Seeker of the Four Winds: A Galatia Novel Page 4

  “It’s my charisma. Meditating for ten minutes is like getting an hour of sleep.” Rolf claimed. “With practice, most Galatians can learn how to do it.”

  “Will you teach me?” Lindsey asked.

  “I’d love to,” Rolf gushed a little too eagerly.

  Lindsey giggled.

  Josie rolled her eyes, her usual reaction to pretty much everything Lindsey did—Lars wondered how come she didn’t make herself dizzy.

  She sat down on Rolf’s other side.“Can I join in?”

  “Please do, Josie. Take the position most comfortable for you, clear your mind of all its petty inclinations, and open the portal within which transcends space and time.”

  “The portal being the Excito Fortitudo,” Lars interrupted Rolf, also eager to impress the girls. His father had been a member of the Charismatic Focus Committee and Lars had picked up a lot of not-so-common knowledge over the years.

  Rolf opened one eye wide to cast Lars an irritated glance. “The Exi-forti—what?”

  “The Excito Fortitudo—a new organ exclusive to the Galatian anatomy—brought on by the Celerun plague,” Lars replied smugly. “My Dad and his team were about to publish a paper on their findings when the earthquake hit the bunker, so only a select few even know about it.”

  “Excito Fortitudo,” Josie echoed.

  “I’m not good with fancy terminology,” Rolf said calmly as he opened his palms to the sky as if inviting the universe itself to come hither. “I just know how to make it work.”

  “It’s like learning how to ride a bike.” Lars continued to butt in as the girls settled down. We’re not born knowing we have the ability to balance on two wheels, and it wouldn’t even enter our minds to attempt such a feat, but as soon as someone shows us the possibility…”

  “It’s more important to know how to use the power, than to know the power’s name,” Lindsey said, placing a hand on Rolf’s knee, causing Rolf to blush. “Now, quit interrupting him, Lars. You’re breaking our concentration.”

  “Don’t be doing none of that magical mumbo around me,” Hogard growled as he sat down next to them, holding a skewered skinned rodent over the fire. “It just ain’t right.”

  “Hogard,” Josie complained. “It’s your perception that just ain’t right. You’re afraid of what you think we’re doing, but you don’t understand what we’re doing at all.”

  Hogard’s eyes narrowed. “I ain’t afraid of nothing, cow.”

  “Except the charisma,” Josie replied, holding up one finger. “And magic. And not dying in battle.” The Bulwark’s head began quivering as if he were filling with steam and was about to explode.

  Lars felt the Bulwark struggling to contain his urge to bash Josie with his hammer. Scrambling to his feet, Lars hastily pulled Josie up with him. “We’ll take up the charismatic lesson again later. Why don’t you help me stoke the fire?”

  “And I’ll gather more firewood,” Rolf offered.

  “Wait, Rolf!” Lindsey jumped to her feet. “I’ll do it, I mean go with you—uh, if that’s okay?”

  A dopey grin spread across Rolf’s face. “Sure, okay.”

  Lars caught Josie’s eye—the two of them exchanged a knowing glance. Hogard had already calmed down and he stood there idly scratching his ass with a stick.

  “I saw a patch of berries on the way here,” Josie told Loyl. “I’d like to gather them for supper.”

  “Fine,” the Regalan said. “Stay close to camp. If you get lost, don’t wander. Just call for me and I’ll hear you.”

  “Can Lars come with me?”

  “No,” Loyl said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I promised Simon that I would discourage any amorous activities.”

  “Who said anything about amorous?”

  “Did I mention that Regalans have a sense of smell sharper than any krayzwach?” Loyl caught their perplexed expression. “A porcine creature we use for trailing fugitives and uncovering truffles. What I mean is...I can smell your desire for one another.”

  “Seriously?” Josie brought her arm up to her nose and sniffed. “I don’t smell a thing.”

  “Not you so much—I mean Lars.”

  Lars felt his cheeks burn in humiliation.

  “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s normal, especially among people your age.” Loyl said. “I wouldn’t care if you went off together and pleasured your bodies—it’s just that I gave Simon my word that I would encourage the two of you to keep things platonic.”

  “You let Rolf and Lindsey go off together,” Josie complained.

  “Her parents didn’t bind me by my word.”

  “Please,” Josie pleaded. “Give us ten minutes alone. What can possibly happen in ten minutes?”

  “A lot,” Prince Loyl said.

  “Five minutes.”

  “No. We could still use those berries though. I will send Hogard with you.”

  “No, thank you,” Josie humphed, tossing her nose into the air. “And I thought you were a cool prince, but nooo, you’re just a stuffy old coot like the rest of ‘em.” Grabbing an empty burlap bag, she flounced off into the trees without waiting for the Bulwark. Lars’s eyes followed her in longing until her silhouette became one withk the shadows. Feeling like he was withering inside, Lars let out a long sigh.

  “I’m sorry, Lars,” Loyl squeezed his shoulder. “If it’s true love, this time apart will make the moment you come together all the sweeter. By the way, what’s a coot?” Lars shrugged, not feeling like explaining. “When Lindsey gets back, I’ll look up the definition on her electronic device.”

  Chapter Five

  (Josephine Rose Albright)

  After supper around the fire Loyl borrowed Lindsey’s tablet. When he looked up, he shot Josie a vexed stare. Returning it to Lindsey, he announced that he needed to stretch his legs and left. The next day, Loyl acted cold toward Josie—speaking only when necessary, refusing to look her in the eye. She didn’t understand why until Lindsey showed her the tablet’s history.

  “Does this have anything to do with why he’s been so sulky?” Lindsey asked accusingly. “Leave it to you to offend a totally gorgeous Regalan prince.” Josie grabbed the tablet. The last dictionary entry that had been accessed was coot: a foolish person, typically an old man.

  Could a rugged outdoorsman really be so easily offended? Princes must be unaccustomed to direct ridicule—even in jest. Realizing that she had hurt his feelings, and probably his pride, Josie was determined to smooth things over. But how?

  Finding a moment to apologize was awkward because other people were always around. Josie realized how hard it must have been for Lindsey to admit her role in the guitar conspiracy and apologize in front of the entire squad. The next evening, when they were bedding down for the night, she waited for Loyl to fall asleep and snuck over to speak with Lars.

  “Prince Loyl is mad at me. I think he took it wrong when I called him a stuffy old coot.”

  “Is there a right way to take that?”

  “What should I do?”

  “Apologize.”

  “I figured that,” she snapped acerbically. “I can’t get up the nerve in front of everybody.”

  “I like the old custom of writing notes on paper.”

  “Yeah,” Josie giggled, remembering the cute note he had left on her birthday present. “I know.” She leaned over and gave him a peck on the forehead. “A note it is, then.”

  Returning to the blanket she shared with Lindsey, Josie dug through her bag until she found a small notepad of paper and a pen. She had packed them, intending to journal her trip between the notepad’s sturdy plastic cover. Her good intentions hadn’t quite panned out. She tore out a blank page and wrote:

  Dear Prince Loyl of the House of the White Rose:

  I am sorry for calling you a stuffy old coot. I behaved like a spoiled child and that was wrong. How old are you anyway—like twenty-five or something? Even though it kind of sucks for me and Lars, I admire you for keeping your
word to his dad. I think you are a good leader. Smart and very wise in your decisions. I like it when you sing. You could have been a rockstar singing sensation back in the modern age. While most of the races have been mean to my people, you have been a friend, giving me hope that the world is still good and there’s a place for the Galatians in it somewhere. If you ever need a favor, ask me and I’ll see what I can do. Please forgive me for being a whiny-baby-jerk-face.

  Sincerely,

  Josephine Albright

  She tiptoed to his traveling bag, and folded it into the teeth of his comb where he would find it in the morning. Second-guessing her words, she wondered if the note was too informal. Sometimes it was easy to forget the guy was royalty. Good grief, she slapped her forehead, I’ve probably made everything worse. Loyl stirred and she skittered away, fearful that he’d wake.

  The next morning, Josie couldn’t bear to see his reaction. She hid in the underbrush and waited for him to finish his morning routine of combing his white mane, preening his triangular ears, and sharpening his weapons. When she got back, his hair was smooth and standing straight out in every direction. He gave her a formal tip of the head.

  “I forgive you for being a whiny-baby-jerk-face,” he said, the pomp of his tone and manner not quite matching the words, as he stumbled over the alien phrase.

  She tried to match his formality as she returned his nod. A great weight lifted from her shoulders. “Thank you, kind prince. I am humbled by your graciousness.”

  “I am forty-six-years in this world and counting,” he said, reminding Josie that the average lifespan for his species was around a hundred and thirty, and their maturation process was correspondingly lengthened relative to humans’. “And yourself?”

  “Seventeen years and counting.”

  “I didn’t realize you were quite so young.”

  “If you count the time travel, I’m pushing two hundred thousand. Not so young after all.”

  They shared a chuckle as the rest of the squad packed, but Josie knew the others were watching out of the corner of their eyes. When she returned to her blankets to roll them into a bundle, Lars knelt down to help her, whispering in her ear, “See, I told you a note would work wonders.”

  Josie nudged him playfully in the ribs. “OK, you were right. Miracles do happen.”

  .............................

  (Larsen Drey Steelsun)

  After another week of whining mosquitoes, buzzing horseflies and pole-vaulting deer ticks; plus two river crossings with ensuing sodden girths, the endless trees started to thin. The girls’ rivalry had softened into teasing, which helped pass the time as they drudged through the same old scenery, with the same old people, having the same old conversations about the weather being too hot, too cold, or too rainy, and the ground and saddles being too hard and too uncomfortable, while the food was too bland or too gamey.

  On the positive side, clear skies, mild weather, and good luck helped squad travel at a fast pace. The usual routine consisted of packing camp at daybreak, resting for two to three hours at the peak heat of the day, and hitting the trail again until dusk. Night was for sitting around a campfire, eating, and exchanging tales. Lars learned that Hogard and Loyl knew his father quite well, having battled the Slivens together. According to Hogard, ‘Doc’ was a great fighter, which meant a lot coming from a Bulwark.

  Prince Loyl said that over the last ten years the Regalans had spent more time getting to know the Galatians than anyone. He had a personal affinity toward human pop culture. It was weird hearing the prince discuss his favorite movies like Star Wars, Star Trek, The Hunger Games, and Glory Alley and the Star Riders. He really enjoyed the Thundercats cartoon because the characters looked somewhat Regalan.

  The prince’s personal favorite, however, was The Terminator. “Hasta la vista, baby,” he said with a playful show of claws and fangs. Lars, Josie, Lindsey and Dante laughed so hard they were crying.

  “Quit it,” Josie said. “You’re making my face hurt!”

  When she laughed like that the wonderful dimples in her cheeks appeared. Angel kisses—Grandma Blanche had called the ones on Gracie. He missed his brothers and sisters in a way that made him ache with loneliness, but seeing the whole squad laughing it up, even ole Hogard, made up for it in some ways. Whenever he felt discouraged, Lars reminded himself of the importance of the mission, how finding the Blood Map would secure his family’s future. In the light, his present suffering meant very little.

  (Note: A glossary is included at the back of this book)

  Chapter Six

  (Magus Mull)

  Magus Mull pitched a tent on the side of the trail. He didn’t intend to confront the Red Squad directly, but he needed to know what it was that they were seeking. Furthermore, the magic behind the talisman on the pretty little girl’s arm was unlike anything he had ever encountered. Even the demi-god Glonare was baffled as to its origins. But one thing was certain—the Red Squad’s mission threatened the demi-god’s carefully laid out plans.

  If only the Galatians understood the wonders Glonare could provide them. They would carry his servant Mull back to the Northlands on their shoulders and beg him to be their teacher. These humans’ love of learning and their self-imposed moral codes, combined with their charismatic powers, set them above all of the other races. Mull knew they would one day dominate the world again. And after all he had done for them when they had first arrived, all he had taught the Fade Brothers Group, he deserved to be part of it.

  Even though Mull was part Volaxan, he had human blood coursing through his veins. Not having known his real parents, growing up as a hungry and abused child of the streets, the Galatians were the closest thing to a real family that he had ever known. By the stars, how he missed Barrett—even Barrett’s useless brother Bryce would be preferable to this exile. Mull was still miffed that the two brothers had not fought harder to keep him at their side. He couldn’t stay mad at Barrett for long though. The world was an empty place without him. Mull found himself missing the Galatian children as well. Their squeals of delight when he turned their rabbit stew into bowls of sweet vanilla pudding, or their astonished wonder when he formed their torch fires into fiery dragons or dancing ladies, had always lifted his sagging spirits. In fact, he missed all of the Galatians—well, most of them—certainly not Elizabeth Fade nor that arrogant doctor, Simon Steelsun. For a while, Mull had hoped Elizabeth would come around, but that hope had faded away in a moment of carelessness. Barrett had warned him that his mother’s mind-reading skills were honed far beyond that of the other Galatians, that he would need to guard his thoughts. Mull still hadn’t figured out how when she had read them, nor what she had seen, but it was clear that she now hated him. Despite the influence Elizabeth held over her sons—Michael, Red, Barrett and Bryce—Mull knew his banishment was only a temporary setback.

  The mere thought of returning to Galatia sent a warm wistful feeling through his body. But a piece of his heart would always remain planted in Windmere, the hidden city where an old witch had once recognized his greatness, plucked him off the street and taught him the dark arts until she grew jealous of his strength. When his powers began to outstrip her own, she banished him. Even though it had taken him seventy years, at last he had taken revenge on the old witch; she had died a deliciously horrible death—baked in a pie and served steaming hot to her enemies. Will I have ever find my true home? Mull sighed. Why doesn’t anyone understand me?

  His hope now rested in a young witch with great potential who stood at the head of the new coven—the Coven of Eden. She and her devoted followers were on the road now, coming to meet him, and with them would come the pleasure and power he craved. More pressingly, their arrival would cure him of his grief for Feenie Fade. His body pined in her absence. For the last four years, watching Barrett’s wounded and gaping heart bleed for her was almost too much to bear. In a moment of weakness, Mull had almost told him the truth about his wife’s death, but she wouldn’t have wanted that. An
d as much as he loved Barrett, he loved Feenie even more. A curse upon that old biddy Elizabeth for forcing their separation!

  To chase away the dark voices in his head, Mull settled into his tent at the side of the trail, with one hand down his pants. Mull’s mind returned to a memory he entertained whenever he needed release—that night when he had first used the Fertility Ritual of Glonare with Barrett and Feenie Fade.

  ..............................

  Five Years Earlier, Back in the Fade Brothers Settlement

  (Magus Mull)

  A summer storm had rolled in late last evening. The only sign of its passing was the sound of thunder fading in the distance. Outside of the window of the cottage, a sliver of morning sunlight flickered beyond the fields. Steam rose from muddy puddles.

  The night had been hot enough, but the Fertility Ritual of Glonare was boiling to its climax inside of the cottage. Barrett, drugged out of his mind on Mull’s elixir, had sexed up his wife into a maddened frenzy. After his own release, he fell into a deep slumber. Mull had intended to perform the Fertility Ritual of Glonare and leave. But Feenie was so young and so lovely. As she basked in the afterglow, her blonde hair fanned across the pillows. After months of modesty, Feenie had gotten to the point where she displayed her perky breasts in front of him without inhibition. Now, she looked up at Mull with those cornflower blue eyes eager to please him. Even though the ritual had been completed, he wasn’t ready to go.