Spirits of Falajen

by Ginger Salazar

  “What’s the plan?” she asked tentatively.

  Kanilas chewed on the inside of his cheek. He turned away from Ibrinne’s gaze. “We tell him about Sen Asel,” he mumbled.

  “Tell him what, exactly?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  He pretended to be engrossed in a flowering bush on the other side of the gazebo. “Everyone thinks she is dead. We can tell him what we saw when we were in Lantheus.”

  “Really?” Ibrienne said, stunned. “You haven’t learned anything, have you? I am not betraying my friends because of you again!”

  Reaching up to pull his dark hair in frustration, he turned to face her. His face was reddening. “Look, we’re going to have to act fast, before he hears about it from someone else. I need you to just trust me.”

  “Trust you?” she screeched. “After everything you hid from me, everything you did, you want me to trust you?” She stood and made to leave.

  Kanilas put himself between her and the exit. He put his hands together. “Please, Ibrienne,” he begged. “I’m trying to make things right. I’d never forgive myself if something were to happen to Sulica.”

  “Something already did. Or did you forget how we found ‘Sethi? Do you really think the same didn’t happen to Sulica?” The frigid tone in her voice made Kanilas take a step back. Ibrienne suddenly noticed the darkness under his sunken eyes, how shaggy his hair had become. “When’s the last time you slept?” she asked, softening the edge in her voice slightly.

  He shook his head again and met her eyes. The pleading, desperate look he gave her seemed to be completely sincere, and Ibrienne’s resolve began to melt.

  She soon found herself standing with Kanilas outside the Kiaran’s door once more. Her heartbeat quickened with every minute they waited for it to open. The plan Kanilas had come up with wasn’t a bad one. She just hoped it would work.

  Finally, the door swung open, granting them entrance. The room was just as clean as the last time they had been there. The Kiaran sat at the far end of the table, same as before, with his back towards them, but the cronies were nowhere in sight. The chair turned slowly around to face them, and Ibrienne could see a look of confusion cross the Kiaran’s face.

  His pale eyes narrowed at Kanilas. “She is not supposed to be here,” he said in that same, slow speech as before.

  “We have information,” Kanilas said, stepping further into the room. His head was high, his face determined. He paused and glanced back at Ibrienne, who nodded her encouragement. “Brisethi Sen Asel, the Resarian taken with Sulica, was also in the laboratory.”

  “Yes,” the Kiaran hissed, “she died in the explosion that destroyed that building.”

  Kanilas licked his lips, took a breath and said, “She did not die. Sen Asel still lives. She made it out of the building before it went down.”

  The Kiaran stood, his hands hit the table. “You lie!”

  Ibrienne quickly stepped forward. “He does not lie.” Her hands shook with her words, but her voice was steady. “She was near death when we found her. We were looking for Sulica and found her instead. I healed her wounds, not completely, for I didn’t have time, but enough for her to move. She was the one who told us Sulica was taken to Pahl’Kiar.”

  As Ibrienne spoke, the Kiaran sat down again. He put his head in his hands. Speaking through them, he said, “Her powers? How do you say...mystics?”

  She recalled the horrendous smell of that prison, Brisethi’s blood on the walls, her limp body in the cell with her spirit already halfway gone. “The Lantheuns stripped her of all they could,” she answered. Her voice choked from the memory.

  The Kiaran met her eyes and knew she spoke the truth. He seemed truly apologetic as he said quietly, “I am sorry you are here.”

  She heard a thud, and the body of Kanilas fell beside her. “No!” she shrieked, dropping to her knees beside him. Barely conscious, he grabbed her hand. Ibrienne quickly called up her mystic and began reviving him.

  The Kiaran had gotten to his feet once more and nodded. Ibrienne saw someone approach her from the shadows. She felt a sudden pinch in her neck, and the darkness closed in quickly. With her last strength, she willed Kanilas to wake up. She struggled against the darkness, but a copper taste on her tongue grew stronger the more she fought.

  Before she completely lost consciousness, she heard his voice whisper, “I’m sorry, Ibrienne. Good-bye.” Indiscernible yelling followed, and the scent of smoke reached her, but she could fight no more.

  -:- -:- -:-

  At approaching the massive dam, the river veered slightly to the east to remain on the only canal leading into Beccilia. The industrious city greeted the travelers with the bustle of evening shops coming to a close. The four curious Resarians remained on the deck of the river boat to take in the view of tall, brick buildings set closely together. As the boat approached the inner city, they once again looked like foreigners in their simple Essenarian traveling clothes. At least they didn’t look like Dominion soldiers.

  The boat came to a stop in the small city lake and moored at the pier. The Resarian travelers thanked and tipped the boat crew for their safe and quick passage, then disembarked to journey to the ocean’s harbor at the other side of the city.

  “Hey, look, you’re famous, ‘Sethi,” Etyne casually remarked, tearing down a small poster from the advertisement wall. He held up the crude charcoal sketch next to her face. “Spot on - they even made sure to nip your ear off,” he smirked.

  Brisethi swiped the poster from his hand. “Ten thousand frakshins is all I’m worth now?” She felt insulted. “I was worth five times that to the Lantheun scientists.”

  “How do they even know you’re alive?” Korteni mockingly questioned, bringing her fingers to her chin in pretend thought. She then shot a pointed glare at Etyne.

  Etyne brought his hands up as though to block her scorn. “Don’t blame me for the Dominion feeling the need to stamp their label on every single issued item, including fire-starters!”

  Brisethi tossed the poster and pulled her hood up, nervously glancing around at the crowd who seemed to not notice the group at all.

  The four of them continued to stroll along the orderly streets of the city, following the main road leading down toward the harbor. Other streets branched off in all directions, leading to neighborhoods and smaller shops. The lanterns that were evenly spaced out along the streets started to brighten the streets under the evening twilight.

  Within an hour, the masts of dozens of ships came into view. Brisethi’s heart skipped a beat when she saw it. The tallest mast among the five stood alone in its own pier, flaunting its well-lit red and black banners. They swayed in the wind, boasting its presence with the Dominion’s gold insignia of three stars falling to Falajen. She had to suppress the sudden urge to sprint the remainder of the way and instead watched along with her three awe-struck companions as they moved closer to the majestic warship. She was so entranced that she didn’t notice the group of mysterious guards suddenly standing before them.

  “Sir, is this her?” One of the guards asked the other and nodded toward Brisethi.

  “Run,” Brisethi ordered through gritted teeth and shoved her friends the opposite direction. She knew that Etyne could easily hide them while she drew the guards further away from the harbor to give them time to get to the ship.

  She sprinted along the sidewalks of the street, dodging the native Beccilians, and side-stepped into an alley. She looked back to see that the entire group of eight guards had followed. Although she could have simply fought with her friends against them, she didn’t want to draw unwanted attention. She hadn’t recognized the uniform of the guards and didn’t want to risk fighting Beccilians in the event of creating another enemy of her people.

  Ducking into the open entrance of a tall building, she ran up the stairs two at a time, unknowingly climbing a bell tower. She had to hold the sides of her dress up to make the running easier and wistfully thought of the pants folded in her bag. Her th
ighs ached and her lungs burned from the six stories of stairs she ascended. When she finally reached the top, her legs wobbled and she fell to one knee. The touch of a guard’s hand on her ankle forced her to quickly twist her way out of his grip.

  “I had a feeling you had survived,” rang the voice of Chent, the Lantheun guard who on occasion, in her horrible past, had his way with her.

  Brisethi breathed heavily and stood wearily against the corner of the open architecture of the bell-tower’s roof. Her hand twitched with desire to incinerate the Lantheun and Beccilian guards, but she clenched it to keep control. She nodded her head and finally found her voice. “I don’t know what you think is going to happen here.” She stared each man in his eyes, one by one. Four of them were Beccilian guards. She didn’t want to use her mystics against them, feeling the need to remain inconspicuous.

  She exhaled loudly and knelt down to one knee, holding her hands out in front of her to allow them to bind her.

  Chent was the first to hastily storm at her, but she quickly drew the daggers from her boots. She leaped suddenly, swinging both arms out to slice his throat with both blades, leaving an ‘X’ on his neck. Blood splattered in every direction onto her dress and face, as he fell back, gurgling until his death.

  The remaining guards paused for a moment before attempting to chase after her, but she jumped once more onto the four foot wall and stared down behind her. She faced the men about to grab her and threw her daggers at the two closest, piercing them both in their necks.

  Feeling like the heroes in the books she read, she felt inclined to speak a final phrase to the enemy. “I will never live behind bars again,” she declared. With a quick breath, and a feeling that nagged and pulled at her, she then leapt backwards, falling freely from the top of the seventy foot tall tower.

  She watched the ground below rapidly approaching. Instinctively, she summoned a mystic she shouldn’t have known how to conjure. Just a few feet from the ground her body became a burst of scarlet flames. A second later, she re-materialized into herself once more, landing with a crouch and one hand on the ground, as if she had merely jumped from the four foot ledge.

  She rose and stared at her hands incredulously. “By the spirits,” she whispered, “I possess his mystics.” She finally figured out what it was her spirit had been trying to summon the first night the guards had chased them to the cliffs. Her spirit wanted her to simply become flames, the way Etyne became mist, to quickly levitate up the cliff instead of climbing it.

  Before the guards could catch up with her, she took off in a sprint back toward the harbor. She felt the urge to summon her new found mystic once again, but instead of becoming a flame, she transformed her vessel into a rushing bolt of lightning. She again rematerialized, this time at the harbor, traversing four miles in a single breath.

  “There you are,” a voice startled her.

  “Etyne,” she exhaled his name. “You’re never going to believe what just happened.”

  He looked her up and down, not wanting to know why she was covered in blood. “Tell me when we’re finally safe!” He grabbed her hand and hurried her along to the pier where the Dominion warship was moored.

  The Dominion guardsman at the edge of the gangplank to the warship verified Etyne and Brisethi’s Dominion identification cards and allowed them to board the DSV Sovereign. Korteni and Livian had already gone aboard. Although they weren’t in uniform, they proudly saluted the Dominion flag and requested permission to board from the watch officer.

  Chapter VII

  Captain Maerc Nessel and Chief Petin Kayula walked onto the quarterdeck, welcoming Captain Vorsen’s crew aboard. He assigned a crewmember to Sergeant Reej and Chief Pyraz to escort them to the enlisted berthing to set up their racks, freshen up and return to uniform. Chief Kayula escorted the officers to their separate berthing compartments to allow them time to clean up and change into their uniforms as well.

  Staring at her side profile in the mirror of the head, Brisethi examined herself. Slowly, muscle and fat were filling in once again in the areas she cared most about. The chief returned in half an hour to escort the uniformed army officers to the wardroom for a proper debriefing by Captain Nessel. The captain handed both army personnel their own log books and pens, instructing them to record every event that occurred in their perspective.

  Sitting at the head of the massive mahogany table in elegant matching chairs, the naval captain spoke once more. “Sen Asel,” his voice was soft and consoling, “I know you may not be in the best mood to recount your past seven weeks, but the command needs to know every detail you can remember. General Satnir and Emperor Arquistas need to have substantial evidence backing their declaration of war upon the Lantheun Empire.”

  “They’re declaring war because of me?” She gave him a confused look.

  Captain Nessel slightly nodded. “Their initial attack on us in the fall of Forty-three Nineteen and their alliance with our adversary was already leading up to conflict. The irrational imprisonment of an admiral’s daughter, who happened to be a Dominion service member as well, became the tipping point.”

  “I understand, Sir,” she nodded. “Is my father well? Can I send a letter to him?”

  “Of course you can, I’ll have it sent as soon as we reach Southwest Harbor,” Captain Nessel replied. He pulled a few sheets of paper from his drawer along with an envelope to leave beside her. “We go underway at hour twenty-two. If there’s anything else you two need, Chief Kayula will be standing by on the quarterdeck to assist you. I can be reached in the main cabin,” he explained. He stood from his seat at the head of the table and dismissed himself.

  “I’ll let the two of you talk among one another about your logs. You can find me on deck harassing my crew,” Chief said with a slight chuckle to himself.

  Sen Asel and Vorsen nodded to the odd chief as he exited the room. They were sitting across from each other at the large table trimmed in gold designs. The two shared a somber look, wondering what the other was thinking, and where to start on keeping a professional written record of the several weeks that their worlds collided.

  “I don’t even know what today’s date is,” Brisethi quietly stated.

  “Sixth of Sessing, Forty-three twenty-eight,” Etyne replied. He was first to begin writing in his logbook.

  “I don’t remember what day I left-“

  “Fifteenth of Trewint,” he answered shortly. His eyes met hers when he diverted from his writing. “That’s the day that the command annotated your disappearance in their memorandum.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbled and began to write in the most legible handwriting she could. At first, her hand struggled to form the Resarian letters, having been out of practice for so long. But soon the markings flowed easier. “I absolutely despise writing,” Brisethi said after the first paragraph.

  Etyne nodded. “I know you do. It isn’t my favorite subject, either. I’d rather solve equations.”

  “I hate math, too. I fucking hate everything,” she muttered while hastily writing her story.

  Etyne paused to glance up at her. He knew she was angry at being forced to recollect her past month and half of torture. He was just as angry when he first felt her sorrows through the Soul Reclamation. He thought of an idea that might calm her anger as they sat in the room. “Will you draw me something?”

  Brisethi finished another paragraph before meeting Etyne’s eyes. “What do you want drawn?”

  “Starfall over a desert. Just like the night you and I raced each other back to the garrison after making a wish. Take us back to that night, ‘Sethi,” he gently requested.

  A smile formed that shone through her eyes at him. She stood to reach across the table to take one of his papers. Her spirit felt overwhelmed with relief and gratitude at the sense of normalcy when Etyne took hold of her small hand. She consigned to his warm touch and fell heavily across their papers. The side of her face cooled against the cold surface of the polished table as her breathing intensified.
She was profoundly confused as to why her heart started to pound. “If I had the power to take us to any place and time, is that really where you would want to go?” she softly asked.

  Etyne leaned forward to gently brush aside the loose hair out of her face while still holding her hand in the other. “Do you have a better time and place you would take us?”

  She turned her head to glare up at him with a sinister smile. “The time, two hundred years from now. The place, Dominion palace. I am queen of the world, and you, I guess, can be the General of the Dominion.”

  Etyne released her hand with a chuckle. “Finish your log so we can get food.”

  Half an hour had passed when Etyne finished writing five detailed pages of his recollection from the past four weeks; starting from the day he had learned of her disappearance. He glanced up at Brisethi. She had placed her face into her hands. She wiped at her face with her sleeve, and, when her watery eyes met his, she turned in her chair to look completely away from him. Cautiously, Etyne stood and walked over to her side of the table. He stood before her and placed his hands on her shoulders but did not pull her in. He waited for her to initiate a response.

  Brisethi collided into him with no regards to regulations. She smothered her face into his chest.

  Wordlessly he held her close, feeling her shudder from the quiet sobs. He glanced down and smiled at a rough sketch of his request of the desert scene they shared with one another under the meteor shower. He then stared at her shaky handwritten log. A single word stood out and confirmed his fear, and quickly looked away from the papers. Rape had been the profoundly intimate trauma brought upon Brisethi’s body. Her authority over her own physical experience was usurped, denying her capacity to prevent intrusion and violation.

  She knew he had to have known as she broke from the embrace. She cleared her throat before quietly relaying a vague description to him. “The visceral terror and horror of every act upon me forced me into a state of dissociation of consciousness. When you found me, I was at a loss of connection to myself.”