Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Objects in Space

“Spend more moments in the moment.”

BRIGHT

Provinces
Terrill Silva
Emerald (May) 6

Though the sun was high in a cloudless sapphire sky, daylight had dimmed to a hazy suggestion through the towering canopy of Terrill Silva, where Jace leaned over to investigate a rustling in the brush. Between stretches of tranquil, pleasant heat, the boughs swayed in the gathering cool of early afternoon, carrying the scent of the trees. Also on the air was the noise of small animals, shuffling close by but often hidden by the lush terrain.

Often, but not always.

Impossibly deep purring rose from the clump of soft ferns just inches from the Outrider's face. Now he was certain; there was definitely something there. Reaching forward, he parted the foliage before him. Crouching down further now, his effort revealed a pair of bright green eyes staring up at him. It was a Mazhiran hunting cat, great and strong, with a long, tawny coat over sleek muscles. Jace fell to his backside in surprise, but the cat gave no reaction except to slowly walk away.

“It’s supposed to be good fortune to see one of those things up close,” said a voice. Jace’s instincts had him going for his crossbows, but it only took a second for him to process the familiarity. “And it must be true,” forerunner Lucas Reese went on, smiling as he offered his hand. “If I was your enemy, you’d be dead.”

Dabriel accepted the hand and was pulled to his feet.

“Mmhm,” he mused as he brushed himself off. When he looked into the kid’s face, his expression feigned bewilderment. “Lookin' pretty proud of yourself there, Luc. Why’s that?”

“Proud, sir? Not at all.”

“Because you didn’t get the drop on me.”

“No, sir. Of course not.”

“If you had, it might have threatened my ever-expanding ego. Can’t have that.”

“Understood, sir.”

“And didn’t I tell you not to call me sir that one time?”

“No,” Lucas said, unable to hide the first cracks in this stern facade. “You told me I didn’t have to.”

Jace flashed the smile that was as famous as he was.

Perhaps more.

“Fair enough.” He moved to his horse. “So what’s the word?”

Lucas reached up to the leather strap around his shoulder, revealing the pack carried on his back.

“More fuel for that ego fire of yours,” he said, withdrawing Senator Tillian Bren’s latest edition of Valiant Notions.

Jace paused in the act of rummaging through his saddlebags.

“Wow. Did you seriously just say … ego fire?”

“I did, yes. What do you think?”

Jace pondered a moment.

“Nice,” he said, proceeding with his search.

Lucas shifted the still-rolled parchment to hold it under his arm, knowing Jace had no interest in reading the latest news to hit the streets of every corner of Veil’driel. Not, at least, while he and his team were the ones making it.

But then the forerunner was holding two items, one of which Jace was interested in.

A red envelope.

“Correspondence from General Creed and Constable Thean?”

Jace finished snapping up the saddlebags and was making his way over with a bundle of jerky. Splitting it, he tossed half over to Lucas with one hand and took the envelope with the other. Opening it by use of his one free hand and his mouth, he withdrew two letters.

At a glance, the message from Constable Thean was lengthy, inked in the symbolic language of the Outrider Order. In reality, most of it was gibberish. The meaningful portion was only a few sentences buried among the rest:

Permission to proceed to Lornda Manor: Granted.

Conduct reconnaissance.

Record all relevant data.

Send post rider to verify receipt of correspondence.

Thean never once asked about the team’s welfare.

Never indicated he cared.

Jace used to wonder how and when his mentor had grown so cold ... but no longer cared himself.

“Why does he always include that?” Jace mumbled out loud. “How else would I respond … carrier pigeon?”

“Sir?”

Jace looked up, and held the beef jerky in his mouth to free both hands. Then he folded the letters back up – leaving Creed’s for later − and slipped them into a cargo pocket on his pants. The envelope, he carefully tore into small strips. When he was done, he tore out the wax seal and enclosed it in his hand; every step a perfect reflection of regulations.

He was face to face with Reese when he opened his hand, revealing Thean’s wax seal split into four pieces.

“Nothing. Here, you know what to do with these,” he said dismissively, handing the ripped seal to the forerunner. He was holding the jerky again. “Your orders are to return to your post tonight and pass on word to your counterpart that we’ve received this.”

“Got it,” Lucas said, stowing away the seal to be buried later. He didn’t quite understand the tradition, but was happy to be a part of it nonetheless. “I’ll be back by morning for your report.”

Jace nodded.

“What kind of food you got in there?” Reese reached eagerly back into the bag as the Outrider went on. “If I have to eat any more of this beef jerky, I swear I’m gonna drown myself in that stream over there.” Now the forerunner’s arm, buried in the bag, froze. Then, sheepishly, he withdrew the first bundles of jerky. “Damn it!” Jace yelled, appalled. “Can’t the front lines send anything else?”

“It’s the easiest thing to transport,” Lucas said, traces of amusement evident in his tone. “You’re a lot further out than you used to be. Not much stays edible long enough to pass down the chain.”

Lucas’ mood was improved, no doubt, by the fact that he had not been required to bring water from one of the local villages. The Outriders' discovery of a nearby stream had made the ride much more pleasant.

“You didn’t read the letter from General Creed?”

“No,” Jace said, “It can wait.”

He sighed.

There was not, in truth, much reason for the general to send messages to the Outrider point team at all. He had no real authority over them, and the information he sent was often trivial. Jace believed that he only included a message for the sake of doing so, to deny his own irrelevance to their mission.

Except for the one about a couple weeks prior, informing them that Valith was dead.

“I’m surprised you haven’t found any fruit in these woods,” the forerunner said. “Or some nuts or something.”

Jace smiled, taking out his golden lighter and striking it. He withdrew Thean’s message from his pocket and held it to the flame, waiting for it to ignite.

Another pointless task, he thought.

There wasn’t anyone for miles, but the Outriders themselves, who could interpret the message.

When the flames came close to his hand, Jace dropped the smoldering remnants into the circular stone outline of the previous night’s campfire, watching the last bit of pulp burn to embers.

“These are not woods you go walking around in,” he said, finally snuffing out the smoldering ash with his boot.

There was a blank expression on the forerunner’s face.

Jace looked up at him.

“Do you know why?”

“Can’t say that I do,” Lucas answered with a smile. “Not all of us have the sexiest assignment in the Republic. I basically spend my days riding in a straight line for miles on endless miles.”

Jace was gnawing on the jerky again.

“Aw, c’mon, it’s not that bad, is it? Hell, some of my best memories are from when I was a forerunner on the post.”

“Yeah,” Lucas replied. “That’s 'cause when you were a forerunner, you weren’t keeping up supplies and correspondence with an Outrider point team in Shadow Province. On the edge of civilization, no less.” After a pause, he added: “And you had Isabelle out there, so….”

“Alright there. Easy.”

They had been warned, by Jaden, that the sapphire communication stones could not be trusted beyond Sandia.

As such, there were twenty outposts reaching back to the Helix Legions, each at forty-mile intervals. Lucas Reese was the last rider on the line, and so the responsibility of covering the final miles between the Outriders and the line fell to him. It was one of the loneliest, most dangerous jobs of all. Not only were the riders and their outposts prime targets for the enemy, but the post line now stretched to unprecedented lengths.

Jace laughed a little.

“If it’s any consolation, your days on the line are numbered.”

“Are they?” Lucas asked, taking Jace’s comment for a joke. But Jace just raised his eyebrows and waited. “What, are you serious? I thought the mission didn’t end until you guys reach the coast.”

Jace turned and started deeper into the woods, beckoning Lucas to follow.

“Leave that there.” Lucas dropped his pack next to Jace’s horse, eager to follow and for the chance to experience something outside the monotony of his everyday duty. “You know,” Jace said, as they continued on their way. “The fact that you’re the last rider on the post is extremely significant. Only the most competent forerunners are given that task. You above all; on the longest line ever assembled.”

“Yeah?” Lucas asked.

He was trying to maintain a front of ambivalence, maybe a bit too hard.

“Yeah,” Jace said, occasionally looking off into the trees. “Some of the greatest Outriders in history have that mission to their credit. Ward, Duchenne, Elsworth.” He stopped, remaining silent as he looked over his shoulder. Then they were moving again. “Thean.”

“Thean? Really?”

“Really.”

Jace stopped again, this time signaling for Lucas to remain where he was.

“You’ll make Outrider soon enough,” he said, walking alone now. “I hear nothing but good things about you.”

A quizzical expression twisted the forerunner’s face.

“How could you have heard anything about me? The only people you’ve had face-to-face contact with over the last couple months is the rest of your team and me.”

Jace shrugged.

“Yeah. I actually just made that up, so …”

Lucas smiled, looking down at the ground for a moment.
When he brought his eyes level again, his guide was still once more.

“Something wrong?”

Jace raised his hand, calling for silence.

Then he motioned for the forerunner to come up beside him.

“What is it?” Lucas asked, but Jace did not respond.

Instead, he extended his arm toward what appeared to be nothing more than the continuation of the overgrown path they were on. But his arm disappeared past the elbow, outlined in a dazzling viridian glow.

Lucas' eyes opened wide as he watched, crouching like a man possessed as he scooted closer to the Outrider. Now, he slowly extended his own hand. It felt like he was reaching through something dense, like packed soil and into open air beyond.

Cool air.

“What the?”

Lucas and Jace parted their arms against the air, and the presence of endless, tangled trees suddenly gave way like colored mist dissolving before them. It left a gap, a small window looking onto a vista. It was right in front of them: the primeval forest had been replaced with a wide plain under bright skies, the terrain sprinkled with blossoms in every color of the rainbow. A smear of somber gray in the far distance betrayed the presence of far-off mountains, and the men smelled salt water.

The cry of a seagull reached out to them, warbling, as if distorted by the barrier between the woods in which they stood and the scene they now looked in on.

It was impossible, but this strange, incongruous vision was real. There was no denying it once they saw the spectacular mansion that dominated the scene a few leagues over the grass.

The structure was immense and majestic, a manor of many connected structures topped by eager, subtle spires and parapets. Some of the chambers were domed, others squared off; yet all were elegant. Seen together, the place was a masterwork of grace from a bygone era.
Rising suddenly against the wild shoots and grasses, a narrow stone path led toward to the door, through a small, open arch.

“You know the name of these woods, at least?” Jace asked.

“According to my maps,” Lucas started, before pausing again. He was staring high into the sky, watching the group of seagulls they had heard fluttering near the shore. From such a distance, the birds looked like fluttering streamers of white and gray paper, and only their occasional cries made it obvious what they were. Even as he watched, they began to leap into the air one by one, circling; their shadows thrown over the distant water drew his attention to the frothy surf against the shore and the inviting sunlight, interspersed with fleet shadows. As he looked at it, the rhythmic flow of the waves washed across his mind. “According to my maps,” he said again, blinking hard and clearing his throat: “Terrill Silva.”

“Named after Jonathan Terrill, one of the Republic’s earliest explorers,” Jace explained. “He led the first ever sanctioned expedition in search of the coast.”

“Then why have I never heard of him?” Lucas asked, eyes darting around the entire peninsula.

“Because he went crazy. Wandered these woods for months until, finally, his expedition opted to turn back.” Lucas turned to Jace for the first time, clearly interested in the story. “But Jonathan had no intention of returning home in disgrace. So he murdered them all in their sleep.”

“Never heard that story, either.”

“Yeah, well,” Jace began. “It wasn’t recorded that way. The Republic Archives say the expedition was wiped out by a mysterious fever.” Jace motioned all around. “Thus, the name of these woods. As it turned out, that fever the politicians made up drastically decreased expansion out here, as most of the population feared disease. Which is why we have the Shadow Province, better known as the wilderness, and why the first of our major cities is more than just a little while,” he motioned behind them. “Back that way.” He looked back out toward the mansion. “Even when this was the Tri-State it was still pretty much desolate out here.”

“How do you know all this?” Lucas asked, impressed.

“We’re only as good as what we know, Luc. Time in the library is just as important as time in the field. Burying yourself in ancient texts and maps might not be the most glamorous thing in the world, but any Outrider worth a damn must commit to it. Finding out what it truly means to─”

“Relic told you.”

“Yup.”

“How did you guys find out about this?”

Jace smiled, the truth still amusing him whenever he thought of it.

“It’s the hunting cats,” he said. “You have to look into their eyes to find the wood’s edge, and even then it isn’t obvious.”

Lucas was hardly convinced.

“That part,” he said. “You’re definitely making up.” When Jace did not comment, Lucas turned back to him, and to his astonishment, he saw in the Outrider’s face that he was telling the truth. “Seriously?”

Jace nodded.

“It would seem there’s more to them than just bringing good fortune.”

“But how could you ever find that out? What did you just like … go around staring into the eyes of random creatures for some reason?”

“Can’t tell ya that.”

“Was in the constable’s record book, I bet.”

“What?” Now it was Jace’s turn to look surprised. “How do you even know we have that?” he asked, facing him again.

The young forerunner shrugged.

“Everyone knows. Thean gave it to you before you set off, right? Crazy. That thing could be in the Madsen Vhair Institute in Telminster.” He was looking back out to the breathtaking sight of the ocean. “Nothing stays secret for long.”

Jace opened his mouth to address the nonchalance with which Lucas freely admitted such a serious breach of classified information, but then suddenly stopped, pivoting on his heels to face the approach of another familiar voice:

“…at this moment, my dear citizens, as I transfer these words to paper, news reaches us from our Outriders through the heroic line of post riders stretched out into our nation’s frontier. The intelligence they have gathered remains classified, but suffices to say, no enemy activity has been reported in the month-plus since the epic Battle of Sandia. Indeed, one might surmise─” Cedwyn stopped with a grunt. “No, wait, this isn’t what I’m looking for,” he said, thumbing through the next pages of Valiant Notions. “Ah, here we go.” He cleared his throat, and after a moment, was reading again. “... his sterling gray eyes like a gathering storm, the savior of Fairlawn City possesses an exceedingly charming aura, appearing vulnerable and fierce all at once. Perhaps it was Legis Duchenne who put it best. For when asked to comment on his accomplishments, he said: ‘Jace Dabriel transcends the era in which he lives. The brightest of all stars on an all-too-dark horizon.’”

Jace shook his head.

“Clowns,” he said.

Cedwyn could not contain his laughter.

“Your eyes are kind of like a gathering storm, though,” he said, rolling the parchment back up before then folding it and sliding it into his pocket. “To be honest, I’m a little in love with you.”

“You know Legis Duchenne?” Lucas asked, as wide-eyed as when he had first peered through the magical portal.

“Oh yeah, they go way back,” Cedwyn said.

Jace shrugged.

“I think I met him once,” he added mockingly in Duchenne’s defense.

Cedwyn rolled his eyes.

“Stupid ass politicians.”

I don’t trust him as far as I can spit!

By this time, he had reached the young forerunner and Jace, nudging past them to look out at the mansion. Until now, he had fought the nearly uncontrollable urge to blast across that plain to the end of the peninsula. Each passing hour had become excruciating, and now it was every minute.

He needed to get there.

He needed to see what was inside for himself.

It took a few seconds before Jace said anything else, the mansion holding every shred of his concentration. But then, with a start, he glanced to Cedwyn.

“Whatcha find out?” he asked, coming out of a daze.

“There’s nothing west for at least five miles. So we don’t have to worry about an organized attack coming from back that way. Relic and Iz aren’t back yet,” Cedwyn answered immediately. Jace nodded. “So what are we doing? If Luc’s back, our permission to proceed has come through.”

Jace didn’t respond, more concerned with his spyglass as he examined the distant structure.

Then, anticipating Lucas' request, he simply handed it to him.

“Thanks,” the forerunner said, eagerly peering through it.

Cedwyn persisted.

“Whaddya say, Cade? Wanna go?” At first, it looked like Jace was thinking about it. But then the frown that emerged on his face soon showed he had decided against it. “Oh knock it off,” Cedwyn said, reading the expression. “We’re the first people to be this far east in decades, let alone to find the way through these woods.” Jace was lying in the soft undergrowth on his side now and sighed. “Over a month of nothing but hard riding and abandoned towns,” he went on. “And now here we are at Lornda Manor; beautiful, luxurious. If nothing else, it means sleeping under a roof tonight, and that’s reason enough right there.”

Cedwyn, too, laid flat on his stomach, staring at the mansion through the crackling portal and smacking the beef jerky he’d taken from Lucas’ pack when he had grabbed Bren’s Valiant Notions.

A moment of hesitation passed while Jace mulled it over, but his demeanor abruptly shifted when something else popped into his head.

“Hey, by the way ...”

“Hm?” Cedwyn glanced up to Lucas, considering swiping the spyglass.

“He knew we had Thean’s old record book,” Jace said, motioning to Lucas with a sideways tilt of the head.

“Yeah,” Cedwyn said simply.

“You knew about this?”

“Yeah, I’m the one who told him,” came the distracted reply. Then Cedwyn reached for the spyglass and took it from the forerunner. “Thanks for not ratting me out, kid. Now let me borrow this for a second.” Surveying the mansion with the spyglass, he spoke as if he could see the expression on Jace’s face. “Oh, big deal. So he knows we have a thirty year old record book. More than half the information’s obsolete.”

Jace just shook his head, a mixture of disbelief and resignation.

“Don’t you have your own spyglass?” Lucas asked suddenly, still on his knees and looking down to Cedwyn.

“Don’t you?” Cedwyn shot back.

“Mine’s on my horse. I didn’t know we were coming to a secret illusionary forest edge when I started off into the woods.”

“Yeah, well … I broke mine,” Cedwyn said. “On a top secret mission.”

“He fell off his horse,” Jace said behind them.

He was standing upright again.

Lucas glanced behind to Jace for a second and then back to Cedwyn, smiling.

“In Sandia,” Cedwyn objected, still looking through the spyglass. “Heat of battle.”

“Two days ago. Fell asleep in the saddle,” Jace added.

Cedwyn pulled the spyglass away from his eye, only partially engaged in the conversation.

“Whatever,” he said, condensing it and tossing it back to Jace. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“It could be a trap,” Jace pointed out as he caught it. “Until Relic and Isabelle confirm no activity north or south, it’s not a good idea.” He attached the spyglass back to its place on his belt. “Besides, you never ride over a wide open plain in broad daylight.”

“Dabriel, we’ve been camping in these woods so long that an enemy in that place would already know we were here, and we’d be dead.” When his friend didn’t answer, Cedwyn looked to Lucas. “Go back to the glade,” he said. “Wait for Outriders Avery and Talabray to return, and tell them we already left for Lornda Manor.”

Lucas stood straight.

“Yes, sir.”

Cedwyn turned to Jace.

“Sound good?”

Jace shrugged.

“Well, if by good, you mean stupid …”

“We’ll meet back here in the morning,” Cedwyn added with a final glance to Lucas.

“And be careful,” Jace said, shaking the forerunner’s hand.

Cedwyn whistled, and the sound of Highfly and Valerian crashing through brush soon followed.

“And feel free to take a nap in Jace’s bedroll if you get back before we do,” Cedwyn added.

Lucas smiled again, and having already started back to the clearing, stopped again to watch the Outriders vault into their saddles. For a moment or two, they spoke.

Then, in a brilliant burst of green, they vanished into the air; gone through the illusory tree line that had driven Jonathan Terrill insane.

Republic of Veil’driel
Fairlawn City
Emerald (May) 6

Malcolm held the bow tight in his hands, trying to get a feel for the weapon. The world slowed, blurred. Everything evaporated around him.

“Man knows his bows,” a booming voice broke his concentration, snapping him back to the present. “Finest of my wares.”

Malcolm looked up, the world swimming back into focus as he recognized the presence of the fletcher whose handiwork he now held. Blinking, he was struck all at once by the sights and sounds of a busy marketplace on a balmy spring evening. There were no wizards here, no minotaurs, and the darkness was not the bleak void he had faced down before.

He took a deep breath, returning further into the moment.

“I’d venture to say,” the robust merchant continued, “that in the hands of the right bowman, a pretty lady like that might hit a target from … eight hundred yards away.”

“A thousand,” Malcolm corrected, twisting the weapon to the side, sizing up the weight.

The bowyer laughed.

Come on.

“You show me a shooter hits a shot from a thousand, lad, I’ll show you the likes of a talent I’ve never seen.” Malcolm hardly reacted, running his hand down the bowstring. “Ya got any experience with a weapon like that?”

“Some,” Malcolm said, then added: “Already got one, though. Thanks.”

He smiled, handing it back.

The man nodded.

“Well, I’ll be here if you change your mind, lad. Enjoy the festival.”

Where are you, Malcolm, m’lad?

The large man went on to mention something about how the Harvest Festival had been moved to spring this year, because of the war and all. He added that: Ain’t crops being celebrated this year so much as hope that was harvested. But Malcolm only half-heard it. He smiled, nodded back and began to walk, ambling aimlessly through the wide city streets.

A refreshing breeze carried the sweet and spicy scents of countless flowers native to the region, most all of them in full bloom now. For the last few days, the famous floral markets of Fairlawn had sprung up like the plants they sold, and bugles and trumpets had sounded whenever a different bloom would begin to open, no matter the time of day or night.

With the cool sparks of starlight emerging in the sky, the white-walled buildings all around Malcolm were bathed in the crisp glow of colored lanterns being carefully raised and hooked onto cables — they ran the streets just above the rooftops. Crimson and gold and azure, they splashed their festive glow across everything the light touched.

Not long ago, such a gleam could have meant death, in just as impressive an array of colors. But things had changed, and the festivities of spring, of a new beginning, appeared. For just that purpose, the rumors were already circulating that this rescheduling would be permanent.

Though in that case the name Harvest Festival would undoubtedly need to be changed.

As Malcolm neared the center of the city, he saw that bonfires had been set up, and families were gathering together to share savory kebabs and corn on the cob.

Fireflies danced around the flames, some of them straying into the light of the lanterns and instantly becoming whatever color touched them, holding it even as they wheeled and darted one after another in a frenzy only nature could comprehend. Surrounded by a circle of small children, a single Mazhiran hunting cat bounced and darted after the crafty insects. Beyond that, limestone benches outlining an outdoor amphitheater had blossomed brilliantly on the gray-green hills.

Further still, was one of the man-made rivers that girded the city, its verdant shore already dotted with pale white blooms. Lost in his thoughts, Malcolm watched some of the boats drifting along the water, fishermen's nets cast out to scoop up some of the pearly stones from the depths for good luck.

All objects transcend their physical existence, he thought.

He did not know how long he stood there on the riverbank before he realized he was looking down, and that the water was sparkling with a new light. The moon had risen to its zenith, and almost as soon as he realized it, there was the peal of another trumpet and cheers from all around him. His feet guided him back toward the stands, where a young woman held the first lunar rose, its petals the purest snow white. It was alight, as though from within, with a crystal sheen like frozen glass.

Now the cheers had turned to gasps, even as the white roses opened on the bushes around the pale pavilion. Slowly, with reverence, people began to exchange silver and gold for the treasure. Malcolm watched a while, turned, and began to walk. He had not gone far before he felt a tug at his sleeve that stopped him.

Behind him was a little girl, and he thought for a moment it was Darvin Nash's daughter, but of course that could not be. She didn’t say a word, but extended one of the perfect blossoms toward him, and he took it. A moment of gratitude and understanding passed between them, both without words, and he stopped in his tracks as she skipped away.

He had thought to go back to The Red Lion, where he was staying, to write back to his parents after he had finally read their letters with new eyes. But now he was unsure.

For two weeks now he had been in the city, hardly letting himself think about the war, and it had taken every day of that time to come here; for him to realize he needed to.

The Fairlawn City Monument.

The names of those who had fallen in the defense of Veil’driel during this latest conflict had only just reached double digits with the somber addition of Shane Bevan.

There had yet to be a single full-scale skirmish or battle, lending the casualties a sort of poetic quality under the inscription:

May their sacrifice serve as a guiding light for those who dare to follow ...

In war, it was always Outriders and Whistlers who went first, and all ten of the neatly engraved names were either one or the other.

Malcolm grimaced at the thought of that horrible day when that polished stone would honor thousands, and he dropped to a knee, wondering what his own name would look like on that wall. What that would do to those he was close to. What it would do to his family. In a way, he would be responsible for devastating their lives.

Malcolm had been told there had not been a day since the monument’s completion when fresh flowers had not been laid at its base. Now he added one of his own to the assortment; the perfect white rose the little girl had given him.

“What are you thinking about?” asked a melodic voice.

Malcolm smiled, looking up to the slightly obscured reflection in the glassy marble.

“That they should have waited for the war, or whatever this is, to be over,” he said. Then he turned around to face her and his entire manner changed. “Before they built this.”

He found it difficult to draw breath at his first sight of her in weeks.

Cleo nodded slowly.

“Mm.”

“You know ... so they wouldn’t have to keep adding names to it.”

Cleo gave an amused little laugh.

“Yeah, I got it,” she said, perhaps realizing the effect she was having on him.

Malcolm rose to his feet, taking his first steps towards her.

“It’s good to see you,” he said. “How did you find me?”

“Oh,” Cleo turned and gestured down the wide cobblestone road behind her. “The innkeeper said I might find you down here,” she looked back to him, holding her left elbow in her right hand. “I’m due at the Magistrate House in a few minutes, so I really don’t have long.”

Malcolm was standing next to her now, taking a moment just to look in her eyes.

“So, is that what I am?” he buried his hands in his pockets, smiling. “Just a part of official business?”

Cleo turned her head just slightly to the side, a curious expression on her face as her green eyes reflected the starlight.

“Yes.”

Malcolm’s smile vanished.

“Oh,” he said, surprised.

Cleo laughed again.

“Walk me?”

They started down the winding path along the river shore, lanterns of every color reflecting their milky light off the gently rippled water as the pair moved beside the silver rope railing, leaving the monument behind them on their journey to the Magistrate House. For a while they simply walked in silence, but then Cleo turned to him again.

“The convoy made it to Sindell,” Cleo finally said, breaking the silence.

Beside her, Malcolm tilted his head back, closing his eyes; letting the words he had been longing to hear sink in.

“Any casualties?” he asked.

“Some,” Cleo answered immediately, having anticipated the question as she glanced his way. “Two of the drivers didn’t make it. The King of Sindell lost two of his Sky Knights in the rescue. Everyone else came through.”

Malcolm nodded, and the visual of the little girl handing him the flower flared crystal clear in his mind.

“The contact so far has been brief,” she went on, waiting for Malcolm to look at her again. “But Jaden’s optimistic for prolonged communication in the future. Sindell has been using gemstones for generations,” she said. “So apparently that makes things easier.”

Malcolm nodded.

“And that’s not the only development we can hope for…”

“No?” Malcolm asked, looking out again at the water.

He was mesmerized by a school of rainbow koi, swirling around in a kaleidoscopic frenzy for bread someone had tossed on the surface.

“She thinks it won’t be long before we can expect airships on the horizon.”

Malcolm stopped, raising his eyebrows.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

“I am.”

Malcolm stood, retreating into his thoughts.

“My grandfather would turn over in his grave.”

Cleo went on.

“A lot of the old-timers would, yeah,” she said. “But the Looking Glass War is ancient history, and what we’re facing now is a totally different thing altogether.” They were walking again. “Have you ever seen one? An airship?”

Malcolm shrugged.

“I grew up in Winterwine,” he said with a smile. “The most advanced piece of machinery on that island is a windmill.” He took his hands out of his pockets for a second, flexed them for some reason and then put them back in. “And Sindell never exactly struck me as a desirable vacation spot.”

Cleo smiled but neither of them said another word for a long while. They continued on the walk towards the cobblestone bridge that separated the rest of the city from Calafree Square, dominated by the city's Magistrate House. The bridge arced, high and round, for many feet, and as they passed they could see a few flower petals drifting in the current, bright and delicate like snowflakes.

When she looked back to him, it was as if she was reluctant to say anything more.

“General Creed has also asked me to inform you that two weeks have been added on to your leave.”

“Two more weeks,” Malcolm said, already sensing where this was going as they stepped off the bridge, past two ornate lanterns that glowed like flickering sentinels of light. As they began to cross the greensward, a couple passed them on their right, headed back the way they came.

Both Malcolm and Cleo smiled politely in their direction.

“Which will take your leave to a month,” she said suggestively. “Coincidently, the exact time needed to break the physical addiction to feverlew.” Malcolm stared off again, looking a little embarrassed. “According to your friend, Mr. Pierce, that is,” she added, nudging him with her elbow to soften the mood. “Of course, officially it’s just a reward for heroic service.” Malcolm smirked in reaction to her playful tone. “Also, Creed’s put you in for the Veil’driel Star.”

The Whistler hardly reacted to the news.

“And what is to officially become of Albinus?” he asked, concerned.

“Loss of rank. Two months docked pay.” Cleo read the relief and surprise on his face. “Leniency in exchange for destroying his entire supply, and for providing his list of … clients.” Malcolm nodded as they slowed, the Magistrate House looming before them. “And because he believed he was honestly helping you.”

“So, you were onto us that morning,” Malcolm realized, and for the first time since they had begun to walk, he looked deeply into her eyes, and they stopped again.

“Oh yeah,” she said, as if struggling to recall that walk from his tent to the convoy. “When you were being really mean to me?” she asked, pouting. She couldn’t hold the feigned sadness for long, though, and laughed.

Malcolm wanted more than anything to reach out for her, and it took more willpower than his trials in Bryce Valley to stop himself. She looked more beautiful than he had ever seen, her every word, every movement the perfect meeting of beauty and intelligence. Now she brought her elbow up and held it with her hand again.

It was something she always did when she was nervous.

A moment of truth had come.

But he had no choice, he knew, and looked away.

The sight of the silver rope cordoning off a beautiful garden behind her popped the perfect opportunity into his mind.

“What about Gabriel?” he asked, clearing his throat.

Cleo didn’t answer right away, having experienced the same out-of-control sensation that had stopped Malcolm cold.

“Um,” she managed before taking her first step into the Square. “The general says he’s never heard of him.”

Malcolm knew her too well.

“You don’t seem so sure about that,” he said.

Cleo paused, confirming his suspicions.

“I don’t know, it could have been nothing,” she said, seeming more serious than before. “But I thought I saw something in his eyes when I mentioned the name.”

There appeared to be more.

“And?” Malcolm pressed.

They had reached the massive golden gates of the Magistrate House, and two soldiers who brandished giant halberds one either side. Flowers decorated the archway, in recognition of the festival. Beyond the elegant structure's slender columns, high, arched doors gleamed from behind a lush green lawn and a fountain.

The windows glowed with the promise of activity inside.

A welcoming sight, but not for Malcolm, who was permitted to go no further.

They were facing each other again, and Cleo appeared in that moment as if she deeply enjoyed his company. There was something in her body language that acknowledged not only her pleasure of being able to share her thoughts with someone, but to be with someone who knew, instinctively, that there was something else on her mind.

“Not long after I told the general about Gabriel, a summons was sent out to Constable Thean to report back to the camp at once. He had been out on a mission with the Third Dragoons.”

Malcolm’s eyes widened just slightly.

Cleo took the moment to elaborate.

“Summoning the head of the entire Outrider Order is not exactly an everyday occurrence.”

There was a pause, and Malcolm smiled.

“Yeah, I got it,” he said. “Could just be a coincidence.”

The expression on her face showed that she didn’t believe it and neither, she knew, did Malcolm.

“Well, whoever he was,” Malcolm nodded in the direction they’d come. “He’s the reason I’m not on that wall back there.”

Cleo nodded, looking down to her feet. A long moment passed between them, before she took half a step in place, twisting her body just slightly this way and that.

Then Malcolm, too, began to fidget.

“Well,” she finally said at length. “I’m headed back to the Ezru Plains in the morning,” she paused, her smile widening. “So, I guess I’ll see you in two weeks, Bowman Hawkins.”

A mischievous smile began to spread across his face.

“Sounds like a plan, Miss Cleo,” he said.

“Oh!” she cried, punching out at him. He caught her hand and pulled her in close, and she willingly crashed into him. She was still laughing when she pushed him away again.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, using the momentum of her push to start taking backward steps.

And whether she knew it or not, Cleo was biting her lower lip.

When she had completed her slow turn around, to start past the Magistrate guards, Malcolm did the same. The bowman was halfway across the courtyard when he heard her voice again.

“Hey, Mal?”

Cleo’s shoulders sagged gently in the twilight, as if she were on the verge of surrendering something she had previously meant not to say.

Malcolm’s hands were back in his pockets again, so sure with a bow in them, so awkward without, he thought.

There was a curious expression on his face.

“In Jaden’s most recent communiqué ...” she took a deep breath. “You know, with the sapphires from Sindell?”

There was another hesitation, and Malcolm smiled.

“Yeah?” he urged, amused.

“She said there was something you might wanna tell me.”

He looked confused.

“Something about the last thing she said in the valley?”

Now it was Malcolm’s turn to hesitate, and he hoped he was too far from Cleo for her to recognize he was taken off guard. She was waiting patiently for his answer, motionless as a gentle breeze caressed them both, carrying with it the scents of flowers again. As he made to speak, the sky burst with fireworks, dazzling the sky and splashing the courtyard in their color.

It was a convenient diversion, and Malcolm tried to collect his thoughts as he craned his neck to watch a blue one explode high overhead. Then, just as his gaze lowered before turning back to Cleo, it settled on the top of the colossal monument still in view off in the distance, and he appeared to calm as he focused on it before turning again.

“Wish I could remember,” he said. “I mean, if a wizardess said it, I’m sure it was pretty important.” He tried to smile, but only managed an unsteady breath. “To tell you the truth, I was in pretty bad shape at the end there.”

Even from where he was standing, Malcolm could see her bare nod in the moonlight. She stood motionless awhile longer before raising her hand in goodbye.

“Okay, well …,” she said, starting back down the pathway. “Spend more moments in the moment. Because I know how you are. And I’ll see ya in a couple more weeks.”

Malcolm’s face contorted into a berating expression as he watched her, only turning in the opposite direction when she reached the door and passed through it.

He passed from Calafree Square towards the bridge.

As the fireworks blazed overhead.

STATIC

Interlude  (E) How Time Flies #2190420 by Dan Hiestand