The Glass Blade

by Ryan Wieser

  There were four of them, three men and an older woman. Jessop thought that perhaps she was their mother or a tribal elder, possibly both. She had green eyes that shone like gemstones on fire in the night. All the men had glowing golden eyes, like Trax. Jessop suppressed a smile at their beauty, and their familiarity. Women were revered in Kuroi culture, and it was not uncommon to see many sons travelling with women from the tribe, to ensure their safety at all times.

  As they all came closer to one another, the three young men circled the woman, forming a small shield for her. When they were not more than ten paces away in the road, Trax halted and bowed low, Jessop following suit. He had recognized her as an elder, and elders were greeted with low bows and kind words. They rose slowly, and Jessop could feel the eyes of the male travelers on her, wondering what she was doing with a pack of Infinity Hunters, led by none other than the Kuroi Councilman renowned in these parts, Trax DeHawn.

  “Dorei Dorei, Mesahna,” Trax spoke; a formal greeting, using the Kuroi word for elder.

  The woman reached up and slowly drew the hood of her cloak back, nodding at Trax with approval. “Dorei Dorei, Hunter DeHawn.”

  Her recognition of him did not surprise Jessop or Trax—he was the emissary in Kuroi regions because he was the Kuroi Councilman.

  “Sed’awey ha,” Trax began, but the woman cut him off with a wave of her hand.

  “We can speak in the native tongue of your fellow Hunters,” she advised.

  Jessop inclined her head, offering respect, “Dan’ahei Kuroi, Mesahna.”

  The older woman tilted her head to the side, eyeing Jessop with a small smile and narrow eyes. “You speak our tongue, child. Huk’ana hey oray-ha, lo vei nor-emsuk.”

  Jessop followed the woman’s tongue with ease as she marveled over her, realizing they all shared the same eyes. She was thankful that the elder had enough tact to remark this realization in Kuroi, for Jessop hadn’t the time or want to explain it to the others.

  “She was cared for by Kuroi in her upbringing,” Trax explained quickly.

  “And where was this upbringing?”

  Jessop pressed her lips tightly together as she thought of a polite answer. “That is a question that requires a long and tragic answer, Mesahna, one not best explained in the night, with raiders afoot.”

  The older woman nodded slowly, understanding. “Raiders indeed. My sons and I had been travelling for some time, when we came by the weigh station and saw it had been overrun by the scum,” she explained, her accented voice soft and clear. “They know better than to upset a Kuroi elder, so they let us on our way, but if the Hunters do not remove them, we will.”

  Her voice, however aged and soft-spoken, exuded more menace than any man Jessop had encountered. The Kuroi were a powerful tribe, and their elders hailed from great conquerors and fierce warriors. For Jessop, there were few she respected more.

  “We will remove them, Mesahna,” she spoke, making a clear promise to the older woman.

  One of the young yellow-eyed men shot her a sharp look. “You are not a Hunter, lady traveler.”

  Before she could answer the man, the older woman spoke, once again raising her hand to command silence and attention. “No, Desda, my son, she is not a Hunter. Can you not sense it?”

  Her words ignited inside Jessop. The Kuroi people enthralled her and yet she feared how much this elder sensed, and how much she could divulge.

  “She is more than Hunter, much more than the silent Oren mage she travels with, more than…” The older woman let her voice trail off, but Jessop could see the knowledge, like a fire, residing in her eyes. She knew what Jessop was.

  Abruptly, the older woman took a loud, deep breath. “We must be on our way. Rid this place of the raiders, and one day soon—for I am old, girl—return to tell me that tragic and long tale.”

  Jessop felt the relief spread through her and she smiled, bowing her head to the elder. “I will do that.”

  The older woman looked to Trax, “Had’away ha, Trax DeHawn.”

  Watch over her, Trax DeHawn, she had advised. At her words, Trax nodded, and then bowed low. Kohl, Daro, and Teck followed suit, and as Jessop began to lower herself, allowing the elder to pass with respect, she felt the woman’s hand clutch her shoulder. The fingers dug into her skin, strong and sure. Jessop stayed low, but looked up into the glowing green eyes of the elder, just in time for the woman’s voice to fill her mind, echoing through her, reverberating down her spine, and filling her every cell with adrenaline.

  He wants you back, young one.

  Just as quickly, the elder released her. Jessop pivoted on her knee, watching carefully as the woman and her three sons passed by Kohl, who unknowingly kept his head bowed low to the ground. The Kuroi family stared at him, eyeing the back of his pale neck with slow contemplation as they passed. Only once they had carried on several paces did Jessop dare to breathe, dare to remove her hand from her hilt, her blade already several inches unsheathed. She loved the Kuroi—but she would cut down any who came near Kohl. And she sensed, as the elder and her sons disappeared down the sandy road, into the darkness, that they knew just that.

  Jessop rose sharply, darting her gaze between Trax and the road behind the men, where the elder and her sons had disappeared. “Han’havay’ha, han’havay Bane,” she spoke, telling Trax she knew that the elder and her sons were aligned with Falco Bane.

  “I know, I sensed it,” he answered quickly, his gaze travelling down the road after them. Teck, taking his cue from Trax, turned and watched the road as well.

  Kohl took a step towards Jessop. “What? Sensed what?” She said nothing as he grabbed her hand. “Jessop, you’re shaking.”

  She squeezed his hand tightly, then dropped it, not knowing which eyes watched them in the night. “They were Kuroi aligned with Falco Bane,” she answered.

  Kohl nodded, but he didn’t seem surprised. “Many Kuroi are aligned with him, Jessop, we all know that.”

  She didn’t add what she wanted to add. That the elder had been in communications with Falco, that she had looked at Kohl’s neck and seen it as something to break, that she had looked into Jessop and seen who she was.

  “I… I know. It just surprised me—it’s been a long time since I encountered one of his followers,” she offered, knowing it was all she could say.

  “Well, she clearly didn’t recognize you from your—er—time in Aranthol, or me, so we are fine,” he explained, still, somehow smiling softly down at her.

  She stared up into his golden brown eyes and bit her tongue, refusing to tell him that he was wrong, that the woman and her sons had definitely recognized them, and that it was only because the elder had an understanding of what Jessop was capable of did they walk on…

  She had imagined every possible scenario as they neared the weigh station. She could run ahead, remaining within the mile tether to Kohl, and deal with the raiders herself. She could go in and erase Kohl’s memory of whatever she did, whatever happened. Or, she could continue to walk in dreaded silence towards the small, deteriorating building, and force the raiders out, with the Hunters, as planned.

  She was capable of nearly anything, and yet, she could do nothing. She kept Kohl in her periphery, her heart racing every time his face blurred from her vision, every time he was more than an arm’s reach from her. She wondered if she should circle back, get rid of the Kuroi who had seen them. That would anger Trax, though, even if she did it begrudgingly. She couldn’t risk angering Trax. She also couldn’t admit that some part of her hesitated greatly at the thought of harming Kuroi. Trax was the only person she could rely on—and she wouldn’t betray him, or the tribe they shared, with any ease. It angered her to realize that she hesitated to betray Trax, when she had deceived Kohl’s mind so many times already.

  Kohl couldn’t accept who Jessop was. She couldn’t do anything for him; she couldn’t fix what had alr
eady been done, what had been set into motion so long ago. All she could do was keep him alive, and that was all she could think about as they approached the weigh station’s large steel doors.

  The station looked like it was about to crumble before them, and Jessop wondered how old it actually was, having been in Okton Radon for at least her entire life. It was a large, square building that Jessop imagined to be an eyesore in the daytime, completely contrary to its desert surroundings, with its wooden frame and metal entrance.

  From fifteen paces away, she could hear the rowdy group inside. She could also sense them, and she knew how quickly she could disband them and drive them out from Okton Radon. She wondered if any of the raiders would recognize her, or Kohl, or if any of them were even Falco’s loyalists—they could have just been raiders from a far-off place, who had mistakenly thought Okton Radon was an unprotected source of drink and shelter.

  As she eyed the long line of shabby scrap-metal Soar-Craft parked beside the building, she knew that any ideas of this being a mistakenly chosen location seemed unlikely. “There are seven Soar-Craft, which means there could be upwards of fourteen, maybe more, inside.”

  “Raiders tend to stick to their own kind, travel in groups of ten or so,” Daro spoke up, reminding Jessop that the raiders, the Kuroi, and other potential loyalists weren’t the only dangers around.

  She glanced over her shoulder, sizing him up. “How do you know about raiders?”

  He cocked his head to the side and briefly stopped spinning his blade. “There were three sons born in the house of Mesa—one of them has lived his life as a raider.”

  His confession surprised her. She knew he spoke of a true brother, a blood sibling whom he had known before his life in the Blade began. She hadn’t thought of him as the sort to have ties outside of the Blade, but if the man was a raider, Daro probably didn’t have ties with him, outside of blood. Hunters made the very laws that raiders mocked and defied.

  “We have had no reports of injuries or deaths caused by them yet, so we offer them the opportunity to leave immediately,” Trax ordered, turning their attention to him.

  “Their resistance will mean their death. I want this over with by tonight so we can return to Azgul as soon as possible. This place is not safe for too many travelling with us,” he continued.

  They all nodded, obedient in their agreement. Trax took the first step towards the building, and she followed, keeping Kohl between them. She pushed the thought into their leader’s mind quickly.

  Compliant or otherwise, if any of them recognizes Kohl, or myself, I’ll kill them.

  He looked at her from the corner of his eyes, and with acknowledgment of her words, he nodded.

  CHAPTER 14

  Trax held his hand out in front of him and slowly dragged it horizontally through the air, and as his hand moved, the giant steel door dragged to the side and rolled open. With one hand still extended out, he took a slow step into the weigh station, Jessop and Kohl beside him, Daro and Teck following. Kohl unsheathed his blade immediately, standing beside Trax at the ready, but Jessop waited, her hand resting on her hilt.

  The large room was in complete disarray, filled with barrels of drink and food—some tipped over, some broken open—chairs overturned, tables shattered, a wall that had been stuck like a pin cushion with throwing knives and a sword, and, center stage, a makeshift bar compiled of pushed-together tables and scrap metal. There were eleven raiders, and one was even sitting, with his legs up, in a Soar-Craft. Jessop couldn’t fathom how they had gotten it into the building. The majority of them were human, one was Hakta—a species found several regions away—and another was unknown to Jessop, but possessed a face made up entirely of metal and wires and glass.

  The raiders looked at them with little surprise, seeming more disgruntled than afraid. The one lounging in the Soar-Craft slowly sat up, a wild mane of red hair sticking out in all directions. He had only one good eye—the other clouded and dark—and a mouth of sharpened teeth that he ran over his lower lip as he stared at the group of Hunters.

  Trax slowly lowered his hand to his blade. “Okton Radon is a weigh station under the protection of the Hunters of Infinity. You trespass on Hunter territory,” he warned them.

  A few in the small group laughed, but they all also turned their bodies and lowered their drinks, directing their full attention to Trax.

  The one-eyed man—their makeshift leader, it seemed—propped himself up onto the back bonnet of his Soar-Craft, and swiftly grabbed a blade from his boot. Each of the Hunters moved for their swords, but quickly halted as the redheaded man began to simply clean his long fingernails with the tip of his knife. “This here is not Hunter territory. This here is Falco Bane territory. We know that. The Kuroi know that—which means you should know that,” he spoke with a thick accent that Jessop could not place.

  Her heart flipped as she began to slowly withdraw her blade from its sheath. They were loyalists, which made them more of a threat than their simple raider status. Trax flicked his hand at her, gesturing for her to wait. She conceded, respecting his wishes.

  “Call it what you will, you will disband on this night and be on your way, or this will be your last night,” Trax warned.

  At his threat, two of the raiders stood, and Jessop couldn’t help but hold one of their stares. He had a head of long black hair and half a mouth of teeth. His leathers were old, but his boots new, and he had a cloak of dark red color, bound haphazardly around his neck. He seemed familiar to her, as she apparently did to him from the way he stared, and while she couldn’t place him, she felt certain she would have to kill him.

  “Trax,” she warned, pulling on her hilt.

  The raider leader stood and stepped out of his Soar-Craft, which he slowly walked around, his red locks bouncing about, navigating a half-sober path around his crew until he stood before Trax. “I think it’s you who should be on your way, Hunter,” he threatened back.

  Jessop could feel the dark eyes of the red-cloaked man studying her, and she stepped slightly back to conceal her face.

  “We will not warn you again,” Trax hissed, staring down at the drunken raider.

  “Marsda, look at the girl,” the red-cloaked man spoke, and Jessop immediately turned her face to avoid any stares.

  Marsda, their leader, didn’t listen to his comrade though, instead trading barbs with Trax.

  “Trax,” she whispered, knowing she would need to end this.

  “Marsda,” the red-cloaked man called again.

  “Trax,” Jessop hissed.

  “Marsda!”

  Their leader pivoted on his heel, flinging his hand out to the side, his knife coming precariously close to Trax, as he turned to face his follower. “WHAT?”

  “That’s her! She’s Falco’s woman,” he spoke, pointing a short, pudgy finger out into the air, pinning Jessop.

  She took a slow breath, turning her face to be seen by them all. It was too late. She felt Kohl tense at her side, bringing his blade slightly up, ready to protect her. The old raider turned back slowly, his one good eye focusing on her face, his brow furrowing as he searched her appearance for some telltale sign that his companion was right.

  He took a step towards her, but Kohl and Trax both blocked him from nearing her. His one clear eye still studied her though, through the gap between Kohl and Trax’s shoulders. She stared right back at him.

  “Is it true? Are you the woman who belongs to Falco Bane?”

  Jessop cocked her head to the side, pulling her lips between her teeth sharply. “I belong to no one, raider.”

  “It is, Marsda, it’s her. I recognize her from Aranthol, when I took that package to Bane for you, she was there,” the red-cloaked raider rambled on.

  Marsda narrowed his good eye at her, and then nodded, taking a step back from Trax and Kohl. “It’s time we get on our way then, boys,” he announced to his
pack of raiders.

  There were some grumbles, but no true dispute. Marsda turned back to the Hunters. “We are under strict instructions—no harm shall come to the girl.” As he spoke, though, Jessop could see him eyeing up Kohl. She took a step forward, standing protectively at Kohl’s side and kept her gaze on the raider.

  The raiders began to ready themselves, grabbing up their weapons and drinks. Jessop watched Marsda, but he was no longer watching her. His good eye was fixed on Kohl. She pushed at his inebriated mind and immediately knew his plan—to circle back for the boy with the star scar.

  As Jessop pulled her blade free, it rung out, a metallic cry of liberation, and drew the attention of every man in the room.

  Kohl rested a hand on her shoulder, yielding her. “What are you doing? They’re leaving.”

  She shook her head, keeping her eyes on Marsda. “He recognizes you,” she explained.

  Kohl looked from her to Marsda, remaining silent.

  Marsda laughed, a sharp smile pulling across his face. “Girl, we have no fight with you. Give us the boy and we will be on our way.”

  “Not going to happen,” she growled.

  Trax took a step towards the raider. “Leave. While it is still permitted.”

  “There’s quite a bounty on you,” Marsda’s raspy voice grew louder as he addressed Kohl. Several of his raiders neared, looking over the shoulder of their leader, eyeing Kohl. As Marsda inched forward, Jessop whipped her blade up, the black tip of her weapon pointing directly into the raider’s one good eye.

  “This is not a fight you can win, raider—now be on your way,” Trax warned, taking a slow step towards the raiders.

  “Why would they care for O’Hanlon but not you?” The question, so calmly voiced and out of place, came from Daro. Everyone adjusted their positions, looking back at the knife expert. He took a step forward, his brow twisted in confusion, his dark eyes watching her. He extended his arm, pointing his knife at Jessop.

  “These enemies of the Council, loyal to Bane, who would surely want your head, are ordered to not harm you? To retreat from you?”