by Kyle West
The guard’s tone said he was suspicious of Lucian’s story. Serah had warned him not to say she had led him here, but Lucian had the feeling that this guard would accept nothing but the truth.
“I had help,” he said. “I won’t say who, though.”
“We’re not letting you in unless you say who, Off-Worlder.”
“I told them I wouldn’t say who they were. I’m just trying to honor my word.”
The two guards looked at each other a moment before the first guard turned back to him. “Was her name Serah?”
Lucian remained silent.
“That answers my question. We know of her. It is forbidden to speak or deal with frays, Off-Worlder.”
“I didn’t know that,” Lucian said. “She led me as far as the valley, stopping at the sign. She pointed me the rest of the way.”
The first guard watched him for a long moment. That guard held his fate in his hands. With just a word, he could give him life or death. He was tempted to argue his case, but it was better to hold his tongue. He’d learned from the Transcends that sometimes the best thing you could do was keep your mouth shut.
After a painstaking half minute or so, the guard licked his lips again. “Well, at least you’re being honest. Our scouts reported a new arrival farther up the rift, along with who he was traveling with.”
Lucian wondered what else they knew. Could they know about the wyverns, or how he’d killed them? He didn’t see how it was possible.
Lucian retrieved the wyvern fang tied behind his waist, which was almost long enough to drag along the ground. He held it up high and hoped the guards could see it well enough in the gathering darkness.
“I was attacked by two wyverns near the Snake Pass. A nearby landslide roused them. I fought them off and harvested one of the fangs, on the advice of the fray.” It felt wrong to call her that, but it seemed the guard expected it of him. “She said such a thing would be of value to you.”
Again, the two guards stared down at him. They stared so long that Lucian feared that they wouldn’t answer him. Had all this been for nothing? His heart pounded in his chest. It was getting cold. Even if this valley was safer than higher altitudes, he did not want to pass the night in the open.
Keeping his mouth shut was difficult, but he reached for his Focus without touching his ether. He needed calm, and decided the risk was worth it. He watched the guards carefully, to see if there was any reaction. Their faces remained stoic. Lucian didn’t think they could detect him doing this. In fact, they didn’t seem like mages at all. Certainly, not everyone on this world would be one.
“Wait here,” the guard finally said.
He disappeared behind the wall, while the other stood watch, wary of any move.
Lucian waited a good ten minutes before the wooden gate creaked open, revealing a delegation of four men, all dressed in leathers and wielding shockspears. They walked forward as a single unit, though one of them hung back a few paces, older and prouder than the rest. He had long, shaggy hair the color of ash, and in addition to his leathers, he wore thick necklaces of bone and had earrings crafted of what appeared to be wyvern talons, at least a quarter of a meter long. In a higher gravity, those talons would have been unbearable to wear. His sharp nose reminded Lucian of a hawk, and his eyes were similarly shrewd, like a bird of prey.
He took quick note of the other men surrounding him, strong warriors all, well-muscled and having the look of discipline. But one of those guards stood closer to the leader, stronger and taller than the rest, with skin of onyx and a square jaw that seemed to be cut from granite. The eyes that peered at Lucian were not friendly.
“Hands where we can see them,” the man said, the command brooking no argument.
Lucian held up his hands. “I have no weapons. They took my spear on the barge.”
They patted him down all the same, making quick work of it. The dark-skinned man was rougher than the rest, even pushing him away lightly. Lucian almost stumbled. His eyes were cutting. What was this guy’s deal?
“Don’t try anything,” the guard said. “We’ll counter you faster than a sand shrike.”
“Didn’t plan on it.”
The guard grunted and motioned the others to stand back. At this moment, the long-haired leader stepped forward, arms crossed below his broad, hairy chest. Age hadn’t done much to take his musculature away. His face was stoic, appraising, and weather-beaten.
“Let me see the fang, young man.”
Lucian held it out, but the old man made no move to take it. He extended his palm, which became wrapped in an aura of blue light. Lucian’s eyes widened at the unexpected streaming of magic, but the man was not attacking him. He was drawing the fang toward him – slowly and carefully, so that it landed bottom-side down. Once he grasped it, he inspected it all around, before giving a curt nod.
“Unspoiled,” he said, approvingly. “They often bite themselves before the moment of death. It’s as if they know why we hunt them.”
He nodded at one of the guards, who took the fang and ran back toward the gate.
“Hey,” Lucian said. “That was mine.”
“Are you saying you wish to have your gift back?”
Gift? Now, Lucian was in an awkward position. It would look bad if he asked for it back. And what would he do with it, anyway?
“It’s yours,” Lucian said. “Now, I need—”
The man held up a hand, cutting him off. “Talk less, son. You’ll dig less holes that way.”
He nodded to his guards, who seemed to relax a bit. The only one who didn’t was the tall, lead guard, who stood closer.
“The gate guard told me you killed two wyverns,” the long-haired man said.
Lucian nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“But I only counted one fang.”
“I left the rest for the one who helped me.”
The old man seemed to stiffen at that, and his face became strangely sad. “Serah, you mean.”
“Yes.”
He gave a chuckle. “She made out like a bandit, then. She probably followed you to see how the fight would go, expecting you to fall and take your things. She must have been very desperate to do that.”
“I had nothing to take. I think she was just trying to help.”
“She would do that, too. If she felt the inclination.” The old man scrutinized him. “Your story will be verified, of course. Our scouts have already reported the landslide at the Snake Pass. Now, you didn’t happen upon these dead wyverns on the way down here, did you?”
“Of course not,” Lucian said, hotly. “I killed them myself.”
“Not an easy thing to do, that. Our greatest warriors have trouble with even one wyvern, though you rarely find one on its own. The husband and wife always hunt together.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I’ll tell you what,” the old man said. “The truth will be known in time. Until then, I have a cot and a hut for you. And yes, three square meals a day.” He held up a finger. “On one condition.”
Lucian arched an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“Two conditions, actually. That your worth is tested by becoming one of my watchmen.”
The men around him stared at their leader in shock, the big guard even shooting Lucian a scowl. The old man carried on, regardless.
“And the other condition is that you take a bath and shave that god-awful beard.”
Lucian couldn’t help but smile. “Done. And done.”
“Very well. Then welcome to Kiro Village. There is one last thing: our Elder of Medicine needs to check you for signs of fraying. But you don’t have the look of a fray to me.”
“Elder,” the black guard said. “Is it really wise to give one so young so much responsibility as a watchman, especially given the dubious nature of his story?”
“If he’s lying, then that will become obvious quite soon, and in an embarrassing way, I imagine. Any man who can take down two wyverns and live to tell the tale should wipe the floo
r with any of my warriors.” The leader shot a glance at the guard. “Even you, Captain Fergus.”
Fergus’s face became a mask of anger, while his meaty hand tightened on his shockspear. No, Lucian did not like that. Not at all. But he didn’t want to correct the Elder.
“Come,” the Elder said. “My name is Ytrib, the High Elder of Kiro.” He turned to Fergus. “See that he’s fed and kept separate for now. In two hours, he can give his Accounting.”
Accounting? Lucian didn’t like the sound of that. But it wasn’t as if he had a choice.
Fergus clenched his jaw, but in the end, nodded his head regally. “Of course, Elder Ytrib.”
When Elder Ytrib turned back for the gate and the other guards followed, Fergus held back for a moment, staring daggers at Lucian. “I’ve got my eye on you, Off-Worlder. Perhaps he believes your story, but I’m not so easily swayed.”
“You can verify my story yourself. Go to the Snake Pass and you’ll find the wyvern bodies on the rocks.”
“I need not do that,” Fergus said, with a dangerous smile. “As captain of the Kiro Watch, I’ll be personally responsible for your training. I doubt you could last five minutes against even the least of my warriors.” He eyed Lucian disdainfully. “You have the look of softness about you. And soft men don’t survive Psyche long.”
With a smug expression, he turned and marched back toward the gate, where the other guards were waiting to escort Lucian.
Lucian sighed. Things just couldn’t get better without getting worse.
6
Lucian walked through the gates of Kiro Village to find something far from expected.
These were no mere cave-dwellers. There were buildings, several dozen of them straddling two sides of a deep, underground stream. Most of those buildings were of mud-toned brick, but there were also larger tents and pavilions, as well as hollowed spaces and tunnels in the cavern’s sides. Fires and torches lent an orangey ambiance, though that light was not enough to completely conquer the gloom. In the cool, damp air wafted the aroma of roasting meat and spices, setting Lucian’s stomach to growling. The stream ran the length of the cavern, deeper into the mountain, its source apparently a spring. The village lay on both sides of that stream, on various cliffs and tiers, connected by a bewildering network of platforms, ladders, boardwalks, and rope bridges. A particularly long rope bridge connected both sides of the village that were separated by the stream.
At the very back of the cave was a large brick building, the only one that was two stories. This village had to hold at least a hundred people, if not more.
“This way, Off-Worlder,” Captain Fergus said, leading the way and using his spear as a walking stick. Unlike Lucian’s old spear on the Isle of Madness, his appeared to be made from bronze, and it almost certainly didn’t self-retract.
Lucian hurried after him.
A gaggle of laughing children ran across their path, all looking at Lucian. Two women paused their work drawing water at the stream, watching Lucian go by while speaking in hushed whispers. Two old men sat on the porch of a nearby house on stilts. They were smoking something or other, while following Lucian’s passage with their eyes.
“I take it this place doesn’t really get off-worlders,” Lucian said, trying to break the ice.
Fergus remained silent.
Lucian cleared his throat. “Where are you taking me, Fergus?”
“Captain Fergus to you. We have an empty hut in the back of the village. You can stay there. For now.”
His tone clearly implied Lucian wouldn’t last long. Lucian bit back the sharp remark that wanted to come. He had to be on his best behavior, and he needed this place to survive. After he was settled in, he could figure out his next move.
Their path wound through the left bank of Kiro, a trail of wooden slats buried in dirt forming the main drag. They passed numerous homes and buildings. They also passed several of the town’s inhabitants, most of them dressed in well-worn leather clothing. Some also wore clothing that seemed to be made from a material similar to cotton or flax, if more roughly made than what Lucian was used to seeing. All they had here were the resources of this world, along with the ingenuity to make something of them. Lucian was further impressed when his path took them by a water mill, after which was a steep drop ending in a waterfall.
The waterfall tumbled into an underground lake, around which were a few more buildings, but the torchlight ended there, probably signifying the end of Kiro. The larger, two-story building was on the opposite bank, and it seemed one could reach it by taking the path by the mill, toward the long rope bridge.
They descended a steep set of steps that took them to the cavern floor. They were deep enough in the cave that it would have been pitch black if not for the copious amount of burning torches. Fergus led Lucian to the very last building, what Lucian suspected was the least desirable home in the village, since it was the farthest from everything.
“This is it,” Fergus said. “I hope it’ll do.”
“It beats sleeping outside.”
“Humph. Well, you can put your things . . .” Fergus looked him over, before realizing Lucian didn’t have any things. “You can put yourself inside until it’s time for you to give your Accounting.”
“What’s the Accounting, again?”
“It’s your chance to address yourself to the community, and the Elder Council decides whether or not you can stay.”
“If I stay, will you stop calling me Off-Worlder at least?”
“You’ve already been accorded more respect than you’re due. Off-Worlder.”
“What do you have against me, Fergus?”
His expression darkened. “Captain Fergus. I will tell you straight up. I don’t believe a word of what you’ve said. What are you, sixteen in standard years?”
“Twenty-one. Maybe twenty-two, I don’t know.”
“Really?” This news seemed to be a shock to him. “And an Earther by the sound of your accent.”
“Have you met many Earthers, Captain?”
“One too many,” he said, drolly. “Get yourself cleaned up. When using your chamber pot, make sure you’re well downstream of where folks draw their water. Once done, come to the bonfire outside the meeting hall.”
“Is that the big building?”
“Yes, the big building. You have an hour. Don’t be late.”
Fergus left, and Lucian was glad for it. He hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with him much longer.
He went inside the hut and streamed a light sphere, finding the inside to be surprisingly accommodating. There was a small table and chair, carved with able skill and craftsmanship, if not much artistry, and on top of the table stood several candles. The cot along the wall looked quite tempting, and Lucian had to stop himself from lying down. If he did that, he wasn’t going to be waking up for a long time.
What did Elder Ytrib expect of him? Apparently, the fang wasn’t enough of a ticket of admittance. His stomach churned at the thought of talking in front of the entire village, but he had certainly been through worse. Alone in this hut, his false bravado meant nothing. Soon enough, they’d find out the fraud he was. Captain Fergus had mentioned pitting him against some of his warriors. Surely that couldn’t be happening tonight. If it did, then he would be out on his ass within a couple of hours.
Even if he didn’t have to prove himself in battle, he was expected to speak in front of everyone. He’d never been one for speeches, and his throat was raw from all the talking he had done with Serah. After not using his voice for so long, his speech was a bit rough. First impressions were everything, and it was important that this community accept him . . . at least for now. The alternative was starvation and death. That was, if he wasn’t killed by a fray or wyvern first.
He pushed these thoughts from his mind as he streamed a small bit of heat into the candle wick, allowing the sphere to wink out. He used that candle to light the others, finding a leather tunic, pants, and boots waiting for him by the hammock. Ho
w had they had time to prepare all this? Things seemed to work fast around here. He just hoped the clothing fit him. On the table was a bowl and a straight razor, seemingly made from flint. There was a bowl of . . . something . . . next to the razor. It looked like lard. It seemed Elder Ytrib had been quite serious about the beard coming off tonight.
Lucian shaved using the paltry light of the candles. He had applied the animal fat and got the idea to use the surface of the lake outside to see his reflection. The water was smooth enough to somewhat see what he was doing, though he had to stream a light sphere again to do it. He had to go slowly, to ensure he didn’t cut himself. He tried to ignore some women drawing water near the waterfall who seemed to be looking his way. Well, he was downstream, so his hair wouldn’t float toward them. He had already lost most of it to the dark void of the cave.
Once done, he was surprised at how clean-shaven he was. The stone blade was sharp and well-made. The face staring back from the lake’s surface shocked him. He was rail-thin, with new lines that made him look five years older. How had Fergus ever thought he was sixteen? He looked thirty. The man staring back was no longer the boy who had left Earth. He’d come a long way, but he still had so much farther to go.
That was, of course, only if he could survive the Mad Moon.
The two women by the waterfall had left, leaving the lakefront empty. He retrieved his clean clothes from inside the hut and placed them on the shore, letting his light sphere wink out. Then, in the darkness, he stripped off his clothes and slipped into the lake. The water was colder than anything he had ever felt since Volsung, but he needed a bath. He washed himself as best as he could without the aid of soap. Once done, he went to the shore and stood naked and shivering, wondering how he would dry himself. He settled for swiping with his hands. He couldn’t stand the cold air any longer, so he stepped into his new clothes. They were rough and itchy, but infinitely better than the disgusting prison jumpsuit he had been wearing. He wasn’t sure what to do with his old clothes. They needed to be burned, but he set them on the chair in the hut. Maybe someone could find a use for them.
