by C. A. Bryers
“I won’t even ask what took so long, but I will tell you that the main course will be ready to go out in twenty minutes, and it will be served on time. Until then, you make certain those guests out there are well taken care of and happy. Understood?”
Both Salla and Dao nodded.
“Dao, start with refreshing drinks wherever needed. Salla, all this extra meat next to me goes in these containers, and back in the cold locker. Put it on the shelf marked for soup meat.” She waved her knife over the discarded portions of meat on the cutting block. “Get to it, please.”
Salla and Dao set to work on their respective tasks. Within a few minutes, the discarded meat scraps were collected in a pair of bins, stacked, and Salla was on his way out of Marnela’s space. As he walked into the far rear sections of the galley, he almost had to laugh. Dao’s sister, Mey, was the terror of her own galley on the Mayla Rose, much like the way in which Marnela ran her galley. Granted, Marnela wasn’t throwing pans and shrieking obscenities the way Mey used to, but the Banquet in the Clouds wasn’t over yet.
“Thirsty people out there,” Dao said, refilling a pair of water pitchers and dropping sweetener pellets inside. Then, he checked his chron. “Look, Sall. We’ve got a little more than ten minutes until the main course.”
Salla’s thoughts instantly shot to the Majdi with the pointed beard. “I don’t know if I can go back out there. I nee—”
Dao’s eyes bulged, face turning red. “Do you have any idea what Marnela would do if she heard you say that? I don’t because I’ve never seen her like this, but if I had to guess, she’ll sell you out to anybody who’s looking for you quicker than Mey could lose her temper, man. So tell you what. I’ll take care of everyone out there, keep them happy, right? You take care of this Majdi thing. Don’t care much how you do it so long as it doesn’t end up with a dead body I have to try to explain, but I need you back here by the time Marnela’s ready with the main course.”
With that, Dao was gone, winding his way back out to the banquet guests, leaving Salla alone to figure out just how he could possibly deal with this Majdi. His mind was sprinting, but there was no discernible goal, no destination in sight. He remembered the encounter with a Majdi on Tempusalist…what was his name? Didn’t matter, he thought. All that mattered was how he had been lifted off his feet and pressed against a wall without the other man laying a finger on him. So if it was going to be a physical confrontation, he needed to get the drop—
“There you are,” a familiar, accented voice said as booted feet clattered down a set of nearby metal stairs. Descending from the Veslyn’s observation deck, the bearded man—the Majdi—approached with a smile. “Thought we should talk, you and I.”
Salla nodded dumbly, his racing mind going starkly blank.
“Apologies for not introducing myself earlier.” The man strode down from the bottom step, standing face-to-face with Salla now. “My name is Adrik Usladislau. And I hope I’m wrong about this, but back on the dining floor I got a feeling I can’t rightly ignore. You seemed a bit anxious—afraid, even back there. First-day nerves, heights, or whatever could explain it, but it feels like something more. Know what I mean? It feels like you may have something to hide.” The ridge of the man’s brow line deepened as he stared into Salla’s eyes. “Is there anything you might care to tell me, mate?”
Salla felt as though an electric charge crackled up and down his body. “Can we go back this way?” He pointed back toward the crew’s changing cabin. “My boss is up ahead. I’d rather she didn’t hear what I have to say.”
Adrik Usladislau eyed him for a moment and nodded. “Lead the way.”
As he walked, Salla fought to empty his mind of whatever intentions he had upon reaching the tiny crew cabin. He knew a little about the Majdi and their use of tephic, but whether some degree of mind-reading was in this man’s stable of abilities, he could only guess. When they reached the door to the crew cabin, he opened the door and gestured the Majdi inside.
The Majdi stopped, eyes narrowing. “I don’t have sea foam between the ears, I’ll have you know. I can also wager that you don’t have anything to tell me, mate. So let’s do this my way instead. Step into that room, put your hands together, I’ll bind them, and then I’ll be happy to listen to whatever you have to say. How does that sound?”
A dagger of pain shot through Salla’s skull as if driven by a hammer, and the close confines of the hallway about them were suddenly spinning. He heard the Majdi shout something in alarm, and then there were hands fastening about him, driving him against the wall. Disoriented, writhing in pain, Salla felt himself lash out. A fresh wave of pain careened through his body in a sudden shockwave. His equilibrium vanished, leaving him unsteady and reeling. His body crashed down hard on the hallway floor, and the hands were there again, grasping. His limbs reacted, his body screaming for it all to end. He didn’t care how anymore, he just wanted it over.
Whether it was just coincidence or a direct result of wishing for the episode to stop, his plea was answered. The pain dissipated into nothingness and his surroundings reappeared through the tear-drenched veil shrouding his vision.
The hallway was still.
Wiping the dampness from his eyes, he looked for the Majdi. Within seconds, he found the man.
Adrik Usladislau lay crumpled a few feet away, still as a corpse. Scrambling to his knees, Salla raced to him, fingers pressing to his neck in search of a pulse. He found one, steady and strong, and heard slow breaths sputter through closed lips.
Salla climbed to his feet with trembling hands and began pulling the unconscious Majdi fully inside the changing cabin. He backed away from the limp form lying there in the darkness and turned to close the door behind him. Someone was right there behind him, a towering presence that seemed to fill the hallway with its size.
Salla’s body jolted in alarm. “Bloody sails, Dao. You had me seeing bloody sails coming up to take me into the black.” He shot out a sigh of exasperation. “You’re too big to be sneaking up on someone like that.”
The look on Dao’s face as he stared past him into the cabin was one of chilling uncertainty. “Mother’s bones, man, what did you do? I said no dead bodies, didn’t I? No dead bo—”
“He’s not dead, Dao. He’s out.” Blinking hard, Salla shook his head. “Don’t know how it happened. He grabbed me, I think, and then he was down.”
The big man licked his lips with downcast eyes, clearly preparing for something uncomfortable that needed to be said. “Look, Sall. You’re my friend, but this has got to be where we split, you know? When he comes to, they’re gonna be asking questions and I gotta have answers. He’ll know to come straight for me and Marnela, because you were on our staff, right? I’m so—”
“Stop.” Salla put a hand on the other’s shoulder. “You are my friend, Dao. Don’t apologize. You did more than I should’ve asked of you. Tell them you were trying to help get me back on my feet and didn’t think I’d be any trouble to anyone.” He sighed. “Tell them you were wrong. And tell Marnela I’m sorry.”
“She’ll be fine—well, once you’re gone, she will.” He managed a humorless laugh. “She’ll help me serve everyone, we’ll land, and then we go home.”
Salla nodded, feeling a lump forming in his throat. “You won’t see me again. I promise.”
Dao nodded, reaching for Salla to clasp him in a monstrous hug that felt like it was squeezing his internal organs from his chest into his limbs. When the crushing pressure eased, Dao Zhan backed away, breathing hard as the big man was visibly trying to fight down an uprising of emotion that seemed bent on erupting like a volcano.
“Be good, Captain.”
5
Salla did not remember leaving the Veslyn. Only scant, wispy patches of memory and conscious thought fluttered up when summoned, only to slip through his fingers and fade back into the abyss when he tried to take hold of them. Such were the fragmented recollections of the skyport where the ship had landed. He thought it was st
ill sometime in the late afternoon, but he couldn’t be certain. He couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. It was like a plug had been pulled somewhere in his brain, the connectors only scarcely touching, allowing his mind to fire for only brief flashes of time.
He blinked, images suddenly appearing in his field of vision. He tried to lift a hand. When he saw it rise up before his eyes, he was mostly sure the images around him were his actual surroundings, not some random conjuring of a misfiring brain counting down to an inescapable meltdown. Looking around through haze-clouded eyes, Salla found nothing to identify his whereabouts. There were no airships to be seen, so he could conclude he was at least away from the landing pads within whichever skyport the Veslyn had landed. He tried his legs next, his vantage point lifting unsteadily upward.
“Where am I?” he heard himself wonder aloud as his vision blackened momentarily.
He was in a street somewhere—that was all he could ascertain. The cream-colored buildings enclosing the avenue upon which he staggered wobbled and swayed with every step. Indistinct shapes moved toward him and away, several veering around him as they drew close.
People, he thought, the word sounding out in his mind as if it were a thing trying to crawl through mud. Got to…get somewhere. Somewhere I can…
The thought dissipated into nothing, and without urging it to do so, his hand went to his ear. The open palm slid into view before his eyes. He blinked, his lids heavy and lethargic. Something wet and red was smeared over his fingers. A sniffle brought the back of his hand up to wipe at his upper lip.
More wetness. More blood.
The coppery taste filled his mouth, and he swallowed hard. He looked back and forth for somewhere he could lie down, somewhere nobody would notice him. Pain was rising up in a slow swell to what he was now praying would be the end. It started at the base of his skull, but before long, it was everywhere.
Let it be over. Let it be over.
An opening appeared to the left, and, like a mere spectator without control over his body, he watched that opening lurch nearer. Shade gathered there. Darkness. It seemed to call out to him, beckon him.
Maybe nobody will notice until it’s over.
The shadows wrapped about him and he felt his legs go numb. The ground sped toward his eyes, a new blast of pain shooting through the side of his face.
Motionless now, he sighed.
Please, nobody notice. Don’t…find me.
6
Cool air blew through Rainne Zehava’s dress as if it wasn’t even there, while the broad black scarf she wore over her hair like a hood billowed in the wind. Puddles dappled the landscape that stretched on before her, a misty sprinkle all that remained of the slow-moving storms that had pounded the Majdi stronghold city of Empyrion Prime for the last two days. The weather reflected her mood succinctly—the emotional tempest of the last several days was over, and now a dreary aftermath lay waiting for her to face it.
For three days she had delayed the inevitable by roaming the streets, avoiding the subject with friends, searching the skies for answers—anything that might offer even the briefest solace for how she felt. But everywhere she looked, every method of distraction she tried, it all left her feeling hollow and alone. The last nine years of her life, all the work, the sleepless nights of study and devotion to becoming a full Majdi of the Order—it was all gone.
Well, gone might be a bit premature, she had continually reminded herself these last few days, but at the moment, she saw no way out of her predicament, no method to scale the insurmountable wall that confronted her. There was only a sense of sad acceptance and the feeling that something inside had broken.
Well outside the walled borders of the Majdi capitol city of Empyrion Prime, Rainne was at last heading home. Sleep had been sparse and fitful when it settled over her last night, and despite the long journey ahead of her today, Rainne’s body was beginning to rebel. As she walked alongside the well-traveled dirt road, her feet sluggishly shuffled through the grass, her arms feeling as though weights were tied about her wrists. The skin on the tip of her thumb was raw and aching from rubbing it along the length of her cherished keepsake, a broken ch’nook tusk, again and again as others would a worry stone.
She just wanted to lie down. She just wanted to sleep, to escape to a void of empty silence where the problems doggedly snapping at her heels could not find her. Her body and mind were united in their refusal to acquiesce, however. Three days was longer than she should have permitted herself to delay the inevitable. The call to rest would simply have to wait until her burden was lifted from her shoulders.
Cresting a familiar hill over an hour later, Rainne saw through tired, heavy-lidded eyes more details in the landscape that brought back a gentle surge of warm memories. Waiting for her as always lay the horizontal carcasses of a grouping of palm trees jutting from the edge of a vast thicket of tall grasses. They had been blown flat only days after her arrival in Mythili, when a tropical storm had rumbled through. They lay across a broad patch of white sand speckled with bits of debris. The sight of those ragged, lifeless trunks recalled lazy afternoons speaking with her Afa in this very spot—conversations that sometimes lasted hours after the sun had set for the day. They were a landmark meant for her and her alone, a warm reminder that home was within reach.
Soon, the shoreline that separated land and sea became visible, and Rainne’s steps across the soft, powdery white sands quickened. It wasn’t the anticipation of telling her Afa of her failure that hastened her approach, but rather the image of her own bed that awaited her in their ramshackle seaside cottage.
Clusters of rocks bulged from the sands between where she stood and the foamy greenish tides of the Great Mythillian Ocean. Amid those crags Rainne saw the roofline of the house in which she had spent the better part of her childhood. Sure, it was rustic in its design and the overall upkeep of the place was steadily falling further behind as her Afa advanced in age, but it was a truer home than any she had ever known.
“Afa?” she called out, climbing the four creaking steps that led onto the cottage’s small, weathered porch.
Only the soothing wash of the sea greeted her, coupled with the plaintive wails of seabirds gliding above the shallows. She pushed open the door to the little house, letting the flood of familiar sights cascade over her and lift her lips into a smile long absent from her face. The old fishing rods leaning in the corner, the tall glass vase containing the sands of her distant homeland, and her Afa’s tattered old orange blanket lying over the armrest of the couch where he slept every night. It was all there waiting for her, just as it had been when she’d last visited.
“Afa?”
The house answered her call with a hollow silence. Rainne shrugged, the strength of the memories this place conjured forth giving way to her body’s pleas for rest. A faint smile rose to her lips. Placing a hand to her heart, she closed her eyes.
“Thank you, wonderful Afa. You always know what I need.”
It was a coincidence, she knew, that her Afa was away when she needed to set the pains of the world aside and simply recharge for however many hours that required. He was not clairvoyant, but a part of her had adopted elements of the Ancestric Faith, at least as it pertained to him. Her Afa was old and wise, and though still among the living, she saw him in a way that lifted him almost to the same sort of deified pedestal that Ancestrics did with their dead. He was her cornerstone, her guide, the one to whom she could always turn.
She shuffled through the door at the rear of the small cottage, eyelids already settling closed in anticipation of sleep. In the darkened, tiny room only scarcely larger than the space her bed required, Rainne tugged off her boots and let any bits of clothing that might hamper her comfort slip from her body down to the floor. There was a lump on the bed, a pile of Afa’s clothes or something along the far edge, but she paid it no heed. She was too tired to bother with it. When she woke, she would find a place for it.
***
No sunligh
t struggled to penetrate the shade covering her window when Rainne’s drowsy eyes opened again. Her body, still sluggish and weary, protested when she started to sit up in bed. In the darkness, she felt around for the candle kept on the bedside table.
When her fingers wrapped around it, she traced her way up to the wick, summoning just a spark of tephic. A second later, the cramped little room became bathed in flickering yellow light. Rainne planted her hands behind her for balance as she arched the stiffness from her back, feeling her wrists bump against something solid on the bed. She yawned, turning her head to finally see what Afa had thrown there.
Then, she screamed, launching herself out of the bed and throwing her back against the wall. Her chest heaving, eyes wide open and staring, Rainne struggled to comprehend what she was seeing.
The sound of footsteps approached hurriedly, and her door flew open. Her Afa was there, hunched with age, wrinkled mouth slack and his good left eye looking up at her in surprise.
“Rainne-Manah, is that you?” The right side of the old man’s mouth curled upward in a surprised smile. “My child, what are you doing here?”
She looked back at him in disbelief. “What am I doing here? Afa, please tell me why there is a dead body lying in my bed?”
The old man blinked. “Ah, you’ve met my new friend, I see.” His familiar, stuttering laugh followed. “He is not dead, Manah. Please, come now to the den. I will explain to you what has happened.”
She did as asked, though her eyes continued to stare at the motionless lump of a man lying on her bed. Her Afa loped slowly from the room and back to his couch, groaning as he sat down. Despite the fact it had only been months since her last visit, the old man looked as though years more had been etched cruelly into his face. Even the natural copper color of his weathered skin seemed to be growing paler, more ashen. Gnarled hands reached for the wooden cup on the table before him, his arms like sticks underneath a tattered brown and orange shirt that looked as if it was hanging on a skeleton. As always, he was careful to sip from the right side of his mouth.