by J. E. Klimov
The fire hissed as it fought a losing battle. When the smoke blew away, all that remained were broken bones and a baby Dunya curled in the center. Rain slid down his unscathed scales that had protected him. His stomach soured. During the Aeonian War, his twin managed to burn all the Dunyan carcasses. He wondered if Farid had plucked out their scales.
Wiping his hand over his face to fight fatigue clawing his eyelids, Bence glanced at Tulelo once more, then got up and headed east. Rays of light smeared pink and orange across the clouds. Once he passed through the twin mountains, he entered the familiar clearing. It was a long road back to the trading post.
Footsteps pounded behind him.
Bence grinned.
CHAPTER
29
Crossing his arms, Bence studied the sea of tents. Their ivory entrances flapped in the breeze. If he had to guess, it was likely two in the morning. He tilted his head toward Tulelo. They had traveled non-stop as the sun had cycled past them.
“We finally made it,” Tulelo said.
Bence flinched. It was the first time the Dunyan baby had spoken since the debacle at the mountains. He mustered up some choice words, but they were painful to exit his mouth. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
Tulelo rubbed his snout against him. His scales emitted a warmth that his cloak couldn’t provide. Bence sighed and swung his arms back and forth.
“If momma could only see how you’ve changed. You’ve become what I think people call a ‘friend.’ So, have you made up your mind?”
“Huh?”
“Where to?” Tulelo’s gravelly voice rose.
Bence closed his eyes and recalled his days at sea. They weren’t the best days, but he always felt at peace when the whales sang.
“Bence?”
Scratching the nape of his neck, he said, “Waaken. But it would be best that we travel by foot than sea. Stealthier that way.”
“We?” Tulelo’s voice was raw. Somber. Uncertain.
Bence rotated painfully on the spot, as if someone tied boulders to his feet. Dread chained his limbs, and his mouth ran dry. “Or I,” he croaked.
Tulelo’s rocky tail curled around him. When the Dunya exhaled, warm air escaped his slit nostrils and warmed Bence.
“Despite what momma said, you aren’t a bad man—”
“Phew. That’s a relief—”
Tulelo pulled him closer. Bence observed his warped reflection in his scales, unable to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth.
“And I’m grateful that you looked out for me all this time…”
Bence’s mind lit up like fireworks. He dreaded those next words.
“But I need to go find more like me. There’s got to be more Dunya.” He craned his neck to the remote desert to the north. “I can’t give up. There must be someone out there. Then, I can be with family again.”
The word family was like a spear through Bence’s chest. He opened his mouth, but Tulelo continued.
“I hope you find your family. A place where you belong.”
Clearing his throat, he replied, “I’m sure I’ll find it in Waaken.” Bence rocked on the balls of his feet, and stretched as tall as he could. It didn’t soothe the internal torment. When Tulelo unfurled his tail, Bence felt deflated. He clapped his hand against Tulelo’s hide.
“I guess I better go.” The Dunya stood at Bence’s height. His silver piercing shimmered. Backing away at a snail’s pace, Tulelo’s eyes remained glued on him.
Clasping his hands together in front of his mouth, Bence said, “Good bye.”
Tulelo turned north, took one, step, then stopped. The numerous rocks that lined his spine shifted slightly. Scales stretched and collapsed against his hide as he breathed.
“Waaken doesn’t sound like a good home by the way,” he said. Strands of his golden eyebrows moved up and down.
“Why’s that?” Bence dug his heels into the dirt.
“The voice you’ve told me about. The reoccurring cries for you. I may be a stupid baby Dunya, but my gut tells me that is where you should go.”
“Deran?” Bence’s eyes bulged.
“You left there because you did bad things. Very bad things. But maybe this is a sign that you can turn around and do something good. Besides, someone wants you back. No one wants you in Waaken. If our experience in Irelle didn’t teach you anything…”
Tuning him out, Bence grasped his head. Isabel’s haunting calls had settled in the back of his mind, intentionally tucked away. He had been ignoring her messages, assuming it would stop.
“…and Bence?”
He grunted, pretending he had been paying attention. Facing him once more, Tulelo’s irises flashed as brightly as the sun as his pupil narrowed into slits. He clapped his claws together. Bence lips twitched upwards; he really did look like a big goofy baby.
“I haven’t even lived through my first birthday, and I lost everything. You are my first friend. I’ll carry you in my heart always, right next to momma. You give me courage. All I want is that you go where you will be happy living in a truth than in a lie.”
With a swish of his tail, Tulelo turned around again and bounded away, leaving a trail of dust swirling in circles. Standing on his tip-toes, Bence stared at the shrinking figure. Tulelo didn’t stop. He didn’t look back.
Bence kicked a pebble and stormed toward a tree. Bark peeled off in various places. Branches were either snapped or twisted as if it lost an arm-wrestling battle. Cracking his knuckles, frustration erupted from his heart and flooded his arteries. Bence wound an arm back and slammed his fist against the tree as hard as he could.
“Damn it!”
CHAPTER
30
Bence’s eyes fluttered open. They rays of the sun lanced his brain with a headache. He kicked his cloak off and shook his tunic to let his sweat dry out. Rubbing his eyes with his free hand, he reoriented his thoughts. He had snuck off the main path and tucked himself behind two large rocks and a handful of bushes.
“Hey, Tulelo?”
He banged the back of his neck against the stone; nothing but dried leaves and insects accompanied him. Staring at the scabs scattered around his knuckles, Bence frowned. He had hoped after sleeping it off, he would awake with an answer. What a waste of time.
“I operate better alone, anyway,” he muttered bitterly. Dusting his slacks, he calculated how long the trip to Waaken would take. On foot through Norlend, then a boat ride, would likely be months. He had to steal a horse first.
When he stood, he immediately fell against the rock. He perspired everywhere. Everything seemed to spin. The only images that seemed to anchor him were Isabel and Ami. Traveling toward Waaken would take him farther away from them. And no matter how vehemently he denied it, Deran was in peril. How? He couldn’t fathom, but imagining Isabel falling by the sword only worsened his vertigo.
“Love is an unspoken promise to be each other’s pillar.”
Bence swatted at Ki’s words. He had to be losing it. He was severely dehydrated. Finding something to drink became a priority.
“Okay. Think. There is one Irellian warrior in the sea of people at port. But everyone would likely at least have my physical description. It’s probably noon, and not a shadow in sight I can use.”
Chattering interrupted his train of thought. He glanced up and saw two squirrels wrestling over a nut. An idea struck him. It wasn’t full-proof, but they would be looking for a tall man with shoulder length ebony hair. Unsheathing his dagger, he crept on his tip-toes around the scuffling creatures. One stopped, flicked its tail and stared at him. Bence pounced.
His skills as a killer hadn’t failed him. With exact precision, he slit both squirrel’s throats and carefully collected their blood. His hands trembled, sending ripples in the crimson pool. After releasing a breath, he splashed it over his head. The hot liquid seeped into his scalp. Again. He drained the rodents dry and painted his hair the best he could. Smiling grimly, he indulged in the irony. He was born with blood-re
d hair because of his father’s sins, and right when they washed away to reveal his true hair color, Bence was already saturating his hair with blood. Like father, like son. Kind of.
After he finished, he straddled toward a mud puddle and scrubbed the blood from his hands. Bence couldn’t make out his reflection. He had no idea if the dye job worked, but this was his only chance at making it past the market. He hadn’t forgotten he was still wanted by Deran, and that description included a man with red hair, but Bence had to hedge his bets. This fiasco with Irelle would likely be on the forefront of everyone’s minds. Once he ran his dagger through the puddle and scrubbed it clean, he stood slowly. Wrapping his cloak into a tight ball, he tucked it beneath an arm. He took cautious steps toward the main road.
The drone of voices intensified as Bence approached the trading post. He kept his eyes focused for water, Kacterous juice, anything. A few tents in, he spotted one selling clay jugs. Brushing shoulders against strangers, he charged toward the salesperson. Her face was plain, and she wasn’t wearing traditional Irellian garb.
“Hi. Water?”
“Yes, these clay jars contain various liquids. We have water jugs, wine jugs, Kacterous nectar jugs…”
“Water. I want water,” Bence exclaimed, slamming his hands on the table.
“What size?” She asked, pinching her nose.
“Anything. I need to drink water, now!”
“Well, you are buying the jug along with it. And the smallest size is two silver coins.”
Bence dropped his head as his shoulders shook. His cloak crumpled to the ground. “I don’t have that kind of money.” His throat was so scratchy, he could barely recognize himself.
A jug slid into view.
“If I let you walk away, I don’t think I could live with myself. Just,” she paused, peeking around. “Just come here behind the counter and drink it. I don’t want anyone to see.”
Bence scrambled as fast as his feet allowed him, and slammed the lip of the jug to his mouth. Ice cold water filled his mouth, jolting him awake. He took huge gulps, not stopping until he reached the very last drop. When he finished, he wrapped his arms around the jug as if it were his lover.
“Do you have anything to pay me with? Even if you don’t have two silver coins, I need to bring something back home.”
Nodding, Bence reached into his pocket. He had a few bronze coins left. “Are seven of these okay?”
She frowned but nodded. Bence stood and grasped her hands.
“No need to thank me,” she said, ripping her hands away.
“Of course,” he replied.
The merchant’s eyes softened. “Well, I hope you’ll be alright. Given your complexion, you look local, like someone who knew better. I could see it happening to a person like me.” She jabbed a thumb into her chest. Her arms had a sun kissed glow, but beneath the hat, her face was pale as the moons.
“A person like you?”
“Norlender. Ever met one?” She flexed her biceps. “Rough and tough, we are. Though we’re more known for selling furs and meats. But as you can tell, furs don’t sell well in a location like this.”
Bence nodded, focusing on the water kicking in. The merchant seemed to split in two, but after blinking a few times, he saw the one figure once more. “I’m going to go.”
“Be safe, traveler. There are calls for wanted men left and right. The most recent, a raven haired Irellian.” Her gaze lingered on his hair, and she nodded slightly.
“No kidding.” He bit his lip and brought his hand to his face.
“Like I care. Those Irellians can figure out their own problems,” she said, lacing her words with venom.
He took that as his cue to leave. He picked his cloak up. Ducking into the crowd, he veered to and fro, avoiding any merchant with a painted face. An Irellian merchant. Every time eyes landed on him, he would look the other way. He took short rapid breaths, trying to quell the paranoia that ran his imagination.
“Hey you! Redhead!”
Bence’s nerves jolted his legs into a fast walk. Quickening his pace, he kept one hand hovering over his hidden weapon.
“Wait, stop!”
Breaking into a sprint, he huffed and slammed against bodies, knocking people over. Bence caught a glimpse of the opposite end of the market. All he needed to do was outrun the pursuant.
Paws scraped dirt. Whoever was chasing him panted loudly. When he focused on the exit, a tall woman walked into view. Her bulky figure leaned against a stand, drumming her fingers with one hand and holding a spear in another. Her thick blonde hair pinned tightly against her scalp, fully exposing her painted face.
“Shoot!”
Bence faltered, tripped over something, and slammed face first into the ground. A furry arm hooked around his abdomen and slung him off the main path. Sandwiched between two tents, Bence fumbled for his dagger. A paw struck his face. A growl drowned out the buzz of the crowd.
When he finally looked at his pursuer, his stomach flipped. It was a Foti. But there was something familiar about his onyx-laden mane.
“Imbecile! What are you running for?” The coarse fur on his snout scrunched as he snarled.
In a flash, Bence pointed his dagger to his chest. “You were chasing me!”
“I chased you because you were running. Don’t you remember me?” His dark eyes stilled at the blade and bared his fangs. “I suggest you put that away before I rip you to shreds.”
Three-inch claws dug into his shoulders. Bence grunted but refused to flinch. Staring hard, he said, “You’re the Foti I bought Kana meat from.”
“Finally.” The Foti rolled his eyes and retracted his claws. “And the name is Giphon. I’m sure you didn’t forget it.”
Bence tried to figure out his angle. “Uh, yeah. But why care about me? I can’t be the only one purchasing your food.”
“It’s because I sell more than food.” Giphon hoisted his trousers. His ears flicked against the sand-filled gust of wind.
Bence!
“Not again!” he shouted, covering his ears.
Giphon narrowed his eyes. He pulled Bence’s arms apart. “Have you gone mad?”
Help!
“Don’t you hear it?” Bence’s gaze darted from the dirt, to Giphon, to the sky until the haunting voice faded. Shaking his head rapidly, he said, “Never mind. Just show me what you wanted to show me. It must be important for you to hunt me down.”
With a flick of his bushy rust-colored tail, Giphon continued down the narrow pathway. They wound from tent to tent—left, straight, another left. “Is your other shop a secret lair?” he quipped, pulling his hair. When he glanced down and saw crusted blood on his hand, he quickly wiped it against his slacks. He reprimanded himself to leave his fake hair job alone.
“I sell meat, sure, but we specialize in forging weapons.” He peeked back. “I’m sure you know that, having lived in Deran.”
After minutes of silence, Bence followed Giphon into an alcove of sorts. A rocky hill carved around the back end of the shops. Cherry red drapes were hammered into the stone. Giphon pulled the curtain open and gestured him inside.
Bence caught a whiff of smoldering coal with a metallic bite. Swords, spears, axes, and much more were perched against the wall or displayed on a slate counter. Each one glistened, a virgin to blood and death. Scratching an invisible itch, Bence tugged his collar. The sight beckoned a primal thirst. Any one of these could deal exponentially more damage than his dagger. He unsheathed it and stared at the tip, dulled from his adventures.
“I take it that you like what you see.”
Tucking his blade away, he cleared his throat. “It’s great craftsmanship. But, listen, I don’t have any money so I can’t buy any of this stuff.”
Giphon traced a claw around the table until he stood opposite of him. Pulling a pail of water from the back, he slammed it on the counter. The sides of his mouth curled upwards in a devilish grin. “Wash that ridiculous attempt to disguise yourself.”
Bence silently hoisted the pail, hiding his red-hot embarrassment, knelt on the ground, and rinsed his hair. He had to admit he was a little relieved─the dried blood made his hair stiff and uncomfortable.
“I find it ironic that you’re disguising as the person wanted in Deran to escape from the Irellian guard. Pretty soon, you won’t know who you are.”
Wringing his hair dry, Bence stared at the saturated drops falling from his locks. He whipped his head back and his slick hair flung over his head. Staring hard at Giphon, he asked, “What exactly are you getting at?”
“I want you to admit you are Bence Brechenhad, the wanted man from Deran.”
He studied the Foti. His tone wasn’t loaded with malice, but suspicion still lingered. Giphon continued to trace his claw on the table, creating a teeth-grinding screech. “No,” he growled.
“Pity. I was going to give this to him.” Giphon gestured to a double-edged broadsword. Ornate golden carvings decorated the hilt, and a maroon tassel danced at the end.
Bence scoffed. “Why would you give a soulless murderer a weapon as fine as that?”
Picking up the sword, Giphon swiped the air. A heavenly zing echoed in the alcove. The metal flashed, polished to perfection. The tassel whipped in momentum, waving its fingers, as if meant to taunt the enemy. “None of your business. If you aren’t him, I recommend you leave before I notify the Irellian soldier.”
The satin curtain felt grainy in Bence’s hand as time seemed to slow down. Bence was torn by the urge to run. The humid air breathing on his neck told him there was another world to explore, but Bence wondered how long he’d have to keep running. The word “coward” interrupted the string of thoughts.
Perhaps he had run long enough. His parents had once dictated his life, and when Bence tried to take control, everything snowballed into one disaster after another. Maybe it was time to let the winds of fate guide him.
“I am Bence,” he said, releasing his hold on the curtain. Instead of anticipated nerves, an invisible weight lifted from his shoulders.
