Amona looked closely at his fellow Hijala member. Membership in the shadow order, had of late seemed to mean nothing to anyone but him. The Gemendi was of a slight, wiry build that vibrated with nervous energy. His dark eyes and dark hair were in sharp contrast to his skin, which was so pale that the man seemed to be reddening under the sun while he watched. Breda, like so many of the Gemendi, looked tailor-made to work long hours within the caverns below the Kaerin pavilion.
Amona didn’t know what to say. He’d almost given up hope that he could find a kindred spirit here, someone who was as angry at the Kaerin for what had been done to them as he was. After his failed effort to get through Barrisimo’s thick head and his short talk with Mungali a few days later, he was not of a mind to divulge anything.
“I’ve been watching you,” Breda added after a momentary glance toward Lord Tima’s group. “Mungali told me of your concerns, and this story of the others, these free people. He believes the Kaerin are using you and this story to test us.”
“What do you believe?” Amona asked.
Breda gave him a slight smile. “I wasn’t sure, until a moment ago. Watching that”—Breda’s chin pointed out to the bay— “the look on your face was not one of pride in our accomplishment.”
“It wasn’t our accomplishment.” He shook his head. Just one more weapon they’ll use to grind us away. Still, he took Breda’s words to heart. He must do better at hiding his feelings. Lord Tima wasn’t the only Kaerin who thought subject race Gemendi were a threat. They were all being watched.
“Every subject Gemendi on this island, myself included, will live out our days here.” Breda seemed more sad than angry regarding that fact.
“Most of them see that as an honor.”
Breda’s brows flashed upward in disgust. “Most would sell you and your story of these free people to the first Kaerin they could, for a nicer apartment.”
“I’ve told no one outside the Hijala.”
“The Hijala?” Breda snorted. “Do you know Mungali told me he’d forgotten it, forgotten his vows to the Hijala . . . until you approached him with your story?”
“It seems I did very little to remind him.”
“I was somewhat more successful.” Breda gave a discreet nod in the direction of the pavilion’s entrance. Two Kaerin warriors were proceeding up the path towards the group surrounding Lord Tima. Amona had grown up on Landing; he knew those guards by name. He could tell from their pace that something was wrong.
“What did you do?”
Breda just gave his head the slightest shake in what he took as disappointment. “If your story is true, it was something you should have done the moment he didn’t listen to you.”
Breda gripped him by the elbow and pulled him closer. “I’m Jehavian. I don’t expect that you have any idea what that means, but I’ve grown up and lived on the outskirts of Kaerus my entire life. One thing that I’ve learned about from the Kaerin that is far more important than any knowledge our own Gemendi have stolen, is the will to act.”
“You believe me, then? It is the truth—I swear.”
“I believe you. Your story serves no one, certainly not the Kaerin. I can’t believe you’d make something like that up. I killed Mungali because he forgot what the Hijala was truly for.”
Amona’s eyes drifted to Lord Tima’s group. Barrisimo, supposed member of the Hijala, was front and center, basking in the praise due to his breakthrough.
“Not him,” Breda said, following his gaze. “Not yet.”
“He just thinks the Hijala is meant to steal knowledge; he won’t help.”
“No, not willingly. But we need him.”
Amona didn’t know what to say or to think. He’d been desperate for help; now it seemed he’d found it. The cold look in Breda’s eyes, however, was far from comforting.
“Tonight, make your usual rounds.” Breda released his arm. “I’ll join you at some point.”
*
Mungali’s body had been discovered near the work stations that were dedicated to power transmission. The victim’s own expertise had been related to fluids and steam plants. He should not have been anywhere near the area that had killed him. They had not yet cracked the capability or the functioning of the ancient Kaerin generators or the batteries they were meant to charge, but all Gemendi had a solid understanding as to the dangerous potential of electricity.
There wasn’t a Kaerin estate in the world that didn’t possess a large steam-powered electric generator at its core. Lights, pumps, and forges were commonly powered by the impetus that flowed through thick copper cables. It was rumored that even the houses of the Kaerin capital were lit by several such large plants. Mungali should have known better than to mess about with the massive currents supplying the pavilion and the research stations within. His body looked to have been cooked, to the point it took a roll call and the subsequent discovery of who was missing to identify the body.
The loss of a single subject race Gemendi was a small thing. There’d been enough accidents involving Gemendi during the last month of tinkering with machines they did not understand that no motive beyond carelessness was put forward. The victim’s own fault was assumed, and the matter was forgotten as soon as Amona himself, at Lord Tima’s direction, had announced that all Gemendi were to restrict themselves to areas within the pavilion associated with their own areas of expertise.
Going forward, any cross-fertilization of inquiry between different schools of knowledge would be handled in cooperation with members from the respective groups. Not for the first time, Amona found himself thankful for the low opinion the Kaerin held of their subjects. If Mungali had been a Kaerin, anyone who had spoken to the man in the last few days, himself included, would be under High Blood knives by now.
Perhaps not him. Lord Tima liked him, at least as far as a Kaerin could like a subject. The lord of Landing trusted him enough that he, not another Kaerin, ran the administrative army that kept the newly arrived Gemendi army supplied and fed. Amona was under no illusion that the situation wasn’t capable of changing in an instant. For the moment, he was thankful that he wasn’t a true Gemendi, not in the sense of technical training and knowledge. As an administrator, he had free reign and was less restricted by the same rules he’d just announced to the dining hall full of researchers.
He ate at a table adjacent to Lord Tima’s own. Per the new lord’s custom, they all ate quickly and in silence. Lord Tima would have labeled it efficient. The other High Blood Gemendi had adopted the practice, and discussions of their various projects didn’t begin until Lord Tima pushed his own plate away. A simple movement of placing his spoon on an empty plate and pushing it away from the edge of the table, and within moments, the dining hall was buzzing with conversation.
Ten minutes later, Amona had a list of things to do, dictated by Lord Tima, who filtered the needs and complaints from the other Kaerin High Bloods he dined with. Even these High Blood Gemendi had learned the limits of Tima’s patience. A month ago, he would have taken a request for a shipment of someone’s favorite wine from the Darlai lands, or seen to the travel of someone’s favorite concubine.
Tonight, there had been a request for yet more copper wiring, and half a dozen orders for different rare metals. Lord Tima’s ability to get those around him to focus was not limited to subject races. Amona took his leave with a bow of his head and began his evening rounds with the project leaders. These requests, coming from High Blood and subject race alike, would be more technical, and of smaller scale. He already knew they’d all be asking for fine wiring, and he’d tell them that Lord Tima had already requested tons of the material from factories on the mainland.
He’d seen the kamarks of wiring that it took to build a simple if large generator driven by a waterwheel or a steam engine, and he knew there were several under construction at the moment within the research pavilion. The effort seemed a waste to him. Everyone was in agreement that the ancient Kaerin batteries could not be charged by traditional
means. They’d tried countless times and failed. Nothing seemed to work, and from his bird’s-eye view of the entire operation, much of the activity had the feeling of make-work by bureaucrats. The research by nature proceeded down paths dictated by their body of existing knowledge—by Gemendi who could do nothing but appear busy in the face of equipment they did not understand.
What was needed, in Lord Tima’s own words, was a spark of intuition that took them down paths they were unaware of. One such spark had been already been offered up by Barrisimo. The ability to generate power from the sun was truly revolutionary. Thankfully, the technique seemed to use extremely thin sheets of material they had yet to identify, let alone reproduce. The elderly Hijala member wasn’t alone; there were others here who, like Barrisimo, were discovering new branches of knowledge.
Breathing heavily, he was distracted by his somber musings as he reached the bottom of the wide stone stairs cut into the walls of the main cave below the pavilion. He continued on through the cavern and took the first shaft towards the makeshift office that he’d set up for himself. Breda fell in step next to him before he knew the man was there.
Startled, he managed to keep walking. “You’re certain you’re a Gemendi?”
“My youth was spent in the Jehavian host, as a scout.”
Every subject race Gemendi he’d ever met complained of their time fighting for their clan’s host. Amona envied them all; it may have been done at the Kaerin’s demand, but they’d traveled, seen strange lands. The isle of Landing was the only land he’d ever known. The unending blue of the ocean, no matter what direction he looked in, formed the only horizon he’d ever dreamed of crossing.
Breda grabbed his elbow and pulled him into a storage alcove.
“What are you doing?” he protested.
Breda slammed the door shut with his foot entombing them in complete darkness. Breda’s hand was heavy on his shoulder, and he was suddenly wondering why the Jehavian had chosen this room to speak. Was there some strange artifact here that would explain his death when his body was found?
“Relax, old man. So far, you’re the only one on this island I don’t want to kill.”
“So far?”
He felt Breda’s chuckle transmitted down his arm to his shoulder. The hand lifted away after a friendly squeeze.
“You’ve stayed true to the Hijala,” Breda said simply.
“I have,” he admitted. Saying the words filled him with pride. “Not the collection of knowledge we’ll never be able to use, but the defeat of the Kaerin. Our people’s freedom.”
“Now, tell me everything you heard about these ‘others.’”
“Prelate S’kaeda does not know who they are. But believes they are of a world separate from where they fought and defeated the Strema.”
“Why separate?”
“They were so few.” He remembered the discussion like it had happened yesterday, not months ago. He retold the story again, thankful that he had someone who would listen, who drew the same conclusion he did.
“And these strangers, these free people? They control the Jema?”
“Not control, no.” He tried to remember how Prelate S’kaeda had put it to Lord Tima.
“The Jema fight as a free people, with weapons that were provided by the ‘others.’ These strangers have allowed them to live where and how they want.”
“How could Prelate S’kaeda know that?”
“A handful of Strema who survived were able to return,” he said. “They spoke of the Jema that were captured by them in the fighting. They were questioned extensively.”
“And S’kaeda believes they will come here?”
He nodded, taking a moment to realize Breda couldn’t see him.
“He believes the Jema’s hatred will bring them here. Convince them of the threat the Kaerin represent.”
“The Jema wouldn’t be wrong, would they?”
“What should we do?”
“Help Barrisimo figure out the crystal batteries powering these weapons.”
He jerked his head back. “But you said . . .”
Breda slapped him on the arm. Evidently, the man could see fine in the dark.
“I didn’t say anything about giving the weapons to the Kaerin.”
It took him a moment to realize what Breda was saying. It made sense. If there was any balance to the world, a concept which he had long doubted, it might work. If Barrisimo was as talented as Lord Tima believed he was; if lightning could strike twice.
“Then what? We are too few.”
“Think!” Breda slapped his arm again. He imagined the man to be grinning as he spoke.
*
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Jake glanced from the perimeter of their holding “cell” over to Lupe, who looked as confused as he felt.
He’d spoken in English, at a whisper. Being overheard by guards wasn’t an issue; there weren’t any. Lupe toed the simple wooden stake in the ground. Just a piece of sharpened wood extending a foot from the ground. There were others four feet to either side of it, extending in a rough semicircle from the interior of the city’s walls. There wasn’t even so much as a wire or a string connecting the stakes.
Their guards had escorted them across the city, until they neared the same north facing walls that held the gate they had first entered. In fact, Jake could smell the harbor again, not a good thing.
“I’ve been in jail before.” Lupe looked at him and gave his head a shake. “This is different.”
“Was that for taking a shit on your boss’s police car?”
“You heard about that?”
“Lupe.” Jake grinned. “I’d heard about that before I even met you.”
“Well . . . he wasn’t my boss then.”
“Makes perfect sense in that case.”
Lupe toed the stake again. “Is this supposed to keep us here?”
Jake looked past Lupe’s shoulder to where Arsolis stood with his crew. None of the Hatwa looked happy. He’d seen similar holding cells like this before, in Yemen of all places. It relied on the honor of those being held. Of course, the shitbag jihadists who had been captured had run for it the first chance they’d gotten. In that particular instance, the inevitable escape had been the plan of the captors all along. Those same escapees had been gunned down an hour later by the local chieftain and his gunmen; crying on their knees, in the dirt. He didn’t know what the score was here.
He had a feeling if he or Lupe were to make an escape by walking past the ellipse of stakes, this situation would go from bad to worse, and destroy whatever tenuous relationship they had with Arsolis and his village in the process.
Lupe just looked at him. “If we wait till dark, we can be back to the boat before they know we’re gone.”
“We can’t sail that tub without him.” Kyle nodded towards Arsolis. “And we need him.”
Arsolis looked at him squarely for a moment before turning his head and spitting.
Shit . . . “How’s this work, Arsolis? How long will they hold us?”
“Until they find someone to sit in judgment, a council member, or another appointed by such.”
“What will happen then?”
“The killing will be judged—forgiven or punished.”
“What will be the punishment be?”
Arsolis, with his wrinkled and tired face, just stared back at him. “A life for a life.” Arsolis shrugged as if it had been a stupid question.
His headache was getting worse. Of course, it was a life for a life; any system of local justice allowed by the Kaerin wasn’t going to spend a lot of time and effort on rehabilitation . . . stupid question.
“Your life?”
“My life,” Arsolis answered.
“Only because the fool told them—‘it was him’ that stabbed the Strema dog.” Hyrika joined them and stood at Arsolis’s shoulder fuming.
Arsolis turned to the Jema warrior, who looked ready to kill again if she was crossed. “You think it better if they take yo
u? Discover I and my people have given refuge to a Jema?”
Hyrika almost replied but walked off in a huff. Jake could have almost sworn the woman was growling.
“How long will we have to wait here?” He was already overdue to check in with Audy, but he was uncertain as to how closely they were being watched, if at all. Using the radio was a lot to risk.
“My judgment arrives . . .”
Jake turned towards where Arsolis pointed with his chin.
A Hatwa functionary of some sort, flanked by a pair of warriors, was working his way across the square. The man was even shorter than most Hatwa and had none of the swarthy stockiness evident in the warriors accompanying him.
“A Gemendi,” Arsolis said and then spit into the dirt.
“Why would they use a Gemendi for this?”
“I do not know.” Arsolis shook his head.
*
Passing judgment on a dispute between traders was the last thing A’tor Bendera thought he’d be doing this market day. He was less than pleased that he’d been the first Hatwa Council member found by the Teark of the Wall Guard. This wasn’t the first time it had happened. The guards knew his home wasn’t far from the front gates where the accused were held. It was clearly too much to expect that the Teark should have walked to the next intersection, where not one, but two other council members resided.
It was happening too often, and he’d have to raise the issue in council . . . again. To make matters worse, this wasn’t a simple dispute of a visiting trader feeling cheated. They were all used to that. The Hatwa had a reputation for driving a hard bargain. This was a drunken brawl that had led to a killing, and not just of some sailor. The leader of a Strema trade caravan was dead. That the Strema had been drunk was not in question. He’d just come from where the Strema were being held; they were still drunk. Those who were able to speak clearly looked to have picked a fight they shouldn’t have.
New Shores: The Eden Chronicles - Book Three Page 19
