Franyr & Orik | Issue 001

The cold rain had started before Franyr reached the circus, her current target for her Guild master. It fell in a great deluge across the fields dotted with great oaks, just beyond the city walls. It soaked the grass and turned the wagon road into mud. Franyr kept her hood low and followed the line of trees overlooking the festive encampment. She was not pleased with her current errand. 

The circus was far larger than she expected. Dozens of striped tents covered the field. Wagons stood between them in crooked rows, painted with moons, stars, dragons, dancing women, and all manner of creatures Franyr could not identify. Lanterns hung from poles throughout the grounds; their colored flames continued to burn despite the rain.

A wooden sign stood beside the road.

MADAME MIXENERA'S WONDERS BEYOND IMAGINATION

Franyr read it twice and chuckled to herself.

"Modest." She noted under her breath. 

Fanyra skulked and crouched beneath an oak tree to study the grounds and its activity. She had spent three nights watching the circus before accepting the job. Performances ended near midnight. Workers remained awake another hour cleaning the grounds and feeding the animals. By the second hour, most of the camp slept peacefully. She had found the show interesting yet was sure that magic was involved. She believed the show and its creator held many secrets. 

Franyr expected that tonight’s activities would be no different… however, they were to her surprise.

Guards milled about the camp. Franyr counted six. Two watched the main entrance. The others patrolled between the wagons. The black wagon she sought stood at the rear of the encampment. This wagon was her target. Her employer had been specific in his instructions. She was to enter the circus grounds. Find the black wagon and steal the silver coffer inside. She would not open it under any circumstances. Doing so. Her employer would know, and she would be punished. That ranged from flailing to having a hand cut off. Neither appealed to her.  

The nearest guard suddenly passed twenty feet away. Franyr held her breath and leaned into the shadows created by the wagons. She noted that he carried a short sword and a lantern. His clothing was strange for a circus worker. Black leather armor covered his chest, and a purple scarf concealed the lower half of his face.

He suddenly stopped his rounds. Franyr's fingers moved toward her dagger. The guard looked directly toward her hiding place. Thunder rolled across the field from the dark skies above.

His attention then shifted toward the sky. He mumbled about the weather. Franyr followed his gaze. Clouds had gathered above the circus, but they were unlike any storm clouds she had seen before. Purple light flickered inside them. A green glow appeared farther east, spreading through the clouds.

The guard then muttered something else and continued walking.

Franyr waited...then she moved.

She crossed the open ground and slipped behind a nearby wagon. Music drifted from somewhere inside the circus grounds. It was slow, played on an instrument Franyr did not recognize. She found it pleasant; it began to lull her in a dreamlike haze. She shook her head. This circus was full of things unnatural, Franyr determined. She was anxious to get the coffer and leave the circus behind.

She reached the black wagon without being seen. A heavy iron lock secured its rather plain black wooden door.

Franyr examined it.

"This should be easy." She reasoned.

She removed two lock picks from her belt. The lock was expensive but ordinary. Whoever owned the wagon trusted guards and intimidation more than a good lock.

That was a mistake. Franyr used it to her advantage. The lock clicked. It then dropped. She caught it before it fell upon the ground.

Franyr listened to the door, satisfied she could hear nothing dangerous. She quietly entered the wagon.

The smells reached her first, tickling her nose. It was herbs, wax, and the remnants of something that had been burned. Wooden shelves covered the walls, holding jars filled with powders, bones, preserved insects, dried plants, and liquids of various colors. Several books rested on a table beside a human skull. To Franyr it looked like a witch’s parlor.  

She moved about the wagon, her eyes scanning every detail. It was then she saw it. A silver box sat on a small table.  

"Too easy." She warned herself. 

She approached it carefully and stood upon a woven rug just before it. She looked at it carefully. No wires, no pressure plates, and no visible magical runes. Franyr passed her fingers over the lid without touching it… nothing.

She then opened her backpack and pulled out a curser’s cloth. It was a magical cloth that could be used to handle magical items with care.  She then wrapped the coffer in the cloth and placed it inside her backpack.

It was then that an unexpected sound came from beneath her feet.

Franyr froze.

Scratch…scratch…scratch.

She drew her dagger.

Then came a voice most surprisingly.  

"Could you possibly make more noise?"

Franyr stared downward.

The voice sounded somewhat annoyed in its tone.  

She crouched.

"Who's there?" She whispered.

Silence.

Franyr waited.

"Nobody," came a reply.

She frowned.

"Nobody?"

"Correct."

"You don't sound like nobody."

"And you don't sound particularly intelligent, yet here we are."

Franyr smiled at the comment.

Stepping backward, Freynyr looked at the rug. She found a small trapdoor beneath the rug and lifted it. Amber colored eyes stared back at her. An orange tabby sat inside a narrow iron cage built beneath the wagon. He was thin. His fur was dirty and tangled, and one ear bore a small notch near its tip.

Franyr stared.

The cat stared back.

"You talk."

"Excellent observation."

"You're a cat."

His eyes narrowed.

"I am beginning to worry about you."

Franyr lowered herself onto one knee.

The cage was covered with small, engraved symbols…magic. She recognized enough of it to know she should not touch the bars.

"What are you doing under there?"

"Enjoying the accommodations."

"Cats don't talk from where I’m from."

"I am not surprised by this." The cat noted.

"Then how can you?"

The cat turned away.

"Perhaps you should go away. I am not worth your death."

Franyr studied him.

Marks were clearly visible beneath the fur around his neck…scars.

"Who put you in there?"

He did not answer.

Franyr looked around the wagon, the jars, books, and his cage. She understood enough.

"The witch."

The cat looked at her again.

Outside, thunder struck so hard that the wagon shook. Purple light flashed through the windows.

The cat's ears flattened, and his entire manner suddenly changed.

"Leave."

Franyr glanced toward the window; the storm was growing nearer.

"Why?"

"Get out of here."

Green lightning crossed the sky, and someone shouted outside. Then another voice joined it. Franyr heard horses getting agitated. She then moved to a nearby window and looked outside. The colored lanterns throughout the circus suddenly flared bright enough to illuminate the encampment like fallen stars.

The cat hissed in its cage. Franyr had seen and heard fear many times. She knew this animal was terrified.

"What is happening?" Franyr asked as she walked over and looked at the cat.

He stared toward the ceiling.

"A wild magic storm."

Franyr had heard stories about them. Every child had. Most of those stories ended with entire villages disappearing or people waking to discover their homes had moved several miles overnight. She had never believed half of them. The wagon rocked, then something crashed outside. Franyr knew she could use the storm as cover to escape. She moved to leave.

"Wait." The cat cried out.

She looked down; the orange cat stood against the bars.

For the first time, there was no sarcasm in his voice.

"If you're going out there..."

He hesitated.

Franyr waited.

The cat swallowed hard.

"Take me with you."

A scream came from somewhere beyond the wagon. Franyr looked at the enchanted cage. Then at the door. Fifty gold crowns waited in her backpack. Getting out alive was already becoming difficult. Freeing a witch's magical talking cat would make it considerably worse. Franyr pulled out her lockpicks and knelt.

"What is your name?"

The cat stared at her.

"Orik."

Franyr inserted the first pick into the enchanted lock.

"I'm Franyr."

Outside, purple fire exploded across the sky. The lock began to glow beneath her fingers. Orik backed away.

"Franyr." Orik said.

"Yes?"

"You may want to hurry."

TO BE CONTINUED.