1

through slipped fingers

Raven stared at the freight wagon of gold and silver being pulled along by the unassuming strength of six muscular oxen.

She was sitting under the wooden canopy of the Tipsy Mermaid, beside a climbing shrub of honeysuckle, leatherflower, and frostwing blooms. She finished the last drops of her blood-vendor’s swill and fixed her scarf around her neck. The brittle stems of the fence foliage pricked her palm as she approached the exit stairs and watched from the edge of a load-bearing post.

The morning sun shone over the old peasants’ town and cast sweeping shadows against the wooden houses. Bogdonrail, known for its friendly townsfolk, was packed with people of all sorts—farmers, merchants, children waving flags, and, of course, drinkers, who laughed and bellowed under the pub's canopy with all the bravado of lumberjacks besting oak in a forest flush.

This was the seventh carriage to come through this little humble town. They were all heading east towards Abundoria, the king’s city, but none had what the Litch Shadowhood were looking for. None so far, at least.

Raven slipped a hand under her scarf and whispered, “Meedan’s Gemstone.”

A wave of thin white fog swept across the streets of Bogdonrail with the nightmarish speed of a ghostly tsunami. All were outlined in its mist, but only one item shone with a lurid yellow aura: a rock within a box at the back of the wagon, guarded by two kingsmen.

Sight Beyond Walls.

She touched the dimly glowing blue stone on her bracelet, casting Longreach Whisper, a powerful nonverbal spell that connected witches and wizards of true-borne blood. A spell that connected the Litch Shadowhood. “It’s approaching on the eastbound lane.”

“The gemstone?” said Vox, his voice deep and disconnected, holding an emotionless register.

“Indeed,” said Raven.

“Any guards?” asked Heather.

“Four. Two at the helm, two in the carriage itself.”

“Can they use magic?” said Vox.

“Possibly. Give me a moment.” Raven walked along the side of the road, following the yellow glow with her eyes. It was fading, slowly, and the townsfolk swarmed the streets again as the wagon slowly turned on the eastbound lane. She did her best to manoeuvre through the crowd and hold sight on the jewel. It wasn’t easy, not on a busy day like this.

Two young men popped their heads through the slit of the wagon's tarp, peering out from the backend. Each carried a spell-knighted longsword and bow – she could tell by the dim blue auras ringing out from their faded outlines. The magic was weak, though unpredictable in nature.

We best tread lightly.

The people of Bogdonrail circumvented the carriage as it rumbled towards the forest road at the end of the clearing.

Raven wondered when he would strike.

Just then, when the wagon was about to leave town, a shadowy figure appeared from the rooftop of one of the tumbledown buildings. Vox, with his clothing so thick and dark that no amount of sun could pierce through it, raised his glove steadily.

Animus.

Nothing happened for a moment. Then the carriage stopped. The two kingsmen in the back seemed confused, as did the townspeople.

“—what happened—?”

“—someone’s in the way—”

“—where are they going? Are they comin’ back—?”

Raven continued to push through the crowd. The kingsmen stepped out of the carriage and revealed their steel-plated chest armour emblazoned with the crest of a crown-wearing dragon and a small though significant purple jewel. Their armour was imbued with Abundoria’s protective spells, as expected. Successfully disarming these men without killing them would be a challenge indeed, but if everything went to plan, there would be nothing standing in the Litch Shadowhood’s way.

The kingsmen approached the oxen at the front of the wagon and began speaking to one another:

“What is it?”

“Damned beasts stopped moving,” one of the guards at the helm yelled.

Raven looked up at the rooftop from which Vox had earlier cast his spell. He had vanished into the shadows along the side of the building, preparing to advance.

She took a breath, left the crowd, and strode around the wagon, approaching the nearest guard in the shade.

He turned before she had a chance to speak. “Away from the wagon, miss.” He raised his hand, keeping the other on the pommel of his sword.

“What’s the problem?” said Raven. “And don’t pull that weapon on me, please. I’m just wondering why a couple of handsome kingsmen are stopped in our town. That’s all.”

The other guard turned to face her, his ratlike face twisted in a cramp. He pointed at her. “You stay back now. This is official king’s business.”

Raven chuckled, a sweet and endearing sound that resembled nothing of her real self and everything of a promiscuous townswoman. “Having several thirsty oxen pulling a load of roughly five tonnes is king’s business?”

“Thirsty—?” The guards turned to look at the oxen. Indeed, some were licking their lips, one of them was lying down, and all of them were panting.

“You’re supposed to keep those animals well-hydrated, especially for long distances. Surely King Abundus would have told you that.” Now Raven was close enough to put her hand on the front guard’s shoulder. Before he had time to react, she whispered, “Infatuate.”

“What are you—?” said the guard. He looked at her with dreaminess in his eyes as the other kingsman stepped forward, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her towards him.

“Don’t touch the king’s guards,” he bellowed.

Raven thought for a moment that her spell had no effect—perhaps the enchantment on the man’s chest plate protected him from more than just offensive magic—but then he grabbed the guard’s arm. “Bastard!” The infatuated kingsman headbutted the other guard, knocking him unconscious.

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The crowd grew wild, first with shock, then with laughter and, eventually, with cheers and whistles. The two men at the helm hopped down from the wagon and rushed over, their faces rapt.

“What are you doing, cadet?” one shouted.

The infatuated kingsman stepped back, drew his sword, and pointed it at them, his eyes glowing a deep purple. “I won’t let you hurt her!”

“Cadet—”

The infatuated kingsman brushed Raven out of the way and swung at the guards. They dodged and pulled out their swords.

“A fucking witch,” one growled.

“You bastard!”

“Kill her to break the spell,” said the other, and he lunged towards her, taking one great, big swing.

Then it came—the flash of violet light, the sound of an ethereal whisper. The guard was blown into the side of the carriage with such force that part of the cover leapt from the bows of the wagon bed, blowing loosely in the summer wind.

Vox. He appeared from the alleyway, his head hidden beneath a blackout mask with spiderwebbed eye layers. He stood close to seven feet tall, with a frame skinny enough to make one think he was starving himself. His latex boots left purple fireprints in the freshly shaved grass as he made his way over towards the wagon.

Peasants fled from the scene.

“It’s a blasted wizard!”

“Move!”

A wistful smile graced Raven’s face. She turned back to the wagon; there was only one guard left, but he had distanced himself quite a bit from the damage. Instead of wielding a sword, he had his bow at the ready, aiming right at her.

Raven's eyes widened, and panic pierced her heart.

“Bastard!” The infatuated guard stepped in front of her and began sprinting towards the archer.

The arrow fired and, instead of piercing through the guard’s armour, swerved gracefully around him, carrying a ghostly blue tail at the feathers. She did her best to dodge it, but the arrow swerved a second time and struck her in the shoulder. She cursed.

By that point, the infatuated guard had already reached the archer; he’d stuck the longsword straight through his neck.

The archer was dead.

While Raven lay panting on the ground, wishing she’d been blessed with a healing spell, Vox made his way over to her, grabbed the arrow, and yanked it out. She did her best not to scream, but the pull was simply too painful. Blood squirted and streamed down her blouse's sleeve. She gritted her teeth.

“Hold still,” Vox said, again with that emotionless register. He placed the palm of his glove on her wound, uttered a spell, and soon she felt a burning sensation all over her shoulder and back.

This time she managed to hold the scream at bay.

When Vox let go, the wound had been sealed by a layer of indigo ash, twinkling gracefully with the blend of his firemagic. He grabbed Raven’s scarf, revealing the beautiful pink gemstone glistening on her necklace, and wrapped it around the wound.

“Thank you,” said Raven, and released her pent-up breath as the pain settled from a pulse to a sting.

Little by little the crowd began to disperse and hurry away from the scene; the few that stayed were eventually scared off by another blast of Vox’s magic.

Then a voice, Heather’s, spoke through Longreach Whisper: “There’s another wagon heading into town. I’ll try slowing it down, but you need to move, now.”

There would likely be several more; the king often ordered his goods in bulk.

Standing up and brushing herself off, Raven paced over to the wagon, doing her best to ignore the pain in not only her shoulder but her entire back.

The infatuated guard rushed over to her. “Are you okay, my—”

“Incend.” With a flick of Vox’s wrist, a large purple flame sent the guard crashing into the wall of a nearby restaurant.

“Be sparing when you do that,” she said. “If you keep abusing your magic, your stone will deplete sooner than you think.”

“That man was beginning to unnerve me.”

Inside the carriage, over the steel wagon bed, wooden crates were stacked together and tied down with rope. The yellow aura of the Meedan’s Gemstone had since faded. She cast Sight Beyond Walls again.

There it was, in a wide container at the front, hidden beneath a stack of boxes.

“I see it,” said Raven.

“I cast Animus on the oxen,” said Heather. “That should buy you some time.”

Raven stepped onto the back of the wagon, pushed the cover aside, and groaned as she pulled herself on board. “Thanks, Heather,” she said.

“Is it up there?” said Vox.

Raven sniffed. Although part of the interior had been cast in shadow, she could still make out the faded outline of the Meedan's Gemstone. “Quite.” She quelled the desire to curse again. It wasn’t often she experienced hurt of this magnitude. She walked over to the yellow aura, got down on one knee, and pulled out a jackknife from the side of her boot. She cut through the rope steadily until it snapped. She knocked the boxes aside to reach the bottom container.

At the same time, Vox climbed into the driver’s seat of the carriage, cast a replenishing spell on the oxen, and got it moving again. They would head east at first, then make a sharp turn into the forest, journeying west towards the Litch.

Raven touched the stone on her bracelet. “We’ll see you back at the camp, Heather. Thank you.”

“Anytime, sister.”

Raven knelt as the wagon rumbled along the uneven road, laying the box neatly on the oakwood floor. It wasn’t often that Nautilus ordered them to steal from a king—by itself that wasn’t a good idea, but on a day like this, when the carriages departed with enough time between them to allow for an uninterrupted stop, the opportunity couldn’t be missed—but he had heard of a sacred item travelling between kingdoms, an item of enormous power. Just by feeling and observing the box, Raven knew he had told the truth. The magical aura had returned to its unnaturally bright yellow up close. Her gem’s gift for magical detection had never allowed her to witness power of this degree—perhaps because nothing had been so blessed.

The pulsing glow from the box lit Raven’s face from below, forming thick shadows above her thin lips and across her high cheekbones, casting her in a contour of the most baleful respect. She wasn’t supposed to open the box at all. At least, not until they made it back to the gates. Nautilus thought that releasing it from its casing might cause the aura to spread. Then another group of scavengers could steal it before they even had a chance to get back. Nothing like that had ever happened, but you could never be too careful, especially with something this valuable.

Still, she was tempted, oh-so-tempted, just to see what such a divine item might feel like. What power did it hold? Magic of this calibre might level kingdoms in the wrong hands. Oh, how curious she was.

“How’s the wound?” Vox’s voice came from the helm of the carriage.

Raven sighed and placed the box back with the rest of the heap, making sure it wasn’t in a position where one of the larger crates could fall on it. It likely wouldn’t have caused any damage, but still, she liked to be neat.

“How long do you think it will take?” said Raven, standing.

“For what?”

She sat on one of the crates with her legs spread apart, leaning her head on her hand which was perched upon her knee. “For King Abundus to realise that one of his carriages had been stolen… and by witches and wizards no less.”

“It doesn’t matter so long as we get our pound of gold,” Vox said.

Raven agreed with that to some degree. The Litch Shadowhood had secured hundreds of powerful artefacts from not only kingdoms, cities, and towns, but also dungeons, hazardous outlands, and ruins protected by great ancient magic. They were hunters, thieves. With countless artefacts of various magical potential, the Litch Shadowhood had built their society on trading them, becoming a rich albeit gold-thirsty society.

Raven didn’t agree with taking more than what was necessary, but she believed in staying with people of her kind. Witches and wizards had a bad reputation aboveground long before they’d resorted to thievery. The aura-blind, otherwise known as those without magical capability, had burned countless supposed witches over the last few centuries.

And they call us evil.

“It’s as powerful as Nautilus says.” Raven couldn’t take her eyes off of it. “The aura is more vibrant than any other. I can only wonder how King Abundus managed to secure it, especially since artefacts of this degree are… well, quite rare.”

“We’re not the only ones with magic,” Vox said.

“I know that,” Raven said thoughtfully. “But these are often guarded by an even stronger magic. And I sincerely doubt a local merchant had been carrying this in their pouch….”

“Don’t open it.”

“I won’t. Trust me. I’m only curious.”

“Curiosity might be the death of you one day,” said Vox. “Although, to be honest, with your luck... I wouldn’t be surprised to see it be your reason to succeed.”

Raven grinned. “You’re wise, cousin.”

“I know. It’s why Nautilus keeps me around.”

She fell silent for a moment. “It was the strangest thing. The Infatuate spell seemed stronger on that one. Why is that?”

“Willpower and experience,” he said. “How long have you been using the Heart-Bend Gemstone?”

“A month now,” said Raven. “I received it from a friend of the family.”

“The stone is growing accustomed to you. Were you with anyone before Nautilus?”

She shook her head. “This is my first team. I used to work in Father’s—”

“I know the story. The shoe cobbler.” Vox sighed. “You forget our parents used to be close.”

Before greed did them part.

Raven looked at the scarf covering her ashwound. The blood that had earlier dripped from the entry hole had dried up and left a dark smear along her sleeve. She couldn’t wait to return to camp, heal up at an apothecary, and stitch her clothes back together.

She also couldn’t wait to see what the Meedan’s Gemstone could do. She remembered, albeit vaguely, how serious Nautilus had been when he told the team about it.

That had been a deeply unpleasant day indeed, and Raven lay back against the bed of the wagon, unable to forget the events leading up to it.