Chapter 11

  Fia woke at dawn. But it was not the grey light that roused her from sleep. Across from her, in the shadows of the dying flames, crouched a man. He was digging through her pack, muttering curses under his breath. She was not alone.

  “Nothing but sticks and leaves…”

  “G-get away!” She yelped, scrambling back, hand flashing for her staff.

  “Looking for something?” He whispered, voice thin and reedy, like a rusted hinge caught in a draft. He turned, sitting back on his haunches to face her, sliding the amber rod onto his knees.

  In the dark, he seemed like less of a man than she had first imagined. He was gaunt, almost feral looking. The bones of his face jutted out unsettlingly from beneath patchy tufts of coarse hair. His entire body shuddered while he sat, twitching in an erratic jitter. Set deep in his skull gleamed cunning eyes that darted this way and that, endlessly searching. Human eyes.

  “I… I know you.”

  “Yes…yes,” the man chittered to himself, laughing breathlessly. “I did warn you not to go off on your own. You really should have listened to me.”

  “Are you looking for something?” she asked, voice trembling.

  “Oh, just things for my shop…” He resumed rooting through her bags. “I’m headed to the Capital. So much happening there… these days.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have much.” She needed to keep him talking.

  “Nothing at all…nothing for me.”

  “Perhaps I could help you,” she offered. “You don’t look well.”

  “There's no food in the mountains,” he continued to himself. “Nothing but sticks and leaves… and the gates are shut… No way in, no way out.”

  “I could show you the way.”

  He paused, tilting his head quizzically. “Past the gates?”

  “Yes! Well under them, really.”

  He perked up, eyes glittering eagerly. “Under?”

  “Secret tunnels, paths into Orent.”

  “Where?”

  “I’ll take you there. I can lead you through the tunnels. You… you’d be lost on your own.”

  He rocked back and forth, scratching at his face.

  “I’m sure people would love to visit your shop there.”

  He seemed to like the sound of this, bobbing up and down as he chortled. “Step up… Step up…”

  “I’ll just pack my things, and we can be off. But I’ll need my staff back. I can’t walk without it.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “You think you can trick me,” he hissed. “I know you. I know what you are.” He rose, joints cracking, limbs growing. “You have nothing to offer me, nothing more than the meal you could provide.”

  Twisting around the fire, back curved, coiled, ready to strike. His tongue flicked in and out, running over thin, needled fangs, gnawing hungrily.

  Fia plunged into her robes, grasping for the small dagger at her waist—

  “That’s enough!” A voice boomed.

  The creature froze, eyes wide, staring past Fia towards the elm tree.

  From behind her, stepping into the firelight, was a massive hooded figure.

  “I only take what has been promised to me.”

  “I see no corpses here.”

  “She is as good as one.”

  “That is not for you to decide.”

  There was no response, but the beast shrunk back, disappearing into the smoke.

  “Sir—”

  —GRRAARH—

  A guttural snarl tore through the air as the beast launched itself out of the darkness, flying towards the man!

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  As it leapt, the man turned. In his hands, he gripped a javelin that he hurled at the charging wretch!

  It howled, shrieking in agony, and fell, convulsing into the burning coals, twitching in the flames. Then it shuddered and grew still.

  “Is it dead?” Whispered Fia.

  The man turned; he wore a weathered tunic, wrapped in an olive cloak. His hair was black and shaggy, his beard unkempt, but he had gentle eyes.

  “No, no, I think not. He is not mine to kill. Just as you were not his to devour.”

  She studied the burning mass. “It doesn’t seem like anything’s still living in there. Are you quite sure?”

  “Just give him a moment,” the stranger chuckled.

  They watched the fire, and soon enough, the body began to tremble, shaking and twisting in the ashes.

  Skrrrrtch. An unnerving sound broke the silence. Like the tearing of thread, it grated at Fia’s ears. And then the corpse split open. A shadow darted out from within it, a blur of brown and grey fleeing into the hills.

  “There he goes.” The stranger stepped over to the fire, reaching down and patting at the flames. “See?” He lifted a thick, leathery hide, peeling it back to reveal an empty husk.

  She recoiled, horrified. “What…what was that? He seemed like a man when we first met.”

  “Yes, he tends to do that,” the man replied, nodding thoughtfully, “but he can’t keep it up for long, as you’ve seen.”

  “Sir?”

  “Call me, Leif. And you are?

  “Fia, sir.”

  “Well met, Fia. You look like just the kind of person I’ve been seeking. You are a mage, yes?”

  She nodded, pointing at his feet, “Could you hand me my staff?”

  “Ah, yes…I mean no, sorry.” He scooped up her staff, fixing it to the straps on his back.

  She stepped back, “But you saved me…”

  “No, Fia, I captured you.”

  It was well past dawn now, and the clouds were painted with streaks of red, the sun just barely peaking over the horizon.

  “There! That should do it.” Leif stood, pulling the last knot tight.

  “Are you sure it's enough?” Fia’s head poked through a tangled mess of rope. “You may have missed a spot by my ankles.”

  “Now, now, Fia, don’t be angry. I promise you; you won’t be harmed. But I can’t have you running off on me and…” He looked down at his feet. “I’m not great at knots.”

  “You have my staff! I’m not going anywhere without it!”

  He scowled. “Well, that does make a lot of sense, but I can hardly untie you now, can I?”

  “Will you at least tell me where you’re taking me?

  “To the Aurin.”

  “The river? Why— You’re bringing me to Malachi?”

  He turned on her, face contorted, fearful. He pulled her close, gripping the rope between his thick fingers. “What did you say?” He demanded.

  “I—”

  “What are you? A spy for the King!?”

  “No! I’m no spy,” she exclaimed. “I’m not even supposed to be here. I’m heading north! Why couldn’t you just have let me go!? It's your fault for getting me caught up in all of this!”

  Leif’s eyes softened, and he let go of the rope. “You’d certainly make for a very odd spy.”

  “I’m not a spy!”

  “But that will be for Malachai to decide.”

  They carried on, Leif in front, leading Fia, who waddled awkwardly after him. He had been telling the truth; the knots were terrible. Deep underneath the layers of rope, she could already feel them coming undone. Her right hand moved freely, and she felt around, finding her dagger. There was something else, too, a disc in one of her pockets, the compass.

  Leif was a large man, and she doubted that without her staff, she could hope to overpower him. But her dagger did have other uses. A quick cut at just the right angle, and she’d wake up in bed ready to try again. But what would happen to the compass? Would it reappear with her? Or would it be lost forever? In the end, she decided to wait. There were too many unknowns.

  It was noon when they reached the rebels' encampment. Hidden between the hills and a bend in the Aurin, it was much smaller than she expected.

  “This is all?” She asked.

  “Careful,” growled Leif, “You’re starting to sound like a spy again.

  They entered the camp, curious eyes chasing them as they passed row after row of ivory tents. No one questioned their sudden appearance. Leif, it seemed, was well known amongst the rebels.

  At the center of the camp was a large pavilion. As they neared it, Fia saw a woman perched atop a stump just outside its entrance. She was pale, like alabaster stone, and her auburn hair hung loosely, spilling down her dark robes and curling back upwards just before it touched the ground. By her swinging feet lay an oaken staff, twisted and charred. Her eyes watched them coldly, but just as they entered the tent, Fia thought she saw her waving.”

  “Malachai,” called Leif. “I have brought you another mage.”

  Malachai sat amongst his generals. He was an older man, perhaps the same age as her father. The lines on his face were hard, but there was no grey in his hair yet.

  “Well done, Leif. Is she friend or foe?” He spoke slowly, his deep voice rolling over the words like distant thunder.

  “She claims to be neither.”

  “Oh?” He lifted his head away from the maps on the table before him.

  “I met her outside of Torin. One of those things you let down from the mountains had her. No matter what you say, they cannot be controlled, Malachai.”

  “Hmm, perhaps not. But I need them all the same. What was she doing there?”

  “She said she was… painting.”

  “I was painting!” She burst out, “A painting you ruined—”

  She fell silent as the rebel king turned his attention towards her.

  Leif continued, “She let slip her knowledge of your whereabouts. If she is a spy, then our movement is no secret to Anselm.”

  “Is she a spy?”

  “She is not like any that I have ever encountered.”

  “What does Freya think?”

  Leif shrugged. “She waved her through. The girl is no threat now, at the very least.”

  Something was burning, deep inside Fia’s robes. The compass! She could feel it even through the thick cloth. Treasure? Here?

  “Cut her loose and search her. We shall soon discover the truth of her allegiances.”

  Two men stepped forward, grabbing her roughly, and with short knives cut away at the rope. They found her dagger fast enough. The compass, however, was so hot that one of the guards had to wrap his hands in his cloak to retrieve it.

  Malachai waved his hands, beckoning towards them. “Bring those to me.”

  They placed the dagger and compass on the table before him.

  “Get out, all of you.” The room fell silent, generals watching anxiously. “Get out! I will speak to this one alone.”

  The generals stumbled over each other in their haste to escape his gaze.

  Leif stepped to her side, “Malachai, I—"

  “You too, Leif.”

  The giant man bowed his head and fell silent. He looked at her fearfully, then turned, lumbering from the tent.

  When they had all gone, Malachai stood. Slowly crossing the room to stand before Fia.

  He leaned down, searching her face. “Tell me, girl, if you are no spy, then what are you doing carrying the mark of the enemy?”

  “The enemy? No, it's just a compass,” she whispered.

  “I know what it is, girl.” He reached underneath his tunic, lifting up a golden chain. Hanging on its end was a disc, filled with strange runes and bright constellations. “It’s mine.”

  Cycle: Timor 3-2