A World of Secrets (The Firewall Trilogy)

by James Maxwell

  Taimin made a startled sound. “I think I can see them,” he said. He scratched the stubble on his chin. “But why does aurelium form veins?”

  “Because the organism is hungry and needs sustenance,” Marus explained. “Aurelium eats metal. The veins are former mineral deposits that the organism has devoured. After eating the veins of metal, aurelium replaces it.” He smiled. “I brought this so I could show you.”

  Marus held up a javelin with a wooden shaft and a metal head. He lifted the point and touched it to a place where the vein was thick and radiated a strong light. “Watch,” he said.

  At first nothing happened. Selena frowned. When Marus waved her closer, she reluctantly took a step toward the place where the skalen held the javelin pressed against the glowing band of green in the rock wall. Curious despite herself, she leaned in and, without meaning to, brought her body close to Taimin’s.

  He felt solid and strong. She wasn’t certain, but she thought he subtly moved, so that her hip pressed against his thigh and his face was near her hair. She thought she heard him take a long breath in through his nose.

  “Do you see?” Marus asked, seizing Selena’s attention.

  The change had been gradual, taking place in front of her eyes without her being aware of it. The green glow had seeped into the javelin’s head, so that part of the tip was made from aurelium, rather than metal. Marus took the weapon away from the wall to make it easier to see. As he displayed the head, Selena and Taimin were forced to step apart, and she experienced a stab of disappointment.

  “There you have it,” Marus said proudly.

  “Isn’t there a risk of explosion?” Taimin asked.

  Selena remembered watching Lars use the shards of aurelium to start a fire.

  “Only if we are extremely reckless,” Marus answered. “It is cold in here, which slows the aurelium’s volatility. Watch.”

  Marus rapped the metal head against the wall. He didn’t hold back and applied a surprising amount of force. Selena winced, expecting to hear a crackle and see a burst of flame, but nothing happened.

  “Now, let us try something else,” Marus said. He planted the butt of the javelin on the ground and held the point leaning slightly toward Selena. “Wrap your hand around the tip. The aurelium cannot harm you.” He gave a mischievous smile. “Not yet, at any rate.”

  Selena took hold of the metal head, which was now part-aurelium. The metal was hard and cold, as cold as the air in the mine. The section eaten by the aurelium felt no different.

  “You need to hold it until it is warm enough,” Marus said as he watched. He waited for a few moments and then nodded. “That should do it. You may remove your hand, Selena. And please step back.”

  Selena let go, leaving Marus holding the javelin. He took several steps away from the walls until he judged he was far enough from both the onlookers and the glowing veins. Then with the weapon pointing down, he smashed the sharp head onto the floor.

  A small flame appeared for a brief instant, accompanied by a short, sharp sizzle and a cascade of sparks that scattered across the stone floor. Marus held up the javelin. The green section was gone, leaving a chunk missing from the metal.

  “And that’s all I have to show you.” Marus looked from face to face. “I hope it was of benefit?”

  “Thank you,” Taimin said. He glanced at Selena, trying to gauge her reaction.

  “I must be going, but if you wish to inspect the veins some more, this is a good place to do it,” Marus said. “You can find your way back?”

  Taimin nodded. Selena took a deep breath as she felt a range of emotions. She managed to thank Marus—he had been nothing but kind—and held her tongue until the one-eyed skalen had left her and Taimin in the unnerving light of the small cavern.

  Once Marus was gone, she narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t understand.” Taimin looked perplexed. “You were afraid. I thought that if you learned more . . .”

  Selena crossed her arms. She took a step back and shook her head. “I told you,” she said. “I don’t like dark places. It’s not just this awful green light. I feel trapped in here.”

  “Selena . . .” Taimin pleaded.

  She took herself away from the confines of the cavern as quickly as she could.

  13

  The first glimmer of morning light cast long shadows from boulders and stone formations. It was early, and Ingren could barely make out the ground in front of her feet, but Ungar was eager, and walked with a fierce, determined stride. As they crossed the rugged plain, his gaze remained fixed on the horizon.

  Back in the foothills, Ungar had found a mantorean traveling alone, battle-scarred and confident to be roaming without company. Ungar made his choice; mantoreans weren’t renowned fighters, which meant he may never find a better opponent. However, as Ungar swiftly fought and killed his prey, Ingren knew what would come next, and her bondmate was disgruntled when the fight was over. He left her to cure the mantorean’s strange head—shaped like an upside-down triangle, with beady eyes like black jewels—while he continued his search.

  Soon after, Ungar earned his next trophy when he came across the tracks of a dozen skalen. They were heading away from the great canyon, and for most of a day he followed their scent until he caught his prey. The leader was tall and proud, with a neckpiece of glossy silver metal that signified his high status. Ungar killed them all and took the leader’s reptilian head.

  Ingren now had four severed heads in her pack. Yet Ungar was dissatisfied. With the exception of the trulls and the bax, the fights had been too easy. Ingren had tried to manage his expectations; mantoreans and skalen were never going to be a challenge for a bonded warrior. But Ungar angrily turned his attention to his next hunt, which would be his last. This time, as he returned his thoughts to humans, he wanted to find an opponent to truly test his skills. He was desperate for a fight worth relaying to the marshals whose ranks he planned to join. His honor demanded he seek out a strong adversary. He was saving the best for his quest’s conclusion.

  Ingren and Ungar both knew that humans were wily, adaptable, and infinitely varied. They started life weak but pliable, and as they grew they often specialized to a high degree. Experienced humans trained those lacking in ability. The older generation worked hard to pass their skills down to the next.

  Ungar was desperate to find a human skilled in the art of combat.

  Ingren panted as she walked and the lower muscles in her legs ached from trying to match Ungar’s pace. He barely looked back at her: the good mood he had enjoyed after taking his first two trophies had evaporated. Nor did he speak; he simply marched. Each step took him closer to his destination. He stepped over rocks without seeming to realize they were there. Ingren’s concern grew. She didn’t know what worried her more: that in his pursuit of glory he would put himself in danger, or that he would find his last opponent too weak and his quest would end in disappointment.

  Soon the golden sun burst over the horizon, utterly changing the color of the landscape. The flat plain shifted from a dark expanse to its true shade: a rusted, dull brown. Ingren glanced over her shoulder to see that the rift valley had vanished behind them. As the red sun showed itself on the opposite horizon, Ingren felt like every bit of moisture was being sucked out of her. Dust skittered over the ground, pushed forward by a hot wind. Scavenger birds wheeled overhead, curious about the two horned creatures below, wondering if the pair might falter and provide sizeable carcasses to feast on.

  The two suns continued to climb and the sky became a bright, vibrant blue. Ingren shaded her eyes when she thought she saw something on the horizon. She couldn’t be sure at first, but then she had no doubt.

  It was a white tower, a tall spike rising up like a spear embedded in the distant plain. Shortly after, Ingren saw a broad encircling wall. Ungar said nothing, but his stride quickened.

  Ingren and her bondmate would soon be at the outpost, the place the humans had called Zorn.

/>   “Living within walls might have made them soft,” Ungar said. He scowled up at the top of the high wall facing them. “They are using this place to hide, to huddle together for protection.” When Ingren didn’t reply, he glanced at her. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking it all in,” Ingren said.

  The outpost was bigger than Ingren had expected. She and her bondmate were a short distance from the wall, within the orderly rows of cactus groves and fields of pink razorgrass. As with Ungar’s traditional costume, spear, and ceremonial knife, the outpost had intentionally been designed to look ancient, from another time. But what appeared to be simple white stone was actually a composite, reinforced with materials that gave it the ability to endure harsh sunlight, hot, dusty winds, and the decaying effects of time.

  “I wish I could see what it is like inside,” Ingren said as she stared at the top of the soaring tower, just visible above the wall. “Before this quest I had only heard about it. Imagine what it must have been like, long ago.”

  “Shh.” Ungar held up a hand.

  He was peering through the cactuses, in the direction of the gates. Ingren turned her head to follow his gaze. She saw flashes of humans in the distance, walking in single file. The humans were dressed in a variety of costumes: tunics, smocks, and loose robes.

  “More field workers,” Ingren said. She waited for a moment and then cast Ungar a sharp look. “This group is coming our way. What do we do?” She put strength into her voice. “Remember, bondmate, entering the outpost is not an option. Arrows may be primitive, but it only takes one to kill you.”

  “What do you suggest, advisor?” Ungar demanded. “You know I will not be taking the head of a field worker.”

  “We should hide,” Ingren said.

  “Hide?” Ungar spluttered, as if he had never heard the word before.

  Ingren grabbed his arm and dragged him toward a thick clump of tall razorgrass. She pulled her reluctant bondmate until they had both disappeared into the thickest section, and then she gave his wrist a hard squeeze.

  The humans soon walked past. Workers old and young, male and female, headed through the fields, some alone, others talking as they traveled in pairs. The field workers carried tools of wood and bone, but nothing in the way of weapons. Evidently they felt safe so close to the outpost.

  Ingren watched as the file of a few dozen workers thinned toward the end. Ungar’s rasping breath sounded far too loud, but the humans remained unsuspecting of the two bonded hidden in the razorgrass. She glanced at Ungar and saw him scowl at the passing figures. A few stragglers brought up the rear. Last of all was an old man, with sloping shoulders and a creased, tired-looking face.

  Without warning, Ungar stepped out of the razorgrass.

  He timed his lunge so that he wrapped his arm around the old worker at the exact moment he passed by. At least three feet taller than his target and more than double his weight, Ungar easily spun the old man and threw him down, so that the human was on his back on the open ground. Ingren shot a look toward the other humans, but they had already vanished ahead. She exited her hiding place and saw Ungar with his hand over the human’s mouth. The old worker’s eyes were wide with terror.

  “Quiet,” Ungar growled. “And be still.”

  Of course, the human couldn’t understand. Ingren formed her lips around the strange syllables spoken in the wasteland. “He is asking you to be quiet. And do not move so much.”

  The old human stopped moving and became limp. His rounded eyes, so white compared to the red or black Ingren was familiar with, began to roll back into his head. Ungar gave him a vigorous shake and glared at Ingren. “Ask him who rules this place.”

  “He wants to know who the ruler of Zorn is.”

  The old man gasped. “Elsa,” he managed to splutter. His gaze was fixed on Ungar’s face, giving particular attention to his rows of sharp yellow teeth.

  “Who is Elsa?” Ungar demanded, with Ingren relaying the questions and replies.

  “She is our leader.”

  “A woman?” Ungar’s eyes narrowed. “She is a strong warrior?”

  “No . . . No!”

  “There must be human warriors in the city.” Ungar grunted. “Fighters. Where are they?”

  “Fighters?” the old man wheezed. He moaned when Ungar shook him again. “Like in the . . . arena?”

  Ingren started when she heard mention of the arena. After all these years, it was still in use. “He said there are humans who fight in the arena,” she told Ungar.

  “Yes, yes.” Ungar became animated. “Like that. Ask him who is the best of them all.”

  “It isn’t used anymore,” the old man said when Ingren questioned him. His voice trembled when Ingren gave his answer and Ungar became angry, leaning his face down until he was staring into the man’s eyes. “Elsa stopped the fights!”

  Ungar clenched his fists and for a moment Ingren thought he would bellow with rage. Fortunately, he kept his temper and instead gripped the old man by the shoulders.

  “Who is the greatest human warrior? Tell me!”

  Ingren relayed the question. The old man was completely pale. He didn’t seem to know how to answer.

  “Who is the most skilled among you? Who is your best fighter?” Ungar became more and more frustrated.

  “T . . .” The old man struggled to speak. He finally gasped out a single word. “Taimin.”

  “Taimin. Where is Taimin?”

  “I don’t know! He left the city.”

  Ungar wrapped his thick, claw-like fingers around the old man’s throat. Unable to stop himself, he squeezed until Ingren heard a sharp crack. The old man twitched, and then became still.

  “There are more workers in the fields,” Ungar said to Ingren. He straightened, ignoring the body at his feet. “Let us find another one.”

  Ingren tried not to look at the dead girl, whose blank eyes, as blue as the azure sky, stared at her accusingly. Ungar was holding the girl high, with her back flattened against a broad cactus, as wide as the trunks of the ancient trees outside Agravida. Seeing she was dead, Ungar let go, and the girl’s feet struck the ground first. Her knees immediately buckled. She toppled with a thud.

  Ungar was furious. Ingren didn’t like the way this quest was bringing out his dark side. He rounded on Ingren. “They all say the same thing. They all give the same name: Taimin. Yet no one knows where he is.”

  “There will be others—”

  “No,” Ungar spat. “How can I seek out some inferior warrior after I have heard this one man’s name repeated? He defeated the commander of the city guard. It must be him.”

  “It is an impossible task, bondmate. There are countless humans who would match his description,” Ingren said, trying to talk some sense into her bondmate. “Dark human-hair. Young. Walks with an uneven stride.”

  “The girl said something else,” Ungar said.

  Ungar was right; there had been a term the girl used that Ingren had struggled to decipher. Ingren considered herself intelligent, and didn’t like not being able to understand.

  It was something the girl had connected to the word for foot. That was a word Ingren knew.

  Then it came to her. She spoke immediately, pleased to have made the translation.

  “She said he has a crippled foot.” Ingren nodded. “That is why he walks with a limp.”

  Ungar froze. “A cripple?” He stared directly into Ingren’s eyes. She wondered what he was thinking, and then she finally realized that they had both encountered Taimin before.

  “I knew it,” Ungar whispered. “I knew the stars guided me all along.” He shook his head wryly. “I could have had the best human warrior’s head as my very first trophy.”

  “But you said it yourself, he is a cripple.”

  “It does not matter. He was skilled. He almost beat me.” He started to laugh, bringing forth a rumbling sound from deep within his chest. “This will make a fine tale indeed.”

  “What?” Ingren tilted her
head. Her heart sank. All she wanted was to go home. “What are you saying? There are plenty of humans here.”

  “No,” Ungar said harshly. His laughter ended abruptly, and now he was glaring at Ingren with an expression she knew well. “This is my last hunt. It will be difficult, but nothing of worth is done without effort. I will return to where we last saw him, and I will track him down. Never underestimate my resolve, Ingren. I will have Taimin’s head.”

  14

  The desert stretched on as far as the eye could see, lit up by savage sunlight that reflected from the yellow dunes so that there could be no escape. The sand shifted underfoot, making travel difficult. Tall slopes had to be ascended before scrabbling down the other side. There was no shade, which meant no chance to sleep during the day, for it was far too hot for comfort. Taimin chewed on leaves and nettles. Determination kept him going.

  Ruth made sure they drank sparingly from their water flasks. Thirst was always with them. The only respite came at night, when Lars lit fires to keep predators at bay. They took turns keeping watch, while the others tried to ignore the howls of roaming firehounds.

  At first the terrain had been flat and barren, an expanse of gravel and dirt without a single cactus or shrub to break the monotony. Now the group was in a sandy area, close to the desert’s heart, where the dry wind blew the tops off the crests and grit got into everyone’s eyes. Taimin led from the front, generally alone. Vance brought up the rear.

  Taimin heard Lars call his name and turned to see the skinner churn up the sand as he climbed to the top of the dune that Taimin was about to descend. Lars’s black beard was thick with dust and his bald head had tanned to the shade of leather. In his hand he clutched the map they had copied from the well room in Zorn.

  “What is it?” Taimin asked, shocked at how hoarse his voice sounded.

  “You haven’t noticed? Look at the sky ahead.”