Tear of Light

by Michael Edward Tenner

  “Don’t push him next time,” said Efri. “Now, why were you shouting my name?”

  “Well, I wanted to ask if you want me to show you ‘round the town?” Arry asked blushing. “I was plannin’ to go to town anyways and thought you’d like to see.”

  Efri shrugged. “Sure. First, go wash yourself.” She nodded towards the bathroom. “Scrub properly.” He ran into the room and did just as she said.

  “He fancies you,” said Askard quietly.

  The thought didn’t pass Efri’s head. “Truly?” she questioned, confused. “He’s a child.”

  “I don’t know about the Empire or wherever you said you’re from, but here he’s an adult like any other. Some are already married at his age. Most have children at sixteen.”

  Efri didn’t want to hear it, the thought disgusted her. It didn’t matter what either of them said to her Arry was a child, a young boy who should play or study, occasionally work to make pocket money, not father children.

  With a shrug, she got up from the table and waited for Arry.

  “The boy’ll make a move. Be ready for that.” That thought disgusted her even more. She pretended no to hear Askard’s words and looked at the white wall instead.

  Arry soon ran out of the bathroom with his hair and face clean. “I’m ready!” he shouted. “Let’s go.” She considered refusing right away but, no, whatever their traditions or customs she didn’t care. Arry was a young boy, and she made a promise.

  With Arry by her side, she left Askard’s house. “Let’s go to the square,” Arry suggested outright, a cheeky smile on his face “They’ve got almost anything there, I’ll buy you something.”

  “That is very kind of you, but I don’t need anything,” Efri said, patting his head.

  Walking across the rope bridges with the raging ocean beneath them still frightened her, but as most of the town was on the shore itself, it was only a temporary setback.

  After slowly making her way across at least four bridges, they finally stood on solid ground. Arry told her of residents of each house and island, so Efri knows who lives where, why they live there and what they do, and how Arry knows they are bad at it, and he would be much better. He made sure to announce the latter part loudly. It was all an amusing yet feeble attempt to impress her.

  About an hour later, which was only Efri’s wild guess as telling time without the sun was unsurprisingly tricky, they made it to the square, and Arry wasn’t exaggerating, truly almost everything was being sold there, from fish to silks and weapons. It was similar to the market she knew in Beria, but quite a lot more packed and harder to navigate.

  Walking around, looking at the various items on offer, they walked past a house with a red door, well maintained, and even from a simple gaze, one could tell it was expensive. “What’s in there?” Efri asked.

  “It’s a,” Arry blushed, “a pleasure house. Men and women ready to pleasure whoever has the need, you get it right?” Just the plain sentence seemed to have genuinely pained poor young Arry to say. He was still a child, just as Efri said.

  She laughed. “Of course, I know. Beria used to have plenty of them,” she said.

  “Used to?”

  “The Empire forbade places like that. Some still offer such services but they are heavily inspected and scrutinized by imperial officers. From what I’ve heard, no major city in the Empire has had such places for hundreds of years.”

  Arry continued to look at her in amazement. “Why?” he asked. “I think it’s good for people to have fun after a rough day of work.”

  “I guess that’s true, but the women and men who work there are often forced into doing it, beaten and used for profit. A lot of people suffer as a result of such places.”

  With a smirk, Arry scratched his head. “So it’s different,” he victoriously. “There are no people working there. Just scraps.”

  Efri couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What’s a scrap?” she whispered her question, which Arry struggled to answer. He described humans with strangely colored hair and blue eyes.

  Angry, her heart heavy, she sighed and pushed the red door open.

  The inside of the pleasure house was downright gorgeous, walls covered by red silk, the floor a soft red carpet. All illuminated by the dim light of small lanterns.

  “Welcome,” said a man sitting behind a dark wooden counter. “How can we serve?” His voice was as soft as the curly hair decorating his head.

  “I’m sorry,” said Efri. “Would it be all right if I had a minor request?” The man leaned on the counter and fixed his jacket. He nodded. “The scraps,” it hurt to even refer to people like that, “what are they? Do you have slaves here or what?”

  The man laughed. “I’ve no clue where you came from, little princess, nor do I care.” He looked at her with suspicion in his eyes. “To your luck, it is quite a slow day, and my scraps’ve got shit all to do.” With a clap of his hands, he summoned the ones he and Arry referred to as scraps.

  From a room beside the entry, hall came in a half-a-dozen of men and women, all nude with their heads down and collars around their necks. What she noticed first about them were their eyes. Sparkling, beautiful like sapphires, unbroken, with not a hint of crimson-gold. It reminded her of A’stri, of her eyes only hers were green.

  She asked as much, whether a scrap could have eyes of another color, but the man’s never heard nor seen a scrap that’s not got eyes of blue.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Touch ’em, punch ’em, whatever. They won’t fight back. If you pay, you can do even more than that.”

  “Do not tell me you refuse to see just how similar to humans they are. You’re a good for nothing slaver.”

  “Look, missy,” the man said. “These people are not human, may look like it, they say we share an ancestor, but they’re not us alright? Unlike humans, they’re created of magic; without it, they’re useless. If I left one be for a good week or so, I’d find him dead in his own shit. Livestock they are.”

  Efri had more questions and voiced them loudly, but the man grew increasingly tired of her presence and refused to answer any more.

  When her demands and arguments were just too much for him to deal with, with an exasperated sigh, he shuffled some papers that were on the side of the counter. “Here,” he said, handing her a piece of parchment. “You’re interested in them, go to town. There’s a scrap trader that opened a store a few alleys away. Give that to him, and he’ll give you a nice discount.”

  Looking at the man and the paper he was holding, she knew there was not much to gain if she continued her arguments. She took the paper he gave her, but wouldn’t forgive herself one more short note. “What if they’re not really stupid like you say?” she asked. “What if they are real people and you’re torturing them, forcing them to serve people in disgustingly perverted ways. Could your conscience bear it?”

  “I don’t know!” The man shrugged. “Leave.”

  With that, Arry and Efri left the store. They thanked the shop owner, and Arry threw him a coin for his troubles. Efri shrugged at the thought of giving that man money, but that was not the hill to die fighting on; she was headed where the man sent her - to the slaver’s store.

  Arry opposed the notion of purchasing a scrap, but Efri would hear none of it. With no sympathy, she told him to go home if he doesn’t wish to accompany her any further. He remained anyway, but with a few remarks about how ruined their day would be as a result.

  They passed through the packed square, still hard to get through quickly. Yet the scrap seller was nowhere to be found in any of the nearby alleyways.

  After a while of searching, Arry stopped and announced, “I’m done and not going a step further, Efri. The scraps are what they are, so let’s leave them be and enjoy the day. Why do you even care so much?”

  “Look,” said Efri and came closer to him. His arguments were not something she wanted to deal with, but Arry was her guide. With a sigh, she leaned in closer and kissed him on his c
heek. “Here, now help me find the seller,” she said as Arry turn redder than the pleasure house’s door.

  Overjoyouse, Arry chuckled and approached the first person he saw, then another and one more. He spoke fast and used words stranger than any she’s ever heard. All she could decipher was that he was indeed asking where the seller is. The third man he approached seemed to have the answer.

  “It’s just a bit further,” he chirped. “Let’s go!” He ran there so fast Efri almost lost him while chasing after him.

  The alleyway they went through was dirty and dark, the covers above it were newer than those over the square. To their luck, the store wasn’t too far. Without knocking or waiting for Arry Efri barged in.

  What she saw would the subject of her worst nightmares for years to come. Men and women ages, all scraps, locked in cages right in the cold entryway of the store. They all turned their strange-colored heads towards her and Arry. It made her sick to see the void in their otherwise beautiful eyes.

  From the back waltzed out a fat chunk of a man. “Welcome to my store,” he said, disinterested. “What can I do you for?” Efri only looked at him, staring him straight in the eyes. When the silence lasted a second too long, the shop owner, the slaver, spoke up, “If you want to buy one, just say so.” He chuckled. “Or did you just come to stare at me?”

  “How much?” Efri asked without any courtesy while handing him the piece of paper. “I want to buy a scrap or whatever the fuck you call them.”

  Not just the shop owner but also Arry looked at her funny. “Of course,” the slaver said, inspecting the parchment. “I see you made friends with Korrin.” He crumpled up the paper and threw it on the ground. “The price usually depends on age, gender, physique, and such. For you, I have something a bit special.”

  Carrying his ample belly, he approached a cage hidden in the corner in which sat a slender young man, looking about her age. “He’s eight certas, but for you, he’s for four. Now don’t take it personally, but I don’t think you’ve got much of those.” With a shrug, he smiled at her.

  “I don’t,” she admitted, not letting it be seen on her that she knows nothing of their currency. “It seems like you have thought of a way for me to pay without money. Go on.”

  The slaver nodded. “You see, I want to get rid of this one anyway. If he stays here until the end of the week, I’m gonna be forced to sell him on the meat market.” He laughed and touched his belly.

  Efri’s own stomach turned upside down. Only barely she managed to stop herself from vomiting all over him.

  “He desperately needs magic,” the slaver continued speaking, “a lot of it, to survive. Already ate up three of my crystals in just ten days.”

  “What you want?” she asked, wishing to leave as soon as possible.

  He smiled. “You seem to have some magic in you. Don’t care where you got it. I could sense it the moment you walked in. Charge me six crystals and he’s yours.” He pulled out a small wooden box, and in it were six pure white gems. “Don’t worry, it’ll drain just a bit.”

  Without thinking, she grabbed the first gem and held it tightly in her hands. Quickly the gem lost its white color and turned crimson-gold.

  The slaver was taken aback once she gave it to him. “This impossible,” he muttered. “There’s enough in one for at least a dozen, maybe two.”

  Efri shrugged. “Well, I guess, overpaid. I’ll take him and go.”

  “Please, one more. I can sell you a better scrap. Actually, why not all of them? You seem like someone who’d like that?” Efri agreed, praising her luck.

  Arry protested, but she ignored him. The slaver handed her a larger crystal, almost thrice as big. She held it, just like the smaller one, with both of her arms. It lost its whiteness and began to turn crimson-gold.

  Suddenly a piercing echoing sound burst through the store. A crack appeared on the gem, and then one more followed. Mere seconds later, it opened like an egg. The force of it sent Arry and the slaver flying back until they hit a wall, the poor Scraps in their cages were pushed against the metal bars.

  When the owner and Arry returned to their feet, they looked at the destroyed crystal in Efri’s hands. “Go,” said the owner, barely keeping balance. With haste, he unlocked the slave’s cage, pulled him out and pushed him towards Efri. “Out, all of you!” he shouted with fright in his voice.

  “What’s happened?” Efri demanded an explanation. “Why did that happen?”

  The owner growled. “I don’t know, get out of my store.”

  As he said, they did. It brought her no joy to leave the store, seeing the dozens of people stuffed in cages.

  The scrap stood before her, in an ordinary brown tunic and dirty trousers. His body was slender, his skin was soft, and his eyes were blue and devoid of life.

  Arry, after hearing the commotion from the market, decided to run and investigate, still cheery after Efri’s peck on the cheek.

  Only lightly, she touched the slave’s arm. Just then it felt as if all of her stamina was siphoned away. His were now shining azure blue, full of life. “Thank you,” he said.

  Of Crimson and Gold

  With Morael gone, Aelir returned his attention to the library while awaiting the return of the archons. As much as it saddened him, he spent much less time with Arianna, but she still kept him company, especially during long nights while he read in his chambers. She would sit on a chair beside him, listen to every word he says.

  Days passed, and he and the archons found nothing of value, and still, thousands of books remained. Books thicker than a man’s arm, with small letters and involuted words.

  A week after Morael’s departure, he received news of the archons. They arrived in Ardia, the Empire’s largest port city, and should come only a day later. To allow everyone a night of rest, he suspended the search until after their joint meeting.

  That night he yet again spent in the library in the company of Arianna. No book pages were turned while they were there. He enjoyed her company and wished to spend more time with her, but with his father absent and still locked in his chambers, his list of responsibilities grew.

  It pained him to admit their failure. Many people lost nights of sleep to wander through the pages of the most boring of books. Even at the beginning, he had little hope they would find anything.

  “You’ve tried your best.” Arianna tried to console him, but it was of no help.

  He looked at her, the smile sweeter than sugar brought him at least some comfort. “There are thousands of books in here just about the war, but not one says a word of something we did not know already.”

  “Are the titles of no help?” She jumped on the desk before him. “Most books have some sorts of description, do they not?”

  He shook his head. “Rarely. They’re long, and in the end, you never know if what we are looking for is not hiding in a footnote somewhere.”

  “What if it’s just not there? Maybe nobody ever knew the truth. Some things are just forgotten.”

  “Arianna,” he said in a whisper the realization coming to him. “You are amazing.”

  He grabbed her hand, and together they rushed into his family’s private wing, where most of the books they searched through came from.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He led her to the hall’s center and the stone pedestal on which the Book of Areon lied. No one, not even the archons after their initiation ceremony, was allowed to come close to the book.

  “We forgot,” he said. “If something is so secret that no one must know it cannot be forgotten. So to protect those secrets, you write them down in a book, only a select few can read!”

  Arianna looked at him, the pillars surrounding them, not sure what to respond, but Aelir pretended not to notice. His victory was at hand, questions would finally have an answer.

  He approached the book. The golden phoenix on its cover lit up as did the runes around his wrists. It flew open in the second half.
>
  “Aelir, I should not be here,” Arianna said from behind him.

  “It’s alright,” he replied, but when no response came, he realized something was amiss.

  Arianna stood there, gasping for breath. With haste, he led her further away, behind a series of bookshelves reaching high up above them.

  Once she was further away from the book, her eyes no longer gazing upon it, she returned to normal. Before Aelir returned to read it, she embraced him, disallowing him a single word. She only smiled.

  The page where the book opened was of no help. It spoke of Areon, as many did, but when he tried to turn a page, it would not let him.

  And so he read what was before him and learned the many secrets lost to time. It spoke of Areon, but not in the way he knew. The first emperor was a last surviving member of the Derai, magical people with eyes of gold. They were one of the three, alongside the Li’Ari and the Beri’a.

  With a shock and an open mouth, he read through his ancestor’s real biography. It allowed him to turn pages and continue, and there the answer they were searching for was hidden, mere two pages away.

  It spoke of the binding, the moment when Areon bound magic to the language of old Sesteria. All Aelir knew, all the people of the Empire learned in schools, was a lie. Areon did not bound magic, he locked it away. The text mentioned gemstones, keys to the magical locks.

  Verdant green, azure blue, and brilliant gold were the main three, those holding back pure magic. Then there were others, violet, and scarlet. Violet was defiled magic created by those who attempted to stand against Areon, but scarlet was made by him. Combining the ancestral magic of his blood, the Derai, and that of his creation, gave birth to what all ever since then to be the only magic. The power of crimson and gold.

  What he learned on the pages of Book of Areon he could not tell anyone, not even the archons. Arianna asked, and he wished to tell her but could not, for her own safety.

  He knew Morael was in possession of the scarlet gemstone, and greatly, he feared what it could do to his brother. As such, he decided to visit Morael before the battle of Beria takes place to personally tell him all he has learned and warn him of the dangers his new weapon may pose.