The Redemption, Volume 1

by Clyde B Northrup

  from The Exploits of Master Potimus, written by him in his 90th year

  Translated by Hierarch Thalamar in the Great Year

  Tevvy was a stone. He stood in the shadows, willing himself to “become one with the walls,” as his father had so often taught him. Wrapped in his cloak, with the hood covering all of his head and face, except for his nose and eyes, he was indiscernible from the stone walls and the shadows where he observed the movements of the guards. The first would be easy; he sat by the door that Tevvy assumed led to the school’s upper levels, ring of keys hanging from his belt. The guard appeared to be dozing, but Tevvy’s father had drilled into his son and pupil’s head the need to be sure, which was why he had been standing still in the shadows, observing. This lowest level of the kailu school had an ambience of regular sounds that did not disturb the first guard’s “sleep.” However, whenever that ambience was disrupted by a stray sound, like a loose rock hitting the floor, tossed in this case by Tevvy, the first guard was wide awake.

  The second guard would be trickier. He was currently making his rounds, an action that took ten minutes to complete, which meant that the hallway beyond the barred wooden door, where the cells were, could not be very large. Every thirty minutes, the two guards traded, and their exchange of keys and position gave Tevvy the moments he needed to slip out of the sewers and into the shadows. They were about to change again, and the guard currently sitting took exactly fifteen seconds longer to make the round. The count in Tevvy’s head reached ten minutes, and he heard the single key carried by the walking guard slip into the lock, click open, and the door clanked open. The guard sitting looked up and made, what seemed to Tevvy, his ritualistic query:

  “How is it?” he asked.

  “Quiet as a tomb,” the entering guard replied, setting his key and lantern on the small table.

  The “quiet as a tomb,” described Tevvy’s days, recovering and waiting for his benefactors to return from the school. The lady, Klarissa, had returned briefly about mid-morning, four days previous, checking on him shortly after he had awakened. He had felt a little stiff, but otherwise well-rested. She brought him a large and delicious breakfast, and had just started to tell him that there might be some trouble at the school, which could delay her husband’s return, when there was a knock at the door. Tevvy could not hear the conversation, but when Klare, as she preferred to be called, returned, she told him she needed to return to the school immediately, then told him that if she did not return when he was ready for lunch, to help himself. He smiled and told her that would be fine, as he had been well-trained by his mother to “fend for himself” from an early age. His hostess had smiled and said “good,” then Tevvy warned her of his feeling that she should not go; Klare told him she could take care of herself, then she left.

  After finishing his breakfast, Tevvy had gotten up and gone through his ritual of exercise, partially out of habit, but mostly to see if he had recovered from his injuries. After determining that he was at about ninety-percent, he went through his equipment to make sure nothing had been damaged, or taken by his assailants. When he saw that everything was still in working order, he sat back to wait, and time crawled by slowly. About mid-afternoon, he entered the kitchen and had lunch. When evening came, and the sun set, he was more surprised that neither of his benefactors had returned. He resorted to the kitchen for dinner, having decided that once he had finished, he would go out toward the school to see if he could find out what was happening. Tevvy checked his equipment again and heard the door open; he was surprised to see strangers entering but recognized one of them, a seklesa he knew. He then went out with Mistress Klare’s friend to seek news of the lady of the house but returned without learning anything useful. They spent three days watching the guard tower to no avail, during which he spent his time waiting in Klare’s house baiting that wretched kortexi, who interrogated him on his activities, trying to catch him breaking the law, then trying to drag him off to jail. He might have succeeded had Delgart and Marilee not intervened, stopping him. On the fourth day they were led by Klare’s friend to the trial. Master Avril intercepted him, telling the awemi that the trial would be a good time for him to search the school for Klare, who was still missing. Tevvy returned to Klaybear and Klare’s home when he learned that the others had been arrested and convicted, along with his benefactor, and condemned to die on the following day; he had discovered nothing of Klare’s whereabouts and managed to leave the school before the officers had found and clapped him in irons to drag him off to the dungeon to await execution with the others. He waited for two hours before deciding to leave the house and try again to find Klare. He opened the front door to leave, and found himself facing the Headmaster, who he knew, as the Headmaster was a close friend of his father’s. He smiled and started to speak, but the Headmaster pushed him back into the house and closed the door, leading him to the kitchen at the back of Klaybear and Klarissa’s home. He tapped the floor with the heel of his staff, and Tevvy recognized the globe of silence surrounding them. Myron knelt on one knee, bringing his face close to Tevvy’s.

  “We have a serious problem,” Myron said in a whisper.

  Tevvy was surprised by his behavior, but had learned by watching his father how to handle this kind of situation. “We do?”

  “My apprentice,” the headmaster continued, “along with others of your future companions, have been arrested on spurious charges and are sentenced to die tomorrow.”

  Tevvy nodded and was shocked by the Headmaster’s declaration, for his father had explained to him about the prophecy of the chosen, and that he, might indeed, be one of them. “Why?” he asked, concealing his surprise.

  “Because they all have been marked,” Myron replied, “in one way or another, by Gar, and Klaybear’s is the most visible of all.”

  “Yes,” Tevvy nodded, “he frightened me when I first saw him; it pulsed with an angry red light, but he helped me: how could he be evil if he helped me?”

  “The council did not see it that way,” Myron replied. “I fear . . . no, I cannot speak my fears, lest . . . ,” he broke off, looking Tevvy in the eye. The awemi felt as if the Headmaster were looking inside him. After a few moments, he whispered, “yes,” almost to himself, then added, “just like Thal.”

  “What is like Thal?” Tevvy asked, an eyebrow rising.

  “The way you have been marked by Gar,” Myron replied, “it is written in the patterns of your mind, written in such a way that I cannot break it without destroying your mind.”

  Tevvy was shocked. “What?”

  “Sit down, Tevvy,” Myron said. The two sat in Klare’s kitchen table. “For reasons that I cannot fathom, each of the chosen has been marked, or maybe the proper word is ‘damaged,’ by Gar with the sign of evil, as you saw on Klaybear. Some of the chosen, like Klaybear, bear visible marks, which is also the case with Blakstar, Delgart, and Marilee.”

  The awemi frowned at the mention of the kortexi.

  “You, like Thal,” Myron went on without noticing Tevvy’s look, “have the mark of evil written within the patterns of your mind, and there is only one person I know who could have broken that mark without destroying either of your minds: Thal’s father, Kalamar. But four days ago, Thal’s parents were killed by servants of Gar.” Myron stopped, tapping his chin with one finger for a few moments before speaking again. “I wonder why Kalamar did not notice the mark; that seems impossible to me,” he continued, obviously speaking to himself, “so he must have seen it, but chose not to remove it, meaning either he couldn’t remove it, or he saw that it served some higher purpose . . . ,” his voice trailed off.

  “Headmaster, what are you speaking of?” Tevvy asked, struggling to understand.

  Myron looked back suddenly. “I’m sorry,” he said, “my mind started wandering, a problem of age.”

  “What does it mean, that I have the mark of evil written in the patterns of my mind?”

  “It means that we need to re-translate the prophecy, if only
we had the original,” the Headmaster replied rather cryptically.

  “What?” Tevvy said, looking confused.

  “Sorry, for you it means that you, with the other chosen, must immediately leave Shigmar.”

  “If they are locked-up, how can . . . , oh, I see,” Tevvy said, finally realizing what the Headmaster wanted from him.

  “Your father has spoken to me of your potential, although like your fellow chosen, unproven,” Myron noted. “I think this is your first task as someone chosen by the One.”

  “I’m not sure I want to,” Tevvy noted. “You see, Headmaster, the kortexi,” he spat the word, “thinks I should be locked up. In fact, he would have if Delgart and Marilee had not prevented him.”

  “You need to let it go,” Myron sighed, shaking his head. “Don’t let his prejudices dictate your actions.”

  “I hear you, Headmaster,” Tevvy replied, still annoyed by the kortexi’s actions.

  “He will come to recognize your worth in time,” Myron added, “and the others will not allow him to have you locked up, especially since they will all be outlaws after this day.”

  “And if I fail?”

  “Then you and the other chosen will die tomorrow,” Myron noted, “and the rest of us will fall under Gar’s dominion forever.”

  Tevvy choked. “And if I succeed?”

  “Then you will move on to your next task.”

  “That’s just lovely!” Tevvy snapped, throwing up his arms and getting to his feet.

  “Have you seen Klare?” Myron asked, changing the subject.

  “Not since that first morning,” Tevvy replied, his arms falling to his sides. “I was about to go out and search for her again.”

  “She is still missing,” Myron noted.

  “Her master met us on the way to the trial,” Tevvy noted, “and he asked me to search the school while the trial was going on, but I did not find anything.”

  Myron looked up at him. “Aah, so that is why you were absent,” he said, “I wondered.”

  Tevvy thought for a moment. “Do you want me to look for her?”

  “No,” Myron sighed, “I think our first concern must be for those chosen sentenced to die tomorrow.”

  “How do I get in?” Tevvy asked, making up his mind. . . .

  The sitting guard stood and removed the key ring from his belt, handing it to his fellow, who attached it to his belt. Tevvy slowly raised his miniature bow, needle pulled back and ready to fire the moment the second guard sat down. He prayed that he had calculated the distance correctly, so he could pull back the needle the instant after it struck the guard’s neck.

  “How are they?” the first guard asked, picking up the key and lantern from the table.

  “How would you be, if you were to die in the morning?” the second countered. Tevvy waited, poised for the moment of action. The second guard continued. “The wetha has sobbed herself out and now sits quietly, rocking on her pallet. The other wethem pace, except for the one who has a face damaged like the wetha’s: he sits cross-legged on his pallet, as if he were meditating.”

  The first guard scoffed, then shook his head. “Pity. It seems such a waste; they don’t seem bad to me.”

  It was the second’s turn to scoff. “We are not to question the actions of our superiors,” he noted. “Besides, talk like that could get you into trouble,” he added in a lower voice.

  The first sighed. “I know; it just seems an awful waste, and I feel there is something dreadfully wrong with it.” He turned away, and at the same moment, the second sat down. Tevvy let the needle fly, pulling back on the thread the instant it struck.

  “Ouch!” the second exclaimed, slapping his neck.

  The first turned, looking back at his fellow. “What’s wrong?”

  “Stinking fleas!” the second exclaimed. “We need to put it into our report, so that someone comes down and expels them again.”

  The first nodded and turned to go. In the interim, Tevvy had refilled his needle and stood poised to fire his second shot. The first moved to the door and unlocked it, then paused to place his single key into a pocket. Tevvy let the second shot fly, pulling back on the thread the instant it struck.

  “Ow!” the first exclaimed, slapping at his neck. He turned again to his fellow. “You’re right about the fleas!” He went through and closed the door, locking it behind him.

  Tevvy saw that the guard now sitting by the door had gone lax, and the awemi waited until the hands opened and the chin sank slowly onto the chest. Tevvy leapt out of shadows and had the ring of keys off the second guard’s belt before the awemi had stopped moving. He moved quickly to the door, knowing he had only moments before the first guard slumped, dropping his lantern. He looked for the most worn key on the ring, reasoning that would open the lock. He stopped before slipping it in, seeing in his mind the single key that had opened the door, then chose a different key. The lock clicked open, and Tevvy opened the door, slipping through and closing it as quietly as he could. He rushed after the first guard, seeing him slumped on the floor. As he suspected, the lantern had tipped over, spilling oil on the floor. Luckily, the oil was cheap and so only slowly burned, giving the awemi the moments he needed to right the lantern and put out the fire. He hoped that Klare would not be too upset over the small blanket he had brought with him from her house. He took another moment to reload the needle, in case someone else came in, or one of the guards woke up. He moved off toward the first cell door.

  His short awemi stature made it difficult to look into each cell, but his awemi vision made it easy to see inside without a light. The first cell was empty, he could see this after climbing the door and looking through the grate. Then he remembered the slot for food. He stooped to look through the slot on the second cell, seeing a wethi-shaped heat-source. He separated two keys from the others, the most worn, which likely opened the door the second guard sat by, and the one he had used to enter this hallway. He tried three keys before he found the right one, and the sounds he made brought whoever was in the cell to the door.

  “Who are you?” the voice of the kortexi asked.

  “Shh! You’ll wake the guard,” Tevvy whispered. “The Headmaster sent me to rescue you.”

  “What?” Blakstar’s voice behind the door asked.

  “Quiet!” Tevvy hissed. “The guard is nearby.”

  Tevvy turned the key and opened the door. The slight noise caused the guard to twitch.

  The tall, well-built kortexi stepped out, saw him, and began glaring at him.

  “Quickly,” Tevvy whispered, ignoring his look, closing and locking the door after Blakstar slipped out. He looked back at the guard, then pulled on Blakstar’s arm, pulling the much taller wethi down. Blakstar lowered his head, knowing that the awemi wanted to whisper in his ear. “Do you know where the others are?”

  “Further down,” Blakstar whispered and gestured irritably.

  “Grab one of those torches,” Tevvy said softly, “you check on the left, while I check on the right.”

  Having the kortexi made Tevvy’s job easier, he had to admit, as Blakstar could whisper through the door and see who was inside. In this way, they quickly located Thal, then Delgart, Marilee, and finally Klaybear in the last cell.

  “We’ve got to get out of here, quickly,” Tevvy whispered, “we have, maybe, fifteen minutes before the guards wake.”

  “I cannot leave without my sword and the Waters,” Blakstar noted.

  Tevvy’s mouth fell open. “Are you insane?” he hissed. “If we’re here when the guards wake, we’ll all go to the block in the morning!”

  “Blakstar is right,” Thal said. “His sword is a key to our future success and survival, and I need my rod and orthek components.”

  “I need my staff,” Klaybear added.

  “And we need weapons and armor,” Marilee said, “but we can take the guards’ equipment for now.”

  With each addition, Tevvy got angrier. “Do you people have any notion of where we are? Or our c
urrent position, should we be found, and what they’ll do to us?”

  “If they had taken all your equipment,” Thal said, “would you be any less eager to recover it, despite the bleak circumstances?” He paused before going on. “And yes, we are quite aware of our desperate situation, and the consequences, should we be caught.”

  Tevvy closed his mouth, looking from one face to another, then his eyes rested on Klaybear. “Surely, as one who follows the path of wisdom,” he paused, “surely, you see that the way to safety, the wisest path, is to leave quickly before we are caught?”

  “I’m not going back into that cell,” Marilee noted, “so let’s go get some weapons so we have a fighting chance.”

  Thal smiled, an action that looked out of place on his grief-lined face. “Besides, when we put Blakstar’s sword back into his hand, he can open an archway that will take us instantly to a haven of safety.”

  Blakstar nodded. “That, at least, is true.”

  Tevvy threw up his hands in exasperation, and as a sign of surrender, turned on his heel, and stalked back the way he had come, mumbling the while.

  “I have not had the chance to greet you, brother,” Delgart whispered behind Tevvy, and the awemi ground his teeth as the whisper sounded loud in his ears. He turned to look back, glaring, and saw Klaybear embrace Delgart, patting him on the back.

  “Nor I you,” Klaybear said. “We thought you dead, or worse.”

  “The ‘or worse’ is true,” Delgart replied, “but with the One’s help, I managed to survive.”

  Klaybear smiled. “You and Rokwolf look more like twins than he and I, who are twins, do.”

  “Yes,” Delgart replied, “and you favor mother. How is Rokwolf?”

  “I have not seen him in quite a while,” Klaybear remarked, “different orders, different paths. Marilee can tell you more, since they worked together.”

  Tevvy shook his head and muttered about loud wethem, then he moved on. Blakstar and Thal had moved after Tevvy. Marilee was a step behind them. Klaybear, with one arm still around his older brother’s shoulders, followed, still whispering to each other.