Fantasy ficlet from guest blogger Nancy Griffis

Enjoy!

Bound

Mist lingered in the bog, but it always did. Marcus knew the pathways better than anyone; he'd grown up playing on the moors and cutting through the bog since childhood. No matter how many times his mother had warned him that he would get sucked into the eternal sands or sirened away by a will o'the wisp, he'd gone back time and again.

“Are you sure you know where we're going?”  

The somewhat nervous words prompted a quickly hidden smile. Marcus looked back at the young nobleman and said with all seriousness, “I do, m'lord. You're safe as can be with me.”

Young though he was, just beyond his twentieth year if Marcus guessed rightly, the golden-haired man who trailed him was broadly built with the strength of a fighter. He also had eyes the color of a stormy sky. Marcus had always thrilled to eyes like that, but everyone he knew had the same green-brown as himself. It was the nobility, of course; even the color of their eyes was unusual and refined and Lord Liam Stoneson of Cliff Keep was no exception. There'd been more than a few late-night fantasies about his traveling companion since his hire, the ten years between them certainly not enough to discurage such thoughts.

“I'm not frightened, you understand... it's just that one hears stories about the bogs,” Liam said hastily.

Marcus nodded easily enough. “Stories aplenty and more than half true.”

Those deep blue eyes widened in apparent surprise. “More than half true? Honestly?”

“Aye, m'lord. I've seen wisps glinting about in the darkness and heard the fae music on many a night,” Marcus said, turning forward again. “The mist hides more than just roots to trip you, which is why we stay upon the path. It has a kind of protection built-in over centuries of travel.”

“There's a path?”

This time a wryness slid through the words and Marcus grinned outright, but kept walking. “Aye, m'lord.”

“How is it you never succumbed to any of these deadfalls?”

Marcus shrugged, unwilling to go into details that could get him and his family in trouble. Most people didn't distinguish between mages and sorcerers and those without formal training were the most suspect of all. Fae magic, they all called it, unpredictable and uncontrollable though Marcus himself could dispute all of that. “I couldn't say, m'lord, they just don't lure me in the same fashion as others.”

Silence fell and Marcus stopped short not a minute later, an itch squirming under his skin as ever it did whenever wild magic came too-close. He whirled to find the young lord vanished from not two steps behind and no sign of him to either side of the path. His heart picked up its pace in fear for his companion. They'd traveled together almost a fortnight and Marcus had grown summat fond of the whip-smart younger man. He'd even lettered Marcus how to write his name in the time after making camp and before bedding down.

Marcus took a breath and closed his eyes, reaching out to the source of the wild magic with his own. It ran east, not far, unruly and dead cold to his senses and his jaw flexed in anger. He pulled free the silver dagger always belted at his waist and picked his way with care through the thick brush as swiftly as he could. Rushing through the physical pitfalls got people killed just as easily as the magical dangers.

Screaming started only moments later. Howls of agony that set Marcus' jaw ever tighter with the promise of silent vengeance. There was only one thing that could vanish a man from the path so completely and follow it with such pain: soul-stealer. Marcus had never actually dealt with one, but legends had them a kind of spirit leech only to be killed by a silver blade through the back of the neck, straight up into the skull. Naturally, he had no silver sword so this would mean a need to get so close as to almost be ensnared himself.

The good news, if it could be called such, was how long it took soul-stealers to drain their prey. Legend also had them thoroughly involved, almost myopic, with their food source once it was secured. If Marcus kept silent, he would be unnoticed long enough to kill the monster.

That was the plan right until he peered through the reeds and found two of them. One of the tall, gaunt things held Liam down with its too-long fingers wrapped around the young man's head. The other faced Marcus, though its black-eyed gaze remained locked to where the first soul-stealer fed from Liam.

With no help for it, Marcus pulled his other dagger free of his boot. He flipped it to grip the blade and held the silver one firmly by the hilt. There would only be one chance to succeed. He closed his eyes and  took a slow breath, saw it happen in his mind's eye...

...the normal blade flew through the air to stab directly in the heart of the soul-stealer on its feet with enough force to send it staggering backwards...

...Marcus ran the moment the dagger left his hand, close enough to jab the silver blade up, hard, skewering the feeding monster within seconds...

...he yanked the blade free and spun to meet the fury of the second creature, dropping down and then springing up to slam the silver blade into the base of the soul-stealer's neck, driving it up and up...

Marcus let out his breath and opened his eyes. The pitched fight took place exactly as foreseen, his magic rising up to lend him an unnatural swiftness, now that it knew where and how to do so. Not a minute later, both creatures lay true-dead at his feet. His lungs heaved against his chest while he pulled the magic back. Gore covered him from face to midriff, his tunic stiff with black ichor.

Dropping his blades to clean later, Marcus fell on his knees beside Liam to find him pale and shocky, a cold sweat covering the other's face and soaking into his clothes. He gently shook the other and said, “Liam! Liam, open your eyes, lad! Wake up!”

Liam moaned and his lids flickered, showing fleeting glimpses of blue... pale, pale blue now instead of the deep that Marcus so enjoyed. Eyes, the windows to the soul, the soul at least partly stolen by beings that shouldn't exist in any kind of world.

Running through the legend in his mind, there was only one story that came close to a cure. It was madness, of course. Binding himself to a stranger would lead to so very many problems, not the least of which his poor birth and untrained magic clashing with Liam's nobility.

But he isn't truly a stranger, Marcus thought, muscles almost rigid with the tension of his decision. This is a man with whom you've shared bread and conversation and laughter. This is a good man, a kind man, and someone I could love under the right circumstances. Can I let him die at all, let alone so horribly, when I can save him?

Marcus shook Liam again and leaned in close to his ear. He took a limp hand in his own and squeezed it hard. He spoke loudly to try and pierce the inner agony he knew held Liam fast. “Liam, it's Marcus. Can you hear me? Liam!”

The hand twitched in his, but didn't truly squeeze back. It was all he had, though.

“I can save you,” Marcus said loudly against his ear. “I can save you, but we'll be Bound. Bound, Liam, do you understand me? Liam!”

Liam moaned, but his hand twitched again. Whether it was in response to Marcus' words or his soul dying, there was no way to tell.

Marcus gritted his teeth in pure frustration. There was no choice for it. He could only hope Liam forgave him for making the only decision that he could, in good conscience, make.

He knelt back on his heels and closed his eyes, gathering his magic in and letting it surge through his body again. It whipped through him like lightning, crackled the air around him so that his and Liam's hair stood up in reaction. Marcus put one hand over Liam's heart and the other on the top of his head. Those with magic knew how to Bond instinctively, or so his grandmother had always told him growing up. When two halves met and matched, when the time was right, they would just naturally join together in love and power.

This would be no gentle pairing. Sorrow pricked at his eyes and fell over at the loss. Bending forward, Marcus hesitated the last, little bit with his mouth hovering over Liam's. And then the younger man moaned again in such pure pain that Marcus sealed their mouths together just to stop the heart-rending noise.

It was flint to tinder... oil bursting into flame... a fae mating that stirred all the elements into a storm...

When thoughts once more regained their hold on Marcus, he found himself spread protectively over Liam. Full daylight shone from above, the mist seemingly burned away by the explosion of his power.

Our power, Marcus realized, still dazed. He wasn't the only one with hidden talents.

Marcus sat upright, his entire body as sore as if the village horses had trampled him under for an extra bit of grain. Aside from the aches and pains, though, he felt clearer than he ever had. A burst of foreign names ran through his mind when he looked at the plant life around them. So did the knowledge of books he'd never read, because he couldn't read.

He gazed in wonder at the still-sleeping Liam, knowing that the learning came from him. He'd never known that to happen before. Shared power and knowing how the other felt, that was almost a guarantee because it ensured a happy, or at least a content, pairing. Shared knowledge? It was unheard of.

A sense of confusion rose and he knew Liam waked. Marcus put a hand on Liam's chest. He said softly, “Be still. You need time to recover.”

Liam's face drew together into a frown and his eyes blinked open. Upon seeing those slate blue eyes the right color, Marcus let out a short, sharp breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It had worked. Liam was safe from further harm, so long as Marcus drew breath.

The frown shifted into a wide-eyed gape as Liam looked up at Marcus. “I can feel you! What did you do?”

“What I had to, to save your life,” Marcus answered, cautious. Liam didn't seem angry, just bewildered. “I have... a kind of wild magic. My whole family does, to some degree. It's why the moors and bog don't affect me. When the soul-stealers stole you away, I had to use the power to find and save you. They'd already taken part of you.”

Liam shuddered and reached out to grip Marcus' hand tight with his own. “I remember that. I remember all of it. The, the nightmares, the filth they inundated my mind with. It was too much. I remember knowing that I was going to die, but yet, I am still here and still whole.”

Marcus helped him sit up and left his free hand on Liam's shoulder, gently rubbing the tense muscle. “We're Bound now, it's the only way I could bring you back.”

“Bound for life,” Liam slowly said. “I can feel you, like an echo in my mind, an itch I can't quite reach. Can you read my thoughts?”

Marcus shook his head. “Maybe with practice and your cooperation, but no. Not right now. Like you, I can sense what you feel.”

Liam let out an unexpected laugh. Marcus worried briefly that he'd fallen into hysteria until feeling a genuine warmth and affection mingle with honest amusement. He waited patiently for an explanation and was rewarded by a near-blinding smile from Liam when the laughter died down at last. “You were bringing me to meet my betrothed, Marcus. She's going to be thrilled that I got myself Bound. Now she can marry that oaf of a mercenary she fell for last year without complications. My father, on the other hand, is going to have an apoplexy at all of this. And that, Marcus, makes me happy.”

Marcus' lips pursed into a faint grin. “I'm going to have my hands full with you, aren't I?”

Smirking full-out, Liam caught him by the back of the neck and pulled him in close, their mouths hovering with just the barest hint of space between them in anticipation. “Looks like you're just going to have to stay close and find out. Now kiss me before I find more trouble.”

Marcus laughed softly and did as he was bade.