by Clayton Wood
“They're beautiful, aren't they?” a man beside Sabin asks. Sabin turns to see one of his Runics, a younger man named Witt, staring at the Behemoths. Witt had become Sabin's best pupil over the last few years, and while hardly a match for the sheer talent of the Empire's Runic students, he was more than competent. Sabin had come to think of the man as something like a son.
“They certainly are,” Sabin agrees, putting an arm around Witt's shoulders. “What I wouldn't give to see them in action,” he adds wistfully.
“I know.”
“By sunrise,” Sabin declares, “...Verhan will be ours.” That had been the plan all along, one that Gunthar had created. The Behemoths had evolved into much more than mere defensive vehicles to guard the mines; Sabin had, under Gunthar's orders, outfitted the enormous runic machines with powerful siege weaponry, the most impressive of which was a state-of-the-art magical cannon set it its single, diamond-shaped eye. Able to melt steel and stone in seconds, Sabin had even created complex algorithms to ensure that the beam would be difficult to deflect by gravity fields, making the Empire's main defenses useless against it. And each Behemoth was equipped with an upgrade to the stealth technology he'd created for the Resistance's troops earlier, allowing each monstrosity to become invisible until the moment of attack.
Verhan, the capitol city of the fallen Orjanian government, would soon be delivered into the hands of the Resistance.
“Right,” he hears Witt reply. There is something odd about the man's tone, and Sabin frowns, turning to look at him.
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” Witt replies, too quickly. Sabin's frown deepens, and he turns to the man.
“You can tell me, Witt,” he insists, giving the Runic a warm smile. In addition to being Witt's teacher, he'd become something of a confidant to the younger man, helping to guide him through the usual travails of early adulthood. It was a role he'd never thought he'd enjoy, much less cherish. Being a mentor had given Sabin a sense of connection that had been sorely lacking in his mostly solitary life.
Looking at Witt, Sabin suddenly regrets never having become a father.
“It's nothing,” Witt insists, but he appears troubled. Sabin gestures toward one of the tunnels leading away from the massive chamber.
“Follow me,” he urges, pulling Witt into the tunnel and walking alongside him. They navigate the winding, rocky tunnel for a few minutes, until they reach a small, dark chamber. Hollowed out long ago by eager miners, it is a dead end...and no one has any reason to be here but them. Sabin turns to Witt then.
“What is it?” he asks. “Come on, I know something is bothering you.” Witt holds Sabin's gaze for a moment, then lowers his chin to his chest, staring at the ground.
“I can't tell you,” he confesses. Sabin frowns, taken aback.
“Why not?”
“I've been ordered not to,” Witt answers, his eyes still downcast. Sabin stares at the man for a long moment, feeling a creeping doubt come over him. His relationship with Witt had been one of complete openness, a friendship free of lies or secrets...or so he'd thought.
“I see,” Sabin replies. He doesn't ask who ordered Witt to be silent...he doesn't need to. Only Gunthar has the authority to hold such sway over the man. Sabin feels anger rise in his breast, and pushes it downward, trying to see it from Witt's perspective. “I'm sorry you've been put in this position,” he adds, putting a hand on Witt's shoulder. “It must be difficult for you.” Witt swallows, then nods, looking up at Sabin at last.
“It is,” he agrees. Sabin is struck by how pale the man is. “I'm sorry,” Witt adds, and it is immediately apparent that he means it. Sabin sighs.
“While I admit I’m curious as to what you've been ordered to withhold from me,” he states, “...I would not risk any harm to you or to our relationship by insisting that you break your silence.” He smiles at Witt, patting him on the shoulder. “Come on,” he adds, gesturing back down the tunnel. “We should be celebrating!”
“They're not going to Verhan,” Witt blurts out suddenly.
“What?”
“They're not going to Verhan,” Witt repeats, more quietly this time. Again, Sabin stares at him for a long moment.
“What do you mean?” he finally asks. “Who isn't going to Verhan?”
“Nobody is,” Witt answers in a whisper. “The Behemoths, our Weavers...nobody.”
“But we're launching the Behemoths today,” Sabin protests, gesturing down the tunnel. “Gunthar himself is coming to see them off!”
“They're launching,” Witt agrees, “...but they're not going to Verhan.”
“But...”
“They're going to Stridon,” Witt interjects.
“What?”
“Gunthar's sending the Behemoths to Stridon,” Witt clarifies. “And half of our Weavers.”
Sabin stares at Witt, his mouth open. Speechless.
“Don't let Gunthar know I told you,” Witt pleads, glancing down the hallway behind Sabin. “He ordered us not to.” Sabin stares at Witt, then nods.
“Uh, yes, of course,” he mumbles. Then he shakes his head in disbelief. “They're going to Stridon?”
“Right.”
“But why would...” Sabin begins, then stops, feeling a chill run down his spine. He draws in a sharp breath, realization setting in. “My god,” he whispers. “He's going to attack the Empire!”
“We're going to win the war,” Witt proclaims, a smile breaking across his face. “We're going to beat the Empire once and for all!”
“No,” Sabin retorts. “No we won't.” He pulls away from Witt's hand, turning around to face the man. “If we attack Stridon, we're going to lose the war.”
“What?” Witt exclaims, taken aback. “But we've got the Behemoths...we've got you!”
“And the Empire has Ampir,” Sabin counters, covering his face with his hands. He feels despair threaten to overcome him, but it is quickly replaced by anger.
The damn fool!
He lowers his hands, turning away from Witt and striding back down the tunnel the way they'd come. He hears Witt's footsteps following behind him.
“Sabin, wait!”
That damn, stupid, idiotic...
“Sabin!”
He feels Witt's hand on his shoulder, and jerks away from it angrily. He walks faster through the tunnel, his footsteps echoing off of the stone walls.
“Sabin, wait!”
He feels Witt's hand on him again, and spins around, grasping Witt by the temples.
“We're dead,” he states acidly, glaring at Witt. “Do you understand me? If we attack Stridon, we're done.” Witt stares back at him, his face pale.
“But...”
“Gunthar's a fool,” Sabin proclaims, letting go of Witt and turning away, continuing down the tunnel. “And if I don't stop him, the Resistance – and everything we've fought for – will be for nothing.”
* * *
The blackened wood of Petra's magically insulated room under the hill surrounded Kyle, magic lanterns casting a soft glow over the monochromatic floor, walls, and ceiling. He shifted his weight from one side to the other as he sat on the hard floor, stealing a glance at Ariana, who was sitting beside him. They'd both returned to the tribal home under the hill an hour ago, and Kyle had spent the majority of that time eating lunch while Petra repaired Ariana's uniform. Then he'd been brought to this room, and had found Ariana and Petra sitting on the floor.
Kyle smiled at Ariana, who smiled back, but pointed to her teeth, then at Kyle. Kyle frowned, sweeping his teeth with his tongue, and realized he had a piece of meat stuck there. He picked it out with one finger; his lunch had been mostly vegetables, with a few pieces of meat intermixed. It'd reminded him of his Vietnamese grandparents’ cooking, bringing back memories of happier times playing in their backyard, and swimming in their pool in the summertime.
Kyle sighed, turning to look at Petra. She was sitting cross-legged in the center of the room opposite Kyle and Ariana, examinin
g the white crystal Ariana had managed to retrieve from the cave.
“This is a perfect specimen,” Petra declared, looking at Ariana. “You're sure you don't remember how far into the cave it was?” Ariana shook her head; her memory of her time in the cave had been drained from her, along with her magic. Petra sighed, putting the crystal down. “If we could hold our breaths long enough, we could retrieve more of these.”
“Why do you need them?” Kyle asked.
“They allow us to use magic in the Barrens,” Petra answered.
“Wait, don't your vines to that?”
“Yes,” Petra confirmed. “But that is for weaving. Runic devices don't work in the Barrens...unless you make them from these,” she added, pointing to the crystal. “This stone is what drains magic in the Barrens; our ancestors knew that vast amounts of this Void mineral lay beneath this forest, and beneath Mount Grimore.”
“It's not draining anything now,” Kyle observed. Indeed, there was no blue light at all around it, nor was any magic being sucked into it.
“True,” Petra replied. “It only drains magic if it uses magic. If I inscribed the light pattern into it, it would weave that pattern until completely empty of magic, then start draining magic from everything around it to continue weaving.”
“Like Ariana's shard,” Kyle deduced. Petra arched an eyebrow at him, turning to Ariana.
“Her what?”
“Uh, the thing that makes her an Immortal,” Kyle explained. “Maybe that's how she drains magic when she's low on it.”
“Perhaps.”
“So,” Ariana stated suddenly, eyeing Petra. “When are you taking us to the Immortals?” Petra frowned, turning a questioning eye on Kyle.
“She wants to know when we're going to the real cave,” Kyle translated. “To the other Immortals.”
“Tomorrow,” Petra answered. “Today we rest.” She smiled at Kyle then, an expression that looked odd on her somehow, but only served to magnify her already considerable beauty. “And I promised that I would answer your questions.” She stood up then, gesturing for them to do the same. “Come, we'll go outside with the others.”
“The others?” Kyle asked, standing up. Ariana stood as well, and Petra led them out of the room and through the narrow hallway, to the room at the entrance to the home. She crawled through the tunnel toward forest first, and Ariana went afterward, mercilessly denying Kyle a rather magnificent view. Kyle followed after Ariana, crawling through the narrow tunnel until he emerged on the side of the hill. The sun had swung overhead to the west, and to Kyle's practiced eye it was about three o'clock in the afternoon now. When he lowered his gaze, he realized that they were not alone. In fact, they were far from it.
Standing before him, at the base of the hill, were dozens of men and women, all dressed like Machete and Tavek. All were covered in tattoos from head to toe, with various weapons clutched in their hands or strapped to their backs. Kyle spotted Tavek among them; the man walked up to Petra, gesturing at the crowd.
“As you requested,” he stated. Petra nodded, then turned to Kyle.
“Come,” she urged, grabbing his hand. “I will introduce you.” Kyle hesitated, resisting her pull.
“Who are they?” he asked, staring at the forty-odd people surrounding them. None of them looked particularly inviting.
“My family,” Petra answered. Kyle did a double take.
“All of them?”
“All of them,” she confirmed. She pulled him forward then, and he followed her to an older man and woman standing at the front of the crowd. They looked to be in their fifties, with graying hair and fine wrinkles on their faces, but they were remarkably fit, in better shape than most people half their age. The woman looked remarkably like Petra, with similar...attributes.
“These are your guests?” the woman asked.
“Yes mother,” Petra replied. “This is Kyle,” she introduced, putting a hand on Kyle's shoulder. “And this,” she added, gesturing for Ariana to step up, “...is Ariana.”
“Welcome,” Petra's mother greeted, smiling at them both. Petra's father did the same. “They're outsiders,” Petra's mother observed, glancing questioningly at Petra.
“They are worthy,” Petra replied. Both her mother and father seemed to accept that, and they turned to gesture at the rest of the crowd.
“These are our children and their children,” Petra's mother explained. “Everyone, this is Kyle and Ariana; they are worthy.” Everyone waved or mumbled greetings. A short, broad-shouldered man with a spear on his back strode up to Kyle, extending a hand. Kyle shook it, and the man grinned at him.
“You understand me?” he asked. Kyle nodded.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Damn,” the man said with a grin. “Too bad, we can't make fun of you.” Kyle blinked, then turned to Petra, who rolled her eyes.
“That's Otto,” she said. “Ignore everything he says.” Otto gave Petra a wounded look.
“Aw come on sis,” he complained. “I'm family!” Then he turned to Kyle, leaning in conspiratorially. “She's pretty hot, huh?” he whispered rather loudly. Kyle blushed, absolutely mortified. “You know, if she weren't my sister...”
“Otto,” Petra's mother scolded rather wearily. “Please.” Otto grinned, winking at Kyle, then turned to his mother, his expression changing to one of shocked indignation.
“Aw come on, Mom,” he complained. “I was just trying to find some common ground here!” He turned to Petra. “Poor kid must be out of his mind being around you all the time,” he told her, much to Kyle's horror. He turned to Kyle, grinning like a fox. “I know I was.”
“Otto,” a deep voice interjected. Kyle and Otto turned to see Petra's father staring at Otto. Otto nodded once, managing to steal one last wink at Kyle before turning around and walking back into the crowd.
“Welcome kid,” he called out, waving his hand. Petra's mother sighed, turning a sympathetic eye on Kyle.
“Try to ignore him,” she soothed, reaching up and patting his hand. “Everyone else does.”
“Heard that!” Otto cried. True to her word, she ignored him.
“Have you eaten?” Petra's mom asked. Kyle nodded, but she hardly looked convinced. She grabbed Kyle's upper arm, tsking disapprovingly. “You're skin and bones,” she declared, turning to Ariana. “Both of you,” she added. “Come, we'll make you a meal.”
“Uh, I'm not...” Kyle began, but she'd already turned away, and was heading back into the crowd, pulling him behind her.
“You too,” she insisted, pointing at Ariana, who glanced at Petra.
“She doesn't eat,” Petra stated. Kyle felt her mother stop suddenly, and nearly ran into her.
“What do you mean she doesn't eat?” she asked, her tone incredulous. Petra paused, then put a hand on Ariana's slender shoulder.
“She's an Immortal, mother.”
Petra's mother stared at Petra, then Ariana, her mouth agape. Then she came to, snapping her jaw shut with a click. She dropped down to one knee then, bowing her head at Ariana.
“An Immortal!” she proclaimed, her voice cutting through the din of the crowd. All eyes turned to Petra's mother, then to Ariana, and then everyone dropped to one knee, bowing before her. Even Petra stood back from Ariana, then prostrated herself before her.
Ariana stared at Petra, then at the crowd, looking horrified.
“Stand up,” she blurted out. “Please!” Everyone stared at her, and Kyle translated quickly. Within seconds, the crowd did as she requested, including Petra. Still, every eye was on her, and everyone was silent. Ariana turned to Petra. “Please, tell them not to do that,” she insisted, with Kyle translating. Petra nodded, turning to her family.
“She wishes to be treated as a mortal,” she explained. That caused a stir, and it was clear that Petra's family was taken aback by this request. It was Petra's father that stepped forward, extending a hand to Ariana.
“Welcome,” he greeted, shaking her hand, then reaching in and giving her a hug.
That got a gasp out of the crowd, and Petra's mother looked particularly horrified. But her husband ignored her, letting go of Ariana and smiling at her. “We are honored to meet you, and to have you as our guest.”
“Thank you,” Ariana replied with a smile, looking quite relieved. Kyle saw Otto walk up to her then.
“You don't eat?” he asked. Ariana shook her head, and Otto frowned, putting a hand to his chin. “That's weird. Can you cook?”
“A little,” Ariana answered, gesturing by putting her index finger and thumb close together when Otto couldn't understand her. Otto broke out into a grin, clapping her on the shoulder.
“We can be friends,” he determined. “Hey everyone, she can cook!”
“Wait...” Ariana protested, but Otto ignored her, ushering her into the crowd. Petra's mother pulled Kyle alongside, and everyone parted for them. Petra took the lead, alongside her parents, with Ariana and Kyle walking next, and the rest of the family trailing behind.
“Where are we going?” Kyle asked.
“To my parents' home,” Petra answered. “My family lives there.”
“Why don't you live with them?” he asked.
“I'm Joined,” she replied. “I must live alone.”
“But why?” Kyle pressed.
“It is my responsibility to protect my people,” she explained. “I train daily in weaving so that I will be prepared for any threat. I cannot afford to be distracted.”
“So you live alone?” Kyle pressed. Petra nodded. “But what about them?” he added, pointing to Tavek and Machete.
“They were hunting when they found you.”
“So you really live alone,” he repeated. “Don't you get, uh, lonely?” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he blushed despite himself; he hadn't meant it that way!
“I have my family,” she replied, gesturing to the people trailing behind them. “I see them once a week.”
“So you're by yourself pretty much all the time?”
