by Dan Brigman
“The day’s stress must have overwhelmed my senses.” Einar shrugged.
From his chair, Quint asked, “You must have noticed their skin, Alterator? At least the leader’s? Perhaps that made the wound worse somehow? Usually the Guardians don’t just wound, and the bodies are either taken away or buried.”
The mention of skin sparked something in Einar. He stirred, and spoke under his breath, “The grayness, yes.” Looking back at Quint, he said, “I had to be out of sorts to not have noticed his pallor. The one who you had stopped in the street did have grayish skin. I must be a fool to think I could have fought them alone.”
The door opened, and Saen entered with a large ceramic bowl filled with fruits and dried meats. The late morning air had not warmed much, and Einar’s open shirt brought a grunt from his lips as the chilled air washed over him. With one foot, she pushed the door closed bringing a sigh from Einar. Three wooden mugs lay around the top of the bowl, and she held a large wooden pitcher in the other hand. Quint felt panic rise through his still-waking fog. She went out without covering that Mark. The panic popped when he saw the hood of her cloak had been pulled up. As she turned to offer a mug to Quint and filled it with clear water, he noticed the right side of her face lay in shadow and no lines could be seen. He sighed, and Saen smiled when she caught his eye. A knowing nod brought a slight smirk to his lips.
“The lovely captain has offered us some of his chilled fruits,” she said after seeing the surprise on their face at the bowl of fruit. “You were saying, Einar? I think I heard you say you fought three Guardians alone?” Saen asked while she proffered food and drink to the still-sitting Einar.
Einar’s face reddened, “Well yes, Saen.”
“I know, old friend,” she smiled again as she sat down on the bench. Saen continued, “You blinded me, so you must have wanted to fight them alone.” Einar swallowed a bite of green apple, and his frown was not due to the fruit’s bitterness. Her smile faded away. “Please, next time just warn me when you’re going to do that. I’ll be sure to shield my eyes.”
Einar took another bite and glanced at Quint. He had buried his face into the mug, but Einar could see a hint of laughter. Minutes passed and silence persisted as Saen offered each companion a third of the bowl and water. With their stomachs full, they sat contentedly, sleep threatening to wash over them again. Just as Einar’s eyes closed, the door blasted in.
Julian said as he took in the three forms, “Well, rest time is over. The gang plank is set and ready for your feet. I’ve even got three rooms bought for the lot of you. Vesper’s Point is a fine community, but keep your heads down. They don’t care much for your kind, Einar.” He held a bundle in his hands, seeming to have forgotten it.
“Yes, I know. I remember the last time I stayed a night there, before the children were born. On the way back from a trip south, I had been so tired after a night of nearly no rest, I scribed a meager rune for some warmth. In the Mindful Few’s common room.” He heard a unified gasp from others, but continued, looking at the three, “I know. Not a wise choice. Fortunately, the children weren’t with me; otherwise, they would have seen their father being escorted from town.” A smile widened across his face. “Really, I’m lucky I wasn’t jailed for a night or worse.”
The captain’s face, frozen with shock, broke slightly as he replied, “I’ve only known you three for less than a day, and I’ve heard and seen more madness than a barge captain has any right to. You two,” he said, pointing at Saen and Quint, “will need to keep your scribing friend under lock and key; that is, if you want to survive the night in that town.” Julian looked down at his hands, remembering what he held.
“For you, Einar.” Julian placed a thick woolen shirt on the cot, pearl buttons sewn halfway up the shirt’s front. “I’ve not worn that in some time, and it’ll be better if you take it, rather than let the moths enjoy a treat.”
Julian stepped to Saen, handing her a brown silken scarf. He moved back to the open door. “For you, Saen. My late wife always enjoyed that scarf to keep the cold away while she walked the barge’s night watch. During the day, though, the scarf helped her beauty shine bright. Had many a fight trying to win her heart.” He paused as he studied Saen. “The scarf will serve you well.”
“Thank you, Julian,” issued from both companions. Julian continued to the doorway and held up a black, woolen cap before throwing it to Quint. “For you, old man.” Quint grabbed it midair and nodded. “You want to cover those gray spikes. I’ll not say goodbye as I’m sure I’ll see you again. Best wishes as you disembark.”
With that, Captain Julian Thosten grinned, then departed. Within a heartbeat, they heard a whistled tune, familiar to all three, Say Goodbye to Your Lady. Nearly always an uplifting song, this time the somber notes reached their ears, reminding them of their duty.
Epilogue — Eternity’s Grasp
Melek lay deep in the shadows of a wooden wall, his chin buried into his heavily-muscled chest. Kirian squatted next to him and stared down the alleyway for town guards who may still be searching for them, he supposed. Kirian closed his eyes to keep his night vision intact, thankful he did not have to look upon Melek’s blackened leg for now. Each time Kirian had moved Melek’s limp form, he could feel the leg’s touch upon him. Kirian felt his neck cringing at the thought of that Blighter’s lingering effect upon the leg.
Acid burned the back of Kirian’s throat when he held one of his kukris to Melek’s throat. Melek’s normally-tanned face had paled, his breathing shallow enough to bring a deep sigh to Kirian’s lips. The wound’s crackling sound of pebbles rubbing together stayed Kirian’s hand, long enough for him to glance down. Lingering moonlight allowed Kirian a faint visual inspection. He re-sheathed the kukri.
“I’ll not need to put you down, my friend,” Kirian muttered as he noticed the black-red corruption laced within Melek’s wound changing. His flesh shunted out the blackness like a candle in a cavern.
Kirian paused at each set of guards patrolling the town’s streets. All night they searched for those involved in the battle. Or battles, he heard some of them whisper. Kirian had to hold back a chuckle each time he overheard them referring to what had happened in the street as a battle. And to think they had not even seen what had happened between him, Melek, and the Blighter. Their closed minds might implode. The thought slid away as another set of guards strode by, each with a torch in one hand and a short spear in the other.
These two, a man and woman of nearly the same age, had given up their swords hours ago, when the initial commotion died down. The torchlight flickered around the guards’ dirtied faces. Once, these two particular guards had passed by Kirian and Melek appearing vigilant, yet with a touch of nervous concern caressing their eyes. Now, though, the meager torchlight could not hide the strain of the morning’s work. At the edge of the alley, the man stopped, prompting his partner to halt. He put the back of a gloved hand up to cover a yawn.
“We’re never going to find them.” Annoyance pushed his voice forward over the tiredness.
“You keep saying that, but the commander doesn’t care,” the woman replied before she covered her own wider yawn. Once she could speak, she added, “I can’t wait until I get home to take care of the children.” She sighed as she glanced eastward. The man followed her focus.
“Aye. We better go. Sol is breaching the horizon. Commander said we could report back at sunrise.”
The woman nodded before removing her leather helmet. She tried to scratch away the knots tangling the long brown braid, as they strode away from Melek and Kirian. Their leather boots scuffed along the roadway, the increasing distance muffling the sound. Kirian counted thirty breaths, then reached over to shake the still-unconscious Melek.
Melek’s hand grasped Kirian’s wrist. Kirian turned, a broad smile upon his face.
“What has happened, Kirian? Where are we?”
Kirian put a finger across his lips, then whispered, “Still in the blasted town.”
&nb
sp; “Have we been here all night?” Melek asked as he tried to push himself up. Kirian let him test the leg, knowing the big man’s stubbornness. “Damn leg,” he hissed. “That Blight-spawn nearly killed me.”
“That Blighter,” Kirian corrected, “and his rune should have killed you. Lucky for us, though, we had you to take the brunt of the bastard’s power.” He pondered, “I’ve never seen a rune like that.”
Melek narrowed his gaze, Sol’s increasing light offering Kirian a glimpse of the scrutiny. “That doesn’t explain why we’re both still alive.”
Kirian nodded. “I’ll have to explain that on the road. Guards run thick in this little town. I’ll have to remember that next time we’re through here. Here, now.” Kirian offered a hand. “Can you stand with aid? Another set of those guards will be here soon.”
“Yes,” Melek offered. “We’ll be better prepared next time.” Melek wrapped his arm around the shorter man’s neck. Kirian could only bite back laughter before replying.
“Next time? There had better be no next time.”
The two men crept out of town, catching no notice except for that one-armed creature.
The Unnamed had followed the two survivors throughout the night. Scorn tickled the back of his partially-shattered spine. Stealth did not require a whole arm, thank the Originators. While his arm regrew, the Unnamed held too much weakness. The Unnamed waited as he crouched next to a tall warehouse, deep in its morning shadows. Only someone walking into him would see him. For just a moment, perhaps.
He glanced down at the corpse near his feet, offering the dead thing no more regard than what it had become: a healing agent. The Unnamed ripped away the body’s tough stomach muscles like thick paper. He grinned at the stench of rotting flesh infusing the air with its additional healing properties. Reaching down with his only hand, the Unnamed gripped the liver and kidneys before tearing them free one-by-one before setting each carefully upon the ground.
The Unnamed noted as the two companions walked furtively south before he muttered, “There will be a next time.”
He paused to paint his rotten stump with the liver’s juices squeezed slowly from the organ. Each swipe of the organ molded pieces of it to his body. The juice cracked against his exposed flesh like oil on a red-hot cook pan. Each pop renewed his arm. The Unnamed continued muttering to himself a chant with each passing hour.
“No preparation will save you two.” Squeeze. “No preparation will save that Alterator.” Paint. “No preparation will save those children.” Crack.
The Unnamed envisioned the three children and their petulant mother, miles to the south by now, and grinned at the tortures he would unleash on each one.
Ellia leaned upon her elbow staring at Celek, Kylia, and Eosy’s sleeping forms less than a pace from a small campfire within the sanctuary. Jaken stood nearby brushing Altaric’s long, black mane. He brushed mechanically, his focus upon the firelight glinting off their skin. A moment later, Sol’s light brightened their brown-black skin just as a wrenching cramp seized Jaken’s hand around the brush.
Jaken grunted at the pain enveloping his splotched-gray hand. With gritted teeth and closed eyes, he uncurled his fingers away from the wooden bristle brush. The brush finally slipped loose and fell into the tall winter sacc and sprouts of green river oats. Jaken thought he heard a voice through the wracking agony.
“What?” he muttered while he stifled the pain with a layer of bazen.
“I said, are you alright?” Ellia asked, concern edged into each word.
“I’ll be fine. Just an old wound that never healed right.” Jaken glanced at Ellia; her eyes narrowed before she replied.
“I have poultices for the pain if you—”
“No, thank you. This is too deep even for that.” Jaken turned his gaze to the hand. An empty patch of tanned skin, surrounded by gray skin, writhed and rippled as it grayed. Once, the sight had made him want to vomit. Now he stared with simple disgust through the layered bazen. Jaken felt a tug pull his hand northward, the graying skin crying out to his wounded master. The Graying will take me one day. But not before I take this family to their destination. Movement around the campfire redirected his gaze. The girls had roused and passed him furtive glances as they helped Ellia prepare breakfast. A blink later, Celex rose up and yawned before leaping to his feet. Celex turned to Jaken with a cheerful smile brightened by Sol’s dawn.
“Jaken, you ready to lead us again today?” Celex asked.
Jaken offered a pained grin before glancing over the boy’s shoulder to Ellia, her face clouded with confusion.
“Yes, Celex, I am,” Jaken offered before thinking, May my eternity be damned for what I must do.
The Thuin Heritages cannot ever be allowed to follow in the footsteps of their predecessors. Humanity nearly destroyed itself once with weapons much less powerful than what we have discovered. Thus, order and reason must be harnessed into a power wrought in the crucible of Sol’s light.
Chronicles of Suntzu
Volume 3, page 38
120 Runic Reckoning
Appendix
A glossary of places, people, and terms common to
most inhabitants of the continent of Thuin.
Age of Jiir (Jheer): a golden age throughout the entirety of Solis. Prosperity existed for nearly 500 years. Much of the Age’s history is recorded in the Chronicles.
Auctorians: nine ancient men and women thought to no longer walk the face of Solis. Their power is recognized as so great that the Originators harnessed their energy into Heritages. No one living is thought to know their names, yet the varied Chronicles are thought to harbor lost knowledge about them.
Alteration: one process of manipulating energy around oneself using runic symbols to focus the manipulation.
Alterator: a person trained specifically to protect the provinces from the effects of Blighting. Many Alterators have secondary professions, dependent upon the city, to help bolster their income and to offset a slight fear of Alteration. Alterators who study at the University of Lyceum receive rings to designate their status—the number of rings and their intricacy vary for each Alterator. They are not required to wear the rings except when requiring validation throughout Thuin.
Altered Illnesses: normal illnesses affect any of the races, yet rune-based diseases have formed over the years due to manipulation of human physiology. The Writ and Breaking Pox are two known examples.
Arstle: Horselord master and mentor within the Olst clan.
Azuleus (ah-ZOOL-e-us): one of two moons orbiting Solis; it is similar to an original singular moon, but is reduced in size by nearly 40%.
bazen: (BAH-zen) a method of meditating in battle. Devised from a nearly-forgotten religion belief, and eventually transferred to a philosophical process of honing one’s mind following the Great Dread War.
Battle of Jasten’s Reach: a final battle during The Blighter’s War on The Plains of the Fallen in which the Blight-spawn’s general fell in battle due to overwhelming Sacclon forces.
The Blight: widely considered the original source of blighting. A substance, commonly called Dread, is thought to have corrupted the Solis’s entire environment enough that fallen Alterators used the substance for their benefit.
Blighting: one process of manipulating energy around oneself using runic symbols to focus the manipulation.
Blighter: a person who has been trained to manipulate energy. The manipulations are generally considered to be solely detrimental to life. A Blighter must have mastered the basic methodologies of Alteration.
The Blighter’s War: commonly remembered as “the war” and formally known as “The Blighters’ War.” It was a nearly four-year-long war which originated in Sacclon by repeated assaults along its border by brigands and blight-spawn. The fields of sacc had been threatened by a resurgence of long-forgotten or misremembered blight-spawn.
Blight-ripped: one of three known races on Solis. Blight-ripped are a less common race. They are a product of human intera
ction with the blight.
Breaking Pox: an altered disease which viciously attacks the nervous and skeletal system, enough that the afflicted feel as though they are being broken apart.
Bregoth: a Horselord of Hust and the leader of the Olst clan. He resides in Olst and maintains the daily operations of the clan.
Chronicles: the written history, philosophy, literature, scientific, and political science of Thuin and Solis. Natural history is well-documented, as well. A full set of Chronicles are kept in the University of Lyceum. Partial collections are spread throughout the continent. Other continent’s Chronicles are rare but are found in libraries of most provincial capitols. The Legends of Suntzu and Seraphina is one Chronicle. It exemplifies a great epic stretching back 5000 years to the time of Suntzu, the mythological father of Seraphina Drake. She is claimed to have ushered in the Great Dread War nearly 2000 years ago, a war which is believed to have unleashed blighting in its current state upon the world.
daystar: also known as Luciferum. A white-petaled flower which blooms at the rise of Sol on the first day of spring each year. It blooms for one day only and unfailingly marks the first day of spring. It is named after a mythological being who once shone brilliantly and fell to a path of darkness.
Einar Amakiir (Ah-MA-keer): a veteran of The Blighters’ War better known as “the war”) He served as a young Alterator in a platoon of Sacclon citizens. After the war, he settled in Durik’s Pass as the city’s Alterator and book binder. He is married to Ellia and has three children: Kylia (Ky-LEE-ah), Eosy (E-O-see), and Celex (KEL-ex).
Einmyria (Ein-MEER-ea): one of the two moons orbiting Sol. It never changes its position relative to Solis; it is unusually bright and remains in the phase between a waning gibbous and half-moon. On most nights it gives off a bluish hue.
Ellia Amakiir: mother of three children, Kylia, Eosy, and Celex, and wife to Einar Amakiir. Helps to raise the children and has served on multiple councils in Durik’s Pass.