Chapter Fifteen
Flight
with Alexander
It was evening, and still no one had pursued them. It made Rafen nervous. He wanted to know when Sirius began his pursuit, because he wanted to be the one to put the sword between the pirate captain’s ribs.
“What are you doing?” he muttered to Sherwin, who had paused in a patch of yellowed grass and goldenrods, feeling around in the air as if he had lost his wits.
They were five hours away from the belt of trees in which Sirius had found Rafen in the other night.
“Why are yer whisperin’, china?” Sherwin said. “We’re leginis away from the city now.”
“What are you…”
Sherwin’s hand had closed on something, and he held back a curtain of air, causing a brief, confused duplication of the grass and trees.
“It’s the camp,” Sherwin explained. He grabbed Rafen’s arm with his free hand and pulled him through what felt like a small vacuum.
A violent sucking sound accompanied Sherwin’s releasing of the curtain they had passed through. The air around them now looked undisturbed.
“Etana did this?” Rafen said, heartened. “It’s perfect.”
The atmosphere within the invisible bubble of kesmal felt curiously still, even though the wind swayed the grasses beyond it. Etana rose from beside a small fire, where she was cooking some roots on a little stone platform. Alexander stood over her, towering as Rafen remembered him. He was as tanned as ever; but his once unkempt, black peppered hair and stubble had now become gray. His pale brown eyes were even more watchful than before, and the furrows in his face were deeper.
“You brought him,” he said to Sherwin. “We three returned an hour ago after looking. We were about to search for you too, Sherwin. Rafen – Zion’s blood. You look terrible.”
Francisco shot forward, and he and Rafen embraced fiercely.
“My brother,” Francisco said in his Tarhian accent. “I am so sorry. It was my fault that—”
“Never,” Rafen said hoarsely as they broke apart. “It was my fault. I should have watched you better.”
“We’ve told Francisco over and over he wasn’t to blame,” Etana said, coming forward to join them. “He wouldn’t listen. He is as obstinate as you, Rafen.”
Etana’s dark, red-gold hair hung graciously around her face, and her brilliant blue eyes were determined. She wore an old, patched traveling cloak, and her dress was now streaked with dirt and torn in places. When she looked at Rafen, her eyes seemed brighter than usual.
Rafen’s breath caught in his chest. He realized he had missed her greatly.
“We need to get moving,” he said urgently. “Sirius has a plan to take over Siana, and we have to get ahead of him.”
“Rafen, I couldn’t care less if all the demons out of the Abyss had plans to ruin everything,” Alexander said. “You must rest. Little Highness will tend to your bruises.”
“Yeah,” Sherwin said. “It looks like ’e hasn’t any eyes left.”
“Well, that is nice,” Etana snapped. “Shut up, Sherwin. Rafen, come with me.”
“Alexander, you don’t understand!” Rafen said loudly.
“I know perfectly well what Sirius is like,” Alexander said. “I’ve been in many a scrape with him before. He is not invincible.”
His wide, heavy hands descended on Rafen’s shoulders. He lowered his head and murmured, “Calm down, Rafen. You know I would never put Little Highness in danger unthinkingly. We will only be here for three hours, and then we will move at a run.”
Rafen’s breathing gradually became regular again. “Three hours?”
“You know me,” Alexander said softly. “Rafen, I have encountered Sirius before, and in case you haven’t noticed, I am still alive.”
“Come, Rafen,” Etana pleaded from behind.
Alexander released his shoulders and Rafen turned to face her. She was motioning to the other side of the fire, where a bowl of water and a small pile of herbs sat on the grass. His stomach gave a bellow of delight.
He moved over to her, and she smiled.
*
Rafen fell asleep sitting up, while Etana rubbed various mashed herbs on his skin and cleaned his bruises. She talked to him soothingly all the while, telling him Alexander had plans, that the peasants would be on their side, that perhaps Alexander could coax her father out, and then everything would be fine. Etana still had great faith in her father.
Once, she paused to look deeply into his eyes. She had promised not to ask about what had happened with Sirius; Rafen had made her do so, because he didn’t want her to know, not yet.
“I wish you didn’t have to see what he did,” Etana had said. “But remember, Zion is with us.”
I wish I hadn’t been part of it, Rafen had thought, his insides swimming.
At her cool hands, her crisp Sianian accent, and the musical cadences of her voice, Rafen was reassured into sleep. He remembered as he drifted off that he had never felt this way about any of the Selson princesses, and they had once been sisters to him. He and Etana had a special bond, he decided. Close. Good family friends.
He woke when Alexander shook him gently. His touch would have been enough; Rafen shot into a sitting position, and was gratified that the cry of his bruises was much muted by Etana’s treatment. Etana herself sat nearby, her eyes just opening.
“It is about eleven o’clock,” Alexander said. “We will leave this place now.”
“Good,” Rafen said softly. “Come, Etana.”
He rose, fingering the sword Alexander had returned to him. The admiral and the others had found it where he had dropped it the other day. It felt good to have Erasmus’ old blade back. Francisco and Sherwin stood by the smoldering fire. Sherwin was trying to explain to Francisco something about “marshmallows, which are nice an’ squishy, and yer heat ’em up over the Jeremiah”. Meanwhile, Etana had stretched her silver ring into a long thin scepter, and she was making a series of complex, compact moves within a circle of the air, quickly dismantling the invisible, bubble-like shield she had erected around the camp. Rafen watched her closely, hoping to learn something. Alexander had gathered up the few belongings – a wooden bowl, a packet of dried meat, three water pouches, and a hunting knife. Most of these he stowed on his person, tucking them into his belt or a pouch he wore at his hip.
“We are ready,” Etana said, moving to his side.
A faint popping met Rafen’s ears. The wind abruptly switched on again, drowning out the squeaking of the pocket gophers. The wild, darkling world around them appeared more sinister and open.
“We’re going to run,” Alexander said rapidly. “Her Highness is able to use kesmal to go faster, and Sherwin seems to keep up well enough. But Francisco – and no offense to him – has been lagging, and we don’t want to get caught out with the Fledgling.”
“I’ll take him,” Rafen said.
“How?” Alexander said.
“Transforming.”
Alexander’s forehead furrowed, and then he nodded with understanding.
“Ah, Sherwin told me.” He gazed at Rafen with new respect. “But Rafen, you have been ill-used—”
“It’s fine.”
Rafen dropped to the ground, feeling the gray and black hair passing over his body, and his face lengthening into the wolf’s snout. It was so familiar that he almost forgot it had happened. His human senses always remained with him now, so strongly that he could understand what people were saying.
Alexander recoiled. “Everything I’ve heard is true!”
“Get on ’im, Franny. ’e’s not goin’ to bite yer King Lear off.”
“I see,” Francisco said, not seeing at all.
Rafen felt his brother’s weight on his back and knew Francisco was not really letting go of himself, as he would have to when riding. Francisco had only ever ridden Rafen unconscious.
Rafen bounded forward, nuzzling Etana’s ankles. Though Etana laughed, Francisco gave a high-pitched scream, his weight
falling fully on Rafen’s back and his fingers digging into the wolfish neck. Rafen shook his head, loosening Francisco’s grip.
“Yer gooseberry,” Sherwin said.
“Now, all of you,” Alexander said, glancing across the grasslands in the direction of the city, before breaking into an easy lope.
Sherwin followed at a lazy gait that was enough to keep him at Alexander’s side, but was by no means as fast as he could go. He wasn’t even panting. Rafen would have thought his friend had kesmal in his veins if he hadn’t known better.
Etana ran freely too, her face cool and meditative. Rafen kept close to her. While Francisco’s weight on his back hurt his two-day-old bruises, Rafen found his strength had been refreshed by his recent meal and his transformation.
They ran for four hours, passing through the belt of trees, where Rafen expected to be caught every moment, and coming to some sloping grassland, in which spreading cottonwoods grew. The grass was peppered with closed asters and coneflowers, and the gurgling waters of a nearby creek reflected the stars.
Alexander stooped to drink. Rafen discovered he had transformed too soon when his brother’s weight crashed down on his normal form. He collapsed on the grass, his chest heaving.
“Sorry, I am so sorry,” Francisco babbled, leaping off him.
Sherwin laughed as Rafen pulled himself into a sitting position.
“Thirsty, Rafen?” Etana asked with a winning smile. Rafen could tell she was trying desperately to keep his mind from Sirius. She dropped lithely into a squat and drank between cupped hands.
Rafen moved closer to her, lowered himself, and lapped up water. It was a clean creek, and the water was delicious.
“We’ll run again, until dawn,” Alexander said, still panting.
“Don’t you need a rest, Alexander?” Etana said with concern.
“Swap,” Sherwin suggested, shrugging. “Franny can run this time.”
“Wait a moment,” Rafen said indignantly, leaping up from the ground. He was only half Alexander’s height.
“I think I would crush Rafen,” Alexander rasped.
“Yes, Sherwin,” Etana said waspishly. “Do be sensible.”
“Sherwin can go on all fours,” Rafen said. “Alexander can ride him.”
“Noooo,” Sherwin said.
“We’ll go as before,” Alexander said, “bearing north.”
Etana smiled again, and they all rose. Rafen transformed rapidly, and Francisco descended on him again.
By the time the orange, glowing dawn appeared above the distant trees and slopes, Rafen was starting to feel weary, though his kesmal still held him up. He could tell by the dead weight he carried that Francisco had fallen asleep on him.
They were all still in full stride when Etana, her hair whipping about her face, glanced behind her, her mouth partially open. Rafen looked back.
In the smoldering morn, a rider was galloping at full speed across the rolling grasses.
Alexander halted, doubled over.
“It’s not him, is it?” he gasped.
The figure was unmistakable. Rafen recognized the billowing robe and the shiny bald head, even from a distance. His blood ran cold.
“Run!” Alexander shouted.
Chapter Sixteen
Companionship
Rafen could not stop looking back. His brother was still sleeping, incredibly, and the burden was slowing Rafen down. The glitter of Sirius’ black dagger met the growing light of day. Rafen wanted to throw Francisco off and draw his own sword, but he knew it wasn’t the right time. Sirius was alert, in possession of his full powers, and Rafen would fail if he tried anything now.
Then Rafen realized Etana had dropped behind, her silver scepter raised as a forked beam of green cracked through the air. She flung her arm out right and then left, creating a shimmering yellow wall. A lifeline of kesmal continued flowing from her weapon into her creation. Sirius drew nearer, slicing the air with his dagger. A green vein shot through Etana’s wall, striking the thread of her kesmal that was still attached to her scepter. She was thrown left and rolled away into the grass, stunned. The wall she had created vanished like a mirage. Rafen transformed into himself again and tossed his brother off.
“Etana!” he screamed.
Disoriented, Francisco rose from the grass, as Rafen flew toward Etana. Her scepter glimmered in the buffalo grass, and he snatched it up when Sirius’ green arrow cut the air, going straight for Etana’s face. Rafen shouted hoarsely. Now was his moment – he would absorb Sirius’ kesmal, like Sirius had done to that of the Rusem philosophers. However, his frenzy got the better of him. A solid beam of fire exploded from the scepter, thin because Rafen had been trying to focus his efforts. Before Sirius could absorb it, it met his kesmal right in its core.
The world rocked, and the sky spun around above Rafen. He fell to his hands and knees, smoke and green flaming shimmers obscuring his surroundings. He scrambled forward, vaguely aware Etana was somewhere nearby. His hand touched her hair. He grabbed her armpits and pulled her up, shaking her.
“Move!” he yelled.
Etana’s hand found his. Still clutching the scepter, Rafen raised her and they broke into a run together. He glanced behind.
The slope Sirius had ridden down had duplicated into four or five. The clouds spun weirdly, and identical Sirius’s were dispersed across the grassland, pulling themselves up from the ground in dazed frustration. Likewise, a number of roans reared simultaneously and cantered away southward.
Ahead, multiple Sherwins, Franciscos, and Alexanders faced Rafen and Etana, all offering hands of help. Worse still, Rafen spotted duplications of himself and the Secra too.
“Who is real?” Rafen bellowed at her. “What happened?”
“Run,” Etana told him. “We have no time to find our real friends. They’ll find us.”
They had already overtaken the others, who were trying to sort themselves out.
“No, Etana,” Rafen said, halting before a bush. “We can’t leave them!”
Sirius had retrieved his dagger from the grass and now reeled forward, deciding which group of people to aim at. And then Rafen found himself remembering Wynne’s pink dress and Sirius’ calm confession. Releasing the scepter, Rafen’s vibrating hand found the sword hilt, and his blood flamed within him. Sirius was disconcerted now, it was the perfect time for Rafen to attack.
“It’s you he wants!” Etana cried in his ear. “Keep going!”
“No,” Rafen said resolutely. He started to pull the sword from its sheath.
In a lithe movement, Etana snatched her scepter from the ground and seized Rafen’s arm; suddenly the world whirled around them, and the wind dragged at their bodies, trying to suck them into a vortex of humming, carnivorous color and sound. Rafen yelled. It felt like they were hurling themselves against the sides of a gigantic bubble, trying to escape. Everything pitched violently, and then he hit the ground in a heap, one hand still gripping his sword hilt.
The grasslands behind Rafen looked flat and undisturbed to a point, where a wild swirling in the air rendered everything like the ripples of a pool. An orange and green hue hung about the place. Rafen estimated they were three hours’ travel away.
He looked wildly at Etana.
“What have you done? I was going to—”
“I know what you were going to do,” Etana said shakily, picking herself up. “And I tried to take us to the plains of Smitton. I attempted to make a kesmalic Connection with them a while ago. Only I don’t think it worked, so here we are.”
“So you left them with Sirius!” Rafen shouted. “He’ll kill them! I could have fought him – I—”
He felt insanely cheated.
“I’ll go back.” He whirled around.
“You’re out of your mind,” Etana said, seizing his arm in a tight grip. Rafen gave an involuntary cry. “Alexander has met Sirius and fought him before. And in case you still think that he can’t handle the situation, Sirius won’t be able to fight af
ter what you’ve done to his arm.”
“I haven’t done anything to his arm yet,” Rafen growled, making to tear his own free. He gave another cry; she was using kesmal, and her grasp was unnaturally strong.
“Rafen, you just performed a true kesmalic collision,” she said. “You met Sirius’ kesmal right in its middle, and split it down the core. That explosion caused everything we saw back there – the mirages, reflections, and all the rest. Sirius’ fighting arm will be so painful from trying to block your kesmal that he probably won’t be able to move it. He’ll discover this before long.”
Rafen stared back at the maelstrom in the grasslands. If he hadn’t absorbed Sirius’ kesmal, he supposed this was the next best thing to it.
“I can beat him now. He’s hurt.”
“Listen to me,” Etana said. “The others will catch up. Sirius won’t be able to attack them in his current state, and he was alone. It will take us too long to go back for you to fight him, and we will lose time. You said something about warning a city, Rafen—”
“You didn’t hear him,” Rafen said, louder now. “He said if I ever left, he would kill any of you that he found. It’s me who’s got to fight him; if you hadn’t taken me away, I could have—”
“You’re not listening!” Etana said, stamping her foot in frustration. “I told you Sirius’ sword arm would be bruised, and he won’t be able to kill any of our friends. His kesmal will only crack. Besides, Alexander has faced Sirius before! Don’t you think he’ll kill him if he has the chance?” She glared at him. “So come on. We’re wasting time. Sirius might have pursuers after us already.”
At the word “pursuers”, Rafen’s stomach twisted. He had been so concerned about Sirius that he hadn’t remembered the incident the night before entering Rusem. The Lashki probably knew Rafen was near the terraced city now. Annette certainly knew. And here Rafen was on the grasslands, with the heir to the Sianian throne and only a bush or shrub to hide behind. What if the Lashki took both Etana and Rafen to Nazt?
“Sirius will only want to stay close to the others if you go back to them,” Etana said. She squeezed her scepter, and it twinkled and shrank into the ring that she slipped on her left hand.
Servant of the King (The Fledgling Account Book 3) Page 14