Chapter Eight
Petrichor
Nichole took her newly filled glass and said, “Michael, there’s a lot you don’t know. But the existence of things like that Nethotar is not one of them. You’ve known about these creatures for a long time. Everyone has. You said it yourself, Nethotars guard princes. The Drakonian live in volcanos. Mermaids weave sea-weed baskets and sing to sailors!”
"Okay, you don't really think I'm going to believe-"
And then Nichole's face darkened. “Don't interrupt. Now, people have known. Of course they have. Myths all come from somewhere. But people also chose to forget so they can sleep at night. Slowly the things everybody knew became... anxieties, then rumours, then myths. And eventually, even jokes.”
Michael shook his head. “No. No way people could be that ignorant if these things are hunting them down and killing them in their beds at night!”
Nichole sat back and gestured sharply in agreement. “Too right.”
“About what?”
“About who. These monsters don’t care about everyday people, Michael.”
The boy stared at her hard in the eye and then glanced to Aroha before a sad smile overcame him. “Trust me, Nichole, I am the epitome of an everyday person. Thank you, for doing what you did, but I can’t just leave. My friends are here! I go to school here! I’ve lived here every day of my life! I’ve walked home from school the same way since I was five. I am-”
“The only person in Dim-side ever to avoid getting murdered in his sleep by a faerie-tale,” Aroha said, looking him hard in the face. “Nichole. We got the drop on that Nethotar, but every minute longer we stay… We need to get out of here.”
Nichole nodded. “With me here it’s twice the likelihood that something else will make its way here soon. Michael, you need to decide. Are you coming?”
“Where?” he said, only then realising how tired he was.
“I can’t tell you unless you agree to come!”
“Why not?”
“Oh, cut the shit!” Aroha stormed forward from the door. “Stop lying! Stop feeding us the bullshit, Michael!”
“Me? You’re comin’ in here, trying to convince me of witches and warlocks and-”
Aroha grabbed him by the collar and dragged him of the seat out of the kitchen and into the stairwell.
Nichole sipped her wine quietly.
Aroha pulled Michael up the staircase and all but threw him into the room. She walked over the pile of ash and dust and kicked her boot through it, sending a cloud of dirt billowing in the moonlight. “Have a gander at that Creation’s essence. Yeah, see the way it’s eating its way through the floorboards? It’s being drawn to the centre of Draendica before it undergoes its magical reincarnation and gets transported to the Dark Lands. You want answers? Well, there you go. If you come with us, you’ll get a thousand more. But don’t bullshit us, kid. If you weren’t going to come, you would have told us to leave. If you were going to stay, you wouldn’t keep asking questions. If you didn’t believe us, then you’d be ignoring something which walked into your home and tried to kill you, but you won’t because you’re not an idiot.”
Aroha turned around and walked back downstairs leaving Michael alone in his room.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
He stayed there for some time. She was right, he knew, watching the dust descend through the wood of his floor, eating away at it like termites. She was right about everything.
Footsteps gently sounded and Nichole wandered in, casually inspecting his room like she didn’t expect to find him there. “How’s it feel to have your world rocked?”
Michael sat down on his dresser and shook his head and thought about that question for a long moment. “Worse than I thought it would.”
Nichole nodded, lightly picking up a book from his dresser. “I felt the same way. And look, I know it’s still a lot less than the full picture, but we’ll explain more to you on the way. Also, I was told to give you this if we couldn’t convince you... but I didn’t have the heart to do it. And, well, I figure you deserve at least this much.”
Nichole dug into her dark cloak and produced a small, tightly bound scroll. She held it in her hand for a small moment before handing it to him and quietly sitting on the edge of his bed.
Michael frowned, staring at the scroll. He pulled its small, black ribbon off and unravelled it to find a hastily scrawled message.
My Sparkles,
There are so many things I want to tell you. So many things I wish I had time to explain. But I don’t. Nicky and Aroha are good people and you can trust them with your life. They’ll explain all the things I can’t. I know everything must feel strange but actually, this is the life you were always meant to have. You get to be you now, and the world will never forget who that incredible person is. I’ll see you again, I’m sure, my little dove.
I will love you forever and always,
Your Mother
Watch the Winds.
Michael blinked and turned the letter over but it was blank. He read it again, convinced he’d missed something. Then he read it twice more. His eyes glistened and his hands trembled as he searched the letter again. The wax seal had been already broken he realised. He looked up to Nichole as tears trickled down his face.
“Did you read this?” His voice felt worn and edgeless.
Nichole didn’t look at him, but she nodded. “I’m sorry, I had to be sure it didn’t contain sensitive material about us.”
Michael knew he’d asked the question but he hadn’t cared so much about the answer. Just quelling one more question in his mind. “It’s okay.”
Nichole looked at him, her stern gaze seeming a distant memory as she walked over and sat beside him. She looked over the shards of glass and the mess of blankets and pillows strewn about.
“Legacies,” she said, unprompted. Nichole looked at him as he finally drew his gaze to her eye-line. “That’s what we’re called. Bet you’ve heard of them.”
Of course, he had.
They were storybook characters. According to the same people who talked about the Gargan and about the creation of the world being accomplished through magic, Legacies were the people who came after the Gargan, like thunder after lighting. But much like the Old Gods, Michael had never even given them a first thought, let alone a second. He opened his mouth to say something considerate and then huffed bitterly, giving Nichole a blank look.
“I don’t think I give a shit right now, Nichole. Sorry, that’s not your fault but you know... I just- I just-”
Nichole took his hand and squeezed it tight, and Michael blinked.
The two strangers sat there for a moment, just simmering away in their one shared trait. A Ringlish girl, armed with a silver bow, clad in black garb and hair almost dark enough to match, bearing a secret that most people wouldn’t even stoop to laugh at because it was so ridiculous. And a Tali boy, clutching a letter too small, who’d never before seen pure silver in his life, wondering if he’d ever think again that a bruise on his jaw could be the worst thing to happen in a day.
A shiver ran up his side and he turned to recall the broken window, letting in gentle gusts of the autumn night. They flittered down in soft flakes of snow, kissing his floorboards before they vanished. It was only then Michael noticed the essence of the Nethotar having completely disappeared, leaving only splintered holes in its place.
Michael let go of her hand much to the girl’s surprise and quietly made his way downstairs. He walked up the benchtop and poured out the last of the wine. “I’ll come.”
Aroha, who sat on a stool by the door seemed to noticeably relax until she saw the question linger in his eye. “On what condition?”
“Answer one question.”
She knew as quick as anything it would be nothing like the others and stood up.
Michael finished his glass of wine and set it aside. He looked her firmly in the eye and asked, “Here it is. Why should I? Sure, I could die, but so what? Give me a real reason. Why should I?”
Aroha looked at him, vacant of expression and asked, “Is this a test?”
Michael nodded and pushed his cup aside, focusing solely on her. “Yes.”
Nichole stepped down between them, hooking her arm through Aroha’s and knocking the front door open with the toe of her boot.
"Because you want to.”