by Rabia Gale
An aide held clipboard and pen out to Coop. He signed papers with a massive scrawl—Rafe could see his exaggerated hand movements from afar. Coop handed them over with an air of having washed his hands of the business. He turned on his heel and stalked back towards the train.
At the doorway, he caught Rafe’s eye and jerked his chin down. It’s done, he seemed to say and then he disappeared into the compartment.
Rafe gave a small, rueful shrug, then strolled over to the Oakhaven line. Not a single one of them moved as Ironheart soldiers retreated into the train. The ka-powered engine throbbed to a start. Rafe half-turned and watched it go in a rush of lit square windows, sleek over the rails. There were silhouettes at the window—he could not make out Coop among them at all.
He turned back to the Oakhavenites and said pleasantly, “Well, gentlemen. Shall we get out of this wind?”
The Oakhaven major said, “This way, sir.” His tone was a study in neutrality. Rafe didn’t recognize him—didn’t recognize any of them, in fact—though his normal usage of kyra-sight wasn’t very good at the fine details.
That could’ve been deliberate on Uncle Leo’s part.
At least Wil wasn’t here. For the three of them—him, Coop, and Wil—to be together in one space after all that had happened two years ago was probably not a good idea.
The major led the way. Soldiers fell in around Rafe. His lips tugged up in a wry smile. He could not decide if he was being treated as an honored guest or a prisoner.
A bit of both, I suspect.
They did not spend long at the checkpoint. They crossed through a long, low concrete building, windowless and possessed of thick steel doors, and to a platform on the other side. The major offered Rafe the use of the facilities to refresh himself, which Rafe declined.
An Oakhaven train waited on the other side, this one pulled by a steam engine. It billowed smoke and hissed steam. The smell of burning coal was familiar and oddly comforting.
The major led Rafe into a compartment, furnished with benches rather than individual seats. The windows were tiny rectangles; Rafe knew from experience the glass was thick and wavy and hard to see out of.
Ah yes. Army trains. He sniffed. Yes, the citrus air freshener couldn’t quite mask the odors of sweat and grease and a faint trace of gunpowder.
“Please have a seat, sir.” The major indicated the only padded bench in the compartment. Rafe took it without protest. He laid his walking stick across his lap, stretched out his legs, leaned his head against the wall, and shut his eyes.
Thus saving both himself and the major the embarrassing necessity of either exchanging small talk or sitting in awkward silence.
The ride was not as comfortable or quiet as that in Ironheart’s high-speed trains. The carriages jolted over the rails. The rattle of it sank into Rafe’s ears and settled into his bones. Every now and again he heard the scuffle of boots on floor as his escort shifted to another position. There were four of them besides the major, leaning against walls or hanging onto straps on either side of the compartment. Their presence pressed in upon him in a way that had nothing to do with ka-senses or kyra-sight
He was under armed guard by soldiers he would’ve once thought of as comrades. The nagging feeling of having betrayed Oakhaven—one which reason and argument had never been able to completely banish—gnawed at his insides.
What could he have done differently? Used better words to sway Uncle Leo into mounting a serious search for the Tors Lumena? Accepted his arrest the night Tristan was unmasked as an anti-machinist and pleaded his case in court? Contacted Wil rather than Coop when he had to give out the coordinates of the Tower?
The questions ran around in his mind, like cats chasing their own tails.
Enough.
The past could not be undone. He had done what he felt best at the time, to find the Tors, ensure it did not fall to Karzov, and put it into the hands of people who needed it and could put it to good use.
He could only repair what he could and move forward.
And he’d do his damnedest to make sure Uncle Leo and Wil moved on, too.
The driver applied the brakes, and Rafe braced his hands on the bench. The train screeched to a halt.
“Just a checkpoint,” said the major.
Rafe nodded and listened to the sounds of heightened security and military presence. The door crashed open once, letting in a sweep of chill air. The newcomer and the major exchanged a few words, the door slammed shut, and they were underway again.
They stopped twice more at checkpoints. Rafe imagined the defenses around Oakhaven as a series of concentric rings. Each time they hit another ring meant another checkpoint. The stops got longer, the checks more thorough, the sounds outside more urgent. Rafe sensed more and more ka woven into the defenses. Strands of green with knots of irritated yellow threaded around barbed wire, spikes, and broken glass. Angry red lurked in the bottom of trenches while cold calculating blues bent in angles within large cannons.
At the last stop, the major said, “Time to disembark, sir.”
Rafe nodded and rose. He walked stiffly to the train door and went out into a day as cold and raw as his own emotions.
This checkpoint was just outside Oakhaven proper. The city was a shake of lights to his right, most of them clustered in the older parts of town. Only a few lights dotted the hillsides, and the upper levels were universally dark. In recent years, the wealthy had expanded out of the confines of old Oakhaven. To see their homes abandoned made the whole city look as if it were bunkered down, watching and wary.
Rafe’s ka-senses also showed him a misty net over the city, with dense anchor points in the center and set at regular intervals around the edge. The dense points were the anti-airship guns that had—so far—made Oakhaven far too troublesome for Blackstone’s aerial forces to take and occupy
This was rohkayan work, as evidenced by the diluted ka and the mechanical, plug-in-and-make-work nature of the ka-systems. Rafe could see half-a-dozen different ways of tweaking the systems to make them both more efficient and effective, things that the rohkayan, relying on arcane devices, could not pick up on.
All this, Rafe took in with a cursory glance, before he was hurried away into a building. There were more military personnel inside, and these could not—or would not—hide their distaste for the kayan.
He felt less and less like a looked-for guest and more and more like a bad odor.
The escorting major’s strict neutrality, on the other hand, remained impregnable. “There is one last set of precautions we must take before heading into Oakhaven, sir.”
“I expected so,” said Rafe. He handed over his walking stick before the major could ask for it. The tension in the room decreased a mere notch. But at least he could breathe again.
“Hello, hello!” called a cheery voice, at complete odds with the atmosphere of the room.
A rohkayan in fluttery robes breezed in. Rafe could not make out whether the newcomer was a man or a woman, but privately opted for male due to the conservative nature of Oakhaven’s military. The rohkayan’s fine hair was so clean and well-brushed, it crackled and lifted in the air, haloing his head. Bracelets shimmered and clinked on his arms as he gestured.
“Come along, come along,” he sang in a voice that was deep for a woman and high for a man. Rafe felt the same disorienting feeling he had at Mirados’ party in Shimmer when faced with party goers who followed rules unknown to himself.
Still, he’d received a friendlier welcome from the Shimmerite than any of his own countrymen. Everyone expected him to follow the rohkayan, so he did.
The rohkayan skipped ahead in time to music Rafe could not hear. Now and then, he hummed a few bars. Rafe hoped the original sounded better.
They entered a concrete room, bare save for a wooden bench and a curtained cubicle in one corner. A bracket in the wall held incense sticks that filled the air with a sickly-sweet smell.
The rohkayan pulled a bag painted with flowers from bene
ath the wooden bench and unzipped it. Humming, he took out several crystalline cubes connected with copper wire.
Rafe, bemused, stood in the center of the floor.
The rohkayan tripped over to him. “Hold still, please,” he chirruped and passed a cube in front of Rafe’s face, around his chest, down his back. Ka sparked within each cube, set them all vibrating. The rohkayan lifted handfuls of cubes above his head, eyes closed, body swaying. His hair lifted.
The crackle in the device was audible and Rafe really didn’t like how excited the ka inside was. He gingerly took a step back.
The rohkayan opened their eyes and beamed at Rafe. “Ah, now that’s a buzz I’ve never felt before. You’re the real thing, all right. I’m so lucky I got to be the one on duty today.”
There was no intelligent response to this, so Rafe made a non-committal noise.
“Oh, by the way, I’m Verbana.” The rohkayan put a hand, fingers splayed, on Rafe’s chest, then thumped his own with his other hand. “It’s great to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Rafe took the rohkayan’s hand, side-stepped, and gave it a small shake. “Is this it?”
“Oh, no.” Verbana’s lips pulled down in an exaggeratedly tragic expression. “Sorry, but I have to do what the Oakhavenite overlords say. Master’s orders, you know. Just shuck off your clothes and step into the cubicle.”
“I’ll keep them on until I get inside,” said Rafe firmly. Verbana’s enthusiasm was unnerving.
Verbana shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Rafe made sure to pull the curtain all the way closed behind him. Quartz panels had been set into the wall and several nozzles were pointed straight at him. There was a bench, too, bolted to the wall. He undressed swiftly and sat down, laying his clothes next to him in a neat pile.
Outside, Verbana still hummed, the tune punctuated by tinkling and scraping noises. Rafe strained, but was at a loss to what the other was doing. Finally, a wheel squeaked and pipes groaned. Faint ka glimmered awake.
“Sorry I have to do this,” Verbana called out as the nozzles sprayed an astringent mist onto Rafe.
Magebane.
Of course. Oddly, he felt resigned rather than hurt. Short of killing him, this was the only way Oakhaven could neutralize him. He was a living weapon.
Rafe breathed in the magebane, feeling it slowly numb his ka senses. Steam filled the cubicle, the heat loosening the tension in his muscles. He felt relaxed, soothed even. Music swelled in the air, a piece filled with lots of plucked, watery notes and silvery shivers of bells.
Rafe’s eyelids felt heavy. He might’ve even slept.
He sat up with a jerk. The music was gone, the steam dissipated. His skin felt scraped raw and was covered in droplets.
“Hello in there?” fluted Verbana. “Sorry, but this is as much time as I can give you. The natives are getting rather restless; they want to put you on an armored trolley as soon as possible. Here, have a towel.”
An arm shoved between the curtains and tossed a towel at Rafe. He caught it, dried himself off, and hurried into his clothes.
Verbana beamed at him once he was outside. “You look loads better. But I did try to make it a pleasant experience. I added aloe and lemon to the mixture, for the skin, and essential oils to bring the humors back into balance… to say nothing of fixing the disharmony in the higher planes.”
Chattering all the way about attunement and other dimensions, Verbana led Rafe back out into the room where the major once again took charge of him.
“Thank you, Verbana,” said Rafe. “I appreciate your care.”
Verbana’s mouth opened to an O shape. To everybody’s consternation, the rohkayan burst into tears. “Oh, it’s such a shame!” He rushed from the room.
Rafe began to wonder if Uncle Leo had had him poisoned. He looked within himself—no, it was just the magebane coating his sensors like usual.
Or… not quite like usual. When he poked at this magebane, it gave under his metal probing. As if it was not as securely laid down as it could be.
A factor of the airborne delivery? In any case, knowing that he might be able to reach his kayan abilities sooner than he’d expected cheered Rafe immensely.
“Ready, sir?” The major asked.
Rafe nodded at him. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty
Rafe
UNCLE LEO MET HIM on the site of what had formerly been the Oakhaven Assembly building.
The choice seemed pregnant with meaning. It was here that Rafe had had his last interaction with Leo over two years ago. When Leo’s attempt to use his Renat Keys to activate old kayan magic in the basement led to the collapse of the building, it had been Rafe who rescued his unconscious uncle. Rafe had saved Leo’s life—but he had also taken his uncle’s precious Renat Keys and fled Oakhaven that very night.
By choosing this place to meet his great-nephew again, Leo was making a statement. But Rafe could not guess what that statement was. Was Leo showing forgiveness by remembering that he’d been saved by his nephew? Or was he reminding Rafe of his theft?
The armored trolley Rafe had ridden in was windowless. When soldiers in the uniform of the Guarda Royale led him down the steps, he nearly buckled from the wave of emotion and sensation that swept over him.
That humid, almost oily Oakhaven air, spiced with the odors of burning coal, machine grease, and a pungent moss roasted and sold by countless vendors. The soot-blackened brick buildings with their squat arches and slate roofs. Even the sound of his footsteps on the pavement rang with a peculiarly Oakhaven nuance.
The ruin of the Assembly building struck the discordant note. In the place of that solemn, centuries-old edifice was a faceted dome, a steel structure made up of hexagonal frames fitted with translucent panes. It crouched ominously in the city proper, as foreign as a wart on a debutante’s face.
Rafe had little time to examine it beyond his initial impression. Guards gripped him by his upper arms and hurried him to the door.
Inside, the dome was one huge, echoing chamber, lit by dim and weirdly-flickering mage lamps. Rafe noted fractures in a number of them.
The door slammed shut behind him with a dreadful finality.
A narrow carpet on the concrete floor formed a path from the door to a platform at the back. A few figures waited on it, none of them in a wheelchair.
Was one of them Wil? Rafe steeled himself for the imminent confrontation as he was hustled by hulking tarp-covered shapes and metal framework for future rooms. The platform was raised a few steps off the floor and lit by a harsh white light directly up above it. Rafe halted in front of the steps, let his kyra-sight travel upward, and drew in a quick breath.
Leo stood—stood!—at the edge of the platform, hands behind his back, looking down at him. Rafe saw his face as hard planes and sharp angles, unyielding, all thought and expression locked securely behind it.
He said, as pleasantly as he could manage, “Uncle Leo.”
Leo answered flatly, “Rafael.”
Back to full names? That wasn’t good. Rafe’s gaze flicked over Leo’s figure. He had never known his uncle as anything but a cripple in a chair. He hadn’t realized how tall he was. Coupled with the deliberate use of the platform, the scenario was designed to make Rafe feel like a scrubby schoolboy called up to the principal’s office.
Not that Rafe had ever gone to the boarding school his elder brother had dutifully attended. He’d run off to sea instead.
What lay behind Leo’s apparent use of his legs? Rafe glanced at the robed figures behind Leo, consulting in excited whispers. Shimmer rohkayan, of course.
He knew, from his own experience and training, as well as from the knowledge of the Talari shahkayan, how difficult it was to use ka within someone’s body. Rafe focused his diminished ka-senses on Leo’s legs. He made out burrs of ka inside them, anchored to chips of quartz embedded in his joints and along his muscles.
They looked painful, but Rafe knew better to open this conversation with an offe
r of help. Leo was too proud to accept it.
Awkward silence stretched between them. The rohkayan had stopped talking and just stared, while the guards surrounding Rafe hardly seemed to breathe.
Rafe wondered if his uncle was simply at a loss for words, same as himself. He’d tried to marshal his arguments on his journey here, but his thoughts had free-wheeled. Nothing he’d rehearsed prepared him for this face-to-face encounter.
Still, he finally had his uncle’s attention. Speech now might be a foolish notion considering Leo’s forbidding expression, but rushing in where other kayan feared to tread had become Rafe’s modus operandi.
He opened his mouth.
Leo got there first. “I heard that you were blind. Yet your movements are not that of someone with that handicap.” It was hard to tell if he was pleased or disappointed.
“I’ve gotten used to it,” returned Rafe. No way was he explaining kyra to Leo—that was his secret advantage and not his place to reveal the knowledge Isabella and the Selene Sisters had entrusted to him. “As you did.”
“I no longer need the aid of a wheelchair.” Leo shifted his feet as if that slight sound was proof.
Rafe tilted his head, listening. “Let me congratulate you on regaining the use of your legs. The Shimmerite rohkayan are to be commended.”
Leo snorted. “Cease the sanctimonious prattling, nephew. You aren’t pleased at all.”
Anger stirred inside Rafe. “I did not realize you had added mind-reading to your abilities, Uncle. Do me the courtesy of not impugning motives and feelings to me that I do not hold.”
Leo’s frown was dark and fierce. “Your tongue has sharpened and your manner become insolent in your time away, Rafe. You would not have dared speak to me like this before.”
Rafe held his ground. “I had no cause to. You seem determined to see the worst in me now.”
“I was an old fool back then,” said Leo, bitterness creeping into his voice. “Rest assured, I know better now.”
“An unyielding disposition has its disadvantages,” Rafe pointed out, his soft grave tone at odds with his words. “I had thought that you would give me a fair hearing, at least.”
