#gjerk

“Can I ask you a question?” she asked the spice master as he poured a measure of leaves and salt into a mortar and pestle.

“Ya can ask as many as ya want,” He replied, not looking up from his task. He took the stone pestle in one hand and began to crush the ingredients together. “But I won’t be promisin’ t’answer any of ‘em.”

“What would have happened to me if you didn’t keep me?”

Farris’s hand paused and he glanced at her from the corner of his eye before resuming his work.

“Keral would’a taken ya to the Hill tribes. A few miles from here. S’where most a’ the human refugees that come our way go. Not many want anything t’do with us Vhasshalans, but they’ll take our charity if it means a safe place to live and full bellies.”

She pulled at the hem of her sleeve, trying to find the right way to phrase her next question. “So, why...why did you keep me?”

“Hm. I didn’t have it m’mind to when Yale first brought ya t’me,” he said. “Just another lost and hungry lil’ human like so many before ya. Then ya got the reap...”

He stopped and put his hands on the table, staring into the mortar’s bowl until he finally looked at her fully, his expression enigmatic.

“Yer not my first ward, Dumplin’,” he told her. “There was another.”

“I’m not?” she asked.

“Kent was m’first,” Farris explained. “The war had been over fer about a year or so. Things were startin’ to find some sort of calm again. The King had outlaws eatin’ humans, but as ya probably figured...not everyone wanted t’give it up. ‘Specially since food was still scarce in many places. Word got around that some bastards had a stash of captive Silvaaran soldiers they were auctioning off as meat in some shit hole near Dornbey market. Keral took some of his boys and busted the group. One of the soldiers they rescued was Kent. Sorry bastard was all beat t’bits.  Been smashed in the face at some point and infection had taken his sight. Yaesha treated him here best he knew how, but there wasn’t nothin’ he could do to give his eyes back. He couldn’t walk very well, either. Some old inury to ‘is leg left ‘im almost lame.”

Farris paused, mulling his words over.

“I got to thinkin’… Maevis’s been lookin’ after Barnaby and the King had taken Jae in by then. Thought I might do some good and give the poor sod a safe place till then end found ‘im, whenever that was. He’d be right useless to the Hill tribes in that state. Couldn’t work fer shit and had no other real skill doin’ much else. He’d be a burden to ‘em and I took pity on th’ poor bastard.”

For a moment, she could see the hurt in his face. Farris has never expressed anything close to pain, but Nenani had no trouble recognizing it in his eyes.

“He was a good man,” Farris said, voice on the verge of breaking. “Better than most folks I’ve ever known. Forgivin’ to a fault. Didn’t blame a soul for what had happened to him or to his family or to his country. Pissed me off t’be honest, but I think he was so grateful to be alive...well. He was m’ good friend for many years.” He paused. “But he got sick. The red reap. He didn’t suffer long. It was quick.”

Nenani chewed on her lip. “I’m sorry...”

The forlorn look in Farris’s eyes as he spoke of Kent faded and looked at her with a faintly amused smile.

“Then a few years on, Yale brings me this thieving little urchin, scrawny and pathetic, and tells me half of my persimmon order’s been pilfered,” he said, walking around the table and stepping closer to her shelf. He took the end of her braided hair between two fingers and ever so gently tugged on it. Nenani broke into smile, pushing at his fingers to try and reclaim her braid. He poked her in the belly playfully and his smile widening as she giggled. “So I put the fear into ya like we do with all them humans who try to come and steal from us...and then went ya got the red reap yerself.”

The sadness returned, “I thought ya might go just as quick as Kent did.”

He brushed a finger lightly across her cheek, affectionately. His eyes seemed to burn bright as she watched his face and he looked oddly proud. “But ya fought it and lived. Don’t know if ya realize just how much of a miracle that is, lass. So, when it was obvious ya were gonna pull through, I decided I wanted to keep ya. That I would watch over ya and give ya place t’call home.”

She felt her throat tighten and she held onto his finger when he would have pulled away. Bending down, she pressed her forehead into the warmth of his hand in the best approximation of a hug that she could manage.

“T-thank you...for deciding to keep me.”

Farris smiled and huffed a small laugh, turning away from her to back to his work. “Yer welcome, Dumplin’.”

……………………...

It had been a nice and quiet morning. Most of the staff were inside going about their work while Bart and Gjerk were chopping firewood. Or a more accurate description would be that Bart was chopping wood and Gjerk was doing his best. The younger worker was a few heads shorter than Bart and did not have near the muscles or sheer mass as him nor the years. He and Herit were the smallest and youngest of the staff and struggled the most with their work. Gjerk was taller than Herit by a bit, but was as lanky and thick as an oak tree yearling. While Bart swung his tool with grace and precision, Gjerk’s motions with his own were more jerky and seemed to have more hope and wishes behind it than muscle or practiced skill. Despite the chill, both of them wore no coats, but instead had added long sleeved shirts they wore beneath their usual tunics. Their idea of cold was far different than a human’s.

Nenani was only vaguely aware of the two giants as she occupied herself with making a snowman. It had not snowed very much so it was a small snowman, but she had managed to make it about two feet tall. Rummaging around the edges of the courtyard looking for rocks for the eyes and mouth, she had found two twigs and used them for arms.

She was making her way back to her small creation with a small collection of stones when she heard Bart yell.

“Dammit boy! Yer gonna lose a fuckin’ foot at this rate!” Bart snarled as he reached out and took the ax from the younger giant’s grip, looking at it with a frown. “Well, no fuckin’ wonder ya can’t split a damn log fer shit. What’er ya doin’ with an ax? Where’s yer splittin’ maul, boy?”

“Uh...a maul?” asked Gjerk, looking flustered. His face was flush from the cold, making his freckles stand out all the more.

Bart glowered and rolled his eyes. “‘What’s a maul’, he says. What’s a maul. This!” Bart held up his ax – er, maul. “This is a maul. It’s made fer splitting wood.”

He held both tools together in front of Gjerk. “See the difference now?”

Each looked very similar from the side, but one was much thicker, not blade-like at all, and the other was a thin and curved blade.  

“Y-yes, I see now,” Gjerk replied.

“Good. Now go get yerself a fuckin’ maul and put this back,” Bart replied gruffly. “And hurry back!”

Nenani finished putting the smile on her snowman and stood back to admire her work. A thick sprinkling of snow abruptly fell onto her head, startling her. She yelped in surprise, more from the shock of the cold snow hitting her bare skin and looked up as Saen walked passed her with a heavy sack of flour over one shoulder. He was grinning down at her and stuck out his tongue in response to her baffled expression.

He was almost to the stone archway when something small and very cold hit the back of his neck and slipped down into his shirt. He squawked indignantly and floundered as the small, but very cold, piece of ice trailed down his back. The giant whirled around to stare at Nenani as she dusted her hands clean of snow, looking smug.

“Oh yeah,” Saen replied with a crooked smirk. “Forgot about that arm of yer’s.”

She grinned as she leaned down to scoop up a large handful of snow.

“Okay, okay!” Saen replied, scuttling into the safety of the dark entryway. “I’m goin’!”

Nenani laughed quietly to herself and let the snowball drop back to the ground before retrieving a few of the rocks beside her feet. When she pulled herself back up, Bart glanced her way with one eyebrow raised in question.

“Ya an icicle yet, Dumplin’?” he asked, a vague smile playing on his lips.

Nenani brushed the snow from her coat and adjusted the knitted scarf wrapped around her neck and shoulders. “Only a little,” she admitted.

“Well go inside and thaw,” he said, tossing his head towards the stone archway, and then returning his focus back to the wood pile and the logs waiting to be split. “Tell Herit to come get these logs. Quinn’ll be gettin’ pissy if his ovens start coolin’.”

“Okay.”

The sound of stomping boots, a great many of them, echoed through the courtyard and both Nenani and Bart looked up. Along the top walls of the courtyard was a walkway and several guards were rushing down them and taking up positions there. A good many of them were armed with halberds and pikes. They were all looking upwards into the gray sky. Nenani followed their line of sight and she starred at an odd black spec that was swirling about in an odd pattern high in the air above the castle.

“What the blazes is goin’ on?” Bart hollered up at the guard closest to him.

The guard, dressed in his boiled red leather armor and black metal helmet, leaned down over the rail and yelled back a single word. “Wyvern.”

Nenani had never seen Bart express anything close to fear in the short time she had known the giant. His head swiveled around to Nenani, an alarming intensity to his eyes. “Inside. Now.”

“What’s a wyvern?” She asked, but jumped in alarm when Bart yelled over her.

“INSIDE. NOW!” She dropped the few rocks that she had in her hands and ran for the stone archway just as Farris, Yale, and Saen were coming up to peek out, having heard the chorus of guards.

“What is it?” Farris asked, his posture stiff and his eyes narrowed. “Bart?”

“Wyvern,” said Bart as he circled around the courtyard with slow strides, his eyes never leaving the sky. He brandished the maul in his hand like a weapon.

“Fuck,” Saen muttered. “The hell is one a’them doin’ out at this time of year?”

Nenani reached the archway and stood next to Yale’s boot, peeking out at Bart curiously.

“What’s a wyvern?” she asked, looking up at Yale.

“Big lizard with wings,” Yale muttered, arching his neck to try and spy where the wyvern was in the sky. “Nasty buggers.”

Farris glanced down at her. “Get inside, Nenani. And not just in the doorway. Inside proper, understand?”

“O-okay,” she replied and turned to hop down the small set of stairs. Giant stairs weren’t so bad going down, it was climbing up them that got exhausting fast. Once inside, she scurried down along the wall towards Kol and Quinn’s station who had stopped their work to watch the doorway.

“Did he say wyvern?” Quinn asked her as she made her way under the table. He sounded worried.

She nodded, leaning around one of the table legs and finding herself feeling very unsettled at the fact that that single word was making so many of the giants around her nervous.

“A-are they like dragons?” she asked.

Kol barked a humorless laugh. “If we had a dragon bearing down on us, we’d be under that table with ya, Dumplin’. Nah, wyverns are a lot smaller, but they’re still dangerous. Big jaws. Big teeth. Small brains.”

“Yeah,” Quinn agreed. “They’re also supposed to be hibernatin’ this time a’ year too. And be buggaring about several dozens of leagues away from Vhasshal!”

“It’s probably sick or dying,” Avery tossed in his opinion from the other side of the kitchen. “Preferably it’ll be gettin’ on with it before long and before it comes near us.”

“Maybe it’ll croak and just drop outta the sky,” Kol suggested in a paltry attempt to bring a douse of levity to the room. “A wyvern skull would look pretty magnificent above the hearth, eh? Maybe get Keral to carve it some? Remember that Boar’s skull he did up a few years back fer the King’s birthday?”

“You ever smell a dead wyvern, Kol?” Avery asked, curling his nose. “If ya think lippers have a right stink on ‘em ya really don’t wanna be smellin’ a wyvern carcass up close.”

“And how would ya know what a wyvern carcass smells like?”

“M’Dad killed one when I was a kid,” Avery replied. “Stank up the whole fuckin’ valley. Mum whined about it fer a month.”

Nenani clutched the wooden table leg, letting their conversation drift above her. It felt odd to know that above her head were a dozen armed guards, giant armed guards, but more concerning was the creature above all of them. With it being as high as it was, it was impossible to gauge its actual size, but if the giants were worried, she took it to mean that it would be very advisable for her to be as well.

“What are you suppose to do?” Nenani asked. “When a wyvern comes, I mean.”

“Exactly what we’re doin’ now,” Quinn replied. “Grab yer biggest and meanest, give ‘em big sticks, and shove ‘em outside.”

“So...we just wait?” Nenani asked.

Quinn knelt down beside her, rubbing a knuckle against her back. “Yer safe in here, lil’un. Avery’s probably right. A wyvern out here in this cold? It’s gotta be on it’s last legs. If it does come close, the guards will have no trouble takin’ it down.”

“O-okay,” she replied.

A low groaning sound reverberated through the room, sending out a wave of vibrations that sent glass and ceramic clinking together. From outside, there came a chorus of yells. Then the air cracked with a horrendously loud roar and a blast of air shot through the doorway, blowing in snow and dirt. Avery, being in the air’s direct path, was pushed back against the hearth. He desperately grabbed the hearth’s mantle to keep from being thrown backwards into the blazing fire. Nenani was pushed back as well, falling onto her backside, and slid a few feet. Quinn managed to keep on his feet, but only just, and Kol had braced himself against the table. A bowl of proofing dough dropped from the table and shattered and several tools went flying.

“FUCKING HELLS!” Avery bellowed, scrambling away from the fire and swiping at his backside, and checking his hands for soot or signs that he was smoldering. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Any expostulations of their shock was drowned by yells from outside and the undeniable sound of something very large crashing into the walls accompanied by a guttural and feral growling far too animalistic to have come from a person. Quinn and Kol ran for the entry way and Avery was not too far behind them.

Nenani found herself all alone in the kitchen.

Belatedly, she ran after the three kitchen workers, but stopped just short of the door way, not feeling brave enough to see what lay beyond the stone walls. She could hear the scuffles and yells and the sound of something large flapping around and smashing into the ground and castle walls. She concentrated on trying to discern the individual voices, trying to pick out those of the kitchen staff. She could hear Farris, but the other voices were too muddled for her to pick them out or what any of them were saying.

It was then that she noticed the smoke.

Worried that something might have disturbed the cooking fire and was burning, she turned and saw a thin plum of smoke curing up from the top of the hearth as though the chimney were blocked. The smoke swirled in the air in an odd pattern, behaving unlike any smoke Nenani had ever seen. It began to fall as though it were struck with sudden weight, landing smoothly before the fire and swirling around and around in a tall spiral…

...and began to take the form of a person.

The sounds from outside were drowned out from Nenani’s mind as she watched in horror as a person emerged, full bodied, from the smoke. A familiar stag head skull stared at her, two red pin pricks of light illuminating the sockets and focusing in on her. At his side, clutched in his hand, was a sword.

“Beautiful chaos,” said the man, his voice like gravel crunching together. He took a step towards her and then another. He raised his free hand, gesturing to her. “The river runs uphill...”

She took a step back, never taking her eyes off the man. So many questions were rushing through her head, but she was struck with an undeniable truth: this man was dangerous. She knew it instinctively.

“Who are you?” she squeaked, pulling at her scarf.

“...to the dying songs of the fall of fools and Kings...” He ignored her question and simply took another step, chanting his nonsense. His sword, colored black as though covered with a fine sheen of soot and ash, swept up into an arch. Flecks of black broke off from it and flew about the air like dark snow.

The room smelled of smolder and ash.

“What do you want?” she asked, the fear clear in her voice. She was alone and even if she called for help, she knew there was no chance that anyone outside could hear her. Her dream was vivid in her mind and there the man was, fully realized and present as the floor beneath her feet. But it was not possible. He was impossible…

“...that tear flesh from bone and the crown from the mountain...” He held his arms wide as though his words held great meaning, but she could not make sense of anything he was saying. Mountains and rivers and blood and kings, she understood nothing of it.  

Nenani back peddled several more steps, her heart hammering in her chest. “Leave me alone!”

“Water runs red with fire,” he said, voice falling an octave and the red of his eyes seemed to brighten, “...and shall rise when the old blood runs new.”

When the old blood runs new. That phrase, for whatever reason, sent a wave of dread through her body and into her bones. She turned and ran.

“The flesh taken will be paid in blood...”

The curtain to the barracks was pulled closed so she slipped under the heavy fabric and scrambled underneath. The room was dark, the lanterns unlit, but she could make out the darkened shapes of the bunks with what little light there was. She ran for Yale’s empty bunk, but in the near all consuming darkness, she failed to see the materializing form in front of her. She slammed into it. The smoke man’s voice spoke from above her. “...and the dead walls will rise with gold.”

Nenani saw the flash of metal as it swung down. She screamed as the world behind her exploded. Wood splinters flew through the air, pieces of ceramic and glass rained down, and the large body of the wyvern convulsed as it struggled inside the kitchen that suddenly seemed much smaller. Its wings flapped awkwardly, knocking down shelves and hanging pots and pans and knives from the walls. Its great head swept side to side as though seeking something out.

Nenani sat up from the ground, not remembering how she came to be lying near the hearth, to see the great head turn down to her and she couldn’t see anything beyond its gaping mouth, filled with teeth longer than she was tall.

Before her mind could understand what was happening, she was up and running down the wyvern’s side, away from its mouth, and towards the door to the courtyard. Guards were cluttering up the entryway. One of them brandished a pike and he lunged at the wyvern with a wild yell. Nenani scurried to the wall and pressed herself against it. The metal pike made contact with the great lizard’s side, but only scrapped down the thick scales. More guards were rushing into the all too cramped space. They bore their weapons and snarled and yelled and stomped.

The noise was deafening.

Nenani was frozen to her spot, mind blank, and unable to move. She was vaguely aware of the sensation of something dripping down her forehead, but ignored it as she watched the guards fling themselves and their weapons at the wyvern.  

The wyvern seemed to decide it no longer liked being in the tight confines of the kitchen and whirled around, knocking into several guards and pushing one into the hearth fire. The unfortunate giant was quick to roll out and a fellow guard started to slap out the flames. The great lizard pushed the rest of the guards aside with a flick of its tail and hind leg. Nenani watched it writhe and struggle into the door. The beast hauled its body through, tail wiping around and throwing what remained of the long table against the wall towards Nenani. She watched the massive wall of splintered wood screech towards her and braced herself. She heard a loud clang of metal, her mouth was filled with the bitter and acrid taste of ash, and then everything went dark and quiet.

……………………….

“What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

“Come now,” her uncle told her. “What do you see?”

“The water.”

“And what is it about the water that you see?”

“The moon’s reflection.”

“Right. We see by the moon’s light. So, what do you see?”

“...I don’t see anything,” she replied disheartened. “D-does that make me a bad sailor?”

Her uncle smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. It was warm and comforting. Safe. “No, it doesn’t.” A pause. “Not being able to sail makes you a bad sailor.”

Nenani made a face and her uncle laughed.

………………………….

“Nenani? Can ya hear me?” a voice was speaking, but it sounded as though she were underwater and the voice was muffled and far off sounding. The voice continued to call to her and slowly the voice grew in volume as though she were surfacing and all at once she could hear everything fresh and crisp.

And there was chaos.

Guards were yelling, she could hear Bart hollering and then there was the roar of the wyvern and everything shook with the force of it. She abruptly came to a start and full awareness and sat up coughing. Her head swam and she reached out to brace herself and found her hand meeting the meaty flesh of a giant palm. Gjerk had her cradled in his arms and was huddled off to one side of the courtyard behind a stack of salted Lipper barrels. She could smell the pungent stink faintly in the chilly air.

“Easy,” Gjerk cautioned. “You got a nasty bump on yer noggin’. It’s not bleeding anymore, but ya need to keep still.” He laughed in relief, his eyes were watering. “Gods above, it’s a miracle ya ain’t in pieces. That ash bucket right saved ya from bein’ crushed, I’d say. Though you’ll be needed a good scrub down after this I suspect.”

Her face and hands and clothes were covered in black sooty ash and it lingered in her mouth as a disgusting mud that she spat out between bouts of coughing, trying to clear her airways and mouth of the fowl muck.

“Wha...where is...are...” her lips were not working properly and she felt ill.

“Just do me a favor a keep breathing, eh?” he requested with a flash of a smile that was clearly forced. She could see it in his eyes that he was terrified and she could even feel the slightly trembling of his arms. “I’d make for the other end of the courtyard, but there’s a giant angry lizard in the way. Best we sit here until they strike it down; or I see a better opening and just let the big fellows do their work.”

“Smoke…?” she asked, fumbling gracelessly over her words. “Smoke...man?”

Gjerk, who had turned his attention back to the ongoing skirmishing, jerked his head back down at her in confusion. “Smoke man? What-?”

His words were consumed by a chorus of yells and just as the young Vhasshalan looked up, something large and red swept in and struck the salt barrels. The world went flying and Nenani felt Gjerk’s arms and presence disappear and she went tumbling over and over until she landed on her front into the dirt and snow, gasping in pain. She struggled to bring air into her lungs and there was an alarming heat building insider her chest. Her already hampered mind was slower still and she starred blankly and uncomprehending at the brown and white and red blobs around her. Her vision cleared after a moment, but was still dominated by the enormous body of the wyvern. It was twice as tall as the tallest of the giants and five times as long, with sinewy tendons stretching along the thin membrane of its wings, colored a mottled brown and orange. Its head was large and angular with finer points of hard edged scales rimming its eyes and mouth. Two thick hind legs leg to strong ankles and clawed feet, talons as long as the blades carried by the guards. It was a nightmare with wings and teeth and a voice that broke the sky.

And the milky white irises of his eyes were looking right at her.

“Nenani!”

Someone was screaming her name. Several someones, she realized. Fear was belatedly building in her gut, but her chest...Gods, her chest was on fire. It was unlike the pain of the fever induced by the Red Reap. This was intense heat without any sense of real pain. Something deep and penetrating, calling from the marrow of her bones and flowing through her heart and lungs and ribs.  

The great head of the beast was closer now and she spotted something atop its head, a quick flash of light on metal. A sword. There was a sword embedded in the wyvern’s forehead. Not a giant’s sword, not it was far too small for that. A human sword. And at once, she could see the small mark on its guard. A tangle of vines, rimmed with thorns.  

She felt the heat building, spreading up to her shoulders, through her veins and build into her palms. The rancid breath of the monster’s opening jaws washed over her in a wave of moist heat. Sensing movement behind her just as the monster bore down on her, she saw a fluttering of maroon robes, a gloved hand slipping beneath her and pulling her away. Maevis pulled her to his chest and she did not recognize the amiable and generous man who had made her tea and wiped away her fretful tears. The man before her was none of those thing. He was hard faced, bitter and angry. He raised his hand up, an orb of brilliant blue swirling in his palm and he slammed it down as the wyvern’s muzzle came into reach, the whole of the beast’s body shivering and it gave a pained wailing howl. It was so close to them that the long teeth ripped into Maevis’s arm, tearing the clothe and his flesh alike. She heard him cry out in pain. Nenani was mere inches from the beast’s long teeth, it’s upper lip only just above her head. With heat surging into her palms, pulling her breath away from her lungs, she reached out with her hands and gripped the rough flesh of the wyver’s upper lip. Everything became a brilliant white and then she knew no more.

………………………………………….

She held onto her her father’s hands as he spun around, flinging her legs into the air and she squealed in delight before he brought her back down to earth. Breathless with mirth, they settled down back onto the driftwood log to enjoy the sound of lapping waves upon the beach. The day was bright and clear and though it was a pity that their boat was docked for the day due to a leak, it was hard to begrudge the rare opportunity for her and her father to spend some time together. Just the two of them. Her uncle would make short work of the repairs and join them later. Her mother had been stricken with a mysterious nausea again and was resting at home.  

She glanced over to her father and then down at the sheathed sword leaning against the log next to him. Her father was the only one in the village to own a sword of such magnificence. Of course others had short swords and daggers, but they were not made of such strong steel or their grips braided with such fine leather. Their guards were bare, broken, or missing. Her father’s sword bore upon its guard a tangle of thorns. She knew it well, but had never actually asked her father about it. The villagers all seem to have deep respect for her father and to an extent her uncle, though he was not an elder.  

“Papa?” she asked.

“Hm?”

“Where did you get your sword?”

Her father was silent, the lingering smile on his face died and he looked over to the sword. He pulled it across his lap, running his hard calloused hands across it. “It was given to me. By my father.”

“Grandfather?” she asked in excitement. She did not know any of her grandparents and any small bit of information was a treat. “Did he make it?”

“No. No, we are not sword-smiths,” he replied with a patient smile. “This emblem here is for the Thorn Guard.”

“Thorn Guard? Like warriors?” she asked with glee and leaped to her feet. She grabbed up a stick and swung at the air, imagining the wood was steal and her homespun clothing were armor. She wheeled around in the sand as she danced. “If we’re guards then what do we guard?”

There was a sad, longing look in his eyes. “We use to guard great halls and noble men of ancient blood. Grand libraries and treasure beyond your wildest dreamings. The hope of a people. Our people.”

Nenani paused, mid swing, and looked at her father. “What happened?”

He regarded her with the same forlorn smile. Indulgent, but pained. “The war, dearheart.”

………………………………

There was a vague sense of pain and the taste of soot in her mouth. Warm flesh beneath her pulsed with the giant’s rapid heart beat and his voice spoke above her, weaving words and phrases into the air. The words mad no sense, but with each phrase, a pressure was building more and more in her skull and she cried out in pain. Gold light burst out from behind her eyes as sound and understanding surrounded her.

“Please, Maevis,” begged a voice, small and breathless with worry. Another was speaking, Maevis, but his words were alien to her ears. “It’s too much. She is too weak.”

The light danced around her eyes in a golden ring, pulsing with each incantation of the incomprehensible words. Maevis broke from his chanting to say, “No. No, I must do this. It must be done. For her sake as much as our own.”

“She’s but a child.”

“All the more reason for it,” he replied. “I should have done something sooner, Barnaby. Gods forgive me, I saw it before, but never would I have believed...”

“I know, my friend, I know.”

“I am so sorry,” came the magician’s voice, pained and choked with tears. “My dear girl. I am so...so sorry.”

He spoke another verse of his strange mantra and her skull ripped open and she saw stars. The warmth of the library was gone and she was standing on the ocean, the night air bit at her face and limbs.

The smell of salt and soot stung her nose. Far off, the sound of metal ringing as it struck against metal pulled her gaze. Two men were fighting aboard her Uncle’s boat as it bobbed in the light swell, their swords red as they caught the fire’s light. Other boats were ablaze and the wind carried off the cries of dying men.

“You cannot save her from this,” the smoke man was saying, swiping at his opponent. “I will not be denied a third time.”

“You will be denied,” her uncle cried, catching the smoke man’s arm and pulling him to the floor. As the smoke man tried to regain his footing, her Uncle brought his sword down and plunged it into the man’s chest. “This time and every other. You have haunted my family all these years, took everything we ever had, and yet still you are here, demanding more!”

“I will have what is mine,” spat the smoke man, his stag skull mask a bright white against the absolute black of his body. “I will see the dead walls rise...”

“You bathe in the blood of thousands,” panted her uncle. “And crown yourself emperor of a mountain of bones. But you are not my King. No King at all...and she will never be yours, no matter how you twist and pull these threads. In this life or the next! She chose Hayron.”

He spat at the downed man.

“I call you demon,” her Uncle said, with palpable vehemence. He pulled out a dagger from his belt. “And for the blood of my father, my king and my people, my dear brother and his wife. I avenge them. For my niece of whom you’ve robbed most of all: I will have this madness end!”

As her Uncle raised his hand to throw the dagger, to end the demon’s life, the black smoke swirling around them gathered around the black mass of the man’s body. His arm reached up and the smoke flew from his fingertips. Vapor became corporeal and the thin finger thick blades struck her Uncle in the chest. Stunned, he released his grip on the hilt of his sword and the dagger fell from his other hand to clatter noisily onto the floor. He staggered back, blood pouring from the corners of his mouth.

Her uncle gave a pitiful, wet cough and fell back.

“I will have what I was been promised,” said the demon as he stood, pulling the sword from his chest with alarming ease. He flung it over the side of the boat and it sunk beneath the dark water. Crimson oozed from the wound and he allowed it to flow freely over his fingers. “For it has been foretold...”

.............................................