Memorias: Deep in the Arnaks

by Serabian, Charles

  Every time Valor thought of Jerryl, little pangs hit the walls inside his heart, like tiny pins bouncing around, never stabbing through, but causing tiny leaks.

  Armun spent some time creating small bits of fire with his fingertips. The supposed Urenai Grand Master extended each digit, flicking a small light no bigger than the flame of a match just above his nails. He then took his boots off and did the same thing with his toes, and before long he appeared to be something of a human candelabra.

  Then, most unexpectedly, he flipped over into a handstand, with all twenty, tiny matchstick sized flames still billowing from his fingers and toes. After a few seconds in the handstand, he resumed the normal standing posture and shook the tiny fire lights from his fingers. They hit the sand and dissipating instantly.

  “Not quite there yet,” Armun said.

  Valor hated magic, but couldn’t help but feel impressed. Though he’d never met an Urenai, Jerryl had, and had recounted those stories too many times to count. Supposedly the Urenai were the highest caliber of mages, constantly diving in and out of trouble with both the good and the bad of Harmenor, but completing the most dangerous of magic related tasks.

  A Grand Master should be able to maneuver more quietly, though, Valor thought. Armun had ripped through the Arnaks, with light and lightning and a magic weapon alike. Valor left room in his mind for the idea that Armun had probably been backed into a corner, and was forced to use his full strength.

  Armun turned, slowly dragging his legs, lumbering towards Valor. He looked down at him, smugly.

  “Are you going to try and kill me again?” The old man asked plainly.

  Valor turned his head aside. “I wasn’t trying to kill you... and no. You wouldn’t be around to ask me that question if I was trying to kill you in the first place. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t see me coming.” Valor looked to Orrin, realizing that his hostage situation was not a two-man effort. He believed Valor. Whatever Iliana had done to him had dissuaded him thoroughly.

  “You can let them out now, Iliana.” A hint of disdain was still attached to his voice.

  Armun grinned. “Remember what happened the last time you pulled this trick outside of Grey Coast?”

  Iliana stood to undo the magic, muttering. “Yes...”

  She raised her hands to chest level, then closed her eyes and pushed downwards, as if attempting to part the air. Nothing seemed to happen, until suddenly Valor’s body dropped a bit, and suddenly. “You can move now,” she said. “I’ve displaced all of the moisture back below the height of your bodies. It should not be so hard to get out.”

  Valor struggled against the sand. Iliana had done what she said. It was much easier, but still difficult enough to take some time. He looked at her, his need for help obvious, her ignoring him ever more obvious.

  She continued to stare, her pupils stuck to his struggle.

  Bitch, he thought. He almost spoke the word aloud, turning it into a huffed breath.

  Armun stepped forward to help dig him out, tearing Valor out from underneath his armpits.

  “Thank you,” Valor said, speaking while staring into Iliana’s unblinking eyes. She uncrossed her leg and stood, moving towards Orrin.

  Orrin fell back onto the sand as his right wrist became free, letting out a soundless groan. Once the sand was cleared of Valor’s waist, Armun grabbed the boy’s arms and pulled. Valor emerged with several consecutive sucking sounds, as if heralding the arrival of a new Valor, part man, and part sand creature. The insides of his pants were filled, and every time he took a step, he sloshed about.

  Once they were out, they set to brushing themselves off, a task Valor soon realized was pointless. Wet, sloppy sand had invaded his every crevice.

  Armun scratched his beard and said, “Iliana once left some folks in the sand for too long, for several days. When we tried to pull them out, their lower halves didn’t come with them. They were as bad as bad can get.. But! You and your brother should go to through the carriages. We need to search the crates for food and clothing. We can’t go walking through the desert like this.”

  Valor looked between his brother, Iliana, Armun and the broken caravann. “You trust us not to run?”

  Armun swung an arm open. “Do as you see fit. I’m simply stating that stabbing me again isn’t an option.”

  Valor had more to say, but something sharp stung his genitals. “Aagh..!” he seethed, reaching down his pants to find a sharp piece of rock that had floated up his pant leg, and tossed it far away.

  “The family jewels?” Armun asked.

  “The what?”

  “Never mind. Go with your brother and find some clothes.”

  Valor did as he was asked, grabbing Orrin and jogging slowly towards the broken wagons. As he expected, Armun and Iliana were never too far behind. Valor surmised and signed to his brother that this was undoubtedly so that their spells would not intersect and kill them, and Valor nodded in agreement.

  “We should be dead,” he said to Orrin. His brother didn’t respond, clearly still agitated.

  The first two carriages were filled with food, which they pulled out to eat later. They found salted meats and dried potato slices in the first container, other vegetables and fruits in the second. The third carriage had what they were looking for, and in splendorous amounts and quality. Shirts, pants, boots, belts with magnificent buckles, hats of all shapes and sizes.

  “I’ll pick us out some clothes, Orrin. You go see if one of these carriages or wagons have any weapons.”

  [ Why don’t we look together? ] Orrin signed.

  Valor was surprised that Orrin responded. “You need to look for weapons. If you find any, let them know. It might be a way to regain their trust. Tell them where they are, and don’t touch any.”

  As Orrin walked, he signed to his brother. [ We wouldn’t have to regain their trust if you weren’t an idiot. ]

  Valor rolled his eyes, and pulled his brother back in the carriage by his shoulder. Orrin had a stern face.

  [ We are just prisoners again, Orrin. Wake up and realize that. ]

  [ No, ] Orrin signed. [ If we were just prisoners, then we would definitely be dead. Thanks to your dumb ideas. ]

  Valor waved him off and made his way to the next closest carriage. Valor turned back to the huge piles of overturned clothes. There were so many it was hard to pick. To his fortune there were multiples of the same items, in different sizes and colors.

  None of this matters if I’m still covered in sand.

  Valor stripped naked, then grabbed a thin cotton robe. It took a long time to remove the sand from his pits and toes, but it worked. He then set about reorganizing some of the clothes so that they made some visual sense. For both him and Orrin, he picked out the same pair of traveller’s boots, brown, almost black, and without laces. He found a smaller shirt for himself with a deep amigaut, and a bigger size for Orrin to match his wide frame, both with false sleeves.

  He found criss crossing leather sword harnesses, but no swords. Ankle deep in clothes now, he grabbed the two heaviest belts he could, figuring that if they weren’t allowed to use weapons, they could at least slap their opponents into submission when a fight broke out.

  The last items he grabbed were two cloaks and two pairs of trousers. The cloaks and pants were grey and brown, the perfect boring colors for desert travel and nondescript secrecy.

  With his garb completed, curiosity bit him again, and prompted him to rummage around more. He had only seen such fine things being worn by the nobles. He turned and jumped back, catching his reflection in a large, full body mirror.

  He laughed at himself. The mixture was too odd not to. His shoulder length hair was still dotted with wet sand. His face had been unshaven for a long time, and it was scraggly and unkempt from lack of washing. He turned his face a few times, watching himself move his fingers, turning his waist, throwing a few quick punches.

  Is that what others see?

  For the first time, he saw himself cle
arly, in a mirror neither covered by dirt nor affected by age. It was not truly the first time he had seen his reflection, but it was the first time he had ever paid much attention to it. He had never been allowed to shave himself, and Lobosa forbade them from standing near glass if possible.

  The clothes almost made him feel normal. They were so soft. He looked at himself again.

  Suddenly, he was back in the Arnaks, in the mess hall brawl, hands open, as he looked death in the face, the black arrows of his captors pointing down at him.

  Suddenly, there was Innith and Abassan, dying in his arms.

  The images resounded so painfully in his mind that he turned away. He thought for a moment that the mirror might have magic upon it, and looked away.

  Forever forward, even in retreat, he thought, a lesson of Jerryl’s. The images receded beneath the words he spoke to himself.

  He was about to leave the oversized wagon when his foot caught a snag. He looked down, and kicked at the chest that attempted to trip him. The latch came apart, and curiosity forced his hands to open it.

  The inside of the lid contained some etched words:

  Property of Drake Redstone

  Valor laughed quietly. There were some other numbers and letters beneath the words; written in a language he didn’t understand. But what needed no interpretation was the quality of jewels and gold that lay inside. Rubies mostly, but some emeralds, black stones, and coin from every currency on Harmenor. He had to clamp his own mouth shut to keep from yelling out in surprise.

  Ideas of escape flooded his mind, his body moving instinctually. He grabbed a leather pack; not too big, but with many pockets, even secret ones inside the folds of its skin. It appeared light and durable. He attempted to stretch and rip it, but couldn’t. Valor then snatched a small towel, carefully folding it into the bottom of the pack. He grabbed the jewels and the money, stuffing as much as he could into the secret pockets; about five handfuls worth. And for the finishing touch, he added another two fine towels to the inside of it. To the front compartments, he added some coins. Armun and Iliana would surely check the bag, and figured they would not think much of him taking a few coins. The gems, however, would lead to suspicion.

  He snatched Orrin’s clothes and almost tumbled for a second time, tripping over the same chest. As he made his way back to the others who were not but a few yards away, he tried to calculate in his head what the gems could be worth. He had seen similar sized ones traded in the arena for trinkets and other valuables, and knew what he could get in terms of hard materials. But when it came to true monetary value, he was clueless.

  “‘Ey!” he called out. Armun and Iliana turned. As Armuns’ right foot hit the ground, finishing a tight spin, a sucking noise emanated from deep within the old man’s chest, as if groaning from a week long fast.

  “What was that?” Valor asked.

  “That,” Armun replied, “Was a very powerful spell that I just finished casting on myself. I’ve been absorbing raw magic energy into my stomach since you’ve been in that carriage. And as a free lesson, I will teach you this. Magical energy, once absorbed or brought into existence, needs to be expelled, detonated, or tossed somewhere, and at something. Otherwise it will most likely kill you.”

  Valor looked at the sky. “And that has what bearing on - anything?”

  Armun held up a finger with an expression of ah! upon his face. “I’m sure Iliana mentioned to you that I’d expected you to do something, well… stupid. Jerryl told me you might even resort to violence. In all honesty, I’ve had worse done to me by better friends than you. My tolerance for insanity is high. But - should you stick me again - I will most likely explode, and take you, your brother, and Iliana with me.”

  Valor was unsure of how to respond. The weak smile on Armun’s face was too hard to read. He had hoped that Valor’s next plan to escape, if he did indeed craft one, would not need any sort of physical violence. Or so he hoped.

  “I’m not stupid enough to try to the same trick twice.”

  “No. I don’t think you are. But we all make mistakes. Desperation and idiocy are close bed fellows.”

  “... true. I thought that you had run out of magic.”

  “Aura. It’s called an aura. It does not run out, but it tires, no different from a man’s lungs after running a great distance. Have you been taught of the auras?”

  Valor pulled his hair back, snorting. “The aura of magic and the aura of light. Yes. Do I care to use your proper mage terminology? No.” Valor turned and looked for Orrin. Armun stepped to his side.

  “Call it what you want. But just know that one does not run out of magic. Your aura simply becomes tired - and no, not completely.”

  “Another lie.” Valor said.

  “A necessary one.”

  Valor recited a quote he had learned years ago. “Deceiving your enemies is necessary. Deceiving your allies is lazy.”

  Armun gave a curt nod of the head. “You’ve read Reiatsin. He was a good man.”

  Valor snorted again. A silence passed through their group as they waited for Orrin to return. Valor mustered some courage and asked, “So… why did Jerryl really send us with you? Just to keep us safe? Maybe you just like young men.”

  Armun laughed so hard that Valor thought he might pass out again. “Harma’s sweet grace, son. Oh dear. Words fail me. Is that truly a concern of yours? That I have a thing for young boys?”

  Orrin’s head popped out of the furthest wagon. Above his head he thrust three weapons. Armun waved him over. Valor caught Iliana giving Armun a look.

  “In fact,” Armun continued, “I trust wholeheartedly in the notion that you will not try the same plan twice. That’s why I’ve let Orrin grab weapons for the two of you. You seem to enjoy wielding two swords. Can’t say I’ve ever seen anyone do it effectively. But you do manage it. Is that a staff you have there, Orrin?”

  Orrin nodded as he jogged towards them. The sudden happiness in Orrin’s face made Valor’s suspicious nature kick in, bred from knowing that Orrin might be trusting the wrong person.

  Armun asked his question again. “You prefer the staff, Orrin?”

  Orrin nodded, retrieving for a short moment the vividness he had acquired from somewhere in the ramshackle wagon.

  “He doesn’t like killing. He’ll take any opportunity he can to avoid it, in fact.”

  “Is that problem for you?” Iliana asked.

  Says the ice queen, he thought. Valor didn’t answer, instead pretending not to hear her. He pointed to the caravann. “If we push some of them together we can build a small fire. Small, mind you. It should be able to hide the blackest parts of the smoke. And it will be black. But I’d rather have some fire than none at all.”

  “Agreed!” Armun clapped his hands together with a loud slap. “Taking charge with a plan. Let’s be about the work, then.”

  Before long they had pushed three of the carriages together in a smaller version of its current formation, a half moon shape with enough broken pieces to fill in the gaps. It would not hide their campfire, and the sight would rouse suspicion for sure. But being this far out, and still being west of the Wall of Sand, Valor knew they hadn’t much to worry about, except whatever remaining ferals were be out looking for them.

  Valor himself crafted the fire, using the time to think without having to respond to Armun’s lies or Iliana’s threats.

  And yet, the things she had said to him kept his gaze upon her every movement.

  The assassin held her blade.

  Valor was not sure, of course, that she was an assassin. Only that she took no issue with killing. He had not seen her dispatch of the ferals after the collapse of Lobosa’s tower, but the noises were all he needed.

  Field of flowers, he thought with a chuckle. Hardly ever even seen flowers.

  “Good work, Valor.” Armun patted him on the back, and the young man jumped, wondering how the big mage had gotten behind him.

  “You could have used some of that sneakiness in the
Arnaks,” he said with an acidic tone.

  Armun turned to him. “Perhaps the master escape artist could show me a thing or two?”

  Orrin and Iliana took turns skewering some of the vegetables and jerky onto some thin sticks, sharpened at the ends. Armun had draped out a cloth and placed some bread upon it. When finished with the skewers, Iliana created a small well in the sand, and used her magic to once again raise the water.

  Then they sat, and ate in absolute quiet. There was not a sound except the fire and four chewing mouths, and the occasional crackle of dripping fat.

  It was the quietest moment that Valor had had in a long time. Before long, a loud ringing noise started to rise in his ears. He picked and dug inside, but after a few minutes it flew away, leaving him alone.

  Not a bug, nor hyena, nor an ivory maw or nameless thing around. Only cool air and an endless starry sky. For a moment, Valor thought of everything that was behind him. The ferals, Lobosa, the Scarlett Ring… gone.

  Eventually his thoughts came to Jerryl, then stopped at Abassan and Innith, then dropped down to the black arrows, a looping string of memories that refused to go away.

  Chapter 38

  Valor and Orrin both found themselves nodding off from time to time before the food was finished cooking. As they started to eat, Armun spoke, ending the reprieve from the outside world.

  “Well... it’s been a few hours since anyone’s tried to kill us. Or us kill each other. What say we talk a bit?”

  Orrin signed, [ About what? ] Valor rephrased for Armun and Iliana. “Orrin said: about what?”

  Armun placed a hand firmly on his leg. “Well, for starters, I feel you both deserve to at least know why the truth behind all of this. The reason I came looking for your mentor, Jerryl.”

  Valor turned over his skewer. “I don’t believe in fairness. So no worries there.”