Choices Read online

  Mel had already dropped Kerd, and fumbled in her belt pouch for the numbing talisman. She pressed it into her arm and sighed with relief, then pulled on it until she felt the bone ends click into place, “Can you get a splint on this?” she asked Pol, who’d just checked Kerd.

  While the Beast continued screaming in the distance, Pol got her arm splinted, then laid his two unconscious fellows out and covered them with leaves to keep them warmish. Mel bound the numbing talisman into the bandages around her arm, but she wasn’t going to be using that limb any time soon. “It’s too fast,” she groaned, sitting on the ground beside Kerd. “We need a better Mage than I am. I wish to hell I was a fighter, not a Mage!”

  :So give me to Pol,: Need said.

  “Why?” Pol asked.

  :Give me to Pol!:

  “Because this’s a magic sword. If you’re a Mage, she can turn you into a trained fighter. If you’re a fighter—she turns you into a major magician. But only if—”

  :GIVE ME TO POL, YOU BLITHERING IDIOT!:

  Mel stopped in midsentence, briefly “deafened” by Need. :But I thought—:

  :Just give me to Pol!:

  Mel gulped, and fumbled off the belt holding Need, wordlessly handing belt and sword to the mercenary. “She says to give her to you.”

  Pol stared. “What?”

  “Just put her on. She’ll explain for herself, I guess.” At this point, Mel was so confused and exhausted she couldn’t think clearly. Pol got up off his knees and strapped the sword on, and for a moment, Mel wondered—was Pol a woman disguised as a man?

  But . . . no. No, there was no doubt Pol was male. Not from this angle. And besides, why would Pol have bothered? The Wolves had both men and women in their ranks. There was no reason for a disguise. Pol stood there with a “listening” look on his face, and his expression changed literally from moment to moment. At one point he looked as though he was going to cry. But mostly, he listened, and nodded, and finally he offered his hand to Mel, who took it, and he pulled her to her feet.

  “Let’s finish this,” he said with determination. “I want you to hit that thing with—Need says, that blinding spell on the makaar head, followed with something she calls a—a stink spell? On the cold-drake head. She says she thinks those two together will shock it long enough for it to stop moving, and that’s when she’ll hit it.”

  “We sure as the seven hells can’t leave it running loose,” Mel agreed. “It’s only a matter of time before it goes hunting for food again, and makaar prefer humans to anything else, so they’ll go straight for the next village. Let’s do this.”

  Once again, she cast Featherfoot on them both, and they slowly made their way back to the Change Circle. The Beast was still rampaging and raving, so at least they knew where it was.

  It had torn up everything there was to tear up around the Change Circle in its futile search for them. Perhaps because at the moment the makaar head seemed to be in charge. The cold-drake head shook every so often, and its pupils were dilated so much there seemed to be no iris to them. It seemed to be letting the makaar head do what it wanted while it got its vision back.

  Now Mel understood why Need had been so specific about which spell to put on which head. The makaar had no sense of smell; the cold-drake did. If she got them reversed, the cold-drake would still be able to track them by scent, and the makaar by vision. Right now, the makaar head was in control, the cold-drake still concentrating on getting its sight back, which was why it hadn’t detected them yet.

  But its sense of hearing made up for its lack of sense of smell. She barely breathed, “Signal when ready.”

  Pol raised his hand slightly. She kept one eye on it, one eye on the Beast, and both spells ready in her mind. Pol dropped his hand, and she let off the blinding spell on the makaar’s head, then the “stink” smell on the cold-drake.

  The second smell didn’t just smell “bad” . . . it was so awful it was literally a weapon. It brought on uncontrolled coughing, tearing, and gagging in humans, and was devastatingly effective on entire groups of soldiers. It could literally stop any monstrous beast she’d tried it on in its tracks.

  And it absolutely stopped the Beast. It flung up both heads in pain and confusion, howling, and not only freezing in place, but digging the claws of all four walking feet into the earth to brace itself against attack. But attack didn’t come from them.

  It came from the Change Circle.

  A bolt of lightning as thick as a man flashed out from somewhere at the top of the Change Circle and struck the Beast in the middle of the back. It was eye-wateringly bright, and the simultaneous crack of thunder nearly knocked her over with its concussive force.

  And still the Beast stood, though she could see through dazzled eyes that Need had definitely hurt it. She couldn’t hear the shriek of pain, but since both heads tossed wildly with mouths open, she assumed they were shrieking. She had a little warning before Need and Pol hit the Beast with a second lightning bolt; she clapped her hands over her ears and ducked her head, only looking again when it was safe. Need had definitely hurt it this time. One more—

  Again, she ducked her head and protected her ears. This time her hearing had recovered enough that she heard the thunderclap again—and heard Pol shout “Now!”

  She stood up and saw that the Beast was down, and she used the one good offensive combat spell she had—a fire-arrow—and cast it again and again at the makaar head’s eyes, while Pol and Need rushed in and plunged Need’s blade through the cold-drake’s eye into its brain. Then, they turned to do the same to the makaar.

  But there was no need. She’d already killed the makaar head. And Pol jumped back as the body thrashed in its death throes.

  And right at that moment her mind finally put two together with a puzzling two and came up with four. She went to Pol’s side, and they both watched the Beast die, and her hearing finally got back to normal. And that was when she turned to him.

  “All your life you’ve felt as if you were born into the wrong body, haven’t you?” she said, quietly, as he looked at her, his pupils widening at her words. “You’ve known you were a girl, and yet you were somehow stuck in this—”

  She stopped, because his eyes were glistening, and she was afraid he was about to cry. “Oh, my poor dear,” she said instead. “That’s why Need could go to you.”

  He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Need . . . wants you to put your hand on her so she can talk to both of us.”

  She did.

  :I can fix that—maybe,: Need said, as soon as Mel had her hand on the sword’s hilt.

  “Define ‘maybe,’” Mel replied.

  :I know how to do a complete physical transformation. It takes a lot of power, which I normally don’t have access to, but there is that much power in the Change Circle. And that will have the advantage of draining the Change Circle, so it can’t hurt anyone anymore. But . . . the odds are 50–50 whether I can control the magic, because it’s chaotic and unpredictable.:

  “And what happens if you fail?” Mel asked steadily, since Pol seemed to be having trouble speaking.

  :Best case is Pol dies. Worst case is Pol will wish he’d died.:

  “I . . . there are already days I wish I was dead,” Pol blurted. “Being a monster wouldn’t be worse than this. Being dead wouldn’t be worse than this!”

  Mel thought about forbidding this. Just taking Need away from Pol, right now, and saying it was not going to happen.

  But this wasn’t her life. It wasn’t her right to forbid another person something that did no harm to her or anyone else.

  “Life’s not a bowl of roses as a girl, you know,” she cautioned, giving Pol one more chance to back out. “There’s breasts—they’re fun, but damned inconvenient, too. And all the monthly garbage. And men will always treat you differently than they do now—some as something to conquer and dominate, some as
something to protect, some as someone beneath contempt. Even the ones that treat you as an equal will treat you differently than they would have as an equal man. Sometimes that will be great. Sometimes, not so great.”

  Pol’s eyes were very, very bright now, and he was having a hard time getting the words out. “I’ll take that chance. I’ll take all those chances. Please. . . .”

  She shook her head. “Don’t ask me for permission. It’s not my life, it’s yours. All I’m doing is giving you information. Take your life, Pol, and make it what you want to make it.”

  He took a very deep breath.

  :Ready?: asked Need.

  “I’ve been ready all my life.”

  Together they stepped into the Change Circle.

  * * *

  • • •

  Mel got Lemuel and the horses, and together they collected Kerd and Harl and got them to the Change Circle, where she worked Healing magic on them. When they finally came to, she explained to them that Pol had volunteered to take her magic sword into the Change Circle to close it down, knowing it might kill or change him forever. And then they had all settled in to wait.

  By nightfall she could tell that the power in the Change Circle had diminished somewhat. “This is going to go on through the night,” she said. “We might as well eat and bed down.” So they made a campfire and gnawed their way through the trail food, she worked a little more Healing magic on the lads, and then Lemuel volunteered to take the first watch.

  But she couldn’t sleep, of course. Her arm throbbed, but more than that, she hoped and was afraid to hope. She stared at the Change Circle, at the vague form inside it, and hoped, and was afraid to hope. She knew she could never truly understand the agony of someone who felt—who knew—she had been born into the wrong body. It was so much more painful than merely wanting something. This was necessary. Necessary as breathing.

  But what if she came out a monster? Worse, still male? All she could do was pray, which she didn’t do often . . . but pray she did, and to a goddess: Agnetha, who, surely, surely would heed the prayers of a woman to help a woman.

  Finally, at dawn, as she continued to keep a bleary-eyed vigil, the Change Circle suddenly flared, crackled all over with lightning—and died.

  And she peeled herself out of her bedroll and ran, full of dread.

  Well, the vague, shadowy form that knelt with Need across its knees wasn’t obviously monstrous—or dead—

  “Pol?” she called.

  And Pol looked up, lip quivering, eyes too bright.

  “It worked,” she whispered, and burst into tears.

  And Mel gathered the girl into her arms and let her sob with relief and joy and a hundred other emotions until she was exhausted.

  * * *

  • • •

  “Dunno what to say,” Harl said, looking bewildered.

  They had all traveled back to the village to deliver the good news. The villagers were somewhat in awe of Pol’s “sacrifice” and entirely unsure of how to respond except by deciding to throw a feast in their honor. That at least gave everyone something to do, but in the morning, the warhorse was still in the room, and Pol’s two companions just didn’t know what to do about it.

  “It’s all right,” Pol told Harl, patting him on the shoulder. Pol didn’t look that much different from her old self, aside from the breasts and the curves, and the softening of her face. As if the old Pol had had a twin sister, perhaps.

  “You lads do me a favor. Go ask the blacksmith how he’d feel about building me a new tavern, hmm? I think I’m going to settle here if they will,” Mel interrupted. Happy for any excuse to get away from an increasingly uncomfortable situation, they left.

  Mel put her good hand on Need’s hilt. “Obviously you’ve chosen Pol,” she said.

  :Obviously. But . . . this . . . took a lot out of me. I think I am going to sleep for a while.: The sword’s thoughts came slowly, as if they were swimming through honey.

  “What does that mean?” Pol asked, uncertainly.

  “It means she won’t be talking to you directly, I think,” Mel replied.

  “For how long?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe not again in your lifetime. That was major magic, young one. It drained her. Look, you useless piece of iron, tell Pol how to use you before you doze off on us!” She’d suspected this was going to happen and was not entirely unhappy that it had. Pol was going to have enough on her hands adjusting to her new life without having Need yammering at her.

  :When there’s a woman in trouble . . . that you can help . . . you’ll feel it. Feel bad . . . when you move away. Feel better . . . as you get closer. Then, when . . . you need magic . . . will what you want. I . . . have . . . to . . . sleep.: And then . . . there was silence.

  “I understand the first part, but what—”

  Mel patted her shoulder. “Settle down. Just think of what you’ve seen Mages do in the past. Will it to happen. The stronger your will and imagination, the better the spell will be. Try small things, like moving silently, at first. Work your way up. You’ll figure it out. And when Need’s ready to go to someone else, you’ll know that, too.” She laughed a little. “Trust me, you’ll be ready to settle down long before she’s ready to move to a new bearer.”

  “I—” Pol began. And then, her mouth gave an odd twitch.

  “Already?” Mel asked, knowingly.

  “I—I think so.” Pol’s mouth twitched again. “It feels like something tugging at my gut. East and south.”

  Mel sighed. She didn’t envy the girl. But then again, Pol was now both a highly trained fighter and a Mage more powerful than she had ever dreamed of being. It was all up to her now. “Get your gear, and take Sam. I don’t need him, and you will. Go before your friends come back.”

  Her eyes flickered in the direction Harl and Kerd had gone. Her mouth took on a wry twist. “Aye, they don’t really know what to do with me, do they?”

  “And neither do you know what to do with them. Go.”

  She watched Pol and Sam and Need ride off into the forest, east and south, with a little sadness, a little relief, and a great deal of wonder. How would they fare out there? Well, she hoped. Pol had all the tools she needed to, well, become something of a legend, if that was what she wanted. And if she didn’t, all the tools to carve herself a good and useful life. It would be up to her, and her alone, to see if she could be happy. And that’s more than many can say, she thought, as they vanished into the distance. And as for me—I’ve helped plenty, hurt few, and here I am, with a small miracle I assisted along. That’s more than many can say, too.

  From where she stood beside the picket line, she saw Harl and Kerd approaching with the blacksmith, the three of them yammering away and making building-like gestures at the circle of meadow. And she started to grin. It looked as if she wasn’t the only one who found the idea of settling here a good one. With two strong lads to help, making that tavern a reality was going to take less time than she thought.

  Pol’s not the only one with a new life, it seems, she thought, and began walking to meet them. “Have you got someone that makes barrels?” she called. “You need the right barrels to make good mead and wine.”

  Just like you need the right people to make a good life.

  About the Authors

  Dylan Birtolo resides in the Pacific Northwest, where he spends his time as a writer, a game designer, and a professional sword-swinger. He’s published a few fantasy novels and several short stories. On the game side, he contributed to Dragonfire and designed both Henchman and Shadowrun Sprawl Ops. He trains in Systema and with the Seattle Knights, an acting troop that focuses on stage combat. He jousts, and yes, the armor is real—it weighs over 100 pounds. You can read more about him and his works at www.dylanbirtolo.com or follow his Twitter @DylanBirtolo.

  Jennifer Brozek is a multitalented, award-winning au
thor, editor, and tie-in writer. She is the author of Never Let Me Sleep and The Last Days of Salton Academy, both of which were finalists for the Bram Stoker Award. Her BattleTech tie-in novel, The Nellus Academy Incident, won a Scribe Award. Her editing work has netted her a Hugo Award nomination as well as an Australian Shadows Award for Grants Pass. Jennifer’s short-form work has appeared in Apex Publications and in anthologies set in the worlds of Valdemar, Shadowrun, V-Wars, and Predator. Jennifer is also the Creative Director of Apocalypse Ink Productions and was the managing editor of Evil Girlfriend Media and assistant editor for Apex Book Company. She has been a freelance author, editor, tie-in writer for over ten years after leaving her high-paying tech job, and she’s never been happier. She keeps a tight schedule on her writing and editing projects and somehow manages to find time to volunteer for several professional writing organizations such as SFWA, HWA, and IAMTW. She shares her husband, Jeff, with several cats and often uses him as a sounding board for her story ideas. Visit Jennifer’s worlds at jenniferbrozek.com.

  Brigid Collins is a fantasy and science fiction writer living in Michigan. Her short stories have appeared in Fiction River, The Young Explorer’s Adventure Guide, and Chronicle Worlds: Feyland. Books 1 through 3 of her fantasy series, Songbird River Chronicles, and her dark fairy tale novella, Thorn and Thimble, are available in print and electronic versions on Amazon and Kobo. You can sign up for her newsletter at tinyletter.com/HarmonicStories or follow her on twitter @purellian.

  Ron Collins is the bestselling Amazon Dark Fantasy author of Saga of the God-Touched Mage and Stealing the Sun, a series of space-based SF books. He has contributed 100 or so stories to premier science fiction and fantasy publications, including Analog, Asimov’s, and several volumes of the Valdemar anthology series. His work has garnered a Writers of the Future prize, and a CompuServe HOMer award. His short story “The White Game” was nominated for the Short Mystery Fiction Society’s 2016 Derringer Award. Find current information about Ron at typosphere.com.