“That’s a secret.” Belyl grinned, holding his finger to his lips.
“Belyl has a business contact with one of the Valier who supplies him in exchange for private ‘healing’ sessions,” Wren said.
“Isn’t that forbidden?” Sage said.
“It is highly taboo,” Wren said wryly, turning her scorn on Belyl. “And you know it. If you’re caught using your abilities out of the Temple of Ara’ka, you will be in serious trouble.”
“Hear that?” Sage said, kicking Belyl’s chair. “Pace yourself.”
Belyl responded by grinning, taking a cylindrical bottle out of his robes, and drinking from it like a man suffering from dehydration, splashing bits of brown liquid on his pristine white robes. “Like this?”
Wren slapped Belyl across the shoulder. “You need to stop drinking that crap! It will rot your mind!”
Belyl laid his head on the table, clutching tight to the bottle, and belched. “Yeah, well, as soon as there’s something better to do in this blasted commune, I’ll do that...”
“Can you blame him?” Sage said. “I go stir-crazy just being in the main city... I can’t imagine what I’d do if I wasn’t allowed to leave this place.”
“I should never have told you about the surface,” Wren said. “You’re just as bad as him.” She pointed at Belyl, who looked like he’d dozed off.
“I’m not a drunk,” Sage said.
“You’re an addict, though,” Wren said.
“To what?”
“Causing trouble. I think it’s only a matter of time before you go too far.”
“You’re afraid I’m going to go to the surface?”
“Yes. That. You should listen to your friend.”
“Which one?”
“The son of Kiel.”
“Can we talk about something else?”
“Like what?”
Sage shrugged. “I don’t know. Anything. I’m tired of hearing about Kiel and Geidra and...”
“Imagine how we feel.” Wren smiled.
Sage frowned. “Sorry.”
“How is your training going?” Wren asked.
“I bet you’re gonna wipe their faces in the Trials,” Belyl said, half-mumbling. “Like, wipe them on the...on the floor... You get it... God, I’m drunk.”
“See where this habit gets you?” Wren asked.
“The Trials aren’t for another five processions,” Sage said.
“Nope,” Belyl said, forcing himself to sit back up. “I heard that Geidra has moved them up. Says you’re all spoiled brats and shit, and that you’re to take them this procession.”
“For once, I agree with her on something,” Wren said.
“And where did you hear this?” Sage asked. “The same Valier who’s been supplying you with booze?”
Belyl smiled. “Rumors... You know, they get round.”
“Rumors, huh.” Sage glared at the tattered tome, tracing the ancient symbol on the cover, the same one that marked most of their buildings and sacred texts. “Even if they let me take the Trials, they’ll never let me pass.”
“You don’t know that,” Wren said, smiling. “I’ve sensed your potential myself.”
“If another—” Belyl belched—“if another war comes. They’ll need everyone they can...they can get!”
“I’m not going to get my hopes up,” Sage said.
“But you do want to be a Valier, right?” Wren said, leaning over, eyes wide as she could manage, forcing him to make eye contact.
“To be able to see the surface?” Without the threat of exile hanging over my head, no less? Sage shrugged. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”
“You have a gift for understatement, you know that?” Wren said.
“So, you should go for it,” Belyl said, slapping the table and forcing his precious bottle into Sage’s hand. “Here, we’ll drink to it!”
“Just one problem,” Sage said, pushing Belyl’s bottle away. “Kiel suspended me from lessons for the next two second moons.”
“What’d you do this time?” Wren asked.
“I didn’t do anything!” Sage said.
“You did something,” Belyl said. “You always do something.”
“I’ll bet he put his foot in his mouth,” Wren said. “Or got in another fight with what’s his name again.”
“Vyce?” Sage shook his head. “No, he hasn’t bothered me in a while.”
“Then what?” Wren asked.
“It’s stupid. They’re overreacting.”
“If that’s the case, why not tell us?” Wren said.
“I just made a suggestion...”
“To?”
“That they should treat you guys better.”
“Ah.” Wren leaned back in her chair and sighed.
“What?”
“You know how they react to the violation of taboos,” Wren said. “What did you think they would do to you, of all people, for suggesting such a thing?”
Sage ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. I wasn’t even thinking. Kiel was talking tactics, about how some squads elect to take a healer with them in combat, and Kirana goes off about how she thinks you ‘undesirables’ are worshiping Malo’thul down here or something, that she wouldn’t want to be caught dead near one of you, and well, it just kind of came out.”
“She was...” Belyl belched. “Excuse me. She was provoking you.”
“What exactly did you say?” Wren said, eyeing Sage suspiciously.
“Does it matter?” Sage asked.
“Context does matter,” Wren said. “You know this better than most.”
“I mean, it sounds way worse out of context,” Sage said.
“Tell me,” Wren said. All traces of humor had drained from her face.
Sage sighed. He could never win an argument with her. “I said with as weak as she is, she should think about treating you so called ‘undesirables’ better, unless you decide to leave her ass for dead.”
“Sage...” Wren shook her head.
“I know, it sounds bad,” Sage said.
“It is bad,” Wren said. “We would not shirk our duties just because—”
“Because they’re assholes?” Sage said.
“Your words,” Wren said.
“True words,” Belyl said, laughing.
The rickety wooden doors opened. Footsteps fell at their backs. The eldest healer cleared her throat, drawing their attention.
“Yes, sister?” Wren asked.
“Sage,” Argis said. “Commander Kiel is at our doors, claiming that he has sensed you among us. He said you are to come out at once.”
“Shit,” Sage said. “Should have kept myself completely suppressed the whole time...?”
“I warned you,” Wren said.
Reluctantly, Sage got up and sulked over to Argis.
“G-good luck!” Belyl said. “Don’t get exiled!”
Argis sighed and shook her head, glaring at Belyl. “Belyl, go back to your bed and sleep off the booze. How many times do I have to tell you not to drink that filth!”
Belyl was out of his seat and out the door in a heartbeat. “Sorry, sister, I won’t do it again! Promise!”
“What am I going to do with him?” Argis said before turning her attention back to Sage. “And you. I’ve told you plenty of times not to shirk your responsibilities. You’ve put suspicion on us by coming here like this.”
“It was just a stupid summons,” Sage said.
Argis grabbed his arm and dragged him to the library’s front door. “You know that Commander Kiel and High Elder Geidra do not see it that way.”
Sage waved goodbye to Wren before Argis yanked him through the doors.
2
The copper doors to the Urdys Quarter swung open, and, sure enough, Commander Kiel was standing there, waiting for Sage and Argis.
“Commander Kiel,” Argis said, kneeling to him. “The boy was here, just as you suspected.”
Kiel didn’t bother responding to Argis. Instead h
e fixed his fiery stare on Sage. “Come with me.”
“Right...” Sage turned to Argis. “Goodbye, Argis.”
Argis did not stand or even acknowledge that he’d addressed her. Not in Commander Kiel’s presence.
Sage joined him, walking through the long cavern that would lead them to the market and the Temple of Ara’ka.
“I’m disappointed in you,” Kiel said, staring straight ahead. “First your outburst during yesterday’s lessons, and now you sneak out of an important summons.”
“I felt trapped,” Sage said.
“And you think no one else feels that way in all of Yce Ralakar?” Kiel said. “You make it seem as though the entire world owes you something. It doesn’t.”
“The world is pretty small, from where I’m standing,” Sage said.
Kiel scoffed. The anger was radiating off of him like heat from a freshly stoked fire. “The High Elder and the rest of the Council have decided to move up the start of the Trials to this procession.”
How should he react? If he let on that he already knew that, he’d throw suspicion on Belyl and Wren... “Really? Tell me, great Commander Kiel, will I even be allowed to participate?”
Kiel stopped, closing his eyes; his Sulen surged.
Sage jumped back, anticipating some kind of attack. They were all alone here. What was to stop Kiel from ridding Yce Ralakar of his tainted blood right this moment?
“Why do you flinch, Son of Kyrties?”
“Your Sulen surged, I thought...”
Kiel’s stare was devoid of emotion. “You thought I would attack you?”
“You have before.”
“To teach you a lesson.”
“Well, let’s just say that I felt like another lesson was coming my way.”
“No,” Kiel said, his golden eyes narrowing. “I felt fear from you. You thought I was about to kill you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You haven’t made much of a secret about what you think of me.”
“And you think that I would allow my feelings to cloud my judgment?”
Sage didn’t answer.
“Answer me,” Kiel shouted.
“Yes,” Sage said. “I do.”
Kiel began walking again. “You don’t know me very well, then.”
Sage followed after him with a healthy amount of caution.
Oh, I think I know you quite well, Sage thought. I’ve got the scars to prove it.
“To answer your question,” Kiel said. “We haven’t decided whether or not you should be allowed to participate.”
Sage glared at him. “Well, at least you’re honest.”
“We will decide sometime after your punishment concludes,” Kiel said.
“Punishment?”
“Did you honestly think there wouldn’t be a punishment? You’re to join two others in the Hall of Trials tomorrow after the others’ lessons end. How you take to that punishment will determine whether or not you are permitted to take part in the Trials.”
“Geidra won’t let me,” Sage said.
“You do not know that,” Kiel said, the rage in his authoritative voice tempering. “Despite what you may think, not everyone is out to get you.”
Sage stared at the looming circle of light at the end of the dim tunnel. He imagined himself wearing the tunic, bracers, cloak, and mask most Valier wore leaping from the trees, with important missions and assignments to complete.
Is it possible?
“Well...” Sage said.
“What is it?” Kiel asked.
“Is there anything that would help my chances?”
Kiel smiled; Sage wondered if it was genuine. “Stay out of trouble until the commencement of the Trials. That means keeping your opinions to yourself and taking your training seriously. Can you do that?”
“I think I can do that...”
Kiel stopped, shooing Sage onward. “Okay, go on and get out of here. Your grandparents are worried.”
Sage nodded and got the hell out of there.
CHAPTER FOUR
CORY
The burn marks on the wall had been easy enough to paint over. He’d gone to the hardware store to look for the correct shade of white, but, unfortunately, only found shades that were slightly different from the original color. The result was a strange splotch about the size of a man on what had been Cory’s wall.
Learning to drive Cory’s truck had been a challenge. After some trial and error down the long road outside his house, he’d figured out how to make the vehicle travel at a consistent pace. He could refine this skill further later.
The doorbell rang. Kurt set down the brush on the rim of the paint cannister and opened the door to find a familiar-looking potbellied sheriff standing there. His name was Luke, and looking at him, Kurt could almost feel the man’s fist slamming into his emaciated gut again.
“Good morning, Mr. Johnson,” the sheriff said. It was still strange getting used to people recognizing him as this other man. A man that he had so recently incinerated.
“Can I help you, officer?” Kurt said.
“Well, there’s been an explosion down at the old asylum up in Dover, and a very dangerous patient managed to escape in all the confusion. We were wondering if you’d seen him recently.” The officer took out a photograph and showed it to him.
It was a security cam photo of himself, right before he’d fried the building’s electronics with a pulse from his aura.
“Haven’t seen him since you rode off with him at the cabin.”
The sheriff cocked his head up. His eyes were the color of mud, but his stare was anything but dim-witted. “Is everything all right?”
Damn it, he’d forgotten Cory’s unique way of speaking.
“Why wouldn’t it be, officer?” He asked, trying on the accent.
The sheriff’s bushy eyebrow rose, as if there was a question hanging on the edge of his lips—on the edge of reason. “Mind if I come in for a bit?”
Kurt felt his eye twitch. He really didn’t have time to entertain this fool. “Sure.”
He led the officer into the living room where he’d killed Cory. “Would you like something to drink? I can put a coffee on. Or, if you prefer something a bit stronger, I got a whiskey that’ll take the stains right off your teeth.”
“I’m on duty, Mr. Johnson, coffee’s fine.” The sheriff stopped in the middle of the room, eyeing the large freshly painted part of the wall. “What happened here?”
“Oh, you know, I had one of them old television sets there, and the damn thing caught fire the other night. Almost burned my whole damn house down, I tell you what.”
The officer nodded.
Kurt left the living room, grabbed a couple of coffee cups from Cory’s cupboards, and filled them with the fresh pot he’d brewed. If there was one positive thing he could say about this strange world, plagued with an overabundance of Masku, it was this strange, bitter, hot beverage.
Kurt returned to the living room and handed the sheriff a cup.
The man took a sip, and he could tell by the way the sheriff winced that it tasted like shit.
Kurt liked his coffee strong.
The sheriff set the cup down on the coffee table. “Are you certain that this man hasn’t contacted you?”
“Officer, I don’t even know the fella’s name.” He could feel himself slipping further into the character of Cory Johnson. It was almost amusing. “If I knew anything, well hell, I’d tell you.”
“Right.” The officer sighed. “It’s just that this guy is dangerous. And the director of the correctional facility suspects that he had something to do with the explosion.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Kurt felt a tiny grin form on his face.
“And why exactly is that?”
“Well, they don’t give them patients much when they’re all locked up, right? Gotta be awfully hard to start a fire when you got a straightjacket tying you up. Not to mention, the guy had no hands.”
“I will, Sheriff, and good luck.”
The door clicked shut. Kurt released the Sulen he’d been building in secret, just in case he had to kill the Masku. There could be no missteps in this.
But there was more to it than that. Kurt wanted to kill the man. After the indignities he’d put up with the first time they’d met, he felt he owed it to the officer.2Kurt could still feel his bare feet being dragged into the cell, Luke’s hands wrapped around his arms, speaking nonsense in his ears—shouting to the other men in the room. They’d given him something earlier. It made his limbs weak, his body feverish.
He remembered how it had felt when he’d recoiled at one of the other cops in self-defense and shattered their teeth with his foot. They’d tried to lock him in a cell that night, and while they had succeeded in doing so, he’d given them hell, even in his weakened state of mind and body.
He would remember that, and he would not forgive them.
The next day he had awoken in a padded cell, and it had taken all of his self-control not to break out right then and there. The fact had been clear to him, even then, that this was not his world, and he’d need to learn its rules, its language, to be able to fulfill the final part of the bargain.
And their doctors had been all too eager to teach him about the ways of this world: its machines, its internet, and so much more.
It was like slow torture not allowing his baser self to enact revenge on that man, even as Kurt watched him get into his squad car and drive away from the window.
Kurt returned to the kitchen, where he’d written down the address of someone who might be able to point him in the right direction. If Oreseth had a presence on this world, then there had to be followers as well. When he’d spent time in their mental hospital, he’d heard of a strange cult that would make sacrifices in the dead of night to bring about a new age, an age where a being that wasn’t a god, and wasn’t a devil, would rule this world for the rest of eternity.
He’d heard her talking to herself many times in the recreation room. He could almost see her now, her black hair frizzled, dark circles beneath her opaque, pupilless eyes.
The Man Without Hands Page 5