by Jeff Kish
“What did you expect?”
He shrugs. “Purple trees, green skies… The way Valvorans speak, I anticipated it to be an alien world populated by uncivilized barbarians. Turns out Allerians aren’t so bad.”
“How can you say that after what we just endured?” Ospif exclaims. “Allerians are a hateful, dreadful people who should be abolished.”
“Keep digging your own grave, you ungrateful clod,” Jem snaps. “See if I speak up for you again.”
For once, Ospif seems to shrink back from his assertion. “I-I mean, certain specimens can be mild by comparison, but the culture as a whole is far more belligerent. Alleria initiated the last war, after all. Plus they broke the century armistice!”
“How many wars has Alleria started since the armistice?” Jem asks.
“Two! Not counting the armistice itself.”
Era frowns. “That word sounds funny when you say it over and over again.”
Jem ignores him, her sights still locked on the king’s cousin. “And Valvoren? How many wars have they started?”
Ospif hesitates. “Well, Valvoren had to proactively defend itself, so…” He glances to Jem, who expectantly awaits the answer. Reluctantly, he admits, “Twice also.”
“See? Valvorans believe Allerians are the source of the world’s problems,” Jem states, “while Allerians believe the same thing in reverse. It gives the populace a direction for their anger and frustration that doesn’t find its way back to the crown. Doesn’t that seem a little too convenient to you?”
“Oh, of all the…” Ospif huffs. “You think the basis for hundreds of years of hostility is nothing more than a political ruse? Conflicts of this sort couldn’t be more natural.”
“A clash of cultures may provide the foundation, but it’s being perpetuated by the monarchs,” Jem claims. “Every little problem is blamed on the Allerians. Every war, every tax, every… thing!”
“You spout such blather as if you could undo it all,” Ospif contends. “What do you expect? That two radically different peoples sharing a tiny lot of land will live in peace and harmony for ages on end?”
“And just what do we have to fight over?” Jem asks, getting testy. “We’d all get along better if we stopped and realized we’re all the same. We’re all humans.”
Era raises a finger to object to the label, but he lowers it with a silent shrug.
“What the blazes?” Ospif mumbles as his focus lands on a small crowd ahead, where a band of young ruffians has an elderly traveler surrounded. “Is that a bandit raid?”
“Terrain is ripe for it,” Jem comments, annoyed she hasn’t been taking their casual stroll more seriously. “Come on, let’s go around it.”
Ospif obediently follows. “Now you cannot possibly deny the barbarianism of Allerian society.”
“Have you never traveled Valvoren’s countryside?” she retorts as she takes a new route, but she realizes her partner isn’t following. “H-Hey!” she calls in a hushed voice as Era marches toward the bandits. “Get back here, now!”
Era smiles back, a gleam in his eye. “Don’t worry, Jem! This is just me being me.” Eagerly, he starts trotting toward the group, an earth sword already formed in his hand.
“It’s a wonder that boy lived past his twelfth birthday,” Ospif grunts. “The way he invites danger is preposterous.”
Jem tosses her bag aside. “That’s Era, alright.” Even as she hurries to catch up to her partner, her rune blade in hand, she does her best to hide a smile. It’s starting to feel like old times.
* * *
The final bandit hits the ground, groaning as he reaches for the sword that was ripped from his hands, but he is met by an earth blade held inches from his forehead. “Start marching,” Era orders, nodding his head toward the rest of the battered and defeated group.
The youth still eyes his weapon, but Jem strolls over and slices through it with her elemental blade. “Oops, I broke it,” she smugly says. “If you get a new one, try not to use it for something so stupid again.”
Awestruck and humiliated, he joins his comrades in their retreat, each disarmed and bruised, groaning in disbelief.
“You were a big help,” Era lauds as he drops his blade, allowing it to crumble. He bumps fists with his partner and adds, “Most of them gave up quickly after you sliced through that first sword.”
Jem holds her blade out in admiration. “Crystalcutter almost makes it too easy. Not that I mind.”
Era brushes off his hand and extends it to the gang’s victim. “Sorry they shoved you down during the skirmish. Are you okay?”
The elder accepts Era’s help and stands. His thin, silvery hair sparkles in the sun, and his matching beard extends to his chest. Though dressed in wool traveling clothes, his satchel isn’t properly sized for an extended journey. “Please do not apologize, young man. You have my utmost gratitude.”
Era is taken aback by his demeanor. The gratitude is expected, but the glinting of his pale, blue eyes fill Era with a strange comfort. “It… It was nothing.”
“You sell yourself short,” he says as he beckons to Jem. “You and your friend risked your lives for a stranger. I have not seen such selfless goodwill in many, many years.”
“More like reckless endangerment,” Ospif calls as he approaches, lugging Jem’s hefty bag.
Jem looks the traveler over suspiciously. “What’s your story? You’re too old to be journeying alone.”
“Yes, that has become clear,” he agrees as he lifts his satchel to his shoulder. “I was headed east to meet with associates of mine. The bandits took advantage, though I had little to offer them. I think that made them angrier.”
“Who attacks a defenseless old man?” Jem asks with her arms crossed. “What a bunch of scum.”
“No, they’re not scum,” he says gently, “they are simply misguided. Many of those lads were probably raised on the streets. You can tell by the way their eyes reflected a life of discomfort and need.”
Jem is stunned. “That’s too gracious, saying that about your attackers.”
Era chimes back in. “Are you Allerian? You don’t quite look it.”
The query sparks cheer in the traveler’s expression. “My name is Kama. I’m an Avalan.”
Era blinks in confusion. “What’s that?”
“It means that I was born of a Valvoran and Allerian,” he says.
“Oh, isn’t that called an Avvie?”
Jem smacks Era’s forearm. “If you want to be derogatory, then sure. Call him an Avvie.”
Kama laughs aloud. “Lovely miss, I have lived too many years and heard too many slurs to be offended by such verbiage. He meant no harm.” He extends a hand to Era and says, “Thank you, again, for saving this old man from his ignorant audacity to travel these parts alone. What’s your name?”
Era meets his gesture. “Era. My partner’s name is Jem, and the one with a cowardly spirit is Ospif.”
“The one with a functional brain is Ospif,” the royal student asserts.
Era is about to retort, but he suddenly noticing Kama gazing intensely at him. “Era,” he softly says, “what a strong name. I’ve not heard that one before.” He notices the cloak and asks, “You’re not quite whole, are you, Era?”
“Not quite,” Era admits as he places his hand over his hidden shoulder.
“No matter. I can tell that you are whole where it counts.” He looks to Jem and says, “It seems you’re the leader, here. I have little, but I’d like to compensate you for your heroics.”
Her face lights up. “What’d you have in mind?”
“What the-!?” her partner balks. “Jem, can’t we just do a good deed for once? Last time we saved an innocent traveler, we raided her home and stole thousands of venni worth of goods from her! Including this,” he adds while pointing to the emerald necklace binding his cloak together.
Ospif’s jaw drops. “I knew you were filthy bandits, but this is too much! You intended to rob our new friend as well?”
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“Hey, I’m a thief! Not a bandit,” Era contests.
“Thief is a subset of bandit.”
“So all bandits are thieves?”
“That is precisely the opposite of what subset means!”
Jem jabs Era in the shoulder. “This isn’t worth the headache I’m getting. Let it go, already.” She then addresses Kama, her hand already extended in anticipation. “Sorry about that. It was rude of these two to interrupt.”
“Not at all,” he says as he digs through his satchel. “I may not have much, but please accept these tokens of my esteem.” He enthusiastically drops a handful of small stones into Jem’s palm.
Disappointment sweeps across her face. “These are… runes?”
“Runes I made myself,” he explains. “I’m a bit of a rune enthusiast. You might even call me a rune maker!”
“Isn’t there a name for that?” Era asks, trying to think back to Di’s explanations. “I can’t remember, now. Rune… propagating?”
“Rune programming,” Ospif corrects. “Our friend here is a rune programmer.”
“I prefer maker,” Kama admits, “but it’s all in how you view it, I suppose.” Motioning toward the treasures in Jem’s hand, he says, “I meticulously crafted each one for a specific purpose. That one there lights a fire, and the smallest one can be used to frost a drink!”
Era is impressed. “Those are actually pretty useful.”
“But they are meager,” Ospif observes. “They can’t have much space for capacity marks.”
“Oh, no, there are no capacity marks,” Kama says. “The obelite itself is the elemental container.”
“No capacity marks!?” Ospif exclaims with disdain. “Then each cannot possibly be used more than once before requiring a new elemental infusion.”
“That’s correct,” Kama confirms. “I have to recharge them after each use.”
“Then they’re useless,” the student claims.
Jem withdraws her light rune and counts the marks Di had observed. “This has seven capacity symbols.”
Ospif leans close and swiftly interprets the symbols. “You have a light rune? I assume you stole it.”
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” she coyly replies.
“Well, regardless, that rune could remain lit for weeks before requiring a recharge,” Ospif explains. “On top of that, depleted obelite will disintegrate over time, so the capacity symbols help to maintain the rune. Why not extend the life?”
Kama smiles. “Because I enjoy recharging them, I suppose.”
“You enjoy…?” Ospif is dumbfounded by the suggestion. “What is your elemental skill? Even if you have the talent to infuse obelite, you just mentioned numerous elements. You cannot fill them all yourself.”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t have the skill to fill even one type,” he declares. “However, I know others with the capability. I always enjoy watching them work.”
Jem lifts one of the runes to observe it closer, and Kama cringes. “Do be careful with that one. It can deliver a powerful shock.”
Suddenly interested, she locates the symbol used to trigger the element’s release. “What’s the purpose in making something like that?”
Kama hesitates, as if wondering the same thing. “You know, I think I just wanted a rune with lightning infused in it. I suppose you’re right; there isn’t much use for that.”
Jem shrugs and opens a pocket in her bag. “I suppose I’ll accept these as thanks. I’m surprised you’re giving up your treasures.”
“All runes I create are special,” he says, “but, if I keep them to myself, they will never live up to their potential. Please care for and use them as you see fit.”
“Fair enough,” she says.
With that, the elderly rune maker turns east and says, “Take care, my friends!”
Era calls out, “Wait a second! Where are you headed?”
“Delt,” he answers.
“We’re going to Gantz. Is that on the way?”
Kama strokes his gray beard. “If I recall, Gantz is on the path to Delt. Why do you ask?”
“That’s our destination, so let’s travel together.”
Jem raises an eyebrow at her partner. “Really, Era?”
He sheepishly scratches his head. “I mean, we can’t just save him from bandits and let him go get raided again. That doesn’t seem right.”
“I certainly don’t want to be a bother,” Kama says. “However, if you’d humor an old man and his stories, I could be convinced to part with a few more of my runes!”
“No need for that,” Jem sighs, resigning to her fate. “I swear, Era. You need to stop collecting people.”
“Especially when they don’t want to be collected,” Ospif adds while following after Jem.
As Ospif and Jem continue to lightly banter between themselves, Era grimaces and turns to Kama. “Dealing with them is my daily burden.”
“Dealing with friends is never a burden, Era,” Kama says. “The true burden is missing your friends when they are away.”
The comment hits home for Era, and his thoughts shift to Di. Her smiling face is a warm thought compared to the psychological torture he endures these days, and he realizes just how much the eventful journey has distracted him from his goals. As Era sharpens his focus on his promised rescue, the doubts that had been plaguing him seem to fade.
“So what brings you to Alleria?” Kama asks, as if sensing Era’s mental musings.
“It’s complicated,” he answers. “I’m looking for a friend.”
“Ah, and this friend is in Alleria?”
“Ermm… no, she’s in Valvoren.”
Kama raises an eyebrow. “You’re right. It sounds complicated.”
Era can’t resist a smirk. “Right now she’s beyond my reach. I came to Alleria in hopes of finding the answers that will allow us to reunite.”
The experienced traveler thoughtfully strokes his beard. “I’ve not known you long, Era, but I am impressed. You seem to focus on meeting the needs of others, even at great risk or cost to yourself.” He offers a gentle smile and says, “This separation from your friend must weigh heavy on your soul.”
“Well, it does, but that’s not all,” he responds. “I’m just… trying to figure some things out right now, but I’m not having much luck.”
“Such as?”
“Such as… who I am,” he slowly says.
Kama lets out a soft whistle. “For a young man, you’re wrestling with thoughts of great magnitude.”
“It was kind of thrust upon me,” Era says. “Don’t give me too much credit.”
“So then,” Kama says, again stroking his beard, “who are you?”
Era gives him a sideways glance. “That’s the point. I just said that I don’t know.”
“I heard your words,” he says, “but I also heard your voice. You aren’t as lost as you indicate. Who are you?”
The runic swallows hard. “It won’t make much sense to you, but… I think I’m a weapon.”
Kama is surprised. “A weapon, you say? How did you come to that conclusion?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that already,” Kama says with a frown.
Era looks to his open palm. “The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. I was born with a power meant for destruction, just like my friend back in Valvoren.”
“Born to be a weapon…” Kama’s face twists in disgust. “No one was created for such a purpose, Era.”
“Well, I was,” he suggests.
“What makes you think that way?”
“I can’t say. It’s…”
“…complicated?” Kama playfully finishes. “Era, if you don’t mind me saying so, you’re wrong about who you are. You were born to be more than a weapon. We’re all meant for a higher purpose than that.”
Despite Kama’s ignorance to his greater plight, the elder’s words bring Era comfort. His weathered face brings with it a sense of authority,
and the troubled youth finds his worries ease.
“Based on what I’ve seen, he might as well be a weapon,” Ospif jeers, abruptly reentering the conversation. “He’s brash, violent, and only cares for his own ambitions.”
“You shut up!” Jem snaps. “You know nothing about Era.”
“I’ve seen his deeds,” Ospif retorts. “The evidence speaks for itself, not the least of which is that frightening shaping capability he boasts.”
Kama offers, “Or, perhaps, the reverse is true. If the conclusion came first, then the actions would be a reflection of that. Is that not the more accurate statement?”
Era’s brow furrows. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“I mean that, in general, one lives out one’s beliefs. If you believe yourself to be a weapon, will you not then act as one?” Kama asks.
He scratches his head. “I guess that makes sense? But that doesn’t change things. I am what I am.”
“Yes, you are, Era,” Kama agrees. “Just be careful not to make any dangerous assumptions. It is often with great arrogance that we claim to have firm understanding. The more common truth is that we grasp nothing.”
Jem smiles to herself, relieved to hear words she wishes she could have bestowed onto Era long ago. “That’s some great advice.”
Kama chuckles. “Not advice. Just the ramblings of an old man.”
Era feels reassured by Kama’s soothing presence, and he’s grateful to have rescued the wise old traveler. Compared to the insights of his fake father, Kama’s wisdom nourishes his soul in a way he has never experienced.
* * *
Privates scramble to salute as Commander Talkem storms urgently through the training area of the barracks, his sights locked on the communications room safely tucked away in the basement of the palace. Beacon tower technology has drastically altered military communication since the last war, allowing messages to be instantaneously transmitted using specialized light runes. The only flaw is the possibility of interception, lending to the creation of a new branch. The cryptography department has always existed in some form, but when messages were hand-delivered, only basic encryption was required. Intense research has resulted in many new forms of encoding, and Talkem has proudly kept himself apprised of new advances in the field.