A Home in the Hills

by Robert J. Crane

  Alixa shook her head, back and forth, eyes fixed on him but wide, oh so wide. “It doesn’t have to be you.”

  “I know. But I choose this. I choose it today, and I choose it tomorrow, and I choose it every day until it is done.”

  “But—but—but why? Why, when you could leave this madness behind? You know there are other Luukessians out there. Longwell said so himself—they live on, in the Emerald Fields. We could be with them, and carry on our family names.”

  “Every Luukessian I have ever known is dead. One day I will face them again.” He did not add, One day very soon—but he did think it, and it only cemented his decision even more. “I could not stand eye to eye with our ancestors if I did not at least try to stop him again.”

  “He will kill you.”

  Perhaps. Very likely, in fact. But nevertheless: “I must do this.”

  Alixa watched him in the dim light for long seconds. Scourgey’s eyes shifted in their sockets, a slight side-to-side movement between the cousins’ faces.

  “Who will take you?” Alixa asked. “Ships arrive, but most of them see the destruction and turn back.”

  A fair question. Jasen had hoped that, with Longwell and Huanatha, he could charter passage here in Nonthen. That did not seem likely now, which left him with only one option.

  Pushing up, he unfurled his legs from where they rested under Scourgey’s chin. He swiveled to the edge of the bed, and pushed up—

  His arms shook under his weight. And his legs shook too. No sooner had he stood than he toppled backward, landing on his backside.

  Hard though the mattress was, that fall should not have forced the air out of him as though he’d been punched.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Alixa asked in alarm.

  “Nothing,” Jasen wheezed. But there were white spots in his eyes again.

  He tried again. This time he stumbled forward. But he caught himself by placing a hand upon the wall, arresting the fall before he crashed headlong into the floor.

  Hand upon the wall, he walked to the door—no, staggered. His feet could not rise.

  Scourgey whined.

  “What’s wrong?” The alarm was clear in Alixa’s voice. “You can hardly stand up!”

  “Not now,” Jasen answered, opening the door and stepping out into a corridor that seemed far too bright, those lamps glowing with such ferocity that he winced.

  “Where are you going?” Alixa asked, following behind, her voice high.

  “To speak with Shipmaster Burund.”

  20

  “We have discussed this,” said Burund. “My answer remains the same: no.”

  He strode away from Jasen, who was propped up on Scourgey, and Alixa, across the deck.

  The light of dawn streaked across them. The sun hadn’t long risen, but still it cast a glorious gold upon the onyx deck of the Lady Vizola II. The day was shaping up to be a warm one, and only a gentle breeze came in on the sea. Today, it carried the scent of seawater, but that stink of sulfur and burning had not been dispelled. Nor would it leave for a long time, Jasen supposed—like a taint had befallen the place. It was just something else, with the ruined earth, that would keep the city from being rebuilt for decades, perhaps centuries.

  Little had changed since yesterday morning. The flooded crater was still filled with debris, though less than there had been when they’d arrived. Whether that was due to the efforts of the people on shore or simply to the tides as they washed in and out, Jasen could not be sure.

  Encampments had been set up on shore. The people were very small from here, but he could see where they clustered and bustled around torches. Pyres lit the landscape, glowing brightly in the shadows the sun had yet to banish. They breathed out a thick, constant plume of tar-colored ash.

  Grimly, Jasen realized these were bodies. Too many to bury—they had to be burned; it was the only way to dispose of them before decay set in.

  For all of Jasen’s despair at the destruction of Terreas, seeing Nonthen was something else. Terreas had been blanketed in ash and molten rock, banished from existence in seconds, all the life in it crushed—hopefully before anyone within it knew what was happening. But Nonthen had survivors, men and women and children who were broken, who had seen the power that Baraghosa unleashed and lived through it, but whose lives were now in crumbled tatters. Most of them had lost loved ones, loved ones who were now converted to soot and carried away from the crater by the wind. Many others would never find their dead—they had been utterly vaporized in the blast that felled this city, no trace of them left.

  Jasen had lost his family, his home, that much was true.

  These people, though … they had it worse.

  And Shipmaster Burund, who saw the very same scene of devastation that Jasen did, who knew that it had been Baraghosa’s doing, now turned and walked away.

  Jasen hobbled after him. Ancestors, it was so difficult to walk …

  Scourgey braced him. She made a soft noise as he clutched her, digging in with his nails to stop himself from falling down.

  Alixa stumbled along half a second behind him. Eyes on him instead of where she was going, she held her hand out, mere inches away from grabbing him should he teeter, threaten to bowl over.

  “Jasen,” she began, “you should be—”

  “Please listen to me!” Jasen called after Burund.

  Burund did not look back; just kept on.

  “Please—Shipmaster, please would you—”

  “I know where he is!”

  The cry cut through the morning. Few hands were on deck, only Kuura and a couple of the Lady Vizola’s men comprising the small outfit. They all turned as one, though, to see Huanatha raising herself up onto the deck, her blue armor and muted grey breastplate gleaming in the early morning sunlight.

  “The dead have spoken to me!” she cried. “They tell me where to seek him!”

  Longwell’s head appeared after. “I’m not sure I would shout that to everyone,” he muttered.

  But only the shipmaster and Kuura understood, of course. The other two Lady Vizolans, who had been working with Kuura, only exchanged curious looks.

  “Where who is?” asked Burund.

  “Baraghosa,” said Huanatha. She strode across the deck to meet him, eyes blazing upon him with a steely focus.

  Burund’s lips thinned. He cast a look back at Jasen, mouth downturned. “Well, the three of you had better find yourselves a vessel to travel there in.” He stepped past—

  Huanatha blocked him. She was taller than he, but even if she had not been, the fire in her face would have been enough to give the shipmaster pause. Teeth bared, she growled, “Do not bury your head in the sand again, Shipmaster.”

  “I do not bury my head,” Burund snapped back. “I protect my men.”

  “You protect nothing but your own hide.”

  “Huanatha,” Longwell warned. Joining the growing congregation about the shipmaster, he inclined his head in a wary greeting to the shipmaster. “This conversation requires diplomacy.”

  “This conversation?” Burund asked. “I assure you, Samwen, there will be no conversation. I have heard all of you many times. You wish to pursue the sorcerer. I wish to keep my men alive—a task, I should not need remind you, I have already failed at because of this foolish quest of yours.”

  “Your men lost their lives to the Prenasians in battle,” said Huanatha. “There is no higher honor—”

  “Huanatha.” Longwell stilled her with a hand to her elbow. “Shipmaster Burund, please, hear us out.”

  “Yes,” said Jasen. “Please listen.”

  It was as though the three of them only just realized Jasen were still there. Burund frowned at him over his shoulder. Longwell gave Jasen a curious look, confusion flickering over his face for a moment, wondering, perhaps, why he seemed to be gripping Scourgey to stay upright. Only Huanatha did not react with any surprise.

  Burund rounded on him. “I have listened,” he said, “to all of you, many times
. Now it is your time to listen to me.

  “Because of you, I have lost my ship. I lost five of my men because I chose to entertain your ambitions. That falls to me—and it falls to you too.” He stared down at Jasen with steely eyes. There was no hatred in them, nor in his words—but looking back at him, Jasen believed he deserved it, he almost wished that the shipmaster did hate him. He was worthy of that. He’d dragged innocents into this, gotten them hurt.

  He had gotten people killed.

  “So why,” said Burund, “would I consider partaking in this foolishness any longer?”

  “Because you know that Baraghosa must be stopped,” said Jasen.

  “He did nothing to me personally, before this,” Burund countered. “A cruel man though he might be, it is not for me to have any part in his justice.”

  “A cruel man?” Jasen repeated incredulously. “A cruel man? There are bodies burning out there—” he pointed, back to the shore and the pyres spilling soot into the pale blue sky “—bodies turned to dust, but which were already black and scorched, because of Baraghosa. He is more than a cruel man. He is a vile, evil, nefarious villain who poses a threat to all of us, you included—and he must be stopped.”

  “Listen to the boy,” said Huanatha. “Let his sense into that thick skull—”

  “Huanatha.”

  Burund stared down at Jasen. He had a sense that he was probing him, looking within.

  “You have a death wish. The sorcerer will kill you.”

  “I am dying anyway.”

  The words were out before Jasen could stop them. But would he have stopped them? No. He was too far gone. He could not hide it any longer. And he had to find a way to get Burund to really, truly listen to him.

  There was a long pause. Burund’s expression flickered with confusion. Longwell, too, started, looking at Jasen with his eyebrows drawn low.

  Alixa sidestepped, coming around his side to face him from the front.

  “Jasen?” she whispered, eyes moving back and forth between his, searching. “Is it—are you—?”

  “It is true,” said Huanatha. “I have sensed it in him, as did Baraghosa … and as has your scourge.”

  Alixa reeled back. Eyes wide, she clapped a hand over her mouth. “No … No!”

  “It’s true,” Jasen told her. “It’s why Baraghosa picked me to go with him. He knew I was dying, even then—before the signs.”

  Burund watched him with flinty eyes. “And now you wish to die at his hand.”

  “No.” Jasen shook his head. “I wish to stop him, before there are more Nonthens. Before there are others like Longwell and Huanatha, forced from their thrones as Baraghosa pulls strings in their courts for his own ends.”

  “You are one boy,” Burund said. His gaze flicked down him and up again. “One dying boy.”

  “I will fight him,” Jasen answered. “I do not wish to die at his hand—but I will die, and if I have to die fighting him? Then so be it. And if you will not take me, then I will commandeer my own Prenasian war galley, and I will take the fight to Baraghosa.”

  Burund studied him, unmoving. “You are determined.”

  “He must be stopped. I will do whatever it takes. I will fight with every breath I have left in me to stop him. Even if it kills me … even if it breaks what is left of me to do it … I will stop Baraghosa.” His gaze shifted to Huanatha. “I choose this.”

  The warrior nodded. The ghost of a smile lifted the corners of her lips.

  “I am with you,” she said.

  “And I,” said Longwell, standing forward. “You are the very courage I have come to expect from my countrymen. You do Syloreas, and Luukessia, proud.”

  Jasen’s heart swelled at that. Suddenly, the backs of his eyes were burning.

  “Thank you.”

  “I will go too.”

  This was Alixa. She said it in a soft voice, so quiet that it took Jasen off guard. He turned to look at her—these were the last words he would have expected her to say—and saw her resolution as she gazed at him. Her eyes were glassy, but she nodded, the tiniest little up-and-down inclination of her head, more to herself than to him, or anyone else present.

  “You will?” Jasen breathed.

  “I will.” She took his free hand in both of hers. “Until the very end … whatever it may be.”

  “See?” said Huanatha quietly. “I knew she would come around.”

  Alixa glanced inquisitively between them, but she did not say anything.

  “So, you see,” said Longwell, turning to Burund, “we are more determined than ever. We have been beaten by Baraghosa, yes, I will concede that to you. And true, all of us can see behind us, looking over Nonthen, that he is growing in power. But we all know, in our hearts, that Baraghosa stands only for evil—and we know that he must be stopped, even if it means our death, because not acting against him may mean the death of all of us.”

  “You are but four,” said Burund.

  “Actually …”

  They turned to see Kuura, all their eyes landing on him at once. He grinned, an awkward and uncomfortable but wide and toothy smile.

  “We are five,” he said, joining Huanatha and Longwell and Jasen and Alixa. “Gods, how mad … but no. I cannot sit idly by.” He took a long breath, steeling himself. “I stand against Baraghosa too.”

  Burund appraised them all through unreadable eyes. He was outnumbered, well and truly. If this were a battle of fists, he could be beaten into submission. But he was not Rakon, or the Prenasians, to be overcome by force. They could argue with only their words and their wills and hope, hope, to get through.

  Jasen held his breath, waiting.

  “You are mad,” said the shipmaster at last. “Every last one of you.”

  “Aye,” said Kuura. “But this, you already knew, at least of me.” He flashed another smile. “These people are right, Shipmaster. Baraghosa sows destruction. You may think he has no ill will to us personally, but he is a threat to us all.”

  “So you wish to battle him a third time.”

  “I can think of nothing I wish for less,” said Kuura. “But his evil deeds are spreading. We can run from it … but for how long? Everywhere we go, we run into the debris left in his wake. What we see of Nonthen, the sheer show of power he has demonstrated, it is beyond comprehension. If we run, if we allow him to grow stronger for another week, a month, a year … he may well grow unstoppable. We must act now. If we do not, we may never get the chance again. He may destroy our ship from across the sea next time, perhaps without even intending to. Ours was hardly the first we had come across that he’d done it to, after all.” Kuura gave him a look of great significance.

  Burund listened.

  Then his gaze swept past them, to Nonthen—the crater that was left of it, its buildings turned to rubble if not wiped off the face of the globe entirely, thousands dead and thousands more injured. Heat from the pyres lifted the ash of the dead skyward.

  At long last, Burund sighed. “So be it.”

  Jasen’s heart leapt. “You’ll take us?”

  “I will provide your passage,” said Burund, “no more. I will not see more of my men die because of this folly.” His gaze crossed Kuura. “Not any who do not throw themselves into harm’s way, at any rate.”

  “Thank you, Shipmaster,” said Longwell, extending a hand to shake. “You are truly one of the greater men I have ever known.”

  Burund shook wearily. “Thank me after this is over.” Sighing, he turned to Huanatha. “You say the dead have told you where he is?”

  “They did,” she said. Here for the first time, Jasen saw something new in her eyes. They were …

  Alight?

  “So where am I to sail?” Burund asked, a little wary, for he must have seen it too.

  “To the land I am exiled from,” she answered, and then the gleam dancing in her gaze made sense at last. “Muratam.”

  21

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  They were back in Jase
n’s quarters, him and Alixa and Scourgey. He sat at the pillow end of the bed, his back to the wall. Scourgey sat beside him. He leaned on her just as much as he leaned against the wall. They were all that kept him upright.

  Something had definitely changed in him after his episode in Nonthen.

  The end was coming now. There was no denying it.

  But they were moving. Nonthen falling behind … and Muratam ahead.

  With luck, it would be their final stop in their pursuit of Baraghosa.

  Alixa sat a little farther down the bed. Her knees were to her chest, her chin resting between them. Her eyes shimmered in the lamplight, faintly pink. But she’d not cried. She had been shocked, her voice had shaken, yet she’d held herself together. For that, Jasen was thankful. If she fell apart now, he did not think he possessed the energy to console her.

  “I didn’t know how,” he answered.

  “And you’ve known since …”

  “The isle of Baraghosa. Two weeks, more or less. But the signs were there before. I just didn’t see them for what they were.”

  She nodded. She’d seen them too, hadn’t she? That was why she accepted it so easily. That whispered no on the deck … it been fear, not denial. But she knew, even without Huanatha’s confirmation, that this was happening. Jasen was dying.

  He was dying.

  And now it was said aloud—now that he could really, truly feel it, eating away at the inside of him—he felt … hollow was the only word he could think of to describe it. His lungs and heart surely remained in his chest—he still breathed, and he could feel his heart, counting down the last beats of his life—but he just felt so … empty.

  His pendant resting upon his chest was like a weight. He reached into his tunic, took it in hand, held it.

  His mother had given him this. It was all he had—

  And yet it was everything.

  I will be with you soon, he thought, to his mother and his father, wherever they were—perhaps in this very room, like Pityr, watching, hidden by a veil he could glimpse through from time to time. I just have this one last thing to do.