On Borrowed Luck (The Chanmyr Chronicles Book 1)

by TJ Muir

  Kirrin didn’t let go. Instead, he followed the fall, keeping his grip firm. As soon as they stopped falling, Kirrin got a better grip on the man. His other hand had landed on a cushion.

  Without thinking, Kirrin grabbed the cushion and pressed it over the man’s face, holding it there. He knew he had to get away. He hoped to hold it there long enough for the man to pass out. Fingers scratched, clawed, and pulled at his arm. But all of his training had built solid muscle and strength into Kirrin’s small frame. The man began to thrash underneath Kirrin’s hold, and flail. And then he went limp.

  Red-collar whined softly, wagging its tail nervously. Kirrin looked around, wildly. What had the man been doing wandering about anyway? Kirrin left him there and ducked back out into the hallway. If this was a guest, then he had a room somewhere nearby. Kirrin hoped to dump him back where no one would go looking for him right away. It wouldn’t do to find an unconscious man sprawled in the empty room.

  Kirrin checked three rooms that were all empty and not in use. He traced back his steps to figure out where the man had been coming from. He cracked a door open. Inside, a young girl was sleeping. Nearby on a table were several bottles of wine and a silk scarf that matched the man’s robes.

  Kirrin prayed the girl didn’t wake up, as he lugged the older man into the room, trying to make as little noise as possible. At least this area was completely empty except for these two. From the number of empty bottles, Kirrin didn’t expect the girl to wake up. Easing the man onto the bed wasn’t easy, as he held him upright and eased him down gently. The girl stirred briefly, then settled back down to sleep as Kirrin got the man sorted, and threw a blanket over him. Red-collar stood in the middle of the room, watching.

  Having that done, Kirrin couldn’t get out quick enough. The dog had laid down and wouldn’t leave. Kirrin tried coaxing him, waving treats in front of his nose. The dog wasn’t interested, and Kirrin had no idea how the dog would react if he tried picking him up. He sighed then, and left the dog behind.

  It took a few minutes for him to figure out precisely where he was, and get back to his intended exit. He pushed the window, which was more of a door, and it swung open. Kirrin slipped out into the night, breathing the cool air, gulping it in, as though he had just run a full course with Ch’hikk.

  Part of him wanted to run now-- to make his escape as quickly as he could. Reason told him to take his time. It would do no good to get this far, only to get caught out on the grounds. It felt like forever before he was off the property and back on the road. Then he did pick up a run, and didn’t stop until he came to the fork leading back to Tatak Rhe.

  He pulled up, bending over, hands on knees, gasping. He felt like he had run all night without stopping. A wave of anxiety and uncertainty washed over him, worse than before. He froze, unable to move. Part of him wanted to present the book to the So’har triumphant and see the proud, impressed look on his face. Another part of him was screaming-- he had broken into the most important house in the region, perhaps in all of Chanmyr! He had accosted a guest in that house as well, causing the man bodily harm. Kirrin was fairly sure the man hadn’t gotten a good enough look to describe him in that split second face-off. It had been dark, he told himself. But still he doubted. Sloppy. Very sloppy. What else could he have done though? Should he have stuck the man with a knife and run? Should he go back now and finish the job? He felt tears streaming down his face as all of his conflicting emotions surged to the surface.

  One breath. Slow. Another breath. Inhale for ten seconds. Exhale slower, count fifteen seconds. Again. After ten repetitions, Kirrin’s brain began to work again, thinking clearly. He had the book, as Hak’kar had requested of him. He thought back to the incident in the hallway. How clearly had he seen the man? Enough to guess he was older. Where had the light been? Kirrin closed his eyes and stretched his awareness. The thin light coming from the moons came from the window behind him. Kirrin retraced his steps in his mind, double-checking. He was sure. The window, and the light, had been behind him. He had been able to see the man’s face, barely. But Kirrin’s face would have been nothing more than dark shadow. And the girl had been lying face down, turned away from the door.

  Another breath, calmer now he was thinking clearly. His over-riding need to escape dimmed slightly. First, he needed to get off the road. Even if he had made his escape, he didn’t want someone else to remember seeing him in the area. He imagined alarm bells sounding and massive searches. Stop! He forced his imagination back down. He looked in both directions, but it was no real choice and he turned away from the city towards the So’har’s estate.

  NEW CHAPTER

  As Kirrin walked, he hit a steady rhythm, breaking into a slow jog to make better time, and began practicing awareness exercises to keep his mind focused. To keep from panicking, was closer to the truth, he admitted to himself. The night mist was just beginning to rise, and the first hints of grey streaked against the night sky as he arrived at the estate. Being there gave him some measure of safety, like being home. This wasn’t quite his home, though, he knew that. It wasn’t the kind of safety he felt when his mother hugged him. But his mother couldn’t protect him the way the So’har could. Not from this.

  He slipped across the grounds and up to his rooms, hiding his pack with the book inside, under the floorboards. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he kept staring at the spot. It was obvious the floorboards looked different there. Anyone could find it. He reminded himself it was only for a short time- until morning. His mouth was dry and his skin itched with dried sweat. He ducked out for a quick shower, standing under the water, drinking his fill and letting the water cascade over him-- as though it could wash away what he had done. After he scrubbed himself from top to bottom, he toweled off and dressed in clean clothes. Back in his room, he just kept staring at the floor.

  He began to wonder what was in the book. Why had Hak’kar been so intent frantic to get it back. Why couldn’t he have demanded the book, if it belonged to him? Kirrin thought the answers might lie in the book itself. His curiosity won out. He pulled the pack from its hiding place and after drawing the book out, laid it on his bed.

  It was heavier than he remembered, but then he had been in a rush and not paying good attention before. The cover was a rich dark leather, dyed blue, like the Da’har’s house colours. Realizing that, Kirrin felt his stomach knot. He quickly pushed the uneasy feeling aside. The deed was done, he reminded himself. Whoever the book belonged to didn’t matter. It wasn’t his, and he had stolen it from the most powerful house in the region.

  He felt the soft smooth leather under his fingers, ran his hands over the ridges and gems. It had no title on the cover, but was marked with symbols chased in gold and silver. A leather strap was attached to the back, closing the book against a thick piece of leather with a small lock worked into it. Kirrin scoffed at the token barrier between him and the inside of the book.

  Within a moment, he heard the familiar snick of the lock and he pulled the strap away, opening the cover. He looked at the first page and his eagerness crumbled as he stared at writings he couldn’t begin to read. The paper smelled of a faint mustiness that only comes with great age. But either the book was magicked, or else great care had gone into preserving it, because the pages were still thick and strong.

  He couldn’t resist leafing through the pages even though none of it was comprehensible. Every so often, the handwriting would change, beautiful flowing script became bold solid strokes of a pen, and then scratchy scrawl as though someone old had written in the book. About halfway through, Kirrin noticed there were places he could make out the writing. The dialect was strange, and very formal, but he could make sense of the words.

  Most of it seemed to be about the household, mentioning a Da’har Ruha’Crovin and several So’har. It looked like it was an agreement about land, and boundaries, with phrases like ‘along the pember river’, and ‘south of the Eshar Canal’. He recognised Da’har Pavan, but a different ruler’s name then
.

  That held less interest for him because he didn’t recognize the places or names, and he couldn’t make sense of what it meant in terms of the land around him. He flipped a few pages and stopped. A map outlining the information on the earlier pages caught and held his attention. It looked vastly different than the Tatak Rhe he knew. He looked first for Hak’kar’s house and lands- but they didn’t exist. That land belonged to Pavan- or to one of Pavan’s associated So’hars. Kirrin wondered how Hak’kar’s family came to own Pavan land with loyalty to the Da’har Zayam’s House.

  Kirrin kept flipping the pages. Towards the back of the book, he found a register of names of each So’har and Da’har, recording dates and signatures. Kirrin flipped to the end of the section. So’har Hak’kar’s was the most recent entry, signed in Hak’kar’s own hand and dated only a few years earlier.

  Kirrin looked through pages and pages of what looked like family histories. He could only read the most recent ones, going back a few hundred years. Earlier entries contained too much of a dialect he couldn’t understand. As he flipped through the pages, making his way back through decades and centuries, a paper slipped out from between the pages. It was written fairly recently, because Kirrin had no trouble reading it. Someone was examining the old text and translating it, making notes and writing questions.

  From what Kirrin could tell, it appeared to be a standard version of The Fall of Yod and Gilead’s pleading with the gods to save his people. A fable all children were raised with, a story of honor, sacrifice, and dedication to serve the gods. This chronicle went deeper though, writing out very specific details about the Yfa Chirrik, and how when they failed the land turned to sand and the rivers turned to dust, crops failing. Rather than an epic poem though, this sounded like an accounting of events someone had witnessed, and was writing down for posterity.

  Kirrin felt a chill, suppressed a shiver. He remembered the final lines of the epic poem,

  When the Red god Rises strong over the world,

  The depths will stir and walls crumble

  The city will rise above the sand

  And the evil will be washed away from the land.

  The promise holds strong,

  for those who carry the song.

  Those that hold faith will find reward

  As what was lost becomes restored.

  Even without understanding all the words and the meaning, Kirrin knew what he was reading went far beyond a single book. This was delving into religion and myths and ancient history- which may or may not all be one and the same. He knew enough to understand wherever those things showed up politics and power were close behind. Was that what Hak’kar was intent on discovering? Kirrin’s own experience with gods and religion was minimal, and more based on western beliefs than those practiced in Tatak Rhe. He left offerings out for the spirits on the holy days. He definitely prayed whenever he was in serious trouble, asking for their help. He even remembered to give thanks when things worked in his favor-- most of the time. But that was the little day to day kind of religion. This epic scale of things was beyond Kirrin. Gods and lost paradise - and the promise of return to the lost paradise.

  Kirrin closed the book, not really wanting to know any more. He already regretted his own entanglement. As little as he understood about the workings of the gods, he assuredly knew it was never good to draw their attention. No story about men and gods ended well for the men. At this point he wanted nothing more than to be rid of the book. He looked out the window, waiting until he could put it into Hak’kar’s hands.

  He hoped the So’har would be pleased. Kirrin had served him well, doing his exact bidding. Should he tell Hak’kar about the man? He gnawed on that question for a while. Did it matter? Was it relevant? Hak’kar did not like anything to be messy. Being seen was about as messy as it could be.

  Thoughts raced around Kirrin’s head until he thought it would explode. How much simpler his life had been just one short day before. He gave up waiting and headed over to the kitchen, hoping Cook would let him get a bit of breakfast.

  “Hurry up with those pots,” Cook hollered, as Kirrin walked into the prep area. Cook turned around and started when he saw Kirrin. “By the nine hells, make some noise when you walk up,” Cook swore. Then he took a closer look at Kirrin. “You look like a pile of dousha that’s been left out in the sun after the tide went out.”

  Kirrin blinked, surprised. That was a mouthful for Cook. It was also not the first time someone had told him he looked terrible.

  “Good morning to you, too,” Kirrin said, grabbing a sweet roll from the counter, shoveling it into his mouth.

  “You’ll need you more than that, from the looks of you,” Cook said, nodding towards the counter behind him. “Cut a slice of ham and cheese, over there. You need meat in ya. Real food.”

  “Pots?” he hollered, looking over his shoulder.

  “Coming,” a voice called from the store room.

  “Are you back now, or just passing through?” Cook asked.

  Kirrin shrugged, uncertain. “I don’t know, honestly.”

  Cook looked him over, head to toe, then shook his head. “Go take care of whatever it is you came to do then.”

  Kirrin nodded. “Oh, can I get a note to my mum? I left without letting her know and I don’t want her to worry.”

  Cook just nodded, flicking a glance over to the table by the door where there was paper and pen. Kirrin scribbled a quick note, and folded it with his mother’s name on the front. There was nothing private in it, so he didn’t bother to seal it up.

  That done, he grabbed some ham and some cheese from the counter, as instructed, eyeing Cook as he did. He felt a little bad, but wasn’t sure why. Cook sounded disappointed. He shrugged it off, thoughts focused on getting the book delivered.

  “Thanks. If I’m back for a while, I’ll be in to help with prep and cooking.”

  But Cook had already turned his attention to the morning meal and just grunted, as Kirrin headed out the door.

  Kirrin headed for the house kitchens, and up through the winding hallways to the front, across the entry. There he stopped. He turned and walked over to the steward’s office, knocking lightly.

  “Enter,” came the very formal and formidable voice.

  Kirrin poked his head through the door and then walked into the room. Esh’ral looked up, surprised to see Kirrin there. He kept looking.

  “Oh,” Kirrin said, feeling foolish. “I’ve done as was requested, and have the book.”

  Esh’ral’s eyebrows rose, the tiniest betrayal of his surprise, quickly covered. “Give it here,” he said, standing up behind the desk.

  Kirrin stiffened. he was sure Hak’kar would want to have him deliver it personally. He had imagined Hak’kar’s stunned surprise at Kirrin’s success, that the So’har would invite him to sit, and tell the whole story with all the details.

  Kirrin’s shoulders slumped. He slipped his pack off, and drew the book out. He looked down at it again for a moment in the bright daylight, before handing it over to Esh’ral. He noticed the undeniable crest of the Da’har’s House, the crane on one leg, with stars overhead. It was never Hak’kar’s book after all.

  Esh’ral took the book, wiping it off as though it were sacred and Kirrin’s hands were tainted. Disappointed, Kirrin turned and left, knowing by the steward’s lack of response that he had been dismissed. Feeling discarded and spent, he headed back to his room and collapsed on the bed and slept.

  When Kirrin woke, his mouth felt thick and fuzzy, and he ached as though he had slept in a bad position all night. He pushed himself upright, felt the kink in his arm as the tingling pins and needles became almost unbearable. He sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for it to subside, eyes closed against the pain. After a few moments, he could wiggle his fingers again, even though it made the burning feel worse. He tried to distract himself while he waited for it to fade and sighed in relief.

  It was light out, sun up high overhead, which was strange becau
se Kirrin felt sure he had slept for longer than that. He stood and stretched, noting that his head felt clearer than it had in several days. But he smelled horrible, having slept in his clothes.

  He headed to the showers, scrubbed from head to toe, and stood under the flowing water, letting it work the kinks out of his muscles. Cleaned and changed, he headed over to the kitchens to get something for lunch.

  “You’re back?” Cook asked, looking surprised.

  “Back?” Kirrin asked, confused. “Should I be somewhere?”

  Cook mirrored Kirrin’s confused expression. “How would I know if you were supposed to be somewhere? I don’t keep track of what you do.”

  “Well then what does it matter if I’m here? It’s lunchtime, I’m hungry. I only took a little bit of ham before.”

  “That was yesterday.”

  “What???”

  “Yesterday,” Cook repeated.

  “I slept a whole day?”

  “How would I know? I stay here in the kitchens,” Cook grumbled, turning back to the pile of vegetables in front of him, a mound of grape leaves, rice, apricots and berries.

  “Well, I guess I must have slept right through, I’m hungry enough now,” Kirrin said, making small talk that Cook wasn’t that interested in. So Kirrin slipped past and filled a plate, piling it with bread, cheese, more ham, and some sausage. Then he headed out to the side and settled down on the bench to eat.

  Meal finished, Kirrin washed the grease off his hands and then went over to his practice area. After racing around Tatak Rhe, doing exercises on a stump didn’t feel like much of a challenge. He went through all of them anyway, for practice. Now that he was less worried about falling, he paid more attention to his form.