by Dan Brigman
Jaken readied to stab downward into his heart, if the Guardian had a last-minute surge of life. But Jaken only had to relax back on his haunches. The life flowed out the Guardian within moments. No words. Just sickening gasps of air that bubbled blood out his larynx. Masten’s pale-gray face faded further with the loss of blood. When the Guardian finally stopped moving his skin matched the color of a blizzard’s snow, furthering brightening the room. The blood’s pool soaked the white pillow and sheet. Light reflected the inky black puddle of lifeblood. After sixty counts, Jaken stood and stabbed the sword’s point down to ensure this foul thing’s death. He reached over and closed Masten’s eyes, the panicked pupils still dilated and blaming. He carefully wiped the still-wet blood on the Guardian’s chest, then checked the blade in the moonlight for any possible missed spots.
“You’ve got only yourself to blame for what finally happened, Guardian. You blight-created spawns kill with impunity until your brand of justice is served.”
The words could not hold back the sudden onslaught to his stomach. He reached for the washbasin and emptied his stomach. Murder never sat well in Jaken’s mind—even all the bazen’s layers could not withstand his actions. He poured water into a tall glass, gulped it down, then grabbed the twin swords. A trophy, or a mark of shame? Jaken thought as he slipped back into his room after he gave the body one last glance.
The door pulled back into place and re-locked with no trouble. Jaken filled the porcelain basin with water and scrubbed away the blood. Then stuffing another two logs into the stove and concealing the swords under his pillow, Jaken traveled back downstairs with alacrity. Only the whispered padding of socked feet gave Yabusan any indication someone had entered the room.
“Is it done?” the innkeeper asked from his seated position in front of the fireplace.
From the bar, Jaken replied, “Yes.” He paused, glancing at Yabusan. “I’ll have a mug of spiced ale.”
Yabusan spun in his chair, his face a mask of surprise. Only the grin on Jaken’s face kept him from berating the man. The grin held no humor or solace. The grin offered only a further degradation of the Commander’s sanity.
They both drank a full mug of ale, silence persisting until Yabusan offered, “Get some sleep. You’ll need it. Dealing with those children and all. I’ll take care of the mess. Now, rest.” The last came as a friendly order and Jaken nodded. Yabusan heard the road guard close his door, and the innkeeper retrieved a sheet of paper. Only a moment passed before he began writing a message to his own master.
Jaken Holst woke an hour before sunrise, feeling as though a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders. One that had been placed there yesterday, yet had enough bulk to feel as though it had been there for years. The initial shock of what he had done flew though his mind. Flickers of panic pulled Jaken to the side of the bed, his feet ready to spring to action. Could he still be alive? Somehow? Then the memory of the Guardian’s ever-paling face flashed through Jaken’s mind.
The hired road guard put his forehead into his hands in an effort to let his breathing and heart rate calm. After all these years, killing a Blight-spawn did not necessarily mean the thing stayed dead. This time there had been no motes of light. No reconstructed flesh. Nothing but blood-soaked sheets and a ruined pillow. Jaken rubbed his face before sitting up straight. He dressed quickly, laced on his sword belt, and departed after locking the door. He had hidden the twin swords within the bed slats, as that would be his death sentence if anyone but Yabusan found them.
When Jaken reached the common room, Yabusan sat waiting for him. Jaken flashed him a surprised glance before the innkeeper replied, “What. You don’t think that mess would clean itself up, do you?”
Jaken nodded appreciatively. “I’ll get the mounts ready. We leave at sunset whether or not the Ter Sa’un agrees with me. We’ve got to move.”
“Don’t let me hold you up. She’ll have the children down here soon, then. I’ll have breakfast waiting for you.”
The road guard exited the Ohnerben Inn and stopped to take a deep inhalation of the crisp morning air. Each exhalation put a white puff out in front of him. Nothing moved on the streets, and only the crackling of thawing snowpack on roofs reached Jaken’s ears. The ground’s snowpack bore almost no tracks and a half-blown-over set of boot prints must have marked the Guardian’s entry last evening. Both moons and countless stars dotted the unclouded sky and illuminated Jaken’s path better than any set of lanterns dotting the city’s streets. Light at the street corners is all this town dared to expend. Fortunately, Tolsont would have oil lamps and the occasional altered lamp every ten paces.
Jaken looked down either side of the street. Only a handful of lights poured from windows, leaving yellowish rectangles upon the snow at odd angles here and there. His boots crunched through the snow, shin-deep in most spots, until he reached the barn. As Jaken pushed back the door, the few mounts whickered in surprise. He felt heat flush against his skin rushing to escape the large open barn, and he stepped inside before closing the door behind him.
Jaken wasted no time in readying the mounts. Within fifteen minutes he had them saddled and waiting with reins tied to the posts in the barn’s middle. With feed bags tied to their heads, they ate complacently without registering Jaken’s departure. At the inn’s doorway, he knocked the snow from his boots and opened the door. He paused to let the warmth radiate over him. The barn had been several degrees above freezing, yet his fingers and face had chilled. The inn’s comfort and complacency lured him in, trying to convince him to rest for another day. Just as Jaken felt the pull of just one more day, he heard Celex’s voice reverberating down the stairs from the hallway. Jaken could not make out the words, but the young boy’s pleasant tones were unmistakable. Three other voices, subdued by Celex’s, reached Jaken’s ears. He stood at the bar waiting for them to reach the common room.
Ellia arrived at the front of the group, offering Jaken a quick nod of recognition when she stepped off the bottom step. As each of the children sat together at one of the vacant square tables, Yabusan informed them of their breakfast choices. Ellia took a seat next to Jaken, and the children’s conversation quickly filtered to background noise.
“Celex is doing much better, it seems.”
“He is,” Ellia replied after asking the passing Yabusan for coffee and breakfast. “I don’t care what it is, just bring it with the children’s.” Yabusan nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
They sat quietly, absorbing the children’s chatter until Yabusan brought their drinks and meals. Silence within the room persisted with the occasional scraping of utensil against the white metal plates. Jaken glanced at Ellia and the children throughout the meal. Ellia’s face had aged five years overnight. Sleep and a few good meals will erase that stress. Celex’s pale face brightened with each bite. Kylia and Eosy stared downward at their plates, offering scant smiles when Celex caught their glances. Only once did the sisters look at one another. Worry etched the edges of their eyes, and frowns wiped away the pleasant mask they had placed on themselves. Yabusan had not seen such devotion for longer than he could remember. Have I ever seen such devotion? What will this merchant, Ryukin Amakiir, do with these people? Jaken pushed the unbidden thought away, knowing that such thoughts could compromise his own needs. I can’t get attached to them.
All five ate mechanically, most lost in their own thoughts. They barely tasted what lay in front of them, despite how well-cooked the eggs, bacon, and oatmeal could have been. Yabusan removed the finished plates and refilled drinks as necessary. Sol had risen, unnoticed, until rays crept in through the windows.
Jaken stood first. “Gather your things, children. We leave within the half hour; that is, if your mother agrees?”
Ellia shot him a surprised glance, her coffee mug still held to her lips. Jaken’s grin returned, waiting. The children had stood as Jaken asked the question, their eyes on Ellia. She set the mug upon the bar top, then replied, “Yes, of course. Please do a
s our guard directs.”
Before she finished, the children pushed in their chairs and rushed upstairs, their voices quiet the entire trip. Ellia turned to Jaken after watching her children, then said, “Thank you, Jaken.” She tilted her head only slightly, then continued, “You’ve changed. In just a few hours. I won’t go as far as to admit that I know you well, but you’ve definitely changed. Why?”
Jaken shrugged his shoulders to give himself enough time—barely a breath—to re-establish a layer of bazen. He felt the need for its welcoming calmness. Even though, he thought, even though I told myself I wouldn’t use it unless absolutely necessary. Jaken let his shoulders settle, then took in Ellia’s waiting gaze. Her eyes, those of a normally-protective mother, now blossomed into a person who would brook no argument or hesitation. Yes, my bazen is necessary. Lying would not be option under her scrutiny, but a simple bending of the truth could not be detected.
“Change? I don’t think I’ve changed.” When she arched one eyebrow, he continued, “If anything, I’ve finally realized the significance of my duty to protect you and the children, no matter what you may think my motives are.”
Ellia sniffed in disbelief before sipping once more from the coffee. She stood, then replied, “I don’t care what your motives are, Sir. Expect to do as you’ve been paid. Anything more is on your conscience.” She walked toward the hallway, pausing two paces from the bar. She turned her head to the side without looking back. “But if you make the same mistakes I made with these children since I departed Durik’s Pass, then I’ll ensure the authorities revoke whatever type of permit or certification Sacclon and any other province has given you.”
“Mistakes, Ellia?” Jaken let the question slip out. This conversation could not end without some explanation, considering the threat leveled at him.
She glanced forward and paced to the edge of the stairwell. Jaken opened his mouth to ask the question again, but this time more loudly. When she stopped and sighed with a foot on the first step, he closed his mouth. “My mistakes are simple and tied to two problems—problems I should have carefully considered—problems you should carefully consider, if you want to continue to travel with three children, one who is now weakened by my mistakes.” Ellia paused, a hand now on the hand railing.
“Ellia, I want to help you, but you’re being rather vague. We don’t have much time before we leave, so please set my mind at ease. Without riddles.”
“One problem is my desire to keep the children safe actually brought them to danger. My desire to flee overshadowed my reason. The second problem is just as bad. I hastily departed my home of fifteen years just so I would not have to lay eyes on that man again. My husband, whom I still love, somehow. I feared if I saw him again, I would not be able to leave. My haste and my lack of careful planning nearly got my son killed.” Ellia stopped. Her voice had become ragged.
Jaken saw her pull a handkerchief from somewhere within her sleeve. She rubbed it against her eyes and nose for a scant moment before continuing. “No mother should be so desperate.” She paused, and Jaken could hear her taking in a deep inhalation. “I’ll leave you to your duties, Jaken Holst.” Ellia strode up the stairs and disappeared within seconds.
Jaken turned back to the bar, readying to take another drink of coffee. He caught Yabusan standing at the kitchen doorway.
“Have you been there the entire time?”
Yabusan nodded and held his palms up to his side. Jaken flashed him a disgusted look, prompting Yabusan to reply, “What? This is the common room, road guard. It’s not exactly the best place for private conversations.”
Jaken blinked and nodded in agreement, giving the innkeeper widened eyes of an apology. “Yes, of course, but at least you’d have the decency to announce your presence.”
“In the Ohnerben, every patron should assume the innkeeper is omniscient.” Yabusan winked and when Jaken offered him a disbelieving stare, Yabusan continued, “At least within the confines of the inn’s walls. To forget that universal tenet is to forfeit your life or knowledge. Sometimes both.” Yabusan let his eyes slide upward to the exact location of the Guardian’s room, now vacant and, Jaken hoped, clean.
Even through the bazen, Jaken noted Yabusan’s rule and realized for the first time that all innkeepers must follow such a rule. The bazen’s offering of clarity of mind should never be underestimated. Jaken could hear his master’s words perfectly at the back of his mind. The old man’s intonations had been drilled—
Stop! The internal shout stopped a train of thought Jaken did not want to follow. The shout also decimated the simplest layer of bazen. Sighing, Jaken thanked Yabusan for the meal and hospitality before traveling to the stable again to fully ready the mounts.
The clear, blue-black sky in the west juxtaposed with the rising Sol’s effect on the east. Brilliant fiery reds and oranges highlighted the high cirrus, and intermingled lower cumulus clouds. A few early morning stars, probably a planet or two floating overhead, twinkled. Jaken took one last glance while his body acclimated wholly to the cold. A light breeze blew from the northwest, and his face chilled with each slight gust, yet Jaken’s breath formed straight ahead, the gusts barely affecting it. Good, the day should be calm. He dared not to believe it now, anyway, but he thought it may get warm enough to melt some of the snowpack.
“Originators, keep us safe,” Jaken muttered and laughed at the absurdity. He had said the habitual mantra long before he had killed an Originator. A flash of his mother’s presence besides him would, if anything, keep him saying it. He would keep saying it, despite Jonathon Stoutheart and his threats. The other Originators would offer some form of sanctuary, if they were able. Whether they care or know about someone like me is beyond my reckoning.
The mounts stood where he had left them tied up. He pulled off their feedbags, re-tightened the numerous straps, and ensured the Guardian’s twin swords remained buried within his thick bedroll. He refilled each of the five canteens after working at the barn’s interior pump for several minutes. By the time Jaken led the three mounts, he could feel a thin sheen of dampness under his thick layers of clothing. At the inn’s long hitching post, Jaken tied their horses’ reins carefully before wrapping his cloak more tightly around his body. He placed a woolen skull cap on his head. Despite its snug fit beneath his ears, Jaken could hear plainly through holes knitted in place for them. Lastly, he wrapped a thin piece of cloth around his head with narrowed slits for his eyes.
The mounts stamped their hooves in the snow while they waited, their even breathing pluming out long, wispy white clouds. None of the three mounts seem perturbed in the slightest by the cold. Nodding, Jaken turned to enter, but only walked one step when the inn’s front door opened. Jaken gave the children a bright wide grin. Celex made his way to the mounts, followed by Eosy then Kylia, their eyes squinting at Sol’s reflection off the snow. Jaken handed each child a similar cloth.
At Celex and Eosy’s questioning glances, Kylia offered an answer, “For preventing snow blindness. Out there on the plains.” She pointed, luring their gaze south along a road hidden by snow. “You can either keep your eyes closed or put those on.” She demonstrated for her siblings, and they followed her lead without comment.
Once prepared, Ellia arrived and donned her own cloth without a word. Jaken examined them from head to foot. Each wore thick leggings under the skirts, or in Celex’s case, two thick pairs of pants. All had thick wool caps, hoods, and heavy coats. Woolen mittens or gloves satisfied his examination before he helped them mount in the snow, shin-deep in places to Jaken, but thigh-deep to Celex.
Eosy and Ellia would ride together, and Kylia held on strongly to Celex’s waist on the other mount. All but Celex waited with somber expressions. Celex held a grin, one offsetting his still-pale face.
“If your lips begin to chafe, let me know,” Jaken said while he mounted.
He spun the black around with a grin, his cloth pulled up over most of his eyes. His wide smile, brightened by Sol’s reflect
ed light off the snow, shone something new to Ellia. The grin, for the first time she could recall, reached his eyes. No deception. No illusion of fakery. Just sincerity and good humor.
“Originators keep us safe,” Ellia muttered. She felt her cheeks redden at the words, loud enough for everyone to hear. She hoped her cheeks had already reddened to match the children’s faces.
Jaken grinned wider, his head tilted, and eyes narrowed. His mouth hung half-open, ready for a laugh. “Indeed, Ellia. May the Originators keep us safe. But,” he paused, one palm held up in front of him, “I plan on doing my best to keep them from needing to be bothered.” He laughed, the delight in his voice reaching the family. All four glanced at one another, the pent-up stress within their cheeks and shoulders diminished.
“Celex. Tolsont is our destination, correct?”
The boy nodded, his smile nearly as wide as Jaken’s. “Good,” Jaken said as he motioned them forward. When they traveled five paces ahead, Jaken turned to face Yabusan. The innkeeper had stepped outside just as the family’s mounts strode ahead.
“Don’t get attached to them,” Yabusan intoned. “You’ll have more regrets than the day you didn’t finish the job on the battlefield.”
The grin on Jaken’s face vanished. He turned to face the Amakiirs, now several paces further ahead. When Jaken glanced back at Yabusan, the innkeeper had already stepped inside and was pulling the door closed behind him. Jaken kneed his black mount forward and caught up with them.
Ellia asked, with more patience than Jaken had heard since they’d met, “Any problems?”
