by Ryan Wieser
“I will have clothes brought to you,” the young Hunter spoke, watching her. She eyed Bane’s blade and turned to him.
“I have clothes,” she answered softly, thinking of the pile of her belongings in the mirrored pool room.
“Nonetheless, I will have new ones sent.”
She nodded at him slowly as he held her stare.
“We actually haven’t formally met,” he half-smiled at her, awkwardly. She was surprised by his ability to navigate his emotions, turning from such rage to such kindness. It reminded her of another she knew.
She looped her arms around her body, pulling his vest tighter, trying to forcibly stop her shaking. “You’re Kohl O’Hanlon.” Her words were still shaky, distorted by the quivering of her jaw.
“And you’re Jessop… ?” he pressed, waiting for a surname.
She let him wait a moment longer. He didn’t try to search her mind for the answer. Again, he surprised her.
She shook her head at him, eyeing the twisted knot of a scar that was tucked into his cheekbone. “I don’t have a family whose name I could inherit,” she answered.
He nodded, casting his gaze downward. “I’m sorry about that,” he said, his voice soft.
She turned from him and looked over Falco Bane’s blade. She lifted the silver hilt slowly in her trembling fingers. The black glass was as singular and beautiful as it was treacherous. “You’re not the Hunter who has to be sorry.”
She turned back to him and found the blade was shaking in her hand, aimed loosely at him. She was too weak to wield a weapon and she meant him no harm. Slowly, Kohl O’Hanlon outstretched his hand and touched the tip of her sword, lowering its point down from him. His fingers slid down the blade until his hand rested atop her own, and with a small tug, he took it from her and rested it back on the bed. He looked her over slowly. “What happened to you?”
Jessop lowered herself to the ground and leaned against her bed, holding the leather tightly to her chest to stop shaking. She noticed the vest had no knife hole or blood stains—he had obtained a new one. “Haven’t you seen what all the Council has now seen? Surely you heard their thoughts or saw mine… I escaped Aranthol,” she sighed heavily, sick of the story herself now. Slowly, the young Hunter lowered himself to the floor beside her.
“I might have heard a thought or two, but I prefer different methods of learning things about people than reading minds,” he shrugged.
Jessop arched her brow at him. “Torture?”
He shook his head at her, shocked by the dark remark. “What? No! I just ask them.”
She shrugged, almost laughing at his response. “I lived under Falco Bane in the Shadow City, and now I’m here, in the Hunters’ Red City. You know everything there is to know about me.”
She looked up to him and found his hazel eyes studying her. He shook his head slowly. “Somehow, I highly doubt that.”
* * * *
Jessop woke early the next morning and quickly dressed in the fresh clothes the young Hunter had sent to her before beginning the task of braiding her long hair. He had stayed with her late into the night, asking her questions and continuously apologizing for the way she had been treated by the Assembly Council. He had arranged for food and clothing to be brought to her and assured her that her room was well protected, so that she could sleep soundly. “You’re safe here, I promise; no one can hurt you,” he had told her before leaving her side.
She hadn’t told him that, sweet as his sentiment was, she already knew that. She had slept better than she had anticipated. As morning broke, she thought of the young Hunter. He had a kindness that Jessop was quite certain she had never encountered before. It was different than anyone she knew—he was different than anyone she knew. His sweetness was disarming and he lived by a simple moral code, so certain of what was right and wrong. Jessop wouldn’t admit that a part of her envied that level of moral simplicity. She had lived too dark a life to believe in a black-or-white world. Her life, as it had always been in the Shadow City, was darkly gray.
She pulled her thick mane over her shoulder, her fingers working expertly on the plait. As she began to tie it off with a leather band, the automated door operator’s voice filled the room. “Hunter Kohl O’Hanlon.”
Jessop finished with her hair and checked her appearance once more in the mirror. She wore all black, from her tunic to her breeches, and the young Hunter had even sent a new pair of boots, but she refrained. Hers were worn leather, fitted perfectly to her step. She had been prepared to go back for the clothes, but when she had awoken she found her belongings outside her door. She was dressed exactly like one of the Hunters, barring the leather vest.
She reached for her sword, knowing it was the last thing she needed to be ready for the day, and, blade in hand, she opened the door for Kohl O’Hanlon.
“I see the clothes fit,” he said and smiled as he stepped into the room.
She turned from him and began the process of pulling her sheath around her belt.
“But you didn’t like the boots,” he noted, staring at her worn footwear.
Jessop fixed her belt, her blade steady, and turned to him. “Mine know my fight, they know my steps,” she explained.
He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he regarded her with a somber expression. “Of course, you’ve had to defend yourself for so many years.”
Jessop looked him over slowly. His golden hair was pulled into a tight knot at the back of his head and he had a shadow of a beard, which drew more attention to the silver star-shaped scar under his hazel eye than he probably intended. A scar that on another’s face would have been hideously overpowering, but on Kohl’s was oddly appealing.
She looked over his massive frame, his broad chest and wide shoulders. She wasn’t blind; she knew that the Hunter was both young and handsome. While she had expected the former, she had been surprised by the latter. He had golden eyes and silver scars; he was undeniably striking… but that didn’t make his sympathetic stare any less critical.
Or any harder to face.
“Please don’t do that.” She shook her head at him.
“Do what?”
She snaked her sheath onto her belt. “Pity me.”
He pushed away from the wall, letting his arms fall from his chest, and stood before her. “I’m sorry for whatever happened to you that made you what you are.” He took a slow step towards her. “But you saved my life and for that I’m grateful.”
She felt uncomfortable under his pensive gaze. His candor felt near palpable. Honesty was so important to Kohl that it was an extension of his very being, a code he lived by—armor he wore. Jessop’s armor was more in line with his mentors, and she felt almost embarrassed by that fact. She stepped away from him. “I did what any would do.”
He nodded slowly. “What not many could do.”
She didn’t want to speak about it further. She had saved him, but she didn’t need to be thanked for it. She had entered that bar with the intentions of meeting a Hunter and ending up in the Glass Blade, surrounded by those Falco Bane most hated and most feared. She had been successful and Kohl O’Hanlon had just been… collateral damage.
“Many can fight,” she said, making her way towards the door.
“Not women,” he argued, following.
“Hunters don’t let women train in the Red City—that doesn’t mean women can’t fight. They fight often, and well, in Aranthol,” she argued.
“Well, women in Azgul don’t seem to have the temperament for it,” he explained, stepping out into the hall.
Jessop eyed him over slowly. “Or maybe the men in Azgul simply fear what would happen if women did take up the sword.”
He stared at her bold claim, looking over her with serious eyes, and then his lips pulled back in a half-smile, “I suspect you’re right.”
She froze in the hall. Though
he wore a completed uniform, she knew she had his leather from the night before. “I forgot your Hunter’s vest. Let me get it for you.”
He rested his hand on her forearm, halting her. “You keep it.”
* * * *
“What do you mean Hydo cancelled the Assembly Council meeting?” Kohl pressed, staring at Hanson with confusion.
“He said he had an urgent matter to attend to, that he would return to the Glass Blade soon and we would deal with Falco Bane and the girl then,” Hanson relayed the message for a second time to them, his voice dull with repetition.
“Jessop,” Kohl corrected—for the second time.
Hanson shot his gaze to her. She didn’t care if she made the old Hunter uncomfortable. He alone couldn’t dictate her presence in the Blade; he couldn’t force her out now. Hanson eyed her over critically, seemingly certain the time spent in the pool would have worn her out for longer, and yet, she had recovered fully. Even the minute cuts had nearly vanished overnight. His suspicion and dislike for her could become troublesome, but she did not fear the old man. Hanson wasn’t her concern.
Jessop thought of Hydo Jesuin. While he tortured her it had seemed that nothing mattered more than information on Falco Bane, and yet, when the opportunity had finally arisen to see what information she could volunteer to him, he found he had more important places to be. Jessop briefly wondered if there was any way he had seen more than she could recall from her time in the pool…
Impossible, she thought. She knew what he had seen and it wasn’t enough to take action, especially against Falco, without her. Wherever Hydo was, whatever he was attending to, it mattered not; it simply set her timing back. He would return soon enough and then they could begin their mission for Falco Bane.
“Jessop?”
She stirred at the sound of her name, looking up to Kohl.
He looked down at her, his amber eyes flicking over her. “I said, would you like to train with me today?”
Jessop looked from him to Hanson. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
Hanson shook his head, “We don’t train women, Kohl.”
Kohl scoffed, “We aren’t training her—she’s clearly damn well-trained. It’s just practice.”
Hanson looked her over, his eyes narrowing. Jessop knew what the old man thought—he was afraid of losing the hold he had on his mentee; between the outburst before the Assembly Council and the notion of training with a woman, he was beginning to act too independently. Jessop could see more than just control though—Hanson Knell loved his student. He viewed Kohl O’Hanlon as a son. She looked over the old Hunter’s eyes—he had no idea how much he revealed to her.
Jessop turned to Kohl, “It’s not a good idea.”
Hanson crossed his arms over his broad chest, staring down at her with a critical eye. “Women have no place in the Hollow, Kohl.”
Jessop held the old man’s gaze. She knew he was resisting using Sentio on her; he didn’t want to anger Kohl further. She held his stare, challenging him to break into her mind… but he looked away.
“Women aren’t meant to be in the Glass Blade at all, but here she is, and I need someone to practice with,” Kohl insisted.
“I will practice with you,” Hanson answered but Kohl already had an argument resting on his lips.
“Please, Hanson, we have fought together too long—I need something different, to ensure I don’t get injured again.”
“Then I will call upon another Hunter—”
“I have already bested them all!”
Jessop turned from the old Hunter to the young, and finally spoke. “Kohl, I wouldn’t want to worsen your wound, you are still recovering.”
“Please, I have recovered just fine,” he insisted, turning to her and lifting his leather and tunic to reveal his side. Jessop was amazed to see that where the wound had been was a freshly formed scar—but that wasn’t all Jessop saw.
Kohl’s abdomen was covered in hundreds upon hundreds of small silver lines and marks, all trailing off in different directions, exactly like his arms. They were faint, several years aged at least, but plentiful. She returned her gaze to his, her eyes trailing over the goring star-shaped scar on his face. One thousand silver scars. Horrifying but not unique; Jessop had seen such endlessly marred flesh before.
Were they truly the marks of a Hunter’s life? Had she misinterpreted what that explanation had meant, when she had first heard it years ago? She looked to Hanson, whose worn and wearied skin glistened with several scars too deep to fade, resting on hundreds of smaller, much older ones.
“You’ll train with us then?” Kohl pressed, his hopeful smile distinct in her periphery.
Hanson held her gaze for a moment longer before turning from her, as if knowing her thoughts and attempting to conceal his own.
“Sure, I’ll train with you.”
* * * *
“Consider it helping,” Kohl explained as he led the way through the Glass Blade. “Hanson grows tired of spending his days in the Hollow with me.” As they curved through narrow corridors and traveled down the Blade in glass bullets the rooms began to appear darker and darker to Jessop.
She watched the passing floors flick past as they made their descent. “I’m glad my presence has given your mentor a reprieve from his usual scheduling.” Her tone was more sarcastic than intended. She could hear Hanson mumble something behind her.
Kohl looked her over apologetically, lowering his voice. “I’m sorry for how he’s been with you… He’s suspicious. All of them are—since… everything.”
Jessop nodded up to him, knowing he meant since Falco. She followed him down a narrow hall that had a low incline. She hadn’t meant to sound so derisive—it was Hanson. The older Hunter’s presence irked her. “The Hollow, you said?” she asked, changing the subject along with her tone.
“The Hollow is the Hunters’ training room,” he smiled down at her, “Every truly great Infinity Hunter has been trained there.” As soon as Kohl said the words his face contorted apologetically towards her—he had once again accidentally made reference to Falco.
“I’m sor—” he immediately began, but Jessop raised a hand to stop him.
“It’s fine. Everything here reminds me of him, I know you don’t mean to reference him. It’s impossible not to in this place.”
In the bullet, standing behind her, Hanson scoffed heavily. She wrung her fingers tightly around the hilt of her sword, refusing to acknowledge him.
“Everything?” Kohl asked, looking down at her with big eyes.
She looked away, staring through the thick glass at the darkening rooms they passed. “Everything.”
They continued further down into the depths of the Glass Blade and, eventually, whether they were still travelling through glass chutes or see-through spaces became unknown to Jessop, even with her advanced visual abilities. She kept her hand on her hilt, certain Hanson stood not inches away from her, his breath on the back of her neck.
When the doors finally opened, it took Jessop’s eyes a moment to readjust. Ahead of them was a gray corridor, with several dull bulbs of light hanging from the ceiling in small metal cages. It was as treacherous as it was familiar to Jessop… but she was unsure why anything in this place would feel familiar. Even if she had experienced traces of a place through another’s memory, it rarely felt familiar to her upon seeing it herself; perhaps somewhat recognizable, but not as though she had been there before. Yet, this place, with its stale, thick air and cold, gray walls, felt… familiar. It felt like Aranthol.
“Here we are,” Hanson spoke, pushing gruffly past her to step out into the dark corridor.
“After you,” Kohl spoke, staring at her apologetically.
She looked him over and then cautiously stepped out, following Hanson. She eyed the damp walls and dirt floors. Jessop could easily recall Falco’s memories of
this place. Moss grew in the creases of the stone slabs. She could hear, in the distance, sloshing liquid, lapping at an unseen edge. The smell of fire, scorched rubber and something else… something Jessop was familiar with—the smell of spilt blood. She closed her eyes and she saw flames. She felt as though she were choking on smoke once more, screaming, swallowing fire…
Kohl accidentally brushed against her as he overtook her, excitedly rushing ahead, bringing her back to the moment. Jessop followed after him with trepidation, her eyes darting over the corridor, keeping Hanson in her periphery as she wondered what other unknown dangers skulked about in the depths of the Glass Blade. She tightened her hand around her hilt, scanning the space ahead of her.
Such quiet footsteps, girl.
Hanson forced the thought into Jessop’s mind but she refused to acknowledge it. He was too concerned with whatever grasp on Sentio she might have, and she wasn’t going to help aid his fascination.
She carried on, silently walking down the corridor, acting as though she had heard nothing.
“This is the Hollow,” Kohl called out from the end of the corridor, his deep voice echoing around her. Jessop came up behind him and found herself looking into the depths of a colossal stone pit. Just ahead of her boot there was a steel beam, one of several, reaching out and bridging the landing they stood on with the mossy cave wall across the way, fixed some thirty feet above the cave pit’s dirt floor. Dangling from the beams were old, frayed ropes that hung at varying lengths to the ground—a way to enter and exit the Hollow, Jessop imagined.
She looked to the far end of the pit and saw steel platforms, some wide enough to lay across, others just small enough to fit a boot on, levitating at different heights in the air. On the ground, far beneath the floating platforms, Jessop could see mounds of scrap metal, rusted cages, and old tires. All of the metal junk was scattered around tar pits—several large craters carved out in the ground filled with boiling, black oil. As if on cue, the pits spontaneously ignited and jets of fast-burning fire traveled the edges. Jessop couldn’t deny that it was quite the training arena.
