡°Well, this has already taken long enough, and if no one is going to introduce themselves,¡± she called in a tinny voice, ¡°I guess I''ll just take the artifact and be on my merry way.¡±

    Retklin struck, winding around her in an instant, its long body forming a twisted prison. It was bound by the magic of the old gods, the ones of laws and rules, to leave her enough room to breathe. The very thing granting it life also restraining it.

    The human grunted as Retklin peered down at her with its large, red eyes, blinking each one in succession. It opened its mouths again, tasting the air with its long, lithe tongue, its other, stubbier tongue lolling out at the delectable scent of prey. A few globs of spit dropped onto her head, but she could only make a face and shudder. She was helplessly pinned between the scales of its body, yet she only seemed mildly perturbed. She wriggled but was unable to escape from Retklin¡¯s grasp, just like all the other mortals before her. And then, she gave up¨Cno doubt realizing how fruitless her endeavors were¨Cand fell still. All she could do was try to blow away the strand of her bangs that had settled on her pointed face. The bit of blue lifted lazily and landed defiantly back in its previous place against her nose.

    Had that been all she wanted in the first place? To get her hair out of her face?

    ¡°This is more along the lines of the reception I was expecting,¡± she said, blowing at her hair with another irritated huff. The strand landed across her eye, and she sighed.

    The Carver hissed, but couldn''t tighten its bindings. ¡°Do you mock Retklin, mortal?¡±

    She didn''t respond for a moment. Her one eye was shut, but the other golden iris pierced through Retklin''s intentions. She smiled. ¡°I guess a little, though I didn''t mean to offend.¡±

    Retklin waited to see if her answer would have a petrifying effect, but she was still very much warm and soft many moments later. She cleared her throat in the silence that followed. ¡°So can we move this along? I''m a very busy person.¡±

    Retklin narrowed its eyes at the impudent mortal. ¡°Do you know no fear, human?¡±

    It could feel her tense as she tried to shrug, but it was hampered by her scaly prison. ¡°Eh, not enough for my own good, probably.¡±

    Still she did not turn to stone. Retklin lowered its head to level their gazes. She held its five eye glare evenly with her one. ¡°What is your name?¡±

    ¡°Wanily Wane,¡± she replied easily.

    A moment to check and then, ¡°And what do you seek in coming here, Wanily Wane?¡±

    ¡°The gravity crystal.¡±

    ¡°What do you intend to do with it?¡±

    ¡°Stop an ancient and destructive magic, as is my duty. I am the Archmage of the land below.¡±

    That''s what the black robes were. Retklin knew it had seen them before. It smiled with pale, bloodless lips. ¡°The last Archmage Retklin met tasted very good. Retklin wonders how you''ll taste?¡±

    Her voice raised in volume a bit, the only sign of any fear. ¡°I wouldn''t know. And that wasn''t a real question.¡±

    Retklin drew away from her, flaring the folds of skin on the sides of its head. ¡°Very well, Wanily Wane. Retklin thinks you know its rules but the old magic demands Retklin tell you anyway. Tell a lie in Retklin¡¯s presence and you shall turn to stone.¡± She was blowing at the hair in her face again. ¡°Give an incorrect answer and you shall turn to stone. Should you answer twenty questions correctly, you may do in this place as you please. Fail¨C¡± The human grinned as the strand of hair landed away from her eye, straddling the side of her face precariously. Retklin snapped its head back down. ¡°And Retklin shall eat you.¡±

    Stolen story; please report.

    Wanily nodded, the strand of hair falling back against her nose. She let out a sound of frustration but didn''t try to fix it again. ¡°Sure. Do the questions from before count?¡±

    The Carver narrowed its eyes again. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Great! Six done, fourteen to go.¡± The human gave a smug grin. ¡°What¡¯s next?¡±

    Retklin hissed, tongues striking the air. ¡°A farmer plants a plot of trees fourteen by fifteen. Seventy percent of the trees grow an inch from every half inch of rain, thirty percent grow an inch from a quarter inch of rain. After four hundred days, fifty inches of rain have fallen, but fifteen percent of each group of trees have died. If six inches of tree must be left when they are cut, how many feet of wood does the farmer have? Round your answer to the nearest tree and foot.¡±

    Wanily was silent for several minutes, face pinched in concentration. Retklin impatiently flicked its tongue. ¡°Well?¡±

    ¡°One moment,¡± she said, brow furrowed. The Carver shifted restlessly. ¡°Erm, eleven thousand two hundred twenty-seven feet.¡± She pursed her lips. They both waited several moments, but still she didn¡¯t turn to stone. She breathed out a small sigh of relief.

    Retklin relaxed its grip a fraction to slither onto its belly, short legs tucked into its sides. ¡°Do you love your family, Wanily Wane?¡±

    She had enough room to move in his coils now, stretching and massaging her limbs where Retklin¡¯s hard scales had rubbed. ¡°By blood? No, never knew them.¡±

    The human¡¯s honesty continued. The Carver began to circle her, but she didn¡¯t even try to keep her gaze on it, just stared ahead at the crystal. ¡°How many lovers have you had?¡±

    A pause. Retklin slowed. ¡°One,¡± she said, voice tight.

    ¡°How many pets?¡±

    ¡°Two.¡± It came more readily than the last answer.

    ¡°Have you ever killed before?¡±

    Her voice was pointed, defensive. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Did they deserve it?¡±

    Her tone turned careful. ¡°It¨CI only did what needed to be done.¡±

    It drew itself up eagerly, drinking up her hesitation. ¡°You didn¡¯t answer Retklin¡¯s question.¡±

    She stood up a little straighter. ¡°Yes, most of them did.¡±

    Retklin made an unhappy rumble deep in its throat. ¡°The old gods approved of swift justice and were displeased by guilt. You answer correctly.¡±

    She was still. ¡°Next question, please.¡±

    ¡°Are you a good person?¡±

    The human crossed her arms. ¡°These questions seem awfully subjective.¡±

    ¡°They are not Retklin''s questions,¡± it replied with a flick of its tongue. Truly, many were the questions of the old gods, fixed into Retklin''s mind with their magic. It paused in its ring around her. ¡°Answer.¡±

    She narrowed her eyes, golden slits tinted with the bloody crimson of Retklin''s own. A tricky, thinking mortal this one was. It made Retklin ravenous. It wondered if that would make her brain taste better when it turned to stone. ¡°No, probably not.¡±

    Retklin seized her with its front leg, stubby black claws wrapping around her body. Still the human did not shake in fear or lose the perceptive gleam in her eye. ¡°This is correct, as the old gods despise humans. None are good.¡±

    The human smirked. ¡°Yeah, figures. Once you know the old gods were assholes, it''s pretty easy to figure out the answers they want. Next question.¡±

    Retklin passed her along to one of the legs on the lower half of its body, head hovering a dozen feet up so the human had to crane her neck to look up at it. She still seemed so sure, so relaxed. Cocky. Retklin tasted the air, belly tightening in hunger. Yes, Retklin knew what to do.

    Retklin lowered its head as it spoke until it was mere inches away from her face. Its hot breath dragged her blue hair behind her head, its eyes crossed to peer at her tiny, frail face, ¡°Is the human arrogant?¡±

    She didn''t flinch at its proximity. She scoffed, ¡°Damn straight I''m arrogant.¡±

    Retklin drew back, smiling as it flicked out its tongue again. ¡°Does the human deserve to be arrogant?¡±

    She furrowed her brow and crossed her arms. ¡°This is a trick question,¡± she said loudly, golden eyes roaming around the cave as if to watch her voice echo off the walls. ¡°This is a trick question but mists swallow me if I''m going to say no.¡± She finally wrestled her hand free and started counting off her fingers. ¡°I mastered magic lost to time, I became the champion of the people, I was officially named the greatest mage in all the land¨CI''ve had the emperor bow down to me. Damn right I deserve to be arrogant. And I, Wanily Wane, the Archmage, will have your artifact.¡±

    Retklin smiled and licked its lips. It set down its meal, eliciting a resounding crack. The human glanced at her feet as the stony ground of the cave began to expand to her shoes and legs. ¡°Ah, Gehenna.¡±

    Retklin cackled with laughter. ¡°Foolish! Stupid! Retklin knew you''d say yes. The old gods say no, no, humans are little worms. Not deserve to be arrogant. But humans have such pride.¡± It piled up around her again but patiently left her a few feet of berth. Once she had fully transformed, then it could feast. ¡°And now you are no better than the others! From Moss you came, to Retklin''s belly you''ll go!¡±

    She wasn''t panicking like most its food did. She watched her legs turn to the smooth gray of stone with little more than an irritated huff.

    ¡°Dammit, I didn''t want to have to do this,¡± she muttered. Retklin watched with its wide head cocked as she undid the clasp of the pouch at her hip. She pulled out a vial of a metallic liquid, like mercury. ¡°What a waste. This was such a pain to make.¡± She uncorked it with her thumb and drank it all in one swallow.

    The gray evaporated from her legs in a fine mist. It rained back to the ground with the hoarse peppering of dust. She tucked the empty vial back into her pouch, smirking. Retklin took several long moments to process this as she jumped, arching over the tall mounds of its coiled body in a display that a human shouldn¡¯t have been capable of¨Cwithout magic, at least. She landed lightly on the other side of the prison Retklin had made and strode over to the gravity crystal, plucking it from its pedestal.

    ¡°What is this? What human treachery is this?¡± Retklin demanded. The human rolled her eyes and moved to step around it, but it blocked the exit with its massive body. ¡°Retklin saw Retklin¡¯s magic! That isn¡¯t possible!¡±

    The woman rolled her eyes. ¡°Amera above, you are so simple.¡± She jabbed a finger at Retklin. ¡°Alright, you listen here, monster. I made that potion with leaves from a lava bear¡¯s den¨Cthe bastards hoard them to keep their caves molten. Took me one month to deal with all of that, took me two months to get the Umbek to show me the way up here, and I would have rather saved it but the old gods¡¯ curse outranks my magic. Just by a little.¡± She sniffed, stuffing the crystal into the sack on her back. ¡°I am the greatest mage in all the land. I make the impossible possible. I deserve this crystal, and I deserve to be arrogant.¡±

    Retklin snarled at her, the sound rocking the cave and raining dust down on top of them. The human danced back, watching the ceiling warily. ¡°Human may have outsmart god magic, but the challenge is over. Retklin can still kill you!¡±

    It lunged at the tiny human, massive body snapping out what should have been faster than any mortal could react. And yet Retklin found itself slowly inching its way through the air, the human still a dozen paces away from it and not getting much closer. She gave a huge yawn and simply strode around Retklin.

    ¡°Not the greatest mage in all the land for nothing,¡± she quipped, tugging her bag¨Cand plundered treasure¨Ccloser. She climbed up Retklin''s body, using its large scales as grips. Retklin tried to change directions and crush her in its powerful double jaw, but its trajectory seemed fixed in its thrust forward. ¡°Thanks for the artifact!¡±

    She slid down the other side of his body, the jaunty sound of her footsteps growing softer until it disappeared altogether. Retklin was stuck for another minute before it slammed into the floor where the human had stood before. It gave a strangled cry and pulled at the magical bindings holding it to the cave, craning to peer down the mountain.

    But the human was gone. The only thing Retklin could see was the haughty wyverns soaring from ridge to ridge, forever out of its reach.

 Chapter 1: A Dubious Teacher

    (664 A.C.)

    Dusk was falling, and it was time to close up shop. Arthur stood up from his seat behind the sales counter and stretched. Its wooden top was cluttered with jars of his flashiest, cheapest goods to entice buyers right before they completed their purchase. Around the shop were half a dozen other wooden tables crammed with crates and piled with trinkets. A few people still browsed the magic shop, plains with brown and black hair that marveled at the items with wide eyes and felt at the change in their purses. Arthur rang the bell he kept under the counter, drawing their attention.

    ¡°Five minutes to closing,¡± he announced. Their faces tightened under the pressure of what to do, but eventually he had them lined up, struggling to keep a hold of all the items in their hands. He totaled them all up, and when all the customers were heading down the dark street, Arthur had a happy stack of silver and copper marks. He grinned and dropped them into the coinpurse at his hip before making his rounds of the shop. The vibrant paint on the items was looking good tonight¨Cjust as well, then, since Arthur really didn¡¯t feel like going out to buy some more. The glittery enchantments on some of the goods would need refreshing, but that could wait until the morning. He yawned and took the key out of his pocket as he made his way to lock up for the night.

    Halfway to the door, there was a knock. Arthur stopped, frowning, certain he had imagined it. Who would knock on the door to a shop? A shop in a less than stellar part of town as night was descending no less? He didn''t have any suppliers coming by tonight, right? No, it would be too early for that anyhow. Baffled, he waited another moment, and sure enough, there was another bout of knocks, louder and more insistent. Arthur crept to the door, hand darting to the wand in his belt. Was it an angry but polite customer demanding a refund? No, they¡¯d just barge in. Had the police found him? But then, if it were the dogs, they wouldn¡¯t knock either, would they?

    He cracked the door, then opened it fully. Shivering in the winter night was a little urchin girl with blonde hair, nothing but threadbare shirt and trousers to protect her from the cold. But when she looked up at Arthur, her golden eyes were full of fire. ¡°T-This is a m-magic shop, r-right?¡± she asked through chattering teeth.

    Arthur raised an eyebrow and quickly casted his gaze around the empty street. There was a single drunk stumbling down the other side of the narrow, cobbled road, his hazy shadow wavering across the stones under the light of the full moon. Most of the other shops around him had already closed¨Cor at least their windows were dark and their doors shut tight. Other than that, nothing and no one. ¡°Where are your parents, girl? Do you even have any?¡±

    She scowled. ¡°Y-You a mage or n-not?¡±

    Arthur furrowed his brow, unimpressed. ¡°Not one for manners, are you?¡±

    She rubbed at her arms, knees knocking together from the force of her shivering. ¡°I¡¯ve walked forever in the winter with no coat to find a magic shop with a real mage in it that wasn¡¯t a total snob,¡± she hissed, the words falling out of her mouth in a cascade that Arthur was just barely able to catch. She let out a small puff of air that billowed in a white cloud in front of her. When she spoke again, her tone was much less jagged. ¡°S-Sorry if I¡¯m not in a very good m-mood.¡±

    Arthur considered her for a moment, then considered just slamming the door in her face for another, before deciding he wasn¡¯t terribly busy. He could entertain her until she was no longer entertaining. ¡°Well, what is it you want, then?¡±

    Her golden eyes lit up as she grinned. ¡°I want to learn magic so I can become the Archmage!¡±

    Arthur slammed the door shut.

    A squawk of indignation sounded on the other side before the girl started pounding on the wood with one tiny hand. ¡°Hey!¡±

    Well, she was going to draw some rather unwanted attention if she continued like that. Arthur sighed and cracked the door open again, peering down at the girl. She snatched her hand back and glared up at him again.

    ¡°I have no use for an apprentice,¡± he told her. ¡°Never wanted one in the first place. You should keep looking, girl.¡±

    He went to close the door again, only for the girl to stick her foot in the opening. She yelped, eyes welling up with tears when it struck her slippered foot, but she gripped the door with one hand all the same and tugged it open another fraction. ¡°I¡¯m willing to work. I was willing to come all this way, and I¡¯m willing to move on, I guess, but I really don¡¯t want to do that so at least give me a chance before turning me away. You run this shop, right?¡± She pulled on the edge of the door again, but Arthur didn¡¯t let it budge another inch. ¡°I could help around the place. Come on, please? Pretty, pretty please?¡±

    Arthur didn¡¯t care much for children or begging or begging children¨Cin his line of work, that was a story that usually got you stabbed in the back¨Cbut there was something to be said of tools being useful. He was certain he could find something for the girl to do, some purpose to serve.

    In fact, he had the beginning of an idea...

    He raised a hand to his chin, quickly adding flesh to the skeleton of a plan taking shape in his mind. He needed to know a couple of things about this girl, he decided, if he was to even consider it.

    ¡°What about your parents?¡± he asked.

    The girl, for all her bluster and fire, suddenly wouldn¡¯t meet his eye. ¡°What about them?¡±

    Arthur didn¡¯t care much for that answer. ¡°Did you run away?¡± He didn¡¯t need anybody to come snooping around, accuse him of kidnapping their child or anything else. She didn¡¯t answer right away, and Arthur felt his patience running then. ¡°Did you?¡± he pressed.

    She scowled again. ¡°I lived on the streets before I started looking for a teacher, alright? In Tiulipa or whatever. My parents aren¡¯t in the picture.¡±

    Tiulipa? That was the nearest city over¨Cstill nearly a hundred miles away. Impressive, if she really did come all that way. She certainly looked like she was from the streets, too. The pale colors of her threadbare clothing was barely discernible under all the filth, but somehow her face managed to be dirtier. He wouldn¡¯t be surprised if she was sporting fleas in that greasy, blonde mane of hers.

    ¡°And you¡¯re not diseased or anything?¡± Arthur asked, wrinkling his nose. He wasn¡¯t old, no matter what those annoying urchins down the street at the church said. He had no idea how their eyes were so sharp¨Cit had only been a single gray hair among his crop of pale orange and yet they cajoled him until he gave them a reason to run. But that was neither here nor there. At thirty-one, he was, perhaps, not young enough to have such strapping health anymore. He didn¡¯t need this girl barging in and getting him sick.

    ¡°No,¡± she said petulantly, like she was slightly offended Arthur even asked. Surely no one could blame him though¨Cshe certainly smelled like the bad end of an alley. It might have been years since the official end of everything surrounding the Necroplague, but one could never be too sure. The girl was pale and frighteningly skinny, but maybe not unnaturally so¨Cconsidering it was the middle of a cloudy winter with no doubt little food to be spared for young, orphaned urchins.

    He doubted she was lying or even just trying to mislead him. The girl had been nothing but forthright so far. Too forthright. It made his skin crawl.

    He raised a brow at her. ¡°And what makes you think you, or any street trash, could one day become the Archmage? Do you even know the first thing about magic?¡± It was possible, given that her hair was blonde instead of brown or black, but people could still be born with golden locks, even if it was uncommon.

    ¡°I can learn,¡± the girl said with far too much confidence. But that was good. Arthur could use that.

    Not her claiming she could learn. Gods, no. He didn¡¯t plan on teaching her anything about magic if he could help it. It was just easier to manipulate the ignorant and na?ve.

    Arthur nodded, allowing a slight smirk. ¡°You¡¯re in luck, then,¡± he said, opening the door fully and motioning her inside. ¡°I could use a hand around the shop. Don¡¯t see why I couldn¡¯t teach you a thing or two along the way.¡±

    She blinked up at him in surprise, golden eyes shining. ¡°Really? Really really?¡± Her face split in a grin, reminding Arthur of the sharp smile of a pixie. ¡°I won¡¯t make you regret it! I¡¯ll become the strongest mage ever, and I¡¯ll be the Archmage and help lots of people, and¨Cand I¡¯ll make you glad you took me in. Just you wait!¡±

    With bated breath, he thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he smiled again. ¡°Come in, then, you¡¯re wasting the heat of my crystals.¡±

    The girl gasped, springing forward and turning about herself. Her gaze snagged on the red fire crystals hanging from their glass casing on the ceiling, then on the small viewing orb set into the wall behind the counter that currently displayed one of the tropical beaches of the Rizen Archipelago inside its glass surface.

    The only two things down here that held any real value, and they¡¯d gotten her attention. Not that they were exactly subtle, but still. Maybe Arthur would have to keep a closer eye on her than he thought.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name then, kid?¡± Arthur asked her, finally shutting the door and locking it.

    She picked up one of the baubles from the table nearest to her, a leathery fan made to look like the gray, bat-like wing of a pixie. ¡°Wanily.¡±

    Arthur strode over to her in two quick steps and snatched the item from her. Her lip jutted out in a pout but her eyes narrowed in a glare as he pointedly folded it back up and stuck it in its vase with the rest of them. He adjusted them just so before arching a brow at her. ¡°You have a last name, Wanily?¡±

    She shrugged, reaching for another little good on the table. ¡°Not that I know of.¡±

    He grunted, slapping her hand before she could grab anything else. She shot him that half-pout, half-glare look again. ¡°Wanily it is, then,¡± he said, sending her a sharp look. The girl¨CWanily¨Chuffed and crossed her arms.

    It was an odd name to be sure, not one he had ever heard of in Dryan before. But then, her eyes were golden like the Nanshee. Maybe some Nanshee couple gave their child the name before pulling a disappearing act. But, then, why was she here, in Dryan, on a completely different continent than the faraway, desert nation? It was a curious little puzzle¨Chow did a Nanshee child end up on the other side of the world with no parents and a desire to become the Archmage?

    It tickled Arthur''s mind, but he didn¡¯t quite care enough to ask. If all went according to the plan accumulating in his head, it wouldn¡¯t make much difference. He moved on to the next issue at hand. ¡°My name is Trevor Ren.¡± A fake, and if she just came to this city, she wouldn¡¯t be able to tell anybody his exact location either. ¡°You¡¯ll have to sleep down here for the night,¡± Arthur continued. ¡°I don¡¯t have an extra room for you to stay in.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a lie, exactly, even if Arthur wouldn¡¯t have a problem lying to this child. There was only his bedroom and his storage room upstairs. He would be staying in his bedroom, obviously, and he didn¡¯t trust the girl enough to put her up in his storage room. There were some valuable¨Cand questionably legal¨Citems up there. She could stay down here with his plethora of baubles, fire crystals she couldn¡¯t reach, and the viewing orb. If she could figure out a way to pry the viewing orb out of the wall without waking Arthur up in the process, he might be impressed enough to just let her run off with it.

    Wanily turned her head back and forth, peering around the shop. ¡°What, should I just sleep behind the counter or something?¡±

    Arthur shrugged, already moving toward the stairs. It certainly wouldn¡¯t weigh on his conscience¨Cit would be better than the cold stones outside. ¡°That¡¯s up to you. Just don¡¯t touch my stuff.¡±

    ¡°Suits me just fine. See you in the morning, Master.¡± She walked around to the sales counter, standing on her tiptoes to rest her chin on the top.

    ¡°Yes, see you,¡± Arthur drawled. He stopped at the foot of the staircase. ¡°And if you touch anything I¡¯ll throw you out and set the constable on you.¡± No, he wouldn¡¯t, he couldn¡¯t risk that kind of attention. But she didn¡¯t need to know that. Not that she seemed very worried anyways.

    ¡°Yeah, whatever, I¡¯m not gonna touch your stuff. Can I have a blanket?¡± she asked, watching him from the corner of her eye.

    ¡°That would be touching my stuff.¡±

    Wanily let out a loud sigh but didn¡¯t press it. She turned her gaze to the shop, and just before Arthur went to continue up the stairs, she spoke again. ¡°Hey, this place is pretty cool, huh? How¡¯d you get it?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m flattered,¡± he deadpanned. ¡°But that sounds like a question for the morning when my patience isn¡¯t worn thin by an urchin that just barged into my store and demanded I give her lessons and a place to live.¡±

    Wanily huffed, ¡°Okay, that¡¯s fair.¡± Her head disappeared below the counter, then, and the floorboards creaked, the telltale sign of a body settling on the wood and trying to get comfortable. Just as the creaking stopped, she called, ¡°Goodnight!¡±

    Arthur groaned inwardly. He headed up the stairs only to come back down and throw a pillow and folded blanket down at the girl. She shot upright but relaxed when she realized what had happened. She smiled at him, a real, wide smile that made Arthur suppress a shudder.

    ¡°Cut that out, it''s creepy,¡± he muttered. The girl was too genuine for Arthur''s taste, but she would serve his purposes. The least he could do was give the thing a pillow for the few nights she''d spend in his company. ¡°And go to sleep,¡± he called over his shoulder, finally heading up to his own bedroom for the night.

    What a headache. Hopefully, the money in the end would be worth it.

    <hr>

    Arthur wasn''t the most upstanding man, he knew this and accepted it, was proud of it even. But despite his questionable morality, he had never killed anyone. It was one of the few things he refused to do¨Clying and cheating and stealing were things all on their own but murder was quite another.

    But the next morning, one little girl was making him question his beliefs.

    ¡°Can you teach me something now?¡± she asked from across the shop, broom slowing as she looked up.

    Arthur leaned his elbows on the counter and rubbed his temples. ¡°Keep sweeping,¡± he gritted out. Wanily stepped around and did precisely two more strokes before poking her head up again. ¡°No, not right now,¡± he hissed before she could even ask. She threw her head back down and went back to sweeping. He would have to go tonight instead of tomorrow¨Che didn¡¯t know how much more of this he could take.

    ¡°Can¡¯t you teach me something just real quick?¡± She had stopped again, broom towering above her. She stamped her foot, and Arthur was already imagining the scuff he''d find there later. ¡°You said you¡¯d teach me magic in the morning.¡±

    ¡°I said I¡¯d answer your questions in the morning. At this point I might not even do that.¡±

    She clamped her mouth shut. Her huge, golden eyes, like mini suns, begged him instead. He couldn¡¯t say he felt much compassion for the child, but it wasn¡¯t like he was doing much else at the moment. ¡°Fine, put that broom away and come over here.¡±

    She squealed in delight and ran to thrust the broom in the corner. She dashed around the cluttered tables¨Cgiving Arthur a small heart attack¨Cand slammed to a stop in front of the counter. She hopped up and down, grinning from ear to ear.

    Arthur withheld a sigh. Maybe he could give her something to spend her energy on.

    He pulled out one of the rocks from a jar on his left. ¡°Turn this rock into ice.¡±

    Wanily froze, her smile disappearing. ¡°But I don¡¯t know any magic.¡±

    Arthur nodded, tapping the stone. ¡°Yes, but you have a bit of natural talent for magic. Your hair suggests as much.¡± Her hand darted to her blonde locks, brow furrowed. ¡°Even people without any magic know that much. Hair color is indicative of magical ability.¡± He pointed to his own head of pale, sunset orange hair. ¡°I have a pretty standard hair color for mages. The only higher colors are red, pink, blue, and purple.¡±

    While he was talking, Wanily stared hard at the glittery stone. ¡°This isn¡¯t working,¡± she announced.

    He sighed, ¡°Were you even listening to me?¡± She shrugged, and Arthur ran a hand down his face. ¡°Alright, well, just keep trying. Focus on the stone, think about it turning to ice.¡± He paused, fighting a smile at Wanily¡¯s silence as she focused on the little rock. ¡°It might take a few hours. Days, even.¡±

    He was, of course, neglecting to tell her anything actually substantial about magic. Everyone knew about hair color¨Cor he had thought as much, anyway. What did her parents even teach her before fucking off and leaving their child to beg on the streets of a city in a foreign land? Either way, he couldn¡¯t be bothered to give her any sort of real magic lesson. If she wanted to learn about new magic or what kind of conduits were better for which spells or even just a basic light cantrip, she¡¯d need to go somewhere else.

    And soon, she would be.

    She snatched up the rock and puffed out her chest, breaking Arthur from his musings. ¡°I can do it." She began to walk away but stopped and whirled back around. ¡°Wait, isn¡¯t this a magic rock?¡±

    Arthur¡¯s gaze darted to the glittery piece of costume. The paint on it was brand new and probably wouldn¡¯t flake anytime soon. It would only need to last a couple days anyways, if everything went according to plan. ¡°Er, yes it is. It amplifies magic. It should make your task a little easier.¡±

    She smiled, holding it out in front of her. ¡°Bringing me on wasn''t a mistake, Master, and I''ll prove it! By tonight, this stone will be ice!¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Arthur drawled. ¡°Flip the sign to open on your way out. Be back before the sun sets to clean up shop.¡±

    ¡°Aye aye!¡± Wanily affirmed, skipping out the door. There was a slight rubbing sound as she flipped the sign, and then it was still.

    Arthur let out a sigh of relief. The stone should keep her preoccupied while he got everything set up, though that''d have to wait until later. For now, he tended his shop.

    It was the middle of the week and the weather was poor, so business was slow. A few plains, a tired, far from home white that left as quickly as he came, and a rare red that asked if he had anything of actual value and left with griffin beaks. Nothing out of the usual. Too short a day, and the door clicked open again, Wanily not even looking up from the rock in her hand as she entered.

    Still, there was silence. Arthur smiled. ¡°How''s it going, Wanily?¡± he called.

    She wrinkled her nose. ¡°Still not night,¡± she replied and sat on the floor, back leaning against the counter.

    Arthur grunted. ¡°Well, I''m going out. I''ll lock up the shop, you just stay here and try not to burn it down. Sweeping around would be nice too.¡±

    ¡°After I turn this to ice,¡± she mumbled, brow furrowed, golden gaze boring into the rock. Arthur wouldn''t be surprised if he saw smoke from a flame rising up under that fierce glare instead of ice. He left her to it, fairly certain she wouldn''t do anything he''d need to worry himself about. He still locked the door to the storage room and took his coin purse, tucking the bag into the pocket of his long coat and dawning his wool cap as he set out into the dusk.

    Elsgrove was by no means a bustling city even in the best of times. The busiest it got was during the harvest seasons around the ends of summer and fall, when farms in the south of the country sent some of their goods north, Elsgrove¡¯s central location in Dryan making it a natural stop along the way. As Arthur understood it, the soil near Elsgrove was particularly good for blueberries and strawberries, too, as well as many herbs. All of these factors led to the development of the city. But he wasn¡¯t really sure¨Che was no farmer or cartographer¨Cand didn¡¯t particularly care. The city had enough business for him while simultaneously not undergoing much scrutiny, and that was all that mattered.

    All that to say he didn¡¯t pass many people on the streets as he made his way to his destination. The seventh constellation, Pyll, twinkled above him at the moment, the long oval with its vertical line splitting it down the middle taking up the northern end of the sky, across from where the waning moon glowed. That meant it was late enough for most stores to already be closed, which meant most people were probably settling into their homes for the night. Except for people, like Arthur, who were headed to a tavern.

    He came to a small bar with its sign sticking out into the road¨Cthe Kappa''s Kreek, both K''s written in an enchanted purple paint that glittered in the night. There was a tall, muscular man standing outside with arms crossed, long trench coat concealing his body and the no doubt countless weapons that were stowed there. One always had to take extra precautions when mages were involved.

    The plain looked down at Arthur. ¡°Proof?¡± he rasped in a voice like a rockslide.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Treven?¡± Arthur asked, frowning. That was the usual bouncer. A good enough bloke in Arthur¡¯s opinion seeing as he never glanced twice when Arthur came by.

    ¡°He hadn¡¯t been very careful recently,¡± the man said. He drew himself up. ¡°So I¡¯ll ask again: proof?¡±

    Arthur rolled his eyes. He held out his hand and muttered, "A man who knows my face is a pain, so I must show him a little bit of flame." A fire spluttered to life in his palm as he finished the spell. It wasn''t anything much with such an unorthodox casting, but it was enough for the bouncer. Mages only, and he had proved himself a mage.

    ¡°Could have just asked me to take the hat off,¡± Arthur grumbled as the man nodded for him to go ahead.

    The bouncer shook his head. ¡°Getting dye is easier than learning magic. Now get in before I kick you back to the hole you slithered out of.¡±

    Arthur adjusted his cloak and stepped in. He probably could have taken the bouncer, but he wasn''t one to push his luck. Besides, he needed to get in here. His business partners frequented this place¨Cmore than he did, at any rate.

    There were several people scattered around the interior of the tavern, heads of mint green to shocking white to shining silver chattering in small groups around equally small tables. On the right, a fireplace roared, bringing welcome warmth after the chill of the outside. A single burly brunette ran around serving drinks, all smiles and boisterous laughter when she stopped to hand out tankards or converse with a patron. Another woman with soft green hair, younger than her compatriot, tended the bar, making drinks in a practiced flurry of motion.

    Arthur caught her eye as he moved toward the door leading to the back, and she gave him a smirk and a nod. Tugging on the front of his cap, he opened the door and stepped inside.

    This was where the real business lay. The back room was smaller than the front, with a larger bar and wider tables, making the space feel even more cramped. There was no fire in this room, only fire crystals in glass sconces along the walls. The heat they brought was different from a regular fire¨Csteady and not warmer depending on distance to it, instead staying the same temperature within the radius it affected. In a larger room, they might create cold spots arranged as they were, but in this space, it made everywhere pleasantly warm.

    A dozen more people were squeezed into this room. The heads of hair were higher than in the front. Instead of greens and whites, there were more silvers and oranges, like him. A couple of them glanced at Arthur when he strode in, but no one gave him much mind. He was a regular after all, and he had a bit of a reputation too. The no fun, no risk kind.

    Well, that''d change tonight.

    Arthur sat down at a small table jammed in the corner directly below a sconce of fire crystals. A tavern girl he didn¡¯t recognize with blonde hair, probably a new apprentice of the owner or one of the patrons, approached with a large smile. ¡°Whatcha¡¯ doin¡¯ tonight?¡± she asked, voice sweet as taffy.

    Arthur waved a hand. ¡°You''re new so I''ll only tell you this once. Don''t put up fake smiles with me. I can''t stand it.¡± Her smile instantly vanished, replaced by a look of relief. ¡°Just point me to Kakren. And get me some Lishan White.¡±

    She nodded and gestured to one of the more crowded tables with four people playing cards. Two of them had orange hair, one silver, but the one had pink. He was also the burliest of the others, with a hard face and an intensity in his eyes that was downright unsettling. It looked like he was winning, too.

    Typical. Kakren always acted so serious, so set on how much was in his pocket, but he was good at knowing the time for a calculated risk. It was what made him such a good partner.

    Arthur stood to the side until the game was over, the other three groaning as they handed over their copper pieces, Kakren grinning all the while. When he caught sight of Arthur hovering, he waved him over. One of the women with orange hair was just leaving and nodded to her seat. Arthur took it with a nod of his own. He didn''t recognize her, but if she knew Kakren, she couldn''t be bad company.

    Kakren leaned back, counting his earnings with one hand, holding a glowing cigar with the other. Each mark made a soft grinding sound as he slid them across the wooden table.

    Kakren. It was nothing more than an alias after the old god of fire and the sun, meant to be intimidating. Arthur thought he didn''t need the name to help with that.

    ¡°What''re the plans tonight, kid?¡± Kakren asked in his gruff voice. He motioned for one of the others to deal the cards. A feathery ruffling filled the air as the silver shuffled them.

    ¡°It¡¯s been twelve years since I got out of my apprenticeship,¡± Arthur grumbled, accepting his hand. Rubbish, per usual. ¡°I hardly think I¡¯m a kid anymore.¡±

    Kakren chortled. ¡°Aw, Arthur¡¯s all grown up, yeah? Who here has the pink hair, kid?¡±

    Arthur rolled his eyes. He hated it when Kakren brought that up as if it actually made him a superior mage. Which, technically, it did¨Cnot that Arthur would ever admit that. ¡°You still want to pull¨C¡± he leaned in, the red next to him pulling his hand away with a glare¨C ¡°that Golden Light heist?¡±

    Kakren raised an eyebrow as he placed his bet, twenty copper pieces in the middle. Arthur tossed in five just for kicks and giggles. The other two just shook their heads with wry smiles and threw down their hands. They had been even worse off than Arthur. ¡°Thought you said that was too risky for your tastes?¡±

    ¡°Something¡¯s come up,¡± Arthur replied. The tavern girl came back with a frosted mug of milky Lishan White. She set it down on the table carefully before being called to another group, and Arthur paused to take a swig of it. The full, nutty flavor clung to the back of his throat as he continued, ¡°Little urchin with blonde hair that wanted an apprenticeship. Can¡¯t have been on the streets too long, damn girl would trust a convict still in his prison uniform. If she were at the wrong place at the wrong time...¡±

    Kakren thoughtfully added a full silver piece. He took a long drag on his cigar. ¡°You gonna fabricate somethin¡¯ to give her, I¡¯m guessing?¡±

    Arthur nodded, adding another conservative five coppers. ¡°It¡¯d be enough to cover our tracks, especially if I gave her some hair dye.¡±

    Kakren shook his head. ¡°No good. I gotta leave soon. It¡¯d have to be tonight, kid.¡±

    Tonight? Arthur let a slow sigh out through his nose. He¡¯d need at least a few hours to make a fake of the artifact they had their eyes on. And how would he convince Wanily to dye her hair? He was sure she hadn¡¯t listened to his explanation of hair color, but that didn¡¯t mean she wouldn''t sense something was up if he was too insistent.

    ¡°Something wrong?¡± Arthur asked.

    Kakren shrugged. ¡°Eh, I¡¯ve stuck around too long as it is. Mutts might catch a whiff of my scent, you know how it is. I bet you plan on running after this.¡±

    ¡°The whole point of roping the kid into this was not to have to skip town,¡± Arthur said with a shake of his head. Kakren puffed his cigar and added the rest of his earnings from the night. Arthur grimaced, considering. He probably had a good hand if he was playing so cocky. ¡°Look, I could probably make a passable fake in a couple hours. The blonde hair isn¡¯t great but it¡¯ll just have to do.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry so much,¡± Kakren said with a shake of his head. ¡°With the money we¡¯d get, even by splitting it, both of us could move to the next country over and still live a life of luxury. You know what the average artifact goes for, right?¡±

    Arthur tapped the back of his cards with one hand, hiding the quickly muttered cantrip by taking a swig of his drink. "Fools play for free, I¡¯d like some money." He added another five copper pieces and cleared his throat. ¡°It¡¯s not how much the prize is worth that makes the thief,¡± Arthur replied. Kakren tossed down his hand with a smug grin. Four of a kind. Arthur displayed his hand. A straight flush. "It¡¯s about not getting caught.¡±

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    Kakren¡¯s expression fell as Arthur scooped up his winnings, though there was a mischievous, knowing gleam in his eyes. ¡°Bah, fine. I¡¯ll give you a few hours to prepare. How does Hessen sound?¡±

    Hessen, the second daystellation. Each arrangement of stars appeared at regular intervals of time, marking the beginning of each hour. Or maybe creating each hour? Whatever¨Csemantics.

    If it was Pyll, the seventh constellation, now, it would be five hours until Hessen. Or, Arthur figured, a little less since it had already been Pyll when he left his shop. Still, even if he only had four hours, by the math in his head, he probably only needed three to make a fake of the artifact. It wouldn¡¯t be enough time to convincingly dye Wanily¡¯s hair¨Cif he could even get her to agree to dying it to a higher magic indicator¨Cbut maybe Kakren was right. If Arthur planted the fake on her, they might not look twice at the fact she was no older than ten and had blonde hair. Stealing an artifact was quite the crime¨Ceven as a child, she¡¯d be sent to Festra, the most heavily guarded mage prison. People didn¡¯t come back from Festra.

    The fake would lose its enchantments after a few hours, of course; illusion spells didn¡¯t last very long. But by then, Kakren would already have the artifact off and sold, and even if they interrogated Wanily after the fact¨Cwhich was unlikely, she¡¯d be long shipped off to rot in a country where the Dryans would no longer have jurisdiction over her as a prisoner¨Cthere would be no proof that Arthur was involved in stealing it. If the police investigated him, he might get caught with parts from magical creatures that he technically shouldn¡¯t have, but a lot of the people in this city could be made to turn a blind eye to that for the right price. And Arthur would certainly have the funds for that if it came to it.

    Besides, what did any police officer honestly, truly care if an artifact was stolen? The only people who could even use them had to have enough magic for blue or purple hair, which was few and far between. Usually, they just sat in a king or queen¡¯s vault and looked pretty. The Golden Light was one of the few artifacts that remained in a museum, available for viewing to the general populace. Not that it would be for much longer.

    It probably would be fine. Maybe not completely foolproof, but with Wanily in the equation, Arthur should be able to steal the artifact, sell it, and pin it on her. By the time anyone was the wiser, there¡¯d be no way to track him down. He could stay in this city with his little shop, living the lifestyle he¡¯d found to suit him best.

    Nodding to himself, Arthur said, ¡°Hessen would be great. Where should we meet?¡±

    Kakren cupped his chin in thought. ¡°There¡¯s a church not too far from the museum. Would be a good place to meet up and for you to leave your little helper. You know it, yeah?¡±

    The church would be relatively inconspicuous, which was probably why Kakren suggested it in the first place. It wouldn¡¯t be strange for Wanily to hang around it since the Church of Amera was known to house the poor and needy¨Cthough they would probably already be full on a frigid winter night like this one. Which would only make Wanily¡¯s loitering outside of it more believable. And as long as Arthur and Kakren made themselves scarce quickly, he doubted they would garner any attention.

    Arthur nodded again, standing. ¡°Meet at the church at Hessan.¡± There was a relatively simple spell he could cast that would be able to give him a sense of the appearance of the stars¨Che wouldn¡¯t be late unless he ran into complications with his enchantments or with Wanily.

    Kakren grinned sharply, all crooked teeth, and raised the back of his hand to his mouth, fingers flaring out. It caught Arthur off-guard for a moment, as it always did, before he hastily¨Cand rather sloppily¨Creturned the gesture. People in Dryan didn¡¯t typically acknowledge the old gods like that, but, well, Kakren wasn¡¯t from Dryan. Arthur wasn¡¯t sure exactly where he was from, but for him to care enough about the old gods to bid Arthur farewell like that, it was probably Fris or Kra¡¯xen. They were the only countries Arthur knew of that really cared about the old gods anymore.

    Arthur collected his winnings before chugging down the rest of his drink, relishing in the warmth in his belly and the buzz in his head. He tipped his hat to his colleague and took his leave before the other people at the table realized there was any discrepancy with the playing cards.

    He flicked the silver mark he¡¯d won off Kakren to the tavern girl as he left. She fumbled to catch it, the tray of drinks on her shoulder sloshing dangerously, but she managed to grip it in one hand without anything spilling. He nodded to her and continued on his way.

    ¡°Thanks for the tip!¡± she called after Arthur, her voice muffled at the end by the door swinging shut behind him.

    He tipped his hat to the bartender as he passed, then once again at the tavern girl in the front of the house. She whistled at him, flashing him a cheeky grin as she wove her way between tables. Arthur ducked out before it could go any further. He didn¡¯t know either of the women¡¯s names, and no matter what either of them thought of him, it was better for both parties if it stayed that way. Plausible deniability and all that.

    The walk back to his shop was peaceful, the chill of the night refreshing after the heat of the bar. It gave him time to mull over the enchantments he would need to cast for the fake, the order and the magnitude of each one, and what each spell would require. Illusion spells didn¡¯t typically need words as conduits, relying more on wand work and other items, typically glass, particularly beads of glass. Arthur kept plenty handy for enchanting the goods in his shop, and they¡¯d work just as well for a higher level illusion spell.

    Wanily was still sitting in the same spot, staring at the rock when he came back. She didn¡¯t even look up when he came in. But when he opened his mouth to say something, she beat him to it.

    ¡°I know,¡± she bit, scowling. ¡°Maybe¨CMaybe this is a little harder than I thought it would be.¡±

    For the briefest moment, Arthur almost felt a little bad for how he was playing this girl. She had walked all the way from Tiulipia to find him. All she wanted was to learn magic, and, for whatever reason, become the Archmage. She had come, she had trusted him, and he was going to throw her away.

    The moment was, again, brief. She would learn an important lesson from this, after all. In the end, the only person you could trust was yourself.

    ¡°Keep at it,¡± he said, heading toward the stairs. He glanced around the shop, but, true to her word, it looked like Wanily hadn¡¯t touched anything. Even, he noted with some irritation, the broom. She must have gotten up at some point though since she now sat on the pillow he¡¯d given her last night instead of just the hard floorboards. He pushed the thoughts from his mind. ¡°I¡¯ll be upstairs working on a project. Do not disturb me, alright?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Wanily muttered, glaring at the rock laid in her palm once more.

    Arthur hesitated. ¡°And try to get some sleep,¡± he said carefully. ¡°I have an appointment with a fellow mage tonight, and I think you¡¯d benefit from tagging along. It won¡¯t be for a few hours, though, so make sure you¡¯re rested.¡±

    Wanily shrugged, never once tearing her gaze from the rock. ¡°Sure,¡± she said.

    Arthur scowled. Was she even listening? Whatever, it didn¡¯t matter. If she didn¡¯t do as he said, she¡¯d be the one to pay the price when she was dead on her feet later. She certainly had a long night ahead of her.

    He went upstairs, then, to start working on the fake. His room was too modest for his tastes with just a bed, a dresser, and a table crammed with papers, but that would change after tonight. He was thinking some personal fire crystals to start, maybe even get some type of fancy enchantments, the kind that were out of his class.

    He sat at his desk and pulled out several pieces of paper, his wand, and some glue from the top drawer. The glass beads he needed for the illusion spells were hidden behind the false back of the drawer, right next to the schematics for the Golden Light. He wasn¡¯t completely sure what it did, but he couldn''t use it so it didn''t matter.

    Still, the demand for artifacts was high. For prestige, for bragging rights, and, Arthur supposed, for military might. It all made prices steep.

    Some ended up in museums or personal collections. There was usually a lot of fuss about them, lots of criminals that eyed them and then just as quickly hustled away when their guards noticed them. But that''s what was so good about Arthur and Kakren¨CArthur masked their movements with an illusion, then, if push came to shove, Kakren worked his much less refined magic. The violent kind.

    He started with some extra sheets of paper for the base of the counterfeit. He folded them until they were the right length and shape, resembling a faceted eye. This artifact was no doubt created by the actual god Kakren and was probably meant to look like the sun.

    Once the shape was right, he pulled out his wand and ran back through the spells he would need to cast in his head. First, he¡¯d need something to adjust the weight, then add the golden base, the metallic sheen, then all the little red dots hugging the sharp edges of the artifact. He nodded to himself and took a deep breath. He, like almost every mage, used the magic of the new gods, aptly named new magic. Not so taxing, not as powerful, but also not so tedious. Conduits could be used to access the magic required for a spell, making it easier to cast. New magic also had the advantage of not needing to be fed magic to continue the spell; any illusion he crafted would be able to stand on its own. Not for forever, but he just needed long enough for the plan to unfold.

    He finished at the showing of the first daystellation, Aura, five starry circles hugging the horizon to the north, and went back downstairs. He found Wanily dozing, still sitting against the counter. He nudged her with his foot, holding the fake under his arm. ¡°Time to go.¡±

    She blinked awake and rubbed at her eyes. ¡°What time is it?¡± she complained loudly. Arthur opened his mouth to answer¨Cwithering or genuine, he didn¡¯t even know¨Cbut she just petulantly answered, ¡°Too early!¡±

    She looked up at him then and slowly climbed to her feet, gold eyes wide. Arthur followed her line of sight, but of course it was fixated on the pseudo artifact. ¡°What''s that?¡±

    ¡°Questions later. Do you want to learn to be a mage or not? I have an appointment to keep.¡± He spun on his heel and left without another word, not checking to see if she was following¨Cbut he didn¡¯t have to. Of course she was. She was perfectly gullible like that.

    He heard her light footsteps on the stone behind him as he walked to the rendezvous point. It was a little more than a mile of city streets away, taking them through the cold, dead of night. Arthur was already thinking ahead¨Cof exactly how he would pull off this heist and where he would go after. He wouldn¡¯t head back to his store once the heist was complete. He¡¯d probably lie low on the other side of town, or maybe leave completely until things settled down. Kakren would have a plan¨Che was always the one in charge of what to do after the mission. He was also the one with the buyer lined up, though Arthur was the one responsible for working out the details of the plan itself.

    When they arrived at the church, Kakren was nowhere in sight. Arthur stepped into the alley formed by the church and what he was pretty sure was a bakery. Wanily followed him without a moment of hesitation, but her time on the streets must have done her some good. She immediately moved to rest against the still-warm bricks of the bakery, a little sigh of relief escaping her when she did so.

    As early in the morning as it was, the constellations would appear too close to the horizon for him to see which was currently in the sky. Just looking at them wouldn¡¯t give him any sense of when the next one was set to appear anyhow. Instead, he muttered, ¡°I am no Tressia that controls the flow of time, so grant me the position of the stars with this simple rhyme.¡±

    Sometimes new magic was flashy with bursts of light or flashes of color, but this spell wasn¡¯t. To an outsider, it would look like nothing at all happened. But to Arthur, he got an exact measurement of how long it was until the next daystellation appeared. Seven minutes and twenty seconds, counting down steadily in the back of his mind for a few more seconds before he lost it. That explained why Kakren was still absent.

    ¡°What was that?¡± Wanily asked, because of course she did. ¡°Was that a spell? What did it do? Was the fact it rhymed important or¨C?¡±

    ¡°It was a spell to check the time,¡± Arthur said, figuring that the best way to shut her up was to just answer her question as quickly as possible.

    ¡°That¡¯s cool! Can you teach me? Do I just have to say the words, or is there like, something special you have to do with it? I know I wasn¡¯t able to change the rock to ice, but maybe¨C¡±

    ¡°Enough, Wanily,¡± Arthur snapped. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore her crestfallen expression. ¡°I can show you after I¡¯m done with my business, alright? Just wait.¡± That should be enough to appease her.

    ¡°Oh. Alright,¡± she said, hugging herself. Arthur thought for a moment that she might still be upset, but then he noticed the shivers racking her frame. Of course. She still didn¡¯t have a coat.

    She didn¡¯t say anything about it though. She hadn¡¯t said anything on the walk over, perfectly content to follow Arthur through a freezing city in the dead of night. Did she really not suspect anything? Or did she just not care? But why wouldn¡¯t she say anything about the cold?

    Maybe she was used to it. She¡¯d lived on the streets before this. He doubted there was anyone in Tiulipia that cared whether or not she froze to death on their sidewalks. And Arthur¨Che didn¡¯t care, not really, but¨C

    He sighed and set down the fake artifact to shuck off his coat. It was long, made of thick cotton, good quality. Curse me for a fool, Arthur thought, offering it to the damn girl.

    She stared at it with her big, golden eyes, before her gaze dragged up to him, bewildered at the edges. Arthur held it out more insistently, and for once, Wanily shut her mouth and just took it. She didn¡¯t put it on properly¨Cbecause of course she didn¡¯t¨Cshoving her arms through the holes so that the back rested against her front like a blanket. The bottom of the coat flared out on the dirt around her feet, forming little rolls in places. Her back was still pressed against the bricks of the bakery.

    She beamed at him. ¡°Thanks!¡±

    Arthur withheld a sigh and suppressed a shiver. It was too damn cold, but, well. Wanily was going to be out here longer than him. With the money he¡¯d get after this, he could buy thousands of coats, even better than that one.

    That¡¯s what he told himself, at least.

    He was saved from answering by footsteps approaching the mouth of the alley. Arthur tensed and then immediately forced himself to relax. If it wasn¡¯t Kakren, appearing nervous would only make him look more suspicious.

    It was Kakren, of course, because at this time of night, there wouldn¡¯t really be anyone else around. The man¡¯s hulking mass blocked most of the alley entryway, and he flashed them a sharp smile when he stopped.

    ¡°Ah, the new apprentice, huh? Nice to see you, kid,¡± he said, crossing his arms. He turned to Arthur and subtly nodded to the fake still at his feet.

    ¡°Hi! The name¡¯s Wanily. What¡¯s yours?¡± Wanily asked as Arthur scooped the fake back up and stepped closer to her.

    ¡°Here,¡± he said, hoping the object would distract her from asking any more questions about his associate.

    It did. She took the fake, turning it back and forth. Scrutinizing it, though Arthur couldn¡¯t even begin to fathom why. ¡°Hey, this has a lot more magic in it than that rock did, huh?¡±

    Arthur frowned. He glanced at Kakren, who wore a similar expression. Was she just guessing that more enchantments went into creating it than the other items in his shop? But then, did she suspect that it was some type of fake? If she did, she didn¡¯t look very concerned about it.

    Not knowing what to make of it, Arthur opted to ignore her question. ¡°I need you to wait here with that, alright? Kakren and I will be back shortly.¡±

    Wanily cocked her head but didn¡¯t tear her gaze away from the false Golden Light. ¡°What, is this, like, a test or something?¡±

    ¡°Sure is, kid,¡± Kakren said. ¡°You¡¯re a smart one, ain¡¯tcha?¡±

    Wanily grinned, her eyes crinkling with it. ¡°You bet!¡±

    Humble, too, Arthur thought, rolling his eyes. ¡°You have to concentrate on it,¡± Arthur said, tapping its top. ¡°It will make it easier to access your magic. You have to think of it and only it, and when we come back, you can stop. Understand?¡±

    Wanily was still staring at it, her only response a little hum. Did she ever listen to anything people told her? Maybe that was the reason her parents left her behind. Just too gods-damn annoying.

    ¡°Good girl. Keep at it,¡± Kakren said, turning and motioning Arthur to follow. Arthur nodded, and they left Wanily behind in the alley with the fake, making their way toward the museum. Kakren nudged Arthur with his elbow, a smirk on his face. ¡°You look a little cold there, kid. What happened to your coat?¡±

    Arthur scowled even as a little heat rose to his cheeks. Thankfully, it was too dark out for Kakren to be able to notice it. ¡°Shut up,¡± he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was losing feeling in his fingers, proving that it was too fucking cold. He should have just kept the stupid coat.

    Kakren chuckled, noticeably quieter than usual. They were approaching their target and didn¡¯t need to draw any extra attention. ¡°Going soft, are ya?¡±

    ¡°I told you to shut up about it,¡± Arthur hissed, which only made Kakren laugh again. ¡°It won¡¯t make any difference soon.¡±

    Kakren grunted. He veered into another alley, Arthur on his heels. ¡°Right about that one,¡± he said with a shrug. ¡°So? You gonna cast the illusion or what?¡±

    Arthur sighed, his breath billowing out in a white cloud in front of him. He took his wand from his belt along with a handful of glass beads from a pouch at his side. The spell could work with just the two conduits, but it lasted longer with the words to go with it. ¡°Shield us from the eyes of any who would take a peek, and grant us the lightest cloak, that of invisibility.¡±

    Light flared in a circle around them¨Cnothing to be done about it, if someone saw, they saw¨Cand while Arthur could still see his body and Kakren, he knew that both of them were now invisible. The spell extended to their clothes and any items they held too, though it might not extend to the artifact due to its magical nature. At least, invisibility spells had never worked on enchanted items when he tried it before, so Arthur figured the same applied to artifacts.

    It would be fine. If they were spotted on the way out after they had already nabbed the artifact, Kakren could take care of any guards that tried to do something about it. The most important part was just getting to the artifact unseen.

    They¡¯d still have to be careful. There were spells that could dampen or even completely mute sound, but Arthur had never been able to get his hands on the complete castings for them. Anyhow, he knew of one that required rubies to perform even the basic casting, and he didn¡¯t quite make enough money to be spending it on expensive spell components he didn¡¯t even know how to fully use.

    They left the alley, Arthur taking the lead this time. It was just another street over to the museum, and if Arthur¡¯s intel was correct¨Cwhich it was, he¡¯d staked out the place enough times to know¨Cthere would be an exactly one minute opening at one of the windows on the east side. One of the guards that patrolled the outside of the museum would have just turned the corner past the area, the other would be on the west side, and while the guard on the third floor would be right above them, they just needed to get inside. They would go in through the first floor window, Kakren using a spell he knew to turn the glass back to sand¨Cquieter than breaking the window, and if they avoided breaking it, it wouldn¡¯t trigger any enchantments that might alert the guards or otherwise put the museum on lockdown. Arthur would be able to make the sand invisible¨Cnot for very long, but long enough¨Cand cast an illusion to make the window still appear normal. Illusion spells required a good amount of magic to cast though. He would only have a couple spells left in him after that.

    From there, they would have exactly three minutes until the invisibility of the sand wore off, and another forty-eight seconds until the round of the guard on the first floor would bring him by the window, no doubt alerting everyone in the building that something was amiss. In that time, Arthur and Kakren would need to get to the third floor and snatch the artifact without alerting the guards on the second or third floors. Arthur knew the path of their rounds, too, though, so he would be able to lead Kakren past them.

    In theory, once they had the artifact, it would be easier to just break a window on the third floor and jump out. At least, it would be easier if they had any way of slowing their fall or otherwise ensuring they could walk away from it. Unfortunately, Arthur specialized in illusion magic, Kakren specialized in fighting magic, and neither of them knew much outside of those fields. There might have been potions that could help, but, despite selling the more hard to come by ingredients, Arthur had no knowledge of potion-making himself.

    It didn¡¯t matter. Once Arthur had the artifact, they just had to get out. They should be able to get down to the second floor without running into any of the guards on the third floor, but even if the duo escaped their notice, they would quickly discover the fact that the artifact was missing. Arthur anticipated that when they reached the second floor again, things would get dicey. That was, of course, when Kakren would step in and handle any guards that stood in their way. Most of them would have red or lower hair¨Cif they could use magic at all. They shouldn¡¯t stand a chance against Kakren¡¯s higher, pink level magic.

    When the guards on the second floor spotted them or the guards on the third floor found the artifact missing¨Cwhichever came first¨Cthey would no doubt put the museum on lockdown. Arthur didn¡¯t exactly know what that would do considering he had never seen it before, but it should only affect the exits of the building¨Cthe windows and doors. Luckily, one of the windows would already be empty of any glass. They should be able to use it to get back out, just like that.

    It would be Kakren¡¯s turn to take the lead, then. He would bring them someplace nearby to lay low, away from the police. Likely a safehouse with a basement or otherwise hidden room. Wanily was situated not too far away from the museum, so the police should find her long before they even get an inkling as to which way the true culprits went. The fake Arthur made was a perfect replica, so they should take it¨Cand her¨Cwithout any further questions. She¡¯d be sent away, the illusion would fall apart eventually, and by the time they realized they¡¯d been duped, Arthur and Kakren would already be rich and Wanily would be sitting in prison, unable to offer them any concrete information on who actually committed the crime¨Cif any Dryan officials could even question her at that point.

    Arthur felt a small twinge in his chest thinking about it. Guilt, he decided, was not a good look on him.

    Soon, it wouldn¡¯t matter. He¡¯d be rich, and she¡¯d be gone. She¡¯d get food and bed in prison, unlike she had on the streets. It would probably be a dream come true for her.

    Except that her dream was to learn magic.

    Arthur shoved the thought from his mind and focused on the task at hand. The girl didn¡¯t matter anymore. Whether he failed or succeeded here, he didn''t plan on ever seeing her again.

    Arthur and Kakren approached the stone wall surrounding the museum, and Kakren offered Arthur a boost up. Without a word, he hooked his hands together, allowing Arthur a point to launch himself up, aided by Kakren pushing up at the same time. Arthur grabbed onto the top of the brick wall and hauled himself up so he straddled it.

    Kakren backed up a few steps to get a running start. Despite his bulk, he managed to be relatively quiet as he launched himself forward, taking two leaping steps up the wall before gripping Arthur''s waiting hand. Arthur bit back a strained grunt and lifted until Kakren could get his other meaty hand on the top of the wall. He pulled himself up and over, and Arthur pushed himself down onto the other side of the wall after him.

    The guard was just rounding the corner to walk along the east side of the building where they were. Once he rounded the other corner, they could make their move.

    Arthur crouched next to Kakren, settling his weight on the balls of his feet. The grass underfoot was mostly dead thanks to it being the middle of winter¨Cwhich meant it would make more noise when they walked on it. They''d need to hurry, but they couldn''t be too loud either.

    The guard''s torch blazed in the night, bobbing with each of his steps. Arthur watched with anticipation itching under his skin, tracking each and every step, calculating how many more it would take him to reach the corner.

    Twelve steps. Seven. Three. Once the head of the torch rounded the corner, Arthur gave the signal to move forward. He kept low but moved quickly, prowling toward the window they needed to go through.

    Kakren knew the plan, too, of course, they had worked on it together months ago when they first thought about pulling the heist off. Arthur had been the one to back out a couple days before they were supposed to put the plan into action. Still, Kakren followed his lead now. It wasn''t trust¨Cpeople didn''t trust each other in this business¨Cbut he respected him, maybe. Even if he still insisted on calling him a kid.

    They stepped on the lawn around the museum, moved across the stone path hugging the building, and finally reached the window. Fifteen seconds. They had another forty-five to go.

    Arthur nodded, and Kakren nodded back. He reached into the large pouch on his hip and pulled out five short rods. Arthur wasn''t entirely sure what they were made of, but it had to be some specific material that aided the spell he needed to cast.

    Kakren arranged them in a pentagon on the ground and touched one fingertip to the dead center of the shape. With his other hand, he pulled a wand from his belt and tapped the end to the window above then.

    The clarity of the glass warped into a light brown before it fell in a great cascade of sand with the sound of a whispering waterfall. Arthur''s heart thudded in his chest as he strained his ears. There was no shout of alarm, no running footsteps. No one had heard.

    He let out a short breath, but nothing more. They didn''t have the time to waste. Grabbing more glass beads from his side, Arthur gripped his wand and, just as Kakren did before, touched it to the sand that had fallen on the outside of the building. It let out another small flash of pure white light, and Arthur knew it had gone invisible even if he could still see it. He was the one that casted the spell, after all. It was Kakren who would have a harder time avoiding it.

    He stood and vaulted across the windowsill into the museum, using the sand on the other side to deafen his landing. He looked around as Kakren did the same, but, just as there should be, there were no guards in sight, no telltale footsteps. He crouched down to treat the sand inside as he had that outside, and then the duo stepped onto the dark blue carpet running through the corridor, using it to muffle their steps.

    Arthur led the way to the staircase, stepping off the carpet exactly once and holding his breath to allow a guard to pass right by them, none the wiser. He shared a look with Kakren, both of them nodding, before they continued up to the second floor.

    The staircase to the third floor was on the opposite side of the building from the staircase that brought them to the second floor. It would have been much easier if they were joined together, but maybe that was the point. It had been one minute. They had two left. They needed to keep moving.

    Arthur crept along the carpet on the second floor, much like he did the first, Kakren right on his heels. They managed to get to the staircase to the third floor without spotting so much as the torchlight from another guard.

    So far, so good. They had exactly twenty-eight seconds to reach the artifact and take it before the invisibility spell on the sand wore off. They had a little wiggle room after that until the guard should see it, but Arthur would prefer to have the artifact in hand before that.

    The artifact was in a room off to the right end of the floor. Arthur led the way through the other rooms and corridors until they reached it, a small, secluded room designed only to hold a few people at a time. And, behind a simple rope, the Golden Light sat on a stone pedestal in all its utterly resplendent glory. Even if it had no magical properties, the sheer amount of gold and jewels making the thing up would fetch quite the price.

    Kakren let out a low whistle, and Arthur hit his arm, raising a finger to his lips. Kakren merely shrugged and gestured for Arthur to pick it up. Arthur let out a silent huff and did so.

    A shrill shriek pierced the silent night the moment he touched its cool, metal surface, like agony given a voice. Arthur just about jumped out of his skin before cursing vehemently.

    ¡°Shit,¡± Kakren swore, swiping the Golden Light and shoving it in Arthur¡¯s arms. ¡°Just stay behind me, kid,¡± he said over his shoulder, his massive form already barreling out of the room.

    Arthur sprung into action after him, clutching the artifact to his chest. This was fine¨Cjust a small hiccup. So the guards were alerted the moment they took the artifact. It didn¡¯t matter. Kakren could still fight his way through them, they could still get to the window, still make their grand escape.

    A guard skidded to a stop in front of them in the corridor leading to the staircase, her torch held high above her black-haired head and a sword drawn at their side. Probably from the third floor if she got here so quickly. Kakren didn¡¯t even bother with a spell, looping his fingers through his brass knuckles without missing a beat. The guard¡¯s eyes were wild, unable to see anything except the artifact in Arthur¡¯s hands. She must have been listening to their footsteps because once Kakren was in striking distance, she went for a wide slash in an arc in front of her, but Kakren was surprisingly mobile for such a large man. He dove under her attack and popped back in her face with a vicious grin that she couldn¡¯t see¨Cright before his fist connected with her face with a loud crunch. She fell like a scarecrow toppled over by a great gust of wind, her sword hitting the rug on the ground with a dull thud. Kakren nodded to the stairs, and Arthur wasted no time following him down to the second level.

    Three more guards waited for them, two with silver hair and wands in hand, the last with a crossbow and a pair of strange glasses. Arthur would bet everything he was about to get for the artifact that those glasses were enchanted to enhance his sight. The two mages hesitated, but the one with the glasses locked eyes with Arthur and brought up his crossbow.

    Shit. He could see them? They¡¯d have to kill him¨Che¡¯d seen their faces, knew that there was more than one of them, too.

    Arthur threw himself down just as the man fired, the crossbow bolt lodging itself into the stone where Arthur¡¯s head had been a split second before. Thankfully, Kakren noticed the man¡¯s magically enhanced sight and went for him.

    The man went to load another crossbow bolt as he darted back. ¡°There¡¯s¨C!¡±

    That was all he was able to get out. Kakren had ripped out the crossbow bolt from the wall and used his wand to send it flying, straight through the man¡¯s throat. He gurgled for a moment, eyes glazing over, before he collapsed in a heap of limbs and gushing blood. Arthur felt vaguely sick looking at him. He¡¯d never had the stomach for violence like this. At least Kakren had spared him from being the one to deal the killing blow.

    The mage next to the dead man screamed, gripping her wand close to her chest before her eyes darted forward to approximately where Arthur had fallen. To the Golden Light.

    ¡°R-Reveal to me¨C¡± The woman stuttered out, aiming her wand at Arthur. Trying to remove his invisibility.

    At the same time, Kakren pulled a red flower from one of the pouches on his belt and crushed it in his hand. From the tip of his wand, a blast of fire shot out, hitting the space on the floor between the mages and exploding. They went flying in different directions, one landing further down the corridor and one hitting the wall with a resounding crack. He fell to the ground after a delay, like he was peeled from it. Neither got up.

    He didn¡¯t waste a second. Arthur scrambled to his feet and raced behind Kakren to the next staircase. Kakren stopped at the bottom, suddenly, and threw his arm out so that Arthur all but crashed into the wall. Arthur bit back a curse when he saw four more guards approaching, feet pounding as they ran right past them and up the stairs. As he and Kakren continued their hasty retreat, Arthur distantly heard the guards curse above them, shouting and trying to rush back down the stairs.

    It was too late. Arthur and Kakren were out the window and over the wall, quickly darting down another street and putting as much distance between themselves and the museum as possible.

    They¡¯d really done it. They¡¯d stolen an artifact.

    Arthur was so self-satisfied, he didn¡¯t think of a little girl huddled in an alley. Not at all.

    <hr>

    Wanily was freezing, even with Trevor¡¯s big coat. She stuck her hands in her armpits, but that just made the rest of her shiver too. She yanked them back out and curled her fingers until she couldn¡¯t feel them anymore. She tried placing her hands against the wall, but it was lukewarm at best. She shuddered violently and curled up tighter on herself, clutching at Trevor¡¯s coat. She wished Mage Trevor would hurry. She knew he hadn¡¯t told her to call him that, but it just seemed like a dream. Mage Trevor. Her teacher.

    So why had he left her out in the cold? Wouldn¡¯t a good teacher have taken her along? She knew he was out committing crimes¨Cno upstanding mage would have taken in an urchin as an apprentice¨Cbut that was fine with her as long as he taught her magic. He probably just wanted her to keep his front tidy, but there was nothing stopping her from picking tidbits up along the way. He¡¯d said stuff earlier about hair color, right? She¡¯d known that people with black hair didn¡¯t have any magic, but she hadn¡¯t known the other stuff.

    She pulled at her short blonde locks. He said she should have a¨Cwhat had he said? She couldn¡¯t remember but he made it sound like a good thing. Which means she should have been good at magic, right? So far she hadn¡¯t been able to do anything. She had been able to sense the magic in Trevor¡¯s shop. It was like the magic was a mist, and she could see it permeating most of the little baubles like something alive. Most of the items in there were probably fake, but maybe he had cast spells on them to make them look real? She had probably sensed that.

    She sighed, but that only made her mouth cold too. Was she here to help with some kind of job? Maybe an urchin would be less suspicious than a carrot-headed mage.

    She held her hand in front of her and furrowed her brow. She had seen mages summon little fires in their hands before. It seemed to be the standard proof they knew magic. But they had to say magic words to get it to appear, right? Well, maybe if she tried really hard it would work too. She concentrated, imagining a little red fire burning toasty warm in her hand. She sat there for several minutes before sighing again and letting her hand fall away. No good. Maybe she wasn¡¯t cut out to be a mage.

    She shook her head to fling the thought away. She didn¡¯t remember her parents¨Cdidn¡¯t remember anything past a few months ago¨Cbut that sounded like something a parent would say, right? Shake your head to fling the thought away.

    Well, anyway, she would be a mage. And she wouldn¡¯t be just any mage, she¡¯d be the mage. The Archmage. The other street children in Tiulipia had told each other stories about him, a man that had complete mastery of magic, roaming the world as he pleased, helping the poor and needy, and getting so much money from it. The other kids really cared about that last part, but Wanily was more interested in the magic and helping people.

    Even the thought made her giddy. Archmage Wanily. She¡¯d be the best. Her enemies would quake in fear and she¡¯d help so many people.

    She waited and waited. She was supposed to be concentrating on whatever Mage Trevor had given her, but it was just so cold.

    She didn¡¯t know how much time had passed, but eventually, she heard shouting. She didn¡¯t mind it, figuring there was a tavern or something nearby and late-night drunks had started a fight or whatever. Except, the shouting kept getting closer, soon accompanied by the patter of footsteps on stone as people ran around. Wanily frowned and slunk deeper into the alley. She wasn¡¯t sure what was going on, but it probably couldn¡¯t be good. Maybe it was because of whatever Mage Trevor went to do with that big guy?

    It would be okay. He would come and collect her, and they would go back to the shop.

    She waited. The shouting kept getting louder and closer. Mage Trevor was nowhere to be seen.

    The guards found her like that, clinging to the whatever-it-was, still waiting. He¨C

    He hadn''t come back for her.

    He''d left her there with a fake on purpose.

    Oh, Wanily thought. So that¡¯s how it is.

    They shouted at her to drop it. She did so. They told her to stand up and show them her hands. Wanily did that too, not making a peep. They bound her at the wrists, told her she was smart for not trying to resist. She just glared at the ground as they pushed her out of the alley.

    ¡°What were you thinking, kid? You¡¯re going to be locked up for a long time,¡± one of the men said. His dumb, easy voice reminded her of Trevor, and suddenly she was a blaze of fury. She stopped dead in her tracks, taking the guards by surprise, before dashing out to the corner of the street, where she¡¯d watched him turn and leave her behind. One of the guards shouted to catch her, but when they saw she didn¡¯t go far, they just latched a hand around her arm, hard enough to bruise, and began dragging her away.

    She wouldn¡¯t let this break her.

    She had already endured so much. She wouldn¡¯t let anything break her.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to be the greatest mage!¡± she shouted down the street where she¡¯d last seen the traitor. The men were looking at her like she was mad, but she didn¡¯t care. ¡°I¡¯m going to be the best and it won¡¯t be because of you! You hear me, bastard!? I¡¯m going to become super strong and then you''ll wish you taught me!¡±

    ¡°Oh, shuddup,¡± the closest policeman snapped, smacking her on the back of the head. She saw stars, but she still shouted obscenities until they shoved her into a carriage and locked the door. One of them jumped in front to direct the horses, and another hung onto the back, keeping an eye on her from outside. He didn¡¯t need to bother. She just sat inside and fumed.

    So what she was being sent to prison?

    So what she¡¯d been betrayed?

    So what¨Cso what everything?

    She hadn¡¯t needed anyone these last few months. She could take care of herself. She¡¯d get out of the prison and she¡¯d teach herself magic, and she¡¯d become the best mage in the whole world. She would do it. She had to do it.

    And, one day, she¡¯d come back and give Trevor a piece of her mind. She¡¯d make him regret the day he decided to throw away the girl that would become the greatest mage to ever live.

 Chapter 2: Framed

    (651 A.C)

    Eko stomped up the spiral staircase to Master Leolin¡¯s study, hoping that the impact of his hard leather soles made as much noise as possible against the worn steps. A simple wooden door awaited him at the top of the stairs, a small sign reading, Do not disturb, politely hanging from the upper half from an old nail and slightly frayed rope. Eko forced his hands, which had been clenched into fists, to pry apart just enough to turn the knob and fling the door open.

    The room was the same as Eko had always seen it, which only made the burning rage in his gut roar. There was the potion-making station, with its cauldrons and shelves of ingredients and numerous timers to make sure nothing went awry with the dangerous art. There was the tall, stained glass window along the opposite wall, its colors muted by years of the smoke of incense coating its insides. And there was, of course, the bookshelves that stretched from the ceiling to the floor along every inch of wall that wasn¡¯t used for some other purpose. How many times had Eko read those books, each one hand-selected by his master for the knowledge hidden in their folds of paper and ink?

    It was all too mundane, too normal for what Eko had just learned.

    Master Leolin, previously hunched over his desk and stroking his great, gray beard in thought, nearly toppled off his stool when the door banged against the stone wall of the study. His mouth opened as if to let out a cry of surprise, though no sound escaped, and he threw up his hands, knocking over the inkwell he¡¯d been using. Ink splattered across the desk in black droplets, sinking into the crevices of the wood in the mimicry of topography.

    Master Leolin whipped toward the door in the next instance, one hand reaching for the wand tucked haphazardly into the belt of his robe, but when he saw Eko leaning against the doorframe, he aborted the motion, even if he still frowned. Eko, for his part, couldn¡¯t decide between nonchalance and unbridled, raging fury. He didn¡¯t move from the doorway, shoulder resting against the doorframe, but he tried to pour every ounce of absolute betrayal into his scowl. He¡¯d practiced the expression in the mirror downstairs for a few minutes before marching up here, and he thought it had looked properly intimidating.

    Judging by Master Leolin¡¯s reaction¨Cor lack thereof¨Cit didn¡¯t. ¡°Ah, Eko, didn¡¯t you see the sign?¡± He turned back to his desk, his frown deepening when he took in the mess of ink next to whatever he was working on. But none of the ink spilled on the paper he¡¯d been writing on, much to Eko¡¯s increasing incense. ¡°If you¡¯re here for your lesson, why, I think you need to get your tongue untied, my boy. The spell for checking the time is a very elementary one that I expect you¨C¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not here for my lesson,¡± Eko bit. Usually, he wouldn¡¯t dare to interrupt his master. But it seemed times were changing.

    Master Leolin stilled, gazing sidelong at Eko for a moment, brow furrowing, before he stood and bustled around the room, poking around the potion-making station. ¡°Well, then, I must ask you to come back later, my boy. I¡¯m in the middle of writing some very important correspondence. Do you know where we have any rags in here?¡±

    ¡°Oh, really?¡± Eko sneered. ¡°Okay, so tell me this, Master¨Cwhat good is the word of a dead man?¡±

    Master Leolin hummed lightly, like the question actually deserved consideration. ¡°I¡¯d say the word of a dead man is all he has left once he is gone from the world. Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I must find something to clean up this ink. Oh, my boy, could I ask you to fetch something? By the time you get back it would still be a bit early, but we could begin your lesson.¡±

    Eko could feel his scowl tightening with every trivial syllable that leapt from Master Leolin¡¯s mouth. When he finished, Eko slammed a fist against the wood of the doorframe. It smarted something fierce, but he barely even noticed it. ¡°Dammit, Master, would you take this seriously?¡±

    Master Leolin stopped then, his usually amiable gaze turning impossibly sad. ¡°I am taking this seriously, Eko.¡±

    Eko¡¯s lip curled at the sound of his name. Master Leolin never called him by his name except at formal ceremonies and presentations to the king of his apprentice¡¯s skill. But that wouldn¡¯t convince him that Master Leolin was as grave as he sounded.

    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡± he demanded.

    Master Leolin sighed. His bushy, gray eyebrows drew so tightly together they appeared as one. ¡°You were not supposed to know.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°Because I know you, my dear boy, and I know you would try to do something to prevent it.¡±

    Eko¡¯s hands curled into fists once more, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. ¡°And why shouldn¡¯t I?¡±

    Master Leolin paled slightly. ¡°Eko, this is the king we¡¯re talking about.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Eko said, stepping inside and shutting the door with much more care than he wanted to. He wanted to slam it shut just as he¡¯d slammed it open, but even in his anger, he knew he had to be more discrete about this. ¡°We¡¯re talking about you.¡±

    Master Leolin closed his eyes. His lively and amicable air usually made him seem much younger, but now he looked every one of his fifty-nine years. He was supposed to turn sixty in just three weeks. The thought made something behind Eko¡¯s eyes burn, and he squeezed them shut until it went away.

    Master Leolin resumed talking while Eko¡¯s eyes were still closed, his voice slowly getting closer. ¡°I know this is difficult, my boy. But there is something that you must understand.¡±

    He was going to tell Eko that the king was more important or that his mind was made up or that it would be an honor to serve his country in this way. Well, Eko had a rebuttal for all those points. He¡¯d been turning them over in his head ever since he read the king¡¯s future and saw Master Leolin¡¯s death smeared into the echoes of time.

    The king wasn¡¯t more important. Not to Eko, at least. He didn¡¯t care that the king was the one that allowed him three meals from the kitchen a day or granted him a small room in the servants quarters. Every year¨Cor more often, if the king was feeling particularly unimpressed¨CEko had to present his abilities as both a seer and a normal mage to His Majesty, and if at any point he decided Eko wasn¡¯t worth the resources he was using on him, he would be kicked out. It was unlikely, considering Eko was currently the only other known seer in this half of the world, but it was still a possibility.

    Eko didn¡¯t have to prove anything to Master Leolin. Sure, Leolin wanted Eko to excel in his studies and master his craft, but he never threatened Eko or made him feel less than when he didn¡¯t succeed on the first try or took breaks. Sometimes, he even sneaked Eko extra sweets from the kitchen or let him play with the slimes before they were turned into potions or gathered the kitchen scraps so they could feed the Vert fish together under the cover of darkness while Master Leolin regaled him with stories of his youth or his knowledge of the world.

    And Eko could convince Master Leolin to reconsider his stance. Eko was nothing if not persistent. He could wear down his master. He could make him see that it was pointless to die an honorable death or whatever other hydra shit he was trying to sell Eko.

    ¡°You see,¡± Master Leolin said, clasping a heavy hand on Eko¡¯s thin shoulder. He gazed down at him, blue eyes glittering intensely, like bits of sapphire, and Eko couldn¡¯t have looked away if he tried. ¡°This decision is one I make. Not one that is dictated to me by the whims of Moss or Tressia. Do you understand? As seers, we may rule time, but time rules us as well. And now, I am not raging against the current, but following the flow.¡±

    ¡°But why?¡± Eko implored. He didn¡¯t understand. Who would want to just¨Cto just throw their life away? If he had seen his death, why wouldn¡¯t he do something to stop it? It was their singular privilege from their powers as seers!

    Master Leolin patted him on the shoulder, smiling slightly. ¡°You will understand one day, Eko,¡± he said, like a promise. ¡°Now, please, will you leave me to get my affairs in order?¡±

    Eko roughly brushed off Master Leolin¡¯s hand and moved to march from the room. The old man could be stubborn and cryptic¨CEko didn¡¯t care. He would do whatever he could to save him.

    Eko stopped in the doorway, however, glancing back at Master Leolin. The old man had shuffled back to his desk, but he hadn¡¯t yet reclaimed his seat on the stool. Instead, he stood, hands braced on the wood, the edge of his sleeve brushing the puddle of ink and his head bowed between his hunched shoulders as if it was weighted down.

    Eko wouldn¡¯t get another chance. He didn¡¯t care if it was an egregious invasion of privacy or horribly rude. He peered into Leolin¡¯s future.

    Usually, reading futures was fairly straightforward. At least, with someone Leolin¡¯s age, whose path had more or less been formed by both circumstance and the myriad of decisions they had made through their years, the sound of their future was easy to listen to. A simpler melody and more harmonious than, say, a child, whose branching paths of decisions laid at their feet, forming a cacophony of dozens¨Cif not hundreds¨Cof possible futures.

    The same was true for seers, at any age. They were privy to the events that had not yet come to pass, and so they were the wayward musicians in this song of time, paths upon paths open to them to choose from, whether they wanted to be a melody or counter-harmony or remain silent altogether.

    At least, that¡¯s how it usually was. But when Eko peered into Master Leolin¡¯s future, all he saw was that one, solitary score of fate. The handful of days that separated Leolin from a stormy night and blood dripping from his lips as he died. All of this passed through Eko¡¯s mind in half the time it took to blink.

    He shook his head and tried again, hoping there was something he just wasn¡¯t seeing, some hidden string of fate that held something else. Then tried again. And again.

    By the fifth time, he had to concede. As it stood, the only path that appeared before Leolin was death.

    But it¨Cit didn¡¯t matter. Eko was a seer, too¨Ca wildcard in the symphony of fate. He could save Leolin. He would.

    Except, when the night came a few days later, Eko found his door locked from the outside and a barrier cast over the window so that even when he broke it, he could not get past the sill. He sat on the lip of stone, beating his hand against the invisible wall and shouting any obscenity he could think of.

    He hadn¡¯t seen this in Leolin¡¯s future when he read it. Which meant Leolin had read his future at some point in the past few days and saw Eko¡¯s plans and adjusted his own accordingly. Wily old man, Eko thought. Usually, he was fond of his master¡¯s ways, but in that moment, he only felt bitter.

    Eko didn¡¯t notice it for a while, but when he rushed to the door to try it once more¨Cor at least find a way to bust it open¨Che noticed something poking out from under the door into the dim room. Stooping down, he pulled at the little corner reaching past the crack beneath the door. He tugged up until the object slid completely out from under the door and came free.

    It was an envelope, too thick to be empty. Without tearing his gaze away from it, Eko shuffled to his bed and sat down heavily. With a trembling hand, he thumbed at the wax seal¨Cthe seal of the official court seer¨Cuntil it broke. He pulled out the letter concealed within, carefully unfolding and staring down at it. It was too dark inside the room to read it, and it took Eko several long moments to work up the courage to hold out a hand and cast the cantrip for a small fire in his palm. It provided just enough light to read by.

    Eko read the letter, then read it again. He gritted his teeth and read it a third time. It was¨CIt was nothing. Master Leolin praising him for his burgeoning skills and wishing him luck in life. Apologizing for leaving him like this and some vague pointers to follow in his life because of course seers couldn¡¯t leave the future well enough alone. There was at least some comfort in knowing that it would have been hard for his master to learn much of anything since Eko was still too young for a more focused future, compounding with the effect that being a seer had on his fate.

    The hints at his future came in a bulleted list, and there were only three of them. Unlike the rest of the letter, Eko read them only once, but they felt seared into his mind no matter how he tried not to think about them.

    Listen to the man of promises.

    Read the girl¡¯s future.

    Learn the cardinal rule of seers.

    Just vague enough to hopefully lead Eko down the path to whatever future Leolin wanted for him¨Cwithout jeopardizing the possibility of that future happening. At first it rankled Eko that the man abandoning him for some guy with a crown had the gall to try to dictate his future, but the more he thought about it, the more it didn¡¯t make sense. Leolin wasn¡¯t the type to try to steer Eko. He wasn¡¯t the type to steer anyone except when it was literally his job. And even with all his skill as a seer, Leolin wouldn¡¯t be able to pinpoint many specifics about the futures of a fellow seer. There were just too many possibilities to properly process them all or even pick out the ones more likely to happen compared to the others.

    Well, usually, Eko thought bitterly, recalling the singular future he¡¯d seen for his master just a few days before. And why had that been? Was the will of his master to submit to his death really so powerful that it made it the only path left to him?

    Eko peered out the window. It didn¡¯t matter anymore. The early morning daystellation of Hessen was fading from the sky, the arrow steadily growing dimmer while the next daystellation, Midi, faintly shone just north of it in the shape of an oval.

    By this point, Leolin was dead. He was dead, and all Eko had managed to do was sit and read the letter filled with the empty words of a man that had decided he wasn¡¯t important enough to live for.

    His eyes fell to the last part of the letter. Leolin apologized again, his fancy script curling across the page. He went on to try to defend himself again, citing that this was him accepting his fate instead of trying to escape it, as seers often do. But it was the way that he ended the letter that really stuck with Eko.

    Never forget that I am proud of you, my boy. The path behind you has not been an easy one to walk, and neither does the path I hope you will find be easy to trek. But you play a vital role in this world. Please, do not abandon it.

    I do not know the worth of the words of a dead man. But I hope my words mean something to you, just as you meant so much to me. I never had the opportunity to have children, my boy, but I had you. I got to watch you grow from a tiny boy to the young man you are today. And in that, how can I face my death with any regret?

    Goodbye, my dear boy.

    - Trindell Leolin

    Eko stubbornly bit the inside of his cheek, eyes burning and chest heaving. With a cry, he balled up the paper and threw hard. It barely made a whisper of sound when it hit the opposing wall and bounced to the ground, and that only made Eko jump to his feet and stalk over to where it rested. He brought his foot up to stomp on it, wanting more than anything to break something in that moment. He stood there like that for a moment, one foot posed over the wad of the letter, but he couldn¡¯t bring himself to do it. He shouted again, landing forward on his foot so that he was able to punch the wall.

    He stood there, knuckles resting against the rough stone and head bowed, staring at the crumpled paper below him. His chest heaved and his hand burned in a way that told him he was probably bleeding and despite himself hot tears blurred his vision. With a gasp, he stumbled back, fisting his hands in his hair and collapsing into his bed when his calves hit the frame.

    He sat there for several moments, eyes squeezed shut and chest spasming under the force of his sobs. Eventually, though, he scrubbed at his eyes and his snot-ridden upper lip and went back to the window. He reached forward, trying to find the barrier that had been there before, but there was nothing. Eko sniffled and rubbed at his face again as he peered down at the ground some twenty feet below. He should be able to get himself down without breaking something.

    Well, he certainly wasn¡¯t staying here. Leolin was a fool to die for this country and its king that had never glanced twice at them, and Eko wasn¡¯t about to be thrust into that position. Maybe it was selfish. He could help a lot of people with his abilities as a seer if he stuck around.

    Eko didn¡¯t care. He wasn¡¯t going to face the same fate as his master. He didn¡¯t know what his fate would be, but he was not going to be a slave to his power¨Chis power would serve him.

    Eko glanced back at the discarded letter. His heart pounded in his chest. A breeze blew in through the window, catching the paper and making it shudder. After several more moments, he strode back to the letter and picked it up. Then, he held out his other hand, muttered the cantrip for fire, and burned it.

    He didn¡¯t need Leolin anymore. It was clear Leolin hadn¡¯t cared how this would affect Eko, so why should Eko care about him at this point? And he didn¡¯t care what future Leolin wanted him to follow. Eko was done being told he had to bow¨Cto others, to the king, to time itself. From now on, he would rule time. Not the other way around.

    He left, then¨Chis room, his castle, his whole accursed life that had been built up around him, caging him inside. He would make himself a better one.

    ¨C-

    (664 A.C.)

    "Hey. Hey, Randall," Eko called, voice soft, leaning against the bars of his cell with elbows resting on the cool metal. He snickered as the guard sent him a pointed glare. "Randall," he sang, lacing his fingers together, "Wanna know your fortune?"

    The guard in question threw down his hand onto the small, wooden table in front of him, much to his partner''s chagrin, and the other two guards laughed as they swept up their winnings. Randall shot to his feet, jabbing a meaty finger in his direction. "If you open your trap one more time, I''m going to¨CI¡¯m going to¨C!"

    ¡°Having some trouble there, Randall? I know thinking has always been a bit of a sport for you.¡±

    Randall glowered at him, hands flexing.

    Eko never did know when to leave well enough alone. "Aw, you''re no fun. Where''s Craig these days? Now that bloke was a riot. He would turn the strangest shade of purple when he was angry and got this crinkle on his forehead deep as a philosopher''s arse crack¨Cyeah, that''s just the look!" Randall was already stalking towards him, but it wouldn''t be a true insult until Eko delivered the punchline. "It''s a wonder your wife is so excited to see you tonight. Or, well, I guess she was." He grinned and darted back right before Randall cracked his baton down where his arms were hanging. He hung to the bars with the tips of his fingers instead, laughing as a vein popped out on Randall¡¯s thick neck.

    ¡°You know he¡¯s just looking for a rise,¡± one of the other guards called. Eko didn¡¯t know his name¨Che had yet to learn two of the names of this new batch. He knew Randall because he was just funny looking¨Carms thick as trees but legs like a chicken, fat cheeks and a scraggly beard that just about hid his stringy lips. This other guard was pretty standard, fit and lean and with a neat beard. Newly wed if the shiny ring on his finger was anything to read into and too satisfied in his youth to be bothered by much of anything.

    Randall¡¯s other buddy, Yunt, though¨Cthe one that had been on his team in whatever weird card game they were playing¨Che was just Randall¡¯s opposite. Tall as a corn stalk with a long ponytail that really should be getting him locked up in one of these cells. Just looking at it made Eko smirk. No wonder he didn¡¯t see anyone falling heads over heels for him¨Cand that tidbit he was definitely keeping to himself. Not that he couldn¡¯t hint at it.

    ¡°Just gag him and be done with it,¡± Yunt snapped. He collected the cards and shuffled them eagerly, probably hoping to earn his marks back.

    Randall grunted, smacking at Eko¡¯s fingers again just for good measure. Luckily, Eko was quick enough to snatch them back before they ended up crushed, the baton just making a harsh clang on the metal. Randall spat at Eko¡¯s bare feet, too, probably just for good measure. Eko danced back farther, but it all ended up on the bars anyways.

    ¡°You kidding?¡± Randall muttered. ¡°Who knows what crazy magic he has up his sleeve.¡±

    Eko sighed, going over and plopping down on his bed of straw. It was really the only thing in his cell, save his bucket. And he didn''t savvy spending his free time hanging around it. ¡°You lot really are pretty dense. I keep telling you magic doesn¡¯t work like that.¡± He displayed his empty palms and wiggled his fingers. ¡°No wand, no big spells. Even if I can speak.¡±

    Yunt sneered, ¡°Oh, so you want us to gag you, then?¡±

    Eko pouted. ¡°But then I wouldn¡¯t be able to ruin all your good luck. Where¡¯s the fun in that?¡± He winked at one of the new guards. ¡°Saw your future earlier, lad. Have fun with that.¡±

    The man¨Cwell, boy, really¨Cglanced at his companions. ¡°What¨CWhat does that mean?¡±

    Eko grinned and spoke in a singsong voice. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you like to know.¡±

    ¡°Means he''s seen something bad. Not gonna tell you what though ¡®cause that would make it not happen. He¡¯s a right bastard like that,¡± Randall grunted, shuffling back over to the wooden table and settling into his seat. The chair creaked in distress. Well, what Eko assumed was distress. He sure wouldn''t be happy if Randall sat on him. "Should just cut out the peeper''s tongue and be done with it. Won''t be spoiling anything then."

    Yunt grunted in agreement. The other guard still looked nervous, glancing between his newly dealt cards and Eko several times. Eko just smiled and put a finger to his lips. The middle one, of course.

    They went back to their game, and Eko let his new friend stew for a bit, easing down to lay in the straw with his arms as pillows. The old straw''s damp and musty stench used to make him gag, but now it was just one of the little charms of his prison he''d gotten used to. Like how the light of the torches by the guards didn''t quite reach the corners of his cell where the rats hid or how he had a barred window at the top of his cell wall but it was always covered with a heavy plank so he never got any sunlight or fresh air. He used to have nice, golden skin from days spent traveling, but now he was pale as a newborn frost lion. Truly, that was the biggest shame.

    Yunt was talking to the married guard¨Cwho was apparently named Aaron, not that Eko really cared¨Cwhen the young one, Meness, finally broke. He twisted to stare at him and blurted out, "What happens to me?"

    The others stopped and glared at him, but Eko merely grinned. He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, returning to his spot leaning against the bars. "Tell ya what, lad. You come over here and deal me in to whatever game you''re playing, and I¡¯ll tell you your future."

    "And that will make sure it doesn''t happen?" The boy was practically shaking in his boots.

    Eko opened his mouth to reply, but Randall beat him to it. "Don''t trust him," he said, shooting a dark look his way. "It might be that you stub a toe or lose a sock. Something bad might not even happen at all, but you¡¯d have no way of knowing it.¡±

    Eko scowled. ¡°Hey now, I¡¯d never lie about a person¡¯s future.¡± He held up one hand, the other resting on his breast, and smiled. ¡°Seer¡¯s honor.¡± Meness still looked like the uncertain, frightened child he was at Eko¡¯s words¨Cand okay, now Eko felt a teeny bit bad. Randall opened his mouth to retort, but this time, he was the one cut off.

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    The door slammed open. All four guards were immediately on their feet, backs straight and arms at their sides. Eko only got a peek of the stairs leading up to the courtyard of the prison and the sunlight shining brightly on the worn stone, but that was all it took for his gut to clench and his grip on the bars to tighten.

    He wasn¡¯t the one that should be locked up in here. He hadn¡¯t done anything illegal. Wrong? Sure, but that was another story. He was just the one at the butt of the joke. Because that¡¯s all this was, right? A sick joke that was never going to end.

    Eko should have stayed at the castle all those years ago. This was what he got for meeting that bastard and remembering those words from Leolin¨Clisten to the man of promises. He sure had promised a whole lot. It was the fulfilling part, or lack thereof, that had landed Eko where he was now.

    The intruder dragged someone in behind him and shut the door just as quickly as he¡¯d opened it. Eko squinted, eyes sluggishly adjusting from the sudden flare of light back to the darkness of the flickering torch.

    The man that entered was the warden. No surprise there, really. If there was any other soul unfortunate enough to be left in a specialty cell, the warden was the one to drop them off personally. He pulled on the lead in his hand, forcing the prisoner behind him to stumble forward.

    Eko stared in shock before bursting out laughing. ¡°Are you kidding? They¡¯re sending kids to Festra now, are they? With blonde hair no less?¡± He looked her up and down. Despite her disheveled appearance, she held her head high and scowled at everything around her like it had personally insulted her. And hey, she was in prison now. Maybe it had.

    The warden, unflappable as always, didn¡¯t even glance at him. He just led the girl to the next cell over, and when she was locked inside, he motioned her over. She glared at him for a moment before relenting and offering her hands. Eko couldn¡¯t help but give a whistle of empathy at her raw and blistered wrists. The warden reached through the bars and used a knife to make short work of her bindings before nodding to Eko.

    ¡°They haven¡¯t gagged you, have they?¡± he asked, tucking the knife he¡¯d used back into the sheath on his wrist.

    In the corner of his eye, Eko saw Yunt gulp. Eko smirked. ¡°Talked about it some,¡± he reported, dropping into a lax position again. ¡°But no, they didn¡¯t.¡±

    The warden nodded, pale red hair fiery in the torch light. ¡°Good.¡± He turned to his subordinates. ¡°Gentlemen. You¡¯ve got a new prisoner, a child at that, but that doesn¡¯t change anything. You will treat her as any other prisoner. I trust I needn¡¯t remind you of the dangers of specialty mages?¡± They shook their heads. Eko thought he saw some sweat gathering on Randall¡¯s forehead and stifled a laugh. ¡°As you should. I expect your reports at the end of the week. Keep up the good work.¡± With a final nod, he turned sharply on his heel, striding out and up.

    ¡°Imagine if that bloke was just a little bit better at magic. Pink hair wouldn¡¯t be nearly as scary.¡± Eko clicked his tongue. ¡°Would be scary enough though, eh, guys?¡±

    ¡°Shut it,¡± Randall snapped, collapsing back down onto his chair. Usually, Eko would keep it up just out of spite, but his interest was a bit preoccupied at the moment.

    The girl sat in the middle of her cell, arms crossed and nose scrunched. Eko plopped down next to the bars separating them, his back to the others. ¡°You know, the guards will only laugh a little if you start crying. And I promise I won¡¯t laugh.¡± Eko leaned in and winked. ¡°At least, not when you¡¯re looking.¡±

    The girl set her glare on him. Her golden eyes flicked over his body. Somehow her expression darkened further, but it just kind of made her look like an angry chipmunk and about as intimidating. Which, hurtful. Eko knew that the dirty prison uniform and accompanying stink weren¡¯t helping his image any but still. He had white hair. Well, it probably looked more gray than white at this point with all the dirt and such, but still¨Cwhite hair! Much better than the girl¡¯s blonde.

    ¡°What do you want?¡±

    Eko merely raised an eyebrow at her snapping. It was like watching a pixie mock a dragon. ¡°Well, I was trying to be nice. Kid just got dumped in prison and all that.¡±

    She relaxed a bit. She shifted and rubbed gingerly around her wrists as she spoke. ¡°Why was that guy so nice to you? He threatened to cut out my tongue if I called him any more names.¡± Her lip jutted out in a pout, ¡°Pretty sure he meant it, too.¡±

    Eko snorted at that one. This kid had to have a death wish if she was antagonizing the warden of all people. ¡°The warden? Oh, we go way back. I looked into his future, told him his son was going to die. So his son didn¡¯t.¡±

    She frowned. ¡°What?¡±

    He rolled his eyes. Did he have to spell it out? ¡°I¡¯m a seer.¡±

    She still stared at him like he¡¯d grown a second head.

    Eko frowned. ¡°Seer? No?¡± He twisted around to look at the guards. ¡°Am I speaking Hydra here?¡± They largely ignored him, only Meness sparing him a glance. ¡°Alright then,¡± he muttered, turning back to the girl. She cocked her head at him. ¡°I¡¯m a seer,¡± he reiterated. ¡°I can see people¡¯s futures. If I tell them or anyone else what their future is, their future changes. I can tell them little bits and pieces though or give up little hints.¡±

    Well, that was the general explanation. There were other details that made the power of seers more complicated. He could tell someone whose fate was already set into one future the fate of another person and it usually wouldn¡¯t do anything, especially if that person was about to die. Or he could tell the future of someone to someone else who would never meet them and as long as that person never breathed a word of it, the other person¡¯s future wouldn¡¯t change. There were a couple other details he was sure he was forgetting, but, well, he was no grand seer anymore so why should he bother to try and remember?

    The girl blinked once, twice. Suddenly, she broke into a huge grin. ¡°So you have magic?¡±

    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t see them reading any futures,¡± he drawled, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the black-haired guards. He frowned again. ¡°You really don¡¯t know about specialty magics? Kid, you¡¯re in a specialty mage cell.¡±

    She furrowed her brow. ¡°I don¡¯t know any magic.¡±

    He shook his head, letting out a frustrated huff. He didn¡¯t know if it was at the kid for being so hopelessly ignorant or the world for throwing a kid so hopelessly ignorant into Festra for a crime she definitely didn¡¯t have the salts to commit. ¡°You don¡¯t need to know magic to be a specialty mage. In fact, from what I know, you¡¯re gifted with some magical talent from the gods or something. It just means you can do something that other people can¡¯t, even mages, and you can pretty much do it from birth.¡±

    Her eyes shone, lips stretching back into a bright smile. ¡°I have magic?¡± Eko nodded and she squealed. ¡°I have magic! What kind of magic can I do?¡±

    Eko couldn¡¯t help his bemused expression. ¡°I don¡¯t know. You¡¯re not an immortal or sage or something? Those¨Cwell, none of us are exactly common but they''re more common. An oracle, maybe? Or a seer?¡±

    She seemed to think about it for a moment. ¡°You know, I think they mentioned that they didn¡¯t know what I was. Just that I had a specialty.¡±

    Well, that wasn¡¯t something you heard everyday. Still, not entirely shocking. ¡°Eh, specialties come from the new gods. They¡¯re always experimenting and whatever¨Cnot too surprising that there are more of us now.¡± His foot started to fall asleep so he shifted before continuing. ¡°So kid, what¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°Wanily.¡±

    ¡°Wanily, eh? Nice to meet you, kid, name¡¯s Eko. Well, Ekostaphollese is my government name, but that was more of a stage thing anyways.¡± He stuck his hand through one of the squares. They shook. ¡°So, what¡¯re you in for, Wanily?¡±

    She scowled, throwing up her hands. ¡°Went to this asshole to learn magic, and he framed me!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what they all say,¡± Yunt drawled. Nice to know they were being listened to at every point.

    ¡°Hey, one-on-one conversation over here,¡± Eko threw over his shoulder, only getting snickers in return. He turned back to the girl. ¡°Framed for what?¡±

    She crossed her arms again, sullen. ¡°I think he was trying to steal something? I don¡¯t know what, but it looked kind of like a gold egg. With, like, jewels and stuff all over it.¡±

    Oh, he knew that one. Eko whistled. ¡°Went for an artifact? Yeah, alright, that tends to land you in prison. Why¡¯d they send you here though?¡± Festra was the mage prison. But then, if they thought a specialty mage was trying to steal an artifact, they might be inclined to toss them somewhere dark and dank and throw away the key. ¡°You know what, don¡¯t answer that.¡±

    She huffed and glanced back over at him. ¡°So what did you do?¡±

    ¡°Here we go again,¡± Randall groaned.

    Wanily scowled. ¡°Excuse you, we¡¯re talking here.¡± Eko tried¨Cand failed¨Cto choke back a laugh at the girl¡¯s posturing. Her expression eased when she looked back at him. ¡°Were you framed, too?¡±

    Oh boy. This was just his favorite story to tell. Eko shrugged. ¡°Sort of. This guy, Atlas Stellar, recruited me. I tell you, guy could talk a blind man into buying glasses. Eight pairs of ¡®em.¡± Eko shrugged. ¡°Could also talk kings and queens and whatever other fancy government people into getting their fortunes read for insane prices. If it was something good, we simply walked away with the money. If it was something bad, I¡¯d give them hints about it but not exactly what happens. They could pay for more hints to try to change their fortune, but if they didn¡¯t, no skin off our backs. Then, after we took our leave from them, if the reading was good, we¡¯d go to that nation¡¯s enemies and offer to tell them the good future for an even steeper price. Then we¡¯d make off into the night like fairytale bandits.¡± He scratched at his neck. ¡°I was young and suddenly fabulously wealthy, and¨Cwell. I was making some very powerful people very angry, but I didn¡¯t really notice. Probably wouldn¡¯t have cared even if I had. Stuff like that was always more of Stellar¡¯s problem. Until they came demanding our heads, and he managed to talk his way out of it by pinning the blame on me.¡±

    She frowned. ¡°So why didn¡¯t they kill you?¡±

    Eko quirked an eyebrow. ¡°Blunt much?¡± He smirked and tipped his head against the bars next to him. Why indeed¨Cdeath would probably be a step up from this desolate hole in the ground. ¡°You don¡¯t just kill a specialty mage. Never know when you might want to make use of their specialties.¡±

    ¡°And what other kinds of specialty mages are there?¡± she asked.

    Eko tapped a finger against his chin. It had been a while since he had to think about anything like that¨Cnot that he didn¡¯t get plenty of time alone with his thoughts down here. Still, that was the kind of thing he used to live and breathe. He tried not to think about that part of his life, but it still came back easily enough to make him have to resist the urge to grind his teeth. ¡°There¡¯s five,¡± he said eventually. ¡°That I know of anyway, maybe things have changed in the time I¡¯ve been in here. Anyway, you got seers and oracles, both of which can see the future, but they¡¯re not quite the same. Seers see the future of specific people¨Cget a very clear picture, too, yeah? Oracles¨Cwell, I¡¯m not an oracle and haven¡¯t met none either so I¡¯m not completely sure¨Cbut I think they see future events? Not too sure how it works, honestly.¡±

    There had been an oracle in Fris for the whole of about three months before she was assassinated by the empire. This was, of course, before the empire had successfully annexed them. Eko saw her at the ceremony where she was named the official court oracle, but he¡¯d been¨Cwhat, six at the time? She and Leolin had talked on several occasions, but Eko hadn¡¯t yet been important enough for the same treatment.

    And then she was dead and it didn¡¯t matter anymore.

    And then Leolin was dead, and Eko wasn¡¯t even in the country after that.

    ¡°There are three other specialty mages, but I guess with you it¡¯s four, huh?¡± He continued resolutely, ignoring more creeping thoughts of the past. He dealt with that enough as it was. ¡°You got immortals and sages and... ¡± Eko scratched the back of head, frowning. ¡°Mediums!¡± He snapped his fingers at finally remembering them and let out a small chuckle, not that Wanily seemed very impressed. She gave him a flat look, and he cleared his throat. ¡°Anyway, immortals can¡¯t die. Or, well, they don¡¯t age. Or maybe they do age, it¡¯s just much more slowly?¡± Eko couldn¡¯t remember. It was simultaneously extremely gratifying and exceptionally terrifying. He continued in a rush, ¡°They can¡¯t die, and¨Cand then you got sages, who can talk to magical creatures.¡± He bit his lip, thinking. ¡°Or maybe it was any beast? Magical or otherwise..?

    The flat look didn¡¯t waver. ¡°You¡¯re not very good at this,¡± she drawled.

    ¡°Hey now,¡± Eko said, raising a hand to his chest in mock offense. He could feel his heart pounding under his palm. Why was this bothering him so much? He wanted to forget this stuff. It wasn¡¯t like it even did him any good anymore, not that it had back then, either. He swallowed hard and pasted on a crooked smile. ¡°I am a fount of knowledge. Much better than whoever you tried to learn magic from.¡±

    Wanily only hummed in response. Must have still been a sore spot. Eko considered apologizing, but it wasn¡¯t really his style and she didn¡¯t seem too upset.

    They fell silent, and the girl took the moment to examine her cell. Eko watched her stalk the boundaries, laughing when a rat scurried past and she shrieked. She stuck her tongue out at him, and he returned the gesture.

    After a while, she reclaimed her spot on the floor by him. ¡°So, can you teach me magic?¡±

    That startled another laugh out of him. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You got special hair,¡± she said, like that explained everything.

    ¡°Lass, just because I know magic doesn¡¯t mean I can teach it. Or want to.¡± Who did this kid think she was? Sure, she was spunky and had gotten a couple good laughs from him, but that didn¡¯t mean he¡¯d teach her magic.

    She gave him a pretty good set of puppy dog eyes, but he still shook his head. When she realized her charms weren¡¯t working, her expression twisted back into a scowl. ¡°C¡¯mon, it¡¯s not like you¡¯re doing anything.¡±

    Eko huffed. ¡°Just forget it, kid. Magic is bad news. Look where it¡¯s gotten us.¡±

    Wanily puffed out her chest. ¡°Well I don¡¯t know about you, but I¡¯m not staying here. I¡¯m going to find a way out of this prison. I¡¯m going to learn magic, and I¡¯m going to be the Archmage! I¡¯ll help so many people and become the most famous person in the whole world!¡±

    Eko smirked. ¡°Right.¡±

    She glared at him. ¡°It¡¯s true! I¡¯m going to be the most powerful mage this world has ever seen!¡±

    ¡°And how do you plan to do that when you¡¯re in prison, sans teacher, and you just told the men set to watch you that you plan to escape?¡± They both glanced at the guards that were openly snorting and snickering. Eko splayed his hands. ¡°Face it kid, you¡¯re out of luck.¡±

    She didn¡¯t say anything, just glared at him without blinking for a frankly impressive length of time. Eko returned her contempt with an unamused expression. She broke first, much to Eko¡¯s satisfaction.

    Wanily let out an explosive sigh, turning to glare petulantly at some point on the floor. ¡°Whatever,¡± she declared. ¡°I don¡¯t really want a teacher anymore. I¡¯ll just teach myself magic.¡±

    Eko snorted. Days and nights spent hunched over a book in the castle library flitted across his mind. ¡°Oh, yeah, sure. Just teach yourself magic. No big deal.¡±

    ¡°Well, it isn¡¯t,¡± Wanily insisted. ¡°Or it won¡¯t be, I guess. It¡¯s just a matter of wanting it badly enough, right? And maybe figuring out some rhymes that make things happen. Easy.¡±

    Eko would have laughed if he wasn¡¯t so completely bewildered. ¡°No, not easy. Kid, do you even know what magic is?¡±

    She thought about it for a moment. ¡°It¡¯s a... thing. That people can do,¡± Wanily said, far too confidently.

    Eko chuckled. ¡°Well, you¡¯re not wrong. It certainly is a thing that people can do.¡± He shook his head with a wry smile. ¡°Okay, look, this isn¡¯t a magic lesson, alright? This is just common knowledge that everyone knows, and me telling you it isn¡¯t educating you in magic, just things you should know, alright?¡± Gods knew Eko certainly didn¡¯t want anything to do with magic anymore.

    But Wanily¡¯s golden eyes practically sparkled. She nodded emphatically.

    Eko mulled it over for a moment. ¡°So, you got magic. But there are different kinds of magic, right? You got old magic and new magic. Very few areas use old magic anymore, that I know of, at least. Usually in whatever countries still worship the old gods, but that¡¯s only a couple of places and¨Cno, you know what? That¡¯s neither here nor there. People don¡¯t really use old magic. That leaves you with new magic. It¡¯s different than old magic¨Cin a way that I don¡¯t fully understand so don¡¯t ask¨Cbut it¡¯s what everyone uses. To use new magic you need conduits. Cantrips, wands, certain other objects depending on the spell¨Cthe whole cake. Some spells even require more than one person to cast. But anyway, spells that only take words to cast are called cantrips. They tend not to be very strong, so, you land yourself in a prison like this one, they take away your wand and whatever else, and no matter what hair color you¡¯re sporting on your crown, the most you can do is make a little flame or blow a little breeze. Not much of an issue, eh, fellas?¡±

    The guards were back to ignoring them. The best he got was Meness very pointedly shuffling their deck of cards.

    Wanily seemed to absorb the information for a moment. ¡°So what¡¯s up with the whole ¡®old magic, new magic¡¯ thing? Like, does it have to do with the old and new gods?¡±

    Eko stared at her. ¡°You don¡¯t know about the gods? Just how old are you, kid?¡±

    ¡°Ten, I think. I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t remember anything past a few months ago. The first thing I remember is walking through the gates of some city named Tiulipia.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t know where that is,¡± Eko said, desperately trying not to show how bothered he was by this information. How did she not¨C? Just¨Cwhat? ¡°What about your parents?¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°Dunno.¡±

    At least she didn¡¯t seem very bothered by it. Eko rubbed his forehead. ¡°Well, then. Guess it¡¯s up to me to tell you what¡¯s what.¡±

    This was fine. There was an amnesiac child in the cell next to him that knew nothing about basic things in the world like the gods and magic. She didn¡¯t know where her parents were, and she¡¯d just been sent to Festra to rot in a cell for the rest of her life. Eko guessed she didn¡¯t need to know any of this stuff, then, but it would still be good for her. Who knew? Maybe she really would get out of this place and learn magic. Become the Archmage or whatever. Eko wasn¡¯t holding his breath, though.

    ¡°Okay, listen up. There¡¯s the new gods and the old gods. The old gods created the world and everything on it, humans and animals and some magical creatures included. But there was something special about humans, you see, that made it so when we started to value things other than our worship¨Cthings like love and joy and whatever else¨Cit gave birth to new gods with dominion over those things. That¡¯s where we get old and new magic from. Old magic came from the old gods, and new magic came about when the new gods were created.

    ¡°That¡¯s not all though, so hold onto your bootstraps, kid, cause I¡¯m gonna give you a lightning fast history lesson. See, the old gods really didn¡¯t like that humans created the new gods. Didn¡¯t like the new gods much either. They threatened the position and power of the old gods and all that. So, the gods started fighting.

    ¡°But here¡¯s the catch. One of the old gods got the brilliant idea to deal with the problem at the source. And do you know what that source was?¡±

    Wanily looked at him blankly.

    Eko let out a huff of laughter. ¡°Humans, kid. I just said it. The god Kakren decided if he wanted to get rid of the new gods, he¡¯d just get rid of all the humans. Well, I guess he was more or less gonna destroy the whole world, actually, just kinda start from scratch, y¡¯know? But, well, the new gods didn¡¯t like that much either. Guess what happened.¡±

    Wanily grinned. ¡°Obviously, this Kakren succeeded and everything got destroyed.¡± She brought her hands together into fists before fanning them out, making exploding noises.

    Eko chuckled. ¡°Right, of course.¡± He shook his head. ¡°No, Kakren made a physical form on this world, just absolutely massive¨Cthe size of some countries from what I¡¯ve heard. But when he did, one of the new gods¨Cthe goddess Amera¨Ckilled him.¡±

    Wanily frowned. ¡°How do you kill a god?¡±

    Eko shrugged. ¡°Wish I could tell you. The fact of the matter is, Amera fused her being with a human, the only way she could manifest in this plane from what I understand. Then, she killed Kakren, but this was a bit of an issue seeing as Kakren was one of the gods that made the universe function the way it should, you know? So when he died, there was this ''oh shit'' moment where everything sort of started to fall apart. Real end of the world style. It¡¯s referred to as the Cataclysm.¡±

    Wanily furrowed her brow. ¡°So... why didn¡¯t everything go¨C¡± She mimicked her earlier imitation of an explosion, more reserved this time.

    ¡°Well, existence isn¡¯t existence without all of the old gods. So, best as any of us know, Kakren just sort of... appeared again.¡± Wanily stared at him, but Eko just shrugged. ¡°After that, the old gods just sort of left the picture, and the new gods barely talked to anybody anyway, so.¡±

    ¡°They barely what?¡±

    ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t know? The old gods used to talk to humans. Yeah, real chatterboxes from what I¡¯ve heard, those ones. That¡¯s how we know all this stuff. Well, that and when Amera came to this plane, I guess she had a lot to say.¡±

    Eko didn¡¯t really know the details, but there was that whole big church dedicated to her now, not to mention several smaller churches that served whatever other new gods she told humans about. But Fris had been a nation that worshiped the old gods, and then Eko had left, and while he did travel a lot, he never really gave a rat¡¯s ass about the gods. Not like they had ever done him any good.

    ¡°So Amera told us some stuff, and the old gods told us some stuff. And then when Kakren died and came back, the old gods just kinda were like, ¡®well, we don¡¯t want anything to do with any of you anymore¡¯, and no one¡¯s heard from them since.¡±

    Wanily blinked hard. ¡°That¡¯s¨Cwow. When did all this happen?¡±

    Eko pursed his lips and turned back to the guards. ¡°Hey, what year is it?¡±

    Randall and Yunt sent them positively withering glares. It was Aaron that answered, unbothered as usual. ¡°664.¡±

    Eko waved a hand towards them. ¡°There. 664 years ago.¡±

    Wanily gaped. Eko didn¡¯t know what he expected her to say, but what he got wasn¡¯t it. ¡°That¡¯s a lot of Archmages.¡±

    Eko barked with laughter. ¡°Sure is.¡±

    Eko considered this girl for a moment. She seemed like a good kid. Fair, honest intentions, even if she had no way of achieving them. And Eko couldn¡¯t say he wasn¡¯t burning with curiosity.

    He came to a decision. ¡°Want to know your fortune, Wanily?¡±

    She dragged her gaze to meet his. The look she gave him wasn¡¯t haughty or even exasperated. Plain, just like her tone, like it was obvious. ¡°I already know where I¡¯m heading.¡± She grinned. ¡°I¡¯m going to be the Archmage.¡±

    <hr>

    Three days later, the warden escorted another man in, but this one wasn¡¯t a prisoner. In place of rags and dirt was a sharp suit and a nose turned up at the filth, and instead of anything colorful, his hair was a drab brown. He swept his gaze over the lot of them¨Cthe guards at attention then Eko and Wanily. They were in the middle of a halfway made-up clapping game since Eko didn¡¯t remember the actual pattern and Wanily didn¡¯t remember anything past a few months ago.

    The man turned to the warden, who was doing his best impression of a scowl. ¡°Yes, I hardly think these are necessary. We¡¯re trying to cut funding to this area, and you lot keep all these superfluous expenses. You¡¯re paying four extra guards for nothing, and these two¨C¡± The man waved a hand at them then stopped. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said, giving a short, mirthless chuckle, ¡°Does that prisoner have blonde hair?¡±

    The warden¡¯s brow twitched. ¡°So it would seem.¡±

    The man pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°And who, pray tell, thought it was a good idea to put a blonde haired child in the most heavily guarded mage prison in the world?¡±

    Dare he think it, Eko was pretty sure the warden was uncomfortable. Like when a child was caught putting salt in the cake instead of sugar because they looked the same. ¡°We were told she attempted to steal an artifact. And she has an unidentified, innate ability.¡±

    The man closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath. ¡°Yes, I saw her case as well, though I thought this had already been dismissed. I¡¯m only going to say this once: a blonde haired mage would not have been able to cast an illusion spell strong enough to hide their entire body for that length of time. Nor would they have been able to cast such destructive and accurate spells because they have blonde hair.¡±

    ¡°I simply followed orders,¡± the warden said stiffly, but the man was already shaking his head.

    ¡°I swear, a quarter of your prisoners are going to be gone by the end of the day at this rate. The stories don¡¯t work. If you lot had just investigated it more fully, you wouldn¡¯t be wasting so much money on prisoners who shouldn¡¯t even be here. I know you get most of your prisoners from other nations, but this is still ridiculous.¡± The man turned to Eko. ¡°What about you? Did you even commit a crime?¡±

    ¡°Not really,¡± Eko replied, fighting down the rising hope in his chest.

    The man grunted. ¡°I¡¯ll look more into you later.¡± He went back to the warden. ¡°For now, we can make sure all the cracks and crevices are sealed properly, deal with any vermin, and turn this into a storage room. Storing it underground will certainly be more pragmatic than housing your food in the compound.¡± He snapped his fingers at Meness. ¡°Get this girl out of my sight.¡±

    Meness hesitated. ¡°And do what with her, sir?¡±

    ¡°Put her on the next wagon out of here, leave her out in the woods¨CI don¡¯t care what you do with her, but she¡¯s no longer our problem,¡± he bit, already turning to leave, the warden at his heels.

    Eko and Wanily shared a look. He forced a smile onto his face. It wasn¡¯t even that bitter. ¡°Sounds like you really are getting out of here.¡± He literally couldn¡¯t believe it. He¡¯d spent years here, and she was getting out after just three days?

    It was for the best, he thought sullenly. She was a child framed for a terrible crime. She had her whole life ahead of her. Not that Eko was all that old either at, what, twenty-nine now?

    She smiled. ¡°You¡¯ll get out of here, too. Even if it¡¯s not right now, when I become the Archmage, I''ll bust you out.¡±

    He gave a wet chuckle. ¡°Right.¡± He stood with her as Meness unlocked the door to her cell. He¡¯d been mulling over it the last three days, haunted by the words of a dead man. And what good were they? It was Leolin¡¯s letter that made Eko more inclined to listen to Atlas, and look where that had gotten him.

    But... he might be getting out of here, too. After years of being degraded and forgotten, Eko might be getting out. Had that been what Leolin wanted for him? Why?

    Was it so that he could meet Wanily?

    ¡°Wanily,¡± he called. She looked back at him, expression far too open, ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t even want a couple hints?¡±

    She grinned, and this time it was plenty smug. ¡°Well, I said I¡¯d get out of prison. Now I¡¯m getting out of prison. I say I¡¯m going to be the Archmage, so I¡¯ll be the Archmage. I don¡¯t need any hints. But thanks, I guess.¡±

    He huffed out a laugh. She trailed after Meness towards the door to the rest of the prison. She looked back on more time when Meness opened it for her. ¡°Don¡¯t die.¡±

    He chuckled. ¡°Same to you.¡± She turned around. He bit his lip.

    He¡¯d probably never get another chance.

    He peered into her future. Thousands of paths, of months and years, spread out before him and flashed through his mind. It was more¨Cmore than there should be for a random child. But, well, for the most powerful mage that would ever live? Maybe it was normal.

    He had never seen futures like hers before. There was something happening in the world, something that had to do with her. The calamity he saw in her future, the world-wide devastation? It didn¡¯t appear in the futures of anyone else he had seen recently. Which meant there was something in the world that was focused on her.

    And he saw it. Among the hundreds and hundreds of path¨Cof joy, of heartache, of adventure, of defeat¨Che saw only one ultimate triumph. At least, that¡¯s what he thought it was. There was something bright and iridescent in that future, something his powers struggled to dictate to him. But deep down, he knew. There was only one future where they¨Cthe whole bloody world¨Cwon, and it was because of this girl. Wanily.

    His heart hammered in his chest as the visions ended, leaving him trembling all over. In the same moment, the door clanged shut, and Wanily was gone.

    Eko stumbled back and sat heavily in the middle of his cell, processing all that he¡¯d just seen, tears in his eyes even as he smiled. Peering into the future wasn¡¯t usually something so taxing. Maybe that had to do with the content though.

    He found himself grinning. Randall caught the expression and arched an eyebrow. ¡°Looked into her future, did you? She become Archmage or what?¡±

    Eko just shook his head. He¡¯d made mistakes, done some bad things, but not this time. He couldn¡¯t afford to let anything slip about her future. The world needed very specific things to happen in a very specific order. It needed Wanily to learn magic, to navigate this world, to become the Archmage. If she didn¡¯t, there wouldn¡¯t be any world left.

 Chapter 3: A Wanderers Path (Part 1)

    Winters in Iten were as unforgiving as they were beautiful. Andurak found that often, the deadlier something in nature was, the more glorious it was. Storms, the ocean, magical creatures, and even regular animals¨Cthey all followed this pattern. He found it almost comforting in a way, that should he meet an untimely death during his travels, it would be at the hands of a wonderful, merciless world.

    It wasn¡¯t like any other time in Iten was entirely pleasant either. Winters were dark and stormy, fraught with raging blizzards and plunging temperatures. It was a rare day during the winter that the sun shone, and even then it was usually only for a handful of hours. Summers brought more frequent days of sunshine, but not by much. The only major difference was the snowstorms mellowed into rain or sleet, and the frost lion cubs, born during the end of what was technically autumn in Iten, began to build their manes of frost and flurries. Spring and autumn were a strange marriage of the summer or winter.

    Sometimes, Andurak came during the autumn just for the variety in the weather. During the spring and summer, he liked to spend more time in the south, whether he happened to be on the western or eastern continent. But if he happened to be across The Strait when winter was creeping across the land, he liked to spend it in Iten.

    Maybe it was born of arrogance, this assurance he felt that he could live through such harsh conditions. Maybe it was born of awe, that he lived in such a world that would so carelessly and brutally steal his soul from his body. Likely, it was a bit of both.

    Andurak watched the snow rage through the night air outside of his tent, each flake shining like stars under the light of his small campfire. The wind battered at the thick furs that composed his tent, shaking it from either side as it howled around him. Andurak found it peaceful, in a way, trapped in a storm with no choice but to ride it out. He had his fire and his shelter and his drum. He beat out a steady rhythm, changing it every now and then to match the sound of the wind, forming a strange, unnatural song. Or, maybe, perfectly natural, born of the weather of the world and the humans that live upon it.

    Eventually, he set his small drum aside to get up and add a few more branches to the fire near his tent. He watched the snow for a few moments more before rolling down the front flap of his tent and securing it to the other two. Once he assured as little frigid night air as possibly would work its way inside the tent, he tucked himself under the fur of his bedroll. He¡¯d wake in a few hours to add more wood to the fire, but until then, he would sleep, the storm outside his lullaby.

    In the morning, he doused his fire with some of the snow that fell during the night then set about claiming his belongings. He brought down his tent and folded it up to hang on his pack, nestled between his back and the rest of his items. His bedroll went on the top of his pack, and the pan he used to cook himself dinner last night was scrubbed out and hung on the side. Once his humble campsite was deconstructed, he picked his way back to the road, discernible from the rest of the landscape only by the slight impression it left snaking through the land. At least most of the snow last night had just been flurries picked up and flung about repeatedly rather than a great outpouring that left the ground buried in the morning. There was only about a foot of snow blanketing the land, and while it would be unpleasant to trudge through, Andurak had no problem doing so. He¡¯d dealt with worse.

    In place of his tent, he left some of the jerky he had from his pack. It was a poor offering for any frost lions or other magical creatures that might be roaming about, but it was all he had at the moment. He bowed his head, clasping his hands in front of him and touching them to his forehead. It was not a prayer like those in the Church of Amera offered to their god. It was an acknowledgement, and a wish, perhaps, that they receive his offering and reciprocate the respect he held for the beings.

    He set out, then, just after the sunlight had overtaken Bores, the X-formation of the seventh daystellation blotted out by the blue of the sky. The wind had died down some, but not all the way, bringing a piercing cold sweeping across the snowy landscape. Andurak flicked the hood of his fur coat up and tugged up the cloth mask hanging around his neck to protect his nose. There were special glasses with tinted lenses in a pocket on the front of his pack, and he dug them out and perched them on his nose, right on top of the mask, to avoid being blinded by the rising sun reflecting off the white snow.

    The walk through the land was peaceful. Andurak''s breath rattled in his mask, almost blocking out anything else, but he still heard the sounds of the earth. The gentle hum of the wind made for a soothing undercurrent to the crunch of snow underfoot.

    Iten was a relatively flat land. Dryan and Oavale to the south had numerous hilly stretches or more rugged, rocky terrain pocketed with dense vegetation. Vixx to the west was marked mostly by its large taiga with some mountains farther to the north. Some of those same mountains bled past the border into Iten, but for the most part, the country was as flat and expansive as the eye could see. Everywhere Andurak looked, snow washed across the land like liquid over a tabletop, its very own white ocean.

    There was a large, detailed map buried somewhere in the depths of his pack, but Andurak had no need of it. Despite the monotony of the landscape, despite the noticeable lack of anyone else, any other mark of civilization except the path he followed, he knew exactly where he was. He''d explored these lands enough times to say such.

    In about four hours, he would reach a small town. It would take another hour for him to spot the sparse smoke from their chimneys, seeing as they preserved fuel for their fires more for the unforgiving nights rather than the relatively tame days.

    During that time, he would simply walk and enjoy time alone to reflect. One did not wander alone if they were not comfortable with just themselves for company. Andurak often found that he was his favorite company.

    Ah. That arrogance again.

    He let his thoughts roam away from him, to lands near and far, those he had seen and those he still had yet to witness with his own eyes. Though it was dangerous for a member of the Wandering People to venture to Nanshee, he still wished to behold the desert land with his own eyes one day. He''d only been to one of the islands of the Rizen Archipelago and wanted to make it a point this year to travel to more of them to enjoy more of the beautiful tropics. And though the eastern-most regions of the world were difficult to get to, he still desired to broach them one day. He thought it would be exhilarating to witness one of Bre¡¯ey''s infamous dancing festivals with his own eyes.

    There were many places he had yet to go, but they were outnumbered by the places he had been. He¡¯d been to every country currently within dominion of the Tirandan empire, along with most of the regions of the western hemisphere. He¡¯d traveled from the humid delta of Telldor all the way up to the rugged tundra of Kra¡¯xen.

    He¡¯d been in Menish one year when they had The Duel with Ninall, and the fight between their two champions had made Andurak¡¯s own skills seem like a candle compared to the sun. He¡¯d stayed with some trainers there for a few nights and traded some of the knowledge passed down among the Wandering People for a couple lessons on sword fighting. Andurak was at least humble enough to not let the fact that the lessons were intended for seven-year-olds grate against his pride.

    He¡¯d seen the vast wet markets of Yve, their towers of spices and intricately woven cloths and rugs hung to blot out the harsh sun. The air had been saturated by the musty smell of exotic animals for sale in cages mingled with the sharp and savory scent of their cuisine from street vendors. He¡¯d spoken with a second-born couple there, in a little accessory shop behind the stalls on the street, and traded them some of his rarer furs for the very glasses he wore now. The sun was quite the problem there in the desert land, too, after all.

    Lirende had been beautiful in its own right, but they hadn''t been too keen to host a member of the Wandering People¨Cand a man at that. Kra''xen was similar, at least in regards to their view of his religion, but the land had its own frosty charm even if Andurak still preferred Iten.

    He''d spent less time on the eastern continent, admittedly, but he''d been all up and down its western coast, and, of course, had journeyed along the north on his way back to the frigid seat of the Wandering People, Windor. He''d spent time admiring the vast coral reefs bordering Leshitone, gone to Axelen and witnessed the giant hydras roam their great plains, went to Lish and enjoyed some of the best alcohol the world had to offer.

    This world was a marvelous place. Andurak didn''t care to give credit to the old or new gods for it, but he had no problem cherishing it for what it was.

    He could see the smoke of the town in the distance, a charming, little place called Mincelight. As much as he liked enduring the elements, he''d probably spend the night there with a family that had been hospitable to him in the past. The people of Iten didn''t have much to go around, but most of them still managed to share it with those in need. In return, Andurak would give them whatever they were willing to take¨Cwhether that meant some of his preserved food, his knowledge and stories, or something freshly hunted from the land nearby. It wouldn''t be easy to catch anything this time of year, but with his experience and skills, Andurak could manage.

    The sun was overtaken by dark gray clouds by the time Mincelight was properly in view. Not a moment too soon, Andurak thought. Snow drifted down in fat, lazy flakes that would no doubt be whipping around in another storm within the hour. He could weather it, but even he had to admit that sitting inside next to a warm fire was sometimes nicer than sitting through the wind and snow.

    Mincelight was a small town, maybe three hundred people, with a few dozen structures constructed from stone and clay bricks¨Creadily available in the land¨Cand wood brought in by the empire. Only some of the buildings had smoke trailing from their chimneys, and Andurak made his way toward one of the first ones. Tall and built from bricks, the local tavern always had at least a few people milling about inside, and with the weather the way it was, he imagined there weren¡¯t many other places to go right now.

    The sides of the roads had been cleared of snow for people to walk, and Andurak didn¡¯t foresee the undisturbed snow being a problem for any carriages passing through¨Cnamely because he hardly expected to see any carriages traveling through the country right now. He passed exactly two people on his way into town, a mother in a thick coat and arms full of goods wrapped in white, wax paper and her child, toddling along beside her, absolutely swaddled in thick, fur garments. The mother looked Andurak up and down, tugging her child closer even though he passed on the other side of the street.

    Andurak kept his grimace to himself. There wasn¡¯t usually much hostility against the Wandering People in countries controlled by the empire, but it wasn¡¯t completely unexpected. Just because most Tirandan citizens followed the Church of Amera didn¡¯t mean they all did or even that the ones that did took the teachings to heart.

    He should make a stop at the church in town, too, now that he was thinking about it. Andurak might not be part of the religion, but they gave out food and goods to those that came asking for it. He had a couple of small animal furs that could be turned into a nice pair of gloves for a child without any.

    Andurak himself was no seamstress or artist or otherwise craftsmen, but he could provide raw goods. Furs, bones, medicinal plants or even magical ones¨Cthose he could find and give to those that actually knew what to do with them. And he would do so freely if he wasn¡¯t hurting for anything himself.

    He reached the tavern and went in, a little eager to be away from the chill of the outside for a while. Inside, he expected to find a half dozen people milling about, maybe telling stories, using drink and the fireplace to warm themselves. Waiting out the winter like they usually do, as one ought to do if you¡¯re a settled person.

    Instead, there had to be fifty people crowded into the building. There was only sitting room for a couple dozen, and it seemed that those spots were claimed by the elderly and children. Everyone else stood, trying to crowd in as close as they could to the raised, wooden stage in the corner meant for bards traveling through the region.

    A young man was up there, probably somewhere in his early twenties, which made him several years younger than Andurak. He threw down his hands emphatically when Andurak walked through the door, not because of anything he did, he decided, when the man called out to the crowd, "What are we going to do?"

    There were murmurs among the gathered. Andurak tugged his mask down and slipped off his glasses before squeezing his way past the people in the back to get to the bar and setting his pack onto the ground with a sigh. The bartender, an aging man named Bushwin, was leaning against the counter closest to the stage. He was a large man, mostly graying hairs and bushy beard, looking not unlike Andurak himself if just older and with hair that used to be black and not brown. He didn¡¯t braid his hair¨Conly had some scattered through his beard¨Cand had for as long as Andurak had known him. Bushwin must have been from somewhere else in the empire, Andurak thought, somewhere where men didn¡¯t keep their hair long enough to braid.

    He glanced over when he heard Andurak¡¯s pack hit the stone floor. He shot him what was probably supposed to be a smile but came out as more of a grimace.

    He stepped closer, his voice low as he greeted him, "Hey there, wanderer. Good to see you''re still kicking out there."

    Andurak nodded to him, leaning against the bar top. All the stools had been dragged closer to the stage, leaving Andurak standing. He glanced back at the crowd and the man still standing above them.

    "We can''t let this happen again," he said, to a wave of assent from his onlookers.

    Andurak motioned to the scene. "What''s going on there?"

    Bushwin grunted. "Been having trouble with a magical creature getting into our food supplies. Young Trudin there is trying to raise a force to go out and find it and put it down." He gave Andurak a hard look. "You got a problem with that?"

    Andurak smirked. "You ask but you know the answer." He considered the people in the tavern for a moment before turning back to Bushwin. He was a gruff fellow, but good for all that. "What kind of creature?"

    "Some people have been throwing the word imp around," Bushwin replied. "They''re too young to know better."

    Andurak frowned. "And you, who does know better, are not going to tell them imps don''t exist?"

    Bushwin grunted again. "Tried but they didn''t listen. Doesn¡¯t make much difference to me. Trudin likes holding his little rallies here. Brings in business. I''m not about to turn that away."

    Andurak sighed. He watched as the man on stage¨CTrudin¨Cpunched a fist into the air above him, staring hard at all amassed. "Who will stand with me?"

    There were some cries from assent from the gathered crowd. Trudin swept his gaze across the room, satisfaction overtaking his features.

    Andurak shared a look with Bushwin. The man raised thick eyebrows at him and leaned back, crossing his arms, equal amounts expectant and exasperated for it. Andurak smirked and raised a hand to the young man.

    Trudin furrowed his brow when he saw him, his hands falling to his sides. He looked like a respectable enough fellow, blonde hair curtaining his back and braided together with his long beard along the sides in the Iten style. His eyes were dark but not cruel, instead holding a certain keenness to them that sought to pick things apart. "And who are you?" he demanded.

    Andurak slung an arm across his chest, holding his opposite shoulder in a formal salute. "Andurak of the Wanderers," he said, raising his voice to carry throughout the large room.

    He had an actual last name, but those were shared only with other Wandering People, mostly for record keeping. Andurak was not an uncommon name among them. They had to tell each other apart somehow, especially when it came to The Gathering and notes were made of who was now wandering together and who would wander no more.

    Andurak had left behind his family unit when he came of age at twenty. He''d wanted to prove he could survive on his own, and he had¨Cfor just under thirteen years now. But he hadn''t started his own family unit or joined another, much to the chagrin of his last unit and most units that he encountered.

    "Oh, one of the Wandering People?" The man crossed his arms and searched his face with those sharp eyes, like a hawk''s or a telecat''s. "And what interest do you have in our business?"

    "Business with magical creatures is my business."

    Trudin appraised him. "Do you wish to help us hunt down this imp, then?"

    A challenge. Andurak could tell this Trudin already knew what the answer would be, but there was an edge to the man and his question that Bushwin¡¯s had lacked. Andurak drew himself up. "I ask that you wait before hunting down this imp," he said, "and instead allow me time to track it down myself and appease it. Most magical creatures avoid people unless they are given ample reason to act otherwise. Give me a chance to find it and steer it away from your town.¡±

    There were murmurings in the crowd, some outraged, some considering. Trudin watched the flow of the crowd, eyes pinched with thought. After several moments, he raised a hand, effectively silencing those gathered. ¡°By postponing our hunt, we risk losing more food to this monster. But by allowing the wanderer here to attempt to either soothe or otherwise dispatch the beast, we potentially end this without bloodshed¨Cthe creature''s or those of our own people."

    Andurak noted blandly that he didn''t mention sparing Andurak from any harm. No one gathered seemed concerned with it anyhow.

    "I will not speak for everyone here,¡± Trudin continued, clasping his hands behind his back. ¡°We don¡¯t live in the old world anymore. Each of us has a voice, and each one should be heard. Let¡¯s put it up to a vote, then. Those in favor of allowing the wanderer to try to contend with the imp?"

    Silence. Andurak watched the members of the tavern sneak looks at each other and at him. A few of the older people raised withered hands, two men with great gray braids of hair and beard framing their sides and one elderly woman, the red ink of the tattoos on her shaven head faded by the years. This prompted a couple more to raise their hands, but the vast majority of the crowd did not.

    Trudin allowed several moments more to pass, but nothing changed. "It is settled, then," he said. "Thank you, wanderer, but we will deal with this problem ourselves."

    It was a dismissal if Andurak ever heard one. He didn''t expect the townspeople to agree to his help when put to a vote like that¨Cnot many trusted the Wanderers. He blamed the lingering resentments on the Necroplauge and the Wandering People¡¯s role in its spread as well as the bandits that claimed to be members when all they really wanted was to be accepted somewhere so they could steal or kill or rape. He knew some people outside of the group also held the belief¨Cfalse though it was¨Cthat Wanderers favored the lives of magical creatures over those of humans. In that, though, they failed to recognize that humans were magical creatures. The misconception was a source of endless irritation for Andurak.

    "We can''t afford to waste any time," Trudin said, his attention on the crowd once more. "But we can''t afford to get caught out in a storm either. The next moment there is a break from the snow, I will gather everyone and we''ll set out. How does that sound?"

    There were nods and more words of agreement. Trudin hopped off the stage, and the people began to either amble out of the tavern or converse between themselves. More than once, Andurak caught wary gazes snagging on him.

    He let out a slow sigh, ignoring the knowing look that Bushwin fixed him with. He pushed himself off the bar, digging through his coat for his ratty coin purse. He flicked it open and briefly mourned the sight of a handful of Tirandan copper marks, a single Frisian note, and a couple of iron Lishten chips. He threw Bushwin a sidelong look. The man was shamelessly peering into his coin purse with him and merely offered an unapologetic shrug when he caught Andurak''s gaze.

    "I''ll take Lishten currency," he said. "Get my most expensive shipments from them."

    Andurak didn''t bother with grumbling or a glare. He just gave a small sigh and dug the coins out, depositing them into Bushwin¡¯s waiting hand. The corner of the barkeep¡¯s mouth twitched up in a smile.

    ¡°The priestess in town was the one that spotted the imp,¡± Bushwin reported, depositing the coins into a pocket of the apron he wore. ¡°If you want to get a headstart on any monster-killing parties, I¡¯d start with asking her what she knows.¡±

    Andurak nodded. Only a handful of people remained in the tavern, Trudin being one of them. Andurak caught him watching him and Bushwin, a sharp gleam to his eyes. Andurak nodded to him as well, and, after his expression turned baffled, he did the same.

    Andurak couldn¡¯t get a read on him¨Cwhether he was of the opinion that those of the Wandering People were thieves, murderers, and plague-rats or genuinely good people who respected the earth and all that called it home. Maybe it didn¡¯t matter. Either way, he was keeping a close eye on Andurak.

    Whatever the case, Andurak would do as he pleased, and Trudin could try to stop him if he wanted to. In the end, Andurak doubted it would make any difference. It certainly hadn¡¯t in the past.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t really do me any favors,¡± Andurak said, smiling wryly, ¡°but thanks anyway.¡±

    ¡°Anytime, wanderer,¡± Bushwin said. He patted his pocket. ¡°So long as we help each other.¡±

    Andurak snorted despite himself and didn¡¯t deign to respond. Instead, he took his leave, heading back out into the frigid afternoon. He saw Trudin step out to intercept him, but Andurak merely shot him an unimpressed look and quickened his pace. When he found himself breathing in the biting air outside of the tavern, there was no Trudin on his heels.

    That was that, then. On to the church and the priestess there. If it was the same one as the last time he¡¯d been through, Andurak could understand why there were rumors of an imp circling around. The priestess, a young woman named Faury, was skittish and easily spooked. He wasn¡¯t sure what exactly she¡¯d seen¨Can unusually large pixie, maybe, or a kappa that followed a stream too far north¨Cbut he knew it couldn¡¯t be an imp. He wasn¡¯t sure which country had started the tale, but Andurak had found it to be a common myth spread to frighten children in the northern countries of the west of the world. Small yet gangly, wide eyes yet a piercing gaze, wild and untamed and eager to either cause mischief or spill blood, the imp was said to roam the night¨Cor maybe it was the day, stories conflicted on this crucial bit of information¨Cand cause all sorts of misfortune to the innocent denizens of towns and villages.

    Imps weren¡¯t the only magical creature rumored to exist. Fairies, krakens, dryads, and many others¨Call of them were the result of overactive imaginations, not truth. Andurak didn¡¯t see how anyone could believe such tales. But then, there were some fantastical creatures out there. People just needed to be better educated on what magical creatures actually existed.

    The church was a little farther into town, more centralized than Bushwin¡¯s tavern. Andurak passed some of the people that had been attending Trudin¡¯s little rally as they headed back to their homes at a more leisurely pace, and he pointedly ignored them. They could think what they wanted of him¨Che couldn¡¯t control it nor did he care. He refused to be single-handedly responsible for what this town thought of the Wandering People. As long as no one was openly hostile to him, he wouldn¡¯t look twice. Not that he expected the same courtesy from them.

    At least those tending the church were usually more open-minded and consistently kind. They did tend to be the sort of people that actually took Amera¡¯s teaching to heart. Andurak couldn¡¯t say he cared for those that worshiped the old gods¨Cand that wasn¡¯t to say he cared for everyone that worshiped the new gods¨Cbut followers of Amera tended to be friendlier to the Wandering People than the average person.

    The church was a newer building, or it had at least been newly renovated. As far as Andurak knew, the town of Mincelight itself was relatively new, built in the last few decades sometime after Iten joined the Tirandan Empire. Its wooden and stone structures had replaced a little settlement of igloos and sealskin tents, and the population quickly grew thanks to the shipments of food the alliance with Tiranda afforded them. Andurak was too young to know what Iten was like before, exactly, but it wasn¡¯t what it was now, that was for sure.

    The church was nice. That¡¯s all Andurak could really say about it. It was stone at the base and wooden on the top, with stained glass doors depicting a colorful sunrise¨Csomething the land of Iten didn¡¯t see very often. There were also two flags flying from its roof. The higher one was that of the empire, a deep red with an intricate sigil in black that was supposed to be proud or some other such nonsense but just reminded Andurak of blood. The lower one was a pale pink, nearly white, with a dove nesting inside of a red heart in its center. The flag of the Church of Amera. It was better than Tiranda¡¯s flag, at least.

    The wind had picked up by the time Andurak reached the church, white whipping snow past the outstretched, fluttering flags framed against the dark overhand of the clouds above them. It felt like an omen, a bad prophecy from an oracle. But Andurak never did care for what Tressia supposedly dictated.

    The inside of the church was warmer than outside, but that wasn¡¯t to say it was warm. Not like the tavern with its crackling fireplace, at the very least.

    Andurak let the door with its stained glass window shut heavily behind him and took in the room before him. It was just as he remembered¨Cjust as most of the churches he had seen built across the world. He was in a large room with wooden pews laid out on either side of a short walkway. A stone pulpit sat against the far wall, a few steps on the side leading up to it, and a short wooden podium at its front. There was a lantern hanging from the podium¡¯s edge, but it was currently empty of anything.

    There were two open archways on either side of the room, and Andurak knew that the one on the left led to the kitchens and food storage while the one on the right led to the sleeping quarters. Just as Andurak started inside to look for her, he spotted Faury stepping outside of the kitchens, a small, metal lantern clutched in one hand. Andurak spotted both fire and light crystals inside, a few scraps of red and yellow nestled together.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    She was young and slim, wearing a thick white coat with spotted fur lining the hood and a hem that hung down to the ankles of her brown boots. She was from elsewhere in the empire¨Cprobably Tiranda itself or maybe Dryan¨Cbut in line with Iten traditions, her head had been shaved and the beginning of an intricate tattoo was resting at the base of her skull. By the time she was thirty, the tattoo would be spread over the whole of her head and down her neck. Depending on how far she rose within the community, it could even extend down to her shoulders and along her spine.

    Faury started when she looked over and saw him, but the fright quickly morphed into a gentle smile. She hurried to him, the lantern in her hand swinging back and forth, casting the unyielding light of the yellow crystals inside across the cold stones and empty benches.

    ¡°Hello, wanderer,¡± she greeted him, dipping in a curtsy, the smile never leaving her face. He could feel the warmth of the fire crystals now that she was closer, soft and enveloping as a hug or sunlight. ¡°Can I offer you some food or water? We don¡¯t have very much to go around right now, but you¡¯ve always been good to our little town, it wouldn¡¯t be any trouble.¡±

    Andurak offered her a small smile in return. ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary, priestess. I came with something for you, actually.¡±

    ¡°Me?¡± she asked, brows raising in an innocent display of surprise. Andurak nodded and dug through his pack for the animal skins he had to spare, handing them to her. She ran her fingers over the fur, stiff from the cold and being left untreated by any oils. ¡°Oh, how wonderful! I¡¯m sure we can put these to good use. Little Trissy doesn¡¯t have any gloves yet, and¨C¡±

    Andurak let her prattle on for a while, nodding at the right places without listening to a single word. He kept his ear out for the lilt of questions, but she didn¡¯t ask him any.

    Eventually, when she had tucked the furs into a pocket on the side of her coat, Andurak clasped his hands in front of him. ¡°If it¡¯s not too much trouble, I was wondering if you could answer some questions,¡± he said.

    She faltered, searching his face. Andurak prided himself on being difficult to read, but whatever Faury saw in his expression made her deflate. ¡°You¡¯re wondering about the imp I saw,¡± she said dejectedly, hugging her lantern against her torso. ¡°Everyone¡¯s talking about it. Oh, wanderer, I tell you, it gave me such a fright.¡±

    Andurak wasn¡¯t surprised considering her constitution, but he didn¡¯t say that. Instead, he asked, ¡°What happened?¡±

    Faury stepped back to the nearest pew and sat upon it, patting the space next to her in a clear invitation. Once Andurak had settled next to her, his pack on the ground in front of him, she spoke. ¡°I was just about to go to bed for the night, so I was closing everything up. We didn¡¯t have any travelers seeking shelter, so it was just me putting everything away in the kitchen and locking up the crystals and saying the evening prayers for the town. I had another lantern with me, made for an actual fire, and just as I was about to leave this main room and head to my bed in the next room, I heard a knock.¡±

    Faury paused, looking at him expectantly, so Andurak grunted. ¡°Strange,¡± he said, because what manner of creature would knock on the door to a church? Pixies were mischievous and liked to pull pranks, but they didn¡¯t really understand human actions like that. There were plenty of new god creatures he could think of that might pick up on the action, but none that would find their way to the cold wastelands of Iten.

    ¡°A knock by itself wouldn¡¯t have been so odd,¡± Faury mused. ¡°Sometimes, when it starts getting later, some of the people in town don¡¯t want to disturb me if I¡¯ve already gone to bed, so they knock on the door instead. But this knock wasn¡¯t at the door.¡± Faury pointed toward the kitchens. ¡°It was at the window.¡±

    She let her words hang in the air again, peering at him. Andurak nodded for her to continue.

    "I don''t know how to explain it," she said, twisting her hands together in her lap atop her lantern. "I went to investigate, certain that I had imagined it. But as I entered the kitchen, I heard it again, just over the sound of the wind outside. I though to myself, ''well, maybe it''s one of the children trying to scare me'', but when I got to the window¨C" she cut herself off, shuddering.

    "What did you see?"

    "There was a face in the window," she murmured, her hands now gripping each other. "Just above the sill, so I knew the thing couldn''t be very tall. It was gaunt and very pale, with these huge golden eyes and golden hair blowing along with the gusts. I screeched so loud when I saw it I must have frightened it. It''s face disappeared into the dark of the night, and I swear, I sat in the kitchen with one of the knives the whole night, just waiting for it to come back." She laughed, but her eyes belied a deep fear. "What was a knife going to do? If it really is an imp, it probably knew a spell that could turn me inside out with just a twist of the tongue.

    "I told everyone what I saw, of course, the next day, and that''s when food started to turn up missing. Breads, cheeses, dried meats¨Call missing from homes. It was the day after that I came into the kitchen to prepare breakfast and found all the cupboards open and completely raided. It looked like a wild animal had rampaged through it." Faury shook her head. "And when food is already so scarce. I wrote to some of the trade overseers in Dryan asking if they could bring us more, but I haven''t gotten a reply back. I wouldn''t be surprised if the message never even made it out of the country with all these accursed storms."

    Andurak nodded along with everything she said, only half listening. This supposed imp had gold eyes and hair? That didn''t match with any magical creature he could conceive being in Iten. Werewolves could be halfway intelligent¨Cenough to learn how to knock, at least¨Cbut they were by no means small or gaunt even if they could have golden eyes and hair.

    Some of Faury''s details line up with an afrit¨Cthey came in various sizes and could have eyes that color. But Andurak had never heard of one with golden hair, and he figured Faury would have mentioned it if she noticed two giant horns curling from the creature''s head. Besides, they lived in deserts, not tundra. They wouldn''t steal human food either¨Cthey were the kind of creature to steal humans as food.

    Pixies didn''t have hair and their eyes were very distinct, so those were ruled out, too. Andurak honestly didn''t know what it could be.

    Maybe it really was an imp. It was always possible that the new gods had created some new sort of creature. If they had, it would be Andurak''s job as a member of the Wandering People to learn all he could about it and live to report his findings at the next Gathering. If this creature was running around stealing food while people slept, hopefully it would be more interested in eating that than him.

    "Thank you, priestess," Andurak said, standing. He stooped down to pick up his pack, but a hand on his arm made him pause.

    "You''re going to try to do something about it, aren''t you?" she asked, watching him with wide, green eyes.

    "I am."

    She gave him a weak smile. "And I couldn''t convince you otherwise?"

    "I''ll be alright," he assured her. He pulled away from her touch and stepped back into the aisle, pack settled on his shoulders once more. "Excuse me, priestess. I have to set out now if I hope to beat Trudin and his angry mob."

    Faury stood, then, a deep furrow in her brow. She hesitated, but Andurak waited patiently, and he was rewarded by her thrusting her lantern into his hands. He stared at it, then at her.

    "The weather''s turning for the worse," she said quietly. "You''ll need the warmth and light more. I have oil lanterns, too, but those won''t do you any good out there. Take it and return it when you come back."

    Andurak smiled. "I will, priestess. Thank you."

    She returned the gesture, something in her eyes unspeakably worried. Her concern was wasted on someone like Andurak. He did not fear magical creatures like so many settled people did, and he could take care of himself, even in such harsh elements. The crystals were very appreciated, though, and the combination of both fire and light would be much more effective at helping keep him alive than just a regular fire. Crystals couldn''t be blown out, and what they emanated was steady in an area¨Cwhether that be heat or light.

    Andurak left the church, lantern in one hand. The weather hadn''t gotten any worse during the time he was talking to Faury, thankfully, but it was still nasty enough. Andurak sighed¨Cat the world or at the gods that made it, he didn¡¯t know¨Cand set out into the burgeoning storm.

    Being determined to protect the creature was fine, but now Andurak actually had to find it. With the storm happening, his window of time to do so was steadily shrinking, and Faury''s description of the creature was ultimately not very helpful in determining anything about it.

    He was a member of the Wandering People, though¨Che knew magical creatures. He could figure this out. The creature had hair, but Faury didn¡¯t say anything about fur or anything else that could keep it warm in this cold. If it was an old god creature, that wouldn¡¯t be an issue for it¨Cthey were never humanoid and were always built to survive the environments they inhabited. Like the frost lions that were more than likely eagerly awaiting the storm to go out and hunt.

    Just another reason for Andurak to hurry.

    This creature, being humanoid and a new god creature, probably needed shelter just as humans did. There were no nearby caves in the flat lands of Iten, though depending on how small the creature was, it could conceivably fit in some type of burrow.

    If it was living in a burrow, it would only be further proof that the gods hated him. Andurak just had to hope that it wasn¡¯t.

    No caves, hopefully no burrows. No forests, no other nearby towns. What did that leave?

    He reached the edge of the town and stared out into the little he could see of the white plains of Iten. The light of the crystals reflected off the snowflakes in a startling display, making him squint against it and the sting of the wind. He could dig his glasses out of his pack again, but visibility was already low enough. He¡¯d make do.

    ¡°Wanderer.¡±

    Andurak turned, unsurprised, to find Trudin standing behind him. The young man was covered head to toe in warm furs, a hood up to protect himself from the winds and a spear in one hand. A mask was pulled up to protect the lower half of his face, and a special type of goggles sat on his face, made of intricately carved bone with a thin slit cutting across the middle to see through. It was a wonder Andurak recognized him at all, but who else would it be?

    Andurak acknowledged him with a nod and nothing else. The man might be respected within the community, but he was no leader to Andurak. He would not break the silence between them first.

    By the slump of his shoulders and cant of his head, Andurak thought Trudin sighed, but the sound was lost to the wind. ¡°What are you doing?¡± he asked eventually, unmistakably irritated.

    Andurak lifted up his own mask, arching one eyebrow.

    When Trudin realized Andurak still had nothing to say, he crossed his arms, spear tucked into the crook of his elbow. ¡°The storm is going to be raging within the hour,¡± he said. Andurak merely looked at him. ¡°You¡¯re going to die out there, and for what? Some magical creature that probably wants to eat you?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the spear for?¡± Andurak drawled.

    If he could see his face, Andurak imagined Trudin was sending him a withering glare. ¡°You¡¯re not a member of our community,¡± he said, but it wasn¡¯t derisive. ¡°I doubt you have our best interests at heart, but you are trying to help us, in a roundabout way. I can¡¯t let you go out there alone.¡±

    Andurak studied the man for a moment. ¡°You¡¯d die with me?¡±

    Trudin huffed. He seemed amused, at least. ¡°Well, the idea is that neither of us die.¡±

    Andurak shrugged, but he was oddly touched. Usually, people didn¡¯t care for the fate of the Wandering People that passed them by. ¡°Keep close, then,¡± he said, lifting the lantern. ¡°The crystals will help keep you warm.¡±

    Trudin nodded, spinning his spear behind him and trudging closer. Andurak rolled his eyes at the display, but said nothing as he led the way out into the frozen wastes. He glanced at Trudin, but the young man¡¯s glasses and mask gave away nothing.

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to know of any places that might offer some shelter around here, would you?¡± Andurak asked. He grimaced. ¡°Or seen any holes in the ground lately?¡±

    ¡°You think the imp is hiding out somewhere?¡± Trudin slung his spear over his shoulders, his arms hanging off of it. ¡°Bunny burrows are about the only thing I¡¯ve seen, and that¡¯s not big enough for an imp. But,¡± he said slowly, tilting his head in thought, ¡°there is the old village. It¡¯s not far from here. They didn¡¯t want to adjust the road too much when the empire came and built the new town. The tents will all be gone but the igloos might still be standing.¡± His tone turned dubious. ¡°If they¡¯re not completely buried in snow.¡±

    Andurak grunted. He had no better ideas. He handed the lantern to Trudin. ¡°Lead the way,¡± he said.

    Trudin switched the spear to one hand and took the lantern with one. Nodding, he veered into a different direction. Andurak followed, keeping a wary eye out for any oddly moving snow flurries. The last thing they needed was to run into a frost lion out here.

    The snow fell faster with every passing minute, but Trudin didn¡¯t falter. It wasn¡¯t long before he stopped, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Andurak squinted, peering around, but all he saw was snow blanketing the ground.

    Trudin gestured with the lantern, the crystals inside shifting though their glow didn¡¯t change. ¡°This is it.¡± He lifted the lantern higher. ¡°I think I can see the tops of the igloos.¡±

    Andurak hadn¡¯t ever seen an igloo before and didn¡¯t really know what he was supposed to be looking for. There were what appeared to be a few mounds in the snow¨Cmaybe that was them? Andurak¡¯s gaze caught on one far to the left. It almost appeared as if it were glowing.

    He pointed it out to Trudin, and the young man tensed, his grip on his spear tightening. ¡°Do you think an imp could cause that?¡± he asked, turning slightly to look back at Andurak.

    Andurak didn¡¯t think imps existed, and this was still no proof that they did. He grunted and reached into his coat for his blow dart gun, slotting a little dart inside but keeping it in his coat, ready to be pulled out and used at a moment¡¯s notice. Each of his dart¡¯s were laced with a compound known well amongst the Wandering People, meant to pacify or even knock out magical creatures.

    ¡°Keep your spear to yourself,¡± Andurak said, moving toward the glowing igloo.

    He had taken a couple of steps before he heard the crunch of snow that meant Trudin was following him. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious,¡± he said. ¡°What if it attacks us?¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll keep its attention and you can run off.¡±

    ¡°Do you have a death wish?¡±

    Andurak glanced back at him. ¡°I won¡¯t die,¡± he said. ¡°Just watch yourself.¡±

    Trudin muttered something that was lost to the muffling of his mask and the howling of the wind. The storm was really picking up now. They needed to hurry.

    Andurak picked his way over to the igloo, each step sinking up to the middle of his calves into the soft snow that rested on top of much more packed together, frozen stuff. As he got closer, he noticed indentations in the snow¨Cfootprints that hadn¡¯t been completely filled in yet. The shape had been lost to the snow and the wind, making these at least a day old.

    Andurak stopped at a hole dug out in the snow, leading down to a more defined tunnel that had to be the entrance of the igloo, a flickering light spilling out from it like that of a fire. Whatever magical creature was down there was intelligent enough to make a fire, at least, but most of them could do that.

    Andurak shared a look with Trudin. The young man pointedly held his spear up, chin jutting out in a challenge. Andurak grimaced and started down the little hole.

    Trudin was only doing what he thought was necessary to save Andurak¡¯s life. Andurak would prove it wasn¡¯t needed.

    The tunnel of the igloo was bigger than Andurak expected, but he still had to crouch to move through it, his pack brushing the top of the blocks of ice. He could hear Trudin curse softly and begin shuffling behind him, his boots scraping over the frozen ground.

    Ahead, he could make out a mound of stones, small and round like river rocks. There was a flame somewhere beyond them, just the tip of it dancing within view. And against the right side of the igloo, a shadow was cast on the wall in the shape of the upper half of a small humanoid. Andurak reached the end of the tunnel and gripped his blow dart gun, cautiously peering around the edge.

    He wasn¡¯t sure what he¡¯d been expecting, but it wasn¡¯t the sight in front of him.

    The fire wasn¡¯t a regular fire at all, but a phoenix. The birds could change the size of their bodies, so it made sense that it could squeeze its way inside the igloo. Right now, its body took up most of the floor of the igloo, laid over a great heaping of round stones that made up its nest. Its body wavered with deep hues of red and the occasional lick of blue, as the color their flames tended to burn when they were in cold environments. It crackled like an inviting fireplace, an indicator of the creature¡¯s contentment.

    Its large head was laid in the lap of a small humanoid. It took Andurak a moment to register what he was seeing, but when he did, he put his blow dart gun away. He wasn¡¯t looking at an imp¨Cit was a child. She was skinny, with hollow cheeks and thin limbs and those golden eyes and hair that had so frightened Faury. But for all that, she was just a child.

    She was petting the phoenix¡¯s head, but her gaze was already trained on the mouth of the tunnel. She must have heard them shuffling through the tunnel. Trudin hadn¡¯t exactly been quiet.

    When she caught Andurak¡¯s gaze, she lifted a finger to her lips in a sure sign to be quiet. She pointed at the phoenix that still hadn¡¯t budged, her gaze imploring. Her other hand continued to stroke its head, the flames licking at her flesh harmlessly. The fire of a phoenix only burned if it wanted to.

    ¡°Wanderer,¡± Trudin hissed. Andurak glanced back. He was trying to peer past him without banging his head on the roof of the tunnel, but apparently wasn¡¯t having much luck.

    Andurak hesitated. He couldn¡¯t say he knew, exactly, what to do in this situation. He¡¯d encountered phoenixes a couple of times before¨Cthey were generally uncaring toward humans and didn¡¯t usually help or hinder them. It was odd that one had let a human child into its nest, but the only reason it would come to a frozen land such as Iten would be to build a temporary nest and lay an egg. If Andurak squinted against the light pouring off the phoenix¡¯s flames, he thought he could make out the golden shell of a large egg tucked next to its belly. If the phoenix¡¯s maternal instincts had already kicked in, it might be inclined to save a child from the cold.

    That did not explain why a clearly malnourished child was hiding in an abandoned igloo during the middle of Iten¡¯s winter. If she was really desperate, she could have gone to the church for food and shelter.

    Though, she had done that. She hadn¡¯t gone about it in a normal manner, and Faury hadn¡¯t reacted well. Maybe she felt she had no choice but to hide out and steal food.

    Speaking of¨CAndurak carefully, picked his way up the slight slope of the phoenix¡¯s nest, holding one hand out to stop Trudin though he didn¡¯t know if the young man would heed it. He kept quiet so as not to disturb the phoenix and peered around its body. There, against the far side of the igloo, were various cloth bags. Andurak could see inside a couple of them, and there it was¨Csome bread and meat, cheeses and whatever edible plants grew in the region. The stolen food.

    He cast a glance back to the girl, and she gave him a sheepish smile. He dragged his gaze back to the phoenix and wondered exactly how protective the phoenix was feeling.

    There was a scuff and a gasp. Andurak grimaced as he turned back to Trudin. The young man was staring at the phoenix with no small measure of awe, his spear lowering a fraction. At least he had the sense not to try attacking it. Andurak preferred remaining unroasted, and Trudin must have had the same thought.

    Andurak could see the exact moment Trudin caught sight of the girl. His eyes bugged out of his head, and his spear was brought back up as he slid into a battle stance.

    The phoenix lifted its head, glowing, yellow eyes nothing but slits as it glared at Trudin. Andurak sighed. He didn''t know what to do in this situation, but he''d better figure it out fast.

    He brought up his hand and let out a sharp whistle. The phoenix whipped its head toward him, and Trudin cast him a look that definitely meant he thought Andurak was insane. That was alright. He''d told Trudin he wouldn''t die, and he wouldn''t. Neither of them would.

    "We''re here for the stolen food," Andurak said, keeping his voice even. Phoenixes could learn to understand some words, but wild ones weren''t likely to know any. They did respond, however, to tones. If Andurak exuded peace, it wouldn''t aggravate the creature.

    Hopefully.

    "We''re not here to hurt anyone," he continued, shooting a look at Trudin. The young man swallowed hard and slowly stood straight, his spear lowering. He glanced at the girl again, wary.

    Time to put an end to that. "What''s your name, girl?" Andurak called. The body of the phoenix separated them, the ends of its tail crackling mere inches from the toes of his boots.

    "Why are you stealing our food, imp?" Trudin demanded.

    The flames of the phoenix let out a decidedly agitated pop in warning. Andurak whistled again, softer this time, and when Trudin turned, Andurak gave him an imploring look.

    The girl''s face scrunched in offense. "Why do you all think I''m an imp?" She crossed her arms. "I''m not that weird looking."

    "You''re right," Andurak said. "You''re not an imp. You''re just a human child."

    Despite being unable to see his face, Trudin was clearly bewildered. Andurak ignored him.

    The girl nodded emphatically. "Yeah! I''m not going to, you know¨C" she waved a hand around, eyes narrowed. "Steal someone''s children or whatever. Why would I want anyone''s children? Do imps actually do that?"

    Andurak huffed. "They might if they existed."

    The girl gaped at him. Then, she whirled to Trudin, casting an accusing finger at him. "You thought I was something that didn''t even exist?"

    Despite the way she practically screeched the end of the question, the phoenix remained calm, glowing eyes lazily drifting shut. After another moment, it laid its head back in the girl''s lap, apparently deciding there was no threat.

    Not that a phoenix had much to fear from a couple of humans. Andurak''s blow gun would do nothing to such an intangible body. The same was true for Trudin''s spear. If they wanted any chance of subduing the creature, they''d need magic, something Andurak never bothered learning and Trudin didn''t know if his blonde hair was anything to go by.

    Trudin tugged his mask down his face and pushed his glasses up on his head, showing his bewilderment as it slid into a truly flabbergasted expression. "Imps... don''t exist?" He gaped at Andurak, brow furrowed. "You didn''t think to mention that?"

    "You didn''t listen to Bushwin," Andurak drawled.

    Trudin spluttered. "He¨CI¨CBushwin is hardly well-versed in magical creatures. I would have listened to a member of the Wandering People." In a display that made him seem much older, Trudin pinched the bridge of his nose. "For Amera''s sake, wanderer. I can''t believe¨C"

    "I still need the food," the girl said, completely cutting off what was likely the beginning of a grand rant from Trudin. Andurak decided he liked this girl.

    When Trudin just gawked at her, she looked between the two of them. "That''s not a problem, right?"

    "You''re fucking kidding me." Trudin said, seemingly to no one in particular, or maybe to both of them. He tilted his head back, his spear dangling at his side, forgotten. "By the mad mists."

    "We can''t let you keep all this food," Andurak said, since Trudin seemed to be having a small crisis. "Not only did you steal it, you stole it from people that desperately need it right now."

    "Yeah, well, I desperately need it, too," the girl said. And, by the way her clothes hung like empty sacks from her limbs, she was right.

    ¡°You still need to return it,¡± Andurak said. ¡°You can stay at the church instead. I¡¯m sure when everything is explained, Priestess Faury will be more than happy to share what food she has with you.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t stay at the church. The priests always try to saddle a family with me, but I can¡¯t stick around anywhere. I¡¯m trying to learn magic,¡± the girl said, like it explained anything.

    Andurak frowned, but Trudin answered before he could. ¡°Staying in town probably wouldn¡¯t be for the best anyway.¡± He glanced at Andurak. ¡°I doubt many people are going to be welcoming her after what she did.¡±

    Andurak sighed. ¡°You never answered me before. What¡¯s your name, girl?¡±

    ¡°Wanily.¡±

    Andurak grunted. ¡°I''m Andurak. This is Trudin." He motioned to him, and Trudin gave her a nod. "Where¡¯s your family, Wanily? What are you doing out here?¡±

    She gave an explosive sigh. ¡°I got thrown out of Festra.¡±

    Once again, Andurak didn¡¯t know exactly what he¡¯d expected, but it wasn¡¯t that. He furrowed his brow. ¡°The mage prison? In Vixx?¡± That wasn¡¯t very close to where they were now. Not at all.

    The girl shrugged. ¡°Yeah, I dunno. I got framed for something, they threw me in a cell for a while, and then some guy came and said I couldn¡¯t have committed the crime¨Cwhich I didn¡¯t. So they threw me out with barely a coat and a sack of old bread.¡± She scowled. ¡°I didn¡¯t even want the coat back.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t wearing a coat, just some plain, wool clothes. Andurak spotted the article of clothing balled up next to the wall of the igloo in the little space between the bricks and the phoenix¡¯s nest. She was probably using it as a makeshift pillow.

    ¡°And what of your family?¡±

    She shrugged again. ¡°Don¡¯t remember them. I was on the streets for a while before I went to prison, and no one ever came up and claimed I was their daughter. If they were looking for me, they weren¡¯t trying very hard.¡±

    That was... troubling, to say the least. The girl didn¡¯t seem to have many options before her. She had no home to return to, and the only nearby place for her to stay didn¡¯t want her.

    Trudin sidled over to him and latched a hand around his arm. Andurak glared but followed when Trudin tried to pull him along. ¡°Give us a moment, Wanily,¡± Trudin called over his shoulder before dragging Andurak back into the tunnel.

    They crouched down and shuffled their way back through until they were in the middle. Over Trudin¡¯s shoulder, Andurak could see the snow coming down in fat, earnest flakes at the other end. Away from the warmth of the phoenix, the wind that blew in was piercing and frigid, like a dagger made of ice. Faury¡¯s little crystals did nothing against it. They¡¯d probably have to wait out the storm here and return to Mincelight in the morning.

    Trudin shifted in the cramped space until he had turned around and was facing Andurak. He gave him an expectant look.

    Andurak frowned. ¡°What?¡±

    Trudin sighed. ¡°The girl has no home and nowhere to go.¡±

    Andurak nodded. Trudin had a point he was trying to make, but Andurak wasn¡¯t sure what it was.

    ¡°Faury would probably still feed and shelter her, but the rest of Mincelight might not be so forgiving.¡±

    Andurak nodded again. He¡¯d let Trudin talk.

    He huffed, giving Andurak a measured look. ¡°Don¡¯t some Wandering People travel in little packs?¡±

    Ah. There it was.

    ¡°Family units,¡± Andurak corrected. ¡°And I¡¯ve no interest in forming one.¡±

    ¡°Well, you don¡¯t need to keep her around forever. Just until you reach the next town and can leave her somewhere.¡±

    ¡°She said she didn¡¯t want to be stuck with some random family.¡±

    Trudin cocked his head. Andurak could see him calculating something in those dark eyes. It immediately made him wary. ¡°Bushwin does talk about you sometimes,¡± he mused. ¡°I¡¯ve never paid much attention to the Wandering People that pass through town, but he does. You¡¯re the only one he talks about specifically. You travel alone. You want to prove that you can survive the world on your own. That you¡¯re the greatest wanderer to ever wander.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re trying to play off my ego,¡± Andurak deadpanned, ¡°it isn¡¯t working.¡±

    Trudin sighed. ¡°You want to prove you¡¯re the greatest survivalist out there?¡± He motioned to the igloo behind them. ¡°Teach someone else how to survive in the world.¡±

    Andurak was intrigued despite himself. ¡°How would that prove anything?¡±

    ¡°It means that your survival isn¡¯t just some fluke. That the way you survive actually works.¡± Trudin shrugged. ¡°And you¡¯ll be helping someone. You Wandering People are all about that, right?¡±

    They really were, even if Andurak didn¡¯t want to agree. He sighed. ¡°I¡¯ll suggest it to her,¡± he relented.

    Trudin clapped him on the back, grinning. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡±

    He nodded toward the igloo, and Andurak led the way back inside. Wanily was exactly where they¡¯d left her, and she¡¯d resumed petting the phoenix¡¯s head. She glanced up when they straightened up again, obviously curious.

    Andurak sighed. ¡°I have a proposition for you, Wanily.¡±

    <hr>

    They slept in the igloo that night on an uncomfortable bed of rocks and warmed by the body of the phoenix. In the morning, Trudin got up and dug out the snow that had blocked the way out during the night. Wanily said her goodbyes to the phoenix, playing with its tails and petting its head.

    There was a story there of how she¡¯d found it and how it came to accept her presence. Andurak figured he had time to get it out of her.

    They climbed out of the igloo back into the open tundra. Andurak handed Faury¡¯s lantern to Trudin. He took it with a nod.

    Trudin would go back to Mincelight and tell everyone what had happened. Andurak would leave Iten¨Ceven though he practically just got there¨Cand bring Wanily somewhere where the winter was milder to begin teaching her. Wanily¡¯s coat swallowed her up and dragged behind her, but it still wasn¡¯t thick enough for this weather.

    Trudin had allowed her one small bag stuffed with flatbread, some cheese, and a few pieces of smoked jerky. The rest would go back to the town. It would hopefully last her long enough until she could start catching her own meals.

    Andurak nodded back, slipping his glasses on and pulling up his mask. He had nothing to offer Wanily for such protection, but he told her to keep her head down and hold onto his pack to avoid hurting her eyes.

    They set off then, walking together for a short while before veering off in different directions, Trudin in one, Andurak and Wanily in another. Such was the wanderer¡¯s path.

 Chapter 4: From the Earth (Part II)

    (664 A.C.)

    Andurak and Wanily made less progress on their first day than he would have liked. The girl was smaller than him, weaker, and couldn''t move as quickly through the deep snow. For all that, though, she didn''t complain. Andurak only slowed down when he realized he could no longer hear the crunch of footsteps through the snow behind him and turned only to find Wanily flagging some forty paces behind him. He waited, frowning, until she caught back up to him. She gave him a lopsided smile, nose and cheeks red with the cold and eyes squinted against the harsh glint of the sun off the snow. Andurak had her hold onto his pack, again, so that when he unconsciously started to walk faster, he was limited by the extra weight of Wanily trudging behind him.

    They walked a good twenty miles by Andurak''s estimations, but he was usually able to make it thirty or more when he was on his own. He sighed as he brought them to a halt and set about making camp. Really, he was more concerned than anything. They didn''t have the gear with them to keep the girl very warm. She would either freeze to death while she slept, or she would miraculously make it through the night. Then, if they continued at the same pace, she''d only have to do it the four more nights it would take them to get out of the harsh cold of Iten and to the milder winter of Oavale.

    Andurak didn''t like her chances. But it was this dangerous journey, leaving her in a town that might throw her out to the elements on her own, or leaving her to starve to death next to the warm safety of the phoenix.

    This was her best option. And, she had Andurak with her. He was confident that he could keep her alive, if nothing else. He''d done so for himself all these years.

    He would teach the girl how to survive on her own, just like he did, and it would prove that he was the greatest survivalist among the Wandering People. First, he just had to get her somewhere he could properly teach her.

    He showed her how to clear an area for a camp in the snow. He got out his tent and set it up under her watchful eye, then brought it back down and had her attempt to do it herself.

    The first try ended up with her staring at the pile of sealskin and fur the tent made when it collapsed and loudly announcing, "That wasn''t right."

    Andurak snorted and showed her again. And when it collapsed on her next try, he showed her again. On her fifth attempt, the tent continued to stand despite the howling wind around them. One side of Andurak''s mouth quirked in a smile, and he nodded at her. She grinned back.

    Now he had to come to a decision. He had a spare tent he kept with him just in case his main one tore or was otherwise ruined. It was smaller and thinner, built more for the nights of spring or summer rather than such an unforgiving climate. He could have Wanily sleep in it while he slept in his regular tent, or he could have her sleep in his warmer tent and he would take the lighter tent. The best option would be for them to share his usual tent¨Cthey would produce more body heat together, and Wanily would need all the warmth she could get¨Cbut Andurak was, admittedly, uncomfortable with the idea. It was for her survival, they should do it, but sharing a living space, even one such as a tent, was an intimate practice for the Wandering People. It was usually reserved for members of the same family unit, and that wasn''t them.

    But she could die.

    Andurak turned the thoughts over in his head as he showed her how to build a fire. There were no stones to lay around it, so he just produced some sticks from his pack he kept just for the occasion. He¡¯d need to get more soon¨Che¡¯d planned on restocking at Mincelight, but that stay had been cut short. They¡¯d last until Oavale, at least.

    The sticks were dry, so that wasn¡¯t an issue. Andurak still explained the difference to her, how she should look for wood that was dry instead of anything wet but that she could use wet wood if she knew what she was doing. And she did know what she was doing¨Cor, at least, she would¨Cbecause Andurak gave her a detailed description of what to do and how to do it, demonstrating with a few of his dry sticks and kindling. He had her recreate it, arranging the sticks just so and pretending they started the fire with the bits of kindling. She didn''t do it quite right on the first try, but by the third, Andurak would say she had just about nailed it.

    Andurak had her start over and build their fire for the night from the dry sticks, just to make sure she understood what she was doing. He handed her one of his pieces of flint and his small dagger that was designed specifically to generate sparks from the flint, made of some special kind of iron. Andurak would have to get Wanily her own little pack and stock it with gear to help her survive¨Cbut it might be difficult to acquire a dagger of the likes he had. Either way, he wasn''t sure it was the wisest decision to leave a small child with a knife anyway, but she would need a larger one if she hoped to skin and prepare any game she caught.

    Andurak himself had been using a knife at six, albeit under the watchful eyes of the adults in his family unit. Wanily had to at least be eight¨Cshe should be fine. Andurak would show her what to do, and she should at least manage not to injure herself when using it.

    Andurak didn''t have enough money to be buying her all the sorts of things she would need to survive like he did. There were a few people in Oavale that were indebted to him who might be persuaded to give the girl an item or two, but that would be the extent of it. At the very least, Andurak would have to figure out how to get her some type of bag, a regular dagger, and a few cooking utensils. He could part with his spare tent, and he had a glass lens that could be used to start fires as well. He''d give her a spare piece of flint, but he''d also show her how to use the glass lens until she could figure out how to get a dagger made of the right material to make use of it.

    Wanily let out a whoop when the kindling caught fire, a proud smile on her face as she held the dagger and flint up high. Andurak nodded to her and held out his hands. She gave the items back and threw her hands over the burgeoning fire, a content sigh escaping her at the warmth.

    Andurak put the items back in his pack slowly. He sighed and turned back to the girl. "We have a couple of options when it comes to sleeping arrangements," he told her. "I have two tents, but one of them is thinner than the other and doesn''t have the same flaps to keep out the cold air."

    "Why don''t we just share a tent?" Wanily asked.

    It was a perfectly innocent question from someone who knew nothing of the traditions of the Wandering People. Andurak, on the other hand, had refused to join or form a family unit for over a decade. He didn''t want to break that for a complete stranger he would probably only know for a few weeks.

    He was silent for too long because Wanily spoke again. "It''ll be warmer, right?" She gave him a sidelong look, eyes narrowed to slits. "And you''re not going to... do anything, right?"

    Andurak balked. "Of course not," he snapped. It was too harsh a reaction for an admittedly fair question, but Wanily remained unfazed.

    Andurak sighed. This girl really couldn''t be all that old. She really shouldn''t know the intimate details of what people did together when others weren''t watching. However, she did say she grew up on the streets. She probably saw more of it there than anyone should.

    It brought up a troubling question, one Andurak struggled to voice. "Has anyone ever... done anything to you, Wanily?" he asked, using the same verbiage she did and already bracing himself.

    She frowned and looked away, back toward the fire, making her eyes glow like molten gold. "No," she said. "Gotten a few beatings. Woman broke my finger one time. But the only time someone tried to¨Ctried to do that to me, I ran and hid in some garbage until he gave up looking for me."

    Andurak let out a long, slow breath through his nose. When he felt slightly less murderous, he held out a gloved hand. Wanily peered at it, then his face, curiously.

    "Your finger," he said, "the one that was broken. Let me see."

    Wanily shrugged and placed her right hand in his. He examined her fingers, already slender things that were made bony from her struggles to feed herself. ¡°Which of them was broken?¡± he asked. The fact that he had to ask at all was a good sign.

    She tapped her middle finger against his palm. ¡°This one.¡±

    He scrutinized it for a moment, but he couldn¡¯t see any bumps or other indication that the bone had healed incorrectly. That was another thing he¡¯d have to teach her¨Cproper care of injuries. His first aid knowledge was limited, but it was always meant to be a matter of preventing further injury while he got to someone who could actually treat it. At the very least, he could show her how to disinfect wounds, splint broken bones, and suture cuts together.

    That was something else he¡¯d need to get her¨Ca needle and medical thread. Hopefully she¡¯d never need it, but Andurak wasn¡¯t so na?ve.

    ¡°Looks like it healed alright,¡± he grunted, pulling away.

    Wanily brought her hand up in front of her face. She flexed her finger as she spoke, eyes trained on it. ¡°Yeah, it really hurt, but it was alright. I went to one of the churches, and the priest there gave me a really gross potion that fixed it right up.¡±

    That explained it, then. Andurak didn¡¯t know much about the process of making potions, nor what went into them beyond magical plants¨Cor more commonly, parts of magical creatures.

    There was a reason the Wandering People were generally against potion-making.

    Nonetheless, they were useful, and some of them had common enough ingredients to be freely given out by the Church of Amera to those that needed it. Even if he had a distaste for them, Andurak could be glad that they had helped Wanily.

    He grunted in acknowledgement. There was peace in knowing she¡¯d gotten the help she needed¨Cand managed to avoid other sorts of trauma¨Cbut that didn¡¯t address the issue at hand. Wanily would have no problem sharing a tent. The only one that had reservations was Andurak.

    It could mean nothing. Ignoring what it meant to the Wandering People, it would just be two people sharing a tent to avoid freezing to death. And if no other Wanderer ever found out, no one could ever accuse him of trying to form a family unit. It would just be doing what needed to be done.

    It still made Andurak deeply unsettled.

    "You would be willing to share a tent, then?" he asked, still hoping that she''d say no. Among most other cultures, it certainly wouldn¡¯t be appropriate.

    "Sure," she chirped, demonstrating a distinct lack of care for what most cultures thought.

    It made him wonder where she was even from. She had the golden eyes of the Nanshee, but she mentioned going to a church to get her finger treated. Nanshee was not part of the empire, and while they worshiped Amera, she wasn''t the only new god to receive their reverence. Not to mention their houses of worship were referred to as temples, not churches, and they didn''t generally help the poor and needy like the Church of Amera did.

    Ultimately, it didn''t matter. Maybe, before she lost them and her memory, Wanily''s family had been Wanderers like him¨Che could ask around at the next Gathering. Or maybe she came from bards. Andurak had heard that lots of bards came out of Nanshee, and they were as notorious as the Wandering People for moving around everywhere.

    Andurak sighed. ¡°Right.¡±

    He motioned to the bag of food Trudin gave them, and they split some hard bread and partially frozen cheese. Andurak dumped some snow into his pot and set it up over the fire to boil out the impurities, explaining to Wanily what he was doing and why. That led to an explanation of how to find sources of freshwater in different environments, what to look for and which water not to drink under any circumstances.

    ¡°Taking water near a kappa¡¯s den is dangerous,¡± he told her. ¡°They might see it as an intrusion or theft. You could offer them some fish first as a gesture of goodwill, but they still might not accept it. It¡¯s better to just go farther down the river.¡±

    Wanily nodded along as he spoke, listening intently, and Andurak thought she must have understood. Then, she asked, ¡°What¡¯s a kappa?¡±

    The question stunned him like a blow to the chest, knocking the wind from him. He furrowed his brow. ¡°You don¡¯t know what a kappa is?¡±

    ¡°Should I?¡±

    Andurak sighed again, a sound this girl forced out of him too often. Settled people didn¡¯t tend to see many magical creatures unless they kept one as a pet or they lived in a city and saw the droves of pixies that nested in the dark nooks and crannies among buildings. Still, most children at least heard stories of different magical creatures. Cautionary tales if nothing else¨Clike the ones parents told of kappa in warning their children not to stray too close to a river¡¯s edge.

    Whether Wanily came from Wanderers or bards, both were people of sharing stories. She should have at least heard of a kappa before.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he replied, looking her up and down. ¡°You said you don¡¯t remember your family. So what do you remember?¡±

    ¡°Nothing,¡± she said. If she was bothered by the question or her answer, she didn¡¯t show it. ¡°Not up until a few months ago. The first thing I remember is going through the gates of Tiulipia.¡±

    Andurak was familiar with the city. It was in Dryan, close to the center of the country. Looked like he¡¯d been right that she¡¯d been somewhere inside the empire.

    ¡°And before that is just... gone? You don¡¯t remember any of it?¡± he asked, trying to make sense of the girl¡¯s situation.

    ¡°Yeah, pretty much,¡± Wanily said with a shrug. She pointed at the pot of boiling water. ¡°Is that ready yet? I¡¯m thirsty.¡±

    Andurak removed it from the fire without a thought, setting it aside to cool down and hopefully not freeze before they could drink it. He was still trying to wrap his head around what Wanily said. Had she received a head injury? Suffered something so traumatic that her brain blocked out all her memories? He guessed she could have even run into a telecat, but it would have to be a very powerful and very angry one to completely remove her memories like that. And they didn¡¯t usually live around the grassy plains of Dryan.

    Instead of sighing, Andurak rubbed his forehead and tried not to think about a little girl trying to navigate a world she knew nothing about with no one to help her. How was she even still alive?

    When the water had cooled enough, he let her cup her hands and drink that way seeing as he didn¡¯t have a spare waterskin the water could be poured into¨Canother thing he¡¯d have to get for her. He could teach her all about hunting and laying traps and gathering berries and nuts, but Wanily wouldn¡¯t get very far without consistent access to drinkable water.

    While Wanily was drinking, Andurak pulled out two books from his pack¨Cone on edible and medicinal plants and another on magical creatures, his personal volume of The Wanderer¡¯s Spirit. It was the central text on the whole religion of the Wandering People, but for all of that, it was mostly just a guide to the different magical creatures that shared this world with them. If Wanily was going to be traveling through the wilderness of the land, she would need to know which magical creatures would help her, which would hurt her, and which could be moved to do one or the other.

    Once she was done and Andurak had her wipe her hands off on a spare cloth, he handed her the books. She opened The Wanderer¡¯s Spirit first, shifting so that the fire cast light on the pages without being close enough that a stray spark could set it ablaze. She rifled through it, scrutinizing the illustrations of each creature. The book was separated by old god and new god creatures, and then by alphabetical order.

    She stopped on the entry of griffons and pointed at it. ¡°What¡¯s this one?¡±

    Andurak frowned. ¡°It says on the top of the page.¡±

    Wanily rolled her eyes. ¡°I can¡¯t read,¡± she said, sounding almost scandalized.

    Andurak¡¯s brain stuttered for a moment, his thoughts blanking. It made sense¨Cshe lived on the streets before this. Most children didn¡¯t learn to read and write until they were around her age, and then the only schools were in cities. If a person lived in a smaller town, it usually fell to a child¡¯s parents to teach them.

    Without parents to either enroll her in a school or teach her themselves, Wanily wouldn¡¯t know how to read.

    Andurak, unfortunately, didn¡¯t have the kind of time to teach her nor was it his duty. They¡¯d just have to make do without her being able to read.

    He sat next to her, leaving enough space for the fire to illuminate the pages of the book. He went through each of the creatures with her, naming them and summarizing where they lived and how to treat them. He started at the beginning with an Akhlut, noting how they lived in arctic waters and the coasts of cold regions like the one they were in right now. They took the form of an orca whale while in water but transformed into a giant, white wolf when on land. They weren¡¯t aggressive unless provoked, but it was better to avoid them if it could be helped.

    He went through each creature like that, through all the old god creatures and then to the new god creatures, finally ending with werewolves. They lived in the jungles of the eastern hemisphere, but, Andurak told her, she could run into one in many regions of the world. The large, humanoid wolves could take more punishment than the average human and deal much more than the typical soldier. The Tirandan Empire sometimes captured them and unleashed them into enemy campsites during the night when they were most bloodthirsty. It was a strategy employed often in Fris, from what Andurak understood. The blatant disrespect for the creatures disgusted Andurak¨Cnot to mention attacking someone when they were sleeping¨Cbut he kept that to himself.

    During the day, werewolves were docile and may even share food they caught with passing humans. It was during the night that they turned violent, and they grew more powerful depending on the phase of the moon. Andurak advised Wanily to avoid them unless it was morning and she had ample time to put space between them before nightfall.

    The fire was dwindling by the time he finished going through the book. ¡°I¡¯ll quiz you on it in the morning,¡± Andurak told her, putting the books away. They could go over plants tomorrow, or maybe in a couple more days when she¡¯d gotten the magical creatures down.

    Wanily nodded and looked out over the frozen landscape around them. In a stroke of good luck, there¡¯d been no snowfall during the day or the night. She stood with a yawn as Andurak reluctantly opened the tent flap for her. She crawled in without any reservation, curling up as close to one side as she could, leaving just enough space for Andurak.

    He bit back his sigh this time and simply went in after her. He fixed the flap in front in case the still air whipped into something more violent before laying on his side. More space was left between them that way.

    He tried to sleep, doing his best to block out the unsettling sound of someone breathing beside him. Of course, he¡¯d shared tents with members of his old family unit, but that was years ago now. He was more used to solitude than he wasn¡¯t.

    Beyond that, it was another person. In his tent. She was little more than a dark mass laying next to him, nothing really discernible about her other than the steady rise and fall of her breathing, but he couldn¡¯t push the thought away. Another person in his tent.

    Typically, Andurak did his best not to let his emotions cloud his judgment, but the thought of just setting up his smaller tent and sleeping in that for the night was sounding more appealing by the second.

    ¡°Andurak?¡± Wanily called softly, making him start. He thought she¡¯d already fallen asleep.

    He grunted in acknowledgement. Wanily¡¯s shadowy form shifted slightly, and though he couldn¡¯t see them, he could feel her golden eyes boring into him.

    ¡°Why are you helping me?¡± she asked. Andurak couldn¡¯t get a look at her expression and had to go purely off her voice. It was quiet, but he wasn¡¯t sure if that was because they were so close together or she was feeling anxious.

    He debated his answer for a moment. He could say it was because he wanted to prove something to the world, but that wasn¡¯t the core of the matter. Eventually, he said, ¡°Because I can.¡±

    ¡°Most people don¡¯t,¡± Wanily said. Andurak could practically hear her scowl. ¡°They just want to use you for their own gain.¡±

    Right. She mentioned she was framed for some crime. That¡¯s why she was up here in the first place. ¡°The Wandering People don¡¯t,¡± Andurak said. ¡°Lots of priests and priestesses in the Church of Amera don¡¯t. If you can help someone, kid, then help them. The world would be a lot better place if everyone did that, but it doesn¡¯t always work out like that.¡±

    ¡°I want to be the Archmage,¡± Wanily proclaimed. She shifted again, and Andurak was fairly certain she was laying on her back now, staring up at the ceiling of the tent. ¡°I want to master magic, and I want to use it to help everyone in the world.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of people,¡± Andurak said, closing his eyes. Strangely, the idea of sleeping wasn¡¯t so uncomfortable anymore.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care. I¡¯ll help them all. I¡¯ll make everyone in the world happy. That¡¯s the Archmage¡¯s job.¡±

    ¡°That so?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Wanily said, insistent. ¡°I heard all about it. How Archmage Vertrix ended the Necroplague. Lots of people died in it.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Andurak said faintly, thinking of scrolls and scrolls crammed with names and bodies strewn about the world to be reclaimed by the earth. ¡°Lots of people did.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well, Vertrix ended it. And now lots more people get to live and be happy because of him. I want to be like that.¡±

    Andurak felt himself smile. Wanily couldn¡¯t see it, so he hoped it colored his voice. ¡°Get out there and help people, Wanily,¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t let anyone ever convince you that you shouldn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Duh,¡± Wanily said, her voice oddly fond.

    Andurak huffed. ¡°Go to sleep,¡± he griped, waving a hand at her.

    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± she muttered. There was quiet for another moment, and then, ¡°Andurak? What are the Wandering People?¡±

    Andurak furrowed his brow, not bothering to open his eyes. ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of them,¡± Wanily said, a bit sheepish. ¡°I don¡¯t really know what they are, though.¡±

    ¡°Me,¡± he said. ¡°Now go to sleep.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not a real answer!¡±

    Andurak sighed. Before he could even say anything else, Wanily giggled. ¡°You do that a lot, huh?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Wanily,¡± he deadpanned, very consciously holding back another sigh. ¡°Sleep. We¡¯ll talk in the morning.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t tell me just real quick?¡± she pleaded.

    Andurak scrubbed a hand down his face. ¡°You¡¯re not going to let this go until I tell you, will you?¡±

    He could just barely make out Wanily nodding her head vigorously. He didn¡¯t bother withholding his sigh this time.

    ¡°The Wandering People come from Windsor¨C¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s in the eastern hemisphere, and I would have told you that without the interruption,¡± he drawled.

    ¡°Oh, sorry,¡± Wanily said, not sounding very apologetic.

    Andurak huffed. "It''s in the northern region of the continent. Almost as cold as here in Iten, but not quite. Get less snow, too.

    "That''s technically our home country, but only people who can''t travel really stay there. The elderly, the physically impaired, and our government officials mostly stay there, along with a few people to look after those that need some help getting through the day. The rest of us wander the world."

    Wanily nodded again. "So, the Wandering People," she said sagely.

    Andurak grunted. "We worship the magical creatures that call this world home, and it is our duty to travel these lands, paying our respects and helping them when we can. We hunt and gather our own food, and let any who wish to join our ranks begin wandering with us. Then, every few years, we go back to Windsor to attend The Gathering. It''s basically a time for all the Wandering People to get together, swap stories, share food, and make record of who travels with whom and who has died or been born or simply left the order."

    Wanily hummed in thought, probably sorting through the questions she wanted to ask. "Why not worship the gods?" she settled on.

    Andurak gave a one shoulder shrug, more to himself than to the girl who might not be able to see it. "The gods don''t do much for us. The old gods are gone, and the new gods aren¡¯t in the picture either. The only beings of immense power left in this world are the magical creatures.¡±

    "I guess that makes sense," Wanily said, sounding contemplative.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got a question for you, now,¡± Andurak said. Turnabout was fair play. ¡°How did you find that phoenix?¡±

    ¡°Oh, that was easy. I saw the glow of the igloo and the magic inside. I figured it was a person, at first, right? It just made sense. Some guy with a campfire or something. I¡¯d never seen a phoenix before, and they didn¡¯t strike me as the kind of creatures that would live in the arctic. ¡®Cause they¡¯re on fire, and this is all snowy. But I guess looking back on it, the magic was too big to have belonged to a person. Maybe multiple people...¡± she mused.

    Andurak blinked against the darkness, trying to understand what she just said. ¡°What do you mean, you saw the magic?¡±

    ¡°You know, the magic. I saw it.¡± At Andurak¡¯s stunned silence, she continued, ¡°Like through the wall of that little house-thing?¡±

    ¡°Igloo,¡± he said absently, mind still trying to wrap around what she said.

    ¡°Sure,¡± Wanily said, blas¨¦.

    ¡°When you say you can see magic,¡± he worked out slowly, frowning, ¡°do you mean you can see all magic? Spells? Magic trapped in magical creatures and plants?¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t you?¡± Wanily said, sounding genuinely confused.

    ¡°No.¡± He fixed her with a strange look she couldn¡¯t see. ¡°Do you think everyone can?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Wanily said, voice louder than it was before, too much for the tiny space, ¡°can¡¯t they?¡±

    ¡°No. People can¡¯t see magic.¡± Not that he didn¡¯t believe her. He had just never heard of anything like that before.

    She gasped, suddenly, cutting off any more of Andurak¡¯s thoughts. ¡°Do you think that¡¯s my specialty?¡±

    ¡°Your what?¡±

    Her tone turned dubious, like she couldn¡¯t understand what Andurak didn¡¯t understand. ¡°My specialty. I¡¯m a specialty mage, but those people at Festra said they didn¡¯t know what specialty I have.¡±

    She was a specialty mage? They were even more respected among the Wandering People than the average person or other magical creature. He''d never met any¨Cmost of them were employed under kings or queens for their specific talents. Andurak had always thought if ever did meet one, he¡¯d probably make a fool of himself following them around and offering them tributes they had no need of, like jerky or animal pelts. There was little else he had to offer as a Wanderer.

    Andurak didn¡¯t need more of a reason to help Wanily not die as she traveled the world. This certainly didn¡¯t hurt her case, though.

    ¡°It could be,¡± Andurak said. ¡°You¡¯re sure you¡¯re not an immortal?¡± She¡¯d have no way of knowing until she was older and stopped aging. Though, there were spells that could pick apart discrepancies in the soul, and as far as Andurak understood it, specialties of the same type appeared as the same difference between a regular soul and the soul of a specialty mage. If her guards didn¡¯t know which specialty she had, there was a good chance she held some new kind of specialty.

    ¡°Pretty sure,¡± Wanily chirped. Her tone turned considering. ¡°I¡¯ve never tried to die before, though.¡±

    Andurak blanched. ¡°Immortals aren¡¯t incapable of dying,¡± he huffed. ¡°Who told you that? Immortals stop aging when they reach twenty-five, but they can still die.¡±

    ¡°Oh. So why are they called immortals if they¡¯re mortal?¡±

    Andurak sighed. ¡°That¡¯s just what they¡¯re called,¡± he drawled. He frowned, thinking. ¡°Guess we¡¯ll need a name for your specialty.¡±

    Wanily gasped. ¡°Yeah! I didn¡¯t think about that. What should I be called? It¡¯s gotta be something cool, but maybe something cute, too? Oh, and it has to be perfect for the future Archmage.¡±

    Andurak allowed a wry smile into the darkness. ¡°The future Archmage, huh?¡±

    Wanily hummed her assent. ¡°What about... oracleer?¡±

    ¡°What? Just oracle and seer smashed together?¡±

    ¡°Yeah!¡±

    Andurak huffed again. ¡°You don¡¯t see the future. Why would you use either of those, much less the both of them?¡±

    ¡°I guess you¡¯re right,¡± Wanily said. Andurak could hear her pout. ¡°Maybe... large?¡±

    Andurak furrowed his brow, but he found himself more bemused than anything. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You know, there¡¯s mediums. So I could be a large. That would be pretty intimidating. Better than being called a small. ¡±

    Andurak snorted. ¡°Not much better,¡± he said. Wanily groaned, but fell silent, probably thinking. Andurak turned his own thoughts toward the task. As a Wanderer, it was his duty to document as much as he could about magical creatures, and that included humans and specialty mages. He could think of no greater honor than naming a new kind of specialty mage. He better come up with something good.

    ¡°Sensor,¡± Andurak said.

    Wanily was silent, which Andurak took to mean she was mulling over this answer. Eventually, she proclaimed, ¡°Too plain. How about visioneer?¡±

    Andurak huffed in amusement. That one wasn¡¯t any better than oracleer. Wanily could keep suggesting different names and thinking about it, but Andurak had already suggested one that was actually good. He would record it and spread it among the Wandering People, and at the next Gathering, they might try to share it with the rest of the world.

    If Wanily didn¡¯t go around parading one of her awful names instead.

    ¡°Okay, not visioneer.¡± Wanily clicked her tongue. Andurak couldn¡¯t help but wonder where a child with no past had picked up such an action. ¡°I didn¡¯t really like that one anyway.  But I think dowser really has some potential. You know, because I see magic? And I¡¯ve heard about dowsing rods and¨Cwait, do those actually exist? I thought they did, but a kid told me they were just something writers made up. But that doesn¡¯t matter because people know what dowsing is, so they should totally get what the name means¨C¡±

    Wanily kept prattling on, voice soft in the small space. Andurak merely shut his eyes and let her words fade into the background, allowing sleep to claim him.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    <hr>

    Wanily was curled into a ball next to him, a few inches still separating them, when Andurak woke the next morning. Weak light piercing through the tent from the rising sun barely outlined her shadowy frame, but it was enough for Andurak to check and make sure she was still, in fact, breathing.

    She¡¯d made it through the night alive. Now, she only had to do it three more times.

    He tried to extract himself from the tent without waking her, but it proved fruitless when she sat up the moment he moved to climb out. She gave a huge yawn and attempted to stretch only to run into the side of the tent. A lesser man might have rolled his eyes, but Andurak merely snorted and left. Wanily yelped when he opened the flap and the cold air outside rushed in, but Andurak moved quickly and shut the flap behind him the moment he was out of the tent. He¡¯d give Wanily a little more time to get ready for the day.

    The dual waves of the sixth daystellation, Creia, were barely discernible past the dark clouds blotting out most of the sky. The sun was peeking out over the horizon in the east, a fierce glow of yellow from behind more clouds. It made the snow on the ground sparkle and shine, but not yet blindingly so.

    Andurak took a moment to just appreciate the beauty of the waking world. Even in such a desolate wasteland of cold and white, with a sky of gray that blocked out the warmth of the sun, he couldn¡¯t help but love this land he wandered.

    He could hear Wanily fumbling with the tent flap behind him, so he spurred himself back into motion, stepping forward to give her more room to climb out. He started cleaning up their campsite before stopping himself. He should probably have Wanily do it, make sure she knew how, and he could quiz her on magical creatures as she did so.

    In the next moment, Wanily exited the tent in a tumble of limbs and her long coat. Creia was still in the sky when they left the makeshift campsite behind, so cleaning it all up hadn¡¯t taken her more than an hour under Andurak¡¯s watchful eye. Now, he just had to see if she could make the same amount of progress as the day before. If she wasn¡¯t accustomed to all the walking, her legs were bound to be tired.

    He quizzed her as they walked on the magical creatures from the night before, correcting her when she misremembered something and grunting in approval when she got the information right. It wasn¡¯t often that she remembered what he had told her, but they had time to work on that yet.

    He held off on introducing plant identification until a few days later, when she, by some blessing, was still breathing and they were close to the border between Iten and Oavale. The land was less desolate here, with spruce trees and more hearty ferns breaching the layer of snow. He had a town in mind to head to, though it was still a day or two out depending on if he could get Wanily to pick up the pace without so much snow in the way.

    They were trudging down the road in silence and had been for about an hour by Andurak¡¯s internal sense of the time. If only they could actually see the daystellations with the naked eye, he mused. It would make telling the time whenever the sun was out much easier.

    He should probably start quizzing Wanily again, but he¡¯d already done that in the morning. As much as she probably needed the extra reinforcement, he had been sorely craving some silence.

    ¡°Hey, I got a question,¡± Wanily said suddenly.

    Andurak grunted. He shouldn¡¯t be surprised¨Cthis was the longest Wanily had managed to keep quiet in all the time he¡¯d known her. Even in her sleep, she snored lightly.

    The crunch of snow behind him came quicker, and then Wanily was in front of him, staring up at him with her golden eyes and walking backwards. ¡°Can you eat magical plants?¡±

    ¡°Watch where you¡¯re going. You¡¯re going to fall if you keep that up.¡±

    Wanily huffed and turned back around, falling into step beside him. ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°Some.¡±

    ¡°Are you going to tell me which ones?¡±

    Andurak glanced down at her. She stared up at him expectantly. ¡°Why do you ask?¡± he drawled.

    Without looking away from him, she pointed off somewhere to their left. ¡°¡®Cause there are some over there. Or it''s a magical creature and it¡¯s just not moving.¡± She finally whipped her head around to follow the direction of her finger. ¡°It¡¯s pretty small for that though, so I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s just a plant. But we¡¯re low on food, right? And I don¡¯t know anything about plants, and it¡¯s the middle of winter so there¡¯s not much growing anyway but I thought, if you can eat magical plants¨C¡±

    ¡°I get the idea.¡±

    Wanily huffed, letting her hand fall back to her side. ¡°So are we gonna go look or not?¡±

    Andurak took a moment to consider it. He wanted to get to Reeve¡¯s Rest, the town in Oavale, as quickly as possible¨Cbecause Wanily was right. They were low on food, and as it stood, Andurak wasn¡¯t even sure they¡¯d get there without having to skip a meal or two. Or, he would skip a meal or two. Wanily would need her strength if she wanted to keep up with him.

    That being said, he wasn¡¯t even sure it would be worth the trouble. Most magical plants weren¡¯t edible, though those that were did tend to be more filling and nutritious than any run-of-the-mill fruit or vegetable. He tried to think of what plant could be growing in the region considering the time of year and if they should bother to go grab it.

    ¡°How big does it look?¡± he asked her.

    She squinted, her lips coming up in a purse. ¡°I think it¡¯s a few different things bunched together? So by themselves each thing would probably be¨C¡±she brought up her pointer finger and thumb, creating a length that was about two inches¨C¡°this big?¡±

    Andurak grunted, thinking. It could be sunshine peppers. They were about that size and grew in cold climates. They weren¡¯t edible, but they could be thrown into some water and made into a filling tea. Or would that be considered a broth? In any case, they could drink it and it would sate their appetites if nothing else. He¡¯d just have to make sure Wanily didn¡¯t try to add anything to the water as the peppers boiled¨Cmixing in another ingredient would turn it from a simple drink to a potion and Andurak knew nothing about potion-making. Other than that the process could lead to very explosive results, and he favored keeping his soul in his body.

    If nothing else, he could at least teach Wanily about whatever magical plant it ended up being. She¡¯d have an easier time finding them in general because of her specialty, but Andurak figured it would still be best for her to know as much as he could teach her.

    He nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s go, then.¡±

    She grinned and bounced a few paces in front of him, her coat dragging in the thin layer of snow behind her and creating a swath of bare earth like a brown river. Andurak smirked as he followed her, just barely having to lengthen his stride to keep up with her excitement.

    She led him a short distance from the road to a tiny depression in the ground. He could just barely discern the pale yellow of the peppers peeking up from the snow. They didn¡¯t grow in stalks or bushes like normal peppers, instead growing deep underground with only the pepper itself showing¨Cor the small, yellow flower that preceded it. For a regular person, they were usually tricky to locate.

    Some people just had all the luck. Andurak didn¡¯t resent Wanily for it though¨Cher specialty would certainly help her in survival situations just like this one.

    He bent down on one knee in the snow, digging the peppers out before Wanily could try to do the same. Andurak had leather gloves that would combat the chill and damp¨CWanily did not. She still tried to help him, but he waved her off with his other hand.

    He left two of the peppers in the ground so the patch could grow back and made a mental note of the location. It could prove useful in the future to know where such a hearty food source was. Standing again, he handed one to Wanily, explaining what it was, how to prepare it, and where to leave the seeds to ensure more grew. She might not have been a member of the Wandering People, but she could still spread the seeds easily enough.

    ¡°So I can¡¯t just eat it raw?¡± she asked, turning it over in her hands and running her fingers over its smooth surface. ¡°I have to boil it or whatever?¡±

    ¡°But you can¡¯t add anything else to the water,¡± Andurak warned, ¡°or it would turn it into a potion.¡±

    ¡°You said that before. But how does that turn it into a potion?¡±

    ¡°Potions are made with a magical plant or parts of a magical creature, but other ingredients must be added to it to draw out the properties.¡± Or maybe it was to draw out specific properties? Andurak wasn¡¯t sure, but it didn¡¯t matter either way. Neither he nor Wanily would be making potions any time soon. ¡°It¡¯s a dangerous practice though. If you make it incorrectly, not only could the potion end up poisoning someone, it could have any number of other effects. Including just exploding.¡±

    Wanily blinked up at him, the pepper cradled in her hands like a baby bird. ¡°I could explode if I drink a bad potion?¡±

    ¡°Well, yes, but the potion could also just explode. Just... in the pot. I¡¯ve heard of many a potion-maker meeting their demise in such a way. It¡¯s apparently the most common outcome from an incorrectly made potion.¡±

    Wanily dragged her gaze back to the pepper in her hands, eyes shining. ¡°Cool.¡±

    Andurak wasn¡¯t about to warrant that response with one of his own. He grunted. ¡°Come on, then, let¡¯s keep moving.¡±

    Wanily stuffed the pepper in a pocket of her coat and ambled in front of Andurak. He let her, figuring she could set the pace for now and he could always push her if she slowed down too much. He wrapped the rest of the peppers he picked in some spare cloth and tucked it inside his pack to cook later when they made camp that night.

    Wanily hopped past the boundary between the snowy wilderness and the packed dirt of the path, setting an adequate pace. Andurak walked a step behind her, contemplating.

    ¡°Wanily,¡± he called. When she glanced back at him, he nodded back in the direction they had found the peppers. ¡°What does magic look like?¡±

    She grinned, slightly lopsided. ¡°It¡¯s the coolest! Sometimes it¡¯s like this little fire but sometimes it¡¯s kind of... fuzzy? And sometimes it¡¯s big and really bright, but other times it¡¯s dim and tiny.¡± Andurak frowned, and she gave him a one-shouldered shrug. ¡°It¡¯s hard to explain, I guess.¡±

    He grunted. That was about as helpful an explanation as he probably should have expected. ¡°Alright. What about the distance? You saw the sunshine peppers from quite the ways away.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know. I can see it from pretty far away, and I can usually see it through things, too.¡± She shrugged again. ¡°Never tried to put a number to it or anything though.¡±

    A lesser man might have grumbled at Wanily¡¯s flippancy. Andurak merely sighed.

    They continued on in silence for a while, allowing Andurak to return to his thoughts. How long was he going to travel with Wanily? He was not one to turn away a child in need, but he¡¯d gotten his experience as a survivalist over years of wandering. Could he teach someone all they needed to know in just a few weeks or months? He wasn¡¯t sure.

    Andurak relished in solitude and enjoyed the company of his own thoughts above all else. He did not hate Wanily, but she was an interruption to that. He would not abandon her in the wilderness somewhere, and she¡¯d already professed she did not want to be saddled with some random family. She wanted to be the Archmage. Andurak had the feeling that even if he did leave her at a church in a town or city somewhere, she¡¯d just run away and try to go somewhere she could learn magic.

    And get herself killed in the process.

    It was enough to make him want to sigh. He made a commitment when he agreed to take Wanily under his wing. He just hoped he wouldn¡¯t regret it.

    Ahead of him, Wanily perked up again. ¡°Hey, I think there are some people up there.¡±

    Andurak pulled himself from his musings and focused on the horizon and the plume of white smoke curling up from it. It was too soon to be near Reeve¡¯s Rest. It had to be a traveling group then.

    Andurak immediately grew wary. Winter brought hardship, and hardship bred desperate people. It could be bandits up ahead hoping to capture a shipment of food from the empire to Iten, but then again, that smoke would give away their location. It could be just another group of travelers. Maybe even some other Wandering People.

    If that was the case, it would complicate the Wanily situation. All Andurak had asked of the universe was not to run into a family unit while he was with Wanily. Had that really been too much to ask?

    He was getting ahead of himself. He didn¡¯t know yet who this group could be. He¡¯d be prepared for the worst, and hopefully that would be bandits that would take what few valuables he had and leave them be.

    ¡°Wanily, behind me,¡± he said, slipping his pack from his back and kneeling to rifle through it.

    She did as ordered, eyes wide as she peered over his shoulder and into his bag. ¡°Who do you think it is? Bandits? A marauder?¡±

    ¡°Those are the same thing,¡± Andurak muttered, pulling his blowgun and a dagger from his pack. It wasn¡¯t much in the way of self-defense but it was better than nothing.

    Wanily fisted her hands in her coat. ¡°No, they¡¯re not,¡± she said in her usual boisterous fashion, betraying none of her evident fear. She was a brave one, Andurak mused as he stood. ¡°It¡¯s in the name. Bandits work in bands. Marauders probably work alone. I think we could take one marauder.¡± She wrenched her hands away from her coat with clear effort and punched the air a couple of times, a shaky smile on her lips.

    Andurak smiled back. Wanily relaxed a fraction when she saw it, her shoulders dropping from where they were bunched by her ears. ¡°Just stay close,¡± he said. The last thing he needed was for her to approach with her usual bluster and potentially put herself in harm¡¯s way.

    They continued down the road, Andurak with his dagger in one hand and blowgun in the other, Wanily nearly stepping on his heels.

    Well. He did tell her to stay near.

    When they were closer, he could make out a large fur tent in the distance and bodies moving around it, into it, and out of it. The source of the smoke turned out to be a large campfire with some type of animal roasting over it. When Andurak and Wanily grew closer still, he could hear laughter and chatter from the group¨Cthat of men and women, but children as well.

    It wasn¡¯t impossible, but probably not bandits then. Or marauders, he thought with a roll of his eyes.

    Hopefully refugees, then, those trying to escape the Northern Conflict. Not that frostbitten Iten would be any more hospitable to them than the battlefront with Vixx.

    Just not more Wandering People, Andurak pleaded silently. To who, he wasn¡¯t sure. It certainly wasn¡¯t the gods.

    Wanily tugged on the back of his coat. He grunted, not tearing his eyes away from the people flitting to and fro. ¡°Too many for marauders,¡± she whispered loudly. When they drew near enough to tell such things, she added. ¡°That food smells good.¡±

    It did, but Andurak didn¡¯t agree aloud. The encampment was a good half dozen yards from the road, and Andurak was perfectly content to ignore the group if they were willing to do the same. He and Wanily were certainly close enough that if they wanted to try something, they would have done so by now.

    Andurak steadfastly looked ahead, trying not to give the group a reason to acknowledge him or Wanily. He, of course, could not be so lucky.

    ¡°Andurak? Andurak Lonesome?¡± a woman¡¯s voice shouted.

    ¡°Hey, I think they know you,¡± Wanily said. Andurak only sighed and turned to meet his fate.

    The group was definitely a family unit of the Wandering People. There were half a dozen adults outside the tent and probably at least another one or two inside, all of them wrapped in warm fur clothing. There were two children as well, bundled from head to toe in furs, who stopped their running and chasing when they caught sight of Andurak.

    There were a few bags clustered off to the side, though the majority of their supplies were likely inside the tent. Some belongings were strewn about the camp¨Ca couple of wooden toys for the children, a bone flute resting atop a nearby rock, and a drum by the fire. A man was sitting next to the last one, but he stood the moment the woman called out to Andurak.

    Andurak wouldn¡¯t claim to know the whole country of Windor and every Wanderer that called it home¨Cas much as any of them had one¨Cbut he did know this group. Unfortunate that they knew him back.

    ¡°Minora Layton.¡± He nodded to her in greeting, not drawing any closer. Then, he grunted, a sound they probably couldn¡¯t even hear at their distance. ¡°Well, it was good to pass you,¡± Andurak called before he turned on his heel and began striding away once more.

    Minora laughed. It was the only other sound Andurak heard over the crackle of their fire¨Cnot even footsteps. Wanily wasn¡¯t following him. He turned to find her staring at the group, head cocked. He whistled, causing her to jump. She still didn¡¯t move to catch up with him though.

    ¡°Are these more Wanderers?¡± she asked. ¡°Can we ask them for food?¡±

    Minora raised a brow at Andurak. ¡°And who is that? Is Lonesome not so lonesome anymore?¡±

    Nothing to it, then. Andurak wasn¡¯t about to shout to have a conversation. He motioned for Wanily to follow and stepped up to the group. Minora remained at the front, crossing her arms as he approached. She was the head of their family unit, after all¨Cthe other adults would cede the floor to her.

    ¡°I have no family unit,¡± Andurak said when he would no longer have to raise his voice to be heard. ¡°That was true at the last Gathering, and it will be true at the next.¡± That was still half a year out, and Andurak did not plan to still be keeping company with Wanily by then.

    ¡°And in the meantime?¡± Minora said, smirking.

    ¡°Come on, Minora,¡± the man with the drum¨CYonid, her older brother¨Csaid. ¡°Stop antagonizing the poor man and offer him and his companion some food and a place at the fire. We have enough to share.¡±

    Minora rolled her eyes. ¡°I was getting to that, Yonid.¡± Her gaze fell to Wanily. ¡°Are you hungry, child?¡±

    Wanily nodded, unable to tear her gaze from what Andurak now recognized to be part of a deer roasting above the fire.

    ¡°Good,¡± Minora said, uncrossing her arms and stepping aside. ¡°When it is ready, eat your fill. In the meantime, why don¡¯t you go make some friends?¡± She nodded to Plin and Freya, the two children in the unit. Plin was Minora¡¯s son and Freya her niece born from her younger brother, Reed. Andurak didn¡¯t see him among the group outside, so he must have been in the tent.

    Wanily grinned. ¡°Sure!¡± And with that, she bounded away to join the other children. Andurak watched Plin and Freya share a look. Several expressions flitted across the children¡¯s faces as they held a silent conversation before Freya, the older of the two, smiled at Wanily. ¡°You ever play Griffin?¡±

    ¡°Nope!¡± Wanily said, and that was all that Andurak heard of the conversation before the children were running off.

    ¡°Don¡¯t go far!¡± Minora called, cupping her hands around her mouth. When she turned back to Andurak, she wore a devious smile. ¡°Knocked up a Nanshee woman, then, did you?¡±

    Andurak blanched. ¡°I told you it¡¯s not like that.¡±

    She elbowed him, still smiling. ¡°I¡¯m just giving you shit, Lonesome. What is it like, then?¡±

    Andurak nodded to the fire, and Minora led him to a spot that had been cleared of snow and any rocks, perfect for sitting and telling stories. Yonid left as they settled beside the warmth of the fire, ducking into the tent. Andurak heard his voice ring out, but not the words exchanged. Yonid came out of the tent the next moment, tailed by Reed and Evarin, Reed¡¯s wife. They and the rest of the family unit gathered around the fire and looked at Andurak expectantly.

    Andurak gazed at their faces, and the many that shared the same characteristics. The same small, round noses and large foreheads and freckles of varying intensity dotting their faces. Their hair colors ranged from the black of Yonid¡¯s short but curly crop, to the pale green that framed Minora¡¯s face. She knew a few spells, enough to be more useful than a blonde mage, and that was probably why she was the leader of the family unit over her father or mother, both who were sitting by the fire, giving Andurak their rapt attention.

    Wanderers were storytellers. Most of their records were kept by word of mouth¨Cthe only thing that wasn¡¯t were their accounts on magical creatures and plants. They shared such information with the rest of the world, so it was more imperative that it was correct and consistent.

    But Andurak had always been of the opinion that storytelling should be left to the bards.

    ¡°Found her in Iten,¡± he said as he tucked his weapons back in his pack. ¡°Stole some food from Mincelight and was holed up with a phoenix to keep warm. She agreed to travel with me and learn how to survive in the world on her own.¡±

    Minora frowned, arching one brow. ¡°You said she was with a phoenix?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Her other brow joined the first. ¡°Are you going to expand on that, Lonesome?¡±

    Andurak sighed, sitting forward and clasping his hands together. ¡°It seems there is a new specialty mage walking the earth now. She says she can see magic, and I have proof enough to believe her.¡±

    Minora gaped at him. ¡°A new specialty mage? One that can see magic? How does that work?¡±

    Andurak shrugged. ¡°Her explanation wasn¡¯t very helpful.¡±

    Minora grunted, tapping one finger against her chin. ¡°She was able to find a nesting phoenix with this power though, right? She was lucky it took a shine to her. I¡¯ve heard being burned alive is a gruesome way to go.¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯ve talked to so many people who died after being burned alive.¡±

    ¡°Of course. But that¡¯s besides the point.¡± Minora tilted her head back, her eyes reflecting the deep blue of the midday sky, almost completely erasing their brown. ¡°What do you and your companion say to spending the night with us? We¡¯ve got more than enough food to go around¨Cmirth and good humor, too.¡± Minora grinned, then, sharp as a pixie. ¡°All things you seem to be lacking, eh, Lonesome?¡±

    Andurak remained nonplussed. But, Minora was right¨Cthey could use a good meal, and it would probably be good for Wanily to be around people her age, even if for a short while. He still sighed, just on principle.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he grumbled. ¡°But we leave first thing in the morning. I want to get away from such frostbitten lands as quickly as possible.¡±

    ¡°Naturally,¡± Minora responded. She climbed to her feet and held her arms outstretched to either side of her as she addressed the rest of her family unit. ¡°Hear that? We¡¯ve got some honored guests with us tonight! Andurak Lonesome himself and a new specialty mage. Start up the drums, begin a dance, bring out the food. This is a cause for celebration!¡±

    Andurak snorted. In all the years he¡¯d known her, Minora had never needed an excuse to throw a party, just as Andurak had staunchly avoided them all the years he¡¯d been alive. But he could begrudgingly attend this one if it meant he¡¯d get enough food to fill his belly.

    Yonid tugged his drum back between his legs, and as he began hammering out a steady beat, Andurak pulled out his own small drum, embellishing Yonid¡¯s simple rhythm. Yonid grinned crookedly at him over the dancing edges of the campfire.

    The younger members of the family unit jumped to their feet, following Minora¡¯s instructions as they quickly broke into smiling groups of two or three for the coordinated dance that was meant for the heartbeat Yonid supplied. The older members splintered off from the festivities, ducking into the tent only to reemerge moments later with fresh meats, fruits, and vegetables. Andurak found his mouth watering at the thought of it.

    The elders began the task of prepping the extra food, and soon enough, the beat of the drums and the dancing brought the child wandering back toward the main group. Wanily flanked the other two children, and Andurak found himself keeping one eye on her as she flicked between watching the elders prepare their food and clumsily following along with the other children as they joined the dance. Freya, and more so Plin, were the pictures of practiced grace, their steps sure and movements flowing like water. Wanily, in comparison, was more like an alan with their backward feet and jerky movements. But she was smiling and laughing, even when she would fall, so she must have been having fun.

    Andurak found he was smiling despite himself and put more energy into each of his hits to his drum, playing for all he was worth.

    <hr>

    It wasn¡¯t until much later¨Cuntil the food had been cooked and devoured, the dances had dwindled as feet began to ache, and the sky had darkened from blue to orange to black¨Cthat Andurak found himself once again sitting next to Minora. More tents had been brought out for those who wished to sleep, namely the children. Plin and Freya had been more than happy to share a tent with Wanily, but it wasn¡¯t like the weighty decision Andurak had made in the previous nights. They were all but children, and Minora had sent him more than one meaningful glance as the children readied themselves for sleep.

    Minora had even given Wanily Freya¡¯s old coat when she discovered that Wanily only had that long but thin one. She gave Andurak quite the stink eye when she did so, but what was he supposed to do? He¡¯d been with the girl all of a handful of days¨Chardly enough time to get her a suitable coat of her own.

    And now, the children were asleep, and Yonid had produced a bottle of something that burned pleasantly with each swallow. The adults, barring a couple who had also turned in for the night so they could take watch later, sat in a haphazard circle around the fire and began to tell stories. Some were tales of the old days¨Cthe stories that survived of the early bards and pirates that roamed the earth and earned the ire of the old gods¨Cand some were memories told for Andurak¡¯s benefit. Plin¡¯s first successful hunt where he took down a deer with one shot, which made Andurak¡¯s chest flicker with warmth. Reed¡¯s latest brush with death from when he decided to go fishing near a kappa¡¯s den. Andurak often wondered how Reed was still alive.

    Yonid began the next story, a tale of the pirate Diablo from the famous Nanshee stories. Yonid was no bard, but Andurak thought he was telling the account well enough of the time the pirate raided an underwater temple near what was present-day Leshitone. There were far less underwater temples back then, so it was more impressive. Not that there were many pirates left these days¨Cat least, of the kind that raided the old gods¡¯ temples.

    Minora tapped him on the shoulder, pulling Andurak¡¯s attention away from the daring escape Diablo was attempting to make as magical creatures bound to protect the temple began to attack. She flashed him a small smile and jabbed a thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of the children¡¯s tent.

    ¡°She¡¯s a wild one, huh?¡±

    Andurak smirked, nodding.

    ¡°Seems like a good kid, though. Tell me again how you stumbled on her.¡±

    Andurak shrugged. ¡°Right place at the right time,¡± he said.

    ¡°And you¡¯re sure she¡¯s a new specialty mage? How did you test it?¡±

    Andurak shook his head. ¡°She proved it earlier today. Spotted some sunshine peppers in a ditch a couple hundred feet from where we were. She couldn¡¯t identify them, but she saw their magic and led me to them.¡±

    Minora smiled slowly, lips stretching over crooked teeth. ¡°This presents a unique opportunity, Andurak. You understand that, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Andurak stilled. ¡°What do you mean?¡± he asked slowly. Minora didn¡¯t respond immediately. ¡°What do you want from Wanily, Layton?¡± Andurak pressed.

    Minora smirked, but her eyes held no hint of mirth. Maybe he shouldn¡¯t have been so quick to trust her. She was a Wanderer, yes, and one that he had known almost as long as he¡¯d been alive, but even the best of kin could have sinister intentions at heart.

    Or maybe he was just imagining things. He knew her¨Chad shared a fire with her and her family unit in the past. Had traded food and materials when he needed it, or they did. Andurak had helped watch over Plin at his first Gathering, rocking the babe as he slept. These people were as much his family as anyone. Whatever Minora meant, it couldn¡¯t have been anything so sinister as he believed.

    Right?

    ¡°You worry too much, Andurak,¡± Minora said. She gestured to seemingly nothing, or maybe to the whole world around them. ¡°I only meant that the girl could help us find magical creatures and plants. Makes much of what we do easier, right?¡±

    Andurak relaxed a fraction. That did bring up another issue, though. ¡°Wanily has no interest in staying with the Wandering People.¡±

    ¡°A shame,¡± Minora said readily. ¡°But no harm in asking her, is there?¡±

    ¡°Asking her what?¡±

    ¡°To join my family unit.¡± Minora looked at him like she was suddenly doubting his intelligence. ¡°She¡¯s sharing a tent with my child and broken bread over my fire. Unless you do want to keep the girl around until the next Gathering.¡±

    ¡°I already told you¨Cshe¡¯ll be on her way by then.¡±

    Minora grunted, a smile tugging at her lips. ¡°Why don¡¯t we talk in some more privacy?¡± She looked around the fire, raising her voice. ¡°Is everyone alright with me and Andurak retiring for the night?¡±

    There was a spattering of assent from the group around the fire. Minora nodded to the tent, and Andurak slowly picked himself up to step in after her, each footfall accentuated by the rise and fall of Yonid¡¯s voice.

    The majority of their supplies were in the structure, just as Andurak thought. There were weapons to the right¨Cswords, bows and arrows in quivers, and even a spear with an intricately carved shaft that Andurak was half-certain belonged to Minora herself. Beyond that, however, were the more mundane items needed for a travelling caravan: foods that keep for long weeks, cooking utensils, bundled bedrolls made from thick furs, and many more effects tucked from view into the numerous packs in the tent.

    Minora undid the string holding the flap to the tent open, offering them a modicum of privacy. Still, those by the fire sitting closest to them would probably hear anything they said if they raised their voice at all.

    Andurak crossed his arms and appraised Minora as she stepped further into the tent, rubbing her bare hands together. When she caught his gaze, she offered a smile. ¡°It sure is cold in Iten, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re in Oavale.¡±

    Minora shrugged. ¡°Close enough that it¡¯s either, though, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Andurak hardly agreed, but he wasn¡¯t about to waste the breath to say as such. He just waited, and eventually, Minora sighed.

    ¡°Andurak, you¡¯re a good sort.¡± Minora clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace back and forth in the cramped space, slowly, like each step was a consideration. ¡°You know, I actually had quite the affection for you when we were younger.¡±

    Andurak felt his brow rise in surprise. ¡°You did?¡± he asked. Then, he frowned. ¡°You¡¯re married, Minora. You¡¯ve brought child into this world.¡±

    Minora nodded, watching each of her careful steps. ¡°I hardly feel the same way anymore¨CHarthon holds that place in my heart now. But it is embarrassing to look back on.¡± Minora¡¯s smile twisted to something closer to a grimace. She stopped her pacing and laughed. ¡°Everyone knew, you know. Reed teased me endlessly about it. I remember your parents¨Cthey told me to tell you. Said they¡¯d be honored to welcome me to their family unit, or glad to see you find one to join. We were only teenagers then, but you were already talking about your bold plans to face the world alone, and I think they were fearful for you.¡±

    ¡°There a point to all this, Minora?¡± Andurak failed to see how this had anything to do with the girl currently sleeping outside with Minora¡¯s own child. He knew his parents had wanted him to join another family unit or at least form his own. He hadn¡¯t known about Minora¡¯s affections, but that was all in the past, wasn¡¯t it?

    ¡°Ouch,¡± she said, her smile growing. ¡°Let me finish, alright? There was one day¨CI remember it pretty vividly, actually¨Cwhere I was all ready to tell you. I had rehearsed what I was going to say for hours. I would march right up to you and say, ¡®Andurak, I wish to wander with you, forever and ever, even if that should lead us both to the mists of Gehenna. Won¡¯t you court me?¡¯¡±

    Andurak couldn¡¯t help but snort.

    Minora moved close enough to punch him none too lightly in the shoulder. ¡°Oh, hush you. I was young and in love, alright? You certainly weren¡¯t going to court me all on your own. But,¡± she sighed, drawing away again, her smile dropping from her face like a stone into a well, ¡°I could never work up the courage. And then, at the next Gathering, you were traveling alone and Harthon begged to court me, and that was that.

    ¡°I do bring all this up for a reason, Andurak.¡± Minora gazed intently at him, seemingly giving him time to respond.

    Andurak found he had to keep himself from fidgeting. He was not the kind to get rattled, he reminded himself. Whatever Minora wanted, he would not entertain her need for the dramatic.

    Eventually, Minora huffed. ¡°Not going to ask me what that reason is?¡±

    ¡°No. You¡¯ll tell me.¡±

    ¡°You never were one to indulge others, huh?¡± She smiled, resuming her slow, measured pacing. Back forth, from the packs nestled at one end of the tent to the weapons at the other and back again. ¡°I don¡¯t regret the way my life turned out, Andurak, but I do wonder, sometimes, if a life with you would have been better than the one I lead now. I wonder if I would be happier if I had simply seen the changes that were happening around me, and I wonder if I could have benefited if I had simply acted instead of letting things happen to me.¡±

    Andurak frowned. ¡°And what changes do you see before you now, Minora?¡± And what did they have to do with him and Wanily?

    ¡°All of it,¡± she murmured. ¡°We¡¯re standing on sand, Andurak, and the world is in the worst earthquake we¡¯ve ever seen. You know what they say about the Wandering People? They call us murderers. Once, it was only because lazy bandits would go masquerading as one of our kind to take advantage of people and strike when their guards were down. Now, it¡¯s worse. Plague rats. Disease-addled pigs. Necro bugs. Those are about the nicest things I¡¯ve been called in recent memory.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what others call you, Minora. Only what you answer to.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯ve seen it!¡± Minora whirled to face him, her hands thrown down in front of her, palms up, imploring. ¡°They hate us! And they¡¯ve got good reason to. We may not have been responsible for the Necroplauge, but we certainly didn¡¯t help.¡±

    ¡°None of us knew. We can¡¯t be blamed for following what we thought was right.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong, Andurak.¡± Minora sighed, turning her back to him and bowing her head. ¡°We might not have known better, but the actions of the Wandering People did help to spread the Necroplague. That¡¯s blood on our hands.¡±

    Andurak grimaced. He didn¡¯t completely disagree with her¨Cthe regions most affected at the beginning of the Necroplague had been the places that Wandering People congregated most. Because they did help to spread the spores of the Necro Algae when traveling from place to place. Some members had known and encouraged others to spread the plant¨Cit was newly discovered in an old temple and many had felt it was the duty of the Wandering People to reintroduce it into the world. Other members had spread it unwittingly when the spores clung to their belongings as they moved from place to place. No one had known the sickness it caused, not until everyone started falling ill. But to that effect, Minora was right. The Wandering People did help spread the disease.

    They had only done what they believed to be right, though. And once the source of the disease was understood to be the Necro Algae, most of the Wandering People had stopped traveling outside of Windor. The ones that still did went to the regions affected most by the plague to help the relief and research efforts.

    Most of those ones had perished.

    ¡°We did what we could to make up for it,¡± Andurak said. ¡°If others blame us for the Necroplague, then they are foolish. It would have spread with or without us.¡±

    Minora shook her head without turning around. ¡°We made a mistake that got people killed. We didn¡¯t do enough to make up for it.¡±

    Andurak didn¡¯t like where the conversation was going. ¡°And what more do you suggest we do?¡±

    Minora raised her head enough to glance over her shoulder at him. ¡°You say Wanily can see magic,¡± she said. ¡°That means she can see magical creatures.¡±

    Andurak remained silent. He really didn¡¯t like where this was going.

    ¡°I said it before¨Cyou¡¯re a good sort, Andurak. For all that you like to remain alone, you like to help others, too. That¡¯s all my unit is trying to do.¡±

    ¡°How?¡±

    Minora took a deep breath and said, ¡°By providing raw goods for potions.¡±

    Andurak scowled, balling his hands into fists. ¡°You mean you¡¯re out here killing magical creatures?¡± The very beings they were supposed to revere and protect?

    ¡°Frost lion claws make very potent potions to help resist the cold.¡± Minora reached forward, grasping her spear and spinning to face Andurak. Her posture was lax, spear standing at her side like a walking stick, but the fact she gripped her weapon at all told Andurak what he needed to know. His hand strayed toward his pack, but he knew he would never be able to get his weapons out in time to meet hers. If it came to blows, he was stuck with just his fists.

    ¡°Wanily can see magic. I¡¯m not about to let another opportunity slip between my fingers.¡± Minora adjusted her grip on her weapon, fingers wrapping around the wooden shaft of the spear. ¡°The Wandering People are in a unique situation. The world is clamoring for more potion ingredients, and we¡¯re by far the most knowledgeable about magical creatures. We can hunt them, and not only will we make good money, but we might be able to atone for our sins, too. Wanily can help us with that, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    Andurak bristled. ¡°You¡¯d go against everything we believe in. Everything. I should drag you and the rest of your unit back to Windor and inform the elders of your blasphemy.¡±

    Minora sighed. ¡°And here I was hoping I could convince you to stand with us. You really are probably the best of us at this stuff, Andurak. But Wanily will be coming with me and my family, one way or another.¡±

    Andurak eyed the pile of weapons, trying to determine if he could reach one before Minora would be able to land a hit on him. ¡°And you¡¯re going to¨Cwhat? Force her to help you?¡±

    ¡°Well, first I¡¯ll ask her. But I think I have a way of ensuring that she¡¯ll say yes.¡±

    Minora was looking at him meaningfully, and Andurak wanted to say it wouldn''t matter. That he and Wanily had known each other for only a few days and that the girl would sooner run and leave him to a cruel fate than do anything out of fear of what would happen to him. It''s what most people would do. Especially a child.

    But Wanily wanted to help people. Andurak had no doubt in his mind that if Minora threatened him, Wanily would do whatever she could to protect him.

    It wasn''t right. Children shouldn''t be the ones to protect adults. Andurak should be the one protecting Wanily from the people that wanted to take advantage of her, but instead he would be the one putting her in jeopardy.

    ¡°And just how long do you think that will work? Are you going to keep me prisoner until the next Gathering? What then?¡±

    Minora faltered, but a smile quickly took over her features again. ¡°By the time we reach the next Gathering, I plan to appeal to the elders. Do you know how much money and acclaim we could garner in the next few years? And do you really think the elders would turn down such an easy path out of poverty?¡±

    ¡°Which is it, then?¡± Andurak snarled. ¡°Are you trying to do the right thing or just line your pockets?¡±

    ¡°It can be both, Lonesome.¡± Minora took a step forward, but Andurak refused to be intimidated enough to cower back. ¡°All I¡¯m saying is that if we used our knowledge to hunt magical creatures, we could create a better future for the Wandering People. More prosperous, less hostility.¡±

    ¡°Do what you want, Minora,¡± Andurak snapped. ¡°But do not call yourself a Wandering Person at the end of it. And leave Wanily out of it.¡±

    Minora¡¯s smile didn¡¯t slip this time. She merely tilted her head to the side and leveled the point of her spear at Andurak¡¯s chest. ¡°I can¡¯t do that, Andurak.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t,¡± Minora conceded, the metal tip of her spear never wavering. ¡°She represents too great an opportunity. So, Yonid will bind your hands and feet, you will stay here tonight, and in the morning, I will ask Wanily to help us. And if she says no, you will help me convince her otherwise.¡±

    Andurak could try to fight this. He might be able to overpower Minora, get the spear away from her and take her hostage. But¨Che wouldn¡¯t be able to make good on any threats toward her or any of her family unit. If he was a different man¨Ca man more willing to hurt others to protect those that couldn¡¯t protect themselves¨Che would be able to get him and Wanily out of here.

    But he knew these people. Had laughed with them countless times in the past, eaten with them, traded with them¨Che didn¡¯t think, pressed even with a threat toward himself, that he would ever be able to seriously hurt any of them. It wasn¡¯t fair to Wanily, who wasn¡¯t a member of their group or familiar with any of these people, but it was simply the truth.

    Andurak looked from the point of Minora¡¯s spear to her unrelenting smile and back again. And he just knew. Even with a weapon aimed at his heart, he wouldn¡¯t be able to turn his own against someone that was like a sister to him.

    Funny, then, that she was able to do it to him.

    ¡°Yonid!¡± Minora called, never taking her eyes off Andurak. ¡°Come here, would you?¡±

    Andurak breathed in and out, steadily, tracking the rustling movement on the other side of the tent¡¯s flap as Yonid got up and began moving away from the fire. The moment Yonid began peeling the tent flap back, Andurak lunged. With one arm he shoved Minora¡¯s spear away from him and dove for the open space between Yonid and the edge of the tent. Minora let out a sharp cry, but Andurak was faster than the surprised Yonid and managed to knock him down with another push. The man immediately kicked out, trying to trip Andurak, but he managed to bound outside of the man¡¯s reach.

    ¡°Wanily!¡± Andurak shouted. The others around the fire were swiftly moving toward him, and Yonid was scrambling to his feet from a pace behind him. He could hear Minora, too, cursing and stomping out after him. There was no way Andurak would be able to escape them, but that seemed infinitely less important than getting Wanily away from them. ¡°Wanily, wake up! Run!¡±

    Someone tackled Andurak¡¯s legs, toppling the both of them to the half-frozen ground. He grunted in pain, kicking out against his assailant, but someone else knelt on top of him, digging their knee into his back and squeezing the air from his lungs. Andurak kept his gaze on the tent just a handful of paces away from him. He tried to call out again, but someone above him forced a length of cloth into his mouth and yanked it back, pulling his chin off the ground as they knotted it along the back of his head.

    The last thing Andurak saw was the flap of the tent ahead of him curling back and a half-asleep Wanily groggily looking out. When she saw Andurak on the ground, her eyes widened to the size of full moons and her mouth opened, presumably to shout something, but Andurak didn¡¯t get to hear whatever she was going to say before Minora brought the butt of her spear down on Andurak¡¯s temple and all he knew was darkness.

 Chapter 5: Return to the Earth (Part III)

    (664 A.C.)

    Plin watched with wide eyes as Andurak slumped forward. He could barely make out anything from behind the curve of Wanily¡¯s shoulder and the tangled mess of her blonde hair, but he could clearly see Mom knock out Andurak with the butt of her spear. Wanily let out a wordless cry and scrambled out of the warmth of the tent.

    Uncle Reed caught her before she made it more than five steps out of the tent, wrapping his arms around her middle and hoisting her up so her feet left the ground. Wanily kicked at him, her new coat flailing, but Uncle Reed just grunted and grabbed a fistful of her hair, tugging on it until she let out a whimper and mostly stopped struggling.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Wanily shouted, still clawing at Uncle Reed¡¯s handful of her hair. He gave another pull and she stopped completely, her arms falling to her sides.

    ¡°Mom..?¡± Plin asked, gaze snapping from Wanily¡¯s subdued form to Andurak and back.

    His mom caught Plin¡¯s eye and smiled at him. It was the kind of smile that she gave him when he woke up after a nightmare. This certainly felt like one. ¡°Go back to bed, Plin. You, too, Freya. We just want to have a little chat with Wanily.¡±

    Plin¡¯s gaze fell to Andurak¡¯s still form at his mom¡¯s feet. If it wasn¡¯t for the small cloud of white that followed each of his exhales, Andurak almost looked dead. ¡°But¨C¡±

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t a request, Plin,¡± his mom said, harsh enough that he flinched. ¡°Go back to bed.¡±

    ¡°Plin! Freya!¡± That was Wanily, trying to twist her neck to look at him with Uncle Reed still holding onto her hair. Even from the ground, Plin could tell she was trembling, but he didn¡¯t know if it was from fear or the cold. ¡°Help us!¡±

    Uncle Reed stared down at him from above the top of Wanily¡¯s head. Plin heard Freya gulp next to him and retreat back into the tent. Plin gaped at Wanily, slid his gaze down back to Andurak, and finally squirmed back, letting the tent flap fall back into place. His mom told him to go back to bed, and Freya obviously wasn¡¯t going to help Wanily, and¨Cand if Mom and Uncle Reed and everyone else were doing all this they had to have a good reason. It wasn¡¯t Plin¡¯s place to do anything. Wanily had been nice enough to him, and they¡¯d had fun playing together, but Mom knew more than him. If Mom said he should go back to bed, then¨Cthen he would go back to bed. Maybe Andurak did something bad. And Wanily was with Andurak so they had to get her before she could help him.

    Plin hunkered down in the back of the tent next to Freya. She sat with her knees tucked up to her chest and her chin resting on top of them. She watched Plin with wide eyes as he settled next to her and took up the same position, knees tucked, chin rested.

    ¡°Auntie Minora knows what¡¯s best,¡± she murmured. She knocked her shoulder against Plin¡¯s. ¡°So don¡¯t pout. It¡¯ll be okay.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not pouting,¡± Plin said. ¡°And you¡¯re pouting, too.¡±

    Freya gave a wavering smile and hugged her legs closer to her chest. Outside, Plin could hear something being dragged¨Cprobably Andurak. Freya must have heard it, too, because her smile disappeared in the next second. ¡°What do you think Mr. Lonesome did?¡±

    Plin shrugged. He didn¡¯t have a clue what Andurak did, but it must have been real bad to make Mom knock him out like that. ¡°It¡¯s grown-up business,¡± Plin said finally. ¡°My mom will sort it out.¡±

    Freya frowned. ¡°We should check it out.¡±

    ¡°My mom said to go back to bed.¡±

    Freya fixed him with a look she must have picked up from her father¨Cit told Plin she thought he was being stupid. ¡°Then you can stay here,¡± she declared, ¡°and I¡¯ll go check it out.¡±

    Plin tensed as Freya crawled forward, cracking open the tent flap and peeking out. He could see Grandma and Grandpa talking by the fire with their backs turned to Plin and Freya¡¯s tent. Freya pulled the flap out a little further and stuck her head out, twisting it one way then another. Eventually, she pulled her head back in and glanced back at Plin.

    ¡°Coast is clear,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s now or never.¡±

    Plin gripped his arms, fingers digging into his flesh, before he gave a single, determined nod. He wasn¡¯t a baby. And¨CAnd he didn¡¯t want to sit here like a baby while Freya went and found out whatever was going on. He crawled over to her, and when she peeked back outside, he looked with her. A couple of the adults were on watch a little way past the fire, his grandparents by the fire, and everyone else was out of sight. Which meant they had to be in the main tent.

    Freya slinked out of the tent and held the flap open for Plin. He wriggled his way out after her, and she carefully put the tent flap back. Plin kept one eye on his grandparents, but they were deep in conversation and weren¡¯t even looking at each other as they talked, eyes trained on the fire. Or¨Cthat wasn¡¯t right. They were watching a still form beside the fire, bound at the feet and hands and gagged. Andurak.

    Plin swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away. He started creeping toward the front of the main tent, but felt a tap on his shoulder. Freya pointed to the side of the tent, sending him an imploring look. Plin nodded, changing his path toward the side and following Freya as she stalked around to the back. She crouched down next to the tent wall and pushed her ear as close to it as she could without actually touching it. Plin knelt across from her and did the same, close enough that the white clouds from their breathing looked like one.

    ¡°When is he going to wake up?¡± Wanily¡¯s voice.

    ¡°Soon, I¡¯m sure. I didn¡¯t hit him that hard, sweetie,¡± Mom answered.

    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± Mom¡¯s voice was so soft and gentle, Plin almost couldn¡¯t hear it. ¡°Wanily, I¡¯m sorry you had to see all that.¡±

    ¡°You attacked him. Then you attacked me! What¡¯s the big idea?¡±

    Mom sighed. ¡°I wish we didn¡¯t have to take such extreme measures, but you must understand that we weren¡¯t trying to hurt either of you.¡±

    ¡°Then why did you?¡± Wanily demanded.

    ¡°Wanily, please calm down. You¡¯re making things more difficult than they need to be.¡±

    Wanily laughed, harsh as a hammer striking metal. ¡°Maybe I¡¯d calm down if he put that stupid spear away, and if he let me go.¡±

    Plin squinted at the wall of the tent, but he couldn¡¯t make out any shadows cast on it from the light inside. The furs must have been too thick. Uncle Reed was probably still holding her, but who would be holding a spear at her? And why?

    Andurak must have done something very, very bad. It was the only thing Plin could think of. Mom wouldn¡¯t do something like this unless she had to.

    But why would they be threatening Wanily, then?

    ¡°If I let you go, Wanily, I don¡¯t want you to get any ideas about running away. Do you understand?¡± Mom said.

    Wanily¡¯s voice was much quieter when she finally responded a few moments later. ¡°I understand.¡±

    Some rustling sounded, followed by some shuffling, and then all was still again. ¡°Is that better?¡± A pause, and Plin figured Wanily must have nodded, because Mom said, ¡°Good.¡± Plin could hear the smile in her voice. ¡°The ¡®big idea¡¯ here is that Andurak and I had something of a disagreement.¡±

    Someone snorted. Probably Wanily.

    The smile coloring Mom¡¯s voice was gone. ¡°I just want to help people, Wanily. Andurak disagreed. But you agree with me, right? That if you have the power to help someone, then you should?¡±

    ¡°Andurak wants to help people. He¡¯s helping me.¡±

    ¡°Oh, Wanily,¡± Mom murmured, almost too soft for Plin¡¯s ear to catch. ¡°Andurak isn¡¯t helping you because he wants to. He¡¯s just trying to prove he¡¯s the best of the Wandering People, and teaching you will serve that goal.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true,¡± Wanily insisted. ¡°He told me so. He said he¡¯s helping me ¡®cause he can, and that I should do the same thing. He¡¯s teaching me how to survive in the world so I can go out and learn magic.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve known Andurak a very long time, Wanily,¡± Mom said, a slight edge of irritation running under her tone. ¡°Longer than you¡¯ve been alive. When I say that he¡¯s only trying to serve himself, I am telling you the truth.¡±

    ¡°So what? You¡¯re telling me you attacked him because of that?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Mom responded. ¡°I was forced to subdue him because he was under the impression that you were in danger with me.¡±

    A beat of silence, and then Wanily slowly asked, ¡°Am I?¡±

    ¡°Of course not.¡± There was a single footstep, and Plin imagined Mom moving closer to Wanily. ¡°If you do what I say, neither of you will be in any danger at all.¡±

    Plin drew back and shared a panicked look with Freya. She stared back at him with wide eyes. He opened his mouth to say they should go back to their tent before Mom found them eavesdropping, but Freya held a finger to her lips and pressed her ear back near the tent wall.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± Wanily hissed.

    Plin was honestly a little in awe. He¡¯d been on Mom¡¯s bad side more than once, and she was more than a little scary when she wanted to be. Wanily didn¡¯t sound scared at all.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard you¡¯re a new specialty mage. One that can see magic. I wasn¡¯t lying to you when I said I just want to help people. Wanily, do you realize what your specialty means? You can find magical plants and creatures easily, and we can turn them into potions.¡±

    ¡°But... what about the magical creatures? Won¡¯t you have to..?¡±

    ¡°It is regrettable,¡± Mom said. Plin felt a little sick to his stomach hearing it again, but it wasn¡¯t the first time for him or Freya. Mom had asked him what he thought about turning his spear from regular animals to magical creatures and Plin¨C

    Mom thought it was a good idea. She said it could make them rich, and it could help lots of people. And Plin hadn¡¯t wanted to disappoint her, so he had nodded along to her words. It still sat in the pit of his stomach, the thought of hurting a pixie or a kelpie or¨Cor any magical creature. He¡¯d been taught for so many years that they were supposed to protect them, make offerings to them, worship them¨Cby the same person that was now telling him that they needed to kill them.

    But... Mom knew best. If she changed her mind like this, she had to have a good reason. Just like with Wanily. Maybe she was being a little harsh with her and Andurak, but Mom just wanted to help people.

    ¡°So... you just want me to find you these plants and animals?¡± Wanily asked. ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem so bad.¡±

    ¡°Andurak is very traditional in his beliefs, so he didn¡¯t exactly agree. But I swear he will see no harm if you help my cause.¡±

    ¡°For how long?¡±

    Mom sighed. ¡°The next Gathering is in just a few months. If you can help my cause enough until then, then that will be good enough.¡±

    Plin nodded to himself. That sounded fair to him. And besides¨Cif Wanily was with a big family unit like his, they could teach her how to properly hunt and gather. They could share their food with her so she never went hungry, and he and Freya could teach her all the best games to play when on the road or making camp. She could be happy with them. It didn¡¯t matter that all this was coming about as a threat to Andurak. If what Mom said was true, Andurak¨CAndurak must deserve it.

    ¡°I can¡¯t do that,¡± Wanily retorted. ¡°I¡¯m trying to learn magic. What if you decide I didn¡¯t help you enough? Will I just be stuck with you for gods know how long?¡±

    Mom sighed. ¡°I am not asking you, Wanily. I¡¯m telling you what will happen. You will help me until the next Gathering.¡±

    ¡°Or what?¡±

    Mom didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°Or Andurak will suddenly find me much less agreeable than he already does. As will you.¡±

    There was silence. Plin made less and less subtle gestures toward Freya to leave and go back to their tent, until eventually Freya swatted her hand through the air at him like she was trying to shoo away a fly. Plin let out a silent huff. He wasn¡¯t a baby anymore¨Che didn¡¯t need Freya to come with him to go back to the tent. Sticking his tongue out at her, he turned slowly around himself and snuck away.

    As he rounded the main tent, he peeked out around the corner, watching what was going on by the fire. Andurak must have been awake because his form was squirming and making soft grunts, all while Grandma and Grandpa watched. They might have been speaking to him, but Plin couldn¡¯t tell if the soft murmurs he heard were them or the light breeze picking up.

    Still, no one was looking in his direction. Plin scurried over to his and Freya¡¯s tent, pulling back the tent flap and slipping inside. As he went to put the flap back in its place, he swept his gaze over the area one last time. It was the same as before, with no one watching¨Cno one except Andurak, whose eyes blazed with flickers of the fire outlining his silhouette. Plin quickly averted his eyes and put the tent flap back in its place.

    <hr>

    Plin woke up the next morning to shouting. Freya continued to slumber beside him with hardly as much as a twitch of her cheek¨Cshe must have returned after he fell asleep but before the adults were able to catch her. Or maybe the adults did catch her. Plin peeked at her, trying to make sure she hadn¡¯t been hurt, but he saw no welts or beginnings of bruises. None of the adults had ever raised a hand against either of them, but. He still wanted to make sure.

    He wasn¡¯t sure what he would even do if Freya had been hurt. As long as she didn¡¯t say anything about it, he probably wouldn¡¯t have mentioned it either. They had been doing something bad¨CMom had told them to go to sleep and they had eavesdropped on her instead. If they had been caught, Mom would have had to punish them somehow.

    Before, whenever they did something really bad¨Cwhich was always Freya¡¯s fault, Uncle Reed said she was given ears as sharp griffin but had the listening ability of a brucha¨Cthey were given more chores or told they had to go to bed without dinner or had to sit with Grandma and listen to her stories for hours instead of playing. No one had ever hit them though.

    Plin thought of Uncle Reed pulling on Wanily¡¯s hair until tears had popped into the corners of her eyes. The way those tears had reflected the firelight like blood. No one had hit them in the past. Maybe¨CMaybe things were changing. Mom kept saying that¨Cthe world was changing, becoming harsher, and they needed to change with it. Maybe the adults needed to be harsher with the children so they could make adults capable of surviving a harsh world. Plin would have to watch his step more carefully from now on. He didn¡¯t want Mom or Dad to have to hit him. He could become strong without it.

    Harsh cursing outside, the kind the adults never said around him or Freya, broke Plin from his thoughts. He spared one last glance at Freya before crawling over to the tent entrance and pushing the flap open a sliver to peek out at the rest of the camp.

    Andurak sat upright, hands and feet still bound with some rope, but it looked like they had removed his gag. Next to him, Grandpa held the rag they¡¯d used to gag him in one hand, and used the other to grip his arm. Had¨CHad Andurak bit him?

    Plin squinted against the morning light and peered around, but he didn¡¯t see Wanily anywhere. Maybe she was still in the main tent, then? He wondered if she had agreed to Mom¡¯s deal. Though, it hadn¡¯t sounded like she had much choice in the matter.

    Plin shivered. Andurak was like another uncle to him. A moody, gruff uncle that hated parties and playing and hanging around other people, but he¡¯d always been kind enough to Plin. Plin didn¡¯t want his mom or dad to hurt him. But, well, Andurak was standing in the way of doing good in the world. That made him like a villain, right? The members of his family unit were the heroes, and they had to stop Andurak from stopping them.

    It made sense. In a roundabout way.

    ¡°What¡¯re you doing down there, Plin?¡± Uncle Yonid called. He was stepping out of the main tent, the flap falling back into place behind him¨Cbut not before Plin saw Wanily sitting cross-legged on the floor, hands bound behind her back and a scowl set firmly on her face.

    Plin snapped his gaze back to Uncle Yonid before he could call him out for staring at their new guest. ¡°Nothing.¡±

    Uncle Yonid chuckled. He held himself loose, and even when he stopped laughing, there was a slight smile on his face. He was acting like nothing was wrong, so¨Cso Plin should stop acting like such a baby. Nothing was wrong. He might have been the youngest in the family unit, but they were united in what they were doing. He had to stand with them.

    ¡°Well, do nothing over here. Breakfast will be up soon,¡± Uncle Yonid said, heading over toward the fire. Plin could see the exact moment he met Andurak¡¯s glower, Uncle Yonid¡¯s jaw tightening for just a breath, and then he was turning away. Leaving Andurak to turn his glare on Plin.

    Plin gulped and pulled himself out of his tent, trying his best to ignore Andurak without making it seem like he was ignoring Andurak. As he straightened his coat and donned his gloves, he wasn¡¯t sure how successful he was.

    Plin wandered over next to Uncle Yonid who was chatting with Uncle Reed by the fire. There was a pot suspended above the licking flames, and something that smelled good, if watered-down and mild, cooking in it. Plin took a deep breath, letting the familiar scent of a hearty morning meal calm his spinning mind. It wasn¡¯t until after he stepped back that he noticed Uncle Yonid and Uncle Reed had fallen silent and were watching him with blank faces.

    Plin couldn¡¯t help but shuffle his feet. Just a little. ¡°What?¡±

    They shared a look, his two uncles, but didn¡¯t say anything to each other. Eventually, Uncle Yonid sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve noticed some... tensions in the camp since last night.¡±

    Plin bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying something foolish and simply nodded.

    Uncle Yonid knelt down, bringing him almost level with Plin. ¡°I know this must all seem a little scary. So, before your mom talks to you, I just wanted to say that everything is going to be okay, alright? You and Freya¨Call of us will keep you safe.¡±

    Plin swallowed hard. ¡°Okay.¡±

    Uncle Yonid stood and ruffled Plin¡¯s hair. Plin would usually laugh and try to duck away from it, but he just let it happen to him this time. It was something familiar, and he desperately wanted something familiar right then.

    ¡°Chin up, Plin,¡± Uncle Reed said. When Plin looked up at him through the fringes of his bangs, he stared at him with unforgiving eyes. ¡°Be brave, and be obedient. That¡¯s all that we ask from you and Freya right now.¡±

    Plin nodded. It felt like something was crawling along his arms and legs, and he hugged himself to try making the feeling go away. Not that it helped.

    ¡°Plin, dear, are you awake?¡± Mom¡¯s voice penetrated the flap of furs separating where she was in the main tent and where Plin stood by the fire. When Plin didn¡¯t immediately respond, Uncle Yonid nudged him.

    ¡°I¡¯m awake!¡± Plin called back. He found his gaze straying toward Andurak again. Andurak stared at the ground, jaw clenched. Plin bit the inside of his cheek and began moving toward the tent before Mom even shouted for him to do so.

    He pulled the tent flap back the barest margin and poked his head inside. Mom was standing with her back to the opposite wall and smiled when she caught sight of Plin. ¡°Come here, dear. I need to speak with you.¡±

    Plin took a deep breath. Brave and obedient, Uncle Reed had said. Plin could do that. He let the breath go and stepped inside the tent. He tried to look over as subtly as possible, and his gaze met Wanily¡¯s hateful one. He noticed the area around her left eye was slightly dark and red, and his eyes quickly skittered back to Mom¡¯s open, smiling face.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you heard at least a little of what happened last night,¡± Mom started gently. Plin bit his cheek and nodded. ¡°Not to mention how I spoke to you. I¡¯m sorry I was a little short with you, Plin, but Mommy had to take care of the family unit. It¡¯s not an excuse, but I was preoccupied and wasn¡¯t thinking how that would affect you. Please forgive me.¡±

    Wanily snorted, and Mom¡¯s expectant face instantly darkened. ¡°Dragonshit. No, no, hydrashit. You¨C¡±

    ¡°You will speak when spoken to, young lady,¡± Mom warned, and Plin¡¯s gaze fell to his feet, unwilling to look at either his mother or Wanily.

    Wanily¡¯s voice was downright scalding. ¡°Or what?¡±

    ¡°You know very well what the ¡®or what¡¯ is.¡± Mom sighed. ¡°Plin? This is what I really wanted to talk to you about.¡± Plin cautiously raised his head a fraction to meet Mom¡¯s gaze. It was cold, as cold as the winter air of Oavale around them. ¡°Wanily and Andurak will be staying with us for a while. They won¡¯t be leaving, and they may very well be unable to contribute to hunting or gathering.¡±

    ¡°Very nice way to say we¡¯re your prisoners,¡± Wanily muttered.

    Mom sent a cutting glare her way, but Wanily merely stuck her tongue out at her. Mom¡¯s nostrils flared, but she turned back to Plin. ¡°I need you¨Cand Freya¨Cto listen especially well to whatever I or the rest of the family says during this period, okay?¡± Plin hesitated for the barest moment, and Mom took the opportunity to kneel in front of him, bringing her hands up to hold his cheeks. ¡°It¡¯s very important, Plin. We¡¯re trying to do something that will help a lot of people.¡±

    ¡°By kidnapping me. And Andurak,¡± Wanily said.

    ¡°By having you use your power to help someone other than yourself,¡± Mom snapped. Though she turned her head to face Wanily, she didn¡¯t remove her hands from Plin¡¯s cheeks, her grip even tightening to the verge of painful.

    ¡°That¡¯s not¨C¡±

    ¡°I will,¡± Plin cut in. He didn¡¯t want Wanily to keep going and get herself another black eye. Even if¨CEven if she deserved it. ¡°I¡¯ll listen, and I¡¯ll be brave.¡±

    Mom smiled, something that lit up her whole face and eyes. ¡°That¡¯s my good boy,¡± she crooned, rubbing a thumb along his cheek. She stood and motioned toward the entrance to the tent. ¡°Go get yourself some breakfast, then. And send Freya in here when she wakes, alright?¡±

    Plin nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment, and chewed on the inside of his cheek as he stepped out of the tent and went back over to where Uncle Yonid and Uncle Reed were ladelling the morning¡¯s porridge into bowls. Someone had wrapped Grandpa¡¯s arm, and Plin tensed when he saw a little red blotting the white bandages. Andurak had gotten him good.

    ¡°Come eat, Plin,¡± Uncle Yonid said, smiling as he scooped up another spoonful of porridge and dumped it into a little clay bowl. ¡°Before it gets cold.¡±

    Plin wordlessly obeyed, cradling the bowl and letting its warmth seep through his gloves. He idly wondered if Andurak would be given any food, and then he glanced at Grandpa¡¯s arm again and thought probably not.

    He meandered away, grabbing a spoon and then sitting on the other side of the fire from Andurak with his back turned so he didn¡¯t have to look at the man. His family was doing the right thing. They had to be. But that didn¡¯t mean that Plin wanted to sit and see Andurak glowering at all of them.

    Plin ate his breakfast silently, trying hard not to think about much of anything. Not how much fun he had with Wanily and how happy she seemed to play with other kids yesterday, not how Andurak had gotten him a present every year for his birthday without fail even if he had to give it months in advance, not how Wanily had a black eye or Andurak was knocked out last night by Plin¡¯s own mother.

    The adults knew more than him. All Plin had to do was be brave and obedient.

    He didn¡¯t notice Freya had gotten up until she sat beside him with her own bowl of porridge. She didn¡¯t say anything in way of greeting, just knocked her shoulder against Plin¡¯s and silently dug into her still steaming breakfast.

    Plin gripped his bowl a little tighter. ¡°My mom wanted to talk to you.¡±

    ¡°Well, she can wait until I¡¯ve eaten,¡± Freya sniped.

    Plin swallowed, hard. ¡°Are you angry?¡±

    Freya dropped her spoon, the utensil clattering against the edge of her bowl. ¡°Why would I be angry?¡±

    Plin shrugged, averting his gaze. He dug his spoon into his porridge, moving it back and forth and making deep troughs into the swollen grains.

    Freya huffed but didn¡¯t say anything else. Plin finished his breakfast but didn¡¯t know what he should do. Freya didn¡¯t seem in the mood to play, and she had to go talk to Mom anyway. He didn¡¯t want to stray toward the other side of the fire because that was where Andurak was, and Plin wasn¡¯t afraid of Andurak¨Ceven though maybe he should be, he¡¯d bit Grandpa hard enough to make him bleed¨Cbut looking at him made Plin feel bad and a little sick and he didn¡¯t want to lose the breakfast he¡¯d just eaten. He could go grab some toys or maybe do some chores, but he¡¯d need to go to the main tent for that, and that was where Wanily sat with a slowly darkening mark around her eye. So he just kept sitting next to Freya, who refused to look at him, but it was better than any of the other options.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    When Freya eventually finished her breakfast, she held out her hand and Plin wordlessly gave his bowl and spoon to her. She stood and put them and hers into the growing pile of dishes meant for washing. Grandma already had a small bucket of water and was cleaning the first of them with a rag. That done, Freya strode to the main tent, head held high, and went inside. Without anything else to do, Plin wandered over to Grandma, thinking he could at least help her with the morning¡¯s dishes.

    Grandma smiled at him when he sat next to her and started handing her dishes as she finished others. ¡°We won¡¯t be leaving just yet,¡± she told him. Usually, after breakfast was eaten, they would pack everything up and start traveling again. ¡°There will be a hunt first.¡±

    Plin wasn¡¯t supposed to know. Still, he couldn¡¯t stop himself from blurting out, ¡°A magical creature hunt?¡±

    Grandma stilled. Her weathered face crinkled with some unknown emotion, and she did not look at him when she answered, ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Grandma,¡± he started. Then stopped. He stared at the bowl in his hands lined with the dredges of the morning meal. ¡°Are we doing the right thing?¡±

    Grandma took a deep breath. It was the only hesitation she offered before she answered, ¡°Yes.¡±

    She went back to doing the dishes, and Plin¨CPlin didn¡¯t say anything else, either. They finished their work in silence, and when Grandma got up to pack the clean dishes away, Plin stayed put, thinking despite his effort not to.

    It all came down to one thing¨CGrandma said they were doing the right thing. Everyone was acting like everything was perfectly normal. No one said anything to or about Andurak, or about the evidence of violence on Wanily¡¯s face, or about how they were about to commit a taboo amongst taboos. They all believed it was the right thing to do. So¨CSo Plin had to believe that way, too. What other choice did he have?

    Plin watched the main tent, waiting for Freya to come out. She was angry about what was happening, but Plin couldn¡¯t really figure out why. All she had to do¨Clike him¨Cwas be brave and obedient. The adults weren¡¯t asking very much of them. And in the meantime, they could play or do chores or¨Cor something. Something that wasn¡¯t just sitting around, thinking.

    Freya did eventually emerge from the tent, and Plin blanched at the sight. Her face was streaked with tears, and her brow furrowed in a deep frustration. She glanced around the camp, meeting his gaze for only a breath, before she marched back over to their tent and ducked inside.

    He guessed she still wasn¡¯t in a playing mood.

    Mom came out a handful of seconds later, pushing a stumbling Wanily ahead of her. ¡°Is everyone ready?¡± Mom called.

    ¡°Aye, Minora,¡± Uncle Reed called back. ¡°Just need our weapons and a direction.¡±

    They were heading out on the hunt. They were going to kill a magical creature, and they were bringing Wanily with them. Wanily, who was bound at the hands, and scrawny, and who couldn¡¯t run very fast or long yesterday without tiring. They were bringing a girl not much older than Plin on a hunt for a creature that would be much more dangerous than a deer or a moose or even a bear.

    ¡°Can I go?¡± Plin asked before his thoughts even caught up with his mouth.

    All eyes turned to him, even Wanily¡¯s and Andurak¡¯s. Mom¡¯s eyes didn¡¯t match the way she smiled at him. ¡°Oh, Plin, you know you¡¯re not old enough for hunts like this.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve gone on hunts before,¡± he argued, even though he wasn¡¯t really sure why. ¡°You¡¯ll need as much help as you can get.¡±

    Mom hesitated. Eventually, she shook her head. ¡°You¡¯ll stay here with Freya. Mom, Dad, hold down things here. If all goes well, we¡¯ll be back in time for a good lunch and then we can keep moving from there. Everyone agree?¡±

    There was a muttering of assent from the other adults in the group. Plin said nothing. It didn¡¯t really matter what Plin thought or said after all¨Call he had to do was obey. If the others were going to hunt and Plin wasn¡¯t allowed to go, then¨Cthen he would stay here. It was the right thing to do.

    It had to be the right thing to do.

    ¡°Wanily.¡± Mom said, though she turned her critical gaze onto Andurak, who met her eyes with a glare. ¡°Do I need to bring Andurak with us?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Wanily said. She moved her arms, to try crossing them maybe, but must have forgotten her hands were bound. She aborted the movement halfway with a huff. ¡°I¡¯ll be good. Just leave him alone.¡±

    ¡°Wanily,¡± Andurak called, the first thing Plin had heard him say since last night. His voice sounded rough, Plin thought. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Wanily didn¡¯t say anything. Neither did anybody else. It was like they were all frozen, just looking at each other with expressions Plin couldn¡¯t read.

    ¡°Well,¡± Mom finally said, giving Wanily a light push forward and causing her to take a stumbling step. ¡°Let¡¯s go, then.¡±

    The other adults filtered into the main tent and came back out just as readily, their weapons of choice gripped in their hands or strapped to their bodies. Mom waited with Wanily just a few paces off to the side, both of their faces terribly blank. For someone like Mom who always smiled, and someone like Wanily who wore her heart on her sleeve, it made Plin a little sick to look at. So he decided not to look at it and instead moved back to his tent and peeked inside.

    Freya laid on her side, one arm pillowing her head, almost like she was asleep. Her eyes were open though, and when Plin opened his mouth to speak, she beat him to it. ¡°They¡¯re leaving?¡±

    Plin bit the inside of his cheek and nodded.

    Freya didn¡¯t look at him. ¡°You wanted to go with them?¡±

    She must have heard what was being said. It wasn¡¯t like the tents were that thick, even made of warm furs as they were. Plin glanced back over his shoulder. It took his eyes a moment to adjust back to the brighter morning light outside the tent, but when they did, it was to see the backs of the adults¨Cexcept Grandma and Grandpa who sat by the fire¨Cmoving to the north, toward the country of Iten.

    Plin twisted around to look at Freya again. ¡°I dunno. I guess.¡±

    Freya finally looked at him, eyes rimmed with red. She sat up halfway. ¡°Why?¡±

    She sounded suspicious. Plin didn¡¯t know why or how to answer her. ¡°I dunno.¡±

    ¡°Yes, you do.¡±

    Yes, he did. Plin didn¡¯t want to think about it, but Freya was looking at him, gaze hardening with each breath he remained silent, and suddenly he found himself talking without any thought at all. ¡°I¨CI don¡¯t know. Wanily is¨Cshe¡¯s the same age as us, kind of, and¨Cand someone hit her, and hit Andurak, and now my mom and dad and your mom and dad are off to kill a frost lion or a phoenix or whatever they can get their hands on and¨C¡±

    And it felt wrong. They said it was the right thing to do, but it was wrong.

    But Plin had to obey. How else would the adults in their family unit keep him safe?

    ¡°Everything alright, Plin? Freya?¡± That was Grandpa, calling out from behind him. It didn¡¯t sound like he had moved from his place by the fire, but that would change if Plin didn¡¯t answer him soon. And Plin wasn¡¯t sure how to answer him, either, because it didn¡¯t feel like everything was alright. But Plin couldn¡¯t tell him that, but he didn¡¯t want to lie, and¨C

    Freya climbed forward, pushing Plin lightly to the side so she had enough room to poke her head out of the tent. ¡°Everything is okay, Grandpa. I¡¯m just cold and want to stay inside until it warms up.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± he said. ¡°Alright. Plin, you should probably do the same. At least until it warms up some.¡±

    Plin nodded. All he had to do right now was obey, so when Freya ducked back inside, he followed. She sat, and instead of earlier when she refused to look at him, she stared down at him until he couldn¡¯t take it anymore and looked away. ¡°What?¡± he muttered.

    ¡°What do you want to do, Plin?¡± she asked.

    He didn¡¯t know how to respond to that. It didn¡¯t matter what he wanted¨Cthat was what he should say. But he knew Freya¨Cheadstrong and willful Freya¨Cwouldn¡¯t like that answer. So he didn¡¯t do anything. For a while, they just sat in silence, their breathing the only sound between the folds of the tent.

    Sweat began to bead on the back of Plin¡¯s neck. The more time that passed, the higher the sun rose in the sky, and between that and the coat swaddling him and the fire still crackling not too far from them and Freya¡¯s body heat next to him, Plin was beginning to feel stifled. But Grandpa told him to stay inside, and he was a little afraid to say anything to Freya. So. He just continued to sit there.

    Finally, Freya let out a huff. She climbed past him and poked her head out of the tent again. Plin peeked past the side of her head, but Grandma and Grandpa were still just sitting by the fire. Plin didn¡¯t think they had even been talking to each other. Andurak hadn¡¯t moved either, his head hanging low and his knees drawn up against his chest.

    Freya called out, ¡°What are we going to do with Mr. Lonesome?¡±

    Grandpa and Grandma shared a look, and Andurak¡¯s head whipped up, seemingly shocked to have someone finally acknowledge him at all.

    ¡°Why do we have to do anything with him?¡± Grandma asked.

    Freya shrugged. ¡°Well, can me and Plin go play now?¡± she asked instead of answering Grandma¡¯s question.

    The adults watched them with strange looks on their faces, the kind that told Plin they thought Freya was acting weird. He couldn¡¯t tell if they thought it was suspicious weird, or just  kid being a kid weird.

    But why would it be suspicious anyway? Plin wasn¡¯t planning anything, and he was just relieved that Freya was finally letting the matter drop. He didn¡¯t want to think about their situation when it didn¡¯t feel like he could do anything about it.

    Grandma and Grandpa looked at each other again, several expressions flitting over their faces too quick for Plin to read. Finally, Grandpa shrugged. ¡°Sure. Just don¡¯t go too far, alright?¡±

    Freya pulled herself the rest of the way out of their tent, standing before reaching inside  and grabbing Plin¡¯s arm to pull him to his feet. Her grip hurt, but Plin couldn¡¯t find it in himself to say anything about it. Without another word, and with her hand still fastened around Plin¡¯s arm, she marched away, pulling Plin along behind her. They passed the fire¨Cwith all the adults there looking more than a little confused at their antics¨Cand when they were probably about three dozen yards away¨Cfar from the fire but not out of sight¨CFreya stopped. She laid both her hands on Plin¡¯s shoulders. Plin didn¡¯t like the way she looked at him.

    ¡°We¡¯re going to run now, okay?¡± she asked.

    Plin blanched. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re going to go help Wanily,¡± Freya said firmly. ¡°We¡¯re going to get her away from everyone and bring her back to Mr. Lonesome. Then they can both escape.¡±

    Plin swallowed hard. He could pull away from Freya¡¯s grip. He could run back to the fire and tell Grandpa and Grandma what she was trying to do or he could wrestle her to the ground right now and call for them. She was only a couple years older than him¨Ca bit taller, but Plin would win if it came down to blows.

    Plin didn¡¯t do any of that. Instead, he asked, ¡°What do we do?¡±

    Freya took a deep breath. ¡°We follow their tracks,¡± she said. ¡°I heard them last night. They¡¯re trying to hunt down a nearby pride of frost lions, and they¡¯re going to make Wanily find them. They won¡¯t bring Wanily on the hunt itself, so there will probably be one or two of the adults with her, but they can¡¯t risk keeping too many eyes on her ¡®cause they¡¯ll need all the hands they can get on this hunt. So, we find a way to distract them and get Wanily out of there. We bring her back here with Mr. Lonesome and get Grandma and Grandpa to let them go.¡±

    ¡°How do we do that?¡±

    Freya hesitated. ¡°I... haven¡¯t gotten that far. But Plin, we have to try.¡±

    Plin bit the inside of his cheek. He¨CHe wasn¡¯t being obedient. But, maybe, he could still be brave. Because doing the right thing was more important than doing what his Mom said¨Ceven if she thought she was doing something good.

    He nodded. Freya nodded back. Her gaze flicked up, over the top of his head, and darted back just as quickly. ¡°Run!¡±

    She turned sharply on her heel and made a break for it, following the tracks left in the snow from the rest of the family unit and Wanily. Her brown hair followed after her in a trail, like a flag waving in a breeze, and her coat flared out just the slightest bit behind her. Plin wasn¡¯t more than two paces behind her, legs pumping and snow trailing each of his steps. Each of his breaths billowed out in front of him in a cloud that he raced straight through, running for all he was worth.

    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Grandma called, her voice already shrill and distant as it cut through the quiet of the snowy plains. ¡°Kids!¡±

    Plin looked back, just once, to see them shooting to their feet. Grandma and Grandpa, while not old enough to stay in Windor and stop wandering, still weren¡¯t young anymore. They always complained about their stiff joints and couldn¡¯t play very long with Plin and Freya. They could try, but they would never catch up to Plin and Freya if they didn¡¯t want to be caught.

    ¡°Get back here!¡± That was Grandpa, scrambling after them. Plin whipped his head forward and pushed his legs to move faster until he was side by side with Freya, their feet flying over the snow-trodden earth.

    Freya was the better tracker of the two of them, but it didn''t take much skill at all to follow a churned up trail of snow cutting across the ground. Plin panted as he ran, keeping pace with Freya as they closed the distance between them and the rest of the family unit. Part of the reason Plin and Freya hadn¡¯t been allowed to stray far from the camp was because of the nearby pride of frost lions¨Cthe Wandering People knew of their presence in this area and had known about it for a long time. Usually, during the summer when hunting was worse for them, offerings were made to the frost lions to help keep them alive. Most Wandering People¨Cif not all¨C knew that these frost lions roamed somewhere near the border of Oavale and Iten.

    But a frost lion that didn¡¯t want to be found, especially by someone without magic to track it, simply wouldn¡¯t be. They were beings of ice and snow and so left no tracks through snowy terrain. Not to mention that their white coats and frosty manes always blended in perfectly with their surroundings.

    The snow grew deeper the farther they went from the road, building up past Plin¡¯s ankles. At least they weren¡¯t in the heart of Iten, where it would probably be past the middle of his calves by this point. Plin moved toward the path left by his family unit, where the snow had already been compacted a little, putting him a few paces behind Freya.

    He looked over his shoulder again. Grandpa was no longer chasing after them.

    No, instead, Andurak was behind them. And quickly gaining on them, a thunderous expression on his face.

    Why was he free? Why was he running after them? Where was Grandma and Grandpa? Did Andurak do something to them or did they let him free for some reason?

    It didn¡¯t matter. Considering the look on his face, Plin didn¡¯t want to risk Andurak catching them. He¨CHe had bit Grandpa, and Plin and Freya hadn¡¯t hurt him but they hadn¡¯t tried to help him. They were planning on it, but they hadn¡¯t done anything yet.

    Plin blanched, whipping his head around. ¡°Freya!¡±

    She glanced back at him, eyes widening when she saw Andurak pursuing them. ¡°Faster, Plin!¡±

    Plin was already going as fast as he could, but he didn¡¯t bother telling Freya that. He didn¡¯t even know what the plan was other than to get to Wanily. What would they do to get her away from whoever was guarding her? What would they do once she was free? The bare bones of the plan they had was already all messed up¨CAndurak was already free now. What were they going to do?

    He could hear Andurak gaining on them, heavy footfalls rapidly approaching them from behind. Plin¡¯s heart hammered in his chest, feeling like it was trying to beat its way out.

    ¡°Plin!¡± Andurak called from behind them. Plin could hear him suck in a strained breath. ¡°Freya! Wait!¡±

    Freya didn¡¯t look back. She just kept running, arms and legs pumping ahead of Plin. Plin tried to keep up with her, he really did, but he was getting tired and Freya was moving so fast and¨C

    A hand caught his arm, yanking him to a stop. Plin cried out¨Cmore from surprise than pain¨Cand immediately began clawing at Andurak¡¯s grip. Andurak huffed and puffed above him, his other hand coming up¨Cand Plin froze, convinced he was going to grab his hair just like Uncle Reed had done to Wanily¨Cbut Andurak just caught Plin¡¯s other arm, stopping him from struggling.

    ¡°Plin¨C¡± he started, but was cut off by a cry from Freya.

    ¡°Leave him alone!¡± Freya shouted, racing back toward them. Plin squirmed in Andurak¡¯s grasp, but Freya got there before he could even try to escape. She started hitting Andurak¡¯s arms, hammering her fists against his flesh. ¡°Let him go!¡±

    Andurak released him, and Plin scrambled back, kicking up snow behind him with each retreating step. Andurak held up his hands in the universal sign of peace. ¡°Just wait,¡± he said. He didn¡¯t take another step toward them, which is the only reason Plin didn¡¯t bolt.

    Freya held out a hand in front of Plin, urging him to stay back. She didn¡¯t need to worry¨CPlin had no desire to get any closer to Andurak. ¡°What did you do?¡± Freya hissed. ¡°Where are our grandparents?¡±

    Andurak hesitated. ¡°They¡¯ll be okay,¡± he said.

    Freya let out a noise of frustration. ¡°I¡¯m sick of you adults toeing around everything!¡± Freya reached into her boot, yanking out the knife tucked inside and brandishing it at Andurak. ¡°Tell me what you did.¡±

    ¡°I knocked out your grandmother and grandfather and tied them up.¡±

    ¡°And how did you do that?¡± Freya demanded.

    Andurak rotated his wrists, splaying his hands downward. Plin hadn¡¯t noticed it before but the skin was red in big, angry splotches, and there even looked to be a couple of blisters forming. Not around his wrists were he was bound, but spaced further apart, on either side of where his skin had been rubbed raw by rope. It¨CIt looked like a burn. A bad one.

    ¡°They put me by the fire,¡± Andurak said. ¡°When my bindings were flammable. When you took off, it was enough of a distraction to get the upperhand on your grandparents.¡± Andruak let his arms fall to his side. Freya kept her arm outstretched, the point of her knife level with his chest. ¡°Why did you kids run?¡±

    Freya snuck a look at Plin. He wasn¡¯t sure why¨Cshe was the leader between the two of them. Eventually, she admitted, ¡°We were going to help Wanily.¡±

    ¡°And now?¡±

    Freya set her jaw and slowly lowered her weapon. ¡°Now you can help us help Wanily, and the two of you can escape.¡±

    Plin shuffled a step closer to Freya and tugged on her coat. ¡°What about his stuff?¡± he hissed in her ear.

    Freya frowned. ¡°We¡¯re not that far from a town,¡± she said, eyes flitting between Andurak and Plin. ¡°If Mr. Lonesome and Wanily can just beat our family unit there, they should be fine.¡± She threw her shoulders back before she addressed Andurak again. ¡°Right?¡±

    Andurak nodded. Plin couldn¡¯t help but notice how his hands shook, just a little, burned and without even gloves to protect them from the biting winter air. Nonetheless, he said, ¡°We¡¯ll make it work.¡±

    Plin doubted that, but Freya nodded and tucked her knife back into its sheath in her boot. ¡°Then let¡¯s go,¡± she said. She pointed at him¨Cwith just her finger this time. ¡°But you lead.¡±

    Andurak didn¡¯t respond except to do just as Freya said and start following the trail once again at a light jog. Before Freya could begin to run after him, Plin caught the sleeve of her coat. ¡°Is this a good idea?¡±

    Freya huffed. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Andurak is¨CI mean, he¡¯ll hurt someone, won¡¯t he?¡±

    Freya was quiet for a moment. ¡°We hurt them first,¡± she said finally. ¡°Mr. Lonesome is a good man. He won¡¯t hurt anyone too badly.¡±

    ¡°But¨C¡±

    ¡°Do you want Wanily to stay with us? Get hurt again?¡± Freya demanded. She yanked her sleeve back with a scowl. ¡°If you¡¯re going to be a baby about this, go wait back at camp. Make sure nothing happens to Grandma and Grandpa.¡±

    With that, she turned and raced after Andurak, leaving Plin standing there amidst the snowy plains of Oavale. Plin glanced behind him. He could see the smoke from the campfire, could imagine Grandma and Grandpa lying on the ground or slowly rousing after Andurak attacked them. He¨CHe could go back. Stay safe at camp with them. Leave Freya and Andurak to help Wanily and then Mom couldn¡¯t be mad at him for helping them because he hadn¡¯t done anything yet.

    He looked ahead of him, at Andurak¡¯s and Freya¡¯s backs growing smaller in the distance. He didn¡¯t have to go with them. He didn¡¯t have to be disobedient.

    Plin took a deep breath, steeling himself. He wasn¡¯t going to be a baby about this. He was going to help instead of just waiting for everything to fix itself. Nothing would ever change if he did that.

    He took one halting step forward, then another, until he was running after them. ¡°I¡¯m coming, too!¡± he called.

    He could make out Freya look over her shoulder at him, a smile flickering over her face, before her expression hardened and she turned forward again. Plin grinned to himself and pushed his legs faster until he was just a few yards back from them.

    It was around then that he started to hear something in the distance. It took him several seconds to realize it wasn¡¯t the howling of the wind¨Cwhich didn¡¯t even make any sense, there was barely even a breeze.

    It sounded like screaming.

    Plin inhaled sharply. He almost didn¡¯t notice that Andurak and Freya had stopped ahead of him and just barely avoided barreling straight into Freya¡¯s back. He tried to step around her to see why they had stopped, but she quickly turned and cupped her hand behind Plin¡¯s head, pulling so that he was tucked against the side of her body.

    ¡°D¨CDon¡¯t look, Plin,¡± she said. ¡°Don¡¯t look.¡±

    ¡°Go back to camp,¡± Andurak said from somewhere ahead of them. ¡°Both of you. Now.¡±

    Plin pushed against Freya, and though her grip didn¡¯t relent, he was able to squirm just enough to peek one eye out. He froze when he realized what had stopped Freya and Andurak.

    There was blood. Large puddles seeped into the snow and turning it into a red slush in spreading splotches. Atop the biggest of the puddles, bits of entrails and scraps of flesh had been thrown about. They steamed slightly in the frigid air, the ragged edges of skin and organs smeared across the ground.

    Plin swept his gaze around as much of the area as he could. There¨Cthere wasn¡¯t even enough left in any one piece of carnage to know who it came from.

    There were still tracks veering off to the right. They didn¡¯t look any different from the ones they had been following all this time. What had gone wrong? And where was everyone?

    Maybe in a frost lion¡¯s stomach, Plin thought and immediately squeezed his eye shut and pressed his face against Freya¡¯s coat.

    ¡°What¨CWhat about Wanily? And everyone else?¡± Freya demanded. She had always been braver than Plin. Plin wanted to just do as Andurak said. ¡°We have to help them.¡±

    ¡°And I will.¡± There was the crunch of snow, and Andurak¡¯s voice sounded a little closer when he said, ¡°But I¡¯m not risking your lives. Get your cousin back to camp, Freya. Let an adult handle this. It¡¯s too dangerous for you two.¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡± Plin found himself asking, voice muffled by Freya¡¯s furs. ¡°Why¨CWhy are there still tracks?¡±

    ¡°Frost lions are smart,¡± Andurak said lowly. ¡°Even if Wanily found your family the pride and they tried to hunt them down, one of them might have broken off and found Wanily and whoever was with her.¡±

    Then¨CThen Wanily was probably already dead, right? And all the carnage around them was little bits of Wanily and Uncle Reed or Uncle Yonid or whoever had been given the task to make sure she didn¡¯t escape. But there was still someone screaming in the distance. They were wasting time right now¨Csomeone was alive out there and in trouble.

    It was a woman¡¯s voice. It¨CIt could be Mom screaming like that.

    They were surrounded by nothing. Rolling plains as far as the eye could see. There would be nowhere to hide, no trees to climb or caves to hole up in. If the hunt had fallen apart¨Cif the frost lions had attacked them and Plin¡¯s family hadn¡¯t been able to take them out quickly¨C

    ¡°Andurak?!¡± A voice shouted from somewhere behind them. A man¡¯s voice.

    Plin snapped his head away from the safety of Freya¡¯s coat and toward the direction of the voice. It¨CIt was Uncle Yonid. Running toward them from the crest of a hill behind them and to their right. Snow coated his furs and the top of head, chunks of it falling with each of his footfalls, and it took Plin a moment to realize the long thing he was carrying in one hand was half the shaft of a spear.

    ¡°Kids?!¡± Uncle Yonid bellowed. ¡°Run!¡±

    Instead of running away, Andurak and Freya¨Cwho tore herself away from Plin¡¯s grasp with barely a remorseful glance¨Cran toward Uncle Yonid.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Andurak demanded.

    Uncle Yonid cursed and shoved his broken spear into Freya¡¯s hands. ¡°Better than nothing,¡± he muttered. Then, he whirled on Andurak. ¡°Two of the frost lions broke off from the pride and hunted us down. They got Niveno. We managed to bring them down, but the rest of them have whipped up a storm¨C¡± Uncle Yonid pointed back in the direction he just came from, and now that he was looking, Plin could see the top of a swirling mass of snow just above the hill¨C ¡°and I lost the rest of my family inside. I have no idea what¡¯s going on in there.¡±

    ¡°And Wanily?¡± Andurak asked. His voice was steady, but the look in his eyes was as cold as the snow beneath their feet.

    Uncle Yonid hesitated. ¡°She took a hit to her leg,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t think she can walk.¡±

    Andurak took a step forward. ¡°You just left her?¡±

    ¡°I was a little preoccupied,¡± Uncle Yonid snapped. He took a step back. Plin wondered if he even realized he¡¯d done so. ¡°I¡¯d be too slow if I were to carry her back to camp. I need to go get another weapon so I can come back and help them.¡±

    Andurak didn¡¯t bother to respond to that. Instead, he turned to Freya. ¡°Go back to camp with Yonid,¡± he said. ¡°But give me your knife.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to run into a frost lion¡¯s storm with nothing but a knife?¡± Freya said, appalled.

    ¡°I won¡¯t just sit here,¡± Andurak said calmly. ¡°Your knife, please. We¡¯re wasting time.¡±

    Yonid had his back to it and Andurak and Freya were staring each other down, so Plin was the only one to notice movement at the crown of the hill. His heart shot into his throat, his first thought that another frost lion had broken away and was about to maul all of them just like they¡¯d done to Niveno, his mother¡¯s cousin. But he quickly realized that a frost lion would be completely white with the translucent blue of ice¨Cthere wouldn''t be anything yellow on a frost lion. That meant it was¨C

    Plin was moving before he even realized it, running up the hill toward where Wanily was crawling over its crest. He didn¡¯t know what he was thinking. He probably wasn¡¯t¨Cif he had been, he would be running in the other direction. All Plin knew was that Wanily was hurt, tears streaking her cheeks and her face screwed up with pain, with red seeping into the snow surrounding her right leg with each pull as she dragged the limb across the ground.

    Plin had averted his eyes and retreated before, even after Wanily asked for help. He wouldn¡¯t do the same thing again.

    What would he even do when he reached her? He wasn¡¯t old enough to carry his own weapon¨Cthat was still a few months out, when he would turn ten¨Cso he had nothing to defend them. Wanily couldn¡¯t walk, and there was only a small chance Plin would be able to carry her long enough for it to matter.

    ¡°Plin!¡± Freya shrieked, just as Wanily caught sight of him and she shouted, ¡°Run!¡±

    That was what everyone kept telling him to do. Run, go back to camp, keep his head down, and be obedient. But he didn¡¯t want that. Plin would be brave. It was more important than being obedient, and it meant more than staying safe. Wanily¨CWanily could die, and Plin could help her. Mom was always saying they needed to do good in the world when things were harsh. Especially when things were harsh. Uncle Yonid had left Wanily behind to die. Plin wouldn¡¯t do the same.

    He was a member of the Wandering People. What did he have to fear from a magical creature?

    He skidded to a stop at the top of the hill. Wanily was still bound with rope around her wrists, and her leg looked¨Cit was bad. Her calf mangled to the point that Plin wasn¡¯t sure if she¡¯d been bit or clawed or both. All he knew was that he could see white underneath the red, could see texture between the blood, and Plin¡¯s own leg hurt just looking at it.

    Biting the inside of his cheek, Plin knelt down and gripped Wanily¡¯s arm. ¡°Come on,¡± he urged. ¡°Get up, I¡¯ll help you.¡±

    Wanily made a noise¨Cin pain or in frustration, Plin wasn¡¯t sure¨Cand looked back over her shoulder, down the other side of the hill. Plin looked, too, freezing at what he saw.

    The storm raged just a dozen yards away from them, down in the little valley between hills, perfectly contained in a large gray and white dome. Plin could hear the wind rushing, could see the flurries of snow spin and tumble around and around, never straying even an inch outside the influence of the frost lions that had to be inside. Somewhere inside that, Mom and the rest of the adults in the family unit were fighting for their survival. But that wasn''t what concerned Plin.

    Before this, Plin had never seen a frost lion in real life. He¡¯d heard plenty of stories, had seen pictures of them, had left out offerings to them, but this was the first time he¡¯d seen them in the flesh. They were bigger than he thought¨Cknowing that they were bigger than regular lions didn¡¯t help when he had never seen a regular lion either. He almost couldn''t make out the bodies of the ones that Uncle Yonid had killed. They were down in the valley alongside the storm, blood a glittering blue like ice and white coats blending in perfectly with the snow so much so that Plin probably wouldn¡¯t have been able to see them if they weren¡¯t splattered by blood. Their manes still undulated around their necks, clouds of ice and frost that wavered and, even as Plin watched, bled away in little wisps of steam.

    The dead frost lions weren¡¯t what concerned Plin either. It was the living one, stalking out of the storm, one massive paw in front of the other. Its mane spun and flared around its neck, like the frills of an agitated lizard, bits of ice and snow whipping in one massive circle. Its pale blue eyes, the color of the midday sky, glinted harshly as it stepped closer, away from the backdrop of gray and white of the storm that gave its body enough definition to see it. Soon enough, the only thing Plin could make out was those startling blue eyes steadily getting closer.

    ¡°Run, Plin!¡± Wanily insisted, yanking her arm from his grasp and dragging herself forward once more.

    ¡°Plin!¡± That was Freya and Uncle Yonid, both of them and Andurak running toward them. But even if they reached them in time, what would they be able to do?

    It wasn¡¯t until the eyes started bobbing up and down, getting closer much more quickly, that Plin was able to spur himself into action. Wanily hadn¡¯t managed to get more than a foot away from him. Swallowing hard, he quietly told her, ¡°Sorry.¡±

    She whipped her head around, but it didn¡¯t matter. Plin lunged at her, wrapping his arms the best he could around her middle and letting his momentum carry them forward, over and over, around and around, rolling down the hillside. Wanily let out a shriek of pain, her hands finding Plin¡¯s shoulders and her fingers digging mercilessly enough that he could feel her nails even past his thick coat.

    They came to a stop at the feet of the others. Wanily was shaking in Plin¡¯s grasp, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks and choked sobs fighting their way from her throat. Disheveled snow and splatters of red marked their descent down the hill in a clear trail. Plin, breathing hard and aching dully across his body from the tumble, extracted himself as carefully as he could from the tangle of Wanily¡¯s limbs and climbed to his feet.

    His legs felt heavy. He glanced down, only for the briefest moment, just to confirm it was because Wanily¡¯s blood covered his trousers.

    Andurak was beside Wanily in an instant, kneeling down and helping her sit up. She panted hard, her face almost the same color as the snow around them, and her eyes glazed with pain. Andurak set about undoing the bindings around her wrists, and in just a few expert movements, the rope fell to the snowy ground like a dead snake.

    ¡°Hurts,¡± Wanily whimpered between breaths.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be alright,¡± Andurak said in that gruff way of his. Like there wasn¡¯t any other option. He adjusted his grip on her so that one arm braced her back with his hand in her armpit, his other hand hovering by her knees. ¡°But this is going to hurt more. Ready?¡±

    She took a deep breath and nodded. Andurak brought his other arm under her knees and lifted, bringing Wanily to his chest. She let out a hiss of breath between her teeth, burying her hands in the front of Andurak¡¯s coat and squeezing her eyes shut. Andurak climbed unsteadily to his feet like that. Plin could see a fine tremble in his hands, and Plin wondered if they should have made Uncle Yonid¨Cwhose hands were not burned¨Ccarry the girl he had tried to leave behind.

    Plin looked back to the top of the hill just in time to see the white body of the frost lion bound over the top, outlined by the blue sky and making the creature almost look like a cloud. And then the moment was gone, and all Plin could see once more were its eyes getting closer and closer.

    Uncle Yonid cursed, putting himself between Plin and Freya and the frost lion. But what would that do in the end? They¨CThey were all¨C

    They were all about to¨C

    Plin didn¡¯t think. Freya stood beside him, and he didn¡¯t hesitate to reach inside her boot and yank out the knife stowed inside. Freya cried out as Plin ran forward¨Cpast Uncle Yonid and Andurak and Wanily, toward the massive frost lion and its whipping mane. He wasn¡¯t even old enough to have a knife of his own, but that didn¡¯t mean he didn¡¯t know how to use it.

    The frost lion lunged, its presence and movement heralded only by its blue, blue eyes. Plin dropped, skidding across the half-frozen ground and bringing up the knife grasped in both of his hands.

    The last thing he knew was blue.

 Chapter 6: A Wanderers Grave (Part IV)

    (664 A.C.)

    Andurak stood, rooted in place. In his arms, Wanily¡¯s chest continued to heave as she desperately tried to manage the pain she was feeling. But her eyes, too, were wide with shock as she stared at the scene before them.

    Somewhere behind him, Freya let out a keening wail and rushed forward, past her uncle. Yonid cursed, trying and failing to grab her, and ended up racing after her toward where Plin fell.

    Toward where there was the body of the frost lion, unmoving, dripping crystalline blue blood above a growing puddle of steaming crimson.

    ¡°Plin!¡± Freya shrieked. She stopped a step away from the frost lion, clearly wary of the beast despite its stillness. Andurak could see the exact moment she steeled herself¨Cit was the same moment before Yonid tried to grab her again and drag her away.

    She hadn¡¯t needed to worry. The frost lion¡¯s mane, while still moving, did so in a sluggish, directionless way. Its eyes, such a vibrant blue, were dull and lifeless, like marbles. It didn¡¯t so much as twitch when Freya pushed at its head, trying to reach Plin below that.

    Andurak could have guessed what had happened even before it became clear. The frost lion had lunged, Plin had managed to bring Freya¡¯s knife up through the underside of its jaw, and its own momentum forward brought the knife slicing through its neck. It would have bled out in no time at all.

    However, the same was true of Plin. Just because he avoided the frost lion¡¯s teeth didn¡¯t mean he had managed to avoid its claws.

    Freya was crying, ugly sobs ripping through her mouth, as she tried and failed to move the frost lion¡¯s body. Yonid stepped up to help her, and together they managed to shift the frost lion¡¯s body enough to see below.

    Being prepared for the sight didn¡¯t make it any easier to stomach. Only the upper half of Plin¡¯s body was visible, but that was all they needed to see. The frost lion¡¯s claws had indeed found Plin¡¯s flesh, ripping open his torso in jagged lines from his collarbone all the way down to his navel.

    He looked so small, Andurak thought. So small and so young.

    Children shouldn¡¯t have to bear the same weights as adults. They shouldn¡¯t have to fight or kill or die for the people that should be protecting them. In this, Andurak had failed Plin. They had all failed Plin.

    Freya¡¯s sobs turned to wails, and Yonid just stood there, gaze on Plin¡¯s body but impossibly faraway. His hands were fists at his sides.

    ¡°We can¡¯t stay here,¡± Andurak said. In his arms, Wanily was shaking. Her leg was in bad shape¨Cthey needed to get a potion in her or at the minimum find a way to stop the bleeding. Otherwise, Plin wouldn¡¯t be the only child to die today.

    ¡°He should have ran,¡± Freya cried. She knelt on the ground, hands squeezed into fists and pressed against her chest, rocking back and forth. ¡°Why didn¡¯t he run?¡±

    ¡°What about the others?¡± Yonid asked, ignoring Freya. He tore his gaze away from Plin, blinking hard as he focused on Andurak. Plin was like a nephew to Andurak, but he was Yonid¡¯s nephew.

    Or, he had been.

    Andurak stared him down. ¡°We have two more children with us,¡± he said.

    Yonid let out a long slow breath before nodding. He turned and knelt down beside Freya, murmuring something in her ear.

    Poor girl, Andurak thought. He knew that Freya held herself responsible for Plin¨Cthe boy had always followed her, like another shadow, getting into and out of trouble alongside her. He couldn¡¯t imagine the grief¨Cor the guilt¨Cshe had to be feeling right now. Even if she shouldn¡¯t feel guilty at all. They¡¯d only been trying to help. Plin had saved Wanily¡¯s life, if not all of their lives.

    It didn¡¯t matter. They couldn¡¯t spare the time. They needed to get the children back to the camp so he and Yonid could come back and try to help Minora or whoever was still alive in that storm. If they were still alive, and the storm wasn¡¯t just cover for the frost lions while they feasted.

    Andurak couldn¡¯t decide if he was vindicated or saddened by the thought. On one hand, these were people he knew and loved. On the other, their reckless actions had already gotten a man and a child killed and another child injured. They had attacked Andurak and forced Wanily to help them under threat of harm to herself and further harm to him.

    Minora had insisted, to Andurak as much as to herself, that they were doing the right thing. He wondered if she would still think that when she found out her child died to stop her from doing it again. If she was even still alive at all.

    Andurak adjusted his grip on Wanily, as gently as he could to avoid aggravating her injury. She still hissed and clung tighter to his coat. She was not going to like the return to camp.

    Yonid stood back up, one hand holding onto one of Freya¡¯s. He began to move away from Plin and the frost lion, and while Freya still initially resisted, she eventually stumbled after him when the only other option was to be dragged. Yonid nodded to Andurak, Andurak nodded back, and they fell into step together back toward the camp, the both of them moving faster until they were jogging.

    Freya continued to sniffle between her labored breaths from where she ran between them. Wanily watched the ground as they fled, golden eyes dull like tarnished metal. Andurak whistled lowly, and she slowly brought her gaze up to him. He wondered how much blood she had lost by this point before stubbornly shoving the thought from his mind.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be alright,¡± he told her. As soon as the words left his mouth, he wondered how much of it was for her and how much of it was for him.

    ¡°What¡¯s going to happen?¡± Wanily asked. She blinked hard. ¡°Are we... going to leave them?¡±

    ¡°What do you think we should do?¡± Andurak asked. He wanted her opinion on the matter. If it was just up to him, he would come back and help Minora and the rest of them. Though they had hurt him, he couldn¡¯t find it in himself to leave them to die.

    It could condemn him¨Cand her¨Cto their doomed schemes if they stayed though. Wanily had already sustained a grisly injury this time around. The next time, she could be in Plin¡¯s place.

    ¡°They deserve to be left. They kidnapped us,¡± Wanily murmured. ¡°But we shouldn¡¯t leave them, right? They... they don¡¯t deserve to die for it, do they?¡±

    Andurak didn¡¯t know. He knew plenty of people who would say that Minora and the rest of her family should perish for their transgressions¨Cknew some people in Menish and Ninall specifically that would hand him a blade and tell him to take care of business¨Cbut Andurak didn¡¯t want to live in that kind of world. He wouldn¡¯t contribute to that kind of world.

    But he wouldn¡¯t endanger Wanily any further either. Not unless she was willing to risk it, too.

    ¡°I would say they don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Plin already paid the price. He died for me. For all of us.¡± Wanily nodded. ¡°We have to help them.¡±

    Andurak thought her brave before, and it held true now. Wanily wanted to help people¨Ceven those that hurt her. Even when faced with death, especially the death of someone so close in age to her.

    Whatever else Andurak did, he had to get her away from Minora. Wanily deserved the chance to live her life the way she wanted. If she wanted to travel the world and learn magic, then so be it. She shouldn¡¯t be shackled to Minora because she tried to safeguard Andurak. He wouldn¡¯t let another child lose their life for him.

    He¡¯d have to talk to her about that, too. Children shouldn¡¯t see death like that.

    ¡°Yonid, does your group have any healing potions?¡± Andurak asked. If they were already willing to hunt magical creatures, Andurak figured they would have potions in their supplies, too.

    Yonid nodded, confirming Andurak¡¯s suspicions. ¡°A few. I¡¯ll get one to Wanily before I head back to help Minora.¡±

    Andurak grunted. ¡°I¡¯m coming with you, you know.¡±

    Yonid furrowed his brow. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally shook his head. ¡°Aye, Andurak. You were always the best of us.¡±

    Andurak shook his head but didn¡¯t respond otherwise. A better man would have put a stop to this before it began. A better man would have gotten Wanily out at the first sign of danger and simply reported Minora and her family to the elders in Windor. If he had, Plin and Niveno wouldn¡¯t have died and Wanily wouldn¡¯t have gotten hurt. The frost lions would still be alive and free to roam the earth. None of this would have happened.

    It did sadden Andurak, too, that the frost lions had lost their lives. They wouldn¡¯t have needed to be killed if Minora hadn¡¯t tried to do so first, but human life was always more precious than that of other magical creatures. That Plin had perished and that others in Minora¡¯s family unit were still in danger took precedence. If Andurak had to put down more frost lions to safeguard human life, then he would.

    ¡°We should go ahead,¡± Freya said, scrubbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her coat. ¡°Get Wanily the potion and some weapons and go back.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Yonid hissed. ¡°You are staying at the camp this time, Freya.¡±

    Yonid didn¡¯t need to say why.

    ¡°But we should go ahead. We can move faster than Mr. Lonesome right now.¡± Freya insisted.

    Andurak did not make mention that his family name wasn¡¯t actually Lonesome, and that was just what Minora called him. It didn¡¯t sound so degrading, coming from Freya.

    Yonid cast a glance at Wanily, mouth setting into a thin line. He slowed his pace until he had stopped, Andurak doing the same. Finally, he nodded. ¡°We¡¯re far enough from the frost lions,¡± he said. ¡°You should be alright to wait here, if you want, and we¡¯ll go ahead.¡±

    Andurak didn¡¯t trust Yonid as far as he could throw him, but he did trust that Freya wouldn¡¯t let the man go against his word. What a disappointing thought.

    ¡°Wanily?¡± Andurak asked.

    Her eyes were closed, and Andurak¡¯s heart stopped for a moment at the stillness on her face. But then she furrowed her brow and cracked her eyes open, tilting her head back to look at Freya. ¡°Go ahead, but we¡¯ll keep moving, too. Meet you halfway.¡±

    Yonid nodded, letting go of Freya¡¯s hand. Wanily didn¡¯t acknowledge him in the slightest¨Cnot that Andurak blamed her¨Cand waited until Freya had nodded as well. Wanily then tucked her head back against her chest with a sigh, one hand still gripping the front of Andurak¡¯s coat, and closed her eyes once again. A dismissal if Andurak ever saw one.

    Andurak continued forward at a steady pace, even as Yonid and Freya hurried away. He wondered what would be waiting for him when they got back to Minora¡¯s camp. He couldn¡¯t imagine that Wern and Nivian were going to be too pleased to see Andurak after he knocked them out, especially when they learned what had transpired. Andurak doubted that anything would have changed if Wern had been there instead of Andurak, but Wern might not be of the same opinion. The fact of the matter was that Andurak had attacked him and his wife and prevented him from pursuing his grandson. Now that grandson was dead.

    Andurak took a deep breath. It didn¡¯t bear thinking about just yet. Once this was all over¨Conce all the survivors had been gathered and were safe and the remaining frost lions left far behind the group¨Cthen they could mourn Plin. Hold a ceremony for him, as was the way of the Wandering People. Despite the horror that other cultures expressed, they didn¡¯t need Plin¡¯s body for anything. His body would be claimed by the elements or animals or magical creatures¨Cin other words, returned to the earth. There was nothing else a Wandering Person could ask for.

    Andurak resisted the urge to look over his shoulder or to adjust his hold. Neither action would do him any good¨Che wouldn¡¯t be able to outrun a frost lion if another was trying to hunt them down and though his hands pained him something fierce, he would find no relief unless he dropped Wanily altogether. Even then, that wouldn¡¯t fix anything. He just wouldn¡¯t have pressure applied to his burns.

    It was alright. As of right now, Andurak was responsible for Wanily. Minora and her family unit had made it clear they didn¡¯t care about the girl past what use they could glean from her specialty. And look where that had gotten them.

    Andurak would have to talk about that with Wanily, too. Later, when they had healed her up and she wasn¡¯t pale from blood loss. He was still willing to teach her what he knew about surviving in the world, but she needed to be cautious from here on out. He was sure Minora wasn¡¯t the only one that would try to use Wanily¡¯s specialty for her own gain.

    It must have been about ten minutes before Yonid returned, but he did return, huffing and puffing as he ran. Freya, thankfully, was not with him.

    Yonid carried two spears with him, one grasped in either hand and tucked behind each arm. Hanging from his belt was a glass bottle filled with a thick, pale green liquid that barely even moved with each of his steps. When he stopped before Andurak, he moved one spear to his other hand so he held both in one and used his now free hand to pull the bottle from his belt.

    Wanily had opened her eyes when she heard Yonid¡¯s crunching footsteps approaching, and, with shaking hands, took the potion from him. She struggled to pull the cork from the bottle¡¯s top, and Yonid reached forward to pluck it from its place for her. She still shot him a glare, and even in her weakened state it held enough vitriol to make Yonid look away. Still not forgiven on his end, then. Under other circumstances, Andurak might have cracked a smirk. As it was, he merely watched, tense with anticipation, as Wanily gulped down the potion.

    She pulled a face at the taste, but still drank the whole thing in one go. It was, after all, not the first time she¡¯d had a healing potion.

    When the bottle was empty, she brought it down from her lips with a sigh, closing her eyes and tilting her head back. Andurak slowly lowered himself until they were kneeling on the ground, his knees sinking into the snow. He pushed aside the tailend of Wanily¡¯s coat and the tattered, bloodstained cloth that was once one leg of her trousers to peer at the flesh beneath.

    Just in the time it took for Andurak to do that, the potion had already done most of its work. The wound on the back of Wanily¡¯s calf, before grisly and bleeding enough to fill buckets, was now little more than a large patch of raw and red skin. Even that soon lost its irritation, leaving her leg as unblemished as it had been before she¡¯d been injured.

    Wanily moved her hand to Andurak¡¯s shoulder, using it to steady herself as she climbed to her feet. Andurak knew the potion had knit her flesh and muscles back together, but it would have done nothing for the blood loss. Once she was upright, she still swayed slightly, her face pale.

    She took several deep breaths, her grip tight on Andurak¡¯s shoulder. He was anxious to get moving, but he would not be so cruel as to not allow her this moment to gather herself. Andurak almost wished Yonid had brought Freya back with him, if only so she could have escorted Wanily back to the camp. Now, one of them would have to do it, setting them even further behind.

    Eventually, Wanily released Andurak¡¯s shoulder. He climbed back to his feet, still watching her warily. He didn¡¯t know why exactly¨Cher leg was healed and she was standing on her own well enough. It wasn¡¯t like she was going to suddenly drop over dead.

    She¡¯s alright, Andurak told himself. He flexed his hands, wincing at both the burning pain and the stiffness of Wanily¡¯s congealing blood on them. He was not looking forward to holding the rough wooden shaft of a spear.

    Yonid stepped forward, holding one of the spears out to Andurak. He took a deep breath and took it, gritting his teeth at the biting pain of the wood grain rubbing against his raw hands. He could feel himself trembling as he tightened his grip on the weapon.

    Minora had better still be alive. If only so the pain Andurak felt now didn¡¯t end up being in vain.

    ¡°Where¡¯s mine?¡±

    Andurak stilled, glancing down at Wanily. Her head was tilted back to gaze back up at him, her brow furrowed. He shared a look with Yonid, who looked just as perplexed as Wanily did. ¡°What do you mean?¡± he asked slowly.

    Wanily did not flinch under the intensity of Andurak¡¯s gaze. She huffed. ¡°How are you going to find any of the frost lions in that storm? Or any of the people? Are you just going to stumble around hoping you don¡¯t die, looking for people who may not even be alive?¡±

    Andurak frowned. ¡°You¡¯re not coming with us, Wanily. You¡¯re going back to the camp.¡±

    ¡°She has a point,¡± Yonid muttered. Andurak looked at him sharply, and he at least had the grace to look down, ashamed. That shame still wasn¡¯t enough to still his tongue, though. ¡°Without her, we¡¯d be going in blind.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not putting another child in danger,¡± Andurak said. ¡°If you think you feel well enough to come with us, you clearly feel well enough to make it back to camp. That is what you will be doing.¡±

    ¡°If you don¡¯t take me with you,¡± Wanily said, crossing her arms, ¡°I¡¯ll just follow you anyway. You have no one else here to make sure I go back to the camp.¡±

    Andurak dearly wished Freya was here. That girl, while maybe not quite as stubborn as Wanily, would at least have the sense to get them both back to camp. After Plin, she at least recognized the danger they were all in. Unlike, apparently, Wanily, who had already almost followed Plin. And now she wanted to throw herself headlong back into the fray?

    She was brave. Stupid, Andurak thought, but brave.

    ¡°I could send Yonid to make sure you get there, and Wern will make sure you stay there,¡± Andurak tried.

    Wanily fixed him with a strange look. ¡°He doesn¡¯t care about me,¡± she said, pointing at Yonid without even uncrossing her hands. ¡°He¡¯d sooner just leave me than make sure I¡¯m safe somewhere.¡±

    Yonid sighed. He did not, however, refute this point. It rankled Andurak, but there wasn¡¯t much he could do about that.

    ¡°I could make sure you get back to camp.¡±

    Wanily narrowed her eyes. ¡°Then Yonid would be in more danger. And everyone else still back there.¡±

    Andurak scowled. She wasn¡¯t giving him much choice in the matter. And he would much rather Wanily stay with him and Yonid than try to stumble into the storm after them. He hated it, but he would do what he had to to keep her the safest he could. Right now, that meant dragging her back into the fire they¡¯d just escaped.

    Andurak said nothing. Instead, he simply nodded. Wanily¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Does that mean¨C?¡±

    ¡°Yonid will take point,¡± Andurak said. She didn¡¯t even have a weapon. They¡¯d already lost one child today. What was Andurak doing? But then, what other options were there? ¡°You will stay right behind me.¡±

    ¡°Duh.¡± Wanily turned her attention to Yonid, sending him a scalding look. ¡°What are you waiting for?¡±

    Yonid shook his head, more to himself than them it seemed, and moved forward to lead them back toward the mess they¡¯d just left behind. He kept up as swift a pace as he could without outright breaking into a run, seeming mindful to Wanily¡¯s still weakened state, at least. Andurak took up a position a few paces back from him, and true to her word, Wanily stayed right on Andurak¡¯s heels.

    ¡°You will run if you feel endangered, Wanily,¡± Andurak said over his shoulder. ¡°You will leave us if you have to and run back to camp. Understood?¡±

    There was no response, just the sound of Wanily¡¯s footsteps following his. Andurak looked back at her. She stared at him with a strange mix of suspicion and hurt.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± he asked.

    She looked down at her moving feet, then back up at him. It was another moment before she asked, ¡°Why do you care?¡±

    Andurak frowned, slowing to a stop. Wanily was forced to do the same, but she kept a bit of distance between them, enough that Andurak couldn¡¯t reach out to her if he tried. Yonid continued on somewhere behind Andurak before he realized Andurak and Wanily were no longer following and came to a stop as well. He called out to them, but Andurak ignored him.

    Wanily didn¡¯t know where her parents were or if they were alive or even who they were. She had been to Festra. She¡¯d been beaten before. Bones broken, men searching for her to commit unspeakable things. She had asked, before, why he was helping her. The answer now was much the same as the answer then, but it wasn¡¯t the answer Andurak thought Wanily needed to hear.

    ¡°You¡¯re a child, Wanily,¡± Andurak said. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be protected by us adults, not the other way around. You don¡¯t have to be useful. You don¡¯t need to have something that someone else wants. That you¡¯re alive should be enough.¡±

    Wanily continued to stare at him. Andurak¡¯s heart broke a little when he noticed her eyes had begun to glisten. She blinked furiously, looking away. ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°You can still go back to camp,¡± Andurak offered. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this.¡±

    Wanily was quiet. After several seconds, she looked back up at him, eyes hard and determined. ¡°I want to help,¡± she said. ¡°No matter what.¡±

    Andurak nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s go, then,¡± he said.

    She nodded back. Andurak turned and continued on, prompting Yonid¨Cwho still looked more than a little confused¨Cto turn and do the same. And Wanily, just as before, stuck close to Andurak.

    She had already been failed by so many adults, and she didn¡¯t even remember all of her short life. Andurak would not fail her, too.

    It took longer than Andurak would have liked to reach the storm of the frost lions once more. Yonid slowed as they approached, and Andurak glanced back at Wanily again. ¡°What can you see?¡±

    ¡°Well, the storm is magical,¡± she said. ¡°So there¡¯s lots of magic there. But it looks like there¡¯s still two big masses moving through the storm, which I think are the frost lions.¡±

    ¡°What about the people?¡± Yonid demanded. Andurak couldn¡¯t really blame him for his impatience¨Cthat was his family lost somewhere in that furious dome of snow and wind.

    That didn¡¯t seem to be good enough for Wanily, who scowled without tearing her gaze from the storm before them. ¡°I was getting there. I see a little bunch of magic over there,¡± she said, pointing toward the right side of the storm. ¡°If I had to guess, that¡¯s maybe five people?¡±

    The group had left with eight adults. They¡¯d already lost Niveno and Yonid was here. Four people still inside the storm meant they¡¯d lost another. Andurak shared a look with Yonid. His face was pinched, jaw tight, but all he did was nod.

    ¡°The frost lions,¡± Andurak said, ¡°where are they?¡±

    ¡°Circling the group,¡± Wanily answered. ¡°There¡¯s some dead ones in there, too, I think, but yeah. The two that are alive are moving around the group of people.¡±

    Yonid cursed. He didn¡¯t move though, instead looking to Andurak. Coward, Andurak thought but had the grace not to say. They didn¡¯t have time to waste, but Andurak didn¡¯t want to just rush into the situation either. He wished he knew enough magic to send some type of message to whoever was still alive in the storm, and if Yonid¡¯s black hair was anything to go by, he didn¡¯t know any magic.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Without a way to alert the group inside that they were there, they¡¯d have to go in and hope to kill the frost lions right away. That was risky, too, though¨Cwhichever frost lion making the storm would be able to sense them the moment they stepped inside it. That was assuming only one of the frost lions was contributing to the storm and not both of them, in which case the situation could be even more dangerous.

    Andurak wanted to avoid bringing Wanily into the storm with them, but it was looking like he wouldn¡¯t have much of a choice. Unless he wanted to just go in there blindly and, more than likely, die.

    Andurak let out a long, slow breath. He turned to Wanily. ¡°Do you still want to do this?¡±

    She stared up at him, hands fisted in her coat. She nodded.

    Andurak sighed. He hefted his spear up, nodding back. ¡°You¡¯ll need to be our eyes, then. But stay behind me. Frost lions understand human speech, so we¡¯ll have to be careful. You calling out directions will focus their attention on you.¡±

    Andurak didn¡¯t think he imagined the way Wanily¡¯s eyes widened a fraction in fear. Nevertheless, she said, ¡°Okay. Then let¡¯s go.¡±

    Andurak took a deep breath. He started forward slowly, shuffling through the snow with his borrowed spear held at the ready. Wanily fell into step behind him, and Yonid behind her. Andurak had no doubt that Yonid¡¯s chosen placement was to try to preserve his own life rather than protect Wanily or Andurak.

    Andurak paused at the threshold of the storm. Its wind howled fiercely as it whipped snow and gray clouds around the frost lion¡¯s sphere of influence. If Andurak stepped inside, he knew that the temperature would plunge and the winds would be strong enough to knock him from his feet if he didn¡¯t ground himself well enough. The snow would make it impossible to see more than a few inches, and any frost lions inside would meld completely into the storm. He probably wouldn¡¯t even be able to see their eyes until it was too late.

    Andurak hated it. He hated that he had to bring Wanily with him in this. She should run far away from this mess, but if she insisted on doing the exact opposite, then Andurak would do his best to protect her. \He would not fail her.

    There was no time to waste. Andurak took the plunge into the dome, shivering at the sudden cold. It was like being submerged in arctic waters, the way the cold immediately began to sap at his strength. Andurak powered through it, moving inside enough to allow Wanily and Yonid to trail in after him.

    ¡°Wanily?¡± Andurak called over the wind.

    ¡°There¡¯s one coming!¡± she shouted back. ¡°Straight ahead of you!¡±

    Andurak cursed, flexing his hands around the shaft of his spear. The responding pain from his burns was nothing compared to the absolute terror he felt. But he was the leader here. It was do or die. He would not let himself be cowed.

    ¡°Move!¡± Wanily shrieked, her voice shifting to somewhere on Andurak¡¯s right.

    He didn¡¯t hesitate. He just followed her direction, taking two quick steps to the right and striking out with his spear like a viper lunging. He had to yank it back the next second if he didn¡¯t want to lose it¨Cthe spearhead sunk into something moving past him fast. No doubt the pouncing frost lion.

    Andurak thought he heard a guttural growl as he pulled his spear back toward his center, but it was impossible to tell around the wind whipping around his head.

    ¡°Did you hit it?¡± Wanily shouted from behind him. Then, before he could respond, ¡°To your left!¡±

    Andurak jumped forward, twisting as he did so, and slashing out with his spear in an arc. He was met with resistance, and when he brought the spear back in again, it was coated with icy blue blood.

    ¡°Andurak?¡± Wanily¡¯s voice, panicked, and only then did Andurak realize his folly.

    By moving as he did, he placed the frost lion between himself and Wanily. Wanily, who had no weapon and not even the strength to wield one right now.

    Andurak cursed, rushing forward with his spear, just as Wanily shouted, ¡°Andurak!¡±

    His spear hit something that wasn¡¯t flying past him this time, and he twisted, eliciting a sound he was sure was a pained, animalistic cry. He yanked his spear out of the frost lion¡¯s flesh, backing up fast. Through the wind, Andurak could just barely feel the air in front of his face shift, a white mass striking where his head was just a moment before. The frost lion¡¯s massive paw swiping at him.

    ¡°There!¡± he heard Wanily shout. He didn¡¯t understand what she meant, and didn¡¯t get to ask before she exclaimed, ¡°Yes!¡±

    ¡°Wanily?¡± Andurak called. He couldn''t see or hear much of anything¨Che had no way of knowing where the frost lion was without Wanily calling out directions. He uncertainly shuffled to the side, aiming to circle around the frost lion to where Wanily was, but he doubted that would help when the frost lion knew exactly where he was through all the frost and snow.

    ¡°I¨CI think you got it!¡± she said, right before Andurak ran into something. He stumbled back, his spear coming up on instinct, and was immediately met with the sight of Yonid holding up a placating hand. Wanily appeared out of the whipping snow from behind him, her arms hugging herself and her nose a painful looking red. ¡°Yonid killed it!¡± she informed Andurak.

    Andurak let out a sigh of relief. He wasn¡¯t sure if this made up for Yonid¡¯s previous abandonment of Wanily, but it was something, at least.

    The storm around them began to quell. The wind grew less ferocious and the snow less thick and suffocating. The air even grew warmer¨Cnot by much, but enough that it was noticeable. Andurak gave it only a moment to confirm, but though the storm had calmed, it didn¡¯t completely disappear. Which meant the other frost lion was contributing to it and now knew that its companion was dead.

    ¡°Wanily?¡± Andurak said, stepping ahead of her and casting his gaze around the storm. Though the snow was no longer thick as a wall, it would still be almost impossible to spot the other frost lion through it all.

    ¡°It stopped,¡± Wanily said. Andurak glanced back at her. She squinted at some point ahead and to their right. ¡°Okay, it¡¯s moving again, but it¡¯s... not getting closer. It¡¯s running away?¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Yonid demanded.

    Wanily shrugged. ¡°Looks like it.¡±

    True to her word, after another few moments, the storm around them finally began to completely fade. The wind died suddenly, leaving Andurak feeling almost off-balance without having to withstand the gusts. The snow began to fall around them slowly, drifting to the ground and disappearing.

    Andurak still kept his spear at the ready as he prowled forward. ¡°The others?¡± he asked over his shoulder.

    ¡°To the left,¡± Wanily answered, keeping pace with him. Despite her words, she had her gaze fixed to the right, and when Andurak followed it, he could just barely spot two small beads of blue between the vanishing motes of snow watching them from a distance. And then they were gone.

    ¡°It¡¯s leaving,¡± she said softly. ¡°I think it knew we killed the rest of its family.¡±

    Andurak grunted. He wasn¡¯t about to tell Wanily not to feel any compassion for the beasts¨Cthey were violent, yes, but they could, and often had, been won over with offerings. They had only attacked Minora¡¯s group because they had tried to attack first. They had killed people today¨Ca child that had meant them no harm at that¨Cbut the fault lied in Minora¡¯s poor decisions, not in a magical creature acting in its nature.

    ¡°Minora!¡± Yonid called, bounding ahead of Andurak and Wanily. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    Andurak stopped, holding out a hand to prompt Wanily to do the same. Minora and the other four remaining adults of her family unit were huddled together, spears pointed out in a defensive circle. When they caught sight of Yonid approaching, they froze, spears lowering a fraction.

    ¡°Yonid?¡± Minora shouted back, incredulous. Her gaze snapped to Wanily, then Andurak, and finally back to Yonid. ¡°The frost lions¨C¡±

    ¡°Are gone,¡± he answered. ¡°One killed and the other fleeing. We¡¯re safe, but we shouldn¡¯t stay here.¡±

    Minora brought the butt of her spear to the ground, prompting the others with her to lower their weapons completely. Andurak scanned the remaining members¨Cand didn¡¯t see Reed among them. So not only had she lost Plin, but it seemed Freya had lost her father as well. At least her mother was still standing at the back of the group. Her eyes were dull, and Andurak spotted red splattered across her chest. Was she injured? Or had she simply been nearby when Reed was attacked? He didn¡¯t see Reed¡¯s body anywhere nearby the survivors, but there was something in the distance behind them forming a lump in the snow.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Niveno?¡± Minora asked, sounding like she already knew the answer.

    ¡°Gone,¡± Yonid answered. He hesitated, and Andurak knew exactly what he was going to say before he did. ¡°As is... as is Plin.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Minora furrowed her brow. ¡°What do you mean? Plin is back at camp.¡± Yonid opened his mouth to say something else, but Minora beat him to it. ¡°And why is Andurak here? He should be back at camp as well.¡±

    ¡°Plin and Freya came to help Wanily, as did I,¡± Andurak said. He worked his jaw, trying to determine the best way to tell a mother her child had perished because he was trying to save someone she had condemned. ¡°We found Yonid, but a frost lion found us as well. Plin managed to kill it, but he was¨C¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t fuck with me, Andurak,¡± Minora snapped. She stomped forward through the snow, her spear angled behind her. ¡°You¡¯re telling me that you brought my son into this shitshow, and he¨C¡±

    She stopped, suddenly, halfway between her remaining family unit and where Andurak stood in front of Wanily. Her eyes began to shine, and then all at once tears were spilling down her cheeks. She dropped her spear to bury her face in her hands. The weapon disappeared into the snow coating the ground.

    ¡°I¡¯ve destroyed it all, haven¡¯t I?¡± she whispered, just barely audible to Andurak¡¯s ears. ¡°On nothing but a fool¡¯s quest. A fool¡¯s quest.¡±

    ¡°We shouldn¡¯t stay here,¡± Andurak said, reiterating Yonid¡¯s previous statement. ¡°Pity yourself back at camp, Minora. You¡¯ve lost people, but you have a duty as a leader to those that remain. Pick up your spear and move.¡±

    Minora made a choked noise, dropping her hands and nodding. It was another moment before she managed to stoop down and pick up her weapon. She stared at its shaft for a moment, tracing the shapes carved into it with her thumb, before finally shaking her head and holding it at her side.

    She turned to the rest of her family unit. ¡°Gather what you can from the frost lion bodies,¡± she said, her voice steady despite the way it was tight with tears. ¡°Then we head back to camp.¡±

    Andurak scowled. ¡°You¡¯re still going to take from the frost lions? After all of this?¡±

    Minora glared at him. ¡°I won¡¯t let all of this be for nothing.¡±

    Andurak¡¯s mouth was moving before he could even process the thought. ¡°It already is, Minora.¡±

    ¡°Why are you still here?¡± she spat, marching up to him. ¡°You obviously overpowered my parents. Maybe killed them¨CI don¡¯t know. You¡¯ve got the girl. You could¡¯ve taken your stuff and left us all far behind by now.¡±

    Andurak would not cower before this woman. Before, she was the only one with a weapon. Now, Andurak brought his spear to his side, setting its end against the ground. ¡°We came to save you and your family.¡±

    ¡°Great.¡± Minora¡¯s gaze snapped to Wanily. Andurak shifted so Wanily was behind him, forcing Minora to meet his eyes once more. He would not let Minroa take out her anger on Wanily. ¡°You did it. Congratulations, you¡¯re such a good fucking person. Is that what you wanted?¡±

    ¡°All we wanted was to prevent more blood from being spilled.¡±

    Minora bared her teeth at him, spittal flying from her lips as she shrieked, ¡°Really? What about preventing my son¡¯s blood from being spilled?¡±

    Andurak almost told her that she needed to calm down. It¡¯s what she should do¨Cif she did, she might see enough past her grief to recognize that he and Wanily were only helping them.

    Her anger and hostility came from that grief. Andurak understood. Even if he had never had or lost a child himself, he could still sympathize with her. ¡°We will head back to your camp,¡± he said evenly, ¡°where your parents are still alive and waiting with Freya. I will gather my things, and I will be leaving with Wanily.¡±

    ¡°Take her,¡± Minora hissed. ¡°Get her far away from me and my family. Hers is a cursed specialty. Cursed.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the one that kidnapped me,¡± Wanily protested from behind him.

    Andurak shifted so he was more firmly in front of Wanily when Minora¡¯s expression darkened. There would be no reasoning with her like this. Wanily likely didn¡¯t understand that, but it would be in her best interest if she learned when she should speak up and when she should hold her tongue. ¡°We¡¯re leaving,¡± Andurak repeated, before either of them could say anything further.

    ¡°Then go,¡± Minora said waspishly. Her fingers flexed around the shaft of her spear.

    Andurak did not turn his back on her. He took a step back, forcing Wanily to do the same. Minora glared at him and finally turned away, heading toward where her husband stood several paces back and folding herself into his arms. He rested his head on top of hers and refused to meet Andurak¡¯s gaze. Minora was, after all, not the only one to lose her child today.

    Andurak turned to find Wanily staring up at him. ¡°Come on,¡± he said.

    He began leading the way back to Minora¡¯s camp, Wanily falling into step behind him. He watched as Yonid and the others knelt around one of the bodies of the frost lions. Someone among them had produced a knife. Yonid was snapping the frost lion¡¯s claws off with sure strikes of the butt of his spear while the others with him focused on cutting out the frost lion¡¯s eyes. Andurak was sure that they would gather the teeth and whiskers as well, and maybe even part of the pelt. He wasn¡¯t sure if the fur or skin of a frost lion could be turned into a potion, but just the pelt by itself was likely valuable because who in their right mind came out hunting frost lions?

    Andurak shook his head to himself and continued past them. Wanily made no comment on what they were doing, but a glance back confirmed that she was watching the proceedings with wide eyes. She had probably never seen an animal harvested. Messy business it was, but she would become accustomed to it if she wanted to learn how to live off the land.

    Andurak frowned to himself at the thought. ¡°Wanily,¡± he said, slowing until he walked beside her. She hummed in acknowledgement, so he continued, ¡°Do you still want me to teach you what I know about surviving in the world?¡±

    She gave him a sidelong look. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°It hasn¡¯t worked out so well so far,¡± Andurak drawled.

    She shrugged. She watched the horizon as they walked, golden eyes reflecting the blue of the sky and the white of the ground. Andurak absently noted that the one leg of her trousers was still torn to shreds¨Cshe would need another pair. Or another two or three pairs, since she only had the one as far as Andurak was aware. That was on top of all the supplies he still wanted to set her up with, but if she didn¡¯t want to travel with him anymore, that would be a moot point.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to stay with you,¡± Wanily said finally. She pursed her lips. ¡°Which sounds really mean when I say it like that. I just mean that I want to learn magic, and you don¡¯t know any magic, so I can¡¯t really stay with you if I want to be the Archmage. So, yeah, I still want you to teach me what you know. And then I can go off and learn magic or teach it to myself, and I won¡¯t have to worry about, you know, starving or something.¡±

    Andurak nodded. He still wasn¡¯t entirely sure what to make of her lofty aspirations, but if that was what Wanily wanted, he wouldn¡¯t try to dissuade her. If he tried to shackle her to him¨Ceven if it was to safeguard her¨Cshe would probably just run and keep trying to survive on her own anyway.

    Still, children shouldn¡¯t have to worry about providing for themselves. Though, Andurak supposed she already had a fair amount of experience in that regard.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he said. After a moment, he sighed, his breath escaping him in a cloud. ¡°And what do you think of your specialty after all of this?¡±

    Wanily frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I mean,¡± Andurak started, trying to figure out the best way to say what he needed to say, ¡°that you have a very useful specialty. Not just for your own gain, but for the gain of others.¡± Especially in a world that was rapidly moving toward the use of potions and parts from magical creatures, and Wanily had a specialty that allowed her to track down magic. ¡°I think it would be in your best interest to hide your specialty.¡±

    Wanily was quiet. Andurak let her think on what he said the rest of the way back to camp. When the tents and campfire were in sight, she softly said, ¡°I won¡¯t tell people about my specialty. Unless I trust them.¡±

    Andurak nodded. It was a reasonable enough exception. He let the matter drop, moving ahead of Wanily to enter the camp first. Wern and Nivian were by the fire again, Freya sandwiched between them, all of them stricken with tear-stained faces. Freya, however, jumped up when she caught sight of them, running right past Andurak and up to Wanily. Andurak would let the children have a moment¨Che needed to speak to the adults here. He wasn¡¯t planning on apologizing since Andurak had only done what he needed to, but he might do something close. He had still hurt Wern¨Cnot to mention when he bit him this morning when his emotions got the better of him¨Cand attacked Nivian too.

    ¡°Freya told us what happened,¡± Wern said as Andurak approached. ¡°The others¨Cdid you...?¡±

    ¡°Other than Niveno, the only one lost was Reed,¡± Andurak said lowly. He resisted the urge to glance back at Freya, but Wern and Nivian didn¡¯t. Nivian brought a hand to her mouth, fresh tears creeping into the corner of her eyes, and Wern turned away with a curse. Reed may have been Freya¡¯s father, but he was also the son of the couple in front of him.

    ¡°I told Minora,¡± Wern spat, ¡°that this was a terrible thing to even think of. Even before you and Wanily came. I knew it would end in tragedy. And now we¡¯ve lost Niveno, Reed, our sweet Plin...¡±

    Andurak was not uncomfortable in the face of their grief, but he felt out of place among it, a visitor to it. He thought himself close to Minora¡¯s family¨Cthough that position had been slightly challenged by their recent treatment of him¨Cbut he still was not part of her family. No matter how he cared for Plin, Plin was not a son or nephew or grandson to him.

    But he was still gone. Andurak would grieve him, but it would be when he was far from Minora and her family.

    ¡°I¡¯m taking my things,¡± Andurak told them. ¡°And Wanily and myself will be leaving.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s for the best,¡± Nivian murmured. ¡°I don¡¯t know what would have happened if you and Wanily had not come. I don¡¯t know if things would have turned out better or worse. But I do know that if you take her now, Minora will lose some of her means to pursue any more magical creatures. That¡¯s all I care about¨Cpreventing something like this from happening again.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll tell the elders at the next Gathering what happened here,¡± Wern added. ¡°Even if Minora will try to hide it, we will make sure the truth is known. Hopefully it will dissuade other family units from trying to hunt down magical creatures, whatever their reasons might be.¡±

    Andurak nodded. Footsteps and the crunch of snow preceded Wanily appearing next to him, a strange look on her face. Andurak glanced back, where Freya still stood, arms hugging herself and face turned away from them. He wondered what the two had talked about, but when he opened his mouth, Wanily spoke first.

    ¡°Are we leaving now?¡± she asked.

    Andurak snorted. ¡°I will see you all at the next Gathering,¡± he told Wern and Nivian. ¡°And know that I grieve with you for all that you have lost.¡±

    Nivian began to cry in earnest. Tears trailed down Wern¡¯s cheeks despite his obvious effort to stop them. ¡°Thank you, Andurak,¡± Wern said, voice tight. ¡°Know that I am sorry for what we did to you and your charge. Please, stay safe.¡±

    Andurak nodded again. He turned to Wanily. ¡°Let me get my things,¡± he said. ¡°Then we can leave.¡±

    ¡°What about Plin?¡± Wanily asked softly.

    Andurak stilled. ¡°What about him?¡±

    ¡°Is there going to be a funeral? Should we go back for the bodies?¡±

    ¡°No. It is not the way of the Wandering People. From the earth we come, to the earth we return. The world will reclaim their bodies.¡± Andurak glanced at Wern and Nivian, both of whom only nodded. ¡°And we all will parse through the loss on our own and with each other.¡±

    Wanily frowned, but the only thing she said was, ¡°Okay.¡±

    Andurak sighed, but that she respected their traditions enough not to question them was all he could really ask for. ¡°Come on,¡± he said.

    Wern and Nivian stepped aside, allowing Andurak to move toward their main tent where they¡¯d stowed his supplies the night before. Wanily kept close to him as he ducked inside. They didn¡¯t say anything as Andurak scanned the scattered possessions for his pack. He found it tucked into the corner, out of sight and out of mind. He knelt down and rifled through its various pockets and compartments, confirming that everything was in its proper place. When he was satisfied that Minora or one of her unit had not taken anything, he stood and swung the pack onto his shoulders. Its familiar weight was as comforting as an old blanket, and Andurak allowed a small smile to himself as it settled against his back.

    When he turned around, his smile quickly vanished. Wanily stood over a small pouch filled with small wooden toys. The small figure of a carved griffin was in her hands. Wanily stared at it, her gaze impossibly sad.

    ¡°Plin told me they were his favorite,¡± she said. She did not tear her gaze away from the toy. ¡°When we were playing yesterday. He said playing Griffin was his favorite because griffins were his favorite.¡±

    Andurak didn¡¯t know what to say. It wasn¡¯t like Wanily had known Plin very well, but he had still died because he wanted to help her. He had probably saved all of their lives by sacrificing his own. Andurak had failed to protect him¨Cthat would haunt him long after the sorrow from his death passed. But what could Andurak tell Wanily now? And why was she so distraught?

    Andurak asked, slowly, ¡°What did you and Freya talk about?¡±

    Wanily knelt, placing the toy back in its pouch almost reverently. ¡°Nothing,¡± she said. She stood. ¡°Can we go now?¡±

    Andurak could press her, but he doubted that was what she needed right now. Instead, he nodded and held open the tent flap for her. She ducked through it, never once meeting his eye.

    It would be in her best interest to learn how to lie, Andurak mused. It wasn¡¯t a skill that should be necessary and was, perhaps, morally questionable, but Wanily had already proven she had no qualms about stealing¨Cand lying would be something much easier to pull off and potentially just as useful.

    That was a conversation for another day, though. Andurak stepped out after her, blinking against the brightness of the winter afternoon. Minora and the rest still weren¡¯t back, and Freya was nowhere in sight¨Cshe had probably retreated to her tent. Andurak would have to do something special for her at the next Gathering. It wouldn¡¯t make up for the loss of Plin, but it was the only thing Andurak could think of. He just hoped she didn¡¯t blame herself too much. She was just a child that had been trying to do the right thing. Plin had made his own decision to follow her, even if neither of them should have been in that situation in the first place.

    Andurak sighed. Wanily was watching him, so he nodded to her and began to walk back toward the path that would lead them further into Oavale. The crunch of snow behind him told him she was following.

    He would still teach her what he could about surviving in the world. After, they would part ways, quite possibly to never see each other again. Andurak would, of course, offer for her to come to the Gathering at some point, if only so he would know she was still alive. But whether she did or not, he would have done what he could for Wanily.

    He reached the path and began to follow it once more. When he did, it took several seconds for him to realize what was off. There were no light footsteps following him anymore.

    Andurak glanced back. Wanily stood at the edge of the path, looking back at Minora¡¯s camp. ¡°Wanily?¡± he called.

    ¡°Plin died for me,¡± she said, ¡°and now I¡¯m just... walking away. Moving on with my life. I barely even knew him so it shouldn¡¯t even matter, but...¡±

    She turned to Andurak, eyes brimming with tears. ¡°Is that all a Wanderer¡¯s grave looks like? Someone just... left behind?¡±

    Andurak could tell her that it was all anyone¡¯s grave looked like in this life. No one could bring the dead with them. Mediums might be able to peer into Gehenna and its trapped souls, but since the fall of the old gods, not even that was a place a person could be condemned to after death. It was just... the end. A return to the god of souls and then forever lost.

    Andurak didn¡¯t tell her that. Because even though it might have been the truth, it wasn¡¯t what mattered. ¡°No one is left behind,¡± Andurak said. ¡°We carry the dead with us, here¨C¡± he laid a hand over his heart¨C ¡°and here¨C¡± pointing to his head, the two centers of the soul. ¡°If you cared about someone, then they live on through you. That¡¯s always how it is, Wanily.¡±

    Wanily took a deep breath. ¡°Okay.¡± She squared her shoulders and held her head high, marching up to and past Andurak. She didn¡¯t look back when she said, ¡°Then let¡¯s go.¡±

    Andurak smiled. He didn¡¯t know if Wanily would make it in the world, but he¡¯d do his damn best to teach her all he could so she did. And until they parted ways, he would not let himself or her perish. The earth could be merciless, but that was why people had to be merciful.

    And when Andurak one day found himself in a Wanderer¡¯s grave, he hoped Wanily carried him with her. He could think of no greater honor than living on through the future Archmage.

    <hr>

    Plin woke to something tickling his cheek. He furrowed his brow with a frown, swatting at it. He expected his hand to connect with Freya¡¯s¨Cwho had to be the one bothering him¨Cbut it didn¡¯t hit anything. It just felt cold and a little wet.

    He opened his eyes. Above him was a thick blanket of curling white mist, shifting just above him in endless waves of motion. Plin frowned more deeply. He couldn¡¯t even see the sky through all the mist, just a strange sort of gray haze.

    Pushing himself up, he tried to examine more of his surroundings. The ground below him was white, like snow, but completely smooth and hard, like polished stone. He whipped his head back and forth, but he couldn¡¯t see anything else past the mist. Maybe if he stood he would be able to see over it? He climbed to his feet, then stood on his tiptoes, but even that wasn¡¯t enough to peek out of the mist. There was just the white ground, the pale mists, and the gray haze backdropping all of that.

    What was going on? Where was he?

    ¡°Freya?¡± he called out. His voice seemed muted somehow, though, like the mist was eating it up. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, ¡°Mom?¡±

    Nothing. What had happened before this? He¨CHe remembered Wanily, and Freya, and Andurak. There had been the frost lions and Uncle Yonid...

    And Plin had¨C

    He had¨C

    He died, didn¡¯t he?

    Hugging himself, he turned slowly about himself. But if he was dead then why was he awake right now?

    There was something behind him. It hit him like a stone, the sudden knowledge that he wasn¡¯t alone and the exact location of the presence. Plin whipped around, already backing up even without knowing what awaited him.

    It was a person... maybe. Plin craned his neck, following the dark silhouette of something vaguely humanoid up and up until it felt like Plin was staring directly above himself. There, through the mists, were two glowing orange eyes peering down at him.

    Plin gulped. The eyes tilted, like whatever Plin was looking at was cocking its head at him.

    The mists surrounding Plin suddenly spun away from him, revealing the entity in its entirety. It looked human, too. Kind of. It wore something that resembled a cloak, but it was green and textured like moss. It spread from the being¡¯s hunched shoulders all the way down to the strange, white floor and stretched even past that back into where the mists had retreated. From what Plin could see of its body, it looked like it didn¡¯t even have a body¨Cthe silhouette he had seen had simply been the cloak. The only thing holding it all up was something stringy and shifting just like the mists around them, but it was orange, just like its eyes but without the glow. Still, Plin could make out two distinct, long legs and another mass of the strange orange stuff stretching up until it disappeared under the being¡¯s mossy cloak. The cloak had something that resembled a hood, coming up to form a circular frame around the being¡¯s glowing orange eyes but obscuring its face in shadows. It wasn¡¯t exactly like a hood though, because along the bottom half of what would be the being¡¯s face were green tendrils reaching from one side of the opening to the other.

    ¡°Human mortal,¡± a rough voice whispered. Plin jumped, shocked to see the tendrils at the bottom of the being¡¯s face open and close with the words. It was speaking to him? Who¨Cor what¨Ceven was it? ¡°For your crimes against the gods of our realms, you have been sentenced to an eternity in the mists of Gehenna. I will now outline what you can expect from your prison.¡±

    Gehenna!? People didn¡¯t get sent to Gehenna anymore. That¨CThat hadn¡¯t happened since before the Calamity. So why was Plin here? And how did he get out?

    ¡°There is no escape from the realm of Gehenna,¡± the being murmured above him.

    Plin¨CPlin wasn¡¯t going to just sit here and listen to this thing talk. He needed to get out of here¨Cget back to Freya and his mom and his life. So, he turned on his heel and started to run.

    Except, as he fled, the bubble free from mist stayed perfectly centered around him.

    ¡°You will not be able to contact anyone, living or dead, in Gehenna,¡± the being continued. Plin glanced back, but it remained the exact same distance behind and above him. It almost seemed like Plin wasn¡¯t moving at all, but he could see the being¡¯s strange orange legs shifting forward, taking long, slow strides after him. ¡°Amendment: mortals referred to as mediums have the ability to converse with those trapped in Gehenna.¡±

    ¡°Go away!¡± Plin shouted, twisting his head back around and running faster.

    ¡°You do not have the needs of the living,¡± the being said in that guttural whisper of its, completely ignoring Plin. ¡°This includes items such as food, water, and sleep. You are condemned to wander the mists of Gehenna, a land of unchanging solitude, until the gods themselves are wiped from existence.¡±

    So never, Plin thought frantically, his heart in his throat. Except¨Che couldn¡¯t feel his heart beating. He couldn¡¯t¨Cwas he even breathing? Plin tried to suck in a breath, but he couldn¡¯t feel it anymore. He skidded to a stop, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to make sure he could still breathe.

    There was nothing. No burning of his lungs, no feeling like he was missing something. He wasn¡¯t breathing and it made no difference at all.

    Plin gripped his chest. He had on the clothes he had been wearing when he died, but the sensation of the fur of his coat against his skin was muted, like his skin was covered in something stiff and he was trying to feel it through that. He began to pat himself down, rub his fingers against his cheeks and through his hair and finally resorted to pinching himself but none of it mattered. He couldn¡¯t feel any of it with any sense of clarity.

    The mists suddenly swooped back in like a flock of bats, surrounding Plin. His eyes began to burn as he realized the only thing he could feel, truly feel, was the mists tickling his hands and cheeks.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want this,¡± Plin cried. He turned to the being. It was still there, hidden by the mists again, but its glowing eyes watching him. ¡°Let me out. Please let me out.¡±

    ¡°I am the Guardian of Gehenna,¡± the being whispered, ¡°Bryo, the reaper. I will ensure you do not escape your sentence. Thus concludes the explanation of your punishment.¡± Plin began to back up again, and the being held out one hand of shifting orange. ¡°Why are you here?¡± it asked.

    Before, it had almost sounded like it was reciting something¨Clike when Plin and Freya listened to amateur bards that didn¡¯t know how to draw someone into a story. But now, it sounded just as confused as Plin felt.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Plin said. He swallowed hard. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you?¡±

    Bryo cocked its head at Plin again, and then it was gone. There was nothing¨Cno whisper of wind, no extra swirling of the mists. Bryo and his glowing gaze were there one moment and then gone the next, leaving Plin alone in the mists of Gehenna.

 Interlude: Eko

    (664 A.C.)

    It had been two weeks since Wanily left. Two weeks since Eko was given a spark of hope that he could escape¨Cand then a glimpse into the future that gave him a front row seat to the fate of the world. What could he say? Two equally important things in an eventful day.

    Even after looking into Wanily¡¯s future, he hadn¡¯t known exactly when he was getting out of prison, just that he would. How else was he supposed to be there when she came looking for him in¨Cwhat was it? Twenty-odd years? By the mists, what would he do with himself during all that time?

    Well, he had some idea. There were things that happened¨Cthings that Eko could possibly lend an expert hand in tweaking. Just to make sure everything went according to plan, right? Because Eko really wanted everything to go to plan. He did like living, after all¨Cor he would. First, he just needed to get out of this gods-damn dungeon.

    He sat against the side of his cell, bars digging into his back and legs bunched up to his chest so he could rest his elbows on his knees. There was only one guard, Yunt, down with him and had been ever since that bloke came in and tore into the warden, the prison, and everything else, and by the gods was Yunt making his life miserable. Eko got it¨Che was about to lose his very easy job and either be moved to a different position in the prison or be dropped altogether. And well, Eko had always made a very good target to hit, right? Easier to punch down than up and all that.

    Eko got it, but he didn¡¯t like it, not in the least. He had promised himself when he left Fris all those years ago that he would not take anyone¡¯s shit ever again. And, well, he hadn¡¯t had a choice the last few years, but he did now. Or, he would. He just had to wait for the day to come.

    In the meantime, Eko threw his thoughts back toward things he had tried so hard to forget¨Cnamely, spells. And anything else that could help him in his new goal in life, which was, apparently, saving the entire fucking world. Eko thought he had left behind all those grand, altruistic ambitions when Leolin died, but somehow, some way, fate had decided to thrust it upon him.

    He wasn¡¯t even going to be paid for it this time around.

    Whatever. Saving the world meant saving his own skin¨Cnot to mention sticking it to Atlas Stellar¨Cso Eko would swallow any misgivings he had and face it head on.

    Yunt made a low grunt, and Eko glanced at him. The man was sitting with his feet up on the table, gazing down at Eko like he was a rat he¡¯d found in his bed. ¡°What¡¯re you smiling for?¡± he growled.

    Eko hadn¡¯t realized he had been. He shrugged. ¡°Oh, just considering how nice it will be to never have to look at your ugly mug again.¡±

    Yunt scowled. ¡°Oh, you think you¡¯re funny, do you? Think you¡¯re gonna get out of here any time soon? I hope they take you out of here just to throw you somewhere darker and smellier and leave you there to rot.¡±

    ¡°Why, Yunt, I daresay it wouldn¡¯t be possible to go somewhere smellier. You won¡¯t be there, after all.¡±

    Yunt¡¯s face turned an almost comical shade of red. ¡°You think you¡¯re so fucking witty, don¡¯t you?¡± He smiled sharply suddenly, eyes wide and hard. ¡°Tell me again, how did you end up here?¡±

    Eko tilted his head back, letting it rest against the bars behind his back. He pursed his lips, considering. He had made mistakes in his life, which may have not been mistakes at all. Maybe he was supposed to be in this place, at this time, so that he could help save the world. Whatever. The point being, he had been a not-so-great guy for a good portion of his life, and he couldn¡¯t completely blame that on Atlas. Now, he was going to give using his powers for good a try.

    But maybe he could be a bad person, one last time.

    ¡°And would you like to know how your story ends, Yunt?¡± Eko climbed to his feet and padded to the front of his cell, threading his fingers behind his head. He smiled crookedly at Yunt, who frowned at him in confusion. ¡°You are going to be hired by a merchant passing through the Wilds and paid three times what you make here while getting to travel the world. You¡¯ll never marry, but you¡¯ll pick up a couple of rowdy urchins along the way and whip them into shape. Because despite how much of an arsehole you can be, you still got some compassion.¡± Yunt¡¯s eyes widened when he realized Eko wasn¡¯t stopping. He shot to his feet, but Eko kept going. ¡°They¡¯ll make good fighters, and when you get too old to travel anymore, you¡¯ll settle down in a nice town.¡± Yunt banged on the bars with his metal baton, shouting, but the words were tumbling out now faster than Eko could be bothered to stop, ¡°They¡¯ll stop by when their travels allow them, and in the meantime, you¡¯ll help out the people. You¡¯ll actually become something of a good person, if you can believe it.¡± He grinned up at the thunderous expression on Yunt¡¯s face. ¡°Or well, you would have.¡± He leaned closer and whispered, ¡°How about that, Yunt? I saw your life, knew what you were and where you were going. I know you better than you even know yourself, and I still despise you.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± Yunt hissed. ¡°And if you¡¯re not, I¡¯m going to make you wish that you had been.¡±

    Eko shrugged. ¡°And I plan on being long gone before you have the chance to make good on that threat. Funny that, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Eko was saved from Yunt¡¯s response by the door at the top of the stairs opening. Yunt sent Eko one final glare before standing at attention. A good thing, too, as the familiar boots of the warden appeared on the steps, preceding the familiar mug of the man with his head of red hair and perpetual sour expression like he¡¯d just bitten a lemon.

    He nodded to Eko then turned his nose up¨Cever so slightly but enough that Eko noticed¨Cas he addressed Yunt. ¡°Am I interrupting something?¡±

    ¡°No, sir,¡± Yunt muttered. He cleared his throat, speaking more clearly. ¡°What was it you needed?¡±

    The warden flicked a finger toward Eko. ¡°New orders came in,¡± he said. ¡°He¡¯s to go free as well.¡±

    Yunt¡¯s eyebrow twitched, his face turning a shade of red similar to a tomato. Eko grinned. It started as a heady feeling, then it spread through his body, something bright and light as a feather. It was one thing to know, in a roundabout fashion, that he was going to be freed. It was another thing to actually hear the words being spoken.

    ¡°Surely there must be some mistake,¡± Yunt said haltingly. ¡°Sir. We have ample evidence that he¨C¡±

    ¡°Did nothing against any nation¡¯s written laws?¡± The warden arched one thin eyebrow. ¡°Ekostaphollese was given a life sentence for a crime that simply does not exist. It only stands to reason that if the prison is cutting back on its expenses, it would let an innocent man go free.

    ¡°On that note, I must speak to you as well.¡± The warden clasped his hands behind his back, raising his chin imperiously. ¡°Seeing as there will no longer be separate cells for our specialty mages¨Cand seeing that we do not currently have any specialty mages at all¨Cyou will be needing to find another employment opportunity.¡±

    Eko, impossibly, felt his grin stretch wider. He looked from the warden to Yunt and back again, watching with unbridled glee as the warden¡¯s words slowly worked their way through Yunt¡¯s thick skull. His face slowly tightened, the veins in his neck and on his forehead beginning to bulge.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    ¡°Sir?¡± he gritted out, teeth clenched. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I understand¨C¡±

    The warden stared down at him. ¡°Your employment here will be henceforth terminated.¡± He leaned down until his eyes were level with Yunt¡¯s. ¡°Leave.¡±

    Yunt¡¯s free hand tightened into a fist, the other tightening so much around his baton that the metal bowed under his touch.

    Eko let out a low whistle. ¡°Tough break, Yunt. Maybe you¡¯ll get lucky traveling through the Wilds on your way out of here.¡± Yunt whirled on him, and Eko winked at him. ¡°Or you would have, yeah?¡±

    Yunt bellowed, ¡°You¨C¡±

    ¡°Will be leaving,¡± the warden cut in, as perfectly calm and collected as always. ¡°Both of you will.¡±

    The bottom of Eko¡¯s stomach tightened. Well, he knew he would live through this, but that knowledge seemed small and pathetic compared to the huge, maniac smile on Yunt¡¯s face. ¡°Yes, sir,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll go ahead and escort the prisoner on my way out.¡±

    The warden looked sidelong at Eko. Eko gave him a cautious smile. He had saved the warden¡¯s son by spoiling the future where he died in a traveling accident¨Cthe warden owed him, didn¡¯t he? He wouldn¡¯t let Yunt do anything to him.

    Right?

    Eventually, the warden nodded. Eko felt his smile drop like a stone. ¡°Agreeable,¡± he said, before turning and striding away.

    The heels of his boots clicked on the stone steps leading up to the door, and when the door banged shut behind him, Yunt turned to Eko with the same level of unrestrained joy that Eko had felt just moments before. Funny how things often came back around to bite Eko in the ass.

    He chuckled uneasily. ¡°Heya, Yunt.¡±

    Yunt did not respond except to pull out the key to Eko¡¯s cell, the smile on his face never wavering. The cell¡¯s gate swung open with a screech of metal on metal. Yunt strode forward, the metal baton in his hand swinging back and forth.

    Eko held up his hands, laughing again and backing away. When his back hit the wall, he offered Yunt one of his signature smiles. ¡°We can talk about this, right?¡±

    Yunt laughed. That was all the warning Eko got before he was swinging forward with the baton. Eko blanched, ducking and scrambling forward on all fours like some type of terrorized mutt. Behind him, there was the clang of the baton striking the brick where Eko¡¯s head had been just moments before.

    ¡°You little shit!¡± Yunt roared, whirling and lashing out with the baton again in one fluid motion.

    Eko yelped, shooting to his feet and just barely evading the attack. He reached out behind him to grab the gate of the cell before Yunt could take more than another step forward. It wasn¡¯t much but he managed to pull the gate shut behind him, forcing Yunt to stop in his pursuit and wrench it back open.

    ¡°Get back here!¡± Yunt shouted as Eko started up the stairs, taking two at a time and scrabbling for the handle of the door. He slipped through it and looked back just in time to see Yunt throw his baton. Eko started and slammed the door shut. The baton let out a loud thud when it hit the wood.

    There was something warm on his back. Eko froze, turning around himself slowly and gazing up.

    There, burning bright above him, was the afternoon sun. Sure, the air was cold as a frost lion¡¯s teat out here, and the wind made it even more cutting, and Eko was wearing nothing but threadbare, repurposed rucksacks. None of that mattered. Eko could feel the sunlight, could feel the wind against his skin. He found himself laughing, hard enough to bring tears to eyes, and simply allowed himself a moment to bask in the sunlight.

    It had been so long. He was free. Free.

    Footsteps behind him broke him out of his reverie, and he was shooting across the prison yard before the door¨Cleading down to his ex-cell because he was an ex-prisoner¨Cburst open. There were other prisoners currently lounging around, eating lunch and looking appropriately menacing even with their colorful, pastel heads of hair. They glared at Eko as he raced past, still laughing, legs burning and chest heaving for the first time in years.

    He could hear Yunt chasing after him, but Eko didn¡¯t care about that. At the end of the yard, the warden stood as tall and rigidly as a pole, watching Eko¡¯s flight from the vantage of his nose. When Eko got closer, he motioned him over with the wave of two fingers.

    Eko skidded to a stop in front of him. ¡°What the fuck was that?¡± he fumed. Glancing back, he saw Yunt slow to a stop, clearly wary of the warden. One side of the warden¡¯s mouth quirked up, and Eko¡¯s blanched. He¡¯d never seen the warden give anything resembling a smile.

    Still, Eko was pissed. ¡°Oh sure, laugh all you want.¡± Never mind that the warden wasn¡¯t actually laughing¨Cfor the stoic crane of a man, a smirk was basically the same thing. ¡°You know he¡¯s going to try to kill me the moment I step foot outside of this prison.¡±

    ¡°So don¡¯t step outside,¡± the warden said, like a cryptic son of a bitch.

    The realization hit him, then. The warden was toying with him. Eko couldn¡¯t really blame him though. Amusement was probably sparse in these parts and would likely become ever scarcer once Eko was gone. He¡¯d let the warden have this as long as he stopped Yunt from splitting his skull open.

    The warden pulled his wooden wand from his belt, holding it up like a conductor about to cue an orchestra. ¡°Light as a feather, wings would be better,¡± he said. He brought the tip of the wand down until it was a hair¡¯s width from Eko¡¯s chest. Eko grinned at him, recognizing exactly the spell he was casting. It was one that proved the warden was worthy of that head of red he was sporting. ¡°From the bonds of gravity, you will be freed.¡±

    Eko laughed at the sudden sense of weightlessness over all of his body, like he had been dumped in a pool of water. He didn¡¯t start to rise until he focused on the feeling, centered in his chest, and pulled up on it.

    He lurched upward, his clothes rippling as the air moving past teased the edges. The warden watched him ascend with an impassive air about him once more. ¡°You have about six minutes,¡± he said. He tucked his wand back into his belt, nodding. ¡°I suggest you make the most of it.¡±

    Eko grinned down at him. He mulled over what terribly witty thing to say to the man in parting, but eventually he decided on a simple, ¡°Thank you.¡±

    The warden raised one hand in farewell. Eko tugged himself up the last few feet until he rose above the wall surrounding the prison¡¯s courtyard. The guards walking their rounds on top of the wall watched him with a sort of tempered irritation, no doubt having watched him run across the yard and the warden¡¯s subsequent aid in his escape. Most of these guards were familiar with Eko in some fashion, whether just through hearsay or having the misfortune to meet him. Judging by the lack of Eko¡¯s body being used as a pincushion for arrows right now, the news of Eko¡¯s newly acquired freedom must have already been spread among them.

    Eko saluted them with a grin before glancing back at the prison one last time. The warden and Yunt were watching him, aloof and furious, respectively, while the rest of the prisoners looked on with anything from envy to such murderous intent Eko was surprised he didn¡¯t just drop dead out of the air right then.

    The larger complex of Festra sprawled out behind where Yunt stood, and there, slightly off to the right, was the simple wooden door that led down to what was once the specialty mage cells. Gazing down at it, thinking about all he¡¯d lost and the task that laid before him, Eko wanted to do anything but smile¨Cwhich is exactly why he did.

    Tugging on that feeling in his chest once again, he moved himself forward, above the guards and past the wall. Spilling out ahead of him was the rugged, snowy terrain of Vixx. There was a forest not too far from the area cleared for the prison, its evergreen trees tall and dusted with powdery snow. To the north, he could just barely make out the Zestrian Mountains, their silhouettes like sleeping hydras blotting out the horizon. To the south, more forest. Behind the prison to the west¨Cwho could¡¯ve guessed it¨Ceven more forest.

    Eko sighed, the cold air burning in his lungs. Six minutes¨Cprobably more like five now. He should make the best of it, put as much distance between him and Yunt as possible. Just in case. Eko wasn¡¯t an immortal after all¨Cand just because he¡¯d seen himself in Wanily¡¯s future didn¡¯t guarantee anything if that future didn¡¯t come to fruition.

    But that future would come true. Eko would make sure of it.

    Before he could pull any strings though, he needed to make sure he was capable of doing that. So, he pulled himself south, soaring over the forests and snow below. Back toward Fris, the land he¡¯d left behind so long ago. There would be no Leolin there to teach him, no king that would be his benefactor, but he was certain that some of Leolin¡¯s old contacts would still be alive. Eko was no honey-worded Atlas Stellar, but hopefully, he could convince them to continue his education where Leolin¡¯s teachings had ended.

    The fate of the world depended on it, after all. And somehow, Eko was going to make damn sure that everything fell into place.

 Chapter 7: To Cage a Pixie--Part I

    (664 A.C.)

    Maria loved her town. Really, she did. It wasn''t too far north that the wind and snow bared its teeth in the winter, but not too far south that they only had two seasons. There were woods a few miles away, bountiful without crawling with dangerous monsters. The earth around it wasn''t the greatest for farming, but it bore them enough to get by comfortably. A river cut through the middle of the town, water kept clean and beautiful by schools of Vert fish nestled in the mud and only poking their ruddy heads out to munch on refuse and scraps. It was the perfect spot to sit and picnic, and often Maria would find herself seated on one of the benches beside the shimmering water, especially during the spring, as it was now since the turn of the season had just come and brought its warmth with it.

    She would love to sit on the grass and breathe in the familiar scent of earth mingling with water and bearing life, but her bones were old now. No matter, the benches were just as good for reminiscing.

    Maria¡¯s gaze wandered down the river and its bustling banks. There was the bakery where old Jekell sold his bread and buns alongside his wife¡¯s sweeter cookies and rolls. Maria sat close enough to the building that the air was filled with the pleasant scent of bread baking and the spicier aroma of cinnamon and cloves. The pair were as warm and round as one of their freshly baked pies, and Jekell¡¯s wife really should do something about that. Living like that couldn¡¯t be healthy.

    Next to the bakery was the seamstress. Hennia was a kind enough woman, though much too forward when it came to romance. She was pretty, yes, but she put those tailoring skills of hers to wickedness. Surely she should know to cover up a bit more around the married men, and that wasn¡¯t even mentioning the way she swooned every time a handsome traveler came through town.

    A dusty path cut between the seamstress¡¯s shop and the school. The building wasn¡¯t new, instead repurposed from an old infirmary that was constructed during the Necroplague. Nasty business, that, and Maria was fortunate enough to have come out on the other side of it alive. It was almost ironic, then, that the place where so many died was now the place where children went to begin their lives and education.

    Next to the school was the post office. Maria hardly had use of the place anymore, which was a sore spot she¡¯d never admit to Mr. Kentril, the owner of the establishment. He was a gruff man, more benevolent to the monsters that carried messages to and fro then to the people that penned those messages. She never saw him without his prized figona wrapped around his arm. The winged serpent was once a racing monster, from what Maria understood, and Mr. Kentril had made quite a lot of money off of her when they were both in their prime. But all beings aged, and now they were both old and grumpy, ready to figuratively¨Cand literally in the figona¡¯s case¨Clash out at others.

    Beside the post office was the general store. Maria held no ill will toward the owner, Nancy, despite what that old hag might think. It was for the best that they both remained civil toward each other, anyhow¨CMaria provided some local goods to her, and Nancy sold everything else that could be needed in the town. A perfectly respectable and fair tradeoff.

    Maria¡¯s back was to the other side of the river, but she knew from her many years in town exactly what sprawled down the other bank. The main road that connected her town to the rest of Oavale was on that side of the river, and so, the inn and stable were on that side as well. They didn¡¯t see much business, of course, just enough to get by for a family as big as the innkeeper¡¯s.

    Next to the inn was the town¡¯s modest library. Apparently, once upon a time, there had been a temple to the old gods nearby that attracted all sorts of scholars and mages as they tried to fight their way through the temple¡¯s perils for the artifact inside. It had created a small community of people that had use of a library, but that was before Maria¡¯s time. The temple had been long cleared out, the mages all moved on, and the only evidence of the event at all was the small library still standing.

    Then, sitting just beyond the library, was Maria¡¯s shop and home. A quaint thing, one that she only really kept open for emergencies or requests¨Call her other goods went to Nancy and her little store. But she had a coveted position on the main road. Not that she would ever boast about it to anyone, no matter what Nancy said.

    Behind the Maria¡¯s store and its neighbors were the homes of the various others that lived in town, and past that, the mountains separating them from the hostile land of Lirende. If one was to follow the road to the north, toward Vixx and Iten, they would find themselves surrounded by wilderness for miles until they hit the city of Rippell, a bustling hub of activity and more people than Maria could possibly handle. She would take her little community over a big city any day.

    To the east, past the storefronts and homes, were the farmlands and pastures. Maria didn¡¯t often venture far that way¨Cshe didn¡¯t find the smell to be very agreeable¨Cbut she knew most of the farmers and ranchers that lived that way, and they were kind folk. Simple, of course, but kind, and that was the most important thing.

    Down south, if one was to follow the main road that way, they would eventually hit the shimmering expanse of the Bellenii Lake near the border between Oavale and Dryan. Maria had been down there only once, when her late husband took her for their honeymoon. The lake had been beautiful and the locals there friendly. She would love to travel there again, but she was too old for such journeys anymore. She was perfectly content staying right where she was.

    Because Maria loved her town. Even as she watched, children ran along the river with kites and smiles, their laughter carrying on the same wind that held their toys up. Young mothers watched them from the shade of trees or from the fronts of the riverside homes as they tended the laundry for the day. Maria remembered doing that too. Watching her sons run wild, and even as she did something boring and tedious, she felt young and alive. All because of them.

    Maria hated her town. Because, even if she was here, it wasn''t enough for her sons. Even if she would always be here, waiting for them to come home.

    She sighed. She had been a good parent. She had loved them and nurtured them and done all the things a mother should without so much as a sigh in complaint. They should be here. They owed that to her. Instead, she was alone.

    She stood up, clutching her picnic basket close. She didn''t feel like sitting on the bench with nothing but her thoughts for company anymore.

    She began shuffling back home, across the bridge and next to the water''s edge. There were a few Vert fish drifting lazily in the river''s current, their wide, flowing fins waving in the crystalline water like ugly flags. They darted away when she drew near, burrowing into the mud. She stopped and reached into her basket, tossing out some stale bread from a couple days before. The fish didn''t resurface, but they would, eventually, and then they''d be happy little things.

    Maria faced the east as she fed the fish, toward the fields and pastures, a detail that she wouldn¡¯t have noticed any other day. The only reason she thought of it at all today was because she noticed movement out of her peripheral coming down the dirt path between the seamstress and the school.

    Travelers didn¡¯t tend to come from that way. Maria frowned as she brought her head up for a better look.

    It was a girl. Thin frame, with golden eyes and blonde hair that tumbled past her shoulders. Maria noticed all of those things secondary to the most important fact: the girl was filthy. Maria couldn¡¯t tell what color her clothes once were, but they all appeared a drab brown. Smeared dirt, only broken up by streaks of sweat, swathed her cheeks and forehead. What could have been lovely hair was impossibly gnarled and caught with all sorts of leaves, making Maria¡¯s heart ache. What a shame! How could that girl¡¯s parents let her traipse around like that?

    She walked into town with her head held high. A large pack sat heavily on the girl¡¯s shoulders, and Maria was halfway surprised the girl could even walk under such bulk. She strode with purpose, marching past the other playing children who stopped to stare at her. Their mothers gawked at her from their positions further back from the road, aghast, but none of them made any move to ask the girl what she was doing or where her parents were.

    Maria tucked her bread away and watched with a critical eye as the girl walked across the bridge and into the middle of the main road. She looked to the left, toward the south, then to the right, where Maria stood not far off.

    The girl¡¯s eyes flicked to Maria¡¯s basket then snapped away. She knelt and unshouldered her pack, undoing the strings holding it shut and rifling through the middle of the pack¡¯s contents. Maria watched as she pulled out a folded piece of paper and carefully opened it. She cocked her head at it, tilting the paper this way and that. Finally, she let out a sigh and glanced once more at Maria. She pursed her lips.

    ¡°Hey, old lady,¡± she called. Maria felt her eyes widen and her jaw drop in shock. ¡°Do you know where I am?¡±

    Maria clicked her tongue at her, tone gently scolding. "One never addresses a lady''s age, child. And you should address people as ¡®miss¡¯ or ¡®sir¡¯." She nodded to herself. "That''s good manners. Now, where are your parents?"

    The girl gave a put-upon sigh¨Clike Maria had asked a very unwarranted question. ¡°Everyone always asks that,¡± she said, rolling her eyes. Maria balked. A proper young lady should never do something so disrespectful. ¡°They¡¯re not in the picture,¡± the girl said. ¡°And you didn¡¯t answer my question.¡±

    Maria frowned. ¡°Not in the picture? You¡¯re out here on your own, then?¡±

    ¡°Look,¡± the girl said, crossing her arms, ¡°can you just answer my question? And then I¡¯ll leave, and nothing we talk about here will matter because you¡¯ll never see me again.¡±

    Maria tsked. ¡°Child, you really should learn to address your elders with some respect. I am only concerned about seeing a young girl wandering about on her own.¡±

    The girl huffed. ¡°Fine. Then we¡¯ll go through this. My name is Wanily, and I have recently parted ways with a member of the Wandering People who set me up with all these lovely supplies.¡± She nudged the pack at her foot with the toe of her boots. ¡°We parted on good terms, and now I am traveling the world trying to learn magic, so I would really like you to tell me where I am so I can go somewhere I haven¡¯t been before.¡± She gestured emphatically to the map in her hand.

    Maria listened to Wanily ramble on, the picture of patience. When she was done, Maria patted her basket. ¡°Would you like something to eat, Wanily?¡±

    Wanily¡¯s gaze followed the motion of Maria¡¯s weathered hand. Maria could see her bite the inside of her cheek before meeting Maria¡¯s eyes again with no small helping of suspicion. ¡°Who are you and what do you want?¡±

    Wary little creature, this girl was. ¡°My name is Maria. I don¡¯t want anything from you,¡± Maria said honestly. ¡°This bread has gone stale but it¡¯s still edible, and you seem hungry. I wouldn¡¯t force someone to starve when I have food to go around.¡± She reached into her basket for one of the half loaves of bread tucked inside and held it out to Wanily.

    She glanced at the loaf, then at Maria, then at the loaf again. Finally, she snatched the offered food and stuffed it into her mouth. She tore a huge chunk in the loaf with her first bite, chewing as she grinned up at Maria. "Thamfs laffie."

    "Don''t talk with your mouth full, young lady.¡± By Amera, had no one taught this child anything about how she should conduct herself? ¡°Do you know nothing of manners?¡±

    "I don''t care about manners," Wanily announced, and it reminded Maria of her own unruly boys. A fierce pang of nostalgia struck through her. ¡°And would you please tell me where I am?¡±

    "Now, dear, manners are very important. It''s how you establish yourself as a good and respectable character. You want people to think highly of you, don''t you?"

    Wanily arched an eyebrow at her. Maria wondered where a girl her age learned such a habit. ¡°I don''t care what people think of me. I don''t care if they hate me. No matter what, I''m going to learn magic and become the Archmage. Then I''ll help them and they won''t be able to hate me anyways ''cause I''ll be the greatest and I¡¯ll be helping them."

    Maria pressed her lips into a line. ¡°And just how do you plan on learning magic, then?¡± It didn¡¯t make any sense to her. What did Wanily hope to gain from just wandering around, this way and that, except to be mauled by some monster or die of starvation? She certainly seemed one bad day from skin and bones, and judging by the way she continued to decimate the loaf of bread, she hadn¡¯t seen a good meal in quite some time. What person in their right mind would let a child her age go off and try to provide for herself?

    But then, she did say that she had been with a member of the Wandering People. It wasn¡¯t all that surprising, when Maria thought of it that way. The Wandering People were far from the most trustworthy lot out there.

    ¡°I¡¯ll teach it to myself,¡± Wanily declared. She popped the last bite of her loaf into her mouth, chewing animatedly and pointedly swallowing before she continued, ¡°I don¡¯t need a teacher. Don¡¯t want one either.¡±

    Maria hummed. She appraised this girl before her, considering. Maria was old now. It would be nice to have someone else around again, especially someone young and accustomed to fending for herself. And if magic was what Wanily was after, maybe Maria could find something to make her stay. At least for a little while. ¡°Well, I can point out to you where you are,¡± she said. ¡°But, if it¡¯s magic you want, we also have a library just down the road. I¡¯m sure you could learn lots from the books there. I could bring you there if you like?¡±

    Wanily perked up. ¡°Really?¡± She looked at the folded map in her hands, then back up at Maria, obviously thinking. ¡°Alright,¡± she conceded. She bent down and carefully replaced the map into its place in her pack. When she straightened, she swung the bag onto her back, ¡°Lead the way.¡±

    ¡°Now, now,¡± Maria said, beckoning Wanily closer. She cautiously stepped over, and Maria hooked an arm through hers. Wanily allowed it, but she frowned deeply and looked at Maria from the corner of her eye. ¡°First, we need to get you cleaned up. A young lady shouldn¡¯t be going around looking, like¨Cwell.¡±

    Like she¡¯d been dragged through the mud by an ox and dumped in a pit of leaves. But Maria would never say that.

    Wanily huffed. ¡°And where am I going to get cleaned up, then?¡±

    ¡°My home is next to the library,¡± Maria said, politely choosing to ignore Wanily¡¯s tone. She started shuffling down the road toward it, and Wanily followed with not so much as a token of resistance. ¡°We¡¯ll get you into a bath and do something about your hair. Maybe try to salvage those clothes of yours, too.¡±

    Wanily shrugged. ¡°We can cut my hair off if you have scissors. Andurak meant to get me some, but we weren¡¯t able to find any in our budget, and it was those or a compass and obviously I was gonna go for the compass.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Maria said for lack of anything else. That was... a little troubling. A child shouldn¡¯t have to make such decisions. Well, if Wanily stayed with her, Maria would make sure she didn¡¯t have to make choices like that. Maria could provide for her.

    Everything else that went with that could go unsaid.

    ¡°I want to keep my clothes though,¡± she said. ¡°They¡¯re the warmest set I have, and I know it¡¯s technically spring now, but it¡¯ll be winter again eventually so I want to keep these.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I see,¡± Maria said. If Maria had her way, Wanily wouldn¡¯t need to worry about any of that for a while. ¡°That sounds perfectly reasonable to me, dear.¡±

    As they walked, the children on the other side of the river continued to stare at them. They whispered to each other, pointing and snickering. Maria did her best to ignore them. Their mothers really should teach them better than to do any of that, but soon Wanily would appear respectable, even if she continued not to act like it. Then they wouldn¡¯t have a reason to stop and stare or point and laugh. Maria would whip Wanily into shape if she had anything to say about it.

    There were a few other people from town going about their business on this side of the river. Each of them looked at Wanily with surprise before glancing at Maria. Maria smiled at them, familiar faces that she knew would be comforted by the simple act of reassurance. They would nod to her and continue on with whatever they were doing when they saw she had the situation under control.

    They reached Maria¡¯s humble abode without any other fanfare. It was a squat building, with brick walls and a shingled roof. A chimney could just be seen over the lip of the tiles making up the roof, though Maria had nothing cooking at the moment so there was no smoke coming from it. One window looked out onto the street from the bedroom, its pink curtains drawn back to let in the afternoon sunlight.

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    Maria gestured to the wooden door. It took a couple of seconds of looking between the door and Maria for Wanily to take the hint and open it for her. Maria smiled at her and shuffled inside. Wanily followed, letting the door swing shut behind her.

    The inside of her home wasn¡¯t much, with its dirt floor packed down by years of pattering feet, and its wall snug and warm. It had only two rooms: a bedroom that felt much too big and open with only one body and a kitchen with all of Maria''s ingredients set in jars on shelves, tucked away in baskets, or hung up to dry. Wanily¡¯s wide eyes drank up all this as she gaped at all the items. She scurried over to the shelf closest to the door, and Maria almost cried out for her not to touch anything¨Cbut Wanily merely scrutinized the jars and their contents.

    That particular shelf held the ingredients Maria took from pixies. Maria¡¯s town was just big enough that pixies weren¡¯t particularly rare, and their parts didn¡¯t have terribly useful properties. They were good for the occasional anti-inflammatory potion made from their wings, and their eyes could be used for a weak potion that temporarily improved sight. Both items Maria kept pickled in the jars on that shelf. The preserving process made them a little less potent, but if Maria wanted to keep them on-hand for any length of time, it simply had to be done.

    ¡°These are¨C¡± Wanily said, then cut herself off. ¡°I mean, they¡¯re from magical creatures... right?¡±

    Maria smiled at her. She wasn¡¯t surprised that Wanily recognized the parts as coming from monsters¨Cshe did, apparently, travel with a member of the Wandering People, this Andurak she mentioned. ¡°They are,¡± she said. She went over and picked up one of the jars of eyes. Pixie eyes were black all the way around, like the eyes of barn owls, except for when they grew agitated and a yellow iris would appear. But these eyes were simply black, resembling marbles sloshing around in the crystalline preserving potion. ¡°These are pixie eyes.¡±

    She set down the jar and pointed past Wanily, where there was a small tin sat on the shelf. Wanily handed it to her, and she popped open the latch, pulling off the top to reveal the dried pixie wings sitting on a bed of salt inside. They were grey and leathery, resembling a bat wing in a way. ¡°And these are some pixie wings.¡±

    Wanily stared into the tin. She dragged her gaze away, scanning the inside of Maria¡¯s kitchen and store and its various ingredients. She didn¡¯t have anything particularly rare or hard to find in this part of the world. More items pickled in a preserving potion¨Cfrost lion eyes, phoenix hearts, and entire jars filled with the goop from slimes. There were more tins, too, containing salt to preserve claws and beaks and feathers, though those were of course tucked away from sight. And then there were the more mundane items like heather and sage and mint hanging from bundles above the hearth.

    Wanily took this all in and haltingly asked, ¡°Why do you have all this?¡±

    Maria smiled, drawing herself up just a touch. ¡°Potion-making is my trade, dear.¡±

    Wanily crossed her arms. ¡°Where do you get your ingredients?¡±

    Maria didn¡¯t understand why she was asking, but she didn¡¯t see the harm in telling her. ¡°I get most of them from the local hunters,¡± she said. ¡°They occasionally run into flocks of pixies or shoot down enemy phoenixes and figonas. Other ingredients I collect myself. Like the slime.¡±

    Wanily listened to her with a deep frown. She seemed to relax a fraction, her shoulders slumping down. She cast another look around Maria¡¯s home, looking torn between a muted sort of excitement and something deeply unsettled. ¡°But... this is a kind of magic, right?¡±

    Maria tapped a finger against her chin. ¡°I suppose it is. I¡¯ve never thought about it that way, but yes, you¡¯re right. I¡¯m just drawing magic out of items that already contain it instead of using it myself.¡±

    Wanily¡¯s eyes shone with excitement, and her whole face lit up. She dropped her pack to the floor and carefully set it against the wall, just below the shelf of pixie items. ¡°Alright,¡± she said, turning to Maria with a grin. ¡°You wanted to clean me up? What do we have to do?¡±

    Maria blinked. The girl¡¯s whole demeanor had seemed to switch¨Cshe held herself more loosely, her face more open, and her eyes bright. All because Maria had mentioned magic?

    Well, most children were interested in magic, Maria had found. Certainly, her own boys had been enamored by it for years, enough that they each had at least green hair. Runin especially had loved illusion spells. He¡¯d make bugs and rats and even a pixie once appear behind Maria and give her an awful fright when she turned around.

    And besides, Wanily proclaimed the whole reason she was out on her own was so that she could learn magic. Naturally, if Maria said she could make potions, that would make Wanily more interested in her, at least, and maybe even friendlier.

    Maria held up one finger. ¡°Just a moment, dear, and I¡¯ll get the scissors.¡± She turned toward the chest she kept by the hearth¨Cshe was fairly certain that was where she¡¯d left her sewing kit. She had an extra pair of scissors she kept there for this exact purpose.

    She found them and a comb after a bit of rummaging, holding them up with a flourish. ¡°Here we are.¡± She turned back to Wanily, beckoning her over. Wanily bounded over, turning when Maria motioned her to do so, and Maria appraised the situation. She tried running her hand through her hair, if only to get a good feel of it, but her fingers quickly caught on snarls and knots in the length. Wanily¡¯s shoulders bunched up, but she gave not so much as a peep of complaint.

    Maria tsked. ¡°It really is such a shame to have to cut off what could be such lovely hair.¡±

    Wanily managed to shrug without bringing her shoulders down to a normal level. ¡°I tried to brush it but I forgot for a few days and then it really hurt to keep trying to brush it so I gave up. And anyway, it doesn¡¯t look that bad so I don¡¯t know what all the fuss is about.¡±

    Maria resisted the urge to laugh or snort or otherwise poke fun at Wanily¡¯s expense. ¡°Dear, you look like you have a nest in your hair. Or several.¡± Maria was no barber, but she was certain she could cut the majority of the length of Wanily¡¯s hair off while salvaging an inch or two below her ears.

    She got to work. She cut out the worst of the mats and knots first¨Cwhich was most of Wanily¡¯s hair¨Cthen moved on to evening out what was left over. Once she was satisfied with the length, she used the comb to work out the smaller tangles bunched around the nape of Wanily¡¯s neck. Still using the comb, she also began brushing out the little leaves and crumbs of dirt caught up around Wanily¡¯s scalp.

    "You know,¡± Maria said as she worked, ¡°I never got to brush the hair of any little girls. I only had boys. Three of them, all strapping young men now. Handsome, too, and that¡¯s not just a mother¡¯s opinion. Two of them are married, one with their own little ones.¡±

    Wanily grunted, drumming her fingers against her thighs. She probably didn¡¯t care much for Maria¡¯s musings, so Maria was surprised when she asked, impatient, ¡°Where are they, then?¡±

    Maria sighed. ¡°One has gone off to live in the city, one of them is a farmer down where the land is richer, and the other is a hunter travelling the world.¡± She huffed. ¡°All too busy to visit their poor, old mother.¡±

    Wanily tugged at her sleeve. ¡°So why don¡¯t you go see them?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m old now, dear. Travelling is too hard on me. I write letters, but for every five I send, I get only one reply." She sighed, not an ounce too dramatic. "Such ungrateful children. But you''re not ungrateful, are you, Wanily?"

    She only shrugged, and Maria frowned down at her. She was supposed to agree. But the child had no sense of propriety, so what did she really expect?

    Maria remained silent as she finished tidying the girl''s hair. Maybe if she let her think about it for a while, Wanily would change her tune.

    When she was done, Maria returned to the chest, replacing her scissors and comb and retrieving a small hand mirror. She moved back behind Wanily and reached forward so Wanily could see her reflection in the mirror.

    Wanily peered at Maria¡¯s handiwork, turning her head back and forth. Maria had managed to keep her hair to just above her shoulders, and while it was still filthy and stringy from oil and dust, Wanily looked much more like a person and much less like a bristled brucha.

    ¡°Much better,¡± Maria said. ¡°Right?¡±

    ¡°I guess,¡± Wanily said, shrugging. Maria brought her mirror back to her chest with a frown. ¡°Can we go to the library now?¡±

    ¡°You should say ¡®thank you¡¯ when someone does something kind for you, dear,¡± Maria chided.

    Without missing a beat, Wanily deadpanned, ¡°Thanks.¡± She stepped back from Maria. ¡°So, library?¡±

    Maria chuckled. ¡°Simmer down, dear. We still need to wash off all that dirt, hm? I have some water from the morning¡¯s dishes I haven¡¯t tossed out yet.¡± She motioned to the corner of the room where a large, wooden basin of murky water sat. ¡°It''ll be cold by now, but it will still get the job done. I¡¯m sure I can find a change of clothes for you when you¡¯re done.¡±

    Wanily huffed. ¡°Alright. But I¡¯m moving the tub to the other room.¡±

    Maria opened her mouth, thought of how Wanily effortlessly toted around that massive pack of hers, and closed her mouth. ¡°Sounds good, dear. I¡¯ll go find some clothes for you.¡±

    Maria went to her bedroom while Wanily rolled her sleeves up. She would leave Wanily to it.

    Her bedroom was a sparse room, with only a large bed, a chest at the foot of the bed, and a wardrobe against the other wall. She drew the curtains to the window, and with that done, opened the chest and pulled out a dress. It was a keepsake from Maria¡¯s younger days, the fabric a pretty, pastel pink and the garment itself slim as a reed. It would probably still be a little big and long on Wanily¡¯s underfed body, but it was the best Maria could offer her. She laid it carefully on the bed.

    Harsh footsteps on the dirt floor made Maria turn and watch as Wanily, red in the face, waddled into the room with the tub held in front of her. Her outstretched arms shook with the effort of not dropping it, but she managed to bring it to the middle of the room before she bent her knees and let the tub fall an inch to the floor. The water inside sloshed up in big droplets that fell back into the bucket with a rushing sound like dust peppering stone.

    ¡°There,¡± Wanily said. She glanced around the room, gaze lingering on the window with its curtains drawn, and nodded to herself. She unceremoniously began to shuck off her filthy clothes, depositing them into a heap by her feet.

    Maria politely averted her gaze and shuffled back toward the kitchen. ¡°I¡¯ll fetch some soap and a rag,¡± she said as Wanily dropped into the tub with a small splash.

    ¡°Ack!¡± she squeaked, gripping the edges of the tub until her fingers turned white. ¡°Cold!¡±

    ¡°I warned you,¡± Maria said over her shoulder, smiling.

    She grabbed a bar of soap and a spare rag from a cabinet in the kitchen and shuffled back into the bedroom just in time to see Wanily dunk her head under the water. When she resurfaced, her teeth were chattering, but she uttered no complaint, simply holding out her hands. Maria handed her the soap, and she got to work scrubbing down her arms and legs. The water, already gray and cloudy from the dishes that morning, steadily turned darker and darker.

    Once Wanily had scrubbed down her body she swiped the soap against her hair several times before using her other hand to rub it in, frothing her head in suds. She held her breath and went under the water again, this time for several seconds as her hands came up to rub at her hair, teasing out the soap lathering it.

    Maria watched with a critical eye to make sure Wanily didn¡¯t miss anything, but she thoroughly scrubbed and lathered and rubbed until Maria could actually see skin instead of grime. By the time she was finished, she was shivering and the chatter of her teeth could have been mistaken for hoofbeats against stone. Still, she didn¡¯t make so much as a peep as she climbed out of the tub and accepted the rag from Maria, wiping the water from her body and hair. Maria grabbed the dress from her bed and handed that to Wanily next.

    Just as Maria thought, the dress was loose on Wanily around the waist and chest, and the skirt haloed her ankles. One sleeve of the dress slipped off Wanily¡¯s shoulder as she grabbed the skirt and twisted one way then another, examining herself. ¡°Not bad,¡± she said.

    Maria cleared her throat.

    Wanily rolled her eyes. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Maria smiled. ¡°You¡¯re welcome, dear. Now, get your boots on. I think it¡¯s time we went to the library.¡±

    Wanily brightened, a lopsided grin overtaking her face. She stepped into her boots and hooked her arm through Maria¡¯s once more. ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡±

    Maria let Wanily pull her back to the front door. She opened it for the both of them and tugged Maria through with an urgency like the reaper itself was after her. Outside, the wind had died down to a light breeze, enough to be refreshing but too little to keep kites in the air. The children now sat still as statues, waiting with wide eyes trained on the riverbed. Whenever a Vert fish was lulled into a false sense of security and wriggled out of the mud to float in the current, the kids would shriek and plunge their small hands into the water. The poor fish would flare its wide, flowing fins and blow a jet of bubbles in a cloud around it before darting back into the mud. The children always erupted into laughter.

    Maria resisted the urge to click her tongue. It wasn¡¯t her place to scold those children, but their mothers really should teach them better than to torment the Vert fish. Since the Necroplague and their first conception, they had become a cornerstone of any community, purifying the water from not only the necro algae but many other sources of disease. The children really should leave them be.

    Wanily slowed for only a moment as she watched the other children, her eyes wide. Her gaze was quick to skitter away though, and she continued to tug Maria forward to the library next door. She wanted to learn magic, and it seemed she would not let anything distract her from that goal.

    Maria hadn''t been lying when she said the library was small. It was little bigger than her own home, and the only thing distinguishing the building was the wooden sign that hung over the road. The roof had recently been coated with tar to help keep the rain out in preparation for the spring showers. Maria had to tug Wanily to a stop in front of the steps leading up to the entrance, and that was when she got the first inkling that maybe this visit wouldn''t go as planned.

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s this one?¡± Wanily asked, frowning up at the building.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Maria said slowly. ¡°Didn¡¯t you read the sign?¡±

    Wanily gave her an incredulous look. ¡°What makes you think I know how to read?¡±

    Maria frowned. ¡°You don¡¯t¨C? But then, what were you going to do in the library?¡±

    ¡°Look at the pictures,¡± Wanily said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

    How should Maria put this? ¡°Dear, I don¡¯t think the books you¡¯ll be looking at will have pictures.¡±

    ¡°What!?¡± Wanily whirled toward her, tearing her arm from Maria. ¡°How can they not have pictures? How am I supposed to¨C¡± she cut herself off with a frustrated sound in the back of her throat, hands curling into fists. She let out an explosive breath, all the fire leaving her in one fell swoop that left her frame drooping. ¡°You know what? It¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll just keep moving. Thanks anyway, Maria.¡±

    This was perfect. Maria had something Wanily wanted, and Wanily had something that Maria wanted.

    ¡°Well,¡± Maria gathered herself up before Wanily could turn away, ¡°I can teach you.¡±

    Wanily narrowed her eyes. ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Maria said, folding her hands on top of one another in front of her. She smiled at Wanily. ¡°You want to learn how to read, and I know how. And in the meantime, you can stay with me and help me out around my home and shop.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re doing this so I¡¯ll help you,¡± Wanily said slowly.

    ¡°It¡¯s only fair, isn¡¯t it? I help you, and you help me. You would owe me that much.¡± It all made perfect sense to Maria. She couldn¡¯t understand why Wanily was looking at her like that, all indignation and incense.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t owe you anything,¡± Wanily hissed. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t help others because you want something in return¨Cyou should help others because it¡¯s the right thing to do.¡±

    Maria pursed her lips. She didn¡¯t like how Wanily was talking to her, not one bit. ¡°You will watch your tone with me, young lady. Show your elders some respect.¡±

    ¡°Try earning it, then,¡± Wanily retorted.

    Maria gasped. She hastily glanced around. There were still plenty of people out and about at the moment, children to set bad examples for and their judging mothers. She seized Wanily¡¯s ear, yanking down. Wanily let out a sharp yelp and followed the movement so she had to roll her eyes up to meet Maria¡¯s glare. ¡°How dare you speak to me like that? I¡¯ve done nothing but show you kindness and patience, and you¡¯ve been just as ungrateful as every other child I¡¯ve ever taken care of. I¡¯m offering you something good here, and you seem incapable of appreciating it.¡±

    Wanily clawed at her grip until Maria released her. Wanily tenderly massaged her earlobe, glowering at Maria. After a moment, all the rage drained from her expression, leaving just a sullen child. ¡°You talk about respect, but it¡¯s obvious you don¡¯t respect me. You just want me to do stuff for you.¡± Maria opened her mouth, but Wanily continued, ¡°And y¡¯know, I know that¡¯s what people do. Lots of them want to use other people, but it¡¯s stupid to pretend that you don¡¯t want that. So just...¡± Wanily trailed off with a sigh, crossing her arms and looking away. ¡°I¡¯m okay with staying with you, if you¡¯ll teach me. And I¡¯m okay doing things for you, if that¡¯s what I have to do. But I¡¯m not okay with you acting like you¡¯re doing me some big, ol¡¯ favor that I need to spend all this time and effort making up to you. So, just treat me like a person, and I¡¯ll do the same for you.¡±

    Maria felt her own indignation wilt. She let out a long breath, face easing from a scowl into a more palatable grimace. She sighed, touching an old, thin hand to Wanily¡¯s arm. Wanily regarded her warily but didn¡¯t move away. For that, Maria was grateful. ¡°Alright, alright. That''s enough of that," she huffed. She knew the words she should say but they wouldn''t come out. Her apology sat on her tongue and burned and soured until she swallowed it back. "If I ask for your help, will you give it?"

    "Yeah." Wanily gave her a dubious look, like that had been obvious. ¡°Of course. That¡¯s why I want to learn magic¨Cto become the Archmage and help people.¡±

    Maria nodded. ¡°Okay.¡± She looked back up at the library. ¡°Then we¡¯ll wait to come here, alright? Until you know how to read. I can teach you or we could even have you attend our school.¡± Wanily grumbled something, and Maria clicked her tongue at her. ¡°Speak up, Wanily. It¡¯s impolite to mumble.¡±

    Wanily sighed, kicking at the ground with the toe of her boot. ¡°It was nothing. I don¡¯t really want to go to the school, so I¡¯m fine with you just teaching me.¡±

    ¡°Alright then,¡± Maria said, smiling. ¡°I taught all my boys to read, you know, so I¡¯m sure I won¡¯t have any problem at all teaching you, too. And maybe,¡± Maria added, smile becoming just the barest touch sly, ¡°I can teach you a thing or two about potion-making along the way.¡±

    That got Wanily¡¯s attention. She stood up straight, both feet planted firmly on the ground. ¡°Really?¡± she asked, eyes shining.

    Maria chuckled. ¡°Of course. If you¡¯re going to be helping me in my shop, you¡¯ll need to know a thing or two about potions and their ingredients.¡±

    That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Wanily¡¯s face fell and she looked away sharply. ¡°Right. I¡¯m going to help you in your shop. Using parts from magical creatures to make potions.¡±

    ¡°Is there a problem?¡±

    Wanily sighed through her nose. ¡°No. We¡¯re just... helping each other, right?¡±

    Maria pressed her lips into a line. She didn¡¯t like it when Wanily put it like that¨Cit made Maria sound almost predatory¨Cbut that was the core of the matter. ¡°Right.¡± Maria held out her arm, and Wanily hooked hers through it. Maria led the way back to her home, Wanily walking alongside her and slowing her pace to match Maria¡¯s.

    Maria stopped the both of them before they went back inside. ¡°Wanily,¡± she began. Wanily spun to face Maria, wary. ¡°You do realize... I¡¯m not the only one. That looks for something in exchange for doing someone a favor. For helping.¡±

    Her eyes fell. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ve seen it loads while I¡¯ve been traveling, and before that, too. People will help me but only if I can offer them something.¡± She scrunched up her nose before her expression softened. ¡°It was Andurak, actually, that made me change my mind. The member of the Wandering People that helped me. He told me that just because everyone else demanded something, I didn¡¯t have to. It didn¡¯t cost him anything to teach me how to survive in the wilderness. So he did. He didn¡¯t ask for anything in return, but his kindness made me want to be kind, too.¡± She shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s why I want to learn magic and become the Archmage. I can help people with my magic, and it won¡¯t cost me anything.¡±

    Maria gave her a sad smile. ¡°That¡¯s very noble of you, dear.¡± She let the matter drop, ushering her into the house. Who was she to crush Wanily¡¯s dreams? Life would do that more effectively than Maria could.

    It made something in Maria¡¯s gut squirm, though. Before, she had hoped Wanily would stick around as long as Maria could entice her to, but now she just hoped Wanily would move on as quickly as possible. Maria didn¡¯t want to watch her grow up and become selfish. Everyone always did.

 Chapter 8: To Tame a Pixie--Part II

    (664 A.C.)

    The next day came with a springtime sunrise chasing away the chill of the night. Maria sat up in her bed, stretching her stiff back, and peering down at the ground next to her. There, nestled in some spare blankets, was Wanily, still slumbering peacefully with one arm tucked under her head like a pillow. Maria had outfitted her in one of her white sleeping gowns last night, and while she was practically swimming in it, she hadn¡¯t offered any complaint. And now, between that and the blankets¨Crough as they were¨Cshe appeared quite cozy.

    Maria folded her hands in her lap, thinking. She had a small, old chalkboard from when her sons were young that she could use to write down the alphabet for Wanily, get her started in learning how to read. She seemed a bright enough girl and certainly a determined one¨CMaria had no doubt it wouldn¡¯t take her very long to get the hang of it. Actually understanding dense texts on magic was another story, but they would cross that bridge when they came to it.

    Maria would have to hammer some understanding of manners and etiquette into Wanily¡¯s head, too.  It was more than just keeping up appearances, no matter what anyone else said. Though there was some merit in good first impressions, Wanily had to understand the proper way to conduct herself. How else would she ever fit in or have anyone accept her?

    Then there was the matter of potion-making. Maria couldn¡¯t help but notice Wanily had some mixed feelings about the whole business, but potions really were quite miraculous remedies for most ailments or useful in bolstering certain abilities. Maria was certain she could warm Wanily up to potion-making¨Cand her nimble fingers would make picking most extractory ingredients a breeze. Yes, Maria was sure she would be quite useful.

    Maria couldn¡¯t help but keep replaying their conversation yesterday. Treat me like a person, Wanily had said. But Maria was. That was the way she treated everyone¨Cher neighbors, her late husband, her sons.

    So where are they? A voice whispered in the back of her mind. If you¡¯re really so kind and generous and loving, why aren¡¯t they here for you?

    Maria gave a quiet sigh. Suddenly, she didn¡¯t feel like sitting around with just her thoughts for company. She swung her legs over the edge of her bed frame and rose. She tried to creep around Wanily quietly enough that she didn¡¯t wake her, but it was a fruitless effort. Wanily woke the moment Maria took her first step, eyes shooting open and her feet halfway under her in the span of half a second. When she saw Maria, she frowned and glanced around.

    ¡°What time is it?¡± she groused, throwing herself back to the ground and tugging one of the blankets back over her head. Her voice was muffled by the blanket when she said, ¡°Too early.¡±

    Maria chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I woke you, dear. You¡¯re fine if you want to go back to sleep, but I¡¯m going to go gather some potion ingredients.¡±

    That had Wanily back out from under the blanket in the blink of an eye. ¡°What kind of ingredients?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Oh, sage, heather, rosemary¨Cdifferent herbs and flowers that help draw out the properties of monster parts.¡± Maria frowned. ¡°Why?¡±

    Wanily rubbed at her eyes, banishing the last dregs of sleep latched to her. ¡°Well, it''s wrong to go out hunting magical creatures. And dangerous,¡± she added quietly.

    ¡°Who told you it was wrong?¡± Maria asked, but it was obvious when she gave it more than a second¡¯s thought. ¡°Oh, that Andurak that helped you? He told you that it''s wrong to hurt monsters, right?¡± Wanily nodded. ¡°But I bet he also told you how important human life is, didn''t he?¡± Wanily nodded again, a frown on her face. ¡°You see the problem, don''t you, dear? You say you want to help people¨Cwell, potions help people. The Wandering People value the lives of monsters so much that they won''t hunt them, but they also claim that human life is more precious. So why don''t they make potions?¡±

    ¡°I don''t know.¡±

    ¡°It''s because they''re hypocrites, dear. The whole lot of them.¡±

    Wanily frowned more deeply. ¡°What''s a hypocrite?¡±

    ¡°Someone that says one thing and does another.¡±

    Wanily snorted. ¡°They''re not all like that, then,¡± she muttered darkly. Before Maria could comment on that, Wanily climbed to her feet, her borrowed nightgown bunching on the ground around her in rolls. She grabbed a handful of the fabric and twisted the gown around her body, back and forth. ¡°I''ll have to change into the summer clothes I have in my pack. So I can go with you.¡±

    Maria smiled at her. Yesterday evening, she had put Wanily''s fur clothing off to the side for washing later, but that would be too warm for laboring in the nearby fields anyway. It was good she had another set. ¡°Later we can go to Hennia''s shop and buy you some more clothes, too.¡±

    Wanily gave a one-shouldered shrug and padded past Maria into the kitchen area, the night gown trailing after her in a wave. Maria huffed, just loud enough for Wanily to hear, and Wanily stopped and sighed, ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Maria smiled to herself and followed after Wanily. She had grabbed her clothes¨Cplain brown trousers and a green shirt¨Cand was shuffling back into Maria''s bedroom. Maria left her to it, heading to the hearth and its dormant fire. Her hair had once been as blonde as Wanily''s, reflecting the handful of very basic spells she knew. She used one of them now to light the fireplace, muttering the cantrip quietly and smiling when the kindling caught. She only knew how to make a small lick of flame, good really only for lighting fires like this, so she would still have to build it up into something useful.

    She took the time to do so, and once the fire was crackling happily, she fetched a large kettle and headed for the door. Wanily was just coming out of the bedroom in clothes that actually fit her this time around and the small bit of her hair left tied back with a white ribbon into a short, lopsided ponytail. Maria clicked her tongue at her. ¡°I''ll fix your hair when I get back,¡± she said. ¡°I''m just going to fetch some water from the river.¡±

    Wanily shrugged and took a seat at Maria''s kitchen table. Most of its surface was covered with crates of bottles both full and empty, but Wanily had just enough room to set her elbows on the table''s top and lay her head in one hand. Maria clicked her tongue again.

    ¡°Don''t put your elbows on the table,¡± she chided. ¡°It''s not proper.¡±

    ¡°For the love of Amera,¡± Wanily hissed, but she obediently brought her arms down to her side.

    Maria could have done without the lip, but that Wanily had done as she said was enough for her. She smiled, ignoring Wanily''s pout, and left for the river.

    Outside, there weren''t many people out yet. A few men heading down the path to the fields, and Nancy was out putting up a sign in front of her store boasting some new wares straight from the empire. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and simply waved. Nancy did not acknowledge her.

    Maria stood and waited as a man passed by with a donkey. The donkey¡¯s back and sides were laden with fine leather bags, several of them so stuffed they looked like brown frogs with throats on the brink of a ribbit. Despite each of its slow, steady steps, its eyes were bright and its tail flicked every so often behind it.

    The man tipped his black hat to Maria as he passed. It was the kind of hat that appeared plain at first glance, but to the critical eye its quality became obvious. Add that to the nondescript but clearly tailored clothes on the man''s body and his orange hair and the stranger made it difficult not to stare.

    Still, Maria merely smiled and waved at him, too. After he passed, she stepped up to the river and dipped her kettle into the currents, ignoring the Vert fish that zipped away from her and buried themselves in the muddy bank. She stood and, discreetly as possible, glanced over her shoulder. The stranger had stopped in front of the library and was tying his donkey to a post in the entryway. Then, he pressed his hat more firmly on his head and went in.

    A mage hoping to see what secrets lied in the texts of their library, then? It wasn''t unheard of, but it was still rare to see such a high level mage doing something other than fighting in the war.

    Maybe Maria should wait a little while to bring Wanily out¨Cat least until this mage had moved on. Or maybe she should drop Wanily in this mage¡¯s lap and see what he does? Maria did want to keep Wanily around to help her and keep her company, but Wanily was adamant about learning magic and Maria wasn¡¯t heartless. She could treat Wanily like a person with her own wants and dreams and desires.

    Maybe Maria should go talk to this mage. See what all the fuss was about.

    She returned to her house. Wanily sat in the exact same spot Maria had left her, except she¡¯d put her elbows on the table again and had her head in her hand. She straightened when she caught sight of Maria, her arms shooting back to her sides. Maria smiled at her and went to the fireplace, hefting the kettle up and hanging it above the fire.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be right back, dear,¡± Maria said. She poured some meal into the water, grabbed a wooden ladle hanging on the hearth, and gave the pot a quick stir. She tapped the ladle against the edge of the kettle before hanging it back up. ¡°Keep an eye on that, alright?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± She flicked the edge of one of the crates, clearly bored. She didn¡¯t look up at Maria.

    Maria shuffled back outside and went to the library this time, passing the mage¡¯s donkey as she entered the building. The donkey flicked its tail at her, its wide-eyed gaze critical, but it soon turned its attention elsewhere¨Cprobably when it realized she didn¡¯t have any food on her.

    Inside, the library was much the same as any other time Maria had visited. Bookshelves lined the walls, with a couple standing in the middle of the store as well. Two small tables with lonely chairs were situated in the corners, mostly out of the way of the books. John, the old librarian, sat behind a counter to the immediate right of the entryway, a book opened in front of him. The mage stood in front of Maria, black hat in his hands, and spoke in hushed tones with John.

    ¡°I¡¯m willing to pay quite handsomely,¡± the mage said. He glanced at Maria as she entered but quickly fixed his attention back on John.

    John tapped one withered finger against the wooden countertop. ¡°How much is handsomely?¡±

    ¡°Five hundred marks each.¡±

    That was the empire¡¯s currency¨Cworth far more to traders in Oavale than their own. Maria felt her eyes widen, and even John sat up a bit straighter. He smoothed his wispy white hair back with one weathered hand in a gesture Maria knew to be a nervous habit. ¡°You realize I have almost three dozen books on magic? That price would be¨C¡±

    ¡°More than fair,¡± the man cut in smoothly. ¡°For books that no one else in the world has? Yes, myself and my employer are more than willing to pay.¡±

    John ran a hand down his beard this time, shaking his head slightly. ¡°I don¡¯t understand why you would go through all the trouble,¡± he muttered. ¡°But for that price? I¡¯d be stupid to pass you up.¡± John placed both hands on the counter and stood from his stool. ¡°Let me get all the books for you. I¡¯ll be with you in a moment, Maria.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s alright,¡± Maria said. ¡°I was more curious about our mage friend here than anything else.¡±

    John nodded and stepped toward the bookshelves to begin collecting all the books they had on magic, apparently. Which was really quite unfortunate for Wanily¡¯s situation, wasn¡¯t it? And the day after she arrived in town, too.

    But, well, there was still a mage here who had to be of a decent caliber to be sporting his hair color. She couldn¡¯t remember the exact order of power but orange was fairly high up there, right? Better at least than green, and certainly better than Wanily¡¯s yellow.

    ¡°Hullo, ma¡¯am. What can I help you with?¡± The mage asked, placing his hat back on his head.

    ¡°I guess I was just curious,¡± Maria said. ¡°What brings you to our town?¡±

    ¡°Here on business,¡± the man replied easily. ¡°My employer is most interested in any and all books on new magic.¡±

    ¡°New magic?¡± John paused, looking over the rim of his spectacles, a stack of books his his arms. ¡°What about what I have on old magic?¡±

    ¡°Ah, I should have specified,¡± the man said. ¡°No, nothing on old magic, please.¡±

    Maria knew about old magic, but she knew nothing substantial on it. How it differed from new magic, she couldn¡¯t say, nor could she even begin to wonder why someone would be interested in one over the other.

    ¡°Who is your employer?¡± Maria asked. She had assumed he was here on behalf of the army, but it would make more sense if he wasn¡¯t. If he was here looking for magical secrets for the Oavalen army, he would pay in Oavalen ren, not the marks of the empire.

    ¡°I work for General Magicks,¡± the man replied. ¡°The name is Hofsvin Astra. And you are?¡±

    He had two names? Odd. Maria wouldn¡¯t make mention of it though. ¡°Maria.¡±

    The man smiled. ¡°Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Maria,¡± he said, just as John hefted a wobbly tower of books onto the counter. Hofsvin jumped to his aid, splitting the pile in two and putting them next to each other on the counter. ¡°Is this everything you have on new magic, then?¡±

    John nodded. ¡°Twenty-nine books in all.¡±

    Hofsvin undid the knot holding his coin purse to his belt. Even though he had offered such an extravagant sum to begin with, Maria¡¯s eyes still widened when he opened the purse and gleaming gold marks shone before her. He dutifully began counting out the pieces, each one of them worth two hundred-fifty marks.

    Maria hated to interrupt him, but if she was going to talk to him about Wanily, now was the time. ¡°So Mr. Hofsvin,¡± she started. He nodded to show he was listening, and Maria continued, ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to be looking for an apprentice, would you?¡±

    Hofsvin raised one eyebrow. ¡°An apprentice? I hate to mention a lady¡¯s age, Maria, but you seem a little old to be looking to learn magic now.¡±

    Maria chuckled. ¡°Oh, not for me, sir. I recently met a young girl who is looking to learn magic. She¡¯s staying with me for the time being.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± Hofsvin slid the money across the counter. John began counting it. ¡°I¡¯m not too sure what to say, honestly. I wouldn¡¯t expect you to know since you¡¯re not a mage yourself, but apprenticeships are quickly becoming a thing of the past.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Maria frowned. ¡°So what do people do to learn magic?¡±

    ¡°Some schools are beginning to teach it,¡± Hofsvin said, watching John. ¡°At least in the empire. What¡¯s quickly becoming most common, though, is attending a college for magic.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Maria folded her hands in front of her and tapped a finger against the back of her hand. ¡°How did you learn magic?¡±

    ¡°I was lucky enough that my father knew magic and taught me,¡± Hofsvin said. ¡°Just as I plan to do when I have children¨Cwhich may not be all that far off since my wife is pregnant right now back in Tiranda.¡±

    ¡°Congratulations,¡± Maria said, smiling. ¡°Children truly are such a gift.¡± Maria ignored the pang that struck through her chest at the thought. She shook herself slightly. ¡°But you''re saying that you wouldn''t take an apprentice, then?¡±

    John nodded to himself, scooping up the money and depositing it in a small box behind the counter. The coins clattered against the wood with a sound even Maria found satisfying. John pushed the books a bit closer to Hofsvin in a clear invitation. Hofsvin nodded to him and scooped the piles up, one under each arm.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°Could you..?¡± Hofsvin nodded to the door, and Maria pulled it open for him with another smile. Hofsvin stepped past her, offering a quick thanks, and headed to his donkey to begin loading its saddlebags with all his new books. ¡°Let me think about it,¡± Hofsvin said once all the books were safely tucked away. ¡°I find myself on the road a lot right now, which I''m sure you could agree might not be the best for a child.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I wouldn''t worry about that. Wanily told me she traveled with a member of the Wandering People before she showed up here. She''s already going around trying to learn magic, but I haven''t the slightest clue what she thinks she''s going to learn just wandering around like that.¡±

    ¡°The world can be a very good teacher,¡± Hofsvin said, tightening straps on the saddlebags. ¡°Depending on what you''re trying to learn. But like I said, I''ll think about it. Where do you live?¡±

    ¡°Oh, just over¨C¡± Maria turned, already pointing toward her house, and stopped. Wanily sat outside the door to her house, golden eyes wide as she watched Maria and Hofsvin talk.

    ¡°Is that her?¡± Hofsvin asked.

    Maria nodded. ¡°Wanily! Come here!¡± she called, motioning her over.

    Wanily held her gaze for another moment before standing and going back into the house, slamming the door so hard Maria heard it even from her distance. Maria gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth. That girl! Who did she think she was?

    ¡°I''m so sorry, Mr. Hofsvin,¡± Maria rushed to say. ¡°Wanily isn''t very good about respect. But I''ll talk to her. She will come to see what an amazing opportunity studying under you would be.¡±

    Hofsvin laughed. ¡°I still haven''t said yes, Maria. But I will come by before I leave tomorrow to let you know my decision. Hopefully, that girl will share whatever sentiment I come to.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Maria said, frowning. ¡°Hopefully.¡±

    ¡°Goodbye, then. It was a pleasure to meet you.¡± Hofsvin tipped his hat to her. Maria nodded back.

    Hofsvin untied his donkey¡¯s tether and began leading it back down the road toward the tavern. Maria watched him go, trying hard to tamp down the frustration she felt bubbling hot within her. What was Wanily thinking? Here was a mage¨CWanily was trying to learn magic. What more did she want? Sure, she said she didn''t want a teacher, but what did she expect to learn without one?

    Maria huffed and headed back to her house. She took a moment to breathe deep, trying to keep her composure, before she opened the door and stepped inside.

    The fire was out, but the curtains of the window against the far wall had been drawn back to let the morning sunlight in. Maria didn¡¯t immediately spot Wanily, but she could hear rustling in the bedroom. She shuffled forward and craned her neck to peer inside. Wanily was crouched on the ground, gathering her filthy furs into a great heap in her arms. She glanced at Maria when she walked in but didn¡¯t otherwise acknowledge her.

    Maria felt her temper flare, but she stomped on the feeling quickly. ¡°Wanily,¡± Maria said, very, very patiently. Wanily stood, the furs in her arms and moved to go back to the main room. Maria stepped in front of her, and Wanily scowled, angling her head back to glare at her. ¡°The person you saw me speaking to was a mage,¡± she said.

    ¡°I know that.¡± Wanily hefted her furs a little higher. ¡°Orange hair? Dead giveaway. Now, can you move?¡±

    Maria took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ¡°Say ¡®excuse me¡¯ when you need to get past someone.¡±

    Wanily rolled her eyes. ¡°Excuse me.¡±

    ¡°Is that any way to treat someone?¡± Maria hissed. ¡°I am trying to do right by you, but all you¡¯ve given me is endless attitude!¡±

    Wanily¡¯s face fell. ¡°What¡¯s the point?¡± she asked. ¡°People will either like me or they won¡¯t¨Cbeing polite isn¡¯t going to change any of that.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong, Wanily,¡± Maria said. ¡°You say you want to help others because it¡¯s the right thing? Well, being kind to them is how you start. And being polite is a very easy way to show kindness.¡±

    Wanily stopped, frowning, seeming to consider this. ¡°But that¡¯s not what you do,¡± she said slowly. ¡°You¡¯re polite to make people think you¡¯re kind. And sometimes you actually are, but you also just want people to be kind to you.¡±

    How did Maria explain it? ¡°Dear, to receive kindness, you have to give kindness. It¡¯s the main tenant of Amera¨Ctreat others the way you want to be treated. If you want love, you must give love.¡±

    ¡°And having good manners is how I give love?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a way to start,¡± Maria said.

    Wanily mulled this over for another moment. ¡°Okay,¡± she said finally. Then, ¡°But what were you doing with that mage?¡±

    Maria smiled. ¡°His name is Mr. Hofsvin. You want to learn magic, right? Well, I talked to him, and he said he would consider offering you an apprenticeship.¡±

    Wanily scowled. ¡°I don¡¯t want an apprenticeship.¡±

    ¡°Could you learn to be grateful?¡± Maria snapped. ¡°How do you expect to learn magic, Wanily? Hm? Just going to wander around, getting your grubby hands on any book you can? Do you really expect that to get you very far when you can¡¯t even read?¡±

    Wanily stared up at her. ¡°You said you would teach me.¡±

    ¡°What does that matter? Hofsvin came and bought all the books in the library on magic.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Maria sighed, ¡°the ones on new magic, at least. So I would say there¡¯s nothing left for you here. You¡¯d be better off going with Hofsvin, if he¡¯s agreeable to it.¡±

    Wanily¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°Excuse me,¡± she said, quiet and even despite the way she looked like she was ready to break something.

    Maria frowned and stepped aside for her. She went to her pack and began stuffing the furs into it.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Maria asked.

    ¡°Leaving,¡± Wanily said, terse. ¡°I¡¯m not going with that mage.¡±

    ¡°And why not?¡± Maria demanded. ¡°I went to him because I was trying to help you¨C¡±

    ¡°I told you I didn¡¯t want a teacher!¡± Wanily cried. She whirled on Maria, throwing the furs on the floor by her feet, forgotten. ¡°All I asked is that you treat me like a person. And you immediately turn around and throw out everything I said about how I wanted to learn magic.¡±

    ¡°If you want to learn magic, you need to be realistic¨C¡±

    ¡°I am!¡± Wanily spat. ¡°No mage is going to take me. Not like I am. And if they do take me in? They have a reason to do it that isn¡¯t just to help me.¡± She sighed, suddenly looking defeated. ¡°¡®Cause you¡¯re right about that. People don¡¯t just help others for nothing.¡± She narrowed her eyes, glaring into the distance. ¡°That¡¯s why I will. I¡¯m going to help others and ask for nothing in return. I¡¯ll help others because it¡¯s right.¡±

    Wanily hadn¡¯t even met Hofsvin and yet she was so quick to judge¨Cbut at the same time, it wasn¡¯t like Maria was old friends with him or anything. She had no idea if Hofsvin would try to take advantage of Wanily¨Cand Maria shuddered to think what that could look like¨Cor if he was a perfectly honest gentleman.

    And besides, isn¡¯t this what Maria wanted? Wanily was here, saying she was perfectly content to stay and learn to read, and Maria was trying to get her to leave with a man neither of them even knew. If Wanily stayed, Maria would have someone to keep her company. Just like she wanted. And it just happened to be what Wanily wanted, too. So why was she trying to get her to leave?

    Because Wanily had a dream. Maria wanted her to succeed, even if it wasn¡¯t in Maria¡¯s best interest. For once, she could worry about what was best for someone else for a change.

    But maybe Wanily was right, too. Maria wasn¡¯t taking into account what Wanily wanted. She didn¡¯t want a mage to teach her? Then Maria would just have to do her best to teach Wanily to read so she could teach herself.

    ¡°Alright, alright,¡± Maria said, holding up her hands placatingly. ¡°Put those furs away, dear, I¡¯m not making you go anywhere.¡±

    Wanily looked her up and down with a critical eye. ¡°You¡¯re not?¡±

    ¡°No. If you don¡¯t want to go with the mage, then you can stay here and I¡¯ll teach you, as promised. Maybe you''ll still find something of use in the library¨Cat least, you¡¯ll be able to go somewhere that does have books on magic and read about it there.¡±

    Wanily gaped at her. Maria resisted the urge to tell her to close her mouth. ¡°What changed your mind?¡± Wanily eventually asked, frowning.

    Maria sighed. ¡°I want to treat you like a person,¡± she said. ¡°Instead of someone who would owe me, or someone that I just want to think well of me.¡± It was the most honest Maria had probably ever been in her life. She could have asked herself why, but she already knew the answer.

    She had nothing to lose. If Wanily left, Maria would just be alone again with neighbors who respected her and did nothing else.

    Wanily appraised her. She must have found what she was looking for because she turned and started pulling her furs back out, tossing them over her shoulders. It was the only answer Maria received, and it was the only one she needed.

    ¡°I put the fire out,¡± Wanily said as she straightened. She pointed at the kettle. ¡°The porridge is ready. Where are your bowls?¡±

    Maria smiled and fetched two of them and two spoons from her cupboard, one for her and one for Wanily. There were still three other bowls in the cupboard, and Maria found her gaze lingering on them. One for each son off somewhere in the world, far removed from the mother that had born and raised them.

    Maria hadn¡¯t treated them the way she should have, she thought. She could do nothing about that right now, but she could treat Wanily better. Even if she wasn¡¯t hers. Even if they would part ways as soon as Wanily knew how to read. It was better than doing the same thing she had always done¨Cand hurting others in the process.

    Wanily served them both, and they ate at Maria¡¯s small, cluttered kitchen table in silence. Wanily practically wolfed down her food, scraping every last dreg of porridge out of the bowl and into her mouth. Maria took her time with her meal, trying not to feel increasingly uncomfortable as Wanily watched her eat with her wide, golden eyes.

    When Maria was done, she collected Wanily¡¯s bowl and spoon and put them aside for washing later. Wanily was on her feet when she turned around. ¡°Are we still going to the fields?¡± she asked.

    ¡°We can if you want to, dear.¡± Maria grabbed her basket meant for that exact purpose¨Cgathering ingredients from the fields.

    Wanily nodded, and, after hooking their arms together, the two of them left the house and headed to the north, toward the open expanse.

    <hr>

    Hofsvin came by later that night, after Wanily had already curled up in her nest of blankets and fallen asleep. The two of them had gotten to some good work during the day. When they got to the fields, Maria scarcely had to show Wanily what plants she wanted before Wanily was off and picking heaps of them. It seemed the Andurak fellow that helped her in the past had also taught her how to identify many different plants.

    After they had picked enough for the day¨CMaria didn¡¯t want to take everything that was growing, after all, and risk there being nothing left in the coming weeks¨Cthey returned to Maria¡¯s home where Maria showed Wanily the very basics of potion-making. She knew nothing of the theory behind it, much to Wanily¡¯s disappointment, but she was able to show her how to make a simple healing potion.

    It was one of the most basic recipes. It started with a pot of boiling water. It didn¡¯t need to be kept at the same temperature, like some potions, but only needed to be hot enough to keep it boiling. Then, the potion started with exactly one cup of slime from, well, a slime, followed by a teaspoon of dried and crushed rosemary. The rosemary had to be fine enough to pack into a spoon and not leave much air, but beyond that there was no science to how finely it had to be ground.

    The slime had to be thrown in and stirred exactly eight times¨Cfull rotations around the edge of the kettle¨Cbefore being immediately followed by the rosemary that had to be stirred exactly four times. Afterwards, once the liquid had settled, it had to be cooked for exactly six minutes. Any more than that and it would light on fire and eventually explode if not removed from heat.

    It wasn¡¯t much, but the whole process was enough to make Wanily¡¯s eyes positively shine and her smile had been radiant. It was enough to warm Maria¡¯s own heart, and it made her think that, hopefully, she had made the right decision in letting Wanily stay.

    A quiet knock at the door had Maria shuffling over with a smile, and when she opened it, Hofsvin returned the expression easily. He tipped his hat at her before clasping his hands behind his back. After exchanging pleasantries, Hofsvin said, ¡°I¡¯ve thought long and hard about it, and I would be willing to take on Wanily as an apprentice.¡±

    Maria grimaced. ¡°I¡¯m afraid she wasn¡¯t very keen on the idea of being an apprentice.¡±

    Hofsvin frowned sharply. ¡°Why not?¡±

    Maria could say that it was because Wanily was being foolish. She could say that Wanily didn¡¯t understand how the world worked or how to be realistic about a dream. But she didn¡¯t. ¡°She doesn¡¯t want a teacher.¡±

    ¡°Then how does she expect to learn?¡± Hofsvin demanded. ¡°I¡¯m willing to put myself out there for her, and you asked me¨C¡±

    Maria held up a hand, interrupting him. ¡°I know, and I am sorry. I wanted to do something I thought would be in Wanily¡¯s best interests, but she was quick to remind me that she already told me she didn¡¯t want a teacher. She plans on learning magic on her own.¡±

    Hofsvin sighed, some of the growing tension in his shoulders collapsing in one fell swoop. ¡°I see,¡± he murmured. ¡°Well, then, let her know I wish her luck.¡±

    ¡°I will,¡± Maria said. ¡°And thank you for the offer. I wish you and your wife and your child all the best.¡±

    At that, Hofsvin smiled warmly. ¡°Thank you. Goodnight, Ms. Maria.¡±

    Maria bid him goodnight and shut the door. When she turned to begin tidying up for the night before she retired, she found Wanily peeking out from the doorway to the bedroom, still swimming in a borrowed nightgown from Maria. Maria smiled at her, and Wanily, after a moment, returned it. Neither of them said anything as Wanily went to go back to sleep, and Maria prepared some potions for selling to Nancy tomorrow morning.

    When morning came, Maria brought Wanily with her as she went about town. She had Wanily carry the crate of healing potions they made yesterday while she carried the sleeping potions she made a few days ago, before Wanily had shown up. They dropped them off with Nancy, who accepted them with a patronizing smile and paid Maria a fair price for the goods. After, Maria dragged Wanily to Hennia¡¯s shop and outfitted her with some clothes that were clean and fitting for a young lady. Mostly trousers of muted, inoffensive tones that went well with the more colorful blouses that Maria picked out. Wanily didn''t complain about the chosen garments and even thanked Hennia when they bought the clothes, then Maria as they left the shop.

    When they returned to Maria''s house, Wanily obediently put the newly acquired clothes into a drawer Maria had cleared out in her dresser and was¨Csurprisingly¨Cvery patient as she waited for Maria to make them a small lunch of pasta with a light tomato-based sauce. She sat silently at the table without even resting her elbows on it, watching as Maria puttered about the kitchen space.

    After lunch, Wanily helped her take the dishes out and wash them. Maria gave her the scraps to toss to the Vert fish¨Cthe little buggers were burrowed in the mud with just their heads showing, gills flaring as they watched them expectantly.

    Wanily peered at the bowl of scraps, poking a stem from one of the tomatoes. ¡°I''m supposed to just... throw this in the water?¡±

    ¡°Have you never fed Vert fish before?¡± Maria asked, shocked. They were a staple of every community! And every child Maria had ever met loved them.

    ¡°I barely even know they exist,¡± Wanily said. ¡°Archmage Vertrix made them, right? To end the Necroplague?¡±

    ¡°That''s right,¡± Maria said. It was fairly common knowledge, enough that she wasn''t surprised Wanily knew about it. ¡°The Vert fish are very important in stopping it from coming back, and they prevent many other diseases as well.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± Wanily said, gazing at the fish curiously. ¡°But... they''re not magical.¡±

    ¡°Hm? Oh, no, they''re not.¡± They were just ordinary animals as far as Maria was aware.

    ¡°But they were made with magic,¡± Wanily stressed, frowning.

    ¡°I''m not sure about the details,¡± Maria said, frowning in return. ¡°I just know the plague came, it killed, Vertrix made the fish, and then the plague was over. That''s all I need to know.¡±

    Wanily hummed, clearly dissatisfied with that answer but letting the matter drop. She tossed the food scraps into the river, and the Vert fish shimmied out of the mud in a rush to gobble them up. Maria couldn''t help but notice Wanily smiling at that.

    Every child loved Vert fish. It was just a fact.

    When Wanily had emptied the bowl, they went back to Maria¡¯s house. Maria figured she should start making some potions to treat hay fever and other common springtime ailments¨Cwhich the heather and marigold they gathered yesterday would be perfect for¨Cbut before she did any of that, she would reward Wanily¡¯s patience. Maria had Wanily sit at the kitchen table while she went to her bedroom and rummaged around in the chest at the foot of her bed.

    She smiled to herself when she found what she was looking for and came toting the items back into the main room proudly. She sat across from Wanily with the chalkboard and chalk and slowly, as neatly as her shaking hands could manage, drew the alphabet for her. Wanily watched her with her head cocked, and when Maria was done, she slid the chalkboard across the table to her.

    Wanily stared down at it, excitement slowly growing in her eyes. ¡°That¡¯s the alphabet,¡± Maria said. ¡°I figure it¡¯s about time to start on your education, hm?¡±

    Wanily beamed up at her. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, the most sincere Maria had ever heard her. Her gaze fell back to the chalkboard, and she traced the letters with a featherlight touch. ¡°And... I¡¯m sorry that I¡¯ve been rude to you. Manners never meant much when, for so long, I¡¯ve just been trying to survive. But I think you might be right, about how being polite is a good way to show kindness.¡± Wanily peeked over the edge of the chalkboard. She didn¡¯t squirm in her seat, but Maria could just make out the uncomfortable twist of her mouth. ¡°So, I¡¯ll try to be better about it.¡±

    Something warm bloomed in Maria¡¯s chest at the earnestness in Wanily¡¯s voice. ¡°I¡¯ll try to be better, too,¡± Maria said softly. ¡°About abiding by what you want as well as what you need. You¡¯re a person, just like me, and I need to recognize that.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Wanily murmured. She gazed down at her lap for a moment before shaking her head to herself. ¡°Okay, that¡¯s enough of that,¡± she announced, slapping the chalkboard back down onto the wooden tabletop with a loud clap. ¡°It¡¯s time to start learning!¡±

    Maria chuckled at the way Wanily¡¯s eyes positively gleamed with excitement. She went through each letter, tapping the tracings of chalk and telling Wanily each of their names and the sound that they made. There were a few different songs to help remember the order and the sounds, but Maria only knew of one anymore, and taught that to Wanily as well.

    It was the start of something not new, but hopefully, better than the past. It hung over Maria like a shadow, the memories of this exact moment of teaching and singing with sons that had left her without so much as a glance backward. But then, Wanily¡¯s proud, radiant smile chased the shadow away.

    All at once, the world no longer felt so beautiful and empty¨Cjust beautiful. Maria¡¯s bitterness no longer stained her thoughts and memories, leaving only a nostalgic fondness as she recalled her sons and their time together. It was like breathing in the cool, damp air on a peaceful spring morning. Perfectly refreshing. Perfect contentment.

    Yes, all at once, the world was good.

 Chapter 9: To Let One Go--Part III

    (664 A.C.)

    Maria and Wanily fell into something of a routine over the days. In the morning¨Cweather permitting¨CWanily would accompany Maria to the fields to gather ingredients for the day. She showed Wanily how to identify any herbs and plants¨C the ones she didn¡¯t already know¨Cthat were necessary for most potions. Soon enough, Maria would leave Wanily to that since bending over or kneeling down and digging through the dirt was just hard on Maria¡¯s back anymore. While Wanily gathered the supplements, Maria would either collect some ingredients from monsters or go back to her house and begin prepping for the actual potion-making process. Gathering the ingredients from monsters came in a couple of different forms. Sometimes,  she would track down wherever the local slimes had wandered to during the night and scoop a bit of their bodies into a jar. The slimes, noiseless and docile, would just shudder, soft bodies jiggling with the barest of squelching, and reform into a neat, somewhat smaller dome around their hard, brown cores. Slimes were about the only monsters Maria felt comfortable ¡°hunting¡±, so in any other case, she would buy the ingredients from local or traveling hunters. She refrained from actually making any potions until Wanily returned, so the two of them could make the potions together and Maria could share what recipes she knew.

    Once the morning¡¯s work was done, the pair attended to their separate chores. Wanily spent long hours over the small chalkboard, staring at the characters Maria had written there. She would trace their shapes with a hovering finger. The drone of her repeating the alphabet to herself over and over, then singing it, became white noise to Maria¡¯s ears as she worked. When it came time for putting the letters together, Wanily struggled to sort through words, the sounds garbling in her mouth, and her spelling was just atrocious. Maria tried to remain patient, and Wanily certainly never lost her fiery determination. Soon enough she was journeying to the library most mornings to pick up a simple story book to practice. She remained a long way off from being able to read any sort of complicated text¨Cmagical or otherwise¨Cfor several months, but eventually, she went to the library one morning and returned with a thick, leather-bound tome.

    A book on old magic, Maria surmised. Maria tried not to reveal to her how much it bothered her, the idea of Wanily learning old magic. Maria knew nothing about the art except that it was from the days before the Cataclysm, the power of the old gods themselves. Dangerous and left behind for a reason.

    Once Wanily started to read the tomes, Maria rarely saw her doing anything else. She still helped out in the mornings, still watched over Maria¡¯s shoulder and even tried her own hand at making some potions, but as long as there was enough light to read by, Wanily did just that. Maria watched sometimes as the girl traced a finger along the lines of text, often sounding out any unfamiliar words and rereading sentences or entire paragraphs out loud. Maria wondered how much of the information Wanily actually understood¨Call Maria knew was that whatever tidbits she read out loud went right over Maria¡¯s head.

    Wanily had no interest in befriending the other children in town, much to Maria¡¯s endless consternation. A few of them had tried on multiple occasions to stop by Maria¡¯s house and invite Wanily out to play. The only time Wanily had been the one to answer the door at their knocking instead of Maria, she had simply closed the door in their faces.

    Maria chastised her for it, but despite Wanily¡¯s efforts in being mindful about her manners, she refused to even apologize to the other children. Maria had to go to them and their mothers on Wanily¡¯s behalf. She didn¡¯t know what Wanily had against the other children, but, well, Wanily was nothing if not focused on magic. Maybe that was all it was¨CWanily being concentrated on her studies.

    It felt like the whole of the spring went by in a week. Maria celebrated the turn of the season to summer with a traditional Oavalen slime soup which Wanily ate despite the obvious disgust on her face after each and every spoonful. It had been enough to make Maria laugh¨Cshe knew Wanily was very good at not wasting food and it seemed even the cuisine that required a more acquired taste did not escape that.

    During the summer, Wanily began to grow restless. She never said anything to Maria to that effect, but Maria could recognize these things. She¡¯d stay out longer in the mornings when gathering ingredients and always rush to help Maria with any chores she needed done around the house or even out about town. She stuck close to Maria¡¯s side, never venturing to talk to any of the other townspeople, but she did come with her. Often, they would sit by the river in companionable silence. Most times, Wanily would bring her book and read, but sometimes, she would simply watch the water flow by.

    It worried Maria a bit. It wasn¡¯t good for a child to keep to themselves like that, but try as she may, Wanily showed no interest in becoming friendly with anyone else in town.

    Still, Wanily soon traded out the first tome she¡¯d gotten from the library for another. By the time fall came and went, Maria was almost certain she¡¯d read all the books in the library and was now rereading them.

    Winter found them indoors more often than not. The cold was hard on Maria¡¯s joints, and though Wanily¡¯s furs had been thoroughly cleaned and were ready for use, Maria still didn¡¯t want her to stay out too long and risk growing ill. So, they stayed inside together, the fire crackling in the hearth, and the two of them attending their own tasks in peace. Wanily read, of course, and Maria would embroider both her and Wanily¡¯s clothing, as Maria¡¯s mother had done for her.

    The thought made Maria both pleasantly warm and achingly sad. It was all twisted up together. Wanily was a kind, intelligent, hard-working girl, the kind Maria would have wished for if she were to have birthed a daughter. But if Maria had given birth to Wanily, she would probably be gone now, just like her sons. It was Maria¡¯s fault, she realized that now, and it made her happy that she was doing better by Wanily.

    But sometimes, she missed her sons. She wondered, too, if Wanily missed her parents. Maria asked about them a couple times, but Wanily never gave any details. They weren¡¯t in the picture, Wanily had said when they first met. The only thing she revealed after that was that she didn¡¯t remember them¨Conly remembered walking into a city in Dryan, alone.

    They could be dead, or they could be off somewhere, never thinking of their child they¡¯d left behind. But it didn¡¯t matter what had happened to Wanily¡¯s parents, Maria decided. She would take of Wanily as long as she needed it¨Cand more importantly, as long as she wanted it.

    Maria wasn¡¯t certain about the details, but John must have lent out multiple books to Wanily because she sat with three of the tomes open in front of her on the ground as she moved from page to page, scanning each one slowly. Maria sat at the table, hands quietly aching as she pushed her needle through fabric over and over, creating a yellow flower at the end of the leg of one of Wanily¡¯s brown trousers. Maria would rather adorn one of Wanily¡¯s dresses, but Wanily preferred trousers. It mattered more what Wanily wanted for her clothes than what Maria wanted¨CWanily would be the one wearing them, after all.

    It was a special kind of peace. The two of them working on separate things, but the two of them together.

    That''s why Maria rightly started when Wanily announced, ¡°Alright, I¡¯ve decided. I''m going to learn old god magic!¡±

    Maria started to nod before she registered fully what Wanily said. She hissed as she accidentally poked herself with her needle in her shock. She snapped her gaze to Wanily, sprawled across the hard dirt floor. She was tracing the lines of text in the tome idly, a huge gap-toothed smile on her face. She had lost her last baby tooth the week before.

    Maria grimaced. Instead of being quick to chastise¨Cas she would have months before¨Cshe took a deep breath to collect herself. ¡°Why?¡±

    Wanily flipped to the page before, pointing somewhere in the middle of a block of cramped text. ¡°It says here that old magic is much more powerful than new magic. If I''m going to be the strongest mage, I''m going to need the strongest magic, right?¡±

    Maria was sure her expression was pained. ¡°Dear, old magic may be powerful, but it must be dangerous. Isn''t it dangerous?¡± It was the only thing Maria had ever heard about old magic.

    Wanily shrugged. "Well sure, but so is potion-making. That''s kind of old magic, too, actually.¡± She pointed to the book on her right. ¡°According to this book, potion-making, or brewing, is actually derived from alchemy, which people don''t know how to do anymore but was waaay stronger." She perked up. "Hey, if I learn old magic, maybe I can learn alchemy, too!¡±

    This was the most excited Maria had ever seen Wanily. She had seen glimpses of it when they worked on potions together¨Cthe pure excitement and joy Wanily had revolving all things magic. Maria didn¡¯t know what made Wanily jaded and somewhat sullen the rest of the time, but when it came to magic, she was as excitable as a cat locked in a room full of mice.

    That was why what Maria was about to say broke her heart. She sighed. ¡°Honey, I don''t think you should be dabbling in old magic.¡±

    Wanily''s face fell. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°I already told you: it''s dangerous.¡±

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Wanily twisted about herself until she was sitting up, arms crossed. ¡°That''s a double standard. You make potions. You showed me how to make potions, and that¡¯s plenty dangerous. All it takes is one too many stirs or a couple extra seconds and the whole thing could explode.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¨C¡± Different, Maria wanted to say, but couldn¡¯t even explain to herself why. It was times like these that she realized how much easier it was with her boys. She would just tell them no, and that would be the end of it. She didn¡¯t need to explain why. But Wanily hated that. And Maria had to respect that¨Chad to respect her. If she wanted to learn old magic, Maria had no right to stop her. She could just try to make sure that Wanily didn¡¯t get herself killed.

    Maria got up to grab something to staunch the bleeding of her finger, shuffling toward the chest by the hearth. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± she grumbled, a smile tugging at her lips. ¡°So, you want to learn old magic. How do you do it?¡±

    Wanily let her arms fall as the tension in the room dissipated. She pursed her lips. ¡°Well, one of the other books said that new magic is so easy to cast because you use a bunch of tools. Mages can use wands or staves and magic words to help with a spell. Even other weird stuff like holly or gold flakes or whatever. Old magic... doesn¡¯t do any of that.¡± The last part sounded somewhere between a statement and a question. Maria frowned, and when she turned to face Wanily, a small rag pressed against her finger, she found Wanily wearing a matching expression.

    ¡°The guy tried to explain it in the beginning,¡± Wanily muttered, flipping towards one of the first pages of the book to her left. Her eyes roamed the page. When she found the right passage, she began to read, ¡°Magic is unfathomable, and yet to use it in its purest form¨Cthe way of the old gods¨Cyou must comprehend it in all its intricacies. It is a part of you, yet exists separate from you; it is both a way of life and what keeps one alive. Magic is not something to be explained, only understood.¡± Wanily scrunched her nose and looked up.

    Maria blinked down at her. ¡°That... sounds complicated.¡±

    Wanily pursed her lips. ¡°Yeah, I¨CI¡¯m not really sure how it works. But that¡¯s alright. I¡¯m sure I can figure it out. Might need to get my hands on some more books though.¡±

    Maria carefully sat back at the table. She had a feeling she knew what was going to be Wanily¡¯s response, but she still had to ask, ¡°And you¡¯re sure you won¡¯t need a teacher?¡±

    Wanily snorted. Maria tsked at her for the unladylike action, and she sighed. She mumbled out a quick apology before replying, ¡°I don¡¯t want a teacher. The last one I had¨C¡± She cut herself off and glowered down at the book in front of her. Her golden eyes burned so fiercely, Maria was alarmed she might light the tome on fire. ¡°I don¡¯t need a teacher. I don¡¯t need anyone to help me learn magic,¡± she spat. Maria found herself reeling from the sheer venom in Wanily¡¯s voice. She had heard the girl speak with conviction plenty¨Cbut never laced with such rage.

    Maria frowned. She got back up and maneuvered around the kitchen table to stand above Wanily, hands on her hips. She made sure to keep herself calm and controlled, like she was dealing with a volatile potion. ¡°Wanily, dear, it¡¯s alright to ask for help in these matters. You can¡¯t be expected to learn magic all by your lonesome. You¡¯ve only got as far as you have now because I taught you how to read. Especially with how complicated this all sounds, I really think you should consider looking for another teacher.¡± She had no idea what happened with her first teacher. She barely even knew Wanily ever had one. Wanily only mentioned it once or twice in passing, and none of them were very flattering circumstances.

    Wanily didn¡¯t reply, but her expression gradually softened. She blew out a long, world-weary sigh. She turned to the last page of the same book. Maria watched curiously, trying to read the words upside-down as Wanily just stared at them.

    The only way to learn magic is to submerge oneself in it. A teacher is imperative, experience is wholly necessary, and an old mage¡¯s life must forever be in pursuit of understanding the world around them. In this, you will both learn and become one with magic.

    They both stared at the short paragraph for several moments, the silence in the home pressing down on them like a weight. Wanily was the first to break the quiet. ¡°I know I need a teacher,¡± she whispered, light as a breeze. ¡°This book says it tons¨Cthe other ones, too. But no mage in their right mind is going to take me on,¡± she huffed. ¡°The only one that did¡­ well, he didn¡¯t really want me. And that other one... he was a new magic mage, right? That¡¯s why he came and bought all the books on new magic, and who knows if that would have even worked out. I don¡¯t know where I could go to start learning old magic. I''ve traveled for so long and met so many people... but...¡±

    Wanily trailed off. Maria found herself holding her breath. This was it, then. The moment Maria knew was inevitable, but it still felt like thorns were digging into her heart. She felt like she was watching Wanily break. She had watched all her children go through it¨Cgiving up on their dreams when they realized that they were just that. Fantasies. The wishes of a child.

    There was nothing to tell the girl, no words to comfort her. Maria knew this from her dealings with her boys. There was nothing that could fill the void of those crumpled hopes, but that was just part of growing up. Learning to settle, accepting the compromise. It was hard, but at least she had learned this lesson before she had attempted old magic and gotten herself killed. But¨Cthat wasn¡¯t right. Wanily wasn¡¯t a child anymore. This was evidence she had grown out of that.

    Still, to see the fire of youth, the compassion of naivety, die right in front of her again¨Cwell, Maria would rather stare down a frost lion. It didn¡¯t seem right. Wanily had always been full of such determination, unbothered by the rest of the world and its thoughts. She was the girl that was going to be the Archmage. She told that to Maria constantly¨Cnever with the slightest hint of uncertainty. It didn¡¯t feel right to see her doubting herself.

    At that moment, Maria realized Wanily¡¯s dream had become something of her dream, too. She had so little else in a life paved with mistakes. She had failed her children. She was going to die in this little town so far away from the rest of the wonders of the world.

    But Wanily didn¡¯t have to.

    Maria clicked her tongue at her. "What are you going on about?" Wanily frowned at her, opening her mouth, but Maria didn''t give her the chance to speak. "Why, you''re Wanily, the girl that''s going to be the Archmage."

    "But I need a teacher for that."

    Maria stamped her foot. Wanily started and stared up at her with wide eyes. Good. "Now that is absolutely no way to talk. You''ve gotten this far, haven''t you? What, exactly, is there to stop you from finding a teacher?" Maria leaned down closer even as her back complained. "Because it sounds to me like you''re giving up. The going got hard, and you''re ready to turn your back on everything you want." Maria stared down at her hard. "So, Wanily? Are you giving up?"

    Wanily held her gaze for a moment before it slipped back down to the book still displaying that last paragraph. Maria huffed, ready to begin another tirade, but Wanily hissed, "I''m not giving up. I''ll never give up.¡± She shot to her feet and puffed out her chest, mirroring Maria''s pose of arms akimbo. ¡°I''m going to be the Archmage! I''ll find a teacher no matter how long it takes. Then I''ll learn magic and become the Archmage and help all the people in the world." She grinned. "How could I do anything else?"

    <hr>

    (665 A.C.)

    They waited until spring. Or, Wanily decided to stay until spring. She said it was so that food wouldn¡¯t be as scarce while she traveled, but Maria was sure it wasn¡¯t just wistful thinking that Wanily wanted to stay with her a little longer, too.

    On the first official day of spring, Maria tucked one last loaf of flatbread into the side of a spare bag. It was an old thing that had once belonged to her youngest son and had long been sitting in the chest at the foot of her bed, taken out only when Maria felt like tormenting herself. It would be good for the bag to go out and see the world. Maria ran her fingers over the old leather and smiled to herself before gathering it up and heading outside.

    Wanily sat on the bank, next to the river. She wore a shirt and trousers, both of them embroidered with little flowers and birds. Her leg bounced anxiously. When she heard the door shut behind Maria, she scrambled up and whirled around. Her ensuing smile was excited¨Cif a bit nervous. She already had the pack she had arrived in town with slung over her shoulders, and she took the small bag of food from Maria. She opened it and peered inside, though Maria had wrapped all the food carefully to help extend its already long life.

    Wanily closed the bag and twisted around to tie it to the side of her pack. She rolled her shoulders, testing the weight, before twirling around. "What do you think? Looking like the Archmage yet?"

    Maria chuckled. "I think you''ve got a little ways before that." She snatched Wanily''s hand, enveloping it in her crinkled ones. They were smooth but not dainty, with long slender fingers that had made picking ingredients a breeze. Maria smiled as she thought of it. Once again, her mornings would be spent alone, but maybe now they wouldn''t be so lonely. After all, how could she ever forget this spirited, young girl with fire in her eyes and hair of spun gold? "Don''t ever doubt yourself, Wanily. If you ever want to reach your dream, you have to believe in yourself."

    Wanily nodded, grave. "Yeah." She took a deep breath and seemed to scrutinize Maria for a moment. She must have found what she was looking for because she grinned. "Of course I will. Thank you. For everything."

    Maria threw out any remaining reservations and hugged her. Wanily returned the gesture after a moment, gripping the back of Maria''s dress like a drowning man clinging to driftwood. Maria wondered if she had ever been embraced like this before. Maria still didn''t know how Wanily felt about her parents¨Cor lack thereof¨Cbut Maria could give her this where they couldn''t.

    Maria drew back, hands lingering on Wanily''s shoulders. "And if you ever find yourself unsure or hurting, know that I''ll always believe in you. And there''s always a warm meal waiting for you here."

    Wanily smiled, soft and reluctant. "Thank you," she said wetly. She took a deep breath and stepped back, hooking her thumbs under the straps of her pack. Her voice was much too cheery for her expression. "Well, I should get going. That teacher''s not going to just fall out of the sky!"

    Maria nodded, forcing a smile. "Goodbye, dear."

    "Bye, Ms. Maria."

    Wanily stayed there for another heartbeat before she spun on her heel and marched down the main road. Maria stood by the river and watched her grow smaller in the distance. Wanily looked back, just like her sons never did, giving another little wave before hurrying away.

    Maria stood there long after Wanily had disappeared from view, once again old and alone, until a gust of wind pushed against her, breaking her out of her reverie. When she finally found it in herself to move, she shuffled back into her empty house and cried.

 Chapter 10: The Right Words--Part I

    (658 A.C.)

    The window was open, leaving the tattered curtains to gently sway in a late summer breeze. It was dark outside, and the rustling flap of pixie wings sounded somewhere in the distance. Rizen stood in the doorway, staring at that open window, hands clenched at his side to stop them from shaking. Slowly, his gaze slid over to his older brother, sitting on his bed, as he often did after a fight with their dad. The moonlight caught his blonde fluff of hair and turned it silver, and the breeze teased his threadbare clothes, loose on his gangly frame.

    This wasn''t like the other times. Crizo wasn''t silently stewing, arms crossed and kicking at the wooden floor. He wasn''t gingerly prodding his new bruises or trying to staunch the bleeding of a split lip or brow. He was just sitting there, his canvas bag cradled in his lap, lips drawn into a tight line.

    Crizo looked up when Rizen opened the door, but he didn''t offer a reassuring smile like he usually did after a fight. He didn''t do anything, anything at all. Just stared at Rizen with wide eyes.

    Rizen glanced back down the hall, but his dad was gone, probably off to the tavern again. His mom was in her workshop, no doubt about that. It was just them.

    Rizen bit his lip and gripped the hem of his sleep shirt, turning back to Crizo. His brother was staring at the open window now, his hands gripping the fabric of his bag.

    "What are you doing?" Rizen asked, twisting his hands in his shirt.

    Crizo was silent except for a long, slow breath. He didn''t tear his gaze from the window.

    "Crizo?" Rizen gulped. He waited, but there was still no reply. Rizen wasn¡¯t stupid. There was a puzzle here, the pieces laid out plainly, but Rizen didn¡¯t want to look at the picture they formed. "You''re¨Cyou''re scaring me."

    Crizo sighed. In one smooth movement, he was on his feet, bag slung over his shoulder. When he finally looked at Rizen again, his dark eyes glistened in the moonlight filtering through the window.

    "I''m leaving, flix," Crizo said. He finally smiled, but it looked all wrong, stretched to thin and too taunt like a string about to fray. Rizen took a step back, and Crizo let it slip away. He nodded to the window. "Wanna come with me?"

    "Where are you going?" Rizen asked, padding into the room until he was just within his brother''s reach. Puzzle pieces, strewn about, but Rizen didn¡¯t want to put them together.

    Crizo cocked his head at him, brow furrowed. One corner of his mouth quirked up in a bemused smile, looking a little more like himself for it. ¡°Where do you think?¡±

    Rizen twisted his hands further into his shirt and tried desperately not to sniffle. Crizo never cared when he cried except to wrap an arm around him, sometimes, let his tears stain the shoulder of his shirt without a word of insult or comfort. Mom¨Cwhen she was around¨Cwould pet his head and murmur sweet little nothings and pull him into her arms until his tears subsided. It was only with their dad that he had to hide his tears, but right now didn¡¯t feel like the time for them.

    When Rizen failed and tears began to fall, Crizo¡¯s expression shuttered, the smile racing from his face and something as hard as stone entering his eyes. He walked over to the window, gripping the sill with one hand.¡°I¡¯m leaving. You can come with me or you can stay, but I can¡¯t deal with this anymore. I can¡¯t deal with him anymore.¡±

    Rizen knew. He always hid away in their room when their dad was out and about, stomping around the house and slamming cupboard doors. Sometimes, he would sit in the corner of their mom¡¯s workshop¨Cnot touching anything, never touching anything so she didn¡¯t kick him out¨Cand just imagine a life, different from this one, where it was just him and Crizo and their mom. All of the people he loved most in the world.

    And now one of them wanted to leave. All because of their dad.

    Rizen understood, he thought. He knew he was little and Crizo took the brunt of everything and didn¡¯t let Rizen see much of it if he could, but Rizen still knew it was bad. He could see all the bruises along Crizo¡¯s torso whenever he changed his shirt. He could hear the shouting, even if he hid in their room or their mom¡¯s workshop. He could hear Crizo crying at night, sometimes, when he thought Rizen was already asleep, but Rizen was always too petrified to say anything about it. Crizo didn¡¯t want him to know. Crizo protected him from the worst of it.

    Crizo was leaving.

    ¡°What...¡± Rizen trailed off. He twisted his hands, the fabric rough on his skin. He ducked his head and peeked up at Crizo, puzzle pieces slotting together in his head. Crizo was leaving. Because of their dad. But it could just be them. Rizen could make his dreams come true¨Che could make it just their mom and Crizo and him. ¡°What if he was gone?¡±

    Crizo¡¯s expression turned pained. It was so different from what Rizen was used to seeing on his face, all the wry smiles when Rizen did something that annoyed him and the cheeky grins when they were actually having fun together. The look fit better on the boy that cried himself to sleep at night, and it made Rizen freeze up, just like always.

    ¡°I can¡¯t ask you to do that,¡± Crizo said softly. ¡°I won¡¯t ask you to do that. That man can take a lot from us, but don¡¯t let him take that from you. You hear me, Rizen? You¡¯re just a kid.¡± Crizo¡¯s gaze was sad, and Rizen wished he knew how to make it better. ¡°You don¡¯t let him make a murderer of you.

    ¡°We can just leave.¡± Crizo extended a hand, the other still gripping the windowsill, ready to vault over the edge and into the far reaches of the night. ¡°You and me, against the world.¡± Crizo smiled, shaky, but more like himself than anything Rizen had seen from him tonight. ¡°It¡¯ll be an adventure. We can leave all of this behind us.¡±

    Rizen frowned. "What about mom?"

    Crizo scowled, dropping his hand back to his side. "What about her?"

    "We can''t leave her behind."

    "Why not? What does she ever do for us?"

    Hugged them and kissed them and told them she loved them. Cooked them food, sometimes, and their dad wasn''t so himself whenever she was around. Their mom was, well, their mom. Why would they ever leave her behind?

    Rizen didn''t know how to put all of those feelings into words. Instead, he just murmured, "We just can''t."

    Crizo snorted, and turned back to the window. "You stick with me, or you stay with Mom, Rizen."

    Rizen didn''t move. He was frozen again, unable to respond, feet stuck to the floor like they were glued there. He didn''t want to leave their mom. He didn''t want to stay with their dad. He didn''t want to lose Crizo. He didn''t understand why they couldn''t just all go together.

    But he was little and stupid most of the time. He knew he didn''t understand how the world worked yet. He wanted things to be fair and make sense, but if living with their dad had taught him anything, it was that nothing was ever fair.

    Rizen couldn''t ask Crizo to stay. If he left, Dad couldn''t ever hit Crizo again. Crizo wouldn''t have to hurt anymore. Rizen couldn''t ask him to give that up¨Ceven if he wanted to.

    Rizen sniffled again and rubbed at his teary eyes. He couldn''t ask Crizo to stay, but it didn''t seem fair that Rizen was being asked to leave. But then, Rizen knew that was just how life was.

    Crizo was giving him the choice. His brother, or his mother?

    He wanted to go with Crizo, he did. But he didn''t think he could ever leave his mom.

    Rizen rubbed his eyes and shook his head furiously, unable to repress a small, anguished hiccup of a sob from escaping him. "I can''t leave Mom," he cried. "I¨CI can''t..."

    Crizo, without turning around, gave a stiff nod. He didn''t say anything, and for a long moment, he didn''t do anything either. But then, a stronger breeze swirled through the open window, rustling the curtains and playing with Crizo''s hair, and that seemed to break him from whatever had taken over him. He vaulted over the sill of the window, landing outside with a soft crunch from the grass underfoot.

    Finally, Crizo turned around, a wide smile on his face. Rizen only cried harder seeing it. He knew, deep down, that he would never see that smile again.

    "Goodbye, little flix," Crizo said, as warm as the summer night surrounding them. "Stay strong, okay?"

    Rizen couldn''t help it. As Crizo turned and began to walk away, he cried harder. "Don''t leave!" he wailed, running to the window and gripping it hard enough to make his knuckles ache. "Don''t leave, Crizo!"

    Crizo didn''t look back. Rizen kept crying and shouting as he walked up the hill beyond their plot of land before finally disappearing beyond the swell of land. Rizen''s lip gave a harsh wobble, and he couldn''t help the great heaving cries that tore from his mouth. He dropped to the ground, huddling beneath the open window, and pretended that things were different. That Crizo would appear at the window with a smile and laugh at his bad prank. That their mom would emerge from her study to investigate the wails of her youngest son and comfort him until his tears stopped.

    But he knew neither of those things would happen. Their mom never noticed them unless they were right in front of them. Crizo hadn''t even looked back.

    Rizen knew he would never forget the image of Crizo''s back disappearing beyond the top of the hill or the last smile he''d flashed at him, so big but so sad for it. It would haunt Rizen for the rest of his life. He was sure of it.

    He fell asleep there, curled into a ball beneath the window, face wet from tears and snot, dreaming that he would wake up and Crizo would be there, smiling at him with his typical guarded joy, the only type Rizen had in his life.

    <hr>

    (665 A.C.)

    Rizen stood in line for flowers, like he had every Thursday for the last seven years. He was the last man in the family, and it was Lirenden custom for the man in the family to give all the women in their household flowers at least once a week. Luckily, for Rizen that was just Mom, and she didn¡¯t come out of her workshop often enough to appreciate flowers more than once a week. Rizen wasn¡¯t even sure she would care if he didn¡¯t get her any at all, but better safe than sorry. Everyone in town would know if he decided not to, and that was enough to make him get some for her.

    The townspeople turned a blind eye to a lot of the things Rizen did, but he was sure disrespecting a woman wasn¡¯t on that list.

    Rizen sighed, shivering under his coat. His breath billowed in front of him in a white cloud. He let his thoughts wander, trying his best to distract himself from the cold of the oncoming winter. There was a tree next to Unnya¡¯s flower shop, a great, towering evergreen. What could he do with that?

    What does it mean to be a tree, with roots burrowed so deep? Rizen mused. Able to see above everything, but if trouble should come, unable to flee. Trapped in place by the whims of fate, for a tree can only ever be a tree.

    That was decent. Rizen would have to write that down when he returned home.

    ¡°Next!¡± Unnya called. Rizen sighed and stepped up to the window she had propped open. The flowers were inside, away from the biting cold, and to help preserve them, Unnya kept her customers outside. It wasn¡¯t like people would stop coming to her because of the tactic¨Cshe was the only florist in town, and men needed to buy flowers.

    ¡°Rizen,¡± Unnya greeted, leaning on her elbows and sticking her long neck out the window. She was an older lady, but Rizen knew her hair was silver from her magical ability, not her age. She knew a few spells to help with her trade, or so she said. Deputy Griff told Rizen¨Cafter a few too many drinks one night¨Cit was for help in the bedroom. ¡°Let me guess¨Cwhatever¡¯s cheapest.¡±

    Rizen scowled. ¡°Don¡¯t say it like that,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t get the dregs because I want to.¡±

    Unnya grunted. She turned to look over her shoulder. ¡°Get me something small for Rizen!¡± she shouted. Rizen knew that her daughter and son were inside the shop, putting the bouquets together while Unnya took the orders. ¡°How is your mother these days?¡± Unnya asked, returning her attention to Rizen.

    He shrugged. ¡°She loves to work,¡± he responded blandly.

    Unnya gave him a strange look. Rizen wasn¡¯t sure how to decipher it, but it didn¡¯t matter because she was quick to shake her head, the expression turning to a grimace. Rizen was saved from whatever she was about to say by a hand reaching out from the edge of the window, tapping Unnya on the shoulder. If Rizen had to guess, it was Greyk, Unnya¡¯s son, the rest of him remaining just out of view.

    A pity. Rizen would have loved to see him before he had to return home. It was a small thing but...

    Unnya took a bundle of three purple crocuses tied together with a white ribbon from Greyk, still hidden, and reached out of the window to hand them to Rizen. ¡°Fifteen strult.¡±

    ¡°What? It was twelve last week. And, you know, the week before, and every other week I¡¯ve ever come to you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well, we need soldiers, soldiers need to eat, and to eat they need farmland. A tribune came by and graciously suggested that I sell some of my land back to the officials, so I have less space for flowers right now. But you and every other boy in town comes to me every week for flowers.¡± Unnya spread her hands in a supplicating gesture. ¡°What am I to do?¡±

    Rizen¡¯s mouth went dry. ¡°Unnya, I can¡¯t afford fifteen strult.¡±

    ¡°And so the reason I raised my prices,¡± Unnya said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Rizen, but you¡¯re not the only one in town who can¡¯t afford fifteen. But if I don¡¯t have enough flowers to go around...¡±

    Supply and demand. Of course. Rizen shook his head. ¡°Alright, fine. How much for just one?¡±

    Unnya gaped at him, clearly scandalized. ¡°You¡¯d get your mother only one flower?¡±

    ¡°Well, I have a feeling it¡¯s that or no flowers.¡± Rizen offered her a tight-lipped smile. ¡°How much?¡±

    Unnya undid the ribbon on the pathetic excuse for a bouquet, plucking a single crocus from the bunch. ¡°Eight.¡±

    Well. At least he saved four strult, he thought bitterly as he walked away, one flower in hand. They hadn¡¯t even let him take the ribbon.

    It wasn¡¯t a long walk back to his house, but then, it wasn''t a long walk to anywhere in town. Still, Rizen¡¯s house was on the outskirts of their little piece of civilization, enough that it was almost ten minutes from the next closest building. The plot of land his house sat on was also occupied by a chicken coop further to the right with a small pen for their goat next to that, and a small piece of land to the right currently occupied with fledgling carrots, cabbage, and radishes. The house itself was small, rundown, with wooden walls of peeling white paint and a shingled roof bleached pale by the sun. The front door squeaked harshly when Rizen opened it and stepped inside.

    The interior of his house had been largely the same as long as Rizen had been alive. Walking in, he found himself in the kitchen with its myriads of cupboards and utensils hanging on the left wall and small table with four chairs in the middle of the space. To the right, a hearth and fireplace for cooking and heating. It was out now, as Rizen hadn¡¯t gone to chop firewood in a while, and he was trying to conserve what he could. Mom hadn¡¯t complained about the cold yet, so it couldn¡¯t be that bad.

    Not that she ever noticed much of anything anyway. And Rizen hated chopping firewood.

    In the middle of the table was last week¡¯s bundle of flowers, brown and shriveled by now, and Rizen took them out and replaced them with the single crocus.

    ¡°Mom?¡± he called. ¡°I¡¯m back from Unnya¡¯s!¡±

    He waited a long moment, but there was no response. In her workshop, then.

    He sat heavily at the table and just stared at the crocus for a long moment. His gaze fell to the dead ones in his hand, resting on the table. Unbidden, his thoughts began to spin away from him.

    The flower holds its beauty in petals so bright, he thought. But it cannot escape the strike of time, no matter how it tries, for a flower can only ever be a flower. So what makes you think you have any power, to change what fate decides?

    Rizen sighed, banishing the verses from his mind. A tree can only be a tree, and a flower can only be a flower, and Rizen can only be Rizen, trapped in this place, in this life.

    <hr>

    (658 A.C.)

    Dad didn''t hit him. When Rizen next saw him, he asked where that sniveling little dratsnatch was, and Rizen told him Crizo left. Dad got mad, sure, turned an angry red and stomped around the house shouting obscenities, sometimes at Rizen, but he didn''t strike him. Rizen knew it wasn''t because Dad liked him more than Crizo¨Che had hit him many times before. So why not now?

    When Rizen curled in his bed that night, staring at the empty one against the other wall, he thought maybe he could put that puzzle together. Crizo was bigger and stronger than Rizen. He had a younger brother to protect. Crizo always fought back. Rizen never had. Maybe Dad liked the fight.

    Rizen didn''t see Mom until the next day when she emerged from her study raving about some breakthrough she''d made in her research. Dad, as always, was calm¨Chappy even¨Cwhen she was around. He made her breakfast and helped her into the chair at the table so he could do some maintenance on her wooden wheelchair while she ate. In between each bite of porridge, she babbled on about moisture in the air¨Cat least, that''s what Rizen was pretty sure she was talking about. It wasn''t until she was done with her meal that she glanced first at Rizen, sitting to her right at the table, then to the left, where Crizo''s usual seat sat empty.

    "Where''s Crizo?" she asked.

    Dad only grunted. Rizen pushed his porridge around in its little clay bowl and didn''t look at her or the chair or anything else. "He left."

    "Oh." Mom furrowed her brow. "When will he be back?"

    Dad was silent, so Rizen was the one that answered again. "He''s not. Coming back."

    Mom stared at him owlishly. "Why not? When did he leave? Can I catch up to him? David, bring over my wheelchair, I''ll go get him."

    Rizen clenched his spoon so hard he was surprised it didn''t snap in half. "He left over a day ago." Rizen bit his tongue, to stop himself from adding, And I didn''t go with him to stay with you.

    "Why?" she cried, proving she really didn''t notice the things that happened in her own house. But she loved them, didn''t she? She must¨Cshe wouldn''t be so ready to chase after Crizo otherwise.

    Rizen glanced at Dad. He was very pointedly staring at him while he snapped off a potential splinter from the arm of his mom''s wheelchair. Rizen gulped and peeked up at his mom. "He just didn''t want to be here anymore."

    Mom''s face fell. "Was it me?" she asked him, her voice as broken as shattered glass.

    Rizen couldn''t tell her the truth¨Cthat it wasn''t but it also was. It would hurt her too badly, he thought, and Dad tolerated some things, but hurting Mom was absolutely not one of them. "No," Rizen said. "He¨CHe wanted to go see the world. He wanted an adventure."

    "He''ll get himself killed, is what he''ll do," Mom hissed. "David, you need to go after him. Bring him back home."

    Rizen froze again. Dad grunted. "The kid wants to get outta here, who are we to stop him?"

    Mom looked appalled. "He''s fifteen. If a wild creature doesn''t find him, a criminal will. And if not a criminal, then a soldier. No, he needs to come home where it''s safe."

    Rizen bit the inside of his cheek, hard, to stop himself from saying something he shouldn''t.

    His dad wheeled her chair over to her and planted a kiss on her cheek. "I''ll go look for him, see if I can''t bring him back," he said softly.

    Rizen felt like a slurry of ice was poured down his back. Their dad couldn''t go after Crizo. If he found him, Crizo was dead. Dad would say someone else had done it, and his mom would believe him because she didn''t know the truth.

    "I''ll go with him," Rizen said, before he had even realized it.

    His dad looked at him sharply. "You need to stay here," he said, a warning to his tone. "Your mother will need looking after."

    Mom frowned. "I''m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, Rizen is only eight, and I''m his mother. I should be taking care of him." Her gaze flicked to him. "You''ll only slow your father down, Rizen," she said gently.

    "No! I''ll keep up! If¨Cif we find him, I can help convince him to come back!"

    Mom''s brow rose in surprise. ¡°And what makes you think that?¡±

    Rizen didn¡¯t know how to put all his thoughts into words again. That Crizo loved him best out of everyone in their family and that Rizen would promise to be stronger so that Crizo didn¡¯t have to fight so hard or hurt so much. Rizen would do anything to keep his brother and his mother by his side. Anything.

    Rizen couldn¡¯t tell her any of that, though, and he wouldn¡¯t be able to say it well even if he tried. Instead, he felt tears prickling in his eyes once again, and he stubbornly scrubbed at his face. ¡°I can¨CI know I can.¡±

    Dad was somewhere behind him¨Che knew because Mom looked up, seemingly to share a look with him. Her mouth was drawn in a tight line, and Rizen was sure she was about to insist he stay when she finally said, ¡°Alright, Rizen. You can go with your father. But only as far as the river. If Crizo has gotten any farther, you come back home and let your dad handle the rest, alright?¡±

    Rizen wouldn¡¯t do that. He wouldn¡¯t leave Dad alone to find Crizo. ¡°Okay,¡± he said anyway.

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    When he turned around, Dad loomed over him, shoving a large, sheathed knife from the wall into his belt. His expression was hard, but relatively mild for all that. Rizen gulped anyway and kept his head down as he reached for his own little paring knife. Crizo had given it to him for his last birthday. He was the only one that had even mentioned the occasion.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go, then,¡± Dad said, turning and opening the door to their little house. Rizen hooked his knife to his belt and scrambled after him.

    It was pleasant enough for summer in Lirende, the early morning making the humidity refreshing instead of suffocating. Still, the sun peeked above the tops of the trees in the east, its yellow rays promising a more cloying heat in the afternoon. Rizen didn''t know what was going to happen, but he hoped he would be back before it got too hot. He hated how it felt to be sweaty all over.

    Their little cottage was at the edge of the town. They passed by the chicken coops, the hens clucking in a soft choir. Rizen had fed them before breakfast, just as he had milked and watered Missy, their goat, and checked on their small plot of crops. Farming had always been more of Crizo''s duty since he didn''t like the way the animals smelled and Rizen didn''t like the way dirt smeared across his hands and stained his clothes, but, well, Crizo wasn''t here anymore. Rizen had at least watched him enough times to have some idea of what he was doing. He hoped.

    But it wouldn''t matter soon. Cause either they would find Crizo and¨C

    Or they wouldn''t find Crizo, and to get him to come back, Rizen would¨C

    There was only one way to fix this, wasn''t there? But... Crizo had told him not to. But what else could Rizen do? Crizo told him not to let Dad take this away from him, but he''d already taken so much. Crizo spoke like anything about this was fair at all.

    Dad made no effort to slow his pace for Rizen, not that he expected him to. He didn¡¯t glance back once at Rizen, either, though Rizen couldn''t seem to tear his eyes away from his dad''s hulking figure. People did double-takes as they passed by, and Rizen tried hard not to meet any of their eyes. It was a rare occurrence for Rizen to come into town¨Cthat mostly just fell to Dad. And the both of them together? Rizen had only ever come into town with Crizo before, and his mom exactly once back when Crizo and Dad got really sick one summer and needed medicine.

    The eyes of the people in town were sad, if Rizen had to put a word to it. Did they know what had happened? Or did they know what Rizen planned to do?

    Rizen¡¯s knife hung heavy at his belt, like a lead fishing weight. He tried not to think about it, hurrying to keep up with Dad.

    <hr>

    (665 A.C.)

    Rizen woke early the next morning, as he usually did. He roused slowly, blinking his eyes open and stretching his limbs until they shook. He sighed, relaxing again, and stared across the room at the bed against the far wall that had been empty for so long. Sighing, Rizen eventually tore his gaze away and went for the journal on his nightstand. He sat up and opened it, grabbing the piece of charcoal that had been next to it and scanning the page.

    There were the poems from yesterday and the day before, as well as what he could remember from his dream the night before last. There wasn¡¯t room on the page for another entry, so he flipped to the next and, tapping his piece of charcoal against the edge of the page, thought for a moment. He didn¡¯t really remember much from his dream last night, but it all just seemed like garbled memories anyway.

    Sighing again, he put his charcoal against the page and started writing. What is the merit of a hand stained with blood? Does it spread red to all that is touched? He paused and stared at the two lines. He became suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to tear the page out and rip it to shreds, but Rizen merely closed his journal and set it and the charcoal back on his nightstand. He swung his legs off his bed and went to get dressed for the day.

    When he left his room, he found Mom sitting at the kitchen table, eating scrambled eggs and bread. There was another plate prepared and resting at the other end of the table, where Rizen¡¯s father had once sat. Now, it was where Rizen sat every morning and every night.

    When Mom heard his footsteps approaching, she craned her neck around to offer him a smile. Nodding to the front door, she said, ¡°I think Ruffles wants in.¡±

    Rizen grunted and went to open the door before he sat down and enjoyed his breakfast. He heard a light scratch against the wood of the door on his way over, and when he pulled the door open, he found Ruffles lying on his side on the dirt path leading to the door, one white paw lazily outstretched, prepared to scratch at the door again. The massive cwn annwn scrambled to his four paws when he saw Rizen, tongue lolling out of his mouth and red tail wagging. He resembled a dog, mostly, or maybe more accurately a wolf due to his size. Most of his body was white as snow, except for his tail and ears, as red as a rose. His eyes, too, were completely black except for their scarlet iris.

    Rizen stepped aside for him, and Ruffles bounded into the house, immediately moving to sniff at Rizen¡¯s plate.

    ¡°No,¡± Rizen snapped, pushing his muzzle away from his food and sitting down. Ruffles huffed and sat down next to him, tall enough that he could rest his head on the table and look up at Rizen with wide eyes. ¡°And no. Begging won¡¯t get you anything either.¡±

    Ruffles huffed again and pulled his head back up, watching as Rizen began to eat. Rizen ignored him.

    ¡°How are you today, Rizen?¡± Mom asked. Her voice was sweet as syrup, but all it did was grate against Rizen¡¯s already soured mood.

    And why was he in a bad mood, anyway? Because he dreamed of the past last night? Because that stupid crocus sat between him and Mom, mocking him with the money he¡¯d spent on it and the way Mom hadn¡¯t so much as glanced at it? Because every time he tried to write anything, it was miserable and underwhelming and yet laced with everything he had to give?

    Maybe he was just a miserable and underwhelming person.

    ¡°Peachy,¡± he said instead of any of that¨Cnot because he didn¡¯t have the words, but because even after all this time, he would never do something to hurt his mother.

    Mom smiled at him even as her brow furrowed. ¡°What did you do yesterday?¡±

    Rizen shrugged. ¡°Chores.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± she said lightly. Her gaze fell down to her plate as she picked at her eggs with her fork. ¡°And, um, what do you plan on doing today?¡±

    ¡°Chores.¡± Just as he had done everyday. He was the only one left to do them, after all. But maybe he could get some more writing in before the light died, even if the nearing winter shortened the days. He supposed he could always get out the candles or light the fireplace, but Mom already went through too many candles during the winter with her late hours working and Rizen didn¡¯t want to chop more firewood than necessary.

    ¡°Oh.¡± Mom took a bite of her bread, chewing and swallowing before she continued, ¡°I was actually thinking of taking Ruffles to the creek today and trying to get some readings.¡±

    Rizen glanced at Ruffles. He had one ear up and one ear flopped down, gazing up at Rizen and panting slightly. Rizen shrugged again. ¡°Do what you want with him. He¡¯s not mine.¡±

    Mom¡¯s pleasant smile turned quizzical. ¡°He followed you home and hasn¡¯t left since.¡±

    ¡°And?¡±

    Mom grimaced. She opened her mouth and closed it again. Finally, she said, ¡°Nevermind. I shouldn¡¯t be more than a couple of hours.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± Rizen said and focused back on his meal.

    Mom rolled her wheelchair over to the door and whistled. ¡°Come on, Ruffles,¡± she called. Ruffles let out a low whine, and Rizen finally caved, picking up a small bit of egg and flicking it his way. Ruffles caught it from the air, teeth smacking together loudly. When he was done chewing, he leaned forward and gave Rizen¡¯s hand a tentative lick before bounding away.

    Mom managed to open the door, and Rizen listened to the clack of Ruffles¡¯ claws on the wooden floor as he went back outside. Rizen waited to hear the clatter of Mom¡¯s wheelchair against the planks as well, but it didn¡¯t immediately sound. Instead, she spoke again. ¡°I won¡¯t be long.¡±

    ¡°I got it,¡± Rizen said without turning around, about as short as he ever risked being with her.

    That got her to start rolling away without another word. A moment later and the door closed behind her with a rusty squeal, leaving Rizen alone in the kitchen with what was left of his breakfast. He carefully pushed his plate away and rested his elbows on the table so he could bury his face in his hands. He gave himself exactly ten seconds before he reached forward to finish his meal.

    When he was done, he took his plate and fork as well as Mom¡¯s and put them in the bucket for washing later. With that done, he went outside to see to the chickens first. They kept their ground meal in small sacks in a barrel along the side of the house. Rizen fetched one and went to the chicken coop, murmuring softly to the chickens and listening to them chirp in return as he spread the seed out for them. Once that was done, he went to Missy¡¯s pen, petting the old goat for a moment before giving her breakfast for the day. She needed more water, too¨CRizen would have to get enough for her as well as himself and Mom, when he fetched some from the well in town later.

    Once he was done tending to Missy, he went to check on the crops. It was cold enough that the soil was still damp from the day before, so at least Rizen didn¡¯t need to account for them when getting water, too¨Cprobably would have made him take several trips into town if he had. He checked the small field for any weeds, but as he¡¯d done the same thing yesterday, there weren¡¯t any to pluck away today. It was too cold for most bugs, too, so Rizen mostly just walked up and down the length of the field, inspecting it with a critical eye, and when he was satisfied, he went back inside to fetch the buckets for water.

    A roundtrip to the well and back took just under an hour, and with the act of actually filling the buckets he would take back to his house, that became an entire hour. By the time Rizen got back, Mom would probably be home, too¨Cnot that Rizen expected to see anymore of her today. She¡¯d probably just spend the rest of the day cooped up in her workshop doing... whatever she did all day in there. It had been years since Rizen had sat in on her work, and back when he had, he had mostly been interested in just not being somewhere else in the house.

    Rizen started the trek to the well, a wooden rod slung across his shoulders and two empty buckets hanging on either end. He tried not to let his thoughts wander as he walked. Amera knew he didn¡¯t need to be in an even worse mood when Mom came back.

    It wasn¡¯t a rare occurrence for Rizen to go to town anymore¨Chadn¡¯t been since everything happened¨Cand people no longer gave him a second-glance when they saw him. And yet, he still wasn¡¯t just another face in the crowd. When people saw them, their expressions shuttered and they quickly looked away.

    How does one escape their past? How long do sins truly last? Rizen thought, watching his feet as he walked. Where is the escape? How does one leave a place with no name?

    All he had to do was not get bogged down in his thoughts, and Rizen had already failed. At least it wasn¡¯t much farther to the well, and then he could go home and clean and maybe do some writing and then cook dinner and go to bed. Just like he basically did everyday.

    There was no one else getting water from the well, though that wasn¡¯t to say that there was no one around. The well was situated in the center square of town, where the stalls of local vendors stood and the people selling their goods shouted and waved, trying to flag customers down. Rizen sidestepped them and the other bustiling townspoeple with a practiced ease, even with the buckets swinging near his shoulders, and set the bar down on top of the stone base of the well. He paused to roll his shoulders then set about drawing up water from the well. He gripped the rope and heaved, hand over hand, until the bucket of the well was within reach. He filled his buckets and dropped the well¡¯s back down, repeating the process until he had two buckets full of water. Then, he hooked them back to the bar, laid the bar across his shoulders, and started the trek back home.

    No one bothered him. Not a single call of his name or second glance in his direction. It wasn¡¯t different from any other day, so Rizen wasn¡¯t sure why it stood out to him today.

    He passed McLaney¡¯s homestead, the last other property before his house. He kicked up dust with every step of his boots against the ground. Around him, the chill of the near winter left the surrounding fields barren of everything but grass. Farther east, past the pastures of his town, were the nearby woods. Not too far into there was the creek Mom was visiting. He watched for any movement along the edge of the trees, but all he could make out was the occasional bird flitting between the leaves.

    When Rizen reached his home, he set the buckets down by the door and leaned the bar against the barrel with the grains. He took one of the bucket¡¯s to Missy¡¯s enclosure, filling her water trough, and left the bucket next to the bar to air out. He picked up the other and opened the front door to head inside.

    Rizen stopped in the doorway. Sitting at the table, in the seat he sat in when he was younger, was a girl. Long blonde hair, skinny, and when she turned to look at him, he couldn¡¯t help but note the hollowness of her cheeks. Her clothes, too, were threadbare and dirty, covered in dust and other muck, and her boots looked one step from falling apart completely. Despite all that, however, her golden eyes were warm and bright, like the sun itself.

    Rizen scowled. ¡°Who the fuck are you?¡±

    The girl kicked her legs back and forth, the toes of her boots scuffing lightly on the wooden floor. ¡°Wanily. Who are you?¡±

    ¡°No, no,¡± Rizen said, drawing himself up to his full height¨Cwhich was, admittedly, not very tall. ¡°You broke into my house. I¡¯ll be asking the questions around here.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Wanily said. ¡°This is Peyra¡¯s house.¡±

    How did this random child know Mom? Rizen had certainly never seen her around town before. ¡°You know my mother¡¯s name but not that she has a son?¡± Rizen drawled, crossing his arms.

    Wanily crossed them right back. ¡°She didn¡¯t mention you when I met her.¡±

    Which stung but wasn¡¯t outside the realm of possibility. Rizen wasn¡¯t about to let Wanily know that, though. ¡°And how did you meet her? Where is she?¡±

    Wanily shrugged. ¡°Dunno where she went, just said she was going to do some work. And anyway, I met her by the river with this big, mag¨Cah, wolf thing. A cwn annwn?¡±

    Rizen grunted. He finally stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind him. ¡°And where is he?¡±

    Wanily shrugged again. ¡°Went off into the woods. Peyra didn¡¯t seem worried about it.¡±

    ¡°Why did she bring you back here anyway?¡± Rizen asked, unable to make his voice anything but scalding. She barely even gave Rizen the time of day, and now Mom was bringing home random children?

    Wanily remained unfazed by his tone. She blinked up at him with those big, golden eyes. ¡°I think she felt bad for me,¡± she said. ¡°I told her that I was out there on my own and kinda hungry and she told me I was welcome to stay at her house until the winter passed.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Rizen hissed. ¡°No. You can¡¯t stay here through the winter¨Cwe barely have enough¨C¡±

    ¡°Rizen?¡± A voice¨CMom¡¯s voice¨C called from down the hall leading to her workshop and the bedrooms. ¡°Are you back?¡±

    Rizen took a deep, deep breath. ¡°Yes,¡± he called back, never taking his eyes off Wanily. ¡°I think you have some explaining to do, Mother.¡±

    <hr>

    (658 A.C.)

    Dad stopped and talked with one of the guards at the other end of town, the ones keeping watch at the path that led to the main road. They told him no one had seen Crizo leave. Rizen wasn¡¯t sure if that was the truth¨Cand if it wasn¡¯t, he was glad for it. He didn¡¯t know how much the people in town actually knew about what happened in his house¨Chopefully not much¨Cbut maybe they were trying to help protect Crizo, too.

    Dad turned on his heel and started marching back through town. Rizen scrambled to follow, waving goodbye to the guards. They waved back, but they looked sad.

    Dad didn¡¯t say anything to Rizen as he walked. It took Rizen over a minute to work up the courage to ask, ¡°Are we going back home?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Dad snapped over his shoulder.

    Rizen shrank back, faltering mid-stride, not that Dad slowed down for him at all. Rizen rushed to catch back up with him, breathing hard. ¡°Then where are we going? The guards said they didn¡¯t see him.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s another town on the other side of the woods,¡± Dad said, without turning this time, so that Rizen could barely hear him above the bustling town around them. ¡°If that little fucker didn¡¯t go down the main road, he must have tried his luck going through the woods.¡± Dad grunted. ¡°Who knows, maybe some monster or wild beast did find him and eat him.¡±

    Rizen¡¯s eyes burned, but he knew better than to show any evidence of tears around Dad. He ducked his head and hurried to keep pace with him without another word.

    They closed most of the distance back to their house, stopping when they reached McLaney¡¯s homestead. Dad walked up to the door of the ranch and banged on it until McLaney himself opened the door.

    ¡°Figured you¡¯d come by eventually,¡± McLaney drawled. The man was short, with pale green hair and round spectacles that made his eyes look twice as big. He had moved here from Telldor, the country to the south, and his light skin and accent was evidence enough of that. ¡°¡®Ere about your son, aintcha?¡± He glanced past Dad, toward Rizen. ¡°Well, your other one.¡±

    ¡°Did you see him?¡± Dad asked. Rizen couldn¡¯t help but notice the way his hands flexed, like they wanted to form into fists, when he talked about Crizo.

    ¡°Sure did.¡± McLaney crossed his arms. ¡°¡®Course, don¡¯t see how that¡¯s any of your business.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s my son,¡± Dad hissed, drawing himself up. Rizen took a step away from him, gaze flicking between Dad and McLaney. What should he do if Dad started swinging? Rizen couldn¡¯t¨CMcLaney had always been kind to him. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t it be my business?¡±

    McLaney shrugged. ¡°You''re my neighbor, Malvin. Ask me for some grain for your clucks and I might be inclined to give you some. But I know what happens in your house, with your boys, and I can¡¯t say I want to much help you find someone who don¡¯t want to be found.¡±

    Dad did clench his hands into two meaty fists then. ¡°You¨C¡± he started, bellowing so loudly the birds in the tree behind McLaney¡¯s ranch took off with short squawks.

    ¡°Good day, Malvin,¡± McLaney interrupted calmly before slamming the door in Dad¡¯s face.

    Rizen took another step back. Dad took in several great, deep breaths before glaring at Rizen over his shoulder. Rizen cringed away, dropping his gaze to his feet.

    ¡°We¡¯re going to the woods,¡± Dad hissed. ¡°McLaney can keep his fucking mouth shut, but it doesn¡¯t take a genius to know if Crizo came by here then he must have gone there.¡±

    If it took a genius, Rizen was sure Dad wouldn¡¯t have ever figured it out. He wisely chose not to say that.

    ¡°And I better not hear another word from you,¡± Dad added, glowering at Rizen. Rizen opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it, offering a nod instead.

    Dad grunted and started back toward their house, but it wasn¡¯t long before he was veering off the road, toward the woods. Rizen followed him silently, trying his best to keep even his steps quiet. He didn¡¯t want to give Dad any excuses¨Cnot that he ever needed them before.

    Rizen had been in the woods plenty with Crizo before. They used to play all the time between the trees, pretending they were bandits or guards or great mages like the ones from the stories of the bards that came through town. The woods had always been a safe place, away from everything that happened in their house. Sure, deeper in there could be different monsters or wild animals, but Rizen had never so much as seen one in all the times he had been inside.

    But monsters weren¡¯t just magical creatures, Rizen thought, watching his dad¡¯s back as he followed him into the one place he had always associated with peace.

    The litter of the forest crunched underfoot as they picked their way forward. For once, the closeness of the trees felt suffocating instead of comforting. Rizen scanned the space between trunks over and over, looking for any hint of Crizo. He couldn¡¯t let Dad find him first.

    They continued like that for several long minutes, Dad prowling through the underbrush like a beast on the hunt and Rizen struggling to keep his steps half as quiet while keeping up with him. It was around the same time that Rizen caught the sound of the bubbling of the creek that Dad stopped and knelt. Rizen cautiously picked his way forward until he stood just behind him. He lifted himself up to his tiptoes and looked over Dad¡¯s shoulder at whatever he had found.

    The creek cut a shallow trough through the forest floor, merrily flowing down toward the larger river two miles away. Dad knelt at the edge of the creek, a hungry smile on his face, as he gazed down at the clear impression of a footprint pressed into the mud. It was the perfect size and shape for one of Crizo¡¯s boots. The way the toes were pointed made it clear Crizo had crossed the creek and continued on through the forest toward the other town.

    Rizen swallowed hard. Dad muttered a smug, ¡°Got you.¡±

    Dad stood, and Rizen nearly tripped trying to scurry back. Dad glanced at him, a sneer twisting his face. ¡°You should get home, boy.¡±

    Rizen clutched at the hem of his shirt. ¡°Mom said I could go as far as the river.¡±

    Dad furrowed his brow. ¡°Are you stupid?¡±  He motioned to the creek behind him. ¡°We¡¯re there.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not a river,¡± Rizen said slowly, trying to pick his words as carefully as possible. Dad was calm enough right now, but Rizen knew anything could set him off. ¡°The river is back that way.¡± Rizen pointed vaguely in the direction of the main entrance of town.

    ¡°I know where the fucking river is,¡± Dad snapped. Rizen shrunk back. ¡°But Crizo didn¡¯t go that way, did he? He went this way.¡± He gestured emphatically behind him.

    Rizen glanced in that direction, toward the stillness of the woods that led, eventually, to a town. ¡°What are you going to do when you find him?¡± Rizen blurted out, gripping the hem of his shirt hard.

    Dad gave him a look. He didn¡¯t ask if Rizen was stupid again¨Cnot with his mouth, anyway. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of him,¡± Dad said. ¡°Go home.¡±

    But that place wasn¡¯t home, Rizen thought desperately. Not without Crizo.

    Dad turned away, hands clenched into fists. Rizen¡¯s hand crept to his belt. His breathing picked up. He stared at Dad¡¯s back, curling his fingers around the hilt of his knife.

    Crizo had gone to the other town. Dad knew that. Rizen knew that. If Dad found him, Crizo was dead. Rizen knew that, too.

    There was only one option left. Rizen just... had to be strong enough to do it.

    Dad started to turn, probably to ask Rizen what he was still doing there. There wasn¡¯t a second to waste. It was either do or¨Cor Crizo would die. Rizen yanked his knife out and charged forward, knife overhead. He would only get one chance. Dad was taller than him¨Cif Rizen wanted to aim for his heart, he had to hold his knife high.

    Dad turned. Rizen struck.

    Dad was faster.

    He lashed out, catching Rizen in the chest with his forearm. Rizen¡¯s blow barely glanced off Dad¡¯s chest, slicing a shallow, red line from his collarbone down just an inch. Rizen stumbled back with a wheeze. His foot caught on something¨Ca root probably¨Cand Rizen found himself sprawled on the ground, staring up at the blue sky trying to sneak past the canopy of the forest. His hands scrabbled in the dirt, searching for his knife, but it didn¡¯t matter. Dad was on him before his fingers found it, a sneer on his face as his hand snapped out. He gripped Rizen around the neck and lifted as easily as picking up a pebble.

    ¡°You trying to kill me? Huh?¡± Dad shouted, face red and eyes crazed. ¡°Trying to be a hero for your pathetic brother?¡±

    Rizen clawed at Dad¡¯s hand, fighting to breathe around his crushing grip. ¡°Cri..zo...¡± he choked out, tears springing to the corner of his eyes. Crizo had always protected him from Dad. He¨CHe would come out of the woods any second now. He would stop Dad. Then Rizen would kill Dad, and they¡¯d go home and tell Mom that¨Cit didn¡¯t matter what they told Mom. She would believe whatever they said, and then they would live happily ever after.

    Crizo would come. He always protected Rizen.

    The world was growing dark around the edges. Rizen¡¯s chest burned, and though he kicked and clawed and struggled, he could feel himself growing weaker. The only clear thing he could make out was Dad¡¯s face, a sadistic glee splitting it in a smile. His sight blurred, and Rizen thought for a terrifying second that he was dying before he realized it was because his tears were making everything murky.

    Crizo wasn¡¯t coming. For once, Rizen had to protect himself.

    Rizen gritted his teeth. He swung his legs up, wrapping them around Dad¡¯s arm and getting just enough leverage to chomp down on his hand. Blood filled his mouth, and Dad howled in pain. He dropped Rizen like he was hot metal, hand snapping back. Rizen hit the ground hard, but the pain buzzed in the back of his mind, tiny compared to the relief he felt as he took great, heaving breaths. Dad started for him again, and Rizen¡¯s gaze snagged on his knife, just a few inches away.

    Dad grabbed him by the shoulder, his other hand pulled back in a fist. Rizen¡¯s hand found his knife. Dad brought his fist down. Rizen brought the knife up.

    <hr>

    (665 A.C.)

    Mom found a girl in the woods. Said girl traveled with a pack bigger than her entire body, and still managed somehow to go hungry. It would be winter soon, and then food would be even scarcer, and Rizen, she couldn¡¯t just leave her there.

    Rizen listened to all of this with barely a twitch of his eyebrow. He should get a fucking award for his patience at this point.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have that much food,¡± Rizen said for probably the seventeenth time since he and Mom had started talking. He¡¯d sent Wanily to sit outside while he discussed things with his mother. He sat at one end of the table in the kitchen, and Mom sat at the other. ¡°Mom, I can¡¯t take care of her and you.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to take care of me,¡± Mom said.

    Rizen ran a hand through his hair. That was always a sore spot for her, and Rizen tried to avoid it most of the time. That didn¡¯t make it any less true at this moment. ¡°You can¡¯t do some of the chores around the house,¡± Rizen said, keeping a chokehold on his emotions. If he didn¡¯t, he was sure he¡¯d start shouting. ¡°It¡¯s just the truth. It¡¯s fine. But I didn¡¯t plant enough crops for another person, and we only have so many chickens. Missy doesn¡¯t even produce much milk anymore.¡±

    ¡°Rizen,¡± Mom started, looking at her hands clasped on top of the table then back up at him. ¡°She wants to learn magic.¡±

    A weight, like a lump of cold metal, curdled in the bottom of Rizen¡¯s stomach. ¡°So does basically every other child. What makes her special?¡±

    ¡°Rizen.¡± Mom gave him an imploring look.

    She didn¡¯t say it. She never brought either of them up anymore, not since Rizen shut down each of those conversations as quickly as possible.

    Crizo had wanted to learn magic.

    Rizen pushed himself away from the table, crossing his arms and looking away sharply. ¡°Do whatever you want,¡± he hissed. ¡°Just keep her far away from me.¡±

    Mom frowned. ¡°Don¡¯t be like that, Rizen.¡±

    Rizen laughed, completely devoid of mirth. ¡°And what should I be like?¡±

    ¡°I was hoping she could stay in your room,¡± Mom said slowly, instead of acknowledging that.

    In the empty bed. Crizo¡¯s bed.

    Rizen bit down the immediate refusal that tried to snap its way past his lips. It wasn¡¯t like Crizo was using it. ¡°Whatever,¡± Rizen reiterated. ¡°But she has to help around the house.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    Rizen huffed, uncrossing his arms and standing. ¡°Alright,¡± he snapped. Then, quieter, ¡°Alright.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Rizen,¡± Mom said. She wheeled herself away from the table, clattering over the planks of the floor, and over to the front door. She knocked against it, calling, ¡°Wanily? You can come back in.¡±

    The door was open in an instant, and Rizen was sure Wanily spent the whole time with her ear up against it, listening. It¡¯s what he would have done. She practically skipped inside, a large smile on her face.

    ¡°I can stay?¡± she asked Mom. Mom nodded, and her grin stretched even further. ¡°Thank you so much, Peyra. I¡¯ll pull my weight, I promise. I won¡¯t eat much and I won¡¯t make much fuss¨CI just really need a place inside to stay.¡± She glanced at Rizen, her smile diminishing. ¡°Something wrong?¡±

    Rizen did his best to wipe away the scowl that had crept onto his face. He wasn¡¯t sure how successful he was. ¡°Are you stupid?¡± he asked. Wasn¡¯t it obvious?

    ¡°Rizen!¡± Mom scolded. She touched a hand to Wanily¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t know what¡¯s¨C¡±

    ¡°Eh, probably,¡± Wanily answered him, shrugging. It only made Rizen¡¯s temper flare, and he forced himself to take a long, deep breath. She continued, apparently oblivious, ¡°And you didn¡¯t answer my question.¡±

    ¡°You want to know what¡¯s wrong? You¡¯re here,¡± Rizen snapped. Mom gasped, but Rizen didn¡¯t particularly care if he was being disrespectful¨Cand to a girl at that. He turned on his heel and marched back to his room, slamming the door behind him.

    It didn¡¯t matter if he was acting like a child. How dare she? Mom barely even gave a fuck about what Rizen did day in and day out, and he was the one making sure she had enough to eat and drink and a pot to piss in. And now she wanted to bring some random girl into their home? All because she reminded her of the child she¡¯d lost? That she lost because of her inaction, even if she didn¡¯t know that.

    Rizen¡¯s gaze blurred with tears, and he stubbornly scrubbed them away. It didn¡¯t matter. None of it mattered. Mom could care more about random children than her own flesh and blood and it would never matter because Rizen would always be here, taking care of her. He¡¯d already lost his brother. He¡¯d killed his father. He couldn¡¯t walk away from his mother, too.

    He sat down heavily on his bed, reaching for his journal and flipping it open.

    The last thing he¡¯d written stared back up at him, taunting him. What is the merit of a hand stained with blood? Does it spread red to all that is touched?

    Rizen picked up his charcoal and, after a moment¡¯s hesitation, pressed it against the page.

    What is the purpose living a life that is not your own? How does a heart beat when all that¡¯s left is stone?

 Chapter 11: The Path Behind--Part II

    (658 A.C.)

    After¨C

    After Rizen had¨C

    He paused in the middle of scrubbing the blood from his hands and face and clothes and stared at Dad¡¯s body. Rizen¡¯s knife had found the side of Dad¡¯s neck. When he yanked it back out, blood had sprayed all over him, thick and cloying, and Dad had dropped him, clutching at the wound with both hands. He had taken a single step back, slipping in the mud by the creek, and dropped bonelessly like a puppet with its strings cut, blood staining the brown mud black and creeping steadily toward the flowing water of the creek. Rizen had laid on the ground, propped up on his elbows, with his knife still clutched in his hand for several heaving breaths. He had waited for Dad to get back up, for him to attack him again. It hadn¡¯t made any sense, and when the twitches of Dad¡¯s body subsided and the blood all over Rizen began to dry and itch, he had finally moved. He had dropped his knife like it had burned him before realizing that he couldn¡¯t leave it there. When the police came to investigate, if they found his knife at the crime scene, it would be a dead giveaway.

    So, he had picked up his knife, stepped past Dad¡¯s body, and hunkered down in the creek to wash all the blood on him away.

    He had started with the knife, sticking it into the current and wiping away any trace of violence. Then, he had tucked the knife put into its sheath and set about scrubbing the rest of him. Now, he couldn¡¯t seem to tear his gaze away from Dad. He laid there, unmoving. His head was tilted to the side slightly, and though his dull eyes stared at some point past Rizen, unseeing, it felt like at any moment they would focus on him and he would get up.

    But Rizen knew that he wouldn¡¯t. His dad was dead, and Rizen had killed him.

    His sight blurred with tears. They came hot and sudden, with his throat tightening so much Rizen almost thought he was being choked again. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, hard, but the image was burned into the forefront of his soul. His dad, laying there, blood soaking into the ground beneath him. His dad. Dad.

    Rizen couldn¡¯t remember a single good thing Dad had ever done for him. So why was he crying now that he was dead? This is what Rizen wanted, wasn¡¯t it? This was what had to happen. Crizo could come home now, and he and Mom and Rizen could all live happily together. It had been easy enough, too. All it took was one hit to the neck. Dad hadn¡¯t suffered like Crizo had for so many years.

    Rizen started crying harder, and he hated himself for it. It came as hot and burning as his tears, a deep sense of loathing rising in his chest. He shouldn¡¯t be crying. He¡¯d done something good. The world was better off without Dad. He was better off without Dad.

    But that was still his dad.

    Rizen tore his hands from his face and began frantically trying to get all the blood off again. He couldn¡¯t stand it. This was Dad¡¯s blood all over him, staining him. He scrubbed at his hands over and over, running his nails under each other, trying to banish every last speck of red. No matter how much he tried, though, he still felt dirty. It all felt wrong.

    Rizen rubbed at his hands until they were hot and swollen under the cool water. He clutched them to his chest, still crying. ¡°Crizo!¡± he wailed. ¡°You can come home now! Please come home, Crizo!¡±

    There was no answer. The woods were still and silent. But of course there was no answer. Crizo was in the other town, past the edge of the woods, or maybe even farther than that by now. Rizen would have to find a way to track him down¨Cor maybe Crizo would hear about it. A gruesome murder of a father in the little town of Greenspun? News like that was sure to spread, at least a little. And Crizo would know, because it was exactly what Rizen had suggested and Crizo had told him not to do.

    Crizo had to come home. He had to. Otherwise, what would all this be for?

    How else would Rizen live with all the blood he couldn¡¯t seem to wash away?

    Rustling nearby broke him from his thoughts. Rizen shot to his feet, even weighed down as he was by the water and blood soaked into his clothes, a fragile hope blooming in his chest. Could it be? ¡°Crizo?¡± Rizen called, turning toward the source of the noise.

    Rizen froze. There was a reason the woods had been so quiet, and Rizen was stupid not to realize it. Barely five feet away from him, standing in a tuft of underbrush, was a giant cwn annwn. It stared at Rizen with its unsettling red eyes, panting slightly.

    Rizen swallowed hard, his hand shooting to his knife. He had known that there were cwn annwn in the woods, but he always thought they were farther in¨Che had never actually seen one except as the tamed companion of one of the hunters in town.

    Cwn annwn could be vicious, Rizen knew. They could tear muscle and flesh apart with their massive teeth as easily as wet paper, their claws could slice through bone like they were parting sand. They were vicious toward the evil, and benevolent toward those they deemed to be good.

    And Rizen¡¯s hands were stained with blood.

    It suddenly felt like he couldn¡¯t breathe all over again. He took two uncertain steps back, chest heaving, the hand gripping the hilt of his knife trembling despite the way he grasped it tightly. The cwn annwn prowled forward, advancing one step for each one Rizen retreated.

    It stopped next to Dad¡¯s body and sniffed at it and the blood around him. It brought its huge head up again and stared at Rizen. Its tail slowly began to wag.

    ...Was that a good sign or a sign that Rizen was about to die a very gruesome death?

    The cwn annwn turned then, bounding to a nearby bush and fastening its teeth around one of the branches. It ripped it from the plant with a spray of leaves, and turned back to Rizen.

    Rizen knew of this, too. Cwn annwn were monsters¨Cthey could cast spells, and they used branches as wands. Rizen squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for some type of blast of magic to hit and end him, but instead, his sopping wet clothes suddenly felt warm and dry, like he¡¯d been laying in the sun. He peeked one eye open, glancing down at himself, and found nothing staining his clothes. No water, no blood.

    Rizen was perfectly clean. He glanced up at the cwn annwn. The monster sat down, its tail thumping against the forest floor.

    That didn¡¯t make any sense, though. Rizen had just killed someone. His own dad at that. He was evil. Wicked. The blood would never come off his hands. So why wasn¡¯t the cwn annwn attacking him?

    Rizen glanced over his shoulder, in the direction the other town laid. If he went there now, without Dad, it would be too suspicious. He¨CHe needed to go home, first, didn¡¯t he? Tell Mom that Dad was dead and that...

    What should he tell her? That a lone soldier had been camping out in the woods? That didn¡¯t make a lot of sense though. Maybe a deserter that had turned to the life of a bandit? And he had attacked them, and Dad had died protecting Rizen?

    Protecting him. Rizen snorted to himself. Right.

    He glanced at the cwn annwn again. It continued to just sit there, the branch from the bush in its mouth and the tip of its tail still wriggling.

    ¡°Um, thank you,¡± Rizen said. ¡°I need to get going now.¡±

    He started back home. The cwn annwn got up and followed him.

    Rizen stopped again. ¡°You can¡¯t follow me,¡± he told it. ¡°I don¡¯t know how I would explain you.¡±

    A cwn annwn didn¡¯t fit into the narrative Rizen was going to try to sell. He couldn¡¯t even think of something that could include a cwn annwn and still make sense. ¡°You need to go home,¡± Rizen tried again when it became clear the cwn annwn wasn¡¯t leaving.

    It let out a low whine, ears pricked up and tail falling still.

    Rizen took another step forward. The cwn annwn did not follow this time. Rizen breathed out a sigh of relief and started to run, trying to make it look like he was fleeing for his life. It wasn¡¯t very long before he burst from the edge of the forest and raced back up toward his house. ¡°Mom!¡± he cried. It was just for added measure¨Che knew she wouldn¡¯t even realize he was calling for her until he was banging on the door to her workshop. ¡°Mom! It¡¯s Dad! He¡¯s dead!¡±

    Rizen glanced back at the woods. The cwn annwn stood at the edge of the underbrush, watching him with those scarlet eyes, before it turned and bounded away.

    <hr>

    (665 A.C.)

    Rizen woke to the sound of his door opening. He must have fallen asleep, and now the world outside was quickly darkening, leaving only dim light to filter through the window of his room. He propped himself up on one elbow, rubbing at his eyes with his other hand. ¡°Mom? What do you¨C¡±

    But it wasn¡¯t Mom. Of course not. It was that girl, Wanily, peeking her head into the room and looking around. Rizen scowled as she let herself in fully, that massive pack of hers on her back and a smile on her face.

    ¡°Sorry to wake you,¡± Wanily said. She sounded sincere enough, but it only sent a sharp pang through Rizen¡¯s rapidly growing headache. ¡°It¡¯s getting dark though, and I was going to try to sleep.¡±

    Rizen said nothing. Wanily didn¡¯t seem to mind, heading to the other bed¨CCrizo¡¯s old bed¨Cand letting her pack thump to the ground at the foot of it. She sat down on the edge of the bed and scanned the room. ¡°You have a nice house,¡± she said, rocking back and forth, beams creaking and straw crinkling. Rizen sent her a withering glare and hoped the old straw and wood gave way and she fell right through. ¡°You know, I think this is the first time I¡¯ve actually slept in a bed in a couple of years.¡±

    ¡°Oh, is that so?¡± Rizen drawled, letting himself fall back on the bed and staring up at the dark ceiling.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Wanily said. She was silent for a moment, and then, ¡°You¡¯re not going to ask why?¡±

    Rizen glanced at her. She was staring at him, head cocked. ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± he said.

    Wanily smiled. ¡°Ouch.¡± She blew out a long breath. ¡°So your name is Rizen, huh? Like the archipelago?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Rizen snapped. ¡°Why would my parents name me after some islands halfway across the world? I¡¯m named after the weather phenomenon that occurs around thunderbirds.¡±

    ¡°I thought thunderbirds caused the storms?¡±

    Rizen rolled his eyes. ¡°The storm is still around them, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Wanily shrugged and scanned the room again. ¡°Did someone else use to stay here?¡± she asked, completely pivoting the conversation in a new direction. ¡°Why do you have a spare bed?¡±

    That made some of Rizen¡¯s fire die. ¡°I had an older brother,¡± he said softly.

    ¡°Oh.¡± Wanily hummed. ¡°Is he dead?¡±

    Rizen scowled. ¡°No.¡± Even though Rizen didn¡¯t know that for sure, and it was something that haunted the edges of most of his nightmares. ¡°He left when I was eight.¡±

    Wanily hummed again. ¡°What about your dad? Where is he?¡±

    Rizen got up. ¡°I don¡¯t see how the story of my life is any of your business,¡± he snapped. ¡°Just go to sleep if you¡¯re going to.¡± He grabbed his journal and charcoal and the coat he¡¯d left strewn along the foot of his mattress.

    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Wanily asked.

    ¡°None of your business,¡± Rizen hissed again. ¡°Just leave me alone.¡±

    Rizen left the room, ignoring the crestfallen expression on Wanily¡¯s face. She was just a stranger living with them for a few months¨Conce she left, Rizen had already decided he would never think about her again.

    Rizen stopped in the hallway, glancing under the door leading to Mom¡¯s workshop. An uneasy, orange light flickered out from the crack¨Cstill working then. Rizen let out a slow sigh, the tension leaving his body along with his breath. He shook his head to himself and walked away.

    It was cold outside. Dark. Rizen shivered the moment he stepped out of his house. He tightened his grasp on his journal and started down the path back toward town. Most people would be turning in for the night by now, but there would still be light at the tavern. Favorie would probably make him buy at least a glass of milk or something to keep a seat, but it still beat lighting the fireplace or using a candle and having to stay at home with Mom and her little stray.

    It took long enough to reach the tavern that Rizen¡¯s toes had gone a little numb by the time he stepped inside. Favorie¡¯s tavern was one of the nicer buildings in town, made mostly from brick with wooden supports and floors. Favorie wasn¡¯t tending the bar in the back¨Ctonight, that fell to Kirelle, her wife. The tables and their chairs scattered around the room were mostly occupied. Seemed a lot of the people in town didn¡¯t fancy being cooped up in their homes this evening. Rizen wondered if any of them were running from the same sort of things he was. He doubted it.

    ¡°Is that Peyra¡¯s boy?¡± A voice shouted over the low hum of conversation and clacking of tankards. It was Deputy Griff, sitting off at a table to the left of Rizen with Sheriff Xyle, the both of them rosy cheeked and slightly slumped over the table. Griff was a tall man¨Cas was Xyle, but Griff was still taller¨Cwith white hair tied back in a braid and ruggedly handsome features. Xyle, older, with a blocky face and dark eyes, had black hair splattered with white from his age, not his magical ability. Rizen hesitated in front of the door, wondering if he would be forced to make inane small talk with them before he could sequester himself in a corner and write for a while.

    ¡°What are you standing around for?¡± Sheriff Xyle called, slamming his tankard on the table with a resounding thunk. ¡°Get your ass over here, Rizen!¡±

    Rizen sighed. Small talk it was.

    He didn¡¯t bother to plaster on a smile. Rizen had to be polite and agreeable to the women in town¨Cnot the men. Still, both the sheriff and the deputy had done a lot for Rizen in the past, more than he or anyone in town would care to admit if someone came asking. So, Rizen approached their table and sat at one of the two empty chairs instead of just ignoring them.

    ¡°How have you been, you little shit?¡± Deputy Griff asked him, grinning. He even managed not to slur his words.

    ¡°Should you be drinking right now?¡± Rizen deadpanned.

    Sheriff Xyle let out a hiccup before he answered, ¡°You haven¡¯t heard? There¡¯s a tribune in town with a few men¨Ctold us that if there was any trouble tonight, they¡¯d take care of it.¡± Xyle elbowed Griff in the ribs, grinning. ¡°Not that there¡¯s ever any trouble, eh?¡±

    Rizen did not respond except to give a curt nod.

    That made Xyle somber a little, the grin falling from his face. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean¨Cseriously, Rizen, how have you been?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see how that¡¯s your concern,¡± Rizen said shortly. ¡°I just came for the light so I could do some writing.¡±

    ¡°And when are you going to share your little poems with us?¡± Griff demanded, eyes sparkling. ¡°How are you going to become a bard without learning how to perform?¡±

    Rizen scowled. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a bard. I want to be a poet.¡±

    ¡°Same difference,¡± Griff said, waving his hand in front of his face as if he smelled something foul. ¡°Most poets are bards, you know.¡±

    ¡°What makes you think I want to get up on a stage and sing and dance like some buffoon?¡± Rizen asked scaldingly. ¡°I want to write things that mean something, not paltry little tunes about¨Cfish growing legs or some other nonsense.¡±

    ¡°So share something that has meaning with us,¡± Xyle said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. ¡°Have to have something in there about one of the ladies in town, eh? Some type of good, ol¡¯ love ballad? Oh, how the stars would sing your praises if only they had a voice to speak with,¡± Xyle crooned, smirking. It was a line from a popular poem as of late, something about love and the stars and time itself. The last bard that came through town knew it by heart, and all the women in town had giggled and batted their eyelashes at their partners when they heard it.

    ¡°No,¡± Rizen said softly. ¡°Nothing about any ladies in town.¡±

    Xyle gave him a knowing look, and Rizen squirmed uncomfortably. Griff, however, just laughed, full-bellied. ¡°How do you plan to score yourself a wife without trying to make our lovely ladies swoon? I mean, what other good is there for your pretty words?¡±

    Rizen rolled his eyes. ¡°If I read you something, will the both of you shut your traps and let me go?¡±

    ¡°You make it sound like we have you arrested,¡± Xyle said, smiling. ¡°But yes. Share something with us, and we won¡¯t bother you anymore. Tonight, at least.¡±

    Rizen huffed, shaking his head and opening his journal. He thumbed through it, scanning the pages for something that wasn¡¯t so... personal. Finally, he found one that was acceptable for sharing and cleared his throat.

    Out among the reeds, there is a bed

    Born from lofty seeds, a place to rest your head

    For the weary traveler, it is the greatest gift

    For a dreary soul, it is the only thing to lift your spirits

    Out among the trees, there is a noble place

    The remains of a wayward breeze, it is the last space

    For the trampled heart, where there is nothing left to sift through

    For those without a home, where there is nothing left to do

    Rest your head, child of Amera

    Know that she will remember you love if not your name

    Release your soul, spawn of the gods

    So that the surface of the world you will no longer stain

    Rizen fell silent and looked up at Xyle and Griff, a frown already in place. They gathered in Rizen¡¯s stomach, a mass of wriggling worms, at the thought of someone else knowing these pieces of his soul broken into words on a page. He found Xyle and Griff gaping at him.

    Griff was the first one to break the silence. ¡°Well that was fucking depressing,¡± he said, chuckling. ¡°Couldn¡¯t have done something that matched the mood? I was still hoping for something about a pretty woman.¡±

    Xyle elbowed Griff again, but this time, judging from Griff¡¯s grunt, it was meant to hurt. ¡°Thank you, Rizen, that was very good,¡± Xyle said, too earnestly. He lifted his tankard in a salute before downing whatever was inside in three great gulps. He slapped it back down on the table with a belch. He nodded. ¡°You¡¯re free to go.¡± That one was a little mocking.

    Rizen did not respond except to roll his eyes. He stood and left the table without bothering to utter a farewell. He turned to head over to the bar and buy something small so that Kirelle didn¡¯t kick him out while he was writing, but he stopped. Sitting at the table behind Xyle and Griff¡¯s was a group of five men, all of them sporting bright, colorful hair and all of them unfamiliar to Rizen. Most of them weren¡¯t paying him any attention, but one of them, a man with closely cropped red hair and sharp features, watched Rizen closely as he stood.

    Rizen tried to ignore him, moving to just go past their table, but the man called out, ¡°You. Boy.¡±

    Rizen immediately felt a swell of indignation rise through his chest, but he tamped it down. He didn¡¯t know who this man was or what he wanted¨Che couldn¡¯t afford to be so easily offended.

    Rizen stopped. He was close enough to the man that he could reach out and grab Rizen if he wanted, but he merely tapped one ringed finger against the tabletop. He didn¡¯t seem to even be drinking anything¨Cnone of them did. ¡°You wrote that poem?¡±

    Rizen scowled. ¡°That was a private conversation.¡±

    The man smirked. ¡°It was good,¡± he said before returning his attention back to the others at the table. A dismissal if Rizen had ever seen one.

    Rizen almost bit out something scalding to the man, but then it dawned on him. This was the tribune and his men, wasn¡¯t it? That was why Rizen had never seen him before and why none of them had anything to drink. Rizen, after a moment of hesitation, just nodded and continued on his way.

    Rizen was going to buy just a glass of milk, but after the day he had, he decided to ask Kirelle for a tankard of beer. She gave it to him for two strult, and soon enough, Rizen found himself sitting at a booth in the corner, alone, with just his journal and his charcoal and his drink. He opened the journal to a new page and sat back for a moment, thinking. When he glanced around the room, he saw the tribune watching him again. He smirked again and nodded to Rizen before standing. The men with him stood, too, and the group filed out of the tavern.

    Rizen watched them go with a frown. But, well, it wasn¡¯t any of his business what they were doing in town, and soon enough they would leave and things would go back to how they always were.

    <hr>

    (658 A.C.)

    Sheriff Xyle sat in front of Rizen. To his right, Deputy Griff, and to his left, Rizen¡¯s mom. They were in Rizen¡¯s house, in the kitchen, sitting around the table. Mom had been given a handkerchief from Xyle and was quietly sniffling and using it to dab at her eyes every now and then. Rizen watched her, a deep, gaping pit in his stomach. She¡¯d started screaming and crying the moment Rizen told her Dad was dead. She must have really loved him, Rizen thought. But what did that mean for how much she loved Rizen and Crizo?

    ¡°Rizen,¡± Sheriff Xyle said. He was leaning forward, elbows on the tabletop and hands clasped together. He looked troubled, but Rizen should have expected that. ¡°What did the man who attacked you look like?¡±

    ¡°Um,¡± Rizen said. Think! He couldn¡¯t let his story fall apart! ¡°He¨CHe was tall, with dark hair and, um, brown eyes, I think?¡± Rizen blanched as he realized he just described someone who basically looked like the sheriff. ¡°And¨CAnd he had a beard.¡± Which was just like Deputy Griff. Rizen bit his lip. ¡°That¡¯s all I remember.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Rizen,¡± Mom said for probably the hundredth time. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry you had to go through that.¡±

    She started to quietly sob, and Rizen felt tiny and dirty, just like that moment he¡¯d spent in the creek. He was stained, and now Mom was crying because of what he did. It was supposed to make his family happy. Crizo was supposed to come back, and they were all supposed to be happy now.

    The sheriff and the deputy shared a look. Rizen watched them, terrified, certain at any moment they were going to accuse him of the exact thing he did. And then what would he do?

    ¡°Peyra,¡± Sheriff Xyle finally said, turning to her. ¡°I think you should go to your room and try to calm down. So we can finish talking to Rizen.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Mom choked out, nodding frantically. ¡°I¡¯ll be just in the other room,¡± she said to Rizen, tears streaming down her face. She put the handkerchief in her lap and wheeled herself down the hall. It wasn¡¯t until after they heard the door shut that Sheriff Xyle turned back to Rizen.

    Rizen tried not to squirm under his heavy gaze. ¡°Rizen,¡± he said softly, slowly, ¡°Your father... he used to hit you and Crizo, didn¡¯t he?¡±

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    Was this a trap? Rizen didn¡¯t know what to do. Should he tell them the truth or a lie? What would Crizo do?

    But then, it didn¡¯t matter what Crizo would do. He wouldn¡¯t be in this situation because he had told Rizen not to kill Dad. And anyway, he still wasn¡¯t here.

    Rizen was taking too long to answer. He didn¡¯t like the way Sheriff Xyle was looking at him, like he knew something Rizen didn¡¯t. Rizen swallowed hard. McLaney had said he knew what happened in Rizen¡¯s house. If Rizen refuted it now, he¡¯d be going against what McLaney said. He had to tell the truth. ¡°Yes,¡± he said.

    ¡°And Crizo, you said he left two days ago?¡± Sheriff Xyle asked.

    Rizen nodded.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you go with him?¡±

    Not, where did he go? Not, you only went looking for him today? They only wanted to know why Rizen didn¡¯t go with him.

    ¡°My mom,¡± Rizen said softly. ¡°I couldn¡¯t... leave her.¡±

    Sheriff Xyle shared another look with Deputy Griff. ¡°I checked around the river,¡± Deputy Griff said. ¡°There were footprints in the mud. Possibly from your assailant. Evidence of a fight. Does that sound about right?¡±

    Rizen frowned. He didn¡¯t understand what the deputy was asking him. ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Well, then,¡± Sheriff Xyle slapped his hands on the table and stood. ¡°It sounds like we need to do some investigations around the woods, try to find this individual. But it sounds like it was a bandit or some other petty criminal that got in over his head¨Cso it¡¯s unlikely we¡¯ll find anything.¡±

    Rizen frowned. Carefully, he asked, ¡°Is that... it?¡±

    Sheriff Xyle peered down at him in a way that made Rizen squirm. ¡°You¡¯re a good kid, Rizen,¡± he said. ¡°So yes, that will be it. I¡¯ll go tell your mother that we¡¯ll search the woods, but when we don¡¯t find anything, the matter will be dropped, one way or another.¡± The sheriff sighed then, and though he wasn¡¯t that old he suddenly seemed very frail. ¡°Stay out of any more trouble, alright?¡±

    Anymore trouble, he said. Like Sheriff Xyle knew Rizen had been in some lately. And maybe, Rizen realized, staring down at the table with wide eyes, he did. He wasn¡¯t just talking about his father dying¨Che knew that Rizen had killed him.

    Rizen whipped his head up, watching as Sheriff Xyle strode down the hall toward Mom and Dad¡¯s room. Well, only Mom¡¯s now. Deputy Griff cleared his throat. ¡°I¡¯ll tell the hunters and fishermen about Crizo. See if we can¡¯t track him down and bring him home.¡±

    Rizen found himself nodding before he even realized it. ¡°Please,¡± he said.

    Deputy Griff nodded back, and the next moment, Sheriff Xyle came back out from the hall. He bid Rizen farewell, and the two officers left his house, shutting the door behind them. That just left Rizen sitting at the table. He waited for a little while to see if Mom would come back out, but minutes passed without any sign of her. Eventually, Rizen got up and crept to her room.

    The door was shut. Rizen pressed his ear up against the wood. Inside, he could hear Mom crying¨Csoft keens followed by guttural inhales, over and over. Rizen drew back, considering. He could go inside and try to comfort her but... she was crying because of him, even if she didn¡¯t know it. It felt wrong to go in there and tell her anything else.

    Rizen backed away from the door and went to his room. Crizo¡¯s empty bed mocked him from its place against the wall, all of Crizo¡¯s belongings he hadn¡¯t been able to bring with him strewn about and taunting him silently. Still better than listening to Mom crying though.

    Rizen found himself looking through Crizo¡¯s things. There was the dresser containing a few remaining articles of clothing, all holey, threadbare things that were too big for Rizen anyway. Then there was the chest at the foot of his bed. Barely half full with old toys and things Crizo had collected over the years. Nothing valuable¨Cat least, nothing that would sell for much.

    Rizen moved on to his nightstand. There was nothing on top, but Rizen opened the drawer and found it wasn¡¯t empty. There were two books inside, both bound with brown leather, though one had something carved into its cover while the other was blank. Rizen picked up the one with a title first. Mom had taught them how to read back before she became distracted by her work, so Rizen knew that it said, Poetry for Aspiring Bards, Poets, and Mages.

    Rizen frowned and thumbed through the book. It looked like it was from one of those new printing presses. It couldn¡¯t have cost much, but Rizen still didn¡¯t know where Crizo had managed to scrape together the money. Dad had certainly never given them anything from what goods he managed to sell in town.

    Most of the poems didn¡¯t make any sense¨Cor maybe Rizen just didn¡¯t understand them. But it was interesting, and Rizen found himself reading and rereading the lines and verses, trying to figure out the meaning behind them. It was almost night, but he sat by the window and strained his eyes until it became truly too dark to make out anything on the pages. Rizen put the book back in Crizo''s nightstand, right where he found it. He thumbed through the other book, too, but it was blank. Rizen carefully placed that book back, too. He didn''t want Crizo knowing he had snooped through his stuff when he came back.

    <hr>

    (665 A.C.)

    When Rizen got back from the tavern, he checked first on the crack under the door of Mom''s workshop. It was dark, so she must have gone to bed. Rizen sighed and went back down the hall to his room, opening and closing the door behind him.

    Wanily shot up in bed, staring at Rizen with wide eyes. Had the sound of the door shutting woken her? Rizen couldn''t say he felt too bad about it, but it was a little unsettling, the way she was looking at him.

    ¡°What?¡± he grumbled, moving toward his bed and sitting heavily on it.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± Wanily said as he shucked off his boots. ¡°Welcome back.¡±

    Rizen grunted, laying down and turning over so his back was to her and the rest of the room. He heard Wanily settle into her bed once more. Rizen sighed and closed his eyes, letting sleep claim him.

    When he woke in the morning, he turned over to find Wanily was gone. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes, but a glance at the foot of Crizo¡¯s old bed confirmed her pack was still there. Just up and about then, not out of Rizen¡¯s hair.

    What a pity.

    He grabbed his notebook and charcoal and reviewed what he wrote last night at the tavern. Nothing bad but nothing he was particularly proud of¨Cjust more of the same kind of things he always wrote about. He thought of Deputy Griff and wondered if he was right. Maybe Rizen should try writing something about a beautiful woman or a fish growing legs and strutting through town. Just anything more cheerful and creative than what he always wrote and what he always was.

    Rizen sighed and set the book and charcoal back on his nightstand. He got up, changed his clothes, and went out to face the day.

    He found Wanily and Mom sitting at the kitchen table, talking and eating... something. Eggs and some type of meat, but that didn''t make any sense because Rizen and his mom had no meat to go around. Unless one of them went out and killed one of their chickens, which Rizen doubted.

    Since Mom sat with her back to the hall, Wanily caught sight of Rizen first, smiling and waving. She must have seen the question in his expression because she said, ¡°Good morning. One of the traps I laid yesterday caught a rabbit!¡±

    Rizen grunted, taking his seat at the other end of the table from Mom. One of them had prepared a plate for him as well, complete with a roasted haunch from a rabbit, apparently, and scrambled eggs. Rizen frowned and picked out a shell from the eggs.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Wanily said, not sounding sorry at all. ¡°I''ve only ever really boiled eggs, but Peyra tried showing me how to scramble them. Thought I got all the shell out but I must have missed a couple pieces.¡±

    Rizen felt a pang strike through his chest. Mom had never shown him how to cook eggs¨Cthat had been Crizo who had taught him, as with so many other things.

    Rizen said nothing. Mom smiled at Wanily. ¡°I think you did great, Wanily,¡± she said.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Wanily said. ¡°So what were you saying, Peyra?¡±

    They started talking again, Mom excitedly launching into an explanation on part of her research, and Wanily either nodding along or interjecting questions.

    Rizen listened only for a little while¨Cit was mostly things he''d heard before. Humidity this, clouds that, winds this, sunlight that. It had never interested Rizen as much as it clearly interested Wanily, and Mom seemed just as excited to have a captive audience as she did at the chance to just talk about her research.

    He sighed, picked up the fork next to his plate, and started eating without a word. If Mom wanted to favor this random child over him, well, who was he to stop her? It wasn''t like Wanily was staying forever. All Mom had left was Rizen. Eventually, Wanily would leave and both Rizen and his mom would be alone together again.

    Alone even amongst a crowd, too proud to ask for help, Rizen thought, chewing his eggs thoroughly in case there were more bits of shell. But what has it ever mattered what I felt? When at the end of day, I''ll be by myself.

    Right. Fucking depressing, as Deputy Griff put it. Maybe he should forgo writing that one down.

    ¡°Rizen?¡± Mom asked. Rizen looked up. The way she said it and looked at him told him it was not the first time she called him.

    ¡°Yes?¡± he said.

    ¡°I asked if you could go to the creek with Ruffles and get some readings. Since I didn''t get them yesterday.¡± Mom looked at him with a crease between her brow. It made something along Rizen¡¯s spine crawl.

    ¡°Sure,¡± he said. He didn''t know why she couldn''t just do it herself, but he would agree to get her to stop looking at him like that. She almost seemed concerned¨Cwhich couldn''t be right. The only thing Mom had ever really cared about was her research. And even if she was worried about Rizen, he didn''t need nor want it. He had done just fine for the both of them since  everything happened.

    ¡°And can you take Wanily with you?¡± Mom asked in a rush, like saying it faster would make him more agreeable to the idea.

    Rizen smoothed out his expression when all he really wanted to do was scowl. Mom was right to ask him, though¨Cif the request had come from Wanily herself, he would have immediately declined. But, he would still never hurt his mother if he could help it.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he said softly. He shot a look at Wanily. ¡°But she stays out of my way.¡±

    ¡°She just wants to see what all the fuss is about,¡± Wanily said, splaying her hands on the table. ¡°All this stuff about the weather is interesting! I didn''t even know people researched stuff like this.¡±

    Rizen bit back the automatic reply that people didn''t tend to research stuff like this, since magic could predict the weather far more consistently than Mom had managed so far. But Mom claimed that this was the way people used to do it before the Cataclysm, and that the process had been mostly lost and so she wanted to restore it. Rizen didn''t see the point as much as she did, but he would never breathe a word of that to her. He''d leave those thoughts for the inside of his journal.

    ¡°I''m sure Rizen would prefer I didn''t,¡± Mom said, smiling slightly.

    Rizen frowned. ¡°What''s that supposed to mean?¡±

    Mom gave him an indecipherable look, that smile never leaving her face. ¡°Nothing. Thank you, Rizen.¡±

    Rizen had to fight not to squirm in his seat. It felt wrong, somehow, for Mom to be thanking him. She rarely ever did. ¡°Sure,¡± he said for lack of anything else. ¡°When I''m done eating, I have some chores to tend to. Then we can go.¡±

    ¡°I can help,¡± Wanily offered. ¡°With the chores and stuff.¡±

    Rizen wanted to decline on principle, but he had told Mom that Wanily had to help around the house and this was a chance for that. Rizen sighed. ¡°Alright,¡± he said.

    While Mom and Wanily started another round of conversation, Rizen finished his meal without another word. He got up and collected the dishes from everyone, depositing them in the usual spot for cleaning later. That done, he went back to his room for his coat. When he returned to the kitchen, he motioned for Wanily to follow him.

    ¡°We''ll talk more later,¡± Wanily said to Mom, standing and pushing her chair in.

    Rizen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He opened the door for Wanily, trying to exude as much impatience as possible, not that she seemed at all bothered by his attitude. She stepped outside and waited for Rizen to follow, rocking back and forth on her feet with an air of excitement. Rizen didn¡¯t understand what she could possibly be excited about, but as long as she kept her thoughts to herself, they wouldn¡¯t have much of a problem.

    ¡°So what do we need to do first?¡± Wanily asked.

    It was an innocent enough question. Rizen still sighed. ¡°We¡¯ll feed and water the chickens and the goat and clean out their pens,¡± he said, already rounding the house toward the chicken coop. ¡°Then we¡¯ll check on the crops and fetch the water for the day. We¡¯ll do any washing¨Cdishes, clothes, whatever¨Cand then we¡¯ll go to the creek if you really want.¡±

    ¡°Sounds good. Thank you,¡± Wanily replied, making Rizen¡¯s skin crawl.

    ¡°I¡¯m not doing it for you,¡± Rizen muttered. Then, louder, ¡°Just do as I say, alright?¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± Wanily agreed, too cheerfully.

    Rizen grabbed a bag of ground meal and brought Wanily to the chicken coop where it became abundantly clear Wanily had never attempted menial labor in her life. She wasn¡¯t very strong either, but Rizen handed her the bag of feed for the chickens with instructions on how to feed them and left to clean out the chicken coop itself. When he eventually returned, Wanily and all the chickens were still alive. Good enough for him.

    He brought her to Missy¡¯s pen once they were done with the chickens and showed her the usual chores he did for her everyday as well as explaining the ones he only did every so often, like milking her and cleaning her pen. Wanily listened with rapt attention. It was gratifying but also extremely unsettling.

    He showed her the crops after that, explaining what he did to take care of them and what to check for with each species. He¡¯d already laid mulch down for the winter, but he told her what it was and why it was necessary for keeping the plants from freezing. She absorbed all of this, too, with wide, earnest eyes.

    He left her at the house while he went and fetched the water. He told her that it was because she wasn¡¯t very strong and it would be faster if he just went by himself, but mostly he just didn¡¯t want to be seen in town with her. Rizen didn¡¯t want to explain Wanily¡¯s presence to anyone else yet. All he would likely get in return was gushing about how noble and kind Mom was to take in a wayward girl when she and Rizen already had so little to go around. Not something he was very keen to listen to.

    He got the water without much fanfare. People didn¡¯t look twice at him, and he maneuvered through the crowd without stepping on any toes, all as per usual. When he came back, he found Wanily sitting on the ground by the door with Ruffles. The cwn annwn laid next to Wanily, his massive head resting on his front paws and his tail wagging lazily as Wanily scratched behind his ear.

    Rizen whistled sharply, and Ruffles¡¯ ears pricked up. When he caught sight of Rizen he stood, shook out his pale coat, and trotted up to Rizen, sniffing at the buckets hanging on either side of his shoulders.

    At least Ruffles still liked Rizen better than Wanily.

    Rizen offered Ruffles a pat on the head. It was also the reason that Rizen had been as accepting of Wanily as he had been¨CRuffles hadn¡¯t so much as made an aggressive twitch toward her. Cwn annwn were great judges of character, and if Ruffles didn¡¯t feel at all threatened by Wanily, Rizen figured he didn¡¯t need to either.

    But that didn¡¯t mean Rizen had to like her.

    Wanily watched Ruffles follow after Rizen with a smile. She didn¡¯t seem bothered by the fact that Rizen had called him away from her for no reason, much to Rizen¡¯s chagrin. ¡°I didn¡¯t know cwn annwn could be kept as pets.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± Rizen asked, unloading the buckets of water he fetched from town. ¡°They¡¯re basically just dogs.¡±

    ¡°Magic dogs.¡± Wanily¡¯s eyes shone with excitement. ¡°Don¡¯t you think that¡¯s just so cool? That people keep some magical creatures as pets?¡±

    Rizen rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. ¡°Yes. So cool.¡± Ruffles sat down next to him, nosing at his hand until he uncrossed them and started petting him. ¡°Did you still want to go to the creek?¡±

    ¡°Duh,¡± Wanily said, climbing to her feet. ¡°Are you finally ready?¡±

    Rizen huffed. ¡°Let me go get my mother¡¯s instruments.¡±

    Wanily frowned. ¡°Like... a flute? How is that going to help with measuring the weather?¡±

    Rizen gave her a flat look. Wanily remained unperturbed¨Cif slightly confused. ¡°I¡¯ll be back,¡± he drawled, heading into the house. Ruffles started to follow, but Rizen held out a hand for him to stay, and he did so.

    The kitchen and dining area were empty, not that Rizen had expected anything else. He¡¯d have to go into Mom¡¯s workshop to get the anemometer and barometer and whatever else for whatever other readings she needed. Rizen wouldn¡¯t pretend to understand what she researched, but sometimes, like now, she asked him to get readings for her. That meant he had to know how to use the instruments, though not what the number and markings actually represented.

    The door to Mom¡¯s workshop was closed, so Rizen knocked on it lightly. ¡°Mom?¡±

    From inside, she called through the door, ¡°Come in, Rizen.¡±

    <hr>

    (658 A.C.)

    They held Dad¡¯s funeral two days later. A shallow grave was dug in Flower Lady Unnya¡¯s tulip fields, and Rizen helped push Mom¡¯s wheelchair all the way there. Mom wept hard but quietly, like she didn¡¯t want to be at all, while Priestess Hana recited a few of the prayers of Amera and praised Dad¡¯s role as a loving husband and father.

    Rizen stood behind his mother, crying silently. At first he was overcome with grief, a deep ache that opened up in his chest and threatened to eat him up. His dad was gone, and it was all Rizen¡¯s fault. It was Rizen¡¯s fault Mom was crying like that.

    The grief, harshly and hotly, burned into a rage that spread through Rizen¡¯s body. He choked on it, his silence broken by a single sob. He hated Dad more in that moment than he ever had before. A loving father, Priestess Hana called him. But the way she said it¨Cthe way she looked at Rizen¨Che knew she didn¡¯t even believe it. The only one who probably didn¡¯t know the truth was Rizen¡¯s own mother.

    And she never would. Not if Rizen had any say in the matter. He didn''t want to hurt her. He didn''t want to lose her.

    Mom couldn''t help and Crizo wasn''t back, so it was left to Rizen to take a shovel and bury his father. Mom cried even harder as he did so, but all Rizen felt was an overwhelming peace. It was wrong, he thought, to feel this way, but this was the beast that haunted each and every one of his nightmares. And with each shovelful of dirt Rizen thrust on top of him, it felt like a cementation of the fact that he could never hurt anyone again.

    But Dad had never hurt Mom.

    Rizen was trembling by the time he patted the dirt down over Dad''s body. It was a custom and an honor to be buried among the local flower fields. To feed the beauty of the world for a time after you have passed through it. At least Mom had that thought, that Dad would live on in the flowers she received every week.

    Flowers that Rizen would have to get for her until Crizo came back.

    Priestess Hana offered her condolences to the both of them before taking her leave. Mom didn''t want to go after the ceremony. Rizen didn''t want to stick around any longer than he had to, but he also couldn''t leave Mom weeping in the middle of the flower fields. So, he stood behind her, listening to her cry and wondering if it had all been worth it.

    When Crizo came back, he decided. Then he would know if it had been worth it.

    <hr>

    (665 A.C.)

    After he had fetched the necessary weather instruments, Rizen led Wanily back to the creek, Ruffles on their heels. It was a peaceful enough walk, if Rizen ignored the steady stream of chatter coming from Wanily. He wondered if she ever shut up, or if she always felt the need to share whatever was on her mind.

    He wondered darkly what it would take to shut her up.

    Rizen slowed when he could hear the bubbling of the creek ahead. He turned to Ruffles, who was familiar with this process by now, and lowered his head so Rizen could fasten the first instrument, a hydrometer, to the leather collar around his neck. Rizen wasn¡¯t entirely sure how it all worked, but Mom had crafted the small instrument herself from strands of her own hair black hair to measure humidity. Something about the difference in length between when it was by the ground versus when it was up in the air was, apparently, useful to her. All Rizen really knew was that he had to use the measuring tape he had with him to record the two lengths.

    That done, he attached a barometer filled with quicksilver to the other side of his collar. Again, he didn¡¯t know exactly how it worked, but Mom knew enough about what the markings meant to know how approximately how high Ruffles was about to ascend. Ruffles would freeze the material of both the hydrometer and the barometer with a spell, and then they would take the instruments back for Mom to collect her readings.

    Once Rizen had tied the necessary items to Ruffles collar, the cwn annwn bounded over to a nearby bush, sniffing around it until he gingerly picked up a small, fallen tree branch with his teeth. He turned back around to Rizen, massive head cocked and tail wagging.

    ¡°Up, boy,¡± Rizen said, pointing to the treetops above them.

    Ruffles brought his stick up and down, waving it. A ring of light flashed around each of his paws before settling into a more tepid glow. When Ruffles took a step forward, it brought him up, like he was ascending a staircase. He trotted in a circle that way, walking up through the air with each of his paws wrapped in a hue of white light. Soon, he passed the top of the tree, and Rizen knew he would continue climbing for a good few minutes. Then, he would sit up there for about an hour, waiting for the hydrometer to work.

    Which just left Rizen by the creek. Waiting.

    With Wanily.

    ¡°Woah,¡± she said, still watching the tree tops. ¡°He can fly? Just like that? I mean, I knew cwn annwn were magical, but I didn¡¯t realize they were that magical.¡±

    There was a rock nearby, not very big but enough to sit on and a good enough distance from the creek that Rizen would avoid the water and the mud. He sat on it, stretching out his legs in front of himself, and did not say anything to Wanily.

    ¡°Did you know that they¡¯re new god creatures?¡± she continued, finally dragging her gaze down to look at him. ¡°I know some new god creatures can talk. Can he talk?¡±

    ¡°Do you ever stop?¡± Rizen grumbled, dragging a hand down his face. Wanily frowned, and he relented, ¡°I¡¯ve never heard him say anything.¡±

    Wanily grunted. ¡°How does he cast magic?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°Well, what about the things you tied to him? You¡¯re telling me those are instruments?¡±

    Rizen rolled his eyes. ¡°Of the scientific kind. They measure... things,¡± Rizen finished lamely, not knowing what exactly they did measure.

    ¡°Like what?¡± Wanily asked, because of course she did.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Rizen snipped. ¡°Didn¡¯t you get to talk all about it with my mother?¡±

    Wanily shrugged. ¡°Well, sure, she told me some stuff. But not everything. So I thought you might be able to tell me some more.¡±

    Rizen grunted. ¡°No.¡±

    Wanily shuffled her feet, kicking at the ground and looking around the woods a little. Eventually, she stepped past Rizen to stand beside the creek. Her boots sunk a fraction into the mud. ¡°These woods seem very peaceful.¡±

    ¡°Wanily,¡± Rizen said, ¡°can you just be quiet?¡±

    Wanily looked hurt for a split second, but the expression was wiped away so quickly, Rizen could have imagined it. ¡°Well, what do you want to talk about?¡±

    ¡°Nothing,¡± Rizen said. What didn¡¯t Wanily understand about that?

    Wanily was quiet for a moment, and Rizen thought he had finally gotten her to shut up. But then, ¡°Oh, I know. I was reading the books in the nightstand last night. I didn¡¯t really understand them though.¡±

    Rizen froze. ¡°Which nightstand?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Wanily said, immediately making Rizen wary, ¡°I started with the one next to your brother¡¯s bed, but it wasn¡¯t very long and I couldn¡¯t sleep so then I went through yours.¡±

    Rizen¡¯s nightstand. Which held all his old journals, filled with his private thoughts. His memories. His poems. Everything that was Rizen made up the inside of those pages.

    Wanily continued, ¡°The title of the first one said it was poetry. I had never read poetry before, only heard it in passing from bards. But I didn¡¯t get the ones in your nightstand. Some of them didn¡¯t seem like poems at all.¡±

    Rizen stood up, something dark writhing in his chest. ¡°That¡¯s because they weren¡¯t poems. They were journal entries. I wrote them.¡±

    Wanily¡¯s expression fell. ¡°You seem, uh, very upset about that.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not upset that I wrote them,¡± Rizen snapped. ¡°What gave you the right to go through my stuff?¡±

    ¡°I¨CThey were just books!¡± Wanily protested. She was looking around again, eyes darting between Rizen and the way back to the house, and even to the trees above them. ¡°I didn¡¯t think there was anything¨C¡±

    She cut herself off suddenly, her eyes widening. She must have finally figured out what the problem was.

    ¡°The... things that are written in there,¡± she said, shuffling back a step. ¡°About being stained by blood and losing a brother¨Cyour brother¨Cand...¡± Her eyes darted to the ground then back up to Rizen¡¯s face. He wasn¡¯t sure how he looked in the moment, but he felt crazed, like an animal cornered. ¡°Your father...¡±

    ¡°You asked what happened to him,¡± Rizen said, hands curling into fists. ¡°Have you figured it out yet?¡±

    Wanily shrank away from him, taking another couple steps back. Her heel hit the edge of the water, and she jumped at the splash it made.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± she whispered. ¡°Ruffles doesn¡¯t attack you. But you... you killed your father.¡±

    They were words Rizen had never heard before. Everyone knew, and yet no one had ever accused him. But he did it, and now¨C

    ¡°I¡¯m not a monster,¡± Rizen hissed. ¡°I didn¡¯t do it just to kill him.¡±

    ¡°What difference does that make?¡± Wanily spat right back. ¡°You killed someone. That¡¯s¨Cit¡¯s wrong no matter what! I thought...¡±

    Rizen glared at her as she trailed off. ¡°What did you think, Wanily?¡±

    She gazed up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. ¡°I thought you were good despite everything you¡¯ve been saying to me. Peyra has done nothing but rave about you, so I thought... but she doesn¡¯t know, does she?¡±

    Wanily glanced behind Rizen, back toward his house. Rizen sneered at her. ¡°And that isn¡¯t going to change. Just forget about it, Wanily.¡±

    Wanily stared at him for a moment, just standing there, and that¡¯s how Rizen knew what she would do before she even acted. In a flurry of motion, she tried to dart forward and around him, but Rizen was much bigger and faster than her. The moment she took a step, he was in front of her. He didn¡¯t really think, just acted. All he knew was that he couldn¡¯t let her tell Mom.

    It would hurt her. Rizen would lose her. And then... then what?

    Wanily barreled into him with a grunt. Rizen tucked one elbow down and shoved, catching Wanily in the chest. He had only intended to create some distance between them, but he didn¡¯t take into account the wet ground. Rizen pushed, Wanily stumbled back, and she slipped on a wet stone of the stream bed, sending her splashing down into the creek itself.

    She didn¡¯t move from where she fell, just stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes. Chest heaving, Rizen stared down at her, hands shaking. He wanted to keep going. He wanted to hurt her, make sure she never breathed a word of this to anyone but most of all his mother. He wanted her to leave and never come back.

    And he could. He could do all of that. And that made a small, small part of him feel powerful.

    Is this how Dad felt all those years? When he hurt Rizen and Crizo?

    Rizen stopped. What was he doing? All Wanily had tried to do was be kind to him. And in the same place he¡¯d taken a life before, he felt good about hurting another one. All Wanily had wanted to do was¨Cobjectively¨Cthe right thing.

    And Rizen¨C

    He couldn¡¯t let her do that. So, just like his father before him, he had turned to violence. Because no one was allowed to hurt his mother. Not even with the truth.

    Amera above, Rizen had become just like him.

    The thought sent Rizen staggering back. He licked his lips, glancing down at Wanily again. She had pushed herself up on her elbows and was watching Rizen warily. Like she was expecting him to keep hurting her.

    It made hatred burn hot and vicious through him. At himself, mostly, but at her, too. ¡°You won¡¯t say anything to her,¡± Rizen hissed. ¡°Do you understand?¡±

    Wanily pushed herself to her feet. Her clothing was soaked with the water from the stream, her hair plastered to her head. ¡°I won¡¯t say anything to her,¡± she murmured.

    ¡°Everyone knows,¡± Rizen continued, glancing up at the trees above them. Would this be it? Would Ruffles come down and rip out Rizen¡¯s throat with one bite? Rizen deserved it, didn¡¯t he? But seconds passed, and Rizen forced himself to tear his gaze back down to Wanily. She looked ready to bolt at a moment¡¯s notice. ¡°In town, I mean. So there¡¯s no point trying to tell anyone else.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Wanily said.

    ¡°But I won¡¯t¨C¡± Rizen cut himself off to take a deep breath, trying to quell the shaking of his hands. ¡°You can stay with us,¡± Rizen said. ¡°If you¡¯re desperate for somewhere to ride out the winter. You leave me alone, and I¡¯ll leave you alone. Just don¡¯t tell her.¡±

    Wanily stared at him. He thought for a long moment that she was just going to turn and run, leave all her stuff back at his house and try to spare her own skin¨Cbut she didn¡¯t. Eventually, like she was choosing her words carefully, she asked, ¡°Why did you do it?¡±

    ¡°My father was a monster,¡± Rizen murmured. ¡°And I wanted my brother to come home.¡±

    ¡°So why not tell that to Peyra?¡±

    Rizen looked at her sharply, but Wanily looked less afraid now, holding herself loosely. ¡°It¡¯ll hurt her.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been, what? Like ten years? What would she even do about it now?¡±

    Rizen stared at her, but Wanily only jutted out her chin further in a challenge. ¡°Just don¡¯t tell her,¡± Rizen said, his self-loathing giving way to bewilderment. ¡°Can you do that?¡±

    Wanily nodded and looked at her feet, still covered by the rushing water of the stream. After a moment, she asked, ¡°Was it worth it?¡±

    Rizen shook his head. He liked to think about that, too, and he gave her the only answer he¡¯d ever been able to come up with. ¡°I... don¡¯t know.¡±

    Wanily nodded again, like that answer made sense. ¡°I meant what I said before. About staying with you two. I won¡¯t cause much fuss.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± Rizen said. He sighed, moving slowly back to the rock and sitting down on it. Without looking at her, he continued, ¡°I¡¯m... sorry I pushed you.¡±

    Wanily picked her way out of the creek, leaving a healthy distance between the two of them. She stood, clothes and hair dripping, off to the other side of the little clearing they were in. She glanced up at the leaves overhead again. ¡°Yeah, well, don¡¯t make a habit out of it. I¡¯ll stay out your way, and you just... let me walk away in one piece when spring comes, okay?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you,¡± Rizen insisted. Then, after realizing what he said,  ¡°I didn¡¯t... mean to. Before.¡±

    ¡°Like I said,¡± Wanily sighed, ¡°don¡¯t make a habit of it.¡± She looked down at her clothes. ¡°I think I¡¯ll go back and change.¡±

    ¡°And don¡¯t¨C¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell Peyra,¡± Wanily finished, smiling though it looked more like a grimace. ¡°Got it.¡±

    Rizen watched her go, that dark thing pressing against the inside of his ribcage. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was anger or grief or hatred or some mix of all three, but all Rizen knew was that he couldn¡¯t keep going like this. He couldn¡¯t become like his father.

    Though maybe he already was.

 Chapter 12: Bloodied Hands (Part III)

    (666 A.C.)

    After a month and a half, Rizen and Wanily reached a tenuous peace and something of a routine.

    They''d have breakfast together in the morning, Rizen and Wanily and his mother. Sometimes Rizen would wake to find Wanily was already up and about, but other times Rizen would be the first one to rise and stalwartly ignore Wanily still slumbering in the other bed.

    During breakfast, Rizen would usually remain silent while Wanily and Mom talked. Usually, at the start, they chatted about Mom''s research, Mom explaining every minute detail of her experiments and readings from the various books she''d managed to get her hands on. Wanily listened to this with rapt attention, asking questions at regular intervals and nodding along to everything else. But, even his mother couldn''t talk about her research forever, and soon, the two of them filled the morning with talk of everything and anything. Wanily, for the most part, shared tales of her travels, the people she¡¯d met, and the places she¡¯d been. Rizen wasn¡¯t sure if half of what she said was the truth, but his mother ate it all up. If nothing else, her supposedly grand adventures made halfway decent noise to entertain him while he ate.

    Once Rizen was done eating, he would begin the chores for the day. If Wanily was ready by the time he was, she would silently trail after him and follow his every direction without so much as a complaint or remark. If she wasn¡¯t, she would usually find him after a little while and still help out.

    Other than that, they stayed out of each other¡¯s way. Rizen would claim the bedroom to write most evenings, sitting by the window with his journal and charcoal. He didn¡¯t know what Wanily did with all her free time, but on the occasional trips he made to town, he¡¯d caught her returning from the forest or just lounging around outside and playing with Ruffles. She must make the journey into town sometimes as well since more than one person had asked Rizen about her. Not that Rizen ever knew how to explain the situation. He was pretty sure half the people in town thought he was courting her, which was weird in more than one regard, but mostly because she couldn¡¯t be older than twelve.

    And Ruffles still didn¡¯t attack Rizen. Hadn¡¯t so much as growled at him or bared a fang.

    Eventually, the new year came. Rizen splurged on some pork from the butcher and he helped Mom¨Cand Wanily, unfortunately¨Croast it with apples. They shared the meal at the table, as always, and Mom and Wanily talked and Rizen ate silently, hating how normal it felt.

    He was growing accustomed to Wanily¡¯s presence. He just hoped he would just as quickly become used to her absence because she would be leaving when spring came. If not of her own volition, then because Rizen would kick her out.

    He didn¡¯t foresee it being an issue. Rizen didn¡¯t like Wanily, and Wanily didn¡¯t like him. They understood this about each other, and that was all that mattered.

    Only a couple of weeks after the first day of the new year, Rizen found himself standing in line for flowers. He had still been buying one flower from Unnya¨Ceven though he technically had two women to buy flowers from now¨Cbut he couldn¡¯t afford more than that before Wanily showed up. It was the latest scandal of town¨Cbesides the continued presence of the tribune and his men.

    Rizen wasn¡¯t sure why they were still in town or even what they were doing in the first place. They weren¡¯t very close to the northern borders with Kra¡¯xen and Vixx, and Lirende as a whole didn¡¯t have much to fear from Oavale with the mountain range in the way. So what business did a tribune have other than bullying the local farmers into handing over their land to the Council?

    Whatever. As long as it brought attention off Rizen, he would take it.

    He moved up one in line, shuffling forward with his head bowed. That was, until he heard a young, female voice call out, ¡°There you are, Rizen!¡±

    He whipped his head up to see Wanily trotting down the road toward him, Ruffles on her heels. The townspeople around them gave her¨Cbut probably mostly Ruffles¨Ca wide berth.

    Wanily sidled up next to him, eyes wide and breathing hard. That wasn¡¯t what alarmed Rizen, though. It was the fact that the fur on Ruffles¡¯ back was standing on end, his haunches raised. Rizen almost feared for a moment that Ruffles was about to attack him, but he merely stopped beside Wanily, panting slightly and lip curled back over his teeth as he stared back down the road.

    Rizen frowned deeply. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Wanily gave him a sidelong look. ¡°Do you actually care?¡± she asked lowly.

    Rizen bristled. Whatever retort he was about to bite out died in his throat when he looked up again and saw one of the tribune¡¯s men marching his way through the wake left in the town¡¯s bustling throngs. The man¨Ctall, green hair, two jagged scars framing his face¨Cstopped when he caught sight of Rizen. His gaze flicked down, obviously toward Wanily, then lower, to Ruffles. He had his hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip, and there was something about his gaze that made the back of Rizen¡¯s neck prickle.

    Rizen curled his hands into fists. ¡°Can I help you?¡± he demanded, raising his voice to be heard over the bustling of the town square.

    The man snapped his gaze back up to Rizen. He removed his grip from his sword, haltingly shaking his head, and turned back the way he came.

    People were looking at them. Rizen scowled down at Wanily before reminding himself sternly that people were looking at them. Rizen had to at least pretend to show Wanily some respect. ¡°What did you do?¡± he asked much more calmly than he felt.

    ¡°Nothing!¡± Wanily crossed her arms, but despite the indignation in her voice, her eyes remained big. Her gaze was focused on where the soldier had disappeared back into the crowd. She tore her gaze up to Rizen. ¡°Can I go back to the house with you?¡±

    ¡°Next!¡± Unnya called ahead of them.

    Rizen hesitated, holding up a hand to her in acknowledgement, before turning back to Wanily and sighing, ¡°Fine. But you owe me an explanation.¡±

    Wanily sputtered out something in protest, but Rizen didn¡¯t bother to listen. He stepped up to Unnya¡¯s window. Unnya peered down at Rizen, before her gaze slid to Wanily, and finally landed on Ruffles. She tapped one finger against the wood of her counter. ¡°Got the menagerie with you today?¡± Unnya asked.

    Rizen forced a smile. ¡°Something like that. Have you met Wanily?¡± He pressed a hand against Wanily¡¯s back, forcing her to take a step forward. She was tense under his touch and trembling faintly. Rizen frowned and opened his mouth to say something¨Che wasn¡¯t sure what¨Cbut Wanily beat him to it.

    ¡°Hello,¡± Wanily greeted. She smiled at Unnya, betraying nothing of whatever was going on with her. ¡°I¡¯m Wanily.¡±

    ¡°I got that,¡± Unnya drawled, but she was smiling. ¡°Unnya, the local flower lady, at your service. You¡¯ve been staying with Rizen and Peyra, right? How do you feel about the fact that he only gets you and Peyra one flower every week?¡± she asked, jabbing a finger at Rizen.

    Wanily frowned. ¡°Why is that a big deal?¡±

    Unnya raised one brow at her. ¡°Are you not from around here?¡± When Wanily shook her head, Unnya frowned. She opened her mouth, then closed it. ¡°You know what? That¡¯s alright. All you need to know is that someone here is not doing his due diligence.¡± She sent a meaningful look to Rizen.

    Rizen sighed. ¡°Can I just get my flower and go?¡± he grumbled.

    Unnya offered a one-shouldered shrug. She turned and shouted over her shoulder, ¡°Rizen¡¯s usual!¡±

    ¡°So what is the deal with the flowers?¡± Wanily hissed to Rizen. ¡°Is it a big deal?¡±

    Rizen sighed. ¡°To some people,¡± he said, more bitterly than he meant to, thinking of Mom and the way they went unmentioned every week. ¡°Women are viewed as more sacred than men in Lirende,¡± he murmured in explanation. ¡°Something to do with a purer love that is more like the love of Amera.¡±

    ¡°Why can¡¯t people just be treated the same?¡± Wanily asked, sounding genuinely confused. ¡°Nobody¡¯s better than anyone else.¡±

    Rizen didn¡¯t have an answer for that one. Why, indeed.

    He was saved from having to respond by Unnya thrusting a single tulip in his face. Rizen took it with a huff and stepped aside as Unnya bellowed, ¡°Next!¡±

    Wanily fell into step beside him as Rizen began the trek back home, Ruffles taking up their rear. The tulip felt as heavy as lead in Rizen¡¯s hand. ¡°What happened with that soldier? Why were you so scared?¡±

    Wanily didn¡¯t look at him. ¡°I wasn¡¯t scared.¡±

    Rizen rolled his eyes. ¡°Okay, so you were shaking for no reason, then?¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t scared,¡± Wanily insisted. ¡°That soldier was just... making me uncomfortable. He was looking at me.¡±

    ¡°And people aren''t allowed to look at you?¡± Rizen drawled.

    Wanily stopped suddenly. Rizen stumbled mid-stride when he glanced back and saw the sheer vehemence on Wanily''s face. ¡°He was looking at me,¡± she reiterated. ¡°And... saying stuff.¡±

    A chill raced down Rizen''s spine. ¡°What kind of stuff?¡±

    Wanily crossed her arms. Rizen saw it before as an act of defiance, but he saw the truth of it now. She shrunk down on herself, self-conscious. ¡°You know,¡± Wanily muttered, barely audible.

    Rizen shouldn''t know, but he did. No one should be making the kind of comments Wanily was suggesting about a child. A girl at that. Who did that soldier think he was?

    To not know their customs, he probably wasn''t from Lirende. Menish and Ninall weren''t very far¨Cjust across Yve to the south¨Cso there were plenty of swordsmen and swordswomen around, thrown away by their countries and looking for coin. Lirende was more than happy to offer it to them.

    It still made Rizen''s blood boil. He might not like Wanily, but that didn''t make any of this okay.

    ¡°Where?¡± Rizen demanded.

    ¡°I was going to buy a cinnamon roll,¡± Wanily said. ¡°Peyra gave me some money. She said she wanted to split it with me, but I think she also just wanted me to go into town for a bit. So I left and Ruffles followed me and when I was getting close to the square, I noticed the soldier following me cause Ruffles was growling. I knew you were over here buying flowers so I thought...¡±

    Wanily trailed off, and Rizen was glad for it. He didn''t know what he''d do if she admitted to feeling safe with him¨Cor at least safer with him than just with Ruffles. But it still hung unspoken in the air between them, and Rizen let out a sigh.

    Wanily thought Rizen was a bad person. Rizen knew that¨Cshe said it quite plainly back on the day they took readings by the creek. But she still went to him for help. What was he supposed to make of that?

    She was still looking at him, eyes too wide and earnest. He had to say something. ¡°We''ll go back to the house,¡± Rizen decided. ¡°And you''ll be staying there until the tribune and his men leave.¡±

    Wanily frowned. ¡°What? Why do I have to hide when that man is the one in the wrong?¡±

    ¡°Because he is an important solider to be traveling with a tribune,¡± Rizen explained very patiently, ¡°and you are a random orphan. If he does anything to you, even with you being a young woman, he¡¯d probably walk away with nothing but a slap on the wrists. That is, if you don¡¯t just disappear and the whole thing is swept under the rug.¡±

    Wanily gaped at him. Eventually, her gaze fell to her feet. ¡°Is that..?¡± She trailed off again before she shook her head. ¡°Okay. I¡¯ll stay at the house from now on.¡±

    Rizen let out a slow breath. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said. Amera knew he didn¡¯t need more things to worry about, but he wouldn¡¯t hold this one against Wanily. It wasn¡¯t her fault some men were pigs.

    They continued back down the road to Rizen¡¯s home. He stopped with her by the stall selling cinnamon rolls, keeping a lookout while Wanily handed over the money Mom gave her¨Cmoney Rizen had given his mother from things he managed to sell, though he tried not to be upset about that.

    Rizen didn¡¯t see anything or anyone suspicious, and when Wanily had collected the sweet, they continued on their way. Rizen tried to plot out what to do while they walked. Should he confront the tribune? Tell him that his man was acting out of line? Should he tell Mom and try to let her handle it? She was head of the household and in better standing with most of the town than Rizen simply by virtue of rarely being around often enough to leave a bad taste in people¡¯s mouths. Or should he just let it lie, keep an eye on Wanily, and wait until the tribune and his men had left town? Rizen generally wasn¡¯t one to be confrontational. If he could solve this problem by avoiding this problem, he would happily do so.

    Should he tell Mom though? What would she even do about it? Storm up to the tribune and demand he set his man straight? Make a fuss out of what was, potentially, nothing? But what if something were to happen to Wanily because he didn¡¯t tell his mom? She could at least help keep an eye out. Rizen would just tell her to also let sleeping dogs lie. The soldiers couldn¡¯t be in town for much longer anyhow.

    They reached Rizen¡¯s home without further incident, and Wanily was quick to head inside and go straight to hole up in the bedroom, Ruffles trotting inside after her. Rizen couldn¡¯t blame her. At least with her safely burrowed under the blanket on Crizo¡¯s old bed and eating her dessert, Rizen could worry about telling Mom and handling her reaction.

    He swapped out the flowers on the kitchen table before he went and knocked on the door of Mom¡¯s workshop. Then he knocked louder when he received no response.

    That one warranted a response. ¡°Is that you, Wanily?¡± Mom called.

    Rizen tried not to be hurt that Mom thought it was the stray she¡¯d taken in over her own son. After all, she had sent Wanily to fetch something for her¨CRizen hardly ever bothered her while she was working.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s me,¡± Rizen called back.

    ¡°Oh, Rizen! Hold on one second.¡± Mom sounded happy, at least. Though Rizen was certainly about to dampen that.

    There was a clattering on the other side of the door, then it opened, revealing Mom in her wheelchair, smiling up at him. She motioned for him to move back, and he did so, allowing her to roll out into the kitchen and take her usual spot at the end of the table.

    ¡°Did you happen to run into Wanily while you were out?¡± Mom asked.

    Rizen came around to sit at his usual seat at the opposite side of the table. He looked at the flower in the middle of the surface. Mom didn¡¯t. ¡°Yes,¡± he said carefully. ¡°That¡¯s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.¡±

    Mom¡¯s face fell. She let out a sigh. ¡°Rizen, I know you don¡¯t like her, but I was hoping the two of you would eventually get along. I thought a peace offering might be in order.¡±

    Bewildered, Rizen furrowed his brow. ¡°You¡¯re talking about... the cinnamon roll? I thought that was for you?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I told Wanily, but I was going to have her give the other half to you,¡± Mom said. ¡°As much as you don¡¯t like her, I don¡¯t think Wanily likes you much either, so I wasn¡¯t sure if she¡¯d agree to my plan.¡±

    Gee, Rizen wondered why Wanily didn¡¯t like him. Was it being constantly rude to her or threatening her or just a general distaste for Rizen¡¯s presence? The world would never know.

    Rizen kept those thoughts to himself. ¡°None of that matters,¡± Rizen eventually said, at a loss on how to address any of that. ¡°Wanily¨C¡±

    ¡°It does matter,¡± Mom insisted, cutting Rizen off. She looked pained, suddenly, and Rizen already didn¡¯t like whatever she was going to say next. ¡°Rizen... I think Wanily should stay with us. Past winter.¡±

    Like Rizen needed the clarification. ¡°Mom¨C¡±

    ¡°I know she wants to learn magic. To¨CTo go off in the world and find some old magic teacher that will show her the secret inner workings of the universe. But she¡¯s awfully young to be doing all that. I think she should stay with us, at least until she¡¯s a few years older.¡±

    What about me? What about what I want? Rizen didn¡¯t say that though, and this wasn¡¯t a conversation he wanted to have right now. Besides, there was no way Wanily would want to stay with Rizen after everything that happened. It was more than the fact that Wanily didn¡¯t like him¨Cshe was afraid of him. And she wanted to learn magic. She wouldn¡¯t let Mom get in the way of that.

    ¡°A soldier was following her,¡± Rizen said before Mom could get in anything else. ¡°Making eyes at her and apparently giving lewd remarks.¡±

    Mom¡¯s eyes grew so wide they appeared to pop out of her head. ¡°And you left her in town!?¡±

    Is that the kind of person you take me for? Rizen almost asked. It burned on his tongue until he let out a slow, measured breath. ¡°She¡¯s in the bedroom,¡± he said with glacial calm. ¡°I assume trying to forget what happened. So no, I didn¡¯t just leave her there.¡±

    Mom swallowed hard, audible even from Rizen¡¯s place across from her. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean¨C¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Rizen said, not interested in listening to whatever she was about to say. ¡°She came to me, and I wasn¡¯t about to turn her away. I told her to stick close to the house until the tribune leaves town.¡±

    ¡°We should talk to the tribune,¡± Mom said. ¡°His soldiers can¡¯t be acting like that.¡±

    ¡°His soldier hasn¡¯t done anything,¡± Rizen pointed out. ¡°What is the tribune going to do?¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t just do nothing,¡± Mom insisted. ¡°What if something happens to Wanily?¡±

    ¡°You¨C¡± Rizen stopped, biting his tongue hard to stop himself from saying something he shouldn¡¯t. You didn¡¯t care when things were happening to me and Crizo, he wanted to spit out. But he carefully wrangled that thought back and strangled it in a corner of his mind. Mom hadn¡¯t known. Mom didn¡¯t know. It didn¡¯t matter anymore. ¡°Nothing will happen to Wanily because she will stay close to the house. And Ruffles is smart, I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll stick around her as an extra precaution.¡±

    Mom gave him a look that was a mix between skeptical and disappointed. ¡°Do you want something bad to happen to Wanily, Rizen?¡±

    The dark thing, forgotten for weeks now, fluttered inside Rizen¡¯s chest, beating against his ribs. ¡°Are you fucking kidding me?¡± he spat before his thoughts could catch up with his tongue. ¡°I¡¯m trying to help her right now, and you think I¡¯m so terrible that¨C¡±

    He cut himself off when he realized Mom was gawking at him, her expression laced with hurt. He immediately deflated, something itching and crawling under his skin. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he quickly murmured. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean¨CI¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Mom visibly collected herself. ¡°No, you¡¯re right, that was out of line of me. I¨CI know you¡¯re not that kind of person, Rizen. But sometimes, you just seem like...¡±

    She trailed off. Rizen was torn between desperately wanting to know what the end of that thought was and avidly hoping he never found out. Eventually, his cowardice won out, and he let it go. There was no reason for her to, but if Mom said Rizen sometimes seemed like his father, Rizen wasn¡¯t sure what he would do.

    Even if it was the truth.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to keep an eye on Wanily,¡± Rizen said softly. ¡°I wanted to let you know what was going on so you could do the same.¡± Rizen stood, calmly pushing in his chair and moving toward his room. Mom let him go, staring down at her hands clasped in her lap.

    When Rizen entered his bedroom, he found Wanily sitting against the headboard of the bed¡¯s frame. Ruffles was too big to fit on the bed, but he was trying anyway, his hind legs on the ground but his front paws and the rest of his body sprawled across Wanily¡¯s lap. Wanily rubbed his ear with one hand, but her gaze immediately snapped to Rizen when he opened his door.

    ¡°Were you fighting with Peyra?¡± she asked before Rizen even shut the door behind him.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see how that¡¯s any of your business,¡± he muttered, heading to his bed and sitting heavily on it. He rested one elbow on his knee and pressed a fist against his forehead.

    Amera, what a day. It wasn¡¯t even dark yet either.

    ¡°Was it because of me?¡±

    Rizen looked up at Wanily. She stared back, her hand laying still on top of Ruffles¡¯ white head.

    Rizen could say yes. He didn¡¯t have to beat around the bush with Wanily. She was just a stranger living with him for a few months. Rizen hadn¡¯t made any effort to get to know her¨Cnot before that day at the creek and certainly not after. He could hurt her, and it wouldn¡¯t matter because soon she¡¯d be gone and Rizen could move on with his life.

    ¡°Like I said,¡± Rizen murmured, ¡°don¡¯t worry about it.¡±

    ¡°Your mom loves you, you know,¡± Wanily blurted out suddenly. ¡°A lot. She wishes you were closer. She¡¯s told me so dozens of times.¡±

    Rizen felt his hand drop away. When he was younger, he often felt like the world was too big for his words. All the things he felt and all the things he thought, they all faded away because he didn¡¯t have the right words to express them. It was why, after he found that book in Crizo¡¯s nightstand, he wanted to be a poet¨Cto capture every experience he could with something as powerful yet flimsy as language. He never wanted to be at a loss of words¨Ca loss of expression¨Cagain.

    Now, though, he was once again bogged down in the reality of not knowing what to say.

    He knew Mom loved him. In a distant but sure fashion, like how he knew if he traveled far enough, he¡¯d reach the ocean. It wasn¡¯t something he thought about often, but it was something he knew to be true. He hadn¡¯t realized, though, that she cared about him much beyond that. Rizen was the boy who took care of things around the house while she worked and who also happened to be her son. That was all he thought she saw him as.

    She wanted to be closer with him? But, did he want to be closer to her?

    That was his mother. He loved her, he knew that much. But it was not out of choice that he loved her. He didn¡¯t like her, he realized. Was that just him being vindictive because of things Mom didn¡¯t know about and were outside of her control, or did he actually not like her?

    He wasn¡¯t sure, and that was as bad as not knowing what to say.

    ¡°Stick close to Ruffles from here on out if you go outside,¡± Rizen said instead of addressing any of that. ¡°He¡¯ll help protect you.¡±

    Wanily pursed her lips. She obviously had something to say about Rizen¡¯s sidestepping of the conversation, but she eventually let it go, turning back to focus on petting Ruffles. Rizen shucked off his boots and laid down in bed, staring up at the wooden ceiling.

    Mom loved him. Would that change if he told her the truth about Dad and Crizo?

    It didn¡¯t matter. Rizen wasn¡¯t going to tell her, Wanily would still be leaving when spring came, and things would go back to normal.

    <hr>

    Rizen woke slowly, blinking his eyes open. His mouth was terribly dry, and his body felt as heavy as his eyelids. Sleep still clung to him, and it was a battle of will to sit up and stretch.

    The first thing Rizen noticed was that it was dark. Barely any light filtered through the window. The second thing he noticed was that Ruffles and Wanily were gone from the other bed. Rizen hadn¡¯t meant to fall asleep. He just hoped the two of them hadn¡¯t gotten into any trouble while he was.

    He got up and opened the door of the bedroom. Immediately, the soft tones of two voices carried in from the kitchen, and sure enough, he found Wanily and Mom sitting at the table, eating dinner. Rizen didn¡¯t care to look what they were eating, and he didn¡¯t pause on his way past them.

    ¡°Rizen?¡± Mom called from behind him. ¡°Where are you¨C?¡±

    ¡°Out,¡± Rizen said. ¡°The tavern.¡±

    Just like your father, a voice whispered in the back of his head. He mercilessly stomped that voice out.

    He opened the front door but paused, glancing back at Wanily. ¡°Stay safe,¡± he muttered.

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Wanily gave him an uneasy smile. ¡°Okay.¡±

    Rizen grunted and stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. Ruffles was nowhere in sight, and he hadn¡¯t been inside with Wanily and Mom. Hunting in the woods, then, perhaps? Rizen couldn¡¯t find it in himself to care much what the cwn annwn was getting up to.

    He was in a foul mood, he could feel that much. He didn¡¯t want to hang around his house while that held true. Without any real friends in town, that left him either going to the woods or to the tavern, and it was too cold out to be traipsing around the forest at night. So, he would go to the tavern, buy something small to drink, and brood over his mug in the corner of the room. He hadn¡¯t even grabbed his journal, not that he felt much like writing right now.

    He made the trek into town. There was hardly anyone out at this time of night, and most people that passed him didn¡¯t even bother with a greeting. Not that Rizen did either.

    When he made it to the tavern, he stopped outside it and looked through one of the front windows. Inside, there were people inside sitting around the various tables, chatting, laughing, having a grand time sharing the company of friends. He even spotted the sheriff and the deputy off to the side, talking with and smiling at anyone that passed by them. There was a warmth permeating the building from more than just the roaring fireplace.

    That dark thing in Rizen¡¯s chest reared its ugly head. Suddenly, he didn¡¯t feel like going in.

    He¡¯d already walked all this way, but he turned around and went right back. A stroll through the woods, surrounded by the chill of the winter, would help clear his head, hopefully. At least, maybe it would tire him out enough that he could just go home and go back to bed. Sleep off the storm cloud that was hanging over his head.

    It was a little while until he was passing McLaney¡¯s homestead and cutting across the fields into the woods beyond. Already, as he passed the edge of the forest and picked his way through the underbrush, he could feel some of the tension in his soul fading away. The woods had always been a sanctuary for him. Even after everything that happened.

    Rizen stopped after about ten minutes of carefully making his way into the forest. He stood in the middle of the woods and just breathed. Breathed in the stingingly cold air smelling of dirt and must. Listened to the soft noises of animals scurrying in the brush and branches somewhere in the night. Scanned the spaces between trees around him, gazed up at the dark sky above him, lit with the light of a half moon and the inverted U-shape of the constellation Zom.

    It really wasn¡¯t all that late. Rizen would have to stay out here for a while yet if he hoped to get any sleep tonight.

    Rizen let out a long, slow breath, watching it billow out in front of him in a white cloud and fade into nothingness. He felt better, he thought, but he would stay out for a little while longer, try to tire himself out. Laying in bed with nothing but his thoughts didn¡¯t sound very appealing. He wanted to be able to go to sleep when he returned home.

    He started forward again, and without thinking about, even moving through the dark, he found himself heading to the creek. Maybe not the best place to go if he wanted to improve his mood, but Rizen couldn¡¯t find it in him to stop himself.

    The creek was a place of endings for Rizen, after all. And for some reason, tonight felt like an ending. Rizen would blame Wanily for that.

    Rizen moved around the trees, using the position of Zom to help orient himself in the darkness. He shouldn¡¯t be all that far from the creek. But what would he do when he got there? Just sit around, in the dark, in the cold, waiting for the frenzied thing in his chest to calm?

    Well. He didn¡¯t really have any other ideas.

    His fingers and toes were well on their way to being numb by the time the tiny clearing by the creek came into view. Immediately, Rizen knew something was wrong. There was something lying by the creek, something big and¨Cif the way it rose and fell slightly at even increments¨Cbreathing. That was what really concerned Rizen. To find a dead deer or other creature left strewn about the forest was one thing. A wolf or their magical cousins could have done that. But, under the bare brush light of the moon, Rizen could tell the beast had a white coat and red ears and tail and was still breathing. The sound was wet, pained, and if the dark puddle surrounding the beast was anything to go off, Rizen understood why.

    Rizen''s heart shot into his throat. It¨CIt had to be a different cwn annwn. That couldn''t be Ruffles laying there in a pool of his own blood.

    What could even take down a cwn annwn in the middle of their own territory?

    Rizen flicked his gaze around the clearing, searching for any sign of a threat. Everything else was still, quiet. The only thing around seemed to be the dying cwn annwn.

    It was probably stupid to step out of the cover of the forest and investigate. But if that was Ruffles, Rizen had to know. He had to try to help him.

    He slunk out into the clearing, one careful step in front of the other, until he stood next to the cwn annwn. Kneeling down, he tried to take better stock of the situation.

    It was definitely Ruffles, and Rizen felt his heart seize in his chest. There was a long gash running along his belly, bleeding sluggishly and spreading the puddle on the forest floor. Ruffles cracked his eyes open when Rizen knelt beside him, the red irises focusing on him as he let out a low, pained whine.

    Rizen, at a loss for what to do, laid his hand on Ruffles¡¯ head. ¡°It''s okay, buddy,¡± he murmured. ¡°You''re alright. I''m going to go get help, okay?¡±

    Ruffles let out a long sigh of a breath, closing his eyes again. Rizen froze, terrified¨Cbut Ruffles was still breathing. He was still alive.

    A place of endings, Rizen thought deliriously. But this would not be Ruffles'' end. Rizen would get help.

    But then, who could help him? He needed a potion or a mage that knew healing magic. Deputy Griff, he thought. The man had white hair¨Che might know how to heal. If nothing else, Griff could get his hands on a healing potion and Rizen could find some way to pay him back for it eventually. Anything to save Ruffles.

    Rizen stood, his gaze still locked on Ruffles¡¯ face, certain that the moment he turned around, Ruffles would take his final breath. The last thing Rizen wanted was for him to leave to get help and Ruffles to die alone in the woods on a cold winter''s night.

    Rizen took one uncertain step back. The moment he did, a scream rang through the woods. ¡°Help!¡± The voice cried. ¡°Help me!¡±

    Wanily''s voice.

    Rizen froze. On the ground, Ruffles let out another agonized sound and made a sorry attempt to get his legs under him. His paws twitched, scrabbling in the mud created from his own blood.

    Rizen forced himself to take a breath. Then another. Should he help Ruffles, his only and most steadfast friend since his brother left him, or Wanily, the stranger he never bothered to befriend? What was she even doing out here? If she got into trouble after Rizen told her to stay the fuck inside, shouldn''t that be her own problem?

    ¡°Please¨C¡± Wanily, screaming again, but the sound abruptly cut off.

    The dark thing hammered the inside of Rizen''s chest. Whatever had attacked Ruffles had to be what was going after Wanily. Rizen would bet anything that it was the soldier from before. But that still didn¡¯t answer the question of why Wanily was out here, and how the soldier knew she would be. Or maybe he hadn¡¯t known and was just trying to remove Ruffles from the playing field so he could get to her, and Wanily¡¯s added presence was just happenstance?

    Rizen could walk away. He could go get help for Ruffles, claim that he hadn¡¯t heard Wanily calling for help. What were the chances the soldier even let Wanily live after he was done with her? Rizen could leave her to her fate, and the thorn in his side from the last couple of months would be effectively removed.

    He could leave, just like Crizo had done to Rizen. He might not be the one hurting her now, but he had in the past. Just like Dad.

    But who did Rizen want to be?

    Rizen glanced down at Ruffles one last time. Ruffles hadn¡¯t lifted his head, but he looked at Rizen from the corner of his eye, panting slightly. Rizen wasn¡¯t sure exactly how intelligent Ruffles was, but the way he looked at Rizen at that moment seemed imploring.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± Rizen murmured. Then, he was off, racing through the forest in the direction he¡¯d heard Wanily¡¯s cries sound moments before. ¡°Wanily!¡± he shouted, maneuvering through the familiar landscape as easily as if it were daylight. ¡°Where are you?¡±

    ¡°Rizen!?¡± Wanily¡¯s frantic voice answered somewhere to his left. He took it as a good sign she was at all in a position to even respond to him. ¡°Where¨C?¡±

    Rizen veered in the new direction, leaping over bushes and vaulting over fallen logs. He was less familiar with this area of the woods and was eventually forced to slow his pace, keeping up a light jog instead and cursing every time he ran into a low-hanging branch. ¡°Wanily?¡± he called again.

    Something shot out of the darkness toward him, and Rizen just barely stopped himself from reflexively lashing out at the blur of yellow in the corner of his eye. Wanily barreled straight into him, threatening to knock him off his feet, and Rizen immediately grasped her shoulders, allowing her momentum to carry him back a step.

    She was shaking under his touch, and when she looked up at him, her tear-stricken face crumpled. ¡°Rizen,¡± she wailed, burying her face into the front of his coat, probably getting snot all over it, ¡°I¡¯ve never been so glad to see you.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Rizen demanded, scanning the woods around them, searching for the threat. For now, he didn¡¯t see anything, but it was also cursedly dark¨Che might not notice the danger until it was upon him. He quickly gave Wanily a once-over, but though she was disheveled and obviously distraught, she didn¡¯t seem to be hurt. Small blessings, he supposed.

    ¡°I fought with Peyra,¡± Wanily whimpered. ¡°I came out here ¡®cause I knew Ruffles was out here and I thought I could blow off some steam. But Ruffles...¡± She trailed off, sobbing in earnest. She took a great, heaving breath, and continued, ¡°That soldier, the one from before, he got him. And he was about to finish him off when I showed up, and then he started chasing me, and I was running and shouting for help even though I didn¡¯t think anyone would hear me but¨C¡±

    ¡°Alright, alright,¡± Rizen said, drawing a step away from her¨Cor trying to. Wanily clung stubbornly to the front of his coat and shuffled forward as he moved back. ¡°We can¡¯t stay here, then,¡± he said lowly. ¡°We¡¯ll go back to town, get the sheriff and the deputy. They¡¯ll help us.¡±

    He desperately wanted to know what Wanily and Mom had fought about when they seemed so chummy the rest of the time, but that could wait until later. Rizen couldn¡¯t fault Wanily for not wanting to be home after a fight with his mother, and she had still tried to follow Rizen¡¯s direction to stay near Ruffles. It had backfired, but she hadn¡¯t been stupid about everything, which was what Rizen had been mostly concerned about.

    ¡°Ahead of me,¡± Rizen barked, gripping Wanily by the shoulders again and steering her until she stood ahead of him on the way back to town. That left his back exposed to the rest of the woods, but better him than her, he figured. ¡°Start moving,¡± he snapped, when she just stood there for a moment.

    Instead of following his direction, Wanily backed up, eyes wide and breath coming fast. ¡°He¡¯s there,¡± she hissed, pointing off somewhere ahead and to their right¨Cblocking off their escape route.

    But how did she know? Even when he squinted, Rizen couldn¡¯t make out anything in the darkness.

    Rizen almost demanded she tell him how she knew, but for now, Rizen would just trust her.

    He pushed at her until she was behind him again. His heart hammered in his chest, and he racked his mind for what to do. The soldier had a sword. Rizen and Wanily were in the middle of the woods, and if they died out here, Mom probably wouldn¡¯t even realize they were gone until the morning. He¡¯d told Mom about the soldier, but that didn¡¯t mean anything. It would be her word against the word of the soldier, and Mom might be a woman but the man was high-ranking. Besides, if the soldier was smart about it, Rizen and Wanily¡¯s bodies wouldn¡¯t even be found until he was long gone. And then what would happen?

    In the end, though, the future plans of the soldier didn¡¯t matter when he was trying to hurt them now. Rizen needed to focus, come up with some plan of attack. Otherwise, he was sure the only one whose blood would be spilled was his. And probably Wanily¡¯s.

    ¡°He¡¯s coming straight for us,¡± Wanily whispered, hands fisted in the back of Rizen¡¯s coat.

    ¡°Where?¡± he asked. He still didn¡¯t see anything.

    ¡°I think he heard us earlier,¡± Wanily continued, just as soft. Rizen was about to snap that she needed to answer his question when she pointed ahead of them again and said, ¡°Maybe twenty paces out?¡±

    Rizen swallowed hard. ¡°We¡¯ll try to circle around him, then,¡± he decided. ¡°Just be quiet.¡±

    He shuffled to their left, both trying to watch the ground to avoid stepping on any noisy forest debris and trying to keep an eye on the surrounding trees for any glimpse of the soldier. A glance back confirmed that Wanily was sticking close to him, moving just as slowly, so it seemed that she didn¡¯t have some type of extraordinary ability to see in the dark. So how was she able to see the soldier?

    Rizen pushed it from his mind once more. He could ask her later, when they weren¡¯t in danger any more.

    Rizen stopped suddenly, holding out an arm to force Wanily to do the same. Somewhere to their right, he could hear rustling and the scuff of leather boots digging into the hard ground. Rizen kept his breathing slow and steady. Next to him, Wanily gripped his arm, her breath stuttering and short but still, thankfully, quiet.

    ¡°I know you''re out here,¡± Rizen could hear the soldier mutter. His voice matched him¨Cslimy and low. ¡°Come out, come out, little one. That boy with you won¡¯t be able to save you. Maybe he¡¯d even want to join me.¡±

    Wanily made a tight, choked sound, clinging harder to Rizen¡¯s arm. Rizen didn¡¯t bother shushing her. He found himself moving before he even realized it, yanking himself from Wanily¡¯s grasp and rushing forward, toward the direction the soldier¡¯s voice had come from. The dark thing in Rizen¡¯s chest felt like it had finally broken free, snapping through his blood like crackles of lightning and setting his soul ablaze in a way he¡¯d never felt before.

    Reason was not the driving force behind Rizen¡¯s actions. But once he started moving, he didn¡¯t stop himself.

    Because Rizen had already killed one monster. He could kill another.

    The soldier would hear him coming. He had a sword, and all Rizen had was his fists. But then, the trees of the forest would limit the effectiveness of a blade like the solider¡¯s¨Che wouldn¡¯t be able to slash at Rizen without risking the blade sinking into a tree trunk. Rizen could use that to his advantage.

    Rizen didn¡¯t let himself think about the future. He didn¡¯t know what repercussions he would face from this decision. All he knew was that he wouldn¡¯t let this man hurt Wanily¨Cor leave this place and hurt someone else.

    It wasn¡¯t born of anything altruistic, really. Rizen could end this soldier¡¯s life. His hands were already stained with blood. What was a bit more?

    Between two trees, the man¡¯s darkened silhouette seeped into sight, the sword in his hands glinting as he turned to face Rizen. Rizen didn¡¯t allow himself a moment of hesitation. He barreled forward, twisting when the soldier¡¯s arm moved. Quick as a viper, the soldier struck, aiming to stab Rizen straight through. Rizen threw himself to the side, his shoulder smacking straight into a tree. The soldier turned the stab into a swipe, bringing the blade in an arc toward Rizen. Rizen waited half a heartbeat before he lunged forward, away from the blow. To his left, the soldier cursed when his blade became lodged in the tree.

    Rizen didn¡¯t give him the opportunity to wrench the weapon back out. He used his momentum to tackle the soldier¡¯s legs, bringing both of them down to the ground. The soldier cursed harshly as his weapon was ripped from his grasp. Rizen was on top of the soldier in the next instant. He aimed straight for the man¡¯s nose, swinging his fist down.

    The soldier wiped away Rizen¡¯s attack with a grunt, pushing at Rizen¡¯s forearm with his own. Rizen¡¯s fist connected with the cold, hard dirt of the forest floor, and the next thing he knew was pain blossoming across his cheek when the soldier struck back.

    Rizen let out a hiss of pain and tried again, using his other hand, to break the soldier¡¯s nose. The soldier was too quick again, catching Rizen¡¯s fist and twisting. Rizen cried out, but the soldier didn¡¯t stop there. Using his momentum, he did something¨Call Rizen knew was that one moment, he was on top of the soldier, and the next the soldier was on top of him. The soldier rained his fists down, over and over. Rizen tried to block the attacks with his arms at first, but the soldier batted them away. Pain blazed across Rizen¡¯s face and he felt something give under one of the soldier¡¯s blows.

    Through the agony, Rizen felt a wave of calm wash over him. He had tried. He had failed, but he had tried to kill the soldier. At least Wanily would be long gone by now. She could go to Mom and tell her that Rizen was dead, just like Rizen had told Mom Dad was dead. Slain in the forest by someone who would never face justice.

    Wanily said Mom wanted to be closer to Rizen. She would never get that chance if Rizen died here.

    Rizen tried to fight back, he did. Tried to get his fists around the ones battering him, but the soldier blocked him every time. Tried to flip the soldier over or buck him off, but while Rizen was stronger than some from the work he did everyday, he wasn¡¯t as strong as a martially trained soldier.

    Maybe it wasn¡¯t even worth it. Maybe Rizen was better off dying and being remembered as a hero rather than the snappish child that killed his father.

    Eventually, the soldier stopped hitting him. Rizen barely felt like he could breathe. Was his nose broken? He couldn¡¯t tell amongst all the other pain. But then, a pain came lower, from his throat, the feeling of it being crushed. It was a feeling he remembered well, and Rizen thrashed, seizing the soldier by the wrists and trying to pry his hands from around Rizen¡¯s neck. Above him, through the murkiness of Rizen¡¯s swimming vision, he could just make out the soldier¡¯s smiling face.

    The arrogant find themselves in early graves, Rizen thought, unbidden, as the world around him began to fade away and his kicking slowed. As do those with hands stained. Who cares about the death of someone so plain? Is the world better off without their pain?

    ¡°You tried, boy,¡± the soldier¡¯s sickly voice cut through the haze filling Rizen¡¯s mind. ¡°This is why you shouldn¡¯t play the hero.¡±

    All Rizen ever did was try and fail and try again, it seemed. But the soldier was wrong because this time, Rizen was successful. He gave Wanily a chance to get away from him. Rizen clung to the knowledge even as his thoughts began to slip away.

    A spray hit Rizen¡¯s face at the same moment the pressure from his throat disappeared. Rizen tried to gasp, but all he got was a mouth full of something thick and tasting of iron¨Cblood. Was he bleeding?

    Rizen spat it out as something heavy pinned down his body. Rizen blinked, inhaling sharply¨Cor trying to, only managing to start coughing¨Cas he stared into the glassy brown eyes of the soldier laid bonelessly on top of him. Rizen shoved his body off and scrambled back, tiny rocks and sticks digging into his hands, until his back hit a tree.

    Just beyond the form of the soldier, Wanily stood, a bloodied sword gripped in her hands, its point facing the earth and dripping steadily.

    Rizen wheezed, raising a hand to his tender throat and trying to make sense of the situation. His front was covered in blood, and he couldn¡¯t tell if all the blood on his face was from the soldier or he was bleeding somewhere. It was probably the latter.

    The sword fell from Wanily¡¯s suddenly slack fingers, landing on the forest floor with a thump. Wanily stared at it, then the body of the soldier. Blood had begun to pool under his prone form from a stab wound that must have ran straight through his chest. A stab wound Wanily inflicted with the soldier¡¯s own sword.

    Wanily took in a deep, shaking breath. Her gaze snapped to Rizen. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    Rizen tried to answer, but all that came out was a croak that sent daggers slicing through his throat. He winced and settled for a nod.

    Wanily stared at him for another moment before nodding vigorously. ¡°Okay,¡± she said. She looked to the body of the soldier again. Tears welled up in her eyes, glistening in the weak light of the night. ¡°Okay,¡± she said again.

    Rizen grimaced. Fuck. Wanily wasn¡¯t supposed to¨C

    It was supposed to be Rizen. He was already a killer. Wanily shouldn¡¯t have to be one, too.

    ¡°We¨C¡± Rizen started, only to be interrupted by another harsh cough. He swallowed past the pain and resolutely continued, voice rough, ¡°We need to get help. For Ruffles.¡±

    Wanily nodded without tearing her eyes off the soldier. She didn¡¯t move as Rizen climbed to his feet, steadied by a hand on the tree. He started forward and waited to see if Wanily followed. It took a few seconds, but eventually, she did, her wide eyes now trained on Rizen. He would allow her to stare this once.

    He was a little turned around, but he was able to just make out the constellation Vessa peeking through the treetops and used that to figure out which way he needed to go to get back to town. He lurched into motion, using the trees he passed as crutches until Wanily ran up to walk beside him. She seized his hand and lifted it up to her shoulder, setting it there. When Rizen glanced at her, she nodded to him, and he let some of his weight fall on her.

    She was crying, too, but Rizen tried not to think about that.

    They trekked through the woods, the only sounds Rizen could register being his own labored breathing and a faint ringing. Neither or those were a good sign, but he just focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The last thing he needed right now was to collapse and leave all the aftermath to Wanily. He wasn¡¯t sure she would even be able to find her way back to town in her state¨Cif she even knew how to get there and wasn¡¯t just following Rizen.

    Rizen didn¡¯t speak. Mostly because of his throat but also because he didn¡¯t know what to say. He hated it and hated himself more with each passing second, but what was someone supposed to say in a situation like this? He didn¡¯t even know what Wanily was thinking, but judging by the fat tears rolling down her cheeks, it wasn¡¯t anything good.

    By the time they stepped free from the underbrush of the forest and passed the tree line, Rizen¡¯s vision was swimming. He could barely make out McLaney¡¯s homestead just a little ways away. Blinking hard, he forced himself to relax the death grip he had on Wanily¡¯s shoulder and stopped.

    ¡°Rizen?¡± Wanily sounded worried. Panicked, even.

    ¡°Just¨C¡± he gasped, trying to focus past the pain in his throat and roaring all over his face. ¡°Just give me a second.¡±

    ¡°Can you make it all the way into town? Should I go get Peyra?¡± Wanily¡¯s voice was downright frantic now, and she gripped Rizen¡¯s wrist so hard he could feel it compared to everything else. ¡°Are you okay?¡± she demanded.

    ¡°We¡¯re not getting my mother involved in this until we have to,¡± Rizen gritted out. He forced himself to start walking once again, and Wanily had to move with him or risk having him fall over. ¡°I can make it. We¡¯re getting Deputy Griff, and he¡¯s going to go help Ruffles.¡±

    Wanily suddenly disappeared from under Rizen¡¯s hand, and he nearly toppled over, barely managing to catch himself. He shot a glare at her, but she glared right back. She took two steps away from him, fierce despite the way her cheeks were stained by tears.

    ¡°Sit down,¡± she said.

    ¡°Wanily¨C¡± Rizen started, but she made a sharp motion, silencing him.

    ¡°Sit down,¡± she barked. ¡°I¡¯m telling Peyra you¡¯re out here, and then I¡¯m going to get the deputy.¡±

    Sitting down sounded positively wonderful. Rizen remained stubbornly on his feet. ¡°We¡¯re not telling my mother¨C¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± Wanily demanded. ¡°Why do you think¨C?¡±

    ¡°Rizen?¡± another voice sounded. Rizen started, whirling toward the source, heart in his crushed throat. He relaxed a fraction when he saw it was just McLaney himself, holding a candle in one hand and a wand in the other. He must have heard some of the screaming earlier¨Cor at least Rizen and Wanily yelling at each other at the edge of his property¨Cand had come to investigate. He approached the two of them warily, and Rizen tensed again when he asked, ¡°Is that blood?¡±

    Wanily looked to Rizen, clearly seeking his direction in what to do and who to trust. Rizen tried to take a deep breath, but it was more stuttering and painful than anything. ¡°We need the deputy,¡± Rizen rasped.

    ¡°You need to sit down, son,¡± McLaney said. He rushed forward the last few steps separating them, setting the candle in its holder on the ground and tucking his wand away. He gripped Rizen by the arms and helped him lower himself to the ground. Rizen dropped the last of the distance with a grunt, landing hard on his ass on the stiff, grassy ground.

    ¡°I can get the deputy,¡± Wanily said. ¡°Can you stay with him?¡±

    McLaney nodded to Wanily. He had to have some idea who she was, even if Wanily had failed to interact with McLaney during her stay. ¡°Be quick,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯re probably at the tavern or at their station.¡±

    Wanily nodded and raced to the road. Rizen watched her go through half-lidded eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. He desperately wanted to just go to sleep. Maybe never wake up.

    What had he been thinking? They could have just snuck past the soldier but instead Rizen had fucked everything up. What did he think was going to happen? That he would actually be able to kill a highly trained soldier and just walk away from the encounter?

    And now Wanily had blood on her hands, just like Rizen. She¡¯d lost something that she could never regain.

    She should have just left him behind. She should have just saved herself. Instead, Wanily had come back for Rizen¡¯s pathetic excuse for a soul. Even after everything Rizen had done to her. After everything Rizen had done.

    ¡°What happened, son?¡± McLaney asked him gently, standing beside him.

    Rizen wanted to press the heels of his hands to his eyes. He knew that would just make the pain worse. Already, he was pretty sure the area around his right eye was swelling. ¡°One of the soldiers that came with the tribune,¡± Rizen rasped, ¡°he¡¯s been killed.¡±

    ¡°By you?¡± McLaney asked, no discernible judgment in his voice.

    ¡°He was going to hurt Wanily,¡± Rizen said, instead of answering him. ¡°He was going to rape her and¨Cand stuff her body in a log somewhere in the forest. Or he would let her live and she¡¯d come back to us and he¡¯d get to just keep walking around and go off and do it to some other little girl.¡± Rizen squeezed his eyes shut. ¡°I hate her,¡± Rizen hissed, surprised by his own conviction. ¡°I hate her, but I couldn¡¯t let that happen to her.¡±

    ¡°Alright.¡±

    ¡°And¨CAnd I¡¯ve already killed before,¡± Rizen continued, though he didn¡¯t know why. It felt like the words were water pouring up out of him, and he couldn¡¯t hold them all back if he tried. ¡°I killed my father. I know you know. Everyone knows. Everyone except¨Cbut none of that matters because I thought this time¨Cthis time I could actually protect someone instead of just trying to help myself.¡±

    There was suddenly a hand on Rizen¡¯s back. He jumped at the touch, but it was just McLaney, of course, kneeling beside him now. ¡°Breathe,¡± the man commanded.

    Rizen became aware how fast his breath was coming. He forced himself to draw in a great breath, one after the other. His face was wet, and Rizen didn¡¯t think it was just blood.

    ¡°I wanted it to mean something,¡± he whispered. ¡°I wanted the blood on my hands to mean something.¡±

    Instead, Wanily had to carry the same weight that he did. Rizen wouldn¡¯t have wished it on anyone.

    ¡°Just keep breathing, son,¡± McLaney said, rubbing small circles into Rizen¡¯s back. It felt wrong, somehow, but Rizen couldn¡¯t deny that it was also extremely comforting. ¡°It¡¯ll be alright, you hear? You¡¯re a good kid. Everything is gonna work out.¡±

    Rizen just nodded. He didn¡¯t trust his voice and his throat hurt anyway. That¡¯s what he told himself.

    It wasn¡¯t much longer until the beat of hooves sounded in the distance and rapidly grew closer. Rizen, lulled into a half-asleep state, immediately tensed again. McLaney patted him on the back one last time before he moved to stand. Rizen tried to follow, but McLaney pushed down on his shoulder, a sure signal to stay on the ground. Rizen sent the man a half-hearted glare but did so.

    It felt like an eternity and also like no time at all until the horse slid to a stop beside Rizen and McLaney. There were three figures on the horse¡¯s back, the one in the middle significantly shorter than the other two, and the front one raised the lantern in his hand, casting flickering light over the worried faces of Sheriff Xyle, Wanily, and Deputy Griff.

    Deputy Griff wasted no time in swinging off the horse, taking the lantern from Sheriff Xyle. He turned to Rizen. ¡°Where is he?¡±

    ¡°I can show you,¡± Wanily said, pushing herself from Sheriff Xyle¡¯s back and sliding down. Griff used his free hand to help steady her when she landed, and she nodded to him. She motioned him to follow as she broke into a run. ¡°Hurry!¡± she called over her shoulder.

    Deputy Griff started after her, the lantern in his hand swinging as he jogged to keep up with her. That left Rizen, McLaney, and the sheriff with only McLaney¡¯s candle for light.

    Sheriff Xyle swung off the horse, handing the reins off to McLaney and kneeling before Rizen. The man had a deep furrow between his brow. ¡°I thought I told you to stay out of trouble,¡± Xyle said, taking something from his belt. Rizen half-expected him to produce some type of manacles, but Xyle just snatched one of Rizen¡¯s hands and placed a small, glass bottle in his palm. ¡°Drink up,¡± he ordered.

    It took Rizen a couple of tries to uncork the bottle, but he eventually managed. He was mostly sure it was a healing potion, but at that point, Xyle could have handed Rizen rat poison and he might be inclined to drink it down all the same.

    He brought the cold glass to his lips and swallowed the shockingly bitter liquid back. Rizen grimaced at the taste, but after just a few seconds, the pain in his face began to subside and his head stopped swimming. His cheek started to twitch as whatever had given beneath the skin knit itself back together. Even the pain in his neck began to fade. Everything still hurt, but it was a dull ache, like the blows were days old instead of fresh and fierce.

    Rizen took a deep breath through a nose he felt like he could actually breathe through and it didn¡¯t burn running through his throat. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and gave the bottle back to the sheriff.

    ¡°How¡¯s that?¡± Sheriff Xyle asked him, accepting the bottle and hooking it back to his belt. Rizen just nodded, not trusting his voice for reasons unrelated to his injuries. ¡°What happened out there, Rizen?¡±

    Rizen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ¡°What did Wanily tell you?¡±

    ¡°She said one of the tribune¡¯s soldiers was dead and that your cwn annwn was badly injured.¡± Xyle stood. ¡°She also said you were hurt pretty bad. So, I¡¯ll ask you again: what happened?¡±

    ¡°How much do I owe you for the potion?¡± Rizen asked, looking down at his hands.

    He wasn¡¯t watching him, but he could hear the frown in Xyle¡¯s voice. ¡°I¡¯m not going to make you pay for that potion, Rizen. I just need you to talk to me. Did the soldier attack you?¡±

    ¡°He told me the soldier was going after the girl,¡± McLaney supplied when Rizen didn¡¯t reply. ¡°Rizen stopped him.¡±

    Sheriff Xyle grunted. ¡°The tribune isn¡¯t going to be happy,¡± he muttered. ¡°Those mercenaries don¡¯t come cheap, and they tend to ask for a lot upfront. But you did the right thing, Rizen.¡±

    It didn¡¯t feel like it, Rizen thought. They didn¡¯t know the whole story. Rizen wasn¡¯t saying anything, couldn¡¯t bring himself to say anything. He should tell them the truth, that Wanily had to save him because he¡¯d been so stupid. But it felt like his mouth was sealed shut.

    McLaney said something else to Xyle, but Rizen couldn¡¯t bring himself to focus on the words. He let the sound of their conversation wash over him without finding any purchase in his mind. He felt like his soul was drifting away, untethered from his body. He was still so tired.

    It could have been a few minutes. Or an hour. But eventually, someone called, ¡°Rizen?¡± He looked up, blanching at the person gazing down at him.

    Sitting in her wheelchair, Mom watched him with unmistakable worry. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, and Rizen dropped his gaze to stare at them instead of her face. When did she get here? Had he really been so out of it that he hadn¡¯t noticed her arrival? What was she even doing out of the house?

    ¡°Are you¨C¡± She started, then stopped, shaking her head. ¡°Well, of course you¡¯re not okay. What happened?¡±

    Rizen slid his gaze to where McLaney and Sheriff Xyle were standing off to the side, watching them. Sheriff Xyle had the grace to look away, pretending to give them privacy though he was obviously still listening. McLaney didn¡¯t put up any such pretenses.

    Rizen didn¡¯t stop himself from pressing his hands against his eyes this time. ¡°Where¡¯s Wanily?¡± he croaked. If he had missed Mom¡¯s arrival, he might have missed the deputy and Wanily, too.

    ¡°Here they come,¡± Sheriff Xyle said, crossing his arms and nodding back toward the forest.

    Rizen glanced over his shoulder, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight that met him. Wanily walked next to Ruffles with Deputy Griff flanking them, the group slowly making their way from the woods over to them. Ruffles¡¯ white coat still glistened with red under the moonlight, but his ears were up and his steps sure¨Cif slow.

    He was alright. And Wanily walked beside him. She was alright, too.

    No thanks to Rizen.

    Deputy Griff stopped next to McLaney, but Wanily and Ruffles continued past him and the sheriff. Wanily plopped down right next to Rizen, folding her legs up to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. Ruffles sat on the other side of Rizen, sniffing at Rizen¡¯s cheek with a cold nose. It shocked Rizen enough that he almost felt like he was waking up, his soul chased back into his body.

    Mom was still watching Rizen expectantly. He almost told her that nothing happened. He had every intention of uttering those words, saying, Nothing happened, everything is alright, I¡¯ve got it handled. Don¡¯t worry, don¡¯t worry, don¡¯t worry.

    Instead, he found himself saying, ¡°I¡¯m exactly the person you thought I was.¡±

 Chapter 13: The Way Forward--Part IV

    (666 A.C.)

    The cup of tea sitting on the table in front of Rizen had gone cold. He hadn¡¯t even known they¡¯d had any tea leaves in the house.

    To his right, the fireplace crackled and popped. Wanily knelt on the floor to Rizen¡¯s left with a bucket and rag beside her, using both to wash the blood from Ruffles¡¯s coat. The cwn annwn sat in front of her, panting slightly and watching Rizen from the corner of his eye.

    Rizen should help her. He couldn¡¯t bring himself to move from where he had his elbows braced on the table and his head resting in his hands.

    Mom had looked so crestfallen after what he said. I¡¯m exactly the person you thought I was, he¡¯d told her. But all she had done after that was ask Xyle and Griff if Rizen and Wanily could wait inside while they talked. She had wheeled herself back home with Wanily and Rizen and Ruffles in tow, lit the fireplace, brewed them tea, and left. Rizen could hear soft murmurings from the outside as she talked with the sheriff and deputy, but that was all.

    Wanily didn¡¯t break the silence over them. She didn¡¯t demand he help with Ruffles. She didn¡¯t even look at him.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he found himself saying. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Wanily.¡±

    The words were too paltry for everything Rizen had done. But they were all he had to offer.

    Wanily stopped mid-stroke. The rag in her hands, once brown, was a dark red. Her golden eyes didn¡¯t leave Ruffles'' coat. ¡°You were trying to kill that soldier.¡±

    Rizen moved his hands to press against his eyes. He nodded.

    ¡°Why?¡± Wanily asked.

    ¡°He was a monster.¡±

    ¡°Like your father?¡±

    Rizen dropped his hands and looked at her. Wanily stared up at him. ¡°Worse,¡± Rizen said. ¡°Worse than my father.¡±

    Wanily continued to gaze at him. Her eyes glistened with tears. ¡°Am I a bad person?¡± she whispered. ¡°I¨CI killed him. And you¡¯re right, he was a monster. And I¡¯m glad he¡¯s dead because otherwise I know I¡¯d be looking over my shoulder the rest of my life wondering if he was going to pop up. And that makes me feel even worse, because that was a person. And now he¡¯s just gone, and it¡¯s all my fault.¡±

    Wanily gripped the rag in her hand so tightly that a few drops splattered on the wooden planks below her. Ruffles let out a whine and nosed at her until she relaxed and started wiping at his fur once more. Tears trailed down her face in silent streaks.

    A bad person, she said. She¡¯d called Rizen a bad person for killing, too. Even though the both of them killed people that were better off not being able to hurt anyone ever again.

    Rizen shouldn¡¯t have attacked the soldier like he did, if only so Wanily hadn¡¯t had to save him. But she had killed to protect Rizen. She had killed to protect anyone the soldier might have hurt.

    The soldier was gone forever. But maybe he was better off that way.

    ¡°You¡¯re not a bad person,¡± Rizen said. He wrapped his hands around his cold cup of tea and stared into its murky depths. ¡°You took the life of someone who would have taken yours or mine. And if he hadn¡¯t, he would have hurt someone else. That doesn¡¯t make you evil.¡±

    And, maybe, it didn¡¯t make Rizen evil either. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He¡¯d spent so long hating himself for the blood on his hands, asking himself if it was worth it and wondering if he could ever come back from it. But maybe he had nothing to atone for.

    Ruffles had never attacked him. Probably because he knew what Rizen was only just coming to realize.

    ¡°He¡¯s never coming back,¡± Wanily murmured. ¡°He was going to kill you and... hurt me. And yeah, maybe now he can¡¯t hurt anyone ever again. But he never gets a second chance, either.¡±

    ¡°Do you think he deserved one?¡±

    Wanily sniffled and swiped at her eyes with her free hand. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry that you had to take his life, Wanily,¡± Rizen said. ¡°But I¡¯m grateful that you did because you saved mine.¡±

    That only made Wanily cry harder, choked sobs tearing themselves from her throat. She dropped the rag altogether and buried her face in hands swathed in watered-down blood.

    Rizen would let her cry it out for a bit. Amera knew she deserved it.

    Rizen wondered, for possibly the first time, what Wanily¡¯s story actually was. Why she was out here on her own with nothing but her large pack and a dream to learn magic. Now didn¡¯t feel like the time to ask, though, and maybe Rizen didn¡¯t need to. Wanily was here, and she¡¯d saved his life. That was all he really needed to know about her.

    From past the front door, Mom¡¯s voice grew louder, and for a moment Rizen thought she was shouting. Then, the front door opened, with Sheriff Xyle holding it open for Mom as she wheeled herself in, and Rizen realized she¡¯d just been drawn closer.

    ¡°He¡¯ll be there,¡± Mom was saying over her shoulder. ¡°Thank you, Sheriff.¡±

    ¡°Take care of yourself, Peyra,¡± Sheriff Xyle said. The moment Mom was past the edge of the open door, he let it swing shut. Rizen could just barely hear the crunch of his footsteps as he left, another set joining him. No doubt Deputy Griff.

    The wheels of Mom¡¯s chair clattered over the wooden floor. She moved herself over, not to her usual spot, but the empty space to Rizen¡¯s right, where Rizen used to sit, back when their family was complete and miserable for it.

    She stopped with a sigh, turning to face Rizen. She didn¡¯t say anything for a moment. She looked very tired, Rizen thought, but that she didn¡¯t look disappointed was about all he could ask for.

    Wanily was still sniffling quietly from her place on the floor. Mom¡¯s gaze fell to where she could probably just see the top of Wanily¡¯s blonde head. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go try to get some sleep, Wanily?¡± Mom asked gently. ¡°You¡¯re safe now. Both of you.¡±

    Wanily sniffed, loud, and clambered to her feet. ¡°Ruffles still needs¨C¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll finish washing off Ruffles,¡± Mom said, as soft as a kiss. ¡°You change and get to bed.¡±

    Wanily nodded. Rizen felt a pit open in his stomach when Mom looked back at him. Her eyes were wide with worry, but she didn¡¯t say anything until Wanily had shuffled back to their bedroom and the door had shut behind her.

    ¡°Rizen,¡± Mom started. She stopped, opening and closing her mouth a couple of times before finally saying, ¡°Deputy Griff informed the tribune what happened. The tribune wants to speak with you.¡±

    Rizen swallowed hard. He should have expected that. But even knowing the tribune wanted to see him, he still had no idea what the tribune wanted. Would he be punished for the death of the mercenary? Made to pay back the money they¡¯d spent on the man, maybe? Rizen barely managed to sell anything in town¨Cit would no doubt take him ages to pay off the debt of a mercenary.

    Everyone seemed to think that Rizen had killed the soldier. If it spared Wanily from scrutiny and punishment, Rizen wouldn¡¯t contradict them. She certainly didn¡¯t have the money to be paying off any large sums of debt.

    ¡°Alright,¡± Rizen said when it became clear Mom was waiting for a response. She continued to look at him strangely, though, and Rizen arched an eyebrow. ¡°Wait, right now?¡±

    Mom nodded.

    Rizen¡¯s heart jumped into his throat. He thought the tribune would at least wait until morning to give Rizen time to collect himself. He couldn¡¯t keep the man waiting, though. ¡°Oh,¡± he said. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll get going, then. Where is he?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯ll be waiting at the station with the sheriff and deputy,¡± Mom said. She clearly wanted to say something else but hesitated. Rizen waited until she finally asked, ¡°Do you want me to come with you?¡±

    Rizen frowned. He wasn¡¯t a child anymore¨Che didn¡¯t need his mommy to hold his hand when facing something scary. Besides, he didn¡¯t want her to come for other reasons entirely. ¡°Stay here with Wanily,¡± Rizen said. ¡°I¡¯m sure she doesn¡¯t want to be left alone right now.¡±

    Mom let out a sigh, her gaze falling to the surface of the table. ¡°I just¨C¡± she clasped her hands in front of her, tight enough that it looked painful. ¡°I feel like I¡¯ve failed you, Rizen. And I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    She had failed him. She¡¯d failed him his entire life. But, didn¡¯t Rizen hold some of the blame, too? He¡¯d never told her anything. He hadn¡¯t wanted to hurt her.

    But what about him? Rizen had been putting Mom first for so long, but didn¡¯t he deserve not to hurt, either?

    ¡°I¡¯m going to see the tribune,¡± Rizen said softly. ¡°But we¡¯ll continue this conversation when I get back, alright?¡±

    Mom almost looked like she was going to refute him. But, after a moment, she just nodded.

    ¡°Alright,¡± Rizen said, standing. ¡°I¡¯ll be back.¡±

    He hoped he would return, at least. He still had no idea what the tribune wanted in retribution for killing his soldier. Hopefully it would only be money.

    Ruffles moved to follow him when Rizen started toward the door, but Rizen held out a hand. Ruffles stopped, standing there and whining lowly. Half his flank was still red with drying blood.

    ¡°Stay here, Ruffles,¡± Rizen said softly. ¡°Get cleaned up and take it easy.¡±

    Ruffles let out a huff and sat back down. Rizen smiled at him and left, closing the door behind him.

    The night was bitterly cold. The air stung in Rizen¡¯s still aching nose, but he forced himself forward. Nothing was going to happen to him. The road leading into town was just as safe as it had been all Rizen¡¯s life. Still, he almost wished Mom had come with him, but what would Mom have done if someone attacked him on the walk back into town?

    Rizen warily watched his surroundings as he hurried along the road. He just about jumped out of his skin when he heard an owl hoot somewhere in the distance, followed by softer, garbled mimicries of the sound, no doubt from mocking pixies moving somewhere in the night. Rizen took a shaky breath and continued on, toward town.

    The station was closer to the main entrance of Greenspun, but even if Rizen had to walk a longer way, at least he was surrounded by civilization. People who knew him and would maybe help if he started screaming. It wasn¡¯t much but it was enough to soothe his frayed nerves.

    He needed to have it together for when he faced the tribune. He might not know what the man wanted, but it couldn¡¯t be anything good.

    The station was a squat building tucked into the corner of the town square. The windows glowed with warm, inviting light through their drawn curtains. Deputy Griff was outside, leaning next to the front door. He gave Rizen a tight-lipped smile when he caught sight of him.

    ¡°How you holding up?¡± Griff asked when Rizen was closer. Rizen offered a shrug, and Griff nodded. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s fair. Alright, let¡¯s not stall. Fair warning, though¨Cthe tribune doesn¡¯t seem all that happy about everything.¡±

    Rizen took a deep breath as Griff opened the door to the station and nodded for Rizen to step inside. Rizen did so, forcing himself to hold his head high.

    Rizen had never been inside the station. Had passed it countless times and probably should have been dragged to it in the past, but neither Xyle or Griff had ever demanded he step foot inside. The building was more intimidating from the outside, Rizen mused. There was a table in front of him with a deck of playing cards stacked neatly in the middle. Beyond that, a short hallway led to a handful of empty, iron-barred cells. To Rizen¡¯s right, there was a doorway with a currently closed door. Taking a guess, Rizen went and opened it.

    Inside, the room was lit by lanterns hanging on the walls. Another large table framed by two chairs on either side sat in the middle of the room. The tribune sat in one chair, to the left of where Rizen stood, while Sheriff Xyle leaned against the far wall. They hadn¡¯t been speaking when Rizen opened the door, and both turned to look at him when he entered.

    Rizen didn¡¯t move. The tribune didn¡¯t say anything. Eventually, Sheriff Xyle cleared his throat. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to it, Octavus, sir,¡± Xyle said, glancing at the tribune. The tribune nodded, one ringed finger tapping against the tabletop as Xyle maneuvered over to the doorway.

    Rizen stepped aside to let him pass, and Sheriff Xyle gave him a smile that matched his deputy¡¯s. He didn¡¯t say anything to Rizen, though, just took the door from him and motioned for Rizen to enter the room. When he did, Xyle shut the door behind him.

    Rizen stared at the tribune¨COctavus. Octavus stared back. He didn¡¯t stop tapping his finger.

    Eventually, the man motioned toward the other chair. ¡°Come,¡± he said. ¡°Sit.¡±

    Rizen stepped forward, acutely aware of how tight his chest felt as he pulled out the chair and gingerly sat in it. The tribune stared at him. Rizen stared back, refusing to be cowed by the intensity of his gaze.

    The tribune grunted, finally breaking the silence. ¡°So, I hear you¡¯ve killed one of my men.¡±

    Rizen said nothing. It wasn¡¯t the truth, but he wasn¡¯t about to refute it.

    ¡°Those mercenaries aren¡¯t cheap, you know,¡± the man continued after a long pause. Probably waiting to see if Rizen had anything to say. ¡°Briam, the one you killed, asked for five thousand strult upfront. That was only five months ago. So, I paid a thousand strult a month for a man that never saw combat with Kra¡¯xen or Vixx. You¡¯ve cost your country no small amount of money.¡±

    So the tribune was going to ask Rizen to pay him back. Rizen could barely afford to buy a single flower every week¨Chow was he going to afford to pay back five thousand strult?

    ¡°Do you have anything to say for yourself?¡± Octavus asked. He didn¡¯t seem angry. He didn¡¯t seem anything, except bored. He spoke with barely any inflection, face as blank as a fresh piece of paper.

    He gave away nothing of what he was actually thinking. Rizen found he didn¡¯t particularly care for his games.

    ¡°If you¡¯re expecting me to say sorry,¡± Rizen drawled, ¡°you¡¯ll be waiting a very long time.¡±

    Octavus stared at him, scarcely blinking, finger still tapping against the wood under his hand. Finally, he smirked. ¡°You¡¯re not sorry you killed a man?¡±

    ¡°He was going to rape a little girl.¡±

    ¡°Was he not still a person?¡±

    ¡°He was,¡± Rizen conceded. He thought of the conversation he had earlier with Wanily and scowled. ¡°But maybe some people don¡¯t deserve second chances.¡±

    The smirk evaporated from Octavus¡¯ face, leaving him blank and emotionless once again. ¡°What do you think of the war, Rizen?¡±

    Rizen shouldn¡¯t have been surprised he knew his name. Sheriff Xyle or Deputy Griff no doubt relayed everything they knew about the situation to the tribune. That didn¡¯t explain why he was asking Rizen about the war of all things.

    ¡°I can¡¯t say I think of it much at all,¡± Rizen said haltingly.

    ¡°Right,¡± Octavus said. ¡°You have a crippled mother at home, correct? Can¡¯t be coming and going as you please when you have to worry about her, hm?¡±

    Rizen really didn¡¯t like where this conversation was going. ¡°What of it?¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t beat around the bush any longer.¡± Octavus leaned forward, clasping his hands together. His rings glimmered in the light of the lanterns on the walls. ¡°You¡¯re a poet, yes?¡±

    Rizen frowned. ¡°An aspiring one,¡± he conceded slowly.

    ¡°And you¡¯ve killed a man,¡± Octavus continued. ¡°If not my man, then that pig that masqueraded as a person and you called father, hm?¡±

    Rizen froze. ¡°Who told you¨C?¡±

    ¡°I will admit,¡± Octavus said, completely cutting Rizen off, ¡°you caught my attention some time ago with your poetry. So I did some digging and asking around. Do you know why, Rizen?¡±

    Rizen glared at him. He shook his head.

    ¡°Because I am looking for someone to help me research new spells for the war effort,¡± Octavus said. ¡°Someone who would apprentice under me and be my right-hand man. These mercenaries¨C¡± Octavus waved a dismissive hand¨C ¡°just don¡¯t quite cut it. They have no stake in our affairs, understand?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I do.¡± Rizen¡¯s glare had slipped away at some point while Octavus was talking, and now he was sure he just looked bewildered. ¡°You want me to¨C?¡±

    ¡°Be my apprentice. Yes.¡±

    ¡°But why?¡± Rizen demanded, completely baffled.

    The tribune leaned back again, appraising Rizen for a moment. ¡°Do you know much about new magic, Rizen?¡± When Rizen shook his head, the man grunted. ¡°There is something special about poetry,¡± Octavus said. ¡°It is wisdom Amera bestowed on us when she came to our world and fought off the Tyrant. Phrases that rhyme, yes, but poetry in general can be shaped into a powerful component of spellcasting. With intent, skill, and enough power, our language can shape spells. But, we were not given many spells by Amera. We must find them on our own.¡± Octavus gazed heavily at Rizen. ¡°Do you understand?¡±

    ¡°You want me to transfer my skill with poetry,¡± Rizen said slowly, ¡°to research on new spells?¡±

    ¡°That, among other things. Like I said, it could prove quite useful to the war effort.¡±

    So not only did Octavus want him to create new spells, he wanted him to make new spells to kill people. Rizen suddenly understood why he cared about the blood on Rizen¡¯s hands.

    Rizen had thought it himself earlier in the night. If he already had blood on his hands, what was some more?

    There was a difference here, though, Rizen thought. His father, that soldier¨Cthey were people that were trying to hurt others. Soldiers, even enemy soldiers, were just trying to defend their land, people, and families. They were all just trying to go home.

    But they were still hurting the people of Lirende. Rizen¡¯s people. Which side was good and evil in a war? Could Rizen justify researching weapons if it meant his country eventually came out on top? That the men and women of his nation would get to come home?

    That wasn¡¯t the only thing making Rizen hesitate though. ¡°My mother,¡± Rizen said. ¡°I can¡¯t leave her. And the girl living with me right now, Wanily, she¡¯s the one that wants to learn magic. Not me.¡±

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Octavus shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not making the offer to her,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m offering to teach you what I know about magic in exchange for your effort in developing more spells. You¡¯ll, of course, be paid for your assistance. I¡¯m sure that will help offset the cost of the man you killed.¡±

    Rizen swallowed, hard.

    ¡°I will not force your hand, however,¡± Octavus continued. ¡°I am going to leave this town in two days¡¯ time. I¡¯ve already spent too long here. Give me your answer before then, whatever it might be.¡± Octavus motioned to the door. ¡°That will be all.¡±

    It was a dismissal if Rizen ever saw one. He stood and left the room, shutting the door behind him. He found Sheriff Xyle and Deputy Griff outside the building, the two of them speaking softly a handful of paces from the front door. They spun to face him the moment Rizen exited the building.

    ¡°Well? What happened?¡± Deputy Griff demanded. Sheriff Xyle elbowed him, but Griff remained unapologetically wide-eyed and curious.

    ¡°He offered me an apprenticeship,¡± Rizen said, staring at the ground. ¡°To learn magic and start researching more spells.¡±

    There was a beat of silence, and when Rizen looked up, he found both men staring at him. ¡°That¡¯s a good thing, isn¡¯t it?¡± Sheriff Xyle asked slowly. ¡°It¡¯s a great opportunity. You can¨Cand I hope I¡¯m not overstepping¨Cbut you can finally leave this town and everything that happened behind you.¡±

    Rizen licked his lips. They tingled in the chill of the winter air. ¡°I can¡¯t leave my mother.¡±

    Both of them frowned. Deputy Griff was the first one to respond. ¡°Why not?¡±

    Rizen gaped at him. ¡°What do you mean, why not? She needs me to take care of her. It''s not like¨CI mean, she''s not able to do all the things around the house. So I have to.¡±

    The sheriff and deputy shared a look. ¡°You know,¡± Sheriff Xyle said, ¡°we wouldn''t let anything happen to Peyra if you weren''t around anymore to help her. And she¡¯s plenty capable by herself.¡±

    Rizen just shook his head. ¡°I''m going home,¡± he murmured. ¡°Thank you for all your help today.¡±

    ¡°Rizen¨C¡± Griff started, but Rizen just pushed past them. ¡°Rizen!¡±

    Rizen ignored him, ducking his head and hurrying back down the road toward his home.

    He fumed the whole walk back. He couldn''t just leave. He had to¨Chad to look after Mom. He couldn¡¯t let her live in that house, alone, a widow abandoned by both her sons. Rizen didn¡¯t want to be like Crizo. He wanted¨CHe wanted¨C

    What did he want?

    By the time he had reached the front door of his house, he felt defeated. Deflated. The fight had gone out of him, and his face still hurt a little, and after everything he just wanted to sleep for a day.

    He opened the door and found Mom still sitting at the table, gazing down at her hands clasped in her lap. She started at the opening of the door but offered Rizen a smile when he stepped inside. She patted the spot in front of his usual seat in invitation.

    Rizen did not want to talk to her. He didn¡¯t want to do anything but sleep. He sat back down in his chair anyway. Notably, Ruffles was gone, and the untouched tea had been cleared away.

    ¡°What did the tribune say?¡± Mom asked, her voice rough.

    Rizen sighed. Looking at the table instead of at her, he said, ¡°He offered me an apprenticeship.¡±

    Mom didn¡¯t say anything. Rizen eventually looked up at her expecting to¨Cwell, he wasn¡¯t sure what he¡¯d been expecting. Maybe for her to be angry at the thought of Rizen leaving her? Upset about it, at least. But instead, she was smiling at him, tears in the corners of her eyes.

    ¡°Did you accept?¡± she asked, her voice slightly awed.

    Rizen frowned. ¡°Why would I?¡±

    The smile disappeared from Mom¡¯s face. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t you?¡± she asked, seeming genuinely confused.

    Rizen stared at her, but she didn¡¯t take the words back. ¡°I have to stay here.¡± With you, he didn¡¯t add but he thought went unsaid.

    ¡°If you¡¯re worried about me¨C¡±

    ¡°Of course I¡¯m worried about you!¡± Rizen snapped. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous, Mother. I¡¯m not going traipsing around the country with a tribune to turn my poetry into a weapon and leaving you here by yourself.¡±

    Mom frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Rizen huffed, crossing his arms. ¡°The tribune wants me to use my talent for poetry to create new spells.¡±

    Mom still watched him with her brow furrowed. Eventually, slowly, she said, ¡°I didn¡¯t know you wrote poetry.¡±

    Rizen stilled. ¡°What do you mean?¡± He¡¯d only done it almost every day for the last few years. How would she not¨C?

    But then, she¡¯d have to be around Rizen to know what he did.

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry, Rizen,¡± she said, looking down again. ¡°I... I know we¡¯ve drifted apart over the years. After Crizo, and then your father...¡± Mom shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry. It must have been so hard on you, but instead of being there for you, I just threw myself back into my work. It... sometimes it feels like we¡¯re just strangers living under the same roof. And that¡¯s my fault, isn¡¯t it? I didn¡¯t try hard enough to bridge the gap between us. I failed you.¡±

    It took Rizen several long seconds to decide on what to say. When he did finally speak, it came out more bitter than he wanted. ¡°What does it matter?¡±

    Mom snapped her head up to look at him. ¡°What? Of course it matters.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m always going to be here for you,¡± Rizen said. ¡°I¡¯m not going to abandon you like Crizo did.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t the same, Rizen,¡± Mom said. ¡°I can take care of myself. If your father were here, he would tell you¨C¡±

    ¡°Take care of yourself?¡± Rizen hissed. He¡¯d thought he¡¯d escaped it back in the forest, when it had snapped through his whole body, but now the dark thing in his chest flexed and preened, pressing against Rizen¡¯s ribs. ¡°Take care of yourself!? You couldn¡¯t even take care of me and Crizo! So don¡¯t you dare bring up Dad. He¡¯s not here, and you know why?¡±

    Rizen¡¯s heart hammered in his chest. Mom gaped at him and the sheer vitriol in his voice. But he couldn¡¯t stop himself even if he tried. He¡¯d tucked up the secret so tightly behind his heart, but that dark thing had dredged it out and pushed it up his throat.

    That¡¯s what it was, he realized. This dark thing¨Cit was a deep, deep desire to hurt others. He wanted to hurt Mom. He wanted her to hate him, and then¨Cthen maybe he could hate her for everything that happened. Crizo, Dad, Wanily¨Call of it. He wanted someone to blame, and here was his mother, gawking at him. Strangers, she¡¯d called the two of them. He¡¯d never felt so estranged from her before this moment.

    ¡°I killed him,¡± Rizen spat. It burned his throat, like the secret was made of scorching fire. It might as well have been from the way Mom flinched back. ¡°Do you even know why I did it?¡±

    ¡°I¨C¡±

    ¡°He beat me,¡± Rizen barreled on. ¡°He beat Crizo worse, though. He¡¯d yell at us and spit on us and hit us as much as he liked, and you never noticed. That¡¯s why Crizo ran away. That¡¯s why I killed him. But you know what? I stayed with you instead of going with Crizo. Even after all of that, I still chose to stay with you. I¡¯m still choosing to stay with you.¡±

    Tears trailed down Mom¡¯s face. She stared at him, mouth slightly parted, for what felt like an eternity. Rizen wished he knew what she was thinking. Eventually, she said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t know.¡±

    And that only made a sharp pain stab through Rizen¡¯s head as the thing thrashed in his chest. She didn¡¯t know. She really didn¡¯t know. He¡¯d spent so long believing that, but to hear it confirmed was something else entirely. Dad had never been subtle. All Mom had to do was look, and she would have seen.

    Now, she was staring at Rizen like she¡¯d never seen him before.

    ¡°Like I said,¡± Rizen bit, standing, ¡°it doesn¡¯t matter, does it?¡±

    ¡°Of course it matters.¡± Mom sounded almost like she was pleading. Rizen didn¡¯t understand what could possibly make her sound like that. He scoffed and moved to go back to his room, but Mom seized his wrist as he passed, forcing him to stop. ¡°Rizen, please. I just¨CI want you to be happy.¡±

    It was too late for that, Rizen thought. Too late for him.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know about your father,¡± Mom continued. ¡°I should have. I should have paid closer attention to you and your brother. Can I just¨C¡± She worked her jaw for a moment, staring up at him. ¡°Do you want to go with the tribune?¡±

    ¡°I already said¨C¡±

    ¡°That you want to stay with me,¡± Mom finished for him. ¡°But will you be happy with me?¡± Rizen opened his mouth, but Mom beat him to it. ¡°And don¡¯t say it doesn¡¯t matter, Rizen. You¡¯re all that matters to me. I know I spend a lot of time on my research, but I need you to understand that. I love you. I just want you to be happy.¡±

    Rizen said nothing. He didn¡¯t even know if he was thinking anything. All he knew was that his chest felt tight and his stomach felt like it had lost its bottom and his mother was lying to him. She had to be. Because otherwise¨C

    She hadn¡¯t scorned Rizen. Didn¡¯t look up at him with the same hatred or vitriol he felt bubbling in his heart. Wasn¡¯t demanding that he leave or repent or anything else.

    She said she loved him.

    She said she wanted him to be happy. Even after everything he just confessed.

    So what did Rizen want? What would make him happy?

    ¡°I want to go with the tribune,¡± he admitted, feeling like he had to sink hooks into the words and drag them out of his throat. ¡°I want to be more than I am. I want the blood on my hands to mean something, and maybe I could do good for our country as part of the army. But I don¡¯t want¨C¡± You to hate me, Rizen couldn¡¯t bring himself to finish.

    That was still his mother. He wanted her to love him.

    Was that all he had sought, all along? For her to love him not as just her son, but as someone she actually felt was deserving of it? As someone she had come to know and cherish? Why would he bother when he didn¡¯t think he even liked her?

    He loved her, he reasoned. Even after everything. And he just wanted that love to be reciprocated.

    Mom¡¯s gaze turned impossibly sad. Tears raced down her face in earnest. ¡°Rizen,¡± she said, so gently. He didn¡¯t understand why until his sight began to blur. His breath stuttered and hurt in his chest. ¡°Come here, Rizen,¡± Mom murmured, opening her arms to him.

    Rizen didn¡¯t know what happened. One moment, he was standing next to her, ready to storm off into his room. The next, he found himself on his knees, his arms wrapped around her torso, and his head buried in her shoulder. Sobs wracked his body despite his effort to contain them. But then, Mom had always soothed him when he cried.

    She did so now, stroking the back of his head. She didn¡¯t say anything, and Rizen was grateful. His tears were humiliating enough as it was. But, in a way, it felt good to cry after so many years denying himself it.

    ¡°I love you,¡± Mom said. ¡°If you want to go with the tribune, go with the tribune. You don¡¯t need to worry about me anymore, okay? That should have never been your responsibility.¡±

    ¡°Of course I¡¯m going to worry about you,¡± Rizen choked out into her shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re my mother.¡±

    ¡°Well, I guess I can¡¯t stop you from worrying,¡± Mom conceded, ¡°but I don¡¯t want that to dictate your life. If you¡¯re not happy, Rizen, go out there and find what will make you happy. You don¡¯t have to stay with me.¡±

    ¡°But¨C¡±

    ¡°There is no but,¡± Mom interrupted firmly. Her grip around him tightened. ¡°Find what will make you happy. That¡¯s all there is to it. I can manage on my own. And besides, I¡¯ll have Ruffles. Maybe even Wanily. Go out there and make a real difference in the world, Rizen.¡±

    It felt like second nature for the rebuttals to rise in his throat, but Rizen bit them back. Here was his mother, saying she loved him, giving him permission. What more did he want? If she said he could go, what compelled him to refute her?

    Why was he so scared?

    She moved her hand to rub circles into his back. Rizen sniffled, finally feeling like he was getting his composure back. After a while of sitting in silence, Mom asked, ¡°Is there anything else you want to tell me?¡±

    Rizen chuckled wetly. Now that she mentioned it... ¡°I¡¯m gay.¡±

    It seemed paltry in comparison to the admission of killing his own father, but Rizen still tensed in Mom¡¯s grip. It wasn¡¯t taboo in Lirende, but it was definitely frowned upon by most. It was alright for women to love each other because their love was pure, but two men? Not so much.

    However, she just laughed. ¡°Oh, I knew that one.¡±

    Indignation welled up inside Rizen¡¯s chest, but it was mostly drowned out by shock. ¡°You... knew I was gay but not any of the other stuff?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re fifteen, and the only time I¡¯ve seen you make eyes at anyone was when we passed Unnya¡¯s son in town.¡± Mom sighed. ¡°At least I figured out that much.¡±

    Rizen finally pulled away from her. He still rested on his knees, which was not very comfortable on the wooden floor, but it let him grasp his mother¡¯s hands and look up at her. ¡°Are you sure?¡± he asked slowly. ¡°About me going with the tribune.¡±

    Mom smiled at him. Rizen was sure he would never forget this moment, the fireplace crackling, his face stained with tears, and Mom smiling at him despite the tracks that ran down her own cheeks. He was sure it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

    ¡°Do what will make you happy, Rizen,¡± she said.

    That was the problem, wasn¡¯t it? ¡°I don¡¯t know if it will make me happy,¡± he admitted.

    ¡°Well,¡± Mom started, squeezing his hands, ¡°if it doesn¡¯t, you can always come back home.¡±

    Home. This place hadn¡¯t felt like a home since¨Cwell, maybe ever. But maybe he could allow it to be his home, even if he was about to leave it. It could be a place and a person to return to.

    ¡°Okay,¡± Rizen said softly. ¡°Okay.¡±

    Mom smiled at him, not that she ever really stopped. Rizen climbed to his feet, suddenly feeling small and sheepish. Like he was eight all over again and had come to Mom with a nightmare chasing his heels.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ going to go,¡± he said. ¡°Check on Wanily and¡­ get my things together.¡±

    He still halfway expected Mom to take the words back. Start yelling at him or something. All she said, though, was, ¡°Let me know if you need any help.¡±

    Rizen nodded, taking a step back before hurrying around Mom and over to his room. In a whirl, he opened and shut the door behind him, forcing himself to breathe deep as he stared at the old grains of the door.

    He¡¯d told her the truth. Rizen had told Mom that he killed Dad, and she had told him she loved him.

    It didn¡¯t make any sense. What did he hold onto the secret for so long for if she was just going to forgive him? Why did he put himself through so many years of hardship if nothing had happened when he admitted to what he did?

    Maybe the sheriff was right. Maybe it was time for Rizen to move on from this place and everything that happened. Now that Mom knew. Now that she loved him anyway.

    From behind him, Wanily¡¯s voice sounded. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    Rizen belatedly realized he still had one hand pressed against the edge of the door and dropped it before turning to face her. She sat on her bed with Ruffles sitting along the length of the frame and her pack sitting at the foot of her bed, all of her belongings neatly tucked inside.

    Rizen tore his gaze from her bag and back to Wanily. Her eyes were bloodshot, but there were no tears on her face. ¡°I feel like I should be asking you that,¡± he said, moving to sit on his bed.

    Wanily shrugged. ¡°What did you and Peyra talk about?¡± she asked.

    ¡°What did you and her fight about?¡± he asked in return. ¡°That¡¯s why you were in the woods in the first place, right?¡±

    Wanily huffed. ¡°I asked first. But,¡± she looked away from him, fixing her gaze somewhere in the midst of her blanket. ¡°I told her she had failed you.¡±

    Rizen felt his brows raise. ¡°You¡­¡±

    ¡°She shouldn¡¯t have said those things to you earlier,¡± Wanily murmured. ¡°You¡¯re a good person, Rizen. I didn¡¯t see it at first, but it¡¯s the truth, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Rizen wanted to refute it, just on pure reflex. He bit back the urge and instead offered Wanily a smile she wasn¡¯t looking at him to see. ¡°That means you are, too, then.¡±

    Wanily¡¯s expression crumpled. ¡°I killed someone.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°He was going to hurt me.¡±

    ¡°He was.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t regret it,¡± Wanily whispered. ¡°I hate it, but I don¡¯t regret it. I saved you, and I protected myself. So I don¡¯t regret it, and it feels like that makes me a terrible person.¡±

    There were any number of things that Rizen could say in this instance. But, he thought he knew the right words this time. ¡°You¡¯re not, Wanily.¡±

    Wanily slowly dragged her gaze back up to Rizen, meeting his eye. ¡°I heard you out there,¡± she said slowly. ¡°You¡¯re going to become part of the army, right?¡±

    Rizen swallowed hard. ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±

    Wanily gripped her hands around each other. ¡°Can we make a promise, then, Rizen?¡±

    Frowning, Rizen asked, ¡°What kind of promise?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not going to hurt or kill anybody unless they¡¯re trying to hurt us,¡± Wanily said. ¡°We¡¯re not going to hurt anyone unless we have to.¡±

    Rizen wasn¡¯t sure that was how war worked. He had no idea if he would even see combat, or if he would just be developing spells from a distance. He doubted he could keep a promise like that when he had no idea what the future held for him.

    Despite all of that, Rizen found himself nodding. ¡°Yes,¡± he said softly. ¡°I promise.¡±

    Wanily nodded, turning away again. She scrubbed at her nose with the back of her hand. ¡°Okay,¡± she said. ¡°I promise, too. And I¡¯m going to hold you to it.¡±

    Rizen didn¡¯t even know if he¡¯d ever see Wanily again after he left. He doubted she was going to stick around with Mom, so there was practically no chance of seeing her whenever he got to come home. She probably wasn¡¯t even going to stay in the country.

    ¡°I have a question for you,¡± Rizen said. ¡°How did you see the soldier in the forest?¡±

    Wanily pursed her lips. ¡°You couldn¡¯t?¡±

    Rizen gave her a flat look. ¡°Wanily, it was almost pitch black out there. Do you already know some magic?¡±

    Wanily stared at him for enough time that it started to become uncomfortable. Finally, she gave an explosive sigh. ¡°I¡¯m a specialty mage. I can see magic.¡±

    That¡­ explained some things about her, Rizen reasoned. ¡°Oh.¡± Rizen nodded. ¡°Okay.¡±

    Wanily nodded back. She held herself tensely, like she expected Rizen to do something bad about the revelation. But what would he do? And why? Wanily was still just¡­ Wanily. A stranger that Rizen might be able to call a friend.

    Was that how Mom felt after Rizen¡¯s confession? That Rizen was still just her son?

    ¡°So what are you going to do?¡± Rizen asked.

    Wanily shrugged. She must have understood what Rizen was asking because she said, ¡°I want to learn magic. I can¡¯t stay here past the winter.¡± She looked up at him. ¡°What about you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll go to the tribune in the morning and tell him my decision,¡± Rizen said. ¡°I¡¯ll pack all my things, and I¡¯ll leave with him the day after.¡±

    Wanily nodded. Rizen nodded back. ¡°Just don¡¯t forget your promise,¡± Wanily said, laying down and burrowing into her blanket. ¡°Okay?¡±

    Rizen took off his shoes and laid down, too. He stared up at the ceiling above him and nodded even though Wanily wasn¡¯t looking at him. ¡°Of course.¡±

    <hr>

    Rizen spent the next day packing and dragging his feet until he finally went into town to track down the tribune and tell him his decision. He hadn¡¯t expected Octavus to react much judging by what little Rizen knew about him, but it would have been nice to get more than a blank stare and slight nod.

    Tomorrow morning, he¡¯d told Rizen. At the twinkling appearance of the fifth constellation Bosh. Rizen needed to be at the main entrance to Greenspun by then or he would be left behind.

    He¡¯d left Octavus behind then without a farewell, not that the man seemed at all offended.

    With that done, he went home and spent the time he had left in town with his mother in her workshop. He recited poetry and listened to her reminisce from when Rizen was younger and Crizo was still running around with him and Mom¡¯s attention was on them long enough that Dad didn¡¯t put his hands on them.

    ¡°Do you think Crizo is still alive?¡± Rizen asked her at the end of one story, hushed, afraid of the answer.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she responded just as softly. ¡°But if he is, you go out there and find him for me, alright? Tell him it¡¯s okay to come back home now, if he wants. But just knowing he is alive would be enough for me.¡±

    Rizen let out a shaky breath, and let the matter drop. He told himself it would be enough for him to know that Crizo was alive, but the truth was that he missed his older brother. Just as much as he hated him for leaving him behind and never coming back, Rizen also missed him.

    He didn¡¯t see much of Wanily in his last couple of days, but he didn¡¯t blame her for that. She was probably still grappling with the fact she had killed a man. Amera knew it had taken Rizen too long to get over his own bit of murdering--he would give Wanily all the time she needed. Even if he had sort of hoped they¡¯d get to spend a little time together before he had to leave. It was silly and Rizen still didn¡¯t like her much, but she had grown on him like an endearing wart. She had saved his life just as he had probably saved hers. He wouldn¡¯t forget that any time soon.

    When the day came, Rizen got himself up at the showing of the fourth constellation Yur, a split, Y-shaped cluster of stars. He had already packed everything he planned to take into some spare rucksacks and one well-crafted leather bag that Mom had pulled out from her workshop for him. Now, it was just a matter of getting up and walking to the main entrance of town. He¡¯d be a little early if he left now, but he wanted to save some time for goodbye.

    Rizen sat up in bed and glanced over at Wanily¡¯s bed to find she wasn¡¯t in it. Rizen frowned, his heart inching toward his throat. He¡¯d gone to bed early last night to prepare for the morning, and Wanily hadn¡¯t been in bed then either. She hadn¡¯t gotten herself into more trouble while Rizen had been sleeping, right?

    He hurriedly dressed, shoved on his boots, and grabbed his bags, all but running out of the bedroom. He hadn¡¯t needed to worry though--the moment he left the room, he saw Wanily and Mom sitting at the kitchen table. Wanily looked half-asleep still, but Rizen was oddly touched that she¡¯d gotten up at all.

    ¡°Ready to go, Rizen?¡± Mom asked, looking over her shoulder at him. She looked tired, too, but she was still smiling.

    Rizen skidded to a stop, looking between the two of them. He hadn¡¯t noticed before, but even Ruffles was inside, laying by the lit fireplace and wagging his tail gently. When Rizen stepped closer, he scrambled to his feet and nudged at Rizen¡¯s hand until Rizen dropped his bags and started petting him.

    ¡°I think so,¡± Rizen said, leaving Ruffles and taking his spot at the table for possibly the last time. He liked to think he¡¯d come home again, but who was to say? His gaze fell onto the tulip in the middle of the table, petals still soft and vibrant. ¡°You¡¯re sure about this?¡± he murmured, not looking at Mom. ¡°You¡¯ll be okay on your own?¡±

    ¡°Go live your life,¡± Mom said. ¡°I¡¯ll be here if you ever want to come home.¡±

    ¡°And don¡¯t forget your promise,¡± Wanily chimed in. The sentiment, which was probably supposed to be stern, came out a little weak when she had to stifle a yawn halfway through.

    ¡°What promise would that be?¡± Mom asked, sounding a little bemused.

    Rizen found himself smiling. ¡°I won¡¯t forget,¡± he told Wanily. Then, directed at Mom, ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±

    He stood, and Wanily stood with him. Mom rolled her wheelchair out from against the table and motioned Rizen over. When he was in reach, she snatched both of his hands, leaving her with no way to brush away the tears trailing down her cheeks.

    ¡°Rizen...¡± She took a deep breath, seemingly searching for what to say. Rizen gave her the space to try to find the right words. Eventually, she squeezed his hands. ¡°Thank you for so many years of flowers. I love you. I¡¯ll miss you.¡±

    Rizen still found all of that difficult to believe, but he wanted to believe it. That must mean something, right?

    ¡°I¡¯ll miss you, too,¡± he murmured, leaning down to give Mom a hug. And if it stretched on for a few seconds longer than it should have, no one had to know. Past the tightness of his own throat, he said, ¡°And I love you.¡±

    He drew back then, hands lingering on Mom¡¯s for another moment before he pulled away completely. He glanced at Wanily. She stepped around the table, closer to Rizen, but Rizen pressed a hand against her head and ruffled her hair before she could get any ideas about hugging him. ¡°Get out there and learn magic, Wanily,¡± he said, smiling. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll see you when you become the Archmage.¡±

    Wanily huffed but she was grinning, too. ¡°Of course you will,¡± she declared. ¡°I¡¯m going to find you when I¡¯m the Archmage, just you wait!¡±

    Rizen chuckled. The moment he drew his hand back, Wanily dove in for a hug, completely foiling his plan. Rizen rolled his eyes and patted her gingerly on the back. If anyone ever asked, he would never admit that he was a little happy Wanily had insisted on hugging him. He wasn¡¯t about to say it, but he thought he might miss her, too.

    Last but not least was Ruffles. Rizen knelt down and scratched him behind his ears in just the way he knew the cwn annwn loved. ¡°Be a good boy, okay?¡± Rizen said. Ruffles¡¯ tail thumped against the wooden floor, and he moved his great snout forward an inch to lick Rizen¡¯s face. Rizen groaned in disgust, standing before Ruffles could do anything else, but he was smiling, too. ¡°Yeah, yeah, I¡¯ll miss you, too.¡±

    Rizen patted Ruffles on the head one last time before grabbing his bags once more. He regarded the tiny party gathered to see him off one last time, smiling. ¡°I¡¯ll see you all later, then.¡±

    He headed to the door. Wanily opened it for him. He nodded to her, smiled at Mom over his shoulder, and finally started the trek toward town. The way forward.

 Chapter 14: The Way of the World

    (667 A.C.)

    Edgar roused to a cold bed. He blearily blinked his eyes open and stared at the empty half of the straw mattress next to him. Then, with the same resigned sigh he started every day with, he got up.

    It was colder out from under his blankets, even with them as thin as they were anymore. Edgar shivered in his undershirt and shuffled toward his dresser, suppressing the urge to yawn. He rummaged through it for a moment, some crumpled hope in his chest seeming to believe that clothes warm enough for the early winter chill might magically appear, but he hadn¡¯t had anything that nice in some years. He settled on an old red shirt that, despite the coarse patches speckling its rough fabric, managed to be one of the thickest things he owned. It was a struggle anymore to lift his arms over his head to put the damn thing on, but he managed. Not like there was anyone around to help him.

    His stomach growled as he changed, but that was nothing new. He trudged out of his bedroom and into his barren kitchen, pausing briefly to check if he had any oats left to make a simple porridge. He didn¡¯t, and he didn¡¯t have the money for more nor did his knees feel up to the task of trekking into Livsgrove. Damn cold was hard on his joints anymore.

    He sighed again and closed the cupboard with more force than necessary. So he¡¯d have water for breakfast. Wouldn¡¯t be the first time.

    The clay pitcher he¡¯d filled at the lake the day before was still mostly full, and he took to drinking straight from it in large gulps. Not like there was anyone he needed to share it with.

    The water was cold, and the house was cold, and he was cold, and the whole bloody world was probably cold. Or if it wasn¡¯t, it should be. Edgar grunted as a chill seeped into his limbs. He glanced at the fireplace, but there were only a few charred pieces of wood, and he¡¯d probably want them much more later in the night if he wanted to avoid freezing to death. He shook out his arms, testing whether he felt up to chopping some more firewood. His shoulders twinged in protest, and his elbows creaked like rusted hinges. Well, that was too damn bad. He¡¯d be damned if he ran out of firewood just because his aging body didn¡¯t want to cooperate. Might as well try to do some fishing and get a bit of food in his stomach, too.

    He pulled on his threadbare coat and reached for his knitted cap before hesitating. He gingerly picked the garment up from its place on his coat rack, running weathered fingers over its soft material.

    The world was cold, he thought, but it had once been warm.

    Sighing, he tugged the cap on. Maybe firewood could wait. Maybe he should pay them a visit first.

    <hr>

    Livsgrove¡¯s graveyard was closer to Edgar¡¯s cabin than the town itself, but even if it wasn¡¯t, he¡¯d still have trudged there, aching knees be damned. There were no flowers growing this time of year--not by normal means anyway, and there was no way he could afford magically cultivated ones--so he had nothing to bring them. Nothing but his lowly self.

    He picked his way through headstones, yellow grass crunching underfoot. Eventually, he stopped before two graves.

    The one on the left read, Teriva Endel, 604-651. The one on the right read, Annalee Endel, 651-654.

    Edgar ran a wrinkled hand over Annalee¡¯s headstone, swallowing hard. And Teriva. He blinked hard as his gaze slid to hers, a small puff of a sigh escaping his lips. It had been years. Over a decade.

    And yet.

    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you two,¡± he whispered, drawing back his hand and shuffling away a step. There was nothing--no wind, no fluttering birds, no indication that anyone or anything heard him. And yet, and yet.

    He cleared his throat. ¡°I hope you¡¯re doing well,¡± he continued, despite knowing better. The old gods would have given them no solace in death, and the new gods weren¡¯t around enough to care. Teriva and Annalee weren¡¯t there. They weren¡¯t anywhere, certainly nowhere he could reach. And yet, and yet, and yet.

    They were together in death, in the very way they had never been in life. They were at peace together, if absolutely nothing else. Neither of them could suffer anymore.

    Edgar¡¯s gaze slid to the conspicuously barren plot of land next to Teriva¡¯s grave. Not much longer now, he thought to himself. Not today, nor tomorrow, nor probably even in the next month. But not much longer now.

    Until then, he had things to do. Wood to chop, fish to catch, a home to maintain. He patted Teriva¡¯s headstone with a sigh and left without a farewell.

    He¡¯d be back. One way or another, he would come back and be with them again.

    <hr>

    Winter was well on its way now. The nights were growing colder, and the days were growing shorter, and it just caused more problems for Edgar. It made his joints stiff and ache which made it harder for him to get out of bed in the morning and do everything he needed to do¨Cchop firewood to stay warm, head to the lake to fish for his meals, trek to the town when he actually caught enough to sell the excess and buy other necessities.

    It was barely morning when Edgar found himself standing in the doorway of his empty cabin and contemplating the cloudy, gray sky overhead. Would it snow? Make his day even worse than it usually was? His knees already ached with the chill that pervaded his limbs, and his fingers felt stiff as logs. At least he¡¯d spent most of the day before chopping firewood¨Che would stay warm for at least another few nights.

    Eating was another matter. He really needed to head to the lake and see what he could dredge up. He¡¯d ran out of oats a couple days ago, and that had been about the last of his food. If he wanted something more than broth for his meals, he needed to get the food himself.

    He glanced behind him into the dim expanse of his cabin. The kitchen met his gaze, taunting him with its barren cabinets and empty fireplace. He made the mistake of glancing to the door to the left¨Cthe door that always, always stayed shut¨Cand quickly turned away again. Tugging his woolen cap more firmly on his head, he stepped out of the doorway and began shuffling towards the lake. No use in sticking around.

    His stomach rumbled as he took the familiar trail through the woods, warily watching the sky. It didn¡¯t start snowing, though, and he wondered if he should have sucked it up and made the much longer trek to town. Sometimes, Old Jeck gave him the bones from the pigs he slaughtered, and Edgar could make them into a broth. Minerva, too, could be convinced to give him the loaves of bread that came out burnt and unsellable.

    His knees hurt though, and recently the joints of his toes had begun to swell when he walked for more than a couple miles in a day. Without anything to sell, it just wasn¡¯t worth it to go all that way. Besides, he didn¡¯t feel much up for company today. Not that he felt up to it any day.

    He squinted as he neared the end of the trail. The lake shimmered in the early morning light as usual, but that wasn¡¯t what caught his attention. No, it was the fact that at the end of the pier¨Cthe pier he had made for the tiny lake, bordering on a simple pond, that nobody else came to¨Cthere was someone standing.

    Edgar stopped and glared at their back. They were short with long blonde hair, and as he watched, they fiddled with something in front of them. Then, they lifted whatever it was they had up and flicked their wrist, and it took a moment for Edgar to realize that they were fishing.

    He scowled. This was his lake. He didn¡¯t have much he could claim as his own anymore, but he liked to think that he¡¯d come here so often, been sustained by the fish and water from this lake for so long, that it was his. Other people didn¡¯t just come and fish here. Other people didn¡¯t bother him here.

    He glowered at the figure for a moment more. They eventually sat at the edge of the pier, legs folded in front of them, ignoring the rickety chair next to them that Edgar usually sat in. Their hair was so long that it bunched on the wood behind them in golden loops.

    Eventually, Edgar huffed out an angry breath and put the stranger out of his mind. More than likely they were a traveler just looking for a meal. He knew some Wandering People that came by this way every now and then¨Cmaybe this was one of them. So long as they didn¡¯t bother him, he would just go about his business.

    He walked a short way off the trail to a tree with a gnarled hollow at the base of its trunk where his fishing rod and string was stowed away. He fetched them both, and, glancing at the stranger one more time, trudged out onto the pier.

    The stranger immediately whipped around when they heard his first footstep on the creaky wood, and Edgar stopped short. He realized now why they were so short¨Cit was a young girl that stared up at him, eyes as golden as her hair. She watched him warily, her fishing rod gripped in her hands like she might use it to whack at him if he made a wrong move.

    After the initial shock passed, Edgar curled his lip. ¡°What,¡± he growled, ¡°never seen an old man before?¡±

    Her eyes narrowed to slits, and Edgar was given the impression of a cat angrily regarding a dog. After a moment, the expression eased into something more placid.

    ¡°So long as you don¡¯t scare the fish away,¡± she said, turning her attention back to the lake.

    Edgar just grunted and made his way to sit in his chair. The girl spared him another glance, but he ignored it and cast out his line. It hit the surface of the water with a satisfying plop and sunk into the blue depths.

    ¡°Did you really come here to fish?¡± the girl asked suddenly, sounding both skeptical and wary.

    He snorted. ¡°Don¡¯t know many other reasons folk come to a lake with a fishing rod.¡±

    ¡°Well, sure,¡± the girl said haltingly. Her expression pinched, and then, with a half-shouldered shrug that seemed more to herself than to him, she turned to him more fully with an earnest expression. ¡°You just didn¡¯t cast the line out right.¡±

    What? This was how he¡¯d always done it. He¡¯d caught fish with it. What difference did it make how he cast his line? ¡°And you would know so much about that because..?¡±

    The girl pursed her lips. ¡°I was taught how to fish by one of the Wandering People. He was very specific about how I was supposed to cast my line.¡±

    Edgar grunted. She was one of the Wandering People, then? Perhaps a case of a child deciding to join one of their little familial units which meant the others were somewhere nearby. It made Edgar feel a little better, knowing that the girl wasn¡¯t out here alone, even if it wasn¡¯t his problem.

    They sat in silence for a moment, and Edgar was just beginning to think he could pretend the girl didn¡¯t exist and fish in peace when she spoke again. ¡°You¡¯re not going to ask how I do it?¡±

    Edgar grunted again. She looked up at him expectantly, and eventually he caved and actually spoke. ¡°Don¡¯t care. Way I do it has worked well enough.¡±

    She seemed like she wanted to say something to that, but after a moment, she turned back to the water with a small sigh. Just when he thought the matter had been dropped, she opened her mouth again. ¡°It really is better. It¡¯s really simple, too, and¨C¡±

    ¡°Kid,¡± Edgar interrupted, ¡°I don¡¯t care. Can¡¯t you just leave me be?¡±

    Her shoulders hiked up by her ears so that before he even caught the hurt in her eyes, he could tell he¡¯d upset her. Whatever. She wasn¡¯t his kid. He didn¡¯t have any children.

    Anymore, a voice in the back of his head whispered. He ignored it, just like he should have just ignored this stranger.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t people want to just accept help?¡± she spat out, glaring at him from the corner of her eye. ¡°It¡¯s not a big deal.¡±

    ¡°Maybe I just don¡¯t want to talk to random people that show up on the pier of my lake to fish.¡±

    She set her glare on the water in front of them. It glistened serenely, perfect as a painting, completely untainted by their little spat. Edgar didn¡¯t even know why he was arguing with this random child.

    She was saying something else, but Edgar hadn¡¯t been listening when she started and he wasn¡¯t about to. ¡°Kid,¡± he began, but didn¡¯t get the chance to go any farther.

    ¡°Wanily,¡± she insisted.

    Edgar gave a long, tired sigh. ¡°Wanily,¡± he said. She nodded, seemingly satisfied. ¡°I¡¯m Edgar. Why don¡¯t you just go back to your little family thing and leave me be.¡± It should have been a question, but it didn¡¯t come out that way¨Cmore like an order.

    She frowned. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re with the Wandering People, right? Just go with them for a while and I¡¯ll be gone once I catch something. Then you can come back and cast your line however you want.¡±

    She cocked her head at him. ¡°I¡¯m not with the Wandering People.¡± She tapped the side of her fishing rod. ¡°I¡¯m just a person who wanders around a lot, I guess. And right now I need to catch something for breakfast.¡± She pursed her lips and swept her gaze over the lake again. ¡°I didn¡¯t know this was your lake. I can leave if it¡¯s really a problem. There wouldn¡¯t happen to be a town around here, would there? I guess I can always try to find some work or something.¡±

    She kept talking, and Edgar let her, trying to wrap his mind around what she¡¯d said. She was out here alone?

    No. This wasn¡¯t his problem. She said she wandered around a lot--she must be doing fine for herself, then. Edgar didn¡¯t need to intervene. Which was good because he didn¡¯t want to intervene.

    She stood suddenly, and Edgar realized he had no idea what she¡¯d been prattling on about, but there was a hard edge to her gaze. Something resolute. ¡°Is there a town around here or not?¡±

    Edgar sighed, turning back to the water. ¡°Sit your ass down, I¡¯m not going to make you walk all that way for your breakfast. Just leave me alone, will you?¡±

    He kept his eyes on the line in front of him, but he watched in his peripheral vision as Wanily crossed her arms, uncrossed her arms, and finally settled back down, fishing rod grasped in her hands. With a flick of her wrist, the hook and the bait on it were cast back out into the middle of the pond. Edgar wasn¡¯t the type to grumble, but if he was, he might have reluctantly admitted that it was done quite expertly.

    They sat in silence for a time. Wanily caught a fish first, just a tiny thing that would hardly make a good snack, let alone a meal. She didn¡¯t seem disappointed once she reeled it in though, merely inspecting it from where it wriggled on her hook before shrugging and standing. She clutched her fishing rod in one hand, and pinched the line with the other, allowing the fish to freely squirm, though its thrashing gradually began to lose strength.

    Edgar tried his best to ignore her, even as she started talking again. ¡°Thanks for letting me use your pond. I won¡¯t hang around here long, maybe just a couple more days.¡± She puffed out her chest. ¡°See, I¡¯m trying to learn old magic, so I can¡¯t stay in any place for too long. I need to find a teacher. You wouldn¡¯t happen to know an old magic mage looking for an apprentice, would you?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Aw, well, that¡¯s alright,¡± Wanily said easily. Edgar could hear the smile coloring her voice and found her cheer grating. ¡°I¡¯ll just keep looking.¡±

    Why should he care that she was trying to learn magic anyhow? Magic was always the easy way out and still managed to be three bounds away from where it needed to be and when. And don¡¯t get Edgar started on all the self-important military men that came strutting through town with their colorful hairdos and inability to add one and one.

    Give him a piece of charcoal, some paper, and a curious phenomenon any day. Just not magic.

    At some point while Edgar was lost in thought, Wanily had slipped away. He cast a furtive glance around and spotted her building a fire further down along the bank of the pond, a massive pack beside her. He watched her dig out some flint and a small blade from it, her meager fish already stuck on a pointed stick and propped up next to a piled of more sticks and leaves for kindling. She really did seem to know what she was doing. That ruled out everything she said being lies, not that Edgar had really thought she had given him anything but the truth.

    He turned his attention back to his own line. When he finally caught something--barely bigger than Wanily¡¯s pathetic meal--he stood and began making his way back to his cabin. Usually, he would stay out and try to wrangle up a couple more fish--not too many, lest he kill his only stable source of food--but he kept catching flashes of Wanily¡¯s golden hair shining in the sunlight as the day progressed closer to noon.

    If Annalee--If the Necroplague hadn¡¯t swept through the town--

    Annalee had been blonde, too. Wanily was younger than she would be now, but not by much.

    Despite his aching knees and swollen toes, Edgar picked up his pace. And even though his stomach gnawed and growled at him all the while, he didn¡¯t return to the lake until two days later, when Wanily said she¡¯d be gone.

    It was morning, and the bright sun shone through the bare branches of the trees. Edgar picked his way carefully along the trail leading to the clearing, glancing around for any sign of Wanily. His gaze snagged on the campsite she¡¯d made two days before, but he didn¡¯t see her or her pack anywhere around the charred pile of sticks that was once her campfire.

    He let out a small breath he hadn¡¯t realized he¡¯d been holding. She was gone, then. Good.

    ¡°Oh, hey!¡±

    Edgar froze, his gaze slowly, slowly trailing up along the length of the tree next to him. Lo and behold, Wanily smiled down at him crookedly, her hair draped around her face like a curtain. She straddled a branch high in the treetop with a piece of rope fastened around her bicep and tied off to a branch next to her. Her pack, Edgar noticed, was a few branches down from her where the limbs of the tree were thicker, more capable of supporting the weight of the bag and its contents.

    She waved at him. Edgar did not wave back.

    ¡°Wait there!¡± Wanily called, already working to untie her arm from the piece of rope presumably there to make sure she didn¡¯t tumble out of the tree. Had she been sleeping up there?

    It didn¡¯t matter. Edgar did not wait there. In fact, he turned and started the trek home.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Hey, hold on!¡± Wanily shouted after him. He did not turn or slow his pace, and after several moments, he heard what was likely the sound of Wanily descending from her perch in a mad scramble. And then, when he reached the edge of the clearing, he heard a loud snap preceding a sharp cry and then a dull thud.

    ¡°Ow, ow, ow...¡± Wanily¡¯s voice drifted through the crisp morning air, barely audible to Edgar¡¯s old ears.

    He stopped. Sighed. Turned and picked his way back toward the tree and the girl who had ended up as a heap among its gnarled roots. A large tree branch, edges broken and frayed at one end, laid next to her on the ground.

    Edgar peered down at her. Wanily had yet to sit up and was instead curled on her side, right foot gripped in her hands. Her boot, Edgar noticed, had been worn through at the sole in hole big around as Edgar¡¯s thumb.

    Wanily peeked up at him, a shaky smile on her lips. ¡°Sorry that I¡¯m not gone,¡± she murmured. Edgar took a step back as she let go of her foot and slowly levered herself up into a sitting position. ¡°I know I said it would only be a couple days, but then I caught a water fowl in one of my traps and I was trying to figure out where I should go to wait out the winter and one day became two then three, and well...¡±

    She trailed off, increasingly sheepish. She scratched at the back of her head and didn¡¯t meet Edgar¡¯s gaze.

    In the time Edgar spent trying to come up with a response, Wanily climbed to her feet and brushed herself off. She clasped her hands in front of herself and smiled again despite the way she was favoring her right leg. ¡°Anyway. If you could point me in the direction of the nearest town, I¡¯ll be out of your hair.¡±

    Edgar peered down at her. She stared up at him, golden eyes wide. ¡°How¡¯s that foot?¡± he drawled.

    She shrugged. ¡°I can always look for a slime and try to make a healing potion.¡±

    ¡°In the winter? All the slimes will be icicles if they¡¯re not burrowed underground.¡±

    Wanily frowned. ¡°It¡¯s not that cold. The pond hasn¡¯t even frozen over.¡±

    ¡°Slimes freeze at a higher temperature than water.¡± Edgar raised a brow at her. ¡°I thought you were buddy-buddy with a member of the Wandering People. Didn¡¯t he tell you that?¡±

    She furrowed her brow. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    Edgar opened his mouth to respond, then slowly closed it. Of course. Fucking mages, didn¡¯t know the first thing about science. Edgar supposed Wanily wasn¡¯t really a mage yet, but she wanted to be one, which was just as bad.

    ¡°Things freeze at different temperatures,¡± Edgar explained as patiently as he could manage--which probably wasn¡¯t very patiently if Wanily¡¯s frown was anything to go by. Edgar took a deep breath, reminding himself that Wanily probably wasn¡¯t trying to be ignorant. Just an unfortunate side effect of being an aspiring mage. ¡°Water freezes at zero degrees, right? And slime freezes at ten degrees. It¡¯s just the properties of their materials.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± Wanily said. She shifted slightly, wincing when she put weight on her injured foot. She huffed. ¡°Then I guess I won¡¯t be making a healing potion.¡±

    ¡°What will you be doing then?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll figure something out,¡± she announced, in direct contrast to the way her expression soured.

    Edgar sighed. Was he really going to do this? But then, he scanned Wanily again. Thin frame with slightly hollow cheeks. Her threadbare clothes that were ill-fitted and boots worn through.

    Her blonde hair that turned to molten gold under the sunlight, an image worthy of the tailored cruelty of the old gods themselves.

    Edgar grimaced. ¡°You said you needed a place to ride out the winter?¡±

    <hr>

    Edgar didn¡¯t have the strength to be supporting Wanily as she walked, so the two of them hobbled their way back to Edgar¡¯s cabin. Edgar stayed a few paces ahead of her, and Wanily, for her part, didn¡¯t complain. If she had, Edgar might have come to his senses and sent her on her way. It wasn¡¯t like it was his problem that she had hurt her foot.

    But could he really turn his back on a child in need?

    They reached the cabin after a short enough, completely silent trek. Wanily didn¡¯t strike Edgar as the quiet type, but maybe her injury was good for something.

    Edgar went inside and waited for Wanily to trail in after him. When the door had swung shut behind her, he gestured to the space. ¡°Back there is my room,¡± he said, waving toward the open door past the main area of the cabin. ¡°Fireplace is there, but you got eyes. Food is usually in those cabinets, but I don¡¯t got any right now. There are basins outside I use to collect rainwater, and if we need more water than that, I¡¯ll get it from the lake.¡±

    Wanily scanned the main room. In the right corner, the kitchen had once been nicely stocked and ordered, but now it was mostly just dusty, stone counters and empty, wooden cabinets mounted on the walls. There was a single chair pushed against the wall to the left along with the old coat rack stocked with a single coat and a couple of hats. A dusty bookcase huddled next to the door, something Edgar had tried to forget about completely.

    He had gotten rid of his table years before. Wasn¡¯t like he ever had company over to use it, and he had needed money at the time.

    Other than that, the room was empty. Just like the house. Just like the whole damn world.

    ¡°What¡¯s that room?¡± Wanily asked, pointing to the left, because of course she did.

    ¡°You don¡¯t go in that room, alright?¡± Edgar hissed. Wanily shot him a wary look, and he forced himself to take a breath. ¡°Just... don¡¯t. Or you will be figuring out something else for the winter.¡±

    Wanily glanced at the shut door one more time before shrugging. She began to limp over to the singular chair before freezing. She had her back to Edgar, though, so he had no idea what had caused the reaction.

    ¡°I thought you said you didn¡¯t know any mages?¡± she said slowly.

    Edgar grunted. ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Then what¡¯s with all the books?¡± She gestured to the bookshelf before gingerly turning around to face him. She looked thoughtful as she asked, ¡°Are you researching something?¡±

    Edgar raised a brow at her. ¡°How do you know I don¡¯t just like to read?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I guess that could have been it.¡± Wanily pursed her lips. ¡°But... you¡¯re saying I¡¯m right?¡±

    Edgar grunted again. ¡°I haven¡¯t touched those in years.¡±

    Wanily hummed in acknowledgement, glancing at the books with narrowed eyes. ¡°Can I read them?¡±

    Edgar was halfway surprised she knew how to read, but he didn¡¯t bother to make a comment on that. Instead, he shrugged, moving to head to his room. ¡°Knock yourself out, kid. Not like I¡¯m using them.¡±

    Behind him, Wanily made a noise of delight, and then her uneven footsteps sounded against the wooden floor as she hobbled her way over to the bookshelf. There was a whispering, rubbing sound--presumably as she slid a book out--then a fit of coughing from the cloud of dust that no doubt billowed out with it.

    Edgar smirked to himself and continued into his room.

    <hr>

    Over the course of the next few days, Wanily didn¡¯t make much of a nuisance of herself. She set up her bedroll in the main room, close enough to the fireplace to pick up whatever residual heat it could offer through the night, but far enough away that she wouldn¡¯t get burned. With her foot hurt, she didn¡¯t walk around much. Instead, she lounged on the ground, going through the old books and journals Edgar had amassed over the years, back before everything went to shit and he didn¡¯t see the worth in them anymore.

    Edgar was almost surprised that she found anything of interest in the books at all. It wasn¡¯t like they were the kind that offered fanciful tales or... whatever else children liked. But she kept reading them, brow often furrowed and a frown on her face. It wasn¡¯t until the fifth day, though, that Edgar heard a hesitant knock.

    He never kept the door to his bedroom closed--only doing so when he or Wanily changed, mostly so he could make sure Wanily wasn¡¯t getting into trouble, not that Edgar had much to steal. So, she had knocked on the doorframe to get his attention. He propped himself up, a slight scowl already set on his face for being disturbed.

    ¡°Edgar,¡± Wanily said after several moments, probably when she realized Edgar wasn¡¯t going to say anything. ¡°What are these books about?¡±

    Edgar snorted. He stretched, limbs shaking and an involuntary groan escaping his throat, before he sat up fully and leveled a flat look at Wanily. She had one of his books hugged to her chest, though he couldn¡¯t tell if it was just a regular text or one of Edgar¡¯s notebooks.

    ¡°What do you care about it?¡± he drawled. ¡°I thought you wanted to be a mage.¡±

    Wanily frowned. ¡°So you¡¯re telling me this isn¡¯t magic?¡±

    Edgar rubbed a hand down his face, giving himself a moment before he snapped out something he would regret later. ¡°Kid,¡± he said, ¡°I don¡¯t want anything to do with magic. Why do you think it¡¯s magic?¡±

    ¡°Because I don¡¯t understand any of it,¡± Wanily said, and, well, at least she was honest. ¡°Like, everything is momentum this and energy that, and I have no idea what any of it means.¡±

    ¡°And you think that makes it magic?¡±

    ¡°Magic is fundamentally incomprehensible, and yet it must be understood in all its intricacies,¡± Wanily said, sounding like she was reciting something. She hefted the book a little higher. ¡°I don¡¯t see how anyone could understand this stuff.¡±

    That actually got an amused grunt from Edgar. ¡°Well, you¡¯re in luck, then. Because I do understand it, and it¡¯s not magic.¡±

    ¡°What is it then?¡± Wanily asked. Demanded really.

    Edgar, despite it all, found himself smiling slightly. ¡°How much do you want to learn about physics, Wanily?¡±

    <hr>

    The answer to Edgar¡¯s innocent question was, a lot. Wanily was, admittedly, a very curious individual. As she pulled out book after book and demanded explanations on seemingly every sentence, Edgar couldn¡¯t decide if that was a good thing or not. One thing he could say rather decisively, though, was that he was not a very patient person.

    ¡°Enough, Wanily,¡± Edgar said, halfway through yet another question on the nature of friction. She found it very interesting that something like a force of nature could be quantified in symbols and numbers, but she was not very good at manipulating those symbols and numbers.

    Wanily had pulled out a small, handheld chalkboard and a piece of chalk from her pack and was watching over Edgar¡¯s shoulder as he solved simple problems to find the friction factor. After everytime Edgar finished, she would study the board for several seconds before wiping away the original problem and replacing the numbers with new ones.

    Edgar continued, ¡°It¡¯s getting dark. I can barely see what I¡¯m doing.¡±

    Wanily pouted, taking the chalkboard back. She looked over his halfway completed solution, eyes wide and inquisitive. Edgar glanced at the window and the touch of orange to the sky heralding the approaching night. It was hardly dark enough for Edgar to be calling it quits--his eyes weren¡¯t that bad--but he wasn¡¯t about to clue Wanily into that fact.

    ¡°Alright,¡± she said, scrubbing away the markings with her sleeve, leaving the fabric white. ¡°Can we do more tomorrow? I want to know more about potent energy.¡±

    ¡°Potential energy.¡±

    ¡°See, this is why you need to teach me!¡± Wanily lamented. ¡°I haven¡¯t figured out any of this yet. Please, please, please can we cover more tomorrow?¡± She clasped her hands together, the perfect picture of a little beggar.

    Edgar was going to regret this, he thought. But he could admit, at least to himself, that it would be something better than lying in bed between struggling to find food. Wanily had helped out on that end, too, with a couple of traps laid out nearby, one of which had caught a rabbit two days ago. And she still had some of that water fowl preserved in salt from several days back that they¡¯d been munching on intermittently. She had promised to do more when her foot felt completely better, too, and she already had made comments that it wasn¡¯t hurting so much anymore.

    Wanily was doing Edgar a good turn. He could do this for her. Wasn¡¯t like he had anything better to do.

    ¡°Fine,¡± he muttered. ¡°Tomorrow.¡±

    <hr>

    Tomorrow came too soon when Edgar woke abruptly to Wanily knocking on his door frame again. He groaned and rolled over, cracking one eye open to peer out the window. It was light outside, but a pale, white shine that spoke of early morning.

    ¡°Go back to sleep,¡± Edgar called, burying his face back into his pillow.

    ¡°You said we would go over more tomorrow.¡± Wanily rapped her knuckles against the frame again, more quietly this time. ¡°It¡¯s tomorrow. I¡¯ve already checked the traps around the cabin. I guess my foot is feeling a lot better, so I could go to town but I was hoping that you would--¡±

    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± Edgar snapped, burying his palms into his eyes. ¡°Just stop yapping at me. Go get the book on potential energy.¡±

    ¡°Which one?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Edgar said. Wanily huffed before her retreating footsteps sounded against the wooden ground. Edgar continued to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling until Wanily returned with a stack of books as tall as her.

    She dumped them on Edgar¡¯s bed with enough courtesy to do so on the empty side rather than all over him. Then, probably at random, she snatched one up and dropped it on Edgar¡¯s chest. He grunted, shooting her a glare before finally sitting up and cracking the book open. ¡°Potential energy,¡± Edgar muttered. ¡°It¡¯s really not so complicated...¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°There are three fundamental laws of motion,¡± Edgar answered for probably the fiftieth time in response to yet another question from Wanily. ¡°We got the answers to friction from the second. For what you just asked, we can determine more from the third. Which is..?¡±

    ¡°Objects stay in motion or at rest unless something does something to them,¡± Wanily answered swiftly. She sat at the foot of the bed at the opposite corner from where Edgar had propped himself up against the headboard.

    ¡°That¡¯s the third.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Well, like you said, the second is the math one. And the third is...¡± she trailed off, brow furrowed and gaze leaning to the right like the answer was scrawled somewhere on the wall of the cabin.

    ¡°The law of equal and opposite reactions. We¡¯ve gone over this.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m trying my best,¡± Wanily huffed. ¡°This is a lot of information to take in at once. I¡¯ve barely even seen math before all this, and I had no idea people even studied this stuff.¡±

    ¡°Right. Because the whole world is supposed to just rely on magic, right?¡±

    Wanily¡¯s gaze snapped to him. ¡°I didn¡¯t say that.¡±

    ¡°But you think it, don¡¯t you? All you mages are the same. Magic is the answer to everything, right? Nothing could ever be useful except for magic.¡±

    Wanily gave him a flat look. ¡°That¡¯s an awful lot of words to put in my mouth.¡± She didn¡¯t contradict him, though, instead asking, ¡°Why do you hate magic so much?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s useless, that¡¯s why,¡± Edgar spat. ¡°Always too little, too late, and causes more problems than it fixes.¡±

    Wanily cocked her head, closing the book in her lap and setting it aside. ¡°You¡¯re a man of logic,¡± she said slowly. ¡°So I¡¯m guessing you have a reason to think that? Other than just liking science better.¡±

    Edgar scowled. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. Let¡¯s just get back to the book.¡±

    ¡°You know,¡± Wanily started, ¡°the times I¡¯ve heard in the past that it ¡®doesn¡¯t matter¡¯, it was more that people just didn¡¯t want to talk about it.¡± She gave him a meaningful look.

    Damn this child. ¡°And?¡± Edgar growled. ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡±

    Wanily shrugged. ¡°It might make you feel better.¡±

    ¡°Let me rephrase: I don¡¯t want to talk about it with random children that are trying to wear out their welcome.¡± Edgar glared at her. ¡°Drop it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve lost people, too.¡± Wanily¡¯s expression was steadfast, unwavering.

    Edgar let out a mirthless laugh. Fine, then. ¡°You want to know so badly, kid? My wife died in childbirth, and then I lost my daughter in the Necroplague.¡±

    Edgar might have given her shit, but he knew Wanily wasn¡¯t dumb. He watched her expression shift to one of realization as she put the pieces together. ¡°Archmage Vertrix ended the Necroplague,¡± she murmured. Then louder, ¡°But that was too little, too late, right?¡±

    Edgar gave a curt nod.

    ¡°But...¡± she frowned. ¡°What caused the Necroplague?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± When Wanily shook her head, Edgar sighed. ¡°What about that person from the Wandering People? He didn¡¯t mention it to you?¡±

    ¡°It was a bit of a sore spot,¡± Wanily replied. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to push too hard.¡±

    But she didn¡¯t have a problem demanding answers from Edgar about it when he just told her he¡¯d lost his only child to it. Edgar would have snorted if he felt anything but empty in that moment. ¡°Do you know what necro algae is?¡±

    Wanily nodded. ¡°Black algae. I was told to avoid it whenever possible, not to touch it, and whatever I do, not to breathe in the red spores it releases.¡±

    Edgar nodded back. ¡°The spores it releases make you very sick,¡± Edgar murmured. ¡°It¡¯s a slow but very painful death, and the spores can transfer easily from one person to another, as well as being spread from the algae itself. That¡¯s how my daughter got sick. She was playing outside, and I didn¡¯t see that there was some growing in a puddle behind the cabin. It was just enough to fill a thimble, not even enough to get me sick, but enough for her. She was only three at the time.¡±

    She had just turned three, too. And she never saw four.

    Edgar shook his head at himself. Wanily had been right--it wasn¡¯t that it didn¡¯t matter. Because after losing his wife, nothing in the world had mattered except for Annalee. And then Annalee was gone, too, and nothing in the world mattered. And Edgar did not want to talk about it anymore.

    He was about to demand that Wanily either leave him alone or they switch the topic back to the third law of motion when she said, ¡°I was almost killed by a frost lion. But a boy my age saved my life and died instead.¡±

    Edgar stared at her.

    ¡°There was this soldier, too, in the town of Greenspun, if you know it. He was going to--well, he probably was going to kill me. And the people I was staying with at the time, one of them tried to kill the soldier but I had to end up dealing the finishing blow.¡±

    She shrugged, staring at her lap. ¡°And I have no idea where my parents are. I don¡¯t remember them or any of my family, if I have any more. They either abandoned me or they¡¯re dead, and I try not to think about it because I don¡¯t know which one is worse.

    ¡°I guess what I¡¯m trying to say,¡± Wanily murmured, ¡°is that I do know loss. So you¡¯re not alone.¡±

    Oh, but he was. Edgar was going to be alone for the rest of his life, he thought. He would be cold and empty and alone, and then one day he would die and it wouldn¡¯t matter anymore. Not that anything did right now anyway.

    ¡°Whatever,¡± Edgar said. ¡°Do you want to learn more or not?¡±

    Wanily offered him a smile that looked more like a grimace. ¡°Do you want to teach more?¡±

    Edgar said nothing for a long time. Wanily didn¡¯t break the silence, watching him expectantly. ¡°Why do you want to know about physics? Do you really think you¡¯re ever going to use it?¡±

    Wanily shrugged again. ¡°Maybe. But I want to learn. The greatest mage in the land should know a lot about all sorts of things, right? And...¡± she trailed off, frowning. ¡°I don¡¯t want other people--other scientists--to feel the way you do. Magic is for everyone. It can help everyone. It may not have helped you, but when I¡¯m Archmage, things like that will change. I¡¯ll help everyone that I can.¡±

    Edgar scowled. ¡°You want to be the Archmage?¡±

    ¡°Of course!¡± Wanily grinned, though it rapidly dimmed in the face of Edgar¡¯s ire. ¡°I mean, what mage doesn¡¯t want to be the Archmage?¡±

    ¡°You know what? You¡¯re right. I don¡¯t feel like teaching any more today,¡± Edgar hissed. ¡°Go.¡±

    Wanily grimaced. ¡°I just meant--¡±

    ¡°Wanily,¡± Edgar said in warning. ¡°Leave me alone.¡±

    Wanily wisely shut her mouth, gathered up the books, and all but ran out of the room. Edgar watched her go, the hot rush of anger in his chest easing into a crackling fire. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was directed at Wanily, who had simply been curious and trying to help, or at the world for taking so much and leaving him with only memories.

    In either case, he didn¡¯t feel much like facing the rest of the day. He stared at his lap for a while before shifting to lay back down and going back to sleep.

    <hr>

    Wanily¡¯s foot must have been feeling better because she went to town the next day. Edgar didn¡¯t hear her leave, caught in a half-conscious state for most of the night and into the late morning. By the time he had roused himself enough to notice she was gone, she was already back, toting a sack of oats in one hand and a dead duck in the other.

    ¡°I caught two ducks in my traps,¡± she explained as she set both down on the counter in the kitchen. Edgar stood in the doorway to his room and grimaced at the body of the bird, its head lolling so that one of its unseeing eyes stared straight through him. ¡°I traded one for the oats and kept the other.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± Edgar mumbled. ¡°And... about yesterday--¡±

    Wanily let the sack of oats thump down to the wooden floor, effectively cutting him off. ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she said. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have pushed so hard. But...¡±

    When she trailed off, Edgar raised a brow. ¡°But?¡±

    ¡°But I just wanted to say that... I¡¯m going to be the Archmage one day. And when I am, I¡¯m going to come back and make you see how great magic is.¡± She nodded, her jaw set and eyes gleaming. ¡°I¡¯m sorry magic failed you and your family in the past, but you¡¯ll see that it''s amazing when I¡¯m out there helping people!¡±

    Edgar snorted. Yeah, right. But he wouldn¡¯t contradict her. It was admirable, in its own way, Wanily¡¯s pure ambition and desire to help others. Edgar wouldn¡¯t be the first to say that magic was the way to go about that, but he could at least respect Wanily, if not her aspirations. ¡°Sure, kid,¡± he said. He crossed his arms, and nodded to the bookshelf. ¡°And in the meantime, you¡¯ll keep your head on your shoulders instead of in the clouds?¡±

    She smiled. ¡°I¡¯d love to learn more about physics,¡± she said. ¡°As much as you¡¯re willing to teach me. I... might not have been entirely truthful yesterday. About why I wanted to learn physics. Old magic, the type of magic I want to learn, is based on the laws of the world. From what I¡¯ve read, at least. And after I find a teacher, I¡¯m going to use what I learned to become great at magic and become the Archmage.¡±

    Edgar shook his head but found himself smiling back. ¡°Sure thing, kid. And after you feel ready to go out and keep looking for a teacher, you make sure you come back and visit me when you¡¯re the Archmage, alright?¡±

    Wanily positively grinned. Edgar wondered where her boundless joy came from when he knew she¡¯d suffered in ways Edgar could never comprehend. But then, she didn¡¯t and would hopefully never know what it¡¯s like to lose a child or a spouse, yet she had offered compassion to Edgar.

    She was resilient, Edgar thought. Resilient and kind. And if she wanted to be the Archmage one day, she would need that kind of spirit. Maybe she could even be the kind of leader to prevent problems instead of just cleaning up messes after they happened.

    In the meantime, she was staying through the winter with Edgar. He never got the chance to share his expertise with Annalee, but he could offer it to Wanily, who might be able to do some good with it.

    He just hoped she kept her word and came to visit some time. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was something to look forward to. Something to keep living for.

    How about that, Edgar mused as Wanily snatched the duck back up and went outside to prepare it. She wasn¡¯t even the Archmage yet, and she¡¯d already given someone hope.

 Chapter 15: A Teacher Does, In Fact, Fall From the Sky--Part I

    (668 A.C.)

    Skeea limped through the underbrush, injured front paw cradled close. Branches snagged on the fine feathers of his wings, and stones dug into the soft pads on his toes. He gave a startled cry as the next step forward landed on soft earth that gave way under his weight. He tumbled down the slope in a flailing of tail, wings, and limbs before he came to a rest in the depression at the bottom of the incline. He chirped to himself softly, forcing himself to stand even as his legs shook. His body ached all over¡ªfirst from the fall where his injured mother had taken the brunt of the impact, and now from this short tumble.

    He stared up at the top of the mound. The trees of this alien forest towered dark and silent above him, their leaves blocking out all but the barest hint of sunlight. His large ears caught all manner of scurrying among those canopies and in the forest¡¯s mossy carpet. Here, it was peaceful. He could almost forget the sight of his mother¡¯s feathers and blood decorating the smooth, stone shore of a brook, her beautiful bronze fur red from the arrow piercing straight through the tender flesh of her stomach. He had not yet learned to fly¡ªhe had been riding on her back, snug in her fur, secure as he felt her wings beat on either side of him. She had dipped down to skim low along the forest, paws nearly brushing the treetops.

    Look at the beauty of the world, the cant of her head had said. I can¡¯t wait until you can fly above it yourself, the bunch of her shoulders had mused.

    Neither of them had been paying attention to the bumbling of humans down below past the whistling of the wind in their ears. Why would they when humans were always making useless noise? His mother had heard the thwump of the bow, but she hadn¡¯t been able to turn out of the way in time. The best she had done was roll Skeea so she was shielding him with her body.

    Run. Her eyes had said after they crashed, the trickling water of the brook beside them turning red with her blood. Know that mama loves you. Her curling, reaching paws had said as her labored breaths turned wet and stuttering. Skeea had stared at her, frozen, as his broken paw made itself known. That pain had nothing compared to the constricting, vile snares in his chest as he stared at his mother and told himself she would be okay.  "Run!" she screeched, blood coating the inside of her beak.

    So he ran.

    It wasn''t far enough. Even now he could hear the humans pursuing him. They were slow picking their way through the forest, obviously trying to quiet their movements, but they were humans. Asking them to be quiet was like asking the wind to stop blowing.

    Skeea snapped his beak a couple times and pressed forward. His side felt wet, but it didn''t hurt. He told himself it was water. It couldn''t be anything else.

    It wasn''t exactly a clearing¡ªnot one made by nature, at least. There were several ancient stumps scattered around a small area more overtaken with foliage than the shade of the rest of the forest. Skeea wanted to drop into that bath of sunlight and sleep until everything stopped hurting. Instead, he hopped to one of the stumps in the middle. In its base was what looked like an entrance, and his exhausted body demanded he try to find respite.

    The stump was hollow. It had obviously been carved out by some other creature, but the nest inside was old and brittle. Abandoned. The hole was a bit small, but Skeea pressed his wings to his back and wiggled inside. He curled up in the back of the stump, injured paw pulled against his chest. In the confined space, his breath sounded like boulders scraping against each other, his heartbeat like waves pounding at a bluff. He tucked his tail against his body, the sharp feathers at the tip glinting in a slit of sunlight, ready to lash out and cut.

    Footsteps crunched at the edge of the clearing. Skeea tensed, huddling down and pressing himself further against the back of the stumps. He flexed his claws on his good paws and bristled his fur. These were the humans that had killed his mama. If they came for him too, he''d kill them.

    He listened as the footsteps came closer to his hiding place. A pair of brown boots came into view and stopped. He held his breath. After a moment, the top of a female human''s head peeked over the lip of the entrance, hair hanging down in a curtain of fine sand. Skeea had never seen a human up close before, and he couldn''t read her like he could read the other griffins. But the furrow of her brow seemed to say, That¡¯s not right, and her golden eyes were wide and soft, assuring him, Well, I¡¯m not going to hurt you.

    Skeea snapped his beak in warning. The human backed up, fast, her head disappearing above the entrance to the stump and her booted feet taking several steps back. ¡°A griffin?¡± he heard her murmur. ¡°Griffins are supposed to live around the peaks of mountains, not at their bases. And... this one is tiny. He has to be a baby, but... he¡¯ll be an adult one day.¡±

    Skeea didn¡¯t like the tone the human¡¯s voice had taken. He shifted to try lunging out at her, but the moment he moved, his paw screeched in agony.

    ¡°No,¡± he heard her say, just a bit louder, unaware of Skeea¡¯s schemes. ¡°The frost lions attacked because Minora threatened them. And griffins are supposed to be more intelligent than most magical creatures anyway. I¡¯m not going to...¡±

    She knelt down, still keeping her distance, but peeked back into the stump to meet Skeea¡¯s gaze. ¡°You¡¯re being hunted, aren¡¯t you?¡± The human sounded sad, and Skeea tensed. He didn¡¯t want pity, especially from a human. ¡°I... know that feeling. I¡¯m going to help you, okay?¡±

    Something dropped in front of the hole, blocking the entrance and most of the light. He strained his ears but could only hear steps retreating a short distance before there was a solid sound that made him think the human had sat on one of the other stumps. There was a strange rubbing whisper, like the beat of a ladybug''s wings, and then relative silence.

    He leaned forward and gave a cautious sniff. The bag had a comforting musk of old leather and herbs. The herbs didn''t smell wholly different from the stubborn plants that bloomed near the mountain roosts, and a sharp pang struck through his chest. He would no longer soar the cliffs on his mother''s back, would no longer huddle under her wing during the cold nights. She could no longer sing to him or smile at him with the flick of her ear or tell him she loved him with the twinkle in her eyes.

    He narrowed his eyes and whipped his head back. Whether they were helping him or not, he would not let himself be at the mercy of a human! He snapped his beak and flexed his good paw again, claws digging into the soft earth.

    "Shhh. Do you want them to hear you?" The human''s voice was muffled in his little nest. Skeea flattened his ears and flicked his tail. Maybe he could listen to this human for now¡ªuntil these others she spoke of were no longer a threat.

    It was quiet for a time¡ªnothing outside the normal sounds of the forest, at least¡ªuntil more footsteps approaching the clearing made him tense again. These were heavier and clumsier than the other human¡¯s. Before they had even gotten very close, a deep voice boomed, "''Ey, you, girl. It ain''t safe in these woods. What''re you doin'' out ''ere all ¡®lone?"

    The rustle of fabric and the female''s voice sounded, high and challenging. "I can take care of myself, thanks. Do you guys need something?"

    Skeea could tell one of the men grunted and stepped closer to the girl. Skeea peeked out from a tiny slit in the wall of the stump. The male human, thick in body with brown hair, stood over the shorter human. The smaller human sat on one of the stumps, a book in her lap. Despite the glaring size and strength difference, she was scowling just as fiercely as the big one.

    Skeea couldn''t help but think of colony challenges in the mountains, the alpha and the contender staring each other down before taking flight in duel. They were picking each other apart for weaknesses, eyes as sharp and dangerous as any claws. If one wasn''t intimidated into backing down, they would soon be locking talons.

    "You seen a griffin ''round here? It''s dangerous to let a monsta'' like that roam about, yeah? So me and my buddy ''ere are gonna make sure it can''t hurt no one."

    How dare that human act as if it hadn''t attacked them? Skeea wanted to lunge out at that very moment. When he shifted, his paw loudly reminded him why that was a bad idea.

    The girl pursed her lips and tapped a blunt claw on her chin. "Mm, you know, I think I saw a griffin not that long ago. When I was checking my traps near the west end of the brook. Little guy, kind of cute, actually."

    The large human glanced back where Skeea could hear his companion waiting. Annoying, the set of his shoulders said, but whether that was towards the female or the supposed fact that they had gone in the wrong direction, Skeea didn''t know.

    Skeea couldn''t see the male''s face, but his stance shifted. It didn''t exactly say anything as much as it conveyed his aggression. "So, little lady, got anything valuable with ya''? That book ya got there sure looks fancy." He started to reach for it, and suddenly the little human was on her feet, the book¡ªwhatever that was¡ªclutched to her chest and a dagger waved in front of her.

    "I do got something valuable. It''s this dagger. Straight from the pocket of some guy with this real nice coat and lots of rings. From the last person I used it on, I''d say it paralyzes you so bad you can''t breathe and you suffocate to death." The female gave a predatory smile. "You really want to try me?"

    The bob of the man''s throat said something, but Skeea wasn''t exactly sure what. Judging from his increasing heartbeat though, he had an idea. "You''re bluffing."

    She brandished the blade higher. "Am I?"

    The male glanced at his companion again before stepping back, his shoulders grumbling defeat. "Fine. I hope ya get eaten by rats while yer sleepin¡¯, ya little pixie bitch."

    She held the dagger out until the men had left. Eventually, she put the blade away, a smug grin on her face. "Fall for it every time," she chirped, sitting back down on her stump. She kicked her feet idly as she returned her attention to the book-thing. Skeea had no idea why she was staring at it so intensely, but after a bit, she closed it and stood back up. "Alright, I think we''re in the clear."

    She disappeared from view, the sound of her footsteps growing closer until she plucked the bag away from the entrance to reveal her boots. "Come on out little guy, I''m not gonna hurt you. You don''t have to worry about those hunters either. They should be running from a pod of venom mantis right about now. Saw a nest of them when I was laying snares earlier, and oh boy, if you''ve never been stung by one you are lucky. Anyway, you¡¯re a griffin. A baby one, right? That¡¯s cool. According to the Wandering People, griffins are one of the creatures made by the old gods. Does that mean you can do old magic? I want to learn old magic. It¡¯s supposed to be much more powerful than new magic. But anyway, I¡¯ve never met a baby monster before. Er, not that you¡¯re a monster, per se, it¡¯s just what people call any type of magical creature.¡±

    The human stopped for breath and to shake her head. ¡°By Amera, my manners are just terrible today. Ms. Maria must have just gotten a cold shiver."

    As she rambled, Skeea stubbornly remained right where he was. Once she finally fell silent, the human waited for a moment before she sighed. Her boots retreated back to her stump where she opened her book again¡ªand Skeea knew what that whispering sound was now. "Alright, suit yourself. There''s a bit of dried fruit in the side of my bag. I don''t know what griffins eat but you can have some of that if you want."

    The looseness of her body suggested that she wasn''t lying, that she wouldn''t hurt him, that he could come out. But he didn''t want to be in the company of a human. Not when he was weak and vulnerable. So he stayed in his hiding place¡ªand if he waited until the human was engrossed in her book again to peek his beak out and dig out the promised fruit, she wasn''t going to know.

    He tore the soft flesh apart with his beak and stared at the human as he ate. She just continued reading her book. After a while, his exhaustion started to weigh heavier than his caution. He rested his head down on his good paw, closed his eyes, and pretended the hard wood at his back was the soft fur and feathers of his mother.

    <hr>

    Skeea started awake to a popping sound. His ears perked up and swiveled on their own accord, the rest of his head following. The day had turned to night while he slept, and the human had started a little fire. She had reclaimed her bag at some point, and Skeea could just see the cover of the book peeking out from the flap, far from the flame. The human hummed and adjusted the stakes and skewered meat cooking over the fire.

    Skeea''s stomach gave a rueful growl. Fruit was fine, but it was hardly filling enough for a growing griffin. Skeea crept forward, cautiously poking its beak out of its stump, but the human didn''t immediately notice him. He flicked his tail impatiently and gave a little chirp.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Her attention snapped to him. She grinned, the dancing flame casting twisting shadows on her face. It might have been intimidating to a lesser creature, but Skeea saw the expression for what it was. Hello, it said. Everything is alright.

    "Hey, you''re awake! Are you hungry? I bet you''re hungry." She began to reach for one of the skewers but hesitated. "Wait, do you like your meat cooked or raw? I mean, it''s already a little cooked, but y''know¡ªdo you want it more cooked, I guess is what I''m asking."

    Skeea glared at her. She met the look without seeming to understand what he was saying. Mama had been right¡ªhumans were slow and unobservant. He gave a sharp squawk, ears flattening. That seemed to get the message across, the human chuckling. She took a couple of the skewers and held them out to him. He let out another squawk and motioned with his head for her to throw them. The human just smirked, raising a knowing eyebrow.

    Skeea huffed, the air whistling through his beak. He wouldn''t be so debased as to accept scraps straight from a human''s hand. That was, until his stomach twisted in hunger and he found himself working his way out from the stump.

    He limped closer, and the human helpfully stretched out until her limbs as far as they would go. He plucked the skewers from her hands, beak snapping close to her long, blunt claws, but she didn¡¯t seem deterred at the action. She just watched him, eyes on his paw. He shifted until his back was to her, injury hidden from view as he dug into the meat. It was too lean and gamy¡ªforest rabbits, if he had to guess. What he wouldn¡¯t give to be devouring a mountain goat with his mother right now.

    ¡°You¡¯re hurt,¡± the human said. Skeea flicked his tail in response. ¡°Do you want to show me? I mean, if it¡¯s just a thorn or something, I can pull that out no problem.¡±

    The set of his shoulders should have told the human, No, leave me alone, but instead she got up and tried to step around to get a look at him. He squawked at her, tail whipping and wings bunching up. She understood that at least, taking a couple steps back and holding her hands up in what he thought was supposed to be placating but only made him more nervous. He flexed the claws on his good paws, digging them into the soft earth, and snapped his beak at her. She took another step back, eyes gentle, stance loose. That, at least, made him feel a bit better, and he let his wings relax against his back again.

    ¡°I can make potions,¡± the human said, voice soft. Skeea eyed her warily as she stepped back toward her bag. ¡°I¡¯ll need to find a slime, but that shouldn¡¯t be too hard. I think I saw some slime trails not too far from here.¡± She dug through her bag until she produced a small jar. ¡°Yeah, I can use this to get the slime. And¡­¡± She rifled through the front pocket until she pulled out a little metal box. ¡°I still have most of what I need. Looks like I¡¯ll need more honey, but that shouldn¡¯t be too hard to find.¡± She giggled, glancing back at him. ¡°Get it? Be?¡±

    Skeea flicked his ear and turned back to finishing his meal.

    The human laughed again, snorting like a piglet. ¡°Here, I caught enough for you to have more.¡± She got up, leaving her containers next to her bag, and fetched him a couple more skewers. She dropped them close enough for him to reach, but far enough away that she wasn¡¯t crowding him. ¡°I¡¯ll go in the morning to find a slime. Those hunters were right about one thing¡ªthe woods are pretty dangerous, especially at night.¡± She pointed to one of the nearby trees. ¡°I¡¯m gonna be up there sleeping tonight, so if you need anything just, uh, yell at me, I guess.¡±

    Skeea narrowed his eyes. As if he¡¯d be reduced to asking a human for help. Hiding him and giving him food had been the human¡¯s decision, her compassion, but his pride prevented him from begging for more of it. To make a point, he scooped up the last skewer and shimmied back into his stump. The human chuckled as she watched him retreat. Skeea was quickly becoming tired of the sound.

    ¡°Alright. Goodnight,¡± the human called. Skeea listened. She didn¡¯t move for a moment before grabbing her bag. Before she placed it in front of the entrance to his hiding spot, she peeked in at him and smiled. ¡°Just in case.¡±

    She moved back. There was a tiny shuffling sound as she put out the fire¡ªprobably just dumping some dirt on it¡ªbefore she headed toward the tree she had pointed out earlier. Skeea listened in the darkness as she climbed the tree until she was a decent distance from the ground, then it was quiet.

    He laid his head back down and tried shifting into a more comfortable position, but he had slept too long earlier to do so now. The best he got was a light doze. It was probably only an hour later when soft footsteps alerted him again. He perked his head up, peering through the tiny cracks in the stump even though his ears were much more useful than his eyes in the darkness.

    It wasn¡¯t a human¡ªjudging from its gait, the creature had four legs, not two. Skeea strained his ears as it got closer, desperate to find specifics as his eyes failed to catch sight of the beast. It was big and slow, lumbering through the clearing and sniffing in long, deep breaths. Skeea flexed his claws as it drew closer and closer to his hiding spot, recognizing the stump as the corner it was. He should have gone into the tree with the human. At least there it might have been easier to defend himself.

    The sniffing was right behind him now, moving slowly to the front of his stump where only the human¡¯s bag blocked the entrance. Skeea finally got a glimpse of the creature as the movement of its body blocked what little moonlight breached the holes in the wood. It resembled a wolf, only bigger and hairless. It had no ears or eyes that he could see. Just a large nose pausing beside every crack and sniffing, long and slow. Skeea watched as it reached the bag and began nudging it with its nose, a grunt escaping its slobbering mouth. Skeea tensed and prepared himself to lunge.

    There was a thud. Something hit the beast. It yelped in pain, jumping back from the bag and whirling towards¡ª

    Towards the tree.

    It darted to the base of the tree and jumped at the bark, claws scrabbling at the wood. Skeea waited for the moment he heard the beast find purchase, but it never came. Instead, the human¡¯s laugh bounded through the clearing, and Skeea found himself relieved to hear it again.

    ¡°Not so easy, is it?¡± she taunted. There was another thud, and the beast whined again. Skeea wondered what, exactly, she was throwing at him. Branches, maybe? She must have a strength her scrawny limbs didn¡¯t suggest. ¡°Get out of here. You¡¯re not gonna be able to climb up. Go find food somewhere else.¡±

    The beast continued trying to claw at the tree. Skeea knew that griffins were generally smarter than most monsters, but still¡ªdid the beast not understand anything the human was saying? Human speech was incredibly simplistic in many regards. They still relied mostly on verbal communication, after all.

    A garbled noise cut through the scrabbling, a voice like a dead winter night. "The food sits and taunts from the tree, but it won''t be so smug when I''m jumping."

    Skeea''s blood curdled. He had never heard a new god''s spell before, but he didn''t need to¡ªthe horrible twisting sensation in his chest was enough for him to feel it in his bones. Magic like that was an abomination, weak and warped.

    Then Skeea realized exactly what it was. A jumping spell. There was a pause where the beast backed up, a breath, and then a thud as its body hit the tree¡¯s lowest bough. It still struggled to pull itself up and stand, the branch giving a low groan in protest, but it did manage to stand and begin the process again with the next branch up.

    The human cursed, sounding more surprised than anything. Skeea crawled forward, pushing the bag out of the way with his beak and poking his head out. The monster was up three branches, the human only two above it. The monster at least had an excuse. It was hampered by its girth, massive paws as wide as its footholds and muscular body heavy. The human was just pathetic. She was obviously panicking, trying to pick her way up the crooked trunk of the tree but her feet were constantly slipping as she searched for the next handhold. If she was able to get to the branches higher up, the monster would weigh too much to follow, but at the pace she was going, she wasn¡¯t going to get that far.

    Skeea didn¡¯t know what possessed him. Maybe it was one of the rules set into his mind by the old gods¡ªthe need to pay back what has been given. Maybe it was something else, something he didn¡¯t want to acknowledge. Whatever it was, he found himself wealsing out of the hiding spot and scrambling onto the top of the stump. He screeched at the monster, beating his wings and bristling his fur. His tail flicked back and forth behind him like a whip.

    The monster froze and turned, nose twitching as it assessed this new presence. It let out a low growl and dropped back to the ground, human forgotten. Skeea stood tall as the beast slinked closer, hairless tail swishing behind its powerful legs. It snarled at him. Skeea screeched back, harsh and piercing like the peaks of the mountains, incapable of being intimidated. When it began to circle him, he kept his eyes on the monster, ready to lunge at the slightest provocation.

    At some point the human had climbed down to the bottom limb of the tree. ¡°Get it away from my bag!¡± she called as she dropped to the ground and crouched low, waiting for the moment to pounce.

    Skeea squawked in acknowledgement and jumped toward the next closest stump. With only three paws he couldn¡¯t move very well, but though he couldn¡¯t use his wings to fly yet, spreading them helped with the jump. The beast snarled and lunged in pursuit, but Skeea dropped behind the stump. The monster soared over him, its momentum carrying it forward until it rammed into another. It huffed and shook its head before turning back to him.

    Skeea would not show fear. He snapped his beak, wings beating viciously at the air. Even if he didn¡¯t know how to use his magic yet, he would fight to the bitter end. He would take his opponent down with him. Anything less would be an insult to his pride and life.

    But he couldn¡¯t die here. Because his mother had not gotten the chance to kill her attackers. He needed to avenge her. It was a law in his mind, a need as pressing as breathing. What was given must be returned.

    The beast¡¯s muscles rippled under its thick hide as it prepared to lunge again. Skeea stood his ground. He would win this fight. For his mother that needed retribution, and for the human that deserved his aid.

    Something flashed in the moonlight. Skeea snapped backward as a dark liquid drenched the monster. The beast shrieked as the liquid began smoking, burning into its flesh in ragged patches of blood. While it was exposed, Skeea darted forward and snapped at the monster¡¯s throat, ending its pitiful, anguished cries.

    The monster fell, dead, onto the carpet of moss and ferns. The human inched closer, empty bottle still in hand, smoke curling from its lip. She peered at its body for a moment before reaching a foot forward and nudging one of its still twitching paws. She backpedaled, fast, watching with bated breath. When it didn¡¯t get up and attack her, she breathed out a sigh of relief. ¡°It¡¯s dead.¡± She let out another long breath, dropping to the ground, elbows on her knees and bottle glinting in the moonlight. ¡°It¡¯s dead.¡±

    Skeea limped over to the female, assessing her for any injuries. A few scrapes and bruises it seemed. Nothing serious. He chirped at her. She tore her gaze from the hulking mass to him. After just a moment of hesitation, he nodded.

    She stared at him with eyes as wide as a newborn owlet''s. After a moment, she returned the gesture, albeit more than a bit confused. She didn¡¯t fully understand the display of respect he was showing her, but that was alright.

    She stood up slowly, breaths still a bit labored, but whatever nerves she''d had in the aftermath seemed to have waned. She took a deep breath and grimaced before marching toward the body.

    "I''ve never seen a black dog before. They usually roam the plains and deserts. Not too good at climbing¡ªthough I guess that''s pretty obvious." She squatted down and examined the monster. "But it matches the pictures Andurak showed me and it obviously just casted a new magic spell with those words it spoke..."

    She sighed and moved back to her bag. She continued, "Guess that''s the difference between new and old magic creatures, huh? You can''t talk, right?" Skeea chirped. "Right. So that means you can''t cast new god spells. You¡ªI don''t know, use magic more innately?" She gave a frustrated huff though the furrow of her brow just whined confused. "I just don''t get it. I¡¯ve read about what old magic is, and I understand it at least a little, I think, but I don''t understand how to access old magic, and I''m trying to find a teacher to help me but it''s literally been years at this point, and it''s starting to get a little discouraging." She pulled out her knife and a sturdy wooden box from her pack. "But whatever. At least black dogs have some pretty powerful properties, you know? Sad we had to kill it though."

    Skeea looked between the approaching human and the monster''s body twice before the realization hit. He squawked at her, alarmed.

    She stopped. "What? It''s not like he''s gonna be using his whiskers anymore. I''ve read a couple recipes that called for tongue too, but no way am I touching that thing''s mouth. Bleh." She scrunched her nose and shook her head. Skeea gave a grumbling chirp and shuffled out of the human''s way, staying close enough to watch as she grabbed each of the monster''s whiskers one by one and sliced through them with the same knife that could supposedly paralyze people.

    She got nine in total, tucking them away into her wooden box to be used later for her brewing. Skeea knew very little about making potions other than it was something humans did, and that''s why they were so dangerous. Hunters killed monsters for their bodies and parts. It''s why they had shot down his mama. He flexed his claws just thinking about it.

    Was this human just like the others? Skeea didn''t think so¡ªhumans were very inept at lying with their body language, after all. So far, this one had been about as threatening as a mouse. At least, towards him. And she had expressed her regret at the monster¡¯s death even if it had attacked them.

    She tucked her items back into her bag, hands still trembling slightly. She glanced at him, giving a shaky smile when she noticed his attention. She waved the empty bottle at him. Smoke still curled from its lip in little wisps of pale gray like a despondent aura. ¡°Pretty powerful potion, huh? I got really lucky about a month back now, found some abyss fronds. Stuff¡¯s really rare, but there was enough for one batch. It can be used for loads of stuff from what I¡¯ve seen, but I decided to use it for its more defensive properties. Made the potion and saved it for a rainy day.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Guess that was a good idea.¡±

    Skeea chirped in agreement. The human stood and put her hands on her hips, gaze critical. ¡°If I pick you up,¡± she began slowly, and Skeea tensed, ¡°promise not to kill me?¡±

    Skeea glared at her, but his paw hurt and his position on the ground left him much too vulnerable. He flattened his ears but chirped in assent, widening his stance. The human grinned. She scooped him up and set him on her hip, one hand on his belly with her arm curling around his side to stabilize him. She shifted his weight a bit until they both found a comfortable position and headed back towards her tree.

    ¡°Wow, you¡¯re soft. For some reason I was thinking more coarse, like dog fur. But yours is silky as a cat¡¯s.¡± Skeea held his head up. He did not preen¡ªthere was no reason to feel pride at the praise of a human of all things¡ªbut the acknowledgement was still nice. ¡°You¡¯re kind of heavier than I was expecting though.¡± She readjusted her grip, bumping Skeea up much to his indignation. He squawked at her, tail lashing. She chuckled, a sound Skeea could feel rumbling through her side. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m just trying not to drop you.¡± She dropped her bag at the base of the tree and began carefully picking her way up. Skeea pressed his injured paw to his chest so it wouldn¡¯t brush against the bark of the tree. It still hurt something fierce.

    When they were on the second limb up, the human braced Skeea¡¯s back paws, giving him something to jump off of and onto the branch. His landing was much less graceful than it could have been, but with only three paws, it was about the best that could be expected. He laid down near the end of the branch, leaving enough room for the human to wiggle her way up beside him. She sat heavily on the limb, back against the tree trunk.

    She smiled at him. ¡°Okay, goodnight for real this time. I don¡¯t think anything is gonna want to mess with us when they see we took down a black dog.¡±

    Skeea chirped and rested his head down. There was a soft rustling of fabric as the human sought a more comfortable position, then silence. Despite the human sitting right behind him, Skeea closed his eyes and fell into a peaceful slumber.

 Chapter 16: What It Takes to Fly--Part II

    (668 A.C.)

    He woke to a short shout followed by a thump and a low, whining ¡°Owww.¡± He cracked an eye open and tilted his head to peer down where the human had fallen onto her back, hair fanned out around her head. She sat up slowly, face twisted in a wince and rubbing the back of her head. Skeea chirped at her.

    She waved up at him, but the movement just made her wince again. ¡°Mornin¡¯. Sorry I woke you, I was just going to find some slime. Maybe some breakfast, too.¡± She climbed to her feet, brushing forest debris from her trousers. She rubbed at her backside and grumbled, ¡°Thought I was done with my days of falling out of trees.¡±

    Skeea flicked his ear and laid his head back down. The human made a nuisance of herself as she collected whatever supplies she needed for her little expedition before finally striding off with a farewell too chipper for so early in the morning. The last constellation of the night was even still visible, eight stars in two wavering lines.

    He dozed for a while until her bumbling back woke him again. He felt more rested than before, at least, though he could only watch from his perch as the human prepared the ingredients for her potion. He chirped at her, tail flicking in irritation. He felt exposed in the light cover of the tree¡¯s leaves, and without a way down or up, the branch was hardly any better than the stump.

    She waved up at him, hopelessly oblivious. ¡°The potion shouldn¡¯t take too long!¡± she called, motioning to the various herbs and utensils laid out next to her. "I found some berries, too!" She pulled a large drawstring bag from her waist and dropped it to the ground. "You can have them when I get you down." She went back to starting a fire, flint in hand. Under the sharp strikes, he could hear her humming faintly.

    He flattened his ears and squawked again and again. She waited until she had successfully built her fire up to acknowledge him. ¡°Hey, those hunters might still be around. You don¡¯t want them to hear, right? Just be patient, this won¡¯t take long.¡±

    Skeea huffed, breath whistling. He eyed the distance to the ground. He was a proud griffin¡ªhe wouldn¡¯t depend on a human for his every need. He focused and tried to stir his magic. It was a matter of time and experience, his mother had told him. It was normal for griffins to go years without summoning even the slightest breeze. Flight would take longer still.

    It felt like he had too much experience now. He could do this. He rose to his feet, flexing his claws for a better grip on the wood. He needed to bend the air to his will, let it guide his wings. His mother had explained lift to him countless times. He knew what he needed to do¡ªnow he just needed his magic to cooperate with him to achieve it.

    He had asked his mother what magic was, once. The tips of her wings had curled in laughter. You will know. She had told him, nuzzling him with her beak. You will know in time, little one.

    He spread his wings. Magic was part of him. Or was it him in his entirety? He was a magical creature after all, and an old god one at that. Without his magic, would he be able to exist at all? Did he have to use magic or was it more unconscious, like breathing? Surely, if he tried to fly, he would get his answer.

    He squared his shoulders. The human wasn¡¯t paying him any mind. Well, he would show her. He didn¡¯t need her. He crouched down, braced himself, and jumped.

    He thought he felt... something. He wasn¡¯t quite sure what¡ªa warmth, a shifting in the very core of his being, an impression of home and belonging. His wings stretched on either side of him in that moment, ready to fly.

    The feeling disappeared. He squawked as he tumbled from the tree, the soft forest ground doing little to cushion his fall. At least he didn¡¯t fall on one of his wings. His side ached loudly, but, shifting slightly, it didn¡¯t feel like he had broken anything. Well, anything else. His paw had come out okay, for the most part, complaining at the jostling but otherwise no worse off than before.

    He knew he needed to look, but he didn¡¯t want to. He sat up slowly, shaking the dirt and mulch from his fur. He peeked back at the human who was very politely trying and failing to hold back laughter. Skeea got to his feet, shaking again to rid his pelt of any more debris, and held his head high.

    The human cleared her throat, biting her lip. Her smile still pulled at the corners of her mouth. ¡°Well, I guess neither of us have figured out how to get out of trees without hurting ourselves.¡± She cocked her head. "I thought I saw some magic there¡ªmore than just you by yourself anyway. It was just for a split second, but..." She trailed off, staring down at the boiling potion above the fire. She stirred it as she thought. Skeea tended to the leaves still caught in his feathers, pulling at the stubborn pieces with his beak.

    "So that''s why you didn''t just fly away," she mused. "You can''t fly without magic?" Skeea paused in his cleaning to chirp in confirmation. Apparently, the human could tell the difference between his types of chirps because she nodded. "Okay, so let me get this straight. That black dog," she motioned to the cold body a dozen paces away from them, "is a new god creature. It can speak and that means it can cast spells. But it can function without its magic just fine. But you," she snapped the fingers of her free hand and pointed at him, "are an old god creature. You can''t speak so you can''t use new magic spells, but you need to use your magic to fly. But you can''t fly. Because you don''t know how to access your old magic."

    Skeea half-listened to the human''s ramblings, moving over to munch on the berries she had collected. A dark blue, crunchy and sweet. Much better than the rabbit but not as filling. When he finally looked back to her, her entire body was coiled in intense thought. She continued to tend to the potion without fail, but her mind was obviously flying fast away from this place. "You are a magical creature. An old god creature that needs to use old magic to function fully. I always thought it was something you just were able to do, not something you had to learn." She pulled out a pair of leather gloves from a pouch at her side and slipped them on to grab the hot metal handles of the pot and remove it from the fire. She set the potion aside and put out the fire again, kicking dirt on it with the toe of her boot.

    She stared at the potion, eyes intense as lightning, body as loud as thunder. She was coming to some realization, but Skeea wasn''t really following her thoughts.

    "Magic isn''t something to be used. Well¡ªit is, but it''s also a part of you." Her eyes widened. "It exists within you and also separate." She sucked in a huge breath and whirled around. "Because humans are magical creatures." Her face split into a smile. "Humans are magical creatures! It seems so obvious but¡ªwe are beings of magic. Existing with and in it. Using it as both a tool outside and a muscle within. We need it for our existence but without it we can live¡ªjust not to the fullest." She clapped her hands together. "I understand it! I¡ªI think¡ª" She squealed, bouncing on her toes. "I can do it. I''m sure of it. Magic is incomprehensible by nature, but we''re just trying to get enough of a grasp on it to understand how it affects us. I can do it." She dropped to a knee in front of him, face suddenly deadly serious. "Thank you. Thank you so much, Mr. Griffin." She grinned. "I spent all that time looking for a teacher to tell me what magic is¡ªand I was looking in all the wrong places."

    Skeea''s blinked in the face of the human''s epiphany. He didn''t know exactly what to do with all this information or even how to react to the human''s thanks, and he certainly hadn¡¯t followed what she said.. He gave a little chirp, claws flexing.

    She jumped back to her feet. "First things first. The potion should be cool enough to drink right now. Go ahead, you can just have it straight from the pot. If it affects you like it affects a human, your paw will heal right up but it''ll itch like crazy for like ten minutes after.¡±

    Skeea hobbled over and sipped at the potion. It had no odor but tasted foul, like how mushed algae felt and musty air smelled. He spit out the disgusting liquid, squawking in protest. The human, having sat down on one of the stumps, grinned at him.

    Eyes full of laughter, she sung, "Come on, drink your potion. It''s good for you."

    Skeea snapped his beak and glared at the dark contents of the pot. No manner of glowering would magically make the potion taste better, but that wouldn''t stop him from trying. He forced his head back down slowly and took another sip. He managed to swallow this one, the cloying liquid sticking to the inside of his beak and throat and made the horrible taste suffocating. He flattened his ears, beak cracked open to lessen the choking feeling.

    "Just five of those sips should do. It is only your paw that''s broken." The human tried to be encouraging, but it was just an insult to his pride. No simple liquid would best him! He set his shoulders and took the next four sips in quick succession. He almost spit them back up, but sheer determination kept them down. He swallowed again and breathed out slowly to combat the sudden nausea. It was done.

    He waited. He didn''t really know how potions worked. Would his paw start glowing? Would he feel warm and sleepy? But no, after about thirty seconds, it seemed the human had gotten it right. There was a distinct shift and small pop in his paw, though neither hurt and then it stopped hurting altogether. Skeea hesitantly put some weight down on the paw, and when it didn¡¯t protest at him, he fluffed his feathers in joy.

    It was about then that his paw began to tingle then itch in earnest. He found himself digging his claws into the ground and breathing slowly. There was no reason to scratch. The itch wasn''t real. He just had to ignore it for a few minutes, and then it would be fine. Everything was fine.

    Everything was not fine. It itched so terribly. He shifted his weight from paw to paw in pure agony with the need to scratch. It wouldn''t do any good¡ªhe knew that¡ªbut he wanted to so badly. He hated to admit he turned to the human, begging her to do something to ease his torture. She wasn''t even looking at him, staring instead at a leaf in her palm, brows furrowed in concentration. It wasn''t exactly out of character for the strange being, but it was interesting enough to distract him. He padded over and sat down, watching the leaf with the human. His focused waned after just a few moments, the itch returning, and he chirped at her. Her talking was incessant and often pointless, but it would give him something to focus on.

    His communication was successful. She glanced at him and smiled before going back to the leaf. "From what I¡¯ve read in the past, old magic works off the laws of the world. You are literally bending the world to your will. The best example I read was creating a fire. With old magic you rub two things together to heat them up, or pour a bunch of magic into it to make it really hot, and create fire. New magic you just create a fire. It might not even need anything to burn." She plucked the leaf up and twirled it between her fingers. "So, I''m trying to move this leaf. I learned a lot about physics not too long ago¡ªabout the study of motion, I mean. The guy that taught me wasn¡¯t all too fond of magic, so I didn¡¯t really want to bring up that I¡¯d probably be using what I learned when I finally figured out how to access my magic, but.¡± She shrugged.

    ¡°It''s all about the transfer of energy, I think,¡± she murmured after another moment. ¡°Magic is so many things, and I¡¯m pretty sure that includes energy. So I just have to access it and use it to push the leaf."

    Skeea chirped to show his understanding. The human pursed her lips. "You might want to try exercises like this too. I don''t know how a griffin learns to use its magic." She frowned suddenly, and Skeea dreaded what her body told him was going to be her next words before she said them. "Amera, I didn''t even think about it before. Where are your parents? Are you lost or...?"

    Skeea turned away sharply. The itch had lessened once more to a tingle, and he experimentally flexed his paw. There was no pain¡ªwhich meant he had a mission to complete. He whirled around and marched away from the human, passing the carcass of the black dog, thinking of the female harvesting its whiskers and convincing himself nothing of the sort happened to his mother. Maybe the hunters hadn''t even found her. Maybe... if they hadn''t... she might even still be alive. Then the female could give her some potion and make her better and they could return to the mountains and never come near any humans again.

    The human cursed, hurriedly stowing her book and pot somewhere out of sight. He heard her dash closer and trail after him, and he imagined if he looked behind him her confusion would be clear. She asked where he was going, what he was doing. But he couldn''t explain it to her. It was enough that she followed. She would know soon.

    Skeea''s sharp eyes had little problem finding his panicked trail from yesterday. Steeling himself, he followed the path back through the dark woods.

    The human must have collected her pack before scrambling after him. He could hear her goods bouncing against her back and jostling against one another. She bounded up to him after a little while so they were walking side by side. She kept an eye on their surroundings while Skeea kept an ear open. Black dogs were far from the only monster bound to roam the foliage. He would never admit it, but her vigilant presence made him feel safer.

    They came to the slope he had tumbled down not twelve stellations before. The earth was soft and slippery, but he didn''t weigh much and with all four paws at his disposal, it was no ordeal at all to scale it. The human wasn''t so lucky. She was about a quarter of the way up when the dirt beneath her feet crumbled and sent her rolling back down.

    She groaned as she picked herself up, dirt and stones clinging to her clothes and skin. She huffed, attempting to brush the debris off and just succeeding in smearing the soil into the fabric. She scowled and gave up on salvaging her clothes, instead picking up what objects had been knocked loose from her pack before trying to climb up again. She was more careful this time, testing patches of dirt before putting her full weight on it, nearly crawling as she used her hands to steady herself. She got about halfway up this time before her foot caught on a stone, and she lost her balance. She ended back up in a heap at the bottom of the slope, facedown in the dirt.

    Skeea could still hear her heartbeat. He squawked at her, tail lashing with impatience. She rolled over, staring up at him with her golden eyes.

    "Do I just keep going straight from here?" she called. Skeea chirped. "Alright. You go on ahead. I''ll find a better way around and meet up with you later."

    Skeea flattened his ears but chirped his agreement. Though he loathed to think it, he felt exposed without the human at his side. Defenseless. The trees seemed to loom over him, the peaceful forest ambiance suddenly much too quiet and foreboding. He kept close to the ground, wings pressed to his back both to make himself smaller but also as a way to reassure himself. The weight was warm and comforting. He was lucky he had only broken his paw in the fall¡ªhe couldn''t imagine what it would be like to break a wing.

    He didn''t need the human. He could take care of himself. He told himself that at every scurry in the underbrush, every far off snap of a twig. He was perfectly capable without the human''s assistance. As long as he got back to his mother, he would be fine. She would always take care of him.

    He heard the bubbling of the brook long before he saw it. Still, he quickened his pace, the fur of his belly brushing against the damp soil. He just had a little more to go. Just a little farther and this nightmare would be over.

    Griffins didn''t have acute senses of smell¡ªnothing compared to their hearing or vision, at least. But even Skeea caught the metallic scent of blood before he saw her. No, not her¡ªit couldn''t be his mother. That skinned body next to the red brook had to be a deer. He crept from the undergrowth, staring at the bloody carcass in front of him. Everything else faded into the background. The brook and its dark water, the fresh stench of blood, the noises of the forest all around him.

    It had paws instead of hooves. Very well then, it was an unlucky wolf, its pelt collected by some hunter. Only the fur between its toes was intact, tiny patches of bronze gleaming among the crimson. Skeea drew in on himself and crept around the body.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    They had taken everything. Her beak was gone, leaving only a gaping hole, not even the tongue left. Her eyes had been stolen, now just empty, accusing sockets. Her thin tail had been snipped off, the barest hint of a black stub hanging limply.  There was a long, wide gash along her stomach, and though the last thing he wanted to do was look, he found himself peering into a dark, gaping hole. And her barren back¡ª

    Skeea searched about the clearing, a tight snake coiling in his stomach and sending burning poison up his throat. He found them on the other side of the brook, two pieces of mangled bones and flesh already swarming with flies. Had there been flies around her body too? He didn''t know¡ªhadn''t been looking, hadn''t been able to process. He sat heavily on his haunches and stared down at her wings. They had been stained a dark red, but he could see the ends of the bones that connected them to her body poking out of the plucked flesh. Every trace of her beautiful ivory feathers was gone.

    They had taken everything.

    He should have been here. Should have protected her, done something¡ª

    A sharp keening pierced the silence, and it took a long moment for Skeea to realize he was making that noise. That horrible, pathetic wail. His grief wouldn''t bring her back. His regret wouldn''t change the reality. She was dead. Her body was desecrated. He hadn''t been here. It was his fault.

    He dug his claws into earth black with her blood. It wasn''t his fault. It was the humans¡¯. They had done this. Had done this to more than just his mother¡ªit was why every monster was warned to stay away from them. They destroyed everything, ravaged the world around them, scorned the creatures that also called it home.

    He would kill them. Make the ground black with their blood so they couldn''t hurt anyone else. So that the blood of his mother, crying out to him, would be avenged.

    "Oh..." Skeea tensed and whirled around, wings flaring. It was the female, still covered in dirt and leaves, stumbling out of the foliage. Her wide eyes swept around the clearing, a hand raised to her open mouth, before her gaze landed on Skeea. He expected pity he could scorn or disgust he could despise, but instead they were filled with rage.

    "I''m sorry," she said, voice soft compared to her dark expression. "If I had known what they''d do, I would have stabbed those hunters." She took a deep, shuddering breath, hands balling into fists. "I''m so sorry."

    Skeea didn''t care for her apologies. They sounded too much like his own regret. He screeched at her and beat his wings, tail whipping from side to side. He didn''t want to look at a human right now. He didn''t want to be reminded of this one''s kindness¡ªbecause then he couldn''t hate them all, couldn''t hold on tight to his anger. He screeched at her again, rearing up on his back legs and flexing his claws. She just watched him with sad eyes.

    "I don''t remember my parents," she whispered. Skeea dropped back to the ground and narrowed his eyes. "The first thing I can remember with any clarity is stumbling through the gates of some big, dark city where the people were quicker to spit on you and kick you out of their way than offer a hand to help you up." She sighed and looked away. "I don''t know what it''s like to have a parent, and I don''t know what it''s like to lose one. But I know what it''s like to live without one¡ªand I''m sorry. I''m sorry this happened to your parent, and I''m sorry you''ll have to go on without them. It''s hard to feel like you have no one else to rely on. But¡ª"

    "Well, would ya like at tha'' Theo, tha'' sure looks like a griffin to me. And a little pixie bitch, too! Well, aren''t we just lucky as a gambler with weighted dice." Skeea froze at that scathing voice. The female stiffened. Her hand shot towards the bag slung to rest against her hip, but an arrow pierced through the pack, tearing her to the ground with a strangled cry.

    "I''m losin'' my touch, Gat. Was aimin'' for ''er ''and." One of the hunters stepped out from the woods to the edge of the clearing, bow in hand with another arrow already notched. The female glared at them, shrugging off her bags and slipping a hand inside to pull out her dagger. The hunter¡ªTheo?¡ªinstantly had an arrow trained at her chest. "I wouldn''t do tha'' if I were you, little lady."

    The female sneered at them, grip on the dagger tightening. "What do you want? Haven''t you done enough?"

    The other male, Gat, chuckled, the sound grating and distorted compared to the happy laughter of the girl. "Now ya see, little missy, we got a quota to meet. And sure, one griffin is enough to meet it," the man smiled, sharp and greedy, "but I''m not gonna let a bonus slip through my fingers when it drops right in my lap. And just think of it! If we caught a little fella like this, we could ''ave a lifetime supply of griffin feathers. We''d live like kings!"

    The female was trembling, but her stance screamed in anger, not fear. "You''re despicable," she spat, eyes flashing. "You can¡¯t be out here hunting griffins. That¡¯s illegal. I''ll report you, and you''ll be arrested."

    Theo smirked. "Ya seem to be confused, pixie missy. You''re not leavin'' ''ere in anything less than a crow¡¯s belly." His fingers flexed on the bow. "Besides, ain''t no one care anymore if we out ''ere takin'' down griffins. Don''t ya know? Magic makes the world go round," he sang, teeth bared. The female narrowed her eyes, the scrunch of her nose suggesting faint recognition. Skeea had no idea what the hunter was talking about, but it didn''t matter. All that mattered was that these were the humans that killed his mama. These were the humans that peeled and cut her to pieces and left the scraps to the flies.

    He screeched, the humans flinching back at the sound. He shot forward just as Theo turned, bow taunt. He lunged, claws extended, wings flared. The archer sucked in a sharp breath and released the bowstring. The arrow shot forward, aimed straight for Skeea''s chest.

    The female cried, "No!"

    The arrow¡¯s trajectory snapped toward the ground, its shaft buried deep in the soft soil. One moment it had been flying right for Skeea''s heart, the next it had turned sharply in the air, pulled to the earth like it was drawn there. Skeea landed on top of the archer, claws sinking into his soft flesh. The man screamed, dropping his bow and scrabbling at Skeea''s hide, desperate to get him off. Skeea screeched again, tail lashing against the man''s chest, sharp tail feathers gouging deep lacerations in the flesh. He heard the other man shout and jerk forward to help his companion, but the female appeared in front of him, dagger glinting in her hand as it cut through the air. The other man grunted, stumbling back. Skeea didn''t divert his attention long enough to see if the human''s attack had hit.

    Skeea finished the archer off quickly, burying his beak in the man''s eye and jumping off as the body collapsed to the ground. He whirled around as the female cried out, stumbling back and cradling her arm. The hunter gave her no reprieve, leaning all his weight into a punch to the side of her face. Her head snapped to the side as she spun to the ground.

    Something dark seized Skeea. He jumped over the female as she struggled to push herself up, wings beating at the air. In that moment, he felt it again¡ªthat warmth, that feeling of completion. But this time it stuck.

    The magic inside him sang. He poured it into the air, running it beneath his wings to keep him up and pressing it against the male. The human grunted as he stumbled back under the force, and while his balance was off, Skeea rammed into him, claws raking against his ribs and throwing him to the ground. He scratched the men''s flesh over and over, drops of blood flying with every lift of his paws. Every angry stroke was a mark of bloody retribution.

    When Skeea finally stopped, lungs heaving, fur crimson from the chest down, the male was nothing but torn flesh and scratched bone. Staring at it, Skeea''s throat tightened. His stomach flipped, and he scrambled off the man''s body, ragged breaths tearing at his insides. He had killed in revenge¡ªa duly served death¡ªyet he still felt sick. There was so much blood, the dirt surrounding the man''s body was black. Skeea felt like he was drowning in it.

    He was distantly aware the female had picked herself up. Her steps were heavy, breaths coming in short, measured puffs. She maneuvered over to her bags, grumbling at the arrow through the small one, and slung both over her shoulders.

    Skeea expected her to leave. Why would she stay? She had helped him, healed him, then almost died because of him. Were it the other way around, Skeea would be using his newly accessed magic to fly far, far away. He still should, but it didn''t feel like he could do anything in that moment. Another hunter could come along seeking his parts, and he didn''t think he would be able to react to it.

    The human trudged back over to him. "Hey," she called, voice soft. Skeea tore his gaze to her, eyes wide. Her face was tight in pain, one arm held at an odd angle, the other holding onto her pack. "You good to walk or am I carrying you?"

    Skeea didn''t respond. He didn''t know what his body language was saying¡ªmaybe it wasn''t saying anything at all. Was that even possible? He didn''t know. It wouldn''t matter anyway. Humans couldn''t speak it.

    The female sighed. "Alright then." She adjusted her pack so it wouldn''t slip off her shoulder and knelt down. "Please don''t scratch me," she breathed right before she hoisted him up, hand pressed against his stomach, arm encircling him reassuringly. She inhaled sharply as she stood, a low groan snagging in her throat. She stood there for a moment, probably adjusting to his weight and swallowing back her pain, before she stumbled forward, leaving the clearing behind.

    Skeea stared at the forest floor passing below him slowly. Occasionally, a drop of blood from his fur or tail would drip onto the ferns and soil below him, leaving a trail of red. He didn''t know where the human was going. It didn''t matter. He should fight against her hold, but he didn''t. He just let his paws hang limp, almost brushing the leaves of the ferns, tail trailing listlessly behind him.

    Why did it bother him so much? It shouldn''t¡ªthis was what was bred into him, seared into his mind. Repaying what has been given. Those men had deserved to die. Perhaps it had to do with the knowledge of what they had done to his mother, the sight of her body even now forefront in his mind with such clarity. He doubted it would ever fade.

    Maybe it was because of the contradiction. The need for revenge, the desire to kill all humans¡ªand the need to protect one of them that had shown him kindness. The desire to help all of them that were good. Two repayments that clashed with each other in his mind.

    Maybe he just didn''t like killing.

    The human stopped. He blinked at the ground, still far from himself, unable to care why or where she had stopped. Until he was thrown forward, careening through the air then crashing into water and sinking like a stone. It took him a moment to orient himself and swim back up to the surface. By the time he had, the human had walked down from the ledge she had dropped him from, down toward the shore of the lake. She still held her arm awkwardly, cheek sunken as she bit the inside of her mouth. She motioned him over with a jerk of her head as she waded deeper, water rising up to her knee before she stopped and gingerly sat, moving her injured arm against her chest with a distressed noise, eyes squeezed shut.

    Skeea swam to her. The water was shallow enough where she sat that he could sit in front of her and his head still cleared the lake''s surface. After several deep breaths, the female opened her eyes again and gave him a tight smile. She motioned him closer. "Let''s get you cleaned up, okay?"

    He gave a soft chirp, positioning himself closer to her good arm. She ran her fingers through his fur, teasing the drying blood from the bronze. Skeea let her touch soothe him as she began to speak. ¡°You know, I was pretty afraid of magical creatures for a long time,¡± she said softly. ¡°I ran into some frost lions a couple years back and they almost killed me. They did kill some of the people I was with. I don¡¯t really blame them for it though¡ªthey were only protecting themselves. For the most part anyway. But I still avoided magical creatures during my travels, especially old god creatures. You guys are supposedly more violent than the rest, and I just... I was scared. And I don''t¡¯ know how much of this you really understand, but I¡¯m glad I didn¡¯t let that fear prevent me from helping you.¡±

    Tension he wasn''t even fully aware of bled from his body as she talked and bathed him, He cooed at her when she fell silent, feeling oddly touched, examined their surroundings in the ensuing silence.

    On either side of them and the shore of smooth rocks, the earth rose higher, walling them in on all sides. The trees threw shade as far as they could along the fringes of the smooth water, but the middle glistened in the sunlight, warm and serene. The crystalline water actually rose up from a gaping cave set at the base of the far ledge, and as Skeea watched, he could see the occasional fish dart in and out of the darkness, iridescent against the black.

    The human splashed water into his face, interrupting his nature watching. He scrambled back, squawking and spitting out water. She gave him an innocent look. "Sorry, had to get your face, too."

    Skeea narrowed his eyes and flapped his wings. The human shrieked, drawing back and squeezing her eyes shut, as a wave of water drenched her from head to toe. Skeea gave a short series of chirps in an approximation of a laugh, kneading at the smooth stones beneath his paws. The human huffed, wiping her bangs out of her eyes and glaring at him playfully.

    "No fair," she claimed, pointing at his dripping wings. "You can cheat." She stopped and the smile slowly returned to her face. "But maybe..." She raised a hand and gently pushed a ripple in the lake. Skeea watched, eyes widening, as the ripple quickly built up, a giant mound like the waves of the ocean, and crashed over him, dragging him back out into the depths of the lake. He kicked his way back to the girl before popping his head out of the water and shooting a stream of water at her.

    She grinned at him, hand up to block the assault. "I figured it out," she said softly, eyes shining. "At least, kind of. I think I was trying something out of my league with the leaf. It wasn''t moving at all, but if I work at redirecting energy or building momentum that is already in motion..." She flicked water at him. Skeea shook his head, chirping at her. "Well, I think I''ll be able to dunk you in a bunch more waves." She gazed out over the lake, expression losing its mirth, and it felt like the sun setting. Skeea padded over next to her and sat, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

    "I could sense it," she said, good hand fisting in the cloth of her trousers still dark with dirt and blood. "When you used your magic. It''s different than the magic I just sense coming from you normally. You can fly." She turned to him, smiling sadly, and Skeea hated it. This human was too bright and energetic to be smiling in such a desolate mimicry of the easy expression she usually wore. "Guess that means you''ll be on your way, huh? I figured you''d feel better without all that blood on you, so you¡ª" She swallowed hard, golden gaze slipping to the rippling water between them. "So you have no reason to stick around."

    Skeea tucked his wings close and stared at his paws. He didn''t have a reason to stay. He had avenged his mother''s killers. He had helped the human that helped him. It was done. His debts were paid. He could leave this place behind and never think about it or this female again.

    But he didn''t want to. He liked this human. Besides, she was so obviously clumsy If he didn''t stick around she''d probably trip and fall into a slime and die. But if Skeea were around he could stop something like that. Besides, they could probably help each other with their magic¡ªhe would be great at helping whenever the human felt she couldn''t access her magic or couldn''t get enough or even needed someone to practice her magic against.

    She was alone, like he was now. He could fly off and return to his flock where he''d be taken in by one of the other families and raised in the protection of the mountains¡ªor he could stay with this one. This budding flock. He could help her, and she could help him, and they could both have someone to rely on.

    He sat up straight, rolling his shoulders, and chirped at her. The human glanced at him, waiting for him to leave, the draw of her brow whispering hope she was fighting against. He crept forward, nudging the underside of her arm with his beak until she lifted it, creating a space where he could lay beside her. She stiffened. Skeea could hear her heart hammering.

    "Does this mean you''re staying?" she whispered. Skeea chirped, flicking a wet ear and pressing himself closer to her. She slowly let her arm fall between his wings, tangling her fingers in his fur. "You¡ª" He could hear the grin in her voice. "I have my own pet griffin."

    Skeea gave her a sidelong look, snacking her on the back of her head with his tail. The human giggled, stroking the thicker fur of his neck. "Okay, I won''t call you a pet. At least when you''re around." She stopped and climbed to her feet. She swayed for a moment, Skeea scrambling up and pressing himself against her leg to help stabilize her. She smiled down at him, tired and pained but also so happy. "You know, we were never properly introduced. I''m Wanily."

    He held his head high and squawked his name at her. "Skeea!"

    She blinked at him. "Riiiight." She pressed her lips together, and Skeea didn''t like the spark in her eye. "Well, I don''t speak griffin. So I''ll call you..." She pursed her lips as she thought. Suddenly, she grinned. "Fluffy."

    Skeea squawked in indignation, bumping her leg with his shoulder. He forgot why that was a bad idea until she leaned precariously to the side, very nearly losing her footing on the stone beneath their feet. She laughed even as she stumbled back to the shore, water splashing with every step, together the sounds forming a happy melody. "Okay, okay, you don''t like Fluffy. The pet of the great Archmage will need a way cooler name anyhow. How about Bion? You know, like lion and bird slammed together. I guess, Lird could work too, but that one just sounds weird. Or how about¡ª" She stopped suddenly and turned her head ever so slightly to look back at him. For once, Skeea couldn''t quite decipher the look in her eye. "How do you feel about Ekostapholles? Eko the Griffin. Oh, oh, Eko the Effervescent? Eko the Efficacious." She wiggled her eyebrows at him. Skeea snorted, a sharp whistling sound through the holes of his beak. The name... wasn''t atrocious. He chirped at her.

    "Eko it is, then." She took another step only for her knee to buckle under her weight. Eko instantly called on his magic, flapping his wings and using the air to steady him as shoved his head under the human''s arm. She fumbled to get her legs to cooperate with her, putting her weight against him with her arm slung around his neck. Eko struggled to remain aloft, but he wouldn''t let his human down now.

    She tried another step, leaning against him heavily, and didn''t fall this time, at least. Her breaths shuddered, and Eko could feel every one against his side.

    "You know," Wanily began, voice tight, words slurring slightly. "I''m pretty glad you stayed. I''m not really sure I would have been able to make it back to our camp on my own. No, not that way, you weren''t paying attention¡ªthis way. Anyway, there''s still some of that potion left to get my arm patched up, but I didn''t exactly have time to bring it. Don''t know about that punch though. Amera, that hurt. I think he gave me a concussion, if this nausea and lack of balance is anything to go by. I''ll let you know if I think I''m gonna throw up. Wouldn¡¯t want to undo all my hard work."

    Eko chirped in alarm, wrapping his tail around her back. It was more difficult when they began walking back through the woods proper. He was already going slowly for her, now he had to curl the tips of his wings up so they wouldn''t hit the trunks of the trees. His magic felt strained trying to keep him up, like an overworked muscle. But he could do this, and he would do this. She was his flock now, and the flock always supported the weak until they could fly.

 Chapter 17: Note by Note--Part I

    (669 A.C.)

    It was a lovely day to be kidnapped, Ott thought.

    He didn¡¯t particularly want to be kidnapped, mind. In fact, he was rather enjoying the sunny spring day as he sat beneath an oak tree and strummed a mellow melody on his lute. The tree, he noticed, was brimming with buds, ready to burst to life with green leaves. He sighed lightly to himself as a breeze swept by, still carrying a light chill from the winter that had broken just a few weeks before. Somewhere in the branches above him, a bird was singing sweetly, and Ott adjusted his own playing to match its tune.

    Before him, the rolling expanse of Telldor¡¯s plains stretched out as far as the eye could see. Further out, he knew there was the great Birellei river cutting through the country, but it was too far for Ott to see from his seat. There was only the grass kept cropped by herds of gazelle and zebra and other grazers--though there were none in sight--and the massive hydra roaming the plain in the distance.

    Ott observed it idly. He had traveled through Telldor and Axelen enough to be familiar with the monsters, though he made it a point to never get too close. They mostly ignored humans from what stories Ott had heard, but he didn¡¯t want to risk being an exclusion to that.

    Not many details could be made out about the hydra, as far away as Ott was, but the beast was so massive that even a couple miles out, Ott could clearly make out each of its three heads moving and twisting about themselves on its long necks. Frills rose up and down like waves atop its heads and down to about halfway along the back of its neck. Its body, so far down from where its necks stretched, was rotund and set atop six squat legs. Ott watched as it seemed to walk in slow motion, two of its legs rising so slowly while two others moved forward, and the last two kept it standing.

    Off several miles to the west, a small settlement of stone and brick buildings was nestled among the plains. Ott had just come from there, a place far enough out from the hydra¡¯s territory to be safe. They had warned him of the dangers of the road ahead, and Ott had kindly thanked them before strutting away.

    He had spotted the hill and tree atop it from the road leading out of the town that morning, and, figuring it was as good a place as any, headed toward it. Now, he lounged and played his lute and pretended he didn¡¯t hear the quiet crunch of footsteps approaching.

    He paused to toss his head back and run a hand through his brown locks. In the break in his music, he heard the footsteps grind to a halt just a few paces behind him.

    Sighing, he carefully set his lute aside and twisted around, a crooked smile already in place. ¡°Hello there.¡±

    The man that had been approaching him froze. He was fairly nondescript, all things considered, with a poof of black hair, dusty clothes fit for a farmer or similar order of peasant, and a dagger clenched in one hand. He had a cloth covering the lower half of his face in what was no doubt a half-hearted attempt to hide his identity. A short sword hung from his hip, and there was a small bag resting on his back.

    Ott stood, resting one arm on the tree and letting his weight lean against it. ¡°Let me guess,¡± he continued, ¡°you¡¯re with the bandits plaguing this neck of the woods?¡±

    The man tossed his dagger to his other hand and drew his short sword in a manner that was probably supposed to be intimidating. Ott just raised an eyebrow. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± the man said.

    ¡°And is this the part where I hand over all my valuables?¡± Ott asked, inspecting his nails on his free hand. ¡°Or is this the part where you gut me like a fish?¡±

    ¡°Are you stupid or something?¡± the man demanded, brandishing his blades like Ott hadn¡¯t noticed them.

    Before the man could say anything else, Ott grinned and stood up straight, hands shoved in his pockets. ¡°Eh, maybe a little. Makes this go much more smoothly though, huh?¡±

    ¡°Well, if you¡¯re so eager to make this easy,¡± the man sneered, ¡°you¡¯re going to do exactly what I say, and I don¡¯t want no more mouthing off.¡±

    Ott brought the back of his hand up to his forehead, turning his face away slightly. ¡°Oh please, Mr. Bandit, sir, don¡¯t hurt me! Of course I¡¯ll do whatever you want.¡±

    ¡°What the fuck is wrong with you?¡± the man demanded. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be shaking in your boots right now! You¡¯re about to be kidnapped!¡±

    Ott gazed at the man from the corner of his eye, still grinning. ¡°And what a lovely day for it, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    The man glared at him and did not respond. Without tearing his eyes away from Ott, he shoved his dagger into a sheath on his thigh and used his newly freed hand to reach into the sack on his back. From its short depths he pulled out a length of rope.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to bind your hands--¡±

    ¡°Kinky.¡±

    The man turned the same shade of red as a tomato. ¡°Shuddup!¡± he barked, though Ott couldn¡¯t tell if he was angry or embarrassed. Probably both. ¡°I¡¯m going to bind your hands and you¡¯re going to follow me or I¡¯ll--¡±

    ¡°Gut me like a fish?¡± Ott drawled, taking a wild guess.

    The man¡¯s mouth shut with an audible click of his teeth. He stepped closer, gesturing with his sword for Ott to hold out his hands. Ott smirked as he complied, and though he didn¡¯t say anything, the bandit sneered at him. ¡°I told you to shuddup.¡±

    Ott just batted his eyes at him, the picture of innocence.

    He heard the bandit distinctly grumble, ¡°Fucking bards.¡± Then, he closed the distance between them, tucking his sword back in its sheath and making short work of tying Ott¡¯s hands together. Ott let it happen without so much as a peep. He was almost surprised the bandit figured out he was a bard, but, well, he wasn¡¯t exactly trying to be subtle about it either.

    Once the bandit was done, Ott inspected the knot. It was tight enough for the rope to dig into his wrists uncomfortably, and he imagined it wouldn¡¯t take long at all for it to rub the skin raw. He experimentally moved to pull his hands apart, but the knot held strong.

    The bandit left about three feet of rope dangling from the knot and kept his grip on the end as he stepped away from Ott. ¡°You¡¯ll follow me,¡± he said lowly, ¡°and you will be silent. Else, I figure slaves only need their hands, not their tongues.¡±

    That confirmed what the townspeople had told him--these bandits were out here grabbing lonely travelers and forcing them to work. Or just selling them off to the highest bidder? That remained to be seen, but Ott figured he could find out.

    He held up his bound hands, one finger extended up. ¡°Just one last thing,¡± he said, giving a charming smile. ¡°I¡¯d hate to leave my prized lute behind.¡±

    ¡°Why? You ain¡¯t gonna need it where you¡¯re going.¡±

    ¡°Naturally,¡± Ot allowed. ¡°But, your buyers might like to own their very own songbird, right? Someone who can serenade them as they kill babies and eat their flesh or... whatever it is slave-owners like to do in their free time.¡±

    The bandit tugged on the rope, and Ott stumbled forward despite expecting it. ¡°Not a chance. You think you¡¯re worth enough to be sold? No, you¡¯ll be working for all your worth in the mines, songbird.¡±

    The bandit turned on his heel then, starting down the other side of the hill. Ott was given one last chance to glance back at the grassy expanse of Telldor and its hydra before he was forced to follow his captor or risk falling.

    Well. That was step one down. He really needed to stop losing his lutes like this, though. Those things didn¡¯t come cheap.

    <hr>

    They had been close to the border with Dryan when Ott¡¯s bandit friend captured him, and by the time night was falling, they were square in rugged forest terrain. As there were no major forests like this in Telldor, that meant they¡¯d crossed the border and were now in the jurisdiction of Dryan and the Empire. It was probably the only thing protecting the bandit¡¯s operations--Fris to Telldor¡¯s east had finally been annexed by the Tirandan Empire not five years back after nearly a decade of bitter conflict. Ott doubted Telldor wanted to draw the Empire¡¯s eye next by sending a military force into one of its territories, even if it was to take down some bandits. Dryan--and the Empire as a whole, for that matter--probably wouldn¡¯t bat an eye at any such operations happening in their borders. The Empire¡¯s official stance on slavery, as far as Ott knew, was that it was inhumane. But if other people wanted to do it, who were they to stop them?

    Ott supposed he couldn¡¯t blame Tiranda and its Empire for their inaction. But he absolutely could blame them for the way they washed their hands clean of it while simultaneously encouraging it without saying they were encouraging it. After all, money could do all their talking for them.

    In any case, it was well and truly dark by the time they reached the bandit encampment. The camp itself was equipped with the typical things Ott had come to associate with operations like this. Large, spiked walls carved from long logs that surrounded a passably circular area in the forest. Ott¡¯s bandit friend called to those on duty watching their crude gate, and one of the women on the walkway running along the top of the wall shouted back in acknowledgement. It didn¡¯t take long for the bandits to have the gate open and for Ott to be dragged inside.

    The area the bandits had cleared out for their camp was fairly large. With the number of people--who were unarmed, shoulders hunched, and head bows, so decidedly not bandits--sitting or laying on the ground, the space was a little cramped, but there was certainly room for many more. From a quick scan, he noted the chains around their feet and how some, presumably the trouble-makers, also had rope binding their hands.

    The captured people were split into groups, creating narrow paths between them for the bandits to walk. At first glance, Ott thought the groups were random and made just for the sake of creating room for the bandits to move about the camp. He quickly realized, however, that they were split by hair color. Heads of black were situated towards the back, just in front of a squat wooden building that presumably housed whatever operation the bandits needed such a workforce for. Those sporting brown sat in front of them, then the blondes, and anyone of higher color more towards the middle of the clearing. Ott thought it was quite the choice to put the mages closer to the gate of the encampment, but then, they were still plenty far from the exit, with a group of bandits around a bonfire added between them to deter any would-be escapees. Besides that, the highest hair color Ott even saw was silver, and that belonged to a couple of the bandits.

    At least they were smart enough not to drag real mages into their business. So close to Fris, it could be a gamble to take anyone of a hair color higher than green or white. Old mages didn¡¯t need the same help to cast magic, after all. Not that there were many of those anymore, but better to be safe than sorry, Ott mused.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    A tall watchtower stood next to the building, with a flat roof and two windows on each face of each level. Looking at it, Ott guessed there were probably three stories to the structure, and it was narrow, likely not big enough to act as a barracks for the bandits.

    The bandit leading Ott yanked on his lead, causing Ott to stumble and pick up his pace. He brought Ott toward the bonfire whose enjoyers were likely higher ranking members of the bandit camp. Ott cast a glance behind him to see what they used to open and close the gate and balked at what he saw. He expected to find some of the captured people being forced to pull and push the lashed-together logs, or maybe even some type of mechanism that could be manned by one of the bandits. He did not, for even one instant, think he¡¯d see two hulking werewolves pressing their shoulders into the two sides of the gate to close it, supervised by another bandit with long silver hair and a sword that glowed a faint blue in the darkness. Enchanted.

    Ott couldn¡¯t help but stop for a moment, shocked. The werewolves, despite it being night when they should be at their most hostile, appeared perfectly cowed and obedient as they shoved the gate back into place.

    The only werewolf Ott had ever seen before had been just a rotting body. As disturbing as it had been while dead, he decided living ones were far more intimidating. Like many of the new god creatures, they walked on two legs and could conceivably be called humanoid. However, with the thick, dark fur covering every inch of their disturbingly muscular bodies, the tail that protruded from their backsides, and the wolf head sitting atop their shoulders, it was just non-human enough to make Ott shudder.

    The silver-haired woman with the enchanted sword brought her free hand to her mouth and whistled. Ott wasn¡¯t sure it was supposed to mean anything until one of the bandits on the wall walk reached down with a spear and stabbed at the closer werewolf. The beast, standing at least seven feet tall, could have reached up and slashed at the bandit with its wicked claws, but it only let out a whine and reached forward to drop the heavy, wooden bar meant to keep the gate shut.

    The werewolves had thick metal collars around their necks, but no chains that Ott could see. Still, they did not lash out at the bandits, and when the gate was locked up tight, the silver-haired woman--who Ott would bet anything was the bandit leader--marched right up to them. The monsters trained their red eyes on her, but instead of attacking her the moment she was within reach, they lowered themselves to their knees. The woman, from what Ott could see in the low light, smiled. She patted them on their heads with her free hand, one then the other.

    That was all Ott saw of the exchange before his lead was yanked on once again. He found himself stumbling forward again, but this time he wasn¡¯t quite able to right himself. With a grunt, he landed on his knees and forearms in the dirt. Laughter sounded from around the bonfire as well as closer, from the bandit that had captured him.

    Ott had far too much practice with this to scowl. Instead, he chuckled, too, and sat up, his knees still digging into the packed earth. ¡°That was hardly necessary, don¡¯t you think?¡± he said, smiling up at his captor.

    The bandit¡¯s mirth evaporated. His lip curled. ¡°Esseli,¡± he called, tearing his gaze away from Ott to some point behind him. Where the werewolves and their master were, no doubt. ¡°What do you think of this one?¡±

    Only years of finding himself in less than favorable situations kept Ott from gulping or trembling. He didn¡¯t twist to look at the bandit leader or her pets as she spoke, ¡°Let¡¯s see the fucker, then.¡±

    The bandit pulled on Ott¡¯s lead, sending a sharp pain through his raw wrists. Ott grunted and obediently stood, finally turning to properly face the woman. She had looked tiny when at a distance and next to the werewolves, but when she sheathed her sword and stepped up to him, Ott had to tilt his head back to look her in the eye.

    She grunted as she scrutinized him. One hand shot out, gripping his cheeks and forcing his lips open as she examined his teeth. This close, Ott couldn¡¯t help but notice her eyes were a dark honey brown that matched her skin, directly contrasting with her pale hair. ¡°Looks to be in good enough health,¡± she commented. She released his face and instead tugged on his bound hands, gaze trailing down from his shoulder all the way to his palms. ¡°Not very muscular, but there are calluses on his hands.¡±

    ¡°Bastard had a lute with him,¡± the bandit said.

    This was the point at which Ott would usually make some quip about Esseli being handsy, but one look past her to where the werewolves were staring at him made him think twice about it. Then, one of them licked its chops, red eyes seeming to glow, and Ott decided against it altogether.

    ¡°A bard?¡± Esseli smirked, tilting her head as she caught Ott¡¯s gaze. ¡°Don¡¯t imagine that tongue of yours is good for anything other than pretty words, is it?¡± She gripped him around his bindings, squeezing hard enough to make him flinch. ¡°Or those fingers skilled in playing something other than strings?¡±

    Ott chuckled, doing his best not to show his discomfort. It was hardly the first time something like this had happened, but that didn¡¯t make the hungry way Esseli was looking at him any better. Still, he had a part to play. ¡°I don¡¯t make a habit of sleeping with my captors, sorry. Though, if you were to--I don¡¯t know--cut me free and let me go in the morning, I don¡¯t see why we couldn¡¯t have some fun in the meantime.¡±

    Esseli¡¯s smirk turned to a small, tight-lipped smile. ¡°You bards are all the same,¡± she said softly. ¡°Think you can spill some honeyed words, spread your legs, and get out of any trouble you find yourselves in.¡± She released his wrists and patted him on the cheek. ¡°You were almost right this time. You were handsome--up to the point you opened your mouth.¡±

    Esseli stepped back, raking her eyes up and down his form. ¡°He won¡¯t last long,¡± she said, and Ott was almost offended at how casual it was. ¡°Put him with the mages.¡±

    Ott didn¡¯t turn to look, but he could hear the frown in the voice of the bandit still holding his lead. ¡°But he¡¯s a plain.¡±

    ¡°Do you get paid to talk back to me?¡± Esseli asked, looking at her underling over Ott¡¯s head and arching an eyebrow. ¡°Or do I pay you to follow fucking orders?¡±

    ¡°I just meant--¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a bard, Freun,¡± she interrupted, resting one hand on her hip. Ott couldn¡¯t help but notice one of the werewolves licked its lips again. ¡°I don¡¯t believe that tuft of brown hair for an instant. But if he was a capable enough mage to fight you off, he probably would have. You¡¯re lucky I don¡¯t just slit his throat and yours for bringing in someone who has obviously dyed their hair to appear more unassuming.¡± She grinned, all teeth like a pixie, and Ott couldn¡¯t help the way his eyes widened slightly. ¡°So put him with the mages. I¡¯m making you personally responsible for him. If anything happens, I¡¯ll cut off your dick and feed it to Hush and Shush. Are we done here?¡±

    Ott could hear Freun swallow hard behind him. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Her gaze flicked down to Ott. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re playing at, bard,¡± she said lowly, ¡°but I don¡¯t underestimate mages in my care. Especially not ones I don¡¯t know the capabilities of. So just remember: werewolf jaws rip through the flesh of mages just as easy as anyone else¡¯s.¡±

    Despite himself, Ott glanced at the werewolves again--Hush and Shush. Their red eyes bored into him, unwavering.

    Ott repressed the urge to gulp and instead gave Esseli a dazzling smile. ¡°I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll win you over yet,¡± he crooned. He began to sing, ¡°For the love of a fool is his life, and the life of a fool is his love, so I--¡±

    ¡°No, no,¡± Esseli said, shaking her head. At least she seemed amused and not irritated. Though, Ott was having a hard time reading her, which was really mucking up his plans. Usually, bandit leaders were hardly this intimidating or discerning. ¡°No singing.¡± She nodded to Freun, then. ¡°Take him away.¡±

    ¡°Come on, songbird,¡± Freun said, already moving toward the other prisoners. Ott was forced to spin on his heel and follow or risk falling again. When they were out of earshot of Esseli, Ott was just able to catch Freun mutter, ¡°Fucking bitch.¡±

    He brought Ott past the bonfire and over to the group of mage prisoners. The lot was significantly smaller than the others, with probably only a dozen people and all of them only heads of lime green or startling white. Freun shouted toward another bandit near the building in the back of the clearing, and then disappeared inside. Ott tried to catch a glimpse past the open doorway, but he didn¡¯t have enough luck to make out anything distinct. The bandits were probably just keeping their supplies inside and maybe the entrance to the mine they kept talking about. His assumption seemed true enough as the other bandit returned, shackles gripped in his hands.

    Freun snatched the shackles from the other bandit the moment he was within reach. He wasted no time stooping down to lock them onto Ott¡¯s ankles. When he was done, he straightened and stepped behind Ott, giving him a non-too-light shove toward the huddle of mages.

    ¡°Best get some sleep. The only rest you¡¯ll see after tonight is when you¡¯re dead,¡± Freun said.

    He started to leave, and Ott quickly spun to face him. ¡°My hands?¡± he called, holding them out in front of him.

    Freun ignored him, marching away to climb up a ladder to the wall walk. Ott huffed, watching him meet up with a small group of other bandits and not glancing toward Ott or any of the prisoners at all.

    Nothing could ever be easy. Grumbling, Ott turned back around and shuffled closer to the small group of mages. Most of them ignored him as they laid curled up on their sides and tried to sleep, or maybe they were actually asleep. The only exception to this was a teenage girl with green hair and golden eyes sitting toward the middle of the group who, like Ott, had her hands bound with rope as well as her feet shackled together. Ott couldn¡¯t help but notice the dark bruise around her left eye when she looked at him, but instead of the scowl or quick look away that Ott was expecting, she smiled at him.

    It was as good a place as any to start. Ott picked his way through the group until he reached a bare spot of earth next to the girl and sat down.

    She glanced up at his hair when he settled beside her, her brow furrowing. ¡°Why¡¯d they stick you over here?¡±

    Ott gave the girl an easy smile. Hopefully, she would prove to be an ally to him in the days to come, but Ott didn¡¯t know if that was true yet. For now, she was just a smiling face among the downtrodden, and Ott would try to get a read of her and the overall situation through her, if he could.

    ¡°They think I know magic because I¡¯m a bard,¡± he answered, omitting anything that could be construed as truth or a lie.

    The girl frowned. ¡°But... your hair is brown.¡± Ott shrugged, and she reached forward her bound hands, opening them up as much as possible. ¡°Well, I¡¯m Wanily.¡±

    Despite how he was still bound too, Ot reached out and shook her hand. ¡°Charmed. I¡¯m Ott.¡±

    She took her hands back, letting them fall into her lap with a sigh. ¡°I¡¯ve never met a bard before. Well, I mean, I¡¯ve seen a couple while traveling, but I¡¯ve never sat down and talked to one.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± Ott grinned. ¡°You¡¯re in luck then, Wanily, ¡®cause you¡¯re talking to the greatest bard to ever set foot in the West. Or the East for that matter.¡±

    ¡°So... the greatest bard anywhere?¡±

    ¡°Well, you see, there¡¯s this little uninhabited island off the southern tip of Fris that I¡¯ve never been to. Can¡¯t call myself the greatest bard to ever set foot there if I¡¯ve never been, right?¡±

    Wanily snorted. ¡°I¡¯ve been to a lot of places,¡± she said. ¡°If you¡¯re the greatest bard, why haven¡¯t I heard of you before?¡±

    Ott held up his hands, raising one finger. ¡°Ah, that would be because the world doesn¡¯t know I¡¯m the greatest bard. Yet.¡±

    Ott expected Wanily to laugh or roll her eyes or otherwise cajole him, but instead, she nodded sagely. ¡°I¡¯m going to be the greatest mage in the world one day,¡± she said. ¡°The Archmage. I just need to get out of this place first.¡±

    Now that was what Ott liked to hear. Not the Archmage part--though he wouldn¡¯t dismiss Wanily¡¯s dreams out of hand--but the escaping part. Ott appraised her. ¡°Is that how you got that?¡± he said, gesturing to her eye.

    She huffed. ¡°I almost got out, too,¡± she said. ¡°But I couldn¡¯t leave--¡±

    She cut herself off. Ott arched a brow at her, but she didn¡¯t meet his gaze. ¡°You got a friend in here, too?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Something like that,¡± she muttered. ¡°Anyway, I couldn¡¯t leave him, and I didn¡¯t manage to get him free in time.¡± She scowled. ¡°And none of the other people even tried to help me. Not even when they could have escaped, too.¡±

    Casting his gaze around the bandit camp once more, Ott could believe it. The mages around them ignored them, curled up into balls as they were and shivering under each sweeping breeze that cut through the camp. The plains behind them similarly sat staring at their hands in their laps or laying on their sides.

    Ott had only seen it only a few times before, but it was enough times to be familiar with the hopelessness prevailing through the camp. He even figured he probably knew the cause. The Dryans likely didn¡¯t care about a slave operation, especially not if whatever the prisoners were mining here benefited them somehow. Double especially if the bandits weren¡¯t capturing anyone from inside Dryan¡¯s borders. Telldor and Yve, the nearest nations other than Fris, wouldn¡¯t risk sending forces into Dryan, even to rescue their citizens. And Fris had bigger problems with the Empire right now than a few of their citizens captured by bandits inside their neighbor¡¯s borders.

    No one was coming to save these people. And from what little Ott had seen of Esseli, she was going to make it nearly impossible to save themselves. It was a hopeless situation, and most of these people knew it.

    Wanily, though--she had tried to escape, failed, and she still didn¡¯t seem half as beaten down as the other prisoners.

    It was the most Ott could ask for under the circumstances. ¡°Oh, we¡¯re going to escape, alright,¡± Ott whispered, grinning. ¡°We¡¯re all going to escape.¡±

 Chapter 18: Disharmony--Part II

    (669 A.C.)

    Ott shared hushed conversation with Wanily for a while longer--until one of the bandits shouted at them to shut up. Ott, not eager to find out what the consequences were for breaking the unspoken curfew, bid Wanily goodnight and laid down. It took some time for him to fall asleep though, as his thoughts were preoccupied by his curious new companion and his burgeoning plans.

    He asked her how she had gotten captured, and she told him about how she had been traveling with her friend through Telldor about a week ago when they were jumped by some of the bandits. They tried to fight the bandits off, but there were too many of them. Wanily had watched the bandits bind her friend, and when she had started struggling again, the bandits knocked her out. She woke up in the bandit camp, and during the time she¡¯d been working in the mines, she developed a rudimentary escape plan.

    That was when she got dodgy with the details of the plan and what had caused it to fail, only saying that she hadn¡¯t been able to get her friend free before she was spotted. Ott allowed it, chalking it up to a wounded sense of pride or something of that nature.

    He asked how a Nanshee girl ended up in Telldor, and she had the boldness to look him in the eye and say she wasn¡¯t from Nanshee. Which--some women traveled to Nanshee just to give birth to a child with golden eyes, so maybe Wanily considered herself just born in Nanshee, not from there. But then, when he asked where her parents were, she huffed and said she didn¡¯t remember them. She was out traveling the world on her own, with just her friend at her side for the last year or so. They were helping each other learn magic, she said. She would be the Archmage, she said.

    Ott didn¡¯t know how that worked, the helping each other learn magic bit. New magic was the kind of thing you memorized or otherwise learned from books or a teacher. Not the kind of thing you could wander around and learn by happenstance. But Wanily had green hair--something she was doing had to be working.

    She then told him that her friend was being kept in the mines. A lot of the prisoners were kept down there, apparently. The bandits tended to swap people out, splitting them into day and night shifts, and Ott just hoped that he and Wanily would be kept on the same shift. It would make scheming together much easier.

    That was about the time that they were interrupted. ¡°We¡¯ll get your friend out, too,¡± Ott had promised, whispering as they had the whole time they¡¯d been conversing. ¡°Just get some rest for now.¡±

    Wanily had nodded and settled down to sleep. Ott had followed suit after risking a few extra minutes observing the bandits, trying to get a feel for the cliques, the hierarchy, the overall social order in the camp. He didn¡¯t get much to go off of in such a short time, but he noticed that there were several small groups around the camp and one large group around the still-raging bonfire. His bandit captor, Freun, stuck with one of the smaller groups along the wall walk, smoking something and making quiet conversation. The large group around the bonfire drank what was undoubtedly booze and ate meat they¡¯d roasted over the fire, lips smacking loudly between bites and voices climbing over each other to be heard. Esseli sat at the head of this group, smirking as she talked to anyone that addressed her and her glowing sword laid across her lap. Ott had noticed her hands were conspicuously empty of any drink.

    There were other bandits, too, patrolling the wall walk in duos or standing guard around the prisoners. The building in the back or its watchtower must have acted as a barrack, too, as Ott hadn¡¯t seen any of the bandits sleeping out here. They definitely weren''t big enough to house all the people that Ott saw, so the group had to count on at least half of their people being awake and out while the rest slept. Or maybe there was more room for them down in the mines they¡¯d mentioned. He would find out soon enough.

    He had finally laid down after that, drifting to sleep listening to his captors drink and be merry. He tried not to think about the werewolves hunched by the gate to the camp, guarding their only means of escape and eyes glowing red in the darkness.

    <hr>

    When morning came, Ott was awake even before he heard the footsteps approaching him from behind. He rolled over just in time--instead of getting kicked in the relatively fleshy shield of his back, a heavy boot connected square with his sternum! Ott groaned, curling up into a tighter ball and peeked up at the bandit that kicked him. Freun stared down at him, lip curled.

    ¡°What¡¯d you do that for?¡± Freun asked, distinctly unimpressed.

    Winded, Ott grinned. ¡°Helps get the blood flowing,¡± he wheezed. ¡°To certain places, if you get my drift.¡±

    Freun, who at first looked like he was readying himself to lash out again, suddenly backed up a step. He scowled, hawking before he spat on Ott¡¯s cheek. Ott grimaced, sitting up and swiping the glob of saliva from his face.

    ¡°Shut the fuck up,¡± Freun snarled. ¡°I don¡¯t want to listen to your shitty jokes today.¡±

    Ott held up one finger with every intent of saying, you¡¯re in luck because all of my jokes are golden, but a voice sounded from behind him. ¡°You can¡¯t treat him like that.¡±

    Ott froze, watching as Freun¡¯s attention slid from him to the--apparently stupid--teenager behind him. ¡°What the fuck did you say to me?¡± Freun said. He moved past Ott, and Ott twisted around, grabbing Freun by the leg of his trousers just as he brought his foot back for a kick. Wanily stared up defiantly, kneeling on the ground and her bound hands clenched in her lap.

    Freun whirled back on Ott. Good. Better his ire remain on Ott than on Wanily. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me,¡± he snapped, yanking his leg back. Ott halfway expected a blow to come his way, but Freun just backed away again. ¡°More trouble than you¡¯re worth,¡± he muttered. ¡°Should¡¯ve just slit your throat and took your valuables.¡± He kicked Ott¡¯s leg, not too rough but hardly gentle. ¡°Come on, boss wants to see you.¡±

    Uh oh. That couldn¡¯t be good, but Ott hardly had a choice in the matter. He climbed to his feet, groaning softly at the dull aches in his body from laying on the packed earth of the camp. Freun didn¡¯t give him a moment of reprieve, though, snatching his lead and marching toward the entrance to the watchtower. Ott was forced to rush after him or risk falling.

    He glanced back at Wanily. She remained on her knees, bottom resting against her heels, and watched him go with no small amount of concern. As touching as that was, he was going to have a little dialogue with her when he got back. She couldn¡¯t be going around antagonizing their captors if she wanted to escape attention--or escape at all.

    Ott cast a furtive look around the camp as Freun led him along. There were fewer bandits standing guard around the clearing. Were the others out looking for more bodies to add to their operation or just resting during the daylight when any escape attempts would be more foolhardy? Possibly both.

    An escape attempt during the day might prove easier then, especially when Ott spotted only one werewolf by the gate of the encampment. It was curled up on its side, slumbering away. In theory, even if it were awake, it would be less vicious than if it were night. At the same time, Ott had never seen tamed werewolves before--he had no idea if the time of day or night even made a difference to them anymore.

    While Ott was dragged to the watchtower, a few bandits came out of the adjoined building and began shouting at the other prisoners. The prisoners roused themselves quickly, climbing to their feet and keeping their heads bowed. Any that didn¡¯t stand fast enough were given a swift kick to the ribs, and if that didn¡¯t get them up, they were pulled to their feet by their hair.

    Most of them were directed into the building in a single file line under the sharp-eyed supervision of the bandits. Only a few of the prisoners were brought to the gate, chaperoned by a handful of bandits. One of the bandits distributed small sacks to the prisoners while the werewolf got up and pulled open the left side of the gate.

    Wanily had been part of the first group. Ott noted that none of the prisoners being led out the camp had their hands bound. That was all he was able to see, however, before he stepped into the watchtower and Freun closed the door behind him.

    There were a couple of windows on the bottom floor of the tower, but it was still much darker inside than out in the burgeoning morning. Ott blinked as his eyes adjusted. There were a few bedrolls laid out around the room, but only one of them was occupied by a snoring bandit. To the right, there was a staircase leading up to the next floor and a doorway that led into the other building, allowing Ott a glimpse inside.

    Mining equipment hung on every inch of the walls, ranging from pickaxes to lanterns to hammers. The line of prisoners inside shuffled forward slowly, one by one packing onto a platform sectioned off with some railing. A lever sat next to the platform with a bandit watching over it. The elevator down to the mine, Ott surmised.

    He didn¡¯t spot Wanily, but as she was part of the group farthest from the building, she would probably be one of the last inside. Still, Ott noticed that any of the people with their hands bound had them freed right before they were pushed to stand on the platform. He tried to commit the faces of those ones to memory--troublemakers like them would make good allies in the days to come.

    Freun shoved Ott toward the staircase. ¡°Go on, then,¡± Freun snarled. ¡°Boss doesn¡¯t like to be kept waiting.¡±

    Ott eyed the staircase before easing his weight onto the first step. He didn¡¯t trust anything built by a bunch of bandits, but though the wood squeaked, it held the pressure without bowing more than a fraction of an inch. Grimacing more on principle than anything, Ott continued up.

    Freun followed him up to the second floor, which, much like the first, had bedrolls strewn about the room and not much else. Most of these ones were filled with slumbering bandits, and when Ott stopped on the landing to the level, Freun pushed his shoulder.

    Ott grumbled but kept going up. At the top of the staircase, a closed door waited for them. Freun, on the step just below Ott, leaned past him to knock on it.

    ¡°Acknowledged. Leave us, Freun,¡± came Esseli¡¯s voice from inside the room.

    Freun grunted and turned to clomp back down the stairs. Ott considered his options of waiting for Esseli or trying to run down the stairs past Freun and two rooms of sleeping bandits--in other words, his options were none. So he stood outside the door until Esseli finally opened it.

    She smiled at him the moment their gazes met, dressed in a simple, white wrap that barely kept her decent. Though, Ott had the inkling that the idea was to be indecent.

    ¡°So good to see you,¡± she practically purred. ¡°Tell me, what¡¯s your name?¡±

    Ott threw on a charming smile of his own. He imagined for a second that it was just as lifeless as hers, but then, he was the much better actor. ¡°Ott, bard extraordinaire, at your service.¡±

    Her smile shifted to a smirk as she hummed. She opened the door more fully and motioned him inside. ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll be at my service, alright.¡±

    Ott carefully kept his smile from souring to a grimace. He chuckled, stepping past Esseli and sweeping his gaze around the room. All in all, it was rather homey. There was a four post bed shoved into the corner equipped with blankets and pillows. The windows on each wall were framed by thick curtains, tied back at the moment to allow sunlight to pour inside. Between the windows, there was a wardrobe, a weapon rack, a desk and vanity, and just next to the open doorway, a werewolf curled up.

    Its ear twitched when Ott set his foot next to its massive head, but it otherwise didn¡¯t stir. Ott gulped and hurried past it into the open middle of the room.

    Esseli laughed. She closed the door and knelt down to rub the werewolf right between its ears. Its red eyes cracked open, and the tip of its tail wriggled. ¡°There¡¯s no need to be scared, right, Hush? So long as your mama doesn¡¯t give you the order, you don¡¯t attack.¡±

    Ott watched the two warily. Esseli gave Hush one last pat before standing, cocking her hip and resting her hand on it.

    Ott forced himself to relax and nodded to Hush. ¡°How¡¯d you manage that? I know of a very short roster of monsters that can be tamed, and werewolves don¡¯t tend to fall under that.¡±

    Esseli laughed. She strutted over to her weapon rack and tapped the hilt of her glowing sword where it rested between a longbow and a mace. ¡°Oh, I think you¡¯ll find with a harsh enough strike followed by a kind enough caress, most beasts can be made to heel.¡±

    She smiled, as beautiful as it was dangerous. ¡°You don¡¯t know who I am, do you, Ott?¡±

    Ott felt his own smile dim despite himself. He glanced about the room once again, noting the fine furniture and amenities, the general neatness, the weapons, and the werewolf. When he met Esseli¡¯s gaze again, something clicked. ¡°You were part of the army, weren¡¯t you? For the Empire when they were at war with Fris.¡±

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Esseli grinned like a pixie that caught a rat. ¡°So close, little bard,¡± she sang. She prowled closer to him, and Ott took a step back for every one of hers. All the way until his legs hit the edge of the bed.

    Esseli only stopped advancing when there was barely a hair¡¯s width between them. ¡°You might know me by another name,¡± she murmured, so close that Ott could feel the puff of her breath against his face. ¡°I earned my fame under the title of general. General Pikerman.¡±

    Ott¡¯s eyes widened. He did recognize that name.

    And, well. Shit. This just got a whole lot harder.

    General Pikerman. The general in charge of bringing Fris under the heel of the Empire¡¯s boot. The general who released monsters into Fris camps at night, the general who tortured prisoners of war and civilians alike for even the slightest hint to her enemy¡¯s tactics, who laid siege to every city--an entire nation--and prevented any goods or outside help from entering the country. The general who had turned Ott¡¯s homeland into a wasteland.

    Yeah, before, this was just another of his attempts to be a bard like the ones of old. A hero to the people, spreading the joy of freedom and love. A rebel fighting against tyranny.

    Now? This was personal.

    ¡°You know, I do think I¡¯ve heard of you before,¡± Ott said as casually as possible. ¡°You¡¯re the bitch that ruined Fris.¡±

    She had the gall to laugh in his face, shoving on his shoulders so that he fell back onto her bed. From what softness Ott could feel, it was stuffed with feathers, not straw. ¡°You¡¯re mouthy,¡± she breathed with a smile, which was better than her spilling his guts for the disrespect. ¡°If you¡¯re interested in remaining alive, I know a better way you can use that.¡±

    Ott gulped, but forced on a smile. ¡°A song? Or perhaps a story? One of the tales of old?¡±

    Esseli leaned down, her hands splayed on the mattress on either side of Ott¡¯s head. Her long, silver hair slipped past her shoulders and tickled Ott¡¯s face. ¡°You do pretend to be rather dense, don¡¯t you?¡± she asked, though Ott didn¡¯t think she was looking for a response. She smiled. ¡°But for all that, you are easy on the eyes, and I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll make a good bit of fun. After all, you are a--what was it? Bard extraordinaire?¡±

    Ott could fight this. He could grip Esseli¡¯s silver locks and yank on them, could try to flip their positions and start bludgeoning her with his bound hands, could make a break for one of her weapons and use that to defend himself. But he didn¡¯t think he¡¯d be able to overpower her lithe muscles that portrayed power and her military background that promised the technique to back it up.

    He didn¡¯t know how the famed General Pikerman had come to be the leader of a bunch of bandits, but Ott would destroy Esseli and all she had built here. And to do that he needed to bide his time.

    For now, that meant letting this happen. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time Ott used his body to get what he wanted, and it probably wouldn¡¯t be the last time that someone took that choice from him, too.

    His hands were still bound, so the only thing Ott could do was smile. ¡°For a pretty lady like you? Born to entertain,¡± he agreed.

    Esseli stood up straight once more, slowly shrugging out of wrap, her eyes bright and hungry. She kept them trained on Ott¡¯s face as the piece of fabric fluttered to the ground and crumpled around her feet, leaving Esseli in nothing but her undergarments.

    She rested her hands on Ott¡¯s knees and began to slowly push his legs apart. Ott swallowed hard, unable to continue meeting her gaze and instead looking up at the drapery supported by the posts of the bed.

    A knock sounded at the door. Esseli stopped and scowled. Ott very carefully did not let out a breath of relief until she straightened and turned her ire away from him. ¡°What?¡± she demanded, loud enough for her voice to pierce the wood.

    There was a bit of shuffling on the other side of the door before a nervous voice answered, ¡°Got someone that tried to escape, boss.¡±

    Esseli frowned, finally stepping away from Ott and the bed and marching over to the door. She yanked it open, and Ott hesitantly sat up, peering around the post of the bed. A bandit Ott didn¡¯t recognize stood on the landing of the stairs and very clearly snapped his gaze to Esseli¡¯s face the moment the door opened. His dingy, rugged features dusted with pink, not that Esseli seemed very worried about that.

    ¡°Who?¡± she asked, crossing her arms.

    ¡°Erm, one of the, uh, foragers for the day,¡± the bandit stammered out. His eyes slid from Esseli¡¯s face to Ott, his expression hardening when he spotted him. Born of a desire to appear more intimidating or jealousy? It was something to ponder on later, Ott decided, when he continued, ¡°Bashed a rock against Hiren¡¯s skull and made a break for it.¡±

    ¡°But they were caught?¡± Esseli asked.

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Esseli grunted. She glanced over her shoulder at Ott and sighed. ¡°Today¡¯s your lucky day, bard,¡± she muttered. Stepping over to her weapon rack, she gripped the hilt of her enchanted sword and hefted it up. She whistled sharply as she did so, and Hush immediately woke and climbed to its feet. ¡°Iren, bring Ott here with us,¡± she ordered, addressing the bandit again. ¡°It appears our guests have forgotten their place.¡±

    Ott stood as Iren moved into the room. He looked Ott up and down, an unimpressed sneer smeared across his face, before he snatched Ott¡¯s lead. He didn¡¯t bother saying anything to Ott, just pulling on the lead as Esseli and Hush began to descend the stairs.

    Their small group made their way back down the tower and out into the bright morning. The scene that awaited them was almost exactly what Ott was expecting, but that didn¡¯t make it any less upsetting.

    There were more prisoners huddled together in the middle of the camp, all of them obviously trying to sleep despite the harsh sunlight bearing down on them. The crew that had been working the mines through the night, Ott surmised. As Esseli marched past them, she used her free hand to snap at the bandits guarding them. ¡°Get them up,¡± she ordered. ¡°I don¡¯t want them missing this.¡±

    Shouting filled the clearing as the bandits rushed to obey Esseli¡¯s orders. The other prisoners were forced to climb to their feet and look ahead, toward the gate leading out of the camp.

    Shush had closed the gate and sat in front of it, knees drawn up to its chest and long arms resting on top. Hush padded over to similarly sit beside its counterpart. A small group of bandits had gathered in front of the gate with a larger congregation watching them from the wall walk. Ott was fairly certain the ones on the ground were the ones that had led those few prisoners out earlier that morning, though Ott counted one less among them. Was this Hiren dead or possibly just injured and being treated? That remained to be seen.

    Knelt on the ground in front of the bandits was a middle-aged woman with brown hair. Her hands hadn¡¯t been bound that morning, but they were now, and already one of her eyes was swollen shut. Ott winced in sympathy.

    Esseli, still barely dressed in anything, crossed the clearing until she stood in front of the woman. Ott was brought off to the side of them with Iren, so he had a clear view of the proceedings. Esseli stared down at the woman, glowing sword gripped in one hand.

    The woman did not look back up at her. Tears silently streamed down her face from her good eye.

    Ott¡¯s gaze flitted from Esseli to the woman and back. A hush had fallen over the camp, bandits and prisoners alike watching in silence. Finally, Esseli¡¯s hand shot out, gripping the woman¡¯s hair and yanking her head back so she was forced to look her in the eye.

    ¡°What is your name?¡± Esseli asked, her voice ringing loudly in the quiet.

    Ott was able to hear the woman¡¯s hushed response, though he doubted it carried very far. ¡°Veresa.¡±

    Esseli tugged on her hair hard enough to make Veresa cry out. ¡°Louder.¡±

    The woman let out a choked sob. ¡°Veresa,¡± she repeated, practically shouting this time.

    Esseli did not smile. She did not laugh. One fist still full of brown hair, she stepped to stand beside Veresa and address the prisoners. ¡°Veresa tried to escape this morning,¡± she told them, as if there was any doubt. ¡°Do you understand what I have given all of you?¡± she asked, gazing out over the gathered. Most of the prisoners kept their heads down though Ott saw many of them sneaking glances up at Veresa and Esseli. ¡°I am not unnecessarily cruel. I don¡¯t relish in your pain. You work, you get fed. You work, you get to sleep. I¡¯m as gracious as I can be, but I do what I must to maintain order.¡±

    Esseli moved behind Veresa. Ott knew what was about to happen--if everyone here didn¡¯t, at least Veresa did, too. She squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed, ¡°Mother Amera, please--¡±

    There was no further warning. Esseli kept one hand threaded through Veresa¡¯s brown locks and used the other to cleave through her neck with her sword. Blood sprayed across the dusty ground and coated Esseli¡¯s mostly bare body. Veresa¡¯s body slumped forward, tilting as it fell to land on its side. The jaw of Veresa¡¯s head worked for another moment, like she was still trying to finish her prayer, before going slack. Her lifeless eyes stared ahead unseeing, reflecting the blue of the sky and nothing else.

    The bandits cheered as the prisoners averted their eyes and choked back their own sobs. Ott could see it--the way they brought hands up to their mouths to stifle cries, the tears that ran silently down their faces.

    Esseli stabbed her sword into the dirt by her bare, bloodied feet. ¡°This is no cause for celebration,¡± she called. The bandits fell silent as effectively as if she¡¯d threatened them with death. ¡°We do what we must to those who disobey.¡± She turned to face Ott and Iren, then. ¡°Who else was in the foraging group this morning?¡±

    Iren nodded to Esseli and walked over to the prisoners, leaving Ott behind. He pulled forward four others from the gathered, forcing them to the front of the clearing and onto their knees. Three men and one other woman in varying stages of shock, grief, and rage.

    Ott knew how things like this went. He almost couldn¡¯t bear to watch, but he forced himself to.

    Esseli stepped closer to them, still holding Veresa¡¯s severed head, dripping blood. ¡°You all were with Veresa this morning?¡± she asked. Like this was a trial, and she wanted them to admit their guilt.

    None of them responded. The closest thing Esseli got to an answer was one of the men breaking down into sobs. She stared down at him for a moment before striding over to stand in front of him. She crouched, grabbing the man¡¯s chin and tilting his face so that he looked at her, as gentle as a lover. ¡°Don¡¯t cry,¡± she said. ¡°You were with her, but you didn¡¯t try to escape. Not even when she ran. Isn¡¯t that right?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the man choked out. ¡°I swear, I didn¡¯t try to escape. I stayed right where I was and did exactly as I was told. Please,¡± he begged her. ¡°Please don¡¯t kill me.¡±

    She did smile then, patting the man¡¯s cheek. ¡°I¡¯m not going to kill you,¡± she said, still loud enough for those amassed to hear her. She let go of him and stood. ¡°I¡¯m not going to kill any of you,¡± she continued, sweeping her gaze over the four kneeling prisoners. ¡°You were obedient. You were good.

    ¡°Iren,¡± she said. Iren had taken up a position behind the kneeling prisoners, and he stood a little straighter as Esseli addressed him. ¡°See that these ones get extra rations for the next week. They are to be rewarded for their good behavior.¡±

    Iren nodded. When Esseli motioned for them to go, Iren got them standing and walking back into the group of prisoners until they disappeared in the throng. Their expressions, from what Ott could see, were ones of shock. Something that he imagined matched his own face.

    She hadn¡¯t killed them. Ott had every reason to believe she was going to kill them for being guilty by association but she hadn¡¯t. It made her statement from before ring in Ott¡¯s ears. A harsh enough strike followed by a kind enough caress.

    It was a dangerous game she was playing. If she started treating certain prisoners better than others, it was sure to brew discontent. But maybe that was also part of her tactics--if the prisoners were too busy hating each other, they wouldn¡¯t be focused on their true enemy.

    Then again, Esseli was only giving a reward to those who had demonstrated their obedience. It was something very achievable to all the prisoners. The sentiment was clear: don¡¯t act out, don¡¯t lash out, and keep your life. As miserable as it may be, at least they weren¡¯t dead.

    ¡°Dismissed,¡± Esseli called, and the bandits made sure to separate the gathered prisoners into their groups before letting them curl back up to go to sleep. Ott watched them with something like dread curling in his gut. They looked afraid for the most part. Some of them aggrieved, perhaps, but very few of them appeared anything resembling determined or angry.

    Esseli walked back over to Ott, Veresa¡¯s head swinging in her grasp. Before she reached him, she stopped another nearby bandit walking by. ¡°Give Veresa¡¯s body to Hush and Shush,¡± she told her. ¡°String up the bones when they¡¯ve been picked clean. I want this to be an example to all of them, not just to the night crew. Let the werewolves keep the femurs though. They like to crack them open for the marrow.¡±

    The bandit nodded and headed to Veresa¡¯s body to start dragging it over to the werewolves by the gate. They seemed to know exactly what was about to happen, licking their chops and noses twitching.

    Ott swallowed and stared up at Esseli when she stopped in front of him. ¡°We were interrupted,¡± she said, ¡°and I don¡¯t want to keep you for long. You¡¯re here to work, not to sate me. I could get any number of my men or women to help me with that, but I¡¯ve found the only thing bards are actually good at are a quick fuck. Oh well,¡± she said, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll get Freun to bring you to the mines so you can get to work. Who knows--maybe you¡¯ll last more than a couple of days and we can try again then.¡±

    Ott chuckled, unable to keep himself from glancing at Veresa¡¯s head again. ¡°Right,¡± he said.

    Esseli smirked and strolled away. Ott watched her as she waved to Freun, who was up on the wall walk, before jabbing a thumb back at Ott. She didn¡¯t say anything, but Freun obviously understood what she wanted. He clamored down the nearest ladder and hurried over to Ott, glaring at him when Ott offered a smile.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go, then,¡± Freun muttered, not even bothering to grab Ott¡¯s lead and just pushing him toward the building.

    Ott started toward the entrance to the mine without another word. He continued to watch as Esseli did not go back to the watchtower but instead called for a spear. One of her bandits quickly handed her one, and Esseli marched just to the right of the door leading into the building. She jabbed the spear into the earth and took Veresa¡¯s head and jammed it right on top. It squelched loudly enough for Ott to hear it still a dozen paces away.

    With that done, Esseli strode back over to the doorway of the watchtower. ¡°Someone get me some water,¡± she called to seemingly no one in particular. ¡°I need a fucking bath.¡±

    She disappeared inside the tower, and by the time Ott was ushered into the adjoined building, she was nowhere in sight. Ott waited for Freun to come around and undo the bindings on his hands--which he did. Ott winced as the rope came free, pinpricks of blood welling up where it had rubbed too harshly.

    ¡°Go on,¡± Freun said, nodding to the platform of the elevator. Another bandit still stood watching over the lever that raised and lowered it, and he, too, motioned to the platform with a jerk of his head.

    Well, with no other choice in the matter, Ott stepped onto the platform and waited. Freun moved to stand beside him. The bandit by the lever heaved it from the right to the left. There was whirring and a bit of grinding before the platform jolted. Ott stumbled slightly, grimacing, but after another moment, the platform began to descend down into the earth.

    One way in, one way out, Ott thought as he watched the automated pulley system run beyond the edges of the platform. Soon, though, there wasn¡¯t quite enough light to make out the details of the mechanism. There was only the steady sound of it bringing them down.

    The platform didn¡¯t go down very quickly, from what Ott could feel. It gave time for Ott to reflect on the morning and all that had happened. Esseli was actually General Pikerman, famed war criminal. He didn¡¯t know how she came to be a bandit leader, but for now, it didn¡¯t matter.

    She was working hard to keep those imprisoned here on a tight leash and coax any fight out of them. That would make Ott¡¯s goal here a bit harder to achieve, but he would be able to figure something out. The only other alternative was to be the prisoner of a bunch of bandits until he worked to death or Esseli grew bored of him and killed him.

    Ott was going to bring down this whole operation. And he¡¯d take joy in every second of it.

 Chapter 19: The Chords That Connect--Part III

    (669 A.C.)

    The elevator into the mine finally came to a stop after a couple of minutes. The only light in the shaft had come from the entrance far above them, but eventually even that became barely more than a pinprick. Freun¡¯s black hair certainly suggested he didn¡¯t know any magic, and since he hadn¡¯t grabbed a torch before all this, that left them making their descent in darkness.

    Ott tried to break the silence exactly once. He¡¯d barely gotten a word out before Freun snapped at him to shut the fuck up, and Ott wasn¡¯t really in the mood to contradict him.

    A few seconds before the elevator finally shuddered to a stop at the bottom of the shaft, flickering light began to bleed through the boards of the elevator¡¯s floor. Ott glanced at Freun out of the corner of his eye but remained silent as the elevator jolted into place, revealing a rugged corridor sloping down deeper into the earth. Log supports were placed intermittently along the path with torches hanging from them to illuminate the space.

    Freun started down the corridor, footsteps echoing against the stone walls from the heavy stomp of his boots on the rock ground. ¡°How¡¯d you lot find this place anyway?¡± Ott asked, following him a bit more cautiously. He eyed the ceiling of the mine with every step, but there wasn¡¯t even the slightest splattering of dust.

    ¡°I told you to shut up,¡± Freun hissed, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder.

    Ott shrugged even if Freun wasn¡¯t looking to see it. ¡°I¡¯m just curious.¡±

    Freun didn¡¯t respond, not even with a grunt--which was just rude. Ott sighed and scanned their surroundings as they passed. Nothing really jumped out at him until they came to a split in the path, one continuing straight and another jogging to the right. Ott could hear voices and the clacking of metal against rock coming from the one ahead, but there were strange whistling and rustling noises rebounding from down the corridor to the right.

    Freun kept marching down the way they were already going, but Ott slowed, craning his neck for any glimpse of what was causing those noises. It looked like the corridor continued on for a bit before veering to the right again, leaving whatever was at the end out of Ott¡¯s sight.

    ¡°What¡¯s down there?¡± Ott asked.

    ¡°You¡¯re pushing your luck, songbird,¡± Freun snapped without breaking stride. Ott rolled his eyes. He said it like Ott didn¡¯t already know that.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t answer my question,¡± Ott said, hurrying to stay a few paces behind him. He wasn¡¯t exactly eager to find out what Freun would do if he didn¡¯t keep up with him.

    ¡°And I ain¡¯t gonna,¡± Freun grumbled. ¡°It¡¯s none of your damn business what¡¯s down there, so just be quiet about it.¡±

    Ott sighed. Oh well. Maybe he could weasel the information out of another of the bandits, or maybe one of the other prisoners would have some idea. Though, getting that information out of them might be a bit harder.

    Nothing could ever be easy, Ott thought.

    The path split again, this time veering to the left and another breaking off to the right. Freun pointed down the left one. ¡°You¡¯ll be down there.¡±

    Ott peered down the left tunnel, which quickly opened up to a much larger cavern. He noted the numerous bandits and more numerous prisoners milling about the place and mining, respectively. A familiar length of pastel green hair was off in the corner, with what looked like the majority of the other mages also working in the cavern. Ott then twisted his neck to look down the other corridor, but its torches weren¡¯t lit, leaving only the first half dozen feet visible--and that didn¡¯t reveal much.

    ¡°What about that one?¡± Ott asked.

    Freun glared at him. Ott blinked back. After a long while, Freun hawked and spit off to the side, the sound reverberating in the tight tunnel. ¡°Started hitting gas pockets,¡± Freun finally muttered. ¡°Couldn¡¯t go much further down that way unless we wanted our people to start dropping dead.¡±

    Ott grunted. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you even know what a gas pocket is.¡±

    Freun scowled. ¡°Shuddup,¡± he said, which made Ott think he didn¡¯t actually know what a gas pocket was. He probably just overheard the term from Esseli, who Ott would believe did know more about the natural world. ¡°Get going,¡± Freun snapped when Ott didn¡¯t immediately start moving.

    With a shrug, Ott turned and headed to the left. Several of the bandits watching over the prisoners trained their gazes on him as he made a show of stopping inside and looking around. There were some unclaimed pickaxes leaning against the wall by the entrance to the cavern, so Ott grabbed one and hefted it up. He began to whistle a merry tune, the sharp sound cutting through the general cacophony of metal striking rock in the space, and nodded to the bandits as he passed them and headed over to Wanily.

    He half-expected one of the bandits to stop him and shove him toward wherever they wanted him to work, but they merely went back to walking around the cavern and chatting amongst themselves. That was half of the reason Ott tried to exude as much confidence as he did, after all--don¡¯t act out of place, and people won¡¯t question you. It was something he learned very quickly as a bard trying to avoid hecklers.

    With their attention largely sliding off him, Ott took the opportunity to examine his guards. All of them were armed, but to varying degrees. Ott only spotted one with a crossbow, which made sense in such a tight space. The rest carried swords or maces on their hips, and some even had daggers strapped to their thighs. One bandit had a whip coiled under her arm, but thankfully she seemed most more interested in talking with another bandit than using it against any of the prisoners. In all, he counted eight bandits watching over twenty prisoners in the cavern.

    There were more paths breaking off from spots around the perimeter of the space, larger tunnels than the one that Ott had used to enter the mine with Freun. He spotted a few more prisoners and bandits working and roaming in those, as well as more noises that sounded like they were coming from farther down the passages, out of sight. There was more to these mines, and if Ott had to guess, the mages were kept from going deeper in the tunnels and possibly dying from a cave-in or exposure to deadly gasses. After all, if Esseli and her gang were going to go through all the trouble of keeping mages, they might as well make sure they don¡¯t die needlessly. Lucky for Ott that he fell under that category.

    He stopped next to Wanily and threw her a smile when she paused in her work to look at him. She gasped. ¡°You¡¯re back!¡± She looked around furtively before leaning a bit closer. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    Her concern was touching, he thought, if misplaced. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he dismissed. ¡°But what were you thinking, antagonizing Freun like that?¡±

    Wanily frowned. ¡°The bandit? He was being awful to you.¡±

    ¡°So you thought the solution to that was to make yourself the target?¡± Ott glanced back toward the nearest bandit, but he wasn¡¯t paying attention to them. Yet.

    ¡°They don¡¯t treat me as bad as everyone else.¡±

    ¡°You have a black eye,¡± Ott pointed out, feeling a headache creeping up through his temples.

    ¡°Yeah, but they didn¡¯t kill me for trying to escape.¡±

    Ott frowned. ¡°How do you know about that?¡±

    ¡°About what?¡±

    ¡°The prisoner that was just killed like ten minutes ago?¡± Ott asked, feeling like they were having two different conversations.

    It was Wanily¡¯s turn to frown. ¡°Someone was killed? They tried to escape, didn¡¯t they? That¡¯s about the only thing they kill you for around here. Other than just refusing to work for long enough.¡±

    She sounded oddly chipper for such a bleak statement. Ott grimaced. ¡°That¡¯s not the first time it¡¯s happened, then?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen it a couple other times,¡± she said, her gaze falling. She shot a glance over her shoulder and hefted up her pickaxe.

    Ott followed her gaze to where the bandit with the whip was watching them. He followed Wanily¡¯s lead, heaving his pickaxe up and making it at least seem like he was working. He had no idea what they were even supposed to be mining, but before he could ask, Wanily continued, ¡°I knew the risks when I tried to escape, but the main bandit lady didn¡¯t kill me when I failed. She said killing a mage was a waste and killing a child was in poor taste, so I have one more chance.¡±

    Ott found that more than a little funny considering everything Esseli did in Fris--killing mages, children, and probably child mages to boot. His grip tightened on his pickaxe, but for now, that was neither here nor there. ¡°How long have you been here?¡± he asked, hushed to avoid the attention of their guards.

    Wanily shrugged, lifting her pickaxe for a swing. ¡°A month, maybe?¡±

    A month. These bandits had kidnapped a child and kept her captive for a month. Had forced her to do hard labor during all that time. Ott was honestly a little surprised she was still alive. And still so raring to go compared to so many of the other prisoners he¡¯d seen. Even now, sneaking a quick look around, he and Wanily seemed to be the only two talking. All the other prisoners just kept their heads down and swung their pickaxe again and again.

    ¡°You must have learned a lot about how the bandits operate in a month,¡± Ott said. ¡°Especially if you felt confident enough to try to escape.¡±

    Wanily brought her pickaxe down and paused just long enough to give Ott a sharp grin. ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve been watching everything.¡±

    Ott would have to interrogate Wanily later on what she knew about the bandits¡¯ schedules and resources. Hopefully during the evening when their guards weren¡¯t so close.

    ¡°So what are we supposed to be mining anyway?¡± Ott asked, squinting at the rock in front of them. It just looked like any other plot of solid earth to him. He gave it an experimental whack with his pickaxe and felt the impact all the way up his arms, through his shoulders, and down his back. Yeah, his muscles would be protesting this tomorrow.

    Wanily frowned. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what it is,¡± she admitted. Lowering her pickaxe, she stepped closer to the wall and pointed at a seemingly random point. ¡°See this, though?¡±

    Ott leaned closer to the wall, peering at a little speck of what looked like some type of crystal or mineral or something embedded in the rock. Reddish-brown in color and distinct in shape compared to the rugged rock around it, it was probably only as big as Ott¡¯s thumbnail. He frowned, racking his brain for what it could be, but he wasn¡¯t very well-versed on stones and their kin.

    Wanily stepped back and began chipping at the rock around the substance, heaving her pickaxe over and over. ¡°I overheard they ship it to Tiranda,¡± Wanily whispered between swings. ¡°I don¡¯t know what it is or what they do with it, but it must be valuable. On a good day, I¡¯ve only seen maybe a bucketful go out of the mine. And most of that will be regular rock with it.¡±

    Ott frowned, thinking. Maybe it was an ingredient for some type of potion? He hadn¡¯t heard about any new miracle elixir lately, but he hadn¡¯t been to Tiranda or any of the Empire¡¯s territories for a while. Until he was brought here, at least. It could be a component for crystal contraptions, too, he mused. Crystals were slowly becoming more common as mages figured out how to increase their lifespan. Maybe this had to do with that?

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°So you¡¯re a bard,¡± Wanily said, breaking Ott from his thoughts. Huffing and puffing, she stopped to wipe some sweat from her brow and smiled at him. ¡°Know any good working songs?¡±

    Ott chuckled, shelving the thoughts for now. He could try to figure out what these bandits were doing when most of them were dead and he, Wanily, and the rest of the prisoners were free. In the meantime, he had to figure out how to achieve that. And now was a good time to start on the first step in that plan: bringing hope and determination back to these people.

    ¡°Of course I do,¡± Ott scoffed. ¡°I¡¯m almost offended. I know all of the classics and even have my own share of original songs.¡±

    Wanily nodded, still smiling. ¡°Let¡¯s hear an original, then. If it¡¯s good, I bet the guards won¡¯t say anything about it.¡±

    Ott smiled, but something in his gut tightened. A good song. A good, original song. Yeah, he had those.

    He cleared his throat, thinking for a moment. He scanned the wall in front of him for any of the little crystals Wanily had pointed out, but when he failed to find any, he settled for just swinging at the stone¡¯s face.

    Finally settling on a song, he started to softly sing.

    Her face is crafted of porcelain

    And her hair is made of midnight

    Her legs are sculpted of marble

    And her hands hold everything

    Because they hug her tight

    ¡°Wait,¡± Wanily said, interrupting him. ¡°That barely even rhymed. And... I¡¯m not trying to be mean, but that didn¡¯t sound quite right.¡±

    Ott furrowed his brow. The tension in his stomach flared. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just saying,¡± Wanily said slowly, ¡°I don¡¯t know the first thing about writing a song but, you know, the notes just didn¡¯t sound right. Were you just off-key?¡±

    ¡°Ouch,¡± Ott said, smiling. His stomach dropped like he was in a freefall, but, well, it was hardly the first time he¡¯d been told his songs were lacking something. ¡°Can I finish before you so confidently give me your opinion?¡±

    Wanily shrugged, and Ott continued.

    She dances with herself

    Because she needs no one else

    But she wants a husband more than anything

    So she dances in the street for all to see

    And all the men beg her to marry them

    She has her pick of the crowd

    But they¡¯re all so handsome she can¡¯t choose just one!

    So she divvies up her time between them all

    And says she¡¯s just spreading Amera¡¯s love

    Ott fell silent, offering Wanily a dazzling smile. Wanily just gave him a quizzical look. Before she could say anything, though, one of the bandit guards shouted at him.

    ¡°What the fuck was that?¡± he called, laughing. ¡°I thought bards were supposed to entertain.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± the bandit next to him said with a chuckle. ¡°I mean, it was so bad it was laughable, but I did laugh.¡±

    Wanily scowled, but before she could say anything to earn another black eye, Ott just offered a good-natured chuckle. ¡°Hey, all the ladies back home loved my songs.¡±

    ¡°Poor bitches were deaf then,¡± the first bandit said, to the howling laughter of his companion. ¡°I thought you were supposed to be a songbird? You sounded like a dying cat.¡± He shook his head, still smirking, but rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. ¡°Back to work, songbird.¡±

    Wanily opened her mouth, but Ott shot out a hand to grip her shoulder and spin her back to the stone wall. She shot him a glare, huffing, before she grasped her pickaxe in both hands and returned her attention to the mining.

    Ott let out a shaky breath. It was definitely not the first time he¡¯d been heckled, but, well, it still stung. Just a little. And he knew his songs weren¡¯t up to snuff, he knew that, but how was he going to be the greatest bard in the world if he couldn¡¯t write an amazing song?

    He would just have to scrap it and try again.

    ¡°I was going to defend you,¡± Wanily muttered, ¡°but it wasn¡¯t very good. But the bandits don¡¯t get to say that.¡±

    Ott chuckled. ¡°I appreciate your concern,¡± he said. ¡°But I can handle a little cajoling. I think I just haven¡¯t found the right inspiration for a song yet. That¡¯s part of the reason I travel around so much.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the other part?¡±

    ¡°The other part is that I want to be like the bards of old, spreading the message of joy, love, and freedom.¡± Ott smiled. ¡°It¡¯s a bit silly, I know, but I grew up in a country where those things were hard to come by. So I go around where I can and... reinforce those ideas.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not silly,¡± Wanily said. ¡°I want to be the Archmage to help people, so I can¡¯t call you silly for wanting to do the same.¡± She pursed her lips and gave him a side-eye. ¡°Okay, so no singing. What about a poem? Or a story?¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± Ott said, his smile becoming more genuine. ¡°I can do stories.¡±

    ¡°Are they originals, too?¡± Wanily asked, more than a little dubious.

    He suppressed a wince. ¡°I¡¯ll spare you the Ott-hand-crafted specialties,¡± he said. ¡°But I¡¯d like to tell you one of my favorite stories, Wanily, and I want you to remember it, alright?¡±

    Wanily frowned but nodded. ¡°Alright.¡±

    ¡°Back in the time of mages and towers--¡±

    ¡°What? That doesn¡¯t make any sense, we still have mages. I¡¯m a mage.¡±

    Ott arched an eyebrow at her. ¡°Have you never heard the opening to a fairy tale before? That¡¯s just how they start. And will you stop interrupting me?¡±

    ¡°Sorry, sorry,¡± Wanily said, striking the wall with her pickaxe. The chunk of the wall with the crystal finally broke off, and Wanily stooped down to pick it up. ¡°Hold that thought.¡±

    She turned and shuffled over to the nearest bandit, handing them the rock. They took it and tucked it into a bag on their hip opposite from their weapon, and Wanily returned with as little fanfare as she left. Ott couldn¡¯t help but notice, though, that the bandit watched them both until they started picking away at the wall again.

    ¡°Okay,¡± Ott said. ¡°So. Back in the time of mages and towers, two cwn annwn were captured by a wicked wizard. He trapped them in his fortress high in the sky, at the top of his towering keep. He stole away their prized wands and took anything they could use to replace them. Then he casted a most cruel spell around them--a ring of fire that got smaller with every passing hour. At three hours, the circle would close in on them. The cwn annwn had to figure out how to escape and quickly, or else they¡¯d be burned to nothing but cinders.¡±

    Ott paused, eyeing Wanily. She continued to work, swinging her pickaxe as rhythmically as a metronome. She stopped when Ott did, though, looking up at him earnestly. She nodded for him to continue, and Ott was more than happy to oblige.

    ¡°They both ran around the circle, hoping that some way out would reveal itself. Eventually, the first hour passed, and the circle crept toward them, cutting down their small bubble of safety. The first cwn annwn threw herself into the middle of the circle, bemoaning their fate. ¡®It¡¯s hopeless!¡¯ she cried. ¡®There¡¯s nothing we can do! We¡¯re doomed to perish in this ring of fire.¡¯

    ¡°The second cwn annwn wasn¡¯t ready to give up, though. He got the idea to use a stone to break up the base of the ring and create an opening. He scratched at the floor beneath them until his paws bled, but barely more than dust came loose. The second hour passed, and the circle grew even smaller, leaving the two cwn annwn with barely enough room to stand next to each other. With his plan failed, the second cwn annwn tried to talk to his companion. ¡®Help me come up with a solution,¡¯ he said. ¡®We¡¯re not going to just give up and die.¡¯

    ¡°But the first cwn annwn just shook her head. ¡®Why bother?¡¯ she groaned. ¡®The flames are too hot and too high. The floor is too sturdy. We have no wands and no magic. The wizard just wants to kill something, and we¡¯re the ones he¡¯s set his sights on.¡¯

    ¡°¡®It¡¯s not hopeless,¡¯ the second cwn annwn insisted. He turned to face the fire. ¡®Sometimes¡¯, he said, ¡®sometimes the only way out of the fire is through it.¡¯

    ¡°The first cwn annwn asked him what he meant, but the second cwn annwn did not say anything back. Instead, he steeled himself and leapt through the ring.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Wanily said, aghast, freezing mid-swing. ¡°But I thought he would die?¡±

    Ott smiled. He didn¡¯t answer her outright, just continued the story. ¡°The first cwn annwn cried out as her companion disappeared through the flames. She heard his howls of pain as he landed on the other side, and the second cwn annwn, free from the ring, now faced horrible agony as his fur caught fire and burned bloody patches across his body.

    ¡°The second cwn annwn rolled himself over and over to douse the flames, and eventually, they went out. He was left panting on his side, burning anguish flaying his body, but he was alive. He tried to call out to his companion, but he was unable to make more than the tiniest of whines. The first cwn annwn could not hear him over the roaring of the ring of fire, and, too afraid that the second cwn annwn had sealed his own fate, did nothing. The third hour passed, and the first cwn annwn was burned up as the ring closed on her, reducing her to nothing but ashes.

    ¡°The second--now only--cwn annwn forced himself to stand. He limped down the stairs of the keep to the ground of the floating island the wizard had built his fortress on. He tore a branch from a bush in the wizard¡¯s garden and used it to grant himself flight. Burned and bleeding, but alive, the cwn annwn descended from the island, leaving the tragedy behind him.¡±

    Ott fell silent at the conclusion of the story. He waited, grinning, for Wanily¡¯s reaction, and he was not disappointed.

    ¡°So the girl cwn annwn just dies!?¡± she exclaimed. She slapped a hand over her mouth as the sound echoed in the room, drawing the attention of more than one bandit and prisoner. She quickly ducked her head and continued working.

    Ott pretended he had been working properly all along. Eventually, when the attention had left them, he caught Wanily¡¯s gaze and nodded. ¡°She does.¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t she try to escape with the boy?¡± Wanily said, hushed but harsh as well.

    ¡°She didn¡¯t hear that she would live if she dove through the flames,¡± Ott said. ¡°She was scared.¡±

    Wanily stared at him incredulously. ¡°So she just did nothing?¡±

    ¡°She was afraid and felt there was no hope, but she didn¡¯t want to die. But her hopelessness led to inaction, and that led to her death.¡± Ott smiled. ¡°Quite the contradiction, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Wanily silently worked for a stretch, obviously thinking on the story. Ott let her and tried to look around the cavern as discreetly as possible. Most of the mages that had surrounded them last night were present with them now, and though their heads of green and white suggested they didn¡¯t know a great amount of magic, it was certainly going to be better than nothing. Ott would have to start trying to chat them up.

    ¡°Sometimes the only way out of the fire is through it,¡± Wanily muttered. Ott returned his attention to her, watching as a series of emotions flashed over her face, too quick to catch. ¡°And doing something, even if it ends up hurting you, is better than doing nothing. There¡¯s always a reason to hope.¡± She looked up at him. ¡°That¡¯s what the story is really about, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Ott nodded. ¡°But you already knew about that stuff, right?¡± Ott asked, tapping the spot below his left eye.

    Wanily brushed her fingertips against the same spot on her own face, her fingers pale against the darkness of the bruising. She visibly swallowed before nodding. ¡°But they don¡¯t,¡± she murmured, gaze flitting around the room before once again meeting Ott¡¯s.

    He grinned, resting his pickaxe against his shoulder. ¡°Now you¡¯re catching on.¡±

    ¡°What are we going to do?¡± Wanily asked, straightening her shoulders.

    ¡°We,¡± Ott started, returning to mining before the guards could say anything to him, ¡°are going to spread a little hope. And that starts with a story about two cwn annwn.¡±

    Wanily nodded, eyes glittering.

    ¡°We need to be discreet about it,¡± Ott said before she could get any ideas. ¡°And bide our time. We need most, if not all, the other prisoners ready and willing to escape with us. But they have to be ready to possibly fail. They have to be willing to die.¡±

    ¡°I understand,¡± Wanily said softly. ¡°When should we start?¡±

    Ott grunted. ¡°We¡¯ll wait until tomorrow,¡± he decided. ¡°Everyone will have heard if not seen that someone tried to escape. That¡¯s sure to lower morale, but it¡¯s when someone is at their lowest that they¡¯re looking for a reason to keep going.¡±

    ¡°A reason to keep going,¡± Wanily echoed, brow furrowed. ¡°Okay. But what¡¯s the plan to actually get out?¡±

    Ott chuckled uneasily. ¡°Not too sure on that front yet,¡± he admitted. Wanily¡¯s expression twisted to one of appropriate alarm, but Ott continued before she could say anything, ¡°But I¡¯ll come up with a good plan.¡±

    ¡°As good as your song?¡± Wanily asked, sounding somewhere halfway between teasing and concerned.

    ¡°Much better than my song.¡± Ott stopped to clap a hand onto Wanily¡¯s thin shoulder. ¡°I promise I¡¯ll get you out, Wanily. Your friend, too. How else are you going to be the Archmage?¡±

    That made Wanily smile. ¡°Well, you better get yourself out, too,¡± she said. ¡°So you can go out and write better songs and become the best bard in the world.¡±

    Ott laughed. ¡°Right.¡±

    ¡°Get back to work,¡± one of the bandits barked at them as he passed, and Ott obediently ducked his head and swung his pickaxe again. Wanily, he noted, stuck her tongue out at the bandit¡¯s back before she returned to mining as well.

    Ott had gotten one ally here in as many days. That was better progress than he usually made in operations like this. Not long now, he thought, swinging his pickaxe. Not long now.

 Chapter 20: The Words That Inspire--Part IV

    (669 A.C.)

    After conspiring with Wanily, Ott¡¯s week went a little something like this:

    Day one. He finished working with Wanily and went back up in the elevator with the rest of the prisoners to go to sleep for the night. The elevator creaked and shifted rather dubiously under the weight of all the bodies, but it got them up and out of the mine. They shuffled out of the building in a single file line, as Ott was quickly learning was the norm. He was nowhere near the front of the line, but word still quickly spread back to and past him about the severed head stuck outside for all of them to see. The other prisoners were afraid, Ott noticed. Afraid and despaired. He told Wanily not to look, to which she gave him a funny look. It wasn¡¯t the first example Esseli had made of one of them, she told him, and, well, Ott didn¡¯t have much to say about that.

    Day two. The bandits woke Ott with the rest of the day crew, so he counted his blessings that Esseli hadn¡¯t decided to sink her claws into him yet. He broke off from Wanily for the day, picking out one of the other prisoners he remembered having their hands bound, and tried chatting him up. He was less than receptive to the advances of someone who seemingly had Esseli¡¯s favor, but Ott managed to learn his name was Reynold, he was from Yve, and he had a wife back home that probably thought he was dead. Ott asked if he had tried to escape to which Reynold scoffed and said he liked his head on his shoulders. The worst he had done, apparently, was try and nearly succeed to fight the bandits off when they came for him. He had just been traveling to Telldor to look for work. With a wry smile, he said he sure found it.

    Day three. A bit more schmoozing with the other captives. Ott noticed Wanily trying to do the same, though her more... robust methodologies led to her being brushed off by many of the downtrodden prisoners. Ott hadn¡¯t expected her to be able to do much, so it was no harm, no foul. Not that her scowl every time someone told her to get lost suggested she felt the same way.

    Day four. Esseli sunk her claws into him. There wasn¡¯t much to it--not that Ott hadn¡¯t been already expecting. She had Freun bring him up to her room again, and with much less foreplay this time around, she threw him onto her bed and had her way with him. When she was done--after a very long time that Ott lasted the whole while for, of course--she offered to let him rest for the day in her room. When he declined, she gave him that smile of hers and told him it was less of an offer and more of what he was going to be doing. So, Ott remained in Esseli¡¯s room while she went down and did... whatever she did during the day. He wondered if she was aware of what he was trying to do in her camp and was purposely giving him special treatment to widen the divide between him and the other prisoners. Or maybe she really did just think he was handsome. Which--who could blame her?

    The reprieve at least gave him some time to observe the bandits¡¯ activities around the camp and try to come up with the semblance of a plan. Through the windows around the room, he watched the going-ons of the camp. There were notably less bandits on watch during the day than what Ott had observed at night. That, at least, lined up with what information Wanily had been able to give him. There was only one werewolf by the gate--the other was up in the room with Ott, both of them slumbering away. Ott didn¡¯t think for one second, however, that they wouldn¡¯t both be up to attack at the slightest provocation. Still, if Ott and everyone else were to escape, the daytime seemed their better window of opportunity.

    That said, there was still the matter of getting everyone out of the mine. Not all the workers could be brought up or down at once on the elevator. It usually took about three trips to get everyone either out or in, and the bandits always brought in first the group that was taking over the work before bringing out the group whose turn it was to rest. As far as Ott knew, too, they never left the lever that controlled the elevator unguarded, and there wasn¡¯t even one down in the mines, only above ground.

    They needed someone to either be able to get up there--which Ott doubted any of those green or white-haired mages were up to the task--or they needed someone already up there to overtake the bandit guard and operate the elevator. Of course, the moment one of the bandits went down or was even just attacked, he suspected all of Krakren¡¯s rage would break loose. Not only were all the bandits armed, but there were also the werewolves. Ott suspected that even if the prisoners were somehow able to get ahold of some weapons and use them to keep the bandits at bay, those werewolves would be able to make quick work of them.

    They just didn¡¯t have enough firepower. Ott would have to figure out a remedy to that situation. But, well, sometimes the only way out of a fire was through it. Not everyone would survive the dive, and practically no one would get through unscathed.

    So, he just had to figure out how to get everyone out of the mines without getting literally all of them killed. To do that, he had to get at least some weapons into the hands of the prisoners, and he had to find a way to deal with the werewolves. How hard could all that really be?

    He eyed the werewolf slumbering by the door, as effective at keeping him in the room as if his hands were nailed to the wall. An idea struck through him, one that had a decent likelihood of getting him killed. That was how he knew it was good, though.

    Still leaning next to the window, Ott let out a low whistle. The werewolf--Hush, Ott thought, but they were both boys with little else distinguishable about them so he really wasn¡¯t too sure--flicked an ear. Ott, never one to be deterred, whistled again, a bit louder and sharper. That made Hush raise its head and look at him with its blood-red eyes. It licked its chops, making Ott swallow hard.

    Now that Ott actually had Hush¡¯s attention, he wasn¡¯t entirely sure what to do. He didn¡¯t think he¡¯d even get this far. At best, he thought Hush would just ignore him.

    A harsh enough strike followed by a kind enough caress, that was what Esseli said. That was what made a beast heel, and Ott figured that sometimes you had to fight fire with fire.

    At the same time, Ott wasn¡¯t eager to risk getting his face bitten off by a werewolf because he decided to assert his dominance or die trying. But then, Esseli had already done all that, right? All Ott had to do is show the beast some compassion, and maybe he could instill some loyalty in it. He didn¡¯t know if it would be enough for his purposes, but if he could just get Hush to not want to kill him or the other prisoners when they make their escape, he would consider it a win. Maybe he could even get Shush on his side, too, or something close.

    Taking a deep breath, Ott shuffled a few steps closer. Hush watched him closely, but Ott couldn¡¯t tell if it was the way a predator watched its next meal or just the way something abused observed another thing that might prove to be a threat. Just how intelligent were werewolves anyway?

    Bracing himself to lose it, Ott extended his hand toward Hush. He kept his palm down and a few inches of space between him and Hush¡¯s snout. Hush stared at him, red eyes almost seeming to glow, before slowly closing the distance between them. He sniffed at Ott¡¯s hand once, twice, before letting out a great huff and drawing back again. Ott let out a slow breath, a smile overtaking his face when he noticed the tip of Hush¡¯s tail wriggling against the ground.

    ¡°You¡¯re a good boy, aren¡¯t you?¡± Ott cooed, deciding to just treat Hush like a big dog. A big, potentially very vicious dog, but a good boy nonetheless. Ott still wouldn¡¯t be getting close to him during the night, though.

    Hush¡¯s tail began wagging in earnest, and he stared at Ott, ears pricked up and panting slightly in a show of attentiveness. Ott wasn¡¯t about to risk petting him just yet, but he still offered Hush a smile and slowly took his hand back. ¡°Yes, I think you¡¯re a good boy.¡±

    Freun came up not much longer to Ott sprawled on the bed and Hush curled up on the floor next to him. Ott thought for certain Freun was going to say something or bring Ott  to Esseli, but he just scowled, dragged Ott back down to the courtyard, and left without a single word spoken.

    Anyhow. Day five. When the day group, including Ott and Wanily, were brought down into the mines and lined up on one side of the main corridor to let the night shift pass, Ott had a couple realizations. The first was that the bandits may be more heavily armed, but they were giving their prisoners pickaxes every single day. The tunnels in the mine were only wide enough for two people to stand next to each other, many of them being even narrower than that. They could, theoretically, arm themselves with the pickaxes and overwhelm the relatively small number of bandits that handled the transfer of shifts.

    On the other hand, that didn¡¯t solve the issue of getting everybody out of the mine. Especially if they began their escape attempt when they were all down in the tunnels and caverns, the bandits above them could simply not let them up. Or, even if they managed to trick them into letting one batch of prisoners up, Ott had no doubt that any would-be escapees would be quickly decimated by the much larger number of bandits above ground, along with Esseli and her pets.

    He hadn¡¯t seen any yet, but if any of the bandits had some magic crystals, there was the possibility that he could snatch those and use them to their advantage. A fire crystal could be a double-edged sword--the risk of lighting the building on fire while people were still down in the mine was too high--but a light or force crystal could do... well, something. He¡¯d much prefer the force crystal, but he couldn¡¯t see a reason why any of the bandits would have one.

    Unless... they might have one in the elevator. Force crystals didn¡¯t glow, so it could explain why Ott hadn¡¯t actually seen one on the trips up and down. It could be what powered the elevator or even what acted as a counterweight. Though, if there was a force crystal, and if Ott could get his hands on it, that would still stop the elevator from working. Which really defeated the purpose of trying to get his hands on it in the first place.

    He¡¯d think on it more, but in the meantime, he eyed Wanily, who stood next to him. He checked that there were no bandits nearby before nudging her with his elbow. ¡°Which one is your friend?¡± he asked, gesturing to the men and women trudging past them to go up the elevator.

    Wanily pursed her lips. ¡°None of them,¡± she said slowly. Ott furrowed his brow, but before he could ask, she nodded down the tunnel. ¡°There¡¯s a tunnel that goes to the right a little ways down. He¡¯s down that one.¡±

    ¡°You know what¡¯s down there, then?¡± Ott said, more than a little surprised.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Ott waited several beats, but when it was clear Wanily wasn¡¯t going to continue, he asked, ¡°Are you going to tell me?¡±

    She sighed deeply, looking up at him from the corner of her eye. ¡°You have to promise not to freak out.¡±

    Ott frowned in return. Instead of questioning her, though--which he had found had never worked to get someone to share sensitive information--he nodded. Wanily was silent for another moment before motioning him closer. Without so much as a suffering sigh or eyeroll, Ott leaned down so she could whisper right in his ear.

    ¡°They keep the magical creatures they capture down there.¡±

    Ott felt his brow rise in surprise, and he drew back slightly to be able to look at her. ¡°Your friend is a monster?¡±

    Wanily huffed. ¡°He doesn¡¯t like that term,¡± she said. ¡°His name is Eko. He¡¯s a griffin.¡±

    Now that was unexpected. Ott thought she would say that she had a pet slime or figona or maybe even a catus. A cwn annwn would have even made more sense than a gods-damned griffin. And here he thought Esseli would be the only one here with a tamed monster that had no business being tamed.

    ¡°You--¡± Ott started much too loudly, and Wanily yanked on his sleeve. He glanced about them, but the only attention they drew were fleeting glances from the prisoners on either side of them. Quieter, Ott tried again. ¡°You have a pet griffin?¡±

    Wanily frowned. ¡°He¡¯s not a pet. He¡¯s just... Eko. My friend and traveling buddy.¡±

    Ott had the sudden urge to rub his temples. Or pinch his nose. Something that wasn¡¯t grabbing Wanily by the shoulders and shaking her. ¡°Griffins are dangerous monsters, you know,¡± he said slowly. ¡°Are you sure he¡¯s not just been trying to eat you?¡±

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Wanily rolled her eyes. ¡°He¡¯s not trying to eat me.¡± She looked Ott up and down, and he barely noticed, given his current dilemma. The teenager had a griffin. A griffin. Much stronger in magic than a werewolf and known for their cruelty and dislike of humans. And Wanily had apparently been traipsing the countryside with one.

    How was she not dead?

    ¡°Anyway, I really want to know how the escape plan is coming along,¡± Wanily continued. ¡°Is there more I can do to help? If we get Eko out, he can do something, too.¡±

    ¡°Hold on,¡± Ott said. He wasn¡¯t done thinking about this and everything else Wanily had said. ¡°You told me that you two were helping each other learn magic.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Ott pointedly returned the funny look Wanily gave him with one of incredulity. ¡°You¡¯re an old magic mage, then?¡±

    ¡°Oh. Yeah, I guess I didn¡¯t mention that before.¡± Wanily shrugged, seemingly more to herself than to Ott. ¡°I¡¯m an old magic mage.¡±

    This girl was far too nonchalant, Ott thought. He resisted the urge to slap his forehead and tried to begin considering what he could do with this new information. He had a green-haired old magic mage next to him, who had apparently also tamed a griffin--at least to the extent that it wasn¡¯t trying to eat her. Old magic was more potent than new magic. Having green hair with old magic meant much more than the same with new magic. Wanily had to be a relatively powerful mage. The question now was whether or not Esseli knew that.

    ¡°Have you told anyone else? Do any of the bandits know?¡± Ott asked, trying his best not to make it sound like a demand.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± Wanily said, shrugging again. ¡°I tried to use my magic against them when they captured me, you know? But there¡¯s not a lot I¡¯ve actually figured out how to do with it yet. I don¡¯t think any of them really noticed when they had a griffin attacking them, too. They didn¡¯t say anything to the main lady bandit about it, so.¡±

    Okay, Ott could work with this. He didn¡¯t know exactly what he would do with this information, but he could figure it out. He wasn¡¯t nearly far enough into his current schemes to be worrying about the final escape plan, so, for now, he would leave it in the back of his thoughts.

    ¡°Huh,¡± was all Ott said in response. Not a minute later, the last group of prisoners were crowded into the elevator, and the bandits began shouting for Ott¡¯s group to continue down to the caverns and get to work. Ott did as he was ordered. For now.

    Day six. Ott made better progress than he thought he would. He got more people to chat with him, listen to his stories and poems, and look more than a little thoughtful when he left. It wouldn¡¯t happen overnight, this revolution of prisoners against their captors, and he hadn¡¯t expected it to. But he was making very real progress, tangible in the way people looked to him whenever the bandits began shouting or getting rough. Like they were waiting for Ott¡¯s reaction, waiting for his word to strike. They probably didn¡¯t even realize they were doing it, but Ott certainly did.

    It was all going great. Until day seven.

    Once again, Esseli called Ott up to her tower. Once again, she pushed him onto the bed to have her fun, and Ott, who very much liked to live, did whatever she told him to do. Once again, all throughout it, Ott thought about all the ways this little mission of his could end with General Pikerman¡¯s head stuck on its namesake.

    When she was done, she got up, got dressed, and moved to stand by the window overlooking the rest of the camp. This was a change of pace from last time, so Ott hurriedly pulled his shirt back over his head and his pants up and sat on the edge of the mattress, watching her.

    Esseli stood quietly for a long while, just observing the camp. Finally, she spoke. ¡°You know who I am,¡± she said without turning to face him, ¡°but would you like to know how the famed General Pikerman became nothing but a lowly bandit leader?¡±

    Ott couldn¡¯t deny being a bit curious, but he was more interested in turning the famed General Pikerman to worm food. Not that he could say that. He had the feeling she wasn¡¯t looking for a response anyway.

    After another moment, she balled her hand into a fist and leaned against the window. ¡°I brought Fris to nothing,¡± she murmured. Ott carefully kept his breathing even, trying hard not to show his rage. ¡°I razed it in the only way that matters. Its buildings still stand, but I broke the spirit of its people.¡±

    Starved and killed almost all of them, more like, Ott thought bitterly but remained silent.

    ¡°So I¡¯ve heard,¡± Ott said, neglecting to mention that he grew up in that very land.

    ¡°I did exactly what I was told,¡± Esseli spat. She spun to pace the length of the room, gesturing wildly along with her words. ¡°Tiranda¡¯s Empress told me to bring Fris under her control, and where are they now? Under the flag of the Empire. And then, when I am victorious and return back to my home to collect my deserved accolades, do you know what I am told?¡±

    Ott opened his mouth to respond with something appropriate to what he thought about Esseli¡¯s suffering, but Esseli continued on without paying him any mind. ¡°Extreme,¡± she sneered. ¡°My measures were too extreme. The Empire cannot be seen supporting someone that would do such ¡®horrible¡¯ things, they told me. But they were all too happy to move in their forces and seize control over Fris after all of my hard work.¡±

    ¡°How dare they,¡± Ott deadpanned.

    Esseli shot him a look in warning, and Ott shut his mouth with a click. She sighed and turned to Hush, a slight smile overtaking her face. ¡°I lost most of my wolves,¡± she said, kneeling next to Hush and rubbing his ears. ¡°We didn¡¯t have many to begin with, and most were lost to battle or simply escaped. And then the Empire seized all the rest of them. All except for Hush and Shush,¡± she cooed, cradling Hush¡¯s head in her hands. ¡°After I was cast out of the Empire, I needed to find a way to make a living. And wouldn¡¯t you know it, after terrorizing their countryside for a few months, Dryan came to me asking for a deal. I make the bandits in the area leave their citizens alone, they pay me handsomely for my service.¡±

    Ott frowned. ¡°You took a deal with Dryan? But don¡¯t you hate the Empire?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m vindictive, not stupid,¡± Esseli retorted, standing again. ¡°They wanted to get me out of the way, and I wanted to be fabulously wealthy. This operation is beneficial to both of us.¡±

    Ott figured he knew the answer, but he asked anyway. ¡°Why keep all the prisoners if you¡¯re just trying to control the bandits?¡±

    Esseli rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. ¡°You do like to play stupid, don¡¯t you? I could just go through and kill them all, but that would be a job with no end in sight. This way, I give them something to do, and by selling the material being mined, I have a way to pay them. I can recruit all the bandits in the area to the job, and as long as they don¡¯t bother any Dryan citizen, I get the money for both the mining and the deal with Dryan.¡± She smiled, sharp as a knife. ¡°Do you have any idea how much money I¡¯ve earned so far?¡±

    ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡± Ott asked softly, already dreading the response.

    Esseli shrugged, moving back to the window and folding her arms behind her back. ¡°Because you¡¯re right. I do hold a certain disdain for the Empire after everything. I¡¯ve amassed quite the force here and taken a good deal of their money. I think it¡¯s time to move on to bigger and better things, and I¡¯ll take my men here with me.¡±

    She turned her head just enough to be able to stare down at Ott from the corner of her eye. ¡°And only my men.¡±

    Ott swallowed hard, fisting in hands in the sheets beneath him. ¡°When?¡±

    Esseli returned to looking out into the courtyard. ¡°Why worry about that? You won¡¯t be able to do anything about it.¡±

    Ott stood, the chains around his ankles rattling. ¡°When?¡± he demanded.

    Esseli scoffed. ¡°You don¡¯t get to take that tone with me,¡± she said.

    Ott gripped his anger and shoved it down, down, down. It wouldn¡¯t serve him right now. No, right now, he needed to focus on getting out of this room and getting this information to the other prisoners. Nothing would prompt a revolution like impending death, Ott mused. Or, at least, that was what he hoped.

    Esseli, after several long moments, spoke again, breaking Ott from his thoughts. ¡°Later today,¡± she said, inspecting her fingernails. They were perfectly manicured, Ott noted faintly in his shock, right before she spun to face him again. ¡°But you really don¡¯t need to worry,¡± she simpered. ¡°I haven¡¯t tired of you yet. You¡¯ll stay up here while I have the other prisoners taken care of, and when it¡¯s time to move on, you¡¯ll come with me and my men.¡± She walked over to her weapon rack, plucking her sword from its place and inspecting it, saying, ¡°First, I¡¯m thinking we move north. There¡¯s plenty of war to be had up there, and plenty of coin for a militia to join the fray.¡±

    Ott¡¯s heart hammered in his chest. Everything was falling apart around him, unraveling all his budding plans. He thought he had more time. He was supposed to have more time. He was supposed to be able to come up with a foolproof plan and rally most if not all the other prisoners to his side and dance out of the situation he¡¯d put himself in with all the cockiness and suave of the bards of old spitting in the face of the gods.

    Now what was he going to do?

    He supposed he should just be grateful Esseli was sparing him. If he was just some run-of-the-mill bard that had been plucked off the road and shoved into his position, he probably would be. Body taken, but soul spared. A kind enough caress and all that.

    Ott was not a normal bard, though. And he was not going to let Esseli walk away from this place alive. He was not going to let her kill all the people she¡¯d captured, either.

    She offered Ott a smile, slotting her sword into the sheath on her hip. She pointed at the bed. ¡°Sit.¡±

    Ott ground his teeth. Details of the camp, the bandits, and Esseli herself flitted through his mind. Not yet, he decided. He didn¡¯t have much time, but he couldn¡¯t act yet.

    He sat.

    Esseli¡¯s smile grew to an outright grin. ¡°Good boy,¡± she crooned. ¡°Now stay.¡±

    Ott glared at her but didn¡¯t move.

    She nodded to him. ¡°It looks like I¡¯ll get you trained yet.¡± She glanced at Hush. ¡°Keep an eye on him, won¡¯t you? Don¡¯t want him getting any ideas now.¡±

    Hush¡¯s tail wriggled against the ground. Esseli patted him on the head on her way out the door and down the stairs. Ott sat and listened to her descending footsteps until he couldn¡¯t hear them anymore.

    No time to spare. The moment there was silence, Ott sprung to his feet, watching Hush warily. Hush watched him back, panting slightly. His blood red gaze was more than a little disconcerting, but Ott had no choice. He would not be deterred.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t tear my face off,¡± he muttered, easing himself toward Esseli¡¯s weapon rack. They might not be enchanted, but she had left weapons in Ott¡¯s reach. It would be stupid not to at least try.

    The moment Ott¡¯s fingers brushed the grip of Esseli¡¯s mace, Hush let out a low growl. Ott took his hand back, and the sound immediately died. Testing the waters again, Ott went to grab it once more, only to be met with Hush¡¯s growl before he even touched it this time.

    There were two options before Ott at this point. One, he could grab the mace and try to kill Hush before Hush killed him. Two, he could try to get Hush to not attack him as he stole Esseli¡¯s weapon and launched his grand, half-baked escape plan. Both options ended with Ott potentially dead. Option two, however, ended with a possible ally--at least if Ott kept him away from Esseli.

    He weighed his options, considered the chances of death in both situations, and thought, Ah, to Gehenna with it.

    He stepped away from the weapon rack and extended his hand toward Hush. Keeping his palm down, he tried to exude as much peace as possible and smiled. Hush gave his hand a tentative sniff, and, praying by the grace of Amera that this wasn¡¯t the stupidest thing he¡¯d ever done, Ott slowly reached to pet Hush right between his giant ears.

    Hush watched him with those beady, red eyes, but once Ott¡¯s hand rested on his head, his tail began to thump against the floor. Ott let out a breath of relief, just as slowly taking his hand back.

    ¡°I need to grab the mace,¡± he said slowly. Hush just stared at him, and Ott suddenly felt foolish. There was no way a monster could understand what he was saying. ¡°Please don¡¯t attack me,¡± Ott muttered, backing up to the weapon rack. Without taking his eyes off Hush, he tentatively reached for the mace again.

    This time, Hush watched him without making a peep. Ott wrapped his fingers around the grip and lifted it up, watching Hush all the while, still halfway expecting for the monster¡¯s teeth to try to fasten themselves around his neck. When Hush made no indication that he was going to pounce, Ott finally allowed himself to relax a fraction. He hefted the mace over one shoulder and nodded to Hush.

    ¡°Thank you for not murdering me,¡± he told him.

    Hush stared back, not that Ott was expecting a response. And then, Hush opened his mouth and said, ¡°The captive shouldn¡¯t know such pain. I will break your chains.¡±

    Ott flinched as a loud, brittle snap broke the quiet in the room. Glancing down, he found that the chain connecting his feet and preventing him from moving them much more than a shuffle had been broken clean in half. Ott let out a disbelieving laugh, lifting one foot then the other, testing his restored range of movement.

    ¡°Holy shit,¡± he breathed. He glanced up at Hush, but he hadn¡¯t moved from his place curled up by the door. ¡°You can get out, too,¡± he said, feeling slightly less foolish talking to Hush. But just because Hush could cast spells, that still didn¡¯t mean he understood what Ott was saying. Pixies, after all, were always chirping words they¡¯d heard before or casting small spells, but they certainly didn¡¯t understand human speech. Werewolves could be in the same vein or at least something similar.

    Still, Hush had done more for him than Ott thought possible. ¡°You¡¯re a very good boy, Hush,¡± Ott continued. ¡°You don¡¯t have to stay with the mean, old general.¡±

    Hush kept staring at him once again. This time, even after several seconds of silence, there was no response. Ott sighed and stepped to the door, resting his hand on its handle. ¡°I understand,¡± he murmured. Hush was still a simple beast, and Esseli was his master. Even if he would help Ott, he was far too broken down to bring himself away from her.

    Ott just hoped the same wasn¡¯t true for the other prisoners.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said again.

    Hush made no response, but that he didn¡¯t attack Ott as he fled down the stairs was enough.

 Chapter 21: The Songs That Break Free--Part V

    (669 A.C.)

    Ott paused during his descent down the watchtower just before the second level. He stood, listening, but it didn¡¯t sound like anyone was coming for him. He peeked past the door frame into the room that made up the second story of the watchtower, but the space was empty. Just bedrolls on the wooden floor and the weapon racks along the walls conspicuously barren of any arms. That didn¡¯t bode well.

    He crept down to the bottom floor of the tower, mace braced over his shoulder, ready to swing at the barest hint of danger. It hardly mattered--this room was empty as well, nothing but more bedrolls and a single wooden chair jammed in the corner. The archway leading into the adjacent building had no guard, and Ott pressed himself against the wall next to it, mace at the ready, and peered around into the building proper.

    There was no bandit guarding the elevator into the mine, but the door opened no more than three seconds later, letting in a throng of bandits into the building. Ott quickly drew back, mace gripped in front of him. What would he do if they started moving toward the watchtower? There were too many for him to fight off, even with a weapon, and even if he had a wand--which he still didn¡¯t--he was still just one bard against an entire fighting force.

    Ott kept his breaths measured, quiet. Listening intently to the footsteps of the bandits, he tried to determine exactly where they were and what they were doing. It seemed like they were loading themselves onto the elevator into the mine. Ott held his breath as he caught footsteps heading toward his pathetic hiding spot, but just before they reached the doorway, he heard someone call, ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°Grabbing a lantern,¡± came the retort, far too close to Ott for his comfort. ¡°Don¡¯t give me that look, it gets fucking dark down there.¡±

    ¡°Just hurry up,¡± the first voice sounded again, impatient. ¡°Esseli will have our heads if we don¡¯t make this quick.¡±

    If they don¡¯t make this quick. Ott shuddered. Esseli might be sparing him now, but the moment Ott stepped foot in those mines, he became just another prisoner needing to be slaughtered.

    He had never had an operation that had fallen apart so quickly or so spectacularly. He had never been in as much danger of dying as he was right now, but he had to keep moving forward with this. As tempting as it was to tuck his tail between his legs and let Esseli pull him around like a dog on a leash until he was able to make a proper break for it, he couldn¡¯t leave the other prisoners to their deaths. He couldn¡¯t leave Wanily.

    The whirring of the elevator reached his ears a moment later, and Ott risked another peek into the building. There was only one bandit left in the room, standing by the lever controlling the platform. With the door leading into the building shut and the bandit¡¯s attention focused on the mineshaft, Ott had no better opportunity.

    He clamped his mouth shut against the war cry that threatened to spill past his lips, instead charging into the room with his mace ready to strike and only his footsteps to announce him. The bandit, to his credit, snapped to attention the moment Ott entered his peripheral vision. He reached for the sword sheathed at his hip, but Ott was faster. In just two more bounds, Ott was on the bandit, smashing the mace over his head before he was able to get his weapon out all the way. He fell to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, boneless and with eyes unseeing. Blood poured from the gaping holes in his head where the sharp spikes of the mace had connected with his skull.

    Ott made a face of distaste as he gingerly stepped back from the growing puddle of blood on the floor. He really hated violence.

    There wasn¡¯t more time for him to ruminate on his disgust. Ott risked a peek over the railing sectioning off the entrance of the elevator. The platform, full of bandits armed to the teeth, had gone down about fifteen feet and was still descending, but at least none of them looked up while Ott was observing them.

    He drew back, thinking. There was no other way for him into the mine. He didn¡¯t want to potentially damage the elevator either by heaving the lever the other way and leaving the prisoners down there still with no way of getting back up. But if he descended now, there was no saying how they would get back up without someone to man the lever anyway.

    Think, think, think, Ott chastised himself. He glanced at the body of the bandit on the ground next to him. Even if Ott went down into the mine after the rest of the bandits, there was a good chance that the one he¡¯d killed would be found. And there was the matter of how long it took the elevator to go up and down--by the time Ott was in the mine himself, there was no saying how many of the prisoners the bandits would be able to kill.

    Ott scanned the room. The dead bandit only had blonde hair, so there was probably nothing there. And Esseli wouldn¡¯t risk putting a wand in the hand of a mage while they were mining, even if they could be more efficient with one. But Ott really needed a wand.

    Or, he thought, a crystal.

    Ott turned and raced back into the watchtower, practically leaping up the stairs, three at a time.

    Esseli had been making a lot of money, she¡¯d said so herself. She had nice amenities up in that room of hers. Crystals cost a lot of money and were rather good at improving quality of life. She might have one in her room. She had silver hair, too--there was the possibility of a wand stowed away somewhere at the very least.

    He threw the door open, bursting into her room. Hush lifted his head as he shot inside but made no move to attack him as Ott stopped in front of her desk. He wasted no time in yanking the drawers of the desk open and rifling through their contents. There was a lot of paper--correspondence between Esseli and whatever contact she had with Dryan, Ott surmised, as well as meticulously kept records of their earnings and spendings. Esseli wasn¡¯t kidding when she said she¡¯d earned a pretty mark.

    None of that helped him though. It wasn¡¯t until he reached the bottom drawer that he found a small, metal box tucked inside a larger ledger. The ledger itself was empty--blank pages with a hole cut into the middle to securely hide the box. Perfect.

    Ott tore it out, but when he tried to open it, the lid wouldn¡¯t budge. Locked. Not perfect.

    Esseli had to have a key somewhere, but Ott didn¡¯t think he had the time to try to locate it. Sending up a brief prayer to Amera, he picked up the mace he¡¯d dropped on the ground beside him, replaced it with the box, and swung the mace down on top.

    The metal crunched under the force of his blow, but nothing else. No explosion from a smashed force or fire crystal. The only thing that happened was a faint light shining through the spaces where the top and bottom of the box no longer met. Ott stooped down to wrench it open and grinned at what he found.

    Three force crystals, two lined up on top and one on bottom along with a light crystal. The force crystals were a pale, opaque white, like quartz but with an iridescent sheen surrounding each of its many jagged edges. The light crystal, yellow and smooth like river stones, must have been at the end of its lifespan, considering how faint the light was. Or maybe Esseli just bought a cheap one. As cheap as a crystal could be, anyway.

    Ott pocketed all of them. He glanced at Hush as he did so, but he didn¡¯t do so much as lick his chops. Small blessings, Ott thought, rushing back out of the room and down the stairs. He skidded to a stop at the bottom, quickly checking back out into the adjoined building, but it looked like no one else had been there yet. If they had, Ott would have expected more bandits waiting for him, weapons and smiles sharp. All he found was the body of the bandit he¡¯d killed, still leaking blood all over the floor.

    Ott wrinkled his nose but didn¡¯t let it slow him down. He hurried over to the elevator, peering down into the mineshaft again. He couldn¡¯t see the bandits at the bottom. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was his imagination or not but screams seemed to be ringing up from the depths.

    Ott grimaced and pulled out one of the force crystals. Gripping it in his hand, he thought of the spell he wanted to cast. That was the best part about crystals--they were the ultimate conduit for spells. Words, wands, none of that was needed when it all could be replaced by a simple magic crystal. The type of magic crystal did, however, limit the kind of spell that could be cast. That was about the only drawback that Ott knew.

    He needed a spell that would make it so he wouldn¡¯t die when he threw himself down that mineshaft. Something that could slow his descent. A spell that could make him fly would be better, but that was something that fell out of the scope of crystals entirely as far as Ott was aware. So, flexing his fingers against the smooth surface of the crystal, feeling it almost hum under his touch, he took one last deep breath before vaulting over the railing.

    Ott didn¡¯t crush the crystal in his hand--that would be a rookie mistake. He just focused on the spell he wanted to cast and put as much intent behind it as possible. Bending reality itself to the vision he had in his mind. That, naturally, being not ending up as a splatter on the bottom of the mineshaft.

    It still wasn¡¯t the nice descent Ott had been hoping for. He¡¯d thought that the crystal would slow him down until he gently touched down on the floor or something of the sort. This was not the case. Just when he thought the spell had failed and he was going to end up a puddle on the elevator platform after all, he suddenly shot back upward. Ott grunted at the whiplash of the change in his trajectory, but he only went up about a foot before falling once again.

    The spell had changed the fall from almost-certain death to about a three foot drop. Ott still grunted when he hit the bottom of the elevator and groaned as he picked himself up. He might not have ever used a crystal before, and they were notoriously finicky. He wasn¡¯t sure beyond that exactly why the spell hadn¡¯t played out the way he imagined, but he didn¡¯t have the time to spend pondering it. He had gotten to the bottom of the mineshaft, and he was still alive. For now, that had to be enough.

    Screams sounding from down the tunnel had Ott moving before he even fully registered it. He picked himself up and raced down the corridor, mace in one hand and another force crystal gripped in the other. The last one, as with all crystals used as a conduit, disappeared upon use. Now, he only had two more, so he needed to make them count.

    He passed the branch in the path that led to the magical creatures, slowing for only a moment as he did so. There might be an ally in a certain griffin if Wanily could be believed, but Ott didn¡¯t want to risk getting mauled by a griffin or any other manner of magical creature at the moment. He continued on, sending a silent apology to Wanily. He wasn¡¯t about to lose his life or risk the lives of others over a giant, bird-brained cat.

    When he finally reached the end of the tunnel and its two off-shooting paths, he immediately found himself face to face with a bandit. She must have been guarding the tunnel from any would-be escapees, what with the sword she had drawn but the way she leaned against the wall of the tunnel with an air of boredom. She looked just as surprised as Ott when he skidded around the corner and nearly crashed straight into her. The bandit was quicker on the uptake than him, though, seizing her sword in one hand and aiming to run Ott through. He twisted out of the way at the last second, gripping his mace and swinging straight for her face.

    The bandit, obviously more experienced in fighting than Ott, moved too quickly for Ott to make out. He just knew that one second, his weapon was about to end her, and the next, he was sprawled on the ground with the mace clattering down somewhere beside him. The bandit stood above him with a smile mixed with a sneer. She moved to plunge her sword through his chest. Ott brought up the force crystal.

    This was a spell Ott was more familiar with--enough that the crystal purely amplified exactly what he envisioned. The bandit brought down her sword. In the second before the tip of the blade sliced through Ott¡¯s flesh, the force crystal vibrated in Ott¡¯s outstretched hand. He couldn¡¯t see it, but as the caster of the spell, he could sense it. The wave of force that pulsated from the crystal, throwing the bandit against the tunnel wall, had enough strength that her chest folded into itself with a sickening crack. She didn¡¯t even get the chance to scream.

    Ott¡¯s empty hand was still outstretched, and he let it fall to the ground beside him. In the moment after, the bandit¡¯s body peeled from the tunnel wall, collapsing in a heap just beyond his feet.

    That¡¯s horrible, Ott thought. He wasn¡¯t supposed to use another force crystal so soon. But, well, he couldn¡¯t go around casting powerful spells if he was too dead to use the crystals. A necessary evil, then.

    The sound of fighting and more shouting spurred Ott back into action. He grabbed his mace, scrambled to his feet, and raced down the last stretch of tunnel. He could see movement and flashes of light past the mouth, but nothing came into focus until he burst into the cavern itself.

    Prisoners were running, twisting, and pushing each other out of their ways as bandits stalked after them with smiles, weapons gripped in one or both hands, some of which already dripped blood. There were a few bodies strewn about the room, but a quick glance confirmed that none of them sported green hair. Small mercies, Ott supposed. If Wanily had already fallen--

    Well. Ott wasn¡¯t sure what he would have done. Nothing good.

    He threw himself at the nearest bandit, bearing down on him with an overhead swing of his mace before the bandit could use his own weapon against another of the prisoners. The bandit didn¡¯t know what hit him--quite literally, as he fell to the ground, dead, and would never know what had hit him.

    The prisoner Ott had saved was one he recognized, luckily. It was Reynold, the first prisoner beside Wanily that had entertained a conversation with Ott. The brown-haired man, who Ott could only have described as gruff and snarky, was visibly relieved to turn and see that Ott was there, armed, and probably looking rather thunderous with righteous vengeance.

    Ott stooped down, pulling the bandit¡¯s sword from his slack grip. He certainly didn¡¯t need it anymore and hadn¡¯t put it to good use when he had, so Ott felt no guilt proffering the hilt of the weapon to Reynold. He took it with a nod and fell in beside Ott.

    ¡°What do we do?¡± Reynold demanded, holding the sword at a somewhat awkward angle. Ott somewhat doubted he¡¯d ever held a weapon before in his life, but there was hardly time for a lesson on that right now.

    ¡°Get people calmed and armed,¡± Ott said, watching for any bandits coming their way. One spotted them just as Reynold nodded, brow furrowing as she slowly approached, a sword gripped in one hand and a dagger in the other. ¡°If you can¡¯t get them proper weapons, pickaxes will do. And Reynold?¡±

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    Reynold, who had already started moving to fulfill Ott¡¯s orders, stopped. He glanced at the bandit approaching them, balking, but Ott simply said, ¡°Don¡¯t die.¡±

    He nodded again before throwing himself back into the fray. The bandits weren¡¯t watching for any of the prisoners to start attacking them back, and Reynold, despite his inexperience, was able to catch one unaware and drop his body to the cavern floor. The woman Reynold saved immediately scrambled for the bandit¡¯s weapon, and the two of them turned their sights to the others.

    That was all Ott saw before he had to return his attention to the bandit warily approaching him. She narrowed her eyes, watching Ott carefully as she slid into a battle stance. ¡°Trying to be a hero?¡± she called over the din of the chaos around them.

    ¡°Nope,¡± Ott said, adopting his own stance even though he knew next to nothing about fighting with a mace. ¡°Just a bard.¡±

    The bandit smirked, which answered the question of whether Ott was just making a fool of himself with the way he was holding his weapon. She charged forward without any other preamble, striking at him with fast swipes and precise jabs that Ott was just barely able to deflect or dodge.

    The element of surprise was only ever going to get Ott so far--he had to be able to hold his own in a fight. No, more than that, he had to be able to win a fight, which was not exactly how this was turning out.

    The bandit scored a slash along Ott¡¯s ribs with her dagger, making Ott wheeze. He needed to think, to come up with some sort of plan, but she was making that very difficult while he had to focus on remaining not-skewered as well. He had another force crystal, but he didn¡¯t want to use that just yet, and more than that, he didn¡¯t think the bandit would be polite enough to grant him the precious seconds it would take to fish it out of his pocket.

    The bandit lunged forward with her dagger, and Ott knew he was going to react too slowly. Time almost seemed to slow down as he watched the dagger approaching the space between his ribs, ready to bury itself into his chest up to its hilt. His breath stuttered.

    He was going to die.

    That--That wasn¡¯t how this was supposed to go! He hadn¡¯t become famous yet, hadn¡¯t become the greatest bard to walk the earth. He hadn¡¯t even managed to take down Esseli yet. He couldn¡¯t die, not now, but even as he brought his mace up to try to block the attack, he knew he wasn¡¯t moving quickly enough.

    Then, at the last second, the trajectory of the dagger suddenly veered to the left, so that the bandit stumbled forward. Like she was pulled that way.

    When Ott brought his weapon up, it was right into the space of her upper chest and neck. She let out a gurgle as Ott yanked the weapon back, its spikes having scored deeply into her flesh. Her dagger and sword fell to the ground as she seized her own neck, blood spilling past her fingers, before she dropped to the floor next to her weapons.

    In the space behind her, Wanily stood, one hand outstretched and the other gripping a pickaxe. That¡¯s when it clicked into place--that had been old magic. Ott was no old magic mage himself, but he was from Fris. He knew old magic when he saw it.

    ¡°Ott!¡± Wanily cried. She started forward, stopped with a glance down, and with a twist of her lips, she stooped down to grab the bandit¡¯s discarded dagger. The small blade still looked big in Wanily¡¯s small hands. ¡°You¡¯re okay!¡±

    Ott gave her a crooked grin. ¡°Could say the same to you.¡± He swept his gaze across the room, relieved to see Reynold and the woman he saved still alive and with many more prisoners added to their ranks now. There was no more aimless running and panic--no, the prisoners stood together, facing off against the handful of bandits that remained. The bandits had bunched themselves into a small group and were slowly backing up toward one of the other tunnels.

    They couldn¡¯t afford to let that happen. If the bandits got into the tunnels, there was no telling how long they would be able to hold off Ott and his men. They¡¯d have the defensive advantage. If Ott wanted all of the prisoners to escape, they couldn¡¯t be worrying about bandits at their back while they were trying to figure out a way up and out of this gods-forsaken mine.

    ¡°Don¡¯t imagine this is the part where you tell me you¡¯re actually a purple and can rip apart those bandits with your mind?¡± Ott muttered, just loud enough for Wanily to hear.

    He kept his eyes trained on the scene before him, but he could feel Wanily staring at him. ¡°Purple-haired mages can do that?¡±

    Ott shrugged. There were stories that suggested as much, but, well, they were also stories. Not necessarily rooted in reality. ¡°What I wouldn¡¯t give for a wand,¡± Ott lamented.

    ¡°A wand?¡± Wanily said. ¡°Will a stick do?¡±

    Ott laughed despite himself. ¡°Most wands are just sticks.¡± Special sticks, sometimes, made of specific material that helped along certain spells. But at their fundamentals, a wand was just a length of wood.

    Wanily knelt beside him, and Ott turned to watch as she laid her new dagger on the ground and gripped the shaft of her pickaxe, one hand just below the head, and the other a couple inches lower than that. Her brow furrowed and her knuckles went white as she, apparently, tried to snap the head of the pickaxe off its handle.

    Ott glanced between her and the retreating bandits, ¡°I don¡¯t think--¡±

    A loud snap interrupted him as the shaft of the pickaxe splintered and broke. Wanily let the head of the pickaxe clatter to the ground and proffered the shaft to Ott. It hadn¡¯t been a clean break, but it had worked. Wanily must have amplified the force she¡¯d been applying to the pickaxe until, well, it broke.

    Ott had never been so glad that old magic existed. He took the offered ¡®wand¡¯ and turned back to the bandits. He ran through all the spells he knew, trying to latch onto one that would be helpful in this situation but also didn¡¯t require more conduits. That made the relatively long list of spells that could do something much shorter. He could use the force crystal and try to deal with the bandits in one fell swoop, but he had the inklings of a plan in his mind. He¡¯d need to hold onto the force crystal for that to work. The light crystal still sat in his pocket as well, but he didn¡¯t see how that would do anything in this situation.

    But maybe he didn¡¯t need to attack the bandits themselves. He eyed the mouths of the tunnels behind them, offering up another prayer to Amera that there were no prisoners left alive further into the mine, and finally settled on a spell. ¡°Earth is the base, and I the sculptor,¡± he said, waving his wand at the tunnel the bandits were shuffling back towards. ¡°As I change the face, of the dirt that is under.¡±

    A head rush hit Ott, leaving him feeling a little lightheaded, as the earth at the top of the tunnel shook. Dust rained down from the mouth of the tunnel, the peppering sound drawing the attention of the bandits. Most turned to watch, faces drawing with horror as they witnessed the tunnel collapse into itself. Ott grinned, pointing his wand at the other tunnels in quick succession. The heads of the bandits whipped about as they turned about themselves, watching with visibly mounting panic as their only means of retreat disappeared one by one.

    The newly-armed prisoners advanced, expressions dark and many of their weapons already dripping blood. One of the bandits pushed himself toward the front of the little group and threw his weapon down at his feet.

    ¡°Spare us, and we¡¯ll help you,¡± he rushed to say. He brought his hands together, lacing his fingers together and dropping to one knee. ¡°You need a way out of the mine, right? They won¡¯t let you up without us. We¡¯ll get you up and out of here if you let us live.¡±

    Reynold, who was still leading the group of prisoners, stopped and shot a look to Ott. Waiting for his direction.

    ¡°I think we¡¯ll figure something out,¡± Ott called back. The bandit paled. Reynold nodded to Ott and brought his blade up to end the bandit¡¯s life.

    Ott started to move in front of Wanily, hoping to shield her from any more gruesome displays of violence, but he shouldn¡¯t have bothered. Wanily spun on her heel and darted out of the cavern, back towards the entrance of the mine. Ott yelped and shot after her just as the sounds of fighting resumed behind him.

    He stopped at the mouth of the tunnel, shouting after her, ¡°Where are you going?¡±

    Before she disappeared down the next tunnel, Wanily slowed just enough to yell back, ¡°I have to help my griffin!¡±

    Ott grimaced, throwing a glance over his shoulder. There were already fewer bandits remaining than the small number they¡¯d started with, but he also spotted a few new prisoner corpses. Ott¡¯s fellow captives had the number advantage, but the bandits clearly had more experience fighting.

    Ott had no idea if the other prisoners would prevail without him, but he couldn¡¯t let Wanily escape the bandits just to die because she insisted she was best friends with a griffin. Maybe it was selfish, but Wanily was a good-natured, free spirit--she represented everything Ott himself was fighting for. He couldn¡¯t let her die, even if it meant the death of the many.

    Cursing to himself, he took off after her. He ran down the tunnel leading toward the main corridor just in time to see her skid around the corner of the other tunnel, the one that led toward the monsters. Ott rushed over and down it, not letting himself hesitate or debate whether this was a good idea. He¡¯d survived a werewolf as a watchdog and not one but two fights with bandits--if the griffin did attack them, Ott would figure something out. He refused to let himself or Wanily be killed.

    The tunnel leading towards the monsters wasn¡¯t very long, and after Ott threw himself around the sharp turn at the end of it, he burst into a cavern similar to the one he just left, if smaller. This one, however, was crowded with metal cages hosting a range of magical creatures. Pixies in a bird cage were trapped next to a rectangular cage containing a dusty kappa beside a massive cell built into the cave wall barring off an entire dragon.

    The pixies--small, with smooth, gray skin and bat-like wings--clung to the bars of their cage and watched Ott stop in front of them with their huge, black eyes. They chittered nonsense for a moment, phonetic sounds that didn¡¯t make true words until one of them finally squeaked out, ¡°Fuh--Free?¡±

    The other three trapped in the cage mimicked their fellow, all of them chirping, ¡°Free? Free? Free?¡±

    The kappa, small for such a monster at only about two feet tall, blinked up at Ott with beady eyes. Its skin, which should have been a deep green and shiny with moisture, was dry as leather left out in the sun. It wrapped its arms around itself, webbed hands tightening on the ridge of the turtle shell that made up its torso. It clicked its beak together once, and while Ott knew kappas were new god creatures capable of speech, it said nothing to him. Ott grimaced and swept past it and the pixies.

    He hesitated by the cell of the dragon, finding himself checking over this monster, too. It had to be at least twenty feet long, but the cell was only big enough for the dragon to coil its long, thick body about itself like a spring or a snake. It was a pale yellow with an off-white stomach and spikes running along the top of its body that were a vibrant red. The dragon shifted as Ott stopped in front of its cell, slithering so that its head, framed by two red horns, rested atop its coils. Ott couldn¡¯t help but note that there were several bloody patches along the dragon¡¯s body where it looked like the scales had been plucked or sawn off.

    It trained its bright, yellow eyes on him and opened its mouth, revealing two rows of sharp teeth. ¡°Not a bandit,¡± it said, its voice deep but lilting along every word, like it was about to break out into song. ¡°The girl tries to free the griffin. Will the man free the dragon?¡±

    Ott shuddered. He liked the new gods and new magic as much as the next guy, but there was something about new magic creatures that was just unnatural. Probably the fact that most of them could talk. And a shocking number of them were humanoid, though that wasn¡¯t the case for a dragon.

    Still, it felt wrong to just leave it here. If--no, when--Ott and the others managed to get out of the mine, the dragon and all the other monsters down here would be left to starve to death or something of the sort. On the other hand, those teeth in the dragon¡¯s mouth did look rather wicked. If the stories were to be believed, dragons could usually be counted on for their benevolence, but there was no telling all that the bandits had done to this one. Even if the dragon could tell Ott wasn¡¯t one of them, it might still be inclined to end his life and escape on its own.

    Taking a deep breath, Ott moved past the dragon¡¯s cell and beyond, marching by a disturbing collection of more cages, all containing magical creatures in varying states of neglect and abuse. Most of them were new magic creatures, Ott noted, which made sense as they were generally weaker than old magic creatures. But what had Esseli planned to do with them? It seemed obvious that she kept the dragon to use its scales in potions--though what potions a dragon¡¯s scale could make, Ott couldn¡¯t say--or at least sell the material to a potion-maker. But what about the pixies and the kappa? They had no obvious signs of physical harm, and there was nothing that could easily be gathered from them on a regular basis. Had she aimed to train them much like her werewolves?

    It didn¡¯t matter now. Ott reached the back of the cavern where a medium-sized cage rested against the wall. In it, a fledgling griffin sat on its haunches, thin tail whipping back and forth behind it. Wanily knelt in front of the cage, the lock holding it shut in one hand as she turned it this way and that.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how they work,¡± she said. For a brief second, Ott thought she was talking to him, but when the griffin let out a chirp, he knew otherwise. ¡°If I did, we would have escaped the first time around. You know my magic isn¡¯t strong enough to break metal.¡±

    The griffin glanced up, its hawk-like gaze fixing on Ott. It let out a shrill screech that rebounded against the cave walls and had Ott jumping about a foot in the air. Wanily barely reacted except to glance over her shoulder.

    ¡°That¡¯s just Ott, he¡¯s been helping me,¡± Wanily said, turning back to the griffin. Ott was almost offended until she looked back at him again. ¡°Do you know how locks work? I can¡¯t get this thing open.¡±

    Ott nervously glanced at the griffin again. He wasn¡¯t an expert on them by any means, but this one seemed to be glowering at him, ears tilted back and eyes narrowed. Its tail did not slow down in lashing at the air.

    ¡°Are you sure this is a good idea?¡± Ott asked. He already knew what Wanily was going to say, but he felt compelled to double-check anyway.

    Wanily rolled her eyes. Ott could have at least done without the attitude. ¡°Eko is harmless,¡± she said, waving her free hand. ¡°Well, at least to me and the people I like.¡±

    ¡°Reassuring,¡± Ott muttered. He hesitated just a moment longer before joining Wanily on the ground in front of Eko¡¯s cage. He peered at the lock in her hand. It was gray, so probably made of iron, but big, larger than Wanily¡¯s palm.

    Ott had no idea how locks worked, but he didn¡¯t need to. ¡°Unlock the path, of that which would stop,¡± he said, pointing his wand at it. ¡°Allow me to go past, and open the lock.¡±

    With a click, the lock in Wanily¡¯s hand sprung open. Ott--hurriedly and wisely--backed away from the cage, wand and mace at the ready as the door creaked open. The griffin shook itself, dust rising in a cloud from its coat and wings, before slinking out of the cage. Ott gripped his weapons so hard the wood dug into his skin, watching as the griffin approached Wanily and nudged her shoulder with its beak. Wanily, still kneeling, squealed and threw her arms around the griffin¡¯s neck.

    Ott shuddered. The damn monster was about as big as her, so Ott knew it had to still be rather young. That didn¡¯t make it any less dangerous though.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Wanily asked, drawing back and raking her eyes over it. ¡°Your poor wing...¡± she breathed, one hand hovering over the griffin¡¯s right wing. Much like the dragon¡¯s body, there were raw patches of flesh around the top of the appendage where the feathers had been plucked.

    Ott expected the griffin to snap its beak at her for getting so close to its wound, but it merely let out a soft chirp and pulled away from her. It shot Ott another glare before marching past both of them and back toward the main corridor of the mine. Wanily shot to her feet to follow it, and Ott, feeling a little foolish, let his weapons fall to his sides and trailed after them.

    Back out in the main tunnel, Ott could no longer hear the sounds of fighting coming from farther down. Instead, the soft murmurings of conversation drifted down toward them. The griffin, who was still leading them for some reason, went to the left, heading back toward the elevator and away from the source of the voices.

    Wanily stopped, hands on her hips. ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going?¡± she called after him.

    The griffin stopped, twisting its neck to look back at her. It blinked slowly, tail twitching.

    ¡°We can¡¯t leave them,¡± Wanily insisted, and Ott wasn¡¯t about to tell her that she was no sage--she had about as much chance communicating with the griffin as she did with a rock. Griffins couldn¡¯t even speak.

    The griffin lifted one paw and took another step forward. Almost... pointedly.

    ¡°They can help us,¡± Wanily said, crossing her arms. ¡°There are still more bandits up there.¡± She pointed above them to emphasize her point. ¡°Remember how last time went?¡±

    The griffin let out a sharp whistling sound. It looked down the corridor at the elevator in the distance before shaking itself again and whirling around to march back toward Ott and Wanily. It did not look at either of them as it stalked right past.

    Bewildered, Ott glanced at Wanily. She grinned in return before hurrying after Eko. And Ott--well, what else was there to do but follow?

 Chapter 22: Countermelody--Part VI

    (669 A.C.)

    Ott and Wanily followed Eko back down the main tunnel toward the cavern where all the fighting had taken place. All of that was over from what Ott could hear--now, the only sounds that drifted toward them were of hushed voices. Ott still wasn¡¯t sure, however, who those voices belonged to. Were they going to find allies in the other prisoners or enemies in however many bandits survived?

    Ott kept his mace and wand at the ready. He still didn¡¯t know exactly how to use the mace other than to whack people with it, but he could at least run through the combat spells he knew. Just in case.

    ¡°So,¡± Wanily said, drawing out the word and interrupting his frantic thoughts, ¡°you don¡¯t actually have brown hair, do you?¡±

    Ott let go of his panic for the moment and smiled, but he did not take his eyes off the back of the griffin¡¯s head as it sauntered along ahead of them. He still didn¡¯t trust it in the slightest. But as for Wanily¡¯s question, he shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m a little bit more powerful than brown hair.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve cast a couple spells from what I¡¯ve seen,¡± Wanily said. ¡°They didn¡¯t look like little ones.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d be right.¡±

    ¡°Are you going to tell me what color your hair actually is, then?¡± Wanily asked, clearly exasperated by Ott¡¯s dodging.

    Ott chuckled. ¡°What would be the fun in that?¡± He elbowed Wanily lightly, but she just gave him a flat look. He sighed. ¡°If we survive this,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯ll tell you. And then you can go around and spread the fame of the great and powerful bard, Ott.¡±

    ¡°When.¡±

    Ott arched an eyebrow. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You said ¡®if¡¯ we survive this,¡± Wanily said. ¡°But we are going to get out of this. Even if we come out burned, sometimes the only way out of the fire is through it.¡±

    Ott smiled again, more genuine this time. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± he said softly. ¡°When we survive this, then.¡±

    They fell silent, and Eko reached the split in the tunnel a moment later. It stopped and jerked its head in the direction of the voices. Ott gave it a wide berth as he craned his neck to peer around the corner. He could just make out the handful of people left standing in the cavern as dressed in dusty clothes or rags--so decidedly not bandits. He breathed out a sigh of relief and broke into a jog to rejoin the other prisoners, Wanily, by the sound of it, on his heels.

    Reynold--thank Amera he was still alive--was the first to turn and appraise Ott as he approached. ¡°And just where did you go?¡± he drawled as Ott stopped beside him. ¡°We could have used some more of your magic on our side.¡±

    There were fewer prisoners left than there had been when Ott went to make sure Wanily didn¡¯t die via griffin. Ott winced.

    ¡°He was helping me,¡± Wanily said before Ott could respond. ¡°We still need a way out of the mine, right?¡±

    That drew the attention of the other prisoners, all of which turned toward Wanily. Ott let out an uncertain chuckle. ¡°We have a way out of here?¡± he breathed to her.

    She grinned. ¡°Of course! Eko can fly up and push the lever for the elevator.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡± Reynold asked.

    Ott just shook his head. ¡°You really think that bird-brain is going to understand what you want?¡±

    Wanily furrowed her brow, grin slipping away. ¡°What do you mean? Eko understands everything we say. Or, at least most things. I think.¡±

    ¡°Very reassuring,¡± Ott drawled.

    Wanily crossed her arms. ¡°Do you have any other ideas?¡±

    That was a good question, and one Ott had been asking himself for a while now. How to get the other prisoners out without putting them in a predicament where they were nothing but sitting ducks on that elevator? He had to assume at this point that the body of the bandit he¡¯d left up there had been discovered, and the rest of the camp was now the wiser to their escape attempt. And even if it hadn¡¯t been discovered, there was still the matter of either getting past the gate guarded by a werewolf or getting onto the wall walk and throwing themselves onto the other side of the walls without breaking their legs.

    No, that was step two. Step one was just getting out of this blasted mine. Ott didn¡¯t really see an option that didn¡¯t involve something that could fly going up there and activating the switch. Could he trust Wanily¡¯s griffin to do that, though? Or would it just take the chance to escape without them?

    He glanced back, down the tunnel where the griffin still sat and waited for them. Sure, it was there now, but what about when the fighting started back up? But then, if they could get the griffin to go up there and push the lever for the elevator, and if it didn¡¯t just fly away after, and if it could hold its own in a fight at all, it could make a marvelous distraction while the rest of them ascended in the elevator. It was a lot of ifs, but Ott didn¡¯t have the capacity to cast any flight spells himself. He had to put some measure of trust in the griffin.

    And if the griffin didn¡¯t end up sticking around or pulling the elevator lever in the first place, well, Ott would just come up with another plan. He was a planner. It was what he did.

    Just as he was about to open his mouth and assent to Wanily¡¯s plan, another thought occurred to him. He didn¡¯t particularly like it, and it was probably more of a risk than it was worth. But, well, a griffin wasn¡¯t the only monster down in this mine with them that could fly.

    Ott would have to trust that the griffin would bring them out of the mine. The distraction would work much better with a dragon thrown into the mix, he figured.

    ¡°I have an idea,¡± Ott said. The other prisoners gathered around him, silent as they listened. ¡°It¡¯s mostly your idea,¡± Ott continued, glancing at Wanily before addressing the group at large again. ¡°Wanily here as the fortune to have befriended a griffin. Griffins, as you may know, can fly. According to Wanily, this griffin is smart enough to be able to fly up above ground and hit the lever for the elevator to bring the rest of us up.¡±

    There were few enough of them left that they¡¯d need only one trip. Ott hadn¡¯t hoped for the outcome, but it did make things easier. Was Ott horrible for thinking that? Probably. But in the end, it was the truth.

    ¡°We¡¯ll be sitting ducks,¡± Reynold said slowly, eyes narrowed. ¡°If the bandits know that we¡¯re coming, it¡¯ll be like spearing slimes in a jar.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Ott said, nodding. ¡°So we¡¯re going to release the dragon, and we¡¯re going to aim it at the bandits. While we¡¯re going up in the elevator, the bandits will be distracted by the monster. We¡¯ll get up, it¡¯ll be free, it¡¯ll be a win-win.¡±

    ¡°How can you guarantee the dragon won¡¯t attack us?¡± one of the other prisoners in the back of their little group asked.

    Ott gave one of his signature smiles. ¡°Can¡¯t guarantee it,¡± he said honestly. ¡°But it¡¯s that or, like dear Reynold said, sitting around while the bandits make us into pincushions. So?¡±

    ¡°Why should we listen to someone who abandoned us when the fighting started?¡± another of the prisoners called, arms crossed.

    Wanily was the one to respond to that before Ott even could. ¡°Ott didn¡¯t have to come help us,¡± she retorted. ¡°He wasn¡¯t down here when all this started. If he wanted to escape without us, he could have.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, ¡®cause he¡¯s been Esseli¡¯s little pet since the moment he got here,¡± someone else said, to the assent of the others. ¡°Why should we listen to him?¡±

    ¡°Do any of you have any better plans?¡± Reynold said. The group went silent, sharing looks between each other but saying nothing. Reynold grunted. ¡°That¡¯s what I thought.¡±

    He nodded to Ott, and Ott returned it, hoping the action contained half the confidence. Reynold trusted Ott to bring them out of this place alive. Ott had to prove himself to be worthy of that trust.

    ¡°Alright then,¡± Ott said, hefting his mace and wand a little higher. ¡°You all get to the elevator. I¡¯ll get the dragon freed.¡±

    Ott turned to leave, but before he could take a step, Wanily was beside him and trying to catch his eye. He arched a brow at her and continued forward, forcing her to walk with him if she wanted to talk. ¡°That meant you, too,¡± he told her.

    He knew she probably only wanted to help, but if things didn¡¯t go well with the monsters, Wanily and her griffin were his best bet of defending the other prisoners. And he didn¡¯t want to put her in more danger than necessary. Should those thoughts have been in a different order? Probably. No use in fretting about that now, though.

    ¡°You might need help,¡± Wanily said, insistent. Her gaze flicked ahead of them, to where Eko still sat and waited for them. ¡°You could at least take Eko with you.¡±

    Ott very much did not want to do that, but, well, Eko was a monster. Maybe it would help Ott¡¯s case if he had another monster with him? Was that how that worked? Was that... offensive to assume? Why would he care if he somehow offended a griffin? Did it even have the mental capacity to be offended?

    So many questions, and ones that Ott ultimately decided didn¡¯t matter. He could bring the griffin with him if it would make Wanily feel better. It was better than facing a dragon by himself, right?

    ¡°Okay,¡± he said, a bit more reluctance sneaking into his voice than he would have liked.

    Wanily just nodded though, and jogged ahead to where the griffin waited. Ott sighed, watching as she knelt next to it and brought up a hand to shield her mouth as she whispered something to it. When she drew back, it flicked its ear at her and did not otherwise react. Wanily smiled, though, so Ott would take it as a good sign.

    It stood, then, glaring at Ott as he approached. Ott hadn¡¯t even stopped beside it before it was trotting away, head held high and wings bunched above in its back in a way Ott was convinced was haughty. Ott shared a look with Wanily, who only smiled at him.

    ¡°I¡¯ll get the others to the elevator and try to scope out the situation,¡± she said.

    Ott nodded. He turned and jogged after the griffin, mind whirling, trying to determine how this was all going to work out. There were all the current worries about just getting out of this blasted mind, but what about everything else? Everyone else? Would there still be any prisoners left above ground or would Esseli have killed them all by now? It was a terrifying thought, that Ott would have failed so spectacularly. It would do him no good to dwell on that now, though, so he attempted to push it from his mind and simply hurried after Wanily¡¯s griffin.

    It had stopped in front of the tunnel leading back toward the magical creatures, glowering at Ott while he caught up, and it whipped its head around and marched forward once Ott had reached it. Ott grimaced and fell into step beside it, his grip tightening on his wand and mace. The griffin had been well-behaved while Wanily was around, but would that change when it was just the two of them?

    Ott kept one eye on the monster, but it just sauntered along beside him without sparing him so much as a glance. When they entered the cavern, it waltzed right up to the dragon¡¯s cell and chirped at it.

    The dragon, still mostly curled up on itself, stretched out its neck until its snout hung just next to the bars of its cell, level with Eko¡¯s head. It let out a long sigh of a breath, the rush of air pulling at the fur of Eko¡¯s head. Eko simply shook himself, eyes narrowed at the dragon, and chirped again.

    ¡°The man returns,¡± the dragon said, training its unnaturally yellow gaze on Ott. ¡°But is he here with altruism in his heart, or vitriol like that which bears the griffin afloat?¡±

    Ott stopped in front of its cell, chuckling. ¡°I¡¯m hoping we can help each other,¡± he said. Hopefully, that answer would appease the dragon, not upset it. He really needed it to cooperate with him. He scanned the bars of the cell, but there didn¡¯t seem to be a door or lock--probably for the best, as the dragon almost certainly had the magical ability to free itself if that had been the case.¡°You want out of here, yes?¡±

    The dragon shifted, the scales of its body shimmering in the torchlight. It moved its great head so that it stared directly down at Ott. ¡°Yes,¡± it breathed, drawing the word out in a hiss.

    Ott swallowed, refusing to be unnerved. ¡°Great,¡± he said. ¡°Because I want out of here, too, but the problem is all the bandits standing between my group and the gate that will let us out of here. So, I figure that I can let you out, you can get some revenge on some bandits, and the rest of us can get past them. We help each other. What do you say?¡±

    The dragon stared down at him for a long moment, and Ott gave a dazzling smile. Eventually, the dragon pulled away. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± Ott spluttered, just as Eko let out a squawk. For once, Ott felt they were on the same page.

    ¡°Revenge is the treasure that men and others of the old gods seek,¡± the dragon said. ¡°I carry no desire for such a mystical remedy to my woes. If that is all you want from me, seek it elsewhere.¡±

    Ott gaped at the dragon as it brought its head to rest on the coils of its body, completely ignoring him and Eko now. Ott had been afraid that he wouldn¡¯t be able to contain the dragon¡¯s bloodthirst--not that it wouldn¡¯t have any in the first place.

    Eko let out another harsh squawk, but the dragon didn¡¯t acknowledge it. Ott cleared his throat and folded his hands behind his back. He would just have to try a different angle, then. ¡°Great dragon, I would like you to know that I am a bard, and so I have heard and recounted many tales of the benevolence of your kind. If it is not revenge that would compel you, perhaps you might be persuaded to simply help those in need? Without your aid, I doubt there is any hope for me and the people--innocent people, mind you--that are with me. The bandits would slaughter us like lame deer tied to a boulder.¡±

    The dragon let out a great breath. ¡°You attempt to flatter,¡± it murmured. ¡°But beneath the pretty words is a worthwhile argument. I would not leave the innocent to suffer under my very own torturers.¡± The dragon lifted its head again, and nodded to the bars of its cell. ¡°Free me and I shall lend aid.¡±

    Ott let out a tiny breath of relief. Step one--just convincing the dragon to help--was complete. Now to actually free it.

    Ott, still a bit hesitantly, stepped closer to the metal bars caging in the dragon to examine them. They certainly looked sturdy enough to contain a dragon, and Ott wasn¡¯t sure what he could do that a dragon couldn¡¯t. He tucked his wand into the waist of his trousers for the moment so he could reach out and give the closest bar an experimental tug. It didn¡¯t budge in the slightest, not that Ott thought he would be lucky enough that it would.

    Ott glanced at Eko. ¡°No chance you can do something about these, is there?¡±

    For a monster, Eko gave him a rather flat stare before whirling around and approaching a barrel kept off to the side of the room. He chirped at Ott, jerking its head toward it.

    Ott arched an eyebrow but would humor the griffin for the moment. He stepped over to the barrel and glanced inside. It had no lid, so Ott was able to peer at its contents freely. Inside was a liquid, clear but with a blue tint, and after giving it a cautious sniff, Ott could say it had no odor. He frowned at the substance before turning the look on Eko. ¡°Water?¡± he guessed.

    Eko seemed distinctly unimpressed but gave Ott a nod.

    Ott huffed. ¡°What am I supposed to do with a barrel of water?¡±

    Eko let out a sharp whistling sound that Ott interpreted as one of impatience. It nodded to the dragon.

    ¡°The griffin knows its stories,¡± the dragon said. ¡°For my kind use water as our magical conduits. Spill the water into my cage and see how I set myself free.¡±

    It suddenly made a lot more sense to Ott why the tales of dragons always took place along rivers or the shores of lakes. He hadn¡¯t realized water could be used as a conduit. Did that only apply to dragons or could he use it to cast his own slew of spells? He had trained for a while under a mage, though--if water could be used as the conduit for powerful spells, Ott thought he would know about it. That meant it must just be a trait of dragons.

    Shrugging, Ott moved behind the barrel to attempt to slide it closer to the dragon¡¯s cell. Bracing his shoulder against the side of the barrel, he took a deep breath and pushed. Ott didn¡¯t know why he was shocked when it didn¡¯t work--it was a huge barrel filled near to the brim with water and he had never been much of an athlete. He grunted, standing straight again, and his gaze slid to the griffin watching him with an agitated air.

    ¡°If you think you can do better, be my guest,¡± Ott said, stepping back and giving a mocking bow as he gestured toward the barrel.

    The griffin narrowed its eyes and trotted over to the barrel. It bumped its wing into Ott as it positioned itself behind the barrel, something that Ott was convinced it did on purpose just to irritate him. The griffin flicked its tail and pinned its ears back as it stood on its hind legs to rest its front paws on the side of the barrel. It let out a chirp as it, presumably, pushed against it, and just as Ott was about to make some appropriately taunting remark, the barrel tipped over with a groan. Water rushed across the floor of the cavern, spilling toward the dragon¡¯s cell. The dragon rested its head on the floor, yellow eyes fixed on the water creeping toward it, and the moment the water touched the dragon¡¯s snout, the dragon let out an eerie, booming laugh. With a flick of its head, the water touching it snapped up, thinning itself into two discs. Ott gawked as the dragon let out a great breath, jerking its head one way then the other, controlling the water and slicing it through the metal bars as easily as a tailor¡¯s scissors glided through silk.

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    The bars, cut at the top and bottom at steep angles, clattered to the cavern floor. The dragon pulled its head forward, stretching its body out until it was able to unfold its short, front legs from its body and rest them on the ground. It slinked forward, eagle-like talons tapping against the wet floor, until none of its body remained coiled up.

    The front of the dragon¡¯s body stopped in front of the tunnel leading to the rest of the mines, its head lowering until it was eye level with the pixies in their birdcage. Sensing what was about to happen, Ott opened his mouth and started to raise his hand in a gesture for the dragon to stop. He didn¡¯t make it that far before the dragon jerked its head again, and a spinning disc of water cut the bars of the cage at the top, right where they joined together.

    The pixies let out high-pitched chittering as they clamored to escape their confines. Ott nervously readied his mace. Pixies were small, prone to being mischievous rather than malevolent, but much like the dragon, their mouths were filled with sharp teeth and the tiny hands at the ends of their wings equipped with wicked claws.

    One of the pixies managed to shove past the others and worm its way out of the hole at the top of the cage. It perched on one of the bars, huge eyes trained on Ott as it grinned, displaying those razor teeth. ¡°Free!¡± it chirped.

    The other pixies sorted themselves out, one after the other squeezing out of the cage and flapping their wings to hover in the air. ¡°Free! Free!¡± they all began to chirp in their squeaking voices, making Ott wince.

    ¡°Was that necessary?¡± Ott muttered, inching away from the small group of pixies and more toward the dragon and Eko. The little freaks were watching him, every single one of them boasting the famous grins of pixies that seemed to split their faces in half. .

    ¡°The pixies can fly, just as I,¡± the dragon replied. ¡°They will aid us with the bloodthirst you sought from me.¡±

    That didn¡¯t help to assuage any of Ott¡¯s fears. Still, the pixies weren¡¯t attacking him--yet--so for now, Ott would trust the dragon¡¯s words. ¡°Then let¡¯s go,¡± he said, nodding toward the tunnel.

    The dragon more skipped than walked--its feet only occasionally touched the ground, the rest of its body wavering above the floor like a water snake cutting through a current. It bounded down toward the main tunnel, the tiny flock of pixies zipping forward to latch onto its back. They chittered all the while, those grins fixed on their faces.

    Ott shuddered, shared a nervous look with Eko--who still wore an unimpressed expression--before both of them hurried after the dragon. Ott resisted the urge to look back at the other magical creatures they were leaving behind. He needed to worry about the enslaved people about to be slaughtered, not the caged monsters.

    The dragon burst into the main tunnel, careening easily around the corner. Ott caught the shouting of the other prisoners before he did the same, but once he skidded into the main tunnel, he threw up his hands. ¡°It¡¯s okay!¡± he called. ¡°He¡¯s going to help us!¡±

    The other prisoners, with Reynold and Wanily at the front of the group, had readied their stolen weapons. At Ott¡¯s words, however, they uncertainly lowered them and huddled closer together as the dragon slowed its approach. When it finally stopped just in front of Wanily, it let out a great breath, pulling Wanily¡¯s hair back from around her head. Wanily grinned up at it, fully letting the dagger gripped in her hands fall to one side.

    Her gaze slid to Ott, then a bit lower, to Eko. Her expression softened into something almost... sad. Ott frowned, slowing to look down at Eko, but it was no longer next to him. Instead, it had stopped just outside of the side tunnel, its head twisted to look behind. At the other magical creatures they¡¯d left behind.

    Eko was a monster that had been caged just like them. Still, it was not lost on Ott that out of the two of them, only one of them had looked back.

    ¡°Hey,¡± Ott said softly. Eko didn¡¯t look at him right away, though Ott knew it¡¯d heard him by the way its ear flicked. It shook itself slightly, tail lashing behind it, before it finally turned and stalked past Ott, head held high.

    Ott was just surprised that a griffin held enough compassion to even consider helping the other monsters, but if there was one thing Ott was coming to learn about Wanily¡¯s griffin, it was that it wasn¡¯t the evil beast that prowled in most stories of its kin.

    It--he--had enough of a conscience to at least feel bad. Ott probably should have realized it sooner; Wanily was smart enough to teach herself magic and kind enough to want to use that magic to help others. She wouldn¡¯t have accepted a bloodthirsty monster at her side. No, Eko might keep a certain air about him, but he cared, just like Wanily. And he was not going to risk her life or the lives of the other prisoners.

    Ott jogged after his little group of monsters until he stood beside the dragon¡¯s massive head in front of Wanily and Reynold. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±

    Reynold answered him. ¡°They¡¯re waiting for us at the top of the elevator,¡± he said. ¡°At least six of their marksmen. They fired at us the moment we even just peeked out to look.¡±

    Wanily motioned Ott closer, and, with a frown, he leaned closer to her. ¡°You¡¯ve been using crystals,¡± she whispered. ¡°Why?¡±

    Ott was surprised she didn¡¯t know, but more wary of why she was even asking. ¡°They make spells much stronger.¡±

    ¡°You only have two left though, right?¡±

    Ott furrowed his brow. He shared a look with Reynold, the only other person close enough to hear this little exchange, but he looked just as confused as Ott felt. ¡°How do you know that?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s one in the shaft of the elevator,¡± she said, completely ignoring his question. ¡°Should we try to get it?¡±

    Thoroughly baffled now, Ott drew back. ¡°How do you know that?¡±

    She gave him an indecipherable look before her face cracked with a coy smile. ¡°When we get out of here, I¡¯ll tell you. For now, let¡¯s just say I know exactly where it is. So, should we get it?¡±

    Turnabout''s fair play, Ott begrudgingly acquiesced. ¡°It must power the elevator,¡± he said slowly. ¡°We can¡¯t get it yet if we want to get out.¡±

    Wanily¡¯s gaze fell to Ott¡¯s feet. Specifically, where Eko sat, ears already pressed flat against his head. ¡°Eko could grab it?¡± she suggested.

    Ott considered this. The crystal was likely to be in some sort of mechanism or, at the very least, a clamp of some type to keep it in place. A griffin¡¯s paws would not be well-suited to prying that out. However, they did have more companions than just him and the dragon.

    ¡°The pixies,¡± Ott said, gesturing to where they still clung to the dragon¡¯s scaly body. ¡°One of them should be able to grab it. You¡¯ll just have to try to get them to follow your directions.¡±

    Wanily gave him a rather dubious look, but eventually shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best,¡± she said. ¡°¡®Cause I think it would help a lot to have another crystal, right?¡±

    It would, Ott figured. Especially when he had his inevitable confrontation with Esseli. There was no way in Gehenna that Ott was walking away from this place while she still drew breath. Of course, his main objective was to get the prisoners out. But after that? The death of the famed General Pikerman, and the birth of the greatest bard, Ott.

    He turned to the dragon, smiling. ¡°Ready?¡±

    ¡°Give the word and I will do all I can to distract your assailants,¡± the dragon replied, body waving behind it like it was treading water.

    Ott nodded to it, and the dragon shot forward, up, and out of the shaft. Shouting sounded from above them, along with the distinct twang of bowstrings and crossbows. The dragon bellowed out a laugh, the noise reverberating down the shaft and making Ott wince at the volume.

    ¡°Everyone on the elevator!¡± Ott ordered. The remaining prisoners rushed to follow the command, all of them--even Wanily and Ott--nervously watching the open air above them for any signs of more bandits. The dragon had said it would help them--Ott didn¡¯t think it had lied, but now was the moment of truth.

    He waited with bated breath for an arrow or crossbow bolt to strike him right between the eyes, but it never came. Ott let out a sigh of relief though they certainly weren¡¯t out of the woods yet. Just as he was about to look down and give the signal to him, Eko soared into view above him followed by a rush of wind so strong that it made Ott stumble back. The edges of his wings tilted down, feathers rustling as he glided upon the wind until he was forced to flap to make it to the top. Ott tightened his grip on his weapons, convinced for a moment that Eko was going to leave them behind despite all the evidence to the contrary. All those fears dissipated as there was a loud whirring sound, and then the elevator began to rise.

    Of course, those anxieties were just replaced by the ones whispering that everything could still very easily fall apart if the dragon fell or the bandits got the opportunity to attack them. A shrill shriek echoed down the shaft, one that Ott recognized belonged to Eko.

    Wanily winced beside him. ¡°Isn¡¯t there a way to make this go faster?¡± she demanded, peering at some point to her right. At the crystal? How was she able to see it?

    ¡°Your griffin is fine, I¡¯m sure,¡± Ott said, hushed, though he secretly doubted it. It wasn¡¯t like Eko had the natural armor of a dragon. Even with old magic at his disposal--relatively weak old magic, as he was still but a fledgling--he was up against a much larger fighting force.

    Still, Ott would rather keep Wanily calm and quiet for now. Even if they did get up there and find that the cry from her griffin had not been one of battle but of death, that could wait until they were up and out. It would be easier to drag Wanily from the corpse of her pet than to drag Wanily¡¯s corpse through the bandit camp because she drew the attention of the bandits to them.

    It felt horrible to think that way, but Ott would do what he needed to. He had to keep the prisoners left here alive, and that included Wanily.

    ¡°He¡¯s not mine,¡± Wanily murmured. ¡°I mean, he¡¯s my friend, not a thing I own.¡±

    Ott found himself smiling despite his worries. ¡°Right.¡±

    It would be another minute or so before they reached the top of the elevator shaft, and Ott could tell the other prisoners were just as anxious as--if not more than--Ott. He wished he could give them a rallying speech, something truly worthy of the title of bard that he boasted, but he¡¯d rather keep a low profile for now. The sounds of fighting and shouting still roared on above them, but it would undoubtedly only take one bandit to hear them or realize the lever had been pushed to draw their weapons to Ott and his fellows.

    It was not usually part of a bard¡¯s vocabulary, but for now, Ott remained silent.

    They continued to rise steadily up through the elevator shaft. Ott clutched the force crystal in his pocket. He¡¯d need it when they got to the top. How many bandits would be waiting for them? How many would turn from the dragon to them when they showed their faces? What about getting through the rest of the camp when the werewolf still guarded the gate? Could the dragon handle taking it down, or would that fall to Ott and his comrades? Where was Esseli during all of this?

    So many questions whirling through Ott¡¯s mind, not that any of the answers would help him now. At this point, he just needed to roll with the punches and get out what people he could. He could worry about Esseli after that.

    When they were but a few scant feet from the head of the tallest member of their party poking above the edge of the ground, Ott waved his arms to get everyone¡¯s attention. He brought his hands down slowly, palms down, and crouched low to the ground. The others, understanding the gesture or just following their fellows that did, lowered themselves into a position that mirrored Ott¡¯s.

    ¡°Be ready,¡± Ott said to Wanily, and she nodded, clutching her dagger close to her.

    When they finally reached the top of the elevator, Ott barely gave himself time to assess the situation. The dragon had lined its body up in front of the elevator, blocking the bandits from getting closer. It looked like a couple had tried anyway, and now they were in pieces. Eko, blessedly, was still alive and hunkered down behind the dragon¡¯s head. The pixies still clung to the dragon¡¯s body, tiny hands wrapped over the edge of its scales and eyes peeking out at the bandits.

    Where the scales had been plucked away, a single arrow protruded from the dragon¡¯s body. Blood spilled down its side and dripped onto the floor below, but even as Ott watched other bandits try to shoot at the exposed patches, their aim was either too bad or the dragon would lithely twist out of the way.

    Ott had the inkling that he should cover Wanily¡¯s eyes or something to shield her from the bloody display. He glanced at her, but her expression was set, gaze hard and dagger held unwaveringly. She would be alright, he thought. He¡¯d make sure of it.

    For now, that meant getting everybody out alive. The other prisoners rushed off of the platform of the elevator, weapons held at the ready. When the bandits caught sight of them, many of them uncertainly lowered their weapons. A few even took a one or two steps back toward the doorway leading out to the courtyard. That is, until a familiar voice rang through the air.

    ¡°What is going on here?¡± Esseli demanded, standing in the doorway with her sword drawn. The light of the blade was just barely visible above the harsh glare of the sun outlining her frame.

    The light made it difficult to make out her face, but Ott felt a chill run down his spine when her head tilted and he just knew she was looking at him. She took a single step forward, and the expression on her face almost made him blanch. He thought she¡¯d be angry to see him. Furious that he had defied all her plans. Instead, she was grinning with a potent air of excitement.

    ¡°You,¡± she practically purred. ¡°I should have known you would find a way out. And now you¡¯ve gotten some friends.

    ¡°I wonder though,¡± she continued, her expression darkening, becoming more threatening, even with her smile fixed on her face. ¡°Have you ever heard the saying about fair weather friends?¡±

    Ott furrowed his brow. He glanced around at the other prisoners, but they stood resolute. It wasn¡¯t until Eko let out an alarmed chirp that Ott¡¯s gaze snapped to the dragon. The dragon had bowed its head. It was... trembling.

    Esseli knew how to make monsters heel to her. It seemed even a beast as powerful and intelligent as a dragon was not exempt from that.

    Well. Shit.

    ¡°Vio,¡± Esseli said, her smile turning smug when she caught sight of the alarm on Ott¡¯s face that he knew he couldn¡¯t completely hide. ¡°Be a good dragon and get rid of those prisoners, will you? But leave that one--¡± she pointed at Ott-- ¡°alive. I have plans for him.¡±

    A few things happened at once. Eko dove toward Wanily¡¯s feet, wings outstretched. The pixies shot into the air with harsh cries. A few of the other prisoners screamed. The bandits wielding bows drew them, a breadth¡¯s space away from letting their arrows fly. And the dragon lurched around, still shaking, and trained its gaze on the group of prisoners behind him.

    Ott didn¡¯t waste a second. He gripped his last force crystal in his hand and put the last of his plan into action. No outward indication appeared, but a light tingle through the back of his head told him that it had worked. And if that hadn¡¯t, the next moment would have.

    The bandits let their arrows fly. The dragon lunged toward them. All of the attacks stopped a foot away from the closest prisoners as if they hit a wall. The dragon scrabbled in the air, its talon scratching at a surface it could not see. The arrows glanced off seemingly nothing, flying in different directions until they hit a wall and clattered to the floor.

    Beside him, Wanily let out a laugh halfway between relieved and disbelieving. ¡°What happened?¡±

    Ott grinned, locking eyes once more with Esseli. Her smile had disappeared from her face. ¡°I used a crystal. Everyone,¡± Ott said, raising his voice, ¡°stick close to me.¡±

    The forcefield Ott erected would only last a couple of minutes, even with its power amplified by the crystal. They¡¯d have to be quick, but Ott also couldn¡¯t tell the other prisoners that without tipping off Esseli and her men. But he would make do. He¡¯d have to.

    Ott waited until the prisoners huddled close to him, including Eko. The pixies weren¡¯t so lucky to make it inside the protective spell, but they were quick to shoot past Esseli¡¯s head and out into the open. Some help they¡¯d been, but Ott couldn¡¯t find it in him to be upset. At least they would get away.

    Once everyone was close to him, Ott took a step forward, prompting the group to do the same.

    The dragon dropped away from the barrier. ¡°I am sorry,¡± it murmured. ¡°I thought I would be able to, but I could not stand up to my master.¡±

    Ott said nothing, and after a moment, the dragon slunk back to Esseli. She patted it on the head without tearing her eyes away from Ott. ¡°Take to the skies, Vio,¡± she ordered. ¡°I¡¯ll think of a sufficient punishment for you later.¡±

    The dragon lowered its head. Esseli stepped back outside, allowing the dragon to move past her in its wavering fashion. She did not reappear in the doorway, but Ott doubted it was because she¡¯d given up. For now, though, she was letting them pass.

    Ott moved forward at a slow but steady pace, shuffling forward with the group of escapees. The bandits closest to the doorway grunted as the unyielding forcefield ran into them and pushed them back. They watched the group with dark expressions, their weapons still held at the ready. Waiting for the forcefield to drop, though they wouldn¡¯t know exactly when it did.

    One of the good things about this spell was that it only blocked whatever Ott perceived as a threat--it did nothing to the walls of the building around them. Such that when the group reached the door leading outside, Ott stood in the doorway and let everyone pass him first without the entire structure falling apart.

    When he finally followed the rest of them out, he figured they only had about a minute left in the spell. Not long enough to get to the gate, but Ott was a bard. He would just have to put on a performance to convince the others that the forcefield was still up and hope they didn¡¯t call his bluff.

    Otherwise...

    He blinked in the light of the sun but wasted no time continuing forward. Ahead of them, Esseli strode to the gate at the other end of the courtyard where Shush and what looked like the rest of her bandit forces waited. Ott swept his gaze around the rest of the courtyard, swallowing hard. It looked nothing like the chaos of the caverns below, not that Ott expected that from Esseli. No, there were two piles stacked high with the bodies of the other prisoners, one on the left and one on the right. From what Ott could see, each of them had their throat slit, which explained the large pool of blood surrounding each pile.

    Systematic killing. Quick and efficient. It made Ott sick to think about all the lives he hadn¡¯t been able to save, but for now, he needed to focus on the ones he could still get out.

    The bandits watched them approach, stone-faced and silent. When Esseli reached the front of her group of men, she stopped and spun on her heel. She let out a sharp whistle, and it wasn¡¯t long before Ott heard movement somewhere behind him. He glanced back to see Hush on all fours, running toward Esseli. He skidded to a halt on the side of her opposite from Shush and turned around slowly, head bowed as he avoided looking at Esseli.

    Ott glanced above them where the dragon soared high in the sky. He wanted to be angry with it, but it was just a monster that had been caged and abused. Esseli had sunk her claws into it just like she did with her werewolves. Just like she¡¯d tried to do with Ott. He couldn¡¯t blame the creature for being a victim.

    It would just make killing Esseli all the sweeter.

    Ott didn¡¯t spot the pixies anywhere, not that he expected to. It was just Ott¡¯s group, still moving forward, and Esseli¡¯s forces, waiting for them.

    The forcefield dropped when they were still about twenty yards from the gate. Ott could feel it in the way his head stopped tingling, but he clamped down hard on any panic that threatened to rise in him. He couldn¡¯t afford to show any sign that the spell had faded. As long as he exuded confidence, the prisoners and Esseli and her men would have no reason to believe anything else.

    From the corner of his eye, he noticed Wanily shoot him a look of alarm the moment the barrier dropped. She said nothing though, instead ducking her head and continuing forward. She must have known the barrier was gone, but how? Did it have to do with how she had seen the other force crystal in the elevator?

    It didn¡¯t matter. They were but a scant few feet from Esseli, her werewolves, and the bandits lined up behind her both on the ground and the wall walk. Ott stopped, prompting the others with him to do the same.

    ¡°Move aside, Esseli,¡± Ott said. ¡°Don¡¯t make this harder than it needs to be.¡±

    Esseli stared at him for a moment, seemingly appraising him. Eventually, she smirked. Panic swept through Ott.

    ¡°I was a general once, little bard,¡± she said. ¡°I knew battle mages and their capabilities. I even know the extent of what crystals can do. How they can be used and how they amplify spells. I¡¯ve used them in the past myself. And I have an idea of when that power runs out.¡±

    ¡°What is she talking about?¡± Reynold hissed, somewhere on Ott¡¯s right, but he didn¡¯t tear his gaze away from Esseli.

    Esseli smiled, as beautiful as she was deadly. ¡°You could have gotten away on your own,¡± she continued. ¡°Taken my crystals and thrown yourself over the wall of my camp. But instead, you risked everything to come back and save what few of my captives you could. Why?¡±

    Ott licked his lips. Everyone was staring at him. He could say something about being like the bards of old, treasuring life and love and freedom. He could claim that he sought to vanquish evil in his own strange fashion. Instead, the truth tore itself from his throat. ¡°Because I come from Fris,¡± he shouted. ¡°The land you ruined, whose people you slaughtered. And now, I want retribution. I¡¯ll save who I can, but more than anything, I want to see the light in your eyes die.¡±

    Esseli stopped smiling. She nodded though, like Ott had given her the correct answer to a test question. She glanced to either side, where her werewolves stood. Ott waited for her to give the order to attack. ¡°Hush, Shush,¡± she said, ¡°open the gates.¡±

    A faint murmuring washed over the bandits, but only one of them was brave enough to speak up. Ott recognized Freun as he stepped forward, scowling. ¡°What? What are you doing?¡±

    Esseli turned to him without the slightest twitch of a change in her expression. ¡°Ott here has gone through so much to get these prisoners out,¡± she said. ¡°So we¡¯re going to open the gate for them. After all, how do you think the little bard will feel knowing those with him only get to escape because of my mercy?¡±

    ¡°What about their barrier?¡± another bandit piped up from on the wall walk, bow halfway drawn.

    ¡°Gone,¡± Esseli said, to the nervous shifting of the other prisoners. ¡°So I¡¯m considering letting the workers go. We have no use for them anymore anyway, and it¡¯s not like they can stop us. But you, Ott,¡± she said, turning back to him, ¡°will stay here. You will either kiss my feet and beg for forgiveness or you take that mace and pathetic excuse for a wand and use them to duel me. That is the price I put on the freedom of your fellows and the chance to sate your bloodlust.¡±

    ¡°And if I were to refuse?¡± Ott asked, feeling he already knew the answer.

    ¡°Then you all die together,¡± Esseli answered. ¡°So what will it be?¡±

    As if that was any choice at all. The other prisoners began to plead that Ott take the deal--all except for Wanily, who stared at him in silence--but they didn¡¯t need to waste their breath. Taking a deep breath, he said, ¡°I accept.¡±

 Chapter 23: Whats in a Muse--Part VII

    (669 A.C.)

    Esseli did not smile like Ott thought she would at his words. I accept, he¡¯d said without hesitation, but even he knew how stupid this was. Esseli was a military-trained fighter, silver-haired mage, and wielded an enchanted blade that did something though Ott still didn¡¯t know what. Ott had a mace he didn¡¯t know how to wield and a makeshift wand. There was the light crystal still in his pocket, too, though he had no idea how that would help him at all.

    He was royally fucked. But at least the other prisoners would get the chance to escape this way.

    Still standing beside him, Wanily tugged on Ott¡¯s sleeve. ¡°You can¡¯t do this,¡± she urged. ¡°This is just--you¡¯re just going to die.¡±

    Ott smiled at her. He could tell her he would be fine, but for once, he didn¡¯t feel like lying or putting on a show. ¡°Take your griffin and go, Wanily. Become the Archmage and whatever else your little heart desires.¡±

    Wanily¡¯s eyes brimmed with tears. Ahead of them, Hush and Shush began to pull open the gate to the camp, revealing the woods beyond. It was a sight Ott hadn¡¯t been sure he would see again, but it seemed now that looking was all that he would get.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone else to die for me,¡± Wanily murmured.

    Ott frowned, but before he could comment on that, Esseli moved forward. ¡°Ott, you will move toward the middle of the courtyard and wait for me. The rest of you prisoners--¡± she stepped aside with a small gesture to the gate-- ¡°are free to go.¡±

    At first, the group hesitantly began to shuffle toward the gate, toward freedom, but when the bandits didn¡¯t attack and not even the werewolves made so much as a twitch, they quickly began to pick up the pace. By the time they reached the gate, they were running out into the wilderness.

    All except for Wanily, who stubbornly remained by Ott¡¯s side, and Eko, who remained at hers.

    Esseli looked coldly down at her and her griffin. ¡°That was not a request, child. Are you not glad to finally be offered your freedom? After that failed escape attempt that I so graciously allowed you to live through?¡±

    Wanily shifted beside Ott, moving her weight from foot to foot, and said nothing. Instead, she gave Ott another pleading look, but Ott had no idea what she wanted him to do.

    This was the price he paid for her to live. She would get out of the fire unscathed. Ott, on the other hand...

    Well, he¡¯d get his chance to fight Esseli. That was all he could really ask for, too.

    ¡°Or I could kill you and your griffin now and be done with the matter?¡± Esseli spat. ¡°Leave.¡±

    ¡°Go, Wanily,¡± Ott said softly, placing a hand on her back and giving her a light push. ¡°Please.¡±

    Wanily took a single step forward and stopped again. ¡°Come out burned,¡± she murmured. ¡°Come out burned but alive.¡±

    Ott smiled. He wouldn¡¯t promise her anything.

    She stared up at him for another moment before finally shuffling out of the camp. Eko spared a glance and a soft chirp for Ott, nodding to him like Ott was supposed to know what that meant, before he strode after Wanily with his head held high. Ott watched their backs until they finally reached the treeline. Wanily looked back, face twisted with melancholy, before she ran into the woods after the other prisoners, Eko right on her heels.

    ¡°Well?¡± Esseli said, already marching to the middle of the courtyard. The bodies of the other prisoners rose on either side of her like small mountains, and when she turned to face Ott, it was with a frigid glare. She entered a battle stance, sword held in front of her. ¡°Come face me, little bard.¡±

    Ott took a deep breath, tightened his grip on his weapons, and strode forward to meet his fate.

    He tried to think if there was any way for him to win this. Esseli stood confident before him, and why shouldn¡¯t she? Ott didn¡¯t have half the training or skill as her. Her bandits watched on from the wall walk or the ground by the gate, and he doubted they¡¯d take kindly to him killing the woman that paid them. Same thing went for her werewolves and the dragon still circling overhead--any of them were bound to interfere if Ott even got close to winning. Which he doubted would even happen.

    He stopped about fifteen paces away from Esseli, readying his mace and his wand. Did he know any spells that would help him here? A lot of combat spells required more conduits than just a wand, and the only other conduit he had was the stupid light crystal. Maybe he could try to blind her with a light spell? It was about the only thing he could think of, but he doubted how effective that would even be with how bright the sun above them already was.

    Just how powerful would the light spell be? Crystals were powerful, he knew that, but it wasn¡¯t like he¡¯d used very many in the past.

    On top of all that, he still didn¡¯t know what enchantment laid on her sword. It could be something as simple as being able to cut through metal. It could be something as extravagant as throwing balls of fire. Or it could be anything in between. But why did it glow? Enchantments didn¡¯t usually do that--and even if they did, it was when the magic was in effect, not just idly waiting to be used.

    So did that mean that Esseli¡¯s enchanted sword was always using magic? Why?

    Ott was broken from his thoughts by Esseli slowly advancing, sword extended in front of her, ready to strike. She began moving to the left, and Ott did likewise, falling into circling each other.

    ¡°You could have stayed with me,¡± she said softly. Ott said nothing, but Esseli¡¯s hard expression didn¡¯t shift. ¡°Lived a relatively easy life of pleasuring me and traveling by my side. I treat my pets well.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget, general,¡± Ott hissed. ¡°I¡¯m a bard through and through.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± she drawled. ¡°A purveyor of freedom and love and joy, is that it? That¡¯s why you allowed yourself to be captured in the first place. You wanted to free the people I imprisoned, take down my operation from the inside.¡± She suddenly smiled and nodded to one of the piles of bodies crowding them in. ¡°How did that go?¡±

    Ott could spit at her, tell her she was a monster. Tell her that she represented everything wrong with the progression of humans, that she embodied the cruelty they¡¯d learned that came with their compassion. Instead, he threw himself at her, bearing down on her with his mace.

    She easily evaded the overhead strike with a quick lunge to the side. Ott expected her to retaliate with a slash, but she twisted her blade around and struck him between the ribs with the pommel of her weapon. A precise attack that made Ott wheeze, stumbling back and lashing out with his mace again. Esseli ducked into a roll, slipping under the swing and popping up behind Ott.

    She could have ran him through and been done with it. Instead, she kicked him square in the back, causing him to stumble forward this time. Ott grunted and whirled around to face her once more. She retreated quickly, falling into her battle stance again with an air of ease and confidence.

    She was toying with him.

    Ott gritted his teeth. She knew just as well as he did that this fight would last exactly as long as she wanted it to. But Ott wasn¡¯t about to call it quits just because he didn¡¯t stand a chance. Did the bards of old exercise caution just because they were angering the gods themselves? Of course not. And despite all her malevolence and competence to support it, Esseli was just a person, as mortal as him.

    The crystal in his pocket weighed against his leg. If he could goad her into an attack, he might be able to use the crystal to blind her. It might not work, but it was about the only thing he could think of. Ott didn¡¯t expect to live through this whether he killed Esseli or not, but if he could slay her, he would count his life as a worthy sacrifice.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Esseli?¡± Ott goaded. He winced when he breathed a little too deeply and it sent a pang between his ribs. ¡°Afraid to face me properly?¡±

    Esseli arched an eyebrow at him. She started moving to the left again, forcing Ott to circle with her. ¡°What about this fight makes you think that you could handle ¡®properly¡¯?¡±

    Ott glared at her, all show and one he hoped was convincing. ¡°Why bother with a duel if you¡¯re just going to flounce around and toy with me? If you¡¯re going to take me down, do it.¡±

    Esseli laughed. ¡°But it¡¯s so much better this way.¡±

    Ott smiled. ¡°Do you think the emperor thought the same? Exile over execution?¡± Ott tossed his makeshift wand aside, leaving his hand open. ¡°Come at me!¡±

    When Esseli attacked, he¡¯d only have a split second to grab the crystal in his pocket. He didn¡¯t want to do so now and tip her off to his plan. He would just have to be quick.

    Esseli¡¯s mirth disappeared. She regarded Ott coldly, still moving, one foot then the other in a slow prowl. Ott felt exposed under her gaze, like she knew what he was thinking, what he was planning. More likely, she was just noting all the ways she could kill him.

    She struck with hardly any warning. Ott just barely noticed the way her stance shifted as she put more weight in the balls of her feet. It was his only indication that he was very much about to die if he didn¡¯t do something very quickly. With one hand, he raised his mace to try blocking her attack. He plunged the other into his pocket and gripped the light crystal. Turning his head away and squeezing his eyes shut, he seized the idea of the exact spell he wanted to cast and let the crystal do the rest of the work.

    Light spells could be some of the simplest spells to cast, though it also depended slightly on the nature of the spell. Making an object glow, especially one not being touched by the caster, was more difficult than just making light appear nearby. Sustaining the spell for any prolonged length of time would weaken the light or require more magic to make it as bright.

    Ott didn¡¯t do any of that. He didn¡¯t need to. He just needed to have a bright enough, split second flash to blind Esseli. It would be one of the simplest spells a mage could cast. Even without a crystal, Ott could have created a strong enough beam of light to rival sunlight. But when the spell was amplified by one--

    Even turned away and with his eyes closed, Ott¡¯s entire vision went white. Esseli screamed in pure agony. Ott batted his eyes, trying to will away the slight blurriness at the edge of his vision, and focused back on Esseli. She¡¯d dropped her weapon to press the heels of her hands into her eyes, her lips curled and teeth clenched.

    ¡°You son of a bitch!¡± she cried. When she dropped her hands from her face, Ott cringed at the sight of her eyes. Not just bloodshot but the white had turned a complete, harsh red, with tears streaming down her face in twin trails. The moment her hands fell, she cried out again and brought them right back. Sensitive to the daylight?

    It didn¡¯t matter. Esseli was defenseless, and she seemed to know it. She dropped to her knees, one arm coming up to shield her eyes and the other scrabbling in the dirt for her weapon. ¡°I¡¯ll kill you,¡± she spat. ¡°You little shit, you¡¯ll die for this.¡±

    Her hand on the ground was more than a foot away from her weapon. Ott almost pitied her. Almost.

    He moved forward, mace gripped in both hands. She must have been able to hear the scuff of his boots in the dirt because her movements became more frantic. She lowered her arm, red eyes squinted against the light. The tears raced down her face faster as she groped blindly for her weapon.

    ¡°I was the greatest general in the Tirandan army,¡± she hissed, though it sounded closer to a sob. ¡°I will not be killed by some pathetic bard. I will not be killed.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± Ott said, hefting his mace up over his head. ¡°I didn¡¯t take you for a liar and a murderer, general.¡±

    He knew she couldn¡¯t see him, but she raised her head, baring her teeth at him like a cornered animal. Ott brought his mace down. Esseli¡¯s right hand found the hilt of her blade.

    Ott¡¯s mace never connected with Esseli¡¯s head. Ott wasn¡¯t entirely sure what happened. One moment, Esseli¡¯s skull was about to be crushed under the force of Ott¡¯s swing, and the next, he found himself sprawled on the ground three feet away from her with a terrible pain fastened in his shoulder and a dark mass taking up the corner of his vision. He was too shocked to scream, but he at least had the sense to take the mace still in his hand and bring it toward whatever was stuck to his shoulder.

    The thing growled and disappeared from his field of vision. Ott¡¯s mace connected with nothing but the dirt beside his head.

    He didn¡¯t waste a second. Scrambling to his feet, he brought his mace up in front of him just in time to block a swipe from a wicked set of claws. The werewolf that had attacked him--Shush, he thought--drew back with a snarl. It crouched low to the ground and began to circle Ott on all fours, teeth bared and growling lowly.

    Around that time, Ott became aware of a sharp pain in his pointer and middle finger on his right hand, the one gripping the mace towards the bottom of the shaft. He glanced down, blanching at what he saw. It wasn¡¯t that Shush had scratched him. No, when Shush attacked, he¡¯d sliced Ott¡¯s two fingers clean off.

    Ott stared at the bloody stumps on his hand dumbly. It didn¡¯t matter, he told himself. He wasn¡¯t even going to get out of here alive anyway. It didn¡¯t matter that he¡¯d never be able to play his lute or flute or the majority of the other instruments under his belt again. He would never get the chance anyway.

    Ott shook himself from his stupor as he heard movement behind him. He risked a glance over his shoulder to see Hush stalking forward, one hesitant step after the other. Was it Ott¡¯s imagination or did Hush look like he didn¡¯t want to attack him?

    In the end, he supposed it didn¡¯t matter. Whether or not Hush was somehow being forced to attack him, Shush seemed more than happy to do so. Even one werewolf would be more than capable enough to end Ott¡¯s life.

    He whipped his head around to look over his other shoulder at Esseli. She still knelt on the ground, one hand clenching the hilt of her sword and her other arm raised to protect her eyes. She was trembling, tears still slipping down her cheeks and her lip curled--though in anguish or anger, Ott didn¡¯t know.

    Could he at least take solace in that? The fact that he may have permanently blinded the great General Pikerman with her own light crystal? He supposed he would have to, he thought, as he fixed his attention back onto Shush. He wasn¡¯t going to get anything more.

    Shush abruptly stood again, snarling. It was about to lunge at him, Ott knew that, but what was he able to do to stop it? Blocking the attack would just be delaying the inevitable--if Ott even could block it.

    He let his mace fall to his side. Shush¡¯s lips curled up in the mimicry of a smile. Somewhere behind him, Hush still approached. There was nowhere to run, nothing to do. Ott sent up a quick, silent prayer to Amera, thanking the goddess for allowing him all the love he¡¯d gained and given in his life.

    A bird-like screech cut Ott¡¯s prayer short. He furrowed his brow, wondering what new threat there could possibly be now, before something flew straight into Shush¡¯s back. Something fast and golden with a wide wingspan and white feathers and--

    ¡°Eko!?¡± Ott cried. The griffin paid no heed to Ott as it plunged its sharp beak into Shush¡¯s shoulder, his paw scrabbling at Shush¡¯s back and raking deep into its flesh if the agonized howl Shush gave was anything to go by. It reached one long arm up and behind it to slash at Eko, but he dropped to the ground and quickly made space between himself and the much bigger monster.

    Eko was here. Eko was here, which meant Wanily--

    ¡°What was that?¡± Esseli snarled. Ott whirled back to face her, but she remained on the ground. Without looking--not that she was able to--she took her sword and pointed it at Hush. ¡°Do something, Hush.¡±

    But how did she know--?

    Of course, Ott realized. Esseli spoke about harsh enough strikes and kind enough caresses, but there was more than that necessary to make a beast like a werewolf or a dragon heel. The dragon hadn¡¯t been able to fight against her, no matter that it wanted to. Eko had remained unphased by Esseli during all this time, even though she¡¯d had time to train him. Hush didn¡¯t want to attack Ott, but he had no choice.

    Esseli¡¯s sword was enchanted to make new god creatures heel to her. It had nothing to do with how cruel she was. It was because she had magic on her side.

    The twang of several bows broke Ott from his thoughts. There were many bandits on the wall walk still, and as Eko flapped his wings and took to the skies again, they wasted no time in trying to shoot him down. Ott inhaled sharply. Eko had come back to help him, but Ott would be powerless to return the favor.

    The arrows, aimed up to shoot the griffin out of the air, suddenly veered to the side. Ott had no doubt he paled as he tore his gaze down--down to the open gate to the camp, where Wanily stood, brow furrowed in concentration and hand stretched out in front of her. She¡¯d pulled the arrows from their course to protect Eko.

    But who was going to protect her?

    Ott saw the exact moment that one of the other bandits spotted her. The bandit pointed at her, shouting something though Ott couldn¡¯t make out what from his distance, before drawing the sword at his hip and advancing. Wanily yelped and darted forward, toward Ott and the werewolves and every other bloody thing that was trying to kill them. The bandits on the ground surged after her, drawing their weapons and giving a battle cry.

    Ott glanced up, where the dragon had begun to dive. He looked ahead of him, where Hush still slowly approached. Then, he darted to the side, where Esseli remained. She must have heard him rushing toward her because she raised her blade in his direction, but without being able to see him, it was all too easy for Ott to smack the sword from her hand with his mace. She cried out, kicking out her legs as she scrambled back--not that she should¡¯ve bothered. Esseli wasn¡¯t his target here.

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    Her enchanted blade skidded to a stop against the packed dirt. Ott brought his mace up over his head and down onto the blade, shattering it.

    The force of his strike reverberated up his arms and made him grit his teeth against the pain in his shoulder from where Shush bit him. Somewhere behind him, one of the werewolves howled. Ott whirled around in time to see Shush barreling toward him. It was still fighting for Esseli!? Why?

    Ott braced himself, but before Shush could reach him, Hush lunged at his fellow werewolf. The two bowled over, past Esseli, and began to wrestle on the ground in a flurry of bites and slashes.

    Hush had saved him. Shush might have still been loyal to Esseli, but Hush was fighting for Ott.

    ¡°Ott!¡± Wanily cried from behind him, breaking Ott from his reverie. He turned in time to get an armful of teenager as Wanily rammed straight into him, fastening her arms around his middle and making him stagger back. ¡°You¡¯re still alive! By the time I convinced Eko to come back, I wasn¡¯t sure you would be.¡±

    Ott, despite everything happening around them and the pain he was in, cracked a smile. Still, one of them had to keep their wits about them. ¡°Wanily, maybe this isn¡¯t the time--¡±

    The dragon alighted on the ground in front of him. When it looked at them, Ott became concerned for a moment that it was still loyal to Esseli, too, but it only nodded to him and turned to face the bandits. The bandits, who had been furiously chasing after Wanily, stopped and uncertainly regarded the new threat.

    The dragon let out another of its booming laughs before lashing out at the closest bandit, chomping the man clean in half with its great jaws. That made the other bandits let out a war cry and advance on the dragon, swinging their weapons wildly at it or shooting at it from the wall walk.

    Wanily drew away from him. She raked her gaze up and down him, lingering on his bloody shoulder and the dripping stubs on his hand, but she didn¡¯t comment on them. Finally, she said, ¡°We need to get out of here.¡±

    ¡°Not yet,¡± Ott said, gripping his mace with both hands. The bottom of the shaft was slick with his blood. ¡°First, I need to--¡±

    Finish Esseli, had been the end of that statement, but when Ott turned back toward her, she was gone. So was the hilt of her sword and whatever amount of blade remained attached to it.

    The other pieces of the sword didn¡¯t glow any longer. Ott didn¡¯t know much about enchantments other than they were things that other people could do and they served their functions for a while before ultimately reverting to a normal item, but he would bet anything that the part Esseli grabbed still worked as intended. But Hush and the dragon were out of her control, so the power of the enchantment had to have weakened, at least. Was she even able to see yet? What was her plan?

    Ott frantically glanced around the courtyard. Hush and Shush continued to snap at each other and try to score the other with their claws while Eko struck Shush at every opportunity. If the sword still worked, Esseli obviously wasn¡¯t trying to use it on Hush.

    Ott whirled around just in time to see Esseli staggering toward the back of the dragon¡¯s head. In one hand, she gripped her broken sword, a jagged piece of the blade still protruding from the hilt.

    Wanily spotted Esseli the moment after Ott did. Esseli felt along the dragon¡¯s neck before she brought up the blade to plunge it between its scales. Wanily thrust out her hand with a cry of, ¡°No!¡±

    She obviously tried to change the trajectory of Esseli¡¯s swing with her old magic, but even Ott could tell her that wouldn¡¯t work. Old magic and new magic didn¡¯t mix well, and as the blade was enchanted with new magic, it would be hard for Wanily¡¯s old magic to grip it.

    The blade might have slowed in the air for the briefest moment, but if it did, that was all that Wanily accomplished. Esseli jabbed the broken sword between the dragon¡¯s scales. The dragon let out a roar but did not retaliate against her. That told Ott all that he needed to know.

    Esseli struggled to climb up onto the dragon¡¯s back.  ¡°Vio,¡± she said once she had, loud enough that it reached Ott¡¯s ears. ¡°Get me out of here.¡±

    The dragon shook its head. For a moment, it didn¡¯t move, and Ott thought the sword¡¯s enchantment might be weak enough for it to resist. The dragon let out another roar and flew into the air, slithering through the sky with Esseli clinging to the spines on its back.

    ¡°No!¡± Ott shouted. He glanced at the ground, searching for a bow, but there was none nearby, not that he knew how to use one. ¡°Eko!¡± he cried, imploring the griffin. Eko chirped in affirmation and took off after the dragon, but it became clear after just a few moments that the dragon could fly much faster than him. He was still just a fledging griffin.

    Ott watched the dragon move east, growing smaller in the distance. Eventually, Eko must have seen the futility in his chase and turned back, gliding toward him and Wanily. ¡°No,¡± Ott said again, much softer.

    Behind him came a high-pitched cry. Ott only had eyes for Esseli disappearing over the horizon, but Wanily whirled around. The alarm on her face morphed to relief, so Ott had to assume that Hush had prevailed over its fellow. Not that Shush would¡¯ve had anything left to fight for now that Esseli had left it.

    Eko landed next to Wanily and let out a warning squawk in Hush¡¯s direction. When Ott couldn¡¯t see the dragon anymore, he turned. Hush was crouched next to Shush¡¯s crumpled form, head bowed and eyes closed. He was bleeding from multiple wounds along his body, both bite marks and cuts, but for all that, he was still alive.

    But what did it matter? Esseli got away. Ott had been willing to die to kill her, and she¡¯d turned tail and ran. What did it matter if he or her werewolf survived?

    At least Wanily and the other prisoners were okay, he supposed. Speaking of which--

    ¡°Why did you come back?¡± Ott demanded. ¡°You should have ran with the others. You could have died.¡±

    Wanily crossed her arms and glared up at him. ¡°A ¡®thank you¡¯ would be nice. Eko saved your life.¡±

    Ott sighed. ¡°Thanks,¡± he deadpanned.

    She huffed. She opened her mouth, stopped, glanced down, and finally said, ¡°Do you know if the bandits kept any healing potions?¡±

    ¡°What for?¡± Ott said dully. ¡°You¡¯re not hurt, are you?¡±

    Wanily glared harder. ¡°You lost two fingers. And are bleeding out of your shoulder.¡±

    ¡°So?¡± Ott said. When Wanily¡¯s ire didn¡¯t waver, he sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t know of a healing potion strong enough that can make a person¡¯s limbs grow back.¡±

    Wanily¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°So you--you¡¯ve just lost two fingers?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Ott said. He felt--and probably sounded--listless. He¡¯d failed to get all the prisoners out. He¡¯d failed to kill Esseli. He may have blinded her, but then, her sight might return, too. Ultimately, all he accomplished here was getting a small group of prisoners out and the bandits guarding them killed.

    Wanily bit her lip. She looked more than a little alarmed, which Ott thought might be uncalled for. ¡°So what do we do now?¡±

    Ott almost laughed at her. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    She gave him an oddly discerning look. It felt like she was peering into his thoughts, his very soul. ¡°You¡¯re not dead, Ott,¡± she said slowly. ¡°We came out of the fire. You came out of the fire. You may be burned, but...¡±

    Burned but alive. Burned but moving forward. It was Ott¡¯s own words turned on him, and he couldn¡¯t say he appreciated it. In the end, though, Wanily was right. Esseli had gotten away and Ott had come out far from unscathed, but he was still here. As long as that was true, there was more work to be done.

    He glanced at the piles of bodies. ¡°We should bury them,¡± he said. ¡°We couldn¡¯t save them, so they deserve that much.¡±

    Wanily nodded, obviously relieved. ¡°Okay.¡±

    <hr>

    It almost took the rest of the day to dig a hole big enough to act as a mass grave. A good thing that the sun was still up when they finished as Ott wasn¡¯t sure how passive Hush would be once it was night. Hush remained at Shush¡¯s side the whole time, staring down at its body with something like remorse.

    They took some shovels from the mining gear in the building and got to work. Eko¡¯s paws were not very big and his claws not suited for digging, but he still helped them as much as he could. It fell to Ott, though, to drag the bodies to the grave, since they were too unwieldy for Eko to carry and too heavy for Wanily.

    By the time Ott had piled the last body into the grave, the sun hung low on the horizon. Wanily had taken to sitting on the ground with her legs crossed under her, Eko laying on the ground beside her with his head resting on his front paws. She watched him with a pinched expression, worried like she expected him to drop over dead any moment. Sure, his shoulder and his stumps hurt something fierce, but he¡¯d wrapped his hands in some rags and his shoulder had stopped bleeding so it was fine.

    Ott glanced at Hush, who still hadn¡¯t moved. He sighed, dusted off his hands, and moved to stand in front of him, just on the other side of Shush¡¯s body. Hush slowly dragged his gaze up to stare at Ott. He still somewhat doubted exactly how intelligent Hush was--maybe the same as a young child?--but there was definitely something tormented in those red eyes.

    How long had Hush and Shush been companions under Esseli? At least since the war ended, right? Logic dictated that it had to be for some time before then, too. Hush may not have broken during all that time, but Shush¡¯s will had broken under Esseli¡¯s own. To Ott, Shush¡¯s death was nothing more than putting down a rabid beast. The same couldn¡¯t be said for Hush.

    ¡°You¡¯re free now,¡± Ott said slowly, part of him still afraid that Hush would suddenly grow tired of him and attack. ¡°Go on, Hush. There¡¯s nothing left for you here.¡±

    Hush let out a low whine. He tore his gaze back down to Shush. Slowly, he reached forward, gripping Shush¡¯s legs, and stood. He shambled over to the open grave, Shush¡¯s body in tow, until he stood at the edge of the pit. After another long moment of simply standing there, Hush threw Shush¡¯s body right on top of those of the prisoners and tossed his head back, letting out a howl.

    Ott watched silently as Hush finally stopped, turned, stared at Ott for another few, ragged breaths, before finally shaking his head and heading toward the open gate out of camp. Ott let out a small breath of relief when Hush disappeared into the treeline. At least now he wouldn¡¯t be liable to attack Ott or Wanily when the sun did finally set. And he was free. Those thoughts probably should have been in the opposite order, but, well, Ott never claimed to be an avatar of love. Only a messenger of it.

    Wanily stood once Hush was gone, climbing to her feet and prompting Eko to do the same. She opened her mouth--presumably to say something--but closed it again, a deep furrow forming between her brow. Ott glanced over his shoulder where her gaze was trained, but it wasn¡¯t until several moments later that he was able to make out the small, flapping forms of the pixies flying toward them in the dying light.

    Ott felt his own brow raise in surprise. ¡°Oh,¡± Wanily said behind him, sounding relieved, ¡°It¡¯s the pixies.¡±

    ¡°You saw them first,¡± Ott pointed out. ¡°You didn¡¯t realize what they were?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Wanily said, crossing her arms. ¡°They¡¯re small. How could I have been able to tell what they were?¡±

    Something about that didn¡¯t add up, but Ott let it slide since the pixies had stopped above the both of them, flapping their wings furiously to remain in place.

    ¡°Nice of you to show up,¡± he drawled. ¡°Could have used your help about, oh, several hours ago.¡±

    ¡°Help!¡± the one farthest to the right chirped. ¡°Help! Help!¡± they all began to chant, far too cheerful for Ott¡¯s taste.

    One of them, lower than the others, smiled and dove toward the open doorway into the building. Ott felt his brow continue to rise higher, until his eyebrows were probably up into his hair as the pixie re-emerged, a small, pale object held between its feet as it flew back to Ott. It grinned even wider at him, giggling, and dropped the item, forcing Ott to nearly dive to catch it.

    A quick glance confirmed it--the pixie had brought him the force crystal, almost certainly from the elevator. Fat good it did him now. Still, the pixies had come back, and they had fulfilled their part of the plan after all. Ott grunted, looking back up at the small group of them.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± he said.

    ¡°Weeeelcooome,¡± one of them enunciated slowly, grating against Ott¡¯s ears. The others mimicked it, creating a horrible chorus of sound.

    ¡°Okay, okay,¡± Ott said, shooing them away. They began to giggle, all of them, and Ott wished those annoying voices could just go quiet. ¡°Off you go.¡±

    The pixies, whether they understood his words or not, seemed to at least understand they were no longer needed and took off into the rapidly approaching night. Ott watched them go, the force crystal cool against the palm of his good hand. He rolled it between his fingers, considering.

    ¡°I need to go get my stuff,¡± Wanily piped up. ¡°I think Esseli took most of it.¡±

    ¡°Then it¡¯ll be in her room, I imagine.¡± Ott motioned for Wanily to head into the tower. ¡°Might as well get whatever else we can before we set out, hm?¡±

    Wanily nodded and marched ahead of him. She went up to Esseli¡¯s room while Ott stuck to the first floor with Eko and picked through what few things the bandits had left behind. Cups, plates, some furs, and things to pass the time like cards and dice. Nothing especially useful to Ott.

    Eko remained in the doorway, watching him. Ott, after pocketing exactly one of the wooden dice just so he felt like this wouldn¡¯t be a huge waste of time, arched a brow at him. ¡°Got something to say?¡±

    Eko snorted, a whistling sound through the nostrils of his beak. He flicked an ear and settled down so that his paws were tucked under his body and his wings bunched against his back. If Ott still had a death wish, he would have called Eko cute. Alas, the only thing he was willing to die for was the death of the exact person who¡¯d gotten away.

    Before he could go spiraling down that path of thinking, though, Wanily came clomping back down the stairs, a large pack on her back. She grinned when she caught Ott¡¯s gaze. ¡°Almost everything right where it should be! Missing some of my brewing ingredients and some of the food¡¯s gone bad, but the important stuff is here.¡± She reached behind her and patted the side of the pack.

    ¡°Delightful,¡± Ott said, trying--and failing--to sound sincere. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t happen to have something to make camp?¡± he asked.

    Wanily nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here first,¡± she said softly. ¡°I think we¡¯ve spent more than enough time in this place.¡±

    Ott couldn¡¯t agree more. Eko climbed to his feet and led the way out of the bandit encampment and out into the forest. There was no telling where, exactly, Hush had gone, and Ott would really like to avoid encountering a werewolf at night. Some things couldn¡¯t be helped, though. Ott had been lucky enough to make it through everything alive--he would just have to hope that luck held and Hush didn¡¯t make a reappearance.

    Wanily swept her gaze around the forest as they picked their way through the underbrush. ¡°Which way is the road?¡±

    ¡°I have no idea,¡± Ott admitted. ¡°Hey, birdbrain, don¡¯t suppose you could go find where the road is?¡±

    Eko stopped to shoot a glare back at Ott before shaking out his wings. He bounded forward, and then with a powerful flap of his wings, took off, veering between the trees as he gained altitude. When he disappeared from view, Ott leaned against the nearest trunk to wait.

    Wanily¡¯s head continually swiveled around, though what she hoped to see in the darkness, Ott had no idea. He sighed. ¡°Red.¡±

    Wanily paused only briefly to give him a strange look before continuing her inspection of their surroundings. ¡°What?¡±

    Ott pointed to his head. ¡°My hair color.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± He had expected Wanily to be impressed or at least mildly surprised, but she just nodded. ¡°I can see magic.¡±

    Ott blinked. He opened his mouth, closed it, then asked, ¡°Specialty mage?¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    That could explain why she was looking around so intently. If she could see magic, she could probably see any threats before they appeared. Except if there was a bear or something. But Ott considered those chances low enough not to worry about.

    ¡°Cool,¡± he said, trying to muster the same flippance she had. He wasn¡¯t sure he managed it. Not everyday you met a specialty mage after all, and one that he had never heard of before? Wanily continued to surprise him, it seemed.

    Wanily, Wanily, Wanily, he thought. It had a nice ring to it. A certain rhythm. It felt like it was missing something though, something that would make it truly great. But well, she had plenty of time to find it now, didn¡¯t she?

    ¡°So you¡¯re an old magic mage,¡± he mused aloud. She nodded. ¡°Have you ever been to Fris?¡±

    ¡°The country in the southeast?¡±

    Ott nodded. ¡°That¡¯s the one. I hail from there, you know. It¡¯s just about the last place on earth where it¡¯s fairly common to practice old magic.¡±

    Visibility was getting low, but Ott was fairly certain Wanily perked up at that. ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Sure is. So if you want to learn old magic, you could do a lot worse than visiting the country and trying to find someone to teach you.¡±

    Wanily let her pack fall to the ground with a thump. She crouched down and rummaged through it for a moment before pulling out a short, makeshift torch. She hesitated, hand still deep in her pack, before she turned to him. ¡°Can you light this?¡±

    Ott could have scoffed. Fire was barely more difficult to conjure than light. ¡°You can¡¯t?¡±

    Wanily huffed. ¡°I don¡¯t know the science behind fire. I know the science behind movement--at least a little.¡± She held the torch up toward him. ¡°So?¡±

    Shrugging, Ott reached forward. ¡°Let warmth fill the air and chase away the dark. Focus my power, and let the fire start.¡±

    A lick of flame sprouted from his fingertip, and he touched it to the torch until the fabric wrapped around the wood caught fire. He leaned away as Wanily straightened. ¡°Fris, huh?¡± she murmured. ¡°A place I could finally learn some magic. Maybe even get a teacher...¡±

    ¡°Wish I could point you in a better direction than a whole blasted country,¡± Ott said, ¡°but I wasn¡¯t very popular back home on account of the bard-ness and the new magic. Do you happen to worship Amera?¡±

    Wanily snorted. ¡°I don¡¯t worship any of the gods.¡±

    Ott shrugged. He would worship Amera until his dying breath, but he didn¡¯t expect everyone else to do so, much unlike most of the other members of the church. ¡°Well, good. Frisians don¡¯t very much like the church or the new gods or anything to do with the empire, really, so just keep your head down and focus on magic and you¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    Wanily beamed up at him. ¡°Sounds great! We¡¯ll go to Fris, then.¡±

    Oh, poor girl. Ott shook his head. ¡°I won¡¯t be going with you.¡±

    Wanily¡¯s smile vanished, morphing into a pout. ¡°Why not?¡±

    He could say it was because he was a bard and Fris hated bards. He could say it was because he was a new magic mage and they hated those, too. But he¡¯d grown up there, had learned much of what he knew now from foreigners in the country but who had been in the country. He didn¡¯t fear the land of Fris.

    ¡°I failed them,¡± Ott said softly. ¡°My country and my people. I can¡¯t go home. Not yet.¡±

    Not until he¡¯d killed Esseli, he did not say.

    Wanily stared at him under the light of her torch and he thought she heard it anyway. ¡°We¡¯ll go to Fris, then,¡± she murmured. ¡°Me and Eko. I¡¯ll go and learn enough old magic that I can become the Archmage. And you... you go and become the greatest bard in the world, alright?¡± She smiles then, more than a bit sly. ¡°And work on writing some better songs.¡±

    Ott chuckled. He wouldn¡¯t be able to play those songs, not really, not with two fingers on one hand instead of four. But he did not tell Wanily that. He had been burned, but he came out of the fire. That was what mattered. ¡°I¡¯ll get right on that,¡± he drawled, not unkindly.

    She held out the torch to him, then, and he frowned at her. ¡°I¡¯ll just make another,¡± she insisted. ¡°You don¡¯t have anything with you.¡±

    That much was true. He took the offered torch with a smile. ¡°You¡¯re a kind soul, Wanily.¡±

    She grinned back at him. ¡°Duh.¡±

    He hesitated, but, well, Ott had only one thing of value with him. He took the force crystal out of his pocket and proffered it with a small bow of his head. ¡°Here. Stop getting into trouble now, alright?¡±

    Wanily briefly looked surprised, but she quickly smiled. She took the force crystal and tucked it into one of the side pouches of her pack. ¡°I can¡¯t promise anything,¡± she proclaimed. ¡°But I¡¯ll try.¡±

    Before they could say anything else, Eko returned with much less grace than when he left. The snapping of branches and rustling of leaves heralded his arrival as he struggled to navigate through the treetops. When he alighted on the ground beside them, it was with no small helping of foliage and dust caught in his fur and feathers. He looked between Ott and Wanily haughtily, as if daring them to say something.

    Ott was going to give an appropriately witty remark, but Wanily simply asked, ¡°Find the road?¡±

    Eko nodded, giving a soft chirp.

    ¡°Great! Lead the way.¡±

    Ott sighed, the opportunity passing, and simply fell into step behind Wanily as they followed Eko through the woods. It wasn¡¯t twenty minutes later that they found themselves at the edge of the tree line, right on the cusp of a dirt path cutting through the forest.

    Wanily marched right out into the open without the slightest break in stride. Ott followed with a little more caution, but there didn¡¯t seem to anyone or anything around. If the other prisoners had come this way, they were already gone.

    ¡°I guess this is where we part ways,¡± Wanily said, smiling. It was the smile of someone that was all too familiar with goodbye, Ott thought, the way it was so bittersweet. Her voice betrayed none of her melancholy, though. ¡°I¡¯ll see you when you¡¯re the greatest bard, Ott!¡±

    ¡°And I you when you¡¯re the Archmage,¡± he replied, reaching out and tousling her hair. She ducked away from him, laughing.

    Eko chirped at her from farther up the road, tail lashing behind him. Wanily glanced back at him, her smile never wavering. ¡°This way to Fris, right?¡± she asked, pointing toward where Eko stood.

    Ott nodded. ¡°Goodbye.¡±

    ¡°Bye, Ott.¡± Wanily said, her joy dampening once again. They stood there, staring at each other for a moment, but eventually, Wanily nodded and turned on her heel. When she reached Eko, she looked back at Ott. He nodded to them again. Wanily and Eko nodded back, and then they were off, heading toward the home Ott couldn¡¯t bear to go back to. Not yet.

    He turned to face the north, more toward the heart of Dryan. He needed more supplies and some money--a torch would only get him so far. He also needed someone to properly treat his injuries before they got infected. He had confidence he could reach a village or town before it came to that, though.

    Wanily, Wanily, Wanily, he thought again. It definitely had a good ring to it. He¡¯d told her, just a few days before, that maybe all he needed was the right muse for him to write a good ballad. Wanily... she was missing something right now, but maybe down the road, she¡¯d find it. And then, maybe, he would finally write a great song. Like the bards of old.

    Ott watched the sky as he walked. No dragons crossed his vision, but it wouldn¡¯t be long. He would find Esseli. He would become the greatest bard. And, when the time was right, he would write a song about the Archmage, Wanily.

    It was a lovely night to be alive, Ott thought.

 Chapter 24: With Love--Part I

    (669 A.C.)

    Dahlia never felt the love of Amera more than when she was surrounded by hate. This was one of those times.

    It had been difficult to leave her home behind, though she had expected no less. Still, when she¡¯d stood on the deck of a ship departing from Tiranda and watched the land disappear over the horizon with nothing but a few personal effects and a change of clothes, she had hoped it was to make a difference in the world. To spread the words and love of Amera to a nation so backwards and barbaric as Fris, a land that still held reverence for the old gods. To allow them to see the error of their ways and follow ideals that meant something, not the virtues of beings that had largely turned their backs on humanity. Or, in the case of Moss, had simply watched as the whole entire world almost ended in the Cataclysm.

    A Cataclysm which was only stopped through Amera¡¯s love.

    Was it truly such a terrible thing that Dahlia wanted to spread that message? The people of Fris seemed to think so--the way they sneered at her and heckled her from the moment she stepped foot on the eastern continent. All because she wore the garb of a priestess of Amera and carried love in her heart.

    Her mission, when she accepted it four months ago, had been to travel to Fris, help the poor and needy in the aftermath of the war, and open the eyes of those she could--the eyes of the blinded who still worshiped Moss or any of the other old gods. It had been the most difficult decision of her life, leaving her home and family and friends all to go to a hostile land. She wasn¡¯t allowed to return until her mission was complete at the end of five years. And who knew what would become of her then?

    But from the moment she learned her histories--of the old gods that hated them, the new gods that cherished them, and the war between the two that almost destroyed all of them--she had wanted to be a priestess of Amera. She¡¯d wanted to help the less fortunate. She wanted others to feel the comfort of carrying love, like she did.

    Staring at the angry mob that had formed in the courtyard outside her church, blazing torches held high in the twilight, she figured love was the furthest thing from their minds.

    ¡°Go back to Tiranda!¡± Nicholas shouted, the man that usually led the protests. He was a brutish, wild-looking man, with a scraggly beard and long, disheveled hair that made Dahlia think he might have been raised by wolves and only ventured into town to give her grief. She could almost imagine foam forming at the corners of his snarl like a rabid beast.

    Still, even ones like those were deserving of love, Dahlia thought, smiling at those amassed before her. Often it was the people that spat the most vitriol that were in the highest need of grace.

    ¡°The guard will be bringing more meals by tomorrow if you¡¯re hungry,¡± Dahlia said, raising her voice to be heard over the shouting and clamoring. She wasn¡¯t sure how successful her efforts were, especially when the people closest to her only scowled harder. ¡°If you are in need of healing or lodging, you can come in now. Otherwise, I must kindly ask you all to disperse.¡±

    ¡°As if we¡¯d take anything from you,¡± Harriet hissed from beside Nicholas. She was a short woman, with a neat braid of white hair laid down one shoulder and a torch gripped in her hand that made it glint fiercely. Dahlia had no idea what relation she had to Nicholas, but she had never seen one without the other.

    Dahlia eyed her, trying her best to appear pleasant. ¡°If you don¡¯t want to accept the graciousness of the Empire,¡± she said, firm but not unkind, ¡°then don¡¯t. But don¡¯t bar others who would.¡±

    Nicholas howled with laughter, more like the wolf Dahlia likened him to by the second. ¡°The--? You honestly believe that the Empire has done shit for any of us? We never asked you to come here. We don¡¯t want you here.¡±

    Dahlia pursed her lips. Yes, she was quite aware of that by now. She stepped back into the doorway leading into the church, sweeping her gaze over the crowd once more. ¡°It¡¯s almost curfew.¡± She motioned to the door behind her. ¡°If you are in need of lodging for the night, come in. Otherwise, please leave.¡±

    She could only be kind for so long, after all. And the guards were already gathering at the edge of the mob, hands on the hilts of their weapons and mouths set into grim lines. Waiting for her word or for one of the mob¡¯s members to set a foot out of line.

    The loose threat of breaking curfew only made Nicholas and Harriet and everyone else in the mob glower more fiercely at her. Dahlia tensed at the sheer disgust in Nicholas¡¯s gaze, but after another moment, he spit at his feet and ground his heel into it. ¡°One of these days, you¡¯ll get what¡¯s coming to you,¡± he hissed. Raising his voice, he turned and told his followers, ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    Dahlia watched as the crowd parted before him, bodies moving like ripples in the breeze to form a walkway then filling in behind him as he passed. It didn¡¯t take long for the mob to march its way down the city street and turn the corner, hopefully to return home. Despite everything, Dahlia didn¡¯t want any of them to be caught out after curfew. Amera knew the people of this nation had suffered enough during the war--they didn¡¯t need fines or imprisonment on top of all their hardships.

    Dahlia frowned. It seemed most of the mob had dispersed--one young woman still stood in the rapidly thinning daylight, eyebrows bunched on her forehead in what Dahlia assumed was an expression of confusion. With her golden Nansheen eyes and white hair, she didn¡¯t look familiar. A foreigner, maybe?

    ¡°Hello there,¡± Dahlia called. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    The young woman cautiously stepped forward, a deep frown forming on her own face. ¡°Is this a church of Amera?¡± she asked, gaze flicking up to the building behind Dahlia and back.

    Dahlia smiled. ¡°Oh, I know it doesn¡¯t look like much, but this is the church alright,¡± she said, glancing back. The building itself wasn¡¯t the most handsome structure in the world. It was made of old wood planks with flags of the Empire and the church flying from the pointed eaves of the roof. Its windows were similar wood panels that opened and closed instead of glass, and its heavy oak door had several etchings carved into its face of unsavory words or phrases.

    Markers of hatred on a place of love. It weighed on Dahlia''s heart every time she so much as thought of it.

    That wasn''t important right now, though. She turned back to the young woman, smiling. ¡°Do you need something? We have beds and warm food if you''re tired or hungry.¡±

    The young woman eyed Dahlia. She couldn''t say the suspicion in her gaze was anything Dahlia hadn''t dealt with since she arrived in this country, so she tried not to take offense.

    Whatever the young woman saw in Dahlia''s neatly kept white robes and styled blonde hair, she eventually smiled in return. ¡°That would be great! I''m tired and hungry.¡±

    She all but pranced forward, and Dahlia let out a light laugh as she opened the door for the young woman. It seemed, for once, someone would actually accept the helping hand Dahlia was extending instead of trying to break her fingers. ¡°Right this way, then.¡±

    Dahlia swept into the church after the young woman, glancing back at the dark streets of the city of Shraven one last time. One of the guards outside--a fellow Tirandan she could count on to keep her safe--caught her gaze and nodded to her. She smiled and let the door swing shut.

    The young woman had wasted no time in stepping further into the nave of the church, running her fingers over the backs of the old pews and peering at the space around them. Dahlia felt a wave of apprehension swell within her. She kept the place as neat and tidy as she could, but she was given an aged, repurposed building and ancient, splintering pews and absolutely no art or other effects to adorn the place. Modest was about the nicest word she could apply to the building--it was nothing compared to the churches back in Tiranda or Dryan or even in barren Iten. It was the best she could do with what she had been given though.

    It felt like Dahlia had gone through a lot of that in her life.

    ¡°This place is nice,¡± the young woman said, still looking around. Before Dahlia could thank her, she pointed to the doorway to their right, ¡°Is that where the beds are?¡±

    Dahlia nodded, striding forward to lead the way. ¡°It is! Kitchens, too.¡± She clasped her hands together to stop herself from wringing them. A nervous habit she had never been able to kick. And why was she nervous? The young woman had just complimented her shoddy church--Dahlia doubted she would make any snide remarks about her joint kitchen and living area. ¡°I, um, didn¡¯t have much to work with. The building only has the two rooms, you see?¡±

    The young woman nodded. ¡°You don¡¯t have to impress me,¡± she declared. ¡°Any place with a bed and a plate can¡¯t be so bad.¡±

    Dahlia smiled, stepping through the open doorway and into the neighboring room. The kitchen area took up the space to the left, and on the right, four bunk beds lined the walls. Dahlia had claimed the bottom bed of the set closest to the front entrance of the church. That was during a time when she was still naive enough to think that people would be knocking at all hours of the day and night seeking her aid, and she had wanted to make sure she would hear them when they came. Not that it exactly turned out that way.

    No need to dwell on that, though, Dahlia thought. Why should she, when she finally did have someone who wanted her help?

    ¡°I only have rice and eggs at the moment,¡± Dahlia said, making her way toward the kitchen. The young woman wasted no time in selecting one of the empty beds and perching on the edge of it, dropping off her large pack at the foot of the bed and shucking off worn boots to reveal socks pockmarked with holes. Dahlia found her gaze lingering on that, memories of her own childhood days running around town with holes in the heels of her boots and threadbare clothes still managing to feel scratchy on her skin barraging her. But, well, that was what Dahlia was here for now, right? To help the less fortunate by the graciousness of Amera, just as she had been helped by the church as she grew.

    ¡°I¡¯m not picky,¡± the young woman said, setting her boots beside her on the floor and leaning back on her palms. ¡°Something to eat is better than nothing! Or water. I¡¯ve had a few too many meals that have just been water.¡±

    Dahlia smiled. ¡°I know what that¡¯s like. I¡¯m sorry you¡¯ve had to go through that, but you won¡¯t have to worry about that while you¡¯re with me,¡± she said firmly. ¡°So what¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°Wanily,¡± she replied. ¡°Yours?¡±

    Dahlia had to bite her tongue to stop herself from asking Wanily¡¯s last name. She probably didn¡¯t have one if she was from Nanshee, and if the reactions of the Frisians were anything to go off of, it would be rude of Dahlia to bring it up. It was not in their culture to carry last names, and it had only seemed to dig Dahlia deeper into her pit of despair when she asked why they didn¡¯t have them.

    ¡°My name is Dahlia Lisa,¡± she said, trying her best to push those thoughts from her mind. Better to stay in the present with what she could control. ¡°It¡¯s very nice to meet you.¡±

    ¡°Oh, yeah, same to you,¡± Wanily said. ¡°So about that food...¡±

    Dahlia smiled, but inside, she kicked herself. Here was someone hungry and tired and looking for her help, and she was wasting time just chatting when she could be in motion as well. A bit flustered, she said, ¡°Of course. Let me get it started right now.¡±

    The kitchen was nothing but a stone fireplace built into the wall and some wooden cabinets and counters for storage and preparation. Dahlia opened the cabinet all the way to the right where she kept the bags of rice and cups for measuring it out. ¡°How do you feel about porridge? I can make the eggs in the morning?¡±

    ¡°Sounds good to me,¡± Wanily said, offering a light shrug. ¡°Like I said, I¡¯ll happily eat whatever you have. Do you need any help?¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Dahlia shook her head and set about pulling out a small pot and filling it with water from the larger cauldron tucked in the corner. As she added the rice and knelt to start the fire with a bit of flint, she spared a moment to glance back at Wanily. She still sat on the bed, though now she had scooted back far enough that she could lean against the wall. In her hands was a small, leatherbound book which she opened and held out a bit further to better catch the light of the lantern hanging from the ceiling.

    Dahlia turned back to the task at hand and pursed her lips. Okay, Dahlia, she told herself. There is a person here. Young, probably barely a teenager, and she has no one else with her and is struggling to feed herself. This is perfect! Well, not perfect. But you can help her! You are helping her. Now you just need to be able to talk to her. That can¡¯t be so hard, right?

    She cringed to herself. She hadn¡¯t even opened her mouth to start another conversation, but already she worried. The priests and priestesses in her hometown had always been so gentle and gracious and wise. Now, Dahlia had to be all those things. She could manage that, right?

    ¡°So, Wanily,¡± she started. Dahlia didn¡¯t turn around to look at her, but she heard Wanily give a small hum of acknowledgement. ¡°What brings you to Fris?¡±

    There. An innocuous enough question that could easily start a much longer conversation. Maybe Dahlia might even be able to impart some life lessons during it. A lone child traveling around probably needed that kind of stuff, right?

    ¡°Well,¡± Wanily said, shutting her book with a soft thump. ¡°I got captured by bandits a few weeks back and got rescued by a bard that told me to come to Fris. Or, I guess I also kinda rescued him? But anyway, I told him I wanted to be the Archmage--because I really want to be the Archmage--and he told me that if I wanted to learn old magic, I should come to Fris because they worship the old gods and do old magic and all that stuff. So I just followed the signs on the road that pointed toward Fris, and this was the first city I came to. Figured I might as well try to find someplace to stay that wouldn¡¯t cost any money because I don¡¯t have any. And that¡¯s when I heard that churches of Amera were popping up in the city, and I¡¯ve always been able to count on the church to at least give me a good turn so I looked for the nearest one. And I saw the flags outside and all the people and thought, here we go, here¡¯s someplace that could at least tell me a good, preferably cheap place to stay if they don¡¯t have any beds to spare. But those people seemed pretty angry? What was all that about?¡±

    Dahlia blinked at the jumble of words pouring from Wanily¡¯s mouth. Was everything she said... true? Bandits and bards and old magic--wait, was she trying to learn old magic?

    ¡°Um.¡± Dahlia furrowed her brow. Where to start? She tried to parse through everything Wanily just said as she stirred the porridge. ¡°You¡¯re... trying to learn old magic? To become the Archmage?¡±

    If Wanily was bothered that Dahlia asked a question in reply to her question, she didn¡¯t seem upset by it. ¡°Yeah! I¡¯m getting pretty decent at it, too. But I had a good--¡±

    Wanily cut herself off, mouth clicking shut. She stared at Dahlia with wide eyes, and Dahlia met her gaze with steadily increasing concern. What had she been about to say that she was so afraid to admit?

    ¡°Anyways,¡± Wanily said after a long moment, ¡°I think I¡¯ve kinda learned everything I can by--with the resources I have available to me.¡±

    She said it so carefully that it definitely made Dahlia think there was more going on there. But, as much as she wanted to pry, if Wanily, a stranger, didn¡¯t want to expose her heart and soul to Dahlia mere minutes after meeting her, she wouldn¡¯t try to force her.

    ¡°Do you worship the old gods, Wanily?¡± Dahlia asked, trying to keep the judgment from her voice as she brushed past the matter. It would explain why she wanted to learn old magic instead of new magic, Dahlia supposed. Though why anyone would want that at all was a mystery to her.

    Wanily scrunched her nose like she¡¯d just bitten into a lemon. ¡°Can¡¯t say I worship any of the gods. I¡¯m just learning old magic because it¡¯s stronger than new magic. If I¡¯m going to be the strongest mage, I need the strongest magic!¡±

    Dahlia frowned. ¡°Do you come from the Wandering People, then?¡±

    It just didn¡¯t make sense to her. There had to be something that Wanily believed in, right? If not any of the gods, maybe she worshiped the monsters of the world.

    Surely there wasn¡¯t just nothing.

    ¡°Dunno,¡± she said, her voice going tight. ¡°Don¡¯t remember my parents. Anyway, it doesn¡¯t really matter. Why was there a mob outside your church?¡±

    Was Wanily trying to deflect? As much as Dahlia wanted to press, the words got stuck in her throat. Wanily probably didn¡¯t want a stranger¡¯s sympathy on the matter if she was trying to brush past it. And Dahlia didn¡¯t want to upset the poor girl, not when she¡¯s been so friendly so far.

    Was that selfish? That felt selfish.

    Dahlia focused back on the task at hand--answering the question and stirring the porridge. Which was two tasks, but that didn¡¯t matter. ¡°Are you not aware of the war?¡±

    ¡°The one going on in the north?¡± Wanily asked, sounding confused.

    She must have meant the one between Lirende, Kra¡¯xen, and Vixx. Was Oavale part of that conflict, too? Dahlia couldn¡¯t rightly recall anymore. The subject was only briefly covered in school back in the Empire since, despite how long the war had already been going on, the Empire hadn¡¯t officially backed any of the countries yet.

    Dahlia shook her head. ¡°No, I meant the war between Fris and the Empire. It ended just a few years ago.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± She heard Wanily squirm on the bed, the wood creaking under her. ¡°No, I guess I don¡¯t know about the war, then.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s alright,¡± Dahlia said, maybe too quickly. It was just exciting to finally have someone she could share things with--food, shelter, and crucial information about the world. It wasn¡¯t the wisdom she had been all too keen to impart, but it would be good for Wanily to learn. ¡°The war--well. It was a long and bloody conflict, but an unfortunately necessary one. In the end, Fris became part of the Empire, and the Empire began shipping in resources and people to help them rebuild. That wasn¡¯t received well, either.¡±

    They burned caravans of food, chased off laborers, spat in the face of the guards that tried to keep order. Ungrateful in every way, and that wasn¡¯t even mentioning how they had treated Dahlia or anyone else affiliated with the church.

    ¡°So... they hate the church because it comes from the Empire?¡± Wanily asked.

    Dahlia pursed her lips. ¡°The Church of Amera doesn¡¯t come from the Empire, but it is the major religion there. And because my presence here is funded by the church and partially by the Empire, the Frisians don¡¯t like me much.¡± Dahlia scowled, pulling away from the porridge and moving to grab a couple of bowls. ¡°They¡¯d much rather I go back to the Empire, if all the things they shout at me are any clue.¡±

    Wanily didn¡¯t respond for a long while, giving Dahlia the chance to ladle the dish into the bowls and move toward Wanily with one dish in each hand. Wanily accepted the proffered food with a quiet thanks and began to blow on it. Dahlia perched on the edge of the bed opposite of her and simply held the warm bowl of porridge between her hands, allowing the heat to sink into her flesh as she waited for it to cool down.

    Wanily slurped the porridge down. Dahlia wondered if she would make a comment on the blandness--she didn¡¯t have anything that could have sweetened or spiced up the simple porridge--but Wanily just smacked her lips together, seemingly satisfied.

    ¡°So you said the conflict with Fris was necessary,¡± Wanily mused. ¡°Why?¡±

    Dahlia sighed, staring into the murky depths of her porridge. ¡°Fris worships the old gods, and any people who do pose a threat to the message of love that the Empire holds so dear. More than that, they began to attack Empire ships and caravans. It reached a point where the Empire had to act or risk losing precious resources and trade routes.¡±

    Wanily frowned. ¡°Why did Fris start attacking the Empire¡¯s ships?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all a little unclear,¡± Dahlia admitted. ¡°From what I understand, Fris has hated the Empire for a long time. I think it all goes back to an old rivalry between them and Dryan from back before the Cataclysm. But I¡¯ll be the first to say, I don¡¯t know much about the history of the western continent. I grew up in Tiranda, myself.¡±

    Wanily nodded, looking thoughtful. ¡°People can never just get along, can they?¡± she groused, one finger tapping against the side of her bowl.

    Dahlia chuckled. ¡°It does look like that, doesn¡¯t it?¡± She paused, taking a small sip of her porridge. As bland as it was, it was nothing she wasn¡¯t used to. Years and years of eating similar gruel back home had done wonders to prepare her for life in Fris.

    Dahlia continued, ¡°But we all just... do what we can, right? That¡¯s how it should be, and I want to use all the privileges the church has given me to help the people of this nation get back on their feet.¡±

    That made Wanily perk up. ¡°That¡¯s why I want to be the Archmage,¡± she said, grinning. ¡°I want to help people, too!¡±

    Dahlia smiled. ¡°That¡¯s lovely. Why do you want to help people?¡±

    Wanily¡¯s smile flipped to a frown. ¡°Why do I have to have a reason?¡±

    Dahlia furrowed her brow. ¡°You don¡¯t have to have a reason. I was just curious if there was anything in particular that made you want to.¡±

    Wanily slurped her porridge again. Loudly. All while maintaining eye contact with Dahlia. It was a little unnerving, but when Wanily lowered her bowl, she simply said, ¡°If I can help people, I should. And if I learn a lot of magic, I¡¯ll be able to help a lot of people.¡± She shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s as simple as that.¡±

    Dahlia nodded. ¡°That¡¯s really lovely, Wanily. You seem like a very kind person.¡±

    Wanily grinned. ¡°I try.¡±

    They finished their porridge in silence. Dahlia found herself studying Wanily, though Wanily seemed far too engrossed in her meal to notice. She looked... brittle, if Dahlia had to put a word to it. Everything about her was thin, and even still her clothes fit snugly on her like they were too small. They were faded, too, and threadbare. Dahlia spotted a couple of holes in the cloth peeking out from below the points of her elbows, and the area around her right knee was in a similar state. Dahlia glanced at her boots once again. She didn¡¯t think it was her imagination that they looked too small for her feet. And her hair... it was a pretty shade of silver that boasted of what magic she already knew. But it was matted like an old alley cat¡¯s fur and greasy as the bottom of a pan of bacon.

    It broke Dahlia¡¯s heart to see someone in such a way, not to mention the altruism that she toted while looking like that.

    Dahlia took a deep breath, making up her mind. She would give Wanily all the help she could. She wanted to learn old magic? That was fine. Dahlia could offer her a place to stay, food to eat, and hopefully even more than that. Clothes, new shoes, words of wisdom--Dahlia could give that to her and more.

    And beyond that... well, if Wanily filled some of the empty space where Dahlia¡¯s younger siblings had once been, no one had to know but her. It just... felt good to be able to extend care to someone again.

    That being said, Dahlia knew nothing about old magic. But, she did unfortunately know someone who did.

    Dahlia stood once she finished her porridge--Wanily had long since slurped down all of hers, acting like it was the first time she¡¯d seen food in weeks. She collected Wanily¡¯s bowl and set the both of them on the counter to be washed in the morning.

    ¡°I can¡¯t help you learn old magic,¡± Dahlia said, moving back to sit on the bed again. Wanily opened her mouth to say something, but Dahlia continued, ¡°but I know someone in town with a higher hair color than yours. Her name is Harriet, and I¡¯m sure she would know enough about old magic to be able to teach you a thing or two.¡±

    Wanily blinked at her. ¡°I thought the people in town didn¡¯t like you.¡±

    Dahlia pursed her lips. ¡°They don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°So why would she help me?¡±

    Dahlia was also wondering how she would convince Harriet to help Wanily. But she wasn¡¯t about to let Wanily know that. ¡°Harriet is a good person. We just don¡¯t live the same kind of lives.¡±

    Which was a gross understatement, and Dahlia hadn¡¯t even interacted with Harriet beyond the times she came to spit at Dahlia¡¯s doorstep. She had no idea what Harriet¡¯s actual character was like, but hopefully, if Dahlia helped Wanily track her down, Wanily could approach her by herself and make an appeal to her generosity, whatever that might look like. Dahlia just had a feeling that if she approached Harriet with Wanily, the answer would be an immediate and emphatic no.

    ¡°Harriet will help you,¡± Dahlia said with a confidence she didn¡¯t feel. ¡°I just... will stay here while you go talk to her. You¡¯re charming, Wanily--I¡¯m sure you can convince her to teach you some magic.¡±

    Wanily arched one brow at her dubiously but all she said was, ¡°Can¡¯t hurt to try.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit,¡± Dahlia said, smiling. ¡°I¡¯ll help you ask around town in the morning then, and you can go talk to her. So you better rest up tonight.¡±

    Wanily smiled, hopping off the bed to pull back the blanket before burrowing herself under it. ¡°Don¡¯t have to tell me twice,¡± Wanily replied, the end of the statement becoming garbled as she was interrupted by a yawn.

    Dahlia chuckled. She got up and went to the back of the room where she kept the rod used to lift the shades on the lantern hanging from the ceiling. The lantern contained a light crystal that couldn¡¯t be snuffed out like a candle, so she used the hook on the end of the rod to reach up and lift the metal shades along the sides of the lantern. When she was done, only slivers of pale, unwavering light shone on the walls of the room.

    She slipped off her boots and set them beside her bed. ¡°Goodnight, Wanily,¡± Dahlia murmured as she settled under her blanket.

    ¡°Goodnight, Dahlia,¡± Wanily whispered back.

    Dahlia laid on her back and listened as Wanily¡¯s breathing eventually--after much longer than Dahlia would have expected--slowed into the cadence of sleep. She continued to stare up at the dark outline of the bunk above hers for a time, just thinking. There were thoughts of Wanily and her kindness, of Harriet and Nicholas¡¯s vitriol, but mostly, she found herself recalling life back in Tiranda.

    It had been simpler, certainly. Her family still lived there along with her friends and all the colleagues she¡¯d met since officially becoming a priestess. No one in Tiranda had  come to the church and demanded she leave in more and more colorful language.

    But then, if she had stayed in Tiranda, who could say if this church would have ever been established here in Fris? And then what would Wanily have done while she looked to learn more magic?

    Dahlia closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer to Amera, thanking her for this opportunity to spread her love to someone who so readily accepted it. She would not squander it. And maybe one day, Wanily would become the Archmage and she could help restore peace to the hateful land of Fris.

    That would be many years from now though, if it ever happened. For the time being, Dahlia would just look to tomorrow. Wanily needed a teacher, and by Amera, Dahlia would make sure she got one.

 Chapter 25: With Knowledge--Part II

    (669 A.C.)

    ¡°We have to do something, Nick,¡± Leric insisted, shifting his weight forward to lean his elbows on his knees. The barrel he sat on looked far from comfortable, but comfort was a luxury for people just trying to survive.

    Nicholas grunted, resting his back against the wooden support behind him and stroking that wild beard of his. Harriet crossed her arms and looked between the two of them, Leric staring imploringly at Nicholas and Nicholas deep in thought.

    Harriet agreed--they needed to do something about all the Empire¡¯s lackeys in their home, not to mention the rest of their country. She had her own opinions on what they should do, which involved threats that could become something more. The Empire had gotten rid of that awful general that led the assault on Fris, after all, and besides--better to die in the fight than accepting scraps like dirty Vert fish.

    That started with the small, easy to win battles. Like getting rid of the churches sprouting around their land like weeds. And Harriet had some idea of how to deal with them that wasn¡¯t all too dissimilar to weeds either.

    That wasn¡¯t her place, though. Nicholas was the leader here, not her. Whatever he suggested, whatever his plan was, as his second-in-command, Harriet would just make sure to see it through.

    Finally, Nicholas peered up from under the cliffs of his busy brows. ¡°What do you suggest?¡± he asked Leric.

    ¡°You¡¯re the town blacksmith. You¡¯d have an easier time than anyone else,¡± Leric replied earnestly. ¡°I say you gather up all the men and and women--children even, if they¡¯re willing to fight--give them whatever weapons--¡±

    ¡°Short-sighted,¡± Nicholas interrupted. ¡°Can you keep a fire alive for weeks or months by throwing all your wood on it at once? If we start a fight now, we¡¯ll be wiped out. It¡¯s one thing to hold protests at the church. It¡¯s another to bring war back to our broken country.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to go that far,¡± Harriet murmured. ¡°We can start here, with just our people. Do you think the Empire cares about one city close to the border?¡±

    Nicholas turned his dark eyes on her, his face pinching in what was probably frustration. It was an old argument between the two of them--violence or passivity. Peace never changed anything, Harriet thought bitterly. Why couldn¡¯t Nicholas understand that?

    ¡°I think the Empire will accept no rebellion of any sort,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re too fragile right now. The war is over, and we lost. If we want to take our country back from the greedy hands of the Empire, we must bide our time.¡±

    ¡°For what?¡± Harriet snapped. She knew her temper was getting the better of her, that Leric was gaping at her, and that Nicholas¡¯s own ire was rising if the way he bristled was any indication. ¡°There¡¯s no cavalry coming--no other country gave two shits when the Empire laid siege to Fris. If we want to take our country back, we need to rise up.¡±

    Nicholas grunted. He gestured as he spoke, small, tight motions at first that gradually became more explosive. ¡°And who will follow you? The starving fathers who can barely provide for their families? The mothers that were raped and beaten if not killed outright? The children who can barely lift a spear straight in front of them?¡± Nicholas shook his head. ¡°I know you want to fight, both of you,¡± he looked between the two of them, his gaze heavy, ¡°but I don¡¯t see a way we win like that. Not yet.

    ¡°The Empire is here. It will be here for the foreseeable future, taking its pound of blood from our people. Right now, we can¡¯t afford to focus on how to drive them out--we¡¯re not strong enough for that yet. No, right now, the fire in the people¡¯s spirits is low, barely embers. If we ever want to rise up again, we must stoke that fire with a careful hand. We must remind the people of our country that they are proud Frisians who don¡¯t need to eat the Empire¡¯s shit. And we can¡¯t allow them to grow passive in the face of the Empire¡¯s rule. They will try to sedate us with their religion that totes peace and love all while they destroy everything we cherish, everything we stand for. We cannot allow this.¡±

    He made some good points, Harriet could concede that much. But he also didn¡¯t answer how they would stop that insipid priestess from trying to infect them with her naive, pretentious scriptures.

    ¡°So what do we do?¡± Harriet demanded, tired of the way Nicholas often meandered his way toward the heart of whatever point he was trying to make. She knew she shouldn''t be so harsh so quick--knew that Nicholas was being practical rather than impulsive--but she was tired of waiting. She wanted to see their blood.

    The same way they had taken blood from her.

    ¡°That priestess is weak,¡± Nicholas said, stroking his beard again. ¡°Of will and of strength. We keep staging protests, and I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll leave before long. Then it is just a matter of doing so in other villages, towns, and cities.¡± Nicholas sighed, sounding entirely too weary for Harriet¡¯s liking. ¡°We¡¯re talking about rebellion here,¡± he said, giving the two of them weighted looks once more. ¡°We cannot afford to overstep ourselves. We will take an inch at a time and see it as the victory it is. One day, those inches will become a mile.¡±

    Leric thinned his lips but merely nodded. Nicholas turned his gaze back on Harriet, but she could only bring herself to look away. She trusted Nicholas, she really did. They had been friends for years, had helped each other survive the war as best as anyone could spare a thought for another in such times. Nicholas was the one that had the respect of the townsfolk more than Harriet herself--where he went, she followed. Maybe with a helping of irritation and a bleeding tongue from all the bites she gave it, but she followed nonetheless.

    Knocking came from the door leading into the basement, four rapid strikes followed by one final thump. The Empire soldiers in town would just barge in--that meant that it was the innkeeper, Stevan, coming to interrupt them. He wouldn''t do so if it wasn''t important, and besides, at that point Harriet would gladly welcome an escape from this conversation.

    The door creaked open, letting in a sliver of sunlight from the morning sun pouring through the windows upstairs, which was blocked a moment later when Stevan poked his head into the room. ¡°Harriet?¡± he called, squinting in the relative darkness of the basement.

    It came as a surprise--Harriet had been certain that whatever matter Stevan came to talk about, it would have concerned Nicholas. It always did, after all.

    ¡°Yes?¡± Harriet answered, stepping over to the base of the worn stone stairs leading up to the door. ¡°Is something wrong, Stevan?¡±

    Stevan blinked and finally focused his gaze on her. ¡°Just heard from Murin,¡± he said, and Harriet knew he was referring to the young orphan boy he kept around to run his errands and tend to the inn. ¡°That priestess is going around with some foreign girl, asking where they can find you.¡±

    Harriet arched an eyebrow. Unless the priestess was coming to apologize for her existence and announce her return to her country, Harriet wasn''t interested in listening to whatever she had to say. The fact she was dragging a stranger along behind her was mildly intriguing, though.

    ¡°What do we know about this girl?¡± Harriet asked as she climbed the stairs. She offered Nicholas and Leric a wave in farewell, receiving a nod and a salute in return, respectively.

    When she reached the door at the top, Stevan opened it wider to allow her to pass, and she walked out into the light bustle of the inn¡¯s kitchen. Murin, the black-headed young lad sporting as many freckles as there were blades of grass in a meadow, had an armful of sacks as he hurried into the kitchen from the back door. He gave Harriet a nod as he passed, heading over to Grenia, Stevan¡¯s wife, who ran about the kitchen covered in white streaks of flour as she prepared for the dinner crowd that would come to the inn once the sun began to set. Grenia barely glanced at Harriet, her mouth in a thin line as she wordlessly directed Murin where to set the sacks. Harriet wasn¡¯t sure what she¡¯d done to make Grenia dislike her, but she didn¡¯t particularly care. It probably had to do with Grenia¡¯s distaste for any type of revolutionary practices, but Stevan was steadfast in his support of Nicholas and Harriet. Maybe that was it.

    ¡°She¡¯s not Empire,¡± Stevan said, walking just behind Harriet as she strode into the main room of the inn.

    Only a couple of patrons sat at one of the tables, both of them older folks that Harriet knew from around town. They were the kind to keep to themselves--a good and bad thing in a lot of ways. Right now, it meant that they wouldn¡¯t tell the priestess they¡¯d seen Harriet pass, but they probably didn¡¯t know anything about the whole ordeal either.

    ¡°Well, she might not be Empire,¡± Stevan amended. ¡°Her eyes are gold.¡±

    Harriet nodded. She moved to one of the windows looking out at the road in front of the inn, observing the people passing by for a moment. ¡°Nanshee?¡±

    ¡°Only place I know of that gives you that little trait,¡± Stevan drawled,

    Harriet looked at him sharply, and Stevan cleared his throat. Before he could say anything else, Harriet returned her gaze to the window. She didn¡¯t spot the priestess, but then, if she was asking around, it was probably in the city¡¯s main square a street over from the inn¡¯s location. ¡°What do they want?¡±

    ¡°As far as I know,¡± Steven said, sounding sufficiently contrite, ¡°the Nanshee girl wants a magic teacher.¡±

    Harriet frowned. The priestess only had blonde hair, a clear indicator that she knew a bare amount of new magic at most, so it made sense that she couldn¡¯t just teach the girl herself. Surely they were aware that Harriet only knew old magic though, right? What type of person--a Nansheen at that--would want to learn old magic? It was frowned upon in most parts of the world, considered a risky art with little practicality anymore. All nonsense of course, but Harriet knew that was the kind of rhetoric spread among the Empire and its allies. Nanshee wasn¡¯t officially under the flag, but they might as well have been.

    ¡°And she wants me?¡± Harriet said slowly.

    Stevan splayed his hands in front of him, shrugging. ¡°Looks like it.¡±

    And the priestess thought that--what? That Harriet would just be oh-so-glad to spend her free time mentoring some random, snot-nosed mongrel? She had bigger things to worry about right now.

    But then again... if this girl¡¯s family was wealthy enough to come to Fris looking for a magic teacher, maybe they could come to an agreement. It was, after all, difficult to make anything happen in this world without a little compensation.

    ¡°How old is this girl? Do we know where her parents are?¡± Harriet asked, moving to rest her back against the wall next to the window.

    Her mind was already moving through the possibilities. How much money would Harriet ask for? What could she do with it? How many shipments of goods or bribes could she stretch the payment out over? She knew that many of the soldiers in town weren¡¯t from the Empire proper--much more affordable to bring on mercenaries in this continent than ship over all their prized fighters and mages. How many of those could she convince to join her fight rather than protecting the Empire¡¯s interests?

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    ¡°Girl is fairly young--can¡¯t be older than fifteen or sixteen.¡± Stevan crossed his arms. ¡°Only room I have rented out right now is to some Iten lass. Can tell by those tattoos of theirs.¡±

    ¡°So if they¡¯re in town, they¡¯re not staying here,¡± Harriet said. Stevan nodded. ¡°Who then?¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t say,¡± Stevan said. ¡°You could go ask Murin if he knows anymore, but I¡¯ve told you all he told me.¡±

    Harriet grunted. She could go ask Murin, but the lad seemed busy enough. Besides, she would have to subject herself to Grenia¡¯s ire and scrutiny again, which didn¡¯t sound appealing. No, if she wanted to know, she¡¯d get the information right from the source.

    ¡°Does Murin have any more errands to run today?¡± Harriet asked.

    Stevan nodded. ¡°Have some deliveries I need him to make after he brings in the rest of the flour from our latest shipment. Why?¡±

    ¡°Spread the word,¡± Harriet said. ¡°I¡¯ll be waiting for the girl at my home. But I don¡¯t want to see even a hair of that priestess.¡±

    Stevan nodded again. ¡°I¡¯ll let Murin know, and if anyone else comes in about it, I¡¯ll tell them, too. Heading out then?¡±

    Harriet sighed. ¡°I guess I better. Let¡¯s see if I can make anything come of this, eh?¡±

    Stevan gave a light chuckle, more of a huff than anything. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that be something.¡±

    Harriet bid him farewell and left the inn behind, slipping through the front door, flicking up her hood, and keeping her head down as she navigated the streets back to her home. It rankled her even after all this time that she had to act small and submissive under the gazes of the soldiers patrolling the city. That she had to conceal her face as best she could so that they didn¡¯t recognize her as one of the community leaders or meet any of their eyes lest they start getting any ideas. It might have been broad daylight, but that hadn¡¯t stopped them in the past.

    Her house wasn¡¯t far from the inn, thankfully. She liked it that way--when she needed to be surrounded by her community, her countrymen, it was just a short walk along the cobbled roads. It was a small place. An eaved roof, two windows framing the front door, and inside, only three rooms--one downstairs and two upstairs.

    Gazing at it from outside, her thoughts strayed to how it used to feel so much smaller and yet be so impossibly large. Days spent with her siblings, her parents, her grandparents, all of them crammed together under the single roof, and all of them loud, brash, and driven. Traits that did not do well in a brutal war.

    Harriet mercilessly stamped out those thoughts, locking them far into the recesses of her mind. She had no time for grief. If she wanted to avenge them, she had to keep moving forward. Tears would only slow her down.

    She headed inside, hating the silence clinging to every inch of the main room. It wasn¡¯t anything she hadn¡¯t dealt with before, though, and she busied herself with filling a cup with some water from the pot hanging above the fireplace along the back wall. She had intended to make herself some breakfast this morning, but then Nicholas had stopped by and asked her to come with him to the inn, and the rest was history. Now, she would settle for some tea to sip while she waited for her curious guest to arrive.

    It was simple enough to toss in a few tea leaves into the cold water. She set the cup on the wooden table shoved into the corner--she didn¡¯t like to eat at it anymore, the thing too big for just one person--and focused on the water inside. It was as simple as breathing at that point. With each passing second, she harnessed her magic, letting it trickle into the water in the form of heat. In no time at all, steam began to waft from the surface of the water, and once it was hot enough, she left it to steep for a few minutes.

    In the meantime, she sat at the chair next to the fireplace and, with barely more than a thought, poured enough magic into the wood to light it on fire. The warmth was nice, if a bit smothering, and she closed her eyes, listening to the crackling and imagining that it wasn¡¯t the only other thing keeping her company in this gods-forsaken house.

    She settled in to wait. She fetched her tea from the table and simply held it in her hands for a while. Eventually, though, she swished the water around to get the contents moving, and once the leaves were already in motion, she tugged on them with her magic to get them to spill over the lip of the cup into her waiting hand. She tossed the leaves into the fire, the sound of them sizzling and popping strangely satisfying, before finally taking a sip.

    Her grandfather--the one on her mother¡¯s side, her paternal grandfather had died before she was born--used to make the best tea. He said there was a ceremony to it, an art as sacred as the gods themselves. He had been the one to start teaching Harriet her first bit of magic, having her focus on heating the water. She remembered so many days spent crying because she wanted to be playing in the streets with her brothers and sister, not sitting inside and staring at a cup of cold water for hours on end.

    Her grandfather would always click his tongue at her and lightly tug on her strands of blonde hair--back when it still had been only blonde. She can still hear him, his voice colored with mirth in the face of her tears and snot, saying, Such beautiful blonde hair. Don¡¯t you want to do something with it?

    And so many times she¡¯d said no, because she didn¡¯t care about learning magic when she could be doing anything else. How she wished she could go back and thank her grandfather for his patient lessons. He¡¯d died before the siege, but not before he saw his daughter fall in combat. Harriet¡¯s mother, a mage like him and like Harriet herself during a time when mages were in high demand. And had high mortality.

    A knock at the door broke Harriet from her sour reflections on matters better left in the past. She got up and set the teacup aside to be washed later before moving to open the door, bracing herself for whatever was about to come. Hopefully, she could spin this situation into something that could benefit her and her fellows.

    Harriet opened the door. Beyond, just as Stevan had heard from Murin, was a teenage girl, silver hair shining like fine chains in the sunlight. She was a small thing, skinny and a little short, looking more like the malnourished orphans running around Fris than the child of wealthy world travelers. Which--she was alone as well. No parents in sight, and thankfully no priestess trailing after her. Harriet still poked her head out and cast a look up and down the street just to confirm she was truly by herself.

    ¡°Dahlia¡¯s not with me, if that¡¯s who you¡¯re looking for,¡± the girl said, shuffling back a step so that Harriet wasn¡¯t so close to her.

    Harriet grunted. The name was dimly familiar, and it didn¡¯t take much to figure out that the girl was talking about the priestess. She looked down at the young woman, cataloging her bright, golden eyes Harriet had placed so much hope in but the way her cheeks bowed in slightly. She¡¯d known many days of hunger, that much was obvious.

    What were the chances Harriet was going to see so much as one note from this girl or her parents?

    ¡°What¡¯s your name then, girl?¡± Harriet asked.

    ¡°Wanily,¡± she said.

    ¡°Are you from Nanshee, Wanily?¡±

    Wanily pursed her lips, her gaze skittering away from Harriet¡¯s. ¡°I mean, I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m not from Nanshee. My eyes are gold, which I guess is important. But anyway, I don¡¯t see how where I¡¯m from matters.¡± Harriet snorted, but Wanily merely continued, ¡°All I want is an old magic teacher, and I was told that you might be able to help me with that.¡±

    Harriet arched an eyebrow at her. ¡°Where you¡¯re from matters,¡± Harriet said firmly. ¡°Are you from the Empire, then?¡±

    Wanily gave a very put-upon sigh for what was a fair question. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t know where I¡¯m from, okay? I¡¯m someone who wanders around a lot--but I¡¯m not with the Wandering People either,¡± she quickly added. ¡°But none of that matters because I want to learn magic, and that¡¯s something for everyone, right?¡±

    Harriet frowned. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Humans are magical creatures,¡± Wanily said. ¡°It¡¯s natural for us to use magic. It¡¯s what we¡¯re supposed to do. And I want to learn it so that one day I can become the Archmage and help lots of people!¡±

    Her words only made Harriet¡¯s frown deepen. The Archmage had turned a blind eye to the atrocities committed in Fris, granting only token appearances to heal children and prisoners of war. He didn¡¯t come to restore their fields after they¡¯d been burned or lend his power in aid to Fris, and he didn¡¯t once condemn the Empire for what they were doing. Archmage Vertrix could jump off a cliff for all Harriet cared. Those fish he made that could get rid of Necroalgae were pretty useful though, she mused.

    Back to the matter at hand. Was there a way Harriet could gain anything from this? ¡°So you¡¯re here alone,¡± she said. It wasn¡¯t a question

    ¡°Yes,¡± Wanily said anyway, sounding exasperated.

    ¡°Then you must be staying at the church,¡± she said slowly. ¡°You don¡¯t look like the type to have enough money to afford anything else.¡±

    Wanily frowned, but if she took offense, it wasn¡¯t otherwise apparent. ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±

    Wanily wasn¡¯t Empire. But she did, apparently, have their blessing if the priestess was letting her stay at that church. Harriet didn¡¯t think she could expect any type of payment, but then, information could always be more useful. Wanily might be able to at least provide that.

    Harriet wanted that priestess gone. If Wanily could grant some insight into how to make that happen, why shouldn''t she take the girl on? She seemed to already know some magic based on her hair color, but whether she knew old or new magic remained to be seen.

    It wouldn¡¯t be a very intensive process, either. The girl would either be able to understand and apply what Harriet told her, or she wouldn¡¯t. It wasn¡¯t like magic was easy to use--old magic at least, Harriet had no idea what new magic really entailed--so she didn¡¯t expect Wanily to be able to do the magic right away. But as Harriet had learned in her own studies of magic, it was an art that a person either came to understand, or they didn¡¯t. No outside influence or person would be able to change that.

    ¡°You know what, why not?¡± Harriet said, leaning against her door frame and crossing her arms. ¡°You want to learn old magic? I can teach you what I know.¡±

    Wanily blinked up at her a couple times before her eyes narrowed in suspicion. ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Do you want to learn magic or not?¡±

    ¡°Well, duh,¡± Wanily said. She pursed her lips. ¡°I just didn¡¯t think that you would actually agree. You¡¯re not a criminal, right?¡±

    Harriet bristled. What was that supposed to mean? ¡°No, I¡¯m not a criminal. I think I should be asking you that if anything.¡± Wanily was the penniless wanderer here, after all. Harriet would be shocked to learn that she hadn¡¯t picked someone¡¯s pocket at least once.

    Wanily¡¯s expression eased. ¡°Alright then. When do we start?¡±

    That was a good question. It wasn¡¯t like Harriet had much else to do in the day, but she also wanted to at least prepare something for the girl to do. Some type of lesson to get her started. She should also probably try to figure out what Wanily already knew.

    She had business to attend to tomorrow with Nicholas and some clients to deal with the day after. Then it would be Fifthday, the most sacred day of the week in Fris, and Harriet did not want to spend it teaching a foreigner how to use magic. ¡°Come on Sixthday during Reesh,¡± she decided. ¡°We¡¯ll see what you already know and go from there.¡±

    Even if Wanily didn¡¯t know how to harness her magic to tell the time, one of the stars of the ninth daystellation, Reesh, was visible during the morning light. She should be able to make it from the Amera church to Harriet¡¯s house in that time.

    Wanily beamed at her. ¡°Okay! I¡¯ll be there. Er, here. I¡¯ll be here on Sixthday at Reesh.¡±

    Harriet, despite herself, cracked a wry smile. ¡°I¡¯ll see you then, Wanily.¡±

    Wanily bid her farewell, and Harriet closed the door. She listened to Wanily give a delighted squeal, the sound easily piercing through the wooden door, before her footsteps sounded, heavy and quick, and Harriet could just imagine her running down the street back to the church.

    She let out a sigh and returned to her chair. Wanily seemed like a little ball of energy, and Harriet wasn¡¯t sure how well she¡¯d be able to deal with it. That shouldn¡¯t be a problem though--Wanily was the one coming to her to learn magic, she could deal with Harriet¡¯s terseness.

    She supposed she should start preparing something to teach her. Depending on what she already could do, Harriet would probably just start with how she started--transferring magic into heat and applying it to an object or substance. It wasn¡¯t easy, but nothing concerning old magic was. Still, it was easier than most things, so that was what Harriet would start with. And if she already knew how to do that, maybe Harriet would pivot toward teaching her some time magic. That could be significantly harder to do as there wasn¡¯t usually a physical object to focus on, but if Wanily could already harness old magic to some extent, it might be right in line with her skill level.

    During her lessons, Harriet would ask her what she knew about the priestess and the soldiers and anything else she might know about the Empire that Harriet wasn¡¯t privy to. She would be as subtle as possible--she doubted Wanily would willingly work against the person giving her free lodging--but she would get something from all this.

    Tomorrow, she would tell Nicholas her plan. He¡¯d probably bunch his eyebrows and give her that infuriating look of his, but she would not be dissuaded. She wanted the church gone from her country, and Wanily would help her accomplish that whether she knew it or not.

 Chapter 26: With Sorrow--Part III

    (Thirdday of the Second Week of Mossro, 669 A.C.)

    Fluffy, gray clouds cast the world in a hazy state, with the scent of rain seeping from every pore of the earth. Eko angled his wings, using that and his magic to bring him higher into the sky. At his altitude, he probably appeared as a large bird to anyone in the city below. Eko peered down at the maze of streets and buildings, but though his eyes were sharp, he wasn''t able to pick out much about any of the individuals swarming the roads.

    Wanily was down there, somewhere. Without Eko to protect her, she was probably stumbling around, this way and that, avoiding dangers by the sheer dumb luck that always seemed to cling to her. But she hadn¡¯t wanted to endanger Eko by bringing him into town--humans were always so fearful of monsters, after all, especially ones of his caliber.

    It was sweet, if foolish. Eko was able to look after himself, and all the gods knew that Wanily needed him to do the same for her. Still, without knowing where she was, it would be stupid to go roaming around a city all by his lonesome. Maybe during the night he could head down into the streets and look for her--but then, Wanily would probably be inside one of those buildings, asleep by that point.

    No matter. He¡¯d find her later and make sure she was doing alright without him there to keep her alive. For now, he turned himself and pulled on the air surrounding him to switch directions, leaving the city behind him in favor of swooping over the surrounding forests in search of prey. Normally, he¡¯d be hunting for himself and Wanily, but that wouldn¡¯t be necessary for the next however long she stayed in the city.

    She better not plan on staying long, Eko thought. It wasn¡¯t like he missed her or anything. It was just depressing to spend every day entirely by himself. Griffins were creatures that flocked together, and it was simply in Eko¡¯s nature to want his flock around. That was all.

    <hr>

    ¡°What¡¯s the first thing she¡¯s going to teach you?¡± Dahlia asked over breakfast, smiling at Wanily sitting on the bed across from her. She could hardly believe it--when Wanily came back to the church yesterday after meeting with Harriet, she came bearing good news. Harriet had actually agreed to teach her, and Wanily couldn¡¯t have been more ecstatic.

    Dahlia was happy for her. Harriet obviously didn¡¯t like Dahlia, but she had still put that aside to teach Wanily. It was sweet and proved that maybe the people of Fris really could be redeemed after all.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Wanily said, leg bouncing against the ground. She bit her lip, eyes positively shining. ¡°I already know the basics of motion, so I hope she can teach me something else. I¡¯d love to learn how to make fire or what can be done with space or time magic or even just more about physics. I¡¯ve gotten good at amplifying or lessening forces already present, but I still can¡¯t make something move from rest. Now that would be cool. Can you imagine just--just moving things around with your mind?¡±

    Dahlia nodded along, picking at her scrambled eggs as she let Wanily¡¯s words wash over her. She had very little idea what she was talking about--she didn¡¯t even know much new magic so she certainly knew nothing about old magic. But Wanily was obviously excited, and so Dahlia would be excited, too.

    ¡°That does sound like it would be cool,¡± Dahlia said. ¡°But she told you not to come by until Sixthday, right?¡±

    That made Wanily deflate a little, but she perked back up only a beat later. ¡°Yeah. But that¡¯s okay, it¡¯s only a couple of days.¡±

    ¡°What would you like to do with that time?¡± Dahlia asked, smiling. Wanily had no money and no friends in town, so it only stood to reason she would be spending it here at the church. Maybe it was a little presumptuous, but Dahlia hoped they could do something together. Dahlia could teach her how to sew or knit--she liked to make clothing for those in the city that couldn¡¯t afford new ones at the moment, not that anyone ever took anything she offered. It was at least better than trying to make food that would just go to waste. At least the clothes wouldn¡¯t go bad.

    Maybe they could make some meals, if only so Dahlia could teach Wanily some of what she knew. They were supposed to be getting a shipment of goods in today, more food and more light crystals and whatever else the church had been able to secure for them. More cloth and thread would be great, but Dahlia wasn¡¯t holding her breath on that one. At most, she hoped to receive enough flour or rice to last for another few weeks.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll probably head out into the forest today,¡± Wanily mused. ¡°Eko, my--uh, well, I¡¯m traveling with a friend that doesn¡¯t like people very much. So he¡¯s staying out in the forest while I learn some more magic.¡±

    Dahlia felt her brows rise in surprise. By the way Wanily talked the night they met, Dahlia thought she was traveling alone. ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t know you had a friend with you. You said his name is Eko?¡±

    Which was a little concerning to Dahlia, the fact that Wanily was apparently traveling with a male. How old was this person? What were his intentions with a girl Wanily¡¯s age?

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Wanily said, suddenly not meeting Dahlia¡¯s eye. That wasn¡¯t a good sign. ¡°Like I said, being around other people doesn''t really agree with him.¡±

    Dahlia frowned. That was more than a little concerning. ¡°Are you sure you want to go meet with him today?¡± she asked slowly. ¡°You don¡¯t have to. If you don¡¯t feel safe with him, you can stay with me.¡±

    Wanily¡¯s gaze snapped back to hers, scowling. ¡°What? Of course I feel safe with him. Eko is my best friend. He does so much for me, and he agreed to wait for me while I learn more magic. The least I can do is go visit him while I¡¯m stuck waiting, too.¡±

    Dahlia winced. Wanily was obviously offended on her friend¡¯s behalf, but Dahlia just wanted to make sure that Wanily wasn¡¯t being taken advantage of. ¡°Well, would you like me to go with you?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Wanily stopped, looking surprised at how quickly and harshly she¡¯d responded. Dahlia frowned at her, more and more alarmed with every word Wanily said. Wanily tried again, much softer but no less nervous, ¡°I mean, no. Um, he¡¯s not very nice to strangers, either, and doesn¡¯t like people, I keep saying that. But you don¡¯t need to worry.¡±

    Dahlia hesitated. The fact was that she was worried, very much so. ¡°I really don¡¯t think--¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine, Dahlia,¡± Wanily interrupted, standing and putting her empty plate on the counter of the kitchen. ¡°I can wash the dishes when I get back, okay?¡±

    Which was a way for Wanily to escape this conversation, and Dahlia wasn¡¯t about to have it. She might not have met this friend of Wanily¡¯s, but she didn¡¯t trust him. Her mind was already going to the worst possibilities--a mercenary biding his time, a Frisian barbarian trying to convert her to worship of the old gods, a member of the Wandering People attempting to kidnap her and sell her to a slave trader. ¡°Wanily--¡±

    ¡°Bye, Dahlia,¡± Wanily said loudly, grabbing a satchel from beside her pack and hurrying out of the room. ¡°I¡¯ll be back.¡±

    Dahlia scrambled to her feet, setting aside her plate and rushing to the main room of the church. ¡°Just be back before curfew!¡± she called after Wanily, wringing her hands. Wanily was obviously not from Fris, but that didn¡¯t mean the curfew didn¡¯t apply to her. She could still find herself in some trouble if she wasn¡¯t back in time.

    Dahlia spent a few hours sitting on one of the pews in the otherwise empty church, stitching together some shirts by hand. The repetitive motions did wonder to calm the nerves she found festering in her mind, worrying after Wanily. They hadn¡¯t known each other for more than a scant couple of days, but Dahlia could tell Wanily was one of the good ones. She hated even the thought that she was being taken advantage of in some way.

    It was sometime in the afternoon by the time she heard some voices calling to each other outside the church. It was too early for a mob to forming outside, so Dahlia assumed that it was the carriers from the Empire come to drop off some goods. She set aside her needle and thread and headed to the front door, heaving it open and poking her head out.

    She was met with the sight of two carriers unloading a couple of crates from a wagon at the base of the front steps. A man stood off to the side with a clipboard and pen, scribbling something as each crate was brought out of the depths of the wagon and stacked on the ground. He looked up when Dahlia called out a greeting, smiling and tucking his clipboard under his arm and his pen into his breast pocket.

    ¡°Ah, hello, you must be Sister Dahlia,¡± he said, walking up the steps and holding out his hand. They shook, with Dahlia wincing at the strength of his grip. ¡°Gren, at your service. We have some special goodies for you in today¡¯s shipment. Foodstuffs and some new trinkets from General Magicks that will hopefully make your life a bit easier.¡±

    Dahlia felt her brow rise in surprise. ¡°I didn¡¯t think the church could afford to send me anything from General Magicks. Aren¡¯t their goods expensive?¡±

    ¡°Well, sure,¡± Gren said. ¡°At least, they used to be much more expensive, but they¡¯ve just finished building a massive workshop back in Tiranda. The way I¡¯ve heard it, they can pump out over a thousand of their magic items a day.¡±

    Dahlia gasped. ¡°Really?¡±

    Gren nodded, smiling. ¡°That¡¯s right, sister. Of course, anything that requires a crystal to run still costs a shiny mark. But their basic enchanted goods just became much more affordable. Even if they weren¡¯t, from what I¡¯ve been told, this shipment is entirely donated right from the top.¡±

    Dahlia¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You mean Atlas Stellar?¡± She gestured to the ten crates stacked by the wagon in slight wonder before pointing back to herself, saying, ¡°He donated all of this to... me?¡±

    ¡°So it seems,¡± Gren said, giving her a toothy grin. ¡°Put them to good use, yeah?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Dahlia said a bit breathlessly. She cleared her throat. ¡°I mean, I will.¡±

    Gren directed the other men with him to begin bringing the crates into the church. Dahlia hurried to prop the door open for them, smiling and thanking them as they passed her. They nodded to her in turn, huffing and puffing as they carried the crates inside.

    Once all of them were inside, Gren had the other men pry them open with crowbars. He told Dahlia, ¡°Empty them out, and we¡¯ll come back in the evening for crates.¡±

    Dahlia nodded, smiling. ¡°Thank you so much, Gren.¡±

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    ¡°No need,¡± Gren said, chuckling. ¡°Just doing what I¡¯m paid to do. Oh, that reminds me.¡± Gren pulled his clipboard back out, lifting up the papers until there was only a single envelope resting against the wood. He grabbed it, easing it from the metal clip holding it in place, before offering it to Dahlia. ¡°This is from a Wriv. Or a Triv?¡±

    ¡°Quiv?¡± Dahlia asked, perking up as she took the envelope. That was her youngest brother. He had sent her a letter? The only letters she had received so far had been from her father, but he always told her everything that was happening in their household anyway. Why did Quiv feel the need to write her himself?

    She turned it over in her hands, but on the back it simply read To Dahlia at the top, with smaller, more cramped writing at the bottom that said from your favorite brother. She smiled at that.

    Gren snapped, pointing at her. ¡°That¡¯s the one. Well, I think that¡¯s all you need us for, sister. We¡¯ll see you later when we come to pick up the crates.¡±

    ¡°Yes, thank you, Gren,¡± Dahlia said, glancing up. She managed to smile again despite the inkling of dread curling through her gut. Whatever was in this letter, she had a bad feeling about it. ¡°I will see you tonight.¡±

    Gren nodded to her, whistling to his men and motioning them to follow as he left the building. Dahlia wandered after them, letter clutched in one hand as she closed the door behind them. She waited until she heard the clatter of the wagon wheels departing to return to her pew and stare at the unopened letter.

    She bit her lip and opened it, reading it once, then again, and again. It wasn¡¯t until she set the piece of paper down in her lap after the fifth read that the tears began to well up.

    Dear Dahlia, the letter read.

    Mom and Dad said I shouldn¡¯t write you. They said not to worry you because you have a lot to worry about already being in Fris. But I¡¯m scared, and you were always able to make things better.

    I¡¯ve been real tired lately so Mom and Dad took me to see Father Charles. He said that I¡¯m dying. That I only have until the end of Azonra.

    I don¡¯t know what to do. Mom and Dad said we have to pray extra hard to Amera so that she remembers me. I don¡¯t want to be remembered. I want to keep living. I know you¡¯re doing really important stuff in Fris, but can you help me? I¡¯m really, really scared. But you always say Amera¡¯s love cures all wounds, and I thought you could ask her to cure this one, too.

    Sorry, I know you probably have more important things going on. In case I don¡¯t get to see you again, I love you.

    Love, Quiv

    Dahlia closed her eyes, folding the letter back up and gently tucking it back into its envelope. Only once it was safely on the pew beside her did she bury her face in her hands and weep.

    Her brother, only nine years old, was dying. Azonra was only two months away. The summer months of Krakrenra and Krakrenro were fifty days each, as was Azonra. They were already into the second week of Mossro, also fifty days long. If Quiv was lucky, he had about another one-hundred and seventy days.

    Dahlia--she needed to go see him, right? She couldn¡¯t just--it was only a twenty day journey across the strait separating the eastern and western continents. That meant she could go and visit with her family and be back in the church in less than a month¡¯s time. But then, when she accepted her mission to come to Fris, she¡¯d been told she couldn¡¯t return to Tiranda until her five years was up. She had to stay here, in this empty church, surrounded by people who hated her, while her brother was dying half a world away.

    She tucked her knees to her chest, resting her cheek on them and staring at the half-finished shirt beside her. The sight only reminded her of everything she¡¯d lost to come to this land that hated her, filling her with rage and something like determination.

    She would write to the church and see if they would make an exception for extenuating circumstances, but if not, she would make a difference here. She would make at least one person in Fris see the error of their ways and begin worship of Amera. She would make them glad to be part of the glorious Tirandan Empire.

    And if she couldn¡¯t accomplish even that much, at the very least she would be able to help Wanily. She might not be able to save Quiv or even say goodbye to him, but there would be at least one person she could help in this gods-forsaken land. She wouldn¡¯t just give up.

    She tucked the letter into a pocket in the depths of her robe and stood. She would write her own letter to the priest that had given her this mission before Wanily returned for the night, but in the meantime, she needed to empty the crates of goods that had been delivered.

    Staying busy would help, too, she thought. So she headed to the crates and peered into the first one, fishing out a large, glass sphere from the straw packed inside to protect it from breaking. At first, she thought it was a small viewing sphere--she¡¯d seen them in some magic shops and other fancy stores that could afford such things--and tried tapping it to see if she could get it to work. From what she understood, a viewing sphere could only display predetermined places it had been tied to. She didn¡¯t understand how it was made in the slightest, but it didn¡¯t matter. The moment she tapped it, the sphere turned black with several white dots floating inside it.

    Dahlia turned it back and forth, and it took an embarrassingly long time for her to recognize the formation inside. Amera knew she had drawn it enough times in the Empire¡¯s school growing up, even if it wouldn¡¯t be visible if she went outside right now and looked at the sky. It was the third constellation, Khidoh, in the shape of an infinity loop.

    She reached back into the crate, pulling out a stand for the sphere to sit in. It was nice that General Magicks had sent it, but, well, she hadn¡¯t the foggiest idea where she would put it. She didn¡¯t exactly have much counter space in the kitchen and there weren¡¯t many other surfaces to hold the somewhat bulky sphere.

    She set it aside and dug deeper, pulling out another glass sphere, this one smaller than the first. When she tapped this one, it displayed a shining, incomplete circle in its dark depths, a slice of it missing. As Dahlia watched, however, the missing portion became slowly but steadily smaller. This had to go with the other sphere, but what did it mean?

    She pursed her lips, thinking. The first sphere showed the daystellations and constellations that made up each hour, so maybe this one displayed the minutes and seconds? She would have to check it again later to confirm.

    By the time Wanily had returned that evening, Dahlia had finished emptying the crates and lining up the different goods on the pews while she tried to figure out where to actually put them. Part of the problem she ran into was not having any idea what was magical and what wasn¡¯t. She had no less than six of the glass spheres which were definitely magic, but also several new dishes and utensils, three crates worth of different clothing articles, another full of books, one of light crystals, and only two of them contained foodstuffs. Mostly oats.

    The discovery had made Dahlia deflate. There was only so much Dahlia could do with oats.

    Maybe she could try to sell or trade some of the clothing? She certainly didn¡¯t need that much. But then, she also would rather donate it if possible. Not that anybody in this city ever took anything from her. Besides, if she tried to barter with any of the merchants in town, they would probably give her an awful deal anyway.

    She held up an admittedly fine coat, the dark blue cloth of good material and the stitching of expert quality. She sighed, and it was at that moment that Wanily came barreling back into the church. Dahlia turned when the door opened, smiled when she saw it was just Wanily letting herself in, and folded the coat over her arm.

    ¡°Hello, Wanily,¡± she greeted. It was always easier for Dahlia to worry about someone else¡¯s problems, so she asked, ¡°Everything go okay with Eko?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Wanily chirped, stepping over to where Dahlia stood by one of the pews. She frowned and looked around. ¡°What is all this stuff?¡±

    ¡°General Magicks saw it fit to donate some goods to us.¡± Dahlia gave a wry smile, raising the arm ladened with the coat. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you would like a new coat?¡±

    Wanily¡¯s gaze snapped to it, and she gasped. ¡°Really?¡± Her eyes narrowed, and her tone was more skeptical when she asked, ¡°You would just give it to me?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need a new one right now,¡± Dahlia said. ¡°I¡¯d much rather give it to you if you do.¡±

    Wanily smiled. She held out her hands, and Dahlia transferred the coat to her waiting palms. ¡°This will be going in my pack,¡± Wanily said after she inspected it for a moment. ¡°Thanks, Dahlia.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Dahlia said, a pang of sorrow striking through her chest. What she wouldn¡¯t give to be able to help Quiv right now instead of a near stranger. She did her best to stomp down that sentiment and instead gave Wanily a tight smile. ¡°So dinner?¡±

    ¡°I already ate,¡± Wanily said, much to Dahlia¡¯s shock. ¡°I have some leftover berries if you want? I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll stay good for very long, so we better eat them up.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Dahlia felt strangely disappointed. She shook herself slightly to try to get the feeling to let her go. ¡°Well, sure, I¡¯ll take anything you can spare. I¡¯m sure it will go great with porridge.¡±

    They moved to the other room. Wanily regaled Dahlia with trivial details about her day, like her search for the raspberries she gave to Dahlia in a little pouch and her walk out of the city with all the sights and experiences that came with that. She didn¡¯t talk at all about Eko, which Dahlia found concerning.

    Dahlia smiled and nodded along to her words, only able to halfway focus on what she was saying. The letter burned a hole in her pocket as she set about making more porridge for her dinner. Maybe that was why, when Wanily eventually asked Dahlia about her day, Dahlia froze in the middle of pouring water from her large pot to her smaller kettle.

    She swallowed hard, her sight blurring with tears once again. She blinked furiously against it, but try as she might to fight them, they began to spill down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook under the force of it.

    ¡°Dahlia?¡± Wanily asked behind her, sounding concerned. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    ¡°I just wish I was able to help someone here,¡± she choked out. ¡°Everyone in this city hates me. I just wish--there are so many hungry children and poor mothers and wounded fathers. I just wish they would let me help them.¡±

    Then maybe all of this would be worth it. She might not be able to say goodbye to her brother, but then she would actually be doing something important like all the things her family imagined she was doing.

    Wanily was silent. Dahlia set the kettle on the counter to wipe at her eyes, still not turning to face her. How pathetic, she thought. Wanily was still young, barely more than a child, and here was Dahlia unburdening her heart on her. But Wanily was just about the only person who would listen to her within about a thousand miles.

    ¡°I got the news today that my youngest brother is dying,¡± Dahlia murmured. ¡°And he practically begged me to fix it. Even if I could, I¡¯m here instead of there. And what am I even doing here? Everyone here hates me.¡±

    ¡°Not everyone.¡±

    Dahlia finally risked a glance behind her, where Wanily still sat on her bed. Her expression was pinched with what was probably discomfort but was difficult to read beyond that. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t hate you,¡± Wanily said. She smiled. ¡°I actually think you¡¯re really nice.¡±

    Dahlia bit back a sob. Pull yourself together, she chided herself. She didn¡¯t need to break down in front of Wanily over such a simple statement. But it was nice to hear.

    She sniffled a little, wiping at her eyes and taking some deep breaths to calm herself down. ¡°Thank you, Wanily,¡± Dahlia said, offering her a watery smile. ¡°I¡¯m sorry you... had to see all that.¡±

    Wanily shrugged. ¡°Everyone has problems,¡± she said. ¡°I can¡¯t help your brother, but I can try my best to help you, even if that¡¯s just by listening.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a good soul, Wanily,¡± Dahlia said softly. ¡°Now, why don¡¯t you get some rest? I¡¯ll try to be quiet while I finish up my dinner.¡±

    Wanily shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m more interested in the books you got in,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m going to check them out. If you don¡¯t mind.¡±

    ¡°Oh, of course,¡± Dahlia said, turning back to preparing her porridge. ¡°Feel free.¡±

    She listened as Wanily got up and went into the main room. Dahlia finished hanging the kettle above the fire and stirring in some oats by the time Wanily returned, her arms full of books.

    ¡°Looks like they¡¯re mostly story books,¡± Wanily said, setting the stack on the floor by her bed. She picked up the top one and sat back down, the pages rustling as she opened to the first one. Without being asked, she began to read it out loud, ¡°Back in the time of mages and towers, there was a young orphan boy who dreamed of defeating the gods.¡±

    She continued to read, and Dahlia allowed herself to be swept away by the story. She finished making her humble dinner and sat on the bed across from Wanily as she read. Dahlia eventually came to recognize it as one of the tales of the Nanshee folk hero, Diablo, the man who would become the first pirate, stealing from the temples of the gods themselves and looking very dashing while he did it.

    It was a nice distraction, and Wanily was kind to provide it. When Dahlia finished her dinner, they continued to sit for a while longer. It was a good moment, and Dahlia would allow herself to be in it. The rest of her troubles could wait until tomorrow--right now, she was with the one person in Fris that didn¡¯t hate her.

 Chapter 27: With Anger--Part IV

    (Sixthday of the Second Week of Mossro, 669 A.C.)

    Fourthday and Fifthday passed in a blur. Usually, Dahlia woke before the sun even began to lighten the sky, but she slept in both days until nearly noon. Wanily was gone when she finally did get up on Fourthday, probably off to visit that questionable friend of hers, but she was still in the church on Fifthday. Dahlia just about jumped out of her skin when she shuffled, still half-asleep, into the main room and very nearly ran straight into Wanily. She had fully expected to spend another day alone in the church, but Wanily stuck around the whole time. Dahlia was immensely grateful--she had never been a solitary creature having grown up in such a big family then becoming part of the church with all its members. Just being with someone else did wonders to lift some of the fog that had settled over Dahlia¡¯s mind.

    She just didn¡¯t know what to do. Her grief felt like a palpable thing, a mass that had taken up space right behind her heart and pumped its sorrow into her being with every heartbeat, never letting her forget. Her brother was dying. Sweet, young Quiv--who always made sure to play with the kids that had no other friends, who excelled in school and spent so many days reading, who had cried and cried and cried when Dahlia told him she was leaving--was dying. And though he had been able to say goodbye to her when she departed on the ship for Fris, she wouldn¡¯t be able to say goodbye to him.

    She wrote to the brother in charge of her mission on Fourthday while Wanily was gone. The courier she went to was owned by the Empire, so though the people working there curled their lips and spat their words, they took Dahlia¡¯s letter and sent it off with one of their figonas without much fuss. They barely even charged her for the service--which was good, considering Dahlia had very little money to go around.

    Still, she didn¡¯t have very high hopes. The brother was a lovely person, of course--all true followers of Amera were. But he had seemed very stern when Dahlia met him, and she doubted he would budge on his stance. As terrible as Dahlia¡¯s situation was, how could she or anyone else say it held a candle to the hatred that festered in Fris?

    So she sent the letter on Fourthday and promptly put it out of her mind. She spent Fifthday showing Wanily how to sew--at least, she showed her how to sew properly since Wanily already had some rudimentary knowledge. Her lines had been anything but straight and it took her several minutes of fumbling to get the needle threaded, but she at least knew how to do it.

    She wasn¡¯t the quickest study, but she seemed to like working with her hands. Wanily¡¯s willingness to learn and her upbeat attitude that prevailed despite the many times she pricked her fingers or had to redo her stitching made her far from the worst student Dahlia had ever taught.

    Dahlia quickly learned that Wanily liked to talk, too. She told stories of the people she had met in her travels, her studies in magic, her favorite foods, the weird dreams that had stuck with her over the years--anything and everything that wasn¡¯t about her mysterious friend. Dahlia asked, but that only made Wanily clam up for a while, and Dahlia, who had welcomed the distraction of Wanily¡¯s chatter, did not touch the subject again when Wanily eventually began talking again.

    Now it was Sixthday, the day that Wanily was set to begin learning magic from Harriet, and Dahlia laid in bed, wondering what she was going to do with herself. She got up and tiptoed to the main room, doing her best to avoid waking Wanily still slumbering away in her bed. As she passed, Dahlia felt a pang of envy at how peaceful she looked.

    She could just open the door and look outside, but Dahlia didn¡¯t feel ready to face the world yet. Instead, she went to the glass sphere still sitting on one of her pews--an astro-orb, she learned they were called from Gren when he came back to collect the empty crates--and peered into its depths. The white dots inside formed a large X, the same as the seventh daystellation, Boreso. She checked the other orb--the minute orb--and found that only about a quarter of the hour had passed so far. Still early, then, so Wanily didn¡¯t have to get going for a while yet. Dahlia just wanted to be sure--she didn¡¯t want her to be late for the first day of her training. She doubted that would go over well with Harriet.

    She moved over to an empty pew and sat. She stared at the far wall for a while, then tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling. She wished she could say she was thinking, but it didn¡¯t feel like a single coherent thought entered her mind. She debated reading Quiv¡¯s letter again and ultimately decided against it, not needing the reminder. A while after that, she thought about praying, but despite the guilt that welled up inside her, she couldn¡¯t bring herself to do so. Amera¡¯s love always brought comfort to Dahlia during hard times, but this time--she didn¡¯t want to be comforted. She wanted her brother to live.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    Dahlia started, shoulders jumping. She turned her head to where Wanily stood in the doorway to the other room. Her brows were bunched in concern.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Dahlia admitted, which was probably not what she should say if she wanted Wanily to stop worrying. But it was the truth. She didn¡¯t know what she was doing.

    But, she thought desperately, she wanted to do something. She wouldn¡¯t just spend another day wallowing in despair.

    And she had an inkling of what she could do.

    Wanily hummed in thought. ¡°Do you know what time it is?¡±

    Dahlia craned her neck to the pew behind her, where she¡¯d left the astro-orb. The daystellation Boreso was gone, replaced by the crown of Nella, the eighth daystellation. Dahlia had lost almost an hour just sitting around doing nothing.

    Wasn¡¯t much different from most days, she thought bitterly.

    ¡°It¡¯s Nella,¡± she said aloud. ¡°Reesh will be here soon. You should probably get going.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Wanily said, but her voice sounded strange. Dahlia soon learned why when she asked, ¡°Are you going to be okay?¡±

    The question, simple and well-meaning, hit Dahlia like a punch to the gut. But, Dahlia managed a smile. ¡°Yes,¡± she said, and she meant it. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me, Wanily. Go and learn a lot from Harriet, okay? Then you can tell me all about it over dinner.¡±

    Wanily¡¯s eyes searched Dahlia¡¯s face for a moment, but eventually, she grinned. ¡°I¡¯ll learn everything Harriet knows.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Or as much as she¡¯s willing to teach me.¡±

    Dahlia stood. ¡°I don¡¯t think you have time for breakfast. Will you be alright without it?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s not the first time,¡± Wanily said, as if that didn¡¯t just break Dahlia¡¯s heart. Dahlia was no stranger to such hardship, but that didn¡¯t mean she wanted other people to suffer like she had. ¡°Thanks, though. I¡¯ll see you tonight, Dahlia.¡±

    Wanily hefted her satchel a little higher--Dahlia hadn¡¯t even realized at first that she had it with her--and moved to the front door. She gave Dahlia a small wave before she opened it and slipped outside into the brightening morning.

    Dahlia waved back a beat too late for Wanily to have caught it, but it was the thought that counted, she told herself. She sighed and clasped her hands together, pacing back and forth. She knew what she should do. But she was afraid. It was probably only going to make the people of Shraven hate her more.

    It didn¡¯t matter. If she could reach the heart of just one of these non-believers, it would be worth it.

    Nodding to herself, she went to grab the clothes she¡¯d made with Wanily yesterday. It was time to do something--something important. After all, what did she have to lose?

    <hr>

    Harriet sat in her empty house, on her chair, by her crackling fireplace, and waited. Time magic was tricky to learn, and Harriet really only knew the basics of it. Time was a fickle thing, after all. All the domains of the old gods relied on each other, but Time was especially dependent on the others. To master it, a person had to understand that connection deeply enough to reach out and manipulate both at once. At least, that¡¯s how Harriet understood it.

    She knew enough, however, to reach out to the domain of Tressia and tug on it ever so slightly. It wasn¡¯t enough to manipulate it at all, but it was enough to bring the knowledge into her mind and soul. It was just a few minutes until the daystellation Reesh would be in the sky. If she had pulled a little harder, she could have known the exact number of milliseconds left until that time came, but that hardly seemed necessary.

    So, she had at least a few minutes left, if not almost an entire hour. That girl--Vanily or whatever--would have no way of knowing when Reesh would appear without access to time magic. The Ameran church wasn¡¯t exactly close to Harriet''s house either.

    Harriet mulled over what she would do with the girl today. She needed to figure out how much she knew first. There were a couple of options depending on that for what Harriet would begin teaching her, but she had to know where the girl stood first. That shouldn¡¯t be too difficult, though. She could just ask Vanily what she knew and give her a more applied skills test. That was the beauty of old magic--to see what someone was capable of, they could just do it. Spells weren¡¯t some hodgepodge of wands and gems and--and whatever else new magic mages used. They just were.

    She stood, deciding on making some tea while she waited, but just as she got her bag of tea leaves out, there was a knock at the door. Harriet found herself frowning, more than a little surprised. Vanily was already here?

    She went and opened the door, and sure enough, Vanily stood outside. She shot Harriet a grin the moment their eyes met, and she barged forward, forcing Harriet to step aside and let her in or get trampled.

    ¡°Hello to you, too, Vanily,¡± Harriet drawled.

    ¡°It¡¯s Wanily,¡± she said, peering around Harriet¡¯s home. If she was offended, she didn¡¯t show it--not that Harriet would care either way. ¡°So what¡¯s first, Ms. Harriet? I already know the basics of motion, so I would really like to learn more about that or time or maybe space. What can you even do with space magic? I haven¡¯t seen much on it. But time magic sounds really cool, and it would be so useful to learn some more about energy. Like, I would love to be able to make fire, but all I really know how to do is make something moving move faster or slower or amplify forces already present. I broke the handle of a pickaxe once just by trying to break it and making those forces more powerful.¡±

    Harriet closed the door and leaned against it, crossing her arms as Wanily continued to talk. When it became apparent that Wanily was not about to stop talking, Harriet held up a hand. ¡°Alright, alright, slow down. You know about motion?¡±

    It was a good place to start with old magic. There were physical things you could focus on, visible outcomes in the form of things moving, and it required relatively little magic.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Wanily said, seeming to take a breath for the first time since she opened her mouth. ¡°I met a physicist a while back that taught me the basics. He was a really nice guy by the name of Edgar--¡±

    She continued to run her mouth, and Harriet waited until she was forced to suck in another breath before even trying to interrupt her. ¡°Okay, then we¡¯ll start there.¡± Harriet cast her gaze around the room before settling on her bag of tea. She stepped around Wanily to grab it and dug out one of the leaves. She placed it in the palm of her hand and looked back up at Wanily.

    ¡°Move it,¡± she said.

    Wanily gave her a sheepish smile. ¡°I... can¡¯t move things that aren¡¯t already moving. Yet.¡±

    Harriet arched an eyebrow at her, scoffing, ¡°You¡¯re not even going to try?¡±

    Wanily face pinched with determination, rising to the challenge. Her gaze fell to the little dried leaf in Harriet¡¯s hand, her brows scrunching together until they were almost touching. Harriet waited, focused on the leaf in her hand--although less intently than Wanily. Several moments passed without so much as a twitch from any of them but especially the leaf.

    Wanily, eventually, deflated. ¡°I don¡¯t think this is working.¡±

    ¡°Explain to me what you¡¯re trying to do,¡± Harriet said, throwing the leaf into the fire and reclaiming her seat on her chair. She did not invite Wanily to sit--not that there was another chair out in the room for her to do so--but she was either oblivious to the power play or just acting like she was. ¡°How are you using your magic?¡±

    Wanily furrowed her brow. She crossed her arms, gaze falling to the ground. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to describe it. It¡¯s like... moving a limb but the limb isn¡¯t attached to me? Or maybe it¡¯s like a thought. It just happens, but you can control where it goes?¡±

    ¡°Are you asking me or telling me?¡±

    Wanily frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Harriet leaned forward in her chair, clasping her hands together. ¡°What is magic to you, Wanily? You told me that it was natural for humans to use magic, which is true. We are magical creatures. But what is it?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s energy,¡± Wanily said slowly. Then, more nervously, ¡°Right?¡±

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Wrong,¡± Harriet said. ¡°If it were just energy, then there would be no issue in moving the leaf. It would just be energy to energy.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°Krakren is only one of the gods. Energy is only one aspect of the universe. Magic can be energy, but that¡¯s not always the case.¡± Harriet narrowed her eyes, searching Wanily¡¯s face. She seemed thoughtful, but Harriet didn¡¯t know her and couldn¡¯t say for certain. ¡°What are the building blocks of reality?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Wanily started. She thought for a moment. ¡°Like you said, there¡¯s Krakren, the god of energy. But there¡¯s also Tressia for time, Azonron for space, Inzn for gravity, and Moss for soul. Five old gods, five building blocks.¡±

    ¡°Correct,¡± Harriet said. ¡°Now, knowing that, what is magic?¡±

    ¡°Magic is...¡± Wanily trailed off. She pursed her lips, shifted her weight from foot to foot. She seemed to understand, at least, the gravity of this lesson. If Harriet couldn¡¯t make her understand this, there would be no point in trying to teach her. She would never understand.

    ¡°Magic is,¡± she settled on. ¡°It¡¯s... outside of the gods because it is the gods but it¡¯s also something they use and it also isn¡¯t them. And humans, we can use magic in the exact same way. Magic is... everything. It¡¯s energy and time and space and gravity and even soul. But it¡¯s also more than all those things.¡± She looked back up at Harriet, grinning ¡°It makes the impossible possible.¡±

    Harriet was not the kind of woman that often smiled. But she allowed one side of her lips to quirk up in a smirk. ¡°Correct.¡±

    Wanily huffed, still smiling. ¡°Good, because I think I just gave myself a headache.¡±

    Harriet snorted. ¡°Well, there''ll be lots more where that came from if you¡¯re trying to learn old magic. But that¡¯s a good start. So, that being said, I want you to go outside and try to move something from rest. I don¡¯t care what--a leaf, a pebble, a building--as long as you can then prove to me that you¡¯ve figured out how to apply what we¡¯ve discussed. Understood?¡±

    Wanily nodded, grinning. ¡°Yes! I will move something by the end of the day! No, before the end of the day! By the end of the hour!¡±

    Harriet, despite herself, snorted again. ¡°Alright, alright, tuck in your wings, little griffin. You''re going to find that it''s still not as easy as it sounds, and that''s with just the concept being complicated. Don''t get discouraged if it takes you a while. It''s not like you''re just starting out trying to learn old magic, but it could still take you a few days if not a few weeks to harness your magic well enough to move something.¡±

    Wanily rocked back and forth on her heels, still smiling. ¡°Right. But I will get it, just you wait and see!¡±

    Harriet nodded. Now, she had given Wanily what she came here for. Could Harriet get something in return?

    ¡°Before you go,¡± Harriet said, selecting her words and tone with care, ¡°tell me how things are going at the church. Is that priestess treating you well?¡±

    Wanily gave her a strange look. ¡°Why do you care?¡±

    It wasn''t asked with suspicion, instead sounding like a genuine question. It was completely fair for her to ask as well--Harriet hadn''t exactly been warm to her so far. Not that Harriet was ever warm to anybody.

    She could answer honestly and say she didn''t trust that priestess. Instead, she settled on something that would hopefully be less outright antagonistic. ¡°She hardly seems capable of taking care of herself, much less anybody else.¡±

    Wanily frowned. ¡°She''s kind,¡± she said, like that had any bearing on anything. ¡°She just wants to help the people of Fris.¡±

    ¡°We don''t want her help,¡± Harriet snapped. When Wanily''s frown only deepened, she forced herself to take a breath. She suddenly wished Nicholas was the one teaching Wanily and trying to needle information out of her--he was always better at keeping a level head. ¡°We didn''t ask for that priestess to come, Wanily. You understand that, don''t you?¡±

    ¡°Not really,¡± she said. ¡°You guys just got out of a bad war. She''s trying to help you guys. I don''t understand what the problem is.¡±

    ¡°The problem is not what she''s trying to do. The problem lies with her.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Harriet gave Wanily a calculating look. She didn''t think Wanily was being intentionally dense, but it was hard to believe that she didn''t know what had happened in Fris. ¡°The Empire is brutal, Wanily,¡± she said, as slow and measured as she could. ¡°They tried to starve our entire country. They attacked camps during the night and on sacred days. They tortured and raped indiscriminately. There was barely enough land for all the mass graves.¡±

    ¡°But Dahlia didn''t do any of that,¡± Wanily insisted. ¡°She''s trying to help.¡±

    ¡°She comes from the same people that razed our country to the ground,¡± Harriet hissed, hands clenching into fists. ¡°If their god is so good and benevolent--if the people in the Empire truly believe what they preach--they wouldn''t have attacked us in the first place.¡±

    That only seemed to confuse Wanily more. ¡°I... thought that Fris attacked the Empire?¡±

    Harriet laughed, but the sound was hollow. ¡°For what reason would we attack the Empire? Is that what that priestess told you? No, the Empire wanted our resources, and they''re taking them by force.¡±

    Wanily frowned, seemingly troubled. ¡°But... why would they send Dahlia to help, then?¡±

    ¡°She''s not here to help us,¡± Harriet spat. ¡°She''s here to sedate us. To convert us to her insipid religion and force feed us a message of passivity. She¡¯s just another pawn of the Empire, another way to conquer us.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Wanily crossed her arms, shoulders hunching. ¡°But...¡±

    She trailed off, gaze falling to the ground. Her crestfallen expression was in stark contrast to her earlier energy, but Harriet didn¡¯t care. She told Wanily nothing but the truth, and if she couldn¡¯t handle it, she shouldn¡¯t be in Fris.

    ¡°Let me know if she gives you any trouble, alright? That¡¯s all I wanted to say,¡± Harriet said. When Wanily didn¡¯t immediately react, Harriet shot her an impatient look. ¡°You can leave now. Come back when you have mastered moving an object from rest.¡±

    Wanily opened her mouth and closed it without uttering a word. Finally, she nodded and turned to let herself out of Harriet¡¯s home. She looked over her shoulder, face pinched like she wanted to say something, but ultimately she left without saying anything else.

    Harriet sighed as the door clicked shut. She stared at the fire for a long while, just thinking. It hadn¡¯t been her intention to give Wanily a history lesson, but maybe it was for the best. If Harriet could sway her to the side of Fris, it would be even better than trying to subtly weasel information from her. She might just give it willingly.

    Tomorrow, she thought, she would talk to Nicholas. Get his input on the situation. He already knew she had agreed to teach the girl some of what she knew, but he didn¡¯t approve of her motives. Knowing him, he probably wouldn¡¯t like that Harriet was trying to radicalize a foreigner, either. He was of the opinion that Fris needed to come back on its own, which Harriet didn¡¯t necessarily disagree with. She wasn¡¯t about to accept help from the Empire that damned them, so why should she accept help from the world that had turned a blind eye?

    Wanily, though--she didn¡¯t know where she came from. She was a wanderer without being a Wanderer. Maybe Harriet could trust her. At least, Harriet might be able to manipulate her.

    For now, there wasn¡¯t more she could do about the matter. So she leaned back in her chair and simply watched the fire crackle before her. One day, she thought. One day, she would watch the Empire burn in just the same way.

    <hr>

    ¡°Only by the love of Amera can you be remembered!¡± Dahlia cried, hands thrown out on either side of her.

    The people bustling through the city¡¯s square paid her no mind. She stood on the corner, dressed in her priestess robes, and shouted until her voice cracked and her throat hurt. She would not be deterred.

    ¡°Only by her grace can you embrace your full potential!¡±

    Someone spat at her feet as they passed, throwing her a look that almost made her shrink back from the sheer disgust. Maybe she would have before she received the news about her brother--maybe she would have fled and hunkered down in her church and sewed her clothes that no one wore and cooked her food that no one ate. But not anymore. She was going to do something important, and that started by doing something other than hiding.

    ¡°I forgive you,¡± Dahlia told the passerby, which only served to make him scowl harder. She thought for a moment he might just launch himself at her, but he merely turned and disappeared into the throngs of the crowd.

    Louder, Dahlia shouted, ¡°I forgive all, because Amera forgives all if you only ask for forgiveness!¡±

    ¡°Shut the fuck up!¡± someone hollered, with several more voices rising in agreement.

    Dahlia flinched. ¡°Hatred has no place in the new world,¡± she insisted. ¡°Hatred is the death that lasts forever! But through Amera--¡±

    Someone shoved into her from behind. Dahlia yelped, stumbling forward just in time to avoid falling flat on her face. She whirled around only to falter when she found herself face to face with a group of teenage boys. The intensity of their scowls did nothing to hide how young they were.

    ¡°Shut up and go back to Tiranda,¡± the one in the middle sneered. He must have been the one to push her.

    Dahlia straightened, raising her chin. ¡°I won¡¯t. I will do good for your people. I only want to help.¡±

    The young man shot forward with a cry, barreling straight into Dahlia and knocking the both of them on the ground. Dahlia hit the cobbled street hard, knocking her head against the stones. The young man gripped her by the shoulders and shook her violently, spittle flying as he shouted, ¡°My father died in your Empire¡¯s war! All the Empire has ever done is take from us! We don¡¯t want you or your help!¡±

    Dahlia found it increasingly difficult to listen to him through the ringing in her ears. She tried to shove him off, but he was much stronger than her. She wished desperately in that moment that she knew some magic, but she wasn¡¯t sure she would be able to cast a spell right now anyway.

    The weight of the boy suddenly disappeared. Dahlia scrabbled away, blinking furiously against the light of day that felt much brighter than it had before the hit to her head. Two Tirandan soldiers had grabbed the young man by the arms and hoisted him up off of her. He thrashed and cried, tears streaming down his face.

    ¡°You took my father from me,¡± he howled, over and over, as the soldiers dragged him away.

    Dahlia, still dazed from the attack, climbed to her feet and tried to make sense of what just happened. She knew the wounds from the war ran deep, but she had never imagined it would be so bad.

    ¡°Are you alright, sister?¡± someone asked from behind her. Dahlia brightened until she turned and found another soldier standing behind her. Oh well, it was still nice this woman cared.

    ¡°I think I have a concussion,¡± Dahlia admitted. She looked around the town square which had gone very nearly silent. The crowds that had been weaving through the area just moments before were gone. Soldiers lined the streets now.

    The soldier in front of her nodded. ¡°I can have someone fetch you a healing potion. Let me walk you back to the church.¡±

    Dahlia stumbled after the soldier as she started to move away, her feet feeling clumsy. She looked behind her, where the boy had been dragged away.

    ¡°What¡¯s going to happen to that boy?¡± Dahlia asked.

    The soldier snorted. ¡°Who cares? He attacked a member of the church.¡±

    I care, Dahlia thought. She couldn¡¯t help but imagine his guttural cries as he was taken, mourning a father he could never get back. Because of the Empire. Because of what Dahlia stood for.

    ¡°I hope they beat the shit out of him and all his friends,¡± the soldier continued. ¡°Send them back to their mothers black and blue. Would serve those little fuckers right.¡±

    None of this was right, Dahlia thought. She felt delirious, too hot and too cold, with the world too bright around her. None of this felt right at all.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want him to get hurt,¡± Dahlia said. He was just an angry boy, bitter at the world from having taken someone he loved away from him. He didn¡¯t even have the comfort of knowing that Amera would remember his father.

    The soldier didn¡¯t say anything. Dahlia wanted to continue, but she found herself focusing all her energy on just walking in a straight line.

    When they reached the church, the soldier opened the door and waited until Dahlia had taken a seat on one of the pews. ¡°I¡¯ll be right back, sister,¡± she said, closing the door once again.

    Dahlia let herself bask in the relative darkness of the church. She closed her eyes and tilted her throbbing head back, taking some deep breaths against the wave of nausea that welled up within her. She was not about to be sick all over the church floor. She wasn¡¯t.

    The soldier returned maybe a few minutes later, maybe a few hours, trailed by a man in full armor bearing the Tirandan crest. The soldier handed Dahlia a potion in a small glass bottle and departed with nothing more than a, ¡°Stay safe, sister.¡±

    The man stayed behind, waiting with his hands clasped behind his back until the other soldier had left. He nodded to Dahlia. ¡°Hello, sister. I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve had the chance to meet before this. I wish it had been under better circumstances. I am Commander Darik, the head of the soldiers staying in this part of Fris. But please, we can talk once you¡¯ve had your potion.¡±

    Dahlia blinked at him before her gaze fell to the bottle in her hands. She doubted that they had potions specifically tailored to concussions on hand, and that certainly seemed the case when she downed it, causing the fierce throbbing only to dull to a tender ache. At least she didn¡¯t feel nauseous anymore.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that better?¡± Darik said, smiling at her. For some reason, his smile set Dahlia on edge. ¡°Now my men took away the boy that attacked you, as well as his fellows. Was there anyone else giving you any trouble?¡±

    She thought about Harriet and Nicholas, but only shook her head. ¡°What¡¯s going to happen to those boys?¡± she asked.

    Darik looked thoughtful. ¡°Do you want them executed?¡±

    ¡°What!?¡± Dahlia cried. ¡°No! Of course not. I just...¡±

    She trailed off, not sure how to finish the statement. The boy had been angry and rightfully so. He had attacked her and he probably should be punished, but Dahlia didn¡¯t want that. She didn¡¯t want to perpetuate this cycle of hate.

    ¡°Now, sister,¡± Darik said, walking to stand beside her. ¡°There isn¡¯t any reason to become so upset. There¡¯s no use crying in putting down a rabid dog. It¡¯s what¡¯s best for everyone involved.¡±

    Maybe the potion hadn¡¯t worked as well as she thought. She felt sick all over again.

    ¡°If you ask me, the Empire shouldn¡¯t have even bothered with an occupation,¡± Darik continued. ¡°Should have just started over from scratch. These Frisians prove every day that they¡¯re beyond redemption.¡±

    ¡°No one is beyond redemption,¡± Dahlia said. ¡°By her love and grace, Amera forgives all. You... you believe that, don¡¯t you, commander?¡±

    ¡°Amera¡¯s love is reserved for people, sister. The denizens of Fris could barely be considered beasts, worshiping their pagan gods and practicing their forgotten magicks.¡± He shrugged. ¡°I, of course, appreciate your presence here, as I¡¯m sure all the people of Tiranda do. But you may be better off saving your energy than trying to make anyone in Fris into something they¡¯re not.¡±

    Dahlia couldn¡¯t believe what she was hearing. ¡°Commander, I¡¯m not... these people need me. They¡¯re--I--¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just trying to give you some friendly advice, sister,¡± Darik said, sparing Dahlia from trying to form her thoughts into words. ¡°To know where to spare your efforts. Are you feeling better?¡±

    ¡°I--yes,¡± she stammered.

    ¡°Then I will take my leave,¡± Darik said, nodding. ¡°Look after yourself, sister. Think about what I said.¡±

    He left, then, armor clanking as he walked and the sound becoming muffled on the other side of the church¡¯s door until it disappeared completely.

    Dahlia brought her knees to her chest, her feet resting right on the edge of the pew. The tears came quietly this time, trailing down her cheeks as she sniffled. She had tried to actually do something this time, and all she seemed to do was make things worse. Not only that, she was told to quit by her own people that claimed what she was doing was completely pointless.

    She let herself cry for a while, but eventually she became tired of feeling sorry for herself. She would not be deterred. It didn¡¯t matter if her love was met with hatred. That was when love was needed the most.

    One day, she would see love brought into Fris. One day, her efforts had to bear fruit.

 Chapter 28: With Understanding--Part V

    (Secondday of the Third Week of Krakrenra, 669 AC)

    Just over a month later, Harriet found that Wanily was making good progress.

    As Harriet had predicted, it took a few days for Wanily to figure out how to apply what they had talked about to actually getting an object to move, but she did figure it out. With that out of the way, Harriet pivoted to the more abstract magic, namely time. Time magic was a very useful skill to have, after all, and it took a while to learn. For Wanily and Harriet¡¯s interests, it was a win-win.

    It took about three weeks for Wanily to be able to even access the flow of time, but she¡¯d been ecstatic when she finally managed to sense the hour. Harriet wasn¡¯t proud, but she was pleased with Wanily¡¯s progress. It told Harriet that she was a better teacher than she would have thought.

    Since then, Harriet had Wanily trying to manipulate gravity. It was a discipline closer to energy in that it could also relate to motion, which is why Harriet figured it would be a good next step. Three weeks later, though, and Wanily hadn¡¯t reported any success with it.

    That was fine with Harriet. She spent the time mostly with Nicholas and an ever rotating cast of people in the city. The same day Harriet had started Wanily¡¯s training, the priestess tried going out and publicly preaching. Of course, that was just asking for trouble, and from what the witnesses told her, the priestess got it. Varin, the teenage boy that had gotten violent with her, got himself beaten nearly to death for it. His friends, too. Harriet and Nicholas were able to get some potions for the lads, but with the amount of damage they¡¯d suffered, they were still far from recovered. Even magic could only do so much.

    People were outraged--Harriet was outraged--and rightfully so. But Nicholas called for everyone to bide their time, and they listened. Harriet did, too, but it was with more than a little grumbling and glaring.

    She wanted to do something. Something more than talking about a grand future where Fris was free. She wanted to make that future happen.

    But Nicholas said sit. So she sat. And fumed.

    He didn¡¯t like what Harriet was trying to do with Wanily either. They didn¡¯t really see each other all that often, Wanily and Harriet, with Wanily only visiting once or twice a week to listen to Harriet lecture about the forces of gravity in an effort to help her understand what she was trying to do. But during that time, Harriet also told her about the state of Fris. The way the Empire controlled all their means of production, the curfew they¡¯d place on every city, and the soldier they¡¯d shipped in to enforce it all. Wanily listened without ever giving her opinion on that matter. She was usually such a chatterbox, but it seemed that was the only topic that ever got her to shut up.

    Harriet currently stood in the town square with Nicholas beside her, watching the priestess try to preach to the masses that passed her, and thought. She thought about Wanily, about Dahlia, about how the both of them were such small pawns in this game the Empire was playing. How Harriet herself was such a tiny pixie compared to the hydra of the Empire. But even pixies could claw out the eyes of a hydra, she mused.

    She glanced at Nicholas, waiting for him to say something. From their distance, they could only hear the priestess¡¯s voice, not whatever she was saying. As far as Harriet had heard, she¡¯d come here nearly every day for the past month and given her unsolicited sermons. No one in town had risen to the bait and attacked her again. Yet, at least.

    Harriet couldn¡¯t help but wonder what she was trying to accomplish. There were probably only a handful of people in the entirety of Fris that worshiped the new gods, and most of them were the missionaries the Empire had sent. The people of Fris were just far too practical--and far too jaded--to give a merfolk¡¯s fin about the new gods.

    ¡°Someone is going to snap at her again one of these days,¡± Nicholas said, never looking away from the priestess.

    Harriet grunted in agreement. ¡°Doing what she¡¯s doing, she¡¯s just asking for it.¡±

    ¡°If she gets herself killed, what happened to Varin will look like a slap to the wrist. The Empire will rain its fury upon our city.¡±

    ¡°Then we get her to leave,¡± Harriet said. ¡°I¡¯ll rally the people, tell them to meet outside the church. We¡¯ll--¡± she bit her tongue before she said what she actually thought they should do. Violence never went well with Nick. ¡°We¡¯ll hold another protest,¡± she said instead.

    ¡°The protests aren¡¯t working,¡± Nicholas said, running a hand through his hair. ¡°I was wrong about this priestess. Something¡¯s put steel in her back. She¡¯s not going to give up so easily anymore.¡±

    Harriet sighed. ¡°Then what do you want to do, Nick?¡±

    He didn¡¯t respond for a long time. Harriet gave him the space to think, letting her own ideas form on the matter. What if the priestess were to just disappear? But then, the Empire would likely assume foul play and punish their city for it anyway.

    Damned if they did and damned if they didn¡¯t. Harriet just didn¡¯t see a way to get rid of the priestess without killing her and suffering the consequences. Would the payoff of getting the priestess out of their city be worth the Empire¡¯s ire? Just how badly would they retaliate over the death of one lowly member of the church?

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what to do,¡± Nick finally said. At Harriet¡¯s frown, he continued, ¡°But I¡¯ll figure something out, and when I do, you¡¯ll be the first to know the plan.¡± He nudged her with his elbow, smiling slightly. ¡°I¡¯ve never been able to do this without you, Harriet. You know that, right?¡±

    ¡°Flattery will get you nowhere,¡± she drawled. Then, she smiled. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have lived through the war without you, Nick. Wherever you go, I¡¯ll follow.¡±

    The priestess finally fell silent. She looked up at the darkening sky, and Harriet made note of the constellation. It was Dia, the sixth constellation that looked like two curves mirroring each other, almost forming a curvy X.

    Dahlia deflated, like a sail losing its wind. She cast her gaze around the square once before turning and, with as much dignity as a defeated woman could, marched off down the street in the direction of the church. Harriet watched her go through narrowed eyes, thoroughly unimpressed with her display.

    Nicholas grunted and nodded in the other direction, toward Stevan¡¯s inn. Harriet followed him, just as she always did, and let the priestess escape.

    <hr>

    ¡°Wanily?¡± Dahlia called out, the sound eaten up by the wooden walls of the church. She let the door shut behind her and her shoulders drop when she received no answer. Looked like Wanily was still out for the day--she mentioned during breakfast she wanted to visit with her friend today and tomorrow. Dahlia still had no idea who this friend of hers was, but she¡¯d been spending more and more time with him the last couple of weeks.

    Dahlia was just concerned. It didn¡¯t sit right with her, the idea of a girl as young as Wanily constantly hanging around with someone that even she was apparently ashamed to even talk about.

    There was nothing Dahlia could do about it at the moment, though. She walked to the closest pew and sat, burying her face in her hands. No one had so much as glanced at her during her preaching today. They didn''t spit at or cajole her. She supposed she should be grateful, but it just told her the people of Shraven were becoming desensitized to her message. Was that better than outright spiteful?

    She just didn''t understand why no one would listen to her. But maybe the fact that they weren¡¯t being overtly cruel was a sign that her words were starting to take hold?

    It just wasn¡¯t fair. Dahlia hated the thought, hated more that she was the one complaining. She hadn¡¯t lost her parents or siblings to the war. She hadn¡¯t gone hungry because of it. She didn¡¯t live in constant terror of the soldiers that continued to patrol the streets. The suffering of Fris and its people was not her tragedy.

    But then she thought of her brother. How she¡¯d been denied the right to go back home to him before he died. How she was stuck here in Fris while his condition worsened, as told to her by the letters he sent her every week begging her to come home. How she tried to cry quietly at night so as not to disturb Wanily sleeping eight feet away from her.

    Maybe it was becoming her tragedy after all.

    At least she was here for Wanily, Dahlia told herself. She wasn¡¯t sure what Wanily and Harriet¡¯s relationship looked like, but Wanily still came back to the church every night. Dahlia doubted that Harriet was offering Wanily any type of housing.

    Dahlia couldn¡¯t help her brother, but she could at least help Wanily.

    A knock sounded at the church¡¯s door. Dahlia started, craning her neck around to look at it. Who could it be at this hour? Wanily always just let herself in with an announcement that she was back. No Frisians ever came to visit her, and there hadn¡¯t been a mob since the day Wanily arrived--not that they ever got close enough to the church to knock anyway. There was no shipment due today, and it was too late in the day for that either.

    Well, there was one way to find out. Dahlia got up and moved to the door, heaving it open. She faltered when she saw who waited on the other side, plastering on a smile when he greeted her with one.

    ¡°Commander Darik,¡± she said, with as much cheer as she could muster. ¡°What a surprise.¡±

    Clad in his armor and holding a helmet in his hands, he nodded to her. ¡°Sister Dahlia. A pleasant one, I hope.¡±

    Dahlia felt her smile tighten, but before she could say anything, he continued, ¡°May I come in?¡±

    She wanted to slam the door in his face for the way he handled that violent outburst a month ago. She¡¯d heard what happened to those boys--that transpired under his watch. Instead, she moved aside to make room for him to pass. ¡°Of course,¡± she said, though she shouldn¡¯t have bothered. He had already begun moving.

    ¡°I see you have yet to find a home for the gifts General Magicks sent you,¡± Darik said, gazing about the room. Many of the items she¡¯d received a month ago now had accumulated a fine layer of dust, and Dahlia winced.

    ¡°Ah, well, considering I don¡¯t even know what most of them do...¡± Dahlia trailed off, chuckling uneasily. ¡°You¡¯re more than welcome to some of the astro-orbs though. But, um, I¡¯m sure you didn¡¯t stop by to discuss some enchanted doodads.¡±

    ¡°Right you are, sister,¡± Darik said, turning on his heel to face her. ¡°I came to see if you had given any thought to what I said.¡±

    Dahlia frowned. ¡°You¡¯re talking about..?¡±

    Darik swept a hand through the air, gesturing to everything around him as he said, ¡°This. All of it. Your presence here and your efforts to educate beasts to walk and talk. Have you thought about any of that?¡±

    Dahlia hesitated. Of course she had thought about it, but it had always been with disgust and no small amount of frustration. How could she help the people of Fris if her own people didn¡¯t even believe they could be helped? And how could someone--anyone--see someone else suffering and debase them into something not even human?

    She must have taken too long to answer because Darik continued, running one gauntleted finger along the back of the closest pew. ¡°I know about your poor brother. Quiv, is it?¡±

    The sound of her brother¡¯s name from Darik¡¯s mouth sent ice down her spine. ¡°How do you know?¡±

    ¡°Brother Pient wrote me and informed me.¡± The brother in charge of her mission. ¡°He said that you had requested to go home and spend some time with the lad before he passed. But of course, you can¡¯t abandon your post here.¡±

    Dahlia looked Darik up and down. She hated the way he said it, all mocking and haughty. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± she said. ¡°My request was denied. I¡¯ll stay in Fris until my five years are up.¡±

    ¡°Such a shame,¡± Darik said. ¡°Of course, if someone of some authority were to write him and ask that he reconsider his decision, he might be inclined to do so.¡± Darik smiled. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡±

    Dahlia became increasingly aware that they were the only ones in the church, and even if she screamed and cried for help, none of the Frisians outside would ever come to her aid. She swallowed hard and forced herself to smile back at Darik. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I follow, commander.¡±

    He laughed. ¡°You don¡¯t have to play dumb, Dahlia. I know you¡¯d much rather be in Tiranda than here. And I can make that happen.¡±

    ¡°What do you want?¡± Dahlia demanded, sounding much more steadfast than she felt.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± Darik said. ¡°All I want is for you to admit that you have no business here in Fris, and I¡¯ll tell Brother Pient that you should be sent back to Tiranda. Permanently.¡±

    It sounded too good to be true. Maybe, once, Dahlia would have believed that a Tirandan commander was just looking out for her best interests, but after everything he¡¯d said to her, she couldn¡¯t believe that he was doing this just out of the kindness of his heart. What did he hope to gain from this?

    More than that, she didn¡¯t want to get sent back permanently. She just wanted to be able to see her brother before his passing and then come back. She didn¡¯t want to quit or--or just give up. She would make a difference in Fris, and she just needed time to do that. She couldn¡¯t do that if she was sent back to Tiranda.

    Darik waited for her response, hands clasped behind his back, the picture of patience. ¡°Is there a reason you want that?¡± Dahlia eventually asked. She didn¡¯t have high hopes in getting a straight answer, but it didn¡¯t hurt to try.

    He tilted his head, eyebrows raising in what was probably surprise. ¡°Do I have to have one?¡±

    Right, so Darik wasn¡¯t going to be forthcoming with his motives, whatever they were. Dahlia shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t want to leave Fris permanently, commander. I just wanted the chance to say goodbye to my brother, and then come back. I want to complete my mission.¡±

    Darik shrugged. ¡°A shame, then. My conditions are all or nothing, I¡¯m afraid. Either you go back to Tiranda, never to return to Fris, or you stay here in Fris until your time is up. It¡¯s your decision.¡±

    Darik had the power to help her, and he was withholding it. Dahlia would not forget that.

    ¡°Can I think on it?¡± she asked. Maybe it would be for the best to go home, but she just didn¡¯t want to. The people of Fris had been trying so hard to get her to leave that doing so would just feel like an absolute failure. She wasn¡¯t sure she would ever be able to forgive herself for it.

    But would she be able to forgive herself for not seeing Quiv before he passed?

    ¡°Of course,¡± he said, pulling her from her thoughts. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t take too long, though. The journey back home is nearly a month long, you know.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°Good, then,¡± Darik said, nodding. He hefted his helmet up, sliding it onto his head, and offered Dahlia another smile. ¡°I hope to see you again, sister.¡±

    If she never saw Darik again, it would be too soon. ¡°You as well, commander.¡±

    He took his leave, but Dahlia stood in the same spot for several more minutes, hands clasped in front of her chest as she thought. She would pray on the matter, she decided. She would pray before going to sleep tonight and it might not make things feel any more clear, but at least she would feel better. Knowing someone was listening to your woes was like that.

    <hr>

    ¡°I just don¡¯t get why I¡¯m having such a hard time with gravity magic,¡± Wanily groused, sitting on the counter and swinging her legs as Dahlia prepared breakfast the next morning.

    Oatmeal again--not that she or Wanily were complaining. Food was food, and Wanily had at least brought back two ducks last night for dinner. It had been a nice change of pace, though Dahlia had noticed she neglected to say how she caught them. Wanily might have just been able to get them with her magic, but she thought it was more likely that her friend had gotten them for her. Which only worried Dahlia more, the fact that he was apparently a sharp enough shot to have cleanly sliced their necks. A single cut on each, right across their throats, had been the only damage apparent on the ducks. The wound had looked too wide for an arrow, but Dahlia couldn¡¯t imagine what else it could have been.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    Dahlia hummed in acknowledgement at the right points as Wanily continued talking about her inability to use gravity magic. Something about how it was similar to energy magic so she didn¡¯t understand why she couldn¡¯t get it to work. Dahlia nodded along, but her thoughts ran away from the conversation. She couldn¡¯t get her conversation with Darik out of her head, and she still didn¡¯t know what to do about it.

    Should she just go home? Tuck her tail between her legs and admit defeat? What kind of message would that send to the people of Fris though? How would that reflect on Amera and everything love meant to Dahlia?

    But then, Quiv¡¯s condition was worsening. They didn¡¯t even know what was wrong with him--just that something was. Dahlia silently cursed the limitations of new magic--it had been able to determine he was sick, but not which ailment afflicted him. And without knowing what the exact cause was, a potion couldn¡¯t be brewed to cure him.

    She wanted to be there for him. But could she justify abandoning her post in Fris? Not with the ramifications of what that would mean to Fris and the Empire.

    ¡°Dahlia!¡±

    She jumped, whirling around to face Wanily. She¡¯d been absently staring at the bubbling pot of porridge, completely tuning out Wanily¡¯s voice. Judging by Wanily¡¯s tone and her half-exasperated, half-concerned expression, it was not the first time she¡¯d said her name.

    ¡°Um,¡± Dahlia said, clasping her hands together in front of her. She had no idea what Wanily had asked her, but considering her expectant silence, she had asked her something. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t even know what I asked you,¡± Wanily deadpanned. ¡°I said, is something wrong?¡±

    Wrong wasn¡¯t even the beginning of it. Should she tell Wanily about her troubles? She didn¡¯t want to burden the poor girl with things much larger than her and completely outside her control. But then, it did affect her, if Dahlia ultimately decided to go back to Tiranda. Wanily would lose her place to stay. Would that force her to move on to somewhere else in Fris? More than likely, and then who was to say she would be able to find another teacher?

    But who was Dahlia going to put more importance in? Wanily, or her dying brother?

    ¡°Have you met the commander in charge of the troops in Shraven?¡± Dahlia asked.

    Wanily tilted her head. ¡°I didn¡¯t even know there was a commander here.¡±

    ¡°What? Of course there¡¯s a commander here. The soldiers have to get their orders from someone.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Well, no, then, I haven¡¯t met him.¡±

    Dahlia chuckled, but she quickly sobered. ¡°He¡¯s an... interesting man.¡±

    ¡°Is that your way of saying he¡¯s a total asshole?¡± Wanily asked.

    ¡°Wanily!¡± Dahlia couldn¡¯t believe her. ¡°I would never call someone that. You should watch your language.¡±

    Wanily shrugged. ¡°I know it¡¯s not proper for a young lady, but some people are assholes. You have to call them what they are. Why do you ask if I know him?¡±

    Dahlia huffed. ¡°He offered to write to the brother in charge of my mission and get me sent home.¡±

    Wanily perked up. ¡°Isn¡¯t that a good thing? You could go see your brother before... you know.¡±

    Sighing, Dahlia turned to lean against the counter opposite of Wanily and crossed her arms. ¡°I just don¡¯t know. It would be permanent, Wanily. I wouldn¡¯t be coming back to Fris.¡±

    Wanily frowned. ¡°Is that such a bad thing?¡±

    She asked it so delicately, but Dahlia still felt like the words pierced her straight through her chest. ¡°Of course it¡¯s a bad thing! I can¡¯t just give up on all these people. I know there¡¯s good in them, Wanily. If I leave now, it¡¯ll be like I¡¯m admitting that there was never any way to save them.¡±

    Which, she realized, might be exactly what Darik wanted. If Dahlia agreed to leave Fris, she¡¯d leave the entire city in the hands of Darik and his soldiers. She already knew what he thought about Fris and its people--if she wasn¡¯t here to keep an eye on him, what kind of violence could Darik justify carrying out against them?

    ¡°Okay,¡± Wanily said, drawing out the word. ¡°Then you should stay, right?¡±

    ¡°But I wouldn¡¯t get the chance to say goodbye to my brother,¡± Dahlia murmured.

    Wanily grunted. ¡°Okay, then you should go.¡±

    Dahlia gave a wet laugh, looking away. ¡°But then I would be admitting defeat. I¡¯m stuck, Wanily. I don¡¯t know what the right thing to do is.¡±

    Wanily was silent. Dahlia glanced at her, noting her pursed lips and downcast eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Wanily finally said. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you should do.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to tell me,¡± Dahlia said gently. ¡°I just... you asked what was wrong, and now you know. And I thank you for listening.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Wanily said immediately. ¡°I got your back, Dahlia.¡±

    Even though Dahlia had just discussed in length how she was considering abandoning Wanily. It made Dahlia¡¯s gut twist with guilt.

    ¡°Anyway,¡± Wanily said, hopping off the counter. ¡°Is that oatmeal almost done? I was going to visit my friend today, and he gets antsy if I¡¯m late.¡±

    Dahlia frowned, but Wanily never appreciated it when Dahlia asked for more details about her friend. She insisted he was good and treated her well, but Dahlia just had a hard time believing it when she said things like that.

    Dahlia said nothing, just moved to fetch two bowls for them and spooned some of the porridge into each one. She handed a bowl to Wanily, who promptly moved to slurp it up.

    ¡°Hold on,¡± Dahlia said, laughing. ¡°You¡¯re going to burn your tongue if you eat it now. At least blow on it a little.¡±

    Wanily rolled her eyes, bowl frozen an inch from her face. She obediently blew on the porridge, though, which was all that Dahlia could really ask for. Once the steam billowing from the oatmeal slowed to more of a waft, Wanily apparently lost her patience and tipped the bowl up.

    She made a small noise, jerking the bowl away. ¡°Hot!¡±

    Dahlia laughed. ¡°I told you so,¡± she teased gently. She held her bowl in her hands, letting the warmth sink into her fingers. Her thoughts returned to her dilemma. Could she leave knowing what it all might mean? And could she leave Wanily to fend for herself?

    Well, maybe she wouldn¡¯t be completely alone. She had that friend of hers, though Dahlia still didn¡¯t know his true nature. But, maybe, she could find out. Then the guilt that plagued her might alleviate, knowing that Wanily would be in good hands even if Dahlia wasn¡¯t around.

    Wanily would no doubt refuse to let Dahlia tag along with her to see her friend, of course. So she wouldn¡¯t know. Dahlia could follow her out of the city and into the forest, to wherever she usually met with her friend.

    Dahlia smiled to herself, blowing on her oatmeal and slurping it up. It still burned her tongue.

    <hr>

    The people of Shraven didn¡¯t glance twice at Wanily passing them by. The same couldn¡¯t be said for Dahlia, trying to follow her as inconspicuously as possible. Wanily, small for her age, slipped through the crowd like a fish gliding through water. Dahlia, on the other hand, floated through the streets in a bubble as people gave her a wide berth. She tried to give Wanily more distance, hoping that would make it less likely for her to notice Dahlia, but that only put her at risk of losing Wanily amidst all the people. At least Wanily didn''t seem to notice her, walking with a purpose to her stride and without turning to look behind her even once.

    Once they reached the outer stretches of the city, it became easier to stick to the edges of the streets and still be able to keep an eye on Wanily''s shock of silver hair. There were far less people out here, mostly those traveling into the center of the city where all the surviving commerce was. Shraven, close to the border of Fris, had been able to smuggle in more goods during the siege than most of the country. That wasn¡¯t saying that there were still enough people for all the buildings in their city now.

    Dahlia ducked her head and tried not to draw more attention to herself than necessary. Maybe she should have changed out of her priestess robes.

    Despite the many glares she received, no one said anything to her, and eventually she reached the edge of the city. Wanily was at least forty paces in front of her, already moving off the beaten path and toward the forests to the east. Dahlia split her attention between watching where she stepped--especially when they reached the forest proper and a misstep could alert Wanily to her presence--and making sure she didn¡¯t lose Wanily. She didn¡¯t want to go through all of this just to fumble it right at the end.

    Wanily had no such concerns, marching through the forest at a quick pace and forcing Dahlia to hurry after her. They must have walked for twenty minutes or more, Dahlia quickly working up a sweat from the summer heat despite the shade the trees provided. She really should have changed out of her thick priestess robes.

    When they reached a small clearing that was nothing more than a fallen tree and some boulders strewn about, Wanily stopped. Dahlia scrambled to hide behind a thick enough tree to provide her some cover and peeked out at Wanily standing alone in the clearing. She frowned to herself, wondering what she was doing. There was no camp here, so this couldn¡¯t be where her friend was staying. Unless they met somewhere besides his campsite, but why would they do that?

    ¡°Eko, I know you could hear a mouse fart from a mile away,¡± Wanily said, just loud enough for Dahlia to catch it, as she crossed her arms and turned about the clearing. Dahlia started, darting behind her tree before Wanily could catch sight of her. ¡°You know I¡¯m here, so where are you?¡±

    Dahlia didn¡¯t know what to make of that. It didn¡¯t matter though, because the moment she stepped away from her tree to look back out at Wanily, something barreled into her side. She yelped as she was thrown to the ground, something on top of her, pinning her to the forest floor. She blinked up at her assailant, gawking at the sight of a griffin with its wings outstretched, its paws pressing against her shoulders with the barest pressure of claws threatening to pierce through her clothes to the flesh beneath.

    ¡°Wanily, run!¡± Dahlia cried, squeezing her eyes shut and preparing to exist only in Amera¡¯s memory.

    What was a griffin even doing here? They lived in the mountains in the central part of the country, or so she thought. Why was one in the woods of the south about to end Dahlia¡¯s life?

    ¡°Dahlia!?¡± Wanily exclaimed. Then, ¡°Eko, she¡¯s not a threat. You don¡¯t have to do all that.¡±

    What?

    The griffin made a shrill noise that Dahlia thought was something like a sigh through its beak. Dahlia had never seen a griffin before, but she was pretty sure this one was glaring at her. It didn¡¯t budge, and Dahlia swallowed.

    This was Eko?

    Footsteps, and then Wanily appeared above her, a frown on her face. Her gaze slid to the griffin, and she patted him right between his large ears. ¡°Yes, I appreciate you trying to protect me. But please get off of her.¡±

    Eko finally tore his gaze from Dahlia, looking up at Wanily and making a small chirp. Wanily gave him an imploring look, and, with another one of those shrill noises that might have been a sigh, Eko backed away. Dahlia winced as she pushed herself up. She warily looked between Eko, still glowering at her but now sitting with his wings tucked against his back, and Wanily, standing above her with her hands on her hips.

    ¡°Okay, what gives, Dahlia?¡± Wanily demanded. ¡°Why¡¯d you follow me?¡±

    ¡°I--I was just worried!¡± And guilty, but she didn¡¯t admit that. ¡°You talk about this mysterious friend of yours and constantly leave to visit him but you never gave any details! What was I supposed to think? How could I have known that he¡¯s a--¡±

    She cut herself off, glancing back at Eko. He looked like he was ready to pounce on her again at the slightest provocation.

    ¡°I told you not to worry,¡± Wanily said, like saying that ever accomplished what it set out to. Then, suddenly, she looked like she was going to be sick. ¡°You¡¯re not going to... I mean, I kept him a secret because people tend to be scared of monsters. And there are hunters that would try to kill him for his parts. You¡¯re not going to tell anyone, right?¡±

    Dahlia wanted to laugh. ¡°Wanily, I¡¯m still grappling with the fact that you somehow tamed a griffin. Are you a sage?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Wanily said, petulant. ¡°It would be way easier if I could actually understand everything he said, but I¡¯m not a sage. And I didn¡¯t tame him, he¡¯s not a pet. He¡¯s just... my friend. Or like a brother.¡± Wanily offered Dahlia a hand up, which Dahlia took.

    She brushed herself off, looking between Wanily and Eko again. Eko still seemed like he was trying to kill Dahlia with his eyes, so Dahlia focused back on Wanily. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I guess I should have trusted you, but you¡¯re young and I just thought--¡±

    Wanily waved her words away. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. I probably could have just told you before this, but I was worried, too, of what you might do. I should have trusted you.¡±

    The griffin chirped, his tail lashing behind him. Wanily laughed, and Dahlia smiled uneasily. ¡°I think that¡¯s Eko¡¯s way of saying he¡¯s a little unimpressed.¡±

    Dahlia¡¯s smile became more genuine at that. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I frightened you,¡± she told Eko, whose eyes narrowed. She wasn¡¯t sure how much he could even understand of what she was saying, but it felt like it was all of it. ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you or Wanily. In fact, I¡¯ve been keeping an eye on Wanily while she¡¯s been in town. You can rest assured that I would never let anything happen to her.¡±

    Eko continued to glare at her for another beat, but eventually, his stance loosened and his gaze softened. It must have been the right thing to say--which made sense, Dahlia could tell he was very protective of Wanily. He chirped again, but the sound was less biting this time around. Maybe that was his way of giving Dahlia his approval? That¡¯s what she chose to believe, at least.

    Wanily wandered over to one of the boulders in the clearing and sat down. Eko followed her, laying at her feet and curling his tail around his front paw. Wanily smiled at Dahlia. ¡°I don¡¯t plan on doing much today except practicing magic, but you¡¯re already here. If you want to stay, you¡¯re more than welcome.¡±

    Well. It wasn¡¯t like Dahlia was particularly welcome anywhere else. She smiled at Wanily and moved to sit on an unoccupied boulder. She watched as Wanily picked up a nearby pebble and began tossing it up and down, brow furrowed in concentration. Right, she was trying to manipulate gravity. Dahlia wasn¡¯t entirely sure what that entailed--the topic hadn¡¯t been covered much in her Empire schooling--but Wanily hopefully did.

    Dahlia leaned back on her boulder and let herself just relax in the peaceful forest atmosphere. Birds chirped in the treetops and there was the buzz of bugs all around them. It was still hot, but now that Dahlia wasn¡¯t fumbling around the forest, it was much more bearable.

    Her thoughts didn¡¯t stay still for long, however. She needed to decide on what to do. Every day that she didn¡¯t make her choice, she was only choosing inaction. She only had so long to make her decision.

    She sighed to herself, letting her head loll back as she gazed at the treetops. Her efforts in Fris weren¡¯t bearing fruit. But why?

    ¡°You¡¯re sighing,¡± Wanily said, never looking away from her rock. Up and down, up and down it went, her eyes doing the same. ¡°Why are you sighing?¡±

    ¡°I just don¡¯t understand why the people in Fris hate me so much,¡± Dahlia said. ¡°Well, no, I do understand. But I just want to help them. Why can¡¯t they see that?¡±

    Wanily hummed. ¡°You know,¡± she said slowly, ¡°Harriet talks a lot about the Empire. All the ways they¡¯ve been wronged by the Empire, all the reasons why she hates them so much.¡±

    And you, Wanily didn¡¯t say, but Dahlia heard anyway.

    ¡°And, well, I¡¯m not from Fris or the Empire. None of this stuff is personal for me. But I¡¯d like to think that I get to have some perspective because of that. I¡¯d say that if you want to help the people of Fris, first you have to warm them up to that idea.¡±

    Dahlia frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°The Empire has taken a lot from them,¡± Wanily murmured, finally pausing in throwing her rock up and down. She looked at Dahlia. ¡°Maybe you start by trying to right those wrongs.¡±

    Dahlia sighed. ¡°I¡¯m only one person, Wanily.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Wanily conceded. ¡°But it¡¯s like, all these people have just been burned by this giant fire, and then you¡¯re coming through trying to sell fire crystals. It¡¯s not the same, but it represents what they hate and fear. Maybe instead, you could try selling light crystals. Or getting them used to the idea of fire again.¡±

    Dahlia mulled over this for a moment. ¡°What would you suggest I do, then? To get them used to fire again?¡±

    Wanily shrugged. ¡°Like I said, they lost a lot to the Empire. Not everything that was lost can be replaced, either.¡±

    Dahlia nodded, her thoughts running at about a hundred miles an hour. ¡°What about a memorial? For the people of Fris that lost their lives in the war.¡±

    Wanily brightened. ¡°That sounds like a good idea. What would it look like?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Dahlia mused. ¡°But maybe I could talk to some of the local artisans. I¡¯m sure they don¡¯t want to help me, but maybe they can be persuaded to help their community.¡±

    ¡°Yeah!¡± Wanily grinned. ¡°I think that would be better than trying to preach to them. At least for now.¡±

    Dahlia smiled despite the pang that sent through her chest. But Wanily was probably right. And now, Dahlia wanted to help her. ¡°What about you?¡±

    ¡°What about me?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re still having trouble with your gravity magic, right?¡± Dahlia asked, leaning forward. Wanily¡¯s eyes flicked to the rock in her hand. ¡°Walk me through it. Maybe we can figure out what the problem is.¡±

    Wanily pursed her lips. She glanced down at Eko, but the griffin was either sleeping or just doing a convincing job of appearing asleep. Dahlia would bet that it was the second.

    ¡°I¡¯m trying to slow the fall of the rock,¡± she said, tossing it up again. Dahlia watched it with her this time, but she didn¡¯t think it slowed at all in its descent. ¡°But without using energy magic. ''Cause usually I would just use energy magic, you know? I could redirect some of its energy or even just take some of it away. But that¡¯s not how gravity works.¡±

    ¡°How does it work then?¡± Dahlia asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± Wanily huffed. ¡°Harriet keeps trying to explain it to me. Gravity is like a net, she says. Everything gets caught in it. But I don¡¯t know how to reach out and touch the net.¡± Wanily narrowed her eyes. ¡°If that makes sense.¡±

    Wanily fell silent, and Dahlia took the opportunity to think. Gravity was what kept them all on the ground, she knew. And it helped to control motion, but it didn¡¯t seem like it was the only thing that did. She would be lying if she said she understood everything that Wanily said about energy, but, well, maybe Wanily was thinking about energy too much?

    She said as much to her, but it only made her furrow her brow. ¡°I¡¯m thinking about energy too much? But I¡¯m focused entirely on gravity.¡±

    ¡°You keep relating it back to energy. How you would do it with energy, and how it doesn¡¯t work like that for gravity,¡± Dahlia pointed out. ¡°It sounds like the me that gravity needs to be separate in your mind. They¡¯re completely different.¡± Dahlia pursed her lips. ¡°Right?¡±

    Wanily grunted. It was a thoughtful noise rather than an irritated one. ¡°Yeah,¡± she said. ¡°Maybe.¡±

    She glanced down at the rock in her hand before tossing it over her shoulder. Dahlia stared at her, but she just shot her a grin.

    ¡°I think we¡¯ve both been stressing out a little lately,¡± she said, which was understatement if Dahlia ever heard one. ¡°Why don¡¯t we play a game?¡±

    Dahlia arched an eyebrow at her. Wanily seemed a little old for such things, but maybe a person never outgrew needing a distraction. ¡°What kind of game? There¡¯s only two of us.¡±

    Without opening his eyes or lifting his head, Eko chirped. Which proved that he hadn¡¯t been sleeping at all.

    ¡°Three of us,¡± Dahlia amended.

    Wanily hummed. Her gaze darted to Eko at her feet, and she suddenly grinned. She tapped him on the head before jumping to her feet with an exclamation of, ¡°Tag, you¡¯re it!¡±

    Eko cracked an eye open, watching Wanily as she took off deeper into the forest. Dahlia started as he turned his gaze onto her.

    ¡°I¡¯ll just, uh--¡± she gave what was hopefully a pacifying smile before she scrambled after Wanily.

    Barely a moment later, she could hear Eko bounding after her. It was strange--Dahlia couldn¡¯t remember the last time she¡¯d ran--but it also felt like exactly what she needed. And now, she had a plan. When their game wrapped up and she and Wanily headed back to the city, Dahlia would request some money from the church for a memorial. She would talk to the local artisans to make something beautiful, and hopefully, it would begin to soothe some of the pain the Empire had inflicted upon Fris.

    For now, though, Dahlia sprinted across the forest floor with all she was worth. And, she realized, she was grinning.

 Chapter 29--With Hatred

    (Fourthday of the Fourth Week of Krakrenra, 669 AC)

    ¡°Thank you, again,¡± Dahlia said, bowing to the shopkeeper, a man by the name of Crez, as she backed toward the door of the shop.

    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me,¡± he grumbled, clearly still not happy about doing business with her, even considering the nature of her request and the sum of money she¡¯d agreed to pay upon its completion. ¡°And don¡¯t tell anyone it was me!¡± he shouted after her, just before the door swung shut behind her.

    Dahlia stopped outside the shop, allowing herself to clasp her hands together and let out a little squeal of delight. Someone had actually agreed to work with her! It had taken a lot of asking around, even more rejection, but finally she had found a sculptor that would craft a statue to act as a memorial for those in Shraven that lost their lives in the war. He said it should only take a few weeks for what he wanted to make, too, which only made Dahlia jump up and down.

    Finally, something was going her way.

    Passersby were looking at her. She quickly composed herself, clearing her throat, but she couldn¡¯t fight the smile that still overtook her features. And why should she? Things were finally looking up.

    She nodded to herself and started down the street back toward the church. She hadn¡¯t even had to use all the money the church had agreed to send her, so maybe she would go to the market and buy something nice for dinner. Surely Wanily would appreciate a good meal rather than the porridge and occasional haul brought from the forest, courtesy of Eko.

    Mind made up, she adjusted her course and turned down the street at the next junction, toward where she thought she remembered the nearest bakery was.

    The summer sun shone brightly down on her, the heat of the afternoon warmer than what was pleasant. Dahlia found, though, that it didn¡¯t bother her. It was a beautiful day.

    <hr>

    Harriet crossed her arms and leaned against the wall of her home, waiting. Wanily thrust her hand out and tossed up the pebble that had previously been in her palm. Harriet watched as it rose through the air, as expected, but once it reached the height of its path, it slowed drastically. It took several seconds for the stone to return to Wanily¡¯s waiting hand, and she grinned up at Harriet, smug.

    ¡°Finally figured it out after all,¡± Harriet said. She found herself smiling and quickly put a stop to that, not that it mattered. Wanily had already spotted it, and it only made her grin wider. ¡°What would you like to learn next? I figure I can either teach you how to create fire, or you can start trying to access soul magic.¡±

    Wanily considered this, if her long pause and thoughtful expression were any indicators. ¡°It would be really useful to know how to make fire,¡± she mused. ¡°What can you even do with soul magic?¡±

    Harriet grimaced. Soul magic was a bit of an enigma, even to skilled old magic mages like her. The art had lost many of its practitioners during the Cataclysm, and then almost all of the remaining masters of soul magic died during the Necroplague pandemic. Necroalgae targeted the soul, after all, and no practice enlarged the soul quite like soul magic itself.

    That being the case, there was only so much Harriet knew how to do with soul magic, and none of it was very flashy. She could teach Wanily how to heat or cool her body temperature by manipulating the very edges of her soul, but then, a fire could warm her just as easily. Another decent starting point with soul magic--and pretty much the only other thing Harriet knew how to do with it--was amplify another spell by drawing more energy from the soul. But Wanily knew so few spells as it was. It would probably be in her better interest to learn how to create fire.

    ¡°Not enough to justify teaching you that over how to make a fire,¡± Harriet eventually decided. ¡°You should probably find this easier than harnessing gravity magic--you already know how to use energy magic. That¡¯s all that fire really relies on.¡±

    ¡°Cool!¡± Wanily said, eyes shining. ¡°Let¡¯s do it, then.¡±

    Harriet nodded. She figured that Wanily would be less likely to burn her house down if they practiced fire out in the street, so she grabbed some firewood and headed outside. Wanily scrambled to follow.

    Harriet set the first piece of firewood on the ground about ten paces from the front of her house and pointed at it. ¡°Fire is a chain reaction. It requires heat, air, and something to burn. As mages, we will provide the heat as heat is just a form of energy.¡± Wanily nodded slowly, and Harriet continued, ¡°We turn our magic into energy and pour it into a specific point. That is the easiest way to create fire.¡±

    Harriet focused on the piece of wood then, drawing on her magic and pushing it into a point in the middle of the firewood. Almost immediately, enough magic had pooled inside the wood to spark a small flame.

    ¡°Wow,¡± Wanily said, brows raising. ¡°That¡¯s way easier than the usual way. You didn¡¯t even need kindling.¡±

    ¡°Convenient, huh?¡± Harriet nodded, more to herself than anything. ¡°You might want to close your eyes,¡± she added, glancing at Wanily.

    Wanily frowned but did so, and Harriet pulled on the heat from the fire and transformed it to a burst of light, extinguishing the flames. It was the most harmless way she knew to put out fires, but transforming one form of energy to another would probably be a bit advanced for Wanily right now. For now, she would just have Wanily focus on starting a fire, not putting one out.

    Wanily jumped at the sudden flash of light even with her eyes closed. She cautiously peeked one eye open, then blinked first at the piece of firewood then at Harriet. ¡°You put the fire out,¡± she said, ¡°by turning it to light?¡±

    ¡°More or less,¡± Harriet said. ¡°Remember: fire requires heat. I took the heat from the flames and turned it to light, and that¡¯s what extinguished it.¡±

    Wanily hummed in thought, her gaze falling back to the piece of firewood. Harriet thought she was just looking at it and pondering, so she was startled when a small fire burst forward from the middle of the piece of wood.

    ¡°Hey, I did it,¡± Wanily said. She smiled. ¡°That was way easier than using gravity magic.¡±

    Harriet, for just a moment, was speechless. Wanily had picked up on the new skill much quicker than she had anticipated. Admittedly, fire was rather easy to create, but still--Wanily had never done it before. And now she heard Harriet explain it once and managed to do it?

    ¡°Right, well,¡± Harriet said, a little ruffled, ¡°that¡¯s all I had for today. Why don¡¯t you go practice making more fires? I¡¯m sure you can find some harmless things to burn around town.¡±

    ¡°What about putting it out?¡± Wanily asked.

    Harriet grunted. ¡°Focus on starting fires for now. Like I said, to put it out I turned the heat to light, so if you can figure out how to do that, by all means, go ahead and try.¡±

    Wanily hummed again, squinting at the piece of firewood. The flame continued to crackle and grow, and after several seconds, Wanily¡¯s shoulders fell. ¡°Yeah, that one¡¯s not as easy, I think.¡±

    Harriet snorted. ¡°No, it isn¡¯t. Took me ages to figure it out.¡± She glanced at the fire and put it out with another burst of light. Wanily yelped, caught off guard this time and squeezing her eyes shut. Harriet laughed. ¡°Run along, Wanily. Go practice.¡±

    Wanily rubbed at her eyes, blinked a few times, then nodded. Harriet watched her race away with an uncomfortable feeling squirming in her chest.

    Damn, she was getting attached to the kid, wasn¡¯t she?

    <hr>

    Two weeks passed by in a blur. On the third day, Dahlia received the money from the church to pay the artist and promptly paid him half of it--the other half would be handed over when he completed the project. Crez counted each mark right in front of Dahlia like he thought she would try to short him, and when he found the correct amount there, he merely grunted.

    ¡°I already started the memorial,¡± he said, tucking the bundle of marks into his back pocket. ¡°Should be ready by the first week of Krakrenro.¡±

    ¡°Perfect,¡± Dahlia said. Crez grunted again and turned away from her, so she took her leave.

    In the days that followed, she spent her time sewing, cooking, and walking the forest with Wanily. Apparently, Harriet taught Wanily how to use her magic to create fire, and it was all she did lately. Dahlia couldn¡¯t really blame her--Wanily wanted to learn magic, and she was. It had to be very exciting.

    Not once had she seen Darik since he came and offered his ultimatum, and she was glad for it. She didn¡¯t know how to tell him that she wasn¡¯t about to leave Fris behind without giving one more shot at reaching the hearts of the people. He might take it as a refusal of his proposition, which Dahlia didn¡¯t want to commit to just yet.

    If the memorial didn¡¯t work... maybe then she would consider going back. Returning to Tiranda to never return. What would happen to Wanily if she left Fris, though? As much as she didn¡¯t want to abandon her duties here, she didn¡¯t want to abandon Wanily even more.

    But then, Tiranda was basically the capital of all things magic. If Wanily wanted to keep learning magic, maybe Dahlia could convince her to travel with Tiranda with her. It wasn¡¯t like she or her family had very much, but Dahlia would bet anything that her parents would accept her into their fold.

    It seemed like a perfect compromise. Dahlia would try her best here one last time, and if nothing came of it, then she would go home, hopefully with Wanily in tow. It was the least she could do for Wanily--and for herself.

    She brought it up to Wanily the day before Crez promised the memorial would be ready. Dahlia was leaning against the counter on one side of the room, and Wanily was sitting on the counter against the other wall. She swung her legs back and forth and watched the fire--that she lit--crackle in the fireplace, the both of them enjoying some comfortable silence.

    Dahlia took a deep breath and changed that. ¡°Wanily? Have you ever thought of traveling to the eastern continent?¡±

    Wanily dragged her gaze to Dahlia, cocking her head. ¡°Well, I think that¡¯s where the Archmage lives, so when I become the Archmage I think I¡¯ll have to go east. But other than that, not really. Why?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Dahlia started, feeling a little uncertain now, ¡°there¡¯s a college, you know, for magic in Tiranda. I mean, there are other colleges for magic, but the College of Lo Lenney is the college for learning magic.¡±

    Wanily blinked at her. ¡°What¡¯s a college?¡±

    Dahlia smiled. ¡°A college is like a more prestigious school, usually for adults. I think you have to be a certain age to attend the College of Lo Lenney, but I could be wrong about that. I never attended it, myself.¡±

    Wanily tapped a finger against the countertop, clearly thinking. ¡°Does it teach new or old magic?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Both..?¡± Dahlia said, unsure. It made sense that a school as renowned as the College of Lo Lenney would teach all kinds of magic. Dahlia just didn¡¯t know, though. ¡°I think, at least.¡±

    ¡°But Harriet is teaching me magic,¡± Wanily said after another moment. ¡°I don¡¯t need to go to a college or whatever.¡±

    Dahlia nodded, something twisting in her gut. ¡°Right. I was just mentioning it, you know, in case you ever... wanted to go to Tiranda.¡±

    Wanily stared at her with her big, golden eyes. It felt like she could see into her very soul, and Dahlia resisted the urge to squirm. ¡°You¡¯re thinking about going home to your brother, aren¡¯t you?¡± Wanily finally asked.

    It wasn¡¯t accusatory. If anything, Wanily asked it very gently, but it still made Dahlia¡¯s chest tighten. ¡°It¡¯s just in case,¡± she said. ¡°Just in case the memorial doesn¡¯t go over well.¡±

    Wanily nodded. She looked at the ground as she asked, ¡°And... you¡¯d want me to go with you?¡±

    Dahlia swallowed hard, closing her eyes. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Well, Eko would have to come, too,¡± Wanily said. ¡°He could fly, though, and wait for us in Tiranda.¡±

    Dahlia¡¯s eyes snapped open in surprise. Wanily was still watching the ground, though, unwilling to meet Dahlia¡¯s gaze. She realized then--Dahlia had been afraid of a harsh rejection, but Wanily was just as nervous at the prospect.

    Dahlia smiled, then, even if Wanily wasn¡¯t looking to see it. ¡°Of course. I wouldn¡¯t try to take Eko away from you. Although,¡± she said, chuckling slightly, ¡°my parents¡¯ house might be a little small for a griffin. I¡¯m sure we can figure it out, though.¡±

    Wanily smiled, still not meeting Dahlia¡¯s eye. ¡°And I¡¯d still get to learn magic. At the college.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a question, but Dahlia answered it like one anyway. ¡°Yes. If I leave Fris, Wanily, I don¡¯t want to just abandon you here. You...¡± she trailed off, uncertain how to encompass everything she was thinking into words.

    Wanily had been so kind to Dahlia, the first person in Fris that had been genuinely nice to her. She was ambitious and passionate and--and more than that, she was just a good person. Dahlia was coming to realize that was rare enough in itself. She didn¡¯t want to leave Wanily behind.

    Maybe it was just the big sister in her, but she wanted to protect Wanily as much as she could.

    ¡°I want you to come with me,¡± Dahlia finally said.

    ¡°Only if the memorial goes bad,¡± Wanily said.

    ¡°Only if the memorial goes bad,¡± Dahlia confirmed.

    Wanily grinned. ¡°It won¡¯t. But if it does, I¡¯ll come with you.¡±

    Dahlia found herself smiling back. ¡°Good.¡±

    <hr>

    The next day, Dahlia woke early to head to Crez¡¯s workshop. He stood just outside the door, smoking from a pipe and frowning at the world. His frown only deepened when he caught sight of Dahlia walking down the street toward him.

    ¡°Got the money?¡± he asked once she was close enough.

    Dahlia almost just handed it over, but she rallied herself. ¡°I¡¯d like to see the memorial first, please,¡± she said.

    Crez grunted and turned to head into the workshop. Dahlia followed him, just barely stopping the door from smacking into her when Crez let go of it. She should have expected that Crez wouldn¡¯t hold it open for her.

    He glanced at the hearth in the corner of the room, and Dahlia jumped when it suddenly roared to life. Stupid old magic and its lack of indicators, she thought.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    In the middle of the room was, presumably, a statue, but it was covered by a tarp. Crez marched right up to it and yanked the tarp off, revealing the memorial statue below.

    It was beautiful. Carved out of a pale stone was the image of a man with long, flowing hair cradling a child to his chest. Even made out of stone, it was clear that the child was limp. At the man¡¯s feet was an inscription: For those lost in senseless war. May Moss remember your souls.

    The man was undoubtedly supposed to be Moss, the old god of souls. Dahlia would have preferred a depiction of Amera, but she knew that wasn¡¯t what the memorial was about. This was about healing the wounds the people of Fris had suffered, and deferring to the god they worshipped rather than the god Dahlia wished they worshipped would go further in accomplishing that.

    ¡°It¡¯s wonderful,¡± Dahlia breathed, stepping forward. She walked in a circle around the statue, appreciating the artistry of it. And Crez was able to accomplish this all in two weeks? He must have used magic to help him get in done in such a short time.

    ¡°Great,¡± Crez deadpanned. ¡°My money?¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Dahlia said, a little flustered. She pulled out a bag of the remaining marks she owed him and handed it over. Again, he counted it all and nodded when he found all the money there. Dahlia pursed her lips when he moved to leave. ¡°So how do I move it to the town square?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Not my problem,¡± he said, waving to her without turning around. ¡°I¡¯ll leave the workshop unlocked for the next two hours, so it better be gone by the time I get back.¡±

    He left, then, and Dahlia looked back at the statue at a loss. There was no way she could carry it, she had no equipment to move it, and she didn¡¯t know enough magic to be able to do anything in that regard. But, maybe, she didn¡¯t have to be the one to move it. She nodded to herself and rushed back to the church.

    Wanily was not happy to be woken up so early, but she listened to Dahlia¡¯s plight with half-lidded eyes. ¡°Yeah, I can move it,¡± she said, yawning halfway through the statement. ¡°Maybe not all the way to the square though. You don¡¯t have a cart or something like that?¡±

    ¡°There was a small pallet with wheels back in Crez¡¯s workshop,¡± Dahlia said, thinking back. ¡°Could you move it onto that, and then move that to the square?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± Wanily said, moving to tug on her boots. When she was done, she stood and yawned again. ¡°Lead the way.¡±

    Dahlia brought her back to Crez¡¯s workshop, and Wanily stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight of the statue. ¡°Wow, he did a good job,¡± she said.

    Dahlia smiled. ¡°I think so, too.¡± She turned to the pallet she saw earlier and pulled it next to the statue. It would be just big enough to hold the statue, hopefully. Maybe Dahlia should feel bad about using Crez¡¯s equipment without his permission, but, well, she needed to use it. And she would bring it back. No harm, no foul, right?

    Wanily moved in front of the statue and put her hands on her hips. ¡°Looks heavy,¡± she announced.

    Dahlia chuckled. ¡°Yes, that too.¡±

    ¡°Can you stand on that side and push it?¡± Wanily said, pointing to the side opposite of the pallet.

    ¡°I can¡¯t push it onto the pallet,¡± Dahlia said slowly.

    Wanily rolled her eyes. ¡°I know that. I¡¯m going to amplify the force of your push.¡±

    Dahlia was suddenly nervous. ¡°That won¡¯t break it, right?¡±

    Wanily huffed, ¡°I¡¯ll be careful. Do you trust me or not?¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± Dahlia said, more to herself. ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll just... push the statue.¡±

    She moved to where Wanily pointed, putting her right along Moss¡¯s back, which would at least give her a good area to push. She put both hands on the statue and, feeling a little ridiculous, put as much strength as she could into pushing it. Of course, it didn¡¯t so much as budge.

    ¡°Perfect,¡± Wanily said. In the next instant, the statue suddenly began to tip over, and Dahlia yelped, almost falling over with it. She inhaled sharply as the statue fell toward the pallet, but before it could crash into it and break into a million pieces, its fall suddenly slowed. When it landed on the pallet, it was as softly as a mother kissing her sleeping baby.

    ¡°There,¡± Wanily said. ¡°Now, start trying to move the pallet, and I¡¯ll help you push it along.¡±

    Dahlia, feeling much less ridiculous, moved to the handle of the pallet and started trying to move it toward the door. Again, it didn¡¯t move so much as an inch before suddenly lurching forward, no doubt thanks to Wanily. Dahlia struggled to slow the pallet down, but Wanily merely jogged over until she was next to the statue. The roll of the pallet suddenly slowed to a more manageable pace, and Dahlia continued to steer it along. The pallet barely fit through the door, but it did fit. And with that, they made their way to the square under the early morning light.

    When they reached the corner of the square where Dahlia usually preached, Dahlia had Wanily stop the pallet. In turn, Wanily had Dahlia try lifting the statue up, and just like before, it jumped into motion the second after Dahlia fruitlessly attempted to move it.

    ¡°Is that good?¡± Wanily asked when the statue was settled on the ground.

    The inscription faced the greater area of the square, so Dahlia nodded. Just in time, too, it seemed--people were beginning to wake and move around the city. Dahlia asked, ¡°Can you bring the pallet back to Crez¡¯s workshop? I¡¯d like to stay with the memorial for a little while.¡±

    Wanily shrugged. ¡°Alright. But I¡¯m going back to sleep after that.¡±

    Dahlia smiled. ¡°Sounds good. Sleep well, Wanily.¡±

    Wanily took her leave, and Dahlia remained next to the statue, hands clasped in front of her and smiling at the people that passed her. More than one person slowed down to look over the statue, their severe expression softening slightly as they took it in.

    ¡°You made this?¡± one townsperson stopped and asked.

    Crez said he didn¡¯t want to be outed as the person that worked with Dahlia, so she merely replied, ¡°It was a commission. I hope it invokes a sense of peace within you.¡±

    The person grunted and continued on, but at least they didn¡¯t spit at her or cuss her out. That, more than anything, was a sign of progress, Dahlia thought.

    Later in the morning, some children gathered around the statue. Dahlia doubted they could read the inscription, but they stared at it with wide eyes. Dahlia smiled at all of them but decided not to say anything. It seemed the right decision when, after a long while, one of the little girls pulled out a flower from one of her pockets and laid it at the statue¡¯s feet.

    It was the first of many. Most people ignored her when they did it, but as the morning turned into the afternoon, townspeople began stopping by the statue and laying flowers at its base. Sometimes, she heard them murmur a name as they did so, or even just a simple supplication for Moss to remember those lost.

    Dahlia had only stayed with the statue so that people would know who had it made. So, as lunchtime rolled around, she made her way back to the church, nearly shaking with giddiness. People had been receptive to the memorial! It wasn¡¯t the conversion to the Church of Amera that Dahlia wanted, but it was a first step in helping these people move on from the war. She would take what she could get.

    When she reached the church, she found Wanily still slumbering away, so she stayed in the main area and decided to pray, thanking Amera for allowing the people of Fris to feel her love. It wasn¡¯t much, but it finally felt like a first step toward something better.

    <hr>

    Knocking at the door roused Harriet from where she was dozing in a chair in front of the fireplace. She¡¯d been unable to sleep, tossing and turning with memories of her family plaguing her last night. So she¡¯d come downstairs and sat in front of the fire, allowing herself to think of lost siblings and parents and grandparents until she, apparently, nodded off.

    She took a moment to stretch before getting up and answering the door. It was Nicholas, looking far too ruffled for her tastes. Immediately, her drowsiness evaporated. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°That priestess,¡± he ground out, ¡°is making waves in our city again.¡±

    ¡°Who got hurt?¡± Harriet demanded.

    ¡°No one,¡± Nicholas said. ¡°Yet.¡± At Harriet¡¯s look of confusion, he sighed. ¡°She¡¯s had a statue commissioned. It¡¯s up in the town square now, and people are laying flowers at its feet.¡±

    Harriet furrowed her brow. ¡°You mean our people actually care what that priestess is getting up to?¡±

    ¡°People have already started coming to me,¡± Nicholas said. ¡°Saying that the statue is beautiful and that maybe the priestess is finally coming to understand us. You know what this means, Harriet?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re growing complacent,¡± Harriet said. ¡°Maybe even receptive. Show me.¡±

    Nicholas nodded and waited for Harriet to slip on some shoes before leading her toward the town square where the priestess usually tried to spread her gospel. Just as Nicholas promised, there was a statue off to the side of the square depicting Moss holding a dead child. Harriet saw red just looking at it.

    ¡°Who made it?¡± she demanded.

    ¡°No one knows,¡± Nicholas replied. ¡°There are only a few people in town that could have made something like that, though. I have some of my men out trying to figure out who did it.¡±

    ¡°Why would they work with her?¡±

    Nicholas sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sure she promised more money than any of our artists have seen in a long time.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Harriet spat. ¡°They should know better than to work with the enemy.¡±

    There were dozens of flowers at the base of the statue. Harriet shrugged Nicholas off when he tried to lay a hand on her shoulder, marching up to the statue and glaring at it. It wasn¡¯t anything special. It had some insipid inscription at the bottom. It was a depiction of Moss, but there were hundreds of statues of Moss all over the country. So what about this statue was turning Harriet¡¯s people against her?

    Why would they care about anything that priestess did when she and her people were the ones responsible for everything wrong with Fris?

    Harriet didn¡¯t even really think about it. One moment, she was angry and hurt and ready. The next, she thought of her family and suddenly she was furious. This priestess thought a statue would fix things? That a piece of rock would make up for the thousands of lives lost in a war perpetrated by her church and her country.

    And it was working on some of Harriet¡¯s countrymen.

    No. She wouldn¡¯t allow it.

    She focused on a point inside the statue and poured as much kinetic energy into it as she could muster. Breaking apart rock from the inside was no easy feat, but there was a resounding crack, fissures appearing in the surface of the statue before it suddenly burst apart like a bubble popping. Chunks of rock flew a short distance away, raining down around Harriet and the former statue¡¯s base. People in the square stopped and stared.

    Harriet didn¡¯t care. She could only feel a grim satisfaction at seeing the affront to her country laid in pieces on the ground.

    ¡°We should go,¡± Nicholas¡¯s voice rumbled from just behind her, and Harriet started, not realizing he had followed her. She glanced around the square, noting the guards that were slowly approaching their position.

    Harriet swallowed, hard. She had destroyed the memorial. The Empire had handed out harsh punishments for far less.

    She nodded, following Nicholas as they hurried from the square. A couple of guards tailed them, she noticed, but once they reach Stevan¡¯s inn, no one followed them inside.

    Harriet could only sit at one of the tables and feel numb. She had destroyed the memorial. Now, she was sure the Empire would destroy her.

    <hr>

    Dahlia jumped when she heard a knock at the door of the church, already dreading the encounter she knew awaited her when she opened the door. It would be Darik, she was sure, come to talk about her memorial and how it was wasted on the people of Fris. But Dahlia had seen it. People were starting to care that she cared. She would not be deterred by anything Darik said.

    With that thought in mind, she marched to the door and flung it open.

    Just as she predicted, Darik waited on the other side. His helmet was tucked under one arm, and he smiled at her as soon as their eyes met.

    ¡°Hello, sister,¡± he greeted. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I come bearing some bad news.¡±

    Dahlia''s heart clenched, certain that he was about to tell her that Quiv had passed. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°You put up a memorial earlier today, correct?¡± he said, and Dahlia deflated slightly. So he was here about the memorial after all--at least he didn¡¯t come bearing news of her brother¡¯s death.

    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Dahlia said. She could have gone on to tell Darik to save his breath if he was about to tell her how useless it was, but she bit her tongue. No need to antagonize the man with the sword, after all.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s been destroyed,¡± Darik said.

    Dahlia felt all the breath leave her at once. ¡°Destroyed?¡± she said faintly.

    ¡°Yes. It seems one of these Frisian barbarians decided they didn¡¯t like what it stood for and destroyed it.¡± Darik smiled, and Dahlia shivered at the sight. ¡°As property of the Empire, they will have to be punished accordingly.¡±

    ¡°Do you know who did it?¡± Dahlia asked, not sure if she had the stomach to find out what kind of punishment Darik would think was fitting for this crime.

    ¡°Witnesses claim it was destroyed by old magic,¡± Darik said. ¡°But there were two individuals in front of the statue when it broke. Do you know of Nicholas and Harriet?¡±

    Of course she knew of Nicholas and Harriet, and Darik must know that. They were basically the leaders of the city and her two staunchest, most out-spoken protesters. ¡°I do,¡± Dahlia said slowly. ¡°You think it was one of them?¡±

    ¡°So it stands to reason,¡± Darik said. ¡°I have men headed to apprehend them as we speak. We¡¯ll find which one did it, and they will be made into an example.¡±

    Dahlia swallowed, hard. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I mean, sister,¡± Darik said, like he thought she was stupid but was trying to remain polite, ¡°that whoever is responsible for the destruction of your memorial will be executed.¡±

    Dahlia gaped at him. That would do the exact opposite of what she was trying to accomplish! Killing one of the town leaders just because they destroyed Dahlia¡¯s attempt at reconciliation? It was completely absurd!

    But then, Darik must know that, too. And Dahlia knew that he was just looking for an excuse to bring an iron fist down on this city. If the people rallied because Nicholas or Harriet died at the Empire¡¯s hands, Darik would get what he wanted. Everything was falling into place for him.

    ¡°No,¡± Dahlia said.

    Darik raised one eyebrow, clearly amused. ¡°No?¡±

    ¡°You will not put either of them to death,¡± Dahlia said. ¡°I won¡¯t allow it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid you don¡¯t have any say in matters such as this, sister.¡± Darik said. ¡°These types of decisions fall to me.¡±

    He was right in that regard. Dahlia had no power when it came to discipline of the people or maintaining order in the city, which was what Darik would undoubtedly claim this was. ¡°You know the Empire frowns on acts of extreme violence,¡± she said, trying a different angle. ¡°They got rid of the general that annexed Fris exactly for that.¡±

    Darik laughed right in her face. ¡°This is hardly the same as that, sister. Now, I came here in good faith to inform you what happened and what will happen as a consequence. If you cannot stomach it, I suggest you take me up on my deal.¡±

    Dahlia wilted. The memorial obviously hadn¡¯t gone over well, and she had already told Wanily that if it didn¡¯t, they would leave. But Darik was making her less and less inclined to accept his offer with every word from his mouth.

    Darik was obviously waiting for her to say something, but she didn¡¯t know what to say. It felt like the height of failure to accept his deal now. It also felt pointless to stay if people like Harriet and Nicholas were going to work so hard against her.

    But maybe Dahlia simply was a failure.

    ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right, Commander,¡± she murmured. ¡°But allow me to think on it a little longer?¡±

    ¡°You have until the end of the week, sister,¡± Darik said. ¡°That¡¯s when the next boat leaves for Tiranda. But I imagine your efforts won¡¯t bear many fruits after this blunder. If you want my advice, cut your losses and help those that actually want it.¡±

    He said it so kindly, but Dahlia knew that he wanted her gone for a reason. Still, she simply nodded and closed the door before he could say anything further.

    She sighed, resisting the urge to thump her head against the door and turned around. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she found Wanily standing behind her.

    ¡°Was that the asshole commander?¡± Wanily asked.

    Dahlia took a shaky breath. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t talk about people that way,¡± she scolded. ¡°But yes.¡±

    ¡°What did he want?¡± Wanily asked.

    This was not Wanily¡¯s fight. As a foreigner, she had no stake in the affairs of Fris or the Empire. After a moment of hesitation, she said, ¡°Someone destroyed the memorial, so he gave me until the end of the week to make a decision on whether or not to return to Tiranda.¡±

    Wanily gawked at her. ¡°Who would destroy it? It was so nice!¡±

    Dahlia didn¡¯t have the heart to tell her it was probably the person she was learning magic from. But if Darik¡¯s men took her into custody, then Wanily would find out before very long. ¡°Harriet,¡± she murmured.

    Wanily was silent for a long time, eyes searching Dahlia¡¯s face. Finally, all she said was, ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not known for sure, though,¡± Dahlia added, sounding a little desperate even to her own ears. ¡°All they know for sure is that the memorial was destroyed by old magic, but we¡¯re in Fris--practically everyone knows old magic.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not easy to generate enough energy to break a rock with nothing but old magic,¡± Wanily said grimly. ¡°And Harriet is always so angry at the Empire. It makes sense that it was her.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Wanily,¡± Dahlia said.

    Wanily sighed. She was quiet for a moment before asking, ¡°Are we going to Tiranda, then?¡±

    That was the question, wasn¡¯t it? The one that Dahlia still didn¡¯t know the answer to even after all of this. ¡°Do you want to go to Tiranda?¡± she asked.

    Wanily shrugged, not meeting her eye. ¡°I can¡¯t learn magic from Harriet if they throw her in prison, right? So I can either look for someone else in Fris to teach me, or I can go to that school you were talking about.¡±

    Wanily hadn¡¯t heard that they were going to kill whoever destroyed the memorial. Dahlia wasn¡¯t about to tell her the truth. ¡°Right.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather stay with you,¡± Wanily confessed in a rush. ¡°If that¡¯s alright.¡±

    And despite everything else, Dahlia smiled. ¡°You want to go to Tiranda?¡±

    Wanily nodded.

    Dahlia reigned in the sigh that threatened to escape her. She would swallow her pride, then. For Wanily and for Quiv. Fris didn¡¯t want her, and frankly, though Dahlia wanted to help them, she was tired of their hatred toward her.

    ¡°Okay,¡± Dahlia said. ¡°Then we¡¯ll go to Tiranda.¡±

 Chapter 30: With Fury--Part VII

    (Secondday of the First Week of Krakrenro, 669 AC)

    They came for Harriet that evening, storming into the inn led by the commander of the Empire¡¯s troops in Fris. She waited in the cellar with Nicholas, listening to the clanking of armor and the commander¡¯s booming voice demanding that Stevan hand over the one who destroyed the memorial.

    ¡°What do you think they¡¯ll do to me?¡± Harriet murmured. She sat on one of the barrels in the cellar, hands clasped in front of her and head bowed.

    ¡°That commander of theirs has practically been frothing at the mouth to get rid of us,¡± Nicholas said, equally as soft. ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll take the opportunity presented to him.¡±

    Harriet sighed. She always thought she would die for her country--first when they¡¯d been at war, then after, when the war simply became more silent. Not like this, though. Not captured and put down like a rabid beast.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Nick,¡± Harriet said. ¡°I¡¯ve always had a bit of a temper, huh?¡±

    Nick chuckled, though the sound was strained. ¡°That you have, Harriet. I always figured it would be the death of me.¡±

    Harriet froze. ¡°Nick, what do you--¡±

    The door to the cellar slammed open, several soldiers pouring down the stairs. Had Stevan sold them out or had they made him talk? Either way, he was a traitor to the cause.

    The commander strolled down the stairs, hands clasped behind his back, as his soldiers seized Harriet and Nicholas and forced them to their knees. ¡°One of you destroyed a memorial made by the Empire,¡± the commander said. ¡°A symbol of peace, ruined by the hatred of animals.¡±

    He stopped at the base of the stairs and turned on his heel to loom over the both of them. ¡°I want to know which of you did it.¡±

    Harriet was the only one here with the magical ability to pull it off, and that was obvious by her hair color. Why would the commander even bother asking?

    Harriet spat at his feet--her first mistake. In the breadth of time it took her to do that, Nicholas said, ¡°I did.¡±

    Harriet¡¯s entire body tensed. ¡°Nick, what--¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t look to have the magical ability necessary to pull off such a feat,¡± the commander said. But he was smiling knowingly.

    This was what the man wanted. He wanted Nicholas out of the game.

    ¡°I dye my hair,¡± Nicholas lied. ¡°And you know that I have been staunchly against the Empire since you set foot on our land. Seeing that affront to our suffering was the last straw--I had to destroy it.¡±

    ¡°Nick--¡± Harriet began, heated, but was silenced by one of the soldiers gripping her hair and yanking on it.

    ¡°I suppose we have our culprit then, don¡¯t we?¡± the commander said, still smiling. ¡°Bring him. Leave her.¡±

    The soldiers handling Harriet shoved her to the side as they surrounded Nicholas and dragged him to his feet. Harriet pushed herself up from where she fell. ¡°Don¡¯t do this, Nick. What are we supposed to do without you?¡±

    The commander led the entourage up the stairs. Nick turned and smiled at her. ¡°That¡¯s right, Harriet. What will you do without me?¡±

    The way he said it made Harriet pause. The commander held the door open for his men as they escorted Nicholas out of the room. The commander obviously wanted this to happen--but Nicholas wanted this to happen, too. Why did Nicholas want this to happen?

    Because he wanted to inspire his countrymen. And nothing inspired people quite like a martyr. Not only that, but he was leaving Harriet in charge. Harriet, who made impulsive decisions fueled by anger. Harriet, who had destroyed the memorial.

    Harriet, who knew enough magic to lead a counter attack against the Empire if she had the people to support her.

    She didn¡¯t want Nicholas to die. He was the only reason she was still alive, doubly so now. But, maybe, he simply had to die so that the people of Fris would rise up.

    Harriet watched them go, plans already forming. She would get the Empire out of her city, one way or another.

    And she would start with the priestess.

    <hr>

    They hung Nicholas the next morning. The sun was bright, the breeze was light--all in all, it was a beautiful day. The people of Shraven should have been enjoying it, but instead, they crammed into the city square to watch the unspoken leader of their city be hanged.

    Nicholas marched up the stairs to the gallows with his head held high, proud in this as he was in all things. Harriet watched from a distance, not quite part of the crowd spilling into the nearby streets, but not close to the front, either.

    A hush fell over the entire city as Nicholas stopped and they began preparing his noose. Before they slipped it around his neck, he bellowed, ¡°This is not the end of Fris or the end of Shraven! Look to the one that leads you still. Trust in your spirits, your courage, and your strength.¡±

    A soldier put the noose around his neck and tightened it. Quiet sniffling could be heard throughout the crowd, but Harriet watched the procession with dry eyes. In his final moments, Nick told the people to follow her. She would not forget that. She would not let him down.

    ¡°For Fris!¡± he shouted, just as they kicked the stool out from under him.

    His neck snapped cleanly. At least they did him that service--they didn¡¯t leave him to hang and suffocate on his noose.

    The square was completely silent. Harriet took a deep breath and shouted, ¡°For Fris!¡±

    For a moment, there was nothing. Then, her call began to echo around the square, more people rallying the cry until it became a chant,  ¡°For Fris! For Fris!¡±

    Soldiers began moving through the crowd, forcing the people of Shraven to disperse. Harriet kept her head down and wove through the mass of bodies back in the direction of her house. Nick told them to look to her, and when she arrived home, she found several townspeople already waiting for her.

    ¡°Spread the word,¡± she told them. ¡°We fight back tonight.¡±

    Harriet spared a single thought for Wanily before banishing it. If she decided to stay with the priestess, then she was the enemy, too.

    <hr>

    Dahlia couldn¡¯t muster up the energy to get out of bed for most of the day. She simply laid and stared at the ceiling and wondered how everything had gotten so mucked up. One of Darik¡¯s men stopped by and informed her that Nicholas had been hung, completely surprising Dahlia. She thought Harriet would be blamed for the crime--since that was certainly what made the most sense--but apparently Nicholas had confessed to destroying the memorial. So, in turn, Darik had destroyed him, and Dahlia had been completely powerless to stop it.

    And now she had to go crawling to Darik and tell him she wanted to return to Tiranda. She hated it, but what else was she supposed to do?

    After the soldier left, Dahlia went back to bed and had remained there for several hours.

    Wanily was worried about her, of course. She stuck around the church and practiced her magic or read her book for most of the day. She tried making conversation with Dahlia a few times, but after several stilted responses, she would let it drop.

    Dahlia needed to get over this. She would go home and be with her brother and she¡¯d be able to help Wanily, too. It really was for the best, she figured, but then, why was it so hard?

    She just hated feeling like a failure.

    By the time she finally managed to sit up in bed, it was well into the evening. Wanily was in the main room of the church, probably practicing her magic. She glanced at the kitchen, her stomach giving a rueful reminder that she¡¯d only eaten breakfast that morning. Had Wanily eaten? She hadn¡¯t even been paying close enough attention to say. She should probably check on her.

    She stood and made her way into the main room where Wanily was studying an astro-orb. She glanced up at Dahlia and smiled, clearly relieved to see her up. ¡°How do these things work, anyway?¡± Wanily asked.

    Dahlia sat next to her, frowning. ¡°Well, there¡¯s a crystal inside it, I¡¯m pretty sure. I think that¡¯s what powers it, but as for what spells they use to actually work...¡± she trailed off with a shrug.

    Wanily huffed. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll just have to find out when I go to college, huh?¡±

    Dahlia smiled. ¡°I guess you will.¡±

    It was around then that Dahlia smelt something burning. She frowned. She didn¡¯t recall seeing the fireplace lit, but maybe Wanily was cooking something. ¡°Wanily, did you light the fireplace?¡±

    ¡°No?¡± she said, setting the astro-orb aside. She frowned suddenly, sniffing at the air. ¡°Oh, something¡¯s burning, huh?¡±

    Dahlia shivered, suddenly, feeling cold and off-kilter. Something was wrong. She turned toward the door only to stop short. Across the wall, patches of flames were slowly growing in size and strength. Smoke billowed from them, wafting high into the rafters above.

    ¡°Oh, Amera,¡± Dahlia breathed. What should she do? The door was quickly becoming engulfed in flames, and there was no way she had enough water to put out so much fire.

    ¡°Shit,¡± Wanily said, jumping to her feet beside her and eyes wide as she watched the flames. ¡°Um, we should get to the window, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes, the window,¡± Dahlia said, rushing toward the living quarters with Wanily hot on her heels. It was wood like the rest of the building, but the flames hadn¡¯t yet spread to it. She undid the lock on the window and tried to push open the panels. However, a second after they began to swing open, they suddenly snapped shut. Dahlia yelped, pushing harder on them, but they refused to budge.

    It was like when Wanily had used her old magic to make things move, but exactly the opposite. Instead of no movement and then sudden lurching, Dahlia had managed to begin opening the window only for it to slam shut. But this couldn¡¯t be the work of magic, could it? Maybe the hinges were stuck?

    Even just the thought seemed ridiculous. Something was going on here, something more than that.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Wanily said, moving to stand beside her. ¡°Is the window not opening?¡±

    Dahlia shook her head, prompting Wanily to try pushing the window open with her. Still, it didn¡¯t move even a fraction of an inch.

    Wanily huffed, ¡°Okay, keep pushing,¡± she said, her brow furrowing in concentration. But even though she was clearly trying to use her magic, the window still didn¡¯t move. ¡°Why isn¡¯t this working?¡± she growled, pushing and banging on the window.

    Dahlia coughed, the smoke starting to curl through the lower parts of the building. She rushed back to the doorway leading to the main room, blanching when she saw the flames quickly spreading through the space. She whirled back around to Wanily. ¡°You know how to make fire, right? Do you know how to put it out?¡±

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Um,¡± Wanily started, eyes wide, ¡°well, that¡¯s a lot more complicated, and I haven¡¯t quite figured it out yet.¡±

    Dahlia glanced back at the flames, at a loss. How did this fire even start? Why wouldn¡¯t the window open? And why did Dahlia have such a bad feeling about all of it?

    ¡°Can you figure it out now?¡± she said, moving back to the window and trying to wrench it open again.

    Wanily¡¯s gaze fell before she visibly steeled herself. ¡°I can. I have to, right?¡±

    She marched to the doorway and stared down at the fire. That was all that Dahlia saw before she focused back on trying to get the window open. She shoved and hit and kicked it all to no avail. By now, she was coughing more than she was actually breathing, and she heard Wanily similarly coughing behind her. Then, a sudden flash of light flared through the room. Dahlia whirled around to find Wanily smiling.

    ¡°It¡¯s working! I think,¡± she said. She swayed in place for a moment before widening her stance. ¡°Woah. That takes a lot of you, though.¡±

    ¡°Can you keep doing it?¡± Dahlia demanded, looking between Wanily and the way light of the flames continued to flicker across every surface in the room.

    Wanily nodded and seemed to focus again. A beat passed before another flash of light blared into the room. Dahlia cautiously abandoned the window to stand behind Wanily. When she began to sway again, Dahlia caught her shoulders and held her in place. She glanced back at Dahlia, nodding, before focusing back on the room of flames. It did seem to be working, if the charred sections of floor and walls absent of fire were any indication. There was a lot of fire, though, and it continued to spread even between Wanily¡¯s conversions from flame to light.

    It wasn¡¯t going to work, Dahlia realized. Wanily was trying her best, but there was too much for her to do and she wasn¡¯t a strong enough mage for it all.

    She swallowed hard as one of the rafters snapped and fell into the inferno, causing the flames to roar even higher. Wanily was doing an admirable job of keeping them from the room they were in, but she was quickly losing ground to the fire.

    It was a losing battle. Dahlia had more than her fair share of experience with that. But she wanted to help someone, right? She didn¡¯t know if she¡¯d be able to get out, but she could at least try to save Wanily.

    ¡°The chimney,¡± she said, gripping Wanily¡¯s shoulders. She was trembling from the exertion of her magic, and it made Dahlia¡¯s chest tighten. ¡°We can go out through the chimney. You¡¯ve learned how to use gravity magic, right? Can you use that to get us out of the chimney?¡±

    ¡°Maybe?¡± Wanily said. ¡°Living things tend to be at least a little resistant to magic, except for, you know, soul magic, but--I can try.¡±

    Dahlia nodded and grabbed Wanily¡¯s pack, thrusting it into her arms. Wanily stumbled back, clearly drained from trying to put the fire out. Dahlia wasn¡¯t sure this would work, and the longer she thought about what was about to happen, the more she panicked. So she just wouldn¡¯t think about it, she decided.

    She seized Wanily by the arm and all but dragged her to the empty fireplace. ¡°Use your gravity magic to help you climb up.¡±

    Wanily eyed Dahlia. ¡°What about you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be right behind you,¡± she said. ¡°I can try climbing up on my own, and if that doesn¡¯t work, you can help me once you get to the top.¡±

    Wanily regarded her suspiciously for another moment, but a roar of the fire behind them seemed to convince her to start moving. She slung her pack on her back and stepped into the fireplace. She took a deep breath--a mistake since she started coughing--before she jumped. It was like she was moving through water, the way she started to just float up into the chimney. Dahlia could just barely hear her scrabbling to hang onto the rocks of the chimney before she must have jumped again.

    Dahlia, feeling confident that Wanily wasn¡¯t going to fall onto her, crawled into the fireplace and stood up. It was dark with smoke inside, and Dahlia immediately started coughing again. She put one hand on one side, the other hand on the other, and attempted to start climbing up the chimney. It was too dark to make out any hand or footholds however, and Dahlia quickly found herself slipping back to the bottom.

    ¡°Dahlia!¡± Wanily screamed. Oh, at least it sounded like she had reached the top. ¡°I can use my magic on you! Try again!¡±

    Dahlia put her hands on the rocks of the chimney again, feeling very lightheaded. She started coughing again and found her vision was starting to go black around the edges. She tried to jump like Wanily had, but she only went up a normal amount and came right back down.

    She thought she heard Wanily cursing above her, but she couldn¡¯t be sure if she heard right over the roaring of the fire behind her. Then, she heard something snap in the building, and indescribable heat and pain flared all across her body.

    She screamed. And then, nothingness.

    <hr>

    Harriet watched the church burn with grim satisfaction, just like when she had destroyed the memorial. Things didn¡¯t have to turn out this way. If the priestess had just left sooner, Nicholas wouldn¡¯t be dead and Harriet wouldn¡¯t have to resort to this.

    Other than the snapping and roaring of the flames destroying the church, the small area around Harriet was quiet. Most of the people of Shraven were off fighting the Tirandan soldiers. Only a handful stood with Harriet and watched the church burn.

    Once the building was nothing but ash, Harriet would move on to fighting the soldiers with her countrymen. But for now, she needed this.

    She hadn¡¯t cried when she saw Nicholas hanging, body swaying, but she was ashamed to find tears falling now. She didn¡¯t understand it, but maybe catharsis was like that.

    There was a small measure of guilt over Wanily¡¯s needless death, but hundreds if not thousands of children had already died in this war. What was one more when that one sided with the enemy?

    Except, as Harriet watched, she spotted movement on the roof of the church. She stood, shocked as Wanily shimmied her way out of the chimney and all but collapsed on the wooden roof. She leaned back over the chimney and started shouting something, but Harriet couldn¡¯t make out what it was over the roaring flames. Then, part of the roof caved in, and flames shot up from the chimney, forcing Wanily to scramble away.

    Quite clearly, Harriet heard her pained screech of, ¡°Dahlia!¡±

    Harriet grimaced. It seemed Wanily had escaped the flames only for the priestess to succumb to them. Maybe Wanily wouldn¡¯t have to die along with her after all. She turned to one of the men with her. ¡°Come with me.¡±

    He nodded, ready to follow her to the ends of the globe if necessary, and stuck close as she headed to the side of the building. ¡°I¡¯m going to launch you up there,¡± Harriet told him. ¡°Grab the girl, come back to the edge of the roof, and I¡¯ll slow your descent down.¡±

    He nodded again, and Harriet focused on him, lessening gravity to the point that he began to float. She pushed on the man, propelling him up toward the roof. When he reached the lip, he climbed over, and Harriet let go of her magic on him. She heard Wanily screaming as he, presumably, grabbed her and dragged her away from the chimney. She was struggling in his arms when he appeared on the edge of the roof again, and when he jumped over the side, Harriet was quick to redirect the energy of his fall so he landed lightly on the ground beside her.

    Wanily stopped squirming when she caught sight of Harriet, and Harriet¡¯s man set her down. ¡°Why are you here?¡± she demanded, voice hoarse from the smoke. ¡°What did you do?¡±

    ¡°What I had to,¡± Harriet said evenly.

    ¡°You killed her,¡± Wanily screamed. ¡°You lit the church on fire and stopped us from opening the window, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Tears streaming down her face, Wanily cried, ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°She was a poison to my country,¡± Harriet hissed. ¡°She had to leave or she had to die. She made her choice.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t get it!¡± Wanily screeched. ¡°You¡¯d already won! We were going to go to Tiranda. We were going to leave the whole stupid continent at the end of the week.¡± Wanily flung herself at Harriet suddenly, weakly smacking her fists against her. ¡°Her brother is dying. She wanted to go back to Tiranda and spend time with him. It was over!¡±

    Harriet hadn¡¯t known that, but even hearing it now, it made no difference, she decided. ¡°Nicholas is dead because of her,¡± she said, shoving Wanily away. ¡°He left me in charge. That priestess and the Empire made an example of him, so I made an example of her.¡±

    Wanily very nearly fell over but managed to right herself. Panting, skinny features wicked in the light of the roaring flames, she sneered at Harriet, ¡°All Dahlia ever wanted to do was help you.¡±

    ¡°I never wanted her help,¡± Harriet snapped. ¡°None of us did. Now, you have a choice to make, Wanily. Stay and help our fight, or leave and hope I never see your face again.¡±

    Wanily glared at her. ¡°If I never come back to Fris,¡± she spat, ¡°it¡¯ll be too soon.¡±

    She turned on her heel then and left as quickly as her shaky legs could carry her. Harriet looked to the man with her. ¡°Make sure she gets out of the city,¡± she said. As much vitriol as Harriet had hissed at her, she didn¡¯t want to see Wanily die senselessly. ¡°Then see about helping the others.¡±

    He nodded and began to tail Wanily. Harriet took a deep breath and headed back to her small group. She had a city to take back, and she¡¯d succeeded in the first step. Now, to drive out the rest of the filth.

    <hr>

    Eko woke to the sound of something bipedal and clumsy--so, a human--approaching. He slunk out of the hollowed out tree trunk he¡¯d made a small nest in and took better cover behind a rock just in case it wasn¡¯t Wanily.

    Thankfully, it was Wanily, but Eko immediately knew something was wrong. Not mentioning the late hour, she stunk of smoke and Eko could hear the distinct sound of her crying. Alarmed, he let out a chirp and bounded out from behind the rock over to her.

    She all but collapsed next to him. She was covered in streaks of ash, her clothes ruined by it, and her eyes were bloodshot. ¡°She¡¯s dead, Eko,¡± she cried, voice hoarse. ¡°Dahlia is dead.¡±

    Eko let out a chirp of alarm. He nuzzled against Wanily¡¯s shoulder as she began to cry again. ¡°Fris hated her so much they killed her and tried to kill me,¡± she choked out. She sniffled sharply and let it out in a shaky breath. ¡°We¡¯re leaving Fris,¡± she said. ¡°And we¡¯re not coming back. Not ever.¡±

    Eko nodded to her. Whatever Wanily wanted. Wherever she went, Eko would follow.

    She let out a high keening sound, burying her face in her hands. ¡°She never even got to say goodbye to her brother,¡± Wanily sobbed. Eko had no idea what she was talking about, but it was clearly upsetting Wanily. He sat next to her, pressing the side of his body to hers. ¡°And now her parents are going to lose two children. It just isn¡¯t fair.¡±

    She took a shuddering breath. ¡°But Harriet lost her family to the war, too. Maybe none of it is fair. But does that make it right?¡± Eko didn¡¯t know how to respond, but Wanily continued, ¡°I don¡¯t know. I just know that I don¡¯t want to stay in this country anymore. I¡¯ll learn old magic somewhere--anywhere--else.¡±

    Eko nodded, at a loss for what else to do. He had half a mind to go into the city and kill whoever made Wanily so upset, but he knew she wouldn¡¯t want that. Despite being a creature of the old gods, she wasn¡¯t the kind to seek revenge.

    ¡°I think I need to rest a little first,¡± Wanily said softly. ¡°Keep watch for me?¡±

    Eko chirped in affirmation and laid next to her when she set out her bedroll and curled up in it. And if she started crying again, Eko merely laid his head on her shoulder and let her cry herself to sleep.

    <hr>

    Dahlia blinked her eyes open to see a hazy, gray sky partially blocked by curling mists. She sat up slowly, trying to get her bearings. The ground beneath her was white stone, smooth and shiny despite the mist that wafted around her. Uncertain, she climbed to her feet and tried to look around, but as far as the eye could see, there was only thick mist around her, white ground beneath her, and gray sky above her.

    She knew this place. Well, she didn¡¯t know this place. But she¡¯d read about it. She had never been a scholar but even she knew of Gehenna, the place where souls hated by the gods were sent after they died. But that didn¡¯t make any sense. The old gods stopped sending people to Gehenna after the war between them and the new gods.

    So why was Dahlia here?

    She must have died in the fire, but that didn¡¯t answer why a god would hate her enough to not only send her to Gehenna but break the pact between the gods to do so.

    She was suddenly aware of a presence behind her and whirled around to find, high above her, two glowing, orange eyes watching her.

    She knew this part, too. The shepherd of souls and agent of Moss--Bryo, the reaper. He was supposed to watch over the souls in Gehenna and, mostly, explain what the punishment consisted of.

    Indeed, after a beat where Dahlia gawked at him, he started speaking. ¡°Human mortal,¡± he said in a whisper that Dahlia could hear clearly despite its softness. ¡°For your crimes against the gods of our realms, you have been sentenced to an eternity in the mists of Gehenna. I will now outline what you can expect from your prison.

    ¡°There is no escape from the realm of Gehenna,¡± Bryo continued in a murmur. ¡°You will not be able to contact anyone, living or dead, in Gehenna. Amendment: mortals referred to as mediums have the ability to converse with those trapped in Gehenna.¡±

    Dahlia had heard of mediums, though she had never met one while she was alive. Maybe that would change now that she was dead, she mused.

    For some reason, she felt strangely calm about all of this.

    ¡°You do not have the needs of the living,¡± Bryo said. ¡°This includes items such as food, water, and sleep. You are condemned to wander the mists of Gehenna, a land of unchanging solitude, until the gods themselves are wiped from existence. I am the Guardian of Gehenna, Bryo, the reaper. I will ensure you do not escape your sentence. Thus concludes the explanation of your punishment.¡±

    Dahlia watched Bryo, expecting those glowing, orange eyes to disappear. But they continued to linger high above her until she finally asked, ¡°Are you going to just follow me the whole time?¡±

    ¡°You should not be here,¡± Bryo whispered. ¡°Just like the boy. Why are you here?¡±

    What boy? Dahlia was about to ask just as those orange eyes winked out of existence, leaving her alone in the mists of Gehenna.

    She gazed around herself for another long moment before sitting on the ground and letting herself weep. She never got to say goodbye to Quiv. It seemed pointless considering he was going to die soon, too, and she could only hope he didn¡¯t end up here. Those in Gehenna were said to quickly go mad in the never-ending, misty landscape.

    She looked up at the hazy sky and found herself praying. Just like always, she received no answer, but it did make her feel better. Maybe, as long as she kept Amera in her heart, she wasn¡¯t truly alone.

    And Wanily was alive because of her. That was a small consolation, but a consolation nonetheless. Dahlia hoped she would go on to do great things, even if she herself was no longer alive to see it.

 Chapter 31: The Edge of a Blade--Part I

    (Fifthday of the Second week of Azonro, 670 A.C)

    Kletz was going mad. But, he thought, it was better than the alternative.

    He stood outside a store front in some town in Oavale, using the overhanging lip of the roof as cover from the rain. It had been raining for the last couple of days, and it was only souring Kletz¡¯s mood further.

    He glanced at his reflection in the window of the store and almost winced. His black hair was shrunk close to his head from his earlier trek through the rain, his eyes were sunken into his skull with dark bags underneath from lack of sleep, and even now, his hands were shaking.

    Of course, Kletz didn¡¯t see the woman at his feet in the window¡¯s reflection. He looked back down at her, sighing through his nose, and tried taking a step back. The woman, with pale skin and flowing, pastel orange hair, crawled forward on hands and knees before pressing her forehead to the ground at Kletz¡¯s feet once again. She was mumbling something, but Kletz didn¡¯t care to try to figure out what it was. For all he knew, it could have just been nonsense.

    She was either a hallucination or she was one of his marks come back to haunt him. The latter didn¡¯t make any sense--souls returned to Moss when the people they belonged to died. They didn¡¯t remain in the living plane to follow their killer around. And Kletz figured that if they were ghosts like the writers and poets talked about in their stories, then other people would be able to see them.

    So far, only Kletz had been able to see them. Ergo, Kletz was going insane.

    It was a matter of time, he supposed. Make a business out of killing people, and it was only a matter of time before you started to think you saw their ghosts.

    There were a couple other hallucinations around, standing across the street and watching him. He didn¡¯t know the rhyme or reason to why the same ones seemed to follow him around for a while before they stopped, only to be replaced by new ones. He just had to bear the stares they fixed him with and do his best to ignore whatever they said. Most of the time, it didn¡¯t make sense anyway.

    He wanted to wait until the rain stopped before he ventured back out into the town looking for his latest mark, but it showed no signs of slowing. Sighing to himself again, Kletz sidestepped the woman at his feet and headed out into the downpour.

    ¡°Bryo waits for us all,¡± one of the men said, following him. He was short, with haunted eyes and limp, silver hair.

    Kletz ignored him. He¡¯d tried talking to them at the beginning--five, six weeks ago now--but they never said anything intelligible in response. Usually just more nonsense like what this man was saying. Who was Bryo? Why would he wait for anyone, much less everyone? Kletz had no answer, and he doubted there was one anyway.

    His current mark was a man by the name of Hansen said to live in a mansion in the richer part of town. Kletz had no idea what he¡¯d done to piss off the woman who gave him the job--and frankly, he didn¡¯t care. Maybe it was a lover¡¯s quarrel, maybe it was a failed trade partnership, or maybe it was just none of Kletz¡¯s fucking business. He¡¯d go with the last one.

    The houses quickly grew in size as Kletz walked along the street into the richer district of town. He knew which house his mark lived in and had good intelligence that the man was a hermit that stayed there day in and day out--it was just a matter of getting there and breaking in.

    When Kletz had been part of the Kra¡¯xen military, he had been simple infantry. Nothing high ranking enough to garner teaching him magic, and he never had the opportunity to learn it from someone before joining the army. He definitely wasn¡¯t going to learn it from a mage after defecting from the army, either. But, with his experience and skill, he didn¡¯t need magic. He¡¯d been a blade for hire for years now, and he was damn good at what he did.

    It would just be a matter of finding a good entry point, sneaking in, killing Hansen, and sneaking out before anyone else in the house or any guards in the town were any the wiser. Then Kletz could meet at the rendezvous point with his employer in two days and be on his merry way a richer man.

    He jumped and stumbled as he heard a sudden scream from right behind him. It was the orange-headed woman from before, following him with her arms wrapped around herself. Kletz met her eye--or tried to, she seemed to just look straight through him--as she opened her mouth and screamed again, a tortured sound like she was being stabbed.

    Kletz let out a shaky breath. Grimacing, he cast his gaze around the street, but there was no one else around with how heavy the rain was becoming. Eventually, he turned and started to walk toward his target again. When he glanced back, he found the woman still following him, taking one staggering step after another like she was walking on shifting ground. At least she¡¯d stopped screaming.

    Kletz finally reached Hansen¡¯s mansion, absolutely soaked by the rain and more than a little tense. This job really should have been business as usual, but there were five people now, all of varying hair colors, following him and staring at him and he was getting very tired of this.

    As he surveyed the perimeter of the mansion, he wondered if there was a potion that could help him. There seemed to be potions for every kind of ailment, after all--maybe there was one for madness. All Kletz knew was he needed something if he was meant to keep going. The last thing he needed was to be distracted on the job.

    Because nothing could ever be easy, all the windows of the building were shut tight against the rain. There was at least a tree next to one of the walls, its branches reaching close to a balcony on the third floor. Kletz scaled the trunk with practiced ease, pulling himself onto the lowest branch and surveying the property and the street beyond. No guards, no passersby, no witnesses. It was almost too easy, but Kletz would take a simple job over the alternative.

    Balancing himself on the branch, he shuffled forward until he was close enough to leap to the wrought-iron railing of the balcony. Kletz imagine, in the split second he was flying through the air, that the railing wasn¡¯t stable or strong enough to hold him and he was about to fall and possibly break several bones. Luckily, the flat handrail shook slightly as he landed on top of it but otherwise did not spell his demise. His momentum carried him forward, and he tucked himself into a roll, his shoulder connecting hard with the stone floor of the balcony. Kletz popped to his feet and quickly checked himself over. All his knives were strapped to their proper places and the single vial of poison he kept remained unbroken. So far, so good.

    He found himself glancing down at the ground where his hallucinations remained staring up at him. Through his travels, he¡¯d noticed that they tended not to follow him into the upper floors of buildings for some reason. Like now, most of them stayed below, with the only one next to him being the orange-haired woman. She was on the ground by his feet again, hugging herself, rocking back and forth, and crying. Kletz did his best to ignore her.

    Kletz turned his attention to the balcony doors, slipping out some lockpicks from his sleeve and getting to work. He¡¯d only joined the Kra¡¯xen military because he¡¯d gotten caught breaking into a mansion not unlike this one. Once upon a time, he¡¯d been something of a professional thief, and when he¡¯d finally been caught, the Kra¡¯xen government gave him the ultimatum they gave most thieves--lose his hands, or join the war effort.

    Of course, Kletz wasn¡¯t about to lose his livelihood. That didn¡¯t mean he had to stay in the military, though. He could never return to Kra¡¯xen unless he wanted to die, but his homeland was hardly anything worth missing. All the land in the north of the continent was bitterly cold and brutal, with Kra¡¯xen being just about the worst of them. Kletz was more than happy to traipse around the southern part of the world.

    The door of the balcony popped open in just a few expert tweaks of his lockpicks. Kletz peeked into the room beyond, and, finding an empty bedroom, quickly swung the door open just enough to slip through before shutting it gently behind him. Crouching, keeping his steps as silent as possible, he crept through the room to the closed door in the opposite wall. He pressed his ear to the wood and listened for a moment.

    Nothing. No voices, no movement, no sign of life. He knew Hansen lived in the mansion alone, but Kletz would have at least expected to hear some servants or maids bustling around the place. Not complete silence pure enough to hear the patter of rain against the roof two floors above.

    Kletz cracked the door open, thankful that it swung silently on its hinges. Beyond was a nondescript--if ostentatiously decorated--hallway with half a dozen other doorways leading to other rooms before it opened up to what looked like a bigger drawing room. Just beyond that, a staircase leading down into the greater part of the home. Kletz would bet there were stairs leading up to the higher portions of the house in the room, too, somewhere out of sight.

    He considered for a moment but figured that it would be better to clear out the lower floors before moving to the higher ones. After all, if Hansen happened to hear him as he maneuvered through the upper floors--unlikely with Kletz¡¯s skill but a possibility--and he was closer to the ground floor, he could make a hasty escape. No, better to clear out the bottom first.

    Kletz stepped through the doorway, quietly shutting the door behind him. He crept to the staircase leading to the lower floors, pausing at the top and listening. He thought he could make out a soft voice coming from downstairs, but he couldn¡¯t be sure.

    He glanced behind him. The orange-haired woman followed him even now, back on her feet and watching him with wide eyes. Kletz resisted the urge to sigh and continued down the stairs one careful step at a time. At least a hallucination couldn¡¯t give him away.

    The second floor landing opened up into what looked like an art studio, dozens of half-finished paintings propped up on easels or scattered across the floor. There were two hallways branching off from the room, but Kletz ignored them for the time being. A male voice drifted up from the first floor, and considering Kletz hadn¡¯t heard signs of anyone else in the house, he made the bet that it belonged to Hansen.

    The stairs ended at the landing, however, so Kletz did end up searching for the staircase leading to the ground floor. He went down the left hallway first, but only found more rooms empty save for some gaudy furniture. At the end of the right hall, however, were the stairs going down.

    He didn¡¯t smile to himself. In all reality, he didn¡¯t take much joy from his job. It was just what he knew how to do, and it kept him fed. So, taking a deep breath, he continued forward, completely expressionless.

    He stopped at the top of the stairs again and listened. Now, he could make out most of what was being said. And... the sound of someone quietly weeping.

    ¡°This doesn¡¯t make any sense, any sense at all. You have blonde hair, not enough to use old magic. Or is it? I¡¯m no mage myself.¡± A nervous chuckle. ¡°That really is rather unsettling, you know. Please stop staring at me while you cry, it really is very upsetting. Are you listening to me? Can you listen to me?¡±

    Kletz considered this for a moment. There was another person with Hansen after all. Should Kletz wait for the two to break apart or should he just kill both of them and be on his way? It didn¡¯t sound like this other person was in their right mind, from the way that Hansen talked. Presuming that was Hansen speaking at all--maybe the person crying was Hansen.

    Whatever. Kletz¡¯s skin was starting to itch under the stare of the orange-haired woman that was still following him. He¡¯d deal with Hansen and decide what to do about the other person when it came to that. Anything to get him out of this house and to an apothecary that might have a cure for his ailment.

    Just as Kletz began heading down the stairs, the orange-haired woman screamed again. It startled Kletz badly enough that his foot slipped, causing him to land on the stairs with a thump. He swallowed hard, jumping to his feet and whipping out a knife for when someone inevitably came to investigate the sound.

    It didn¡¯t take more than a few seconds before a man appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He was portly, middle-aged, with brown hair and glasses. He looked up at Kletz, and where there should have been alarm or panic or something, the man merely gave a nervous laugh. ¡°Two more? That¡¯s a turn. And you have black hair!¡± He gestured to Kletz. ¡°What could you have done to end up a ghost?¡±

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    What?

    ¡°At least she has orange hair. Can either of you hear me?¡± Kletz, shocked, remained frozen on the stairs and didn¡¯t respond. Hansen... could see the orange-haired woman. Which meant she wasn¡¯t a hallucination, and he specifically called her a ghost as well. He obviously thought Kletz was one, too, but none of this made any sense.

    Hansen muttered, ¡°Of course I couldn¡¯t be so lucky.¡± He turned as a silver-headed man wandered over to him, the man scrubbing at his face even though he continued to softly weep. ¡°Look, can you see them?¡± he asked, gesturing back in Kletz¡¯s direction.

    The man didn¡¯t respond. If Kletz had been anywhere else, he would have thought the man was another of his hallucinations. But Hansen could see him, so that couldn¡¯t be right.

    What was going on?

    For a moment, the man didn¡¯t respond other than a sniffle. Then, he pointed at Kletz.

    ¡°I see you,¡± he murmured. ¡°You¡¯re free, too, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    Hansen appeared just as shocked as Kletz felt. Hansen snapped his gaze back to Kletz, finally seeming to notice the knives in his hands. ¡°You¡¯re not a ghost,¡± he said, backing away. ¡°You¡¯re--you¡¯re real. You¡¯re here to kill me.¡±

    Kletz tensed. Hansen made a break for it, cutting across the room toward what must have been the front door. Kletz didn¡¯t think--he only acted. He vaulted over the railing of the staircase and, in a single, fluid motion, threw one of his knives. It landed straight in Hansen¡¯s back with a thunk. The man landed with a harsher thump against the wooden floor, but was quick to try to recover. Groaning in pain, he struggled to climb to his feet--which was when Kletz came up from behind him and slit his throat. Hansen toppled back to the ground, blood spilling onto the floorboards.

    Well. Damn. He seemed to know something about Kletz¡¯s affliction, but it wasn¡¯t like he had given Kletz a chance to mention that. Kletz couldn¡¯t afford him running to the guards or otherwise attracting attention. He had to kill Hansen. It had nothing to do with violence as his first and last resort.

    That''s what he would tell himself, at least.

    Well, what was done was done. Kletz sighed, cleaned his blade on Hansen¡¯s shirt, and tucked it back into its sheath. He turned to find the silver-haired man and the orange-haired woman standing next to each other, though they didn¡¯t seem aware of the other¡¯s presence. That was normal for the ghosts or hallucinations or whatever they were, so Kletz didn¡¯t pay them any mind.

    ¡°You killed him,¡± the silver-haired man breathed.

    Kletz didn¡¯t bother to respond. The man began to cry again, and Kletz ignored that, too. He had no idea what was going on, but he didn¡¯t plan on sticking around to be found next to Hansen¡¯s body.

    He hurried back up to the third-floor balcony and jumped back out onto the tree, managing to grab onto the limb near the trunk. The branch groaned under his weight, but that it didn¡¯t snap was all that he could really ask for. Instead of pulling himself up onto the branch, he eyed another, smaller one a foot or so below him and dropped down onto it. It wobbled under the sudden impact, and Kletz gripped it until it steadied again. At that point, he was only a few feet up from the ground. He swung down the branch, letting his body stretch down and allowed himself to drop the last three or so feet.

    He still landed hard, the impact making his teeth clack together. The other hallucinations were here, too, still waiting for him, though there seemed to be one or two new faces. Kletz, as he was growing good at, ignored them and started looking for a back gate or some way to leave Hansen¡¯s property without exiting through the front. He found a gate in the northwest corner of the wall surrounding the mansion. Kletz prepared himself to get his lockpicks back out, but the gate swung open when he tried it. With an internal shrug, Kletz slipped through the gate and peered around.

    It was still raining. No one else walked down the small, cobblestone path Kletz was on. It was just wide enough for a carriage to pass through, and with the mansions rising on either side of it, Kletz figured it was just a convenient backway for these aristocrats to get into their homes.

    He walked down it until he had passed a few of the homes, keeping an ear open for any signs of people out and about. There were balconies on several of the mansions he passed, but no one out on them because of the rain. Many of the properties had neatly kept gardens of luscious grass with a few artfully selected flowers still remaining in the late autumn chill. These were devoid of people, too, though Kletz did spot small footprints squished down in one of the yards suggesting an unruly child had played in the rain for a bit.

    Other than that, nothing and no one. Kletz tested another gate a fair distance from Hansen¡¯s mansion and found it was open as well. He went through it, gently closing it behind him and silently grateful that its hinges didn¡¯t let out so much as a creak. He kept close to the stone wall surrounding the property, one eye trained on the windows for any movement.

    Nothing. Kletz stepped out onto the open street in front of the house and began strolling back toward the poorer side of town. No one called out to him or stopped him or even seemed to spot him.

    He glanced behind him to find his little crowd of ghosts still tailing him. The orange-haired woman was gone, but the silver-headed man from Hansen¡¯s mansion was there. He watched Kletz with wide eyes, tears still flowing freely down his cheeks. For the first time, Kletz noticed that the rain seemed to pass right through them.

    Kletz turned, debating. He clearly couldn¡¯t keep ignoring them--one of them had spooked him enough to almost botch his job. After he got paid, he would go to a potion-maker and see if they knew anything about this. Maybe he would even try a priest of Amera. If the affliction was magical, they might be able to help him, too.

    First, he needed money. So, Kletz continued through the town, then past it, out into the farmland surrounding the town. He hopped the fence into one of the farms, jogging to a derelict shed at the edge of the property and ducking inside. The building was once, perhaps, a leatherworking station, but now all that remained was a rotting workbench and some rusted tools. Kletz went to the back of the shack, where he¡¯d stowed his traveling gear behind a barrel and two buckets stacked on top of each other.

    He checked over his pack, but everything was right where it should be. Why wouldn¡¯t it be? It was clear no one else had been in the building. Nodding to himself, Kletz slipped the pack onto his shoulders before making a hasty retreat from the shed. He returned to the main road just as the rain slowed to a stop.

    He still had about a day and a half until he was supposed to meet with his client at a large tree a few miles to the west of the edge of the farmland. But, with nothing else to do, he began to head toward the location. He trudged through the mud of the road, thankful that at least it wasn¡¯t still raining.

    A voice sounded from behind him, wailing, ¡°You killed him!¡±

    Kletz jumped. Scowling, he glanced back. The silver-headed man was sobbing now, one hand covering his mouth without stifling the sound.

    Soon, Kletz told himself, turning back around. Soon, he would get to the bottom of all this.

    <hr>

    Kletz sat and chewed on a piece of jerky, watching the road and its travelers in the distance. Above him, the leaves of a large tree rustled in the chilly autumn breeze. Beside him, his pack was laid on the grass. And behind him, a crowd of ghosts watched him.

    It shouldn¡¯t be too long now. Today was the day for the rendezvous, and it was nearing starbreak, the time of day when the sun was high in the sky and no daystellation appeared. That was when his client said to meet at the tree that Kletz was currently sitting under. Ergo, Kletz shouldn¡¯t have to wait much longer.

    The grass of the plains swayed under the breeze in a mesmerizing dance. There were few travelers on the road, mostly wagons drawn by oxen and the occasional lone person on foot. So far from the town, there were no pixies fluttering through the air, but actual birds soaring high overhead through a perfectly blue sky. Kletz may make murder his profession, but even he wasn¡¯t so barbaric that he couldn¡¯t enjoy a nice view like this.

    Finally, he caught the sound of footsteps above the whisper of the grass. He stood, brushed himself off, and turned to greet his client. She was a tall woman wearing a long, gray cloak with the hood up, mostly obscuring her face and hiding her body. He only knew she was a woman at all because of her voice.

    She walked through the ghosts, their bodies distorting along the edge of contact with her. They didn¡¯t turn toward her or acknowledge her at all, so Kletz assumed they couldn¡¯t see her even as she passed through them. Thankfully--for Kletz¡¯s sanity--she stopped in front of them.

    Without preamble, she asked him, ¡°Is it done?¡±

    Kletz nodded. The woman flicked her cloak aside with one hand, throwing out a bag of what Kletz assumed to be Tirandan marks at his feet in the same motion. Kletz noted that her clothes under her cloak were fine. He supposed that made sense--who else would be able to afford his services?

    He stooped down to pick up the bag, weighing it in his hand. Felt about right, if the marks inside were high enough in value. He peeked inside and confirmed that, yes, they were.

    That should have been the end of it. It was an old song and dance for Kletz: get the job, complete the job, get paid, part ways with his client before anything more could be said. But Hansen had known something, and this woman obviously knew Hansen, at least enough to want him dead. It was a possibility that she knew about Kletz¡¯s affliction, even if she couldn¡¯t see the supposed ghosts.

    Or maybe she could, and she knew exactly what was happening. Either way, Kletz couldn¡¯t let it go.

    ¡°Why did you want him dead?¡± Kletz asked, stopping the woman as she turned to walk away.

    Kletz could hear the scowl in her voice. ¡°I don¡¯t have to tell you anything.¡±

    ¡°Was it because he¡¯d gone mad?¡± Kletz asked, ignoring her ire. ¡°He saw people that weren¡¯t there?¡±

    The woman froze. ¡°How would you know about that?¡±

    So she did know something. Kletz seized onto that, more than a little desperate. Even now, the ghosts stared at him, several of them crying or expressions completely vacant, and he was so sick of it.

    ¡°I see them, too,¡± Kletz confessed. ¡°Do you know what¡¯s happening?¡±

    ¡°The world ends with the reaper meeting a medium,¡± the woman said, like that made any sense at all. Kletz furrowed his brow, trying to piece together what she meant, when she sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    And with another flick of her cloak, she threw a dagger at him.

    Kletz¡¯s quick reflexes were the only thing that saved him from a very likely death. Instead of landing square in his stomach, Kletz managed to twist so the dagger only grazed his side. Pain and blood blossomed there, making him grunt and staining his clothes, but it was better than a near certain death by infection.

    He drew one of his own throwing daggers just as the woman pulled out a wand. Sensing that he was not going to like what was about to happen, Kletz dove to the side and flung the throwing knife at the woman.

    It all happened in the span of two heartbeats. She pointed the wand at him. The knife found her shoulder a half-second later. Her arm jerked slightly away from him--right before a blast of energy erupted from the end of her wand. Instead of crashing straight into Kletz¡¯s chest and probably crushing his ribcage, it slammed into his shoulder, instantly dislocating it. Kletz let out a tight scream as he was flung backwards. He hit the ground hard, forcing the air from his lungs, and rolled several times through the grass. He found himself panting in pain when he came to a stop, his side and shoulder screaming in agony. He tried to push himself up with his good arm, only to collapse back to the ground when his side protested more fiercely.

    So. This was how he died.

    He could hear the woman moving toward where he¡¯d landed, presumably to finish the job she¡¯d started. Kletz drew another of his knives. If he was going to die, it wasn¡¯t going to be alone.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± the woman panted as she grew closer. ¡°I have to kill you. The world ends with the reaper meeting a medium.¡±

    Yeah, Kletz had no idea what she was talking about. Something about the reaper sounded familiar, but Kletz didn¡¯t know what a medium was. Had Hansen been one? Was Kletz one? What did that mean?

    The woman finally appeared above the swaying grass, and Kletz threw his knife at her just as she locked her eyes on him. She yelped, the sound turning into a gurgle, as his knife struck her right in the throat.

    She collapsed to the ground, making choked sounds until those silenced as well. Kletz gritted his teeth and forced himself to his feet. Blood soaked his entire left side and his arm and shoulder throbbed with pain. He shuffled forward back to the base of the tree where his belongings and his payment still sat.

    He, fortunately, had some idea how to put his arm back in its rightful place. He pressed his shoulder against the tree trunk and pushed until the bone moved back into his socket. He gasped, all but collapsing to the ground, as spots danced across his vision.

    He leaned against the tree, grinding his teeth until the worst of the pain passed. When he felt he could stand again, he tried to climb to his feet. Once he was upright, he stumbled toward his things. It wasn¡¯t until he was standing above them that he realized he¡¯d have to bend down to collect them, and once he had the pack, he would have to swing its straps onto his shoulders.

    Kletz fell to his knees. He glanced at the wound in his side, noting how deep and painful it was. Maybe it was a fruitless endeavor. But he wouldn¡¯t die alone, he thought, for once a killing giving him a sense of grim satisfaction.

    He fell onto his back, breathing hard as he tried to apply pressure to his wound. There was just so much blood. That was not unusual in Kletz¡¯s life, but hardly ever was it his blood. It made him feel a little sick.

    As he stared up at the tree¡¯s leaves above him and the patches of sky past that, his ghosts began to crowd around him, peering down at him.

    He laughed, feeling more than a little light-headed. ¡°Don¡¯t suppose any of you can help me?¡±

    None of them responded. Typical, Kletz thought. He didn¡¯t know why he bothered.

    One last ghost appeared above him, younger than the ones he usually saw. She couldn¡¯t be older than eighteen, with silver hair and golden eyes. She appeared concerned, unlike the other ghosts that simply stared at him, expressions empty.

    ¡°Oh, man, that¡¯s a lot of blood,¡± she said, much more coherent than ghosts typically were. ¡°Hang on, okay?¡±

    She disappeared from Kletz¡¯s view. He paid her no mind, allowing his eyes to slip shut. He wasn¡¯t dying alone, and he had found a cure to his ailment. An inconvenient, more permanent cure than he¡¯d like, but a cure nonetheless.

    For a madman, it was all that he could ask for.

 Chapter 32: A Hidden Weapon--Part II

    (Seventhday of the Second week of Azonro, 670 A.C)

    Kletz woke up slowly, confused for reasons he could not articulate for several moments. Then, he remembered: he was supposed to be dead.

    Even awake, he struggled to pry his eyes open and take in his surroundings. Above him was the open night sky, which meant someone had managed to move him since there was no tree blocking his view. The three waves of the ninth constellation Vessa shone above him, making him wonder how long he¡¯d been asleep. Was it still the same day?

    He was laid on what felt like a scratchy blanket, but it was better than the bare ground. No pillow, but he supposed he should just be happy to be alive. Speaking of which...

    Tentatively, he felt along his side. The pain was practically nonexistent compared to what he remembered from before he passed out, but even still, there was a bandage wrapped around his midsection. He could only hope that it was clean.

    Warmth and light radiated toward him from his right, and when he turned his head, he found a small fire crackling several feet away from him. Which meant that whoever managed to move him had stayed with him as well.

    There was movement on the other side of the fire. At first, Kletz just thought it was the heat of the flames distorting the air. But then he saw the light glint off a set of eyes, and he just about jumped out of his skin.

    Beyond the fire, a griffin laid on the ground, watching him. It was big--a good deal larger than Kletz--but not as big as the griffins he¡¯d seen while traversing the base of the Oavalen mountain range. It had to still be a fledgling, then. But that didn¡¯t explain why it was here or why it was staring at him.

    Kletz was getting very sick of being stared at.

    The griffin turned its head and lifted its wing. Kletz realized the griffin wasn¡¯t alone--there was a silver-haired, young woman sleeping against its side. She¡¯d been using the griffin¡¯s wing like a blanket and had her head resting against the griffin¡¯s shoulder. The griffin chirped, tapping its beak against the top of her head. She grunted and slowly opened her eyes.

    It took a moment for him to recognize her, but he remembered that this was the young woman he¡¯d seen just before passing out. She was real, then? Unless the griffin was also a ghost, but how would that even work?

    She stretched before sitting up and glancing over at him. When their eyes met, she perked up, any remaining traces of sleep disappearing. ¡°You¡¯re awake!¡±

    Kletz somewhat doubted that. After all, this would make much more sense if it was a dream.

    The young woman glanced at the griffin that was staring at Kletz again. She elbowed him, and Kletz wanted to shout at her and ask what in the fuck she thought she was doing hitting a griffin. ¡°Stop glaring at him, Eko.¡±

    Eko chirped but did not pull his gaze away from Kletz. So this was what it was like to be stared down by a griffin. Kletz could do without it.

    ¡°Sorry about him,¡± the woman said. ¡°He gets a little protective around strangers. What¡¯s your name?¡±

    Kletz cautiously pushed himself up into a sitting position. His side gave a twinge of protest, but he didn¡¯t start bleeding out so he figured it was fine. Eko shifted slightly in what Kletz thought was it preparing to pounce on him, and he tensed. When Kletz had not been pounced on several seconds later, he allowed himself to relax slightly. ¡°Kletz.¡±

    ¡°Hello, Kletz. I¡¯m Wanily.¡± She leaned forward, cocking her head. ¡°So are you an assassin?¡±

    Kletz felt his brows raise. This woman was forward. ¡°Why do you ask?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± she said, one hand idly petting the side of Eko¡¯s feathered neck, ¡°I found a bunch of weapons in your shirt. Also, there was a bag of money with your stuff and a dead woman not that far away from you when I found you. You killed her, right?¡±

    Kletz, at a bit of a loss, just nodded. He could still feel a couple of knives tucked into his boots, but if he threw one at Wanily now, he was certain that griffin would rip out his throat. So, he continued to just sit there, completely at Wanily¡¯s mercy.

    ¡°Why?¡± she asked.

    Kletz frowned. ¡°What does that matter?¡±

    ¡°Did you do it just for fun, then?¡±

    Kletz appraised her. She stared at him, hard and expectant, and eventually Kletz caved. This woman did save his life, after all. ¡°No. She tried to kill me.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± Wanily asked again.

    ¡°Not really sure,¡± Kletz answered. ¡°She had me do a job for her, and when I asked her a couple questions, she just started attacking me. Kept saying, ¡®The world ends with a medium¡¯ or something like that.¡±

    Wanily cocked her head. ¡°I thought I saw more magic in you than normal. So you¡¯re a medium?¡±

    Kletz¡¯s frown deepened. What was that supposed to mean? He decided he didn¡¯t really care and focused on the fact that Wanily, apparently, knew what a medium was. ¡°I don¡¯t know what that is.¡±

    He had wondered if he was one though, hadn¡¯t he? His client had certainly thought he was one, right? Judging by the way Wanily was looking at him, she definitely knew what a medium was and thought he was stupid for not knowing.

    ¡°A medium is a type of specialty mage that can see the souls trapped in Gehenna,¡± she informed him. ¡°At least, that¡¯s what I¡¯ve been told and what I¡¯ve read about them. I¡¯m not a medium myself so I couldn¡¯t say.¡±

    Kletz inhaled sharply. Was that what was happening? He knew about specialty mages--enough to say he knew they existed--but he hadn¡¯t known the specifics. So, he was a medium that was seeing the souls the old gods hated enough to trap in endless mists. No wonder all of them were crazy. They¡¯d all essentially been in solitary confinement for at least six hundred years. The old gods stopped putting people in Gehenna after the war with the new gods, after all.

    ¡°Do you know how to make it stop?¡± Kletz asked, turning more fully toward Wanily.

    She frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I only started seeing these ghosts a few weeks ago,¡± he said. ¡°They follow me everywhere. Screaming and crying and just staring, endlessly staring. How do I make it so I don¡¯t see them?¡±

    Wanily¡¯s frown only deepened. ¡°Well, I guess it would make sense that if you didn¡¯t know you were a specialty mage and didn¡¯t even know what a medium was, you wouldn¡¯t know about the power. But I don¡¯t get what you mean. You should be able to just kinda... think about it and turn it off, you know? That¡¯s what accounts from other mediums say from what I¡¯ve read, at least.¡±

    Kletz, giving her the benefit of the doubt, tried it. He glanced by his feet, where even now a ghost with blue hair stood and stared at him. He thought about her not being there, and when that failed, thought simply of no longer seeing her. But that did nothing either.

    ¡°It¡¯s not working,¡± he said, turning back to Wanily. ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    ¡°Well, not sure sure,¡± Wanily said, shrugging. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you ¡®cause I¡¯m not a medium.¡±

    Kletz grunted. ¡°Who are you, then? Why did you help me?¡±

    ¡°Those are two very separate questions.¡± Wanily continued petting Eko¡¯s neck, eyes cast to the side in a thoughtful manner. Finally, she shrugged again. ¡°You needed help. It was as simple as that, really.¡±

    ¡°Even though you thought I was an assassin?¡± he asked, genuinely baffled. Why would she help someone that might kill her? If Kletz had less sense than he did and had tried to murder her despite her griffin¡¯s presence, he might die for it but he would manage to end her life.

    She sighed and looked away for a long moment. With her frown and furrowed brow, she seemed upset, but Kletz could only wonder why. All he knew was Eko was staring him down again, body tense and ready to snap forward at a moment¡¯s notice. If it really was protective of Wanily, it probably didn¡¯t appreciate Kletz making her upset.

    ¡°I¡¯ve met a lot of people,¡± she finally said. ¡°Some of them had killed other people, too. And usually, they had a reason, you know? They were defending themselves or defending others or even just trying to get by themselves. But even if you kill just for fun or whatever--you¡¯re still a person, too. I had the means to help you, and I did.¡±

    ¡°And if I go on and kill someone else? Would you not feel any guilt for their death, too?¡±

    ¡°Your decisions are your own,¡± Wanily said softly, just audible over the crackle of the fire. ¡°Just as my decisions are my own. If you decide to hurt someone after I helped you, you made that decision. I would probably still feel a little guilty,¡± she conceded, ¡°but in the end, I did what was right. And that counts for something.¡±

    Kletz grunted. A bit altruistic for his tastes, but he had to give her kudos for being such an optimist about things. She was wrong though--doing the right thing hardly counted for anything. The old gods didn¡¯t care whether people killed each other, and the new gods didn¡¯t intervene if they gave a damn about it, either. So in the end, if there was no punishment for being a terrible person, why should Kletz or anyone else worry about their actions?

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    Kletz pushed the thoughts from his mind, figuring there were more important matters at hand. ¡°Are you a Wanderer, then?¡± They were about the only people he knew that were so quick to help others. At least, the genuine Wanderers--those posing as them usually had more nefarious intentions.

    Wanily shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m someone who wanders, but I¡¯m not part of the Wandering People. I¡¯m trying to master old magic and become the Archmage.¡±

    Oh, that wasn¡¯t a lofty goal at all. But she did have silver hair--she had to know something about magic despite how young she looked. ¡°Sounds easy enough.¡±

    Wanily chuckled. ¡°Well, it really hasn¡¯t been. But it¡¯s alright, I¡¯m getting there. And in a couple years, I should be old enough to attend the magic college in Tiranda.¡± Wanily smiled, but her eyes remained downcast.

    There was something more to that statement, but Kletz wasn¡¯t one to pry. He would just be grateful that Wanily had healed him and not stolen any of his stuff--until he was out of her hair, he wasn¡¯t about to press his luck.

    Kletz rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger and sighed. ¡°How long was I out for?¡±

    Wanily brightened at the change in subject. ¡°A little over two days. I cleaned and bandaged your wound, then gathered the ingredients for a potion good for cuts. I wasn¡¯t sure you were going to make it at first, but you pulled through until I was able to get the potion down your throat. Though, I wasn¡¯t able to find the ingredients to make the potion very strong. Sorry about that.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s... alright,¡± Kletz said. He was a professional killer, and even he was surprised with Wanily¡¯s flippance when describing how he had almost died. She was young to be so callous toward death already.

    He found himself starting to wonder about her story. Maybe she was from the north, where the war still raged between his own homeland and a few other countries. Or maybe she was from Fris, where war had ended not very long ago. Though, she was probably too young to remember the war in Fris, so Kletz struck out that idea. Neither case would explain her golden eyes, either. Kletz didn¡¯t care much about the world past what he needed to get by, but even he knew that on the other side of the globe was a land that inexplicably turned the eyes of anyone who was born there gold. So if Wanily was born on the eastern continent, why was she wandering around here with a dream to learn magic?

    In the silence that fell over them, Kletz debated trying to get more details from her about her life, but ultimately decided it was none of his fucking business. Instead, he wanted to know more about the griffin that currently seemed to be trying to kill Kletz with just its eyes. ¡°So how¡¯d you tame a griffin?¡±

    Eko let out a sharp whistling sound, which Kletz assumed to be a snort of air passing through the nostrils in its beak. Wanily laughed. ¡°I didn¡¯t tame him. He¡¯s not a pet. Eko is like... my brother and best friend wrapped up in one.¡±

    Kletz felt his brow raise. Eko seemed to preen under Wanily¡¯s words, lifting his head higher and shifting his wings. ¡°But... he follows you around, then?¡±

    ¡°Well, duh,¡± Wanily said. She smirked, looking at Eko from the corner of her eye. ¡°How else is he supposed to keep me out of trouble?¡±

    If it was possible, Eko raised his chin higher. He managed to radiate an air of smugness, but how he did that without a face that could make proper expressions, Kletz didn¡¯t know.

    Kletz grunted. Tentatively, he poked at his side again, but found that it really didn¡¯t hurt all that badly. Wanily¡¯s potion must have healed him most of the way, though the wound had been deep for a single, weak potion to manage to patch up. All the times he got cut or stabbed in the military taught him that it could be detrimental to drink potions back-to-back, especially the same kind of potion. Wanily said he¡¯d been out for a couple days, though, so he should be able to have another healing potion.

    ¡°So, do you want to find another medium?¡± Wanily asked.

    Kletz frowned. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You know, to figure out how to turn off seeing ghosts. They have to be pretty crazy, right? All the accounts I¡¯ve read about Gehenna say that people go crazy pretty quickly in there. So if we find another medium, they can teach you how to turn it off.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s this ¡®we¡¯?¡± Kletz asked, more bemused than anything. Wanily had already saved his life--why would she want to help him any further?

    Wanily shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve never met a medium before--well, except for you. But you seem to be a pretty bad medium considering you didn¡¯t even know what one was until five minutes ago, so I¡¯d like to meet one that actually knows what they¡¯re talking about.¡± She smiled at him, then. ¡°And I want to help. You... are okay with me helping you, right?¡±

    Strange of her to ask, Kletz thought, but then again, he was a professional killer. Maybe Wanily had the sense to be wary of him after all.

    Kletz hadn¡¯t traveled in a group since he was part of the military. Two people wasn¡¯t really a group, but still--he wasn¡¯t used to having other people around for a prolonged period of time. Kletz was a lone, apex predator. His first and last instinct was to kill. He didn¡¯t do groups.

    But... Wanily had saved his life. Kletz didn¡¯t often feel indebted to others, but he was quickly finding this was one of the few exceptions. She had suspected his profession and helped him anyway. That, more than anything, made Kletz hesitant to dismiss her.

    That and the griffin that was glaring at Kletz from over Wanily¡¯s shoulder. Kletz was pretty sure that if he refused her, he was going to find out exactly why griffins were so feared.

    ¡°Do you know where we could find a medium?¡± Kletz asked.

    Wanily hummed with thought. She climbed to her feet and moved over to a large pack, rummaging through it until she pulled out a small book. Opening it, she flipped through the pages, angling the book so that she could read by the light of the fire. Kletz, unable to quite make out what she was looking at, waited for whatever the point of this was.

    ¡°Well, there¡¯s a town not too far to the east,¡± Wanily said, peering at the book. Must be full of maps, then.

    Kletz sighed. ¡°That¡¯s not going to work.¡±

    Wanily turned her curious gaze onto him. ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°I just got done with a job there. Would rather not go back for a while, in case someone saw me.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Wanily said, scrunching her nose in obvious distaste. She returned to scrutinizing her maps for a moment before announcing, ¡°There¡¯s another town to the north. We can at least see if anyone there knows of a medium, even if there¡¯s none in the town.¡± She grimaced. ¡°Which, you know, there probably isn¡¯t. Specialty mages are pretty rare.¡±

    And Kletz had killed one just a few days ago. Someone who, as far as Kletz could tell, was kind and just trying to figure out what was happening to both himself and the people he was seeing.

    He almost felt guilty about it. But Kletz¡¯s would-be killer had wanted Hansen dead, had promised a hefty sum in return for the deed, and that was all that Kletz had cared about. It was all that he still cared about, really.

    ¡°We can go north,¡± Kletz said, nodding.

    Wanily nodded back. ¡°You should try to get some more rest, then,¡± she said, tucking her book back into her pack. ¡°And I would rather hit the road with a decent night¡¯s sleep, too.¡±

    Kletz waited until Wanily had settled back against Eko¡¯s side before he laid himself back down on his borrowed blanket. She put too much trust in him for his tastes, but with Eko right there, she didn¡¯t really have to worry about Kletz slitting her throat in her sleep. Maybe Kletz should be more paranoid that she had some type of ulterior motive for helping him, but if she tried to betray him--well. Kletz wasn¡¯t going to die alone.

    <hr>

    Wanily was already awake when Kletz eventually got up. She had some dried fruits with her, which she shared with Kletz, before she handed him his pack and his sack of money from his last job. When she turned around to pack her own things away, Kletz tested the weight of the sack in his hand, but if she had taken any of it, he couldn¡¯t tell. He shrugged to himself and threw the sack in with his other belongings.

    His side felt pretty good, considering the wound had almost killed him. He found he was able to easily keep pace with Wanily¡¯s shorter strides as they began to make their way across the field to the road. When they got closer, Wanily stopped to wrap her arms around Eko¡¯s neck and bury her face in his feathers.

    ¡°When you get there, try to find a good spot to hide,¡± she said, her voice muffled by Eko¡¯s fluff. For his part, Eko merely flicked his ear, not that Wanily was looking. ¡°I¡¯ll meet up with you when I can. Keep an ear out for my whistle.¡±

    She let go of him, and Eko chirped. He flared his wings out, bounding forward a few steps as he flapped them and took to the skies. Kletz watched him go, more uneasy than anything. Wanily was only still alive because Kletz had been afraid of Eko, and now she was sending him away? For what?

    Some of his confusion must have shown on his face because Wanily gave him a strained smile. ¡°People aren¡¯t always so understanding when they see a griffin following me around.¡±

    Which made sense but still didn¡¯t explain why she was trusting Kletz to not murder her now that her griffin was gone. He wasn¡¯t going to murder her because he knew he wasn¡¯t the most charismatic and he needed someone to get him in with another medium, but he still could murder her. Unless she was that confident in her magical abilities?

    Maybe Kletz was just a violent person.

    They continued to the road, taking it further west until they reached a fork where another path stretched on toward the north. Wanily consulted her book of maps for a moment just to confirm that it was the right way to go before once again taking the lead.

    They walked in silence, which was more than fine with Kletz. He allowed Wanily to stay a few paces ahead of him, unwilling to take the lead and expose his back to her. He kept a wary eye on their surroundings for any signs of wildlife or bandits, but hours later, they still hadn¡¯t been attacked. It wasn¡¯t like he really thought they would be, but always better to be cautious.

    A small group of ghosts, three strong, followed them. Kletz also found himself glancing at them from time to time, but it wasn¡¯t like they were going anywhere.

    They eventually stopped for a short lunch of jerky and more dried fruits when the sun was high in the sky. The grass near the road was cropped shorter, probably due to the foot traffic, so Wanily laid out her blanket and they sat on top.

    Kletz had barely taken one bite of his jerky when Wanily said, ¡°So you¡¯re an assassin. Tell me about that.¡±

    Kletz almost choked. He coughed, pounded on his chest with a fist, and finally managed to force out, ¡°I thought we already went over this.¡±

    ¡°Not even close,¡± Wanily said. Then, as if to prove her point, she asked, ¡°Are you part of a guild? Have you killed a lot of people? How did you become an assassin? What--¡±

    ¡°Alright, alright, slow down,¡± Kletz said, holding up his free hand. Wanily snapped her mouth shut but still watched him expectantly. He floundered for a moment, wondering if he should just tell her to mind her business, but with a sigh, he finally said, ¡°I¡¯m not part of a guild.¡±

    Wanily seemed disappointed by that, but Kletz couldn¡¯t fathom the reason. ¡°Lame. How¡¯d you become an assassin, then?¡±

    Kletz shrugged. ¡°I used to be part of a thieves¡¯ guild,¡± he admitted. ¡°Got caught and forced into the military. Decided I didn¡¯t want to die in a stupid war and defected. After that,¡± Kletz shrugged again, ¡°figured killing and stealing were the only things I was good at. And that makes me a decent assassin.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s stupid,¡± Wanily immediately responded, which only made Kletz shoot her a glare. Undeterred, she continued, ¡°You know how to fight. There are plenty of things you can do with that.¡±

    ¡°Like kill people?¡± Kletz drawled.

    Wanily huffed. ¡°Like protect people.¡±

    Kletz snorted. ¡°That doesn¡¯t always tend to pay that well.¡±

    Wanily was silent for a moment, just watching him. Kletz scowled, but eventually she just said, ¡°So is the pay all that you care about?¡±

    ¡°Is there something else I should care about?¡±

    ¡°Doing the right thing,¡± was Wanily¡¯s immediate response. Were they back to this, then? ¡°Isn¡¯t that more rewarding than money?¡±

    Kletz laughed. ¡°No one in this world cares if you do the right thing, little mage. Least of all the people that are looking to employ me.¡±

    ¡°But you could care about what you do,¡± Wanily insisted. ¡°Doing the right thing matters.¡±

    Kletz had a feeling they would just talk in circles if this conversation were to continue. He didn¡¯t care and knew there was no higher power that did either. Wanily obviously believed that he should care, but that hardly changed the reality.

    ¡°Agree to disagree,¡± he said and went back to eating his jerky.

    Wanily huffed, clearly displeased, but didn¡¯t try to debate the point anymore. When they were both done eating, Wanily packed the blanket away and they continued north, toward whatever awaited them. Hopefully, it would include a medium.