2. The Traum Woods (III)

Aalap glanced over at Sachie who was still picking at her cake. “And what happened to you?”

She looked at him, chewing. “Oh, well, I found the mace,” she said, with a hand covering her mouth.

“No, Sachie, embellish. The man wants a story,” Avery said.

“What’s there to say? I found it, that’s it. Mission accomplished.”

It was then Aalap realized how young she was compared to her companions. Though far from an adolescent, she was clearly new to adulthood. It was the light in her eyes that aged her, a sort of off-kilter wisdom shone there, but that youthful air was unmistakable.

“The details,” Birger suggested, regarding her as she regarded him, an unspoken understanding between them. “I’d also like to hear what you encountered.”

She sighed and said, “When we split up, I just happened to go the correct way. Meant to be, I guess.”

***

Sachie came to a stop, bent and wheezing, clutching her knees as she caught her breath. She had seen some strange things in her life, but that easily surpassed them all. She never once believed that there were celestial beings inhabiting the ruins—that was certainly unexpected—but an otherworldly avatar meant that the mace had to be real. She scanned the crumbling landscape for anything that looked suspicious, flinching at every little sound as she explored. Though she’d never admit it, she felt safer with Birger and Avery in tow, even with their constant clownery.

She paused in front of an immaculate archway, an entryway to nothing. She backed up and stared at it, observing the etched runes that meant nothing to her. If she were to walk through it would it take her to another place? She laughed, knowing no magic was capable of that, but… With her eyes squeezed shut, she stepped through. Her body felt the same, maybe a little warmer but nothing out of the ordinary. She opened one eye and yelped—the sound of it echoed.

Sachie was now in the center of a cavernous chamber, illuminated only by glittering runes along the walls, an icy blue against rich glossy black. She hugged herself and turned around, expecting the archway. It was there, a single source of sunlight and greenery. A relief. She turned, eyes adjusting to the darkness, and spotted a stairway, grand and clearly of importance. She swallowed, faltering. Was this beyond her? Was this inappropriate? The air was heavy with something, a solemnity she couldn’t quite grasp. The lore was vague… The Traum Woods, seat of a great but hidden dominion, collapsed after too much bloodshed, a precursor to the Tatrans—warriors turned merchants. The mace was supposedly a conduit for harvest, sacrifices brought rain, its misuse brought ruin. She studied the floor, which was covered in tiny mosaics, and wondered about the past. And here she was, a homeless Temu set on stealing a relic, and for what? Her heart surged. If the mace could bring rain, what else could it do? …What good was rain to a land long abandoned?

She had come this far, and the thought of actually acquiring something, anything, and showing it off to the two men spurred her onwards. After a deep breath to calm her nerves, she carried on. As she ascended the stairs, the air held the scent of old incense, similar to what Tatran’s use in their shrines, a distinct fragrance though dulled with time. At the apex of the staircase was an altar with a statue leaning over it, hair long and painstakingly detailed, endowed with a feminine form, though the face had been vandalized. The surrounding floor appeared stained with what Sachie gathered was old blood, centuries of old blood, left to dry and blemish. She hesitated walking across it but did anyway. The mace sat in an ornate indentation, and Sachie had expected something of profound beauty, but it appeared unremarkable, a pear-shaped head, some filigree—more ceremonial than deadly instrument.

With sweaty hands she reached, trembling fingers curling around the shaft. She had heard of artefacts and the like knocking mages out cold—something like a concussive force due to having inadequate magic reserves—but she felt fine. It was incredibly heavy though, but nothing Birger couldn’t train her to wield. She hefted it up completely, admired it for a moment, and turned to leave.

Cease your efforts—

She froze.

That, which you take—

She didn’t turn, too terrified to see who or what was addressing her. “I’m sorry?” she said, eyes locked on the exit. Primed to sprint.

Only the valorous may wield it, for it has been misused and cannot continue such a charge, hence it lay dormant. Guarded. Is that understood—

“Sort of…” she said, curiosity piqued by the placid voice, but she refused to turn. “I’m going to leave now, and I promise to only do good, no slaying of innocents on the agenda. Alright? I’m taking this and leaving, goodbye.”

…You are cursed with the blight…of tenebrosity—

She halted, her foot hovering over a stair, air hitching painfully in her throat. “You can tell…”

Aye, it is discernible—

She cursed under her breath and tucked her arms close to her body, gripping the mace, it suddenly felt warm in her palms and shone pearlescent, she marveled at it for a moment, skin tingling.

Though, it awakens from your touch, you shall return it, for it will not hold that gleam long—

“Noted. I’m leaving now, and I will return this, eventually.”

I shan't be far behind—

***

“Did the voice say anything of importance?” Avery asked.

“No, not really,” Sachie said, finishing her cake. “I was just like, I’m taking this thank you. And it was like, don’t do anything evil.”

“And then you left,” Birger said, an eyebrow raised.

“And then I left,” she repeated. “Sometimes things are just that easy. I mean, I felt bad, because all of that seemed so…” She motioned with her hand. “Sacred. But…” she trailed off and sank downwards, shoulders coming up to her ears, clearly wanting to appear smaller. “Anyways, that’s it, nothing incredible happened. Sorry I’m boring.”

Avery grimaced, and Birger cleared his throat. “Well, while that was happening, Avery was making things worse.”

“Hey now…”

***

“We’re just passing through,” Birger said loud enough to carry across the clearing.

“Pass with payment,” the brigand leader shouted back.

Avery cupped his hands around his mouth. “Weee ‘ave nothiiiing! Sorrrry!”

But the brigands divided and allowed one of their members to step forward. They had a Danseur in their midst—an exceptional one—their limbs nimble, movements captivating. A rather pacifistic approach for a group of thugs, Birger thought. But clever.

“A Danseur?” Avery honked out a laugh. “Please. A low-grade mage,” he said with air quotes, “won’t sway… m—” His eyes locked onto them as they slowly approached, pirouetting, seduction embodied. His face went serious, his arms went limp and hung lifeless at his sides.

Birger watched as Avery became enchanted. The Danseur swayed and twirled…graceful…as diaphanous as ether… Birger pulled his gaze downward and focused on the ground, alarmed by the effort it took to do so.

“Idiot! Look away,” said Birger, but he could see Avery in his periphery—entranced and walking as if inebriated. Birger knew it’d be too risky to rush in, just because this brigand had an unorthodox approach didn’t mean they weren’t up for bloodshed, so he kept his sword sheathed and his jaw clenched.

Avery trudged forward, grinning as he plucked off his various adornments, dropping them along the way as if they were mere trinkets and not valuable augments. He unclipped his cape, shrugged off his vest, and tore at his tunic—exposing his gleaming mythril and receiving a delighted gasp from the bandits ahead.

“Fuck, I forgot about the mythril,” Birger muttered as he gripped his sword’s hilt, but before he could even unsheathe his blade something bright zipped through the air, slamming into the leader’s head with a gruesome crack. Everyone watched as he dropped and spasmed. The Danseur froze, confused, mouth slack and wide-eyed, and Avery paused, mid-strip, slowly blinking—gathering his senses. Birger sprinted forward and hooked an arm around the mage, pulling him close.

Avery touched his forehead, his face tight with confusion. “Wha— That magic—”

“Shut up,” Birger said and drew his sword, searching the canopy for the unseen assailant.

Then Sachie fell from the trees, fast and silent with a diving elbow aimed at the tallest bandit. She rolled, righted herself, and drop-kicked the Danseur, launching them into some bushes. She turned and close-lined a more daring foe and proceeded to headbutt another. With swift precision, she took out every bandit in a series of kicks, submissions, and throws. It was remarkable, and Birger enjoyed every minute of it.

***

“Fantastic!” Aalap said, looking at Sachie with wonder. “I’d have never guessed you could fight.”

Her grin fell into a frown. “I’m capable of many things.”

“That, I do not doubt now,” the haberdasher said. “Sounds like you three have synergy.”

They shrugged in unison.

“Is there more?” Aalap asked, pouring a round of fresh tea for them.

Birger grunted. “You’ve time for more?”

Aalap looked around. “I don’t have any pressing matters to attend to, and I don’t close until sundown. You are welcome to rest.”

The three made various sounds but didn’t protest.

“Come now! I’m sure there’s more. I’m hooked. What else has happened?”