“Why me?” Keevan countered, glancing at the Haldran nervously. Suadan’s Tears or no, he’d seen her command enough fire to burn every hair from his head. Not to mention the reactions of the officers in charge of the Ranking if they heard he was involved in a theft. A failed one at that. “You should do it, Bahjal, you’re better with people."
“I know what the plant looks like, and how much we’ll need," Bahjal said with a smirk. “You just pour on some of that Outlander charm of yours. Keep her attention on the flowers on her right. That will do nicely."
“What charm?” Keevan asked bitterly. “I’m not charming."
“I suppose not," Bahjal said playfully, tapping her chin. “You’ll have to go for sincere and caring. That’s much more your style."
“You want me to sincerely and compassionately help you steal from her...” Keevan sighed, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wonder if you hear yourself."
“Sometimes, I wish I didn’t,” Bahjal sighed. The elements flickered around her. Keevan couldn’t help but notice excess strands of water gathering around her as well, but colder...sadder. He gulped. Bahjal’s orphan past was not a topic they discussed. It was a legacy they shared, however, an unspoken bond. He could see how deeply the wound ran however, so he never brought up the subject.
“Let’s go, then,” Keevan said hastily, shivering as he hurried past her. Tri-Being bodies functioned much warmer than his. Even just thinking about her past left the air cold enough to send goose bumps down his arms and neck. Best to distract her from those thoughts and somehow catch that Pagoda.
Keevan marched across the street, letting his vision shift back to normal. The herbalist didn’t know his face after all. He was so focused on the task at hand, reviewing in his mind various angles of conversation, he didn’t see the mining cart barreling towards them. A whip cracked above his head and a pair of thickly shouldered oxen snorted back, passing so close their hooves caught on his shoe as he tried to turn aside.
“Eyes on the road!” the miner barked, a no-necked man with broad shoulders. In seconds, he was gone, leaving Keevan in a cloud of dust with the faintest odor of manure on his pants. He glanced to his right, bracing himself for a playful jibe from Bahjal, but she was gone.
“That was a close one,” Madam Vivayne called from her shop, waving a dried branch at him. “What’s got you so distracted, young sir?”
“Um, my Rankings are getting close," Keevan admitted, hands buried deep in his pockets as he walked over. He felt his face grow red and hot. This was not the method he imagined using only seconds ago to distract the Haldran. “I’m worried about what job they’ll choose for me."
“Ahhh, that’s a common concern for a boy your age," Up close, without his elemental vision, Keevan finally noticed the old woman’s countenance.
The wrinkles of countless nights without sleep hung under her eyes. Her skin was brown and leathery from the hours spent in the groves outside the city, gathering her plants to sell, no matter the weather. Such work was not easy for Tri-Beings. The weather could wreak havoc on their emotional wellbeing. He resolved right then to pay her later for the plants Bahjal was about to take, even if the whole Pagoda plan was a total waste.
“So, tell me, young Tri-Being,” Madam Vivayne urged, “what do you require most to help you at the Rankings? I’ve plants and herbs for every use. I can help you calm the mind if you want to rank well in academic pursuits, or flare your anger if you want a future as a fighter or a guard."
Finally, Keevan’s mind managed to gain some traction and he looked around. The ‘shop’ was little more than a roof, a back wall, and two broken partitions on either side where the once whole building had collapsed. The medicinal herbs lay in pots on the herbalist’s left and hung from the wooden rafters above her. The more aromatic plants dotted vases and pots on her right.
Bahjal peeked out over the partial wall on his right, pointing at a pot in the far left corner of the room. What luck. The stall next to them was empty.
“Actually, there’s this girl I met today," Keevan countered, changing his approach. A beautiful smile and scowling bodyguard flashed in his mind. Bahjal glanced up at him despite herself, something warm flickering in her eyes.
“Ahhhh, well I’ve a few gift ideas for that too," Vivayne chuckled, rising to her feet. She hobbled over to him, limping on an old wound he hadn’t noticed earlier. She combed through the flowers above them, lips pursed in thought. “How did you meet? We’ll pick the flowers that will bring those same emotions to her mind every time she smells them. It keeps her from forgetting you. Tell me about her."
“Well, she’s very unique. Exceptional with water, but her family is sworn to the Fire Temple. I think her father is involved with the military," Keevan said, hesitating as he noticed a spark of anger flicker across Bahjal's face. Why on earth should his cover story bother her?
"Ahhh, she's a follower of Belenok then? Here are some lovely flowers to calm the mind, might be useful if you need to diffuse that temper of hers. All Belenokans have one, I'm told," Vivayne picked her way through a few bundles, picking one or two from each until she had a good sized bouquet.
Meanwhile, Bahjal peaked out from behind the broken wall opposite them. She carried an open canteen in one hand and a small string of fishing line in hand. Closing her eyes, she pushed the water into the line, generating enough force to extend it before her like the tentacle of a great sea creature. The hooked end rose like a snake, weaving towards the back corner of the store to the pack of sleeping root.
"Here you are, Dearie," Vivayne said, holding up the bouquet. It smelled of lilacs, peppermint and a few other scents he couldn’t quite place. The Tri-Being sighed contently, taking a sniff of the flowers, visibly relaxing.
Keevan glanced behind the Vivayne, Bahjal was grabbing the plant, one clump at a time. She needed at least another minute, and Keevan didn't have any money to actually buy with. Not a fact that would keep the herbalist calm and distracted.
"What does this scent remind you of?" Keevan asked, taking another sniff and gently pushing the flowers back towards the herbalist.
"Oh, my mother was an herbalist," Vivayne answered, "I've-"
"Herbalist," A thick, gruff voice behind Keevan boomed. "I need sleeping draught, as much as you have."
Jumping in surprise, Keevan hurried to one side. The tall Tri-Being carried a nasty scar down the right side of his face, with hands thick as the shafts of an axe. He was dressed in travel leathers, expensive ones, the kind worn to manage the open elements of the mountains. He was at least a Haldran, maybe an Etrendi. Something about the man, a lingering menace, warned Keevan not to try his elemental vision and find out.
"Sir?" Vivayne echoed, still soaking in the scent of the flowers and distant memories of more pleasant times..
The customer stepped forwards, pulling the bouquet away and tossing it back onto her table behind her. "You'd make more money by selling your product instead of using it yourself."
Y-yes, quite right sir," The herbalist sputtered, retreating to her chair, as if keeping the table between them offered her some kind of protection. She glanced down at her stocks, pausing in nervous confusion. Bahjal had managed to empty her bucket. "I seem to be out, however. I'm sorry. There are other herbalists further south,"
"Don't waste my time," the large man growled. "What else have you got?"
Keevan finally glimpse Bahjal, clutching a wall across the street, hooded in a brown cloak. He only recognized her 'cause her two ponytails gave the hood an odd shape, as if she had horns. He slipped away from the intimidated herbalist and gruff customer. He hurried across the street, picking his way through passing carts, guards and children on their way to their studies.
"Did you get it?" Keevan asked, finally getting within earshot of her.
"Yes, but we've got to move," Bahjal said quickly, hugging the wall as she cut down the street, head bowed. "Fast."
"Why?" Keevan asked, hissing at a sudden spark of pain in his hand
. Switching to his elemental vision, he gasped at the bundle of electricity building up around her. It pulsed through her in tune with her rapid heartbeat. "What's wrong Bahj?"
Bahjal didn't even break stride. She spoke so hurried and low Keevan almost missed her words, though they stuck in his mind as if driven by a blacksmith's hammer. "I recognize the clothes and the look. He's an Exile of Issamere. Shouldn't even be here."
Chapter 5
The steam garden turned ethereal and mysterious in the fading light. Shadows lengthened their strides and seemed to shift and bend with each gentle breeze of night air. Keevan and Bahjal crouched behind a fence, overgrown with thick vines. They peeked over the barrier, watching and listening for the Pagoda’s telltale slither through the night air.
The cracks of lightning and booming thunder finally stopped twenty minutes ago, leaving them in the gradually emptying garden with the looming shadows and fading hope. Keevan peeked over the hedge again, checking their bait.
"Bahj, how did you know that Exile from this afternoon?" Keevan asked. Shifting from one foot to the other in a nervous crouch, Bahjal chewed on her bottom lip and glared at him with a look of focused frustration.
"What?" He asked.
"There are a lot of secrets in Issamere," Bahjal answered vaguely, "I'm not sure you're ready to handle this one. Maybe someday."
"Just tell me one thing. Is his name Touric?"
"No," Bahjal answered, with a sigh of relief. "I'd tell you in a heartbeat if I saw that one walking around Issamere. Far as I know, no one's heard a peep from him in decades. Most think he's dead. The exile from this morning used to work with him though. Not the kind of person you'd want to meet in a dark alley. Or anywhere lacking witnesses, for that matter."
The sculpture in the fountain’s center no longer bellowed its steaming testament to the heavens. Belenok and Suada, the God’s of fire and water, stood frozen in a fierce battle of blade and spear. A thick lily pad gleaned from another garden floated on the fountain’s still surface, loaded with flies from a merchant’s bug trap. A few strings, weighted with rocks along the fountain’s edge, held it in place. The bait was also soaked in enough sleep draught to keep a large child unconscious, hopefully an effective dose for the Pagoda.
“Why’s it taking so long?” Bahjal complained in a thin-lipped whisper. “They chased that thing for half a day. Maybe someone caught it or it died."
“We would have heard something about it, in either of those cases," Keevan countered, pulling his friend further behind the hedge. “Any minute now. The Pagoda is just being careful. This is the closest fountain to its last flash though, so it should be here soon."
“Keeves," Bahjal said, twisting her lips with the key gesture again. “Shh."
Another few minutes trickled by, a shudder of cold tickling Keevan’s arms. Goosebumps settled on his exposed, wet skin. This was the disadvantage of the steam gardens, once the heat faded, it left all passerby wet and cold, except for the fountain itself. No one swam in that epitaph to the Gods though, unless you wanted the priests of both Gods at your door by the night’s end.
Covering his eyes, Keevan stole a quick glance at Bahjal with his Sight Seeker vision. His friend’s cloudy exterior gathered water to it, along with a few random sparks of electricity. Keevan shook his head. What was Bahj always afraid of? Something slithered across the stone steps on the other side of the fountain, cutting Keevan’s internal questions short.
There. The Pagoda crept along the edge of the fountain. The lizard's red scales served as some sort of camouflage in its native lands, but here they made it stand out against the greenery like some mutated fruit with tentacles. It crawled along slowly, poking its head up every few seconds and licking the air with its tongue. For a moment, Keevan longed to watch this thing with his elemental vision, but the blue light his eyes produced would surely scare it off.
Bahjal tensed, holding perfectly still, as if the hedge between them and the Pagoda were non-existent. The lizard licked the surface of the fountain, curling up into a ball of scales and small black claws. It’s rough, blue tongue sent ripples through the waters, disturbing the reflections of the sculptures above. The storm born creature paused, perking up its head and licking the air again.
It slipped into the water, diving beneath the surface. Keevan balled his fists in anticipation. A few seconds later, the lily pad vanished beneath the waves, insects and all. The water frothed and bubbled as the lizard helped itself to the meal. Keevan and Bahjal exchanged worried glances.
“Potent?” Bahjal asked, pointing at the water. The sleeping agent wasn’t meant for drinking. Too much water diluted its strength, but if the Pagoda ate them fast enough, would that be an issue?
“We’ll see," Keevan answered uneasily. There were too many factors they couldn't account for. He nodded to the wool blanket at their feet and offered a hopeful smile to Bahjal. Some hunters invested months’ worth of gold in a lightning-resistant net, but Bahjal and Keevan didn't have those resources. Hopefully their concoction would keep the beast unconscious long enough to deliver it to the Etrendi.
Distant splashes called their attentions back to the fountain as the sunset faded into dusk. The Pagoda twirled and dove beneath the waves, enjoying the water’s remaining warmth. A minute later, its limbs slowed and the creature kept swimming in circles. Finally, it managed to reach the stone edge of the fountain and curled up into a ball as before, burying its head in the folds of its own crimson scales. It didn’t move from then on, except for the steady rise and fall of its chest.
Keevan’s chest tightened with fierce excitement, as if his heart were trying to dance a jig and his ribs stubbornly insisted on holding it in place. His blood rushed through his ears with each thundering heartbeat. Bahjal showed similar signs of stress, licking her lips and breathing quickly. Slowly, they slid out from behind the hedge, each holding a blanket by two edges.
This was the dangerous part. Lighting was a deadly and unpredictable element. If the Pagoda woke up early or the dosage wasn’t strong enough to begin with, it would escape in a skin-searing flash for Keevan and throw Bahjal into a terrified frenzy. In moments, they hovered right above the sleeping creatures and Keevan could resist no longer. He switched to his elemental vision.
The lizard lay before him, a tangled cloud of white and yellow strands. Keevan caught a gasp of surprise, now seeing up close what he couldn’t see from half a city away. Tri-Beings gathered elements around them like flies to honey. This storm born creature, was intrinsically woven to lightning. How the combination remained stable as it slept, Keevan couldn’t guess, but now he understood how it drew on such power so instinctively. Lighting was sown into its very soul.
“I should," Bahjal whispered, giving the blanket a tug. “You’re too valuable to the people if something goes wrong."
“Me. Valuable. Big joke. No," Keevan muttered, tightening his hold. The creature lay between them now, the blanket hanging a good two feet above it, as Bahjal and Keevan argued. “You couldn’t have done this without me. I deserve to carry it in."
“Using your vision was my idea," Bahjal growled, jerking quickly. The force pulled Keevan a step closer. For such a thin girl, Bahjal’s limbs were like iron pincers. He stumbled, wobbling precariously above the sleeping creature. They both paled as Keevan regained his balance.
“Together?” Keevan suggested, holding up his end of the blanket. He pointed at the Pagoda, it was the size of a large dog after all.
“Fine," Bahjal agreed through gritted teeth. “If it wakes up we’ll burn together."
“Always the optimist," Keevan muttered with a chuckle. The Pagoda coughed, a soft sound, but it sent Keevan’s heart into his throat and Bahjal’s face turned instantly white. Slowly, they set the wool blanket on the sleeping creature, careful to keep the fabric out of the adjacent fountain.
They tucked the blanket’s edges around the creature’s belly and legs. It slept on without complaint. After an entire day of running and flashing
from place to place, the potion combined with its fatigue, did the trick.
“We got it," Bahjal said with a soft cheer. “This is great! Who do we tell?”
“Stand still, in the name of Malik Morgra!” A booming voice bellowed from the shadows, sending Keevan about three feet into the air in shock. “You’re under arrest!”
A half dozen soldiers, all wearing crown-on-sword insignia of the Malik, rushed from the gardens various corners. Their black lacquered armor let the illusion their bodies ended at the wrists and neck, shorn heads and sharp blades floating in the dark. Confusion robbed Keevan of precious seconds, since when did capturing a Pagoda warrant an arrest?
Bahjal suffered from no such hesitation. Throwing caution to the wind, she picked up the creature. It uttered a soft groan and hung there, limp as a dead fish. Bahjal backed away from the fountain, soldiers on every side. Their eyes narrowed into focused slits, lips curling in a menacing acceptance of her challenge. Keevan and Bahjal stood back to back against a ring of steel, anger and restrained flame. He felt like a sheep helpless before a pack of wolves.
“B-back up," Bahjal sputtered. “Or I send a spark into this thing and point it at one of you."
The soldiers hesitated at that. Lighting was unpredictable in nature, but the closer they were to Bahjal, the greater the chance one of them got caught in the Pagoda's wake. These were Midborns after all, Keevan verified in one glimpse of elemental vision. Only an Etrendi could face a Pagoda without fear of serious harm. The soldiers held their ground, refusing to budge another inch, leaving Bahjal and Keevan at the center of a potentially deadly stand still.
“Enough," someone snapped from behind them, the same man who shouted the orders before.
Keevan turned and felt his stomach plunge to somewhere around his ankles. Bahjal actually dropped the Pagoda, which grunted in annoyance when it hit the street, then resumed its snores.
The man before them stood about average height, his hair cut short, limbs bound with thick muscle. He carried dueling swords in either hand and wore a complete suite of chainmail over leather. The symbol on his tunic marked his position in Issamere, a great eagle in flight, tearing a horse to pieces with its talons.
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