CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Not a moment had passed. The second I was out of the shop, I felt a boot connect with my stomach as another pair of hands grabbed my hair. They yanked me toward the alley off to the side of the shops. I stumbled, trying to protest. The light went from bright and golden to the cool purple of the shadows. I gasped as the air was knocked out of me. I was violently shoved against a wall.

"We talked to the local Potioneer," the man who was in the lead said to me. "He said that you gave us duds."

"Of course he'd say that about the competition," I said, trying to keep my voice light. I received a solid punch for my trouble and didn't bother lifting my head again as my cheek throbbed. Shouts of rage rumbled at me from the outside edges of the crowd, but they were quickly shushed.

"You think you could rip us off and get away with it?" they shouted. I shook my head.

"It's not, if you wait a week, you'll see—"

"He tested them! Barely any magic!"

They were angry. Not one angry person, but a dozen, seething so much I tasted the rage. They spoke all at once, about how they had hoped, poured their last savings into my potions.

"You think you can come into a city like ours and peddle your phony wares?" one woman screamed. "Divinis Wenrick and Bernard and Winsor and the Contractor and the Avalons live here, icicle! It was only a matter of time before we realized there was something wrong with your magic!"

"Please, I'm one man—" I began. They tore the coin purse from my waist, and distributed it amongst themselves, the coins spilling as everyone grabbed handfuls. They tore at my clothes, finding the second secret pouch and taking all the gold from that as well. I hoped they wouldn't find my potion vial.

The man at the front of the line drew a knife from his side. He scowled at me.

"Wouldn't it be a shame if you happened to trip, and this happened to pierce your throat?" he asked.

"Come on now Mada," a man at his side said. "The guards were explicit. We can take revenge, but we can't murder him. The Avalons would be on us soon."

"They should have killed him long ago, if they were interested in doing any good," The man, Mada, holding the dagger barked. Bitterly, he stabbed me in the arm. Shrieking, I fell even limper in their grapple. I tried to think of lines to stem their flow of their hostility, but my mind was empty. My stomach was still sore, both from the kick and from the remorse. I realized I couldn't talk my way out of this because I didn't want to talk my way out of this. I felt awful about Mallow, about not wanting to save Mallow.

But not so awful as to sell my freedom. Not yet.

Scared and guilty, I took the beating. An unwilling death was better than a surrender into servitude. My pride repulsed me all the more with each bruise and scratch I acquired. They did not knock me out, avoiding the head with massive force because of the warning about the murder.

They left the knife embedded in my arm as they walked away. With the last of my strength, I pulled it free and tucked it into my tattered vest, protective of the weapon now that my gold was gone and my body ruined. Time passed, minutes melting into hours as the sun sank lower in the sky.

"Oh, Osoro, there's someone in here," Bernard's familiar voice drifted over me. "And here I thought of taking this way because no one ever—"

"Is he all right?" Sir Osoro's enunciation was impeccable as he walked forward. They both came up behind me, before Osoro squatted down in front of me. He lifted my face with one hand. "What happened to you?"

"Hnn," I groaned. Words were difficult as my lips were busted and pulpy.

"Whatever it was, he probably deserved it," Bernard huffed.

Sir Osoro tilted his head, staring at me. A shadow of guilt flickered across his expression, though he had nothing to do with what had happened to me.

"Beatings aren't common in Blythe."

"Neither is he. Maybe he's importing them?" Bernard said tartly. Osoro returned my face to the ground, slowly slipping his hand out from beneath me.

"If his injuries are unjust, than to his former state of health readjust," he said. I remained brutally beaten and groaning on the floor. Bernard's pudgy face was twisted in triumph.

"I told you he deserved it."

Osoro rapt his fingers on his knees before rising to his feet.

"Seems so," Osoro said. "Either that or my powers ebbed away for not helping him. They've been so unsteady lately..." And without any humor at all. "I never know whether I'm doing the right thing or not these days."

"I'm not going to try." Bernard held up his hands. "Now come on, before all the good tables are taken. I'm starving."

"Hardly," Sir Osoro laughed. Oh good, they made up. That's nice. I watched the retreating figure of the Avalon and the shoemaker through my still swollen eye. Their light hearted laughter echoed through the cobbled streets, bouncing off of the stall fronts and the window boxes of the surrounding homes. I had been jumped off of the main path, so not too many people walked by, but to those that did I would groan at helplessly. Nobody stopped. One street over I heard the festival in full swing, people laughing in spurts, and the garbled words of a storyteller entertaining the crowd. Maybe a puppet show? The high pitched voices he was making were usually reserved for puppet shows.

I closed my eyes, or more appropriately, my eyes closed on their own as they swelled shut. I didn't fight it; it hurt to keep them open. Even if the words were gibberish, the cadence of the man's speech gave me some comfort.

Time passed dreamlessly. I knew I wasn't in danger of dying. My arm had stopped bleeding shortly after I pulled out the dagger. Nothing else was bleeding but my nose and the skin deep scrapes on my knuckles and palms from where I landed. Okay, maybe my lips too. And I think I might have lost a tooth. It hurt to move. I think something was broken, and after a few failed attempts to get up and crawl the rest of the way to the inn I was staying at, I surrendered and stayed put.

I was an icicle, like Winsor said. This is exactly why I needed Mallow, and I should have never, ever tried selling potions without her. I had gotten cocky. She was the reason my business worked at all. And yet, my current state wasn't the reason I still felt the burning need to find her. I had sold without her, I had taken the punishment, and I had lived. This proved I did not need her to sell potions, to handle the after math, however unpleasant...

There was something deeper. An emotional, irrational longing. Guilt. In a practical sense I needed Mallow to protect me from things like this, but in an honesty only achieved while bleeding in an alleyway, I realized my greatest regret was not knowing whether she was safe or not. I needed her so I could know how she was, not so she could protect me. I could live with this beating, but the uncertainty of her health was digging deeper than the knife had.

It could have been two minutes or two hours later when I heard footsteps. A soft whooshing sound, cloth puddling around someone's feet as they crouched down. A heavy sleeve wiped against the back of my neck. I moaned out in pain.

"Oh good, I have found you..." Was that...? Not Bernard, not the right kind of nasally. But sort of like Bernard. Sort of. "But... the spell was not supposed to do this."

I groaned as I felt skinny hands on my shoulders. Then I cried out as I was flipped and placed on my back. They had broken my wrist. That's why I couldn't lift my weight up. Whimpering, I tried to communicate this, but ended up crying.

"It was supposed to be the sensations of torture with no physical symptoms." Seeing through my tears was difficult. The dimness of the narrow street wasn't helping much. "Oh frost, you've been like this for hours, haven't you? I must have botched the spell. Drat. One moment..."

"Injuries acquired after the previous day expired, swiftly heal so this man doesn't end up a vulture's meal!" And then I felt skinny fingertips touching my cheekbones, right next to the eyes. At first they were feverishly hot, like the tip of a spoon pulled from a piping soup. They lingered there, on my skin, for moments, had to be moments, with as many times as I breathed painfully through my parched mouth, around my busted lips. The pain faded.

I bled swiftly and then the clotted mess fell off. The skin that now brushed against my clothes and the cool night air was cleaner than the rest of me. My nose recovered before my eyes. I realized this was the sorcerer boy by his stench. The smell of the boiled fats, the exotic spices, and magic. Since he was infusing healing into me that might be my own smell for a while.

The puffiness of my eyes faded. He came into focus as the tears of pain stopped swelling. His pale face was twisted in concern.

"You know, I use that spell on rats all the time." His fingertips had gone from feverish to a cool temperature similar to mine. He pulled them back into his sleeves and slipped mittens back over them. "The rats are smart enough to not come back to the manor. I had not realized you were indeed dumber than a rat."

I sat up and tested weight on my wrist. It worked again, no pain shot up through my shoulder.

"It wasn't your spell, though that was thoroughly unpleasant too. I guess you're wondering what I did to make someone so angry."

His pale, narrow face pinched.

"Perhaps you were tormented for no reason. I am no stranger to that occurrence." He stood up and shook out his robe sleeves. Little pebbles from the road that had worked their way into the folds rained out.

"It's all right. I had it coming." I brushed myself off and stood up. I expected an entourage, but again, he was totally alone. I noticed a shape, at the edge of the alley, a dark uniformed man illuminated by the street lamp playing a stall game. He kept glancing over his shoulder at us. A BROS.

"So..." I clapped my hands together and took a deep bow. "My most grateful thanks for your benevolence, Enchanted One. It is only due to your continued unyielding kindness that I again find myself in good spirits."

Winsor was uncertain of how to react to this, but another one of those unplanned smiles broke across his face, and he ... not a laugh. A laugh was too voluntary and controlled. More of a giggle, or a chuckle. Self-consciously, his arms folded over his chest, and he glanced to the side. Definitely a giggle.

"Why are you wandering a small alley all by yourself during this huge festival in your honor?" I asked.

"Father saw you suffering on the hill side. I confided that it was my doing. He said that I should refrain from using such spells on our populace in public, as it would damage my relationship with Blythe's citizens, but as you were not a citizen it was fine. I... still felt uneasy, however. So I went looking for you. As for why I endeavored on this search alone..." Winsor said, his eyes becoming downcast. He reached up and tugged at the edges of his bangs, concealing half of his face. "Bernard may be an icicle, but he was right in that people prefer it if I'm alone. And... I suppose I prefer it that way too."

Wow. To be a powerful sorcerer who could grant anything anyone wanted, and to still not even have insincere flunkies. It was somehow cosmically perverse, impossible, and wrong on every level. True, the kid was spooky, but he just saved me months of slow, painful healing with a little rhyme. I vowed to become an insincere flunky. At least until he lifted the curse so I could go back to the manor and find Mallow.

"If you don't mind the intrusion..." I bowed my head and made an effort to be a smidge shorter. "I would love to celebrate with you."

His stunned surprise stabbed my heart. What was with this kid? If I were a sorcerer would I be so... vulnerable? Eyes wide and wet, mouth twisted into an expression of hesitant hope.

"Do you mind?" I prompted, waiting for his response. He jolted and then nodded vigorously, then paused, and then shook his head even more frantically. "What... exactly does that mean, Enchanted One?"

"I don't mind!" he said. "I always answer that question wrong. Um, no, I mean, we can revel together. I guess. I may deign to allow you to accompany me."

"How gracious!" I stood up again. "So, what does a sorcerer do to celebrate?"

"I... I actually am on my way to the library," Winsor said. "I have a special key for after it is closed so I can come and go as I please. They borrowed a manuscript on the properties of Giants last month and I was intent on perusing its pages..."

"Enchanted One, if I may venture to comment on that?" I asked.

"You may," Winsor said.

"That is a terrible, awful way to celebrate," I said. His chin pulled back in surprise at being reprimanded.

"Do you have a better suggestion?" he asked.

"In fact, I do, actually," I said. "How much coin do you have?"

"As much as I desire," Winsor said. "I can't import any creature I want, but I can get anything in town. Why?"

A plan unfolded in my mind.

"Get your coin purse," I said. "We're going to the cabaret!"

I had loved cabarets when I was younger. When I could afford them at least. It wasn't often, but seeing beautiful women in a raucous, warm hall with plenty to eat and drink was always a fun time. When Mallow got old enough to defend me and we were earning enough gold, I visited a cabaret in most towns we visited. However, this period passed within a year. One day, after I left, Mallow was inexplicably angry at me the rest of the day. The next time, she was upset for two days. Then four. One time her seething, silent anger lasted an entire week. She never did tell me outright it was the cabarets that were drawing her ire, but with all other factors accounted for, that was the only thing it could have been. As a result, it'd been a few years since I'd stepped across the threshold of one. It was like coming home.

This was less the case for Winsor, whose steps were slow and stilted into the space of the energized, packed house. At first I thought this was because people might be crowding him, but a small bubble of space remained about the two of us. Even here, where he had never ventured before, people saw the archaic robes and kept their distance.

"You doing all right, Enchanted One?" I asked. Winsor nodded, but when we got to our seats he clasped onto it like a life line. His gaze darted this way and that, trying to make sense of all the noise and movement. "You've never been in one of these before?"

"I..." Winsor glanced toward stage, and his face went red. "That amount of exposed leg is a tad excessive."

"Nothing new, right? You've been down by the rivers when people bathe before, haven't you?" I asked. Winsor's face was transfixed to the stage, but instead of leering with satisfaction, he was horrified. "Or. You're Enchanted, you probably always go to the baths, then?"

"That's her whole leg. I'm seeing the bottom of her buttocks when she does that." Winsor groused before answering me. "Um, no, I don't... leave the manor much. We don't bathe in rivers or public baths. We have tubs, purified waters with... oils. And bath.... what is she doing now?" Winsor sounded almost outraged.

"Ah, you'll find common women aren't quite as discerning as your sorceress ladies," I apologized, venturing to pat him on the shoulder. Based on his flinching, the physical contact made him uncomfortable, much more so than it had earlier. I bit back a knowing laugh and then leered at the stage to see what he was so paralyzed by. Ah, that was a fun one. "Of course, it works out, as us common men are also equally unrefined." I stuck my fingers between my lips and whistled loudly, starting a cat-call wave through the audience. The showgirl tittered and blew kisses at the crowd.

Winsor visibly grimaced.

"It's more fun once you get over the shock," I assured him.

"Like trudging through a bloody battlefield, perhaps." He inspected his hands, but his gaze kept getting drawn up to the scantily clad women on stage. They were now belting out a catchy song along with the men playing instruments. "I will be numbed eventually, but I don't know if I'll ever stop being at least subconsciously repulsed."

I burst out laughing. This kid. He was worse than an Avalon.

Getting a thought, I stood up on my chair and surveyed the room. There wasn't any glinting silver armor. Disappointed, I sat back down.

"What were you doing? Can't you get enough of an eyeful from here?" Winsor asked. His face, usually the color of snow, had been closer to a strawberry for several minutes.

"I wasn't searching for the ladies—"

"They do this with men too?" He slapped his hands over his mouth. Hmm, there was a thought. But... would ladies pay to see showmen? I wasn't so sure they were similarly motivated, but maybe for Hex's Day, it could be a fun idea...

"What, no," I laughed. "Not that I know of. Actually, I was seeing if there were any Avalons here. But I didn't see any armor."

"They wouldn't be in armor," Winsor said. "If they want to be left alone, they dress like everyone else. Mother used to dress normally when she wasn't performing Avalon duties."

"Your mom is an Avalon?" I asked.

"Was. Was an Avalon. When I was a baby, she was the only one in Blythe. She lost her powers after... it doesn't matter, and she has never gotten them back." He contemplated me. "Uh... don't, um, mention it. The whole town knows, but it is still a sore spot."

I had heard of Avalons losing their powers for a life time when an infinite offense occurred. Most Avalon's abilities flickered like torches, them being human and making lots of mistakes, but the infinite offenses extinguished the light of magic in a formerly pure heart forever. Rumor said they were things that went beyond common flaws like pride or temper and into truly vile territory, acts that could only be committed by one more monster than human. Everyone gossiped of the infinite offenses, but most people were too outside of the Avalon circle to know what the infinite offenses were exactly. All I had was speculation. My image of that cute curvy mom I'd seen in the hallway darkened in hindsight.

"Blythe received Sir Osoro and the rest of the Quarter Guard after she lost her powers."

"Why would they send four to replace one?"

"Bernard had run away, mother had lost her powers, father was ill and I was... um.... basically Blythe had lost three Enchanted and the city was going to be thrown into chaos if it was left without magic," He sulked. "Though why they're still here today is a good question..."

"So, are your Avalon friends here?" I asked. Could he sense something I couldn't?

"As you are aware, I do not have friends. I wouldn't be spending the eve of my Age Day with a nobody ungifted such as you if I did." He rubbed his upper arm thoughtfully. "Though, Sir Osoro isn't technically an enemy, either. It was Sir Osoro's pressure that made my brother stop bullying me so frequently."

"Then, help me check?" I asked.

"If it's not malicious, the Avalon's should not be resistant to the magic. Give me a moment to write a spell, I do not want to miscast again. My incantations have been unpredictable as of late."

I was more than entertained watching the showgirls on stage while Winsor drew with his fingertips on the tabletop, working something out. A few moments later he caught my attention. He reached out and put his hands over my eyes, and everything went dark.

"Okay," he said. "Make any hidden Avalons glow so their true status Azark will know."

He took his hands away and folded them in his lap after flipping the mittens back on. "There, now if there's an Avalon, he should be pulsing in your vision."

"But if it doesn't work, there's no way to tell."

"Such is the way with magic."

I stood up again on my chair, garnering some boos and hisses from those seated behind me whose view was blocked. I waved them off but decided to make my search of the room quick. Ah, there. A soft array of sunbeams emanating from a pair of men. It was...

"It's Sir Osoro."

"Is Bernard with him?" Winsor asked. I double checked, glancing around the room. No, I didn't see him anywhere near.

"Not that I can tell."

"Good," I saw Winsor's spirits falling again, even at the mention of Bernard's name. I formulated a quick plan to make use of my temporarily increased stature on the chair and to distract Winsor from the storm gathering in his mind in one foul swoop.

"HEY! Everyone—" this was a big risk. If the reaction was wrong, this may be the worst day of this kid's life. And probably the last of mine, as he'd cast me into a legume or something. Wish I would have thought about that before I got everyones attention. About half the eyes were fixed on me.

"Get down you old drunk!" one declared.

"Why are we celebrating this festival?"

"What are you doing?" Winsor hissed frantically.

"Icicle, it's Winsor Reglar's Age Day," one know-it-all helpfully informed me. And then, all at once, the eyes fell down from my face to the kid seated to my left. I even followed their gaze and saw Winsor shrinking back. Unsure of what to do, he thrust out his chin.

"Don't you think he deserves special treatment?" I waved toward the ladies on stage, who were uncertain. "Surely, you, who have given us all so much already..."

A round of laughing and applause broke out, and the showgirls smiled back at the crowd, thanking them for the appreciation.

"Could you spare something special, extra special, for your own local sorcerer?"

"Don't get that strumpet's attention! Stop it!" Winsor grabbed at my ankle and tried to pull me down. He was pathetically weak. I shook his hand off, even being precariously balanced on the chair like I was.

"Calm down, Enchanted One. A bit of razzing on your Age Day is natural."

"It's not my Age Day yet! It's only the Eve!" he pleaded.

"A week of celebration, a week of razzing," I reasoned. "So, ladies, how about it?"

With hesitation, they conversed with each other through stares alone. Then they gawked down at us. I peeped at Winsor, who was wide eyed and shaking his head. It was so slowly I don't think he realized he was even doing it, probably like he didn't realize he was now clutching my ankle in terror.

I guess that the sorcerer kid's aversion to getting the special treat convinced the girls he definitely needed it. The giggled to each other, and then ran down the stairs of the stage. They closed in on Winsor from either side, singing a cute little Age Day ditty in their sweet twinned voices. Aware that all eyes were on him, Winsor let go of my ankle and tried to sit up, chin out and shoulders straight.

"It really is not necessary." His voice cracked nervously as the women were within an arm's reach. "I appreciate the thought, but would much rather prefer..."

Ignoring him, the showgirls continued to sing.

"...to yooooooooou!" They both finished. Their hands hooked around his elbows and then they kissed him. He first tried to dodge away from the showgirl on the left, which planted his cheek directly onto the puckered lips of the showgirl on the right. Then the left caught up, and his face was caught in a smooching vice. Raucous laughter swarmed across the room, everyone whooping, encouraging the girls to go further. It was hard not to, seeing Winsor's face completely red, and his body sinking even lower in his chair from embarrassment.

They pulled back. Winsor was temporarily relieved, exhaling and hanging his head, before it jerked right back up again. He goggled side to side quickly as they took his hands into theirs.

"What do you think you're doing?" he stammered.

"Dancing, Enchanted One!" the showgirl on the left chirped.

"I don't know how to dance!" Winsor was reluctantly dragged toward the stage.

"Cast a spell for it!" Someone from the audience supplied helpfully.

"I... I don't know dancing spells!" Winsor was now being tugged up the stairs two at a time. From his expression, you'd think he was being dragged into a dragon's den, not about to be dancing with some incredibly sexy ladies. For a lackey, I was doing a terrible job. I basically hadn't listened to a single thing he suggested the entire hour.

I saw, ever so subtly, a trail of thin sparks and glittering dust travel from the corner where Sir Osoro was to Winsor's present location. Winsor's tenseness loosened up a little bit and a distracted air came over his features. He danced, still hesitant but not terrified.

"That was quite a stunt you pulled," Sir Osoro's voice was distinct and clipped with an Arcanacratic edge. Unlike Winsor's, the rigid way of speaking was a performance rather than natural. Most Avalon's accents were fake since none were born Enchanted.

Osoro stood next to me. His fingers twitched as he guided Winsor's dancing with the magic. "I sensed someone had cast a spell relating to me, but thought it was one of my comrades.... quite surprised when I saw Winsor in here. I thought he was too much of the romantic type for this sort of establishment."

"Your fat little friend has him afraid to leave his house," I said. Sure, I was only with the kid to soften him up so he'd uncurse me, but Osoro didn't need to know that. And it was not like my contempt for Bernard was made any less genuine by Winsor's sociopathic tendencies. "But I guess Bernard can't have everything he wants, can he?"

Osoro watched me thoughtfully. Winsor was now singing along with the girls, off-key, but everyone knew better than to insult a sorcerer. Instead, people joined in with their own tone-deaf caterwauling and the entire room was overcome with a glowing warmth of friendliness.

"Yes, I suppose not," he said slowly.

"What are you doing to him?" I asked.

"Improving his image," Osoro said. "You gave me the idea; loosening him up like this is leading to more positive attention than Winsor's gotten in years." Winsor on stage was now casting a spell to give the dancers large, fluffy wings. Their heavy, feathered beat blew a refreshing breeze through the crowd as she lifted off.

"Can you... did you cast a spell through him?" I asked, eyes widening. Osoro shook his head.

"No, that was Winsor's idea. All I'm doing is repelling any self-deprecating thoughts about himself while ensuring he remains respectful of others boundaries. It was a few paragraphs long when I cast it, but if I maintain the spell, this should end well for Blythe's future Divi-I mean, for Winsor," Osoro cleared his throat. "My, she sure has nice wings, doesn't she?" he asked.

"Future Divinis?" I was yanked away from Osoro as the dancer snagged me under the arm pits. She flew back to the stage and dropped me off. There were ten people on stage now. All of us linked arms and danced in a line completely out of sync. We kept tugging each other down to the stage.

Winsor enchanted the ground beneath our feet, and it moved in waves like water, but was completely solid. We all gave up trying to stand properly. Some bounced up and down, reaching greater heights each time. Others ran along the wake created by the bouncers, jumping over the rolling hills. Winsor's laughter came from the center of the chaos, free and sweet.

The sensation was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. Although it threw my stomach into my throat, I couldn't stop. It was too much fun. I leapt and laughed, wondering if I would ever again get this weightless feeling in the air.  

(( A/N:  This is my favorite chapter, almost. Enjoying the story? Can't wait for the next part? Consider purchasing the paperback edition at my CreateSpace website: https://www.createspace.com/5621397 I'll be uploading the entire story here too, one chapter a week, so you'll get the tale if you're patient. Also please spread the word if you enjoyed the story! Your feedback means the world to me! ))