by Dan Brigman
“Of course, Ter Sa’un,” Kylia replied. She glanced at the shelf, surprised that she had missed the paper and tea.
“Very well,” Pauna replied. Her voice softened as she turned to Celex and said, “Young man, you’ll sleep now. Your body suffered great damage. Your mother,” Pauna began before she glanced at Ellia, “made the right choice in seeking me out.” Pauna smiled faintly then departed, shutting the door almost soundlessly behind her.
Ellia stared at the door until the door clicked, as if believing the physicar would come back at any time. Without taking her gaze from the doorway, Ellia said, “Kylia, prepare the tea, please. Your brother needs everything he can get to help him feel better. Pauna Ter Sa’un’s patience evaporated at having been called out in this weather. We’re lucky her mood held throughout her visit.”
Kylia nodded before preparing the tea. The pot neared to boiling while Kylia worked. Celex looked on at her movement, his eyes appreciative and wide. Kylia reached for the instructions and held the letter near the firelight. Ter Sa’un’s handwriting spidered its way across the surface making an initial reading incomprehensible. Kylie smiled as thoughts of Durik’s Pass filled her mind. Only one kind-hearted young teacher had written in such an old-fashioned way. The teacher, Marthle Kurn, had stressed every year since her first year in school to keep the traditions alive. Marthle’s voice, high-pitched and sonorous, proclaimed the benefits of arcane skills: handwriting, reading and writing more than one language, advanced mathematics, learning about Alteration, and the many varied natural laws.
Her friends had scoffed or laughed at Marthle Kurn. And despite Kylia’s protestations to them to learn from all their teachers, Kylia understood, as she refocused on the paper, that even her studying had not been enough from Marthle Kurn. A third re-read of the instructions began to offer a glimmer of understanding, and Kylia set to work.
Celex observed her sister with a silent curiosity. When she nearly dropped the tea kettle on the narrow desktop, Celek tightened his lips to push back laughter. Beaded sweat on her brow and cheeks, borne by a mix of concentration and fire, furthered Celex’s curiosity. His mind sharpened at the fine movements of Kylia’s tea preparation, nearly perfect in execution until that minor slip. Once at the table, her lithe fingers and arms moved only enough to dump the packet’s contents into a metal porous steeper, followed by the pouring of steaming near-boiling water into an eggshell white porcelain cup. Even when Kylia placed the sheet on the desktop and waved a hand above the cup, Celex’s eyes transfixed fervently upon her preparation. He did not, at first, notice Kylia’s index finger glowing to leave a faint circular trail of light twice the circumference of the teacup’s rim. He sniffed at the smell of rain, strange in the cramped room.
Kylia’s eyes focused on the instructions only a moment longer before turning to the teacup. Celex’s curiosity erupted, his eyes widened, as Kylia simply stilled. Her eyes broadened at the hand, as if a viper had grown out of the end of her arm. The finger’s slight light disappeared a breath later, just as she shifted her gaze to Celex.
“You can’t tell anyone,” she whispered. Her voice took on an edge Celex had never heard before.
Is she going to hurt me? Celek thought. Panic wavered at the edges of his eyes. Her eyes narrowed with her scribing hand upon the table, the scribing finger tapping. Under those fierce eyes, Celex felt himself swallow and nod, not knowing what else he could do. No words worked their way to his mouth to bolster his acquiescence, yet the motions seemed to soften Kylia’s gaze until the door clicked open.
Celex and Kylia turned to face whomever entered, their heartbeats quickening. Eosy stopped, her mouth half-open, as she began closing the door behind her.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice squeaking despite her effort to not sound surprised.
Kylia replied, “Didn’t you ever learn how to knock before entering.”
Eosy’s confused face conjoined with Celex’s wide-eyed distress brought a long, deep sigh to Kylia’s lips. The anger at letting herself give away the secret washed away at the sight of her siblings’ fear. Only a slight nervousness claimed a place in the pit of her stomach. Kylia relaxed her shoulders and motioned Eosy inside. For the first time in her life, Kylia felt bone weary. More so than on any of the trips father had taken her on—even the trip west years ago to the Lyceum.
“Close the door, sister. I’ve got a lot to tell you both.”
Under their scrutinizing gazes, Kylia recounted what she had learned from their father. Kylia reminded herself to relax throughout the retelling while emphasizing at the end that this is a secret. Tell no one. She had whispered the admonition at least twice. By the end, her confidence slipped at their confused faces. Kylia glanced at her hands. A nine and a seven-year-old are supposed to keep this a secret?
Ellia sat in Ohnerben’s common room. The steam from the clay mug’s coffee wafted to her face. She held it two-handed and close to her lips, blowing to cool the liquid. The slow exhalations gave her time to think. Since they had left their home, whatever plans she had formulated over the months had fallen through without fail with one notable exception: they had traveled part of the way. Two thoughts flashed alternatively in her mind like a lighthouse beacon. They stopped when she latched onto the first that would settle in her mental grasp.
Celex had nearly died. Ellia ruminated for few seconds over that thought, but she squashed the blossoming guilt before it clouded her mind. I can’t let that overwhelm me. That’s the second time the boy nearly died in the cold. The bitterness of her thoughts matched the coffee on her lips. She licked furtively while the image of Celex slipping through a pond’s frozen top floated in her memory. She motioned with her free hand, somehow hoping it would stifle the influx of degrading feelings. Ellia paused, tilting her head and sniffing the coffee’s crisp fragrance. The motion had helped, but only for a moment. She envisioned her own fingers glowing, then she blinked to wash that illusion away. Ellia sighed, remembering again what she had contemplated for years, hoping it would never happen.
Her oldest daughter knew the beginnings of Alteration. What could Einar have been thinking? She stared into the mug’s blackness. The opaqueness offered a clearer picture of her path to Tolsont than she had when stepping out on the road. She sighed before taking a long, slow drink of the still-hot coffee. Her teeth, tongue, and the roof of her mouth felt on fire, and only then did she set the mug down on the stained, round wooden table, large enough for two people.
With her back to the wall, Ellia had been able to observe all the inn’s few patrons. The few brave or desperate enough to travel through the blizzard. Until now, though, she had paid little attention. The large fireplace and the hanging lanterns shone enough so no one sat in shadows. Jaken and Yabusan sat at the short wooden bar, their glass mugs showing half-finished brown ales. Ellia could make out nothing of their whispered conversation. An older farmer, his face bowed over a metal plate of stew, paid little attention to the prattling of a woman, old enough to be Ellia’s grandmother, across the table. Ellia smiled sardonically. A remembered hope that she and Einar would be together for many years had flashed soon after Celex’s birth.
Other farmers sat or stood, staring into the fireplace or out the windows. Only one man even looked in Ellia’s direction. She focused on him for no more than a second, before shifting her gaze. When she scanned the room again, the man had stood, took a last draw of his drink, and set a coin on the tabletop. He turned and strode to Ellia’s table. Despite his short gray hair and deep wrinkles, he bore no appearance of tiredness or stiffness for a man his age. Each movement held a grace Ellia had only seen in experienced soldiers. Men and women who had seen too much death and had avoided it. At either side of his belt, two shortswords hung, seemingly part of him.
With no preamble the gray-haired man stepped next to Ellia. He laid a bared hand on her shoulder, the grip firm yet concerned, and Ellia felt herself pull back. Despite the movement, the hand kept her in place.
“What—” Ellia began before he cut her off. His hand became a vise, her eyes widening at the grip. She shifted her gaze upward at his piercing gray eyes just as he shook his head and bent down close to her ear.
“Those two,” he whispered, “at the bar mean you no good. I’ve seen the tracker before. He’s not someone you want to travel with. Find someone else.” He raised back up, and before he could pull his hand away, Ellia grabbed his wrist.
Confusion lined her face as she whispered, barely keeping her voice low, “I don’t know you, old man. My family is under his guidance.” When his penetrating gray eyes narrowed, she continued, “Now leave me alone or I’ll call for help.”
He twisted the held wrist almost imperceptibly to Ellia’s eyes, and it came free of her grasp. “You should be more careful of who you let guide you and your family, ma’am. There are more than just highway robbers and murderers laying in wait along the road.”
“That’s exactly why he is traveling with us,” Ellia said, the whisper gone. Movement at the bar turned her gaze away from the stranger. Jaken and Yabusan had turned on their stools, both taking in the stranger. Ellia caught a familiar look on Jaken’s face as he stared at the older stranger. Yabusan’s demeanor shifted from friendliness to annoyance in a blink.
From across the small common room, Yabusan said, “Quint, you know better than to bother my patrons. Leave the woman alone, or do I need to send you out into the blizzard?”
He stared at the stranger, expecting an answer immediately. His sharp voice had caught everyone’s attention, even the old farmer and his wife. Everyone turned to face the stranger known as Quint. When he said nothing for a few breaths, Yabusan jumped from the stool, his face a mask of outrage and disbelief. Before he could take a step, the stranger held up a hand. No malice illustrated by the outward-facing palm; a simple silent order to stop. Ellia’s mouth dropped open, as did Yabusan’s when he stopped with one foot forward. He was not frozen—just taken aback. Ellia’s glance shifted to Jaken as he reached for his sword. He mumbled a curse when he imagined the sword on his bed upstairs and of no use now.
When the stranger known as Quint spoke, his voice ripped Yabusan’s still-hanging words apart, as if the innkeeper held no more authority than a shrill child crying for a meal.
“Yabusan, you should know better than to question me.” The stranger’s gray eyes widened as he continued. “I mean no one in this establishment any harm. I was just finishing a conversation with this young woman.” He lowered his hand to one of the hilts and nodded down to Ellia.
Ellia’s mouth opened further when the innkeeper nodded. His mollified features could not hide the anger simmering in his eyes. Quint’s eyes locked on Ellia’s, and he finished with whispered words, sympathy pulling at the corners of his eyes. “I hope you take my suggestion. There are other guides. I’d take you myself, but I have other folks I’m charged to find.” He reached over and squeezed her shoulder before departing without a sound and a hand still on one hilt.
Within a breath, the common room’s inhabitants relaxed as the threat of violence dissipated as quickly as it had formed. Ellia glanced at Jaken before he shifted on his stool, readying to reply to Yabusan. He paused for a breath to watch Ellia’s focus, then shrugged his shoulder. He followed it with a grin, then turned his attention back to Yabusan.
He seems fine, but what does the older man see?
Over the next hour the thought bounced around in Ellia’s mind, but no answer formulated despite a nagging sensation. Is there a problem with Jaken or had the stranger been confused? She took one last drink, then stood before climbing the stairs to check in on the children.
Yabusan and Jaken paused their discussion in the minutes following the mother’s departure. The room had nearly emptied throughout the morning—patrons had either gone back to their rooms or had sat by the fireplace to wait out the storm. Now, only the old farmer sat in a high-backed wooden chair snoring contentedly with a brown cat dozing on his lap. Firelight accentuated the farmer’s cragged and fissured face and his chest’s gentle rise and fall.
The room’s other lights had been snuffed out to save candles or so Yabusan had complained. Soft white light diffused through clean windows to mute the room’s brown and black wooden walls and furniture. Even the bar’s long mirror reflected pale light, still doing little to push back the room’s shadowy corners.
Yabusan poured Jaken another ale before looking at the old man again. He nodded with his eyes focused on Jaken, then said, “Why don’t you just take them to Gorgion’s stepwell? Bypass that old bastard Ryukin altogether.”
Jaken grinned for a breath, then sipped the brown ale before replying. “That’s not possible.” Jaken leveled his gaze. “And you know it.”
He took another sip before Yabusan scoffed. Yabusan wiped the bar top with a pristine white rag to remove the wet ring of condensation left over from Jaken’s mug. With Yabusan’s eyes down he could not have seen the slap that nearly unhinged his jaw.
Yabusan staggered backward against a low counter of liquor-filled bottles. Several clinked and tumbled over. The innkeeper recovered a heartbeat later, confusion and anger reddening his face. Yabusan pushed away from the counter, uncaring that more bottles toppled over. His focus narrowed to just Jaken, enough so Yabusan lost sight of anything else in the room. The innkeeper stepped forward and a pinprick of metal stuck into his chest. Yabusan stopped, his palms planting into the bar top halting his forward momentum.
A dull gray, almost black sword hung rigid in the air, its end faintly piercing Yabusan’s chest. Jaken stood, his waist braced against the bar’s opposing side. His right hand held the sword aloft implacably, the left hand loosely gripping the other sword’s hilt. Yabusan’s eyes shifted from the sword blade piercing his chest to Jaken’s gray eyes. At a loss, Yabusan smiled and the bubbling rage seeped away from both men. Just as Jaken pulled the sword tip away, the old farmer snorted in his sleep. Snoring resumed and was only interrupted by the two men’s laughter.
Jaken wiped blood from the blade’s tip, inspected it, then sheathed the blade in the time it took for Yabusan to refill their mugs. As the guide sat, Yabusan turned from the tap and said, “You could have killed me, you know.” His serious tone held a tinge of shame.
“Maybe,” Jaken replied. “But your reflexes kept you alive. That’s all any of us can ask for. And that no man derides my decision when my mind is made up.”
“Fine. Maybe next time, don’t slap so hard.” Yabusan gripped his jaw gingerly. He winced and gritted his teeth. Pain pulled his eyes closed. A few breaths later, he continued, “I’ll be lucky to be able to even kiss a lady anytime soon.”
“I didn’t think you knew any.”
Yabusan bit off a laugh before snapping his teeth back together. “Don’t make me laugh, damn it. My jaw’s really going to be sore tomorrow.” He rubbed his face again.
Jaken grinned before taking a sip of the ale. “I,” he paused. “No, we must stick to our orders.”
“Do you really think an Originator is going to get you? You’re a survivor. Gorgion and his Guardians all try to scare us with their ghost tales.” He laughed again before wincing in pain.
I must have cracked him harder than I thought, Jaken thought.
“Yes.” Jaken met Yabusan’s eyes. “I know one, in particular, will ‘get me’ if I don’t follow my orders.”
Yabusan glanced over Jaken’s shoulder to the old man for a moment. The snoring continued, and Yabusan turned back to Jaken. The guard’s face had paled. “Jaken, what are you talking about? Originators mean nothing. Not to me and you, anyway.” Yabusan scoffed again, then watched Jaken guardedly while he took a sip from his still-full mug.
“Jonathon Stoutheart is my concern.”
Yabusan blinked then replied. “Jonathon…” He trailed off before pausing, his confusion plain as his disbelief. “An Originator? He was a fine general, surely. The commander of their armies.” Jaken stared at him. Once, you wouldn’t have tho
ught of the enemy as something to be striven for. “But he died in the war, didn’t he?” Yabusan lingered long enough for Jaken to reply; he nodded without conviction, as if he simply agreed with a common myth, but did not have the energy to debate the point. “Everyone knows how he died, Jaken. He led a charge of foot soldiers at the Battle of Jasten’s Reach. After slaying dozens of the Altered soldiers, he went down under dozens of cuts. Probably the only way to kill someone like that.”
Yabusan trailed off with a smirk on his face. Jaken had forgotten how much Yabusan had talked about Stoutheart’s exploits in the years following the war. And after they both had a change of heart once the Alterators had taken emergency control of the Sacclon province and all adjacent provinces. They had signed up to fight the blight’s resurgence, but not to deal with the iron fist of Alterators. Or so I had thought. They gave up power willingly once the Five-Year Peace had concluded, just as they had promised. Jaken studied his old friend’s face. Time had blunted that once-adoration for a general who led a force of blight-soldiers, yet Jaken knew he had to tread carefully.
“He did die that day,” Jaken said. “I saw it with my own eyes, but he is most assuredly alive.”
“After all these years, you, of all people, are going to feed me a pile of offal?”
Jaken’s eyes locked on Yabusan’s for a scant breath before Jaken began. Then, Jaken’s gray eyes lost focus, his memory working through the scenes of that battle lingering in his mind. He had always feared his sanity would slip if he ever spoke anything aloud. But once he began speaking, nothing but death could have stopped him.
18 — The Road South
The Tolsont Road offered easy passage south for Einar and Saen. Traveling through melting snow during the daylight hours allowed for quick traveling, but by the end of the first day and reaching another sanctuary, the companions’ renewed vigor had worn thin. They carefully portioned out their supplies after inspecting their packs’ contents. Holli had prepared the packs for only two days’ travel and not three. Neither companion said a word about the miscalculation, but their mutual glance of disgust upon realizing the slight on Holli’s part would reaffirm the need to double-check their packs in the future.
