“Eo is the soul in your body,” she surprises me by responding. “Well, I guess Eo is you.”
“Going to have to set a new course, Captain. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Barbarians,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Eo is the man who stole the Creator’s thoughts.”
“But—”
“Shut up, Cursed. I am not finished. The Creator you so blithely curse about and pray to was real. All peoples know this. But he did not bless us with this power to control the elements. The power was taken from him. Sixteen men and women ripped him to pieces and took the power for their own, raping the elements—”
“There are only fifteen elements,” I interrupt.
“Barbarian,” she says, gritting out each syllable as if each is a new word. “Shut up. Your knowledge of the world is less than a chela. The men and women destroyed the Creator, stealing his powers, and for that crime they are Cursed to take new bodies, Cursed to live out countless lives of suffering as penance for their—your—crimes. Each time you die, you are born again in a new body, forgetting your past and living the same cycle of destruction and hate over and over again. You are both your own Curse, and humanity’s.”
“You think,” I say slowly. “That Shapers are the souls of the people who murdered the Creator. You think I am the same man from thousands, tens of thousands of years ago.”
“Of course you are, Eo. You are living what appears to be a particularly evil life, even for you.”
“You people are insane,” I say, burying my face in my hands. I look up again as a thought occurs to me. “How could they kill the Creator? Wasn’t he all powerful?”
“He trusted the early men and women more than he should have. We were a wicked creation, but he believed he could fix us. He brought the early kings and queens to speak with him, to reason with our leaders. He did not know they plotted long to surprise him. In his trust, he allowed them close, and in his love, he refused to fight back. He gave us free choice, and accepted the fate his knowledge of time offered. He gave himself up for humanity, and we are unworthy of his sacrifice,” she answers, somberly staring off into the distance. I don’t need to see her thoughts to know she believes every word. As unbelievable as they are.
“You realize how ridiculous this sounds. A literal god, master of all the elements, capable of controlling time itself, was murdered by normal humans? He gave up literally everything so that creatures little better than worms could live? Impossible.”
“You are so full of yourself that humility is a foreign concept. You know nothing of sacrifice.”
“I may not know sacrifice, but you have taught me loss,” I say, gesturing broadly to the cage.
“What have you lost? Two years? In the life of a Cursed, a pinch of dirt. In the scope of your many long lives, Eo, less than nothing,” she scoffs.
“You pretend to know me,” I answer with my eyes closed. “But you see only what you wish to see.”
“I see what you are, regardless.”
“You want to know what I lost in two years? You took my only family from me. You took the only thing good in my life and left me with this… existence. I’ll be damned if I let you judge me when you are the cause of all my problems.”
“Lav is not lost.”
“What?” I snap, sitting up and pressing my face against the bars. My heart races, my skin tingling in sudden anticipation. I drink in the strong lines of Te’ial’s face. She appears sincere. “What do you know of Lav?”
“The Seer told me you would respond to this name, and there I would see something different about you. That I might begin to understand you.”
“Tell me of Lav, damn it. Did the Seer tell you more? Where is he? How has he managed without me?” I ask desperately.
“I see nothing different,” Te’ial says, her lip curling. “Only the same greed and desires.”
“Please,” I say, fighting back the urge to shout at her. Anger will get me nothing. “Please, Lav is my brother. He can’t take care of himself. I’m the only one in all the world who loves him, and I’m the only one who looks after him.”
She doesn’t respond, but merely studies me. Her face remains closed, her eyes narrow.
“Te’ial, when you told me it had been two years, I lost control. It wasn’t because I was angry or sad. I was terrified,” I say, willing her to understand. “I was terrified for a brother who needs me more than anything. All I could think was to get back to him. I’m… I’m sorry I did that to you.”
“My head still hurts, some nights,” she says, her gaze softening. “I am afraid I feel you there.”
“That’s not how it works,” I try to explain, searching my brain to figure out a way that will make sense. I’ve never done it before. “At least not this time. I was barely conscious of what I was doing. I just wanted to leave. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Come,” she says abruptly. With a deft move I can hardly follow, the cage opens, twisted and hardened vines swinging aside without a sound. Without the bars, the scene of the jungle is somehow more appealing, the breeze refreshing and true where nothing was before. I breathe deeply, my lungs filling and the free air sweet.
So they’re setting me free. I didn’t lie to her. Not one moment. But if these idiots think a month in a cage has tamed me, they are fools. With my power returned, my body free and healthy, I’ll take the first opportunity to get even with these blasted savages.
Te’ial leads me a short distance through the jungle, cautioning me to step only where she steps. Barefoot and bedraggled, I dodge away from insects and animals, doing my best to keep my vulnerable skin away from everything that might think me a meal or a host. We walk for perhaps ten minutes when the sound of laughter rings from ahead. High and long, it’s the kind of laugh that can only be produced by children.
A clearing breaks into the mud and thatch huts of the People. There are perhaps a dozen of the rudimentary buildings in the little village, set against the backdrop of a jagged cliff covered liberally in vines. The top of the high expanse is lost amongst the low-hanging clouds, and the houses look tiny before the dark grey rock. Cooking fires tended by women perch here and there amongst the dirt paths between the huts, the smell of the spicy broth of my captivity reminding me how Eternal-damned hungry I am.
“Your stomach speaks for you, but you are too disgusting to eat amongst civilized people. Behind there is heated water waiting for you, and all you may need to groom yourself,” Te’ial says, jerking her chin at a hut off to the left. “When you have finished, walk through the door in the back and we will have food waiting.”
She doesn’t need to tell me twice. I practically skip around the corner, almost crying in relief as the sight of a dozen steaming buckets of water greets me. A thick drying cloth hangs on a railing nearby, and I’m shocked to see a plate on which rests all of the necessary tools I need to shave, including a gleaming razor. My beard has grown long and bushy, and I grimace as I try to rake my fingers through its matted strands. The whole thing will have to go.
I douse myself carelessly with the first two buckets of water. The feeling of dirt, grime, sweat, and all manner of other detritus cascading from my skin is divine. In that moment, I know Te’ial has to be wrong. The Creator definitely still lives and keeps an eye out for his Shapers. I take my time despite the hard ache in my stomach demanding food. I scrape every seam and wrinkle, my nail finding tiny parasites and layers of dirt in every nook and cranny.
The final bucket is reserved for the shave. The tiny mirror is barely large enough to fit my face, but the sharp razor cuts cleanly. I sigh in pleasure at the luxurious lightness as my face feels the first touch of breeze. Despite taking my time, I nick myself at the edge of my chin, a small spot of blood welling along my jaw. I consider taking the razor for the briefest of moments, but they never would have given me a weapon if they were afraid I could use it.
Looking into the mirror, I meet the eyes of a stranger. The softness of my jawline h
as disappeared, my hollowed cheekbones prominent and striking against skin tanned dark by the sun. My eyes are heavy and serious, my hair long and wavy, hanging past my shoulders and curling in on itself.
I don’t realize my predicament until after I’ve finished toweling off the water: the only clothing I have to put on are the disgusting rags of my incarceration. I don’t even want to step closer to them, let alone let those repositories of filth touch my clean skin. Shrugging, I wrap the drying cloth around myself and enter the back of the hut. Two women with frightened eyes wait for me. Their skin, several shades darker than my own, gleams in the sunlight arcing in through the open window. They hold what looks to be an armful of scraps of cloth in various colors. We stare at each other dubiously. I’m all the more self-conscious to be wearing a towel in front of strange women, and it doesn’t take much to deduce why they are wary of me.
Te’ial walks in and takes charge, luckily for all involved. She snaps some orders in her native tongue and darts over to me. Before I realize what she’s planning, she grabs the edge of the drying cloth and jerks it out of my grasp. I yelp and cover myself as best I can, rolling my eyes as the women giggle. Te’ial offers me a smirk and saunters out of the room. The women step forward to offer up scraps of what appear to be silk. They are dressed in roughspun clothing of linen the neutral color of wool, the dozens of crossing straps traditional to the People covering their chests. I frown. Where have they gotten this beautiful silk? How on earth is it clean in this barbaric place? Why are they offering it to me?
They hold various colors up close to my face, finally settling on a deep forest green. They weave the straps around my arms and across my chest, leaving a generous portion of my chest and my forearms bare to the wind. One leaves and returns with a pair of loose silk pants, the opening for my waist clearly far too large for me. I don’t have time to protest or feel awkward as they lift my feet one at a time and slide the pants smoothly up to my hips, expertly tying a dozen intricate knots between the loose bottom of the straps trailing across my belly and the top of the pants. Before I can blink, my feet hug a pair of sandals, the straps decorated with shining gems. Surely they are just colored rocks. Surely they aren’t emeralds.
They step back, admiring their handiwork. They make a few minor adjustments before they exchange a look, giggle, and prance out of the room. I don’t have a mirror, but looking down I feel a bit ridiculous. The silk is both too revealing and too confining, and the color is never something I would choose for myself. I square my shoulders. Even if they’ve dressed me as a clown, I’m not the primitive here. I was raised in Coin, the beating heart of commerce in all the world. I will carry myself accordingly.
That attitude lasts right up until I pass into the next room and behold the veritable feast laid out for me on a low table. There are no chairs, just a few woven reed mats to cushion my knees, but I don’t care. Flatbreads and ground pastes are in abundance, dried and salted fish spiced in the vibrant way of the People, three separate bowls of various broths swimming with seafood and meats I can’t name, roasted chicken and vegetables doused liberally in cream. There are no utensils, so I fall to my knees and grasp the edges of one of the bowls, bringing the tangy liquid to my lips and sucking greedily at the delicious soup.
“Barbarian,” Te’ial remarks casually as she walks in, kneeling gracefully at the opposite end of the table.
She helps herself to a piece of the flatbread, tearing it daintily and scooping some tan paste covered in translucent red liquid into her mouth. I don’t care what she calls me. It has been three days at least since I’ve last eaten and more than two years since I could eat my fill of whatever I want. I’m damn well going to enjoy it. Which I do wholeheartedly until my stomach, unused to such largess, cramps. I run out of the hut to vomit most of the food I’ve eaten back into the grass. When I return, Te’ial hasn’t moved, but simply continues to eat in small and careful bites. I force myself to match her deliberate pace, eating slowly, savoring every bite. My stomach rumbles questioningly, but seems more content with the second meal of the last ten minutes.
“You are lucky you did not ruin Arir and Ple’ti’s handiwork. The rumor of the terrible beauty of the Cursed is already spreading through the women like locusts,” she says, nodding at my clothing.
“I am terribly beautiful, aren’t I?” I say, grinning for what feels like the first time in a long time. “They haven’t dressed me up as a joke, have they?”
“We would never dishonor a guest, no matter how much it pains us.”
“What?” I sputter. “I just spent a month in a cage! I was spit on and pissed on and starved!”
“Then you were a prisoner. Now you are a guest,” she says, shrugging, as if that statement makes all the sense in the world.
“Just like that?” I ask, snapping my fingers. “How did my status change so quickly?”
“The Seer gave me the choice,” Te’ial says. She doesn’t elaborate.
I stare at her for a long moment as she eats. Te’ial was given charge of my fate… and decided to release me? The Seer gave her the option after I killed Ton’kapu? I open my mouth to question her further, but she stands abruptly.
“Come, Cursed,” she says, her mouth twisting as if what she’s about to do is distasteful. “You are to meet with the Seer.”
She leads me out of the hut and back into the streets. Tiny faces peek out of doorways as we pass, the whispers and giggles of children a constant counterpoint to the soft sounds of our footfalls. A boy of perhaps six summers darts out ahead of us, his face locked in a terrified grin. He runs past me, touching my hand briefly with his. I smile in confusion as he lets out a triumphant whoop, which sparks the admiration of his little followers.
“They’ve never seen someone with skin so light,” she says, shaking her head. “They have no idea who or what you are.”
We continue on, the whispering gaggle of children close behind. I frown as Te’ial motions for me to wait and ducks into the last hut in the village. I glance around, noticing the lack of any male presence in the village. In fact, there are no people at all aside from children and their mothers. Where is everyone else? The Seers are supposedly a wealthy, if primitive society. I think to reach out to the thoughts of the nearest women when Te’ial emerges with a sturdy cloak made for traveling. She throws it to me and sets off again at a swift pace, heading out of the village.
The sun is hot, but I don’t exactly feel up to arguing about the cloak, so I reach out to her thoughts. They rest on an ascent towards the cliff. Apparently, the drifting mist soaks everything near the rock’s face. Recognizing the sensibility of protecting my new clothes, I throw the cloak over my shoulders. Te’ial’s hardy leather version of the People’s garb is clearly up to the challenge of protecting against a little water.
I crane my neck up as we close with the cliff, my eyes tracking twisting vines a hundred yards long, their green tips swaying in an unfelt breeze so far above. Misty clouds fall off the cliff and pool high on the rock. Birds dip in and out of the mist, brief flashes of brilliant scarlet and viridian against the white clouds and gray rock. We wind our way through moss-covered boulders and around vine-laden trees seemingly at random. At first, I slip often, but the longer I follow Te’ial, the more I get the sense of a well-worn path. Her steps are sure and certain, the places she sets her feet always firm and reliable no matter how uncertain the footing appears. Her thoughts are squarely on the path at hand, never straying to the future or where our final destination could be. It’s almost as if she’s deliberately keeping me in the dark on the off chance I’m reading her surface thoughts. I am, of course, but I do feel vaguely offended.
She moves in silence, and I’m fine with the quiet. Though boredom drove me to work my muscles into something resembling fitness in the cage, I lack the lungs to keep up with her pace for much longer. We’ve been traveling for perhaps an hour, and the air cools the closer we get to the wall of rock. The low-hanging clouds of mist close in about
us, and the sun’s rays disappear so suddenly I blink in surprise. The temperature plummets, the lack of sunlight and the drifting mist transforming the late Spring day into a chill Autumn night. I shiver as the light sweat of our climb cools on my forehead, but Te’ial doesn’t react.
I glance down to see where to step, and when I look back up she’s gone. I stumble to a stop. Checking behind and above, all I can see is drifting mist and unforgiving jungle. I open my mouth to call when her head appears out of the solid rock ahead.
“Hurry up, Cursed. We will be late.”
The crack in the rock wall is thin, its contours constantly turning in and around itself. From outside, you would never know it’s there. The fissure was caused long ago by some kind of massive trauma, an earthquake or some other titanic gouge in the earth. It isn’t an enclosed cave; glancing up, clouds drift far above in brief patches when the curving path turns just right. It’s as if some thin, colossal razor gouged a jagged line in the mountain. Te’ial stops me just as the passage widens.
“Know you look upon wonders not seen by any outside the People in a generation. If my course of action had been considered, we never would have brought you here. Our secrets are our own. But the Seer told me this is necessary,” she seems to sag a bit, weary or defeated, and moves aside. “Welcome, barbarian, to Isa.”
On our right, the earth ends abruptly, falling into a smooth oceanic bay. On the distant horizon, nearly invisible, a massive rocky escarpment encircles the calm, sheltered stretch of water. A dozen of the massive Seer ships bob on the water beside a long dock stretching out into the center of the bay, and another ship sails through a distant crack in the distant natural walls.
On our left, however, a city spreads out from the opening in the rock, a city the likes of which the world no longer contains. The walls of the dwellings share only an unnatural smoothness to their construction, each building in shapes and contours that defy the senses. Some buildings tower nearly as high as the walls of the rock itself, sharp spindles and undulating waves married at platforms floating above the streets. Structures of smooth stone, of bright wood, of gleaming emerald, of sparkling sapphire, each seems to bend against the will of nature and spurn the physical laws of the world. Pathways stretch across boulevards dozens of feet into the air, the entire city its own dizzying riot of angles and shapes. A single tower of glittering glass stretches higher than all the rest, its tip lost amongst a low-hanging cloud.
The Crux of Eternity: Eternal Dream, Book 1 (The Eternal Dream Saga) Page 43
