11. A Blade Named Marbhchìor #2
Isabel shoots upright, turning toward the commander. She recognizes this. “You said you got weapons from your guests,” she says.
Domhen looks confused, the golden markings on its face wrinkling. “Yes.”
“What about the one you used against the serpere? You used a dead Vacciom, and it shot venomous fangs into the draek?n.”
Nodding slowly, the elven-fae says, “Yes, that was a gift from our ally.”
Warily, Isabel says, “I think that is what’s poisoning Q?n Ts?ma.”
The commander hesitates before looking at the other guards, who all look confused.
“We would know if that were the case,” Misehe says. “It’s a distinct mark. She would be dead already from the venom.”
Isabel shakes her head, climbing down from the bed. “Not if only a single fang was used, diluted, and hidden where it would be hard to find. The death would be slow and the poison undetected.”
All eyes turn to the healer, who begins growing flustered. “You must be wrong,” Mishe insists, white robes fluttering around them.
“I’m not,” Isabel says confidently.
The guards begin murmuring among themselves in Elvīnum. The one who lost its sword to Sapphira asks Isabel, “You think they did this on purpose? Our allies.”
“Yes. But that’s not all. They had someone working for them.”
Mishe backs up slowly, and all eyes turn to the healer. At that moment, it all happens so fast. Sapphira is at Isabel’s side instantly, pulling her away from the scuffle.
The healer attempts to turn and run, but the guards are on Mishe too soon. As they march Misehe away, the healer shouts, “It isn’t my fault! They made me do it!”
Sapphira lets out a low whistle. “I knew I didn’t like that elf.”
Isabel rolls her eyes.
The commander is staring stricken at the door where Mishe disappeared, then turns back to Isabel, weary, “Now that you know what’s wrong with her, can you heal our q?nsol?”
When Sapphira pushes forward angrily, the guard doesn’t even try to defend itself. Instead, Domhen looks sheepish.
“Your people did this,” Sapphira says, “and yet you brought us here against our will like prisoners and threatened us. Yet you’re still asking for help.”
“M? pa?n?t?t,” the commander says, dropping to its knees and bowing. “I’m sorry, Sapphira and Isabel. Please take my deepest apologies and help our q?nsol. I promise, the reward will be great.”
“No—” Sapphira starts.
“I will,” Isabel says, stepping forward. She’s come this far. She will not let her patient die. “Do you have any of the fangs left?”
Domhan snaps, and a guard leaves the room. When the elf returns, its face is confused. “Commander . . . they’re all gone. Someone must have taken them so we couldn’t heal her if we learned the cause.”
Isabel doesn’t look worried though. She says, “That’s all right. I don’t need it.”
“Isabel?” Sapphira says. “But you—”
“This is the one you tossed to me,” Isabel says, reaching into her bag. “I wanted a memento for my collection.”
Sapphira’s eyes soften. “Only you, Isabel Bajiyah. You are one of a kind,” she says fondly. She snaps a side-eye to the commander and says, “Better be a good reward.”
Now that Isabel knows what is wrong with the q?nsol, her body is light, the weight and guilt lifted from her shoulders.
It is easy to treat her. She works quickly and confidently, the healer aide handing her everything she needs.
She makes the cure less potent than the one she used on the serpere, and as soon as she gives the girl the medicine, her body relaxes, her eyelashes fluttering more quickly than Isabel has yet seen them do.
“It’ll take some time to recover from the venom, since she was being poisoned slowly and has been bedridden for days. But the elven healers should be able to take it from here,” Isabel says as she finishes her work.
“Thank you,” the commander says, deep relief bowing his shoulders. He looks down at Ts?ma, a hand smoothing over her soft cheek, which is already looking plumper with life. “There is no way I could ever properly repay you for saving my s?r?r. Name a prize, and it is yours.”
Isabel startles a moment, mouthing, “S?r?r?” It’s the only Elvīnum word she knows. She has seen it in her mother’s writings. And Isabel’s favorite bedtime story, which her mother used to read to her as a child, was an elven fable about two sisters heading on different paths.
“O-of course,” she says, bowing to the commander. When she stands up straight, she says, “I would like a record of your medicines, if you could.”
Domhen’s eyes widen for a moment, then the elven-fae nods. “Of course. I’ll have that prepared for you right away.”
Sapphira gasps beside Isabel. “That’s all? Ask for money! Something valuable after what that swamp monst—”
“Actually, I would like one more thing,” Isabel says.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about!” Sapphira cheers. “Bleed ’em dry.”
“A sword,” Isabel says. She turns to Sapphira. “For my friend. The best you have.”
Sapphira goes silent, her smile waning as she meets Isabel’s eyes.
Isabel’s cheeks darken, warming under Sapphira’s shocked gaze.
Sapphira steals glances at Isabel as they’re escorted back through Ilyath Shire—this time in carts pulled by eight-tentacled creatures with grayish skin, human upper bodies, and armor made of shells.
Passing through the Mountains of Nytherdorei, they stand at the edge of the deadland. The commander assists Isabel out of the cart, but Sapphira waves Domhen away when it reaches for her hand.
“Respectfully, I still don’t like you. But”—she adds when his face falls—“I think you’re growing on me.”
The commander smiles. Then Domhen waves to one of the guards.
An elf steps forward, holding a wrapped cloth out toward Sapphira.
Sapphira unwraps it, gasping as she pulls out the most stunning sword.
It’s similar to the icy blade she stole in the castle, except the colors are a frosty pale orange and sea green, nearly see-through, with intricate carvings.
The scabbard is just as beautifully crafted.
“This is my blade, Marbhchìor,” Domhan says. “The highest honor bestowed upon an elven guard of the q?nsol’s legion. It has seen few hands but many battles. It has stories that may reveal themselves to you in time.”
Sapphira bows, a look passing over her face that Isabel has never seen. She looks . . . in awe of the elven-fae’s gift. And close to tears.
“I will take good care of it,” Sapphira says, her voice cracking as she straps it to her waist. Her original sword is returned to her and retakes its place on her back.
Another guard steps forward and hands Isabel a herbarium, slightly different from the one back at the castle. Her eyes widen to saucers, and an unpleasant squeal leaves her lips.
“This is the only other full copy of our medicines,” Domhen says. “May you use it well and keep it safe, chimera healer Isabel.”
“Wait! I have one last question,” Isabel says when they turn to go. “Do you know the tale of a place without magic?”
She ignores Sapphira’s piercing stare at the side of her head as Domhan purses its lips. “It doesn’t sound familiar. A place without magic? I’m sorry. I am not sure.”
The guard Sapphira likes least steps forward. “The fable,” the elf says.
“I’m sorry. What’s your name?” Sapphira asks.
The elf gives her a flat look, and she smiles.
“Tor. And there is an old fable told in some parts about the three realms. The underworld, the middle world, and the overworld. I don’t remember much of it, and it changed over the centuries, but the belief was that once, all three realms lived in harmony until the battle at Freyr Njor. ”
Sapphira looks at Isabel, who shrugs. She’s never heard of this.
“Thank you,” Sapphira says, as she and Isabel turn to go.
It’s Domhen who stops them this time, saying to Sapphira, “I wanted to ask you, Heir of Ymir, where did you come from?”
Sapphira eyes the commander warily. “Why do you call me that? My mother was Paloma, not Ymir.”
Domhen tilts its head, watching Sapphira closely as if she is something to understand. The commander looked both terrified of her and amazed. Domhen eventually shrugs and says cryptically, “If you want answers, search where the lights touch the earth,” and turns to leave.
“Thanks for nothing!” Sapphira shouts at Domhen’s back, waving her sword over her head.
But Isabel isn’t smiling. Mork Kall , she thinks.
The lights touch the earth in the far north .
As she looks at Sapphira, who is still smiling after the commander, a heavy weight twists her stomach.
Should I tell her? She regrets the thought immediately, guilt creeping in.
So she says, “That’s in the Arctic, in the dominion of Mork Kall. If you want to go—”
“No,” Sapphira says quickly, surprising Isabel. “I mean, not yet. Who knows if that elf was even telling the truth. We shouldn’t rush into another adventure. Frankly, I’m exhausted.”
Isabel smiles, sighing in relief. “I am too,” she says, giggling.
The sand kicks up around their sluggish feet, which drag with exhaustion as they head back out into the deadlands.
Sapphira wraps an arm around Isabel, helping keep her upright as she sags forward.
All of the exhaustion and the adrenaline of the night catch up to the chimera, and the pain in her legs becomes unbearable, her staff bowing under her dead weight.
“I—I can’t . . .” Isabel slurs, her eyes blurring and legs numb. There’s a burning in her chest, a warmth spreading outward till it reaches the tips of her shoulders. Then a voice calls out to her like an echo in her mind.
“ISABELLLLL!”
There’s a heavy beating of the air, and first she thinks she’s only hearing things. But at the sight of dusty red wings that span far across the sky, blocking the sun, she smiles.
Her best friend—Kaelen—comes diving toward her. He shifts midair, landing on human feet as he picks her up off the ground in a tight hug.
“Where in star’s name have you been!” he asks.
Then he immediately begins lamenting about how worried he was.
“As soon as I realized you were gone, I searched for you. But your link was closed off. I felt it flicker a few times, along with your declining magic, and that’s how I was able to pinpoint your location,” he rambles.
Isabel can’t keep the dopey smile off her face. “It’s good to see you too,” she says with a groan.
“What were you doing in the elven-fae kingdom?” he cries.
“I’ll tell you all about it . . . right after I get some sleep.”
Nodding, Kaelen shifts again, and Sapphira helps Isabel onto his back. She holds Isabel tight on the flight home. Isabel grips Kaelen’s fur, trying to keep her eyes open, but she quickly falls asleep against his soft, warm back.
Home. She’s home.