Nevin stumbled forward, bringing the sword up protectively before him. The rapid shift in location muddied his thoughts, confused him, shutdown his ability to think clearly all while ramping up his survival instincts.
Faceless soldiers rushed toward him across the forest clearing from every possible angle. Weapons of every sort imaginable pointed at him threateningly. Exaggerated plumes of water rose into the air with every thundering step they took forward.
“Fight back, Nevin.” A unknown feminine voice echoed through the scene. “You'll have to protect yourself if you want to survive.”
“Leave me alone!” he screamed, backing away from the soldiers. One of them lunged with his club, his wild swing grazing Nevin's shoulder. Pain, both sharp and dull all at once, erupted down his left arm. Crying out, the young man swung his blunted sword at the soldier, but his body absorbed the blow like it was made of cotton, folding over the storm gray metal as he danced back to safety.
“Summon the blade! It's your only chance.”
An ax blade clipped his leading leg, and it was all he could do to keep his feet. Blood arced, evaporating into a weightless red mist before it could fall to the ground. He swung the sword again, but caught only air.
The faceless soldiers formed an undulated ring of flesh and aggression all around him. Their feints kept him off-balance, and the constant spinning to keep them at bay left him dizzy and breathless.
He shook the Sharasil, willing it to do something, to become something more than the useless hunk of metal he'd always known it to be. But the cold metal resisted his mental urgings, and the Sharasil remained as it was.
“You know how to do it! You must! You have to kill if you want to save yourself!”
Nevin gripped his sword tighter, preparing for the fight of his life.
A familiar chill ran down his spine.
He jerked his head around, searching between the shifting bodies encircling him. A shadowy form paced the perimeter, fading in and out between the constantly moving soldiers. He could feel its rueful grin as it watched him struggle. A pale hand dripping black ichor reached out for him, offering to rescue him from his own inadequacies.
“No!” Nevin backed away from its extended hand. He dropped the sword to clutch at his swimming head and lost his footing, the dizziness finally getting the best of him. He landed hard on his backside at the base of Donald's stairs. The Sharasil came to a silent rest beside him. His chest heaved from the adrenaline.
Aidux jerked to attention, keeping one eye closed as he blinked in Nevin's direction. He flicked an ear toward the door.
Wiping a thin coating of gray dust from her palms before folding her arms beneath her breasts, Aurnia wordlessly looked down her nose at him. Her dark brown eyes were dulled by disappointment.
Nevin dragged an arm across his face and took in the room from his lower vantage point, half-expecting a team of bloodthirsty soldiers to burst through the walls and attack. “What...what did you just do to me? I was...there were...how did you do that?”
She gave a disinterested twirl of her hand and sat down in her high-backed chair. “A little infusion of Vellis, a bit of auditory guiding. You did the rest yourself.”
“Vellis?” He stood, leaving the sword where it lay at the base of the stairs.
“Magic, Nevin. I told you already. A magical problem requires a magical solution.” She patted the tabletop across from her. “Now, come sit. We'll try again once you catch your breath.”
Magic. Barely a week away from home, and he'd already met his first wizard. Still, the revelation didn't exactly surprise him, though her cavalier use of it on him did. “Are you serious right now? You use magic on me without my permission, without warning, and you just expect me to just sit down and go through it again?”
He rubbed his shoulder, his thigh, still suffering phantom sensations of pain despite the illusory nature of his vision. With a simple touch, the woman had somehow tapped into one of his most traumatic moments in some misguided attempt to summon the Sharasil. But the blade hadn't changed, hadn't so much as flinched during the whole ordeal.
A vision of combat, constructed from fragments of both remembrance and imagination. A strange marriage of reality and dream. Even now, he could feel his memory of that fabricated world slipping away, eroding beneath the weight of a repeated mental review of its contents and meaning. Aurnia claimed she had only guided his thoughts, that he had done the rest himself. But why would he want to revisit that moment? Why would he want to put himself through that again?
Aurnia pressed her fingertips together in an exaggerated steeple and rested them in her lap. “I needed your defenses down, needed you willing. If you knew what I was about to do, your instincts would have formed a mental barrier to protect you from the process, and the amount of magical energy needed would have increased ten-fold.”
He shook his head, unable to comprehend her presumption, how she could violate him in that way and believe everything would somehow be okay. To her credit, there was no malice in her actions, no ill intent, no desire to make him suffer like Dalen had always made him suffer. She wanted answers, nothing more.
In some ways, knowing that made it better. In others, it made it so much worse. At least Dalen saw him as a person worth hurting.
Did Aurnia only view him as a tool worth using?
The front door swung open, and a clearly agitated Theis burst into the room, spinning on his heel to ease the door shut behind him. His eyes burned into the woman in yellow as he strode across the room.
“You've done it now, woman,” he whispered harshly. “Caught one sniffing about outside, but it was leaving.”
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He slapped the couch, gesturing for Donald to stand. “Not anymore.”
“What do you mean, 'caught one'?” Nevin asked, but a blazing look from the man in black set him to silence.
Donald quickly took to his feet, drawing his blue robe tight about his bulky form. Theis wasted little time. He grabbed the back of the couch with one hand and dragged it in front of the door like it was made of straw. He jammed his boot against the foot of the couch and eased his sicklesque blade free of its scabbard.
Aidux leapt to his feet with a hiss of alarm.
An unseen weight collided with the exterior of the building, and the whole structure shook.
Dust fell from the rafters, and hairline tears appeared in the peeling maroon wallpaper. The fluted glass protecting a dying candle tumbled loose, snuffing the flame and shattering into a million pieces on the floor.
Theis raised an empty hand. Everyone froze.
In the sudden quiet, the sound of metal chains jostled against the outside wall. Nevin crept protectively in front of Aidux. He had heard chains rattling around in the fog before Donald invited them inside. He wondered if the two were connected, if someone or something had been out there in the dark all along. Searching.
The building shook once more as the massive weight dragged itself along the stucco facade. There was a terrible creaking of old wood. Silence stretched each passing second taut before succumbing to another drawn out creak. Theis cocked his head and looked to Donald. He mouthed the word 'porch' and backed up beside the smoldering fireplace. The creaking continued, growing louder and louder as whatever it was drew closer to the front door.
Aurnia eased toward the man in black, carefully sliding one foot forward and pausing, before carefully following up with the other. Theis shook his head and motioned for her to stay put, but Aurnia didn't listen.
The door shuddered as the unseen weight pressed up against it. Hinges crackled against their moorings, the corroded metal plates shifting to reveal a hidden patch of bright wallpaper the color of fresh blood. The thick door bowed inward at the top, and through the narrow crack, a number of wiry black hairs poked through.
Aurnia scooted up beside Theis, pressing her diminutive form up against his floor-dragging cloak. His eyes flashed with understanding. Leaning forward, he braced himself against the couch. Aurnia followed suite.
The creaking stopped, and the front door stilled. The rattling chains went quiet.
Nevin held his breath, and as his ears finally acclimated to the utter silence, he almost thought he could make out the faintest sound stealing its way through the crack above the door.
Wheezing.
Theis held his hand high once again, but no one dared move. There was a rough snort from the door, and a cloud of spittle erupted through the crack. Aurnia pressed herself as close to the man in black as physics would allow and held her breath.
Nevin slowly sank into a crouch. The Sharasil was just out of reach, but if worst came to worst, he wanted as little distance between it and himself as he could muster.
The wiry black hairs vanished back through the crack, but the door didn't return to its previous shape. Instead, a wriggling red blob pushed through and began feeling about, leaving a blotch of viscous slime wherever it touched.
A tongue.
It was a tongue.
A long, sinuous tongue.
Horrified, Nevin clapped a hand over his mouth to suppress a gag.
Theis raised his sword, preparing to lash out and sever the invading appendage, but Aurnia stayed his hand.
After a moment, the tongue carefully retracted through the narrow crack and the door creaked back into place. Chains rattled softly and the raised deck groaned as whatever lay beyond the outside walls moved away. Soon, only the faint groosh of crumbling firewood broke the tense silence, and the group collectively heaved a sigh of relief.
Theis shoved his blade home in its scabbard. “Khek, woman. What were you thinking?”
She propped a hand on her hip and shoved a finger at the man in black's face. “Don't you dare invoke that name at a time like this. You know better.”
He slapped her hand aside. “As should you. You know what's sniffing about in the dark.”
“It was a small thing. The boy was willing and unaware, so only a small sliver of magic was necessary. How was I supposed to know one of those...things...would be walking by at precisely that moment?”
Theis dragged the couch back into place. “Had enough wagging tongues, friendly or otherwise, for the night, so pack it in. Can talk more tomorrow in the safety of the light.”
Nevin leaned back against the banister, exhaustion finally getting the better of his need for answers. Still, he had to ask. “What was that thing?”
“A Breather,” Donald said, taking him by the shoulder and gently directing him upstairs. “A twisted creature bred to hunt down magic users.”
“Hunt them? What for?”
“To kill, of course.” He shrugged. “Bad luck, that was. Had it wanted to, that Breather could have torn the door off its hinges just as easily as open it. I'm not pleased that her actions nearly cost me my home, but I knew what I was in for when I allowed the two of you to stay. I trust her. And though she isn't one to show it, Aurnia is likely kicking herself for drawing one's attention.”
Donald squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and gestured toward a wide four-post bed layered with a menagerie of colorful quilts. “We're safe, for now. Our two friends downstairs will see to that. You'll take my bed tonight. Don't hardly use it much myself anymore. Only when my back is acting up.”
Aidux curled up on the floor, resting his head on his massive paws. Nevin scratched at an arm, but didn't approach the bed.
Donald adjusted his spectacles. “My wife made the quilts. Every single one. Roughly thirty five years of sewing, right there in one place. Just didn't feel right packing them away after she passed. We can take some of them off if you think you'll get hot.”
“No, no,” he said, waving his hands. “It's...it's not that.”
“Not tired then?”
“Actually, I'm exhausted. I can't think of anything better than sleep right now.”
The bald man frowned, obviously confused. “Well, what's wrong then? Figured you'd be neck-deep in blankets as soon as I offered.”
“It's just...” Nevin chewed his lip. “I've never actually slept in a bed before.”
Donald stared at him, searching his face as if trying to decide if the young man was putting him on. Nevin smiled sheepishly and turned away, watching as the lynx stretched out on his side and sighed. The cat had the annoying ability to fall asleep instantly.
His hulking host finally removed his glasses all together to rub at his eyes, hiding the heartbreak evident on his face behind his broad hand.
“Well...first time for everything I suppose.” He pat the young man on the shoulder. “Take your time, but get some rest, young sir. I imagine things will grow ever more complicated come daybreak.”
Donald left him there with his thoughts, but for as tired as he was, it wasn't long before he found himself curled up beneath a mountain of quilts, lulled off to sleep by the weight of years of lovingly crafted fabric embracing his tired body.
The last thought on his mind before sleep claimed him was to wonder what his life would have been like had Donald Iustus been his father.