The Girl Locked With Gold

Chapter 1 The weight of the smoke seared her throat as it pressed down into her lungs. “Ber―” her hacking cough cut off his name. “Bertrand!” The roar of the flames swallowed her shout. The world is on fire, and I’ll burn with it. A scream carried down from high above, the voice too shrill to be Bertrand’s. “Hello?” Maggie stumbled toward the sound. The dense smoke hid the form of whatever landscape burned around her, but the flames danced higher in the direction of the scream, reaching far above Maggie’s head with no sign of something she might climb to reach the terrified person. “I’m coming!” Maggie gagged on a burst of sour smoke. Something in the haze burned her eyes, blurring her vision. Sparks whirled around her as she swayed, retching black that tore painfully from her throat. “Bertrand.” Her lips formed his name as she fell to her knees. The heat of the ground burned through her pants, searing her flesh. “Primurgo.” The spell took the last bit of air she had. The shield shimmered to life around her, blocking the waves of smoke, but not the terrible heat of the flames. Her palms blistered as she pushed herself to her feet, squinting through the smoke. No figure stumbled toward her. Not Bertrand or even a poor victim of the devastation in this unknown land. “Bertrand!” Maggie shouted, coughing up more of the black goo. “Bertrand, we have to go!” A c***k rent the air, and the ground shook a moment later. Shield or not, they were running out of time. “Bertrand Wayland, if you’ve led me to my death―” “I have not led you to your death, Miss Trent.” Bertrand tore out of the darkness, embers l*****g the tails of his black coat. “Nor have I ever assured your safety.” “Where the hell have you been?” Maggie dropped her shield, and Bertrand grabbed her wrist, dragging her straight toward a tower of fire. “Hell seems a fairly accurate assessment, Miss Trent.” Bertrand ducked as a wall of embers collapsed in front of them. Not pausing, he veered around the flames. “It took you so long to arrive, I didn’t know if I would be able to wait for you much longer.” “Thanks for not abandoning me.” Maggie leapt over a c***k in the ground, her toes landing an inch from Bertrand’s heels. “Of course. Now, if you would.” With two giant strides, Bertrand plunged into a black pit that consumed the center of the path. Flat, scorched walls leading to darkness far below were the only details Maggie managed to see before overwhelming nothing consumed her. The void squeezed every inch of her being. Her lungs couldn’t have expanded to pull in air even if there had been any present for her to breathe. A whirling sense like rushing through a vast river tingled her toes, but there was no way to know how fast she moved in the nothing, if she was even moving at all. As questions she would never get to ask trickled through her mind, a green light flashed into being around her, and pain shot through her knees. “Ow.” Maggie flopped to the side, not caring who might see her lying on the street. “Ow, ow, ow.” “Are you all right, Miss. Trent?” Bertrand hovered over her, silhouetted by the sun. Maggie took a deep breath, testing her lungs as she rubbed her fingers over her unburnt palms. “No smoke inhalation or third degree burns, so I’d say the Siren worked her magic again.” “Then why are you lying on the ground?” Maggie shielded her eyes so she could properly see the furrowed lines on Bertrand’s brow. His hair was perfectly slicked back in its customary low ponytail. His white shirt and coat tails showed no signs of burns. Even his buckled shoes hadn’t been scratched by their brush with fire. “I’m on the ground because I, unlike perfect you, am not used to jumping back into the Siren’s Realm from a land of fiery doom.” “As long as the Siren hasn’t decided not to heal all wounds upon entering her realm, I suppose we’re all right.” Bertrand offered Maggie his hand, helping her to her feet as a gray-speckled centaur rounded the corner. “How’s it going?” Maggie waved, letting an overly-bright smile fill her face. “As the Siren wills it be done.” The centaur nodded and trotted past them without waiting for further conversation. “Have a nice day.” Maggie brushed the dust from the street off her clothes. “So, how long until you find another stitch for us to slip through?” “Find another stitch?” Bertrand strode down the narrow street, not looking back to see if Maggie followed. Allowing herself the luxury of rolling her eyes, Maggie trotted after him. “Maybe this time you could find a path out of the Siren’s Realm that doesn’t lead to Hell.” “The most interesting thing about fire, Miss Trent, is how very temporary it is.” Bertrand cut down a wide road lined with tall tents. A gentle wind swayed the colorful fabrics. “Even the worst of blazes will burn out in time. We need only have patience while the flames run their course.” “Wait a second.” Maggie dodged around a beautiful woman in red robes to match the tray of wine she carried. “Are you actually saying you want to go back there?” “Of course, Miss Trent. There are a hundreds, perhaps thousands of tiny stitches joining the Siren’s Realm to other worlds. Of all the stitches that exist, the Siren has only allowed us to find a tiny portion. She would not have left a stitch open for us to slip through were there not something interesting and wondrous on the other side. We should not deny ourselves an adventure simply because of a little poor timing.” “You know, that’s what I think every time I almost burn to death. As smoke fills my lungs, making it impossible to breathe, Wow, what a bit of poor timing.” “Sarcasm is rarely becoming, Miss Trent.” A wide square opened up in front of them, revealing a platinum fountain flowing in the middle of it all. A statue of a beautiful woman, her nakedness barely concealed by thin fabric, stood at the center of the pool. A man had climbed up on the edge of the fountain, blocking the crowd from swimming in the sweet liquid. “The Siren’s time is shifting away like sand. Her ways are beyond our ken, and times worse than storms are nipping at all of our heels.” “What?” Maggie grabbed Bertrand’s sleeve to stop his momentum. The people in the square were watching the man as he paced the rim of the fountain. “For in light and peace, there must still come shadows, and it is only the will of the Siren that holds the darkness at bay.” “Let the Siren’s will be done,” a woman shouted, “and leave us in peace.” A cheer sounded behind the woman, then another. “Those who do not read the winds shall be eaten by the storm!” the man warned as the crowd surged forward. “Come along, Miss Trent.” Bertrand cut out of the square and down a narrow alley lined with bright red tents. “Shouldn’t we help him?” A roaring shout sounded from the square. “Those people could really hurt him,” Maggie said. “A madman who’s decided to speak on behalf of the Siren?” Bertrand said. “I don’t think there is anything within our power to be done.” A wide lane opened up in front of them. Tables laden with goods from fine silks to fresh baked cakes were open for business. Maggie’s stomach turned as a woman shook hands with a silk dealer. Her clothes shimmered for a moment as their colors twisted. Her plain green dress vanished, replaced by a red gown woven through with gold. Maggie’s hands tingled, remembering the feeling of magic zinging through her skin―the shock of it as it left her body in payment for goods, leaving a tiny hole that didn’t refill. But if the woman hated the feel of it, her face showed no sign as she gleefully spun in her new gown. “What do you think they’ll do to him?” Maggie averted her eyes as a man paid for a diamond-accented pocket watch. “I think what the crowd will do to him is the least of that man’s concerns.” Bertrand kept his voice low as they passed a woman tending a flowerbed filled with bright blue blooms in front of her matching blue tent. “He dares to speak for the Siren. It is never wise to make assumptions of one who provides all that is needed for survival.” “Because you’ve never tried to tell me how the Siren works?” Maggie whispered. “I happen to have an uncanny understanding of the Siren and the wisdom to know that sometimes speaking the truth is best done quietly.” The road beneath their feet changed from dirt to cobblestone as they reached the fortress. Weathered and stately houses rose up around them. A lone gondola paddled down the canal, the boatman humming a slow tune. Iron barred windows stared down at them from above, and heavy wooden doors protected against unwanted visitors. Maggie shuddered at the tingling feeling of dozens of unseen people glaring at her for intruding in this exclusive and intentionally private section of the Siren’s Realm. “I don’t think we need waste our time as we wait for the smoke to clear.” Bertrand’s voice bounced off the stone houses. “You really should work more on your swordplay and hand to hand combat, and this provides an excellent opportunity.” “Remember that time when I was going to live out my days in the Siren’s Realm in peace?” Maggie said as Bertrand stopped at a thick wooden door, barely visible beneath the stone overhang of a house. “I was going to fish and live on the rocks by the sea. Enjoy my time not almost dying.” “Let time drift by with nothing to show for it but a bit more wear on your shoes?” Bertrand heaved the wooden door open. The creak of the door had become too familiar to startle Maggie. “You would be miserable. If not now, then in a few years.” “Fine.” Maggie followed Bertrand into the stone entryway, shoving the wooden door shut behind her and fixing the lock with a dull clunk. “But can we both at least agree this morning was not the kind of adventure we want to repeat?” “But why? Isn’t any adventure one survives a worthy undertaking?” Bertrand opened the door at the far end of the tiny, windowless room and strode up the steps to the main house, leaving Maggie barely able to hear his words as she chased him. “We’ll give it a few days. By then, the inferno should have died, and slipping into a world of embers should be safe enough. Perhaps we can even discover the source of the blaze.” Bertrand stopped in front of the wide fireplace, lifting a teacup off the mantle and breathing in the sweet steam. “Unless, of course, you’d like to stay behind and focus on your booming career in the fish trade.” Maggie exhaled, forcing her teeth to unclench. “I’ll come with you.” She took the second cup from the stone mantle, letting the herbal fragrance melt her frustration. “But only because I don’t want you to burn to death.” “How very kind.” Bertrand raised his cup to her. A painting hung above the fireplace. Shadows crept in on either side of the frame with only a dull ray of sunlight peering through at the center. Hints of texture played in the background, but not enough to decipher what exactly the painting was meant to depict. “You really should get some new art.” Maggie sipped her tea. “Something a bit more cheerful.” “In time.” Bertrand nodded. “But I’m still enamored of this piece for now.” Maggie shook her head, not setting her cup down as Bertrand dragged all of the furniture to the bookcase that lined the far wall. “Would you like to begin with swordplay or boxing?” Bertrand removed his jacket, carefully folding the dark material before draping it on the arm chair. “Do I want to punch you or try and stab you?” Maggie downed the rest of her tea. “Decisions, decisions.” “Swordplay it is.” Bertrand knocked three times on the wall. A panel no more than a foot wide slid aside, revealing two swords and two daggers nestled in red velvet. “How much magic did the secret compartment cost you?” Maggie asked. Bertrand grabbed one of the swords, tossing the blade to Maggie. Maggie caught the hilt and wrapped her fingers around the soft leather. “I would rather pay the magic to the Siren to keep the blades safe than consider the possibility of weapons ever drifting into the Siren’s Realm.” Bertrand lifted the other sword, examining the gleaming blade before bowing to Maggie. Maggie bowed back, mocking Bertrand, though she knew he wouldn’t respond. “Besides, Miss Trent. We venture out of the Siren’s Realm for adventure and riches. What good is bringing more magic into this place if we don’t spend it?” “Touché.” Maggie lifted her blade. “The term is en garde.” Bertrand lunged, his sword bouncing off Maggie’s with a satisfying ting.