Unseen Secrets

by S. B. Sebrick

  Keevan tried to hug her, but the repulsor held her fast against the wall. Instead, he rested his head on her shoulder and cried a few relieved tears of his own. For a moment, even the agony in his head didn't matter.

  "Keeves, why am I here?" she asked suddenly, her head lolling lazily to the side. "Oh, Madol is here too. Are we going to play a game when he wakes up? I forgot what we were playing earlier," Her tone was easy, thoughtless and adrift, as if trapped in a dream. Her eyes unfocused as she stared upward at the stone roof, all evidence of pain gone, and the last fragments of ice withering away.

  Keevan stared at her in surprise and laughed in relief. Pure boredom didn't carry much despair with it. In fact the field forced the dangerous element from her system. He glanced at Madol and pursed his lips worriedly. The Persuader stirred from unconsciousness, but his wounds bled anew now. The repulsor had cast out the water he was using for healing. His lips moved incessantly, the lack of moisture was breaking his mind as well.

  "One moment, Bahjal," Keevan promised, cursing himself for a fool. The pain in his head grew with each passing moment and the floor seemed to bend and warp beneath his feet. The danger was over, why was he subjecting them all to the repulsor field? "I'll be right back."

  Crawling to the crystal, the pain amplified even further. The world around him spun so much he closed his eyes, relying on his sense of touch to guide him. Nausea and pain twisted in his insides until he finally retched up his earlier meal on the floor next to him. Then, one trembling hand at a time, he found the crystal's container.

  Keevan reached in and pulled the repulsor free. It took some effort, as if it were bound to the crystal by some kind of magnetic attraction. Nariem was right, whatever process was required to make repulsor ore was far superior. It could command Danica. A dozen fresh questions raced through Keevan's mind and he longed to study the metals in detail, but Madol and Bahjal wouldn’t live long without moisture to sustain them.

  With the removal of the field, Madol and Bahjal sighed in relief, drawing in a few thin streams of water around their wounds as they slid to the floor. Keevan tried to return to Bahjal's side, the pain in his head did not relent so quickly. It hovered in the forefront of his mind as if someone stood there with a nail, digging into his skull.

  Outside, Harbor Guild soldiers finally burst into view, racing around the stairs to the dome's entrance. A half dozen guardsmen faced Keevan, blades and axes glowing in anger. Their leader, marked by a golden pendant on his chest, pointed his weapon at Keevan.

  "Men, arrest the Outlander. He's marred Suada's image!" The soldiers rumbled in agreement, rushing forwards.

  Keevan pocketed his repulsor orb and rolled his eyes as they tied his hands behind his back. From his knees, he noticed the water above them wasn't re-claiming its shape of Suada. In fact, the field wasn’t doing anything at all. Nariem's words echoed in his mind, 'Repulsor fields tear apart the grain in Danica metal.' A chill settled around his heart. Issamere relied on this powerful relic to shield the entire city, if it could not be repaired... Gods, what would they do to him?

  The guardsmen roughly pushed him onto his belly, like a criminal, before seeing to the wounded. Through a tangle armored legs and leather boots, Keevan glimpsed Bahjal watching the proceedings with a tired smile on her lips, mirth dancing in her eyes.

  "Mind sending someone to fetch me when they're done here?" he asked, shrugging innocently. "All I did was take a second look at that blasted Pagoda."

  Chapter 29

  Keevan awoke to darkness, thanks to a tight blindfold wrapped around his head. He lay on his back, spread eagle under thick blankets. His head ached, but from a distance, as if through a shroud. He reached up, but a soft hand stopped his. "Wait," a soft voice said. "You may remove them when I leave."

  "Who are you?" Keevan asked. Her voice felt familiar, but distant, someone from his childhood perhaps.

  "I’m your parents' best chance at healing a Sight Seeker," the sweet voice answered. Her accent was foreign, but rich, like candy to the ear. There was a feeling of peace about her as well, a deep calmness he'd not felt in ages. The pain in his skull faded further.

  "Dara." Keevan remembered. "You're a Rhet, right?"

  "After a fashion." Dara admitted, running her fingers through his hair. "My tribe lives beyond the Danica mines to the east. Let's just say my fire works differently than most Tri-Beings'. I tended to you when you were an infant. I helped a few other times as well, when you were growing up, before your parents' understood your elemental limitations."

  "What happened to my eyes?" Keevan asked nervously. "Will I go blind? It hurt so much."

  "Yes, the repulsor field really taxed your power." Dara admitted. Warmth flowed into Keevan's head, working its way down the muscles in his neck. He felt totally relaxed. These were strange fires indeed, he couldn't help but feel like she was seeing him somehow, his mind, his dreams, his soul.

  "My power?" Keevan asked, puzzled. "I don't have power. I can just see elements."

  "Your body's immunity to repulsor fields is a Sight Seeker trick. An instinctive one, thankfully. You suffered a severe wound to your brain as an infant, before we found you. The damage blocks the parts of your mind responsible for consciously directing Sight Seeker power. The massive repulsor field forced your body to try and punch through the dam in your mind, so to speak. Risky business."

  "How could you possibly know that?" Keevan asked, astonished. "Were you the one going through all the Sight Seeker records at the Repository?"

  "No." Dara said, momentarily puzzled. "But my people have a history all their own, separate from Issamere's, and we remember much about the Sight Seekers. But that is a discussion for another time."

  Heavy foot falls echoed outside the room. The door creaked open. "Is he well?" The voice was Nariem's.

  "I believe so." Dara confirmed. The wooden planks beneath the mattress sighed in relief as she stood from the bed. "Though I wouldn’t recommend putting him through so large a repulsor field again. I don't know that his mind could take it."

  "Thank you, again." Nariem insisted. "We owe you so much, over the years."

  "You owe me nothing, believe me." Dara insisted, a pain hanging heavy in her voice. "I've helped the boy as much as my position and duty allow, nothing more. You can remove the bandage, after I've gone."

  "Why do you insist on him never seeing you?" Nariem asked.

  "My answer hasn't changed." Dara replied, shutting the door behind her as she left.

  Nariem sighed, then stepped across the room, untying Keevan's blindfold. "How are you feeling, my son?"

  "Better." Keevan admitted, rubbing his neck. He blinked a few times, picking Nariem's tired, worn face out of the dim light. Judging by the darkness outside his window, night had already fallen. "Why won't she let me see her?"

  "Her tribe is somewhat like Issamere." Nariem explained, looking over Keevan's healing bruises and scraped face. "Many of them think helping the Lone Outlander will only do them harm, though even I don't understand their reasoning. They are a superstitious bunch. They mostly keep to themselves, all but Dara anyway."

  "Is there anything to eat?" Keevan asked. His stomach gurgled insistently at the mere thought.

  "There's some bread and cheese at the table outside." Nariem said, helping Keevan to his feet. "Come."

  Whatever Dara's treatment did, it left Keevan woozy and unbalanced. He felt hungry, exhausted and spent, like leather stretched too tightly over the head of a drum. The going was slow, but they reached the couch without incident. Keevan was half way through his third slice of bread before he realized they stood in the Repulsor room again, bringing the events of the day crashing down on him with renewed vigor.

  "Where's mom?" Keevan asked, wincing as he leaned forward on the couch. The repulsor room pulsed around him, leaving the air void of the usual excess elements. He set his elemental vision aside, glancing over at Nariem, who nibbled busily at a glazed danish. Another dozen or so sat on a platter on
the table between them.

  "She'll be along by tonight, I'd imagine," Nariem speculated, licking some stray icing from his thick, scarred fingers. He looked ten years older, frazzled and pale. Keevan's parents must have stood outside the Etrendi District walls for hours, threatening every guard who would listen, but they couldn't pass the gates until the situation with Kors was resolved. "She's fighting to keep you. That's all."

  "Keep me?" Keevan asked with a laugh. "Are they going to find me new parents? They think that will solve anything?"

  "No, not like that," Nariem corrected, shaking his head. "As I understand it, the Harbor Guild wants you imprisoned or ... worse."

  "Understandable, considering what Corvan did to their ranks in a single day," Keevan echoed grumpily. He envied the frustrating calmness the repulsor room gave to Tri-Beings. Regardless of where he sat, his heart still thumped like a pagoda trapped in a small room. "What about the Suadans?"

  "Well, their upper members know about you beating the Watcher's defenses," Nariem said, his tone light and free of care. Keevan wondered how different his parents would treat him once he was able to talk to them outside of this infernal repulsor cage. "Plus, everyone knows you sabotaged the southern Suadan Temple with a repulsor stone. Their smithies are still trying to undo the damage. At the moment, I believe the Suada image has three arms and a single leg. Its city-wide reach is also fractured and broken."

  "It was that, or let Kors kill us all," Keevan offered meekly.

  "Yes," Nariem agreed, glancing out the window. Night fell hours ago, but given the gravity of the topic being discussed, sleep proved impossible. "Which is why your mother is arguing with the Council as we speak. The Suadans, Belenokans, Raejins, all the Guilds and the Malik himself are present, all to determine what to do with you."

  A knock echoed at the door. A burly Belenokan guard pushed it open and an elderly Suadan entered, Keevan recognized her as the High Priestess' second in command. Her baggy eyelids and pale features attested to her hours spent alongside Masha, though likely not in his mother's favor, if his father's word on her political views was accurate.

  "Varta," Nariem said, pursing his lips in restrained anger. Keevan raised a curious eyebrow. It was interesting to see which emotions the repulsors obliterated and which they allowed. Dislike seemed to carry through just fine. Or his hatred for this woman was so intense repulsor orbs couldn't hold it at bay, another interesting thought.

  "Nariem," Varta answered stiffly. She glared at the walls and ceiling, shuddering. "I'll make this quick, I hate repulsor rooms. The High Priestess has decided to establish the boy's Ranking herself."

  "What?" Keevan replied, sitting up straight in surprise. "You mean, I can't choose what I want to become?"

  "Precisely," Varta said icily. She glared at Keevan the way a disapproving aunt might regard an unwanted step child. "The Suadans have decided you will serve Issamere best as a scribe for the Malik's scholars. You can spend as much time as you want researching Outlanders and you will help hunt the one who recently escaped, Corvan."

  "That's not fair," Keevan replied, rising to his feet. "You can't just stick me in a cell of books, give me a quill and have me waste out my days. That's just another kind of prison."

  "We can, and we will," Varta spat. Nariem didn't speak, but his face turned a shade of purple Keevan wasn’t familiar with. The burly blacksmith watched Varta like a child considering how best to dissect an insect. His restraint told Keevan volumes though, and a shudder crept along his spine. They couldn't counter the High Priestess' wishes.

  "I wouldn't jump to conclusions just yet," Madol growled, pushing past one of the surprised guards as he barged into the room. He wore a sling around one arm and white bandages peaked out from under his tunic, coat and sleeves. He grit his teeth with each step, as if daggers jabbed him from every direction. Water lay spilt on the floor outside and Keevan suddenly felt very guilty, Madol was abandoning the water he used to manage pain, just to talk to him.

  "It’s the will of the goddess!" Varta countered, though Keevan noticed her take an involuntary step back upon Madol's arrival. Her bells chimed softly with the motion. The Persuader looked wounded, tired and very dangerous.

  "Try the will of the Malik," Madol snapped back. "Your 'goddess' can't even maintain a water image without help, thanks to the damaged Danica crystal at her core. You should not have left so soon. Were you hoping to make the boy agree to be a scribe and get it in writing, before we finished discussing the matter?" He smiled and said, "Tsk, tsk, Varta. You'll have to do better."

  Now it was Varta's turn to take on a purple shade in her face. "What was their decision?" she grunted through gritted teeth.

  "The Council has decided on a number of uses for the boy. Ones the Malik's already agreed to." Madol said, pulling out a small bundle of parchments from the pocket of his cloak. Keevan's belly did a strange gurgling role as his anxiety mounted. His future rested on the words those flimsy pages carried.

  "What have they decided?" Keevan asked. His hands trembled with fatigue and fear. Where would the Malik put him? Would they try to make him a cook? A servant? Would they give him some useless position where they could keep watch, no better than a prison of duty?

  "Well, mind you, this is your choice," Madol added, a hint of caution to his voice. "But try to keep your mind open to the full repercussions of your decision. That was Masha's advice for you. She and the rest of the Council are awaiting your decision. She couldn't come along with me, as other Council heads thought she'd put undue pressure on you. Go on, boy, read them."

  Keevan leaned over and tentatively picked up the first one. "Artisan Derelisk agrees to hire the boy for work in designing and testing security vaults for Etrendi families and royal interests." Keevan read aloud, his eyes widening at the end of the page. "And they'll offer me a dozen gold pieces a week for my trouble."

  "What's the next one?" Nariem asked, sliding over until he sat alongside Keevan, peering over his son's shoulder.

  "The Builder's Guild," Keevan read aloud, puzzled at first. "They want my help... reading Danica veins buried in the city's stonework so they can tell which need adjusting. They'll offer... more gold than the Artisans. By Suada... is this really happening?"

  "What else?" Nariem pried, eyes dancing from one wondrous page to the next.

  "The Scholar's Guild wants my help analyzing ancient relics." Keevan read, skimming through the pile. "The military want my help in tactics, to work on their techniques in countering another army's elemental field. I guess Arnadi's forgiven me for this whole mess."

  "Not Calistra," Varta added with a vengeful hiss. "She'll be lucky to leave the Arnadi Mansion ever again."

  "Perhaps I can help her." Keevan thought aloud.

  Nariem chuckled. "Best help yourself first, my son. This is an important decision. It will tell the city the role you wish to take. It will also set the tone for what kind of man you want to become. Think through your ordeal. Which of these offers will best strengthen you?"

  Keevan sat back on the couch, gauging his offers. Most put him in a management position, ordering other Tri-Beings how best to use their powers. Wasn't that the main lesson to take from the day's events? Without other Tri-Beings, even rebels like Kors and Calistra, he could do nothing. He would remain powerless in a direct confrontation. He picked up the Artisan's page, holding it high, when Nariem spoke suddenly.

  "Will Keevan be able to take his news to the Council, himself?" the heavily muscled blacksmith asked.

  Madol's lips twisted into a soft frown. "No. I’m to take his response to them myself."

  "So, all these people," Keevan echoed, a hallow sensation settling inside. "They're only after my gifts, which they will pay me for, but they won't hear me out in person?"

  "Only Citizens of Issamere can address the Council." Varta spat, hands on her hips as she glared down at Keevan. "The idea of accepting an Outlander into our great city... it's too much for any decent Issamerean to stand."

&nbs
p; "Money." Keevan echoed, spreading the pages out over the table. "The illusion of power. Until I'm no longer useful. Then I'll be kicked aside."

  Nariem placed a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. "Things can always change for the better Keevan. Think of this as a single step on the road that is your life. There will be many more to take."

  "I'd like them to be my steps." Keevan grumbled, balling his fists in frustration. "This whole mess started because I couldn't fend for myself, when Kors kidnapped me. The people still reject me or use me, nothing more. You know what I mean, right Madol? You're a Haldran, but you must deal with Etrendi bigots all the time."

  Madol chewed his bottom lip, considering Keevan with a thoughtful expression. "You have a point," he offered evenly. "I had to sacrifice much to become a Persuader, but now I'm considered an equal among the Etrendi. Mostly."

  "Only as long as our Malik remains in power." Varta countered, acid on her tongue. "Then your fate will lie in the hands of the next Malik. Perhaps he won't be so favorable, to you or the boy. One can only hope."

  "These are generous offers." Keevan said, pushing them towards Madol's end of the table. "But they're all just another way of keeping me under control. There's no room for me to grow, or protect myself, aside from what money can buy. Lot of good a bag of gold did for me at the Arnadi Mansion. No. These offers can't teach me the skills I need to survive."

  Madol's thick eyebrows popped up in surprise. "Are you asking what I think you're asking?"

  "Until I can fend for myself, I'm at the mercy of those around me, be they rebel, loyal to the Malik or Outlander." Keevan decided, his stomach sickening with every syllable. What if the Persuader said no? There were no other options to draw on, he realized. This was what he wanted, he could only speak the words and hope against hope for admittance.

  "Keevan?" Nariem asked, his grip on his son's shoulder tightening. "This is as dangerous a path as you can take. If it's at all possible." He glanced up at Madol, uncertain but hopeful.