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

by Anderle, Michael

  Ashley put a hand down on Jaclyn's desk and leaned forward, looking across the map at his mother. Perspiration had begun to form at his hairline, even though his hands felt clammy and cold as ice.

  Lately, his mother's presence had increasingly incited a physiological response from Ashley; and not a pleasant one. A frozen wire wrapped itself around his gut and began to tighten. He was afraid of her, just as she had raised him to be, but he hadn't come this far to cow down. He was gangrenous with questions and doubts, and they festered inside him like a boil.

  "Why are you stopping medicine from getting through to people who need it?"

  Ashley's question echoed Jordan's exactly, and the mirroring of his twin’s words was not lost on Jaclyn. He could see it in her face; the subtle hardening of her eyes and mouth, the flexing of that small muscle just in front of her ears as she clenched her teeth. A blind came down. Her lips pinched together, and she stopped walking. "That is not your concern, Ashley. I know you're not going to make me repeat myself."

  "No." Ashley shook his head. "Repeat yourself, no. Say something new. Say something real. Tell me the truth, for once."

  "What is this about?"

  "Who am I?"

  Jaclyn resumed her slow journey across the carpet, letting out a low laugh. "You're nobody, Ashley. Until I make you somebody, you're nobody. You are who I tell you to be."

  Ashley watched as his mother came around the big wooden desk to face him. She looked up at him, her arms crossed over her chest, her beautiful eyes hard and dark.

  "Mom." Ashley grated the word out. He had not called her that in over twenty years.

  Her preference, especially in the company of others, had always been ‘Jaclyn’.

  "You wanted me to kill her. Why?" he demanded.

  "Is she what this is about?" The hard mask seemed to break, and Jaclyn put her hands on his shoulders, her voice slithering with forced softness. "She was a loose end. You said it yourself: she had seen me. She knows the real identity of ‘Jack’. I'll not let all of our hard work be lost because of a girl we can't control."

  "Not just a girl. Your daughter. My sister. You could so easily sign her death sentence?"

  "What do you care? You don't know her. I don't even know her."

  "Your own flesh and blood."

  "No," barked Jaclyn, dropping her hands from his shoulders. "You are my only flesh and blood. You are all that matters. Everything I do, I've done it for you, for us." Jaclyn turned away from her son. "I did not expect this kind of insubordination from you. Not ever."

  "Who am I?" His question was more insistent now. "And don't tell me I'm the son of a merchant."

  "Why are you asking me this?" Jaclyn whirled back to him. "Who got to you? Who told you that you were anything or anyone at all?"

  "An Elf," Ashley said quietly. "One I had never seen before. She told me about this," he retrieved the lump of fungus from his pocket and held it out, balancing it on his palm for Jaclyn to see.

  Jaclyn's eyes dropped to the fungus, and her already pale complexion lost its remaining color. "An Elf." Her brown eyes shuttered, and her neck moved with a swallow. Some inaudible conversation was going on behind those closed lids, or perhaps simply a string of curses. "An Elf from Charra-Rae?" She let out a very long breath and opened her eyes. "Did she have red hair?"

  Ashley was momentarily taken off guard. Who’s the Elf with red hair? "No. She was gray. All gray. Even her skin."

  "Oh." Jaclyn brought her fingertips to her temple. "I know this Elf," she said this more to herself than to Ashley.

  "She told me to ask you who I am." Ashley took his mother by the shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "So I'm asking."

  "I should have known." Jaclyn's mouth formed a flat, unhappy line. "Damn Diruk and his arrogance." She dropped her face, and her mind went inward, the way it did whenever the gears were turning. Something hadn't gone according to plan, so Jaclyn was strategizing, already forming countermeasures.

  Ashley knew the look well.

  He shook her. "Mom! Who am I?" Spittle flew into Jaclyn's face and it brought her focus back to her son.

  She brushed the moisture from her cheek. "You'd better sit down."

  ***

  Bryc had never been good for much other than destroying. His own mother dubbed him ‘The Destroyer’ when he was just a young Nycht. A name that was given in jest ended up aptly describing Bryc's true nature. He wondered how he might have turned out, had his mother not labelled him. Did the nature result in the name, or the name result in the nature?

  But these were secret things. It was an inscrutable, existentialist question, which, when pondered for too long, made Bryc's head hurt. It was better not to think so hard.

  So when Prince Diruk sent his right-hand man to Jaclyn's office to relay the message about King Konig, he bit back a resentful reply about not being a courier.

  He understood why palace couriers couldn't be used for any of Diruk's communications with Jaclyn, but thus far, it had been Jaclyn's irksome Arpak roughneck who had done all the boring passing of messages between the allies.

  Prince Diruk had no love for Nychts, and Bryc knew it well. But Bryc's modus operandi was to let his kind deal with injustices of life in Rodania as they saw fit, Bryc was loyal only to Bryc. The prince needed an intimidator, a powerful hatchet man, and no one was more powerful than Bryc. Their relationship disclosed the duplicitous nature of the prince: using the superior Nycht assets for his own gain, even as he plotted to keep them oppressed. But Diruk's hypocrisy didn't bother Bryc, as long as he was paid on time and handsomely.

  Bryc rounded the corner and strode down the hall toward the foyer in front of Jaclyn's office. The human girl who worked for Jaclyn—–Bryc could never remember her name—–looked up from her work to watch him come. It was subtle, but Bryc didn't miss the moue of disgust that marred the pretty face. How Bryc would not have minded slashing that perfect skin with one of his dewclaws. But there would be trouble with Jaclyn if he followed his impulses, and trouble with Jaclyn was sometimes trouble with Diruk, so trouble was best avoided.

  "It's not a good time," the girl said, visibly cowing as the Nycht filled the hallway with his tyrannizing size. The arches of his wings nearly grazed the ceiling, and his wingtips bumped against the wooden paneling of the hall as he passed.

  Bryc ignored the girl and strode toward the double doors behind which the sounds of an argument could be heard. Bryc paused and tilted his head to listen. How curious, the human pawn is fighting with her lover and mercenary. A smile creased Bryc's face, and the largest scar on his face, which ran from right temple to left jawline and across his upper lip, puckered, exposing his incisor and gumline.

  "Excuse me, I said it's not a good time," the girl at the desk repeated. This time she stood. Though his back was to her, Bryc heard the fabric of her suit jacket brush against the wooden lip of her desk.

  He made a small movement—–splaying his fingers out, palm pointed toward her in a gesture of ‘shut up’. His nearly foot-long dewclaws, razor-sharp and gleaming like obsidian, may have curled inward along with the hand gesture. Bryc wasn't always conscious of what his dewclaws were doing. He oiled and filed them, keeping them sharp not only at the tips, but all the way to the base, like scythe-blades. He used them often to climb, stab, cut. That they were also meters of his emotional state to those who knew him was not evident to Bryc. His dewclaws were his only tell.

  She fell silent.

  Smart girl.

  Bryc frowned and strained his ears. The argument was muffled and too far from the door to make out clearly. He crept forward, pressing one scarred ear against the wood. Snippets of coherent language reached him, but fractured and smothered as Jaclyn and Ashley yelled over one another.

  Bryc closed his eyes. His hearing sharpened. More came through.

  "…everything you've ever asked of me…" This was the Arpak's voice."…lied for you, stolen for you…"

  "…arrogance, following blindl
y…"

  Bryc's smile faded. Jaclyn was Prince Diruk's ally, true, but sooner or later their alliance would crumble. It was Bryc's preference that the alliance ruptured when Diruk willed it to, when the timing was right. Perhaps Bryc would even have a hand in it.

  "…might object to your scheme! …not just your goon…"

  "Stop this now! I command it!"

  "…your son!"

  Bryc's eyes snapped open and he straightened, blinking. A low rumble sounded off deep in his chest. This is news. This is news, indeed. The Arpak mercenary is Jaclyn's boy? Nothing much winded Bryc, but if he'd had a more evolved emotional intelligence than a junkyard dog, he might have been astonished.

  If what he had understood was true, Jaclyn had been lying to the Prince about who Ashley was to her. Bryc didn't care that Ashley and Jaclyn were related, that didn't matter. But why had she lied? Lying to Diruk was lying to Bryc.

  Remember what Diruk said, if Jaclyn was discovered to be…what was the word the prince had used? ‘Deceitful’?

  But there were footsteps now. Angry, fast ones. Coming this way.

  Bryc darted to the side as the door slammed open and Ashley stalked out, clearly fuming.

  Bryc watched the Arpak round the corner without even realizing the huge Nycht was there.

  There was the sound of glass breaking from the office.

  Bryc peered into Jaclyn's place of business, though it was more like a prison, if you asked Bryc. The woman hadn't seen the light of day in years, as far as he knew.

  Jaclyn heaved another breakable item at the wall, and the crystal figurine shattered with an explosive bang, leaving a dent in the wood. Her chest was heaving, her pretty face pink with rage and her teeth bared. She caught sight of Bryc in her periphery.

  "What are you looking at?" she snarled. She snatched another item from her desk, this one an iron paperweight the size of a Maticaw dockrat. She hefted it, preparing to throw and eyeballing Bryc's head, when a shimmer of real fear passed over her face. It was fleeting. She hastily composed herself.

  But Bryc had been trained to spot fear—–to smell it and to use it. She didn't know how much or what Bryc had heard, that much was clear. Probably best to let her think I heard nothing of relevance.

  "Having a bad day?" Bryc's voice was a throaty murmur. He sauntered into the office and closed the door behind him, casual as a Sunday morning.

  "Even the most loyal of partners can sometimes step out of line," Jaclyn said, tugging her vest down and smoothing the velvet. She swept a hand over her hair. Some of the high color had not yet left her cheeks.

  Bryc thought she looked like a girl of seventeen when she was angry. Jaclyn's was another face he wouldn't mind leaving a mark on. It was too perfect, too unspoiled.

  "He did seem rather upset," Bryc observed, his voice almost gentle. "Where do you suppose he's headed in such a… piqued state?" Bryc was so pleased to have found an opportunity to use the word ‘piqued’ that his dewclaws gave a jovial twitch.

  "Nowhere important," Jaclyn said, the words coming out in a rush. She seemed to realize she sounded perturbed and slowed herself down. "He likes to drink at The Oyster & Clam after work. He'll be back before midnight. All will be well."

  "Maybe," Bryc grunted. "But I wonder if you remember what the prince said about the four of us?" Bryc stroked his grizzled chin. "Working together, I mean. How we're only as strong as our weakest link."

  Jaclyn's cheeks drained of color. "Ashley is still trustworthy."

  "That didn't sound like a conversation you have with someone you trust," Bryc intoned, wandering toward the desk. "Forgive me for overhearing, but you were on the emphatic side. Hmmm, not quite the right word. You were on the… vociferous side, let's say." He picked up a weighted quill and fingered the feather tip, feigning disinterest. "It sounded like a…" he paused, theatrically searching for words. "Parting of doctrines, if you will." Bryc had always liked the word 'doctrine'. He wasn't entirely sure if it was appropriate in this instance, but it had a nice ring to it. One of the perks of working for Prince Diruk was the constant exposure to lovely words. "What was it about, I wonder?"

  "Ashley is simply tired of not being let in on the plan," Jaclyn replied, crossing her arms over her chest. She watched as Bryc poked around her desk, picking up chess pieces, putting them back in the wrong place. Jaclyn's upper lip twitched.

  "So did you?"

  "Did I what?"

  "Let him in on the plan?"

  "No, of course not," Jaclyn snapped. "We agreed it was better he wasn't aware of the overall scheme." Her voice calmed and she added, thoughtfully. "He's too good for that." She eyed Bryc, watching for a sign that he'd recognize a barb when it was sent his way.

  Bryc chuckled. "Be that as it may, it seems the lad may need a scaring back into place. What do you think? For his own good?"

  Jaclyn's mouth flattened, and she didn't respond right away. She was squirming mentally, like a worm caught on a hook. Bryc could smell her writhing, smoking thoughts.

  "He'll not be trouble again. I can guarantee it."

  Bryc cocked a cynical eyebrow but remained silent. Her words hung in the air. They were betraying her, exposing her more and more with every moment that wandered past. If Jaclyn didn't want Ashley harmed, it would look as though he meant more to her than she had previously let on. Jaclyn had consistently presented Ashley as a pawn and a bedwarmer, nothing more.

  "Fine," Jaclyn amended with a shrug, but then swallowed with an audible click. She cleared her throat. "Perhaps it is just what he needs."

  "Very well." Bryc put down the letter opener he'd been twirling between his fingers and strode purposefully for the door. He paused and looked over his shoulder. "Oh, by the way, the prince says ‘it's time’."

  There was a sharp intake of breath at this, but Jaclyn did not otherwise react.

  "Bryc," she said just as he reached for the door handle.

  Bryc paused but did not look back.

  "Just a scaring. That's all. None of your getting carried away."

  A smile crossed the Nycht's face, one that did not reach his eyes. "Of course." He swept through the door and let it slam behind him, leaving Jaclyn in her cell to rot.

  As the Nycht took to the air over the trade office, headed for Maticaw, he had every intention of getting ‘carried away’. He'd already secured permission to get carried away from the only one who mattered.

  The prince's words echoed in his mind, what he said after the meeting with Jaclyn where they had first met her henchman and lover—–but apparently not, apparently he is her son; won’t Diruk be pleased to learn she's been caught, and that I’ve already eliminated the problem?

  After that meeting, the prince had said, ‘I don't like him. I can smell a conscience a mile away. If you catch so much as a whiff of artifice on that kid, you end him. He's only good for us so long as he doesn't ask questions, and I know his type. Sooner or later, he'll ask questions.’

  Bryc remembered the moment well, he remembered it because he'd liked the word ‘artifice’. It was a nice word. He wasn't entirely sure what it meant, but he was pretty sure it applied in this case. And if it didn't… well, he wasn't one to carry a dictionary around with him, and better safe than sorry.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Something huge moved in front of Ashley. Like the stormfront rolling in outside, the thing was dark and oppressive, and swept in from out of nowhere. It took a moment for him to piece together what he was looking at through the haze of alcohol, but the jigsaw finally meshed into the puckered and seamed face of Bryc.

  The giant Nycht slid onto the stool at the adjoining corner of the bar, the wooden seat giving a creak of protest under the warrior's weight.

  Despite everything, Ashley found the will to be surprised by the goon's sudden arrival. Glancing at the other patrons in the bar, a flock of them now seeking shelter from the storm, he could see that they were all watching Bryc and wondering if the storm had just come inside. Ashley wondered drunkenly if
they weren't right.

  "You lost?" Ashley slurred as he swung his head around to meet the dark eyes glinting from beneath Bryc's craggy brows.

  Bryc's face split into a smile that would shame some of the sharks prowling the harbor. Another squeak issued from the stool as Bryc leaned in close enough for Ashley to feel his hot breath pass by his face. The stench of partially digested onion and garlic had Ashley fighting back the urge to retch.

  "Ohhh," he purred, his voice sounding like a gravel tumbler, "I've found what I'm looking for."

  "What's this then?" Ashley growled at a volume only a drunk would think was reasonable. "Jaclyn sent you here to bring me home? Talk some sense into me? Maybe… maybe teach me a lesson on the way back?" Ashley sneered.

  Bryc's ugly face seemed ready to split, he was smiling so big. "Yeah," he said in a voice so soft it was barely audible over the mutter of patrons and the rain pelting the warped glass windows. "Something like that."

  It would be just like Jaclyn to send Bryc, someone I have no love for, to slap me around a little after my display of insurrection. Not that there are a lot of other messengers she could send who are actually capable of 'slapping' me around. In retrospect, the prehistoric-looking Nycht was the perfect choice to send after her wayward son.

  Ashley almost laughed at his own inner dialogue. He dipped his head down and sighed.

  It was an exaggerated posture of surrender. A ploy to put Bryc off his guard.

  It almost worked.

  Ashley stood up as fast as his inebriated brain and body would allow, knocking over his stool. He'd intended to bolt for the door, but ended up clutching the bar for support instead, as the world suddenly spun and tilted.

  Too much to drink. It never fully hits until I get to my feet. Ashley moaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

  Bryc chuckled and didn't move, still smiling.

  That quiet, calm mockery stung Ashley like a sloppy smack across the mouth. His eyes flew open, and he opened his mouth to insult Bryc, jabbing a finger toward his nose. But language failed him in that moment.