by Jeff Wheeler
“Off with your hauberks,” the Cruithne ordered, kicking one back down who still had some fight in him. “You’ll soon be joining the fishes. You heard me. Off!” He sheathed his swords and grabbed one soldier by the collar and tossed him overboard. The others scrambled to remove the hauberks as one by one they were tossed over the side. There were twenty in all, and all were still alive, though some were unconscious. It was the Bhikhu way.
Paedrin stared at the giant of a man, feeling a dull ache in his shoulder blade. He was impressed with the Cruithne’s quickness as well as his size. It was a rare combination in someone so big.
“Let me see that gash.” He turned Paedrin to the side, frowning subtly at the wound. “Lucky blow. He only glanced you. A few stitches and you will be fine.” He marched over to the ladder leading up and climbed it quickly. Paedrin floated up to it effortlessly.
Hettie climbed up the ladder next. The Cruithne took the helm and barked a few orders to douse the fire on the deck and then started rubbing the wood of the wheel absently. She marched up to him, her expression wary. “You got us safely away, but that is just the sort of trick we might expect from the Arch-Rike. He has used us before. Let me see your fingers.”
Baylen held up one hand at a time, wagging his fingers at her. “No Kishion rings. But you are wise to be cautious. The Arch-Rike is the most cunning man I know. I also knew that I would never catch you two in time before reaching Shatalin. I did tell the Arch-Rike that you two had come to the Towers again, looking for something. I said I tracked you down to the Bhikhu temple and learned that you were heading for Lydi. I asked if I could help hunt you down. All true. He thought it would be useful having me on his side. He thought I wanted a reward. He should have looked into my motives more because I have always been loyal to Tyrus. I set up the trap in a way that suited our needs. That way, we can get to the Shatalin temple and back before word reaches there. As I said, it can only be approached by sea and we’re the first boat headed there. Not even the Paracelsus know where Shatalin is, so no one can go there by Tay al-Ard. Is my presumption correct that Tyrus is leading another group into the Scourgelands and not a revolt?”
Paedrin and Hettie looked at each other.
“Thank you,” he said, smiling. “You say more with your eyes than most people do with their lips. Now what I don’t understand is why you are going to the Shatalin temple. I would think that is the last place you would want to go.”
Paedrin looked at him quizzically.
“It is not far from here,” Baylen said. “What I don’t understand is why Tyrus would send you to the place where all the Kishion receive their training.”
“It was said by an ancient philosopher, Augour the Wise, that the purpose of all wars is peace. I wish I could believe that is true. History is rife with conflict. The wars and tumults of men are interrupted occasionally by the devastations of the Plague. Thus perhaps the purpose of all Plagues is peace.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Inside the confines of the captain’s cabin, Hettie completed sewing the cut on Paedrin’s shoulder. He felt the tug of the needle, but he did not flinch from it. The soldiers had done their best, but it was not enough. The three of them had scattered twenty men like leaves.
She clucked her tongue. “I’m surprised he cut you.”
“One was bound to get lucky,” he replied. “Are there any Romani quips about that?”
“Hmmm,” she murmured. “Ah yes. A blind chicken finds a grain once in a while.”
Paedrin chuckled with enjoyment. “So true. The Romani are very wise in their way.”
Hettie bit the end of the thread after finishing the tie. “Done.”
“Thank you.”
Her hand grazed along his shoulder as she stepped in front of him. Her touch sent tingles throughout his body. She sat down on the small cot across from him. In the lamplight, he could see more of the red color coming out in her hair. He had noticed it before and asked. With a small shrug, she said she had stopped dying it after leaving the Romani. The dye would fade in time and her true coloring would emerge. He liked the hint of it in the lamplight.
“What is it?” she said, looking at him with concern.
“Nothing.” She had caught him staring again. He cursed himself silently.
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Do you think we should trust this Cruithne?”
Paedrin leaned forward. Their noses almost touched. “As opposed to jumping overboard and swimming the rest of the way to Shatalin?”
“There is something about him that concerns me.”
“I can think of about five concerns myself. He looks like a brutish Cruithne but he’s as smart as a Vaettir. He knows about Tyrus and his plans. He outmaneuvered the two of us. He…”
She put her hand on his arm, silencing him. “How does he know about Kishion being trained at Shatalin?”
The door creaked open and Baylen pressed through sideways. Hettie withdrew her hand from his arm. Paedrin tugged on his tunic jacket and wound the belt around his waist. There was a pinch of pain in his shoulder, but it had stopped bleeding earlier.
“We will be at the monastery before nightfall,” Baylen said. “What do you seek there?”
Hettie frowned.
Paedrin cocked his head. “You mentioned above deck that the Kishion train at Shatalin.”
“And you want to know how I know that.” He sighed with impatience.
Hettie folded her arms.
“Remember who my employers were. I was hired by the Paracelsus to protect them, not to count people entering the gates. If any are suspicious, I do not let them pass. Tyrus’s nephew came recently. So did you,” He nodded at Hettie. “And so did a Kishion. He is known as the Quiet Kishion, a very dangerous man. I knew that someday I may be called on to protect my masters from him. With that possibility, I began to study what I could of him, including where he was trained. All Kishion come from Kenatos originally, but they leave the city for special training. Not many know this. Few even bother asking, but I made it a point to ask and then listen. If you want to know something, you eventually find a way to discover it. I learned from a man who knows the Archivists that the Kishion are trained along the coast. They said there was an old Bhikhu temple there called Shatalin. It is built on a cliff along the sea, south of Lydi. The only way to get there is by ship and climbing up very steep steps carved into the rock. The coast is known for recurring fog, so the monastery is shrouded most of the time.”
Baylen rubbed his meaty hands together. “It gets worse. The one who trains them is blind. Those who are trained are blindfolded, forced to learn combat without sight. They say that looking at the blind master’s eyes will turn you into stone. So again, I ask you: Why are you going there?”
Paedrin swallowed. “Rumors or truth?” he asked the Cruithne.
“I wouldn’t know.”
Paedrin glanced at Hettie and saw the fresh concern in her eyes. Her expression was veiled, but he could see the worry. She stroked her hand through her hair, gazing at him, lips pursed.
Standing, Paedrin faced the Cruithne. “The Arch-Rike already knows what I am after. He knows because I once wore a Kishion ring and he heard Tyrus give me instructions.”
Baylen’s eyebrows lifted, but his expression was bland. “Those rings don’t come off without killing the wearer.”
“I speak the truth. I seek a blade—a sword. It is called the Sword of Winds. It is a weapon of power that will be used in the Scourgelands. Master Shivu also charged me to restore the Shatalin temple. The master there is known as Cruw Reon. I will defeat him.”
There was a long silence as Baylen studied him, his expression continued to be bland, no hint of surprise. “Have you ever faced a Kishion before?”
“Twice. I failed both times.”
“You lived. That is better than most. What makes you think you can defeat the blind master?”
Paedrin folded his arms. “Because I am not b
lind and I will have the sword when I face him. I trust you, Baylen. I may be a foolish Vaettir. Or maybe you have proven yourself as thoroughly as you can. You are welcome to join us. A question for you now: Have you ever faced a Kishion?”
Baylen shook his head. “No, but I did pull one out of a pile of rubble in the courtyard of the Paracelsus Towers. I imagine they are difficult to kill.”
“I would imagine. Being a Bhikhu, killing one isn’t my goal. Thank you for your aid.”
The Cruithne shrugged and then squeezed out the door again, shutting it noisily behind him.
Hettie sighed. “Why do I feel like Tyrus is sending the goose with a message to the fox’s den?”
He looked at her askance. “A goose, am I?”
“You honk like one, letting the whole world know the direction you are flying.”
Paedrin smiled broadly. “I may honk like a goose, but notice I did not reveal your part.”
What the Cruithne said was true. The cliffs and the sea were shrouded in fog. Paedrin and Hettie stood above deck, smelling the salty air, feeling the moist kiss of the mist on their faces. The sound of waves crashing against stones haunted the air, but they could not see the breakers. The waters were green-gray, full of froth, and pungent, so different than the smell of the lake waters of Kenatos. The wind brought sounds from many directions, the slosh of water against the hull, the spray of the waves against rocks, the cries from gulls overhead. Paedrin leaned against the railing, staring into the fog, his stomach knotting with nervous energy. Baylen’s words had unsettled him, but he was determined not to let them ruin his courage. Master Shivu would not have trusted this to him without believing in him.
Hettie leaned next to him. “I still don’t trust him.”
“You can have your opinions. Leave me to mine.”
Baylen climbed down from the helm deck. “This is as close as we dare go. The crew says the rocks are very near. We will need to take a little boat to go farther. I will row you to the shore. Do your business and I will bring you back to the ship.”
Paedrin nodded and they followed him to the edge where some sailors were using pulleys to fix the boat with ropes. Hettie and Baylen entered the small vessel and it swayed dangerously when Baylen boarded. It took three sailors to lower them down, their arms straining against the bulk. Paedrin waited on the edge and then breathed out, lowering himself down to the boat with a single breath of air to slow his fall. The Cruithne took the oars and rowed against the wild churn of the waves. Spray splashed against the side and the mist swallowed them.
The jolting of the boat was alarming as it responded to the surge from the ocean. Paedrin gripped the edge and prepared himself to float the rest of the way to shore if it swamped. He did not like being on the waters. Hettie hugged herself for warmth, peering into the gloom. Suddenly Baylen thrust out an oar and struck it against a jagged rock that appeared out of the water in front of them. The boat lurched violently, but he managed to avoid crashing into it. He took the oar in both hands and stroked vigorously. The mist began to part, revealing enormous cliffs and misshapen crags. The rock was thick with brown vegetation and moss, and puckered with clinging shells.
“There!” Baylen shouted, pointing to a cleft in the rock. Waves bounded against the cliffs, spraying them with white churn. The boat rocked violently as the crosscurrents hit it and Paedrin gripped both sides of the boat to steady himself. Hettie did the same. The boat pitched again as a wave caught it from behind and sent it shooting forward. Then the bottom scraped against rocks and it slowed to a halt.
Baylen cursed, rose, and jumped over the edge. The boat began to float again, and he gripped it with both hands and pulled them closer to the sheer cliffs ahead. “Do you see the stone steps?” He pointed straight ahead at the wall-like surface. Sure enough, the craggy rocks had been carved, forming a near-vertical stair upward, which disappeared into the mist.
“I see it,” Hettie said.
“This is as close as I can get you until high tide,” he said. “You’ll have to wade in farther and climb up. I’ll pull this boat up on a rock nearby and wait for you to come down again. If you don’t come back in a day, I will come looking for you. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Paedrin replied, jumping out of the boat. He helped Hettie clamber out and felt the pull of the tide water against his legs. The power in the surf was incredible. Hand in hand, Paedrin and Hettie crossed the sharp surface of the reef, knee-deep in seawater, and closed the distance to the face of the jagged cliffs. He glanced back, spying Baylen climbing up on a pyramid-shaped boulder, the boat dragging behind him. The water was bitingly cold.
Hettie slipped on the slick stones and he tugged her back up as the water soaked her front. She uttered a Romani oath and pulled with him to reach the edge. The water receded with each wave, revealing enormous pockmarks in the reef. Colorful objects and plants grew inside the water-filled tide pools, amazing creatures he had never seen before. Some looked like flowers, except with quill-like ends instead of petals. Strange rocky creatures with five points clung to the rocks as if hugging them. Little crabs darted amidst the pools. The plethora of life was intriguing.
“What a forsaken place,” Hettie muttered, staring up at the cliffs and not down at the teeming life in the tide pools. She brushed hair back from her face. Her expression was pained and wincing as she stared up the steep incline of the cliff. The water was down to their ankles now.
“What a mysterious place,” Paedrin said. “The environment is harsh and punishing, but look at the forms of life around us. I had no idea things could survive in such a place.”
She glanced down at the tide pools, looked at him with an arched eyebrow and then shook her head as if he were hopeless.
They reached the wall of the cliff, all jutting angles and sheets of dark rock. An inlet lay before them, where the sea had carved away huge portions of stone. Trickling waterfalls plunged into the sandy edge. There was a large flat rock near the base of the stairs—during high tide it would have provided an easier way to approach. The mist hung above them, about twenty paces, veiling the upper heights.
“Let me see if I can locate the temple first,” he said. “You start climbing.”
She nodded and Paedrin took a big gulp of air, rising despite the heaviness of his sodden clothes. He used the edge of the wall to pull himself faster up, gliding effortlessly up the face. The Vaettir would have no trouble ascending to such a place. The steps were undoubtedly there for others to use.
Paedrin entered the thick mist of the fog, which blinded him as he ascended. The rock face was steep, ascending at a gradual slope the higher it went, providing ample footholds and crevices to use. An idea began to blossom in his mind. He emerged above the sheet of fog higher up, which gradually tapered off, revealing the hulking outlines of an enormous temple structure. The Bhikhu temple in Kenatos was just a sprig compared to this. He was awed by the ancient stones, the curving rooftops and multiple levels of towers and parapets. It had been built over a great number of years, perhaps even centuries. The entire top of the rocky cliff was covered in structures, made of the same stone as the cliff itself, as if it had been painstakingly carved from the rock into the formation of towers and crenellations. Enormous statuary adorned it—bull heads and tigers and serpents and some creatures he could not identify. There was a giant wooden door at the top of the stairs, bound with rusty iron that gleamed red in the light.
The temple faced him majestically, more ancient than the Arch-Rike’s palace. Yet as he stared at it, it did resemble the structure of the palace in Kenatos slightly. The design was reminiscent of it. There were no sentries posted on the walls, no sounds emanating from within. He did notice a shelf of flat rock without any structures on it near the cliff’s edge partway around the temple. The blossoming idea went further. If he could draw attention by his approach and let Hettie climb the walls from behind, it would increase the chances of their success.
Paedrin let out his breath and sank through the m
ist quickly. His stomach thrilled with the sensation and he emerged beneath the cloud, finding Hettie climbing the steps barefoot, her boots tied to her pack.
He dropped down to her level and flattened himself against the cliff, grabbing handholds and footholds to steady himself. “I have an idea,” he said.
“What is it?” she grumbled, wincing at the effort of the climb.
“Over that way, the cliff curves and emerges to a flat shelf at the base of the temple walls. It would be a good place to conceal yourself until dark. I will approach the main doors and seek admittance. My thinking is to draw attention to myself at the front of the temple tonight, drawing their gaze away from where they are concealing the sword. You climb the walls after dark and begin your search. I will distract them as long as I can.”
“Draw attention to yourself? You mean insult them.”
“It comes naturally to me.”
“How do you plan on distracting them then? Parading the front tower in your smallclothes?”
Paedrin smiled. “I plan to challenge Cruw Reon directly for authority. Before I face him, he has the right to choose a champion to face me first. It is a Bhikhu custom. If I win, I earn the right to combat for authority. If I lose, it won’t really matter anyway. You get the sword. When you do, whistle loudly if we should flee. I will come to you. If not, bring it to me and I will defeat him.”
Hettie nodded. “So which way do I climb?”
He inhaled and started to rise again, crawling like a spider up the sheer face of the cliff. “The handholds are better over this way. Come on.”
She followed, leaving the safety of the stone steps carved into the cliff. Paedrin searched ahead, looking for the best handholds and sturdiest places. It was an arduous climb and he could see the pinched look on Hettie’s face as she struggled up the slope. The rocks cut at her fingers and feet, but she did not hiss or complain. They reached the veil of fog and the way became murky.
