Keys of Candor: The Red Deaths

by Casey Eanes

  Luken weaved her through the clear palace, out into a gleaming courtyard of white stucco. From there, he led her through the Filip’s garden courtyard and out through an open archway. From this vantage point, The Endless Ocean filled the horizon its breaking waves hitting the cliffs far below her. Willyn felt her heart slam against her chest. She recoiled at the thought of having to travel on the sea, but it seemed she had no choice.

  “Watch your step. The dock is below us. The steps here can be slick.”

  Carefully she followed him down the winding steps hewn in the steep cliff face, down to the dock.

  There a small, black vessel bobbed in the deep blue water, and Luken held out his hand for her to board.

  ***

  The wind whipped and churned out on the open water. The tiny vessel rocketed through the large swells sweeping up toward them, threatening to overturn them into the deep. The salty air wafted over Willyn as she fought the ongoing weight of nausea that grew deep within her gut. Luken sat behind the wheel piloting the water craft with a mad smile, the wind blowing back his dark hair.

  “Not a fan of walking on water, are you?”

  Willyn barely could contain the curses that ripped through her mind. “I would hardly call this walking. This boat of yours is as smooth as a drunkard.”

  “Speaking of drunkards, I do miss your brother. He was a lot like Filip in that regard. They both like their stiff drinks.”

  Willyn’s temper flared like a hot furnace. “How dare you insult the Sar! Don’t make me remind you of who I am and exactly what I am capable of.”

  Luken replied with a dry smile, “Oh please, mighty Willyn, sacker of cities and scourge of the Grogan people, I meant no disrespect. But I would like it very much if you would stop trying to remind me of who you are.” His voice broke from its normal cadence and fell to a growl. “I know very well who you are, dear girl. Your reputation is known throughout all of Candor, so please, drop the threats. You wouldn’t want today to be the day you finally met your match, after all.”

  Willyn stood up from the ship’s rail. “Is that a threat?” She reached for her stun stick. Luken threw the wheel to the right, and the vessel sliced through a small opening between a collection of rocks jutting up out of the water, threatening to shatter the vessel. The turn sent Willyn reeling across the deck.

  Her chin smashed against the cabin’s wall, and pain riveted through her, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. She could feel her face burning hot, glowing as red as her hair, as she leveled her gaze back on her impossibly irreverent guide.

  She stood as straight as she could on the bobbing vessel and tried to approach him, but Luken’s attention was fully focused on the shoreline. She wiped her bloody lip as she lifted her voice at him trying to regain his attention, “I swear I will…”

  “Shhh! Be quiet! If we are going to find Grift anywhere I would expect this to be the place.”

  Willyn blinked and looked. She had not noticed an island on the horizon as they traveled, but here it was, nonetheless. Luken throttled down the engine and allowed the boat to drift slowly into a cove obscured by a heavy grove of large, ancient mangrove trees, their long branches dangling into the salt water below. The cove was quiet with an uncanny stillness; the only sound was of insects chirping within the trees. Luken leaned on the edge of the hull as he squinted, staring through the canopy of foliage. Willyn also strained her eyes on the shoreline, attempting to find any sign of a Shepherd.

  Why was this particular island any more likely a hiding spot than any of the others that lined Elum? Any fool could see that the mangroves didn’t provide adequate cover.

  As if he could tell from the look in her eyes, Luken spoke.

  “You are familiar with the Rihtian War, yes?”

  “Of course I am. My father was responsible for ending the revolt and rebellion of Riht.”

  “Ah yes, the ‘rebellion of Riht.’ What a nice trope your people have constructed. Well, this, my dear,” he held his hands out to the island, “is where we hid many of the Rihtian refugees from your father. In fact, the Realm of Lotte was instrumental in helping transport many of them here. Grift would be very familiar with this particular island chain, and my bet, if he’s out here; this is one he would have visited.”

  Luken eased the vessel closer to land. He cut the engine, grabbed a rope, and dove into the water. He swam to the shoreline, towing the boat closer with each stroke, and quickly tied it to one of the trees. Willyn bobbed up and down in the skiff as she peered over the bow at Luken standing on the sandy shore with his hands on his hips, staring back at her.

  “Well, are you coming?”

  Willyn bit her lip. “Ugh...I...I can’t...”

  “What?”

  “I can’t...”

  “You can’t what?”

  “I can’t swim!” Willyn blurted out the hard truth before she could stop herself, and Luken looked at her with a blank expression. After a pause, he leaned over his knees laughing, holding his side. The laughter echoed over the water. Rage threatened to rattle Willyn’s heart from her chest.

  She screamed, “How dare you laugh at me, you stupid fool.”

  “Oh, ho, ho...I’m sorry it’s just...it’s just that...you of all people. HA! It’s that easy to defeat you?! I’ve put you in a never-ending body of water, and now you, YOU are defeated!” He pointed at her, “Who knew that this was all it took? If only all of Candor knew what it took to stop the Grogan hoards! HA, the thought of...”

  A bullet screamed by his forehead, and his sentence came up short. Willyn stood on the bobbing boat, eyes smoldering with hot rage, a smoking pistol in her hand. Her mouth was twisted with curses. “Don’t you dare mock me.”

  “Oh little girl, you are going to wish you had not done that.”

  Willyn blinked, and in a flash, Luken was back in the boat and grabbed the pistol out of her hand. Willyn screamed as he chucked the gun from the boat to the beach in a flash. She reached for her stun stick, but Luken threw his whole body on top of her, pinning her down with such strength that it knocked the breath out of her. Willyn gasped violently, her body heaving for the oxygen that had been forced out of her. Luken stared into her eyes as he nabbed her stun stick from her hand and broke it in front of her face.

  “You are testing my patience, little girl. That is more than enough threats from you. Whether you chose to accept it or not, I am here to help you. I want answers as badly as you if Grift did what you claim. Now, snap out of it and get in the water.” With that he jumped out of the boat and swam over to the shoreline again, leaving Willyn gasping.

  She lay in the boat, trying to piece together what had just happened. How did Luken clear that much space so quickly and then unarm her? Slowly, she regained her breath and gradually got up on her feet. She looked across the water at her assailant.

  Luken spoke, clear anger still flowing on his face. “Are you going to come to shore or not? That temper of yours is going to get you into trouble. I hope you take that as a lesson.”

  Willyn held her bruised chest. Each breath she took was met with a hot, dull ache. With each searing inhale of air she was reminded of how much she hated this man, this man who now sat smirking on the beach. She had never been so humiliated in all her life, and now she was trapped out in the wilderness, defenseless and surrounded by deep water she could not cross, her gun lying on the beach. Her eyes flashed as her mind exploded with a solution. She resolutely began to untie the boat from the rope.

  “Willyn, unless you want to die at sea, I wouldn’t untie the boat.” Luken proudly held up the small key that started the engine. The girl threw down the rope.

  I have been defeated. She couldn’t believe her own thought. She had never encountered someone who so utterly confounded her. The only person ever to get the better of her was Hagan, but he never boasted in his power. Now this stranger was constantly a step ahead, toying with her. She looked at the water and then to the island’s beach. Hopelessness washed over h
er. The journey, all of it, left her spent and powerless.

  I can’t do this. I just can’t keep this up. Hagan is dying and I am here wasting time. Grift is gone. I’ll never find him. I should have killed him when I had the chance. At least I could have gotten justice even if I could not get Hagan back. A torrent of backlogged emotion loosened deep within Willyn, and she felt the fear and rage swirling against her, melting away into a release she did not want.

  Luken stood up from the shore and saw Willyn standing motionless. She stood silent, distant and solemn. For the first time, he realized that the person before him was not just a ferocious, terrible warrior, but also a girl, a sister overwhelmed with the state of her older brother. He stared at her, not to make her uncomfortable or to bully her, but with pity, and he slowly swam out to the boat.

  “Hey.”

  Willyn looked over the boat’s edge and saw him hovering below, treading water.

  “Get in. You can always learn how to swim later. Just get in. I’ll make sure you won’t drown. I can get you over to the shore.”

  Luken’s calming voice broke through to her, alone, on her floating prison. She was just so tired. Tired of trying to be an unflappable warrior. Tired of trying to save the day and to fight for her brother. As tears rolled down her face, she realized that she had never shown so much vulnerability toward anyone in her life. She pulled back her hair for a moment as she peered over the edge of the boat. The bobbing of the boat mixed with the waves slapping on the boat’s side.

  She spoke softly, “How do I know you won’t drown me?”

  Luken shook his head and smiled, “If I wanted to kill you I would have just thrown you overboard miles back. You are not the most pleasant passenger, you know.”

  The small jab broke through and Willyn knew she could trust him. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew he was trying to help. She took a deep breath and looked out to Luken, “Just shut up and catch me. I swear you better not let me drown.”

  Slipping over the edge of the boat, Luken held out his hand toward her. She took it and let herself fall into the cold, clear, salty water. It immersed her quickly, her fiery red hair expanding in the water around her face. She gasped as he pulled her close to him. She could feel him kick the water as he swam for them both.

  “Keep your head up!”

  Luken led her to the shallows, and she slowly walked out to the shore with him. She collapsed there, her dark red hair curled up in long red strands, a tangled mess. She felt the solid, pebbly beach under her hand and looked up at him. He stood over her dripping, and he held out his hand.

  “Come on. Let me show you where we hid those refugees. We might get a clue of where he is, if he’s not here, that is.”

  Willyn grabbed his hand and felt a spark of energy jolt through her. She stared deeply into Luken’s eyes in awe of the day’s strange, unexpected events. This man...this man had done something to her. She had never, ever let her guard down in front of anyone but Hagan, but somehow Luken of Elum forced her to be vulnerable. He had clearly seen her weakness and the fact that she had a weakness within her both alarmed and relieved her. This Elumite is so strange, she thought to herself. As Luken released her hand she could feel a sensation seem to pull away from her, and she secretly longed to touch his hand again.

  Her mind was lost in thought when her eyes registered something deep within the forest. She took a step forward and squinted her eyes. “Look!” Willyn exclaimed, bounding through the foliage.

  She sprinted for the edge of the tree line and straight to what appeared to be the half-buried remains of a fire. She knelt and held her hand above the remnant. After a moment she reached her hand under the soil and down into the ashes.

  “The fire is dead, but it hasn’t been out for more than a day. It might not be hot, but it is still warm. If this was his fire he did not leave it too long ago.”

  Luken stepped over to the small fire and knelt down beside her, scanning the foliage around the abandoned camp site. His eyes grew wide as he fixed his gaze on something hidden from Willyn’s point of view.

  “Willyn, I know this was his camp site.”

  “How?”

  He left her, allowing the brambles and foliage to envelope him. Willyn waited, hearing him crunch through the thick undergrowth. There was a pause in his movements. She could hear him coming back to her, quicker than she expected. He came out of the brush holding something, staring down at it. He seemed lost in his thoughts, as if the object hypnotized him. Before Willyn could see what he was carrying, Luken turned as if trying to spot a trail or any other sign of life in the brush.

  Luken spoke, his voice dire. “I don’t know who else would have left this behind. And from the looks of the blood on this thing, I don’t imagine he could be in very good shape. If we do find him, he may just be laying dead in the brush somewhere.”

  “What do you have? What do you have, Luken?

  Luken turned back to Willyn and looked up at her. Silently, he held up a bloodied Lottian military jacket, and Willyn felt a rush of fear overtake her.

  “Are there other people on this island, Luken?”

  Luken continued to stare at the blood-soaked jacket. He whispered, looking back at her.

  “Yes.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  A rusty, dented transport rambled down the lonesome, deserted highway known only by those who frequented it as Devil’s Stretch. The road was a loosely stitched patchwork of pavement that staggered through the abandoned Realm of Riht. Kull cursed as the transport shuddered violently over the gaping potholes and ripped asphalt. For speed’s sake, there was no more direct route to the Groganlands, but it was not without its cost. Most travelers were wise to avoid it, but time was not on their side.

  The old truck had made many trips down the Stretch before and it showed. The glass of its windshield was spider-webbed with cracks, and what once had been dark green paint had long been ground down to a dull mixture of sun bleach and brown rust. Travel was not common in this part of Candor, but the Grogans were fond of Lottian lumber, and that was enough of a reason to keep Ewing’s smugglers on the Stretch. Ewing was not one to worry about embargos or trade pacts and he was a very rich man for it.

  The truck carried two ancient tree trunks that hung out over the back of the open bed. An old canvas tarp filled with gashes was draped over the giant trees. It flapped in the vehicle’s wake like a banner, its condition matching the landscape surrounding them. Kull sat on the tailgate of the truck, looking out over the ruined road running beneath his feet. He shot a glance over his shoulder to see Wael sitting with his eyes shut, quiet and still in the back of the truck bed. Next to him was the monstrous Rot, who seemed content enough to chomp on an old bone.

  Kull examined the passing landscape. His eyes grew wide at the charred hulls of buildings that lined the road. All of it reminded him of Cotswold in flames. He remembered his friends and neighbors that had died and the smoldering destruction created by the black phalanx of Grogan rooks. He could still hear the pounding thump, thump, thump of those dreaded engines, and he could still see them hovering over the horizon firing rockets onto his home.

  This is what happened here, he thought to himself. The Grogans did the very same thing here. The sudden realization sat like a heavy brick in his stomach. He wondered how many other people had lost a father or a mother to the terrible Grogan hoards.

  The landscape, besides the ruined, desolate buildings, was largely unremarkable. Flat desert plains expanded to the horizon and were all Kull could see for miles around. It was not long before painful boredom began to set in. He turned around to look at Wael again, hoping to pass the time with some conversation, but was greeted only with the same closed eyes and stoic face.

  Aleph above, what is he doing? For miles they traveled, and Wael had not said a word. The monk sat silently in a private trance that Kull could not bring himself to interrupt.

  As the sun began to set, Kull tried his best to entertain himself, and that was
when he noticed the fault lines beginning to appear under the vehicle. Kull blinked in disbelief.

  Are they glowing?

  His question was answered when he saw a small, but clearly visible flame shot up out of one of the cracks in the ground, throwing up a small flash of popping red light. As the slow tide of evening crept in, the veins of fire became even more noticeable, dancing in the oncoming darkness. Each opening in the earth sent up streams of noxious smoke, with a smell that reminded Kull of rotten eggs. Sulfur, he remembered. Then it dawned on him. They were passing through the Fire Fields.

  The ground soon glowed with a sinister aura, and the cracks and fissures grew with each mile they traversed. They smoked and hissed, throbbing under the thin, sandy skin of the desert. Kull could not help and look again at Wael, who, even now, remained deep in his trance.

  The air took on a heavy quality, clinging around them like a toxic fog. Kull was overcome with a fit of coughing. He could feel himself struggling to breath, his chest growing tighter the further the truck traveled beyond Lotte’s border. To make matters worse, a chill swept over the travelers as the coldness of the desert night air began to press in around them.