by Jon Monson
She can’t possibly know what I’m about, Barrick told himself. Still, the look she gave him seemed to pierce his very soul. He was starting to wonder if he’d gotten himself in over his head.
“I’m glad you were able to make it,” Gamila continued. “The food is ready, so we should probably eat while it’s still hot.”
“Well of course we should,” Bayram exclaimed as the three seated themselves around the table. “I’ve been dying to hear more about your little adventure with Aydiin into the Soulless Desert. I really didn’t get enough time to hear all the details.”
“Oh, there ain’t much ter say,” Barrick drawled as the same servant girl who had escorted him from the gate brought in plates full of steaming hot delicacies.
“Oh really?” Gamila chimed in as she ripped off a piece of flatbread and dipped it into a paste made of beans. “From the little Aydiin said, it sounded the exact opposite.”
Barrick had never really grown used to traditional Salatian cuisine and especially the style of eating without utensils from communal bowls. He did, however, break off a rather large piece of flatbread, using it to grab some shredded lamb. He hoped it wasn’t too spicy as he shoved it into his mouth.
“Eventful or not, I’d love to hear about a foray into the Soulless Desert,” Bayram said. “I can’t imagine that would be an easy excursion.”
“Oh, it wasn’t –,“ Barrick coughed. A heat rivalling the Soulless Desert erupted in his mouth, spreading through his throat. His eyes began to water, and a fit of coughing erupted as his body tried to reject whatever had invaded. Panic began spreading as quickly as the heat, and he looked up to see his hosts smiling.
“Are you alright?” Bayram chuckled. “I told Gamila that putting fatalii peppers in the lamb was a little over the top.”
“I didn’t know he’d be such a baby about it,” Gamila’s smile seemed to take up her entire face.
“You did, too,” Bayram responded, still chuckling. “You’ve eaten with him before. You know he avoids anything with too much heat.”
“I just need a minute,” Barrick gasped, rising to his feet, an idea coming to his mind.
“You can get some goat milk in the kitchens,” Bayram said. “That usually helps quite a bit.”
Barrick nodded, still sputtering. He could tell his face was completely red. Normally, he’d be downright upset with Gamila, but this was the excuse he needed.
Pushing on the door, he quickly found himself in an open courtyard. He was near the library, but he knew there wouldn’t be much time. Luckily, Aydiin had made him spend what had felt like unending afternoons in the dusty rooms of the palace library.
Despite his best efforts, Barrick had learned the layout of the mostly-underground building. The section that housed his objective wasn’t particularly large, and he felt more than confident he could find the document well before he was missed. At the very least, he hoped to find it before someone came searching.
Looking around for any stray or curious eyes, Barrick lurched to the end of the courtyard. He panted slightly – it was as if he’d run the short distance. It wasn’t enough to tire him out, but it was enough for him to feel the effects.
He poked his head through the opening to the next courtyard and found it empty. Lurching again, he found himself near the doorway that led into the library. With a sigh, he pushed the heavy wooden doors open and made his way inside.
The entire building smelled of dust and old paper. The chamber was dark, even during the day in an attempt to shield the ancient tomes from the aging effects of the sun. Perfectly circular, the entire perimeter of the building was lined with book shelves that seemed to sag under the weight of their contents.
A spiral staircase that led underground dominated the center of the room. Below his feet, the library branched out into what Barrick thought was a never-ending maze of various sized tunnels. He felt confident Aydiin had the entire complex memorized. While he lacked the prince’s memorization skills, Barrick knew where he needed to be.
His feet pounded on the stone as they carried him down the first few flights. Three stories down, Barrick took off to his left and down a broad, tall corridor. He knew he was close.
Then it was in front of his face – a tall shelf with narrow cubby holes. Each hole was occupied by a roll of papers. Barrick began scanning the labels on the outside until he found what he was looking for.
He pulled a roll of papers out of the cubby and frowned. The papers were long, at least as long as his leg. There would be no easy way to hide them. Then a thought occurred to him.
Barrick unbuttoned his trousers, dropping them to the floor. He pulled his left leg free and unrolled the papers. He quickly wrapped them around his leg before tying them off with a piece of twine. Looking down at his handiwork, Barrick knew he couldn’t stay for the rest of dinner.
Pity. He really had been looking forward to that baklava.
Leg stiff from the papers, Barrick decided to lurch up the stairs. Despite the exhaustion he knew would ensue from the using his powers rather than just walking, he knew it would only be worse if he tried climbing those stairs with one leg unable to bend.
Within a few minutes, he was out of the library. He continued through the palace courtyards until he found a generally unwatched section of the wall. This was the spot he used to sneak into the palace complex to see Aydiin. The Sultan had never approved of his son’s friendship with a foreigner, so Barrick had learned quickly to let himself in.
Shoring up his resolve, Barrick lurched through the wall. On the other side, he had to bend over and breathe heavily for a few moments. The nausea in his stomach was nearly over powering.
Lurching through thin air was easy, just as walking. Lurching through a door tended to make his stomach upset for a moment, as if he were falling. Lurching through a thick object like the palace wall – that was enough to evacuate the entire contents of his stomach. Judging by the pain the fatalii peppers had caused on their way down, Barrick had no desire to feel their effects on the way back up.
He lurched onto a nearby rooftop. From there, he used them as an unwatched highway, far from the gaze of any passing jandarm. Within half an hour, he found himself outside the gates of his father’s home.
“Get my father,” Barrick grunted to one of the servants as he hobbled in through the front door. “I’ll be in the study.”
The man scrambled, having never before seen Barrick with such fire in his eyes. His footsteps pounded in the distance as Barrick made his way to the private room filled with books and alcohol. As soon as he found himself alone, he pulled down his trousers and retrieved the papers.
After placing the now rolled parchment onto his father’s desk, Barrick poured himself a glass of scotch and settled down onto an armchair. He’d had quite the night, and he could still taste the peppers. He deserved a moment of peace.
The moment didn’t last long enough, as Arathorm entered only a few moments later. Barrick didn’t bother getting to his feet.
“They’re on your desk,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual and nonchalant. Arathorm chose to forego his usual scowl and instead strode over to the desk where Barrick had left the papers.
“Son, do you remember what I told you last time we spoke?” Arathorm asked after unrolling the papers and scanning through them.
“Not to show my face until I had the plans,” Barrick sighed. “As you can see, I have the plans.”
“Did you, by chance, look at them before leaving the library?” Arathorm asked, and Barrick perked up at the annoyance in the man’s voice.
“I was in a hurry,” Barrick said. “I didn’t have much time. I checked the label on the shelf, though. It said very clearly what it was.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that space once held the plans,” Arathorm said, lifting the pages off the table. Barrick stood and looked – they were empty. Every page was blank.
“I don’t get it,” Barrick shrugged. “Why would there just be a roll of blank pa
ges in the library?”
“This was in the middle,” Arathorm pushed a separate sheet of paper into Barrick’s chest. He grabbed it and began reading.
Long live the Revolution.
“Apparently, we’re not the first to think of this particular plot,” Arathorm said, turning back around to the bar.
“I – I can’t believe it,” Barrick said. He’d gone to all that effort for nothing.
“Do you remember what I told you at our last encounter?” Arathorm said, his voice darkening.
“That you didn’t want to see my face until I had the plans,” Barrick answered, fear rising to his chest.
“And you expressly disobeyed that command,” Arathorm said, a wicked smile in his voice. “It’s a technicality, true, but you must learn the consequences of sloppiness.”
He snapped his fingers and two large men entered the room. Each was large enough to break every bone in his body, which – he realized – may be what they were sent to do.
“Ishtuk here is a healer,” Arathorm said, refusing to turn around and face him. “I find that’s quite helpful when you want to get your point across without killing your student.”
The men moved forward, each grabbing one of Barrick’s arms. Their faces were completely without emotion. They seemed like the kind of men who neither shied away from violence, nor took particular pleasure in it. It was merely what they did.
For a moment, he considered lurching, running from his punishment. Then he realized he couldn’t do that. He had nowhere else to go. This was where he belonged. These were the only men who could get him what he desired.
Chapter 28
No, I’m fine, thank you,” Aydiin called out to the servant knocking on his door. “I don’t need anything else - just some water, please.”
Three servants had come by, each asking if he required anything else. To each, he had requested a pitcher of water and nothing further. Yet here he was with no water and a fourth knock at his door.
Thunder sounded in the distance, the harbinger of a storm. He could feel the humidity in the air, the oppressive weight of a winter storm. Taking a breath, he could feel the moisture in his lungs.
He looked around the rather simple room. There was a narrow cot with a nightstand in one corner while a shabby desk with an uncomfortable chair were crammed into another. The room was nothing like the rest of the manor.
At least it’s private, Aydiin thought, sighing. After sleeping in barns and out in the open for the past week, it did feel nice to have a private room. There was still a part of him that marveled at being treated like a common servant.
The knock sounded again at the door.
“Just the water, please,” he called out again.
There had been precious little time over the past few days to practice with his new-found powers over water. The group had spent its time riding, stopping only to eat and sleep. It had not been conducive to exploring the powers granted to him by the Great Stone of Katala, which seemed rather important given the attempts on his life.
He had seen Wave-crafters manipulate water before, but had never given much thought as to how it was done. With the little bit he’d tried, it felt like the water was a living thing, waiting for his commands. Using the power felt amazing, and he was eager for more practice.
In his vision, he had seen a small moment in the life of Katala. Yet somewhere under the surface were more memories, like dreams he’d half forgotten. He somehow knew what she’d been capable of, and the water he’d found seemed almost eager to obey his commands.
A third knock came at his door.
“Unless you have my water, please, go away,” Aydiin shouted, rising to answer the door. “I really don’t need anything else.”
The last word faded as he opened the door to see Count Visconti in his full military uniform. He somehow looked even more formal than he had earlier in the day. His shoes seemed more polished, each medal was in its proper place.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sir,” Aydiin stammered. “I didn’t know it was you. Please, come in.”
“Why thank you,” the Count said, striding confidently into the small room. “I do hope everything is to your liking.”
“Yes, of course,” Aydiin responded. “The servants have been very…helpful.”
“Yes, they can be a little overbearing at times, I’m afraid,” the Count chuckled. “They grow restless with only one old man to wait upon.”
The Count sat down on the rough chair.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Aydiin said, unsure of how to handle the situation. “Can I get you anything?”
“Oh, it’s just been too long since I’ve had any foreigners come to my home,” Visconti smiled. “What’s the latest from Salatia – that is where you’re from, correct?”
“I’m from Ghindi, actually,” Aydiin lied. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Count Visconti – he just felt uneasy around him. The less he knew about Aydiin, the better.
“Oh, but you must have spent time in Salatia, with an accent like that,” the man smiled, gesturing for Aydiin to sit on the bed.
“I have spent a few years working in Maradon,” Aydiin found himself wishing they had come up with a believable cover story. “Although Ghindi will always be my home.”
“Travelling can never really erase who you are,” Visconti nodded. “Wouldn’t you agree, Prince Aydiin?”
Aydiin gave the man his best look of confusion, although he was no actor. His heart began pounding in his ears. He had no idea how to respond.
“There’s little point in continuing this charade,” the man said, strumming his fingers together. “There’s no use in trying to hide, my dear boy. Every member of the Order the world over has your face memorized.”
“You must have me mistaken with someone else,” Aydiin finally responded.
“There’s no mistaking you,” Visconti smiled, rising to his feet. “It’s a pity you got Byanca mixed up in all of this – that girl was like a daughter to me.”
A blue light began to emanate from under the Count’s clothing, and Aydiin felt his body begin to convulse as he fell to the ground. Memories of the torture he’d received from a Jolt on the streets of Maradon rushed back into his mind. The pain was intense, his muscles contracting under the electric shocks coming from Count Visconti.
“You think your little lies can fool me?” the Count panted as the electricity faded. “I recognized you the second you came to my door, and now I have you. While you await an eternity of suffering, I will be rewarded with Eternal Life and power beyond measure.”
The pain returned as the blue light of the Count’s electricity again filled the room. The sensation of that much power again running through his entire body was exquisite and Aydiin could smell the sickly sweet scent of burning flesh.
The pain again faded, and Aydiin looked over to see the Count doubled over, panting. He almost felt sympathy for the old man. Then he remembered that the panting aristocrat was trying to kill him.
Yet he wasn’t just resting. The blue light that came from the Markings under his clothing was growing more powerful. The man was drawing in power, preparing for a massive jolt.
It was a common enough tactic. The Jolt would open himself up to the energy around him, draw in as much as possible, and then let it out in an impressive display of destruction. It was a feared tactic on the battlefield, and now he was only moments away from experiencing it himself.
The tactic gave Aydiin an idea. Closing his eyes, he felt for the individual droplets of water in the air. With a storm rolling in, the air was humid, and there was an abundance of the liquid.
Just as he’d done in his vision, he pulled the individual water droplets from the air. He formed them into a thin whip, and it hung in the air above him, ready to strike.
The increasing glow around Count Visconti stopped, and an eerie silence settled over the room. The Count continued to pant, the exertion proving difficult for him. With a resounding clap of thunder, he released the energy in o
ne magnificent burst.
Aydiin’s hands shifted, directing the water in front of the bolt. The water channeled the electricity, redirecting the lighting away from Aydiin in a loop and back towards the Count. The energy slammed into the old soldier with a roar, sending him flying backwards. Smashing through the window behind him, the Count fell two stories to the ground below.
I can’t believe that worked, Aydiin thought, as his brain began to swim and he let his body go limp.
The room around him began to spin, and he had to close his eyes to avoid vomiting. The sensation remained as he closed them even tighter. The smell of his burnt hair and skin remained, although a cool breeze began to filter in from the shattered window.
He felt himself slipping from consciousness, unable to make himself care. The pain racked every inch of his body, making his previous encounters with Jolts seem almost laughable. He almost welcomed the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.
Footsteps pounded the floor next to him, the wood moaning and squeaking, as an even stranger sensation began to surge through him. It was both fire and ice, the smooth touch of a lover’s arm and the sting of a taskmaster’s whip. It was as indescribable as the pain had been.
He could feel his skin tighten and soften. The smell of burnt flesh and hair began to dissipate as his mind grew sharper. His eyes shot open to see an all too welcome face.
“You have a habit of getting into trouble with Jolts,” Seb grunted.
The grizzled old soldier was passing his hands over Aydiin’s body, and he knew the man’s Markings along his thighs would be glowing underneath the trousers. Seb had a look of worry and concentration on his face that surpassed what was required to heal his wounds. There was something else going on.
“Seb, what are you doing here?” Aydiin croaked. His throat was still incredibly dry.
“I heard noises and I came to see what in Alarun’s name was going on,” he said.
“Count Visconti tried to kill me. Why does everyone hate Alarun so much?”
“Most people don’t even know who he is,” Seb responded, finishing with his healing before lifting Aydiin to his feet.
