Unseen Secrets

by S. B. Sebrick

  His skin itched with nervous anticipation. His mind flitted from one issue to the next. What would the rankings decide? Masha and Nariem tried to prepare him over the years, teaching him languages, history, mathematics and such. They wanted to help him succeed, but the simple truth of the matter was that without elemental powers of his own, he couldn’t keep up with the rest of Issamere.

  The voices faded to dull whispers, Madol leaving with heavy thump of his steel boots. The Persuader was equal parts fair minded and terrifying. What did he have in mind for Keevan? Surely there was something else going on behind the Arnadi Heist. Why else involve one of Malik Morgra’s personal Persuaders?

  Footsteps echoed up the stairs. They parted, one heading into his parents’ bedroom. The door handle clicked open and Nariem walked in. Sweat, grime, dirt and metal shavings coated him from head to toe.

  “Evening, son," he said with a smile, his black tunic and hair made his teeth impossibly white by contrast. “I hear you had an eventful day. Surprised you’re still awake."

  “I’d never met a Persuader before," Keevan said, sitting up in bed. Nariem pulled a chair from his son’s desk and sat down next to his bed. His calm smile eased his son’s nerves just a touch, as it always did. Only twice had Keevan ever seen his adopted father lose his temper. Both times, were at the defense of his family.

  “By my understanding, he’s very dedicated," Nariem said, picking metal shavings from his hair and pocketing them in the front of his apron. “Seems to have good intentions when it comes to you."

  “What exactly does he want?” Keevan asked, pointing at spot to the left of his nose. Nariem following the motion, plucking another piece of metal from his beard.

  “He was impressed with your work catching the Pagoda," Nariem answered, looking around the room, as if inspecting it. “Wants to borrow you tomorrow morning. There’s an investigation at House Arnadi now, he wants your input."

  “Did he say for how long?”

  “Nope. That was part of our discussion. He’d going to put in a good word, see about postponing your Ranking for another week. Give you time to help him sort out a few mysteries before the Council can decide your place in Issamere," Nariem said, leaning back in the chair with a soft chuckle. “Meeting that man was a stroke of luck. In a week's time, we might find a way for you to survive or skip the Ranking."

  “Skip it?" Keevan asked curiously. "What do you mean?"

  “I was talking with Masha about it today. Those on the council who mean you harm are using the logic that, at your age, you must be able to provide something to Issamere to earn your keep," Nariem said seriously. “We must find a way to use your powers to make you valuable to Issamere or the Malik himself. Preferably in a way no Tri-Being could mimic. Use that extra week well, my son."

  “Hmmmm," Keevan mumbled, offering a weak grin.

  Nariem sighed. “To stay in Issamere, you have to contribute something to the society here. If you can't do that, they will Rank you like any other Tri-Being and you will rank below a lowborn."

  “I know what's at stake," Keevan admitted, tapping next to his right eye. “People already know me. All I do is flash my eyes and I know right away who believes the scholar's guild about my future usefulness, or the harbor guild about the dangers I bring with me. I just want to do something interesting, where I can keep learning and be—I don’t know—free."

  Nariem laughed. “So your mother’s attempts to make you an Etrendi accountant—"

  “I’d rather wrestle the Persuader to the ground," Keevan replied flatly.

  “I understand," Nariem said, tussling his son’s hair. He smelled of sweat, iron and grease. “Well, you sleep on it and spend the morning talking it over with Persuader Madol. I bet he might have an idea or two to help you decide. I’m right about one thing though, you need a way to contribute to this city. The Temples, the Etrendi, even the Malik Morgra, are all watching you learn."

  “Waiting for my powers to advance beyond just seeing the elemental plane," Keevan grumbled, looking out the window. “I know. I’ve read the legends. I’m supposed to tap into others minds, even control elements and whatever-the-Gods-know is Varadour power."

  “Powers of the Outlanders," Nariem echoed, stroking his scruffy unshaven chin as he thought. “Your heritage across the sea. The Harbor Guild protects us from them, keeps our existence secret. They’re also the loudest voice towards keeping you in shackles as a precaution. Whatever you do, don’t cross them."

  “Yes, sir," Keevan said, slipping back under his covers. “Thanks, Dad."

  Talking about the Outlanders as his people, never put him in a good mood. No matter what he accomplished in the next week, he'd always be something apart from the Tri-Beings. Like an exotic animal you keep around to impress your neighbors. Was he the Malik Morgra's version of the Arnadi's Pagoda?

  “You’re welcome, Son," Nariem said, floor boards groaned as he rose to his feet. He patted Keevan on the head, as affectionate a touch as he could manage without staining the bed sheets with soot from the smithy and incurring his wife’s wrath. “We just want you to be happy. Sleep well. The Preserver said to meet him at House Arnadi at sunrise. Nite."

  “Good night, Father," Keevan sighed, pulling the covers in tightly around him. Loneliness settled in his chest as Nariem closed the door with a quiet click. Some days, among the Rhetans, he almost felt like one of them. But, Nariem’s lecture made it very clear that whatever his Ranking, he couldn’t spend his days with the low-borns.

  Too many people expected something of him, despite his lack of any real power. A sick feeling settled in his stomach at that thought. When they pulled him from the Outlander wreckage, a thick scar marked a serious head wound the Tri-Beings didn’t have the power to heal. The best doctors in the city suggested it was the likely cause for his powers’ failure to develop.

  So what was left for him? What role could an impotent Sight Seeker play in a city whose leaders could incinerate the life from you at will? Sleep did not come easily that night.

  His thoughts wandered to the scar on his right palm. As a child, he used to feel so much love and power emanate from it. A teenage voice would touch his mind, claiming to be his brother. Promising to protect him. Twice, it glowed to life, endowing Keevan with great surges of physical strength and agility. Varadour power perhaps? The Scholars Guild tried to harness it, to understand it. But when Keevan turned seven years old, the scar's power vanished.

  He'd broken his arm the next day, picking a fight with a bully twice his size in a vain hope of forcing the scar back to life. That day's bruises, breaks and pains taught him a fierce lesson. He was alone in this Tri-Being world. What's worse, he was elementally powerless. He curled up into a ball and pulled the blankets tight around his shoulders, as if they offered some protection his mysterious scar no longer could.

  Sleep settled over him eventually. The only real quiet his mind ever enjoyed. His last conscious thought settled on one lingering fact, though. Few Tri-Beings, very few, ever got to work hand-in-hand with a Persuader.

  Unless of course, you were on the receiving end of their wrath.

  Chapter 9

  Thick morning fog licked the city streets as Keevan hiked up the winding paths towards the Etrendi district. Only the most determined of Tri-Being merchants were out preparing their wares so early in the day. The low temperature drew their minds to sorrowful memories and painful loss, a quirk Keevan did not envy. Instead, he only shivered as goose bumps formed on his skin.

  Rubbing his shoulders, he picked up his pace. When the sun crested the mountains, the city would warm up quickly enough. Rhetan beggars curled up against the cold, flecked with frost and Haldran merchants shot Keevan bewildered glances as he passed by. Judging by the scents of unwashed bodies and rotting fruit, the followers of Suada hadn’t managed to clean this part of the city yet. Keevan felt some satisfaction in the fact the people couldn’t tell him from another Tri-Being unless he used his Seeker Sight. It granted him a few mo
ments of anonymity. Unless someone expected him to command an element.

  The jog helped take some of the edge off the stress coiling around Keevan’s insides. Only one week remained before his Ranking, and then the council would decide his place among the Tri-Beings. Strictly speaking, his elemental lacking could mark him as below a Rhet, forced to live on the edges of Issamere unless his sight seeker powers developed further. If they ever developed beyond simple sight.

  The best he could hope for was a life as a Haldran, like his adopted parents. The sack slung over his shoulder poked his back from odd angles. Masha’s history books and personal records clunked awkwardly against Nariem’s spare needle and thread. Both were professions he could manage without the elemental abilities of his peers outshining him. A meager, boring existence, but a life. He sighed, switching his bag to the other shoulder, not that a life of recording endless numbers or sewing thread really struck him as—life affirming.

  The fog thickened as he reached the steam gardens. The followers of Belenok were re-heating the foundations under the fountains, an offering they gave to the deity four times a day. Keevan paused, savoring the sudden wave of thick, moist air against his skin. His moist tunic clung to his limbs as he followed the winding path, watching for occasional red stone marking his way to the gates of the Etrendi District.

  “I’m telling you, this is where they caught the Pagoda," a man whispered, his voice low and urgent. Keevan shuddered, recognizing the man from the flower shop the previous day. Why would an exile of Issamere risk return and execution for a Pagoda? Surely they were after something else.

  “See? It’s not here." Another male voice answered. "It must be back at the mansion. There’s no way it carried the stone here. A bolt of lightning can't carry anything with it."

  "A stone like that already defies the laws of Tri-Being powers. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if it ended up in a corner here." The exile from the previous day insisted.

  Keevan crept towards the voices, hugging the side of the path thickly lined with shrubbery. Thin rays of yellow sunlight lit the fog with an otherworldly glow. Already, its heat was thinning out the thick blanket of white moisture filling the gardens. He listened carefully, picking out the telltale gurgle of a nearby fountain.

  “Well, clearly Madol didn’t find it at the Arnadi’s mansion, or we’d already be dead. Zerik will have our heads if we don’t find it. So, what do we do?” his accomplice said, his voice trembling. Water splashed repeatedly as they searched the fountain.

  “That gives us what, an hour? If the stone is there, a Temple Master will sense it for sure. They’ll send one to Madol at dawn, I'd wager, to investigate the mansion. Give me a moment," the voices sank into the gurgling water.

  The air stirred with a soft breeze, and Keevan could faintly make out the outline of the fountain in the fog. A few birds chirped contently in the distance. The fountain continued its serene cycle, like an alluring lullaby to attract unwary prey. The whole area was empty, however, not a Tri-Being in sight.

  A dark tingling sensation settled in between Keevan’s shoulder blades, as if someone watched him from a distant corner. He glanced over his shoulder, hugging the path, but saw only wisps of moisture and lush greenery.

  Biting his lip with indecision and curiosity, Keevan faced the fountain and used his elemental sight. The moisture flashed blue around him. Faint reds and yellows of steam drifted lazily around him, hovering around the blue and red water of the fountain.

  Behind him, the scraping of leather on leaves.

  A cloudlike figure darted towards him, water and heat shooting into his form as the thief focused his concentration and anger on a new target. “Here!” the man roared. Around the other side of the fountain, the other emerged from the coiling air. They shouted and converged on their eavesdropper.

  Keevan sprinted towards the fountain, pushing through the thick mist. The thieves' roar of pursuit was rivaled by his hammering heart and gasping breath. Scrambling into the fountain, he slipped on its slick stone edge, plunging into the warm waves with a cry of shock.

  Rough hands caught him by his hair, hauling him out of the fountain, choking and gasping. He struggled in vain against their grip, his wet hands sliding uselessly against their thick arms. Somehow, they did not have the same problem.

  “What are you doing here?!” the first demanded, his huge cloudlike body pulsed with the steam of angry concentration, but small sparks of lightning around his chest marked the true fear lying underneath. He twisted the collar of Keevan’s tunic, till only a crack of space remained with which to breathe.

  “Oh, by Suada, that’s the Sight Seeker!” the other groaned, pinning Keevan’s arms from behind. “The Suadans will have our heads if anything happens to him."

  “I know a few Harbor Guild veterans who would thank us if he died," the first countered grimly, pulling Keevan in so close he could smell the man’s ripe breath. Here in the shadows, he appeared even larger and more dangerous, without the sunlight or witnesses to at least testify to his actions. “They always hate Outlanders, no matter if their elementally impotent or not."

  Still using his Seeker Sight, Keevan saw his captor up close and gulped. Their cloudlike bodies reached out to every collection of water within fifty feet. They were definitely Etrendi, followers of Suada at that. Somehow, they’d commanded water to sense his approach and quiet their steps.

  “L-look," Keevan managed to stutter. “I haven’t seen your faces. I can’t identify you. Just let me go and I won’t tell anyone about what I saw, promise."

  “You’re looking at me right now!” the foul breathed thief hissed, pulling Keevan’s hair so tight the boy hissed from the pain.

  “It’s the elemental plane he’s seeing," the second thief chimed in, his voice a mixture of fear and awe. “He’s got a point. He can’t identify us."

  “I’m more interested in what he’s doing here," the first thief said, throwing his fist into Keevan’s belly. “Talk."

  The blow drove the air from Keevan’s lungs, flooding his torso with sudden pain. He crumpled into the water, choking and gasping all at once. The second thief released his hold on Keevan’s arms, catching his friend by the shoulder, staying another blow.

  “That’s enough, Kors. He’s just a boy," the second thief urged.

  Keevan bit back tears, taking painful, short gasps. They were too far to call for help and he could tell through his elemental vision if Kors wanted him, the other thief wasn’t strong enough to stop him. How could he escape? What would Bahjal do?

  “Just a boy? He’s an Outlander first. We could hurl him off the cliff and no one would be the wiser. I say dispose of him and be done with it," Despite his threat, he took a step back, regarding his friend. Tri-Beings didn’t just persuade one another with words alone, the stronger element and the emotion it carried, usually won out.

  The thieves paused a moment, glaring at each other. Keevan glanced up, watching the elements flare around them. Kors’ cloud limbs simmered with glowing heat, while his friend drew cool blue water. Each concentrated on their surroundings, trying to force their elements, their emotions, into the other. In their hearts though, at their cores however, fearful lightning still sparkled and cracked.

  “Y-you asked –ahk- why I-I’m here," Keevan gasped, rising to his knees. If the water weren’t around his shoulders, they may have noticed his legs locked in a sprinter’s starting stance. A red stone in the road on their right marked the path to the Etrendi district. How much of a lead could he manage?

  “Yes," Kors grumbled, his attentions still fixed on his fellow. “Why are you here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Keevan said softly. Then, clapping both hands into the fountain before him, he roared, “Now Madol!”

  The wave of heat, water and their related emotions smashed against both thieves, whose hearts suddenly spiked in sudden flashes of lightning at the mention of the Persuader's name. Already linked, focusing their emotions into each other, the electri
city and fear followed suit. Keevan abandoned his elemental vision as a final flash of lightning cracked, searing heat sending the hair of his arms standing on end.

  He sprinted away for all he was worth.

  Chapter 10

  The thieves howled in frustration, bolting after him. Keevan screamed as he rounded one bend in the trail after another. It wasn't particularly masculine but perhaps he could call in a guard standing watch along the district wall. In brief glances of elemental vision, he could note the lines of energy connecting his pursuers to the moisture in the air. The closer his pursuers were, the thicker the connections. Those lines, pointing to something he heard huffing behind him, were getting thick indeed.

  Water splashed beneath his feet, a puddle behind him building into a veritable wave as both Etrendi sent their concentration his way. The liquid grew thicker with each step, until it pushed against his legs with a gel-like consistency.

  The path turned, Keevan’s feet felt like they were pushing through sand, until his feet slipped out from under him. He smashed against the stones, sudden pain rippling across his backside as he slid down the road on the gel-like water. When he finally rolled to a stop, pain hammered against him from all sides, he could only gasp for air and face the truth.

  The thieves stood above him, like black wraiths against the glowing yellow sunrise. Their faces and clothes were scruffy and unkempt. Their tunics and pants were smeared with black coal dust, an attempt at a disguise.

  “So much for him not seeing our faces," Kors grumbled, his wide hammer-like face glared at him like a nail for the smashing, his thick fists clenched in anger. The other thief’s thinner, wiry frame suggested a more academic vocation, but his eyes were cold, resigned to the decisions of his fellow.