by J. E. Klimov
The man wore loose white pants and a green tunic that clung around his skinny frame. He narrowed his white eyebrows and gestured with his arm.
“I don’t get it,” Bence said. “I want to buy a fish skewer. How much?”
Grasping Bence’s arm, the vendor lined it up with his. “Same color,” he finally said. Then, he pointed to his eyes. “Green color. Are you Irellian? But you are built much taller than the typical male. And your face is so plain.”
“Plain? You mean compared to paint on your face?” Bence yanked his arm back.
The man waved his arms in the air and hummed. Bence’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, but no one paid attention to this behavior.
“For the last time, how much is a fisher skewer? Or maybe I’ll just take it from you–”
The humming stopped. He whacked Bence’s hand away from his merchandise. “The paint on our faces is our way of expression.” His eyes bulged from his head. “And for the youth, it is meant to beautify. Enhance our features.”
Walking backwards, Bence raised his hands up. “Okay, sure. I’ll find my food elsewhere.” He slinked away, unable to understand what had just occurred. Running his hand over his face, he murmured, “I hope he’s the exception to Irellian behavior.”
Beyond the lady with the spices was a booth with jerky strung from its ceiling. The vendor, a Foti, busied himself with a cleaver and hunk of meat. He hesitated. When the wolf-like creature caught his eye, he waved his paw. Bence approached cautiously, searching for any signs of recognition.
“You’re going to sweat to death in that cloak, friend,” the Foti said. His rust-colored fur glistened in the sun. “You must be new here.”
“How very astute of you,” Bence sighed. “How much for a dozen strips of jerky? Any type of meat.”
“I sell only Kana meat.”
“You eat those things here?” Bence’s eyes widened, and the Foti flicked his mane with impatience.
“Of course,” the Foti huffed. “Ever since the Dunya migrated to Deran, those feral beasts multiplied by the hundreds, infesting the area. They’ve become quite the hazard at this trading post. So, my brothers and I tasked ourselves with population control and decided to make money on the side.” He winked. “I’m Giphon from the Bridge. Where are you from, friend?”
“Deran. But they were never considered food.” Bence trailed off. Kana were vicious creatures with deadly beaks that could crush bone and sharp talons that could rip off limbs.
“Deran? Hakan’s the chief of the Foti tribe there, right? We Bridge Foti are so proud of him. A rivalry between Foti of the Bridge and Volkwood dates back hundreds of years. But enough of that. What do you have for payment? At this bazaar, we received multiple forms of compensation. Norlenders use one type of currency, while Irellians use another. But if you have any precious metals, that’ll speak to everyone.”
Digging his hand into pocket, Bence reached for a copper coin. “Will this do?”
Giphon brushed at his mane with a paw, nudging aside the long braid embedded with onyx stones. “I don’t think so.”
“How about two copper coins?” Bence fished for another coin, carefully avoiding making noises that would reveal he had more money. “That’s all I have.”
When Bence presented two copper coins, Giphon huffed. “If that’s all you got, you’re not going to get very far.”
Giphon stretched his hind legs and snapped off a string of meat with his jaws. He carefully counted twelve strips and wrapped them in parchment paper. He snatched the coins from Bence’s hand and replaced it with the bag of meat.
“I wish you luck on wherever you’re headed.”
Bence pulled out a piece. “Which way to Irelle?” His teeth ripped into the jerky. The strip was tough, but the smoky flavor saturated his mouth. Bits of pepper provided a pleasant heat on the back of his tongue. If Giphon hadn’t told him, Bence would never have guessed it was Kana meat. Chewing thoughtfully, Bence found the gamey texture reminded him of venison.
“Go east. But if you travel on foot, you’re in for a painfully long day. This area is a high-desert, so the heat is dry, but it’s going to be humid over there. Irelle can be unforgiving. I recommend renting a horse.” He pointed his paw a few tents over where a score of mares snacked on the sparse grass.
After he finished the first strip, Bence said, “Thanks.”
“Oh, and sir.”
Bence stopped halfway out the tent. “Yes?”
“Word is there’s a fugitive on the loose from Deran. I don’t recall the name.” Giphon tapped an extended claw against his wet, black nose, but it didn’t hide the ever-so-slight smile. “But… I hear he’s a ruthless bastard.”
Flashing a feral grin, Bence said, “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for him.”
When he entered the main walkway, sweltering heat bore down Bence. He unfastened his cloak, threw it over his shoulder and headed toward the stable. The stench of horse manure wafted in the faint breeze. Holding his breath in apprehension, he caught the eye of the stable-hand. He wore a bandana, and his face was painted similarly to the vendor that sold fish.
“Hi there.”
The stable-hand didn’t budge.
“How much to rent one of your horses?”
He took off his bandana and wiped his face, smearing the white paint across his cheeks. “For you, foreigner, one gold coin.”
“Excuse me? ‘Foreigner?’ So I get charged more?”
“I can charge whatever I want, and if you can’t afford a horse, I recommend you keep moving,” he spat, drawing two daggers from his belt. Twirling them around his fingers, he pointed one at Bence and another one east.
Bence’s fingers twitched. He knew he could grab his own dagger and hurl it at the man before he could blink, but a group of boys flocked into the tent, pointing at the horses. They gazed in awe and chattered excitedly amongst themselves. Ami’s voice flooded his mind. Grinding his teeth, Bence restrained himself.
“Fine, then. I don’t need a horse.” Bence squared his shoulders and stormed out of the tent.
Tent after tent, Bence passed by Foti and a diverse crowd of people. Some were stocky and pale and others were lithe and tan, much like himself, with various colors painted on their faces. The sea of bodies meshed into a myriad of colors. Savory scents wrestled with fried dough and sugar. Each booth sold items Bence had never seen before: ivory statues, wooden bowls and utensils, clothing made from feathers, leather, or cotton. At the end of the trading post, Bence spent two bronze coins for a pouch of water, sweetened with nectar.
After taking a swig, Bence left the bazaar behind and veered onto a sandy road. A weathered wooden sign pointed east, stating “Irelle.” The path was set on a steady incline of dirt and dying shrubs. Its naked braches rattled as rodents darted about. Green plants, five to six feet tall and covered in thorns, thrived and occupied the spaces in between the dry brush. On them, yellow buds popped from their flesh.
“The lady said the nectar comes from these… Kacterous.” Bence took another swig of his drink. The subtle sweetness filled his mouth with an herbal aftertaste. Shrugging, he said, “Not bad.”
He trudged along the path, making frequent stops on nearby rocks. As he traveled farther, the heat expanded into a thickness he could slice with a blade. He rolled up his cloak and stuffed it the best he could into his satchel. It didn’t click shut, but Bence couldn’t carry it over his shoulder any longer. His tunic clung to his skin, damp with sweat. Only a few miles in, Bence already finished his drink and consumed half his jerky.
After another five minute break, Bence stood, and the world spun around him. Clutching his head, Bence closed his eyes and stumbled forward. Completely lethargic, and he feared that the slightest breeze would knock him over. When he opened his eyes, everything appeared fuzzy.
In the distance, a large, greenish-brown mass glistened. Bence figured it was some boulder, and he clamored toward the shade it cast. When he reached the formation, he collapsed.
Bence wheezed from the cloud of dirt, and every time he swallowed, his throat felt like rubbing against sandpaper, but he was relieved to have found protection from the sun.
Throwing his pack to the side, Bence sat up and fanned his face. Doubt dripped down the nape of his neck along with his sweat. A nagging tug in his chest warned him that, judging by his progress, he may not be able to make it to Irelle. Leaning onto the boulder, Bence looked up at the sky. He’d have to wait until dusk before pressing forward. However, if his prediction was correct, the night would bring a bitter cold. He didn’t have much protection from the sun, but at least he had his cloak to keep him warm.
When Bence shut his eyes, the boulder shifted. He clambered forward and blinked, focusing on the slithering mass before him. That’s no rock. It’s a reptile. No… A…
Silver rings pierced her snout, and when she shifted her weight, her scales glistened with a scarlet hue. Her eyes outlined Bence and halted at his neck. Her pupils dilated as she flicked her tongue.
“A Dunya,” he marveled. “Could it be? Avani?”
Unhinging her jaw, she released a high-pitched roar. The Dunya pawed the dirt with her hind legs and extended her claws. When she swiped at Bence, he rolled to the left, threw his arms up, and shouted.
“I mean no harm!”
Ignoring his words, the Dunya swiped again. When she missed, she twirled her body and swung her rock-studded tail at Bence. It slammed into his torso and flung him into the air. He swung his arms, gasping for air. Pain radiated through his ribcage like the pricking of a hundred knives.
Her tail whirled toward Bence again. He hooked his arms and legs around it, securing himself to the tail. When he made contact with the ground, he shouted in pain. The tail buffered his contact, but before he could roll off, the Dunya flicked her tail back and forth.
Bence lost his grip and crashed into the dirt.
“Wait, please.” He extended his hand, catching his breath.
She curled her claw and cocked her arm. Bence dove, narrowly missing her scaly fist. She slammed her other claw, pinning Bence in place. No matter how much he struggled, Bence couldn’t break free. The more he moved, the tighter she squeezed. Once she held him completely in her grasp, she picked him up and brought him to her snout. Her golden brows narrowed as she snarled.
“I recognize that scar,” she hissed.
His thoughts reeled. Farid, his twin, had mentioned that they hadn’t been able to locate the chief’s daughter, Avani. Perhaps his past caught up to him once again. Sucking in whatever air he could, Bence said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Fool!” she roared. The ground quaked at her voice. “I left Deran to escape the likes of your kind. And what’s worse? Everyone in town is gossiping that the Aeonians massacred my people. Well, guess what, Aeonian, I’ve survived and plan on keeping my race alive.”
Bence’s face grew purple. His breaths were irregular, and everything grew fuzzy once more.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pop your head clean off!”
“Mama?” a voice called from behind her.
“Stay back dear. This human is dangerous! He killed your grand-daddy!”
“Avani, right? I didn’t…” was all Bence could manage. Darkness swept across his vision like curtains.
“Mama, you’re hurting him! Please put him down!”
When Avani released Bence, he crumpled onto the ground like a used handkerchief. Pain streaked across his chest every time he breathed. Clutching his sides, he discovered another Dunya about his height. His large black eyes stared down from his snout, pierced with one silver stud. Massive lower fangs jutted up from his jaw. His scales had a faint scarlet sheen in his primarily mud-colored scales.
“Mama,” he said. “He’s so small, there’s no way he could hurt us.”
“Small?” Bence wheezed. “I’m your size!” After uttering the last word, he clamped his jaw shut to suppress a scream. The searing pain amplified.
“But you’re a grown up. I’m only three months old, and I’m gonna grow up to be─”
“That’s enough, Tulelo!” Avani swept her son behind him. “You’re lucky my son was born far from the war you started and knows nothing about you. You are not to move from this spot until we’re out of sight. Do not follow us, or I’ll snap your spine in half!” She slammed her rocky tail inches from Bence.
“Understood,” he said with a grimace. Dusting off his clothes, he watched Avani nudge Tulelo eastward. The young Dunya leapt around his mother, but she nipped at him until he fell in line behind her. Tulelo turned his head and glanced at Bence.
“I’d better hope they aren’t headed to Irelle either or else I’m a dead man.” He leaned back and let the earth support his weight.
CHAPTER
17
Ash billowed around the pounding of hooves. Isabel tugged the reins until she slowed to a stop. Trees with singed tops scattered across a desolate wasteland that was once known as Cehennem territory. Ash and clumps of overturned soil made the field look like one giant bog.
“I’ll ride around the perimeter and search for clues,” Raiden said.
Dirt showered Isabel as Raiden galloped away. His figure shrunk in the distance, hair whipping wildly in the wind. Focusing on her own search efforts, she dismounted her horse. The air was void of any sound. No singing birds. No chirping crickets. The sensation of bugs crawling up her body overcame her. Cehennem remained untouched since the end of the war, and Isabel had no idea what will become of this land.
She unsheathed her sai and scanned the immediate area. Chunks of broken pillars caught her eye. A musty smell filled her lungs as she encountered still pools of rainwater filled with dead flies. Turning around in disappointment, she investigated a crater-like hole in the ground a few feet to her right.
Isabel’s heart pounded as her body broke in a cold sweat. When she peered into the hole, she gasped. She reached and pulled out a tarnished headpiece. A headpiece with an empty setting in the center.
“Damian.” Her knees weakened at the thought. This was the very spot she defeated him. She could almost feel an abrasive grasp on her ankle where his charred hand had grabbed her. Swinging her head around, she searched for any other signs of his body or his wife’s. Anxiety shadowed her like an incoming tsunami. Her breath quickened. If Damian and Echidna were resurrected, we’re in serious danger.
Turning her attention to Dunya’s Amber in her armlet, she summoned the ash and soil below to shift, as if a giant’s invisible hands clawed the earth. When she met resistance in her excavation, the warmth faded from her armlet and exhaustion spread all over. Isabel gripped her sais tighter and approached the lump.
The pungent scent of rotten flesh curled into the air. Covering her nose with her cloak, she kicked the lump over. White bone peeked from beneath a metal cuirasses. Skin clung loosely to half the face, covered in blisters. Patches of blood red hair clung to his scalp.
Shock and relief collided into Isabel at the same time. It was definitely Damian. The sight of his rotting body curdled her blood, but she thanked the heavens he had not been resurrected. Holstering her sai, Isabel wiped her hands against her slacks. She backed away from his corpse and focused on a spear lodged into the ground nearby.
Echidna.
As soon as Isabel peered over the mound of ash, she doubled over and retched. While Echidna’s body was more intact; maggots and other insects masked her face, feeding their way into her mouth, nose, and eyes. Isabel tripped backwards, and a cloud of black enshrouded her upon contact with the ground. Hacking uncontrollably, she squeezed her eyes shut to erase the image.
“Isabel?”
Jerking her head toward the sound of Raiden’s voice, Isabel said, “I’m fine. Just give me a second.”
His footsteps pounded louder. She shook her head as she stuck one of her arms out.
“You sure you’re okay?” Raiden’s eyes flashed from Isabel to Echidna’s body.
“I�
�m sure,” she replied, slowly rising to her feet.
His eyes remained fixated on the corpse. He pinched his nose, and his piercings clanged together. “They weren’t buried?”
“To be honest, no one wanted to come here, fearing it was haunted. And for those who weren’t as superstitious claimed the Aeonians didn’t deserve a proper burial. I personally haven’t figured out what to do.” She cleared her throat. “Did you find anything?”
His hand floated to his chin. Isabel stared at his cryptic tattoos as he composed an answer. “I didn’t. Just debris from what I assume was the prison.”
“Can you try to detect bodies? If they are buried beneath this mess… or if there are none?”
Raiden tapped his index finger against his lips and studied her face. Isabel flushed, standing straight against his scrutiny. A tepid breeze swept past them.
“No,” he replied.
“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped. “This had to have been a set up. If any of the Aeonians had truly come back to life, it should’ve been Damian and Echidna.” She stared at her boots, sullied with mud. The pounding in her head worsened. No matter how hard she thought, she couldn’t come up with any reasonable explanation.
Long fingers wrapped over her shoulder. Isabel jumped at Raiden.
“If there are no answers here, maybe we’ll find them in Chailara Hills,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
“What would be there?” Her lip curled; she continued to learn about Raiden in layers. Each time, she expected a trap, and that suspicion never wavered.
Raiden fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves, buttoning and unbuttoning them. “Some people we could talk to.”
Her stomach somersaulted. “Who?” Before he could open his mouth, Isabel flashed her palm in his face. “Wait. Don’t tell me. There are more of you? A secret society, perhaps? What other surprises do you have for me?” Isabel’s voice echoed into the air.
Raiden didn’t flinch. “Just come with me,” he said. He turned and mounted his horse.
“This is crazy.” Shaking her head, Isabel jogged to her steed, mounted, and trotted alongside Raiden.
