[Crystal Two: Little Butterfly]

  Maya's Perspective

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  Valorie was waiting for me outside. I hadn’t noticed that she didn’t follow me into the infirmary.

  “How was he?” she asked, absently twirling a lock of hair.

  “Better, I guess,” I mumbled bashfully. “I made him angry again, though.”

  “Odin almighty, Maya—”

  “He saw a Nemonik,” I whispered. “And killed it.”

  “What!?” she exclaimed. “There are—?”

  “Shhhh!” I clamped my hand over her mouth. “Careful! You’ll start rumors if you’re too loud—”

  “Is that Maya?” A nasally voice called from down the path. It was Margaret, another villager our age. She was the last person I wanted to see—though she would always be that way. She made sport of being a nuisance.

  “Anyway,” I continued, ignoring her, “…he wants me to talk to Hugo on his behalf.”

  “Who are we talking about?” Margaret butted in.

  “Do we have to do that today?” Valorie asked, slumping her shoulders in exasperation. Hugo was the village’s runeforger and blacksmith, and his smithy, affectionately named ‘the Oven,’ was Valorie’s least favorite place on earth. Despite her love of magic.

  “…He will chew my head off if I see him tomorrow without an update,” I crossed my arms. “So yes.”

  “Are we talking about Maya’s lovely older brother?” Margaret asked. “Oh, how is he? Back from his ‘travels?’”

  Villagers like Mrs. Linda were oblivious to how overshadowed I felt by my brother. I was bitter, but I couldn’t resent them for reacting naturally to him. Margaret, on the other hand, knew exactly what she was doing. She just liked tormenting me for sport.

  “You walked all the way down the path just to be obnoxious,” I pointed out.

  “Lemme guess,” she ignored me. “His… adventure left him in Eliza’s again? What exactly is he doing out there that gets him hurt all the time?”

  Valorie rolled her eyes.

  “You’re just jealous because you have ten brothers, and all of them prettier girls than you.”

  “Oh, what else?” I encouraged, watching Margaret turn beet red.

  “And your browline is heavier than this whole mountain you’re probably manlier than all of them combined.”

  “What else?”

  “And you’re still sitting here looking stupid instead of going back to—” She tilted her head, furrowing her brow. “…Where are you from again?”

  I couldn’t hold it together after that one; we both burst out laughing while Margaret fled, fighting tears. And losing.

  “Good riddance,” I wheezed, wiping a tear from my eye.

  “Oh, look,” Val said, crossing the path and crouching. I couldn’t see what she was talking about, but she eventually turned and presented a small yellow flower.

  “I don’t know what that is,” I shrugged. “Could it be native?”

  We often cultivated non-native plants intentionally because nothing edible naturally grew on the mountain. Runemagic could nurture and fertilize them despite the harsh climate, and we did this so often that no one could identify the true native species.

  “I don’t know,” she sniffed the flower, “but it smells lovely. Try it.”

  I held it to my nose. Sweet and slightly nutty—but it lingered in a way I didn’t like.

  “I mean, it’s… alright,” I shrugged, handing it back to her. “Anyway, we should head to Hugo’s, no?”

  “It’s still morning,” she complained. “What’s the hurry?”

  “Better to get the ‘responsibilities’ out of the way before relaxing. That’s what your dad would say, right? Aren’t you taking over the village after him?”

  “Low blow,” she rolled her eyes. “But yes.”

  ***

  The Oven was less of a building and more of a repurposed cave embedded in the side of the mountain. To my knowledge, it used energy from the springs to heat the forge’s furnaces. With the help of Hugo’s runemagic, of course. Several furnaces lined the walls, while Hugo’s workbench sat in the center of the establishment.

  “Hugo?” Valorie called. To my surprise, she entered the forge with me. She’d been smelling the flower for the entire walk. I knew what was coming.

  “Yep, I’m here,” Hugo’s deep, scratchy voice confirmed. He was medium-sized and surprisingly lean for his occupation. His beard was always trimmed, and he was missing a ring-finger—his sacrifice to become a runeforger. He always smelled of metal shavings, just like Marcel. Except Hugo was actually dealing with metal.

  I was sure Marcel had been dealing with blood.

  “I have a work request,” I told him.

  “New rune?” he asked, almost giddily. I always found it strange how almost unnaturally fond he was of his job.

  “Not this time,” I declined. His shoulders slumped in disappointment, and I honestly felt bad for him.

  “Then, what?”

  “Marcel said he lost his swords. He wanted me to ask you to forge new ones for him. Please?”

  “Lost his swords?” Hugo raised an eyebrow. “Those things are practically glued to his hands—the kid’s half praying mantis. How did he lose them?”

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  “I was so happy they were gone, I didn’t ask him,” I shrugged. I’d had Snowcrest’s pacifism ingrained in me from childhood, so I couldn’t exactly agree with Marcel’s apparent violence when he left the village. I thought his swords were an open challenge to Snowcrest’s culture and found them abhorrent.

  “Well, you know me,” Hugo said, opening a drawer and retrieving a wrinkled sheet of paper. “Always keep the schematics handy. I’ll have them done in about two days.”

  Hugo wasn’t a Snowcrest native, and he was also a recluse. He didn’t care much about pacifism.

  “I’ll tell him.”

  “I’d like to make a new rune,” Valorie said meekly from behind me. She’d followed me into the forge—but had apparently changed her mind and gone back outside. I couldn’t blame her; the forge was unbearably hot, especially in our mountain clothes.

  “Don’t be shy!” Hugo perked up. Val reluctantly entered, as if double-dared. He led us to an adjacent compartment that looked more like a torture chamber than a forge. A single reclining chair sat in the center, leather straps for arms and legs, and a nearby rack of miscellaneous tools.

  Valorie sat in the chair, discomfort clear on her face, but allowed Hugo to fasten her in place. People sometimes had erratic reactions to having their crystals pulled; holding them down was essentially mandatory.

  “Alright,” Hugo said, picking up a runeiron hammer. “Just think about what you want to think about!”

  Valorie closed her eyes while he placed the hammer gently on her forehead. A bright yellow glow manifested instantly, bathing the room in light. She winced slightly as he slowly and gently pulled the crystal from her head.

  Eventually, the crystal was free, floating in front of Hugo’s hammer. He placed it in a nearby crucible before untying Val.

  “How long do you think it will take?” she asked, rubbing her arms.

  “Maybe fifteen minutes?” he estimated. Forging physical runes was tedious, but Hugo’s forge burned hot enough to speed the process. Psychological runes took much longer; they had to be held at a precise temperature for hours to burn away irrelevant parts of memory, leaving only the desired state-of-mind intact.

  “So we have fifteen minutes to kill, Maya,” Val smiled at me.

  “You don’t want to stay and watch your rune be made?” I asked.

  “I’d rather get out of here as fast as possible,” she replied, still smiling.

  ***

  A short time later, Valorie braved The Oven once more to retrieve her rune before scurrying out like a scared cat.

  “Did you make a rune…from the smell of that flower?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “Um… yeah?” she clutched like I’d offended it. Its inscription read Alpine. Not a very helpful name, but Valorie didn’t know what type flower she smelled. Of course the rune wouldn’t be specific.

  We eventually made it back to the house, and I was about to take a nap—but my sheets were still covered in blood. Fortunately, it was dried, so it wouldn’t smear too much while I cleaned. I started removing the covers before—

  DOOON! DOOON! DOOON! DOOON!

  As I suspected, Valorie immediately began abusing her new rune, and the combination of its cacophony and the invasive flower’s scent instantly gave me a headache. There was no way I could tolerate it long enough to clean my sheets, much less sleep in them.

  I grabbed a small tool-roll from the wall hanger and left the house again.

  “Cupcake!” I called. She cascaded out of a snowdrift, chewing on a rabbit as predicted. “You wanna go into the Forest?”

  Woof!

  She let me climb onto her back, and I’d barely sat down before she took off down the mountain. I would’ve brought her saddle, but it was honestly a pain to move in and out of the house.

  Cupcake was fast, really fast when excited. It felt like I blinked and we were already in the Forest’s thicket. One more blink, and we were at my favorite hiding spot, surrounded by painted targets. I opened my case and gently pulled out its contents:

  Throwing knives. Runeblades, to be exact. Usually only the village’s hunters could convince Hugo to make weapons like these, but I promised him I’d only use them on inanimate objects. Hugo had said regular throwing darts were too small for runes, so I compromised.

  I’d been throwing these knives for years and was pretty skilled. Other than Valorie, no one really paid attention enough to notice if I disappeared for hours. I usually came here to escape Margaret and her wretched friends. They’d never found me.

  THOKK!

  DOOON!

  BZAAAP!

  My favorite knife had a Thunder rune, which cracked with the force of a lightning bolt and charred anything it touched. I thought that was cool, but Cupcake made it better. She instinctively fetched the knife from the target when she heard the electricity. She was the origin of the rune, after all.

  Practicing with the knives was oddly cathartic. Not that I’d ever use them on a person or animal I couldn’t even squash beetles but at least if I missed, it was entirely my fault. Sometimes I even missed on purpose, because—

  “Boo!”

  I shrieked, spinning and almost decapitating Valorie, who had snuck up behind me.

  “You must be great friends with Kharon and Hades,” I heaved, easing my nerves, “otherwise, they’ll never forgive you for playing with death like that.”

  “So articulate, Maya,” Val praised, sarcastically.

  “Why did you come out here anyway?”

  “I can’t keep my sister company?”

  Woof! Cupcake responded, suspiciously.

  “You hate the Forest,” I raised my eyebrow, “so… spit it out.”

  “Well… the market’s open…”

  “And? Just go without me.”

  “I could…but you always get the best deals.”

  “Do I, now? Aren’t you the chief’s daughter? Just take it from them for free.”

  “Maya, you know that’s not how I do things. I love my dad, but I hate his influence.” I pinched my brow while Cupcake yawned—the closest she could get to sarcasm.

  “Alright, what do you have and what do you want?”

  “Well… I managed to get a small bag of grain from the spill last night.”

  “So… you stole it.”

  “Not stealing when I’m the chief’s daughter.” I didn’t know what the smallest unit of breathable air was, but there wasn’t one left in my lungs after I sighed.

  “You know what? Whatever. Whatever. What do you want?”

  “Well… you were talking about soup earlier…”

  “If you ask me to get you a cut of meat for a bag of grain that’s been on the floor—”

  “That’s exactly what I’m asking you, yes.”

  “I have a question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Do you think I’m Hermes, Val? Because he’s the only one who could possibly pull that off.”

  Woof! Cupcake agreed.

  “I have faith in you,” Val pumped her arms in the air. “Go, Maya!”

  ***

  “That one,” Val whispered, discreetly pointing to a cut of venison in someone’s booth. It was the most beautiful cut of meat I’d ever seen.

  “How long have you been insane?” I whispered back, “or were you just born like that?” The cut she pointed to was worth at least a dozen potatoes, and the grain she’d… ‘procured’ wasn’t enough for even a woodpecker. Cupcake would probably yawn right about now, but I’d had her take my things to the house.

  “Go, Maya!” Val whispered again. Despite our grave disadvantage, we had one thing in our favor: since it had snowed so severely the night before, most people had spent the day clearing their crops and checking their animals.

  The market was practically deserted; everyone was too tired to haggle.

  “Not that one,” I decided. I could already see it: the shopkeeper would surely laugh us out of his booth, and then we’d have no chance with the others.

  “Fine…” Val pouted. “That one, then.” She pointed to a smaller, more manageable cut of meat, not as marbled.

  “Good morning,” I greeted, approaching the stall, while Val hung back.

  “Afternoon,” the shopkeeper replied simply. I tried not to remember the shopkeepers’ names, despite how often we came to the market. We practically swindled them daily, and some had even closed their booths when they saw us coming. It was easier to avoid the guilt if we weren’t familiar with them.

  “Let’s get this one,” I said, pointing to the cut of meat and confidently dropping our meager bag of grain on the table.

  “You can’t get venison for whatever is in that little bag,” he replied gruffly.

  “That’s venison?” I raised an eyebrow. Of course it was, and honestly, it was a very decent cut.

  “You must not know quality when you see it.”

  “I do know quality, that’s why that cut is barely recognizable!” The man hesitated, slightly clenching his jaw. He fought valiantly, but I was already in his head.

  “And what’s in this bag, then?”

  “Barley,” I said simply. Then I added, “From Reminisce. Straight from the ground, no runemagic.”

  Snowcrest had a culture of honesty, but every villager was for themselves in the market. The only part of my sentence that was remotely true was that it came from the ground—just not in the way he expected. If he was stupid enough to believe Reminiscent barley was somehow special, that was on him.

  “Reminiscent barley…” he stroked his beard, confirming my suspicions. He was hesitant, but I knew he wanted the trade.

  “Well, if you need to sleep on it, we’ll just—”

  “No, no,” he spluttered. In a lower voice, he added, “I was just thinking: if you suddenly have barley from Reminisce, that must mean your brother is back, and you’ve just told me before anyone else, haven’t you? Take the cut.”

  He winked, and I hoped he couldn’t see how hard I was biting my inner lip. He was probably going to spread all kinds of gossip now… sorry, Marcy.

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