When Qena’s distinctive windmills appeared on the horizon, Kheled nearly cried with relief. Two more storms had blown over his head while he’d made his way to safety, during one of which Ele had sluggishly responded to his call. If he hadn’t found a patch of tall grass in which to desperately sink his fingers, the winds might have carried him gods knew how far before releasing him.
Two years since Creation and Order had informed him Ele was abandoning him. Two years which had felt ten times longer. The unexpected days where he woke and could barely rise from bed, so disconnected was he from him; the times when he called for Ele and nothing greeted him; the growing fissure of gaping wrongness which widened and lengthened with each passing day. All of these had plagued him with increasing frequency over the years.
Kheled wished the splinters had never told him. It was a petty wish, but sometimes he wondered if he didn’t know why these misfortunes afflicted him, whether it would hurt quite so badly, whether the ignorance would somehow dull the agony. Thank Alouin, today was one of his good days, one where he felt almost normal.
Qena was in sight which meant the storms’ frequency should deaden. The tiny village rested between the two mountain ranges on Auden’s southern border which separated the kingdom from the Wastelands. The mountains shielded Qena from most of the hurricanes which plagued its barren neighbor, but every couple decades, one would make its way far enough inland to funnel into the pass, temporarily increasing its strength until it petered out on the other side.
Only the craziest people would want to live in a location under constant threat of destruction, but that was Qena for you. They were an eccentric bunch, to say the least.
The village was originally founded to study the nearby tear, the largest one in Auden, but out of necessity, that study had branched into other disciplines as well. When Doldimar demanded more provisions from the Qenans than they could provide, they’d devised windmills, mechanisms which harnessed the pass’s constant wind flow to quickly and automatically grind grain into flour. People whispered that when this regions' Enforcer had slated Qena for Harvest, the villagers had concocted contraptions which lifted citizens into the air in order to rain death on the hostile Kiraak. Recently, rumors concerning the town had gone quiet, but such an absence usually meant the bizarre villagers were in the midst of developing something big, something which would again rock Auden with its audacity.
As he approached the windmills, Kheled couldn’t decide what he thought of Qena. On the one hand, a town of scientists working together to discover the world’s natural properties would have enamored Erianger, but on the other, Kheled was terrified that if these people realized who and what he was, they would hack him into pieces to work out how he ticked.
No matter his opinion of the village, he’d never any doubt about entering it. He’d exhausted his food supply days ago, and while Ele refused to let him starve to death, starving by itself seemed an acceptable outcome for it. Plus, after the week he’d had, a night in a bed sounded glorious.
“Afternoon,” said the man atop the fence which hemmed Qena’s boundary. “Never thought I’d see you again.” He thoughtfully chewed his wheat sprig.
“What can I say? Mother Nature decided she didn’t like the way I tasted,” Kheled replied.
Stepping around the fence, he hurried for the town’s decrepit inn as fast as he could. He hoped to draw as little attention as possible, although upon approaching the town square, it appeared the task might not be as daunting as he’d thought.
Qena hosted a large town hall replete with glass windows, an odd display of prosperity in such a remote location. Considering the building was where the Qenans taught their children, completed experiments, and worked on community projects, town hall’s status as the finest building in a village composed of scientists and engineers seemed only natural. To them, it was comparable to a hall of worship.
A contingent of soldiers ringed town hall, dressed in the buttoned vests and shiny undershirts of the Audish military uniform. A crowd surrounded them, all alight with hope and eager devotion.
“You’re back,” a small voice piped beside Kheled.
The child shoved her thumb into her mouth, clutching her patched, stuffed bear more tightly. Such a strange sight, a child. In Allanovian, children were kept separate from the community for their own safety, and since leaving that metaphorical prison, Kheled’s circumstances hadn’t exactly been conducive to meeting one.
“I am,” he told the wondrous little girl with a smile. “I told you I’d return when I left, didn’t I?”
She thoughtfully considered him, and the thumb popped out. “Will you do a light show for me again?” she asked.
“I can’t right now, sweetling.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Too many people around, but maybe later, all right?”
She nodded as if he’d asked the most solemn of favors.
“Do you know why the army has descended upon your village, little one?” Kheled asked, gesturing toward the soldiers.
“They’re here to protect Raimie. He’s going to fix the tear for us,” she answered.
Kheled couldn’t help it. He tried to restrain it, but the laugh flew forth like a bird escaping its opened cage. The child frowned, brow crinkling.
“Did I say something funny?” she asked him.
“It wasn’t you, sweetling. Just a funny set of circumstances,” he answered, patting her head. “Do you know where your parents are?”
She vigorously nodded, pointing to a couple raised on tiptoes to get a better look at the soldiers.
“Make sure you stay with them, otherwise I might not find you for your light show,” he told her.
Her eyes widened, and she scurried to join the couple.
Kheled pushed through the crowd, using gentle shoves and inconspicuous bursts of Ele to clear a path. As he neared the front, he scanned the soldier’s faces, confident one of the Hand would be here, and sure enough, there he was.
“Hey, little soldier!” he called over the crowd’s heads, doing his best not to distinguish Little too highly from his comrades.
The spy’s eyes immediately snapped toward him, hand resting on hilt, and Kheled waved. Little burst out laughing, making the other soldiers uneasily stare. The spy’s scars made it difficult not to be repelled by him. White lines running in no discernible pattern over his face and an unnaturally deformed mouth lent Little an unnerving presence.
As soon as Kheled broke into the space between the crowd and soldiers, Little pulled him close, pounding his back.
“It’s good to see you, Khel!” he exclaimed, holding Kheled at arm’s length. “What a coincidence!”
“There’s no such thing as coincidence. Not in our world,” Kheled replied, but he returned the spy’s grin. “I hear Raimie’s come to Qena. I guess that’s why you’re here too.”
“Someone needs to watch his back even if he doesn’t want the backup,” Little quipped. “Come inside. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when you greet him.”
The soldiers reluctantly allowed Kheled through their line, apprehensively staring at his gray eyes. Many of those who’d enlisted after Doldimar’s disappearance had been Conscripted. The Dark Lord’s former soldiers had been eager to cast off his shackles, the ones he’d used to induce them to commit atrocities against their own. They’d worked closely with Doldimar, and to them, gray eyes were a mark of madness and cruelty. Little had greeted Kheled as a friend, however, so no one protested when they slipped into town hall.
“What are you doing in Qena?” Little asked as they walked the wide corridor lined with tools and half-finished contraptions.
“Same thing as ever. Looking for Doldimar. Excuse me a moment,” Kheled said before Little could express any doubt or discomfort with his mission.
He was sick of people’s belief that Doldimar had well and truly gone, with their denial of the facts before them. No need to hear the derisive spiel from Little, the spy he’d grown closest to in the years si
nce the Dark Lord’s disappearance. Kheled might even hesitantly call the man friend.
He ducked into a small room set up as a laboratory. Waist-high counters ringed the room, topped by test tubes, beakers, and the fancy, gas-fed burners the Qenans employed. Only one bench was currently in use, and he snatched the wrist of the teenager atop it. She’d been poised to add her dropper’s contents to the powdery substance dusting the beaker below. Her brilliant, red hair dangled dangerously close to the flame.
“Can I help you?” the teenager asked.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Kheled warned her. “At least not without proper protective equipment.”
Her eyes flashed, and Kheled couldn’t tell if it was with interest, anger, or hunger. He gently loosened his hold on her wrist, and she set the dropper aside.
“Why would I need PPE?” she asked, head tilting sideways. “I’m adding dirty water to crushed rock. I expect some fizzing, but no more violent of a reaction than that. I’m bored. The others won’t let me work on their secret project, and I’ve fiddled with the experiments deemed safe by the elders. I want to try something new.”
Crossing his arms, Kheled raised an eyebrow. “The liquid in that dropper is as much water as I’m a human,” he said, “and I think you know it from how carefully you handled it. From the color, I’d say it probably burned your skin when you took a sample, am I right?”
“It might have stung a bit,” she admitted.
“And I know that mineral. Rather beautiful before it’s ground up,” Kheled continued. “I’ve seen these two substances combined, and the results weren’t pleasant. People died, and I’d rather not experience a repeat of the accident. Please, at least wear a mask and gloves when playing with unknown substances.”
The warning didn’t faze her. She eagerly scooted forward.
“What happened?!”
Kheled flinched. He should have known she’d want more. Carefully, he extracted the single memory which would be required and slammed the door shut before more could come flooding through.
“At first, nothing. The experiment concluded without a hitch, but the resulting concoction spilled over the subject in question. At first, the mixture appeared to cause no reaction.”
Councilman Reive had been furious with the result, deliberately spilling greater quantities of the liquid on his test subject, but he’d eventually allowed Erianger to go home to Lirilith, a mistake as it turned out. She’d woken to her husband dying in bed beside her.
“Within twenty-four hours, the subject displayed severe burns wherever the concoction had made contact with bare skin, to the point the epidermis almost melted away. A persistent cough, fever, and chills also afflicted him. He eventually choked to death on his body fluids.”
Tightening, the teenager carefully slid the dropper and beaker away from one another. “Gruesome.”
That was an understatement. Reive may have been displeased on the day he’d tossed acid over Erianger, but he’d been ecstatic when Lirilith had dragged her wheezing husband to his home. The ‘quarantine’ while he was ‘in recovery’ had lasted days. Long, uninterrupted days where Reive had retained access to Erianger’s deathless body.
“Who are you?”
The question drew Kheled to the present, and he blinked. “My name is Kheled,” he answered.
“Kheled, Kheled, Kheled,” she murmured, sucking at her teeth. “Where have I heard that name?” Her eyes widened to saucers of white surrounding a pinprick of vibrant green. “Oh, my gods, you’re the King’s pet primeancer!” she exclaimed, dipping into a quick curtsy.
“I’d say we’re more friends than master and pet, but-”
“Can I trust him?” she asked, fiercely clutching his hands.
What kind of question was that?
“Raimie’s one of the most honest men I’ve ever met,” Kheled told her.
“That’s not what I mean,” she said, rubbing her face and running her hands through her hair. “I mean, can I trust him? He’s aligned with both Ele and Daevetch. I know he tolerates your presence, but what about mine?”
“What are you-?” Oh. “You’re a primeancer,” he stated.
She frantically nodded, and light not of his making flashed the lab.
“What’s your name?” Kheled asked.
He hadn’t bothered to inquire earlier because he’d thought this would be a brief, random encounter, but the fact that she could access Ele changed things.
“Miranon,” she answered.
“Well, Miranon, if your splinter has taught you sufficiently enough you can hide your abilities, he should have taught you the proper etiquette for greeting a fellow Ele wielder.”
Miranon flushed. “She,” she mumbled. “She taught me.”
The teenager made a tiny wave, and her twin appeared beside her.
“Now yours,” the unfamiliar splinter prompted.
Creation wasn’t really his, but Kheled couldn’t reveal that fact to them. He asked the splinter to make himself visible.
“You are?” Creation asked of Miranon’s twin.
“Creation,” she replied, “and you?”
Kheled’s constant shadow giggled, a little manically. “Erianger, it’s a female you!” he gasped. “Replete with the red hair, secondary green pigment, and defiant attitude! She’s even a scientist!”
“Erianger?!” both Miranons exclaimed, although the splinter exuded shock more than anything else.
“Stop it,” Kheled growled at Creation which only made the splinter laugh harder.
“You might consider returning to the whole at some point, aspect-?” the female splinter advised.
“Creation,” Kheled’s shadow gasped. “I’m of Creation too.”
“This is getting confusing,” Miranon mumbled. “You satisfied, Kheled?”
“Entirely,” Kheled confirmed.
Both splinters disappeared from the visible spectrum, once more discernible only by the one to whom they were attached.
“What now?” Miranon asked.
“Now, you come with me.” Kheled mischievously smiled. “I’ll introduce you to my friend.”
He hadn’t thought it possible, but her eyes widened even further than they had before. She meekly followed him from the lab to where Little leaned against a wall, eyes closed and arms crossed.
“Ready?” he asked without opening his eyes.
“Sorry to make you wait,” Kheled said.
Pushing from the wall, Little warily eyed Miranon. “You’ve acquired a stray,” he stated.
“And you’ve gotten taller. Hooray for stating the obvious!” Kheled exclaimed. “Still want to take me to Raimie?”
“As cagey and arrogant as ever I see,” Little amusedly sighed. “I’ll take you to the King, but don’t expect me to stick around once we get to him. He’s in the middle of a meeting with a bunch of cranky elders.”
“Hooray!” Kheled exclaimed, a little less enthusiastically.
When they broke into the meeting, several voices clamored to be heard, and Raimie slouched on the other side of a long table, a perfect picture of misery. He nodded at Little, but when he saw Kheled, he shot to his feet, chair clattering behind him.
The room’s other occupants curiously inspected the person who’d so thoroughly surprised their guest, and Miranon proceeded to hide behind Kheled, away from their stares. Vaulting over the table, Raimie pulled him into an embrace.
“Thank the gods you’re here!” he whispered. “You have to save me!”
“Who’s your friend?” a wrinkly woman asked.
“This is Kheled,” Raimie said as he faced her, clapping the Eselan’s shoulder.
“Wait, I know you,” another, middle-aged woman said, interrupting whatever else Raimie meant to say.
She inched forward, eyes narrowed. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “You’re the lunatic who set off into the Wastelands a week ago! Didn’t you say that you meant to venture past the buffer of safety in which the tear floats? You can’t go past
that portion of the Wastelands without risking the storms! I’d thought we’d seen the last of you. How are you alive?”
Little who, despite his earlier assertion, had yet to depart, glared at his charge. “I thought you said this mission wouldn’t be dangerous,” he snapped.
“It’s won’t!” Raimie protested. “The tear’s not that far into the Wastelands-”
“You didn’t answer my question, young man,” the middle-aged woman accused Kheled.
“Miranon, dear, what are you doing here?” a thin, reedy voice asked from the elders’ grouping.
“You failed to mention this quest would require traversing the Wastelands, Your Majesty,” Little said.
“Did you disturb these two gentlemen, Miri?” the reedy voice echoed Little’s displeasure.
Miranon slunk further into Kheled’s shadow, and seeing her timidity was when he decided he’d had enough. He called to the Ele in the room, and it responded with a blinding flash from every speck of the enclosed cube. The floor, the people, the air itself blazed bright white.
“Everyone hush,” Kheled shouted as the light faded. “I can’t hear myself think.”
Quiet reigned supreme until Raimie couldn’t control himself anymore. He rushed from the room, but the walls and closed door didn’t stop them from hearing his delighted laughter. Rolling his eyes, Little followed his charge.
“So, that’s how you survived the Wastelands,” the old woman said. “You should have said something the first time you passed through. We’d have sent you with equipment to take storm readings for us.”
“I’m not fond of scientists as a general rule,” Kheled tightly told her. “They frequently aspire to dissect primeancers in an attempt to replicate our powers.”
“If you decide to donate your body to Qena when you die, of course, the scientists here would be more than happy to break it into pieces,” she said. “What else would you expect us to do with it? Allow such a precious sample to become worm food?”
She hadn't even considered attempting experimentation on him while he breathed.
There it was. Every time he began to despair, it came like a breath of fresh air. A reminder not all was hopelessness and misery. Good existed in the world.
A King's Caution (The Eternal War Book 2) Page 40
