by C. A. Bryers
“He looks dead, Afa.” Her throat tightened. “You do not look well either.”
He smiled, though the left half of his face did not respond, as it hadn’t for years. “Do not worry yourself, Manah. I have lasted longer on this world than I have any right.”
It was a common rebuttal from Afa, but it hurt no less hearing it yet again. “Tell me, then. Who is that in my room?”
“Three days ago, Onapesh had flown in with seeds for my garden. I met him at the skyport. As I left, Manah, I spotted a crowd gathered at the mouth of an alleyway. They were huddled around a man, none of them sure what was wrong, or what to do. There was blood…much blood, my child. And yet, there were no wounds.”
Rainne nodded with a knowing sigh. “So you did what you always do. What you have done your whole life.”
“I am not a warrior, Manah. Some face war, but there must always be some whose duty it is to walk the wastelands and pick up the broken pieces war has left behind.”
Some had a difficult time understanding her Afa since the attack that left half his body partially debilitated, but finding the words in the old man’s monotonous, mumbling speech patterns had become second nature for Rainne.
“Do you know who he is? What makes you believe he is a warrior?”
Her Afa shook his head, his long, tangled gray hair swaying. “I do not know his name. But though my body has failed me, my senses have not. I can feel in him struggle. I can sense he has seen and endured much. War can come to us in many shapes and forms, Manah. He may not be a soldier, but he has battled all the same.” He took another sip and fixed his good eye upon her. “Tell me, child. Why have you come back? I was not expecting your return for many weeks.”
Rainne bowed her head. “I am back because…because I think I have failed you, Afa.”
His hand, wrinkled and mottled with age, reached out to grasp hers. “That is not possible. I am here because of you, long after I should have gone.”
“But there is more yet to be done, Afa. Think of the good you can still bring to this world. The man in the other room, for ex—”
“There are others like me, dear child, others who would have helped that man dying in the streets. Look into yourself, and see that you are not trying to save me for my small contributions to the world, but it is because you think you are lesser without me.” His cold hand on her own tightened. “The truth is that you are lesser with me, Manah. You have worked these many last years in order for me to stubbornly cling to this life, yet have denied yourself the right to live yourself.”
Though she heard his words, Rainne’s mind was elsewhere. “More time is what I need. I just do not know how to convince them that I am deserving of it.”
“I see my counsel is unneeded.” Grunting, her Afa shifted about on the couch until he lay flat. “That is well. You have grown strong over the years, and the Order has played no small part in that growth. Though you feel you do not belong, that your purpose there is only for my sake, you would do well to consider the gifts they have given you that you will carry long after I am gone.” He sniffled, his breaths slowing. “It is late and I must return to sleep, Manah. Stay up and think on your path if you like. For me, the time has come tomorrow to wake our guest.”
7
The fog was still thick in his mind when Salla Saar opened his eyes. A low croak emanated from somewhere down his throat and slowly, the world came into focus. He was on a beach, it seemed, his body wrapped in a blanket and positioned to face the surf rolling in across the coastline. A threadbare, makeshift canopy enveloping the upper half of his body fluttered in the wind, limiting his view of his surroundings. There was a sense of confinement, being bundled up and partially enclosed, but Salla felt no pressing urge to move. Wherever he was, he was safe and unharmed.
As he lay there staring out across the cresting waves and the cerulean sky, he tried to think of where he might be, of what had happened to bring him to this place. It was no use. His thoughts seemed limp and all too eager to slip back into the carefree realm his mind had occupied for however long he had remained unaware of the passage of time. Fleeting images of Dao Zhan and an airship came and went, but nothing more recent—no subconscious thoughts, dreams, or feelings lingered.
He heard something then, a pattering approach of something running through the sand with more than just two legs. Stiff bursts of air rushing in and out of an animal’s mouth drew louder as it neared, and Salla felt his body go rigid. Even without moving, he could tell his arms and legs lacked the strength to save him if the thing closing in was large enough and had the inkling to consider him a food source.
Seconds later, he could see its silhouette through the side of the small canopy, a squat thing with four legs and a torso like a barrel. Its nostrils rubbed against the fabric, sniffing and snorting as it rounded the shelter and came into view. Its muzzle appeared first, nostrils wet over a mouth filled with yellowed, pointed teeth and a pair of short tusks—one whole, one broken—jutting at an angle away from the jaws. Black fur mixed with gray sprouted further back on its face, down the beast’s thick neck and becoming shaggier as it traveled along the bulk of its mass. Green eyes spaced wide apart stared into the canopy, measuring him as if deciding what to do.
Salla lay motionless as if returning to his deathlike state, eyes locked upward at the fluttering fabric of the shelter. Though he had never seen an animal like this before, there was no question it was a carnivore and a predator. The pointed, tearing teeth, the tusks for goring, and the forward-facing black hunting eyes told him as much. And yet, the creature made no move yet to tear him to pieces. No low growls of warning emerged, no tensing of muscles as it prepared to strike. Instead, the creature’s stare turned curious.
“Orius!” someone shouted from behind.
The animal’s mouth opened to pant, a long, wet tongue spilling from between its yellow teeth as Salla lay forgotten. Then, it shot off toward the voice that called to it.
Moments later, the stooped shape of an old man hobbled into view, body propped up by a wooden cane. Half a smile greeted Salla, and he tried to sit up in response, but failed.
“No, no, do not try to get up, boy. You have been unconscious for days.” The old man waddled closer, pulling back the canopy.
Salla winced as the sunlight shot daggers into his eyes. “Where am I?”
“Oh, some ways outside Empyrion Prime. That is on Mythili, if you are not from these islands,” the other mumbled, prying Salla’s left eye open to peer into it.
Salla didn’t know the old man, but it was clear in his demeanor and frailty that he meant no harm. “No, I’m an islander. Why am I on this beach?” He tried again to remember. “Something…something happened to me. Shouldn’t I be in a recovery room? Somewhere with walls, at least?”
A creaky chuckle emerged from the old man’s parted lips. “More often than not, nature will care for you better than a doctor might. The ocean is strong and does many wondrous things. Its song can soothe the mind to sleep, and it can also quiet the chaos in the minds of men. Your mind needed some quiet, some peace, I think.” The man’s fingers continued to probe his face, checking his nose, ears, and mouth. “I found you five days ago. Nearly dead, I would say. You said you know something happened to you. What happened, boy?”
Salla tried licking his lips, but they remained dry. “Aren’t you the physician? Shouldn’t you be telling me what happened?”
The lopsided grin on the man’s weathered face returned. “I am no physician. A healer, maybe, but I heal in the ways long since forgotten by most in the world. If you are hoping I will drop a pill in your mouth to silence pain, you will be disappointed.” He let out a short, wheezing laugh. “And you will be in pain.”
“What was that…thing?” he asked, craning his head to search for the tusked animal.
“Ah, yes. That was Orius, my ch’nook. I have had him as companion for a long time, since before we came to these islands. Though these lands and the sea are beautiful, I am le
ft alone more often than not. But with Orius, I have company, even if he is a poor conversationalist.” Reaching down, the old man pulled Salla into a sitting position. “My name is Ulong. What is yours?”
“Salla Saar. Why can’t I move?”
“A remedy I gave you. Dulls the body to strengthen the mind. You will have use of your arms and legs as soon as the effects wear off.”
“Am I…” Salla hesitated to even speak the word. “Am I cured?”
The half-smile was there on Ulong’s face, but there was no levity in the one eye that looked down at him. “No. There is something inside you, Salla Saar, something that seeks to harm you. Whatever I have done, it has only set its attempts back a few paces. In my many years, I have seen nothing like it. I do not know what it is, nor can I even hazard a guess as to the treatment that may stop it. All I do know is that it is strong. It will take your life, Salla Saar.” The old man extended a hand to pat his patient on the shoulder. “I must go inside and prepare your next restorative. Is there anything you need?”
“Water,” Salla said, his eyes no longer on the old man. Instead, he stared out across the sea again, the brief glimpse of hope the old man provided now shrinking away like one of the seabirds soaring off into the distance.
Alone again on the beach, Salla felt helpless. Memories were starting to grow brighter in his mind, and he recalled his last thoughts before fading from consciousness at the skyport. He had wished it to be over, wished for his life to end. He had survived instead, thanks to this old man, but found nothing had changed. Another day would come where he yearned for death to take away the pain and relentless uncertainty of his existence.
Something wet lapped against his shoulder. Orius was back, it seemed, and the ch’nook was licking him.
“You’re really an ugly thing, aren’t you?”
As if in response to the insult, Orius snorted, coating Salla’s shoulder in spittle. Then, the ch’nook’s tongue lapped again and again at the handful of inches of exposed skin protruding from the blanket.
“How about you move along? I know my shoulder can’t taste that good.”
“You are aware, I hope, that animals do not typically talk back,” a voice from behind, feminine this time, remarked.
Salla didn’t bother craning his neck to identify the girl. She stepped into view on her own, scratching the ch’nook at the shaggy base of his neck before she sat on a flat rock protruding from the sand nearby.
“He was just a shoat when I first set eyes upon him. Helpless thing. Ulong-Afa brought him in like he did any stray that he thought needed help.”
The girl kept scratching and petting Orius, and the ch’nook started bouncing excitedly in stark contrast to its intimidating exterior. She appeared to be somewhere in her midtwenties, with the same copper skin as the man Salla assumed to be her grandfather, although hers was smooth and unblemished like a perfect sheet of caramel. She wore a scarf that covered most of her hair, though a few curls of shining black dangled about her neckline.
Scanning her sand-colored dress up and down, Salla found nothing that marked her with any affiliation to the Majdi Order. She, like her grandfather, appeared to be a commoner living on the outskirts of society.
“Oh, forgive me. You wanted something to drink,” she said, handing him a wooden cup.
Salla shifted a bit under his blanket, but his limbs were so deadened he knew there was no way he could pull an arm free to take the cup.
“Una-maishali. My apologies again, my mind seems to have left me. I forgot how strong Afa makes his old world potions,” she said, shaking her head in self-reproach. She tipped the cup to Salla’s lips, letting him drink. “I am sorry.”
He swallowed, basking in the feel of the water washing down his throat. “Don’t be. It’s not like I could chase you down if I was offended anyway.”
Her hand lifted absently to cover a smile. “My name is Rainne. Though we are just meeting, I feel I should tell you that we slept together last night, only neither of us knew it.”
Salla’s brows lifted. “Wish I could say that was the first time someone’s told me that. Or the third.”
“When I awoke, you were in bed with me. You had been there for days, apparently. Afa says he found you in an alley, bleeding from the nose and ears. He believed you to be dying.”
He wanted to tell her that her grandfather’s early assumption wasn’t far from the truth. He was dying—the old man had just told him as much. Whether he had shared that dire prognosis with this young woman, Salla did not know. It shouldn’t matter. They had just met. Why should she care what happened to a stranger?
***
Days passed as Salla regained his strength. Both Ulong and Rainne helped him every step of the way. Some days, when the old man was feeling too weak to care for him, Rainne stepped in, and Salla took the opportunity to learn more about her. The third night following his awakening was one such occasion when it was just the two of them. The sun had long since gone down and with summer months in the past, the nights required blankets to stay warm. Salla and Rainne sat on the steps of Ulong’s front porch, a small fire blazing away in a depression in the sand a few feet before them.
“I feel like all we speak of is me,” Rainne said with a laugh, pulling the blanket back up over her shoulders. “When is it time to learn something about you?”
“I’d tell you if there was something interesting to tell,” he replied with a laugh in return.
It was a blatant dodge, of course. Nevertheless, he had decided not to tell her about his time with Natke Orino, the subsequent years spent as captain of a scrapping vessel, or even his reunion with Natke that led to the thwarting of the fallen tyrant, Cron-jearre, at a city hidden under the sea called Tempusalist. Sure, there were some thrilling and even heroic moments that Rainne would be fascinated to hear about, but the road to those fleeting moments of heroism was paved with flawed judgment and selfishness.
Maybe Dao had been right, he thought. If he still felt this conflicted about his past, maybe his sins truly did outweigh the good he had done in stopping the Thirteenth Paragon.
Unfortunately, he no longer had time to even the scales of redemption. His time was short, and as he had gotten to know Rainne, he did not want her memories of him to be tainted—good or bad—by stories from the past.
Everything Salla learned about her made him want to learn more. There was little else he could do while working to regain his strength, and there were times it seemed his presence there was exactly what she needed. Something dark seemed to be eating away at her inside, some truth she had yet to divulge that was hidden behind brief glimpses of sadness in her eyes. Whether she ever unburdened herself to him, it did not matter. What mattered was that they were to each other what each one needed at this time in their lives.
As those thoughts faded, new ones arose. Salla found himself staring at her in the golden firelight, entranced by what he saw sitting only a matter of feet away. Her face looked so delicate framed within that scarf she wore—smooth, pronounced cheekbones and full, immaculately shaped lips that would draw any man’s attention instantly. But for Salla, it was her vivid green eyes that captivated him more than anything. He’d watched those eyes so many times easily shift between projections of strength, doubt, joy, concern and everything in between—a vast spectrum of passionate emotions laid bare for any to see. Rainne was an open book, he was slowly realizing, but he also knew that what she let the world see was only the beginning. There were pages—tomes even—left yet to be read.
She intrigued him; to claim she wasn’t finding a home in his daily thoughts would have been a lie. But there was something else growing these past days, fleeting glimmers of attraction that he was always quick to chase away like a swarm of nagoflies. Now was one of those instances.
“How often do you visit Ulong?”
Rainne looked through the door at the frail, sleeping form of her Afa on the couch, while Orius snored from the floor nearby. “Not often enough. I am awa
y for stretches of months sometimes. He deserves better. To me, he is all the good in Odyssium contained in one fragile body. If I had all the riches of the world, I would still be unable to repay my debt to him.” She touched her eye. Perhaps it was simply an itch, perhaps it was to wipe at a tear. “He is not really my Afa, you know. He did for me the same as he did for you. He found a five-year-old girl in need, so he took her in and raised her as his Manah. For twelve years, it was the best life I could have hoped for. We lived off the land at the edge of the village. I followed him across the country as he helped others, and met many wonderful people.” She lowered her head in the firelight. “Then, he got sick. No one in our village knew how to help him. What they believed he had was an affliction that had no cure, something they called ‘the slow death.’ They said it could take years for him to die, to wither like a plant in a drought. I had time, but if I stayed in my homelands, I had no hope. So I brought him to this place in search of that hope.”
“What made you think he could be saved here?”
“Most people of the world, even in backwater villages like mine, they knew of the Majdi. I learned they had been given the task of leading these nearby islands out of war, so I knew they would have a strong presence here. They are renowned for the fact they wield a power most cannot, so I thought if anyone could help Ulong-Afa, perhaps they could.”
The very mention of the Order’s name made Salla bristle. “Wish I could say I had your optimistic viewpoint on the Majdi.”
Rainne’s brows lowered quizzically. “Why do you say that?”
He looked away. “I’ve had a few run-ins with members of the Majdi, or people under orders from them. Most haven’t gone well, let’s say. Plenty of days I wish I’d never heard of them.” He gave a weak laugh and then sat in silence waiting for Rainne to respond. “Were they able to help him?”