The Outworlder

by Natalie J. Holden

  I’d also received Dahlsian education, meager as it was, and joined Mespana as soon as I was able to. The only thing connecting me to the rebels was the blood in my veins, but there was no helping that. So, why was I being punished for it? Why were any of us punished for it? I was not assertive, but at that point, the stress of the last few days had become too much. Before I could stop myself, I asked caustically, “Unless my citizenship has been revoked?”

  “It hasn’t,” he assured me. “What I mean is your ancestors came from Tarviss. Perhaps you’ve… heard something.”

  “Laik Var.” I spun on my heel to face the man. Though relatively muscular, he was smaller than me and the size difference was never so obvious. “I’m a member of Mespana. For cycles, I’ve been spending most of my time among Dahlsi.”

  “But you do keep in touch with your people.”

  “Your people”. It shouldn’t have stung as much as it did.

  “I write letters to my mother and sister, and I assure you neither of them had anything to do with this.”

  And yet they were punished, deported, kicked out like mere criminals—for nothing but being the wrong nationality!

  “All right, I believe you!” he cut in, lifting his hand in a placating gesture. “Look, I had to ask. Surely, you understand.”

  I huffed, still angry. But as much as I hated to admit it, I did understand. However it hurt, however unfair it seemed, those assholes put us all in a bad light. Not so long ago, they were no different from me or my family, just ordinary people trying to get by. Now they’d fucked up, and we had to pay the price.

  My eyes drifted toward the burned farm. Compared to some, I got off easy.

  “It’s a difficult time,” said Laik Var. “For everyone. But I trust you, Aldait Han. I wish things could be different. For your family, your entire nation. I just hope this mess will be over as soon as possible, and we can all start healing.”

  I had no answer to give.

  Laik Var sighed again and turned away.

  “I’m not here to chat,” he admitted after a brief pause. “The kar-vessár wants to see you.”

  My stomach dropped. Another thing I should have expected, though under normal circumstances there would be no reason for the highest commander of Mespana to even acknowledge my existence.

  “What may he want from me?” I asked, hating how hoarse my voice sounded.

  “I don’t know, but it would be rude to keep him waiting.” He gestured toward the camp, “shall we?”

  * * *

  The vessár-ai tent was the biggest in the camp. It was made of pristine, white plastic and decorated with alternating banners: one with entwined lines of dull red and cobalt blue—colors of Dahls—and the other black, embroidered with silver-green threads forming the logo of Mespana.

  When I entered, the tingle of a decontaminating spell washed over me. It was like stepping through the merge, and what I saw inside only exacerbated that impression. Spacious, bright, and clean, it clashed with the tent’s outer shell, and the air reverberated with a subtle hum of ventilation and smell of disinfectants. A piece of Dahls in this faraway land.

  I’d never seen Myar Mal-Maomik, kar-vessár of Mespana, before, but I had no problem recognizing him. He was probably the first thing anyone noticed when entering a room he occupied, his sheer presence filled it to the brim. He sat sprawled like an emperor from an old legend—right elbow propped on an armrest and left hand outstretched, fingers drumming on the table in a way verging on impatience, making me instantly ashamed of making him wait.

  What surprised me the most was that he wasn’t much older than me. Short, like all Dahlsi, but perfectly proportional, with neatly combed dark hair and eyes a color I couldn’t determine: a particular shade of gray that could appear green, blue or even purple, depending on the lighting. His gaze was incredibly sharp and piercing, and I felt like it was drilling straight into my soul. He had a narrow face with a tall forehead and an aquiline nose, suggesting some percentage of foreign blood, but so distant it was impossible to discern its source. His skin had a healthy sheen, and I thought he must’ve been born in the colonies. Still, he looked like what every young Dahlsi man aspired to look like; they should have put his portrait on recruiting posters.

  There were other people, too, almost invisible in Myar Mal’s dominating presence, despite wearing silver sashes of vessár-ai.

  One thing was plain, though. Small and pale, they were all native Dahlsi.

  Now their eyes were on me, and all my will and purpose drained from me. I became an empty shell, existing only to be scrutinized. And there was a lot to scrutinize—my peasant’s tan, my large, heavy body, perfectly exposed by the skintight uniform, my bulging stomach; even my height.

  I was a stranger here. An intruder.

  I let out a long, painful breath. It was alright, I told myself. I was summoned here. I had the right… I should be here.

  I straightened my back in a vain attempt to regain my footing and clasped my hands behind me, hoping no one noticed how much they shook.

  “Kar-vessár,” I greeted him, looking the man in the eye and trying to ignore the twelve other people present there with us. Watching. Judging. “I heard you wanted to speak to me.”

  “Aldait Han-Tirsan,” he drawled, surveying me with a razor-sharp gaze.

  I shuddered. Dahlsi rarely applied titles when addressing someone—two names were usually considered respectful enough—and they almost never used surnames. It couldn’t mean anything good. The worry about my citizenship resurfaced, but the kar-vessár’s face was unreadable.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he continued.

  I nodded and let out a sigh of relief. It didn’t have to mean anything though, I scolded myself. “Thank you, Myar Mal.”

  He wore a ring with a dallite gem as big as a human eye on his middle finger. I wondered what feat of heroism he must have performed to earn it. In any case, looking at it was easier than meeting his gaze.

  “Laik Var seems to have complete confidence in you, however… I want to hear myself where your loyalties lie,” his voice suddenly turned as sharp as his gaze, and my body tensed up again.

  It was a simple question. One of those I never thought about, instinctively knowing the answer, but never putting it to words. So, when it was actually asked, I was stumped. Moments passed and I stood, paralyzed no less than as if I had fallen victim to a spell.

  “Well?”

  The impatience in the kar-vessár’s voice finally broke through my stupor. Though I still had very little idea what assurance I could offer, I needed to say something.

  “I was born and raised in a colony,” I started uncertainly, but he cut me short.

  “So were they.”

  He didn’t have to specify who “they” were. I took a deep breath, trying to loosen the tightness in my chest.

  It’s all right, I told myself. Just relax. Breathe.

  “My ancestors were low-class citizens,” I picked up. “In Tarviss, we would be forced to work in the fields days and nights with no hope for change. Here, in the colonies, I could become who I wanted. I would never get such chance in Tarviss. And… I’d like for everyone to have that chance. That’s why I joined Mespana, and from what I know, I never gave you a reason to doubt my loyalty.”

  I lowered my eyes, but I felt his gaze on me, making my skin crawl and my heart thunder. For a moment, he remained silent, and I wondered if my speech had made the proper impression. I was not a speaker, but I meant every word I said.

  All right, maybe it was too much; ridiculously idealistic. Would he think I was bullshitting? I was not, I meant every word I said. I wondered if I should add something, fix it somehow, but before I came up with anything he leaned back in his chair and asked, “Do you have any idea why they would oppose Dahls?”

  “No, Myar Mal.”

  “Suspicion, then?”

  “It’s hard to say without knowing who they are,” before I finished speaking, I already knew
what he had in mind.

  He must have realized that, because as soon as the last word left my mouth, he requested, “I want you to find out.”

  Although I fully expected such a request, actually hearing it made my insides twist into a tight ball. I clenched my fists so tight it hurt, hoping the pain would keep me grounded. It worked only partially.

  My jaw felt clenched as tight as a beartrap, and I couldn’t utter a word, even if I had known what to say. Somehow I forced myself to let out a long breath that somewhere along the way turned into a cough.

  “Is that an order, Kar-vessár?” I stammered.

  I mustered the courage to look up, not at him, but Laik Var, in a silent plea for help, but he kept his face down, eyes fixed on the table.

  “A request.” He said this word like he didn’t fully understand what it meant, like it was an order in everything but name. I started to suspect he must have gotten his position by barging into the Directory chambers and demanding the promotion. It’s not likely they would have been able to refuse him.

  “I know the risk too well,” he added, almost softly. “But we want to give them another chance to resolve things… peacefully.”

  I’ve heard what happened to the Dahlsi officials who were there at the time of the rebellion. The man was instantly killed while the woman was maimed and sent to Kooine with a list of demands. Believe it or not, their lot wasn’t my biggest worry.

  “I’m not a diplomat,” I protested.

  “I don’t want you to negotiate with them. The Directory has made its decision; you are only to deliver the message. In a way they will hopefully understand.”

  “But I’m not a good speaker.”

  That was a massive understatement. I always scrambled for words and had the tendency to say all the worst things at all the worst times. The crippling anxiety that paralyzed my tongue and froze my brain every time I had to interact with more than two people didn’t exactly help. And I knew what people thought about me, they made it pretty clear on multiple occasions. That’s why it was just easier for me to keep my mouth shut.

  But even my panic-stricken mind knew that trying to explain that to my superiors was not a great idea.

  “The little speech you gave us a moment ago seemed good enough for me.” The kar-vessár’s voice, while still adamant, lost its bite. I got an impression he must’ve noticed my distress and was trying to reassure me, but that only made me feel worse. Pitiful.

  I didn’t need pity. I needed a wand or a sword and an enemy to kill. Or a world to explore. I was perfectly fine doing ninety-nine percent of our job.

  There was only one thing I struggled with, and now I had to do exactly that.

  “Besides, you are Tarvissi—in blood and upbringing,” he continued, and I dropped my head again to avoid his gaze. “You share the language, culture, and mannerisms. Hopefully they’ll be more eager to listen to one of their own.”

  “And if they won’t?”

  A snort sounded from the other side of the tent. I snapped my head up, only now realizing there was another man with us.

  “That’s in the job description, kid.”

  He was leaning on the wall, arms crossed and lips twisted into a sardonic smirk. Something else drew my attention, though, making it impossible to tear my gaze from his face. Four puckered, parallel scars ran across it, deep and red against his chalky white skin. He caught the horror in my eyes, and his smile widened and turned ugly.

  I shuddered involuntarily. I bet they all noticed.

  “Even if you only manage to talk to them, you will help us gather important intel,” explained Myar Mal, completely ignoring the other man. “We will provide you with all the protection we can, the strongest spells at our disposal. There’s also a small ritual which will allow us, all vessár-ai, to see with your eyes and hear with your ears, so that we know everything that happens to you. All we need is your agreement.”

  I guess he meant it as a reassurance, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling that they were preparing themselves in case I never made it back. I didn’t blame them. At the same time, a strange suspicion squirmed in the back of my head. The speech about my supposed kinship with the rebels was charming, but the truth was I was expendable. More than any true Dahlsi, anyway.

  Then again, refusing a direct order–or “request”–probably wouldn’t reflect well on my blindly declared loyalty.

  I did this to myself, didn’t I?

  “All right then.” I nodded. “When do we start?”

  Myar Mal stood up abruptly. “As soon as you’re ready.”

  * * *

  Somehow, he was ahead of me, his scarred face looking even more horrible in the light of day. I tried to recall the moment he left the vessár-ai tent, but in vain. It seemed like he was there until the end, and yet now he was waiting for me.

  “Here,” he said, extending his hand. I looked down; he was holding a wand. A brand new one judging from the look: sleek and elegant, the shaft covered in black plastic with a rubber grip. I wasn’t an expert, but even I could tell it wasn’t the crap we were usually issued.

  I raised my gaze to meet his. Beneath the heavy lids, his eyes were strikingly bright with almost mirror-like irises and pinkish whites. Close up he looked even more unhealthy than most Dahlsi; his cheeks were sunken and skin waxy. The fact that he hadn’t seemed to have used a razor since, at least, yesterday didn’t exactly improve his image. And yet, he stood straight; his movements were energetic, if somehow erratic, and his eyes gave such an immense impression of focus I could almost feel them boring into my skull.

  “What’s that?” I asked stupidly.

  He only grinned, stretching his scars grotesquely. “The newest model, courtesy of Kanven Sandeyron,” he said with a strange mockery in his voice. “Three cores of tertium, nubithium, and khabun. Double lenses of pure dallite. Eighty-one saved spells. I think you’ll have more use for it than me.” Still, I hesitated, so he waved it at me. “Come on, take it.”

  I did. New spells flooded my mind, and it took me a while to regain enough control to push them back. I’d have to go through them later, provided I’d get the chance.

  I looked into his eyes again. “Thanks. But… why?”

  He waved his hand, with the palm up, in a Dahlsian gesture that meant something like, “don’t know, don’t care.” I liked to compare it to the Tarvissian shrug. “I have no use for it.”

  “Are you a sorcerer?” I asked, and immediately cursed myself. Very few people had enough potential and focus to use magic to any significant degree without the aid of wands. They were all sorcerers.

  His smile faltered, but when he answered, his voice lost nothing of its mocking tone. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  That was surprising. I’d met many people who would have done anything to be sorcerers, but lacked the disposition, and none who could be one but didn’t want to.

  I wondered if I knew this guy. He made no effort to introduce himself and acted with familiarity, as if we were already acquainted. He definitely knew me, from the meeting if nowhere else. And though my memory was exceedingly poor when it came to faces, I was pretty sure I would remember scars like his. Also, his uniform bore no insignia; no cohort number, not even the logo of Mespana. Still, at this point, I thought asking for his name would be awkward, so I didn’t.

  Instead, I waved my new wand and tried to steer the conversation to lighter topics. “Are you not worried it may fall into the enemy’s hands?”

  He laughed, a short, mocking jeer. “Those idiots wouldn’t know what to do with it. Besides, you’re coming back. Myar Mal doesn’t like losing people.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, I’ll let them know.”

  Provided I manage to say a full sentence when I’m there. And by Vhalfr, with that damned spell, all the vessár-ai would witness my ineptitude. Why did I agree to this?

  “Courage doesn’t always mean a lack of fear,” he said, suddenly serious, “More often it’s just acting despite it.”

&nbs
p; “That’s what they say,” I replied too sharply. I’d gotten similar advice for as long as I could remember. It wasn’t worth shit.

  And who was this guy to give me advice, anyway? My anxiety was probably obvious to everyone with working eyes, but it was my problem. His opinion, well-meaning or not, was nothing but an intrusion.

  I was going to say something about it when his lips curled in lopsided smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and he bowed slightly.

  “Good luck on your mission then,” he said simply, and left me alone with my anger.

  I exhaled heavily, glaring after him until he disappeared behind a tent. Then I remembered the wand he gave me, and my gaze drifted to it. Sleek and shiny, like a tail of a scorpion, ready to attack. I drew my fingers over the hilt and sensed it humming with energy. Eighty-one spells, huh?

  With a slight pang of guilt, I looked up to the spot where he’d disappeared. He probably had the best intentions, and I was overreacting, as usual. Good thing I hadn’t managed to say any of the things I had been thinking of.

  “You should stay away from him.”

  I jerked in surprise. Laik Var was standing behind me, lips pursed and eyes fixed on the spot where the man had gone. I sensed an opportunity.

  “Who is it?” I prodded.

  “Tayrel Kan-Trever.” He said the name as if it was supposed to explain everything, but when the only thing I could offer was silence, he elaborated: “One of the Kanven Sandeyron pupils,” he added, but that didn’t help either. “Kanven used to adopt unwanted children and experiment on them. Among them was Tayrel Kan. The company tried to increase the magical potential in humans and, at least in his case, they succeeded. But,” he hesitated for a moment, “they messed him up pretty badly in the process.”

  I shuddered. “Those scars…” I said before I could think. But the vessár waved me off.

  “That’s a later development. I meant psychologically. He’s… not exactly stable. Only his substance dependence makes him, well, not easy, but possible to control.”