Maelys

Maelys eyed the cottage with trepidation. Seeing the smoke coming out the little stone chimney, she suddenly didn’t think this was such a good idea. Though she couldn’t put it to words, she just had a bad feeling. Butterflies of nervousness, a lot like when Rees first took her to the Spyre, but also something else… Like maybe she wasn’t supposed to meet her own kind, like it was a punishment somehow.

But that didn’t make any sense.

Up on the porch, Dustin knocked on the door. And kept knocking.

When the door finally shuddered open and the redheaded young man appeared in the doorway, Maelys gasped, overwhelmed by some strange recognition…that quickly faded the more she grasped at it. Like wisps of fog, it spread out in her mind, evaporating when she reached for it. He looked no older than she did.

His red mop of hair was mussed up and his sky blue eyes were dull with sleep. Aside from two leather riding gloves, he was in his underwear, and as Maelys watched, he scratched his crotch. Inches away, an odd, blue-black sword hung from a loop in his belt, stretched into a cruel curve and a wicked point. It looked ridiculous, considering he wasn’t wearing pants.

“What do you want?” the Rockfarmer demanded, his voice scratchy. Maelys felt her skin prickle at the accent. For the first time in months, she heard something that sounded familiar, and yet… “I was sleeping,” he continued, peering at Dustin. “You escaped again?”

“In a way,” Dustin said, stepping back, allowing the boy—man?—to see Maelys. “Tyroan’s crew was attacked. Been running for my life ever since. That little one over there’s saved me twice now.”

The Rockfarmer gave her a cursory glance, then turned back to Dustin. “Half as many times as I’ve saved your flamin’ hide, drake. You’ve got a penchant for dangerous situations, you know that?”

Dustin grinned. “Only if you consider dicing with you dangerous, boy.”

The Rockfarmer’s eyes narrowed. “It is when you cheat.” He turned back to Maelys. “I guess I don’t need to thank you for saving his worthless hide. Where you from, girl?”

Maelys saw the sword flashing against his side and she bit her lip, remembering Rees’s words about recognizing a Rockfarmer accent.

The Rockfarmer continued to wait, then when it was apparent she wasn’t going to reply, he turned to give the drake an odd look. “She doesn’t speak?”

Dustin gave her an anxious look. “Well, no, I guess she doesn’t.”

“You guess?” The Rockfarmer glanced back at her. He touched his sword, Maelys suddenly didn’t feel too good, realizing that there was no stone nearby in which to flee. He didn’t even have paving cobbles leading to his porch, just rough wooden planks laid out in the mud.

Then the Rockfarmer lifted his hand from his sword and wiped his nose, sniffing.

Just adjusting it, she thought, frantically. He’s not going to cut off my head.

“Whatever,” the Rockfarmer said, still looking at her. Though his eyes held a tint of a frown, now. “Come in if you want. How long ‘til they come to get you?”

“Actually,” Dustin said, “Aside from the Pathenian and Thibault, I don’t think anyone’s going to come after me.”

The Rockfarmer glanced at Dustin again. “Pathenian’s still alive? That prick.” He sniffed again, wiping his nose on a sleeve. “Come on in. I’m fighting a cold.”

Dustin stepped into the threshold, then motioned for Maelys to follow. “Come on, girl. He’s not gonna bite.”

I’m worried about him cutting off my head, she thought, but said nothing. She climbed the steps with trepidation, peering beyond the drake at the Rockfarmer moving around inside. Even barefoot, in his underwear, the man—she decided he had to be a man, considering how easily he hawked and spat into the fire—moved with all the power of a mountain cliff.

“Come sit and tell me about yourself, girl,” the Rockfarmer said, motioning towards the table. “What makes you cast your lot in with the drake?” As she sat, he went and poured two mugs of ale from a cask taking up one corner of his tiny kitchen—dunking one of them in his water bucket before filling it and handing it to the drake. “Don’t burn it this time,” he growled at Dustin. Then he sat down across from her and sipped from the foamy head, though there was a glint in his eyes that she didn’t like. Maelys glared right back.

Dustin clapped his hands together suddenly. “I like what you’ve done with the place. That chair looks good against the wall like that. Really opens up the room.”

“The chair is in the exact same place as the last time you showed up to eat my food and cheat at chits,” the boy said, never taking his eyes off of Maelys. “Why doesn’t she speak?”

Dustin gave a nervous chuckle and glanced at Maelys. “She’s…mute.”

“I see that.” His gaze was getting darker by the minute.

Dustin cleared his throat. “So, boy, I’ve noticed you’ve started growing your own grape. Aren’t you worried about the Vethyle catching wind of it?”

“Oh, they already know,” he said, never taking his eyes off of Maelys’s face.

“Isn’t that a bit of a gamble, even for you? They hang grape thieves.”

“They already tried once,” the Rockfarmer said. “They won’t try it a second time.” Up close, she could see that his skin was tattooed with very faint gray lines that ran in sinuous curves over his skin, like strata in a mountain ravine. The designs were mesmerizing…and stirred something within her, almost like a pull, a call… She reached forward, despite herself.

The drake gasped, pulling his hand away from where his stein had caught fire.

The Rockfarmer looked at the damage and gave a disgusted sigh. “Dammit, drake, I only had two.” As he moved, the faint gray tattoos moved with him, like living things. She couldn’t even see them if she wasn’t looking closely.

“I’ll get you another one,” Dustin promised. His gaze, however, was fixed on the moving gray designs that hadn’t been there a moment before, and he had a slight frown on his face.

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The Rockfarmer rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.” He peered at Maelys again. “How…strange…that she isn’t talking.” His words dripped with threat. “Where did you find her?”

The drake cleared his throat and tore his gaze from the Rockfarmer’s skin and cleared his throat. “She found me, actually.”

“Where?” He slammed his gloved palm down on the table, eyes fixed on Maelys again.

Dustin looked uncomfortable as he drew out the cup of dice that Maelys had made for him. “How about we all dice a bit? Lowest roll starts the bid.” He tossed the dice on the table between them. The stone cubes remained where they had fallen, ignored.

“She,” the Rockfarmer said, glaring at Maelys, “is starting to get on my nerves.”

“Maybe we could introduce ourselves to break the ice,” Dustin suggested.

“No!” Maelys and the Rockfarmer snapped, in unison. Then Maelys flinched, realizing she had spoken. Growling, the Rockfarmer reached for his sword. The leather glove creaked as he tightened his fingers around the pommel.

The drake backed away from the table. “Girl, maybe we should go.”

“She stays,” the Rockfarmer said, glaring at Maelys, holding his weapon in one hand. “Sit down, Dustin.”

“I’ll burn your bench,” Dustin whined.

“On the floor,” the Rockfarmer said, blue eyes locked with hers. “We’re going to be here awhile.”

“But the tszieni—” Dustin began.

“Won’t come in my house,” the Rockfarmer finished.

The drake relented and sank to the floor, rubbing his dice anxiously between thumb and forefinger. For long minutes, none of them spoke. On the floor, Maelys could hear the little tinkles of stone dice as Dustin continued to fiddle with them.

The minutes stretched into hours. Outside, the sun went down. The stars came out. An owl began to hoot in a nearby tree.

Then, cautiously, the Rockfarmer said, “My name is Olthon.”

Dustin’s head came up. The dice stopped their perpetual revolutions in his palm.

With the name, Maelys felt a rushing sensation within her, like a flood of rainwater through a desert canyon. She gasped, gripping the table tightly under the Rockfarmer’s dark stare. As she did, the lines on his skin seemed to take on a life of their own, mesmerizing, almost calling to her…

Unsettled by the way the lines were drawing at her, demanding her attention, Maelys forced herself to look up at the Rockfarmer, reading his eyes. Something was happening between them. Something powerful…and dangerous. Recognition dwelled in the bottom of her mind, under an opaque murk that her thoughts could not penetrate. She strained for it, dredged for it, yet her search came up empty. She knew he had offered her something, something wonderful, yet the knowledge remained out of her grasp. Frustration overwhelmed her. She bit her lip under his expectant glance, but said nothing.

The darkness in his eyes became tinged with surprise. “You won’t take it?” he asked, looking stunned.

She swallowed. Tried again to reach the knowledge buried within. Failed.

Softly, Maelys said, “What will happen if I tell you my name?”

He scanned her face. “You really don’t know?” he said softly.

She chewed her lip. Watched the grayish lines move under his skin. They seemed more lively now. More…solid. She shook her head.

“I’m offering my service,” Olthon said. “In the Zerii way.”

There was an odd twinge to those words, like Maelys recognized it somehow. The dancing gray tattoos were calling her, pulling at her…

“Well?” he whispered, after a moment. “It’s your call.”

She looked up. Saw something in his face that she trusted.

“Maelys,” she said.

At that, the desert rainwater became a rushing torrent, blazing through her, clearing the muddied water of her mind. Even as she sat there, dumbfounded, Olthon took off a glove, reached out, and touched her hand with fingers that swirled with gray lines.

The effect was exactly the same as it was when she touched a mountain cliff—

—except this time, she had no choice when he dragged her into him.

She sat there, staring out of his body from a point within his chest, as the drake suddenly lunged off of the floor with a startled cry, dice spilling in little tinkles around him.

Nestled in Olthon’s chest, Maelys could feel him, just as she could feel the stone. Except with Olthon, his body was warm, inviting, and didn’t feel like it was squeezing her to death. She reveled in the bliss, finally feeling at home, finally feeling completely and utterly at peace.

“That’s enough,” he said huskily, and Maelys suddenly felt herself sliding back out through his arm, onto the bench.

Dustin sat down hard on the floor, a puff of ash rising around him.

When she fell back onto the cold bench, Maelys blinked, stunned by the sudden shift in sensations. All the little discomforts were back, all the wondrous safety and comfort was gone. Shaking, she stared into Olthon’s eyes, shocked, dismayed. She reached back out for his hand.

Olthon slipped his glove back on. Cleared his throat. “That’s enough,” he repeated softly. He patted her outstretched hand with his gloved one. “Sorry, sweet. Not too much at a time.”

“What,” Dustin said, sounding as if he were choking, “Did I just witness?”

Olthon tore his gaze from Maelys and glanced at the drake with something akin to wariness. Maelys felt the loss like a knife in her heart and began to shiver harder. She wanted to go back…

“I’ll take you up on that dice game now,” Olthon said, getting up. He glanced at Maelys. “She’s is going to need a few minutes to recover.”

Maelys felt sick, and empty…

Like she had her whole life.

She just hadn’t known it until now. Maelys glanced at her hand. Saw that it was sweating. Wiped it on the table. She wanted, more than anything, to return to that spot in Olthon’s chest and stay there. She reached weakly for Olthon again.

Olthon began picking up the dice from the floor, then dropped them into the cup that the drake held in one limp hand. “Come on, drake,” Olthon urged, tugging him away. “Let her rest.”

“Did she just go…into you? Is that what just I saw?” He sounded disgusted and fascinated…like a man who had witnessed the birth of a three-headed cow.

Olthon sighed. “It’s not your business, drake.”

“Yes it is!” Dustin cried. “She looks like you stabbed her. Like she can barely sit up on her own!”

Olthon glanced back at Maelys, who was shaking. “She’ll be fine.”

“What did you do to her?” Dustin demanded, moving toward her. His fiery orange eyes were growing angry.

“It’s a Zerii pact,” Olthon said, growing angry. “None of your damn business.”

“Seeing how she’s my ticket out of Pathenian’s gullet, I’d say it’s my business!” Dustin swiveled on the other Rockfarmer. Looking around Olthon, he said, “Maelys? You okay, child?”

Maelys found her voice. Though, to be honest, she didn’t feel okay. She felt like she needed to be back inside Olthon, safe and cocooned and blissful forever… “I’m okay,” she said shakily. She glanced at Olthon. “Can I use your bed?”

His gaze softened. “Of course.”

She got up, trembling. Olthon stepped forth, held her arm with his cool brown gloves as he guided her to his room. She lay down, staring at the ceiling, her whole body feeling old and used up.

The Rockfarmer patted her shoulder, then turned to go.

“Olthon,” she said.

When he turned, she lifted her head. “Will you let me do that again soon?”

He smiled at her. “Not around the drake. He doesn’t understand and it’ll only unnerve him. But soon.”

“Okay,” she whispered, willing to say anything to do it again.

Dustin came in a moment later, squatting beside her bed, a look of concern on his face. “Maelys? Girl?” He leaned forward, and held his hand over her forehead, careful not to touch her. Glancing over his shoulder, he lowered his voice. “I don’t know what that was, girl, but I’ve never heard of a Zerii pact that does anything like that. I think we should go.”

Go, something cried at her. Go, go… When Maelys lifted her head groggily, she saw that it was the drake’s dice cup, the one she had made from rock of the Ganlin slopes. The drake had left it against her arm in order to check her temperature.

“It was nice,” Maelys whispered. “I want to do it again.”

“Not all nice things are good things,” Dustin whispered concernedly, still looking over his shoulder. “And that reminded me of something I’d seen during the war…”

He’ll get you, too, the stone cup was telling her. Babbling it, like a terrified thing. It was actually sinking into her arm, as if it could forcibly pull her through it to somewhere else, like the mountains had done. Maelys flicked it across the room disgustedly.

The drake cocked his head at her, then at his broken dice cup, but oddly, he didn’t say a word. He got up, frowning at her, then at the cup, then turned and left.

As soon as she heard the door click shut behind him, Maelys closed her eyes and tried to piece together what had just happened to her. All she could think about—the most important thing—was that she wanted to do it again.