Rule of 3 -- "The Red Rogue" -- Part 4 -- Lord of Secrets

Part 1:  "Taste of Revenge"

Part 2:  “Merrie the Broker”

Part 3:  "Raaz the Daemon"

Word count:  595  (not including title)

Prompts:

1.  The misfortune is resolved/accepted.

2. Relationships mend/ are torn asunder.

3. There is a new arrival in town.

The Lord of Secrets

“Raaz Arius, Prince of Oboros, First of Murmux, I summon thee.  Appear, Ancient Wisdom, Lord of Secrets and submit.”

Familiar words filtered through the pain pounding in my head as I slowly woke up.  I knew that voice--the renegade mage.  All I had to do to disrupt the spell which would bind Raaz’ spirit to hers forever would be to cast a handful of pebbles in her face.  I would rather kill her. 

The sharp agony of cracked ribs and warm trickle of blood down my face recalled my memory.  Her thugs had caught us as we came out of the snuggery; they worked me over pretty good.  It was easier to drift off into fantasy than to move my aching body.

Andi, help me.  My brother’s voice shocked me back to consciousness.  But Tim was dead.  The voice in my head was his but not his.  Raaz?

Slowly I opened my eyes.  I lay sprawled out, face down on the rocky floor of the Kastanes mines.  Arcs of arcane energy crackled in the air. This abandoned cavern made an ideal summoning chamber.

I slowly lifted my head to look around. The mage was fully engaged in the spell.  Hands held high above her head and standing on tip toe she appeared to be reaching for something.  But it was just an effect of the magic coursing through her. 

The body of one thug was sprawled face down not far from me.  The other was nowhere in sight. 

In the center of a circle chalked onto the ground was an ornate glass bottle and Raaz’ limp haakla body.   The bottle and the haakla were enveloped in a blue haze--the spell would trap and seal Raaz’ spirit in that bottle.

I slowly rose to my knees.  Head pounding, my eyes blurred with pain and dizziness. I weakly swept a handful of sand and small pebbles into the air.

But they crackled and disappeared like bugs in a bonfire.  She was using an arcane shield this time. 

I had to break her concentration, fast.  Without thinking much, I lurched to my feet and launched myself at her.  I wasn’t much bigger than she but more muscular.  The impact sent her sprawling as the shield crackled through my body like lightening.

She screamed as she took the feedback from the broken shield.  She had no choice but to escape through the vortex just as she had done a month ago.

The magics fizzled out and I was left in the dim cavern with only a single oil lamp to give light.

I crawled to Raaz where he lay still.  His breathing was fast and shallow, even for a rodent.

“Raaz?”  I lightly touched one tiny paw, so like my own hand.

I haven’t much time, Andi.  His tiny fist wrapped around my finger.

I swallowed hard as his eyes blinked opened. 

“I grant you a secret or three, Mortal, for your friendship.”

Ancient Wisdom and Lord of Secrets she had called him.

 “Merrie?”  I asked hopefully.

“Ahh.  She wanders alone and frightened in the darkness of Herriot’s Passage.  She unwittingly led them to us.”

“I see.”  Deep inside, I had always understood the true nature of Merrie’s threat.

 “Saraya Philarch.”

“What?”

“The name of your brother’s murderer; the mage who summoned me—my final gift to you.”

Then he was still and I knew I would miss him.

Finding Merrie would be easy enough; sorting things out with her might take some time.  This abandoned cavern would have to serve as shelter while we both recovered.

Rule of 3 -- "The Red Rogue" -- Part 3 -- Raaz the Daemon

Part 1:  "Taste of Revenge"

Part 2:  “Merrie the Broker”

Word count:  595  (not including title)

Third Character:  Raaz

Prompts:

1. The impending misfortune foreshadowed in the 1st prompt comes to pass, but one or more characters laugh at it.  (Andi’s and Raaz’s secrets are discovered by persons yet unknown.)
2. Betrayal is in the air.  (They have been betrayed—from within or without ?)
3. Relationships unravel or strengthen.  (Andi suddenly realizes she is not alone and she now has more than herself to think about.)

I have known since I returned from the Schiavona my days were numbered.  A renegade mage and a couple of thugs had ambushed my brother and me.

Now, my apartment had been ransacked; Raaz and Merrie had disappeared.

Was this payback for the thugs I had killed in revenge?  Tim’s murderer—perhaps the same mage from whom I had rescued Raaz--was behind this, surely.  And then there was Merrie.  Had she sold us out?

The last place I knew to search for them was my snuggery.  I listened, perched on the ledge outside the window, for whirring wings or Merrie’s voice.  My knees went wobbly, nearly loosening my grip, when I heard them. 

Merrie was lying on her stomach on the bed studying a checkered game board. 

Raaz, across from her, sat on his haunches, his chin in one hand.

Merrie grinned.  “We’re playing drafts!”  The kid was never this excited about anything. 

“Who’s winning?”  I leaned against the wall as a strange sense of relief washed over me.

“The brat,” came Raaz’ sardonic response. 

I stared at him in surprise. So she had learned his secret.

His irritation under control, he picked up one of the game pieces with both of his tiny paws. 

Merrie studied the new arrangement then moved her piece with thumb and forefinger.   

“Hah.”  Raaz pounced on one of his own markers. He jumped it twice, wings whirring.

“Hmmph.”  Merrie crossed her arms, studying the board again.

“Anyone want to tell me what’s going on?”  I asked looking from Raaz to Merrie and back again. 

“We had visitors.”  Raaz kept his attention on the board.

“Yes, I noticed that part.”  And someone had learned my secrets.  The comfortable rooms of my apartment, now thoroughly trashed came to mind. 

Raaz barked, chattering his teeth in a strange little haakla laugh.  “Not to worry, we’re still alive.”  He sounded smug and all too pleased with himself.

“Andi guess what?”  Merrie’s raspy little voice caught my attention.

“What?” 

“Did you know Raaz is a, a,” she wrinkled her nose, “a em-fy-tor, I think.”

Emphitor--an imp, so that’s what he had told her.  Okay, that worked for me, for now.

“Really?  How interesting.”

She looked at me with disgust.  Little kids know when they’re being played.  An outright lie might pass over her head, but not for long. 

Shrugging my shoulders I acquiesced and nodded.

“He can do magic.”  She had already forgiven me. 

I returned my attention to the small creature who was feigning deep interest in the game board. 

Suddenly he looked up.  “Bring anything to eat?”

“Well, no.  I’m afraid I’ve been a bit busy.”  I could have cheerfully choked him.  “What happened?” 

“Bad men, Andi, bad men came to our house.”  A deep furrow had formed on Merrie’s brow.

That’s when it struck me; somehow I had inherited a new family.  For the first time since Tim’s death I didn’t feel alone--just suddenly very scared.

I swallowed hard.  “How many and what did they look like?”

“Two,” said Raaz.  “Not sure what they looked like.”  He fluttered his wings in a warning.  

“I was asleep.”  Merrie looked at me with big eyes.

True, I had found her this morning huddled on my doorstep.  I had tucked her into my own bed before leaving. 

“I grabbed Merrie and ‘poof’ we came here.” 

So he had used the vortex while she slept, I had to assume.  But how did he know about the snuggery?  And was Merrie just looking for a home? Yeah, a lot of questions needed answering.

Rule of 3 -- "The Red Rogue" -- Part 2 -- Merrie the Broker

 Part 1  "Taste of Revenge"

 Word count:  595  (not including title)

Second Character:  Merrie

Prompts:

#2.  One of the characters is revealed to be not who he or she is.

#3.  A relationship becomes complicated.

Merrie the Broker

Secrets—everyone in Renaissance had at least one. I was not unique. Secrets colored every public action while the traffic in secrets infused every encounter with a strange energy.

 “Andi, Katie’s got something for ya.”  It wasn’t a whisper.  It was almost a growl, but it was so low you had to be listening for it.  An unexpected thrill of fear ran through me when I heard it.

I glanced at the child huddled against the wall as I unlocked the door of the apartment where most people thought I lived.  Leaving it open, she slithered in behind me.

Raaz fluttered to my shoulder from the top of a cupboard where he made his nest.  If unwanted visitors had come to call Raaz would let me know.  I scratched behind his ear, where the fur ruff ringed his neck, knowing full well it would annoy him.  Sure enough, I was rewarded with a nip on my finger. 

 “So how’d it go while I was out, eh?”  I mumbled softly.  “We get any visitors besides little Merrie here?” 

I knew my caresses felt good; he just didn’t like being treated like a pet.  A trapped desert daemon, he wasn’t adjusting well to the small body of a haakla.  He could speak very clearly but he wasn’t about to say anything in front of Merrie.

Merrie climbed up on a bench by the window in the kitchen.  For all she knew he was just a wild animal, a new pet, I had brought home from the Schiavona Desert.

“He doesn’t talk.”  She said matter-of-factly. Her eyes crossed briefly as she scratched her nose.

She was relatively clean today, I noticed.  Even that tawny mob of hair had been tamed, somewhat.  All legs and arms on a small, dark body; her face was heart-shaped with big amber eyes which seemed to tilt up a bit at the outside corners. She should’ve been a mother’s pride and joy instead of a throw away kid. 

I grinned at her as I began to make some griddle cakes.  “So what’s Katie got for me?” 

She shrugged, leaning forward on her arms on the kitchen board.  “Dunno.”  We both knew that wasn’t true.

She growled in that rough, grumbly voice, so like a brawler in one of the bars on The Targe.  She had acquired it from intense screaming, too long, too loud, and at too young an age. Until there came a time when she realized no amount of screaming was going to save her. That’s when she got clever, I suppose.

Nowadays, she made very little sound. Truth is--I don’t think she could sustain long threads of speech.  It was as if though her throat was too scarred.

I passed her a bowl of mixed berries.  Merrie was one of the best snoops in town; it’s how she made a living.  In fact, keeping my own private business from her had become a full time challenge, lately.  I was surprised she hadn’t ferreted out Raaz’s nasty little secret, by now.  Or, perhaps she had.  My stomach clenched at the thought of that.

And she was tough; she couldn’t be coerced or cajoled so I didn’t say anything.  I just turned my attention back to the griddle cakes.

“A job, mebbe.” Another growl issued from her small frame as she popped a couple berries in her mouth.

I nodded.  But, I couldn’t help thinking—someday I was going to find her dead body in a back alley.  It’s what happens to people who broker secrets in Renaissance.

Rule of 3: The Red Rogue - Part 1 - "A Taste of Revenge"

Prompt:  A sense of impending misfortune

Character:  Andari, the rogue

Word Count:  515

“They shouldn’t have killed him.  Not like they did.”  I crouched atop a stack of crates stored under eaves dripping with the first of the winter rains, as the blood of the last assassin seeped away down the gutters. 

Yeah, this brute lying dead on his face in a Renaissance back alley had been the last of those sent to kill my brother.  But they had just been the hired help.  It had taken me a lot of time and everything I had saved just to find them.  And I wasn’t done yet.  Now, I wanted the ones who had paid the blood price.

Feeling nearly as drained as the deadbeat in the street I pulled myself up to the roof above me.  With one fluid motion I was on the roof tiles running on silent padded feet through the night.  I knew where all the loose and missing tiles were, and all the slick spots. 

Yet, slicing the throat of a drunk taking a piss was as anti-climatic as it comes.  By now I no longer cared if they understood why or if they felt my rage.  That had gone out of me with the first kill.  I was just glad to have done with this part of the task.

I gathered speed.  At the last possible second I launched into the air in a swan dive.  Tucking my legs up to my chest to expend energy, I somersaulted onto the roof of a lower building.  In a few steps I flung myself onto a drainpipe attached to the rising wall of the one and only warehouse in our small town.  Climbing quickly, I reached the narrow ledge where the top floor had been shabbily added at a much later date than the original building.  Following it along I came to a narrow window, to a place I never brought anyone.

Carefully avoiding the broken nails I purposely embedded along the window frame, I rolled into the single room I used as my snuggery.  It’s where I came, needed to come, now that the job was finished.

My wet outer clothes sloughed off without effort. They fell in a heap of rain soaked colors--dark blue and purple.  I unwound my chest brace, which flattened my breasts and leaned out my profile.  Most observers would not have thought female first.  I kicked it to one side along with the other pieces of armor I wore.

It’s sure and certain, Timarole wouldn’t have been proud of me.  Not like he had once been.  A slice of pain ran through me with the memory of my brother.  His ready smile and laughing eyes--I was never going to see them again.  

As I stared into the small cracked mirror on the wall above a faded basin, I pondered my reflection.  The woman I had become still had the same glossy russet hair and green eyes with a scattering of freckles across a perky nose.  But those eyes, so much like Tim's,  stared back cold now almost grey.  Was it the grief?

“Maybe…” I whispered softly to no one.

Remembering Andre

We were several days into what promised to be a long and bitter teacher’s strike in my sophomore year of high school.  I was new to the area, new to the school. As soon as I was placed in my classes, they changed.  It couldn’t have been any more confusing  for a young girl.

Within a few days I found myself without a classroom to go to.  In exasperation, the harried volunteer at the registration desk sent me to the library.  “Wait there,” she said, “until we can figure this out.”  It would be several weeks before they figured things out.

In the meantime, I sat at a long table alone in the library of a strange school, staring at a stack of equally strange textbooks in front of me.  Now, if this was a work of fiction this would be the perfect time to introduce my new best friend or a love interest.  Together we would unravel the confusion, make sense of things.  Maybe we would find a mystery to solve.  But, this is real life.  There was no new friend, no love interest.

However, there was fiction.  This is when fantasy fiction entered my life.  This is when I met Andre Norton.   I don’t mean to say I actually met the writer.  Although I can vouchsafe for the genuine affection for her and the sense of familiarity the mention of her name brings to me even today.  These are feelings every devoted fantasy/sf fan can claim.

But, through her stories I learned that the troubles which we all encounter are fairly constant throughout time, geographic location and across cultures and socio-economic status.   I learned all people everywhere are beset by problems and challenges in their lives.  Our stories differ only in details and minor circumstances.   In short, here is where I learned about the concept of universality. 

I think it all worked so well and spoke so truly to my own condition at the time because the stories were fantastic.  That is to say, because the genre was fantasy or science fiction it was actually easier to understand the concept of universality at age 15.  Spending a few days with Andre I discovered I wasn’t actually alone in that big library.  For me, this was the great gift from a wonderful writer—the certain knowledge that we are all connected.   

Thank you, Andre Norton.