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Jester had spent hours poring over books the Traveller had gifted her when she was young. One of her favourites was a collection of stories and accounts about the Feywilds; the delicate artwork interlaced with breathtaking description and warnings had engrossed her for hours. Stories of the brutality of the Court and the messiness of Fey and mortal interactions spun her imagination into overdrive. The Traveller had warned her of these beings, whispering in her ear when she read about the Vedonaid Empire or the Starwalkers, cautioning against angering a Fey who had claimed a mortal soul as their own.
Fey who walked the Material Plane were powerful beings; Fey who chose a certain mortal to claim as their own were even more so. Gods help those that anger a Fey with a claim, hummed the Traveller. Even he could not withstand their wrath.
Meeting Caleb and his Fey Familiar was a lesson in patience. Frumpkin was standoffish, like most cats, but also Fey, unlike most cats. But he wasn’t Fey, not like Jester’s books. He wasn’t vicious and manipulative and covered in the blood of thousands of Elementals. He was regal when he wasn’t draped over Caleb’s neck like a scarf, lazy when Beau scratched him behind the ears, patient when Nott carried him like a sack of potatoes. The reality of owning a dimension hopping cat endlessly fascinated Jester. It helped that Caleb tended to use Frumpkin as a way of providing comfort or expressing emotions he often stumbled over.
Frumpkin wasn’t Fey-Fey but he was still Caleb’s.
They’d settled in a small town on the outskirts of Rexxentrum. Briderall was known for its military outposts and surprising number of expensive and flavourful ales; Fjord had suggested they stop there for the night to get things figured out prior to storming into Rexxentrum and likely getting themselves in trouble.
Jester doodled aimlessly while they hunted for an inn, tongue caught between her teeth as her gaze bounced between her book and Frumpkin sprawled across Caleb’s shoulders. The lazy curl and flick of his tail was fascinating alone. How he managed to stay perfectly in place was something truly magical. Caleb rubbed his thumb against Frumpkin’s chin every few steps, eliciting the most delightful chirp out of his Familiar, and Jester erased a few lines to showcase just how adorable Frumpkin truly was.
Molly led the way into the nearest inn slash tavern, a quaint little place named the Dusty Mushroom. Jester skipped ahead until she was beside Caleb, running her fingers down Frumpkin’s spine and giggling when he chirped at her as well. Caleb caught her gaze with a gentle smile. They all piled into the tavern, causing a general ruckus because none of them had tact nor desired to remain hidden, and Caleb and Nott located a table.
Jester followed Yasha and Beau to the bar while Molly and Fjord eyed the exits and claimed another table near Caleb’s. A Halfling woman with ribbons in her hair glanced up at them with a cheerful grin, catching and pumping Jester’s hand when she offered it. Irene was the owner of the inn and had a truly dazzling display of ale available for all of them. Beau refrained from buying the entire bar. Jester pouted at the lost opportunity.
After purchasing their usual three rooms and armfuls of ale, they all settled down at the two tables to discuss strategy. Jester nursed her cold milk, smacking her lips while she idly kicked at Caleb’s ankle. A whisper shivered across Jester’s right shoulder. She glanced to the side. Three tables of guards were watching them, ales forgotten and food shoved aside. Jester frowned, fishing out her book while Caleb dragged out the map and began gesturing.
With only half an ear on the conversation, Jester sketched. Three of the guards had their helmets off and on the table, strong jaws and severe brows, swords sheathed but not strapped. A hooded figure in a silken robe of gold had their elbows on the table: softer jaw, shoulder length hair with two braids framing their cheeks, thin lips. The shiver along her shoulder increased. Jester sketched faster. Another two guards, helmets on and gazes guarded. Three hooded robed figures tucked in the shadows behind them, features smudged and unknown. All eyes on their ragtag group. Another shiver. No, not the group. One person.
Caleb.
Jester paused, fingers sooty with ink. She twisted her body slightly, straightening until she was between Caleb and the guards. Their gazes burned, sliding off of her and back on the parts of Caleb that wouldn’t stay hidden. Jester bit her lip. That tickle continued, the Traveller’s warning humming over her skin, and Jester slapped her book down.
“Something you want to share, Jester darling?” Molly asked in the ensuing quiet.
Nodding, Jester leaned in. The rest of the group did too. “The guards are being super creepy with their watching us.”
“That’s not unusual,” Beau said, waving a hand dismissively. Jester nudged her book forward, showcasing her drawings. They weren’t her usual caricatures; the lines were severe and strong, a sketched stamp of real life on paper. Caleb frowned beside her, gaze flicking to the side, and the tension in his shoulders nearly bounced Frumpkin right off of them.
“We are pretty close to the Capitol,” Fjord pointed out.
Frustrated, Jester said, “There is something really wrong here, guys. The Traveller doesn’t like them either.”
“Why not?” Caleb asked. His focus was on the guards, Frumpkin gone. Jester straightened. Caleb was still present, not far away. Frumpkin’s tail disappeared around the corner near the bar.
“They’re watching you, Caleb,” Jester whispered. Caleb’s gaze stuck to hers before the blue of his eyes went milky and far away. Jester caught his questing hand. Fjord hunched Caleb forward so he wouldn’t be noticed by those with prying eyes. Jester grabbed her sketchbook, drawing it closer as she picked up her pencils again. Nott ducked under the table.
“They are quiet,” Caleb murmured. Jester squeezed his fingers. “Very focused. I do not like this.”
“If they do anything shady, we should fuck ‘em up,” Beau said. Yasha lifted her chin in agreement, shifting her shoulders so her hilt was available.
Molly leaned back, tail whapping against the floor. “This whole stop was us laying low.”
Shrugging, Beau knocked her hands together, lacing her fingers until the skin bled white. “I’m not going to throw down unless I have to, but I do love shady guards giving me reasons.”
Jester couldn’t pick out Frumpkin amongst the shadows, though Caleb was still murmuring quietly beside her. Descriptions. Expressions. Gestures. She kept Caleb’s hand in hers while her pencils moved over the paper, quick surefire strokes as the features of each guard came into crisp being. Caleb sighed, his skin prickling against her own, and then he choked off a gasp. His gaze snapped back, sharp and bright, and Fjord caught him as he lurched forward.
“They – they hurt Frumpkin,” Caleb gasped, clawing at Fjord’s breastplate. Molly stood, fluid and debonair, and waltzed his way over to the table. Jester tucked herself closer to Caleb, soothing the flutter of his pulse with her thumb. It was rare Caleb was sharing Frumpkin’s sight when he poofed but it always left Caleb terribly shaken.
“He’s okay though,” Jester said. “He’s just in the other place! You can bring him back later, right? He’ll be okay.”
Caleb shuddered out a breath and nodded, straightening away from Fjord’s hold. Yasha had her blade across her lap, chin up and eyes burrowing into the group Molly was approaching. Beau ground her fists together. Still white knuckled. Waiting.
Molly’s approach was cut short as all the guards stood, armour clattering and helmets clanking. With surely magical grace, the robed figures glided toward the doors, the guards between Molly and those clearly with magic, until they were gone. The tavern settled into a quiet lull after the door closed. Molly frowned, remaining where he was.
The whisper along Jester’s skin did not abate.
“What a bunch of a-holes,” Beau grumbled. She flexed her hands over the table, fingers spread wide. “This place is shit. We should’ve pressed on.”
“We’ll keep an eye,” Fjord said. He clapped a hand to Caleb’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Up for silver threading everything?”
“Ja.” Caleb swallowed, voice hoarse, but nodded. “I am concerned.”
Nott popped up, dropping three pouches, a rolled parchment, and two silver daggers onto the table. “They had a lot of gold on them.”
“You didn’t!” Molly sprawled in his seat, sifting through the closest bag with great interest. Beau joined him. Fjord and Caleb both reached for the scroll, unfurling it between them. It was a blank piece of paper, well made and beautifully crafted, but empty. Jester cocked her head. No, not empty. Magically erased. A thin sheen of silvery magic overlay the top of the parchment. Dropping her cheek down on the table, Jester peered at the edges, hoping for a peek beneath the magic. No such luck.
“Well, then,” Fjord said. Caleb spread his palm over the parchment, brows twitching as his lips moved. A shimmer cascaded out from his fingers. With a screech, the magic rebounded off the paper and back against Caleb, and the scroll flared up in a fast flicker of flames. Cursing, Fjord and Molly attempted to put it out. Caleb stuck his burnt fingers in his mouth.
“That’s probably a bit not good,” Nott said, hurrying around the table to tug on Caleb’s arm. He allowed her to check over his fingers.
“Nein,” Caleb said. His hand twitched up to his shoulder before dropping. Jester picked up her sketchbook and flipped back to the series of Frumpkin drawings she’d made while they walked, nudging the book closer to Caleb. With a surprised smile in her direction, he settled two fingers on Frumpkin’s inky face. “It would be best if we had a watch, ja?”
“Here we are, trying to stay out of trouble, and trouble finds us,” Molly said, cradling his chin in his palm. “Ah, well, it’s only for one night. We could just venture back out into the wilderness and not chance it?”
“We’ve already paid for the rooms,” Beau pointed out.
“Those guards had enough gold on them to make up for the loss,” Molly countered.
Caleb shook his head. “The thread should be fine. We shall take separate watches and leave in the morning, ja? It is best we are cautious.”
Rolling her eyes, Beau dropped her elbows on the table. “Fine, fine, we’ll be cautious and scared and not sleep a wink. We get it. Rexxentrum tomorrow?”
The conversation slid uncomfortably back to discussing plans for their foray into the Capitol. Jester picked up her inks and doodled in the margins of her previous drawings, sometimes sketching against the nervous tap of Caleb’s fingers to still him. The tavern emptied slowly, Irene calling last orders as candles were dimmed.
They played shears, parchment, stone to pick first watch (Fjord was terrible at it) and Caleb spent the next hour silver threading all of their rooms just to be on the safe side. The warning from the Traveller had not abated. It tingled over Jester’s skin, down her spine and along her ribs, poking. Demanding. Something was truly wrong. Worryingly so. Jester clutched her sketchbook to her chest, chewing on her tongue. Caleb bid them all goodnight and softly closed the door.
While Beau and Yasha went about their usual routines, Jester flopped back on one of the beds. The shimmer of magical thread was distracting but welcoming. Not enough though. Sitting up, Jester balanced her sketchbook on her knees and doodled to keep her hands busy. Mostly real life stamps: the flex of Beau’s biceps, the smooth line of Yasha’s jaw, the flex of her own toes, the muscles shifting beneath Yasha’s skin after she shrugged off her shawl. Small things. Her mind was elsewhere. The Traveller’s warning still prickled her skin.
“Maybe we should all be in the same room,” Jester said.
Beau paused in digging through her bag. “You worried that much?”
Biting her lip, Jester flipped back to the page of harsh and jagged lines. “They were watching Caleb. Really truly watching him. They weren’t nice people. And they poofed Frumpkin!”
“That was cruel of them,” Yasha agreed. She hefted her sword. “First watch has gone to Fjord. Should we join him?”
“We should be in the same room -”
A commotion outside, followed by a horrific screech of metal against metal cut Jester off. She was up and running for the door, flinging it open right as Fjord barrelled into her. “Get down!”
A blast of magic shook the entire foundation, bucking the floor and sending Jester and Fjord tumbling back against the beds. Magic howled, wind and fire and lightning cracking together as the air burned with ozone. Jester coughed, pushing up. A high pitched whine rent the air and beneath it Jester could make out screaming, fury and terror and an almost whisper of a plea. Another boom! vibrated the room. Jester ducked her face against Fjord.
“Caleb!”
That was Nott. Oh, oh, the Traveller had been right! Jester should have listened, she should have - pushing to her feet, Jester staggered. Debris littered the doorway, splintered wood shattered inward. Magic snapped through the air, vicious and bright, devastating, and Jester dashed out into the hallway. Nott was in the midst of fending off a familiar guard, her dagger digging deep beneath his breastplate with a vicious cry. Their room was in tatters. The door and half the wall was blown apart. The far wall was a mess of torn wood and stone and the scorch of magical thread tripped.
Caleb was nowhere in sight.
“Nott!” Jester ran for her, fluttering her hands over Nott’s head but she was shrugged off as Nott barrelled into the room, shouting Caleb’s name. Caleb’s magical components were scattered, the circle he used to summon Frumpkin back to the Material Plane scuffed and destroyed. The beds were blasted into messy shards. Glass littered the floor. Caleb’s scarf was singed and draped over Nott’s crossbow, his coat trapped beneath the remains of a rickety chair.
“Caleb is gone,” Jester whispered. Nott wailed, dragging her claws over the shattered windowpane as she yelled Caleb’s name into the night. Magic lingered in the air, shivered over Jester’s skin and down along her wrist. A whisper against Jester’s ear, the Traveller humming low: You must hurry.
“What happened?” Molly said from the entrance, shrugging on his coat. Nott snarled, picking up Caleb’s scarf and her crossbow, shoving everything into her pack as she shouldered on her cloak. The rest of the Nein appeared behind Molly, curious and worried and sharply upset.
“Caleb was bringing Frumpkin back when we heard something in the hall,” Nott stated, spitting, furious. “I went to look and someone blasted the window open. Caleb got a shield up but he couldn’t do anything else, he was in the middle of a - the spell thing for Frumpkin so he was too focused and they grabbed him, they took him, and we have to get him back!”
Fjord chimed in, “The guards rushed me. Couldn’t get between them and the door in time. That magic blast knocked me clean off my feet.”
Nott shouldered everything, nocking an arrow in her crossbow. “Caleb tried to get free but he couldn’t stop them. Too many. Three? Four maybe. Doesn’t matter, let’s go.”
“Where would they take him?” Jester asked. Another whisper, a tug on her dress, a brush against her ear. Hurry. Hurry.
“It’s a military town, so one of the outposts. Maybe one of the smaller barracks if they want to keep this quiet,” Fjord said, pivoting and heading for the stairs, Yasha and Nott hot on his heels. Beau and Molly shared a glance before darting back into their rooms and gathering their packs and supplies. Jester picked up Caleb’s coat, twisting the worn fabric between her fingers, and closed her eyes.
The Traveller curled a cold palm around her bicep. Jester exhaled. “Traveller, they took Caleb.”
You must retrieve him.
“Of course we will but we don’t know why or how or how many there are. Why did they want Caleb?” Jester asked.
It does not matter. Briderall will perish if you do not retrieve him. Make haste. With that the Traveller’s presence dissipated. Jester opened her eyes. The room was a mess and Caleb was gone and the nervous pit in her stomach was squirming worse.
Beau grabbed her on the way by. “Let’s go. We’re about to get banned from another town.”
“They deserve it,” Jester muttered, following Beau down the stairs.
The tavern was empty except for Irene, who Yasha currently had at the end of her closed fist. The halfling squirmed and yelped, bashing her fists against Yasha’s hold. Molly greeted Jester and Beau with a nod, eyeing Irene with interest. Nott was over by the door, bathed in shadow, clearly impatient.
“You locked your doors before we retired,” Fjord said, arms crossed, “which means you’d need to let those boys in to get up to our rooms. Now why would you send a bunch of guards after some mighty nice paying customers?”
“I didn’t know!” Irene babbled, clawing at Yasha’s hand. “They said he was dangerous, they just wanted to question him, please!”
“See, I just don’t believe you,” Molly said, leaning forward with a devious smile. “Why don’t you be a good Friend and tell us the truth.”
Irene’s panic blanked for a moment, her eyes dulling before they snapped to Molly’s face. Yasha dropped her back to the floor. With a vicious twist of her lips, Irene spat, “Traitorous scum, that’s what he is. We’ve known about him for months now. Deserters don’t deserve second chances, you understand!”
Molly narrowed his eyes. “I can say quite truthfully that I don’t. So you send the guards on up to our rooms to take this man and then - what? What’s your plan here, Irene?”
Bunching her fists, Irene said, “They’ll take him to the Keep and give him a nice welcome from those he betrayed before calling the heads of the Cerberus Assembly. Hopefully they’ll burn the son of a bitch come dawn.”
“Careful,” Fjord growled, fingers darkening with shadow.
Molly lifted a hand. “With this being such a close town to Rexxentrum, how long would it take for the Cerberus Assembly to get here?”
“A couple of hours at most,” Irene said. “That’s if they don’t beat the traitor to death first.”
Beau cursed viciously and walked away. With pinched lips, Molly continued, “If we wanted to see said traitor, where would we go?”
“The Keep on the north end of town, just past the Market Square. I don’t think they’ll let you see him though if he’s as dangerous as they claim. Better to just wait until his corpse is brought out.” The sickening twist of Irene’s lips nearly drove Jester to the breaking point. She yanked on Molly’s sleeve.
“Well, you’ve been a marvelous help, Irene.” Molly pulled away, catching and winding his fingers with Jester’s. They shook. “I’m sure karma will bite you in the ass sooner rather than later, but we must be off. Head on back to your room and reminisce about how short your life just became, okay?”
“We can’t just leave her here.” Jester glared at Irene’s retreating back. “She believes such horrible things about Caleb! She set us up!”
“And she’ll get her comeuppance.” Molly hissed out a breath, tightening his hold on Jester. “But she gave us a time limit. Caleb only has a few hours and that’s if the guards pull their punches.”
“So we have our reason,” Yasha said, drawing her blade and marching toward the door.
The night was a blast of frigid air and speckles of frost, the sky filled with brilliant stars and the bare crescents of the moons. It had been too long since Caleb’s capture; Irene’s words hurried Jester’s pace until the others were jogging alongside her. They hadn’t the time to canvas the town before stopping at the Dusty Mushroom and Jester paused more than once at crossroads uncertain where to go next. Nott skipped ahead and returned, silent in her scouting. Her eyes gleamed furiously in the low light of the town.
Time was a blur as they pushed further into the town and past the center of it. The prickle along Jester’s skin spiked suddenly. Stumbling, Jester caught Beau’s arm and the edge of Molly’s coat, yanking them both to a stop. Oh, something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
Never come between a Fey and their claimed human, the Traveller whispered in her ear. Their wrath will level mountains.
“Oh, oh,” Jester gasped, terror thrumming through her. Everything made sense now. Everything was truly about to go to shit. “We must hurry. We must hurry faster before Frumpkin comes back!”
“What are you talking about?” Fjord asked, but Jester was already off and running. The Traveller urged her on, riding alongside her in wisps of green and black. A hush fell, silken and slow, over the city. Pressure built in the air. Hurry, hurry, before everything was lost to ruin. Jester caught the edge of a building with her claws, lungs burning, fear latching onto her heart and beating it faster.
The Traveller sped by her when she slowed, twisted the other direction when she faltered, led her through a labyrinth of back alleys and side streets until she stumbled upon the Market Square. The Traveller vanished with a hiss. Jester skidded to a halt, throwing out her arms in warning, and Yasha strode three more steps before everything stilled.
Beyond the Market Square, the Keep stood proud and tall, a drab gray structure that loomed over the entirety of the town. Stalls had been closed and covered up in the Square itself, shops locked tight and the intricate fountain bubbling happily. Six guards wandered aimlessly near the Keep, patrolling likely. Jester swallowed.
A horrible tearing sound shot through the Square as something began to expand into existence just to the left of the fountain. It started as a small oval of beautiful whites and blues and greens. It expanded quickly, taking up space and shooting up in height; whipcords of magic snapped and staggered from it, brilliant as a shooting star, dashing away the night with each pulse. The moons above dimmed. The quiet grew. Jester sucked in breath after breath but couldn’t get enough air; her lungs burned terribly, her stomach roiled, and her throat screamed in the silence.
The edge of the oval shimmered. Darkness bled out, an ink blot smeared over clean parchment, and spread into a festering wound against the cobblestones. Yasha stepped back. Silence reigned. The darkness seeped toward the Keep, trickling at first and then with speed. Jester’s ears roared with the rush of her blood but even that was muted. The guards had noticed. They were shouting, Jester knew they were shouting, but nothing could break the quiet that hung over the square.
Waiting. Posed. Furious.
With an almighty boom, the oval expanded up and out, widening until it breached the edges of the inky darkness. Beau caught Jester around the waist as she staggered, Molly and Fjord both unsheathed their blades, and Nott lifted her crossbow with shaking hands. Within the shimmering oval something monstrous crouched low. Something devastating. Something impossible.
Run, the Traveller hissed. Jester was frozen.
Starlight slithered out of the oval in the shape of a massive paw, claws bleeding nebulae. The head came next, horns of jagged molten rock and snow crusted mountains, fur shimmering with thunderclouds and the forested canopies of trees millennia old. Slit pupils of red and silver, canyon wide jaw and stalagmite sharp teeth, snout billowing choking smoke. Ancient. Angry. The body was sleek and shimmering, smeared edges eclipsing the moons. The tail snapped clear, slamming hard into one of the houses nearest to the Keep, reducing it to rubble in an instant. Jester gasped. Her vision wavered.
With a howl that dragged sound back into place, the creature, the Fey, attacked.
Everything devolved into chaos. Fjord was shouting, backpedaling, Molly was yanking on Jester’s arm, Nott was shrieking, everything was pandemonium. The Fey tore through the guards rushing from the Keep.
Briderall woke to fury and fire as a Fey ripped apart reality to reclaim its mortal.
Starwalkers had always been Jester’s favourites. They were impossible beings composed of the moments between time, stitched together in the empty space within planar systems. They were possessive. They were devastating. They could remake the entirety of existence with a simple desire and rarely left the Feywilds, preferring to maintain their hold over the Courts. All of Exandria would perish beneath the power of a single Starwalker.
“We have to get Caleb!” Jester screamed over the chaos. “We can’t leave him, we have to get him, Frumpkin will calm down if we get him!”
“That’s Frumpkin?!” Beau shouted back. Jester jerked out of Molly’s hold and ducked beneath the whirling darkness that trailed Frumpkin-the-Starwalker. Shadows latched onto the buildings, dissolving them into starlight. Gurgled screams and howling panic was overshadowed by the roar of the Fey scooping up three guards and ripping them into dust.
Hopping from clear patch to clear patch, Jester dashed toward the Keep. The others followed close behind her. The darkness parted when Jester misstepped, a testament, perhaps, to Frumpkin’s acceptance of them? Jester refused to dwell on it. Couldn’t, really, with Frumpkin-the-Starwalker looming above her, bleeding magma and moondust and vicious retribution while everything bent to his will.
Four more guards disappeared into the swirling nebulae of the Fey’s claws. Jester dove between them, rolling to her feet and slamming the double doors open. Shadows chased after her, spreading throughout the opened Keep and dissolving everything they touched. Guards stumbled to their feet at her entrance but she paid them no mind. Fjord slid into place, Molly at his left and Yasha at his right, and the three of them went to town. The ground buckled. A shower of stone and wood splinters cascaded over them as half of the building collapsed into dust. Screams rang beneath clashing swords.
“Help me find him!” Jester shouted at Beau. Nott was a whirling dervish of crossbow bolts and daggers, pinning bodies to the wall and allowing the shadows a feast. The Keep shook. Jester ripped open doors. Beau kicked open others. Torchlights dissolved into darkness and starlight reigned.
“Here, here!” Beau called. Jester whirled and chased her through a doorway, down a flight of stairs that went for ages, Nott at her heels. The air stank of mold and stale air. The chill was enough to slither over Jester’s skin, prickling uncomfortably. Above them the ground writhed, wreathed in Fey magic and dissolving with every passing second. They had to get Caleb. They had to calm Frumpkin down. Hurry, hurry, hurry…
The landing abruptly came and Jester nearly tripped. Nott shot past her, slamming both daggers into the bolts of a large wooden door and wrenching them free. Beau snapped the door in half. Nott was through first, crying out for Caleb, her worry overtaking her fear. The stink of mildew grew the further Jester dashed along the hallway. Thick wooden doors lined the walls with small barred windows barely opened to allow light through. There was a muffled cry from further inside, a ricochet of sound that vibrated the stifled air and was met by an otherworldly roar from above. They had to hurry.
Relief swept through Jester when they came upon the double doors at the end of the hallway, locked with magic, and guarded by two robed figures. Nott went in low and fast while Beau slammed into them with all the finesse of a hurricane. Jester summoned four of her spiritual guardians, directing them to attack while she fought with the door. Nott tore through the first robed figure, snarling, spitting, a ball of absolute rage, as she littered the body with crossbow bolts until it was more porcupine than humanoid. She panted above the dying guard, mask hanging from her chin, eyes gleaming. A final crossbow bolt caught the guard between the eyes. The other robed figure went down with a groan as Beau struck and struck and struck, not halting until he was silence and blood, gore wet over her knuckles.
Jester shoved all her prayers toward the Traveller as her fingers burned and the sharp twinge of negative magic rebelled against her. Another cry beyond the door, followed by the sick thud of someone hitting the ground. The air crackled with static as a thunderous howl rent the air. Please, please, she needed to get through. A delicate shiver tore over her shoulder and the Traveller caught her hands in his, directing them toward the edge of the sigil that would dispel the magic. The spell fizzled. The door unlocked.
Without hesitation, Nott burst through, crossbow up and firing before Jester could take in the room. One of the robed figures went down with a cry. Beau whirled into the room right after her and took on the other robed magic user with a vicious snarl. Three more stood before a crumpled and broken figure in the corner. Caleb. That was Caleb. Their Caleb.
Jester saw red.
Charging forward, Jester summoned her lollipop and brought it down with a resounding crack upon the first magic user. He crumpled beneath her onslaught as her spirit guardians went to work on the other mage. A ball of force slammed into her right shoulder and Jester reacted, ice and pulsing darkness snapping out of her and ripping open the throat of the third robbed figure. She spun, tail lashing out to catch the mage struggling to his feet, and brought the lollipop down on him again. He caught it with a shimmering shield of blue. Jester bared her teeth and leapt on him.
Nott cried out as she went down under two guards they’d missed. Jester caught her claws in the soft belly of the mage beneath her, plunging deep, and directed her lollipop to assist Nott. Beau was a whirlwind of staff and fist, of power and fierce movement, impossible to hit. Blood pulsed slick over Jester’s wrist as she yanked her claws free. The mage gurgled into silence beneath her.
Shadows crept into room, lapping up the blood eagerly. Dust shook from the ceiling in fine waves. A whisper against Jester’s ear: Hurry, hurry, you are nearly out of time, and Jester shoved the dead man away from her and dropped down beside Caleb.
Oh, oh, he was so hurt. Small and curled in on himself, face lax but just breathing, Caleb was fractured bone and punctured skin. Jester fluttered her hands over his shoulders, over the horrific break of his right leg and the blood on his temples, the bruises along his dislocated jaw. A manacle wound tight around his throat and down against his broken wrists; it cut into the thin skin of his waist and ended in shackles around his bony ankles. Only tattered pants still clung to his hips. It took precious seconds to find skin undamaged enough to haul him up against her without causing more harm.
“Caleb, Caleb, we’re here for you, we have you,” Jester whispered. Magic gathered in her hands and she rubbed her thumbs against his cheeks, under the bruises of his eyes. That familiar electric blue fluttered into view as Caleb groaned. His forehead met Jester’s shoulder when she dragged her palms down his spine and along his fragile arms, but her magic recoiled, snapping back and dissipating. Caleb hissed out, back arching as the manacles shone with a sickly acidic green.
“Get them off, get them off! Bitte, bitte!” Caleb begged, keened, unable to lift his arms, unable to move, his voice hoarse and panicked. Jester murmured reassurances. Blood collected beneath the cuff as it burned Caleb’s skin. Jester couldn’t stop shaking.
“Nott!” Jester shouted. There was a screeched reply and Nott was there in a flash, fingers in Caleb’s hair and other hand on the manacle around his neck. A low whine thrummed from her throat as Caleb’s gaze met hers. “We have to get these mantacles off so I can heal him!”
“On it.” Nott went to work, hissing when the spell bit at her fingers, but she was quick. The chaos around them had settled, though Jester’s spirit guardians hovered protectively around her with a radiant glow. Beau was shoving bodies into the far corner. Shadows spread wide along the ceiling, stars of red and blue and green shimmering like a mirage poking through. A nervous churning began in Jester’s gut, hot and uncomfortable. They needed to go.
“One down!” Nott said as the neck collar came loose. Caleb gasped, tucking his face into the shadow of Jester’s throat. She carefully massaged the reddened skin. Oh Traveller, but he was hurt. They didn’t have time and he was so hurt and a Starwalker was destroying reality just to get to him.
Beau disappeared out into the hallway while Nott unlocked the cuffs on Caleb’s wrists and the one around his waist. Jester readied her highest spell, weaving the magic through her fingers, settling the glow into her palm as she waited. Caleb whimpered against her skin. Nott clicked open both of the manacles on his ankles and hurled the entire contraption as far away from them as possible.
Jester slid her fingers through Caleb’s hair and pressed her palm to his lower back as her magic released. Waves of silver and pink washed over Caleb’s skin, weaving shut grievous wounds and knitting bones knocked loose. Bruises disappeared under the diligent swipe of Jester’s fingers. She ignored the prickle of tears in her eyes at every aborted cry Caleb gave, ignored the heaviness in her chest at causing him harm while fighting to heal him, ignored everything but the slow hum of magic under her skin and the restructure of blood and sinew.
By the time the last of the bones had been reset, Jester was a panting mess with Caleb passed out against her shoulder. But he was whole. Pink scars peppered his skin but nothing was broken; nothing visible remained of the torture he’d gone through. Jester sucked in another sharp breath. Nott shook beside her.
Beau appeared at the entrance to the cell, wreathed in the dying light of an exploding star. “If we don’t bolt soon, it won’t matter that we found Caleb. Come on!”
Pushing to her feet, Jester caught Caleb under his knees and along his shoulders, tucking his face against her throat. Nott scurried and gathered his discarded clothes and shoved everything into Jester’s haversack before leading the way out. The hall writhed with shadows and starlight, comets exploding and galaxies swirling. Holes had been chewed out of reality, dissolving into the never ending expanse between planar systems. Jester tightened her hold on Caleb.
The stairs were treacherous. Nott clambered up on Beau’s shoulders, clinging while Beau led the way. It was slower going than Jester was comfortable with; every careful step was another lost moment for the town. Caleb shifted in her arms. She pushed on.
No light heralded them stumbling out of the stairwell. It was darkness and shadow and the pinched grey fuzziness of midnight. As the stairs ended, Beau grabbed Jester’s elbow to steady her.
There was nothing left.
The entirety of Briderall had been levelled and erased, replaced with an obsidian mirror that absorbed the light from the sky above. Nothing remained. There were no people, no buildings, no trees or flowers or roads. Even the stairs behind them disappeared, swallowed up by the power of the Starwalker. The darkness stretched in all directions as far as Jester could see and likely farther. They were too late. A sob choked her.
A quiet keen caught her attention. Fjord and Molly were tucked off to the side, Yasha kneeling before them with her sword drawn and tattered wings spread wide and protective. Molly wasn’t moving. Fjord was vomiting darkness onto the mirror. Speckles of those same horrible starry shadows were digging hooks into Yasha’s knees and Fjord’s hands, chewing them away, chewing them apart. More were latched onto Molly.
Before them, the Starwalker stood, the only splash of colour upon a world gone blind. Magma poured from its eyes and flowers blossomed and died along its shoulders. The sea tumbled and roiled along the juts of its spine, swirling into the comet of its lashing tail before exploding into a spiral of light and fire. The stretch of its jaw was incomprehensible, a low hum reverberating from its smoking throat. Jester’s teeth ached. Her ears popped. The Starwalker strode forward. Jester clutched Caleb and ran for her friends.
The Traveller was not with her. He could not be with her. Gods help those that harm a mortal claimed by Fey. Jester stumbled in front of Yasha. “Stop! Please stop! You have to stop!”
“Jester,” Yasha groaned, her wings arching higher. The Starwalker hissed, a stream of sound and Fey that Jester shied away from. But nothing harmed her. The hum ceased. Quiet took over. Jester peeked back up.
The Starwalker was bowed forward, massive chin dragging against the mirrored ground. Its swirling eyes were bigger than Jester, its nostrils flaring with smoke and ash, its maw filled with endless washes of teeth and ice. Eternity shimmered in its fur. But it wasn’t focused on Jester. No, it was focused on a slowly waking Caleb in her arms.
“Oh, thank the Traveller,” Jester breathed, clutching Caleb close as he lifted a hand with a groan. He patted her wrist gently, easing her away from him, and she plopped him down onto his feet. She kept a hold of his waist as he jammed his palms into his eyes and shuddered through a breath. They hadn’t the time to clothe him so he stood there, in the midst of an evaporating Material Plane, in threadbare pants and a worn pendant at his throat.
He looked up.
“Oh,” Caleb said, surprised. Knowing. Slowly, he reached a shaking hand toward the towering beast above. “Oh, oh, look at you.”
Darkness swirled. The moons had disappeared into the cacophony of a shattered plane, a Starwalker at its centre. Caleb lifted his other hand, fingers stretching, smile splitting his face wide. “Oh, my Frumpkin, what have you done? Come here, my handsome boy.”
With infinite slowness, the Starwalker bowed forward. And continued to bow forward. Its shape twisted and shrunk as it tumbled toward Caleb’s outstretched arms for an infinite stretch of time, collapsing continents and worlds and galaxies into orange fur striped with black and green eyes ringed in shadow. The sky above shattered, shards falling in jagged points only to remain suspended above the obsidian mirror. The moons returned. The air breathed. Reality reasserted itself and Exandria survived.
Frumpkin the cat settled in Caleb’s arms.
A rumble whipped through the air and the obsidian mirror splintered. Jester stumbled against Caleb and he clung to her, fingers digging into her bicep while the other arm cuddled Frumpkin close. The shards of their near demise began to swirl together, picking up pieces of the mirror along with it, spinning and spinning until a perfectly opaque oval was pieced together before them. Frumpkin yawned. The portal shimmered, a quick reflection of the moons’ light, before it dissolved into starlight.
“Well, shit,” Beau breathed. Jester echoed the sentiment. The usual noises of the night filtered back into the clearing which should not have been a clearing. A sizable hole of churned dirt and scorched ground stretched the entirety of where Briderall had been.
While Beau rushed over to assist Yasha with Fjord and Molly, Jester kept a hold of Caleb. He remained intact beneath her fingers, the shiver of human skin real in a way the last hour hadn’t been. Frumpkin continued to knead and rub against Caleb, his purr impossibly loud in the sudden silence where a town once stood. Nott tucked herself against Caleb’s leg.
In the darkness of a removed town, the barest flicker of light in the distance caught Jester’s eye. She tightened her hold on Caleb. He swayed.
“We need to get out of here,” Molly said as he staggered toward them, Fjord catching him around the waist to hold him upright. Strips of fabric barely clung to his sides, the starry wounds barely closed thanks to a healing potion. “They called the Cerberus Assembly when they took you, Caleb.”
Frumpkin hissed, hackles up. A shimmer of starlight trickled over his fur. Caleb ran quick fingers down Frumpkin’s spine, shivering in the cold. Fjord said, “We lost the cart and the horses when Frumpkin destroyed the city and we’re not in any shape to run from the platoon they’ll likely send out. Things aren’t looking the best.”
“We can’t stay here,” Jester said. A whisper against her cheek, a touch against her hand, a request. Jester bit her lip. Frumpkin nudged up against Caleb’s chin. “Frumpkin - Frumpkin-the-Starwalker, can you bring back our horses and our carts? You can do that, right?”
Frumpkin paused, bright green gaze catching on Jester’s, so knowing and impossible and terrifying all at once. Swallowing, Jester held still. With an almost dismissive tilt of his head, Frumpkin returned his attention to Caleb. Jester squeezed Caleb’s side. Caleb sighed and said something in a language she did not know, that none of them knew by the confusion that fluttered over everyone’s expressions, but that he directed down at his Familiar with a gentle chiding. Frumpkin huffed and flopped in his arms.
A shimmer collected just beyond them, a rent in reality not unlike what Fjord was capable of. It expanded out, coalescing in an unnatural blending of light and dark until before them stood their cart, their horses, and all of their supplies that had been lost to Frumpkin’s rampage. Jester clicked her mouth shut. Yasha whistled. Caleb sagged.
“Well, that’s handy,” Molly said, stumbling his way toward it. Fjord helped him up into the cart, catching the remnants of his coat and bundling them around his split stomach. Yasha curled around Molly, tucking her face against Molly’s throat, and promptly passed out.
“Caleb?” Nott asked, gently tugging on his pants. Caleb didn’t move, his gaze caught on the flickering lights spread like a wildfire in the distance. “Caleb, we have to go.”
“Yes, of course,” Caleb rasped, jerking his gaze away. He took two steps, shaky as a newborn lamb, his arms wrapped tight around Frumpkin. Hesitance stilled him as he approached the cart. Fjord and Beau were settling the horses, calming them as they stamped nervously near the cart. Nott scurried up into the front of the cart, picking up the reigns.
Jester dug in her haversack, yanking out Caleb’s coat. She gently draped it over his skinny shoulders, pulling up the furred collar and smoothing down the edges. When Caleb caught her gaze, she smiled, and tapped a thumb again his cheekbone. “Let’s go.”
Nodding, Caleb followed her to the cart. She settled him near Molly, chiding when he curled away from Yasha and Molly instinctively as though unsure. Yasha grumbled, tossing out a hand until her fingers caught on Caleb’s ankle. Gentle. Content. Caleb ducked his face into Frumpkin’s fur.
They hurried the horses. The burnt edges of churned ground and shattered foundation tracked their progress. The town hadn’t been large per se but it had been sizable. So many dead, gone. Jester shuffled until she was closer to Caleb. He had yet to lift his face from Frumpkin’s side, though he was speaking in that same strange language, words that tumbled and shifted in an impossible pattern. Frumpkin licked at his hair and his ear, kneading against his arm and nuzzling against his cheek.
They broke the edge of where the town once was. Frumpkin lifted his head. A shadow crawled away from the cart, stretching impossibly far, impossibly wide, but familiar. A head crowned in horns of mountains; fur as turbulent as the tide; a force strong enough to reshape reality to its whim. A Starwalker’s shadow draped itself over the remains of Briderall.
Within, the charred edges shifted and filled in until gentle grass pushed up into the night, swaying in the delicate breeze. Trees sprouted and grew, twisted trunks crawling upwards. Leaves thrived and died, years and years over. Ferns unfurled. Flowers blossomed and decayed. The forest expanded. Spread right up to the edges of the once obsidian mirror, masking it from view. A groove wove its way through the grass and water bubbled into place. Animals arrived and reality shimmered, for one final moment, before everything stilled.
Where Briderall once was, a grove now stood. Frumpkin purred against Caleb’s chest.
Silence stretched. Jester trickled the last of her healing spells into Molly and Yasha, reaching out to catch Fjord’s wrist when he brought the horse close to check in on them. Caleb stayed quiet. Not asleep, just quiet. Watching. Frumpkin settled down contentedly in Caleb’s arms.
Wiggling back beside Caleb, Jester dug in her haversack for one of the blankets. She spread it over Caleb’s lap, tucking it around Yasha’s hand on his ankle and against his skinny hips. Caleb peered up at her, the electric blue of his gaze juxtaposed by red-rimmed lids and messy tears.
“You did not tell me your Frumpkin was a Starwalker,” Jester said, whisper thin. Caleb leaned against her momentarily, fingers digging into Frumpkin’s fur. Frumpkin nipped his chin.
Swallowing, Caleb croaked out, “I did not know he was a Starwalker. He appeared to me after a dream. My Familiar. I knew he was of Fey blood but I did not know – Frumpkin, why did you not say?”
Frumpkin chirped, kneading at Caleb’s bare clavicle and purring loudly. A quiet shimmer of starlight cascaded down Frumpkin’s back and flicked off his tail. Caleb plucked at Frumpkin’s ears and curled worn fingernails against Frumpkin’s jaw, scritching until Frumpkin settled down against him in a purring, loving mess. Caleb’s smile was lovely, pleased and surprised and wonderfully content, before he glanced up at Jester and schooled his features.
“You should sleep,” Jester said. She tugged at the blanket until it was over her lap as well. “I am the all-powerful cleric but sleep is best.”
Caleb nodded, ducking his head. He rubbed a thumb against a new scar where broken bone had shattered through. “Thank you. You did not have to come for me.”
Scoffing, Jester settled Caleb against her side, combing her fingers through his messy hair. Surprise was a better look on him than guilt. “Don’t be stupid. You’re ours, Caleb, and we’ll always come for you.”
That quelled any further conversation. Caleb was a tense line against Jester’s side but he slowly relaxed the further the cart rattled on. Eventually, his forehead dropped against her shoulder, breath soft with sleep, and Jester tilted her head back. The night sky was a canvas of brilliant starlight. Unlike the bent reality Frumpkin-the-Starwalker had crafted. Unlike the obsidian mirror of darkness that threatened the world. Jester twisted a thin strand of Caleb’s hair around her fingers.
Fjord and Beau talked quietly atop their horses. Nott led them in relative safety. A whisper trailed over Jester’s cheek: You have done well.
Jester smiled and cuddled Caleb closer. He grumbled, but didn’t pull away. Frumpkin stretched two paws over her wrist, luminous green eyes brilliant in the muffled darkness of night, trickles of starlight caught in his whiskers. A trill left Frumpkin, unlike anything she’d ever heard before: soft, lilting, thankful. Jester rubbed a thumb between Frumpkin’s eyes and whispered her own thanks.
The next morning, Jester tucked her sketch of Frumpkin-the-Starwalker and his Mortal into Caleb’s jacket.