Why did the man pretend? Surely Taehrn must recognize him, if not by his features, then by the name. Jem pretended not to notice the outstretched hand. Once only, had he shaken this man’s hand, and he vowed never to do so again. After a long silence, the man flourished his wrist as if he had never intended to shake, but had only meant to straighten his cuff.
“Where is Trin?” Taehrn asked. “I was under the impression that the two of you were traveling together.”
“We,” Jem started, elongating the word as he thought. He didn’t want to say that he and Trin had fought. Taehrn’s words seemed kind, but Jem knew better. It was no wonder that Trin had spoken so forcefully against her once fiancé. The world was a small place. “Parted ways,” he finished.
“Ah, a shame. The two of you are close?”
Jem had the impression that Taehrn already knew the answer to his question. Given their history, and Taehrn’s association with Jem’s father, there was no doubt that Taehrn must have known that she and Jem could have only recently met.
“Yes,” Jem said anyway. Not entirely a lie. He did feel like he knew Trin rather well after only a day. She had certainly told him information about herself that he wouldn’t share with any but his closest friends.
“That is indeed a shame,” Taehrn began, a look of sorrow passing over his face. “I was hoping that she would have someone near her in the coming months, what with the recent news.” The last few words hung in the air; an invitation. Jem fell for it.
“What news?” Jem asked, searching for some hidden agenda in Taehrn’s words. Taehrn and his father had been allies, but not exactly friendly. As far as Jem knew, the two had hated one another. That Taehrn did not outright admit to knowing Jem, meant that the man must be up to something, but what? The more Taehrn spoke, the more Jem hated him.
“Ah, about her father’s death. The two of them were very close and I know that this will scar her deeply. I was hoping, that perhaps, your presence might help guide her until I can return from this ill-timed war. I suppose I will have to look toward other means of ensuring her health.”
Again, the last words hung, somehow expectant. Taehrn removed his hand from Jem’s shoulder and turned as if to walk away, but then he waited. Jem wasn’t sure what Taehrn wanted him to say, so he said nothing. The Wellstone began to slide. He wanted to kill this man… but here? In such a public place? Jem would have no chance of escape.
“It really is troubling,” Taehrn said after a considerable silence. “I hope that she does nothing rash.”
Jem might have felt guilty had he been ignorant of Taehrn’s methods. Jem eyed the man as the Well grated beneath his flesh, begging for release. It would be so easy, right now, to end Taehrn’s life. “Well…” Jem said, “maybe I can check in on her when I get to Trel.” It was not for Trin’s sake that Jem spoke the words. The look in Taehrn’s eye sparked a realization. Jem would never be free of this man, not unless he was dead.
“Oh no,” Taehrn said, the tone suddenly dismissive. “That is unnecessary. She will have her sister and mother to keep watch on her. I’m sure she will be fine, I only worry since she no longer confides in me, and is often rude when we speak, but truly I care for nothing but her well-being.” His expression was tragic, as though Trin had brought about her own demise by despising him. Looking thoughtful rather than sad, Taehrn’s eyes didn’t match the rest of his face.
“Tell me, Jem,” Taehrn continued. “What is it that you seek?”
Revenge, Jem thought. “Redemption,” he said. Both were true.
“Ha!” Taehrn roared. “From Trin? Believe me boy, there is no such thing.” A light came into Taehrn’s eye and he smiled as he took a step backward. “Thank you for your time, Jem. Our meeting was most fortunate. Should you need anything, ask any of my soldiers and they will find me.”
The offer sounded sincere, but in the same way that spiders offered their victims a nice, soft bed.
Jem offered a hesitant thank you, and with that, Taehrn departed toward the staircase into the upper city.
Had the man only wanted to see what Jem would say? Had he been fearful that Jem might speak in public about the murder of his uncle? Surely there could be no other reason why Taehrn had pretended not to recognize him.
Jem swallowed then set off north along the pier. The Well subsided in roiling spurts.
Even with this new threat, his thoughts drifted to the news about Trin’s father. He felt guilty for the things he’d said to her the night before. He’d known even then that she didn’t deserve his words, and now that she’d received such hard news, he felt even worse. He’d get supplies, he’d go to Trel, and eventually he’d make amends. It was the right thing to do.
It didn’t take him long to find a stall selling fruit and vegetables, and another selling bread, and another salted fish. Trin’s cart was rather slow, and if she could make the journey in a week, then so too could Jem, but he wanted to eat comfortably, so he purchased some of each, enough for a week and a half of travel.
As he organized his purchases, panicked voices screamed from upriver. A burning ship came into view from around the river’s slight bend. Its far side listed slightly toward the eastern bank, and on this side, it looked as though it had been beaten with a giant axe. Wooden slivers crisscrossed a massive gash, making a wound similar in appearance to a scarecrow’s hay-stitched maw. Jem could only imagine what the sinking side must look like.
The masthead was that of a naked woman, her arms beckoning toward the sky with an orb in either hand. Jem recognized the face, arms, and orbs as motif often representative of Mystic, but why it would be placed on the front of a ship, Jem didn’t understand – and naked no less. Only the sails of the main mast burned. Beneath the mast, the deck looked oddly pristine. A figure stood onboard, but the ship was too far away to see anything of him, other than to tell it was a man. The man balanced atop the masthead, looking like he was about ready to jump, one hand holding onto a rope attached to the bowsprit. The ship sailed dangerously close to the wharf.
Another ship came alongside the first, a massive riverboat with Legion banners trailing from the sails. It crashed into the wounded ship’s left side, vibrating the entire hull and driving it even closer to the wharf. The attacking ship had no masthead, only a large ram that pounded into the ship with the burning sails. Wood splintered on the far side and then even closer as the ship slammed into the wharf thirty paces upriver from Jem. The man standing on the bowsprit looked left to his attacker, then jumped. As Jem’s eyes followed his descent, a strange angle of glinting light refracted from the waves. It was brief but blinding. When Jem regained focus, the man was gone. He had heard no splash, but doubtless the man was already beneath the water.
Those with market stalls in the ship’s path had fled before it struck. It appeared that no one had been hurt, but a crowd was gathering along the southern end of the shipwreck, nonetheless. Jem found himself joining them, staring awestruck at the ship now entangled with the pier. Half a dozen soldiers came running from the north. They stopped just below the ship’s hull then began throwing ropes with grappling hooks over the deck rail. In seconds, they were scrambling over the side and onto the deck with axes strapped to their backs. The other ship was already pulling into dock downstream, lazy and cautious.
The soldiers dashed across the deck, two darting below deck while four others began cutting lines to drop sails. The last soldier rushed to the front of the ship, looking for the renegade who had jumped into the river. They had no water buckets, and regardless, the mast was too tall for them to quench the fire by hand. They were left with only one option, for if the fire spread it might catch the entire dockside. Once all the lines had been cut, two soldiers swung their axes into the main mast. In minutes, the ship convulsed, sending a tremble down the wharf and into the gathered crowd as the main mast toppled over and into the river. The soldiers held fast to the rails and whatever ropes they hadn’t cut.
Another troop came from behind, having dis
embarked from the pursuing craft.
“What happened?” a woman asked the troop’s commander – by the soldier’s regalia, a low-ranking sergeant.
“A pirate,” the commander said. “He stole the Mystic’s Light from Riften and sailed it the whole way here.”
The crowd gasped. “Then how could you dare damage it?” another asked. Jem realized he had seen the ship once before, from a distance, when his father had taken him to the refineries at Riften. It was a local treasure there, for legend held that it had been commissioned by Rift, the god of assassins.
The sergeant sighed, but didn’t answer. From her bloodshot eyes and drooping cheeks, it was clear that she’d had a long week. Finally, she spoke, “We followed for three days. When the ship refused to dock for a custom’s check upon reaching Lane, the idiots now scrambling on the deck lit the main sail on fire. We decided it was best to salvage what we could before the whole ship burned, so we ran her aground.”
The two men that had gone below decks resurfaced. Each had tied a barrel to his back and between them they carried a long chest.
A customs check, Jem realized. That’s what this was about. The ship’s captain refused to submit his possessions to the Legion’s thugs and they drove him ashore in recompense. This wasn’t the Mystic’s Light. Jem was sure of it. The Mystic’s Light wasn’t even docked. It was mounted in Riften’s town center on massive beams and scaffolding. It was more a museum than an actual ship, a relic to remind the town of its founder. They wanted this ship’s coffers, Jem thought. And now they make up stories to cover their greed.
Jem shifted his backpack then blustered off to the south. Everywhere he turned there was some Legion soldier ruining another’s life. If Taehrn were here now, Jem would end him; one blow right between the eyes. Is this Trellahn? he asked himself. The more he saw of his country, the less he liked it. It was beginning to appear that his childhood horrors had been a minor note in a symphony of shit. He wished he could punish the Legion, to punish Taehrn, but he didn’t know how. How do you punish an entire army? An entire people? He couldn’t. He didn’t have it in him.
It was with these questions that Jem climbed back up the staircase.
Why am I going to Trel? he wondered. If I hate them so much, why would I go to the heart of their power? But he knew the reason. It wasn’t about the library. It wasn’t because scribing was all he knew. It was because he feared the soldiers more than he hated them. The library was owned by the priesthood and the Legion was the will of the priests. Only among the priesthood could he escape the Legion’s grasp. But that wouldn’t get him free of Taehrn. To do that, he might have to do something brash.
Jem stopped and took in his surroundings. He was standing on the main and ancient road. The army had already passed through, and the streets were empty.
Walking uphill, his eyes drifted to the sky. He estimated it to be late afternoon. The sun was just beginning its final quarter, so he figured that it must be around four, but he’d never been great at telling time. Jem had heard that the Hornish had pocket-sized machines that could count time and he’d always wanted to own one. He sighed cynically. If the Legion was a vicious monster, a pocket watch was probably a soul devouring demon – after all, none of his dreams ever worked out the way he expected.
Jem chuckled. It wasn’t that funny an idea, but it seemed so out of place considering his recent obsessions. By comparison, the thought was so lacking in severity that it made him smile. Sure, he’d come up with several wild thoughts to distract himself in recent days, but this one was both spontaneous and sincere. A strange realization dawned. Even after all I’ve done, all I am, I still want to be happy. His mind might heal itself. I still want to be who I once was.
But who was that? he wondered.
When he saw Mason’s Bridge rising from behind the buildings ahead, he regretted his path but not his destination. He realized that he should have followed the cliff’s edge to the foot of the bridge so that he could see the beauty of the river and the stonework.
When he came to the intersection of the Three Roads and saw Trin standing there with Bell, Jem regretted his destination. The shame was heavy, and he was not yet ready to face her. Bell faced the road to Trel, Trin faced the road to Lock, Jem faced south. The men and women who had accompanied Bell yesterday, waited on the bridge, watching as Bell and Trin hugged. The two were saying goodbye. Bell was off to war. Trin was heading home. When they failed to notice him, Jem ducked into an alley.
He couldn’t face her, not before he faced his demons. He wouldn’t ruin her life the way he ruined every life. He was a failed protector, but this time he would succeed. He would keep his distance and protect her from himself. But no, he thought. Maybe I have the right to be selfish here. She might be my only hope. I can’t find redemption on my own. I’m weak. I always have been. I couldn’t help the miners. I couldn’t help Liv. I couldn’t stop my father. I couldn’t help Elyse. He nibbled on his lip then whispered: “I cannot help myself.”
Despite these thoughts, when Jem turned the corner it was not out of desperation, but out of hope. I saw that fear in her eyes, saw the way she overcame it. If she can do that, he thought, she can fix me. So, he walked toward her as she turned, pulling on Nance’s reins. She was leading the ox to Trel, and Jem would join them. He would give an immediate apology, and if necessary, he would beg her forgiveness.
But Jem didn’t reach her in time. Another reached her first. A woman. Another legionnaire.
“Miss Cavahl,” the legionnaire called. Trin’s head swiveled to the woman. Jem stopped in his tracks.
“Yes?” Trin asked.
“The daughter of Bertrand Cavahl?”
“Yes,” Trin confirmed.
“I am Third Legionnaire Marl Kantren. The Grand Legionnaire has requested your presence.”
“What is this about?” Bell asked.
“The Grand Legionnaire prefers to discuss her private business in person, Legionnaire,” Marl warned.
“Then she can suck my tit,” Trin drawled.
Marl took a step backward, a hand sweeping briefly to cover her mouth. Recovering, the Third Legionnaire firmed her stance and tightened her lips.
“I’m not going without a reason,” Trin asserted.
“Miss Cavahl, I am sorry, but our supply officers have run an inventory and found our reserves severely lacking in certain areas and-”
“Taehrn!” Trin huffed. “Tell that slimy bastard to jump off the bridge, ‘cause he’s not getting anything more from me, and no matter what he does, I’m not signing shit over to him.”
Bell looked ready to grab Trin and restrain her, his arms tense at his sides and his legs spread wide.
“Specifically,” Marl forged on, “we have determined that our means of transporting goods are insufficient for such a long journey, and thus, the Grand Legionnaire requests your wagon and ox.”
“Fu-” Trin tried.
Marl’s words bulled over her. “Furthermore, the Grand Legionnaire deems that your service as escort and driver for said wagon will also be necessary.”
“Blood take you,” Trin snarled. “I’m going home and the Butcher can take Taehrn. I’ll burn the estate down before he gets his hands on it. Whatever ploy he’s trying, it won’t work. You tell him that and make sure you hold his blooding hand when he jumps off the bridge and don’t forget to take my sister with ya! And the damned baby too-”
The Third Legionnaire’s stare was cold and annoyed. Trin’s curses continued as Marl shouted over her, “The punishment for refusal, Miss Cavahl, is death.”
Trin’s mouth snapped shut.
“That seems a tad extreme,” Bell said.
“This is a direct request from the Grand Legionnaire.” Marl didn’t look pleased for having won. Indeed, the look she gave Bell was sympathetic.
Bell frowned, but nodded.
“That’s it?” Trin chided, staring at Bell. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”
Bell blushed.
“You are to report imme-” Marl began.
Trin’s face was hollow. It was that same look that Jem had seen only once before. It was that look that had drawn him to her, that look she’d given as he held the arrow above her head, ready to thrust it into her skull. He’d almost call it fear, but it was far more than that. It was worse than terror, it was worse than horror. There was no disgust in it, but there was hopelessness aplenty, mixed with a determination Jem didn’t understand. It was the look that had saved her life; that had convinced Jem to spare her. Even in what was to be the last moment of her life, she had faced it with resolve. Again, that look twisted his insides into knots. And he was furious.
The same thoughts as earlier reverberated in his head. I can protect her, she can help me, they said. I have to.
“I’ll take it,” Jem shouted. Every eye turned to face him. Trin’s face sank even farther. The Third looked on curiously. “I’ll take Trin’s cart.”
“Jem,” Trin commanded. “Stay out of this.”
“No, I can do it. I’ll take care of Old Nance and I’ll make sure she gets back to you. You go home and deal with your father’s passing.”
Trin couldn’t hide her relief. She looked into Jem’s eyes, her own beginning to water, and nodded.
The Third snarled. “Unfortunately, Miss Cavahl,” Marl said, “that will not work. Your father was known to be Trel’s most prudent merchant and you are thought of by many as his equal in all regards. Last week, we lost our primary quartermaster and your name has been put forth as her temporary replacement.”
Jem fell into despondency. It was impossible. He failed at every turn. They would always win, and the best he could do was run and hide amongst Trel’s priests.
No. I won’t hide.
“Then I will go with her anyway.”
The woman nodded. “You are the boy, Jem, correct?”
“Yes,” Jem said, taken aback that she would know his name.
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 19