Chronicles of Fen- Cernuin Read online

  “Ladon, you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” Ladon waved a hand and continued. Fen decided to let the altercation go, to let them laugh.

  * * *

  “Tea for the jokester here,” Ophelia chuckled as her hairy black feet picked up the cup and set it down in a long swooping motion.

  Sitting in one of the foldable chairs, a small table next to him, Ladon looked at the cup. His eyes flickered to Fen’s form. The man had taken off his robes, leaving the form-fitting black undershirt and leggings on beneath, perhaps to wash the robes. They were now hanging up to dry, so likely that was the case. The air smelled like blossoms – beyond the peppermint tea, though. It felt entirely different than the last time he was in the mage’s tent.

  Back then, he’d awoken from nearly dying – now he was here for his first treatment. The harpy’s things seemed haphazardly placed, with no rhyme or reason to how they were organized, but the man moved with grace and purpose. He knew exactly where the odds and ends of things were, even if having a cup and a bowl in separate bags didn’t make sense to Ladon.

  What also began unnerving him was how he kept searching for that lute, remembering the song and how the man had sung. It was certainly not the worst performance, but it had held a charm he couldn’t shake – despite being off-key.

  He’d overheard several men and women by now talking about it, though he’d never engage in such talk. Harpies were known to captivate men by their grace and beauty – then at their most vulnerable, the monster would kill them. The only jarring thing was that all harpies had been women before. Perhaps it made Fen’s acceptance easier; Ladon had overhead his captains admitting to not giving it much thought. A male harpy hardly had the ability to seduce soldiers– right? It didn’t come across his mind, until now and again when he’d have a rare opportunity to look.

  “Are you listening, General Ladon?”

  The general blinked and realized he was staring at the pink-haired man, who had a frustrated gaze turned cold on him. He felt heat rush to his cheeks and he stammered. Fortunately, his ailment came to his aid and sent him into a painful coughing fit.

  The pain crushed his thoughts, mind blanking out as he wheezed and tasted copper on his teeth. Fen sighed and moved to take the man’s arm. He tugged on him. As Ladon’s vision returned, he stumbled to his feet and sat in the chair.

  “I’ll repeat myself, then,” he said softly, fingers deftly unlatching the hinges of his armor. He lifted the shoulder pieces and then the armor. Ladon’s chest rattled, and he swallowed another mouthful of blood. Too weak to do much other than move and make it easier for the harpy to take off the armor, Ladon wondered why the hassle.

  “I need to see your wound, where I’ll administer the treatment,” Fen explained, reading his look. Ladon groaned, leaning back as he struggled to take in sufficient breaths.

  “Hope it doesn’t – take too long,” he wheezed as Fen stood over him, his clawed fingernails deftly unfastening the buttons to Ladon’s shirt. Ladon felt the cool air hit his chest as his shirt fell open. His throat remained burning and tight as his eyes briefly caught the moment of hesitation flashing behind Fen’s gaze, his eyes on the wound. Ladon felt rather exposed to him.

  “It won’t. But it does look worse,” Fen said sternly, pulling off the shirt. Ladon’s black hair was already messy, but now it was messier. Once bared, Fen’s eyes swept up and down Ladon’s torso, a look of fright crossing him. “Yes, it’s pretty bad. Ophelia—” The words barely left him when the spider reached across the room with ease, setting the syringe in his hand. The greenish liquid already sat in the tube.

  His skin is so damn hot. Ladon couldn’t think clear enough to consider why that was, but sat close to delirium while the harpy unwrapped his wound. The cooler air washing over it incited a flinch. Then the prick of the needle – followed by searing heat through his arm muscles. He clenched his teeth against the pain, which lasted but seconds, before a wave of coldness washed over him.

  His body relaxed and he slumped, head hanging. He stared at the half-empty vial, watching as it emptied the rest of the way into his bloodstream. The area around turned a healthy pink, but as soon as the needle left, it was that sickly gray again, the blue veins more prominent.

  “Ophelia, cleaning supplies please. I think the wound itself needs another round of attention.” Fen’s calm voice sounded somewhere in the buzz filling Ladon’s head. He looked drunkenly up, seeing a sheen of pale purple – no, pink – hair. It took him a moment to remember it was Fen, and his eyes moved up to the face of the man.

  Fen was incredibly close now, poking him, his words not making any coherent sense in Ladon’s foggy brain.

  “...eyes unfocused...but breathing is better...Ophelia, I need my book.”

  Ladon’s head slung forward, moving a hand to catch his forehead as he heard Fen’s feet shuffle away. His hearing finally returning, the fog slowly dissipated. He felt better, airways clearer.

  “Feeling better, Ladon?”

  He stared at the man as Fen re-wrapped his shoulder, forcing him to sit up straighter. Nodding mutely, Ladon tried internalizing the question, gauging how he felt. He could breathe, but what was going on with his head?

  “Tea?” the spider’s voice filtered through his muddled thoughts. Fen answered on his behalf – accepting it, Ladon believed. Sure enough, a warm cup of tea was pushed into his hand. He clutched it and watched Fen move away to sit at his table, crossing a leg over the other and leaning slightly. A book lay open near his elbow.

  “What was that, General?”

  What was what? Ladon blinked dumbly. Did he mumble something? He shook his head again.

  “The...treatment...I think took my mind away, momentarily. I feel drunk.”

  “The tea may help.” Fen took his pen and nodded for him to drink. Ladon sighed and obeyed, hand shaky. He clasped with his other hand to help steady it to his lips. The soothing peppermint slid down his throat, warming his chest. Fen stared at him. “Better yet?”

  “No,” Ladon blurted, staring at the wafting steam. “It’s good though. Thank you.”

  “It’s Ophelia’s mix, thank her.”

  “A mix?—what?” he looked at the giant spider now making itself – herself – comfortable on a pile of plush pillows. “A spider made the tea?”

  “Someone’s being specieist!” Ophelia huffed. Fen didn’t respond as he sipped again from his own steaming mug.

  “Ophelia makes several tea blends – she’s an artisan,” Fen stated with a slight smile. “This one is peppermint-lavender, with black tea woven in to help keep one sharp. It’s soothing, but still serves its function for me.”

  Ladon mulled it over. “So her...foot...was in this?”

  “Ophelia keeps very clean – why are you so concerned?” Fen frowned.

  “I’m not...it’s just. I need answers eventually.”

  “Ophelia is a spider—”

  “A beautiful, smart, powerful spider!” Ophelia filled in, and Fen smiled fondly. “A most wonderful teacher, too,” she added proudly in afterthought.

  “And that’s all you need to know about her. I’d rather not have everyone know of her, strictly so she’s not attacked before giving it a second thought...” Fen sighed. “Now, back to your treatment. It looks like a week is your max. Perhaps I should increase your dose? I’m not sure what that could do...” he rubbed his chin, falling deep into thought. Ladon sipped more of the tea. He could feel the spider’s eyes on him, and it made him nervous.

  “Do you feel any different, General Ladon?” the huge spider asked. “Anything peculiar, needing explanation? A craving for odd foods or have you become exceptionally tired and whiny?”

  Fen shot her a look, offended, while Ladon shrugged.

  “Are you asking if I’m pregnant? No, spider. That doesn’t happen to men.”

  Fen laughed and Ladon glanced. Something in the tone of the laugh made him smile.

  “Oh!” The spider’s voice changed.
“You’re attracted to Fen!” Ladon blushed and glared, Fen following suit.

  “Ophelia, I told you to stop obsessing over it. A little of this,” he waved a vial, “is not going to impair him. I’m sorry for her insolence, Ladon.”

  Ladon shrugged. “Sorry? What for? Ophelia’s banter is just banter. Seems she’s worried what your blood may do to me.” Fen stared at him, looking guilty.

  “It is disrespectful to someone of your status. Anyone’s status,” he added on second thought. “But yes, she’s worried. I suppose I should be mildly concerned too. If there’s anything else going on, I need to know, understand? Are there any effects you notice?”

  Ladon looked sheepishly at his cup of half-drunk tea. “I don’t think I could walk a straight line if I wanted. This treatment, it makes me feel drunk. The brink of it. Tipsy, some call it.”

  “A buzz. I’ll...note that...” Fen reopened the book and silence fell. All Ladon could hear was the scratching of the pen tip to the papers. Ladon dared another look around, eyes finally spotting the lute, tucked under some folded spare clothes.

  “How often do you play?”

  “Hm?” Fen lifted his head up from his work and looked where Ladon was staring. “Oh. That thing? A few times a week if I’m lucky. We arrive at Haven tomorrow though, so I doubt I’ll have the chance for a while.” He set down the pen to take his cup of tea, sipping it and looking between it and Ladon, thinking. “Ladon, I owe you something.”

  Ladon jolted from his thoughts and looked up in surprise. The harpy repositioned himself, appearing awkward and unsure of himself. “I owe you for your working with me and also for robbing you of a normal life.”

  Ladon stared. What did he mean? Fen continued.

  “The gods caused the fall of our world, but I know my part in it. Never would I have imagined they’d ravage the world for decades. Now we’re on the brink, and I feel wholly responsible for bringing justice to the table. Note, I am not shouldering blame,” he added firmly, reminding Ladon of their last altercation.

  “Regardless. It’s hard to find someone willing to go along with such a far-reaching idea – but you’re trusting me, and I am indebted to you for that.”

  Ladon rubbed his chin, stubble scratchy. “I never said I trusted ya.”

  “You never said you didn’t. Only that your men do. But I sense your trust,” Fen stated.

  “You saved my life, Court-Mage Fen,” Ladon began, but the mage raised a hand, shaking his head.

  “It’s Fen to you, Ladon. You’re the real commander of the troops. I know only so much to keep us guarded, but you have all the tactics. I just needed the power in case others...tried to leave. But they trust and follow you. As for...well, saving you.” He wrinkled his nose in a look of distaste. “That may be so, but now you’re reliant on me to keep from dying. And to keep the secret of this treatment away from everyone else – you’re wise and I respect you. Just name what you want and I’ll make it happen. I have the king’s seal of approval to use the treasury for anything necessary...and paying you back is necessary. Don’t fight me on it.”

  Ladon stared at him dumbly. It had been a rough week, undoubtedly, but the man’s admittance relieved and stunned him.

  “I...I have nothing I want more than simply the end of this war. I want our people to continue on, for the world to. To go back to a peaceful life. Fen, you end the Accursed, and we’re even.”

  “That’s happening regardless, so don’t cheat on it.” Fen offered a slight smile. “I know you’re humble, but this isn’t about showing how virtuous you are. Give it some time and come back to me later with your request.”

  Ladon leaned on his elbow, head still spinning, but began stabilizing more. He sipped the tea, finishing the rest. “All right, fine. If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.”

  Fen smiled a little, and the general returned it.

  Chapter Nine

  Over the next few days, the landscape grew cold, the terrain rough beneath a blanket of snow. On the horizon, standing tall above the thin tree line, were perched huge walls and a kingdom beyond. Haven. While the soldiers clutched cloaks and jackets, Fen used magic to keep himself warm. The wind still chilled him, however, and left him uncomfortable and peeved, longing for the comforts of a real shelter.

  Fen grinned as he listened to Hawk and Ladon talking about hot meals and comparing cocoa to coffee. After skirmishes and turmoil, relief was in sight, and everyone’s spirits were up.

  It won’t be long, though, and then we will be marching beyond Haven and into the den of the beast. Cernuin won’t be kind.

  Speaking of which, he’d barely been able to concoct half a plan for facing the god. He’d kept in touch with the court-mage of Haven, who fed him information on the gods’ whereabouts, but the information could only conclude so much. All but two of the scouts sent out had died on their way back. Most at the hand of the Accursed.

  He hoped to see the court-mage as soon as they were welcomed into the city. But part of him hesitated at the idea. So badly did he want a proper bath, to repair his clothes and clean them with better soaps. He wanted the comforts of his old chambers; as much as they were a prison, they became his home and safe place for dozens of years. Now he was free – on contingent. A contingent he fully agreed with, but still the notion jarred with his senses of normalcy. To think he could simply buy a room and sleep anywhere but the Tower unnerved him. Worse yet, most rooms would barely be comfortable.

  You’re thinking far too much about this, Fen. We’ll be welcome at the Tower – everyone knows mages and non-magicborn don’t sleep together, especially in civilized society.

  Fen relaxed a little. She was right. He was overthinking this.

  “How long until we’re at the wards, you think?” Hawk asked him suddenly. Fen glanced.

  “I don’t sense them yet. Probably another few leagues.”

  “So roughly...six hours?”

  “Probably three,” Ladon grunted. “We’ve been keeping a good pace, despite the terrain difficulties.”

  Hawk grinned. “I can’t wait! Women, warm food, a bed with fuckin’ springs!”

  Fen smiled slightly. He winced against a gust of wind. The leafless twiggy trees rustled. Was it this far into the season already? As if in answer, snow began to fall.

  Fen halted briefly, palm outstretched to catch the soft, fluffy-looking flakes. They melted slowly, stinging his bare skin with cold. Tears welled, as memories slammed through his mind. Briefly, he heard a beautiful laugh, her voice carrying the weight of his world away. He could see her smile. The fiery red locks. A soft, heart-shaped face.

  Melody.

  “Fen, are you all right?” Ladon’s voice shattered the memory, and Fen blinked, world rushing back to him. He grinned and picked up his pace.

  “I haven’t seen snow in decades.”

  “You never left the Tower?” Both Ladon and Hawk seemed surprised. Fen shook his head.

  “No. My chamber was windowless.”

  Ladon and Hawk exchanged brief looks while Fen walked ahead.

  “Pick up your feet, men. Haven won’t run to you!” Fen called over the wind.

  A sudden blast of wind tore at them. Fen stumbled back into Hawk, grasping at the cloak and gritting his teeth – hair whipping around his face. It wasn’t a normal wind. With sudden realization, Fen felt the undertones of magic right before it struck.

  “Ashinari!” he yelled, throwing a shield up a moment too late. Through the tree line, a blast of snow-covered rocks exploded, tearing into dozens of soldiers. The trucks halted, allowing the soldiers to rush in and grab the bikes and rover.

  “Formation!” General Ladon yelled, taking command. Fen’s vision blurred as a hand grabbed him and yanked him into a rover. He stared at Hawk, who hopped into the driver’s seat.

  “Shields, court-mage!”

  Fen stood cautiously, gripping the cage of the rover, and squinted through the sharp wind. He could see the bear-sized, wolf-like creatures. Bi-pedal on
occasion, with lengthy arms to allow four-legged running, the ashinari were the winter’s beasts. They didn’t have the same effect as the Accursed, but one could split a man with a single snap of its jaws.

  Their magic manipulated the snow – how, Fen couldn’t guess. His understanding of magic was far different than these beasts’ abilities. It took pain to cast magic – and it could be deadly if overused. They were an anomaly to him, to every mage he’d spoken with, leading to only one conclusion: the gods made them.

  The rover hit a rock, knocking Fen forward, and he fell out – just as he’d unleashed a shield wall.

  The beasts slammed another round of magic into it, succeeded the next wave. Fen rolled to avoid the swaths of soldiers running past. He whipped around, calling out for Hawk, but couldn’t see as debris and snow burst through the air. The chaos unnerved him. He was losing control of the situation.

  With the Accursed battles, he’d come to a routine that was effective, minimizing death. Stripped of that, Fen could do little but stagger, duck, and evade until finding something familiar. He spotted General Ladon, firing at an ashinari, teeth gritted in a look of pure rage and intent. The man’s eyes flickered, ordering those around him to make a strong formation. He was creating order amid the chaos.

  Fen ran for them.

  “Ladon!”

  Ladon barely turned his head. His eyes darted right. “FEN, GET OUT OF THE WAY!”

  Fen skidded just in time for a slew of bullets to fire past him. One snapped through his hair, skimmed his clothes, leaving tears. The men shooting blanched, calling out, yelling profanities. Even Ophelia was cursing him profusely in his mind’s ear.

  “Where is Hawk?!” Ladon yelled after felling several ashinari. He broke formation to jog toward him. Fen broke out of the daze and looked around.

  “I-I don’t know – I fell and—”

  “No time, cast a shield!” Ladon grabbed his shoulder and steered him to his troop, placing him in the back. Sweat beaded his brow, snow packed in his beard. His eyes snapped back to the front of the row, hearing the howls and growls of more ashinari.