Unseen Secrets

by S. B. Sebrick

  Keevan shrugged, "Just what I see in the mirror, I guess. A regular person, with no elemental connections."

  A number of conflicting feelings trampled Keevan's heart. Helping find Kors was one thing he'd do in a heartbeat, but this prisoner... Over a decade of loneliness washed over him. Years of living with a people that ultimately didn't understand him. People who equated sorrow with ice and didn't believe you were mourning unless you could freeze water. People who didn't think you were truly angry unless your body summoned flame. People who ultimately feared what he could become if his powers ever manifested.

  "I'm sorry, Keeves," Bahjal said, pursing her lips in regret. "Perhaps it's not the best idea. I shouldn't assume you could hunt down your own kind. You've too good a heart."

  "You think it would prove my worth to the High Priestess? Assure her I'm not a danger to the city? The Malik as well?" Keevan asked.

  "Yes," Bahjal said. "But, I could never ask that of you. Neither should they..."

  "It's something to think about," Keevan echoed, not sure what to feel at this point.

  Here was a rare opportunity to prove his worth. He could literally pick the fugitive out of a crowd as no other warrior in the city could. But if his instincts were right, this man was imprisoned and likely tortured for months, just because of the nature of the parents who birthed him. A sick feeling gurgled in Keevan's stomach. He knew what that felt like, to stand in a crowded room or even a city and feel completely alone.

  How could he hunt down a man like that, who probably wanted nothing more than to go home? At the same time, how could he leave his own fate to the idle whims of the city's politicians and not prove himself at all?

  Chapter 21

  Kors crept cautiously along the dark hallway. Horns and boots thundered in the distance, but nearby nothing breathed. Zerik's plans were always sharp, but this impressed Kors all the more. Freeing the prisoner put him in the last place the guards would search for an intruder. The Harbor Master would move to secure the exits, Danica stores and treasuries, first. By the time they carried out a room by room search of the dungeons, Kors would have a far more powerful ally.

  Thinking of the prisoner also brought the Sight Seeker to mind. He raised his hands overhead and soaked the corridor in the warm glow of his flaming hands. The boy thought fast and knew when to make a gamble. A hundred years ago the drawers might have held, but he knew his blacksmithing materials, definitely his father's son.

  Voices in the distance, muttering whispers of the insane and guilt-ridden, fell into silence the moment Kors' light reached the bars. Somewhere in this tangle of metal and pain, the Outlander sat resolutely, awaiting his escape. Kors rehearsed in his mind the details of Zerik's offer, a place to lay low, with enough coin to meet his needs and the occasional favor. When forced to choose between imprisonment and Zerik's idea of a favor, what real choice was there?

  "I wouldn't go that way," A thin voice whispered from the shadows. "I doubt you search for an empty cage."

  Kors whirled, static flashing into the empty cells around him. They revealed nothing.

  "Interesting," The voice continued, patiently. Further behind Kors. Had he really walked right past his assailant? "Most Tri-Beings condition themselves to resort to anger and hide their fear, they think it's a sign of embarrassment. You don't though, you try to shock whoever's behind you."

  "My issues with Issamere root far deeper than how I express my fear," Kors grumbled, drawing a short sword from beneath his robes. "Reveal yourself, Corvan."

  "You know my name? Wonderful. Who are you? More importantly, who sent you?" The voice asked, hardening into a curious edge.

  "I'm Kors. Zerik sent me to help you escape."

  "Very well," The shadows faded around the corner of a cell, two doors down. The Varadour wisely stood away from the bars, a light smirk on his lips. The lightning's scorch marks lined the ground only inches from his toes. "Were you responsible for the ruckus underground?"

  "Indeed."

  "How many did it take?" Corvan asked curiously.

  "Two others, beside myself."

  "Zerik is a smart one, isn't he? I figured it was a full invasion. To survive blasts of that size," Corvan muttered, looking Kors up and down as if with new eyes. "Few in number, but intelligent. Not quite the army of supporters I was hoping for."

  "How'd you get out?"

  "Fear and curiosity don't often go hand in hand. But for my guards, they did nicely," Corvan admitted, rubbing his belly. "The soup alone was worth escaping, but freedom was an added perk, I must admit. I left them a vengeful message to throw them off the scent."

  "You're... not quite what I expected," Kors admitted, sizing up the thin Varadour, who stood a head shorter than him, still wearing the tattered linens of a prisoner. He arched an eyebrow in disappointment and partial disbelief. "Why did you hang around here after you escaped?"

  "Well, I had a feeling Zerik would send someone. Some ally I could befriend," Corvan admitted with a sigh, giving Kors a similar look of disappointment. "Plus, when searching for an escaped prisoner, no guard would search nearby cells. Certainly not by touch and that's what it would take to find someone like me down here."

  "I'm getting that impression," Kors agreed, crossing his arms defensively. He'd planned on setting the prisoner free himself, finding the Varadour already loose and stained with blood unnerved him greatly. "I have a message for you, from Zerik."

  "I figured as much," Corvan chuckled, shrugging in relent. "But, I did need your diversion in order to escape, so a deal is a deal. What's this Zerik want?"

  "He wants a relic they keep here, a token of great power," Kors said, licking his lips in anticipation. "A weapon without which this city will surely mourn and their enemies shout for joy. A weapon I am to use in our escape."

  "You mean your escape, correct?" Corvan added with a smirk. "I'd say it obvious I can escape this place any time I desire. You? Not so much. Particularly with the great din I hear up stairs. Why can't you get out the way you came in?"

  Kors didn't reply, but he clenched his jaw in frustration, the air around him shimmering in restrained heat. Corvan's grin grew, showing off crooked teeth. "You lost the boy. The Sight Seeker was the key to surviving the Watcher, wasn't he? I expected as much."

  "What could you know of the Sight Seeker?" Kors asked, gesturing to a nearby cage. "Your exposure to the outside world has been quite limited."

  "My 'exposure' was purposeful," Corvan said, glancing down at the deep scars on his belly and chest. "The Harbor Master's questions were always about Sight Seekers, their nature and how they're powers usually work. I learned much, particularly from the nature of his questions. The boy is powerless, as of yet, is he not?"

  Kors took a surprised step back, shifting his blade until it rested between them. "Someone as smart as you," He said cautiously, "should know better than to run his mouth so. I'm not sure turning you loose on the city would be a good idea after all. You learn far too much from far too little. I'd hate to think of what you could do to my city."

  "Your city?" Corvan spat. "Don't mock me. You and Zerik have labored against the Malik for decades. You are outcasts and exiles. You've no love for the city, or its people. Only power and long-denied vendettas still unfulfilled."

  "Don't mistake my hatred for Malik Morgra as hate for this city," Kors countered, his offhand glowing bright red until flames rose from his fingertips, licking his knuckles. "Ever."

  "Perhaps I assume too much," Corvan offered with an apologetic nod. "You say you require a device in order to escape and cripple the Malik? Very well. What is it and where is it?"

  "It's only a few stories above us," Kors said, watching the Varadour uneasily. "and with so many soldiers searching for us, I'd imagine it will only be lightly guarded. After a fashion."

  "Why would such a prize be left unprotected?" Corvan asked.

  "Because the prize," Kors answered, "Is two orbs of pure Danica, wielded by the Watcher himself. Given what he did i
n the Catacombs, I dare say he can protect himself."

  Corvan gasped in surprise, then chuckled. "You might be my kind of man after all, Kors. Indeed, who would guard a force like that with something as flimsy as men? What exactly do you want me to do?"

  "The Watcher's guards will not be an issue for me," Kors promised, flourishing the blade in his hands. "How do you think I got this? What would be most useful would be for the Watcher to turn his face towards me, only to find a knife in his back. Think you can manage that?"

  "Perhaps," Corvan replied, tentatively. "I'd need to see the layout of the room first. No assassin dives in without the proper preparations. Do you know of a way to view the rooms unseen?"

  Kors smiled wickedly. "I do. They're a bit tight for me, but I imagine you would fit in them just fine. Hope you don't mind dust and can crawl quietly."

  "Being the tallest and strongest in the room isn't always an advantage," Corvan said, glancing down at his clothes. "Think we could nick a pair of linens and a cloak? A nice black one would be fitting, very assassin-like, don't you think?"

  "I saw a spare stock room around the corner," Kors offered, nodding back the way he'd come. "You need me to pick the lock?"

  "I'm not in the mood for the quiet approach anymore," Corvan replied, cracking his knuckles and stretching his arms. He pulled the whistle free from around his neck and handed it to Kors. "You can use this to signal me, only Varadours can hear it. I was cooped up in there for far too long. What do you say to a 'noisy' approach?"

  "I'd say it's been a long time coming," Kors agreed, gripping his sword hilt in anticipation. "Let the Harbor Master and the Malik hear of this day and quiver in fear."

  "Quiver, yes," Corvan agreed, vanishing into the shadows again. "Lead the way."

  Kors grinned as they walked down the dark hallway. Finally, the Malik would pay for everything, putting Kors' parents in harm's way, corrupting his sister and exiling his comrades all those years ago. This would signal the beginning of Malik Morgra' end. A slow, bloody death for all of Hiertalia to see. After decades of labor in the shadows, they were so close he wanted to shout, laugh and cry at the same time. Soon, Morgra would pay. They Kors could put every Outlander into the ground, where they belonged. Starting with Keevan.

  Chapter 22

  "So, any ideas for getting us out of here?" Bahjal asked.

  "Me?" Keevan replied, "Why would you ask me? I can't fight repulsors. Can you?"

  "I just wondered if you see a flaw in this place, something we could use."

  "Why not just send a runner to the High Priestess and apprise her of the situation?"

  "We could do that," Bahjal admitted, "and she'd eventually get around to us, in a day or so. That gives Kors and the Varadour two days to have their way with the Harbor Guild."

  "Wish I knew what they were planning," Keevan grumbled, wrapping his arms around his legs as he pulled his knees up beneath his chin. "Then we could at least give the Suadans something useful. Or take action ourselves."

  "Well, think about your conversations with Kors," Bahjal prodded, resting her elbows on the table as she held her head in her hands. "What do you think he would do if he suddenly had a fellow Varadour on his side? I refuse to believe that the prisoner's escape and your arrival coincided by chance."

  "A Varadour's added strength and speed would make him an effective weapon against just about anybody," Keevan thought out loud, flipping over the document before them. He traced a rough outline of the Harbor District, its imposing wall and important landmarks.

  "They wouldn't know about the Harbor Master's arrest though." Bahjal pointed out.

  "Let's see... Kors didn't seem like one to worry about money," Keevan stewed, marking X's on the offices of the Harbor Guild. "Nor secrets, we burned the one Kors was sent to Destroy. He's a big man, obsessed with power and accustomed to being physically powerful. Can you think of anything that might suit his tastes?"

  "A few Danica stores could have an item to enhance his power," Bahjal surmised, staring over his shoulder at the map. "But their locations are secret and I'd imagine, doubly guarded at a time like this."

  "That leaves... but no, he wouldn’t be that bold, would he?" Keevan gulped, staring at the map.

  "What?" Bahjal insisted, staring at the page. "What else could he be after?"

  Keevan took the quill, empty of ink, and pressed it against one last name on the page. It rested in the south eastern corner of the Harbor Guild, where his reach could span the tunnels beneath the entire Etrendi District in every direction.

  "The Watcher?" Bahjal said, sitting straight up in surprise. "Is that even possible? Kors and a single Outlander... they couldn't possibly kill the Watcher, could they?"

  "If two Tri-Beings and one Sight Seeker could evade him, imagine what a Varadour could do if the Watcher didn’t see it coming?" Keevan said, slamming his fist on the table. Warm pain blossomed across the side of his palm. "The worst part is we're too far away to do anything about it."

  "Are we?" Bahjal asked patiently, a half-smile of challenge cresting her lips. "Think it through, take a good look around. I'll prepare a missive for Lanasha, telling her what we've set out to prevent. Hopefully, we'll be long gone by the time she replies."

  "You have a lot of faith in me, don't you?" Keevan asked, pursing his lips in worry. "Maybe too much. I'm not a performer you can just order to do the impossible on a regular basis."

  "You are the only Sight Seeker in a thousand leagues of here," Bahjal said calmly, picking up the quill and dipping it in ink. "By your very nature, you're powers appear impossible to the rest of us. Now, get to work."

  "Not to mention a mischievous streak," Keevan finished, rolling his eyes and rising to his feet. His elemental vision revealed the same daunting repulsor fields creating a bubble of sorts around the room. The Tri-Beings even went as far was to mix repulsor orbs into the mortar, though they were small ones by the look of it, their individual fields only extending a foot or so in every direction.

  Walking the edges of their quarters, Keevan tried to recall all of Nariem's blacksmithing lessons and couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship involved. He pulled the small repulsor orb from his pocket, the one used for keeping the hidden record dry. It was a dry, smooth, gray stone. Its field was weak and circular, limited to only the water in the immediate vicinity. His hand tingled from a sudden numbness as he held it aloft, making it harder for his blood to reach his extremities as it tried to push his body's water away.

  He re-examined the ceiling. Each repulsor sat a perfect distance from its fellows, such that fields perfectly aligned, like bricks in a wall. A tough trick indeed, since most repulsor stones' generated their fields in a circular shape. Somehow, these ones were conditioned to hold a rectangular formation, allowing them to perfectly fit together without even an inch of space between their fields.

  Keevan laid down on a bed in the guest room, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't shake the feeling there was something he was missing. Nariem didn't work much with repulsor Danica, its use was strictly guarded by the military, since they couldn't be duplicated by Tri-Being means. Perhaps General Arnadi or one of his craftsmen could escape this room, but what could Keevan and Bahjal do? There weren't enough loose elements inside the room for her to do anything useful, she'd need to draw in water from outside the building.

  With a sigh of relief, Keevan rubbed his eyes. On the other hand, working in an elementally blocked room carried some benefits. His elemental vision usually provided a chaotic bundle of information as every Tri-Being in sight pulled or pushed on the nearby elements. Here, everything was still and he could just soak in the simple details.

  The air around him sparkled with a slightly blue tint, as if he watched through poorly constructed glass. There was water in the air, a few teaspoons worth perhaps, but less than outside. That meant when the Tri-Beings fitted in the last repulsor brick, they forced out as much of the element as possible. The room's heat, its hottest point depicted by a red glo
w along the window sill, was also a feeble supply at best.

  He noticed a distinct lack of electricity in the room as well, perhaps contributing to Bahjal's feelings of security and her insistence on escaping. He wondered if any Tri-Being's decisions could be trusted in a room like this, when they were so free of the fear brought on by even a mild electric field. After all, without fear, the body's self-preservation instinct wouldn't be worth much. Perhaps the secret to unlocking this room was in realizing what else wasn't there...

  Keevan stood up on the bed, peering up the ceiling's perfect field of repulsed element. Was it a single ore repelling all three elements, or a mixture of three different types of repulsors, all fitting throughout the roof and walls? The complexity of the design would be extremely complex if that were the case. He reached up and touched the ceiling, dry, rough and cool to the touch.

  "No, No, I'm looking at this all wrong," Keevan realized, glancing at the window on his right and the wall it sat in. He called out, "Bahj, how does a Tri-Being feel if you're standing close to repulsors?"

  "Ugh, they're not fun. Depends on what kind of course," Bahjal answered, casual leaning against the doorframe. "I finished the letter, hopefully it will keep us out of the dungeons when this is over. Did you discover something?"

  "Maybe," Keevan asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You mind standing against the wall in front of me?"

  "You want me to stand inside the repulsor field?" Bahjal asked, shuddering at the thought. "No thanks."

  He couldn't help the notice the lack of electricity around her, a complete lack of fear. A total feeling of security. For Tri-Beings, the room was an emotional prison. Why leave a place that makes you feel safe? Unless you already have someone with you that makes you feel just as secure. He recalled the Harbor Master's lighting attack. If Bahjal had felt the slightest bit of fear in that moment, they likely would have died. If she weren't such a strong Etrendi, they might have died anyway.

  "What does it feel like?" Keevan asked, walking over to the window and glancing outside. A veritable storm of elements raged on out there. Citizens scampered about in fear, drawing electricity after them like a swarm of insects. Guards kept their fear more in check, drawing in moisture as they methodically hunted their quarry or hot anger if they grew frustration. "The craftsmen placed the repulsor perfectly apart from each other, but without seeing the fields at all, so what were they doing to be so precise?"