Fyvesdee, the 25th of Harvest, 768 A.E.

  Anthea’s green eyes flickered open. Her head pounded, and her body felt as if her limbs had been twisted and pulled between two large dogs in a vicious game of tug-o-war. Her stomach was twisting as if in a knot, and she felt feverish. Her lungs felt inundated with air, as if there was too much of it pressing down on her. Everything felt heavier and muggier. She found herself missing the cool breezes of Cenalium already, and from the look of the sun, it had only been a couple Ouers since they’d left Cenalium.

  Looking around, she discovered she was lying on a bed of grass and leaves. This was not a new experience for her, but it was strange, nonetheless. In Cenalium, a patch of grass would never be allowed to grow unchecked like this. Nor would there be so many ants, gnats, and flies roaming about. Bedros seemed to attract the greater share of these pests – likely attracted to his musky scent – but a few still found their ways to bother her. That the creatures pestered him more was of little comfort.

  Just trying to get her bearings for a few moments, she watched her companion sleep as her memories of the last Dee began to replay in her head. Bedros’ heavy snoring kept interrupting her train of thought. Each time memories of her father began to flood back in, and tears began to well up in her eyes, he’d snort or twitch nervously in his sleep, murmuring animal-like noises all the while.

  Bedros’ large flat nose twitched; and his rough tongue flapped out to lick his snout. A moment later his ear shook to dislodge a fly that had chosen it as its perch. She laughed aloud, which caused Bedros to sit straight up and grab for the mallet that lay beside him.

  He grunted in such a way that let her know he wanted to know what had happened. His eyes roamed around them, looking for something that might have offended her or expressed aggression toward her.

  “Nothing. I was just watching you sleep. You were noisy.”

  Bedros nodded slowly, a very deliberate looking action for any Ox-Man, simply because they didn’t have much of a well-defined neck area. They had more of a broadening of muscle and bones until it became a large pair of shoulders.

  “I don’t feel so well, Bedros. And I worry about tonight. What will we do when night falls? We had father’s arc-sword before, but even the one I took from Vitalis won’t be enough to last for the Ouers we’ll need it.”

  Bedros nodded as he calmly listened to her fears. He reached over into the mass of baggage that had formerly been slung across his massive shoulders, and he pulled out a single padded bag, of which he carefully untied the closures before emptying the contents out in front of Anthea.

  Half a dozen melon-sized light globes lay between the two of them. Anthea squatted next to them, rocking back and forth on her heels as she picked one up and looked closely. There was an extra piece of equipment on the end of each, attached to the end that would normally be mounted to a wall, and therefore a feed.

  “These have chargers.” Anthea said in surprise as she examined the crystal pod.

  Bedros nodded and grinned. He made a sweeping gesture with his left hand and then tapped his chest. His other hand rose to tap his coarsely haired head afterward. This was part of a code language they’d worked out between the two of them to communicate. It was easier than pulling out a piece of slate and a stick of chalk every time he wished to reply with something more than a nod.

  Anthea smiled. Bedros had just told her that her father and he had prepared well.

  This was enough to remind her of her recent loss, and it brought tears back to her emerald eyes. Bedros reached out immediately, placing a heavy hand on her arms where they rest atop her knees. She lowered her face and pressed it to the back of his hand, stifling the urge to cry for now.

  When she lifted her face, there was a pair of damp dots on the back of Bedros’ sorrel colored skin, hardly noticeable among the strands of thick hair. Bedros pays no attention to them, standing instead.

  “Yes, you’re right.” Anthea said, watching him. “We need to keep moving. Did my father say where we were to go?”

  Bedros nodded. He pulled out his slate and wrote a single word in a hand that resembled nothing more than a childish scrawl. The slate said: ‘Aetheline.’

  Anthea frowned, not recognizing the name off hand. “Well, it will have to wait. We will search the base of the mountain for my father. There is a chance he has survived, and if,” she swallowed heavily, “if he has not and we find his remains, I will see to his body myself. I will not leave him to lie on the slopes below Cenalium.”

  And with that, she stood herself up next to him, shouldering her rather modest load of goods. Bedros wanted to protest and express the need to flee from any more pursuers that might be out there, but he could see from the determined set to his young mistress’ face that she would not be deterred or swayed from this course easily. And part of him wanted to do what was right by Orestes and see to his body as well.

  To an observer, the pair would likely have looked rather humorous. Bedros weighed many times what the girl did, stood easily half again her height if not almost twice, and was three or four times as wide. Add a man-sized pile of baggage to his shoulders and a mallet that weighed as much as Anthea did, and he was a sizeable and imposing figure.

  She, on the other hand, was daintily built with a graceful, almost airy pep to her steps that was more inborn than learned. She looked natural in her skin, accustomed to her limbs as she waded through weeds that went from ankle deep to waist deep, while Bedros simply plodded forward beside her, crushing a swathe of grasses beneath his hooved feet.

  As they walked, Anthea took in sustenance in the form of travel rations – another of her father’s thoughtful preparations. The rations consisted of various dried fruits and meats as well as a variety of flextainers of different syrupy juices laden with nutrient fuels for the body.

  Each of the flextainers was about the size of a canteen, holding approximately one Layter of fluids. Their material allowed them to bend without breaking even if Bedros were to put the full of his weight down onto one. Of course, the cap would likely burst were he to do so, but their elasticity made them excellent for traveling because of their resistance to breakage.

  There were worst ways to start a morning and with food in her stomach and the sun shining down upon her, she began to feel better. She made herself breath slowly in the heavy air, or she would get light-headed from the excess of oxygen she took into her lungs. With exertion, though, came the urge to breath deeply, so more than once she began to feel dizzy. When she felt out of sorts, they’d pause and then continue walking a few Mynettes later.

  For nearly two Ouers Anthea and Bedros trudged along the rocky base of the mountain that led up to Cenalium at its peak. They wove their way in and out of the arms of the mountain, which reached out like roots of a massive oak to break apart the dominion of the forest of trees that lay nestled against its base. The land was rough, with crevices filled with dark, stagnant water. Spindly evergreens clung tenaciously to the thin loess that had accumulated over the rock, using their roots in accord with the winds and water to break apart the mountain, but their task would take an eternity.

  Mostly, the pair followed deer trails, moving from vantage point to vantage point so that they could look up the side of the mountain to see if they could spot the body of Orestes. Every time they thought they caught a glimpse of something that might be him, it turned out to be a trick of light, a plant, or even a bird one time. Yet there was no sign of Orestes or even his arc-sword.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Anthea wiped the sweat her brow with a silken handkerchief and frowned at what had formerly seemed a pleasant environment. Now the trees and rocks and the rough terrain seemed to be obstacles that kept her from finding her father.

  Bedros glanced side to side, his wide eyes investigating every noise for some sign of pursuit. She knew as well as he that they didn’t have forever to search, but she couldn’t give up yet. Her father would search forever for her if their roles were reversed, so how could she do any less for him?

  Tears threatened once more, but like all the other times, she just bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering, scowled her brow so the flesh around her eyes would tighten in submission, and she moved along.

  Around the fifth Ouer of the Dee – fifth out of ten – Anthea paused beside a small spring. It lay in a depression between to mounds of dark granite, and it she could see the leaves, twigs, and silt that had accumulated in the bottom of the small pool.

  Sweat dripped down her face and neck, dampening the collar and the neck of her shirt. Bedros absently sat on a nearby boulder picking ticks off his torso as she eyed the water thirstily. She’d already drained three flextainers since morning, and while she wasn’t hungry, she was certainly thirsty.

  “I think I’ll refill these,” Anthea waved the empty flextainers at Bedros, “with this water here.” Then, seeing his dubious look, she added, “I’ll have to purify it first, of course. Who knows what kind of harmful things might be in it.”

  Bedros briefly nodded in agreement but went back to combing his thick fingers through his coarse hair immediately afterward. For such large fingers, he could be surprisingly deft, Anthea noted. She smiled and shook her head as he exhibited a burst of childish enthusiasm upon finding, removing, and then crushing a rather fat tick the size of a blueberry between his thumb and forefinger.

  Anthea knelt beside the water and opened her silver flower box. She picked through the few dozen blossoms still within, fretting over ones that were beginning to show the slightest signs of browning and wilting. There was nothing she could do about that though, since any flower will begin dying after being cut off from the plant. Even her mother’s enchantment on the box couldn’t stave off the eventual death of the flowers. She selected a snowdrop blossom, still pristine and white.

  Knowing what was coming, she composed herself in body and mind, folding her hands serenely across her lap as she sat beside the pool. She took a deep breath and focused, extending the white blossom before her.

  When she let go, the blossom remained suspended before her. Her eyes focused on it, then through it, and finally beyond. Her mind projected a wave of force, and words began to flow out between her teeth and lips.

  Blossom of white, surrender your might;

  Clean that which we drink, as nice as from Cenalium’s sinks.

  As before, the blossom vanished outright, enveloped in a flash of white that spread away from Anthea to engulf the pool of water. It brushed along the surface of the waterhole and then bit deep into it, suffusing the water with its purifying energy. Had her eyes been able to see it, she’d have seen the droves of bacteria and impurities die. Instead, all she saw was a gathering of particles that were brushed aside to settle as a scummy residue beside the pool.

  This was not such an effort as before on the cliffs, and it did not leave Anthea’s throat sore, her head hammering like an anvil, or cause her to feel faint. She immediately took the empty flextainers and dipped then in the water, which smelled crisp and clean as she pulled each Layter of it away from the spring.

  Upon completion of her task, she found Bedros staring at her.

  “What?” She asked, snapping at him. She immediately regretted doing so, but the heat and the exertions of the Dee had her temper flaring.

  Bedros sighed and touched his cheeks beneath his eyes and then pointed at her with his left hand while tapping his head with the right. This meant that he was simply watching her because he was interested in what she did. She smiled, feeling foolish.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just still upset.”

  Bedros nodded knowingly and pounded a fist against his chest, telling her to take heart and be strong.

  “It’s not easy.” She shooed away a fly that flitted about her face. “At least I don’t have to hide what I can do anymore. You know that? It’s so strange to not have a secret anymore. I can do what I want with my skill now, whenever I want.”

  Bedros grinned toothily and nodded. He stood then and made as if he were ready to look around more. Anthea stood to follow, but a thought dawned on her as she did so.

  “Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way.” Anthea suggested.

  Bedros hefted his mallet up over his shoulder and glanced back at her, his glassy, brown eyes showing that he was not following what she said.

  “What if I use my abilities to track down father? Why should we waste Dees we don’t have by combing this land if I can have an enchantment lead the way for us?”

  One of the Ox-Man’s hands lifted to point at the flextainers Anthea held in her hands. He frowned and shook his head.

  “That? Oh, that was nothing. It didn’t tire me at all. I’m fine.” Anthea replied. When he crossed his arms in front of his massive chest and shifted his weight in a disapproving manner, she frowned and rubbed the heel of a hand against her forehead. “We’re going to be here looking for Waykes if I don’t do this. Now I don’t know if there are any more of them coming after us now, but I’m sure there will be. We destroyed a Flier and killed something like ten Guardians.”

  Bedros lowered his shoulders in acquiescence.

  Anthea whooped triumphantly before settling down onto the ground once more and digging through her silver box once more. She dug down to the bottom and pulled out a very simple looking sprig of parsley with small whitish-yellow buds at the ends.

  “Here goes.” Anthea muttered to herself, not willing to think about what she might do if her idea didn’t work.

  She settled her body and let her joints go loose. Then she raised the budding parsley and let it go. It hung before her eyes and her head tipped back.

  Blooms upon green, show me what you mean;

  Give us a way without bother, so that I might find my father.

  When Anthea’s eyes came into focus once more and she caught her breath. This enchantment had exhausted her much more than her last effort, but she forgot that when she saw Bedros staring off into the distance. She followed his gaze. Through the trees a bluish light shone. It pulsed visibly through the foliage, cutting through trees, leaves, and hills alike. When they looked along it, they could see beyond the obstacles that should have obscured their vision, at least for distance of a couple Kilomes. It pointed toward a destination no short distance away from where they were now.

  “Looks like we have quite a walk ahead of us.” Anthea said dryly, accepting a hand that lifted her to her feet with ease.

  The Ox-Man beside her took the lead once more, pressing through the branches and obstructions of the forest as he went toward the light.

  “I don’t understand!” Anthea cried out in frustration, waving her fists in the air. She sank down to sit on a twisted piece of the Guardian Flier’s hull. “I asked it to lead to father, but it led here instead. His body is not among the wreckage. Right?”

  Bedros shook his head “no” when she looked his way. She wore a look of accusation, as if he might be hiding the location of her father’s body from her. The Ox-Man shifted nervously, eyeing the dead Aureans.

  Anthea noticed his peculiar behavior. “What is it?” She asked the Ox-Man.

  He shook his head, unable to explain very well. His rough tongue slapped the underside of his nose as he anxiously regarded the bodies.

  Anthea moved over for a closer look. Up until that point, she had been content to stay a healthy distance from the dead and let Bedros search the downed Flier. As she moved closer, Bedros stepped aside to let he see what he stared at.

  She covered her mouth in surprise upon seeing the mud smeared across the eyes of the dead. “Who would do such a thing? They’ve defiled the bodies! They were our enemies, but still, this is sickening.” She shuddered.

  Bedros turned both of his hands palms down and made a downward pushing motion.

  “Lowlanders, you say?” Anthea’s eyes glinted with an anger she didn’t really understand. This could have easily been her father’s body these heathens had defaced. Smearing mud across the faces of the dead was simply disrespect for the dead.

  As she looked around the site, she began to see a glow about the torn forest floor. Among the tussled ground and the mess of debris from the trees the Flier and broken in its crash, there were footprints. The footprints took on the bluish hue of the light that had led them this far.

  “There! The enchantment is pointing out these footprints. It must be father.”

  Bedros didn’t have a chance to express his doubts before Anthea was off and running along the track of glowing footprints, weaving her way between oaks, birches, and pines. Grunting, he took one last look around the wreckage before shaking his head and trudging along after her, covering as much ground with a half-hearted walk as she did while jogging along.

  Something about all of this seemed off, but he couldn’t figure out what. While he was all but certain that the footprints they followed were not those of Orestes, how could he bring himself to crush his young mistress by saying such? And part of him, too, hoped that they were Orestes’ footprints after all. His master had entrusted him with the task of protecting Anthea, but that was a task made much easier by Orestes’ presence.