In the process of counting out Aiestal currency, Jenoc noticed something glittering in the back of his closet. He reached for it and withdrew a small geode not much larger than the coins he had been counting. Although pretty, geodes weren’t particularly valuable except as charms sold to ignorant peasants by unscrupulous merchants. This particular geode had cost half an Aiestal, which was about five times its real worth.
Kairah had bought it for him at a human’s harvest festival when they had been children, a memory Jenoc realized he had not revisited for quite some time—perhaps in decades. Their first year living in the village of Taratra, only a year before he and Kairah would be orphaned. Jenoc stared at the geode for a long moment before carefully slipping it into the pocket of his traveling cloak. He wasn’t sure why, it seemed foolish and sentimental, but somehow appropriate.
Jenoc’s thoughts drifted afar while he mechanically went about preparing for his journey. Although his mind touched a few more times on the scene of his parent’s murder, he didn’t have any further difficulty keeping his emotions in check. As he left, he gravitated toward Kairah’s garden and ended up in front of the Spirit Lily.
Is she still safe?
She is too far away for me to touch her mind, the Spirit Lily replied.
Jenoc refused to call the thing Aeva like Kairah did. It was a childish notion for Kairah to believe the lily was connected to their dead mother, and he was disappointed she referred to the flower by a name. Why did you insist on keeping her location secret from me?
Because Kairah did not wish you to find her.
And had I not cared that my sister treasures you? Had I threatened to destroy you? Would you have told me then?
No, the Spirit Lily responded without hesitation.
Jenoc hadn’t been expecting that. Is not survival your paramount instinct?
It is, the Spirit Lily responded.
Then why would you be willing to risk yourself for her? Jenoc asked, genuinely curious.
Because I love her, the flower plainly replied.
That was odd, Jenoc thought. He knew Spirit Lilies had a measure of intelligence, and an affinity for their caretakers was not uncommon, but this felt more complex—more Allosian. He dismissed the oddity and said with his thoughts, I also love her.
The flower said nothing.
Slipping his hand into his cloak pocket to feel the geode, Jenoc said, When you can communicate with her again, please tell her I said so.
I will.
Jenoc nodded to himself, slipped his hand out of his cloak pocket, and left for Aiestal.
The pressure on Ezra’s stomach had increased and was affecting his breathing. “Dammit boy!” he snapped over his shoulder. “Do you have to hold on so tightly?”
“Sorry.” Mull sheepishly loosened his grip around Ezra’s waist.
Ezra inhaled deeply to catch his breath and said, “It’s ok, Mull. I’m sorry.”
He scolded himself for taking such a tone with the boy-man. Doing so often resulted in Mulladin bursting into tears. But keeping an even tone with him had become increasingly difficult as his worry for Jekaran festered.
They were riding cross-country on a well-trained, tan-furred ghern that had probably belonged to an animal trainer. Ezra had stolen it two days ago when they left Rasha. This ghern was a decided improvement over the one he had stolen from Jeryn. That beast had been foul-tempered, obstinate, and stinky. If Jekaran were here, he would say that it was a perfect match for me. The thought twisted his already strained heartstrings, which he imagined were so taut they could be strummed like a harp.
Damn me for a fool, he thought, his new mantra for whenever his worry began to get the better of him. What had he been thinking sending Jekaran on the road with that cursed sword-talis? He had thought himself cunning for doing so, but now he just felt stupid. He had been a prideful fool, and it very well could have cost him his nephew’s life.
What would he do if Jekaran were dead? Anarilee, her soul rest with the peace of the righteous, would be disappointed in him. He had disappointed his sister far too many times in life, and had sworn he would never do so again when he decided to raise Jekaran. Now he had failed. His hubris, which he thought had died with Argentus, had led his nephew to his death.
You don’t know that, his own voice of logic soothed.
Don’t I?
The people he had paid for information confirmed Kaul had been in Rasha around the same time Jekaran would’ve been there. In fact, the maniac murdered three guardsmen. Well, at least Jekaran found Irvis, he told himself. Of course there wasn’t any way he could really know that, but the absence of his friend and the reports of Kaul’s quick departure said as much. Rasheera, please protect him, he prayed for what was sure to be the one thousandth time.
Ezra fingered his earring, the displacement talis, as he stared at the endless grassland ahead. He wished he could use it to teleport from city to city, but the talis wasn’t good for long distance travel. Doing so would cost far more Apeiron than the talis could hold. It wouldn’t be a problem if there were Apeira wells spaced at regular intervals along his course of travel, but of course that was ridiculous. Such a thing was not to be found in all of Shaelar, though it would be wonderfully useful. No, his earring was no good for extended travel. Ezra imagined it was crafted for the purpose of escape or advantage on the battlefield.
Besides, he had two people to worry about, which cost twice the Apeiron.
He shot a glance over his shoulder at Mull. He couldn’t see his face as the boy-man had buried it in Ezra’s back. At first, he had enjoyed the novelty of riding ghern-back, but Mull’s excitement for the adventure of it long since abated. Now he was afraid of the speed at which they were traveling, and well he should be. It was precarious, at best, to ride a ghern so hard off-road. It had been a minor miracle that they hadn’t broken the beast’s leg, or their own necks.
Thank Rasheera for that small mercy.
Something in the distance caught Ezra’s attention. It was a shape on the horizon, one that appeared to be moving toward him. A few moments later, he recognized it as a rider. Someone appeared to be in as big a hurry as he was, else why would they risk galloping across country? Ezra entertained the idea of changing course to avoid the rider, but his sense of urgency to find Jek prevailed, and he decided there was no time to be cautious.
Another worry settled in on Ezra. What if the rider was Kaul? His right hand fell to the handle of a sword he had stolen in Jeryn, a fine blade made of perfectly balanced steel. The effort of finding such a weapon had cost him some valuable time, but he learned long ago that one thing a man should never bargain for was the price of a weapon. Well, he hadn’t exactly bargained for it.
The rider drew closer and he could now see that it was not Kaul. Not unless Kaul had ballooned and started balding —IRVIS!
Ezra reined his ghern in so that the beast drew up short. It was panting hard, and Ezra knew that if he continued to press it so fiercely that it would be dead soon. Apparently, Irvis had spotted him as well, for the man galloped straight toward him.
“Argentus!” Irvis called. He was waving a red cloth above his head to catch Ezra’s attention. It was an odd thing to do, but then again that was his friend.
“Irvis!” Ezra called as the man closed. His ghern looked to be in a similar state as Ezra’s, although that may have more to do with carrying Irvis’ weight than the speed at which it was running.
Irvis drew rein and stopped less than a dozen paces away. Ezra trotted his ghern over to the man and gripped his forearm in an affectionate salute.
“Argentus,” Irvis panted as though he had been the one running and not his ghern.
“My friend.” Ezra forced a smile. “Where’s my nephew?”
“I left him on the road to Imaris.”
“Praise the goddess!” Ezra almost shouted, and relief like cool water washed away his fear. “Is he with a girl?”
Irvis nodded. “Maely.”
Mull ma
de a loud noise pregnant with the same sweet relief Ezra was himself feeling.
He couldn’t stop smiling. “I thought Kaul had found him.”
“He’s not chasing you?” Irvis asked, his tone sounding confused.
Ezra shook his head. “He somehow puzzled out what I had done, but that doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is that my boy is alive!” Irvis’ concerned expression killed his relief and his chest tightened again. “Irvis?”—he asked carefully—“What’s wrong?”
“Argentus,” Irvis said soberly. “Jekaran has bonded the sword.”
Ezra’s heart sank.
In a way, it would have been better if Jekaran had died.
Jove shook with ecstasy as he wrung the last bit of life from the creature. It was something the likes of which he had never seen, truly a thing of wonder. A gigantic, living statue made of crystal. Well, it had been a living statue.
He had encountered it while moving west across the Ulakel plain. At least, that’s where he thought he had been—Jove hadn’t seen a map in years. Instead, he had lived his last few years drifting from village to village, leaving abruptly whenever suspicions began to turn the people against him. He laughed to himself, thinking of what he would have done then if he had the power he wielded now, the power of death itself.
He was death.
When Jove had first encountered the crystal statue, it had completely ignored him. In fact, it would’ve smashed him if Jove hadn’t quickly moved out of its way. At first, he wasn’t sure that he could devour something so large, and, truly, it had taken him days to do so, but as soon as he lashed out with one of his tendrils, he knew the crystal man was his.
More delightfully surprising than eating it—that’s how Jove now thought of this strange thing that he could do—was the potent life the crystal man had contained. Siphoning it had been pure joy, more thrilling than anything he had ever done to his dolls. Trees and animals and even people couldn’t compare to the potent, pristine succulence of the life inside the crystal man. He would need to find more.
Jove stood and looked down at the sharp crystal shards, the only remnants of the living statue. As soon as he had begun to eat it, cracks had spider-webbed all across its glass skin; it finally shattered halfway through the feeding.
That’s when Jove had accidentally cut himself, when he had been foraging through the shards. It had been a cut across his wrist, and at first Jove worried that it might bleed him out. But nothing happened, not a single drop of blood leaked from his veins.
Remembering the wonder of that moment, Jove pressed again on the bloodless cut. I can no longer feel pain, he realized with a thrill of excitement, and he felt like doing a jig across the remaining shards. Discomfort from the Hunger was his only concern now, an emptiness at his core, afflicting him until he filled it with the lives of other creatures.
He had been surprised when he discovered that each form of life had its own flavor—all delicious—but they differed in degrees of sating his Hunger. Plants and trees would hold him over for a while, and animals were a wonderful appetizer, but people, they tasted the best. Well, he had thought that up until he had feasted upon the life that animated the crystal man. That satisfied him in a way nothing else had.
Where could he find more of that delectable, potent life? Everything else paled in comparison to it. He wanted it. He needed more. It was addicting, and Jove knew that he was not a man capable of defying addiction. He giggled to himself, giddy with the full, satisfied warmth within his core. But his giddiness faded as he returned to the question of where to find more like the crystal man. That’s when something caught his eye, a shimmer of purple amidst the transparent shards. Jove walked over to it, ignoring the sharp crystal shards tearing the flesh of his feet.
He reached down to pick it up, an amethyst stone fitting in his upraised palm. He squinted in hard concentration, then smiled. The jewel had been the crystal man’s eye.
He laughed as he put the jewel up to his face, pretending it was his eye. It was a piece of an Apeira well, something found only in talises. Oddly, the amethyst color had dulled and looked to Jove as though it was changing color. Green, the stone was slowly turning green—like his eyes. What did that mean?
Jove shook his head. He didn’t know much of talis craft, but he did know the things drew their power from the Apeira wells cities were usually built around. So that means the crystal man was a talis, he marveled. He had never seen a talis so large and so complex. That’s when he made the connection. The life inside the crystal man was Apeiron. Jove had been feasting on Apeiron, and it was wonderful!
He giggled with delight.
He just needed to find an Apeira well. How much could he draw from one of those! After all, they were said to contain an infinite supply.
The thought excited him. There were plenty of wells in Shaelar, plenty of places for him to find the maddeningly addicting life—plenty of places for him to feed. There would be people too, he mused, wonderful appetizers that he would drain on his way to the well.
Jove sucked the last bit of life—no Apeiron—from the shattered crystal man. Then he turned and continued walking over the plain, the grass dying with his every step.
He stopped, noticing the circumference around his steps had increased. It now killed in a radius of at least five feet, with Jove at the center of his circle of death.
Interesting development, he giggled. Apparently the more life he consumed, the more death he could cause. He was a god now, an angel of chaos.
He was death.
Jove looked to the horizon. Already the Hunger had begun to return. That was another change, for usually he could go hours in between major feedings. After he drained that forest, he had actually gone a whole day without the Hunger rising inside him.
Yes, Jove would need to find an Apeira well, and soon. And for that, he would need to find a city, a large city. He giggled again as he fantasized about just how many people he could devour at once, especially now that his power had grown.
How much would it grow?
How much could he eat?
He wasn’t sure, but he was going to find out.
Jove trundled down the hill toward the outpost. It was a plain thing, tents surrounded by a palisade wall hewn from the lumber of a nearby forest. Maybe someone inside the soldier’s camp could tell him where the nearest Apeira well was located. It would be in a large city, of course, but Jove still didn’t know where he was or which direction he should go.
The Hunger churned inside of him, hollowing him out from the center of his chest until his entire body trembled under the stress of his need. He licked his dry, cracked lips. It had only been a couple of days since he fed on the crystal man, and he had made sure to keep up a steady diet of convenient flora and fauna. He’d even happened upon a young hunter, but none of that satisfied him–not any more. Not since he’d fed on that pure, succulent Apeiron. Now he craved it with a hot lust stronger than anything he had ever felt for his dolls.
He was twenty feet away from the palisade wall when someone called out at him. Jove stopped and looked around until he found who was shouting. It was a guard standing on the platform of a wooden watchtower rising from within the camp to loom over the wooden pickets of the palisade wall.
“WHO GOES THERE?” the guard repeated impatiently.
Jove had to work to hide his smile, confining it to a mere twitching at the corner of his mouth. He had rehearsed what he would say, and was ready with an answer. “A humble traveler waylaid on the road some miles back and stripped of all my belongings. I only seek a place to rest, and food.”
He almost sniggered at that last part, but Jove restrained his laughter. When he was a lad, a troupe of acrobats, actors, and singers had traveled through his village. They were treated to food and supplies by the mayor in exchange for a single performance to which Jove’s parents had taken him. Since then, Jove had been enamored with the arts, and for the better part of his boyhood years diligently practiced in t
he hopes that one day he, too, could become a trouper. Those dreams had long since rusted as the compulsions of his dark side consumed him. Still, all those years of practicing proved useful whenever Jove needed to lie about his crimes, or put on a false face of harmlessness in order to lure a victim away from safety. He was a good actor, as good as any trouper.
“This is a military encampment, traveler,” the guard called down, “Not a Rasheeran monastery.” The guard paused, and his tone softened. “I can allow you in to root through the leftovers of this morning’s mess if you’re not too proud for it.”
Jove had to work in order to keep his grateful smile from becoming a victorious grin. “You are too kind.”
The guard half turned to call down at someone inside the palisade but paused and turned back to stare down at him. “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded, sympathetic tone all but gone. “You look sick.”
Jove frowned. “I am famished is all,” he said.
The soldier leaned over the rail of his watchtower platform for a better look. After a moment, he shook his head. “No, it’s more than that. You look like you have plague.”
Jove frowned. His acting skills may be excellent, but a bard couldn’t put on a true performance without a costume, and he had nothing with which to hide his pallid face and mange-like scalp. He’d discovered that if he went too long without feeding, his hair fell out, and sores appeared all over his body.
It’d been over a day since he ate the young hunter, and his siphoning Apeiron had somehow accelerated his metabolism. He needed to feed more and more frequently; the memory of that sweet, potent Apeiron haunted his every waking moment.
Jove almost reached out to feed on the guard, but restrained himself with the reminder he needed directions. “Please…” Jove began.
“No!” the guard snapped. “I can’t let you in.”
The Lure of Fools Page 28
