The Sins of the Brother
Episode 2 of The Rabbit Hole
A Story of the Second Realm
By R.J. Davnall
Copyright 2013 R. J. Davnall
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The Second Realm
Season 1: The Second Gift
Season 2: Children of the Wild
The Rabbit Hole
Episode 1: Through the Fire and Flames
https://itsthefuturestupid.blogspot.com/
Contents
The Sins of the Brother
About the Author
The Rabbit Hole
1. The Sins of the Brother
One glance at the wreckage of New Vessit took the wind right out of Pevan’s sails.
Hardly a building remained standing, and only a single mast bobbed at the wharf beyond. The town had been driftwood from the waist up anyway, but most of the houses had bits of their stonework missing as well as a pile of smashed timber where their roofs and walls should have been. The packed grit of the broad, cold street was spotted here and there with smaller debris, mainly clothing. Vessit was poor by the standards of the South, disorganised and fragile by the standards of the North. She hoped Federas had fared better.
She’d left Chag sleeping off the panic that had seized him during the quake. He’d barely been coherent when she dragged him into the hidey-hole she’d found, in the basement of a long, low building near the shorefront, in the old city. Hopefully he wouldn’t wake up while she was gone – he’d be hopeless if he did.
Early in the morning as it was, the road was deserted. The Realm hadn’t flattened out until the small hours, and probably at that point most of the townsfolk had collapsed from exhaustion where they stood. Lost and alone with Chag in the dark ruins of the old city, Pevan had certainly wished to do something similar.
A stiff spring breeze brought the sea’s cold whistling through the side-alleys and up her sleeves. She’d had to leave too much of their gear stranded up a tower-block to flee the quake, and when she’d tried to get back there, she’d run into a total block. Strong as she might be in her Gift, she couldn’t make a Gateway to a wall that was no longer there. Probably it, and their packs, were pulverised rubble on an old tarmac road surface somewhere.
For warmth, she broke into a jog, past the wreckage of house after house. Her legs weren't happy about running, and the grit of the road felt far too rough underfoot, but she held to the jog as long as she could. Morbid curiosity rose in her, surprisingly powerful. Were there corpses in some of those houses? She cast the thought aside, but kept her ears open. If someone called for help, it was help she could offer, perhaps better than anyone else nearby.
Some of the houses had weathered the quake better than others. Most, at least, looked more salvageable than those right on the outskirts of town. She passed a couple where walls had clearly fallen against each other, the woodwork light enough to stay upright rather than snapping under its own weight. On the other hand, one plot was a charred heap, a soot-blackened tin bath the only thing to show that the ring of stones had been a house the previous day.
Even knowing that this was a poor region, with no natural timber and little but the sea to provide food, the state of the architecture was troubling. The nearest Sherim to Vessit was almost a hundred miles away. Besides feeding themselves, what did they do with their time, if not build decent houses?
After a couple of minutes, Pevan slowed back to a stiff walk, letting her breath recover. Ahead, a boy of about her own age, sandy hair sticking out at all angles, emerged from behind a house that looked more or less intact. He walked slowly, feet shuffling, head down. Concussed, perhaps, or at least in shock. She didn’t blame him.
She called, "Excuse me!" and broke into a run again for a few steps. The boy stopped and seemed to wake up, standing straighter and squaring his shoulders as he turned to face her. He was skinny, scrawny even, still unmistakably a teenager. She’d expected Vessit’s youth to be thick-set, trawlermen types. His coat hung slack on him, slim fingers protruding from too-long cuffs.
He managed a fair impression of a sailor’s gruff response to a stranger, though. "Who are you?" His voice was harsh, clearly worn from his fair share of shouting.
"Pevan Atcar, Gatemaker of Federas," she answered briskly, preparing to get bossy if she needed to. Growing up under Dora's eye was a masterclass in certain things. "I'm looking for your Four Knot."
He flinched. "Um, she's at the Sherriff's." When he wasn't trying to sound hostile, his voice was light and a little weedy. She could still hear the tiredness in it. He pointed back the way he'd come. "Over there, the one with the blue door. But, uh... maybe you should wait a bit. He didn't survive." The boy looked down at his hands, then swallowed and pressed his fist to his mouth.
"The Sherriff? I'm sorry." And she was, too, even if a part of her was cursing the delay. She reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "I felt the quake on my way. It was bad here?" Stupid question, really, but she needed to be able to talk to the locals if she was going to find Rel.
The lad shrugged, tucked his chin down to his chest, and covered his eyes. His voice a sob, he said, "We thought he might make it, if he could just survive the night. But... I dunno."
Something in his stance cut through Pevan’s impatience. Automatically, she gathered him into a hug. It was what she'd needed most when Temmer had died. The boy shook, but didn't resist. How close had he been to the Sherriff? He seemed too young and fragile to be a guardsman, which meant he was probably a relative. His head felt like a furnace against her shoulder.
It didn't take him as long as she'd expected to pull himself together. He straightened, rubbed his eyes on the back of his hand and sniffled. When he looked up at her - they were the same height, really, but he just seemed shorter - his eyes, though red, were intent, direct. "Why are you here? What brings you to Vessit?" Maybe he was a guard, after all.
"I'm looking for my brother. Relvin?" She stepped back, let him stand on his own. Let him work, stop him dwelling. "He came here a while back and we haven't heard anything from him."
The lad's face darkened. "The Clearseer? The, um, the Wildren were holding him, but he got away... yesterday? Maybe the day before. We were out looking for him when the quake hit." His eyes flickered across her face. "Maybe I had better take you to Wolpan."
Inwardly, Pevan breathed a sigh of relief. The boy hadn’t heard of her, didn’t know the role she’d played in Rel’s release. Something trickled cold through her gut as she thought through what might have happened if he had known. She could handle the boy, but the townsfolk were her only potential lead on Rel. Fortunately, her face had fallen blank, rather than tensing. The lad’s frown spoke of clearer perception than a boy his age had any right to. Voice steady – another legacy from Dora – Pevan said, "I can find my own way, if you're needed elsewhere..."
He shook his head and swallowed. "I should be getting back. I just... needed some fresh air. But I should be in the meeting anyway."
"Meeting?"
"Yeah, Wolpan wanted to speak to the whole squad. About..." He paused, a puzzled frown on his face. Then he stuck out his hand. "Sorry, I'm Atla. I'm a Guide. Um, up from Lefal for training."
That explained it. He didn't look local, but he called the Four Knot by her first name. Rel hadn't spoken highly of Wolpan, but she sounded like the kind of person who'd rub him the wrong way. Pevan broke off that train of thought, trying not to let his judgement lean on hers. Atla was still staring at her expectantly, something pointed in his regard. Playing it blithely, she shook his hand. "Lefal... that's down South somewhe
re, right?"
"Um, more East from here." He gave an awkward chuckle. "But I guess it all seems like the South to you, right?" His hand lingered on hers a bit longer than felt right, but she nodded as amicably as she could. He mumbled something, then started to walk back towards the side-street he'd indicated. "Come on."
She fell into step with him. The Sherriff's office, when she looked ahead, was obvious. It was the only stone-built place on the road, still intact though the remains of a wooden porch were piled beside the blue door, and what looked like an old sail had been thrown across the roof, probably covering quake damage.
As they approached, the door opened and four figures stepped out. Three women and a man. The woman in the lead was speaking, loudly, but the wind took the definition out of her words. Probably the Four Knot. Vessit had a female Clearseer, Pevan knew, and one of the other two had to be the Guide responsible for Atla's training. The last would be a Warder, in all likelihood. Probably the man. He had the doughty physique of a blacksmith, a mite less windswept and wild than a seaman.
It was the shortest of the women who spotted her and Atla walking up, and waved. Pevan quickened her pace, then slowed again as Atla failed to match her. He was staring at the ground, his step reduced to a shuffle. She rolled her eyes. "Come on,
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