by Casey Eanes
BOOM.
Three flights.
BOOM. BOOM.
Willyn took a chance and jumped off the side of one flight, sliding down the rock face to a small landing several flights below. The move saved her time and put her out of the line of fire for a brief moment, but she had to fight to keep from losing all her footing and tumbling off the landing out onto the jagged rocks.
Three bullets careened off the nearby rocks and whistled by her head.
She could feel the snipers’ eyes focus on her as she ran with all her might. She was on the main platform and could see Luken’s boat.
BOOM.
An explosion of red blood came from Willyn’s left hand as she screamed. She knew there would be nothing left. The bullet hit her hand like a sledgehammer, and she would not dare to look down.
She did not pause, but ran, as more bullets licked at her heels. With each step she felt her heart heave with force as blood plunged out of her mangled hand. She gripped it down with her other arm, stomaching the throbbing pain.
You're...almost...there!
She barreled over the edge of the ship and expected the pain of another shot to wring through her, spilling her life out into the ocean floor below.
But it did not come. Shaking, she slid open the cabin door and threw herself in. The sound of bullets thumped against the tiny ship’s hull but none broke through. She gasped for breath and braced herself, forcing herself to look at her hand and assess the damage.
Blood poured out of her with each heartbeat. She still had a hand, but she needed to stop the bleeding and get help. She clamped her hand in her other armpit, cringing with pain, and scurried around the dark cabin searching for binding. Her vision was becoming narrower, and she struggled to find anything to stop the bleeding—a blanket, rag, or towel. She struggled to even hold herself upright. She reached out to open up a trunk when someone grabbed her wounded hand. Pain shot up Willyn’s arm as tears streamed down her eyes.
“Hold still. I’ve got you. We’ve got to get this dressed.”
Her eyes trailed up the rough hands pressing down on her wound and up to the face they belonged to. She fought to focus her vision, but it was soon apparent who it was.
Grift.
It was Grift Shepherd.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kull had never seen such a hulking, menacing machine. Its black paint shimmered bright in the hot, dry sun, but this was not the feature that captivated Kull the most. It was the armor. Thin, nearly translucent, sharp quills covered every square inch of it. Kull took a daring step closer toward one of the small, hair-thick pins.
“Don’t touch it, Kull,” said Wael. “Those quills would likely kill you.”
“What is it?” Kull asked, disturbed by the tenor in Wael’s voice.
Wael answered, “It’s a custom railcar, made by the Grogans. It’s designed specifically for protection against Morels. The baggers enjoy some comforts in Candor, after all. The rise in attacks the last few years must have finally motivated the Grogans to protect them.”
“The railcars have been attacked?” Wael nodded without a word. “Well, hopefully it will keep us safe and get us out of here.”
The two were terribly out of place mixed with the crowd of baggers. Wael towered over the mass of people pooling in through the main toll gate, and his wardrobe did nothing to help him blend in with his new neighbors. The quickest way out of the Groganlands was sitting in front of Kull and he could not help but feel his heart beating faster and faster as he and Wael waited to stow away on the train. It was obvious that they stood out, but the guards patrolling the platform did not seem to pay them any mind, at least for now.
“Hey Wael, are you sure this is the right line?” Kull peered up and down the platform trying to read the different signs pointing to each track.
Wael nodded, “This is the one. If Grift is in Elum, then there is only one person your father would run to for help. This train will deliver us to him.”
An old man shuffled past Kull and bumped into Wael who chuckled and gently ushered the elder past him. The man whistled and laughed and pushed closer to the car.
Baggers were a rare sight in Lotte, and most people did well to avoid them. Most were a landless people, descendants of the Rihtians who had been defeated by the Grogans in the Great War, though their number swelled following the more recent Rihtian War. For generations they spent their entire existence riding the rails of Candor searching for their next job and meal, continuing a never-ending cycle of summer mining in the depths of Legion’s Teeth for the ore and iron the Grogans required, harvesting crops in Elum in the fall, building construction projects in Lotte in the winter, and spending the spring planting again in Elum. The three Realms shared the baggers, even through times of war. It was the one thing in Candor that was agreed upon; the Baggers were to be free and unrestricted. They came and went, and their coming to the Realms was like the coming of the tides; consistent and necessary.
To Kull, the sea of day laborers, craftsmen, and vagrants flooding the platform reminded him of a memory from his childhood. It was the time he first saw cattle-beasts, herded into Cotswold from Elum for trade in Vale. Baggers brought the gentle giants, coming in a caravan of ramshackle vehicles of suspect construction, driving the cattle across the countryside toward the capital. Kull was with his father at the main market square when the herdsmen skillfully appeared over the horizon. The beasts sounded like thunder on the cobbled streets, their lows and bellows ringing in his ears. Grift pointed out the skillful bagger ranchers who directed the herd into the round pen just outside the market square. They made it look so easy.
Grift let Kull inch closer to the pen so he could experience the cattle beasts’ size firsthand.
Kull could still hear his father speaking to him:
“These creatures could easily stampede. They could break down this crude fence and break rank from their drivers. They are so strong that they could easily kill their captors.”
Kull had stared at the herd for a long time. “So, why don’t they just run away? They’re huge!” Kull would never forget his father’s response.
“Fear.”
The memory forced Kull to examine the faces of the drifters passing by him as he waited to load into the rail car. Many of their faces carried the same heavy burden as those beasts. They were driven by a silent master, one of their own making.
A bagger woman in line ahead of them turned around and pointed to the rail car. A string of bouncing language that Kull could not understand tumbled from her lips. She wore an intricate pink headdress and her entire face was veiled by long strands of ancient silver coins that rattled around. Behind them, Kull saw beautiful yellow eyes staring at him, and his heart jumped in his chest.
“She says that it is rightfully called a hedgehog.” Wael smiled as he translated.
“A hedgehog? What’s a hedgehog?”
“It’s a species of animal that long went extinct, but the baggers...they remember them. They used to be a type of pet.”
The doors of the “hedgehog” opened, and soon the crowd of baggers filed in, choosing their seats, laughing and singing in their melodic language. Kull and Wael entered their car and sat in one of the long rows of seats. They were cramped, the seats quickly filling with baggers who rattled and laughed, danced and spat, and blatantly stared at both Kull and Wael, pointing and gesturing toward them without shame. A wall of gagging smell soon surrounded Kull. Bathing, it seemed, was a luxury that these people could not often afford.
Kull sat silently next to Wael, doing his best not to offend or be offended. He breathed slowly, allowing himself time to readjust to the strangers. Soon, the hedgehog rocketed from the station toward Elum. It was there they would find his father, or at least that is what Wael said after their meeting with the Grogan leader ended short. Kull tried to remember the man’s name, tumbling names through his thoughts before he stumbled over the right one.
Hosp. Something about that snake of a
man caused the hair on Kull’s neck to stand up and his stomach to pool with dread.
Since the train left Rhuddenhall, Wael had been mostly silent, keeping his eyes trained out on the empty hills rolling by their view from the window. After the meeting with Hosp he had become even more stoic and introverted than usual, so much that it was painfully obvious to Kull that something was wrong. Wael seemed to be piecing together something as his eyes peered out into the wastelands, but everything happened too fast for Kull to have any idea what it was.
A bagger leaned over and flashed a smile of rotten teeth.
Surprisingly, he spoke in the common tongue. “Want a bite to eat?” he said as he held out a peach to Kull. “It will do you good, boy. Tis’ a long ride.”
“No thank you, but you are kind to offer. I don’t want to go taking your food.” Kull smiled as he held up his hand politely to gesture the gift away.
“You sure?” the old man whistled. “These good. Hate you miss out. Straight out of Elum’s orchards. Rare beauty.”
Frustration grew in Kull’s mind as he refused again, more firmly. “No thanks, really. I am fine.”
“Take the gift.”
Kull’s head spun around to Wael. “It would be rude to refuse his gift,” Wael said.
Kull grimaced and whispered, “Well, I mean, he is a bagger. I feel bad taking...”
The bagger interrupted, “Ah, phff, boy you not taking a thing. Lot to learn, lot to learn.” The old man laughed and rolled the peach to his feet. “Now eat.”
Wael let out a low chuckle as Kull picked up the fruit. Wael’s eyes soon went back out into the desert and he fell silent again.
What is wrong with him? What is he not telling me? The questions gnawed at Kull.
He tried to break the silence with small talk. “Hey Wael, looks like we are in Riht. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much...nothing.”
Wael gave a small nod, but remained silent. His eyes never left the horizon.
The bagger sat down and wiggled about as he enjoyed his small triumph of getting Kull to accept his precious gift. A smile twisted across his lips as he settled back into his normal spot. Kull held the fruit for a moment, inspecting it on each side. He plunged into it and tasted its sweet flesh. Juice rolled down his cheek and an intense, sweet flavor exploded in his mouth. After the ride in the back of the truck and eating nothing but jerky and crackers for the past few days, it was extremely refreshing.
“Thank you.” Kull managed to mumble through a mouth full. “It is very good.”
The old man nodded, smiling widely, and then entertained himself by whittling a small block of wood. Kull turned to face Wael and made another attempt to break the silence.
“Wael?” Wael did look at him, but his eyes were still occupied with some unspoken thought. “What is it? You said back in Rhuddenhall that this was much bigger than you could imagine. What were you talking about?”
Kull took another bite of the peach, waiting for an answer, but none came. Frustrated, he swallowed and whispered.
“I have been dragged around for over a week now, Wael. My hair is chopped off, and I’m stuck on a train with a bunch of baggers. My dad is lost out there somewhere, my mom is sicker than ever, and I can’t get any answers out of you. Now we are heading to Elum. I’ve never seen this much of Candor in my life, but the fact is that you’ve told me nothing of what’s going on. How does my dad fit into all of this? I know there’s something you’re not telling me."
Wael closed his eyes and gently nodded. He let out a small sigh as he turned from the window and walked toward the opening of the car. He pushed by the wall of baggers and motioned for Kull to follow. The two slid out of the railcar into the opening between it and the adjacent unit. The small platform was barely large enough for both of them, but Kull followed Wael out onto the ledge. He would go anywhere to finally get answers. Wael closed the door behind them. The desert heat was suffocating, and the din of the railcar’s speed made it hard to hear anything. The desert flew by them like a passing thought, and Kull marveled at how fast they were going.
Wael stared at Kull as the train wheels scratched and squealed along the tracks. His continued silence and awkward gaze seemed to drown out everything else until he finally spoke.
"Kull. What do you know of the Legacy?"
Kull leaned in, bending his ear toward the monk over the noise.
"The what?"
"Did your father ever mention other Keepers?"
Kull let out a groan and threw up his hands.
"Wael, I don’t know what you’re talking about! My dad never said anything about a legacy or keepers or anything like that! What does any of that have to do with him?"
Wael's face was blank as he weighed his response.
"I wish he had, Kull.”
Wael dropped his head as the roaring railcar filled the silence between them.
Then he spoke, “The Keepers have everything to do with your father. He is a Keeper. So am I. Let me be frank with you, Kull. Your father and I have known one another for many years now. The Keepers are a secret brotherhood that spreads across all the Realms of Candor. In fact, the Realms were originally founded and are maintained to keep the keys safe, but that bit of history has been lost amidst all of the petty skirmishes and wars we’ve had. Despite them, nothing has ever broken the brotherhood of Keepers. No war, no conflict. Nothing.”
Kull’s mind buzzed. Keys? What keys?
Wael continued, “The true reason for these things has faded out of memory, I fear. Now the Keepers are at a precipice of near destruction, and no one in the Realms has the knowledge to know what is actually happening.” Wael stared at him. “Your father, Kull, kept one of the two keys that stayed in Lotte. I fear he was arrested for far more than suspicions of murder."
Kull stepped back against the train and shook his head as he tried to piece together everything Wael was saying. A brotherhood, keys, a legacy? Nothing seemed to have anything to do with the war with the Groganlands or Grift’s kidnapping.
Kull stammered, trying to keep up. “Wael...what keys are you talking about?” Why had his dad never told him any of this? Did his mom know? Why was he left in the dark all these years? Why did he know absolutely nothing about this if it was all as important as Wael was implying?
Kull strained to speak over the roar of the tracks. “The only thing I can tell you is that Dad was never the sort of man to instigate a fight. He always taught me that it was important to learn to fight only to defend yourself. He wouldn’t lead an assault on another Realm and kill their leader. No matter how terrible the enemy was. What Hosp claimed does not match his character. I also know that King Camden was not the sort of man to condone this kind of violence. I don’t know what Dad was doing when he left me in Cotswold other than he was on patrol, but I never suspected him of conspiracy or murder.”
How long had it been since his dad went on patrol? How long had it been since Cotswold exploded with the sound of missiles and fire? Two...no...three weeks ago?
Kull closed his eyes and sighed. He had been on the road for such a long time, and it seemed that his journey was only beginning. His father had left him only one thing; aching questions.
"Please...Wael. Just tell me what I need to know. I am tired of these guessing games. What are these keys? How is my dad involved?”
Wael's concern shifted to one of resolve as he stared back at Kull. His eyes looked like they carried a titanic burden, a burden of knowledge that could crush his soul.
“This is all the work of The Old Ones, Kull. The Serubs, the Legion. The Five. The Five Terrible Kings are mounting a return to Candor. For generations my order, your father’s order, was established to prevent them from escaping their prisons, but someone is changing things. It is apparent now that this war is not a war between Lotte and the Groganlands. It is a war on the Keepers.” Wael stared into Kull’s face. “Your father and Camden were its first casualties."
Kull could not hide the grimace of surp
rise, embarrassment, and revulsion he felt.
“Serubs? You mean to tell me that the Five are behind all of this? This war, my dad being captured, is all because of some old legend in your religion?” Anger swept over him. “That’s crazy. If this stuff was so important, Dad would have told me about it.”
Wael’s gaze did not waver as he responded.
“You said the same thing about the Morels, Kull.” Kull’s eyes fell, and Wael continued, nearly shouting over the clacking rails beneath them. “This is no fairy tale. This is history. History that mankind has long worked hard to forget. The Serubs are real, Kull, and they have powerful followers, followers who have been waiting, conspiring for a time to reveal themselves. Your father, like me, was set apart as a Keeper to prevent the Keys of Candor from falling into their hands.”
Wael’s words made Kull’s brain rattle. Serubs, the Keys of Candor, Keepers. Kull shouted over the loud rattle of the hedgehog’s wheels below them.
“I have one question, Wael.”
“What is it, Kull?”
Kull looked out at the landscape speeding before him, his mind lost in thought. “If your order was such a secret, how did anyone know who the Keepers were? I mean, my own father told me nothing of this, but someone must have. Otherwise, how could they mark and kill the Keepers like they have?”
