Reader's Review: "A Fair Fight" by Jeffrey Cook and Katherine Perkins

 

Synopsis from Amazon:

 

The faeries are preparing for a war throughout worlds. But before the fighting comes the talking.

May is approaching, but there's no way Megan O'Reilly can focus on plans for graduation and beyond when the ancient monsters called the Fomoire are about to break out of their frozen lake. As the ice melts in the Spring air, a conference of magical beings from around the world is being called. Apparently there are a lot of risks involved in properly equipping this kind of party. There are so many places--Earth, different mystic realms, the collective unconscious, an outright netherworld--to go, people to see, and things to be done.

Megan is going to help. No matter how dangerous it gets.

>>>>>>>

 

My Review:

  

Every time I open a Jeffrey Cook novel, I am blown away by the magnitude of the fantasy—and characters so impossibly real that it HURTS.

I knew I was going to love this series from the first book. One of my favorite things about Cook's writing is that his continuity is spectacularly on-point. Characters go through intense circumstances and they respond and react in ways that change them and mature them so that the person on the other side is distinct from the one who started out.

I love how, in all of this fantasy and spending incredible lengths of time in a dimension other than the real world, Cook does not neglect Megan's relationship with her parents. It becomes a bigger deal in this installment than in the previous two, and as a character, she handles it beautifully. It is very clear that she loves them both, even so far as they don't actually know each other, and the attention she gets (or doesn't) get from both of them also plays an important part in the development of the plot.

Speaking of "developing relationships" one cannot ignore the marvelous "ship" between Justin and Megan. Their interactions are so adorable they will melt your heart—and yet the respect they both maintain is wonderful—I love that Cook ensures that the reader falls in love with him first, so that Megan doesn't have to waste precious plot time pining after his scent or doubting his love for her, and nonsense like that. He's pledged to her, but they don't make it awkward or uncomfortable. He's adjusting to modern life every bit as much as Megan is adjusting to life in the Fair realm. 

Oh, also: the Kahales feature even more in this book. Mr. Kahale has been "absent" from the real world for so long—but the Menehunes are an important part of this war, so as The Kahuna, naturally, he is in for a more prominent role.

The stakes in this plot are higher than ever, as the "villain" this time isn't any one nefarious enemy or despicable entity—it's every evil thing and every monster in every culture, all together. The description of the Fomoire straight-up CREEPS. ME. OUT. If this series ever becomes a movie or a TV series, that will I think be the part where I cringe and look away, because even the descriptions in the book sent chills down my spine!

The ending, though... (*distant sobbing*)

That clinched it. I know it's not the end of the series, but darned if I almost don't want to read the last book—not because it was horrible, but because it was SO GOOD I don't want it to end! The last scenes of the book are glorious and breathtaking—and the last big event broke my heart. I couldn't believe such a wonderfully compelling author to be capable of it, but he did. It happened, and there's no going back. There is only marching forward with the inevitability of Time.

Of course I do not hesitate to give FAIR FIGHT an unreserved *****5 STAR***** rating, and add an Upstream Writer Certified COMPLETELY RECOMMENDED endorsement. I cheered, I giggled, I gasped, I reveled—if you're looking for good, solid fantasy with plenty of fairies and magic and brownies (the Fae, not the dessert... Though I don't doubt Kerr could make some AMAZING desserts!) and Celtic mythology in spades, along with excellent moral characters who win you over from the start, and a perilous challenge that calls everyone to band together to defend the good and the right—look no further than the FAIR FOLK CHRONICLES! 

Further Reading: (YA/Urban Fantasy/Myths and Legends)

The Fair Folk Chronicles--Jeffrey Cook and Katherine Perkins
        -Foul is Fair
        -Street Fair

The Therian Way--Kimberly Rogers
       -Leopard's Heart
       -Wolf's Path 
Spirit Knights--Lee French
       -Girls Can't Be Knights
Lord of the Wyrde Woods--Nils Visser
     -Escape From Neverland
     -Dance Into The Wyrd 

Talented Series: Dream Stalker --Amy Hopkins

-The Starlight Proverbs--Darren E. Barber 

-Someday I'll Be Redeemed--Kelly Blanchard

Also by Jeffrey Cook: The Dawn of Steam Trilogy
      -First Light
      -Gods of The Sun
      -Rising Suns 

Serial Saturday: "The Clan of Outcasts" Part 9--Rebel

Azelie Pozreth, "The Paragon"

Part 9

"Rebel"

Head down... Face covered... Walk slowly... Be about your business... Do not speak unless spoken to... Yield to those more important than you... The rules of etiquette pounded through her brain as she meandered through the marketplace. Along with them, the list of ingredients her mother wanted also vied for prominence in her memory. Flour, oil, strawberries... Don't make eye contact... cinnamon, milk, eggs... Head down...
Azelie shook her head; she was better than this! Carefully, deliberately, she lifted her gaze and looked right at the merchant measuring out the milk for her.
His eyes flicked up and then right back down again. He handed her the jug. "What're you lookin' at, hussy?" he growled.
Azelie took the jug and placed it in the basket hanging from her arm. She strode on her merry way without answering him. This time, there were no silly rules, only the list of market items. Azelie completed her purchases in record time, racing from booth to booth and staring at the merchant to make them work faster to be rid of the discomfort. She grinned as she swung off toward the Pozreth bakery, ignoring the confused and disdainful stares directed at her back. Just a few more turns, and she could unfasten the stifling veil over her face! She reached up to her jawline and began loosening the strings.

Azelie turned the corner and stopped. A crowd blocked her way--but they weren't looking at her. Village locals gathered in an awkward sort of audience as soldiers in palace livery made their way up the lane of housing units. Every so often, Azelie heard a door banging open, but no one made a sound except the indistinct whisper and the odd whimper. She saw only the crowd, she was too short to see what was happening.
Carefully edging her slim body into the narrow spaces between people, Azelie worked her way to a spot that gave her a clear view of the soldiers. Two of them guided a line of veiled figures between them, but these were so shrouded that all Azelie could tell was that they were women. Which women in particular, she could not tell. Why were the soldiers taking these ladies? Why was everyone just standing around watching them?
Azelie barely had time to wonder before a rough, mailed hand clamped around her arm and pulled.
"Here's another one!" the soldier cried, hauling her out of the press, toward the space around the wagon.
Azelie felt her heart give a jolt as the veil chose that inopportune moment to drift free as silently as a whisper. There she stood, bare-faced among those long fabric robes with eyes. Several people gasped; they knew the reputation of women who unveiled in public.
The squadron leader stared down at Azelie over thick arms folded across his broad chest. With nothing else to lose, Azelie stared back.
Finally, the leader barked, "She'll do!"
The soldier shoved Azelie into the back of the wagon with the other women. She could count twenty faces in the dim light. The vehicle gave a lurch and sent Azelie tumbling toward an open space on the bench lining the interior.
"Why are they taking us?" she asked the pair of eyes beside her. "Where are they taking us?"
No one ventured an answer. Azelie was left to her own worried thoughts and the clatter of the wheels upon cobblestones. The wagon was just rolling to a stop when she thought of her basket; did her family know she'd been taken? What would her mother think when her father brought the basket back and told her of the broken milk jug and the spilled berries? Would she ever see them again?
The doors at the back of the wagon opened and the soldiers began herding the women out. A Council member in rich, resplendent robes stood by, surveying their arrival. The other women were far too concerned with where they might be headed and whether they were about to trip over the hem of their long gowns, but Azelie watched the Councilor, staring straight at him until he turned and looked at her. She held his gaze until the soldier behind her gave a rough shove on her shoulder. When she glanced back, the Councilor was already walking in the other direction, but Azelie hoped at least to have made her message clear: she was not afraid of him, nor what might happen to her.

Some time later, Azelie sat in a fresh, clean gown far richer than anything she would have imagined wearing, freshly bathed, while a maidservant combed her hair to a brilliant sheen. The other servants had all but ignored her as they went about their business, but this maid began humming to herself. She stopped when she looked up at the mirror and saw Azelie staring intently at her.
The maid blushed. "Forgive me; I forgot myself."
Azelie relaxed her stare; quite possibly, this girl was from the village, like herself, and only a strange twist of fate placed her in servant's livery, while Azelie received gowns and jewelry.
"It's all right," she said. "I get the feeling you and I are not much different."
The young girl twisted and pinned Azelie's curls into place, peppering her head with jewels. "Oh, but we are!" she gasped. "You and the other ladies were chosen for your impeccable beauty to become the public face of the Council, to ensure that the Realm is receptive to their policies. The citizens long for a leader since the King died."
Azelie flinched. "But I cannot lead a kingdom!" she objected. "I am only a commoner."
The maid finished placing the last hair pin and turned the chair to face her. From the table beside her, she selected a wide crown hung with a trailing veil of diamonds. "You won't need to rule; they will just use your beauty to win the people over to choosing you and rejecting the Regency; the Council will still be in charge, all you will have to do once you win the people is endorse their continued rule."
This nettled Azelie more than it reassured her. "So I'm to become a puppet, am I?"
The maid placed the crown on her head and arranged the veil around her face. "A very beautiful puppet, if you are chosen." She smiled, her eyes full of admiration. "If it's any consolation, I think you will win; the others have flaws, but you..." she sighed. "You're perfect."

Perfect. The word repeated in Azelie's thoughts as she wafted through the selection process. She repeated it to herself as the others were dismissed for one reason or another. Finally, it came time for her turn to be presented to the gathered populace to gauge their reaction upon seeing her. I am perfect, she reminded herself as she emerged onto that balcony amid thunderous applause. She stared down at them, willing each one by one to stop cheering and to witness her. A discreet parchment gave her the words to say, words that had been repeated almost twenty times already.
"People of the realm!" she announced. Her voice was not commanding, it did not echo off the stones as she was sure others did; but when she looked down and met the upturned gaze of a villager, she felt her words reach out to them, so that at the very least, this one person heard what she had to say.
"I have been a commoner like yourselves; I was raised up from among you to become the person you can trust to ensure that your needs and interests are represented in the Council's every decision. Your voice is my voice; your sentiments are my sentiments. Together, we will continue to thrive in the realm, just as King Balwyn would have wanted!"
She finished, and the whole crowd stood in awed silence before breaking out into wild cheers, so much louder than before.
A Councilor took her hand and guided her back into the palace. A few others had already assembled, and they regarded her with proud grins.
"Well, my fellow Councilors?" asked the one beside her. "Are there any doubts?"
A woman spoke up in a thready voice. "None whatsoever," she gushed. "She is perfect!"

I am perfect. Azelie tried to remind herself every day, but as time wore on, it became harder and harder to convince herself. Within days of winning the adulation of the people and holding audiences with endless streams of admirers and supplicants seeking wise answers (fed to her by the supremely-capable Royal Council), Azelie Pozreth became the target of a series of announcements decrying her as, at best, a performing monkey, and at worst, a shallow ninny who didn't know what to think. As her popularity waned, that of two strangers seemed to swell and expand. They were twins, and they made no pretense of laying claim to the vacant throne, defaming the Council before the people, and especially the "perfect" citizen they had chosen to connect with the people. The Lord and Lady Regent, as they called themselves, stirred up scorn against such unblemished beauty, so much that Azelie could no longer hold public audiences--nor could she leave the palace, now that she had been burdened with such a high-profile reputation. She was reduced to wandering the halls; at least, by way of staving off boredom, the Council had instructed her to be listening carefully to any conversation she overheard. Azelie particularly enjoyed the clandestine nature of the new assignment; accustomed as she was to being overlooked and ignored, she found particular skill in slipping in and out of rooms undetected--even by the inexorable, untouchable Twins themselves. She reported what the Regents would discuss, and the Council would devise new ways of undermining their influence based on this information. Azelie smiled to herself; she was perfect, after all--but perfect didn't necessarily mean good all the time. The Twins always seemed to find new ways of picking on her anyway, so she preferred to stay out of their way. She found that by concentrating very hard on a particular person, she possessed some instinct that told her precisely where they were. Azelie depended on the instinct so much that she never expected to collide with a young man in the Great Hall one day--but that is precisely what happened.
One moment, she was walking and listening for the Lady Regent, and the next, her veil had slipped over her face and her nose ached from smacking into someone.
"Oh!" Someone cried. "Sorry! I didn't see you there."
Azelie adjusted her crown and stared at Someone; he had dark, sleek hair and narrow features. His blue eyes sparkled as he bowed low with expert decorum.
"A pleasure to meet such a rare beauty," he murmured. "I am Prince Jaran; who might you be?"
Azelie felt the warm blush crawling up from her chest to her face. "I am Azelie Pozreth, the Council Paragon Interface," she said, curtsying delicately.
The blue eyes widened. "Oh, you're the interface! When I saw the advertisements I thought--well," he caught himself and faltered, hanging his head in embarrassment.
Azelie tilted her head. "What did you think?"
His narrow lips curved upward. "I never dreamed you were real," he murmured.
Azelie opened her mouth to say something else, but just then, a knot of Councilors descended upon them, drawing them in separate ways.
That was the last time Azelie ever saw the Prince. She tried asking about him at her regular Council sessions, but no one would answer her. The servants (whom she helped avoid unjust punishments by distracting the superiors to give them enough time to get away) told her that Jaran was one of those that some people called "Gifted", and that the Regents--along with the Council--had agreed to issue an ordinance declaring them Outcasts, which gave the Council jurisdiction to use the prince in conducting secret "experiments."
In return, Azelie launched her own sequence of experiments; beyond just knowing instinctively where people were, Azelie found that, gradually, she could be able to detect their very thoughts, and still further, to place thoughts of her own among those of another. When the Council decided to abandon the tactic of winning the people with beauty, and thus brought in a second exemplary woman to act as ruler--even going so far as to demand that everyone treat her as Queen and refer to her as "Her Majesty"--Azelie immediately set out to bend this woman to her will. This proved harder, as every attempt to influence this new Queen was met with equal resistance. The Queen was the only person in the whole castle to regard Azelie with open disdain, so Azelie contented herself with planting vulgar thoughts in the Queen's mind when she least expected it.
One night, Azelie woke out of a deep slumber and found herself in the midst of a terrible storm--and the sound of Jaran screaming in pain. It took several minutes for her to realize the screaming was in her head.
It hurts! I can't stop it! Azelie recalled one story she had heard, of a Healer that once worked for the King, but was dismissed by the Council on suspicion of conspiring with a dragon to kill the king. In retaliation, it seemed, the Dragon had Marked her, and she had fled to the harbor. If anyone could help the Prince control his gift, it would be this healer.
Go to the Harbor, she sent the thought to the fearful Prince. Find the Dragon-Marked Healer.
It's too much! his thoughts screamed. They will find me. What Dragon? What Mark?
He must not have heard her clearly enough. Azelie fought to make her words distinct. She is Dragon-Marked; you will find her in the Harbor. She is a healer, and she can help you.
A furious crack of thunder sounded like a stone striking the side of the castle, but after it happened, Azelie found she could not hear Jaran anymore. She could only hope that he had understood and would find his way.

~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~

She was running, pursued by a pack of wolves. She turned her head to look at them, and suddenly one gets its jaws around her leg. She screams and tries to pry its teeth out of her skin, but another bites down on her wrist. She can do nothing as yet another wolf lunges straight for her throat—

Dennahlia came awake with a heavy gasp. Her body sat upright, but she couldn't feel her hands, or see her arms. She willed sensation in them, then frowned as the movement of her fingers occurred behind her head. She tried to stand, but her ankles had been firmly trussed to the legs of the chair she sat on.

The Hunter glared at the two faces across from her.

"What did you do to me?" She growled.

"Do to you?" Said the one in the hooded cloak. "Who do you think I am?"

Dennahlia wriggled again, but the back of the chair was too high for her to get the kind of leverage over the rope that she needed. She scowled.

"A freak," she spat at the ground in front of her captor's feet. "And a monster!" She felt the panic rising in her chest and attempted to meet it with brazenness. "If you're going to kill me," she declared, "do it quickly!"

The deformed woman with the green scales on half her face chuckled deeply. "I am a healer, and my name is Erlis," she answered. "I could no more kill you than scrape the scales off my own face. We only tied you up because of the danger you would have brought on yourself if you had succeeded in killing me while I healed your wounds." She gestured to the side, where a shaggy-haired youth regarded the Hunter with thinly-concealed malice. Now there was a kid with his priorities in the right order. 

Then she realized what Erlis had said.

Wounds? Dennahlia looked carefully over what she could see of her body. Her dream about the wolves returned—only now she began to doubt whether it was all a dream or not. 

"What wounds?" She asked.

Erlis watched her carefully. "You arrived in my yard with your body nearly flayed to ribbons. It has taken several hours, but I managed to restore your body to it's full health." She leaned forward. "How did you get so wounded? Where did you come from?"

Dennahlia fumed inwardly, but she was professional enough to hide it. What had that blasted Illusionist done to her?

Erlis, meanwhile, mistook the meaning of her silence. "Are you having trouble remembering? What is the last thing you recall?"

Dennahlia's mind wasn't having any trouble at all. The longer she kept awake, the more her thoughts spun in dozens of directions, seeking a way out of this mess. If she could only reach the brooch tucked into her glove...

"I'll tell you what," she remarked, trying in vain to struggle some more against the ropes, "untie me and I'll tell you what you want to know."

Finally the youth stirred. He kept his fists clenched as he snorted. "Not a snowball's chance, after what you tried to do!"

Instantly, the sound of his voice kicked the Hunter's senses into high gear. By some miracle, she had encountered the hideout of one of the Outcasts she sought! The bear cub had led her right to its den.

"You will let me go," Dennahlia mused, "when you realize it's your only chance to stay hidden... Your Highness."

The young man's hand flicked open, releasing a spiderweb arc of blue sparks. His eyes shifted from her face to Erlis. 

Dennahlia grinned as he confirmed what her senses had already told her: this was Prince Jaran, the last known member of the Seramis royal family. The name Erlis told her that his companion was the disgraced Royal Healer Erlis Irrya, banished from the castle after being accused of killing the King when she ought to have been caring for the Queen.

On cue, Erlis shifted her position forward, as if placing herself between the Hunter and the prince.

"Have you come to rid the kingdom of us, in the name of the Outcast Ordinance?" Erlis asked.

Dennahlia shrugged, and felt her fingertips brush the opposite palm. "Oh relax; you're not my quarry."

Erlis and Jaran shared a glance.

"Why are you here, then?" He asked.

The Hunter gave one last twist and felt the subtle click as her finger connects with the brooch in her hand. She chuckled. "Your guess is as good as mine, Highness. One minute I am running through the Wilderness looking for something I am not even sure still exists; next thing I know, I'm being chased by a pack of wolves," she shuddered. "And then..."

"Wolves?" Jaran repeated. "I thought the wolves lived in the forest."

Erlis stared at the Hunter, her face paling as she realized the Hunter's true errand. "The Regents sent you," she guessed.

Dennahlia nodded. "Seems a suit of armor went missing; they'd like it back."

Jaran tilted his head. "So, wait... You're not after the Outcasts?"

Dennahlia relaxed into her bonds; the deed was done; all she needed to do was wait for the cavalry to show up.

"I never said either way," she teased the young prince. 

He immediately whirled on Erlis. "I told you it was a trap."

Erlis kept an eye on the prisoner. "I think she might have fallen into a trap, but that doesn't mean she is the trap. We may yet convince her to join our cause."

Dennahlia leaned back and laughed. "I would never join you circus monkeys!" She let her hands hang slack. Almost time...

Unfortunately, the dragon eye was keener than she anticipated.

"Hand!" Erlis bounded to her feet just as Dennahlia slipped her bonds. She went for her knives, but a furious blow knocked the weapon from her hands. 

Jaran stood with his hands extended toward her, a glittering web of sparks spanning his fingers. 

Dennahlia smiled. "Neat trick," she said, drawing her sidearm. "Ever wonder if it could stop a bullet?"

"All Outcasts exit the building with your hands in the air! I repeat, hands in the air, by order of the Lord and Lady Regent!"

All three froze and the two Outcasts complied.

"We mean no harm!" Erlis called out. 

"Come out or we will open fire!" Said the voice. "Three... Two—"

Erlis and Jaran shuffled toward the doorway, with Dennahlia keeping her weapon trained on them in the rear.

"Thanks, Sergeant!" She hollered. "I can take it from—"

"I said hands where I can see them, you garbage mutant!" The Sergeant directed his comment not at the compliant Outcasts before him, but at the Hunter sent to bring them in. "You are all under arrest according to the law of the Ordinance!"

Jaran spun to gape at Dennahlia. "You?" He spluttered. 

Dennahlia swore and launched herself at the ten-foot wall beside her. She landed at the top with ease, but before she could drop down the other side to make her escape, a turquoise-colored wind blew her back into the narrow, cramped courtyard.

A gigantic fireball exploded at the rear of the squadron, spooking the horses and adding to the panic. Erlis and Jaran split off to find cover as the air filled with flames, howls, magic spells, and fantastic illusions. Velora dropped in to even the odds by scaring away the horses and pulling the soldiers down to the ground. Aurelle created illusions of the Outcasts, making them seem more numerous than they actually were. Damaris used careful streams of flame to keep any outliers from slipping away, and Korsan made up for the lack of armor on the part of his compatriots by casting and maintaining protection spells in the melee. 

They fought until the last soldier backed off and left the harbor far behind.

Erlis came out from behind a stack of crates to greet the newcomers.

"Master Korsan," she bowed. "It is good that you arrived when you did. I should have realized that the Hunter's false sympathy was nothing more than a stall tactic." She held up the abandoned brooch. "This was a homing beacon she managed to activate while speaking with us."

Korsan tilted his head as he regarded the scaly face. "Have we met before?" He asked.

Erlis smiled, and her right cheek blushed. "We worked for the King at the same time, I think," she said, "but we never had the pleasure of meeting."

Korsan smiled. "King Balwyn spoke highly of his very valuable Healer. A pleasure to meet you, Madame Irrya."

Velora sauntered up. "Darn Hunter got away," she snarled. "Wouldn't you know she was an Outcast too, all this time?"

Aurelle looked back toward the docks. "Where is Damaris?" She asked.

Fear gripped Erlis as she glanced at the bodies left behind. "Where is Jaran?" She added. 

~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~ 

Amid the rocky spires and deep crags, a lone figure trudged across the landscape. He waved a hand at Jay, flying up ahead, and flopped down under an overhanging rock to rest. The fairy settled on a rock next to him.

Harlock wagged his head. "I don't know, Jay; maybe we should have taken the harbor route. All of this wasteland looks the same, I can't tell if I'm walking in circles!"

We will arrive at the castle soon enough, the fairy assured him.

Thinking about the harbor reminded Harlock of the widening circle of friends and acquaintances he had formed since reawakening. Learning from Erlis and Aurelle, who seemed to know a lot about this Outcast phenomenon and the people behind the oppression had bothered him considerably.

"Jay," he mused. "How did we meet, you and I? Did I know you from before? Do you know anything about my past?"

Jay buzzed noncommittally, a sound Harlock had come to accept as her "thinking noise."

I met you on the boat, she answered. I have not known you for much longer than you have known me.

"Where did I come from?" Harlock mused. "Where did you come from?" He recalled how it seemed that no one else could understand Jay's speech like he could. "How did we get to be bonded so closely?"

Jay lifted off and began flying uneasy loops. You ask many questions, she replied. But I will try to answer them. You may not remember this, but the first time we met—"

Harlock had been so focused on Jay's story that he didn't notice the clatter of a passing cart till it rounded the bend. He grabbed Jay to hide her light and jumped to his feet. The horses shied at the unexpected movement, and the driver slowed to a stop.

"Ho there," he cried, "what's the likes of you doing out here in the wasteland?" He regarded the bare-chested man dubiously. "You one o' Them or something? The Outcasts?"

Harlock recalled Velora's sentiments on the subject. "What if I am?" He said, not ready to confirm or deny the question.

The man wagged his head. "If you wasn't, I'd give you a ride into town; t'ain't fit for a man to be out here with no food nor water—but the town ain't safe for the Outcasts. Word is there was a big to-do at the harbor and two of 'em got arrested."

Harlock kept his face blank. "You don't say," he mused, trying not to appear too interested. "You wouldn't happen to know which two, would you?"

The wagon driver wagged his head. "Nah, never heard—but there are those who would tell you that they saw the Crown Prince himself gettin' drug into the castle in irons. Heh-heh," he chortled. "Bet the Regents wouldn't let him live for long if he was! Bet that Hunter will be collecting her bounty soon." He fidgeted with the reins. "Will you be takin' that ride, then, stranger?" He asked softly.

Harlock tucked Jay into his pocket, where she would stay hidden. "I'd be much obliged, sir," he said, climbing in.

The driver snapped the reins, and the horses ambled on down the road leading to the city. 

The Hunter had found them; was it his fault? Could he have stopped her if he had chosen to remain with Velora and Aurelle? He wondered who else had gotten taken with Jaran. There was only one way he could think of to find out.

~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~

Part 10: "Stolen">>>>>  

Also in this Series:

--Part 1: "The Storm"

--Part 2: "Reborn" 

--Part 3: "Memory"

--Part 4: "Legends"  

--Part 5: "Blemish" 

--Part 6: "Prey"

--Part 7: "Signs and Wonders" 

--Part 8: "Scales" 

 

--Appendix: Locations and Characters, Part 1 and Part 2

Serial Saturday: "The Clan of Outcasts" Part 8--Scales

Erlis Irrya, "The Dragon"

Part 8

"Scales"

Erlis sighed and laid aside her pen to massage her cramped hand. She would need to remember to mix a poultice in these last few hours of her day, so that all she would need to do was wrap her hand and fall into bed. Out of habit, she crossed to the window. The royal chambers occupied the next turret. On still nights, she could hear the soft groans of the Queen, punctuated by the King's rattling cough. They were both just past their prime, with plenty of years left—at least, they should have. 

For years since Balwyn Seramis ascended the throne with Gracelle at his side, Erlis had sought out healers from all over the world, to learn their techniques and apply them to keeping the rulers fit and healthy. So many wars, famines, even a plague or two had swept the nation, but the King always looked upon the young Healer with complete faith in her abilities, despite her young age. At his request, she never touched the famed "elixirs of immortality" guzzled by other rulers, nor any of the miraculous drugs hawked by wizened, bug-eyed charlatans. A broad base of study and an ardent spirit gave Erlis Irrya the discernment she needed to develop her healer's instinct: she could see a single blemish on the patient's skin, or hear the softest breath, and not only assess the problem, but evaluate exactly what was needed to fix it.

Why couldn't the Council trust her, then?

Queen Gracelle was expecting a child, and Erlis was allowed to serve as her midwife—but when King Balwyn took gravely ill right next to her, she was ordered to stand aside.

"Your duty is to the Queen and ensuring the safe birth of the new Crown Prince!" The councilor had snapped at her when she resented a petition to diagnose King Balwyn and prepare a medicine for him, in addition to caring for his very pregnant wife.

The declaration had filled the young healer with dread. New Crown Prince? Why, had they given up on the King's other son so easily? But the Council had been formed by the King, and given jurisdiction to run the kingdom in his stead until he was fit to resume his duties. Never mind that Balwyn had added the phrase "as I would"—there was not a man or woman in that whole group capable of leading in the manner of King Balwyn. They ruled as they saw fit; Erlis could do nothing but keep her head down and focus all her energy on the tiny King-to-be, praying that his father may yet survive long enough to pass his wisdom on to his son.

Tonight, the Queen sounded restless, so Erlis gathered some warm cloths and scented oils and hurried to the bedroom. She crept softly in and stood by the queen's bed, placing the towels on her patient's sweat-drenched forehead and around her swollen belly. Even in the brief touch, Erlis could feel the frantic activity of the baby within the womb. She reached for the first vial of oil.

A shadow moved, and Erlis' hand shook, sending the vial crash in to the floor. The shadow by the king's bed turned and glared at her with dark, dull eyes.

"Do you mind?" The man grunted. He turned back to the King and held his hands over the regal chest, muttering and groaning to himself.

Erlis attempted to be friendly. "My name is Erlis," she greeted the stranger as she smoothed another dose of soothing oils into the Queen's belly. "What is yours?"

The man's muttering broke off, and he huffed. "They call me Chelom," he snapped. "Now if you don't mind, I have important work to do!"

Erlis felt the creeping suspicion—had the Council hired Chelom to try and heal the King? "What sort of work?" She asked innocently. "Are you a healer too?"

"Healer? By Hecate!" The man reached into a satchel at his side and pulled out a talisman and some old branches. "Nothing so trivial as that; I am a Healing Mage."

Mage! They were trying to use magic to heal the King? After refusing Erlis' offer of medicinal aid? Chelom began droning again. Erlis felt the Queen relax and the baby still inside her, but curiosity wouldn't let her leave. She crept forward as Chelom lit a bronze salver and began waving it over the king.

A strange odor stole over the smell of soothing oil still on her hands. Erlis sniffed; something feral wafted from the salver, and a distinct sensation of danger alerted the rest of her being. In the light of the flame, she saw him pinch a small sprig laid carefully on the king's chest. He sprinkled the herb in the burning, reeking substance, and spread some of the mixture on the King's forehead.

Chelom's voice rose, as he spoke a spell that brought flashes of brilliant light swirling from his fingers. He moved to place his glowing hand over the king's face—

"NO!" Erlis leaped forward and grabbed the wrist that held the salver. She knew what it was! The viscous blackness splashed out on her hand. Dragon's blood—and the herb was definitely quickbane. This Mage was no healer!

"Stop!" She cried. "MURDER!" 

Chelom flung her away, but the movement disrupted the flow of magic. Erlis barely had a chance to get her balance before the blast of the spell knocked her right off her feet. She felt like the stream of light had burned a hole in her chest. 

"Idiot girl!" Chelom growled, standing over her. "Look what you've done!"

Erlis coughed and scooted up against the wall behind her. The Dragon's blood still coated her hand. Just then, the door burst open and soldiers poured in. Erlis fought to speak; the magic affected her insides, but she had a duty to her King and Queen.

"Dragon's Blood and quickbane?" She gasped. "You were not trying to heal him! You were trying to kill the King!"

Chelom thrashed, but the soldiers gripped him tighter. "You don't know that! Mages are experimenting with it now; without knowing his illness, it might have done some good!"

Erlis coughed as her stomach roiled, making it difficult to draw breath. "You're no healer, you're a traitor!"

The soldiers dragged him away, but not before Chelom shouted over his shoulder. "They're coming for you next!"

Erlis struggled to her feet. She couldn't stay in the castle. Her whole body burned, more on the right side where the Dragon's Blood fell. She ran as her vision faded in and out. The moon barely reached through the darkness—yet something gave light to her path. Erlis looked down.

Glowing hands waved in her air before her—hands attached to her arms, yet so detached from her. Erlis moaned and collapsed against a wall as a wave of pain washed over her, pain that seemed to widen her eyes and pour from her ears. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, splaying her hands against her sides. Immediately, she could picture in her mind just what her own insides looked like, and exactly how to fix what was wrong. She squeezed tighter as the adamant spell pushed back, giving the sensation that she actually wrestled a dragon within her body. Her skin burned and stretched on the right side. The agony increased until blessed blackness swept it all away.

When consciousness returned, Erlis felt a heaviness on her right side—a peculiar kind of strength that did not match the rest of her body. She opened her eyes. A vivid sheen lay over everything. When she held her right eye closed, everything looked small, bland, and even a little fuzzy. Erlis tried closing her left eye. Instantly, every detail leaped out in the most amazing, vibrant color she had ever seen. She could practically see from one end of the city to the other. She looked at her hands. The glow had faded, but the right hand had changed. Erlis gazed at one normal-looking hand, and one clawed, scaled appendage. Her whole arm bore ridged scales all the way up to the shoulder, where the hard ridges also covered clear to the left side of her chest. Further exploration with her human hand upon her neck and her right cheek confirmed that her face had also been half-changed. Erlis shook her head. Her tongue wasn't forked, so there was some relief–but she could taste every scent, no matter how strong or weak, of everything within the city. She needed to get back and see the King. 

Erlis stopped by the city apothecary she ran occasionally to pick up her heavy winter cloak. It was still the warm season, just before harvest, so the thick wool made her human skin practically melt with sweat, but she knew that if anyone outside the palace saw her like this, it would mean trouble. She arrived back at the western gate and knocked.

"Who goes there?" A voice barked.

"Erlis Irrya, the Healer," she answered.

The guard opened the gate; so she hadn't been implicated at all in the death of the king. She kept the cloak wrapped around her right side all the way up to the royal chambers. There in the privacy of the room, she took a deep breath and almost choked.

Death hung like a pungent black pitch in the air. Death—and new life.

The Queen stirred.

"Balwyn..." She murmured. "Balwyn—"

Erlis heard a distinct shift in her voice, and she placed a hand over the Queen's womb. Everything was in readiness; a child would be born within the hour.

"Balwyn!" Gracelle's voice rose in pitch and urgency as the contractions swelled. "BALWYN!"

The king would not answer. His spirit had already left. 

Erlis took off her cloak and moved quickly to shift the queen's legs into position.

Gracelle screamed. "WHAT ARE YOU? HELP! MONSTER!"

"Your majesty, be calm!" Erlis reached out with her scaly right hand to caress the queen's cheek.

The tips of the clawed fingers glowed briefly, and the Queen relaxed in the same moment. Erlis drew her hand back in surprise; she had commanded the queen to be calm, and it was so. A mighty contraction of the belly reminded Erlis why she had returned. Gently, she rested her scaled hand—by far the more sensitive one—against the womb and used the other to gently guide the baby out of the birth canal. When it was done, Erlis swaddled the baby boy and handed him to his mother. Gracelle still would not look at her.

"Thank you," she whispered, "but you need to leave. NOW." Finally, the Queen looked up at the Healer—but with fear and loathing. Erlis knew she would find no acceptance here.

Sure enough, a message from the Council greeted her at the door of her palace lodgings. 

"Erlis Irrya," it read, "For your crimes against the Crown and the ordinance of the Council, you are hereby stripped of your position as Royal Healer and banished from the palace. By order of the Royal Council."

Erlis tried the handle, but found it locked. The cloak would be the only thing she would be taking from the castle.

Wandering through the streets over the next few days, she heard the story being passed around by the Council: the Healer had attempted an unsanctioned cure for the King and had ended up killing him in his sleep. The Queen had borne a prince, but her grief at the loss of her husband brought about her death as well. The Council had declared themselves the interim government over the realm, till the infant Prince would come of age and take the throne—or so they said. There was never any mention of Chelom the Healing Mage. 

Erlis, meanwhile, found a private little hovel on the edge of the harbor to live in, where she whiled away the years, honing her new skills in solitude, hoping one day to see the Seramis family restored to their rightful place, and the Outcasts once again accepted into common society...

~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~

Try as he might, Jaran couldn't shake that awful feeling of being watched. He ambled through the market behind the thick black cloak fairly effusing all its absorbed heat. He had allowed Erlis to cut his hair, giving him a rougher appearance—but he was still painfully aware at how much people stared. He'd gotten used to being ignored at the palace. Now it wasn't so much disregard as actual latent aversion. He could practically hear the thoughts running in people's minds as the Healer and the fugitive prince went about their peaceful business. At last, Erlis had filled her basket and they could return to the tiny hovel she called home.

Jaran slunk through the door and flopped onto his cot. "Sweet freedom!" He sighed. 

The yellow lizard eye flicked over to him, and Erlis might have been about to say something, when a heavy clatter of shattered pottery broke the peace outside.

Jaran jumped back to his feet as Erlis stared out the open door.

"I hope that's Harlock," he muttered.

"I smell blood," Erlis replied after a short sniff. "Lots of it."

"Then again, maybe I don't hope it's Harlock—now what's he done?"

They both slowly peeked out the door, watching carefully for an ambush before venturing across the threshold.

A body clad in black lay amid broken pots and discarded bricks. Many deep gashes still seeped freshly, and the limbs splayed at discomfiting angles. The bright-magenta hair gave her away.

"The Hunter?" Jaran spluttered as Erlis reached a glowing hand to her. "But we just saw her leave town yesterday! How did she get back here? Where did she come from? Why come to us?"

The Healer relented with a sigh. "We might not know the answers to these things till she awakes—help me bring her inside."

"Inside?" Jaran spluttered, even as he moved to support the limp legs while Erlis handled the shoulders. "You want the person committed to wiping us out IN YOUR HOUSE?"

They lifted the Hunter onto the only table in the room. Erlis removed her cloak, and Jaran could not decide which sight was more grisly, the mangled body on the table, or the half-mutated hybrid standing over it. Just the way that her dark hair grew out of one side of her head, while thick chitinous plates covered the other side—

"Are you going to help me or not?" Erlis demanded as she splayed her glowing hands six inches above the Hunter's body.

Jaran balked. "I don't think—"

Erlis lowered her hands and turned to him. "If I had chosen to defy my own feelings and opinions about certain people and help where it was needed, your father would still be alive," she snapped, as a low growl rumbled through her scaly throat. "I have regretted it every day since the night you were born, and I swore to myself that no one—no matter how evil or despicable—would ever witness me turn away from them. I don't know how she came to us, but she did; perhaps this will be an opportunity to sway her to our cause, perhaps not. But I will not abandon my duty as a Healer, so I ask again: WILL. YOU. HELP. ME?"

Jaran sighed. "Fine; what do you need me to do?"

"I'm going to try healing her from the inside out, but I don't want her to bleed out before I can repair all the wounds. Get some clean towels and a bowl of water and staunch her wounds till I can attend to them." Erlis resumed her "hovering," closing her eyes and flexing her fingers as the energy seeped from them.

Jaran retrieved a clean towel as she asked, and commenced wiping the cuts and dirt off her legs. The deep lacerations, at impossible angles, puzzled him. He had a passable knowledge of using blades, though the force, angle, and momentum needed to inflict these kinds of wounds and shred tough tendons to mere threads mystified him. The only explanation is if the Hunter battled someone who could create a veritable cyclone of knives—but how could such a thing be possible?

Beside him, Erlis held her eyes closed. Jaran paused to watch the incredible sight of the bones reforming in the brilliant light, the gashes closing, the skin knitting itself back together. He was so engrossed in what she was doing with the fractures in the Hunter's skull that he nearly missed the creeping fingers closing around the grip of a nearby scalpel. The gleaming razor blade headed right for Erlis' exposed shoulder.

"ERLIS, LOOK OUT!" Jars snatched the arm back, but the other hand clouted him in the face. The Hunter's gleaming eyes fixed on him as Erlis failed to respond. The nearly recovered patient raised the blade to strike again, and Jaran struck. He raised a hand and flared, sending a bolt of lightning arcing right to the metal blade. The Hunter's body gave a violent convulsion and lay still.

Erlis finally broke away, panting heavily. Some of the bolt had smacked her in the shoulder, breaking her concentration. She looked at the unconscious Hunter, at the scalpel still in her mildly-singed hand, and at the wide-eyes, frantic Prince.

"What happened?" She asked.

"What happened?" Jaran exploded. "She woke up and tried to kill you! That's what happened! I had to shock her or she would have stabbed you. Didn't you hear my warning?"

Erlis shook her head. "No, I heard nothing at all. Perhaps it is a side effect of my enhanced ability to heal: while I am healing, I hear and see nothing of what is going on." She sighed and looked down at the body of the Hunter, only half-healed. "Apparently that makes me vulnerable."

Jaran took the cloths and began ripping them into smaller strips, which he twisted together into ropes.

"What are you doing?" Erlis asked as Jaran grabbed the Hunter's freshly-repaired wrists.

"Taking no chances, that's what!" He replied as he bound her wrists together. He used the excess "rope" to further bind the Hunter to the table.

Erlis sighed again, but resumed healing. Whatever happened, Jaran would be there to protect her.

~<>~<>~<>~<>~

With her shadow-travel, Aurelle could keep pace with the Hunter for the most part, right until they ran into Korsan's magic border and had to stop. The Hunter reached it too—and one errant footfall had tripped a sigil. One moment she was there, the next, the two women stood alone at the edge of the magical minefield. 

"Blast!" Velora snapped, "Where did she go?" She scanned the shadows carefully, wondering briefly who was leading whom on a wild goose chase.

Aurelle shook her head, panting heavily to get her breath back. "Knowing what little I do of Korsan? She could be anywhere in the realm. Only he knows where his traps lead."

Velora stopped wandering and came back to stand close to Aurelle. "The Mage?" She said, looking all around the unfamiliar landscape. "Where is he, if he did all this? He didn't booby trap the whole Wilderness, did he?"

Aurelle shook her head. "Just the area around the cave. We aren't that far from it, actually. He's just cloaked it so it cannot be seen from outside the barrier."

Velora glanced up and down. "What barrier?"

Aurelle pointed ahead of them, and tossed a stone over another sigil nearly invisible in the sand. The stone, like the Hunter, vanished on contact. "A transportation barrier is his favorite sort. Anything that crosses the barrier without touching the correct sigil gets transported to another random location, and often badly damaged in the process."

Velora looked at the random sigils scattered all over the area and shuddered. "So that stone..."

"Is most likely gravel spraying in someone's face right now," Aurelle answered with a tone that said she was picturing someone in particular who no doubt deserved that fate.

Velora almost felt the closest she'd come to sympathy for an enemy since becoming an Alpha Wolf. "And the Hunter?"

Aurelle shrugged. "Probably not much better."

Velora huffed and flopped onto a nearby dune. "Great, so how are we going to let Korsan know we've come back and he can let down his barrier of death now?"

Aurelle smiled and glanced down. Suddenly, she was holding a cooing pigeon in her hand. "We send him a message." She answered. She let the pigeon illusion fly through the barrier. It did not disappear like the other things had, but remained visible, flying gently till it reached an empty spot with tufts of grass. It hovered there for a moment, then seemed to land in midair. A few moments later, the entire area glittered with magic and then faded, revealing the old cave just a few dozen yards away.

Damaris burst out ahead of the old Mage. "Did it work? What did you find? How many soldiers did you fight? Can I go with you next time?"

Korsan regarded Aurelle. "How is she?"

 "Not bad; I think we should follow soon, in case something important should happen."

Korsan considered for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Agreed; it is high time I returned from my exile. The realm stirs; the Outcasts must unite."

Velora wasn't entirely sure she understood the exchange, but she knew it meant finding more of these Gifted people. "So where do we go from here?"

Aurelle nodded at her. "You said it yourself, Wolf: the predator becomes prey."

"We follow the Hunter," Korsan confirmed. "Based on the sigil she crossed, she should have landed at the harbor." He stopped and smiled. "I have an old friend there who we might inquire after. She could help us."

"Sounds good to me!" Agreed Damaris. "Let's go to the harbor!"

 ~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~

Part 9: "Rebel">>>>>

Also in this Series:

--Part 1: "The Storm"

--Part 2: "Reborn" 

--Part 3: "Memory"

--Part 4: "Legends"  

--Part 5: "Blemish" 

--Part 6: "Prey"

--Part 7: "Signs and Wonders" 

--Appendix: Locations and Characters, Part 1 and Part 2

Serial Saturday: "The Clan of Outcasts" Part 7--Signs and Wonders

Aurelle Divir, "The Illusionist"

Part 7

"Signs and Wonders"

The patter of small feet clattered over the cobblestones. Children laughed and ran, waving to their friends as they flocked toward a particular alley.

"Hurry up!" One young boy waved his friend along. "She's already started!"

At the eastern courtyard, across from the docks, a young woman sat on a crate, watching tiny figures leap and bound over each other. In a clear voice, she began her tale. 

"There was once a noble elk who ruled the forest. He was fair and wise, ensuring that all the animals were treated fairly, and if any of them had a problem, they could go to the elk and he would help them reach a solution." Her fingers fluttered, and the figures changed. Now a third figure joined the pair of elk and aimed a weapon at them. The tiny elk crumpled as the girl continued. "One day, a man came into the forest and shot the elk with his gun, wounding him terribly. His son was not yet old enough to understand the law of the forest, and so a group of other animals, birds and squirrels and even a wise owl or two, decided to lead the forest animals until the young buck grew older. But being such different animals, and all seeking the interests of his own kind, the Forest Authorities could not agree."

She had quite a crowd now; children stared at the glowing, swirling images, enthralled by their realism, but a bit overwhelmed by the story. Their parents observed with dubious expressions, reluctant to pull too close, yet unable to look away.

The girl bent over her table, watching the figures materialize out of thin streams of light issuing from her fingertips. Ever since she was a small child, barely able to speak, she had been able to communicate and to entertain herself with these illusions. She had no idea where this ability came from, or how it worked; it was far more strange to her that other people did not have this ability. She didn't see anything special about herself. 

"During this time, the Young Buck disappeared, and the forest fell into turmoil. Just when all hope of a happy forest seemed lost, as each attempt of the Authorities to control and restrict failed more and more," she gave a little twist with her wrist for theatrical effect, "two foxes came out of the deep part of the woods, and offered to represent the other woodland creatures from within the Authorities, setting themselves as a balancing voice and a people's advocate to combat the Authorities' self-interest. The other woodland creatures agreed—but with the foxes now in charge, life grew worse than it had before, as the cunning foxes and the stubborn Authorities vied for control of the populace." The foxes began chasing the other animals, and the young storyteller frowned to see her story taking a dark twist yet again. Parents began pulling their children away, whispering about her treason and disrespect. She tried to persevere with the story.

"The foxes soon set themselves up as equal to the elk, thought their policies and decisions were definitely not as fair and equitable to the animals."

"Speak for yourself, you freak!" Someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

The storyteller stood, as the animals in her hands expanded to life-size and scurrying over the ground.

"They favored some species while oppressing and disparaging others as weak or disgraceful!" She cried, as the indignant foxes turned up their noses at the gentle unicorns, and batted the innocent squirrels away.

"What do you think you're doing?" Cried a woman with frilly clothes, clutching her lacy parasol in her upraised fists. "You're crazy and your stupid stories make no sense!" 

Her screeching sent a murmur through the crowd as the dissent swelled louder. 

She couldn't help it; the words came as easily as the images.

"The forest creatures did their best to survive in spite of the foxes, for one day, the Young Buck would return and rule as his father did—"

"Enough!" A burly trader at the front of the crowd shoved aside the people around him and lunged for the illusions. They wafted like smoke under his arms. He glared at the young storyteller. "We've heard enough of your stories! You're a fool and no good to this realm! It's time one of us stood up to your sort and put an end to this plague!" He lunged for the white-haired storyteller.

She screamed and threw up her hands. People gasped, and the man groped at the air just above her head. She stumbled back out of his reach as people pressed closer, whispering.

"She's gone!"

"Where did she go!"

"It's as if she was never there!"

She looked down at her hands. She seemed visible enough; why did they speak as if she were not?

"All right, what's this, then?" A strong, easy voice boomed from the corner of the market. The crowd parted as a soldier wearing the uniform of a Regency Peacekeeping Officer entered the courtyard. 

Several voices tried to explain the situation, complain about the instigator, or blame the Outcasts for the unsanctioned gathering—but he merely waved them all away. They took the hint and dispersed, while the officer took a sentry stance, his hand resting lightly on the haft of his weapon. Once the noise and activity died down, his eyes glided to the corner on the opposite side, where a stack of crates blocked a disused alley.

"Back to your tricks again, Aurelle?" He asked the air.

At his words, she felt the subtle shift of coming into view again. The change in his stance confirmed she was visible.

Aurelle gave a shy smile. "I didn't mean to start a riot," she began, but the officer shook his head.

"That wasn't a riot, young lady; merely a disgruntled audience. And after what they just witnessed, you may find it hard to continue as innocently as you have been."

Aurelle sighed and ran deft fingers through her milk-white locks. "I didn't mean to; the illusions change before I realize what they are doing. It's more than just entertaining children, Rayne," she gazed at him earnestly. "I'm not just a fortune-teller. These are real issues, raising real questions and hopes—"

"And causing real problems and putting you in real danger," Officer Rayne warned.

"What else was I supposed to do?" Aurelle exploded. "You don't know what it's like when I try to ignore the stories, keep them bottled up. I've tried keeping my head down and keeping silent like you told me to." She raised her palms toward him. "Both my arms were nearly numb from the pressure! I needed to let them out!"

Rayne raised an eyebrow. "And the vanishing act?"

Aurelle couldn't suppress an embarrassed smirk. "That was—he was about to break my neck. Would you rather I had let him grab me?" She stared at him, catching him in a direct gaze. Those vibrant eyes drew him in, held him in a way that made him feel— 

Rayne forced his willpower to overwhelm his mind and turn his head, cutting the moment short.

"Just stick to telling fortunes and entertaining children, Aurelle," he muttered.

She sighed. "All right." She moved to straighten her booth again.

"Not here," Rayne stopped her. "It's—"

"Ah! Madam Aurelle Devir," rumbled a booming bass voice. "I thought it might be you; good catch, Officer Rayne!"

Behind him, a whole detachment of Peacekeepers, led by a wiry man with a tight grin, fanned out along the edges of the courtyard. His serpent eyes slithered toward the young woman. "I don't imagine Officer Rayne has told you yet, Miss Devir, but I am afraid you'll have to close down your little operation."

Aurelle frowned. "On what pretense? I've paid all the fees; I carry a license—"

"Which has just been revoked," the sergeant interrupted. "As of this moment, Miss Devir, you are hereby ordered to refrain from any activity related to your status as an Illusionist."

"Refrain?" Aurelle echoed as Rayne obeyed the short hand signal from his sergeant to join the file of Peacekeepers. "For how long?"

The sergeant smiled. "Indefinitely. If at any time you are observed engaging in any activity beyond the sanctioned Regency Broadcasts, you will be regarded is a dissident and arrested." The sergeant smiled at her again, and turned his heel. 

Aurelle stared at the back of his head. Rayne was the only one looking at her face.

"Aurelle," he whispered desperately. "Don't—"

She wasn't listening. "You cannot suppress the truth so easily, Sergeant!" Aurelle announced, extending her hand. A ball of swirling light rose from her palm.

He turned at the cries of alarm from his men. His eyebrows raised and his hands came up in alarm. "Stop! I order you to desist!" He commanded.

Aurelle smirked. "Catch me if you can!" She spun in a circle on one foot, and used the momentum to hurl the ball of light at the ground with all her might. It exploded in a blinding flash, stunning the onlookers. When their eyes adjusted, she was nowhere to be found.

~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~

Everyone assured me the headdress was beautiful—but nobody was honest enough to realize how much it hurt to actually wear the thing. It took six servants just to carry my train with enough support so I could walk around. Even in the courtyard, amid the banners proclaiming my name and my image as the ultimate desire, I could feel Their stares. Sure, I was pretty enough, but my greatest asset also contained my fatal flaw: everyone was so obsessed with my appearance that nobody took the time to explain any sort of politics or leadership strategies. My own beauty—the one thing they could use to secure a following for me—They quickly turned into a farce, a vain, shallow concept with no room for intelligence or amiability. I had plenty of both, but with no voice beyond what the Council told me to say, I quickly lost the favor of the people. They needed someone who could demand fealty and keep it. Of course they found a woman who could give them the spectacle they needed, but it seemed only I could tell just by looking at her that this woman might not be able to work the effect they sought. She had ambition, cunning, and a bold, unwavering gaze that could search your soul at a glance. She made no secret about her desire to be the ultimate pinnacle of absolutely everything—including the standard of beauty in the realm. 

I am afraid of her; if I am cursed to be the most beautiful person in the realm—what wouldn't she do to take it from me and for herself?

~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~

Even in slumber, Velora sensed movement in their little camp. When she opened her eyes, the light of dawn had barely cracked the horizon—and Harlock was already leaving. 

She sat up, and Jay chimed a warning.

Harlock whirled around to see Velora watching him.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"Leaving," he answered.

Velora bared her teeth. "We had a plan!" She hissed.

"And it's a great plan," he answered. "You and Aurelle are perfectly capable of carrying it out without me."

"We need you to cover our tracks!" 

"Not necessarily; you two are resourceful, I am sure Aurelle already knows how to do that." He shouldered the small pack he brought. "I have business at the castle."

Velora sneered. "Business? What business? You don't even remember who you are, what business could you possibly—" she lurched backward as Jay broke away and flew straight at Velora's face.

Harlock shrugged. "Jay says it's important. I need to be gone when the Hunter arrives."

"Why?" Velora demanded.

He threw up his hands. "She won't say! Trust me, I want to have my fun with this Hunter as much as you two, but apparently I have—"

"What, better things to do?" Velora rolled her eyes. "Fine then, Mystery Man—go off on your super important business, follow your fairy right to the very doorstep of the people who hate us." She turned away and scuffed at the ground with her feet. "I guess you aren't one of us, after all."

She heard him shuffle, shift his position like he wanted to say something—but at last she heard nothing, and when she turned around, he was gone.

Aurelle awoke to the sound of Velora raking the trees with her claws, but when she finally got the young Wolf to calm down enough to tell her what happened, she seemed to handle the news with far more understanding.

"How can you be so calm?" Velora exploded. "We've faced the Hunter before, she'll be ready for us this time—Harlock was our best chance at the element of surprise!"

Aurelle flexed her hand, and a puddle of water appeared in her palm. Carefully, she cupped it, and the droplets rose to form a trickling fountain. Velora watched in amazement, distracted from her frustration by the sight. 

Aurelle smiled. "Maybe we don't need Harlock after all." She flicked her wrist, sending the jet of water streaking toward Velora's face—but though she flinched, the wet sting never came. The water dissipated like all of Aurelle's illusions. The Illusionist laughed at the stunned look on Velora's face.

"I think we stand a pretty good chance," said Aurelle. "As long as we follow the same plan: distract them all, and pick them off one by one before they realize what's happening."

Velora extended her claws. Finally, a fight! "And then what?" She asked. "Scare the Hunter off? Send her running back to the castle?"

Aurelle tilted her head as the illusions spun in her hands. "I was thinking of getting her far out of the way—like maybe the Wilderness. I'm sure Korsan will have a welcome or two to keep her busy." She cast a keen eye toward Velora. "Does this please you?"

Velora grinned. "Does it ever!" She cried.

~<>~

An hour later, the Hunter and her band of Thugs entered the forest. Everyone wore armor with thick leather reinforcing the vulnerable chinks. She had seen what the enemy did to the soldiers she left behind, and she wasn't going to take that chance again. Everyone carried a bell, and the Dennahlia had trained herself to know the sound of each one as it clanked. She would know where her soldiers were, and whether one went missing at any given moment.

Such as now.

Dennahlia stiffened; one bell had missed a step. She almost didn't notice, because as soon as she flinched, it had rung again—but there was something artificial about the sound.

"Hold!" She barked, and all noise ceased. "Sound off!"

The bells clanked one by one; sure enough, the errant bell still rang when it was supposed to... But it wasn't the same ring. Dennahlia waited till the last ring died down, and then raised her hand. A concealed pistol unfolded around her wrist and discharged—

The "missing" Thug fell down dead. The Thug standing next to him stared at the Hunter in confusion and horror. "What'd ye do that fer?" He muttered.

Dennahlia was still trying to figure out what had happened. He still wore the bell—why had the sound changed? How had she come to believe that this one was out of place?

"They're here!" She cried. "Spread out and find them! Look to the trees, don't trust the shadows!"

The Thugs growled happily at the thought of a cunning enemy; they loved knocking over the smart ones. 

Dennahlia herself climbed a tree for a better vantage point. She had been fooled on the ground, so it was time for unpredictable. She listened for shouts and looked for speed amid the lumbering bodies. She could see her whole crew from here. She counted twelve—but how could she still have twelve if one was already dead? She narrowed her eye, and the bodies below her glowed bright red. They all looked very similar in size—till one of the red bodies stretched out blue claws and felled his neighbor.

"WOLF!" Dennahlia shrieked. The red faded to the green of her night-vision, and Dennahlia scurried forward in the pandemonium. She followed the forest path. The moon shone in the western sky. She kept it's light over her right shoulder, heading north toward the capital city. The edge of the treeline lay just ahead, the Huntress broke though the trees—and ended up in an open clearing lined with craggy rocks. She looked up toward the moon—but it hung solemnly in the sky behind her. She stood at the edge of the Wasteland, heading due east and further than ever from the castle. 

Behind her, a howl resonated across the sky. Dennahlia quickly retracted the tiny concealed pistol and drew her twin handguns. She would be ready for whatever came.

Black dots swam on the horizon, bobbing around the crags. Her green night vision slipped back into place, and Dennahlia felt the dread creeping up. 

Wolves, scores of them, all racing toward her position. There was no way she could fend them off with just her arsenal. They would converge on her in a manner of minutes. She heard crashing in the bushes as more emerged from the forest, growling threateningly. There was only one thing left to do. 

She crouch low and gripped the edges of her cloak. Building momentum in her feet, she launched into the air. As soon as her feet landed she ran. She could run fast, faster than any animal alive. She would outrun the wolves. She raced northward, still keeping her original destination of the castle. As long as she kept moving, the wolves could not drag her down. She let off a few shots, but it didn't seem to deter them any. She ran so fast that her eyes could not keep track of her surroundings—

One moment she was running at full speed, the next, she tumbled sideways into a slope full of pain a knives. Darkness overtook her, and the pain stopped—

Then nothing.

~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~

Part 8: "Scales" >>>>>

Also in this Series:

--Part 1: "The Storm"

--Part 2: "Reborn" 

--Part 3: "Memory"

--Part 4: "Legends"  

--Part 5: "Blemish" 

--Part 6: "Prey"

--Appendix: Locations and Characters, Part 1 and Part 2

Reader's Review: "Skeins Unfurled" by K. M. Vanderbilt

 

Synopsis from Amazon:

 

When the murder of a god shatters a thousand years of peace, chaos reigns among the known worlds. Even the Norns, blinded and stripped of their powers, cannot see how it will end. Left without guidance, some gods choose to make their own fates. Others cannot. Old ties are torn apart while new ones are forged. And amidst that tenuous balance, ancient secrets emerge. War looms on the horizon. In a struggle where battle lines constantly shift and allies just as quickly become enemies, nothing is sacred. For some, the end comes sooner than Ragnarok. 

>>>>>

 

My Review: 

 

What is more unique than a multiverse theory? Try a multi-pantheon premise. Tyr presides over most of the other pantheons, regarding few as his equals. Amid the network of heavenly realms, each has their own series of arch-gods, gods, and spirits. After Baldr is killed, Tyr uses the reputations of the others to get Loki banished to the abandoned corner of Asgaard, while trying to satisfy his lust for complete control by restricting the movements of other gods. They are all cut off from their worshipers, and Tyr hopes that this will conserve the power of the gods and they are better off without all the meddling.

Adding to the mix is the "svartalfs" (dark elves) whose own realm is dying. The arch-god Forbelo has in his possession a "breadth key", an artifact of immense power. (If I recall, it essentially gives the bearer access to all realms everywhere, or something). Tyr wants it, but Forbelo would rather keep it safe, so Tyr doesn't mind "keeping" Forbelo himself. But there is a goddess Anjaeraste who desires to usurp Forbelo and claim the breadth key—only Forbelo knows where it is, and he would die before revealing that to her. This, out of all the others, is a side of mythology I hadn't heard before, and I really enjoyed it! I couldn't even tell if Vanderbilt had invented it all her own, or it was based in another culture--which is pretty much exactly the place a mythology writer wants to be. Well played!

The plot is complex and yet the Norns themselves could not have woven it better. Loki is a complicated villain—one is almost sympathetic to his plight as his nature as a Jotün troll is constantly reiterated, and Tyr would rather see him and his sons (a wolf and a world-serpent) banned from existence. Tyr is also presented as an even bigger jerk than all the rest, as his response to any threat to his power would be to annihilate and subjugate. And yet Loki still makes those selfish and amoral choices that we would expect from a "trickster god" like him--especially when placed in contrast as an opposite to the sun-god Freyr. Loki uses the beings who worship him to accomplish his own diabolical purposes, whereas Freyr wants to see the "weaker" mortals rise up in their own sort of glory, as well as reinstating the gods. Some profound life lessons on the nature of true leadership are surely found here!

Freyr is a sympathetic protagonist as he has a genuine concern for repairing the breach between the realms, Midgard included. Yet even he is not without flaws, as the nymph Vatten soon points out the arrogance in Freyr's bearing. 

Speaking of Vatten... "Midgardians" Vatten, Emise, and so many others are fantastic characters, were so vivid and fascinating that I wanted to keep reading if merely for their sakes. The interactions between the characters brought out the various dimensions and rounded out their characters very well, also giving the reader plenty of food for thought! As things in the "celestial realms" are steadily worsening, the gods' best hope just might lay with the mortals they abandoned long ago.

I would give SKEINS UNFURLED a solid *****4.5 STARS*****—a bit tedious and at times too confusing in parts, but definitely 5-star in terms of complexity and depth of the plot and the characters! This is pretty heavy reading, I'd say it's more "New Adult" than "Young", and definitely a good fit for those who enjoy classical mythology, maybe even grown-up fans of Rick Riordan's books (which I think are fantastic!) who are looking for something similar, but on a more mature level. For sure I am looking forward to the rest of the Breadth Key Cycle!

 

Further Reading: (Mythology/Traditions/Urban Legends/Religious Mythology)

-The Boy Named Topaz--Jeffrey Gartshore

-Untamed--Madeline Dyer 

-Domechild--Shiv Ramdas  

The Vemreaux Trilogy--Mary E. Twomey
       -The Way
       -The Truth
       -The Lie  

-Thimblerig's Ark--Nate Fleming

-The Captives--Precarious Yates 

-Out of Darkness Rising--Gillian Bronte Adams 

-The Starlight Proverbs--Darren E. Barber 

-Abiding Flame--Pauline Creeden   

-Sanctuary--Pauline Creeden

 

Serial Saturday: "The Clan of Outcasts" Part 6--Prey

Dennahlia "Black Dahlia" Firron, "The Hunter"

Part 6

"Prey"

Black Dahlia—one of the many names they called her, and the name she used for this latest job. She took great pains to ensure that no one ever knew her real name. She sat at her customary stool in the tavern, nursing a mug of ale. Lord Mulberry would likely not miss the cache of gold and jewels from his collection for some weeks—and in the event that an inquiry began, she had several letters in her possession that would induce most of the peacekeepers to look the other way. She grinned and fingered the gold, jewel-encrusted brooch tucked into the leather straps of her glove. Gratuity, she called it. 

"What is it with girls and shiny things?"

The question issued from under the dusty hat in a corner behind her. She had dismissed him as a passed-out drunk when she came in, but now she mentally berated herself for not realizing when he woke up. She affected a nonchalance, drawing the hand with the brooch through her cropped, violet hair as she pulled the straps of leather back to their places either fingertips. Meanwhile, she pretended to inspect the empty hand in a similar fashion. "What is it with boys and their great big sticks?" She nodded to the subtle reveal of his waist, decked with a utility belt and near-complete arsenal. 

The hat came up. "They say female thieves take their cues from magpies: always after what belongs to others, always hoarding useless trinkets," his eyes twinkled as he spoke, "and prone to making loud screeches just because they enjoy the sound of their own voices."

"That's interesting," she responded, holding his gaze and leaning closer. "I hear the men take their cues from roosters: crowing about their own achievements, strutting about with no purpose except to dominate as many females as possible, obsessed with their peckers, trying to make themselves as big and colorful as possible in a desperate effort to be noticed by these females—and when it comes down to it, they're too stupid to figure out anything taller than a ten-inch fence."

She felt his fingers close around her wrist at the same time she remembered which hand it was. She kept her expression neutral as he twisted her hand palm-up and pulled out the brooch.

"Looks like you're the one who should be worried about a fence here, sweetheart," he teased.

"I've got my network," she pulled her hand away, reaching for the jewel—but he just held it out of her reach.

"Ah-ah!" He chided her like a child. "You want this back, you gotta do something for me."

The Black Dahlia raised dubious eyebrows at the man before her. "You look like someone I'd hire for a job, not the other way around."

He grinned, straight white teeth showing between grungy, scruffy lips. "You, of all people, should know better than to judge a book by its cover."

Dahlia rolled her eyes and pulled away; the man fairly reeked of a trap, and she felt better keeping her autonomy while chalking up the brooch as a loss. 

"I've never been much of a reader," she mused, turning her back on him.

"This one will get you lifetime," he called at her back.

The force of the implication stopped her in her tracks. 

He noticed. "That's right; you do this one mission and, if you come out the other side, you retire and you'll never have to work again. You'll be paid to just go on living. Heck, they might even call you a hero."

Hero—perhaps she could come out of hiding, start using her real name again; it did sound too good to be safe.

She turned back slowly. "What do you mean, if I come back?" She demanded. "I don't do suicide missions."

His bright blue gaze seemed to cut right through hers. "Not unless the cause is worth fighting for," he said.

His words seemed to lance a nerve center; her whole body went numb at the memory of—

"No!" She barked. "I take the job, I name all the terms. It's my body, I decide what risk it takes."

He grinned at her. "You can sure name them, but words do not guarantee implementation, especially not your words." He stood, still holding the brooch tightly in his gloved hand. "So, do we have a deal?"

The Dahlia pressed her lips and relaxed her stance. "I'm still thinking," she responded.

He shook his head. "Not good enough; either you accept the offer—"

"Or you can tell your employer to find another Hunter if she dares," the Dahlia hissed. She was rewarded with a flicker of his eyelids. "Don't presume to know me so well if we've only just met. I have plenty business on my own. You're going to have to sell a little harder if you want me to accept." She turned heel and began walking away.

"Very well," he said behind her, "I suppose we are doing this the hard way."

She heard him stand up, heard his hard-soled boots clacking behind her, but he never addressed her, so she kept walking as he fell into step behind her.

The minute they both emerged from the tavern, she felt the clink of cold steel around her wrist. She twisted, but he held.

"Dennahlia Firron!" The sound of her full name hit her like a blast from her own pistol. 

The man pulled up something on a chain hanging inside his jerkin and held it out. "You are hereby arrested for thievery and the marketing of stolen goods, and remanded into the service of the Twin Regents!"

One glimpse at the Royal Seal dangling in front of her face, and Dennahlia—the infamous Black Dahlia—wilted into compliance. She glared at the twinkling blue eyes. "You could have just told me who they were!" She snarled.

He shrugged as people gasped and pointed at this man leading the esteemed thief through the streets. 

He chuckled. "Would you have believed me? As far as I can tell, it probably wouldn't have changed your answer any."

Dennahlia feinted and wrenched—but her bonds held. "Of course not!" She grunted. "Everybody knows you have to be crazy to put yourself on the payroll for those two." She tried another maneuver, stopping suddenly and thrusting her body toward him. He merely sidestepped and she stumbled backwards.

"I see what you did there," he mused. "I'm not crazy; I'm not on the payroll. Just an independent contractor—with a hefty bounty for bringing you in."

"Bounty hunter?" Dennahlia twisted to stare at him in surprise.

"Not usually—but they promised a hefty fee to whoever could bring them a Hunter—and they specifically named you. Naturally, as the only one in the room capable of actually finding you, I had to volunteer my services."

She rolled her eyes. "Naturally."

They arrived at the castle and the bounty hunter dragged the erstwhile thief all the way to the Inner Court, where a wide marble balcony overlooked the courtyard at the center of the castle. 

There they stood, the infamous Regents: young, pale things in black clothes with deep, crimson hair. The girl wore hers straight down her back, while her brother's hair curled softly around his face and rested at his shoulders.

The Lady Regent clapped her hands and smiled when she saw the Black Dahlia. "Oh! You found her!" She cheered. 

The Lord Regent just stared. Dennahlia refused to make eye contact with either of them. 

The enterprising bounty hunter took the opportunity to step in. "I certainly did! And in record time, I might add. Now if you will just deliver me the reward, I will be on my way."

"Of course!" said Her Ladyship. "My brother will get it for you." She nodded to the young man at her side, who glanced at the man and tilted his head, indicating the exit. 

Now the Lady Regent was alone with Dennahlia. Her Ladyship sighed.

"Miss Firron, I have heard so much about you!" She gushed. "They say you can find almost anyone, and anything, even in the deepest shadows of the blackest night, when most people can't even see their hand in front of their face." She trained her weird gaze on the young Hunter's face. "I want you to find somebody."

Here it was at last. Dennahlia appreciated the forthrightness. She was exceptionally good at finding people, though she always assumed she merely had a knack for it. "Who's the target?"

Her Ladyship opened a display screen and accessed a rather grainy image of a man in a long robe with a white beard growing from his chin, and long white hair. From his hand dangled a talisman of sorts, but Dennahlia couldn't tell what color it was, from the poor picture.

"He is a Mage named Korsan; he served King Balwyn, and then when the King died, the Council foolishly decided to banish him. I want you to go to the wilderness, find him, and bring him back." She paused. "Secretly."

Dennahlia tilted her head. "Why secret?"

Her Ladyship pressed her pale lips. "It was discovered at his sentencing that he is one of those Outcasts."

Just the sound of the word made her want to recoil, though Dennahlia was not entirely sure why. It was only a recent discovery, that there were those living among the normal humans with power so much greater than it should have been. They could do things that weren't normal. The Lady Regent was still watching her carefully.

"You know what this means, don't you?" She asked Dennahlia. "He was the last person who could actually work true magic, not just manipulating something in his surroundings like the Outcasts do. It makes him dangerous, out of sight."

Dennahlia smirked. "You want him in arm's reach?"

A smirk played about those pale lips. "If you can," she challenged.

Dennahlia nodded. "Let me at him."

The Lady Regent nodded. "Very well, you will rendezvous with your team at the barracks. Do this one thing, and I can make it so you live the rest of your days comfortably in retirement." She beckoned a soldier forward, and he offered Dennahlia a small bag filled with coins.

The former thief evaluated the bag as she recalled the bounty hunter promising the same thing. "You'd give me hero status?"

Those eyes again, and a small smile. "Of course."

"Consider it done." Dennahlia accepted the advance and nodded to the Lady Regent.

She was on her way to the garrison when a voice stopped her. "Hunter!"

Dennahlia turned to find the Lord Regent striding toward her, a paper in his hand. "Something else we need. There was a caravan tasked with delivering a suit of armor for my sister," he explained. "It was supposed to arrive at the harbor today but it didn't. See if you can find it."

As Dennahlia accepted the paper with a drawing of the armor, her eyes registered an unnatural sheen staining the leather of his black gloves. She could smell it's essence on the paper he'd held. Her mind identified the material instantly.

Meanwhile, he'd caught her staring. "Something wrong?"

Dennahlia looked into his eyes and found the same piercing gaze his sister had. She swallowed. "There is blood on your hands, Milord," she stated.

He smiled in a way that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, so there is." He walked away.

Meanwhile, Dennahlia tried to squelch the dread rising in her ever since she smelled the blood and somehow knew the source.

The blood belonged to the bounty hunter.

~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~

"Hold still!"

Damaris felt his limbs trembling as he held the sides of the contraption taut. Korsan wove a glittering spell over its surface, and when the circle closed he instructed. "Now let go!"

Damaris released the mechanism, and the spell held. Korsan blew across a finger held to his lips, and the light of the magic disappeared—taking the visibility of the trap with it.

Damaris rubbed his hands till they glowed with heat; this was the fourteenth trap they'd placed in the vicinity of the cave, and his muscles ached. "Are we done yet?" He whined. 

To his relief, Korsan appeared to be heading back into the cave. The old Mage's shoulders slumped; he hadn't needed to work so much magic in a long time. He pointed with his staff.

"Go on ahead of me into the cave," he told him. "I have one more ward to lay, and once I do, we will not be able to leave the cave until it is safe to do so."

Damaris hesitated. Ever since being trapped in a burning building, he'd hated enclosed spaces. "What if it's never safe again?" He blurted.

Korsan stopped and regarded the young boy with much sympathy. "Someday," he assured him. "It will be. I have seen the future, and it is much better than this. We might be innocent prey for now, but soon the predator will be overthrown. All we can do now," he said as they settled in and he began the tedious process of forming boundary wards, "is wait."

~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~

A predator could just as easily become prey, Velora thought, and prey that decides to fight back and win at any cost could conceivably turn the tables and become its predator's predator—provided it had enough willpower and intelligence to outsmart and overpower the enemy.

She left her musings as Harlock completed his strange story—waking up in a boat, finding a half-dragon who healed him, and a boy who could shoot lightning, and hearing about this idea of Gifted people—and finally introduced the small fairy. "This is Jay," he said. "I don't know where she comes from, but she was in my pocket when I first awoke in the boat. At first I mistook her for a living star, but she has a body and wings—she just glows all the time."

Jay emitted a stream of jangling noises. Harlock glanced at Velora and flushed like he was worried she would be offended.

"What?" Velora snorted. "I didn't understand any of that."

Harlock frowned. "Really? It sounds the same as the common tongue we all use."

Aurelle shook her head. "Not to us, it doesn't. Anyway, I know this half-dragon of whom you speak. Her name is Erlis. I met her in the harbor after we were both dispelled from the central city and ended up in the harbor town at the same time."

"Yeah, she's pretty good at what she does," Harlock mused. 

"So now you know why we are here," Aurelle continued, "but what brought you to the forest? Did Erlis send you?"

Harlock shook his head. "No; Jay sensed the danger last night and she warned me to retrace the Hunter's steps to find her camp. I had no idea I would find anyone else, but it's a good thing." He nodded to Velora. "That's what Jay was talking about earlier. The Hunter is after the armor and a faction called the Outcasts. I am guessing that's you guys—so if you know of anyone else, chances are good they are at risk too."

Velora recalled finding the armor; had the survivor group been assigned to deliver it? To whom? "What's so special about this armor?" She asked. "Why would we all be at risk if she doesn't even know how many there are? Heck, we don't even know!"

Harlock shrugged. "Oh sure, ask the guy who can't even remember where he came from. I have no idea about the armor, just that it's very important. The Hunter works for the Twin Regents; that makes her a threat. She also has a reputation for being flawless at her job; that makes her relentless. As long as there is an Outcast still alive, she will not stop—why are you laughing?" He whirled on Aurelle, who vainly tried to suppress her giggles.

"Outcasts... Are how the Council and the Regents regard Gifted people. The Regents issued the Outcast Ordinance banning the use of Gifts unless authorized by the Council—about the only thing they managed to agree on—and it seems they have themselves a Hunter willing to seek them out rather than just getting rid of the ones who cause trouble."

Harlock glanced around the clearing full of bodies. "Trouble, like dispatching an entire military detachment?"

Velora grinned. "Guess that makes you one of us, pal!" She teased.

Aurelle smiled. "Are you gifted as well?"

Harlock rubbed the back of his neck. "Kind of, I guess," he admitted. "I sort of found out by accident that I can manipulate water."

Velora lifted her head and sniffed. "Any water?" She asked.

Harlock shrugged. "Maybe; I only used water from the harbor." He stared at the strange girl. "Why?"

Velora looked between them. "It's going to rain soon, which would make the trail very difficult for anyone but this Hunter, I'm guessing. Also, she probably won't have any idea that we already know she's coming."

Aurelle could see ideas taking shape. Already, the designs formed against her palm. "I see!" she said. "With our combined gifts—your reflexes, his water manipulation, and my illusions—we could lure her into an ambush."

Velora smiled. "The predator becomes prey," she affirmed.

~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~

Part 7: "Signs and Wonders" >>>>>

Also in this Series:

--Part 1: "The Storm"

--Part 2: "Reborn" 

--Part 3: "Memory"

--Part 4: "Legends"  

--Part 5: "Blemish"

--Appendix: Locations and Characters, Part 1 and Part 2