The Truth about Heroes: Complete Trilogy (Heroes Trilogy)

by Krista Gossett

  They had listened to Melchior’s tales with fascination and Rienna began to understand why it had taken him so long to reach Myceum—he had really taken in everything he could about this continent. Built a life of his own through his experiences. Onehanded at that, she thought—after his hand was fitted, he was enslaved. She was thinking that he probably knew more about Stoneweld than he did about Vieres and it occurred to her that maybe he had just never found his place in the world until he left. He hadn’t left to escape the people he cared about and it’s possible he had been so cold and aloof because he hadn’t quite felt he had what he needed from the world. If they had been so quick to kill Melchior, as they had wanted to be, there were things about this world that they would have not known and it may not have even occurred to them to gather an army of their own until they had seen the sheer size of the Mycean Army at the city gates, far too late to circle back.

  Rienna felt a little silly that she might have unconsciously believed that heroes armed with elemental powers could take on anything, but she should have realized that the armies of Myceum had their own tricks. This journey had started out as revenge and Rienna simply hadn’t planned to take on a corrupt kingdom. They have machines that can override magic and even non-magic, magic that can override machines, and the elementals that had given them their gifts were not the only ones available. Although elementals in the same element carry the same motives, who could say whether Mycean scientists hadn’t found a way to control more Chosen Ones or that Erised wouldn’t enjoy pitting them against each other? Rienna had once believed that in their group only one of each element would be given but now she had wondered if they had been able to stop Lumina if another Shade might have come to Freesia. Although, judging by the way Erised handled his charge, this would have been no comfort to Freesia. The elementals were a network of sorts and that was as far from a union as she would have wished for them. Insofar, the elementals that had given their gifts to them were the most powerful, as they already noticed before, so Freesia’s Shade would have been no match for Erised, if he had wanted to worm his way into her heart as if it were little more than a rotten apple. He might have even encouraged it. They spent so much time jumping to the wrong conclusions—the ones written by misguided minstrels and wordof-mouth. Histories were not just fact, but filled in by guessing historians and twisted by bards who needed a juicier tale. She should have put together long before now that Sea Star had given them this clue when she had mentioned the “Luminas”. Lumina were more than one by her/itself, a sort of ruler of the wisps. Maybe she had just supposed there was a hierarchy of those who served and those who could recruit humans.

  In all her musings, as they had already reached the cliffs and began to set up camp, one thing had occurred to her to ask Melchior.

  “Melchior, how did Chevalle control your arm?” Rienna asked, wondering if Chevalle could do so again.

  “Clever bitch had installed a voice activation sequence in there. I wouldn’t worry over that anymore, Rienna; I had Nuriel burn it out or I would have taken off the arm itself,” Melchior had assured her, guessing correctly at her concern and flexing the arm under the glove that hid his false hand. Come to think of it, it was never uncovered and she had to wonder why. The way it moved it was hard to remember it wasn’t his flesh and blood. Maybe that was precisely why. That and perhaps a reminder of what he paid to have it. Who ultimately paid for it. He wouldn’t look at her directly and she could see the muscles in his throat working with difficulty.

  “I don’t suppose you know what we’re up against,” Rienna asked, with little hope this would prove fruitful. She needed him to not clam up now. It was an obvious statement but she needed to stop the path her thoughts were taking too.

  “I had sent spies to gather intel after I was back in control, but if you’re wondering if I learned anything before I had been controlled, you’ll be disappointed. Chevalle is very careful, but then she is right to trust no one. Most of the soldiers I had seen weren’t acting human at all and—no offense, Pierait, but I had thought that maybe they were just Soulless. Mind control had never occurred to me or I would have high-tailed it out of there. No offense, Dinsch,” he added with a lopsided smile. At least his odd sense of humor was still kicking. “I imagined there were a handful of people who weren’t being controlled that knew what was up but it wasn’t a requirement. She wanted me in that army whether I wanted to or not. Ashe isn’t kidding when he talked about the ill-luck of the Suleika and it wouldn’t surprise me if our tribe is a distant memory once this nightmare blows over.

  “Think about it—massacred by barbarians, the survivors scattered. Our own brother of Suleika, Malek, gathered some of the survivors to train and tries to slaughter them all. Most of the survivors he didn’t take in ended up in orphanages, armies, brothels, or just went mad. Chevalle hauls her ass down to Myceum, casting her lot with a madman, but crazy minds think alike. Takes one of her few remaining tribesmen, or me to be exact, and takes over his mind to be a sheep in her army, or rather her wolf to kill sheep. My surviving brother gets a wicked scar and no memories, losing both of the people he saved from one of my attacks to an elemental claiming to be an ally and an elemental with a grudge. And don’t think Ashe was lucky to receive Zephyra’s fucking gifts—if anything has sunk in about this journey, it’s that these elementals we are so ‘blessed’ with are double-edged and like with Night and Freesia, they could very well be our undoing. We are tools and worth less once worn down.”

  The group that had before been in a state of wonder at the new land was once again sobered into reality and none too happy about it. Pierait was constantly showing distaste for Melchior’s words and it was no wonder—Melchior was a strange mix of knowledge and ignorance. He was constantly giving the group a carefree impression and they would think they were warming up to him but then his words would become bitter and would grind into their psyches. Rienna didn’t know what to think; she was equally confused about how much they should be living with what precious time they had and how much they should be focusing on the grim realities.

  Ashe spoke up, noticing the shifts in mood that hung about them heavily.

  “Steer clear of the hard truths, brother—none of us have forgotten,” Ashe warned, but with a friendly tone, as he stoked a small fire and started to hand out stored bits of salted fish he had wrapped in a strong-scented leaf to suck out the salt and add flavor earlier that day. He lifted one directly to Rienna’s mouth and she ate it from his fingers without thinking, shyly chewing it with realization of the intimacy. “Tell us more about Nemiah and some of the other port cities.”

  Rienna only half-listened as the nagging question pulled at her mind. How the hell did Melchior end up with networks of spies and armies? Was he more the mastermind like Belias than she had supposed? Suppositions were more and more proving unreliable. She couldn’t ask, not in front of everyone. He might be even less likely to answer her one on one, but she didn’t want to seem too suspicious around all of them either. Ashe tried to feed her again, but this time, she snatched it away with her fingers and he laughed in such a sudden and genuine way that she couldn’t help but smiling back in contentment.

  Nemiah was everything Melchior had promised and more. He had purposely forgotten to mention that their hover vehicles had enough height to qualify as flying. Dinsch had wondered why the bulk of this technology never went further than the big cities and Melchior had explained that they had short-lived power sources, often burning off mosenweeds or charged by windmills or another natural source that converts energy. Either way, you might only get a half hour at top speed (which was no more than 50 miles per hour) and that was it. It could shorten a five hour walk to a half hour at best. Refueling stations were vastly expensive and carrying along fuel reserves burned off energy faster; even if they were kept small enough to be portable they also took a long time to fully charge. As long as stopping half a day wasn’t a setback on your journey for another 30-minute burst wasn’t an issue,
you were good to go. In cities, the vehicles could leisurely run for a couple of hours and they were recharged every moment they were idle so they rarely ran out in need of a full charge. The recharge stations were huge and much quicker.

  The streets were made of a strong metal called Kerantheum, a sleek silver metal that did not reflect glares of light. It had the friction of stone but looked to be slippery, which they had all mused at. Poor Dinsch had been a bit wobbly in his fear of the strange surface and they had all tried to ignore the hilarity of his exploration as they first stepped upon it. The city itself was larger than Xanias by far but Melchior promised that it was one of the smallest on the northern edge of the continent. The buildings looked like metallic tanks, sleek and rounded, the type of architecture that was both artistic and functional. The people all wore shiny suits of metallic brilliance and brightly colored clothes just as Melchior had said so they really did blend well into the crowd. They saw so many restaurants and flower shops and stores that Rienna actually felt a little giddy at the plain vastness of selections. Merschenez was vast and wealthy but it was old world and humble in comparison. If she ever went back to Merschenez and they received her, she wanted to share these innovations with her homeland. She could imagine Seije, who was traditional to the core, would be a wreck adjusting to the change, though he would never show it. Krose’s brother was a man of steel and she admired his stoicism.

  It was close to lunchtime when they had entered and they had been so awed, they forgot their hunger. Melchior single-mindedly had been leading them to the vendor streets and once they had rounded the corner to these streets, they were buffeted by the exotic and rich smells of fresh-baked foods and outdoor cafes. He raised his arms in grand production and told them they had to survive hunger a little while longer—the perfect place was halfway through on a little side street off the main plaza.

  They were well rewarded for their efforts—Melchior was recognized by a young bubbly waitress (who had kissed him quite intimately on the mouth after throwing her whole body weight at him, wrapping her legs around his waist and all) and this lovely girl had served them every item on the menu, steaming hot and fresh. None could remember a meal so grand and they all were leaned back and groaning in their seats from overindulgence by the end. Melchior still had room on his lap for the flirty waitress and gave her another peck and a nuzzle of the scratchy beard shadow that made her giggle. Rienna had rolled her eyes in annoyance, but she was a little jealous too—not because it was Melchior but because she had missed those moments with Belias. She hadn’t been as bold as this girl, but Belias had been both affectionate and respectful, so when he pulled her into his lap, she would just enjoy the feel of his arms around her as they sat in satisfied silence. She caught Krose throwing her an amused look and punched him in the shoulder. He pretended to look hurt and rubbed his shoulder, his eyes still dancing. Give a dog a bone and he’ll show up for more.

  They had all been so amused with the grand affair that when Dinsch excused himself to wander off, they had given in easily, Melchior tossing him a city map and telling him to meet them in the Silver Plaza in three hours. Dinsch nodded wordlessly and bounded off, his mind on his pursuits.

  Chapter 13: Old Litter, New Husk

  Despite the fact that they had sworn Bryfolk would be an impossible find, Dinsch had seen one of his own after finishing their luxurious lunch. Not just any old Bryfolk; this one he could swear had been a litter mate (Bryfolk were raised in ‘litter’ assignations like human children were taught together in classes), a shy soft-spoken girl named Seles. He might not have noticed at all, but certain things stuck out; she was very tall for a girl and a human besides and she had disguised herself well enough, but even cleverly tailored boots do a poor job of covering the powerful legs of Bryfolk or their awkwardness at wearing shoes at all. She had noticed Dinsch’s interest and had bounded off. Dinsch made his excuses and took off after her, knowing that she might know this city better than he did and chances are he would lose her. He found one boot then the other some ways away and realized she was consciously leading him to her. But to where? He wasn’t the tracker Krose was; tracking was predatory and it was rabbit instinct to do just the opposite. Still, Dinsch was human too and courage wasn’t alien to him.

  The last time he had seen Seles, they had been twelve years of age and already he had romped with her at festivals every year for two years past. Mating rituals started early with Bryfolk but they were more secretive than the adults. They were still partially human no matter how relaxed their sexual attitudes; preteens and teenagers still weren’t keen on being caught. Seles was incredibly smart and focused and, other than those exciting trysts at festivals, she had very little to do with him. They had one very big thing in common—no parents and a mutual physical desire.

  Bryfolk were very warm and accepting to their kin but they were also very family-oriented. As much as they tried to include orphans like Dinsch and Seles (and they did a great job of providing for them—there were no homeless or unemployed in the Bryfolk Hole—all had roles and places), once it was time to go home, they returned alone to their hole in the burrow, no goodnight kisses or begging for one last bedtime story.

  From a very early age, all Bryfolk were assessed for their talents and assigned roles. They did not emphasize that all of them have the same education and they were very Old World in that you were given as a sort of apprentice or a student to assess your specialty in a trade. Dinsch had been a gatherer; he had one of the best noses and was quick and enthusiastic so he gathered herbs and spices with ease. Seles had been one of the rare ones quick of wit—she was taught to read and write in many different languages, preserve records and so on. Where Seles had been content and reserved, Dinsch had been restless and dissatisfied.

  Despite Seles’ cold aloofness with Dinsch most times, she always seemed to seek him out once Swoonfruit and good food had mellowed her disposition. When he woke in the morning and reached for her, she was always long gone. Dinsch always reached for her though he knew he would be disappointed.

  One day when Dinsch had been out gathering, he found a severed Bryfolk tail and the whole of the Hole was up in a panic trying to figure out who was missing. Dinsch’s heart had sunk so low he swore that it had splashed onto his feet in a puddle as they discovered that the one to be missing was his precious Seles. They sent out search parties and found so much blood that there was no way Seles was still alive. Dinsch had been searching but not on the trail they discovered the blood and he had been struck with grief at the news once they gathered to report.

  Whatever had tethered Dinsch to his duties had drained out of him completely and he decided to take a trip to the nearest human village, a little hamlet northeast of the Bryfolk Hole. He wasn’t full of his usual pep and he had shuffled his way there, moping at a human-slow speed. The humans there weren’t unaccustomed to Folk but they still seemed curious and wary of his visit.

  Dinsch had seen a curious boy there, his eyes shuffling about in a way he recognized—the boy was a sort of tracker, someone who observed and assessed quickly, homing in only on his goals, but without revealing their purpose. If he weren’t so keenly watching, he would have missed the subtle cues. Dinsch might have been a tad slow-witted and excitable but he had a knack for observing too and he knew that this boy was no slouch at what he did, although maybe not quite mastering it yet.

  Dinsch kept his distance and followed the boy casually; it was not hard for him to pretend as if the vendors’ wares excited him but his true focus was on the boy, who had pilfered a bit of food and thought himself in the clear. The vendor was used to little thieves, no matter how clever, and had grabbed his sword taking off after the boy.

  Dinsch’s heart had raced and he had leisurely made his way to the alley before using his powerful legs to catch up to the man in pursuit. He always kept back enough to stay out of view and watched the man enter a building and the startled scream of the boy.

  He thought surely the boy had been k
illed, but he charged into the building just in time to see the man raising the sword to remove the boy’s hand. Without missing a beat, Dinsch charged forward and jumped, throwing the whole of his power into his legs and pushing off the man’s back to land easily on his feet as the man collided with the wall in a sickening crack, adrenaline making him bounce in place. He grabbed up the boy when he noticed the man slamming into the wall had roused curiosity from the neighbors and took off again. He headed towards the Bryfolk Hole out of habit and he really had no idea of where else to go.

  The boy, Krose, was much like him: another orphan trying to find their place. Dinsch learned that Krose had been so upset about being separated from his brother that he took off without a plan and made his way south from Hargreaves. Dinsch had never heard of the place but Krose had drawn a map in the dirt and Dinsch had been awed by how far the boy had come alone. Dinsch brought Krose to the Bryfolk Hole and told him all about why he had left the Bryfolk territory for the first time in his life; he told Krose about Seles.

  Dinsch’s sadness lingered but his days started to go better with his new human friend Krose making life more interesting. They spent two seasons in the Bryfolk Hole (and Krose was initiated into the delights of women—not just with a few human visitors but a handful of curious Bryfolk as well) and then Krose had said his thanks to the Bryfolk and set out to leave. Dinsch had been devastated that his friend was leaving and had watched his back until the distance and curve of the land had blinked him out of sight. Frantically, Dinsch had charged down the road and it only took him a half hour to catch up and he had been so excited by the time he reached Krose, that he had terrified his friend and knocked the wind out of him. Krose had coolly pretended he was a loner but his happiness at having a travel companion was visible.