» 04 – The Hero «

EARTH. NEW ALBION.

“The barrow geists are hunting prey,” the fox says to Kyra Iravani, leaping up to perch atop the stonework wall.

Kyra cries out in surprise, and Ms Winters—June—looks towards her in alarm. They’d walked from the university to a stretch of townhouse apartments nearby, where the older woman had spent the better part of five minutes futilely knocking on what was supposedly The Squire’s apartment door. Kyra had stepped back into the street, looking for a neighbour to ask, when the fox had appeared.

“If you don’t hurry to save him, you’ll be without a Squire this cycle.” The animal’s voice makes Kyra think of poison honey. “Just fair warning.”

Before June reaches them the fox drops off the wall and vanishes into the shadow of a storm drain. Kyra watches the dark void it disappeared into, struck dumb.

“You never seen a fox before?” June asks as she comes to a stop beside her.

“I…” Kyra bites her lip, honestly unsure if she’s being asked a trick question. Apparently talking foxes were supposed to have been in the instruction manual, given how blasé her Guide seems to be about them.

Not wanting to embarrass herself in front of a woman a decade older than her, Kyra composes herself and asks, “That was a spirit, then?”

“Messengers for the Old Gods,” June answers, nodding. “Said Gods are long gone, but everything they built has carried on in their absence. They were the ones bringing you your dreams.”

Huh.

She thinks back to how her window always seemed to be slightly ajar after her most vivid dreams, the ones where shades of young men and women told her she’d been chosen as the Hero—they emphasised the capital. She would be the latest in a millennia-old line of Earth’s guardians, the shades had said, destined to guard the Marchlands for as long as you live. Those without a Mantle such as yours can scarcely comprehend the danger to Earth, but being the Hero has made you among humanity’s select few. A grave burden, but one only ever given to those who can handle it.

Kyra prays that was the truth, and not an empty reassurance. She had no intention of turning this responsibility down.

“What did it say?” June asks, her voice shaking Kyra from her fugue.

The woman is looking at her with concern, but at this point Kyra is uncertain whether that’s just her default expression. She’s not that old really, but thick shadows cling under her eyes, her hair a tangle of autumn red. She’d be cute, maybe even a little alluring, in make-up, but she seems like someone without the time for such things. Perhaps she even considers them trivial. Kyra hopes she doesn’t see a trivial, air-headed girl when she looks at her.

“Oh, um, it said something about barrow geists?” she replies. “And we need to hurry and save the Squire?”

The dark look that falls across June’s face isn’t exactly reassuring either. “Ah, shit.”

She hurries down the street with purpose, seemingly confident Kyra will know to tag along behind her.

“So, uh, what exactly is a barrow geist?” Kyra asks when she catches up.

June lets out a long sigh. “You’re about to find out.”

#

A short while later June turns down a side-street into a tiny park and stops, standing beside an old-fashioned lamppost. Distinctly Victorian, its thick metal base is circled by the sculpted images of foxes.

“This is going to be rough,” June informs her.

Kyra frowns. “Are you going to open a magic portal?”

“Gracelessly,” June replies, gestures towards the lamp. “Lampposts like these were built a long time ago to make it easier to find the common ground between worlds one needs to cross over. I’m going to force it to spit us out at the one as close to the Squire as we can manage.”

“Okay,” Kyra says uncertainly.

“But before we go,” June says, moving to stand beside the lamp, “Ground rules. You drag the kid away from danger; I’ll handle said danger.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be the Hero?” Kyra asks.

“Do you know how to fight, use a sword?” June asks. “No, I didn’t think so. I’m not risking your life before I know you can handle yourself.”

Kyra wants to argue, but she can see the logic.

“Besides,” June adds, “I’m just going to try to scare them off.”

“With what?”

“Blade. Flower. Ribbon. Bloom.” The words seem almost real, a physical force, and June unsheathes from them a sword fashioned from light.

“Holy shit,” Kyra repeats.

June indulges her with a grin. “We better hurry.”

The woman closes her eyes, brow creasing in concentration. Then she speaks, though the words sound like they’re coming from underwater:

“Raptor. Portal. Hunt. Squire.”

Kyra feels a twisting in her gut, a sensation like falling. A wind picks up around them.

“Raptor. Portal. Hunt. Squire.”

Head faint, Kyra is vaguely aware a fire has blossomed atop the lamppost. The world is spinning, bile rises in her throat.

“Raptor. Portal. Hunt. Squire—”

For a moment, Kyra can see nothing but darkness, hear nothing but the howl of a storm. Then she feels dirt and thick grass beneath her hands, taste a cold dew in the air. Opening her eyes, she realises she’s on her hands and knees. Standing, she realises they’re no longer in the city. In every direction spools grasslands and wetlands, a thick fog obscuring the horizon.

June is next to her, pale and gripping a solitary lamppost for support.

“Holy shit,” Kyra breathes. “We’re not on Earth, are we?”

June shakes her head. “Not anymore.”

Shouts catch their attention, flickering lights they can see through the cloud surrounding them. Kyra notes too that the undergrowth leading towards both seems to have been trampled by sneakers. June grips her sword tighter, and the two hurry towards the lights. It doesn’t take long for them to crest and descend a small hill, closing enough distance for the source of the light to come into view.

Strange men and women on horseback emerge out of the fog, standing opposite a boy and girl, likely Kyra’s own age. The girl’s dress is archaic like the riders, but the boy has on jeans and a mud-splattered shirt.

He’s definitely from Earth, Kyra thinks. The Squire?

A man with a face seemingly chiselled out of some hellish crag leans down towards them, hand on his sword hilt. His eyes narrow, and the girl pushes the boy further behind her, hand moving towards her tunic like she’s reaching for a weapon, and—

“Hey!”

Kyra realises she’s yelled out when she hears the words like everyone else. She freezes. June freezes. The man, the two others, all turn towards them.

“As I live and breathe.” The man smiles, a deeply unpleasant thing. “Lady Winters. I never thought I’d see you again.”

Still holding the sword of light, June closes the distance so she’s standing between the group and the rider.

“Vedmak,” June replies curtly. “What are you doing here?”

“Patrolling the border on behalf of my liege,” he says, “Given your kind seems to have been shirking that duty of late. Could the Fates really not find one person of age worthy for five years in your metal warren of a city?”

Kyra comes close enough to stand beside the pair, whispering, “We’re here to help.”

The young man appears relieved, though the girl still seems uncertain, eyes flicking between her, June, and the riders.

“Well, your services are no longer required here,” June says. “We have a new Hero now.”

“And a new Guide too,” he muses. “Congratulations.”

Neither he or June seem to consider that a compliment.

Vedmak nudges his horse forward, its bulk forcing June to step aside so now he and Kyra are facing one another.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” he says, tilting forward in a small bow.

Kyra frowns, unsure if the man is mocking her.

“Sorry, you are…?”

“Sir Vedmak, sworn knight to the Marcher Lord of Marigolds, Marquise Telwyn: Protector of the Glainmoor, Steward of—”

“Marquise Telwyn?” June interrupts. “What happened to—?”

“Death comes to us all, Lady Winters, as you well know. It was peaceful though, all things considered. The Marquis went suddenly in his sleep, may the winds guide him.”

June makes a gesture reminiscent of the sign of the cross. “May the west wind guide him home.”

At the words, Kyra notices the first true sign of sincerity in the man’s smile—as fleeting as it is.

“And these are…?” he gestures at the other two.

“Under our protection,” Kyra says, straightening her back.

“I see.” Vedmak pauses for a moment, seemingly in thought, before taking his reigns in his hands. “Then I must be going. My liege will no doubt want to know the Hero has taken her first steps in the Marchlands.”

“Of course,” June replies, her expression inscrutable.

“I wish you all more luck than your predecessors,” he says, flashing that sickening grin again. He turns specifically to Kyra now, bowing his head slightly. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

At that, Vedmak pulls at his horse’s reins, the beast rearing up before turning to face the waiting cohort. He gives a signal, and they retreat into the mist.

~***~