Shatter (The Children of Man)

by Elizabeth C. Mock

  Faela ate several spoonfuls of the soup as Jair asked, “Where does the horror part come in?”

  A bit of wild onion, that Mireya had found, stuck to her lower lip. Faela licked it into her mouth. “Well, one morning Ianos didn’t wake me and I found out that he had been summoned by an Amserian, because of some emergency concerning an old friend, the night before and was still resting. I was twelve at the time and decided I would make breakfast for him.” Faela smiled into her bowl and chuckled. “He always made it look so easy.”

  “What’d you do?” Mireya hugged her knees to her chest.

  Faela’s fingers brushed a rectangular scar on her palm. “Let’s just say that the cooks managed to put out the fire eventually. After that, Ianos decided for my own safety and that of the entire temple he needed to teach me how to cook.” Faela smiled and looked at Kade. “Of course I’ve heard some interesting stories about your journeymen year. It really is so nice to have a face for all of Caleb's stories you know.”

  The corners of Kade’s mouth twitched in the firelight.

  “Something about you sneaking out of a tavern dressed as a serving girl?”

  “I had no choice,” Kade asserted, punctuating the air with the butt of his spoon.

  Jair choked on the cured meat he had been swallowing and began coughing violently. Water streaming from his eyes, the coughing turned to laughter. “You did what?” Jair managed to say amid his gasps for breath.

  Faela’s eyes sparkled as she sucked on the tip of her spoon. “I could tell the story as Caleb told me, however, we both know how his stories grow with each telling, don’t we, Kade?”

  Kade snorted, a dangerous choice given the food currently in his mouth. “It was his blasted fault. Did he tell you that?”

  Just as Dathien’s staff was never far from his side, neither was his slow smile that now turned into a grin. Wiping the corners of his mouth with his thumb, he observed, “It will only get worse the longer you keep us in suspense.”

  Jair nearly bounced with curiosity, which he could contain no longer. “So, what happened? Why'd you have to sneak out? What color was the dress?”

  “You will pay for this.” Kade promised Faela as he glared at her over his bowl.

  Faela simply chuckled and waited for the storytelling to begin.

  Kade sighed and began recounting his tale to his dinner. “It was about five months before the war ended. We had been sent to infiltrate deep into Nabos to smuggle out a contact. Caleb decided we'd be less suspicious traveling in the open than keeping to the woods, because no one knows the forests and foothills of Nabos like the natives and he didn’t want to get caught out there.”

  Dathien nodded as he ate. “Their woodsmen and trappers are ferociously territorial.”

  Jair gazed into the dancing fire. “The women are worse than the men.” As if he had just realized that he had spoken aloud, he hurriedly added, “Or so I've heard.”

  “The tempers of Nabosian women are legendary.” Faela redirected Jair's slip out of sympathy for the boy. She knew what it meant to have secrets that you wanted to stay buried.

  “Exactly as you said, Dathien.” Kade allowed Faela to shift the focus from Jair, but watched the younger man. “We were staying in this small village pretty far from any of the fighting, when a band of mercs hired by the Nabosians stopped in town on a resupply mission. And unfortunately, this particular band of mercenaries knew Caleb from a judgment he had mediated that condemned one of their numbers.”

  “Oh dear!” Mireya leaned forward in rapt attention. “Were you discovered?”

  Despite himself, Kade grinned. No storyteller could resist an audience like Mireya. “Had we been discovered, it's likely I would not be here right now. But Caleb had a plan.”

  “He always has a plan.” Snorting in a very unladylike fashion, Faela dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. “The sticking point is always whether he can pull off his grand schemes.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Kade shook his head. “Yet somehow he always makes it through. Now Caleb insisted that since all the men in Nabos had been drafted to fight in the war, a kid like me would raise suspicions traveling alone. The only solution, he claimed, would be for him to meet me in the woods while I rounded up our supplies dressed as a serving girl.”

  “You still haven't told me,” Jair said reminding Kade, “the color of the dress.”

  Remembered bitterness colored his tone. “It was brown.”

  “Would you say it was more of a taupe or a mahogany?” Jair inquired, stroking his chin. “And bows, did it have any bows? Please say that it had bows.”

  Mireya covered her mouth trying to block the escaping giggle as she pictured Kade with a big blue bow in his sable hair. Clearly not amused, Kade raised an eyebrow and fired a small pinecone at Jair's arm. Jair yelped in surprise and pulled Faela in front of him as a shield, ducking his head behind her back.

  “Again?” Entertainment crept into Kade's expression. “You're really hiding behind her again.”

  “She was handy?” Faela's coat muffled the sound of Jair's voice.

  “You know, Jair,” Kade kept his tone casual, “you're never going to find a woman to put up with you, if you keep insisting that they're all fat.”

  Jair's face shot out from behind Faela's shoulder. “I did not!”

  His reward was another pinecone, this time to the chest. Jair yelped again and dove back under cover. Kade chuckled at the boy's flair for the dramatic.

  “I'm out of ammunition, Jair. Leave the poor woman be.” Kade rubbed his hands together to remove the dirt. “Come to think of it, I believe Caleb's plan was the only solution to his boredom, not our escape.”

  Jair settled back to his position next to Faela, hands poised ready to deflect any further airborne attacks. “I can't decide which is worse: a ravenous pack of sisters dressing you up because they thought it made their only brother look pretty or that.”

  “Ravenous, eh?” Faela bit her bottom lip to hold back her laughter.

  “Oh, I'll take his abuse,” Jair said jerking a thumb to where Kade reclined, “over theirs any day. Being the only boy with three older and two younger sisters does not do good things for your manly pride.” Jair's usually friendly face clouded with a gloom as he thought about his family. “Faela?”

  “Yes?”

  “What happened today? What'd you do to us?”

  Setting her bowl down on a half-buried stone in front of her, she swept a tangle of hair behind her ear. How to answer this inevitable question had hung over her head all throughout their hike that day. “Something that used to happen to me no fewer than a dozen times a day when I was a child. It's why I was packed off to Ianos when I was four. I have a rare form of red magic.”

  “Of course,” Kade laughed at how dense he had been, “you're a mind healer. I had wondered why the physical healing took so much out of you.”

  Twirling a pear in her hands that she just rescued from her satchel, she smiled down at the fruit and tossed it to Kade. “Give the boy a prize.”

  “I'm still lost.” Jair raised his hand as if waiting to be acknowledged. “Anyone else? Anyone? Just me?”

  “Don't feel bad, Jair.” Faela's eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Few of us survive childhood. Our gifts are erratic in nature and can cause trauma that most never recover from.” Guilt washed over her face as she looked at Jair and Kade. “I'm so sorry, Jair, Kade. I haven't lost control like that in years.”

  “I'm still not sure what even happened.” Jair threw his hands in the air in exaggerated frustration.

  “My barriers slipped. There was a physical trigger, a smell, it recalled—” She paused, running her senses along her barriers. Her eyes glimmered with a ghost of scarlet as she added another layer to the weaving. She would not be taken by surprise a second time. “It recalled a strong memory. Have you ever been to the coast and gotten caught in the tide? You tumble over and over unable to break free, trapped in the current. It's like that, just insid
e my own mind, memories evoking emotions, which feed into each other.

  “Most mind healers are unable to return after a few of these attacks.” She drifted off as her fingers followed a thread in her shirt down to its hem. “Unfortunately for you, my ability isn't to be taken lightly, even with my current, diminished abilities.” She pointed to her silver eyes.

  “Had that happened before I turned... Well, I would have most likely drawn in the minds of the entire town and linked them within my own. Everyone’s worst memories, worst fears flowing in an endless cycle.” Faela turned toward Mireya and Dathien her eyes shining with curiosity. “I still don't understand how you remained unaffected.”

  “Uh, I'm a Nikelan,” Mireya said as though that explained everything.

  Dathien rubbed her upper arm and kissed her hair. “Love, that doesn't actually answer her question. Though the Nikelan oracles do have a Grier partner to protect them, they don't really need it. As the channels of the Light, they are protected by the Light.”

  Mireya smiled cheerfully as she ripped off a chunk of tack bread with her teeth. Her mouth full, she said, “Once, I fell off a cliff.”

  *****

  Chapter Eleven

  Seated close to the fire, Eve could feel the chill in her hands beginning to thaw from the moist, cold air outside. She stretched her fingers as she studied Lucien across the table. The glamour he had woven for Haley, his minstrel disguise, looked nothing like the man she knew. Where Lucien's skin was pale like cream, Haley's was golden like clay. Where Lucien's nose was a sharp plane, Haley's was crooked as if it had been broken repeatedly. Where Lucien's hair was auburn and fine, Haley's was blonde and thick. And his eyes, Haley's eye were black, sparkling pools where Lucien's had been the color of a rolling meadow before — before they had changed to the color of moonlight.

  “Can't keep your eyes off of me, yeah?” Lucien turned giving her a wicked grin.

  Eve cocked an eyebrow, but refused to respond to the jibe. There was nothing to say. Nothing she was willing to let herself say at least. She twisted in her seat, searching for the innkeeper, or a serving boy at the least. The inn was empty was except for a few older men playing kings and scions in the corner.

  Never one to waste silence, Lucien said, “You know, I haven't played a game of kings and scions since the last time I lost spectacularly to you. I've never had a head for strategy games.”

  “Of course not, life is the only strategy board that holds your attention. Why waste your energies when winning fails to present a big enough challenge or pay off?” There was not any bitterness to her observation, just a statement of fact. “You've always seen people as the only pawns worth maneuvering. Getting them to play the roles you’ve chosen for them.”

  “Naturally. Carved figures can't decide to move to the right, when you've placed them to the left. But people, people are unpredictably predictable. It's all a matter of the correct pressure and leverage applied at the right time.”

  Eve shook her head. “You haven't changed a bit. It's that kind of thinking that caused the mess you're in.”

  “What can I say? I am a man of conviction and consistency.”

  Pushing her chair back, she stood.

  “Hey now, no reason to leave,” Lucien protested. “I'm not that bad.”

  Her hand resting on the table, Eve leaned forward. “No. You are. But this has nothing to do with you. I want some food before we leave Dalwend. So, I'm going to find some, you narcissist.”

  Lucien ran his hand through his disheveled hair in a habitual gesture she had seen him do thousands of times before. Despite the alien appearance provided by the glamour, he still moved like Lucien. The clashing juxtaposition of the painfully familiar with the markedly unknown disoriented her. She shut her eyes and shoved away from the table.

  “It's not narcissism when you're right,” he called after her.

  Eve approached the bar and bent over the counter to see if she could locate any of the help. There was no one there, but she heard voices coming from the doorway leading into the kitchens. She caught snatches of voice muffled by the door. Then she heard someone crying out in pain.

  “We know she was here.”

  Sweeping the door open, she saw two men adorned with weapons. One held a young woman with black hair cut bluntly to her ears. A bruise had already begun to blossom on her cheek. A large man with the same coloring stood by the oven, a cleaver clattering from his hand onto the wooden floor.

  All eyes fastened on Eve as she interrupted the scene. Collecting her thoughts in the time it took her to exhale the breath she had just taken in, she smiled brightly.

  “So, this is why I've been waiting to eat. Well that's reassuring. I remembered such good things about The Otter's Tale. I'm glad to see that things haven't gone downhill, because of the recent troubles here in Nabos.”

  The two men watched Eve stride farther into the room who still wore the uniform of a Daniyelan.

  “Good sers, do tell me exactly what you think you’re doing?”

  The taller of the two with dingy blonde hair and a raised scar across the bridge of his nose and cheeks spoke. “We were coming in from stabling our mounts and startled the young miss here and she tripped and hit her face against the chopping block there. I was just helping her up, you see. Frightened her father good too. Made him drop his cutter there.”

  He ran his hand against the girl's hair. “Right as rain now, you are, miss.” He let her go and she scrambled to her father's side. He lifted her chin to examine her injury.

  Eve's throat itched. He was lying, but she had no desire to endanger the innkeeper or his daughter.

  “Yes, and you were just leaving.” The bearded man's voice rumbled as he picked up some steaming bread that was cooling on racks. He wrapped it in some cloth and handed it to the shorter man wearing a wide-brimmed hat. “Here's the food you asked for. It should last you to Oakdarrow.”

  The scarred blonde smiled widely. “Thank you, Nathan. Nikolais will be pleased to hear you were so helpful. You'll want to put something cool on that cheek, miss.” The man nodded to Eve. “Sister.” Then the two men exited out toward the stables.

  Once they were out of earshot, the girl burst into tears and her father drew her into his chest and held her tightly.

  Eve's eyes darkened along with her tone. “Who were they?”

  “My thanks,” Nathan said as he turned his head to look at Eve and saw her garb. “Well that explains why they ran out of here fast like. Bounty hunters, they were bounty hunters.”

  “Who were they looking for?”

  Nathan paused longer than necessary to recall the information. “Some woman who stole something from a Merchant House,” he answered rubbing his daughter's back in comforting circles.

  Eve held back the derisive noise rising in her throat. Nothing Sheridan ever did irritated her as much as the Merchant House's political intrigues. She spent more time dealing with the aftermath of their infighting than she'd care to remember. Looking at the bear of a man, Eve knew he hadn’t lied to her outright, but neither had he told her the truth. “Why did they come to you?”

  “Guess they tracked her here. She left heading west but a few days back, the night after the big storm.”

  Eve didn't like being lied to, but the last thing she wanted right now was to get caught in some feud between Merchant Houses. “I'm guessing you didn't catch which Merchant House had contracted them?”

  Nathan's arms tightened reflexively at the question. He knew. He just didn't want to believe that his own House would ever put a bounty on Rafaela. “Can't say I did.”

  Eve sighed as she tousled her short hair with a free hand. “Do you request my aid in this?”

  Nathan shook his head. “They're gone now. No lasting harm done.” Regardless of what Rafaela had done, he did not want the Daniyelans after her too. His one comfort was that he had sent the hunters searching for her in the wrong direction. He had sent them east to Oakdarrow.

  “Sometimes
, you just have to do things the old fashioned way,” Sheridan said as she surveyed the meticulous living quarters. Not so much as a paper jutted out of place. No books slid ajar on any of the bookshelves, which lined the walls. Every available surface of the cramped apartment served a purpose.

  “By the Light, you'd have to be this organized just to fit everything in here.”

  Sheridan pulled out the desk chair and flopped into the seat as she dug her watch from her jacket to check the time. She had left Wiley to organize her notes four hours ago. Clicking the watch shut, she returned the nicked, but well-polished, silver timepiece back into her pocket.

  Enjoying the afternoon light streaming in the window above her, she opened the desk's drawers rummaging through their contents. She found stacks of neatly filed papers. Flipping through the pages of correspondences, they all appeared to be the ordinary sort of paperwork for a Daniyelan. She found reports on judgments within Montdell, new laws passed by the council, and new marriages, all to be entered into the archives at Finalaran.

  Letting the files fall to her lap, she picked up another stack, which contained nothing more than personal letters from acquaintances and family. Had she not witnessed the incident in the cellar, she would hardly have associated this seemingly efficient and stable man with the Brethren.

  “Not like I was expecting to find a book called How to Join the Brethren with Ten Simple Virgin Sacrifices, but this, this is so,” she wrinkled her nose, “sterile.”

  Discarding the papers onto the desk, they spilled across its surface in a mess. Throwing her long hair into a hasty braid, she wandered over to the nearest bookshelf. She ran a finger along the spines of the books closest to the desk. They displayed titles like The Magic of Color: the Divisions and Properties of the Spectrum, Orange Magic: the Fires of Justice, Yellow Magic: Artistic Expression as a Channel, and Purple Magic: the Folds of Space and Time. Past the books on the nature and properties of magic were books of mythology and legend. Sheridan crouched down and drew out a volume titled Roland’s Legends.