Way Walkers: Tangled Paths (The Tazu Saga)

by Leigh, J.

  “Damn you, Brother!” Sister shrieked.

  A second strike of electric energy zipped toward her, but she leaped atop a half-fallen building and flitted out of sight. Jathen saw the little girl rushing into her mother’s arms, then the two fled to safety. Oh crap, there’s a “brother” now, though, he realized. Deeming it best to escape as far in the other direction from Sister as possible, he veered right, only to come face to face with the second hooded Talent, Brother. Jathen instinctively brought up the crossbow.

  “Wait!” Brother pulled down the hood, revealing Mikkal, whose long black hair swirled. He raised his gray-gloved hands. “Jathen, I promise I’m a friend. Remember, Jathen? I’m your friend. I saved you before, you and Ass’shiri, remember? But now, it is I who need your help.” The fateful Clan words were soul-chokingly accurate even as Jathen expected and disbelieved their utterance. Tears stung Jathen’s eyes, and Mikkal lowered his hands. “I’m only here to try to make sense of things.”

  Still reeling from yet another grim foretelling come to fruition in a way unimagined, Jathen asked, “Why here? Sense of what?”

  “I’ve been tracking a Red Follower who has been hunting a particular Grand Artifact. I had considered the possibility your charm master might be in possession of it, given certain events in his past.”

  “Yvette Ashton.”

  Mikkal nodded. “You know the story.”

  “Rumor.” All the horror and injustice of the last days clawed through him, and his voice trembled along with the crossbow. “As I have said many times now, Hatori had no Artifact that I knew of, lesser or otherwise.”

  “Many times?” Mikkal frowned. “Jathen, what has happened?”

  Against Jathen’s will, his body gave out, too much stress and too long without food and water finally taking its toll. Mikkal was at his side before he fell, and with one desperate, shaking breath, Jathen managed to beg, “No Tazu Embassy…” before everything went black.

  Jathen awoke to the aroma of cinnamon and clove swirling from a pungent brew percolating over a tiny fire.

  “Ah, good, you are awake,” Mikkal said, taking the kettle off the heat with an experienced hand. He was kneeling across from Jathen on a rough-hewn mat. “Then I won’t have to pour this down your throat for you.”

  “What is it, and where are we?” Making a quick review of his belongings, Jathen found everything still in his possession. The room they were in was dank with a prevailing odor of mold. Apparently, his fate was to spend a lot of time in underground rooms.

  Pouring liquid into a chipped earthenware cup, Mikkal offered it to Jathen. “It is a mix of hot hersha milk, water, ginger, clove, cinnamon, and some nutmeg, along with a few more interesting herbs I’ve gathered over the years that help in the replenishing of weary systems.” He put the kettle back over the fire. “As to the where, this is an accommodating root cellar a few blocks north of where we were, which I have taken the liberty of warding five times over to keep out varying degrees of those wishing to do harm to our persons.” He pointed at the cup. “Please, drink. I promise it will help.”

  Jathen took a sip. The drink was good, seeming to seep into his sore muscles with a soothing heat. The throbbing in his shoulder and chest from using the crossbow lessened considerably, unknotting along with his immediate anxiety. “So you’ve been tracking someone named Older Sister?”

  Surprise flickered across the Gray’s face, only to migrate into a bemused smirk. “I see you two have met.”

  “Not directly, at least not besides the shots I just took at her and the fact her partner tried to kill me.” Keeping it brief and leaving out a few more personal details pertaining to his relationship with Ishane and the comments about nontraditional Talent, Jathen related the events that had occurred since the earthquake.

  “And you don’t know anything about an artifact of Hatori’s?” Mikkal asked.

  Jathen shook his head. “No.”

  “Damn it. I was certain he had it.”

  “So was Sister. Enough to kill for it. Do you know what’s going on? You said you knew Sister was after a particular Grand Artifact, but Ishane hinted they were chasing something beyond it, something bigger. And for that matter, why are you tracking a Red follower this far away from the Clan Lands? Were you following Hatori from the beginning? And why did she call you Brother back there?”

  Mikkal waved a gloved hand. “It’s a long story.” He sighed. “A long, sad story.”

  “I’ve had a long, sad few days,” Jathen said, not bothering to hide his bitterness.

  “I suppose, in this, you are correct.” Mikkal nodded. “In your travels with the Msāfryan, I’m sure you were privy to the tale of how they came to be the chosen Ishim of Bree?”

  “The legend about how the Nhr River was created and Antqāl Mdynh was founded? Yes. Why?”

  “What most people do not know is that when Bree died at that time, she left behind an array of lesser artifacts that were spread across the dessert.”

  “The million points of light.”

  “Exactly. Now most were simply scales and claws, extremely magical in their own right but still lesser. However, there is another version of the story that states Bron lived for a longer time after Bree, collecting these magically preserved pieces of his lost love. Among them, he found her heart, crystallized the way Avatar flesh sometimes is, by a means not even they can explain. From that, a Grand Artifact was crafted.”

  “I thought Yvette Ashton created the Grand Artifacts.”

  “Not all of them. In fact, the second version of the story has two different endings. In the first, Bron crafts the Grand Artifact and then ascends to be with Bree. In the other, he travels to a master of the craft, who many people believe was Yvette, where he then asked to have his own heart removed and the two crystallized artifacts used to create the single Grand Artifact. Either version leaves us with the same powerful—but never confirmed—Grand Artifact.”

  “So that’s what Sister and Ishane killed for.” Jathen felt his anger rise. Grant Artifact or not, it didn’t seem worth the loss of so many he loved. “What does it do, that she wants it so badly?”

  “Supposedly, there is a clue in the story, in Bree’s words. ‘You will see what has not been seen, for I have found what has never been found, hidden by what was never hidden.’ It is theorized this Artifact would allow a person to detect things of great import within a certain terrain, specifically, resources so preciously needed on our continent.”

  “Like the river in the story.” Setting the cup down, Jathen rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to find rationale in what seemed an impossible slew of events. “So this Sister is hunting resources? But why such certainty Hatori had this specific Grand Artifact? There was no record of what Artifacts went missing from Yvette back then. I mean, I refuse to believe everyone is dead all on the uncertainty of a five-hundred-year-old rumor.”

  Mikkal’s lips twitched. “You’d be amazed by how much a single thread of a rumor can alter one’s perception of things.”

  Jathen’s stomach dropped, and his body went cold at the mention of the familiar phrase. Trying to keep his fingers from twitching toward Ass’shiri’s crossbow, he stated in a flat tone, “You met Samad Dumas.”

  Mikkal nodded, undaunted. “While I was tracking Sister, I came across the little man on the road. He was my first real hint that Hatori might truly have something, as I was only monitoring the famous—or perhaps infamous is the better word—charm master on a hunch on my way to gather herbs. I did not approach Samad directly because I did not want him to know my face in case we happened to cross paths with you at the same time, but I did overhear him. He was making it quite clear he was in search of your party because he thought he had spotted a possible Grand Artifact among Hatori’s belongings, but he hadn’t realized it at the time.”

 
“I don’t suppose you saw Dumas’s murderer?”

  “Murderer?” Mikkal’s caramel eyes flew wide, and he seemed genuinely startled. “That talkative little academic is dead?” A disturbed shadow crossed his face as he shook his head. “It was after overhearing Samad that I felt it would be wise to introduce myself to you in a passive way, so I might be able to get a glimpse the possible Artifact. I kept a discreet distance, but when I saw you and Ass’shiri had been separated from Hatori, I took it upon myself to find you. I had assumed Dumas made contact while the rest of Chann’s group was stationary and I was looking for you.” He tapped his chin, a deeper concern showing on his face. “When was he murdered?”

  “Only a short time before we first met.” Jathen relaxed a bit at Mikkal’s honest surprise. He related the details of the discovery of Dumas’s decayed and looted body.

  Mikkal cursed. “This means she suspected beforehand as well. I was hoping I had surprised her, but now I can’t be certain of anything.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Remember I said my first hint of Hatori having something genuine with him was Dumas? Well, the second, more revealing indication as to which Artifact he might have had all this time came a little after you had settled here.”

  “The amber mine.”

  “Exactly. One theory on the Artifact’s workings is it comes in two pieces—one which finds, the other hides. When brought together, they can be used as Bree had in the desert, but Hatori may have been able to use only half the Artifact to locate the mine.”

  “But Hatori knew about the mine months beforehand. He told me so himself.”

  “Then he must have used it before he left the Nation.” Mikkal cursed again in Clan. “Which means, as opposed to me, Sister has probably known from the start.”

  “Again, why are you so certain he had this thing? There’s a million ways a person could have known about such a mine beforehand.”

  “I know. But there is a great deal more to this than I have said. This Red follower and I… we have a history.” Mikkal closed his eyes, as if meditating on something, then looked up again. “I am so sorry, Jathen, for it seems I am inadvertently the cause of so much horror in your life once again.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Little Sister, as I called her, was a student of mine, of sorts. I am sure someone told you of the Clan’s habit of sometimes taking in human children as their own?”

  “Yes.” Memories of Ass’shiri grinning under a lamppost jumped to mind, but Jathen snuffed it, rubbing the scar on his palm. “For political reasons.”

  “Personal as well, at least for me.” A slip of a smile flashed across his face. “She was brilliant, an orphan originally from Aralim. I saw a great deal of myself in her—the same thirst for knowledge, an engineering mind, exceptional Ability, and the need to be more than what others told her she could be. A shaper of her own destiny, not to be rigidly confined by a Way.”

  His face tightened. “A somewhat contradictory passion of hers was the Grand Artifacts and the legends around them. I humored her because it seemed harmless, a fascination with what might be done when one applied basic mechanics to things of an unknown magical nature. Slowly, so slowly it was hardly noticeable, she began to become more and more absorbed, the hobby becoming an obsession centered on the Bree Artifact. When it finally became irreconcilable between the two of us, we were in the Tazu Nation.” His caramel eyes found and held Jathen’s. “About thirty years ago.”

  Jathen didn’t think it was possible to feel any more sickened or surprised, but nausea washed over him as he recalled the lines of the story and their similarity to events both past and present. There was a rushing and whooshing and a burst exploding into the world, and the great Nhr River surged past them, carving forever its route south. Jathen whispered, “You mean the Kidwellith earthquake.”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh Spirit. That’s what you meant by ‘certain events in his past.’” The ember in Jathen sputtered and almost guttered, caught between rage and misery. “She went after Hatori then, too.”

  “It’s what I believe, yes.”

  “Ishane said he used it.” Hatori’s relatively clean-cut explanation of the earthquake exploded across Jathen’s memory along with Nosalia’s words, All Clan lie. But no matter what Hatori was, Jathen could not reconcile him having caused such a tragedy. Even to protect a Grand Artifact. And certainly not twice. Oh, but it could fill in so many gaps. So many questions as to why they stayed. Hatori’s guilt over such devastation, and why events bent the way they did. Oh, Hatori, why?

  Mikkal answered his unspoken question. “Probably a desperation move, then and now, to keep her from taking it.” He amended, half to himself, “Or an inadvertent triggering of an unknown power.”

  “So you knew Hatori had this thing from the start? Then why didn’t you do anything to stop Sister? You fought her a few weeks back, didn’t you? The mage fight that tore up half of Fauve? Why didn’t you call upon Tar’citadel then? Hell, anything other than sitting here and letting her kill everyone!”

  “I believed her dead thirty years ago. I never imagined she survived so long with no whiff of activity.” Mikkal tried to placate him, but Jathen could tell it was as much for the Gray’s own benefit as it was for his. “As to recent events, I simply wasn’t sure, Jathen. I came out here to keep a loose eye on Chann while plucking flowers until I met Dumas. Then, from the moment I set foot in the Republic, all my surveillance and clues led me to believe that if Hatori Chann had been in possession of the Artifact, he had since passed it on to his patron, Nosalia. The fight on the streets? I never saw her face, never imagined she would return to go after Chann! I have been attempting to sift fact from fiction in Fauve.”

  “While leaving me alone in Ca’june with her assistant, Ishane.” Ishane’s voice suddenly filled his head: “That’s got to be a bit of a weight, the memory of two heirs lost on your name.” No wonder she knew. Her master was the one who shaped their fate. My fate.

  “I am so sorry, Jathen.” Mikkal made as if to place a comforting hand on Jathen’s shoulder, but then seemed to think better of it, drawing it into a tight gray fist instead. “My shortcomings have caused you more pain than I can imagine. I am so, so sorry.”

  It seemed so impossible, how events that had taken place decades and even centuries before his very existence had all aligned to create Jathen’s bitter fate. There were simply no words for it, and so Jathen did not attempt to put any to it. “So what now?”

  “Now?” Mikkal arched his eyebrows. “I shall get you to safety then find my wayward ward, hopefully before another Artifact is used. I think perhaps the Tazu Embassy would—”

  “No!” Jathen saw the shock on Mikkal’s face and lowered his voice. “I’ve had… issues with certain people over there. It’s not safe for me. I’d feel better if you took me to Lady Nosalia’s, please.”

  Mikkal frowned. “I’d rather not, Jathen. The likelihood of her home being a target for Sister…”

  “Then I guess this is where we part ways,” Jathen said and began to rise. As informative, sincere, and helpful as Mikkal was being, a part of Jathen was still haunted by the sense of mistrust both Ass’shiri and Hatori had harbored for the Gray, not to mention some very disturbing dreams of his own. The hazy image of Mikkal saying in a twisted voice, “You’re missing something, and you’re going to die if you don’t figure it out” sent a shiver down Jathen’s spine. All things considered, he was determined to hear Nosalia’s side of the epic tale and to see how much of Mikkal’s story lined up with hers.

  Mikkal held up a hand. “Wait, wait.”

  “Why?” Jathen asked. “Your Sister has seen my face, knows who I am, and most importantly, who I was with. The likelihood of her coming after me next is just as high. Besides, if anyone has any answers to any of this, it’s Nosalia.”


  “You trust her that much?”

  “Hatori trusted her that much. And she trusted me with his past, so I suppose it will have to do. Besides, you said it yourself: If he had it, he gave it to her.”

  “Very well.” Mikkal got to his feet. “I meant to try to remove you from this mess, but as you’re set on this course, I might as well make certain you make it there alive.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Not necessary. In a way, this, all of this, is my fault, Jathen. If anything, I have a great deal to make up to you.”

  I don’t think there’s anything anyone can ever do to make this up to me. “Just get me to Nosalia,” he said. “And I’ll worry about the rest later.”

  Chapter 37

  Mikkal wouldn’t teleport.

  “Magically, it’s too detectable, too obvious. We fly.”

  Jathen gritted his teeth. “Flying is too obvious for ducking Tazu.”

  Mikkal pointed at the darkened sky. “Not if it is nighttime. And we are warded for the dark.”

  Though skeptical, Jathen allowed Mikkal to hoist him onto his back. The Gray rose into the air.

  “No wings this time?” Jathen inquired, curious despite his reservations.

  “That would be too obvious,” Mikkal said. “And I need to maintain the ward to cast seeking eyes away from us. So it is simply easiest and most efficient to raise my vibration to weightlessness then just carry you.”