Poisoned Wells, Imaginiers Save Us From (Serialization 033)

*In this installment, morning has come and the boys are awaiting the guide who will travel with them on the last leg of their journey. *

At Saravia’s advice, the cook made a large pot of layken porridge, had the the morning girl bring up jars of black jam from the cellar, paid for an extra bottle of milk, made fresh biscuits as well as an egg and kanif pie for breakfast. The morning hunger of child was hard enough to satiate, so the cook faced a challenge upon meeting Peter.

Cara drank snow twig tea and nibbled on a few spoons of porridge, while Peter finished his bowl and was already in the kitchen with the cook. In each hand he held a piece of pie and a biscuit. Cara laughed at the cook begging Peter to chew a bit slower and not to touch the lunch bread. The earth soldiers had allowed Peter to eat to his content and had always frowned on Cara’s plate never fully finished. But Peter’s hunger, Saravia had explained to Cara, was due to Peter having brought back with him the appetite of the dead. The desire to taste one last morsel, to fill up their bellies before moving to the next life, was what Peter carried.

He’d always be hungry and perhaps for a while be satiated but it would never last. He would become one of those marvels people astonished at: but’s he’s as thin as a pole—where does the food go?!

“To the wraiths and the waiting, of course,” Cara murmured to his empty mug. He picked up the pot to finish off the morning tea. He always let Peter finish the milk.

“Did you ask me something, boy?” A brittle voice barked, not meanly, but as a means to be heard by his own ears.

It startled Cara enough to spill his tea. As cleaned up the mess, he glanced behind him to find an old man hunched over a steaming mug of pine needle tea. How curious—Cara had thought only one morning tea was served. He would’ve loved pine needle to wake him.

The steam plumed and hid most of the old man’s face, but it was clear that the dark skin was stained by age and regrettable choices. The scars that ran across his nose and cheeks made it hard to tell what he truly looked like. Had he been in a fire? A terrible battle? A duel gone wrong? Perhaps all of the above. It was hard to tell…

“What’s that boy?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Cara said returning to his tea, returning his attention to watching Peter make the cook and morning girl sigh in exasperation and giggles at the same time. As he watched them, he toyed with his pencil but the papers would remain blank today.

“My ears, not so good anymore. So I think even birds chirping are for me, you know? But my eyes are still good. You’re a scholar. Your hands are smudged with ink. Don’t know how to end the story, no?

“I know the ending. But I’m not concerned with writing at the moment,” Cara said in his most regal tone. Then added, “I’m waiting for our guide to appear.”

“Guide?! You’re in luck. I’m one of the best guides in these parts. My treks are known to be fast and cheap and for no extra charge I can fill your pages with the most wondrous stories.” He smiled and to Cara’s surprise the old man had a beautiful mouth, perfect teeth, a coyote grin full of charm.

“Could you take us to see the Giants of Doray?” Peter asked as he sat unceremoniously at the old man’s table.

“Is that where you’re headed?”

“We’re going to Seinseyabo Library,” Peter said.

“I can take the two of you there.”

“But we’ll have to make the detour to Doray.” Peter smiled at Cara. “I want to see the giants.”

“But wouldn’t it be wise to get on with your journey? Detours only cause delays and delays cause trouble, no?”

Peter frowned, thinking about the trolloc horn and of the weight of Skala’s dying body…the smell of blood. He was about to acquiesce.

“Our end point is not so important that one delay would cause trouble. We’re adventurers. And seeing the giants is part of our journey. We’ve been through enough to know what can and cannot pause our trek.” Caragris stood up. “If you cannot help us, we will find another guide. Much thanks. Come on, Peter, we should do some scouting.”

The old man waved them back down. “Now wait. No, no. One stop does not matter, I suppose. It’s your time. Your coin. I’ll take you.”

“Okay, but Saravia gave us strict instructions to barter,” Peter said. “So don’t think you can cheat us.”

“Do I look like I’d steal coin from children?”

“To every child, every adult looks like they could,” Caragris replied. He didn’t sound much like a child anymore though.

Peter went off to collect provisions from the kitchen, leaving Cara to discuss payment. When it was the settled the old man asked again, “But what is so important about the giants?”

Cara was gathering his things and the question surprised him—it should’ve been a question he asked. But when Peter had asked about Doray, Cara hadn’t considered to ask why. Of course, it seemed like an unnecessary stop. But with Peter, nothing could ever be unnecessary—it was all important.

Instead of saying this, Cara merely shrugged. “To simply experience them, of course. For adventure.”

Poisoned Wells, Imaginiers Save Us From (Serialization 030)

*With the return of Poisoned Wells, I figured I’d post a few installments throughout the week. This installment picks up right were the last one left—we’re following Cara to meet the Sharu of Time. As always enjoy, comment, tell your friends! *

The simplest description that captured Saudade, Sharu of Time, was imposing. Like Destiny and Fear, he was not one that lived anywhere but the invisible places, the shadows, where eyes were not needed to see and hearing only made you go insane.

He held no affection for anyone that wasn’t Sharu and anything he knew about that which was not his, he learned from is kin. He had a tongue but no understanding of its use. He did not attend to empathy and was not one to be swayed.

But there were those lucky few given his magic and they were allowed to time jump, no? Cara’s mother believed it was Time’s way of rectifying his utter lack of interest in a world that revolved around him.

“Meela, meela, Lord Sharu.” Caragris fumbled with the honorifics.

Since his birth, he’d smelled the Sharu (like Death, he smelled of a wild lavender field—a mark that he was Death’s first born and only true Sharu child). He felt the Sharu in the shadows and plains of every time jump he made.

Standing before Time, he knew that he might be punished for not being in his proper time frame…but…it was for Peter…and if he was to be punished, well at least he’d taken the boon to make him a wanted offender. Cara bowed again, this time in apology. He was surprised that Saudade simply tilted his head in acknowledgement.

Seeing Death’s daughter grasping at Time’s robes sparked words in Cara again. “Sa—Lady Death will stay. She asked—”

Time unfurled, straightening to his full height and towered over Cara—surely towering over the nearby tree, no? Then he swaddled the child in smoke colored sheets before kissing her brow softly. Then he handed her to Caragris.

Time looked down at the boy for a few minutes as if pondering. He shrugged at his mental calculations and then kissed Caragris’ forehead before falling into the wind and disappearing.

Every nerve in Cara’s body tingled and without the weight of the baby in his arms, he would’ve fainted. But even in his stunned state, Cara knew it would not do him well to drop Death’s newborn.

Poisoned Wells, Imaginiers Save Us From (Serialization 029)

*Poisoned Wells is BACK! I would love to say that we return to our story on a happy note, but we find ourselves in the middle of goodbyes. Karfa and Inye have both died in battle. Peter is inconsolable. And Cara finds solace in stories. In this installment, we are solemn as we pay our respects to the Eivyns that have fallen.*

Zejiin happened 3 days after burial. In that time, Eivyn Karfa and Eivyn Inye were bathed, clothed in simple, white garments and placed in the ground with their weapons. The hashmal, Atuine Cauli, who had fought in the dust against the demi-liches, had been the one to collect the rocks and pebbles that were placed atop the fresh dirt. He did this task so that the rest of the earth soldiers could gather and grieve. For three days they cried, whispered, thought of their fallen comrades; they told stories, told Cara of the beginnings: the men and women that they had once called maisan.

Everyone took turns caring for Peter, who slept fitfully in Karfa’s bedroll. At night Cara, ink stained and body sore from longs hours of scribe work, would hold Peter tightly. He would tell his friend stories—not of the earth soldiers, but of simpler tales: of mouse, of the rabbit and lion, of the wise goats of Trelay, of the bear that searched for ingredients for the stew that would make him human.

Cara wasn’t sure if Peter was paying attention, but he hoped that his words would simply seep into his friend so that his dreams would be crowded with curious animals and not of Karfa’s death.

On the third day, Eivyn Meroc and Thea carried Peter to the river to bathe and dress for the last ceremony. Maeve adjusted the white linen shirt and pants she’d made for Cara, her deft fingers making sure not to prick his skin with pins.

At noon they all met by the graves, the women shedding their armor and coming in simple, white dresses. Thea held each boy by the hand, rubbing her thumb against their skin as a way of comfort. When a figure robed in many sheets of thick, black fabric appeared though, Peter let go and ran forward. Death and Peter embraced tightly and Cara watched how gently she wiped the tears off Peter’s face and kissed his temple lightly.

Saravia was no longer pregnant, though the baby was not far off—she was in the arms of Sharu Time, who stood atop the hill, observing blankly the ceremony and the interactions. She winked at the Sharu before turning away.

Holding Peter’s hand, Saravia made her way towards the group, embracing Thea Sun as she had Peter. Then turning to all the women, to the hashmal, to the boys, she said, “I want to hear from all of you. I’ll do my best to ease your grief but I think it’s only right we send Eivyn Karfa and Eivyn Inye to their next destination.”

Motioning everyone to be seated on the ground, she began to give gentle instructions. Breathe. Listen. Keep the weight of the quiet around the body. Throughout, she held Peter’s hand and Cara was grateful for this small kindness. He leaned against Eivyn Mari, who whispered, “Keep your eyes open, scribe. You’ll need to write even this faithfully, and in detail, no?” He nodded and she hugged him so tightly, he was suddenly homesick for his mother. Not the Matriarch but his mother—the woman she was when it was only him and his father watching.

Saravia whispered to the earth and to the sky, to the nearby trees and the animals hidden within the foliage. Only breaths. No more sound. Their world grew still. The clouds paused in their travels and even Time stopped to watch the final rights.

Her song came from the very ground and out of her mouth. The words she sang were dense and shadowy but also of the brightest light the sun could bestow. Her voice sang but Death herself flew. Past the waiting room, past the boats full of souls in travel, and to the gate of the great beyond where Skala Karfa and Tana Inye waited to pass completely.

Anya se rut, amas col nos

Anya se rut, amas cel tu

Co me Sa na, anya se rut

Through it all, the warriors kept their breaths in fluid rhythm with the chants, and wishing that they too could see their fighting kin once more.

Finally, in the distance, a baby’s joyous exclamation signaled the end of the ceremony.

Upon opening her eyes, Saravia grasped Thea’s elbow as she said, “Saën, bul setra?”

Cara had picked up enough of the warrior’s tongue to know she was asking if they wanted her to stay a day. “Yes,” he murmured louder than he intended, making the warriors giggle.

Thea nodded in agreement. “Cara is right in this decision.” She smirked as she added, “Skala did say these boys would outrank me one day.” The thought caused a bittersweet taste for everyone: their companion was not here to say it herself. She was no longer an eivyn. She was free from the burden of waged war. Beyond grief and, hopefully, with her beloved maisan. Without scars. Renewed.

Saravia smiled at those around her. There was mending to be seen to. She looked to Cara for help: “Would you go up to the hill and inform Saudade of my stay?”

“Yes, Lady Death.” He scrambled up and bowed politely. The warriors laughed a bit more openly this time.

“Be polite to Time. He likes being bowed to. I prefer laughter.”

“Yes, my lady.” He headed up the hill. If Saravia could bring the lightness to Peter’s heart again, he would do whatever Death dictated until every ember in the Dali grew cold.

Scions of Magic Novella News!

Hey everyone,

As many of you that follow my blog might know, I’m participating in a writing contest. Currently, my ranking is at 23, which is good but I’d like to get to reach the top. And for that, I need your help.

You are all my readers. You’ve read Poisoned Wells, read my book reviews, have supported my woes about Yans. You are a community of writers and readers, so you know what it is like to try at contests, to muddle through rejection emails…to write and hope and write some more.

I am asking that you all take a few minutes out of your busy schedules to help me attain a dream. If you can just vote for my work, I would appreciate it immensely. If you review my piece I will give a personal thanks on the blog.

The story I posted is a novella in the Scions of Magic universe. It is before Poisoned Wells. The whole thing is posted, so vote and then read at you leisure.

Here’s the link: http://www.inkitt.com/stories/64392

 

 

Poisoned Wells, Imaginiers Save Us From (Serialization 028)

*This installment is a continuation of the last section. I wanted these moments to have space and breath to truly feel the loss. I hope you all continue to read. *

Eivyn Maeve did not let Peter feel the emptiness of Karfa’s last breath. Instead, she grabbed the boy and held him in her arms. Tightly, she hid him from the world. His calls, which were frantic and full of rage for being abandoned, were muffled, yet still managed to cut the women worse than any steel in battle.

Arjun and Mari removed the sword from Inye’s body, then wiped the blood and dirt from her face. Meroc and Roeze did the same for Karfa.

Caragris stood trembling, barely registering Thea’s hands on his shoulders, but he managed to say, “What now?”

“We give them the honor of Zejiin. We mourn our warriors. We bury them. We sing their praises. We hope they are sent to their loved ones.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I mean what happens now to Peter? What do I…how do I…he’s broken and I’m a weakling. I couldn’t spare him from this pain. How do I fix him?” He asked through tears.

Thea hugged him and said into his hair, “Caragris, there is nothing for us to do but feel. We must face this. Do not deny my warriors their honor or pain. Don’t deny Peter his pain.”

“But how do I—”

“You just do it, Cara. The best you can. You simply make him as comfortable as possible. There is no written alchemical formula to this. You’re his best friend. You’ll make him smile again. Just love him.”

“But all I know how to do is read stories, Eivyn Sun. Love is—”

“Crying because your best friend is hurting?” She pulled away to look at Cara’s tear stained face. She smiled weakly. “So you are a reader. Then read to him. We’ll find stories that you can read to Peter. We will give you stories to read to him if that is what will help the two of you.”

“But that would mean…” Cara wiped the tears from his face. Then he wiped the tears off Eivyn Sun’s. Will all of you tell me how you all became earth soldiers?”

“Peter has been curious about that, no? I’ll find you ink and paper. Come.”

Poisoned Wells, Imaginiers Save Us From (Serialization 027)

*Sorry for the delay in this installment. Actually, as you read this section, I am working on the epilogue of Poisoned Wells. It’s unreal that I’m writing the last few pages of this story in my notebook. It was much longer than I anticipated. And ya’ll have some sections to go before the end. After I post the ending, I’ll definitely post some afterthoughts and revision notes. But for now, enjoy this next section. We left off with the wraiths turning the demi-liches to stone and the dust settling to find Karfa dying in Peter’s arms. *

Looking at her face, it was hard to see anything wrong with Skala Karfa. She looked as serene as she had been as an ordinary maiden bathing in her village lake. Not a stitch of pain contorted her face. Earth soldiers were good at hiding the hurts of war, no? Though betraying her was the sound of her voice, which was raspy. And though her mouth was coated with blood and thick with saliva, she did her best to soothe Peter’s tears. Ending his pain was what mattered at the moment.

But there was no doubt that she was dying. She could feel the curved sword. Had felt it slide from the side of her stomach upward to only reappear right under her armpit. Really, she was surprised she was still breathing even though filling her lungs burned and made her want to rip her skin to shreds, but she had little strength left and it needed to be given to Peter. She felt how his fingers held her hair tightly, less like a solider to a sword and more like a baby grasping for his mother.

Each person is born from a woman. Therefore, each person will have the torturous grief of a mother’s death.  It is written for every being. Even Death suffered the loss of her mother, no? No one can avoid it. Peter’s mother died before he could’ve known her. In his heart, there had been no memories of this woman that birthed him, so he believed he would be spared such heartbreak. Who could possibly take that place in his heart? He was safe, no?

He clung to Karfa as if she’d created the sun for him, as if her screams had awakened him to life. His were the tears shed for a mother. It almost made Karfa want to laugh—she had thought she’d be safe from that too, but she felt her heart tremble as Peter’s tears ran down her forehead. He kissed her face softly, hoping she would find the strength to swat him away. He begged her to get up…that it was just a scratch. Please get up.

Karfa tried to form words to give to the boy but her eyes were drawn to a figure she’d lost seven years before and she knew her end would come with the next exhale. How different he looked without his armor. How serene. How beautiful. She cried tears that she thought would never fall, hadn’t for so long. And here she was, a warrior crying. Magic clearly existed, no?

In her hair, her tears mingled with Peter’s. And then she was still.

Gone.

Poisoned Wells, Imaginiers Save Us From (Serialization 026)

*Enjoy this installment. *

First a strong wind.

One that moans and bangs from frustration before unleashing gusts of howls. Howls that in their lives, ghosts were unable to let out…to let them out would’ve been undignified but after death, emotions are weighed far differently by the world’s witnesses.

These were howling winds that clawed at bodies, wrenching steel from hands, demanding tears, and the falling to one’s knees.

Then shadows: the burden of death so that souls could fly.

Hovering. Chanting: a long dead language—no, a language only the dead could even know or use. The shadows chanted the verses from the tome of Nabos, the poet of the dead. He who spent his wait as a scribe writing, fervently and with reverence, the many whispers of Saravia’s realm: the chants she crooned to soothe souls lost without the notion of time or narrow sight to guide them.

And behind the shadows? Weaponless because they were wholly weapons: Death’s wraiths.

They held the faces of once kings that then blurred rapidly into black pulsing pits only to return to a jigsaw semblance of once flesh. Their skin smelled burned. And the skin that was visible was branded with Death’s symbol. But there was not a stitch of pain on their faces. Simply determination.

They did not chant.

They walked directly towards their targets. Directly towards the demi-liches and with a gentleness that is only ever saw between lovers, the wraiths brushed their thumbs across the papery flesh of their once brethren. They stood like stone and watched as the demi-liches turned to stone—trapped for a thousand years until Death came, herself, to end their penance.

Not one of the earth soldiers dared touch the polish stone, to lash out at it with steel, knowing the searing pain they would encounter. A wraith’s touch trapped and bound pain. And that was what was inside those statues: agonizing, searing and scorching pain—a pain that would cleanse the tar from hearts. Then earth soldiers gave what were once demi-liches  a wide berth as they sank unto grateful knees to regroup and mutter thanks.

The wraiths now finished with their tasks were no longer blind and all of them tipped their eyes to the blue sky above. Then wordlessly as they arrived, they bowed to a vision only they saw and soon became part of the morning mist; with them they took the dust of battle to reveal a crying boy cradling the head of the dying Eivyn Karfa.

Poisoned Wells, Imaginiers Save Us From (Serialization 025)

*In this installment, we begin to see through the thick fog of war magic. Who will win? What slaughter awaits? As always, happy reading! *

The boys, at first, weren’t expected to join in the morning prayers. As long as they were quiet, they could sit on the side and rest. The problem came with the fact that the morning prayer was before breakfast and before breakfast was when Peter was at his most ravenous. His stomach grumbled, breaking the calm of the first light’s awakening.

With this in mind, the soldiers would each give him a morsel of food, the heel of a loaf, or a few berries—anything that would hold him off until the morning meal.

But Peter had never grown up in a royal palace and without realizing, so tired as he was, he would fall into a trance of watching the movement of prayer and he didn’t realize he chewed like a cow. Not even Cara’s elbows to the ribs could interrupt Peter’s chewing. This, of course, didn’t go unnoticed.

Distraction. Giggles. Zero balance. Even Thea, who led the chants, broke into snorted laughter.

“No more bread. To prayer. Both,” Eivyn Karfa instructed, cuffing the boys’ ears lightly.

So Caragris and Peter learned the morning prayer to Mother Earth: 3 rounds of a 9 bowing sequence, facing the rise of the sun meant to give thanks to the earth bride for bestowing the women with the magic to manipulate rock and sand and metal—Earth’s body. The prayer was also to keep the soldiers moving, to get their muscles warmed up, so they may be ever ready. And Thea’s chants brought balm to their hearts and for a space of time they needed to think of nothing beyond the movements. Muscle and breath.

Though clumsy, the boys at least learned to keep pace and by two weeks their bodies no longer ached at the final position: on their knees and toes, with arms outstretched with palms hovering over the ground in a sign of thanks. This was a bow only warriors were taught to give to other warriors, but Karfa had deemed it acceptable for the boys to learn it, citing that the more they learned, the less they chewed.

Perhaps if the boys had not been following the sequence, the outcome would have been much different.

As Eivyn Inye inhaled deeply for the final chant, a long sword was thrusted through her back and stomach, pinning her to the ground and in the final pose indefinitely. The demi lich only had time to let out a raspy gurgle as Karfa’s dagger struck his chest and Meroc beheaded him with her curved blade.

And then the field became thick with magic from both sides. Pebbles, rocks and dirt pulled and shifted from the ground, melting to form armor and shields for each woman. 6 demi liches commanded dozens of razor teethed rodva—monsters created from sewing together the parts of dead animals. These beasts were a magic that wept ichor that scorched the ground, so the earth soldiers had to spend more time and energy digging deeper for clean earth.

Roeze and Maeve kept the boys at their backs as they took down each snarling, clawing thing that leapt towards them.

Karfa and Meroc used their steel as they ran straight for the demi-liches. They gleefully sawed off arms from shoulders and broke brittle noses.

But they were strong, the demi-liches, were dead meat and so they simply kept fighting. They had inexhaustible magic. One burned its fingers through Meroc’s thigh as she twisted her blade through its face, ripping the jaw off.

A demi-lich ripped and clawed at Thea’s back, but there was a reason why she was the commander of the earth soldiers. She laughed at his attack before creating an army of dust women that, at her command, attacked the enemy by slipping down their throats and choking them from inside.

“They won’t stop coming,” Meroc called from over her shoulder.

“Get the boys to safety, Maeve.” Thea yelled.

“Die royal traitors,” Karfa growled as she ripped the eye of the demi-lich trying to claw at her.

The dust was so thick, the boys had trouble following the movements of battle. Their trembling gazes, when not shielded by an Eivyn, sought the ground for fallen friends. Cara realized how different this was from the wars he had read in his books. No matter how terrible, the battle in books were dulled, translated and made not to burn writer or reader. Cara would gladly have taken 1000 of those stories, rather than a single breath more of the torturous chaos in front of him.

Despite their training, the earth soldiers were faltering. The demi-liches blocked their energy sources and refused to remain cut down. The rodva would simply come together again, more deformed and with more rage.

The earth soldiers would not stop, no matter how bleak it looked. They would all fall. They would lose the battle, but they would not let a single monster attack their charges. They would ensure that the boys remained safe and without a scratch. Thea instructed Maeve to take the boys, to be their guide. The others would stay and play at distraction.

How Maeve wanted to protest, but Thea’s eyes were hard. An order was given and she would be a fool to fight it. There was no energy to be spent on buts and perhaps. Maeve simply nodded.

The boys weren’t soldiers—they hadn’t pledged their blood and breath to this way of life. They would do great things. Maeve would see to that.

 

Poisoned Wells, Imaginiers Save Us From (Serialization 024)

*It pains me to say, that in the next installment, horrors will happen. Can’t we delay it? Does it have to happen? Ean has sent the demi-liches. Saravia has sent her own warriors to combat them, but will it be of any use? Blood will be spilled. However, before we get to that installment, let’s see what the earth soldiers have taught our two heroes. It is better to have a passage of joy before…the inevitable. *

They had 4 weeks of peaceful travel. Cara was content to be protected and Peter was content to learn how to be a soldier. They were so content that they nearly forgot Peter’s original intent and journey.

And the warriors? The earth soldiers doted on the boys, especially Thea and Skala—in their own ways. Thea told them long yarns after dinner or read from the books the women carried—Cara had been surprised to find out that each woman had a favorite volume they kept strapped to their chests. Though the covers were worn and gouged, the pages were all intact. They were as sacred as the weapons they carried.

Thea read each night from one of the books, not mattering if it was a beginning or an ending, a poem or a simple observation—she read like someone who had studied the arts of the stage. And when there was a song, she sang as if she were in a royal palace. As if her audience were Sharus and matriarchs and kings.

On the other hand, Skala treated the boys like a mother wolf does towards her rambunctious and unruly cubs. She spent her time scolding Cara for not eating enough and pulling Peter by the collar as a way to keep him from whatever danger he’d found to play with.

Each woman had something to teach the boys that would keep the curious gleam in their eyes and their hands busy. Eivyn Arjun taught Peter how to land from a high jump without breaking his ankles. Eivyn Maeve showed Caragris the magic of dyes. Eivyn Inye taught the boys to play the flutes that Eivyn Karfa had made them. Eivyn Meroc taught them how to move with stealth in the forest and how to hunt with honor. Both boys sang with softness and full of respect for the hunt. Eivyn Roeze taught the boys how to prepare the meals—Peter showed an intuitive skill at making stews and on their hunts, he searched for roots and mushrooms ever puzzling on new tastes. When Peter learned sword fighting with Eivyn Karfa, Thea taught Cara how to sew as well as how to pretend how to sew when really they were spying (because an interesting word can always be ransomed for coin, no?). And while Eivyn Karfa taught Cara how to use everyday objects as dangerous projectiles, Thea taught Peter how to address a princess, how to fold a napkin, how to be a gentleman at a palace.

They spent their days laughing, travelling idly, bellies full. But sadly, this will end, no?

 

Poisoned Wells, Imaginiers Save Us From (Serialization 023)

*In this installment we continue to see what happens due to Ean’s decision. As you remember, Ean subconsciously enchanted Peter to journey to the Ancient Library so as to gain access. However, Peter has been delayed with the help of the Sharu of Death and her kin. Ean has decided to put an end to this constant interference by sending the demi-liches. And so our story continues…*

Eyes suddenly shot open to look upon night stars that casted down diamond light so as to admire their own glow in the water’s reflection. They were lovely. How long had it been since he looked up to see such beauty? How long had he spent hunched over texts and scrolls?

He was aware of not just his eyes, but his body as well. He was on a boat—he could feel the sides sway with the water in a soft dance.

Then a voice.

“Do you know…most pregnant women are not keen on nighttime boating trips, even if they are with handsome kings.” Then a face hovered over him and a forest of black curls fell onto his face. “Wouldja help paddle? It will help this go much faster,” she said with a smile.

Then he felt hands on his shoulders and around his wrists, pulling him to a seated position. Then another voice, a familiar one, “Look over the side of the boat, Fardus.”

Complying, Fardus bent over the side and what he saw was astonishing: looking back at him from the star-reflected water was a smooth face and a long black beard and not only was his hair gathered neatly in a king’s knot but his head was adorned with a gold wreath crown. His shaking hands shot up to touch his eyes and his nose and though his fingers no longer held the magician’s rings he had spilled blood for…his hands were strong. He couldn’t fight back the cry that crept out of his mouth. He had teeth and his voice…it was his…the one he had used to sing his children to sleep.

“What punishment is this? What sorcery have we learned, my brothers?” Fardus muttered.

“Not sorcery. It is Death. Lady Death,” his companion whispered. Fardus gave his friend a shaky smile as he watched the young king clutch his ruby encrusted crown to his chest. This felt like a dream and the three of them wanted to desperately cling to all they had let go astray.

“You can call me, Saravia.” She turned to look back at them and Fardus swore there were stars clustering in her eyes. “I know you are in shock, but the boat, in order to keep moving, needs us to paddle.”

The men took the oars and soon found a rhythm. How good it felt to use their arms, their muscles. To breath in fresh air and not smell the rot of their skin and bones.

Fardus cleared his throat.  “Where are we headed?”

“Only the universe knows. It’s very different for every soul. There are those that must bathe in the river of forgetting. Some must spend a lifetime in the waiting room as they compile and write their story. Others are greeted by their beloved. Some remain ghosts. Some become something akin to a god.” Saravia shrugged. “I am only privy to the journey, but what happens after? Do they stay gods? Do they become trees? Do they get a new life? That is a lovely secret that I do not even know.”

“So this is to be my last morsel of knowledge,” Fardus whispered.

“Or the gate to endless knowing,” she countered and wiped the tears from his face and smoothed back the strands that had come undone from his knot.

They remained silent for a few minutes. Saravia tilted her head towards the night sky and the stars whispered to her…and Fardus laughed because he understood what they were saying. Such silly muttering and yet they were full of a visceral laughter that made him mourn for the days he had lost in his brooding. It’s what made him nod to his companions before addressing Death once again.

“Even for a few breaths, we’ve been given back our humanity. Why this honor?”

She shook her head. “You always had your humanity. You just forgot what that all entails. It’s my job to remind you of the things you closed your eyes to. To bestow compassion. I am the kind side of the coin the universe carries.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s is my honor to serve you, my lords.”

Fardus shook his head. “We have been bad men, for what? To succeed in the title of tyrants? We deserve no kindness. No gentle touch from the likes of you, Sharu Death.”

“Everyone deserves this—it is only the truly despicable ones that dismiss me.” She shrugged. “Is there more you want to discuss? Because I have a list of baby names I’d like to get opinions on”

The men conferred as Saravia pulled a tattered page from her black robes. She found that flowing and hooded robes were excellent during pregnancy as they promoted comfort and, as a bonus, gave her an air of authority that stopped people from touching her stomach. She’d wished she’d learned this trick when she had carried Sleeping Echo.

“Lady Death?”

“It’s Saravia. And yes?”

“We’d gladly advise you on names, but…we think we can be useful in another way.” Fardus paused. He waited for the chains of disloyalty to yank at him and to coil around him with the intent to choke out his insolence and traitorous intent. But nothing happened. Death broke all mortal bonds, no? Breathing out his uncertainty, Fardus made sure his voice was clear and strong as he said, “Please allow us in your service. If we—“

Saravia shook her head. “I cannot extend your lives. You already—”

“No. We simply ask to be vehicles of your wrath.”

Saravia frowned. “No…I mean that’s very sweet of you but I don’t usually need to be wrathful and when I do, I don’t need help. I’m pretty good at it. But thank you.”

“Perhaps I’m not going about this correctly.” He licked his lips—it had been a lifetime since he spoke diplomatically. “The Lord Magician has sent our brethren to kill his servant’s escorts…” He added before Saravia could protest. “And a young boy. Caragris.”

Suddenly the waters they had bobbed pleasantly on began to darken and it seemed as if the water was tied to the dark robes Death wore. It was as if ink spilled from her body, onto her clothes and fell from the sides of the boat. Surely this was what it felt like to be inside a painful bruise.

Death’s eyes hardened. There were flares of lightning around her hair. “You’ve got to be kidding me? He cannot be that blind. That stupid.” She covered her eyes suddenly and wearily said, “I can’t interfere. I can’t…there isn’t enough time to manipulate…there is no way for me to warn them from here. They’ll be attacked.”

Fardus, with a bravery he did not have, took Death’s hands in his. There were icy and he rubbed warmth into them. “My lady, we do not ask you to extend our lives. We died because we refused him. We held on to whatever honor we had left. And he punished us for that. And we accepted that. We accept death. But it feels only right to finish our deed of honor and let you know his plans…and perhaps stop a piece of his madness.”

She tightened her grip around Fardus’ hands and her eyes looked at his companions. “If I send you back cloaked in my wrath…it would be to stop your fellow sorcerers. Could you do that to men you’ve called brothers? My wrath is not gentle.”

“Gentle or not, we are the only ones that could ever bring them a compassionate end. Better us than the King Magician.”

“And you understand that once you are done with my bidding—”

“We would not delay our reunion with the universe. It is as you say, the beginning of all knowledge. We were fools to ever run.” He kissed her hands.

“All right.” She nodded. “I’m sorry. This will be excruciating.” She smiled gave a weary smile. “Do well and be brief.”

And then she grabbed each of their throats with her claws before branding them, with fire, her symbol.