The Outworlder

by Natalie J. Holden

  “I’ll stand for you,” Tayrel Kan replied, and I couldn’t hold back a chuckle. He sent me a puzzled look. “What?”

  “I think everyone in the camp has heard Myar Mal yelling at you.”

  He made his Dahlsian wave-shrug. “Yeah, he likes drama.”

  The ease with which he took it—everything, Myar Mal’s wrath, and that fiasco—grated me. How could he be so calm? Did those deaths mean nothing to him?

  “He blames you for what happened,” I said, wishing to break through his indifference.

  “He’ll get over it.”

  He seemed completely unaffected, the dark circles under his eyes the only mark of this morning’s events. The bastard didn’t even have a bruise from where I hit him with the brazier. His scars, though… they were red now, not pink, and deep, with skin taut around them, as if something was digging into them, threatening to cut through.

  Although, if the unfocused gaze was anything to go by, I’d say it wasn’t his first tchalka. Perhaps he was lulling his nerves, too.

  “You seem confident,” I remarked.

  He chuckled mirthlessly and asked, “what is your score?”

  It took me a while to figure out what he meant. Kevar scale, used to measure one’s magic potential.

  “Zero point eighty-nine,” I said, somehow reluctantly. I’d heard some sorcerers were closer to two, and I suspected he’d be one of them. But he only smiled bitterly.

  “Three point two,” he said.

  What?

  “Most humans have around one,” he continued, “Kassams vary, from one point five to two point two. Tsavikii are pretty consistent with two point six. Even fucking vhariars rarely reach two point nine. I have more than three. It’s a record, you know? In terms of sheer power, I’m officially the most powerful human sorcerer who ever lived.”

  It made sense. If Kanven wanted to make him a better sorcerer, increasing his magical potential was a good start.

  “How is that possible?” I asked, my mouth suddenly dry.

  Somehow, he understood I wasn’t talking about his potential—or maybe he was reading my mind again, I wasn’t sure. He scoffed. “It isn’t. Not anymore. Few cycles ago there was a big shit-show with one of the companies offering prenatal upgrades and the Directory finally prohibited experiments on humans. But when I was born… it was before that. Before we even discovered Meon. We had limited space in Dahls and already too many people, so the government imposed regulations: one child per couple. And I guess my parents really wanted a daughter.”

  Somehow he managed to relate his story completely flatly, without a trace of emotion. Perhaps having to live with it, he got so used to it, it didn’t affect him anymore. Or it affected him, but there was nothing he could do, so he pushed it away, pretending everything was all right and seeking relief in inebriation.

  “You guess?” I repeated dully. “You never tried to find them?”

  He waved his hand. “What for? They dumped me like a used condom. It’s pretty clear they wanted nothing to do with me. Besides, their names weren’t registered.”

  “What about your middle name?”

  His surname meant ‘The Other’ and was traditionally given to boys whose fathers were unknown. Argan Am was also Trever.

  “Kanven.”

  I wished I hadn’t asked.

  Still, there was one thing that I wasn’t getting. He seemed young, his hair dark, and skin smooth around the scars. His eyelids were droopy, but that could be due to his drug usage.

  But Meon Cluster was discovered over twenty cycles ago. That was two generations, and almost as long as a life expectancy for Dahlsi.

  “Magic keeps me young,” he said, leaving no room for doubt about his intrusion into my thoughts. “My appearance hasn’t changed since I was ten.”

  He looked older than ten cycles, maybe fifteen. The stubble aged him.

  “And those scars?” I asked before I could think better.

  His gaze drifted away and he lifted his hand, almost absentmindedly, to touch the offending lines.

  “They’re on the soul, rather than body. They will not heal.”

  This time, I had enough sense not to ask. From his tone, I could tell it had nothing to do with his upbringing. Besides, even Laik Var said the scars were a later development. I wondered if it wasn’t something all Dahlsi knew, and only us outsiders had to guess.

  Then I looked at him again and realized he must’ve been handsome before. With high cheekbones, perfectly straight nose, dimpled chin, and those strikingly bright eyes under dark, heavy brows. I could imagine the women of Dahls flocking around him. Or the men.

  Another part of Laik Var’s warning echoed through my mind and I scrambled to shield myself before he could read it. Nevertheless, I felt heat creeping up my cheeks and peeked aside at Tayrel Kan. He never did anything that would make me think…

  But he was smirking, and I realized my attempts were in vain. I tried to cover it by conjuring the worst insults I knew, in all five languages, before sidetracking to wonder how many of them made sense without the cultural context.

  Mercifully, he refrained from commenting. It struck me that despite everything, most of the time, his company made me feel… at ease.

  Sure, he knew more than other people, which was unsettling at times. But he didn’t judge me and, as far as I was aware, didn’t use any of his knowledge against me. He mocked me sometimes, but he did that to everyone. He even made it easy to forget that he wasn’t completely honest with me.

  Besides, we’d known each other for a day. I felt like, if we were to get a chance to continue our conversations, maybe he’d finally open up.

  His smirk faded again.

  “Magic does things to people,” he said, seemingly unrelated to anything. “Maybe your nation had a point in restricting it. Humans did not evolve to use it. We’re not like vhariars who see the damn thing with their own eyes. Shit, even kassam can sniff it. But we—we have no natural predisposition to magic, and we should have stayed that way.”

  “Strange words for a sorcerer.”

  He snapped, “I didn’t ask to be a sorcerer.” He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “But there’s not much else someone like me could do for a living.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. “It can’t be that bad,” I stammered lamely.

  He gave me a tired look. “Have you forgotten how a few hours ago you had to stop me from getting us all killed? Too late to save poor Laik Var…”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said. I desperately wanted to believe it.

  He smiled joylessly. “I think the fault can be split equally between me, Myar Mal, and that bastard on the other side of the wall. And only one of us is gonna pay. But my point still stands. We weren’t made to deal with magic.”

  I wasn’t sure about that. For me, magic was pretty handy, but what I used was child’s play compared to what he practiced. I couldn’t even imagine the toll it was taking on him. Though I had a feeling there was more to it than guilt—certainly more than the guilt for Laik Var’s death—but I didn’t know what it was. So, I did what I did best.

  Spun the conversation in a totally random and unrelated direction.

  “So, you believe in this theory? That we’re not from here?”

  At first, he blinked in confusion. But then he scoffed and sent me a pitying look.

  “What, from another universe? There’s no proof that there’s anything other than Darkness beyond the Great Sphere. It’s just a story conjured by some old farts with too much time on their hands. Or other species who want to think themselves better than us.”

  “And yet you say we’re the only species with no natural predisposition for magic.”

  “We’re also the only known species with functioning tits. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “It could mean we evolved elsewhere.”

  He sighed and reached for another tchalka, but his lips curled up again. My tension eased up a bit. Even if it was a pity, not his usual s
nark, it beat his previous mood.

  Pity I could deal with.

  “Kid, the recorded history of humans in this universe dates back thousands of cycles. We’d had to have arrived here long before we’d discovered how to use magic. Fuck, before we even learned to make metal tools.”

  “Yeah, but legends say there were ancient civilizations with magic and technology we can’t dream of today.”

  “And it’s bullshit. Knowledge tends to advance, not reverse with time.”

  “Apparently, there was a catastrophe.”

  “Yeah, and it’s called bullshit. Come on, Aldiaif Han, you speak four languages, so you’re definitely smarter than you seem at first. Too smart to believe in that crap. You should put your brain to better use. Get into the Academy instead of dabbling in myths.”

  But I like myths, I wanted to say. They were simple, easy, and… different. They allowed me to get away from the shit I had to deal with in life; forget about the problems I couldn’t solve. I doubted academic research would have the same merit. If anything, it was more likely to just fuel my anxiety.

  “Well, I’m not the one with three point two on the Kevar scale,” I chuckled awkwardly, but deep inside, warmth spread through my chest. No one had ever called me smart. I didn’t even care that he misremembered the number of languages I spoke.

  “I’m not interested in studying,” he replied. “Look, I hate magic; Kanven made sure of that. If I could, I would run away to grow some fucking coclaxi fruit. Except I wouldn’t be able to eat the damn things; I’d probably die of dehydration via runny nose. So I stay here, figuring that way I’ll do less harm. But you,” he looked me in the eye, and not for the first time, I was struck by how bright his irises were, “you still have a chance.”

  Chapter 14

  “Vessár-ai.” Myar Mal swept his tired gaze over the gathered leaders. “There’s an empty seat among us today. If you know anyone who could fill it, speak up.”

  The silence that followed was almost physical; it dragged like a slime, tainting everything it touched.

  “Aldait Han should take this place,” Tyano Har-Vahir, the oldest man among the vessár-ai, said finally.

  Myar Mal felt even more tired than before. It took all of his self-control not to sag.

  “I won’t make that decision alone.”

  “What about Arda Nahs?” asked Vareya Lyg-Havet, the only person older than Tyano Har, referring to Laik Var’s original nami.

  “There’s no time to bring her from Sfal,” replied Tyano Har.

  “How about my nami?” asked Sanam Il-Asa, rubbing his chin. “Adyar Lah-Nasseye. He’s good. Loyal. Stepped out during the pursuit of the Llodran mage with the unpronounceable name, half a cycle ago.”

  Seconds passed. No one answered, but also no one proposed another candidate. Myar Mal waited a moment longer, but realizing the futility, he procured a large, flat box.

  “All right then,” he announced, setting it on the table. “Let us vote. Blue for Aldait Han, green for Adyar Lah.”

  All vessár-ai reached for small glass balls and gripped them tight, sending their thoughts forward to their twins inside the box. Those who finished put their balls on the table. When the last of them were down, kar-vessár lifted the lid.

  Five balls were blue. Six were green.

  Myar Mal allowed himself a sigh.

  “Thank you, vessár-ai.”

  Chapter 15

  The skydome barely resisted. Amma La watched as her father’s body disappeared Outside, disintegrating into the same pre-matter everything came from.

  Long ago she witnessed Chaarite colonists performing funerary rites. Dancing and wailing as they carried the garishly dressed corpse through the town in a sedan chair decorated with paper flowers. Dahlsi were too practical for such things, and yet she wished there was something else for her to do. Her father deserved better.

  But she didn’t know what she could do.

  She tried to recall the last time they spoke. Really spoke—without arguing, screaming, or blaming each other. It was merely a few cycles ago, but it felt like an eternity. Since then… Nothing passed between them but bitter words and reproach. And the heavy silence that fell when the words ran out.

  What had happened to them?

  Moments passed. Her eyes were fixed on the dome as she searched her mind for answers, and while she didn’t find them, there was something. The moment where it all started. The person at the center of their strife.

  Amma La clenched her fists and turned back.

  Chapter 16

  He was a sight to behold. Tall, for a Dahlsi, although still shorter than me. And heavy—not from muscles or fat, but a combination of the two, merging to create an image of sheer, unstoppable mass. How it was possible to grow to such size on Dahlsian food rations?

  And yet, no one was looking at him. They were looking at me. The blue sash burned my chest like a fresh wound. I wasn’t sure if I should keep it or tear it down in some dramatic gesture. But that would probably only draw more attention.

  “I wanted to ensure you,” said Adyar Lah with a low and powerful voice, “that despite our tragic loss today, our Cohort will prevail. We will stand strong. We will continue fighting as if nothing has changed. We will show them we cannot be broken and then…” he paused dramatically, “we will avenge Laik Var.” My comrades roared in approval. The new vessár nodded, satisfied, and when the applause died down, he turned to me. “Aldait Han.” I lifted my head to meet his eyes. They were small, mere slits in his wide face. “I want you to uphold your duty as nami vessár.”

  “Yes, Adyar Lah,” I said dutifully. What else could I say?

  He motioned at me and I approached. Then, quietly, so only we could hear he ordered: “Prepare the report about the Cohort’s status.”

  I studied him for a moment. Of course. He was from another Cohort. He knew no one here, had no one to rely on. And that meant I was going to have to do the job I was given. Should I inform him my promotion only happened so Laik Var could make a point? That I had absolutely no idea about the responsibilities of nami vessár? That, despite my own feelings about this whole situation, he would probably be a better vessár than I could ever hope to?

  His face scrunched and all the words died in my throat.

  “I didn’t ask for this,” he murmured.

  Not sure what to say, I only nodded. Much later I realized it was meant to be an apology.

  * * *

  I was actually doing pretty well. Chiefly because I decided to start with something easy—the equipment. I went swiftly through all of our bikes (luckily, none were destroyed; a few got damaged, but our mechanics assured me they could fix them in around an hour), then the special weapons that also remained undamaged.

  But that left the hardest part—going through our personnel. I needed to go to the field hospital for the list of the deceased, but before I could do that, the tingling of magic ran down my back.

  “Aldait Han, please come with us.”

  My body stood and turned around without any conscious input from my side. Adyar Lah was waiting a couple of steps behind me, along with some other man I didn’t recognize. Both sported almost identical grim expressions.

  “What happened?” I asked. At least I could still use my mouth.

  But my question was ignored, and the two led me inside one of the tents. A perfectly impersonal place that could be anything. I wondered which of them was casting the spell controlling my body. Whoever was doing that, made me sit in the center, making both men tower above me.

  Psychological dominance, I realized, and paradoxically felt a bit better. As they say, seeing through someone’s trick was half-way to defeating them.

  Well, if you ignore the fact that I was fucking arrested.

  “What happened?” I asked again.

  “Myar Mal suffered an anaphylactic shock,” explained Adyar Lah, and it came at me like a bucket of cold water.

  “How?” I stammered, but at some level I knew, I j
ust didn’t want to—couldn’t—admit that…

  The world around as was burned to the ground. The only possible allergens had to be brought from the outside.

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” Adyar Lah’s words barely broke through the jumble of my thoughts. “There was a carai-nut in his water.”

  At this point, my jaw dropped, and I gasped for air. Carai-nut. Carai-nut!

  “And yesterday, you were seen threatening all vessár-ai with one of them.”

  My head was spinning, so I lowered my gaze to the floor, desperately grasping for any semblance of stability.

  His shadow fell on me as he leaned over and whispered menacingly: “So let me ask instead: how did that happen?”

  “I didn’t do it,” I rasped, breathing heavily, screwing my eyes shut. I didn’t do it. That’s one thing I knew for sure. My muscles ached and I realized I was trying to rock against the magical restrains. “Look, I’m… I’m an idiot who never knows when to shut up, but I’m not… I’m not a murderer.”

  “Aren’t you?” He arched his eyebrow, leaned back, and crossed his arms, and I wanted to scream, shout in his face, or just punch him. Then I felt all the emotions draining from me and realized that whoever was controlling my body, was also reading my mind. The things he must have seen there would haunt me for a long time after that.

  “Why would I even do that?” I asked, sounding unnaturally calm, even to myself.

  They couldn’t charge me without a motive. And maybe I had a reason to wave that nut around—although I was the first to admit I often overreacted and did stupid things when I was angry— killing someone was another matter.

  “Everyone knows you had a row with Myar Mal.”

  I closed my eyes. “Did I?” I asked weakly.

  “You threatened him—”