by Kyrja
It had been Zemer who had created the quirk in their hereditary makeup. If not for his devotion to his queen as Chi Tomo, or “Blood Mate,” and the fact he had remained in the Second Circle for hundreds of years, then his son – her father, Chared – would not have had the quirk to pass along to his children. Zemer had been changed and so too, then, had his progeny. Most agreed not to use the gift of moving through time so the rest of Chared’s children wouldn’t be found out and, most likely, killed out of hand. Or, perhaps worse, be used against their will to change things which should not be by those who would change history and the world to suit their own agendas. Even Sharun, and those like him who were tempted, resisted. It would only take one of them being discovered to put all of them in danger. And yet she had saved the owl. And in doing so, had changed the Song.
She sighed internally, determined not to regret her decision. She had also revived Aku, and that was worth almost any price. They would all need her, she was sure. It had been heartbreaking to watch her fall to the ground after she had made her pronouncement about P’onyem lying and the Singers dying while they were on the roof of the Temple of Life. It had cost Aku too much to string so many words together in a coherent enough manner that everyone would be able to understand her. She was both emotional and sensitive, preferring not to let anyone know either was true. She knew she was considered “strange” by everyone, including her brothers and sisters, and while she seldom showed how much it bothered her that others thought so poorly of her, Baya had caught her crying on several occasions. She had even attempted suicide more than once, unable to bear being so “different.” Nothing she could say or do ever worked to console her, so she had stopped saying anything. Instead, just sitting in the same room with her while Aku screamed and threw things. The only time she interfered was when she tried to hurt herself. That was always a tricky, unpredictable situation, because Aku was clever and Baya knew that if Aku ever made a determined effort to end her life, then she would be unable to stop her. Still, it seemed that her younger sister had come to trust her, and to value her company, and so she rarely went anywhere without her. They were more than sisters, it seemed, and more than friends, but if a word existed to describe what they were to each other, she had never heard it. She squeezed Aku’s hand, now that she was standing beside her, as they traveled through the vibrations surrounding them. Others would hear the sounds as music, she knew, but most of Chared’s children would only hear strumming, humming, or hissing because of their unique physical makeup. It was easy to feel how the vibrations could be manipulated though, and that worried her. If she could sense it, then Sharun would be able to as well. Benign service to others had never been his forte. She would only act against him, though, if it was absolutely necessary. The fireball he had thrown at her the other night had been nothing more than a taunt to see if she would react in a way he could predict. He had known he wouldn’t truly be able to hurt her, unless she allowed it. It was a stupid thing for him to do, though. Especially with High Priestess Khashya standing right there with her. Unless she had wanted the woman to die, she’d had no choice other than to move through time, and so she had. One day, though, Sharun would go too far, and she would have to put him in his place.
Their task today, though, would be to help free Giya from a prison of her own making. She never should have come to Jikangai. It had been a careless thing to do, and spoke of just how exhausted and distracted she must have been once Lumas had left her behind. If they didn’t get her out of there soon, the planet would suffer damage that would never be undone.
She felt, rather than heard, the vibrations come to an end, so stepped forward to find herself in the Second Circle of Jikangai – along with her father and the others. And quite a few others she hadn’t expected at all.
* * * * * * * *
Chared was cold. He felt like he should be shivering, but he couldn’t really feel his body, so wasn’t sure if he was or not. He could feel that his body was moving forward, almost as if he was flying, but he knew he wasn’t moving his legs or feet. It was an entirely different sensation than when he used Uchawi symbols to move from one place on the grid lines to another. And everything around him looked like sand. When he moved using his own magic, there was rarely any sense of time, or movement. Now, though, the sand swirling around him made him feel like he was standing in the middle of a simoon! There was nothing else to be seen anywhere, but something was causing him to move along like some debris tossed across the across the desert. He should be thankful, he knew, for remaining upright instead of tumbling head over heels across the strange landscape, given the strength of the wind he could sense surrounding him. If there really was any landscape. For all he knew, this … sand … this storm, was nothing more than an illusion, despite the fact that it felt very real. He couldn’t help but to wonder if his mother was issuing some kind of threat to him. The last time he’d seen her alive, her body had disintegrated into sand when he had taken her life from her. When he had murdered her. Was she about to return the favor?
The next thing he knew, the wind was gone, and the storm with it. But Chared could feel himself walking across the smooth sand, putting one foot in front of the other without willing himself to do so. He could feel every part of his body moving in perfect harmony, except that it felt as if he’d been walking for days on end, under a very hot sun. His qatyeh even felt soaked with sweat; the skin near his temples was irritated, as if the material of the damned thing had rubbed those two spots raw. It took him a moment to realize he could stop instead of continuing to move forward, and another – longer – moment to decide whether he should or not.
As soon as he stopped, though, everything around him changed again. It was evening; the sun was setting in what he assumed was the west, but he could only see the fading colors through the trees all around him. Trees. Impossibly tall trees. The horizon was gone, as was the desert, replaced with a kind of rocky terrain, littered with both scree and short, faded grass. He reached up to find he was no longer wearing a qatyeh, nor did his skin feel irritated. Instead, the largest of his toes on his left foot began throbbing. As soon as he realized it, his face moved in an automatic expression of frustrated pain. He had no idea what had happened to cause him pain, nor how he had gotten to this place he didn’t recognize.
Standing still, he paused to listen. He was tense. Too tense. He needed to relax his muscles and still his mind so he could connect with whatever was happening to him. Whatever “this” was, it was something other than what his mother had intended when she had led him and the others to Jikangai. He could feel it. This was something altogether “other” than what she had expected. Something aimed at him specifically, or else he wouldn’t be standing here alone. So far, he had only moved through two different … places. If, indeed, they even existed. And each time he’d felt uncomfortable. Just enough pain to get his attention, but nothing that had harmed him. What was the purpose of the pain, he wondered. The hair on the back of his suddenly stood on end, eliminating all thoughts of pain, sand, trees, or anything else, when he heard a snarl come from directly in front of him. Chared froze, the skin between his shoulders crawling.
It was some kind of large, predatory animal. He strained to hear past the terror he felt rise up to completely engulf him, but it was impossible to hear anything over his own, shallow breathing and rapid heartbeat. All at once, his chest began to hurt, as if he was caught in a vice, causing him to wince and lean involuntarily forward. He wanted to scream, but was afraid if he moved – even enough to catch his breath – the beast would pounce on him and shred him to pieces. He could almost feel the creature breathing, coming closer, its low growl making him want to run away as quickly as he could. He would never be fast enough, though. He knew that. He knew he was going to die. And it would be horrible. Painful. Excruciating. He might even be eaten alive.
No, he suddenly decided, purposefully taking a deep breath, standing a little taller. He would not die. This was not real. And if it was, sta
nding here, shivering with fear was not going to make the animal go away. Standing here, doing nothing, would not keep him alive. He was powerful. He knew that. He had even saved Jarles’ life using the magic that was his to wield. He felt his body jerk involuntarily when he took another deep breath to calm himself. He both felt and heard the creature as it lunged towards him.
In the time it had taken him to blink, he had carefully weighed all of the options he knew were available to him, and decided to chance using the grid lines to move himself from where he was to a place directly behind where he felt the animal was. Although he knew it was very possible it wouldn’t work, he knew for certain if he didn’t do something, he would be torn to pieces. With no other weapon or tool at his disposal, he sent forth the imagery he always used when moving from one place to another. There was no doubt in his mind that everyone who understood how to use this kind of magic used different images to create the effect, and Chared had often wondered how he would explain his own thought process to someone else.
In his mind, he held out his hands to grasp the “lines” he knew were there. They were always there, whether he was consciously aware of them or not. He had found it utterly impossible to explain, even to himself, what that awareness consisted of. It wasn’t the sight or even feel of them. All day, every day, every living being walked through them without ever being aware of them. Unless he purposefully raised his consciousness to use them, even he didn’t see or feel them. Not any more than he consciously chose to take one steady breath after another, to remain alive. Once acknowledge, though, he knew exactly where they were and how to use them to get from one place to another with very little effort on his part. The “lines” were most-often a solid green color, although he’d noticed they were sometimes tinged with blue. They didn’t glow, and weren’t illuminated by any method he could determine, but they were as visible to him during the night as they were during the day. The grid lines were more akin to a hose in his mind, rather than a rope, and they appeared to be stationary, simply hanging in mid-air, about waist-high, and looking for all the world like nothing so much as some kind of gaming board.
He never had to lunge for them, nor move towards them, which was something he’d always found odd, if convenient – especially at this particular moment in time. Chared knew if he would have had to take several steps to reach the grid lines, he would never be able to move quickly enough to outmaneuver whatever beast was looking forward to having him for its next meal. As it was, he had only to purposefully hold out his hands with the intention of moving from one place to another and the grid lines were simply already there. There was a stickiness to them he found strangely comforting too, as if the sensation offered him the assurance that he wouldn’t be, somehow, deposited inside the side of a mountain, or buried deep within the earth. Of course, his own intentions were what determined his destination, so he was careful to avoid thinking of those things before he held out his hands. Any other time he had moved using the grid lines, he had taken the time to clear his mind, and had even created a kind of routine in how he prepared. This time, though, there was no time for anything other than an instant to hold out his hands with fierce intention and hold on.
As soon as the grid lines touched his hands, he knew something was different. Not exactly what he might have called “wrong” if he’d had a moment to think about it, or to process the sensation, but very much “different” than ever before. The lines weren’t nearly as solid as usual, and he felt his heart rate spike as he gasped out loud, suddenly terrified. It wasn’t going to work! Then the animal was upon him.
He saw it more clearly than he had ever seen anything before. His adrenaline-charged mind told him it was specifically because he was terrified that he could see, hear, and smell so acutely, but it wasn’t something he appreciated at this particular moment in time. It was a huge black cat of some kind. A panther – some distant memory prompted him. He had seen it in stunning detail as it had detached itself from the shadows, leaping right at him. It had, in fact, landed perfectly poised to tackle him to the ground and gnaw him to death with its huge teeth, or tear his stomach apart with its terrible claws. It hadn’t missed him at all. He should be dead.
But he was still standing, holding onto the grid lines. The panther had, somehow, landed … inside of him, and had passed right through him. Its screams were even more deafening than his own heartbeat, filling him with a kind of fascinated horror. He wanted to scream, and thought he might have when it had jumped at him. Now, he was just standing as still as he could, shivering with fear, afraid to move, in case that would cause the animal to … see him, or sense he was still here. Or something. It was behind him, screaming out its frustration at having missed its prey. He could smell it, the panther. It smelled wild. And fierce. And maybe even angry.
Chared wanted to chastise himself for letting his imagination overwhelm him, but even the act of breathing was almost too much – waiting for the animal to find him and kill him. It was moving. Would it leave? Please let it leave! Instead, it walked right through him, from back to front, as if he wasn’t even there! He could clearly hear its paws as it padded quietly over the plants and debris on the ground. It was still growling, as if it wasn’t convinced he wasn’t there, and was just waiting for him to come out from hiding. Then it did the worst thing possible – it turned back towards him, even faster than he would have thought possible, and swiped at him, with its claws extended! It knew he was still here! It kept batting at him, its paws passing completely through him, without ever connecting, as if it was knew it would be able to get to him if it just kept hitting him.
It took everything in him not to jump away from those deadly claws. Instinct was screaming at him to move! To Run! To get away! But he had no idea how the grid lines would react to his movements. He should have moved from this spot as soon as he touched them, but he was still in the same place as when he first connected with them. He had no idea what was going on, or why they felt so different. His only hope of staying alive was to hold still, and hold on, no matter what the panther did. With his heart threatening to come out of his chest, Chared closed his eyes and gritted his teeth together to keep from screaming, unconsciously gripping the grid lines harder.
“You can open your eyes now.” He jerked when he heard a voice right in front of him.
“I’ve waited a very long time for this day, Chared,” the man told him. “Welcome to Jikangai, I am your father.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven – Symbols and Stones
Stepping silently into the kitchen, Kaya found it the same as the other rooms he’d been in throughout the palace – empty. Lowering his arms to his side, he inhaled deeply, allowing himself to finally relax. No matter what had caused it, the palace was proving to be completely devoid of life anywhere. And obviously, everyone had left in a hurry. Elsewhere he had found drinks spilled in various hallways, as if whomever had been holding the cup or glass had simply dropped whatever they held in their hands and had run quickly, not even bothering to set things down. He’d also found papers, books, sheets, trays, clothing … all manner of everyday items people who lived and served in the palace might be carrying from one place to another. Candles, too, had been left burning; he’d seen several burned all the way down, while others were still alight.
Grabbing a towel left on the floor, Kaya removed several pots from where they hung over cook fires. Sooner or later, the pots themselves would begin to burn if they weren’t removed – the gods alone knew what the kitchen help might have been cooking though; the kitchen itself was filled with smoke from burned food. And the bread was burnt through and through, he noticed, removing several blackened, shriveled loaves from the massive oven.
After making sure nothing else was in danger of catching on fire, Kaya picked up the knife someone had dropped while slicing a loaf of bread, then helped himself. He’d been tired and hungry when he had walked into the city from the desert tonight, and now he was famished. The city itself had been quiet too. He hadn’
t thought too much of it at the time, even though he’d noticed. He thought maybe everyone had decided to stay inside, gathered closer together, after the threat of war had come to their very door steps. Too, it had been very late. He distinctly remembered hearing voices as he’d walked through the streets though, nor had they been completely deserted. He’d nodded at two women and a man as he’d come through, he remembered, leaning with his back against the counter while chewing. Looking around, he wondered what else he would find to eat, and wondered, too, if it might be the wiser course to leave the palace for the night. He could come back in the morning, when it was light. He didn’t want to be accused of breaking in and stealing things. Not everyone would immediately recognize him as the Empress’ consort, and if there wasn’t anyone to vouch for him, he might end up locked up for the night. Sighing, he put a couple of apples in his pocket – obviously freshly picked from the indoor gardens, stuffing a chunk of cheese in his mouth as he moved towards the kitchen doorway. He’d left his satchel near the southern door, so he’d have to retrieve that before leaving altogether.
Taking a left as he left the kitchens, Kaya stopped in his tracks when he heard a sound coming from behind him. Listening for a repeat of the sound, or something – anything – to give him some kind of hint as to what it might have been, he wondered if his decision to leave the palace might, after all, be premature. If he could walk right in, there would be others who would have noticed the lack of guards at their usual posts, and might decide now would be an excellent time to see what treasures the palace might hold. Of course, given the size of the place, he considered, there could already be two dozen intruders in the palace – or more – and he would never know it unless he stumbled on them by accident.
