Echoes of the Fey: The Prophet's Arm

By Malcolm Pierce

Magic meets mystery in Echoes of the Fey, a series of detective stories set in the high fantasy world of Oraz. Sofya Rykov is a private investigator with a secret of her own: unstable magic powers that she uses to solve her cases. This stand-alone novella ties in to the stories told in the Echoes of the Fey PC games.

In The Prophet's Arm, Sofya is hired to track down a precious religious relic: the mechanical arm of the ancient Leshin prophet Cathal ir-Dyeun. The arm was lost in the long war between Humans and Leshin--a war prompted by the teachings of ir-Dyeun. To preserve the unstable peace between the two peoples, everything associated with the prophet has become taboo in the new Leshin government. But Sofya Rykov has never cared for taboos, so when a historian needs a detective to find the relic, she's the perfect woman for the job.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Malcolm Pierce
• Release date: Dec 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370653904

Book preview

Echoes of the Fey: The Prophet's Arm

Published by Malcolm Pierce at Smashwords

Copyright 2016

For more Echoes of the Fey, go to http://www.woodsy-studio.com/echoes

Sofya Rykov was supposed to be dead, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at her. She had bright, piercing eyes—one blue, one green—that peered out from beneath a swoop of dark hair. Her skin was pale but full of life, blushing at the first sign of anger or the second drink of the night. She had narrow shoulders that helped her conceal her well-toned arms under a worn, cropped leather jacket. Her teeth gleamed white, brighter than the smiles of most inhabitants of the border town of Vodotsk, betraying her noble birth.

In fact, the only sign of the injuries that should have killed Sofya was a single scar. It was a thin crease that ran from the her forehead down to a point just above her nostrils, cutting across her left eye and betraying that her striking heterochromia might not be natural but the result of an awful trauma.

Of all Sofya’s scars, it was the only one she couldn’t figure out how to hide.

Have you considered makeup? Heremon ir-Caldy asked as Sofya stared at herself in the mirror. I believe that applying some sort of cosmetic concealer would be the simplest solution.

No, Sofya said. Because that wouldn’t solve anything.

It would make the scar invisible.

I would still be able to see it.

Heremon grunted. So you’re going to stay in here until you can get the incantation to work?

You’re usually curious about my magic. Don’t you want to know why it can hide my burns, but can’t touch this one stubborn little mark?

I’m not curious about a question when I already know the answer, Heremon said. The spell won’t work because you won’t let yourself forget.

Heremon ir-Caldy had a tall, thin frame and smooth, chestnut-colored skin. His golden hair was bound into thin, intricate ropes, which he subsequently tied into a neat ponytail. He had a narrow face with a dimpled chin. Unlike many of his people who remained in Vodotsk after the war, he made no attempt to conceal his long, pointed ears. He wore his Leshin heritage proudly.

Like all of his people, Heremon was ageless. His skin did not wrinkle or sag, he remained perpetually youthful. He could have been thirty years old or three hundred. Sofya often wondered how old he was, but even she wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. He knew all of her secrets, but she still couldn’t bring herself to ask for just one.

You know it would be safer if you didn’t use any concealing magic at all, Heremon said. If it ever wears off in public, it will raise questions. No human your age has even managed to perform the simplest of glamours. It’s not worth the risk.

Sometimes I forget you’re not human, Sofya replied. But often you find a way to remind me.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Sofya laughed. Vanity, Heremon.

Leshin can be vain.

It’s not the same, Sofya said. You care about presentation—about showing how much effort you put into your appearance. But humans want our appearance to be effortless. We want to look naturally beautiful.

Heremon furrowed his brow. Everything is naturally beautiful, he said.

Yes, that is exactly what every girl wants to hear, Sofya replied. You’re as equally pretty as everyone else.

Before Heremon could respond, the soft chime of a bell drifted up from the first floor. We have a customer, Heremon said, allowing just a hint of excitement to enter his voice. I hope you’re feeling presentable.

Sofya looked at herself once more. It will have to do.

~

A sharp, pungent odor stung Sofya’s nose as soon as she descended to the first floor. She recognized the scent immediately. Leshin perfumes were especially strong and, to humans, possessed a noxious edge that resembled heating fuel.

Even though the Leshin occupation of Vodotsk was over, Sofya wasn’t surprised to have a Leshin visitor. Hundreds of them remained in the city. When the war ended, the Leshin of Vodotsk were allowed to remain under certain conditions: they had to renounce the ir-Dyeun and register with the County government. Most chose to leave, if only to avoid living side-by-side with the people they had spent a decade fighting. But a few remained, refusing to give up their home.

Welcome to Rykov Private Investigations, Sofya said as she descended the staircase into the lobby of her modest office. How can I be of service?

The Leshin man standing in the doorway looked up at her. He was impeccably dressed in a light green tunic and perfectly tailored leather pants—a demonstration of the vanity that Heremon had just described. He had bright red hair and a dazzling white smile, but that was not the first feature that drew Sofya’s eye. Arching up from his back were two shimmering wings. They were thin, almost translucent, as if made purely of light. They shined through small slits cut in his jacket and fluttered in the breeze from the door. Winged Leshin were rarely seen near the border, as they hailed from far west beyond the Great Forest that divided the continent. He had come a long way to Vodotsk, which made it especially strange that he would find his way to Sofya’s door.

Private investigations? the Leshin man said. What does that mean?

We’re like mercenaries, Sofya replied. But we try to avoid fighting. We find information. Cheating spouses, mostly, but we’re more than open to any sort of work you might want.

Good. That… That sounds like what I want. They told me to come here, so I was hoping you would be able to help me.

Sofya looked back towards the stairs. Did you hear that, Heremon? We’re getting referrals.

Yes, but who is giving them? Heremon asked. He stood halfway up the stairs, eyeing the Leshin visitor with suspicion.

The redheaded man considered this question. It was the man who polices the city. The Imperial Inspector. I believe his name was–

Luka? Sofya interrupted. He told you to visit me?

That is correct.

Now that’s a surprise, Sofya said. Here I was, thinking that he hated me…

Heremon sighed. You have not heard what this man wants, he said. Perhaps Luka sent him here to torment you.

No! the redheaded Leshin exclaimed. Nothing of the sort!

Sofya shrugged. Rent was due in a few days for the office, which meant that she didn’t much care how work was sent her way. So, that brings me to my original question: What can I do for you?

My name is Braden ir-Alba, and I am… Hmmm… I am the curator of the Alban Museum of History.

You’re a long way from home, Heremon muttered. "Especially for a