The Outworlder

by Natalie J. Holden

  I waved at him to come closer. “In half an hour, I need a full report about the status of our Cohort. Dead, wounded, equipment loss, everything. I made a start before… well, it’s probably rubbish now, but you can have a look at that.”

  “Can I get the original list of our personnel?” he asked, and I blinked in confusion. He quickly clarified: “It should be among the documents left by Laik Var.”

  I felt heat rising to my face. “I didn’t think about that,” I mumbled. Just showed how little I was suited for this job. The blasted sash grew heavier against my body.

  Truth be told, I avoided thinking about anything related to Laik Var. Now, my eyes darted to his tent, clearly distinguishable thanks to the insignia of Seventh Cohort.

  My tent.

  A wave of nausea rolled over me.

  Saral Tal grabbed my shoulder. “Are you all right, vessár?”

  “Yes.” I let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s go.” At the last moment, I caught myself, and turned back to my Cohort: “Dismissed.”

  I shook off Saral Tal’s hand and headed toward the tent. But it felt as if someone cast a repelling spell: I had to fight for each step, my knees threatening to buckle any time. Saral Tal was walking beside me, and even without looking I knew he was watching me, ready to offer his hand if I was about to fall. He made no comment, but my guts coiled in shame.

  Sooner than I wanted to, we stood at the entrance. The flap was in front of me; all I had to do was reach out and…

  But I couldn’t do it. I was standing, taut as a bowstring, waiting for an all-too-familiar voice to call me in.

  Saral Tal pulled the flap.

  The tent was empty. There was no one there.

  I let out a shaky breath. What did I expect?

  The heavy desk occupied the center of the tent, topped with a little honeycomb shelf filled with scrolls. I was tempted to unfold the second chair and fall into it, waiting for orders, but I knew if I did it, I would never stand up. I circled the desk. There, my eyes fell at the miniature portrait glued to the back of the cabinet, visible only to the person sitting in the vessár’s chair.

  Amma La.

  I wondered if she was back.

  Slowly, I slumped down. It felt wrong. I wanted to jump out, run around the desk, and stand on the other side. But my limbs were as heavy as stone. My hands gripped the armrests so strongly it hurt. The pain sobered me. I started limply going through the papers cluttering the counter, looking for the list that was supposed to be there, but my mind was so addled, I couldn’t make sense of the words on the paper.

  “Got it,” I heard from beside me and I turned my head to Saral Tal. He was holding a particularly thick scroll he took from one of the shelves. He rolled and sheathed it, then hung it from his belt. “I should go to the medical bay and compare it with the list of the deceased. Are you all right?”

  No.

  “Yes.”

  He opened his mouth, but the tent flap flew open and Adyar Lah entered with an awkward mix of barging and creeping. My chest clenched and I sunk deeper into the chair.

  “I’m sorry, I left something here,” he murmured, slouching his shoulders. Without waiting for a response, he scurried to the desk, and scooped the papers into his arms. That’s why I couldn’t make heads and tails out of them.

  Until then, his eyes were on the ground, but now he lifted them at me and his brows knitted slightly.

  “It’s hard, isn’t it?” he asked.

  I didn’t know what to say. My throat was so tight I wasn’t sure if I could even make a sound. I dropped my gaze to the desk and clenched my hands on the armrests.

  “You think they’ll be here forever… until they’re not.”

  Still, I didn’t speak. It didn’t seem like he was expecting an answer anyway. With the corner of my eye I saw him turning his head and biting his lip. What was he thinking of? Did his thoughts mirror mine? But what were my thoughts? Who was Laik Var to me? Commander, nothing more. Almost a stranger.

  And at the same time, he was the only thing I took for granted, the only reminder that as long as I did as I was told, everything was going to be all right…

  Until it wasn’t.

  “Sanam Il was good vessár,” said Adyar Lah finally, ripping me from my thoughts.

  “So was Laik Var,” I replied hollowly.

  He looked at me and his lips spread in something between a smile and a grimace.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m glad it’s you here.”

  I nodded.

  “And…” he hesitated. “Thanks for healing me before. With all that happened, I wouldn’t be surprised if you left me to bleed out.”

  And have everyone in Mespana blame your death on me, I thought, but there was no bite in it. On the contrary, I felt the tightness in my chest easing out a bit and even managed to lift my head to look in the vague direction of Adyar Lah.

  “I was doing my job,” I said lamely, then added quickly, “you should get that checked, though. I’m not very good at this, as you probably realized.” A nervous chuckle escaped my lips but died as I remembered my failure with helping Tayrel Kan. “I should have let Dalyn Kia do it. She’s a sorcerer, isn’t she?”

  Adyar Lah smiled, and I got an impression of it being a little condescending. “Yes, she is. And don’t worry, I had it checked. It’s procedure, remember?”

  I cursed myself mentally. Of course it was. My gaze dropped to the desk. I wished he would leave, but he stayed, hesitating.

  “Also,” he added finally, “I’m sorry for… before.”

  He didn’t have to specify.

  I shook my head. “You were doing your job,” I said before realizing I was basically parroting my previous statement. I wanted to add something, anything that wouldn’t make me look like an utter idiot, but before I figured out what, he spoke again.

  “My job was to find the traitor. But I let the others sway me. I was so convinced of your guilt, I didn’t even want to listen to you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…” he licked his lips and added, lowering his voice, so I barely heard him. “I shouldn’t have judged you without knowing you.”

  His words made something in my chest stir. Why, though? Everyone judged me, usually unfavorably and almost always without knowing jack shit about me.

  I turned my head to avoid looking at him and shook it slightly. “I’m used to it.”

  “It doesn’t make it right.”

  Life is not right. I waved my hand, wishing for nothing but to end this line of conversation. “All is forgiven.” Something he’d said earlier struck me, and I couldn’t help myself asking, “Who exactly declared my guilt?”

  His gaze hardened, and I got a feeling he understood the real reason behind my questioning.

  “Myar Mal already asked me all about it,” he admitted quietly, then paused. For a moment he was studying me, as if expecting something, but I kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t sure how much he knew, how much I could let out. So, I preferred to stay silent.

  Finally, his lips twisted into a sour grimace. “He has this way of looking at people… he doesn’t need to say anything to make you know you screwed up.”

  I recalled Adyar Lah’s downcast appearance during the vessár-ai session. It seemed my suspicion was right. I felt a pang of satisfaction, but it vanished as quickly as it showed, replaced by pity. I couldn’t wish anyone to get on Myar Mal’s bad side.

  “I thought that was his default look,” I tried joking. Adyar Lah’s eyebrows shot up, but then his features relaxed and… he smiled.

  “Yeah, I guess,” he chuckled, and I realized my hands weren’t clutching the armrests anymore. For the first time since I was appointed, I felt almost… relaxed.

  Maybe Myar Mal was right. Maybe we could get along.

  “Well.” He sighed. His smile receded into a scowl. “Whoever it was behind that attempt, let’s hope they’ll be found soon.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “Let’s hope.”

  * * *
/>   The good mood brought by reconciling with Adyar Lah didn’t last long. A few moments after he left, the tent flap opened again. I glanced up to check and almost immediately lowered my head. Innam Ar-Leig. He took a seat across the desk and stared at me wordlessly.

  “Can I help you, vessár?” I asked, wanting nothing but for him to leave me alone. The forty days I spent training under his command were some of the worst in my life.

  “What the fuck have you done, Tirsan?” he asked, and I felt a stab of anger.

  “I haven’t done anything—” I started, but he didn’t let me finish.

  “You pissed off a lot of people. Surprising; from what I remember, you were always unassuming.”

  “Ah.” I leaned back in my chair. Unlike other furniture, it had armrests and a proper backrest. Sadly, it was too tight for my size, making it even more uncomfortable than normal stools. “I’m afraid my main offense is being born to the wrong parents.”

  “Yes,” he sighed, “I’m afraid you’re right. Wouldn’t it be beautiful, if all of our problems had simple, rational causes?”

  He retrieved a small silver box of vaka pills and offered me one.

  “Come on, take it. It’s a mood stabilizer too. You shouldn’t let anyone see you like you were before entering this tent.”

  I took it but didn’t unpack it. I wondered if it was poisoned.

  “Why do you care?” I asked. “Sorry, Innam Ar, but you never struck me as considerate.”

  He chuckled. “Kid, my job is to make soldiers, not friends. I can’t afford leniency, because our enemies won’t. Be glad you didn’t train under Tyano Har. I swear, the bastard relished in our misery.”

  The accusation would probably carry more weight if I wasn’t able to say the same about him.

  “I was only trying to make you a man,” he continued, meeting my gaze without blinking, “and looking at you now, I wonder where the fuck I went wrong.”

  I seethed. “What the fuck do you know—”

  “Oh, I do, believe me. You enlisted at that precious age when you still confused your leader with your daddy. You want him to hold your hand and lead you to victory. Well, guess what, Tirsan? It’s time to grow up.”

  For a moment I looked at him, stupefied. How did he know? How can some people figure out your deepest, most guarded secret, then drag it out like that, hit you where it hurts the most, without even seeming to try? Then I remembered what Tayrel Kan put into my head: he was a psychologist, it was literally his job.

  Except maybe the hurting. That was just him.

  I was not sure if it was my anger, my tiredness, or his casual behavior, but before I could think better of it, I snapped, “if you only came here to insult me, you can get the fuck out.”

  My insolence shocked me. A part of me half-expected him to take over my body, walk it outside and leave me standing, paralyzed, in the middle of the camp for a day or two. It was a standard disciplinary action in Mespana, one I experienced once and dedicated my life to never experiencing again. It took me a while to realize that, at least for now, he was not my vessár. He was my equal.

  The bastard smiled. “That’s better. I have something for you.”

  He reached to his pouch again and handed me an amulet: a small tertium disk with a perfectly transparent crystal in the center, dangling from a silver chain. A protective charm.

  “It won’t make you invincible,” he warned. “But it should deflect any deadly spell aimed at your back. That’s a singular ‘spell’ by the way. Don’t play a hero; as soon as you feel it sting, get the fuck down.”

  I put the amulet on and hid it under my uniform.

  “Now, take your pill. Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned; I’m not one of them. Get your shit together, get your report done—”

  “I had my nami do it.”

  “Good. That’s what they’re for. Now you have more time to get ready. Don’t waste it on brooding, Tirsan, the battle’s ahead!”

  * * *

  Some people considered rough treatment to be motivational, and Innam Ar was no exception. But for me, it did the opposite. I couldn’t bear staying in the tent; its walls seemed to press in on me, suffocate me. I ran outside and stood for a while, breathing deeply.

  No way I could get anything done in there.

  For better or worse, I spotted Raison Dal’s decontamination team and remembered the other part of kar-vessár’s orders. Cursing, I darted to my place. I didn’t have much food left, having eaten all the snacks; just a few dry ingredients. In the last few days I was in no mood for cooking, but as I was packing them away, I thought of all the dishes I could have made. Even the driest, least seasoned porridge beat Dahlsian rations. And having the food I wasn’t eating beat seeing said food go up in flames.

  Silly, I knew. But thinking about provisions helped me not to think about other things, so I cut myself some slack.

  My fingers wrapped around a bag of naya spice and I froze. My mother made it in Nes Peridion, using traditional Tarvissian ingredients as well as local herbs. Probably the last batch she prepared…

  Technically, it was not food. And since I only used it for cooking, it had no chance of leaving my tent. It was no threat to anyone. Just to be on the safe side, I made a little cut in my pillow and slipped the spice bag in, then fixed the hole with a spell. There. Unless someone slept in my bed, it should be fine.

  I felt a bit better about handing the rest of my stash to the decontamination team.

  When they left, I spotted Saral Tal heading toward the field hospital and realized I still had some time to kill. It crossed my mind that I should probably prepare for the upcoming battle. Not myself, necessarily, that would take minutes, but my Cohort. I quickly discarded that idea. Myar Mal’s words still echoed in my head. I was here only as bait; I didn’t owe him a job well done.

  Besides, what could I do? We didn’t even have a plan yet!

  So it was alright, I told myself as I approached the hospital. I wasn’t sure when exactly I decided to visit Tayrel Kan, but it seemed proper. I owed him an apology, after all.

  But as soon as I reached the hospital, it was as if cold fingers wrapped around my heart. The area was crowded; even outside the main tents, people were sitting or lying on the ground, some bandaged, others just pressing cloths to their untended wounds. A couple of sorcerers bustled about, casting minor healing spells, but neither of them wore the yellow coat of a true healer. The air resonated with moans of pain and cracks of magic.

  I rushed toward the tent, hoping to leave the scene behind, but what greeted me there was even worse. It was quiet. There was a hum of magic, but no sobs, words or screams. Dozens of cots stood squeezed next to each other, all of them taken. People crushed by rocks, pierced by bolts, a few burned—by Tayrel Kan’s spell? I didn’t want to think about that. Mercifully, most of them were unconscious. Gods, I hoped they were unconscious.

  Earlier I considered suffering life-threatening anaphylaxis qualified someone to be here. Now I wasn’t so sure.

  Wishing to be out of here as soon as possible, I grabbed the nearest healer, earning a look of pure exasperation, and asked about Tayrel Kan. Apparently, he was already discharged. The healer pointed me to where his tent was, then fled before I could ask further questions.

  No matter. I was ready to leave, the mixed smells of blood, antiseptic, burned flesh and nyarai extract making me nauseous. But a familiar voice sounded behind me, stopping me.

  “Vessár?”

  I turned around, the sash burning my chest. Argan Am was lying on one of the cots, with a generous amount of nyarai paste applied to his face and head. I only recognized him by his eyes. He held his hands on the blanket, but while the right one was merely bandaged, the left one ended in a stump, just below his elbow.

  “Yeah,” he said, and I realized I must have been staring for a while, “I liked my hand, you know. It was a useless lump, but it was… mine.”

  “What happened?” I stammered, my mouth completely dry. I stru
ggled to remember if he was right- or left-handed, until I realized the futility. He was a sorcerer; of course he was left-handed.

  “I asked to be part of Kiarn At’s strike force. I got hit—not directly, but my suit caught fire. Those spells they were throwing must have been made to counter our protections. I managed to get down, but just barely.”

  Bile rose in my throat. “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “Not your fault.”

  Wasn’t it? I’d been sent to the mansion with the specific task of investigating enemy weapons. If I’d foreseen the crystals could serve as projectiles, our fliers could prepare.

  “It didn’t hurt,” he added quietly after a while. “It does now, but at the time… I saw my hand burning, saw the plastic melting into my flesh. And felt nothing. My brain just refused to process the pain. But I remember the smell. It smelled… like one of those things you cook, you know?”

  A wave of nausea rolled over me. I remembered the odor well from when Tayrel Kan was casting his spell—it made me want to give up meat for a while.

  I wanted to say something, but no words came to my mind, and I just stared at him, sick and horrified.

  He lifted his gaze. It was hard to tell with his dark eyes, but I thought he must’ve been high on painkillers. He seemed conscious enough to keep the conversation going, though.

  “What about you?” He nodded toward my sash, “I see you had more luck.”

  Luck was the last word I would use, but I didn’t know how to explain everything, so I just said, “Laik Var is dead.”

  “Shit.”

  “I was thinking about making you my nami,” I added after a moment of uncomfortable silence, feeling a strong need to fill the air with something.

  The sorcerer scoffed, “Forget it, man. I’m not good at such things.”

  “You were doing pretty well in Sorox.”

  “And got enough leadership for a lifetime.”

  “I had to settle for Saral Tal.”