Gertrude VI
Gertrude wasn’t much for swimming. With a little witch’s trick or two, she got by.
She swam down. It felt unnatural to feel the water’s resistance—it urged her to turn back. But this had to be done. Despite the murky conditions the crimson sword Craven’s Edge shone clear as day. She didn’t need to see it though: she felt its call.
She dove toward it against all her best wisdom. She had taken off her robe and clutched it in her hand. It, too, seemed to pull toward the air. She dragged it down with her.
The evil whisperings clawed at her mind. With tactful movements, she grabbed the sword by the hilt. She used her robe as a barrier between her flesh and the sword. This was not a permanent solution to ward off the sword’s demonic pull. She pushed off the ocean floor and kicked hard. She paid close attention not to drop the sword, though she knew Craven’s Edge wouldn’t allow that.
She did not know how the Tortle was able to not only resist the sword, but also toss it into the sea and walk away. She wondered if he would be back for it.
While traveling with Triton-Raven, she had pondered how to handle the sword should it fall to her possession. She had not come up with a solution, and so shied away from the possibility that she would one day be responsible for it.
She breached into air and took a few big gulps of breath. She had drifted from the dock and looked back on it, finding a perplexed man standing beside Triton-Raven.
“Hullo, there,” he said nervously. “This bird here made quite a racket, thought someone might be drowning.” Triton-Raven stood on the dock and raised his wings. Perhaps this was a triumphant pose.
“Just fetching something,” Gertrude replied. She fixed her robe around the sword, careful not to touch it directly. She waded to the dock and awkwardly grabbed the man’s offered hand. He pulled her out, the sword cradled between her arms.
“Could I get you a towel, miss?” Miss, Gertrude thought. Bit of a stretch, there. Triton-Raven now hopped around them squawking like an infant. The man spoke again. “This bird belong to you? Bit excited, it is.” Gertrude said nothing, watching Triton-Raven to discern his intention. She focused on him and blocked out the sword’s mental and spiritual gravity calling to her like a gnawing headache. The whispers reminded her of the dreams.
The bird stopped and stared out at the sea. There, in the middle of the bay, his gaze drew them toward the school of magic. His school of magic. The most famous island school in Covidia.
“You got a boat?” Gertrude asked the man.
Startled again, he replied. “Well, yes. Um. Need a lift somewhere?”
“There,” Gertrude nodded her head toward Triton’s School of Magic. The castle sat imposing on a rocky bank. Gertrude found her attention drawn to the school, the ocean and horizon blurring as if the school was all that existed.
…
They waved the boatman goodbye as he reluctantly left them on the shore. “It’s closed,” he said. “I won’t strand you,” he pleaded. She shooed him away nonetheless.
Gertrude had never been to the famous school. Within moments of being inside the walls, the world around her disappeared. She was transported back to her most vicious dream. The dream at the edge of her mind at all times: the worst visions her Queen had ever sent. This is it, she thought. She hadn’t dreamt in weeks and now she was confronted with her greatest fears. She got a sense of her Queen’s approval, but this didn’t staunch her dread.
She swam helplessly through the visions. Screaming. Families separated. Crying. Bodies floating in darkness. Pain. Evil. Darkness no eyes could see through. Monstrosities not meant for this world.
She was used. She had delivered the sword to Triton at his school. There was no question that he had loaded every inch of the castle with spells designed specifically for his own empowerment. He would escape the Raven body and take the sword. Maybe this was her Queen’s wish. But it didn’t feel right.
Then she woke up. She was lying on the stone floor looking at the great cathedral ceiling. She sat up. Triton-Raven seemed to be just as dazed. It was only a vision. Her first dream since Raven had merged with Triton. The first time she had reconnected to her Queen. She remembered the feeling of approval. The gnaw of the sword’s whispers returned and she felt it call to her. It lie on the floor beside her.
Triton-Raven shook his feathers and seemed to compose himself. He turned and stalked on tiny legs down a corridor. She heard the squawk in and out of mind.
Come on, witch.
Gertrude smirked. Forgotten your manners, your highness?
Triton-Raven froze, then spun and regarded her.
You can hear me?
And you can hear me.
Then they said nothing. Gertrude fought off the pull of the sword and thought of what to say. There were a million things to communicate. Of course she spoke to the bird out loud during their whole trip, but she had never shared why she confronted Triton. Had never shared her devotion to a Queen she didn’t understand. Had never shared the dreams.
Did you—Triton started. Gertrude had started at the same time and accidentally interrupted him.
Sorry about—she stopped.
Go ahead.
Sorry about the bird body.
I assume this was out of your control.
You’d be right.
What are you called, witch?
Gertrude.
Fitting.
A compliment, I’ll presume.
I need you, Gertrude. Triton-Raven sat down in a bird squat. It was rather pathetic looking in comparison to his stoic, booming voice.
She spoke into his mind again. I was hoping you had something in here to destroy the sword.
The sword must be used.
Explain.
I’ve had visions of the terror the King in the north has commissioned. Terrible, evil atrocities. Wizards and witches and common folk separated, butchered, and used for evil magics to create—
Monstrosities not meant for this world.
You’ve seen it, too.
I have, Gertrude remembered herself. Your Grace.
I feared I was not powerful enough alone to deal with these horrors. But with the sword…
They both looked toward it now, lying on the stones. Its aura filled the room. It so desperately wanted to be used, but concealed itself behind a cunning, quiet, tantalizing whisper. Craven’s Edge was smug. The sword knew it was only a matter of time before it tasted blood again. It would wear down its wielder like it had thousands of times before. Its failure with the Tortle was long forgotten, as if it had planned to be here with them right now.
You’ve got no way out of Raven’s body? I’m not much for swords. ‘Specially not evil ones.
In my current form, both of us are powerless against such magic. There may be a few strong enough to do it… but it would require time we do not have.
So what’s your plan?
There is a teleportation circle in this school, and there’s a sister circle in Faucberg. We shall travel there and find the meaning of our dreams.
Their Queen had a funny way of going about her business.
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Next Chapter: Coming July 21, 2023