Mahala slept in the hotel bedroom while Luck took the sofa in the living area. He was too big for it, his legs comically sticking out over the sofa arm. Yet, he insisted it was comfortable.
The first time Mahala awoke she found herself back in the cave. The second time, she was bringing medicine to her father — she dropped the tray and ran the opposite direction once she remembered the wyrm. The third; she was waiting on her balcony with Luck after her birthday party.
“Want some?” Mahala offered a plate of leftover cake; a dense sponge decorated with sliced walnuts, in a pool of heavy cream.
“No thank you.”
“I never see you eat.”
“I do not have the best table manners.” Luck checked his watch. “Should be time.”
“Time for what?”
The night sky flashed with colours as fireworks hissed into the air. Peonies bloomed into colour-changing bursts, long cascading willow lights spiralled downwards, brocade weaving clusters exploded from brilliant red stars. Her favourite fish firework effects took centre stage, as blue stars spun away from a glittering supernova.
The cake was left forgotten by the table. Mahala stood next to Luck to watch the light display.
“You planned this?” she asked.
“I understand that you did not request any for your party out of respect to your father, but… it’d be a shame not to indulge once he was gone,” said Luck.
Today was the biggest party yet. Her father was frugal about most things, but never for her — even if he had to leave the Capital right after. All day, people wished her happy birthday, claiming she was a gift from all the gods, that her birth was something the whole of Pomolin was thankful for. All things she never dreamed anyone would say to her.
“Thank you, Lu…” She turned to face him but instead saw the black eyes of Piaf Samawyn staring at her instead.
Luck seemed oblivious to it all, watching the fireworks.
Mahala stumbled back.
“I apologise, my lady. I didn’t want to interfere too soon, but it seems my little apprentice has preemptively tried meddling with you,” said Piaf Samawyn.
Am I still dreaming?
“It’s time for the big finale,” Luck piped up.
Piaf Samawyn’s hand seized Mahala’s face and fireworks erupted inside her skull, threatening to split it wide open. Even the wyrm tearing her body apart did not compare. Her very being skinned off her soul and her existence faded with it.
The wyrm woke up. It kicked her adrenaline into action and she screamed at the top of her lungs.
The hotel room replaced her home, great tongues of fire erupting like a fountain from her mouth. The room engulfed quickly.
Piaf Samawyn leaped back as Luck fired his switchsword at her.
He positioned himself in front of Mahala, facing the magus with his weapon trained on her.
“We’re getting out of here,” said Luck. He placed his free hand on Mahala’s shoulder.
Nothing happened.
“L-Luck…” Mahala gurgled, her vision still spinning, smoke in her breath.
Luck’s eyes went wide. “I don’t understand, my magic is—”
He blocked a kick from Piaf Samawyn. She spun and launched a series of attacks which Luck fended off with the switchsword. He fired again and it only snagged her sleeve. His elbow looped hers and he threw her over his shoulder, but she slammed both feet on the ground, saving her spine.
Her hand shot up to Luck’s throat. He roared and buckled to his knees, his head thrown back and jaw wide open.
Mahala saw light flicker above his head — a ring, a ghostly circle that trembled like warbling glass.
She stumbled out of bed and tackled Piaf Samawyn. A sudden pulse through the wyrm sparked her muscles afire. The mere weight of her foot snapped wood as she launched herself at Piaf Samawyn so hard they flew off the ground and out of the closed window. Broken glass sprayed around them.
Six storeys down, the street so far away, panic finally set in.
Piaf Samawyn pulled Mahala into a tight embrace. Mahala could do nothing but scream.
They met the ground, but there was no impact. They fell into blinding light, like sunlight through a crack in a dark room. Light so bright it shrieked.
She was caught in a violent stream made of something. She didn’t know what. Her breath left her body like whenever Luck teleported her, but worse. The maelstrom stole all the air out of her lungs. The light robbed her of her sight, the stream of her touch, her hearing…
Hundreds of voices were clambering on top of eachother. She could not understand them. They were ancient words with vowels deep as an ocean, and syllables that crossed the line of reality, dragging nails over her ears, ripping through her body causing him to convulse and her heart to drum so loud and fast until the beats blurred together.
Wh- Where am I? What did I fall in–
Her very thoughts were being ripped by the sinews. The wyrm seared at her chest like her first turning.
Who am I? I am Dusk. Unlucky. I am what is left of the Old World. I am Mahala Pesh. Isn’t that right, Hacksaw? I am a child of Dusk, I am the daughter of the Lord Protector. WHO AM I? I cannot be perceived or understood by your small self. It is by the first god’s design. I had rebirthed many times to become—
A high pitch giggle broke through. Dark shapes swam in her vision.
Fish fireworks?
No, the shapes were more defined, with fins, arms, and long hair.
Mermaids. Daughters of the third god, Agura.
“Oh, look! A baby dragon drowning in a leyline!” they cooed in scratchy, reedy rasps.
“Our father comes for you, little dragon!”
“And your father will be the one who delivers you. Sister said so…!”
Their webbed hands reached for her. Something else pulled at the back of her shirt in the opposite direction. The mermaids just laughed, unbothered by their lost prey.
The surface came up to meet her and she breathed air once again.
Luck’s gloves hands wrapped around her waist. She could hear his voice muffled through layers of sharp ringing. Her head rolled to the side, spotting black glitter crackling on the ground, like the ring she saw around her father’s neck.
Does father have a mermaid with him…?
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Luck wasn’t sure what happened. His mind was left whirling from a single touch of the Sleeping Magus. Heat jabbed his legs, anchoring him to reality.
The fire was as good a motivator as any to get the hell out.
“Lady…” She wasn’t there. He saw the broken window and scrambled after it.
Outside was nothing but broken glass. He caught faint silver threads along the ground. Leylines? He hadn’t seen them so visible outside of the Pomolin-Shiran border.
The threads came together into a glowing cobweb. Mome Samawyn shot out of the ground in a spurt of light. She heaved out Mahala with her.
Luck teleported next to them and caught Mahala before she bounced off the street. His hands trembled — he at least had that spell back. The Lady shivered violently, but at least she was alive. Mome had managed to land on her feet.
He glared at the young girl. “What happened?!”
“M-Mome was only trying to meet with Master!” Mome protested.
A curtain of light sprung from the ground, and a second figure stepped through; light melted away from their wooden mask, red robes, and a long gold earring.
“The Sleeping Magus,” Luck greeted curtly.
Mome stepped between Luck and Piaf Samawyn. “Don’t! Mome only wanted peace!”
“Hand over the forktongue, homunculus. This is beyond a simple puppet like yourself,” spoke Piaf Samawyn.
She strode forward, popping knuckles. Luck held Mahala tighter to his chest, his switchsword unfolded. His eyes locked on the roof above them, but again nothing happened. Piaf Samawyn was definitely messing with his magic.
Mome glanced back at Luck. “Eyes closed!”
That was all the warning he got before Mome stomped her foot. An earthquake cracked the street and light punched through the stone, spraying debris everywhere. The hotel wall lurched, all its windows exploding with the wave of energy.
A wall of light erupted between Mome and Piaf Samawyn. Horrifying screams spat out with the light, and the street around them began to cave in, but not quite. The dimensions of the ground and tree themselves hurt to look at, some essence of existence gone in an instant.
In shock, “Did you burst a leyline?” Luck yelled.
Mome clung to his arm. “GO, GO!”
A familiar warmth shocked him through her hands. His soul rattled with magic.
Half blind, he focused on a bell tower in the distance and they teleported together. A few more flickers, and they thudded on a moving train as it rumbled out of the local station.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
The train jostled in the night. Luck lowered Mahala onto the seat with his coat pulled over her. She was locked in sleep despite how much she stirred. Her teeth clattered together as she curled into a ball.
Luck squeezed one of her trembling hands, searing a freezing burn through his gloves.
“The Lady went through a leyline,” said Mome. “They are full of spells being ciphered out loud. Master thinks it’s coded in the gods’ tongue but best not to think too much about it. Ikka can’t really survive that kind of journey, but perhaps a forktongue can!”
Luck threw a sharp glare at the girl. “What does your Master want with Lady Mahala?” he growled.
Mome’s ears flopped down and she sank into her seat. She didn’t respond.
“Answer me, apprentice,” Luck said.
“M-Master just wanted to look at the Lady’s wyrm,” she protested.
“Why? What interest does the Magus of Prayer have in the plague? What interest do you have in this?”
Mome squirmed and tugged on her ears. “Master’s been… travelling. A lot. Mome has been trying to follow but she’s too fast. She never stopped anywhere, not until Master encountered the Lady! Mome thought Master would come back for the Lady… and perhaps it’d be easier to meet if the Lady wasn’t in a giant tall castle…”
“You helped us for the chance to see your Master again,” Luck said flatly. “What does it matter if Lady Mahala is in a castle?”
Mome slumped even further. “Leylines… they only run along the earth… it’s difficult to get to tall places from them. Mome wouldn’t have been able to hide very well…”
Seeing how the Sleeping Magus could seemingly switch off his magic, getting past one sleeping homunculus didn’t seem too impossible a task. He could however see how a child would be intimidated by the size of Throne Obsidia, swarming all hours the day with homunculi soldiers, security guards, and shrewd staff.
“You still haven’t explained why your Master is interested in the Lady’s wyrm,” he said.
Mome chewed on her bottom lip. She tugged on her ears and tapped her feet. An entire minute stretched by.
“Answer me!” Luck snapped.
The girl yelped and dropped through the ground in a crack of light.
“Samawyn!” he hissed. “Damn you, Samawyn, get back here!”
Mome did not return.
“Shit.”
He didn’t expect her to immediately high-tail it.
Mahala whimpered, pressing his hand against her cheek for warmth. She wasn’t getting any better. He hoisted her onto his lap, wrapping her tight in his coat. It was unprofessional, but he clutched her to his chest, hoping to transfer some warmth. She buried her face into his shoulder, her breath tickling his neck. The light feather sensations sparked his heart with every exhale, a reminder that she was alive. Alive and here in his arms—
“Don’t be crude,” he mumbled to himself.
“Don’t be what?” Mahala mumbled in return, eyes fluttering.
Luck reeled back a little, but to no avail as Mahala tried to seek out his warmth, chasing her nose into the crook of his neck. He felt her breath against his pulse, sending sharp tingles down his spine.
“Apologies, my lady. I was afraid you were going into shock–” he began.
“Shut up and stay still,” Mahala hissed between clattering teeth, her cheek pressed to him, the many layers of his uniform feeling like not enough. “It’s freezing.”
“I believe it’s because you were dragged into a leyline. It’s a miracle you’re even alive,” he gripped her just a hair tighter.
“People keep saying that, and I don’t believe them.” Mahala wriggled underneath his coat, her hands searching for something. “The wyrm… it’s so cold..”
“Your wyrm in your–?” He cut himself off. His gaze lowered to where the wyrm was — over her heart. “I can… go find a service cart. Get a heated drink?”
“How long will that take?” she whispered against his jaw. “Are they even open this late?”
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” he said, the words strangling at his throat. The cart was probably unmanned and closed up but he knew how to make a bloody coffee.
“So you’re going to leave me alone here?” The closest she’d ever come to this before were the times that he offered her his coat, and even that felt like overstepping.
How could he have hoped to deny her this time? Luck thought further. “I will stay with you, my lady.”
“Give me your hand.”
“What?”
She seized his hand and peeled off his glove. Luck flinched. His hand was wrinkled, patchy, calloused — nothing like his Lady’s soft, slender fingers that wrapped around his.
“It won’t bite,” she said. She must have seen something on his face as she clarified, “The wyrm, I mean.”
Luck’s mind turned fuzzy. “Not unless you bite me yourself. I think.” He should be court-martialed for that thought. It would be added to his long list of crimes once he returned to his brothers, including holding the Lady’s hand bare.
Any thought of what he would be tried for vanished once he felt her tugging on something. He looked down to check, only to swallow as she pulled at the front collar of her dress. He nearly lost control of his mandibles as she pressed the back of his hand against the wyrm nestled over her breast. Luck inhaled sharply, getting his jaw under control, and didn’t dare exhale. He looked away, and started mentally reciting the switchsword maintenance manual.
In his lap, the Lady sighed in relief. The wyrm twitched under his knuckles, the skin swelled to meet his touch — or perhaps the wyrm.
He had yet to breathe. His blood drummed in his ears. Her skin was clammy, his knuckle grazed a groove — was that where he stabbed her? The more the wyrm writhed, the more he imagined the network of tendrils working through her entire body — he couldn’t imagine how painful it was. If it was even close to the pain that he remembered at the beginning of his existence as a homunculus, then — his joints locked up, willing himself not to tremble.
Her fingers loosened around his.
“My lady?” he whispered.
Her eyes were closed again, no longer squirming, no longer ice to the touch. Her cheek against his collar seared him instead. Every breath against his chest blew away any semblance of drowsiness.
He had been avoiding staring too close all day; now finally he could confirm the scarring was all gone. Lady Mahala laid whole in his arms, rosy-cheeked, her smooth skin and delicate lashes making Luck ache to brush his finger against them. Her red lips parted slightly, almost like a ki–
Luck shot up to his feet, laid her down proper, and tucked her under his coat. He sat in the seat opposite her, hands firmly on his knees, determined to maintain this position for the rest of the journey. Unless one of his brothers found them and rightfully smacked him upside the head.
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