State of the Play - An Original Fantasy Novella

[Selrisitai]

Chapter 1: It's Not Desirable, Just Necessary

Daniel's green eyes shimmered with cruelty as he stuck the length of his blade in the crook of his elbow, against the canvas shirt sleeve, tightened bicep to forearm, enclosing the bloodied metal, and, with a swift motion, drew the sword out, wiping it clean. Redness welled across the gray shirt cloth, and his vicious eyes never left the monster's. Daniel wanted it to know that it would not receive mercy, and its three eyes, wide in terror, told him that it knew.

The monster was a Pernicite, a creature of the dark. Such monsters came in many forms. This one was approximately human in size, knotted with thick, dense muscle, and had three eyes in horizontal configuration. Its entire body was covered in thick, coarse hair, and a network of horns of various size sprouted from its bald, blueish pate. These three-eyed Pernicite variations were regularly used as scouts. They could be loners, but a good Pernicite Mercenary always checked rigorously when happening upon one. Checking was not a friendly process, but a good mercenary would check anyway.

Daniel was a good mercenary.

The scout, therefore, had been roaring in anger and pain, and then in fear and pain, and finally just in pain. Despite its fearsome appearance, it now it whimpered pathetically beneath Daniel's merciless gaze.

"I can continue," he said, almost conversationally, except for the edge to his voice that he could not conceal. "The only difference it will make for you is whether the pain stops now or later—maybe much, much later."

The Pernicite scout's eyes watched the wicked tip of Daniel's blade swaying a few inches from the ground. The fact that they'd had to torture it for this long, perhaps ten minutes, was evidence of the magnitude of its nerve, but that nerve was considerably smaller now, cut down to size. It was ready to talk.

Pernicites spoke the language of where they were spawned, though whether they learned on their own or from others was unclear. Many things were unclear about them, despite much research being done by people with stronger stomachs than Daniel's: he killed them on sight, if the option were available. He already knew enough about them. They were wicked, that was as clear as a frozen winter morning.

The scout looked as though it might abstain, its wicked resolve growing like a mold infestation, but with a gentle twitch of Daniel's wrist, the sword's point began to rise, and the scout's burgeoning bravery was sliced away at the root. "Heron Lies," it cried with a weak voice. It tried to move, shift its position to something more comfortable, so that it wasn't putting its weight against the same wounds, but next to Daniel was Adam, a skillful sorcerer, holding his arms outstretched toward the Pernicite as it lay flat on its back. Waves of force emitted from Adam's forward-facing palms, binding the creature to the spot, arm and leg and head and chest.

Daniel raised the sword. The Pernicite scout watched it, wide-eyed, fanged mouth lolling open in fright, but the sword's tip plunged only into the sheath on Daniel's back, and with a quiet ringing of metal against leather, the blade slipped down until the crosspiece clacked against the sheath's mouth. "Keep talking." His voice was strained, and not just because of his disgust with these beings, but because of the wickedness of the interrogation he'd been forced to mete out. As much as he hated pernicites, torturing them wasn't desirable, just necessary.

The scout had ceased its struggling, the fear of torture abated with the putting-away of the weapon. Now it lay heaving. With every pump of its heart blood bubbled up from its many, many cuts. Felicity, a forest sprite who had joined Daniel and his crew a few weeks ago, kept creeping up and poking at the scout and its wounds, then retreating with guilty jerks when Daniel or Adam chastised her. She had four dragonfly-like wings, a long, thin, wiry tail and a cute, human face, albeit one with two little upper fang-like incisors poking over her lower lip. They went well with her claw-like fingernails and the toenails that curved until their points touched the ground, like talons. She never wore shoes. Despite her vicious appearance, she was mostly harmless, but she was also fiercely loyal and would not hesitate to take out an eye in defense of her friends.

"When?" Daniel asked the dying scout.

"Two. . . ."

"Two what? Days?"

"Yes."

"And how many are attacking?"

The scout's three eyes were barely open. It said nothing, though its lips worked a couple times. The fear and adrenaline had kept it going. Now that the worst danger had passed, it was relaxing into a sleep from which it would never awaken.

"How many?" Daniel said, one hand grabbing at the creature's throat and the other bending at the elbow to grab the hilt of his sword. Daniel could torture if he had to, but he was not an expert and had made too many lacerations. Their only source of information was diminishing rapidly. The scout's eyes were closed now, and when Daniel pulled it up by the throat its head lolled. "How many? What kind of attack? What's the purpose of it, curse you!"

When the Pernicite's tongue had fallen out and was flopping, Adam put a hand on Daniel's shoulder. "It's dead."

Daniel looked up at the young sorcerer, whose dark brown bangs fell over his eyes, not concealing but enhancing the compassion in them.

Without more information, they were going to struggle. Daniel released the monster and stood erect, releasing his sword's hilt. "I overdid it."

"Yeah," Adam agreed somberly, lifting up his cloak's hood. "I don't like it. Doing this."

"Me either, but you know what happens if we don't. You know I'm not, y'know, this kind of person."

"I don't want you to ever become this type of person," Adam replied, and there was no mockery in his tone. "That darker part of a person can grow fat and powerful on a steady diet of uncontested tyranny. If you're lucky, you die before no one can oppose you."

"I won't."

"Won't what?" Adam asked wryly. "Die?"

Daniel was not offended by the prod. "Become a tyrant." He had no taste for it. He searched his feelings regularly and always reached the same conclusion: he would happily give up all of this gruesomeness the instant he didn't need it anymore. "Trust me, I won't," he repeated. Glancing at Felicity, who was poking the expired Pernicite, he observed, "But she might."

Felicity stood from all fours to two, looking strikingly human, fluttering wings notwithstanding, and her long furry ears lay flat back like a cat's as she hissed, "Nay! A forest sprite knows no pleasures in such torment."

Adam shrugged. "She's just curious. It's in her nature."

"Yeah, well, I wish she weren't so curious about these things. I guess we'd better—" He cut himself off because he noticed Ilsa, their fourth party member. She was ten paces out, facing away, crouched on her haunches, hands pressed tightly over her ears and, although they couldn't see it from here, they all knew she had her eyes closed just as tightly. She'd been that way since the interrogation had started.

"Better go get her out of 'time out,'" Adam teased. Felicity poked the pernicite scout with her tail and blood bubbled up from three different lacerations. Daniel nodded.

He went over and gently touched her shoulder. Ilsa leapt forward with a start, lost her balance, tumbled, shrieking, and Daniel caught her around the waist. He was strong, and her collapse was halted immediately. Her mage staff, with its cyan gemstone, clattered to the ground. "It's me," Daniel said for the fourth time as gently, yet loudly, as possible. She hadn't seemed to hear him the first three.

Ilsa extricated herself from his grip, unusually testy, and adjusted her robe and waist-ribbon. "I don't like it."

"I know," Daniel replied deferentially, only a little upset at how fast she had retreated from his touch. He understood.

"Why can't you do that a different way? Why must you be such a brute? And Adam, you helped," she said, turning to him. He looked away, but rather than looking remorseful he seemed more like he just didn't want to deal with her. That was Adam, not a people-person. Turning her attention back to Daniel, Ilsa continued. "It's awful. Just awful."

Daniel's eyes were down on her sandals. "I'm sorry."

With a deep breath, Ilsa composed herself. "I am, too. I shouldn't speak to you that way. Or you, Adam."

Adam shrugged.

"I just feel so terrible about it. I wish there were another way."

"I know," Daniel repeated himself. "I do too. Maybe we'll find one."

No one thought that was likely, but the thought lifted the mood a little.

Ilsa picked up her staff and brushed dirt from the gemstone. It glowed eagerly at her touch. It was a catalyst, and it did more than allow magic to flow more easily; it drew magic from the spell-caster, like water through a high-pressure pipe, and could release it in myriad forms. For a mage with healing magic, the staff was indispensable. With it, she could directly channel salubrious magics to wounds, or create zones that would recover stamina and heal injuries for anyone inside, or heal targets at distance. Without it, direct touch would be necessary for most of her magical techniques. Given that she was a pretty young girl with strawberry-blonde hair, with big, innocent eyes and a baby-soft complexion as fair as a lily's bell, most men didn't complain if she needed to touch them.

She said, now with the subordinate voice of a student, higher in pitch, "Did you learn anything?"

Daniel nodded. "He was scouting at Heron Lies. That's where the horde will be attacking. In two days."

Ilsa knew how dangerous such a horde could be. Fear for herself, and for her companions, filled her with reluctance. "How far is it from us?"

From his dark robes, Adam produced a map; a place on the ground was cleared of twigs and pebbles, and the town was located. "Northwest, maybe a few hours' journey from where we are now."

"Is there no one closer, do you think?" Ilsa asked, her trepidation obvious to everyone. "A military base or a mercenary guild?"

"Not that I can see," Daniel said sincerely, studying the map. "Plus, even if there is, we're presumably the only ones who know a horde is on its way. We have to go anyhow."

Ilsa looked hopelessly at the map, eyes searching some way out. There was only one tactic left, and it was pathetically desperate. "What if the Pernicite was lying? How do you know for sure he wasn't?"

Ilsa only looked at Daniel's hard eyes for an instant. Light seemed to have been sucked from them. Her voice came out scolded, meek. "Oh."

"Let's head back and pack up camp," Daniel said without inflection as he carefully folded the map. He held it out to Adam. "We're going to town."​

 

[Selrisitai]

At a distance, squatting on the precipice of a grassy cliff and looking out perhaps three miles, Heron Lies was a more impressive town than any of the quartet had expected of so remote a location. It had a cobblestone road lead-in that opened up into a large foundation upon which wooden gabled houses sat, horse-drawn carriages clattered and citizens haggled in friendly back-and-forths with shop-owners.

The nearby mountains must have accounted for the materials to build a town of this sophistication, Daniel speculated, darting thoughtful eyes from one side of the town to the other, searching for signs of a mining operation.

Ilsa put a hand on Daniel's shoulder for balance and leaned over the edge of the cliff, trying to get a better look. "Do you suppose that's why that monstrous horde is coming here?"

Daniel was considering it, but not favorably, when Adam answered from inside his robe's heavy hood. "Why not? Not every pernicite is mindless."

"But they're all bloodthirsty," Daniel said, standing. Ilsa backpedaled to avoid being shoved as he turned and began making his way down the mountain. She watched him anxiously, and began to moan in frustration. "Oh, Adam, do you think he's upset with me?"

Adam was silent at first. He was not typically a talker, but there was a mischievous streak in him. "I wouldn't say that. He's probably just thinking about the cruelty he needed to express toward that scout back there. He hates doing it, even though he hates pernicites."

"And I gave him a hard time," Ilsa said, hoping Adam would contradict her.

"Well, it's good to remind him now and then. Don't want him to start liking it, do we?" Grinning he started after Daniel.

Ilsa looked helplessly at Felicity; Felicity looked back. "It is an agonizing thing. He does, lest he lose the world; he does not, lest he lose his soul."

Felicity, her back muscles shifting under her epidermis like a muscled big cat, went on ahead, long tail swaying, its knife-like tip snapping rhythmically left and right.

It was awfully quiet and still on that mountaintop alone. "I'm sorry!" Ilsa cried, starting forward. "Wait up! Daniel!"

By time they reached the village, Ilsa had apologized so profusely to Daniel that he felt compelled to apologize to her, and then she was so guilt-ridden by this that she had to say she was sorry too, and at this point Adam demanded that no one in their group be allowed to apologize ever again.

There was a sense of the society the moment they were within the town's boundaries. It evoked excitement. Felicity dropped to all fours and rushed around, enjoying the warm cobblestones on her bare hands and feet.

"I would love to have a warm bath," Ilsa said dreamily.

Daniel was pleased to see everyone enjoying themselves, with the possible exception of Adam who was, as usual, quiet and withdrawn. Daniel knew he wasn't staring at his feet though, Adam was always watching.

"If you want," Daniel said, "I'll go on to the mayor's office with Adam and you two can explore the town. It might be worth it for you to scope things out, now that I think about it."

Felicity hissed and rushed between the two men, albeit a might closer to Adam. "Nay! I would not be separated from my humans."

Forest sprites didn't always have the vocabulary to describe human concepts like friendship, but they knew what she meant. Daniel thought his scouting idea had been a good one and considered insisting, but fighting with Felicity was rarely worth it, and Ilsa wasn't going to go by herself when they didn't know the town well, nor would he want that with a horde on its way. They weren't close, but. . . .

"Alright," he said, "let's go introduce ourselves."

Adam's hood shuffled, suggesting he was shaking his head. "I suspect we're going to be dismissed."

"Why would we be?"

"Have you seen yourselves?" Adam replied with amused disdain. The other three looked down at themselves and were embarrassed at the dirty state of their clothes. Ilsa's robe, which was supposed to be white, was decidedly more of an egg-shell, with splotches of dirt and green smears of leaves where she'd fallen at some point; Felicity's claws lacked sheen and her fur was caked in dried mud. As for Daniel, dirt was the least of his concern. He unconsciously hid his left sleeve behind his back.

"Don't you think," Ilsa chirped with false positivity, "that it gives us credibility? Why, we must have been out fighting beasts right before coming into town, just look at the state of us!"

Daniel and Adam exchanged a pair of glances. Daniel wore a brown leather glove on his right hand. He grabbed his chin and looked up. "She's an optimist."

This encouraged Ilsa.

"She's an idealist," Adam said wryly.

This did not encourage Ilsa. Her voice was huffy. "Then what shall we do?"

Adam pulled his hood tighter. Felicity raked her claws on the cobblestones, not particularly interested in the conversation. It was up to Daniel. "I'd like to get it over with," he announced wearily. "Let's go straight there."

Ilsa felt somewhat vindicated.


The mayor's office was precisely in the center of town. A regal affair, it was a long white squat building, with wide steps leading to a portico that could host a small party and columns too big for an adult to get his arms all the way around. Inside the ceiling seemed higher than the building was tall, and the air was cool. Ilsa wondered if it was magic that made it so cool despite the warm weather, or something about the design of the building.

It was quiet as they walked deeper into the main hall, and they could hear Felicity's talons clicking on the tile, hear Ilsa's wooden staff, hear Adam's glass and wood charms tied to his waist clacking together.

A receptionist was at a long desk on the left. Daniel shifted toward her and his companions swooped around him like a flock of birds changing direction mid-flight, then crowded in as he stopped at the desk.

"Do you mind?" Daniel asked, trying to spread his arms. Everyone moved a few inches away, not enough for elbow room, but he didn't feel like arguing. The receptionist sat there bewildered.

Daniel cleared his throat, suddenly hyper aware of his state of dress. "Excuse me, we're a group of Pernicite hunters and we have important information for the mayor."

The receptionist, with her short, professional haircut swooped to one said, dangling gold earrings and gray vest over white button-down, swiveled her head to look at each disheveled individual standing at her once-reputable station. Her earrings swung at each turn of her head, sparkling as they caught the light. "I'm sorry, you are?"

"Daniel Warnsward. Do you want all of our names?

"That shouldn't be necessary." Opal-blue eyes went down to a pad and quill and inkwell. "Mr. Ashcloth is quite busy, but I could fit you in, say, Tuesday? at noon?" Mistaking their stunned silence for confusion, she explained, "I'm his secretary."

The quarter looked around at one another. "Actually," Daniel said, trying to exude confidence, "it's urgent. We don't need a meeting, we need to give him a warning."

The receptionist did not look like she was about to shuffle her boss's schedule. "I could get it to him." To her credit, she did at least dip her quill into the inkwell. If she didn't actually intend to deliver the message she was certainly willing to put in the effort to look like she would.

Adam put a hand on Daniel's shoulder. "Do we really need permission? This is life or death."

Daniel felt the weight of his sword in its scabbard. He glanced around. They had passed two guards coming in, and there were another two posted seemingly at every entrance and exit, as well as one patrolling a catwalk above. He pursed his lips. His eyes shifted this way and that. He went dead still as he played out the scenario in his head. Finally, he shrugged the shoulder Adam was touching and the hand fell away.

"Ma'am," Daniel said, "just tell him there will be trouble if he doesn't see us, can you do that?"

The lady was prim and dismissive. "I'm sure that I can."

Daniel slapped his hand on the desk, startling her, and leaned forward. She leaned back. "A lot of trouble. Got it?"

The secretary nodded nervously. "O-of course." She added, "Sir" belatedly.

"Is there trouble here?" a new voice called from behind, the kind of stuffy, severe voice that comes from men who appreciate order and are exceptional at their jobs.

The party turned to see a tall man, perhaps six feet, with a three piece suit, an ascot instead of a tie, immaculately-parted black hair and a carefully groomed, medium-sized mustache. His eyes were so dark it was tough to say if they were brown or another color, but they were intelligent and, at the moment, not the least bit amused.

"Oh! Mr. Witley!" the secretary called a little too loudly, her voice a little too strained. She was begging for assistance. "These fine people were just looking for the mayor."

"So? Did you work them in?"

She was about to say that she tried, but that sounded accusatory and she was not prepared to argue with the man possessing a sword and what appeared to be the muscles required to use it. "It's complicated. Why don't you walk with them? Mr. Witley? Sir?"

Mr. Witley nodded with reluctant ascented. "Very well. Follow me."

He walked, they followed.

"I am the mayor's personal aid, Falimoor Witley, and as you can imagine I'm rather busy."

"We won't waste your time," Daniel said quickly. "There's a horde on its way to this town. It will arrive within two days. You need to be ready."

To the surprise of all four members of the group, Witley didn't even slow his pace. "Is that so? Well, we'll take it under advisement."

"Sir," Daniel said, "I don't think you understand. This isn't a game or a joke."

"So you say," Witley said, stopping then and looking fully upon them. "But what guarantee do I have that this isn't some ruse, or an elaborate prank? or just bad information?"

Daniel raised his arm, showing off the dried blood. "It isn't a prank, and the information is reliable."

Adam added, "He made sure of that."

There's nothing like physical evidence to give pause to a doubter. Mr. Witley looked at the dried blood, breaking off into particles and sprinkling onto the marble tiles. Whether he was considering the truth of their statement or just annoyed at the mess they were making it was impossible to discern by those cool, deep, calculating eyes. "Alright, then. The mayor will be in his office. I'll notify him, but don't expect a frenzied response."

Ilsa's hands clapped together. "Oh, thank you Mr. Witley, sir!"

"Thanks," Daniel paraphrased her appreciation.

Witley turned, glanced back over his shoulder saying, "And pets aren't allowed in the building. It will need to wait outside." He was looking at Felicity, then he was moving away, toward a tall, finely-carved, heavy wooden set of doors.

Felicity started toward him and the others grabbed her wherever they could get a hold. "You asp! Coward! Return thence and do battle with me! I shall rend thee from ear to ear, from sternum to crotch, from—"

She rather went on while they took turns trying to cover her mouth and not get bitten. When finally she had calmed enough that they no longer needed to hold her at bay, Daniel found himself reaching for his sword. Adam frowned. The blade hissed, metal on leather, from the scabbard. Ilsa noticed as the tip cleared the sheath. Adam reached out, called upon his sorcery, but Daniel was fast. Too fast.

He took a single step, twisted at the hip, and thrust. The point took Felicity in the gut, followed through, bursting from her back. She curled forward so tightly the ridges of her spine made bumps against the flesh. A scarlet length of metal appeared in full, the crosspiece having stopped any further penetration. As everyone stared in disbelief and horror, Daniel braced and, with a single pull, withdrew the blade—and dropped it. It clattered to the tiles; Felicity fell to her knees, collapsed onto her side, heaving, shaking.

Ilsa fell upon the forest sprite, pulling up her sleeves. She did not cry out or weep. When Ilsa was healing, she was purely clinical. "Back away," she said firmly, loudly, "give me room."

Onlookers began inching forward, but retreated when they saw the scene. Someone yelled, someone screamed, footsteps beat on the floor and faded. Daniel stared at his hands. Felicity's blood trickled down in thick red beads, breaking into jagged branches, slipping down toward his wrists. "What did I do?" he whispered hoarsely.

Adam had one hand, magic primed, facing Daniel, another hand prepared to aid Ilsa, who was trying to staunch the flow of blood.

When had it happened, Daniel kept asking himself, over and over. He would never do that to his friend, this was madness. Madness! He needed to help her. He looked up to see his friend's hand facing him the way it would normally have faced a Pernicite. "Adam, I—"

"Keep him back," Ilsa said. No emotion, just facts.

"I can help—"

"Keep him back!" Ilsa called, louder, more firm. Adam put a hand on Daniel's shoulder and gently pushed until Daniel was off-balance and impulsively stepped back. Once he started he kept going.

Standing ten feet away, in what felt like a thousand miles of barren emptiness, Daniel watched his companion die, bled out, from a wound he hand inflicted with his own hands. The bloody sword lay where it fell, blood pooling beneath it upon the marble tile.

 

[Selrisitai]

The dining room table was in disarray. Soda cans, bags of chips, extra game pieces and loose packaging made a trail of chaos from red-and-white checkered tablecloth down to the ceramic tiles. Well, at least on Missy's side of the table. Even for a nine-year-old, she was untidy.

Thomas, on the cleaner side of the table, had stood from his chair with emotion. "You can't just kill one of the characters out of nowhere!"

Missy held up a triangular, cheesy corn-chip the way girls did, daintily holding it between finger and thumb. She popped it into her mouth, then, unlike most girls, spoke while chewing. "It's for the drama. Don't you know anything about writing?"

"More than you," Thomas said. He was twelve so of course he knew more, that's just how it was, though he probably couldn't have explained it very well. "Why would he kill his own friend? That's just dumb."

Missy had been fronting. Every thing her brother said made her mad. Now she showed it by also standing, though being that she was so short, the display served better to demonstrate her powerlessness than her fury. "It could make sense!"

"Then explain," he challenged.

Missy thought for a moment, and when nothing came she thought harder, faster, more frantically.

"So you don't know what you're doing. That didn't happen. Redo."

"Why do you have to be a wet blanket!" she cried, becoming a bit too loud for a lazy afternoon in the middle of the dining room. This was a problem, not because they would both get in trouble, but because Thomas himself would be the one to get in trouble.

See, they didn't get along, which is abundantly clear already, and this had been going on for some time. Years, really, in one form or another. Thomas thought his sister was an irresponsible child, and Missy thought her brother was a boring fuddy-duddy, though not in so many words.

Their parents had tolerated enough and come up with a ridiculous scheme to get them to play nice, which was to make them, well, play nice. They could choose what game to play, but they had to play for at least an hour a day, at some point after school. It was truly torture. Fortunately, they were both creative, to their own surprise, and this tabletop game was shaping up to be kind of entertaining. If only they didn't have to play with each other.

It was tempting to torment his little sister, since she was so easy to rile up, but Mom had taken Thomas aside and told him that as the older brother he had a responsibility to try to make this fun and to foster a relationship. "Foster." He didn't ask her what that word meant, but he read and felt like he understood from context: it meant that he had to do all the work, as usual, and his little sister could slack off like a useless baby. He didn't say that to his mother.

So now Missy was getting frustrated and this whole thing was going to come down on his head if he weren't careful. Thomas put his hands out in supplication, saying in a loud whisper, "Alright, alright, I'm sorry. Look, aren't you too young for this kind of thing? You can't talk about all that blood and stuff."

"Yes, I can," Missy assured him with the kind of confidence only exhibited by seasoned professionals and little girls. "I can even see R-rated movies now."

Thomas knew that wasn't true because even he couldn't see R-rated movies. "Who told you that?" he challenged.

Missy thought a moment. "Riley."

"Riley?" Thomas didn't look impressed, probably because Riley was also nine, and not even a family-relation.

Missy shrugged carelessly.

"I don't think Riley has a say-so."

That was about all Missy could take. She slapped her hands on the table. "I don't wanna play this stupid game with you anyway! I'm gonna go to my room!"

Mom's expression of anger, or worse, disappointment, appeared in Thomas's mind. In a flash of panic he lost his pride. "No!" he rasped. "Please, keep playing. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry."
Missy paused, sensing an exploitable situation. "Really?"

Thomas saw through her eyes, into her plotting brain, and said hesitantly, "Yeah."

"So you're sorry," she said.

"Yeah," he repeated.

"Sorry for what?"

Thomas glared. "Sorry for upsetting you."

"Don't you mean you're sorry for being dumb and lame?"

Thomas pursed his lips. He wondered if a ten-year-old could actually be tried for murder.
"Tommy," she sang. He hated being called that.

Thomas said he was sorry for being dumb and lame, but he said it so quietly it was barely perceptible and the words kind of collapsed into a pathetic heap at the end of the apology.

"What's that?" she asked, honey-dipped words oozing out in saccharine dollops, putting one hand behind her ear so as to hear better.

"I'm sorry for being dumb and lame!" he hissed. "And if you do that again I'm not going to care what Mom—" Thomas paused. He'd almost given his sister the keys to his demise. If she knew he was being held responsible by Mom to keep her happy, she'd become a monster. "Let's just say that punishing me won't make your hair grow any faster if it got cut."

Missy sucked in a horrified breath. She'd been to the barber recently and gotten the best haircut of her life, a short little bob that made her look sophisticated. All the teachers at school had agreed, and all the other girls were envious. Nothing could have been better than that.

Missy sat. "Alright, alright."

Thomas sat as well, trying not to grin. This little victory had put him in a good mood. "I didn't mean to kick your idea out just to be mean."
"Yeah, right."

"I mean it. If you come up with something else, we'll try to, you know, we'll try to make it work."

Missy looked at him skeptically. This concession was suspicious, and therefore required some kind of insurance. "You promise?"

Thomas hesitated. They may have been underhanded to one another, but their parents had taught them well enough that if you break a promise you would be losing a lot of respect, from others and for yourself. If you promised it, you had to do it.

Well, isn't that why they were playing in the first place? To get closer? and what better way than to build trust? Thomas grinned. "I promise."

Missy shook the dice in her hands loudly to distract her from the thought that her brother seemed kind of cool when he wasn't being a lame-o. "Alright," she said, impatient with her own thoughts, "let's just keep going."

 

[Selrisitai]

Daniel, Adam, Felicity and Ilsa stood in a semi-circle, facing Mr. Witley who stood a few steps on. No one was moving, except to look around. Confusion held each individual in a paralyzing clutch.

Felicity's ears twitched as the spell evaporated, and a clawed hand absently slipped across her belly. With an exposed incisor pressing against her pink bottom lip hard enough for the skin to fold as it strained around the point of pressure, she turned large, purple, slit-pupil eyes to her companions. They all began animated in abrupt unison.

Ilsa took hold of Felicity's arm, beginning a magical examination. The only visible indication was a gentle white glow emitting from between her grasping fingers.

Adam fell back a step and watched, but invisibly brought destructive magic to bear—just in case.

Daniel looked at Felicity, then just stared at the callouses on his palms, just beneath each finger, where his sword-hilt, held tightly, would grind against the flesh. There did not appear to be any blood on his hands.

Mr. Witley, meanwhile, observing all of this, knew that he had not been the only one to experience what he could only describe as a hallucination. After giving them all time to recover from the disorientation of whatever had just occurred—which none of them had as yet verbalized—Witley said gravely, "Follow me."

Felicity hissed, but Adam put a hand on her head and she began to purr, to which Adam responded by removing his hand again. Daniel said, "Where are we going?"

Witley took a moment to look at each member of the party, to catch their eye and hold onto their gaze until they appreciated he was addressing each of them with purpose. "Can pernicites do that?"

No one wanted to say it outright. "Only in specific situations, and with a lot of power."

"What sort of situation?"

"A group of pernicite sorcerers working in tandem. I don't see any evidence of that here."

Witley didn't want to appear stupid, and from his silver vest he withdrew a pocket-watch, which he flipped open and snapped closed several times. "Might they be—" He didn't want to say invisible. It sounded absurd. "—concealing themselves?"

"They could be," Daniel agreed, "but they're not." He hooked a thumb back at Adam's cloaked figure. "If they were, he would know, and if they were concealing themselves from him, we would all be powerless against them anyway."

"I see." Witley looked rather less comforted than Daniel might have expected. "In any case, whatever just happened was not normal. I'm a skeptic, but hardly a fool. Something like this requires our attention. Come."

"Where are we going?" Ilsa asked, holding her staff close, nearly in a hug.

Mr. Witley didn't wait. His brisk footsteps clicked on the tiles. "To speak to the mayor."

 

[Selrisitai]

Four dirty, exhausted and still bemused pernicite mercenaries stood in a crescent formation before the expensive-looking hard-wood desk of Heron Lies's mayor. Flags of the town and country were on wooden poles behind him, with heavy, dyed material folded upon itself with the weight of gravity on the expensive material. Thick curtains were drawn over what must have been very large windows, and shelves lined the walls to the left and right, holding books and statues made from various materials, including wood, metal and glass.

Daniel began to brush off his pants, but dust sprinkled onto the blue polished lapis lazuli floor and he desisted.

The group studied the room, and then the mayor himself. Whatever one might say of him, the mayor was a man who took care of himself. Thick brown hair was combed back from a strong brow, and his brow wasn't the only thing strong about the man. He had a strong jaw, broad shoulders and thick hands. As he took care of his body, so did he tend his dress. He wore a waistcoat of dark-brown with gold trim, which went down beyond the desk. Gilded rings were on several fingers. A golden necklace gave him the kind of youthful, pampered look that some women found irresistible.

His smile was even more so. "Falimoore! To what do I owe the pleasure of these fine journeyman's company?" As he said this he grinned at the disheveled group doing their best to appear at least somewhat in sorts, and failing, but the mayor was polite enough not to recognize it.

Failmoore Witley, too, treated them with dignity despite their undignified state. "Mr. Ashcloth, these are traveling pernicite mercenaries, working hard to keep our villages, towns, cities and forests safe from the scourge of foul beings who threaten our lives and our children's lives."

As he was saying this, Daniel and the rest thought he might be laying it on a little thick. The mayor himself nodded pleasantly as if appreciating every word.

Witley went on. "They come with a warning of a pernicite horde that expects to be here within two days."

"Is that so?" The mayor rubbed his chin with a gilt finger.

"Yes, sir."

"And how did they come upon this information?"

"They say that they questioned a scout a few miles southwest of here, was it?" Witley glanced at Daniel for confirmation, for he had insinuated himself as the leader by standing forward, the others a few inches behind. He nodded.

"Questioned it?" the mayor asked, rather skeptically it seemed. Adam's theory that they'd be brushed off was feeling prescient. "And why would it tell them anything?"

"Well—" Witley began, hesitating with uncertainty.

The mayor interrupted, "How, precisely, did they question it?"

"With great insistence," Daniel interjected, without raising the volume of his voice. The two politicians looked at him, and his steady gaze tolerated no confusion.

"I can see that you're serious. And you have the confidence of my aid, which means something. So what is it you'd like us to do?"

"Bring your soldiers to be bare," Daniel said, finally feeling as though they were making headway. His speech became somewhat more grandiloquent. "I will teach them what I know about such hordes, about how they attack, and about the various types of pernicites, and we'll mount a counter-offensive two days hence. As many townspeople that are willing to help will be encouraged to do so."

The mayor considered that for a moment while Daniel's words hung in the air. The longer nothing was said, the heavier the words became, until they seem to have wilted and spun lazily to the floor. The quartet looked around at one another, wondering if they were being taken seriously after all.

The mayor stood. "I tell you what. I'll appoint a portion of my guard to you, and they will help you stand against this menace."

"But, sir," Daniel started, but was interrupted.

"I understand your position, and see that you're only trying to help, but I do not want to panic my people, nor can I relinquish the full force of my guard. This town has stood here for generations, and never has a horde attacked it before. There's no precedent for it."

"A horde could be the end of this township," Daniel insisted.

"I think we can handle them, especially with your help." The mayor was still smiling warmly as he ushered them out. "I'll send you a boon shortly," he said, standing inside the large doorway while the four of them stood outside it. "Go find an inn that suits you and we'll make further arrangements then. Farewell for now."

"But—" Daniel began, but the door shut with a boom that echoed through the hall, and as an insult, the guards slipped shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the doorway and crossed their spears.

Daniel turned to his companions with a look of disbelief. They returned his look with equal frustration. Hands on hip, he said, "Now what?"

"Since you asked," Ilsa said without a hint of shame, "I'd love to take that bath."

 

[Selrisitai]

If anyone's actually reading this and waiting for updates, I apologize for taking two months to continue; however, the story is nearly completed and I should be updating regularly at this point. Thanks be to anyone reading, I greatly appreciate it, and I would be further grateful for any comments.
Thank you again.

The entire affair had been a thunderstorm in an open field. A pleasant little adventure, until the water soaks into your boots, your clothes are plastered to your body with cold rain, and the ostensibly beautiful field of fresh flowers through which you were frolicking finds you forlorn for want of any place to dry yourself within at least a mile. All of the things that had made it wondrous in the sun made it then dreadful in the deluge.

With soggy shoes and sunken chins, the quartet trundled to the grand exit. The sounds of their clothing and magical baubles, having sounded so triumphant upon entrance were now piteous, jangles and ruffling and clicking of boot-heels a dirge for their failure.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad, Ilsa thought, in her perpetual attempts to squeeze any amount of encouragement from the stones of disappointment, had it not been for that strange shared illusion.

Strange? she sputtered inwardly. Ghastly, more like!

It had dampened their spirits far beyond what their failure had.

And had it been a failure? Ilsa further asked herself. They had warned the township, and although, no, they had not rallied the entire populace as had been the plan, but they'd been afforded the services of some number of the guard.

"You know," Daniel said with both abruptness and, as would follow, psychic perspicacity, "the fact is, even though we didn't get everything we'd hoped to get, the result is still greater awareness among these people. When the horde comes, they will be far more prepared than they'd have been were we not here."

Ilsa was excited. "I was thinking the same thing!"

"I suspect a lot of them will perish," Adam said in an unusual moment of positivity, "but fewer than would have otherwise."

Ilsa and Daniel tried to take that in the spirit in which it was delivered.

By this time they had left the mayoral office and, descending the wide, grand stoop, left the portico and its imposing columns.

Felicity had chased a rodent into some nearby flower-beds that she was almost certainly not meant to be in and, having stood from all fours, was sauntering back over to the group, presumably having caught whatever it was she'd been after, considering that her walk itself exuded smugness and self-satisfaction, when the heavy wooden doors of the mayor's office opened. Out came Mr. Witley, rushing but dignified, posture excellent, stride assured.

"Excuse me," he called, forestalling the foursome, which is a charitable statement given their trudging state. They could hardly have been called "progressing" however one looked at it. When they turned, curious, he approached, traipsing down the steps with a certain casualness, presumably to give himself time to fish something from his vest pocket, which he proffered with an extended hand as he stopped before Daniel, who had been in the back of the group and, now that they'd turned about, was in the front.

Witley said, hand still out, "Forgive me. In the oddness of the situation I forgot entirely to provide you with this boon." In his hand was a coin of some deep gray metal. While it had clearly been polished to a sheen, it was just as clearly too old for its age to be hidden by any amount of buffing or precious care. Some engraving was evident, but impossible to read. This was a coin that had passed many, many hands.


As Daniel reached for it, saying a thanks, Witley shook his head. "Never mind. After this dismissive welcome you've received, this is the least we can do. Show that," he meant to continue, but was interrupted by Ilsa, who didn't realize he was going to go on, saying, "What shall we do with it?" While she slapped both hands over her mouth in embarrassment, Mr. Witley cleared his throat and persisted. "Show that to any inn you like and, for as long as you are in possession of that coin, you shall be given free lodging and one meal a day."

They spoke for a moment longer, then Mr Witley took his leave and, after chattering in excitement at the show of respect and charity, the quartet proceeded on to find an inn.

There was a debate—a bit of an argument really—about whether they should choose the most expensive inn, the cheapest inn, or something middling. The primary arguments were as follows:
1. Let's not take advantage. The cheapest will do.
2. I don't think they would expect us to be as cheap as possible, but you're right, I don't feel comfortable taking lavish accommodations against their kindness. A moderately priced place will do.
3. If there are restrictions, they should've told us. It's not our fault, and in fact, it's rude for them to put the burden of this ethical choice on us like that. I say we pick the most opulent, magnificent place in this whole town as punishment.
4. Using my cunning and speed, a plucked a rabbit from the ground as it ran, and by my mercy did I release it.

These arguments were from Ilsa, Daniel, Adam and Felicity, respectfully. Daniel's argument won out because it was the easiest to agree with him, and also because Adam and Ilsa didn't wish to argue, though for different reasons. Felicity's was not understood to be an option.

They began their trek through town, stopping once to ask where the fairest-priced inn was. There was silence thereafter. It was Daniel's silence; the others merely sensed it. The illusion, or vision, or whatever it had been, in which Daniel slew Felicity in the most grotesque detail, weighed upon his mind. He glanced over, noticing her wings, all four them, whole and without damage. Emotion threatened to overtake him, but he suppressed it with a few deep breaths. When he felt he could speak without tears, he said, "Felicity, I'm sorry about—"

Daniel stopped himself because he was looking at Adam and Ilsa, both of whom had stiffened one after the other. They were attuned to magic. Felicity was too, but her range was farther and she could be flighty. Adam was the one who sensed something first, and Ilsa picked up on it, extended her magical senses, and caught the same information. Daniel looked between them, and when there was no immediate response he demanded, "What is it, you two?" He wasn't panicking, but adrenaline had flooded his veins and his sword-hand was clenching.

The two magic-users looked at one another. Ilsa deferred. "A pernicite," Adam said, not looking at Daniel but scanning the town, such as he could see between buildings and people and stalls. "It's big. Toward the south entrance of town. There's more than just pernicite magic, it's casting right now."

Daniel considered. That information could mean a lot more or a lot less than it sounded out of hand. Size could indicate a powerful pernicite, but could just as easily mean it was a slow, dumb, lumbering thing, easily beaten. The magic was a bit more worrisome. Pernicites could use all manner of magic, but if no one in town was screaming yet, or raised an alarm, then the magic was probably not the destructive variety. That could mean a few things, too, some better and some worse. Without more information, he could only speculate, so Daniel decided to get more information.

When Ilsa had entered her clinical role during the strange event with Felicity, she had almost become a different person. Daniel, too, slipped totally into his leadership. His expression hardened, eyes focused, mind spun with analysis. "Adam, you take Felicity southeast, Ilsa and I will go southwest. If you see it, send us a message silently through Ilsa, and we'll try to close in on it from both sides."

"Got it," Adam said, tapped Felicity on the shoulder and the two of them ran across the cobblestones, dodging stalls and slipping between passing citizens. Daniel and Ilsa mirrored them.

Adam spotted it first, as only he could have, for the pernicite was invisible. With Adam's magical sight, it could be seen as plain as day, in fact it fairly glowed. To anyone else, there was simply nothing there.

The fur on Felicity's back stood on end and she dipped to all fours, skittish and looking around.

"Stay calm," Adam said gently. "It's another scout. A bigger one, but we've dealt with them before. I'm sending Ilsa the message."

The sending was not a spectacle; he didn't even close his eyes. Adam paused for a moment, and that was it, from an outsider's perspective. In his own mind, he could hear Ilsa's voice as though she were standing next to him, acknowledging the scout's location.

Watching the scout skulk around, Adam sent Ilsa another mental message. "How near are you?"

"Seconds away."

Good, he didn't say. "Felicity, be a distraction. We're going to warm this thing up."

Felicity's four dragon-fly like wings splayed open with a reedy swish, she crouched to gather herself, then darted forward, feet churning and wings buzzing. Adam, running behind, looked as though he were strolling leisurely compared to the forest sprite's flitting pace. As she ran about, changing direction at ninety degrees almost without slowing by using her wings to always keep traction, Adam watched the scout to see what it would do. It was decidedly annoyed, trying to avoid being run into so as not to spoil its cover.

Adam thought this was most amusing. With a grin, he conjured a fireball in his right hand and hurled it. The flames exploded against the pernicite's shoulder and, losing concentration, its magical invisibility faded and the hairy, muscular, three-eyed creature became visible to all. Villagers screamed, yelled, stumbled and fled.

The creature was bigger than normal, even bigger than abnormal. It was at least nine feet tall. It gave Adam pause, and he considered calling Felicity away, but such a beast must be slow. There was no possible way in his mind that it could get a hold of her.

But it did. Felicity charged toward its feet, then as it grabbed for her she changed direction in the swift fashion she did, reaching speeds of fifty miles per hour within only a few feet. The pernicite grabbed for her. Adam watched as it happened, mouth gaping, eyes widening, as the hand snatched her out of the air. Felicity nearly disappeared in its massive paw, only her shoulders up and knees down were visible.

Whatever it intended to do, Felicity hindered it by biting it, clawing it as best she could, and her pointed tail whipped out to stab it in the chest. The pernicite grabbed her tail, but whatever horror it might have inflicted was stopped by another fireball directly into its face. The fireballed exploded, the pernicite roared in anger and pain. It drew back its massive arm and hurled Felicity at Adam, who, not expecting it, couldn't get moving fast enough to avoid being pummeled by the forest sprite's spinning body. Rolling and tumbling, their bodies tangled and limbs slapping wildly, the two of them came to a painful, skidding stop two dozen feet away.

This all happened within only a few seconds. Daniel saw the last of it, and was rushing in, terrified that his friends had been killed but knowing that the only way to stop more would be to eliminate this monster. Doubts gnawed at his brain even as he drew his sword and rushed in. No scout had ever been this powerful. If they were, hardly any pernicite mercenary would be working today, and those that were would be inhumanly powerful. Two of their party had already been downed, hopefully not killed. The beast was clawing cinders from its eyes, but it didn't look ready to die.

Something was wrong. A flash of memory came to him. The false memory he shared with his group and with even the mayor's aid. Was this happening again? or was he just hoping that this was all a bad dream?

Without having it requested, Ilsa summoned her magic, sent it through her staff and, at a distance of fifteen feet or so, cast a spell of sharpening on Daniel's sword. It would cut anything now, it didn't matter how tough, even metal would rend like a sharp knife upon a delicate thread.

He went in, ready to swing, but the pernicite turned, swiping, shockingly fast. Daniel was fast, too. He stopped on his heels, twisted, leaped away, but the pernicite's wicked claws caught him high on the shoulder and blood sprung forth eagerly, along with a stifled grunt of pain from Daniel's throat. Thrown off balance, Daniel had to take a dive, but he landed well on his other shoulder, rolled and was on his feet, sword rising.

"Be careful!" Ilsa cried.

The pernicite had followed him almost immediately. It kicked, foot scraping the ground, throwing up chunks of cobblestone and dirt beneath. Wheeling backward, Daniel tucked his face in the crook of his elbow to prevent his eyes from being pelted. It worked, but it didn't stop hard bits of shrapnel from striking him everywhere else. It hurt. He knew he couldn't look away for long, the creature was coming. By time he looked up, the scout had closed the distance again, and a long, hairy, muscular arm streaked through the air at an angle. Its limb was long enough that even though the pernicite was in front of him, the claw struck his back and raked against his shoulder and arm and the force of it smashed him to the ground. He saw black for a moment, felt nothing for a moment, but when he came to an instant later his hand was still closed on the hilt of his sword.

Felicity was suddenly there, biting at the scout's ankle. Adam behind her, limping, one arm dangling at his side uselessly, like a thick piece of rope, still mustered the strength with his good arm to cast a tethering spell. It was the same one used on the previous pernicite scout to keep it bound to the ground and unable to move. This one was much bigger, but they had hit it a few times. Maybe, Adam hoped, it could be slowed at least, to give one of them an opportunity to go in for the kill.

"Daniel!" Adam yelled.

The swordsman rolled over onto his stomach, lifted himself to hands and knees. Blood from somewhere, he couldn't tell, dripped onto the gray stones and mingled with the dirt that had been kicked up.

The pernicite began to pull against the tethers. It was overwhelming. It didn't immediately break free, but Adam impulsively shook his head, knowing with frightening certainty that he would not be able to hold it down. "Daniel," he cried again. "Finish it!" He knew the sword could cut into the creature, regardless of its strength. He just needed a moment, an instant to do it. Daniel was one of the best swordsmen in the southern counties. Adam was a realist. He knew it could be done, knew that Daniel could do it.

Grasping his sword more tightly, teeth gritted, Daniel hefted himself to his feet. Ignore the pain, shake it off, he told himself. Everyone's helping. He just needed to get to his feet and go.

"Go!" he yelled, rising to his feet with a massive effort. He turned, and suddenly noticed his disorientation had fled. With a swift shake of the head he found Ilsa, staff outstretched, cyan gemstone pulsating with healing light.

"We only need one swing!" she called to him. "Please, hurry!"

Daniel looked back to the monster and started forward, furious and determined.

"I can only get its legs!" Adam announced. He'd been struggling with it this entire time and realized that he could put more energy into the tethers if there were fewer to focus on. The pernicite didn't seem able to break free, but its upper body was unbound.

That was fine, Daniel knew the creature's capabilities now. He'd do what needed to be done. The sword was capable of cutting anything.

The pernicite suddenly broke the tether on its right leg, sending Adam stumbling forward and, for the second time, sending Felicity, who had been shredding the flesh of its ankle, sailing through the air. With a humongous leap, the pernicite launched itself fifteen feet into the air, and down it came, swinging a massive arm, upon Adam.

Adam threw up his arms and poured energy into a barrier, a dome of solid light. The beast's swing jittered as it collided with the barrier, and the light shattered like glass into a thousand pieces, and five clawed fingers struck Adam in a sweeping arc, tearing thick gashes across his robe and sending him rolling across the ground.

Daniel stared at Adam. His body came to a stop, arms splayed out, and he did no more. Breath quickening, Daniel searched for where Felicity had landed, and found her unmoving.

"How?" he wanted to know. "How is this possible!"

 

[Selrisitai]

Thomas couldn't stand it any longer. He'd been trying for the past ten minutes to make a dramatic finish to the scout, but Missy kept rejecting every killing blow and making the pernicite scout more and more powerful.

Standing, Thomas slapped the table. The dice clattered, tea and soda sloshed in their glasses and a stat sheet broke from a pile and fluttered to the floor where it swished across the dining room's tiled ceramic flooring. "Why did you make the scout so powerful!"

Missy showed no remorse or, as Thomas considered appropriate, shame. She wasn't sorry at all. She smiled. "Isn't it more exciting this way?"

"No," Thomas replied flatly. "Everyone's almost dead."

He had to get a hold of his emotions or mother would be hearing of it. Thomas didn't have time to calm himself down with a deep breath, he needed to make his sister forget the tone he'd just taken with her. Quickly, he attenuated the blow of his previous words: "It could be. I mean, I think it's a good idea, but isn't it a little too much?"

The problem with children is that they are naturally self-centered. Instead of perceiving Thomas's concession and following up with her own, Missy took it as an advantage to press. "It's more fun when they really have to struggle for it, right?"

Patience was not something Thomas had practiced much. He pressed his lips together tightly enough that the blood drained and they became pale. "I don't see it that way."

With her ideas having been stalled out one too many times, Missy was now the one getting upset. She stomped a bare foot. It smacked on the tiles. "I think you just wanna do everything your way."

"No, I—" the false start gave way to a monumental effort to not flip the table over, if Thomas could actually have lifted the heavy oak. He clutched the edge of it and left the attempt to his imagination. "Why don't we just have one of them severely injured, and the rest have minor injuries? I mean, they're supposed to be professionals." His suggestion started out with a tone that even he recognized as strained, but he found himself kind of warming to the idea as he finished.

Missy folded her arms, but she didn't complain right away, which was a good sign. Maybe.

Waiting for his sister's reply to his compromise, Thomas found himself, strangely, hoping she would accept so that he could see how things played out.

"Fine," she finally said, not sounding too happy.

Thomas let go of the breath he was holding. Good, they were making progress.

"But I get to decide who gets the bad injury."

Of course she would try to get more out of this. Oh, well, as long as it wasn't crazy, Thomas told himself, he'd accept. "Alright, alright. Just don't make it too bad."

Missy just grinned.

 

[Selrisitai]

The sensation of his sword slipping easily through Felicity's delicate rib-cage was still fresh in Daniel's mind. If it had been a vivid dream, he might have forgotten about it within a couple of hours, no matter how real it had seemed. This had been different. Everyone saw it, and remembered it.

Now it was happening again. Footsteps beat hurriedly on the cobblestone streets, and for an instant Daniel wondered where he was going so fast—but only for an instant. Another false memory had played itself out, or illusion. Illusion. . . .

He glanced over his shoulder at Ilsa, feet pattering just behind, and caught her eye. He looked forward again, and amended the consideration. Shared illusion.

The impulse was to pause, to allow the confusion and disorientation to work themselves out, but that would be irresponsible. There was no way to know if this time things would be different, or if the pernicite would be there at all, or equally terrifying. The obligation was to arrive as soon as possible, and hit whatever they found as hard as they could.

Without breaking stride, Daniel called out to Ilsa. There wouldn't be a repeat of last time.



.............................



Boots clomped across the streets, and claws skittered beside.

Adam wasn't a genius tactician; he was, however, a thoughtful sorcerer whose magic afforded him options. Even more quickly than Daniel, Adam had recovered from the disorienting transition from thence to hence, whatever that even meant, but while Daniel had firmly shifted his own confusion to determined resolve, Adam's clamped down into anger. He'd used every relevant spell given the situation, and this ridiculous pernicite—a scout no less! which they'd defeated an hundred times—overcame each one with only a little effort. Now Adam had been, by some incomprehensible cosmic force, thrust back into the same situation that he had just failed to overcome, with the same tools as before.

No, Adam realized as he neared where the pernicite had been before, he didn't have the same tools as before, he had one extra: foresight. Looking, Adam spotted the scout where it had been before, just as visible, and just as unaware.

"Come!" Felicity hissed. "We shall seize this opportunity and sneak upon our enemy, and tear out his throat while he yet believes himself hidden. He shall pay tenfold for what he did to us, until he wishes for death, whereupon we shall duly grant it, or perhaps only once we have grown bored of torturing it and—"

"I thought your kind didn't relish such displays of violence," Adam reminded her, even as his hands worked, preparing a spell.

"An exception to this axiom has occurred to me hence." So saying, Felicity lunged, to have her vengeance.

Adam wanted to grab her but his hands were busy, so he cried out, "Felicity! Hold!"

She skittered to a stop and looked back at him, ears flat, scolded.

"We're taking no chances."


.......................


"Go," Daniel said, toeing off, with Ilsa at brisk stride behind, arm extended, holding her mage staff with its cyan gemstone glowing brilliantly.

Before, they believed they could handle it with a frontal assault, their numbers and strength more than sufficient to handle one pernicite scout. They had been wrong, but there was only one tactic among the four of them that they hadn't already tried, and that was taking it by surprise and attacking more brutally than ever. Daniel's sword, with Ilsa's sharpening spell, could cut through any creature's hide, no matter how tough it was.

As a boon, a steady stream of stamina and recovery magic flowed from Ilsa's staff to Daniel's body, ensuring he lost not a single ounce of energy until they were done. It was taxing on Ilsa to use such an intense flow of magic, but it was agreed, without a single word spoken, that it would be worth it to win this fight.

One last spell Ilsa had cast upon him was Magical Sight, allowing him to see the golden energy around the pernicite that generated its invisibility. Eyes blazing with blue light from the spell, like roiling flames, Daniel closed in. There would not be a third chance. Probably.

This was when Adam's scheme revealed itself. Daniel, through his magical sight, could see any form of magic with distinction, like bright firelight in a dark forest. The pernicite's own spell of invisibility had been the brightest element in the surrounding area, but then Daniel was distracted by a red orb, which swelled into a massive ball of fire, as thick around as a rotund tree, a tail of flame flapping behind six feet long. The pernicite turned to look, just in time take it in the shoulder. The fireball exploded, throwing smoke out so thick that everything in the immediate vicinity was cloaked by gray and black billows.

Daniel stopped and threw up both hands to shield his face from the smoke and the extreme heat. Adam had decided to to unleash everything in one blast, he realized, but that might not be enough. The smoke began to clear.

Charging forward, sword held low at his left side, Daniel moved in on the pernicite. He could see its upper body, from the shoulder down to the lower rib, had been destroyed, vaporized by Adam's destructive blast. The pernicite would surely die with such a devastating injury—but no chances could be taken.

Daniel leaped, his magically-enhanced legs launching him at an upward angle with the speed of an arrow from a heavy bow. With a single slash of his sword, sharp metal cleaved muscular flesh, and the scout's head spun through the air. Daniel descended from the nine-foot leap, air rushing past his ears, and landed hard, rolling. He came to his feet casually, allowing himself to believe that the beast had been bested. If it could continue on without a head, then there was little more that could be done. As he wiped the thick purple goop from his blade—pernicites didn't have normal, red blood—the scout's three-eyed head smashed to the ground and rolled a few feet away, spurting purple viscera across the gray cobblestones.

Ilsa, feeling more confident—a feeling that seeing the decapitated head of your enemy tends to inspire—approached. The pernicite scout's hairy body was still standing, muscles tensed as though it were preparing to do something, but the only movement from it was a gentle swaying, its muscle memory maintaining the balance to remain upright.

A feeling of nausea welled in Ilsa's stomach. "Is it—"

"Dead," Daniel said with certainty, "nothing could survive this."

"Look!" Ilsa cried, pointing at the head lying on the ground. Its three eyes were still blinking, and they had all turned an angry gaze toward Daniel.

"Well, maybe they can live a little while without their heads," Daniel said, disturbed. He twirled his sword, nearing, and the disembodied head's visage turned to fear just before Daniel's sword cleaved it in half. "I don't think it can live with half a head, though." And he was right.

Suddenly they heard Adam call, "Look out!"


..................................


"No," Thomas said flatly.

"Why not?" Missy was smiling despite the contention. Or, knowing her, maybe because of it.

"No, that's stupid."

"You said!"

"Agh, but—" Thomas searched for a good excuse, but his not wanting her to do what she had in mind just because it was dumb seemed a poor reason to go back on his word. He knew there must be some reasonable way to express how his sister's logic was absurd and broken, while his own logic was reasonable and sound, but his twelve-year-old brain couldn't find it while under pressure. He cast a nervous glance at the curtained kitchen entryway and finally relented. "Alright," he said, and then inspiration struck, "but you have to roll for it."

Ho, ho, ho! He tried not to smirk. It was all left to probability. It made him feel better.

It was an acceptable compromise for Missy, as well, but she felt obligated to return a bit of snark since she'd acquiesced to his middle-ground solution. "Fine," she said with as much annoyance as she could muster, and reached for the dice. She shook them extra-long to really build up the luck.

Thomas rolled his eyes, but smirked at the childishness of it; then he frowned, then put his hands on his hips. The dice rattled. He was about to say something when she tossed the dice, but too hard. They bounced in playful unison across the table, then seemed to hang in the air as they went beyond the boundaries of the table. Clacking with fresh vigor, they tumbled across the tiled floor and finally clattered to a stop.

Missy leaped from her chair and rushed over to check what she got. Thomas watched uneasily. Unease turned to dismay when she looked over her shoulder, smiling.

"I hate you," Thomas groaned.

Missy giggled maniacally.


.................................


Daniel whirled, sword up to defend or attack, but there was no enemy to defend against, no monster to assault. The scout's nine-foot body, thick and heavy with muscle, had begun to topple. Daniel had just enough time to consider moving, and to then dismiss the idea. There was no time. He lifted his arms to protect his head, but they'd hardly gotten up before the shoulder of the beheaded pernicite smashed into his chest, smashed him downward and pinned his body to the ground.

He yelled in pain while his companions rushed to assist.

Adam was able to fetch Daniel's sword, dropped on impact, and slice away enough of the pernicite scout's body that they could, with a concerted effort, shove it off. Daniel wasn't sure if he was more disgusted by the thing's smell seeping into his nostrils where he couldn't even hold his nose, or by the discomforting weight of its hairy body pressing against his, or by his own carelessness and the dignity it had cost him.

"What terrible luck," Ilsa cooed as she gathered her robes to kneel beside him and, with a hand on his stomach, began assessing the damage.

"If you're doing an examination, go a bit lower," Daniel said, somewhat irritably. "I think my left leg might be broken."

She checked. It was. Instead of being upset, Ilsa sighed in relief. "There are things difficult for me to heal, but broken bones are easy as long as we get to them quickly."

Adam was watching while Ilsa began making repairs to Daniel's battered body, but he was also keeping watch. "Felicity!" he scolded. "Get off of there."

"But the hairy flesh of this monstrosity is filled with warmth," she reasoned. "Prithee, might I nap in its soft comfort?"

It was difficult to argue with such earnestness, but, looking at the grotesque, chopped-up body, Adam managed it. "No, you mightn't. Get down here."

Daniel began to cry out, and clamped it down in his throat. It sounded like a boot sliding across gravel.

"I'm sorry," Ilsa said with such clinical detachment that the words seemed to have no compassion, only utility. "That was the worst of it."

Daniel's teeth were gritted. "I hope so."

Ilsa did one more cursory examination of his body. Finding only bruises and cuts, she stood, satisfied but woozy, unbalanced. A foot came up to counter a slow topple, and when she was steady she brushed the dust from her robe. "I set the bone and did a superficial weld, but it will still need time to heal. I don't think I have the energy to do more right now."

"Can I walk?" Daniel asked, twisting his leg left and right and lifting it as a test.

Ilsa looked at him, held the gaze. "Carefully."

With Adam on one side and Ilsa on the other, Daniel was lifted to his feet and, together, they hobbled toward the nearest hotel, Felicity running worried circles around them.

 

[Selrisitai]

The "boon" worked exactly as was claimed, and soon Daniel was in bed resting in a room big enough for three. While Felicity stayed with him to keep a vigil, Ilsa and Adam decided to be proactive.

This issue of shared illusions was beginning to cause problems greater than just being disturbing. It was affecting everyone's concentration and lowering morale. As unlikely as it was, there was still a possibility that a group of pernicite mages were working together to create this illusion, to some presumable end.

That was the trouble of it, though. An enormous magic would be required for such shared false experiences. No one, and no thing, would put in such effort without some substantial benefit. As yet, there had been no effect other than to startle and confound the four of them.

"No," Adam said as he and Ilsa sat at a table in the main room with two cups of coffee they'd graciously secured from a waitress, "it's not just the four of us."

So far they'd only come downstairs, and had been discussing what they might do, where they might begin. It seemed impossible to know where to start on a problem already so vague. They'd done little more than have harmless, though bizarre, daydreams that ultimately hurt no one.

"What do you mean?" Ilsa asked. Her hands were warming on the mug.

"I guess I'd assumed we were the only ones targeted, the four of us, but the mayor's aid was affected, too. Was anyone else?"

"Well, no one's said anything, but then, they wouldn't, right? If they noticed something strange happen and then went back five minutes to see it hadn't after all, why would they tell anyone? They'd be thought mad."

Adam didn't think it was a great lead, but it was something. "Anyway, when we're done we'll go talk to a few people and see if we can work something out—speaking of the mayor's aid, isn't that Mr. Witley coming through the door?"

Ilsa abandoned a sip of coffee. "I believe it is. And here he comes."

He was dressed as stately as ever, and gave the whole room a boost in confidence. "My friends," he said affectionately upon approach. "What room is Daniel in? I'd like to speak to him."

Ilsa and Adam looked at one another. Why Daniel? But they both knew. He was the de facto leader, and they couldn't blame people for thinking so, since they saw him that way too; it was just impressive how quickly everyone figured it. Ilsa pulled the room key and looked at the attached wooden pendant, at the number engraved into it. "Room six," she said.

"Thank you, and please don't be too charitable. You're doing a service for our community here. Enjoy yourselves."

So saying, he toddled off to the stairs and on up to their room where Daniel and Felicity were, while Adam and Ilsa glanced around at the dessert counter and decided they could stay a few more minutes for a small treat. Doing battle with pernicites was hungry work, after all.

* * *

A knock came at the door and Felicity hissed, climbed up on the bed. Daniel grunted as she bumped against his leg.

"Who is it?" Daniel called when the pain had subsided enough that it wouldn't appear in his voice.

"It is I, Witley, the mayor's aid."

"Give me just a moment, please!" he replied, then said to Felicity, "Go open the door. Go on, you know Mr. Witley."

"Ere he utters a cross word, my talons shall open his belly."

"None of that!"

Felicity unlocked the door and, standing back, swung it open with her tail.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Mr. Witley said, looking distastefully at Felicity and her snake-like tail as it hung in the air with its wicked point swaying menacingly.

"Get over here, Felicity," Daniel said. "Sit there, please. Thank you." He was still annoyed about the injury, but tried to be polite. "Mr. Witley, no intrusion at all. What can I do for you?"

"Are you injured?" Witley, having shut the door and entered further, had just noticed the way Daniel was sitting in the bed. One foot extended, little movement of the body. He didn't have a specific idea in mind, but it seemed a bit unnatural.

"It's nothing, Ilsa will have me fixed up by the morning." He didn't want to think about it, and he absolutely didn't want to talk about it.

"That's good to hear. Amazing what mages can do these days. Healing magic, and all."

"Yeah, she's saved my hide more than once."

Witley whipped out his silver pocket-watch and checked the time. Daniel got the sense this was more impulse than impatience. "Well, I don't want to disturb your rest a moment longer than necessary. I've just come to inform you that you have full use of the town's police force. Several witnesses observed the scene at the town entrance, and to say the least, they were shaken up, and more than happy to provide whatever you might need to prevent more of those beasts from entering town in the future.

"Additionally, we've begun a collection to ensure you are paid for services rendered."

"Is that so?" Daniel pushed his hands down onto the bed, lifting himself to sit straighter. He was uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with the sheets or pillows. "We do normally get pay, but it's from the Pernicite Mercenary guild, or contracts. We're going to do what we came here to do whether we're paid or not. We don't want to put anyone out."

"I see."

"That said," Daniel added quickly, "I know that Adam would be furious if I didn't at least acknowledge that the money would be helpful and appreciated, if it's not too much an imposition."

"Good, good, the townspeople will be glad to be able to return a little of the favor you're doing them. Now, don't let me take up any more of your energy, I'll be off."

Witley nodded, turned and walked out the door, closing it with considerate quietness behind.

Felicity stared at the door for a long time. Daniel saw her watching. "What's the matter? You don't like him?"

"He called me a pet."

"That he did," Daniel agreed, settling down into the mattress, golden coins skipping across his mind's eye. He couldn't help but smile at the unexpected bonus. He frowned. But without the help from the townspeople this could turn into a problem. Monetary compensation or not, the townspeople would need to be prepared. It was his duty foremost to protect. Still. . . .

A great, whooshing sigh erupted from Daniel's lungs and Felicity jumped four feet vertically, claws extended. Daniel stared at the ceiling. That extra money would be nice, though.

 

[Selrisitai]

The "boon" worked exactly as was claimed, and soon Daniel was in bed resting in a room big enough for three. While Felicity stayed with him to keep a vigil, Ilsa and Adam decided to be proactive.

This issue of shared illusions was beginning to cause problems greater than just being disturbing. It was affecting everyone's concentration and lowering morale. As unlikely as it was, there was still a possibility that a group of pernicite mages were working together to create this illusion, to some presumable end.

That was the trouble of it, though. An enormous magic would be required for such shared false experiences. No one, and no thing, would put in such effort without some substantial benefit. As yet, there had been no effect other than to startle and confound the four of them.

"No," Adam said as he and Ilsa sat at a table in the main room with two cups of coffee they'd graciously secured from a waitress, "it's not just the four of us."

So far they'd only come downstairs, and had been discussing what they might do, where they might begin. It seemed impossible to know where to start on a problem already so vague. They'd done little more than have harmless, though bizarre, daydreams that ultimately hurt no one.

"What do you mean?" Ilsa asked. Her hands were warming on the mug.

"I guess I'd assumed we were the only ones targeted, the four of us, but the mayor's aid was affected, too. Was anyone else?"

"Well, no one's said anything, but then, they wouldn't, right? If they noticed something strange happen and then went back five minutes to see it hadn't after all, why would they tell anyone? They'd be thought mad."

Adam didn't think it was a great lead, but it was something. "Anyway, when we're done we'll go talk to a few people and see if we can work something out—speaking of the mayor's aid, isn't that Mr. Witley coming through the door?"

Ilsa abandoned a sip of coffee. "I believe it is. And here he comes."

He was dressed as stately as ever, and gave the whole room a boost in confidence. "My friends," he said affectionately upon approach. "What room is Daniel in? I'd like to speak to him."

Ilsa and Adam looked at one another. Why Daniel? But they both knew. He was the de facto leader, and they couldn't blame people for thinking so, since they saw him that way too; it was just impressive how quickly everyone figured it. Ilsa pulled the room key and looked at the attached wooden pendant, at the number engraved into it. "Room six," she said.

"Thank you, and please don't be too charitable. You're doing a service for our community here. Enjoy yourselves."

So saying, he toddled off to the stairs and on up to their room where Daniel and Felicity were, while Adam and Ilsa glanced around at the dessert counter and decided they could stay a few more minutes for a small treat. Doing battle with pernicites was hungry work, after all.


* * *


A knock came at the door and Felicity hissed, climbed up on the bed. Daniel grunted as she bumped against his leg.

"Who is it?" Daniel called when the pain had subsided enough that it wouldn't appear in his voice.

"It is I, Witley, the mayor's aid."

"Give me just a moment, please!" he replied, then said to Felicity, "Go open the door. Go on, you know Mr. Witley."

"Er he utters a cross word, my talons shall open his belly."

"None of that!"

Felicity unlocked the door and, standing back, swung it open with her tail.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Mr. Witley said, looking distastefully at Felicity and her snake-like tail as it hung in the air with its wicked point swaying menacingly.

"Get over here, Felicity," Daniel said. "Sit there, please. Thank you." He was still annoyed about the injury, but tried to be polite. "Mr. Witley, no intrusion at all. What can I do for you?"

"Are you injured?" Witley, having shut the door and entered further, had just noticed the way Daniel was sitting in the bed. One foot extended, little movement of the body. He didn't have a specific idea in mind, but it seemed a bit unnatural.

"It's nothing, Ilsa will have me fixed up by the morning." He didn't want to think about it, and he absolutely didn't want to talk about it.

"That's good to hear. Amazing what mages can do these days. Healing magic, and all."

"Yeah, she's saved my hide more than once."

Witley whipped out his silver pocket-watch and checked the time. Daniel got the sense this was more impulse than impatience. "Well, I don't want to disturb your rest a moment longer than necessary. I've just come to inform you that you have full use of the town's police force. Several witnesses observed the scene at the town entrance, and to say the least, they were shaken up, and more than happy to provide whatever you might need to prevent more of those beasts from entering town in the future.

"Additionally, we've begun a collection to ensure you are paid for services rendered."

"Is that so?" Daniel pushed his hands down onto the bed, lifting himself to sit straighter. He was uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with the sheets or pillows. "We do normally get pay, but it's from the Pernicite Mercenary guild, or contracts. We're going to do what we came here to do whether we're paid or not. We don't want to put anyone out."

"I see."

"That said," Daniel added quickly, "I know that Adam would be furious if I didn't at least acknowledge that the money would be helpful and appreciated, if it's not too much an imposition."

"Good, good, the townspeople will be glad to be able to return a little of the favor you're doing them. Now, don't let me take up any more of your energy, I'll be off."

Witley nodded, turned and walked out the door, closing it with considerate quietness behind.

Felicity stared at the door for a long time. Daniel saw her watching. "What's the matter? You don't like him?"

"He called me a pet."

"That he did," Daniel agreed, settling down into the mattress, golden coins skipping across his mind's eye. He couldn't help but smile at the unexpected bonus. He frowned. But without the help from the townspeople this could turn into a problem. Monetary compensation or not, the townspeople would need to be prepared. It was his duty foremost to protect. Still. . . .

A great, whooshing sigh erupted from Daniel's lungs and Felicity jumped four feet vertically, claws extended. Daniel stared at the ceiling. That extra money would be nice, though.

 

[Selrisitai]

Thomas sat back in his chair, kind of slumped, and didn't say anything. Missy looked at him furtively, then openly. When still he said nothing she shrugged with the sort of drama only nine-year-olds could muster. "What?"

"Huh?" Thomas said as if awakened from a deep reverie, which annoyed Missy though she wasn't sure why. "Oh, no, it's fine."

"Tell me."

"I was just wondering if it was too boring of an end to the day."

Perhaps owing to her previous annoyance, Missy sensed, welling up from her tongue, a remark liable to start an argument, but she was unable, and furthermore did not wish, to stop it. "Maybe if you'd have let me do what I wanted it would've been more interesting."

"I did let you do what you wanted."

"Nuh uh."

"Yes, I did."

"Barely."

Thomas was no longer slouching in his seat, but now leaning forward over the table. "Don't be such a brat."

Now Missy was leaning forward, completely shocked by the consequences of her words. "Then maybe don't be such a raining, uh—on my parade." She'd entered the expression she wanted from a grammatically non-ideal angle and couldn't manage to bring it around.

Thomas laughed.

"I don't wanna play this dumb game with you anyway!"

Just then Mother walked in and the siblings went quiet. They waited what seemed interminably for her to speak, to see if she'd noticed their squabbling, even though she started talking the instant she entered the dining room. "Alright, kids, time for bed."

They both interjected, "No!"

This accord was unexpected, to say the least, and they looked at one another in surprise, then concern, and finally, with the absurdity of it setting in, they both laughed. There was something about their agreement that felt surprisingly good, to both of them.

"Too bad," Mother said, looking at their game setup, with its cardboard playing field and character sheets and dice as though it were the schematics to a ballistic missile. "Clear this all up and put it away."

This was bad. It might be possible to put it all away and bring it all out again tomorrow, but going on memory alone, there was almost no way they could get everything set up precisely as it had been today. Their game would be ruined. It was imperative that this course of action be prevented—yet, what could Thomas do? He didn't dare beg his mother for anything while his sister was present, he was supposed to be a role-model for her. There was some semblance of an argument in his head, but it wasn't coalescing and now his mouth was going, words sputtering out incoherently, albeit calmly.

To his surprise, Missy came to the rescue. As the younger sister, and the "baby" of the family, she could get away with a lot, including shameless acts of pleading, begging and even throwing a tantrum, if the circumstances were right. Her arsenal of manipulations was deep, and here she brought every ounce of it to bear.

It began with wide eyes that, Thomas was impressed and befuddled to see, glistened wetly against the warm halogen light-bulb. Next was a big, childish frown sure to melt any adult into acquiescent puddle. Finally, there was the voice, cloying and obnoxious to Thomas, but to their parents it was like a charm.

"But if we put it up now, our game will be ruined," she practically sobbed, and Thomas tried to appreciate that, for once, this was being used on his behalf instead of against him. "Can't we keep it up just one night? Please, Mommy?"

Mother's defenses, Thomas saw, were clearly shattering. When she looked at him, Thomas tried to appear to be in solidarity with his sister, without revealing that he thought his mother was a sucker. This involved keeping a straight, perhaps mildly reverent expression.

"Oh, alright," Mother finally relented, a pleasant little smile on her lips that told Thomas that she was under Missy's spell. "But your father isn't going to be happy in the morning when he wants to sit at the table and eat breakfast."

Thomas was a little concerned about that, though not too concerned since Mother was giving permission. Still, he didn't like when his father showed any displeasure.

Missy, though, Missy didn't worry at all. "Daddy," as she would call him, a personalized spell wrapped in a single word, wouldn't fair any better against her charms than Mother had.

* * *
The siblings went down the hall, Missy out in front where Thomas had yielded the lead even though they'd normally have fought so viciously that they'd have grinded their shoulders down the length of the hallway. Thomas went right, into his room, and Missy went left into hers. They began their nightly routines, some of which was the same: they both got into their night clothes, his pajamas and hers a nightgown; they both brushed their teeth and both said their prayers.

Most of their routines, however, differed. Thomas took off his shirt and flexed in front of the mirror; Missy sat in front of hers and brushed her hair. Thomas leaned in close to check for a hint of facial stubble, which had yet to grow in; Missy likewise leaned in, looking for pimples, zits, boils or blemishes, finding as usual only perfect skin. Thomas then leapt onto the bed, performing a somersault but only achieving about half, and landing on his head, jaw squishing into his larynx and the moment of the crash freezing him in place for a moment, breathless, until he could uncurl himself and splay out pathetically, red-faced and gasping for breath.

Missy sat on the edge of her bed and took up a pen and her diary and wrote scandalous insults about every one and thing she disliked.

Then the lights were extinguished and the siblings lay in bed, eyes open, imagining scenarios involving the same four characters.

* * *

It was a testament to Mom's consideration that when her prediction about Dad's grumbling came true, she not only refused to gloat at her children about having been right the evening before, and not only did she ease Father's feelings with balmy words, but she didn't even so much as fib to him about the situation. This was, of course, projection on the part of the children, as they were young enough to see an angry person as someone to avoid, to flee or to fight, and Dad's wrath felt particularly terrible even though he'd never raised a hand or voice against them.

Dad stood hunched over the kitchen counter, looking rather as put out as his complaints purported. "I'd like to sit at the dining table to dine, is that too much to ask?"

To which Mom assured him, "It's for a good cause, Noah. You'll be thankful when your children don't hate each other in ten years."

Dad wasn't impressed, but his murmured response was less insistent than before, showing that he'd relented.

Thomas didn't want to push his luck by sticking around, but he had to make sure of something. He tried to be casual. "Don't forget, me and my friends are going down to Larry's after school."

"That's right," Mom said in a remembering sort of way. "Be back by five."

"Yes, Ma'am." That was all the conversation he needed. Thomas scarfed his food, swept his backpack off of the dining table chair and headed for the door as soon as he could. Missy ate quickly too, but that was only because she always did, wolfing her food down like a starving dog. It was a wonder their parents still found her so cute. After she was done, she took the time to hug both parents and exchange "I love you's," and finally she showed up outside. As she shut the door, Thomas was already walking his bike up the driveway.

"Hang on!" she called as she rushed to fetch her own.

Thomas stopped at the sidewalk and waited, which was a little different than his usual response, which would be to rush on ahead and laugh as she tried to catch up. Something felt different today. As Missy got on her bike and began to work hard at the pedals, really putting her muscles into it so as to get to him before he abandoned her, Thomas was struck by his sister's personhood.

It was an odd feeling. They'd ridden together, five days a week, for the last year when their parents had allowed Missy to come along, but in all that time, Thomas had never seen his sister as—well, as anything. She'd been a nuisance, a distraction, a burden, and occasionally a bit of company he might have been glad to have, but never a person and barely even a sister, whatever a sistered was supposed to be. He realized he'd never thought about it, despite all the movies he'd watched and comics he'd read where family was everything; to him, Missy was a pest at worst and an innocuous presence at best.

"What are you looking at, dummy?" Missy said aggressively. Well, Thomas would normally have thought it was aggressive.

Maybe it was just defensive. "Just waiting for you to catch up," he replied without any particular inflection.

"You catch up," his sister challenged as she pedaled past.

It wasn't difficult. He road behind. Missy might have been trying to outrun him, and failing, but maybe she was just trying to hurry. It was difficult to tell.

Thomas's bike was black, with flame stickers on it that he couldn't remember where he'd got them. No pegs, unfortunately, but it did have a five-speed gear system. Missy's was a deep-purple single-speed, but Thomas had given it a ride when she wasn't around and it was pretty good, not that he'd ever admit it to her.

About a mile down the street they spotted Missy's best friend, Riley. She was standing at the end of her driveway on her own bike, with her Mom accompanying. If one wants to know what type of girl Riley was, he need only consider what type of girl needs her Mom to wait with her for her friends to arrive, and more specifically, what kind of girl would prefer that.

Riley was platinum-blonde, usually pigtailed, had plastic red-rimmed glasses with a strong prescription, and her bike had streamers coming out of the handlebars. And training wheels. It wasn't that unusual to still have training wheels at nine, but it still seemed a bit weird to Thomas. Missy didn't really think about it at all.

"Hi, Mrs. Mews," Thomas called. Missy copied with a "Hi" of her own.

"Hey, kids," Mrs. Mews called back, giving a tap to Riley's shoulder. With a smile she pedaled forth, joining them on the sidewalk, riding close to Missy with Thomas still bringing up the rear.

"Be safe, now," Mrs. Mews called to their backs, waving.

"We will," everyone replied.

Missy and Riley talked between themselves while Thomas, who usually tuned them out entirely, listened. There was something about his observation of Missy earlier that had him intrigued with his own perceptions. What is it these two talked about? How had he not noticed before? He couldn't, he realized, think of a single thing that Missy was interested in.

"Are you going to do ballet next year?" Riley was asking. "My physical therapist says my ankles might be good enough by then. Then we could do it together!"

That's right, Thomas recalled. Riley was one of the most fragile people he knew of. Bad eyes, weak ankles, and she followed Missy around like a puppy. Well, if Thomas were a girl, and as vulnerable as Riley, he'd probably want to hang around Missy, too. She was fairly tough for a girl.

"Nah, I'm gonna join the wrestling team," Missy said dreamily.

Thomas laughed.

Missy threw an evil look over her shoulder. "What's so funny?"

Thomas had responded habitually, but he realized he didn't really want to upset his sister. "Well, you'll want to start lifting weights," he said, trying to sound sincere.

"Whatever."

Crisis averted. For now.

* * *

For Missy, school was a nightmare. Sit still, obey orders, don't eat too much, don't run in the halls. Was this was it was like at Auschwitz? They'd learned World War II history, but she couldn't recall most of it, but school had to be at least as bad as the holocaust, she knew that for sure. When the bell rang her desk was nearly toppled with the force of her departure, leaving Riley scrambling to pack her things to catch up.

Thomas didn't find it nearly so bad. He was good at it and liked most of his teachers. Today he'd spent a chunk of the final class gazing out the window thinking about Daniel and what other skills he might have, or what kinds of fun he'd have with his friends.

The bell rang and Thomas was sluggish getting up. Samwise, one of his two friends, came up, dragging his backpack on the floor by the strap. "Thomas, c'mon, let's get out of here before your annoying sister catches us and wants to come too."

Right, if Missy came she'd prevent them from getting up to any real fun with her blabbermouth. He gathered his things and they made their way outside where Marshal, his other friend, was already waiting at the bike racks—with Missy, and Riley in tow. Samwise slapped his own face and Thomas groaned.

"There he is!" Missy called in an accusing tone directed at Marshal. "I knew you were waiting for him!"

"What?" Marshal said as though confused. "Oh, is Thomas over there? What a coincidence, I just happened to be standing around here. I wasn't waiting for him!"

"Liar!"

Riley stood by cringing.

"Forget it," Thomas said. "Missy already knows anyway."

Samwise threw up his arms, "You told her? Idiot!"

Thomas was more embarrassed than angry at the insult. He smiled nervously. "I didn't really have a choice, everyone was there and I had to make sure we were good to go."

"I did my part," Marshal announced. He would accept no part of blame for anything, having done his duty.

"Well, we wanna come too. Right, Riley?"

"Right," Riley replied in a whisper that was almost inaudible. Thomas wondered why Missy even bothered asking Riley anything since she was going to agree no matter what.

"You can't let her come!" Samwise yelled. He was the dramatic one.

"You have to!" Missy yelled back.

"Yeah," Riley said at a conversational volume which was practically screaming for her.

"No way," Marshal said, though being so close to Missy, who was known to physically attack under the right circumstances, he was hesitant and kept glancing at her to see if he needed to flee.

Thomas stood there amongst a throng of expectations. He really only had one effective ploy, but if he used it incorrectly it could cause more problems than it would solve. "Alright, listen," he said, beginning to pace with his hands in his pockets. Everyone watched. "We all want to have a good time, right?"

Everyone nodded or said yeah.

"If I wanted, I could just go home right now and no one would—"

"That's not fair!" Missy interjected.

"Let me finish! I'm saying I could go home and no one could stop me and then no one would have fun, right? So here's the deal.

"Guys, Missy can come, first of all."

Samwise and Marshal groaned. Missy put her hands on her hips and made a sort of smug tilt of her head like she'd just beaten them at their own game.

"And Missy," Thomas continued, now addressing his sister and, to a much smaller extent, Riley, "you don't try to boss us around, and you don't tell our parents anything that happens. Got it?"

"But what if—"

"Got it?" he repeated, stern this time.

Missy made a face and looked at the ground. "Alright."

"And finally," Thomas said, looking at his friends who had begun to gloat with their own dances of victory, "everyone try to get along."

Thomas didn't know what suddenly made him the mediator, but he was noticing a lot of meanness that he hadn't before, including his own.



True to her word, Missy didn't pester them, or at least not much, and she never threatened to tell their parents about their shenanigans, even when Thomas was running down the aisles, like he shouldn't have been, and knocked over a display and sent bags of chips scattered across the floor. Of course, she didn't help him as, shrouded in shame, he picked everything up and put it back in its place, but you couldn't ask for perfection.

When Missy didn't have enough money to get a drink, Thomas bought one for her, and then for Riley. His money was running low at this point and he wondered why he was being so generous. Then he recalled last night, when he'd made compromises that resulted in Missy yielding, and thought that maybe it was all going to be worth it at some point.

Maybe it was worth it even now. Between the drinks and the rowdiness and the dynamism of the group of five, they all seemed to have more fun than usual. Missy's eagerness to compete with the boys led to bike crashes, arm-wrestling matches and drinking contests, some of which she won, some of which she caused, and some of which she lost spectacularly.

When she lost at arm-wrestling, she seemed upset at first, but all the boys complimented how well she'd done and it cheered her up right away.

"You know, Missy," Samwise said as they all began to gather their bikes in preparation to head home, "you're not so bad, sometimes."

"Thanks," she replied, smiling. As much of a brat as she was, even Missy knew a compliment when she heard one, and also knew how to take it.

Thomas found this compliment to be positive and nice—but another part of him felt something else. What was it? He couldn't tell. Angry? Defensive? Maybe protective?

Where'd that come from?