Chapter 15

  Evi moved across the field. The gold seemed to pull her through the air, wrapping around each limb and jerking her body forward, unnaturally, along the river.

  What was she searching for?

  But whatever it was she sought remained hidden, and the girl let out a cry, a horrible scraping shriek, like steel dragging along stone as she slashed her staff through the air.

  A burning stench filled Fia’s nostrils. The smell of charring hide roasting on an open flame, a miasma of melting hair, nail, and meat.

  In the sky, the tear in the illusion began to grow. It came apart at the seams, pulling back until the sun-kissed meadows and babbling brook faded away into nothingness. Now, all that remained was the battle raging and the gale above it.

  In the eye of the storm was Ella. Beside her fought Freya. Flashes of brilliant light, azure crystals refracting topaz waves that crackled between the shadows of a dozen magi.

  Fia crept amongst the reeds, following Evi as she stalked along the banks, hunting through the shallows of the Aurin. As she turned, reaching into the waters, Fia glimpsed the gold beset upon her breast. It flowed down from her face in jagged ripples like a frozen river. Golden strands splintered in veins of fire clinging to her skin, leaving behind smoldering burns and raw, blistering flesh, a cursed suit of tarnished plate.

  The metal touched all, defiling its host, save for a small patch nestled just to the left of her sternum. It was bare, unscathed by gold or flame. But it was not unblemished. A scar. Thin lines, taut and pale, woven into thicker knotted threads to form a circle of rough, hardened skin. And inside that circle, stars and runes.

  Fia reached down, feeling into her pocket, fingers gliding over a similar, perhaps even identical, pattern on the golden charm within.

  A cold laugh broke the silence. A shrill cackle rang in Fia’s ears, echoing through her thoughts.

  “Here it is! Here it is, you fool!

  Out of the river, she lifted a long chain. Beads of water splashed down its links as they rattled against one another. She lifted the chain past her waist, and a golden disc floated up from the depths, just breaking the surface. It was Malachai’s charm; it must have slipped from his neck as he floated. The water roiled around it, rising in a cloud of steam, unable to touch the burning sphere.

  “So confident,” Evi crowed. “To bring it with you into battle, to your death!”

  From behind the girl, a shadow moved. Large and swift, it was making towards her, hidden in the tall grass.

  Evi had not noticed. She was lost, reveling in her victory, and had only eyes for the charm.

  “This pathetic re—”

  AAAARRRGH

  Leif leapt from the grass, ramming his shoulder into the golden plate! Evi snarled, clawing at his face as they tumbled, falling toward the Aurin. For a moment, they floated on the surface, each struggling to best the other, caught in the rapids, unable to break free. But the heavy metal weighed them down, and the river dragged at their legs, pulling them down, as they disappeared into deep waters.

  Leif!” Fia cried. Eyes scanning the river.

  “Oh, he’s quite dead this time,” a voice called at her back.

  A shiver ran down her spine as the hairs on the back of her neck stood straight. She turned to see Evi, soaking wet, her face battered and bruised.

  “Though it seems I may have to kill all of you twice.”

  “What have you done with Evi?”

  “I am Evi,” the voice replied, hollow and indifferent. “But who” —eyes twitched beneath the golden mask— “are you? You are not one of them.”

  “Tell me what you’ve done to her!”

  “The girl?” Evi laughed. “She is getting exactly what she was promised.”

  “Let her go!”

  “Believe me” —Evi’s hands tore at the burns, peeling at her blisters until the gold ran red with her blood— “I do not relish my time in these… meat sacks.”

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  “Don’t hurt her!” She yelled.

  Evi sighed, “You are a strange girl. You are from Orent, and yet you are here. You fight for these rebels, and yet you wear my robes. A puzzling conundrum, one I will return to someday. But for now,” she raised her hand and Evi’s silver staff formed between her fingers, “I must leave you.”

  She slammed her staff into the river, and from above in the swirling tempest, the magi began to vanish. One by one, they appeared before Evi, heads bowed, arms raised, in faithful contrition. There were far fewer returning than had left to join the battle.

  “Your Grace.” The reverent honorifics repeated over and over as each mage fell to their knees.

  “Come, we have claimed our prize.” Evi lifted the charm, placing it in the hole of her plate. The metal glowed in acceptance, shifting around the sphere, conforming to its shape.

  “Ella!” Fia screamed, and the silent mage stepped out of the air and to her side. “Ella, do not let them escape.”

  But before Ella could even move. there was a flash of light. It lingered in the air for some time, burning at her eyes, and Fia thought she might never see again. But when her sight finally returned, Evi and the magi were long gone. And so was Ella.

  The army of King Anselm fractured upon the battlefield. Abandoned by their masters, the men gave into despair. And they fled, throwing themselves into the river, relinquishing their fate to the mercy of the Aurin.

  But the river was cruel, and few made it to the King’s Wood. Those not swept away in the rapids were left to the raining arrows falling from the shore.

  Freya floated down to her side, the storm breaking as her feet touched the ground. And from the long grass, a figure strode, clad in ivory plate and dragging a great axe at his back.

  “Malachai!” Freya called. “Is it done?”

  “Indeed!” The Rebel King replied, joyously. “They have taken the bait!” His eyes were blazing, burning with a triumphant glee. “I told you they would be unable to resist such an enticing opportunity.”

  “So, you did,” the sorceress spat bitterly, “but this game of yours has cost us many men, and for what?” She turned eyes searching the battlefield, “Where is Leif?”

  “I am not sure…” He reached out to her, but she brushed him aside.

  “I…I think he is dead.” Fia interrupted. She spoke gently; she had not known Leif, but he must have been important to the sorceress, so apparent was her distress.

  “How?” Freya’s words were calm, but her face could not hide her grief.

  “He… fell into the river with Evi. He never came out… I couldn’t do anything,” she admitted, ashamed.

  “You couldn’t, could you?” Her eyes narrowed, and she gripped Malachai’s arm. “Malachai, listen to me.” The words tumbled out of her, full of misery and fear. “Long has this girl walked through my dreams. And where she wanders, I see nothing but death. You cannot bring her to the tower!”

  “My dear girl.” Malachai took the pale sorceress in his arms, embracing her as she shook. “I know you are grieving, but you cannot blame Fia. She has brought us the news of…of… a great man’s death, but the fault is not hers. She has done us a kindness, that we may not suffer, lost in doubt.”

  Freya pulled back, stumbling in her haste. “You have brought a poison into our midst, Malachai. The world rots, and this girl stands at the center of its sickness.”

  “Enough, Freya.” His voice was stern and cold; gone was the sympathetic lilt that had buttered his words as he held her. “I have acknowledged your loss, but the future is mine to decide, just as it is yours to follow. Or would you challenge my right to lead?”

  “No.” Her head fell. “You have been chosen to lead Malachai. But you surround yourself with snakes, hissing in your ear, leading you from the path. I no longer believe that you will see the tower.” The sky above them began to darken. “And I will follow you no more.”

  A jagged lance arced across the sky, slicing down from the heavens. It split the air, ripping a hole in front of Freya. Thin tendrils of azure light crackled, hissing all around her. And she stepped through the tear, vanishing as it closed behind her with a thunderous clap, roaring in defiance.

  Malachai stood in silence, eyes dark, staring at the space that his sorceress had just occupied. Then he sighed, a deep and slow breath, as if to release all his doubts. Placing his head in his hands, he massaged his temples with the tips of his thumbs. He did not move, nor did he speak.

  Finally, Fia would wait no longer. “Who was he to her?” She asked timidly.

  “A man of great import.” He did not look up. “She would not wish for me to say any more.” He paused, and then, whispering almost to himself, “Sorrow gnaws at her heart. Though her disobedience irks me, Freya is a good soldier. She will return to me before the end.” But he did not sound sure, it was almost as if he hoped that by saying the words, he could make it so.

  “Sir!” A soldier ran towards them. “Sir, your orders?”

  “Soldier!” Malachai straightened, voice booming with authority. “Your orders remain unchanged. Head south and rendezvous with the main host.”

  “Sir!” The soldier saluted, running back towards the camp.

  “Now.” He said, turning back to her. “Without Freya, I find myself in need of a mage… So, I must, once again, call on you for assistance.”

  This is what she had decided, what she wanted “Take me to the tower.” She demanded.

  He smiled. “Providence has led you to me, Fia. There are no chance encounters… Freya was right, I had strayed too far from the path. But your compass will lead me back to it.”

  “And what of yours, sir?”

  “The bait, yes. Foolishly taken by a lord, now confident in his victory. A clever ruse designed by his most trusted servant. The world has rejected his order, and I will walk through the streets of Orent unchallenged before this day is done.”

  Fia reached into her pocket, pulling from it the compass as she turned to face him, shoulders squared, steely-eyed. “We will work as partners.” Her voice wavered, but she remained calm. “I will hold the compass.” She held out her hand, and the elm branch materialized in her palm. “You have seen my magic, witnessed the specter that I command; do not think to take it from me.” This would have been more imposing if Ella had actually been there, but calling for her now was too much of a risk. What if she did not answer?

  He smiled again, eyes glittering, undeceived by her show of bravado. “I have no wish to take it from you, Fia. When we first met, our paths were divided, and I thought differently. But we walk together now. The journey to the tower cannot be made alone, and as long as the road leads you towards it, so I will follow.”

  “To Orent?”

  “To Orent.”

  Cycle: Timor 3-2