Chapter Twenty-Seven

It is always spring in Numia. Wildflowers bloom in the morning, and shut their faces to the night. Children played by the lake, laughing and calling out as they passed something between them akin to an outsized walnut. It flowed among them in a swift, steady clip, even as they changed positions around their circle according to an occult pattern known only to them. If an observer could have traced the trajectories of the makeshift ball, he would have seen a nine pointed star constantly renewed.

Nearby, Esme and Ajax walked side by side talking in quiet voices. She looked a doll beside the mountainous man, but he was clearly deferential. Neither appeared to note the wolf’s howl at the entrance to the vale, Fletcher signaling the all clear, but both were relieved. Since the Pard had gone there had been no threat to Numia, and though there was no sign of her returning, that was no reason to relax their guard. In the deeper regions of the lake, a young man swam, lithe and muscular, body shining in the glossy waters. Lost in his exertions, he did not see the Naiad stir uneasily in her slumber, or bring one hand up to her chest. With so much water, it would be impossible to tell if she was crying.

A point of oily darkness appeared near the bottom of the lake, injecting shadows like swirls of ink into the water. The swirls expanded into sinuous currents, larger and larger. This, the swimmer saw, kicking away and calling out alarms with all his might.

It was too late. An arm, a hand coagulated out of the mass of writhing shadows and snapped onto the young man’s foot. Esme and Ajax sprinted to the shore, the big man shifting into a red gold wolf as he went, loosing a tremendous howl. The children were hustled away, asking questions all the while, not registering danger behind this unusual commotion. They had led charmed lives, but Gregory went without having to be asked.

Esme cast her magic out over the lake as Fletcher and Abram, the youngest Totem brother, approached. Her face registered shock and then fear as the webs of her spells popped like over tuned violin strings. Ajax’s growl was a rockslide, but neither could slow the growth of the billowing darkness, contaminating Numia’s sacred waters.

The lake began to bubble, to boil, and Esme gasped as a supple, steely shape rose out of its crystal depths. Malice’s neck curled into an ‘S’ to look down on them from higher that any tree grew. Her lidless eyes swept over Numia like two lanterns of malevolent red. In one hand, dark as the unlighted moon, she clutched the limp form of the Naiad, long tresses like liquid gold against the black scales. No one moved. No one dared.

Having slipped past their wards to steal Numia’s ultimate treasure, Malice regarded the people of the lake with one lip curled in contempt. A cloud of steam rose continuously from where her body was in contact with the water.

That these little morsels had colluded against her only proved she had been too lenient in the past, too forgiving. Plainly, she had not done enough to demonstrate her dominance.

Voice like a fell desert wind, Malice laid out her demands.

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