Stone Magus

By Stephanie C. Marks

***THE FIRST NOVEL IN THIS SERIES IS BEST ENJOYED WHEN YOU DON'T READ ANY SPOILERS BEFOREHAND.***

In life, love, and family, there is always strength in numbers.

Somethin

• Language: English
• Publisher: SCMarks Books
• Release date: May 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736539613

Stephanie C. Marks

Stephanie C. Marks is the author of the Hidden Gems Saga. She began writing poetry and short stories as early as 1993, then transitioned into academic non-fiction and published several times over a decade. After completing her formal education, in January 2020 she turned back to her first loves, fantasy and romance.Her current works in progress are the first three novels in a six-book epic series in different stages of completion. Even though she tries, Stephanie doesn’t know how to take breaks. This results in very little sleeping, and a lot of writing.Other than losing herself in Neuralia, her favorite past-times are playing tabletop games with friends and spending time in the ocean. But, until she can figure out how to stop losing dice in the sand, the two hobbies remain independent of one another.She holds three academic degrees in biology. In the real world, her days are filled with science, and her nights with family. Most of her free moments are spent with her two children and husband who loves and supports her in a way only found in romance novels.

Book preview

Chapter 3

***Opal***

Achill set into the keep as a breeze wafted through the wide-open entryway. Olog reached in his pocket and tossed an eyeball, aiming for the wooden mortar standing on the small side table. It missed and rolled across the flat surface before smacking into my hand.

The optic nerve dangled between my fingers and, when the orb popped, stuck to the back of my fist. Intra-ocular ooze leaked into the crevices of my skin, and the depleted lump of tissue fell into the bowl. I would normally draw blood from my forearm for this spell, but since it was already injured, my palm was a better choice.

A hiss passed through my gritted teeth as the surface nerves of my hand severed and the flesh was laid open. I reveled in the moment of silence at this point of the process and enjoyed the dripping of my blood onto the mortar. Liquid garnet pooled in front of me, and once enough blood fell, Olog extended a bandage to me.

"You aren’t supposed to enjoy hemomancy." He pulled the bandage tight as if in punishment.

I flashed an innocent smile. I need to do it anyway, don’t I?

He grunted and pursed his mouth before handing me a small flask of viscous black humours. A ringlet of smoke arose from the noxious mixture, and after adding a single drop of the fluid, the scent of copper reached my nostrils. Once the inside of my nose tickled and a metallic taste rested on my tongue, I knew the blood had coagulated and the concoction was ready for use.

Dreading what came next, my eyes clenched, and I drew a calming breath. But my anxiety kept climbing anyway. So, after shaking my arms and wiggling my body, I dredged the sludge onto the pointer and middle finger of each hand.

It's only a few seconds, Olog said.

Easy for you to say, I grumbled.

Hemomancy carried risk. Only those who had darkened their gift by killing another could perform blood spells. Those who hadn’t would permanently disfigure themselves or die within moments of casting. The more people you had killed, the less hazardous the magic. Nobody really knew how many one needed to kill to be safe—which was probably for the best. But most mages with access to physical spells of this nature were non-violent, so there were only a handful of us qualified to do it.

Before thinking any further, I wiped the mud across my eyelids. One of these days, the faerie sight spell would blind me. A white-hot branding iron pressed itself into my eyes, the fire continuing through to the back of my skull. Olog’s voice penetrated through my curses as I clutched the table, trying not to fall.

Three . . . Four. Olog restrained my wrists, keeping me from wiping the black and red sludge off my face while I screamed in pain. Five, he yelled as the burning subsided.

After I collapsed into a chair behind me, Olog handed me a rag to wipe away the sweat beading on my forehead.

This is going to give me nightmares again, I said. It was an agonizing five seconds, but it was worth it for the result. Even though my eyes were shut, my vision was impeccable and the spell allowed me to see the green haze of magic.

Did I put it on thick enough? I asked, angling my chin toward him.

He leaned close and examined my eyelids. You have at least fifteen minutes until it dries.

He was dirty from traveling, and fine lines formed just at the corner of his eyes. Olog was slighter and paler than a full orc, but other than the pointed ears, it was impossible to tell that his other half was of elven, not human lineage. And even though he was only a few decades older than me, his scars told stories of hard-won battles from long before we met. He certainly got plenty of attention from many of the females we crossed in our travels. If only I could get him to open his eyes to it again.

A half-smile crossed my lips. You are getting a little long in the tusk.

He puffed air in my face before he stood. Ten minutes, he said, feigning seriousness.

Almost all of us could hear it, but few ever got to see magic itself. Olog himself glowed bright green, as all the high mages did. After all the magic expended earlier, my glow was dimmer. It would return after some rest and be every bit as blinding as my master’s.

The tall shelves loomed two full-body lengths above. The faerie sight spell was our only chance to find what we came for in this huge library.

You and I are the only things glowing, I said. Rokian hadn’t told us what we would find here, only that it would likely be very powerful, which meant I should be able to see its glow with ease.

Look again, Olog grumbled.

He poked through every drawer and chest nearby as I reviewed the shelves a second time. Although they held nothing of note, the wall at the far edge of the room glowed as if green flames engulfed it.

The wall was cool beneath my palms, and after staring a few moments, I paced, hoping for inspiration. We pushed against the individual stones and shifted around the closest books, expecting to find a secret passage. There were dozens of them, and sometimes you needed to circle almost the entire keep to reach the one you wanted.

After doing one final lap around the library, then wiping the sludge off my eyes with the edge of my top, I stared at the wall with my arms crossed for a few minutes. Inspiration struck. "Can you blast it? Please say the answer is yes," I begged.

Olog continued prodding the barrier with both hands. Do you want to collapse the entire side of the keep? He grumbled. That dwarf of yours would be helpful right now. 

First, I snapped, "Baerdun is not my dwarf. Second, he’s a blacksmith, not a stonemason." The cushion on the black armchair collapsed when I plopped into it. A thick cloud of dust plumed into the air and settled across my lap and the armrests. Olog’s laughter only fueled my anger that he would bring him up.

A hammer is a hammer, he grunted and turned back toward the wall.

Yes . . . it is. Do you think Netherbane could handle it? You haven’t gotten to use it in forever.

His mouth pursed at the initial suggestion. Each magus had the ability to conjure at least one weapon, and Olog’s happened to be a gigantic war hammer. It would be a perfect sledge.

Even though the work would be miserable, he still smiled when the weapon appeared in his fist. The orcish carving in the dual head glowed purple in the dim library. He brushed his fingertips across it as if greeting an old friend. My blades and bow were much more practical, so I got to use them on a regular basis. But we don’t get to pick what we are gifted with, and he didn’t have occasion to use his nearly as often.

Our weapons were an extension of us, making handling them as natural as using our own limbs. Even so, after ten solid minutes of striking the stone, he stopped to mop his brow and cursed at the tediousness of the project. I perused a book while he worked, flipping the pages loudly. He would find a way to make us even. It was worth it. Maybe next time he would think twice about bringing Baerdun into the conversation.

The temperature of the room plummeted as orange light spilled in through the crumbling entryway. Olog dripped sweat as he released the handle of Netherbane and it disappeared back into the void without striking the floor. He shook the numbness from his hands and stretched his shoulders as I produced a lightning orb the size of a plum. The ball rolled across the floor and a few short steps as I held my breath, hoping nothing would catch on fire. We both sighed in relief when it rolled across stone, illuminating the surrounding space.

Inside was a cream-colored armchair, a threadbare rug, a side table, and a three-tiered shelf containing a myriad of religious texts. Olog squatted to reach a volume and wiped his finger over the top of a book.

No dust, he said.

There is so much magic here . . . the hum is painful. And it’s starting to get really cold. After removing a half-dozen books from the shelf and handing them to Olog, I gestured for him to follow and passed back through the hole in the wall. We had more than enough to keep us busy; we could explore the room further once the sun rose again.

Keeping my chambers warm will be easier. 

We exited the library, crossed the corridor from the great hall, and paused. It was where Olog and I met for the first time. I looked toward the open door and smiled.

What? Olog asked.

I was just thinking about my first day here.

It was like handling a feral cat, he said with a snicker.

I batted my eyelids. Who? Me?

I had already begun to shiver by the time we returned to my chambers. After placing the volumes we’d collected from the hidden room on my desk and starting a fire, I gazed at the tapestry above, where a life-sized embroidery of Aiuna monitored our progress.

Why didn’t returning bring back any memories? I asked.

Olog shrugged. I envy you. Not knowing is for the best. At least the shade is gone.

"Rokian will be glad to know this place is safe again. But I don’t get it. So many teams have been here to collect all the journals and artifacts. Why didn’t they have a problem? And after all these years, we come back and just handle it that easily? After what it did?"

Olog sat on the lounger with a book open in front of him. He wasn’t reading, only staring at words, absorbed in thought.

Is there . . . something you want to talk about? I asked, even though it was doubtful he would be ready to discuss any of what happened, not here.

I’m not exactly sure what I am supposed to tell Rokian. How do I tell him we . . . just let it go? he said.

That was not the direction I’d expected the conversation to take. "Well, what in the nether do you think we should have done instead? If it hadn’t been toying with me on the landing, it could have killed me in an instant!" I said.

He sighed. Let’s just hope it stays lost. We’ll deal with Rokian when the time comes. He tried to look back to the book, but we couldn’t avoid what just happened forever. My arms folded over my chest, and I stood at the edge of the couch staring down at him. He snarled before looking back up.

"What do you want me to say, Opal? We just dropped a shadow creature back into the void!"

He was always on me about not thinking before acting in an emergency situation, but at that point in time, there hadn’t been an option. It was me or it. He was right, though. That particular creature had killed many of the most powerful mages on Neuralia. We didn’t know where it came from for certain, but if that thing was from the void, it could come out at any time, anywhere. Tension built in my chest and shoulders at the thought of it hurting others, and I turned toward the door. I needed a few minutes alone to consider what I could do about it.

Thanks for helping me keep it together down there, Olog said as my hand rested on the latch.

That was the way Olog handled things. The gravity of what we’d done was undeniable, and since it couldn’t be fixed, he wouldn’t discuss it for now. Maybe when we both had a clearer head. It was impossible to have one here.

My jaw clenched until it ached, and since I couldn’t go for a run to rid myself of the terrible sensation, inspecting my sister’s space was the next best distraction. I’ll stay nearby, I said. The door slammed behind me on the way out.

Ruby's chambers had once been one of the more impressive spaces inside Elden. Entering this room made everyone say they felt as though they had been transported into a tropical rainforest. Large ivy vines had climbed the walls and draped over furniture. Her bedposts had once harbored a plant that produced enormous red flowers shaped like cisterns that kept her area free of the biting, flying insects inevitable during the summer months. And it always smelled amazing.

But today, every corner held empty pots of dirt that had once been filled with life. The pleasant floral smells had gone, replaced by a thick musty odor that hung in my throat, and her fur bedspread had been eaten by insects and was riddled with holes.

I rifled through her desk, finding a tidy stack of papers filled with notes. Her drawer had several items, most of which had degraded and none of which had value. Pretty standard for many of us in the Order. We weren’t ever short of gold; there was plenty of it. But even though we didn’t take a vow of poverty like the Dathothian monks, we didn’t bother ourselves with material possessions. The only ones that mattered were the books and relics we were sent to collect.

Instead of wandering, I returned to my chambers. Exhausted, I stepped over a sleeping Olog to sit in front of the fire and read Ruby’s notes. Everyone loved her for her kind, forgiving nature, but she was too sweet, at times sickeningly so. My sister spent her entire life wanting to fall in love. She even wrote romance stories in her free time, filled with the dramatic angst of a teenager. We were teens when she wrote these, so it was excusable, but she never grew out of it. In our line of work, falling in love was a bad idea. It only gave your enemies something to use against you.

Gross, I said before tossing the pages into the fire.

They lit with a flash, but a single sheet smoldered; its edges curled before igniting a green flame. After yanking it out and burning my fingers, I stomped out the corners, then picked up the page. Intermingled with scribbles, the unburned segments of the vellum contained a foreign symbol drawn a few dozen times on both sides.

Olog groaned when my foot contacted his hip.

Wake up. You need to see something, I said.

He grumbled, If no one’s dead, leave me alone. He curled closer to the fire.

Come on. Wake up. What language is this? I said while pushing the sheet toward his face. He scowled and pressed the scribbles away.

It’s not going anywhere, he groused. "If I had a few hours’ sleep, I might think clearer." He rolled over, unwilling to discuss it further.

Fine, I said through gritted teeth before folding the paper into a pouch on my hip. In case we had any unexpected problems, it would be best to stay on the couch near my master. The flames danced as my mind wandered, and in my thoughts, the keep came to life again. Exhaustion overcame me, and I fell into a fitful slumber.

A shadow flitted through the sitting room as I had done earlier that day. The gallery was no longer shrouded in gloom, but well-lit and crowded with smiling mages gathering to enjoy one another’s company. The shadow continued until in direct view of the library where Rokian relaxed, studying the Autarium. He never looked up from the text, but his arm shot out, finger pointing at the wall. The shadow passed through the intact stonework and entered the hidden alcove.

A middle-aged, faceless, elvish female leaned across the armchair to peer at an open book. A quill scribbled on the pages of its own volition, dipping itself into the inkwell to transcribe another sentence. She blew the ink dry and closed the cover. Her fingers moved in a graceful motion, and a void opened inside a knee-deep hole in the floor. She placed the manuscript inside and closed the seam. The entire keep tremored, and the hole filled with earth before the stone extended, covering it. She bent and sliced her finger, drawing a pattern in blood on the stones beneath her feet, then used the chair to hide the floor that she had built. Her legs crossed before she leveled her cerulean eyes with mine. Her words projected into my thoughts.

Listen closer, she whispered.

I woke up sweating and struggled to roll onto my side to draw the symbol into the dusty table. Although the edges were more embellished, the drawing matched those on Ruby’s page. Olog finally stirred after a hard kick in the leg. He bolted upright, his hands curled into fists, and cast his eyes around looking for an attacker.

For Aiuna’s sake get up, you lunk! I yelled. We need to go.

Not staying to see if he was behind me, I bolted down the stairs, through the library, and into the secret room. I flipped the heavy velvet chair into the corner. It crashed onto its head and lay lopsided as I dropped to my hands and knees and prodded the bricks. Nothing moved, and based on the vision alone, simply smashing through the rock would reveal nothing. Olog stood in the entry, bewildered, as I bolted back into the library, grabbed the mortar, and used my shirt to wipe out the crusted sludge before kneeling again.

There isn’t anything here, he murmured. He grabbed my wrist when my father’s blade hissed from its sheath.

Opal. Stop! he growled.

It was a vision; you need to let me do this.

After a moment’s thought, he released his grip and let me pull the dagger parallel to the wound created only a few hours before. Blood oozed between my fingers and dripped into the bowl.

Olog re-wrapped my cut. Don’t do that again until May heals you, he snapped.

Before the blood could clot, I replicated the series of strokes the elf had performed. The symbol melted into the rock. The crevasses formed by the design fell inward as the stones crumbled into a fine dust around it, revealing a two-foot square plot of dirt beneath the floor.

The book is in here. We need to dig, I said.

He conjured Netherbane—this time its form included pointed tips on the dual heads—and used it to break the soil loose until we exposed a slate-like substance. My eyes closed while my fingertips felt for the seam, and it pulled open with ease. I braced myself against the cool granite as I reached inside and it pressed into the wound, sending pain shooting up my arm. My fingers curled around a rough spine, and I sat back on my heels.

The unremarkable black leather cover had no writing or markings of any kind. And inside, there was nothing but blank pages. After rifling through the tome in disbelief and confusion, Olog pried it from my grasp and fanned through it.

But I saw her writing in it, I said. Blood dripped over my middle finger and hit the wall when I threw my hands out. Did Rokian send us here for a blank book?

It can’t be, he said, grabbing my arm and tightening the bandage.

After flipping the chair in the corner and sitting down, the events leading us here replayed in my mind. Rokian knew that coming back would be difficult for those of us that were here on the day of the attack. So he tried sending in mages that hadn’t been here when it happened to get more information. But no one could figure out for certain why that thing had come or from where.

Olog shrugged. He wouldn’t have sent us here for no reason. Maybe the book requires a spell to be readable? We stayed in the room, contemplating how to proceed. Olog’s head turned as if listening for a sound far away. He stepped closer and tilted his ear in my direction.

Olog, what ar—

He handed me the book and bent over towards the floor again. Shhh.

My lips pursed with impatience.

You don’t hear it? he said. Step out of the room a minute.

But—

Step out! he snapped.

I’d do as ordered, but if he expected to be left alone, he was out of his damned mind.

He dropped to his knees and pressed his ear to the cushion of the chair. He flipped it and ran his fingertips along the seam of the upholstery on the underside. His fingers caught on an edge, and he ripped away the corner and plunged his hand inside. After scurrying back into the library, he opened his palm to show a hand-painted blue globe.

Is it . . . an egg? I asked.

Olog shook his head and held it to the mage light. It’s too heavy. He turned it over and ran his fingertip across the thin strands of silver looping in tiny twists across the surface. Tiny green gems sat on every junction between swirls, creating tiny flashes of light each time his hand shifted. His eyes darted between me and the egg.

Step back, he said. After taking a few steps, he sat the thing on a table and walked an equal distance between myself and the relic, then closed his eyes. Seconds later, he darted for it as if realizing something and held it out toward me.

Take it and listen, he said.

But when my fingertips touched it, I gasped and released my grip. He caught it before it fell.

It’s freezing . . . and it feels . . . it feels like the darkness in our gifts, only condensed, I said.

He tossed it half a handspan into the air, then caught it.

I don’t feel anything. He held it toward my ear. Listen.

My eyes closed to focus on the relic. But after a minute I shrugged. I don’t hear anything.

Nothing? he asked.

He’d found a limit to my patience. Would you just tell me what in Xionos you are doing? I snapped.

I can’t feel anything but cool metal and the magic humming through it. I think you don’t hear it because it sounds exactly like your gift.

My eyes widened. Are you saying it is attuned to . . . to me? My jaw slackened. How?

Olog gripped my shoulders when he noticed me beginning to pace. We’ll find out. No matter what the answer. Nothing that happened here is your fault. Take a breath, all right?

Pain shot between my eyes, forcing me to lean forward and press my uninjured hand to my forehead.

Another headache? he asked.

Mm hmm. Listen, this . . . everything has just been too much to handle lately. When we get back, I’m going to go away for a while if you don’t think it will be a problem. I huffed. I’m sure Ruby and Mayryn won’t be upset about it.

He shook his head. This has been taxing, but it isn’t like you to back away. And you’ve been doing it a lot lately. There’s something else . . .

My jaw clenched to keep the pressure in my chest from welling into my eyes.

Does this have something to do with the dwarf?

My lip was raw on the inside from chewing on it. It’s everything! I snapped. I don’t understand why you keep bringing him up. He and Ruby are happy. Let it go.

But yo—

"Look, it doesn’t matter what could have happened. It didn’t. Can we please just . . ." I flopped into a hard, wooden chair. The last thing we needed to do was talk about Ruby and Baerdun. Not only was it pointless, but there were much bigger things to consider right now.

Has Rokian said how long until we go home? I asked, hoping to change the subject.

You know, when Thalla and I—

No, I snapped.

Pain flashed across his face then faded. My forehead crumpled. He didn’t deserve that.

Look, it isn’t that I don’t appreciate it, I just need some time to straighten things out in my head. I’m too distracted.

He grumbled and folded his arms. If that is what you need. It should be fine. We can handle things for a while.

Chapter 4

***Ruby***

R uby, May said to get my attention before handing me the tome. The texts were already bringing back memories I was better off without. As soon as my fingers closed around it, it vibrated, and the magic hummed off the surface of the smooth leather book.

My face fell when I opened it. There isn’t anything in it.

She rubbed her fingers across her forehead and sighed. We had hoped ye might have seen something different. Opal and Olog had the same problem. She gestured toward where Olog stood before continuing. They found texts about other gods and an intriguing one on Aiuna.

I looked over the stack they had brought from the keep. What are we going to do with the other books? I asked, examining each one.

Opal suggested we take them to Farrador. Rokian will decide, Olog responded with a sour look on his face.

Even though I was the one with the most interest, the others went to spare me the trip. My presence would have been a detriment to them at Elden. They weren’t wrong. The frequency of my nightmares had lessened with time but grown in intensity. But, nearly every morning now, I awoke sweating, my eyes open, unable to move, with a heavy weight on my chest.

He caught me as I ran to mother’s chambers. You can’t go that way, the unfamiliar elf said before gripping my forearm.

Who are you? I asked as I tried to yank away.

Brother Watermane. I’ve been sent to help you, he said while tightening his grip. A ball of flame arose over my palm as I prepared to defend myself. Not only had I never seen this elf, but he was stopping me from getting my mother away from the beast rampaging through the keep.

With a flick of his finger, a thin cord wrapped around me, constricting like a serpent. I screamed and thrashed to get loose, only to be silenced with a similar spell.

I will not argue this, he said calmly. I was upright and could move my own feet, but only in the direction he commanded. As he pulled me down the stairwell, tears blinded me and I fruitlessly struggled to break free.

The darkened underground corridor changed each time I had the nightmare. I couldn’t recall much else after he opened the hatch and pushed me outside.

A hand shook me, startling me out of my memory. Ruby! Are ye all right? May asked as she brushed the stray strands of hair from my forehead.

I’m going out, I said before setting down the tome, snatching my cloak off the chair, and skittering out of the room. My dreams were bad enough; they didn’t need to invade my waking thoughts too. The heat of the afternoon sun and the smell of baking bread cleared the clouds from my mind as I stepped out of the Oaken Crow Inn. My cloak clipped at the throat with a carved wooden Aiunite symbol, but I flipped the fabric behind my shoulders to expose my forearms and chest to the sunlight.

Vendors bellowed, vying for attention from the passersby. A darkly tanned woman greeted me before offering me a rose, which I declined with a gentle shake of my head. I loved flowers but preferred them alive in the soil. Their presence in a vase only reminded me of their inevitable death.

I paused at a cart, pretending to look at the wares, and watched a group of younglings play. Their pure joy, not yet sullied by the worries of adulthood, lightened my heart. I turned to leave just as a ball sailed through the air and wedged itself between the perpendicular sunshades of two shops. A short, skinny boy jumped up as if he could reach it—a grown orc couldn’t even have reached it. He dissolved into tears. His mother picked him up and cooed while patting his back.

I scanned the crowd and mentally noted how many humans were in the vicinity before raising my hands as if fixing my hair. They were jealous of our gifts, and for good reason. There was no reason to make things more difficult than they needed to be. A flick of my wrist commanded a gust of wind to loosen the ball from its perch. It blew off the shades and rolled across the ground. The youngling raced after it in excitement, narrowly missing a group gathered around a table laughing. His mother looked across the square in confusion, giving me time to turn away.

The rhythmic clang of the blacksmith made my steps lighter. In the past year or so, it had become one of my favorite sounds. I stepped off a busy street and hid in the shade of an overhang beside Mind over Metal. My eyes settled on Baer, and a broad smile crossed my face. We hadn’t been together in weeks. My chest ached with longing, and the thought of wrapping my arms around him warmed me. It was difficult to keep from running to him, but timing was important in blacksmithing. If he had to start over, it would be longer before I had him to myself.

Baer stood next to the forge holding a long rod in the fire while Jendyl ran the bellows. Once the tip glowed orange, he pivoted to the anvil and began his strikes. His gloved hand gripped the shaft of the metal tightly as he hammered. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and the cords of muscle in his forearms were streaked with soot. His shirt made an effort to contain his biceps, but it seemed as if the fabric would tear under the strain each time he raised his arm.

His russet beard was braided into three tails that were bound to one another whenever he worked. He was only about 25 years older than me, still young for his race, yet looked even younger while at his forge.

A half-elf and a dwarf were an unlikely coupling. It wasn’t obvious at first glance that we were different, since we were very close to the same height, but everyone made sure we knew how ‘unnatural’ it was.

Their opinions didn’t matter. Not only was Baerdun Ironbeard both selfless and handsome, but he had been a welcome source of strength from the first day we met. He challenged me almost daily, and I never laughed as much as when we were together. But most of all, he made me feel safe. With him, everything would still be all right if I relinquished control once in a while. And that wasn’t something I’d ever been able to do before we met. It took until my 50’s for me to find a male that held my interest long enough to see more than once or twice.

I fished inside my cloak pocket for a fist-sized rock Opal had picked up for me on her way home. It was already difficult enough for mages in Coalfell, and dealing with the villager’s nonsense today was not on my list. The stone grew warm as I concentrated on crafting a rose bloom in my palm beneath the cloak. A second spell created a light breeze to blow along the ground beneath my skirts, keeping the dust from piling at my feet. As Baer finished the last of his strikes, the stone cooled.

How many times am I tae repair this thing? Baer hollered before tossing his hammer into the dirt.

His gaze shifted up, and he dropped what he was doing to come lift me off my feet.

Where have ye been? I wasna sure when I’d see ye again, he said after a long embrace. A thought came to him, and his eyes darted over the road outside of the shop. He took my wrist to pull me underneath the canopy. Ye shouldna come alone, he muttered.

I can take care of myself, I said.

Once inside, he held my face in his hands and kissed me before looking over his present.

Yer an artist, mo grá, he whispered, making me flush red. He started calling me ‘my love’ in ancient dwarvish only a few months back, and it still made me grin, but the appreciation for my creation meant a lot coming from a master craftsman.

Have ye come tae stay for the evening? If so, I’ll give Jendyl the afternoon off and we can go tae the Tankard.

I would love to! I said. It feels like it’s been forever since we had time alone together.

He removed his leather apron and traded shirts, replacing the soot-covered one with an airy tan linen. After putting the tools away, he closed the large door to the storage cabinet with a heavy thud.

I sat on a wooden stool and sighed before resting my head on his shoulder.

Ye need tae talk about something? he asked, studying me with a worried expression. I breathed deeply, enjoying the musk of sweat and metal emanating from his skin.

Maybe later. I’m too exhausted to think about it anymore right now. I hadn’t seen him in weeks and was about to leave again . . . soon. He kissed my forehead and called to the front where Jendyl was tending to a customer. We are taking off! As soon as Mr. Lightshoulder comes tae get his pickaxe, close up and go enjoy some time with yer family!

Only a few minutes later, he led me inside his cottage and embraced me again. I squeezed his arms, allowing my fingertips to linger on his carved triceps. Decades of smithing had chiseled his torso artfully, reminding me of the sculptures we had in the gallery at home in Taraskuru. I reached up and pinched my cheeks, trying to physically press away the grin.

You make my face hurt, I said before losing the battle and smiling again.

The single room cottage was the same size as my bedroom at home. Baer did not own many material possessions, but what he did was crafted by masters and artisans. His axe and hunting bow were suspended by the door on hooks he had forged himself. An unburned candle sat on the round table in front of the limestone fireplace. A long, thin sheet of polished granite rested on a waist-high wooden frame along one wall that he used to prepare food. The only exception to his tidy home was a small shelf of well-loved books haphazardly stacked in whichever direction accommodated more volumes. He had only two that had been hand-scribed, as the invention of the page press now made it possible to produce texts by the dozens.

Baer removed his shirt before picking up a pail and moving toward the front door. I stopped him and took the bucket from his grip.

You know better, I said.

He used to argue with me, but he seemed to enjoy watching me use magic. Besides, I didn’t get to take care of anyone often, and I enjoyed doting on him. He deserved it. Baer worked long hours at the shop for little profit. Many times, he only requested enough pay to cover the cost of materials and his meagre living expenses. Any additional money he earned was given to poorer families or his apprentice out of gratitude for her efforts. He never asked for anything, and I wanted him to know his kindness was appreciated.

My palm turned up to reveal a ball of flame the size of a peach pit. I tossed it underhanded into the fireplace before moving toward the window.

Will you use the billows on that please? I asked while opening the curtains and placing the pail on the windowsill. It only took the motion of a single finger to beckon a cylinder of liquid to rise from the well. It moved like a curious snake peaking over the lip before stretching toward the window and plunging into the bucket.

The water splashed across my face and robes, making Baer chuckle. If I even looked at water, I got wet. Every single time. A twist of my wrist caused the stream to withdraw and retreat into the well.

The cool water heated beneath my palms as I carried it over to the center table.

Ye would be handy tae have around the shop, ye know? he said. He had been trying to get me to stay with him at least a year now, but that wasn’t an option.

I leaned forward over the counter on my elbows, placing my jawbone on my fists. You can come with me instead. I’ll do this for you anytime you want, I said with a wink.

Baer submerged a linen cloth in the water and wiped the soot off his face and ears. Ach, Ruby, if it were only ye, I would move tae that blasted island in a blink.

So, do we just keep pretending like I’m never going to have to leave? I asked him.

His shoulders slumped. Going with ye is asking for all manner of trouble.

Baer knew that we would be returning to Salamangka within the next few months. As much as I missed home, I looked forward to leaving less every day. My chest ached again at the thought. But we’d had this conversation a dozen times and one more rendition wasn’t going to change anything.

He donned a crisp green shirt before pulling on a matching wool overcoat. His pants were a similar shade and had pockets down the outer side of each thigh, like Opal’s. We didn’t make eye contact as he finished dressing and combing his beard.

Are ye ready tae go, lass? he asked while bending his elbow into a V, allowing my arm to slip through before we stepped outside. I’d like tae watch the sunset with ye.

The crisp scent of pine permeated the air as we walked away from the town, into a large field. We sat on a grassy knoll and watched the fiery sun sink behind the trees. Baer turned; his sage-colored eyes studied me as the sky faded to purple. He took my hand between his and rested it on his knee.

I cannae get ye out of my thoughts. His voice lowered as he looked to the ground and reached into his pocket. Yer gone so often . . . He scratched his chin before continuing. I wanted ye tae have a reminder when ye travel. He extended his hand, revealing a sparkling pendant that looked similar to the polished weapon he kept near the headboard of his bed. A chain looped through the gleaming titanium throat of a battle axe. The handle was embellished with ornate runes that terminated in a head set with one large ruby.

I snapped my fingers to conjure a small flame and held the pendant close.

It’s beautiful! I said before clasping my fist shut and embracing him to keep him from seeing my eyes water. I love it. Thank you!

My long dark braid flipped over my shoulder as he fastened the cold metal around my neck. A tear rolled down my cheek, and I wiped it away before centering the pendant with my fingertips. He said he wanted me to have it for traveling, but it sounded a lot like a goodbye.

I missed you, Baer, I said before he pulled me into his lap. The edge of his finger ran across the chain resting on my collarbone, and his rough fingertips raised goosebumps on