by Tom Howard
in Issue 127, August 2022
The moment Izak the Traveler saw the girl’s violet eyes, he knew he had to save her.
He’d stopped before sunset at an inn on the King’s Highway. The place was simple but clean. The long common room held wooden tables situated around the giant hearth in the center of the room. At this early hour and this time of year, the fire was banked, and Izak was the room’s only occupant.
The innkeeper, Anna, remembered him from earlier visits and brought him a tankard of ale without being asked. His reputation as a drinker accompanied him like the worn and faded cloak he wore. She assumed he was a simple peddler. In Atlos, the less someone was suspected of using magic, the more likely they were to keep their heads on their shoulders.
A large man led the amethyst-eyed girl into the common room. He wore homespun and had the overdeveloped arms and wide shoulders of a smithy or fieldhand. Although a dark beard covered most of his face, he looked young.
The girl, no more than ten-years-old, wore rags, and her face and hair were covered in dirt. An iron ring clamped her neck and was attached to a heavy chain the man held. Although Izak’s heart went out to the poor creature, he shouldn’t interfere with a man returning what appeared to be a runaway slave.
The innkeeper set a bowl of greasy stew in front of Izak and put her hands on her hips. “What is this then?” she asked the man.
“I’m off to collect the bounty on this witch girl,” the big man said. “We need a room for the night.”
“I don’t like having a sorceress in my inn even if she’s yet a babe.” The woman scowled. “The king’s men come by frequently. They wouldn’t like it.”
The man tugged the chain. “I’m taking her to them. She’s harmless with cold iron around her neck.”
If the girl was a witch, she had a doomed future. As a hidden wizard himself, he sympathized with her situation. How had the man captured a witch so young? Usually, they didn’t manifest abilities until they were older.
But her eyes… She wasn’t frightened or cowed but stared directly at Izak with her lavender eyes. It was almost as if she expected to see him. He looked away. It was none of his business.
He could still feel her looking at him.
Taking another drink of his watery ale, he cursed misfortune for dropping the girl into his lap. Why did he always get thrown into situations where he had to be the hero or die? He’d recently declined a position as the court magician of the new Vandorian king after helping him regain his kingdom. The constant demands on Izak’s mediocre abilities and the easy access to soft beds and fine wines had convinced him to hit the road before he became too lazy to escape. He didn’t like to form attachments.
Izak had purchased a donkey and some trade goods before entering Atlos. Planning to keep his head down and go west along the King’s Highway to Pygaria, the land of wizards, he told himself he drank to ease his nerves.
In Pygaria, he’d visit old friends but avoid his wife. Her sharp tongue was the reason he traveled. He wasn’t proud of it, but he couldn’t stand the woman.
“You and the girl can stay for the night,” the innkeeper said. “Keep her out of sight of the customers. I’ll feed you and provide your drinks down here in the common room, but she’s to remain chained in your room. I’ll bring her bread and water.”
The man dug into his purse and dropped coins into the woman’s waiting palm. “Thank you.”
The man and child followed the innkeeper up the stairs, but the girl turned to give Izak a last look.
He’d paid a few coppers to sleep in the stable with Sevina, the most cantankerous donkey in the Three Lands. It wasn’t spite that made him name the donkey after his wife. They had similar obstinate personalities. By sleeping in the stable, he’d make the gold coins the king had given him last longer and ensure his pots and pans didn’t disappear in the night.
Short, bald, and wearing a dusty cloak, he didn’t appear to be the evil magician the Atlosians feared him to be. He took a bite of the stew. Cold. If he were smart, he’d finish a couple more tankards, retire to the stable, and leave before the man and girl in the morning.
The girl’s eyes haunted him as he stared at his ale. Legend said everyone in long-destroyed Engoria had those eyes. The powerful mages had died challenging the gods. Until he’d seen the girl, Izak believed there were no surviving Engorians. Untrained and unsupervised, an Engorian girl might prove a threat to everyone in the Three Lands. The eyes could be an accident of nature, but Izak suspected otherwise. How had she let herself be captured?
No. He’d get a good night’s sleep and go on by himself in the morning. With luck, he’d never see the girl again. Violet eyes or not, she wasn’t his responsibility.
He took a drink of ale, but it tasted bitter. If he’d been born in Atlos instead of Pygaria, he might have been in her position, chained and headed for the headman’s block. He’d developed magic abilities later as a young man. His grandfather had recognized the signs and helped Izak enter the university. What if his grandfather hadn’t been around?
The girl’s captor, his clothing as faded and worn as Izak’s, came down the stairs with the innkeeper.
When she went to fetch the man food and drink, Izak gestured to his end of the long table. “Please, sit here. You must have an interesting tale to tell.”
The man sat on the bench opposite Izak. “I’m tired from watching the witch. I’m afraid she’ll kill me at the first chance.”
“How did you catch her? She seems very young.”
The man didn’t thank their hostess when she brought the ale and a bowl of the stew Izak hadn’t finished.
“I’m Amos,” he said. “A Graymound miner. I should be working with my brothers now, but two nights ago, I returned to camp to find everyone asleep and this girl going through their pockets.”
He implied she was robbing them of their coppers, but Izak suspected the gaunt child was more interested in their food.
“She’d hexed them asleep,” Amos said. “She tried to put a spell on me, but I thumped her good. There’s a bounty on witches, so I’m taking her to the capital for the reward.”
“How will they know she’s a witch?” Izak asked. The king’s men tested suspected magicians by torturing them until they confessed. If they died, they weren’t witches. The ones who survived obviously were and were beheaded.
“They have ways. I’ll see them chop off her head. She’s dangerous.” Amos drank the entire flagon of ale before attacking the stew.
“She’s just a child,” Izak said. If the girl was using wild magic, she didn’t know what she was doing. The miner and his brothers were lucky to be alive. If she had more experience, she’d know that iron could be overcome with a spell. It was one of the first enchantments he’d learned at Wizard University when he’d come of age.
He ordered another tankard of ale. How many would he have to drink before he forgot about the doomed girl and her violet eyes?
* * *
Later, he kicked himself for making yet another bad decision and loaded the donkey with the bags he’d left in the stall. He took a deep breath and counted the reasons not to rescue the girl. The weak ale had extended his bladder but not dimmed his wits. At best, he’d release a powerful enchantress on the world. At worst, the king’s men would torture him and cut off his head.
Pygaria to the west and Vandoria to the north appreciated their supernatural citizens. Atlos blamed wizards and witches for every bad thing that happened: rough weather, lost crops, plagues. The king imprisoned potion makers, magic shop owners, and fortune tellers. Neighbors testified against them in exchange for the bounty and the accused’s assets. Executioners and their axes were kept busy. Atlosians prided themselves on being “normal” countrymen such as miners who chained up little girls.
Sevina felt the bags being loaded and brayed in protest.
Izak smiled. “I know, old girl. It’s time for sleeping and not traveling.” The spell Izak had cast on the miner’s ale should make him sleep like a baby. Izak would cast an additional memory spell on Amos when he rescued the girl.
The miner had repeated his story of a fearsome attack by a mad witch-child to customers as they bought him drinks. He bragged about her being unable to hex him. Maybe, like Izak’s, the girl’s powers came and went of their own volition. In his case, his magic powers increased when he was inebriated or fearing his own life. Making his four-legged companion stop nipping at him or rainclouds dissipate weren’t influenced by his magic.
Sevina kicked at him, but Izak stood back, familiar with her tricks. Izak and the child would have to stay off the King’s Highway and add weeks to the journey to Pygaria, but the university was the safest place for the girl.
Izak crept to the back of the inn. No lights were visible, and his magic unlocked the door soundlessly. Either he was still affected by the ale or his life was in danger. He hoped the former.
On the second floor, he listened at the closed doors. At the faint clinking of chains, he unlocked the third door. The girl sat on a blanket on the floor at the end of the bed, waiting. Amos lay asleep on the bed, snoring loudly. The bespelled ale had worked.
Izak moved to place his hands above Amos’ head. He’d fabricated a memory spell to make Amos think he’d sold the girl to a passing bounty hunter. One of his precious gold coins in the miner’s purse would be proof of the transaction.
The girl watched him, her violet eyes aglow in the darkness, but didn’t speak. He wondered if she could.
Grabbing the chain that held the girl to the bed, Izak pulled it tight and cast a heat spell, and one link turned red as if it had been heated in the forge. Molten iron dripped onto the floor. Izak reversed the spell, not wanting to burn down the inn.
Izak gathered the chain and headed toward the door. The girl followed. He’d remove the iron collar when they got somewhere safe. Now they needed distance. If he backtracked to Vandoria, it would take months to reach Pygaria. The girl needed to be in Pygaria as soon as possible for the safety of everyone. Let them figure out what to do with her.
In the stable, Izak lifted the girl onto the donkey, surprised how light she was. He led them to the open road, west along the King’s Highway on the stretch of fertile land between Ganame, the Great Desert to the north, and Mordock, the Deadly Desert to the south. Mordock had formerly been Engoria, destroyed along with its people. While the Great Desert contained life in its many oases along the White River, Mordock’s sands were lifeless and were fatal to anyone attempting to cross them. Not one lizard, blade of grass, or drop of water existed in Mordock.
Near where Izak and his small companion, sleeping against the bags on Sevina’s bony back, trod in the darkness, the White River turned abruptly west, as if it feared entering the dead lands of Mordock.
The sooner they were off the main road, the better. Several paths, barely trails, led west, connecting the King’s Highway with small villages hidden among the hills. He was familiar with most of the byways. Although he hoped Amos’ memory spell worked, Izak’s magic was capricious. He couldn’t rely on it to protect them.
South, toward Mordock, had fewer trails and inhabitants. The king’s men might not look for them there right away.
Izak shook his head, too tired to think beyond the next couple of miles.
* * *
Izak examined the iron collar in the morning light. “Can you speak?”
“Yes,” she said. “What are you doing? Doesn’t that hurt?” She flinched when he pulled the collar closer to examine the clasp.
“Touching iron? No, it’s an easy counter-spell. I’ll show you. You rust the exterior, and it doesn’t hurt you. What’s your name?”
“My grandfather called me Tadpole.” She sat while Izak worked on the collar fitted to her small neck.
“I’m Izak,” he said. “I’ll get my tools. This will be easier to unscrew than burn. You might get hurt.” They’d stopped in a secluded grove before dawn to sleep for a few hours. He’d left the main road when he found a southern trail.
On his return with tongs, he said, “When I remove this, you can run away, but this land is very dangerous to you and me. There is a safe place for us, Pygaria, a land where many people are wizards. I’m heading there, and you’re welcome to come with me. Understand?” If she chose to run, she was no longer his responsibility.
“My grandfather warned me about the witch-hunters, but when he died, I had to leave the mountain where we lived.”
Izak held the bolt head and twisted. “Were your grandfather’s eyes the same color as yours?”
“No. And he couldn’t start fires or find water like me. He said my mother could, but she died soon after I was born.”
The bolt came off, and the collar fell away. Izak threw it and the chain into the bushes. “Tadpole, how about breakfast?”
She flexed her small hand, her dirty fingers long and thin. “Thank you. I need to wash. I sense a spring nearby.”
“I’m familiar with it,” Izak said. “I’ve been through here before. So, you’re going to Pygaria with me?”
She nodded. “If they aren’t afraid of what I can do.”
“Staying here on your own could get you killed,” Izak said. “I’m hoping the king’s men have better things to do than chase after a ten-year-old girl.”
“Twelve,” she said. “Although Grandfather never told me for sure.”
Izak wasn’t surprised. Likely, the old man had adopted the girl since he been neither Engorian nor a magician. Were there still powerful Engorians out there? Should he worry about what Tadpole would grow up to become? Already, she was doing spells without training or experience. When she became an adolescent, her abilities might become dangerous.
Izak dug a bar of soap and one of his undershirts from his bag. Her rags were too filthy to clean.
He handed her the soap. “Do you know what this is?”
She nodded.
“When you’re finished,” he said, “come back to the camp, and we’ll eat before we continue our journey. Bring the soap with you but leave your clothes. Wear my old shirt.”
She nodded and disappeared into the trees.
By the time he removed bread and cheese from his pack and placed the food on a low rock, she returned. He brought out a skein of wine, one of his diminishing stock, and a cup for Tadpole.
Clean and dressed in Izak’s undershirt, she could have been his granddaughter.
She stared at the cup he handed her, and it filled with water. Elemental magic.
“I’m milking water from the air,” she said.
“I see. Handy.” Controlling the elements was difficult and a rare ability. If the Atlosians discovered she used Old Magic, they might imprison her and force her to work for them against their neighbors. Likely they’d kill her at the first opportunity, but there were few elemental magicians, and they were powerful.
“If you melt the cheese on the bread,” he said, “it’s much easier to eat.” To demonstrate, he cast a spell on the cheese, and it softened and spread on his piece of bread.
She smiled and placed a slab of cheese on her bread. Staring at it, she cried out when the bread and cheese caught fire and left her with a blackened lump of incinerated food. She dropped it and sucked her burnt fingers.
“My apologies,” Izak said. “I’ll teach you control exercises. Are you hurt?”
She showed him her blistered fingers.
He cast a healing spell on her hand, and she smiled again. His strongest magic was healing because he used it the most.
“Can you show me how to do that?” she asked.
He split his bread in half to share with her. “Yes. Eat up, and we’ll be on our way.” She must have some control. Otherwise, the cup she’d filled with water could have been a rushing river.
“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”
“You’re welcome.”
Pushing the imaginary sound of galloping hooves of the king’s men’s horses from his mind, he emptied the skein of wine.
* * *
The following days fell into a routine of rising early, loading Sevina, and plodding from one small village to another isolated homestead. They passed local people on the road and visited with them about the weather. In the decade since Izak had last walked these trails, little had changed. Verdant pastures and golden fields surrounded them. Tadpole, once so quiet, chattered about magic and absorbed the lessons Izak taught her.
Recalling his own university education, he explained the use of command words and how they helped shape the wizard’s intent when spellcasting. Saying “fire,” or thinking it, didn’t really cause flames to burst forth. It was the wizard’s will and physical energy that created the spell. The words helped define and control the effect.
“If I say ‘disappear,’ will it make the men following us go away?” she asked. She walked beside Sevina at the end of another day. He took the other side, using a tree branch for a staff. Like him, she worried they were being followed.
“No, but it’s a lovely thought,” Izak said. “It might make them invisible. Creating and destroying something takes a lot of energy. It could drain a young witch to the point of being unable to recover.”
She nodded. With her hair plaited down her back and Izak’s undershirt belted around her, Tadpole looked older than twelve years. Clean and fed, she appeared less an evil witch child. He’d miss her company when they reached Pygaria.
Izak tested her raw magic ability as he gave her lessons on its use. She, like most wizards, was more skillful in some areas than others. She had an affinity for water and fire. Unlike Izak, she had little skill at healing. But, this morning, she’d barely singed the cheese when softening it.
Yesterday, she had refused to take a trail Izak intended to use, insisting it “smelled bad.” Unsure of how powerful Tadpole’s magic senses were, Izak took another road. Soon after, he saw several riders racing along the other trail. So much for his memory spell. Amos must have reported Tadpole’s disappearance to the king’s men and mentioned an old peddler had disappeared with her.
Tadpole saw the men in the distance. “Can you kill them?” she asked.
The question startled him. “No. We’ve many ways to defeat our enemies without killing them such as your sleep spell. We mustn’t give the Atlosians more reasons to fear us.”
She nodded, and Izak sighed in relief. An elemental could drown a human being in their own spit or boil their blood. He doubted if his magical abilities could protect him if she decided he was a threat.
He hadn’t told her of his theory she was a powerful Engorian, perhaps the last of her kind. He also hadn’t mentioned most witches her age could not do the things she could. The university teachers would have their hands full with Tadpole.
She had an unnerving way of telling what he was thinking. “Will you stay with me in Pygaria?” she asked.
“At the university? No. I didn’t leave there with a good record.” He’d been kicked out, and the current High Wizard still detested him. “But I’ll be in Pygaria for a while.”
“Why do you travel so much? Are you in trouble?”
He chuckled. “Frequently. I have a wife in Pygaria, but she doesn’t approve of my drinking and thinks of ways I can constantly improve myself. The longer I am away, the more I appreciate her.”
“Will she leave Pygaria to look for you?”
“Not likely, but I have a spell to warn me if she ever does.” A distance from the riders, he pulled a map from his bag. Unrolling it, he took a small vial of blood from his bag and opened it. Dripping droplets onto the map, the blood trickled toward the ocean and stopped. “She’s at home in Myomer-by-the-Sea,” he said. “I’m safe. She doesn’t leave town often, but I check to make sure.”
“Is that a magic map?” she asked.
“No, it’s a spell. I’ll show it to you. It requires a sample of the blood of the person you’re looking for.”
“The King’s Highway is busy.” She frequently changed the subject when it came to matters that she didn’t understand. “I was afraid when we crossed it.”
There were places where Ganame almost touched Mordock, and the King’s Highway was the only route to the west. They used it at night and for short distances. Named for the Atlosian king’s upkeep and patrols, the highway was the country’s safest thoroughfare. For everyone but them.
“We’ll reach Pygaria in another week,” he said. “We’ll have a good night’s rest at Atwater. The Atwaters are old friends.” As he spoke, they entered a valley of cultivated fields and stone fences. Houses dotted the landscape, and a rider rode to meet them.
“Paxton!” Izak shouted at the young man’s approach.
“Izak!” the dark-haired youth swung down from his horse and gave the old man a hug. “Father will be glad to see you.”
“How’s the leg?” Izak held Paxton by the shoulders and examined him.
“Good as new. You can’t tell I was ever hurt. Thanks to you.” He bowed at Izak’s companion. “I see you’ve brought a princess with you.”
Tadpole smiled and hung her head.
“This is my granddaughter, Tad… Tadia.” Izak couldn’t call her a polliwog. “She’s helping me in the peddling trade this summer. How is the family?”
“Everyone is fine,” he said. “I’ll escort you to the big house. As usual, you’re in time for supper.” He walked his horse beside Tadpole.
“Your grandfather is one of the family,” Paxton told the newly named Tadia. “He’s always welcome here. You, too.”
“Thank you,” she said but didn’t lift her head.
After Sevina was unloaded by the swarm of babbling children and placed in the corral with the farm’s horses, Izak and Tadia were welcomed by Mr. and Mrs. Atwater and whatever offspring was not working the fields or the quarry, the family business.
Izak sat alone with Mr. Atwater, a large man with an enviable beard and quick laugh. In front of Izak was a tankard of some of the family’s corn beer, a heady and potent drink. If Izak had another donkey, he might barter for a few barrels of it. Not as strong as wine, the homebrew was much stronger than an innkeepers’ watery ale.
Tadia had disappeared with Paxton and some of the younger siblings to tour the farm.
“I’m glad to see the place looks as good as ever,” Izak said.
“So, you’re a peddler now,” the big man said, his voice deep and loud. “Seems you were a country doctor the last time you passed through.”
“Not enough sick people this close to the capital,” Izak said. “So, I’m selling axe heads to farmers and needles to housewives. You don’t have anyone sick, do you? Paxton doesn’t even have a limp.”
“Aye, he’s great. I thought he’d lost that leg for sure.”
Izak nodded. Paxton’s leg had been crushed in a rockslide at the quarry. Setting the broken bone had been easy but reattaching the blood vessels and tendons before gangrene set in had been a challenge. Afterward, Izak needed more time to recuperate than Paxton.
Mr. Atwater leaned closer as if he didn’t want to be overheard. “Izak, the king’s men were through here yesterday looking for a peddler and a girl. I didn’t think it could be you.”
“Did they say why they were looking for us?”
“Something about the girl being a witch and killing her entire village before attacking some miners.”
“That’s all nonsense.” He hoped. “We’ll leave tonight if it’s going to be a problem.”
Mr. Atwater sat back. “You’ll do no such thing. You’re family here. If they return, we’ll say we never saw you.” He leaned forward again. “Is the lass really a witch?”
“Don’t ask questions that I can’t answer, brother.” Although he’d never admitted to being a wizard to the Atwaters, they must know he wasn’t a simple healer. “Is tomorrow morning good enough?”
“Longer if you’d like. The king’s men are no match for my lads and lasses.” The Atwaters had twelve children, most of them married with children of their own. Dozens of people lived in the Atwater valley, and each of them could defend it. He’d seen chair-bound Paxton shoot an arrow through a chicken hawk’s eye.
But Izak didn’t want his friends labeled as wizard collaborators and taken into custody or killed.
“You could leave the lass here,” Mr. Atwater said. “If they’re looking for a peddler and a girl, let her remain with us while you continue. We’ll take good care of her.”
“I appreciate that, but she needs to be with people who can help her.” Besides, he couldn’t leave the Atwaters with a girl capable of wild magic. He doubted that she’d killed her village, and he knew the miners weren’t attacked. They were whispered asleep by a novice. It could have been worse. He couldn’t abandon her.
“We’ll leave in the morning,” Izak repeated. “Departing before we eat your wife’s roast lamb would be a crime.”
“I agree to that.” Mr. Atwater raised his tankard in a toast.
Izak tapped the man’s drink and tried not to let concern show on his face.
* * *
Someone shook him awake in the middle of the night.
“Izak, wake up!” Tadia looked down at him. “The king’s men are here.”
“What?”
“I can smell them. Mr. Atwater’s sons are delaying them while Paxton takes us to the quarry. There’s a way out of the valley from there.”
He took her small lantern, lit with a squat candle, and shook the cobwebs out of his head. “Someone must have seen us,” Izak said.
While the family delayed the visitors, Paxton led them to the quarry and down to the valley floor. Torches and shouting filled the valley.
In the quarry, Paxton skirted raw stone and entered a small cave. Intended as a last stand against potential attackers, the cave opened into a large cavern, well-stocked with water casks and dried foodstuffs. Paxton lit a waiting torch with Izak’s lantern.
“From here,” Paxton said in a low voice, “a tunnel opens outside the valley. I’m sorry we couldn’t bring your donkey.”
Izak appreciated the personal packs they had salvaged. The Atwaters could use the goods he left behind.
“I can go with you if you’d like.” Paxton helped Tadia over some loose shale. “Or bring your donkey to you in the morning after the king’s men leave.”
“No,” Izak said. “Your family has helped us enough. Go back to them.”
Paxton nodded. “The tunnel goes upward and then down again before it opens near Mordock. Be careful.”
“Thank you,” Izak said. “We’ll be fine. Tell your father I hope we haven’t brought trouble into his house.”
“Halt!” someone yelled behind them. A lone swordsman, wearing the king’s livery, ran into the cavern.
“Go,” Paxton said. “I’ll hold him off.” The torch was his only weapon.
Before Izak could protest or do anything, the king’s man raced forward and swung his sword at Paxton. The young man went down, and the torch went out.
“No!” Tadia screamed and raised her arms in the air.
In the light from the lantern, their attacker seemed to float upward, his face contorted in fear and surprise as his feet left the ground.
The man writhed as if he was being squeezed by an invisible hand. The wind. She was using the air around the man to crush him. He shrieked like a wounded animal.
“Tadpole, stop!” Izak shouted. “You’re killing him.”
“He killed Paxton,” Tadia said.
“No.” Izak held up the lantern. “He’s still breathing. Let the king’s man down. Please.”
“He wants to kill us.” Her face contorted with rage.
Izak moved in front of her. “If we murder him, we’ll be as bad as the Atlosians. Is that the dark path you want to take for the rest of your life?”
She focused on him. “What choice do I have?”
“The same one you had with the miners. Make him sleep until we escape.”
Tears ran down her cheeks. The man, passed out from fear or pain, drifted to the floor of the cave.
Izak bent to check on Paxton. His opponent had hit him with the side of his blade instead of the edge. “He’ll be bruised, but I can’t find any serious damage.”
He moved to the king’s man. “Same here. I’ll make him forget he never found us.” Making someone forget was easier than giving them a false memory.
Paxton moaned and sat up. “What happened?”
“You were very brave.” Izak helped him to his feet. “This poor man stumbled and hit his head. You need to go for help.”
Tadia wiped her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
Izak nodded. Witches were not killers, even when attacked.
“Again, give your father our thanks,” Izak said. The king’s men should depart and not harass the Atwaters further. Raising the lantern, Izak entered the tunnel at the rear of the cavern.
Tadia took a last look at Paxton and followed Izak.
Climbing up the tunnel, Izak said, “You did well back there, Tadia. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you,” she said, “but I wanted to kill that man for hurting Paxton.”
“But you didn’t. At the university, they’ll teach you how to use your powers better than I can.”
“No. I’m not ready. I’ll going into the desert. Grandfather said my mother came from there.”\
“No, you mustn’t. It’s called the Deadly Desert for a reason. No one can live there.”
She placed her hand on his arm. “My mother’s people are there, Izak. You’ve taught me how to use my magic. I’ll use my blood on the map to find my people.”
“I can’t leave you alone again,” he said. She was the first family he’d had. He turned and continued walking. A draft blew out the lantern, but it lit itself again. “Thank you,” he said.
They left the tunnel at the base of a mountain as the sky to the east was lightening. A hundred feet away, the dead sands of Mordock waited like a gray ocean.
Tadia hugged him. “Thank you for the gift of a new name. It is much better than Tadpole. We will see each other again. In the meantime, look for children like me and bring them here.”
Izak couldn’t think of a way to stop an elemental, even an inexperienced one. “Granddaughter, the desert will kill you.”
She smiled. “Where do you think I came from, Izak? Mordock cannot hurt me.”
She walked into the dunes, turning to wave as the morning sun painted Mordock gold. Would she find her family and return someday? What would she return as? Had he created a monster or pacified one? Only time would tell.
He needed a drink.
©August 2022, Tom Howard
Tom Howard is a fantasy and science fiction short story writer living in Little Rock, Arkansas. He thanks his friends and family for inspiration and the Central Arkansas Speculative Fiction Writers’ Group for their perspiration. His work has appeared in many places, including previously in Swords & Sorcery.