Eversolstice II

Chapter Two: Plan

The Sereniad saw how man was suffering at the hands of the monsters, and they declared, “Let us take the fire of the stars and build a lamp for the people.” So Yamuul, the Mighty One, traveled through the dark of the sky and devoured one thousand stars. Once he was filled with light, he made love to The Horizon herself. She became heavy with child, and gave birth to a resplendent daughter, Shahelama, The Sun herself. And her glory became a lamp for the people of the world.

-The Great Teacher

Of course there were libraries to raid, archives to peruse, substances and implements to brew and concoct and unearth. Reliable primary sources on the figure known as Allfather were unfortunately limited. There was also surprisingly little information on the long dead saint Garcigenicus Fabrola. The next nine months were slow progress, but there were other arcane pursuits to keep Celestra busy during the year.

She gave up on having a singular breakthrough and slowly began to stitch together the patchwork pieces of information that she had; a rumored link to the realm of Fairy, where Allfather supposedly had a massive workshop staffed by Fairy dwelling elves of small stature. If he lived in Fairy, he had to have an entry point from which he injected himself into The Blue World. She did some calculations, gathered some dowsing data and determined the place he seemed likely to arise. Fortune had it that this location was in the far north of Duma, so she found the nearest town to the Hatching Point and made her way there late in the month of Scorpion.

Celestra’s next task was to determine the time of hatching. She had to read far more nursery rhymes and children’s stories than she cared for. There was a certain kind of lyrical art to the rhymes, but it was all very simplistic; rhyming ‘clatter’ with ‘what was the matter’ and such. Combining these with the limited recorded reports, she found the earliest known gift deliveries. Nineteen-crow. That was very early evening, but dark came swiftly in the winter, especially in Duma. 

So, all she needed now was a method of capture. 

Allfather was rumored to have once been mortal, but he dwelt in the realm of Fairy, so it would be best to fit a sorcerer’s trap that was capable of binding both a material being and a fay, and a fay of uncounted power. Celestra was in over her head, but when was she not in over her head? The pursuit of immortality was not a simple numbers game.

So, to list the needed implements and reagents; firstly, I need a massive amount of cold iron. Iron does not always have much effect on more powerful fay, but it works like . . . well . . . magic on most of their kind. I would be wise to utilize as much of it as possible, given that this being is so unknown.

Next, in order to block possible teleportations-

“What are you going to use that for?” A light but defiant voice broke Celestra from her contemplations. She turned and saw a blonde-headed little rascal with large, darting purple eyes. Scobee. Scobs. Properly, Scobroltha Granador Hesmarr, son and heir of Lord Gnornoth Granador Hesmarr of House Hesmarr, but one would not have known Scobee for a lord or heir just by looking at him. He wore a short, blue tunic with several tears in it, a flat blue hat over his messy mop of hair, and white (fading to brown and gray) leggings. He smelled much like dung. His state of filth was not due to parental negligence, Celestra had decided, although his mother had passed away from Solom’s Sickness six months ago. No, Scobee just tended to do things that got him dirty every single day. Every single afternoon, the maids and staff fitted Scob with new, clean clothes, and every afternoon he ruined them, probably just to spite the maids and staff, Celestra thought. He was a terrible child.

“What are you doing with that, Vulchee?” Scobee, who was standing on her work desk, asked, pointing at the knife in her hand. It was her arthema, a magical implement used for binding and unbinding enchantments. Just now, she had been using it to absently trace binding circles on a thick piece of parchment while she thought out her plan. It was a powerful arthema called “Rootfang” but Scobee just saw a knife. 

I have asked him, near pleaded time and time again, never to call me ‘Vulchee’. I despise the name and how it sounds. It disgusts me.

“Going to drill somebody’s eyes out with it?” 

“No.” Celestra answered the six-year-old.

Don’t engage. If you engage, he’ll never move on.

“Going to slit my father’s throat and bleed him like a pig?” Scobee asked.

“Never! My lord!” It didn’t feel natural for her to refer to this dirty child as ‘My Lord’. She herself had once been the daughter of a lord, but that was long ago.

The little brute had something in his hand; an apple. He bit into it and got bits and juicy chunks all over the parchment. Some got on the plans she had piled up at the other end of the table.

“No!” she found herself raising her voice. 

“Careful there, woman.” said Scobee, sounding all too much like some of the crueler lords she had known, like a man and not a boy, “I could have your eyes removed for talking to me like that.”

Six years old and already dreaming of mutilating young women. What a little monster.

Celestra tried her very best never to interact with the brute. She had seen him pulling the wings off graceflies on her first day at the residence. 

I wonder if he killed his mother. The thought was a joke at first, but the more she repeated it to herself, the more it began to sound like a theory. 

“So, what are you using that knife for, lady?” he asked, putting his apple down and sitting with his legs dangling from the table.

“Nothing.” Celestra shrugged.

“You doing witchery?”

While magic and sorcery were by no means illegal in this part of the world, certain elements of her personal practice were perceived by many as ‘Dark Magic’ and ranged from very unpopular to straight out punishable. Since she was posing as a simple book-keeper, it would not do to have this little maggot perusing her necromantic devices. 

She stealthily slid her copy of ‘Roamansazar Feemalus’, a rare text on the darker side of Fairy for which she had had to kill three ogres, into her sleeve before the child could see it.

“You’re boring,” Scobee said, “Tell me about the knife.”

“It’s just for cutting cheese.” she suggested.

“There ain’t no cheese out here in the shed. I think you’re doing a murder.”
“Oh,” Celestra considered herself fairly good at misleading people with her words, but children were a different story, especially this child. He spat out terrible, horrible thoughts and ideas at a rate her brain could not keep up with.

“I want in.” said Scobee, conspiratorially.

“In on what, young lord?”

“The murder. I want to be involved. I can help you hide the body, Vulchee.”

Celestra wasn’t sure what to say, so she laughed awkwardly, “No murders here, young lord.” 

Scobee frowned, “Well, all right. I’ll believe you, but it’s just because you’re pretty and freaky.”

What in the hells does this six-year-old mean by that?

“Just promise me that if you do do a murder, you’ll come ask me for help.”

“Um . . . yes, young lord. I promise.” 

He seemed unconvinced, so she smiled the most demonic smile she could muster and raised her pinky.

“What’s that?” asked Scobee, pointing at the little digit. 

“The Pinky Oath.” Celestra replied, “It’s a ritual they have in Xintok, where the beast-men live. They say that if you break your pinky oath, the other party has a right to slice off your pinky-” Celestra lied, “And . . . eat it.” Making it more cruel and disgusting seemed to suit the young lord. Celestra remembered a little bit about what it was like to be a child, after all.

“Pinky Oath it is then.” said Scob, crossing his tiny finger with hers, “Cross me and cook me and rip my skin off.” he added to the oath.

“The bargain is struck.”

“Okay.” Scob said, then he hopped off the table and spat a huge wad of mucus on the floor, “Well, call me if you need anything, Miss Vulture.” he said. He took a spade from the corner and left out the front door, doubtless to do more damage and torture someone else.

Celestra sighed, glad to finally be rid of the little imp.

When she had agreed to take a position as a bookkeeper for a minor lord in the town of Thorppling, she had no idea about the man’s situation. Poor research on her part. It was a bad habit. 

Lord Hesmarr was less of a ruler and more of a sad man who sat and drank wine alone in his large house. His wife, Olgia, had apparently done most of the bookkeeping, but she had passed six months ago, leaving the man a wealthy bachelor. Celestra was not interested in seducing a lord, but she didn’t doubt that her appearance had helped her land the position. She wanted something that allowed her to blend in while she prepared her tricks and traps for the coming solstice. This situation had been completely ideal, besides the constant invasions of the demon child, and the constant invitations to dine with the lord, which she had to deny. However, he did happen to own an amazing library full of books he had probably never read or even looked at, and several of them had been useful to her.

Everything has a cost. She thought to herself. It was one of the most basic guiding principles of magic, and it was a reality that sometimes kept her up at night.

Now that the imp was gone, she could go back to her important business. The shopping list: a written list of all the implements she would need for her trap.

1. Iron, as pure as possible. At least ten scale in weight. 
2. Ground gorgon nettle, known to cause paralysis in most living beings. Already acquired from a traveling Crow Carriage in The Regency.
3. Fairy gold to strengthen the power of the seal, especially on fay. Already acquired from an old bog witch, at the cost of various bloods. 
4. Amber dust, expensive but easy enough to find. She would go shopping for it later in the day and mix it in with her regular sealing salt.
5. The ground horn of an ice gorhash. She had been tracking one for months, and, with just a touch of luck, she would have it in a day.

Celestra only had five days left before Feasteve and the solstice. She was definitely cutting it close, but at worst, she could attempt again the next year. However, she was impatient for results, so a gorhash had to be captured and dehorned, iron gathered and amber dust purchased. 

She closed up her books and stowed the important ones on her person, then she threw on her capelet, took her staff, and sheathed her arthema. It was only fifteen-crow, but it was already beginning to get dark. Her work with the lord’s papers and receipts had kept her for a while. Like all lords, he was planning to throw an extravagant party for Feasteve. She hoped to disappear before that time, the Allfather her captive, or at least his secrets. 

In a sense, this may be the very last Feasteve, at least as we know it. She might find it sad, if the wonder of her prize didn’t outweigh the nostalgia associated with the holy day.

She was dressed relatively light for the weather, a fetching black kirtle with a skirt that cut off at her thighs, dark leggings and a pair of knee-high boots. She had a fur-lined capelet on her shoulders, and around her neck hung a charm of puresilver, a large medallion shaped like a hand. She wore that for good luck more than anything else. Finally she took her green cloak and tossed it over herself. Her nature prevented her from suffering too much in the cold, but it was always nice to feel warm, and if she went around showing too much skin in this place, people would wonder about her.

She traveled out into the main street. It was a cold day, but it was always cold here in the northern reaches of Duma. 

The people flitted about happily as they made their purchases. Many of their houses were already decorated for The Feast. Holiday lanterns were hung and displayed; rounded, paper things with different kinds of radiant crystals inside, shining red and blue and green and orange, a glimmering rainbow that Celestra didn’t care to look at. She was a bit more interested in the wooden and paper beasts and fiends the people had crafted, creatively constructed, monstrous things with human and animal parts, many limbs, wings, and heads, in celebration of the dark season’s ending. Those were fun, but Celestra didn’t have time for childish frivolity.

She managed to track down the amber dust she needed, though it cost her a few golden tails, and the merchant, a tan, derith fellow with a lazy eye, seemed loath to part with it. It was probably the rarest thing he had in his little curio shop. 

Now that she had collected the dust, there was one more thing she needed to take care of for the day. 

–

She made her way carefully to the edge of town. She couldn’t afford to be seen here.

And that little imp is smarter than is healthy for him. I would hate to have to wipe his mind, or worse. She thought.

It was dark now. Heath wolves were howling in the distance.

Here there had once been a bridge, a watchhouse, and a few little huts. All were snow covered ruins now. At some point, this little outpost must have been attacked by the beasts in the mountains, and it was deemed pointless to rebuild. 

She made her way quickly under the roof of the broken bridge. This was where she kept Gaib.

“Good evening, Gaib. I hope you haven’t been too bored over the last few days.”

Gaib stared back with empty holes where his eyes should have been. He made no response. He was still like the grave.

“I didn’t forget about you, but it hasn’t been safe. I need your help.” she said, and the body stirred.

Only months ago, there had been flesh on these bones. Now he was nothing but a skeleton in warrior’s armor.

“Gaib.” she commanded, “Rise. I have a new task for you to complete.”