The guard, hesitant at first, creeps in and grabs the round.
Sanet speaks up. “I thought you were leaving last night?”
“The plan has changed. You are no longer to seek the brass. And you will be punished severely should you.” He presses his hanker to his mouth, and then wipes his nose, which is bleeding a thick blue blood. He spits the food that remains in his mouth into the hanker and then pushes his plate aside. “Good travels.” He stands and leaves the room empty, colder, and now ten times the larger.
❖❖❖
Later that morn, Ethan walks Sanet to the entrance gates. When they’re out of earshot of guard and ranpart, he whispers, “Are you wisnok, Sanet?”
“I think so. My throat is sore, but I think I’m more shocked than hurt.”
“He did bruise your neck a bit, it seems,” Ethan says, looking at her neck. “The oilment I packed for you should work well.”
“I don’t understand. I’ve known Nico for six years.”
“I’ve known him since I started here ten years ago, and I can’t say more than this, but don’t trust everything that happens at face value. Nico was a good man.”
“Then you think that it wasn’t him?”
“It was Nico, I just don’t believe it was . . . Nico. I’m only glad you were able to defend yourself. It makes me feel better about you leaving on your own. When you return, I hope to have much more to discuss, but for now, I can only say to be wary of whom you trust. And,” he pulls a small key from his jacket, “this is the thing we spoke about last week. I know you’re not supposed to have it now…”
Sanet smiles, pocketing it in secret. “You’re going to get me sent, Ethan Mershner. And I will. I’m learning all too well the shadows are not what they seem.” She kisses two fingers and sets them upon Ethan’s chest. “You as well, be safe.”
“Lucky for me, Cadwellion is headed west until summer. Things might grow so boring I’ll end up reading one of Undess’s romance books.” Sanet laughs at the thought.
“I wish you would come with me.”
“Mercet wouldn’t like that. And even so, it would be the most unlikely of Lands to see me setting off on such an adventure.”
“After last night, I don’t think anything is unlikely.” The carriage pulls up and she enters, setting off, unsure of how to arrange the past hours, if not the past seven years.
Chapter 30
BENEATH THEM, UNCERTAINTY
The snarling crimson man, who nickens himself Ponce, sails Johan’s Blonde Sea Horsal through Trimod’s encircling storm, needing only a half-try skill, indicating his unfortunate necessity if the gang expects a safe return to Yikshir. To double on the disappointment, his insults and annoyances with every rock and wind and wave are sure to make the voyage considerably longer. As they drift farther from the island state, its gray-stained clouds ease with the fade of the sea’s whitecap rollers. The blue-and-red glow, the mountain that punches through a forever fog, all of what became of Trimod shrink in the distance, at once an unsung happening.
Sanet’s view of the island causes her heart to skip a minor at the thought of Johan, a man who happened upon a one-way trip. A man who wore the smarmiest of grins and a body filled by crass ingenuousness. A man with his own morals. Though the thought that he followed her like a cog onto that island eases her culpability, Sanet takes a full share’s blame for his sending. Over the past seven years, she’s found she possesses an unprovoked magnetism with other bodies. First with Oskar, and then Nico, then Logan, who approached her in the forest highland. And ultimately, Johan. Even Iahel lost a glance to her on more than one occasion while trekking through those interminable Tunnels. Most times, she didn’t mind using their weakness to her advantage. But beyond a lingering guilt, her heart hangs indifferently for these other bodies. Instead, her interest lies in what is beyond her obligation to the ranpart. If not one objective, it is something else she is encouraged to attain. Nothing of her own choosing.
Despite Wellion’s warning, the attack from Nico just before leaving Salsman forced her intention to retrieve the brass fragments to become undivided, their recovery a test of her devotion. Wellion saved me, after all. It has become a means by which she can measure her worth. Over the past years, reading and learning expressly about the Land, and yet little of herself, caused an unquenchable need to uncover something that may prove who she is or, more importantly, why she is.
Her expedition began southwest of Yikshir, in the state of Misipit and its infamous foggy canyons. But those early excitements soon drift into the memories of staying in Wellion’s stonetin, to the countless combat techniques Nico instructed her in—which, ironically, I used against him—to the wild histories of the continent of Merigen and the entire planet of Homen that Ethan taught her. She recalls the sleeping room she stayed in, the same one she awoke in nearly seven years prior. All the admiration and affection from the guard staff for the stranger without a past. But thoughts of the stonetin inevitably bring her to thoughts of Wellion himself.
Before witnessing him so easily crush Nico, she was beginning to believe Ethan’s theory that Wellion was only a fraud. But afterward, even the small orb that he carries around terrifies her. And now, they possess three pieces of a brass orb that’s tenfold larger. She fears Wellion’s control over that amount of power would include his coolly academic approach to experimentation and reaction. She fears that if bodies end up sent in pursuit of uncovering a truth, his attitude will simply be: So shall it be. The idea of turning the brass over to him, even for peace among them, doesn’t seem the right of endings. Though Wellion’s appetite, as he says, is to protect the Land, by hiring these vehement crimson men, it means at any cost.
Sanet snipped the first fragment without much incident. It was kept in a large manor belonging to a family who had no need to lock their doors at night, no reason to guard an innocuous sliver of brass left unprotected among dozens of other antiquated artifacts. The long chase after, first by that crimson man who snipped it from her and then after that proshing neox skittering all the way into Radiba, tested her further. Where at first she relished the idea of being a hunter of treasures, it quickly distorted into a hopeless, heaving slog, with tireless exhaustion and the pain of a slow, interminable burn.
Which set the scene and a welcome reprieve meeting the handsome Radibian man. When he alleged his curam was Logan, it felt like a kiptale. Was Wellion’s foretale true, that he would become her son’s father? But even as her mind lurches into another of Wellion’s biddings, the reality remains: every choice has been chosen for her.
When confronted with Logan’s charming appearance, it wasn’t difficult to deny Wellion’s task. It was easy to see why bodies wanted to hold him or be held by him. His soft eyes and wide frame emitted an unintentional sexual allure. An all-encompassing masculinity. As if he were a walking-man’s demvirst. That first major, when he looked at her as if he already knew they were in single souls and she heard his curam, she wanted to reject Wellion’s wild proclamation that this man, this stranger in the woods, would choose a child with her. At the same time, she was curious to let the foretale play out. And in doing so, resume Wellion’s order. Logan was persuasive and straightforward, and he’d found her when she was psychologically spent. She would later wonder if those weeks of minimal sleep and intense single-mindedness prior had not been a contributing factor in allowing Logan to so easily attract her.
The serendipitous circumstances of their encounter clouded her judgment, and it wasn’t until she gained a full night’s rest and marked the looming tormisand that she would recall the neox and the brass. After leaving Logan’s haynest that morn, she had no intention to ever see him again, whether Wellion wanted her to or not. And with that thought came thoughts of Bernard. The Dark Valor who emerged from that cave as an innocent bystander and by his actions brought her back to Logan.
But truthfully, it was after her interaction with the protnuk, transformed as a young girl, that her unwavering commitment
to Wellion formed. To choosing a child with Logan. Yet another portent about her future, a riddle entailing Dark Valors and nines and more, only added to her frustrations about the lack of knowing anything of her past. The Land’s way had become infuriating over curious. After the protnuk’s riddle, she left the cave in a state of absolute frustration. She decided she would wait for the sleeping man to leave and convince him to give her that sliver of brass. From such a thing came this.
The thought had occurred to her to just snip it in his sleep, but she wasn’t sure what sort of man he was or how dangerous. She laughs now at the thought of Bernard being dangerous. The burned man knows. Looking back, she knows she also hesitated because, if he did not have it, if it was not inside that neox, her entire trip south, the entirety of the past few months, would have been for naught. And after misplacing the steel stonetin key that Ethan slid to her when she left Salsman, while chasing the neox up through the Carvinga Treasures, she was close to losing both pieces in the same decision. Failing a neox hunt is bad luck.
But, as with all things Bernard, he was unexpected. And while she waited, he did not leave. And didn’t leave. And didn’t leave. And so, Sanet had to either wander back into the cave or never know the fate of the brass. Afterward, when he walked out and handed her the very thing she held so precious in the months before, without care or worry, she believed. Her mind so focused, so determined to do it herself. And yet, this old man, handed it to her.
That minor, made her believe in him and the protnuk’s foretale. Bernard sending the crimson man, the act of a Dark Valor, was only confirmation. Sanet believed then that the Land was larger than her and that all its things flow in a design to serve a grander purpose, making her desire to know what had happened to her fade like the setting sun. And perhaps what Wellion said was to be believed. He was serving the Land. Or, at the very least, he was aware of something she was not. I can trust him. His foretale could be as true as those of that protnuk in the cave.
With fate-filled eyes, she understood her fascination with the myths of valors. Valors are bodies chosen by the Land to course-correct when required, when tensions rise, when the Land feels threatened. They are categorized by color, each with their own purpose. Green Valors, whom Ethan describes as warriors, are possessors of might and ferocity, protectors. Sanet, since waking from her violet coma, has trained to be such a fighter, and her skill, as commented on by much of the stonetin guard, is impressive and innate. She is driven by the independence of the warrior, someone capable of holding one’s own. She hates that something has taken nearly twenty-five years of her life. That everything before has been erased. She wants to be strong and bold and independent. A Green Valor. She wants to prove she is worth something.
In the corner of a page on valors, she once spotted a small handwritten note describing something called the Dark Valors. Which, it suggested, means they are the last remedy called upon when the Land feels at its most vulnerable, when the common valors are no longer enough. Morals, and what is right and what is wrong, stand separate from the duties of the Dark Valor. When Bernard sent that crimson leader, when he missed nine but one more, it all dropped into place. There is darkness in sending someone left. Bernard acted out in anger and fury, to a zealot, yes, but in the end, he chose to feed the emotion. He was no hero. No Logan. Or even Ethan. It wasn’t intellectualism or logic that drove him. It was primal and of the Land.
Sanet has given in. If Logan is to be the father of her child, she is going to allow it. Not fight it. Logan is handsome and kind and sweet. Generous and eager. It isn’t difficult to like the boy. When he left without a wave, it hurt. And regardless of her accepting this foretale of a father, for reasons she couldn’t articulate, she didn’t feel in single souls with him.
Her thoughts continue to drift as she looks out toward the calm sea, Trimod long gone from crest. Bernard steps up to her.
“What are we going to do with Ponce?” He looks over his shoulder back at the wheel where Ponce stands. At the minor, Ethan is inside the small cabin, sure to be sick again.
“I think our bigger concern is where he’s actually going to sail us. I’m not skilled enough to know how to correct a kleep’s heading. Or to know which direction we’re sailing, save east to west.”
“If I were him, I would sail us straight to Carvinga, toward wherever Wellion is,” Bernard says. “I’m going to watch how he sails for a few days, and once I feel I have the hang, we can bind him and hopefully navigate elsewhere.”
“I know Ethan wants to get back to his son, but I think it’s better we get away from the Merigen states. Sail east, toward Eerim. Niance is sure to give us more answers than anywhere else. Especially if this last royal family had bargains with the brass,” Sanet says after some contemplation.
Bernard twiddles his thumbs and sighs. “You may be right.”
In the quiet, he starts to leave, but Sanet holds his shoulder. “Are you wisnok?”
“Yes. A little tired, perhaps. The thrill of the travels has faded some. I miss haynest. And Jame.”
“You think we should sail to Radiba instead?”
“Selfishly, of course. But that doesn’t allay the worries and claims of a war. While I still don’t believe your thinking I’m some Dark Valor, I can’t say that there isn’t something inside me that knows going haynest and sleeping under the blankets is the wrong plot.”
“The only thing worth trusting is yourself.”
“That could be a problem.” Bernard smirks and returns to the cabin.
Sanet turns and watches Ponce before walking across the deck toward him. She steps up toward the wheel.
“What do you want, woman?” Ponce spews.
“Still paranoid?”
“I know that old cog of yours is eager to send me left. Not difficult to feel a pinge of concern around ’im.”
“When the redrocks come about crest instead of a war-torn grassland, I think we’ll all breathe a bit easier,” Sanet answers plainly.
“Redrocks over grasslands. The men of Yikshir are as ready to find you as the drums in Carvinga,” Ponce sneers. “You’re safest at the bottom of the sea.”
Sanet presses her lips in a smile. “A pleasant chat as always.” With a quick glance at the compass, currently pointing west, she returns inside the cabin and finds Ethan and Bernard talking.
“I don’t feel as woozy as I did before, which is a good sign. Hopefully, my sea legs will chance sooner this time.” Ethan smiles.
“That’s good to hear. Watching him, I don’t think it’s going be too difficult to steer the thing. My fear is we’ll be hit by a storm,” Bernard comments.
Sanet sits down with them. “He supposes that no matter where we beach, we’ll be found. Which I’m sure is meant to be a threat, but I can’t imagine he’s not right.”
“I’m scared Cadwellion will act against Mercet and Undess soon, once he knows we have the final piece,” Ethan remarks, his expression drawn. “I need to make sure they’re safe. Once I can get them, we could possibly head over to stay with family of mine in Quemon. It’s populated enough there that it would be difficult for Cadwellion to find us.”
“We were talking a major ago,” Bernard starts, “and thought perhaps instead we should head to . . . Niance.”
“A month across the sea? In the other direction? Madness,” Ethan says dismissively.
“There’d be more answers to what this brass is for there than in Quemon,” Sanet doubles.
“I thought our only goal here was to keep our three pieces away from Cadwellion.”
“Yes, but what if what he’s looking to do with the brass is actually the right thing? The right thing in the wrong hands, but the right thing.” Sanet offers again, still unsettled by the letter to Peter. Still not ready to cast Wellion a villain.
Bernard interjects, “I can’t believe that’s true. We can’t know what’s proper to do with it until we know more about it. And until then, it should be as far away from others as possible.”
Sanet continues, “I agree that, for now, we keep it away from Carvinga. And we should also keep this new fragment from snapping together with the other two. If you want to go to Quemon, while we research in Niance, that keeps them seas apart. Which, until we can understand what it does, is our best plan.” Settled for the major, Bernard stands and begins to put together a duskmeal.
Outside, the sun sets into the sea, and after an hour, Ponce enters the cabin. Bernard serves everyone, with Ponce getting the smallest portion, and they all sit around in quiet. Brute, having found his way back to the kleep before the others, sits off in the corner atop a cabinet. Ponce rolls his eyes at the frek.
“Your little cog is eyeing me again.”
“Not a cog. It’s a creshwillow, and it’s probably sure you’re in need of watching,” Bernard says without looking.
Ponce huffs through his chewing. “Can’t we at least be friendly with each other? Obviously, I can’t do anything but sail this kleep. I’m sure once we’re landed, we’ll grit and bargain against each other, but for the next few weeks no reason we can’t be happy little kleepmates.”
“I think this civility is as about as warm as we’re getting,” Sanet says.
“Not going to persuade me to come to your side? To see things your way?”
“And leave your labor as a shnite beast?” Bernard grins, looking him in the eye.
“Well, with that opening offer, you’re putting me on the defensive.”
“I’ve had the pleasure of interacting with your sort four times now. Each time has had the same result. No reason to believe you’re different.”
“I could be. The ranpart sent us on an assignment that’s clearly failed. Why wouldn’t I switch sides? We’re but merely coinhires.”
“How are there sides? What are there sides for?” Ethan asks.
Ponce responds, halfhearted and annoyed. “You clearly have no intentions of reuniting the brass, invoking the war, and saving the Land. You don’t believe in the advent of the Roar.”
Advent of the Roar (The Land Old, Untouched Book 1) Page 35