Faormuc - J.B. Jones (reading an ebook .txt) 📗

studied the small being's just discernible position at the edge of the sunlight and then she darted onto the contrasting bark.  Spark concentrated on him with amused curiousity, incredulous. 

 

Could man be other than spineless?  Might they somehow be of use?  Pffftt!  The beardy Vul, though? 

 

Spark and the others tasked as 'embers',  not edgers, as humans labeled them, were vested with a great deal of trust in their mental acuity, as much, if not more so, than in their physical gifts.  Theirs was the task to study and learn, both of and from, the race of man. 

 

"Yes, I call you Vul."  Her pronunciation of the name was inflected with the slightest vibration ahead of a distinct 'f' sound.  Spark unbound a wicked smile and repeated her conclusion, "Yes, you are Vul."

 

*****

"Who are those men?"

 

Filching another bit of chewsome herb, he motioned to a log bathed in dappled light where they could speak with some comfort.  "Come sit with me, Spark.  This tale will take some telling."

 

Spark considered the request, and the future, then made one of her own although the woodsman heard it as an order.  "Give me your hand."  She leapt from the tree into his palm when it came close.  "I will touch you, your face."  Marku hesitated, surprise writ large across his features. Her arms flapped an impatient upward arc, "I will do so now, Vul."

 

He lifted her.  She studied his visage with extreme care. Finding what she sought, she leaned forward and placed her miniature palm against that spot over the bridge of his nose that would sprout furrows when he concentrated, as now, and would become permanent in not many more seasons.  Spark turned then and without fear launched herself with a flawless swan-dive into one of the pockets of his jherkin. 

 

Had Spark not done that, she would have been dumped to the forest floor when Marku's surprise caused a spasmodic straightening of his arms toward the apparition that appeared before him. A pace and a half away, Spark appeared to him as a girl of about sixteen summers with red-gold hair that stood a mere two feet tall. 

 

Arms crossed atop the lip of the pocket, Spark rested her head on them so that she could look up at the bearded man with comfort.  She explained, "From this day on, whenever you are in direct contact with one of my race, you may see any, or all of us, as you will."  Spark's voice seemed to emanate from the doppelganger that stood in front of him, still and unconcerned.

 

He was flabbergasted into jaw-dropped silence. 

 

"Close your mouth, Vul."  The apparition winked and then crossed its arms.

 

He looked from the vision before him to the being in his pocket several times.  Marku put a pinch of the trail mix into his mouth and chewed as amazed thoughts flew crazed patterns until finding perch on the memory of something she had said, "...see any...of us...as you will."  His eyes grew large and a prayer of thanks sped away to whichever gods might be responsible for granting him this boon. 

 

Marku concentrated, and the image of Spark grew to the size of a young woman with ringlets of red-gold hair cascading around her face.  To spice the pot, he imagined her perhaps a decade or so older. And with longer legs.  And lusher curves.  Marku tugged at his beard, concentrated until the doppelganger's clothing changed. A bright smile on the Spark he saw beamed welcome and finished his modifications.

 

"I did not expect your discovery of that to take long," she said.  Muttering an exasperated "Man!" she released her grip on his pocket to sink out of sight.  Her doppelganger threw its arms up to the sky, shot Marku/Vul a look of disgust and turned its back. 

 

Though she could not see him any longer, Marku looked down at the pocket where Spark had disappeared to fume in silence. He wiggled his eyebrows, pleased with himself.

 

*****

When Marku/Vul heard nothing more from the irritated Spark and the apparition for a bit, he went to his horse and began to separate those things he would need to continue shadowing the princeling on foot.  He took a light blanket that was coarsely woven, some food and the items needed to cook and serve it and put those near the log that was now more in shadow than dappled sun.  When he turned to go back to the horse, Cookies stood before him, hands on stout hips, with a gapped smile beaming from her pudgy face.  He blinked. 

 

"The longer we remain in contact, the more I will learn of you, Vul."

 

He tried to imagine Spark as he would, failed, gave the apparition a sour look, then returned to the horse.  The woodsman packed the rest of what he would need into a valise that could be carried on his back, leaving the battle axe fastened to the horse.  He balled the reins and tied them with twine so they would snag no brush on the animal's journey, said to it, "Home, horse."  Marku slapped it on the rump and his horse trotted away.  The balled reins would also indicate to those at the ranch that Marku was under no duress and had decided to continue afoot.

 

He sat with the log at his back and dug a shallow hole in the forest soil.  In the last of the day's light he inspected it to make certain no roots peeked from the walls.  They could catch fire and spread below ground for a long distance.  He spoke with Spark/Cookies as he fashioned a small cook fire.  After whittling some branches and creating a tripod with them, he filled a pot with water and added some potatoes and carrots along with a portion of salt pork.  The scent of the bland meal would not carry far.  Marku hung it from the branches over the fire and wished he could smoke.

 

*****

He finished explaining what he knew of the men Spark had asked about, relating the story of the altercation at Kayla's farm and Col's instructions. He poured the water from the pot around the edge of the fire hole assuring himself no flame would find purchase there.  At some point, the Spark he first saw reappeared, sitting across the fire from him. Cookies vanished. He offered her his only bowl, she shook her head, speared some bits of the potatoes and carrots with a small stick and placed them onto a broad leaf. 

 

"Do you know of the faormuc, Vul?  Do any of you?" 

 

"Kayla knows something of storm bent creatures and has shared that knowledge with her husband, Colryn.  He told us what he could."  He nibbled his meal and watched Spark.  She ate in silence.  The small woman gazed into the evening shadows.

 

Faormuc.  I must warn the Fey.  And how does this human woman come to know of them?  Where is the sorceror?  How to divine the foul magician's intent?  Humans?  Oh, Forest forfend.  There must be a different path. 

 

  Spark made her decision.

 

"Embers will accompany you, Vul.   I will now leave.  There are preparations to be made."

 

"Embers?"

 

In answer, Spark came to him and touched his finger. Marku saw her again as the young girl - and from the forest came several other apparitions, two of them male and three others, female. As they gathered, she released Marku/Vul's finger. 

 

"We are embers, Vul - not 'edgers', as you and others have named our kind. Sleep, Vul. You will not be disturbed.  We will meet again."

 

The half dozen miniature beings conferred amongst themselves. The light of the dwindling fire shone on their silks, dying them shades of red and orange. 

 

"Sleep, Vul." The embers scattered.

 

*****

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Warlock's Ire

 The warlock sat in contemplation.  It was not restful.  Suspended in the space where his eyes focused was a burning sun, no larger than his fist. There were no other lights in the cavernous room. Circling in concentric paths around that star were planets. Orbiting them, moons that varied in size and appearance.  Now and again, the magician reached out to impede the path of one or another. The result of that interference was chaos; celestial bodies that clashed, rebounded, launched into eccentric trails that mirrored his vile mood.

 

Seated in a chair of elaborate construction, Patarkos stewed.  Taken from a long dead language, the name translated to 'The man, or the soldier, who walks in front'.  Tremors shook him and his gaunt face was suffused the purple of a strangulation victim.

 

"Where is the whelp?  Where is the scroll?"   He shouted, though there were none to hear him.  None able to answer him, at any rate.  He rose, smashed his palms together and thunder roared. Plump spiders legged into the furthest reaches of their stringy domains. Dust, guano and several stalactites fell from a ceiling lost to shadow.  At once, as though fired by lightning, every candle in the room burst into flame and the whirling constellation shattered its bonds.  It coalesced in a far corner of the room. The paths of the planetary bodies shivered.

 

Patarkos strode to the scrying bowl. The enraged sorceror put his hands on either side of the bowl and demanded, "SHOW ME."  The thick metallic sauce ignored the warlock.  Wavelets skittered across the surface, powered by the trembling of his hands.  But that was all. 

 

"Bah!" He turned away in distress.  With his hands clasped and stubby forefingers tapping a rapid and confused tattoo against his whiskerless chin, Patarkos tried to concentrate. 

 

*****

When she neared her destination, Spark took to the trees.  She seemed to fly along the thin branches at the tips of boughs and leaped between them as no limber squirrel ever could.  The ember took that path not only because it was fastest but due to the nature of the area she approached.  The innermost Sanctum of the Fey, the center of their aging society, was ensconced in the trackless depths of Selena's magnificent forest. Confusing brambles, interlocking boughs, foot/paw/hoof-snaring tangles of roots and the indescribable maze they created ensured that the Fey would live undisturbed.  Even the adventurous and opportunistic aurochs of the woodlands avoided foraging here. Predators did the same.

 

Once beyond the maze, Spark was able to return to ground level.  She passed groups - castes - of others that tended neat farms that grew vegetables and fruits, hemp to fashion bridges and snares, light and malleable balsa and broadleaf plants with which the Fey built their homes in the trees. Some saw to the breeding of the colonies of silkworms in their cloudy bags that hung from catalpas.  There were children about, but not so many as necessary. 

 

There were no sentries, nor need of them.  The Forest, and their own magick, provided the Fey security.  Spark approached the Sanctum and announced her need to one of the administrator caste.  She was shown inside, at once.

 

"The Commune will see you now, ember."  One of the Fey, dressed in gray silks with decorative and contrasting piping at the seams, ushered Spark into the Chamber.

 

"Thank you, administrator," she said and followed his direction. Inside were the five members of the Commune, the regulatory body of the Fey.  There was no ruling caste.  Representatives of the ember, administrator, healer, cleric and, Spark was surprised to see, the liana castes made up this Commune. Caste