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

by Anderle, Michael

  Sol glowered. "It's ridiculous that you can't."

  "Well, to be fair, most Elves don't have as much trouble leaving as I do."

  "Sorry, but how is that fair?" Allan asked incredulously.

  "Fair to Sohne, I mean. She doesn't keep everyone on such a tight leash. Just me and a handful of others."

  “I really don't like this Elf," Jordan muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. She still chafed about what had happened with Blue the last time she had been to ask the Elf princess for help. The glyphs that wound their way up her arm reminded her on a daily basis that she still owed the Elf whatever she asked for.

  "Why is that?" Allan asked Eohne gently.

  "Because, well…" Eohne's cheeks tinged with pink.

  "It's because she’s an absolutely brilliant inventor and magician, and losing her would be like losing a major piece in a game of chess." Sol said it so Eohne didn't have to. It was unlike Eohne to toot her own horn, but everyone at the table knew her value. She was irreplaceable; a major boon to any society lucky enough to have her.

  "Basically." Eohne wilted further. "I was thinking maybe I would head home soon, but…" Eohne bit her lip. "But I've met Linlett now, and I'm learning so much from him."

  "And he from you, I would imagine," Jordan added.

  Eohne nodded. "I don't really want to leave until this problem is solved. Working with a Light Elf can only augment my powers, my understanding of the various languages of magic. It's sort of a dream come true."

  "Then tell Sohne that," Jordan suggested. "Maybe she would understand?"

  The corners of Eohne's mouth turned down. "Sohne doesn't like Light Elves. The fact that we used to be the same people doesn't matter to her. She sees us as the way Elves should be, and the Light Elves as less evolved. She wouldn't approve of me working with one directly, even if I thought it would ultimately benefit the Elves of Charra-Rae."

  "That's pretty short-sighted," Allan scoffed.

  Eohne joggled her head from side to side in partial agreement. "Sohne is very far-sighted, actually. Remember, she can see some futuristic events. She rarely shares what she sees, but I can at least trust that she has the Charra-Rae Elves' best interests at heart."

  "What about your best interests?" Allan probed softly.

  Eohne didn't reply, but the longing in her eyes was enough to say what she couldn't or didn't want to say out loud.

  Eohne wanted to be free.

  ***

  "Might I have a word with you privately?" Allan asked Jordan quietly as she and Sol got up to leave later that night.

  "Of course, Dad." Jordan's brows drew together at the expression on her father's face. Whatever he wanted to speak to her about, it was clearly of a more serious nature.

  Allan and Jordan stepped outside into the cool Rodanian evening. Insects buzzed and sang, and the first of the stars were beginning to dust the sky.

  "You know how much I don't like asking you for favors, Jordy," Allan began hesitantly. "You're an adult, and you've been able to make your own decisions for a long time now."

  "Dad," Jordan put a hand on his shoulder, concern inflating like a bubble in her gut. "What's this about?"

  "I have been wrestling with myself about this ever since I heard of Toth's plan to go to Golpa. At first, I thought I could get over it, but…" Allan tucked his hands in his armpits and hunched his shoulders. He looked like a young boy in that posture, a very uncertain young boy. "I'm not feeling any better about things; in fact, I'm feeling worse. So, I just have to say something."

  "Oh?" Jordan had a feeling she knew where this might be going, and her heart fell a little. But within that drop of disappointment was a rush of warmth and love for her father, and no small amount of compassion.

  Allan looked into Jordan's eyes, his own hazel ones pleading. "Please, don't go to Golpa." He brought his hands out of his armpits and put up his palms. "I know you're an amazing warrior now, Jordan. You're competent, and strong. But you don't always have to be the one who puts her life on the line. There are others who will go. Toth isn't taking everyone; he doesn't have to take you." His eyes were suddenly glassy-looking, the rims red.

  "Dad…" Jordan began, preparing to muster the words needed to give him comfort around the mission. Her lips parted.

  "You're all I've got, Jordy," Allan said, taking her hand. "Sitting underground during the harpy battle, wondering what was happening, if you were alright—–it nearly killed me. Please, just sit this one out? For me?"

  Suddenly Jordan saw the purple smudges under Allan's eyes, the lines of tension and worry bracketing his mouth, the graying hair at his temples. He had been torturing himself over this, she could see now; she'd just been too busy to notice.

  He was right, he never asked anything of Jordan.

  In that moment, she understood what the request was costing him, how much it meant.

  "Alright, Dad," Jordan said. Disappointment was heavy in her, but as soon as she said the words, Allan's face brightened. The lines of stress softened, and Jordan felt that she'd done the right thing.

  "Thank you, Jordy," Allan whispered, pulling his daughter in for a hug. "Thank you."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sol hunkered on the floor in the middle of a pile of weapons, satchels, rope, harnesses, armor and clothing. Beyond where Sol squatted, the Rodanian sky was awash with diamonds, and a sweet-smelling breeze circulated through their apartment. In spite of the beauty of the night, Sol was frowning. For the last hour he'd been sifting through the items and making piles, then unmaking them. He could only carry so much to Golpa, and having never faced a journey into the North, it wasn't totally clear what was most important.

  Warm layers or weapons? He blew out a long, frustrated raspberry.

  Jordan emerged from the water closet squeezing out her damp hair with a towel. She wore a simple, knee-length robe that was custom designed for a Strix woman. It was dark blue and belted at the waist.

  Sol's eyes flashed to her, and he smiled appreciatively. "You look so nice in girl clothes," he said.

  "Thank you."

  Since they'd cleaned up their apartment and Rodania wasn't in such dire straits anymore, Jordan had exchanged one of her gold bars for coins and picked out a few items of clothing from the shops in Keayr––a shopping district on Upper Rodania which vaguely reminded her of Rodeo Drive in L.A.

  "How is it going?" Jordan perched on a stool, tucked her feet against the bottom rung and spread her damp wings to help them air dry.

  Sol's expression grew serious again as it drifted back to the mess surrounding him. He made a frustrated grunt in the back of his throat. "I'm jumping the gun." His knees popped, and he stood and stretched his back. "Toth will tell us what to bring at the meeting tomorrow, but I was hoping to get a head start. I have never been so far north as Golpa before; there aren't many communities North of Skillen that have anything to do with Rodania, so there was never reason to go. It's going to be harsh and cold. I commissioned cold weather gear from that tailor in Crypsis."

  Jordan nodded. "Good. That's good," she said, but her expression was sad.

  Sol stepped over the pile of goods and stood over Jordan. She wrapped her arms around his waist and he looped his around her shoulders. He kissed the top of her wet head. "You're doing the right thing, Jordan."

  Jordan's eyes drifted shut, and she relaxed into his warmth. "I know. It doesn't make it any easier to watch you prepare for battle."

  The sound of flapping made them both turn toward the terrace. As the sound drew nearer, Sol and Jordan stepped out onto the balcony and peered into the dark.

  The flapping was shortly accompanied by wheezing, and a dark shape with small wings, clearly struggling to fly, materialized from the nighttime vista. They both squinted, straining their eyes to see who was coming.

  "It's Juer!" Sol's voice was filled with alarm. "Uncle?" he called, then spread his wings and went out to meet the old doctor. He wanted to offer his assistance, but the old Arpak made a mo
tion with his hand, signalling he was alright.

  He aimed for the balcony and came in for a landing like a bomber suffering from a blown-out engine. He seesawed back and forth wildly for a moment, and Jordan's hand flew to her mouth. She thought he was going to miss the balcony entirely and splat into the granite side of the tower.

  From the look on Sol's face, he shared the same concern.

  Juer righted himself at the last moment and collapsed on the terrace in front of Jordan. Her hands darted out and she caught him, just preventing his old knees from smashing against the tiles.

  "Thank you, my dear," he wheezed, gripping Jordan's arms and leaning heavily on her.

  Jordan felt the old Arpak's heart pounding in his thin, bony chest and looked over Juer's fluff of white hair at Sol, who landed on the balcony behind his uncle. They shared a look of concern.

  Juer got his weight under himself and stood back from Jordan, breathing hard. "Trouble you for a glass of water?" he asked between gasps. One arthritic hand was pressed to his chest.

  "Of course, Uncle." Sol darted inside while Jordan helped Juer into the kitchen.

  His wings were even thinner than the last time she'd seen him; she was surprised the old Arpak could still fly well enough to pass between the palace and their tower, even though the two buildings weren't all that far apart. The aging doctor never made the journey to his library in Crypsis anymore. He'd made arrangements to have the books brought up to the palace library, and put the building up for sale.

  Sol handed Juer a glass, and he took it and drank greedily, breathing loudly through his nose. Under their artificial lights, Juer looked waxen in color. Dark rings circled his eyes. He looked the way most of the Nychts did in Rodania––exhausted.

  Juer handed the glass back, and Jordan pulled out a chair for him to sit on. He nodded, finally getting his breathing under control. His spectacles sat crookedly on the end of his nose from his wild flight. He straightened them with trembling hands.

  "What's wrong, Uncle?" Sol set the glass in the sink and came to stand close to the doctor. His uncle's expression put ice into his belly.

  "It's gone," said Juer harshly, with a swipe of his hand through the air. "Someone has stolen it!"

  "Stolen…"

  "The last of the lapita," Juer ground out. His expression was agony and terror. "It's gone. Even now, the king's eyes are dimming. I didn't know who else to go to. I'm afraid I have to ask you to break the law." The rheumy eyes projected palpable regret at his young nephew.

  Sol simply said, "Tell me what you need."

  "I need Gersher fungus from Charra-Rae. Even now, Cles is waiting for an escort to bring him to the palace so he can process it. We'll have to import it without registering it, it is too important."

  Jordan and Sol shared a look. Sol was due at the strategy session with Toth in the morning.

  "I'll go," offered Jordan. "Sol leaves for Golpa the day after tomorrow. Besides," she added in an attempt to bring some levity into the moment, "I'm the faster flier."

  Sol just winked at her gratefully.

  "It may take you longer than usual to get there and back," said Juer with a warning in his voice. "There is a storm moving in from the North, between Rodania and Maticaw. They are always bad this time of year."

  Sol was nodding. "I heard this also. If you're going to go, you should leave no later than noon tomorrow to beat it, then hunker down in Maticaw until it passes, and then continue on to Charra-Rae."

  Jordan nodded, already calculating what she'd need to take and if there was anything she needed to do before she left. "Sohne will have to accept gold. After all, this is not a favor for me, it's for the Rodanian King."

  "I have gold set aside for it at the palace," said Juer, wiping a hand across his brow. Already, he looked a little better after the short rest, his cheeks regaining some color. "Come by first thing in the morning."

  "Who would take your medicine, Uncle?" Sol asked. "Surely you had such a precious substance under lock and key?"

  Juer nodded with impatience, his white fluff swaying around his skull like drifting seaweed. "Of course. I kept it in my own private chamber in a locked cabinet. This morning, the cabinet was secure. Less than an hour ago, I went to get the king his evening dose, and the cabinet lock was broken, and the medicine gone." He shook his head. "It is treason." His face grew long and heavy with doubt. His hand clasped Jordan's and squeezed.

  "Fly true, little canary," Juer locked eyes with Jordan. The desperation there gave Jordan chills. "The king will not live long if you dally."

  Jordan left for Maticaw at first light.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Jaclyn's desk was neat as a pin. A map of The Rodanian Sea, including hundreds of miles of coast from Operyn to Skillen, had been rendered by hand and painted with vibrant colors. It lay across the dark wood, pinned down by lead paperweights. Small pawns made out of different metals had been placed in various positions throughout the map; they sat on top of each of the three major port cities, with the most pawns placed in Maticaw. Two pieces sat on the floating three-tiered cake of Rodania, and Ashley knew who those pieces represented: Prince Diruk, and Diruk's man, Bryc—–their only allies in Strix country.

  The nature of his mother's relationship with the prince and the prince's goon was becoming more clear: Jaclyn was a pawn the prince could use to control the flow of goods in and out of Rodania. Jaclyn would never have achieved her elevated position without Prince Diruk's help, and so their alliance was both mutually beneficial and a secret. No portmaster before Jaclyn had ever been female; using the alias of 'Jack' while she established her reputation was a strategic move. The captains of The Rodanian Sea and beyond were not yet ready for a female portmaster, not until she had lined their pockets with money and proven how capable and clever she was. Only then would she reveal herself to them.

  In a way, it was poetic. Jaclyn envisioned the day she would gather her most powerful captains and let them in on her secret. That day would not come until she had acquired Skillen and Operyn. She even wanted the miserable and remote port of Vischer, the poor relative of all the ports along the coast. It wasn't until Ashley was observing the map spread on Jaclyn's desk that he realized that the ports she aimed to control formed a kind of semi-circle around Rodania, pinning it against the backdrop of the open sea, if one chose to see it.

  Each city had always had their own portmaster. Sometimes the masters aligned, other times they butted heads, but having three individuals meant competition, and kept the price of goods down. Having three gave tradesmen, farmers, tailors, and other skilled workers who wanted to sell their goods abroad options.

  By bringing each port under her control, Jaclyn would vault herself into a position of power which had previously never existed. She'd have the ability to create a monopoly; control the flow of goods and, therefore, the people and prices. She would be more powerful than a queen, and she would be self-made, having leveraged herself into the position rather than being born into it.

  What wasn't clear was Jaclyn's plans for Rodania. Why did Jaclyn care about the flow of a strange pink fungus in and out of the Strix nation? So much so, that she was willing to blackmail a Rodanian bureaucrat to invent a false moratorium on the substance? Belshar had been to visit, Ashley had seen him. The poor thin fellow was as jumpy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. No doubt he was experiencing pressure from Rodania to get the fungus cleared, but Ashley knew that Jaclyn was applying her own pressure to Belshar, and the stakes were his life and the lives of his children.

  Ashley had been raised not to question Jaclyn's plans, to do as he was told, to be the muscle that helped her achieve their goals of wealth and power. In return, he'd be given whatever he wanted: property, a ship, a fleet of ships, agricultural land in the fertile southern Conca, a bride, or even many women. All this in exchange for his unquestioning loyalty to the woman who raised him and loved him.

  Loved?

  Until Jaclyn had assigned him the execution of
Jordan, it had been enough.

  Sister.

  Jaclyn had never even told him he had a sister. She had stood there blithely, boldly facing the accusations Jordan had flung into her face. There had been no denying it, no shame.

  She'd come all the way from Earth!

  Ashley frowned as he stared down at the chess pieces spread on the map before him, staring, but not seeing. What had Jordan been through to find her mother?

  When Jaclyn sent Ashley to end her, he'd responded automatically, the way he always had. But while his body moved, his heart told him it was desperately wrong. Jaclyn had never asked him to murder an innocent before—–and the young woman was family!

  Another doubt was steadily chewing through his trust in his mother, like a beetle through rotten wood: if Jaclyn could so easily do away with Jordan, what would stop her from turning against him, too?

  Shortly after that awful night, the nightmares had started.

  And now the gray Elf from Charra-Rae.

  ‘Ask her,’ the Elf had whispered. ‘Ask her who you are.’

  Ashley squeezed his eyes shut against the bitter feelings and unanswered questions roiling in his gut.

  What do you do when the one person you thought you could trust fully, has been caught lying to you? There had only ever been Jaclyn in Ashley's life. It had always been the two of them.

  Loneliness swept through Ashley, almost strong enough to bring him to his knees.

  "What are you doing in here?"

  Ashley looked up, startled, and with guilt stealing across his face.

  Jaclyn's long shadow reached toward him from the open door, like a malevolent spirit creeping closer. Her slender hand rested on the broad, iron door handle, her elbow crooked. For a moment she was as still as a porcelain statue, then she moved, slowly.

  The door clicked shut behind her.

  Her dark eyes locked on her son, soft, but vigilant and discerning. "Ashley?" She crossed the carpet, her footsteps rendered silent by the thick wool rug. The chandelier overhead cast a warped, star-shaped shadow around Jaclyn, which shifted as she walked.