Bewilderment

BEWILDERMENT

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Angelika Fantilaga Rey Author Angelika F. Rey is a writer and an artist. She writes poems mostly about clouds, heavenly bodies and meteorological phenomena and short stories that involve magic and science fiction. Her first zine, Spectral Sphere, which debuted last year, sold out all copies within a day. Like last year’s zine, Bewilderment is a collection of poems and short stories that may as well be the writer’s magnum opuses within the timeframe it was created.

COVER, ILLUSTRATIONS & LAYOUT BY MICHAEL ANGELO FANDAGANI

Mafinfante

INTRODUCTION The unknown and the impossible are always fascinating, for me at least. Both science and magic had captured my interests, as you can see in this zine. It is entitled Bewilderment, because both the “logical” and “illogical” are within the pages of this zine.

The fifteen poems in this collection are about various heavenly bodies that I personally find strange and wondrous, such as Gliese 581c and Mira.

Mage, the first short story you will encounter, was actually written as my brother’s homework. It is about a boy longing for adventure and glory, but is too caught up on his head.

Brilliant Aura, the second short story, features a lady with an ambition and worked hard for it, but could be argued that luck was never on her side.

The Midnight Orchid, the third short story, follows a drifter kind of mercenary, who found something worth of his time.

POEMS

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Sagitarrius B2 Whoever made the universe must be a drunk space pirate, A greedy one at that Because his or her peak creation: A giant cloud of the raspberry rum that is poisonous to humans, if they ever dare to take a sip.

55 Cancri e When the scopes first laid their eyes on you, You were so precious A literal diamond Almost nine times The size of the Earth But are you?

Gliese 436 b Plebian ice forms at absolute zero Your ice forms four times water’s boiling point Defying logic, is it not?

How can ice be really hot?

Well, it is gravity, you see Compressing water to a solid Fahrenheit of 800 degrees.

2

PSR B1257+12 b Who first danced to a disco ball?

Not a human, but a planet A planet, who parties around a spinning strobe light of radioactivity.

A planet that danced too long Glowing blue on one side because of a disco ball halfway to a black hole.

Mira A true shooting star Wonderful, you are Blazing at 291 miles per hour In the highway That is the Milky Way. Omicron Ceti supposedly, You surf through the tail Of the Whale leaving a 13 light-year trail.

Boรถtes Void A hole in space do you reject galaxies, or do galaxies reject you?

Likewise, your namesake: A herdsman.

They surround you in clusters and you do not bother.

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HD 189733b In Vulpecula the Fox true blue marvel revolves around its sun for 2.2 days sapphire bubble facing one way molten glass rains on your sky and you risk eaten by your star.

Burning atmosphere on both sides 7,000 km/hr winds raging on all hemispheres.

But they say your heavens have beautiful aurorae, and yet nothing stays.

QSO 0957+561 mind-bending time-bending space-bending all because of gravitational lensing an elliptical galaxy altered your imagery.

One is late the other has to wait 417 days to flicker.

But at the edge of the universe where both of you stand, none is a duplicate both are legitimate.

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R136a1 In just five seconds the energy of your light exceeds the sun's entire year.

Luminous and blinding, from the cluster of our larger neighboring irregular galaxy.

Youth and luster will fade faster for you, bright one.

Once you are done a blaze of glory when your death comes to fruition nothing would escape your event horizon.

Tarantula Nebula The Goldfish swims south within it an arachnid outside our galaxy.

Eyes are bubbles Frozen burst Crowded hell of wolves blue and bright eggs inside your womb.

Spider of El Dorado mothers a hundred versions of Fenrir.

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Gliese 581c Are you like Aphrodite?

Our planets twin but ice-haired instead of full sulfur and acid Or skies perpetual blood red in the twilight zone with flora of gray and pitch black?

If the answer is one or both still beautifully horrid.

Sombrero Galaxy Hat of giants Ringworld dazzling dust disk glowing infrared M104 a black hole lies in your core while globular clusters of diamond luster embroidered and sewn at the helm bone.

Laniakea Immeasurable heaven we swim through you as you are a wave made of light and we, the grain of sand caught in your riptide.

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GJ-1214b Serpent Bearer holds the water world a ball of ocean superfluid water no friction.

Close to embracing your star every 38 hours deeper ocean boils and freezes

SGR 1806-20 Shrunken corpse not dead enough even your anger crossed a galaxy.

For a fifth of a second bursting gamma instant aurora more blasts crazy cadaver, losing your field but we cannot bury you and you rage and lose more the starquakes of yours: antimatter maker.

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SHORT STORIES

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Mage Every book about sorcery and magic in present town, I had thoroughly read and memorized. The old history of witchcraft from the City of Derrale – the birthplace of Mystic Arts – I internalized.

Why? I wish I was there learning how to cast spells and do incredible things instead of living in this boring town. Frigenn was but a magicless farming village too far from Derrale, that nobody I know of stepped foot in the great City of the Skies.

“Did you know that only a few people are born with magic?” I tell my friend, Kaiser. He was tall and lean, and I was shorter than he but stockier. He had dark hair and blue eyes, and I had brown hair and brown eyes. He had been my friend ever since I could remember. He and his parents lived at the outskirts of Frigenn and I think I met him there while pretending to cast a spell.

“In Derrale, there are several powerful clans like the Da’al King and the Zeppelin,” I continued, though I think he wasn’t as interested as I am when it came to magic. I myself wanted to prove magic, if only I could find an actual spell book instead of historical books. “The Da’al King and Zeppelin are rival clans, the former compared to knights and the latter to dragons.”

I always imagined myself having a secret origin. I researched my known relatives but none of them were. Who knows? Maybe my great-great grandmother’s uncle was related to a mage?

“Is that so?” Kaiser said, “Are the mage clans like royalty or something?” he scratched his head.

“Yeah, they are royalty, alright,” I grin, “Wouldn’t it be really cool if I was royalty?”

Kaiser scratches his head again, “I don’t think so…they have those stuffy parties and stupid laws, right?”

I was taken aback, but shook my head, “But you’ll at least live in a big house and everything,” I shook my head, silent for a while, then I decided in changing the subject, “Do you also know some mages can wield armor crafted by dwarves and gods? I read the Book of Mystic Armors in the library, and found that the magic armors adjust to its user’s body and the magic of the armor multiplies in proportion to the magic of its user.”

“No, I don’t know that,” Kaiser’s eyes widened, “That is pretty cool,” a small smile crept on his face, “But you know, the cooler things don’t usually exist.”

“So that’s what it’s like for you,” I deadpanned, and Kaiser just shrugged.

“I mean, I do like thinking about going on adventures,” Kaiser replied, “I just doubt its possibility in reality, that’s all.”

9

We stood up from the field of wild golden grass. The midday sky was a bit cloudy, but I doubt it will rain soon. We returned to town and went straight to the usual busy marketplace, buying some stuff to eat.

“Hey Henry,” Kaiser tapped on my shoulder, “Do you see that guy?” he motioned to the far end of the market. It was crowded, but the man stood out like a sore thumb. He was wearing a smooth and glowing purple roble lined with gold. He was wrinkled, even from a distance, and had a storm gray beard. There was already a small crowd of people in front of him: some adults and some Kaiser and I’s age.

“Greetings, Frigenn,” his voice boomed, and the entire market silenced for a second. I knew what was next. With his long beard and weird robes, this old man was going to announce that he was a wizard, for sure. “I am Copernicus of Derrale,” I knew it, “I come to warn you that the Beasts of End have been released,” his voice was grave and he seemed like he was about to cry, but here I am, giddy. “The mages of Derrale have failed to contain them…and now they are released in our world and will spread like plague throughout the land.” Tears fell from his eyes, “Derrale is no more…”

A cold wind came and caressed the marketplace. “If you want proof of my words…” the old man’s eyes started glowing, white magic sigils appeared on his forehead, chest, and shoulders. The crowd gasped.

“I believe you, sir,” I raised my hand. The sigils disappeared and his eyes became normal again.

“The Beasts of End are beings of pestilence from another realm that the early mages of Derrale sealed and the city was built above the seal.”

“Boy,” the wizard pointed at me with his bony index finger, “Come here.”

My heart pounded and butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I can’t help but beam of excitement as I went to the front, face to face with the old mage.

“What’s your name?” he asked me.

“Henry Lard, sir!” I blurted.

“Now Henry, young lad, would you like to know if you have magic inside you to protect your village?” he asked.

This was the moment of truth.

“Yes, sir!”

“Rhetor hap Pouer,” the mage Copernicus chanted, and the sigils of the different sizes appeared on his forehead, his chest, his shoulders, and beneath him. The villagers gasped and whispered 10

11

to themselves. Copernicus deactivated the sigils, “Repeat those words with intent. If you have tiniest ounce of magic within you, a sigil will appear in front of you,” he said, although I felt like he said it not only to me, but to all the people present. “Rhetor hap Pouer, say it, Rhetor hap Pouer.”

The villagers didn’t follow, but instead, looked at me, waiting.

I took a deep breath. Ok, Henry, I told myself, this is what you’ve been waiting for magic words to confirm you’re a wizard or not.

I clenched my fists, “Rhetor,” my heart pounded again and again, “hap,” I can feel the chills in my spine, “Pouer!”

Nothing.

“Rhetor hap Pouer!” I repeated, faster this time.

Nothing.

Third time’s a charm, right? “Rhetor hap Pouer!”

Nothing.

My beliefs came crashing down on me like icy bricks. I mean, I shouldn’t have hoped. I really don’t have magic, do I? Still, it was fun to imagine, right?

“Too bad, young lad,” the mage whispered as I sank back to the crowd I heard some of the kids snicker. I don’t blame them – the boy who is obsessed with all things magic actually doesn’t possess its power.

The older villagers finally asked the wizard questions, but I don’t listen to them. I’m more concerned about – “Don’t worry too much,” Kaiser’s firm grip on my shoulders snapped me out of my mind. “Magic’s not that cool,” he let go of me, smiling, “If that old man’s words are true, I’m more worried about how we would defend ourselves from those beast things.”

“Rhetor hap Pouer! Rhetor hap Pouer! Rhetor hap Pouer!” the villagers chorused in the background.

There were a few moments of silence and a sigh from the mage, which would mean none of the villagers had conjured a sigil.

“See? We’re not alone on not having magic stuff,” Kaiser noted.

Just then, something crossed my mind. “You haven’t said the words, have you?” I mumbled.

“No use of saying it,” he shrugged, “If the villagers don’t have it, what is the possibility of me 12

possessing it?” he scratched his head.

I smiled. I know he just wanted to make me feel less bad.

“There’s no harm in saying it, you know,” maybe saying it over and over again will give me magic.

“Fine,” Kaiser said, “Rhetor hap Pouer,” he exclaimed, causing the villagers and the wizard to look at his direction, “See? Nothing.”

All of a sudden, a golden sigil appeared below Kaiser, and everyone – including me and him – was taken aback.

“What’s happening?” Kaiser stiffened as his body turned into what can be explained as a moonless but starlit night sky. Golden sigils of different sizes kept appearing in midair, surrounding him in disarray. “What’s happening?” he screamed in panic, and all a can do was watch in terror as larger and larger golden sigils kept materializing around Kaiser.

I gulped, finding my courage.

“Kaiser!” I called. “Kaiser, calm down and focus!” in all my imagining, he was the one saying these words to me and not the other way around.

I gritted my teeth and rushed toward Kaiser, my arm piercing through one of the sigils, trying to reach out to him. My body felt like I was being pulled, until there was nothing but the starry black sky everywhere. I heard a distant choir, singing a song I couldn’t understand. The volume increased tenfold. A dark dragon, wearing a knight’s armor outfitted to its body, opened its jaws below me.

I stumbled.

The wizard Copernicus stood between me and Kaiser. The sigils were gone, and Kaiser looked normal again, although his hair was disheveled and his skin paler than usual.

Although my legs felt numb, I got up.

“Boy,” the old mage held Kaiser’s shoulders. However, he snapped the wizard’s hands and sprinted away, never looking back.

I asked myself: why? Why does it have to be him and not me? I was the one who believed in magic and he was the one who doubted it!

“That kind of magic can only be…” the wizard Copernicus mumbled, and I don’t know if I heard it right, because chances were impossible.

13

Brilliant Aura “It’s alright, Caelia,” Raisha gave her a comforting hug. Caelia knew Raisha only wanted to cheer her up, like always. They had been friends since they were children, as they were neighbors.

Raisha – in Caelia’s point of view – was the girl next door, ever cheerful and friendly. She was the kind of person that would be very easy to approach and always eager to help. Maybe that’s why her familiar was a beautiful white lioness with fur made out of light. Caelia’s friend had been so happy about it.

“Thank you,” Caelia forced a smile, “I…have to go…” she curtsied at her friend before turning her back at Raisha, lifting the hem of her red dress, ambling on the vast trimmed grass, toward her mansion home. Caelia’s heart clenched, but she didn’t dare cry.

Last night was the night apprentices were supposed to become full-fledged summoners, and today was the day everyone bragged about the magical being they made a pact to. Every person had a spiritual aura that matched an element: fire, water, wind, earth, light, and darkness. This can only be known once the summoner connected their soul to the Ambient Domain – the home of the familiars. The ritual can only be done once in a lunar eclipse – last night – and whatever you called forth, or lack thereof, will be permanent.

Raisha had the aura of light, and of course, she had been praised earlier.

“Well done, Miss Ivoire,” their professor lauded the blue haired young woman, “Your pure heart won the loyalty of an extraordinary being!”

The rest of the apprentices started showing off their familiar one by one, while Caelia peeked through the door of the Great Hall of Magic, swallowing hard. She turned around and left the hall as silent as she could, but her best friend apparently caught her snooping and followed her.

“Caelia, what’s wrong?” Raisha never stopped until Caelia did.

Miss Caelia Waymist, daughter of Duke Caelum Waymist of Zaqqan, hailed a genius of the spellcasting and magical arts, often called the finest, most proper young lady in all of the kingdom – had not been able to summon an elegant beast like the peasant Raisha Ivoire. Miss Caelia Waymist, the green-eyed, fair-skinned beauty with long locks of auburn, mistress of etiquette, the songbird of Zaqqan – will be the laughingstock forevermore or worse. While the ladies and gentlemen of her age celebrate their newly found bond with the creatures of another realm, the precious daughter of Duke Waymist might as well grieve or hide or even escape the humiliation.

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Tears rolled down from Caelia’s eyes, but she kept herself steady and her posture perfect. It was improper for a lady such as her to be seen with flaws! After all the times she had spent nights and days training to strengthen her magic, reading about enchantments and spells, all the while practicing her voice and performing among the highest echelons of society, elevating her family’s name, she will be dumped into squalor. It was not only her, but her father will be the mockery of royals, for having her as a daughter. She didn’t want that at all.

As the doors of the Waymist mansion went closer, Caelia rubbed her eyes dry with her her sleeve.

She slapped her face and contorted a pleasant smile before opening the mansion, greeting every maid she encountered with false cheer. She glided up the winding stairs, only looking forward until she could reach her room. Caelia locked herself up and threw herself into her bed. She did not try to hold back anymore. She sobbed, burying her face in a velvet pillow.

She did not have the heart to tell Raisha.

“Oh, Miss Caelia…” a deep baritone voice whispered at her ear, cold rough fingers tracing her back. She shivered as the fingers went to her neck, parting her hair and rubbing her nape. “Don’t be sad.”

The young lady shot up her bed, only to face a large shadowy being with a head that resembled an inhuman skull with sharp, curved horns. His body resembled that of a muscular man, skin was grayish purple. His hands and feet had leathery fingers and pointed nails. He had tattered bat-like wings, and wore only a loincloth seemed to be made with cobwebs, carnivores’ teeth, and giant dragonfly wings.

The sunken abyss of his eyes glowed red, sinister flames fixed at her. “Are you still ashamed of the dark?” the demon’s fingers twirled a lock of her hair.

Caelia could see shadows form across the room, engulfing the daylight from her windows. It was a thick sludge of the moonless night sky, filling her walls until the room was nothing more than blackness and false stars.

“You shouldn’t be,” he purred, lifting her chin. The Waymist heiress felt the cold rushing through her body. Her green eyes locked with his red ones. She kept herself from shuddering and falling, clenching her fists hard enough that her nails dug on her palms. “Oh, Miss Caelia,” he cooed, pulling her to his body. His wings moved as if each tendril was independent, covering both of them like a cloak. One of his arms found her waist and held it secure, while the other stroked her face. “There is nothing to be afraid of. I will always be here for you.”

This was the problem. Caelia didn’t want to be known as someone with darkness as the spiritual aura. She didn’t want to be called evil. She wasn’t evil. As declared in the first rule of the summoning arts: an apprentice who couldn’t beckon will never be a summoner, and an apprentice who beckoned the dark will always bring corruption. Anyone with the dark aura will be exiled by law, to prevent chaos. Yes, the dark aura was rare – nobody in the past century had one – but the ones that had them went mad. Caelia once thought this was but a precaution. She never thought she 15

would be one, when all that she wanted and worked for was a comely familiar to complement her aesthetic. She wanted to be known as someone with a beautiful face and a beautiful familiar.

“This is not what I wanted,” Caelia pushed the demon slightly, looking up to his red gaze. Even if she was exiled, her entire family will be doomed to mockery. “You are not what I wanted.” She couldn’t help but cry. She felt like a waste of space.

“I know I am not what you expected, Miss Caelia,” he bent closer to her, wiping her tears away.

“Many of us wanted you,” the demon’s eyes flickered, “but I want you the most,” gently, he cupped her cheeks, “that is why I am here and they bit the dust behind me.” His voice rumbled.

Caelia’s chest clenched. She felt like a prize. Maybe this was karma for having such a shallow reason of having a familiar.

“You should know,” the demon continued, his fingers running through her hair. “When your people connect to our realm, we see your astral projections and we choose who is compatible.

Those who don’t, will never touch our realm again,” he grinned, his teeth sharp and shiny. “And you, Miss Caelia, all of Ambient Domain’s dark forces wanted you,” his fingers freed her hair, and found her hand. He planted a chaste kiss over her knuckles, much to her surprise, “Your beautiful aura overshadowed everything! So to those who will spurn you for being of the dark, remember that you are above them and they are below you.”

She pulled her hand away from the demon, “Thank you for such flattery,” Caelia gave him a ghost of a smile. She wanted to cry again and maybe yell, but she didn’t want to look even more pathetic, especially when she told him that she didn’t want him when she was responsible for summoning him. “But the kingdom will still purge me by law.”

“Then why don’t we purge them?” the demon snarled. His wings unfolded. It was then that she noticed his wings were quite lovely, like how a leafless tree covered in snow was lovely. “You don’t have to bend to their pitiful selves.”

Caelia sighed. She can already imagine if she did what he suggested. She wasn’t evil, and never will be. “Forgive me for denying you as my familiar earlier,” she continued, “But I will still not follow what you advised. I will not harm my people.”

“So be it, Miss Caelia,” the demon bent closer, his red eyes burning with cold fire, “But what is it that you want?”

The Waymist heiress thought for a moment, and the only conclusion for her was to exile herself.

Her father would not face scrutiny for having a daughter with a dark aura, and Raisha already assumed she couldn’t summon anything. A daughter who ran away was better than a daughter who stayed and humiliated the family name.

“Take me somewhere we can be together,” her green eyes stared at the demon’s red ones. “That is what I want.”

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His pupils widened. “Is that it, Miss Caelia?”

“Yes.” It was pointless anyway – it was either bloodshed by or toward her.

“Abaddon, isn’t it?” she smiled at him, daring to finally call his name.

He scooped her and held her tightly, his wings covered furled to cover her. Shadows covered them layer after layer, like a sheet of the deep ocean: cold and mysterious. The dimness grew from pale gray to black, calm and unnerving. It was a nebula of dark smoke, where nobody knew who peered toward you or what you peered onto. They were sinking into thickness of blues and blacks and grey, and no light was there but Abaddon’s red eyes.

“Do not fear the dark,” he whispered, and the tighter he held her. He was a blanket and an anchor, and she circled her arms on his torso. Caelia didn’t see it, but she felt him smile. There wasn’t any coldness anymore as they went deeper. She closed her eyes.

Caelia felt a series of tingling sensations creeping on her skin. Smooth tendrils emerging from the wings of her familiar began snaking around her, caressing but never choking, leaving goosebumps on her skin. She gasped as she felt the demon’s hand on her head, his snout on her neck. Her eyes flew open, seeing a faint glow on Abaddon’s outline. His head moved to face her, his eyes glowing redder – a pair of dying stars about to explode. Caelia placed her hand on his face, his tendrils roaming around her body.

Then, there was nothing.

With her eyes still open, Caelia was overridden with a bolt of pleasure she cannot see. She heard Abaddon grunt and rumble, while she moaned as she felt their bodies twisting into new forms and merging as one. The world crumbled around her, the body of the demon familiar being shared with hers, and she could feel his flesh and bones within her.

“Miss Caelia?” she was awakened by the call of her familiar, her head lay down on his leg. Dizzy, she pulled herself upright. Black and white was all that surrounded them: from the vague sky, the gnarled trees, the dry patches of grass they were sitting on, and the nearby stream whose babbling broke the sheer silence.

Caelia raised her arms. She was faintly glowing purple. She was also wearing a black dress instead of her previous red one.

“This is part of the Ambient Realm, isn’t it?” she asked, looking up at him. She wondered what her sudden decision had caused.

“No, it is our own,” Abaddon shifted, his eyes were hellfire. “Do you wish to stay here for eternity?”

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There was nothing she regretted. It was better that way. “I stand by my words,� she told him, her magic energy shattering the atmosphere and overshadowing the dark.

The demon leered, reaching Caelia for an embrace, engulfing her in the dark. Caelia felt that she was nothing more than a precious bauble to be vaunted and brandished, but at least, it was better than to be treated as trash.

The stream babbled away the silence.

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The Midnight Orchid He lifted the ranger by the throat, choking her until she stopped struggling, her hands that were trying to pry his hand off fell and limped. He dropped the ranger alongside the corpses of the party that tried to steal from him.

What a bunch of sissies.

He almost laughed at the attempt, but he took each fight as if it were his last and he did not in the least disposed of the party half-heartedly. One by one, he dragged them in a pile. He picked some nearby twigs and dry leaves to cover the corpses and then exhaled fire, creating a lightshow that burned bright in the clearing. They – the party – were worthless hacks, really. None of them had bounties on their heads yet acted like hotshots. The warrior, he talked some smack, trying to impress the ranger, declaring that he would slay the strongest of dragons, without even realizing he was facing one. The fighter, the only decent one, but obviously a rookie and easily disposed of.

The cleric, he was a nervous wreck, who the warrior kept yelling at. The ranger was as arrogant as the warrior, thinking that her arrows were the ones who would make them win.

He was quite amused at them, especially the warrior, but couldn’t blame the young man that he didn’t see him as a dragon, since he was trapped in his human form.

The flames crackled and waved, bodies turning black. He watched until there was nothing but gold coins and precious gems. It was easier this way than manually searching the bodies of their valuables.

He stepped forward; the flames wavered and retreated to the ground. He breathed out a gust of wind to scatter the ash and for easy picking of loot. For a moment, he basked at the silence the glade and the surrounding forest gave him before counting how much he got. He liked it this way – the solace – as he didn’t have anything his existence was tiresome and numb. The elders conspired and trapped him in his human form, cursed to not feel his wings that would cover the skies and scaled body that could curl on mountains and break them. He trusted them, and they betrayed him. Although weakened, he slayed the elders in his human form and fled the Draconic Realm. Why would he stay, anyway?

It had been decades upon decades since he left. His human form – since it was relative to his draconic one –was considered to be quite tall, muscular and imposing. At least the curse had some use to him, as his arrival wouldn’t be as conspicuous as his actual form. He used this as leverage to feed the instinctive need of amassing wealth. For dragons, it was supposed to attract 19

their destined soulmate. He remembered someone saying it was crap, and the very reason why dragons were few in the first place, since a male and female that weren’t destiny bonded couldn’t produce children. He couldn’t care less anyway and continued to collect gold for himself.

A distant thunder reached his ears. Cumulus congestus covered the sky. He teleported the loot to his estate and reminded himself that he was going to meet the Bone Collector to make a deal.

He didn’t mind if he was going to be wet as he strolled past the gnarled and younger trees, leaves crunching under his feet. There was nobody else in the forest in the closest vicinity, there were only small animals – a cloud rabbit scurried out of her hole, stopped at the middle of the path, and then dashed away at the opposite direction.

A few minutes later, the tavern came into view – a two-story building with walls of weathered gray bricks. The windows seemed newer than the rest of the building – the frosted glass was without a scratch and the iron frames’ black paint was without wear. The shingles of the roof were brown and the tips chipped. The chimney smoke wavered and danced – he smelled it and concluded it was from the wood of the gnarled wormwood – the namesake of the place. He managed to enter the quiet tavern almost at the exact moment that the first drops of rain fell.

Inside was dim; the tables were lit by small egg-shaped orange-yellow shaped objects inside transparent glass jars. The ceiling also had a few of the jars hanged as a haphazard chandelier.

There were only a few vacant seats and the patrons were mostly hooded figures speaking in hushed voices – typical. However, he immediately knew where the Bone Collector was based off the description he was given and the fact that she had removed her cloak and peered at his direction. He knew that the Bone Collector used magic that was not quite necromancy, but a strange imitation of it. He heard that she collected bones – thus her moniker – and arranged them into odd creatures infused with magic. Some rumors say she could create false specters at her command. As he got closer, maybe the descriptions didn’t do her justice. Yes, people often described her as a pretty young woman with fair hair, fair skin, and spinel colored eyes, but for him, women were different types of pretty: from the ones that were spring flowers in bloom to a sword laced with poison. He had slept with most simply to get off, but for all he cared, all of them wanted his wealth and body. The Bone Collector’s type of pretty was something he rarely saw – it was that of expensive porcelain dolls displayed at the homes of an eccentric collector – crafted to perfection yet laced with an eerie melancholy and distant coldness.

“The famed Bone Collector,” he said, calm and quiet, as he reached out his hand to her. Many of his contacts informed him that she was looking for the best mercenary there was – and of course, that was him. “Ciaran Zmey.”

The tavern was dimly lit, but he could see it – she had a light blush on her cheeks as she seemed to inspect him. He grinned.

“Amaranth,” her voice was a monotone, “Amaranth Gyemant,” she took his hand with hers. A jolt of electricity and heat exploded from the moment the two of them touched, and Ciaran knew what it meant, but was still in disbelief.

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He watched as Amaranth pulled her hand away from him – not that he could blame – and she grimaced while directing a piercing gaze unto him.

“Were you testing my magic?” she pursed, and he could see that she felt insulted. “Did you not believe I’m the Bone Collector?”

“Forgive me if I doubted,” Ciaran curtsied. If she knew right here, right now that she was his destined soul, he would take away his chances of actually knowing who she was and would most likely deny him at all costs. He, himself, did not expect to find her.

Amaranth sighed, “Do not worry, I am the real thing and I will pay handsomely,” she snapped her fingers and a small pouch appeared on her hand. Ciaran had to stop himself from laughing. She handed the pouch to him, which he opened to find rose cut emeralds inside. “That is the start of our deal.”

Both of them then took a seat as the waiter asked for orders. He ordered boar ribs and she ordered some milk and cabbage soup.

Amaranth sat straight with her hands on her lap. She shifted n her seat, “I require help,” she started, her eyes – glassy and cold – on him. He leaned in her direction, one arm on the table. She continued, “I have to go to the Woods of Wings to get a midnight orchid – a sample of it.”

For whatever reason she wanted it, Ciaran’s curiosity peaked. The midnight orchid was a rare plant with potent mystical properties, guarded by unicorns with very specific standards: they only preferred virginal young women to receive their blessing. Anyone they deem less than that will be impaled to the chest by their horns and thrown to the sky, which was why the Woods of Wings’ other name was Forest of Falling Whores.

“Afraid you don’t meet their requirements?” Ciaran grinned.

“I made sure I have all their requirements to pass,” she said, unflinching, “You will be the precaution.”

“How much?”

“Twice the amount I just handed to you.”

“If that’s the case,” he said, “Then I’m in.”

The waiter arrived with their orders and placed the food on the table without a word.

“When do we start?” Ciaran asked. He took a quick glance at his plate, then back to Amaranth.

Tomorrow afternoon,” she picked her spoon, using it to stir 21

the soup. Her eyes were fixated on the bowl. Ciaran saw a slight shiver as she stopped stirring and let go of the spoon.

Her eyes were on him again. “I need to finalize my preparations.”

The mercenary leaned closer, “Wouldn’t it be faster if I helped you?” he grinned, “You are paying me after all.”

The Bone Collector looked at her soup again, “So be it.” She took a spoonful and swallowed. * The cobblestone road was still covered in a boot’s heel of rainwater, but the town began to scurry.

Shops open with customers going in and out, small bells chimed above each door that closed and opened.

Amaranth glided through the street, her skirt untouched by water. Ciaran noticed she had floated over the ground even if the rest of the people overlooked it.

This woman was not a human, but a fairy, most likely. That was odd, since fairies were exterminated by the goblin horde years ago and the only one who was rumored to be left in the wake of the genocide was their princess. Nobody knew what happened to her afterwards, well, until now.

Ciaran deduced that the woman gliding in front of him was the last of the fairies, and that she was going to use the midnight orchid to get revenge. Knowing that goblins repopulate with a blink of an eye, this was not going to end well even if she managed to get the power of the orchid.

In the end she had bought a bottle of absinthe, a vial of mercury, and a rather expensive poison apple. * Ciaran and Amaranth had to traverse across the Witches Valley to get to the Woods of Wings.

There was nothing but the cold gray fog and stone monuments littered across the valley. Travelers often get lost in this part of the world running in circles for days and weeks, until they starve to death. They had come across bones sitting on the cold ground, dry and brittle, that one touch could break the skeletons and turn them into dust – which was why she never tried to take them away from their resting place. Amaranth placed magic markers on each monolith they passed, just to make sure they did not get lost, even if she had acquired a rare map of the valley.

“We can take a rest here for the night,” he said, leaning on one of the bigger monoliths. Silent, Amaranth had sat on the ground and rested against the monument. Ciaran joined her, exhaling a fireball that drifted downwards but did not quite hit the ground, and instead floated and flickered like a large flame of a wickless candle.

“You aren’t human, aren’t you?” it was her that broke the silence, her eyes on him.

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He chuckled. “You aren’t, either.”

A light smile appeared on her face, although her eyes were teary. “It doesn’t matter, really,” her voice softened, but Ciaran could hear its shakiness and how she was trying to maintain her calm.

“I’m the last,” she didn’t sob as tears trickled down from her eyes.

He pulled her close to him, her head resting on his chest. Her tears did not stop as he caressed her head and back.

“You haven’t cried in a while, have you?” he whispered in her ear.

With those words, Amaranth started to sob.

“This is embarrassing,” she murmured, her voice muffled, “But I…it doesn’t matter…”

Her voice trailed off as she continued to sob until she fell asleep. He just let her do so.

It took two weeks to get to the Woods of Wings, and they were greeted by the sight of the nacreous purple trunks and black oily leaves of abyss trees, warped and bent like arches atop floating islands that topped one another. These sky islands were interconnected by waterfalls that flow down until bottom of the dark abyss beneath them.

A body of a rather buxom woman fell in front of Ciaran and Amaranth, a huge hole in her chest where her heart was missing.

Distant galloping and neighs came closer, and three white unicorns stood before them. The middle unicorn had an impaled heart on its horn, its face soaked with blood. It trotted forward, pushing the woman’s corpse into the edge of the floating island. It shook off the heart off its horn, watching both plummet into the abyss. Both of its companions remained still while eyeing Amaranth.

“You all remember me, do you?” Ciaran smirked. Unicorns and dragons had business dealings in the past which involved gold in exchange for abyss tree fruits. “This is Amaranth,” the Bone Collector curtsied when Ciaran introduced her, “and I wouldn’t hurt her if I were you, since she just needs a midnight orchid. I’m sure she can pass your specifications for setting foot on your realm.”

The unicorn with the bloodied horn trotted toward Amaranth, its eyes fixated on her. The two other unicorns joined, circling her.

“We can see you cannot corrupt our realm,” the unicorns’ ghastly garbled voices spoke in unison, fiery eyes unblinking. They continued to encircle Amaranth, speed picking up, flames shooting from their eyes as they became a whirlpool with Amaranth as the epicenter. “You can stay with us---” 23

Lightning bolts struck down the unicorns, stopping them from what they doing and about to say. Of course it was Ciaran’s doing, for he knew what would happen next if he didn’t. The one-horned horses would’ve had burnt off her clothes and desecrate her.

“The orchid?” he intentionally made his voice louder.

The unicorns simultaneously looked at him with disdain for a few moments, and then their gaze went back to Amaranth. The three unicorns aligned their horns which glowed like their eyes, producing a golden bubble the size of an orange, and within it was the black-red glory of a midnight orchid. * “Thank you,” as what she promised, she gave two more pouches of emeralds to Ciaran. “I bid you farewell.”

Before she could turn around, Ciaran grabbed Amaranth’s hand. “The orchid…what are you going to do with it?”

“Finish what I prepared for my entire life,” she smiled. He let go of her.

Ciaran actually had an inkling of what she was going to do, but at the same time he couldn’t blame her. “You are going to the Grand Goblin Grotto, aren’t you?”

“How?” her spinel-colored eyes widened in surprise.

Ciaran sighed. “Your magic is that of a fairy’s, and you said you were the last one, which would mean you are the princess. You collected as many bones as you can get to raise a skeleton army to commit genocide against the goblins, but you realized that was not enough, that you had to create an elixir of death with the absinthe, mercury, and poison apple. With the midnight orchid mixed with the elixir of death, you can consume it and you will have the power to kill anything you touch until the first stroke of midnight, where you will die yourself. I’m impressed, really.

You will launch yourself with your skeleton army, and the goblins would try to eat you up while they fall one by one as they try to grab you. The ones that don’t reach you will die by the bones.”

“I can’t believe you guessed all of that.”

“You don’t have to die at midnight when goblins will simply pop out of the grotto over and over again. Your attempt will still be futile.”

“So what do you want me to do? Give up? I spent my entire life for this very moment! I have to 24

avenge my brethren before I reunite with them in the afterlife…” Amaranth broke down, weeping, “Mama…Papa…everyone…I watched them get eaten alive. Our kingdom was outnumbered, and they were hungry. Fairy magic wasn’t enough and Papa used the last of his to let me escape. I don’t want to be a coward again!”

“Goblins are like cockroaches and rats, you can never kill them all,” Ciaran cupped her face, drying her tears with his fingers, “I understand where you are coming from, but do you think your father would want you to die just like that when he used all of his strength to keep you alive?” Amaranth continued to sob, while Ciaran continued, “Yet, if you want to kill as many as you want, I will join you.” These words managed to stop her weeping. “You can just eat the orchid by its own, so your magic will be amplified until midnight.” * The grotto was northeast of the Witches Valley, so Ciaran and Amaranth had to backtrack. It took several days and stops from a couple of towns for supplies, but they managed to get to the untouched hinterlands and locate the goblin nesting place. Goblins attacked only every other decade or so, but they do in a swarm of thousands. People learned when they would attack so they can defend, but the fairies were unlucky enough to be attacked by the biggest swarm in history, more than five times the usual numbers. Goblins never attacked dragons and were viewed as mere pests, but ever since he had been stuck to his human form, Ciaran realized otherwise.

It was a cloudy dawn; cumulus nebulosus filled the sky with its haze. Amaranth closed her eyes and inhaled, magic emanating from her. Her clothes began to change into a pink dress seemingly made out of pink peony and red rose petals. Large translucent wings shaped like a butterfly’s but textured like a dragonfly’s appeared from her back. She swiveled in midair, summoning the orchid in her palms, putting it in her mouth. Her eyes were closed while she chewed the flower.

She swallowed, her arms spread wide as she called forth her bone legion appearing with Ciaran one by one: a lot were four-legged things while others were more serpentine in appearance.

She raised her hand forward, pointing at the large mouth of the cavern. Without delay, the bones rattled their way into the dark lair of the goblins. Humans, elves, dwarves, and even orcs had done this before, but they could never exterminate the entire population and sometimes ended up getting eaten themselves.

Amaranth flew closer to the mouth, producing orbs upon orbs of light that flew inside the cave the moment they appeared in the air. A few moments later, explosions can be heard.

Ciaran and Amaranth nodded at each other before jumping into the lair. They were greeted by the sight of the green-skinned deformities getting mauled by the bones and burst by the orbs.

When the bone monsters got destroyed they would reform back and attack again. The blood and guts of the goblins soaked the cave’s marble walls as Ciaran joined the onslaught, alternating from fire and lightning to his bare fists. He grabbed one and exhaled fire on its face, then threw it to the horde trying to get to him, watching them burn. More and more of them crawled from deep inside the cavern. Amaranth created orb after orb, untiring. The bones chewed on any goblin they 25

had targeted, leaving bloody trails behind them. As the fight went on, the cavern floor was turned into a shallow lake of blood, but the goblins didn’t care and kept on going against them.

The bone monsters rose once more from the blood lake as more of the goblins came out from the deeper part of the cave, but the green-skins did not advance toward them, and remained still in their positions.

“It is close to midnight,” Ciaran commented as he saw Amaranth’s wings limp, her bone army huddling toward her.

She nodded, her eyes fixated on him. Hovering closer, the last fairy princess planted quick chaste kiss on his lips.

A booming sound can be heard from a distance; an explosion of unparalleled brightness can be seen. Ciaran could feel the entire grotto crushed beneath one of his claws, and keeping Amaranth safe from another. He had finally regained his two other heads: all can touch the clouds. He opened his left claw, to see the fairy in an infantile position, slowly opening her eyes.

“Now it is my turn,” he took her closer to his middle head, his wings spreading for the first time in centuries, creating a gale winds that toppled the trees easily and covered the horizon as he stretched. “Thank you.”

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