by Paul Yoder
“We keep our travel gear. Armor and weapons included. If what you say is true, you’re likely not the only ones that’ll be on our tails today. The wealth lies with my purse, not our gear anyways.”
The man’s gears were turning, and a gruff voice from a lookout down the alley called for the thin man to wrap it up.
“You got yerself a good deal today, mate. Hand over all yer purses and we’ll call it a morning.”
“Do it,” Metus ordered, handing the man his side purse, collecting everyone else’s loose coin quickly as possible, each group eager to be done with each other.
The man spent no time in checking the total, the heft and clink of the metal strips inside bespeaking of the tidy sum for itself.
“Boys, outta here,” the thin man said, twirling his finger in the air, the alleyway becoming cleared as quick as they had appeared, the longhaired man strolling off down a side street whistling a tune as he went.
“We need to either get to that college, fast, or just start making our way to the city gates now,” Metus said, breaking the eerie sudden silence of the alleyway.
“If the judges leaked information about our presence to thugs and guilds, we’re in for a rough morning. That they would do that though, I don’t see their reasoning in a betrayal…” Metus said, thinking through the quandary, an epiphany coming to him. “Set. He’s surely behind this. He’s wanted me dead for years now.”
“And he’ll get his wish if we don’t get moving again, Adom,” Reza said, cutting Metus off from his line of thought.
“We head for the gate,” Gale said, putting an end to the deliberations. “Inside city walls, we are vulnerable. Once outside, rejoined with the Hyperium, we’ll be able to launch a detachment to extract Cavok and Terra.”
“Lead the way,” Metus agreed, Gale taking point once more, moving the group out of the alleyways and back into the busy street.
Expectedly, the men that had been blocking the road minutes earlier, were gone, and the traffic had once again begun to flow freely through the trade street.
“The city gate should be back the way we came, but if we keep fighting this crowd, we’ll be at this all day,” Reza said, calling to Gale who struggled to make a path for them.
Gale cut to the curb, leading the group down a side street, and while not as busy, they were by no means headed down a shady alleyway like before.
Gale had taken executive control over the direction of the group, and though no one contested the move to a more manageable network of streets to make their way through, seeing that they were getting closer to the towering city walls, each turn they made away from the crowds they knew placed them in more and more peril.
“I don’t like this, Gale,” Metus said as they rushed down a nearly empty residential street. “Take us back to the main street. We’ve made plenty of ground. We can suffer through the markets a bit longer.”
Gale nodded, hurrying along, cutting back into a tributary street that linked back up to the bustle of caravans that were on their way in through the main highway, blocking the roads with their beasts, wagons, and crew.
A bloody scream issued from the back of the group, everyone turning around to see a man in leathers slashed open at Jasper’s feet, blood dripping from Jasper’s scimitar.
None had time to ask questions as Jasper called, “Watch your front!”
Gale tripped out of the way right before a man in a dark roughweave slashed his way into their ranks, lunging for Arie, knife point first.
Arie was no novice, however, and as the man came in, she snapped her hand against his wrist, snatching it and flipping the man over onto his back as Reza unsheathed her sword and stabbed the man through the lung as he impacted the ground.
“More!” Metus warned, pointing at the three bruisers headed their way from behind while three more came in from the main street.
They had quickly become outnumbered, and they backed together, closing their ranks for better protection, all centering around Metus.
Down from a rooftop came two figures, both picking a target that never saw the death plunging towards them from above.
Daggers came out just as they landed atop the main street thugs, dropping them quickly as they sprang into the scene.
“Kissa!” Metus exclaimed, relieved at the unexpected arrival.
Gale snapped his scimitar back across the throat of the men closest to the main street that rushed the group, cutting him down with a bloody roar.
“Guards! Murder!” a voice shouted from the crowded street ahead of them, the main street beginning to break up at the sight and sound of the scuffle.
“Onto the main street, sheath your swords!” Metus yelled, pushing Jasper forward to get them moving away from the thugs.
They spilled out into a once overcrowded highway that had begun breaking up, city guards pushing against the crowd to make their way to the commotion.
A man stood atop a wagon, pointing at Gale and the crew, shouting at the guards that he had seen him slash a man open.
“The gate is there just ahead,” Kissa called to the group.
“Get the sultan out before they lock down!” Gale shouted to Jasper who wasted no time in grabbing Metus, bolting down the sidewalk towards the gate. The people there seemed curious as to the commotion but had not yet been privy to the assaults that were ongoing.
Kissa spoke quick words to her shadow, Eilan, and ran off after Metus, leaving Eilan there at Reza’s side.
Reza ordered Arie to go with Kissa and Metus as well, leaving her there with Gale and Eilan alone to deal with the three bruisers that harassed their flanks, blocking their retreat.
The city guards had eyes on their group now, and Gale and Eilan made themselves as visible as possible to give Metus time to slip away in the crowd.
“Go with them,” Gale called back to Reza, but it was clear to him, she meant to stay.
“What’s the plan?” she barked, slashing one of the brutes in the side street clean through his bracers, causing him to call out in pain, clutching his bleeding forearm.
“Halt!” the closest guard called, seeing the skirmish clearly by that point, the three bruisers finally retreating now that it was clear their prey had bested them.
Gale looked to Eilan and then to Reza, giving her a brief inspection up and down, sizing up her agility.
“You a good runner?”
44
The Oathbound
“This is far enough for the night. Doubt my old bones could make it another mile,” Matt grunted, calling a halt to the group’s travels.
Malagar and the others had returned early into the night, and the group had decided to pack up and head out in case Denloth was keen on giving chase to them.
Now, deep into the night, most showed signs of fatigue, and though they had covered a great deal of ground, they were still within the Imhotez mountain range.
They shambled into a relatively wide, level shelf among endless Joshua trees, most gladly dropping their packs after the long night hike.
“No fire tonight, nor tents. Just—rest,” Matt sighed, laying his head atop his pack, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.
Hamui was face down in the dirt next to Matt, the two of them snoring within moments.
Wyld did seem tired, but still stood next to Malagar, who had not let go of her hand since scrambling through the canyon valley miles back before they met back up with the group. Malagar sat, exhausted, tugging on his inflicted friend to sit beside him, which she hesitantly did.
Dubix walked the perimeter, scanning the location they had chosen for rest to ensure its defenses.
Fin went to rest next to Yozo, catching his breath before asking, “How you feeling? Well—other than beat from the night hike. You sobering up yet?”
Yozo took a swig of water from the waterskin he had given him, refusing to answer Fin on the subject, giving him a sour look.
“Well, you were very compromised w
hen we found you. I’m not the one that got you drunk and high, but it does leave me questioning where we’re at,” Fin said, motioning to Yozo and himself.
“You’re still with us, we didn’t force you to pack up and head out. We’d welcome you on if you’d like,” Fin continued. Though he did not enjoy the prospect of adding another questionable member to their team, he knew Yozo had potential. And at that time, he decided that potential treachery was a fair trade for quality manpower.
“I packed up with you lot out of necessity. I’m not waiting around in the arisen’s territory after you just performed an operation on them.”
Fin shrugged at his proposition being sidestepped. Yozo had at least not given him a no for an answer. He’d see if he could make it work for the two parties.
“The offers there, mate,” Fin said, getting up to check in with Malagar and the kaith they called Wyld.
“Any change with her?” Fin asked, waving a hand in front of the non-responsive companion, answering his own question by her lack of interest in him.
“She’s only followed, and only when prompted to. If I release her hand, she stays where she’s at. I had to practically push and carry her up the canyon back there before we found you guys,” Malagar said disparagingly.
“That’s not good. Who knows what Denloth did to her,” Fin murmured under his breath, inspecting the dully glowing scars across her face, bringing up a hand to inspect the strange substance.
“Don’t,” Malagar ordered, drawing the attention of those that were not yet slumbering, causing Fin to halt just before touching a finger to her.
Malagar brought up his right hand, Fin listening intently, but not understanding just yet the connection.
“I touched her…wound, or whatever it is that marks her face, already. I lost sensation in that hand when I did. It’s slowly coming back,” he said, wringing his fist out, “but whatever that mark is, it’s dangerous. Perhaps that’s what is responsible for her torpid demeanor.”
Fin considered Malagar’s assessment, not having a direct answer for him on the subject. Nodding his agreement that Malagar could be right on the matter, he replied, “Regardless of what afflicts her, maybe a night’s rest will help give her ease and we’ll see improvements from her on the morn.”
“Let’s hope so,” Malagar agreed, unpacking a bedroll for Wyld to rest upon, trying his best to settle her.
“It’s the mark of the Seam,” a chill voice whispered, Malagar and Fin looking to Dubix who stood nearby, listening to their conversation.
“Mark of the Seam?” Malagar asked as he finished covering Wyld up with a blanket.
“What, is this some sort of arisen magic?” Fin quizzed, disgust clear in his tone.
None noticed Yozo smirking at the heated talks, slouched back among his belongings, flirting with sleep, but still interested enough in the conversation to stay half awake.
“No. There are very few who can access that passage. Denloth, I know, was one of them. The striations in the desert days back, they are similar to these marks upon your friend. I think Denloth traveled through the Seam with her in tow, and she did not come out of that place unscathed it seems.”
“I don’t understand. You’re saying this ‘Seam’ is a passageway or a place? I’ve never heard of it,” Fin said, trying to make sense of Dubix’s words.
“I see,” Malagar uttered aloud, looking to Wyld’s scars.
Fin looked to Malagar, lost in thought, a look of realization coming to him. He needed no prompting to explain himself.
“I—think I’ve been to this ‘Seam’ once, in the past. Maybe not been there, but at least witnessed its existence. It would make sense. I thought I had felt this,” he said, flexing his numb hand, “once before. And those colors. Unbelievable colors, like some vibrant tropical bounty of fish, pearls, and liquid all spun together—blindingly beautiful.”
“That’s not helping,” Fin said, his annoyance coming through as he pinched the bridge of his nose, asking for clarification once more, “What the hell is this Seam place? Is it a location nearby?”
“It is no physical location that you can travel to—not without a means to allow you entrance. Are you aware of rifts?”
“Yes, of course. Portals to the realms of the various gods. Rare, but with the right means, connections, and favor with the gods, even us mortals can gain access to them. Are you saying the Seam is one of these rifts?”
“To not belabor your mind, you may think of it as one of these,” Dubix said, and though his tone had not changed, Fin sensed that he was being patronized.
“Listen here you heap of bones. With Denloth still kicking around, we might have to deal with this stuff again. I need to know what we’re up against, so you spill the details on this Seam right here, right now, or we’re about to finish what we started that cursed night back in Brigganden,” Fin hissed out, sounding almost as menacing as Dubix generally did.
“I might be able to help,” Malagar cut in, seeing that Fin was about to lose it.
“Within the monasteries, there is rumor of ascension to higher realms, and lower ones. If you delve deep enough through the levels of meditation, one can reach nirvana—a merging with the universal aether.
“Though none in my brotherhood call it the Seam, there are stories of a shattered existence. A place not here, nor there, but somewhere in-between. It is a place of great chaos, and tumult.
“All monks gravitate towards the various gods, and as a result, commune and ascend to the various higher or lower planes of existence, but those who finally reach nirvana and find themselves in the shattered place either lose themselves, or quit the faith, at least in an organized way.
“The same happened to me. I transcended not to find a welcoming deity to guide and teach me, but a broken place—unimaginably beautiful, but devoid of a creator’s guiding influence—a place of utter chaos.”
“It is…impressive that you have gained access to the Seam through willpower alone,” Dubix said, humbly.
“Alright, so it’s a confusing place. How does that explain Wyld’s markings?” Fin asked, seeming to have begun to calm himself after Malagar’s descriptive answer.
Dubix looked to the rend across Wyld’s face and said, “It is no place for physical beings such as us. It is an endless webwork of splitting timelines, dimensions, and tares into nothingness, or everything that ever was.
“I have been walking Una for nearly three centuries, and in all that time, I have gleaned very little on the Seam. From what I understand, no one, not even the gods, can reliably utilize the Seam, and so only the mortals foolishly tinker with it—mortals that don’t mind the odds of blinking out of existence at the random whim of the Seam’s winds. To stray from the more stable paths in that place—” Dubix paused as he snapped his boney fingers together to emphasize his point, “—there would be the conclusion of your soul.
“I think this is what happened to your friend there, though, I cannot say for certain. This is the first time I have seen the aftereffects of the Seam.
“As I said, Denloth is the only one I have personally known to say that he walks the Seam, and even then, I figured he was bluffing, but it seems, perhaps he was not.”
“Hmm,” Fin exhaled, “sounds like quite the place.”
“Poor girl,” Malagar said softly, looking newly upon the incongruent touch of the Seam upon Wyld. “If that is the truth of it, I wonder if there will ever be an answer to making her whole.”
“Let’s not think too much of it tonight,” Fin said, patting Malagar consolingly on the back. “Perhaps some rest will do her good. There may be hope yet, and staying up worrying about it won’t do any of us any good. I’ll keep watch tonight. You get some rest.”
“You should both get rest. I do not require it. I’ll keep watch,” Dubix said.
Fin considered the animated skeleton standing before him, wearing a sword belt along with bits of old armor he had scrapped together from
the fort before they had left, tatters of burlap rags hanging down over what wasn’t covered by iron. Something glimmered around his neck, sparkling in the moonlight—a choker of some sorts perhaps.
“What’s your deal, Dubix? Why are you doing this? Surely the answer isn’t you, an arisen, just happened to have a change of heart. You’re incapable of that—you literally don’t have one to begin with! The only reasoning I can come up with is this is all a ploy to draw our confidence in before betraying us to your master.
“I’ve allowed you to follow us for far too long in respect to our little one over there,” Fin said, pointing to Hamui, “and Matt who seems enamored by you, and Mal here for that matter. Well, you haven’t won my confidence yet. So tell me, since we have the time now, why should I think different than I do? Surely you can see why I hesitate to trust you?”
Fin’s line of questioning was considered by Dubix for some time, the night air drifting chill throughout the camp causing Hamui and Matt to unwittingly cuddle up to each other as they slept while Malagar and Fin waited patiently for an answer from their dark friend.
Pulling down his raggedy shawl from about his neck, Dubix laid bare the bejeweled band he wore fixed about his spinal column. Fin immediately recognized its black and white gemstoned cast.
“You bastard. That’s the bracelet I—” he paused, considering his word choice, “acquired, from the wizard’s tower which you stole from me that selfsame night.”
Having said the words aloud, some of the anger that he’d harbored over the thieving arisen all those months ago, dissipated, as he admitted to himself that he was just as guilty as Dubix had been in acquiring the ill-gotten gains.
“Yes, I did snatch this bracelet from you that night. It was this—” Dubix whispered, reflecting upon the memory as his phalanges slid across the white-gold band, “—that set in motion a great change to me in the following months. Slowly at first, but with a completeness that led me to leave the ranks of the dead to venture out on my own, away from the influence of my master, as his one domineering voice soon became an annoyance, and then a passing whisper in my consciousness, his hold constantly losing grounds to whatever hex this artifact holds upon it.”
