Unseen Secrets

by S. B. Sebrick

  "Tricks are my department," Bahjal spat back, stepping in between them. "Now drop the-"

  The air gave a hollow whumpf from the force of the blow. In the space of a heartbeat, one guard was suddenly airborne, with the imposter's sword protruding from his chest. Bahjal's whip cracked, hurling ice like a finely honed projectile, just as the colors around the imposter blurred into obscurity like a desert mirage.

  A scream and a stream of blood splattered across the ground. A guard rolled aside, gripping Bahjal's ice spike in his gut. Superheated earth flashed through the air as one Danica Warhammer dug into the cobblestones. The Varadour's limbs blurred at odd intervals, making his motions impossible to predict and even more difficult to counter. Amidst the bizarre weaves of element and color, Keevan caught a glimpse of the imposter catching one guard in a right cross, the Tri-Being's jaw shattering from the blow.

  The last guard, stabbing at the imposter with his long sword, dancing to one side and the other trying to keep between the Varadour and the entrance. Bahjal swung her whip at the imposter's neck but he ducked at just the right moment, as her water-based weapon coiled around the last guard’s blade. Steam erupted around them in a swirl of grey mist, screams of pain and the distinct scent of scorched flesh.

  The tangled battle ended in seconds. Keevan felt numb with shock just watching the fray. Fear for Bahjal struck him like a sudden flood. He sprinted into the mist, ignoring its biting heat. She was somewhere in this mess, wounded, perhaps dying.

  "Bahj," Keevan whispered, abandoning his elemental vision. The steam cloud turned all he saw into a single field of blue and red energy. Even with the repulsor orb in his pocket, its effects didn't extend far enough to be of any real use. Instead, he pictured the battle in his head and tried to make his way toward her last position. She wasn't close enough to the steam blast to suffer lasting damage, was she?

  A dozen wounded voices called for aid, none of them Bahjal's. Despite the moisture, Keevan could still smell the burned flesh and feel the heat of the spent attack. Danica was a dangerous and unpredictable substance, if forced to interact with itself in unexpected ways. A growing panic filled Keevan, picturing how much damage the Varadour could have done to Bahjal, even in the few short seconds that had already passed.

  "Keeves," she whispered, lying somewhere around his left ankle.

  "Bahj!" Keevan said, scrambling onto his hands and knees. Every inch of exposed flesh on the left side of her face was swelled and red from the burns. Her whip lay useless in her scorched hand, pain likely blocking any command of water beyond pure reflex.

  "Keeves, what are you doing? Get out of here! He might still-" Thin, incredibly strong arms clamped around Keevan's neck, dragging him to his feet. They also limited Keevan's breathing to a thin gasp for air as he tried to pry his neck free, but the Varadour's strength was impressive. "If those eyes glow try to tap into my brain," he threatened, "I'll cut off the air supply to yours."

  Chapter 24

  "No!" Bahjal cried, emerging from the steam. The mist dragged wearily after her call, coating them both in warm liquid. Her whip quivered like a dying limb as she tried to strike, coiling too soon and flopping down between them. With a cry of defiance, she lurched forwards, trying to tackle them both with her small, hundred pound frame.

  The Varadour stepped forward and slammed his foot into her diaphragm. She crashed to the ground instantly, gasping for air. Moisture pulled in around her like a cocoon of healing liquid, only the shear need for her own survival could pull her from Keevan's aid.

  "This way," the Varadour insisted, dragging Keevan along by the neck.

  In the distance, guards shouted in alarm and merchants scrambled away. Somehow, the Varadour found the open gate, slipping in to the Harbor Guild fortress just as the mist behind them faded. The Varadour stank of urine, unwashed flesh and feces. His limbs trembled, forcing Keevan to gasp for air every few seconds as the Varadour's shaking pinched Keevan's windpipe closed. A painful heat built up in his lungs from lack of air, forcing him to claw at his attacker's arms.

  "I'm so sorry, Sight Seeker," the Varadour apologized. His grip loosened enough for Keevan to breathe properly. He still dragged Keevan along like a bag of potatoes. They turned down one alley, then another, as if at random. Unless the man had somehow memorized the place. "Please don't scream. We have much to discuss. Give me a moment to find us a quiet corner."

  "You just cut through a half dozen guards. They'll-" Keevan hissed in pain, urging his feet to keep up with his captor's pace. He only accomplished getting dragged another dozen yards across the stone floor, jostling his airway again. Around them, echoes of heavy boots, draw steel and horns of alarm bellowed through the stone passages.

  "Hold that thought," the Varadour insisted. "Here perhaps?"

  Flipping open the latch with his foot, he pushed the oak door open. Black shadows of a narrow storage place hung open before them like the maw of some beast. Broken tools, sacks of supplies and bottles of every size lined the shelves on either end. The shelves gave way to a tangle of buckets, mops and brooms at the closets' far end.

  "Perfect," the Varadour said, pushing Keevan into the narrow space. "Go all the way to the back. Sit alongside the shelves on the left side, I'll take the right," Keevan walked half the distance, massaging his throat, before glancing over his shoulder at the hallway behind his captor.

  "That girl was a friend of yours I take it?" the Varadour asked, his eyes and tone flashing dangerously. Keevan nodded wordlessly.

  "Be glad I didn't kill her, then," the Varadour said, shutting the door behind him as he entered, plunging them into the darkness. "Also, consider how many more you would be forcing me to kill if you sound the alarm."

  "What alarm?" Keevan grumbled. Flinching as he felt the Varadour's hand on his back. The motion wasn't violent, but a soft gesture moving him further down the shelves. "This closet is too stuffy to carry sound. But it will be one of the first places they look."

  "I'm counting on that," the Varadour said. "I'm Corvan, by the way. Here, let me flip a bucket over for you. Have a seat right there. Perfect."

  The overturned bucket acted as a decent seat, albeit flat, and unyielding. Keevan felt a dozen tendrils of wood and fabric tickle his skin. Was the Varadour tilting the mops and brooms so they leaned against the wall over their heads? Keevan felt the ground with his hands and found a broken chunk of handle, still pointy at one end. He lifted it into his lap, trying to move silently in the darkness.

  "Really?" Corvan sighed, as if disappointed. "I've survived months of torture in the dungeons. You really think I'd let you draw a weapon on me? A bit of ceramic no less? At the least, I expected a mental attack of some kind."

  "You can see in the dark," Keevan echoed in surprise, dropping the makeshift weapon.

  "After a fashion," Corvan admitted. "As can you, by different means. But if you were trying to attack me, why not just use your power? You could have blocked my senses or paralyzed me..."

  Keevan gulped, wrapping his arms around himself as he tried to curl up in the corner of the closet. Just that sentence laid bare worries that had haunted Keevan for years. A simple truth burned in his mind. The other Sight Seekers could do more than just ... see, even at his age. Touching another's mind, changing their senses, the Varadour expected those powers the moment they met.

  That meant even the Outlander Sight Seekers had those abilities, and Keevan did not. Any dream of living among his own people buckled under the implications of that one sentence. Even among his own people, he'd live out his days as a powerless deformity. A Sight Seeker who could only see element, and do nothing else.

  The thick, dank air of the closet made the prisoner's reek smells even worse and he found himself biting back the urge to gag. The Varadour was standing right in front of him for some reason, under the tangle of mops and brooms.

  Outside, the sounds of banging doors and shouts of alarm inched closer. Keevan pursed his lips, trying to push past his fear and shock to c
onsider his options. Good men lay wounded, Bahjal among them. If he called out in alarm, if he tried to stop Corvan at all, more people would get hurt. The Varadour would likely escape again as well, wasting more lives.

  Keevan's mind buzzed with the lack of information. Catching this man was clearly a quest for another day, with hours of research and preparation. Surviving him was a better goal for now, while learning all he could. A small part of his mind recognized Corvan's care in not killing Bahjal and approved, remembering how easily his mail-covered fist could break bone.

  "You can't touch another mind, can you?" Corvan echoed in the dark, sincere and practically apologetic. "I’m sorry. I didn't realize. How long have you been like that?"

  "Since birth," Keevan grunted. Outside, the adjacent door swung open, a half dozen boots thundering against the stones. "They'll search this room next. You're done."

  "Am I?" Corvan chuckled, he leaned in closer, until his greasy hair pressed against Keevan's face. "Raise your feet off the floor and hug your knees to your chest. Do it now, or I'll have to fight my way out and kill more people."

  The door burst open in a blast of blinding torch light, forcing Keevan to wince. Metal scratched on wood as one of the guards entered, led by the glowing red tip of his Danica spearhead. Keevan's heart leapt into his throat, but he managed to keep quiet. If they detonated one of those, not knowing Keevan was here, it would only leave behind a charred corpse. Few spearheads were even allowed in the Capital. Too destructive.

  The guard paused a moment, listening. Five other sentries stood behind him, weapons drawn, staring into the closet in nervous concentration. The shadows around Keevan thrived and snapped into shape beneath the mops and brooms, Corvan's lower half faintly stood out in the shifting light, as if forged of impossibly thin glass, an amazing trick of the light.

  "Nothing here. Keep searching," one of the guards grunted, slamming the door shut. The thundering boots and slamming doors moved on, growing ever fainter. A nervous anticipation coiled in Keevan's chest. Here they were, the moments of quiet he'd longed for since his childhood. A chance to speak with an Outlander face-to-face.

  "Well, thankfully they weren't bright enough to follow the water dripping off us, am I right?" Corvan asked.

  Keevan paused a moment, considering the sudden chill eating away at his limbs now that he'd stopped moving and realized how wet his clothes were. "They probably assumed their own focus was pulling spilled fluid across the floor. If they'd seen sparks instead of moisture, they'd been on you like rabid dogs."

  "Good thing I don't 'spark' easily," Corvan chuckled. When his humor wasn't mirrored, Corvan and sighed and spoke again. "You too. That's probably the first time not having elemental powers helped you out, am I right? Keevan, I'm sure you have questions. Ask."

  He stepped away. Keevan sighed in relief as the man's stink abated somewhat. Corvan sat on another bucket on the opposite side of the closet, his motions echoed by the creak of wood and the scuffs of his boots against the stone floor.

  "How do you know my name?" Keevan asked.

  "Everyone in the city knows who you are, even my torturers." Corvan answered, absently grabbing for something that once dangled about his neck. Finding nothing there, he shrugged and continued speaking. "I spent a lot of time listening. They didn't realize how sensitive a Varadour's sense of hearing is."

  "You're common tongue is very good," Keevan noted. "How long have you been here in Issamere?"

  "Three months, with only the Harbor Guild for company. You learn a lot in that time, if you're properly motivated. They saw to that, though I doubt learning their language was their primary intent," Corvan muttered from the shadows, venom thick in his tone.

  "What else do you know about me?" Keevan asked, adjusting his position so his knees rested under his chin where he sat.

  "When you're being questioned, day in and day out, for weeks at a time," Corvan said, rummaging through something in the shadows. He hummed contently, tearing a bite of something in his teeth, chewing as he spoke. "All you have to occupy your thoughts are the questions of the interrogator. I figured out that your parents were an artisan and a politician, not the best among their peers but not the worst. Go ahead, look around. I know your eyes can glow, at the least, every Sight Seeker's can."

  Keevan opened his eyes to the elemental plane. Blue light bathed the small closet, throwing an oddly aquatic hue on the ragged Varadour. He slipped the breastplate off, wincing as he did so. Fresh bruises lined his ribs and a still healing burn marred his shoulder. He sighed in sudden fatigue, leaning back against the wall. His chest and arms were more scar than healthy skin. He nibbled on some dried fruit, take from a small bag at the top of the shelf. Was the man's sense of smell enhanced too?

  It felt strange seeing such details through the elemental plane. The fresh moisture in the Varadour's hair gave his head a blue glow all its own, the burn's red hues fading with each passing second. The air above him ebbed and flowed with faint orange light as the water slowly evaporated from his shoulders and hair. After years of only seeing Tri-Being cloud-like personas though, the Varadour's lack of elemental connection set him apart as something inhuman and unnatural. Was this how the people of Issamere saw Keevan?

  "I see they didn't exactly stuff you in a repulsor room," Keevan noted sadly, gesturing towards the scars. "I'm sorry you're time here's been so different from mine."

  "What? These?" Corvan asked, glancing down at his many wounds. "Most are from the Guild, some from before. But at least I still have my powers. I can't imagine what it must be like as an impotent Sight Seeker. Kors must have lied through his teeth about the Watcher thing."

  "No," Keevan admitted with a shrug. "I did help with that."

  "How?" Corvan echoed with a bleak chuckle. "You can't affect elements, can you?"

  "No," Keevan said. "But I can see elemental fields. I coached Kors and another girl through the Watcher's field. We would have gotten by unnoticed, but Kors had other plans."

  "Kors and this Zerik fellow," Corvan nodded, scratching his chin. "I couldn't have escaped without his, well your distraction. I'm in both your debts, and believe me, I honor my debts. Particularly if you're the last Outlander on this continent."

  "About that," Keevan said, searching for the right words. "Suada's mercy, where do I start?"

  "Well, use your time wisely," Corvan cautioned, raising a finger in the air between them. "I have to settle my debt with Zerik as soon as Kors gives the signal. Any minute now I assume, he shouldn't have had trouble sneaking in. There's no point in guarding the gates after a psychopath has broken in, is there?"

  Keevan gulped nervously. "Right. Kors. He's after the Watcher, right?"

  "You are a quick study," Corvan said, staring at Keevan as if he were changing into a different creature before his very eyes. "Yes, Kors said the price for my escape was dealing with the Watcher. I honor my debts, Keevan."

  "Well, could I ask you to honor your debt to me by telling Zerik to sit on Raejin's spear?" Keevan asked hopefully.

  "Even among the Tri-Beings, Honor isn't that twisted," Corvan replied dangerously, he cocked his head to one side, like a dog hearing something a far off. He got to his feet, slipping the guard's leather armor back on. "That's the signal. Perhaps I can visit you when this is over and we can talk more then?"

  "No," Keevan cut in, pushing the mops between them aside. They clattered to the floor. "I know what I want. I helped give you your life back. Don't take any others. No more killing."

  Corvan hesitated at that request, glancing at the door. "Oh. Maker's might that could complicate things. You know I can't vouch for Kors, or the guards for that matter. They'll all strike with lethal intent. You seriously expect me to go easy on them?"

  "Think of it as a long-term investment," Keevan suggested, mustering his courage. "This city lets me walk their streets in public, without hunting me down on sight. In time, we might make a similar arrangement with you. Maybe even get you home."

 
Corvan laughed, a deep throated, hearty sound. "My boy, you're not a threat to them, at least, not in the 'public' way. Also, I'm more familiar with the Harbor Guild's 'darker' side than you. They will never let either of us go home. On top of that, I'm afraid my options aren't as warm as yours. My advice, play the porcelain doll. The longer you're not a threat, the longer you'll live."

  "What about you?" Keevan asked, getting to his feet. He shuddered against the cold, dank air, rubbing his own shoulders briskly. "Where will you go?"

  "I did a lot of listening while I was in the dungeons," Corvan said with a smile, tightening the belt around his waist. "Assuming you're not there, I can walk unnoticed. Sight Seeker vision is a pesky, perceptive thing."

  "I... I hope to see you again," Keevan said, wringing his hands nervously. "I've never met an Outlander before. Please, don't walk away from here a murderer too. Maybe the guards in the dungeon deserved what they got, but, please, don't kill anyone else."

  Corvan sighed, stretching his arms and back. Then he pulled a mop from the wall, gauging its length and weight like a soldier would a sword. "You drive a hard bargain, Sight Seeker. But, I do owe you and we Outlanders should stick together. Very well, I promise. I won't kill anyone. I can't speak for Kors though. Good bye, Keevan. Find some guards, if you can. We'll be done by the time you reach the Watcher."

  With that, Corvan slipped out the door. Keevan sighed in relief, until he tried to turn the latch. It hung stubbornly in a horizontal position. He groaned, rubbing his temples, as he realized the mop's purpose.

  "Belenok take you, Corvan!" Keevan yelled, hammering his fist on the thick oak door. "Is anyone out there? Help!"

  In less than a minute, he heard the screams of battle and the roar of fire. Keevan kept knocking on the door, hoping someone might pass by. The maids at least would visit this closet daily, once all the chaos calmed down. Granted, the Watcher could be dead and buried by then. The Suadans would have a very good reason for treating him like a threat after this, no doubt.