Renzhies

by Mara Duryea

  “How did you do it?”

  She swallowed. “I’m a Sylex. I-I heal people.”

  Rezh was silent a moment, and then he said, “Thank you. I’ve never heard of Sylex.”

  “A Sylex is a Cedrite. You’ve heard of Iskerkin, haven’t you?”

  “No. Maybe I did once, but I don’t remember.”

  Gilanra detected an edge in his voice, but didn’t think she knew him well enough to pry. “They kill soulless with their blood. A Sylex is the female counterpart. I don’t kill soulless, but I can heal, and I restore Iskerkin blood—which is different from regular blood. I don’t restore regular blood.”

  Rezh let this sink in. His next question had nothing to do with her powers. “Why did you run?”

  She wrung her hands. “I-I didn’t want you to tie me up.”

  “Syladins steal people. Nobody knew what to think.”

  Gilanra’s brows went up. She had never heard a sunwalker’s point of view. “You don’t have to be afraid. I already got a prisoner, kept him alive for one year, and put him right back on the beach where I found him.” She could hear the pride in her voice.

  “Only one?”

  “We’re only allowed one.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  Gilanra smiled, even though Rezh couldn’t see it. “For school. We have several levels. Before we can graduate to each level, we have to accomplish a task. It all leads up to the final test, which is keeping a sunwalker alive for one year under the ocean. We have to provide them with shelter, air, food, and protection. If we can return them from where we caught them, we graduate and are considered competent warriors, and we become a true member of the tribe. There’s no reason to steal people again.”

  “There are people who are part Syladin. They say the men who take the women—”

  “That’s only the tribes that live deep in the canyon.” Gilanra’s voice hardened. “They’re like animals. They don’t just take sunwalkers, either. You can tell the ones who live in the canyon. Their eyes glow like red lights, and they come out of Midnight Gates.”

  Rezh didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Gilanra, if I promise not to tie you up, or let them tie you up, will you come back?”

  Gilanra thought of Selly. “I don’t think your wife wants me there.”

  “Selly?”

  “Yes.”

  She could hear the laughter in his voice. “She’s not my wife. She’s Potesac’s wife.”

  “Wha—but where’s the baby’s mother?”

  Rezh’s voice took on a steady tone. “I don’t know. It’s just been me and Zhin since he was born.”

  Gilanra inwardly exulted. She could stay. There was no mother. Ha-ha, the baby was hers, and there would be no heartbreak involved. “I’ll come back, then.”

  ***

  Morning light shimmered on dust through the cracks in the tree roots, revealing the dead monster. Blood oozed from every orifice, and its lips were black as coal. Rezh’s knife was still stuck in its arm. Gilanra stared at the beast from her side of the “room.”

  “What is it?”

  Rezh didn’t get up from where he lay. “A mokadut.”

  Terros suddenly groaned. Opening his green eyes, he looked around and started at sight of the mokadut. “What happened? Rezh?”

  Rezh hurried to his side. “It’s okay. The mokadut almost killed you, but Gilanra healed you. I used her poison to kill the mokadut.”

  “Healed me, what do you mean healed me?” Terros eased himself up and observed Gilanra.

  “She’s a Sylex. I saw her do it. She’s already taken a prisoner, too, so you don’t have to worry.” Rezh smiled, and Gilanra followed suit.

  Terros glanced from one to another, and all he said was, “I can see that.” He groaned. “Okay, Rezh, you were right.” He looked at Gilanra again, and the hard expression on his face softened. “Thank you, Gilanra, for saving me.”

  Gilanra had never been thanked before, and didn’t know what to do. She looked down.

  The Miricor smiled. “I’m Terros. We’re wanderers, so we live on the outskirts of society, and we don’t really have a home to go to. We live off of our kiderrins’ backs. Are you prepared to live like that?”

  Gilanra nodded, feeling the reverence she’d perceived the others show him. She felt his protection fall over her.

  “How old are you?” said Terros.

  “Nineteen.”

  “Aside from Zhin, you’re the youngest here. Let’s get back to the bunker.” He led the way out. Rezh and Gilanra followed him like two baby awiks.

  “You have blood on your face,” said Rezh.

  “We don’t have any water?” Terros asked.

  “No.”

  Terros rubbed some of the dried blood from his cheek. “Mom can panic a little.” His face lit up. “Potesac might faint.” He and Rezh chuckled at the prospect.

  Gilanra watched them in fascination. They were so alive. She grinned, basking in their mirth.

  “Terros!” Vaylee’s voice squeaked from among the trees. She ran towards them, maneuvering the twisting branches with ease. “Your face! Happen? Anyat, I thought you all dead!” She grabbed Gilanra by the arms. “What you run away for? You not supposed to do that. What you think this is?”

  “Terros, Selly, and Potesac wanted to tie her up,” said Rezh. “They didn’t know if they could trust her. She heard us talking and ran away.”

  Vaylee’s mouth fell open. “Look at this baby. What make you think she want for to hurt anybody?” She drew Gilanra close and kissed her temple. “Scaring this little minamee for, what’s the matter with you?” She hooked her arm around Gilanra and grimaced at Terros’s face. “What happen to you?”

  Terros explained.

  “Anyat! Thank goodness you still alive!” She kissed his cheek, and then her face lit up. “Gilanra is one Sylex! Come, come, we have one big party to welcome her, like we had for you, Rezh.”

  Gilanra’s brows knit. “You found Rezh, too?” She had the sneaking suspicion that she’d already heard about that.

  “Oh, yes. We tell you the story. Come.” She led the way back to the bunker, holding onto Gilanra as if she were already her daughter.

  When they returned, the baby hugged all of them as fast and as much as he could, making sure nobody got left out. As he patted Rezh on the back, Gilanra suddenly realized that Sizhirin was the baby’s Cedrite father. Sizhirin had sent her to be baked, but Rezh had rescued her from the raft. The pekalas had been singing. The old saying flitted through her head with new power: pekalas lead you home.

  8

  What Ikalkor Did

  Sibare fell into a deep reverie. He’d never known anybody like Gilanra, Vaylee, and Velevy. Even Ikalkor’s mother wasn’t a total loss. She was loyal to Potesac. Women in the family who weren’t nasty, selfish creatures like Sathilla. They seemed like foreign entities. They were all found in one place, too. He’d always been resigned that when he got a woman, she’d end up like Sathilla. Weren’t they all like her? Now he knew otherwise.

  “Good night, Sibare!” Miranel suddenly planted a ticklish kiss on his cheek.

  Sibare smiled. “Good night.” He squished her face between his hands, making her pink lips pucker out. It was a relief to know that Miranel would have good role models to follow. There was something sickening in the aspect of Miranel ever becoming a sliver of Sathilla. He let the little thing go and she hopped away, smiling. She’d already kissed everyone else while he’d been lost in contemplation.

  “Come on, Vijeren,” she said, catching his hand and leading him into the next cul-de-sac. They crawled through a hole in the books. She loved it when Vijeren sang her to sleep. This was one of the secrets Sibare kept.

  N’Nar’s scaly feet vanished through the shelf. His toes tapered to points. His magnificently patterned tail waved at him like it was a hand. “Good night, Sibare.”

  Sibare smiled. “Good night.”

  “See everybody in the morning,” said Rilkin, walk
ing out with the pillows he’d brought hooked under his arm. The Antiminar did everything for Miranel, except tuck her in at night. He seemed to think that it alone was a harbinger of fatherhood. He had a surprise sneaking up on him.

  “Good night,” his family answered back.

  As Sibare stood to leave, Zhin pulled him over by the arm and held Sibare’s face in his hand. “Good night, Sibare.” He kissed his head.

  “Good night, Dad.” Sibare hugged him. “Do I call Gilanra Gramma?”

  “She’d like that. She’ll see your eyes and want to take you swimming. Are you sure you can’t breathe underwater?”

  Sibare laughed. “I can’t breathe underwater. I almost drowned when we went over the waterfall, remember?”

  “Your pipes might be closed because you were born on land. Anyway, my mom—your gramma—she’ll see.”

  Sibare’s brows went up. “Really?”

  Zhin released him and sprawled on his couch. “Yup.”

  “Oh.” Sibare’s mind blossomed with the possibilities. “See you in the morning.” Returning to his room, he lay down and was asleep in a few seconds.

  ***

  Zhin jerked awake, rubbing his chest. It had to be morning. His dad was awake. He was much closer now, like he’d traveled in the night. The anxiety was ruining his sleep and playing with his nerves. Sitting up, Zhin leaned his head in his hands and breathed out.

  Today was the day he’d reveal his secret: why he possessed a tug. Great Cubons, this ordeal had pounced on him like a retsinist at midnight. With his dad’s panic mingling with his own apprehension—no, no, he wasn’t eating anything until it was over. His dark eyes roved to his little one’s sleeping form, and the back of his throat constricted. He couldn’t do this.

  Jumping to his feet, he paced quickly to the front door and swung it open. Muggy air, fragrant with sweet golden flowers, met his nose. There was a slight breeze, like it had taken a bath and was still damp.

  Zhin hurried up the steps and settled in the pot’s shade beside the ashes of one of their cooking fires. At this point, piles of ashes circled the pot like a black pearl necklace. The tug forced his heart into his mouth, and Zhin pulled his knees to his chest.

  “What’s the matter?” he whispered in agony. “Why are you coming?” And how did he know where Zhin was, anyway?

  Feet suddenly pounded up the stairs. “Dad!” It was Sibare. Zhin looked up as the wild-haired boy appeared. He stood in front of the Berivor as if he were about to recite something in school. In almost perfect imitation of Ikalkor’s whining voice, he began. “Uncle Rezh, you must come quickly. Your sons showed up in the middle of the night with a bunch of soulless Metirins. They said Karijin was coming after them. Zhin’s dead, and Rilkin’s legs got eaten off because they ran into a Kosalin and snatched a kossie away. There’s nothing but death and madness and death. You have got to come or we will all die. Ikalkor. Merisyliss, Devvender Territory, Bellecaro Town.”

  Zhin started in confusion. “What?”

  Sibare resumed his own voice, which reminded Zhin of something on the verge of wildness. “It was Ikalkor. He sent Grampa the letter. He woke up after he fainted, and it was long after the rest of us went to sleep. It was right before Vijeren…” Sibare’s jaw worked. “You know. He went straight to the post office and sent the letter.”

  Zhin’s face darkened into a scowl. “How’d you find out?”

  Sibare looked a little guilty. “Uh...”

  “Great Cubons, Sibare, you’re not supposed to Read!” Zhin grabbed his head. “No wonder my dad’s panicking.” He looked back at Sibare. “He’s coming, and he’s coming fast. When he gets here and finds out we’re okay—nnnng!” Zhin threw his face back into his knees. “I’m suffering for nothing!” The Berivor jumped to his feet. “I’ll give that Cubon sucker a new hole in his head. I oughtta wrap his head in his own underwear! Where is he?” Zhin galloped down the steps. “Ikalkor, you blubbering pus bucket, where are you?”

  The enraged Berivor stormed into the aisles. He sniffed the air. The weakest nose in the world could track that foul drunk. Zhin caught a whiff of sour keevo and powerful smoke. He pursued it and soon heard Ikalkor’s steps pattering through the aisles. Zhin rounded a corner, and Ikalkor screamed in terror.

  “You!” Zhin shouted. “You panicked my dad and now I’m suffering for nothing. What were you thinking about, telling him I was dead and Rilkin had no legs?”

  “I needed help!” Ikalkor squeaked, stumbling for the front door. “You all blue and…” He switched to Vaylanian and still made no sense.

  “I’m getting anxiety attacks every ten minutes!” Zhin chased him to Rilkin and Miranel’s reading spot under the stairs. There was a fifteen-foot painting of a red and blue fish lying static on a wooden cutting board. The blue fish pointed up and the red one pointed down. Snatching several books, Zhin chucked them at the whimpering tower of stink.

  “Please, please, aiee!” A book bounced off Ikalkor’s head. “Rezh is the only one I could think of! I couldn’t—” Ikalkor dove out of the way of a leather-bound projectile. “Grampa would come with all the Sivarins!”

  “He can’t,” Zhin barked as he pitched another book at Ikalkor’s head. “You know he can’t, because of the Metirins.” He popped Ikalkor in the butt with an especially large book as Ikalkor jumped behind the cushion where Miranel and Rilkin settled in to read bedtime stories.

  “It looked like Rilkin didn’t have any legs! There was blood everywhere. I thought they were amputated!”

  “Why would they be amputated?” Zhin hurled another book, and it smashed into the red fish’s eye. The painting sunk into the wall and slid to the side, revealing a long white hallway glowing with mirilite embedded into the ceiling.

  9

  Inside the Secret Door

  Zhin’s mouth fell open. Dropping the book meant for Ikalkor’s skinny face, he approached the corridor. Ikalkor hadn’t realized a secret passage had opened behind him, and he jumped back. Instead of hitting the painting like his subconscious thought, he sprawled into the corridor. He covered his head as Zhin strode past him.

  “Huh?” Ikalkor uncovered his eyes and finally realized where he was. “What is this?”

  “I don’t know.” Zhin reached the end of the hall and turned down another passage. It led to a large blue double door with the word Vozhrith printed over it.

  “Oh,” breathed Ikalkor.

  On reaching the door, Zhin pushed it open and walked into a chamber massive enough to house a hundred retsinists with room to spare. It was made of beige sandstone, and the floors were shiny black. Ten soft black chairs were gathered in the middle of the room like a bunch of chattering friends. Their size had been miscalculated by the Sirix who made them, and dwarfed even Zhin.

  Ikalkor squeaked. “They look like tall men!” He jumped behind the Iskerkin.

  The couches did sort of resemble people. Zhin approached them and climbed into one of the chairs to assure Ikalkor they were furniture. His feet dangled off the floor.

  “They feel really soft,” said Zhin. “Try one.”

  “I couldn’t possibly!”

  “Great Cubons, Ikalkor.”

  From where he sat, Zhin noticed a stairway hugging the wall. It led to an open walkway, where a row of windows looked into empty offices. The walkway curved behind them and disappeared. The light seemed afraid to go back there alone. Zhin looked to his left and spotted a set of dark gray doors with the words Cleaning Room etched above them. Now there was something that could be useful. There might be nothing inside, but if there were books in the library, something could be left.

  Leaving the couch, Zhin stepped to the door and peeked inside. Oversized white Kabrilor beds stood in four rows. The sheets and blankets were twisted, like in frozen death throes. Light brown cabinets lined the walls, their doors thrown wide and tossing up their guts of bandages, bags of dried medicine, and red and white patient robes. Two tiled rooms, housing big cleaning tubs for the wounded, we
re in the far back.

  Ikalkor’s stench approached Zhin’s shoulder from behind. “How messy.” He sounded totally disgusted.

  Zhin ran his eyes over Ikalkor’s green fur, stained clothes, and matted hair. “Yeah.” Leaving Ikalkor standing by the cabinets, he approached the tubs. These giant square things were flush with the floor. Silver faucets curved from the small blue tiles and arced over the tub. He didn’t expect them to work, but he pulled one of the levers anyway. Water gushed out, and Zhin beamed.

  Ikalkor suddenly yelped, and something crashed. Zhin spun around with a jump, and saw Vijeren and the other Metirins had come in. Ikalkor had leaped and smashed into a cabinet.

  “This was here the whole time?” said Vijeren, ignoring his uncle’s bulging eyes.

  “Looks like it.” Zhin picked up a bag of herbs. “Now, let’s see if the medicine works. If it does, we’ll heal better.”

  “Should we change our clothes?” said Rilkin, examining the red robes and white pants on the floor. “They pretty trashed.”

  “Let’s do it,” said Zhin, “even if the medicine’s gone bad.” He filled a tub with water and pinched blue herbs into it. The liquid colored a deep, almost artificial blue.

  N’Nar approached the tub. “Let me try it.” He unwrapped his arm. The skin around the criss-crossing of stitches was red and irritated. He dipped his limb into the blue water. Foam bubbled violently around the stab wound. N’Nar’s body stiffened as his face contorted in pain. Wiping the involuntary tears from his eyes, he smiled crookedly. “It works.”

  “Just don’t faint on me,” said Zhin, noting the inordinate amount of foam.

  “Was my arm about to catch an infection?” said N’Nar.

  “It was infected,” said Zhin, and leaned on the head of the tub. “That’s what too much foam means.”

  If N’Nar’s ears were on top of his head, they would have pricked up. “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  N’Nar swished his arm in the tub like it was a toy.

  “Change your clothes, Ikalkor,” said Rilkin.