Fever
An Uncommon World Novella
Alisha Klapheke
Contents
Introduction
1. Calev
2. Avi
3. Calev
4. Avi
5. Calev
6. Avi
7. Calev
8. Avi
9. Calev
10. Avi
11. Calev
Epilogue
Untitled
Introduction
This novella follows Waters of Salt and Sin
and precedes Plains of Sand and Steel
For my husband, who heals me everyday
This is a work of fiction. All events, dialogue, and characters are products of the author’s imagination. In all respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2017 by Alisha Klapheke
Cover art copyright © 2017 by Merilliza Chan
All rights reserved.
Visit Alisha on the web! alishaklapheke.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Klapheke, Alisha
Fever/Alisha Klapheke. —First edition.
Summary: As the son of affluent Old Farm’s chairman, Calev brings the agreement between their people and the Empire’s local ruler to the capitol city for approval to avoid war, but when he is robbed and learns his beloved Kinneret is dying, his errand twists into a living nightmare.
ISBN 978-0-9987379-2-8 (ebook)
[1. Fantasy. 2. Magic—Fiction.] I. Title.
Printed in the United States of America
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First Edition
ISBN: 978-0-9987379-2-8
Created with Vellum
1
Calev
Night dropped like an ax as I galloped across the desert plains. At home on Old Farm, the sun danced toward the horizon and gave us time to tuck our scythes away in the barns and wash our hands for the blessing. But here, just outside the Empire’s capitol city of Akhayma, the arid plateaus to the West cut off the sun’s brutal heat, leaving only cold and shadows as I rode up to the city gates.
I smiled into the darkness, almost wanting to laugh. I’d made it, even though there’d been so many problems. I was here and nearly finished with my duty. Kinneret and Father were going to be so proud. This would prove I was ready to become Chairman of Old Farm. Soon, I’d have the position to take care of Kinneret, not that she needed me, and to hold my head high.
After a once-over glance, guards armed with poles and sheathed yatagans waved me through the stone arch and into the moonlit city.
Covering the bubbling canals, tents tied to tall, skinny towers rippled like sails between masts. Cinnamon, wine, peppers, heated metal—the air here held nothing of home. The last time I’d been here—years ago—I’d ridden behind Father on his mount, my fingers digging into his sash to keep from toppling from the saddle as I strained to see it all.
I reined my horse in and patted my pack gently, reassuring myself. The edges of Amir Ekrem and my father’s agreement pressed into the soft leather. All I had to do was get a good night’s rest, then present the document to the kyros in the morning for his approval. Old Farm needed this agreement to remain secure. Without it, the Empire could do as they liked with my people and their lands.
I swallowed. I only hoped Kyros Meric would continue to support the treaty. I had to remind them that we grew valuable barley and rare lemons like no other could.
Laughter tumbled out from a path leading south through the maze of streets. I followed the sound of rolling dice and the smell of minted, roasted lamb. The path between the tents that ran along the waterways wound its way under a row of signs hanging over doorways. I knew enough desert tongue to read the word inn below a painting of an egret. Out front, a boy—too old to be missing teeth but missing them all the same—took my horse and one of my silver coins.
“I’ll need her back at dawn,” I said.
Normally at this time of the evening, I’d be chasing after Kinneret. My face heated at the thought of the night before I’d left. We needed to marry before I died of want for her. She was so busy during the day working on Amir Ekrem’s full ship and retooling Jakobden’s fleet that we didn’t see one another nearly often enough.
Just inside the inn’s open door, a woman, wearing a dark kaftan, smiled from where she sat on a tall stool. She stood and reached for my pack.
“You need a place to stay, my lord? Why are you on your own? Where’s your fine retinue?” Her accent opened the trade tongue vowel sounds as she commented on my embroidered clothing.
“I’m from Jakobden. Old Farm. There’s a bad fever. My…retinue, as you call it, are either sick at home or recovering at inns along the route.”
Even the unshakable Serhat had come down with the fever. When I’d left her, the innkeeper’s daughter had been mopping her blond hair with a wet cloth.
“I do need a room, please,” I said. “But I’ll keep my things, thank you.”
One of the men seated around a green and red gaming table mumbled a slur about Old Farm men and virility that pinched at my good mood.
I eyed the man, grabbed the hem of my tunic, and shook it, lifting it just a little. “It’s not true, good man, but if you’d like to check yourself…”
Being around Oron had definitely changed me. Kinneret’s first mate, a wine-loving man from the Northern Isles, never missed an opportunity to shock people with jokes you laughed at but probably shouldn’t have. Before I knew him, I would’ve ignored the stranger’s bawdy slur and probably blushed like a fool. Oron’s influence had washed some of the innocence off me and made me bold.
The insulter said something that was surely swearing, but his friends laughed as the woman led me through the crowded room.
The room for rent was a slice of space and a hammock between two walls of striped wool. Not the best accommodations. But my legs ached and my stomach roared with hunger. This would be good enough. I started to set my pack in the corner, then turned to the woman.
“What do people here do about stealing?”
“Thieves lose a hand. No exceptions. Not a lot of stealing going on.”
“Well, all right then.” I’d still keep the agreement in my sash. I wasn’t going to be separated from it any second of any day.
The parchment was smooth under my fingertips as I unrolled it a fraction. My father’s name, inked in dramatic calligraphy, tossed a smile over my lips. The entire top third of the agreement lay blank and ready for the kyros's sigil and name. I wondered what type of brush or quill his scribe would use to create the colorful rendering of Kyros Meric, the Eternally Victorious.
With the agreement tucked away behind the silk and linen pomegranates embroidered on my sash, I sat at an empty table in the main room.
“I am Samira, not that you asked.” The innkeeper’s smile held a touch of mockery. “What can I get you?”
I ignored her less-then-respectful tone and soon my stomach was full of lamb, flatbread, and honeyed dates speckled with some herb that was familiar, but I couldn’t place. The room blurred, and my sore muscles eased a little bit. I decided to play some cards.
I couldn’t understand the first punch. What it was. What it meant for me.
I’d just come out of the inn to catch my breath, to try to clear my head of the wine I’d stupidly gulped too much of. The lotus tower holding up the tents in the area cooled my palm, then my cheek as I leaned into it and tried to stop the world from spinning. I couldn’t remember how long I’d walked. Why had I done this to myself? I was smarter than this.
But was this just from wine?
&nbs
p; My thoughts were foggy. My head was going to hurt badly during my audience with the kyros tomorrow. I pressed my back into the tower and the moon eyed me disdainfully.
“You’re right, moon. Wine is never worth the headache.”
Some men walked out of the inn, laughing, and started down the road, their arms thrown over one another’s shoulders. It was late. Maybe they could walk back with me, make sure I didn’t further ruin my reputation.
I took a step toward them. The wooden signs, marking each establishment, blurred in my hazy eyes, white paint looking wet and dripping. Then they disappeared into the night.
A stranger came up on me fast.
When knuckles crashed against my skull and my headtie slipped over one eye, I was equally as surprised as the chicken who took the brunt of my collapse into her nesting spot beside the tower. The part of my mind that didn’t seem to care about my possible death begged the question: Why was it always chickens? Chickens in Kurakia last time. Chickens here now. They dogged me like awkward ghosts, haunting my every misadventure.
I shook my foggy head, ignoring a disgruntled squawk coming from behind me, and—hoping to hide the agreement from my attacker—I rolled, keeping it under my back, but still in my sash.
A man with a ragged beard laughed. The same man that had been playing cards with me earlier? Another? He kicked me in the stomach.
My breath blasted out of me. My lungs couldn’t grab any air. I was going to vomit.
Gasping, I held up my hands and lifted a foot to push him away. But he had friends. Two of them. One had definitely been at the inn. I recognized him. Another kick came, this time to my knee. Pain spidered up my leg.
A fist launched into my face. As heat that would eventually become pain seared my nose, I grabbed for a sleeve of one of the men and missed.
“What’s in your sash there, bather?” The man slipped fingers under the knot and tugged. “I knew one of you rich Old Farm’s once. Think you’re better than the rest of us.”
Bather. A slur that mocked my people’s holy cleansing ritual.
I forced my fingers to stay away from the agreement. It pressed against my spine. “No, we don’t. And I have no money. Spent it all on food and wine.”
“Sounds like our plan, Behir,” the second man said.
“Yeah, but the bather still has something in that fancy sash of his.”
“I told you I spent it all on dinner.”
“And all that gray plant too.” The bearded man elbowed the man next to him.
“Gray plant?” I mumbled through the pain. They weren’t making sense. I hadn’t bought any of that.
Then I realized what had happened. The bits of herb sprinkled over my honeyed dates—it had been gray plant. A full leaf of that foul plant could put a horse to dreaming. I looked up at my attackers realizing they’d planned this robbery. Had the innkeeper known about it too? Had she been in on it?
They laughed as I tried to get to my knees. Maybe I could run off. Find a dark alley to hide in. Blood streamed from my nose, hot and deserved for all my foolish actions.
“You have something in there, don’t you? Tell us the truth, Old Farm,” the first attacker spat.
I couldn’t lose the parchment. Father would banish me. Well, maybe not banish me, but close to it. I’d be humiliated in front of everyone. Before Ekrem became the amir, it would’ve meant war. Now it meant tense negotiations that would set back the harvest. Without the agreement, the peace between Old Farm and the kyros and amir could be ruined.
I had to think. I had to think quickly like Kinneret.
I tried to smile even though my face felt like a road at midday—trampled and far too hot.
“Fine,” I said. “I lied.”
They traded a look. The third man popped his knuckles.
Swallowing, I slid my coin purse out of my sash and opened it up, showing the coin I had for the trip home.
Would the kyros help me get back if I didn’t have a silver piece to my name? If he didn’t, I’d be stuck here until I could work my way to affording water and food for the return journey. I’d be late, far, far behind schedule. Father and Ekrem would send messengers. There’d be misunderstandings. Dangerous misunderstandings if I went missing.
“I have a little left.” I closed the bag and held it out. “Take it. Enjoy a meal on me.” I turned to spit blood out of my mouth, the sudden movement making my nose flame.
The ragged-bearded man clapped his skinny hands. “This one is pretty funny.” He snatched the purse and tucked it into his sash.
His friend kicked my leg out from under me. I fell again, the night still spinning like the string toy Kinneret’s sister, Avi, loved when she was little.
“I still want what you’re hiding in your sash. That parchment.” He looked at his friend. “He’s funny and funny means clever. That writing could be the deed to a fine horse. Or a note on silver owed. Could be worth a lot. He wants us to leave and there has to be a reason he’d give up that coin so quick.”
Quick? They’d all but beaten my nose in. I fought panic, wrestled it into the back of my mind. “Only because I have an Intended at home who’d prefer my face intact enough to shower her with praise.”
The last punch was a surprise too.
It hit like a horse’s hoof to my head.
I woke up lying on my side, head pounding, with the sun stretching over the sandy earth to shoot me in the eye.
Sitting up, I touched my shoulder, my back, and the gritty road under me.
They’d stolen the agreement. A cold sweat rolled down my neck. My reputation would be ruined before it had a chance to be born. I’d never get the chairman position. Kinneret would be a fool to wed me and she was no fool. I couldn’t stop imagining the furrow between her eyebrows and the sound of Father scolding me.
2
Avi
Blinking tears away, I smacked the horse’s flank and she sped up, hooves roaring over the clumps of scrub and dusty earth. My legs quivered. I’d never ridden so far. At least I was better at it than Kinneret. My sister ruled on the water, but on a horse’s back, she wasn’t worth much. I’d taken right to riding when Calev first let me try at Old Farm.
I swallowed. I had to get them together again before Kinneret burned away like Mother and Father.
Tears blurred the sight of a family with a loaded down camel. Grain traders led a massive six-wheeled cart pulled by braying ox-lions. A band of colorfully dressed entertainers looked more likely to pick the coins from my sash than make me laugh. I wiped the wetness from my cheeks.
Crying wouldn’t keep Kinneret from dying. Calev’s love might. I had to get to him. Now.
The Empire’s capitol loomed in the distance like a rogue wave ready to crash over all of us down here on the wide and sandy road.
Calev would believe me. He’d believe Kinneret would get better if he came home to her. All the rest of them thought I was a madwoman. But Oron, Ekrem, Serhat, and Chairman Y’hoshua would wake to find Calev’s second best horse and me gone, and know I was a smart madwoman.
Inside Akhayma’s walls, I ignored the bizarre tents and wild smells—both pleasant and rank—of the city as I pushed through the crowd.
“Come on, Arrow.”
Sweat matted the mare’s sinuous neck. I moved toward one of the waterways that streamed under the tented pathways. She lowered her head to drink and the dawn’s light skirted over her dusty mane. She and I both would need nine baths after this horrible trip.
A man shouted at me in some foreign language, then switched to my own—what they called the trade tongue. “Stop!” He shook a fist at me and jerked Arrow’s reins out of my hand.
I ripped them out of his fingers. “Back off.”
“The signs!” He pointed at a tiny, wooden square covered in five languages. No drinking from the canals. Cups only, please.
“I don’t have a cup. This is ridiculous.”
The man kept jabbering on at me in his language and mine. There weren’t any
bowls anywhere. How did they expect travelers to water their horses? There had to be containers to use somewhere—
Crockery crowded a booth set up beside the main thoroughfare. I dragged Arrow away from her drink and pointed to a tiny bowl in front of the merchant. “Could I use this? Just for a second? I’ll bring it right back.”
The thin-faced woman shook her head. “No. Buy only.”
I looked to the sky. “Fine.” I gave her the coins and finally my poor mount had a good drink and me along with her.
I eyed the man who’d shouted at me. His long-sleeved, coat-tunic bore an emblem with a thick, blue line and a sun. “Are you in charge of the water?”
Crossing his arms proudly, the man smiled.
I had to grin at his transformation. “You really should have a larger sign at the front gate. One that details exactly what visitors are supposed to do. It would keep the shouting down.”
His face fell, and his arms dropped to his sides. “You, a little girl, offer me advice?”
I splashed some water on Arrow’s neck. “I’m fifteen and then some.” Since the horrors of Quarry Isle, I felt like I was more like ninety-years-old. “Now, where do I go to see someone who has a meeting with the kyros and his scribe?”
Blinking, the man stuttered, “You’d go to the Kyros Walls and present yourself.” He waved toward a narrower path cobbled in reddish stone.
“Thank you,” I said, heading off. I’d wasted enough time.
If Kinneret’s condition worsened…no, I wouldn’t think about it. It didn’t do any good to thrash around and cry. I had to focus on finding Calev. His calm head and his heart for my sister—that was what would fix everything. Kinneret was right; Calev was luck made real.
At the Kyros Walls, a guard with a dark red beard stopped me.
Fever: An Uncommon World Novella Page 1