by Jeff Kish
Suddenly, Sreya bursts into the room, lantern in hand. She eyes Pearl and the open window, and it takes mere moments to decipher what just transpired. “Foolish girl,” she growls. “Perhaps Angal would have released him. Now he is sure to die by your hand once you have recaptured him.” She raises her palm, the symbol aglow.
“STOP!” Pearl shrieks as she falls to her knees, tears welling in her eyes. She clasps her hands and pleads, “Please, please don’t make me hunt him!”
“Why do you care so much for him?” Sreya asks in annoyance. “He has taken advantage of you since you met him. He does not deserve your protection.”
“He is my father!” Pearl exclaims, her voice cracking. “Please… Please don’t kill him. He knows nothing of any of this!”
Her words give Sreya pause, and her emblem of power grows dark once more. “Your father… You really see him as such?” Pearl fervently nods. “You say he knows nothing. Is that true?”
“It is,” she replies, recalling the earlier command Sreya had given her to always tell the truth. “As I’ve already told you, I had no idea I was a part of this, and I never told him about-” She cuts herself off with a gasp and covers her mouth.
Sreya raises an eyebrow. “About…?”
Pearl’s eyes lower. “I met a friend who turned out to be, well, whatever I am. Before I knew I was like him.”
Her conductor sits on a chair and leans forward. “Tell me everything.”
Chapter 10
Sreya bites her thumb as she processes Pearl’s story. “That’s quite a report.”
“It’s all true,” Pearl says. “We moved our operation for fear of military pursuit. I never suspected I was one of them. A runic.”
“This hair test you mentioned…” she says as she reaches for Pearl’s silvery locks. Pearl cringes as Sreya yanks a few strands free and watches as they turn to wisps. “Amazing. You knew about this, and yet you never thought to verify?”
Pearl shrugs. “I had a hard enough time believing my friend was what he claimed. I mean, I have memories of cutting my hair! Why would I suspect my memories aren’t real?”
Sreya ponders this as she yanks one of her own hairs from her head. “I can see your point.”
Pearl watches her conductor carefully. “Sreya, after what the commander told us, what will you do?”
“That is none of your concern,” she coldly replies.
“But I-”
“I will not have this conversation with a worm. You are a tool of the guild, perhaps more literally than I first thought,” she admits. “However, I am also a tool. I belong to Angal, and he will use me as he sees fit.”
“How can you say that?” Pearl cries. “You aren’t a tool. You’re a person!”
“I surrendered my identity long ago,” says the Avvie lieutenant. “My life’s purpose is to push the guild’s mission forward, however that comes to pass.”
“Just what is the guild’s mission?”
Sreya initially hesitates to answer, though she decides there’s little point in leaving her weapon in the dark. “The guild started as an alliance among the nation’s blacksmiths to prevent a repeat of the atrocities committed by the late king. During the war, he enslaved the smiths and forcibly centralized their production in the capital. Since the capital was overcrowded, only the smiths were allowed to relocate. Their families stayed behind, and many found themselves at the wrong end of a sword by the war’s conclusion. The smiths were paid no wages to send home during the war, and they were simply dismissed once the treaty was signed. They had nothing, and many of their hometowns and families were gone.”
Pearl sees the passion and pain in Sreya’s usually-emotionless expression; this story is personal for her.
“Angal formed the guild out of that hopelessness. He started by uniting the smiths and, over time, used its growing resources to aid those who found themselves forsaken by our miserable monarchy. We have built a thriving community of those who have a passion for justice while simultaneously enslaving the military to our services. We are powerful, even as those in power fail to grasp it.”
The sky boat pilot has long known the depths of the guild connections. Many of her transport services were somehow tied to guild contacts or materials. That flow of money is often hidden from the eyes of the government, and she wonders how deep Rohe’s coffers run.
“The guild is family. It is unity. It is Valvoran pride,” Sreya declares. “We will become the protector for all Valvorans. We will create a nation of unbreakable spirit. Our power will shatter the threats that exist to our people, inside or outside our border.”
“So, this is a coup,” Pearl realizes. “You really intend to replace the monarchy?”
“We will prove our capability to help to those who are hurting. Let the people choose between us and them.”
“Easy to say, since the guild is so highly regarded,” Pearl says. “Even a small town I used to frequent would rave about Rohe as a great philanthropist, a representative of the common man, which is why I never expected him to be so horrible! The way he looks at me, and the way he treats you. He suggested they cut off your hand or even kill you!”
“Believe what you will about him, but the guild is hope to the people,” Sreya stresses. “As I have already said, you and I are tools to this end.”
Pearl lowers her head. “That you see yourself as only a tool… What’s your story, Sreya?”
The sincerity of the question catches the lieutenant by surprise. “Why do you care?”
“You’re an…
“Avvie, yes,” she says.
“I was going to say Avalan,” Pearl claims.
Sreya shrugs. “Avalan, Avvie, abomination… Call me what you want. I’ve heard it all.”
Pearl grimaces. “So, one of your parents was an Allerian. Your mother, I assume?”
Her eyes grow distant. “My Valvoran father was a smith alongside Angal, snatched by the monarch and whisked away to endure years of slavery while his family suffered without him. I survived the war, my mother did not. My father returned in Angal’s company, and I have been in his service ever since.”
“And your father?”
“Dead. Killed by Valvoran soldiers during an uprising in Drynga,” she coldly explains. “There was so much chaos following the war. The guild was often quick to lend a hand, but the military wasn’t fond of the help. My father and ten other guild members were accused of stirring an uprising among starving peasants. They were there to feed them! And yet there was no trial, no chance to defend themselves.”
Pearl swallows hard. “How old were you when…?”
Sreya bites her lip and starts walking away. “I’ve said enough.” A thought strikes her, and she commands, “Tell no one of our conversation tonight.”
“Sreya, you’re a person,” Pearl says, even as her glowing hands acknowledge the command. “You’re not a tool.”
“You will belong to Angal soon enough. Perhaps then you will understand.” She retreats from the room with the lantern, leaving her runic alone in the darkness.
Pearl falls forward on her knees, overwhelmed with dread. Sreya has already placed in her the command to protect Rohe at all costs, removing the obvious solution. Even with all this power available to her, she wonders if there is really no way to change her fate.
* * *
“But I’m scared!” Era cries.
Jem is void of sympathy. “Era, we’re in Alleria. You’re bound to meet Allerians eventually. You already met one in the streets of Rydret!”
“But he was cloaked, and it was pouring rain,” Era contests. “He could have been Valvoran for all we know! Err… well, except for the accent.”
“Okay, let’s try this from a different perspective.” She shoves her face into his own and points into her cheek. “A-ller-i-an. You’ve been traveling with one for two years!”
“You said yourself that you’re more Valvoran than Allerian,” Era reminds her, easing her out of his way.
; “Try telling that to him,” she grumbles as she points her thumb back at Ospif, who is following at a distance. “Hey Ospif, what am I again?”
“A cruel and heartless slave driver,” he spouts as he catches up. Panting heavily, he wipes the sweat from his brow and sits against the tree in its cool shade. “I must say, you two share the endurance of a pack mule.”
Jem turns back to Era. “So, are you coming?”
“Why do you even want me to come?”
“So you can finally experience the joy of being an alien,” she explains. “And I want to watch it happen.”
“And what if they attack us?”
“Then I can use Crystalcutter, and you can use… whatever it is you’re using these days,” she says, twirling her finger in the air.
“You two are going into that town?” Ospif interjects, noticing the small village on the horizon. “Well, you can count me out of that. Those dogs will smell the royal blood in me. I must avoid civilization of any kind.”
A devilish grin sneaks across Jem’s face. “Never mind, Era. Just stay here! Ospif will keep you company.” Without another word, she begins her march toward her destination.
Era glances down at his tagalong companion, weighing his undesirable options. “Fine,” he relents as he hurries after Jem.
“Wait!” Ospif cries out. “What am I to do if the Allerians attack?”
“Just act cowardly and run away,” Jem replies.
“Should be easy for you to do,” Era adds.
Ospif starts scanning the horizon for threats, disdainful of his unorthodox traveling companions while lamenting how reliant upon them he has become.
As the two travelers enter the gate, the architecture of the rustic town once again strikes Era. Archways dominate the windows and doorframes, and even the central gate itself is adorned with the style. The houses are primarily adobe, with little in the way of wooden fixtures or frames, all of which is perfectly reasonable given the arid climate here. Beyond the architecture, one stark difference from Valvoren is that the gazes from townsfolk, normally directed at his Allerian partner, are now fixated on the cloaked Valvoran who just intruded their world.
The packed markets are filled by peddlers showcasing their wares, and townsfolk by and large ignore the visitors while offering the occasional disdainful glare. Strangely, Era’s mind falls to Fire. He misses her, especially in situations like this. It isn’t that Jem is an inept leader, but Fire certainly excels at thinking on her feet. He wonders where she is at this moment, and how she has fared as a Valvoran in these lands.
Jem points to a vegetable cart and raises her eyebrow at the vendor. “How much?” Era keeps walking, hoping it’s not too obvious they are together as he observes from a distance. In hindsight, he figures they should have entered the town separately, but Jem wanted to experience the reversal of roles.
After giving a suspicious glance to the Valvoran, the vendor says, “Five ault for a dozen.” As Jem fumbles around in her bag for the money, Era ponders the Allerian accent. Thick and guttural, it comes across as a much harsher tone than a Valvoran would speak, though it’s possible he’s just more comfortable with his native dialect. Regardless, he notices Jem is keeping her verbal communications to a minimum, lest a Valvoran dialect slip into her long-dormant pattern of speech.
The two make the usual rounds, collecting a variety of vegetables ranging from white onions to carrots and cabbage. Era eyes a butcher as he expertly carves up a small frost boar. He’s curious if the elemental affinities of wildlife in Alleria are similar to those seen in Valvoren. He longs to chew on meat once more, but Jem doesn’t seem interested in the more expensive fare.
The aroma of freshly baked bread lures Jem into the home of the local baker, who rests the steaming loaf onto her counter as they enter. She indicates for Era to wait outside, but he can’t help wandering into the open doorway to better enjoy the delectable scent.
Jem licks her lips while pointing to the delicious baked good, raising her eyebrows to show her interest. “How much?” she again asks in her Allerian tongue. However, the baker barely gives Jem any mind, instead focusing bitterly on the Valvoran visitor. She retreats into a back room, where her frantic cries can easily be heard. Jem turns to her partner and asks in a low voice, “Can you really not follow one simple direction?”
Era doesn’t have time to answer before the baker’s husband emerges. A towering figure with a menacing scowl, he studies the Valvoran intruder and curtly asks, “What do you want?”
“W-We’re just passing through,” Era stutters. “We want to buy bread.”
Though suspicious, he glances to Jem. “He’s with you?”
“Y-Yes, but-”
He looses a deep growl as he pulls three loaves of stale bread from a basket behind the counter. “Prices just went up. Ten ault each.”
“No, we want a fresh loaf,” Jem says.
“One hundred ault,” he booms, daring her to argue. “My father was killed in the war. Be grateful I’m letting your friend leave alive.”
Jem relents and digs out the thirty ault from her bag, but Era isn’t intimidated. “I didn’t kill your father,” he argues. “Give us a fair price.”
Dismay overcomes his partner’s face, and their vendor sneers at Era. “You want a fair price?” He rips off a morsel of bread and throws it to the dirt floor in front of Era. “That one is free. Eat it like a pig and get out of my house.”
“You’re acting mighty tough behind that counter,” Era banters. “I’d like to see-yeow!” he yelps as Jem yanks him out of the shop by his ear. “JEM! LEGGO!” Her grip is unyielding as she drags him to the edge of town, drawing the eyes of everyone in the crowded market and only releasing him once cleared of the town gate.
“Gyah!” he yelps as he furiously rubs his injury. “Jem, what in the WORLD-”
“That’s what I want to know!” she barks as she storms away.
“He was price-gouging us!”
“Oh, really? Wow, Era, I hadn’t noticed you dumb twit.”
Era stomps after her. “You saw the look he gave me, Jem. All of them! I’ve never felt so… so…”
“Judged? Demeaned? Belittled?” She spins back to her partner, her face red. “You couldn’t handle ten minutes of what I’ve lived for years. And now we have no bread. NO BREAD. Are we supposed to forage for the next two weeks?”
“Th-There will be another town,” Era says, suddenly sheepish. “I’d say it was a good idea to save our money.”
“Oh, yeah, because your ideas are always so great,” she mutters.
“What’s wrong with my ideas?”
“They’re all bad!”
“Name one that’s bad!”
Jem starts holding up fingers as she lists, “Rescuing Di. Fighting Fire. Allying with Fire. Raiding the barracks. Coming to Alleria.” She raises an eyebrow and asks, “Need I go on? I think I already mentioned the bread thing, though I could add that your adversary was twice your size.”
“I could have taken him,” Era claims.
“Okay, time-out,” Jem states. “What is with you, Era? Stupidity aside, this aggressiveness isn’t like you.”
“And just what is me, Jem?” he asks.
“This again?” she grunts. “I know your memories are fake, but that doesn’t change your personality.”
“And what if it does? Maybe who I am has been a mistake. Maybe I’m supposed to be aggressive,” he suggests. “Why would I act any differently if I was made to be a weapon?”
“A weapon?” Jem repeats in confusion. “Of all things, that’s what you’ve decided? Where did you ever get that horrible idea?”
“Why else would someone make me like this? What else could I have been designed to do?” He scratches his head and says, “I really didn’t have an answer until the dean at the Academy said that runoids were tools of war, devoid of free will and built for killing.”
“B-But you’re not a runoid. You’re a runic… thing.”
“
Even if there’s a difference in how we look, it’s pretty clear we were built for the same purpose,” Era says with a defeated spirit. “I mean, just look at what became of Di.”
Jem cringes at the comment. She wants to offer advice or redirect the conversation, but she can only surrender to the uncomfortable silence that takes the place of such a response.
“I’m sorry, Jem,” Era finally says. “I’ll try harder not to screw things up.”
As Ospif approaches, she offers, “Maybe just… next time you should wait outside the town. I guess I was wrong to make that demand.”
Ospif crosses his arms in contempt. “Here I thought we were trying to remain inconspicuous while traveling. You two are noisier than a pair of wind broncos!”
“Didn’t Fire once say something about that as well?” Era asks.
“I never listen to anything that heartless backstabber says,” Jem says as she hands Era a carrot. “Enjoy breakfast. Lunch will look the same.” After offering a sideways glance to Ospif, she hands him a carrot as well. “I was going to stiff you, but I think this is even better.”
“Har, har,” he says as he rubs off the dirt. “What is this vile thing, anyway?”
“It’s called a carrot,” Jem says as she starts marching along the path, munching on one herself. “They don’t grow much in Valvoren, but they’re all over the place in Alleria. Makes them nice and cheap!”
“And just how much money do we have?” Era asks, suddenly realizing he has no idea what Fire gave them.
“Our generous benefactor gave us just over three thousand ault,” Jem replies. “As best I can tell, that’s only worth around two thousand venni.”
“Ah, an ault is worth less than a venni?” Ospif beams.
Jem rolls her eyes. “You’re taking pride in something so trivial?”
“It is hardly trivial! It means our economy is faring better than our neighbors, which is absolutely imperative,” he says. “Money wins wars, after all.”
“I thought soldiers won wars,” Era quips.