The Alterator's Light

by Dan Brigman

  “We were attacked! The Guardians. How did he fight them alone? He blinded me. And that other battle further behind us. It sounded worse than what Einar dealt with. Much worse.”

  The flurry of words kept them quiet for just a moment while she alternated her focus on each man. After looking at Julian a third time, she stopped. He stared at the right side of her neck, the side she had been rubbing almost since she had stood up. Under his gaze, Saen moved the hand to her lap and held it there, still holding Einar with her other hand. When he continued staring at her neck, she felt her hand move of its own accord to the area Julian’s eyes focused on.

  “You can serve me by looking elsewhere, sir,” Saen said. Nervousness hinted within her request.

  “My lady, Saen Lorst, I do apologize, but I can’t help myself from looking at your Mark. It’s new and still catches my breath. That’s not a good thing for a pipe smoker like me. I do need all the breaths I can get.”

  Saen turned to Quint; at first, she smiled, but within a blink, a frown made her face look so tired that Quint nearly stood to carry her back to the bench. Instead, he waited for the question he knew he’d have to answer eventually.

  “Quint, what Mark? What is he talking about? I’m not getting many answers to my questions. I can’t take much more of this. Einar pulled me away from Durik’s Pass to visit areas I’d forgotten or had not thought of in years to find his family. Now, complete strangers are treating me like a Blighter’s taken me over.” She looked at Quint, her eyes pleading for answers. Even Julian had turned to look at him.

  “Fine,” Quint began. “Saen, I don’t know how to put this without straining your currently weakened state even more.” He paused to let out a deep exhalation. “It seems I have no choice with the two of you looking at me like children awaiting their father’s decision to travel to town for treats.”

  Saen’s incredulous face brought a flush to Quint’s cheeks, and Julian’s face, his beard hiding most of his ire, forced Quint’s focus back to Saen’s eyes. Her eyes shone in the lantern light, glistening like the two moons, Einmyria and Azuleus, which had once been one.

  Quint’s gaze dipped to the floor, and Saen released Einar’s hand, scooting over in front of Quint. She gripped Quint’s chin, coarse from several day’s growth, and lifted his eyes to meet hers. Her hands, tender skin and fine bones, gripped with strength that he could not fight, not now anyway.

  “Let me know,” she breathed. “For whatever you hold inside will only plague your mind until it is released.”

  “You are an Inheritor,” Quint said, hearing a gasp from across the room, but not stopping, “You have been Marked. Just a few minutes ago, actually.” Quint closed his mouth, fearing what else might come out. During the brief admission, Saen only smiled. When he did not continue, she released her grip from Quint’s chin and moved back to Einar. She laid her head upon the cot near Einar’s wound and closed her eyes, a slight smile upon her lips. A tear formed, ran down her face, unbidden by a hand, and dropped to the white sheet. Another tear fell dampening the spot. The two men glanced at one another, thinking she may have fallen asleep.

  Not lifting her head, and after another tear slid down, Saen uttered, “I never really knew my parents. How could this happen? And of all times, now, to me? I’m a village innkeeper. Not some hero out of The Legends of Suntzu and Seraphina.”

  “You’re not reacting as I expected, Inheritor. Nor am I, for that matter. I truly didn’t think I’d ever meet another one in my life,” Quint explained.

  “Another one?” blurted Julian. “You mean to tell me that you know more?” He had stood, his beard bristling, and his cowl turned back. His long grayish-brown hair seemed to flow behind him. Quint could do nothing but nod. It probably won’t help if I mention that I know two others. The question mystified Quint, as he had forgotten that nearly all people still thought of Inheritors as nothing more than myths. He had even thought he would show the Mark one day. Hubris corrected me on that line of thinking. The thought faded away, leaving a recognized hollowness at what he himself had hoped to be, knowing the potential power that could be wielded by such a person. He had always hoped he would use that power for good. He knew now that it made no difference.

  “What will happen to me now?” Saen shattered the outrage still on Julian’s face.

  He replied, “I can’t say, Inheritor.” Julian stated the title begrudgingly and laced with disbelief. “I’m sure your friend here will offer some sage words.” Turning to the doorway, he looked askance at Quint and continued, “At least he’d better.”

  Julian opened the door, then said, “I need some fresh air to think this through. I’ll have some explaining to do to the crew. They’ll be wondering what that bright light was.” Seeing Quint’s face, Julian forestalled him, “No worry, sir. Her secret is as safe as I can make her on this journey. For you and the other, I can’t say. I trust her, being what she is and all, but you are not very upfront with your words, given the manner of our departure.”

  Julian gave them one more passing glance before opening the door and departing. Quint turned from the closing door to Saen. Her eyes, now open, focused on the closed door. With her lips barely moving she asked, “Can you answer me, Quint? We need some good news.” She shifted her glance to Einar’s sleeping form.

  “You will grow, Saen. You’ll change in a way that very few will ever understand, perhaps even yourself.” Quint paused. He noticed her eyes still glistened. I shouldn’t say this now, but she needs to know. “And you will be hunted.”

  Quint closed his mouth when Saen raised her head from the cot and looked up at him. She mouthed “hunted” and all he could do was nod. Saen’s eyes teetered down; her shoulders shook from sobs. As her face buried into the cot, her reddish-brown hair spread over Einar’s bed roll and only a few strands covered the Mark and Einar’s hand. Before standing, he looked at the symbol emblazoned upon the woman’s neck—a symbol given by the Originators. None of the others reacted this way. Elation had washed over them. The thought of the power drove some in the past to burn out. But, she, his thoughts pausing, after seeing the lines of the Mark, cries. And, I don’t think it is for herself. While he studied Einar, by whom Saen sat by on the dirty barge room’s floor, Quint knew she cried for her friend.

  Quint had shut the door quietly as he walked out of the room. The narrow passage along the side of the barge barely allowed him to stand forward. Einmyria’s light twinkled on the river’s water, and only a few passing clouds shadowed the landscape. The crisp, early spring air highlighted his breath. Quint stood just outside the doorway, grasping the thin, waist-high wall which formed a tight railing that wrapped around the ship. At the other end of the barge, Quint caught movement.

  At least three figures, silhouettes along the barge’s flat roof, stood speaking conversationally. One voice traveled, but not loudly enough for Quint to hear anything distinct. He saw them point at Quint, and all three voices spoke simultaneously. Probably deciding on whether we should get thrown into the river. Quint turned back to the river. The black ribbon of water broke the horizon as far south as Quint could see. On the eastern side of the river, vast plains stretched for more miles than he could remember traveling. The western side fostered the Veinriven Mountains. Their largest peaks hid in cloudbanks seldom allowing a view. Those mountains supposedly hid horrible things—things Quint had to laugh or cry at, all depending on who told the story and for what reason. Things even he did not want to remember.

  As Quint stared out at the vast plains, his thoughts turned back to the people in the room. Einar Amakiir, an Alterator, who will need to accept what may happen. And his oldest friend, Saen Lorst, a new Inheritor. These two are going to have enough trouble, and now they must deal with her being a living legend. Or so people will think. No good will come of focusing on this mess—his thoughts broke as he started at a voice, just a foot from him.

  “You’ll be fine.” The voice matched Julian’s, and Quint jumped in spite of himself. />
  “No need to sneak up on a man!” Quint shouted.

  “Sneak up?” Julian snorted, his derision plain. “I couldn’t have made more noise, unless I had wanted to rip the Scraper to pieces.”

  Quint glanced sidelong. The captain’s wiry beard broke from a wide smile. Within one of Quint’s cloudy breaths, the smile disappeared. Julian put a gloved hand on Quint’s shoulder and said, “I can grant you passage to Vesper, but that is lucky on your part. You’d better thank the gods I was able to talk the men down.” Even in the half-light of Einmyria, Quint’s surprise brought another smile to Julian’s face, this time wide enough for his white teeth to show.

  “With all that gray you have on your head, you’re surprised my men wanted to run you and those two,” he pointed behind him, “into the river? When she shone, it must have been like a lighthouse’s beacon protecting the shores of the Jasten. They took that light for ghosts, it was so bright.” Quint’s downturned brows forced a laugh out of Julian, cut short by Quint’s quick turn.

  “So, after what you’ve seen, you’ll just turn us out.” It was a statement, not a question. “We have to—no, need to—go to Tolsont, Julian. By foot or horse, it’ll take a week from Vesper’s Point, if they don’t string her up when we get off this barge. By ship, a few days at most. The river’s thawed, but we could still encounter a late snow and the roads’ll slow us down more than they’ve already been.” Quint’s and his companions’ hopes rested on this captain. Turning, he watched Julian, to see if he had swayed the man. The captain stared out at the passing river and shoreline.

  “I do understand your predicament.” He paused as Quint spouted a blast of air from his widened mouth. Quint’s eyes narrowed. Julian turned and glanced at Quint. “Hear me out. I cannot even begin to fathom what you have on your hands with them. But my crew was already strained at the late-night departure no matter how much money you’ve given. I’d explained to the crew you three would be off at Vesper. They’ll enjoy a fine pile of coin, but riverfolk are a superstitious group.” Julian turned, his eyes wide, and continued in a near whisper, “If I told them what I thought was on the Scraper, I’d have a mutiny on my hands. Some of the men hail from Vesper, you know.”

  Quint shook his head. “No, but I’m sure we’ll do just fine making our way on the road. I wouldn’t want any of your precious sensibilities upset by the thought of such a being upon your ship.” His voice rose, and he only stopped when he felt the back of Julian’s hand. The blow didn’t have his full strength, yet Quint felt a tooth come loose.

  “You’ll mind your tongue on my barge. If you bring the wrath of those men down on you, then, by the gods, you’ll wish your mother never heard your father’s name.”

  Quint raised a hand to the cheek, feeling for anything broken. When nothing seemed out of place, he replied in a hushed voice, “You didn’t need to hit me that hard, man.”

  “Apparently I did,” Julian stated with no remorse in his voice. His voice softened somewhat, a hint of the earlier friendly tone, “Now get inside and rest. We will be at Vesper before sunrise, and I plan to see your backsides before I see Sol’s rise.”

  Nodding, Quint turned to the door, pulled the handle, and stepped inside.

  Julian looked back over the expansive plains, spring winds blowing over the fields of wild river oats and rustling the random trees still-dormant branches upon the prairie. Placing one hand over his eyes, he thought he could see a small gathering of white horses, too dark to tell the breed, along the shoreline. The barge slipped along the river passing the herd without disruption. Julian gazed upon one standing in the water, tentatively drinking from the blackish river. The water rippled around its front legs, disturbing the nearly perfect duplicate upon the surface. If only such beauty will remain when these Inheritors reclaim their so-called place on Solis. And do their duty this time. Julian’s thoughts faded as the view of the horses diminished to the north as the barge swept inexorably south.

  Quint could only stare at the tableau within the captain’s room as he closed the door behind him. Saen still lay next to Einar, both presenting a paragon of peace. Quint frowned. The rag had fallen from Einar’s forehead, which was now gleaming with perspiration. Heat seeped from the stove, but it was not hot enough in the room, considering its true size, to cause anyone to sweat. If anything, the heat barely kept Quint from seeing his breath. Lingering fever. Not a good sign. Quint grabbed another strip, dipped it into the pitcher, and wrung it out. Neither person stirred as Quint placed the damp cloth on Einar’s forehead. Einar moaned and mumbled under his breath, something Quint could not decipher. Quint strode to the bench, took the pillow, and placed it on the wooden floor. He loosened Saen from the cot and laid her back upon the floor. Grunting at the amount of dirt on the floorboards, Quint laid her head as gently as possible on the pillow’s top. He removed his cloak and with both hands flung it out. As it fell, he guided it to fall over most of her form.

  “That’ll have to do. We won’t be here much longer,” Quint muttered. Tiredness scratched at his eyes. He stepped backward until he reached the bench. He sat, placing both hands on the rough wood. “I just need to rest for a bit. I’ll need my own strength for them, at least to get them to Kirian. What Kirian does with them, I don’t care.” The words issued without conviction as his eyelids, seemingly weighed down, closed his final sight of Saen’s Mark through his blurred vision.

  Dreams of the blinding flash, the Mark, and his conversation with Julian meshed together, turning his sleep into a string of nightmares. A final dream ended with Saen turning her eyes, which were blazing with hatred at him, for killing Einar. He felt a shaking. In the dream, the world shook, and he knew the end was coming. The shaking persisted until he thought it would never end. Then his eyes opened of their own accord.

  They felt glued together while he attempted to sit up. After three attempts, Quint pushed up to one elbow, only to see his two companions and the captain studying him. Sunlight streamed through the room’s sole window, and he held a hand up to block the glare.

  “What,” he said to no one in particular. “Can’t an old man get enough sleep these days?” By Quint’s tone, he did not want an answer.

  “I didn’t see an old man yesterday. I saw a caring man taking care of two foolish children, one of which got in way over his head,” Einar said. His voice sounded weak, like an ill child’s. He coughed and Quint squinted to where Einar now sat upright on the cot. Saen sat next to him, her hair disheveled, yet her eyes held an alertness that Quint envied. The sunlight streaming down shone upon Einar’s head, which was beaded with sweat. Even his upper lip glistened. With that, Quint sat up, wishing he could lie back down and sleep until whatever wrestled with his sanity would go away.

  “You don’t look so well, boy.”

  “I don’t feel so well, Quint. I’m sure I’ll be better once we get to Tolsont and I can talk some sense into Ellia. The children must be frightened so badly by what’s happened to them.” Einar paused, his head bowing, “I know I have some blame for what’s happened, but surely not all.”

  “I’m sure your health will improve. I can’t speak for your marital problems.” Quint groaned as he stood. “I feel like this barge ran me over. Bah! I’ve been through worse and with people much less than you all. Even you, Julian.” Quint took in Julian’s narrowed gaze and nearly laughed. Quint turned his head to the window and continued, “It must be near noon. I thought you said we’d be off this boat before the sun rose?” The thought of that much sleep helped wash away some of the fatigue.

  “Aye, I did say that, but I didn’t consider how tired the crew would be by the time we docked at Vesper. We rarely work through the night like that, but gold seems to push men beyond their normal boundaries. All of the crew who saw the flash of light are sleeping. I’ll not wake them, but you’d better be ready before Sol hits its height. Or you’ll be wondering why ol’ Julian didn’t just scoot you off this boat.’” He winked at Quint as he stood. “Well, now that yo
u’re up, you’ll want food and water, old man. Your friends here will get it for you. They’ve been awake for some time now.”

  Julian nodded at two companions as he stood and walked to the door. The companions watched him leave without a word. All they could do was look at one another. Saen’s eyes had changed; a knowing fleshed them out, as plain as the sweat dripping down Einar’s cheeks. Quint looked at him and his blanched face. It held no recognition of what she had become.

  Putting that struggle aside, Quint asked, “Well, where’s the food?” Saen smiled, her eyes thanking him.

  For what, Quint did not know, but she replied, “I’ll get it. Einar, just stay put. We’ll be moving soon enough.”

  Saen departed the room, and Quint studied the wound after grabbing some clean cloth strips. Once he pulled the rags away, he frowned at the sight. The stiches held in place, but the skin around the gash had darkened, leaving the surrounding flesh seemingly brighter. Even the stitch holes had widened around the stitching. Quint pressed a finger to the skin, barely touching the surface, and a whitish fluid seeped out of the wound. Odd, it should be nearly closed after that many hours.

  “That doesn’t feel or look fine,” Einar whispered through gritted teeth. Quint pulled his gaze up to Einar’s eyes. They held no fear, just pain wrinkling the edges.

  “It isn’t fine, to be sure,” Quint replied, his tone grim. “I’ll not lie to you. It doesn’t appear to be infected, but there is something else there that I’ve not seen before.” He looked back at the wound. While Quint placed the new strips, Einar leaned forward. “You’re sure one of the Guardian’s blades got you or was there something else you may have missed in the battle?”

  Einar nodded. “The blade. He slashed me right before I put him down.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me then, to help me understand?” Quint finished the last of the wound coverings, and Einar settled back. “We’ve only got less than an hour before we need to be moving.”