THE JEALOUSY OF JALICE

As Annilasia and Elothel approached the few tents and meager supplies, Mygo and Vowt stood to meet them. With arms crossed, Mygo wore his typical gruff attitude. His gaze split between Annilasia and her new companion. He sized up Elothel with a frown that seemed to deepen the longer he observed faem.

Before they were within earshot, Elothel gestured to Annilasia.

“Have you spoken with the Tecalica about the dokojin in her memories?” fae asked. “Does she know about the journey ahead?”

“Not yet,” replied Annilasia. “Strangely, she made her own choice to return to the Black House, which was eerily convenient given your insistence that we go there. She explained it like that place was calling to her. Perhaps it’s some sort of connection to what’s happening with her mind.”

Elothel nodded. “Be that as it may, I believe it best we explain to her what’s happening and what we plan to do about it. She needs to know how . . . uncomfortable it will be when I expel the dokojin.”

A brief moment later, they reached Mygo and Vowt at the edge of the camp.

“So, this is who’s supposed to help Jalice?” asked Mygo skeptically.

“This is Elothel,” said Annilasia while flashing the woodsman an irritated look. She glanced back at the mirajin, wondering if the planned cover story would be enough to appease Mygo. On the trek over to the camp, she and Elothel had agreed to hide the mirajin’s identity and therefore refrain from faer proper pronouns. “He’s trained to handle this type of ailment.”

“And what type of ailment does Jalice have?” asked Mygo.

“The kind that requires special skill,” said Elothel.

“Is that right?” Mygo’s voice swelled with challenge. “What’s with the head gear and excessive amount of clothes? Scared the sun might bite you?”

“Where is the woman?” asked Elothel, ignoring the spiteful comments.

Mygo glared darkly without answer. After a moment, he stepped aside to let faem pass. His gaze never broke from the mirajin, even as fae and Annilasia strode past him towards one of the tents.

“She’s in here, Elothel,” said Annilasia. The two disappeared inside while Mygo followed. He held back one of tent flaps to peer inside.

“We could use some privacy,” said Annilasia.

“I’ll watch,” Mygo said firmly. “I’ll be damned if I let you and this swaddled infant murder a sick woman.”

Annilasia rolled her eyes and turned back to the tent’s space. Elothel was already kneeling beside Jalice, who lay on her back. A fresh tunic and skirt clung to her—more generous gifts from Mygo. Annilasia had made the switch of course, disrobing the helpless woman of the filthy set of clothes and dressing her in the new purchases. Jalice hadn’t seemed lucid for the wardrobe change, but instead trapped in a trance that had come and gone frequently since they’d left the bunker.

Eyes stretched wide, Jalice stared past Elothel at the tent’s crossed poles above their heads. She held a worried expression while sweat beaded on her forehead.

“How are you feeling, Jalice?” asked Elothel in an elegant, soothing tone.

The chieftess didn’t respond. Her eyes remained fixed on some invisible specter, and she twitched as if recoiling in fear.

“How long has she been like this?” fae asked.

“You mean, how long has she been unresponsive to the real world?” Mygo clarified. “She got worse as we traveled to the Flock. By the time we got here, she wasn’t responding to anything we said or did. She hasn’t gotten up since we laid her down last night.” He glared at Annilasia with an accusatory look.

“Her mind is deteriorating rapidly,” Elothel murmured. Fae turned to Annilasia. “She won’t make the journey at this rate. I need to clear her mind as much as I can before we leave in the morning. I’m not translating or soul coalescing, but I think I can lift her veil on reality enough to keep her coherent.”

Annilasia nodded, then ceased the motion as she inhaled sharply and shut her eyes. Old wounds had split open across her shoulder, and a new streak of pain was cutting through her. She opened her eyes to find Mygo and Elothel staring at her with questioning eyes.

“We leave at dawn,” she said curtly before retreating from the tent. Mygo grunted as she pushed past him.

Once a few feet away, she halted and breathed deeply to acclimate to the pain. Her shoulder burned like a scorpion sting. She cringed at the disconcerting possibility of facing flayers while so vulnerable. Shaking off the pain, she marched towards the supply pile to forage for a morning meal. Heavy footsteps approached her from behind.

“Where are you taking her?” asked Mygo as he walked around to face her.

Annilasia continued foraging without turning to acknowledge him. “Why are you still here? You got us to the Flock. You got your supplies. Now you can return to your bunker.”

“I don’t—”

“You don’t trust me,” Annilasia interjected. “You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. You also don’t know that woman in there. If you did, you wouldn’t be so keen on saving her.”

“She’s the Tecalica. I know full well who I’m dealing with.”

This arrogant sunflare. She straightened and turned towards him with a plate full of food. “Do you? She has stood loyal by the Sachem’s side throughout his self-proclaimed tyranny. She turned a blind eye as hundreds of her own tribe were slaughtered in the Purge, an event created and executed by her husband.

“And you’re so adamantly opposed to aethertwisting—you do realize her husband endorses it. He decreed the glass wands free from mirajin restrictions. And Jalice had nothing to say against it.” Annilasia pointed back to Jalice’s tent. “That’s the woman you’re bothering over.”

Mygo scowled but didn’t respond. He turned away and strode past the dead firepit towards Vowt.

Annilasia turned back to her meal and faced the opposite direction of the camp to overlook the land instead. Seconds later, footsteps shuffled behind her again. Annilasia gritted her teeth.

“Look, Mygo,” she said as she turned around. “I already told you—” Annilasia froze upon realizing it was Vowt who had approached.

“I wish—wish you wouldn’t fight with my—my friend,” said Vowt.

Annilasia’s intended words evaporated as she realized Vowt’s anxiety over confronting her. His hands mashed together in a web of white knuckles and fidgety fingers. He nervously looked around and avoided eye contact with her. When his gaze did fall on the tillishu, he quickly glanced in the other direction.

“If someone is—is hurting, Mygo helps them,” said Vowt. “Even—even—even if they’ve done bad things.”

“He doesn’t seem to want to help me,” said Annilasia. She found the restraint in her tone uncomfortable, but the man’s nervousness had dissipated her anger.

“He—he wants to help your f-f-friend.” Vowt gestured towards Jalice’s tent. “But you’re like Mygo. You—you don’t ask for help.” He shrugged and held up his palms in a hopeless gesture before he retreated to Mygo’s side.

For a while, Annilasia lingered in her solitude. She scarfed down the food to distract herself from Vowt’s timid scolding. Try as she might to deflect them, his words prodded at her pride. She didn’t like admitting it, but she and Mygo shared common traits. They both hated aethertwisters, and they both wanted to help Jalice despite the Tecalica’s wicked past. The journey to the Black House would prove difficult. Perhaps offending potential allies wasn’t the most promising strategy.

Annilasia begrudgingly approached the two sitting men. She avoided eye contact with Mygo and decided to address Vowt, even though her words were meant for both of them.

“Why do you want to help?” she asked. “Don’t you have a life back at that filthy bunker?”

“Why do you want to help the Tecalica?” Mygo muttered. “I would think you’d have your own score to settle with her.”

Annilasia clenched her jaw, still refusing to look his way. “I’m cleaning up a mess for which I’m responsible. And I made a promise to someone that I’d keep that damn woman alive.”

“I thought you were rescuing her from the Sachem.”

“I am,” Annilasia snapped as she finally looked to Mygo. “But only so far as to end the Sachem’s reign. As soon as she’s better, I’m leaving her with Elothel while I deal with the Sachem.”

“So, where are you taking her?” asked Mygo.

Annilasia hesitated. Guilt or no guilt over her distrustful nature, trusting him could be another mistake in a long list she’d accumulated since leaving the Fortress. She quickly weighed her options.

“To a place deeper in the forest,” she stated. “Her mind is . . . attached to it. It’s part of the reason she’s going mad.”

Mygo frowned. “I thought I told you it was stupid to go wandering in that forest. Or have you forgotten about those nasty flayers?”

Annilasia rubbed her temples. “Yes, I remember the flayers. Trust me. I’m not so keen on it, but I told you: I have to go out there to remedy the Tecalica’s condition.” She peered out over the rolling hills. It had been refreshing to be out from under those suffocating trees and the thick air of the forest.

Mygo grew quiet for a moment. “So, it’s you, the crazy woman, and that weird goggled one in there?” he asked finally. “You won’t last, much less with her mindlessness. And if you’re going deeper in the forest . . .” His gaze met Annilasia’s as she turned back to him. “I could go with you. I can keep you alive. But you have to do what I say, and you have to trust me.” He narrowed his eyes. “And no aethertwisting. I don’t want to see that accursed book in the light of day. It stays in your bag.”

Annilasia tensed over mention of the book and wondered if he’d seen her read it. “I can’t promise I’ll trust you. I don’t think you can do the same for me either. But if you want to keep us alive, I’ll accept your offer. Once this ordeal is over, we part ways. You go back to your bunker, and I leave the Tecalica with Elothel.”

Mygo nodded, for once satisfied with Annilasia’s proposition. He looked at the tent that hosted Elothel and Jalice.

“Have to say,” he stated, “I was shocked to see a Sachem warrior walking alongside a mirajin.”

Annilasia’s heart stopped. “How—how did you—”

Mygo shrugged. “You’re not the only one with secrets.”

Annilasia’s mind raced with this newfound knowledge. Very few had actually seen mirajin, even before the Sachem’s infamous Hunt had eradicated their kind. Elothel took precautions with faer layered clothes, yet Mygo had still known.

Vowt wasn’t as informed as his companion. His head shot up at Mygo’s remark, and he peered past them towards the tent. “That—that—that’s a mirajin?”

Mygo’s response was lost to Annilasia. She was flinching at the deafening voice screeching in her ear.

“Drain that parasite until it crackles with black!” the dokojin screeched. “Pollution to the chaos. Get the book. Read the book. Get the book. Read the book.”

Annilasia cocked her head as she tried to block out the dokojin’s chanting.

“So, does that add validity to my claims?” she asked as she returned to the conversation with Mygo. “A loyal Sachem warrior wouldn’t be associating with mirajin unless it meant killing faem.”

Mygo regarded her with the familiar wary expression. “I’ve seen stranger things—some that prove mirajin aren’t as infallible as once believed. Perhaps this one’s corrupt.”

Mygo’s growing knowledge on this topic rattled her, though she did her best to hide it. “What about your supplies?” she asked, shifting the conversation. “You can’t bring all of it along.”

“I’ve got someone in the Flock I trust. She’ll host my belongings while we’re away.” He leaned forward. “Now, let’s talk about where we’re going and what we’ll need to do to avoid attracting flayers.”

“Do you have a map?” she asked.

Mygo produced a scroll from a nearby bag, which he unrolled and held over his knees. Annilasia crouched across from him to scan the common travelers map, and pointed at a particular spot indicative of dense forest.

“That’s our destination,” she stated.

Mygo groaned. “Of course it is. That’s dead center of flayer territory. Vowt and I have never ventured that far . . .” There was an odd pause, but he quickly resumed his sentence. “It’s in the direction the flayers tend to migrate after their kills.” He shook his head. “I don’t suppose there’s any talking you out of this.” He looked to Annilasia, who raised her eyebrow in return. “We’ll need torches and plenty of oil.” He pointed at Elothel’s steed. “And that thing can’t tag along. In fact, we can sell it for the oil.”

“There’s truly nothing else that’ll kill them?” Annilasia asked in dismay.

“We’ve been studying these things for a long time.” His mouth twitched as he debated his next words. “It’s why we’re at the bunker. Vowt’s a chymist of sorts, and he’s obsessed with understanding the flayers. Because of him, we’ve been able to learn quite a bit about the creatures.”

“A chymist, huh?” Annilasia glanced over at Vowt, who was pointedly looking in any other direction but theirs.

“Don’t get bashful now,” Mygo chided his companion. A twinkle of humor entered his eyes. “He won’t shut up once someone’s mentioned his passion.”

“F-f-flayers aren’t invincible,” quipped Vowt. He shifted towards them and even had enough bravery to hold Annilasia’s gaze. “They—they have something in them that keeps them s-s-strong.”

“You mean like a power?” asked Annilasia.

Vowt shook his head with vigorous reproach. “No, in them. It’s in their genetic code.”

Annilasia frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Me neither,” Mygo admitted as he looked at Vowt. “He picked up that term from some old book we found a while back. I only know what kills them, and so far, the only way we’ve found that works is fire. Derigan figured that out.” Mygo smiled, but his expression faded. “It wasn’t always just Vowt and me. There were five of us. We thought maybe if we could figure out the mystery of the flayers, it might change things somehow. We wanted to prove to the Ikaul that the Sachem wasn’t the savior he claimed to be.” Mygo released the map, and it recoiled.

Annilasia observed Mygo. His downcast expression was something she had never seen. He seemed too sad as he recollected his group.

“So, what can we do?” she asked. “You mentioned fire and oil.”

“Here’s the important part,” said Mygo, the previous tone of sadness now replaced with a grim voice. “When we pass the first line of trees, we need to be very quiet. No talking from that point on. Some of the flayers have incredible hearing. The longer we can stay undetected, the better off we’ll be.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“It’ll have to,” Mygo grunted. “You’re a tillishu. Surely you’re trained in hand signals.”

“I am, but Jalice isn’t,” Annilasia pointed out. “I doubt Elothel is either. But that’s not the problem.” As if on cue, Jalice cried out from the tent. Annilasia sighed. “We can stay silent as the grave, but there’ll be no guarantee she will.”

“We might have to gag her,” said Mygo.

“You won’t need to,” came the melodious reply near the tent.

Annilasia turned to see Elothel, standing outside under the open sky. Fae motioned for Annilasia to approach. She walked to Elothel and cringed with every step at the searing pain in her shoulder. The dokojin howled and dug into her thoughts like a drowning rat.

“Why? What did you do?” she asked as she tried to block out the deranged sounds of the dokojin in her head.

“I gifted your friend with peace,” said Elothel. “It’s temporary, and I’ll have to keep bestowing her with doses of my aether until we get to the Black House. The more I give her, the more the dokojin will resist and build ways to reject it.”

“Burn it out!” shouted Annilasia’s frantic dokojin. “Get the book and read it. Read it. Read it.”

Annilasia shifted and rubbed her neck. If she ignored it, the damn thing would shut up.

“It’s northeast of here and four days’ march,” Annilasia said, and gestured towards Mygo. “The wilderman and his companion are joining us. They know you’re a mirajin.” She waved her hands as Elothel’s posture grew rigid. “I know, I know—but he knew somehow. I don’t think he’s got any intention of doing you harm. But the sooner we get Jalice healed, the sooner we’re rid of them.”

As she spoke, her voice drifted off to a muffled noise until she could no longer hear it. Her lips moved, but only an endless screech of parched voices crammed inside her ears. Abandoning coherent words, the dokojin screeched without any gasp for air. It didn’t need air.

It could scream without end.