She froze. What was that behind his words? Not only kindness, but more; a message. But what?
“I know who your husband is,” he went on. His eyes hardened into two granite orbs. “I know quite a bit about him.”
No. It couldn’t be possible. Aerwen’s pulse soared. Soon, she would struggle for breath if she didn’t extricate herself from the rising panic. “Then you must know he can never know I was here.” A new thought occurred to her. Tariq’s Intra crew must follow her on her walks. How could she be so stupid? She may already have put this kind Human in grave danger!
“I do know that,” Wezlei said, approaching her. She was already backing away, nearing the door. She’d stayed far too long and every moment ticked toward a potential death sentence for someone who’d only wanted to help. “But I’m not afraid of Tariq. I wasn’t then, and I’m not now.”
“You should be!” she cried, reaching for the door.
Wezlei’s hand slipped through her free one. He squeezed. “You’re safe here. There’s no Intra around. I had looked before I approached you in the square, and I checked again before I brought you in. I know the danger you’re in. I wouldn’t do anything to make it worse.”
Aerwen dropped her hand from the door. She turned, gradually, and as she did, her heart slowed, and another new, vibrant current of energy ran through her from head to feet. “Who are you, Wezlei? I should know, shouldn’t I?”
His touch. He’s healing me. This is not even remotely possible.
“I’m only me,” he said with a sigh. “But I guess I’m also the young man who saw a beautiful Dryad in chains because of a cruel Dhampir. When I realized that same Dhampir and Dryad were going to be in the Complex, I decided I needed to do something about it.”
He knew her. She searched her memory, or what was left of it, and found none containing him, but she had been paraded before so many creatures of Seldova that their faces were no longer distinct. A new panic rose in her, and she asked, “But you weren’t one of…”
“Never,” he said. “I would never participate in anything like that, not ever. And if I can do anything about it, soon you won’t have to, either.”
Her eyes filled with hot tears. Who was he? I’m only me. No, no, he was more, so much more. What had she done to deserve this kindness from someone who had no reason to give it? She had to ask. “Why?”
Wezlei watched her. The way he regarded her was so foreign. Besides, she was accustomed to men sizing her up with the intention of claiming her. She was not at all used to seeing one look at her and actually see her. “If I knew the answer to that, I’d still be robbing wealthy politicians on Raxu. But I’ve never forgotten the Dryad from the ship, and fate brings us where she will. So here we are, and here you are, and now we need a plan.”
Aerwen cast a glance to the front of the store. Even through the shutters, she could see the light dimming for the day. “He would find out. I would lead him straight to you, and you don’t know… or perhaps…”
“I do.” He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead. There was nothing solicitous in the soft gesture, only an attempt at succor. He was a little boy at that moment, as he once had been, offering comfort to a mother who had lost her mate and, in turn, herself. “And that’s my concern. You know where I am, Aerwen. And we will stop him.”
VI- Wezlei
June 7, 4 AS
Wezlei’s head was a swamp of thoughts, feelings, questions, and answers. Aerwen—her name was Aerwen—had been here. They had talked. And while she hadn’t explicitly agreed, she seemed at least intrigued by his willingness to help her.
All his extremities buzzed with nervousness. Excitement! It was one thing to put an idea in motion and wait for it to play out. It was entirely another when the idea turned from conception to reality. He’d known an ease in waiting for her to find him. A limbo where he hadn’t actually done anything for her but was still determined to, so he could feel good about his decision. And now… now the jetter was moving, and there was no getting off at the next post.
And oh, how beautiful she was. He didn’t want to see her this way. It wasn’t important why he’d chosen to help her. Wezlei didn’t at all welcome a cloudy head with the task that awaited… and yet, it was undeniable. Aerwen had flourished before his eyes, unfurling like a flower in perpetual bloom.
Maybe his elderberry cocktail was a winner after all.
Would she come back? Oh, he hoped so. Sure, he had no idea how to get her away from her husband. All residents had two years left in the Complex, and there was no leaving, not if you wanted your money. He couldn’t exactly hide Aerwen in the back room and hope the Intra didn’t eventually track her down. And if he killed Tariq outright, he would pay the legal consequences.
In spite of all these obstacles, he was not dissuaded. Wezlei had crafted an entire career in piracy from absolutely nothing, and while it had not been personally profitable (he gave away what he stole to those who needed it even more than he and his mother), it had all the markings of success.
If he could corner a section of an entire planet and bend it to his will, surely he would find a way to defeat a thug at his own game.
As he locked up his shop, daydreaming about Aerwen’s light smile, he remembered why she had fled when she did: Night was arriving. And night for her was a full-fledged nightmare, one she would not escape without his focus and assistance.
Now that he’d met her… touched her… he couldn’t simply go about his business as if saving her was some distant, future plan. If he was going to help her, he needed to pull himself together. Fast. Now.
He prepared to call a Glyder for the trip home when something hard pushed into his back, jarring him into a forward stumble. Wezlei turned, already knowing it was one of the “bad guy” Intras, but not at all prepared to see Tariq standing there with a burgeoning smirk.
“You’re breathing my air, Human. Are you going to apologize?”
“Am I…” Wezlei stopped short of laughing. “I was locking up my shop.”
“That’s not what I asked, peasant.”
Two more Meta Intras appeared. He recognized them as being part of Tariq’s crew but didn’t know them by name. Another Dhampir and a Punisher. They must be at the tail end of their shift in one of the darker quarters, where Dhampir could work around the clock. It couldn’t be the start of his day. Tariq had his own plans after nightfall. “Sorry, you happened to walk into where I was already standing, and it inconvenienced you?”
Pain, and then stars. The Punisher had thwacked him on the back of the head with one of his massive arms. “Try again.”
“Um… I’m sorry you don’t have anything better to do than play schoolyard bully before you clock out?”
The next hit sent him to his knees, but he didn’t cry out. He asked himself why he was baiting Tariq, which seemed incredibly foolish, even in the heat of the moment, when playing it cool would be essential to helping Aerwen.
And then he did know. His pride had stepped ahead of his better judgment. Tariq had pretended not to know him. He’d acted as if Wezlei were not the fearsome pirate who might supplant him one day, for that was one of Wezlei’s goals, and he was fairly certain Tariq knew this, and he’d done it because denial was the ultimate insult.
He was a fool for letting the facts bother him when he had more important things on his mind, but it did, and here they were.
Tariq regarded him with generic hostility. He tossed his head at the other Dhampir, who grabbed Wezlei by the wrist, jerking him stumbling forward. With a small electronic pad, the Dhampir pressed a series of buttons and held it up to Wezlei’s wrist scanner. One light beep, and the transfer was made.
“Human, you’ve been cited for disturbing the peace,” Tariq said with an almost pleasant smile. “The penalty is one-fiftieth of your Complex reward. The next citation will remove another one-fiftieth, and so on until you are left with nothing. A shame to lose it all because you could not hold your ugly, mortal tongue.” Wezlei clu
cked, and the other two parroted the derisive sound. “Have you any other crimes to commit before we put the pad away?”
“Only the one involving your sister,” Wezlei muttered, low, but the fire was gone. His better sense had kicked him in the gut, reminding him he had far more to lose here than money. He didn’t need this attention. Not now.
“What’s that, peasant?”
“I said, have a lovely evening, sirs.”
VII- Aerwen
June 9, 4 AS
Aerwen awoke for the first time in two years without a single ache or pain. She stretched her limber arms high above her head, drawing in a lungful of air… waiting for the pang in her hip, or thigh, or shoulder. It never came.
The difference wasn’t that she hadn’t had to entertain the last two nights. To the contrary, Tariq’s reign of terror against her grew more brutal, and ever more rapidly. If she didn’t know how he valued the money she brought him, she would say he was trying to kill her.
And until two nights ago, he had been killing her.
Her greatest defense was her mind’s propensity to wander, and she’d spent many nights visiting Arda or other faraway lands. Since meeting Wezlei, she could think of nothing else. He was undoubtedly Human. Also undoubtedly peculiar. How could she reconcile these things? She knew of no stories, not even legends, of Humans who could see Dryads. The situation was unprecedented, and she knew the reason had to matter, but what mattered even more, was that he had extended a hand when she was in need, when before now the best she’d come to expect was a sad glance her direction.
Aerwen extended her arms in front of her in the bed, watching the light green glow dance over the surface of her skin, thinking how sad, but how consistently predictable, we take for granted the most basic pieces of ourselves and who we are. Her flesh had been a dull, mossy hue for almost two years; the length of time she’d been Tariq’s.
She sat forward in the bed. Her reflection appeared in the mirror. The creature there did not have limp, patchy hair but a full, vibrant mane of gold and crimson. The eyes were not lifeless but pulsing with nature’s energy, an emerald iris ringed with flecks of gold. The image staring back was a stranger, but a familiar one and Aerwen wept to see herself as she once was and how she wished she still could be.
Wezlei was the only common thread in this phenomenon, even if she could not reconcile how.
It would be unwise to go see him, but she was bursting to be in his presence. A fresh tingle ran down her spine at even the thought of it. But he knew the dangers and wanted to help her anyway. Maybe she’d been wrong all along about Intra following her. She’d never actually seen one on her walks. She just assumed it was something Tariq would do. Wezlei was clear there were none around when he brought her into his shop, though, and Tariq had given no indication he suspected her of anything. If she kept a low profile and continued to be the pliable, acquiescent Aerwen, he wouldn’t be bothered to care what she did when she wasn’t with him.
The problem was, she wasn’t the pliable, acquiescent Aerwen anymore. Not since Wezlei. Playing that role had never been harder. But this was all the more reason to return to the source of her newfound power and explore wherever it might take her. Anywhere was better than here.
She rose and dressed, wincing by instinct as she slipped into a dress and robe, even though the inevitable pain never arrived. Aerwen slid her feet into the shoes, one by one. In the room next door, Tariq slept in his own lightproof quarters, dead to the world for another four or so hours. The world was hers, once again, but this time, she could approach it with light and hope, and perchance, enjoyment.
Aerwen was reborn.
Wezlei wasn’t at Uni Flora Obscura. Most of his neighboring shopkeepers were Human, and when she tried to inquire about him, they went about their business without even acknowledging her. She was invisible to them. It had only taken one special Human to cause her to forget the fact.
An Intra turned the corner, and she pivoted, heading the opposite direction. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head. She hadn’t recognized this one, but that didn’t mean anything. Tariq’s reach was not something she had the capacity to measure.
On the next block, she ducked into Uni Olde Towne Taverne. At this time of morning, all but one of the tables was empty. A Witch mopped the floor, singing a low song under her breath.
“Sit anywhere,” she called over her shoulder and continued cleaning.
“I’m actually wondering if you might know where the owner of Uni Flora Obscura might be?”
The Witch released the mop, but it kept on swishing across the floor. She turned and scrunched her face in a tight scowl and grunted. “The Human? Do I look like the babysitter of less fortunate?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Aerwen turned to leave with a sigh when another voice spoke up from across the room. The Faerie at the lone occupied table.
“He spends his mornings farming plants for his shop,” she said. “You might find him there.”
The Witch shrugged and returned to her mindless cleaning.
“Thank you,” Aerwen said with a grateful smile.
She made her way back through Main City, navigating toward the Forest Dome, where she would find the entrance to the agricultural area. She’d already regretted asking about Wezlei. Every individual she involved was one more piece of evidence on the trail she’d started. Now two more strangers might recall the exchange about him. She would have to be more careful.
The city opened up into a broad area of mixed forest and fields. Even with her heightened vision, she couldn’t see the other side. To the left and right were orchards bearing all species of fruit. In the center, fields of corn, of wheat, of more types of food than Aerwen could name.
Aerwen navigated the rutted paths running between crops, past dozens of Metas and Humans tending their individual plots. She was tempted to ask where to find Wezlei’s particular plot but had already involved too many others. She had the whole day ahead if needed.
It turned out, she didn’t. She spotted Wezlei almost right away, his sleeves pulled high to his shoulders, sweat beading on his brow. He hunched over a large patch of plants, some with exotic flowering, others with stinging nettles. With his arm, he wiped the dampness from his forehead. As he did so, he lifted his gaze and saw her.
Wezlei’s face erupted in a brilliant smile. “How did you know I’d be here?”
She was almost ashamed of the truth. “I asked in the pub near your shop.”
He laughed. “And the old Witch actually told you?”
“No,” she said. “A Faerie.”
“Ahh. They tend to be more tolerant of us ‘lesser beings.’”
“You don’t deserve that,” Aerwen said. “I know the Complex was created to find a way for us all to live in peace, but I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed more intolerance anywhere in all my days.”
“It was never going to happen. Not the way they wanted,” Wezlei replied. He reached for the titanium canister to his left and pulled a long sip. “We’re just political puppets. Well paid, at that.”
“And what happens after the Complex, then?”
“For us?”
“For everyone.”
“Nothing,” he said. He started to rise, but Aerwen waved him back down and took a seat across from him. “Nothing changes. Why should it?”
Aerwen thought him curious. The strange Human wavered between idealism and nihilism in an odd way. On the one hand, he believed he could save her from an impossible circumstance. On the other, he believed their future as a species was doomed.
“You look radiant,” he offered, breaking the silence between them, then blushing at his own words.
Thanks to you. “Can I help?”
Wezlei looked around. “I’m done for the day. And anyway, most of these plants are pretty particular in the handling. I don’t want you to inadvertently poison yourself.”
Aerwen smiled. “I’m a Dryad, Wezlei. Nothing in nature can harm me.”
They stood in the back of Wezlei’s shop, sorting his haul into stacks. Some would be dried, others milled, certain items even boiled and pressed. As they worked, he explained that twice per week his shop was open for half days only so he could disappear into the back to do this work.
“I could hire someone, I guess,” he said when she asked why he toiled alone. “But I enjoy the solitude. In a place that forces socialization on us, I take alone time where I can get it.”
Aerwen didn’t ask him if her company bothered him. She knew it didn’t. She was not the only one who had thrived in the relationship. Wezlei, as well, seemed brighter, taller. His voice rang clearer. His eyes sparkled. How she had anything to give anyone after her years as a slave was as much a mystery as how he had restored her.
“What do people ask for the most when they come in?”
Wezlei paused. “Well, healing tonics, of course. That’s a given. But you might be surprised how many people request a good love potion.” He reached to the top of the shelf behind them and handed her a bottle with a heart-shaped label.
Aerwen laughed, a light, airy sound. “Do they work?”
He seemed offended. “Yeah, of course, they work!”
“But aren’t there limitations? I wouldn’t think a Human could use one on a Meta.”
“Wanna make a bet?” Wezlei unscrewed the lid and pretended to toss some on her.
She ducked, chuckling. “Okay, all right! You are the master of all things herbalism. I surrender.”
Wezlei smiled as he replaced the cap and re-shelved the potion. “My mother is the master, but a man must have goals.”
The Last Dryad: The Complex Page 3
