His hair was dark as umber, so he wasn’t Glaiddish. Glaiddish had blonde hair—except for Lady Eridene. But the boy didn’t have the fair, pale complexion of a Jaypan, or Toran’s tear-shaped black eyes. Two small hoops of steel pierced the boy’s right ear.
Which Kingdom wore hoops like that?
Toran burst through the door. “What’s happening?” he sniffed. “Beanie? Why’s it so quiet in here?”
Lady Eridene sharply backed away, knocking into Jaime.
“He’s a Larfene!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Leave alone!”
All of them spun around.
The little old man blocked the door, a rusty butcher’s knife trembling in his hand. Jaime held up his hands for peace, but the old man kept advancing. Poor Moderna sobbed out of his throat.
“He evil, he evil. I should have kill him, chop up him inside my dumplings and feed to guaimon, evil spirits! Make them all go away from Uji house!”
“Ew!” Eridene and Toran cried together.
The man swiped his knife at them. Jaime drew his fan, slashing it out an arc to guide the precision of his air currents. A blade of air knocked the knife out of the owner’s hand.
Jaime leapt up.
Caught it.
Eyes shooting wide, the old man tried to hobble out in an escape. Toran blocked the curtained doorway with his belly.
“Not so fast, buddy.”
“Help! Help, Prince of Jaypes!” the man cried. “Eeeeeeeee!”
Jaime pointed the knife at the cage. “Where did you find him?”
“Not my fault!” the man croaked. “I minding own business, then guaimon came in demanding food. I told him we closed, but he gave me evil eye! So I, very very scared, offer him dumplings. When he not looking, I powder his soup! Please, it self-defense!”
Jaime blinked. “Powder his soup?”
Eridene crossed her arms. “Hold on, a Larfene would never act so dishonorably.”
“Not this one! He dangerous—stink of black blood like demon!”
“What were you going to do with him?” said Jaime.
The dumpling owner covered his face. “Please, I too afraid to kill him. His blood is cursed. Bad luck. I swear on your Jaypan god!”
Toran bellowed something in Kaipponese.
“Please, no hurt Uji! I only going to sell him in the black markets. You know, ones around the western coast. Get rid of him fast. I imagine Her Excellency the Shogun would pay a fortune and put him in a garden cage, where he belongs. Let Shogun take care of bad guaimon—”
“He’s not a guaimon,” Lady Eridene insisted. “He’s a Larfene. You’ll curse yourself for caging one like this.”
The man covered his face in despair. “I no know what to do—afraid take him out of cage!”
Jaime spoke up. “I’ll let him out! Okay? Just don’t tell anyone the Prince of Jaypes was here!”
The dumpling owner nodded, crying silently. “Suki, suki. Please, quick.”
Jaime turned around to survey the cage’s lock—and started.
It was empty.
But the lock was still bolted.
“He’s gone!” Jaime cried.
“That’s impossible.” Lady Eridene spun around. “We were standing here the whole time!”
“Wow,” Toran exhaled. “Grandba was right.”
The old man blanched. “See what Uji tell you! He demon! Guaimon! He murder us all!”
His friends split, Toran behind Lady Eridene as snatched the butcher knife out of Jaime’s hand. The old man hung little silk-enclosed charms around all doors, clasping his hands, sobbing out prayers in Kaipponese.
Jaime’s hackles rose.
No one had ever said anything about Larfenes and magical abilities. But didn’t he see evil things in the Krete Forests? And what did Achuros say their first day inside the Library of Nandros?
A whole world exists out there that you don’t know about.
He hurried back to the entrance. A man-sized hooded shape flitted behind a cluster of boulders. Perhaps it was the trick of the slate evening light, but the Larfene’s shadow was warped like a bear’s—or perhaps a large feline’s.
Jaime held onto his medallion tightly, put one foot out the threshold.
“Wait!”
Every heartbeat a tiny explosion in his head.
“I’m the Prince of Jaypes! A friend.”
The air dropped in temperature. Infinite blades of grass swayed. It was like the winds were bowing—or cowering—before whatever hid in front of him, something stained with blood and death.
His animal instincts squirmed at him to flee.
What if the dumpling owner was right, what if you should’ve listened—
The stranger stepped back out.
The passing clouds washed jagged shards of light against a sword and a quiver of arrows strapped to his back. Neither were there earlier.
Eridene and Toran jogged to catch up to Jaime’s side. The Larfene eyed them one-by-one. His gaze rested on Jaime last of all.
“Nìmzh jadì im’jin?”
Tendrils of energy stirred in Jaime’s avai.
Ancient Empyrean.
Achuros once said that was the forgotten language of the spirit realm—a language of power.
“Lady Glaidde, Lady Glaidde . . . ” Eridene pressed her hands to her head. “We’re talking to a living, breathing Larfene. It’s like we’re living the Legend again.”
Jaime took a deep breath. “The old man—he didn’t mean you any harm. He was just afraid. You’re safe now.”
“I know.”
All of them gasped.
“Mimi. Thank you.”
Jaime scrambled for words. “The old man said you tried to attack him . . . Is that true?”
A cunning smile glinted behind the hood. “You tell me what you think is true, Prince of Jaypes. I appreciate by sword and blood if you tell no one of this encounter. Now I must be going.”
The young man swerved around to leave, but Eridene surged forward to block him. Jaime tried to pull her back by impulse and missed.
“Wait! What are you doing here? Who are you? How did you get here? Are there others of you in Jaypes?”
The stranger paused. “No, my lady. No other Larfenes here. Too cold.”
The humor in his voice broke the tension. Jaime inched forward and patted his chest.
“I’m Jamian.” He pointed to his left. “That’s Eridene—”
“Lady Eridene of the House Swansea,” she corrected. “The Highlord of Rainmere is my father.”
“—and Toran Binn of Kaippon. They’re my friends.”
The stranger glanced at the rippling clouds for a second.
“I am Arrys.”
“Wowie,” Toran whispered. “Grandba was really afraid of you. What’d you do to him?”
“Do you mean, what did he to do me?”
Jaime butted in, “How’d you end up in that cage?” He swallowed when those flashing green lanterns locked on him.
“That old man not used to visitors.” Arrys smiled. “Or armed strangers in cloaks. I sensed his fear, but I did not foresee him drugging my food. Alas, I let my guard down. My pride. My mistake.”
All of them nodded, their breaths held.
Toran wiped running mucus from his nose. “And, ah, what are you doing all the way out here, man?”
“Hunting apples.” The cunning glint flickered back in his eyes. “We do not have any in Larfour. Selling few will make a man many coin. You are lucky, you Westerners.”
Jaime said, “They’re Westerners. I’m an Easterner.”
“You are not a Larfene.”
“No, but—”
“Then you are Westerner.” Arrys brushed a hand over his dark stubble. “Where are you t
ravelling to? A Larfene is bound by Earth to repay the favor of a friend.”
Jaime’s eyes fell on the blade. He guessed it was around forty-five inches long, about half the length of a Jaypan spear. Its bottle-shaped hilt was patterned with half-suns and ornate palm fronds. The spread wings of a sand phoenix made the crossguard. He didn’t know much about swords, but this one was probably worth his weight in gold.
Arrys noticed his stare and drew the hilt behind his cloak.
“I’m headed to the High Temple,” Jaime said. “We’re going to stop at the nearest town or seaport.” He didn’t look at Eridene. “We’re parting once we find one.”
“Korinthia.”
“What?”
“You can reach the city in seven nights.”
Korinthia. Isn’t that the same City-State that lent troops to Prescilla?
“My syrai is yours until then, Prince of Jaypes. I will scout ahead for royal patrols.”
Before he could stutter that the winds were already leading him, the Larfene flitted ahead. Vanished over the scraggly hills. He’d never seen anyone move so fast—not even Achuros the day he drew air currents against the Glaiddish.
A long silence.
Jaime finally said, “Should we follow him?”
“I dunno,” Toran croaked. “I have a bad feeling about him—”
Lady Eridene cut in, “I’m not waiting around for royal patrols to come at us with fire and stakes. If I’m going to bet my life with anyone in this Kingdom, it’s him.” She broke into a brisk jog in the direction of the falling light.
Jaime glowered. You just like him because he’s dark and mysterious.
Toran sneezed over his shoulder. “We better not lose her. I don’t like being alone in the dark.” When Jaime stayed in place, he scratched his butt. “What?”
“You feel it too, right?”
“Feel what?”
“His energies. Something about him is . . . ” Dark. Very dark. Jaime fumbled for another word.
Together, they said: “Off.”
Jaime nodded, glancing in the direction of the dumpling house. He lowered his voice. “What if the old man was right? What if Arrys is dangerous?”
“Well, I guess he’s a Larfene.”
“So?”
“Aren’t Larfenes supposed to be Guardians of the Four Kingdoms or something? I don’t know, you’re the Prince. You should know more about the Legend than me.”
I should. But I don’t, because I never had a chance to finish Book One before the Archpriestess spat fire all over Arcurea.
Toran placed a hand on his shoulder. “Tell ya what, Juno.” He moved his head closer to Jaime’s ear. “With all these patrols around, maybe Beanie’s right. We’re safer with him. But . . . ”
“But?”
“If you believe he’s out here hunting apples, your brain is mush.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Arrys the Larfene jogged ahead of them, hood covering his brows at all times, recurve bow clasped in his left hand.
Lettuce weed and wild daisies streamed under Jaime’s sandals. The plateau was rising into clay-brown mountains again. His eyes darted to their peaks constantly, looking for torches or iron gates or New Jaypes banners.
It had been too long since his last encounter with royal soldiers. His avai wriggled against the walls of his body.
As day circled into night, and back into day, they kept a single course at all times: towards a scraggly mountain jutting out of the horizon.
The night they reached its base, they stopped to build a fireless camp. Eridene sat by Toran, murmuring lowly. Toran kept sneezing from the pollen and batting away the moths. Arrys left to scout their surroundings.
When the others weren’t looking, Jaime dug through his knapsack till he felt Achuros’s ledger.
He pulled it up to the moonlight. Flipped through the pages. The rough pads of his fingers pressed against the precious black ink.
I wish you were here, Achuros. I barely know how to read books. You would know how to read Arrys.
The memory of the priest’s piebald beard, the easy cock of his brow, his warm grip on Jaime’s wrist—
His heart clenched.
Jaime flipped till he caught an entry with his name. He practiced reading in his head:
Today Jaime convinced me to teach him swordplay. He found a big stick and came at me first, right against the arm. Hells, it hurt. But I was not to be defeated! I swiped up another stick and parried. In four strokes, mine landed against his throat. Alas, but he did not know I learned weapon-fighting from the Queen’s brother himself. We aren’t just lazy winebags, we airpriests . . .
A smile curled over his lip.
He kept riffling. In another entry, Achuros replicated the cripple’s brandmark on Jaime’s wrist: an X overlapping a circle. More writing beneath that. The strokes curt and angular.
Riffling.
Another symbol caught his eye: a vertical line, intercepted by an upturned crescent; below that, two horizontal lines in descending length. The longer he stared, the space inside the square started to shimmer . . . almost as if a cursed shape, or an eye, was forming—
Jaime sensed someone’s gaze on him. He looked up.
Arrys was back, staring at him across camp.
No, not him—at the black ledger.
Jaime shut it and stuffed it back into his knapsack. For some reason, he didn’t want anyone to know about Achuros’s ledger.
The hooded Larfene waved at him.
“What is it?” Jaime breathed, when they were noses apart.
“Do you have your windcloak?”
“How do you know about—”
“I saw you riding air currents a few times, from a distance.” Arrys lifted his head. “Lady! Toran!”
The two stopped in mid-sentence, inching around, eyes wide.
“Let me show you something.” He glanced back at Jaime. “It will be a long climb. Bring the rest of your things.”
Mystified, Jaime obeyed and relayed the directive to his friends.
Late afternoon washed into early twilight. The conical shadow on the mountain shifted towards the east. In the time it took for a stick of incense to flicker out, Jaime’s thighs began to burn. The familiarity made his tendons buzz with pleasure.
This was the kind of slope he used to climb regularly with Achuros.
“I see you were reading earlier,” Arrys said ahead of him.
Jaime stuffed his hands in his pockets. “A book my mentor gave me on air currents. We used to practice my reading with Legend of the Four.”
“What do you know of the Legend?”
“Not much.” Jaime panted, “I just stared the last third of Book One.”
“Hmm.” Arrys glanced back at Lady Eridene and Toran. “And both of you? How much of the Legend to they teach in The West?”
Eridene clomped over the rocks, her panting loud and strong. “I haven’t actually read the Books—really only our scholars and professors do that. Although my father has, all six. He’s read every great tome in the Four Kingdoms. My governess taught me the Legend by word.”
“I probably know less than—an—an Juno.” Toran sneezed.
Arrys grimaced. “No good. It seems history has been forgotten in The West. History is power, yes?”
Didn’t Achuros say the same thing?
“What’s in the other two Books?” Jaime said. “Books Five and Six? My mentor said they were lost.”
They held their breaths as Arrys lifted the hood over his head, the hair over his neck flat with sweat.
“Book One begins as such . . . ”
“‘In the beginning, all things were one, and the Four Kingdoms were one,’” Jaime recited.
Arrys kept his eyes high to the sky. “Yes, very good. 2,500 years ago, all things we
re one. Ilaqua. The name of our mega-continent. One day, massive tremor opened the lands in the north. Uhélaan. The Great Rift, it is called. That day, waves of energy from The Empyrean, the spirit dimension, surged across the mortal realm.”
“Is it real?” Eridene interrupted. “The Rift?”
Arrys didn’t have to turn around. He walked several more steps, his arms swinging in time with his body, shoulders square, head held upright. Saying nothing for a second.
Eridene shrugged defensively. “History says that The Rift is as wide as Jaypes Kingdom.”
Jaime snorted. “Impossible!”
“It is true,” Arrys said.
“But how can you know if no one’s seen the Fifth Continent?” Jaime said.
“This history is real.”
Jaime cut in, “What happened after?”
Arrys continued. “Many clans of men walked Ilaqua, but these energies made them see illusions, made others kill themselves from madness. Most were afraid. But few obsessed to control these energies, and so, control their enemies.
“And few discovered how. Mages, they were called. Those who could harness air, water, fire, earth, at will. Warfare broke out across the land as mages tried to conquer the other clans.”
Lady Eridene nodded. “I knew all that.”
Toran’s eyes watered. “Sure ya—ah, ah—” Sneeze. “Did.”
“And then what?” Jaime said.
They were halfway up the mountain now. He struggled not to peek at the way Eridene’s wiry thighs were molding into her leather riding pants.
“More mages warred, more the elements warred on the lands. Many disasters: earthquakes, walls of sea, volcano bursts, even fire raining from the sky, slowly obliterating mankind. And many yupalu.” Arrys nodded at the sky. “Mammoth rain and wind.”
“Banestorms,” Jaime murmured.
“But four young warriors from opposing clans joined to stop disasters swallowing the mortal world.”
Jaime took his hands out of his pockets, reciting: “‘Their names were Larfour, Kaippon, Glaidde, and Jaypes. And they said, let there be unity on earth and the firmament.’”
“Good!” Arrys gave a firm gesture of his hand. “This Prince is a scholar.”
Stormfire Page 20
