‘I’d been told the Morning’s Fury study to sense the aura of others. You’ll be pleased to know that your own is sickeningly good, though, is that…? Never mind,’ the half-devil cooed to her.
He couldn’t see her frown. His smug tones were not half as endearing as he likely thought them.
‘You’re right, I’m not a hellblooded; it’s a common misconception, actually. Hellblooded are the descendants of half-devils like myself, or the children of warlocks who’ve promised their children to the hells. They belong in this world. At the end of the day, they’re just normal people with a few odd quirks, whatever the goodly priests might try to put upon them.’ The devil had the same infuriating tone of a teacher condescendingly praising a student for being at least half right.
‘If you don’t belong in this world, then why, Laes, do we run into each other most every time I go out alone?’
‘Would you believe true love draws us to each other? Our fates and souls aligned?’
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she said, laughing under her breath.
‘Fine, fine, I made this kingdom my haunting ground a while back. There are more warlocks than you’d think, though, have no fear. I don’t support worshipping me anywhere but the bedroom. They’re not the cult sort. As for right now, these child-stealers broached upon a line they shouldn’t. They took children from a warlock bound by contract to me. The children aren’t bound for me, but the contract requires that I protect my warlock’s family. They drove a hard bargain,’ he said with a soft chuckle, as if remembering the warlock fondly.
‘You sound like you like them. What, a pretty widow? Going to pay her a visit for some worship when we’re done here?’ Amberly teased.
‘No, no, I was hoping I’d get to take you to dinner,’ the devil replied without skipping a beat.
Despite herself, that got Amberly blushing bright as a cherry and she was more furious at herself for letting it get to her than the devil for trying it. After all, what else should she expect from him? She’d just have to fight fire with fire. She just hoped devils still felt the heat.
‘Oh, is that so?’ she cooed to him, stroking down his cheek with the back of her hand. She felt him jump at the touch and almost laughed. ‘Well, I’m sorry to say, but as handsome as you are Laes, I don’t think you’re the kind of guy I could see walking down the aisle with. You’d probably catch fire. I’ll think about it, though. Depends how much you impress me today. I don’t date weaklings.’
The devil chuckled. ‘Are you sure you’re a Morning’s Fury? You’re a bit too fun for that bunch.’
Together, they descended into the dark. She could hear the sibilant voices of the cultists in the distance and, beside them, the cries of children and the awful, grating growls of demons. Their howls and screams sent a shudder through her, a cold wind from years past: a red tide of demons, screaming horses, broken carriages, broken bodies, her mother asking her again and again to just look at her. Look at her!
‘Look at me, Amberly! Amberly!’
She felt Laes shake her shoulder. She could just make out his silhouette as a darker patch in the lightless hall.
‘You’re okay, Amberly, I’m right here. Those demons can’t reach you anymore and we’re more than enough to take the ones ahead.’
‘I’m… I’m fine. Thanks, Laes…’
The half-devil didn’t move for a few moments, then she felt him let go of her.
‘Alright, just stick close, okay? I don’t want to have to come back and find you in the dark.’
Another exultant roar filled the halls. Amberly felt rage rising in her breast, and this time, she didn’t fight to quell it. She’d wet her blade with demon blood this day.
Syline was alone.
The walk to the island she planned to make her home for the night, was a long, cold and lonely one. Along the way, the sun dipped into the horizon and, by the time she reached her destination, it was just barely giving off the last few rays before nightfall. Trudging up the shore of the empty island, Syline could at least take solace in the fact that no one lived here. Often – especially by worshippers of the Wanderer such as herself – islands with no bridges leading to them were considered bad omens, places the god of travels did not intend for mortals to visit. Many went unsettled for just that reason. Though, with a kingdom as mighty and as reliant on its lumber trade as this, quite a few of the bridgeless islands here had been settled all the same.
This one, however, was too small and too lacking in viable resources to be considered worthy of the notice of the great beast that was the kingdom’s economy. Perhaps they just hadn’t expanded out here yet? It was large enough to support a lumber mill at least. She suspected it was one of the many islands dark rumours were spread of, where the dead were said to walk and devils broke into the world. Druids might like it here, she thought. The trees were old and tall, and the little rustles in the underbrush told her there was indeed life hidden in the island. Rabbits, foxes, and perhaps a few bigger creatures, it was a private kingdom all their own until she’d paid a visit. She suspected they’d each found their way here from other islands during previous winters and had gotten trapped when the seas and rivers melted once more, leaving the population of the island to grow, alone.
Syline’s legs burned. Her side and wrist ached as she completed the final leg of her journey. She’d checked them halfway through her trip across the frozen waters and found both mottling purple and red from the guard’s assault.
She trudged through the island’s brush to reach a pond. At least around it, the trees were thick enough to give some nice cover from the wind and snow. Syline left her satchel leaning against one of the trees as she set to gathering sticks and bark. Her stomach growled, but she had no idea where she’d find herself food, so she focused on the problems she knew she could solve. The first of those was the cold. A wizard never lacked a fire starter; she just needed some firewood.
After she’d gathered enough that her arms began to go weak beneath the weight of it, Syline returned to her satchel and set to building her fire. Her father had shown her how to do this once and though the memories were vague, they were still there. Soon enough, she was satisfied and murmured a sigil, a type of minor spell named after the mage nation Sigillite, so simple that one could learn them off by heart without the need to constantly refresh themselves on it. It was one of sparking, one of the most important ones a wizard can know, just for how often they’d find a use for it.
The sparks caught on her kindling and soon enough her little fire was burning nicely. She kept a small pile of spare kindling and wood beside her, should she need to help it burn brighter as the night wore on. For now, Syline was quite pleased with herself. Three trees were very close to each other where she sat, so the wind would have a hard time catching her fire to any significant degree and the heat from it wouldn’t disperse too far. Now that she was at least warm, Syline packed some snow in her mouth, letting it dissolve. At least she wouldn’t go thirsty this time of year. She packed some snow under her robes against her bruised side and wrist to help with the swelling on the bruises. At least, as cold as she was, she didn’t feel their aches as much as she might have.
While her mouth froze from the cold of the snow and the rest of her body gradually warmed up, Syline sat down to take out her stolen spell-book. For all the trouble it was giving her, she hadn’t actually gotten much of a look at it yet. Crossing her legs, Syline placed the huge tome in her lap and started reading. For now, she didn’t bother with the spells she thought would be beyond her level to cast. No point thinking too hard on that which she couldn’t even touch. The spell-book really did seem to be that of a true master, the sheer number of even simple spells they had in here was staggering. She had heard Jane was an adept mage, but this was the tome of a legend. Spells she expected to be able to cast but of a variety she’d never even heard of; spells to seal doors completely, spells that spewed cones of flame, spells that would change her appearance to any person she could think of.
Despite her growing excitement, Syline made a point to avoid anything that looked like necromancy. She wanted no part of that. She had heard tales of the destruction a necromancer could bring and how the stronger spells of the school left a taint upon your soul.
For now, Syline decided to give herself something constructive to do; she started picking out the spells she believed could be cast and would be useful to her, ones that she could see herself using regularly. Getting out her inkwell and quill, Syline began to scribe those spells down in her own spell-book. This tome was a masterful source of knowledge. In fact, it practically felt like a free pass to her. A ticket to greatness. If she held onto this book, she would always have the next layer of spells to graduate herself to. Greater and greater spells until she was casting ones on par with an archmage.
However, the tome was also gigantic, and she found the handwriting rather difficult to decipher. Although beautiful, to be sure, it was also overtly flowing, to the point where telling which letter was which became at times a chore. She’d never be able to find a spell quickly in the tome, and she was convinced her perfect casting of that lightning teleport spell was a fluke. Having relevant spells in her own spell-book would make her life a lot easier.
Syline was beginning to almost enjoy this task when she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked that way and spotted a rather large rabbit, hopping between the trees. Syline’s stomach growled. The rabbit looked up. Syline forced herself to stay perfectly still until the rabbit went back to rustling about in the snow, looking for its dinner.
Once it did, she slowly and carefully turned the pages of her own spell-book to her spell of arcane missiles. Once a target was chosen in the incantation, the spell would guide itself to them, making it difficult for the missiles to miss. She hated to kill such a cute little rabbit, but she was so damned hungry. She simply had to eat. She began the incantation. The rabbit looked up and darted into the underbrush. It was too late; she was already through the targeting verse. Two of the little balls of bluish light peeled off from her wand and into the underbrush. The only sound was a little meaty thud.
Hoping the rabbit didn’t suffer, Syline placed her spell-book back in her satchel and got up to fetch the rabbit. Pushing her way through the underbrush, she found it lying limp just a metre or so from where she’d seen it push into the brush to escape her. It looked as if the missiles had broken its neck. At least it died quickly. She picked up the rabbit’s body, holding it by its ears, as she’d seen chefs in her home do when they were making roast rabbit for her family. She carried it back to the fire, laid it down in front of her, and realised a new problem.
She had no idea how to prepare a rabbit.
She bit her lip, staring into the glassy, unseeing eyes of the rabbit. Her mind went soaring back to the guard. How she’d killed him, how his eyes had been so afraid, so very terrified right before they had gone dark. She could only pray that its death had been quicker, less painful than his. She couldn’t have killed it for no reason. She wasn’t going to kill an innocent little thing like this and then not do something with it. She’d have to figure this out. Without a knife – or any real implements – at hand, she went for the one tool she did have: her huge tome of spells. Surely, there’d be something in there that would help with this. She started going through it, page by page, searching for any spell that she thought might help. Illusion, no. Fire spells might help cooking it, but she couldn’t eat it with the fur on. She didn’t know how summoning spells could help here; she couldn’t summon a chef.
That would have been too easy.
She scanned the pages one by one, just flipping through them until she found an insidious little spell, one she could only imagine the nefarious uses necromancers put to. The spell was for sculpting and shaping the form of a corpse. She doubted any necromancer had thought to use it like she planned to right now. Syline studied the spell over and over. This was necessary. It might be necromancy but it’s not like she was using it for anything evil. She was just using it to prepare her dinner. Hell, looking it over, there were a few other spells labelled necromancy that didn’t fit with what she’d expected. There was one that was just for sleeping comfortably in a suit of armour. Maybe…
She shook her head but steeled her heart. Right now, she was entirely on her own and could only rely on herself. She’d have to get used to doing what was necessary to survive. Syline let the unfamiliar incantation leave her lips, and felt the magic pervade her form. She looked down at the rabbit.
