Memorias: Deep in the Arnaks

by Serabian, Charles

  Armun leapt next to him with great speed. “Valor and I will hunt down the stragglers. You and Iliana check the caravan.” Orrin nodded, and turned towards the first wagon. No one cart or carriage looked the same. Orrin assumed they had been stolen from all over Harmenor, and rigged to deter any onslaught with metal plates.

  One by one, he pried apart metal locks and tore away drapes, with the help of Iliana, who used her sword as a lever. It amazed him to see that the ice around her silver blade, never cracking or shattering, but instead bending, as if it were a flexible branch. She also carried with her a small bag of lock picks. It was only a matter of time before she found one that worked.

  Orrin gripped the door as he checked in and around the caravans for any leftover stragglers. He turned to Iliana, the sword of her silver blade still humming, magically encased in a layer of blue-white ice.

  Orrin took a moment to take in her image, and wondered whether she had assassin training. She smelled like someone trained in the silence, which was to say that she smelled like nothing at all.

  From under the sand, beneath her legs, a feral guard suddenly emerged in a bloodlust rage, snarling with its face smattered in red.

  Orrin attempted to yell, forgetting his lack of a voice, but it was not necessary.

  Faster than he could see, Iliana whirled around and sidestepped, tracking the feral’s thrust. She counter thrusted, pushing the enforcer’s spear into the wall, swirling it about in her black cloak, then thrust deep through the heart of the last guard, forcing the blade aside. She pulled the sword back towards her, against the enforcer’s throat. Orrin backed up, and the enforcer grabbed at his neck, trying to hold it all together.

  Iliana slapped aside the feral’s lazy thrust, then moved straight in for the heart. Her thrust was in and out in the blink of an eye. She stepped back, again, then again, waiting for his pierced heart to bleed out. Orrin watched her careful movements.

  After a few minutes, he felt Iliana’s hand tap him on the shoulder. He turned front ways, towards the caravan closest to him, looking for anything resembling a latch or a lever. But there were none. Orrin presumed that the doors were locked from the inside. There was only a small opening on the right side of the door, where the crease of the caravan and the side of the door was open enough to fit two hands.

  Orrin wrapped his powerful fingers around the edge of the door and pulled against creaking joints. After two tries he heard a snap. On the third one, the door began to bend beneath his powerful arms. Finally it gave way, flinging off into the desert stand.

  Iliana watched, the same as he’s watched me.

  He looked inside, and found nothing. Though uncertain of what exactly he was looking for, there were no containers, no chests, nothing that would give pause. Just an empty holding cell, containing nothing but stale air.

  Orrin leapt out, and quickly jumped to the next one. “What did you find?” Iliana asked. He held up his right hand and made an “o” with his fingers. He proceeded to rip the door from the next carriage, this one of a plain wooden build. He peered inside. It was not empty, but there was no ober, nor containers of memorias.

  Again he made an “o.”

  His heart sank quickly. There were only three more, and a gut feeling told him that they too would be empty.

  Rage filled the empty space in his stomach where food and water should be, fueling him as he flung open another door. Then another, and then another. He continued to find things, but nothing that he wanted.

  The caravan they were following had been a decoy. Orrin beat his fist against the hard, lacquered wood, and took a seat inside. The fancy cushions beneath him gave no comfort.

  What Valor had said about them not being able to return to the Arnaks was true. And worst of all, there was nothing they could do to help. He wanted nothing more than to rip apart the doors. Iliana moved towards the three carts on the tail end, looking over the last three carefully, underneath and above as she jumped on top of the high carriage wheels.

  His heart sank. Iliana returned to him, her face the same as it had been since the moment he met her. “Nothing.” She said.

  Orrin stepped out, and lifted one of the metal plate doors, flinging it far across the sand in anger. It tumbled into a traveling pack of desert vultures, the birds launching into flight.

  Iliana stepped away and sat on the sand, drawing in it with her finger.

  Valor and Armun appeared over the ridge they had disappeared beyond just moments ago. Hope was still lost to him. Even sprung from the prison he had known his whole life, under the stars, and under the protection of two powerful mages, he felt hope grow a little fainter. He left the rich carriage and sat in the middle of the half circle the other carriages had formed, wheels sunk slightly into the sand. He sat on the soft white ground, lightly pounding it with his fists. He was too tired to hit it any harder.

  He watched Iliana reinspect a cart that lay crooked from a broken wheel. He watched Armun and Valor check every carriage, the same way he had. He watched their expressions turn from those with hope to those who had just swallowed jugs full of sour milk.

  Armun slowly trudged towards them. “A decoy. Or maybe this was someone’s payment. Plenty of fine things in these carriages.”

  “You found nothing?” Valor asked his brother. Orrin shook his head. The four of them stood in a small circle, stepping away.

  Orrin looked at Valor, who had moved behind Armun with silent ease. From beneath the long sleeve of his tunic, Orrin could see something glint in what was left of the sunlight.

  A blade shifted from beneath Valor’s tunic and into his hand. Orrin tried to yell, but forgot, for the first time in a long time, that he had no voice.

  No, he thought. No.

  Valor wrapped Armun’s left hand around his own head. The blade poked through a small opening in his armor, just beneath his ribs. Valor twisted slightly, and the old warrior’s thick muscles squished as it entered further. He felt Armun’s knees weaken.

  Iliana drew her blade. It vibrated in anger, singing death.

  Valor shook his head. “Don’t. Stop. You won’t make it. I promise you. You’re fast, but not that fast.”

  Valor watched Armun attempt to grab the blade’s handle, but his grip was loose, weaker than a newborn’s. Valor spun his free hand towards Iliana, speaking into Armun’s ear. “I found this blade in the forge room. Smelled it and knew instantly the poison that coated it.”

  Armun tried to speak, but his lips were beginning to grow numb and purple.

  Valor’s grip around Armun’s neck grew tighter, pinching a tendon exposed by his crooked gait. “Funny. In any event, we are going to leave now. Iliana?”

  Iliana stepped forward. Valor met her murderous gaze for a moment. Something in her stare still terrified him.

  “We are leaving,” he said. “This blade is poisoned. It won’t kill him… but the poison’s already numbing his hands and lips. I’ll even tell you that it’s green tongue. I’ve heard it works quicker on people with more muscle. Now I can see that’s true. If I turn the blade, it’ll cut into his intestines. The rest of his organs will be taking an acid bath. It’s painful. But if you don’t move, he’ll just sleep it off, and we can both go our separate ways.”

  True to his word, Armun slowly slumped to the ground. Valor grabbed him around the waist, and for a split second, let go of the knife. He tried to hide the fact that Armun’s weight was working strongly against him.

  Iliana continued to do nothing but stare. Valor could feel the fury behind her placid expression.

  “Maybe you understand,” he said. “Maybe you don’t. Either way… Orrin and I are leaving.”

  Valor took a step back. Suddenly his foot sunk deep into sludge-like sand. He tried to take another step onto dry ground, but its appearance deceived him. Valor sank quickly, as if falling through the thickest clouds, his body quickly sinking neck deep in the sand.

  “Damnit!”

  He looked up past Orrin to Iliana. He coul
d see that both her hands were behind her, undoubtedly manipulating the sand he now found himself sinking further into.

  Iliana turned towards Orrin next. Orrin stepped back, instantly pulled into the ground, falling deep in the newly formed muck. Orrin’s body fell about halfway, and as he tried to push himself out, his arms and hands only sank further down. Orrin faced his brother, fear on his face as Iliana stepped closer.

  Valor felt a cool kind of rage, riled and desperate for something to say, afraid that soon he’d be seeing a hole in his brother’s head.

  “You’re good!” Valor shouted, breathing heavily as the wet sand brushed against him. “Probably amazing. Amazing is a better word. Right, Orrin?”

  Orrin made no sign of agreeance. Valor knew Orrin was mad, his face cast down, staring at the sand, staring at anything but his own brother. Valor didn’t care. If it had worked, they would have been truly free.

  Iliana quickly peeled away her eyes and body from menacing Orrin. Valor watched as Iliana kneeled down, grabbed the hooked blade and slowly maneuvered it out of Armun’s skin. She then placed her hands over the bloody wound.

  A small stream of water shot up from the sand, right where Armun’s wound was, separating from each individual grain. Tiny solid bubbles floated towards Armun’s wound, which was trickling a few droplets of blood. The water was as pale as ice, and moved underneath Iliana’s hand, and she pressed down onto the small wound, massaging it slowly.

  She did this for a short while, silence growing, long as the blue horizon. Valor watched intently, and when she finished, turned to sit in front of Valor. She peered down at him, then looked back at his brother who dangled awkwardly, like a whale frozen mid breach.

  Valor’s brain told him not to, but the anger in his gut prompted him to experiment.

  He spit at her feet.

  Valor could barely make out Iliana’s expression due to the combined darkness of the night sky and her dark grey hood, but he could feel it. The air was colder just from her presence. At first Valor thought it was just his imagination, until a cool breeze seemed to waft through his hair without reason. The Gorabund was cool at night, but never truly cold. At any second she would plunge her magic sword into his skull, and it would end.

  Freedom earned, he thought. Valor realized he should have waited longer, perhaps a few more days. But the woman Iliana felt as if she was always dancing on a knife’s edge, her eyes knowing only how to stay wide open.

  Iliana’s backside was still turned to him, blocking his view of Orrin. Armun’s contorted face and closed eyes seemed to be staring at him, lips spread wide as if wearing jester’s makeup, the poison having puffed up his features.

  Now it was just he, Orrin, and Iliana, silent beneath the night sky.

  Orrin looked back down at the sand, waiting for Armun to wake up and dole them some kind of justice or punishment. Inhaling the quiet, desert air, guilt began to seep into him, guilt for a plan that was not his own.

  He stared at his brother, wondering just how many more times he’d find himself submerged in sand for something he hadn’t done.

  Orrin thought back to the hours before, when Valor had asked him for trust.

  I trusted you, he thought.

  And here they were. Sticking out of the sand like half buried sculptures, turning their spines into knots, knowing full well that they had escaped only to enter death.

  Iliana was the stillest thing that Valor had ever seen, whether human, which she was, or otherwise. Ferals were always restless, as were the slaves, twitching the way those with a negative amount of sanity do.

  Valor had refused to break eye contact with the lady warrior of water. Orrin did feel a kind of peaceful wave rolling outwards from her. He thought perhaps she was using magic to calm them; some kind of water spell that caused a person to become placid.

  He heard a grumble come from beneath Armun’s upturned cloak. The old man’s stomach was reacting to the paralytic poison.

  “What say it was? Green tongue?” Iliana asked nonchalantly.

  “Yes.” Valor tried to match her tone, but was still finding it difficult to stow his emotions.

  “It’s a weaker poison, yes?” Iliana asked.

  “Yes. All I did was put your man to sleep.”

  Iliana folded her arms. “He is not my man. I do not own him.”

  Valor sighed. “It’s not a literal… thing…”

  She stared at him. Valor wondered if she knew no other facial expressions. Everything they had seen her do so far displayed an assassin’s touch. Anything she did not like, she disposed of instantly. She was devoid of any and all hesitation. But Valor could sense a quick temper in her. She was obviously powerful and had some mastery of magic. Now she was unchecked by Armun, who was clearly her superior, and free to do as she pleased.

  And yet she just sat and watched over them, as if she was an angry parent who was deciding how to punish her children.

  Valor wasn’t dead yet, and neither was Orrin. He took that to mean what only such facts could mean; they were worth something. In the few hours since they had left the Arnaks he had not seen Iliana and Armun in conversation, other than discussing the events that passed since he was in the prison. He doubted very much that Armun, who had said his mission was to rescue Jerryl, would have taken the boys instead.

  Valor’s curiosity grew. By all rights and reasons, he and his brother should have holes in their heads. Instead, they were alive.

  To poke the beast or not, he thought, looking at Iliana, deciding swiftly to poke, always poke.

  “He should be awake soon.” Valor said in a listless tone, looking at Armun.

  Iliana did not move as she spoke. “Yes. Very soon.”

  “You going to kill us?” he asked.

  “Probably not. Not today,” she said, sounding regretful.

  “Why haven’t you killed us? We could have murdered your friend. What if we had? I assume we’d be dead.”

  “Believe that if you want. Or don’t. I’m curious, though - where did think you would you’d be able to go?”

  Valor looked at Orrin, who still would not meet his gaze. “Anywhere. We can survive in the desert with nothing but the clothes on our backs. We’ve been fighting beasts and men since we were old enough to wield a sword properly. We know how to find water without magic. We know how to hunt in the Gorabund. We’d have a chance.”

  Valor looked at his brother for validation. Orrin did not give it to him. He had turned his head towards the sky.

  Iliana nodded. “So you are strong, and smart, and I believe you when you say you can survive. But you see... I can too.”

  Valor shook some loose dirt from his long hair. It fell onto his lips, and he bubbled spit to toss it away, careful not to toss phlegm again in Iliana’s direction.

  “What does that mean?”

  Iliana shook her head. “I’m not in the habit of giving advice, drummdor. But I’ll give you some. It’s against Spade laws to kill a detained enemy.”

  Iliana pushed closer to Valor. She seemed to be studying him; his lips, his hair, his nose.

  “I can leave. I can go anywhere. I could run and jump and be free in fields of flowers. I can live the life that you both dream of, the one that you seem to be so magnificently imagining. You could live on a farm sum’vher. Milk cows, scythe wheat. Or you could find a cave, or a hovel. Or in this day and age, who knows? A mansion or an extra home left over by some lord, abandoned for something better.”

  Iliana wiped something from her face. “But I am here in the middle of the desert with this old mage. Think, if you can, why I’vood do that. Think why I would agree to come out here and help rescue anyone from that place.”

  Because you’re an idiot, Valor thought. He could smell the dead leaf scent of magic. “They aren’t my ferals. I’m not one of them.”

  The misty air stung his eyes. He desperately need to rub them, but could barely move his arms a half an inch at a time through the mucky sand. What was more irritable; she h
ad already won, because Valor was thinking.

  She may be deadlier with words, he thought.

  “Besides,” Iliana continued, “Armun informed me that you might try to run away.”

  Valor let his head drop back, resting it on the wet sand.

  Armun grumbled again. He spit and coughed, and all three could see his limbs twitching back to normal. Orrin could see his eyes starting to flutter and pull apart, as if resisting against invisible spider webs.

  Iliana lowered her face to Valor’s, not looking in his eyes, but at the area where his chest and sand met.

  “Don’t test me again. You are alive because I take orders from him.”

  She pointed at Armun.

  “If you think being stuck in the sand is bad... jus’vait until you’re submerged, swallowing water just to get the small amount of air that comes with it. And when your stomach fills to bursting, eyes bulging out of your skull, and every pore squeezing out blood.”

  Valor had heard worse things in the past. He had heard threats of gouging, of nail pulling, entrails being grafted to one’s own skeleton, and being burned beyond recognition. But Iliana’s threats felt new, like he was being forced to eat, raw meat frozen in ice. It was not just the voice of murder, but also the feeling of intent. He couldn’t even find himself capable of lifting his head, as Iliana’s words hung like a weight on his neck.

  Armun coughed.

  Valor watched as Iliana sat Armun up. She leaned his heavy body back against herself, attempting to peel away the complicated leather armor. She began to rub him through it, attempting to get his blood circulating.

  Armun’s eyes fluttered open. After a few minutes, he turned his head towards Orrin, and attempted to move his mouth.

  Very slowly, Armun raised a hand, uttering something Valor couldn’t hear.

  Chapter 37

  Another hour passed before Armun could stand and move about. The moon was high, shining just as brightly as the afternoon sun had been. The sky was cloudless. Valor thought that it must be near the end of the summer. The Gorabund desert had been assaulted by thunderstorms in years past. Jerryl had told them why a long time ago - something about the mixture of air currents from a place called the Darlians, far to the northwest.