Turning Pages (The Arbiter Book 1)

by Brhi Stokes

  “Our people are not warriors. We have very few travellers in existence and do not walk through other realms with great frequency,” said the woman. “As such, we have no one… adept at traversing a realm as large as yours.”

  “So get your Masters to outsource,” I said. “To hire someone else,” I added as they stared blankly at me.

  “We are asking you.”

  “And your Masters…?”

  “Are asking you.”

  “Oh. Well. I’m sorry, but that’s not something I can do for you. Our Masters as good as have the amulet by now. Besides, I took the thing from your plane. Why would I help you get it back?”

  “Because you do not understand its importance.”

  I knew I did not want to hear the answer to this, but I let them continue all the same. “Go on…”

  “When we spoke with the Myrkdrawians, they told us that you had taken the time to negotiate with a traveller from your own world, and then again between the pair themselves.”

  “Listen,” I tried to explain, “I gave up the amulet because I didn’t think there would be serious repercussions and having dead bodies in my home wasn’t something I wanted to deal with. I’m not sure what Avilaigne told you, but I’m hardly a saint. I’m not going to go around assisting inter-planar emissaries out of the kindness of my heart.”

  “Without the Oath,” the man told me sternly, “our realm will descend into chaos.”

  I opened my mouth to argue with them, to tell them that this was neither something I could help them with nor was it my problem. However, the man was reaching over the counter towards me and my body stiffened as his hand closed over my face. Something cold and slick seeped from his palm and into my eyes and I resisted the urge to panic.

  Immediately, images swarmed across my vision. A cold wind whipped at my hair as something wrenched my head to look above me. I stood - no, I floated - somewhere above the glittering towers of Evisalon. Except that the sky was not a strikingly clear blue today. Instead, it was colourless; a flat grey that spread across the world like a damp tarpaulin.

  “The Oaths hold all the power of our realm. Within them are the thoughts and prayers of all of Evisalon’s denizens.” I heard the man’s voice in my head even as I stared at the scene before me. He sounded different, somehow, gentler and more feminine.

  “Without the Sacred Oath, the other Oaths are no longer balanced. Our connection to God fades. While our faith alone will keep us safe, our realm cannot be sustained without the Oaths in balance.”

  “Your plane is sustained by your faith?” I tried to say the words aloud but found I could not talk. My thoughts reverberated through my mind, instead.

  “Yes. There are many Oaths tied to many different beliefs in our society. Regardless of how we choose to worship, they call out to God and He sustains our realm.”

  The image in front of me changed, and now I hovered in the centre of the cathedral from which Avilaigne had taken the medallion. Sunlight no longer streamed through the stained glass windows. People remained in prayer as I had seen them, their faith seemingly unshaken. However, without the dancing lights playing over their forms, their grey robes looked dull and faded. The amulet was gone from the pulpit and, as I gazed closely at the praying figures, I could see that tears streamed gently down their faces.

  A new image, then. For a moment, I thought I was in another cathedral, but I noticed that there were no pews in sight. People in brightly-coloured clothing were seated on the floor, eyes locked upon an altar. Although there were no windows, light reflected off the colourfully decorated walls, giving the temple the same dancing, multicoloured hues that the cathedral had boasted. I had never seen candles give off enough light to reflect colour like that, but the room glittered and danced in my sight, almost in spite of my thoughts. High above the altar, surrounded by various flowers and candles, was a small bronze medallion. It glowed in the coloured lights, reflecting hues back across the faces of those in prayer. The congregation were shoeless, I noticed, and there was a delighted warmth on their faces as they sung and spoke loudly.

  “We understand,” said the voice, “that you did not know the importance of our Oaths. The Myrkdrawian explained that they had meant no harm, that they had sought only to improve their own realm. A most noble reason, if any, for theft. We have forgiven the transgression. However…”

  Suddenly, I floated near the city, out across the crystalline water that drifted towards - and then off the edge of - oblivion in rushing torrents. The small nimbuses that I had seen depositing liquid back into the glittering ocean like portable waterfalls looked different, now. Instead of a deep silver, they were dark grey with a greenish tint, and they spread thin across the sky. Thunder rumbled from somewhere within their depths, a crackle of green electricity racing across their edges every so often.

  My body drifted closer and, as I peered carefully at the torrent of water raining down upon the sea, I noticed that it was dark and murky. Discoloured liquid seeped from the waterfalls and into the crystalline waters. I had once had the misfortune of seeing a baby pigeon be torn to pieces by a pair of large ravens. I felt once more the same thin nausea that had worked its way up to my throat that day. There was something inherently visceral about the discolouration of Evisalon’s turquoise sea.

  “Without the Sacred Oath returned to Evisalon, our realm will devour itself from the inside. We believe that many of our population will survive, but Evisalon will fall away from God and be subsumed beneath the nearest realms. If our people lose their faith… we are unsure of what the consequences will be.”

  “Why me?” I asked, still unable to move my lips but knowing he could hear me.

  “You understand this realm, you understand its people, and the Myrkdrawians have great faith in your abilities. One that can inspire such faith in others is one that can return our Oath. We do not interfere. We do not know… how to interfere.”

  My eyes opened as the man dropped his hand away from my face. It took me a few seconds of wondering at the liquid on my cheeks before I traced a hand up to my eyes and realised I had been crying. Before me, the horned man’s human visage was beginning to fail. Part of his cheek had crumbled and decayed, revealing his true skin tones and one pointed ear.

  I was not the only one in distress. The blue-skinned visitor whose human countenance was still intact had tears running down her cheeks and onto the counter. She simply stared at me until I averted my gaze and headed into the living area behind them to hunt for a box of tissues. I handed them to her and she dabbed gently at her face, nodding her thanks. It was only as I moved past her to resume my position on the other side of the counter that she reached out to place a gentle hand on my arm.

  “Please,” she asked, her voice cracked and desperate, “we need your assistance.”

  I was not entirely sure what to say to that. Still reeling from the images shown to me, it took me a bit to swipe at my eyes and clear my throat before I could speak. The fuzziness to my vision seemed to have disappeared, at least, as if the tears had washed my sight clean.

  “I don’t know where it is. The fixer I gave it to could be anywhere in the world,” I began.

  “We know its location, we can impart the seeking spell onto you to assist in finding it.”

  I was quiet for a long time after that; this was not something that I wanted to do. Still, I could not forget the gut-wrenching feeling I had gotten from looking at the discoloured water.

  “I can’t promise anything,” I said, finally. Heading into other planes to do the Masters’ work was one thing, but going after an object I was supposed to have returned to them was another completely. I did not want to end up like Avilaigne, after all, running from my own people. Granted, I would not really have to run if I was hunting Natsuko down. I just had to hope she no longer had that pistol with her.

  “So you will help us?” Tears started to stream down the woman’s face once more, but there was a hopeful smile on her lips.

  “I…�
�� A sigh escaped me. “Yes. I’ll go and talk to Natsuko, but that’s all I can do. I can’t promise you that I’ll return the amulet- the Oath. I might not be able to do it.” After all, this would not be the first time I had failed to complete a task like this. Third time’s the charm, I told myself.

  The horned man nodded. “We will need some time to impart the gift of the seeking spell upon you,” he said, and I found myself instantly regretting their lack of technological devices. Avilaigne had her scanner-gun, a concept which I was at least comfortable with.

  “Actually,” I said abruptly, “your spell obviously works through different planes. Would it help me find something in another plane if I travelled there?”

  It had been a few days since my last trip, so this was not going to be a whole lot of fun for me, but I needed something before I tracked Natsuko down. Just in case she became hellbent on killing me.

  “Yes,” the woman said, frowning slightly, “but we would need to cast it again in order for you to seek the Oath.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t worry about that, if I find what I need in the other plane I’ll be able to track your Oath down myself.”

  It was the man’s turn to speak. “Time is of the essence. We need you to seek the Sacred Oath without delay.”

  “I have agreed to help you,” I said, “with no benefit to myself-”

  “We can reward-”

  “That’s not my point!” I held up a hand, hoping they would hear me out, and trying to reign in my slowly increasing dread. “I’ll go. But you need to let me do this my way.”

  There was a very long silence in which the two people eyed me, their expressions and body language unreadable. Finally, the man nodded. “We will prepare the spell. But know that we have trusted you in your decision and I hope this is not something we regret.”

  

  I regretted the sensation of free fall in the pit of my stomach about halfway down the jump. This time, the transition was so strange, so heady and throbbing, that I barely noticed the closing of knife wounds across my chest. The wounds eased shut, but they left a sticky mess across my skin and garments. Pain lingered as I pushed myself to my feet in the dingy little alleyway and looked around. Not a soul.

  Emerging out onto the cobbled streets, I saw that they too were relatively quiet. It was dark as always, especially with the oil lamps doused, but my eyes adjusted quickly to the dimness. From somewhere around me, a soft choral sound lifted to the air. It was so ill-fitting for the grimy, blood-stained alley I had just left, that I nearly laughed aloud. The singing quietened as I looked back at the alley, a mild discomfort settling on me as it did so. When I turned towards the cobbled street, the singing increased, as if someone had carefully eased up the volume. It occurred to me that the music was in my head.

  It continued to increase as I ventured up the dark street; a pleasant sensation in my mind. It was also a stark contrast to the way my body felt. I ached and the frothy dress I wore made it difficult to move. It was unsurprising that the woman I inhabited had been unable to outrun her fate, I mused. Even hitching the skirts up above my leather boots did not make walking on the uneven streets any easier.

  Knowing that I did not have the time to find clothes which were not covered in blood and grime, I kept an eye out for anything that might cover me. A nearby wagon held a few scraps of cloth and an old, torn scarf. Still moving, I wrapped it around my neck and chest until the blood stains were no longer as prominent. At least, as far as I could see in the dark.

  A thunderous snarl had me flinching and reaching desperately for a weapon I did not have. Above me, the huge coal train thundered away from the walled castle. It hurtled off into the distance across the sprawling tiled roofs and dirty streets. For a second, I was back in front of it, standing on the tracks as the beast of a machine stormed towards me. I blinked hard as the sound began to recede, and I managed to pull myself back into the here and now. I drew in a deep breath as the rumbling finally faded completely before I followed the gentle music in my head.

  The discomfort I had experienced in getting here worried me. This was my shortest wait between planes-hops, and I had to hope the pills back home were enough to keep my body and mind in one piece once I returned. If I had to negotiate with Natsuko, I would need to have my wits about me.

  It was only as the humming in my head reached a gentle crescendo that I realised I had stopped at the front of a large old building. ‘The Salty Dog’ was emblazoned above the doorway, along with two oars and the head of a hound, all on a worn wooden sign. Sounds of revelry and the scent of unwashed people and ale drifted to me through the door. It opened with a push and I could see the wooden interior; it was scattered with chairs and tables, and poorly lit by oil lamps. In one corner, a drunken man picked at the strings of a pear-shaped, oversized guitar.

  Talk quietened down the moment I entered. Those who were sober enough to do so lowered their voices and stared as I made my way instinctually to the back of the old tavern. I felt several sets of eyes on me and noticed with dismay that it was not because of the blood and grime. Many of the patrons were just as dirty, a few even a little bloody. More telling was the fact that their gazes held neither concern nor surprise; they eyed me with a simple malice that seemed to grow with every step I took.

  I did my best to ignore them as I moved towards the darkened booths. I had already spotted Avilaigne’s pale skin from the front of the room, and I made my way quickly towards her. The woman was slumped over a large pint of yeast-smelling drink, one forearm pressed so hard against the table that her spines were dug deep into the wood. I could not tell where she looked with her multifaceted eyes, but the table in front of her was probably a good guess.

  “Avilaigne,” I said.

  Her head shot up immediately, her movements shaky. A flush of red marked her pale cheeks and nose as she stared at me. “Get outtahere ya wingless bitch,” she snarled.

  Standing in front of the booth, I frowned at her. From what I could see, Avilaigne had no wings to speak of so I supposed it must have been local slang. Her aggression surprised me, though; I did not realise that we had parted on such poor terms. I was hesitant to take a seat at the booth, especially with the eyes of others still on me. I glanced around to see a few men shift in their seats as if they were about to rise and approach. I had to hope they remembered to mind their own business, I had enough on my plate as Avilaigne glowered blearily at me from her seat.

  “Avilaigne, I need to talk to you-”

  “No!” She tried to sit upright, but her arm spines caught on the table and she jerked to a halt. She bared her teeth at me as if I was the one at fault.

  “I came all the way here, just hear me out.”

  “You get back t’yer castle,” she was slurring her words enough that I had to concentrate to make them out, “and go back t’fuckin’ lords or-”

  “What?” I blinked at her. Was my face not swimming in her vision, or was she just so drunk that everything swam in her vision? “Oh. Avilaigne, I’m-”

  The sensation of a hand clapping down on my shoulder made me jump. I tensed, ready for the pain that would follow. When none came, I glanced down at the hand in surprise.

  “Av,” said a soft voice from somewhere near my ear, “take a closer look.”

  For a moment, she obeyed. Avilaigne leant forward as far as her immobile arm would let her and peered in my direction. Then, she scowled at the figure behind me, nearly toppling her tankard as she gestured wildly.

  “Jus’ a caged whore!” Luckily the bar had returned to its rowdy state and her cry was all but drowned out by the conversation in the inn. I did not check to confirm that a few eyes still lingered on us, but there were three of us now, at least.

  The voice by my ear let out a soft snort and the figure moved into view beside me. It was a lot easier to properly make out Matthen’s features now that they were no longer hidden behind the haze of human facade. I could now see that freckles dotted his dark cheeks and that the
things either side of his mouth were indeed mandibles. His chin was human, but thin panels of hard material ran from his jaw to meet either side of it, arcing into points below his face. The mandibles shifted outwards as he grinned at me.

  “Welcome to Myrkdraw,” he said as he ushered me into the booth opposite Avilaigne and took a seat beside me. “Apart from the world of trouble you’re gonna get us in by being here in that body, what’s your reason for visiting?”

  “Business or pleasure?” I muttered under my breath; it was mostly to myself but Matthen gave me a strange look as I uttered the phrase. Myrkdraw was no holiday destination, either. I looked across the table to where Avilaigne was glaring daggers at me and shook my head. This really threw a spanner into my works.

  “Why is she so hostile?” I asked.

  “Too drunk to see your real face.” He shrugged. “And…” he plucked a battered spoon from the side of a table and held it up to me. Within it, I could see the reflection of a plain-looking woman. Peering closer into the distorted image, it occurred to me that this was exactly the problem.

  “Well, that certainly explains more than it doesn’t. I don’t recall ever seeing anyone here that… erm…”

  “Looks just like your people,” Matthen provided, his mandibles opening wide in amusement. A good save. I was going to say ‘who lacked bug parts’ but I was unsure if Myrkdraw even had insects. The body I had inhabited the first time I had come here had also been human; no wonder I had been given a wide berth and strange looks.

  “Yes,” I said finally. “I take it the big wall is theirs?”

  “Big wall is theirs,” he confirmed, taking a long swig from one of two tankards he had deposited on the table at his arrival. He pushed the other towards me and I noticed how warm the wood was as I lifted it. The ale inside was hot. “Sorry it’s not at room temperature,” he added. I did not have the heart to tell him that, in most places, people preferred an ice cold beer. I was not even sure if Myrkdraw had refrigeration.