by J. E. Klimov
Giphon’s eyes sparkled. “I knew it!” He wagged his tail like an excited dog.
“Keep it down,” Bence said, pointing at Giphon.
The Foti padded toward him, sword cradled in his arms. “I crafted this the day after I met you.”
Raising a brow, he said, “How did you know?”
“You may have convinced the Irellians because they are blinded by their insatiable desire for success. I am but a humble Foti with a great sixth sense.”
“Then why didn’t you report me?” Bence continued to admire the sword, but his hands remained glued to his side.
“Why would I care? My impression is that you are a lone Aeonian survivor. It’s not like you pose a threat to anyone.”
Bence twisted his lips, temped to surprise Giphon with an uppercut. The ruthless, lethal warrior still brewed within, and now it was boiling over. He shot his arm out and snatched the sword at lightning speed. With a twirl, he grasped the hilt and pointed it at the Foti’s heart. “Say that again. I dare you.”
Giphon regarded him with hooded eyes. He yawned, exposing yellowed teeth and a long rubbery tongue. Bence pushed the sword until it dug past the fur and touched flesh.
“You’re welcome,” he said nonchalantly.
Bence hesitated, waiting for Giphon to make a move or apologize. “What kind of game are you playing?”
“If there was any doubt, this proves you are the Aeonian. Impatient, easily angered, and prone to violence.” He paused. “Where are you headed?”
“What does it matter to you?”
“Well, I had hoped that you were returning to Deran. Or would be eventually.”
Bence relaxed his grip, letting the tip of the sword tap the ground. “And why’s that?”
Giphon leaned onto the table. “I mentioned Hakan when I first spoke with you. Have you met him?”
Gazing up and to the right, Bence dug into his treasure chest of unpleasant enemies. “I haven’t. He had the cunning to whisk himself and his people into hiding.” Bence peeked at Giphon. “Back when I was an Aeonian.”
“I’ll make this brief. Hakan regularly communicates with family in the Bridge. It has stopped as of late. We fear something happened to him, and if something did happen to him, I’m confident it affected the whole country.
Bence leaned forward, straining his ears. Shuddering involuntarily, he connected this to Isabel’s haunting pleas. His face remained hardened. “What’s that got to do with me? What if told you I was going to Waaken instead?”
“I don’t have anything to say. I figured I’d ask. You’re the only one wanted to the point where this tiny country has done some significant outreach to find you. If you were truly a murderer with no soul, I wouldn’t have seen you again. But you’re here. Those with guilty consciences run, but they always cycle back. But those without remorse never return.”
Sword in hand, Bence had to make a decision. He twirled the weapon in place. After a brief pause, he said, “Deran is my destination.” After the words dripped from his lips, his stomach soured. The journey would be impossible to make.
“Then, keep the sword.”
“I told you─I have no money.”
Giphon dug into his pocket and pulled out an object. He caressed it with his paw, eyes softening. It was a singular Fotian claw. “This will be your payment.”
Bence frowned, “I don’t get it.”
“My ask is that you deliver this to Hakan.”
“You want me to give him a claw of a dead Foti?”
“I would take care to wipe that disgusted look off your mug.”
Bence shrugged as a half-apology. “Sure. That’s easy.” He swiped the claw, unrolled his cloak, and shoved it in an inner pocket.
“Tell him that his brother wants him to have it. It’s Father’s.”
After a double take between Giphon and the pocket, Bence stuttered. “You… You’re related?”
Giphon brushed his whiskers. “Same father, different mother. Hakan left our pack to prove himself to Father. Hakan was the runt of the litter, and Father was extra hard on him. But now Father is dead. A claw from the patriarch is passed down to the strongest Foti.” He swallowed as his paw trembled. “I believe this doesn’t belong to me. I want him to have it, to know that his father would’ve been proud.”
The claw seemed heavier as Bence stood there, stunned.
“Are you going to say something?” Giphon sniffed in his direction. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I am,” Bence replied, clearing his throat. He shook off the surprise and regained his composure. “I promise.”
In a blur of copper fuzz, Giphon leapt and tackled him. Bence dug his back leg into the ground to maintain balance. He gagged as the Foti roped him into a hug and licked his check. “You’re the best,” he barked.
After shoving him off, Bence dusted his tunic. “Right. Well, now I just need to find a way home.” Pointing at the market, he said, “And judging by the high security alert, it doesn’t look like I’ll be ocean bound anytime soon.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem for you.” Giphon pointed to the black pearl.
Fiddling with the ring, Bence sulked. “What are you talking about?”
“There are two things I know. Deran is famous for precious gems that carry mystical powers, and the Irellian soldier warned everyone that you possess evil witchcraft.” Giphon chortled. “Witchcraft. Worst propaganda ever. It had to have been Ki who pushed for that. She’s the real witch.” When his laughter settled, he continued, “But this can’t be a coincidence. That pearl there must have some power, and maybe you can use it.”
“Even if it could, I have no idea how. I’m discovering my powers as I go.”
“What’ve you mastered so far?” Giphon asked.
“I can pin down shadows of people or things. I can travel to a place via its shadow.” Bence ticked off his short list with his fingers. His cheeks grew hot. His powers were pathetic.
“That’s it!” Giphon howled. “Use shadows to travel to Deran.”
Bence ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “I need the actual shadow of the destination.”
“That’s what you’ve done so far. I don’t think it’s a stretch that you can travel further. Shadows overlap one another. Give it a shot!” He got on all fours and paced back and forth.
When Bence glanced at the gap between curtains, he noticed the sun began its decent. He blew a stray strand of hair from his eyes. “I don’t have time for this ridiculousness.”
Before he could exit, Giphon cut him off. “Try. Please. Your alternative isn’t any better.”
“Fine.” Bence plopped on the ground and sat with his legs crossed. “Maybe I should open my hands, close my eyes, and hum loudly,” he replied sarcastically.
The Foti circled him looking more and more like a feral wolf ready to pounce. “I need you to take this seriously,” he growled. “Close your eyes. Forget the rest of your crap.”
As Bence shut his lids, he gripped the hilt of his new sword tightly and reached for his dagger with the other. A heap fell onto his lap.
“Don’t forget the claw!”
Nodding, Bence squeezed his cloak between his knees. “Now what?”
“I don’t know. I’m not from Deran.”
He ground his teeth at the thought of how foolish he looked. Giphon was clueless, and Bence mentally berated himself for listening to some stranger.
“Okay, calm down. You look like I could fry a goose egg on your face. What if you imagine a place in Deran you were closely tied to? Like an event? And focus on where the shadow of such a place falls?”
“You’re just making things up as you go.”
“Just try!”
The curtains flapped behind him as an invasive wind blew past, forming a melody of rattling metal. Bence braced for the haunting voice, but nothing came. He whistled in relief, but it did draw his attention to Isabel. When he envisioned her, all he could see was her on her wedding day. Bence squeezed
his eyes harder, trying to decipher why that particular picture came to mind. She was a speck in the distance, but he admired her crisp white lace gown flapping in the ocean breeze. The salty air never smelt so fresh. Hundreds of people crowded on their haystack seats, craning their necks to look at her. He bit his tongue when he saw Dante by her side. A twinge of jealousy sparked a flame inside, and the energy awakened his black pearl, pulsing along with his heartbeat. The picture unfolded into a multi-dimensional realm─his feelings back then blossomed anew.
“What?” Giphon asked. “What do you see?”
“Shut up!” Bence was desperate to chase the feeling. He had wrestled with his loyalties that day, and at the end of it all, he shot his arrow at a Tuuli scout instead of her.
Sniffing interrupted him. “Where are you?”
“I’m in Buryan. It’s a city in Deran. I’m hiding by a temple.”
“Good. Focus on that.”
He slammed his fist onto the ground. “Shut up, I know!”
A blinding light flashed through his eyelids. When Bence tried to open them, the intensity forced them back shut again. It flickered into complete darkness and the room seemed to spin. He braced the floor, but he wasn’t moving. Giphon yelped before a rushing sound like a waterfall cut him off.
Bence flinched when he starting sinking. No matter how hard he tried, his eyes remained shut. As was his mouth when tried to call out to Giphon. All his irritation fled his system and replaced by fear. It seized his mind as a familiar yank at his collar dragged him into an abyss. An occasional light flickered, followed by long periods of darkness. Squirming with all his might, Bence couldn’t unwind from his position. Terror paralyzed him to the point where he was afraid to breathe. He was ripped from Giphon’s alcove and flung through some indescribable dimension at a nauseating speed.
His stomach flipped when he fell upward as if gravity had reversed. After hurtling what seemed sky bound for a few seconds, he slammed against solid rock. Stars exploded in his eyes. Bence groaned. When he realized he was still, propped himself on his elbows. The intensity faded like a steady beat of a drum. His limbs loosed, his lips parted in a gasp, and his eyes ripped open. An arctic blast greeted him.
Bence rubbed his eyes. Again. “Nope, they’re definitely open,” he said breathily. A wooden bridge dusted lightly with snow opened up to a winding path to an ocean-side cliff. Tilting his head back, he found himself leaning against a white stone building. The shade from its steeple cast over him. Gulls cawed in the distance as waves crashed somewhere below.
Stumbling to his feet, he checked his hands. One held his dagger, the other held the sword. At his feet sat his cloak in a wrinkled clump.
“This is impossible. I’m really here.”
CHAPTER
31
Staring at the black pearl on his hand did nothing. Bence couldn’t process how he physically traveled thousands of miles of ocean and appeared in Buryan. However, his joints certainly ached as if he had run the distance. As he rested, elation and alarm took turns swinging his spirits back and forth like a pendulum. There were too many questions. Will people recognize me? What danger am I facing?
After donning his cloak, he rested his chin on his palm and scanned the area. Modest homes with thatched roofs lined cobble-stoned roads─everything looked intact. Snow had been brushed to the side-walks. Buryan hardly looked like it was in any trouble, but Bence knit his brows when he realized the streets were empty. Shop windows were dark, and curtains were drawn in every residential window.
When his gaze reached Dante’s manor, he startled. Rows of men and women in commoner clothing stood like pillars. Disheveled hair failed to hide their grimy faces. From this distance, he couldn’t make out if they were human or Tuuli. Acid flushed up his throat when he noticed each one held either a sword, axe, or spear. Every single one. They aren’t soldiers, but what are people doing outside like that in the freezing cold?
He shook his head, but when he checked again, he still saw the same thing. The air stung his nostrils as he inhaled. What the hell am I doing here? He left Ami. He left Maciji. He left the continent with Giphon… and Tulelo. He left them to come home; however, home wasn’t the same. Clearing his mind to a clean slate, he calculated his approach. Ignoring the bridge, he snuck toward the ledge where a graveyard and mill stood below. He stretched a leg down and secured his footing. He scaled down the rocky hill with ease as he landed.
Snowflakes danced around his feet. Bence immediately ducked behind the nearest tombstone, and after a few seconds of silence, he crept from tombstone to tombstone until he was an easy distance from the mill. He slinked up and against its wall and circled around the building. He laughed at how easy this was, but his levity died as he neared.
Dante’s manor was still a quarter mile away, with nothing but flat road ahead. Second floor windows cast shadows on the thatched roof. He cracked a half smile. If he could travel to a different country, he could transport a short distance. When he focused on the black pearl, it flickered faintly. It sapped the dregs of his energy. Doubt clouded his mind. He may not have enough energy to feed the stone. Bence collapsed on the ground. His body begged for sleep, but he refused to stop now. Closing his eyes, he envisioned the windowsill. Coaxing his inner power, Bence told himself it wasn’t that far away. I can do this.
The black pearl vibrated. He embraced the familiar prickling sensation, then the tugging and pulling of his limbs, until his fingers grazed a rough surface. Blinking in amazement, he stared at the straw beneath him. It almost seemed that he hadn’t moved at all. However, the ease of travel came at a price. Bence saw black as spots hampered his vision. His heart hammered to feed his body. As much as he was pleased to pull it off, he doubted he could continue to use his power this frequently.
After adjusting his belt, he stretched to the nearest window. Peeking from the corner, he tried to look past the glare. The room seemed vacant, but Bence still drew his dagger and flipped the latch. Once it swung open, he flew in feet first to an empty room. A sky blue canopy bed sat to his left and a porcelain tub to his right. Despite the nagging fatigue, his body moved fluidly toward the door─it was like back in the days as the Aeonian captain.
Bence poked his head out of the room and looked both ways. The corridor was empty, but a faint murmur rose from the floor below. A sour odor followed. He backed into the opposite wall, holding his breath. As he twirled the blade in his hand, Bence shook his head. This was too easy. A house like this shouldn’t be so vacant. He had imagined it full of guards at every door and maids fluttering about.
“I don’t care what you think. There is foul play, and don’t think I’m not suspicious of you and your other friends,” a raspy voice said.
Bence inched closer to the banisters, scrunching his nose at the thick layer of dust. He craned his neck, but all he could see was the round marble foyer and a large painting hammered at the crest of the following room. It depicted a Tuuli with dirty blonde hair. Pursing his lips, he stared at the uncanny resemblance to Dante. The memory of staring into the abyss as he plummeted to his death flashed before his eyes. Bence squeezed his eyes shut as a throbbing headache returned like a wrathful poltergeist. The painting wasn’t a doppelganger, it was really Dante.
“I would take a seat. You look tired,” said a woman in a falsetto voice.
Wood scraped against stone. “You’re a witch.”
The woman snickered. Bence crouched and crept across the open space until he reached the stairwell. When he verified no one was in the foyer, he hopped on the guardrail and slid all the way down. When he landed, his knee buckled and his shoulder collided against the floor. His lungs forced a grunt as he rolled onto his hands and knees. Tilting his head up slowly, Bence spotted his dagger one foot away. As he reached, his mouth ran dry at the two wide-eyed people staring at him.
The man sitting in the chair flicked his wings, glistening in the candlelight. However, the rest of this Tuuli was alarming in other ways, from sunken cheek
s to ashen skin. He parted his blue lips. The woman stood directly behind him, arms resting on the back of the chair. Like night and day, she had radiant skin, thick locks, and a smile holding up two plump cheeks. The only oddity was her rusted brow piercing. Her lips drew into a Cheshire smile.
“What do we have here?” she sang.
Seconds. That’s all the time Bence had. When he spotted a dark orange glow from the woman’s bracelet, he calculated his distance to his dagger, the distance to the room, and the amount of strength required to draw his sword. As soon as Bence detected movement, he rolled forward, grasped his dagger and hurled it forward.
A shriek erupted. The woman clutched her chest as blood poured in sheets of crimson. With light steps, Bence flew across the foyer, drew his sword with both hands and ducked. Narrowly missing her fist, he twisted his torso and connected his sword to her stomach. Agonizing screams continued as she doubled over.
“What are you?” Bence growled as he collapsed on all fours.
The woman coughed up blood, smiled, and remained silent. Her eyes were glued to her blood-orange stone. Bence wound his arm and slammed the hilt of his sword onto her bracelet. Bones crunched and the stone cracked down the middle. The glow flickered and faded, taking the woman’s life with it.
Bence’s brain lit up with pleasure, and he continued to smash the stone. He hadn’t experienced this rush for almost a year, and it made him hungry for more.
A muffled voice echoed. He jerked his head, but it only intensified, cutting clearer with each repetition.
“Stop!” The Tuuli fell off his chair and knocked him over.
When the sword hit the ground with a clang, Bence’s thoughts cleared, leaving him staring blankly at the old Tuuli.
“She’s already dead,” he said curtly.
Bence’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Looking down at his hands, he noticed blood splattered on his skin. All of his senses that were on overdrive ebbed away, leaving nothing but lightheadedness.
The Tuuli flexed his wings and frowned. “How did you know who to kill? Who are you?”