Chapter 12

Bird went over to check on the soldiers Tythos had dragged in. Neither man had moved. Only one of them was awake. Bird checked the one lying in the floor was dead. The man was unconscious. The one who was awake was staring into the corner where Lance had disappeared, and then been regurgitated later. Bird reached over to touch the man’s head to see if he was losing his heat. The man startled and looked at Bird like he’d appeared out of nowhere. His gaze slid away, back to the corner of the room.

Bird looked over, even though he knew the corner was empty. The corner was empty. At least, of anything he could see. Lance had gone somewhere, then come back, in a state of total panic. Bird wasn’t sure how much he wanted to know where the man had gone. Since neither soldier was injured in a way that Bird could remedy, he got up and went over by the fire. Tythos and Peony were talking magic theory, which Bird ignored. As far as he was concerned he wanted no part of that kind of magic. The world was full of natural magic. The sort man was meant to use. The sort belonging to hunters.

What Tythos and Peony did was the kind of magic the ruling class used. The kind that was illegal unless you were a ruling class. Bird was a man between worlds. Hunters preformed a necessary function. They were guides and guardians; gatekeepers of a wide and wild world. The world was much bigger than people believed. People who huddled together behind walls or inside protected towns. They never walked the ways and didn’t see for themselves what it was like. Most people never left their town or city of origin. Then again, most people couldn’t afford to.

The hunters spent time in both the big cities, and the places small enough they weren’t worth a notation on a map. They were welcomed by everyone. Which Bird enjoyed, but had become increasingly uncomfortable with. The two men sitting in the corner, casually talking about magic turned his stomach. If one of the farmers in this valley uttered a word of magic in front of a soldier, they’d be labeled a dissenter. This was a death sentence for a farmer.

Bird was technically a Citizen, because he was a hunter. Citizens were of higher status than soldiers, though there were soldier-citizens, such as Sigrun, who’d received a status promotion for deeds done. Being labeled a dissenter would result in a loss of status. So Sigrun could become a soldier once more, or like Tythos, have it all removed. Which put him even with the locals of this valley. A common

Losing all your status meant you couldn’t own property. This meant nothing you had, belonged to you. The only thing you had left was yourself, and since status was either bought or earned, people became soldiers for the rights to own property. For the rights to become people. Bird had seen it. The higher status no longer saw the common as people.

This was where the problem of magic came in. This group of people was a strange exception, having all seen or experienced magic first hand. According to the law, magic was a dangerous superstition. The belief of fools and dissenters. In cities, people with citizenship would live entire lives without seeing magic. Everyone but the nobles and the royals. They both knew magic was real, and trained in the use of it. An open secret that could get you executed for speaking of. Bird had served as guide for enough nobles that he knew the truth. And despised the hypocrites.

So he tuned out the conversation happening nearby. He really didn’t want to know how it worked. It made him sick. He’d lived and worked beside the “commons”enough to have come to love them. He’d been better treated and better paid by the people who had nothing. Their currency was barter, favor and craft services. The clothes on his back and the knife in his belt were payment for services. Common made in remote villages. Things he’d have to pay half a years wages for in a city.

The attitude of Lance made sense to Bird. He couldn’t see the problem with the deaths of the people of the valley, because he didn’t think they were people. Sigrun made sense to Bird. She was a solider first, and unconcerned with anything but her orders. She’d leave these people to die, not because it was right or wrong, but because she’d been told to. The attitude of Peony made sense to him, he was just a wide eyed kid, fresh out of his isolation in his little school. He knew nothing but what he’d been told and didn’t even know how to think yet. It was the attitude of Tythos that didn’t make sense to him.

This was a man who’d been king. He’d rode with an army at his back and he’d caused the death of untold tens of thousands. Bird had expected him to the be the most selfish and aloof man on pearth. He’d hated him for more than a decade without ever seeing him. Now he’d seen this man risk his own life twice for common people. When Tythos had taken his shirt off, Bird had seen several sword wounds. They’d been all expertly sewn shut, including the long deep one across his back. Somehow sewn shut when the man was by himself, in a blizzard. Somehow once again, having only one hand.

Bird looked back at the empty corner where Lance had disappeared and then been spit out. Spit out? He ripped his gaze from the corner and looked at Tythos, who appeared to be arguing with the empty corner.

“Fine,” Tythos said, “But we’re going to bury the bones of the farmers when shit calms down.”

He paused as if listening. Bird strained his ears, but he didn’t hear anything.

“That’s a sound argument against ever doing it.” Tythos said.

Tythos turned back to Peony and resumed talking about magic. Bird tuned out the conversation, but studied the man. He seemed genuine, if cynical and a bit insane. From what he could tell, the man had been telling the truth about being willing to go into Ginnung Gap in order to secure a better chance at helping the people of this valley. Sigrun was naive, agreeing to go with him. She’d never seen it. If she had, she never would have thought of going. Agreeing to go into the gaping wound torn into the pearth; open wide like a dark hungry maw. A jagged hole in the ground that could swallow the capital whole.

Bird had seen it. Laid eyes on it. The darkness had unnerved him. More than that, the knowledge of what lay within the darkness. What every hunter who now lived knew. That darkness was the home of the monsters. The dream world.

***

Tythos could hear the creature laughing outside the farmhouse. It was the only sound he could hear outside. The wind had stopped blowing. The world had taken on a settled quiet. It sounded like the snow had stopped falling. He was running out of time. Ten years with nothing to do but fail at farming and now he didn’t have enough time.

“What did you mean, you used too much?”

“Huh?” Tythos focused on the kid in front of him.

“You said you used too much of the balefire, what’d you mean?”

“He means, braggarts draw attention of god,” said the short woman behind him. She had an accent, her words sounding out of place in their structure.

“What?” Tythos turned and looked at her, she’d been so quiet he’d forgotten about her.

She smiled, “Other way, no rose without the thorn.”

“Weird analogy,” Tythos said. “But she’s right. When you use balefire it fucks with the weather. You should see the shit it does at sea. Near unsurvivable.”

“Wait…” the kid’s eyes got big, “you mean you made it snow?”

“No,” said Tythos. “Well, I mean, sort of. Calling balefire doesn’t always cause snow. I’m not actually that good at predicting what it will do, it depends on a bunch of measurements I don’t understand.”

“What measurements?” Asked the kid.

“Never mind that,” said Tythos. “We’re off topic. Go back to where you get the power for your magic. Are you telling me that when you call fire, or whatever you called it, that it doesn’t fatigue you?”

“If you told me what they were called I might know them—“

Tythos snapped his fingers. “Focus kid, people are in trouble and I’m trying to figure out if there’s another way for me to use magic today without killing myself.”

“Okay, sorry. Right. Wait, seriously? You mean if you spoke the balefire invocation again you’d die?”

“Almost certainly, and it doesn’t work that way. The words— burn baby burn— aren’t any more magic than pig shit.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Hey…” said the nightmare.

“Saying them is just a rule made up by a being with a perverse mind to torture me.”

“That’s just rude.”

“First I’ve got to draw the sigil for balefire. It’s important not to mess this up, channeling magic into a miss-drawn sigil had undesirable effects.”

“Undesirable effects?”

“Ever been struck by lightning?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, it’s no fun. So after you draw it correctly, you’ve got to channel magic into it until it’s full. Then get out of the way before it manifests.”

“So, what purpose do the words serve?”

“They’re just theatrics to appease the thing that gives me access to the power.”

“That’s not true…” said the nightmare.

“Access to power,” the kid mused. “I still don’t think I understand. What do you mean does it fatigue me?”

“What it sounds like. Make you tired, hurt you, feel exhausting. Does each successive time you use magic pull on your brain until it feels like it’s being juiced like an orange, and one more time will either make you pass out or kill you?”

The kid stared at him for a long minute. “Uh… no. The more I use it the harder and harder it becomes to hold the mental structure needed to speak it into place. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Mental structure?” Tythos leaned forward. “Explain that.”

“Umm, okay… I can do this. If you closed your eyes and tried to see a picture of something specific, could you do that?”

“Sure kid, who couldn’t do that?”

He laughed, “You’d be surprised. Lots of people can’t do that, but that’s just the beginning. The hard part is you have to clearly picture it with your eyes open, then believe the thing you are picturing is connected to where you’re picturing it and believe it’s real before anything happens. Then you can say the words that contain the structure and if there’s a strong enough connection the power will bridge the gap and BOOM!”

Peony clapped his hands together for effect. “Oh yeah, and you have to be pitch perfect when you say the words.”

Tythos stared at him. “Right. So if I imagined punching you in the nose and believed that I already had, you’d get a headache?”

The kid scrunched up his face in worry.

“Forget about it. You’re giving me a headache. Can you teach me some of the words of ‘boom’?”

“Uhh, I could try, but without the tuning fork I can’t be sure you’d be getting them right. You’ve got to match the frequency of each polysymphonic syllable to get it right, and you’ve got a different vocal range than me, so you’d need a different set of forks than I’ve got.”

“You’ve got a set of magic forks on you?”

The short girl started laughing, “Yes, magic forks— and every night he sings to them for practice. Makes sounds like a cat in heat.” She continued laughing.

The kid blushed and looked angry, “It’s serious practice!”

Tythos shook his head. “Let’s try this another way. I’m not learning to howl like a cat.” The kid blushed deeper.

Tythos got up and walked over to the broken table. He sifted through the pile for a moment until he found a board that would work for what he wanted. Sigrun approached him when he stood back up. He looked up at her. Tythos was not a tall man. He was not the shortest person in the room, but Sigrun was head and shoulders taller than the average man. Her head was near the small log structure’s ceiling. She’d been standing off to the side before approaching.

“What should we do with these men?” She indicated the two soldiers Tythos had brought in.

“Do whatever you want with them,” Tythos said. “I wanted to question them, but they’re out of Pallbrook like the other boys. Far as I can tell, they don’t know anything about the decaunit camped nearby.”

“Decaunit?”

“Yeah, never mind that. I came up with my own shorthand for the king’s men in the war. You should sit down.”

“What? Why?” She looked offended.

“Because you’re going to stop being able to think clearly if you keep your head up in the smoke until we come up with a plan. Come sit down nearby and help me make a plan.”

Sigrun looked hesitant. She glanced at the two soldiers. Tythos leaned close to her and spoke low.

“Look, you don’t got to like me, but we’re stuck together for a while. I can see that you feel like you’re supposed to be in charge.”

“I am in charge.” She said.

“No, you’re in command. When you get these people back into a city where someone higher can enforce discipline, you’ll be in charge. Out here, you’ll have to earn it or they’ll leave you dead in a ditch and say you were eaten by a bear.”

Sigrun looked angry, “The king’s soldiers have honor. When they take their oath they—“

“No,” Tythos cut her off, “You have honor. The people in this room will leave you for dead if they think you made a bad call.”

Sigrun glanced uncertainly around, then looked back at Tythos, her eyes asking for help, her lips set in a firm line.

“Nothing personal,” Tythos looked down at the stump at the end of his arm, the outline of the hand wasn’t visible without direct sunlight. “Believe it, or don’t. You’re just not a leader. You can take my advice, or leave it.”

Tythos turned away. He needed to figure out if the kid could do anything with a sigil. He walked over to the the fireplace and grabbed a bit of kindling. Sticking the tip in the coals, he waited for it to catch fire, then blew it out. Using the charred tip, he scetched out a simple sigil on the board he held. He inspected his work carefully, double checking and then checking again. Being struck by lightning really wasn’t fun.

Finally satisfied, he shoed Bird away from the fireplace to make room. He set the board down on the hearth and motioned the kid over to take a look at what he had. The kid looked hesitant, but a light filled his eyes as he stepped closer.

“I’ve got a question,” he said. He shifted back and forth, uncomfortable.

“Spit it out.”

He looked at Tythos. He started, stopped, and after a moment, cleared his throat and seemed to find the courage he was searching for.

"I saw what you did to those soldiers," he said, pointing with his head to the porch in the yard, his eyes indicating that he didn't want to describe what Tythos had done.

Tythos shrugged. "So what?" he said, losing patience with the subject.

"I just… I was curious," he said. "How many men have you killed?"

Tythos snorted. "Enough."

The nightmare, nearby still, spat out a number. "Ten thousand, eight hundred and seventy one. Although, this is an interesting question because, if you think about the deeper implications of starting a war, then the number should be higher. If you were causing the death or through your actions, we shouldn't just count the number you dispatched yourself."

"Quiet!" Tythos thundered. Everyone in the cabin looked at him. "Not you," he said, waving them off. "Do not spit that number out," Tythos said. The people in the room were giving him confused looks. "I'm talking to my monster. Leave me alone,” he said to the room.

"Monster? Rude," the nightmare huffed. "I thought you were going with creature. It's so much more dignified than monster."

"Really?" Tythos said. "Fucking dignified? What's wrong with you? Wait, don't answer that. That is not a question. I didn't ask that to you. I was talking to myself. You do not have my permission to answer.”

"Ah, spoilsport," the nightmare huffed. "I had a list already composed. You know I wrote this years ago. ‘What's wrong with you?’ Honey to my ears. I've been waiting for you to ask me. You're so selfish. You never do what I want to do. It's only you, you, you, you, you. Disgusting. You're such a Neanderthal."

"A Neanderthal? I thought you called me a barbarian. What's a Neanderthal?" Tythos asked.

"It's a barbarian with a smaller brain and a thicker skull—You know what? Leave me alone. I want to wallow in this new level of melancholy that you have dumped me into. I need to really appreciate this flavor. Brute."

Tythos let out a deep sigh and tapped the board with the sigil on it.

“Is that a sigil?” The Kid asked.

“Yes.”

“Is that going to burn with more of the green fire?”

“What? No! Of course not! What makes you think I’d do that shit indoors?”

The kid looked hesitant. He opened his mouth, but Tythos cut him off, “Don’t answer that. Don’t ever summon balefire indoors.”

“Does that mean you’ll show me how?”

“No.”

“But you said…”

“Try and learn a life lesson. I’m not showing you how to summon balefire.”

The kid looked at the complex shape on the board.

“So what’s this?”

“This is the simplest sigil I know, and it takes the least energy— especially when drawn this small.”

“What’s it do?”

“I’m not going to try and pronounce the name. Basically, it makes things brittle, very easy to break. Done right, it’ll be like the wood is a hundred years old and rotted.”

“Who named it?”

“I don’t know, whoever wrote the book—“

“There’s a book?”

“Yeah, stay on task here, I’m going to try and walk you through activating this.”

“What would happen if you drew that on a person?”

“Shit kid, that’s dark. I have no idea, I presume they’d die horribly.”

“Mmmm,” said the nightmare, “Why haven’t we ever done this before? I like the way Peony thinks. Can I keep him? He can be my pet human, and he can help us come up with new and creative ways to kill people!”

“No,” said Tythos.

“What?” Said the kid.

“No, we’re not drawing this on people!“ Tythos tried to tune the Nightmare out, “Just focus for a second will ya?”

The kid nodded and kept his mouth shut. Tythos continued,

“Okay, so you’ll need you put your hand in the middle of the sigil and be careful not to smudge it.”

“What happens if I smudge it?”

Tythos gave him a flat look, “You get struck by lightning when you put power into it.”

“Really? I thought that’s what happened with the balefire sigil.”

“Just count on that, or something worse happening if you screw up any sigil, okay?”

The kid nodded. He reached out and set his hand in the middle of the sigil like he was reaching for a snake. Tythos nodded, at least the kid appeared to have some respect for the danger that magic posed.

“Now what?” The kid looked up at Tythos, then looked back at his hand resting on the board. He kept his eyes on his hand while he waited for an answer.

“Now fill the marking up with power,” Tythos said.

The kid scrunched his eyebrows together, staring at his hand. Nothing happened.

“Umm, any tips on how to do that?”

Tythos sighed. “This is never going to work,” he mumbled.

“What?” The kid asked, still looking at his hand.

“Okay,” Tythos tried to keep his frustration out of his voice. “Can you close your eyes and picture the sigil I just drew?”

“Can I move my hand and study it?”

Tythos made a “go ahead” gesture and the kid withdrew his hand. He turned it over and looked at his palm. Seeing some of the charcoal had transferred onto his skin, he wiped it off on his pants, looking distressed. He checked his palm, then wiped some more. He glanced up at Tythos with a worried expression. Tythos motioned to the board with his eyes and the kid looked down, beginning to study the markings. He stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and leaned over to look closely. Tythos realized this was going to take a minute, so he leaned back and closed his eyes.

“Wake me when you’ve got it,” he said.

Tythos turned his attention to the nightmare. He could feel its attention shift toward him in turn.

“Wake me if anything changes,” not waiting for a response, Tythos fell asleep.

***