Seeker of the Four Winds: A Galatia Novel (8 page)

“How do we know that he didn’t go for you
first?” Josie asked.

“Don’t even say that!” Lindsey said with
alarm.

“Tell her to hurry up!” Dante yelled from the
other side of the bushes.

“Would you guys shut up!” Lindsay yelled.
“Give us girls a minute to regroup, okay?”

“Thank you,” Josie whispered gratefully. Her
own words sounded far away. “Promise not to tell the others what
happened.”

“I won’t,” Lindsey said. “If you need
anything…”

“You will be the first to know,” Josie
said.

“We’ll get through this. Together.”

Sniffling, Josie nodded, and the two girls
brushed through the foliage to join the group. Josie plastered on a
placid expression as she mounted her horse. Suddenly, she wanted to
ride—needed to ride—as far away from this place as possible.

Loyl brought his steed up next to her, eyes a
question mark. “Are we ready?”

“Yeah,” she replied with a shudder. “Let’s
just get the hell away from here.”

Elsewhere...A Few Hours Earlier

(Magus Mull)

When he had traveled with the Galatians
toward the Promised Land, Magus Mull had only seen Feenie’s less
attractive sister from the distance, so he was not prepared for his
encounter with her tonight. His sole intention had been to retrieve
the floating talisman attached to her wrist. However, when he saw
her sleeping there, the thrill of seeing Feenie’s same heart-shaped
face, her sloping nose, and slight pout of the lip, had overwhelmed
him.

It had been four years since the so-called
wagon accident; two years since his clandestine visit to Windmere;
and every fiber of his being longed to touch his lover again. When
he had seen her likeness sleeping in the campsite, his body had
responded against his will. Zippers—he loved the Galatians’ many
wonderful inventions. He pulled Josie’s down and scrunched her
jeans and panties down to her ankles. Already naked himself—because
the less a wizard weighed, the longer his transport spells
lasted—allowing himself this one indulgence wouldn’t take long. He
pulled back, ready to thrust, when a large black and brown dog came
out of nowhere, knocking him to his back.

Its slobbering jaws chomped over his wrist.
Fangs tore through muscle, scraping bone. The dog shook its
powerful jaws and Mull cried out in excruciating anguish.

“Brilo Dam Deoflat Brutatos,” Magus cried out
a spell that exploded intestines of animals. A couple of birds in
the branches splattered like wineskins above him, their feathers
exploding everywhere, but the mutt seemed to be immune. It
continued to tear at his wrist, threatening to rip off his
hand.

When Magus felt the transport spell breaking
up, he was relieved and panicked at the same time. He would escape
the dog, but he had not yet retrieved the floating pendant. Mull
screamed in frustration as his body dissolved back to its
originating point.

Returned to his own camp, two days’ journey
away from the squad by foot, he fell to his knees, clutching his
damaged wrist. Livid at the irony of almost losing his hand before
he had gotten the chance to lop off the girl’s wrist.

He lifted up his head and screamed at the
moon.

At least he had gotten one of the Bulwark’s
boast rings. He wasn’t sure how he would use it against the Red
Squad just yet, but a new plan would come to him.

“Hello, warlock,” a sultry female voice came
from the woods.

Still naked, he crawled to his belt near the
fire and slid out a dagger.

A beautiful woman with golden hair coiled
around her head stepped out of the darkness into the firelight. A
chain holding a jade teardrop against her forehead circled her
skull—the witch’s crown—which symbolized her place as the leader of
her coven and helped to focus her power. She wore a semi-sheer
teal-green halter top, exposing her slim waist and toned midriff,
and harem pants that were tight at the ankle, but flowed generously
everywhere else. Golden sandals covered with crystals adorned her
perfect feet, while her cornflower-blue eyes regarded him with a
smoldering craving.

Seeing Feenie again made the ache in his
groin grow like a funeral pyre, consuming his every thought and
desire.

“My lovely flower,” his voice quivered
tenderly. “How I have missed your fragrant charms.” They rushed
into each other’s arms. Setting his head against her bosom, she
caressed him as he nuzzled her chest with his cheek like a baby.
The scent of sweet jasmine, mixed with the tang of passion-weed,
lingered on her skin.

“My sweet warlock,” she soothed. “We left
Windmere as soon as I got your message.”

She took his head between her hands, forcing
him to look her in the eye.

By the stars, how could one already more
beautiful than a sunrise become even grander? It was the magic,
filling her with power and confidence, radiating from her very soul
into the flesh. In Feenie, through her humanity, everything Mull
knew and believed had come to fruition. Never had he seen a more
powerful conduit than the pure human flesh and bone of the
Galatians. Their bodies were mortal, but their immortal souls made
them like the gods. Only their ignorance of magic stood in their
way of world domination. Feenie’s Coven of Eden, only four years
old, was already vying for top position against other covens that
had been in existence for hundreds and even thousands of years.
Mull couldn’t be prouder.

Eight other Galatians from
the Coven of Eden—three males and five females—stepped out of the
forest. The women were dressed in harem pants similar to Feenie’s,
but none filled them out in such pleasing proportions. The men wore
black trousers, black capes, and shirts of varying bright hues.
They deferred to Mull as
Master
, as their original teacher
who had introduced them to the dark arts
.
In reality, he was just as much
their servant as their master. Linked together by the power of the
abyss, his power rested in theirs, and theirs in his.

“Did you retrieve the Red Squad’s talisman,
my dear?” Feenie asked, running a finger beneath his chin. “Is it
time?”

“Not yet,” he said, taking in a sharp breath
at her touch. He held up the Bulwark’s boast ring. “But I am
working on a plan.”

“You know I trust you, Magus,” Feenie purred.
“But in this affair, timing is everything. First, I have to
convince Barrett that I was an innocent victim of the slavers, that
I tried everything in my power to return to him, but his
mind-reading mother is going to be a problem.”

“Our task would be so much easier if Barrett
hadn’t sworn off magic, ” Mull said. “As much as I love him, I
think he was dead wrong to forbid you from practicing the dark
arts, trying to keep you from reaching your full potential.”

“Our Barrett was willing to give magic a
chance, but that night with the Harveys challenged his deepest held
convictions. His convictions won out as they always do. As
irritating as that can be, it’s the reason we both love and respect
him so much—is it not?”

“Of course, my dear.”

“And it’s the reason Galatia so desperately
needs him. And why we cannot afford to make any more mistakes. When
I return to Galatia, we must make our move right away and...”

“Hush, my flower.” Mull placed a finger over
her juicy red lips. “Politics and plots can wait until the morning.
The night was made to quench our desires.”

Grinding his growing girth against her
pelvis, he pulled her into a tight embrace. She wrapped one leg
around him and arched her back, allowing him to kiss her exposed
throat and lick downward between her breasts. As he carried her
into his tent, the others watched in hungry expectation.

“Do not fret,” Mull growled playfully to the
rest of the coven. “Go ahead, spread out the blankets, because
after Feenie and I get reacquainted, we will love each other as a
group.”

(Larsen Drey Steelsun)

Next to a swamp in the middle of the
Grassland Forest, where fat yellow cattail stalks were going
dormant in preparation for winter, Lars built a fire. The core of
the cattails remained dry even in the wettest of weather. Their
inner layers made perfect kindling, so he had pulled up a few apart
and saved a few for later. Not having Josie’s charismatic talent
for starting blazes, Lars had gotten in the habit of carrying the
same piece of dry board and a roll of twine at all times. After a
while—a long, long while of vigorously working the string—curls of
smoke started to rise from Lars’s board. He quickly added the
cattail fluff to make a tinder bundle and gently scooped it into
his hands. The trick was to blow lightly into the bundle until the
center began to glow. Once it grew into a healthy flame, it was
okay to add sticks and eventually logs.

Once the blaze was dancing away, he stood
back to admire his handiwork. Living off the land wasn’t all bad.
There was something about it that made him feel alive, free, wild
as a goose in flight. After supper was warmed over the fire, and
everyone was lounging around with full stomachs, Hogard and Loyl
began to speak fondly of Lars’s father.

“Yep,” Hogard drawled. “When I met Doc he
didn’t know a sword from a hairy ball, but I almost mussed my
trousers when he punched a Gargo between the eyes—knocked the
son-of-a-dumb-bitch out cold. So, I says to myself, now there’s a
fella worth teaching. Never saw a Commoner with so much thump.”

“Galatians aren’t Commoners,” Loyl pointed
out.

“Ya knows what I mean.”

“Just how good of a swordsman is my Dad?”
Lars tried to wheedle his way into their private discussion. Loyl
didn’t seem to mind, but Hogard ignored him and started gnawing on
a piece of bone with a little bit of frayed meat left on the
ends.

“Hogard,” Josie yelled as if the Bulwark was
half-deaf, “Lars asked you a question.”

The Bulwark narrowed his eyes, growling at
her in the back of his throat.

“Why are you growling at me?” she demanded.
“It was a legitimate question.”

“Bulwarks of his status don’t fraternize with
greenhorns,” Prince Loyl explained.

“Well, that’s stupid,” she replied, sending
Hogard an irritated frown. “Our mayor has more status than anyone
and he talks to everybody.”

“I noticed that,” Prince Loyl said. “You are
an unusual people.”

“I might be green,” Lars said. “But I’m good
with a sword—that ought to count for something.”

Hogard went right on ignoring him until the
squad retired for the night. Just as Lars drifted off to sleep,
Hogard let out a trumpet blast of foulness, startling him wide
awake. When the Bulwark started snoring away like a rooting
warthog. Lars contemplated shoving a sock down his throat.

“I can’t take another two weeks of this guy,”
Lindsay said, holding her nose, making a retching sound. “Prince
Loyl, can’t you order him to take a bath or something?”

“Bulwarks smell even worse after a bath,” the
prince said. “The problem is that their digestive tracts were
designed to eat vegetation, but over the centuries they have become
very fond of meat. The foul odor coming out of their pores is their
body’s way of eliminating toxins that their organs cannot handle.
That’s Simon’s theory on the matter.”

“The smells coming out of Hogard could make a
bag of vomit puke,” Josie said. The Seeker was floating above her
wrist. “Where’s that bracelet?” she said, digging through her
covers.

As soon as she moved her hand, the starburst
and stone floated up again, straining to move in a southwesterly
direction. “To the moon with ya,” she said with a sigh.

“Would you stop with the annoying clichés?”
Lindsey said.

“If a cliché gets the point across,” Josie
retorted, “then it ought to be used.”

“If something’s trite and unoriginal, it is
best left unuttered.”

“Your attempt at intellectual snobbery amuses
me. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.”

“Argg!” Lindsey flopped back into her bed
roll, hauling the covers over her head.

“I thought you two were going to try to get
along,” Lars said, disappointed to hear them squabbling again. “Did
you give up on that?”

“This is how we get along,” Josie said. “We
bicker.”

“Yeah,” Lindsey said. “It adds a little spice
to the endless drudgery.”

“So, you’re friends now?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Josie said, “but I
no longer fantasize about smothering her with a pillow in her
sleep, watching her convulse, and then go still forevermore.”

“And I no longer want to gouge Josie’s eyes
out every time she opens her mouth, dooming her to walk the world
in darkness.”

“Oh,” Lars said, giving the both of them
wary glances. “I suppose that’s progress.”

Just then another trumpet blast from
Hogard’s ass fogged the camp with the noxious odor of a well-aged
Limburger. Groans rose up all around.

“Sweet mother of mercy,” Dante said weakly,
bunching a blanket up over his nose.

The next evening, Lars started the fire,
while Loyl took Dante and Josie down to the stream for another
fishing lesson. Rolf checked over all of the horses, looking for
saddle sores and incipient hoof problems. Lindsey worked the
perimeter, foraging for edible greens. Later, after they finished
their evening duties, she disappeared with Rolf into the
underbrush. Lars’s charisma told him that Lindsey wasn’t nearly as
invested in their romance as Rolf. Love wafted from the guy thicker
than the smell of roasted garlic.

It only took Lars twenty minutes to start the
fire, five less than yesterday, by which time Josie and Dante were
busy skinning trout. Rolf and Lindsey had returned to help. Hogard
was still missing in action, but that wasn’t anything unusual.