Knight's Nemesis Read online

  "May I?" He took the hot dog and bit. He didn't use the yellow sauce and half the hot dog disappeared in one bite.

  "I should've brought a dozen," she blurted.

  He chewed as politely as possible with a mouthful of dog food. She hadn't tried the dog food yet. Maybe wolves ate the way she ate, staying true to their animal's diet. Clementine, a bird crossbreed, ate grains, pops, and some fruit. His kind was a relative of the dog, so dog food worked for him. She examined the way his jawbone crushed the soft meat and tilted her head thinking of his wolf's jaw filled with powerful sharp teeth. She shuddered.

  He lifted an eyebrow. "Business?"

  "Oh yes, I'm sorry. " She'd stared at him the way he'd stared at her. "Market is usual, little busier for the parties coming up, and most trade folk are due down by tomorrow night. They were up in the gardens as you know—"

  "How is your trade?"

  She picked her pops and shrugged. "Good, my lilies make the best in the lands if that's what you mean. Fourteen nights or your money back, guaranteed."

  "Found anything unexpected lately?"

  She frowned, placed her hand on her lap. "Like what?"

  "With the land."

  "Rampion is thriving."

  "Mhm. Do you sell its lamps?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "They stink.”

  He shoved in the other half of a hot dog, wiped his mouth with a napkin then turned his chair. As a bird, she eyed him sideways for a while before wheeling hers, so that she faced him. This was the oddest sale of her career.

  He placed his elbows on his knees. "Come here."

  A clean and precise order. He really did want privacy. Maybe he had an eye for custom-made lighting and didn't want others to beat him to it. Some rich folk were competitive like that and requested special arrangements she didn't showcase in the market. Like the lamp floral arrangements that hung from ceilings throwing different shades of lights every which way. They were popular with wealthy Nightlanders that visited the Daylands and saw their electrical devices.

  She mimicked his pose, placed her elbows on the rests of her chair and leaned forward with a smile. Their faces a hand apart, feeling secretive she whispered, "I also work with orchids, or even red roses if you like bouquets but I have to be honest and say the scent can be a little too much. Unless, your new home is very big, then the room—"

  His eyes flashed grey wolf.

  Clementine gripped her wheels to roll back.

  He placed his hands on hers. "Easy now."

  With his wolf on the surface, inside her chest, her animal reared back and shrieked. Clementine struggled to hold his gaze, slipped her hands from under his, and placed them on her lap. She interconnected her fingers for a better grip and tightened her jaw, holding, hoping her teeth didn't shatter. She didn't have delusions that she could outstare him, but some battles she fought and other's she didn't. This was one battle wolves considered important when they established their presence and she didn't want to appear intimidated. She wasn't cowed, she was a natural creation of her own animal, a prey to his wolf and there was nothing she could change about that.

  When tears gathered in her eyes as his predatory ones pounded her submission and when his eyes narrowed at her resistance, she lowered hers. At least ten star blinks passed. That wasn't bad was it? A new record for her.

  He tapped her jaw with his fingertip. She lifted her head. His eyes were green when he asked, "How are you doing it?"

  "Trade secret."

  "Tell me."

  "Of course. I pick the lilies, take them home, then I buy the imager's capsules I'll need." She hooked a thumb behind her to show his stall. "I use them on the flower to enhance the picture of their natural light."

  "That's all?"

  "He sells capsules of his magic and I've learned how to use his illusions." It was a truth but not the truth since she didn't use his capsules on her lamps. She was, nevertheless prepared for questions. Many a folk asked why her flowers glowed brighter and longer than nature's ones, but even when they asked, she didn't tell, kept her trade secrets, kept her magic to herself. Knight was a different story. If he wanted to know, she'd tell him small truths and hope he didn't push further.

  With the right tools she could use others’ magic or, in the case of flowers, their core purpose, which was to provide light and scent in the Nightlands. But she used magic within boundaries, and the last thing she wanted was for Knight to find out she manipulated the magic of the lands. Nobody controlled nature. She gripped her hands tighter, digging fingers into her skin. Her heart drummed to the beat of her animal's heart, whose beak had tucked under her wing, one red eye peeking at him.

  His wolf had surfaced, pelt standing upright, while Knight appeared calm. Finally, he leaned back and nodded like he’d moved onto some sort of a conclusion.

  Shoulders relaxed, she expelled a breath.

  "Very well, here." Knight reached into his pocket and pulled out a brown leather sac. A thump sounded when he placed a sac full of coins on the stand next to his empty food basket. One coin spilled, wheeled off the edge, but he caught it without looking. He flicked his thumb and the coin landed heads up in her lap. “For good luck. Buy as many capsules as you can and more if he won’t give you enough. Tell him you're on Clan duty. Go home, pack light..." he considered her leg, "I'll meet you at your healer. Who?”

  “Clearance. Pack?"

  "We're going to stroll the high gardens, you'll need some clothes."

  "Oh!" She brightened, realizing she panicked for no reason. "You want to pick your own flowers, why yes, there's a place right up—"

  "I need to see you work."

  "What? No." She shook her head. He wanted to take away her business and learn how she spun the image capsule that she'd lied about. His capsules were too expensive to use all the time, so she wielded her magic on the nature itself. Besides, an illusion was cheating people into believing their home was well lit instead of actually being well lit. It was dishonorable. She was proud of her business, however little it was, and now he wanted to take it away. "Please, my sister and I depend on this—"

  He put his hand up.

  She didn't acquit. "Night of the Wolf is my biggest sale night. Everyone wants the bright lights." She swirled her hand about her, "I'm supplying the market place, I've two nights of work lined up." She paused. "Do you even have a house?"

  Knight didn't appear impressed with her excuses, though they were valid. In fact, he pinched his lips together and stood. Pressure built inside her ears and then she heard a pop.

  The pressure released.

  He swiped his hand through the air.

  Silence.

  Clementine surveyed the market again. Seven chatted with the stable boy by their carriage only a few steps away, dove's small cage in her hands. People went about, but the market noise vanished. Knight had made some sort of soundproof isolation and her heart beat faster. "Wolf," she said softly, "I don't know what you want, but I sell flower lamps. They come in threes or bundles. I heard you have a new home, and congratulations. I—"

  "Shut up. You're lying to me." His hands landed on her wheels.

  She plastered her back to the chair’s rest when his face came closer and his eyes flashed cold, grey wolf again. Trapped under him, her dove keened, and Clementine held her breath when his wolf surfaced.

  She saw his animal.

  Knight was a man to others, a wolf under man’s skin to Clementine even before he crossed. His face wavered between a man and a grey wolf with a single black fur line running along his jaw on a head four times the size of hers. He was a menace.

  "How long does it take to cross from one mountain to another?" he asked.

  "Several nights." Her voice, a feather of a whisper.

  "Do you know what a group of farmer families from the other side told me?"

  "No."

  "They've asked for shelter, talked famine. Fa-mine," he pronounced. "I gave them shelter. Far, far away fro
m here, because what I don't need is panic. I'm responsible for every soul on this land and this one flower girl is starting to piss me off."

  "What...what do you want from me?"

  He leaned and sniffed around her neck. Clementine didn't dare breathe with a wolf so close to her jugular. She swallowed when he ran his nose down her throat, and inhaled to memorize her scent. When his chest rumbled, she keened in distress like her bird had done blinks ago.

  He fixed her shoulder lace, brushed his finger over her collarbone. "For now, get packing, flower girl."

  THREE

  Yellow more than white lilies lined the busy valley's town streets. They disappeared behind Clementine as the clan's horses climbed the steep mountain path to her home. Knight fit her with a carriage large enough for her chair and ordered Seven and Konj to stay behind and complete the sale. He’d bought every one of her flowers while she’d purchased every one of the imager's capsules. Unfortunately, people stocked up for the festival, so she only had twelve capsules plus two at home for headaches.

  She strategized on how to use the capsules on a large part of the lower, more populated gardens with what she thought Knight had in mind. The imager limited his illusions by space and time. When she broke his capsule, the illusion would spread around her and linger but only for a night and only in the immediate areas where rampion grew, so that the area appeared unaffected. Clementine, with her own magic, could hold the illusion of pretty gardens for several nights though and if they had high winds too, she could cover a bigger area.

  But, it was a trick, a lie. It didn't solve the problem of famine, not to mention, Knight wanted folk to think everything was fine. He probably needed her to delay the outright panic until the clan marched the gardens and took care of the farmlands.

  She'd help, of course she would. Famine he’d said. Farmers had moved to the valley. She pursed her lips. Curious, she guided the horses past the unpaved road fork to her home and past the small, quiet, seamstress village, heading towards the lower garden's mountain range.

  The gardens, a well maintained natural splendor, were a popular Daylander tourist attraction in the Nightlands. Their vast natural beauty stretched above the small villages to the highest mountaintops. Clementine rarely ventured to pick lilies around these parts, her consistent needs for more would deprive the gardens of flowers and she preferred the quiet meadows near her home where lilies grouped together. Not so much anymore.

  As she climbed the less familiar road, she guided the horses closer to the garden's fence flooded with rampion. The bushy fence on her right was as tall as a horse and trimmed neatly by the common folk. Several orchids struggled for attention in-between the odd, large purple flowers.

  Like tentacles, the rampion’s petals, thin, tall, and numerous, closed over the capsule inside. Some of them were as long as two finger. Too long. The flower that protruded out of the bushes and in some places overgrew the fence, was as large as Knight's hand with leaves that grew smaller up the stem towards the flower. Ordinary rampion grew tall, as tall as the horse's leg, but not as tall as the horse. Purple flowers should add to the greenery of the bush, the whites of lilies, and the pinks of orchids, not overwhelm them. The fence glowed all purple. Nature’s other creations hung their heads, deprived of nutrition, and the road reeked of old, spoiled flower.

  Clementine nudged the horses and noticed the stomp of their hoofs on the road was the only sound around. Where were the birds, the bees, the crickets? She followed the strong scent of gardenia. Surely they were well.

  Up ahead, gardenia flowers didn't glow, not even a little.

  Horses huffed, skipped a step. She tsked, clicked her tongue then guided them straight. If it wouldn't take forever and a night to climb back up the carriage's ramp, she'd check out the flowers.

  A horse neighed, shook his head.

  "What's the matter boy?" Clementine clicked her tongue, urging him on.

  The horse stopped and stomped his front feet. The other horse sensed his mate's unease. The carriage rocked as the horses attempted to turn, shaking their heads and stamping. Their feet kicked out as if trying to remove something from their hoofs.

  Horses had great instincts.

  "Okay, let's head back." Dread pooled in her stomach as the winds picked up and swept large rampion leaves out of the gardens and all over the road in front of them. It was time to leave.

  “Ya!”

  ***

  From the valley bellow, their home appeared carved into a mountain as it sat on the red grass clearing right on the cliff's edge. The brown, single-family cottage with a red roof was small, with two bedrooms, a sitting room, a bathroom, and a kitchen, but seemed bigger on the outside because of the large rocks used to build its walls.

  To the right, a small barn for four horses matched the cottage in color though not in size. She guided the horses and parked the carriage next to the barn. She lowered the ramp. Slowly, she gripped her wheels, released them one at the time until the wheels touched the grass.

  Seven had left the family house when she was twenty-two after angering Mother by losing her virginity to the unimportant neighbor's boy. Starlights later she’d bought this home, away from town, to train the messenger pigeons without distractions. Clementine had joined her sister because they came as a pair. Or at least, that was how it was before Knight busted their solitude and ordered her to pack her bags.

  She hoped she had a bag to pack. She'd never needed to before.

  Clementine wheeled up the porch and to the bright yellow wooden front door then into a short hallway that served as an entrance space. The kitchen was to the left, and Seven's room straight ahead. She spun her wheelchair to the right, and touched a lily nailed to the holder by her bedroom door. A one-person unmade bed was to the right, and her knee brushed the lace trim when she straightened the pale beige sheets.

  Soft cackles sounded.

  She propelled the chair to the bathroom, avoiding the scattered petals littering the floor. Her own lights needed replacing.

  Swiping another lily to turn on the bathroom light, she saw her pet hedgehog inside the steel tub. His bobby, little eyes glowed with excitement as he rose to his forelegs. "Bod, I'll start your a bath now, but after, Seven will take over. I'm on a mission for the clan."

  He keened and scampered over the tub, thumped on the floor in a ball of spikes. Unrolling, he claw-tackled her leg, dug his sharp nails into the cast and climbed onto her lap then rolled, and showed her his soft belly. She tickled him until his little limbs closed on two of her fingers then picked him up. With her free hand, she swiped the bathroom's waterfall mirror, and guided the water to the sink. Her dove rejoiced at the magic and spread her wings.

  Once the water had filled the small sink she released the magic and placed Bod inside. He rocked side-to-side, and splashed water on the counter. His claws hit the sides of the sink when he swam around the edges in a fury of spikes. He dunked under.

  Clementine sighed. "You should've been a fish. Don't drown."

  She pinched her cheeks, dabbed a little rose powder on them and pondered what to pack. She might need a powder box and a hairbrush along with scrunches for her hair. She guided the chair away from the bathroom.

  Good leg closer to the wall, she stopped in front of an old wooden chest. She slid open the cover, and strained to peek inside. Old, dry petals, candles, rope, and leather strings for her hair. She dug past the junk. "Here we go." She retrieved a brown leather backpack and dusted the old dirt then sniffed and covered her mouth. Yak. The pack had been inside for starlights and Clementine kept throwing whatever she didn’t want to throw away inside the chest and on top of the pack. Her version of safe-keep.

  Inside the pack, once she unlaced the strings, her hand closed on the handle of a knife. The imager had given her a deal on this one, even though he’d been reluctant to part from it. She placed it on her lap. The knife's length was the size of a loaf of bread with a black handle and a very sharp tip. She swiped her hand over the han
dle. Her palm, like a feather, touched the bright red, oval, bean-sized jewel which immediately glowed with the imager's source. Only a few blinks and the glow disappeared.

  Good. She used the magic items she bought from him to train herself and discover because she didn't have anyone to teach her about magic. Her father, a dove crossbreed like her, who passed away when Clementine was born, held back his magic his entire life. He never found peace with his bird and he’d feared that if he used magic, he'd lose his dove. Clementine's birth somehow signaled the end of his legacy and he retreated into his rooms to pass away.

  Father and Clementine carried the same magic and all magic came from a source.

  The source of her magic was her dove. Magic was the power that the dove held within her. When people used magic, a trace of their source, like a signature, anchored the magic. Her dove was her source and when the dove wanted to use, she pushed to the surface as if she wanted to leave her and that was why Clementine used magic with great care. Although at odds with each other, both she and Father loved their birds. She didn't want to ever lose her dove, even if they mentally argued often. When she worked with magic, she always made sure to use only a spark.

  The jewel on the knife held the imager’s magic anchored by a trace of his source. She'd removed the magic of the jewel, an illusion, and created a blank slate, exposed the very source of his magic, a trace of his human soul. She infused some of her own magic thereby preserving the source, making it last until she used it, otherwise it would vanish. With only a source she could wield any illusion she wished.

  If he realized there was a folk who could take his source and magic apart, he'd be more careful with his capsules, or in this case, the jewels. Shuddering at the thought of another being powerful enough to guide her magic, she placed the knife, the hairbrush, and the rose-powder box in the pack.

  She spun towards her closet.

  Three ankle-length cotton dresses in various shades of brown thrown over her shoulder, she grabbed her old, red leather boots. They were comfortable, if hot, for summer time, but she figured a stroll through the gardens to undo the rampion overgrowth wouldn't involve wandering through paved roads and gawking at the garden's beauty.