RE: Monarch

I initially panicked, thinking this hooded person and the cowled man at Thoth’s side were the same person. On further inspection they were clearly distinct. This man was much wider, though that might be attributed to his billowing robe. He also lacked the gravity and presence of the other cowled man.

"Tell me child, how does a magician come to be lost in the Everwood?" His voice modulated. It was almost genderless, one moment seeming male, then next female. I shuffled backwards, hair on my neck raising as the words cut through my sleep-addled mind and registered. He knew. How did he know?

I considered running, but the stranger still held my sword in his hand, my only weapon in this gods-forsaken place.

“I’m not a magic-user,” I finally said.

He let the silence hang between us awkwardly, only cocking his head at my words, his gaze slowly panning from me to the still burning violet flame. I mentally kicked myself for my poorly thought actions over the previous days. Using the demon-fire so freely was moronic. It was justifiable the first night; I was under siege in an unfamiliar place and didn’t know what I was doing. Using it every night after was a mistake. If the man followed me even for the last day, he would know unequivocally what I was.

"It’s just a minor talent," I said.

"I see. But you still haven’t answered my question, child."

I am Prince Cairn. My escort was attacked.

The words died in my throat before they were given a voice. Noble status was a double-edged sword. Throwing a title around in the correct situation achieves much. But at that moment I was incredibly vulnerable. Announcing myself as a prince to random denizens of the wood seemed an excellent way to be taken hostage. I considered my next words carefully.

"My name is Cairn. I’m apprenticed to my father, a traveling apothecary. We were on route to the capital when bandits attacked and were separated."

The man clapped his gloved hands together suddenly with a muted thump. "A magician and an apothecary?" He looked around my campsite, gaze settling on the bound herbs. "What wonderful luck!"

I regretted my choice only for a moment before the significance of this statement struck me. "Are you in need of an apothecary… sir?" I cringed slightly. It was truly difficult to discern the person’s gender.

The stranger took it in stride. "Sir is fine, child. Sir Barion." He sighed. "And that I am. Living in the Everwood is an eternal ordeal. I am constantly running out of poultices and salves. And the little monsters in the closest village don’t like to share." Inharion. He was talking about the elves.

I pressed the advantage. "If you help return me to the capital, kind sir, my father will happily provide you with all the aid you might need as a reward. And then some." It wasn’t a total lie. My father would provide him aid. It would just be from the royal chemist, rather than an apothecary. In actuality—a much better deal than I was offering.

The man threw his hood back and eyed me critically. He was entirely hairless, including eyebrows. His skin was albino-white. The nose of his face was almost feminine, while his lips were wide and bloodless. "I wasn’t born yesterday, child. What’s to stop you from scampering off the moment we reach the capital? Not to mention it’s quite a long journey."

I crossed my arms, my honor impugned. "What sort of wretch would dare treat their savior so poorly?"

"You’d be surprised then." The stranger said dryly. He stood, brushing off the seat of his pants and pulled his hood back over his head. "Still, I have a proposition for you child. I am a researcher. A man of science. But my lack of knowledge in your field rankles the mind. Come to my home. Show me your craft. Instruct me on how to make my own poultices and where to find the ingredients."

I held my hands palms out and forced a smile. "You honor me. But I am but a lowly apprentice of little talent. My father is the true practitioner."

He looked at the ground herbs again and my makeshift mortar and pestle, then back up to the bandage that I had sewn for myself out of plant fiber. I flushed.

"Nothing wrong with a little humility, child, but assign credit where credit is due. I’ll feed you and provide you shelter. After a few weeks, I’ll charter an escort from Ironhenge and pay for it myself to return you to your father."

Well, it was too much to hope the man would just grab a knapsack on a stick and skip down to the capital with me. I didn’t trust him, exactly, but he seemed well-educated and intelligent. There was a chance he was dangerous, sure. I’d be a fool to trust a random altruistic stranger in the Everwood.

But the Everwood itself was a death trap, and my rescuer wasn’t altruistic, really. I knew what he wanted. It was a mutually beneficial proposal, something I was much more familiar with. From my experience in the royal court, it was far more dangerous to trust an ally with unknown intentions than a neutral party with clear goals. I pretended to think it over, then nodded.

"Excellent. What splendid luck indeed, my boy. For both of us."

He motioned for me to follow him and turned, his robe billowing behind him as he strode into the early morning fog. It may have been a trick of the light, but something seemed strange in his figure, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

It would occur to me randomly, weeks later.

Barion didn’t cast a shadow.

I’d feared some sort of witch’s hut, small and cramped, where we were forced to sleep on bedrolls around the cauldron. Instead, the cottage was surprisingly normal. It was situated in a clearing and was charmingly rustic: the paint was faded and the construction uneven, but it was relatively spacious. In fact, it seemed the sort of house those in rustic communities might shake their fist at for ruining the neighborhood with how decent it was. Smoke curled invitingly from the chimney. Barion stopped me at the door and pointed me to a nearby river where I could wash, handing me a jug and asking me to bring water back with me.

I dipped myself in the river and reveled in the sensation of cool, clean water tugging at my limbs. Tension left me for the first time since the coronation, washed away with a filmy layer of dirt. It felt like the last few days had been nothing but running, scrounging, nearly dying and possibly actually dying. I held onto a nearby root and closed my eyes, wishing the sensation could last forever. I opened my eyes and saw a patch of beautiful blue flowers across the river from me. Laudenshade. The one that kills you. That reminded me, there was a job to do.

It took an embarrassingly involved effort to clean my clothes, and I gave up on them entirely by the time it was done, instead opting to wear the simple black tunic that Barion gave me. The fact that he had it in the first place had not initially given me pause. It had yet to fully sink in that I was no longer the size of my previous body. I didn’t feel short. Everyone and everything else just seemed too tall. But now, as I looked at the garment, it did seem strange that Barion would have clothes in my size. Perhaps he wasn't alone out here after all.

Filling the jug with river water was easy. Carrying it was not. I managed to lift it and move a few steps before having to pause. I continued like this for some time. Around halfway I considered giving up and just dragging it, but immediately dismissed the notion. That was the sort of thinking that got me to the point where—during the invasion—I could barely hold my own against a single enemy.

My mind drifted to Alten. I wondered where he was now. He was younger than me. He had carried himself with the air of a veteran, but surely it would be a few years before he could enlist. As far as I knew, the Royal Army did not take men younger than fourteen. I would not forget him. My debt to Alten was not the sort of thing I took lightly, even if it had not yet been incurred.

I set the jug down one final time before reaching the house. Much to my annoyance, I was winded and stared at the ground, taking several deep breaths. It was then that I saw the cellar door off to the side. That alone was unremarkable—cellars were not uncommon, especially in rustic homes—but the chains that held the doors shut were not. There were four chains in total. Though dirty, they were clearly made from ascended steel, bright chrome coloring glinting in the sun, bound in the center by a massive padlock.

I frowned. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for a researcher’s lab to be under lock and key. They were isolated sorts, protective of their methods and findings, nearly to the degree of magicians. But this level of security was absurd. Contents of the cellar would likely be completely unrecoverable should Barion ever lose his key.

I shrugged, picking up the jar and finally crossing the threshold into the house.

Barion was an excellent host. He prepared a pheasant for dinner, accompanied with an assortment of vegetables he bragged were from his garden out back. I cleaned my plate in a storm of flashing utensils. The pheasant was delectably greasy and well-spiced. Even the vegetables were excellent. I’d have paid a full silver rod back home for a meal like this, preferably at the end of a night of drinking. When I looked up mournfully from my vanquished meal, I saw with embarrassment that my rescuer was only a third of the way through his, studying me with amusement.

Damn. Apparently, a little exposure and survivalism was enough to transform me into a terrible guest. Trying to save face, I asked how he’d managed to grow such a delicious bounty within the bounds of the Everwood.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, but compliments from a starving child are questionably sourced." He generously heaped another serving onto my plate. I dug in, but slower.

"Perhaps," I admitted. "But that doesn’t change the fact that it's the beginning of Winterscrest and the grounds of this forest are practically barren. Herbs and the like grow here well enough, but farming produce is said to be devilishly hard, if not impossible. Is the land in this clearing different?"

"Not particularly. The grounds were just as wooded as everywhere else when I first came here, years ago. I cleared them myself over time."

"I see." He was stronger than he looked, then.

"Why not." Barion interjected suddenly. "I’ll tell you, since you’ll be sharing quite a few secrets with me over the course of our time together. The secret to farming in this accursed land is simple. Fertilizer."

"Fertilizer," I said dumbly, not quite believing him.

"Fertilizer." Barion poked his knife at me. "Rabble these days always expect something for nothing. They take and they take until there’s nothing left, then shake their fists at the sky in mewling impotent rage, blaming the gods for their sudden misfortune." He stabbed at the pheasant, slicing it into careful, precise chunks.

"But not you."

"Not me. What I understand that they do not, is the value of giving back to the earth. Sacrifice. Thus, I use only the best fertilizer for my plants."

I pushed my plate away, leaning back, hand on my full stomach. "For a man of science, that sounds almost…"

"Mystical?"

"Well… yes." For the first time, I noticed there was a third plate and set of utensils set out at the end of the table. "Sir Barion, is someone else joining us?"

He sighed. "Most likely not. My assistant buries herself in her work these days. She’s going through something of a rebellious phase, you see." I was relieved at that. Something about the strange hairless man having an assistant made him less intimidating. "She’s a little older than you. How old are you?"

"Twelve."

"Two years older, then. You’ll be teaching us both to identify the necessary ingredients and prepare them."

"Speaking of which…"

We went on to discuss the sorts of things Barion would need. I was comforted when he didn’t ask for anything questionable. In fact, everything he requested was some sort of palliative: burn salve, disinfectant, numbing agents, the sort of things that healed colds and bronchial infections. The sort of things a chemist would want on hand in case of an accident. I silently thanked Lillian for being so thorough in her teachings. Never had the knowledge been so crucial to me.

Day gave way to night quickly. There was no sign of Sir Barion’s assistant, but when asked he seemed confident in her ability to take care of herself. I was beset by yawning far before the sun had set, and by dusk I was nearly asleep on my feet. Sir Barion introduced me to my quarters. They were cramped, consisting of just a small bed, dresser, and closet, but compared to my prehistoric accommodations in the Everwood, it felt like an untenable luxury. My host bade me farewell and I collapsed on the bed and greeted sleep, warm and grateful.

Sleep was not kind. Surviving the Everwood kept my mind occupied with a uniform obsession. Every waking moment spent with iron focus on surviving and attempting to navigate, every night filled with a fatigue so total it was impossible to focus on anything else.

Now safe, my mind went back to the invasion, replaying the horror and violence again and again, terror growing with each repetition. I woke up in tears, hand clutched to my chest, cursing the useless fear and wanting nothing more than to fall asleep. It happened twice more that night before I finally fell into a fitful, uneasy nothingness.

The dreams haunted me, filled with visions of my enemies. Sharp-toothed elves. Thoth’s gloating hatred. The infernal who murdered my sister. Her tribal face-paint and devil horns and milky white eyes. She shook me violently with both hands. "Boy?" the infernal said, her accent thick.

I slammed down on where her forearms met her elbows and broke her hold.

It was all too cogent in my mind how quickly she could cast her magic.

I grabbed her and pulled her over my body. A shriek of surprise died in her throat as her head hit the wall. Too slow. I was moving too slow. She thrashed and I leapt atop her. The others could be on me at any moment. Her hand went out, fingers splayed.

Not this time.

I slapped it away in a rage, managing to pin both her hands above her head. She opened her mouth to shout for help and I clamped my hand over it just in time. She still struggled against my grip. She was stronger than me but right now, I had the advantage. Quickly removing my hand from her mouth I placed it on her throat and began to squeeze. Her eyes bulged. She struggled more violently now, clawing my arms and hands, her dark claws leaving lines of blood. I tightened my grip, put my full weight behind it. Her struggling grew weaker and weaker.

"Why didn’t you just leave it?" I whispered angrily. "Why couldn’t you just leave me be?"

The cold tip of a needle brushed my throat. "That’s quite enough, child."

Barion.

Only then did I realize that this was not a dream.

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