It looked as if we stood atop a massive floating island of fiery rock, burning brilliant crimson in the early evening sun. All that lay beyond the edge of the mountain's summit was a sea of dazzling sky, streaked here and there with wisps of cloudy islets. I darted further onto the flat peak of the Ururu, spinning in circles to drink in the sight. Hawke still stood at the edge near the walkway, his own eyes wandering across the peak's expanse, until he caught sight of something and let out a noise. I turned to see what he had spied.
Some couple hundred meters away was a tent almost as large as the sick tent from the Mad Riders's camp, anchored directly into the stone with ropes and steel pinions. A mess of blankets, provisions, and other camping supplies lay strewn all about it. A short distance from the mess sat a large lump that appeared covered in burlap.
Curious, I tiptoed closer until I was only a few paces away, where I stopped in shock. The chunky mass was the largest person I had ever seen, dwarfing even the intimidating Apollo by a couple heads. I could only just make out the mess of greasy brown hair that snaked down to its shoulders, crumpling on a back clothed in a worn and weather-beaten poncho. I skipped around to take a better look at the stranger.
Catching sight of his face made it clear that the person was a man, though he bore a face so singularly ugly that it took me some work to reach that deduction. His nose was squashed like an overripe tomato in the middle of his face, taking up most of the real estate. Though his eyes were closed they seemed incredibly small for such a bulbous head, and his rubbery lips parted in a perpetual pout. I put my hands to my mouth when I saw that the stranger was sitting cross-legged on the floor.
If he's this tall sitting, I thought, just how much taller is he standing?
Hawke strolled beside me and knelt down, drinking in the strange giant's features alongside me.
“It's always hard to tell if he's meditating or sleeping,” he said. Hawke rose and strolled to the man's side. He pressed a hand on one of the stranger's bony shoulders and pushed. The man remained still as the stone he sat on, but Hawke was forced back a step.
“Oh yeah, definitely meditating,” concluded Hawke.
“Can you wake him up?” I asked.
“Yeah, but it's not a simple thing. He's in deep concentration right now; he probably doesn't even know we're here. Can you feel it?”
“Feel what?”
Hawke rapped a knuckle on the man's arm. It made a thud like he was knocking on a rock. “He's concentrating his essence,” he explained. “It's surrounding him, like a shell. Only way to wake him is to break that shell.”
With that, Hawke drew his rusted blade from his side and held it with the point leveled straight at the man. Seconds passed as Hawke stood as motionless as the meditating man. Then, in a whirl of motion, Hawke twirled the sword and brought it into the stranger's side.
I cried out, afraid Hawke would hurt the man, but all that accompanied the strike was a crash like shattering ceramic. His sword pressed harmlessly into the man's side, no more dangerous than a hunk of iron.
“Eh?” came a grunt from the stranger's bloated lips. One of his tiny eyes cracked open, a bloodshot muddy pool. The orb rolled around for a moment, squinting at the sight of me, but when the giant turned his head and caught a glimpse of Hawke both eyes snapped open as wide as they could.
“Aye, Hawke, is it really you!?” His voice was like someone had sandpapered his vocal chords, dusted with an unfamiliar accent, but the grin on his face spoke volumes. Hawke gave a nod and returned a smile of his own.
“Char, it's damn good to see you.” He opened his arms in invitation. Without hesitation, the man he called Char accepted gladly and took my companion in a hug that looked capable of crushing bones. As soon as the two embraced, their bodies gave off a radiant burst of light. I had forgotten that this man might have held part of Hawke's essence and so was left trying to blink spots out of my eyes as the brightness subsided. Char still sat holding Hawke, but his face drooped in confusion.
“Wha' the bloody 'ell was that?” he mumbled as he tilted his head to the side. Hawke was trying to wrest himself free from his massive friend's grip as he explained.
“It's what – led me here. I had a hunch – you'd have part of my essence–” Hawke's breath was coming in shorter gasps as Char's grip seemed to gradually tighten. Finally realizing his folly, Char loosened his hold and let Hawke snake free and suck down some much appreciated air.
“Sorry, mate,” Char looked away with an embarrassed smile. “Guess ah got a li'l excited there.”
“Haha, no harm done.” Hawke looked over himself to make sure those words weren't empty. When he was convinced he was still whole, he straightened up and laughed. “Still as brutish as ever, though. One of these days you're bound to snap me right in half.” Char guffawed right back at him.
“Aye, and you'll jess stitch yerself righ' back tagether!” For some reason this was enough to set Char off roaring with laughter. Hawke continued to chuckle, and as he did, Char's own laugh slowly faded.
“Yeh feelin' alrigh', Hawke? Usually yer not so reserved.”
Hawke's chortle similarly died as his face grew puzzled. “Huh, you're right. Probably has to do with my essence. Speaking of…” Hawke locked eyes with his massive friend. “Who gave you the piece of it that you had?”
Char flinched back. “Ya mean ya don't know?”
“Well, I've had my suspicions, but…” Hawke trailed off.
“Li'l lady Rouge told me ta keep it safe 'til ya came ta get it.” Char rapped fingers the size of small logs across one of his comically small legs. “Ah figured it was yer idea, or at least ya knew wha' it was all about. Aye, I was kinda hopin' you could tell me wha' it was all fer.”
“So it was her,” Hawke fell onto his backside. He sat sprawled out, eyes glazed. “I was hoping my hunch was wrong, but it really couldn't have been anyone other than her.”
“Aye, sorry, mate. Ah'm just as confused as you. While we're on the subject of lady Rouge, though,” Char's watery eyes turned to focus on me, and I swallowed nervously, “who's the li'lun here? Aye, she's practically a mini-Rouge.”
“Oh!” As if suddenly remembering I was there, Hawke bounced up and dusted himself off. “I'm such a dolt.”
Hawke took me by the hand and led me over to the giant. Though I was more than a little intimidated by his grotesquely large frame, I was soon standing directly in front of Char, craning my neck just to look him in the eye.
“This is Char Nazval, a dear friend of mine,” Hawke said to me. “He's helped me through more scrapes in my life than I care to remember.”
“Aye, and more'n a couple o' those were yer own damn fault,” Char snorted. “A pleasure t' meet ya, missy.” He reached down with one of his pillow-sized hands, making me scrunch up my face and twist away. The appendage only alighted softly on my head, though, and he tousled my hair playfully.
“And Char, this is Micasa.” continued Hawke. “She's been accompanying me on my journey pretty much since the beginning.”
Char's affectionate rubbing stopped and he stared at Hawke. “What did you say her name was?”
“Erm, it's Micasa.” Hawke turned away and coughed awkwardly.
“What sort o' sick joke is tha'?” Char looked to me with eyes full of pity. “Aye, ya better not have–”
“Dammit, Char, she was a slave. What kind of name do you expect her to be given?”
“Is there something wrong with my name?” I decided to chime in. Char's eyes drooped further, which almost didn't seem possible.
“Li'lun,” he said softly, “mikhasa is a demon's word. It basically means 'worthless.' ” When he spoke the word, it came out in the harsh rasp of the grinel language. He stroked the side of my face as if to try and soften the blow of what he told me.
“Oh, like what Scab Kahlot said before,” I thought out loud. “I thought it was weird that grinel knew my name when I didn't tell him.”
“You know wha' a grinel is? You've m
et one??” Char lumbered to his feet, taken aback by my knowledge. I, in turn, was taken by surprise that, at his full height, he towered over me to the point where I couldn't see the sky without turning around. He glowered at Hawke, which with his imposing stature sent even the seasoned warrior cringing away ever so slightly.
“What've ya been makin' this wee one deal with, Hawke? Exactly what have ya been doin' while runnin' around!?”
“Hey, don't be mean to him!” I cried. I pushed at Char's spindly looking leg, but all it accomplished was sending me tumbling backwards. He looked to me, puzzled. With a sigh, he helped me back to my feet.
“Aye, sorry about that, mikha – um, Micasa.” Char seemed to struggle not automatically placing the gravelly accent on my name. “Ah get a li'l heated when ya start talkin' slavery, y'see. I was one m'self.”
“Really???” I had a very hard time imagining any sort of shackles that could hold a man as stout and powerful looking as Char.
“Sure. 'Swhere mah las' name comes from: Nazval is a grinel word for 'garbage.' ” He chortled at his admission. “All ah heard most o' m'life was how much trash ah was. But when ah got free, ah promised m'self tha' I'd take ownership o' tha name!” He pounded on his chest and puffed up full of pride.
“So what does Char mean?” I asked.
“It's short for Charles,” Hawke explained. “Though I've told him many times over that there are about half a dozen nicknames for Charles already, and Char isn't one.”
“Pfuh!” Char spat on the ground. “Ah picked th' name for me, an' ah get to pick how it's shortened! Screw yer 'nicknames'!” He turned to me. “Micasa, yer free t' choose wha'ever name ya want. Don' feel like ya have to keep it jess cuz.”
I had never thought that my name had any special meaning, but the prospect of getting to choose what I called myself had a certain appeal to it. It only took a few seconds of considering the possibilities for me to shake my head.
“Nah, I've always been Micasa. I would be confused if I was called something else now.” I smiled at Char. “I'm gonna own it like you said you did!”
Char burst into laughter so hard he was practically choking. “Aye, lass, tha's what ah did, innit! Bold choice! Ah like 'er, Hawke! Less have a drink ta Micasa! Ya like coffee?”
And that's how we were roped into dinner with the giant. After disappearing into his oversized tent for a bit, he emerged with enough cookware to make a small feast for the three of us, with a steaming mug of the dark liquid as the sort of crown of the meal. It only took one sip for me to decide most certainly how much I hated it, but both Hawke and Char drank at theirs eagerly as they shared stories of days long past.
“Tell me what about the times you saved Hawke, Char!” I insisted. His expression turned sheepish and he became incredibly invested in buttering an over-crisped biscuit.
“Honestly, Micasa, Hawke's saved me far more times than ah've done fer 'im,” he said at last, when he could butter no more. “Might not suhprise ya, bu' ah get inta a lotta trouble when ah'm around other people.”
“What could give someone as strong as you trouble?” I asked.
“If only bein' strong could solve mah problems,” Char muttered, “Ah'd be a man on tha clear an' easy.” He suddenly became engrossed in watching his biscuit cool. “Ya can't tell jess by lookin', lass?”
I squinted and tried my best to see what he was referring to, but Hawke jumped in to make it clear.
“Micasa, people don't really grow to Char's size normally. He's half grinel.” At Hawke's words Char flinched, and for a while, he looked as if he were remembering days best left forgotten. Of course, I had never encountered someone so large, but I didn't think that had to mean anything peculiar about him.
“Aye, i's true,” said Char. “Me pop was a grinel and mum was a human. Betcha never seen such a thing before, eh, lil'un?” He tried to laugh it off, but the sound was forced and hollow.
“So?”
“Eh?” Char cocked his head like he hadn't heard right.
“You don't seem mean to me. What does it matter what your dad was?” I shrugged and took a healthy draught of the soup I had been nursing. Char cackled at my candor.
“Aye, the wee ones always see things so simple. Ah wish more grownups could think like ya, Micasa.” He reached across to give me a pat on the head, which resulted in dunking me into my bowl of soup. I scowled at him as Hawke was suddenly overcome with a fit of laughter-turned-coughing. Char tried to look sorry as he dug for a towel so I could clean myself, but he couldn't completely hide the smirk creeping onto his face.
“What about Hawke's essence?” I tried to change the subject from my unwanted bath. “There was a flash when you two hugged. What power did you have, Char?”
“Oy, almost fergot about tha'.” Char rummaged through a pocket sewn in his burlap poncho and pulled out a shinestone, which shone a weak green in his palm. He tossed it aside into a pile of rubbish, where it instantly grew dim. “Wasn' a power, jess a simple talent for buildin'.”
“That would explain that rickety deathtrap of a walkway leading up here,” noted Hawke. Char puffed up indignantly.
“ 'Ey now, tha' ramp's sturdy enough ta get mah fat ass up an' down this rock! Watch yer tongue or ah'll rip tha' 'deathtrap' apart an' letcha find yer own way down!”
Hawke seemed to ignore the threat. “Char, did you happen to build something like that out in the Madness too?”
“Ah? Yeah, ah do remember tha' now thatcha mention it.” The giant looked off into the growing twilight as he thought. “Had some business out there an' was tired of takin' the long way aroun' tha' canyon. Took a couple weeks bu' it was worth the trouble.” The grin he gave flashed a mouth of yellowed teeth the size of small stones.
“The heat didn't bother you?” I asked. The Madness had been, well, maddening for Hawke and I to try and survive in for just a whole day. Trying to imagine someone spending what likely was days standing out in that hellhole to work seemed impossible.
“Ah, i's tha grinel blood in me.” Char tapped his chest and winked. “Heat dun bother us a lick. Ah could spend weeks out there withou' a drip o' sweat.” He nodded towards the cook fire and raised his eyebrows as if bidding me to watch. With my attention fully on him, he proceeded to place his hand directly into the crackling wood and ashes. He got a good laugh out of my horrified face, stirring the burning pile with his hand a bit for good measure before finally extracting the appendage. Aside from the soot still clinging to his fingers, there wasn't a single mark left from the fire.
“See? Nay a burn on me!” He proudly flaunted the dirty hand. “Guess ya can say I dun char easy!” We both exploded into giggles. Hawke stifled that quickly enough by loudly clearing his throat.
“Char, getting back on track,” he said, with more bite to his tone than I expected, “are you sure you can't remember anything else about getting my essence? I still need to know what happened with Rouge.”
The laughter died on Char's face as he glared and shook his head. “Ah've already told ya everythin' ah know. She came, she gave me tha trinket, told me ta hold onto it, an' she left. If yer gonna git so high-strung about it, go talk ta her yerself!”
“I'd LOVE to if I knew where she was!” Hawke stood, his hands balling up in his sudden outburst of anger. I was stunned; he seemed to have a better idea of what was going on than I expected. So why hadn't he told me anything he had suspected yet, if he knew so much?
Char fumed right alongside him but only responded by thumping back to the ground and picking at the remains of his food.
“Ah really can't believe she di'nt tell ya,” Char grumbled. “She did say sumtin abou' headin' toward Damkarei. Ya'll see 'er before long ah suppose.” Char's answer took the wind out of Hawke immediately, and he slowly unclenched his fists.
“I'm sorry, Char.” He turned his back to us and took a few steps away. “You're right, I am high-strung. I have no idea why she did this to me, and it's driving me insane.”
There was a
tense stillness in the camp as Char and I looked between each other and the quiet, brooding Hawke. Char settled to break it with a sigh and a grunt as he heaved himself to his feet once more.
“Ya said ya can feel the pull, right?” he asked. Hawke turned with a muddled expression.
“Yeah, what's that matter?”
“Jess tell me where ya feel it from now,” Char said, waving off the question. Hawke raised an eyebrow but turned for a few seconds before pointing away from where the last vestiges of the sun were setting on the horizon.
“Figgers.” Char offered a hand to me, and though confused what he had in mind I let him help me up. Still keeping his grip, he grabbed Hawke by the shoulder and practically dragged us both towards the edge of the bluff. The butterflies in my stomach broke out in full force as I pictured the dizzying height we were standing at, but it was laughable to think I could fight against Char's grasp. He stopped us a scant few paces from the dropoff, my eyes instinctively clasping shut, but Char gave my hand a little shake.
“It's okay, li'lun. Ah won't letcha fall, an' ya gotta see this.”
I was certain there was nothing I had to see less than what lay before us, but his hold on my hand reassured me enough to chance a peek. What lay before me was a breathtaking vista of Astra twisting for miles all around, shining a brilliant tangerine hue in the waning evening. Trees were little more than tiny arrowheads jutting out in bunches across rolling hills that looked like tiny dirt mounds from our vantage point. Little strings of road splayed every which direction, and at the end of one of those small threads lay a clump of houses that might have come straight out of a snow globe.
“I don't remember that town being there,” Hawke said slowly. Char snorted.
“Ya shouldn't, Liturgy there was settled only a few years ago. An old friend of ours is there, though. If ah was given a piece o' yer soul, Rouge prolly threw one ta tha' smokestack too.”
Hawke wheeled on him. “Wait, Kamson lives there?”
“Aye. Ah'm sure he'll be ecstatic ta see ya.” Char clapped his shoulder and threw him a thumbs up, turning back to the camp and dragging me off my feet in the process. Several minutes of apologizing from the giant later, we had returned to the fire and Hawke was already starting to grab up our things. Thoughts of trudging almost a mile down Char's walkway in the dark was where I drew the line, though.
Broken Soul (The Scholar's Legacy Book 1) Page 16
