Within a few minutes the drainer was filled with sparkling plates and pots. The cook stared at her work, his mouth twitching and his eyes confused.
“See, y'learn from me, good job,” he said slowly. “Now,” his mood brightened a bit. “We cook.”
Impyra wanted to groan, but she didn't. Instead she smiled patiently; a practiced expression that was nearly an art form from her time in the Tower.
“Turn on the burner,” the cook said, waving vaguely toward the stove.
Reaching out to the knob closest to her she could feel that the mechanism was broken. The energy sparked just beyond reach. The device was almost sorrowful in having lost its purpose. Closing her eyes, she extended her energy, resetting the lose connection.
“Not that one,” Gilly was saying, his back turned, “it's broken.”
A sharp puffing noise announced the fire as it sucked in air to ignite. The cook turned in surprise. This time he glared at Impyra suspiciously.
“Maybe it wasn't fully broken,” she blushed.
Gilly squinted at the fire with a frown. “Y'ain't a normal girl,” he accused, glancing back at the dishes. “Can ya cook?”
Impyra shook her head, “No, not really.”
“Too bad, y'have to help. No more tricks, got it?” He pointed a grimy finger and she nodded.
With his arm extended she was able to see his forearm. A tattoo of a lighthouse standing amidst crashing waves grew from his inner wrist to the middle of his arm. Aware that she took notice he quickly dropped his hand to his side. Her eyes widened. Had he been a slave, too?
“It's dangerous,” Gilly said, “Cap'n Dei'Brenen's a good man, ye’ve nothin’ t’fear on the ship” he told her firmly. “But, in the world it’s dangerous.”
She understood. For years she used her talents with great caution to avoid detection. Freedom was making her negligent.
“Now, we cook,” he smiled, showing off the gaps in his grin. “I'll teach ya.”
* * *
Sheyra's first decision as the new cook for The Seafarer's Lodge was to make Lineya more comfortable. Outside the temperature had dropped noticeably during the night and she didn't want the girl to freeze to death. They were just finishing meager breakfast of toast made from stale bread and cups of bitter coffee when Sheyra sat up straight in her chair. Lorsen and his daughter jumped at the unexpected movement.
“I propose that this morning I take Lineya down to the shop and purchase her an outfit for winter and some new shoes,” Sheyra announced cheerfully.
She enjoyed their shocked expressions that followed her display of generosity. Lineya's face brightened in a mixture of excitement and caution. Her eyes fixed on her father, pleading.
“That's more than we could ask for,” Lorsen said quietly.
“You didn't ask,” Sheyra pointed out with a smile. “I offered and I won't take no for an answer.”
He couldn't refuse. His daughter needed clothes and Sheyra was happy to help. She found it interesting that only a few days ago she'd clung to her credits, guarding them closely. Those days were done. She’d discovered real happiness in choosing to spend freely on strangers in need of help.
It was liberating.
Outside, the snow had continued to fall during night, covering the street in a thick layer of white. Early winter was usually mild with rain. Snowfall was rare, and blizzards were almost unheard of. Undeterred, Sheyra carried Lineya on her back to the car. The shop was only a few blocks away, but the girl was in no condition to walk the distance even on a summer's day.
The interior of the shop was brightly lit, contrasting against the gloomy day. Ro'Awnor-Clee was a prosperous village with the port, and the shelves were stocked with more variety than Ro'Tesche-En had ever been. She was beginning to feel like a regular. For a brief moment she reminisced about picking out food with Brosen and Impyra to take on their journey.
Lineya hurried to the clothing racks and began looking through the available items.
“Pick something warm,” Sheyra called after her, “We want it to last the winter.”
She decided to purchase herself something for herself as well as a coat for Lorsen. Pulling a heavy gray sweater from the rack she held it up, closely inspecting the knit. Across the room the shopkeeper stood behind the counter, watching them closely. Sheyra glanced at him and he turned away quickly, busying himself with organizing items in a small bin. Sheyra shook her head.
“Can I get any color I want?” Lineya asked timidly from the other side of the rack.
“Yes, as long as it's warm,” Sheyra reiterated.
“This one?” the girl held up a dark purple sweater with a pocket in the front and a hood at the back.
Sheyra smiled. “That would be a good choice,” she said.
After making their final decisions, Sheyra lead Lineya up to the front. The young man smiled nervously as they approached.
“Hi, Lineya, where's your dad?” He asked.
“He's at the tavern,” she said, placing her sweater and new shoes on the counter.
“Who's this?” He asked, his dark eyes met with Sheyra's, full of suspicion.
“This is Sheyra,” Lineya smiled. “Dad hired her to help in the kitchen. She's buying me some new clothes.”
“I can see that,” he looked confused. “I'm Jairon. You were in here yesterday; twice if I remember correctly.”
“That's right,” she had a vague memory of him from the day before.
“What happened to your friends?” He was attempting to look innocent but his questions were unwelcome.
“They're gone,” she said flatly.
Jairon finished calculating the price and smiled. “Sixty credits,” he held out his hand.
Sheyra handed him her card, her eyes watching his face. He hesitated before swiping her card, almost as if it made him nervous. At last he gave in to something and the credits were approved. With everything paid for she sent Lineya to the dressing rooms to change. The girl was energized by the kindness of her new friend, her face glowing with joy.
“You know they don't have the money to pay you for your work, or to reimburse you for all of this,” Jairon said, his voice colder than before.
Sheyra's smile stayed in place. She wasn't going to allow him to ruin her day.
“I know,” she said. “Sometimes you help people for reasons other than money.”
Jairon blinked, surprised by her response.
Lineya returned. She put her arms out and spun to allow Sheyra to appraise her new outfit; sweater, denim pants, water proof shoes, and warm socks. To complete the ensemble was a warm coat with a hood and gloves.
“Do you like them?” Sheyra asked gleefully.
“Yes! I love them!” Lineya beamed.
“See you around,” Sheyra smirked at Jairon, her point proven.
“Bye, Jairon,” Lineya waved, oblivious to the confrontation, as they stepped out the door.
Back in the car Sheyra took a deep breath. Perhaps she should have moved on before settling in to find the resistance. Good luck had been on their side, but she wasn't yet safe from suspicion. It might be wise to leave Ro'Awnor-Clee behind for the next town.
When she looked at Lineya, however; she knew she couldn’t break her promise. If Jairon turned her in to the Enforcers, it would it would be worth it. She would stay.
* * *
Brosen found himself below deck with two boys, Leyk and Jek, to scrape rust from the piping in a dimly lit corridor. Dressed in dirty white t-shirts and worn denim pants, Brosen found it hard to tell them apart. He wondered if they were brothers. Although they were too young to be teenagers, they both glowered with the surly expressions of much older men.
Taking advantage of having Brosen on their team they used the opportunity to work less and talk more. They confidently discussed usual topics for boys who considered themselves incredibly knowledgeable about worldly affairs.
“If I was the Enforcers,” one of them was saying, “I'd catch those traitors
real fast. Ya jus'gotta be a bit smarter, if ya ask me.”
He held up his hands as if he were holding a White Energy gun, one eye squinted shut as he aimed for an invisible target.
“It's like this, boom boom pow kaboom!” the room echoed as he mimicked the noises. “Then ya bury the bodies.” He dusted off his hands to impress upon the simplicity of his solution.
“No one did ask ya,” the other boy grumbled. “What do ya know about bein' an Enforcer? Ya can't even shoot a gun. Besides, they tried that didn't ya see?”
“I saw,” the first boy said. Dejected, he began scraping the wall close to where he was standing. “Y'ain't any fun, Jek.”
Brosen glanced over his shoulder at the boy. A tuft of brown hair poked out from under his cap. He must be Leyk. The other boy's hair was darker and slicked back with sweat. At least it was a start in getting to know them.
“I heard the bastards blew up Ro'Tesche-En,” Jek said.
Brosen focused on his work, clenching his teeth. Refuting the lies of the media would only draw unwanted attention. Perhaps someday the truth would be revealed. He doubted it.
“That's what traitors do,” Leyk responded casually, as if he were well versed on the subject.
“You watch the news about the traitors?” Jek asked, eyeing Brosen suspiciously.
Suddenly glad his hair was dyed, he took a moment to consider the question.
“Not really, my mistress doesn't allow us to watch the screen.”
He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He had hesitated too long; they wouldn't believe him.
“Hey,” Leyk said, taking a moment to examine Brosen closer, “Where ya from anyway?”
Brosen's mind went blank. “Ro'Tesche-Ala,” he said. “Where are you from?”
“Dad works in the engine room,” he said. “Ma is from Gillinera,” she stays there. “Dad said workin' the ship'll make me a man.” Leyk puffed out his chest proudly.
Relieved his question turned the conversation, Brosen merely smiled with a patient nod,
Jek turned away and started chipping at the rust on the wall behind him. The slump in his shoulders combined with his withdrawal from the conversation said as much as a vocal answer. He must not have parents. It was a common tactic for the orphan kids when others were talking about family.
“Yer traveling with a lady?” Leyk asked.
“That's right,” Brosen said.
Leyk tilted his head, curious. “Is she yer wife?”
“No.” Brosen blushed, quickly turning back to his work. “She works with me. We're friends.”
Focusing on scraping he decided it was a futile job. The ship was so badly rusted they might poke through to the other side.
“Yeah, right,” Leyk snorted. “I saw ya get on the ship. Ya love her. I bet ya like t'kiss her.”
The boy made kissing noises and Brosen felt the back of his neck growing hot.
“See, look, Jek,” he laughed. “I knew it!”
“Shut up, Leyk,” the other boy mumbled, still upset by their previous discussion.
“Bunch of crybabies,” Leyk sighed, rolling his eyes as went back to work.
Brosen wondered if other people were questioning his relationship with Impyra. He hoped not. Leyk was just a boy and prone to tease people, that much was obvious. He wouldn't be upset if Impyra was thought of as his wife. The assumption would give them a simple explanation for their companionship while traveling. Impyra might not like that idea, though. She would look at him with mistrust in her eyes as she tried to calculate what darker purpose using such a title would include.
He realized he was scraping the same spot over and over. Brosen stopped to stare at the wall.
The reality was there must be something obvious in his behavior toward her if the kids noticed. That was the first time he'd allowed the thought to fully take hold. In his mind her face flashed through all of the moments they'd spent together. She was quiet and unassuming yet also a force of nature. He didn't know how to describe it, but hearing it out loud made it tangible.
Enforcers weren't allowed to love.
They could empathize, maybe. Love, however; was unacceptable. The only bonds allowed were with their fellow soldiers to ensure they functioned as a team. Breeding was not an act of partnership. The bloodlines must be continued. Their assigned mate was a warm body to carry their seed into the next generation. When that child was old enough it would be plucked from her arms and sent through the training machine.
Brosen remembered his mother; the vague image of a smiling face in a halo of brown hair, her green eyes glowing tenderly. That was all he knew of love.
The tangle of emotion sat heavily in his chest. He couldn't understand it but he also couldn't let go.
“Hey!” Jek shouted next to him. “Are ya gonna scrape or do we call the cap'n?”
Brosen blinked, wondering how long he'd been lost in his thoughts. “Sorry,” he tried to smile. “I was thinking.”
“Almost time to eat,” Leyk said. “You can think then.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Garinsith spread a black cloth in the shape of a circle on the floor, carefully smoothing out any wrinkles in the fabric. At the center he placed the Bloody Sirka, a blade he knew well but had long since put out of his mind. The enchantment was one of his first attempts at shaking the pillars of history.
Long ago a discontented chieftain desired to overthrow the balance of power and lead the tribes. Turning the Ekar to his cause was simple, but a greater obstacle stood in his path; the Dreave. Mighty warriors capable of magic, the unnamed clans ruled the northern plains undisturbed while the named clans hid in the safety of the Na'Effilan Forest. The Ekar would not have succeeded in taking the land from them without assistance. Young Petor granted their wishes with enchanted swords and armor for the war.
Garinsith caressed the cold steel, savoring the memories of days long past. Death. The magic hummed behind his eyes. For a moment he considered sharing the history of the Bloody Sirka with his soldiers, but decided against it. They wouldn’t understand the reasoning behind bringing the Dreave under the yolk of the budding Empire and birthing the Enforcer army.
“We are ready to begin,” he said, kneeling with the sword’s hilt before him.
The Mutilators took their places; Lethel to his right, Tyn at the blade’s tip, and Kevie to his left. Placing their hands in their laps, they bowed their heads in meditation.
“Be wary as you reach out to the sword,” Garinsith warned them. “It is devised to take hold of your desires, feeding off of them and enhancing your skill. The enchantment is vampiric in nature, seeking blood and thus empowering the wielder to feats far beyond his own ability.”
He closed his eyes, allowing his mind to open and embrace the ancient spell.
Blood. Garinsith felt the urge for destruction tear at his defenses.
Why should he continue to play such manipulative games when he could be the true leader of the world? The Akar may have been struck down by the wrath of Syerset once, but that was initiated by intense magical warfare upsetting the balance. He alone would not be at war. It would be a simple task to take control. No one alive would be capable of defying him.
Taking the sword in hand, Garinsith quietly rose to his feet. In a single arch he swung the blade, first ripping through Lethel’s throat. She gurgled in surprise, eyes wide, before falling on her side. Kevie leapt to his feet, but too late. The Bloody Sirka tore through his abdomen and he staggered back, confused. Tyn was lunging forward, energy charged at his fingertips in the hopes of stunning the Master Keeper before he could strike. Instead, Garinsith pierced is chest, putting his full weight behind the thrust and shattering the Mutilator's rib cage.
Garinsith pulled back, tearing at the force of the illusion with the sheer will of his mind. He would not succumb to the suggestive nature of the blade.
We don’t need them. The words filled his mind.
Grasping at the thread of energy he wrenched it free
from the metal.
You hide behind the weak. Take command!
He forced his own will into the sword, suppressing the energy until it began to relent.
Garinsith had forgotten the tangled and evasive manner in which he’d woven the spell, preventing tampering from the likes of his cousin Winifred. She was one who would disenchant objects to ensure they did not fall into the hands of the Ekar, rather than seeing the use in granting power at will.
At last he felt the enchantment quiet, his mind grew still. He listened as the metal resonated naturally with its connection to the earth. Garinsith floated in the peaceful darkness of his own mind. Around him, the undisturbed life energies of his soldiers flickered brilliantly, supporting him in his work.
Only then did he begin the task of laying a new enchantment along the remaining grooves of the old, much like reusing the foundation of a collapsed building.
He already knew which spell he would intertwine with the blade. It must not only function in rending the slave girl powerless long enough to be captured, but also to speed the awakening of Syerset. There had once been such an enchantment used to bring the most powerful societies to their knees. His people simply named it the Seeker.
* * *
“Your Majesty,” The Imperial guard bowed and saluted.
“Yes, what is it?”
Seated at his desk, Ka Harn took a deep breath as if roused from deep thought. He had not heard the emergency notification buzzing on his computer, which answered automatically, and was startled by the sudden voice.
“There has been another purchase made with the ID card from the citizen of Ro'Tesche-En,” The guard said, keeping his voice steady. “Citizen Sheyra Gei'Dessa, or her card, is still in Ro'Awnor-Clee as of this morning.”
Ka Harn rubbed his chin, his face darkened by the news. “Has the Master Keeper been informed?”
“No, Your Majesty, we thought to inform you first.”
“Very well,” the Emperor said. “Unless they purchased passage as a ruse, it appears we have a third traitor to deal with. Send a message to Garinsith that he needs to complete his preparations as quickly as possible. We can't allow this cat and mouse game to continue.”
Darkness Falling: Soldiers and Slaves Page 15
