Page 4 of Deadly Maiden

They do not.

After a short wait, a half an hour perhaps, a man comes and carries the child away in a body sling, along with a pack he hurriedly stuffs full of whatever he finds worthy of his usage. He has no mount, and I trail him for many days, staying beyond his ken, until he stops at a golem-master town that grinds past. He climbs aboard and stays there. The name of the town is Bollingham.

I follow him, climb the stairs, and hide in the alleyways. I can live without sustenance for a while, but I have some money with me. There is enough for food. The countryside creeps past until we near a static town where customers swarm aboard. Despite being a stranger, no one has asked me why I am here. That casual acceptance bothers me.

My kind are rare. Perhaps it is that. Few would recognize me for what I am when unshifted.

After a week, he somehow purchases a shop with a residence above it—with evil funds, naturally. Now I am assured they will stay. I leave for my aerie, still unshifting, unhealed.

I will return.

I start a diary. It will help to keep myself focused.

Year One

Being small and underdeveloped, the offspring did nothing much for a whole year except to eat and sleep. Trekking back and forth to the town is taxing. I will check once a year for alterations. Her rescuer—and it is her, for the child is a female—he seems to have some skill at blacksmithing. His shop has many customers.Sparky’s Smitheryis the name painted above the doorway into the shop.

I sneaked in at night to look upon the dark progeny. It can crawl now but sleeps well, like any young thing.

I remain unhealed. I cannot shift, cannot fly.

Year Two

No change in it. The girl.

I discovered her name. Some urchins fled by the shop, and she waved at them with a chubby hand. One of them sang her name. Wyntre. The blacksmith came out and yelled at them to stop thieving.

It is good to have a name for my target. I can have it scratched on her gravestone.

My claws come when called. My wings, no. I can feel their existence within me. It hurts to try to shift.

As yet, there are no signs of dark necromancer dealings from this child.

I am perhaps assuming greater things of the average necromancer fae than I should. They will take time to mature.

It’s been three centuries since I was young.

Year Three

No change in Wyntre, except she is larger and can talk a lot. Nonsense mostly. The blacksmith has no female or male partner, which is unusual for a fae, whether shifter, mage or normal, though not for a dragonshifter. I am unsure if necromancers mate often. Sparky, or Landos, as is his real name, has no magik in him that I can discern.

Wyntre is also lacking in this respect. However, my research says necros use a converted form of etharum called netharum. An addedNis the only difference. Whoever made up these terms seems lacking in imagination.

Will I be able to tell if she begins to do evil things?

Staring out the window the desk sits before does not help me decide this.

Some of the residents of Bollingham can wield magik. Though the stoneborn masters don’t use etharum. No one knows what they do use to perform their arcane rites that bring rock to life, creating golems.

Since rocks are a part of our world, Artreos, and since etharum comes from Artreos, the theory is that this is why our world hates them. It sounds like bollocks to me. The fae here use bollocks a lot as a swear word.

It has become arduous to go back and forth. It was wise to bring a substantial amount of gold coin with me to pay for whatever I might need.

I consider getting a job in Bollingham. Ajob… A curious word for doing something for money. I do most things for money but have never called it a job. Nevertheless a job would lessen my need to fetch hoard gold.

Year Four

No change in her. Or me. Jobs are boring.

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