The Hands of Ruin: Book One

by Peters, Dylan Lee

  “This sucks, Ziggy.” Zerah’s mood was souring by the minute.

  As they stood at the black steel gate, under the dank gray sky, with all their possessions at their sides, it was hard to find a ray of hope. Especially as the man they would be living with had just greeted them as if they were peddling door-to-door religion. Zigmund didn’t know what to say to his sister in this moment. Things were bad, and he couldn’t muster the energy to lie and feed her some corny line about everything working out in the end. He was having a hard-enough time keeping his own spirit buoyed.

  “Yeah, it does suck,” Zigmund replied. “So just deal with it, Zip.” In that moment of weakness, it was Zigmund’s father, Cal, who was talking through him. He knew it as soon as the words came out of his mouth, and it made him even angrier at the situation, at Zerah, and at himself. “Let’s go,” he added.

  The teens squeezed through the gate with their luggage and trudged up the hill toward the blocky home that loomed above. At about twenty yards past the gate, they heard the hum of a small motor and looked back to see the black gate closing behind them.

  “What, he can watch us, but he can’t help?” Zerah asked incredulously. She had one bag hanging over her shoulder, and she tugged at a larger rolling piece of luggage that followed behind.

  “Would you stop it?” Zigmund said, getting more annoyed by the minute. “Things are different now. You need to get tougher. You need to stop complaining.”

  “You don’t have to be such a jerk about it,” Zerah muttered under her breath.

  Zigmund pretended he didn’t hear her.

  As the teens walked on, they noticed the house in far more detail. There were three sections to the home, each a different-sized rectangle. Two of the rectangles sat next to each other, one taller than the other, like a mother holding hands with her child. The third rectangle was shorter still and came out toward the driveway from where the mother’s legs would be. It was a simply designed home, but there was nothing normal about it. From the vantage point of the teens, there wasn’t a single window on the home, but cameras could be seen oscillating slowly at the corners of the flat roof. The outer walls were flat, no siding or stucco. Instead, different shades of wood panels were laid so the walls looked like parquet flooring. The twins could see no doors, but the smallest section of the house had an inset wall that looked like a garage door. Halfway up the driveway now, Zigmund and Zerah headed for that wall, assuming it would be where they could enter the house.

  Zerah laughed to herself. This isn’t a house. It looks more like a maximum-security prison for forest rangers. The thought improved her mood slightly, and she decided to continue the game. Or maybe it’s a museum for modernist wood sculptures. Or maybe it’s a compound for some cult that worships bears and pine needles. This last thought came a little too close to being possible for Zerah, and she tried to extinguish the idea that her uncle might be part of some strange religious cult.

  The sky was darkening, and the twins assumed the sun was setting behind the wall of gray clouds, or as Adeline Aschburner had used to say, evening was calling the sun home for dinner. Zigmund looked at the Arcadian Loop on his wrist to see it was a little past seven o’clock. He thought that confirmed evening as the cause for the darkening sky, but just as he took his eyes away from the gadget on his wrist, a loud clap of thunder promised another culprit.

  The twins were now close to what they assumed was the garage door. Zerah dropped her bags and walked to the wall, looking for anything resembling a com-screen, speaker, pressure sensor, anything at all. She found nothing, so she knocked on the wall and called out.

  “Uncle Rainart, would you open the door?”

  “I will when you find it,” a disembodied voice boomed from some clandestine speaker. “Come around to the other side of the house. You’ll see the stairs.”

  Zerah turned around and looked at Zigmund, who rolled his eyes, mirroring her frustration. The girl’s shoulders dropped in defeat; then she picked up her bags off of the paved driveway, and the twins walked around the left side of the house, away from what they had thought was a garage. Just as they came around the corner of the house, the skies laughed derisively with rolling thunder, and then the rain came down hard.

  The teens looked at each other with furrowed brows that were quickly dripping with the wetness of a north Pacific storm. At least they still had each other. That was what both Zerah and Zigmund were thinking in that moment, and both children were aware their twin was holding on to that same thought. People had always told them twins possessed strange connections with each other. Even some of their schoolteachers had regarded them as some mystical force when they were together. Mysticism seemed absurd to the twins, but they couldn’t argue that they weren’t connected in ways other siblings weren’t. They just shared more. It was unspoken and innate. As they walked around the house in the rain, they were sharing one of those twin moments, and they needed it now, more than ever.

  The back half of the great house revealed itself, and it was in such stark contrast to the front that it gave the impression of being a completely different structure. Zigmund turned back and looked down the driveway. A seemingly large forest stretched into the distance. It was a view both earthly and familiar to him. When he turned away from it again, it felt like leaving a friend. He and his sister now stood at the edge of a cliff, and forty feet below the sheer rock face was the raging ocean. The skies over the sea were black, and lightning flickered out over the expanse. The rumbling thunder and the crashing waves were now competing for auditory attention. The twins tore their eyes away from the tussle of rain and waves and looked to the right. A large staircase hugged a flat wall of glass and metal. From this side the house reflected the storm like a strobe light, flashing an instant reflection to every strike of lightning. There was not much land between the stairs and the cliff’s edge. It seemed like a hellish task to have to ascend them in the rain and gathering dark. Visions of falling to their deaths, their bodies being dashed against the black rocks far below, flitted through the minds of the two teens. They looked at each other for solidarity once more and climbed the stairs cautiously.

  The wind assaulted them, and they wished they could shield their eyes as they dragged their bags up the stairs. What fool of a man has the door to his home at the back of his house, twenty feet up a staircase that overlooks a cliff? Zigmund thought. He kept his gaze away from the drop, instead looking at the great glass wall to the right side of the staircase. While there were no windows at the front of the home, it seemed the entire back side was nothing but windows. However, Zigmund and Zerah couldn’t see through any of them. It was as if there were no lights on inside the house at all. They could see nothing but obsidian, shimmering with wetness, intermittently reflecting the anger of the storm.

  When they finally reached the top of the staircase, Zerah pounded the metal door in front of her. She and her brother were soaked through. Zerah only hoped their luggage had resisted the water better than their clothing. Zigmund looked out over the ocean and then down the side of the cliff. He immediately regretted his decision as the dizziness of vertigo threatened to topple him. He dropped his bags and reached back for his sister, hoping to grab her shoulder for stability. In his wobbly state, he fell back against her harder than he had intended to. The door Zerah had been knocking on opened suddenly, and Zigmund knocked his sister over, both teens stumbling and falling through the door and onto a red rug inside the house.

  They wiped the water out of their eyes and looked up to see their uncle’s dark eyes and coal-black moustache towering over them. The man sniffled and walked outside to grab the dropped luggage. He threw it inside the house and then walked back in, slamming the door shut behind him.

  “Down the hall and to the left are two guest rooms that will now be your bedrooms,” he said, wiping the rain from his hardened face. “I don’t care which of you takes which one. After you’ve found your rooms and changed your clothes, I’ll expect you downstairs in the d
ining room for dinner. I’ve already started without you.”

  The twins watched the tall man walk away from them and descend a staircase to the right. He moved with a noticeable limp in his right leg but didn’t seem to let it impede his pace.

  “At least there’s food,” Zerah mumbled to Zigmund. The teens were still entangled on the floor.

  “And another thing.” The gruff voice of their uncle came from the stairs. “I don’t serve meat in this house, and I don’t want to hear complaints about it.”

  Zerah grimaced and let her head fall limply against the floor.

  “I should’ve pulled us over the cliff,” Zigmund said, shaking his head.

  III

  It was midday, and the sun beat down hard on the village of Ferrenglyn. It was the kind of day that usually kept the Serendipity flush with customers. Its shaded outdoor seating area was positioned perfectly to receive the breeze that swept over the chasm. The cool respite from the sun, paired with the lovely vanilla scent the chasm emitted, usually meant Dell would have her hands full with drink orders and hardworking Ferrenites looking for a quick lunch. The Serendipity had also become a popular stop for Ferrenites who had traveled to see the chasm, and today was just the type of bright, clear day that should have packed the porch. However, three customers had just walked in and then left again without so much as ordering a drink. Dell stood inside her little watering hole with her hands on her hips, looking out at the empty tables, and it didn’t take her long to see what was keeping the patrons away.

  “That damned dog is out there again,” Dell said as she burst through the kitchen doors.

  “It’s not a dog,” Mitt said, straightening up and stepping away from his work at repairing a busted ale keg. “We’ve been over this.”

  “I don’t care what it is, Mitt.” Dell raised her thin eyebrows and pointed back out toward the dining room. “Jailhair, junehoard—whatever you called it, I want it gone. It’s ruining business.”

  Mitt sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s called a jawhar, Dell, and if you think I can get rid of it, you’ve lost your mind. I’ve got about as much control over that thing as I have over the sun. As I told you last time, send for Master Ah’Rhea. She’s the only one who can make it leave.”

  Dell threw her arms up and groaned in frustration. “We could have had a place on the west coast, but no, you wanted to be near the chasm, you wanted Ferrenglyn. ‘It’ll be mystical and interesting,’ you said.” Dell turned back around and stormed into the dining room. “Nothing but a pain in my a-a-Ah’Rhea. Master Ah’Rhea, so good to see you.”

  Standing in the dining room, just as Dell had reentered, was zul master Ah’Rhea Eneoh. Ah’Rhea pulled her crimson shawl back and smiled at Dell. The restaurateur’s demeanor changed, and she gave the biggest smile she could muster. Dell hoped Ah’Rhea hadn’t heard what she had said in the kitchen.

  “I hope Reego hasn’t ruined your day,” Ah’Rhea said politely.

  “Ab-so-lute-ly not,” Dell said with obvious overenthusiasm. “We just love every time little Reno is here.”

  “Reego,” Ah’Rhea corrected.

  “Yeah, Reego. That’s what I said. Little Reego. We love him.” Dell clasped her hands together and smiled so wide Ah’Rhea wondered whether the woman wasn’t becoming unhinged.

  “Okay then,” Ah’Rhea said. “Well, I’d like to have the porch overlooking the chasm to myself for a little while. I’ll pay you.” Ah’Rhea placed a small pouch in Dell’s hands, and Dell loosed the knot at the top to peer inside.

  “There’s at least two thousand in here, Master Ah’Rhea.” Dell looked up at the zul master in astonishment. “That’s four days’ earnings. I couldn’t possibly—”

  Ah’Rhea raised a hand to silence Dell. “I insist. I’d like at least an hour alone, two bowls of feffer fruit, and a bottle of your best wine. Oh, and a bowl of water for Reego.”

  “Absolutely,” Dell said, her graciousness now coming naturally. “Please take any seat you like. I’ll be back with your food and drinks quickly. Thank you, Zul Master.”

  Ah’Rhea nodded, and Dell immediately walked to the guest entrance, the bun tied atop her head bouncing as she went. She put up the closed sign, locked the door, and then rushed back into the kitchen, leaving Ah’Rhea to find a seat on the porch. Ah’Rhea turned and walked out among the wooden tables and chairs, the breeze hitting her in the face gently. It was a hot day, but the canvas awning kept the sun away and made the blue sky that stretched to the horizon all the more enjoyable. She inhaled the sweet smell of vanilla and exhaled with a sigh. The porch of the Serendipity was a wonderful place to spend time alone.

  However, Ah’Rhea wouldn’t really be alone today. She looked to the left and saw her jawhar, Reego, sitting atop a wooden table and scratching himself behind the ear. She walked over and sat down, and the jawhar licked her on the cheek. Ah’Rhea scratched him behind his ear and smiled. Reego’s company never bothered her in the least.

  Making good on her promise, Dell returned quickly, and she carried a tray with all the items Ah’Rhea had requested. She set down the two bowls of feffer fruit, and Reego immediately dipped his snout into a bowl of the bright-yellow berries. Ah’Rhea pulled her own bowl closer, knowing the jawhar wouldn’t restrain himself. Dell set down the bowl of water and then the bottle of wine with a wooden cup. Dipping into her pocket, she produced a metal screw, uncorked the bottle, and poured some of the golden liquid into Ah’Rhea’s cup. She waited for the zul master to sample the wine and nod her head in approval, and then she smiled and asked whether there was anything else she could do. Ah’Rhea thanked Dell and told her they’d be fine. As Dell walked away merrily, Reego dipped his snout into Ah’Rhea’s cup of wine and lapped at the liquid.

  “Hey,” she said, pulling the cup away from the jawhar. “If you don’t want me to treat you like a dog, you’d better learn to have better manners than one.” Reego sat up straight, tilted his head, and lifted one of his front paws, just as an obedient canine would. Ah’Rhea frowned. “Don’t patronize me.”

  The jawhar spun around and barked, obviously delighted with himself. He dipped his head back into the feffer fruit, and Ah’Rhea smiled. She popped a few ripe yellow berries into her mouth and shook her head. She would always have a soft spot for Reego. He was, after all, bonded to her for life. She sipped her wine and leaned back in her chair. There were only four zul masters in Ferren who had jawhars, and Reego was the only one who had manifested to look like a wild dog. Obviously, Ah’Rhea loved the form her jawhar had chosen. Reego knew her desires and preferences better than anyone ever had, or possibly ever would. The two shared a bond that transcended both mind and body in a way that was not easily defined.

  She watched as Reego enjoyed his fruit, wagging his bushy white-and-brown tail. His tall tufted ears brushed the edges of the bowl in a way that made Ah’Rhea smile. She leaned forward and petted the motley little fool while he ate. His fur was soft and light as it brushed against Ah’Rhea’s fingers, and the exercise of petting him added to her feeling of tranquility.

  Reego wasn’t a dog, but Ah’Rhea often treated him like one, and Reego didn’t seem to mind. If a stranger were to watch them now, he or she would see merely a thirty-pound wild dog with brown-and-white coloring, a flared, bushy tail, tufted ears, and shaggy paws. The only element of Reego’s appearance that set him apart from a normal wild dog was that he had allowed Ah’Rhea to braid the long hair under each of his tall ears and cinch a gold ringlet at the end of each braid. They slapped now against the bowl as he made for the berries at its bottom. Ah’Rhea drank from her cup and enjoyed the company of her best friend.

  The story of how she had bonded with Reego wasn’t especially exciting. It wasn’t a feat of dangerous adventure that allowed a zul master to bond with a jawhar but a feat of time, persistence, and self-discovery. Obviously, zulis was needed for the task, but a jawhar bonded to a zul master only in a moment of deep introspection and understanding. Zul masters
of old had devised an incantation in order to help future masters focus their minds correctly. It had been passed down for many years, and Ah’Rhea remembered it now as she watched her friend enjoy his fruit.

  I have seen the trails left by my forebears,

  Mindful of why they trekked onward so.

  I have lived among the extant tribes,

  Lamented their ways, yet exalted their whole.

  I have forged mind and body, as if forever may be.

  Aware I step closer to extremity.

  So here I stand, destined for the terminal hour.

  My value is akin to the pollen of the flower.

  It must be taken, passed onward, used for future growth.

  Come now, my jawhar. Come forth, my soul.

  Reego lifted his head and looked at Ah’Rhea as these words echoed through her mind. Then he walked over to her and licked her on the cheek. Their connection was so strong that the jawhar knew her thoughts and shared in the pleasure of her memory. The woman smiled and silently let Reego know how much she loved him.

  Ah’Rhea had always wanted a jawhar, ever since she had learned of such a thing as a child. Once she was a master, she had spent three long months in a bamboo hut, high in the mountains of the southlands, reciting those words, pondering their great meaning, allowing the expanse to give her knowledge and peace. She had spent so many hours in the green hut, the air choked with the scent of burning zulis, thinking back on why she had become a zul master. She knew that in order to understand herself completely, she needed to understand her earliest decisions and what it was that had influenced them. Her desire to bond with a jawhar had been one of the earliest motivating factors in Ah’Rhea’s wanting to be a master, and high in those jungle mountains, she had recited the incantation, searching for what it was about a jawhar she wanted so much. She had convinced herself, through much introspection, that immersing herself in that early emotion of her childhood and exploring its depths would bring a jawhar to her.