Transcendent: The Revelations of Oriceran (The Kacy Chronicles Book 4)

by Anderle, Michael

  It was midmorning, and Jordan was still fresh; there was little she loved more than a sprint across the sky on strong wings, with the wind tugging at her hair and flowing through her feathers.

  Blue spotted her and gave a long, descending whistle.

  Jordan was panting by the time she got close. "Hey, buddy," she called, a grin splitting her face. "Just the fellow I was hoping to find!"

  Blue seemed to grin before lifting his snout to the sun and sounding off three happy barks. Suddenly, he banked and dove, spiralling downward. Jordan felt a blast of wind as he passed her.

  "Hey!" she cried, laughing at his playful movements. "Wait up!" She dove after him.

  What ensued was an eye-blearing, hair-tearing, heart-thundering game of chase. Jordan couldn't help the laughter that poured from her throat as she chased her friend across the sky.

  Blue had always been quick, but he was bigger and stronger and moved like a starving shark, slicing through oceanic currents. His spine and tail undulated in a sinewy serpentine way as he catapulted through the skies, whistling and barking his own joy.

  Jordan did her best to tail him as he carved a path like a theme park ride over Upper Rodania and then out over the Rodanian Sea and toward the training islands. Loops and figure-eights, gigantic upside down arches, followed by plummeting straight down, nearly to the tops of the waves, before swooshing upward again and climbing straight verticals. She wasn't sure she'd ever had a flying workout quite this intense before.

  As Blue shot past one of the training islands in a vertical climb, she heard the sounds of the Strix warriors cheering her on, and doubled her efforts. Her heart was pounding, and her wings were burning, but still she pushed herself even harder. She followed Blue in a rainbow-shape over the training islands and back toward his favorite park on Upper Rodania.

  "You're going to kill me, bud!" Jordan panted as he zigzagged back and forth ahead of her, his tail whipping across her vision like a flag in her face. "Now you're just showing off!"

  Blue gave a barking roar and slowed down, descending toward the green. He still came in too fast, and clawed up clumps of dirt and grass as his talons raked the earth to stop his momentum.

  Jordan also came in too fast, and found her bootsoles skidding across the earth. She tripped over one of the gigantic divots Blue had raked out of the soil, and went sliding across the grass on her chest, laughing and gasping for air. She finally came to a halt, her wings spread-eagled in a messy sprawl of feathers, and rolled over, groaning and panting.

  "Thanks," she sucked in a big gulp of air, "for that, you brat. You really made me work for this one, didn't you?"

  Blue heaved his own gusty breath and flopped over on his side, nosing through the grass like a dog on a scent as he crawled in her direction. He stretched his snout toward her and whuffed in her face, blowing her hair back.

  Jordan felt a spray of moisture. "Gross," she laughed, wiping off her face. "Dragon boogers."

  The two of them lay there until their breathing went back to normal. Then Jordan rolled to her knees and lay a hand on Blue's neck.

  "There's something I have to ask you, Blue," she said, looking into his eyes. "On behalf of Toth."

  Blue got up and wandered toward the granite overhang that he and Red had lounged under a few days earlier. He rooted around in the shadows under the cliff and then came back in Jordan's direction, pushing a speckled, gray egg with his nose.

  Jordan got a wave of harpy stench and put a hand over her nose. Revulsion clawed at her stomach, and she fought to keep her gorge down. "Eurgh." Jordan's eyes started watering at the smell of rot, but she couldn't stop herself from looking through the crack at the harpy chick inside. "I guess you know what I was going to ask you, then?"

  Blue whuffed at her again and sat on his haunches. He lifted one claw and rested it on top of the egg. He shook his head, his wattle swaying back and forth. His shoulder flexed as he stepped down on the egg, crushing it and its contents entirely.

  Jordan was blasted with another disgusting wave of stinking harpy scent.

  "I'll tell Toth you said yes," she said with her nose plugged.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ashley came awake like a siren had gone off next to his ear; his heart was pounding, and his tongue felt coated with a bitter paste. He tugged at the neck of his shirt, pulling it away from his throat as he sucked in air. Rolling over, he reached for the glass of water on his night table. His own feathers tickled the side of his face and poked him in the ear. He let out a bark of frustration, sat up, and slammed back the entire contents of the glass.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, glowering and grinding his teeth, listening to the muffled sound of the waves crashing against the stones far below.

  He was in a tower that overlooked the lights and harbor of Maticaw. His room was a narrow attic space held together by thick wooden ribs, roughly hewn and as likely to give one splinters as keep the rain off. Part of the ceiling's fat beams were blackened and charred from a fire that had almost destroyed the tower long before Jaclyn had become the building's master. Whoever had patched up the damage hadn't done it artfully, only partially replacing the burnt timbers with fresh ones, and using wooden pegs as thick as a man's arm to cobble the whole thing together. It was not pretty, but it was sturdy.

  But it wasn't the half-wasted shell of a tower Ashley called his own that was festering on him like a boil.

  It was the dreams. No, not dreams––nightmares.

  The dreams were always a replay of that night, the night he chased the frightened, blonde Arpak woman––Jordan––across the black waters of Maticaw in the driving rain.

  But he couldn't think of her as just ‘Jordan’. He hadn't been able to think of her that way since he'd watched her stagger back across the wet black rocks of the rugged peninsula.

  Sister.

  His own flesh and blood.

  ‘Don't do this,’ she'd said. ‘I'll go away and never come back.’ The beauty of her face had been marred with fear. The teal of her eyes darkened to a true sea green in the dim light of the storm, her wet hair plastered to her face and neck. She’d held a knife in her hand, but one knock against her quivering wrist would have sent it flying from her grip.

  Ashley put his head into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his fingertips into the sides of his skull. A long, frustrated sigh oozed from him like it had clawed its way up from the very pit of his stomach.

  In his nightmares, he always finished her.

  In his nightmares, there was no armed Nycht nor dragon to protect her; he finished the job he had been given. As the lights went out in her eyes, as her body slumped to the rocks, something cold and hateful would take up residence in his gut. It was a many-legged thing hiding behind a gauzy black drape. The tips of its black legs peeked from under the fabric, each with a long, hooked claw. The thing could reach those hooks into any memory it chose, events long past, mostly to do with Ashley's mother. It could rake them open, spilling the contents of his mind.

  The thing was called fear, and its claws were regret.

  Ashley stood and began to pace. A dialogue played out in his mind. This too was happening more regularly; enough that Ashley was beginning to fear he might be going crazy.

  There is nothing to regret, he thought. She survived. I didn't kill her.

  But I would have.

  Why? The many-legged thing behind the curtain asked.

  Because it's what Jaclyn wanted.

  Why did Jaclyn want that? it pressed.

  Don't ask questions.

  I am asking, answered the spider, its hooks tap-tap-tapping against the bones of his skull. Tap-dancing with its relentless, tireless questions.

  Ashley let out a scream and drove his fist into the doorjamb, bruising his knuckles and not even noticing.

  In the dream that had woken him this night, Jordan died as always. But something was different.

  As he had stood over her, at the moment when he always woke up, the dre
am did not dissolve.

  He was staring down at her still form. Her face was pointed toward the ground, her hair covering her cheek, and he sent a booted toe into her shoulder, gently, almost tenderly, rolling her onto her back.

  Then he staggered back, choking. Her face was no longer feminine.

  The lifeless, lightless eyes were no longer teal, they were brown. Her face had become his own, and the chest which held the steel of his blade was broader––his chest. Rain filled the hollows of his face, making his eyes look larger, magnifying the death in them.

  He screamed, and woke up gagging with fear.

  Ashley set his forehead against the door and took deep breaths, trying to clear the awful vision.

  "Ashley?" Jaclyn's voice was on the other side of the door, so close it made him jump.

  His heart bolted around in his chest, and he took another breath before opening the door.

  She stood on the landing. Her dewy skin was so pale it almost glowed in the light of the lantern she'd set on the table just outside his door.

  Jaclyn never had the flush and color of the sun on her anymore. Ashley wasn't sure if the nut brown mother he remembered from his youth, with the dusting of freckles over her nose, had ever been real. She had never been a woman who laughed, but hadn't she once been a woman who loved the sunshine?

  She was dressed in a black tunic, which belted at the waist. Soft camel-colored pants encased her legs, and black suede boots came up over her kneecaps. Her rich, chestnut hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, accentuating the ethereal size of her eyes.

  Jaclyn had never dressed like the women in Maticaw. Ashley supposed her taste had something to do with having come from Earth, but he'd never asked her why she preferred the simple, almost androgynous tailoring to the colorful feminine styles of their port-town.

  There were a lot of things Ashley had never asked his mother. Questions were not allowed. Not ever. Jaclyn parsed out information like war-time rations.

  "I thought I heard you yell." Her eyes probed his face like blind fingers searching his contours for clues. "You're sweating. Would you like me to have Rolea make you that spicy soup?"

  "I'm fine, Jaclyn." Ashley's arms drifted across his chest, where only a short time before, he'd dreamed his own sword had run him through. "Thank you."

  Jaclyn nodded and held out an envelope with the wax seal of 'Jack', the Port Master at Maticaw. "I need you to deliver this to the courier's office. The next run goes at seven; make sure you don't miss it."

  Ashley took the envelope. "I'll leave right after breakfast."

  "Good enough." Jaclyn took the lantern, and her steps echoed on the staircase as she returned to her quarters.

  Ashley listened until he heard the door at the bottom of the stairs click shut, then he closed himself in his room. He donned his clothing and his armor. The letter is likely another stall tactic. He glanced at it and frowned. Yes, it was addressed to Belshar, the Rodanian bureaucrat and their contact for all things trade-related. Ashley had picked up enough conversation around the trade office to know that Belshar was making a nuisance of himself about some mushroom from the other side of The Conca.

  Why it had become such a drama, Ashley didn't know, and hadn't ever cared to know.

  He flew across the waters dotted with vessels, and landed on the docks in a walk without breaking his stride. He folded his wings away and headed along the boardwalk, turning into a narrow, cobbled alley which led to the steps that would take him into the heart of the commercial district of the city. Ashley had done enough deliveries to find his way to the courier's office in a blindfold.

  Barely conscious of his surroundings——the pestering salesmen, the beggars and the mouth-watering smell of street food––Ashley's mind mulled over his nighttime agonies.

  The dreams hadn't started right away; they'd crept up on him slowly, at first coming to him as barely-remembered vignettes. He'd wake with an unsettled feeling and a knot in his stomach that would stay with him most of the day.

  Then the dreams began to clarify and grow more vivid. He recognized the rugged stones at his feet, Jordan's wet and fearful face, her soaking clothing, the trembling knife held up against his advance.

  Her confusion was what pierced him most. Jordan was a lot of things in that moment, but what she had been the most was lost.

  How long had you been looking for your mother, Ashley wondered, only to find Jaclyn and receive a greeting that would make a slap in the face seem like a kiss?

  Ashley's own bewilderment had been fairly well-masked that night. But Jaclyn had not denied Jordan when she had called her ‘Mom’; in fact, she had told Jordan, ‘If I thought I could raise you and also do what I was meant to, I would have.’ It was a full admission.

  That had been the moment when Ashley was unable to cover his surprise.

  He had been certain the young woman was mistaken. She had to be an imposter——someone perhaps employed by their enemies to uncover Jaclyn's alias. But it wasn't adding up; if she had been out to discover Jaclyn's true identity, then why would she pose as her daughter? And how would she even know Jaclyn had had a daughter? Ashley himself hadn't known.

  Not that that was unusual; Ashley was learning that there was so much he didn't know. And he had always thought himself special, needed, precious and deserving of responsibility in Jaclyn's eyes––it was almost laughable.

  It's not too late to turn from this path you're on. An outside voice penetrated his thoughts.

  Ashley's lips parted to snarl in annoyance when he saw that the voice had not come from one of the usual peddlers and fortune tellers which clogged the side-streets of Maticaw. A willowy Elf stood in front of a bright blue door along the narrow street. Her pale coloring stood out so starkly against the blue that her image seemed to waver at the edges, as though she wasn't totally there––just an apparition. Her skin was a soft alabaster gray, her hair long and white. Her dress was teal in color and clung to her elegantly, highlighting her tiny waist and long slender neck. Her fine face was expressionless, as though she hadn't just spoken to him. She seemed to look right through him.

  Ashley stopped walking, surprised in spite of himself. He squinted at the Elf, uncertain if it really was she who had spoken. But a glance around confirmed it couldn't have been anyone else.

  "What?" he said, feeling stupid.

  My name is Pohle, the Elf said without moving her lips.

  Ashley shook his head once, trying to clear it. Receiving communication telepathically was a new and jarring experience for the young Arpak.

  I'm an Elf of Charra-Rae. Her face was as still as midnight, her lips could have been carved from marble. Her eyes seemed to widen and her irises to grow larger as he looked at her.

  "Charra-Rae," Ashley felt the crowd bump around him, buffeting him softly, but the feeling seemed far away. "Where the mushrooms are from?"

  A soft smile played at her lips. The fungus. Yes, she said without speaking.

  "What are you doing here?" Ashley's flesh marbled with goosebumps.

  I'm here to see you. Pohle's chin tilted slightly. Then her lips finally opened, and she spoke real words with a real voice. "Ashley."

  Ashley started, not only at the sound of his name but at how the word felt when she spoke it, like a taut string running from the top of his head to his tailbone had been plucked and sent vibrating. The feeling made his heart leap and clatter, and his groin clench.

  "Me?" His voice was a choked shadow of its former strength.

  Pohle's pale hand beckoned him, and he found himself staggering toward her, not entirely of his own volition. "I have a message for you from our dear princess."

  Ashley felt the blood drain from his cheeks. What would an Elf princess want with him? He stopped in front of her, feeling groggy. "What message?"

  "That you are more than this," she gestured to his person as a whole. How she managed to make the movement seem disdainful without changing her facial expression seemed marvelous to him. The k
ey lies beneath your feet. Free yourself from the web.

  "Web?" Ashley's mind was reeling. "What web?"

  The corner of her lip turned up. Your mother's, of course.

  And the telepathy is back. Ashley wheezed.

  Pohle tsked and shook her head slowly in what seemed to be an uncharacteristic display of personal opinion about his recent life choices, and Ashley started when he felt her cool fingers slide into his palms. Her face swept forward in a fluid motion, stopping mere inches from his… There was a tightening in his stomach from her nearness.

  Is she friend or foe?

  "I'm a friend," she said, speaking the words out loud and sending the string inside him twanging.

  "You can read minds?"

  "It doesn't take a mind reader to see what you are trying to discern. Let me help you along." Her face came closer, her head tilted to the side. For a moment he thought she was going to kiss him, and he knew he wouldn't stop her. If there was a spell or an enchantment in her kiss, he'd already fallen under it.

  But she passed by his mouth and put her lips close to his ear. "Listen to me, young son, and listen well."

  They stood there in the streets of Maticaw, and he listened. As the Elf whispered, the cracks which had already begun to form in Ashley's trust in his mother spread their forked fingers like lightning clawing through the sky.

  ***

  Ashley padded along the carpeted hallway, silent as death. Huge paintings and mirrors, gathered over the years by his mother, lined the hall and filled it with warmth. Lit torches behind elegant glass sconces filled the hallway with flickering light. Ashley's reflection passed him by as he made his way to the wide wooden doorway that he knew led into the bowels of the trade building.

  ‘The key lies beneath your feet.’

  Glancing to either end of the hall, Ashley grasped the metal handle and opened the door. He let himself down the dark stairwell and closed the door quietly behind him.

  Ashley fumbled along the wall for the torch and lit it. Damp air smelling of burlap and seaweed wafted around him like a cloying perfume. His booted feet found the basement, and he held the torch high in the dark space. Firelight threw back the shadows, sending them running for corners and dancing across the floor as he walked past boxes and bags, wooden shelves piled high with goods—–either forgotten and left there to mildew, or waiting for some captain's crew to ferry them away.