During the day, the wae’yrr trees simply looked like oversized sugar maples: large, but nothing extraordinary. At night, however, they came alive with light and were truly magnificent. Due to the grace of the Guardians, their leaves glowed brightly, as if their very veins were imbued with the holy light of the moons. Although trees that had glowing leaves were not a rare thing in Terra, only a Master of profound ability could ever transplant such a tree, let alone foster one from a seedling. Because of this, few cities had such trees within their walls, let alone many hundreds of them lining their central boulevard. And so the illuminated boulevard of glowing maples was just another of the famed relics of Mindra’s Haven—a gift from divine caretakers long since absent.
Even though the Masters have lost so much of their ability, they still could share what gifts they have with the people here. Is their fear of corruption truly so great it prevents them from doing anything? Aleksi’s palm pulsed with power as he remembered the overpowering rage that caused him to break his assailant’s arm in the market. Maybe they are justified in their fear, but a life in solitary meditation is not a life lived. There must be another way . . .
As Aleksi continued down the road, he tried to keep his mind from dwelling on his dire situation. Even though the trees were not glowing, they still were quite stately, and he forced himself to take a calming breath as he turned his face up to their shaded canopy. The sky was blue, the Zenith was warm, and a cool, salty breeze blew off the ocean. It felt clean and fresh across his face yet was not able to soothe his agitated heart.
Suddenly, Aleksi heard a child crying. Looking to the side, he saw what he presumed to be a father and son standing outside a bakery storefront. An overly plump boy was wailing and banging his hands on the window, pointing to the sweet cakes inside. The boy was dressed in fine clothes, and on the ground next to him was an ornately painted ball. His father was trying to distract the child with the lavish toy but was finding no success. As Aleksi walked on, he saw the father pick up his son and bring him inside the bakery. The ball was left out on the ground, forgotten.
Moving farther down the boulevard, Aleksi noticed that the majority of the people around him were dressed in urbane, well-tailored clothes. The vast majority of them had golden eyes and moved with a deliberate grace that conveyed a sense of both pride and honor. Aleksi saw rich Eastern silks and was surprised to glimpse Northern jewels from Simn adorning many of the men and women. Although some of the people around him wore laborers’ garments, they mostly rode in wagons, getting transportation to some unknown location. It was clear that those actually shopping and mingling in Guardians’ Plaza were dressed much differently than those in the working class, and both groups knew it.
Aleksi had read of the famous Eastern aristocratic honor, but now walking among them, it truly was unmistakable. Lords and ladies strode the street in sumptuous dress next to expensive carts and coaches pulled by snorting steeds of the finest breed. While some carriages and wagons were laden with goods, most had beautifully painted exteriors with silk veils concealing their inhabitants from not only the Zenith’s rays but also the probing eyes of their neighbors. Although far too rich for Aleksi’s taste, this part of the city was a place of grace and dignity, and its people were better than the masses, at least in their own minds.
As Aleksi continued walking in the shade, he caught sight of an elegant lady in a long, flowing blue-and-gold-embroidered dress and wide-brimmed blue hat. She was coming toward him along the road’s footpath and held a long cylindrical parcel. As they passed, the woman nodded with a respectful smile. Although most of Aleksi’s face was concealed under his hood, he did the same. Despite the kindness, Aleksi still had a sinking feeling in his gut. Deep down, he knew that he was not going to find the answers to Rudra’s riddles here in Guardians’ Plaza. To follow his Master’s call, he would have to enter the decrepit boroughs of Old City.
A wave of hopelessness washed over the youth. With each read-through of the letter, his deep and unsettling fear had grown stronger—a fear that he would not be able to understand his Master’s hidden meanings and would be left to fend for himself against the Academy’s Enforcers and worse.
One last time, Aleksi thought, pulling out the worn parchment. I will read it one last time . . . Aleksi read the flowing script quickly. Once finished, he shoved the letter back into his pocket and clenched his jaw. Nothing Master Rudra did was ever without careful deliberation and potent purpose, and the letter had already proven itself startlingly accurate. But many parts of his letter were impossible to make any sense of.
As for where to go next, “city of ruin that the Guardians neglected” is easy enough. But the “ancestral place of healing” could mean any number of things. And how am I supposed to find it with no more than an obscure clue of its dedication “to the Northern light?”
Aleksi pulled his hood lower over his face. And none know of my father or lineage. It was Master Rudra who brought me to the Academy as an orphaned babe, so unless he was lying all along, this is either a test or some kind of deception. But either way, it is wasting time I don’t have. If I don’t learn to control my Rune quickly, it won’t matter how many layers of bandages I wear—not only will the Rune’s light shine bright enough for all to see, its power will tear through my body and kill me! Why didn’t Rudra just come get me himself?
As Aleksi kept walking, he swallowed and tried to force down the fear that grew in his chest. Aleksi didn’t know which possibility scared him more: the thought that he would actually learn the truth about his parents’ deaths, or the realization that Rudra had known all along and had never told him.
Aleksi felt that Old City’s name was slightly misleading. Originally abandoned after the Dark Ones’ attack, Old City was really just the ruined outskirts of Mindra’s Haven that the Guardians never rebuilt. This was because when Guardians’ Plaza was completed, none needed to reenter the dilapidated remains of Old City, let alone live in them. However, as the generations passed and the population of Mindra’s Haven increased in size, those less fortunate could not afford to live in Guardians’ Plaza. Forced to seek shelter elsewhere, the poor and refugees had begun to repopulate Old City. Sadly, their rebuilding efforts were haphazard at best.
It did not take long for the Eastern High Council to intervene. The councilors knew that if they did not take action, a very dangerous ghetto would soon grow within their city walls. So, under official contract, the city’s artisans were ordered to go sector by sector, rebuilding on old foundations. Knowing that they were constructing for the poor, however, most builders were more interested in cutting costs and maximizing profits than constructing anything that would stand the test of time. So as the years passed, the buildings of Old City had required constant repairs and looked like a patchwork blanket stained with filth compared to the splendor and sheen of Guardians’ Plaza. In fact, according to what Aleksi had heard, the tattered blanket of Old City did more to smother its inhabitants than provide actual shelter.
Continuing down the boulevard, Aleksi could slowly see the transition as he left Guardians’ Plaza. There was no definite threshold except for the wae’yrr trees. They tapered down until finally becoming no more than bushes, then stopping completely. While the wide boulevard did continue on, the size of the buildings, much like the trees, also shrank both in size and dignity. Their masonry became less ornate and was made of normal rock and mortar instead of Guardian Stone. In addition, the tallest among them was only four or five stories high, and soon for every stone building, there were at least five wooden ones. It was a gradual shift, but eventually Aleksi could just tell—he was in Old City.
Although the boulevard was still quite busy, the youth noticed that the peoples’ dress and demeanors had also drastically transformed. Instead of graceful ladies and wealthy merchants, he now saw simple traders and manual laborers. Elegantly laced silks and debonair coats were now rough cottons and thick working leathers.
In truth, this place should be called
Laborers’ City, Aleksi thought, as he looked over a group of dirty workers sitting on a stacked pile of barrels. The rough men were smoking their break’s tobacco and talking about the work to come. Those who lived here were the lower class, performing the hard exertion of sweat and blood. And it was here, Aleksi guessed, that he would find an ancestral place of healing and the next step in Rudra’s mysterious letter.
Aleksi had read in Lulister’s Chronicle of Mindra’s Haven: The Grand Capital of Devdan that nearly all of the apothecary shops in Mindra’s Haven were in Old City. The author wrote that this was because the higher classes relied on the temple and its Runic tools to heal their ills. Historically, Terra’s various temples would provide Runic blessings for free, but now in the Modern Age the temple acolytes needed a black pearl of relatively high concentration to be able to perform such a feat. These black pearls were not given to the acolytes as payment but were a needed ingredient to perform the Runic healing itself. While the wealthy could afford such an expense, the common folk were forced to rely on the less expensive herbs and potions whose medicinal recipes had been passed down through the ages.
As Aleksi walked farther, he found that there were seemingly endless apothecary shops. They came in many shapes and sizes, and catered to the general populace as well as those with special needs. Almost all of the shops sold dried herbs, spices, and general-use drugs while also having their own compound rooms with copper distilleries and brick hearths. And while the alchemists and soothsayers clustered in the dark rooms were always ready to try and make a sale, they were never willing to listen when Aleksi tried to ask for information. Possessing unique ointments and elixirs they claimed could not be found anywhere else in all of Terra, each store owner was much keener on pushing their own wares than promoting another apothecary by giving directions.
After searching for several hours, Aleksi felt anger grow in his chest. What made matters worse was that those few who did have answers gave him different directions. Three men all standing together and referencing one another thought they remembered a shop called the Northern Hand, but they each thought it was in a different place.
Aleksi realized that idle wandering would get him nowhere. Letting out a deep sigh, the youth decided to take a more strategic approach and go to the headquarters of the Apothecary Guild. There, he hoped he might be able to find more accurate information.
While he had known little of current events when he arrived, Aleksi already had become quite aware of the political climate of Mindra’s Haven from the gossip he overheard while walking. The youth even recognized Arva Vatana, the Eastnorthern leader of Pa’laer who had been atop the large warhorse on the docks earlier in the day. Other than swordplay, Aleksi’s favored artistic pursuit was drawing, and the youth paid special attention to Arva’s drawn likeness sold by street hawkers. The many artists shouted the horse lord’s name and lineage, heralding tomorrow as the day the East would be reunited under one rule. In addition, Aleksi carefully inspected the many drawings of Beck Al’Beth, the general who had been leading Arva’s escort. As the youth paused to inspect the pictures, one artist even said that Beck and Arva had met as enemies on the battlefield just four years prior—and it was from Arva that Beck got his large facial scar. Although it was quite obvious that tensions were high and much rode on these peace talks, people still seemed to be very optimistic regarding their outcome.
As Aleksi continued past the run-down buildings of Old City to the Apothecary Guild center, he was suddenly surprised to see a group of twenty-five men dressed like Pa’laer soldiers in tan leather mail marching down the street. To his eye, however, as he was trained in the various martial arts of Terra, Aleksi could tell that these men were not from the Eastnorth. Instead, they walked with the telltale tight hamstrings of the Northern mercenaries trained in the clandestine fighting style of the Hanval. Any Master or Apprentice of the Academy would be able to see past the facade, but the untrained eye would not know what to look for and be easily fooled.
As the group walked past, Aleksi paused to get a glimpse of their eyes. Strangely, they were not Northern green. Instead, they had the flecked-gold eyes of the Eastern peoples. Their real color had undoubtedly been concealed to complete the men’s disguise. The captain of the group, seeing Aleksi, nodded to the youth with a smile. Seemingly in response, the Runic sensation within Aleksi’s bandaged palm flared, causing sharp tension to cascade through his hand and wrist.
Feeling his anxiety deepen, Aleksi returned the man’s nod and hurried on. He knew of several potions one could take to temporarily change the color of one’s eyes, but not only were the ingredients expensive and quite rare, but the Runic ability to make such a thing was incredibly occult. What was most disturbing to Aleksi, however, was the common knowledge that the relations between the East and North had been unprecedentedly tense since the Vai’kel Unification War. And as the youth watched the group continue its march down the street, he knew without a doubt these men were from the North. Why they were disguised as Pa’laer soldiers and in the East, however, Aleksi knew not. Sadly, whatever the reason, it could not be good.
While a Northerner by blood, Aleksi, being a student of the Academy, held no political alliances. In addition, he had grown up in the Eastern Academy having no memory of anything else. To him, the North was just another place—very far away, in so many ways. Despite this, the men’s presence troubled Aleksi in light of the looming peace talks. Yet the youth knew it was not his place to interfere. Masters and their Apprentices were forbidden from intervening in the maneuverings of the outside world. Even worse, Aleksi had to deal with the immediate threat before him and needed to keep as low a profile as possible to avoid detection—especially after what had happened in Mindra’s Square. Glancing down at his bandaged hand, Aleksi quickened his pace and continued onward.
When he finally reached the Apothecary Guild, Aleksi entered the large building and let out a sigh. His legs were already tired from a day’s worth of walking. As Aleksi’s eyes adjusted to the room’s muted light, he saw that the building’s interior was much nicer than he had expected.
Before him was more of a meeting place than a site of business. Despite several official-looking booths built into the walls, the large space seemed to be much more of a social hall than anything else and was filled with worn tables and sturdy wooden chairs. The decor was not fancy, yet not drab, either. The location’s clientele matched its interior. And although this was still Old City, the building was undoubtedly supported by the patronage of its members and very well kept. In addition, large colorful banners hung from the ceiling, displaying the guild’s patronage and officials. Each apothecary had its own crest and they were all clearly displayed on the flags above.
Walking farther into the hall, Aleksi heard the shrill cries of two gaunt children holding on to the patchwork dress of their mother. Their clamor was underpinned by men’s chuckling and the officious drone of the guild official speaking to the woman. Upon closer inspection, Aleksi saw that her dress was worn and dirty while the official was garbed in a formal jacket inlayed with ornate golden stitching. He eyed the mother and her crying children disdainfully.
“The black pearl fee is nonnegotiable, madam,” Aleksi overheard the official say to the woman. “The price has not changed since last year, so you have had more than enough time to prepare. If you cannot pay, however, we will have no choice but to revoke your license and inform the authorities you are selling your wares illegally.”
“All I’m asking for is an extension,” the woman began, holding her children close. “We do not even have food to eat let alone wares to sell. After my husband died last year, I had to auction everything except the building itself to repay his debts. Sir, we have nothing but the clothes on our back. But given time and a loan I can reopen our store, and through hard work and the grace of the Guardians, I will—”
Aleksi kept walking and approached a group of young men sitting at a nearby table. Each of the men held a metal mug with a diffe
rent crest stamped on its front. Far too many people today had already taken notice of the deep green of his eyes, so Aleksi kept his hood up to conceal their color as he spoke.
“Excuse me, good sirs, do any of you know of an apothecary specializing in remedies which hail from the Northern Continent?”
“What fool would ever choose Northern tinctures over the far-superior Eastern extracts?” one of the men answered with a laugh.
“Well, that’s obvious,” another of the men retorted. “The same fool rude enough to address us with his hood raised.”
“I mean no disrespect,” Aleksi answered, pulling back his hood and clenching his bandaged fist as a wave of frustration flooded through him. “I am but a traveler from Simn, looking for a remembrance of my Northern home.” Aleksi knew the men now would be able to see the green of his eyes, which would add legitimacy to his asking. He just hoped it was worth the risk.
The young men looked at Aleksi disdainfully and shook their heads. “Sorry, lad,” one of the men said. “Here in Devdan we have no need for anything from the North.” Several of the other men grumbled their agreements. “No green eyes in this guild. Not now, not ever.”
A frown spread across Aleksi’s face and he clenched his fist tighter. “Please excuse me, then.” Aleksi turned and headed for the magistrate’s booth. Before the youth could take more than a step, however, an old man seated at another table cleared his throat and pointed to the ceiling.
“Oh, Katar,” the man said gruffly, shaking his raised finger, “if only your knowledge of guild history were as strong as your bigotry.” The men at Katar’s table looked at the old man over their drinks. The old man then pointed his finger higher and shook his head disapprovingly. The men’s gazes rose to the banners above.
Rune of the Apprentice (The Rune Chronicles) Page 6
