“Our ancestors—” Alixa began.
“Our ancestors would want vengeance.”
Alixa shook her head. “You’ve gone mad.”
“I have not.” But it felt as if he had. All the building frustration—all his guilt, churning and churning inside like the stormclouds that had tried to rip the Lady Vizola apart just nights ago—it had pushed him to some invisible brink. And now, as this all poured out of him, he was suddenly aware of it, aware of being there, at its edge, and staring down into the abyss.
“I have to stop Baraghosa,” he said. “I have to kill him.”
“Jasen,” Alixa began—
“Coinpurses,” said a voice—and they turned to see a pair of men blocking the alley’s lone exit. A heavyset one stood back, apparently keeping guard, head twitching back and forth.
The other, a skinny little man with spindly wrists, approached. He leered at Jasen and Alixa … and then shifted, just enough to show an eight-inch-long blade. He held it close to his trousers—hiding it from passers-by.
He licked his lip, took another step nearer.
“Give me your coinpurses,” he said again, voice tremulous and quiet, yet threatening all the same. “Now.”
11
Jasen’s heart pumped into immediate overdrive.
“W-we don’t have anything,” he stammered.
The man wielding the blade advanced another step. A leery look in his eye, he sneered at Jasen’s words. “Hand them over, boy. I ain’t asking again.”
Alixa had maneuvered behind him. She clutched his wrist, tight, fingernails driving crescents into his skin. He could practically feel the thud-thud-thud of her heart against him as she pressed close—
But what protection was he? He had no weapons—neither of them did—except for fists. Thin as the man was, Jasen might be able to match him toe to toe … but there was a height difference that probably meant a gap in reach, too, that would disadvantage him by a few inches.
None of it mattered anyway. Not when the thief had a knife. Nor when his blubbery friend kept watch at the head of the alley, alternating looks between the road for passers-by, and the unfolding mugging.
If Shilara were here, she could deal with this. Both men, easy. An arcing swing of her spear’s handle, across the skinny one’s nose, then around to whip the other in the neck—
Shilara was dead though, and no use to them here. Her last stand had secured their escape from Luukessia. It did not extend to Chaarland.
The skinny man licked his lips. “Last time I’ll tell you.” He was maybe six feet from them now, and closing, even as Jasen and Alixa stumbled backward.
Scourgey bared her teeth. A rattling noise warbled from her throat—her approximation of a growl, possibly. Crouching low, she poised herself to spring.
The man at the head of the alley’s expression had turned nervous. He snapped something to his comrade in another language.
The knife-wielding man cast Scourgey a momentary glance. He replied. Then, to Jasen: “Call your dog off.”
“She’s not a dog,” said Alixa.
Jasen’s chest swelled as a flood of hope surged through him. Scourgey would protect them.
“Don’t come any closer,” he warned. “She’ll hurt you.”
The man with the knife’s eyes flashed. Threatened? Jasen could almost hear him thinking. By this boy?
He stepped again—
Scourgey’s rattling sound grew louder.
Somehow, the stink emanating off her body grew more intense. Not just the wretched scent of death; something animal and dangerous bled into it now too.
Knuckles tightened on the blade’s hilt, turning the white of bone. He gritted his teeth.
From the alley’s head, a shout—
The heavyset man’s attention was not on Scourgey, though, but something outside. Whatever he said to his partner was panicked and quick. Then he was bracing, and—
He ducked as someone barreled into view, swinging a fist.
The dodge wasn’t quick enough. A dark-skinned hand slammed into one ear with a crash. He stumbled back—but another was sailing in already and caught him under the chin.
The man with the knife spun—
Kuura clocked the heavyset man once more. Then he whirled, a blur of fabric.
Eyes flashing at the man with the knife, he grimaced and shoved up his sleeves. The heavyset man staggered behind him, casting one last frightened and bloodied look down the alley before running out of sight. Kuura cracked the knuckles on both hands.
He bit off something in his people’s language—it sounded threatening and angry.
Failed-mugger responded. He brought up his knife, ready to strike—
But Kuura just kept coming. And so, when the distance between them had just a couple of seconds till it closed, the thief cried out something Jasen could only assume was a cowardly last threat, dropped his knife, and bolted past Kuura as close to the alley’s edge as he could.
Kuura stuck out a leg.
The man tripped, went over hard. He landed on his palms, a sound that was almost comic.
Then he was up and running at a hobble out of the alley and in the direction of his friend. No looks back, and no last words.
Kuura scowled at his back.
Then he turned, looking over Jasen, Alixa, and Scourgey.After a long moment, the disgust on his face dissolved. Letting his sleeves fall loose again, he approached. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” said Alixa. Jasen agreed with a nod. “He didn’t get close enough to do anything. And Scourgey would’ve stopped them if he had.”
Kuura eyed the scourge. “Hm.”
She was still on alert, body pressed low to the ground. Her rattling growl had ceased, but if those eyes could be read despite their utter blackness, Jasen believed they were pointed at the mouth of the alley, pupils as wide as they could go to absorb anything and everything that might become a surprise threat.
Alixa consoled her with a pat to the shoulder.
Scourgey didn’t soften her stance.
“Thank you for saving us,” said Jasen.
Kuura stooped to pick up the fallen knife. He looked it over without much interest. Then he handed it, handle first, to Jasen.
“Err …”
“To protect yourself.”
Jasen looked at it uneasily. Long ago, he had thought that he might be a soldier, and wield a sword or spear through the lands of Luukessia, cutting the scourge down and reclaiming its lands. It was a child’s dream, one that had died, replaced with the tamer desire to simply explore a world beyond his village. He knew nothing about how to wield a dagger—
But then, what more was there than a stabbing motion?
Shilara would have reacted scornfully to that, Jasen thought.
He felt another pang of sorrow—for her, and his father, who’d done the best he could with Jasen.
They’re with the ancestors now, he thought, and it brought some peace.
And they would want Jasen to be protected.
Carefully, he reached out. Taking the blade by the hilt, he wrapped his fingers around it.
It felt …
Unnatural. To some men—and women, he amended, again thinking of Shilara and what she would say were she still here with them—a weapon was a natural extension of themselves. It was perfect, it was right, to clasp one, to brandish it. Good men—and bad, like the muggers—for some it simply seemed…right.
Jasen was not one of these people. Holding the blade up in front of him, his arm rigid and almost straight—as if he were afraid it would turn upon him and stab him of its own volition—he was certain he never would be.
Burund’s warning echoed: the city was dangerous.
So Jasen carefully tucked the blade into his belt. He did it at the very side of his hip, so there was no chance of it cutting into flesh as he walked.
“We’ll find you a scabbard for that,” said Kuura, nodding to it.
“I don’t have any money,” said
Jasen.
Kuura waved him off. “Ways around it.”
“How did you know we were here?” Alixa asked.
“Shipmaster Burund had me follow you,” Kuura answered.
Jasen deflated a little at that. Now the moment had passed—and now he was armed, too late to deal with it—a sense of shame had come over him like the fine mist that settled at the base of the mountains overlooking Terreas. That Kuura had saved them just by luck was a fine enough coincidence he would accept …
That Kuura had saved them by tailing them at some distance, on Burund’s orders … that made Jasen feel like even more of a child than ever.
And when he was searching for Baraghosa, to exact revenge for what he had done to Jasen’s home …
A sour taste lingered in his mouth, coppery, like blood.
“Thank you,” said Alixa, genuinely grateful. “We really appreciate it.”
“Right,” said Jasen. “Thanks.”
“We’ll be sure to thank Shipmaster Burund too.”
Kuura cackled, spreading his lips wide and showing off as many of his teeth as he possibly could manage. “I did not simply follow you because my shipmaster requested it of me,” he said. Growing very serious all at once, he said levelly, “Though I would always honor the instruction of my shipmaster. But the truth is …” And here his lips parted, flashing many white teeth again. “I have grown to feel a certain affection for you orphans.”
Alixa shot Jasen a glance. “Oh?”
“You are like strays,” said Kuura pleasantly.
Alixa’s lips thinned. “Oh,” she said flatly. “He’s comparing us to dogs.”
Kuura bellowed laughter, throwing his head back. Bear-like hands spread out over his stomach, clutching it. Hard to think that, perhaps a minute ago, those hands had been devastating, fearsome fists.
“Well, you know what it is like,” he said. “You take them in, and they are wary and scared for a while. Then they get better—and then they bite at your hands again as you feed them, and you think, Why, oh why, did I take this stray in when it bites me so? But you remember that they do not always bite, and if they do, it is because they have felt something that has scared them, or made them angry—and it passes, and you remember why you took them in in the first place. Do you see?”
Jasen looked blankly at Kuura’s grinning face.
Alixa hesitated. “Uhm.”
Kuura erupted into laughter again.
When he had quieted some, he said, “You are but children in the woods here in the Aiger Cliffs.”
Another stab went through Jasen, this time at being called children.
It was true, of course, but … still.
“And the Aiger Cliffs,” Kuura went on, oblivious—or perhaps simply ignoring the hurt look that crossed Jasen’s features—”is no place for unsupervised children. Even,” he added, “ones as brave as the both of you.”
Oh. Well, that dispelled some of Jasen’s feeling of uselessness.
He eyed Kuura’s face. Was that a pointed, purposeful placation? Jasen could not tell. Nor, he thought, would Kuura be forthcoming if asked.
Whatever the case, it eased some of the unpleasant feeling in Jasen’s chest enough that he raised a small smile.
“Now come,” Kuura said. “We have talked in this alley for too long. Let us step out into the sun again and evaluate the next steps.”
‘Stepping into the sun again’ was only figurative. The sun had not moved across the sky far enough that its light could fall upon these streets yet, and probably would not for another hour hence. Yet the alley’s tight quarters seemed to have dampened the light yet further, so it did feel as if they stepped out of the dark when Kuura led Jasen, Alixa and Scourgey back onto the street proper.
Scourgey’s hackles were still up. She looked in all directions, teeth bared. No rattling growl—not that she wasn’t threatening enough without it. Upon their arrival from the alley, a cluster of children loosed panicked yells, turned on their heels, and sprinted away.
Alixa looked crossly at their receding backs. “Just ignore them,” she told Scourgey, patting her above the shoulder softly.
Scourgey did not appear to care.
Jasen’s walk was careful. The knife stuck into his belt was awkward—and felt, the moment he moved, perilously sharp. He was afraid to stride at his normal length for fear the blade might shave a layer of skin off.
He needed a sheath for it, as Kuura had said, and soon.
“So,” said Kuura, “what is your plan now?”
Jasen cut in before Alixa could speak. “Finding Baraghosa.”
Alixa groaned. “Nooo, Jasen.”
He rounded on her. “Baraghosa—”
“Yes, yes,” she said, “I’ve heard it all before. He destroyed our lands, destroyed our people.”
“Which is exactly why—”
“We should go to the Emerald Fields,” Alixa said, with a finality that suggested that the conversation had concluded, and nothing Jasen said or did could ever bring her around—so it was worthless to try.
But try he would. “I’m not just dropping this.”
Alixa folded her arms. She huffed a breath, turned away from him.
Conversation definitely closed.
Jasen wheeled around her, trying to catch her eye.
“Baraghosa has to pay for what he did,” he said.
“And you are the very person to stop him,” Alixa retorted, voice flat. Casting him a sideways look, she said, “You didn’t even have a knife until two minutes ago.” Looking away again: “Though if you expect a knife to get you far against a sorcerer with the power to rip open mountains and whip up the sea …”
Jasen gritted his teeth. Was everyone intent on making him feel pathetic today? So he hadn’t had a great deal of thought over the logistics of his battle with Baraghosa. Did it matter how he would do it? Surely what was important was that Baraghosa be smitten, be utterly destroyed, for what he had done to Terreas?
And Jasen could do it. He could—he would, if he could lay his hands on him.
All he had to do was find him.
“I’m searching for Baraghosa,” he said quietly, calming the rage that had started to fester and boil in his stomach again, “whether or not you like it.”
Alixa humphed.
Let it drop, Jasen told himself.
… and still he couldn’t. He needed Alixa to see him eye to eye on this, to see reason.
He dredged deep, looking for something, anything, that might bring her around, make her see that Baraghosa had to be brought to justice—and that he, Jasen Rabinn, was the person to do it.
He thought back to the night Baraghosa had come to Terreas; thought back to how Jasen had been singled out; thought back to how Adem had refused him—the first child in—how many?
Pityr had gone easily. That, Jasen remembered. He was smiling—troubled, yes, but he went, even as his parents refused.
But then, his parents hadn’t been councillors. They could not reject Baraghosa’s deal the way Adem had.
Pityr had to go.
Maybe …
Jasen licked his lips. He said, carefully: “What if Pityr is still out there?”
Alixa didn’t turn. But the question, asked in low words, had to have struck her in the chest like a lead cannonball. Jasen was attuned enough to her to detect the mental flinch—it came out in the slight, hard breath she exhaled from her nose, the way her fingers tensed around her arms.
Jasen had hit his mark.
He waited, breath held.
Finally she answered. “He’s not.”
Jasen’s chest hollowed. He had been so sure that that would bring Alixa around.
It hadn’t.
At least … not yet. He still had hope. She had not come around to see things reasonably, but maybe talk of Pityr would start the process.
Either way, Jasen had not been totally defeated. Longwell, too, was searching for Baraghosa, to exact his own revenge for wrecking his ship. As
Longwell was Alixa’s key to getting to the Emerald Fields; unless she chose to go it alone—and she might, if pushed, for now she had no choice but to follow this “folly” along.
“If,” Kuura said, taking the quiet as an opportunity to re-insert himself into the conversation, “Baraghosa is here, I know of a way we might find out.”
Jasen’s head whipped around. “Oh?” He ignored the little huffed sigh from behind him—and the murmured curse that was begun and unfinished.
“There is a man named Stanislaus, down at the docks. He knows everything that goes on here.”
Jasen’s heart skipped. No Longwell to guide them for now—but this Stanislaus, he would surely know better than Longwell would anyway, if he saw the comings and goings of the Aiger Cliffs’ visitors.
“Can you take us there?” he asked.
Kuura nodded. “I can. But first—” He pointed at the knife, sticking out at Jasen’s hip. Gravity and his movement had pulled it around, so now it hung at a stupid angle, blade pointing slightly forward as if ready to stab anyone who came too near.
“Oh. Right. But we’ll go ask after Baraghosa next?”
Another nod from Kuura. “Come. Follow me.”
Off he went, without checking that they would follow.
Jasen fell immediately into step—
Then he paused, looked round.
Alixa hadn’t moved. Remaining stationary, she still had her arms folded across her chest. A disdainful pout twisted her mouth, brought her eyebrows down lower than normal, pressing a faint line between them.
She appeared not to wish to look at Jasen … but as he waited there, another few seconds, she glanced his way.
A long moment.
She sighed, dropping her arms. “Please, Jasen.”
He brooked no argument. “I’m going.” There was a sudden ferocity in his voice now, one he had not heard before.
Alixa’s mouth worked, up and down on a silent hinge. She looked away, swallowed hard.
When she looked back, there was no more of her exasperation or fire. She just looked lost—
Like a girl whose only family now stood before her——and who threatened to abandon her, in not so many words, if she did not come.
A Respite From Storms Page 11