Rexrider (First World's End Book 1)

by Mark Angel

  “Nobody goes into the Deep Interior,” Tamik said incredulously.

  “Let me amend that statement for you: Rexriders don’t go into the Deep Interior.” Sortan poured himself some water and gulped it down, lustily. “Sometimes guardians and often smugglers have to traverse those areas.”

  Tamik eased back into his seat, making a conscious effort to lessen the tightness creeping in between his shoulder blades. He digested his mentor’s words. “I guess . . . I never really thought about that.”

  He turned to watch the continuous stream of guardians pour out the passageway from the Lodge like a flashflood of humanity. With a finger flick, he acknowledged his newly assigned partner Dergon—who had remained at Stonehaven to train while his comrades returned to the Southern Kith—before giving his attention back to Sortan.

  “How long were you out there?”

  “I just got home. I’ll tell you more about it later," Sortan said, rising to greet Tsi’galivo who had just entered the refectory. As the Grandmaster approached the head table, Tamik greeted him as well, and by the time the rexrider sat again, the room had filled.

  Just as the Grandmaster was about to begin the Litany of Gratitude, a Master Guardian escorted a Junior Smuggler through the hall toward the head table.

  The attention in the main hall immediately shifted to her. She was perhaps a bit younger than Tamik, with more than common good looks. But it was not her personal attributes that drew the attention of the guardians, it was that she was in full parade uniform, complete with silver-trimmed saffron sash and polished knee boots. That a smuggler was visiting Guardians’ Gulch in such formal attire was a rarity.

  “That’s Old Man D’joy’s granddaughter, Jenay,” Sortan whispered to Tamik. "She must have something important to tell us."

  “She’s certainly got my attention—she’s on fire!” Tamik whispered to his mentor. His tone then turned dismissive. “But what she has to say couldn't be too significant or they would have sent a Senior Smuggler.”

  Sortan looked annoyed with his charge. “Skepticism is a healthy attribute in small doses, my young friend, but you still have a lot to learn. I suggest you continue to exercise your ears and eyes rather than your tongue.”

  Tamik frowned slightly, but heeded his mentor's words. To Tamik’s surprise, this “Jenay” stood with a poise that belied her junior position. Standing straight and tall, her sparkling hazel eyes scanned the gathering and then locked on the head table. She briefly looked at Tamik, and he imagined she might have smiled, but in the end he concluded that her countenance had not changed at all as her gaze shifted from face to face.

  “I am Junior Smuggler Jenay,” she began solemnly and distinctly, speaking directly to Tsi’galivo. “Grandmaster Merchant D’joy enjoined me to carry a message from our order to yours.”

  After a slight pause, the smuggler continued in more somber tones. “A Senior Smuggler was recently lost while performing her duties somewhere near the northern boundary of the Western Kith. Her name was Vintar. She was well-experienced, having ventured into the wilderness many times.”

  Tamik gripped the armrest of his chair tightly as he realized this could be the very thing the Seer had told him about when he was preparing Gar-rex for the last hunt. His teeth felt glued together. How had the old man known? Now he listened with even more intensity to the comely young woman.

  “Vintar had often navigated her domehead, Eko—a particularly sturdy and well-trained mount—along the treacherously steep trails of the Purple Mountains. She had hacked through the thorny vines and stinging plants of the Jungle of the Ancients amid creatures that prowled, crawled, and slithered. She had traversed the northern ranges and central paths on several occasions. As such, she was an unlikely candidate to miss her date of return.

  “So when the homers she was transporting returned to roost, bearing no messages, concern arose. Upon further investigation, guardian scouts from Riverford Station, the smuggler’s home protectorate, discovered signs of a massive incursion of wild rexes into the Western Clan’s territory. Track impressions indicated well over 50 individual rexes deep in the hunting territories of the Western Clan. No more is known at this time, we can only speculate that the wild rexes are gathering in greater numbers than usual due to drought conditions, and making bold moves into our realm.”

  Jenay paused. Her eye movement indicated that she was surveying the room, gauging the guardians’ reactions, and then she continued.

  “Given that Vintar had crossed the prairies countless times at the bidding of the Civilization of Rex, her loss is not seen as the consequence of any lapse on her part, but an unavoidable consequence of these extraordinary circumstances in the wilderness.”

  She coughed slightly as if the last words had caught in her throat, before adding, “From my heart to your heart.” This signified she had concluded her report. She formally saluted the Grandmaster.

  As Tsi’galivo acknowledged her with a deep bow, Tamik turned to Sortan. His intention was to tell him about the Seer, but his mentor hushed him before he had the chance. The Grandmaster was taking a deep breath. He then stood to address the gathered.

  “We, too, have recently received a report from a special dispatch of guardians returned from the Deep Interior,” he said. “They concur that the wild rexes of the plains have formed several large groups—or hunting aggregations—and have begun attacking whole herds of big game. They only exhibit this behavior when it is difficult for their smaller prides to succeed at finding food.”

  The Grandmaster stroked the thin beard hanging from his chin and then he turned toward Tamik. “Senior Tamik,” he called out.

  The salutation startled Tamik. Between his contemplation of the Seer’s ramblings and his fixation on the young smuggler, there was little spare room in his attention span. As a result, he almost knocked over his chair as he stood up and saluted the Grandmaster.

  The Grandmaster spoke directly. “You will escort this Junior Smuggler to the Teller’s Library, so she can share this information with that order. Senior Dergon will accompany you.”

  Tamik saluted his acknowledgement and he and Dergon took up positions beside the smuggler. She smelled of earth, vegetation and a hint of perspiration, scents brought out by the heat emanating from her body. It was as alluring to Tamik as any scented oil. He wished to savor it, but this was neither the time nor place.

  “Please inform Grand Master D’Joy of our findings and convey our respects to your Order for your loss,” Tsi’galivo added as he saluted her politely. She returned the gesture before turning to go. Tamik and Dergon marched out with the smuggler between them, Dergon in the lead, Tamik bringing up the rear.

  The three remained silent as they marched through the courtyard and out into the paddock. Once outside the walls of Guardian’s Gultch, Tamik felt comfortable enough to speak freely to the young woman who had so effortlessly captured his attention. Unfortunately, he could not think of anything to say, and relegated himself to being mesmerized by the shiny chips of gold woven through her amber hair, which hung down her back in a thick, flat braid. His eyes wandered and he soon found himself examining with some interest, her firm, round buttocks, which were nicely outlined by her well-fitting tunic.

  When he realized his eyes were lingering, he felt shot through with nearly as much embarrassment as if she had seen him. He forced himself to adopt the guardian’s peripheral stare as Sortan had taught him. It obligated him to maintain an acute awareness of his surroundings, since staring at the smuggler’s behind resulted in quite the opposite effect.

  His mind wandered to his childhood encounter with the skywatcher, and for reasons he could not even begin to understand, the recollection he had experienced under Tyna’s guidance had forced him to see beyond his drive for vengeance. Since his first night with Tyna, he had been actively trying to open his mind and heart to the suggestion that life could also be filled with pleasures and tenderness; things he had thus far avoided. His natural affinity for the oppo
site sex had been rekindled by Tyna, and now he had found himself intrigued and pleasantly attracted to almost every good-looking woman he saw. He was completely distracted by this smuggler.

  That being said, there was something different about Jenay. Well after they had entered Stonehaven proper, he was overcome by the urge to speak to her. On the way up Main Axis he found his voice.

  “Um, I’m Tamik,” was the best he could muster.

  Jenay glanced back to appraise him, holding her pert nose perhaps a little higher than necessary—was that a sparkle in her eye?—but then she turned back and continued walking. They were climbing steps to the Central Fountain in Fen Plaza when he continued.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your smuggler friend,” Tamik said, absently aware that he was being unusually persistent.

  “She was not my friend,” Jenay stated flatly, after a substantial pause, which Tamik thought might be due to her being out of breath from Dergon’s brisk pace, but when she spoke, her voice was unwavering.

  “Oh,” Tamik said. “I suppose it’s better that way?”

  She did not answer, which made Tamik feel somewhat like he had been led to the edge of a cliff and now was hanging over, holding onto a thin root.

  They paused to wait for a team of maintenance workers, who were engaging a steam-assisted mechanical device, to haul their cart up a steep incline by means of lift tracks hidden in grooves beneath the roadway’s surface. The workers pushed the cart over the groove and locked an iron dog into the chain that moved inside it. With the track engaged, the crew guided their heavy cart, piled high with mortar and crushed gravel for road or structural repair, up a steep segment of Main Axis, the wide avenue leading from Fen Plaza and the Central Fountain of Stonehaven back to the gates of the city. Their passing was accompanied by a steady hissing sound as valves vented and vapors escaped. Another cart disengaged from the track nearby, releasing a sudden loud burst of steam from a relief vent. The sound spurred them on to resume their trek, which soon brought them to Stonehaven’s lively market area.

  Finally, as they stood side by side before the large carved-wood double doors of the Teller’s Library, the smuggler replied.

  “She was my mother.”

  Tamik did not know what else to say, and for the longest time the only sound was the occasional crunch of passers-by as they walked on the gritty stone pavers of the plaza. When he looked stupidly at Dergon, who may have shrugged, he found no guidance.

  Dergon grasped the bronze knocker and slammed it against its pad three times.

  While they waited for a response, Tamik fought hard with himself to consider all the smuggler had said in her report. He knew the information was critical, but he resisted the inevitable implications. The young smuggler’s person now filled his attention entirely.

  His hand settled on the hilt of the sword Almar had found for him in the wilderness. He had hoped it would ground him, but as soon as he touched the weapon he flashed on the connection between it and the girl standing in front of him.

  A Senior Teller opened the door and ushered them into the building where Tamik assumed they were to await further instruction from the Grandmaster Teller. The front and sides of the large room in which they now stood was constructed of masterfully fit marble blocks opulent to a degree one would not find in the dwelling places of the more practical guardians or rexriders. High overhead was a half-domed ceiling whose flush side was braced against the cliff. Carved into the cliff behind were additional workrooms and offices. The stone walls held multiple levels of balconies that rose almost to the apex of the dome. On the dome itself, there were skylights which let in the sun, but there were also an abundance of reflected gas lamps on every level of the building and surrounding the entire room. Tamik had only been here once before, and that was during the dark, and he remembered it being almost as brightly lit by the lamps as it was now with the sun shining in.

  They waited silently and watched the many people associated with the library go quietly on about their business, but his mind was anything but silent.

  ***

  Tel-Rudanomi had seen 37 sars pass and never during that period had a blade touched his long black hair—as had been the case with his father and now his son, Ruko. His hair was a symbol of his high station as a congenital teller, representing the unbroken heritage of his art. It was now slung over his right shoulder in a neat cue. His face, however, was meticulously clean-shaven. Though only slightly above-average height, Tel-Rudanomi’s bearing was such that he appeared much taller, infused as he was with the pride of one who practiced an essential art passed down from generation to generation.

  A golden amulet hung around his neck, shaped like a forearm ending in a fist, index finger extended. Inside its hollow core of the jewel was a strand of hair from each of his ancestor tellers, symbolic of the wisdom and knowledge they passed on. One turn a strand of his own hair would be braided in before the pendant was passed on to Ruko.

  Tel-Rudanomi had earned his “Tel” prefix fifteen sars before after being raised to the sublime degree of Master Teller. And he had occupied the Speaker’s Chair of the Order of Tellers for more than eleven sars, since the death of his grandfather.

  His father had met with an early end. Though a promising teller, he took his last breaths shortly after a riding accident when Rudanomi was still a boy. Rudanomi’s grandfather had assumed the paternal duties of naming the boy a teller at the usual age of thirteen sars, passing Rudanomi on to the degree of Senior Teller at eighteen, raising him to the sublime degree of Master Teller at 22, but leaving him shortly thereafter to lead the order in the wake of the old man’s death.

  Rudanomi closed his window to shut out the sounds of the bustling marketplace outside, in order to better focus on the work laid out on the table before him. He was intent on allegorizing salient principles gleaned from the histories of the Civilization of Rex. These tales, which he had committed to memory throughout his training, pertained primarily to Stonehaven, the oldest settlement and the nearby protectorates within the Western Kith.

  The scroll he worked on now was made from carefully prepared skawskin. It held his full attention as he labored to put the dark, blood red ink—made from red-rock dust mixed with charcoal, ground oak nuts and a sprinkling of sweet beet juice for glossiness—to parchment without error, putting into print that which, until now, only had been consigned to the repository of a teller’s memory. These were ancient tales, harbored in the breasts of faithful tellers throughout the ages, passed from instructive tongue of master to attentive ear of apprentice. The redaction was part of a consolidated effort spurred on by the Grand Order of Tellers, who feared that if any of their finest Masters were lost in any major protectorate, that oral tradition would suffer unnecessarily.

  Rudanomi’s concentration was broken by a quiet knock on the door.

  “Enter!” Rudanomi grunted, not taking his eyes off his work.

  Zalon, a Senior of the order, entered the Grandmaster Teller’s study with unnecessary trepidation. Though thin to the point of apparent emaciation, Rudanomi knew Zalon to be one of sharp mind and superb manners, and for that he respected him greatly, even though he now chose to ignore him for long moments so as not to break his train of thought. Finally, when the Master Teller found a place to pause, without turning his eyes away from the scroll he acknowledged the intrusion with a nod.

  “Zalon, if you please,” he said, inviting the man to explain the intrusion.

  The fragile subordinate’s bow went unnoticed before he spoke.

  “A smuggler is here to see you with a guardian escort.” The voice was so faint it could barely be heard.

  “Show them in,” Rudanomi said sharply and wiped the ink off his hands as a healer might remove a patient’s blood, using the corner of his apron. He appreciated the man’s dedication, but wished Zalon were not so timorous.

  The Master Teller watched Dergon enter first, followed by the smuggler and then his spouse’s brother. Dergon then stepped back
next to Tamik to allow the smuggler her audience. Tel-Rudanomi saluted the smuggler and dismissed the guardians.

  But Tamik did not turn to leave. Seeming to notice his partner’s hesitation, Dergon remained as well. Tamik caught the Teller’s eye.

  “Senior Guardian Tamik, did you have a message for me as well?” Rudanomi asked.

  “Not exactly for you, but for this smuggler.”

  Dergon cleared his throat, indicating to his newly assigned protégé that this was not the time to be hunting for affections. Tamik paid no heed.

  “Junior Smuggler Jenay,” he said, after Rudanomi allowed him the opportunity to speak. The woman looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. “I think I have something that belongs to you.”

  He removed the short sword from his sheath and presented it to her by holding the hilt, blade towards himself, and laying the flat of the tip on his other hand. As she accepted the weapon, her expression was a jumble of gratitude and grief.

  “My mother’s sword,” she choked.

  “It was found in the wilderness, wedged in the back of a wild bull rex our pride had defeated. Whoever put it there must have been very brave to attack a rex like that, let alone a Prime Bull. I can’t even begin to imagine the circumstances that may have lead to that, but she sure had teeth.” He meant to say it admiringly but wondered if he had been a little too crude. He was relieved when Jenay graced him with a tearful smile.

  “Maybe sometime you could tell me more about how it was recovered.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Tamik replied, bowing to her deeply before leaving with Dergon.

  After the guardians left, Tel-Rudanomi heard the report from Jenay. He then did something he might otherwise not have done. He invited her to share his family’s belated Feast of the Return, the last dusk meal of the 54 turns of fasting. The fast season was celebrated in deference to the disappearance of the Servant Star from the sky. His family would be conducting a private celebration a turn late, as he would be occupied with his professional duties during the public celebrations. She said that she was only visiting Stonehaven for a brief time with her father, but if she had not left before the feast, she would be honored to join his family.