Grimacing, one guard reached into the repulsor field, turning the door handle and pulling it open. The room inside was fairly lavish, with padded chairs and carpets. Keevan also noticed the steel bars on the windows, haloed in the same repulsor field. The Suadan guards brandished their whips, noticing Keevan's hesitation.
"Thank you for granting us safe passage," Bahjal offered meekly, taking Keevan's hand and leading him into the room.
"Should you need anything, you have but to ask," one of the guards offered, with a threatening grunt, he added, "We'll be right here."
"I thank you for your continued protection," Bahjal echoed, interlocking her fingers and nodding in a respectful salute. The guards closed the doors after her.
"I’m sorry," Keevan said, staring around the room bleakly. He could see the faint repulsor fields extending around the floor, walls and ceiling. This room was impenetrable to elemental influence. Only air penetrated the window, a soft, dry breeze. "I should have listened to you. Proving I'm dangerous wasn't the best call."
"Given the circumstances, it prevented the Harbor Master from killing you on the spot," Bahjal sighed. "I just can't shake the feeling this is all going wrong. Malik Morgra should have seen you fixing Danica or masterminding a construction project, not sneaking Zerik's troops into the palace." Keevan had no words to counter hers, as tired as he was.
She walked over to a low table at the room's center, holding a wide plate of various breads and cheeses, all neatly sliced. The scent of fresh bread sent Keevan's stomach into a feral growl of hunger and suddenly the room didn't feel so terribly confining.
On his right, two doors lead into separate bedrooms. Before them, two long, circular couches surrounded the table on either side. The room was designed to look as welcoming a possible and if Keevan didn't have his elemental vision, he probably wouldn't have seen through the ruse of Lanasha's offered “security.” Sometimes, elemental vision revealed secrets he'd felt much happier not knowing.
"So, what happens now?" Keevan asked. He sat down on the couch next to Bahjal, sampling a few of the cheeses. One carried a smoky aftertaste he particularly liked. Another turned sour in his mouth. At least the pains from his various bruises were fading and Bahjal had managed to pull out the last of the wooden splinters from his face.
"The High Priestess is taking over the Harbor Guild for the week. That includes locking down all the exits and searching floor-by-floor for Kors and the escaped prisoner," Bahjal calculated, glancing out the window. Bells of alarm still echoed out across the courtyard, accompanied by dozens of guards hurrying to their various posts in teams of four. "Then she'll deal with us."
"You think the Council will stop offering to make me a scribe at the Rankings?" Keevan asked bleakly.
Bahjal laughed. "Yes, I should say so. Now that they've seen what your vision can do, they may have to come up with a new position entirely. After all, your skill set is quite unique. Assuming we live through today."
"How bad a crime is it? Leading a band of exiles past the Watcher?" Keevan asked, lying back onto the couch's soft pillows and trying to relax.
"Generally?" Bahjal said, licking a sliver of cheese from her finger. "Death. By Arnadi himself I'd imagine. He's primarily in charge of Issamere's defense. That includes maintaining the Watcher."
"Wonderful. Even though I was blackmailed into the whole thing," Keevan muttered in bitter sarcasm. "You think that will happen to Calistra?" So much for relaxing.
"Calistra will be turned over to her father, which is punishment enough as I understand. Keeves, it’s not a question of what you did, but a question of what you could do," Bahjal sighed, crossing her legs and sitting on the opposite couch, so she could face him. "They have to consider what would happen, for example, if an invading force caught and blackmailed you as Kors did."
"Oh," Keevan said, numb at the very real possibility. Every Rhet and Haldran in the city knew his name and where “the Sight Seeker” lived. It wouldn't take much for an enemy force to spy out his location.
Anger bubbled up in Keevan's chest and he tossed a half-eaten bread slice against the far wall. "We wouldn't even be having this conversation if I was like a regular Tri-Being, right? If I could just defend myself like an Etrendi."
"I suppose," Bahjal said begrudgingly. She tapped the largest of her bruises, a purple welt on the side of her face. "But even my command of water wasn't strong enough to avoid capture."
"But if I was better than an Etrendi, then they'd leave me alone, right?" Keevan sulked, holding his head in his hands. "If I wasn't so vulnerable."
Bahjal laughed, a deep, hearty sound. Given the nature of their imprisonment, Keevan watched her disbelief, wondering if her sanity had suddenly snapped. Bahjal chittered on for a full minute, holding her stomach and crying in mirth-caused pain.
"I fail to see what you find so entertaining," Keevan replied flatly.
"Oh, Keeves," Bahjal said, shaking her head in wonder. "I have so much to teach you still. Think about it, if you were more dangerous than an Etrendi, what would that make you, in the council's eyes?"
"A boy they wouldn't have to protect?" Keevan asked hopefully.
"No," Bahjal said evenly. "Competition. A new kind of threat."
Keevan didn't respond right away. His entire life he'd carried no elemental powers, even now, his usefulness lay in what he could see, not in what he himself could do with it. He'd never considered the far reaching effects of somehow moving past that.
"How do you understand the Council so well?" Keevan asked, finally feeling a bit more at ease. He helped himself to more bread and cheese, finding a slice that carried a hint of honey to it. "Who are you really, Bahj?"
"Me?" Bahjal replied with a smile, "Oh Keeves, I wish I didn't have to tell you. I wish we could go on making mischief in the streets and just living as we did before."
Alarm bells rang outside. Gates to the Harbor District slid open with a sickening rasp of stone against stone. Dozens of heavy boots thundered into the courtyard. Lanasha was calling in reinforcements. Along the District's wall, Keevan could just make out archers perched at key points, overlooking the city.
"I don't think we have that option, Bahj," Keevan said, his tone downcast. "You were right. This is a step I can never undo."
"Alright," Bahjal conceded, sitting upright and folding her hands in her lap as if she were seated next to The Malik Himself. "I am Bahjal De'Sarthan. My father was a soldier under General Arnadi. My mother was a powerful Suadan priestess. During the last war, they were both killed in action."
"I'm sorry," Keevan offered, sliding to the edge of his couch so he could stroke her hand in a show of remorse. "I can't imagine how hard..." His voice trailed off, his eyes narrowing in realization. Bahjal gulped nervously and starred at her feet.
"The last full on war Issamere had was with the southern barbarians."
"Yes."
"That was twenty five years ago."
"Yes."
"Bahj, how old are you?"
Bahj raised her hands defensively. A curious array of moisture and electricity built up around her. "Now Keeves, you know Tri-Beings age slower than Outlanders. That's not my fault."
"How old?"
"Really, you're going to ask a woman's age? I thought I taught you better."
"Bahj."
"Alright," Bahjal relented, stroking her hair a few times, as if adjusting her locks could somehow shave a few years off her answer. "I'm thirty five years old."
Keevan stared blankly at her, taking in her slim features and twisted brown braids. "H-how?" he asked. "That can't be possible. You don't look more than eighteen."
Bahjal shrugged. "My mother was the same way. When my parents died, the Malik offered me a job among the Rhets, too help him track loyalties and such. During the last war, the barbarians managed to gain support among the lower ranks."
"So, you were pretending to be a Rhet when I came along," Keevan clarified, massaging his temples as he sorted through the facts.<
br />
"You were thirteen," Bahjal recalled, eyes staring off into the distance. "The other Tri-Beings, your former friends, they went to Elements School. You couldn't go, there'd be no point. You were alone. You needed someone your age, someone who was already elementally trained, just in case."
"Our friendship was an assignment," Keevan echoed numbly.
"From Malik Morgra himself," Bahjal confirmed.
"Did my parents know?"
"No, they aren't warriors," Bahjal said, shaking her head. The linen curls on her dress and hair bounced back and forth in the soft breeze from the open window. "Smithies and cast out politicians don't belong on a battlefield. The Malik keeps a tight inner circle of people he truly trusts. You could be a part of that, in time."
"In time?" Keevan asked, "What do you mean?"
"After you've fully trained yourself," Bahjal clarified. "There's no guidebook for educating you to survive in this world. We haven't had an Outlander on our shores in millennia, much less have any idea how to train them. I'm saying if you want to guarantee your survival, working with Malik Morgra might be the best way for you to accomplish that."
"Too much," Keevan complained, sitting back and shaking his head. He winced as the soft cushions rubbed a bruise on his tailbone. "Too much is changing. One week ago I was being forced to choose between being an accountant or a scribe. Now... I have no idea what I am."
"Well, let's try taking this one step at a time," Bahjal offered, resting her hands on her kneecaps and closing her eyes. "The High Priestess is searching for Kors, but now they have an escaped prisoner on their hands too, someone that terrified the Harbor Master to the point that he refused to even identify the man. Any ideas?"
It was a Suadan pose for deep breathing exercises. It was odd to see that posture without the usual rush of fluid one would expect, but the room's repulsor exterior prevented excess moisture from entering the guest room. A shudder of irritation passed through Bahjal as she glared at the surrounding walls and ceiling.
"How about the whole reason I was brought in to begin with?" Keevan asked, looking around the room. "I find it hard to believe someone so dangerous to the Harbor Master just 'happened' to escape within the hour of us penetrating the Watcher's defenses. Think they have parchment and ink around here?"
"Try the desk in one of the rooms."
Keevan slipped into the first one. Its bed and dresser were modest in design, but the drawers were empty. There were no signs of excess wealth, like engravings or tapestries. The room felt like a lie, a 'guest' room for fools too foolish not to recognize the danger closing in around them. He pictured a killer entering the room and shuddered. Here, Bahjal's elemental strength would mean nothing. He actually felt glad for the two guards standing outside, though they were a two edged blade, preventing his escape as well.
He sifted through the desk along the wall. In the second drawer, he found a roll of parchment, a spare quill and ink. He paused a moment, closing his eyes, trying to picture the document Kors burned in all the detail he could muster.
"I got a decent look at the paper Kors burned," Keevan reported, returning to Bahjal's side on the couch and pushing the plate of refreshments to one side of the table. He leaned over the parchment, scrawling along the edges of the page to break down its format.
"When did you get this long a look?" Bahjal asked curiously. "Kors isn't the type to wait patiently by while the thing he wants dangles in front of him."
"So, you knew him?"
"That's a conversation for another time," Bahjal said patiently, waving the tangent aside. "What do you remember from the page?"
"One moment. Here it is," Keevan said quietly. He scrawled over the page for a few minutes. Bahjal watched over his shoulder, lips pursed in concentration. But he didn't hear her sigh in understanding or grunt in victory, only quiet analysis. "That's about ninety percent of it. What do you make of it?"
'Rain Cutter's Final Voyage (The Third of Madenhiem, 1039)
Full battle with Outlander vessel on the edge of the Undying Storm. Outlander vessel managed to board the Rain Cutter and attempted to take it. Captain Hamor used his Danica weapon to sink both ships and escape. Both ships were destroyed, with only two survivors found a week later on a nearby island. All cargo lost. Hamor was relieved of his command duties soon after returning to port.
Casualties: 3 sub-captains, 5 deck hands, 1 navigator
Funerals: 5 were done at sea. 4 were preserved for burial in Issamere.
Survivors: Captain and one crewman.'
"This is it?" Bahjal asked incredulously. "What would this have to do with a prisoner? The Outlander vessel went down with all hands."
"Not sure," Keevan muttered, sitting back on the couch and scratching his head. "I didn't have time to think it through. I was trying to get away from a psychotic killer."
"Well, we have time now," Bahjal said, teeming over the page. "I can see why the Harbor Guild wanted this kept secret. Even you wouldn't want this public. Many Tri-Beings see the Outlanders as a myth the Harbor Guild uses to justify maintaining their power. If they acknowledged the Outlanders as a genuine threat they once couldn't stop..."
"Thousands of Tri-Beings might turn on their local Sight Seeker," Keevan echoed gruffly, groaning as he scratched his head. "I hate politics."
"You don't have to love them, but if you're going to survive, you have to manage them," Bahjal answered sternly, pushing a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. "Keeves, are you sure about this information? The numbers are wrong."
Keevan sat up, staring intently at the paper. "No, I'm sure I got the numbers right. They were the easy part. What's wrong?"
"Well, do the math," Bahjal insisted, pointing at the page. "The Rain Cutter had a ten man crew when it went down. Supposedly, there were two survivors."
"But the rescue vessel reported nine burials," Keevan said, his voice numb with shock as he put the pieces together. "Ten men, nine buried, but they brought home two survivors. But the record says only the Captain survived and the rest of the crew died."
"They rescued the Captain alright and one other, someone who wasn't on the Rain Cutter at all. The Harbor Guild captured an Outlander, alive," Bahjal realized, tapping her chin as she put the pieces together. "With an Outlander in their pocket, that had a steady source of detailed information about Sight Seekers. After all, you were alive in the city, untouchable. They had to do something to learn of your weaknesses. What do you think they did to the Outlander?"
"I doubt he was treated very well," Keevan speculated. Relief settled across his shoulders and down his neck. The Harbor Master's enemy might not be Keevan's. Perhaps it was a potential ally, literally the only person in thousand miles who could understand the life and powers of an Outlander. "I wonder which kind of Outlander he is. Or she."
"What do you mean?" Bahjal asked.
"I've memorized the legends about the Outlanders," Keevan said, scanning the page again as if there were some other kernel of information he hadn't already put there. "There are two kinds, both humanoid, like the Tri-Beings, but with different commands. Sight Seekers command the mind, and can access thoughts, memories and the like. Since they can access other race's thoughts, they can also tap into their powers. They were the intermediaries of the Ancient Times, since they could tap into every racial power. I don't know why I can't."
"Once again, a conversation for another time. I don't think another Sight Seeker would of scared the Harbor Master so much," Bahjal said. "Whatever your powers, they are quite public. The prisoner couldn’t make a move, much less kill someone, without drawing attention. Plus, the whole city knows what glowing blue eyes means. You're rather famous here."
"So, that leaves the other, the Varadours," Keevan said, picking up speed and his heart rate accelerated. Another Outlander walked these halls. A survivor of a different continent, sitting across the ocean, waiting for him. An ally perhaps? Certainly a sailor, at the least.
"What did Varadours command?"
; "Flesh," Keevan said. "The legend said glands in their heart deliver various fluids to their body, yielding a number of different effects. Increased strength, speed, healing, they could even manipulate the light around their body as a form of camouflage. Of course, those are legends, they aren't always accurate. I certainly can't access racial powers, as the legends say."
Even as he said the words, the realization hit him like a tide. He could remember so vividly the powers his mysterious scar endowed him with as a child. A group of older boys tried to rough him up, poking him with sticks and mocking the weak little Outlander. Then a rush of physical strength washed over him and despite their numbers and greater physical size, Keevan beat them back. Thoroughly.
My brother was a Varadour. Keevan thought, piecing together the Scholars' ancient tales and the Harbor Guild's modern rumors of a Varadour's capabilities. The truth of it suddenly felt so much more real now. A man walked the halls of Issamere with the same powers that Keevan's scar once granted him. His heart yearned to sit with this Outlander, even if only for a minute.
"Yet," Bahjal offered optimistically. "I'm more worried about this Varadour. He'll look like any other Tri-Being unless they try to elementally interact with him."
"Lanasha is looking for a killer. An escaped prisoner who's wounded, violent and out for revenge," Keevan summarized, staring out the window at the archers lining the wall. Not exactly ideal circumstances for meeting his first Outlander. "Then there's Kors. If they teamed up... Even alone, all the prisoner has to do is blend in and wait for the guards to give up. Then he's not in any more immediate danger."
"Or, we can help them," Bahjal offered.
"What? Who? The prisoner?" Keevan asked, caught off guard.
"Think about it," Bahjal urged him. "You read elements. Tri-Beings light up to you. What would a Varadour look like?"
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