by F. C. Reed
Just as she was about to protest, she glanced into the mirror. Oshalla stood over her with her own eyes closed. She made a triangle shape with her open hands by touching her thumbs and index fingers together. A yellow glow radiated from the center of the formed triangle shape as she pressed her palms on Amalia’s lower back. Just as suddenly as the pain flared from the shot, it died away. So did the rest of her aches and pains.
“There,” Oshalla said. “Good as the day the maker gave you breath. Go on. Sit up and tell me how you feel.”
Amalia eased herself up at first and marveled at the complete lack of pain and soreness. She had no words, which was very unusual for her.
“I thought so. Now get dressed and off you go.”
Amalia pulled on a red cotton shirt that Sarina brought along, still wide eyed about what had just happened. “How did you—
“The sphere gifts us all, well most of us anyway, in very different ways,” Oshalla cut in. “Back in the old days, people banded together based on those skills. Called the groups of people monasteries.”
Amalia slid into her gray slacks. “Monasteries like monks?”
“No, no,” Oshalla chuckled. “That’s just their designation. Nothing to do with meditation or religion or hitting yourself over the head with bricks. Nearly everyone who has access to the ‘sphere can be traced back to a monastery.”
“Everyone?” Amalia asked, her voice hinting at doubt.
“More or less,” Oshalla said as she cleaned her instruments. “Some of the more famous monasteries in modern times you might even recognize.”
“I doubt it. How would I even know?”
“Litaseris, a monastery whose members excel in binding mechanical elements to astral essence, and vice versa. Now who do you suppose does that sort of thing?”
Amalia thought for a moment. “I guess the twins? Janil and Kharius.”
“Right you are,” Oshalla replied. “How about the Terrani, whose regenerative properties and feats of healing are almost superhuman?” She put her hands on her hips and broadened her chest like an over-sized caricature of some obscure super hero. The buttons on her shirt strained to keep the fabric in place at her flexing, as did the stitching along the shoulders.
“I’m gonna go with you,” Amalia said.
“Right again. And the Black Montef, who are more skilled in dark arts than most. Creepy little devils, if you asked me. Ghost-white skin and strange looking eyes.”
“Oh, what’s his name?” Amalia snapped her fingers until the name struck her. “Dorran Visig.”
Oshalla nodded approvingly. “And you, and your gran, and Aizen, and every other commander general is a part of the Munara Tai. They carried the infinity particle, just like you.”
“The what?” Amalia frowned. “What infinity particle?”
Oshalla took a step back and grimaced. “Eh, she hasn’t told you yet, then.”
“No. Told me what? What about the infinity particle?”
“Well,” she started. “You know? It’s kind of an exclusive thing with you Munara Tai. I don’t really know much about it or understand it,” Oshalla said with a shrug. “But anyway, any time you bang yourself about, come see me,” she said, grinning.
“Thank you, Dr. Shay.” Amalia filed the term away in her head and made sure to ask about it later. The complete lack of an answer to her question did not go unnoticed.
“Don’t mention it,” Oshalla said with a wave of her hand. “And take the rest of the day off, hun. Orders of the medicus. Anyone gives you lip and you send ‘em my way. I’ll quickly sort ‘em by teaching ‘em what the devil’s what.” She stood straight and cracked her knuckles.
“But before you go doing that, I think I’ll be needing a stiff drink,” she said, sauntering over to her chair and plopping herself into it. “I’ve gone and tuckered myself clean out while patching you up. I ain’t much of a young lass anymore, if you haven’t noticed. You remember that. The ‘sphere always takes something when giving something. Best to learn what.”
Amalia left the examination room and was greeted in the small lobby by Sarina and Zerosa.
“It is good to see you well again,” Sarina said while appraising her. They made their way to the exit. Zerosa led them into the den of people scattered about their daily chores. “Everything’s okay, I’m assuming?”
“Apparently,” Amalia replied. “Lots of talk about T and A.”
Zerosa smirked. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. I thought she wouldn’t shut up about it. She also said something about an infinity particle. Either of you know anything about that?”
Sarina looked confused. “What is the T and the A?”
Amalia glanced at her with a wry smile, only to discover that her confusion was genuine. “Tell me you’re joking,” she said.
“No,” Sarina shook her head. “What is it? Is it the sarcasm again?”
“Never mind,” Amalia said with a wave of her hand. That was the second time she asked, and the second side step, further increasing her curiosity.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Thanial saw fit to return to his quarters, shower, and relax. There was a lot on his mind and he thought to sort it out alone. He toweled his brow with his sleeve and turned toward the exit of his personal training hall. Stopping short, it surprised him to see Mirell perched on a bench, watching him.
“Mirell. I didn’t hear you come in.” Dejection draped itself over every word.
Mirell smiled. “I thought maybe you needed a break. I just wanted to come by and check on you.”
Thanial eyed her suspiciously. “Is that so?”
Mirell shrugged. “I see that you are not busy. Finished with your training for the day?”
Thanial nodded, still suspicious.
“Honestly, I don’t know why you bother,” she said, shaking her head. “You could enjoy yourself instead of torturing your own body like this.”
Thanial headed for the exit with a frown. “I was just on my way to bathe,” he said. “So if you’ll excuse me.” As he passed her, Mirell rose from the bench and joined him at his side.
“Thanial, I really need to speak with you.” She fixed her lips in a tight line, determined for him to hear what she had to say.
“Now?” His shoulders slumped in annoyance.
“I think you would be pleased.”
Thanial stopped. “Why would you be trying to please me?” he asked, as if he did not already know.
Mirell pressed herself against him. “Because it pleases me.”
“Nonsense,” Thanial snorted, untangling her from his arm. “You want something. I can tell by the way your eyes are dancing in your head.”
“Translation,” she said with a smile, “yes, Mirell, please join me.”
They walked together to Thanial’s bedchambers. The curtains were drawn, and the air in the room felt heavy within the darkness. He liked his quarters dark. The lights of the city shone brightly through the window, whether night or day, and the constant shines and twinkles and winking gave him headaches.
Thanial did not pause on his way to his bathroom. “This won’t take long. You realize that,” he said.
“You should take your time. I can wait.” Mirell seemed hesitant to enter, but she walked in after him and took a seat in a high-back chair near the fireplace.
“Not my shower. Your visit.” The door latched behind him before another word was spoken.
Mirell listened to the water as it cleansed him and let her mind drift on what she had to say. She contemplated his best and worst reactions. She was soon lost in the vision she wanted to materialize, when she noticed no sounds of running water.
Thanial appeared in the room where she sat, naked save for a towel around his waist. He toweled his hair as she looked on. Mirell wondered if she should avert her gaze or drink in as much of his wet, chiseled body as she could. She chose the latter. It was a rare sight even for her.
“Well, don’t just sit there with your mouth imitating a
trap for flies. Hand me my robe,” Thanial said from somewhere underneath the mass of brown tangles he tried to yank a comb through.
Mirell gawked a bit longer, almost expecting, and perhaps wanting the knot holding up the towel just over his hips to give way, causing the towel to slip down around his feet, perchance, of course, but he just stood looking at her, the towel firmly in its place. Finally he pointed to the robe draped on the bed. “Robe, please,” he snapped.
She grabbed the cotton robe and tossed it to him, while feigning embarrassment as he pulled it about his shoulders and tied it at the waist before yanking free the towel that covered him beneath it.
“So what is this important subject you wanted to speak to me about so badly that you came to my room to watch me towel off after a shower?”
“That is not true,” Mirell said, although she had to smile at the truth of it. Watching him tug at the comb prompted her to guide him to the bed, where she sat next to him and took his comb from his hands. She dragged the tangles free of his damp hair and felt him relax into her. “I hope you are pleased by our arranged coupling as much as I am. I was hoping to expedite the process. We can wed by the start of—
“Pleased? I’m mortified by the thought of it,” he returned quickly. “And although I have a tentative agreement with your family, I still may change my mind.” He stared at the wall, imagining the anger and hurt twisting into the perfection of her soft features.
“What about the primus? He will definitely—
“It’s not his decision. And frankly, I don’t care what the primus wants or thinks. Not about this anyway. Whoever I chose, I will have to live the rest of my life with. Not him.”
Mirell bit at her anger and tried to hide the sneer she knew was playing at her lips. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
Thanial sighed and sat up, wanting to hide his concern for Mirell’s discovery. “I’m not interested in talking about this,” he said flatly as he took the comb from her and began yanking it through his own hair again.
“We spent the last several years together preparing for this. Our joining is a continuation of our friendship,” she said. “Friendships culminate in marriage out of intimate love.”
Thanial frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think you’re more interested in gaining and manipulating my father’s influence to further your own ambitions,” he muttered into the palm of his hand. “And the gods only know what else.”
Mirell continued, ignoring his comment. “I love you, Thanial.”
“Of course you do. Because someone told you you’re supposed to. It’s as if you almost have no choice. Don’t you find something wrong with that?” Thanial stood and paced half the length of the room. “You deserve someone else. Someone who is… not me.”
“I don’t want to marry someone else. I have decided,” she said in a tone not meant for discussion or argument.
“And I have yet to decide,” Thanial replied just as defiantly.
“What is wrong with you? Is it her?” She put her hands on her hips and searched his face. “She doesn’t deserve you.”
Thanial remained silent, staring into those beautifully amber eyes.
“Don’t play me for the fool, Thanial. I see how you smile when you look at her. How you take every opportunity to be close to her. How your hands glide over her skin as you touch her.” She seethed with jealousy and anger, and Thanial didn’t have to look at her to know it. The words poured from her mouth like acid from a glass vial. “You belong to me, Thanial Dumiir. You were promised to me, and I will have you.”
Thanial moved to the door and opened it for her, but she didn’t take the hint to leave just yet. “Your obsession with me; your obsession with her. With this,” he gestured between the two of them. “This is revolting, Mirell. Let alone the idea—
Mirell strode toward him in two easy steps and slapped him hard across the face, halting the words in his mouth. “Revolting?” she snapped. “How dare you.”
Thanial didn’t respond, only rubbed at the stinging in his cheek, wanting more for her to just leave. He licked at the cut on his lower lip and spat blood on the floor between them.
“Do you know who she is? Who she truly is?” Mirell shook her head from side to side. “The Lioness of the Red? Is that what you think? If so, then you’re a fool. That may be what you were told, but I know the truth. The truth you will find out soon enough.”
Now that questions formed in Thanial’s mind, she took her leave.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Reach and its surrounding districts regularly attracted an endless flow of pilgrims, travelers, merchants, and craftsmen looking to make a difference in their lives. Somer’s Alley was the most lucrative for those seeking to sell or trade off the fruits of their labor. Approaching the grounds, one could easily tell that it has perhaps the busiest market for hundreds of miles. People visited from the frosty Hadan Whitecliffs, the deserts of Tuoz to the east, and even sailed up from the Nosimi Islands, just south of the port city of Venaard.
The blue of the sky spread overhead and disappeared into the horizons. Peacekeepers, the local law enforcement, walked the streets in their gray and white tunics over black body armor. Amalia was briefed about their presence in Somer’s Alley, along with tales of their legendary arrogance and brutality. Still, the Peacekeepers were a welcome measure of protection for the wary merchant.
Somer’s Alley heaved with people, busy streams moving in all directions. The only people standing still were the ones positioned at storefronts, hoping to score a bargain. Some haggled, while others begged for spare change. The flow of people to those areas seemed near endless. However, there was a much different purpose to their movements, and a much different purpose for them to be there at all. A well-trained eye could pick out the people and groups of people with shady morals and ill intentions, hungrily eyeballing visitors ripe for the hustle.
Mercenary guilds supplied protection away from the eyes of the public for the right price. Some operated as bodyguards. Some as operatives behind the scenes. Between the pockets of mercs and the roaming Peacekeepers, people generally kept their affairs quiet and peaceful.
The darkened alleys leading into Heilaw was another story.
The most influential of the mercenary groups was the Seven Nine. Although there were many other sects, the Seven Nine gained its notoriety by assisting the primus and commander general with scouting and reconnaissance missions to provide central intelligence. That still did not absolve them of the activities that the underworld was known for, and into which the group would often dive. The Seven Nine was much a part of that, giving the primus and commander general no reason to publicly support them, although the general public knew better.
“This is the edge of Heilaw,” Kharius said. “Be careful. Keep your valuables close if you have any you want to keep.” Before them, tents and open stalls and street peddlers cluttered every street as far as her eye could see. Behind them, neat shops contrasted the filth just a few steps away.
Amalia marveled at the stark difference between the market district of Somer’s Alley and the filth and squalor that was Heilaw. The whole of Heilaw appeared much more like a compound which housed an old encampment of run-down, rotting buildings, jammed together along cobblestone walkways. The smells lingered in the air, fierce and pungent and unidentifiable.
“Janil should be here somewhere.” He scanned the crowd for his brother. “He had something to check on.”
Amalia wondered just what would he be in search of in the ghettos of the city, but thought better to ask. “Thank you for escorting me,” she said, “but Zerosa would have been just fine. All I wanted was to pick up a comfortable pair of shoes instead of having to wear boots all the time.”
“The commander general is particular about who she assigns to do what. Zerosa will meet up with us soon.”
“Where is the commander general, anyway? I haven’t seen her in about two days.”
A look of
nervousness flashed in a brief instant over Kharius’s face. “She’s been busy, but sends her regards.”
“You seem unsure,” Amalia said, reading the anxiety in his face. Kharius nodded and redirected his attention back to scanning the crowd, avoiding eye contact. “Well, I’d go see her if I knew where she was,” Amalia said.
“Very hard to track down, the commander general is,” Kharius responded.
“Hey!” a burly man yelled from down the street. “Hey you cheating little bastard! Get back here! You owe me twelve hundred auranotes!” A sizeable man with a bald head smooth as an egg and a prosthetic arm tipped with an angry, rusty hook pushed and pulled his way through the crowd toward them.
The crowded street parted as a wiry figure dashed and darted through the people in a hurry.
“Hey, you! Stop!” the man’s voice boomed.
Amalia and Kharius pressed themselves against the curious bystanders on the side of the walkway. They too craned their necks to glimpse what was to come of the commotion.
As the crowds of people ruffled in tune with the advancing man and his escapee, the figure ran by, clutching a small black bag in one hand, and a blue illuminated pistol in the other. It was Janil.
“Run,” he said in a fierce panting croak as he whisked passed the two of them.
“The hells?” Kharius spat in an annoyed whisper. He grabbed Amalia by the arm and dragged her out into the street. They ran as fast as the shuffling crowd would allow them.
“What’s going on?” Amalia yelled, panting.
“My damned foolish brother has apparently ticked off the wrong person.”
They struggled the rest of the way through the crowd and broke open into a less crowded street lined with shady establishments and dark alleyways. The street stank of khydrid manure and rotten fruit, which made it even more difficult to breathe. Ahead, Janil darted into a side alley. Kharius and Amalia picked up their pace to follow, darting into the side street just behind him. The voice of the man in pursuit boomed from the street, still yelling for them to stop.