The Alterator's Light

by Dan Brigman

  “No words allow me to express my gratitude, Bregoth.”

  Bregoth pulled his vision from the stranger and locked his penetrating brown-eyed gaze on Melek’s reddened eyes. “This house is yours until your story has been told. I will send Malkari to you. In the morning, after you have rested, we will speak.”

  With another quick squeeze of Melek’s shoulder, Bregoth strode to an ornately-carved wooden door opposite the entryway. His boots gently scraped the brown tile floor as he left Melek to his task. Paying no more attention to Bregoth, Melek turned back to the shivering trespasser.

  Melek pressed the back of his right hand to the man’s forehead and a felt that a fever had taken hold. Melek silently cursed as he had been trying to keep the man in sound condition until he knew what had happened to him. Was it weeks ago, Melek thought as memories of the past few days flitted through his mind. Who knows how long I’ll have to tend this man. He knocked away the unwanted thoughts and refocused. After Melek had earlier removed the man’s sodden clothing and boots, he began to set them in a pile next to the entryway. Melek noticed the wooden door remained ajar, allowing the rain to slowly pool at the base of the entryway. He sighed while he slowly stood, moved to the door, and closed it.

  Turning his back to the man, Melek felt his knees grow weak as if from a lack of circulation. His eyes caught a glimpse of something he never expected, never believed, to see in his life. Before, as he removed the stranger’s clothes, he had not noticed a symbol upon his chest, yet the symbol became, for a moment, all Melek could comprehend. His mind raced with the possibility of what this man could do. As a scout and Horselord he had been trained to recognize the symbols of the Blooded. The Inheritors. Melek had never actually believed in the stories of the Blooded, yet he had learned the lessons required by the clan’s elders. Acute fascination at a myth. Nothing more.

  Upon the middle of the man’s chest a small rune the size of a child’s palm glowed with an indiscernible light source. Now, Melek’s eyes were anchored to the rune. The sheer power of the man who lay upon the floor brought bile to Melek’s throat. Suppressing the awe which threatened to overwhelm his mind, Melek concentrated on what the image represented. He recalled through the mental haze that the rune represented the line of Tloffia, worshippers of Soliphi. It had been many years since anyone of the Olst had worshipped that god, and Melek could only recall that Sol was the god’s singular focus.

  Melek shifted his entire focus to the rune, determined to honor Soliphi. Carving the image into his mind, the world around him lurched. Unable to hold the bile any longer, he emptied the remaining contents of his stomach onto the floor. All the while, Melek’s gaze did not stray from the image on the man’s chest. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, Melek moved hesitantly to him. Standing over him, Melek uncomprehendingly felt restored. His mind held a clarity he could not explain; he became refreshed in a way that only a full week’s rest could bring.

  Kneeling again to the floor, Melek heard a door open behind him.

  10 — Departures

  While Einar stood near the walls of Durik’s Pass he gave the guard a slight grin before saying, “You know me, Jian.” Taking the man’s frown as skeptical, Einar waved his hand back toward Saen and continued, “Surely you know Saen Lorst?” The guard quickly glanced past Einar at Saen and snorted.

  “Lorst, I thought you’d lost your wits completely being out in this.” The guard waved the spear up to the sky. “But, seeing your company, I see they’ve been stolen.”

  Einar rose his arm up and held Saen back as she attempted to push past him. Few things flared her anger more than insulting her wits, which remained at the forefront of that short list. Her tongue-lashings nearly always scarred the victim’s psyche. Healing unfailingly occurred slowly after most people fled from her presence following the verbal assault. The events occurred so infrequently that most people in town forgot the event as time passed. Saen’s apologies usually flowed without hesitation within a few days, even if she did not believe she was in the wrong.

  “Jian, this is not a time for insults.” Einar inhaled deeply then said, “If you could open the gate we’d be in your debt.” Out of the corner of his eye, Einar saw Saen turn and stomp off a few steps. Angry gusts of breath escaped her lips, yet the wind carried off whatever words accompanied his friend’s failing temper.

  Jian squinted at Einar, as if seeing him for the first time. Jian’s eyes widened to a confused stare after a few breaths. He alternated between confusion and shock. As Einar felt his own temper slipping at the display, Jian’s face softened somewhat, and Einar thought he saw something different than the normal expression of disdain. It couldn’t be fear, Einar thought with more than a bit of curiosity. Jian said, “I see the cold doesn’t bother you two. You do your work?”

  With the question, Jian gestured his hand before him. The varied gestures, bred by ignorance, almost brought a laugh to Einar’s lips, as most people always thought Alteration meant nothing more than moving your hands around in strange ways. Some people even tried to do only that, but after years of vain attempts those unfortunates nearly went mad with the struggle.

  Einar nodded, but before Jian could continue, Saen brushed past Einar and stood before the guard. With a finger waggling under his nose Saen offered in a scathing tone, “How else do you think we can be out in this weather, you daft fool! You people,” she continued, waving her other hand toward the town, “have never believed in his abilities, and now you realize what he can do is not a farce.” Seeing the man’s mouth open and shut wordlessly while staring at Saen’s flushed face, Einar stepped to her side.

  He whispered soothing words into her ear, and Saen calmed down enough to realize her finger pushed into the man’s cheek. When she lowered the finger, a reddish-white indentation formed on his cheek, and she remained steadfast before the guard. Einar coughed loudly enough for the man’s rapt gaze to break. Quickly shaking his head, Jian faced Einar. The guard looked askance at Saen, as if he expected to be pushed into the brazier behind him.

  He swallowed before speaking, “You know, Amakiir, I never doubted you.” He paused for a moment and saw Saen’s eyes had narrowed enough not to be seen in the dim light. Continuing, Jian said, “I just never saw with my own eyes what your kind can do. I thought your place here was, you know, honorary. Many apologies, Sir.”

  Forestalling another one of Saen’s tirades after a rather loud groan of frustration, Einar said, “No need for that, Jian. I just want my friend and myself to be on our way as soon as possible.”

  Jian scrutinized the two companions for a brief moment, trying to discern whether they truly wanted to continue into the harsh winter’s night. Finally, he set his eyes and said, “Well, I suppose since you want to leave, I’ll not be held responsible if you die out there. I’ll offer prayers to Soliphi for your passing to be quick since I see you are too stubborn to give up on leaving the town’s protection.”

  “Never mind your conscience, Jian,” Einar said, so softly the words barely registered over the wind. “You’ll not be held accountable if we should die out there. Besides, Lord Mayor Kendach himself has sanctioned our trip.”

  The words shocked the guard to stillness. After a few breaths, Saen’s voice cracked within a silent lull in the snowstorm. “Go now and open that damned gate!”

  Jian turned his head, complete surprise masking his face, before he fumbled with the spear and ran. Once he reached the gate, Jian raised the stout wooden bar with a guttural grunt. Einar quickly offered to help. They raised the bar over the metal brackets and stumbled backward when the bar came down on Jian’s chest. Moving back two paces, Jian let the bar fall to the ground.

  Jian stepped over the bar and pushed the wooden doors open enough to let the companions pass through. He looked outward for a few seconds and turned back to say, “Nothing out there but the frozen winds and blackness.” The brazier’s flames met Jian’s visage illuminating the compassion etched deeply in the lines of his face. �
�Are you sure you can survive out there all night?”

  Saen and Einar glanced at one another. A breath later, Einar nodded gently to her as he turned back to the guard. “Jian, I’m losing precious time talking to you about something which has been decided upon. I appreciate your concern, but please step aside.” Einar spoke with a confidence Saen had not heard in many years; the voice commanded respect earned through years of brutal travels required for his art.

  Jian blinked once in apparent shock, then quickly moved aside before Einar knocked him backward. Neither companion looked back as they walked through the open gate into the darkness of the storm. They felt the guard’s eyes, watching worriedly, as they trudged deeper into the darkness, deeper into the acute cold. Despite the wind shifting past them, they heard the gate closing, then the faint sound of Jian setting the wooden bar into place.

  “Good,” Einar stated, almost too low to hear in the ever-growing wind. “At least he didn’t wait too long for us to come running back to the village.”

  Saen scoffed. “Funny you mention that, since I have been wondering how soon I’ll be going back to the village if I can’t see a thing. Hopefully, I can see my way back.”

  The Alterator stumbled when Saen’s words struck his lapsed attention. Without hesitation, he said, “By the Ancients, I’m sorry Saen. I can’t see a thing out here, either. Give me a moment, please.” Einar heard no response, so he took that as a good sign to continue. I probably couldn’t hear her words over this wind, anyway. Scanning behind them, Einar caught sight of the lights on top of the gatehouse about a quarter mile from their position and gasped in surprise.

  Einar placed his pack upon the ground and blindly reached inside, feeling for the torch. Quickly locating it, he laid it close to the pack and quickly lit it with a conveniently-placed flint and steel. When the torch crackled to light, Einar stuck the torch in the ground and replaced his pack. When he bent over to pick up the torch and stood upright, a very distraught and livid face came into full view a mere pace away. The seething anger apparent in the usually friendly face nearly brought fear to Einar’s being; however, fear was not an option. Surprise overwhelmed him as Saen rushed forward, grabbed his shoulder straps, and shook Einar before she shouted, “If you ever leave me in the dark again, I will return home! I can’t abide your bouts of inattention out here, Einar! Can you promise me that you’ll never do that again?”

  Gulping in spite of himself, Einar looked into her eyes and saw unbridled fear. I would have never thought she is afraid of the dark. Grabbing her shoulder fiercely, he gave an oath he hoped not to regret in their coming travels.

  “Saen, I promise to do anything in my power to ensure you are never in the dark like that again while in my presence.”

  Their eyes stood locked for few breaths in the flickering torch light. Saen’s held a ferocious determination layered behind diminishing fear, and Einar’s held a tinge of sadness as he realized she suffered because of him. Einar felt compelled to add, “Old friend, I’m truly sorry for my negligence. Please help me not to stray too far from our path.” Eyes softening, she looked down at her hands clasping the straps in a white-knuckled grip and gasped.

  Saen released the straps, then patted Einar’s clothes with what seemed to be embarrassment. “Thank you, Einar. That’s all I ask, and I’ll be careful to keep you on the path.” Straightening herself, Saen looked southward, and despite the light’s meager illumination, she could make out the road going south. “Good,” she began, “That torch will not last forever, Einar. What will we do when it runs out? We can’t go all night on one torch. Besides, Tallvon is still a day’s walk from here.”

  “Well,” Einar answered and began walking. “We will walk for however long this torch lasts, then rest comfortably at one of the meager sanctuaries along the road until sunrise. At that point, I will be able to assist us more substantially. Hopefully we can make it another day or two before the blizzard pushes us indoors.” Einar felt slight pressure on his elbow and glanced aside to see Saen standing close to him.

  After a few minutes of walking, Einar smiled as he felt her grip release from his elbow. While she had let go, Einar noticed out of the corner of his eye that her distance had not changed. As Einar scanned ahead, Saen said, “I am sorry about the outburst. It was wrongheaded of me.”

  He turned and said nothing, only giving her a friendly smile. That seemed to be enough since her eyes, refilled with determination, focused upward on the path ahead.

  The path to Tallvon, while usually familiar to inhabitants of Durik’s Pass, had eerily altered from Einar and Saen’s recollection. Darkness, a hands-width from the end of the torch, allowed them to see nothing except one another and the frozen dirt on the road beneath their feet. Saen attempted to peer straight ahead into the gloom, but the fleeting flurries which should have landed on her cloak flowed around both companions. After a few moments of this strange phenomenon, her stomach lurched. She looked at the ground in an effort to minimize the eeriness of her observation. Saen felt small drafts of icy air blow past exposed skin, but not enough to grow uncomfortable or to even move their cloaks in any substantial way. The increasing number and swiftness of flakes proved the wind’s intensity had grown, yet none of its frigidity fell upon her. Saen’s mind could not reconcile the expectedness of getting frostbite with the abnormal reality of merely having a chilled face. No more to worry about the cold than to take a short walk to get water from the well.

  While she struggled with the conflicting weather conditions, she felt a hand grasp her shoulder; her stomach nearly gave up its contents at the sudden jolt. Quickly regaining her composure, she looked at Einar, and yelled, “What do you want?” She cringed and saw Einar put a hand to one ear as the words reverberated within the companions’ sanctuary.

  Still walking, Einar lowered his hand as the echoes slipped away into the night and whispered, “No need to raise your voice now. Sounds have difficulty getting in or out for the time being.”

  Testing her voice, Saen replied, also in a whisper, “I’m sorry. This weather,” she waved her hand around her, as if trying to encompass everything around them, “is something I’m having difficulty contemplating. I’ll try to follow your lead, but please be patient.”

  “I should be the one apologizing. I sometimes forget the effect alteration can have on the mind, especially for ones who don’t normally travel with my assistance. Regardless, I saw you were troubled and wanted to be sure you are fine.”

  “I’ll be better as soon as we can rest,” Saen said. “I didn’t really give much thought to this part of the trip, honestly. It’s almost as if I’m seasick. Looking down seems to help.”

  “You’re in luck, then. According to the path markers, we are already halfway to the sanctuary.”

  Nodding, she shifted her gaze back to the barren path and grabbed Einar’s elbow for guidance. It does help a bit. What use will I be if I can’t even mind the markers along the way?

  Struggling to scan for the squat stone markers for several hundred paces, Saen gave up after failing to notice even one. Time passed indeterminably in the near-blackness while she tried to focus merely on trudging forward. In spite of her intent, the day’s work, Einar’s distress, and her impulsive decision to join him on this trip sapped Saen’s will. I’ve never felt this helpless. But, for Einar, I need to be strong. Her thoughts slowly eroded into a dull and incessant whispering.

  Miles passed along the road and flitting thoughts of distress, failure, even possible death grew, overshadowing Saen’s focus, annoyingly beyond the edge of her mind. Vague and half-forgotten memories of previous failures blended with the thoughts she had pushed back during the long preparatory discussions and even the talk with Valen. The thoughts pushed themselves to be recognized, all vying for her attention, like serpents surrounding her readying to strike. Saen’s attention could not be shared under the increasing strain, and the deluge of thoughts swept away her renewed focus on strength like a strand of hair caught in a tempes
t.

  Strangely, Saen felt her hand loosen its grasp on Einar’s sleeve—it felt like someone else’s hand. Disorientation fell over her, bringing her to her knees on the frozen soil. Crying out from the jarring pain, she sensed fatigue replacing the overwhelming confusion. Sighing in relief at the incoming clarity of thought, she heard Einar whisper tenderly, “What is the matter?”

  Keeping her eyes upon the ground, Saen sighed, “Nothing, now.” Getting back to her feet, while carefully looking down, she reached for Einar’s elbow after brushing off her skirt.

  “I’ll be fine in a moment—even better when we reach the sanctuary, so I can rest for a bit.”

  “You’re due some luck, Saen. We have only a hundred paces by my count of the markers. See?”

  Saen noticed Einar extend the torch toward her right side, and she dared to glance toward the edge of the light. The light flickered over the familiar stone marker. Standing only one pace high, the stone’s rounded top unexpectedly showed no sign of wear from the weather. Their lack of damage is testament to their makers’ ability. I’m curious as to who made them…

  Einar must have heard her speak the last thought out loud, as he actually began to tell her the history of the markers. Sighing, she interrupted, “Not now, Einar. I’m sure it’s fascinating, but I can barely think straight. Let’s just focus on getting to the sanctuary.” Without hesitation, Saen felt the cloth in her finger tug forward. Smiling, she forced herself to focus on their destination.

  Unpleasant dreams sloughed away as she gasped awake upon cold, pebble-strewn soil. At first seeing nothing but spots flitting in the darkness before her, Saen’s breath became ragged, tightening her throat. Her hands constricted around the rough cloth in her lap. A sudden, yet firm hand grasped her shoulder drawing a squeal of breath to escape her clenched teeth. Then a familiar whisper and a hand upon her right shoulder grounded Saen from the increased state of unfamiliarity.