Villains (2 page)

A low rumble abased the cavern, shaking Tor to his core. He took another handful of dust and watched it form into a pebble and settle in his palm. He narrowed his eyes and focused hard on the basin. A large scythe emerged, an obsidian crystal perched on the crux of the blade and the staff.

“Murr Karraske.” He marveled at the black aura it produced before placing it away from the other supposed weapons he rendered useless. He paused, moved the sword and shield to where the scythe was, and turned back to the basin. He was nowhere near out of dust yet, if he did it right, he would have an entire battalion of weapons to assist him when they arrived.

The magma rumbled, the cavern walls shook, and the crack in the slab increased. Tor wiped his brow and focused harder on his task. A pristine white staff emerged, an iolite crystal nestled in the squiggly arms of a calcified sea anemone. It emitted a deep indigo before snapping out, a
whoosh
accompanying the soundless gesture.

“Mylinn Wyndal.” Tor set the staff beside the scythe, sword and shield. His eyes darted around the cavern walls, a flurry of garfolk breaking off and swarming in uneven patterns around the cavern. Tor recognized them, beastly bird-like creatures with leathery bat wings that lived in warm places. They were no more than a head big. Tor found them more of a nuisance than anything else. He quickly gathered up the items he created, the intention to leave in one piece stronger than his need to create something else. He tucked what he could into his rucksack and strapped the rest either on his back or in his hands. Swarms of garfolk screeched, wings blocking his view. The only safe way out was the opening at the top of the mountain. He didn’t want to entertain the idea of leaving without something truly useful. To him, these were enhanced weapons, something the Valtanyana would already have, or could make if they were clever enough. Tor had watched them decimate entire villages with a single look. He wasn’t prepared to go against them with nothing but a handful of tools.

The cavern walls shook and Tor made up his mind. He had to leave before the volcano erupted. He gripped the staff in one hand, the scythe in the other. The sword was tucked securely behind his back, pressed between the rucksack and his body. The shield was tied to the outside of the rucksack and everything else was inside of it. He took a step towards the ledge, intending to jump. A screech rang out as the crack in the slab grew wider and deeper. Tor leapt, sailing through the air, the power of the dust lifting him to the sky. As he neared the opening in the mountain, the dust against his leg slipped. It untangled from his belt and plummeted into the basin of lava below. He paused, frantically looking for a way to go after it. His eyes widened as the pouch sunk into the magma and spread, black swirls of dust replacing the orange with darkness. Tor gulped. The dust was meant for him to ingest. As far as he knew, his body was the only constitution the dust would accept. To mix it with anything else could cause a catastrophe. He squeezed his eyes shut waiting for the volcano to supernova.

Instead it got quiet.

The flapping and the screeching ceased. Tor half fell, half floated to the cracked stone slab. It seemed stable, despite the damage. The garfolk retreated to the tunnels, silence covering him.

Tor froze. He watched the succession of waves rocking back and forth.

A violet light glowed in the center of the black lava. It was subtle at first, but grew until it was blindingly bright and more white than violet. Out of the light, a flower bloomed. It sprouted from the lava, the bud rising out of blackness. It was accompanied by a shocking green stem with light green leaves in a lanceolating pattern. They conglomerated around the bud as it matured and opened, violet petals surrounding the nascent nectar in the center.

Tor’s mouth dropped open. There was no crystal to accompany this one, only a tiny bud of pure violet-colored energy that seemed as liquid as it was light itself. It rose out of the flower and gestated, limbs forming like a contortionist. Tor took a step back hesitantly as it gravitated to him, liquid-like bare feet stepping onto the slab, legs, torso, arms and hands flexing. Long violet-white hair fell to her ankles, her face a perfect mask of innocence and beauty. She had a button nose, soft lips, and the most striking amethyst eyes. Everything about her seemed real. She went to take Tor’s hand, but like the ghosts in the haunted forest, she was non-corporeal. Her hand moved through him and a buzz of shivers rushed up his spine. She shot him a quirky smile, but said nothing as she looked at him expectantly, as if asking him, “What now?”

“Aria,” was all he could say.

Tor said nothing as they made their way through the tunnels and emerged in the water underneath the mountain. He briefly contemplated the idea of flying, but decided that Aria and her frailty might not stand it. He was too worried she was less liquid and more gas and exposure to the air might make her float until she was one with the stars. He wanted to weigh her down, tie her to the realm, and therefore, he took her into the under belly of the chasm and watched her dip her toes in the crystal-clear water. She attracted all sorts of attention on the way to the cliffs overlooking the ocean. Merfolk and swordfish, dolphins and sharks found their way to the peculiar girl. Tor stole glances at her every few seconds, wondering if her essence would bleed into the water and fade, becoming one with the land, but it seemed, even though she was a waif of a girl, she was something tangible. She was her own self-contained being, whatever she was.

They reached the giants for boulders at the edge of the cliffs. Tor climbed, his hands gripping moss and algae. He turned to grab Aria’s hand, but his body went right through hers again, as though she wasn’t physically there. He drew his hand back and looked at her perfect amethyst orbs for eyes. She pursed her lips in embarrassment and levitated out of the water, onto the rock. He glanced at the cliff and back at her but her expression was resolved. She levitated before he did, the dust in her strong enough to do whatever she wanted on command without the need to roll it around her fingers or ingest it the way Tor did. He sighed and reached for the staff, using its indigo glow to help him reach the top of the cliff.

There was something unnerving and comforting about being with her. Tor didn’t expect to create something like her, and whether she was what he wanted or not, he felt an instant kinship to her. She belonged to him, and she was precious, and if anyone knew of her existence, they might think it an abomination. He traipsed across the rocky outcroppings on the far side of Tempia until they reached the other stone slab that lead into the field with the lake. Aria followed, never speaking, her essence giving off so much light Tor feared the villagers might be coaxed out of their tents thinking it was dawn. He stopped in his tracks in the short grass and turned to the girl.

“I cannot take you to the village.”

She tilted her head to the side, a perplexed expression on her face.

Tor sighed. He wanted to show off his latest invention to the people. He had done so much for them in the years he had been there. He showed them proper ways to grow the quenny and roct, taught them how to make fire, build contraptions for gathering water. All of these things paled in comparison to the girl standing before him, the one thing he couldn’t begin to understand.

“They won’t understand,” he said.

She took a deep breath and her shoulders fell when she let it out. Tor watched as her body became less like refracted violet light and more like actual skin, even if it was pale white. She nodded and closed her eyes for a moment.

Tor glanced at the haunted forest. The villagers were too afraid to go traipsing around the place. He crossed the field with Aria on his heels, the staff and scythe and other Flames still secured to his back. He glanced briefly at the surface of the lake, only to find her form casting a shadow of light over top the reflection of the star cloud. Aria was like a counter action to it, hope in light of the impending darkness.

Tor paused at the mouth of the haunted forest. These trees weren’t like the ones he remembered from Avrigost. They were skinny, some of them rotted through, and instead of leaves they had white matter twined through and around the branches, looking like cotton. Tor shuddered as he stepped past the threshold. The screeching was almost deafening. Tor glanced back at Aria, testing her reaction. She had an expression of wonder on her face. She reached into the branches of a tree and touched one of the cotton like souls that twined itself around the limbs. It unraveled and twisted itself around her arm. Tor watched as Aria’s mouth moved in response to it but no sound emerged. The ghost drained from her arm seconds later, nestling itself into the tree again, and the screeching from that one source stopped.

Tor’s heart hammered in his chest, a swell of pride working its way through him. She was better than he had hoped. “Do you like the forest?”

Aria’s mouth worked but no sound came out. She pulled the corner of her mouth to the side in frustration and nodded, clasping her hands together and bowing her head.

“Then we should move faster,” Tor replied.

He didn’t wait for her response before he trekked over the brownish red grass and faded vegetation clinging to dead trees. They passed beds of flowers Aria inspected. Tor pushed further and further through the forest, crossing the halfway point and smelling the far shores to the east. Even with the salty moisture in the air, the trees remained, and ghosts tangled themselves around branches, their whirrs and screams reaching unbearable volumes.

Aria stayed in tandem with him, trailing along the edges of the path, her form gaining better visibility as they walked. Her feet, which were nothing but purple stubs became actual feet with toenails and pale whitish violet skin. The nakedness she had adorned when he first saw her went away in place of a makeshift long white gown, one that hung to her ankles. Her hair remained a shimmering white violet but he assumed that would never change.

By the time they reached what he had been looking for, she was more a beautiful girl and less an accident. Her eyes were the one thing that stayed the same. Orbs of liquid amethyst shifted and shimmered in the moonlight. They reminded Tor of his own gold lightning eyes, a pair of self-contained storms streaked with jagged black lines.

Tor reached a cairn, slabs of rock precariously perched together creating a makeshift cabin. There was a slanted roof, and enough sides to the cairn that only one narrow entranceway sandwiched itself between two of the rocks. Inside was nothing special. Debris cluttered the interior. Together they moved branches and rotting logs out of the cairn, making a sort of living space for them. On the far side of the cairn was a slab of rock lain on its side. Tor put the obsidian scythe there, along with the iolite staff, the carnelian lantern, the citrine shield, the azurite crown, the ruby sword, the emerald shell, and the quartz wand. He looked at all of them, his hands on his hips, while Aria stared at him.

“These are the Flames,” he said, even though they didn’t look like much in the darkness. None of them emitted a glow the way she did. None of them seemed alive, or frugal the way she was. He turned to her and tried again to take her hand in his but like all the other times he couldn’t touch her. “You’re one of them.”

She stared into his eyes for a long time, her lips working, her tongue sliding between her teeth while she pinched her eyebrows together, attempting to force sound out of her lungs. She strained her neck and clenched and unclenched her fists until she was worn out. She stood perfectly still and swept her hand over the weapons, each of them coming alive and growing dormant as she passed them.

Tor laughed. There was sound to accompany the gesture, sounds like chimes being plucked individually, rising and falling on the scale. Aria made the motion a second time and the Flames did the same thing, the jewels lit up, the note vibrating through their form and then ceased.

Aria stepped to the doorframe and looked at Tor.

“I know exactly what I am,” she said. Her words were like the chimes and the wind, carrying through the air like a whispering whistle.

Tor’s eyes widened. “Will you teach me how to use them?”

A wistful smile spread across her face. She floated across the room and thoughtfully touched the hilt of the sword. The ruby blazed at the action. “I will teach them how to be what they are,” she rebutted.

Tor grinned. “You are precious, Aria. Will you stay here until I return?”

Aria tilted her face to the sky though there was only the large slab of stone above them. “You cannot stay?”

“Dawn is here, and I must return to the villagers,” he said. He furrowed his brow, hating her innocent yet hurt expression. “The villagers cannot know what you are. I’m afraid—”

“They won’t understand,” Aria repeated.

Tor shook his head. “There is none other like you.”

Aria folded her fragile hands together, and nodded. “I will await your return.”

“Farewell,” Tor said as he ducked out of the cairn and made his way back through the forest to the village.

Desaunius was outside their tent when he arrived, brushing away the morning dew with her broom of leaves. He created that for her awhile ago, as their experience with the dew was an unpleasant one. She looked up when he reached the foot of their walkway and worry crossed her emerald green eyes.

He hadn’t realized he was empty handed.

“Did you?” she asked, the all-knowing side of her digging into his mind.

Tor nodded as he neared her, pulling her in for a side hug. He kissed the top of her head. “It worked.” He glanced at the village; others were at their walkways while some trailed up and down the path carrying things to and from other parts of the village. Tor narrowed his eyes at the villagers, not wanting them to hear the rest of the conversation and shuffled Desaunius into their tent. Once he was standing on the bear hide he let his shoulders sag, the stress he felt coming undone. Desaunius caught his arm as he stumbled to the bed and put his face in his hands, exhausted.