The Man Without Hands

by Eric Malikyte

  But Sage knew that the Sulekiel were no strangers to myth. The Shar, Malo’thul, and other such monsters were probably just stories to keep the younger generation obedient. Even if Sage was the only one brave enough to say it.He’d learned most of this from overhearing returning Valier who roamed the realm of the Masku in secret but couldn’t keep their mouths shut. It was forbidden for the Masku language to be taught to Sulekiel who weren’t members of the Valier.

  All too convenient, Sage thought.

  If Kiel or High Elder Geidra knew what he was doing, he’d likely be exiled the way his father had been.

  Sage grinned, drawing the Sulekiel equivalent of a Masku S in the dirt. Tanar seemed to have the most difficulty with this one.

  Tanar had said the first syllable of his own name over and over the first time he’d drawn it for him.

  This time, however, he got it mostly right. Though he seemed to think it was a symbol for Sage’s entire name. They’d have to work on that.

  The Masku were a mystery to Sage. Though Elder Geidra spouted fearful rhetoric about how they were the slaves of the mythical Shar, so far, he saw no evidence of that. They seemed like simple people; they walked on two legs, had two arms, just like the Sulekiel did. The only real difference—besides their hair and skin colors—was their lack of a connection to Sulen, and their overreliance on physical weapons and steel cages that surrounded their bodies for protection.

  Looking at Tanar as he drew his leddurs, Sage had a hard time imagining the evil creatures the Elders proclaimed the Masku to be.The more he worked with Tanar and observed the rest of the Masku from afar, the more he questioned the history taught by Geidra and the other Elders. Was it possible that the great war with the Shar that brought the Sulekiel to the brink of extinction had only been a violent civil war?Sage passed the stick back to Tanar.

  Hell, maybe his father had been right all those years ago. Maybe there were still other Sulekiel cities out there somewhere across the ocean?

  Perhaps the word Shar had been invented as some kind of propaganda meant to demonize the other side of the conflict? In that way, perhaps his father could be considered Shar as well? If that was the case, then it had worked, even if both sides had lost out in the long run.

  At some point, they took a break.

  Tanar began drawing pictures of different animals in the dirt and calling their names out. Sage hadn’t seen many animals while above ground, but he knew what a bird was, and what a daison beast was.

  But, where did the Masku fit in with all of this? Where did they come from? Sage wanted to continue to study these people until he knew for sure, regardless of the consequences.

  And something troubled him about what the High Elder had said before he’d left the meeting. The mountain town that had supposedly been massacred and destroyed...it could have been attacked by another group of Sulekiel. After all, uprisings were all too common in his people’s history.

  He knew that well.

  5

  Sage and Tanar continued their lessons long into the day, even as the second moon set.

  Sage rubbed his temples; the headaches were already coming. It was a common thing. Every time he left the safety of Yce Ralakar for more than an hour the headaches would start. The longest he’d allowed himself to stay out was six hours, and by then, he’d had a fever that would have killed a daison beast.

  Tanar nodded at Sage—he could see the signs—and said goodbye in the Sulekiel language.

  Never allow your weaknesses to show through to the enemy. Kiel’s words echoed within him.

  Sage rose from his position, and Tanar did the same, extending his hand. They shook hands, and Sage walked off toward the forest.

  Something felt off.

  He stopped and turned around. He could see that Tanar had backtracked toward the town. Maybe it was just his headache or the onset of a fever, but he could feel something in the town. A presence he didn’t recognize.

  His Sulen had been suppressed the entire time he’d been near the town, so if it was a Valier, they were doing a shitty job of blending. And If the Shar were real, they’d surely have killed them already... But there was something about the way this Sulen felt, something he didn’t like at all.

  He shook his head and vanished into the forest before leaping up into the trees. His boots found their footing on a thick branch, and he kicked off to the next tree, and the next, and the one after that.

  The first moon would rise soon, and it was at least a hundred-mile journey back to Yce Ralakar. It would take nearly an hour if he moved at top speed, probably more, given how his head felt.

  At first, he’d thought that the headaches were a result of his grandfather poisoning his food, but Wren had dispelled those fears after he’d asked her about amplifier blades. She’d told him that the main reason why they’d been outlawed was because of how they bonded to a Sulekiel’s essence. Some who had lost their weapons died from the onset of sickness after mere second moons.

  He saw a family of daison beasts as he leapt from tree to tree. They were drinking from a river with their long twisting mouths. They were ugly creatures, with red fur, large, pale, white eyes, lean bodies and lengthy limbs. He paused for a moment, hanging from a branch, and watched one of the larger beasts guide its young to the river. The young daison seemed to be afraid of the rushing water, but with the aid of its parent it was able to face this fear and quench its thirst.

  The fear of the unknown is strong in all living things.

  If it had been him down there, with his family, they likely wouldn’t have bothered. He would have been left behind to fend for himself.

  Sage spat at the earth, startling the beasts into a scattered fury, and leapt to the next tree.

  He couldn’t help but think of the beating he’d endured earlier. How the meager amount of power he’d worked so hard for had been useless against Dirkus.

  I have to work harder, Sage thought. If not to get into the Trials, then for my own survival.

  And that would mean that his trips to the surface would have to stop...at least until he knew for sure they weren’t going to let him partake in the Trials.

  And if they did let him...?

  He tried not to get his hopes up.

  6

  By the time he saw snow, his arms and legs felt like they were going to fall off, and he was running short of breath.

  He let himself drop from the trees, allowing the snow to cushion his fall.

  No one will see me if I walk now, he thought.

  The journey was much easier on foot. The intensity of his headache ebbed the closer he got to Yce Ralakar, and he was almost feeling like his normal self when he finally spotted the waterfall that would lead him to the main gate.

  He stopped beneath the waterfall and cracked his knuckles, mentally preparing himself for the climb. From a distance, it was hard to tell how massive the cliff face was, but it was easily at least one hundred feet high. He’d have to follow the river up to the gate and then swim the rest of the way. He certainly wasn’t going to try finding the lake that fed the river, not when the bells for first moon would soon be wresting the city from its slumber.

  He mounted the icy cliff and made his way up to the cave mouth. The climb got easier as he progressed up the cliff. When he reached the surface, he could see for hundreds of miles. The sun was about halfway through its journey across the horizon, bathing everything in rich orange light. Snowcapped trees cascaded down the mountain beneath him, and he could see the great valley that stretched all the way to Eldulor and the Northern Masku kingdom. The first moon was slowly making its way over the horizon.

  Sage sighed, took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air, and said his goodbyes to the surface and Tanar.

  He vanished into the mouth of the cave from which the river came, and returned home just as the bells of awakening were tolling.

  It was time to take his training more seriously.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LUKE

&
nbsp; Sheriff Luke Braddy laced up his boots and buckled his gun belt till it squeezed tight around his ever-expanding gut. He looked himself over in the mirror. Not too shabby for a man who’s about to be a daddy. He was balding, sure, but the hat hid that little detail well enough. His wife pounded on the door.

  “Luke! You’re gonna be late again!” Adrienne said.

  Luke nodded to himself in the mirror, sucked in his gut, and opened the door. Adrienne followed him to the front door and gave him a peck on the cheek, avoiding contact with her swelling belly. She was dressed for work at the bank already.

  He’d tried to get her to take it easier, considering how close to her due date they were, but there was no arguing with Adrienne when she wanted to do something. Something his mother never let him hear the end of. He could just hear her going on about how he should have married someone who respected traditional family values.

  Please, Lord, he thought. Protect Adrienne.

  “You go catch some criminals now, honey,” she said, smiling wide. Adrienne’s blond hair shimmered in the fresh morning sunlight, her bright green eyes freezing his words right in his throat, just as they had all those years ago. It seemed like she had hardly aged since they’d first met, while he’d grown wider and grayer. Strangers would never dare say she was any older than twenty-five.

  When was it that he’d become so lucky?

  His footsteps echoed in the damp gloom of the Tuesday morning rain. His deputy was waiting for him in the squad car. When he saw the look on Luke’s face, he immediately removed himself from the driver’s seat.

  “Sorry, Sheriff,” Mike said as he moved around to the passenger side door.

  Luke nodded as he opened the squad car door and took his seat. “Any updates on that son-of-a-bitch that broke out of the asylum?”

  “Braddy, they don’t call them asylums no more,” Mike said, closing the car door and buckling his seatbelt. “And I thought the chief told you to back off this? Dover Behavioral Health is well out of our jurisdiction.”

  “I can’t help but feel responsible.”

  “You just dropped the bastard off. Ain’t like you gave birth to him.”

  Luke nodded, shifting the squad car out of park into drive and dropping the parking brake. He took the car down his normal beat to start, but there was one contact he wanted to follow up on.

  “One more thing and I’ll drop it,” Luke said.

  “And what’s that?”

  “A follow up on the guy I told you about yesterday. Cory Johnson.”

  Mike nodded. “You said he seemed pretty normal.”

  “That wasn’t what I said.” No, there had been something strange about him. It was something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he was certain that the man was up to something. “I said normal as a pumpkin patch in July. That’s sarcasm, Mike.”

  “I must have tuned out after normal.”

  “Must have.”

  Idiot, Luke thought.

  After the rounds were done, Luke took the squad car down to Lincoln to have another chat with Cory. The drive took all of eight minutes. It was a wonder that the town of Lincoln was even a town at all. Course, if it wasn’t, he’d be out of the job. Before long, the squad car rolled to a stop outside Cory Johnson’s house on 18 Road. A nice enough neighborhood. Lots of picturesque houses set atop large yards. Somehow, even with all that upkeep, the area still looked desolate.

  “Wait here,” Luke said to Mike. “This’ll only take a few minutes.”

  He stepped out of the car and approached Cory’s front door. He knocked, and there was no answer. Cory’s rusty tan pickup was gone, but it could have just been in the garage thanks to all the rain that was coming down.

  He knocked again and rang the doorbell.

  Nothing.

  Luke decided to try one more thing. He walked across the yard to the neighbor’s house and knocked on their door. Seconds later an old woman in curlers answered.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Morning, ma’am,” Luke said. “I’m out here doing a follow-up on a situation up at the Dover Mental Health facility, and I was wondering if you knew the whereabouts of your neighbor, Cory Johnson?”

  “That useless deadbeat took off yesterday morning,” she said without any hesitation. “Probably left to go stalk that wife of his what left him.”

  Luke almost lost his composure.

  That son-of-a-bitch, he thought. He knows something.

  “Thank you for your time, ma’am. You have a nice day.”

  “When you see him, tell him to keep his bushes off my side of the fence!”

  The old woman slammed the door before he could tell her that it wasn’t his job to get involved in civil disputes.

  Luke returned to the squad car.

  “Anything?” Mike said.

  “The bastard skipped town.”

  “Seriously?” Mike looked at him for a couple of seconds. “You’re not gonna drop this, are you?”

  “What the hell do you think, Mike?”

  “I think you’re overreacting. You said you met this guy at the campgrounds, right? Maybe he’s gone up there for some R & R?”

  “You saying I should drive out there and find out?”

  “No, I think that would be a terrible idea.”

  Luke rubbed his eyes. “Maybe I’ll just call the campgrounds.”

  “That’d be a wiser idea.”

  A voice came over the police band. “Car 311, this is dispatch, are you there?”

  Luke picked up the CB. “This is Sheriff Braddy.”

  “I got the new coroner up my ass this morning, swears that we need to send someone down there as soon as possible. I told her you’d be by later this morning. That okay, I trust?”

  “Well—”

  Mike grabbed the CB receiver. “We’ll be there.”

  “Good to hear it. It’s probably nothing, you know how she is, but still, anything to stop her from calling dispatch over and over like a hysterical nutbag.”

  Mike chuckled. “I hear ya.”

  Mike hung the CB receiver up and noticed Luke’s stoic glare. “What?”

  “Did you have to volunteer so quickly?” Luke asked.

  “Like we’ve got anything else to do?”

  “Well—”

  “Don’t tell me you wanted to go up to that campground after all?” Mike kicked his legs up on the dash. He knew damn well that Luke hated that. “Oh, well. Guess you’ll have to go another time, right?”

  Luke cursed under his breath and started the car back up for the eight-minute drive back into the city. The hospital’s single-story redbrick facade crept into view as he took the car up Polk Avenue.

  Milford Memorial Hospital was the largest medical facility in the area, housing a cancer research ward (which had a three-star rating on the Google) and a rehabilitation center as well. Luke took the cruiser to the rear parking lot, behind the emergency ward and the landing pad with the big H. He parked the car and killed the engine. Mike followed him into the building and was quiet for the most part during the elevator ride down to the morgue.

  Ilene was fussing over a fresh corpse when they came in through the door. She was middle-aged, but barely looked a day over thirty. She was new to the job, and took it very seriously. When she saw them standing in the doorway, she took off her gloves and dabbed her hands in sanitizer.

  “Geez, took you guys long enough!” Ilene approached and shook Luke’s hand, lowering her mask and taking out the band that tied her fading brown hair in a bun. “I’ve only been calling all morning. If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess that dispatch was just avoiding my calls—I know you’re not that busy.”

  “Not true,” Mike said. “Sheriff’s been chasing a man with no hands all morning.”

  Ilene chuckled, lines creasing across her face. “Oh, that’s a good one.”

  “It wasn’t a joke,” Mike said, trying not to grin.

  Luke cleared his throat. “What did you call us down here for t
hat couldn’t be handled in a standard report?”

  “Right.” She waved them on over to one of the refrigeration units, where the hospital kept corpses cooled before identification to prevent decomposition. “See, a few months back, we got this Jane Doe delivered. Nasty case, burn victim it seemed like, the corpse was completely unidentifiable. None of the dental records matched existing Milford or Lincoln residents or missing persons—” Her hands wrapped around the metal handle to the sliding tray. “I kept the corpse overnight, figured I’d do a proper examination in the morning. But—and here’s where things started to get weird—when I got in the next morning, it looked like its arms and legs had...moved. She was charred to a crisp, I tell you!”

  “Why are you just now reporting this?” Luke said.

  “Look, I know how this looks,” she said. “I’ve tried to get other people to listen, even tried filing an official report, but no one’s gotten back to me. Finally I got so fed up I started calling dispatch every day.”

  “Maybe someone moved her by accident?” Mike said.

  “I thought about that too, and it’s certainly possible. I thought nothing of it, and attempted to do some basic incisions, removed some material here and there for testing. That’s when I noticed the smell.”

  Ilene took a deep breath; she seemed to be equal parts excited and nervous. “She didn’t smell dead. Her blood wasn’t coagulated, either. I opened her charred eyelids and shined my flashlight in her eyes, and—swear to God almighty—her pupils dilated.”

  “Where’s this leading, Ilene?” Luke asked.

  “You gotta see this to believe it.” She pulled the metal tray out and tossed back the plastic sheet covering the corpse.

  “This Jane Doe isn’t dead,” Ilene said.

  The body on the table was definitely not charred. There were portions of darkened flesh around her body alright, but she definitely wasn’t what Luke would call dead. And then there was her skin color. She had an unusual, almost metallic complexion and a hair color that bordered on a dark fuchsia.